Ouch. This one hurt a little, but that's good. I really liked the quiet, resigned tone of the whole piece, especially this:
She blinks again, and her clothes are splattered like evidence on the floor. She winces and thinks of wiping her prints.
He slides against her, all shaky breaths and bravado. She thought he might be self-conscious, but then again, he might be. No one's self-conscious in the dark.
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She blinks again, and her clothes are splattered like evidence on the floor. She winces and thinks of wiping her prints.
He slides against her, all shaky breaths and bravado. She thought he might be self-conscious, but then again, he might be. No one's self-conscious in the dark.
Hot and sad, a lovely combination.
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