A/n: So in my creative writing class the other day we were given the prompt of 'first' and I may have accidentally written Sherlock fanfiction… My class were impressed by the twist at the end, you guys won't be because you know what it is…
Everyone imagines their first kiss to be epic, something spectacular to remember for the rest of their lives. They had been casually blurring the hazy lines of their friendship for months, an unspoken romance brewing like a violent storm just beneath the surface, blatantly there but impossible to touch. Ever since the first brush of fingers over their morning cup of coffee, the tiniest spark of electricity growing steadily into a roaring flame, it consumed everything including his usually infallable logic and rigid linear thought processes.
He found himself unfocused at work, distracted during times of grave seriousness, entertaining some rather non-platonic fantasies about his friend and flatmate. Percolating in the peripheral of his mind, he could not shake the fanciful notion of their first kiss. He imagined passion, force, desperation, could picture himself thrown violently against the wall of their flat, lips clashing together in a heated battle for dominance. He thought of tongues sweeping kiss bruised bottom lips by way of apology, dreamt of that same tongue begging for entrance, of parting his lips and allowing it in - letting it skim his teeth as they explored one another's mouths. Lastly he imagined his flatmate's teeth biting at his bottom lip in a desperate, possessive manner, a silent declaration of 'You Are Mine'.
The idea possessed his every waking thought, haunted his dreams. It became a silent obsession. Perhaps that was why their actual first kiss took him so much by surprise. His flatmate paused in handing him his morning cuppa, made a split second decision and acted upon it. His flatmate stood on tiptoe to compensate for the height difference and pressed their lips together in a remarkably chaste fashion.
It lasted only a moment, but said so much. A gentle, sweet union, the warmth conveyed by an innocent touch of lips, the hesitation to pull away said it all. He stared in shock, it had not been at all what he had expected yet had somehow been everything he had hoped for. He stared into the uncertain, searching blue eyes of his friend before smirking very slightly and whispering in a coy manner
"I thought you weren't gay." The response was immediate, a flushed face and an embarrassed
"Shut up." From his very male flatmate.