The Plowboys

Alexander Straus grips Emil Kys’s hips hard as he slams into him from behind, the cabin’s rough wood railings biting into their bare skin. Emil’s lean body arches under the force, his dark hair tangled with sweat as Alexander’s fingers dig into his waist, no foreplay, just the thrust of a man who knows exactly how deep he wants to go. The outdoor light carves sharp shadows across their sweat-slicked backs, the only sound the wet slap of flesh meeting flesh, again and again.