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[He might be playing it relatively cool, but beneath the leather of Johnny’s pants, his own cock is starting to throb. V’s knuckles brushing past that growing bulge doesn’t help matters, and he finds himself setting his jaw to hold in a noise that’d give away how sensitive he’s getting between his legs. The constant feedback loop of Synchrony probably makes it where he can’t hide anything, anyway, but not for a lack of trying.

At least V’s remark allows him to mask it with a retort launched right back.]

You can stand on your toes like a ballerina for all I care. Just appreciate the fact that I don’t mind gettin’ on my knees for you, smartass.

[Romantic words of endearment from the rockerboy as he stoops low, then properly onto the grass-gravel with his knees pressed into the ground. Despite his quip, his eyes are fittingly distracted by the sight of V’s dick hanging out right in front of him. Funnily enough, he can still appreciate the sturdy frame of his hips and thighs, too, despite what he’s about to do. As if he’s not already intimately familiar with the man’s body.

Johnny’s chrome arm snakes around the back of V’s thigh to hold him steady, and his other wraps around the base of his cock, encouraging him with a few preliminary strokes. If there’s any precome ready to eke out, he wants that taste on his tongue — wants to appreciate that salty tang as Johnny finally opens up to take him in.

Hand still at his root for now, his tongue slides beneath and along his shaft, and he purposefully, frustratingly, hums a note of approval.]

[ Still laughing at the retort even as the other man is dropping to his knees, that laugh dies in his throat the moment Johnny's fingers curl around his dick. It's a nova way to shut V up, and for a brief moment he sways before the muscles in his thighs tighten and stabilize. Chrome hand settling at one of Johnny's shoulders for balance, his organic hand cards through Johnny's hair, grips loosely.

Not a single one of his imagined fantasies featuring Johnny got close to this, and there's no hesitation on his part when he feels the wet heat of Johnny's tongue, an appreciative groan drawn up from his chest. He doesn't want to look away, doesn't want to miss a single second, but the urge to close his eyes and give himself over to the sensations tugs hard at him. ]

Shit, Johnny.

[ Tempting as it is to press further into the heat of the older man's mouth, he still has some sense of manners. Probably. Though he's convinced that it's not his fault Johnny blowing him feels like it does and looks like this. ]

[There’s a reason why Johnny likes drawing out pleasure with his mouth, despite not seeming like the type to get on his knees and let someone else stand over him — he likes the feeling of making his partner squirm with little more than his tongue, or the low vibrations of his throat. It feeds his ego, in a way, but it’s also because the seemingly flipped power dynamic turns him on, plain and simple.

‘Course, that’s a while ‘nother story if V starts fucking his mouth, but the other man seems to have a hold of his self-restraint for now. It gives him time to enjoy the sensation of V’s cock stiffening against his tongue, warm and wet, wet and warm, everything intermingling in a growing tide of shared feeling and emotion thanks to their sync.

Eventually, Johnny drops his hand to make room for taking V in fully, the heat of his mouth stimulating from tip to base, his tongue working the nomad’s length to suck him off in earnest. He hopes that V has good enough manners, too, to tell him when he’s on the verge of coming — because in classic Silverhand fashion, he doesn’t intend to let him finish just yet.]

[ It's a real sight even at the conclusion of dusk and aided by the unreliable flicker of the firelight. Every so often the harsh lines of Johnny's face are lit up amber, an on-off glow that gives V snippets of a top-down view. Pink of lips wrapped around his cock, and the nudge of Johnny's nose into dark curls.

If that wasn't enough, V's contending with the sync that adds a whole new element, and maybe it feels like they're cheating a system, feeling whole like this inside while being able to touch each other like this at the same time. V's good to keep cheating whatever system they have to. He can feel his pleasure and Johnny's, different shades but shared, and as that telltale sensation of being willingly dragged towards his climax really starts to ramp up, his fingers tighten in Johnny's hair. ]

'm close.

[ First words in a little while and his voice feels as raw as it sounds, hips straining under the weight of his manners until he can't help but move, to press them forward the next time Johnny's mouth is sliding down his cock. ]

[Johnny lets him have that one time — lets him push just far enough to count as fucking his throat, let V get just a little past that edge of “close”, all to tease pushing him over it.

Thing is, when his mouth slides off of his length again—what a fucking sight it is, swollen and glistening with Johnny’s saliva—he just looks up at V with pink-tinged lips and says—]

Ain’t done with you yet.

[It was never his intention to finish him off here. Johnny was more than happy to humor him, get him really going, but he’s selfish, too. His voice’s rougher, low with want — it hasn’t been that long and he’s already aching between his legs like some dumb, inexperienced teen. It takes a reserve of willpower to not undo his fly and stroke himself off right now, looking up at V, taking in his expression.

He rises, instead, ungraciously leaving V literally standing there with his dick hanging out of his pants, and fixes his gaze on him.]

Gonna finish us both off inside. My room.

[ That steep incline towards letting the fuck go and relinquishing all sense of control is so close to hitting its peak that when Johnny pulls back, V's first semi-thought is that he doesn't want a mouthful of come. Except when Johnny doesn't do anything at all, he's got a merc looking down at him half undone and utterly perplexed. What the fuck's goin-- ]

Wh-

[ And then Johnny's on his feet, definitely not paying a lick - not literally or metaphorically - of attention to his dick and it's not hard to see it's thrown him off. The clarification arrives but V's having to work hard to get some semblance of thought processes going again because he can feel the orgasm that was so close start to ebb away.

And yeah, his dick's still hanging out, hard and heavy, and he's got a pretty good idea of what'd happen if he tried to tuck it away now. ]

You're a bad fuckin' man, Silverhand.

[ That's not even the half of it, and while V's willing to just suspend the full weight of his judgement for the next minute or so, he's half-scowling at Johnny too.

No time like the present, or something, and he's not gonna walk around with his dick hanging out his pants. The speed his clothes come off should be impressive, or at the very least worthy of an approving eyebrow. First his boots and socks, then pants and boxers, and finally his shirt which is pulled over his head so haphazardly (he's not rushing, shut up Johnny) and flung on the ground that it's a small miracle it doesn't end up in the fire.

He's not got any desire to be led inside so, in all his naked glory, he heads for the backdoor. And if that just happens to be a sight for sore eyes for Johnny, whatever. ]

[V’s scowl slides right off of him, Johnny only returning it with a crooked grin. But when the other man starts throwing his clothes off at the speed of light, like he’s got a point to prove, he hardly knows what to think — and surprise is novel, when it comes a man he shared a body and brain with.]

The fuck you doin’?

[Articles of clothing land precariously close to the fire. V’s determination’s left him naked and heading towards the door, presenting the rockerboy with a great view of his ass before he disappears into the townhouse.

Johnny follows him in, grinning. His room’s on the second floor, so V gets some commentary from him several steps down at some point, an actual laugh interrupting the cadence of his words.]

You gonna prance around in your birthday suit, you might as well slow down so I can appreciate the jiggle in the front and the back!

[At least Johnny’s room is just down the short hall and to the left after he’s up the stairs.]

[ Leading the charge and Johnny supplying his own commentary from behind, there's a moment of contemplated rebellion that flits in and back out of V's mind. He narrowly avoids snorting at the suggestion but definitely isn't going to slow down. ]

Maybe try keepin' up, if ya can.

[ A smartass response tossed over his shoulder once he's only a handful of steps from the top. ]

Think I liked it better when my dick was in ya mouth.

[ Because, y'know, keeps the man's mouth otherwise busy. At this point he has no idea if anybody else is home or not, but either way he's not being all too quiet about the shots he's firing. Nor is he quiet about opening Johnny's door and, in the short journey from backyard to bedroom, his dick's already softer as though staging its own protest. ]

[Without missing a beat—]

Yeah, I’m sure you did! Your face looked like you liked it, too.

[Johnny’s room is the very definition of organized chaos. It’s usually stacked with piles of clothes, a corner to cram all his music crap into, wayward shot glasses he’s forgotten about, an unmade bed, and the smell of cigarettes. Entering after V, he kicks the door closed with his boot.]

What’s the matter, you pissed I didn’t let you blow your load in my mouth?

[The ridiculousness of it all has eased the pressure in his pants, too, but he’s not worried. Johnny toes off his boots, removes his socks, and pulls his shirt over his head, mussing his hair. They all get discarded in a clothes-pile.]

Don’t worry. Plan on makin’ it up to you. Get on the bed, V.

[ The room's a mess and V genuinely gets why Robert had been less than thrilled about the idea of spending prolonged periods of time in here. Not that he's here to take stock of the room, but he does turn around as Johnny kicks the door shut, optics tracking the man shedding his clothes with a little less speed than he'd pulled off.

Desire intermingles with latent frustration, but he can hardly call himself pissed. He's not going to tell Johnny his curiosity's piqued, even if his dick isn't. No doubt the sync will communicate all that soon enough anyway. ]

Somehow... don't think you'd handle it well. Gonna look forward to findin' that out.

[ Y'know, the entire edging thing and Johnny's track record with impatience. But he's extending the man the benefit of the doubt and it's just a couple steps towards the bed. Maybe some people would sit on the edge of the bed. Not V. He aims right for the center, leans his back up against the headboard and drags a foot up until his leg's bent in the perfect right angle.

What? He's just gonna make himself at home. And watch Johnny's progress as he tries to ignore the interest returning between his legs just from the view. ]

Make yourself comfortable, why don’t you.

[Not that Johnny actually cares — it’s just second nature of his to give V a hard time. He steps forward, closer to the bed, working at his belt. It isn’t long before that, too, is gone, discarded with the rest of its clothing brethren, along with his pants and boxers.

It leaves him completely exposed, as naked as V with the exception of his silver dog tags still hanging around his neck. Like this, the tattoos on his body are stark against his skin; so are the old scars gone white-ish and pale, some more ancient than others, especially those that that seem to originate from where the chrome of his arm meets flesh. Old war wounds, a spiderwebbing reminder.

Notably, his own cock is still showing interest, semi-hard. Johnny doesn’t waste time moving to closer to V so he’s more than likely to notice if he hasn’t already, sinking his knees into the mattress and closing the space between them, a hand bracing himself into the headboard so he can dip down and catch the man’s lips in a messy kiss. His lips are curled vaguely the whole while, and when he pulls away, the silver of his dog tags clink together.]

This mean you’re gonna run downstairs naked, too, to get your clothes when we’re done here? I’d like to see that.

[His organic hand wanders to V’s leg, sliding towards his inner thigh without any sense of subtlety.]

[ With Johnny's jab taken exactly how little he meant it, V's expression is a picture of unrepentant amusement. That part's familiar. What's not is seeing Johnny bare, no clothes swathed around his frame, and even as Johnny's climbing onto the bed and making a beeline for him, V's drinking in the sight like a man in the desert looking at an oasis. Problem is with V, he's bad at playing it cool, mostly doesn't see the point. If he likes something, he's gonna show he does, even if that runs the risk of inflating the man's already sizeable ego.

By the time Johnny's leaning in to claim his mouth, V's cock is renewed with interest, and though the kiss is messy in a way that invites him to pour himself into, he's got a narrow margin to still think in. He doesn't even bother replying to Johnny's question, a hand reaching between the rockerboy's legs, wrist angled so when his fingers finally slide around his cock, his strokes are long and his thumb drags over the tip unapologetically.

'course he was gonna touch the man's cock the moment he gets presented it. Part of him's tempted to follow his own ideas about how this could go. To drag Johnny up until he's straddling V's shoulders, guiding that half-hard cock into his mouth so he can get his own curiosity settled about what Johnny tastes like. But seems like Johnny's already got his own plan, and V's flexible enough to just see where that goes. ]

Gonna keep askin' questions or follow through? 'cause I got a preference.

[ Never a moment that V won't inject maximum cheek, but never more so than around Johnny. ]

[Johnny’s ego would’ve been inflated no matter what; V’s interest in him—and how his dick is starting to stand at attention a second time—is proof of that. There’s no getting around the satisfaction in knowing he’s the one making him feel that way. That right now, despite their back and forth, V definitely wants to fuck him.

Thing is, it’s a two-way street. If he cared more, it’d be embarrassing how quickly his own body reacts to the nomad’s touch, as though he’d been starved of it for so long without even knowing. V’s fingers around his length, stroking him slowly, draws out a low noise from his chest. Neglected from the start, it doesn’t take long for him to harden fully under the tease of the man’s touch, and he allows himself the privilege of rolling his hips straight into it, just because he can — because Johnny’s always been impatient and self-indulgent to a fault.]

Fuck, V.

[He breathes it just above his shoulder, angling his head down with closed eyes. Johnny’s hair tickles V’s skin. The gem embedded in his chest like shrapnel glows bright.]

This fuckin’ Synchrony… keep that up and I’m done well before either of us wanna be. [His hand trails back up to curl around V’s wrist to halt him.] Turn over, on your knees.

[ The noise would've been all V needed to grab for Johnny's hips and scoot him up the bed, right to his waiting, wet mouth, but the man's got other ideas. At this point V just wants to come, the edging from earlier still sitting heavy in his veins. It's that ache for something he's been denied that fuels his movement, not rushed but enough to show he's into the idea. But before he's anywhere close to turning over, he fists a hand into the back of Johnny's dark hair, steals a searing kiss from him. Takes it because he wants it.

Whether Johnny comes to realize it or not, it's been a little while since anybody's fucked V like this, and though he trusts the rockerboy, there's a part of him that's prepared for it to hurt if Johnny's impatience rules.

Pushing the man back just enough to give him space to move, he's at least limber enough to turnabout with minimum effort. Both hands grip onto the headboard, legs sliding outside Johnny's until it looks like he's kneeling at an altar. A gaze cast over his shoulder at the older man, a lopsided grin because this is... not exactly how he imagined his night was gonna turn out. ]

Thought about doin' this before?

[The kiss earns another bright glow from his gem, as if it could get any brighter, feeling like it’s ebbing with each heartbeat, with each flame stoked a little hotter in his chest. He likes the taste of V, he thinks — it’s a thought that lingers well after he breaks the kiss and watches the other man turn around and grip the headboard. Ready, willing. Now there’s a sight.

Still cheeky, though, with a question like that. At this point, what’s the shame in being honest?]

Once or twice. Prefer not to spend all day distracted by what I’d do to your ass.

[Johnny scoots his knees back a little, moves both hands to the cheeks of V’s ass to give them a squeeze.]

Dreamt about it once… That was a mess to wake up to in the mornin’.

[He smirks, uncaring, leaning himself a little forward. The curvatures of V’s muscles from this angle, much less his backside, has got him aching between his legs again, but he can ignore that for now with what he’s got in mind.]

What about you? Ever dreamt that I’d eat you out like this?

[Which is only the real preamble that he gives, before spreading the merc a little more open with his hands, then nestling his face into those curves. His tongue flattens and laves against V’s hole, humming satisfaction.]

[ 'Once or twice' could mean anything, and V has no idea if Johnny's understating or if he's the only gonk in the room that thought about it a lot more. Not that it matters; they're where they are now and if he tenses his ass muscles just a little when Johnny gets his hands on his ass cheeks, maybe that's for his benefit too.

There's a flash of pride at least that Johnny's dealt with the morning after one of those dreams featuring him. Wet dreams at eighty-eight years old? Impressive, really. But there's a flair of amusement in their sync at least on V's part.

Not that it's given much room to exist at all because the moment V's brain catches up with the fact that this isn't just a question, but a fucking practical demonstration, arousal lances through everything else. There's no restraint to his groan, wrapped around a breath out and only muffled when he turns his face to press into his arm.

Answer's no, but he can't remotely think about putting even that short, two-letter word together right now. One of his hands pries free from the headboard to flatten up against the wall and push himself back onto Johnny's tongue. Cock throbbing again and desperate for attention, it takes a moment before his other hand releases the firm grip he'd had of the headboard to drift between his own legs. ]

[Johnny has only has a dim awareness about what might be going on beyond the territory of his face buried in V’s backside. Only that the noise he’s making is hastening him further, never mind the way he’s pushing himself more firmly against him, which Johnny uses to tease around his entrance with more fervor than before, alternating between licking and encouraging his hole to open slightly against the soft pressure of his seeking tongue.

His own erection is bobbing between his legs, pearled with precome, but Johnny’s hands don’t wander; instead, he eventually pushes himself up from V’s ass to graze his teeth against his right cheek, which gives him clearance to speak. His voice’s gone gravelly.]

Stuck between the mattress and the headboard — bottle of lube.

[How’d it end up there? Who knows, given the state of this room. But who fucking cares, because Johnny’s getting eager, moving a finger from his organic hand to press against V’s entrance — just enough to make his intentions clear.]

Toss it here.

[ Fingers barely making it around his dick to stroke himself, V's distantly aware that what he's being asked to do is worth it. It's just difficult to want to let go of the rock hard, weeping cock that's aching with unspent arousal. He can't reach with the hand that's holding his weight firm against Johnny's mouth without falling into the headboard.

The sigh of frustration is audible as he drops his hand away and slides it along the crease where the mattress joins the headboard. A sigh that turns into sharp breath in the moment Johnny's finger's teasing something firmer than his tongue. Fingertips grasp what he's searching for, pluck it from where it's wedged to pass it back with a backwards glance.

If his optics changed based on arousal, they'd be blown wide, but maybe the mostly-undone, messy look of wanting gets the message across. His skin's warm, pulse elevated and the sapphire embedded at the top of his spine looks more like sunlight through the bluest ocean than a hard gemstone. Eventually he pulls himself together enough to string together more than appreciative noises. ]

Been a while.

[ It's all he says about how recently - or not - he's had somebody prepare him like this. ]

[Johnny’s happy to be the first in a while. It bloats his ego further, but even that’s all relative in the twisting knot of lust and heat shared between both men.

Johnny’s hasty about slicking his fingers with lube, the bottle still uncapped when he sets it aside in the mesh of sheets. He’s impatient to return his touch to V, and meets his entrance again with a newly well-slicked finger, pressing in, but not yet penetrating.]

You like it?

[Like this, he can sit up on his knees properly. He can really squeeze the curve of his ass, spread him apart some. He can brush his hard, leaking cock against the back of V’s thigh.]

Wanna hear just how much.

[Johnny buries his finger into V’s ass, up to the first knuckle. Fuck. He’s warm and tight.]

Make some noise for me, Vincent.

[And then up to the last knuckle, slicking in against V’s muscles, encouraging, prying.]

[ V's still looking over his shoulder, half-watching Johnny coat his fingers in his peripheral vision. He doesn't have to see properly for it to have an effect, even less so when he feels one of those slick digits press up against him, the hot, hard weight of Johnny's cock nudging the back of his thigh. His sometimes fucked brain doesn't struggle to make that connection.

It doesn't fail to understand Johnny using his name either. His actual name. But maybe something from his fantasies is playing out because of it. Later he'll realize he can't in all good conscience call Johnny 'Robert' anymore, not even as a joke. He knows too much now.

For now he's otherwise distracted, and as Johnny's finger slides inside him as far as it's going to, V's brows tighten together, jaw slack, and his forehead drops against the headboard. If the other man wants to hear how much he's enjoying it, he'd have got that without asking. The extra layer of sensation through their sync dials everything up well past a hundred, and this time V's groan is louder, more hoarse. He wants to get off so bad, wants Johnny to get him off, but he doesn't reach for his cock again. ]

[His patience is barely holding on by a thread. Each of V’s groans, the sensations of him clenching around his finger, is like a knife slowly slicing into his resolve. He barely gets a chance to slide a second finger in to loosen him up when the way V brushes against his dick, purely accidental, nearly sends him over the edge. Johnny bites his lip, sucking in air. Jesus Christ. Jesus—]

Christ, look at you, can barely stand it—

[And that’s the truth. He can’t, his resolve tossed away like refuse, now replaced by everything held back — impatience. Want. Frustration that he can’t have V clenched around his swollen cock right now.

Johnny‘s fingers unceremoniously slide out of V, and he leans forward to grab the man by his shoulders and flip him over on his back; the use of his chrome arm makes that easy. This way, he can see his face — and V can see Johnny’s, eyes darkened and pupils wide, skin tinging flushed, focused on the other man like he’s the only thing that matters right now. Wild, almost.

The one thing stopping the rockerboy from sliding his cock straight into him is the fact that he has to take the time to hike V’s leg up, high enough to rest propped up on a shoulder, and then a few seconds more to slick his own erection with lube before continuing.]

Touch yourself. [More issued command than request.] Wanna see your face while you’re getting yourself off when I’m fucking you.

[ V's not a small man to flip over, but he's pliant enough to lend his weight in the right direction. Flat on his back he gets full view of Johnny; the way his fingers are moving to coat his cock, the way his hair falls forward in places, the glint of his dog tags and the intensity in his gaze as it's turned on him. And what he's got for Johnny in return is a similar look, less focused but like nothing else exists outside their two bodies.

His cock's lying heavy against his stomach, darker red, swollen head already leaking, and he's close to desperation. He knows what's coming, aches for it more than he's got words for, but he doesn't need them. Their synchrony's familiar, like things were before Mikoshi. No holds barred. They might not share thoughts anymore, but feelings are that much more powerful to try and grapple with.

And V's just about desperate enough to do as he's been asked, chrome hand dropped to the sheets for now to anchor himself and 'ganic hand fisting around his cock. It's not so much a flutter of pleasure as an avalanche, the deeply-held knowledge that he's not going to last beyond a few good strokes the backdrop to the almost immediate groan, mostly shaped into the word 'fuck'. ]

Shit, Johnny. So close.

[V looks on the verge of undone, but Johnny won’t be satisfied until he’s been pushed over it, completely and utterly useless with pleasure, taking him with him. His cock’s weeping as badly as his — he’s just as close as Johnny, who’s gotten maybe only a quarter of the same stimulation, which says something for the effect he has on the older man. Just how much he’s been wanting this, maybe, and for how long.

He doesn’t say anything else; there’s nothing else to say. Johnny isn’t gentle about the way he guides his cock straight towards V’s slicked entrance, and grinds his hips forward to push into him, buried to the hilt.

(His gem shines like fire. Their connection is overwhelming, but familiar. Feels like being whole again, feels like the pieces of his soul gone missing are finding each other, entwining in emotion and physical sensation. The sex is just an amplifier, a feedback loop that makes it all louder, more intense, more raw, shines a sun on what he hasn’t felt since before Mikoshi: complete.)

Conscious thought has left him at this point. Right now, Johnny works only on primal intuition and instinct, pausing just long enough to get V’s other leg propped up on his opposite shoulder, grabbing his thighs to hoist him up at that perfect angle. He thrusts into him hard, pistons into as deep as he can go, chasing after his release, eyes cast down to V to watch his own. Again and again, an ardent, inelegant tempo.]

—fuck, V… Fuck…

Edited 2021-07-16 18:09 (UTC)

[ With Johnny finally sliding inside of him, V's fighting the instinct to pump his cock just the right way to bring him crashing over the edge. He wants to - fuck, he's desperate to - but the feeling of being filled up like this is so preem he also doesn't want it to stop. Any discomfort that might've flared is just as soon extinguished, and all he can do for a couple of long seconds is twist his fingers tighter into the bedsheets as the other man slams into him.

The sync finally hits its stride like it hasn't before, and even through the haze of arousal, of being fucked hard and fast, he can feel the clarity. Like being able to see to the bottom of the ocean like there's no darkness to swallow up the view. He can feel it, tattered and torn parts of both of them mended in this connection. He feels like he can breathe again.

His optics don't leave Johnny's face, even as he strokes himself in earnest, the culmination of he has no idea how long set to boil over and he's ready for it. He's so fucking ready.

It still somehow catches him by surprise, Johnny's cock angled just right to hit the sweet spot. There's no hoarse groan this time; V actually yells something incoherent, and he has no idea if he's cursing or shouting Johnny's name. Strings of come shoot onto his stomach, ass clenching tight around Johnny's cock still buried deep and the synchrony reaches some new peak he feels like he can barely keep contained. ]

[If the sync wasn’t enough to do it, the look on V’s face would’ve been. The sound of his voice tumbling from his mouth. His ass clenching hard around his cock, every muscle tensing with explosive orgasm. Ropes of his come spilling across his middle. It’s too much to fight against, and he doesn’t want to, anyway.

A few quick, errant thrusts more is all it takes before his whole frame stiffens, holding onto V tightly, like he’s the only thing keeping him anchored to this planet. His cock twitches, coming inside of him, and he’s not aware of whatever guttural noise he pairs with it. Only that the sync and the orgasm both are sending him reeling, unlike anything he’s felt before — like becoming undone and put together again the right way. Enough to jar a consciousness into a haze; enough for the rest to feel clear and unhindered, this one moment emancipated from all else.

It takes a minute, then, to calm his breathing, to slowly break the surface of reality again. He grip slackens, but he can’t be bothered to even move V off of him, or pull out. His head is lowered, as if ready to say a silent prayer, except this particular prayer is breathless and graceless, fighting off a shiver trying to run down his spine:]

Holy shit.

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