Jason leaned down, and kissed him.
Colby did not move for a single second, and then made a soft yielding tiny sound and kissed him back.
Colby kissed like someone who’d done a lot of kissing on screen, and simultaneously also someone wholly artless and astonished at being kissed. He tasted like mint and a whisper of coffee and sugar, Jason registered fuzzily—being considerate, no doubt, mingled with the need for caffeine—and he knew how to tip that head, how to find the right angles, how to arch up into a co-star. All of that was true.
But it was more. Kissing Colby was more.
Jason drank him in, discovered those lips, explored that eloquent mouth. Colby could talk to the world, and Jason wanted to taste every story; Colby opened up without holding back and let him in, let Jason’s tongu
