Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/1849072.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Shingeki_no_Kyojin_|_Attack_on_Titan
  Relationship:
      Marco_Bott/Jean_Kirstein
  Character:
      Jean_Kirstein, Marco_Bott
  Additional Tags:
      Hand_Jobs, Blow_Jobs, Internalized_Homophobia, Friends_With_Benefits,
      brief_recreational_drug_use_mention, mentioned_reiner_and_connie, Plot
      What_Plot/Porn_Without_Plot, brief_cameo_by_marco's_sister, Alternate
      Universe_-_Modern_Setting
  Series:
      Part 1 of Stranger_Things_Have_Happened
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-06-26 Words: 2523
****** Make it Quick ******
by politely_ironic
Summary
     Jean and Marco relieve some stress.
     (Preview to All in a Day's Work)
Notes
     In which Jean is totally not into dudes. He only has a dick in his
     mouth, after all.
See the end of the work for more notes
Jean hangs off of Marco’s bed. He rests the top of his head against the ground.
The carpet in Marco’s room is green. He stares pensively at the door,
contemplates it. His shirt is riding up. This is also Marco’s. He doesn’t think
Marco will mind; he rarely does. Plus, he doesn’t even like the band, it’s a
hand-me-down. Black suits him, Jean thinks offhandedly, more than Marco
anyways. The door opens, and Jean squints. The previously dark room is filled
with light from the hallway.
“Horse face. Pleasant surprise. Where’s my brother?” Marco’s older sister says,
not in the least surprised by his presence.
“Dunno.” Jean responds, and the flush of blood to his head makes him a little
dizzy. Marco’s sister looks remarkably like her brother. Except with boobs. She
has small ones anyways, not half as big as Mikasa’s. She’s cute though, unlike
Marco. Her nose is like a little button, and her freckles are intense. Not too
much though. Jean likes girls with lots of freckles. He wonder if Marco’s
sister would go for him. Probably not. He’s sixteen, but she’s eighteen and
probably headed to college. She probably wants a guy with like mutton chops and
a motorcycle. Jean feels vaguely inadequate because he drives his mom’s sedan,
which is also an unfortunate shade of baby blue.
“Tell him he needs to help Mrs. Ackerman move some stuff tomorrow. ” she sighs,
and closes the door. He’s probably going to stay over. His mom already probably
assumed. Or she just doesn’t care. It’s like nine, and he’s a little tired. He
slides mostly unto the floor, folding into himself. It’s uncomfortable. He
can’t move much. His shirt hangs in his face. It smells like Marco.
Marco appears from somewhere, Jean thinks maybe it’s the window, but he’s not
sure. That’s impressive, considering his apartment is on the fifth floor.
“Hey.” He says, a little breathless. He’s not very surprised either.
“Mm.” Jean replies. He’s rolled over by now, into a sitting position, still on
the floor. His toes flex a little. It’s a weird habit.
“Your face is red.” Marco informs him, as he kicks off his shoes. Next to
Jean’s.
“You need to help Mrs. Ackerman tomorrow.” Jean relays the information. Marco
looks at him. It’s a little too much, and his stomach kind of bottoms out, so
he closes his eyes.
“I know. Have you been waiting for me?”
“I got really high with Connie.” he doesn’t answer. It’s true. It has to have
been at least a few hours, though.
“Bert wanted to play chess.” Marco tells him, as an explanation to unasked
questions. He tells Jean about it, as he flits around the room, fixing little
things.
Marco is always fixing things. Little things, things that Jean doesn’t really
care about. That he doesn’t really know about. He turns the light on, so Jean
doesn’t have to watch the shadow of him. Marco isn’t cute, Jean thinks
absently. It might be a little more bearable if he were. Cute simply doesn't
cover it, isn't quite the right adjective. He can't explain the attraction.
Things about Marco are cute, but Marco himself isn’t. He's kind of all
encompassing, when it comes to attracting Jean. And really, that might be the
only thing that matters. Jean lays on the floor, being a nuisance because if he
isn’t then there won’t be a challenge. He knows despite his relatively meek
appearance, Marco wants a uphill battle. He is nothing if not determined.
“I used the key your mom gave me.” It’s heavy in his back pocket. He can feel
it like he can feel Marco’s presence, intoxicating, almost. Marco is like a
vortex of attractiveness, and Jean cracks open an eye to look at him. Marco is
in the process of taking off his shirt. Jean watches, helpless. He pulls it off
in a boyish fashion, tugging it up from the back of the collar, quick and
painless. He pops the button on his jeans then too, back still to his friend.
He shoves them down, and he's wearing plain blue boxer. Jean's pulse thunders.
He's a relatively stringy boy, a little less than Jean. They're both on the
track team. Or, at least Marco is, since Jean kind of just stopped coming to
practice. He takes more hours at the fast food place he's working at, instead.
The muscles in his back move and Jean may or may not have bit his tongue off.
Marco is sweet like coffee the way Jean likes it; with an edge to it. Marco is
simpering smiles and kinds words. Marco is biting comebacks and shark like
grins.
"Are you sleeping over?" He always asks, like he doesn't want to presume or
anything. It would be endearing normally, but Jean has always spent the night
since the third grade. Now it's just Marco. Marco is a lot of half formed
ideas, sentiments not quite expressed, an area of general disarray, in Jean's
mind.
"If you want." Jean always responds. Marco has never turned him away before.
Even when he's wanted to. He gives and Jean just takes. They hang out for a
while, Marco filling the silence dutifully while Jean sobers up. And then it's
just quiet, deafening quiet.
"Take off your pants." Marco mumbles, without preamble. He knows what's coming.
Both of them do. It's why Jean is here.
Jean takes this, as well. Always has. It happens mainly on days when there's
stress, when bad things happen. It is, in essence, a coping mechanism. A very
bad one, at that. Today is not one of those days. Marco is laying on his bed,
peacefully smiling at him. It's a little painful, if only because it's so
genuine, like Marco is happy to see him. Jean stands up, stretches so his back
pops. He's quick to undo the button on his jeans, quicker still to kick them
into the corner. He reaches over and flicks off the light. A low heat is
stirring in his gut, a familiar one. Awkwardly, he crawls on top of Marco,
never having been able to do this in any other manner. Marco does it much
better, but then again, Jean never just sits there and waits for it.
Kissing Marco is good; is necessary. Marco can't get through it when they don't
kiss. He's like a girl. For Marco, it's more mental than anything. Jean kisses
him slow, like he knows Marco likes. Like he likes, because Marco is the
baseline of pleasure. He always does this. He did it with Sasha. And with
faceless girls at parties. He treats them sort of like they're Marco. Actually,
exactly like they're Marco. Except they don't have dicks, so it's monumentally
better. Maybe that's why it's Marco. He can't imagine Jaeger or Armin under him
like this, supine and relaxed, one hand in his hair, the other on his ass, just
laying there; waiting. Waiting for permission. Girls don't really care for
asses, it seems, but Marco is not a girl. Jean tries to pretend he is.
He pets his hair soothingly, kisses his mouth open and slack. Marco get a knee
between Jean's thighs, and its only a moment before he's pressing against it,
Marco's fingers consciously or unconsciously kneading his butt. Jean's skin
prickles. He never quite knows with Marco. Their mouths are fitted together,
melded, like if Jean really tried he could just mold himself into Marco. He
likes to watch, at least he likes to watch girls. He closes his eyes for Marco,
because then it ruins the illusion. It's too dark to see now, though, so he
opens his eyes, and he's a little wrong because he can see fuzzy shapes, the
curve of his nose and his hair, a dark blob on white pillows. Marco's eyes are
closed. Jean grinds mindlessly on his proffered leg.
Marco knows how to use his tongue. They've done this enough, Jean thinks. It's
a little shamefaced, but only a little. No one assumes, aside from little jokes
here and there. Marco and Jean, as far as anyone is concerned, are simply very
close. Their parents accept this, their siblings accept this, and their
friends. They're the only ones that matter. Marco sucks on Jean' tongue just
how he likes it, and there's a fire licking up Jean's insides. He pulls away,
because he can feel how hard Marco is. It freaks him out only a little now,
because he's assured himself it's not Marco, but simple biology. He's not gay.
"I'm not gay, Marky-Mark." Jean mutters, as he presses his palm unto his
friend's crotch. He can feel Marco's breath pick up, knows his toes are curling
and his legs are tensing. There's a tang of sweat in the air, and it's boiling
between them. Jean keeps his shirt on though, unlike Marco.
"I know, John. Neither am I." Marco hisses back. The freckled boy supports
himself on his elbow, while Jean feels the shape of his dick.
"Fuck. That's nice." Marco sighs, tugging at Jean's hair. This mean they need
to kiss. They do, and Marco arches up into him. They're both not very loud, and
Jean learns girls seem to vocalize more, at least in comparison to Marco. Marco
puffs out a little noise in the back of his throat, into Jean's mouth. He
hasn't brushed his teeth. Marco has been eating popcorn. It's intensely
revolting, and Jean is concerned for himself when he simply reaches into
Marco's boxers, and pulls out his cock. He pushes them down a little, to get a
grip on the base. He pulls away from his mouth, and rests his forehead on his
freckled friend's. It's too intimate.
Marco sucks in a breath through his teeth, and lowers his knee. Both of his
hands are on Jean's ass, and it feels good.
"'S good, Marco." Jean growls, even though Marco knows. He thumbs the head of
his cock, and there's a little bit of precum beading there. Marco breathes
heavily, panting, really. Jean moves his head to mouth at Marco's neck, because
he really likes that.
"Yeah. Sorry. Little excited." Marco grins, and Jean rolls his eyes. Neither of
them can see these reactions, but they're both aware of them.
"Been awhile." Jean murmurs against Marco's skin. He's hot there, and Jean
sucks delicately. Not enough to leave a mark. Marco hates that. It's
embarrassing. Jean gets it; guys like Connie and Reiner are immensely
irritating when someone has gotten some action.
Neither of them like the idea of being the girl. But neither of them like the
idea of being horribly inept at sex. It's unimportant now; they've both had a
solid sophomore year and more experience with girls in general. There's no real
reason to continue it. This thought almost stops Jean, but Maro pushes his hand
away, and blindly pulls Jean's dick through the slit in his boxers. Jean
accidentally bites down, hard, and Marco grunts, but he hasn't broken skin or
anything.
"Hey Jean, let's be quick, ok?" Marco hisses, and jerks him off nice and slow.
It hurts a little, because his grip is tighter than it needs to be. Jean sighs,
and bats Marco's hand away. He scoots down and Marco shifts, for the sake of
ease. He's never very sensual about blowjobs, does it because there's not much
time for anything else.
He pulls Marco's underwear down his thighs, and gently mouths his cock.
"Jean, come on." Marco groans, tangling his fingers in his hair. Jean obliges,
takes Marco into his mouth with confidence, because he's done this so many
times. It's terrible. He never gets used to the feel of it sliding down his
throat. Even though he's relaxed, he almost feels like he's going to gag, just
on principle.
But he doesn't. He hollows his cheeks and focuses on the task in front of his
face. He rubs the little freckles on Marco's thighs, because though it's dark,
it's not completely pitch black. If there's one thing Jean really likes on
Marco, it's constellations dotting his skin. He swallows around Marco, and pays
special attention to the underside of his head, because it's nice and
sensitive. He prods it a little, and Marco's hands tighten in his hair. It's a
warning. He helps out, fondling his balls a little bit. Jean usually pulls off,
but he times it wrong, this time. Marco shoots his load in his mouth. It's
salty and a little repulsive, but Jean just deals with it. Besides, it's late,
he can't be bothered. It's better than having to wipe it up, which is always a
pain. Jean catches it on his tongue. He milks him dry, and looks at Marco
seriously. He came a lot, like he hasn't in a while. Jean doesn't claim to know
everything about Marco's sex life, but he knows he masturbates quite a bit. He
sets that aside for later. In the meantime, he sticks his tongue out, where he
carefully gathered his friend's spunk.
"Dude, that's gross." Marco covers his face, because Jean knows he can see. He
swallows, and sticks his tongue out again.
"All gone." He says, low in his chest.
"C'mere," Marco says, drawn out, and raspy.
They flip, and Jean is pressed into the mattress. Marco kisses him, because he
thinks everything is better with kissing. Jean has to admit, it is nice. As
long as he doesn't think that it's Marco. It's never Marco who Jean thinks of.
Marco jerks him off, licking his palm and pumping lazily. Jean is red and
twitching, and he always is after he gives Marco head. He assumes it's because
he's impatient and Marco likes to draw it out. Marco flicks his wrist just
right, and Jean is gone after like a minute, cumming into his fist. He whines a
little into Marco's mouth. They're not so much kissing, as just breathing on
each other. Jean's face scrunches up when he cums. He's glad it's dark, because
it's embarrassing.
Marco reaches over and wipes his hand off. He has conveniently placed tissues
on his bedside table. Another testament to how much Marco jerks it. They both
pull up their underwear, and Jean breathes in Marco's face, because his breath
smells like cum. It's everywhere anyways, the smell of sweat and sex. It's
musky and heavy, and Marco rests his head on his chest.
"Fuck your head is big."
"And your face is long."
"I'm gon' sleep." He grumbles, but Marco doesn't move.
"Marco. Marky. Hey, wake up buddy." Silence.
"God, how do you weigh so much? You're like a dying fucking sun." Marco mutters
sleepily and has the nerve to cling to him, like a big fucking koala bear.
"Damn it Marco." Jean groans, and tries to squirm out of his grip. In turn, the
grip on him only tightens. He shakes Marco's shoulders, knowing it's futility.
Marco sleeps like the dead. He won't wake up until he's good and ready.
Jean resigns himself to his fate, and re-adjusts himself to get into a
comfortable position.
End Notes
     Mistakes were made.
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