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Summary
...it's got nothing to do with love. It's a quick fix in bed, or in the shower, the evidence gone in a watery instant. A daily ablution that turns to a weekly one, sometimes even less often than that as he trudges up his thirties.
And that's it until he turns forty, and then Arthur Parnassus appears before him in his stupid socks and green coat, with his hair wild in the wind, and his thumbs twiddling absently.
(Thumbs? No, of course Linus doesn't stare at his thumbs. His long, elegant thumbs and deft fingers and slight forearms and…)
Series
- Part 2 of seven cerulean sins
- Part 4 of unapologetic cerulean smut