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Not the same bed

In which Chris' inner voices argue over his turn.

Follows on from Not a big lie.

Am indebted to Georgina and Laura for patient beta in face of adversity.

Cal <-- adversity. all smile-y and grateful, now.

JC had been gone when Lance woke up, Lance had said.

Chris thought Lance had sounded a little too injured about that, but he wasn't gonna say anything.

"Seems," he contented himself with saying to Joey, as they emerged from JC's empty room and squinted down the corridor, "we're spending a hella lot of time tracking down Jayce these days."

"We better split up," Joey said. "Lance can see to the bodyguards. I'll go... check the elevators." He had the grace to look embarrassed as he threw Chris a prompting smile.

"Guess that leaves Justin to me," Chris said brightly. "C's notorious for hanging out in elevators, after all."

He strung out the pause until Joey lifted one shoulder sheepishly. "Better you than--"

"Yeah," Chris said, taking pity on him. "I get it."

"Thanks," Joey said.

"No problem. And hell," Chris added, the brightness returning, worryingly genuine this time, "when I've rescued him from Justin, isn't it my turn?"


"He's rooming with me," Justin said curtly, when Chris attacked his door with his knuckles. "Go away."

"He get a choice in this?" Chris asked, shaking his hand. His knuckles stung. Having Justin glare at him like this, that stung too, in a less transitory way.

"Did he choose to fuck Lance, or did some biological imperative do that? Stop it. He's asleep."

Chris stopped trying to peer past Justin's oversized shoulder. Biological imperative? Looked like JC'd woken up again, just long enough to dish out a little bs. And then... oh. "So," Chris said, making an effort to sound enthusiastic, "you guys are back together?"

I didn't get a turn.

As Justin scowled, Chris tried to squish the petulant voice of his inner child.

His inner, perpetually-horny child. Uh. Jesus, no, that sounded off. Not what he meant. Perpetually-eager child? No! Even worse, Christ. He should just shut up. He should... listen to Justin.

"--solutely not," Justin was saying, scowl buttering through his voice as well. "He's not himself."

Helllllo, JC, perked up Chris' inner... slut, take it or leave it. Take it, preferably. Heh. Uh. Justin was looking at him. But they weren't fucking again, which was of the propitious. Justin was still looking at him. Oops. "What about, um," Chris said quickly, trying to get a grip, "sticking with him, in, in thing." His voice chose a track and trundled off along it. "Y'know, all that - in sickness and in health, for richer, for--"

Justin's mouth fell open. "We were together; we weren't married," he spluttered, and Chris watched odd lights go through his eyes.

"Well, it's not legal," he said, sensibly. Aha, thought the inner sage, which was giving the slut a run for its money. Bet he didn't think we could do sensible.

"No," Justin said. "It's not. And even if it was," he continued, "then. Anyway, um. What are you doing here?"

"Even if it was?" Chris said, eyeing him. Wow. Justin was even more sprung on the guy than he'd credited. Tone change, massive.

"Why are you here?" Justin repeated, stony, and the light in his eyes was threatening now.

Chris raised his hands, palms out. "Okay, man. Forget I asked."

"Why are you--"

"I was checking on JC, wasn't I," Chris squeaked, and he was gonna go now, he decided, because JC had been found and Justin was pissed and there was gonna be no sexcercise to the Kirkpatrick bod tonight and check check check this seemed to be his life. "Um, and he's here. Yay. I'll go."

He heard a kittenish yawn in the background, and swallowed hard.

"Yeah, I think maybe you should," Justin said, and Chris nodded quickly, yes, yes, should go, and even his inner voices seemed to agree this time. He carried on nodding as he stepped back from the door, turned away like Justin had told him not to make any sudden moves.

"Bye," he said. His voice sounded strange. The edges of his brain felt warm. Like, like there was localised melting, a block of sun-baked butter in his head, going oily and slick and - yeah - desperately warm. He started to walk away, blinking hard, and his mouth filled with a wet tang like he'd just smelt something incredibly appetising.

Fuck.

"Close the door," he muttered, and his jaw was beginning to ache. The... the air was cockteasing him. He had to - go closer go closer goclosercloser - get away.

Like a significant tiny object was dropping in a movie onto a crisply tiled floor, time seemed to slow down. Chris heard the wet crackle of Justin's mouth opening, the dry swoosh of air being sucked inside; he felt his ankle jar in slow-motion as his foot came down crooked, heard the sharp high wisp of himself jerking a gasp. He was gonna keep putting one foot in front of the other no matter what, he promised himself, the words flinging urgent and insubstantial through his mind.

"Chris," Justin called, voice a smooth liquid boom in the movie-madness of Chris' head, complete with suitable echo. The significant tiny object was spinning against its tiles with a scrape like a death rattle.

Between Chris hauling one heel off the floor and settling the other foot flat, time stopped.

Chris' foot wavered in mid air.

He found himself swivelling, bone-twistingly slow, back round to face Justin.

Time started to grind forwards again.

"What," Chris asked, gaze sliding up from the floor to Justin's face in staggered snapshots, like before a .gif had properly loaded because Lance's connection was sometimes piteously slow.

"Tell Lance," Justin was saying, and it sounded far off, worryingly far, "he can stop calling, 'cause I'm not gonna pick up. Tell him that, okay?"

Chris swallowed, the gulp of his throat loud in his head. "Ummm," he said.

Behind Justin, rumpled, glowing, stood JC.


"Come back to bed," JC said, voice rolling against Chris like wax tumbling down a blazing candle. JC's eyes slow-seeked him, as JC's hand slid against Justin's shoulder from behind. "We're in bed," he told Chris.

Justin twisted away from JC's hands, tumbling him against the door. Chris' breath caught despite himself; violence, violence against JC, ah.

"Not the same bed," Justin said.

JC swayed forwards the moment Justin's hands seemed to realise who they were gripping and exactly why they should let go now. Chris swallowed again under the barrage of determined heat eddying through the clear, new, volatile area of his mind. He could feel JC wanting him, wanting - not him, specifically.

Wanting Justin.

"It's not gonna be the same bed, not while you're like this," Justin was saying, shaking his head, and JC flicked him a daredevil smile in return.

"Against the wall, then," he said, and started humming, eyes bright and vicious, body twisting against Justin in fashionable little jerks. "Let let me--"

"Against nothing," Justin said, audible snowstorm in his voice, stepping back. "It's not gonna--"

JC held up one finger for silence, and Chris felt another wave of the determination undercut with desire. Justin went quiet, then hissed when JC nodded pleasantly and swivelled round and kissed Chris on the mouth in lieu of a reply.

Justin hissed, Chris thought numbly, but he couldn't stop his hands scissoring against JC's hips, or catch his mouth before it yeilded, or prevent the awareness sweeping through his body of how good JC's ass felt in his hands.

"Knew you wanted this," JC breathed, licking light and frantic into Chris' mouth, making the butter of Chris' brain melt into a choppy pool of gold, making Chris' cock rear painfully against JC's thigh. Knew he wanted it? Yes. That about covered it, give or take monumental understatement on every front.

"Get off," Justin was yelping, without, Chris thought uncharitably, due respect for the phrase's euphemistic properties. Seemed Justin actually only wanted him to get off, to let go, to unhand JC-- or the other way round, maybe, wanted JC to unhand Chris. He wasn't sure. Justin should really make himself more clear. And not use euphemistic phrases! Not in situations where Chris could pretty easily ride any euphemism to completion. And maybe Chris was dissecting Justin's words in place of actually listening to them, but Justin should've thought about that before being so semantically lax.

"C'mon, let's just," JC murmured, riding a slow arch all the way up Chris' body, sucking at the curve of Chris' lower lip like he'd never tasted sweeter skin, "go inside, c'mon, this way."

"You're not," Justin interrupted, ice-ominous, "going to fuck him in my room."

"C'mon," JC said blithely, and it was that, was the way he absolutely ignored Justin in favour of tugging Chris closer against him and taking a step back so they were sliding against the hard rebuke of the doorframe, was that that pierced Chris' brain enough to suggest this might be getting out of hand.

Justin still had to actively wrench them apart before his body would acknowledge it, though.

"I'm sorry," Chris tried to say, but the words glanced off Justin's shoulder because Justin had cut in between them, grabbing JC by the wrist and jarring him angrily away from Chris' hands.

Justin shouted, "You're not gonna fuck him in my room," and Chris' mouth ached gently with the need to slide over JC's skin.

"Well someone's gotta fuck me there," JC growled back, "and since you're too pussy to make a move--"

Justin's hand swiped viciously, jerking back before it impacted with JC's face, and Justin visibly flinched, taking a step back, and all Chris could think about was that JC wanted to be fucked and the invitation was open to him. He had a feeling there were other issues he should be aware of right now. He wasn't.

"I don't want you with any of them," Justin said quietly, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "I can't stand it - I love you too much for--"

"If it's not you," JC said, shrugging, "it's gotta be one of them--"

"You fucking prick," Justin said incredulously, voice fierce, "how the hell can you say that, make like it means nothing, like you don't care either way--"

JC cocked his head, like Justin was talking about what TV channel they should watch tonight. "Take me to bed and you'll see what it means," he suggested, and it felt like something in Chris went septic, went totally appalled that JC was opting for Justin instead.

"You--" Justin shouted, then cut off. "This is horrible," he said eventually, like he was narrating his life to some cameraman secreted in the shadow cast by JC's hair.

"It wouldn't be horrible if you let me kiss you," JC said persuasively, tongue sliding seductive across his lower lip, "let me do stuff for you, anything, anything you want..."

Chris felt about ready to fall to his knees. Justin was just shaking his head, sober and blank-faced. "no."

"But biological imperative," JC yelled,and Chris was suddenly amazingly free of the hot daze across his brain. It was weird, he thought quickly, because JC wasn't effective as the, what was it, the smouldering queen of slut and yeild - not here. Not with Justin. With Chris, yes, effective. With Justin, he was more like electric wire stripped to the copper tang.

"You're half," Justin shot back, "only half a siren--"

"Do you have any idea what I'd be like if I was full?"

Chris' head swam again. JC's focus was back on him, he realised disjointedly, with the last fragment of coherence before his brain was just oh and need and the heat of his cock in his pants, and if JC didn't touch him soon he was gonna sink to his knees in an agony of sheer incompletion.

"Need," JC was growling, "needneedneedneed--" He shook Justin off, grabbed Chris' wrist. "needneedneedneed."

Justin grabbed Chris' other hand, twisted him briefly close. Chris reeled in the fragrance of it, the way the air here was so masculine sweet, Joop Pour Homme and acrid musk and rage. "Don't do it," Justin said, his voice incredibly small, and then JC jerked Chris free, and they were storming down the corridor.

The air was fresh in Chris' face without actually refreshing him. Just another sensation to be caught by, a whistle-soft one, this to rummage in his stomach next to the ache of wantwantwant and needhaveboynow.

And he could be anyone, he realised, the daze receding slightly. JC's concentration turning to geography now that Chris was a certainty, Chris thought vaguely, not sure if he was plucking explanation out of the air. Anyone, anyone, and then they were stumbling against a door, and JC whipped round and kissed him, and the simmering savage heat of it swept over Chris again. He was anyone to JC, but he was a damn lucky anyone, luckier than all the other anyones who were pretty fucking bereft right now.

He groaned against JC's mouth, heard it hollow from the crappy hotel acoustics, and JC made an answering noise that sounded like they were already fucking, and Chris thought making out in a corridor was something he really should've tried before now.

Although also bad, he thought blindly, as JC's fingers went cruel and desperate at the back of his head, as JC's mouth skidded from Chris' jaw to his tongue to his throat and back. If anyone--

"keycard," JC muttered, starting to move his hips in a lewd pulse against Chris' stomach, and Chris scrabbled in his pockets and couldn't find anything and then squeaked when JC took that as a cue to rap his knuckles against the door.

This better be one of our rooms, he thought, followed by, hold on, surely if there's anyone to answer then it's not the place to be, and then the door was opening and JC was pulling him back through it, and he heard Lance say, "whoa," before the door slammed behind him and it seemed the choice had been made.

"Leave us," JC said, pushing Chris back against the door and sliding his hands under his shirt, and enough of Chris' brain was still active to notice that Lance was gonna have a hard time leaving with them busy here, unless he didn't mind a window-jump of eight stories onto the glass-panelled ceiling of the hotel swimming pool.

"Whoa," Lance said again, voice sounding further away, and Chris thought that maybe he was gonna try the window-jump, and wouldn't they all be better off if instead he came and joined in?

That thought didn't just come from in here, his brain squeaked, as JC smiled against his mouth and rubbed silkily against him, pulling his shirt open one button after the next. That was JC again, had to be - because the alternative was unthinkable, that he'd be wanting Lance again, that he wouldn't shy away from the sort of sandwich where Lance made peanut butter and jelly and him and JC made bread.

"Leave us or," JC said, hands finding Chris' hips again, breath gliding deliciously over the sensitive hollows of Chris' ear, "or, mmm."

"Or?" Was Lance okay? Was someone strangling him?

"Or," JC murmured. Hands around Lance's neck hot hands cool throat press gasp writhe, Chris thought disjointedly, finding that his own hand was working down the back of JC's pants practically of its own accord. JC sucked in a low gasp, nudging his ass against Chris' fingers, then laughed shakily. "Or," he said again. "Chris'll tell you."

"Or nothing," Chris managed, and then JC's hips slanted just right and his dick pressed exactly against Chris' in a curt sweet shudder, and Chris groaned and ground against him hard, JC's answering groan flushing over his body like hot wine.

"Christ," he heard Lance mutter, "Christ, fuck," still so far away, and the picture they must've been making flashed through his head. Lance was - where? a long way away: on the bed? - and that was just too perfect, too outrageously inviting for words.

Invite him please please go on, he heard faintly, and this time it was actually JC's voice in his head, not just a warm river of conceptual desire: invite him, JC repeated, until Chris could feel the words spreading into his mouth, prickling urgent-sly on his tongue.

"Lance," he said, and then his inner slut rallied sweet possessive fury, and he gasped out, "just, close your eyes or something, okay?"

He might be anyone, but right now JC was his alone; he spread his fingers wider on JC's ass to keep the angle perfect and just nuzzled with his cock until JC was whining soft delirious words in his ear and the sparks started flashing furious behind his eyes. That's right, boy. Time to realise he only needed Chris to get high.

And, whoa, he realised, a moment later, when JC was gasping silent against his mouth and the suggestions had quieted in his head again: he'd just won. The siren imperative, it hadn't worked.

And in that case, fuck. Justin.

"I can't look away," he heard Lance whisper, "it's just, you're too, you two," and he realised JC was still working on Lance, even as his hands clawed at Chris' shoulders and his breathing went high-pitched and desperate - and damnit, Chris thought, he was thirty years old. He was in control of his libido.

It surprised him to realise that he was right.

Not without pain and anguish and eternal suffering, his inner slut informed him coldly, as he wrenched his hand out from JC's pants and closed his eyes against JC's indignant howl, but it was okay, was do-able, even with his cock feeling like a blister on a hot day.

Ew, he thought, which helped.

"What the hell are you doing," JC whispered, as Chris pried his hands off and stepped unsteadily away. "Come back," JC added, fiercely enough that Chris opened his eyes; he had the strongest feeling he was about to get punched. It was his room, he realised distractedly, because there was his keycard on the dresser. Cool.

"Uh," he managed brilliantly, daring himself to meet JC's eyes. "Justin."

"Justin's not here," JC hissed, and Chris thought double-dog-dare and looked at him, mouth going dry under the heat of JC's glare. "We. Justin's not here." JC's eyes flashed, like they might fill with tears, then blazed hard and warm again. "I want you to fuck me."

Chris decided this whole thing was just some massive commercial for indigestion pills.

"I'll do it," Lance said faintly, eventually, when the pause lengthened like elastic ready to snap, and Chris started to panic, wondering if he could possibly hold them both away from each other, and then JC said,

"no, I need Chris," and the panic swelled sickly and frenetic instead. Not just anyone, then. Not just anyone, even now, even to this deliriously heat-frenzied JC. It was possibly the worst thing JC could've said, Chris thought helplessly, as his attention snagged on the glisten of light playing on JC's mouth, on the tremble that was working its way over JC's body again and again.

Justin, though, he repeated to himself. Couldn't hurt Justin like that. The others, they hadn't been prepared, but Chris knew. Justin had asked.

"I'll ride it out with you," he said deliberately - and now who wasn't fully considering the euphemistic connotations, his inner slut spat, but he ignored him, bitch-slapped him down - "I mean, I'll sit with you until it's over, but we're not gonna have sex. I'm sorry."

The whole thing was ludicrous. He didn't even know if it came in waves, if it was something they could ride out. He watched JC's eyes flick to Lance, then back, and swallowed.

"None of us are gonna," he said, and he was putting words into Lance's mouth but damnit because he didn't want JC putting anything else in there. He wouldn't put anything past JC, right now. He realised his shirt was still unbuttoned, started to refasten it, over-aware of JC's gaze. "We'll help you, but we won't-- we're not gonna betray Justin."

JC exhaled loudly, then slammed his fist against the door.

"JC," Chris said helplessly, wishing his attention would stop swinging down JC's body even now, wishing he'd never tasted the skin at JC's throat because now its ghost was aching in his mouth, "please--"

"You don't know what this feels like," JC yelled, and Chris saw, now, clear, daze-less, that this was probably the closest they'd get at the moment to a JC who wasn't performing, and that even now he had one foot on the stage. If it was a biological imperative to get laid then every iota of his actions would be heavy with potential manipulation.

Or, um. Or, Chris was fishing frantically to justify not helping out a friend.

"Justin," Chris said, like that was an explanation. They were gonna have to tie him up, or something, and in a none-sexual way. That wasn't gonna be easy. "You gotta think about Justin, Jayce."

JC closed his eyes. Chris could still, disconcertingly, feel the glare.

"hey," Lance said quietly, and Chris frowned at him, then realised he was on the phone, "it'd be pretty cool if you could get here. Chris' room."

"You're calling Justin," JC accused, and Lance looked amazing, Chris caught himself thinking, all damp and determined on Chris' bed. It struck him that to be going against JC's wishes right now, Lance must be fighting like hell. That was kinda. yeah.

"Joey," Lance said, shaking his head. "Didn't think Justin should see this."

"No," JC said, still not opening his eyes. He was still trembling, and Chris felt an immense desire to take him in his arms and lick his throat and stroke his back and spread those long legs so JC would only have to push a couple of times against Chris' cock before Chris would be sliding inside exactly how JC wanted and. and. "I don't want Justin to see this," JC said quietly, like he knew exactly what had just gone through Chris' head, and like was sorry, genuinely, but couldn't help it right now.


"If you'd just jerk off," Joey said, stroking JC's arm.

JC bared his teeth. "I want Chris."

"You can't have me," Chris said cheerfully, then gave a deep sigh. "Honestly, the amount of people I say that to in a day..."

The atmosphere had risen as soon as Joey walked in, even though JC was still radiating crude sexual tension like a poorly written soap opera. They just needed some ominous leitmotifs and a flash of lightning or two, and they'd be set. The whole thing was farcical, Chris thought - but at least he was no longer being riddled with porn-shaped bullets sent straight to the brain. Definitely a good thing Joey'd arrived.

"He can't jerk off, anyway," Lance said, securing JC's right hand to the railing that ran along the side of the bathtub. Chris'd handed over his handcuffs with the perfectly straight face he'd reserved for such occasions. "It'd go against the mating instinct."

"Hey, Chris," JC said, sinking to his knees on the floor by the tub, "I'm wearing your handcuffs. Bet you never guessed you'd get me in handcuffs, hey? All secure, here. You could do what you like."

Joey laughed. "Jesus, Chris," he said. "Is this the inside of your head?"

Chris yelped indignantly, "No," and smacked Lance in the arm. He wished he'd never complained that JC had sort of spoken in his head. Lance had said, with one of those fascinatingly understated Voices of Genius,

"So you mean it might be possible for him to distinguish your fantasies from your subconscious and then implement them with himself as a starring role, to weaken your resistance?"

"Um," Chris had said. "Yup." He was now really, realy wishing he'd said no.

"Do you think he needs more bedding?" he asked, instead. When JC had suggested sagely that he could go find a rent boy if none of the guys were willing to take him to bed, they'd decided he was gonna be spending the night in Chris' bathroom.

The bathroom, because room service would be pretty surprised to find JC Chasez handcuffed to the bed. Plus, the facilities thing.

Chris, because Joey had shaken his head sheepishly when asked if he could cope under an onslaught of JC-pheromones, and Lance had just gone very quiet.

"Yeah," JC said seriously. "I need more bedding." He turned his gaze on Joey. "Joey," he said. "Bed me."

"Get real," Joey said, ruffling JC's hair. JC tipped his head back, tried to bite him, and Joey glanced guiltily at Chris before letting JC suck his fingers. "He said it, uh," he said. "helps?"

JC's eyes closed ecstatically, and his cheeks hollowed, and he got to his knees, apparently perfectly overjoyed with the idea of swallowing Joey's entire hand. "Joey," Lance said, and Joey made a tiny noise of protest, then eased his fingers out of JC's mouth.

"Okay," Chris said quickly, before any of their resolve could weaken further, "do we tell Justin?"

"Justin," JC moaned, and buried his head in his hand.

"Maybe not, hey," Lance said, sighing. He stroked JC's head soothingly. "He's not answering my calls, anyway. He probably needs some time alone."

Chris wondered if the other two were aware that they were all touching JC as often as was humanly possible. The sooner they got out of here, the better. JC was getting desperate, he figured, flicking from mode to mode of seduction; one minute soulful, the next smouldering, the next absurd. Chris was hoping that if they took the stimulus away, JC'd settle down, at least long enough that they could all get a few hours' sleep.

He wasn't sure what they'd do in the morning.


Closing the bathroom door, hearing it click, was almost the most difficult thing all night. Weird that it was still JC in there, that in a lucid moment he'd demanded fuchsia pillows because "the avocado ones clash with the pale azure of the tiles, see." That twice when Chris had looked at him sideways, he'd seemed like JC any other night, slumped down in some dark pink bedclothes and grumbling that there was nothing to do. All that was wrong was the handcuffs.

Ha.

Chris was still, he realised, half waiting for JC to call them in and roll about laughing, because it was some cracked-out prank they'd never thought he was capable of. And because he'd gotten them all to admit they'd take him to bed given half the chance. And because he'd broken Justin-- oh, no, wait. That was the reason Chris knew it absolutely wasn't a joke. That sort of cruelty, JC wouldn't even comprehend.

"So, um. Pizza?" he asked, and Joey laughed in a sort of choked way, and Chris just knew that Lance was calculating how many more days they had to go.

"He might be hungry," Lance said, abruptly. "We should check--"

"He'll holler," Chris said dryly, then sighed. "Better call for one without olives anyway, though."

"What about water?" Lance asked.

Joey snorted. "What, aside from the five faucets he's got in there, not counting the bidet?"

"Drinking water," Lance said archly, then wrinkled his nose. "That stuff's ick."

"Man," Chris said, shaking his head and grinning, about to launch into a Lance-beating about how the guy should try living in the real world where you didn't disinfect your toothbrush each morning, when he felt an arch of heat right through his lower stomach. JC wanted him bad, he knew, with a certainty that didn't feel like any arrogance he'd indulged in before.

He glanced around, saw the glazed pain in Joey's eyes, the way Lance was shifting from foot to foot and rubbing the heel of his palm against his thigh.

"Um, guys?" he said cautiously, and they exchanged glances with each other before looking at him. "That no stimuli equates sleep thing, um."

"Yeah," Joey said, and rubbed a hand over his face. "Doesn't seem to be going too well."


"Oh, hey," Chris said, scratching his stomach, when Joey'd left to fetch JC some drinking water, "why were you in my room?"

Lance froze, then coughed into his fist. "Joey sent me," he said.

Chris frowned thoughtfully. "I thought Joey sent you to find bodyguards."

"He did," Lance said quickly. "He sent me to find bodyguards. Yes. But there was a bodyguard," he added triumphantly, "in here! A, uh, big one. Lonnie, in fact."

"Lonnie was hanging out in my room," Chris said.

Lance nodded.

"And," Chris said, starting to enjoy himself, "it had nothing to do with I was going to find JC and maybe I'd come back here kinda flustered?"

"Yes," Lance said. "Nothing at all to do with that." He examined his bracelet for a couple of seconds, then cleared his throat. "I better help Joey with that, uh," he said, sidling to the door.

"Water," said Chris, helpfully.

Lance toyed with the doorhandle, then nodded firmly. "Yes." He met Chris' eyes, face a study in the eternality of bland. "Water can be very heavy," he said.

"Mmm," Chris agreed.

Lance shot him a million watt smile before ducking out the room.

end part four.

kudos to Ibsen. ;)

oh, and: Joop pour homme smells absolutely delicious. I almost bought some for me.

 

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