Disheveled and drunk, Trace stumbles home from the club, his mind hazy but his hand steady as he undoes his pants. The dim light of his bedroom casts a sultry glow on his lean, tanned body as he starts to stroke his already rock-hard cock. His brownhair flops over his eyes, obscuring his gaze as he takes long, hungry drags from his cigarette, the cherry glowing in the darkness. Precome leaks from his slit, and he spreads it around with his thumb, groaning softly as he picks up the pace, his hips bucking slightly.