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Kissing Clownpierce is hot.
Not just because Clownpierce himself is addictively attractive, but he physically runs warmer. When Branzy takes his hand, it feels as if he has a perpetual fever. Not that he minds, though. Quite the opposite. Branzy tends to run cold, afterall.
Kissing Clownpierce is like walking on burning coals barefoot. It stings, and you have to be quick to avoid getting burned; take breaks to catch your breath before moving in for more.
Clownpierce’s lips are like a brand. Red hot on the best of days and searing. When those lips wrap around him, Branzy feels like he’s on fire. He grasps desperately at the sheets, at Clown’s hair, at his own hair, whatever’s within reach. Clown always teases him afterwards about how he can’t stay still.
Branzy once tried to explain why, how it feels like getting dropped into a pit of lava and swimming to shore, but that only made Clown concerned. How could he explain he wouldn’t dream of pushing those lips away, even when he feels moments away from combusting?
So, he stopped trying to explain. He stopped trying to justify how he feels too. When his friends express concern about the red marks on his chest, he stops feeling nervous and starts feeling proud.
Yeah, Branzy got his partner so riled up that he left faint burn marks in the shape of his lips and fingertips. What of it? He’s just that good, thank you very much!
Kissing Branzycraft is cool.
Not simply because Branzy is so smart and charming. In reality, his natural body temperature would constitute the early stages of hypothermia for anyone. The anxiety disorder doesn’t help either, making his extremities cold, even by his standards. But, that’s okay; Clown is constantly overheating.
Kissing Branzycraft is like being outside in early spring or late fall. It’s the moments when the blades of grass are still covered in frost that’ll be gone by noon, and it’s too early to bother getting dressed but your pajamas are definitely too thin for the cold.
They say an increased temperature means the molecules are moving faster, and Clown may not know much about physics, but he’s experienced this principle many times before. There are so many moments where Branzy proves this to be true.
Moments where they get home from a fight and Clown can’t stand still, let alone sit. He paces and lingers and keeps his hands and mind busy. But when Branzy finally pulls him into that “Welcome Home” kiss, he can feel his molecules slow. The pumping adrenaline and bloodlust go from screams to faint murmurs. He can feel the tension drop from his shoulders in those moments.
Clown told Branzy this once, how his lips felt like the perfect balm on an old wound, like each breath is a little easier than the last and his thoughts more clear. Branzy couldn’t quite grasp it, though; he compared his description to chewing gum and drinking cold water.
While funny, the experience is always much more than that. It’s the snowflakes that form on Branzy’s lashes when he cries; it’s the suspiciously lip-shaped frostnip mark on Clown’s cheeks whenever he wakes up before him; it’s the way condensation rises between them when they’re both riled up, and it’s the three dehumidifiers in their bedroom.
Kissing Rekrap is… new.
He’s neither too hot nor too cold. Clown’s lips don’t leave little burns. Branzy’s lips don't leave frostnip patches. He tastes like fresh fruit and sweat most of the time; he tastes like waffles and mouthwash the rest.
Kissing Rekrap is like strolling through a vineyard. It's popping a grape in your mouth and taking a second to breathe, to assess, to decide, before choosing to have another. And you giggle too, giddy at both the idea of getting caught stealing like this and at getting away with it.
It’s not a secret, but it feels like one sometimes. Rek gets bold and then gets shy about it. He knocked Clown’s mask off kilter on accident and kissed him before adjusting it back in place, only to turn bright red when Clown cradled his waist and thanked him. He and Branzy shared a sleeping bag on a camping trip and in the morning Rek apologized for spooning him, as if Branzy hadn’t just had the best sleep in weeks doing that.
Clown misunderstands Rek as being coy, Branzy mistakes him for being insecure. It takes some time for them to understand the reality: Rek is shy. Smitten with them, love drunk on them, but also painfully shy.
They learn to accommodate. Over time, they figure out how exactly to make Rek bloom. How to get his heart racing and bring him back down safely. Plus, Rek not being too much of anything makes him moderately resilient to everything. He doesn’t writhe in borderline pain under Clown, nor do his bones turn to ice under Branzy. Instead, they learn how to leave bruises to mark what’s theirs.
It’s good. Nice. Grounding.