bakerstreet | First kisses, last kisses. Kiss a friend, kiss a stranger.

First kisses, last kisses. Kiss a friend, kiss a stranger.

kissing. that's it, that's the meme.

ONE: comment with your character and preferences.
TWO: you're kissing.
THREE: reply to others.
FOUR: no, seriously, they're kissing.
FIVE: whether there's backstory behind it, whether this has been building-building-BUILDING up or you've just met or you've been cursed by the universal, non-season specific hanging festive object of your choice and you can't escape until you smooch OR you literally just tripped into somebody's lips, if doesn't matter. btw it doesn't have to be on the mouth. live your best creative life.
SIX: it's a thing. it's happening. so you probably better let the people in the back know if you want assumed CR, gentle kisses on the forehead only, if you prefer gen/platonic kisses for the kids, crack threads, frenching, one-sided or misunderstood intentions and mistaken identities, whatevs.
SEVEN: kissin'. kiss kiss fall in love motherf-

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[ m/m, info in journal. ]

[Info and perms on her journal. Assumed CR and AUs are welcome, as are other OCs, Tavs, companions, and so on. Feel free to reach out to me if you'd like a starter or want to discuss potential plans.

Keen on something very sweet, or a result of built-up intimate tension. Flexible on ideas!]

[ info + permissions. ]

(They meet at a book launch: poetry, some warm and cynical debut collection. Igraine holds the little book in her hand, glossy and soft. Because she is a late arrival to the reading, a volunteer places her in the only empty seat left, next to a woman with an oval face and long, brown hair who seems to have come alone. Igraine both listens to the poetry and to her heart specifically, dutifully separating out the strands of everybody else in the room, and can't say why she does it.

She leans over at some point to say something to her about one of the poems. During a lull in the evening, when she goes for a glass of red wine, she brings two back. Her strangers eyes are, in the dim light of the bar, light gray.

Igraine is aware that she is flirting, or trying to (how long has it been, again?), and that they've drawn very close together in their chairs, and that the reading ended a long time ago, normal service resuming with neither of them having moved or left. Their knees are touching underneath of the table, safe. They have been talking about books and work and how the two intercept each other but when Anise pauses and they look at each other, gauging the late hour (dividing by the good company), Igraine thinks, fuck it, and puts a cool palm on her cheek.

It's just a little kiss, at first, a chaste thing to gauge the waters.)

(no subject)

femmefatalities - 2023-11-09 11:28 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

gratified - 2023-11-14 11:43 (UTC) - Expand

He didn't visit as often as he'd like but there were reasons for that. This trip had been planned, reservations made and at this point, he'd escorted Donna back to her apartment, entering once invited and closing the door.

The kiss, when it does happen, feels right, at least and Elijah has an arm around her as he deepens it.