I hold Baz’s face in both my hands. Like he’s made of glass. Like he’d break. He won’t. I kiss him. And it’s cool. I kiss him like he’s cold water, and I’m drinking. He wraps his palm around the base of my tail. He holds me by the neck. He rocks and rocks and rocks into me. “Baz . . .” “Please, Simon.” “You don’t have to . . .” Is this, is this, is this what people do? Is this what he wants? Is this what I’m allowed to take? He’s rocking into me, and I need this to happen again someday in the light. I don’t know what Baz’s face looks like, like this, when he’s coming undone. And I can’t keep
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