Leo McArthur sits shirtless against a brick wall, tattoos tracing his smooth skin as he stretches one arm behind his head while the other rests on a surface, his dark hair framing a relaxed pose. The mirror catches his lean frame leaning forward, fingers tracing the edge of whatever holds him up, while his hole glistens under the light. He grips the wall, then shifts to lie down, legs bent, before pushing up again, each movement deliberate, the tension in his muscles sharp. The only thing that matters is how he takes it.
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