A broad-shouldered blond strips from his light purple shirt, flexing in jeans before tossing them aside to stand naked with hands gripping his hips, chest, or waist, each pose sharp, confident, the muscles rippling under the light. His gaze shifts from the camera to the floor, from side to side, every angle framing the tension between stillness and movement, the body poised between control and release. The only sound is the fabric falling, the only rhythm the way his fingers trace his own skin.
By VirtuaGuy
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