Work Text:
The events leading up to Sinclair’s first kiss all started when he and Kromer were both staying behind late in the classroom. It wasn’t for any particular reason, really—not like the teacher had asked them to, it was just that Sinclair preferred to stay late and do his homework and then return home. But Kromer—Kromer knew the reason he was avoiding his house, and hung out with him after school as a result.
Today they don’t talk about much, Sinclair silently doing his homework as Kromer reads a book with a bored expression, taking sips of strawberry milk through a straw. The sunset shimmers through the curtains, and when Sinclair looks up, he finds Kromer staring at him. His heart skips a beat, and his pen hovers over the assignment he’s doing.
“…yes?”
Sinclair had long since learned that taking Kromer’s innocently toned questions at face value was a mistake. However, try as he might, again today he was about to make that same mistake.
“Have you ever kissed anyone before?” She asks, casually—too casually—she has her forefinger and thumb in between the pages of the book she’s half-reading, looking neither interested nor disinterested, mildly curious as she chews on the straw of her strawberry milk.
Kissing is a big deal to Sinclair, and his throat feels like it’s closed up, and he feels a heat rise in his cheeks. No, he hadn’t. But he’d thought about it, although he would never breathe a word about that fact to Kromer. There have been times where Demian’s lips were so close to his; his nape that smelled of soap; Sinclair had never examined anyone’s lips more closely nor did he frequently pursue the train of thought of kissing, nor did he have any experience, but—but through a strange sense of clairvoyance or perhaps common sense—he felt that Demian’s lips were likely very kissable.
Sinclair accidentally loses his grip on his pen and it clatters to the ground. Kromer watches it fall, and laughs. She closes her book and stands, walking to pick up the fallen pen. She hovers over him, a perfect smile on her lips. Sinclair feels small. Their faces are close, like the first time Kromer had spoken to him. This time, though, her hand is over his.
“You haven’t had your first kiss yet?” Kromer asks, and Sinclair shrinks, flustered and something like ashamed. He supposes he has a reason to be—it isn’t as if he’d be the only one who’s never kissed anyone by now, other than perhaps his mother, but he certainly was not part of the majority here. “You’re saving it for someone special?” She asks, all-knowing.
“Wh—” he splutters, and can’t meet her eyes. It wasn’t like he saw saving it for someone special—it’s just that he hadn’t had the chance to, that’s all—an opportunity hadn’t come up yet, and that was fine. He wasn’t ready for a relationship yet, anyhow. He wishes to rid himself of his obvious embarrassment but can’t, and turns his face away; self-aware that was practically an admission.
“Hmm,” she hums, and with her smile she could eat him whole, “Sinclair?”
“Y—” and before he can even get the word out, Kromer has her lips pressed to his. Sinclair’s eyes widen, and he feels something strange in his stomach. Somewhere between butterflies and stomach acid. His eyes flutter shut—you’re supposed to keep them closed, right? With his eyes shut Sinclair doesn’t realize that Kromer is staring at him, scrutinizing his every expression, watching the way he almost melted into the affection despite the visible tension in his shoulders, devouring the flush on his cheeks and savoring the way when she started to pull away, he leaned in again like he was desperate.
She holds his chin in her hand, their lips still touching, “Open your mouth, Sinclair.”
He complies without thinking, and is met with Kromer’s tongue in his mouth, and he knows what kissing is, and he knows what this kissing is, and it feels—overwhelming, first of all, and like he’s closer to adulthood than he’s ever been before—he feels impossibly close to her like this, and her tongue is warm and wet in his mouth and she tastes like what they had for lunch, pork and vegetables with bread on the side, like the strawberry milk she was drinking, he’s too distracted by her lips on his, but knows he’ll always remember this moment, this flavor—a question flickers dimly in his mind as he wonders if all kissing was like this or if Kromer just knew what she was doing—
Most pressingly, Sinclair realizes very, very quickly that he enjoys kissing, if this is what it’s meant to be like. He doesn’t know how to kiss back so he simply lets her kiss him, feeling the way her tongue swept across his teeth and seemed to trace her signature on his tongue—there’s a certain warmth to it all that’s sending his head spinning.
He finds his hands clinging to her vest as she tilted his head back and—and— that’s her tongue down his throat, now—and—they’re—they’re in a school building now but when Sinclair tries to pull away and relay this pressing information, she just tightens her grip on him so he can’t escape and it’s starting to get hard to breathe, even though it feels good, the way she’s kissing him like she’s starving, even though it left Sinclair’s heart fluttering with overwhelm and fear; he rapidly taps her back with his hand to let her know he needs to breathe.
“So?” She asks, and then stops and stares. For a second her expression is unreadable, it’s something like shock or surprise, and then she grins; her eyes are sparkling. Sinclair stares at her through half-lidded eyes, mind fuzzy after that kiss. “Oh, Sinclair.”
“What…” he mumbles, grateful to finally be able to breathe. Kromer’s affectionate chuckling continues and she leans in again, and Sinclair breathes out a sigh in between relief and desperation. “Wait—Kromer, we—we can’t… we’re still at school, you know… anyone could walk in, and…” we’d surely get a talking to if they saw us kissing like that, he thinks but doesn’t say out of fear for how pathetic it sounded. She’d tease him for saying such a thing and be right about it.
Kromer half-listens, her lips pressing up against his again. And then suddenly, with an abrupt movement that makes him violently jerk, she bites down hard enough on his bottom lip to draw blood. The crimson flavor spreads on his tongue like wildfire.
“Ow! Kromer!” He hisses, hand to his lip. When he looks up at her she’s pulling away, wiping her mouth with a satisfied expression. She sets the pen on his desk. Sinclair stares down at it. It, too, would be a reminder of this moment. That… was his first kiss. As if he were in a trance, he presses his finger against his lips, and the blood there sticks to him. Unlike the blood, the memory would never be washed away.
She seems pleased. “And now your first kiss belongs to me. As it should be, really!” And she laughs, and takes back her seat. Sinclair’s heart hammers in his chest, and he’s not sure what to say, so he simply nods, the feeling of Kromer’s lips on his not one that would go away anytime soon.