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The kiss is electric; he’s always been partial toward physics, and right now his veins carry an alternating current. You know, he could probably write a thesis based on this. You both stumble back back back until he’s hitting a wall, and yes, thankyou. He’s making all sorts of sounds he can’t justify, and it’s a supernova, an infinite black pool of— oh , he thinks he might die, ascend, transcend, when you press your thumb against his chin, hold your lips at just a little...