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Rodin’s Gallery

The kiss was warm, its heat borrowed from the coffee they’d both been consuming, and Wesley was sure he’d never find the office blend to be an indifferent brew again. It would always taste of discovery and power and sensuality and Spike. Spike, whose intentions he wasn’t sure of, even as arms wrapped around him and the kiss grew stronger and more definite and made promises Wesley wasn’t certain Spike knew he was making. He wanted to stop thinking, but it wasn’t his nature. So he focused on the taste of the coffee on Spike’s tongue and let the kiss keep on going.

The End
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