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Chris Damned grips Kian Kane’s hips, his tattooed forearms flexing as he guides him down onto the patterned cushions, the NAO shirt clinging to his own chest. Kian’s olive skin glistens under the light as Damned’s fingers slide deep, his mouth sealing over Kane’s throat in a rough, openmouthed kiss. The couch creaks beneath them, cushions shifting as Damned’s grip tightens, pulling Kane’s body flush against his own.