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Summary
Aki shoved his knee between the devil’s thighs and leaned in too close. He was inches from touching Angel, white hot breath singeing his lips. Angel wanted to lean into it and burn, morph into sacrality and fit inside Aki’s mouth. How would he fill the ache in his bones with sledgehammer fists? The devil parted his lips with a sigh, worshiping what felt like mutilation. Melancholy was an eternal taste, but he pleaded to savor Aki.
Or that story where they both cum in their pants but make it poetic
