Photo Barrier

After a few minutes, Diggs nudged him up on the table; brushed the hem of his tunic up to the young corporal’s waist—awkwardly, as he had to do it with his right hand and his arm was still in a light cast; pulled off the redhead’s briefs; drew in a heady breath of Paul’s groin; licked down the strawberry-blond circles of his pubes and inhaled his balls to hear the corporal moan; and opened his mouth over a hard cock.

Laying, spent, the two in a sixty-nine embrace on the bed, Diggs whispered, “Del. The men know me as Diggs. But those closest to me call me Del.”

Jack, near the end, had started calling him Del.

That night, amid snores rolling over the ward, the drapes pulled around the bed, moonlight streaming in the window, the family photograph on its face on the floor below the nightstand, Paul rode Del’s cock. Del was on his back, his legs bent to give the heels of his feet leverage in the mattress, holding Paul by his slim waist. The heels of Paul’s hands were buried in Del’s taut nipples on his massive pectorals, and, leveraging off knees planted on either side of Del’s hips, Paul rode the cock in increasing intensity until, with a muffled cry from him and a groan from Del, he collapsed on Del’s chest, knowing that the bulb of Del’s condom was filled, and feeling his own cream flow up Del’s sternum.