David Skylar kneels on the bench, his dark hair framing a face carved from muscle, gripping himself with rough, deliberate strokes while Sebastian Sky watches from behind, his presence thick with quiet demand. The bench creaks under his weight as he works his cock with a grip that doesn’t let go, the air tight with the sound of skin against skin and the wet, rhythmic pull of his fist. Sebastian’s shadow stretches long over them, but his hands stay still, until they don’t.
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