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Summary
“Crick,” he said, only vaguely cognisant of the desperation clear in his voice.
That tongue disappeared back behind the seam of his lips as Crick turned to him, a touch of concern already etched across his features even as Temenos pushed through that already scant distance between them, one hand settling on the curve of Crick’s thigh as he surged up to kiss him.
Crick and Temenos enjoy a mundane evening together.
