Riverbank Blowjob and Hours of Fucking

The sun sat high and hard over the river, bleaching the slow water to a sheet of bright silver. Cody, nineteen, stood alone on the grassy bank with his rod tip dipped and his line drifting in the current. Sweat had already soaked through the thin gray T-shirt clinging to his chest. He’d come out early for the quiet, but the heat had only made his skin feel too tight, his attention restless, his body aware of itself in a way he couldn’t quite shake.

Footsteps crunched the gravel path behind him. Two men in their mid-twenties came into view, each carrying a rod and a small tackle bag, moving at an easy pace toward a spot farther downstream. Wesley, twenty-five, had sun-browned arms and a loose, easy stance, his shorts riding low on his hips. Ryan, twenty-six and broader through the shoulders, nodded once as they passed and kept his eyes on the path.

Wesley didn’t just nod. His gaze caught on Cody and stayed. It traveled from Cody’s mouth to the open collar of his shirt, down the lean line of his stomach where the damp fabric clung, and lower still, lingering with a heat that had nothing to do with the weather. Cody felt it like a hand laid flat against his skin. He shifted his weight. The rod suddenly felt awkward in his grip. When he looked back, Wesley was still watching, mouth tipped in something that wasn’t quite a smile. Recognition sat between them, thick and unspoken—the kind of look that said Wesley already knew Cody was interested, and that Cody knew he’d been seen.

Ryan kept walking, boots scuffing stone. Wesley’s eyes held one second longer, then he turned and followed, but the tension didn’t leave the bank with him. Cody’s pulse had climbed into his throat. He cast again and the lure slapped the water wrong, too close, too loud. Downstream, the two men grew smaller against the willows. Wesley glanced back once over his shoulder. Even at that distance Cody felt the pull of it, low in his stomach, a slow heat gathering between his legs that the river breeze did nothing to cool.

He tried to fish. The line tugged and he reeled in nothing but a snag of weed. His palms were damp. Every few minutes his eyes drifted downriver to the place where the path bent out of sight, and every time he did, the memory of that look came back sharper. He knew what he wanted. He had known it the second Wesley’s eyes dropped to his mouth. Standing there in the open sun, rod forgotten in his hands, Cody waited without admitting he was waiting, the unspoken charge of it thick enough to taste.

Wesley came back alone.

Cody heard the footsteps before he saw him, lighter this time, unhurried. When he turned, Wesley was already close, rod slung over one shoulder, Ryan nowhere in sight. The older man stopped a few feet away on the sunlit grass, close enough that Cody could see the sweat at his throat and the steady, open interest in his face. No one else was on the bank. The river moved. A dragonfly stitched the air between them and was gone.

“You want a blowjob?” Wesley asked. His voice was low and plain, no joke in it, just the offer laid down between them like bait.

Heat flooded Cody’s face and kept going, straight down his chest and into his cock, which thickened so fast against his shorts that he had to shift his stance. He didn’t look away. His mouth was dry and his pulse hammered, but the want was immediate and clean, already yes before he found the word. He nodded, eager, once and then again, harder.

“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, I do.”

Wesley’s mouth curved. He tipped his head toward a thick stand of reeds a little way back from the water, tall enough to screen them from the path. “Come on.”

They moved fast. Cody propped his rod against a stump and followed, grass brushing his calves, the sound of the river dropping behind the green wall. The reeds closed around them, cool and close, the ground soft with old leaves. Wesley dropped his bag and turned. For a second they just looked at each other, breathing, the want so obvious it didn’t need more talk. Then Wesley stepped in, cupped the back of Cody’s neck, and kissed him—deep, wet, unhurried at first and then not. Cody opened for it, hands fisting in Wesley’s shirt, tasting salt and heat and the faint bite of river water.

They broke apart already reaching. Wesley shoved Cody’s shorts down his hips. Cody’s cock sprang free, flushed and hard, a clear bead already gathering at the tip. Wesley made a low sound and wrapped his hand around it, stroking once, slow, thumb sliding through the slick. Cody’s knees nearly buckled. He got Wesley’s shorts open in return, pushed them down, and found him thick and heavy and fully hard, the head dark and wet. Cody’s fingers closed around the shaft and Wesley exhaled hard through his teeth.

“On your knees,” Wesley said, and Cody went down at the same time Wesley did, both of them dropping into the leaves, already turning, already hungry. They arranged themselves on their sides in the shade, faces to each other’s hips, and the first touch of Wesley’s mouth on Cody’s cock pulled a broken sound out of him. Wet heat closed over the head, tongue pressing, then Wesley took him deeper, lips tight, one hand braced on Cody’s thigh.

Cody didn’t wait. He leaned in and licked a long stripe up the underside of Wesley’s cock, tasting salt and skin, then opened his mouth and sank down. Wesley was thick enough to stretch his jaw. Cody took what he could, hollowed his cheeks, and sucked, hand working the rest, spit already slicking his fist. Wesley groaned around him, the vibration running straight through Cody’s cock, and the sound made Cody suck harder, needier, chasing the taste.

They found a rhythm fast. Wesley bobbed, taking Cody deep and pulling off wet, tongue flicking the slit before he swallowed him again. Cody matched him, messy and eager, drool sliding down Wesley’s shaft and over his own knuckles. The reeds hissed softly around them. Somewhere beyond, the river kept moving, indifferent. Cody’s hips jerked without permission and Wesley held him steady, sucking with slow, filthy focus, one hand sliding back to cup Cody’s ass and squeeze. Cody moaned around the cock in his mouth and pushed into that grip, the need climbing so fast it scared him a little and didn’t slow him at all.

Wesley pulled off with a wet sound, breath hot against Cody’s thigh. “Fuck, you taste good.” He licked Cody from base to tip, then took him again, deeper, throat working. Cody’s eyes rolled. He sucked harder in answer, hand stroking, mouth greedy, lost in the heat and the weight and the obscene wet sounds they were making together. Wesley’s hips rolled, feeding him more, and Cody took it, gagging once and going back for it, spit shining on his chin. They stayed like that, locked in the hungry sixty-nine, sucking and groaning and grinding into each other’s mouths until both of them were shaking, cocks dripping, the need too big to stay on their knees.

Wesley pulled off first, chest heaving, lips swollen and shiny. “I want to fuck you,” he said, voice rough. “You want that?”

“Yes.” Cody wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, cock throbbing, untouched air almost painful after that mouth. “Yes. Please.”

Wesley kissed him once, hard, tasting himself, then hauled Cody up and out of the reeds toward a smooth riverside log half in the sun, pale wood worn soft by weather. A rolled blanket sat in Wesley’s bag; he shook it out on the grass beside the log for later and set a small bottle of lube on top of it, practical and sure. Cody didn’t ask where it had come from. He was already bending when Wesley turned him, palms flat on the warm wood, shorts tangled at his ankles, ass bare to the open air and the slow slap of the river.

Wesley’s hands spread him. A slick finger circled, pressed, and slid in easy because Cody was already pushing back for it, wanting the stretch. A second finger followed, scissoring, curling, opening him while Wesley’s other hand stroked Cody’s cock in long, steady pulls. Cody dropped his forehead to the log and moaned, the sound raw. When Wesley lined up and pushed in, thick and slow and relentless, Cody’s fingers dug into the wood and he breathed through the burn until it melted into something hotter, fuller, perfect.

“Okay?” Wesley asked, buried deep, hips flush to Cody’s ass.

“Don’t stop.” Cody rocked back, taking him deeper. “Fuck me.”

Wesley did. He set a deep, steady pace, pulling almost all the way out and driving back in, the log creaking under Cody’s hands. Each thrust knocked a sound out of him. Wesley’s hand never left Cody’s cock, stroking in time, slick with lube and precome, thumb working the head on every upstroke. The sun laid heat across Cody’s back. Sweat ran down his spine and Wesley licked it, then bit the curve of his shoulder and fucked him harder, still controlled, still deep, the wet slap of skin on skin carrying over the water.

“Look at you,” Wesley said against his ear, voice low and filthy and fond. “Taking it so good. Tight little ass just swallowing me.”

Cody pushed back to meet every thrust, shameless, cock leaking over Wesley’s fist. The angle hit something bright inside him and he cried out, legs shaking. Wesley stayed there, grinding, stroking faster, until Cody was babbling, please and more and don’t stop, the words breaking apart. Wesley fucked him through it, deep and steady, one hand braced on Cody’s hip, the other working his cock until Cody was right on the edge and Wesley eased off, squeezing the base, keeping him there.

“Not yet,” Wesley said, breathing hard. He pulled out slow, both of them groaning at the loss, and turned Cody around. “I want to watch you ride me.”

They moved to the blanket. Wesley lay back in the sun, cock standing thick and wet against his stomach, and Cody straddled him facing away, reverse, knees planted in the soft wool. He reached back, lined Wesley up, and sank down in one long slide, head falling forward as he took every inch. Wesley’s hands clamped on his hips. Cody rose and dropped, finding the rhythm, ass flexing, the thick shaft dragging over that bright spot on every descent. Wesley watched him from below, thumbs digging into the meat of Cody’s ass, spreading him so he could see himself disappear inside.

“Fuck, that’s it,” Wesley groaned. “Ride it. Use me.”

Cody did. He braced his hands on Wesley’s thighs and worked himself up and down, faster, sweat flying, the slap of his ass against Wesley’s hips loud in the open air. His own cock bounced, flushed and dripping onto Wesley’s stomach. Wesley reached around and stroked him again, rough and perfect, and Cody’s rhythm broke into something desperate, grinding down and circling, chasing the pressure. Wesley thrust up to meet him, driving deep, both of them panting, the blanket bunching under Wesley’s shoulders.

When Cody’s thighs started to shake, Wesley sat up, wrapped an arm around his chest, and fucked up into him hard, mouth on Cody’s neck, hand still stroking. Cody came close again and Wesley slowed, kissing the sweat from his shoulder, holding him there on the edge until the shaking eased. Then he lifted Cody off, both of them slick and gasping, and rolled him onto his back on the blanket.

Missionary put them face to face. Wesley hooked Cody’s knees up and over his arms, lined up, and pushed back in, deep enough that Cody’s mouth fell open on a silent cry. He set a hard pace from the start, hips snapping, the wet sound of it obscene and perfect. Cody locked his ankles behind Wesley’s back and pulled him in, meeting every thrust, hands scrabbling at Wesley’s shoulders, his back, anywhere he could hold. Their mouths found each other between moans, kisses messy and open, more breath than kiss.

“Harder,” Cody said against his mouth. “Wesley—harder.”

Wesley gave it to him. He braced one hand beside Cody’s head and drove in, deep and relentless, the blanket sliding on the grass, both of them shining with sweat. Cody’s cock was trapped between their stomachs, dragging through the slick mess of precome on every thrust, the friction almost enough on its own. Wesley shifted the angle and Cody shouted, back arching, nails biting into Wesley’s shoulders.

“Right there,” Cody gasped. “Fuck, right there, don’t stop, don’t—”

Wesley didn’t stop. He fucked him through it, strokes long and hard, watching Cody’s face come apart. Cody’s hand found his own cock and stroked fast, matching the rhythm, and the pressure coiled tight and bright and unbearable. Wesley’s rhythm broke. His thrusts went short and deep, grinding, and his voice cracked on Cody’s name.

“I’m gonna come,” Wesley said, raw. “Inside you. You want it?”

“Yes—fill me—come on—”

Cody stroked himself harder, hips jerking, and the orgasm hit him like the river breaking a dam. He came in thick pulses across his own chest and stomach, striping his skin, crying out so loud the sound carried over the water. His ass clenched hard around Wesley’s cock and Wesley cursed, buried himself to the hilt, and came with him, spilling hot and deep, hips stuttering, filling Cody in long, heavy pulses while Cody kept stroking through the aftershocks, milking both of them, moaning into Wesley’s mouth.

They stayed locked together, shaking, Wesley’s forehead pressed to Cody’s, both of them breathing like they’d run for miles. The river moved. A bird called once and went quiet. Wesley kissed him slow, still inside, and Cody kissed back, tasting salt and the tail end of his own shout.

They didn’t stop when the first wave passed.

The sun slid across the sky and they kept going, lazy and greedy by turns. Wesley cleaned Cody with a corner of the blanket and then went down on him again in the shade of the log, sucking him soft and slow until Cody hardened on his tongue and came a second time, smaller, shaking, spilling down Wesley’s throat while Wesley swallowed and hummed. Cody returned it on his knees in the grass, taking Wesley deep and patient, one hand rolling his balls, until Wesley came with a broken groan and Cody drank him down, licking him clean afterward, pleased and filthy.

They fucked again when the heat of it returned. Cody on his side, Wesley behind him, slow strokes that went on and on while the light turned gold. Then Cody on top, facing him this time, riding with his hands on Wesley’s chest, both of them quieter, watching each other’s faces, coming almost together with low sounds and locked eyes. Between rounds they lay in the sun and touched—mouths on throats, fingers tracing spent cocks, lazy kisses that turned hungry again. Hours passed. The rods stayed where they’d left them. Ryan never came looking. The bank belonged to the two of them and the moving water and the slow, endless trade of mouths and hands and the deep, repeated slide of Wesley inside Cody, and Cody opening for it every time, wanting it, saying so.

By late afternoon they were spent past shaking, muscles loose, skin salt-stiff and marked with grass and each other. They waded into the river together and washed, the cool water shocking and good, hands gentle where they’d been rough. On the bank again, dressed, rods in hand, Wesley pulled Cody in and kissed him long and deep, unhurried, the kind of kiss that didn’t ask for anything else. They parted with small, knowing smiles. Wesley headed downstream. Cody walked back to his spot on the bank, the line waiting, the sun lower now, the water bright and quiet.

He stood there a while with the rod in his hands and didn’t cast. The river moved. Nothing else did.