William Seed’s tattooed, muscular frame sprawls across the bed, his dark hair tangled as he grips himself with rough, deliberate strokes. Ryan Bones watches, his presence implied by the way Seed’s fingers move, slow, deliberate, the kind of focus that turns masturbation into something deliberate, almost ritualistic. The scene doesn’t ask for more than what’s there: a man alone with his body, the bed sheets rumpled, the air thick with the quiet intensity of his own hands.
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