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Odinn, the insomniac artist, finds solace in the quiet embrace of his room. The moon casts a soft glow, painting his body in silver hues as he sprawls on his bed, his hand wrapped around his stiffening cock. He jerks off with a fervor born of frustration and loneliness, his grip tight, his strokes fast and hard. The sound of his hand meeting his flesh fills the room, a primal rhythm that sets his body on fire. He bites his lip to stifle a moan, his hips lifting off the bed as he chases his release. His body tenses, his cock pulses, and with a final, desperate stroke, he comes, his hot seed spilling over his hand, his body shuddering with the force of his orgasm. He collapses back onto the bed, his chest heaving, his body coated in a sheen of sweat, his mind finally quiet, ready for sleep.