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Summary
It wasn’t quick. It wasn’t innocent. It was deep, slow, deliberate. Chris felt the heat of Matt’s palms pressing into his skin, the way his fingers curled just slightly, grounding him, like he wanted to feel him. He felt Matt’s lips moving against his, soft but firm, coaxing him, pushing further. His tongue—fuck, his tongue—brushed against his, tasting like beer and something inherently Matt, something Chris had only imagined in his worst, most secret moments.