“I feel like the pants are a little much…” Marco muses aloud, staring critically at his reflection.
“Huh?” Jean asks back, only half-paying attention as he sifts through the closet, desperate to find the remaining piece of his costume.
“The pants,” Marco retorts. He turns once again to look over his reflection as best he can.
“What about them? Babe, where’s my Winter Soldier arm cover?” Jean asks, digging around to the very back in a desperate attempt to find the missing robo-arm.
Marco turns and watches him struggle with a sigh. He trots over, jingling with each step he takes, before reaching up onto the top shelf of their closet to grab hold of the metal sleeve. He hands it to Jean silently and gives him a brief pat on the cheek.
“Oh…” Jean says flatly.
“You put it up there last week cause you kept knocking it off the desk.”
Jean slips the sleeve over his arm, making sure that it still fastens well into the cuff on his shirt.
“Anyway, what about your pants, now?”
“I dunno. They just seem too… gaudy?”
Jean pauses, flexing his arm a bit in its sleeve as he eyes Marco up and down. His boyfriend is decked out head to toe in flair. He’s donned a small, black and teal vest with golden, dangling coins. Atop his head, he has a golden crown and headband with a sheer black veil to cover his nose and mouth. His pants are sheer and black, with hints of teal and gold around the waist and ankles.
“…In what way are the pants any more gaudy than the rest of the outfit?”
Marco harrumphs a bit, dismissing Jean’s unhelpful comment, and turns back to his reflection, staring nervously at himself as he turns and poses and examines himself.
Jean strides up behind him, hands gripping Marco’s hips, his chin resting lightly atop Marco’s shoulder as they both stare forward into the mirror.
“Babe, it’s a costume party. You’re a belly dancer. Your outfit issupposed to be gaudy.”
Marco doesn’t say anything, but the look on his face tells Jean he still feels self-conscious. Jean smirks, and presses a kiss against the soft, exposed skin of Marco’s neck.
“Plus, you look really hot.”
Marco perks up a bit at that, his eyes meeting Jean’s in their reflection. He smiles ever so slightly.
Jean smirks and gives his hips a quick squeeze. With one more kiss on Marco’s neck, he pats his ass.
“Now come on, we’re gunna be late and Jaeger will never let me hear the end of it.”
The liquor at Eren’s house is freely flowing, and if Jean hadn’t driven, he’d probably be having more. He’s glad to see Marco loosening up a little bit though - after one or two drinks it seems that he’s already forgotten to feel self-conscious about his outfit.
It also probably helps that almost every one of their friends had paid the costume the highest of compliments. Jean watches leisurely from his spot on the couch as Marco laughs with Sasha, and as the two of them try - however poorly - to belly dance.
Jean smiles at them, because, as goofy as Marco is, goddamn if he doesn’t look hot doing what he’s doing. Bare chest, barely even covered by the small, ornate vest, belly button showing, hip bones sharp and pointed with muscle curving around their angles. And when he sways his hips, Jean feels a small surge in his stomach at the sight of the muscles and tendons flexing and flowing.
His thoughts are only interrupted when next to him, Reiner says something about grabbing another drink. Jean clears his throat and agrees, standing to follow the blond towards the kitchen, leaving his unnecessarily attractive boyfriend behind to keep at his dance moves. Connie is already in the kitchen, mixing himself another cocktail as he talks boisterously with Eren about things Jean doesn’t really care to hear. Reiner opts for a mixed drink as well, but Jean sticks with a beer, if only for the sake of its lower alcohol content.
Somehow, despite his disinterest, Jean still manages to get dragged into Eren and Connie’s conversation. He keeps his comments mostly to himself, watching as Reiner adds his contributions through wild hand gestures and boisterous laughs, and Jean even giggles once in a while.
But after a few more minutes, Jean’s already debating slinking back to the living room to find his boyfriend. However, just as he’s preparing to take his leave, he feels a gentle hand brush down his back. He doesn’t even need to turn to know whose hand it is. Jean’s honestly more surprised that he hadn’t heard Marco come in, given that his entire outfit is one giant jingle bell, capable of alerting anyone in a one mile radius of his presence.
But Jean doesn’t really care, simply happy with the fact that Marco is there.
Marco’s hand stays on Jean’s lower back as he steps up beside him, pressing himself close. Jean turns his head a bit and catches Marco’s eye. He’s got a small smirk on his face and that little gleam in his eyes - that small glimmer of comfort and contentment and pluck that Jean so loves to see. And Jean smiles.
They stand together quietly for a moment, Jean only half-focused on his friends’ conversation as Marco’s fingers rub along his lower back through the cloth of his shirt. Jean takes a quick swig of his beer, as Marco leans over to casually whisper into his ear.
“So, I feel like you should know that I’m not wearing any underwear.”
The choking cough Jean sputters out catches the attention of everyone in the room. Hand up at his mouth to wipe away the beer that had sputtered down onto his chin, he catches the eye of each person staring at him.
“Sorry,” he croaks, wiping his mouth again, “wrong pipe.”
Satisfied enough with his words, Eren, Connie, and Reiner return to their conversation, and Jean darts his eyes over to Marco.
“Seriously?”, Jean mouths to Marco.
Marco just smirks and nods coyly. But he doesn’t say anything else; he simply turns away from Jean with a wink to return to the living room.
This time, Jean doesn’t hesitate to leave the kitchen. One hand on the countertop, he interrupts the conversation, if only to say“Excuse me,” and heads out quickly after his boyfriend.
When he comes back into the living room, he finds Marco trying still to dance with Sasha, with Annie now in the fray attempting to tell them both that they suck as she shows them the supposed ‘proper’ way to belly dance.
Marco is clearly working hard at it, dancing his best in time with the thumping music that’s been playing through the speakers. There’s a light sheen on his skin, and Jean can’t help but let his eyes drag across the curve of Marco’s ass. The pants are only sheer around the legs - opaque at the hips, ass, and crotch, and where they cinch at the ankles - and if Marco hadn’t said something Jean probably wouldn’t have even known that he’d decided on going commando.
Jean wants to pretend that Marco hadn’t clued him in on his little underwear indiscretion on purpose, but deep down he knows full well that he did. He knows that Marco told him if only for the sake of watching Jean squirm as he watched his boyfriend’s hips swing and sashay.
Marco is laughing as he and Sasha spin in time together, hips bumping from side to side, and Marco - now so open and loose and relaxed - cranes his neck if only to send a small kiss and a wink in Jean’s direction. And Jean swears to fucking god that at tht look alone he’s suddenly got something harder than Chinese Algebra tucked away behind his zipper. He has never been so grateful for the rigidity of the black, tactical pants that his costume required.
Steadily and as casually as he can manage, Jean walks over to Marco and ushers him a few steps away from the girls, so as to whisper in his ear.
“We need to go.” Jean says quickly.
“What? Why? We’ve barely been here an hour.”
Jean swallows thickly, glancing around to double check that their friends aren’t paying much attention to them.
“Because if I don’t get you home right now, I’m going to drag you to the bathroom and fuck you there, and I cannot do that in Jaeger’s house.”
Marco just stares at him. Jean punctuates his statement with a flick of his eyebrows and a quick glance down at his crotch to hopefully drive the point home. Literally and figuratively speaking.
Marco smirks at him, and nods.
“Off we go, then.”
Jean isn’t entirely sure how they make it home. He’d only had a beer and a half at Eren’s, so driving isn’t exactly the issue. No, the main issue is the horrifically seductive looks Marco keeps shooting him, and the way Marco is dragging his fingers up and down along the black-clad line of Jean’s leg teasingly.
It’s nothing short of a miracle that Jean doesn’t just pull off to the side of the road to drag Marco in the back seat and have his way with him.
But they make it home, none the less. He leaves Marco to unlock the door, pressing himself up close against Marco’s back as he attempts to shove the key into the lock. He protests a little, saying that the way Jean is biting along the curve of his neck is more than a little distracting but Jean knows how much he loves it. Judging by the way Marco grinds his ass back against Jean’s crotch with every bite, Jean knows he fucking loves the distraction.
Astoundingly, the make it inside, but they’re barely past the threshold when Jean goes in for the kill. Door slammed shut, facial veil long since pulled off, he tugs Marco to meet his mouth, hands already roaming along the bare, exposed flesh of Marco’s chest, stomach, and lower back.
His fingers curl when Marco’s tongue drags against his own, his fingernails scrape flesh when Marco ruts his hands up under the black fabric of his shirt.
Metal arm sleeve long forgotten for the sake of dexterity, Jean lets his fingers dart beyond the waistband of the harem pants that cling to Marco’s hips, so incredibly grateful for Marco’s lack of underwear as he’s met with only warm flesh to grab. He squeezes Marco’s bare cheek firmly, hearing his lover whimper against his lips at the touch.
They stumble around blindly, Marco doing his best to guide the two of them at least a few steps further into their house. Jean’s sure he’s trying to move them in the direction of their bedroom, but there’s just no time for that. The living room is closer, and Jean doesn’t give a damn about where he has Marco, so long as he has him.
With a muffled groan against Marco’s mouth, Jean shucks off the poor excuse for a garment that is Marco’s vest, feet moving enough to shuffle them into the living room.
The fact that they somehow make it to the couch is more than a little astounding, but they make it. Splayed along its cushions, Marco’s legs, covered in nothing but loose-fitting fabric, part enough for Jean to fit himself between them, grinding down firmly against the erection he can so clearly feel through the thin fabric. Their mouths part just slightly, if only for the chance to breathe and moan, before they meet again in a mess of lips and teeth and tongue.
Marco’s scent is intoxicating - faded sillage of cologne mixed with the natural scent of his skin - and his taste is something Jean could get drunk on. He’s sweet from the mixers, biting from the alcohol, and Jean wants nothing more than to taste this mouth until he can no longer remember the taste of anything else.
Frantic hands shove at Jean’s shirt, shucking the tight fabric up enough to expose his chest, and Marco’s fingers find their way to his nipples quickly. Jean hisses at the touch, breaks their kiss if only so he can tug the garment off fully. When he drops back down, he cages Marco’s head with his arms, fingers laced through dark brown locks to guide and tug.
“Fuck, Marco,” Jean swears against his boyfriend’s lips, “fuckin’ need you.”
“Where’s…” Marco starts, words interrupted by Jean’s persistent mouth stealing breath and words, “Where’s the lube?”
Jean pauses and sits up a little, swearing to himself.
He stands quickly, points to Marco, and tells him firmly not to move. Marco simply smirks and nods.
Jean darts down the hall towards their bathroom, grabbing lube and a condom quickly, and trotting back down the hallway. When he reenters the living room, he’s in no way prepared for the sight before him. Not naked, but pants pulled down to show his ass, and on his knees, Marco waits patiently on the couch. He’s got his ass cocked up high,one hand folded underneath himself stroking along his dick leisurely.
Jean groans and stumbles forward towards the couch, dropping onto the cushions behind Marco, teeth biting and nipping at the skin along Marco’s cheeks teasingly. Marco hisses, hand still stroking himself and groaning at Jean’s touch.
“Jean, come on…” Marco whines, craning his head a bit to glance over his shoulder at his boyfriend.
“Okay, okay.” Jean mumbles back, fingers already slicked with lube and toying along Marco’s entrance.
He presses in with as much control as he can muster. Everything inside him is telling him to just go for it, to slip inside of his lover without all the preamble, but he knows he has to be patient. Marco’s loud moans at just the single digit certainly aren’t helping though, and it doesn’t take long before Marco is grinding back against Jean, urging him for another finger and another.
He’s got three in, and it’s only then that he can let go of the small, shaking iota of self control he has left. Fingers still sliding into Marco, he undoes his pants with his other hand to free his cock. He doesn’t even bother to take the pants off; on a normal night, he might’ve, but there’s no time now. If he could, he’d keep finger fucking Marco if only to keep hearing the loud, sinful moans Marco is uttering, but he can’t. Marco whines loudly as Jean slips out of him to tear open the condom and lube himself up, but Jean doesn’t give him long enough to complain. Without a moment wasted, Jean’s poised at Marco’s entrance, tip teasing the still-tight entrance as gently as he can.
“S'it okay?” Jean stutters, because no matter how bad he fuckin’ wants it, he wants Marco comfortable, wants Marco to feel good. And it’s only when Marco groans and nods, face pressing down into the cushions, ready and open for him, that Jean slips in.
God, he’s fucking tight.
And god almighty, is it fucking good, too. Marco fucking keens as Jean pushes in, mouth going slack at the intrusion. He keeps his hand moving, tugging urgently on his cock, and Jean loves the way Marco tightens around him with each tug on his dick. Once he’s all the way in, he slides his hand along the curve of Marco’s spine, pushing up until he can thread his fingers tenderly in Marco’s hair. He folds himself over Marco’s back, teeth biting along the dusted skin of Marco’s shoulder.
“Can I?” Jean whispers huskily.
“God, yeah, just fuck me.”
That’s all the invitation Jean needs. His fingers tighten in Marco’s hair as his hips begin to move, rhythmic and hard at first, pushing into Marco with force, but with as much control as he can muster. But with each thrust, he can feel himself growing more erratic, and with how loud Marco is groaning with each push of his hips, he’s sure he’s gotta be getting close.
It doesn’t take them long. Marco comes hard with a shout, and Jean can barely take the way he tightens around him. A few more thrusts and a hard tug on Marco’s hair, Jean comes with grit teeth and a desperate moan.
By they time they settle down and clean up, they find themselves staggering back to sprawl on the couch, bodies tired, and hair tousled with stupid grins on both their faces. Marco leans on Jean’s chest, and Jean pets his hair with all the tenderness he’d forgone during their desperate, frantic sex.
Jean trails a few brief kisses along Marco’s forehead, sighing softly.
“You should really wear harem pants more often.”