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Beau’s first kiss is one she thinks she’ll remember for the rest of her life.
It’s not the kiss itself that’s particularly memorable, but rather what comes after it. She’s a kid when it happens, no older than nine, a bundle of energy and self-confidence and excitement.
Their parents have guests over, so she’s made to stay upstairs until further notice. Beau is okay with this. She’s never been too fond of the company her parents keep, of the fake smiles that almost look like sneers whenever they look at her. She prefers being alone, in her room, where no one can tell her what to do.
She jumps all over the place, from a chair to the floor, to the perfectly-made bed and back to the floor again. She pretends she doesn’t hurt her ankle when she lands — or maybe she just doesn’t care that she does — and just keeps on running.
She does have a lot of energy to burn, after all.
But the thing about all this running around is that it makes her hungry . She sneaks down to the kitchen, knowing her parents wouldn’t like it if she just waltzed into the room where their meeting is taking place.
It’s easy enough to get there and ask the maids to make her something, but what she doesn’t expect is the girl hiding behind a counter, playing with a ragged doll that looks like it’s seen better days.
Beau sits down in front of her, sticks her hand out and introduces herself with a big smile and sweaty palms. The girl seems shy, but she offers a small smile in return. Luna, she replies.
They play for a bit and talk for a bit more. Luna seems very nice. She makes Beau laugh.
Beau really likes it.
One of the maids comes back after a while, ruffles Beau’s hair and gives her some bread and some cheese. Beau is about to inhale it all when she notices Luna staring at the food. So she parts some bread and hands it over to Luna along with some of the cheese, because that’s nice, right?
It is, apparently, because Luna smiles, all toothy and big. She leans in and gives Beau a kiss, right on the lips, as a thank you.
Beau feels really warm, but it only lasts for approximately two seconds before she hears a very distinct, very sharp gasp. She turns around to find someone she assumes is Luna’s mother and her own mother standing in the doorway.
Beau’s blood runs cold.
Luna’s mother grabs her by the arm, pulls her up and drags her away.
Beau’s mother never looks at her the same way again.
-
Beau’s second kiss is, in all its glory… a total disaster.
It’s awkward and messy and she’s pretty wasted. Their teeth bump together, the room reeks of alcohol and, truthfully, she’s not kissing someone she wants to be kissing.
This was a stupid idea.
Beau pushes the person off her and bolts straight out of the room, ignoring the protests she hears behind her.
She doesn’t remember the boy’s face, nor his name when she wakes up the following day.
-
By the time Beau has her third kiss, she’d like to think she’s gotten pretty good at it. And if she hasn’t, well, fake it til you make it, right?
Her mother and father had brought her to one of their many dinner parties; Beau despises these events with every inch of her being. They’re filled with pretentious assholes, each richer than the other, who are only good for prancing about, bragging about all the useless stuff they have, trying to one-up each other.
Beau’s sick of it.
She’s made to wear a dress, because her parents can’t stand the thought of her not looking like a proper lady. There aren’t many upsides to being here, except maybe the free booze. That, and one other thing.
There’s a girl here — Guinevere, Beau thinks she remembers her introducing herself — that has fiery red hair and deep brown eyes, and freckles dust her nose and her cheeks. There’s a curl to her lips and a glint in her eye that both scream trouble. Beau’s interested.
It’s easy enough to get her parents to talk to their family— all Beau has to do is make a comment about just how pretty that dress is and how expensive it looks and I wonder where they buy their clothes. Her mother is practically fuming by the end of it. Score one for Beau.
As it turns out, the Crenet family are also wine producers and are actually the biggest competition the Lionetts are facing at the moment. The whole endeavor is even more fun than Beau had anticipated
Guinevere seems to be highly amused too. They exchange glances and gestures and knowing smiles. Her hand brushes Beau’s arm for a little too long. Beau’s gaze lingers more than it should.
Guinevere smiles at her, excuses herself to go powder her nose and gives Beau a look as she disappears behind a door. Beau doesn’t have to be told twice. She follows suit, making sure to add some fuel to the fire so their parents won’t notice their absence, at least for a while.
Beau opens the door and Guinevere is at the other end of the hallway, smirking. She makes a come hither motion and slinks behind yet another door.
Beau goes in and Guinevere shuts it behind her. It’s a closet. It’s tight and there’s not much room for movement. Their bodies are pressed close together and Beau is about to ask something when Guinevere crashes their mouths together.
And Beau? Beau loves it.
She loves that Guinevere messes up her hair and her dress and her lipstick, loves that she takes charge and pins Beau’s hands above her head, loves how absolutely wild it drives her.
Needless to say, Beau has a better time that night than she’d expected.
And she was right, after all. She runs into Guinevere a few months later, and she tells her about her plans to steal from the Crenet warehouses and sell the wine to some tourists passing through town.
Six months later, Beau’s being dragged out of her home by monks.
Guinevere Crenet was trouble.
And Beau was the one who paid for it in the end.
-
Beau’s fourth kiss is hurried.
Beau’s fourth kiss is a mess of clothes being pulled off, it’s too-hard touches on bruise-covered bodies, it’s a too-small bed in a pitch black room at an even darker corner of the monastery.
Beau’s fourth kiss is exactly what she needs at the time.
All the adrenaline she’s built up, all the pent up frustration and anger, she can channel into right here, right now.
The thing is, Mira had been a decent sparring partner. But she hadn’t been better than Beau. They rarely are. But now? Now Beau lets herself go, lets Mira take control because she knows she needs it. And Beau needs to get her feelings fucked out of her for a while.
This is definitely the part she likes best about training.
-
Beau’s fifth kiss is sweet, perhaps too much so, but she should have seen that coming, what with all the pastries Jester’s always eating.
It’s the kind of sweet Beau never thought she would have. Jester approaches her shyly — almost like she’s afraid she’ll startle Beau if she moves too fast.
“I’m going to kiss you now, okay?” She says, her accent way more endearing than it has any right to be. Beau can only nod in return before Jester is leaning up to press her lips against Beau’s.
It’s soft, at first, but then there’s an intensity to it that Beau hadn’t anticipated. Jester climbs onto Beau’s lap and presses one hand to Beau’s cheek, and the other to the crook of her neck.
It’s also an incredibly hot kiss. Jester’s teeth are sharp, she nibbles on Beau’s lower lip and, after a few seconds, trails down to her neck.
Beau is very into it.
They don’t talk about it the next morning, not because they don’t want to, but because they don’t need to. They understand each other in a way Beau can’t quite describe — they know what the other wants, what the other needs.
Beau doesn’t think she’s felt this comfortable with someone ever before.
So, the kissing continues, even develops into something else, and Beau feels happy.
-
Beau’s sixth kiss is charged with hurt and sadness and grief.
Beau’s sixth kiss is different than the rest, in a way Beau can’t quite place. She wants to blame it on Keg’s rather short stature, or on the stubble that scrapes across Beau’s skin when they kiss. But, while they are both certainly unfamiliar feelings, they are not entirely unwelcome.
No, this is different because of Beau. It’s different because she’s more vulnerable than she’s ever been. It’s different because Jester and Yasha and Fjord were just kidnapped. It’s different because Molly just died.
It’s different because Keg and Beau are both mourning. It’s different because it’s a kiss borne of complete and utter need .
Beau needs to feel the firm press of Keg’s body against hers, needs Keg to pin her wrists above her head and hold her down, needs Keg to make her feel so much that she just forgets about everything that’s been going on.
They spend the night together, and so Beau has her seventh, and eighth, and ninth, and tenth kiss and then she’s not really able to keep track anymore.
-
Beau’s seventh kiss — or, rather, the seventh person she kisses — is not sweet, not as Jester’s had been, at least, but that doesn’t make it any less shy, nor any less soft.
That’s the way it starts: Beau and Yasha are standing toe to toe, so close that if Beau leaned in and stood up on her toes just so, her nose would be bumping against Yasha’s.
She’d been careless in battle, and Yasha had come to her rescue almost immediately. From this close, the wrinkles that denote Yasha’s concerned expression are easy to see, and all Beau wants to do is to kiss them better.
Yasha must be having similar thoughts, because they gravitate towards each other, and the pull is as slow as it is inevitable. And it is soft, at first — their bodies press against each other shyly, almost as if they’re afraid to move too suddenly, lest they scare the other away.
Yasha makes a noise against Beau’s mouth, something between a whine and a moan, and Beau reacts, almost instinctively, gets even closer to Yasha. They’re moving together, almost like a dance, and Beau ends up with her legs around Yasha’s waist and her back against a tree, Yasha’s hands settling on her ass — both for support and, Beau is sure, for Yasha’s own enjoyment.
They have to break apart when Jester wolf-whistles, because Beau can’t stop laughing.
-
The first time Beau kisses them both at the same time — well, as much as she’s able to kiss them ‘at the same time’ anyway — she feels content. She’s sandwiched between them so, really, it’s hard not to be.
Jester’s in front of her, all sharp teeth and wide smirk and mischievous looks. She kisses Beau deeply, making her savor it, her hands on Beau’s cheeks.
Yasha’s behind her, all piercing gaze and firm grip and quiet nuzzling. She takes hold of Beau’s hair and turns her head around, away from Jester’s mouth and towards her own. Jester makes a small sound of protest, but when Beau spares a glance her way she’s still smiling and looking at the both of them attentively. Yasha kisses her, and there’s an urgency to it that Beau wasn’t expecting. Jester preens.
Their hands are all over her, on her breasts and her waist and her neck and her thighs — it’s a high Beau never wants to come down from.
This right here, this feeling, is something Beau definitely will remember for the rest of her life.