#jimthehumanboy

“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.

“Could you pick up some burgers?”

Ignoring the sound of feet was probably a bad idea seeing as Plank almost ripped off the skin of his palm by the sudden voice. Turing his own annoyed glare at Kevin, he realized how drowned he looked. Eyes sunken, beaten, tired, his normal shaven face shaded with a strong 5 o’clock shadow - must be a rough night in the Barr household. Plank looked for Jim who, distinctly avoided looking at them from the garage door. It was annoying.

“It’s going to be a long night, and-” Kevin sighed, taking off his cap to rub his forehead. “Somethings bothering Jim but he hasn’t said anything about it." Kevin continued in a hushed tone. "Maybe you could-I don’t know- he just seems to like you is all.”

Plank nodded, easing his face to something maybe sympathetic. His heart swam to his stomach as Jim stared at nothing from the garage door.

“The regular?” Plank mumbled, taking the few dollars Kevin had out to hand him.

“Yeah.” Kevin sighed again. The depressed look didn’t work for Kevin, Plank noted.

---

Plank isn’t a talker.

It’s just fact.

Jim is a talker. (Talker being an understatement)

But tonight, Jim isn’t saying a word. Walking to the diner a block down the road, Plank watches as Jim seems to start - mouth open, finger up, throat clacking with unsaid words, to only hum and cover his mouth, looking away. Plank has never felt so frustrated in his life.

Opening the door to the diner, grinning at Mary Beth, the owner of the small joint; hair in a messy bun, Nanny Fran accent, long painted, red nails and all, nodding back with a, “Regular for the ole’ boss huh?”

“Evening Mrs. Beth!” Jim chimes in from behind Plank. For a second, he almost forgot the boy came. “Could we sit down?”

“Oh, Darling I wouldn’t have you standing in the doorway all night,” she smiles all too sweet, cooing like she’s talking to a child. It suddenly bothers Plank more than he thinks it should.  “You’ll clog up the doorway.”

Jim follows her with a grin, different than his normal smile, usually bright, wide, but this is hidden, self conscious. Plank squints at him as Jim shimmies into the booth.

“What would you boys like?” Mary Beth pops her hip, snapping her gum. Plank suddenly feels like he’s in an episode of Seinfeld.

“May I have a milkshake, and chicken tenders please?” Jim folds his hands on his lap.

“Plain burger with lettuce?” Mary Beth prompts, Plank nods. “Be out in a jiff.”

Who says jiff anymore? Plank winces, placing his hands on the table, watching Mary Beth saunter into the kitchen with a muffled yell. Plank comes here every time Kevin insists on staying late at the garage. This diner seems to be open twenty four seven, and their burgers are heavenly. It’s small, about ten booths line the windows, and about seven stools at the bar; family owned since the 50’s. The theme hasn’t changed, black and white tiled floors, bright red booths and stools.

It’s never packed from what Plank has seen, but it gets it’s regulars. Kevin being one of them. Apparently Edd complains about it, tells Kevin that he isn’t eating right and if he continues to eat burgers as frequently as he does, he’ll die before Jim sees the end of college. Plank agrees that Edd’s being over dramatic.

Jim clears his throat suddenly, and Plank whips his head around. He must of been staring, and the realization sends heat to his face, feeling caught. Just with his thoughts, though - Plank rubs the back of his neck trying to knead the embarrassment away.

“Have you-” Jim starts before sighing to his lap. “Do you know what a-?”

“Here’s your shake boys!”

Jim jumps physically, looking as deer-in-headlights as Plank feels, glancing up at Mary Beth as she places the big glass on their table. It’s a huge shake, comical cherry on top and thin red straws. Two thin, red straws.

Jim beams up at her, as she goddamn winks down at Plank. “Enjoy.”

They sit in silence as Jim leans on the table to take a sip of his milkshake. Closing his eyes and humming, lips curling around the bright straw - Plank finds it distracting, realizing too late that he’s been staring, and shying away as Jim looks up at him through his lashes.

“Want some?” Jim mumbles around the straw, pulling back only to have a drip of ice cream on his lip. Plank tracks the movement of Jim’s tongue as he swipes it away absently. He hides the flush with a scowl. “No.”

“Come on! It’s chocolate!” The boy whines.

Plank refuses to be swayed, replying with a harder glance.

“Here, I’ll even give you the cherry!” Jim pushes the glass forward with a genuine smile. It’s not hidden, or self conscious, delightful, happy, Jim. Plank grumbles as he leans forward to take a sip. It’s cold, sweet, and as he looks at Jim, he watches the boy lean forward to take his own sip.

Something warm and unwarranted bubbles in Plank’s chest, through his skin, causing him to choke slightly as Jim smiles around his straw, bright eyes inches from Plank’s own. When did his life become a romantic comedy?

Jim seems to find it amusing, as Plank turns away, a few stray coughs shaking his chest.

“Are you okay?” The kid fucking laughs. Plank would kick him under the table if Jim wasn’t sitting on his feet to reach the table. Plank randomly feels delinquent, caught again in something he shouldn’t be doing. It’s starting to get annoying.

“Yeah-” Plank wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, and Jim grins. 

--

They eat in relative silence, relative to the idea that Jim can be silent, which is relatively impossible. But Plank doesn’t mind. Maybe getting out of the garage was something Jim needed because he’s starting to act normal again. Energizer bunny with an encylopedia normal. But again, silence and normal is relative.

Plank pays at the counter, picking up Kevin’s to-go burger and fries, nodding at Jim to follow. Mary Beth calls them cuties on the way out and Plank suddenly feels his burger in his throat. Why is this Plank’s life?

Jim is quiet as they start walking back to the garage, but the air feels lighter. That weight of what was lifted, and Plank doesn’t mind the silence. It’s actually comforting in the way it wasn’t on the way here; leaving whatever pestered Jim in the empty chocolate milkshake glass on the counter. Plank ate the cherry.

“Is this-Is this a date?” Jim pips up, squeezing the paper bag to his chest, obviously ignoring the fact that there’s a burger in there. Plank quirks his eyebrow.

“I mean, Gene, a friend at school said that when she went on a date with Al, he took her out to dinner and they shared and ice cream, and he ate some of her fries - and - and you ate some of my fries, and we shared a milkshake and-”

Plank smiled, watching Jim babble his story, clutching the bag to his chest as if protecting himself from Plank’s answer. It was hilariously so Rom-Com that Plank wanted to die and laugh simultaneously. He chose the latter.

“Hey-” Jim complains, “Why- What’s so funny?”

Plank shrugged, easing his hands into his jean pockets, letting the stray chuckles bubble from his chest. This was nice, the best time he’s had in awhile. If Jim wants to call this a date, who’s Plank to stop him? The thought should bother him.

But it doesn’t.

“Yes,” Plank offers.

“Wha- Yes!? Yes to what!?” Jim gawks as Plank continues to the front door of the garage, opening the door and holding it. He absently wished he could take a picture of Jim’s perplexed, confused face. It suites him nicely.

“It was a date.” He confirms. 

Jim stood there for a second, a small smile easing onto his face, almost dropping the to-go bag as if he forgot he was holding it. “Oh-” Smiling as he past Plank through the front door.

“Dad I got your date- I mean burger--” Jim stumbles, “I got your burger!”