Pascal Mauri kneels on the balcony’s edge, his dark hair framing a smooth, lean body as the other leans in close, fingers tracing the curve of his ass. The sunlight catches their skin, sharp and unfiltered, while one grips the railing, the other’s touch lingering just above the crack. The air between them is still, no words, no hesitation, just the way one’s palm presses down, steady, as the other bends further into it.
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