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Summary
“I’ve brought tea,” James says, unnecessarily, as he holds the tray out before him before placing on the table beside the bed, and taking a seat there next to Silver’s hip. Silver quirks a tiny smile at him. James is arrested, as always, just looking at him. The play of light and shadow over the muscles in his arm as he turns a page. His big, broad hands, roughened by sea life. The two long black curls of hair that just reach his nipple, and oh, he’s talking.
Series
- Part 7 of John Silver Can't Get There From Here