Dante Colle grips the towel tight as Leon Reddz stands beside him, dark hair framing a muscular frame and inked skin glistening under the light, both of them stroking themselves with slow, deliberate strokes. The tattooed one leans in slightly, his clean-shaven jaw tight with focus, while the other’s grip never wavers, each lost in the rhythm of their own hands. Their bodies move in sync, the towel clutched between them as they work together, the only sound the wet, rhythmic slap of skin against flesh.
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