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Summary
Your palm presses against his own, the static of latent energy making the tips of your fingers tingle as if they were on the cusp of losing feeling. Like an arm that’s been bent awkwardly against your torso during sleep, a leg that’s been folded beneath you in a kneeling position - certainly where he would want you with his demands to worship him.
(or, Scaramouche offers everything for you to stay.)
(Deviation of Eventide, the prior fic in this series.)
Series
- Part 2 of Eventide