wholesome request - you and Joe can’t stop kissing, just lots of kisses
ok so i read this and then my mind did something else to it and so... it's not exactly this, but it also isn't not.... am i making sense? im not. its fine. i wrote something with kisses in. enjoy!
Wordcount: 2.8K
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Mint Condition
You’re on the sofa together, half-watching something neither of you actually chose with any real intention. The TV’s more on because the room feels a bit better with background noise. Joe’s got work in his lap, and you’re half in your phone whilst one of those coming-of-age films that clearly wants to be taken seriously, isn’t getting taken seriously by either of you. It’s all soft lighting and long pauses, teenagers staring at each other like every glance is life-altering.
Joe is slouched beside you, one leg stretched out, the other tucked underneath him, his attention drifting in and out in that way it does when he’s not fully invested but also not quite ready to turn it off. His fingers play with the edges of paper pages, and every now and then he reacts a fraction too late to what’s happening on TV, like he’s catching up to the scene rather than following it.
There’s a moment where someone confesses their feelings in the middle of a hallway, awkward and overly intense, and you feel yourself reacting before you can stop it, a small shift in your posture, a quiet sound under your breath.
Joe glances at you. “What?”
You keep your eyes on the screen for a second longer before answering. “Just thinking.”
“Mm.” Joe huffs a breath, “That’s never good, is it?”
You ignore him, but the thought doesn’t go away. It lingers, pulling your attention away from the film and toward him instead.
“Wondering what you were you like in school…” you ponder, still looking forward like you’re not really talking about him.
He snorts softly, immediate and dismissive, eyes on his work still. “Normal.”
You turn your head slowly to look at him. “Normal.”
“Yea.”
“Just normal?”
“Yep.”
“All right, that’s not evasive at all.” You shift slightly so you’re angled more toward him, studying his face now instead of the screen. “You weren’t normal.”
“I was.” he says, like he genuinely believes it. “Normal and boring. Just, all right. I was fine. Went to school, did what I had to do, nothing interesting.”
“That still tells me nothing.”
He exhales, like you’re asking something unnecessarily complicated, and folds papers back into place before he leans forward to discard work onto the coffee table. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”
You glance back at the film for a moment, at the overly dramatic scene that’s still unfolding, and then back at him again, piecing together your own version instead.
“I bet all the girls really liked you.”
“Oh, absolutely not,” he frowns deeply as he sits back and gets a bit more comfortable against your side. “Which is fine, actually. I didn’t like them either. Girls were icky.”
You stare at him for a second as he pulls you closer, trying to decide if he’s serious or not.
“I’m sorry, what? Girls were icky?”
He’s holding you suspiciously close for someone who thinks he can make comments about girls like that.
“Of course they were,” he continues, settling into it now. “Always coming up to me and being all weird.”
Joe makes a face like he’s recalling something genuinely horrific from his childhood before he wiggles a few fingers at his own face and says, “Going on about my eyelashes and things.”
You watch him for a moment, and it only takes a second for Joe to fill the silence.
“They’d be like, ‘oh my God, your eyelashes are so long,’ and then they’d just… stand there, batting their own sticky long fake eyelashes, expecting a response from me.”
You let out a small, disbelieving laugh, shifting so you’re fully facing him now.
“Joe, that’s flirting.”
He fully ignores you, even though you know full well that he’s heard you perfectly fine. His frown stays as he rambles on, “And then they’d do this stupid thing where they’d grab your wrist…” he’s already grabbed hold of yours to demonstrate. “And they’d compare hand sizes, like, ‘oh my God, look how big your hands are,’ yea, and? So what, I don’t know, that’s not my fault, is it?” Joe huffs.
You stare at him, genuinely baffled now. Is he being fucking serious? You can’t help the laugh that escapes you as you shake your head at him. “Oh come on, you cannot be that big of an idiot.”
“What?” he says, dropping your hand, though there’s something slightly off about the way he says it now, something that doesn’t quite add up.
You lean in just a fraction, watching him more closely. “You know that’s peak teenage girl flirting.”
He holds your gaze for a second too long, and that’s all it takes. There’s a flicker of something there, something amused, something aware, before he looks away again.
“Girls are icky anyway,” he says, shrugging it off as he leans back into the sofa. “You’re icky.”
You let out a quiet, disbelieving sound, turning back toward the TV. “Okay, so you were a real loser in school. Got it.”
He doesn’t respond, but when you glance at him again, there’s still the hint of a smile he hasn’t quite managed to hide.
Yea, this dickhead wasn’t a loser. The fact that he’s trying to sell the idea to you that he was one is what might make him one, though. You don’t bring it up again though. You don’t want to fall into a trap where you end up arguing that Joe was cool when he was in school.
You’re back in your phone when the film finishes, and it’s a surprise to you both how quickly the time’s gone. It’s late by now, and you both have early alarms already set.
“I’m going to bed,” Joe says, like an afterthought, already moving.
You hum in response, scroll down to another social media post and watch him disappear down the hallway. You give it a minute before getting up yourself, more out of habit than anything else, trailing after him toward the bathroom.
Joe is stood at the sink when you walk in, shoulders slightly hunched, one hand braced against the counter as he brushes his teeth.
You lean your shoulder into the doorframe for a second just to look at him, taking him in through the mirror.
There’s not a chance this guy didn’t have girls fighting over him at lunch time, you think. There’s definitely the possibility that he didn’t know what to do with any of the attention, but, fuck off, he’s absolutely lying to you.
You suppose it’s nicer to be lied to this way ‘round, but calling you icky was… a choice.
Joe’s a choice too.
Your choice.
It’s annoying that looking at him now only affirms it, even though the bathroom’s a right mess and he’s got foamy toothpaste dripping down his chin.
“Y’know what,” you say after a second, pushing yourself off the frame and stepping inside, “I think I sort of get it…”
He glances at you in the mirror, briefly, toothbrush still in his mouth.
You move closer, slow and deliberate, watching his reflection as you go. “Why you were such a bad kisser when we first got together.”
He freezes, and then slowly turns his head just enough to look at you, eyes narrowing around the toothbrush. “–mmph?”
You smile, completely unbothered, stepping in behind him. “Yea, sorry, but it just makes sense a bit now… all those girls flirting with you and you’re just… completely clueless, missing all of it entirely.”
You lean in and press a kiss to his cheek, quick and light. Just a little baby peck.
He makes a noise of protest, garbled by foam, tries to lean away a little because he doesn’t trust this tone of yours, but you’re too quick and get him again. Bit wetter that time.
“And then, eventually, I come along,” you continue, already aiming for his jaw this time, “and have to teach you everything from scratch.”
He pulls the toothbrush out of his mouth just long enough to try and respond. “Tha’s– noh–”
You kiss him mid-sentence, right at the edge of his mouth, quick and deliberate, kind of gross because you definitely got some toothpaste there too, but it’s fine. What’s cleaner than toothpaste?
Joe jerks back immediately, shoving at you with his free hand. “I’m b–ushing my teef–”
“Come here,” you’re fighting him now as you laugh, trying to pull him closer so you can kiss him some more, but Joe’s strong and he’s got a wet toothbrush for a weapon.
“Shtop! You’re being–…” he pauses to spit into the sink. “You’re being disgusting,” he finishes more clearly. He looks at you for a second, tries to get it across to you with just his eyes that he doesn’t appreciate being distracted from brushing his teeth whilst you make fun of him for being green when he was in school.
Unfortunately for him, it doesn’t work, but you stop trying to fight him for a moment which in turn makes Joe return to the job at hand.
You tilt your head a little as you watch him. “Didn’t you just say girls are icky?”
It’s his own fault really, all of this.
“Mmph–” he argues with his mouth full and his forehead in a deep frown.
You ignore him and lean in again, pressing another kiss just under his jaw, as wet as you can get it this time, mouth half open, tongue touching his unshaved face, pleased with the way his shoulders tense.
He plants his hand flat against your forehead and pushes you back, has to tilt his head back to not dribble toothpaste everywhere and manages a very foamy, “Shtay. Dere.”
“I’m just being nice!”
“I–ong cahr.”
You let him think he’s won, but only briefly, because the second he stops pushing you back so hard, you giggle, “You’re just mad I improved your technique,” and dip in towards his neck.
Joe nearly gives himself whiplash with the speed of which he jerks back, “Mm! Mno!” whatever he’s trying to say is completely ruined by toothpaste. “Nnyou’re– icky! Icky–”
You’ve got your hands around his neck to pull him towards you with all your strength. It works. You’re almost hanging from his neck, but it works, and you get close enough for another smooch.
It’s only at the very last millisecond that you change your mind.
Instead of going for a kiss, you’re quick to stick your tongue out and lick him from just under his jaw to just about his cheekbone in a quick swipe.
He freezes completely and lets his toothbrush hang from his mouth as he stares at you in the mirror.
You can’t help but be all smiles and all ego as you reach for your own toothbrush. “Yea, no, I see your point. Super icky, me.”
There’s a beat where he just stares at you. Foamy toothpaste threatening to drip from his chin as you casually uncap the toothpaste for yourself.
“Yea, okay,” Joe drops his toothbrush into the sink with vigour. “You’re not fucking getting away with that,” he says, already moving, grabbing your arm and pulling you back toward him with so much strength, your shoulder crashes into his chest. You think it must hurt him more than it hurts you, but before you can even say anything, the first cold and unmistakably foamy and wet kiss lands on your cheek.
Ew.
You make a muffled noise of protest as you try to regain some control, but this motherfucker keeps you close and presses his face to yours once more. It’s not even real kisses – he’s just trying to cover your whole face in his minty spit and it’s fucking working.
You’re screeching as you try to fight him off, but he just keeps going, completely unapologetic, pressing his lips to your other cheek, then your jaw. Your nose next before he gets your chin.
“This is your own doing,” he enunciates perfectly, completely careless about where all of the toothpaste inside of his mouth ends up.
You twist away, half-laughing, but he doesn’t let you go until he’s also gotten you across your forehead, and when you catch your reflection in the mirror, there’s toothpaste smeared all across your face in uneven wet streaks.
It’s in your hair too.
And down your top.
You look at Joe and realise he doesn’t look much different; he’s covered in his own white foamy spit as well.
“Oh my God, what the fu– and I’m the icky one?!” you argue, and all Joe can do is laugh.
“Yea, look at you,” he muses, and earns himself an elbow in the side.
He jolts immediately, and you take the opportunity to lean in and press a quick, messy kiss to his cheek in retaliation. Joe easily lets you, since you’re both fucking covered in the worst of it already. When you lean back to see if you’ve done any more damage to his cheek, Joe takes hold of your face, cupping your whole head in both of his palms and kisses you square on the mouth.
“Mm,” you hum before you pull away and wipe at your mouth like it’s the most disgusting thing Joe could’ve done before turning back to the mirror. “Well done. I’ve got to wash my hair now.”
Joe exhales through a smile, and can’t help the schoolboy-naughty face as he says, “Nah, you’re in mint condition still.” which earns him a weak slap to the chest from the back of your hand. Laughing, he shakes his head at the look of you trying to brush the paste from your hair as he turns the tap on to give his face a wash. There’s a softness to the way he looks at you before he dips his head down to splash some water onto his skin, something wholesome and quieter hidden in his eyes that silences you in return.
Without any more funny business, Joe washes his own face first before he helps you wipe down yours. You fall back into routine after that, brushing your teeth without smearing any of it across anyone’s face. Every so often, your eyes meet in the mirror, and Joe will scrunch his nose up at you whilst letting his mouth pull into a small smile neither of you fully acknowledge.
When you finally set your toothbrush down, he glances at you, then steps closer and hesitates just briefly. You don’t shy away from him now that there’s nothing to gross you out, and when Joe leans in to kiss you properly, you’re fully there for it.
The kiss is clean this time, slower, and a lot more purposeful. Joe stretches it just long enough for you to lose yourself into it a little, both hands on your face at first before one finds the back of your neck to keep you in place. You find yourself gasping into it as your whole front presses against all of his. You don’t want this to end. Ever.
When he finally, eventually, pulls back, it takes you a second to properly come back into yourself. Your eyes take longer to open, and when they eventually do, they look right into his. With your lips still parted, your next breath catches strangely on the way in, like your body hasn’t quite caught up yet with what just happened.
Joe notices.
You see it happen in real time, the way something warm and pleased unfurls across his face, boyish and unbearably self-satisfied with what he’s just done to you. His chest lifts with the effect he’s had on you, pride settling into the slight curve of his mouth as he looks at you like he’s personally responsible for the state of you, which, annoyingly, he sort of is.
“Mm,” he says softly, clearly delighted with himself. “You taught me well.”
You blink at him, still a little dazed, then narrow your eyes as the meaning catches up to you. “What?”
Joe’s smile only deepens. “Got you so bad you forgot where you were for a second there, didn’t you?”
You let out a breath that is half laugh, half disbelief, and shove lightly at his chest even though it does absolutely nothing to fix the fact that he’s fucking right.
“Can’t help but ask now…” he says as his flat hand slaps the doorframe as he’s about to leave the room. “What were you like in school?”
You hum softly against your own smile as you make eye-contact with him through the mirror.
“Great question, actually.”
And Joe already knows what the answer is going to be just by the glint in your eyes and the way you have to bite into your lips to hold back your laughter.
