“Yes. I see. The lines—a little further, maybe.” Oxney’s voice was rough and his grip had tightened almost painfully. “I get lost when they’re close. God damn it, Doomsday, are you proposing to change your hand for me?” Luke knew he should find a secretarial way to reply, some mass of polite words. What he said was, “Yes.” There was another long pause, and Oxney was so near, his body’s warmth burning across the space between them. His fingers were digging into Luke’s shoulder, and Luke could reach up and put his own hand over them. Just a few inches of space to cross.
THE LONGING!!!!!!!!!!!
