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It’s been a long day. Hell, it’s been a long week, and the moment Jean’s shoes are toed off in the hallway, he’s tempted to crawl and the stairs, climb into bed and sleep for the entire weekend.
The comforting thought of soft pillows and a warm duvet calls to him, but the familiar sound of gentle humming to a song he thinks he recognises tempts him even more.
Down the hallway and through the door to the kitchen, Jean finds Marco, apron on, focused but happy as he works on his task. Cooking, or baking, Jean guesses. The oven is on and there’s varying ingredients laid out over the kitchen countertops.
Marco smiles when he sees him, pausing momentarily to give him attention. “Hey, you’re home,” he says softly, “how was work?”
Jean just grumbles in response. Cards a hand through his hair before he steps over, hands snaking around Marco’s waist, pressing his body close, his chin coming to rest on Marco’s shoulder. He breathes in—the faint smell of strawberries and the warm scent of Marco’s cologne meet his nose—before exhaling.
“What’cha making?”
Marco smiles gently. He leans back into Jean’s touch, his careful fingers delicately spooning what looks to be strawberry jam atop a cake of some sort.
“Dessert. Strawberry cheesecake,” he answers, “did you forget that Sasha, Connie and Niccolo are coming here for dinner?”
“Ah,” Jean huffs, tilting his head just enough to be able to press a kiss against the exposed skin of Marco’s neck, “did I really agree to that?”
Marco nods. “Yes. And they’re on their way over, so no backing out of it now,” he finishes laying the jam on top of the cheesecake, then offers the spoon for Jean to lick, “here.”
“Mm,” Jean’s body presses further against Marco’s, as he leans forward to taste the jam. It’s sweet, fresh and a little tart, too, and it tastes amazing. “S’good,” he tells Marco, but once the spoon is out of his mouth and he has swallowed, he presses another kiss to his neck, “but doesn’t taste as good as you.”
Marco chuckles, a little amused by Jean’s comment. “Are you trying to hint at something?”
Jean shakes his head, but his hands move, lifting the apron up, enough that he can sneak underneath Marco’s t-shirt, to touch against the smooth skin of his stomach, as he inhales once again.
“Jean,” Marco’s voice comes out warningly, as he places the spoon down on the countertop. “I know what you’re doing. I can feel your boner against my ass.”
A laugh rises in Jean’s throat, as his hands pull against Marco’s hips, bringing him just an inch further back, allowing him to grind a little. His voice deepens as he speaks. “Can’t help it. Not when you look so good.”
“I’m in sweatpants and a t-shirt,” Marco reminds him, “and we don’t have time. Our friends are-” he pauses to check his watch, “-twenty minutes away, and I still need to make the sauce for the pasta.”
“Twenty minutes is enough,” Jean says. This time, one of his hands slips down to toy with the waistband of Marco’s sweatpants, “I only really need fifteen.”
Marco sighs, almost like he’s annoyed. But as Jean lowers his hand down further, he can feel Marco is half-hard through his sweatpants, and when Jean cups him, he lets out a little gasp.
“Ten,” Marco tells him a second later, not needing all that much convincing, “ten minutes. That’s all you get.”
Jean doesn’t have to be told twice. He tugs at Marco sweatpants, pulling them down around his mid-thighs, his boxers going with it. Jean moves back a couple of inches just to get to his own belt, to unfasten it and pull his own pants and boxers down too, whilst Marco pushes the cheesecake and the ingredients out of the way so he has more room to lean against the counter.
“D’you think you’ll still be good from last night?” Jean asks, spitting into his palm, wrapping his hand around his cock to slick himself up.
“Uh, no,” Marco laughs through gritted teeth, “either go get the lube or-”
“Or I could fuck your thighs.”
Marco pauses his movements. Turns his head to look at Jean over his shoulder, his lashes fluttering at the suggestion.
One that he clearly likes.
“O-or that.”
Jean smirks. He knows Marco well enough to know that that idea would go down well. They’ve only tried it a handful of times, but Marco had liked it—liked it a lot—last time.
So he leans over the countertop without another word from Jean. Pushes up on his tiptoes to give himself a little more height as Jean spreads his legs just slightly. Slips his spit-slick cock between them then pats at Marco thigh to get him to close his legs tighter.
And—“Fuck,” Jean mutters, the squeeze of Marco’s muscular thighs around him already enough to get his stomach burning. He bends himself over him, his shirt riding up as he presses himself flat to Marco’s back. Jean pulls his hips back, then pushes forward, the movement causing Marco to gasp softly. “Love your thighs, baby, love all of you.”
Marco tuts, but as Jean thrusts forward again, his slight irritation at Jean’s compliment seems to dissipate. Especially when he starts up a slow rhythm, and Marco’s gasps become something more like gentle moans.
But the slow rhythm quickly changes into something faster. What with knowing he needs to be quick, and the fact that it just feels so good, Jean can’t help the way his hips move. Especially not when he starts drawing curses, whines, and louder moans from Marco. When he stands up straight, wrapping an arm around the front of Marco’s shoulders to bring him up with him, teeth nipping at the skin below his earlobe earning more beautiful sounds from his mouth.
“Ah, mm,” Marco moans, “does it…hm, does it feel good?”
“Feels so good, squeezing me so tight,” Jean uses his other hand to reach around Marco’s waist, to wrap his hand around his neglected cock. “You like it like this, don’t you? Should do it more often. Let me fuck your thighs, let me use you.”
“Yes,” Marco gasps out, one hand grasping at Jean’s hip, the other taking hold of the countertop, fingertips pressing against it until they turn white, as Jean bites down on the bare skin between his neck and his shoulder, “oh God.”
“Marco,” Jean laps his tongue against the skin once his teeth detach. He licks his way up Marco’s neck, then moves his hand from his shoulder to tilt his head towards him. Connects their lips harshly, teeth knocking together briefly until Jean manages to get his tongue inside Marco’s mouth. It’s an awkward angle, but Marco opens up, turning his head as far as he can to give Jean access. “Fuck.”
Marco moans around him. Jean thrusts harder, strokes Marco quicker and he whimpers, his nails digging further into Jean’s hip, until Jean moves his head back, a string of saliva connecting them briefly before it splits, as he pushes Marco back down, bending him over the countertop.
With this angle, he can see the way his cock slips between Marco’s thighs, can see Marco’s ass move with every thrust he makes, each time his hips slam against him, and it’s good, it’s so good, even more so when he can feel Marco tense, his moans getting louder, and Jean knows he’s close.
“Jean,” his name sounds so sweet coming from Marco’s mouth, with the breathy way it comes out. “I’m—I—”
“I know, baby,” Jean is close too, his hips losing their rhythm a little, his focus more on Marco for the moment. “Are you gonna come? You gonna come for me?”
“Ah—yes,” Marco chokes out, “Fuck, Jean, I’m—”
There’s a sudden bang, just as Jean feels Marco’s thighs squeeze him tight, as he feels him release in his hand, and Jean curses loudly, his own orgasm hitting him as his hips stutter and he comes, cock buried between Marco’s legs, eyes rolling backwards, heart pounding in his chest.
Then—“Oh no, oh no no no.”
Jean blinks, his post-orgasm high just momentary, because he can hear the panic in Marco’s voice, and when he opens his eyes, when he sees what Marco’s head is turned towards, he realises exactly what has just happened.
The cheesecake is upside down, splattered across the floor.
“What the fuck?” Jean mutters, a laugh rising in his throat at the ridiculous sight. “How’d that happen?”
“I don’t know,” Marco’s voice is whiny, clearly annoyed. “I just—it felt so good, I wasn’t looking where I put my hands, and I must’ve—”
“—knocked it off?” Jean finishes for him, and Marco nods.
“I’m so stupid, that took me forever, and now we don’t have dessert.”
They both stare at the mess, unmoving from their positions, until Jean sighs loudly. “Well, it’s okay, we don’t need a dessert, really,” he pats at Marco’s ass in an attempt to comfort him. “Besides, I just had mine.”
“Oh my god,” Marco shakes his head, but Jean hears him laugh, which makes a grin spread across his face. “You’re an idiot.”
“But you love me,” Jean responds. “I’m still the best husband ever, right?”
“You’ll be the best husband ever if you help me clean this mess up.”
Jean chuckles, leaning over Marco to press a kiss to his flushed cheek.
“Anything for you, baby.”