Work Text:
”Turn your leg like this… Perfect!”
The blond grinned at his partner behind his shoulder. The foot he was holding was resting on a stool, while the leg extended long and slender to the hip. The naked glute was slightly flattened by the weight of the body against the other stool, but the muscles kept its rounding shape. Travelling up the rolls of his boyfriend’s crouched belly, Jean couldn’t avoid letting his gaze linger on the sun-kissed pectorals and the protruding collarbones above them. His smirk started fading away the closer he got to his model’s face, to his sharp jawline, to the fuller lip caught in a set of shining teeth, to the freckled nose and finally to the warm chocolate eyes that seemed to sparkle with tiny golden strands under the sunlight.
“As much as I really don’t mind you staring, I’d like not to be like this for the whole afternoon.” Marco’s voice was soft yet deep, dragging Jean out of his trance with words of sass. He shook his head as if to shake away any other thought.
“Just a second…” Tongue between his lips, Jean moved Marco’s right elbow to rest on the bent knee, while the other hand was relaxed on the left thigh, dangerously close to the area Jean’s eyes had been trying to avoid.
“Oi! Did I tell you to turn your head?” Jean scoffed as Marco had looked first at him, then at his hand with a smirk. He pushed Marco’s chin softly with the pad of two fingers to match the original pose, taking care of the light hitting his skin and accentuating his jawline. He let out a satisfied huff at his job and retired to the armchair at the side. That way he was able to draw Marco’s profile and practice on the shape of his muscles.
No matter how many anatomy books he browsed through, the lightning had always been an issue for him. The images he analysed felt stiff, rigid, and what he looked for in his art was exactly the opposite: softness in the muscles, chiaroscuro paired with the sharp lines of the subjects, texture. That no book could ever give him.
After several attempts at copying pictures and drawing himself in the mirror – with the latter ending in him curled in a ball of self-deprecation –, Jean had accepted Marco’s proposal to draw his friends. It had started with Eren, since Jean thought it better to draw someone whose body he wouldn’t mind messing up completely. He had been leaning on the kitchen counter while Jean drew him. Although the drawing’s hips had been way too narrow (“Shut up, Jäger, it’s not my fault you’re a fucking ballerina!”), Jean had been pretty proud of the part of it where Eren’s skin made contact with the hard counter. For some reason that small patch of paper was terrifically satisfying to watch. It was one of his first achievements with soft subjects.
After weeks of practicing, the first drawing wasn’t as good as Jean thought. Of course it wasn’t anything a third-grader could do, but Jean felt a little cringe creeping through his back at the sight of the unbalanced proportions. He had improved so much, dragging more people in his apartment to help him with his cause and paying them back with junk food or booze on the week-ends. After Eren he had drawn Armin’s face in his reading glasses, Reiner’s arms while planking, Mikasa doing crunches in her sports bra, and – the most difficult so far – Connie and Sasha balancing beer cans on each other’s bellies. It was while drawing that last one that Sasha made him realise the obvious: he hadn’t drawn Marco yet.
After so much practice, his abilities were undoubtedly qualified for drawing his boyfriend. Yet, Jean had subconsciously avoided the matter for way too long. “Isn’t he a little jealous that you stare at other people?” his friend had said, of course not meaning to sound as bad as it did. It made Jean feel guilty of something Marco didn’t probably care much about. He had told him about his insecurities about failing to draw his favourite person, but it still felt more like an excuse than a reasonable justification.
However, after a few days of heavy thinking Jean had ended up ordering Marco to strip in the middle of him playing Assassin’s Creed, earning a questioning look from his boyfriend and a snarky comment about “sudden urges”. Because of that Marco was now sitting on a stool while leaning his legs over the other one. Jean thought it better not to make him sit on the floor to get him under better light.
Jean had started drawing geometrical shapes with a light pencil to get an outline of Marco’s position. He knew he should try to get rid of that habit and stop planning out drawings for too long, but he also knew that Marco wouldn’t have resisted in the same position for more than ten minutes, no matter how patient his boyfriend was.
“How’s it going?” Marco asked after a few minutes of staring at the light from the window. Jean thought he was already getting bored.
“Mmmhh… Not bad,” Jean managed to let out, too concentrated on his task of tracing a light silhouette in the best way possible not to erase too much later.
“Achoo!”
Jean turned in time to see the tiny specs of dust travelling to the light as if they were startled by Marco’s sneeze. He stared at him wide-eyed before getting to work and going to fix his position again. Marco apologised, but Jean shrugged it off as a minor inconvenience. It was him and not his boyfriend that forgot to vacuum that day, so he wasn’t innocent.
“God, I feel like Neville in The Chamber Of Secrets when Hermione petrifies him,” Marco commented when Jean ordered him not to move to draw the shadows on his thighs.
“I’m pretty sure it was The Philosopher’s Stone.” Jean replied with knotted eyebrows
“Nah. It’s definitely The Chamber Of Secrets, man. I know that movie like the back of my hand.”
Jean scoffed exasperated and threw his writing board to the side. He stormed out of the room and Marco’s sight, who didn’t dare to move in fear to be admonished. After some time he heard Jean shouting something to him from their room and walking back.
“…ville's arms snapped to his sides. His legs sprang together. His whole body rigid, he swayed where he stood and then fell flat on his face, stiff as a board. Hermione ran to turn him over. Neville's jaws were jammed together so he couldn't speak. Only his eyes were moving, looking at them in horror.” Jean read from the copy of Harry Potter and The Philosopher’s Stone in his hands, he then turned with a triumphant yet angry expression to his boyfriend, “Marco, what’s good?”
Marco burst out laughing, unable to control his spasms anymore and curling up instead. Jean looked at him more than perplexed, “What now?”
“Jean, honey,” Marco giggled, “we’re in 2018. Who the hell says ‘What’s good?’ anymore?” he even dared to wipe an imaginary tear on the corner of his eye.
Really? He was winning their argument and Marco had to laugh about such a trivial thing?
“Shut up and let’s get you back in place.” He smacked the back of Marco’s head playfully before pulling him up to sit properly. While he put all his concentration in straightening Marco’s feet, he saw one of them flying away at an alarming velocity.
“What was that?” he asked.
“You were tickling me. It was a reflex,” Marco replied, carefully sliding his leg back in place before Jean could protest. The blond nudged his thigh only to earn a squeal from him. “Stop it, Jean!”
Jean smirked, eyeing the window and the setting sun before turning to his boyfriend.
“The light’s gone and I’m going to make you pay for wasting it away!” He leapt to make Marco fall off the stool. With the advantage of the surprise he ran his fingers up the brunet’s side and made him writhe in a fit of giggles.
“It’s not fair.” Marco could barely breathe as he did his best to get his wrists away from Jean’s grip, “You were the one bitching about Harry Fucking Potter.”
Jean gasped in a comically dramatic way, “How dare thou take the name of our God in vain? Thou shall pay for your sins!”
Marco couldn’t tell how long he was subjected to his torture. It could have been minutes, but the laughter-induced trance had made it feel like hours. He had forgotten not to remind Jean of his ticklishness and now he regretted not keeping his mouth shut.
Suddenly the agony ceased, and Marco had to take a few breaths before realising it. Why had Jean stopped? The brunet’s eyes flew open only to meet the dark brown of Jean’s staring at him. The grip on his wrists hadn’t faltered, as if Jean was taking a mere beak to gaze at his body. Marco stared at him inching closer, felt the warmth of his body caressing his bare skin and the end of his nose brushing over his own.
“You are beautiful, you know?” Jean whispered.
“Uh huh,” Marco replied as Jean attempted to close the space between his lips. “Attempted” because Marco spun around and freed himself from Jean’s hands, trapping him in an arm lock.
“What the– hey that’s cheating!” Jean squealed and writhed, failing at achieving anything but sweating.
“It’s not cheating if there are no rules,” Marco huffed while immobilizing him, “and last time I checked, neither love nor war have any.”
Smartass, Jean thought.
“So far I’ve only seen war. Where’s your love, then?”
Good job at not making this sound like a class C porn, Jean.
It was Marco’s turn to approach him, though this time there was no hesitation in his movements, no lingering before the attack. Marco’s mouth just smashed against his hungrily, teeth grinding against wet lips. Jean was startled at first, but then thought better to mould himself to the shape of his boyfriend, adjusting to get the best of the experience and more.
Before Jean could notice the change, Marco pulled away from his mouth and gave several peppery kisses down Jean’s jaw, under his ear and down his throat, advancing at a painfully slow pace to the crook of Jean’s neck, the contact making him groan loudly and grip at Marco’s nude arousal. The response of the brunet was a sharp hiss that sent a shiver down Jean’s spine to his own crotch.
“Who’s playing dirty now?” Jean could have sworn that his boyfriend’s suddenly lower voice had him missing a few heartbeats. Since when had he started doing that? Jean couldn’t tell.
“Bedroom?” Jean looked up with innocent eyes.
Marco merely smiled and gave a quick peck to his nose, “Bedroom.”
Jean had been pushed – no, thrown – on the bed back first, not that he cared about it. His gaze and his thoughts were fixed on the man in front of him, his freckled skin glowing in the faint light, his strong body standing in all its glory. If Jean wasn’t fully hard a few minutes back, he certainly was now. As his eyes made a beeline to his boyfriend’s lower body, the weight of said boyfriend tumbled on him.
“Shit, sorry! I slipped.” Marco’s voice had turned back to gentle as if nothing had happened.
Jean huffed with the little air that was left in his lungs and kissed the top of Marco’s head, “Dork.”
In no time they repositioned themselves to continue their kissing session, this time keeping a slower pace and enjoying each other’s presence. Marco had started undressing Jean, taking his time removing each article of clothing with a surgeon’s precision. Jean felt as if Marco didn’t kiss every inch of uncovered skin, the carelessness would have caused a mine to go off. For now the only explosion was the one in his ribs as Marco circled his nipples with an agile tongue, sucking on them and letting them erect by blowing on them softly.
The wait had started to get almost painful as Jean was left in his boxers, only a thin layer of cotton fabric dividing his visibly erect member from Marco’s mouth. Couldn’t he move faster? What was so interesting in his hips anyway? Maybe if he’d try to…
He pulled at Marco’s hair and forced him to align his hips with his own. With lust-filled eyes he eyed the body in front of him, making sure to make his boyfriend notice that. Before Marco could make any comment, Jean went for his lips and silenced him. He took advantage of the position to wrap his legs around Marco’s waist and roll his hips. The friction of their crotches rubbing together made Marco see the stars, and he had to forcefully pull away from Jean in order not to come on the spot. With a shit-eating grin on his face, he hooked his fingers around the waistband of Jean’s boxers and pulled down as quickly as he could. His boyfriend should have been careful of what he wished for.
After freeing the undergarments from Jean’s feet, Marco took the slender legs onto his own shoulders and hoisted them up slightly in order to align his own face with the ass in front of him. Muffled and incomprehensible noises made their way to his ears, but he ignored them with a swipe of his tongue on the pink pucker that was Jean’s asshole.
A cry, high, almost choked put an end to all the noise, to the space surrounding them, to the flow of time. There wasn’t a here or now or anything else but Jean and Marco. In a way, not even they were existing in Jean’s mind at the moment. With his boyfriend’s lapping at his ass, Jean wasn’t able to think straight at all. Those moments happened mostly in times like those, or late at night while kissing, or when Jean was sick in bed with a high fever. In those moments Jean didn’t feel “concrete”, but more like flowing energy, something too fast to grasp, something of which the only purpose right now was to be the source of Marco’s pleasure.
With a last moan drawn from Jean, Marco pulled out his tongue and fingers from him and sat back, admiring his work. Jean was sprawled under him, legs apart and chest rising and falling so quickly that Marco would have guessed he had run the marathon. His straw-coloured hair were messed up by being rubbed on the pillow, though some darkened strands were mussed on his forehead. He looked spent, yet his eyes were looking at Marco questioningly, as if to say “Well? What now? I’m not finished.”
Marco couldn’t resist to wait and jumped over his boyfriend to get the lube from the drawer. He coated his fingers to add the liquid to Jean’s ass, but he knew that after preparing him that well, it would barely make any difference. He then covered his dick and realigned himself to meet Jean’s pelvis.
“Wait!” his head was almost nudging Jean’s entrance when this touched his bicep, “Sit down.”
Marco obeyed and sat at Jean’s side, a few pillows behind his back to prop him up and protecting him from the cold, hard wall. The blond got up on his knees and positioned himself as if to sit on his lap, aligning Marco’s dick with himself and lowering himself.
They moaned in unison, almost harmonically, staring at the warmth of each other’s eyes. This was what they wanted. This was home.
“You’re doing amazing.” Marco’s words caressed Jean’s lips like tiny feathers. Jean wanted to inhale them, making them a part of his own being, to print them all over his body. But now the pressure inside him was so much that the only thought in his head was: move.
It started out slowly, with Jean experimenting different ways of pushing himself up and down on Marco’s shaft before finding the most comfortable position: him holding onto his boyfriend’s broad shoulders, massaging the back of his neck while Marco’s hands almost bit through his cheeks, opening his ass up even more and making him bite his lower lip to suppress his moans.
His pace increased along with the need of release, of giving an end to the tease caused by Marco’s head hitting his prostate. He knew by the tiny raspy noises coming from the brunet’s throat that he was close, and it was Jean’s intent to milk him through his orgasm. So he sped up even more, using his hands to pull himself up faster and allowing Marco to push him down on his swollen cock. Just a little bit more. So close and…
Marco took Jean’s untouched dick in his hands and started pumping him, adding pressure to the knot in Jean’s lower belly. Why was it so hard to come? Jean in response clenched on Marco as if to coax him to come first, their lovemaking becoming more of a challenge of who gets to make the other come first. There were certainly no losers in this little war.
One, two, three, four,
One, two, three, four,
Jean tried to keep the rhythm of his hips, though it was impossible, and soon the incessant movement sped up uncontrollably, seeking for release.
Screw the race.
He heard a desperate cry coming out from Marco, something he only ever heard while doing love. He pumped his boyfriend’s dick a few more times inside himself before feeling a thumb swiping just in the right way under his dick’s head, causing thick ropes of cum to fly on Marco’s chest, covering both of their bodies with the sticky liquid.
They leaned against each other, trying to find their breaths, not needing to find any words.
After simply wiping each other with the (in Jean’s opinion “holy”) sanitary cloths in the drawer, they lay under the covers despite it being the mere beginning of the evening. Who cared? They didn’t.
Jean looked at his hands, entwined with Marco’s in front of their faces, before looking at the man behind them. The man he loved.
He couldn’t suppress the laugh making his way from his chest.
“What’s up with you?” Marco chuckled, caressing Jean’s knuckles with his thumb.
“It’s just…” Jean didn’t know how to express himself without choking in laughter, “I never thought that arguing about Harry Potter and memes would’ve brought us to this.”
It was Marco’s turn to huff and throw a pillow at his face.
“I love you, dork.”
Jean’s smile turned into a mischievous grin. It was his time to shine.
“I know.”