Laid out on his bed like that, Laurie is the image of suave perfection, smelling of oak and thyme and summer. Evander thinks for a moment of what it would be to unbutton that shirt and fit both his hands around Laurie's bare ribs, to squeeze and squeeze until he felt the give of bone, the collapse of lungs, Laurie's soft mouth shaped into a whimper. The would wipe the insufferable smirk off his face.
— Oct 16, 2025 07:21PM
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