In a way, it's like they've come full circle.

Mako has taught him everything else: how to hotwire and ride a motorcycle, how to smooth talk his way out of public officials trying to get into your business, how to tie your boot laces, how to cook yourself dinner when Mako slaved away at the newest odd-end job to keep them from wandering the streets again. How to survive.

So why wouldn't Bolin jump at the opportunity to teach his big brother something so monumental?

"It's sorta easy once you get the hang of it," he reassures Mako sitting cross-legged on the burnt-orange couch cushion across from him. Pabu makes an sleepy, purring noise when Bolin carefully removes him from his lap, far too comfortable to be upset about the transfer, and contents himself to curling into a fuzzy ball on the attic's floorboards. He's so thin. He was thinner the week ago they found him in Republic City's park, and immediately sought them out as humans to be trusted. Bolin's beyond words happy that Mako allows him to stay, even though it's another mouth to feed.

His brother jerks the upturned collar of his shirt as he slips off his red scarf. Bolin attempts to hide his glee. "And it's also good you ask someone you trusted because… you know, practice makes perfect, and everything."

Mako rolls his eyes at him, but without the actual displeasure behind the motions.

"Whatever," he mutters, giving his head a small shake. "Let's just get this over with before I come back to my senses."

"Are you saying you don't trust me, bro?" Bolin just can't resist teasing him; it's like being kids again — before the cramping hunger pains and the cold and the wet alleyways, and he thinks that his mom used to tenderly kiss his forehead like Mako would kiss his scraped up elbows until the stinging disappeared, like magic.

He takes the close-fisted strike to his bicep without complaint as Mako glares with narrowed, gold eyes. A dust of pink on the apples of his cheeks, and it's wow, and Bolin's tongue darts out to wet his lips.

"You shouldn't punch the person you're gonna kiss."

"Get on with it already."

"Mako, listen to me, will ya?" It's a rare moment when Bolin scolds him (it has to be good-naturedly, of course; there's no way he can work the nerve to mad at Mako for anything), pushing his hands down on Mako's hitching shoulders. "Relax. You're making your body all stiff and you look like you're about to firebend someone outta the ring. Don't look so serious. This is supposed to be fun."

It takes several minutes but Mako's eyes slip shut, as he inhales and exhales rhythmically, as Bolin's large thumbs rub soothing patterns into the muscles between Mako's neck and the slopes of his shoulders.

Bolin's nostrils fill with the stale air of their attic-apartment, the collection of dust and the aroma of the leftover dumplings from lunch — and he takes the plunge, way past second-guessing the crossing of a very forbidding boundary, and Bolin presses his lips over another chapped pair, cupping Mako's face gently with both of his hands. Mako's eyelids twitch but do not open, as he allows himself to sink down into the unnaturally soft, sly kiss. Bolin closes his own eyes. This is about going on what feels natural. And Mako feels natural, skin-warm contact and little breathes, and his familiar weight.

His fingertips outline along the curve of one of Mako's ears. "Don't leave your hands at your sides," he mumbles before re-locking their lips. Mako's hands obey, wrapping in a slack embrace around Bolin's middle. His heart thuds a little faster when instinct opens Mako's lips, and Bolin runs the tip of his tongue along the rim of his brother's mouth, grinning excited into their messy kiss at the following groan, although ephemeral. The handful of girls he's kissed weren't as shy about their noises — having someone so rigid and disciplined reduced to grunting and gasping lowly against him, someone he admires reduced to this in his arms, fills him with greedy awe.

"Bo," escapes between them, like a pleading breath. Mako's split-slick lips grow warmer, like they're self-heating. Bolin rides the temptation to know if his brother's tongue feels the same, and opens his mouth a little wider, encouraging Mako to copy him, and pushes in his tongue to slide along his canines. Teasing. Always teasing. Mako's arms tighten around him, forcing him closer, closer to his brother's lap. Mako's warmer tongue begins to drift around Bolin's with some curiosity. Bolin lets him set the pace, slick and sliding and sucking, kissing him again, again, again, again.

They need much more air than they're allowing themselves, eventually. Bolin pulls back, leveling his eyes with a feverish shade of dark gold, peering half-lidded at him. His voice is… thick.

"That's… your basics," he indicated, heavily breathing.

Mako blinks, trance-like, satisfied. "Mm."

His big brother moves in to cradle his face into Bolin's throat, eyelashes to bare skin, and those gloveless fingers stroke up his back. "We…" Bolin swallows, heating pooling down his stomach, the heat Mako's always caused for him, and he settles a clumsy one-arm hold to the shoulders in front of him.

"We should try ice chunks next time…"

The lips parting against his throat make no effort to hide how they curl up, slowly, wickedly.


How pre-series this is... I would say, a few months before Episode 1? Yes. Let's go with that. I MISS WRITING BOY KISSES.

Korrasexual prompt:

"Bolin teaches Mako how to kiss."