Desmond nervously blinked. "You didn't have to … you know—"

Rapidly shaking his head, the other furiously raked his hand through his hair and voiced his ultimate frustration, absentmindedly backing his counterpart further against the wall. "—it w-wasn't good enough! I-I-I-I … it could've—" A clench of teeth. "I could d-d-do better!"

"It's all right: We'll just take it slow, okay?"

Apparently not: "N-N-No! I-It has to be like … l-like this!"

'Unexpected' was an understatement.

The kiss was awkward, clumsy, as if the two did not have a single ounce of coordination, whatsoever, teeth suddenly clacking against another, their feet fumbling for solid ground. If Desmond was not idiotically morphing into a human rock at the moment, he was sure to have laughed at the ridiculousness of their skewed expressions; but his previous train of thought had dissipated as soon as a curious tongue swiped across his lips, and, gasping at the collision between his back and the mortar, he was coerced to fulfill his part of the bizarre exchange—the man consumed in his meticulous efforts only increased his determination to please, gripping the lower part of the other male's hoodie to bring him closer, like he was aiming to create a second union by compression alone. Strangely, no matter how odd it was, the second kiss was one he thoroughly enjoyed: the clashes of inexperience and experience, the impetus behind each movement, as if the world was to crumble if they did not do so in such a way, the heat of their mouth that ghosted along the angle of their jaws—damn, he would have been considered insane to not have realized that breathing through his nose was insufficient to handle the ferocity of their embrace.

His breaths were indubitably labored when he—reluctantly—ended the kiss. " … that was … something."

"I-I … Shit, wh-what am—I don't—fuck! I-I had it—"

A tentative laugh. "No, it's all good, man; I … I liked it."

Unsteady inquisition: "A-Are you sp-sp-speaking in ri-riddles?"

"Nah, I'm for real on this one—it was nice … you … um …uh … have major kissing skills."

Gingerly, Desmond settled his hand on said man's shoulder and pressed his lips against a flushed temple, quirking his lips in what seemed to be embarrassment as he robotically balled his fists inside his pockets. The latter figure spontaneously fluttered his eyes shut and emitted a shaky sigh at the small kiss, his fingers soon tracing the assassin's jaw with a need for a quiet assessment that dipped below the shadow of his clavicle.

"W-W-Well, th-that wasn't that b-b-bad."

"Y-Yeah." A blush. "It wasn't."

"It really wasn't."

Thus, first is the worst.

And second is always the best.

But the third might just be the better catch.