Shadow Junior’s stocky, balding frame presses close to the other’s, their clean-shaven chests barely separated as one clutches his hand while the other’s red-and-yellow jersey peeks from beneath black shorts. The bed dips under their weight, their bodies angled just enough to let the dark-haired one’s fingers trace the other’s wrist, no words, no hesitation, just the quiet grip of two men who know exactly what they’re doing.
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