Tony Koch sits forward on the couch, his dark hair framing a smooth, lean body as he pulls his shirt off, slow, deliberate, the fabric clinging to his chest before dropping away. The framed paintings behind him watch as he stretches, fingers tracing his own skin, the couch cushion biting into his thighs. No one else is here, just the way his muscles shift when he leans back, the light catching the faintest sheen on his chest.
More solo galleries
