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Summary
Except his skin is still singing, hot to touch and too sensitive. He runs his fingers over his chin, can still feel the scrape of Eliott's face against his own. He feels like he's been branded, like it must be written all over him: a man was here. A man's face, rough with morning stubble that he'd dragged down Lucas' neck, across his collarbones and belly and hips; sparked fire across Lucas' skin and lit him up.
OR
From first kisses to paint smears and beyond, five times Eliott left his mark on Lucas