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    Summary

    “I love your spellcasting,” Michael murmurs against his throat. “Nearly as warm as your body. Indulge me?”

    Will's fingers dig into a knot at the top of Michael's spine, working out the ache, trying not to throb at the weak groan huffed against his skin.

    “You’re hurt worse than usual,” he says quietly, ignoring the heat crawling up his nape, refusing to acknowledge the question.

    Michael hums against him. “Mm. Maybe I enjoy it.”

    “That is not reassuring.”

    He gives another squeeze against his thighs, and Will's breath catches just for a moment. Michael's hands were big, warm even with the cold night air, calloused from years of swordwork and combat. “I am well enough to take you, Will. I crave it. Must you neglect me?”

     

    or, Mike can't keep his hands to himself, and Will always finds himself craving it. Aka, cleradin smut because I'm a pervert.

    Language:
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    Chapters:
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