David Ivan stands shirtless against a white-tiled wall, his bearded jaw tight as he flexes his arms in slow, deliberate strokes, the ink on his chest and shoulder shifting under the light. One hand grips his own bicep while the other stretches behind his head, the muscles in his shoulders rippling as he leans into the stretch. The bathroom’s stark fixtures frame him, his shaved head gleaming as he shifts his weight onto a toilet seat, fingers tracing the ridges of his own chest. Every pose is deliberate, every flex a calculated display of strength.
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