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Quick and Dirty

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“Fucking hurry up—“ Eren gasps, fingers tight, scrabbling at the wall of the shed, grinding his hips eagerly back into Jean’s groin, mouth open and wet and red from kissing. “You’re taking too long, hurry up—“

“Could you fucking shut up?” Jean hisses into his ear, freeing his cock and stroking it, his freehand closing around Eren’s throat to cut off his impatient babble. He likes it, actually, the way Eren practically sings his praises until he reaches a point where he can’t push anymore words past his lips. But now, here, is not the time nor place for that type of fucking.

Eren’s ass pushes back again eagerly, bare and round, and he reaches back to spread his cheeks, holding himself open for Jean to fuck. Slut, he thinks affectionately, spitting into his hand and slicking his cock hurriedly. Eren is murmuring encouragement, soft babbling words about how much he wants it, wants it now, come on Jean come on, put it in. “This’ll hurt, I didn’t plan that—“ Eren just ruts back for him, his cock sliding up his crack teasingly.

“I want it to hurt, it’s better, now give it to me.”

Who can deny that?

Jean slides in achingly slow just to listen to Eren’s long low whine, his desperate pants when Jean is fully seated inside, his cock in a hot tight sheath of Eren’s perfect body. Eren’s babbling again, hips twitching, fucking himself on Jean’s length, moaning aloud. Too loud. He puts his hand over Eren’s mouth to quiet him, fucks him deep and slow, feeling his insides open and accept him slowly.

He recognizes vaguely, somewhere in the hot pleasurable haze of pounding into Eren’s body, that Eren is crying, fat tears wetting his fingers. “Does it hurt?” he asks with concern, pausing his rhythm.

“Hurts so good.” Eren moans, back arching, nails scraping hard against the wall. “Don’t stop, don’t stop, keep—“ Jean picks up the pace, wants him to stop talking, wants him to forget his name, his breath, his reason for living. Eren curses and falls limply against the wall. Good, that’s good, that’s delightful. Jean folds over him, bites into Eren’s neck and can’t quite bring himself to regret the scream that tears Eren’s throat.

“You’re so fucking damaged.” Jean groans out. He doesn’t think Eren can hear him over the pound of blood in his ears and his own moans, tanned hips pushing back and meeting him thrust for thrust, animalistic noises dragged from him, rumbling in his chest. His ass is so tight and hot, swallowing him, and Jean moans against Eren’s shoulder. He’s close now, pounding into Eren’s pliant body, stroking his cock in time.

Eren comes with a keen, cum splattering over Jean’s fingers, the wall. He leans against it as Jean fucks him through his own orgasm, mouth open and eyes glazed, his body slick with sweat. His fingers are torn from scraping the wall. “Fucking Christ.” Eren sighs, fucked out and loose and languid.

Jean thinks of sucking Eren’s bloody fingers into his mouth, of being affectionate. He sneers, his muscles feel like jelly, and slaps Eren’s round perfect ass. “You fucking wreck.”