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Summary
It's all he can do to not inhale again, deeply; to fight the sudden urge to lean close and press his nose to the delicate slope of her neck, his lips to the hollow of her throat between the pale ridges of her scales, and spend bells like that, just breathing her in. His mouth practically waters, he's so—
“Hungry?” he asks, a little faintly. Get ahold of yourself, G'raha Tia.