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There was … more that Aesop wanted. Things that once rarely effected him, suddenly caused him wavering bouts of heat in the midday; Victor spinning him in the kitchen, the ease of which he hefted boxes from the attic, the display of his arms when he rolled his sleeves up. All of it was ordinary, nothing worth a fuss over.
Still, when Victor so easily pushed him from one edge of the bed to the other, he wished it was in any manner but domestic fluff. Should he only ask, he knows he shall receive. How embarrassing to have to ask.