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Summary
Zhongli removes the leash from his clenched fingers. He wraps the leash around his own wrist, Itto’s eyes tracking his every move. The shift of his shoulders under his clothes. His throat when he swallows. His mouth, lips parted ever so slightly, his hand, reaching out—
He hooks a finger into the o-ring of Itto’s collar.
And yanks.
(or: gratuitous self-indulgent zhongitto leash porn)
