Bob Hager straps into a harness, his muscles flexing as he adjusts the straps with deliberate precision, the leather creaking under his grip. He leans against the wall, shirtless, the harness still half-fastened, before shifting to a stool where he balances with one hand on the backrest, his posture both controlled and restless. The chair becomes his next prop as he leans forward, the harness finally removed, leaving him fully exposed, just his body, the light catching the sweat on his skin, the dark hair damp at the nape of his neck.
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