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A rugged, unshaven face peers back from the glass, eyes smoldering with desire. The man in the reflection watches as his counterpart below begins to unbuckle his jeans, revealing a thick, veiny cock already at half-mast. With a practiced ease, he takes it in hand, the friction of his calloused palm sending shivers down his spine. The room is filled with the sounds of his heavy breathing and the wet, slick noises of his hand working his meaty shaft. He smokes, he strokes, he teases himself, his body tensing and releasing in rhythm with his movements. The mirror fogs up with his exertion, but his gaze never wavers, locked onto the primal dance of his own desire.