The stocky one kneads the dark-haired, tattooed man’s shoulders with oil-slicked hands while the other, his chest hair rough against the table, arches into the pressure, each stroke deep enough to make his muscles tremble. One fingers the tense knots in his back, working the oil into the skin until the first man groans, his fingers digging into the sheets. The stocky man’s grip tightens on his thighs, pulling them apart as the other slides his palms down the spine, his thumbs pressing just hard enough to force a shudder. The oil glistens on their skin, slick with sweat and the weight of their hands.
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