Chapter Two
Jason's boots hit Fort Drum's pavement like they belonged there. He moved through the main building with quiet command--clean-shaven, pressed uniform, dark hair still damp from his early shower. He'd been in the Army long enough to read a unit's mood within five minutes, and this one? Soft. Recently back from deployment. Worn out.
He introduced himself, calm and to the point. Major Jason Hartley, 14 years in, three combat tours, good with his hands, and not here to babysit.
By mid-morning, he'd met his senior enlisted men. One of them stood out:
Staff Sergeant Mark Bennett.
Square jaw, hard eyes, thick build. The kind of man who didn't offer more than necessary--and Jason respected that. Mark nodded as they shook hands, grip firm. He held Jason's gaze for just a second longer than usual.
Jason filed that away.
But truth be told, the work itself was light. The inbox barely pinged. The schedule was mostly empty. Which meant Jason had too much time to think.
After lunch, he headed to the gym. The Fort Drum facility was better than expected--wide open, high ceilings, equipment in perfect order. Just how he liked it.
He went hard. Sweat poured. Blood rushed. Every inch of his long, lean frame flexed and swelled with effort. By the time he stripped off his shirt in the locker room, his pecs and abs were flushed and tight, cock still semi-hard just from the burn.
But nothing took the edge off.
He checked the app again. No Lamont.
He scrolled. Still nothing that pulled at him. Too polished. Too shallow. Too needy.
Jason needed something real.
Back at his rented house, he cracked open a beer and opened a service app instead. Created a carpenter profile, added a few shots of custom work from back home--benches, a fence, a chicken coop he once built for his sister's kids. Just something to keep his hands busy.
A few hours later, a new job posted. One photo caught his eye.
Lamont H. -- Chicken Coop Build.
Same man. Same thick arms, same rich brown skin, same solid body. Same presence. Jason stared at the listing for a long moment, then hit Accept. No message. No fare. Just quiet intention.
He didn't open the dating app again that week.
βΈ»
Lamont wiped the sweat from his forehead, shirt clinging to his back. He'd been trying to make this damn chicken coop work for two days and he was already over it.
He'd gotten the wood delivered. Measured. Cut. Tried to frame it out--but it was crooked. The floor wasn't level. He'd spent two hours fighting with a level and a laser before finally admitting defeat.
This wasn't going to happen--not the way he wanted it. Not before the cold set in.
He set his beer down and opened a service app. Found the listing tool. Typed a quick description. Attached a few photos.
"Need a coop built before winter. Frame is started. Pay up front. Send a message if you're serious."
It felt a little strange hiring another man to come build on his land. Lamont was proud, self-reliant. But he needed this done right.
That night, he left the porch light on and stripped out of his shirt, sitting on the steps barefoot, letting the cold settle into his skin. He opened the dating app. Still no message from the faceless man who'd gotten him half-hard in the middle of the week.
He'd nearly closed the app when headlights hit his driveway.
His stomach dropped. He already knew who it was.
βΈ»
Staff Sergeant Mark.
No warning. No message. Just pulled in like he owned the place, engine rumbling, door slamming shut.
Lamont stood quickly and stepped inside to grab a hoodie, but Mark was already walking up the path.
"Don't bother," Mark said, his voice like gravel soaked in whiskey. "You know what time it is."
Lamont swallowed and stepped back as the man entered, boots heavy on the floor.
"Strip," Mark ordered, shutting the door behind him.
Lamont hesitated only a moment before obeying. Hoodie first. Then sweatpants. Then briefs. Naked. Barefoot. Standing at attention, his soft cock small and shy between his legs--his hole already twitching.
Mark circled him like a wolf.
"Kneel."
Lamont dropped to his knees. Mark unbuckled his belt with one hand, never taking his eyes off the man below him.
"Start with my boots. Tongue. Heel to toe. I want 'em clean."
Lamont obeyed instantly, tongue running slow and reverent across the dirt-caked leather. He licked the creases, sucked at the sole, ran his lips over the laces. Mark watched with a cold smirk, arms crossed.
"You love this shit, don't you? Serving a real man. Like a good little bitch."
Lamont moaned against the boot, nodding.
"Say it."
"Yes, Staff Sergeant. I love serving you."
"Damn right you do."
Mark unzipped. His cock flopped out--thick and heavy, veins snaking along the shaft like raised wires. It hung low for a second, then started to rise, swelling with each beat of his pulse. The head was flushed dark, glossy with pre-cum already dripping down in a slow, slick line that clung before falling at his feet.
Lamont wasted no time licking it off the floor.
"Good fag, Now suck my cock. Use your whole fuckin' throat."
Lamont obeyed. Took him in deep, hands behind his back, jaw open wide. Mark groaned and grabbed the back of his head, holding him down, slow thrusts dragging across his tongue and down his throat.
"That's it. Good boy. Make it wet. You're just a fuckin' hole, ain't you?"
Lamont gagged but didn't stop. His eyes watering. Mark groaned louder.
"Always eger when I need to empty my balls.
On your knees.
Slurping on my dick like a good lil faggot."
He pulled out and shoved Lamont onto all fours.
"Get up on the couch. Arch that ass."
Lamont climbed up onto the couch, heart pounding, and positioned himself exactly the way Mark had trained him to. Chest low. Knees wide. His back dipped, his ass high, thighs flexed to spread him open as far as he could manage. The cold air kissed his hole, already twitching with need.
Then a hand--big, hot, rough--slid across his ass.
CRACK.
Mark Smacked it hard once, then pressed his thumb into the center of Lamont's hole.
"Already open," he muttered. "You been playin' with this for me?"
