Luke sat on the bed, bare-chested himself, staring. “You’re magnificent.” He rose to his bare feet, with a hand out, face almost awed. “That’s exactly what I thought you’d look like.” His fingers skimmed Rufus’s chest, dragging through the tangle of hair, sliding over a hard nipple. Rufus reached for his head, getting his hands into the gold hair—thick, smooth, wonderfully grippable—feeling Luke’s hands roam over his sides, his belly, his thighs. Both touching their fill, because they had been waiting far too long. Luke’s fingers paused on Rufus’s right thigh, where gnarled scar tissue told
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