Arce sheds a single tear of joy, as QuickerBlade's callused hand gently rubs the flaccid trembling flesh of the Mexican-Jewish warrior's once-mighty thigh.
QuickerBlade's indigo skin glows a gentle blue, each bead of sweat clearly visible.
The 1986 Datsun roars down the freeway, straightpipes blatting sweet 4 cylinders of fury.
The lingering odors of old man-musk are replaced with a new scent of potent tanning oils, hair gels, and SEO.
Arce's Seagal-like pony tail glistens in the dying sun, as his half-closed eyes trace the roadmap of veins coursing down QuickerBlade's titanic limb.
The gui with adorned white belt(with two yellow stripes!) drop atop the pair of well-used tights and jeanjacket vest.
Hormones, testesterone, and an international pungence permeates the air above the rapidly creaking bed.
