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Summary
“You didn’t sign the papers,” Izzy says. He doesn’t need to frame it like a question when it answers itself in Ed’s rough, gloved hands sliding down, stroking over Izzy’s throat. His bare fingertips set nerve endings ablaze in their wake.
Ed rumbles a dark laugh that makes Izzy’s pulse skip. “Of course I didn’t.”
Under the guise of picking up his forgotten leather jacket, Ed drops by, and Izzy gives in for the final time.