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They first kiss during the sunset.
It's a tentative, quick thing, more panic-inducing than a first kiss should be, perhaps. Though the panic hadn’t really been induced until he had flinched away, guilt instantly overtaking his expression. Like she hadn’t scooted closer until her head was laying on Hunter’s shoulder, and saw the red of his cheeks echoing the red of the sky, the flick of his ears. And Luz’ words of encouragement had echoed through her head, and those tender moments after sex with all three of them had been so vivid inside her mind, and remembering those moments, that moment where she had realized—
He had played with her hair, turned on the crystal ball to a show she knew he didn’t like, just because she did, and he knew it had been an intense scene for her. Luz had still been in the bathroom, cleaning up, and it was awkward in the afterglow. That had been during a sunset too, and it was odd noticing the flushed shine of his skin, the curtains turning the room a dusky red and shading him, hiding part of his face while her pale skin and teeth marks— marked with both Luz’ blunter canines and Hunter’s sharp, nigh-cutting bites— stood out in the pink that illuminated her. Even under the covers, she felt exposed in a way reminiscent of when Luz had looked at her and first really seen her, only now. Now.
She had seen Hunter before, had seen him grow and him breaking and him putting the pieces back together with Luz, had seen his kindness and creativity. Her feelings had grown from disdain to wariness to sympathy, and then friendship, kinship over the love they shared for Luz. She had seen the lines of his body, when they sparred together and when he needed healing and when they were in bed or doing a scene, but Luz had always been in the forefront of her mind, in those last two, at least. Or if not Luz, then the power Hunter commanded over her in those moments, of the pain and satisfaction he inflicted on her.
Then, suddenly, it had just been them, and he had so effortlessly demonstrated his knowledge of her, the puzzle pieces of her and him and Luz fitting together, and—
Feelings unknown and foreign, not in their entirety, but unknown towards a man, unknown towards much of anyone but Luz and fictional characters, had somehow slipped their way into her heart.
And now she noticed the lines of his body, the scent of him during their sparring matches, his hopeful expression when presenting a gift to a loved one, the way he rubbed the back of his neck when nervous—
Remembering those moments, sitting on that bench and seeing the little crafts he had made, little things shaped like Cosmic Frontier characters or ships, and she had gone for it. He had turned towards her, his eyes glinting bright, little stained glass shards of red and pink and brown, trained on her and only her. His smile was lazy and big, one of those few moments where he had relaxed and emptied his mind of worries and the future, at least before she had leaned up, up, up. Pressing her pink-glossed and red-bitten lips to his, his smile frozen on his face.
And then flinched back as if struck, eyes wide and lips parted, a bit of lipstick on his face where it had smeared in his haste to get away— to get away from her.
“I— I’m sorry,” he mumbled, like he was the one who had cornered her and forced his lips upon her.
She feels her back prickle like a bug is crawling along her skin, suddenly sure she’s ruined everything forever. Even if she doesn’t have fur, she feels her hackles raise, and her eyes flit back and forth, from his horrified face, to the sunset, to her hand on the warmth of his thigh, the rough fabric of his jeans under her. She should rip her hand away, she knows, she knows, but even with the sting at the back of her throat, she can’t make herself.
“I’m sorry,” she forces out. It sounds more like a snap than the apology she wanted. It’s hard to remember to not spiral about that.
“Wh— what are you sorry for?!” He huffs out a laugh, an incredulous look on his face, thick eyebrows furrowing. It doesn’t seem like he’s mocking her, and she knows she shouldn’t assume that— Hunter never mocks her, even when she feels like she’s been childish or snapped out in anger. She stares confusedly at him. She wants to kiss the smear of lip gloss off of his cheek.
“I kissed you and you— you didn’t want it,” she states, the words still a little too hard for her not to flinch at her own voice.
“Didn’t want it?!” His expression turns more unbelieving, if that’s possible. “Kitty, I want it— too much,” he breathes out, the words coming in a rush, like he’s afraid to admit them.
“Oh,” she murmurs. The sting in the back of her throat isn’t as bad; she feels brave enough to look up again. “I want it too much, too. Why did you… pull away, then?” She tilts her head, looks at those sea-red eyes again, which flit back and forth faster than should be possible. Despite her panic still weighing heavy on her chest and tying her guts in knots, she puts her hand on his. He starts again, then finally takes a deep breath in.
“I don’t want you to feel like you… have to, just because we have sex, or because I have a—“
Her heart pounds in her chest. She feels the burn of hope in her head, making her dizzy; it’s hard to remind herself not to get her hopes up, to be realistic, when she sees the future splayed in front of her on the sweetness of his face. Mouth opening before her brain catches up or she even realizes he isn’t finished talking, “but I wanted to!”
He stares at her a moment, then a moment more. As if taking her in again, as if remembering that she really doesn’t do much that she doesn’t want to do.
Outside of play, of course.
“You really…” he trails off, and then his strong hand comes up to her cheek, and she narrows her eyes, sticking her tongue out at him as a smile finally plays across her lips again. One still doesn’t grace his, not the lazy, gorgeous smile from earlier, but the tense lines on his face soften, and he breathes out again.
When he leans in a bit, head to the side just-so, the blond of his hair shaded pink with the sun, she pulls her tongue back in, reluctantly. As fun as it would be to tease him for his obliviousness— and she still wants to— his expression is open, vulnerable.
Hunter isn’t a boy used to getting what he wants, even after a year of dating Luz and the support and love of the family and friends around him.
Sometimes, she still feels like the girl who didn’t have any choice in what she would get, either.
So, she just licks her lips and watches the way he traces the motion with his eyes, and giggles when he pulls her closer, expression so wanting and full of wonder that the motion is just a bit rough. When their lips finally meet again, it’s sweet, and she tastes the remnants of her gloss, slightly artificial and confectionery. His eyes close slowly, like he doesn’t want to look away from her.
She resists the urge to squeal and bury her face in his shirt as he pulls away, or whine for another kiss, but she allows herself to kick her feet in excitement and a smile so wide it’s painful (a sensation she’s gotten used to, since meeting Luz— Hunter has been the cause of them more and more, lately,) and watch as his eyes blink open, wide in wonder and disbelief. Maybe even love, if she allows herself to hope even more.
His hand on hers is as warm as the boiling ocean’s breeze, as the beating of their blood, as the sunset in front of them.