Without any conscious thought, Thom pressed his lips against Justin’s. Then they were kissing, and Thom couldn’t have cared less about the broken glasses, or the kitchen, or anything else that existed on the face of the planet. All that mattered was the taste of Justin’s lips and the way Justin slid his hand from Thom’s shoulders down Thom’s arm. Thom was sure Justin’s fingertips left a trail of electric blue fire on his skin, the kind of fire that bored into Thom’s body and intensified once it found his core. In that moment, everything that Thom had ever not wanted someone to do—touch him, look at him, be part of him—became things that he needed more than breath itself.