A private, hungry gaze meets his own reflection in the mirror as he begins his ritual. The room, dimly lit, is his sanctuary, the cock in his hand, his most devoted companion. He worships it, caressing every inch, feeling the heat that radiates from it. His strokes are steady, his grip firm, a rhythm he's learned by heart. He leans back, eyes closed, imagining a touch that isn't there, a mouth that isn't his. His breath hitches, his body tenses, and with a guttural groan, he offers his sacrifice, painting his chest with sticky ropes of cum, a solo boy's communion with his own desires.