“Why are you fighting the rhythm?” “Is it not a battle?” “No!” Tegan smiled and dropped two soft fingers over his eyes, closing them, making themself the lead. Taron followed and moved, as in rehearsals. He found their waist, so familiar after the show, but this was not a stage, and they were not trading lines. His hands drifted lower to their hips, enjoying the way they moved so fluidly, sailing on the surface of a liquid beat. For the first time in a very long time, he let himself imagine Tegan’s fingers on his lips, his hand finding the edge of their pants and all that waited beneath.
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