Steven Fox grips the soccer ball like it’s the last pass before the final whistle, his muscles flexing under the light skin as he stretches arms behind his head, then drops the towel, leaving only the white shorts clinging to his thighs. He leans on the furniture, one hand resting on his ass, the other tracing his chest before collapsing forward, hips pressing into the wood while his fingers dig into his thigh. The ball stays with him, a silent witness to every shift from athlete to something far more primal.
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