Ariel Black kneels over Vitali Kutcher’s taut, oiled back, his fingers digging deep into the lean muscle while the other stretches his legs across the table’s edge. Vitali lies still, arms splayed wide as Black works his shoulders, the gym’s cold metal bench pressed into his ribs. Hands grip ankles, thumbs pressing into arches, the table groaning under their weight as Black’s grip tightens, forcing Vitali’s legs higher. No words, just the wet slide of oil and the sharp inhale of stretched muscle.
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