Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/3430415.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Shingeki_no_Kyojin_|_Attack_on_Titan
  Relationship:
      Marco_Bott/Jean_Kirstein
  Character:
      Marco_Bott, Jean_Kirstein, Background_&_Cameo_Characters, Farlan_Church,
      Sasha_Blouse, Connie_Springer, Armin_Arlert, Reiner_Braun, Nac_Tias,
      Mylius_Zeramuski, Thomas_Wagner, Levi, Mina_Carolina
  Additional Tags:
      Alternate_Universe_-_High_School, Underage_Drinking, Making_Out, Hand
      Jobs, Drunkenness, Vomiting, Homophobic_Language, One_Shot, Possible
      manga_spoilers_re:names, Swearing
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-02-25 Words: 28476
****** Why Would I Wait? ******
by Maxiell
Summary
     Marco’s the average teenage boy, looking to have fun with friends and
     strangers alike whenever he can amidst the stresses of high school
     life. It’s usually very simple; he’ll catch the eye of an attractive
     boy, and they’ll sneak off together and have their hassle-free fun.
     No relationship, and no regrets. Usually.
     But defensive Jean apparently has a history causing himself trouble,
     and after a quick make-out that really wasn’t worth it, Marco finds
     himself involved in a very odd game of cat and mouse, and entirely
     unsure of what the hell either of them are thinking.
     Alternatively, another pointless high school au that has the thinnest
     plot you’re ever likely to come across, and in which Jean is a
     ridiculous cross between ‘No Homo’ and ‘Notice Me Senpai’.
Notes
     This is the first story I've ever posted on AO3, so bare with me as I
     try to get the hang of it!
     If I'm honest, I'm not really sure what this is. I stress-relief
     wrote it after watching another 'coming of age' film, in which the
     male protag viciously denies his attraction to guys after spending
     the afternoon making-out with one, and then that guy is left hurt and
     pinning, and patiently waits until the protag comes around, and
     welcomes him back lovingly regardless of the shit he pulled. It kinda
     pissed me off at the time, so I started writing this in contrast, but
     somehow it ran away from me and backfired, becoming it's own,
     needlessly giant ball of clichés.
     I hope you enjoy it regardless!
See the end of the work for more notes
His hand slipped under his t-shirt, the skin of his sides softer than anything
Marco could imagine, and he moaned his appreciation into the soft gasp Jean let
out at the touch. He didn’t need to open his eyes to know that Jean was
blushing even more, could feel the heat of his embarrassment – nerves?
Excitement? – pressed against his own cheeks. But he didn’t push Marco away,
and continued to kiss him deeply, even moving his hands from around Marco’s
neck to grasp at his hair. So Marco slowly slid his hand around until he could
stroke the equally soft skin of the small of Jean’s back.
Jean gasped and groaned, lips faltering as he adjusted to Marco’s touch. He
kept his hand steady so Jean knew he wasn’t going to try going further, and
only allowed his fingertips to move gently across his skin. It didn’t stop a
small frown from forming though, and it didn’t sooth him back into the rhythm
of their kissing, but Marco continued nonetheless.
It was harder to kiss when Jean’s reactions were slower and his mouth a little
tenser, but his lips were so soft, and he tasted such a sweet combination of
alcohol and new that Marco didn’t much care. He wasn’t uncomfortable; Marco was
sure by the stiffness in his waist that Jean was putting a lot of effort into
keeping his hips still, and his hands were tugging Marco a little closer, not
pulling him away. But he was over-thinking again, and there wasn’t a lot else
Marco could do to get him back into the moment.
After a few sloppy kisses, Marco flicked the tip of his tongue along the roof
of Jean’s mouth and allowed his fingers to skim just underneath the waist of
his jeans at the same time, and all the tension in Jean’s body seemed to snap
at once as his hips surged forward and his arms wound tight around Marco’s neck
to cradle his head and pull him closer. They both moaned loudly at the contact,
Marco instinctively holding him tighter as they kissed harder and panted
between the moulding of lips.
A moment later, and Jean was pulling back, tugging a little harshly on Marco’s
hair to make him move too and look at him. It took a lot of effort for Marco to
open his eyes, and even when his body finally complied with the demand, all he
could manage was a half-lidded stare. He could see the bright blush on Jean’s
cheeks though, even with his heavy eyelids and the very limited light coming
through the cracks of the door. He looked a special kind of gorgeous to Marco,
with his dishevelled hair, and the soft but sure scowl set on his face that
somehow seemed fitting, like it was his natural expression. He could see his
body move with a slight breathlessness, and his lips were red and shiny from
their kissing.
God, he wanted to kiss him again. Why did they stop again?
“I’m not gay.” Jean said, meeting his eyes and holding his body defiantly
still.
“Okay.” Marco leant forward to resume their kissing, but a sharp pull to his
hair stopped him in his tracks, and made him twitch in what was either shock or
a strange kind of pleasure. He wasn’t sure, and wasn’t inclined to figure it
out.
“I mean it.” Jean continued, staring at him with a sure fire. “I don’t like
guys.”
“I know.”Marco whispered back, schooling his expression into his own scowl, and
hoping it came across sincere and sure enough that Jean would believe him and
drop the talking all together.
This time when he moved forward, Jean met him halfway, pulling Marco towards
him. They continued kissing like they’d never stopped, but this time their
bodies remained pressed together, and Marco couldn’t help but moan at the way
they fit.
He didn’t have the heart - or energy – to tell poor, serious Jean that that
wasn’t the first time a boy had said those exact words after having their
tongue down his throat. That this wasn’t the first time a guy had pulled him
into a closet, deserted room, round the back of a building where no one would
see, and furiously made out with him.
He also didn’t have the heart to tell him he didn’t care.
They weren’t friends. In fact, Marco couldn’t recall ever actually speaking
with him. They had a couple of classes together – Chemistry and English, he
thinks – and he happened to have P.E. when Marco had Calculus, so he’s checked
him out along with some of the other boys in the height of his boredom before.
But he didn’t know the kid, didn’t care what he thought or how he defined
himself. He didn’t care whether he’d spend the rest of his life in this damn
closet.
What he cared about was that Jean was hot, and had grabbed him with an
intoxicating mixture of cocky and scared shitless. That he kissed him with such
hungry lips, and brushed his shaking fingertips over Marco’s skin in a way that
sent shivers down his spine. That his body was firm and warm, and being pressed
against it made Marco melt as much as it made him pulse with excitement.
There was nothing else to it, and nothing else Marco wanted from it.
The sudden, viscous rattle of the handle made them both jump, and Jean sprung
away from his hold instantly, staring at the door like it was going to attack
him.
“Aw man!” They heard a muffled voice whine from the other side of the door as
it continued to move the handle in vain. “You guys suck! Hogging all the
privacy. The rest of us wanna get some action too y’know?” There was a half-
hearted kick to the bottom of the door as some drunken giggles joined the
voice. Marco couldn’t hear the words, but he recognised the placating and
persuasive tone the girl used to coerce the guy to find somewhere else. Their
footsteps moved away instantly.
Marco snorted and turned back to Jean, running a hand through his hair and
ready to make comment on the interruption. But when he saw the expression on
his face and how rigid his body was, all humour left him with a sigh. Looked
like the fun was over.
Jean had a fierce scowl on his face, casting worried glances at the door and
determinedly not looking at Marco whilst hurriedly trying to fix his hair and
clothing with hands shaking far more aggressively, now out of fear rather than
nerves. Marco never liked to see someone like that, but he’d long since learnt
that trying to help them overcome that fear or reassure them caused more harm
than good, and tended to backfire unpleasantly. It wasn’t his place,
particularly when he had no attachment to the guy. So he just sighed again,
mourning the loss of a great make-out, and went about making himself look a
little less obvious too.
“So,” he started, straightening up and moving to the door. Jean finally met his
eyes again, expression still aggressively guarded, and trying to look calm and
disinterested. Marco whined internally; hook-ups were so awkward. Especially
when the other person was trying to pretend it never happened. But still, it
never felt right to part without saying something. “Well, that was fun. You’re
a good kisser Jean.”
It was difficult to tell, but he thought he saw Jean’s eyes widen a bit and his
blush get a little darker. Marco smiled before turning to open the door.
“Right, so I’ll just-" he stopped when a hand tugged at his t-shirt, and looked
back at him.
“You’re not,” Jean mumbled, voice hoarse and staring at Marco heatedly. “You’re
not going to tell anyone. Right?”
He was defensive, and looked about on the brink of spitting out something
ridiculous.
“Of course not.” Marco assured, but couldn’t help rolling his eyes as he turned
around again. “I’ll just check if there’s anyone out there, and then you can
follow whenever.”
He turned the lock as quietly as he could and eased the door open a crack. When
he saw there was no one to the right, he slowly opened it further and peered
round to check the other end of the corridor.
“All clear!” He smiled as he hopped out of the closet and left the door open
for Jean to follow. He briefly turned to the teen still standing rigidly in the
shadows, and gave as encouraging a smile as he could. “You’re gonna wanna be
quick though; nowhere stays quiet for long!” And with a quick wave behind him,
Marco walked down the small hall and looked for the friends he’d abandoned some
time ago, as well as the refreshments.
He eventually found them sitting in a sort-of-circle on the floor of the living
room, laughing, shouting, and generally getting in people’s way. He didn’t
hesitate to join them, beer in hand and satisfied smile on his face.
“Hey!” Sasha greeted as he got closer, her enthusiasm interrupted when a brief
look of shock passed over her expression, before she continued, giggling. “Wow.
Kiss much?”
He couldn’t help the slight blush when everyone turned to look at him and
laughed at what he assumed were his very red, swollen lips. He stuck his tongue
out at her before sitting down with his own chuckle.
“Who’s the lucky guy then?” Connie asked, leaning across the circle and
waggling his eyebrows.
“You know me Con’, a gentlemen never tells.” He said with a smirk and taking a
sip of beer as people booed and scoffed around him.
“Lame!” Sasha declared loudly as everyone got back to their individual
conversations.
“So,” Marco took another sip before smiling at Sasha. “Wha’d I miss?”
===============================================================================
He hadn’t drank excessively at the party, or at least, it wasn’t the most he’d
ever drank. Nowhere near. But Monday still came around too quickly, and turning
up to double Chemistry first period seemed like the hardest, cruellest chore.
He didn’t know if it was made better or worse when he stepped into the
classroom and was greeted with the words:
“Connie fucked up!”
He looked at Mylius and found everyone crowded round his and Sasha’s bench,
Connie having turned around from where he sat in front of them and pressing his
forehead to the cheap plastic.
“I didn’t fuck up!” He argued, lifting his head and crossing his arms over his
chest. “Besides, Marco’ll bail us out.”
Marco raised an eyebrow at him as he playfully shoved Nac out his seat,
greeting Sasha as he reclaimed his rightful stool. It looked like he was the
last of their friends to arrive, though there was still ten minutes before
class started.
“There’s no ‘us’ in this Connie!” Mina spoke up from the other side of Sasha.
“You’re the one who dragged us all to the party!”
“Ymir’s party on Saturday.” Thomas leant over to explain whilst they bickered.
“Apparently it was invite only, and she Facebooked Connie yesterday demanding
‘reimbursement’ for the drink, food, and entry since none of us were meant to
be there.”
“And how am I meant to help?” Marco asked, turning back to Connie.
“Er, you’re related? I know you don’t get on, but surely you have some leeway
to get her to cut me some slack.”
There was a moment of silence, before everyone burst out laughing.
“C-Con! I’m not related to Ymir! Are you kidding?!” The shock on his face said
he wasn’t.
“W-what?”
“Seriously Connie?!” Nac laughed. “I know some siblings don’t get on, but Marco
literally never talks to her!”
“I-I thought you were cousins!” He squeaked over everyone’s laughter. “You both
have dark hair, a-and freckles! You’re both gay!” Everyone just laughed harder
as Connie grumbled and ran his hands over his shaved head, an embarrassed blush
dusting his cheeks.
“O-oh my God! Connie, y-you’re such an idiot!” Sasha gasped, clutching her
stomach.
“And screwed!” Mylius added, wiping a tear from his eye.
“Yeah.Separated at birth though we may be Con, Ymir’s not gonna give two shits
about what I say!”
Connie groaned as everyone’s laughter died down, sitting up straight and
frowning.
“Well I’m still not paying her! I don’t care what she says, that’s bullshit!”
“Oh yeah? How you gonna get out of it?” Nac leered.
“I’ll tell her. I’ll go right up to her, and say ‘Ymir? No. I will not pay
you’re bullshit tax’.”
Mina scoffed. “More like you’ll avoid her for the rest of your school life and
never log back into your Facebook!”
“Yeah, good luck with that Connie!” Thomas added. “She’s in this class ain’t
she?”
“I will!” Connie argued, sitting straighter and more determined. “I won’t be
bullied over shitty beer and stale chips! I’m not paying her, and I’ll tell her
that as soon as she comes through that door!”
At that moment, they all whipped round to look at the door as it swung open,
everyone’s breath catching with anticipation. But when they saw it was Jean who
walked in and not Ymir, they all burst out laughing again, even Connie turned
back around to laugh into his hands, unable to hide his relief.
“H-holy shit!”
“The timing!”
“I-I really thought…!”
“Did you see his face!”
They continued laughing, wheezing, wrapping their arms round their stomachs and
wiping tears away, until Dr. Zoe walked in and called for everyone to get to
their seats. Even then, they couldn’t help to odd giggle as the rest of their
friends dispersed and left Marco, Sasha and Connie to collect themselves at the
front.
Luckily for Connie, Ymir never showed up for class.
Didn’t stop him from casting worried glances at the door every five minutes
though.
===============================================================================
“Dude, you can’t leave me!”
Marco opened his locker and tried to catch all the mess before it fell out
completely.
“I don’t know what you want me to do Connie. Free period or no free period, I
can’t exactly waltz into your Calculus class and sit with you. I don’t even
know what that’d do? We’ve been over this,” he grunted as he shoved a heavy
book back into the narrow space. “Ymir doesn’t care what I think.”
“But you’d be a buffer! She might not attack if we stay in a herd!”
Marco snorted. “Two people don’t make a herd. And she might not even be there;
she didn’t turn up to Chem-”
“She went to Art last period, I heard it from that Eren kid. There’s no way she
won’t come to Calc. when she knows I’m in it.”
Marco took a moment to register the fact Eren – he was that angry kid that was
friends with Armin right? – and Ymir were in the same art class. He shuddered
at the thought of some of the pieces that must come out of those sessions.
“Look, you gotta face her at some point, and you don’t wanna add Mr. Ackerman
to the list of dangerous people you’ve pissed off, which you will if turn up
any later. Just,” Marco turned to him slightly, sighing as he rubbed the back
his hair in thought. “Keep low and book it as soon as the bell rings. I’m meant
to be meeting Reiner now so I’ll talk to him about it. I mean, they’re not
friends, but I’ve seen him and Ymir talk a few times, which is more than can be
said for the rest of us.”
“Think it’ll help?” Marco shrugged.
“Dunno. But it’s worth a shot.” He smiled sympathetically as Connie grumbled
and deflated, noticing how he looked around the empty corridor with
apprehension; he was going to be so late. Marco squeezed his shoulder before
pushing him away from the lockers. “Get going idiot. And don’t freak out so
much; not even Ymir has the balls to try anything in Ackerman’s class.”
Connie gave him a weak smile and started jogging down the hall, though Marco
could still hear him whining as he went. He shook his head with a smile and
turned back to the precarious pile in his locker – how was he going to get his
History notes and gym gear whilst fitting in his backpack without causing an
avalanche of crap?
He grunted and mumbled complaints as he tried to shift thing after thing to the
back and side, trying to balance them long enough to dig out the small bag and
red folder, typically shoved right to the bottom. He’d vaguely been aware that
someone had walked behind him just as he’d grasped the red plastic, but he
didn’t pay any mind to it; if he was in the way of their lockers, they were
just going to have to wait.
It was only when he dropped the folder by his feet and went to grab the bag,
that they spoke and he realised they were still there.
“Who the fuck do you think you are?”
Marco started at their voice, deep and resentful, a bit shaky from what Marco
assumed was anger. He frowned at the mess in front of him, before he awkwardly
turned around, hands still holding shit in place, and confused beyond belief.
Marco wasn’t a particularly popular person, but he had a ‘Nice Guy’ reputation
and was liked well enough. There’d been a couple of instances over the years,
but he couldn’t remember the last time someone confronted him, and contrary to
his mother’s fears, he’d never gotten much shit for being one of the few openly
gay students. He supposed it was as much to do with his tall, strong build, as
it was to do with his kind nature, though he was one for studying and staying
clear of trouble. It’s why people greeted him in passing, and it’s why straight
boys confided their curiosities in him; he was kind and quiet and half-decent
on the eye.
So he had no idea why someone would come and say something that sounded so
hateful to him.
He was even more confused when he saw it was Jean.
“Um,” Marco started, casting a look along the hallway to double check whether
there was a third-party involved somewhere. “What?” he asked, feeling a bit
lost and really not understanding the amount of anger and disgust Jean was
looking at him with.
What the fuck was going on?
“I said,” Jean stepped closer, arms crossed, eyes burning, and every muscle in
his body strung tight. “Who. The fuck. Do you think you are?”
Marco swallowed thickly, wanting to take a step back. Desperately wanting to
untwist his body actually, but couldn’t do either when his locker was
threatening to descend on him as much as Jean was.
“I, er. I don’t-”
“You been spreading lies about me Bodt?” he growled, inching even closer,
though he looked keen on keeping at least some distance. “You been talking shit
with your friends?”
Marco frowned, eyes flitting between the downright scornful stare he was being
given, still not really comprehending what the situation was about.
“I don’t understand Jean. I haven’t said anything. What are you talking abou-”
“Saturday.” He spat, body practically buzzing with irritable anger. But at
least now it clicked, and Marco really had to struggle not to roll his eyes at
him, because he knew it’d just piss him off worse. But, seriously? That was
what this was about?
He sighed and let his body relax a little. He turned around to face his locker
again, and spoke as he went back to uncovering his gym bag – he was meant to
meet Reiner on the basketball court, like, ten minutes ago.
“Look Jean, I don’t know what’s prompted this, but I didn’t tell anyone about
Saturday.”
“Bullshit!” Was the hissed reply, and it made Marco’s body cinch with instant
offense. Getting angry wouldn’t help the situation, but there was a tone to
Jean’s voice that grated, and Marco never took well to people insulting his
integrity. It brought out an old bitterness in him, made him think
uncharacteristically in spite –if you don’t want people knowing, then don’t
make out with guys in the first place! – and he didn’t like that.
“I didn’t.” he stated coldly, finally gripping the bag’s handle and yanking it
unthinkingly. “I wouldn’t.”
“How fucking stupid do you think I am?!”
Regardless of how juicy the bait, it was never wise to take it. Instead, Marco
slammed the locker door closed before anything could fall. He was going to
regret that later.
Seemed like a recurring theme recently.
“I told you, I haven’t said anything Jean. There’s nothing to say.” He turned
around and found Jean in an even worse state, cheeks flushed with anger and
tense body slowly unfurling with every exchanged word.
“That’s fucking bullshit and you know it!” Marco was taken aback by the shout,
and was concerned for a moment that it would draw attention, but Jean didn’t
give him much time to think on it. “You really think I’m too stupid to have not
noticed this morning?! You and your shit friends fucking laughing at me?!”
Marco’s eyes widened, but now he was even more confused. This morning? He must
have meant Chemistry, ‘cause that was the only time they were ever near each
other, but then he would have known they were laughing at Con-
He saw Jean swing the door open, the frown on his face replaced with shock as
Marco briefly met his eyes and their group burst into laughter. His stomach was
cramping and breath wheezing as he looked up at Connie, barely registering the
boy walking behind him, fists clenched and face shadowed.
Fuck.
“No,” Marco shook his head, frowning as everything started to make sense, but
didn’t look any less stupid. “Jean, we weren’t laughing at you. Connie-”
“You’re fucking kidding right? The minute I opened the door-”
“It was just bad timing! I didn-”
“Stop lying!” Marco shut his mouth , but it didn’t stop the frustration from
building. If Jean would just listen, he’d see how stupid this was. But fighting
anger with anger wasn’t going to solve anything, so he kept quiet and waited
for a better opportunity to explain. “Who the fuck do you think you are!” He
didn’t think he’d seen anyone as angry as Jean was at that moment, skin red and
voice quivering with rage. “Talking about me like that! Fucking spreading
lies!” Marco took a deep breath to stop himself from shouting back. “I’m not
some disgusting faggot like you!”
He saw red.
Marco snatched the collar of Jean’s t-shirt in both hands and yanked him with
enough strength to swing them round and slam Jean’s back into the lockers. He
kept his tight fists pressed there, stepping threateningly close and using
every inch of his height to stare down at Jean’s shocked face.
He could still see his anger, but now he looked scared too, and Marco could
feel that spur him on. Because if Jean was the angriest he’d ever seen someone,
then this was the angriest he had ever felt.
“I couldn’t give less of a shit about you Jean.” He growled, making sure to
look Jean dead in the eyes. “I haven’t told anyone about Saturday, and I never
will. Because I’m not like that. And y’know what, even if I was, I still
wouldn’t say anything about you because there’s nothing worth talking about. Do
you think you’re special? Do you think you’re the first straight guy to come to
me? ‘Cause you’re not. You won’t be the last either. There’s a hundred pieces
of shit like you in every school, and I wouldn’t waste a single breath on any
of you. You’re just another pair of hands, a pair of lips to work with, that’s
all.
“I don’t care what you do Jean. I don’t care if you’re straight, gay, or
fucking Harry Potter for the rest of your life. But I won’t be spoken to like
that. I won’t stand for that word, or that kind of language. You think you
regret me now, but it’s nothing compared to how you’ll feel if I hear you say
that word again, y’understand?” Jean nodded and gulped as he looked down. Marco
pushed off his fists to move away, finally releasing him and taking a strange
pride in the fact the material stayed bunched where he had held it.
He bent down to pick up his gym bag and folder, cursing mentally that he’d
forgotten to put his backpack in his locker. Like hell he was going to do that
now. So he swung it back onto his shoulder, and looked back at Jean before he
walked away. He hadn’t moved an inch, head bowed and fingers pressing against
the lockers in loose fists.
“I didn’t tell anyone Jean.” Marco repeated, voice cold but longer threatening.
“I won’t. This morning was coincidental. It had nothing to do with you.”
With that, Marco finally made his way to the courts, praying that Reiner would
still be waiting for him. God knows he could do with the work out now more than
ever.
===============================================================================
Turned out he was still there - melodramatic in his complaints – and he also
had some dirt on Ymir that got her off Connie’s back with little more than a
few choice words and hissed threats, promises, should he think about crossing
her again. And after Connie treated Reiner to a cheap dinner in thanks,
normality resumed. Ymir acted like they didn’t exist, Connie was loud and
boisterous, drunken nights were few and far between, and Jean and Marco never
spoke a word to each other, or even looked in each other’s direction.
There were a couple of times the first week after the altercation, where Marco
would feel bad for what he’d done; he’d been pretty heavy handed and
threatening, which was an unaccustomed feeling. But then he’d hear that word
ringing in his mind, and he’d push any guilt and sympathy he felt away with
every reverberation. Jean hadn’t showed any remorse himself, so that week, and
the weeks after it, passed with little thought on the matter. Weeks bled in
months, as they were wont to do, and Marco had assumed that the only
interaction he and Jean would have during their high school years was over and
done with. That was, until two months after the whole unpleasant fiasco.
He never did like English.
“Right then,” Mr. Dok bellowed, silencing the room’s chatter and drawing
everyone’s attention to the front where he was holding a register and looking
at the students over the glasses perched on his nose with his perpetual scowl.
“We’ve been going over these techniques for the last couple of weeks, and with
the exam approaching, we need to be moving on swiftly. However, I know a lot of
you are still having difficulty, and it’s been pointed out to me that the
examples used thus far have been… limited. So, what’s going to happen, is
you’re going to work in pairs, and I’ll give each pair a different text. I want
a detailed summary of how the language was used and its effectiveness according
to the purpose of the text. Please, please remember discourse everyone, and if
your text includes images etc., remember to comment on the juxpostioning. Next
week, each pair will present the text and their commentary, and depending on
the quality of work, I might make copies of everyone’s piece so you’ll all have
these examples for your revision. We’ll see. But at least this way, we’ll be
covering more ground without losing time. Everyone understand?”
There was a collective mumble of yes Sir, everyone already knowing that they
wouldn’t be able to chose their own partner. Some teachers just seemed to like
making their students as uncomfortable as possible. And since Sasha was the
only one of Marco’s friends in this class, probability wasn’t in his favour
either.
“Right. I’ll select the pairs at random. The first person I call, remain in
your seat, and the second, go sit with them. If the person next you is called
first, please move to the back of the classroom so their partner can sit down
and I’ll pair you up afterwards. Olivia and James P.”
Marco listened half-heartedly as the pairs were called out, praying he was
paired up with some decent. He was a good student, but linguistics really
wasn’t his strong suit, and the last couple of weeks had been particularly mind
numbing. Someone who was good at this, or dare he say, passionate about this
stuff would be a godsend. Someone he could have fun with would be just as
welcomed.
“Jean and Sasha.”
Marco immediately looked in Jean’s direction, just catching his wince as he
continued doodling a bit more aggressively, clearly not thrilled about the
pairing. Marco frowned too, not only was his preferred ‘someone fun’ taken - as
expected – but everyone knew he and Sasha were good friends, and he was a tad
concerned Jean would take out any lingering resentment he had for Marco on her.
He watched her bounce over to Jean, and greet him enthusiastically as she flung
herself into the seat next to him. Jean frowned at her, unimpressed.
“Daz and Marco.”
It took a while for Marco to figure out where Daz sat, and he tried to do it as
discretely as possible whilst he was collecting his stuff. He just about
spotted him by the windows as he stood up, and noticed that Daz had been
watching him all along. He gave Marco an awkward wave and a grimace of a smile
that told him he hadn’t been as subtle as he hoped – or at least that Daz
hadn’t expected him to know where he sat – so he gave the most enthusiastic
smile he could as he made his way over.
Marco didn’t know him very well, but he couldn’t help but feel sorry for the
kid. He had a few classes with him over the years, and he hadn’t changed much;
just seemed to get more and more uncomfortable, and constantly on the brink of
a nervous breakdown. Marco had heard that his parents were crazy strict, the
type that expected full marks from every class, so he wasn’t surprised that he
looked about forty and skittered about the school nervously.
He vowed mentally to be the best partner he could be, and work hard on the task
with him; try and take some of the pressure off those tense shoulders.
It wasn’t until he was a couple of steps away that he realised exactly where
Daz sat. He was one of the lucky ones, sharing a desk along the window, but he
was also sat right in front of Jean.
Great.
“Hiya Daz.” He greeted, smiling down at him and resolutely not glancing in
Jean’s direction.
“Hey Marco.” He replied with another shaky smile, shuffling forward a bit so
Marco could squeeze behind him and get to the window seat. Sasha didn’t
hesitate to tap his ass as he passed.
“Yooo!” she stage whispered, and he turned to face her once he sat down,
sticking his tongue out at her with a smile.
Five minutes later, Mr. Dok slapped a blurry, black and white photocopy on
their desk, and Marco swivelled round to fully face the front. Daz awkwardly
slid the paper between them so they could both see it, and began reading the
text quickly.
“So, I’m not very good at this,” Marco started. “But the first thing that
stands out to me is the kind of serious, Times New Roman type font they’ve used
against the cartoon picture and curved border. It’s a pretty stark contrast,
but I think it’s insinuating the target audience is adults, when a lot of
people would have assumed it was children if the font had been more cursive, or
fun. What do you think Daz?”
He looked at Marco surprised, but soon smiled at him a little more genuinely,
and Marco was proud to see his body relax a little. Clearly he had expected to
do all the work, and was grateful that Marco was taking this as seriously as he
was.
Marco picked up his pen and started to take notes as Daz responded.
===============================================================================
It took them twenty minutes to finish the task, and Marco thanked his lucky
stars that he’d been paired with someone as smart as Daz. Working through the
text with him had really helped Marco see what he had a tendency for missing,
and it helped to discuss the different angles and interpretations a single text
could have. They worked well together, and Daz seemed keen to have someone to
bounce his ideas off. But still, they had another forty minutes left of class,
and nothing to do whilst everyone else continued working noisily.
“I’m going to ask Mr. Dok to look this over, and ask if I can get it copied so
we both have one.” Daz said, already rising from his seat.
“Oh! Are you sure? I don’t mind-”
“It’s fine.” He smiled a little at Marco, now far more at ease, and walked to
the front, where Mr. Dok was watching him with an annoyed frown.
“Hey Marco,” Sasha whispered, and he turned around to look at her. She was
leaning over Jean’s side - who didn’t look to pleased about it - and pointing
out the window, looking at him from the corner of her eye with a grin. “Check
out who’s doing track.”
Marco turned around completely, leaning over the back of his chair, and looked
to where she was pointing. They were pretty high up and the track was quite
some meters away, but Marco could spot that spiky, ash-blond hair anywhere.
“Oh my God, it’s Farlan!” He whispered excitedly, now watching the group of
boys running as eagerly as Sasha was.
Marco wouldn’t call it a crush, but he’d liked Farlan since he was an awkward
freshman, stumbling into the wrong class and having his butt saved by the
quietly amused upperclassman. He was tall, funny, and very sweet, in Marco’s
opinion. He also did every sport under the sun, so had a body to die for.
“Is that your boyfriend or something?” Marco started at the question, surprised
Jean had said anything at all. He looked at him to see Jean watching the track
with feigned disinterest, a slight frown marring his features.
“Marco wishes!” He scoffed at Sasha’s remark and went back to watching Farlan
as he started to pick up speed and overtake the boys in front of him. He could
just make out the flush to his cheeks and the smile on his face.
“I’d definitely swap my seat in Thursday’s Calculus for one right here.” Sasha
hummed her agreement, and there was a moment of silence as they continued to
watch Farlan pull away from the crowd.
“What?” They both looked at Jean as he stared at them questioningly.
“We have window seats in Calc. when the boys have Phys Ed.” Sasha explained. “I
mean, it’s right next to the sports field, so we’ve got a better view, but
Farlan’s so much hotter!”
“Wait, wait!” Jean sat up straighter and looked at Sasha before meeting Marco’s
eyes for the first time in two months. He looked just as uncomfortable now as
he had then. “You mean, you just watch guys as they work out? You check them
out without them even knowing?” He scowled when they both simply nodded.
“That’s perverted.”
Sasha and Marco laughed, trying to keep it down lest Mr. Dok came to check on
them.
“What exactly do you think I can get up to during class?” Marco asked, cocking
his head to the side and chuckling as a faint blush appeared on Jean’s cheeks.
“Besides, it’s not like you guys don’t do exactly the same thing with the
girls!” Sasha added, playfully hitting Jean’s shoulder, which he looked less
than impressed with. They both laughed quietly when Jean’s blush darkened, but
he didn’t respond until they’d all gone back to watching the track team for a
while.
“What is there to even watch?” He mumbled, looking a bit embarrassed when he
saw that he had both Marco and Sasha’s attention. “I mean, I’d get it if it was
girls, ‘cause they, y’know… bounce.” Marco quickly covered his mouth to muffle
his laughter. Sasha was less careful.
“So do boys, depending on what underwear they’re wearing!” She jibed,
sniggering, and Marco had never seen such as scandalized look on someone’s face
before.
“Well,” he started, bringing their attention back to him. “There’s something to
be said for watching someone get hot and sweaty. All those muscles straining,
and those short shorts…”
Sasha giggled as she nodded in agreement. Jean frowned at him, eyes narrowing
in an expression Marco didn’t even want to guess at, before he turned to look
out the window again with a mumbled, “whatever” just as Daz walked back into
class.
===============================================================================
Marco sighed as he watched the boys meander onto the field, and pined for the
view he saw on Tuesday.
“Alright dipshits,” Mr. Ackerman said, barely having to raise his voice to get
the room’s – most of the room’s – attention. “We’re gonna go over this one more
time, and so help me God if I don’t see full marks for trigonometry. The
calculator does all the fucking work anyway.”
Sasha was right, they were much closer to the field and were right above where
the stretches and warm-ups took place, but that didn’t mean anything when there
was no one decent to look at.
“What’s wrong Kafta? Did I say a bad word? Are you going to run and tell the
principle, or your mummy? Grow up.”
He supposed Armin’s friend was ok. He had nice skin, and really pretty eyes. He
was a bit short though, and got so competitive that it was a little frightening
to be honest.
“I’ll tell you what, if you can get a damn 70 on next week’s practice paper,
I’ll get on my hands and knees on this filthy floor and apologise. 70. You hear
that? I’m not even asking for a good mark, just some goddamn effort.”
Marco scanned the crowd, eager to find a distraction, when he spotted Jean
stretching his shoulders and talking with some lanky kid with a terrible bowl
haircut. He had forgotten – semi-purposefully – that he was in that class. It
occurred to Marco after Tuesday’s English, that that was the first real
conversation he and Jean had ever had, and he couldn’t deny that he was
surprised Jean had spoken to him at all after what happened. It was obvious
Jean still didn’t like him, but thankfully he seemed to have gotten over their
fight and the general unpleasantness of their brief association. Marco didn’t
care what Jean thought of him, but he was still glad the past was somewhat
forgotten, even if only for the fact it hadn’t backfired on Sasha in English.
He was just his usual grumpy self, was all she had to say when Marco asked
about how he was working with her.
Whatever Bowl Cut was saying didn’t seem too interesting since he watched
Jean’s eyes and attention roam over their surroundings, still with that relaxed
frown on his face. Marco was beginning to wonder if he ever smiled.
Just as he was about to look away, he noticed Jean’s body tense a bit. Interest
piqued, he continued to watch as Jean tried to nonchalantly swing round a bit
and look up at the school building as he made some kind of encouraging reply to
Bowl Cut.
He watched as Jean’s gaze flit to his classroom, and followed along the window
until their eyes suddenly met. Marco raised his eyebrows as Jean started, and
wasn’t surprised when the shock fell from his face and that frown turned into a
glower. Jean held eye contact for a while, clearly pissed off – Marco wasn’t
sure what kind of reaction Jean was looking for from him – before spinning
around and stomping off into a jog, going further onto the field. He very
briefly looked back at Marco before snapping at a confused Bowl Cut which urged
the kid to catch up with him.
“Bodt!”
“Yes Sir!” Marco called, his posture straightening instantly as if his
marionette string had been pulled, and looked to Mr. Ackerman with what was
probably a very guilty blush.
“Those questions better be completed by the time I get to your desk.”
“Yes Sir!”
===============================================================================
“What the fuck did I tell you Springer?”
Connie blanched as Ymir greeted them at the door, leaning against the frame
with a beer can dangling from her hand. She looked half-way between unimpressed
and pissed off, but Connie recovered quickly and crossed his arms over his
chest as he tried to stand as tall as his five-foot-nothing would allow.
“Fuck off Ymir. This is Chirsta’s party, not yours. Besides, she personally
invited Marco, Reiner, and Sasha, and said they could bring whoever they liked.
So back off, and let us in.”
Ymir grumbled as she stepped aside, but they didn’t get too far in before she
hissed a warning.
“Start shit, and I’ll personally throw you out on your ass.”
“How bad and skewered a reputation must Connie have created, if she says that
to us.” Mina whispered as Ymir stalked away.
Marco shrugged and continued walking in, scanning the crowded hallways and
rooms to get a feel what was going on. He was pretty taken aback by the amount
of people here, though he guessed he shouldn’t be. Christa was probably the
most popular person in the school, and had more admirers and friends than Marco
could fathom. She also had a stinking rich family, though that knowledge could
never have prepared him for the sight of her house when Thomas had pulled up.
It was a huge, white, stately-mansion of a thing, so really, he shouldn’t be
all that surprised that she appeared to have invited the entire school and
managed to fit them all in.
It was still a bit of a struggle though, to get through certain areas,
particularly as group. For a while they wondered around, talking to a few
people they spotted and helping themselves to the drinks dotted around the
place. Just as Sasha and Reiner started dragging them to what looked like the
dancing area, and Nac and Mylius slipped outside to light up, Marco pulled away
and finally found the kitchen and the real source of booze and food. It was
surprisingly deserted, but then it wasn’t like there wasn’t a thousand
different distractions going on.
There were at least two different sound systems going, upstairs was thumping
worryingly, and there was a ruckus of cheers and laughter coming from outside
that was all too easy to hear now that Marco was is the open-plan kitchen that
lead out onto the well lit and packed backyard.
As he made his way around a couple trying to feed each other pizza and suck
each other’s faces simultaneously, he spotted Jean leaning against the counter
and staring at the commotion outside as he sipped beer. He looked like he’d put
some effort into his appearance; Marco could just imagine the amount of care he
took to shape his hair into that ‘I just ran my hand through it’ style, and his
hugging dark blue jeans just had that look of ‘New’. He still didn’t look to
happy to be here though, glaring – what Marco would call – confused daggers
outside and probably at the latest person to rub him the wrong way.
A full two weeks and a day had passed since Mr. Ackerman had chewed Marco out
and Jean had spotted him looking out the window. Given his reaction, he’d
expected Jean to say something – though what, he had no idea – the next time
they saw each other. But he’d ignored Marco as per usual the next day during
Chemistry, and their presentations in English passed without a word to each
other. Everything returned to normal bar the almost immediate glare Jean shot
Marco every Thursday as he walked onto the field. And there was always a glare.
The other week Marco had briefly looked up from his test only to catch Jean’s
scornful eye before he was called away by Coach Shadis.
(At test he aced with a 98. Though poor Franz wasn’t so lucky, only receiving a
64 and a nonchalant, but not derisive, ‘well done for passing’ from Mr.
Ackerman.)
He wasn’t keen on breaking that normalcy or getting his head bitten off for
whatever made Jean look at him like he was gum on the sole of his shoe, so he
slinked round the few people gathered there and made his way unnoticed to the
banquet table of drinks. He was in the mood for something a little stronger,
and eager to feel that carefree buzz. As he was perusing the bottles of spirits
lined up, he heard a voice shout over the concoction of noise in the room.
“Yo Horseface!” he turned to see Eren barge his way through a giggling group
and knocked his fist against Jean’s tense back, whose mood only seemed to
further sour at his approach. Marco snorted at the nickname as he went back to
picking a drink, and casually eavesdropped as he poured.
“What do you want Eren?”
“Dude, you’ve been moping out here for like, an hour! Grab another drink and
come join us!”
“I’m good.”
Solo Cup full, Marco started walking back out, glancing to see Eren’s frown and
noticing a platter of goddamn tacos on Jean’s other side. He could really do
with one of those, but he wasn’t sure it was worth stepping into Sir
Grumpsalot’s radar.
“What the fuck are you even watching?” Maybe he could risk it; Eren seemed to
have the only part of Jean’s attention spared for the room, and they were both
staring out the window now anyway. “Beer Pong’s not that interesting.” Marco
quickly made his way to the counter in an awkward tiptoe that would have been
entirely counterproductive had Eren and Jean not been so focused on what was
happening outside. He grabbed a taco and bit into, barely holding back a moan
at the glorious taste he hadn’t had in years.
“I wanna know who wins.” Jean deadpanned. Marco snatched a plate off the side
and started piling tacos on, intending to take them out to his friends, but not
promising anything.
“That can’t be the same game!”
“It got sabotaged by some topless girl, so they started over.”
Marco jumped at Eren’s loud guffaw as he leant back and slapped Jean’s
shoulder. “Is that why you’re watching? Hoping she’ll come back for round two?
Dude, you need to get laid!” Marco went back to filling his plate, and wondered
if it was rude to take half the platter.
“Fuck off Eren.”
“Whatever man. Come join us when you’re done, yeah? Maybe we’ll find you a girl
who’ll take off her top just for you!”
Marco registered a second too late that what he’d just heard was the departure
of his safety net. Thankfully he was done, and there was still a chance of a
quick and painless escape. Except, when he looked up, Jean was already frowning
at him and eyeing him and his plate with equal distaste.
“Er…” Marco wasn’t sure what he was meant to say, but he couldn’t just walk
away after making eye contact. He briefly glanced down at his plate before
meeting Jean’s stare head on. “They’re for my friends.”
Jean snorted in what was the first inkling of humour Marco had seen in him, and
took a sip of his beer as he looked back out the window. “You sound like you
got caught with drugs, not a plate of gross food.”
“Rude.” Marco huffed, lifting said plate and ready to walk away. That was an
acceptable amount of socialising for the situation, right?
“I’m surprised you’re not watching too.” Jean called, though didn’t shift his
gaze.
Marco frowned, taking the bait and turning back around to face him. “Topless
girls aren’t really my thing.” The fire in Jean’s eyes when they snapped to
him, told Marco that was the wrong thing to say, and that admitting to his
eavesdropping wasn’t the smartest thing to do. Though, whether it could still
be called eavesdropping with how loud Eren had been, Marco wasn’t too sure.
“No.” Jean annunciated slowly. “But lanky, blue-eyed upperclassmen are, right?”
Surprised, Marco leant forward to look out the window too, and gasped when he
saw who was cheering as their ping pong ball splashed into a cup.
“Holy shit! What’s Farlan doing here?!” he watched as the crowd around Farlan
clapped him on the back, and couldn’t help but gulp when he saw the
breathtaking smile he directed at his teammate as he urged him forward.
“Sasha’s gonna die.” He said as stepped back, but not quite ready to tear his
gaze away.
Until Jean finally broke the silence. “‘Suppose this is your big chance, huh?”
Marco turned to him with a raised eyebrow. “To hit on him. Ask him out.
Whatever it is you do.” Jean explained, taking a large gulp of beer and not
looking at him.
Marco rolled his eyes and picked up his plate and drink again, needing to find
Sasha A.S.A.P. “Guess it’ll be a piece of cake.” Jean continued. “What, with
all your experience.” He finished with an unpleasant wince, staring into the
dregs of his can before knocking them back.
“Whatever Jean.” Marco sighed, finally walking away and hoping Sasha was still
dancing in the living room.
He could detect that Jean was having a dig, but at what or why, he didn’t know
or care. But he was wrong. Fooling around with pretty ‘straight boys’ when they
came to him was one thing, but chasing a straight guy was another, and Marco
was too smart to be taking that well-trodden path. So, no. He wouldn’t be
trying it on with Farlan tonight.
But he was going to take this opportunity to get to know him a bit better, and
maybe challenge him to a game or two.
===============================================================================
He was so drunk. And weightless. God, he hadn’t felt this weightless in a long
time. It was lovely, and warm, and Marco could stay like this forever.
The crowds had thinned out now that it was early morning rather than late
night, but the music was still thrumming, and laughter and conversation was a
constant buzz around him. He felt like he was floating on a cloud, light and
close to the sun, all noise muffled by the cotton white he drifted on.
What he was actually lying on was the carpeted floor of a mostly abandoned
room, only a few people still hovering around it and stepping over he and his
friends’ spread out forms. Sasha was next to him, and he could just see the tip
of her finger in the corner of his sight as it traced nonexistent patterns on
the ceiling. Bertolt was laying somewhere above their heads, quietly humming to
himself, and Nac was silent and still, a little further to the side.
It was so peaceful. They should do this more often. He could just imagine how
much easier life and school would be if they just drank all the time. Daz
should drink. Marco bet he’d calm down and enjoy his lessons more if he felt
like this.
It wasn’t a thought that stayed long in Marco’s mind, as he once again replayed
the memories of the evening. That was perhaps the best thing about being in
this wonderful state of drunk; the clear and handsome vision of Farlan was
never far from the forefront of his mind. The image of his challenging smirk
appeared unprompted. His loud laugh sounded in his ears. His hard clap on
Marco’s shoulder, and the nudge into his side, brushed his body with a
lingering warmth again. Marco didn’t think he’d ever forget what it looked
like, what it felt like, to stand opposite him and stare into those heated blue
eyes, the competitiveness between them borderline flirtatious and far too
excessive for a game of Flip Cup. He’d never forget the look of impressed
surprise when Marco had beaten him and ended up forcing him to drink against
his own team. He’d treasure the friendly, almost proud congratulations Farlan
had showered him with.
The memories were constantly playing through his mind, little moments and finer
details fading in and out of focus, and Marco knew there must be the dopiest
smile on his face. But he was so happy.
They were only interrupted when Nac finally made a sound, and Marco turned to
watch him struggle to his feet.
“‘m gonna be sick.” It took a while to register through the haze, but as soon
as it did, Marco was alert and panicking.
“Yeah.” Sasha sighed, before Marco could even move.
“What?” he asked, looking at her confused, and concerned for Nac.
“‘m gonna be sick too.” She said, smiling at him broadly. His eyes widened,
before he frantically tried to start standing up. Fuck, they were screwed.
Marco managed to push himself into sitting up, but he groaned and huffed at the
amount of effort it took. Christ, was his body heavy. Was it always this heavy,
or had he put on weight with the amount of alcohol he’d drank tonight?
He eventually managed to stand on wobbly legs, and just about helped a paling,
giggling Sasha to her feet before he tried to usher both her and a too quiet
Nac to the bathroom down the hall. It was so hard. Nac walked a little ahead,
but he didn’t seem to want to keep his eyes open, and Sasha was swaying so much
she almost pulled Marco along with her when he held her shoulders. And his own
body. It was a serious difficulty to move and control every part of it. God, he
was heavy. What did his body weigh? How the hell did manage to move these dead-
weight, sacks-of-meat limbs on an everyday basis? Why couldn’t he do that now
when he needed to rush everyone into the room that seemed an eternity away?
He prayed that no one was in there. The door looked closed, but that didn’t
mean anything right? Nac was holding a hand to his mouth, and Marco could tell
he was swallowing too much. Sasha’s cheeriness and steps were faltering
tellingly, and they really needed to get to a toilet now.
He could’ve cried with relief when the door opened just as they were
approaching it, and a ruffled Jean started stumbling out.
“Fu-hic-king hell Eren. Can’t a guy piss in pe-hic-peace?” he groused into his
phone, only noticing Nac’s quick approach when he was shoved back into the room
and aside. “‘m on my way da-hic-damnit!”
Marco could just about register him frowning at Nac’s retching back as he put
his phone away, before he and Sasha were standing in front of him and causing
him to have a tiny heat-attack.
“Hey! It’s my Failing English Buddy-mm!” Marco yanked Jean out of the way as
Sasha hurled an impressive amount vomit that landed on the titles with a
distinct and nauseating splat. They both shuddered and groaned at the noise and
sight, before they we pushed aside by a rushing Thomas, who eased Sasha into a
kneel on the ground. He had no idea where he came from, but Marco watched him
rub her back and hold her hair, whispering what was probably utter nonsense,
and only wincing slightly when she heaved again. Marco managed to stand there
for a total 15 seconds, before he had to move away from the doorway, and
stumbled to lean against the wall, breathing deeply to settle his own queasy
stomach.
A high-pitched hiccup startled him, and he opened his eyes to see an equally
unwell looking Jean move towards him and away from the defaced bathroom. If
Marco had any energy, he’d be in hysterics over the serious expression Jean
wore when he’d made such a ridiculous noise. He didn’t even know drunk people
hiccupping was a real thing.
“‘m not drunk. Hic!” Marco seriously had to think for a moment whether Jean had
just read his mind, or if he’d mistakenly said it out loud. Both seemed equally
impossible at that moment. “I was. But-hic-‘coming down now. Ti-hic-psy.
Maybe.”
Seriously. How was he acting so normally, so severe, like those were noises a
human normally made? They didn’t even sound like normal hiccups.
“I’m wasted.” Marco mumbled back, leaning his head against the wall and peering
down at Jean in a way that hurt his eyes, but stopped the excessive spinning.
“Ah.” Jean fell heavily against the wall, leaning on his shoulder and facing
Marco, though not meeting his eyes. For a while there was silence, interrupted
only by Jean’s hiccupping and the muffled, combined retching of Nac and Sasha.
Marco felt like should go help them, but he also felt a bit delicate, on the
cusp of joining them, and the last thing anyone needed in that bathroom was
more vomit. “Thanks, by the way.”
Marco didn’t know what he was looking at before, but he turned back to Jean at
his mumble. He was rubbing sheepishly at his supporting arm, and finally looked
up at Marco when there was no acknowledgment. “For g-hic-getting me outta the
firing line.” He clarified, pointing his thumb over his shoulder and towards
the bathroom.
“Oh. Y’elcome.”
There was quiet again, and Marco faced the opposite wall as he let his
concentration wander. He was feeling a bit better, getting the tiniest bit
sober by the minute, but he was going to need some water soon. He probably
needed it hours ago actually.
“For wha-hic-what it’s worth,” Marco shifted to face Jean as he spoke quietly,
mildly surprised - even in his inebriated state - that Jean was holding eye
contact from the start. “I’m sorry for what I said. Cou-hic-couple months
back.” Marco didn’t even need to think about what he meant; he knew instantly.
“‘Cause I saved you from a barf shower?”
“No.” Jean scoffed, and for a heart stopping moment, Marco thought he heard a
laugh, a giggle to his voice and saw a touch of a smile on his lips. Maybe he
wasn’t drunk. Maybe he was second-hand high and hallucinating. “‘Cause it was a
sh-hic-it thing to say. ‘N’ I didn’ mean it. Hic. I’was just…” he made some
indistinct, wavy gesture with his hand, and finally broke eye contact to watch
it move as if it was telling the whole, riveting story.
Marco had no idea what it meant, but he could tell from Jean’s crestfallen face
and determined eyes that the apology was genuine. Whatever reasoning those hand
movements held, they wouldn’t justify Jean’s actions. But the distinct remorse
he emitted was enough for Marco. It wasn’t okay, and it wasn’t fine, but he was
apologetic and trying; qualities Jean Kirstein infamously lacked.
“I forgive you.” Jean looked up at him, all movement stopping.
“Yeah?”
“Mhmm.” Marco nodded with a small smile.
Jean let his hand fall to his side, and Marco watched his eyes flit over his
face. He seemed to relax a little, though the relentless hiccups continued to
jar his body intermittently.
“Thanks.” He whispered, meeting Marco’s eyes again. “ M really sorry.” Marco
just nodded again, and a second later jumped out of his skin when Jean’s phone
started blaring. “Urgh. M’ride.” He mumbled, shaking his phone at Marco as if
he didn’t already know that’s where the noise was coming from.
He ended the call without answering, and pushed himself away from wall. He
seemed to hesitate before walking away, but Marco’s mind was already on his own
ride home, so he didn’t really notice if he lingered awkwardly or not. He
closed his eyes and breathed deeply one last time as he heard footsteps walk
away, before he straightened up and moved back to the bathroom’s doorway.
The stench nearly knocked him for six, but he hung in there with a shaky breath
and a tight grip on the door frame. Sasha, god bless her, was still heaving,
and had really done a number on the floor. Beside her, Thomas was still
soldiering on, being as soothing and supportive as possible. Nac looked like he
was done for the time being, curled against the wall with his eyes shut and
dried tear tracks on his face.
Marco felt someone come up behind him, and knew instantly from the large
presence it was Reiner. He cast a brief look at him over his shoulder, and
caught the cringe he made when he looked into the room.
“How much dirt have you got on Ymir?” Marco mumbled, cringing himself when
Sasha upchucked another load.
He watched Reiner give the room a surveying look as he took another sip of his
beer (Marco’s stomach turned just at the thought), before he replied
nonchalantly, “Enough.”
===============================================================================
Marco got as far as finding and donning disposable gloves, before Christa found
him and insisted that he didn’t have to do anything, and that a cleaner would
be arriving in the morning (proper) to take care of the mess.
He felt awful leaving it, and couldn’t stop apologising on his friends’ behalf
as they were all ushered out the door. Christa was too sweet for her own good,
and she had no idea just how bad the state of that room was. Luckily Ymir had
already passed out somewhere, but it didn’t make Marco feel any better about
the situation.
The ride back to their houses was quiet and unpleasant. The motion wasn’t doing
anyone any favours, and Sasha and Nac stank the car out, though nobody
mentioned it. Marco volunteered to be the last drop-off, and helped Thomas get
those passed out back into their homes.
By the time he finally made it to his own bed, he was exhausted and his head
was throbbing. He thankfully passed out as soon as his head touched the pillow,
not even giving him enough time to question whether tonight was worth the pain
he was going to suffer tomorrow.
===============================================================================
“I have so many regrets about Friday.”
Marco turned around in his seat to face Sasha behind him. As was customary
during their Thursday Calculus class, she was watching the sports fields
outside, though the boys were only just making their way out.
“You’ve already apologised Sash. I told you, it happens to the best of us.”
Marco replied, giving her a sympathetic smile when she glanced at him.
“I know.” She sighed. “I don’t know what I would have done with you guys. And
poor Thomas.” She was still looking at the field forlornly. “I still feel bad
about it though. And now I realise what a mistake it was to hang out with
Farlan.”
Marco raised an eyebrow, before swivelling in his chair to face forward, but
keeping his head tilted towards Sasha. Ms. Ral may be one of the more lenient
subs, but he didn’t want to draw unnecessary attention.
“I thought you had fun?”
“Yeah, a shit-ton. But having seen him up close and basking in his literal
perfection, I kind of can’t really appreciate what’s on offer here.” She nodded
to the window, and Marco looked down to see the class assembled. “The one thing
keeping me sane in this class has now been tainted. I’m so jealous of those
losers in Tuesday English. They don’t even make the most of it.”
Marco chuckled quietly, and watched as the guys below started stretching and
warming up. She had a point, but there was still a few generically hot guys
there that appealed to Marco enough for a distraction. He’d still prefer to
watch Farlan’s class, but there you go.
It was only after he spotted Bowl Cut pointing haughtily at someone, that he
realised he hadn’t been met with an angry stare yet. He scanned the crowd and
quickly spotted Jean stretching his arms a little further away from the
building argument. He couldn’t see his face, but his head was angled in way
that suggested he was watching the fight unfold.
Marco wondered what had broken the habit, and thought back to Friday’s apology.
Maybe that was Jean’s way of burying the past completely. Maybe he had been
glaring at Marco ‘cause he was pissed off at his own guilt. That didn’t seem
likely. But it was logical to assume that what happened Friday – the last time
they interacted – and this change of attitude were related. Then again, maybe
Marco had been over thinking the whole thing from the start.
As he continued to contemplate, he let his eyes wonder over Jean’s body
unthinkingly. He hadn’t checked him out since Ymir’s party; hadn’t wanted to.
He wasn’t even sure if that was what he was doing now, but he couldn’t help but
notice the way Jean’s shoulder blades shifted under his shirt when he switched
arms, or the way his shorts hugged his outline.
Marco’s eyebrows rose.
They weren’t short and they weren’t exactly tight, but those shorts were more
fitted than the gym gear the boys usually wore. And now that Marco thought
about it, his t-shirt was kind of fitted too. This was different. Jean had
always worn fairly bagging work out gear; typically basketball shorts and a
loose, dark tee, aiming to be as comfortable as possible. Marco was confused,
before the memory of Jean’s new jeans and styled hair as he stood in Christa’s
kitchen popped into his head. Maybe he was changing his look? It didn’t seem
like a very Jean thing, but neither did the fitted red shorts and white tee he
was currently wearing.
After his eyes trailed up Jean’s back again, a sharp shock shot through his
veins as he met Jean’s eyes, peering over his shoulder at him as he twisted his
waist. Marco swallowed thickly, awaiting what would be an outraged, disgusted,
reaction now that he’d been caught actually checking him out. But there wasn’t
one. In fact, there was no reaction at all. Jean’s face remained neutral, and
his eyes looked bored as he held eye contact with Marco for a few seconds,
before he twisted round the other side, not looking at Marco again.
What the fuck?
Maybe he hadn’t noticed. Maybe he just looked for Marco out of habit, even if
he wasn’t inclined to give him death glares anymore. Who knew?
Marco sure as hell didn’t.
“Holy shit! What the fuck are those guys doing?!” Marco whipped his head round
to look at the guy in front of him, noticing for the first time how there was a
lot of laughter in the room.
“I take it all back! I wouldn’t miss this for anything!” He looked round at
Sasha almost wetting herself, and finally looked back down to where everyone
seemed to be staring.
Bowl Cut was lying on the floor, simultaneously cowering and trying to… flap
the guy on top of him away. The guy didn’t seem to know what to do, because
from where Marco was sitting, it looked like he wanted to punch Bowl Cut, but
was instead poking him aggressively. He knew they were arguing before, but when
the hell had they started rolling around on the floor?
And what the hell were they doing?
===============================================================================
A new routine had begun on Thursdays.
Marco would spot Jean warming up, and end up watching him as he work through
all the exercises. At first it was accidental. He’d watch to wait and see what
kind of stare Jean would send his way; to see if that first nonchalant look was
a one-off, or if he was still pissed off with Marco for whatever reason. See
whether Jean would look for him at all. But then, he’d always get lost in the
sight, the movements of Jean’s body. And then. Then Jean would look back as he
stretched, meet Marco’s eyes for a second, and continue like it had never
happened.
There was no reaction, no quirk to his brow or lips, no tension or ease to his
frame. He’d look at Marco like he’d glance at cloud passing overhead. Which he
guessed was normal. Normal for everyone who hadn’t spent a good fortnight
trying to kill him with his eyes.
During Phys Ed.
No other time.
At least that hadn’t changed. Thursday afternoons were still the only time they
interacted, if it could even be called that.
Marco wondered if it was because Jean could feel him staring. Maybe that’s why
he looked ‘round without a care. Checking. Maybe if Marco didn’t wait to see
his reaction, he wouldn’t give one. But then how would he know?
“Hey,” he whispered, hoping Sasha would hear him without either of them having
to move. Mr. Ackerman looked busy at the front, but you could never be too
careful. “You notice anything different about Jean?”
“Jean?” She whispered back. They both had their heads angled down, but their
eyes turned to window. He was stretching for longer today, legs wide as he bent
at the side to touch his ankle. “No? Been as quiet and grumpy as ever.”
“What about during P.E.?”
He heard Sasha feign turning a page before she answered.
“No. But I’ve never really paid attention; not my type.” Marco frowned as he
continued to watch. “Looks normal enough now though.”
He was over thinking it. He knew it. Jean’s irrational behaviour had eventually
made him paranoid, and now he couldn’t stop watching him like he was bomb about
to go off.
A pretty bomb, to be fair. And one that was shifting his feet further apart
before he bent forward and placed his hands on the ground as far in front of
him as could, making his back dip, and his shorts stretch tight over-
“Jesus!” Marco hissed, his desk clattering noisily as his leg jerked
embarrassingly.
“Bodt!”
“I’m sorry Sir!” Marco replied instantly, eyes wide with fear and cheeks
burning from a multitude of things. “Spasm in my leg!”
Was he shouting? Was it normal to reply that loudly, that quickly? People were
looking. Why was his face so red? Ackerman would be able to tell. He’d know
he’d been lying, that he’d not be doing any work for the last ten minutes, that
he’d just been checking Jean out, and now he’d have his own ass handed to him-
“Just get back to work.” He snapped, bending back down to talk to whichever
student Marco had distracted him from, and that was it.
Marco sighed, which was partially a pitiful whine, and rubbed his hands down
his red, red face. What the fuck was he doing?
He heard Sasha give a low whistle behind him, now that the room wasn’t deathly
silent.
“Kirstein’s got back.”
Marco wanted to argue. He wanted to scoff at her reference. He wanted to say he
hadn’t noticed. But the first thought that came to his stupid, treacherous
mind, was that that was a huge understatement.
He cast a defeated look outside only to start as he met empty, tawny eyes.
No way.
Jean looked away as he straightened fully, and jogged to catch up with the rest
of the group.
He was doing it on purpose?
===============================================================================
If he was being honest with himself, Marco was feeling a little bit sick. Last
period Chemistry on Fridays were never good classes. It was always a far too
intense way to finish his busy week. But after yesterday’s confusion, Marco
felt even less prepared than usual.
He had to be overreacting. Whatever the hell was going through Jean’s mind, it
couldn’t possibly be what it looked like. He couldn’t be doing that on purpose.
For Marco. It was weird, no doubt about it, the way he would look at Marco
every time, and yesterday was… he had to have known why Marco was the colour of
his shorts, and making eye contact after that was really fucking weird. But he
wasn’t doing it for Marco’s sake.
There was no embarrassment, or flirtation to his actions. No challenge or
coyness to his stare. And though they didn’t see a lot of each other during the
week, English and Chemistry classes passed as if Jean was unaware of his
existence –precisely as it always had, and should’ve always been.
So what the hell was with Thursdays?!
Those looks were purposeful, for sure. And now that Marco thought about it,
Jean had been stretching for longer, steadily getting more strenuous with them.
And then there was the tighter clothing, and yesterday… It felt like it was an
intended progression. It was just thewhat for that was getting to Marco.
“Hey,” he mumbled to Sasha next to him, keeping his eyes on the door to watch
the students walking in for a distinct haircut. “Your Dad takes you hunting
pretty often right? Are you any good?”
He cast her a quick glance when he didn’t receive a reply.“For both our sakes,
I’m going to pretend you didn’t ask me that Bodt.”
He chuckled and gave her a sheepish smile.“Right. Sorry.” He kept an eye on the
door, and swallowed nervously, knowing this could go pretty badly, depending on
Sasha mood. “ So, you can be, like, subtle, when you need to be?” Sasha gave
him a confused look. “If I promise to buy you lunch tomorrow, can you do me a
favour and keep an eye on someone during class? Without them knowing?”
“Who?” she asked, surprised and - dare Marco think it - intrigued by the
question.
“If I also promise to buy desert and let you copy my notes for this class, will
you swear not to give me shit for it?” he grumbled. The last thing he needed to
worry about was Sasha’s teasing and the possibility of that getting anywhere
near Jean, given how the - barely insinuated - last time went.
She seemed to actually think about it before shrugging her shoulders. “Sure.
Who is it?”
Marco took a steadying breath, eyes not straying from the door. “Jean.”
“Cherry Sours?”
Marco faced her confused, to see her eyebrow cocked in question. “What?” he
asked, but she waved his bewilderment over the nickname away with her hand, and
encouraged him to continue. “Um, yeah. Just like, see what he does during
class. If he, like, looks at me or anything.”
Her eyebrows raised further. “You interested?”
“No!” he replied hastily, and little too loudly. “No, I’m not.”
“Think he’s interested in you?”
“No,” again, the response was quick, but it held an uncertain tone. “I dunno.
I’m pretty certain he isn’t, but he’s been… acting a bit, different. I guess.”
He ran his hand through his hair as he turned back to the door, frowning a
little. “You promised not to give me shit, Sasha.” He reminded in a mumble.
She scoffed. “Trust me, this is not shit. Just trying to figure out the sudden
curiosity. Is this what you were talking about yesterday?”
“Yeah.” He whispered, not allowing his eyes to stray now that it was just a few
minutes before class. He didn’t want Jean walking in and overhearing this
conversation.
There was a moment of silence, before Sasha finally agreed. “Sure. I can do
that.”
“Thanks Sash.” He smiled. “You won’t tell anyone about this, right?”
“'Course not!” She beamed, nudging his shoulder just as Connie burst through
the door and effectively stole Marco’s attention for the rest of the class.
At the back of his mind, he hoped Sasha hadn’t been as caught up in Connie’s
antics.
===============================================================================
Marco sighed as he made his way to the library.
Sasha had oh-so-kindly kept an eye on Jean during double Chemistry this
morning, ‘free of charge’, but the results had been the same as Friday. Jean
hadn’t so much as glanced in his direction, even when Marco was called on to
explain something. He was quiet and sulky, and looked the same as he had for
the last three years, as Sasha put it.
“I think you’re imagining things.” She had said. “Maybe the mundanely of life
has finally gotten to you. What you need is a nice, new, distraction. Take your
mind off things. Let off a little steam.”
Marco was inclined to agree with her. On all counts.
Problem was, ‘new distractions’ weren’t the easiest things to find in a small
town like theirs, and even if he did know precisely where to look, school was
riding his ass hard right now. Bad enough, that he had to ditch his and
Reiner’s weekly one-on-one this free period to work of his geography project.
School had to come first.
He pushed the heavy door of the library open as quietly as he could, making
sure to ease it closed behind him in much the same way. He walked through
aisles and dotted desks, and made his way to his preferred table at the back of
the room, next to the infrequently used music section, and as far away from the
clacking of computer keys as possible.
When he passed by the last book shelf though, he saw it was already occupied by
none other than his fellow geography suffer Armin. He was a welcome sight in
all honesty, and Marco was just about ready to bound over with grin, before he
noticed who was sitting with him, head bent close to the blond’s as they
quietly discussed whatever it was they were looking at in the book between
them.
To Marco, there couldn’t be a more unlikely pair than Armin and Jean, and yet
the sheer contentment and comfortableness of Jean’s persona – the like of which
Marco had never seen in his admittedly short awareness of the man - said this
was a common arrangement. That they were good friends.
It not so much blew his mind, as popped a section of it, before he took a deep
breath and threw caution to the wind and approached them. Whatever weirdness
was or was not happening during Thursday Calculus, he and Jean had made amends,
so there was no real reason why he couldn’t sit with his friend too. Especially
when he could really do with Armin’s help right now.
“Hey,” he whispered loudly with a smile, catching both their attention. Armin
smiled instantly, looking pleased to see him. Jean, not so much. Marco kept his
eyes on Armin, but he thought he saw Jean start out the corner of his eye when
he realised it was Marco. “Mind if I join you?” he asked, making sure to meet
both their eyes.
“Sure!” Armin replied, Jean taking his cue and nodding afterwards, both of them
shifting the array of papers and books spread across the desk. “Let me guess,”
he continued. “You’re here for Mr. Zacharius’ project, right?” he almost
taunted, with a sly quirk of the lips.
“How’d you guess?” Marco huffed sarcastically, settling down and pulling
everything out of his bag straight away. “Have you finished yours?”
“Just. Literally managed to get it done this morning during French.” Seeing
Marco’s confused expression, he expanded. “We had a test and I finished early.”
He shrugged, as if it was commonplace, which Marco suspected it might be. “Want
a hand with yours? I found the penultimate section really tricky; I wouldn’t
mind seeing what you think of it actually.”
“If you don’t mind.” Marco replied, smiling guiltily.
“It’s fine.” He assured. “Just let me-Oh!” Armin jounced as he turned back to
Jean. “Sorry,” he laughed, gesturing to his friend. “this is Jean. Jean, this
is Marco.”
Marco chuckled out of habit. “Actually, we have couple of classes together.”
“You two are friends?” Jean asked, looking more at Armin than Marco. He seemed
as surprised at their friendship as Marco had been at Jean and Armin’s, though
of course the former’s was concealed under a peculiar frown.
“Yeah,” Armin answered for them. “Marco and I have been Study Buddies since we
were paired up in freshman Government and had a disagreement about ethics.”
“It must have been the politest argument ever!” Marco said, laughing fondly at
the memory and how silly they must have looked at the time.
“Oh.” Marco looked to Jean to see him watching him with those same,
disinterested eyes.
“What about you two?” He asked. “How long have you two been friends?”
“Oooh,” Armin falsely pondered, with a little smirk on his lips. “I dunno.
Since I wasn’t ‘the creepy weirdo that followed Jaeger around like a lost
puppy’ I think.”
Marco’s confusion only lasted the second it took for Jean’s cheeks to go red
and for him to elbow Armin in the side.
“Take the piss all you want Arlert, but just because I know better now, doesn’t
mean you didn’t look creepy as fuck back then. I stand by that statement.”
“So a while then.” Marco laughed, secretly enjoying the blush on Jean’s usually
stoic face. Didn’t look quite as good as the first time he’d seen it, but it
was infinitely better than the last.
“Yeah,” Armin laughed too. “Eren and Jean got into a fight the first day, and
since then Jean and I have luckily had a lot of classes together. Took a while,
but we’ve become pretty close, right?” Jean simply mumbled incoherently, which
Marco took as embarrassed agreement. “Do you mind if we just finish this up
before I help you Marco?” Armin asked, changing the subject rather quickly, and
Marco suspected it was in part for Jean’s sake. “We’re nearly done anyway.”
“Of course.” Marco replied enthusiastically. “I didn’t mean to interrupt, and
I’ve got a ways to go before I reach the tricky part!”
Armin smiled at him before looking back at the book, pointing out something
with the tip of his pencil to Jean, who’s face was back to its usual, pale,
stern self.
Marco turned to his own work, but couldn’t help letting his mind wander to the
boy in front of him. So, he definitely wasn’t interested in Marco, or flirting,
or trying to get his attention, or anything like that. As if he needed any more
proof, then he got it sitting with him now. He was civil, but paid as little
attention to him as possible; not the way someone acted when they liked you. In
fact, Marco briefly considered whether he was a little interested in Armin.
Their closeness was clear, and the teasing seemed natural in way that always
looked flirtatious to Marco. And as far as he was concerned, it was certainly
as flirtatious as he could see either Jean or Armin getting.
He didn’t know if he truly saw something between the two, but it did open
another path of thinking for Marco. What if Jean was flirting and showing off,
but to someone else? He may catch Marco’s eye every time, but what if Marco got
so lost in the way his back stretching caused ripples in his shirt, that he
missed the look Jean gave to whoever he was trying to impress? A more inviting,
or embarrassed look. Something more than the acknowledging glance he gave Marco
every time he got caught staring.
It seemed possible. More so than his previous wild-stab-in-the-dark, at least.
Maybe it was even Armin. Though Marco had bite the inside of his cheek to stop
himself laughing at the image. Probably not then. Though Marco couldn’t help
but hope, just for the hilarity of it.
Maybe it could even be someone in his class; that would make Marco’s staring
more obvious, and Jean’s reasons for glaring and staring respectively, clearer.
Though, he didn’t think any of the window row in front of him would be to
Jean’s taste. Not that he knew him that well, but there was a certain
understanding you got when making out with someone. Sasha, though. Sasha was
pretty, and attracted a lot of people to her. Maybe she left an impression when
they were paired up for English, and Jean was trying to catch her eye.
He bit his lips as it was tugged into a smile. Poor Jean. Maybe after last
week’s stunt, she’d pay him a bit more attention.
“Having fun there?” Marco looked up to see the other two watching him, Jean’s
head cocked to the side and resting on his palm as he asked the question.
“Sorry,” Marco answered, letting his smile stretch this time. “Mind drifted a
bit.”
“Hmm.” Jean acknowledged, still looking at him as if he was bored out of his
skull.
“Man, I know that feeling.” Armin sighed. “Seriously can’t wait for Friday, and
I don’t even drink!”
“Oh?” Marco queried. “What’re you up to Friday?”
“It’s Eren’s birthday- well, it’s his birthday on Thursday, but he’s having a
party Friday night. Hey, you should come!”
Marco raised his eyebrows.
“I don’t even know Eren.”
“Pssh.” Armin dismissed. “Doesn’t matter. It’s not gonna be big like Christa’s,
but he’s invited practically everyone he’s ever met.”
“It’s less of a birthday celebration, and more of an excuse to get shitfaced.”
Jean added, still leaning on his hand.
“Yeah. Besides, you’re good friends with Reiner right? Eren’s gonna insist he
comes, and you’re in with me,” Armin winked half-jokingly. “So you can
definitely come! Bring the others too if you like, just so long as the Bathroom
Massacre isn’t repeated – Eren doesn’t have cleaners.”
“Trust me,” Marco laughed. “I don’t think even Sasha’s up to risking that
again.”
“It’s settled then!” Armin smiled, looking more excited than Marco can remember
seeing him.
“You sure?” He double checked, glancing at Jean as well as Armin, as if it’s
his party he’s been invited to. He gets a indifferent shrug in return, but for
a second, he thinks he sees a glint in Jean’s eyes before Armin grabs Marco’s
attention again.
“Absolutely! Now, how far have you got with the project?”
===============================================================================
Eren’s party certainly wasn’t the best Marco had been to, but it was definitely
the loudest. The bass of the speakers practically shook the whole house, and
Marco didn’t know why there was so many guys shouting and screaming at each
other like they were going to war, but they all did it with a smile on their
face, so he guessed it wasn’t a problem. Just very noisy.
Eren’s party also had the added bonus of Timothy – ‘not Tim’ – who was a tall,
very slim blond, with a pointy nose and pretty eyes, and who was blissfully
uncomplicated. He was from a high school the next town over, a friend of a
friend invited he and his recently ex-boyfriend, and he’d come along in the
spirit of spite and glorious rebound. His boyfriend hadn’t turned up –
‘chickened out more like’ – so he was feeling very proud of himself and
confident.
He talked a lot.
But Marco liked that, because Marco liked to listen, and it meant they had to
sit close with their legs tangled, and hands stroking down the outside of
thighs, and noses brushing cheeks, and lips fluttering over ears when
everything got turned up, unbelievably, another notch for a moment or two. It
was all very pleasant, nice, promising, and straightforward in ways Marco used
to know, but had recently forgotten the ease of.
So unlike his last hook-up.
That Monday in the library, Marco had thought he’d figured a little bit of the
Jean enigma out. It sort of made sense that he had the hots for Sasha – more
than it made sense for him to have any inclination for Marco, given what had
happened – and it was inevitable Marco got caught in the crossfire since they
were so close. Jean had found out that Sasha liked to watch his class work out,
and wanted to show off but noticed Marco would be watching too; his lingering
resentment and internalised homophobia made him glower at Marco every time he
spotted him during his opportunity to impress Sasha, until he had some kind of
self-discovery at Christa’s that allowed them to find a truce, and thus he no
longer tried to kill Marco with his eyes. So he finally resumed with his plan
of wooing Sasha, but still acknowledged Marco’s staring, because it was
insistent and a bit awkward. That’s why he never bothered with Marco outside of
those moments, and why Sasha didn’t notice anything odd, because apparently,
Jean Kirstein could be subtle too. Sometimes.
It was kind of sweet, Marco thought. In that very awkward, Jean way.
He had contemplated putting a word in for him with Sasha. There wasn’t a lot to
go on to be fair, but though the memory had faded, he’d been pretty sure Jean
was a decent kisser. That probably wasn’t enough to win Sasha over, but he felt
like helping the poor kid out.
That was, until yesterday.
Yesterday, when it had been the last ten minutes of Calculus and Marco had
watched the Phys Ed boys walk back inside to change. When he almost immediately
caught the sight of Jean’s bare, surprisingly defined, sweaty abs as he lifted
his t-shirt to wipe the sweat of his face. When he swallowed hard and swore
breathlessly, eyes slowly trailing up that flat stomach and smooth chest, over
the bunched t-shirt, and met Jean’s seemingly apathetic stare. And held it.
Held it whilst Jean walked all the way back to entrance, and until the window
ledge cut through their gaze.
Jean hadn’t tried to look at anyone else. He may not have looked particularly
inviting, but he didn’t look uncomfortable with Marco’s staring. He watched
Marco pointedly, but not heatedly. And so Marco was back to square one. Well,
not quite, considering square one was hot grasps and slick lips in a cramped
closet. But he was definitely back to the What The Fuck Is Happening stage. His
position there fully cemented when today passed like every other, in which Jean
acted like Marco didn’t exist.
Uncertain as he was, Marco hadn’t been sure about still coming to the party;
worried he’d be greeted at the door by Jean, or forced into some other awkward
confrontation. But Connie had been eager to attend, and Armin had been talking
about it all week, so he showed up, and had thus far been rewarded with a Jean-
less, Timothy-ful experience.
He appreciated the change.
“So,” Timothy continued, sinking further into the ratty couch they sat on as
Marco trailed fingertips up and down the back of his knee. “What about you? Any
current or ex-boyfriends giving you grief?” he asked, taking another generous
sip of his beer.
Marco chuckled and briefly glanced around the small, buzzing kitchen they were
in. Everything and everyone was a mishmash at this party, but it was
comfortable. “Actually, I have no boyfriends to speak off. Past or present.”
Timothy sat upright, sceptical frown marring his pale, delicate face. “You’re
kidding. There’s no way. You must be one of the biggest catches in this tiny
pond.” His frowned deepened as he looked Marco up and down. “You’re not
recently out, are you? A newbie?” One incredulous eyebrow rose higher than the
other. “You don’t act like a virgin.”
Marco frowned too, Timothy’s condemnatory tone rubbing him the wrong way. He
didn’t like it when people judged others over such frivolous concepts, but he
supposed he didn’t need to be in total agreement with a casual hook-up.
“No. I’ve had a few flings and fun.” He answered with a slightly forced smile,
though it became more natural as he continued to talk. “I’ve never really
wanted a relationship to be honest. Not that it’s been offered a lot, to be
fair! Maybe a couple of times?”
“Really?” he asked, moving his fingers over Marco’s arm flirtingly. “Another
time and place, and I wouldn’t take no for an answer Marco!”
They both laughed until a sharp thud caught Marco’s attention as someone
slammed their bottle of beer down on the high counter in front of him and
Timothy.
“Y’know, the first time a boy asked me out...” Timothy regaled, and Marco only
half listened as his eyes trailed up the arm of the guy who’d slammed his
bottle down. He jolted as he came to a familiar undercut, and watched unnerved
as Jean helped himself to the bowl of chips, keeping his tense back them.
Marco wondered if his luck had run out, or if Jean would head back the way he
came without spotting him.
“I went out with him of course,” Timothy continued, seemingly oblivious to
Marco’s reaction. “At the time, I never thought I’d be able to date another
guy…” Marco tried to get involved in the story, tried to pay attention and at
least look like he was engaged in case Jean turned around, but he was
distracted. Jean was dressed up again, more so than he was at Christa’s even.
He was wearing those same, dark blue jeans and his hair was styled again, but
this time it was all accompanied by a dark grey, jersey top that sagged
teasingly at his neck and shoulders, but was fitted around the waist and chest,
allowing Marco see the vague curves of his toned back.
Marco distantly wondered if Jean was going to peer over his shoulder and catch
him staring again. Thankfully, he had enough presence of mind to notice Jean’s
body turning around, and faced Timothy with a casual sip of his own drink.
He wasn’t really paying attention to anything other than the effort it took to
not look back at Jean, when Timothy snapped. “Can we help you?”
Marco followed his annoyed gaze to see an unmoved Jean watching them
disinterestedly, eating from a pile of chips in his hand. He rose an eyebrow
questioningly at Timothy’s accusation, but didn’t seem inclined to further
answer.
“Timmy!” Someone yelled just as the blond went to speak again, and they all
turned to watch a guy drunkenly trip into the room, pressing his phone into his
cheek so hard it squished his face so much his already slurred words came out
barely distinguishable. “Kazzz ‘n phone. ‘nts’ t’talk t’you.”
Timothy sighed before leaning forward to put his drink on the table, and then
leaning into Marco with an apologetic smile and a pat on the chest. “I’ll be
right back.” He quietly promised, before untangling himself and going over to
his friend, shouting “Don’t call me that!”
Once they left, an awkward silence descended, despite the constant thrumming of
music and loudness of the cramped room. Marco took a nervous sip of his drink,
before daring to look at Jean again.
He looked bored.
“You’ve got an eclectic taste in men, y’know that?” Jean asked, surprisingly
starting the conversation. Marco started to laugh, before what Jean said next
stilted his humour. “Or do you just take what you can get?”
Marco sighed, maybe even groaned, as he sat up and put his drink down before
leaning his elbows on his knees and rubbing his hands through his hair in
frustration.
“What do you want Jean?” He asked, deciding to get straight the point, and
meaning it on so many levels.
There was a long pause before Jean answered.
“A lot of things, I guess.” Marco looked up, somewhat surprised he got an
answer at all, never mind an honest sounding one. He watched as Jean finished
the last chip, and brushed his hands over his jeans, that really were
distractingly tight. “But what I want most right now, is to get off.”
Marco embarrassingly chocked on his own spit and stared at Jean wide-eyed. He
crossed his arms over his chest and looked down on Marco with such an
indifferent stare.How could he be so serious all the goddamn time?
“So,” he continued, as if he hadn’t just short-circuited Marco’s brain. “If
Timmy,” he almost sneered. “gets tedious, come find me.” He finished, pushing
himself on the counter with his hips and started to walk away.
“And you want me?!” Marco spluttered, more lost now than he’d ever been.
Jean flinched before he turned back around, and looked at Marco without the
slightest hint of what he was suggesting. He shrugged half-heartedly.
Want, seemed the message, was a strong word.
Jean didn’t try to walk away again, and simply looked at Marco as if he knew
Marco was already, stupidly, considering it. And it was stupid. It was so
stupid, because they’d done this before, and it caused a bigger, nastier
headache, than the hangover the next day had. And there was Timothy. Pretty
Timothy, who was a bit stuck-up, but was rebounding and simple, and at this
point, pretty much a sure thing.
But then there was Jean. Confusing, occasionally infuriating Jean, who was
perhaps not the best company, but was so fucking hot, and Marco knew exactly
how hot. Had been given glimpses of it for weeks, in some weird game Marco
wasn’t sure either of them were actually playing. Marco might even get some
answers if he went with Jean.
But it was a bad idea.
It was such a bad idea.
No amount of answers, or intoxicating kisses, or material stretched taut over
thick, glorious asses, was worth going through that chaos again. It wasn’t.
But Marco was curious, and so thirsty, and wasn’t youth meant to made up of
bittersweet mistakes?
He knocked back the rest of his drink and stood up.
“Lead the way.”
===============================================================================
Unlike the last time, plenty of people saw he and Jean walk around together and
head upstairs, but it wasn’t like they would be able to tell why they were
doing it. Still, Marco was mildly surprised at the lack of paranoid caution on
Jean’s end.
Despite the fact there was roughly a dozen people crowding the stairs, the
upper floor was dark and quiet, and it looked as if there been some ban
enforced at some point. He followed Jean quietly as he walked down the unlit
hallway and casually opened the last door on the right as if he lived in this
house himself. Then again, he seemed close to Eren, so maybe he spent a lot of
time here.
Marco had roughly five seconds after he stepped through the door to register
that he was in someone’s bedroom and that the door was being locked, before
Jean tugged on his shirt and pulled Marco to him, and he revelled in pushing
Jean into the wall with his entire body. Their lips met instantly, and Marco
felt a thrill down his back at doing this again, being fully pressed against
Jean again.
He kept his hands on Jean’s sides, still wary of how skittish Jean could be,
but he deepened the kiss eagerly as Jean tilted his head and pulled Marco
impossibly closer. Marco had been right, Jean was a good kisser, and he tried
to tell him that with every moan Jean’s tongue coaxed out of him.
He squeezed his sides, before slipping his hands round to the other’s back,
Jean arching into him instinctively so Marco could fit between his warm body
and the hard wall. He pulled back to suck on Jean’s lower lip when he moaned at
the movement of Marco’s roaming hands. He kept it above board, gliding over his
shoulders blades and the insane dip of his lower back, knowing Jean was still
new to this. Another gasp and he chose to let go of his mouth altogether,
moving his kisses down a pointy chin and along a sharp jaw that felt so good
between his lips, he actually felt himself twitch. He was rewarded with soft
pants and brittle moans, and Marco tried to push into Jean even further,
needing to feel their firm bodies slot together.
“Did you like that guy?” was whispered in his ear, and Marco shudder at the
sound and feel of it.
“What guy?” he mumbled against Jean’s skin, clumsily moving his own jaw against
Jean’s to make him tilt his head further back. He trailed his kisses over the
hinge and mouthed at the soft flesh underneath, moaning at the way it pressed
back against him with Jean’s hard swallow.
“Tim.” Jean gasped as he licked over his pulse point, so Marco gave a quick
suck to the skin there and marvelled at the shaky whine it produced.
“Not really.” He answered hastily, stretching his mouth over that same patch of
skin, and sucked it slow and hard, moving his hands to grasp Jean’s hips as his
body quivered and his hands gripped at Marco’s shoulders.
“What,” Jean breathed, keening as Marco released his skin with a sharp pop.
“What about Christsa’s?” Marco hummed questioningly as his kissed down Jean’s
arched and bobbing neck. “D-did you get off with Farlan?”
Marco frowned and finally pulled back to look at Jean suspiciously. It was a
long time ago, and there had been significantly more alcohol involved, but
Marco was pretty sure that Jean was moving approximately 20 per cent less, and
talking a good 130 per cent more than he had the last time. And none of it made
any sense. But then, when did Jean ever?
He was briefly distracted by the way Jean looked up at him. Naturally, none of
the lights had been turned on, but the full moon shone through the open
curtains brightly enough that Marco could see the way Jean panted and his
cheeks flushed. He could even just about make out the red mark he’d just left
on Jean’s shadowed neck, and see how big his pupils were; endlessly dark in
this light.
Before he could question Jean’s inquisition though, a loudly knocking sounded
on the door next to them, and they jumped as a voice shouted through.
“You’re in there, right Jean?” A woman asked, rattling the handle as she tried
to get in. Marco had a distinct sense of déjà vu. “You better not be jerking
off with my underwear, you creep.” There was silence as she seemed to wait for
a reply, but it didn’t look like Jean was going to give one. He was holding
himself perfectly still, watching the door with wide eyes, and Marco swore he
could feel Jean’s heart pound with their chests pressed together like this.
“Whatever.” She finally said. “But if I find out you are, I’m skinning you
alive.” They listened as she walked away, and Jean sighed once a full 30
seconds of silence passed.
“Is that something you’re known for, or…?” Marco teased, and his own heartbeat
sped up when Jean let out a short, nervous chuckle.
“No,” he scoffed. “‘s just Mikasa. I used to have a crush on her, and now she
thinks the worst of me.”
“Really?” Marco laughed quietly, purposefully ignoring the way his body buzzed
at their close conversation. “That’s kind of an extreme reaction to a crush.”
“Well,” Jean looked down and released one of Marco’s shoulders to run a hand
through his hair. “It was, an embarrassing crush.”
Marco laughed again, watching as Jean looked back up at him and smoothed his
hand over Marco’s chest to place it back at the slope where his neck moved into
his shoulder. He blamed the single beer and thrill of the moment for allowing
the words, “I bet you’re cute when you’re crushing.” To be whispered through
his smiling lips.
As Jean’s blush darkened and his eyes darted away, Marco looked over his
shoulder at the silver outlines of Mikasa’s room, keen to change the subject.
“So this is her room huh?” He looked at Jean from the corner of his eye with a
smirk. “Why do I get the feeling I’m playing stand-in for a debauched fantasy
of yours?” He smiled at another of Jean’s huffed laughs, and faced him again,
placing a quick kiss on the other side of his jaw.
“Hardly.” One kiss didn’t feel enough, so Marco gave another. And another. All
in a line up to his raised chin. “It’s just Eren’s room is a constant health
hazard.” Jean explained, and Marco began to pick up where he left off, gripping
and holding Jean’s hips in a pulsing rhythm, running his thumbs back and forth,
itching to sneak his hands up the soft material. “Besides,” he whispered,
getting short of breath all over again, and gulping like he hadn’t drunk in
years. “‘S’not like you’d care if that was true anyway, right?”
Marco tensed.
Why did this always happen? Why was it, that whenever they settled into
anything near comfortable, Jean had to jerk them back with a snide remark or
distained glance?
He pulled away, again, and stared Jean in the eye. He didn’t look the slightest
bit concerned about what he just said, or Marco’s clear reaction.
“Contrary to what you seem to think, I have some dignity.” At Jean’s soft,
derisive grunt, Marco was ready to walk to fuck out. It’d take effort, to
remove his hands and step out of Jean’s warmth, but he would do it. One more,
tiny thing, and has was gone. “I don’t mind being a pair of hands or a warm
body, but if you’re going to be thinking of someone else entirely, we’re
stopping here.”
Jean frowned a little, and his fingers clenched around Marco’s shoulders. “I’m
not.” He mumbled. “I won’t.”
“Really? ‘Cause I’m thinking there might be more truth to Mikasa’s words.”
“I don’t like her like that!” Jean replied sharply, frowning at Marco with a
familiar distaste, before it softened and his gaze fell. Marco simply watched,
knowing there was more to come, but wary of what it might be. It took a while,
but Jean swallowed harshly and glanced up at Marco with a conflicted
expression. It was the most vulnerable he’d seen him, and Marco was startled by
it and even more so at the sound of the soft confession that followed. “You
know I don’t like her.”
Marco couldn’t help but stare, the weight of those words holding him in place
as Jean glanced away again with a wince. He had to tread carefully with his own
response. Maybe try and find some humour to ease Jean back into the moment. But
it was hard. It was hard not to gape at the difference between now and then;
hard not to ask stupid questions; hard not to just lean back in and kiss that
unease away.
Ironically, Marco had never been ‘come out’ to.
It took a few swallows himself, to find his voice again.
“I thought you weren’t gay.” Marco said softly, reiterating the first words he
ever remembered Jean saying to him.
He got a self-deprecating snort and a brief squeeze on his shoulders as a
response.
So maybe those ‘straight boys’ really did know, deep down, how ridiculous they
were when they said things like that. The initial defiance seemed so prolific
that Marco had begun to wonder.
“I’m not even bi.” Jean mumbled, the higher pitch to it told Marco that Jean
was mocking himself, trying to find that humour too. He brushed his nose along
Jean’s before kissing it softly, holding him a little tighter. Jean’s hands
twitched against his neck.
“Don’t you like the way girls bounce though?” Marco teased, and finally he got
a quiet laugh, Jean raising his head and meeting his gaze. Their noses brushed
again, but Marco kept close and let their foreheads rest against each other as
Jean smirked a little.
“Actually, there- ” he cut himself short, seeming to realise something before
he chuckled breathlessly and smiled modestly at Marco. “I was going to say,
actually, there’s something to be said for straining muscles,” Marco laughed,
recognising his own words. “But then I remembered Mikasa has like, a 12-pack,
and it lost all meaning.”
He laughed harder as he pulled himself a little closer to Jean, looking into
his bright eyes and watching them flit to his lips.
“I guess that’s why you liked her then.” Marco smirked, leaning in and meeting
Jean’s own smiling lips. The kiss was gentle, a long press of lip between lip,
before they pulled a breath away only to repeat the feeling. Each touch
lingered for longer, until press became slide, and lip became tongue, and they
melted back into their rhythm and each other.
As breath turned short, Marco trailed sloppy kisses down Jean’s cheek and over
his jaw, determined to find that sensitive spot again, wanting to make Jean
feel good as much as he wanted to hear those sounds again.
“What about me?” Jean asked breathlessly, his hands cradling Marco’s neck and
occasionally running through his hair.
“Hmm?” he grunted against his hot skin, unable to stop himself from pushing
back into Jean’s body in anticipation.
“Am I playing substitute?” It took a while for Marco to get what Jean meant;
that he was picking up a long dropped topic. He couldn’t help laughing against
his neck, finding it physically impossible to remove his mouth from Jean’s soft
skin.
“For who?” Marco laughed, a tad disbelievingly. “Don’t you own a mirror?”
“You think I’m hot?” Jean whispered against his ear, the purposeful husk to it
sending a ripple down Marco’s entire body.
“You’re really fucking hot.” He growled, finally pushing his hand’s under
Jean’s shirt and running his palms over his tensing abs, his sides, his
shoulder blades, and dragging down his back.
Jean gasped at the touch, his body arching into Marco’s as the large hands
moved softly and surely down his spine. Marco took the opportunity to suck at
that spot again, and Jean moaned obscenely, pulling Marco to him with a hard
grip in his hair. Their bodies rocked against each other, and Marco could feel
the point of no return looming. He was getting hard, getting lost in the sight,
the sound, the smell, the taste of Jean. He couldn’t keep his hands still, his
hips were beginning to roll against the other’s, and Jean’s body was holding
him so close that Marco was sure that if they didn’t stop now, they never
would.
But this is what Jean wanted, right? He told Marco he just wanted to get off,
so it was fine if they tipped over that edge; that was always the intention. So
he let the moment slip into the next, that line getting rapidly closer, and let
his body move against Jean’s, let his groans answer every one of the other’s,
and sunk into the delirious depths of the heat they were creating.
Jean’s hands slipped up his neck and held Marco’s jaw and face, encouraging him
to move up from his throat and back to his lips. And that’s when Marco noticed
it. He probably should have before, but it was then, with those palms pressed
against his skin and those long finger’s spread along his cheeks and brushing
his ears, that he felt the tiny tremors going through them. Felt those hands
gently shake.
He was shaking the last time too, but what was building between them now wasn’t
just soothing touches of skin and deep kisses. Marco was on the brink of
slipping his hands down the back of Jean’s jeans, and grabbing that full ass he
couldn’t stop think about. It was all he could do not to rut against Jean’s
hip, against that hardness he could feel pressing against his own thigh. He
wanted to place a thousand kisses on every patch of skin, suck patterns into
the pale smoothness, and do everything short of devouring him.
But Jean had just admitted something huge for the first time, maybe even to
himself, and maybe he was running on adrenaline, maybe he was scared of pushing
away the first person to accept and welcome him for who he was. It was natural
to be little nervous – Marco own heart was beating erratically strong – but the
way Jean’s hands were shaking against him felt wrong. It felt like he was
caught in two minds, like he wasn’t sure this was what he wanted. Marco didn’t
want him to feel like that.
He stilled his body, though kept it pressed lightly against Jean’s, and held
the other’s hips in a sure but gentle grasp. He pulled his face back slightly
and caught Jean’s gaze, raising one hand to rest on Jean’s wrist, rubbing his
thumb along the back of his hand just once.
The way that arm jolted at the touch didn’t make him feel any better.
“You ok?” Marco whispered, keeping his entire body steady but open, hoping his
expression coerced Jean into being honest with him for once.
The way Jean frowned and slipped into that practiced, disinterested face told
him he was hoping against hope.
“Fine.” He mumbled, trying to pull Marco back in for a kiss. He resisted, but
at the sudden tension it caused in Jean’s body, he leant in himself and pecked
him on the lips. He eased a little bit, but Marco could tell he was walking a
fine line; the slightest mistake in what he said or did next, and Jean would
bolt, never speak to him again, blow up in his face; it was hard to guess what
Jean would do, but Marco knew it would be unpleasantly irrevocable.
And that desperation, that be all and end all that Jean exuded wasn’t good. It
reinforced Marco’s concern about the situation; that he shouldn’t be doing this
with Jean, not like this.
“You’re shaking.” He kept his voice low and turned his face slightly kiss at
the heel of Jean’s palm. The hand twitched. “We can stop. Talk for a bit. Kiss
a little, maybe.” Marco moved both his thumbs in soothing circles, one on
Jean’s hand, the other on his clothed hip. Not encouraging or enticing, but
calming.
For a second it looked like Jean was going to argue, deny the very obvious
trembling of his hands and spew heated words in defence. He looked like he was
going to close himself off again. But the moment passed, and his hands slipped
down to Marco’s neck again.
“Do you want to stop?” he asked unsure, looking nervous and conflicted. Marco
wasn’t sure how to answer, aware that what he said looked like it might sway
Jean’s own decision. Honestly, he didn’t want to stop, but he didn’t want to
continue like this either.
“I don’t want you to be scared.” Jean watched him sceptically before sighing
and moving his own thumbs in circles on Marco’s skin. It eased Marco, that Jean
felt comfortable enough to do that.
“I’m not scared.” He whispered, though he looked embarrassed about it. “M’just
nervous. I’ve not…” he looked away and his fingers flinched in embarrassment,
though they quickly soothed back over Marco’s skin. “I’ve not done this
before.”
“I know.” Marco was quick to whisper back, placing a short kiss on Jean’s cheek
in reassurance. “And that’s ok. But don’t you want to do it,” somewhere else?
With someone different? “another time?”
Jean looked back at him, and Marco could just see the way his eyes moved along
his face. There was a peculiar frown on his forehead, and he seemed to be
trying to figure something about Marco out. As always, Marco couldn’t even
imagine what that might be.
“I don’t care about things like that.” Jean met his eyes again, and he sounded
honest enough. “I told you before what I wanted.” In a spur of bravery Marco
wasn’t expecting, Jean rolled his hips against him, and it took his breath
away. “You don’t have to. But that’s why I brought you up here. I-I’m allowed
to be nervous.”
Marco smiled as he leant in.
“Yes, you are.” He softly kissed Jean’s lips, only briefly, and repeated the
action again and again as he eased his body back into Jean’s, holding both his
hips again pulling them together. Jean’s fingers thread through his hair, and
just as his tongue ran across Marco’s lips, another thought occurred to him.
“How much have you had to drink?”
Jean pulled back and looked away again. Marco felt like he was about to be lied
to.
When he looked back, there was a blush on Jean’s cheeks and he was fiddling
nervously with the longer strands of Marco’s hair. “Half a beer. If that.”
Marco shifted, the image of the half-full bottle being slammed down on the
counter popped into his mind, and he looked at Jean’s sheepish expression
surprised. Marco realised then why. It was Jean’s last defensive, wasn’t it? He
may have already admitted something huge, but Jean was still excessively
defensive by nature. If something went wrong, if he did something embarrassing
or changed his mind, he still had the pretence of alcohol to hide behind.
He didn’t now.
And Marco had never felt the surge of protectiveness that hit him in that
moment before.
He kissed that unease away, and slid his hands back underneath Jean’s shirt,
smoothing over his skin and loving the way the muscles underneath fluttered at
his touch.
“There’s no script y’know.” He said with a parting kiss to Jean’s lips, moving
back the other side of his neck, hoping to reignite that heat. “You just do
what you want, and I’ll let you know if I like it or not. Vice versa.”
“That’s what’s unnerving though, isn’t it?”He whispered against Marco’s jaw.
“What if I do something so weird it makes you want to stop?”
“There’s nothing you could do that would make me walk out on you.”
“Really?”
“Why are you saying that like I just issued you a challenge?!” Jean laughed
freely, and it made Marco’s entire body throb. It made him kiss his neck
harder, hold him closer, made him burry his face just underneath Jean’s ear so
he wouldn’t be able to see the way it made Marco blush and smile.
Jean gasped at the particularly hard suck, and this time there was no
hesitation in the way his hips jerked into Marco’s thigh or how his nails
lightly dragged from his scalp and down his back. Marco shuddered and pressed
back with greedy whine, and there was definitely no turning back now.
He latched on to Jean’s lips again, tongues instantly meeting, as he moved his
hands to lay flat against Jean’s abdomen and moved them up firmly, feeling the
way his torso practically rolled as each muscle contracted when his hot palms
touched them.
Marco broke the kiss with an appreciative hum as his fingers slipped over
Jean’s sharp collarbones. “Can I take this off?” he flexed his wrists,
indicating to the top that was bunched across them. It took a second, but Jean
nodded and lifted his arms, Marco eagerly pulling it off him and wasting no
time in putting his hands back on him.
His fingertips traced every rise and dip, ghosting over protruding bone and
pressing into taut muscles. He caught a decent glimpse of Jean’s stomach
yesterday, but he hadn’t been prepared for how gorgeous he looked bared and up
close. Marco swallowed harshly, trying to remind himself how to breath
properly, as he rubbed his thumbs over Jean’s nipples and trailed the backs of
his hands down the flexing stomach, until denim met his skin and he slid his
hands up Jean’s sides to repeat the process.
“You’re so fucking hot.” Marco breathed, leaning in and sucking kisses into
Jean’s shoulder. He couldn’t keep his hands still, couldn’t take his eyes off
the heaving body in front of him.
Jean moaned and gasped, and shook for entirely different reasons now,
undulating his hips against Marco’s thigh in an effort to relieve some of those
reasons, and driving Marco slightly mad. An unexpected, tentative lick to the
curve of his ear sent a convulsing shiver down his spine, and Marco was about
thirty seconds away from rutting Jean into the wall.
“Hey,” Marco managed to pull back enough to look at Jean’s face, and was
rewarded with a quick kiss. “Can I…?” Jean bit his lip and skimmed his fingers
along the hem of his t-shirt. Marco smiled as he nodded, and expected Jean to
start pulling the material up but instead, he just slipped his hands underneath
and shakily inhaled as his skin touched Marco’s.
He kind of wanted to get back to exploring Jean’s own body; lay wet kisses over
every inch and see how many chocked off sounds he could compel from him. But he
couldn’t tear his eyes away from Jean’s blushing face, the way his eyelashes
were fluttering as he stared at where his hands had disappeared; those fingers
still trembling as they flittered over the tensing muscles of Marco’s stomach.
He was struck again with how enticing Jean could look.
“Want me to take it off?” He whispered, hands stroking up and down Jean’s sides
as the latter looked up at him surprisingly shyly. A single, red nod, and Marco
made a show of grabbing the bottom of his tee and pulling it up over his head
with a slow roll of his torso. He heard a stuttered gasp before he’d managed to
get it all the way off, and once he’d dropped it to the floor with the other’s,
he could only watch as Jean hesitantly raised his hands and pressed his palms
flat against Marco’s chest, slowly, lightly moving them down his front with
thinly veiled reverence and shivers shooting along his arms and down his spine.
Marco swallowed and leant forward to press against them, kissing Jean’s lips as
he did so and catching the sharp inhale before they melted back into each other
with what was quickly becoming a familiar rhythm.
He ran his fingers over the waist of Jean’s hugging jeans, not asking or
pushing, but testing the waters, loving the way it made Jean’s hips snap a
little harder and the hum he let out into their kiss every time. With another
teasing brush against the line of denim and skin, Marco moved his hands down
Jean’s covered thighs, palming at the muscle and risking sliding his hands
firmly up the backs of them, long fingers just reaching the insides, and
managed to drag them back over the sides and to Jean’s hips before even a ghost
of a touch reached his behind.
Jean shook at the attention, those firm muscles quivering, and he ran his own
fingers daringly over the band of Marco’s jeans, teasing him right back. Marco
moaned at the attention, and the other’s reaction, nibbling on Jean’s bottom
lip before meeting his tongue in a deep kiss. When he moved his hands again,
they slid around his covered hips and over the generous swell of his ass,
finally. When the soft touch brought nothing but a muffled high whine, and Jean
pulling him closer by his belt loops, Marco grunted and grabbed, nails snagging
against the tough material. Jean broke the kiss with a broken cruse, his hips
stuttering forward and back. Marco whispered breathless appreciation into his
ear, his dick twitching at the feeling in his palms, and he slowly slid his
pressing grip up, unable to resist letting the very tips of his fingers brush
along the dip of that middle seem, both he and Jean shuddering at the touch.
Marco pulled away from spit-slick lips, eyes fluttering half open and watching
Jean do the same, dazed and beautifully turned on. He peppered short kisses on
those swollen lips as he let his finger dip underneath Jean’s waistband, and
slid it along the skin there. He pulled back again when Jean laughed nervously
at the movement, but instead of pushing Marco away, he kept his own hands
moving across Marco’s lower abdomen and flicked quick, embarrassed glances up
at him, before leaning forward and placing a couple of kisses on chest.
“So,” he mumbled against the skin, before falling back into the wall, cheeks
even redder than before. “do guys, like, care about dicks?” There was that
nervous laugh again, maybe it was a little self-deprecating too, but none of
that made the question any clearer to Marco.
“Um. What?”
“Like,” another quick glance up and a distracting rub of his fingers. “Do, do
gay guys care about size ‘n’ shit? Or how it, like, looks.”
Marco laughed, and placed a brief kiss on Jean’s lips so he wouldn’t be
offended. “I dunno. Do you care?”
Jean scoffed, but his blush flared. “No. I dunno. I’ve not…”
When he didn’t expand, Marco figured he still needed a straightforward answer.
Funny as it seemed to Marco, Jean looked pretty anxious about it.
“Well. I don’t know about other guys, but stuff like that doesn’t really bother
me. I mean, some dicks look better, some dicks work better. But a dicks still a
dick, and they’re all pretty hot to me.”
Jean snorted and looked up at Marco with what he would call fond exasperation.
Simultaneously very Jean, and very un-Jean like.
“You don’t have to be self-conscious about that stuff, y’know? Especially not
with me.”
“I don’t know about that.” Was Jean’s quick, mumbled response, his eyes firmly
on his fingers trailing the scarce line of hair up to Marco’s navel, and
defiantly not at Marco himself.
“I mean it. And we don’t have to, go any further. If you don’t want to. We can
do it like this.” He held Jean’s hips as gave a firm roll into hardness, Jean’s
hands instantly gripping Marco’s jeans and pulling him closer with a stuttered
sigh.
“G-gross.” The way Jean tilted his head back and pushed into him though, meant
Marco could only assume he thought the idea was gross because they’d have to
rejoin the party and spend the rest of the night with damn, come stained jeans.
Marco was about to suggest they could stop all together, if Jean wasn’t
comfortable with either of those things, when his breath caught as Jean undid
the button of Marco’s pants.
“It’s fine.” He whispered, kissing Marco quickly before watching himself pull
down the straining zipper. “Just don’t laugh, yeah?”
Marco had meant to give a disgruntled sigh, but it came out more like breathy
relief as his cock was given more room to tent in his boxers. He noticed Jean’s
hands still, but he was more interested in getting his jeans open too, so he
kept his eyes on Jean’s face as he slowly reached for the button and tugged
them open with no resistance from him. He was more careful with handling the
zipper, extremely aware of how tight the pants were, and how Jean jolted with
the direct brush of his hand against the bulge in his jeans.
He eased the flaps open, and released his own shaky breath when he saw the
unmistakable curve in the red – is that his favourite colour or something? –
boxer-briefs. The jeans were so tight that he was still trapped down to the
side, but Marco didn’t think it was a smart move to just shove his hand in and
pull him free.
He looked up at Jean, who’s eyes were wide, and his bottom lip had completely
disappeared between his teeth. His eyes kept flicking between Marco’s face and
the tent in his black underwear, so he leant forward and licked underneath his
top lip, whispering against his mouth when Jean’s bottom lip sprung back
against his with a gasp.
“Do whatever you want.” He reminded, kissing and leaning into him again.
“Y-you too, then.” And then Jean’s hands were on him, feeling him out through
the thin material, and it sent a shock wave through his body. He groaned and
rested his head between Jean’s neck and shoulder, watching Jean’s hands and his
own as his fingers grazed over the sides of Jean’s open fly and tentatively
touched the taut muscle underneath the soft cotton.
Jean’s hips jerked and whatever noise he’d just made was intoxicating to Marco.
Gently, and ever so slowly, he wrapped his hand around Jean’s covered length
and eased it up and out, and he swore he could feel it pulsating in his hand.
Fuck.
“J-Jesus.” Jean breathed, bucking into Marcos touch and suddenly pawing at the
elastic of Marco’s boxers, pulling it carefully over, and harshly down, his
jeans inching down with them. Marco gasped when the cold air hit him, and bit
off an embarrassingly high keen when Jean’s fingers lightly traced over the
soft skin. The innocence of the touch sent Marco reeling, and the whimper Jean
made when Marco’s cock jerked in search for more of that feeling, made his
knees weak.
He slipped his fingers under the red band, and pulled Jean’s underwear down
considerably slower than Jean had, allowing time for him to change his mind. He
swallowed when the weeping head of Jean’s cock was revealed, and couldn’t help
rolling his hips into Jean’s loose hands when he moved the boxer-briefs out of
the way entirely.
He was long. The head just reaching Jean’s bellybutton as it lay practically
flat against his stomach, flushed a deep pink and already leaking pre-come.
Marco moaned as he move his palm over the heated flesh, his other arm wrapping
around Jean’s waist as he shook, so sensitive Marco wasn’t sure how either of
them were meant to last long enough to wrap their hands around each other.
“You’ve got some strange expectations, y’know that?” Marco murmured, thumb
stroking over Jean’s tip and smearing through the pre-come. “Probably a sign
that you should watch less porn.”
“Shut up.” He rasped, finally curling his fingers around Marco’s dick and
giving him a loose stroke. “Stop talking.”
Marco wanted to point out that he wasn’t the one who started this conversation,
and in fact hadn’t initiated any talking between them, but the tug on his hair
and the second tongue in his mouth made that impossible.
They started with slow and gentle tugs, testing the waters between them, but
soon enough their grips got tighter and faster, eager to get off and feel that
rush. Deep kisses turned into sloppy mouthing at necks, neither of them able of
concentrate on anything but their hands and dicks, finding extra sensitive
spots and drowning in the quiet and cut off sounds they drew from each other.
Jean was more enthusiastic than Marco had, for some reason, thought he would
be. He couldn’t keep his hips still, his hand moved sure and quick, and as soon
as he found a weakness, he played it mercilessly, reducing Marco into a
whining, quivering mess. When he slipped his other hand under Marco’s clothes
and around his thigh to grip his ass, Marco was reminded of where his own hand
was splayed against the small of Jean’s back, and took it as a green light to
delve deeper.
It took a lot more fumbling and struggling to get his hand down those skin
tight jeans, Marco chuckling breathily into Jean’s neck the whole time, but
eventually he managed it and held Jean tighter with his arm as he stroked over
the smooth skin before grabbing and holding the soft flesh. He sucked hard at
the sweaty skin of Jean’s neck as he did so, muffling his moan while Jean’s
sharp gasp seemed to echo around the room. Jean’s grip tightened and he pulled
Marco closer, thrusting into his fist harder and making their hands knock
against each other clumsily.
It gave Marco an idea.
“Hey,” he pulled his face back slightly, looking at Jean’s dazed expression,
the barest hint of confusion amidst the pleasured and needy haze. “Le’go a sec.
Wanna try som’in’.” He moved his hand away from Jean’s twitching cock, and
lightly tapped the one wrapped around his own dick. It seemed like a difficult
task for Jean, because it took a long moment for him uncurl his fingers and
move away, dangling his hand awkwardly to the side.
Marco took a deep, shaky breath before shuffling and moving closer, gripping
the full cheek in his hand tighter as pushed his bare hips into Jean’s, their
cocks sliding against each other once, twice, before Marco wrapped his hand
around both of them and jerked them together, slowly at first.
The strained moan Jean let out made Marco sink his teeth into his shoulder, and
instantly he was bucking sharply into Marco’s hand and cock, and-
Fuck. That’s it. That’s it!
They thrust hard against each other, Jean’s hand curling tight around them too,
and Marco couldn’t remember the last time something felt as good as this. He
sucked a deep bruise into the slope where Jean’s neck met his shoulder, panting
and red faced from exertion and want. Jean had thrown all caution and defences
aside, letting his voice and sharp breaths surround them, and getting lost in
the heat between them and unable – unwilling – to claw himself back out.
“Marco” he keened, and Marco’s cock registered before he did that that was the
first time Jean had ever said his name, jerking and leaking, swelling even
more, and he was so close.So close.
“‘m gonna come.” Jean stuttered, knocking his head against Marco’s and his hips
moving even more erratically.
“Come.” Marco dragged his mouth up his skin and whispered against his ear.
“Come.”
A quick squeeze of both Marco’s hands, and Jean came with a shout, his head
hitting the wall and his entire body convulsing. Marco had barely a second to
thank God that the party was so loud, before grunting desperately in Jean’s ear
when his own orgasm hit, and he couldn’t help pushing further into Jean’s body,
pressing them firmly against the wall as shudders ripped through his body and
his hand stroked them both dry.
It took a long, long time before either them could do anything but pant and
lean against each other. When his senses and awareness finally returned, Marco
found himself still clutching at Jean’s ass and holding their softening cocks
together. With a happy sigh, he gently released him and slid his hands away,
careful to keep the one covered in jizz away from their disarrayed clothing.
Jean wasn’t so quick to let go, but Marco didn’t mind waiting to him to come
round. He took in the sharp, flushed features of his relaxed face, and let his
eyes roam down his body, swallowing thickly at the mess on Jean’s stomach and
the way his cock hung slightly to the side, still a little hard. Marco looked
down at his own body, and jolted at the thick strings of come painting his
collarbones and chest, dripping down slowly. Now that he thought about it, he
vaguely recalled something landing on his chest before he came, but he’d been
so caught up in his own orgasm, that it didn’t even occur to him that it’d be
come.
He chuckled softly and could feel his cheeks heating up a little again,
simultaneously impressed with Jean’s shot, and proud of himself from making him
come like that. And a bit turned on too, if he was honest.
His laughing made Jean crack his eyes open, and Marco smiled at him, pointing
to the mess on his chest with amusement.
“Nice shot.”
Jean’s eyes widened before he blushed and looked away with a mumbled apology.
“Don’t worry about it.” Marco laughed, catching a stray drip with his already
gross hand before it could reach his jeans. “I’m kinda impressed actually.
Thought shit like that only happened in porn. You pent up or something?”
Jean grunted as Marco glanced around silver tinted room for something to clean
up with.
“You always this chatty when you come?”
Marco stuck his tongue out at him, in part because he actually didn’t know the
answer to that, and smiled before walking over to the dresser and snatching a
handful of tissues from the decorative box. He passed a bunch over to Jean, and
they wiped themselves off in comfortable silence, the once forgotten thumping
of the party below preventing any awkwardness from settling.
Despite being the messier one, Marco finished up first and threw his tissues in
the tiny bin by the door, before bending down and picking up both their shirts.
As he slipped his on, Jean finished cleaning up, and accepted his shirt with a
quiet “thanks” without looking back up at Marco.
Once they were fully clothed, and straightened out, Marco tipped Jean’s chin up
with a smile and placed a quick kiss on his lips, pulling away and grasping the
door handle before a sharp tug on his t-shirt made him look back to Jean.
“Marco,” his voice cracked a little, and Marco could see the panic and
desperation in his face even though Jean tried so hard to hide it.
“It’s ok Jean.” He said quietly, smiling sympathetically and gently squeezing
the hand clasping his tee. “I’m not going to tell anyone.”
Jean’s eyes widened but dropped away quickly. His hand took longer, and Marco
began to wonder if he’d forgotten it was there before he finally uncurled his
stiff fingers and let his arm fall to his side. Marco didn’t know why he was
expecting a ‘thank you’ or something, because their previous encounters sure
didn’t suggest that Jean was the type, and it wasn’t like keeping quiet about
other people’s affairs was something Marco needed gratitude for, but there was
a tension that suggested some kind of recognition was needed. When Jean stayed
quiet, Marco shrugged and simply asked where the bathroom was – tissues were
never going to be enough to get the sticky residue off his hand, and he didn’t
think walking around like that was proper party etiquette.
“Door opposite.” Was all Jean said, acknowledging him as little as possible in
typical Jean fashion.
Marco thanked him with a smile anyway, and called a quiet ‘see you around’ as
he stepped out the room and closed the door behind him.
===============================================================================
“So, wha’d I miss at Eren’s party?” Their desk was surprisingly not crowded for
once, and Marco took a quick glance around the room to see where the rest of
their friends were as he threw his bag down and slid onto his stool.
Nac and Mylius were sitting at the back, quietly arguing over a piece of paper
between them. Mina was texting by the windows, looking a little love struck to
Marco, and Thomas was absent entirely. He wondered briefly if this was some
kind of omen.
“Not much.” Connie answered for both of them as he too, carelessly dropped his
bag, and then himself into his seat.
“Really? Who went?” Sasha continued to ask, bopping Marco on the nose with her
pen in some kind of greeting.
“Well,” he chuckled. “There was loads of people there-”
“Like, from different schools and stuff.” Connie added.
“But of our friends, only Connie, Reiner, and I went.” He dug his book out and
plopped it on the desk.
“Was it any good?” Connie shrugged.
“Meh. Nothing special. Not as good as Christa’s, but probably better than
Ymir’s.”
Sasha looked to him for confirmation, but it wasn’t like Marco could argue. He
couldn’t tell them that, although he couldn’t say much for the actual party,
that night had been the best he’d had in ages, and therefore made it the best
party he’d been to in months. So he settled for, “It was noisy” with grimaced
shrug.
“It was super noisy! I swear that kid’s turned up to eleven the entire fucking
time.”
“You’re one to talk.” Marco scoffed, and laughed when he got a stuck out tongue
in response.
“Lame.” Sasha stated. “Did you guys pull?”
“Nah. Marco did though.” He turned to Connie with a well practiced frown.
“Dude, you were gone, like, the whole night. There’s no way you didn’t get some
action.”
Marco rolled his eyes as Sasha ‘ooh’-ed and asked for details, but it was
dropped soon enough when they realised he wasn’t going to say anything that
wasn’t a firm denial, and instead went on to discuss who they thought Mina was
texting.
Marco was just about to offer what gossip he’d heard, when he noticed the door
open and Jean walk in. He felt silly for the way his heartbeat picked up, but
he still smiled at Jean and waited for him to look up. Except he didn’t. He
kept his head down, as usual, and didn’t even glance Marco’s way after he sat
at his desk. He didn’t look upset, but he sure as hell didn’t look like he’d
had a pretty intense orgasm recently; he just looked… himself, Marco supposed.
Disinterested. Ready for the day to end even though it hadn’t even begun.
Marco sighed, more at his feeling of disappointment than at the lack of
recognition from Jean. It was stupid really, because it wasn’t like they’d ever
interacted in class before. A little heart-to-heart or cock-to-cock wasn’t
going to change that, and Marco hadn’t expected it to. But still, ridiculously,
there was that touch of disappointment.
Oh well. Thursday should be interesting.
===============================================================================
That Thursday had not been interesting.
Neither had the one after it.
In fact, they’d both been exceptionally more boring than usual, because there
had been no quick glances, or long stretches, or teasing glimpses of skin, or
anything from Jean.
And Marco hadn’t realised how used to those things he’d become; hadn’t realised
he’d fully expected one, if not all of the above, and had been treated to
nothing but The Usual circa 4 months ago.
At least Jean still wore those red shorts and fitted white t-shirt. The only
proof that Marco hadn’t imagined the whole thing from sheer – fatal – boredom.
“I’m not being the DD this time guys. You think the end of Christa’s was bad,
but you don’t know what it was like having to deal with all that sick and
idiocy without alcohol to numb the experience.”
Marco kind of knew that it shouldn’t have bothered him. He felt like he should
have expected it and not cared.
“I said I was sorry Thomas!”
“I wasn’t having a go Sash, I just really don’t want to have to deal with that
again.”
And he didn’t care. Not really. Maybe a bit disappointed. Jean was hot and
flirting was fun; it would have been nice to have kind of reciprocated once
he’d finally figured out that that was what Jean was doing.
“Well I’m not doing it, I had to do it last time. Isn’t it Sasha’s turn
anyway?”
At least, that was what Marco thought the whole Phys Ed thing had been about.
If he was honest, he still didn’t quite get it, because ‘flirting’ and ‘Jean’
didn’t really go together, and the whole experience felt a bit passive-
aggressive to be the care-free fun that was Marco’s previous encounters of
flirting.
“What?! But I didn’t get to go to the last party! I want to have fun tomorrow!”
“None of us went to the last party, which is why Reiner should still be in the
pool.”
And Jean didn’t seem too bothered with Marco. He was there, sort of hot, and
safe, so Jean took what he could get. So whilst flirting sounded like more
effort than Jean usually put into anything, really it was just circumstantial,
and Jean was probably just as bored as Marco was by this point in the year.
“Hey, you all know what Connie’s like when he mixes! And Marco was zero help,
floating on his gay, post-make-out cloud.”
“Maybe Marco should drive then. Pay his dues.”
So yeah, without any other options coming to mind, Marco figured that weirdness
was half-assed, novice flirting. And now it was over before he could have
joined the fun.
“Yeah! Let’s get Marco to do it!”
He understood why. Jean wasn’t interested in him so much as the idea, and now
he knew what it was like, maybe he didn’t feel the need to act on it anymore.
Or there was some else he actually liked. Maybe the whole the thing had been a
result of years of frustration and tension, and now that he’d had that relief,
he didn’t need to keep pursuing it.
“You ok with that buddy? You don’t mind taking your old pals home, right?”
Marco didn’t mind, whatever the reason. But it could’ve been fun.
“Marco?”
Although, how much flirting he could he have actually done in Mr. Ackerman’s
class anyway?
“If you’re happy to be the designated driver tomorrow, and agree to take us all
home, stay silent.”
God, he would have killed him if he’d caught Marco trying to flirt through a
window and ten or so meters of space.
“I think that was a resounding yes, don’t you guys?”
“Yep!”
Really, he and Sasha had been seriously lucky they’d not been caught ogling and
daydreaming in his class yet. But then again, it was a skill they’d been
perfecting for years.
“Thanks Marco!”
Marco turned away from the window to see all his friends staring at him, shit-
eating grins and smirks on every one of their faces.
Something had happened.
Something had happened, and Marco had fucked up.
“W-what?”
“You, kind buddy, just nominated yourself to be tomorrow’s DD!”
“Technically, Mylius nominated you and you gracefully accepted. You’re a man
amongst men, Marco.”
“Wait, wait.” Marco shook both his head and his hands, trying to clear some of
the wistful fog that clogged up his mind. “What’s happening tomorrow? And when
did I agree?”
All seven of them sitting along the lunch table gave him a blank stare.
Apparently he’d been checked out for quite some time.
“You’re definitely the DD now. Didn’t even bother listening to our exciting
news, how rude.”
“The person Mina’s been texting with is Marlow.” Bert opposite him thankfully
spoke up, ignoring Mylius’ teasing. Half teasing. He looked kind of put out
actually.
“Who’s Marlow?”
“You know that weirdo-“ Mina interrupted Sasha with an offended Hey! “with the
bowl cut in Thursday’s Phys Ed? When we have Calc.?”
Marco nodded, knowing him instantly, and the knowledge that Jean spoke to him a
lot was just as immediate to cross his mind.
“Well, his parents are having, like, a mini honeymoon or whatever this weekend,
and his step-sister- ”
“Y’know Hitch?” Connie interrupted. “Crazy, vain girl in our History class?
Short wavy hair and green eyes.”
“She’s his sister?”
“Step-sister.” Sasha continued. “She’s decided to throw this huge party at
their house, and Marlow invited Mina - and that naturally means us too -
because he’s sweet on her and he’s on the verge of a nervous breakdown from all
the stress of Hitch and her shenanigans!” Sasha shook her fist in the air to
complete her old man impression, but the way everyone but a violently blushing
Mina laughed, suggested that it was genuine quote from Bowl Cut himself.
“So, you guys want me to drive tomorrow?”
“Yeah, well-“
“I don’t mind.” Marco added, cutting Nac off and pushing his suspiciously empty
plate away from himself. “It’s been a while since I last did it, so it’s
probably my turn.” He wasn’t really in the mood for drinking anyway.
“You sure?” Mina asked.
“Mhm.”
“That’s really all you have to say?” He looked at Mylius, and then around the
table, before stopping on the small girl at the end.
“You have a really unfortunate taste in men Mina.”
“Hey!” Everyone laughed as the bell rang, and started picking up their trays.
===============================================================================
The party had looked like it had been in complete chaos for a while when Marco
and his friends had turned up. God knows what had been smashed all over the
floor, and there had been so many people, so gone that the place had looked
like the origin of a zombie apocalypse, large groups of bodies stumbling and
murmuring incoherent, drunken slurs.
Mina had ran in, searching for Marlow straight way, whilst everyone else headed
straight for the drink, Marco grabbing a soda as the others had poured the
various, more exciting alcoholic options down their eager throats.
Marco had never needed alcohol to enjoy himself, but this party had had the
kind of rowdy atmosphere that quickly got grating when you head a clear mind,
so he had lingered around the edges, pretending he wasn’t keeping an eye out
for a purposefully messy undercut, and pretty, bored eyes.
He’d always been a terrible liar, even when he was only trying to fool himself.
It had crossed his mind yesterday, soon after he had found out about the party,
that Jean would probably go, and he may be in the mood to hook-up again; make-
out a bit if nothing else, maybe. He had scolded himself for the thought
immediately, and had done so again when he caught himself looking out for him
with an unwarranted feeling of excitement at the possibility.
It had been hard to stop himself from doing it though, when all he had had for
distraction was an unappealing can of coke and people repeating the same thing
to him five times every time he had tried to talk to someone. But something had
to have worked at some point, because it had been Jean who had found him again.
Well, they had both stepped into the hallway at the same time, but Jean had
already been looking at Marco when he’d spotted him.
All Marco had managed was an embarrassingly breathy Hey, and an excited smile,
before Jean had looked him up and down, stared at him for a full, awkward
minute, and then had snatched his hand and pulled him down another empty
corridor, and into another empty, small, dark room. He had given a cursory
glance over the shoulder at some point to check if Marco was ok with the idea,
but Marco could only imagine that he’d looked like an eager puppy, ready to be
played with.
There had only been the briefest moment of doubt, when he’d been pulled up
against Jean and had practically tasted the cheep beer on his breath. Marco was
stone cold sober, and Jean had had a good deal to drink, but he hadn’t seemed
drunk. Marco had hesitated for a moment, but this was the third time Jean had
done this, and the last time he’d been just as sober as Marco was now. So with
little reservation, Marco had melted into Jean when he’d tugged him closer, and
had lost himself in his touch.
Their kisses were slow and Marco’s arms were wrapped around his waist, simply
holding him. Jean’s arms looped around his neck were equally relaxed, and they
gently leant into each other in a leisurely make-out that was nice and just as
rewarding as their previous frantic and heated meetings. Marco’s stresses
weren’t given an outlet, a quick release, but they were brushed of his
shoulders with every soft nip and swipe of tongue, and he enjoyed it just as
much as he enjoyed any meeting of bodies.
Their lips separated more often, dropping loose pecks amongst the deep curling
of tongues. It allowed hot breaths to ghost over tender lips, and it let Jean
speak. The only time he really did with Marco.
“You ever asked someone out?” he mumbled, eyes lidded and not missing a beat as
their lips pressed together again.
“No.” Marco lead with a swipe of his tongue this time, and was welcomed to
delve deeper again. When he eventually pulled back, it was with a gentle suck
to Jean’s thin upper lip.
“Ever been asked out?” he dropped a kiss on the corner of Jean’s mouth just for
the sake of it, and the spontaneity seemed to infect Jean too, because he leant
forward brushed his teeth over Marco’s bottom lip before he kissed it sloppily.
“Yeah.” He pushed back into him and sighed contentedly through his nose as they
kissed with a lingering press.
“If Farlan,” another press. “Asked you out,” a soft smooch as their lips
separated again. “Would you say yes?” Marco hummed as they joined together
again, Jean’s fingers running gently through his hair.
“You ask a lot about Farlan.” He said against Jean’s eager mouth, before, for
the first time, he pulled more than a breath away from him and smiled
teasingly. “You got a thing for him? Did Sasha and I corrupt you.”
“No,” he scoffed, but his cheeks were so red that it was hard to find any worth
in his serious face. “Just wondering. You seemed to like him, so…” he trailed
off with a shrug, tugging on Marco’s shirt to bring him closer again.
“Hm.” Jean’s tongue swiped against his lip one, twice, before slipping in and
teasingly flicked across the roof of Marco’s mouth, receding again with a
gentle suck. “I dunno.” Marco eventually answered, nipping at Jean’s red lips.
“Don’t really want a relationship.”
“I know.” Jean whispered, eyes sliding shut and bringing them together again in
a deep kiss. Marco’s arms twitched around his waist, and Jean’s fingers
clenched in his hair.
It should have hit him then. Should have hit him before, actually. Days, weeks,
maybe even months ago. But it hadn’t, and it didn’t. It didn’t occur to him
until he was sitting in the car, still smiling from his friends compulsory
teasing of his bruised mouth, and barely listening to their loud chatter and
laughter as he drove them home, thinking about how he could still feel Jean’s
touch, his lips on his own, and how could still hear his moaning and shuddered
breath.
“I know.”
And then it hit him like a car, every moment and memory flashing before his
eyes before there was the building light of realisation.
Jean walking directly to him at Ymir’s party, and grabbing him with determined,
but shaking hands.
Meeting his eyes, and trying to look calm and disinterested, still so
aggressively guarded.
“Oh my God, it’s Farlan!” ,“Is that your boyfriend or something?”, “Marco
wishes!”
Jean spending an hour at Christa’s, glaring at Farlan playing Beer Pong.
“Do you think you’re the first straight guy to come to me? ‘Cause you’re not.
You won’t be the last either.”
“‘Suppose this is your big chance, huh? Guess it’ll be a piece of cake. What,
with all your experience.”
“I’d definitely swap my seat in Thursday’s Calculus for one right here.”
Jean’s eyes trailing along the window until he meets Marco eyes.
“There’s something to be said for watching someone get hot and sweaty. All
those muscles straining, and those short shorts…”
Wearing tighter clothing, stretching for longer and further.
“I couldn’t give less of shit about you Jean… I still wouldn’t say anything
about you because there’s nothing worth talking about… there’s a hundred pieces
of shit like you…”
“It’s ok Jean. I’m not going to tell anyone.”
Jean flinching as Marco calls, “And you want me?!”
“You knowI don’t like her.”
“You ask a lot about Farlan.”, “You seemed to like him, so…”
“I’m sorry…I didn’ mean it…I’was just…”
“Just don’t laugh, yeah?”
Trembling fingers trying to pull Marco as close as possible and touch every
inch of him.
“I know.”
Jean liked him. Jean liked him a whole fucking lot, and probably had since
before Ymir’s party. Jean liked him and thought Marco didn’t care; thought
Marco liked Farlan more.
Jean liked him and had tried flirting with him, tried to get his attention, had
come out to him.
Jean liked him, and Marco really should have fucking noticed. Shouldn’t have
let him keep shaking. Shouldn’t have let him think he still had to keep part of
himself secret. He should’ve turned around and gone back to that party. He
should’ve talked to him about it.
He needed to talk to him about it.
“Sash!” he called, very carefully shifting in his seat to take his phone out of
his jeans as he drove. Once Sasha stopped talking to Mina behind her, she faced
him and just managed to catch the phone he threw at her. “Can you call Armin
for me and put him on speaker?”
She shrugged, taking too long in her drunken haze to find the top contact in
his phone. As it rang, she placed it into the holder at the front of his car
and turned back around to resume talking with Mina.
It rang for a long time, and just as Marco worried that it was going to go to
voicemail, a haggard sounding Armin picked up.
“Marco? What’re you doing calling? Everything ok?” Marco could hear loud, out
of tune singing in the background, but he paid it no mind. He had more
important things to worry about.
“Yeah. Are you with Jean?”
“Jean? No, he’s probably home by now. We split ways a while back. Why?” Marco
sighed and briefly panicked about how he was going to do this without sounding
like a suspicious creep. As far he knew, Jean hadn’t told anyone else he was
gay, and Marco didn’t want Armin or anyone else in the car getting the wrong –
or right – idea about what he was doing.
“I, er,” he paused and was careful to slow down as he spoke to Armin. “I just
realised I found something of his. At the party. Do you think you could give me
his number? So I can tell him in case he’s panicking or something?”
“Oh! Well, I can let him know if you like? He-”
“No! No, I don’t mind calling him. And he might, like, wanna pick it up over
the weekend or something?” There was a loud shout of Eren! on Armin’s end, and
it was thankfully distracting enough to stop Armin from questioning Marco’s
oddness.
“Oh, sure! I’ll text it to you. Sorry Marco, I’ve gotta go. I’ll see you
Monday!”
“Yeah, thanks Armin! Have a good weekend!” Marco leant forward to end the call,
and sighed in relief when not a second later, he got a text notification. Well,
at least he got that far. Now all he needed to do was drop all of the gossipers
in his car off, figure out what the hell to say, and then find the balls to
actually call.
“Heeey~” Sasha sang, edging towards him and making her fingers walk up his arm
in mischief. “What have you got of Cherry Sours’? Is it interesting? Is it
blackmail-able?”
Marco couldn’t help but chuckle, though he still pushed Sasha away gently.
“No,” he said firmly. “And put your seatbelt back on. If I get higher premiums
on my insurance, I’m making you pay, regardless of whether you’re still alive.”
“Booooring!” He didn’t know whether that was in response to the seatbelt or
lack of juicy gossip, but either way she buckled up and dropped the subject,
and that’s all Marco wanted.
===============================================================================
Once he finally managed to get Thomas into his house, he started to drive back
to his own home in blessed silence. It was nearing two-thirty in the morning,
and the streets were practically empty. Even though it was late and Jean would
probably be asleep, Marco still pulled over on a quiet back road and killed the
engine. It could wait until tomorrow. Probably should. But Marco felt bad
enough that it had taken him this long, that he wanted to get it done with as
soon as possible.
He grabbed his phone and stared at Armin’s text for a while. Truthfully, he
didn’t know what he was going to say, or what he was supposed to say at all.
But in the end, Marco decided that with Jean, it was probably best to speak
honestly and in the moment, even if Marco ended up sounding like an idiot. Jean
was a pretty straight forward guy – when he wasn’t trying to flirt, that was –
and was quick to get defensive and paranoid, with good reason, Marco supposed.
So beating around the bush, or planned speeches weren’t going to sit well with
him. The best thing to do would be to ring and wing it.
So he did.
And it rang.
And he got voicemail. He didn’t know whether that was better or worse, but he
didn’t have a lot of time to think about it before the beep sounded harshly.
“Uh, hey Jean. It’s Marco. Marco Bodt. Obviously. Well, maybe not obviously. I
mean, I don’t know how many Marcos you know! Could be loads, haha!” Marco
physically cringed, and tried to talk through the way it made his teeth clench.
“A-anyway, I got your number from Armin. I hope you don’t mind, but I, I wanted
to call you.”
He took a deep breath.
“I um, I was on my way home- well, taking everyone else home, and I realised… I
kinda realised you had feelings for me. Have feelings for me. Like a crush or
whatever. B-but you know that, so I don’t have to explain it, haha. Um, I guess
I’m just calling to say sorry. For not realising before. ‘Cause looking back, I
really should have, y’know? And I think maybe you’ve got some wires crossed,
and if I’d noticed before, then maybe you wouldn’t have got so tangled up…o-or
something! So um, yeah. I just want to clear some things up?”
Another, deeper, calming breath.
“I don’t like Farlan. I mean, I think he’s hot, and he’s a good guy and stuff,
but I don’t want to go out with him. Sasha was wrong about that. I guess, if I
could’ve like, picked anyone in the school to go out with, then yeah, it’d been
him. But I don’t have a crush or anything. Do you… do you ever just like
someone ‘cause you’re bored? And they’re pretty? And you never see them, so
when you do it’s exciting? That’s, that’s how I felt about Farlan. And even
then, you weren’t in competition with him. I wasn’t… I never compared you,
y’know. It wasn’t like, ‘oh Jean’s hot, but I wish’, it was just ‘Jean’s hot’.
…Well, occasionally it was ‘Jean’s hot, but he’s kind of a dick’, but I never
thought of Farlan when I was with you. It never even occurred to me. So don’t,
don’t think like that. Don’t compare yourself to him, or put yourself down, or
whatever it is you do when ask about him. You’re fine the way you are Jean.
Like, I don’t know you that well, but you’re good looking, and you can be
sweet, and you kick ass at soccer!”
Marco chuckled quietly, relaxing a little after getting used to talking to
silence for approximately 10 hours.
“And I guess you think that I don’t care, about how you feel or-or about you.
‘Cause I fool around a lot I guess. And because of what I said by my locker. I
mean, what I said was kinda harsh, but you sort of deserved it, and honestly… I
meant it. At the time, I meant all of it, because it was true. But that doesn’t
mean I don’t care now, that I don’t like you-”
The line suddenly cut, and Marco cursed, a blush rising to his cheeks as he
called again and prayed Jean wouldn’t pick up this time. Every ring made his
blood pump faster, but when the automated voice was the only one that greeted
him, Marco let out a heavy breath and tried to calm down again.
“H-hey,” he said after the beep. “It’s Marco again. Sorry, I-I got cut off, but
there’s still some things I wanna say…”
Marco sighed, and tried to remember where he left off.
“Having been with other guys doesn’t affect how much I care about you Jean. It
doesn’t change how attracted I am to you. It doesn’t dictate how I want to be
with you. And I do care. I care that you think I’m attractive. I care that
you’re coming to terms with yourself. I care that you have feelings for me. I…
I don’t have feelings for you, not strong ones. But I like you, and I don’t
mind if you have a crush. I’m kinda flattered actually. Really flattered. So
don’t… don’t worry about that, yeah? I’m not going to treat you differently, or
act weird around y-well, I guess we’ve always been a bit weird around each
other, but y’know what I mean. And I won’t tell anyone. Not because I’m ashamed
or because it’s not important; but because it’s not my place. That’s your
decision. So… I guess that’s it. Just, sorry for not picking up on it sooner,
and probably making things ten times harder than it had to be.”
Marco swallowed and scrubbed a hand through his hair.
“You, you’ve got my number now, if you wanna call back or whatever. Talk to me,
or tell me off or something. I guess if I don’t hear from you, I should… act
like before? Like, ignore it and stuff? But I’m here, if you wanna chat, or if
I can help with anything. I don’t mind. So, yeah. I guess I’ll leave you in
peace. Sorry for all the messages!... Bye, Jean.”
He finally ended the call for good and slumped in his seat for a good ten
minutes. He probably messed that up, and he knew he sounded like an idiot. But
it felt good to get some things off his chest; to hopefully clear some of the
air.
He eventually started the car again and made his way home. He still felt
nervous, but also better now that those odd, odd months made sense. And
hopefully Jean would feel better once he heard those messages. Maybe he’d call
back and they could finally sort everything out.
===============================================================================
Jean didn’t call.
Marco had been glued to his phone all weekend, and spent most of Saturday
rolling on his bed in embarrassment and regret, more and more sure he’d made a
mistake with every hour that went by and Jean never responded.
Those hours turned into days, and by the time Monday morning came, Marco
figured Jean just wanted to pretend nothing had happened. Probably wanted to
forget they’d ever met in the first place. Marco tried to imagine what it’d be
like to have his crush ring him and tell him he knew about all his feelings,
and it made him want to kick himself. Of course Jean wasn’t going to reply to
that. What kind of idiot thought that was a good idea?
So Marco turned up to double Chemistry trying to steal himself for the moment
they eventually saw each other. They were already pretty good at acting like
the other wasn’t around, so it shouldn’t be too hard. But there was still a
nervousness fizzing through his body, so he sat down at his desk and immersed
himself in the inane chatter of his friends, forcing himself to not look at the
door every time is squeaked open.
If there was one thing his friends were good for, it was being distracting.
Noisy and animated as ever, it became surprisingly easy to lose himself in the
speculation about Bert hitting on the scary exchange student at the party. So
easy in fact, that he had completely forgot about watching the door, and had it
not been for Sasha looking confused at his side, Marco probably wouldn’t have
noticed anyone walk towards him.
He turned round to see Jean come to a stop at their desk, looking down at Marco
neutrally.
Marco didn’t want to think what his own face looked like. Probably shocked and
a little sick, with a touch of dopey. He gulped.
“Hey.” Jean said, and finally his nervousness began to come through as he
diverted his eyes and rubbed at the back of his neck.
“Hi,” Marco breathed. An uncomfortable silence followed, so he continued. “Did
you-”
“Yeah,” he interrupted, and Marco thought he’d could see a faint blush
appearing. “Yeah, I did. Thanks.”
Marco smiled, but before he could say anything else, Jean closed his eyes and
took a deep breath. When he opened them again, his may-or-may-not-be blush
turned a dark red, and he met Marco’s eyes determinedly, even if he was visibly
shaking.
“Will you got out with me?”
Marco felt his jaw drop amongst his friends’ startled and disbelieving
reactions. He paid them no mind, simply stared at Jean in shock and watched as
his blush travelled the tops of his ears and – Jesus! – down his neck.
“I-I mean!” Jean continued, getting redder and redder, and more and more
awkward. “Do y-you want to-”
“Yes.” Marco hadn’t even been aware he’d said it at first, but the dumbfounded
look on Jean’s face, and the silence around them told him he must have said
something. “Yeah,” he repeated with a smile. “I’d like that.”
And he meant it. He didn’t see this coming, and he hadn’t really put any
thought into actually dating Jean, but now that he’d been asked, he realised
that he’d really, really like that. So-
Why was he scowling again?!
“You don’t have to say yes.” Jean argued. “I didn’t ask you in front of
everyone to make you say yes. I asked in front of them because, because I’m
trying.”
“I know.” Marco interrupted before Jean could say anything else. He smiled up
at him and watched the tension slowly easy from his body. He reached forward
and lightly gripped the hand hanging by Jean’s side. “And I’d like to try too.”
His friends started excitedly talking around him again, which spurred the whole
class back into noise, but Marco ignored them all as he gently rubbed his thumb
along the back of Jean’s hand. He gazed up at him, and for the very first time,
saw Jean reallysmile, a wide and easy stretch of lips that made his eyes
crinkle and cheeks rosier. Marco could barely breath.
With a giddy smile of his own, Marco stood on the bar of his stool and leant
over the desk between them. Keeping his hand clasped loosely with Jean’s, he
closed the gap between them and kissed him softly, lingering close when he
pulled back and took in the happiness Jean was exuding. He pecked his lips
again and looked into his eyes as he whispered,
“You’re really cute when you’re crushing.”
 
End Notes
     Thank you so much if you've made it this far! You are a true
     warrior!!
     Despite the content (I really don't know how it came to be nearly 30k
     words!), this story actually means a lot to me, because it's the
     first thing I've written in months, the first thing I've completed in
     years, and I genuinely can't remember the last time I shared my
     writing with anyone.
     So feedback and concrit would very much appreciated as I try to get
     back into the swing of writing and storytelling.
     Thank you again for reading!
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