Jessie Douglas strokes himself slow, his tattooed arms flexing as he leans back against the couch, the blanket’s colors bleeding into the shadows, while the other man watches with a smirk, his own muscles rippling under the light. Both are shirtless, relaxed but deliberate, fingers tracing skin as the camera lingers on the way their bodies hold still, one arm raised, the other gripping hard, the air thick with the quiet confidence of a man who knows exactly what he’s doing.
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