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Title: Marshmallow (2/9)
Pairings: This part - Roddick/Fish, implied Haas/Safin, hinted Roddick/Safin/Haas, hinted Roddick/Federer, variations of all kinds later.
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Sometimes all it takes is a change of scenery to change everything else. Andy, Mardy and Roger might finally get what they think they want, even if it's not really what they want at all.
Notes: Set in an undefined timespace, though generally around the 2006 summer hardcourt season in America. In case you hadn't guessed already, this is mostly a thinly veiled excuse for lots of smut.
Disclaimer: Not mine. Totally made up, as you may be able to tell from the lack of, well, trying to make it seem realistic at *all*. They all own themselves and don’t, to the best of my knowledge, get up to naughty things in the locker room or indeed up mountains in tents.
Dedications: For [ profile] kindoftrouble and [ profile] lossi who wanted snuggling by the campfire with marshmallows. I blame this completely, utterly and entirely on them. ;)

“How much have you missed snuggling by a campfire?”

“Way more than I thought I had.” Toasting fork in one hand, marshmallows on the end dipping dangerously close to the flames of their small campfire, Andy shuffles the extra inch over to lean against Mardy. Pressed bare shoulder to shoulder, heat of the fire and Mardy’s bare skin keeping at least half of him warm, the blanket draped over them enough to keep his feet from freezing, he’s starting to think this trip wasn’t such a bad idea after all. The tent – slightly lopsided, he and Mardy had been too busy being humiliated over what happened with Roger to really care about straightness – is up, they managed to cook their pre-packaged dinner without causing any serious damage and Tommy and Marat finally stumbled out the woods with enough twigs in the Russian’s hair to keep the fire going all night. Andy’s pointed remark on how they’d got there earned him another few marshmallows bouncing of the back of his head every time he turned around. The only plus that he can see to bringing so many is that there are still more than enough for him and Mardy to spend all weekend toasting them.

“Yours is about to go,” he warns, watching Mardy’s marshmallow droop towards the flames. “Mar?” He looks to see why he’s not getting a response and grins at his boyfriend’s face, eyes almost shut and sleep dragging his chin down to his chest, a smudge of melted marshmallow drying across parted lips. It’s exactly what he used to do when they were seventeen, toasting marshmallows after a day spent jerking each other off and, years ago or not, Andy still remembers what his reaction used to be. Leaning away an inch, judging the speed and angle with the accuracy of hours spent practising, he lets his weight knock into Mardy’s shoulder. There’s a sleepy yelp from the other American, followed immediately by the hiss of a gooey marshmallow dropping off a toasting fork.

“Andy!” Mardy whines it like he used to when they were teenagers and Andy was being a tease, staring at the bubbling remnants of his marshmallow with a sleepy, half-asleep frown. “Brat. I’ll throw you in the lake for that.”

“You wouldn’t do that, because I’d just drag you in with me.” A pause, then feeling suddenly guilty, Andy leans over to drop a kiss on the corner of his boyfriend’s mouth, catching the sticky, sweet taste of marshmallow. “You can have mine.”

“No, I—“ Mardy starts to protest as Andy blows on the marshmallow to cool it, easing it off the fork with a wince as his fingertips touch hot metal. The toasted coating crackles, molten insides oozing out in tiny, sugary blobs as he rests it against Mardy’s lips.

“Open wide,” he says solemnly and gets a glare, Mardy pressing his lips together stubbornly tight. “Mardy!”

Glare softens into a hint of a smile, blue eyes crinkling around the edges as the other American tries not to laugh and Andy grins back, wicked as he gets an idea, leaning in to kiss Mardy’s mouth. The hand not holding the marshmallow slides down one bare shoulder almost idly, barely touching as he presses his tongue to his boyfriend’s lips, searching for a way in. He got Mardy to give him a blowjob in full view earlier, regardless of how that turned out; this, in comparison, is child’s play.

Mardy growls without opening his mouth, the twitch of his lips on Andy’s a hint to how close he is to laughing. Confident he’s winning, hand finding the curve of a hip and slipping down, Andy drags his teeth lightly over Mardy’s bottom lip, biting down at the exact moment he squeezes the other American’s cock through his jeans.

Mardy gasps, going suddenly tense – and Andy pops the marshmallow into his open mouth.

“Andy!” The protest is muffled around a mouthful of still-warm goo, Mardy’s eyes going wide as Andy rubs his denim-covered cock gently. Marat and Tommy are just a few feet away, curled together with a quiet murmur of whispers and hands moving under the blanket they’ve wrapped themselves in, while Roger’s alone on the other side of the fire. It’s not exactly private, nothing like, and they’ve already been caught once today but Andy doesn’t care. It’s not like any of the others can see where his hand is, or would care if they could.

Well, Roger might… but Andy thinks they may be past the point of worrying about offending the Swiss now.

There’s a moan from Mardy, head tilted back, eyes closed in bliss as Andy increases the pressure on his cock, nails scratching lightly over denim. He’s made Mardy come from just this before, curled together in the back row of a movie theatre or on the dance floor of a club, concerns of being noticed discarded in the fun of seeing Mardy bite his lip against crying out with orgasm, relaxing limply into Andy’s arms after. Made better because the older American isn’t into being watched as much as Andy, getting the blond to forget his shyness every once in a while an added thrill.

It’s become almost a silent challenge, which of them will be the first to give in. Mardy to lose the fight against coming or Andy the fight against the overwhelming temptation to simply flip his boyfriend over and fuck him senseless.

They’re about even, so far. Mardy’s very hard to resist.

“We— we can’t,” Mardy gasps out, hips arcing into Andy’s hand regardless. He’s flushed, eyelids fluttering as the fingers pressed to his cock tighten. “Andy, quit it!”

That was a little too loud; a hasty glance over at Marat and Tommy shows them to be too wrapped up in each other to have heard, Tommy’s face pressed to Marat’s shoulder as he moans, the Russian intent on whatever – Andy could make a pretty good guess as to what – is going on under their blanket. No objection from them then, if he and Mardy take it further. Smiling, he glances across the fire almost as an afterthought – and Roger’s stare jerks abruptly away, the Swiss pretending intense interest in something down by his feet.

For the second time in a day Andy seriously considers curling up in humiliation, knowing Roger’s probably been watching everything and really, facing each other in matches after this is going to be awkward to say the least. Every move he makes, every serve, he’ll meet Roger’s eyes and wonder just what the Swiss is remembering behind the blank expression, if he’s picturing Andy writhing beneath Mardy’s mouth on his dick—

-- and if he is, so what?

Andy pauses to think about it; since when has voyeurism bothered him, even if it is from a rival, or at least something like one? The Swiss doesn’t have to watch them, doesn’t have to sit aloof on the other side of the fire like he’s better, all the time sneaking glances at them. Humiliation starts to fade, anger taking its place; this whole thing is because of Roger and all he’s done is sulk on the outskirts of the group, barely helping with dinner, not joining in the conversation after. Hell, he hasn’t even touched a marshmallow yet and that was the whole point, the dumb thing that got Andy into the bet to begin with.

There’s the nagging doubt as to how much of Roger’s awkwardness might be his fault, Mardy having taken up most of his attention since they got here without much effort made to include the Swiss – outright avoidance after earlier, if he’s honest -- but Andy pushes the thought away. Everything’s suddenly focused on the fact that Roger, sweet, perfect Roger wants to watch them.

“Andy!” The irritated hiss snaps his attention from the blushing Roger back to Mardy, blue eyes narrowed in confusion and maybe a little desperation, hips arcing just enough to press his cock into Andy’s hand. Clearly he’s decided this is one time to disregard shyness. Though, as Andy keeps forgetting, he’s come today while Mardy hasn’t and sexual frustration makes up for a lot in lacking confidence. “I didn’t mean it. C’mon, Tommy and Marat don’t care, please…”

Shaking his head, Andy takes his hand away with a wince for Mardy’s muted whimper, curling fingers over his boyfriend’s hip instead and shuffling close until they’re pressed together, hooking a leg across Mardy’s thigh to get the best friction for both of them. Whimpering deep in his throat Mardy goes with the new position, grinding into Andy as the younger American mouths wet kisses up his arm and neck, nipping an earlobe before whispering, soft enough to be barely audible over their breathing.

“Roger’s watching.”

“What? ” In a heartbeat Mardy’s untangled himself, several inches suddenly between him and Andy, eyes wide as one hand comes up to cover his mouth. “Andy, no. No way.”

Well, Andy reflects, perhaps sexual frustration only goes so far. Assuming his best expression of wounded innocence, he reaches out to trail a fingertip over Mardy’s lips, hotly damp and quivering slightly under the touch. When the blond’s tongue instinctively slips out to wet them Andy leans in to taste it and follows as Mardy starts to pull away, kiss unbroken as the brief, pretend-struggle ends in Mardy underneath, Andy sitting across his thighs. Nothing like protesting seems to be left on the older American’s mind as Andy runs hands over the dusting of soft hair on his chest, smiling inwardly when a pinch of a nipple gets a sound that could be his name if it was more of a word, choked out on a gasp against his mouth.

Mardy can’t have been as against the idea of being watched as he acted. Not if he’s been so easily persuaded and he is, Andy knowing a win when it’s in sight. Once he’s got the advantage it’s easy to keep, Mardy never good at arguing when distracted and Andy’s hand trailed teasingly down his stomach, pausing at the barrier of jeans is distraction enough to have him begging with quick, urgent jerks of his hips, grinding up into Andy until it’s hard to keep his balance.

Nobody watching – and someone is at least, the weight of the stare is almost tangible, brushing teasingly light over Andy’s skin – would think either of the Americans grinding together were at all self-conscious. Hell if he didn’t know better, Andy wouldn’t think it either. Mardy’s close to begging, hard cock rubbing Andy’s through their jeans and teeth marks left in his lip as he grinds down too hard, the cry to go with the bite nothing even like shy. He could fuck the blond right here, regardless of watchers or common sense but that’s not what he wants, not yet. If Roger wants the full show, he’ll have to work for it.

“Mardy, quit wriggling,” he murmurs. Blue eyes glare at him from under heavy eyelids even as Mardy obediently slows the pace so his hips rock up with less force, almost lazy, breathing deeper. Snatching a quick, wet kiss, barely a meeting of lips that’s more to tease than anything, Andy uses the movement of raising his head to look over at Roger in a split-second glance. The Swiss’s flinch as their eyes meet is almost funny, cheeks redder than simply a reflection of the firelight and Andy’s grinning as he looks back down at Mardy. The other American’s head is thrown back, tangled hair dyed with red highlights by the campfire and the sheen of sweat on skin that Andy could spend the next hour drawing patterns in with his tongue, if he thought he could last that long.

Which he definitely can’t, not when his own cock is starting to ache and his boyfriend’s begging with every other breath now, whimpers that demand a fucking as well as any words could. Pushing away the nagging whisper in his mind pointing out that fucking would get him off too, Andy kisses his way over Mardy’s chest until he reaches the trail of hair down his stomach and licks it just to hear Mardy whimper. His boyfriend tastes like sweat with a hint of the grass they’ve been lying on and Andy takes the time to enjoy the skin smooth and salty against his tongue while his hands free the other American of jeans and underwear. Pushing them down and off, Mardy’s left finally naked apart from the blanket draped over them and that’s barely enough for decency, sliding down more with every movement.

Whimpering out something like a plea, eyes shut and head thrown back, Mardy rocks his hips desperately up, begging. Impossible to resist, all naked golden skin in the firelight and Andy takes a shaky breath to steady himself before curling a hand around his boyfriend’s cock, soft skin hot against his palm.

Mardy makes a needy little sound that chokes into something different as Andy runs callused fingertips up the length of it to smear through pre-come, becoming a desperate whimper that oh god, Andy wants to hear again because it’s new, something he’s never managed to draw out before. Repeating the movement gets only a moan and he takes a second to think about this, Mardy’s hips rocking into his hand. There’s a groan nearby, Marat and Tommy no doubt but he puts it out of his mind, focused on the problem at hand. Maybe if he—

“Andy, what—“ His boyfriend’s word cut off into a strangled yelp as he bends his head to lick up the length of Mardy’s cock, definitely not the sound he was aiming for but still good; better though the moans as he relents and closes his mouth around the head, heat and silky skin and the salty tang of semen against his lips. Mardy groans, back arcing up and one hand slipping down to tightly grip Andy’s, fingers tangled together against sweat-damp skin.

There’s a lot of things Andy knows he’s not the best at even outside tennis; keeping a rein on his sharp tongue, basic grammar, having one family meal where he doesn’t argue with someone but he likes to think that, at this, he might be better than most, with years of learning tricks he’d practised on Mardy and others since he was sixteen. Maybe not the best, maybe not even close but good, no question, Mardy’s hips bucking up under his hands as he sucks just hard enough. One finger, already wet with pre-come, circles until he judges the right moment to push, sinking it into Mardy as he lets a hint of teeth graze the cock in his mouth and it gets what he wants, the pathetic, desperate whine from before as Mardy arcs up under him, salty come spilling into Andy’s mouth.

Definitely good at this Andy thinks smugly, careful with his teeth as he swallows around the whimpering Mardy who sounds just beautiful like this. It makes him wonder, whether Roger would sound fantastic as he came too, open and vulnerable in a way he never is on court and—

-- and what the fuck is he thinking?! Blank shock is enough to have him forgetting to swallow and come catches in his throat, suddenly too much so he has to pull back to cough, working Mardy through the orgasm with his hand because he’s not an asshole enough to do all that teasing without following through.

It’s only when he’s caught his breath, Mardy relaxing with a long sigh beside him, that he lets himself wonder why the hell he cares what Roger sounds like when he comes. Why it should even matter since he’ll never know, putting on a show for the Swiss one thing but he doesn’t want Roger like that, not at all, at least--

-- or at least he didn’t think he did.

Oh, he thinks blankly, staring unseeing down at the panting Mardy, all golden, sweat-slick skin beside him. Oh …fuck.

“Eight out of a ten,” a voice comments, almost laughing. Briefly distracted from thoughts of Roger, Andy glances towards it to find Tommy and Marat watching them with identical, lazy smiles, wrapped together in a half-embrace as they look over the tangled heap of Andy and Mardy thoughtfully. Andy tenses slightly under the appraising stares, wondering if he’s being teased or if it’s an insult, comeback ready on his tongue if it’s needed. It’s not as if they can say anything, carrying on as they have been all damn day—

“Good lead up, nice technique.” Tommy’s smile is genuinely teasing, nothing malicious in it and Andy relaxes enough to roll his eyes in reply. “Ten out of ten for hotness.”

“But unfortunate lack of stamina on the part of Roddick,” Marat adds with a smirk. “What’s the matter Andy, something go down the wrong way?”

“Fuck. Off.” Andy sticks his tongue out, realising too late that he’s got come all over his chin which kind of ruins any chance he had of looking remotely annoyed. “Just because we weren’t the ones hiding it under our blanket.”

“You mean you’re the ones with no shame.” Leaning lazily back against Marat, Tommy returns the stuck-out tongue, fumbling under the blanket with a crackle of plastic. Andy’s about to ask what the hell he’s doing when the German’s smile widens into a grin and a marshmallow bounces off Andy’s nose.

“You--!” On his feet in an instant, snatching up the nearest bag of marshmallows, Andy pelts Tommy with them as he scrambles for cover behind Marat, ignoring the Russian’s yell of protest at becoming a makeshift shield. Mardy’s sigh of “Andy!” is ignored as, half running, half falling, Andy skids on the wet grass when he tries to stop. Arms windmill for balance before he drops to his knees and lunges to grab Tommy’s ankle to keep the German from getting away.

“Give up Haas!” he demands and gets marshmallow bounced off his forehead in response. Marat rolls hastily to one side out of the line of fire as Tommy fights back with more marshmallows and a stream of rude German as Andy crawls closer, hand keeping his grip on the German’s leg to stop him running.

“You can’t win Andy,” Tommy gasps out between wriggling to free himself, half-laughing as he throws his last marshmallow. Andy grins and, balancing himself with a hand on the German’s thigh, lunges forward to upend his entire bag of marshmallows over Tommy’s head.

“I think you’ll find I just did,” he announces triumphantly, grinning down at the sugar-sticky Tommy half-pinned under him but it fades when he realises where his hand’s slipped to in the struggle, registering the shape of the warm, damp skin under his palm. A quick glance down has him flushing; he hadn’t noticed in the brief fight, caught up in winning but it’s impossible not to see now, firelight reflecting in the sheen of come over Tommy’s stomach and wetness seeping through Andy’s jeans where they rest against the German’s thighs. His hand is pressed to Tommy’s hardening cock and he hastily jerks it away, closing his fingers convulsively around his wet palm.

“You’re…” He stumbles over the words, cheeks suddenly hot. “You’re very naked.”

A hand brushes across his back, running lightly down over his ass and Andy jumps as Marat whispers with the wet touch of lips to his ear, “Yes he is. Want to do something about it?”

Tempting for all of a second, Tommy’s lazy smile promising— oh fuck, promising very good sex, hard to refuse and Andy’s still-hard cock demanding that he accept but then there’s a sleepy sound from Mardy a few feet away and guilt has him pulling quickly back.

“No, I—I mean I can’t because—“

Marat’s hand on his ass squeezes, slightly too hard for comfort and the strangled noise that escapes Andy gets a chuckle from Tommy, the German’s hips pushing up to rub his cock along Andy’s stomach. “If you’re worried about your boyfriend,” he murmurs as Andy flinches, only Marat’s quick grip on his shoulder holding him still. “I don’t think he’ll mind.”

Well no, he probably wouldn’t because Mardy’s never been the paranoid type no matter how many people he’s shared Andy with and a glance back over his shoulder shows the blond lying on his side, watching them with a sleepy smile. Faintest incline of his head that says it’s fine, go ahead and Andy’s almost convinced, Marat’s hand pushing past his thighs to cup his cock through denim enough to have the yes hovering behind gritted teeth, resistance fading. Tommy’s all hot skin and pale, suggestive eyes beneath him; Marat’s groping him as if agreement is inevitable; Mardy doesn’t mind, not to mention he’ll get to watch. There’re a thousand, million reasons why this could be fun, for all of them, and it’s only as Andy’s bending his head to kiss Tommy, as good as giving his ‘okay’, that he remembers the only reason that matters more than sex right now.


“No, my name’s Tommy,” the German mutters, lips wet and soft under Andy’s mouth, so very tempting to forget protesting and just take advantage of them. “Tom-mee, okay? Though if you want to call me Roger I guess it’s fine, if a little weird—“

“No.” It takes an effort to lift his head, eyelids fluttering as Marat does something twisty and so very good with his hand on Andy’s cock, jeans really uncomfortable now. Only the lingering flash of Roger coming in his mind, hot and beautiful and—and bad mind, going there, because it’s absolutely not something he wants to let himself contemplate, really, -- forces him to focus on the spot where Roger had been sitting, because it was going to be awkward with the Swiss after just showing off with Mardy, never mind—

-- never mind anything, because Roger’s gone. Blanket crumpled in a heap, no sign of him anywhere. Andy casts a frantic glance around the camp, tent in darkness, Swiss nowhere to be seen within the yellow glow cast by the fire and rising panic curls into a knot in his stomach, cold and sickening as he wonders if it’s his fault, making such a deal about sucking off Mardy. Maybe Roger freaked, maybe he was more bothered by being the fifth wheel than they’d thought, maybe--

“He took off.” Mardy’s voice, quiet, coming from just behind him and Andy shifts off Tommy as he looks round. The German’s disappointed mutter is ignored, as is the loss of Marat’s hand between his legs because Mardy’s not smiling, not quite, but it’s close. Looking like he knows everything that’s going through Andy’s mind and quirking an eyebrow questioningly only gets a shake of the older American’s head. Mardy’s not up for explaining anything, that much is clear. Andy guesses it’s enough that his boyfriend isn’t going to question his sudden concern over Roger and hell, that’s more than enough to have him returning Mardy’s half-smile.

Beside him, Tommy sits up to take the blanket Marat offers him and wraps it around his waist with an air of petulance, very much like a child who’d had a promised treat taken away. “Who took of— Oh.” Sudden guilt replaces the disappointment at Andy pulling away. “Roger. Was it us?”

“What else would it be?” Andy demands, grabbing his t-shirt from where it’d snagged on the tent when he tossed it away and tugging it over his head. A moment of thought has him crouching beside his backpack to dig out the flashlight buried beneath his spare socks. “He’s straight as a fucking ruler and all we’ve done since we got here is leave him out. You don’t think he might be feeling uncomfortable right about now?”

“Federer’s not straight.”

Said as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world and the three of them turn to stare at Marat who stares calmly back, hint of a confused frown behind his smile. “What? He isn’t. He was sleeping with that doubles partner he has, Yves. They broke up a few months ago.” The frown deepens, smile fading as he seems to realise he’s stunned the other three into silence. “How could you not know?”

“But—but Mirka.” Suddenly needing to sit down, Andy drops back onto the damp grass with the heaviness of utter shock, flashlight dangling forgotten in one hand. Roger’s straight, it’s just part of his world, part of life like drinking Starbucks and using a racquet to play tennis. He’s built a whole set of preconceptions on it; perfect Roger and his perfect girlfriend, perfect lives and the perfect fat babies they’ll have one day.

The Swiss can’t have a whole other side that Andy doesn’t know. That he didn’t even suspect.

“She was his girlfriend for a year or so but she’s been just a cover for a while now.” Picking out a marshmallow from the bag beside him, Marat pops it in his mouth whole, voice muffled but still confused when he speaks. “I still don’t see how you don’t know about it.”

“Maybe because we don’t gossip with every player in the locker room,” Tommy says acidly but Andy’s tuning out. The shock’s still there like a lump in his chest but it’s easing, slowly, as he fits the pieces together. The way Roger always hung on just that fraction too long in a hug, the shy glances at the net. The annoying way he managed to look good even when wearing clothes Andy’s sure his grandparents would’ve considered out of date; tiny details that he’d never thought about twice or put down to over-thinking it on his part, never making the leap from them into ‘Roger’s not straight.’ Not even a step in the right direction.

But fine, whatever. It’s something to process later, maybe to talk over with Mardy if they can find a private moment but it doesn’t matter because Roger’s still out in the dark, up a mountain, alone. Find him first, worry about what impression he’d have got from Andy deliberately sucking off Mardy in front of him later, because that’s a whole other set of questions Andy’s pushing to the back of his mind along with his unexpected interest in the Swiss. He doesn’t want Roger, he—

“Going to go look for him?” Warm lips press briefly to his neck, Mardy’s blue eyes narrowed in worry as Andy glances at him. “Want me to come?”

“You already did remember?” Andy sidesteps the question teasingly, leaning over to kiss the other American. “No point in you getting dressed and going out in the dark too. I’ll yell at him for wandering off alone and be back before you have time to warm the sleeping bag for me.”

Mardy’s not convinced; it’s obvious from the way he bites his lip, frowning and Andy brushing a kiss over his furrowed forehead does nothing to lessen the worried expression. “Mardy I’ll be fine. He can’t have gone far. Which way’d he go?”

Mardy points off to their left through the trees and Andy tries to ignore the anxiety in the blue eyes as he kisses his boyfriend again, quick touch of wet lips together, before grabbing the flashlight he’d dropped and pushing himself to his feet with a protest from his much-abused knees. If he and Mardy get a private moment to fuck tomorrow, he’ll have to beg off being top. Camping might be fun in some ways, miles away from civilisation, not having to worry about being spotted making out but he could do without the hard ground part, especially if there was going to be as much sex this weekend as he suspected.

Though with things the way they were, Roger seemingly upset enough to disappear into dark, deserted woods in the middle of the night to get away from them, maybe sex should be off the agenda. But then again, if Marat’s right, if the Swiss wasn’t quite so straight as Andy had thought then there shouldn’t be so much of a problem, at least not with that but—

But clearly there is, proven by Roger’s little expedition into the woods. Heaving a sigh, Andy flicks on the flashlight as the last glow from the campfire dies away behind him. So much for an innocent, uncomplicated weekend toasting marshmallows although, thinking about it with hindsight, he’s not sure that was ever an option to begin with.

Tommy’s come is still damp down his thighs, jeans clinging uncomfortably to his skin and Andy resignedly wonders who he’s kidding. Definitely, never an option.

With that comforting thought, he casts one last, longing glance back towards the camp and walks deeper into the forest, looking for the Swiss he’s not even sure he wants to find. With all the potentially disastrous ways -- and there are countless ones -- his new attraction could go, it might be better for him to stay as far from Roger as possible until they’re safely back with civilisation and he can get this ridiculous lust for the Swiss under control.

“Andy,” he mutters to himself as he walks, watching the tiny circle of yellow from the flashlight illuminate nothing but more trees and nothing at all like a certain Swiss tennis player, “you are a complete idiot.”

He keeps walking anyway because, right now, he doesn’t think there’s anything else he could do.

* * *
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