Boleska: Shaken Ground

Her kisses weren’t the kind he had read about; they weren’t tender—filled with longing or passionate. They weren’t shy or simple like most first kisses were. No, they were forceful and hard—almost like he was being knocked with an earth disk during a probending match.

The first time she kissed him he had been shocked. He hadn’t seen it coming. They were talking, and he figured he was failing rather miserably at shooting the breeze with her. He blamed himself for it. He talked a big game, but at the end of the day he wasn’t as good with girls as he led everyone to think. He could easily talk to them, but once the romantic implications seeped through sparkling eyes and excited smiles then he started to lose his footing.

It was safe to say that he didn’t have much footing with Eska to begin with, but it still didn’t stop him from trying—and failing.

The nervousness was etching into his voice and picking away like an axe at his now wobbling smile. What was he doing wrong? Why wasn’t she talking back with interest like all the other girls?

Her stare was unnerving and her frown told him that she wasn’t impressed in the least with his attempts at conversing with her. Her answers were monotonic and they were short and anything but sweet. Bolin was just about ready to give up when her hand darted forward and clutched the front of his parka. She yanked him toward her and before he knew it icy lips were crashing against his warmer ones.

Bolin had had first kisses before—quite a few, actually. But all of them had been the same; shy, simple, chaste and filled with excitement with a touch of embarrassment. He enjoyed each first kiss he ever got, even if they were all identical in execution.

But this was different. It wasn’t anything like he had experienced and it certainly wasn’t like anything he had read about in Republic City’s short story collections. It wasn’t passionate or gentle, nor filled with longing or excitement. No, this first kiss was harsh and forceful—so hard that their teeth momentarily clicked. It was so sudden, in fact, that it nearly knocked his impetuous nature right out of his rattled skull.

He could only describe it like being hit by an earth disk during a probending match: A little painful, dizzying, and maybe just a little invigorating.

She pulled back, and the motion wasn’t rough. It was gentle and almost as if she parted their kiss with longing for more. Bolin could have sworn, as she pulled away, her eyes still dazed, that he saw a secret side of her. There was a hint of a shaken ground in her grey eyes. It was as if she even startled herself with her own rashness, and could barely bring herself out of the overflowing fountain of emotion she had thrown herself into.

It was a secret look; one that he imagined her brother had never seen, or anyone else. It was a look just for the lucky; for him.

She snapped out of it; her eyes coming back into focus a split second after she caught his stare; bewilderment and twitterpation washed out like an old parka. Eska didn’t let her guard down long—not that she really had to worry, considering her personality was that of a brick wall.

She backed away from him stiffly and let go of the front of his parka rather roughly. Her eyes returned to that cold, penetrating grey that had been scrutinizing her prey. She stood before him, slumped and still, as though nothing had happened

“U-uh,” Bolin’s stuttered turned into a flustered chuckle. He didn’t know what to say or what to think. His brain was just now registering everything that had happened just a few seconds ago; the way her cold, soft lips felt against him and how her smell wafted around him. Korra had mentioned that Desna and Eska smelled like an grandmother’s attic, but Bolin wouldn’t know. He never knew his grandparents. To him, Eska just smelled like lavender and roses, and had he been given enough time to register the kiss, then perhaps the smell could have enticed him to relax and return her abrupt affections.

“Come, boyfriend,” she commanded sternly. “We must partake in these garish festive games.” She rigidly turned on her heels and proceeded to follow her twin brother down the row of festival booths.

Boyfriend?

Bolin felt like he should say something, but then again he had been hitting on her and this is obviously what he had been asking for. He couldn’t complain; a kiss like that didn’t leave him room to.

As she walked away, expecting him to be at her heels, he took half a second to revel in a few things. Her lips, the way her fingers fisted around the fabric of his winter ware, her hazy eyes, and the way her breath ghost his bottom lip as she pulled away, lingering for that eternal second like she wanted more and was tempted to indulge in that desire.

He had never had a kiss like that—so unadulterated and fierce, commanding and borderline desperate.

Smiling broadly, he jogged to catch up with her, still flustered but willing to keep playing along.

She was strange, he thought as he watched her back; strange with a kiss that could floor any man. It was a good thing though, her strangeness; a little awkward, he would admit, but it was still interesting. Everything about her screamed different, and he found that he liked that about her, even if he wasn’t sure how to proceed around her. He figured that with kisses like that he was bound to learn.