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“Holy shit,” Matt breathes. “What the fuck, bird?”
In hindsight, Jay’s so lost in the sauce that Matt probably could have stood there and watched the whole show without being noticed: Jay, sprawled out on the couch, their couch, actually Matt’s couch, one foot hooked over the back rest, knees spread, and—
“Fuck!” Jay yelps.
—and two fingers curled up inside his asshole.
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