meme: First Kiss Drabbles

[girlalmighty]

Today's meme was suggested by Leah.

First Kiss Drabbles

Tag your characters into the post and respond to each other with either prompts for or drabbles about the first time they kissed. In the city or out the city, alternate universe (whether or not they've already kissed), total crack, utterly chaste or downright pornographic, current pairings or match-ups that would never happen — whatever suits your fancy, write it here.

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[righttoplay]

Stephen Meyers

[toanend]

Katie Marks

[doublenegative]

Hannah Weaver

[wishesandsmoke]

Eden McCain

[notfaking_it]

It's not their first kiss. Not their second or third.

Lily's lost count of how many times she kissed Eden on the island and this Eden here, this woman in the city, she's still her Eden. She's still right. But Lily isn't sure what else is right anymore. All the loss and the movement and something's gone wrong in the shift from city to island to city. Nina's not here, but Eden is and yet sometimes, at the right angle, Eden is Nina and it sends panic and desire alike racing through Lily's body.

When the lights are off and the apartment is dark, Lily presses her mouth to the most sensitive places she can find. The inside of Eden's elbow, the back of her knee, she kisses her everywhere but her mouth, because she's afraid if she does, if she kisses her again, she'll lose the part of Eden that's also Nina. It isn't fair, but that doesn't stop her and she thinks perhaps Eden knows it or senses it in some way.

"Lily, stop." The voice is soft, but she can't ignore the command.

Moonlight filters in through a blind. She's Nina, she's Eden, she's Nina and Lily feels like she's losing her mind.

She wonders if this was how Nina always felt.

"What's wrong?" Eden asks and Lily shakes her head, her hair falling in her face.

"Nothing," she answers, but she knows Eden can make her tell the truth if she wants. During the past few months, she hasn't used it on Lily, not on purpose, not until this night and she's suddenly sure that Eden will ask her to stop lying. To tell her everything and so, without waiting for the command, she says, "I keep seeing Nina. I don't want to lose that."

But as soon as she says it, the light shifts and she sees Eden again. Eden's here. Nina isn't and Lily can't know if she'll ever come back again. What matters is right here and she shakes her head again, but there's a smile this time. And then she stretches slowly over Eden's body.

"Nevermind," she says, then kisses her. Not for the first time ever, but for the first time in the city.

[vocalfuel]

Katniss Everdeen

[losttheright]

Molly Stearns

[boo_fuckin_yah]

"It's not all bad," Russell says, reaching across the table to take Molly's hand. That's true enough, but it isn't exactly helpful, he knows, and he almost feels guilty for saying it. When even one thing is bad, most other things look bad, too. He knows this well, but there he is, still trying to make Molly feel better by saying things that don't really make sense.

But then she smiles. It's hesitant, sad, but she's smiling all the same and Russell feels a little bit better. He doesn't know how it happened or when -- maybe that first day, he thinks, maybe standing there in that store, waiting for her while she changed -- but he wants to keep her safe. Wants to make sure she's got no reason to feel sad, even though he knows that's impossible.

"Thanks," she says, looking down at her empty cup of coffee.

Russell shrugs, then gets up from the table, reaching for her coffee. "I'll get you a refill," he says, then on impulse, leans over and presses a kiss to her cheek. "It's all gonna be okay, Molly. It will be. I'll take care of you."

[fiveminutewindow]

Driver Paul West

[onewhoisall]

It is late; the streets are empty, the lone car drives and the lone hero stalks. Together they move through the empty city in silence, moving in opposing directions and never meeting until the morning. He has coffee, she has tea. They don't talk with words, sitting opposite each other in comfortable silence as the world moves around them.

Her knee brushes against his, subtle but present as a reminder. His lips tug at the corners, glancing down before he pays the bill as she watches him silent. They leave together, her small hands in his. His are slick with grease and leave smudges across her cheek and neck. She leaves scratches along his back, desperate and almost needy for the quiet touch.

They don't talk, they don't need to. They understand each other perfectly.

[dreambigger]

Eames

[forthedog]

The thing about fighting and fucking is that it's all adrenaline. It's all falling, screaming, tearing at the world and trying to shove your way through to something else. It's like being born. It's fragments of a beginning and it's broken before it even gets going; like this, it's original sin.

Mike's first and last sin is not stopping.

Who even fucking knows how it starts? It starts with Eames's mouth, which he doesn't like--the decadent fullness of it and the way it always looks like it's on the edge of a smirk. It starts with his fist crashing into it and it ends with his teeth closed on that fucking full-and-almost-smirking lower lip, bodies pressed and straining and hands a blur of heat. He's moaning, open-mouthed, moaning when he should be growling, loosening when he should be tight and angry. He's got Eames pinned against the wall but he's not so stupid as to think for a fucking moment that he's in control.

Fuck. Fuck. Neil is going to be so fucking mad at him.

Or maybe he'll just laugh forever.

Maybe that makes the most sense.

[tryingtobuyit]

Jacob Palmer

[countermission]

Sydney Bristow

[ex_stake683]

Buffy Summers

[boo_fuckin_yah]

Russell Clank

[uncannyaim]

Andrea

[forthedog]

This is not a true story.

She saved his life with a single shot and an explosion of long-dead brain matter. In return he teaches her about time and its manipulation. He shows her how to move and how to breathe--which, at it turns out, are both more complicated than we're born knowing. He shows her how to be a knife that cuts through the world without ever using a gun.

He shows her how to breathe and he breathes into her, breathes from her, that first night with everything soaked in milky corpse-light and the shuffling of the dead outside the walls. Apart and isolated, they could bathe in death, but when he closes his mouth over hers they set the fucking world on fire.

They can't touch us, she whispers, and he almost believes her. The world is dead but she has her gun and he has his knife and together they're a gorgeous fucking danse macabre. If she were silent it would hurt too much, it would summon up a ghost, so he pulls sounds from her mouth with his hands and his lips and his tongue. He makes her sing and scream and then, because he can't let her be quiet, because it would hurt so fucking much, he traces the line of the scar on her face with the tip of his tongue until he can see it blind.

This is not a true story. But if it were true it could wake the dead.

[likesboys]

Kurt Hummel

[historyhappens]

Things never went the way they were supposed to. Dakin had told Kurt that when talking about the ex who wasn't really an ex but just from a time before they'd dated. Would there be poetry or plays or even novels? Who would have written them if they'd gotten the one that they wanted?

All literature is consolation.

He'd said that once, but didn't say that here, not tonight with Kurt upset and railing against the indecency of it all. Even Dakin could see that would be pushing too far.

Insensitive, yes. A complete jerk, no.

Instead he stopped the other boy the only way he could think of. Fingers curled into Kurt's shirt, the taste of scotch on both of their lips. He wasn't as gentle as he maybe should have been, wasn't sweet or nice but edged with desperation and need he'd not likely admit to.

Definitely not Posner, but not Irwin either. That he thought that stopped him, pulling away with a shake of his head and a smile. He'd laugh at himself, but somehow he doubted that wouldn't go over well either.

"What were you saying?"

[unburden]

Kuchiki Rukia

[bloodyanimal]

Spike

[onewhoisall]

He kisses her forehead, warm and protective against the leather of her mask before her fist slams into his gut making him double over.

"Bloody hell, what was that for?"

She grins at him, her face still hidden beneath the mask.

"Still too slow."

"I'll give you bleeding slow in a minute."

"All talk, no action William."

She smiled, ducking out of his reach and up into the shadows before she blew him a kiss. Spike was fun.

[beautyof_form]

Hanna Heller

[onewhoisall]

It's quick, light and fleeting across her cheek. A sharp tap with her fist before she ducks, kicks before leaping away. The song called it a kiss. She guessed that's what it was. A kiss.

[likeaplanet]

Neil McCormick

[onewhoisall]

Her fingers are at his throat, fleeting and fluttering and slowing. She pulls at the mask, sliding it off as quick as anything before her lips are on his. It's air, it's life that drives her not passion. She is too reckless, there are cameras. People will know but she doesn't care.

Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.

Her second kiss saves him. Her second kiss gives him life.

[onewhoisall]

Cassandra Cain

[little_duck]

Primrose Everdeen

[hiddeninsnow]

Lisbeth Salander

[forthedog]

Mike Pinocchio

[fatherslove]

Subject Delta

[thewarbler]

Blaine Anderson

[likesboys]

It's been over a year since Blaine Anderson first took Kurt Hummel's breath away. Countless times since then, Kurt's found himself suddenly presented with a burning in his chest, prevalent and spreading through his lungs like fire, each muscle tensing until he fell apart, undone, underneath Blaine's hands, tender and warm. At first, it was nothing short of a spark in his day, unexpected and unprecedented, lighting a fire which burned warm, comforting, deep inside his chest. But in the months to follow, it's become regular, the kind of regular that's far from ordinary, but far past necessary. Kurt needs Blaine to breathe, and every day that he goes without sinks further in his stomach. His voice doesn't ring the same. He doesn't have the breath to spare.

It's been over a month since Blaine Anderson arrived in Darrow, and not once has Kurt been able to kiss him. Not once has he felt it his place to even try. For the months that they shared, all the breaths and the touches happily given, are suddenly shoved to the back of his mind, memories now meant to be stored, that can't be called upon again with the both of them. Isolated and alone, each day Kurt finds himself singing a little less, because Blaine keeps on stealing Kurt's breath without knowing, without returning, that short distance between the both of them worse than being on opposite ends of the earth.

Because it's making the choice that proves most hard, when all Kurt wants to do is bury himself in Blaine's arms, hold fast, drift off to sleep, limbs tangled in wrinkled sheets.

They've shared thousands of kisses before this, the memory etched so many times into Kurt's mind that it can't be erased, can't be worn, can't be smoothed out to return Kurt to the way things were. Perhaps everything blurs in retrospect, but not this. These are the scars that one wears with pride, the wrinkles at the corners of one's eyes formed from too much laughter, and Kurt has too many of them now, reminded every day that he looks in the mirror.

Each time they kissed was a reflection of the first. Drawn over the same lines. He remembers the echo of words, delirium that arrived with the ringing sound, remembers the tingle of a palm hastily knocking against wood and the brief tickle of cologne under his nose, and above all the warmth by his palm, the smile that he could feel with the brush of a thumb. Kurt Hummel remembers his first kiss well, the first that mattered, but it's only his by a thread now. And Blaine Anderson, well. He isn't the boy who gave him that kiss, not anymore.

(Does that boy still exist?)

Most people only have one chance at a first kiss; Kurt has had four. Once, tasting of root beer. Once, rough and desperate and terrifying for the drag of teeth over his lip. Once, in the halls of his sanctuary, dark mahogany tones spread throughout his line of sight.

And this time, this time, he hopes will be the last.

There's no moment. No singular confession. The tides don't turn in a single second. No, this time, the waves are slow to rise, and quick to recede, a thousand moments shared and not one ounce of courage between them to take that last step. Songs brushed by the shells of their ears, tight embraces, fueled by fear and uncertainty, but worn in a way that adolescents aren't meant to learn. It's nothing that Kurt's wanted, nothing even that Kurt's had, clumsy and bumbling and too many tears shed, even now as they press between lips, salty to taste and streaming hot down his cheeks.

Their first kiss is when Kurt Hummel says goodbye to Blaine Anderson at last, and similarly, when he says hello for the first time, two teens crowded in the corner of a shadowed closet, with ghosts begging for entrance outside.

Kurt's not sure he has any breath left in him.

But maybe that's fortunate, he thinks, the three words that he knows so well spilling out before he can stop them, pushed by nothing more than a breath of air.

"I love you," he says, and they fade into silence.

[notliketherest]

Johanna Mason

[fatherslove]

Happy New Year.

His last one--the last one he remembered--hadn't gone so well. But this one seemed quiet. He wasn't drunk--never making that mistake again--but he was warm, and he thought he might be safe, though part of him would never really believe that.

He didn't dance, and he realized he didn't know if she did either, but she caught his hand and his hand caught her waist and suddenly she was laughing and, because he had always been comfortable following her lead, he was laughing too. He always felt alone in crowds. He always took comfort in the idea that he might not be the only one.

"You look beautiful," he said to her. He said it very seriously. Delta never learned how to lie.

"Shut the fuck up," she said, but when she leaned up and pressed their lips gently and quickly together, that felt like her real answer. And it felt like a New Year really did have a hope in hell of being Happy.