Rey Gold grips his cock hard, his dark hair falling forward as he leans against the wall, fingers working fast while his lean body shifts between the bed and a surface, shirtless every time. The green shirt appears once, then disappears, as his hands move, on his chest, his head, his thighs, each position a different rhythm, each frame a different angle of his grip. A book or magazine lies nearby, forgotten, while his focus stays locked on the motion between his fingers and his cock.
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