They were not making love. What they were doing could barely even be called sex, not with the way Alfred was gripping Arthur’s throat just tight enough to make it hard for him to speak, the way the fingers of Arthur’s sole hand were white-knuckled where they clenched in the rough sheets, the way they both grunted as if in pain instead of pleasure.
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mustache
The mental image is so amazing I don't even.. asdfghjkl
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