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Summary
Gubo's body was kinder to Jia Huan than anyone ever was. His back was soft, his skin turned pink where it had been clawed at. They slid perfectly against each other as Gubo worked at him, and stuck as they stood still. He's warm, deceptively so, and no matter where he turned, Huan could smell his nutmeg cologne and the cherry cigarettes he borrowed earlier. It was intoxicating, it was invigorating, it was the worst he's ever fallen for someone.
