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The first time they kissed it was a hot and sloppy thing, teeth nipping at full lips and tongues clashing and Sebastian's ridged nose mashed against Orsino's sloping one. They were trapped and desperate men when they met, shackled by the city, shackled by cognitive dissonance, shackled by themselves. Sebastian shoved Orsino into the wall and clamped hands around his wrists, hips pushing rudely into the mage's, mouth slick with saliva and hunger and maybe the tiniest hint of blood from where the thin skin of Orsino's lips had broken.
There was no grace in it, no tenderness, and it set the tone of kisses to come.
Whenever the two met, it was on the brink of carnal desperation, fingers clawing at robes and groins straining towards their partner. Orsino bore bruises where hip met thigh, at the crook of his elbow and the curve of his breast. Sebastian's lips would be raw and chapped, and he'd worry at them with his teeth as he stood vigil in the chapel, flushing under his robes at the lingering memories of a night spent in sweat-soaked sin.
Lazarus Hawke was on his deathbed when Sebastian slipped into Orsino's chambers and into his bed, and the pungent clamminess of illness clung to him like a shroud. Though they shared their moments of suffering, it was usually Sebastian who wrapped his thick arms around the frail mage and pressed his lips to silver-grey hair, murmuring words of succour and solace.
Not this night. Orsino shifted under the covers, turned, and Sebastian folded into his embrace like a child, silent but shivering. Orsino kissed the beads of sweat from his brow, the pallour from his cheeks, the trembling from his lips. He lifted strands of heavy chestnut hair and sifted his fingers through them, his leg gently rubbing Sebastian's under the sheets.
Sebastian opened his mouth to speak, but Orsino's gentleness undid him, and all that came out was a shuddering sigh. Little by little he relaxed into the mage's embrace, lifting his face to accept the softest of kisses, the slowest and most lingering of kisses, the kiss of love and empathy without questioning or conditions.
Later kisses tasted slightly of salt instead of iron, of gratitude instead of hunger, and they fell asleep before passion stirred, as peaceful as angels, as peaceful as death.