The first one was short and clumsy, filled with caution and worry. Both of them could feel the scout's slightly trembling lips as they touched, and he immediately pulled back; just slightly, hovering above the berserker's startled lips, just enough to look into those dark eyes.
Heart drumming, with a cold nape, Ron waited for any reaction. He was waiting for rejection, to be honest. To be pushed back or pulled away, to be scolded and told to never do that again. His stomach felt tight, and his neck felt icy--but the hand on his waist did not move away.
In fact, it tightened slightly.
That was all the confirmation both of them needed.
Ron dove in for another kiss; less clumsy this time, firmer, more certain. His confidence soared when he felt the older man took on his lips, reciprocating the kiss, and tightened the grip on his waist.
