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It's just a kiss. Mostly.

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It's just a kiss, Tommy tells himself.

Except it's not just anything. It's an innocent brush of lips that slowly morphs into a stupid mash-up of the filthiest thing he's ever imagined and an overwhelming joy he only associates with Adam.

It's erotic and tender and goddamn perfect.

Adam pushes his thigh between Tommy's legs and Tommy curls his fingers tighter in Adam's shirt. Then, need zipping down his spine, Tommy has to stop, has to step back before he comes in pants. Breaking the kiss, he whispers, "Jesus."

"Amen," Adam returns.

Lips quirking, Tommy says, "I've finally found religion."