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Summary
George laughed, sweet and squeaking: all he knew was that John’s hands were tickling him as they felt all over his collarbones, down his sternum, brushing over his nipples.
“John,” He giggled out. His laughter caught in his throat when John’s hands slid from his chest down to his waist, and then wrapped around to grope at his arse over his jeans.
“Want’chye,” John slurred.