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It's been raining on and off all day and, finally, Granby gives up on trying to be productive. He abandons his sketchbook and sprawls on his bed instead, wounded arm pillowed under his head, hand resting on his belly. He dozes, idly and, somewhat inevitably, he thinks about Will. It's a pleasant enough way to spend an afternoon, even if he does feel worn tight in every muscle, like something waiting to explore.
The rain is almost enough to make him homesick.
The rain is almost enough to make him homesick.
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"For the last time," he says. "It is you that I want."
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"God, Will."
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"Please tell me I can take you to bed," he says, hoping, hoping. "Mine or yours. I don't care which."
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But those were thoughts for other times when he was not so... preoccupied.
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"I won't break, Laurence," he says, yanking down first trousers and then underwear, laying Laurence bare in front of him. For a moment, he just stares; he's had Laurence's cock in his hand, yes, but seeing him stripped? It's different. He sways in on his knees and presses a kiss right against the flat on Laurence's belly.
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