He’s in the bathroom with the door half closed, shirt already off. His body is hairy — chest, stomach, trail going down past his waistband. He looks at himself in the mirror once, then pulls his pants down and takes his cock in hand.
He starts slow. Real slow. Like he’s got nowhere to be. His other hand rests on the counter and he watches himself stroke in the mirror’s reflection. The faucet’s dripping behind him, one drop at a time.
He picks up speed eventually, closes his eyes, and tilts his head back. His stomach tenses and he comes across his hand without making much noise. He stands there breathing for a moment, then turns on the tap to wash up.
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