François Sagat grips his cock hard, the veins bulging as he strokes himself fast on the curved bench, his beard shadowed over his chest. Nicolas Brooks watches, his dark hair falling forward as he leans in, fingers already tracing the wetness on Sagat’s shaft. The bench creaks under Sagat’s weight, his breath sharp with need. Brooks doesn’t touch him, just watches, close enough to see the glistening tip.
