Alan/Nick . 502 words . PG-13 . This is a kiss for the centuries.
This is a kiss for the books, for the centuries, this is the sort of kiss that has everyone staring, forgetting what they were talking about, this is the sort of kiss that has the power to change everything.
Nick slides his tongue along the seam of Alan's lips, demanding rather than coaxing, and Alan resists for all of two seconds before they part, before Nick's tongue slides along his teeth like he's counting them, like he's hunting for a taste he can't quite reach.
Alan feels... helpless, unable to think past the next second and the next and he'll never get used to it. His hands clench in the collar of Nick's shirt, he shakes - everywhere - until Nick leans in closer, bracing him back, like he's trying to pin down what's shook him up and this human body isn't strong enough.
Alan whimpers into Nick's mouth. He means let up, let me do something and his fingers scrape at Nick's collarbone, and though Nick pulls a fraction of an inch away, he can feel the twisted smile on his lips. He pounces, then. Seals their lips tighter but on his terms, his teeth marking the edge of Nick's lower lip and his hands clenching tightly, too tightly.
Nick still flinches when he doesn't expect a touch - he'll never get used to it, probably, but Alan doesn't hold back. Their tongues slide against each other, harshly, and Alan's the one smiling this time - but not out of amusement, or pride, or a need to prove himself. He smiles because he can't help it. He smiles because he never thought he could be this happy.
Nick pushes, Alan pushes back, and they shove at each other until their legs are so tightly wound that neither could even hope to escape. Alan's arms wrap around Nick's waist, up his back, underneath the fabric of his sweat-damp t-shirt. Nick's hands are clamped down, one on the armrest, one on Alan's hip. He tightens with a bruising force, but it only makes the smile wider.
They kiss and kiss and kiss until Alan thinks he might as well faint. From the sheer pleasure of it, or the happiness - he doesn't know.
This is the sort of kiss that has the power to change everything, to stop traffic and bend time. But it's a Monday evening, and Alan was reading on the porch swing, and this is far from their first kiss. If he had room in his head for wondering, he'd wonder if it would always be like this - so intense he could break from it all, but only wanting more. He would wonder if this was how things were supposed to be.
If he had room in his head for wondering, he would know that none of it really mattered.
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