prenoma!carmy has an upcoming date and you’re the person who helps him prepare for it, which includes confronting how he’s never kissed anyone before.
“uh, how about you try that again? with more confidence?”
“um, okay… hi, claire,” he restarts, pauses to swallow thickly. you can almost see the gears turning in his head as he tries to picture her and not you.
“i like your… pants.”
you stare at carmen, rapidly blinking for a few seconds, attempting to think about how to approach this without startling him or causing him to regret coming to you for help. this is the reason he’s here, right? he’s not good at social interactions and he needs to be equipped as much as possible for his future date with his crush from high school.
“that’s, um, not exactly the compliment i would use or had in mind,” you cautiously say.
“but i like pants?”
“i know, but straight up like that? and what if she’s not wearing pants?”
he opens and closes his mouth at that. it seems he didn’t consider the possibility of claire attending this party with him in a dress or a skirt.
it’s not that his version of a compliment is bad, because coming from carmen, something like that is sincere. he collects denim in his free time and has knowledge on the subject that a regular person wouldn’t.
you just don’t want him to get nervous and blurt that out as soon as her front door opens when he picks her up. it’d work if he stopped to think and take in her appearance, but it’s slightly too specific, and therefore too rehearsed.
“how about a simple ‘you look nice’? you can tell her that you like her pants if she’s in some after you make sure.”
he nods slowly with your suggestion. for a moment, you’re relieved that he’s settled for the generic comment and then his additional one with a twist of his own.
but then he stills his head and a crease forms between his eyebrows in confusion. the corners of his eyes crinkle and his gaze narrows at you.
“but what if i don’t like her pants?”
you refrain from sighing.
it’s not that carmen is bad at talking or completely hopeless. when he’s comfortable, he’s witty, he’s funny, but he’s overthinking this entire thing because he hasn’t been on a date before. the fact that it’s claire is throwing him severely off. he did well when you two practiced small talk with possible, imaginary party attendees.
but maybe that’s because he was imagining himself conversing with you as well as his friends like richie and the faks. the mention of claire, the person he’s supposed to be going on the date with, is creating nervousness you see sometimes at work when customers chat too long with him or…
or when you laugh at his dry jokes and compliment him.
“let’s take a break from that. anything else you’re worried about besides talking to her?”
you’ll have to figure out how to get him past his awkwardness at the idea of speaking with claire. once you two return to it, by focusing on something else for now, you hope carmen will be more loose and natural.
in the meantime, he nods and rubs his hands up and down his thighs. the heavy denim of his jeans liberates his palms of the collecting sweat, self-soothes with the rub of the friction.
there’s one thing that’s been fucking him up. he thought it when mikey first approached him with this, dwelled on it after richie teased him over it, and as he’s sat here with you, it’s remained at the back of his mind.
lingering and taunting, exacerbating his anxiousness.
“i… there’s… yeah, there’s somethin’,” he mumbles.
watching him fidget, you surmise this is fraying his nerves somehow worse than striking a conversation with claire. so you turn your body more towards him where you sit at the edge of your bed.
“okay? what is it?”
he chews on the inside of his cheek, a need blooms across his tongue, the same itch it gets when he desperately craves a cigarette. he can use one now since preparing for his upcoming date is making his head ache and his stomach churn.
“um, it’s… i-it’s, it’s…”
fuck, this so stupid. he feels so stupid. but he hates how much it reveals, how vulnerable it makes him feel. he knows you won’t bust his balls about it, but he can’t handle being scrutinized by you and your incoming pity.
“you can tell me, carmy,” you lightly encourage.
he’s aware. carmen can tell you anything. he trusts you.
“… it’s intimate,” he responds, an inner voice advising him to man up and just voice to you what’s troubling him.
your eyes widen a bit.
“like sex?” you ask bluntly.
his cheeks blaze red as he vehemently shakes his head. he drops your gaze.
“no! no, n-no, no, it’s not sex,” he instantly denies.
it’s not like his mind hasn’t went there, but he has to be realistic.
“i don’t think it’ll go that far.”
and if it does, he might implode. he wouldn’t know what the fuck to do, maybe embarrass the fuck out of himself.
“then what is it…?”
he inhales and exhales a deep breath. allowing you to know that he’s a virgin was already a mortifying ordeal.
he reminds himself of your gentle reaction. it may have been difficult before, but he has nothing to fear with you. you understand that he’s not charismatic or necessarily a ladies man and you didn’t make him feel bad about it.
carmen lifts his head, his eyes finding yours. your soft gaze gradually lowers his shoulders, sops up a portion of the buzzing anxiety trapped inside of him.
“what if she wants to kiss me or somethin’? i… i’ve never…” he trails off, letting the implication sit in the air where the rest of the sentence should be.
it clicks for you as you look at him.
carmen’s never kissed anyone, but it makes some sense considering that he’s never slept with anyone or had a girlfriend. you assumed he had at least done that at one point or another, but you know he’s being genuine right now.
it takes a lot to be vulnerable like this. it sucks to have everything you do as people be weighed by what should be appropriate time lengths for milestones.
“oh,” you begin with, “then… if claire wants to kiss you, and you want to kiss her, you should just… kiss.”
you’re not really sure what kind of advice to give carmen here. it’s not like you can describe to him what to do. that might get him more into his head about everything.
he groans and runs a hand down his face.
“i mean yeah, but… but i want to actually be good at it. i don’t want her to know it’s my first.”
you realize why carmen’s fretting over it. mikey would probably tell him that it’s a good thing, carmen’s getting his first kiss from a girl he really likes.
but you see that carmen doesn’t want to go through with it if it means showing her his inexperience, possibly displaying how bad he is at it. he would rather impress her. you get his perspective.
“carm, even if i tell you what to expect, it might not go like that. i think that a majority of people don’t have a good first kiss. it’s more of a feeling thing. and if you haven’t before, there’ll likely be fumbling around before you get used to it.”
the more you speak, the more his face falls. you hate to disappoint him, but you want to be honest.
“my first kiss sucked. his mouth was stiff as a board. i was better off kissing a wall.”
you hope that your amusing anecdote is enough to ease carmen’s mind, but it seems to do the opposite.
he leans forward, his elbows on his knees. he pushes his curls back out away from his face.
“i’m so fucked,” he mutters.
you frown as you see him visibly stress about something that should be new and exciting. it’s the perfectionist in him.
in carmen’s eyes, it’s better to cover his bases and ensure he’s good at what he thinks matters. that way no one will ever perceive his fears and emotional wounds.
you can’t leave it like this. you won’t let yourself. he came to you and you’re going to make good on the promise you made him.
“okay, if it happens,” you say with a relenting breath, “then remember to close your eyes, lean in, and let your lips do the work. don’t think about it too much.”
he turns his head to face you, sitting up straighter.
“but like… i, i don’t want to be stiff,” he mutters, and you cringe inwardly for accidentally planting that fear in him, “how do i move my mouth?”
“well, you, uh…” you pucker your lips slightly and then quickly stop.
this is harder to describe than you thought. when you kiss someone, you let your motor functioning take control. figuring out a way to display this to him without looking like a fool is stumping you.
“shit,” you say.
“honestly, i have no fucking idea how to explain the mechanics.”
you scratch the back of your head, unsure of how to go about this. your eyes linger over carmen’s face, and he seems to be lost in thought himself.
he traces your bewildered expression, how you’re doing your best for him, and he really does appreciate it. you’re a safe space and he doesn’t necessarily have much of one back home. he knows how natalie and mikey would act if he came to them for help instead. your patience and understanding are exactly what he needs.
but he discerns more about you as you contemplate and flit through various ideas in silence. like the crease between your eyebrows, how you press your lips tighter together, how your bedsheets are neat and soft and smell a lot better than the detergent he has at home. the scent you have beyond enzo’s hits him full on in here.
it calms him. he wouldn’t mind being wrapped in a blanket of it. he wouldn’t mind being here in your room without the motive of a date he feels will inevitably fail.
for a movie night together sharing popcorn, maybe talking more about boston, maybe sitting together in the quiet without trying to find a solution to his kissing dilemma.
or… if this dilemma didn’t exist, actually kissing.
“can you show me?” he asks suddenly, as soon as the suggestion formulates, and he can hardly believe he let it blurt out so unceremoniously, without hesitating.
from confusion, your face morphs into surprise. carmen gulps, his nerves willing him to take it back, but now he feels frozen.
why the fuck did he say that?
“show you? you want me to kiss you?” you ask, needing to clear the air, because carmen has never been so bold with you.
somehow, his face feels hotter than before. he wonders if he looks sick with sheer crimson.
“i… i-i… if you don’t want t-to, you can forget i mentioned it,” he stammers. that’s more like him. if only he could suddenly disappear.
you’re floored as you look at him. you haven’t thought about kissing carmen before. he was the shy, awkward kid growing up, the friend you’ve grown closer to in adulthood. sure you like how floppy his curls are, how they sit at the back of his head with his uniform’s hat, how blue his eyes are, the little smile he gets when customers flirt with him, how his sleeves cut into his toned arms…
“it’s not that,” you say, uncertain yourself if you genuinely do or not, “it’s… if i show you, that’d make me your first kiss, not claire. is that something you want?”
it baffles you how scared carmen is at being bad at something he hasn’t done yet. and even then, maybe it won’t be bad, maybe it’ll be good and he’ll be one of the lucky ones.
but his gaze softens as he looks at you. the chance isn’t one he wants to gamble on apparently.
“… yeah, i… i’m glad it’s you. i don’t think anyone else would be better.”
your heart races at the implication of what he’s saying, but you brush it off. there are many ways you can interpret it and you’re choosing to do so as you being the one capable of helping him and guiding him.
“okay,” you whisper.
“okay, i’ll show you… to help you, of course.”
his smile blooms wider. he nods along with your sentiment. his lack of verbal agreement with it just being a sole purpose of him learning is something you catch, but you won’t acknowledge it. there has to be some kind of boundary, right? you’re supposed to be preparing him for claire, it’s nothing else.
you shift on your bed and scoot closer to where carmen sits. he adjusts as you do, closing the remaining distance. your thighs touch, your noses inches away.
“um, where… where do i put my hands?” he asks.
for some reason, you didn’t think he’d be as nervous as earlier, but he fidgets his arms, lifts his hands in the air. he’s leaning in, but his gaze keeps flickering from your face to your body.
it’s cute.
“wherever you’re comfortable.”
he still looks lost with your permission. you forget he hasn’t done this before. how can he know what’s comfortable?
“here,” you say, gently taking his hand and placing it onto your thigh. there’s little resistance from him and while he initially has a heavy palm, he slowly relaxes.
as for his other hand, you hold it in yours atop of the bedding behind your bodies. you grin as he laces your fingers together.
so he’s a physical touch kind of guy, huh?
“do i hold still or..?”
his hand silently vibrates in yours. you don’t think him trying to keep still is the right option. he’s not capable of it right now.
“we both go for it,” you murmur, “and remember eyes closed. don’t be weird.”
you share amused smiles. you’re not sure if his hand is clammy or yours is, but the anticipation swelling around you two is palpable enough for both of you to decipher the intensity of what you’re about to do. curiosity swims in his irises, as well as an element you always see, but still have yet to pinpoint. for him, he denotes your natural temerity, and perhaps some of the same nerves stretched tight throughout him.
you move first, spark the necessary fuse, and then carmen follows a millisecond after. when your breath radiates against his mouth, he shuts his eyes as previously advised, and soon, your mouth touches his for the first time.
it’s a foreign sensation, pillowy and plush, not at all similar to when he kisses his mother’s cheek or his hand to blow one to her or his sister during temporary departures. your mouth is soft, warm, the root system of receptors light up in his lips, tingle, alert his brain of the new feeling, and he’s not sure how to interpret it.
the hand not in his tucks gently underneath his lower jaw, a very slight pull towards you making him inhale through his nose, and press more into you. his head tilts to accommodate it, your noses sliding in sync, and the movement on his lips triggers more of those receptors, heightens the previous sensation, something sinking down his stomach that he’s felt before, but obviously never from this.
he gasps as your mouth retreats a centimeter. he can’t help but chase it, his lips momentarily brushing yours, parting, grazing clumsily.
“no thinking,” you whisper. the sound-waves of your voice pet his teeth.
“just feel and respond,” you coax.
he nods, too eagerly, his nose bumping yours.
“sorry,” he mutters sheepishly.
“it’s okay,” you say, unable to suppress your grin.
you press your mouth against his once more, a barely-there noise slipping involuntarily from carmen. but you feel it, detect it, hear it from the lack of distance between you two as you resume your kiss from before.
you move your mouth, albeit in a gradual fashion, against his. puckering, parting, shifting, quiet suctioning sounds between your experimental motions. it’s not at an overwhelming pace.
carmen’s mimicking what you’re doing, his breathing shallowing, electricity buzzing further throughout his mouth somehow more than the initial beginning. your thumb on his cheek relaxes him, and he listens to instinct, squeezing your thigh as he daringly deepens, seeing what feels right, what he likes and what you like.
since he’s getting bolder, you decide to do the same.
given how your lips continue to part so you two can continuously mold them back together, you peek your tongue out, just enough to touch his. the action zips lightning down his neck. he sucks in a sharp breath and ceases with a loud smacking sound, sucking in a deep breath.
“you okay?” you ask, trying to see through the sudden haze you’re bewildered is hitting you this hard.
“yeah…” he reassures.
“can… can i…?”
you have to register what he’s asking for. his face is pink, his breaths heavy, and his fingers twitch on your leg, alternating between grasping and kneading.
“yes,” you permit, and that’s all he needs.
he initiates the next kiss. it takes time to find the rhythm from before, but he’s getting better with every slide of your mouths.
this time, he shyly snakes his tongue out to do what you did. your fingers run up into his hair, fingertips stroking his scalp, and you greet his intention with another pass of your tongue against his. he groans and it starts another round of you two tasting, the both of you letting your kissing grow without limitation or hesitation.
strings of saliva appear, slick mouths slotting, and when his tongue pushes too much, you gently tug on his hair. his fingers curl around your thigh tighter, but he listens and relents, returns to what he thinks feels good, that dance you two are engaging in rather rapidly, fervently, and passionately.
that is, until the door creaks.
you two simultaneously jump apart. carmen wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, as if it can possibly wipe away the enlivened wires within his lips.
“hey, can i move your car? where are your keys?”
your father looks around the room. you and carmen try to act nonchalant.
“hi, carmen,” he says with a polite duck of his head. carmen awkwardly offers a gesture of his hand.
“hi,” he murmurs.
“here,” you say, grabbing your keys nearby on the nightstand and tossing them over to your dad. you hope you didn’t look too hurried to get rid of him.
he catches the keys and smiles.
“thanks. nice seeing you, carmy,” he says to carmen and then he turns to you, “love you, bye.”
“love you,” you mumble, letting the breath you were holding in once your dad is gone.
your dad’s appearance disrupted the spell over the room, replacing the previous tension with heavy silence. you and carmen maintain the distance, neither moving from where you are.
“so…” you say, the first to speak. he timorously looks up at you.
“yeah, you just… just do that with claire and you’ll be fine.”
you’re a lot smoother and witty around carmen. but that came out far more awkward and unsteady.
you both stare at each other a few more seconds before you both start laughing. it’s such a ridiculous situation, the kind they write about, and it’s surreal that your dad almost caught you.
after him joking about carmen not making a move on you, it surely would’ve been astonishing to see carmen’s tongue in your mouth.
“thanks,” he says as you both calm.
curiously, your amusement further fades as he scoots back to where your thighs smush again.
“but i think i can use more practice.”
it’s quite possibly the most debonair thing carmen’s ever said to you.
there’s no time to think about what it means because you melt into your shoulders as he kisses you and cups your jaw.