How about Brahms and his s/o’s first kiss? But like hella fluff and intimacy but with no sex. Please?
*smoorch*
“Kiss?”
You were more than familiar with that word by now, and the childlike coo that delivered it. In your time with Brahms, you’d gathered that the most important rule to him was getting his goodnight kiss - everything else was negotiable (on his whim, but still). And ever since he relieved his true self to you, coming out of the walls and allowing you to see and take care of him rather than the doll (though the doll was never far away) goodnight kisses evolved to kisses on demand.
You didn’t mind, though.
You turned from your chores, reaching a hand up to his neck to pull him down low enough to peck the cheek of his porcelain mask. With a tired smile, you turned around without a word and got back to it.
From behind his mask, Brahms was displeased - not at you, not completely anyways. He loved your kisses, but they weren’t enough anymore, no matter how many he pried from your wonderfully soft and plush lips. He knew what he wanted, but he hesitated to ask with more clarity. Mostly out of fear - fear of your reaction. He couldn’t stand the nannies of the past that had dared tried to leave him, but he wouldn’t even be able to handle if you tried to do the same. Not that he’d ever let you, of course, but he’d much rather keep you here of your own free will. You’d been so wonderful for him so far, he’d hate the idea of a kiss - a proper kiss - destroying all that you two had built together. So, all day, he’d been paying attention to you - closer than ever before. He wanted to see how you reacted to his demands for kisses, to try and pick up any hit of revulsion or reluctance - or perhaps something else entirely - but his day long activity yielded little results. You simply did as he asked with a smile as sweet as you gave when you just thought you were dealing with a doll - nothing that suggested you didn’t enjoy giving them, but hardly enough to point in the direction that you wanted to give more. That you were interested in the same capacity as he was.
To be fair, though, today of all days happened to be one where you were tired as all hell.
You didn’t know if it was because you overworked yourself yesterday, if you woke up on the wrong side of the bed, or if today was just destined to be one of those days where it was going to be hard to see the sun from the clouds. Regardless, you were thankful these days more than ever for a routine to force yourself out of bed to go through the motions, keeping your body busy all day while your mind was somewhere else. You also thanked whatever deity was up there that Brahms was in a quiet mood today, not bothering you save for the seemingly increased request of kisses - but those were ‘chores’ you were more than happy to do.
“Is [Y/N] alright?”
“Just not feeling good today, Brahms.”
He came over to you and pressed the lips of his mask to your head - inhaling your scent as he did so. You giggled and looked up at him curiously. “Kisses make you feel better.” He repeated, a lesson he learned when he was younger, and a sentiment you expressed to the doll when you thought you were nannying the ghost of a child possessing the porcelain figure.
“That they do. Thank you, Brahms.”
So, you were thankful when bedtime came around - the idea of rest calling seductively to you., You helped Brahms into his bed - the doll had it own room and had already been tucking in and kissed goodnight - and pulled the covers up his body.
“Kiss.”
You smiled down at him, giving his forehead a smooch before you reached for the light on the nightstand.
Brahms’ hand shot out, making you jump in shock as he stopped your movements.
“Kiss…” He repeated, and you couldn’t help but let out a sigh.
“Brahms… Come on, now. Behave.”
“Kiss.” He simply repeated, his free hand coming up to point to his cheek.
You rolled your eyes, but had no problem relenting, kissing his cheek as instructed. Only, Brahms still held onto your wrist, not letting you stand up straight and keeping you bent over him.
“Kiss.” He pointed to the lips of his mask, and you let out a shaky breath.
“B-Brahms-?”
He leaned up now, settling himself on his elbows so your faces were inches from each other. He tilted his head, staring at you expectantly. “Kiss.” His voice cracked, the childish pitch breaking and lowering. “To make us feel better.“
The proximity was overwhelming your senses, your eyes fluttering closed as you opened your mouth to say more. You were cut off, however, by the feeling of warm lips against your own. He swallowed your surprised moan - in your haze you hadn’t realized Brahms pulled the mask off and closed the distance - this must have been important to him, because he always always waited for you to kiss him, standing perfectly still and watching you diligently.
After a moment, you managed to pull back, having to hold his shoulders still as he whined and attempted to follow you. “W-Why did you need to feel better, Brahms?” You questioned, trying to regain your breath.
“I was scared.” With words like that, you expected to hear them in that high pitch, not his natural, deeper tone.
“Of what?” You whispered, leaning into his touch as a hand came up to cup your face.
“You.” He kissed you again and you were a much more eager participant this time around. “That you would leave.”
You rested your forehead against his, the two of you looking at each other with reverence. “Never.” You breathed out in promise, and Brahms let out a shaky breath at your words - clearly they affected him more than you’d assumed. Giving him another quick kiss, you reached up to pet his hair from in front of his face. “Did that make you feel better?”
He nodded happily. “Do you feel better?” You smiled, still tired, of course, but a new jolt of joy coursing through you and invigorating you. ”Can I still kiss you?” He asked, that child-like squeak back as fear crept up.
A quick press of your lips to his quelled that insecurity, however. “As much as you want, Brahms.”
