Work Text:
It was awkward to think that he hadn't ever kissed anyone but Ken.
Ken Masters, who when they were still kids, had indulged in a gentle love peck on his lips, an act of smooth and unassuming affection. Ken, who had kissed him in elation when they saw each other again after a brief reprieve when they were teenagers. Ken, who had held his hands warm and firm along the sides of Ryu's neck after they'd wrested in the forest, and slowly brought their faces together.
In every scene, it was always Ken.
By and large, kissing Ken was a sensation like submerging in a lake and letting water wash over him. It felt purifying- relaxing in the way it was freeing from inhibition. A straightforward and yet spontaneous process. Intentionally chosen, and yet committed with the unguided air of being predestined. Ryu tried not to let any knowledge of societal conventions cloud his mind. When he reached out to the core of it, searched himself for the soul of the matter, he didn't feel any reason to be ashamed or embarrassed about intimacy when it was with his closest friend. Kissing Ken was an act that did not require such overexamination.
And with Ken, affection was always well timed. Ryu could remember being a child- and even now- withdrawing from others' earnest attempts at affection. He had squirmed whenever his mentors tried to do much more than pat his head- and even this he had needed to train himself to accept. He didn't care much for casual touching. By some primal, animalistic instinct, he didn't feel safe when people "lovingly" imposed on his personal space.
The context of the martial arts was different however. His physicality responded well to wrestling and striking. These were acts of love- as much as they could hurt. And Ken understood that. Their body language synchronized in such a way that it usually felt like Ken was reading his mind. So when Ken held him or rested his head on him or planted a kiss- the timing was almost always perfect. Kissing Ken felt as natural as breathing.
He silently hoped Ken really could read his mind through his body. He hoped that he knew whenever they fist bumped or he tolerated an arm around his shoulder or flank, he was wordlessly confessing, "Only your touch does not offend me."