The city never sleeps… and neither does the shine.
Rain traces slow paths down the glass behind him, mirroring the way the latex clings to every inch of his body, catching the dim light and turning it into something hypnotic. You can almost hear the quiet tension in the room… the hum of machines, the distant pulse of the city, the steady rhythm of his breath beneath that flawless black surface.
There are screens glowing, tasks waiting, expectations pressing in… but none of it compares to the way the suit holds him. Tight. Precise. Unforgiving in the best way. Every movement becomes intentional, every shift of his body sending ripples of reflection across the gloss.
Not distracted… just aware.
Of the way the latex defines him, sharpens him, turns exhaustion into something heavier, something deeper. The damp sheen only intensifies it, making him look less human and more like something sculpted… something designed to be watched.
Maybe that’s why he leans back just a little further… lets the light play across him… lets the moment stretch.
Because sometimes, control isn’t about resisting the feeling.
It’s about letting it take over… slowly.
Tell me… would you be able to focus with that kind of tension wrapped around you?
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