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He placed his hands on the tops of Billy’s golden thighs -- spread his fingers apart and rubbed from his knees up, up, until his fingertips dipped under the legs of Billy’s shorts. The hair rasped under his hands. His thighs were still a bit slick from that suntan oil that Billy loved to use and from the sweat of working outdoors on a summer day.
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- Part 9 of Harringrove ficlets
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