[Kazuha imagined their first kiss, should they have the opportunity, as something tender and sweet beneath the petals of the plum trees. The soft, uncertain brush of lips as he asks for silent permission, and then the chaste meeting spreading warmth in his chest. It's a very romantic daydream of his, one he'd meticulously planned for against most of his usual ways of conducting himself.
He at least got the plum tree part of this fantasy correct.
He's lucky that he doesn't get the wind knocked out of him when they tumble down, because Scaramouche steals the air from his lungs with his kiss. Hours of preparation are undone in an instant— his kimono is tugged loose, smudged with mud as he lands in the soft earth, his hair disheveled. He even loses a geta. Yet Kazuha can't find it in himself to mind, his lips curling upward in a smile as his lips press back into the kiss, stunned surprise and anxiety melting into elation.
It's not the soft and tender kiss he imagined, he might taste a little bit of blood, but it's still good. More than good, because they've never been perfect together as friends, so the little bit of hurt is rather fitting. Kazuha tempers Scaramouche's hunger, opening to his fierce kissing, but he inserts his own sweetness, his free hand raising to cup the other man's cheek. Fingers stroke over flawless skin, feeling the heat of his cheeks. This is worth it all— his loneliness fading.
The tragedy that one of them is only mortal, and if he didn't need the air that he finds such affinity with in his lungs, then he might never part from the doll's lips. Kazuha draws away only to breathe, dizzy from the lack of air and just dazed by the happenings, their lips making an audible (embarrassing) little 'smeck' as they part. He hovers close, reluctant to let Scaramouche draw back far.]
I'm open to learning.
[He can't help a teasing little smile on his face, his fingers brushing strands of Scaramouche's hair back behind his ear. He dips in, taking a kiss for himself this time— much more like how he imagined. He baits more kisses with small pecks, light and sweet against the corners of Scaramouche's lips.]
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He at least got the plum tree part of this fantasy correct.
He's lucky that he doesn't get the wind knocked out of him when they tumble down, because Scaramouche steals the air from his lungs with his kiss. Hours of preparation are undone in an instant— his kimono is tugged loose, smudged with mud as he lands in the soft earth, his hair disheveled. He even loses a geta. Yet Kazuha can't find it in himself to mind, his lips curling upward in a smile as his lips press back into the kiss, stunned surprise and anxiety melting into elation.
It's not the soft and tender kiss he imagined, he might taste a little bit of blood, but it's still good. More than good, because they've never been perfect together as friends, so the little bit of hurt is rather fitting. Kazuha tempers Scaramouche's hunger, opening to his fierce kissing, but he inserts his own sweetness, his free hand raising to cup the other man's cheek. Fingers stroke over flawless skin, feeling the heat of his cheeks. This is worth it all— his loneliness fading.
The tragedy that one of them is only mortal, and if he didn't need the air that he finds such affinity with in his lungs, then he might never part from the doll's lips. Kazuha draws away only to breathe, dizzy from the lack of air and just dazed by the happenings, their lips making an audible (embarrassing) little 'smeck' as they part. He hovers close, reluctant to let Scaramouche draw back far.]
I'm open to learning.
[He can't help a teasing little smile on his face, his fingers brushing strands of Scaramouche's hair back behind his ear. He dips in, taking a kiss for himself this time— much more like how he imagined. He baits more kisses with small pecks, light and sweet against the corners of Scaramouche's lips.]