Legrand Wolf’s fingers press a cold stethoscope to Logan Cross’s throat while the measuring tape loops around his neck, marking the stretch of skin between his collarbone and Adam’s apple. Wolf’s lean, clean-shaven jaw hovers close as he traces the pulse beneath the metal, his own breath steady against the taut muscle, while Cross’s shoulders stay rigid under the slow drag of the tape. The chest cavity opens next, Wolf’s palm slides over the ribs, counting each ridge as the stethoscope glides down, then back up the spine, where the leather strap bites into the flesh. Their mouths meet only when the exam pauses, lips parting just enough to let the air between them taste like sweat and metal.
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