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This is their love song; sometimes a ballad, sometimes an explosion of upbeat pop. Sometimes dark and bitter and full of loathing. It stretches on and on, endless, discord and harmony, thin notes and crashing crescendos. They create it from breath sounds, from the slap of skin and the harsh noises that tear from their throats, from mumbled prayers; the please-god-fuck’s and the yes-Jesus-yes’s that fall from their lips. And when James tugs at Kendall’s hands, wraps his long fingers tighter around his own throat, Kendall obeys without a word, nuzzling his nose against James’s spine, kissing the back of his neck wet and sweet as he tightens his grip.