Joey Mills leans forward over the rough wood, his dark hair falling just enough to hide the sharp angle of his jaw as he grips the edge with calloused fingers. The light behind him carves his muscles into sharp relief, the way his back flexes when he shifts his weight, the hollows of his ribs visible where his shirt rides up. His hole is already slick with anticipation, the way he parts his legs just enough to let the air cool the dampness between them.
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