Mason Wyler strips down slowly, his lean frame flexing as he tosses the towel aside, first to his chest, then near his groin, then letting it drop entirely. He lies on his side, turns his head, and sits up with legs spread, his short dark hair framing a body that shifts from relaxed to deliberate, each pose deliberate and unhurried. The patterned sheets of the bed stay in the background while he moves, his hands resting on his head, hip, or groin as if testing the weight of his own presence.
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