(her pleas are music. fingers, deft and strong enough to break bone, find purchase upon her throat. oda moves unthinking, his nostrils flared as he breathes heavily and gaze unwavering. he uses just enough pressure with his thumb to one side, the rest on the other. sombra feels---sounds! looks!---so perfect he questions why he ever balked at her advances. the pace is unforgiving and he finds himself thankful that the headboard is mounted to the wall.)
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