Pierre Fitch and Nikko Russo stand shoulder to shoulder, their broad, tattooed chests glistening under the shirt’s open collar, the fabric clinging to Fitch’s defined arms while Russo’s dark hair falls just past his shoulders. The military-style shirt rides high on Russo’s hips, its stiff collar framing his jaw as he leans slightly into Fitch’s space, their muscular frames locked in a quiet, deliberate pose. The air between them is still, just the weight of their bodies, the ink tracing their ribs, and the unspoken pull of what comes next.
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