#makeouts

You weren’t pretending to be cooler than you were with each other because you both aren’t cool. Neither of you were experienced or effortless or untouchable when it came to relationships because this was your first real connection.

Alysa would blush, you would tease her, she would roll her eyes and then pull you closer anyway. You would get quiet when you wanted something but didn’t know how to ask for it, and she would notice, because she was somehow nervous and attentive at the same time, always watching you with that soft, focused look that made your stomach flip. The visit had turned into this strange little pocket of time where you got to learn each other in person after months of phone calls and almost-confessions. You quickly learned how she liked her coffee, how she got sleepy after dinner and denied it, how she always walked closest to the street without saying anything.

By the fifth night, the reality of her leaving had started sitting between you even when neither of you brought it up. Her suitcase was half-packed in your room, open on the floor with clothes folded badly because she kept getting distracted and coming back to find you. Her flight home was tomorrow afternoon. You were trying not to think about how quiet the apartment would feel after she left, and Alysa was trying not to think about how she was supposed to get on a plane and act normal after spending almost a week learning what it felt like to have you in reach. So you ended up back on the couch, because of course you did. It was where the visit had really begun, where the two of you had sat too close and pretended to watch a movie until the tension finally cracked. Only now, five days later, there was no pretending to keep space. Alysa was leaned into the corner of the couch with one arm around you, and you were tucked against her side with your legs under the blanket and your hand resting lazily on her stomach over her shirt. Every few minutes she would look down at your hand like she still wasn’t over it being there, then look back at the TV with a tiny smile she clearly thought she was hiding.

The romcom playing in front of you was dramatic in the way all late night romcoms were dramatic, with rain soaked confessions and people saying things no real person would say unless they wanted to get laughed out of the room. You were half-watching, mostly because Alysa kept making little comments under her breath that ruined every serious scene.

“This all seems kinda toxic,” she murmured at one point, chin resting lightly against your head. “Like, genuinely, this man has shown up unannounced three times. That’s not romantic. That’s stalking.”

You laughed and pinched lightly at her side, telling her to be quiet, and she caught your hand before you could pull away, keeping it there against her ribs like that had been your plan all along.

On screen, the two main characters finally stopped arguing, stared at each other for about three seconds too long, and then crashed into a kiss so intense that Alysa let out a little huff of laughter through her nose.

“I remember our first makeout,” she said, voice warm with amusement.

You tilted your head just enough to look at her. “Yeah, because it was like five days ago.”

“Mhm.” Alysa nodded seriously, as if this supported her point. Her fingers moved against your waist under the blanket, not exactly fidgeting, but not still either. “It’s been the best five days of my life. I categorize my life now as BM or AM.”

You blinked at her. “BM? What, like bowel movement?”

“Before makeout. And AM is after makeout,” she corrected, completely committed now, her expression solemn in a way that only made it worse. “Which is the era I’m currently in. Very transformative. Lots of personal growth happening right now.”

“You’re so dumb,” you said, but you were smiling hard enough that the insult lost all force.

“Hey.” Alysa’s mouth dropped open, offended, though her eyes were already bright. “I just really like our makeouts.”

“I know,” you said. “You’ve made that pretty clear.”

“No, but listen. Makeouts are very healthy for the body and soul.” She shifted a little, turning more toward you now, and there was something playful in the movement, but also something eager under it. “It releases endorphins and burns calories. Honestly, it’s basically exercise.”

“Yes. Kissing me is an exercise:”

“No, I’m calling our makeouts wellness,” she corrected again, very seriously, while her hand slid more firmly around your waist. “And you know what? I think we should make out right now to prove my point.”

You narrowed your eyes at her, amused despite yourself. “Prove your point?”

“Mhm,” Alysa hummed, but she was already distracted, her attention dropping to your mouth in a way that made the teasing catch in your chest. She tugged you closer, not rough, just insistent enough to make your stomach dip, and when you shifted toward her she helped guide you onto her lap like you had done it a dozen times instead of only a few. Your knees settled on either side of her thighs, the blanket slipping down around your hips, and Alysa’s hands landed immediately at your waist like they had been waiting there. She looked so pleased with herself for about two seconds, then you adjusted your seat on her lap and her expression flickered — still happy, still playful, but suddenly a little stunned, like every new kind of closeness still had the power to knock the thoughts out of her head.

You rested your hands on her shoulders, smiling down at her. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” she said quickly, too quickly, and then cleared her throat. “Let’s kiss now for science.”

You laughed softly and leaned in, but just before your lips could meet hers, the TV made a loud crashing sound that startled both of you into turning your heads. On screen, one of the characters had knocked over a lamp while pushing the other backward toward the bed, laughing against their mouth before dipping down to kiss along their neck. The scene wasn’t even that intense, but suddenly the room felt a little too quiet around the sound of the movie. Alysa stopped moving. You felt it immediately under your hands, the tiny way her shoulders locked, the way her fingers tightened once at your hips and then loosened like she’d noticed and got embarrassed.

When you looked back at her, she was blushing hard with her cheeks gone warm and pink, and she was trying so hard to look casual that it circled back around to being painfully obvious. Her eyes flicked from the TV to you, then away, then back again.

“Have you ever done that?” she asked.

You tilted your head, still close enough that your noses were almost lined up. “What? Kiss someone’s neck?”

Alysa nodded. She didn’t trust her voice for a second, apparently, because her lips pressed together after the motion, and her hands did that thing again where they tightened on you and then carefully relaxed.

“No,” you said, your own face warming because the answer felt heavier than it should have. “I’ve never done that.”

“Oh,” Alysa said.

“Have you?”

“No.” She answered immediately, then looked down at your lap like the seam of your shorts had suddenly become fascinating. “No, I haven’t.”

For a moment, neither of you said anything. The movie kept going in the background, but the two of you were no longer even pretending to care. The air had shifted, not into something scary exactly, but into something delicate. It was the kind of silence where both of you knew there was an obvious next thought sitting between you, and neither of you knew if you were allowed to touch it first. Alysa’s thumbs moved once against your hips. You could feel her breathing a little shallowly beneath your hands, and that made your own nerves sharpen in response. It was cute, horribly cute, that she could ask to kiss you all week and still get shy over this new question. It was even worse that you were blushing too, because the second she asked, your mind had supplied an answer before you could even think properly. You wanted to. Badly. You wanted to know what she would feel like under your mouth. You wanted to know if she would laugh, or go quiet, or say your name in that small startled way she did when you caught her off guard.

Alysa swallowed, then glanced up at you through her lashes, face still pink. “Wanna try?”

Your heart gave one hard, stupid beat. “What?”

She looked away immediately, like the question had taken all her courage and now she had none left to survive the aftermath. “Can you…” Her fingers flexed again at your waist. “Can you kiss my neck?”

The way she asked it made your chest go soft before anything else. It wasn’t smooth at all but rather timid and awkward. It was just Alysa, embarrassed and honest, sitting underneath you with flushed cheeks and nervous hands, wanting something and trusting you enough to ask for it. You stared at her for a second longer because you needed a second to handle the sudden rush of affection that came with it. She still wouldn’t quite meet your eyes, and that made you smile despite the heat in your own face.

You cleared your throat, trying to sound steadier than you felt. “Can I?”

Alysa looked back at you then. Your response seemed to undo her a little, like the fact that you were asking too, that you were being careful with her, made her even more nervous.

She nodded. “Yeah.”

You didn’t go straight there. It would have felt too abrupt, and maybe both of you knew it, because Alysa’s shoulders dropped slightly in relief when you leaned in and kissed her mouth first. It was sweet at the start, familiar now in the small ways you had both learned over the week — the angle that worked best, the soft pressure, the way Alysa always let out the tiniest breath through her nose when your fingers slid into her hair. Her hands settled more securely on your hips and yours moved from her shoulders to the sides of her face, thumbs brushing lightly near her jaw. For a while, it was just that. Kissing her slowly on the couch, letting the nervousness thin out into warmth, feeling her get less tense beneath you with every minute. Alysa kissed like she was always trying to be patient and failing a little, careful until she forgot to be careful, then pulling back with a quiet laugh whenever your teeth clicked or your noses bumped.

After a few minutes, your mouth drifted from hers to the corner of her lips. Alysa went still again, but not in a bad way. This was more like every part of her had started paying attention to every part of you. You kissed her cheek first, then the line of her jaw, and her hands tightened, not enough to hurt, just enough that you felt the sudden need and want in it. Her head tipped slightly to the side before she seemed to realize she was doing it, giving you room. That almost made you smile against her skin. She was shy enough to ask in a whisper, but her body was honest before her mouth knew how to be.

The first kiss you pressed to her neck was light. barely more than a test. Alysa inhaled so sharply you felt it under your hands, her chest rising against yours and for a second you almost pulled back to check on her. Then her fingers squeezed your hips again, holding you there, gentle but unmistakable, and she whispered, “Okay. Yeah. That’s okay.”

You huffed a tiny laugh, softened by how earnest she sounded, and kissed the same spot again, a little slower. Alysa’s head tipped back against the couch cushion. Her eyes fluttered shut, and the change in her face was immediate — the teasing fell away, the self-consciousness loosened, and all that was left was this stunned, vulnerable kind of pleasure she clearly had no idea how to hide.

It was all new. Completely new. A kiss on the mouth had already felt like a lot five days ago, had already made both of you giggle and go quiet and reach for each other like you were discovering gravity, but this was different. This wasn’t just affection meeting affection. This felt more specific, more electric, like every soft press of your lips landed somewhere she hadn’t known could hold that much sensation. Alysa had spent her whole life knowing her body through discipline, she knew muscle memory, jumps, landings, balance, pain, control. And now here you were making her aware of it in an entirely different way, not as something to command or perfect, but as something that could simply receive. Something that could go warm and loose and overwhelmed under your mouth.

You kissed down the side of her throat, slow enough to let her stop you if she wanted, and when your tongue brushed lightly over her skin, Alysa made a tiny sound and immediately pressed her lips together like she was embarrassed by it. Her hands slid from your hips toward your waist and then back again, restless because she didn’t know what to do with them. She wasn’t pushing you away. If anything, she was holding you closer in small, careful pulses, like she was trying not to be too obvious about how much she liked this. When your teeth grazed her gently, barely a bite, more pressure than anything, her whole body gave this subtle shiver beneath you. Her fingers curled into the fabric of your shirt, and her head fell back farther against the couch, exposing more of her neck without her having to ask.

“Oh,” she breathed, and it was so quiet you almost missed it.

You paused against her skin, lips hovering there. “Still okay?”

Alysa nodded quickly, eyes still closed, cheeks flushed all the way up to her ears now. “Mhm. Very okay.”

The answer made something warm bloom in your chest, not just because she liked it, but because she trusted you with liking it. You kissed her again, softer this time, then a little firmer just beneath her jaw, and Alysa seemed to melt in increments. Her shoulders loosened first. Then her jaw. Then the hands at your hips stopped fidgeting and simply held you, warm and steady, like she had given up on pretending to be composed.

It was almost dizzying to be the one making her feel like that. Alysa, who could be so quick with a joke, so casually athletic, so bright and restless and impossible to pin down, was quiet under you now except for the little breaths she couldn’t fully control. Every time your lips moved, she reacted before she could think. A soft inhale, a squeeze of your waist, her chin lifting, her throat working when she swallowed. It made you feel shy and bold at the same time, because you had never done this either, but apparently you could learn her so quickly and easily. You could pay attention and notice that she liked the kisses near her jaw more than the ones lower down, that the gentle scrape of your teeth made her fingers tighten, that when you soothed the spot after with your mouth she exhaled like she had been holding her breath for years.

For Alysa, the feeling was almost embarrassingly intense. Not because it was too much, but because it was so simple and still somehow made her brain go quiet. She had imagined kissing you before she came here (more than she would ever admit unless tortured, honestly) but she hadn’t imagined this. She hadn’t imagined the softness of your mouth at her throat, the warmth of your hands holding her arms, the weight of you in her lap grounding her while the rest of her felt like it was floating somewhere above the couch. It wasn’t like the movie. It wasn’t polished or scripted. There was no perfect soundtrack playing now, no effortless confidence. This was just you, careful and curious and blushing every time you pulled back enough for her to see your face, and somehow that made it better. It made her feel safe enough to want. Safe enough to be obvious.

When you finally pulled back, you didn’t go far. Your hands slid slowly up her arms, over the warm skin near her shoulders, then came to rest gently at the sides of her neck, thumbs near her jaw like you were holding her in place even though she had no intention of moving. Alysa’s eyes opened gradually, unfocused at first, and she looked up at you with the most dazed expression you had ever seen on her face. Her hair was a little messy from your fingers, her lips parted slightly, cheeks still red, and for once she didn’t seem to have an immediate joke ready.

“Woah,” she said.

You stared at her for half a second before a giggle slipped out of you, soft and helpless. “Woah?”

Alysa blinked, then seemed to realize she had said it out loud. “Don’t laugh at me.”

“I’m not laughing at you,” you said, even though you absolutely were a little. Your thumbs brushed lightly along her jaw. “You’re cute.”

She groaned and turned her face slightly like she wanted to hide, but your hands on her neck kept her close enough that she didn’t get far. “That was a lot.”

Your smile softened. “Too much?”

“No.” She looked back at you immediately, serious now despite the blush still sitting high in her cheeks. “No. Not too much. Just… I don’t know.” She swallowed, eyes flicking down to your mouth and then back up. “Different.”

“Different good?”

Alysa nodded, slower this time. Her hands moved up again, holding you with a little more confidence now. “Different very good.”

You bit your lip, trying not to smile too hard. “Your scientific findings?”

She exhaled a laugh, finally looking a little more like herself, though still visibly wrecked in this sweet, quiet way. “Neck kisses are also wellness.”

“Oh god.”

“I’m serious,” she said, though she was smiling now, warm and embarrassed and still looking at you like you had rearranged every thought in her head. “I think you fixed my entire nervous system.”

You laughed and leaned down to kiss her once, just a quick soft kiss, but Alysa followed you when you tried to pull away, chasing your mouth with this instinctive little lift of her chin that made your heart squeeze. So you kissed her again, longer, still gentle. Her hands tightened at your waist, and your fingers curled lightly at the back of her neck, and for a few seconds the leaving-tomorrow sadness disappeared under the simple fact that she was here now, warm beneath you, shy and eager and yours in this brand new way neither of you knew how to say out loud yet.

When you pulled back again, Alysa’s forehead rested against yours. Her eyes stayed closed for a beat, and then she murmured, “I’m gonna miss you so bad when I get home.”

You smiled. “Oh yeah?”

“Immensely. I’m gonna text you like, ‘remember when you kissed my neck?’ every twelve minutes.”

“You better not.”

“I will. BM, AM, and now ANK.”

You pulled back just enough to stare at her. “What is ANK?”

“After neck kiss.”

You groaned, laughing as you dropped your forehead against her shoulder. Alysa wrapped both arms around you in a solid bear hug, clearly delighted with herself, and pressed a shy kiss to the side of your head. “Transformative era,” she said softly, still joking, but her voice had gone tender underneath it. And when you lifted your head to look at her again, her smile faltered into something quieter, something almost overwhelmed. “I really don’t wanna leave tomorrow.”

Your teasing faded. You brushed a piece of hair away from her face, thumb lingering near her cheek. “I know.”

Alysa nodded once, like she was trying to accept it and failing. Then she squeezed your waist, softer now. “I also don't wanna get up to pack. Wanna just stay here for a minute?”

You leaned in and kissed the corner of her mouth. “Yeah,” you whispered. “We can stay here.”

And because neither of you knew how to make tomorrow come slower, you stayed exactly like that. You on her lap, her hands and arms warm around you, the romcom still playing unnoticed in the background. Both of you a little flushed, a little nervous, a little too in love for how new it was, and trying very hard to memorize the feeling before the week ended.

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Hi all!!! sorry for the mini hiatus i didnt mean to ghost everyone i just havent had many ideas... esp during off szn w no new content i miss my alysalabubu. anyways... i hope u all enjoy this story and i hope u had a very gay pride month yay!

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tag list :P

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