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Summary
He's laid onto his back in the dewy grass, and made to bare his neck. Like an animal, waiting for slaughter.
The fingers against his jaw have none of Chan's gentleness, and the breath against his neck is hot and heavy with lust.
Or perhaps,
Hunger.
The line between the two are nearly indistinguishable under the moonlight.
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Bookmark Notes:
Done
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Bookmark Notes:
Laters