Blake Anderson solo

Blake Anderson sits shirtless on a couch, tattoos climbing his arms and chest, red underwear barely contained as his legs spread wide. He leans against a wall, then flops back onto the couch, fingers tracing his own body while the camera lingers on the inked curves of his ribs. The close-ups hold his breath, the way his muscles shift under his skin, the slow unraveling of his clothes until nothing remains but the, unfiltered stretch of his skin.