fingering himself under the head for the brief, gray-out distraction that pulls a soft moan from him, and one from John who is –
who is, oh god, his hands – his hands, the ones that fly and kill and a thousand other ordinary or amazing things – gripping his ass, opening himself, unashamed, thumbs pressing into the divots underneath his hips to anchor his grip.
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who is, oh god, his hands – his hands, the ones that fly and kill and a thousand other ordinary or amazing things – gripping his ass, opening himself, unashamed, thumbs pressing into the divots underneath his hips to anchor his grip.
DEAD FROM HOT
kthxbai
:-) :-) :-)