The truth is, Jean has no intention of catching up with his bandmates at their stupid basement-apartment afterparty.
Sure, he told Sasha he’d catch a cab over to Brooklyn after he finished his beer, but prime bar real estate in the smoking room and an attentive bartender mean he never really hits the bottom of his glass. So he chugs through a few seasonal drafts and pays way too much for the pleasure of his own company, and the music and the people grow louder around him and almost cover the ringing sound of his sour mood.
The show they’d played earlier went off without a hitch. Probably one of Salt This City’s best this season. Still, Jean’s been in a shit mood since he got dumped like a month ago, and while that shit mood rings perfect through his rough, lively lyrics, it tends to settle over him like a personal raincloud the second his hands leave the strings of his guitar.
He’s sucking on his lip and staring into the dregs of what must be his fourth beer, willing himself not to brood anymore, when someone bustles right up into his space, squished between him and the stiff overcoat on the barstool next to him.
Jean gives him a filthy glare, and for good reason. There is not enough space for this guy between the two cramped barstools. Still, there he is, practically grinding his dick into Jean’s hip as he gestures for the bartender. There’s an unlit cigarette tucked behind his ear, almost hidden in his dark, shaggy hair.
When the dude catches Jean’s stinkeye, he grins widely, lifting his eyebrows quickly in some form of greeting.
“Y’alrigh’, love?” he yells over the music, his accent thick and incredibly obvious. British or something, Jean has no idea. He just throws the brunette some serious shade and curls back into his beer, gesturing for another one when the bartender rolls by.
“Two of that,” the dude shouts, reaching into his pocket as he leans against the bar. The bartender nods and sets down the frothy drafts, and before Jean can shift to pull out cash, the overly-friendly foreign dude pays for both of them, grabs one, and knocks them together with a cheesy-ass grin.
Jean stares, hands spread in a clearly-annoyed gesture as he barks, “Dude, what the fuck are you doing?”
“Buyin’ you a beer, what’s it look like?” The guy peers back over his shoulder, noticing that his intense proximity seems to have scared the overcoat away, and hops into the now-vacant seat beside Jean. He holds his hand out, still leaned into Jean’s space, and says, “Name’s Eren.”
“Yeah, I really don’t care,” Jean grumbles, draining his beer and setting the glass aside so he can start in on the fifth.
“Wow, so you really are as chipper as you look,” Eren snorts as he pulls the cigarette out from behind his ear, seemingly unfazed by Jean’s icy exterior. “Well, Blondie, you look like someone jus’ kicked your puppy, so I thought—”
“Thought what,” Jean snaps, turning to face Eren fully for the first time. “Thought I needed a friend?”
“Or more grog at least,” Eren says, shrugging Jean’s snarling off once more. He pulls a lighter out of his pocket and lights his cigarette, the flame casting dark shadows of his long eyelashes across his face as he glances down into his cupped palm. His eyes are green as hell, Jean doesn’t notice. “Dunno why you’re so cranky, your show was top-notch. Proper mint.”
Jean blinks. He stares down at his beer as he asks, as quietly as the thunderous bar atmosphere will allow, “You recognized me?”
“You’re the frontman, dummy,” Eren replies, piping smoke into the air. “Everyone recognizes the frontman, and no one else. ‘S how it goes.” He pauses for a moment, watching Jean as he takes a good swig of his beer, then grins and says, “Bet you don’t recognize me.”
Shrugging lamely, Jean looks him over again, but Eren’s right. “Why the fuck should I recognize you?”
“See, that’s what I’m sayin’,” Eren blurts, pointing at Jean with his cigarette. “I’m not the frontman, so I’m nobody. It’s alright, mind, can’t say I like the attention. I mean, Ymir doesn’t either, but she at least puts up with it—”
Ymir. Jean raises his eyebrows. Ymir’s the frontman—or frontwoman, in this case—for the band that played before Jean’s, a raucous grunge-punk five-man that mostly consists of Ymir yowling into the mic and headbanging dangerously around the stage. “You play with Breach the Walls?”
Eren nods, pulling a long drag off his cigarette. “Drummer,” he says around a cloud of smoke, which Jean waves out of his face with a grimace. “Shitty drummer, but no one’s told me bandmates yet, so they keep me on. ‘Sides, I like bangin’ on shit, so it works out for me. Think I got that ADHD or sumfin, you know? Always runnin’ into walls and shit.”
Jean shakes his head, directing his gaze back into his beer. “You talk so fucking much, dude.”
“That works out too, see,” Eren beams, leaning forward again. “Because you don’t talk nearly as much as I thought you would. Look like a right blabbermouth, you do.”
With a disgruntled scowl, Jean flips Eren a stern middle finger, but the brunette just laughs that off too and takes another swig of his beer. The conversation lapses, and Jean really expects Eren to give up and fuck off back to wherever he came from, but Eren just bounces his boot against his chair along to whatever upbeat pop crap is threatening to drive Jean deaf and stares at him.
“Your bandmates left you?” Eren grinds out his cigarette in the crowded ashtray as he asks, and he looks genuinely interested, for whatever reason.
“Why the hell do you care?”
“Alright, sensitive. Just askin’.” Eren licks his lips and glances over his shoulder, then leans back over to Jean with that stupid grin. “If they ditched you, come ‘round with us. We’re about to head out for some real fun.”
“Wow, okay,” Jean groans, scrubbing his hands down his face. “You’re fucking awful at taking hints, aren’t you?” Eren tilts his head, infuriatingly. Jean rolls his eyes and turns to him again. “I want. To be. Alone.”
Eren considers him for a moment, draining the last of his beer. “Nah, you don’t.”
“Ohmygod. Okay. Listen,” Jean huffs, digging some cash out of his pocket and flinging it toward Eren. “Thanks for the beer but no fucking thanks. Leave me alone.”
“You look like you wanna take your mind off of things,” Eren continues, oblivious to the crumpled bills he sets his glass on. “You don’t wanna be alone, you’ll go off your gourd. So come ‘round with us, at least have a good time.” Jean stares, absolutely flabbergasted by Eren’s honest refusal to listen to the words he’s speaking. “Otherwise you’ll sit here like fuckin’ Hemingway or sumfin and drink yourself to death, and I like your singin’ too much to let that shit happen.”
Jean furrows his brow, shaking off the compliment as best he can. It’s the second unprovoked compliment in this entire weird conversation, though, and Jean can’t help the urge to hear that thick accent say more nice things about him. Not that he’s starved for affection or anything.
“Seriously, like that one song—no, I won’t sing it, but you should, the one that goes ‘leave me where you found me, I’ll find my own way home. North Star’s that one, or so I thought, but I’m fifty miles south of gold and your stormclouds just rolled in.’ Yeah, I like that one, see. Seems a little pessimistic, but then again, you do too, so it fits.”
“Jesus Christ,” Jean shouts into his palms, scrubbing his hands roughly over his face. “What the hell do you want from me? Like, what do I have to pay to get you off my ass?”
“Nuffin’.” Eren shrugs, gesturing to Jean’s near-drained beer. “You’ve been at it a while, why don’t you give it a break and dance or sumfin? Smoke some shitty menthols, do some drugs, let go of whatever you’re lookin’ for at the bottom of those pints.” He leans closer again, crooked grin widening further, and in some bizarre ‘manly American man’ voice, rumbles, “A man only gets that drunk when he wants to kiss a girl or kill a man.”
Jean stares. “Did—” He closes his eyes, his fingers tightening around his empty glass. “Did you seriously just quote Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter?”
“Oh aye,” Eren cackles, standing and pulling a squished pack of cigarettes out of his back pocket. “And there’s plenty more where that came from. If you come out, mind.”
He grins like the damn midnight sun as he pulls a cigarette out of his pack and slides it between his teeth, then offers the pack to Jean.
Eren smokes menthols. Shitty ones.
It turns out, not only does Eren talk a whole lot, he talks a lot of shit, too. Mostly to his bandmates. Specifically, Ymir. She can apparently handle it, though, with all the return-fire grace of a damn linebacker.
Jean finds himself at a crowded dive bar down the block, slumped onto a couch next to Breach the Walls’ behemoth of a guitarist, a loud, flirtatious dude named Reiner. Beside Reiner is a little blonde roughly one-third his size by the name of Annie, another guitarist, and at the other end of the couch is their lanky, quiet bassist, Bert. (Jean has yet to figure out why Reiner only calls him ‘Turtle,’ but he’s sort of suspecting that they have a thing or something.)
Eren’s noisily fussing with Ymir about whether or not he forgot how one of his breakdowns goes (Jean thinks he probably did), and about whether or not the shit he made up sounded better than how it actually goes (Jean has no idea, but based on crude recreations, he’s inclined to agree) when Jean’s phone buzzes in his butt pocket.
r u coming or did u die somewhere
Snorting loudly, Jean shakes his head as he taps out a reply.
im alive DAD
get started w/o me ill roll by
child of mine u know literally no one in nyc
wtf r u even doing
Jean’s gaze flicks up to Eren, who’s still drumming on his thighs, but Ymir’s plugging her ears and shouting over his makeshift percussion.
there arent words
ill tell u when i see u
very mystery wow
christa wants me to tell u to be safe
she’d tell u herself but she’s super drunk and she left her phone somewhere
tell mom ill be ok
and to drink some damn water
i love u son
bring me home beautiful jewish grandchildren
Rolling his eyes, Jean just stuffs his phone back into his pocket and looks back up at Eren and Ymir, who’ve gone through about four conversations and that many shots apiece in the time it took Jean to update his guitarist of his whereabouts.
“And you have no damn room to talk, a’right,” Eren yells, tucking another cigarette behind his ear. “You were jizzin’ yourself over Salt This City’s wee little bassist for their whole show.”
Jean blinks and leans forward onto his knees, the movement catching Eren’s attention easily. “You mean Christa?”
Ymir practically swoons, slapping both of her hands over her bony chest. “I almost forgot you were here, Salty Boy.” Jean grimaces. “Your bassist is a goddess.”
“I’m surprised you can even see her over her bass,” Eren laughs, reaching for his near-empty draft on the low table between them. “Damn thing’s as big as she is, innit.”
Waving her hands widely, Ymir leans toward Jean almost imploringly. “Help me, Obi-Wan. Is she even the tiniest bit gay?”
Movie references seem to run thick in this bunch. Quirking an eyebrow, Jean grabs his own beer and laughs, “Shit, Christa picks cute girls out of the crowd faster than I do, and that’s saying something.”
Ymir raises her hands dramatically to the heavens, and Eren rolls his eyes loudly and stands, quickly downing the last of his drink. “I need another beer,” he announces as he fishes out his lighter. “Can I get anyone a pint?”
Reiner pulls himself out of the wildly flirtatious conversation he’d been having over Annie’s head (possibly also with Annie’s head, although Jean’s about ready to give up on that puzzle) and stands up, grabbing his and Eren’s empty glasses. “I’ll go, I owe you a round.”
Eren grins and winks at Reiner. “Cheers, love.” Reiner blows him an obnoxious kiss and steps over Jean to make his way through the crowd, and now Jean’s really not sure who Reiner has a thing with. Kind of seems like everybody. Eren comes and perches on the arm of the couch beside Jean as he lights his cigarette, offering it to Jean as he blows out the first drag. Jean blinks, but he takes it, and they share it between them while Ymir aims her harassment at poor Bert.
“So you realize,” Eren says, leaning in to catch Jean’s attention again. “That Ymir is not gonna let up until you give her Christa’s number.”
Exhaling a thick cloud of smoke, Jean shakes his head and passes the cigarette to Eren to finish. “No point until tomorrow. She might’ve lost her phone. Post-show goes hard where we come from.”
“Ahh, shame, that. Can’t say I haven’t been there.” Eren takes a breath like he’s about to start one of his rambling stories, but when Jean turns and looks up at him, the words seem to die in his mouth. He just stares, slowly quailing under Jean’s waiting gaze. When his tongue darts out to wet his lips, Jean realizes dimly that this is probably the closest they’ve been all evening, even compared to how Eren had introduced himself with his dick.
Just before the smoke pouring out of Eren’s ears gets awkward, Reiner returns from the war zone that is the bar, heavily laden with beers. He edges back to his spot in a way that gives Jean a good eyeful of his ass whether he wants it or not. Eren carefully grabs the two beers held under one of Reiner’s arms, passing one to Jean with a wide, relieved grin.
“It’s gonna take more than a couple of free Yuenglings there, brother,” Ymir cackles, taking a beer from Reiner before he collapses next to Jean again.
“Diesel gettee,” Eren replies gruffly, clenching his fist at her. The phrase means exactly nothing to Jean, but Ymir just laughs again, either at Eren’s attempt at intimidation or his impressive beer mustache.
“Ymir, you are the worst wingman I have ever had the displeasure of witnessing,” Reiner laughs, leaning back and casually slinging his bulky arms across the back of the couch. “It’s like you actually go out of your way to make things harder. Dunno why Eren keeps bothering with you.”
Jean raises his eyebrows and turns back toward Eren. “You trying to pick someone up?”
Eren turns a fairly peculiar shade of red and rubs the back of his neck, but the thing that catches Jean’s notice is the sudden tension as everyone in the group stops and stares for a moment. Even Annie and Bert peer disbelievingly around a stunned Reiner. It might be the first actual facial expression Jean’s seen Annie wear, one thin eyebrow quirked with a sharp sort of pity.
“Oh my god,” Ymir says slowly, elbows coming to rest on her knees. “He’s so dumb.”
In the ruckus that follows, two empty shot glasses break, the overstuffed ashtray flies off the coffee table, and Jean’s violent temper flares in a brilliant tempest of colorful insults, leaving Eren tripping frantically after him, half yelling for him to come back and half cursing at Ymir.
In the end, the two of them leave together, Jean crabbily smoking Eren’s cigarettes and Eren letting him fume for a few blocks.
“Sorry about me bandmates,” Eren says once Jean’s looking a little less like he might knock someone out. “Not an ounce of tact between ‘em, not even the quiet ones, mind.”
“Whatever,” Jean spits, raking a hand through his hair.
“Hey, hey,” Eren blurts, skipping in front of Jean and interrupting his rage-fueled powerwalk. He rests his hands gently on Jean’s arms, ducking just to catch his glower with a slight wince. He’s pretty short, Jean notices for the first time.
Tilting his head back, Jean stares up at the lame night sky. It’s less dark than it is some filthy shade of light-polluted orange, same as the sky over Philly.
“Let us buy you a drink. Er, me. Let me buy you a drink.” Jean peers back down at Eren, who quickly stuffs his hands in his pockets and shrugs. “No sense letting a good night go to waste because Ymir’s a piece of shit, right? I mean, if I had a quid for every time Ymir was a piece of shit, I’d be an unholy rich man, but I won’t subject you to ‘er anymore.”
With a heavy sigh, Jean runs his hands through his hair again, unconcerned for the way it must be sticking up in messy cowlicks by now. “I’m guessing she’s an acquired taste.”
Eren rolls his vibrant eyes with a loud snort. “More like that craving you get for a greasy pork sandwich after a long night out.”
“Yeah.” A beat passes before Eren gently punches Jean in the shoulder with a lopsided grin. “How ‘bout it, then?”
Jean stuffs his hands in his pockets and contemplates the brunette, only laughing a little at his hopeful expression. “One drink. Make it count.”
“So I walk into the fuckin’ room, my fuckin’ bedroom,” Jean yells, wobbling haphazardly closer so Eren can hear over the fast-paced dubstep shit vibrating the club’s smoky air. Eren nods as he lends Jean his ear, pulling deep off his millionth cigarette. Jean continues, “And there’s Samuel, fucking balls-deep in my hot neighbor Mina.”
“Gert glenner, inne,” Eren shouts back, finishing his enormous mixed drink with an empathetic grimace.
“What the fuck does that mean?” Jean steals Eren’s cigarette while the brunette’s distracted, taking a drag before hollering, “Are you even speaking English right now?”
“Sorry, love,” Eren laughs, setting his empty glass on the bar and pulling out his last cigarette. “Good ol’ Bristol, born and bred. Me accent comes out to play when I drink the hard shite.”
“Clearly,” Jean snorts. He tightens his grip around his own drink, held cautiously between them where he can keep an eye on it. Even though he’d sworn up and down that he was only in for one drink, Eren continually proves himself to be an excellent listener and an even better distraction. So this drink is something like Jean’s third at this club, some electric blue sugary madness Eren called Windex, and Jean can already tell that it’s going to ruin his life. Tastes like candy, packs a punch. The worst combination.
“So what happened next?”
“Oh, right,” Jean says, snapping back to their conversation. “So I drop my shit and I’m like, ‘Dude, what the fuck?’ and Mina’s like, ‘Whoa, Jean, what?’ and Samuel, this shithead, he’s like, ‘Sorry, Jean, I’m so sorry, but things aren’t working out, buddy—’”
“Yeah! So he says, ‘I don’t think I’m gay, man,’ and that’s about when I turned around and left, but I heard Mina fucking going off on him. Apparently she thought we were just roommates, guess that’s the shit he pulled to get in her pants. She’s a good girl.”
Eren snorts, gesturing to the overworked bartender for another drink. He rests his boot on the low rung of the barstool Jean’s sitting on, leaning casually further into his space. “You should make a move on ‘er,” he laughs.
“Oh, right,” Jean scoffs, sipping his drink. “‘Hey, Mina, we’ve both sat on the same dick, wanna get coffee sometime?’”
“Charmin’,” Eren cackles, grinning widely around his cigarette. “I’d go fer it. Got sumfin in common already, see.”
Jean rolls his eyes, finishing his bummed smoke and grinding it out in the filthy bar ashtray. “So yeah, that was a month ago, and I still can’t stand to jerk off in my own damn bedroom.”
“’S what happens when you go ‘round wiv some chav calls himself ‘Samuel,’” Eren says, stretching across Jean to pay for and grab his drink. He smells like sweat and smoke and some barely-clinging whiff of cologne. “Never trust a man what goes by his full name.”
“So what’s Eren short for, then?” Jean laughs, raising an eyebrow.
“Nah, nah, see, that’s different,” Eren insists, leaning closer and waving his cigarette enthusiastically. “There’s a certain sort of name, innit. Names that always get shortened, ‘cept by their mum. Samuel, Thomas, Christopher—never trust ‘em!”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Jean snarks, taking a good swig of his near-empty drink.
“So that bastard’s what’s got you so glum, then?”
Jean shrugs sharply, pointedly not making eye contact. “Just pisses me off, you know. Every time I open my bedroom door, I just see her legs wrapped around his stupid waist. Can’t really get away from it.”
Eren pipes smoke off to the side and grinds out his cigarette, his curious eyes bright in the neon blue light shining off the bar. “Where d’you live?”
Raising his eyebrows, Jean leans back and gives Eren a skeptical look. “Why, exactly?”
“Seems what you need,” Eren says, playing idly with his straw, “Is a new thing to remember when you open your door. Somethin’ weird.” He throws Jean a crooked, playful grin from under his shaggy bangs and laughs, “I happen to be quite good at weird, see.”
If there’s one thing that sets Jean’s frosty bisexual heart aflutter, it’s boys who are clearly up to no good, and mischief looks fucking incredible painted across Eren’s face.
After a sticky moment of Jean fending off his rising gayness, he rolls his eyes again and replies, “As much as I would love for you to flash me your balls, I live down in Philly. Not exactly local.”
Eren blinks, leaning his chin in his palm. “S’pose not. When’re you goin’ home?”
“Catching an Amtrak out tomorrow evening.”
Nodding slowly, Eren watches Jean finish his drink with pursed lips. It’s the quietest he’s been all damn night, aside from listening attentively whenever Jean talks. He’s a fucking weirdo, Jean thinks, but he’s also a weirdly cute weirdo, even when his accent slips into the neighborhood of ‘completely unintelligible.’ Jean imagines he’s learned about thirty new words in the last four or so hours, and none of them would be even remotely useful outside of this conversation.
“So you’re only here for tonight,” Eren says finally, chewing idly on his straw. Jean nods, leaning against the bar.
When Jean sets his empty glass aside and runs a hand through his hair, Eren seems to come to a decision, throwing him a wild grin and tilting his head toward the thundering dance floor. “Wanna dance a bit, then?”
“Why the hell would I do that?”
“Let loose the wild dogs,” Eren laughs, forgoing the straw to knock back half his drink in a few good swigs. “Get that chav out of your head.”
“Okay, what exactly is a chav?”
“I’ll tell you,” Eren says, licking his lips as he leans even closer, “If you dance wiv me a bit.”
Jean raises his eyebrows, watching Eren waggle his. “You know, I could just Google it. I do have a smartphone.”
“Aye, you could,” Eren concedes, leaning back again with a crooked smirk. “But that wouldn’t be fun or adventurous, and you could use a bit o’ both, see.”
After a large handful of the kind of mixed drink specially concocted to knock a man through a wall, Jean thinks he might be drunker than he’d anticipated, because he’s seriously considering it. It’s gotta be the Windex, or the solid month of ruined orgasms, or the way Eren’s casually rubbing his own stomach, which makes his tight, threadbare t-shirt ride up above his low-slung jeans, exposing the tiniest strip of warm skin and dark hair.
Jean swallows and flicks his eyes back up to Eren’s, where he finds a saucy, knowing little glint.
“It’s a good song,” Eren hums, pushing away from the bar and slinking backward into the pulsating crowd, gesturing loosely for Jean to follow.
Even Jean’s better judgment is screaming for him to go, so he says ‘fuck it’ and follows Eren into the chaos.
Out in the writhing mass, the air is a million degrees and thick with sweat, sex, and smoke, and no amount of stern footing can keep Jean from finding himself pressed right up against Eren, their thighs slotted together, with Eren’s skilled hips guiding the way they move. The brunette keeps his hands above his head, though, moving his fingers and his hands and his wrists in a way that makes Jean a little dizzy to focus on, so he doesn’t.
He focuses on the music instead, fast-paced, bass-heavy electronica that only ever interests him when he’s hammered. He focuses on moving his body in time with Eren’s so he doesn’t jolt them out of their rhythm. He focuses on how fucking hot he is, sweat running down his face, dripping along his spine, making his shirt stick and his gut warm.
Eyes closed, hips swaying, Jean leans his head back and the booze takes his brain for a spin, leaving him tilting dangerously to one side. He assumes Eren laughs, but he can’t hear it over the bass drop. He feels it vibrate against his chest, though, and he feels Eren grab his shoulder and pull him upright again, and when Eren pulls his warm hand away, Jean swears he can still feel the soft imprint of the brunette’s fingers on his skin.
He’s not drunk enough to ask if Eren’s into him. Probably isn’t, anyway. Not with as much baggage as he has.
He is drunk enough to shift closer to Eren, though, close enough to be able to smell his sweat, his failing deodorant, which should be gross but for some stupid reason it really isn’t. Eren doesn’t push him away, and he has yet to stop grinning like an ass, and strobe lights flash in time to a pulsing electronic crescendo and throw him into a bizarre motion-capture sort of relief that’s almost too intense for Jean’s alcohol-soaked brain.
Fuck. Eren is hot.
The song bleeds into another, something heavier, more suggestive, shifting the rhythm between them almost dangerously. On a whim, Jean peels himself off of Eren and turns around, and when he sways back against the brunette and straight-up grinds into his lap, he hears a thick, breathy laugh right before Eren’s fingers splay appreciatively across Jean’s bony hips. He grins lazily and spreads his thighs as Eren’s thumbs sneak up the hem of his shirt, playing gently across his sweat-slick skin.
Eren moves perfectly with him, the rhythm of his hips sharp but accommodating, meeting Jean’s own vodka-addled movements in mind-blowing harmony. He shifts closer, running his palms down onto Jean’s burning thighs, and once they’re pressed tight together, Jean finds proof of Eren’s attraction rubbing solidly between his ass cheeks.
Arching his back slightly, Jean drops his hips against Eren’s and leans his head back onto his shoulder, reaching back with one hand to tangle his fingers in the brunette’s messy, sweat-damp hair. Eren leans into his neck and breathes a hot, wavering sigh against humid skin, but he doesn’t do anything beyond cautiously resting his lips against Jean’s thunderous pulse. No sucking, no biting, no pushing of any sort. Just waiting.
It’s driving Jean crazy in a few different ways.
Eren’s obvious respect is lighting a weird sort of fire in Jean’s blood, leaving him craving more. More of the quick, heavy breaths stirring his beading sweat, more of the hands easily keeping them pressed together but still allowing Jean to move however he wants, more of whatever’s grinding ever harder against his ass. More of Eren.
Jean nudges the back of Eren’s head, gently encouraging him, his free hand coming to rest over one spread over his thigh, but instead Eren straightens up and nuzzles into Jean’s ear with a low, fucking sensual chuckle. “You want sumfin, love?”
His raspy voice sends an electric thrill through Jean, who can only nod, swallowing heavily in the thick air.
“Let’s get out of here,” Eren says, squeezing Jean’s hips tight before he grabs one of the blonde’s hands and starts dragging him off the dance floor.
They worm their way through the crowd, Jean still dazed and more than a little wobbly, until they find themselves back out in the relatively freezing night air. Eren hesitantly lets go of Jean and stuffs his hands in his pockets, checking to make sure he has everything, then grins up at him and jerks his thumb over his shoulder. “7-11 ‘round the corner, need fags. Er, cigarettes, sorry.”
“Yeah, okay,” Jean agrees blearily, rubbing the back of his neck. Eren bites his lip, looking Jean up and down for a long moment, before he tilts his head in invitation.
Jean can feel Eren’s eyes on him the entire trip. Around the corner, into the brightly-lit convenience store, following Jean as he ambles toward the fridges and grabs a giant can of Monster, Eren’s lingering gaze is nothing short of intense. Even once they’ve left, standing aimlessly outside the shop while Eren loudly packs his cigarettes and Jean struggles to open his drink, Jean can feel those bright eyes burning into him.
“So where’re you stayin’ tonight?” Eren asks, slipping a cigarette between his lips and offering the pack to Jean, who takes one gratefully.
“My bandmates are up at a party in Brooklyn,” Jean murmurs, letting Eren light the cigarette for him. “I guess we’re crashing there, then heading to Penn Station whenever we roll off the floor.”
Nodding idly, Eren takes a long drag before he replies. “Brooklyn, huh.” Jean nods too, flicking his cigarette. Eren leans against the wall, his free hand resting in his pocket, before he quietly suggests, “My flat’s just a few blocks up. Flatmate’s out for the weekend.”
“Oh yeah?” Jean smirks around his cigarette, sidling closer to Eren. He gets right in the brunette’s space before tilting his head back, exposing his slender throat as he sighs thick smoke into the cool night air, earning himself a sharp inhale from a clearly-affected Eren.
“A-aye. Got more lager in the fridge. ‘F you want.”
“How hospitable,” Jean breathes, biting his lip and grinning. Eren nods dazedly. His heart pounding, Jean closes the miniscule distance between them and leans down enough to brush his lips against Eren’s ear. “D’you have a bed, too?”
“F-fuckin’ hell, Jean,” Eren wheezes, his eyes shuttering closed.
It’s the first time since he told him what it is that Eren’s said his name, and Jean can’t fight the urge to see how it tastes on his lips.
The first thing Jean learns about Eren’s apartment is the way the door feels against his back when the brunette slams him up against it and kisses him fucking senseless right there in the hallway. Jean buries his hands in Eren’s hair and tangles their tongues with a rough moan as Eren fumbles with his keys, torn between finding the right one and grinding his thigh between Jean’s, his panting breath laced with a smoky groan of his own.
The second thing Jean learns is that the door opens inward at an alarming rate, and also that Eren is significantly stronger than he looks. Not only does he catch Jean before he pitches backward into the dark apartment, he bends at the knees and picks Jean up like he doesn’t weigh a damn thing, and Jean can’t stop himself from locking his legs around the brunette’s waist with an airy gasp of his name. Eren grins up at him and shuffles his grip until he’s got two fair handfuls of Jean’s ass, biting his lip appreciatively as he squeezes.
Cursing under his breath, Jean leans down and fists his hands in Eren’s hair again, pulling him into another sloppy, bitey kiss with a rumbling groan. He vaguely hears Eren kick the door shut behind them before he’s being carried through the narrow apartment, then tossed lightly onto an unmade bed.
Jean leans up onto his elbows and groans as he watches Eren rip his shirt off, showing off the dark, tempting curls he’d barely teased at the club. He’s a deceptively furry dude, unashamed of his thick chest hair, nor of the clearly well-kept line of fuzz tracing down his toned stomach and straight into his pants, and Jean finds himself badly wanting to follow that trail with his teeth.
Eren crawls onto the bed and settles over him, pulling him into another fucking intoxicating kiss as he slips between Jean’s spread thighs and rolls his hips, grinding their achingly hard cocks together with a dizzying sort of precision. Jean moans into the kiss, eyes squeezing closed, before he tilts his head back and arches up against him. “Fuck, you’re so h-hard,” Jean gasps, hooking his thighs over Eren’s hips.
Groaning his agreement, Eren nips at the angle of Jean’s jaw and murmurs, “Got no idea... want you bad.” He nuzzles Jean’s ear for a moment, humming at the way he shivers under him, then mouths down his pale throat, his kisses hot and wet and drawing more little noises out of the blonde as he rocks his hips again.
Wrapping his arms around Eren’s strong shoulders, Jean breathes his name in a low, ragged sigh, leaning his head to the side to give him more room. As Eren grinds slowly, teasingly against him, his lips warm against his pulse, Jean’s eyes flutter open, and he actually takes in the room for the first time.
Even in the dim glow of the streetlight filtering through the blinds, Jean sees clearly a wrinkly, torn old poster for Interview with the Vampire, of all fucking things. That’s just scratching the surface, though. There’s DVD cases piled everywhere, movie posters covering nearly every spare inch of wall and half the ceiling, and that’s about when Jean remembers that he doesn’t know much of anything about Eren. Well, aside from his increasingly obvious love for cheesy vampire movies.
It’s a sobering thought, even with Eren’s lips brushing gently over the angle of his jaw.
“H-hey, Eren,” Jean murmurs, bringing his hands to rest hesitantly on Eren’s shoulders. The brunette hums, pressing a soft kiss to his ear. “Dude, uh.”
Eren pauses, then pulls himself off of Jean, sitting back on his heels between the blonde’s sprawled knees. “Everythin’ a’right?”
Jean leans up on one elbow, raking his fingers through his already-disheveled hair. “I think, uh. Fuck.” He flops back and scrubs his hands down his face, trying to get himself in order between his growing embarrassment and still being rather drunk. “Sorry, I just. I don’t really do shit like this, you know.”
“That’s okay,” Eren replies quickly, his voice firmly reassuring.
Grumbling miserably, Jean throws his arm over his eyes and mumbles, “Am I allowed to change my mind about this?”
“Yes.” Jean blinks up at the brunette as he slides off the bed and plucks a shirt at random off the floor, pulling it on before he continues, “You’re always allowed to change your mind, love. I’ll keep to that.”
With an audible swallow, Jean sits up and crosses his legs, accepting Eren’s offered cigarette. “S-sorry, man.”
“Don’ be,” Eren replies easily, his voice still warm and genuine. He lights Jean’s smoke with a smile, then his own, before lazily slipping his hands into his pockets. “I’m way into you. I’d rather you be keen on me and sober, honestly.”
“It’s not that,” Jean blurts, waving his hands. “It’s just.” He sighs and drags off his cigarette, ashing it idly in the tray beside the bed. “No, actually, it’s exactly that. I don’t really know you, but I think I... I think I want to. Like, seriously, who the hell still has a poster for Interview with the Vampire on their wall?”
“Hey, it’s a classic,” Eren laughs, cautiously moving closer so he can ash his cigarette too. “Don’t knock it.”
“Whatever, man,” Jean hums, running a hand through his hair again. “So, uh.”
“You’re welcome to stay here tonight. I’ll kip out on the sofa,” Eren says, idly scratching the back of his head. “I can give you a lift to Penn or wherever anytime tomorrow, or if you’d rather not at all, I can call you a cab to Brooklyn. Up to you.” Jean bites his thumbnail and looks around Eren’s room, pondering quietly. “No pressure, mind.”
Laughing softly, Jean shakes his head and glances shyly up at Eren. “What a gentleman.”
“’S not chivalry,” Eren mumbles. “’S just right.” He grinds out his cigarette, then stretches as he turns and meanders toward the bedroom door. “You can lock me out if you like, there’s no key hole or nuffin’, see.” He offers Jean a dazzling grin as he edges out into his narrow living room, watching Jean raise an eyebrow and blow smoke at him.
“Y-you don’t, uh. You don’t have to sleep on the couch.”
“Yeah,” Eren sighs dreamily, leaning his head against the doorframe. “But I’m gonna.” He pauses again, biting his lip, before he murmurs, “You’re gert lush, y’know. Adorable. Sleep tight.”
He closes the door then, before Jean’s even close to done flushing and sputtering.
As he grinds out his own cigarette, then cautiously pulls his pants off and climbs into the disorganized nest that is Eren’s bed, Jean can hear the brunette humming in the other room. Specifically, he’s humming one of Jean’s songs, the same one he’d complimented earlier in the night. For having theoretically only heard it once, he seems like he knows it well.
The soft sound and the lingering, heavy buzz lull Jean into a deep, dreamless sleep, his face buried in a squishy pillow that smells lightly like Eren’s hair.
When Jean wakes up the next morning, he feels roughly like he’s been run over seventeen times by a tractor. Fucking Windex.
He doesn’t even bother putting his pants back on before he opens Eren’s bedroom door and slithers out into the living room. The brunette’s sprawled on the couch, eyes closed, rubbing his temples with a lit cigarette hanging from the corner of his lax lips, smoke curling delicately toward the ceiling.
“Loo’s by the kitchen, love,” Eren mumbles quietly, sounding about as wrecked as Jean feels.
With a vaguely thankful groan, Jean staggers across the living room and trips into the bathroom, pissing for what feels like a century before he slumps against the sink and runs nice, cold water into his hands and over his face. It takes a while, but he eventually starts feeling like something approaching human again, so he wanders back out into the living room. Eren folds his knees up to make room on the couch, a silent invitation that Jean is more than happy to accept.
Curled up comfortably in his corner of Eren’s couch, Jean dozes off again, snoring softly in the warm morning sunlight pouring in through the window.
“So,” Eren says a while later, once they’ve both come back to life a little more, “What’s the plan, then?”
Jean crosses his legs under himself, still wearing only his shirt and his boxers. He leans toward Eren, peering over the hill of the brunette’s knees, and says, “Have you ever seen Shaun of the Dead?”
With a loud snort that he seems to regret immediately, Eren runs his hands through his hair and shakes his head sarcastically. “Have I seen Shaun of the Dead, the lad asks.”
“I’ll take that as a yes,” Jean laughs, scooting closer. He rests his pointy chin on one of Eren’s bent knees with a crooked grin, watching Eren raise his thick eyebrows suspiciously. “Say ‘Cornetto.’”
Eren’s nostrils flare for a moment, and the corner of his mouth twitches, but he still manages to narrow his eyes somewhat menacingly. “Why.”
“You know why.”
“… No. You’ll take the piss.”
Sticking his lower lip out, Jean lightly jostles Eren’s other leg, successfully using his apparent cuteness to break Eren down. “Just ‘Cornetto,’ then I swear I’ll leave your accent alone. Promise.”
“I don’ believe you. You’re a cheeky little git, I can smell it from ‘ere.”
“Yeah, I’m lying,” Jean admits freely, shrugging and grinning again. “C’mon, it’s for science.”
Eren whuffs loudly and buries his face in his hands, maybe possibly burying a starstruck little grin while he’s at it, before he begrudgingly mumbles, “Corne’o.”
“Ohhhmygod,” Jean beams, wrapping his arms around Eren’s shin excitedly. “You fucking sound like Nick Frost.”
“Is tha’ meant to be a compliment?”
“But you’re way cuter than Nick Frost, so, uh. Maybe?”
“Right. I’m throwin’ you out onto the fire escape.”
Despite a pair of fairly impressive hangovers, they manage to get into a solid wrestling match, and Eren discovers with no small measure of glee that Jean is ticklish roughly everywhere.
It’s sometime around noon when they finally feel brave enough to venture out into the bright daylight for a much-needed Starbucks run. Eren loans Jean a fresh shirt and a pair of sunglasses, which help immensely with Jean’s sudden vampire-like distaste for the sun.
As they’re standing in line, cringing in unison at the volume of the ambient noise, Jean turns to Eren with his hands stuffed in his pockets and mumbles, “Let me get yours.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I know,” Jean sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “Just. As a thanks, for being chill about last night.”
“You definitely don’t owe me for that,” Eren insists, pushing his sunglasses up into his messy hair. He turns to look up at Jean and crosses his arms with a warm smile. “Like I said, bein’ into me when you’re drunk is one thing, but I’m really, uh.” Jean raises his eyebrows, watching Eren slowly turn a hilarious shade of red. “Y’know. It’s, er. One-night stands, they’re not, well. Uh. Bollocks.”
“What’s up your ass?” Jean laughs, sliding his sunglasses off as well.
Eren throws his hands up, suddenly extremely invested in the menu. Which is just as well, considering it’s their turn to order.
Jean snorts softly as Eren orders, since the brunette seems to be dialing back his accent so the barista can actually fucking understand him. “Right, hi, can I have a, er, venti caramel ribbon crunch frappucino?”
“Ew, what the fuck—” Jean starts, visibly offended by Eren’s choice of beverage. The barista nods, though, and turns a sunny smile on Jean, so he stutters, “A, um. Venti red-eye, please.”
Eren lets Jean pay, scooting away from their prior conversation and toward the end of the counter, where he can watch eagerly as the other Starbucks slave concocts his volcanic sugar high. Jean sidles up to him and shakes his head, not bothering to hide his disdain. “What the actual fuck are you about to put in your face?”
“I like sweet things,” Eren chirps, a wide grin spreading across his face. He wiggles his eyebrows at Jean, very obviously flirting, but the blonde just rolls his eyes impressively and puts his hand over Eren’s face.
Of course Eren would be the type to cheerfully and enthusiastically lick whatever’s put in front of him, and his riotous cackling fills the Starbucks as Jean swears colorfully and wipes his slobbery hand on Eren’s shoulder more violently than is strictly necessary.
“So what time’s your train again?”
Jean looks up from where he’s texting his bandmates, still working through his mostly-burnt jet fuel. “Eight.”
Eren hums his acknowledgment, twiddling his monstrous, long-empty cup between his fingers. “Got a few hours, yeah?” Jean nods, dropping his phone on the arm of the couch. He tries really hard not to look hopeful as he glances over at Eren, who’s running his free hand idly through his shaggy hair. “Just, uh. I guess let me know whenever you want a lift, car’s parked somewhere around here.”
“You have a car in New York?” Jean leans his chin in his palm and raises a skeptical eyebrow.
“Well, technically,” Eren says, standing to move into the kitchen and throw away his cup. “It’s mine and like eight other blokes’ car, but I happen to have the keys on me.”
“Y-yeah.” Eren pauses in the kitchen to light a cigarette from behind his ear, making a show of looking at the calendar on the fridge as he scratches the back of his head.
Jean watches him smoke for a while, his legs crossed comfortably, before he decides to just grow a pair. “Hey, Eren?”
“Are you stalling?”
The somewhat alarming sound of Eren choking on an ill-fated drag off his cigarette fills the apartment, but Jean feels like he might make it worse if he went over there, so he just watches, wide-eyed, until Eren heaves in a deep, rattling gasp and pops back up from behind the kitchen island.
“Are you, uh.” Jean peers at him nervously. “Are you okay?”
“Aye,” Eren wheezes, tossing his cigarette into the sink and leaning heavily on the island as he scrubs his hands down his bright red face. Without looking at Jean, his voice muffled in his palms, he continues, “And yes to your other question.”
“You don’t have to be here, it’s fine,” Eren babbles, sinking further into his hands. “I’ll drive you to Brooklyn, just, uh. Give us a moment.”
Jean swallows heavily, fiddling with his coffee, before he takes a deep breath and stammers, “I’ll d-do your dishes.”
Stunned silent, or maybe just confused, Eren tenses for a moment, then cautiously peers out at Jean. “I beg your pardon?”
“I’m shit at stalling with my words. Worse than you are, and that appears to be saying something. S-so I’ll do your dishes. To stall. And stay. Here. With you. Longer.”
Thick silence creeps between them again, Eren staring at Jean, Jean staring at his coffee, both of them flushing loudly. Eren breaks the pause first, murmuring, “Why?”
Jean pinches the bridge of his nose. “Dumbass...”
“Look, I don’t know you very well, but... shit, I could’ve just closed my eyes and done it last night if I didn’t fucking like you so much.” Jean sets his coffee on the table and steals another of Eren’s cigarettes, pulling the lighter out of the crumpled pack with shaking fingers. “But you’re so weird and cute and I can’t figure out why, but I feel like you might like me more than you’re letting on, because who the hell tries so hard to cheer up some asshole just because he sings nicely? You give so many shits, man, and it’s tripping me up, because pretty much no one gives as many shits as you do.” He pauses to pull off the cigarette, still refusing to look at Eren, who’s silent where he’s still leaning against the island. “And you wanna be around me, even though I’m obviously an oversensitive baggage-laden mess, and you’re letting me smoke all your cigarettes, and you’re stalling for more time, and I just. Fuck. I dunno.”
Jean laughs roughly, digging the heel of his free hand into his eye. Eren’s still eerily quiet.
“Maybe it’s all in my head,” Jean murmurs finally, ashing his cigarette somewhat morosely.
Eren moves then, coming to collapse heavily on the other end of the couch. Jean doesn’t look at him right away, but Eren doesn’t give him much choice when he slumps down and kicks his bare feet right across the blonde’s lap, inviting himself into Jean’s personal space.
“Alrigh’, story time. Chuck us a smoke, wouldja?” Jean boggles at him for a moment, wide eyes flicking between Eren’s outstretched hand and the feet in his lap, then back again. He passes him the pack, though, quietly waiting for Eren to light up and continue.
“So, six months ago, you and your lot played some dinky little bar in Brooklyn, and I really did not want to be there. But I was. And I was cranky and Ymir was cranky and the whole bloody bar was cranky, and we just wanted to get plastered and start a fight.” Jean furrows his brow, vaguely recalling the show in question. Rough crowd that night. Really soured Jean on snowy-ass New York, as if he didn’t hate the damn place enough already. No fights, though. Not that he remembers.
“Anyway, there were a few bands on the bill, and I didn’t give a toss about none of ‘em, so I just kept on getting belligerent. Got some anger issues, y’know, used to box back in Bristol, but that’s another tale. So the bands’re playin’, and they’re cockin’ it all up, but for some daft reason I think, ‘what the hell.’ Let the last band pop on before I start swingin’.”
Jean blinks, glancing at Eren out of the corner of his eye, and he almost shivers under that intense stare. Almost.
“So the last band comes on. And the frontman’s this scrawny bottle-blonde little twink, just as cranky as the rest of us.” Eren lowers his gaze to his cigarette, carefully examining the slowly-burning ember. “Frontman’s my type to begin wiv, mind, I love cranky twinks. Wild little things. But this one, see, he’s got the pipes of a bloody angel, ‘specially when I’m three sheets to the damn wind, right knackered. So I sit there like a puppy and watch ‘im sing his pissy little heart out, sweatin’ like a pig and kicking his pedals like they was talkin’ a load ‘bout his mum, and when their set ends, he just stalks offstage, and I never see ‘im again.” He flicks his eyes back up to Jean, chewing his lip nervously as he mumbles, “’Til last night. And he is just as cranky as I remember, inne.”
Before he responds, Jean cautiously grinds out his cigarette in the ashtray and licks his lips, trying to process what Eren’s saying. “So, um. You. Uh.”
Eren groans, raking his hand through his hair agitatedly. “Coffee oughta make you sharper, love. ‘M sayin’... fuck, ‘m sayin’ I’m glad you turned me out last night, because I’ve got the stupidest fucking crush on your snotty, oblivious arse, and it apparently only got worse. Last night was terrible, fuck, just wanted to lay you out and make you smile and laugh again. And maybe fuck your lights out. But the other shit first.”
Squinting over at the slowly-flustering pile of Eren half-sprawled in his lap, Jean takes a moment to mull that over some more, not entirely sure if he should be offended or charmed or both simultaneously, if at all possible.
“You... have a crush on me.”
“Yes. And you’re an insufferable twat.”
“Wow. How do you ever get laid?”
“Usually by keepin’ me gob shut.”
Eren ruffles his hair roughly and gives another agitated warble, sitting up suddenly so he can stare almost pleadingly at Jean. “Look, a’right, all I’m sayin’ is you were drunk and I didn’t wanna take advantage. Don’t get me wrong, I’m thirsty like a man dying in a desert, but I want you to want to do it with me specifically. Not just some bloke you got pissed with and had a good night with.”
He pulls the last drag off his cigarette and huffs smoke, carefully not looking at Jean as he leans over and grinds it out. A moment passes, thick and awkward, and Eren’s starting to fidget by the time Jean finally speaks again.
“So... you’re glad I turned you out, because you have a crush on me.” Eren groans miserably, but he nods. “And I turned you out... because I have a crush on you.” Blinking at the couch, Eren thinks back over this whole terrible conversation, then gives a tiny, unsure nod. “So we didn’t have a one-night stand... because we... like each other?”
“When you put it that way,” Eren grumbles, scrubbing his hands down his face.
Jean’s silent again for a moment, taking another long sip of his now-cold coffee before he murmurs, “Hey, Eren?”
“... I think we might both be really fucking stupid.”
“... Seems so, huh.”
“Yeah.” Jean sips his coffee again, chancing a look over at Eren, who’s glowering at his palms as if searching for the source of their general complications. Jean feels his pain, to be sure. No way it’s that damn simple.
Then again, Jean always has been one to overthink simple matters straight into the dirt.
“So, um,” he says quietly, licking his lips nervously. “Where do we go from here?”
“To be quite frank, love, I haven’t the foggiest.” Eren looks up at the blonde, his expression some strange mix of pained and sheepish. “It’s all out there, I suppose.”
“Yeah...” Jean nibbles on the lid of his coffee for a moment, then steels himself and slowly puts it back on the table before he shifts to face Eren fully. “Um. Am I allowed to change my mind again?”
Eren stares, his eyes widening as he manages to croak, “U-uh. Yeah. Always.”
Jean nods. “Okay. I’m, um. I’m changing my mind.”
“Can I... d’you wanna make out?”
“Oh hell yes.”
Grinning widely, Jean crawls over Eren as the brunette shifts to lie flat, carefully holding his hands out to catch Jean’s waist once he’s come level with him, his cheeks flushed pretty under Eren’s intense, moony gaze. He rests his knees on either side of Eren’s hips, but before he closes the distance between them, he hesitates.
“I don’t, um.” Jean sits up, planting himself in Eren’s lap and rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m not, like, reinstating the one-night stand thing. I wanna make something out of this stupid crush situation we have.” Eren nods, idly stuffing a pillow under his head. “But I also really wanna fuck you. Because I like you. And you’re really hot. Like stupid hot.”
Eren laughs, squeezing Jean’s sides gently. “You remember last night when you told me I talk a lot?”
“Sh-shut up,” Jean grumbles, settling himself down against Eren’s chest, holding his weight on his forearms. “I just get nervous.”
“Don’ be nervous,” Eren breathes, slipping one hand up to run gentle knuckles down Jean’s smooth cheek, the gesture ridiculously tender, enough to brighten the flush already gracing Jean’s face. “We’ll go at your speed, okay? You’re drivin’.”
“Wh-what about you?”
The crooked grin Eren aims at him flusters Jean beyond belief, but even worse, it turns him on a lot. “Don’ you worry about me, love. You’d throw me out on my arse if you knew some of the shit I thought about last night.”
“It’s your apartment.”
“In this case, I would let you throw me out. No questions.”
Jean rolls his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose again, grinning despite himself. “You’re a fucking animal.”
“It’s true, but now I’m your animal, so it can’t be all bad.”
Eren laces his fingers comfortably over the small of Jean’s back, holding true to his word to follow the blonde’s lead. Jean lets himself linger above him, memorizing Eren’s patient, content smile as he brushes his dark bangs off of his face, away from his warm, vibrant eyes. He drags his thumb over a little scar above the brunette’s eyebrow, lips pursed in thought, before he snorts softly and grins again. Eren just quirks an eyebrow in question.
“What was it you said,” Jean hums, resting his chin in his hand. “A ‘scrawny bottle-blonde little twink’?”
“What, you’re tellin’ me that’s natural?” Eren laughs, running one hand through Jean’s messy blonde strands, dragging his nails gently across the dark, shaved part of his filthy hipster undercut. “I’m foreign, love, not mental.” Jean just snorts and rolls his eyes, tugging at Eren’s ear. “So, I’m dyin’ to know, does the carpet match the drapes?”
“You’ll just have to find out, won’t you.”
Eren growls playfully and drags his palms down Jean’s narrow back, stopping himself just short of slipping them into his back pockets. Grinning widely, Jean nudges his nose against Eren’s, bringing his own hands to rest gently on the brunette’s cheeks. Eren nuzzles him back, curving his thumbs gently around Jean’s hips, and Jean finally rewards his patience by closing the bare distance between them and brushing his lips against his, much more sweetly than the night before. His eyes fluttering closed, Eren tilts up into the kiss, slotting their lips together perfectly as his hands run soothingly up and down Jean’s back.
Pulling back for just a moment, Jean wiggles around so he’s sprawled properly over Eren, tangling their legs comfortably before he leans back in for more easy, tender kisses, the soft sounds of their lips parting and moving lazily together the only noise besides their even breathing.
It’s slower, more deliberate than the night before, especially in how Jean shifts closer and parts his lips invitingly, and Eren breathes a warm hum as he accepts. He curls his tongue between Jean’s lips, wrapping one strong arm around his waist while his other hand slides to Jean’s face again, unable to decide where he wants to touch the most. Jean kisses him back, slipping his tongue along his with a low sigh, his fingers sliding into dark, messy hair as his thumbs drag idly along sharp cheekbones.
They take their sweet time making out, tangled together on Eren’s couch, before a sharp ping from Jean’s phone down by their feet reminds him of the text conversation he’d been having before all this went down. Namely, plans to meet up with his bandmates at Penn Station.
He groans softly, the sound distinctly disappointed, before he reluctantly sits up and leans way back to retrieve his phone.
Two in the afternoon already... Jean sighs, frowning at his lock screen.
“Yeah...” Jean sets an alarm, just in case, and puts his phone on the coffee table before he sprawls over Eren, grateful to be wrapped in his warm arms again. “Just, uh. Kinda really don’t wanna go back home this fast.”
“Mm, I hear that...” Eren hums quietly, slipping his hands just barely under the back of Jean’s shirt, rough fingers tickling over the pale skin above the hem of his jeans.
“I mostly just don’t wanna fuck and run,” Jean admits, biting his lip. “Wish I had more time.”
“Well, I stand by what I said,” Eren says, smiling reassuringly. “We’ll do whatever you want, and I’ll be over the damn moon. Even if it’s just this. But, uh. I really wouldn’t mind actually, y’know. Datin’ you. Takin’ you out and all.”
Chuckling softly, Jean toys with Eren’s bangs and mumbles, “Don’t even know your last name.”
“Jaeger. Yes, like that foul licorice liquor shit.”
“Man, that sucks,” Jean laughs, leaning his chin in his palm again. “That shit’s awful. Mine’s Kirschtein, by the way.”
“How the hell am I supposed to Facebook stalk you with a surname like that?”
“I’ll find you, you big baby.” Jean grins down at him, giving up entirely on trying to fight the way his heart flutters in his chest when Eren grins right back. “Assuming I can spell your first name...”
“E-r-e-n. Like it’s said, ya dingus.”
“Maybe I just haven’t said it enough,” Jean grouses, digging his fingers into Eren’s ribs just for the way it makes him squirm.
“I can fix that, if you like,” Eren wheezes, quickly catching Jean’s tickling hand and bringing it to his lips so he can press soft, slow kisses along his palm. “Seems like I had a pretty good start last night...”
“Mm, it’s worth a shot, yeah...” Jean grins, shifting to spread his thighs over Eren’s with a low hum before he dips to kiss along his strong jaw, soft lips warm and full of lingering promises. He turns his hand in Eren’s, lacing their fingers together loosely for a bare moment before he tugs Eren’s hand down his body and drops it right where he wants it. Eren breathes a ragged sigh, grateful for Jean’s permission, and curves both of his hands over Jean’s ass, squeezing appreciatively. Then he shifts his hips and eases Jean up his chest just a little bit so he can really get a good grip on him, his fingers dipping temptingly between Jean’s narrow thighs.
“God, you’re so hot,” Eren rumbles, leaning his head to the side so Jean can trail more slow, hot kisses down his neck, flicking his tongue out against the brunette’s pulse with a warm hum. “So fucking hot, Jean, you’ve no idea what I wanna do to you...”
“Show me, then,” Jean replies simply, leaning up so he can stare down at Eren, biting his flushed lips, even breaths just starting to pick up.
Eren blinks widely up at him, his eyes going glassy for a brief moment before he shakes his head to focus and moves his hands to Jean’s shoulders, easing them both into sitting up. “Are you sure?”
Smiling softly, Jean perches in his lap and nods, lacing his cool fingers over the nape of Eren’s neck. “I like you, you like me, we’ve both established that we’re thirsty animals... definitely wanna try again.”
“And the, er. The other stuff?”
Jean shrugs casually, his smile quirking adorably shy for a too-brief moment before he leans forward and presses his lips gently to Eren’s. “We’ll figure it out as it comes. Philly’s not that far from New York. No one says we gotta have our shit together right this very moment.” He pulls back, nipping teasingly at Eren’s lower lip as he goes. “Unless you wanna sort out the hairy details right this second.”
“I really wanna fuck you,” Eren blurts, immediately flushing bright at his own candor, but he owns it. “I mean. I wanna do all that other shit, too. But it can wait. If you want it to wait, I mean.”
“It can wait,” Jean murmurs, pressing further into Eren’s lap as he pulls him into a deep, fucking sensual kiss, and Eren shivers as he wraps his arms around the blonde’s waist and holds him tight to his chest. Jean runs his thumbs along Eren’s jaw and rocks his hips temptingly, and when Eren presses up against him in return, Jean grins widely at the bulge pressing hard against the join of his thigh through their pants. “Excitable, huh.”
“Jean, you seriously—” Eren stammers, his hands slipping to grope Jean’s ass again with a low groan. “You don’t have any idea what you do to me, do you, fuck... drive me crazy. Too fucking sexy for your own good, you know that?”
Jean shivers in Eren’s lap, tilting his head back for the brunette’s slow, burning kisses, sighing at the soft, wet sounds of Eren’s mouth against the arched column of his sensitive throat only making him hotter. “F-fuck, Eren...”
“Mm, ‘s right,” Eren rumbles, dipping one hand deeper between Jean’s thighs while the other slides up the front of his shirt, his palm dragging up smooth, pale skin. His splayed fingers are rough and so warm, and Jean can’t help but arch into them. “Love the way my name sounds on your lips, Jean...” Eren nuzzles into the hollow of Jean’s throat, then kisses the point of his sharp collarbone, murmuring, “You were so vocal last night, you always make that much noise?”
“S-sometimes,” Jean replies, his voice clearly shaken. He clings to Eren and sighs as the brunette pets him and kisses him, letting himself just enjoy the affection for now. “If I’m into it.”
“Fuck, Jean.” Eren sucks a faint pink mark into the hollow of Jean’s collarbone, his ragged exhale sending chills running across the blonde’s skin. “I’m keepin’ you, wanna hear all the pretty noises you make for me.”
“Mhm... w-what about you, huh? Damn blabbermouth, you talk a lot during sex?”
Eren leans back and grins crookedly, a bright flush spreading over his face. “I can reel it in if it’s weird.”
“Not weird, not fucking weird at all,” Jean murmurs, dipping to catch Eren’s lips in a brief, bitey kiss, soothing the sting of his teeth with his soft tongue. “The opposite of weird. ‘S really hot.”
“Oh thank god,” Eren laughs, tilting his head back. “’Cause sometimes it just comes out, y’know, runnin’ my mouth and all.”
“I don’t doubt that,” Jean hums, running his fingers gently through Eren’s thoroughly-disheveled hair. He leans in for another kiss, this one softer, sweeter, and Eren returns his affection for all of three seconds before his brow furrows and his gaze shifts to the ceiling.
“Jean, what day is it?”
Jean blinks a few times, giving him a look as he replies, “Uh. Sunday? Ish?”
Eren pats Jean’s ass and gently dumps him back on the couch, then stands and digs in his pockets, tongue poking out in concentration. He doesn’t find whatever he’s looking for, though, so he shuffles things around on the coffee table, squints around at the floor, and rummages in his pockets another few times, clearly out of sorts.
“Jean, have you seen my cell?”
Jean shakes his head, crossing his legs under him. As he does, though, his heel hits something under his thigh, which luckily turns out to be Eren’s butt-warmed iPhone. Eren takes it gratefully and taps out a somewhat frantic text, squinting at his screen as he does. Jean just reaches down and grabs his ankles, patiently waiting for Eren’s attention to fall on him again.
“Armin’s meant to come back today,” Eren explains after a moment, turning to grin sheepishly down at Jean. “My flatmate.”
“Yeah... he might be bringing his boyfriend...” Eren looks at his phone again, pursing his lips. “I told him to come back at his own bloody risk, because I haven’t gotten laid in ages and I’m dangerously close to being un-single, and there is literally nothing higher on my priority list right now.”
“We could always move,” Jean laughs, jerking his head back toward Eren’s room. “More room in there. Privacy, too, but unless your room’s soundproofed that’s only gonna go so far.”
Eren breathes out a long, ragged sigh, biting his lip as Jean grins up at him. “Little fuckin’ minx, you know that?”
“You make cute faces when I fuck with you.” Jean licks his lips and leans up onto his knees, fiddling with the edge of Eren’s borrowed t-shirt. He looks up at him through his eyelashes as he pulls the hem slowly up his chest with one hand, hooking his other thumb in the loose waistband of his jeans so he can tug it down, teasing with his own well-kept happy trail.
He can practically see the smoke pouring out of Eren’s ears as he stares at Jean, his face flushing darker the more Jean plays with him.
“Like what you see?” Jean purrs, biting his lip coyly.
“Th-tha’s just fuckin’ unfair,” Eren rasps, running his hands through his hair. “That is so unfair.” Jean just blinks slowly in response, then makes a big show of tugging his shirt over his head and off, and when Eren finally catches sight of the little silver barbells through Jean’s cute, perky nipples, he legitimately almost passes the fuck out.
Jean grins up at him and drags his palms down his own chest, over his flat stomach, but Eren’s at his wit’s end with this. He drops his phone carelessly onto the coffee table and hauls Jean to his feet, pulling him down into a sloppy, breathy kiss as he steers them back into the bedroom.
He kicks the door shut behind them and pushes Jean onto the bed again, ripping his own shirt off in a weird sort of déjà vu. This time, though, Jean’s dizzy from how Eren’s body looks in the bright daylight trickling through the blinds, from how fucking hard he is with those piercing, wanting eyes devouring his every move, from how much and how badly Eren wants him. He parts his thighs for Eren when the brunette crawls up the bed to him, his outstretched hands bringing him in close for a deep, eager kiss, so different from the harsh neediness of last night. Even when Eren settles against him and rocks their hips together again, the thrill that runs through Jean is so much more intense, the sparks lighting up under Eren’s touch so much stronger now that there’s no alcohol robbing him of the way Eren fits between his thighs.
Eren groans softly, the slight twitch to his hips belying how much the change is affecting him too. He runs with it, though, catching Jean’s shaking hands and lacing their fingers tightly as he dips to kiss him again, and maybe a dozen more times, his hips constantly seeking Jean’s welcoming friction.
“If you wanna stop—”
“I know,” Jean interrupts, flicking the tip of his tongue across Eren’s kiss-swollen lips. “I know I can trust you. Same for you too, though, yeah?”
Shivering slightly, Eren squeezes their twined fingers and nods, then slides his hands down to run over Jean’s chest, his fingers rough and warm and so perfect, leaving Jean’s eyes shuttering closed, his hands weakly clutching the pillow supporting his head. Eren shifts down and presses a soft kiss to the center of Jean’s chest, his fingers finding and gently toying with pierced nipples, wringing a stuttering little whine out of Jean.
“How much do you wanna do?” Eren breathes, peering up at Jean even as he kisses slowly down his sternum.
“E-everything,” Jean replies, his voice cracking as Eren squeezes his nipples gently before he rubs his thumbs over them, Jean’s back arching into the attention. “I want e-everything, Eren, I want you...”
Eren nods, moaning his approval against the curved apex of Jean’s ribs. He drags his tongue back up and moves to flick the tip over one of Jean’s nipples, his fingers still gently teasing the other. He sucks at the hard little nub, just barely grazing it with his teeth, and the feeling has Jean shaking and panting under him, rocking his trapped, aching cock against Eren’s bony hip in search of more friction.
“Fuck, Jean,” Eren mumbles, kissing Jean’s nipple and flicking his tongue against it once more before he kisses across his chest to the other, his thumb picking up the slack and sliding easily through his cooling saliva. “You’re so sensitive, god. You like that?”
Jean bites his lip and digs his hand into Eren’s hair, his fingers fisting weakly in messy strands as he squirms under him, already close to falling apart from these bare touches. He opens his eyes and looks down at Eren, watching the brunette’s tongue work him over with a shivering moan, before he whimpers and tugs at Eren’s hair, trying to bring him close again.
“F-feels good, Eren, fuck,” Jean murmurs, clinging to the brunette as Eren slides up and pulls him into another deep, lazy kiss. He wraps his thighs around Eren’s hips and rocks up against him with a shaky gasp, and when Eren moves closer and fucking grinds their cocks together, just slow enough and with just enough force, Jean can’t help but moan his name.
“You sound so good, Jean, goddamn.” Eren licks his lips, pressing a soft kiss to his flushed cheek, before he braces his knees and slides his arms under Jean’s so he can curl his fingers over his shoulders and gently hold him in place. Once Jean’s wrapped securely around him, surrounding him and surrounded by him, Eren brushes their lips together tenderly, then gives a good, firm thrust of his hips, a burst of sweet friction right where they both want it so badly. Jean arches and chokes out a loud moan at the feeling, dark, pretty eyes rolling shut.
“P-please, Eren, J-Jesus,” Jean stammers, dragging his short nails lightly across Eren’s shoulders. “C’mon, c’mon—”
Eren chuckles quietly, sucking teasingly at Jean’s bitten lips as he gives him another grinding thrust, letting his own low moan pant out humid against Jean’s warm cheek. “Patience is a virtue, love.”
“When the f-fuck have I ever been patient?” Jean gasps, wriggling in Eren’s secure grip. “L-let me take my fucking pants off, please, I’m gonna die—”
“Mm, only because you asked so nicely,” Eren hums, sitting up easily and sliding his trembling fingers around to the catch of Jean’s pants. Before he can ask permission, though, the blonde huffs and bucks his hips pointedly, so he smiles warmly and makes quick work of unfastening them. As much fun as it is to tease him, Eren’s not actually trying to piss Jean off, so he hooks his fingers in the hem and pulls them right off, then tosses them carelessly aside. He licks his lips and palms at the slick, prominent hardness tenting Jean’s boxers, the taut fabric leaving little to the imagination. Jean arches up into his hand with a sweet little whimper, his teeth savaging his flushed lip as he flicks his heated gaze back to Eren’s.
“Those t-too, and yours, c’mon...”
Eren grins lazily, but he obliges, although when he’s finally got Jean full nude in his bed, he has to take a rather long moment to appreciate the sight.
Jean’s flushed the prettiest pink all the way to his pierced nipples, his breath flustered and quick. He’s not nearly as fuzzy as Eren, but that’s completely okay, because it makes the thin line of dark hair trailing down from his navel to his smooth, gorgeous cock all the more enticing. Eren breathes a rumbling hum and scratches his nails gently through those soft curls, shooting Jean a crooked grin.
“F-fine,” Jean huffs, swallowing heavily. “Bottle blonde, you c-caught me, shit.”
“It’s nice,” Eren sighs, running his palm slowly up Jean’s stomach, fingers splayed over his delicate ribs. He hadn’t expected delicate to be a word that describes his cranky little twink so perfectly, but there it is, and it is dead-on. “Blonde looks good on you.” He drags his gaze down to Jean’s flushed cock again, long and cut and honestly more impressive than Eren had been expecting. “Sorry, Jean,” he murmurs, smiling up at him. “I hope you don’t actually mind me taking this slow. I like to, um. Savor things.”
“’S fine,” Jean mumbles, reaching out to run one shaking hand over Eren’s forearm. “But I’m gonna do the same thing to you. See how you like it.”
Eren moans softly and moves up to kiss him again, taking his sweet time with that too. He runs one hand up Jean’s side, the tips of his fingers dipping into the soft curve of his waist, his nails ghosting up his bony ribs, until he can press his hand against Jean’s cheek again, the gesture unexpectedly affectionate, and it leaves the blonde melting under him with a shivery little moan.
“H-hey,” Jean breathes, bringing both of his hands to squish Eren’s cheeks pointedly. “You’re still wearing pants.”
“Oh, aye,” Eren muses, glancing down at the solid tent he’s pitching.
Before he can think of some clever sass, Jean hums playfully, and then Eren finds himself the target of the blonde’s speedy ambush. He yelps as Jean flips them with a clever twist of his hips, straddling him again with a victorious grin and a short laugh.
“And here I thought you were just a pliant little bottom, huh,” Eren laughs, squeezing Jean’s hips and rocking up against his firm ass. “Looks like you’ve got some life in you yet.”
“Oh, don’t worry,” Jean murmurs, grinding back into Eren’s teasing thrusts with perfectly-controlled movements of his hips, his thighs spread over Eren’s lap in a way that kind of leaves him breathless again. “I have loads of fun tricks.”
It’s stupidly easy to break Eren entirely with the way he moves his body, Jean finds. He grins and bites his lip, the expression absolutely promising to leave Eren a brainless wreck, and the brunette cannot find it in himself to protest in the least. He just grips Jean’s waist, his hips, his thighs, and lets Jean take him over.
Jean finds a shred of mercy somewhere and holds off on showing off what he can do just yet, instead wriggling down Eren’s thighs and unfastening his tight pants with a pleased sigh. He flicks his gaze up to Eren and grins, earning himself a soft, questioning sound and a raised eyebrow. “I have to admit, I’ve been pretty curious since last night,” Jean says, shifting to palm at Eren’s arousal through his pants, his fingers steady and skilled. Eren shivers and lifts his hips into the feeling, watching through one barely-focused eye as Jean maps out the thick outline of his dick with an interested hum.
“’S not too bad, if I m-may say so,” Eren manages, letting his hands fall limply to the sheets once he finds he can’t reach Jean so easily. “You m-might like it.”
“Yeah. Oh, got foreskin, dunno what your opinion is about that.”
Eyebrows shooting up, Jean stares at Eren for a moment, then sputters, “A-are you kidding? Foreskin’s great. I’m good at foreskin. Or, I mean, I’m told I’m good at foreskin.”
“One way to find out?”
Jean cracks an evil grin and resumes his task with new fire, still careful in how he pulls down Eren’s zipper, but pretty much everything after that is a blur of pants and underwear being tossed across the room. When he finally gets a good look at Eren’s cock, Jean sucks idly at his lips, his obvious oral fixation coming through loud and clear.
“That’s really nice,” he breathes, biting his lip around a crooked grin as he rests his hands on Eren’s hips.
“Th-thought you might approve.”
“Why’s that?” Jean murmurs, moving to gently run his palm up the warm underside, sharp eyes watching the way Eren’s foreskin covers the head, then the way it pulls back when Jean drags his hand down again. Eren licks his lips before he answers, although he’s not entirely sure Jean’s listening.
“You’re not a smoker ‘cept when you drink, so I figure you must really like things in your mouth. Plus your lips are sensitive, and you chew on straws.” Eren sighs and arches into Jean’s hand, his eyes sliding shut for a moment.
“Yeah, you got me,” Jean chuckles, still sucking and licking at his flushed lips in a way that’s gonna make Eren fucking lose his mind. “Hope you don’t, uh. Mind if I get kinda... worshippy.”
Eren raises his eyebrows and stares up at the flushing blonde, who’s squirming nervously in his lap. “Nah, nah, please, uh. Wait, no.” He leans up onto his elbows and swallows audibly. “I, um. I babble, y’know, we established. And I say super weird shit sometimes.”
“Um. Like what?” Jean tilts his head and raises a questioning eyebrow, honestly curious. Eren scrubs one hand down his face and sighs, wondering if he’s actually going to have to admit to this.
“I just. Look, do what you like, but don’ listen to whatever naff I talk, a’right?”
Jean stares down at him for a long moment, squinting suspiciously. He comes to a decision, though, and simply shrugs, then wiggles between Eren’s legs and makes himself comfortable on his stomach. He grins up at the brunette, who’s still propped up on his elbows, and wraps his long fingers around Eren’s thick, darkly-flushed cock, giving him a few slow strokes to ease him into things.
“What d’you like?” he asks quietly, shuffling forward and pressing a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss to the side, eyes shuttering closed at the warmth against his lips. Eren short-circuits for a long second, even more so as Jean does it again, and another time, mouthing slow and wet and noisy up his thick girth, and he has no idea what the fuck Jean’s lips and tongue are made of, but they belong in a fucking museum. “Eren?”
“L-Louvre,” Eren mumbles brainlessly, still hypnotized by the slick heat teasing against the sensitive underside of his cock.
“Eren,” Jean laughs, gives the brunette’s cock a pointed little shake. “Ground control to Major Tom...”
“Sh-shit, um,” Eren wheezes, bringing his hand back to his face so he can try to collect himself. “Wait, what?”
“Oh my god, Eren, this is too easy.” Grinning widely, Jean wraps his fingers around the base of his cock to keep him standing, but he has the mercy to leave him alone as he repeats the question. “What do you like?”
Snorting loudly, Jean rolls his eyes, then says, “Don’t make me figure this out all on my own, man, or you’ll still be in orbit three weeks from now.”
“Can you say that in a way that sounds less temptin’, cheers.” Jean stares exasperatedly, enough that Eren bothers to gather up some smattering of his frazzled brains. “Um. Suckin’ on the foreskin’s good. So’s strokin’. The head’s pretty touchy, so be nice to it.”
“J-Jesus,” Eren manages, shivering despite himself. “You’re gonna ruin my life, damn green bean...”
“Is that a yes or a no?”
“Please. W-with discretion.”
Humming pensively, Jean considers the task before him, then tightens his fist and gives him a good, firm stroke, with a fucking perfect twist around the head, and Eren can’t bite back his wimpy little moan in time. Jean only seems encouraged, thankfully, watching with heated eyes, his tongue poking out of his playful smile in a way that makes Eren’s heart kind of jiggle excitedly in his chest.
“Let me know what feels good,” he breathes, finally shifting up further and gently angling Eren’s cock against his swollen, pretty lips.
“M-Major Tom to ground control,” Eren replies weakly, his fingers fisting loosely in the sheets. He figures Jean won’t have to try too hard to figure out what he likes, though, if he’s barely even done anything and Eren’s already quickly forgetting how to brain.
His suspicions are confirmed when Jean smiles up at him again, the half-hooded head of his cock resting heavy against his lips, before he purses his lips and presses a warm, messy kiss to Eren’s sensitive foreskin, and the tiny, evil glint in his dark eyes kind of clues Eren in to the fact that he is completely and utterly doomed.
There is nothing that blows Eren’s mind like a sloppy blowjob, and he’s willing to put money on what kind of blowjobs Jean gives.
His eyes still on Eren, Jean slips his tongue out and runs it slowly along his foreskin, curling it around the head with a soft sigh before he strokes him gently, one or twice, then eases the hood over the head of his cock with a low hum. He twists his wrist slightly as he opens his mouth again and sucks wetly at the soft folds of his foreskin, pulling with his lips just enough to make Eren’s eyes cross, his knees already shaking under Jean’s careful attention. The blonde smiles and toys with his foreskin, rubbing it gently between his lips and flicking his tongue over it before he lets it slowly slide back out, and then his mouth is sealed right over the head and he’s sucking, wet and messy and noisy and fucking perfect, and Eren can’t help the way he twitches up for more, breathing a series of broken little whimpers.
Jean’s eyes flutter closed as he tilts his head to the side and mouths his way back down again, these kisses just as nice as the ones before, but this time he’s sucking gently, soothing his tongue against warm flesh, and if the feeling and the sight weren’t enough to leave Eren stammering his desperate approval, the slick sounds of Jean’s mouth would fucking do it for him, and Eren does whatever he can to indicate that Jean should absolutely keep that up, please keep that up.
His head falls back between his tense shoulders as he lets out a loud, shaky whimper, twitching when Jean curls his tongue around the underside of his cock and breathes a soft moan against him, stroking what his lips aren’t worshiping with smooth, even strokes made even smoother by the saliva already soaking his dick. Eren’s leg twitches, his knee nudging Jean’s ribs, but all he can feel is sweet lips at the base of his cock and that beautiful twist around his slick head, smearing precome and saliva around fucking blindingly.
It may actually be the best blowjob Eren’s ever had. Bar none.
Then Jean drags the wide flat of his tongue up his aching length, his breath hot against cooling saliva, and he pulls Eren’s foreskin back just enough, and when he flicks the clever tip of his tongue just under the head, then up through his soaked slit, Eren fucking loses his mind.
“Fuuuck,” he manages, his stomach tensing, hips twitching insistently. “Fuck, Jean, fucking hell—”
Jean wraps his lips around him and hums, the evil little bastard, and when Eren chokes out a whimpering gasp, wordlessly pleading for mercy, Jean drags his tongue slowly over the exposed head, circling it around as he sucks gently, wet and tight and he’s stroking him too, and his free hand comes to curl into the thick curls of his happy trail, and Eren’s pretty sure he’s dying.
There is no way anything born of this earth can possibly be this amazing.
“I can’t, Jean, I can’t,” he gasps, eyes rolling shut as he collapses back against the sheets, spine arching and thighs pressing tight on either side of Jean’s shoulders, his hands scrabbling for a solid anchor in the sheets. Jean purrs, pulling off to suck insistently at the hood, his pursed lips still rhythmically brushing over his slit, and he’s so fucking good at this, so pretty, so amazing that Eren can’t tell up from down anymore but all he cares about is the way he can still feel Jean’s eyes on him, watching as he drives him completely and utterly mental with his unfairly talented mouth.
Eren thinks he might be able to get his shit together when Jean takes a moment to lick his flushed lips and stroke him firmly, but it turns out to be a lost cause when the blonde edges closer and murmurs Eren’s name.
He peers down at him blearily, eyes hazy and unfocused, and by the time his vision clears, it’s far too late.
Jean grins evilly at him, then opens his mouth wide, his tongue sliding out invitingly, and he just fucking goes right ahead and slaps the heavy head of Eren’s cock against his tongue a few times, the sound loud and wet, then pulls the hood back and flicks his wicked tongue just under the head, and Eren’s pretty sure he’s dead. At least mostly sure.
He’s also mostly sure that he’s babbling. Like a mile a fucking minute. At least Jean apparently gets a kick out of it. Eren can hear his own blabbermouth making an ass of him, but he can’t stop the slurred, thickly-accented words from bubbling out of his mouth, not when he’s so distracted by Jean going out of his way to make things sloppier, to leave honest-to-god dribbles of saliva trailing down Eren’s twitching cock, every wet, teasing kiss leaving shimmery little strands of spit between his dick and Jean’s lips. That’s almost enough to let him forget that he just honestly asked Jean to marry him for like the sixth time.
Whatever, he warned him.
Humming warmly, Jean blinks at him once or twice, his hand still steadily stroking and moving his hood around in a way that’s just about too damn much, but just as Eren worries that it might start to hurt, Jean pulls up firmly and gently sucks the loose crown of his foreskin between his lips, laving his tongue across and under it slowly, soothingly. He rubs his lips perfectly around the sheathed head, easing away any discomfort, somehow already familiar with the things that make Eren the craziest. All Eren can do is try to watch helplessly.
Jean switches tactics, though, and slips his soft mouth down around the head, and this time he flattens his tongue against the underside and bobs his head slowly, his lips sliding easily in his own wet mess as he takes him deeper and deeper, sucking maddeningly as he goes. Eren’s girth is nothing to laugh at, but Jean just sucks him down and takes whatever he wants from him, and Eren’s eyes are fucking crossing again.
When Jean’s nose nuzzles into the curls at the base of Eren’s cock, he fucking swallows, and Eren is vaguely aware of his back arching off the bed, of his hands and his feet sliding in the sheets, of his voice growing weaker and more desperate, all his stupid bubbling words giving way to panting, breathy moans, loud even compared to the purposely sloppy sounds of Jean’s mouth moving over him.
Jean takes him deep again, and he hums around him, and then he tilts his jaw just so and hollows his cheeks as he pulls slowly up, but this time he’s grazing his teeth along the hypersensitive underside, and if that wasn’t enough to make Eren’s heart explode in his chest, Jean’s careful enough and clever enough that he can gently drag his teeth up over his foreskin, and that sensation very nearly knocks Eren ass over elbows.
“B-baby, baby, please, please,” Eren sobs, stomach tensing as his hands fly to Jean’s messy hair, trying desperately to stall for time. “Please, f-fuck, ‘s gonna make me come, j-just—a s-second—”
Humming against Eren’s sheathed head, his tongue sliding out slick and soaking him just right, Jean leans away with a sloppy kiss and grins up at the flaming wreckage that could feasibly be Eren.
“D’you wanna come?” Eren shakes his head hastily, his quaking hands resting on Jean’s cheeks as he tries to sort his fucking life out. “Really?”
“N-not... not yet, not yet...”
“Are you sure?” Jean breathes a warm little chuckle against him, unabashedly nuzzling his face against Eren’s twitching arousal. “Mm, you’re so hard... messy, too. Kinda looks like you need to come.”
Eren shakes his head again, whimpering pathetically. He drags in a deep, shaky breath, though, and leans up on one weak elbow, forcing his blurry vision to focus on the wet nightmare slowly rubbing his proud-ass face against Eren’s spit-slick cock. Jean smiles up at him like chaos incarnate and presses a sweet, teasing kiss to his slit, humming at the thick spurt of precome that spreads warm over his swollen lips. Rather than lick it off, though, the little bastard’s smile widens, and he pulls a finger to his mouth, smearing the thick, clear liquid further across his lips with a soft moan.
For what must be the thousandth time today, Eren experiences a complete flatline in brain function, his mouth hanging open stupidly as Jean slips his slick finger into his mouth with another sly little moan. He fucking blows his finger, eyes sliding closed until he drags the digit out again. Then he sucks on his fucking shiny lips, moaning again at the taste and the feel of Eren’s precome on him, and it’s a good thing he likes it so much because while Eren’s becoming a vegetable, his cock is twitching hard, and every time it falls back against Jean’s cheek with a mute, wet little slap, more precome splatters hot and thick against the blonde’s face.
Which he obviously fucking loves.
Eren wonders briefly why he never wrote his will.
His brain vainly attempts to reboot, but Jean scooping his wet finger through the precome dripping down his cheek and the eager sounds of him sucking it down, fucking swallowing it leave Eren a soulless husk again, literally blown to death by the fucking gay antichrist himself.
“P-please spare me, Satan,” Eren whines, his body slowly becoming a limp noodle under Jean.
Snorting softly, Jean actually gives him a fucking break, leaning back and sitting on his heels as he idly strokes his own messy cock with a little shiver.
“D’you even listen to the shit that comes out of your mouth?”
Eren flops onto his back and throws an arm over his eyes, trusting Jean to let him come back to earth in peace. He registers Jean’s half-laughed question after a long, fizzling moment, wheezing his reply with a voice left absolutely wrecked by Jean’s fucking magical mouth.
“I t-try not to. K-keeps me up at night.”
“Yeah, I imagine. I’ll take your marriage proposals with a boulder of salt.”
All Eren can do is groan, loudly and miserably, throwing his other arm over his darkly-flushed face for good measure. Jean laughs at his torment, the sound light and airy, and Eren can’t help but glance out at him with a little pout.
Chuckling again, Jean slinks out from between Eren’s thighs and comes to spread out next to him, chin propped in his palm. He observes the thoroughly-rattled brunette for a moment, watching his uneven breathing sort itself out, until Eren pulls one arm off his face and wriggles it under Jean’s thin waist so he can tug the blonde further into his side. Jean lets himself be shifted, moving compliantly, before he sighs contently and drags his fingers through Eren’s chest hair with a warm, appreciative hum.
“So,” Jean murmurs, scratching down along the solid line of Eren’s abdomen. “Do blowjobs always give you religious crises, or was this a one-time thing?”
Eren groans piteously, still buried in one elbow so he doesn’t have to face whatever dumb shit he said yet. “Not usually, no. That was… fuck. You’re like a blowjob warlock or something, I swear to god, that was black fuckin’ magic, that was.” He peers cautiously out at Jean, squinting at his suspiciously cute expression. “Did you find the fuckin’ gay Necronomicon or sumfin?”
“Oh my god, no, you giant loser,” Jean laughs, rolling his eyes loudly. “Call it natural talent.”
“A natural talent for the complete and utter destruction of innocent men,” Eren grumbles, pulling Jean tighter against his side with a soft sigh. He figures he’s probably recovered enough, though, so he rolls to face Jean and tangles his free fingers in messy blonde, gently tugging him into a deep, easy kiss. Jean hums into him, shifting so he can rest his hand on Eren’s cheek, his fingers trailing soothingly behind his ear as the brunette slips him his tongue, slow and warm and inviting.
After a long, lingering moment of indulging in the way Jean’s lips pressed against his brings a soft sort of quiet to his fried brain, Eren nudges closer, gently pushing and shifting until Jean’s on his back again, blinking up at him with a crooked little smile. He lets the blonde wrap his arms around him and drag him into another tender kiss, his hands running gently over Jean’s sides, squeezing his waist, fingers spreading across the steady rise and fall of his ribs. Before he gets too involved, though, Eren pulls away with another few short, fleeting kisses, ducking to mouth warmly along the inviting lines of his slender throat.
When he sits up, he lets his eyes drag over Jean’s body again, taking in the even pace of his breathing and the tight arch of his pretty cock, the deep flush over his cheeks and the cute perk of his pierced nipples. Jean crosses his ankles lazily and smirks up at Eren, a maddeningly confident sort of crooked smile that he hasn’t seen before now, not in the warm light of day.
Eren’s heart jiggles again. He chooses to live with it.
He leans over Jean and pulls out the drawer of his nightstand, digging through his meager drug stash for the lube he knows is in here somewhere, along with the condoms probably buried even deeper. Tongue poking out in concentration, he rummages around while Jean hums under him and slides his hand idly over Eren’s hip, content with this easy contact for now.
When he finally pulls the lube and a disappointingly short strip of condoms out, Eren makes a soft, victorious sound, grinning widely down at the laughing blonde. He lets Jean snag the condoms, presumably checking the date, while he settles in beside him and brushes warm, lingering kisses along his cheek. Jean drops the condoms up beside the pillow and wiggles his way into Eren’s arms, leaning in for more sweet kisses as he does. He settles onto his back once he’s got Eren plastered to his side, wrapped comfortably around him, and slings one of his thighs over Eren’s knees, leaving him spread open for him.
“Mm, I was hopin’ you’d let me top,” Eren hums, nuzzling softly into Jean’s ear. “Wanna hear what kinda fun noises I can get you to make.”
“Duh. Weren’t you the one who only knew me as ‘crabby little twink’ for like six months?”
“Oh, aye, but twinks can top too, mind. Not unheard of.”
“N-next time,” Jean sighs contently, arching with a quiet moan when Eren reaches down and palms gently at his cock, aching from being hard and untouched for so damn long. As Eren bites slowly up the shell of Jean’s ear, soothing the sting with his tongue, he slides his thick fingers along tense flesh, his patient touch slowly working some of the discomfort out of him even as it wrings sweet, shaky breaths out of Jean, who relaxes completely and lets Eren take over. His body melts under Eren’s loving attention, eased along by the soft, murmured praises breathed against his sensitive ear and by the comforting weight of Eren’s thick cock rubbing idly against his ass. Just a casual reminder that it’s still there, still hard for Jean, because of Jean.
Jean pats around the bed until he finds the barely-touched bottle of lube, examining it with a low hum. “New?”
“Not as much as you’d think,” Eren admits, wrapping his warm fingers around Jean and stroking him slowly, evenly, twisting his wrist experimentally until he finds a rhythm that sends little chills rippling across pale skin. “Believe it or not,” he chuckles, “I don’ actually get a lot of action.”
“I kinda am surprised, actually,” Jean says, blinking over at Eren. He smiles and nudges their noses together, his hips rocking lazily into the easy rhythm of Eren’s fist. “Thought the accent would work miracles for you.”
“Mm, it has its moments.” Eren brushes his lips against Jean’s, lingering warm and gentle before he mumbles, “Actually, I just don’t often bring people home. Usually lose interest pretty quick, end up duckin’ out.”
“Then what, hmm?” Jean ghosts a soft kiss over Eren’s nose, shifting the arm under the brunette’s neck so he can drape it around his dark shoulders. “You just rub one out and go to sleep?” Eren ponders that for a moment, but shamelessly hums the affirmative. “You don’t get lonely?”
“’Course I do. Having some rando in my bed won’t fix that, see. Just makes feeling lonely even weirder. Awkward, mind.”
Jean hums quietly, gently tugging Eren into another slow kiss, taking the opportunity to slide his tongue gently along the bare part of the brunette’s lips. “I feel that,” he murmurs finally, dropping more brief little kisses against him.
“That’s why I fancy you,” Eren replies softly, dipping to press his lips against his ear. “Kindred spirits.”
“Alright, gay,” Jean laughs, his grip around Eren’s shoulders tightening. “Still on the first date here, Mr. ‘Oh-god-you’re-perfect-please-marry-me.’”
Eren groans loudly, pulling his hand off of Jean’s cock and pinching his ribs a few good times for revenge. “A’right, a’right, Lucifer, calm yourself. Here, spot us some lube, yeah?”
As he grumbles about letting himself grow sympathy for the devil, Eren nips sharply at Jean’s ear, down the smooth skin of his neck, until he feels Jean squeeze cool lube over his waiting fingers with a dorky little laugh. Jean caps the bottle and drops it up by the condoms, watching Eren spread it over three of his thick fingers, working it around them and between them until it’s warm.
Jean spreads his thighs a little and bends his other knee slightly, doing his best to relax. The way Eren presses slow kisses along his jaw helps, even when his fingers slip down between his thighs and rub gently over his entrance.
“Mm, be nice to me,” Jean breathes, turning to catch Eren’s sweet kisses. “’S been a while, and you’re kinda packin’ heat there.”
“You’re still drivin’, y’know,” Eren replies, grinning lazily. “Won’t do anything until you’re ready for me.”
Humming appreciatively, Jean nudges the brunette into another deep kiss, their tongues sliding gently across each other, and Jean’s tiny little moans sound all the sweeter passing between their soft lips. Eren rubs his slick fingers in slow, easy circles, patient and steady and constant in his rhythmic pressure, and Jean finds himself kind of blown away by how gently Eren’s treating him. It’s like he’s spoiling him, even treasuring him.
It might have something to do with the way they can’t stop for more than five seconds without some kind of deeper feelings cropping up, or maybe the way Eren’s rocking gently against him without pushing or demanding. He really is letting Jean take the reins, letting the blonde make this the best he can possibly get. It’s not like Eren’s suffering for it, though. The more Jean enjoys himself, the more his reactions seem to affect Eren, whether in soft shivers or shuddering sighs, or the occasional twitch of his cock where it’s held warm between them.
Jean hums and sucks gently at Eren’s lower lip, biting just enough to wring a little moan out of him as he drops his free hand to his own cock. He strokes himself idly, his fist loose and his movements lazy, the grip mostly serving to relax him further.
Eren flicks his tongue between Jean’s lips with a soft sigh, shifting his wrist so he can rub more insistently with one finger, and the way it slips inside almost easily has him breathing a hitched moan into their kiss, along with a quiet, appreciative praise. Jean leans his head back with a gasp and stills his fist, licking his lips as he rocks slowly onto Eren’s hand. Lube slicking his movements, Eren presses his finger in to the knuckle, giving Jean gentle little thrusts to help him adjust. He’s damn tight, squeezing around Eren, but soon enough Jean’s breathing raspy encouragements, quietly asking for more, so the brunette obliges with a shaky moan.
“F-feels amazin’, Jean,” Eren mumbles, pressing his lips to Jean’s cheek with a low hum. “You feel so nice.”
Biting his lips idly, Jean opens his bleary eyes and peers over at Eren, who’s watching him with a tender sort of reverence. Jean flushes bright under that flustering gaze, as warm and awe-struck as it is, his eyes quickly fluttering closed again as he moans softly.
Once the slide of Eren’s even thrusts is easy, Jean’s tight heat giving way for him, Eren hums and attentively works a second finger into him, taking it as slow as Jean’s rocking hips will let him. The blonde’s starting to lose his patience, though, warmth bleeding through his chest and curling down to pool between his hips, his cock standing harder, heavier against his rhythmically-tensing stomach. He moves his hips more insistently, biting his lips around quiet moans, breathing Eren’s name over the brunette’s ear as he squirms slightly, trying to take more, deeper, anything.
Taking one more satisfying moment to watch Jean wiggle under him, Eren holds him closer and nudges his chin aside so he can kiss over his flushed neck, dragging his tongue under his sharp jaw and moaning at the subtle taste of sweat he finds there now. Jean whines impatiently, his fingers digging helplessly into Eren’s shoulder, his back starting to arch as his thighs twitch, so Eren decides to have mercy on him.
He seals his lips over a patch of pale skin at random, the salt of Jean’s sweat clinging to his lips, and just as he starts to nibble and suck and gently mark him, he thrusts his fingers deeper and curls them, and it only takes a few searching presses to find Jean’s prostate.
As he rubs little circles over the blonde’s sweet spot, two fingers keeping his tight heat spread open even as Jean’s body tenses hard around them, he keeps working a dark bruise into Jean’s skin, and the way his body arches and shudders under him nearly leaves Eren breathless. As nice as that image is, though, what really gets him is the sweet, gorgeous sound of Jean’s voice, lips parted around shivering moans and gasps, stammered pleas filling the quiet air around them.
Eren’s always had a thing for Jean’s voice, but knowing how that voice sounds when it’s hitched and raspy, forming a shaky, insistent moan of Eren’s name... shit. Groaning softly, Eren nips sharply at the dark hickey he’d left on his neck right where everyone can see it, then squirms a few inches down the bed and immediately sets in on another one. He can’t help himself. Jean’s whimpering and moaning louder, longer, his free hand fisting in the wrinkled sheets, and Eren wants to immortalize this feeling as best he can.
When Jean’s pleading for more, practically riding his fingers and gasping Eren’s name into his messy hair, Eren can’t help but feel some sort of pride. He’s the one pulling these breathy noises out of him. He’s the one Jean’s calling out for, the one he’s trusting to take him higher, to hold him and kiss him and make him feel good. He’s the one making a noisy little wreck of Jean, even as they cling to each other and pant against each other’s skin, Jean’s thighs spreading wider, his hips bucking desperately for more.
He shifts his wrist again so he can pick up the pace with his hand, driving his fingers into him quickly, deeply, curling the tips past his sweet spot with every swift flick, and the effect his efforts have on Jean is incredible. His hips arch off the bed, head thrown back into the pillows with a choked moan when Eren follows him perfectly, barely a hitch in his rhythm even with all the blonde’s brainless writhing. He spreads his fingers where he can, steadily working Jean open for his cock.
“F-f-fuck, fuck, E-Eren,” Jean whines, his voice loud and gorgeous, especially with the way it shakes as he gets closer to losing it. His cock lies heavy against his flexing stomach, steadily dripping clear precome over his sweat-slick skin, but Jean makes no move to touch himself again. He just clings to Eren, both hands now clutching desperately at his arm, his shoulder, his head leaned back so Eren can leave mark after purple mark across his perfect skin.
Pausing to work the tips of his fingers over Jean’s prostate again, coaxing a breathy cry out of him, Eren nips sharply at Jean’s collarbone before he slides back up to catch his lips in a deep, intoxicating kiss, thrusting his tongue into the blonde’s mouth with as much gentle dominance as the fingers working him open. Jean shivers, his spine arching toward Eren as he falls apart under him, kissing him dazedly as his hips rock and his hands twitch.
Even though the wet slide of his two fingers has long since been easy, giving, Eren slows down before he nudges a third finger into him, but any plan he’d had of easing Jean into it is moot as the blonde squirms against his hand, eagerly taking all three with a needy plea. Eren groans, biting over Jean’s jaw until he can suck gently at his lips, drinking in his little whimpers for a moment before leaning up to look at the mess he’d made of him.
Jean’s wrecked already, and gorgeously so, his eyes glazed and unfocused, lips parted freely around gorgeous moans and brainless praises, breathless whines of Eren’s name coming more and more frequently as he spreads and curls his fingers, making sure he’d done a decent job. His patience is kind of running out, and he’s curious how loud Jean’s strong voice can get when he’s being so thoroughly taken care of.
“Jean, hey,” Eren murmurs, kissing Jean’s bitten lips to catch his hazy attention. “What d’you reckon, hm? Think you’re ready for me?”
Dark eyes narrowing slightly, Jean takes a few deep, rattling breaths, courtesy of Eren easing the pace of his fingers. He scrubs a weak hand down his face with a raspy laugh, a brilliant, relaxed grin spreading over his flushed face and leaving Eren’s mouth dry. “F-fuck, I th-think I spaced, t-totally forgot.” Eren laughs, slowly easing his fingers out of Jean with a few tender kisses. “Y-yeah, c’mon, Eren. Been ready.”
Eren hums, nudging his nose against Jean’s as he reaches up for the condoms and tears one off with his teeth.
As Eren gets himself and the condom sorted, Jean runs his shaky hands down his face, then licks his lips and watches the brunette slick himself with more lube, just in case.
“Where d’you want me?”
Blinking up at Jean as he asks, Eren ponders the question for a moment, mentally running through the genuinely endless list of things he wants to do to Jean immediately or even sooner. It’s a rough choice. He must be frowning in thought, because Jean’s laughing at him, the soft sound relaxed and still breathless.
“Here,” Eren murmurs, running his hands up Jean’s spread thighs. “Can I try something?”
“Mm, don’t break me,” Jean replies, but he follows Eren’s guiding perfectly. He rolls onto his side, sighing softly as Eren lies back down behind him and spoons right up against him with a pensive hum. It’s so close, almost every part of them pressed together, chills running over Jean’s flushed skin at the sheer heat of Eren’s embrace. He lets the brunette worm an arm under him to wrap securely around his chest, his other hand gently bending Jean’s thigh up and out of the way. Jean shifts his other knee further up the sheets, helpfully spreading himself open more.
As he leans into Jean’s ear with a pleased hum, Eren teases the head of his cock over Jean’s slick, worked-open entrance, absolutely eating up the way his lover shivers and curls back into him for more. “What d’you think, Jean? Like this?”
Sighing his approval, Jean leans his head back onto Eren’s shoulder comfortably, his tongue wetting his lips before he whispers, “Y-yeah, like this. I like this.”
Eren purrs into Jean’s ear, positioning himself so he’ll do all the work and Jean can just relax against him. “You like bein’ held, yeah? Feels nice?”
Jean nods slowly, wriggling further into Eren with a quiet, appreciative moan. He keeps his trembling thigh bent up when Eren’s hand slips away to steady himself, a thrill of excitement sparking through him at the more insistent presses of the brunette’s incredibly solid cock against him. Biting his lip, Jean tries to relax, tries not to hold his breath, and Eren’s gentle voice murmuring for him to breathe does more than enough to soothe him.
The first firm roll of Eren’s hips pulls shaky gasps from both of them as the thick head of his cock slides inside of Jean, slick and tight and warm, and Eren can’t help the breathless moan of the blonde’s name he presses into his ear, the arm around his thin chest squeezing comfortingly. Jean whines quietly, eyes shuttering closed, before he runs one shaking hand along Eren’s strong wrist to lace their fingers loosely. With a soft hum, Eren presses sweet kisses along Jean’s tense shoulder and squeezes their fingers, his thumb stretching to rub idly along whichever of Jean’s fingers he can reach.
After taking a deep breath, Eren rests his lips against the crook of Jean’s neck, his free hand still guiding his aching arousal into the blonde just in case. He rocks his hips slowly, feeling for any tension, any resistance, but everything he’s doing to soothe Jean is working perfectly to leave him boneless and gasping, and Eren finds that once he presses more firmly, Jean takes him perfectly, letting him slide deeper with every short thrust.
He keeps up his patient, easy rhythm, finally sliding his hand back up Jean’s shaking thigh until he can wrap his fingers under his knee and hold him more firmly in place. Jean shivers and lets out a long, whimpering moan, eyes squeezed shut, but the needy way his cock twitches with Eren’s every push gives away how much Jean’s enjoying himself, how much he likes the way Eren fills him up. With the soft curve of his spine making the smooth slide easier, and the effort of supporting his bent thigh taken care of, Jean finds himself floating blissfully, reaching back with his free hand to tangle his fingers in Eren’s hair.
They both groan when Eren bottoms out, the position letting him press deeper, allowing him to sink all of his cock into his trembling lover. He grinds up into him, just barely, and presses hot, wet kisses along Jean’s shoulder, already thinking of where to leave more of his marks. Jean’s neck is arched just so Eren can easily reach the entire length of his flushed throat, a fresh canvas for him to spell out his affection for the blonde. For now, though, he just nuzzles him warmly, his hands cradling him and holding him, waiting for Jean to give the go-ahead.
“Mm, how’s it feel, baby?” Eren asks quietly, nudging his nose against the sweat-damp, shaved hair behind his flushed ear. He kisses that soft skin gently, slow and attentive, and the way Jean whines and relaxes further is proof enough that Eren’s doing well. “Is it too much?”
“Fuck no,” Jean moans, his voice breaking slightly, but he’s too scatter-brained to care much. He’s surrounded by Eren in the best possible ways, filled up by him, and the angle is so fucking promising that Jean actually has to force himself to wait, to hold out until the sting of the thick stretch fades with Eren’s gentle grinding. “J-Jesus, Eren,” he breathes, turning his head to make dazed eye contact with the brunette. “God, you’re so big, f-feels so good...”
Shuddering against Jean’s back, Eren whimpers and sinks his teeth into the slope of Jean’s shoulder, trying to keep himself from losing his cool. “J-Jean...” He takes a deep, wavering breath and leans over the blonde’s shoulder again, managing a strained, breathy laugh. “C-can’t say things like that, love, not if you want me to last for you...”
Jean sniffs and rocks back into Eren’s hips, mumbling, “It’s true... your cock’s so nice, ‘s gonna feel so good f-fucking me.”
Eren whines his name again, nipping at the nape of his neck. “G-god, d’you know how you sound right now? M-makin’ it hard to hold back. That gob of yours is all kinds of dangerous.”
Rather than reply, Jean arches against him, rubbing his hips back into Eren’s even presses. He squeezes gently, the tight pressure making the brunette choke, before Jean licks his lips and wiggles eagerly in Eren’s arms. “C’mon, Eren, ‘m ready. W-wanna feel you.”
“’K-kay,” Eren sighs, his hands squeezing softly before he braces his foot against the bed, giving himself some decent leverage to work with. He lets his gaze drag over Jean’s body, reveling for a moment longer in how fucking lucky he is, before he curls his toes into the sheets and gently eases his hips back.
He doesn’t pull out far before he smoothly rolls his hips back in, setting himself an achingly slow rhythm, just to get started. The way Jean feels around him has him moaning against the blonde’s shoulder, holding him closer so he can feel the way Jean’s body quakes in time to his steady, languid thrusts. Jean’s panting, squirming against him, his head falling back onto Eren’s shoulder again as he breathes a shaky moan of his lover’s name.
“G-god, Jean, you’re so tight... f-feels amazin’.”
Jean shivers, and Eren unconsciously gathers him closer, pressing soft moans behind his ear as he struggles to maintain this pace. He’s still letting Jean drive, waiting for his signal to move faster or harder, although the blonde seems to be too busy melting to even think about changing things up.
It’s so thick, Eren’s cock, and it fills him up and spreads him open fucking incredibly, but it’s the angle that’s really rendering Jean incapable of thought. The blunt head rides right past Jean’s sweet spot with every dragging thrust, lighting a fire in his blood and threatening to set him ablaze. He wants more, but he’s almost afraid of how good it would feel, how high it would take him. Of all the sex he’s ever had, nothing has ever even approached this level of intimacy, this mind-blowing feeling of closeness he feels toward the brunette moaning in his ear. Eren’s all around him, deep inside him, stirring him up and coaxing brainless little whimpers out of him, carefully holding back for his sake, and thank god for that.
Jean keens low in his throat, gasping Eren’s name, and the brunette responds with a rough hum, brushing sweet kisses through the sweat on his cheek. It’s so good, so fucking incredible, Jean has lost every word he’s ever had to describe how hot he feels. So he just shakes, and he pants, and he lets his watery eyes slide closed so he can lose himself in this aching rhythm, sweet torture for the both of them.
Eren isn’t exactly a patient dude, but for Jean’s sake, he waits. He keeps his steady rhythm, his hips rolling in perfect time and drawing breathy sounds from both of them, but something has to give or Eren’s gonna lose his mind. His sweat-slick skin is on fire with the need to move faster, to thrust harder and deeper, to hear Jean cry out for him in that lost, desperate little wail, but he settles for mouthing at his exposed neck instead until Jean can handle him.
As he bites and sucks insistently, his fingers tight under Jean’s knee and against his chest, Eren moans into the darkening patch of flesh between his teeth, certainly not the first of his marks and far from the last. He’s glad Jean isn’t protesting them. If anything, his moans pitch encouraging, bleeding into needy whines if Eren sucks too hard, too long, or coming as sharp squeaks if Eren nips too hard on a spot that’s bruised tender.
After one hickey, then another, and midway through a third, Jean is writhing in Eren’s hold, his breath panting heavy in the humid air as he whimpers at the onslaught of teeth and the dull dragging pain of Eren’s strong mouth. No words yet, though, except broken gasps of Eren’s name, and those are slurred at best. Still, he is undeniably wiggling, pressing back for more, so Eren pulls off his mark with a slick pop and licks his lips, then breathes into Jean’s ear, “Y-you want more, baby?”
The deep, ragged pitch of Eren’s voice leaves Jean’s eyes crossing, heat sparking wildfire down through his gut and increasing the urgency of his squirming. Eren hears him, though, hears the brainless, “Yeah, y-yeah, yeah,” Jean manages to gasp in response. He gives a low, rough groan, shifting Jean against him again, before he starts pulling out farther, sliding in harder, the soft slap of his hips meeting Jean’s ass growing louder as he puts a little more force behind his thrusts, a little more roughness. Those maddening little sounds have nothing on Jean’s voice, though.
With Eren fucking into him harder, biting hard across his shoulder and pinning him to his strong chest, Jean finds himself incapable of doing anything but whining for more, eyes unfocused, the hand in Eren’s shaggy hair pulling. He’s losing his mind with the way Eren’s thrusting into him now, the fire spreading all through him, but he’s stopped being afraid of that feeling. The hotter he gets, the more Eren’s perfect aim drives Jean higher, the less afraid he is, until he’s arching tight against him and pleading, noisy and half-coherent, and overwhelmed tears fill his dark eyes as Eren groans and obliges.
They move faster, Eren blindly obeying Jean’s breathy, broken demands until he’s ramming his cock deep into his tight, tensing heat, fucking noisy cries of his name right out of him. Jean’s beside himself, clutching Eren as best he can, rutting back with the slight give he’s allowed. Eren’s arms wrap crushingly, desperately tight around his waist, pinning his thigh up, and as he slams his cock into the blonde, hips moving hard and so fast, he bites harshly at Jean’s shoulder blade, at the nape of his neck, at the mauled curve of his bony shoulder, breathing rough, savage moans against the brilliant crimson flush spread over Jean’s flesh.
When Jean finally manages to catch hold of words beyond breathless, wavering cries, he throws his head back with a gasping whine, loudly pleading, “E-Eren, please, please—”
“F-fuck, Jean, Jean—” Eren stutters out a desperate moan into Jean’s ear before he rasps, “Fuck, baby, more? W-want more?”
With a rough growl, Eren pulls out of Jean entirely, leaving the blonde whimpering his needy protest and rutting his hips back. He’s boneless, though, trembling and weak from Eren’s cock, so it’s easy for him to manhandle Jean onto his back again, grateful for this view of his wrecked expression. He crawls over him and hooks Jean’s shaky knees over his elbows, leaning on his hands over the blonde so he’s bent back just enough that Eren can rail his cock back into him, not even pausing to draw breath before he’s fucking Jean straight through the bed, almost brutal in how rough he’s pounding into the blonde’s sweet spot, but fuck if it isn’t exactly what Jean needs.
His spine arches off the bed as Jean throws his head back and wails for Eren, his hands gripping bruisingly tight and his nails clawing sharp red lines over Eren’s shoulders, down his arms, but neither of them can feel the sting over how fucking close they are, over the perfect, noisy storm their desperate cries create. Jean’s voice is already raspy but so much louder, so much needier, even more than Eren’s short, breathless moans of Jean’s name, half-baked praises and pleas, the distant tattoo of the headboard beating a crater into the plaster. Even through all that, through the spiking volume of their pleasure and the blinding need devouring them, all Eren sees is Jean, and all Jean sees is ecstasy.
When Jean comes, he screams, long and loud as he clings to Eren, who knows better than to stop now. His muscles tense almost dangerously tight, his toes curling hard, his nails scraping fresh tracks into Eren’s chest, and Eren’s already holding on by a thread by the time Jean’s heat clamps down tight around him, almost too hard to move but with just enough give that Jean flies even higher and Eren falls right after him, crying his name over and over and over with the rough, faltering tempo of his hips.
They’re barely aware of slowing down, of coming off that peak, but they find themselves wrapped tight around each other, panting breaths punctuating the ringing in their ears, and the stinging twitch of uncoiling muscles and swelling bites and scratches serve to bring them back to reality in slow, perfect time with each other.
For a long time, neither of them have the breath or the brainpower to speak. They just cling tight and comfort each other with ragged moans and deep, sloppy kisses, barely able to move for the ache in their sore muscles.
Jean finds his brain first, although it’s not much.
“H-holy fucking shit,” he wheezes, his voice hoarse from screaming. Eren rasps his agreement, his forehead leaned against Jean’s flushed cheek, both of them still dripping with sweat and trembling with lingering adrenaline.
“Fuck, u-um,” Eren manages after a while, leaning up on badly-shaking arms to survey the extent of the damage. He pales, though, when he sees how fucking dark the marks he’d left are, how the imprints of his teeth had swelled to bright welts, and before Jean can even think to ask, Eren’s pulling out of him and collapsing back onto the bed, his hands covering his mouth. “Fuck, Jean, I’m—”
Jean’s own eyes widen when he catches a glimpse of a fierce cut dragging down Eren’s chest, some places bright red with drawn blood. “Jesus.”
After about ten noisy minutes of both of them apologizing frantically, Jean raking his hands through his hair as Eren curses into his palms, Jean manages to climb into Eren’s lap and get him to share a cigarette, and the nicotine calms their nerves enough that they can actually take stock of the situation.
Sunset finds them standing sheepishly in front of the bathroom mirror, Jean’s expression a mix of impressed and horrified, while Eren continues to stare up at the blonde, anxiously chewing his lip. Jean wraps his arms around Eren’s shoulders and rests his cheek on top of his shaggy head in the shower, quietly murmuring sweet comforts to him until he finally fucking relaxes and allows Jean to forgive him for the nine black, patchy bruises all along the blonde’s neck and shoulders, and the vivid bite marks all over... well, just about everywhere else.
“Okay,” Jean mumbles around a hot mouthful of pizza, checking Eren’s shoulders and arms for any more scratches in need of bandaids. For whatever reason, the only ones in the entire apartment are cute pink Hello Kitty ones, which Jean finds hilarious but Eren is somewhat morose about.
“So, we definitely, uh. Probably need to reel it in some,” Jean continues, making shy eye contact with Eren. “Someone’s gonna call social services if we keep mauling each other.”
“Think that’s for kids,” Eren mumbles, picking the olives off his pizza without complaint.
“Well, whatever. The point stands.” Jean sighs slowly and chews, his eyes going a little glassy as he ponders back just a bit too far. He catches himself, though, and shakes his head roughly, running his free hand through his hair.
“We got carried away,” Eren supplies.
“Way carried away.”
Eren takes a thick bite of his pizza and stares at the slice in thought. He swallows heavily, taking a swig of the beer he’d pulled out of the fridge before cautiously saying, “We definitely can’t get that carried away every time we fuck.”
“No. No, absolutely not,” Jean agrees, dropping his crust back into the pizza box. “My mom would lose her mind.”
“Mm, yeah. Can’t have that.”
A tense pause stretches between them, both of their brows furrowed.
Jean breaks the thick silence first, his words barely audible. Eren hears him, though.
“I have never gotten off that hard in my fucking life.”
Breathing a loud sigh of relief, Eren rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. “S-same. Fucking hell.”
Jean sucks at his lips, contemplating his kinda-pseudo-boyfriend. “Maybe, uh. Every once in a while? With a first aid kit?”
“Rarely,” Eren insists, folding his crust before cramming it into his face. He speaks again in a shower of crumbs. “Like, once a year, maybe. Just a tad overboard.”
“Just, you know,” Jean rambles, cradling his own beer in the hollow of his bare, crossed legs. “Let go every now and again. Relieve stress. We have stress, right?”
“Loads,” Eren agrees, although even he doesn’t look like he believes it much.
“Right. Stress relief.” Jean rubs his palms together, idly cracking his knuckles. “Once a year, and that’s it. Every other time, nice, normal, non-destructive sex.”
“Speaking of, um. What’re you gonna do about the holes in your wall?”
Eren pulls a face, finishing his beer in protest. “Dunno. ‘S knackered, innit.”
“Yeah, dude. It’s wrecked.”
Jean sighs, tapping a finger against his chin. “Okay, so we’ve got about an hour left.” Eren nods, turning to face the blonde more. “We covered the, uh, bear attack thing, and we’ll just call the wall ‘to be determined.’” More nodding from Eren. “I guess the only thing left to discuss is, um. Us.”
They kind of stare hopelessly at each other for a moment, fidgeting with their beers and their clothes and the sofa, waiting for the other to suggest something.
In the end, Eren speaks up first, bizarrely nervous as he scoots across the couch and rests his warm palm on Jean’s bare knee, his voice just barely wavering as he quietly asks if cooperatively surviving bear attacks and busted walls and a solid night of drinking is enough to comfortably consider him for boyfriend material.
Jean will never admit it, but his heart gives a peculiar, excited thumpitty-thumpthump as he grins and nods, then again as he sets his beer on the coffee table and climbs right into Eren’s lap again.
For the last forty-seven minutes before Eren has to give Jean back, they hold each other gently and kiss slow and lazy, their lips parting only for quiet laughs and whispered sarcasm, or for the near-silent promises that one of them will visit soon, very soon, as soon as they can busk up the cash.
Despite allotting extra time to get to Penn Station, and even setting an alarm, Jean still ends up almost missing his train on account of being embroiled in a Very Important Meeting with his boyfriend. Namely, dry humping on the couch. Very important stuff.
Eren’s car screeches to a stop in the drop-off zone, and as loath as Jean is to do it, he has to settle for one last quick, messy kiss, and another, and one more as he’s mostly out of the car, Eren stretched across the seat to reach him, before he hauls ass through stupid, dirty, crowded Penn Station.
It takes about thirty seconds for them to start missing each other. Luckily, they hadn’t forgotten to exchange numbers, although Jean about had a heart attack before he realized that Eren, the stupid fuck, had saved his number under ‘NOT a chav’.
To: NOT a chav
dummy you never fucking told me what a chav was
Jean had tried to hide his battle scars under a scruffy hipster scarf to meet up with his bandmates, but Christa has the eyes of a fucking hawk, and really the best thing to do when Connie and Sasha get themselves worked up into dramatic frenzies is to just let them blow themselves out. Christa, on the other hand, is astonishingly reasonable, and while the other two are loudly debating about whether or not the fire department handles rabid opossums, she smiles kindly and rests a hand on Jean’s elbow to catch his attention.
“If you show up looking like roadkill again,” she says sweetly, “I’m going to find your boyfriend.”
Jean pales, his eyes widening. “U-uh. He looks worse?”
“Mmmhm.” With that, she pats his arm and leaves him to his own affairs. Terrifying. Adorable, but terrifying.
As they mosey down the escalator to their train, Sasha and Connie thankfully losing steam, Jean checks his phone again. He is apparently the lucky recipient of a literal pile of texts from his blabbermouth boyfriend.
i totally forgot
next time i see u, ill whisper it in ur ear
pls dont google it
or i guess u can but it wont be as fun
so my wall is KNACKERED
gert mackey ol hole
guess ill put a poster over it
dont tell anyone
balls miss u already
wanna kiss all ur bear wounds
also ur greying roots are showing
thats how i knew ur bottle blonde
sry love i only speak the truth
gonna turn this train around and beat ur ass
there’s still pizza
and shite wall
draw me like one of ur french girls
call me when u get home?
before u open ur cursed door
gonna give u something new to remember