Bruce straightened up, setting down his chainsaw and dragging the back of his leather gloved hand across his sweaty forehead. The summer's heat was starting to really get to him. He peeled his t-shirt off of his sweaty upper body, exposing his burly, hairy chest and glistening muscles.
Chuck stood stock still. He had been about to ask the older logger for some help, but he couldn't help but notice his body. Bruce was all muscle, stubble, and strength, and there he was, standing in just his jeans, gloves and boots, showing off his six-foot-something body, unaware anyone was watching. He made himself yell across the clearcut to the older man.
"Bruce!"
Bruce turned and squinted against the sun in his eyes. Was somebody calling him? "Hey, Bruce!" Chuck hollered again from the stand of black oak. "I need a hand, here."
"Sure, kid. Be right there," he responded in a gruff, gravelly voice. He had to shout to be heard over the growling scream of chainsaws from the other loggers. It would be nice to be back in the shade, he thought, leaving his shirt and hardhat behind and walking towards Chuck. Chuck was a good kid, Bruce thought to himself. He was 32, knew his shit, and had muscles and a beard that went well with the profession.
"Gimme a hand throwin' on this drag chain," Chuck said, as they walked up to a pile of felled and readied timber. "Shit, this heat is really gettin' t'me," gritted out Bruce as he picked up the heavy chain and brought its hook around. One of the logs by Chuck shifted and started to rock, and Bruce reached around him to stop the movement. "Go 'head, kid. Hook 'er up. They did a job pilin' these."
The bristle of Bruce's beard brushing against Chuck's shoulder made him excited in ways it shouldn't. He appreciated this man, looked up to him, but he wasn't some queer that would like a dude like that. No way. But Bruce's gravelly voice broke into his thoughts, and he latched the chain, straightening up and without realizing stepping back against Bruce's burly, iron-hard body. He mumbled an apology and pulled the chain around so the pull would be able to back right up to get hooked up.
Bruce sat heavily on one of the logs and lit up a Marlboro Red, taking a draw, looking rugged and tough. Chuck wanted to be like that some day. He wondered what the bristle of hair on Bruce's chest would feel like against his back if he was showing him how to work some equipment, or... no! What the hell was with all these queer thoughts? Shit.
He sat down next to his mentor and bummed a smoke. Yeah. Some day, Chuck thought. Some day he would be like Bruce. That's all he felt for him. Appreciation.
That's all.