Jessy Ares kneels behind James Castle, his tattooed arms slick with oil as he works the thick muscles of Castle’s back with deliberate pressure, fingers digging deep into the rigid ridges of his shoulders. Castle sits motionless on the stool, broad and still, his clean-shaven jaw set as Ares’s hands trace the scars and veins of his spine. The oil glistens where Ares’s knuckles press into the taut flesh, marking the exact points of his grip.
