Zoe stanned him, scrunched up against her in the conical capsule, from their floating observational pyramid.
‘Seen him without his spacesuit?’ she banted, ‘He’s slaying! That beard’s so legit? Those muscles are snatched. Look at him! Gangsta! He’s proper peng. His crew cut’s butters, though!’
She pressed her pale round face into his, steaming him with her runny nose. Her eyelashes were fleek. Tears cascaded down her milky white skin, sticking her to him. Okay, she kidded herself, I’m calm!
‘Love you bare, Michael,’ she mouthed.
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