McKay knew exactly what he was doing. He wasn't just hammering in there. He was good, moving smooth and slow with a little pause at the deepest point, god, not just like somebody who'd done this before, but like somebody who'd done this before to John. And McKay's neck was bent forward, his whole body curled tenderly, protectively around John, and he was murmuring something too low to hear in a gritty, breathless voice, something soft and amazed and --
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Hah!
And the rest of it? Guh!
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Humina. *breathes* Whoa.
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