PLIM - Day 5 Challenge >> First Kiss
word count: 1,700~
Jim’s a freshmen in high school. His favourite class is his biology class with his friend Gene, and his favourite snack is apples with peanut butter. These are fact, these are the things Jim knows are true. They don’t question his ability to think, move; they don’t make him wonder, they are solid, indisputably true.
Plank is not.
He is a curiosity with grunted words, quiet glances and eyebrow raises. These uncertainties, the questionable hypothesis of what is, what will be, are all thrown into negative space to float around until Jim gets a solid answer. If he gets the nerve to ask for a solid answer, to a question Jim’s not sure of either. And as his teacher pipes up about their next biology test, Jim wonders, does he like Plank?
“So how’d your date go with Peter?” Gene hushed as the class opened up their textbooks. Jim looked around, delayed and distracted, opening his book to the page Gene was looking at.
“Peter?” Jim grimaced. Who was- “You mean Plank?”
“Yeah Plank,” Gene shrugged. Not looking at Jim as she spoke, “Did you kiss him?”
“What? Kiss him? No!” Jim hushed through his teeth, as Gene giggled into her text book. “Why would I kiss him?”
“Thats what you do when you go on dates.” Jim’s face must have looked confused, blank because she scoffed like she does when Jim doesn’t understand his trigonometry homework. Only Gene and Papa understand trig. It’s fact.
“It’s just what you do. I read it in one of the magazine’s my mom buys, Comso? Something- but I kissed Al on our date, and look where we are now!”
“...Still in school?” Jim prompted still confused, Gene sighed.
“No--Jim-Just-” Gene rubbed her forehead, and Jim felt awkwardly nostalgic. He imagined his best friend with a snapback red cap, her red curls poking out the front; he coughed a smirk into his fist, earning a glare from both his teacher and Gene.
“Do you want to kiss Plank?”
Jim straightened. Did he want to kiss Plank? Did he want Plank’s and his lips touching, their mouths moving, feeling Plank’s big hands on his jaw, his hip; Jim flushed looking away from Gene to his text book, heat rolling up his body to his face in steady, unrelenting waves.
“I-I don’t know, I think so.” Jim mumbled. “I’ve never-”
“Well think about it Jim,” Gene nudged his elbow, voice soft, understanding. Jim sighed, smiling back at her as his thoughts contorted into different situations where Plank’s mouth was on his.
“You’ll see him today anyway.” She threw over her shoulder as she worked; Jim paled, the prospect never felt so daunting. He’s going to see Plank, today, like every other day, but today would be different.
This was fact and Jim hated how solid it felt.
---
Jim stood outside the garage entrance for five minutes before entering. His Dad told him he’d be back from his delivery around three and it was 1:40pm now, so he’d have to be in the garage alone, with Plank for an hour and twenty minutes. Not that he hadn’t before, he’s been in the garage alone with Plank for entire days before.
But today was different, the thought of kissing Plank boiled under his skin, sinking deep and hooking there. It was a plaguing weight behind his head, igniting in his cheeks making his hands twitch; he still hadn't decided if he liked this feeling or not.
He didn’t realize he’d been standing in the reception office until he looked up at a confused, and worried Plank - eyebrows furrowed, jaw tilted up, scrutinizing.
“Uh--” Jim started because he’s a child genius who doesn’t know how to talk to tall, beautiful, russian men with dumb eyebrow raises and shy smiles. “Afternoon-um--Plank.” Jim fled to his Dad’s office before he could hear a response, not that Plank would give one - he would probably just grunt.
---
He wasn’t pacing. Moving from one side of the office back to the other isn’t pacing, it’s constructive movement to further thought, as Papa would put it. How would Papa take on this situation? Suddenly the thought of his father kissing Plank sparked in his head and Jim wanted to throw up.
Shaking the thought quickly, before any further damage, Jim sighs adjusting the hem of his sweater. He’s going to talk to Plank about it passively with hypothetical situations and gage his reaction. Nodding twice to assure himself, he reluctantly steps out into the hallway toward the garage. Hopefully Plank would be busy.
Soft tinkering clicks echoed from the back as Jim steps into the garage door, and slowly walks toward the noise. Two large boots poke from under a pickup truck, the dull hum of a radio singing from the corner next to a bright red tool box; Jim exhales sharply because apparently, he forgets how to breathe when Planks around.
It’ll be a problem if he has to kiss him- Crap, Jim’s brain isn’t helping.
“Um-” Jim starts, not knowing where to start but-
“You’re troubled.” Plank grunts from underneath the truck, and relief crumples Jim, like a pile a bricks, sitting on the floor in heap next to the truck tire.
“No, I’m just thinking,” Jim explains, crossing his legs and leaning his elbows on his thighs, holding his jaw.
“Don’t think too hard,” Plank scoffs. Jim glares at him even though he knows Plank can’t see him. The sentiment was still there.
Suddenly, there was a pregnant pause, but it doesn’t bother Jim, he needs the time the think anyway. “My friend, she was talking to me about-”
“Gene?” Plank prompts, still tinkering. His heals squeak against the concrete floor as he pushes the back roll board back and forth every few minutes. Jim finds watching Plank’s arm sneak from under the truck to grab a wrench distracting.
“Yeah- well, she was talking about her date with Al, and what they did and she had spoke about their relationship now. And-” Jim panics. “I think they’re only together because the idea of being together is better than actually being together and I don’t want-”
Jim sighs, the sentence feeling defeated, unsure where to go. “I was just thinking about relationships and… I just..” Now or never Jim.“I’ve never been kissed…"
Jim hears rattling from under the car as if Plank dropped something suddenly, but he continues, his nerves too edgy to stop. "M-my fathers do it all the time, and my friends at school have been kissed - but it’s not the foundation of relationships-" As he continues to diagnose the idea of social and romantic relationships, he doesn’t realize that Plank had pulled from under the truck until he was holding Jim’s chin to shut him up.
"Do you want to know what it’s like to be kissed?” Plank finally asks with one of those smiles that are hard to see - quirk of the lip, skin pulling just enough to resemble something- but Jim sees it and flushes on the spot, wishing he had control of his chin to turn away.
Jim nods despite himself.
It happens so fast, Plank leaning forward, the thick realization that Jim doesn’t even know how to kiss, the brush of skin on his lips, tudge softly before retracting. If this is was kissing, Jim might become an addicted. He wants more, and as Plank looks at him with one of those cat who stole the canary and got away with it smirks, Jim leaves all abandon at the door.
Lunging forward, Jim chases Plank’s mouth. It’s inexperienced as their lips touch harshly, their noses bump and somehow, he ends up in Planks lap; Jim’s nose hurts now and Planks laughing at him.
“I-I-” Jim stutters as embarrassment hits him like a freight train, knocking the wind out of him with each shake of Plank’s chest as he laughs. He’s stupid, so stupid, thinking he could kiss Plank, be good for Plank, foolish, just down right stupid. The floor should just swallow him whole and keep him crushed between the bedrock so he’ll never have to see Plank again.
He doesn’t realize he’s crying until Plank pulls his chin again, softly, not laughing, or smirking, but just curious. Jim can’t believe he’s crying, jerking away and rubbing his cheeks on his sweater. He’s freaking crying infront of Plank, could this be any worse?
“Try again.”
Jim’s confidence beams, throwing him forward again only to have Plank chuckle again leaning back, “Slower.”
With Jim’s reluctance, Plank meets him halfway. It’s supple, the light rings in Plank’s eyes distracting until he feels the complete brush of Plank’s lips, the heat of his breathe on his skin, heavy, warm - he gasps.
Jim closes the distance slowly by tipping his head, feeling Plank smile into the skin of his lips, before moving fluidly. Their lips tangle slowly, a pushing and pulling Jim doesn’t expect, or know what to do with but mimic, enjoying the caress, chasing it and tipping his head for more.
Plank makes a rumbling noise, a low growl that vibrates Jim through the hand on the russian’s chest. He leans forward more, feeling optimistic as he opens his mouth to flick his tongue on Plank’s lip. Plank moans.
It’s loud, startling Jim as his mind races to the worst- did he hurt Plank? Tipping back, completely disconnecting from the russian with a soft smack, “I’m sor--”
Plank looks... debauched. His pale skin flushed, lips a deep red, eyes hooded, dark. Jim smiles, biting his lip to silence his obviously unneeded apologie. He beams as he notices Plank follow the movement. “T-thank you Plank.”
Plank shifts Jim off his lap, scooting backward to sit on the roll board again, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, with an uncommitting grunt.
Jim decides, getting up once Plank slides under the truck again, that he enjoys kissing Plank, really enjoys it.
It’s fact.
