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"You're burning up," John counters. He worms his free hand under Gale's sweater and rubs briskly over his stomach. Wants to curl his nails in, but he doesn't. "How's that?"
"I'm cold," Gale repeats.
"You said that already. You've got a fever," John grits out, frustrated, skin numbed with friction but no heat.
-- Stalag dubcon
