He shudders as Ram finds his rhythm, his head finally drawing back to catch his breath. It's too much, his mouth and his hips are too much (not enough); he can't understand why it took so long to meet someone so compatible with him, someone who just fits so well. He doesn't know why he had to be kidnapped from his bed and thrown across time to find this man, but in this moment he's so grateful he could weep.
He leans his cheek against Rama's and pulls his hand free from that nice, warm place under his shirts, grabbing at the hand at his head and practically throwing it back down onto the furs. He pins him again, holding him still as he takes control of their pace, slower but harder, building and building with hushed gasps pressed into his hairline.
When Raju's hand is thrown down onto the floor again his composure slips, eyes wide and lips parted in surprise. Then he breathes out, slow, relieved, and doesn't have time to relax into it, Francis' hips and his weight are grinding against Raju hard, slow enough to let this feeling build. Francis' hand had left Raju's nipples sensitive and his shirt rubs against them each time the movement of Francis' body presses their chests together, his lips haven't had time to recover from Francis' against them, and Francis is gasping into his hair.
It's that last, as much as any other part of it, that starts Raju shuddering on each inhale. His leg tries to wrap around Francis' again to press at Francis' upper thighs at every moment Francis rubs against him, pressing them together harder, tilting up his hips in those same moments, working with the rhythm Francis has set, breathing out against the side of Francis' face. The only thing keeping Raju from coming is the clothes between them; his rhythm stutters as his hips try to move faster, give himself more, and he pauses, agonisingly still, then forces himself to match Francis' pace again. The effort makes him even harder, puts pained noises behind each breath. His fingers clench, and can't go anywhere. Or don't. His head presses hard back against the floor, his mouth open. He wants to move faster desperately, and with Francis guiding them both to this instead, won't ask.
As exquisite as those noises are, frustrated and just a little bit tortured, it wasn’t his intention to drive him mad. He just wanted to see how far he could take things, if Ram would let him dictate the pace, if that was something he secretly desired like his hands being held down or his body covered.
He presses kisses into his temple, down to the shell of his ear where he nips the lobe and growls low in his throat. He finally relents, snapping his hips hard and fast, bringing them together over and over, the friction driving him mad.
It’s good like this, but it would be better naked. Rama needs to be warm though; he has to keep this man away from the cold.
The comfort and care of the kisses down the side of his face stands out brightly overtop the sharp edge of need inside him and as Francis nips his ear, makes that low noise, Raju's turning his head toward the side of Francis' face. As Raju's turning his head Francis snaps his hips and their slow rhythm is suddenly fast and merciless and Raju's pained noise is blatant now, not half-hiding behind his breath but emerging on its own, sharp and stuttering out from his mouth. After an instant, or an eternity, he pulls himself together enough to move to match, frantic, gaze pulled to look for Francis' eyes before he even realises why, that he feels good, feels wonderful, an instant's balance on the razor's edge of wonderful, endless sensation and he wants to be looking into the beautiful blue of those eyes when he—
The stuttering, pained noise is back again and he curls as far forward as Francis' grip will let him, turning his head again to try and muffle the noise against Francis' skin, his cheek. His fingers are curling helplessly into fists, his hips are stuttering along with his voice, and his trousers are wet.
He’s not far behind, but he does hold out long enough to watch Ram in all of his resplendent glory sprawled out underneath his body. He’s beautiful, his groans and desperate thrusts going straight to that jumble of nerves and tensing muscles behind his navel. He feels like a watch that’s been wound too tight, everything is too much, sense and thought pushed so far down in his mind that it might as well not exist.
He lets Ram have a hand back, this time guiding his palm up to the back of his neck to hold onto him. He’s quiet as he lets out his last shudder, hips slowing but not quite stopping, moving luxuriously against Ram’s to draw those last few moments of pleasure out of the two of them. He stops when it becomes too much, laying over him with his head somewhere between his head and his shoulder.
Raju's hand clutches where it's led desperately, feeling Francis shuddering against him and then going still. Raju is still against him. This slow, drifting calm— it's rare, he remembers. Rare to feel this way afterward. Maybe this is what Francis meant, when he'd said that earlier. The thought wanders slowly around his mind, some place in the background; the sensation of Francis over him is more prominent in front of it, the knowledge of his body, its size to match his, of a height and stockier, solid. The sensation of his skin, warm and soft and here, right here, with him. And he's warm.
"'s this what you meant?" he murmurs when the thought ambles back around into view again, the movement of his mouth lazy and satiated. "When you said... you wanted to savour me?"
Crozier huffs a soft laugh against Ram’s neck, finding a space to kiss. There’s sweat and Rama’s own clean, earthy scent, warm and welcoming. “Mmhm.”
He’d live in this place forever, loved and sated, but he wants to be able to look down at him too. He’s missing those unbelievably expressive eyes, and it pushes him to finally pulls himself up to lean over him. “Of a sort. I would have taken my time if I’d been more patient.”
Raju's eyes curve with his bright smile as he laughs, the sound quiet and still a little breathless. "Taken your time?" Raju asks, disbelieving, and pauses for a second to look up at him. His hair shines in the flickering light of the fire, and the hand near Francis' neck rises to brush it back from Francis' forehead. The movement isn't quick or even graceful; Raju's hand feels as heavy as his arm does, his body satisfied and slow. It takes effort to do and, because of the angle, the hair is going to fall back where it was as soon as Raju's hand moves. It's worth it for the feeling of it against his skin now.
"Taken more time... You're trying to kill me, Francis."
His fingers idly brush through Ram’s now-untidy hair as he looks down on him admiringly. He leans into the soft touch without thinking, lovely though brief, and smirks as the hair ultimately falls back into place on his forehead. It’s a sweet gesture. He didn’t know that love could be this sweet.
“If I were trying to kill you I’d take a less subtle route,” he says with a chuckle, mostly still in between quiet breaths. It was a lot more exertion than he’d been used to.
Raju makes an amused noise, gaze moving here and there as Raju looks at him. His own fingers move down and around, tucking a little hair behind Francis' ear. He feels Francis' fingers through his, too. There's nothing but this for a moment, the sensations, the heat of their bodies, their breathing. Francis' breathing.
"Come on," he grins, hand moving to Francis' shoulder and pushing gently as Raju tries to roll them both to their sides. "Lay down. You'll be doing yourself in, if not me; how long ago was it you couldn't walk across a room without help?" Impossible for Raju's joy not to deepen then, as he adds: "And look at you now. Exhausting the two of us at once."
“Told you,” he murmurs, rolling gently off and onto the furs, “completely healed.”
He smiles softly, that happiness born from relief apparent in Ram’s voice. It’s mirrored in the way he raises his hand to caress Rama’s cheek, joy in the touch and this luxurious moment of just being together, comfortable and warm and close. He slides his hand down to his jaw and cups his face, drawing him in to kiss soundly.
The hand over his cheek, on his side and looking at one another, brings it home that they can do this now. Lay this way, this close, together. It's been forever. Francis kisses him and the space between them is as small as the time between now and the last time they'd lain close this way, not kissing then, but close. He needs to know the time between truly is as small as it feels, that it's over, needs to feel that Francis is well and not on the verge of death, or recovering in pain. He can see it, and the doctor had said it, but he works a hand up under Francis' clothes anyway, onto his ribs while he breathes carefully through his nose, kisses Francis in return, skates his fingers over the area he's spent so long watching and trying not to touch. Laying the way they are his hand can rest over Francis' side, fingers spread, as if he could... protect it, or feel something there he doesn't already know about, or... anything. His other hand clutches at Francis' shirt as the one on his ribs tightens and then loosens again, shying away from grabbing it too tight, reflexively.
He used to imagine this moment, the two of them becoming impossibly close in their shared bed, their hands on each other sliding slowly into something more romantic than comforting, a soft touch of lips in the dark, a breath on the nose and a scrape of facial hair on a cheek. But those had been daydreams, not anything he’d imagine coming true, and there’s so much he couldn’t have possibly have anticipated in those silly daydreams. Nearly dying, for one, but the look in Ram’s eyes, the way he kisses him back and holds him; it’s all more than his paltry imagination could have conjured.
He exhales against his lips and nods slightly. He’s okay, he’s fine. Touch him and see.
Raju takes a bracing breath in through his nose, drawing back inches, just far enough to look at him, close-up. He nods and leans forward again to touch their foreheads together, still nodding, and in a sudden movement pressing down on Francis' ribs harder. Not so hard as it feels like he is; harder than he should dare without being absolutely certain that it's safe. He takes in a sharp breath as he does it and his look into Francis' expression is urgent, worried. That would have hurt Francis very badly, once. Raju remembers exactly the way that it would sound.
His eyes are stinging, suddenly. He knows the way it looks; caught it in a mirror once and studied how easy it would be to hide. Not as difficult as he'd have thought, unless the other person is paying special attention, or is very close. He knows the way his eyes shine when they feel this way. His breaths are faster, feeling the pressure of his fingers there. His lips press too tightly together. But he has to know. Has to be sure.
It doesn't hurt, not even a twinge. Rama is gentle with the touch but still a strong man, but there's nothing. No pain, not even a little tenderness in the areas that had been most affected. He'd been so thoroughly beat that it felt like he'd be forever broken and fragile, and he knows it must have seems like that for Rama more than anything else.
He nods softly, nose brushing against Rama's as he refuses to pull himself away or put any real distance between them. See? Just like he said, he's healthy and hale once more. The relief must be overwhelming for Ram, because it certainly feels that way for him too, but he wasn't the one who had to watch him nearly die. He wasn't the one who bore the burden of these injuries, who felt the weight of life and death almost constantly.
It doesn't do to imagine what life would have been like for Rama had he actually died that night, or never really recovered. What kind of choices he would have made, knowing Hickey had done what was promised, living with the fact that his friend had died in front of him like so many others in his life. They skirted that awful future; it's worth celebrating, or at least letting oneself feel that happiness, if only briefly.
His throat is tight. Ridiculous to feel this way, with the joy and lassitude all through him, as close to someone he loves as they can get without crawling into each other's bodies; to feel on the razor's edge of tears grieving something that never happened with come still drying on his drawers. But he feels Francis nodding against him, and remembers what were the last words of the man in front of him until they weren't, and still expects the way he's pressing against the side of Francis' chest now to be careless, breaking through a boundary he hadn't realised he'd built between himself and this man.
The move to get close enough to Francis that Francis won't see the tears is instinctive the moment they start to spill over. Raju doesn't know where he'd intended to put his face: the side of Francis', with the odd angle and the plains of the side of his head not the shape his face needs to press itself against, the curve between the softness of Francis' jaw and his neck that needs an odd angle to get to, and Raju's hand against his side stops its pressure to spread out over all the space that it can cover instead, feeling the heat and softness of the skin there and the bones deceptively solid beneath it. He takes a hard breath, lets it out openmouthed.
That’s a very wet-sounds breath. Crozier sighs quietly, his lips finding Rama’s cheeks and the salty tears that he begins to gently kiss away.
Joy and grief are sometimes intertwined; he understands that better than anyone. He doesn’t try to stop Ram from feeling as he does, his arms finding their way around him to hold his body tightly to his own. He wishes he could have protected him from all this - but could he have stopped what they became to each other? The worry will never truly go away so long as they live in this place.
Francis is caring for him. Holding him tightly, kissing his cheeks where the tears, despite Raju, flowed over. Raju feels cared for. But—
He tries to bring his breathing under more control but it slips through his fingers, and what he gets is less. "I'm alright," he tries, over unsteady breaths. He moves his head to make the angle too difficult for Francis's lips to reach his cheek without work and feels a wrench of guilt at it and moves his head back, eyes closed, and tries again. "I'm alright. It's—"
He's the one who should be doing those things, making the gentle, soothing gestures, and he's the one who should be caring for Francis, as he has been. And he's had time to realise Francis isn't going to die, plenty of time, he'd gotten used to it long ago, and there's no reason to be doing any of this now. He can't explain. He shakes his head, but couldn't bring himself to move away from Francis' affection if he'd been trying to.
If Rama kept his head away he would have broken Crozier’s heart, not that he would ever say so. The gesture is enough to tell him to back off though, and he lays his head against the furs with a thoughtful licking of his lips.
“It’s fine,” he reassures him, voice hushed. “All’s well.” Sometimes everything’s just a little too much.
“You spent a long time walking the razor’s edge when it came to my health.” Best to just name it.
Raju feels his lips tremble, and presses them more firmly together. He's quiet for a moment. He swallows. He turns his face away from the blankets and draws just far enough back to look at Francis, hands still on him, control over himself retaken by the skin of his teeth. His eyelids tremble as he focuses on Francis past the blurring in his view, drawing in a breath and holding it for a moment before he answers, not allowing himself to think in it in too much detail to say it honestly.
"Only a few days." He keeps the words quick enough that his voice, at least, is steady. "That doctor even told us, after that. We knew you were probably going to live."
“And then all that time after that,” he says, unconvinced. A few days is still more time than anyone should have to live with that kind of uncertainly. “When I wasn’t strong enough to even wash my own hair.”
It takes a toll on a person, having to be a caregiver. He has that awareness now, having sat by so many bedsides and mopped sweat and blood and tears from dying brows.
"I knew," he insists, shaking his head. "You were going to be fine. And you have been." He looks to Francis' side again, expression firming up unhappily as he braces himself, then curls his fingers and presses his knuckles down against Francis' side. "I could have done this yesterday. I've known you're alright for long enough, I'm just being..."
His hand lifts its pressure again and skates carefully down Francis' side, settling at his hip. He shakes his head and gives Francis a tight smile that's supposed to be cheerful. "I'm being ridiculous. It's good to see you this way. It really is."
“Sentimental.” He smiles quietly. “You’re being sentimental, over me. I’m very flattered, by the way.”
He lets out a soft laugh through his nose, hopefully to break Rama out of spiral. He’s clearly annoyed with himself, and though Crozier doesn’t mind a little sentiment now and again, he doesn’t want Ram to end the night on that forced smile.
Raju's smile fades into surprise, looking up at Francis' face again. Then his gaze goes distant, confused and thoughtful, brow furrowing just a little. He sighs, gaze flickering back to Francis' eyes and then to the front of his chest, where he watches himself loosen his grip on Francis' clothes and smooth over a crease there with his thumb. When he blinks his eyelashes still feel wet, an inescapable reminder of that loss of control. His faded smile is more wry now, and more genuine.
"You're flattered? When you make love to someone and get cried on for it? No wonder you don't care for compliments. I think I've been doing them the wrong way this whole time."
“I suppose there’s always room for improvement,” he replies, glad to see that smile loosen up. He has a knack for breaking tension, but sometimes Ram is a tough nut to crack. “But you’d be surprised how often my romantic escapades ended in tears.”
He grins, clearly joking. He doesn’t think he’s made anyone cry - his trysts were never that emotional to begin with.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
He shudders as Ram finds his rhythm, his head finally drawing back to catch his breath. It's too much, his mouth and his hips are too much (not enough); he can't understand why it took so long to meet someone so compatible with him, someone who just fits so well. He doesn't know why he had to be kidnapped from his bed and thrown across time to find this man, but in this moment he's so grateful he could weep.
He leans his cheek against Rama's and pulls his hand free from that nice, warm place under his shirts, grabbing at the hand at his head and practically throwing it back down onto the furs. He pins him again, holding him still as he takes control of their pace, slower but harder, building and building with hushed gasps pressed into his hairline.
no subject
It's that last, as much as any other part of it, that starts Raju shuddering on each inhale. His leg tries to wrap around Francis' again to press at Francis' upper thighs at every moment Francis rubs against him, pressing them together harder, tilting up his hips in those same moments, working with the rhythm Francis has set, breathing out against the side of Francis' face. The only thing keeping Raju from coming is the clothes between them; his rhythm stutters as his hips try to move faster, give himself more, and he pauses, agonisingly still, then forces himself to match Francis' pace again. The effort makes him even harder, puts pained noises behind each breath. His fingers clench, and can't go anywhere. Or don't. His head presses hard back against the floor, his mouth open. He wants to move faster desperately, and with Francis guiding them both to this instead, won't ask.
no subject
As exquisite as those noises are, frustrated and just a little bit tortured, it wasn’t his intention to drive him mad. He just wanted to see how far he could take things, if Ram would let him dictate the pace, if that was something he secretly desired like his hands being held down or his body covered.
He presses kisses into his temple, down to the shell of his ear where he nips the lobe and growls low in his throat. He finally relents, snapping his hips hard and fast, bringing them together over and over, the friction driving him mad.
It’s good like this, but it would be better naked. Rama needs to be warm though; he has to keep this man away from the cold.
no subject
The stuttering, pained noise is back again and he curls as far forward as Francis' grip will let him, turning his head again to try and muffle the noise against Francis' skin, his cheek. His fingers are curling helplessly into fists, his hips are stuttering along with his voice, and his trousers are wet.
no subject
He’s not far behind, but he does hold out long enough to watch Ram in all of his resplendent glory sprawled out underneath his body. He’s beautiful, his groans and desperate thrusts going straight to that jumble of nerves and tensing muscles behind his navel. He feels like a watch that’s been wound too tight, everything is too much, sense and thought pushed so far down in his mind that it might as well not exist.
He lets Ram have a hand back, this time guiding his palm up to the back of his neck to hold onto him. He’s quiet as he lets out his last shudder, hips slowing but not quite stopping, moving luxuriously against Ram’s to draw those last few moments of pleasure out of the two of them. He stops when it becomes too much, laying over him with his head somewhere between his head and his shoulder.
no subject
"'s this what you meant?" he murmurs when the thought ambles back around into view again, the movement of his mouth lazy and satiated. "When you said... you wanted to savour me?"
no subject
Crozier huffs a soft laugh against Ram’s neck, finding a space to kiss. There’s sweat and Rama’s own clean, earthy scent, warm and welcoming. “Mmhm.”
He’d live in this place forever, loved and sated, but he wants to be able to look down at him too. He’s missing those unbelievably expressive eyes, and it pushes him to finally pulls himself up to lean over him. “Of a sort. I would have taken my time if I’d been more patient.”
no subject
"Taken more time... You're trying to kill me, Francis."
no subject
His fingers idly brush through Ram’s now-untidy hair as he looks down on him admiringly. He leans into the soft touch without thinking, lovely though brief, and smirks as the hair ultimately falls back into place on his forehead. It’s a sweet gesture. He didn’t know that love could be this sweet.
“If I were trying to kill you I’d take a less subtle route,” he says with a chuckle, mostly still in between quiet breaths. It was a lot more exertion than he’d been used to.
no subject
"Come on," he grins, hand moving to Francis' shoulder and pushing gently as Raju tries to roll them both to their sides. "Lay down. You'll be doing yourself in, if not me; how long ago was it you couldn't walk across a room without help?" Impossible for Raju's joy not to deepen then, as he adds: "And look at you now. Exhausting the two of us at once."
no subject
“Told you,” he murmurs, rolling gently off and onto the furs, “completely healed.”
He smiles softly, that happiness born from relief apparent in Ram’s voice. It’s mirrored in the way he raises his hand to caress Rama’s cheek, joy in the touch and this luxurious moment of just being together, comfortable and warm and close. He slides his hand down to his jaw and cups his face, drawing him in to kiss soundly.
no subject
no subject
He used to imagine this moment, the two of them becoming impossibly close in their shared bed, their hands on each other sliding slowly into something more romantic than comforting, a soft touch of lips in the dark, a breath on the nose and a scrape of facial hair on a cheek. But those had been daydreams, not anything he’d imagine coming true, and there’s so much he couldn’t have possibly have anticipated in those silly daydreams. Nearly dying, for one, but the look in Ram’s eyes, the way he kisses him back and holds him; it’s all more than his paltry imagination could have conjured.
He exhales against his lips and nods slightly. He’s okay, he’s fine. Touch him and see.
no subject
His eyes are stinging, suddenly. He knows the way it looks; caught it in a mirror once and studied how easy it would be to hide. Not as difficult as he'd have thought, unless the other person is paying special attention, or is very close. He knows the way his eyes shine when they feel this way. His breaths are faster, feeling the pressure of his fingers there. His lips press too tightly together. But he has to know. Has to be sure.
no subject
It doesn't hurt, not even a twinge. Rama is gentle with the touch but still a strong man, but there's nothing. No pain, not even a little tenderness in the areas that had been most affected. He'd been so thoroughly beat that it felt like he'd be forever broken and fragile, and he knows it must have seems like that for Rama more than anything else.
He nods softly, nose brushing against Rama's as he refuses to pull himself away or put any real distance between them. See? Just like he said, he's healthy and hale once more. The relief must be overwhelming for Ram, because it certainly feels that way for him too, but he wasn't the one who had to watch him nearly die. He wasn't the one who bore the burden of these injuries, who felt the weight of life and death almost constantly.
It doesn't do to imagine what life would have been like for Rama had he actually died that night, or never really recovered. What kind of choices he would have made, knowing Hickey had done what was promised, living with the fact that his friend had died in front of him like so many others in his life. They skirted that awful future; it's worth celebrating, or at least letting oneself feel that happiness, if only briefly.
no subject
The move to get close enough to Francis that Francis won't see the tears is instinctive the moment they start to spill over. Raju doesn't know where he'd intended to put his face: the side of Francis', with the odd angle and the plains of the side of his head not the shape his face needs to press itself against, the curve between the softness of Francis' jaw and his neck that needs an odd angle to get to, and Raju's hand against his side stops its pressure to spread out over all the space that it can cover instead, feeling the heat and softness of the skin there and the bones deceptively solid beneath it. He takes a hard breath, lets it out openmouthed.
no subject
That’s a very wet-sounds breath. Crozier sighs quietly, his lips finding Rama’s cheeks and the salty tears that he begins to gently kiss away.
Joy and grief are sometimes intertwined; he understands that better than anyone. He doesn’t try to stop Ram from feeling as he does, his arms finding their way around him to hold his body tightly to his own. He wishes he could have protected him from all this - but could he have stopped what they became to each other? The worry will never truly go away so long as they live in this place.
no subject
He tries to bring his breathing under more control but it slips through his fingers, and what he gets is less. "I'm alright," he tries, over unsteady breaths. He moves his head to make the angle too difficult for Francis's lips to reach his cheek without work and feels a wrench of guilt at it and moves his head back, eyes closed, and tries again. "I'm alright. It's—"
He's the one who should be doing those things, making the gentle, soothing gestures, and he's the one who should be caring for Francis, as he has been. And he's had time to realise Francis isn't going to die, plenty of time, he'd gotten used to it long ago, and there's no reason to be doing any of this now. He can't explain. He shakes his head, but couldn't bring himself to move away from Francis' affection if he'd been trying to.
no subject
If Rama kept his head away he would have broken Crozier’s heart, not that he would ever say so. The gesture is enough to tell him to back off though, and he lays his head against the furs with a thoughtful licking of his lips.
“It’s fine,” he reassures him, voice hushed. “All’s well.” Sometimes everything’s just a little too much.
“You spent a long time walking the razor’s edge when it came to my health.” Best to just name it.
no subject
"Only a few days." He keeps the words quick enough that his voice, at least, is steady. "That doctor even told us, after that. We knew you were probably going to live."
no subject
“And then all that time after that,” he says, unconvinced. A few days is still more time than anyone should have to live with that kind of uncertainly. “When I wasn’t strong enough to even wash my own hair.”
It takes a toll on a person, having to be a caregiver. He has that awareness now, having sat by so many bedsides and mopped sweat and blood and tears from dying brows.
no subject
His hand lifts its pressure again and skates carefully down Francis' side, settling at his hip. He shakes his head and gives Francis a tight smile that's supposed to be cheerful. "I'm being ridiculous. It's good to see you this way. It really is."
no subject
“Sentimental.” He smiles quietly. “You’re being sentimental, over me. I’m very flattered, by the way.”
He lets out a soft laugh through his nose, hopefully to break Rama out of spiral. He’s clearly annoyed with himself, and though Crozier doesn’t mind a little sentiment now and again, he doesn’t want Ram to end the night on that forced smile.
no subject
"You're flattered? When you make love to someone and get cried on for it? No wonder you don't care for compliments. I think I've been doing them the wrong way this whole time."
no subject
“I suppose there’s always room for improvement,” he replies, glad to see that smile loosen up. He has a knack for breaking tension, but sometimes Ram is a tough nut to crack. “But you’d be surprised how often my romantic escapades ended in tears.”
He grins, clearly joking. He doesn’t think he’s made anyone cry - his trysts were never that emotional to begin with.
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)