“Hey, Chris,” AJ says warmly and Chris swallows hard. AJ’s arms are bare, the way he likes them and the ink from his tattoos is stark against his skin. Chris wishes for one fervent moment that there is something new there, some reason for him to move in close to AJ and touch him, the way that Chris has managed to do several times over the years as AJ adds artwork to his body
( ... )
Oh! I'm just going through fic_requests looking for inspiration, and here is this rather lovely melancholy story that I haven't noticed before. I like it a lot - indeed, I'd love to see a bit more, any chance of that?
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