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What It Almost Was

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It was nothing. 

Shallow panting and skin glossed with sweat, trembling fingers and curled toes, nothing, nothing.  

The barn rank of heat and need, clouded with craze and whispers, kiss-swollen lips to kiss-swollen lips. Teeth bit and tongues twined, hands fisting into hair and fabric as backs arched with brazened want that stole the breath right out of both. With weakened knees, they collapsed into the hay, irises full-blown in the ribbon of silver the moon dropped down from the crack in the roof. They laid on their sides, straw biting into flesh, hiccupping on shallow gasps. The one with dark hair swept his tongue over his lips then bent his head forward to tap his forehead to that of the boy with the ashen brown and umber hair and eyes of dusk's gold. "Jean." He spoke the name softly, the syllable shaking. He opened his mouth to speak again, but a hand cupped on the back of his neck and drew him forward for another kiss. He let it intoxicate him completely, a primitive craving for nothing but Jean and all he could have of him swirling with adrenaline as it ran through his veins. His mind whirled as he angled his head to swipe out his tongue, letting it flick over the sweet spot on the back of Jean's palette and swallowing the candied moan elicted. Jean's hands slid down to rest on his jaw, holding him firmly to himself as their chests pressed together and their heartbeats lined up and raced against each other. It was almost tender, but it was nothing. 

They broke again, and by the time they did, Jean's hands were knotted in short black locks and Marco's fingers were curled in the collar of Jean's pale green shirt which was dampened with sweat and clung to his arching frame. Their foreheads touched again as they dizzily tried to recover their breath. "Marco," breathed Jean, teetering on the edge of light-headedness.  

There was quiet for a moment, Jean's eyes closed and Marco's half-lidded as he stared at Jean and breathed slowly. He looked beautiful. Absolutely beautiful. "...I never thought this'd happen." 

Jean's eyes fluttered open, brow furrowing as his eyes darted up to meet dark brown ones. "Huh?" 

"I've wanted to kiss you for a long time," came his whispered reply, more brave a confession than he ever imagined he'd give. 

Marco only began to feel nervous in the long silence that drawled on after he spoke. 

But Jean just let a gentle smile rest on his lips and shook his head, pressing a kiss to Marco's hairline as his hands trailed down to link fingers with Marco. It was almost intimate, but it was nothing. "I kind of figured. Every pep talk you give gets closer and closer to a love confession." 

Jean didn't accept him. Jean didn't reject him. Jean didn't respond in any way except make a joke, and suddenly, Marco's throat went tight with tears he kept lodged in his neck because crying over something like that would be stupid. And Jean noticed. 

He frowned, carefully smoothing his fingers through his hair, voice much quieter. "What's wrong?" Marco gave a tense shake of his head, and Jean swallowed. He paused, worrying his lip, before drawing in a deep breath and gently wrapping his hand around Marco's shaking wrist, raising it and placing it on his own waist. Marco gulped and furrowed his brow in confusion, before Jean similarly swallowed hard and breathed out. "...Listen, Marco." Deep hazel eyes flicked up to him. "If...if you want me, I want to let you have me." 

"Jean, no, I don't want to just be a sexual release, to be second to Mika-" 

"I want you." Jean's whispered, strained reply came too quick, rushed over the straw it seeped into. "You're not Mikasa, I'm not blind. But, I don't...look, it's hard to explain, just." 

There was a stretch of quiet. Of nothing but tensing fingers and hammering pulses and anxiety, condensed into deafening white noise of noise that wasn't even there. 

But then Marco let out a trembling breath, head craning forward, finger's flexing and gently tightening on Jean's waist. "I do. I do want this, I want y- I-. But. But I don't want to be a regret." He quickly drew back his hands to grind the heels of his palms into his eyes. "I don't want to be a regret, and I'm scared that when you're talking to Mikasa tomorrow, or chatting up some other pretty girl, you're gonna look back and you're gonna wish you hadn't done this with me." 

He heard Jean shifting around, then one hand over his hand was gently pried off, and Jean was closer, looking up at him. "You moron," he sighed. "If I thought I'd regret this, we wouldn't be here in a goddamn barn. You get that, right?" Marco swallowed. "I'm not like Eren, Marco. I don't jump head-first into shit without thinking it through, I never do that. And when I say I want this, I mean it. You don't need to get...lovey-dovey, and deep with this. If it complicates things, I mean." 

"I think it would," came the meek but very honest response.  

"Me too. So we'll figure this out later, I promise we will, but for now, let's just...yeah. Let's just do this before we can think about it." 

That was more than a little contradictory to what Jean had just said, but Marco would take it. For what emotion was needed for fingertips brushing over flesh and tongues rolling in their wake but desire? 

It was nothing. 

And so Jean reached out to grab onto the lapels of Marco's light brown jacket, eye contact never faltering as he began to slide it down his shoulders, as if silently asking if he was okay with this. Marco did not protest. He only shivered and let his eyes close. 

Jean shuffled and tossed Marco's jacket somewhere off into the hay. Marco peeked, he couldn't help it, as his hands reached forward to fumble with the buckle across his chest, holding one part of the leather straps intricately clasped over his body together. Marco noticed his hands were shaking. Jean swore a lot before he finally got it undone, leaving the strap to split in half over his ribcage, then bent down and went to work on the strapped that clipped onto the belt on his waist.   

It was amusing, in a way, watching Jean so frantically fighting with the buckles all over his body. He was overeager without the patience required for the task. Marco lifted his hips as Jean undid his belt and the small leather apron wrapping around his hips, then unclicked the straps going down his legs. "...You could help, y'know," he mumbled as he busied himself with getting his other leg free.  

Marco smiled, eyes apologetic. "Sorry. I think it's kinda funny, watching you do this." 

He was met with a scowl from Jean, and he chuckled softly against his palm. "Funny? What about this is funny?" 

"The way you're nearly tripping over yourself. Sorry." Marco shook his head, and Jean huffed, but didn't respond. 

Apparently now self-conscious about speed, Jean returned to his task with slowness, hands moving much more carefully and deliberately, which made Marco laugh again. But eventually, Jean had undone everything including Marco himself and motioned for Marco to take it off. Marco shimmied out of the harness, and Jean reached for the buttons of Marco's crisp, white undershirt, but Marco shook his head and smiled. Jean froze, scared he had done something wrong, until Marco was suddenly planting his hands on his waist and rolling them over. Marco sat carefully on Jean's hips, which made his eyes go huge (so, so satisfactory) and he leaned forward and began sliding Jean out of his own brown jacket, adorned in patches of crossed swords. 

Jean held his breath as Marco began pushing off his clothes, and Marco could tell. He smiled, gently pressing his lips to his forehead as he tugged it down his arms. He paused and blinked, frowning a little as he felt a definitive weight on one side of the jacket. "What's that?" he asked, holding it up and frowning at the little square in Jean's left breastpocket. 

"Oh. I forgot that was in there. That's oil." 

Marco stared down at him. "Oil? You were...planning this?" 

"Huh? Oh! Oh, no. No. Y'know how you had extra gear training today?" Marco nodded. Unlike Jean, who was an unsurpassed genius at the technique, 3D maneuver gear was not really Marco's strong suit. But his strengths laid in other areas, so he was fine with that. "Right. And you know how you and Armin usually fix gear together?" 

"Mm-hmm." Marco had many fond memories of spending hours tweaking the machinery with the affable blonde who proved to be wonderful company.  

Jean nodded. "Yeah. You were out in training and Daz's gear had something wrong with it, so they got Armin and because you were unavailable, they got me to fix it, too. Because, you know, I know how to do it. I stuck the oil in my pocket, totally forgot it was there. But...it's convenient if nothing else, yeah?"  

"Guess so," said Marco softly in return, popping open the buckle over Jean's chest that he had been working on while Jean spoke. Jean went quiet. 

The sandy haired boy was barely breathing as Marco took his sweet time plucking at buckle after buckle, but gradually did more and more whines fill the space the quiet left. "Hurry up," Jean growled. 

"I'm going quicker than you were," murmured Marco, smiling at him as he undid his belt.  

Jean grunted and smashed his hands into his now shut eyes in frustration, mumbling under his breath. Marco gave a quick peck to his forehead (like he had feelings for him, almost as if he had feelings for him) and slithered out his belt from the loops, tugging off the loosened straps on his upper body and undoing the small leather apron. "Whoever designed these uniforms," Jean commented as he wiggled his hips to let Marco slide the fabric down his thighs, "was a total moron. Way too complicated to be practical." 

"They were designed for a specific purpose," Marco replied gently. 

"Doesn't mean I'm not annoyed. Even just taking a piss in this shit is a nightmare," Jean muttered. 

Marco laughed. "It does take a while to put on and undo properly, yeah. But it's necessary." He shifted off Jean's hips and slid down to kneel in-between Jean's slightly spread knees, starting to work at the straps around his thighs. 

"Oh, no, that's not the problem. I've done it so often I can do it really fast now." A pause, a squeak. "Hey, Marco! What do you think you're doing?" 

Marco, face up against Jean's groin where he had planted a soft kiss to the difficult-to-ignore bulge in Jean's white pants, picked up his head, tilting it innocently with large, round, puppy dog eyes. "I'm sorry! Do you not want me to do that?" But his cheeks were red, even if it was against his will, because Jean had just made the most adorable noise and god, it was doing things to him. 

Jean's face was mottled with dark carmine, and his eyes were rapidly flicking from Marco's to looking off to the side, as if he couldn't decide whether making eye contact was shameful or not. It was something incredibly intimate to do, the small kiss there, for two soldiers who agreed to do this without deeper feeling."Don't do weird stuff!"  

Marco blinked at him and bit his lip, nodding and mumbling out a soft apology once he was looking away again. Right.  

He went back to silently working at the straps down Jean's legs, hesitantly tugging off his boots, as if wondering if Jean would let him. But Jean didn't resist, and helped him, and they shifted around until both of them were out of at least a couple layers of clothes. Marco sat back to kneel, chewing his lip as he looked at Jean. "Um. Are- are you ready to go on?" he whispered. Jean nodded tensely. 

Marco drew in a deep breath and patted his thighs. "If you'd like, you can come here, it'd make things much easier." 

Jean's eyes widened. "You want me to straddle you?" 

"Um. Yes. If you want to." Marco averted his eyes, cheeks burning with embarrassment.  

There was quiet for a moment, but then hay rustling, and Marco looked back up at a weight on his legs, swallowing hard. Jean had shifted onto his lap, arms around his neck but head turned as he stared down at the ground. "…'Kay," he said under his breath, trying to keep his voice steady. 

Marco's eyes got big. From this position, he could feel something distinctly hard pressing against his thigh, and it made his stomach twist into knots. He rested shaking hands on Jean's hips to support him (that and nothing else). He flicked his tongue out to moisten his lips, the reality of the situation completely dizzying. Jean was in his lap with his arms around him, close enough for Marco to feel his heartbeat. Marco squeezed shut his eyes, whispering out a small request. "Jean? C-can I touch you?" 

Jean was still before leaning forward to bury his head in the crook of Marco's neck. "Yeah. Yeah." And that was all the permission Marco needed. 

Jean's breath stuttered to a hitch as Marco's fingertips tugged at the hem of his shirt on the back, before sneaking under and gliding up his spine. Jean squirmed, hands fisting in Marco's shirt, as Marco watched him with wide eyes, not wanting to miss a single movement because he had wanted this for far, far too long. "Oh my god," Marco whispered, more to himself than Jean. His fingers ran back down his vertebrae, and Jean arched. God, he was sensitive. He repeated the motion, watching Jean shudder with fascination, taking in how his fists clenched and unclenched and how he let out a little, fluttery breath every time. And whether he meant to or not, his hips would jerk.  

His mouth running dry, Marco took his hands out of Jean's shirt, which was bunched up around his chest. His heart hammered in his throat as he stared down at Jean's torso. Taut, pale skin and outlined abs of three years of physically demanding training. His hands flew up almost automatically to start working at the buttons of Jean's light grayish-green shirt to a small noise of surprise from Jean himself. Marco popped them open and let out a breath he didn't know he was holding  when it fell open. His muscles were well-defined under the milky flesh that his hands were itching to slide over. "Wow," he breathed, dazed. He looked up to Jean, who was still staring down and away but was blushing deeply, and tapped his shoulder to get him to look at him. "You're beautiful." 

Jean groaned and tapped his forehead to Marco's shoulder. "Don't sound like that." 

"Sorry. Can I...?" 

"Yes, you boy scout." 

Marco nodded gratefully, hands carefully running down Jean's sides and shifting to his stomach. Jean breathed out shallowly and shivered, which Marco could hardly get enough of. Jean would let out soft whines as Marco took his time mapping out Jean's body with his hands, but when he slid up to his chest and over his nipples, Jean moaned. 

The noise made Marco's ears burn red and completely forget how to breathe for just a moment before Jean quickly collected himself again, clearing his throat. "...Sensitive there?" Marco whispered. 

Jean gulped. "Ah. Didn't think so?" He watched Marco carefully in anticipation of his next move, and tightened his grip on Marco's shirt as they moved back up to flick across his nipples again. 

He bit back a muffled, growly noise of pleasure as his thumbs moved in slow circles around them, watching the skin perk up, goosebumps spreading over Jean's shoulders. He rubbed the fingertips against the hardened buds and Jean squeaked. "Oh, shit," he hissed, squirming again. "Shit." 

"Is that good?" whispered Marco.  

His response was a low noise muffled against his neck, and Marco smiled, rolling his nipples in his fingers and watching Jean tremble. "Yeah, yeah, Marco, you gotta let me- let me- Marco, shit."  

He moaned out loud and clear when Marco pressed his thigh up hard to in-between Jean's legs. He gasped and twisted his hips down, grinding against Marco's thigh. His mouth was opened as he panted, head rolling back as he rutted against him over and over. "Shit, fuck, let me touch you, you gotta let me- fuck! Let me touch you!"  

Hell, Jean was completely undoing Marco at the seams. Wordlessly, Marco nodded, and Jean slowed drastically to let his hands tear at Marco's shirt. He moved with a sense of heightened urgency, yanking carelessly at his buttons until his shirt was open, stopping to breathe. But the pause was extremely short and Jean was touching Marco. 

Marco gasped at the sudden sensation of fingers running desperately over his flesh. Jean was quiet as he traced Marco's muscles into Marco quivering beneath his touch, awed by his utter beauty- there was no other word Jean could think of. His skin was lightly tanned and speckled with freckles, and he took note of all the sensitive little spots that had Marco bowing up and mewling. Jean's head whirled as he stroked his fingers along his hip line and watched Marco quiver. He sucked in a breath and leaned forward on impulse, attaching his mouth to Marco's neck. 

Marco's eyes snapped open, letting out a soft moan. Jean closed his eyes and suckled a small patch of skin on Marco's neck, encouraged by Marco's frantic whimpers. He made a tight seal with his lips and sucked harder, trying to remember what Reiner had said about the weird bruise on Franz's neck that he tried really hard to hide. He had explained it was called a hickey, and how to give one, how he must've gotten it from Hannah and the situation they were given in. And this seemed like an appropriate situation. 

He pulled back with a soft pop, watching a bright red little mark appear on Marco's skin where his mouth had just been, and it was oddly satisfying. 

"You taste good," Jean murmured lowly. "No clue why. You should taste like sweat or something but you taste good..." And his mouth was back on Marco, and Marco curled his toes and squealed. 

Shifting in Marco's lap, he bent down to slide his mouth down the middle of Marco's ribs to his flat stomach, exploring his body with tongue and teeth. Jean reveled in the sweet, gentle noises spilling from Marco's mouth as he lapped and bit at his skin, drunk off his taste.  

And he was all too displeased when Marco put his hands on his shoulders and pushed him back. Jean grunted out an annoyed noise at being interrupted. "Oi, what the hell? What? What do you want?" 

"To taste you, too," pleaded Marco, voice cracking and desperate. 

Jean's jaw opened and closed, not at all expecting that response, and the fact that he was practically begging made him shudder. He nodded, he must have, because next thing he knew, there was a hand on his back and he was being lowered back-first to the ground. Marco hovered above Jean and pressed his mouth to Jean's clavicle, which felt a lot better than Jean imagined. He suckled slowly, and Jean twisted and bit his lip, hand snaking into Marco's hair, and he let out a soft noise of protest when Marco pulled back. "You taste good too," he whispered. 

Jean was about to respond, maybe, but it was hard to past the high whimper suddenly bubbling in his throat as Marco's tongue was lavishing over his nipple. "Ha!" 

"Is this good?" asked Marco again, right against the skin. "I remember you're sensitive here, so."  

"Yes! Go!" Jean didn't have the patience for long responses. 

Marco complied, instantly closing his lips again and sucking gently and Jean's eyes rolled back in his head. His tongue did torturous circles and languid strokes, his index finger and thumb pinching at and rolling against the other. Jean pressed the back of his hand to his mouth and babbled profanities behind it. Jean's hips bucked and he moaned louder yet. And god, when Marco hummed and his lips vibrated, he cried out a broken lapse of his name. 

That traveled in a shiver down Marco's spine, who was focused on absolutely nothing other than pleasuring Jean and making him feel good. He couldn't hold back a groan of Jean's name. He pulled back, lust-darkened eyes meeting Jean's. "...Tell me to stop if you need me to," he said quietly. Jean's mouth opened, but his voice cracked off as Marco was suckling at his other nipple as his hands traveled down his front. Fingers pulled at the front of his pants, and began tugging them down his thighs once they were loosened. Marco's tongue went flat against the stiff peak and dragged over it and Jean was already a writhing fucking mess before Marco cupped him through his underwear. 

"Marco!" Jean's hips jerked upwards to roll into his hand, and Marco pressed back, mercifully granting him friction. "Oh fuck!"  

The stimulation made Jean's legs quiver. It was far better than any shameful fantasy Marco had ever guiltily formed in his head. Marco paused in lapping to swallow and breathe out slowly, sweat beading at his forehead. "You're really beautiful," he whispered for the second time, watching his head throw back in pleasure as Marco thumbed where he figured out the slit was, judging by the damp spot on the front. He watched his back arch, stomach muscles tensing and skin veneered in a glimmer of sweat, and his dampened hair falling in his eyes. He watched his mouth drop open as Marco pulled down the fabric and wrapped his hand around him and silently scream.  "You're really, really beautiful and you look gorgeous right now."  

Jean bit his lip hard to keep himself quiet, but Marco could feel his entire body tremble, which was more than enough. 

Marco's hand slowly pumped up and down the length of Jean, breathless as he watched the writhing boy beneath him choke on dry sobbing noises of pleasure. In a gesture that was almost loving enough to be problematic (because this was nothing, this was nothing) Marco bent forward and pressed his lips softly to the side of his neck, whispering praise and affection. "You're so amazing. You're so perfect, and you're so good." He rubbed at a little spot just under the head, and Jean's strained silence was broken as he bit at the collar of his undone shirt and moaned around it. "Y'know, I...I've kind of already said this, and you might think it's weird, b-but I've wanted to do this for a while." But then he thought better of continuing talking, and stopped. "I'm sorry. Forget that." He shook his head and thumbed the tip.  

"A-ah! Marco!" Marco wasn't even sure if Jean heard him, and if he didn't, he was okay with that. "Marco, I'm-!" 

"Wait."  

Jean was ready to scream with frustration when Marco let go of him and drew his hand back, and gnashed his teeth and dug his nails into the hay.  

"Wait, please. There's something else I'd like to do." 

Marco sat back on his knees, looking around, before grabbing the light brown jacket he had taken off Jean and popping open the breastpocket, reaching in a fetching the small container of oil he had mentioned earlier. He turned it in his hands, then looked up at a wide-eyed Jean beneath him. "Huh?" 

"We don't have to," said Marco quickly. "If you changed you're mind and you're uncomfortable with it, we don't have to. But, um. I thought it'd maybe feel even better than what I was just doing. Well, it's supposed to, anyway. That's what, you know, the...experienced guys in the barracks say." 

Jean looked at Marco, then down at himself. "I'm half undressed and almost blew all over myself, so we might as well, at this point." 

"If it's because we 'might as well', then I-" 

"No, I want to." Jean squeezed his eyes shut and bit his lip again, laying his forearm over his eyes. "I really fucking need to get off right now."  

Marco's mouth was dry, but he tensely nodded. "Okay," he said quietly. "Okay." He flicked open the bottle, looking down at Jean, pulse drumming wildly in his throat. "Jean?" 

"Yeah." 

He shifted around and his cheeks were burning and even after all that, he was suddenly shy. "May I pleasure you?" 

Jean frowned in confusion, because while the answer was and always would be yes, he was unsure as to what exactly Marco was referring to if they already agreed to- oh. Jean glanced at Marco's hand around the bottle, and it made sense. "You wanna finger me?" 

And suddenly, Marco was nervous all over again. "N-not if you're not comfortable with that, no. But like I said it's supposed to feel really good, and, um, I want you to feel good." 

It wasn't if Jean had never done it to himself. Or, at least, tried to, but never really got a comfortable angle. So it wasn't as if Jean had never the intention to do it to himself- because like he had heard, it was supposed to be pleasurable. And he was really goddamn aroused and Marco's offer sounded really good, so who was he to protest? "Yeah, no. Go ahead." 

There were probably sexier ways to say that, but Marco didn't need much. He nodded and twisted open the small bottle, drizzling some of the liquid onto his fingers and rubbing it between his digits to coat them. Jean had kicked off his underwear and pants, leaving him in nothing but the unbuttoned green shirt that clung to his frame with sweat.  

Marco looked over at Jean and swallowed, not even believing that he was about to do this. "Please try to relax," he whispered as he kneeled at Jean's feet, wrapping his hand an ankle and shaking with nervousness as he picked it up and hooked it over his shoulder, holding onto Jean's hip with his non-oiled up hand and shifting him around a little. He made eye contact with Jean, and Jean quickly looked away, the blush returning to his cheeks. "Are you ready?" he asked softly.  

"Do it," he replied gruffly. 

Marco offered no snarky comment, but simply smiled and nodded. "Please enjoy this. And if you at any point want me to stop, please tell me. Okay?"  

"Yeah." Jean was trying far too hard to sound calm about this, to a point where he almost sounded comically disinterested.  

"Alright," said Marco gently, spreading apart Jean's knees to give him better access. He stared down and moistened his lips, awkwardly reaching to where his fingers where supposed to go. As soon as his fingertips made contact with the delicate skin, Jean let out a small noise and clenched up. "Please relax," Marco repeated, but his voice was a whimper. 

Jean winced. "Trying. I'm trying, I'm trying, but it's fucking hard." 

"I-it's not even in yet." 

"I know, but it's weird!" Jean grunted and rolled his eyes and Marco nodded tightly, staying still. 

Marco looked down, then back up at him. "Here." 

Suddenly, Jean was all shivers as his eyes snapped open as Marco was- fuck- circling around his entrance with his fingertip. He squirmed and his hands grabbed into the hay, breathing out in small, shaky puffs. Marco teased him, watching him shudder through half-lidded eyelids. It was amazing, that he could make him do this, that Jean was trembling and biting his lip and it was because of Marco. But he couldn't let himself get too caught up in that. "Are...you ready now?" 

"Yes! Do it!" 

Marco nodded and took in a deep breath, doing one more circle around the rim of Jean's hole which made him yelp before lining up and trying not to cringe as he pushed in.  

It was hot, was his first thought. Hot and- "It's tight," he whispered wondrously. (Good god, he had a finger inside Jean.) "How's that feel?" 

Jean made a weird noise, but Marco ate it up. "Okay," he mumbled back. "Move it. There's supposed to be some place that feels really good. Find it." 

It was hard to do, because not only was Jean tight but Marco was also terrified out of his mind of hurting Jean. But he gnawed on his lower lip and pulled out his finger a little, pushing it back in slowly at an adjusted angle and watching it sink to the knuckle. Jean's thighs tensed and he let out a breath, swallowing hard and covering his eyes. "Oh, fuck, that's weird, fuck." His hips moved restlessly, and it all went straight south for Marco.  

"You doin' okay?" he asked softly. 

"I'm fine," he said back, although his voice was far from steady. "Do more, please." 

Marco wasn't going to protest. Hoping the oil was spread out enough in Jean so that the next would continue to not be uncomfortable, he pulled out a little, pressing his index finger and middle finger together and slowly pushing them back in, trying to angle them down, to see if that'd do anything.  

What he couldn't have predicted was for Jean to throw his head back and cry out suddenly, thighs clamping around Marco. "Oh! Mmph- ah!" 

Marco's eyes went wide. "Th-there?" he whispered. That was complete accident, but he'd take the luck of it. Jean nodded rapidly, eyes pleading. Marco tipped his head and gently pressed down again, and Jean arched up and slammed his fist into the hay. Oh. Alright. He retracted his fingers again and thrusted in, making sure to hit that sweet spot, and he watched Jean's mouth open to let out a warbling, high cry.  

"Oh, god!" The collar of Jean's shirt was back in his mouth, saliva leaking out to leave dark spots in the fabric. He bit down hard into it, and Marco ate it up. 

He ate up how Jean's eyes would flutter when he hit it and his shoulders would tense up, how his stomach would go tight and his thighs would shake, how his hips rocked against Marco's hands in demand for more.  

He was so beautiful. 

He worked up a rhythm, pulling out of and pushing into Jean, watching him quiver and moan. Jean's toes were curled and his ankles crossed around Marco, whining and restlessly twitching. "Nngh, shit. Mar-! Marco! Fuck, fuck! Marco- ah.

Marco's stomach dropped at Jean crying out his name so high his voice cracked. It took all of his willpower to keep his other hand on Jean's hip, trying to steady him, and not use it to rub against himself. That'd be selfish, of course. This was about Jean. 

Although, maybe there was a better use for his other hand. 

Breathing in through his nose, Marco pulled out his fingers nearly all the way again, which Jean had by now grown used to, but he wasn't nearly accustomed to three fingers. He yelped as Marco pushed them in, to rapid apologies from Marco. It hurt, it was stretching him and it burned, but the teeth-grinding pain was subdued by Marco curling his fingers and sending shudders to rake their nails down Jean's entire body. His hips rolled upwards, silently begging for just a little more, just a little more when Marco's opposite hand was off his hip and wrapping around his length. 

Jean drew in a sharp breath, too stunned to even move, and then with his hands occupied, Marco leaned forward and carefully balanced enough to hover over Jean's chest and his tongue flicked out over his nipple.  

It was too much. 

The over-stimulation was making Jean's world spin, as if he could see it through his clamped shut and watering eyes. His spine was curved off the ground and every inch of his body was quivering and stars danced behind his eyelids from the pleasure. He couldn't think straight, with one hand pressing against the trembling bundle of nerves inside him, one hand pumping him up and down, and a tongue rolling over and stroking the sensitive buds on his chest, and to say he cried out would be an understatement. 

"Marco! Marco!" he screamed, screamed, as a shiver pulsed through him and everything went white.  

It was white, then it was black, then the world was fuzzy and fading back into view. 

Jean, disheveled, heaving, and stomach splattered in white, laid on his back, a trembling mess and Marco silently slid out his fingers and pressed a soft kiss to his neck. "You're amazing," he whispered, over and over, brushing his lips to his throat, jaw, ear.  

Jean was exhausted, and laid in a tiny ball as he tried to recover his breath and not be so light-headed that the world spun around him. His eyes closed and he found himself liking the warmth Marco offered, the affection, the praise. His hand weakly fumbled around for Marco's, twisting his wrist to line up their palms, then closing his hand to gently intertwine their fingers as he curled up to Marco, head to his chest and getting lost in the rhythm of his heartbeat.  

It was almost love, but it was nothing. 

"Jean?" whispered Marco, surprised by the gesture but holding the sandy-haired boy to his chest. 

"Huh," mumbled Jean sleepily back. 

He paused. "What does this make you and me?" 

"Hm." Jean snuggled against him more, burying his face and still lightly panting against his skin. "Well, it makes you the taker of my virginity, and it makes me really sore tomorrow. And as for you and me, it makes us screwed if anyone wakes up before we do and checks in on the horses, because I'm way too tired to go back to the barracks. So we-" He yawned. "-we get up real early 'morrow and go back before anyone notices we're gone." 

He let a smile rest on lips and he carded his fingers through Jean's hair, planting a kiss to his crown. "Haha, you know that's not what I meant." 

Silence.  

Marco frowned, glancing down at the boy clinging to him. His eyes were shut and his breathing had slowed into a predictable pace. "...Are you asleep, Jean?" There was no response. 

He held him close, burying his nose in his hair and closing his eyes. 

Maybe Jean didn't like him, maybe this was just release. Maybe it was all an accident, maybe it would never grow into anything. Maybe it was all nothing. 

But when Marco whispered "I love you" to Jean and fell asleep holding him in his arms, it was anything but that.