And Martin’s pretty sure he’ll never forget what Danny looks like with the moonlight on him, how he tastes – salty, mouth warm under the cool sheen of water, breath hot and sweet and urgent – when Martin kisses him, when he licks along the ridge of Danny’s collarbone.


So, I thought this was just about my favorite line of anything you've ever written...but then I read this

It’s like a honeymoon, he thinks ridiculously, some magic space removed from the rest of the world, fantastic and impermanent, even as Danny, hard and real and here, begins to move urgently against him, bucking into Martin’s hand and murmuring fervently against his mouth – Spanish, English, nonsense syllables (bello… oh, amor, amor, God, Martin) that Martin can understand only when he makes himself stop thinking.

Dude, you pulled out all the stops...the Spanish and the romance. *diez from hot*