"He stretched his arms over his head, wincing, and Tristan was reminded that no matter what state he found himself in--wounded, sleep-deprived, in danger of imminent death--he would never not be transfixed by the sight of Leo Merritt's shirt riding up to reveal the trail of hair disappearing into his waistband.
God help me, he thought, then, inconsolably: Not even God can help me."
OKAYYYYYYYY
— Sep 10, 2025 07:16PM
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