One hundred and one Kisses

It took only the simple press of lips on willing flesh to get the skin heated and flushed, to get a soft sigh or groan, and to get the heart to beat unbearably loud. That's what Ryoma thought whenever Fuji kissed him.

There were so many kinds of kisses, each one binding them even closer together than before.

Some kisses were dizzying, some sweet, some burning and possessive.

Ryoma adored them all (of course he wouldn't tell Fuji that).

There were some nights in the heat of passion where Fuji would shower him with kisses. Heavy and consuming as he stormed his mouth, lips, and tongue. Wet and greedy on Ryoma's neck, sucking and nipping his mark, rosy bruises colouring in a sign of identity. Gentle, breezy wisps of lips across his collarbone, to only then continue downward in a light rendition of gentle summer rain.

Kisses could set the mood, deciding the intensity and depth of a meeting. It could intensify the awareness of everything in their surroundings, or it could cut is all away to create a surreal fuzz of reality.

Ryoma liked getting kissed by Fuji, just as he enjoyed kissing him. It was something he never tired of. It was something he doubted would ever change.

He could never tire of any of the hundred and one different kisses Fuji had for him, each one unique in its own way.

He doubted he could survive without Fuji and his kisses.

After all, it was Fuji's kiss goodnight that always sent him sailing after his dreams.