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Makoto always thought his first kiss would be with Kokomi. In a way, maybe it was, whether it be mimicry of his parents pressing a kiss to baby Kokomi's forehead, or the innocent little pecks to the cheek in childhood that dwindled as she got older. He desperately craved those kisses again, being able to kiss her head, her cheeks, her eyes, and one day, maybe her lips, so she could kiss him back.
When Makoto turned eighteen, TV Tokyo had enough of his childish, naive attitude on the matter of kissing. He'd managed to skate by his teens without even a peck on the lips with a fellow actor, but now the jig was up. He had no more excuses. They had him practice kissing a mannequin first, helping him through his squeamishness until it looked almost natural. Makoto only ever managed to do it with his eyes closed, imagining it being his beloved angel, and his first kiss on screen was with an actress that was just close enough that he could pretend if he squinted hard enough.
It got easier after that, but Makoto still held firm to his commitment of no tongue. The chaste image continued to be a popular look on him, so the studio obliged, yet they frequently reminded him it wouldn't last forever. Over time, his on screen kisses went from a firm press of lips to a more sensual dance that implied enough to leave the thought of tongue to the viewer's imagination.
Today was different. Tonight, there was no set, no film crew, no director, no audience. It was just Makoto, his own free will, and the puzzling blond that inexplicably stole his heart. Makoto's heart races and pounds so loudly that he can hear it in his ears as his face hovers mere inches away, eyes wide and body frozen like a stage fright he hadn't had since he was little. He wanted to kiss someone other than Kokomi, even if it simultaneously made his heart drop with the idea of betraying his dreams.
Kuusuke picks up on Makoto's hesitation, keen eyes and genius brain putting the pieces together. “You thought your first kiss would be with your darling sister, but now you're having second thoughts, aren't you?”
Makoto internally curses. Sometimes, he hated how perceptive Kuusuke could be, especially when he wore that smug look while stating things as if he knew them from the start. Maybe he did. Maybe he was a mind reader, despite his insistence that he wasn't. Which is what a mind reader would say.
“I'm not a mind reader, Makoto,” Kuusuke unhelpfully adds. “You're just incredibly easy to read.”
“You're doing it again,” Makoto grumbles, his lips forming into a pout.
Kuusuke only chuckles in response, and the sound makes Makoto's heart skip a beat. There was something so beautiful and endearing to it, something that made him want to hear more, something as addicting as the air he breathed. He's caught up in the same whirlwind of emotions as he was before the brief interjection and in the midst of the storm, he acts on instinct and leans forward.
His lips collide with the man underneath him, the whole thing feeling like that first leap of faith when he had his first scripted kiss. Makoto doesn't even realize he had his eyes screwed shut until he feels lips part under his own in a quiet gasp, and his eyes open to see wide, surprised, blinking ones. He feels his heart thud again and he once more closes his eyes, this time leaning in more deliberately and using his own lips to further part the ones beneath him with practiced movements.
A hand comes up to rest in Makoto's blue locks, Kuusuke's lips willingly opening now and letting Makoto lead the dance. In truth, this was Kuusuke's first kiss as well, even if he oft acted the part of someone seasoned in the art of romance. It was nothing more than just that: an act, put together by observations and calculations. It paled in comparison to reality like Kusuo's powers dwarfed whatever gift of intelligence everyone else seemed to think he had. Now, he was woefully reminded of his inadequacies with each skilled move of Makoto's lips, yet he still can't decide if he wants more of this fuzzy feeling blooming in his chest or if he wants to shove the actor away from him and regain his pride.
Naturally, he chooses a third option. Kuusuke makes it a competition.
Before Makoto can even react, Kuusuke has turned the tables, switching their positions and pushing Makoto back against the couch. He steadies one hand on Makoto's chest, lithe fingertips just barely curling around his shoulder while the other stays tangled in Makoto's hair, guiding his head so he can deepen the kiss. He showcases his ability as a quick study, mirroring each practiced movement with ease.
Underneath him, Makoto groans. This felt different: there was a certain frenzy to Kuusuke's actions, a certain determination. Between the diminished air, the rush of emotions, and his inexperience, Makoto find his head spinning with nary a thought in sight. When the kiss breaks, a breathless murmur escapes the actor's lips, and it's all Kuusuke needed to hear to dispel his inferiority with the flutter of an angel's wing.
“Oh wow.”