Matthieu Costa stands pressed against a brick wall, his dark hair damp with sweat, fingers tangled in the thick hair on his chest as he grips himself with rough, urgent strokes. Fernando Neron watches from a few feet back, his bearded jaw tight, the weight of his presence making the air between them thick with something unspoken. The wall behind them is rough, the bricks cold against Matthieu’s skin, but his grip never wavers, each pull of his cock is deliberate, his breath coming sharp and uneven.
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