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"Young love, isn’t it sweet?" (Tomclay, re: Irishring)

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“Stop being a peeping tom!”

Tom turns and gives Barclay the wry-eye. “Har har. Actually, that was a good’un; keep on.” He returns to peeking over the kitchen divider to where Chris and Casey nuzzle at each other as Casey stirs something in a pot.

“I learnt to chop herbs just for you,” Chris remarks.

“Liar,” Casey says. “You learnt on TV. I watched you.”

Barclay tugs at Tom’s beltloops. “C’mon, babe, it’s creepy. Not into aneurysm.”

“Voyeurism,” Tom corrects absently. He lets Barclay lift him from his spying perch and wraps his legs around Barcs’ waist. “What about exhibitionism?”