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It’s the calves.
It’s the calves and the blond of his hair, and the sharp-sweet memory of shoulders crashing into bookshelves, only a layer of leather and linen for cushion. Warm, strong fingers cradling the back of his head.
Soft, lip-balmed lips against his own.
Maybe that's why tonight's the night it finally happens.
They finally let go.
____
They both kept the robes
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Anonymous - The Robes