Chose Pradley stands shirtless against the wall, tattoos snaking up his arms as he adjusts the strap of his denim, then stretches his lean frame backward over a stool, legs splayed, hole glistening under the light. The towel clutched above his head slips lower with each pose, his dark hair falling forward as he leans in, fingers gripping his knees or hips, the air thick with the slow unraveling of fabric. By the end, he’s bare, the stool’s edge biting into his skin as he shifts, the camera catching every deliberate stretch, every shift of weight that makes the scene feel deliberate, not rushed.
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