'Cause life is really the only
and last gift we've all r e c e i v e d.
"Why do you care?"
"This is the only time I want him to be like me. I want him to be selfish."
This spoke to me on a personal level.
[Jeanbo] :: Yep. We're playing strip poker.
[Jeanbo] :: What can I say? In this case, even if I lose, I'll win. I hate wearing pants.
[Jeanbo] :: Pick up some beer on your way in. And hurry up, baby, I don't have all night to wait around for you. ;D
[Polo] :: strip poker is my element. ur goin down with ur pants around ur legs
[Polo] :: literally
[Polo] :: and dnt call me baby im no baby im manly as hell. and ofc im bringin beer how else do u play this game srsly. dweeb
A sigh of sorts as Eren places the box onto the floor. Her arms tingling from the weight they previously held, she shakes them with the hopes of being able to feel them once again. The fact that Jean’s still stood there makes her raise a brow, and it arches to create a perfect, questioning curve- it seems that the only person he’s willing to help is himself.
"Do I really need to spell it out for you?” Eren bends to gather the box- then when she straightens, balances it on one knee to adjust the weight within. Motioning with a flick of her forehead to the cart in the archway, she continues her journey to the kitchens. "— Pick one up, and make sure you don’t drop it—or there will be hell to pay.”
He mimics her raise of brow with one of his own, wondering what’s possessed her to think she has any right to tell him what to do. Least of all, in such a way that lacks any and all manner possible. "Do I look like your slave?" Jean scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest as though to prove a point, remaining motionless where he stands.
Nothing but the trail of his gaze following Eren through to the kitchen. Honestly, he could have helped, it’s not like he’s doing much of anything else right now but it’s a matter of principle that Jean does not. Much preferring to instead say, "Who died and made you boss? Do it yourself." A smirk, and an afterthought, then the boy adds, "Or ya could’a jus’ said please."
There is a wall between them. Marco sighs, wishes he could say something to take that frown off Jean’s handsome face, but he knows that if he opens his mouth and talks about the subject all he’ll say is that he’s very disappointed. He’ll leave many things to hang in the air between them, and in all honesty, there are already enough things they have to deal with without adding the burden of Eren’s bruised eye.
Things like Jean’s existence.
Or the fact that once he leaves Marco will be alone, again.
The fact that he’s falling too hard, too fast for Jean.
Or that he’s over-thinking this far too much, and Marco’s holding a plastic cup of ramen, and Jean is here with his frowny face and his epic sulks and that’s all it should matter, but it’s not. Because Jean will leave, and Marco doesn’t know when.
Marco opens his mouth to say that they should head to the register and pay. Instead, what it comes out is,
"You’re mine. Please don’t forget that, Jean."
Jean blinks up in a heartbeat. At first, surprised. Warm, even. Until he thinks about what Marco says and the realization comes to him like a slap in the face. Of course he’s Marco’s, Marco’s the reason he’s here; the face that he belongs to the guy was never questioned. Jean’s essentially bound. Not that he has any desire to look elsewhere for some other that may hold his interest.
Nobody else could hold his interest like Marco does.
"I know," it was a vague wonder if the other knew just as well as he did though. Perhaps Marco’s reason for saying so, or maybe he was just trying to take the edge off of the air about them ever since Jean’s jealousy came into play. He really doesn’t know for sure. But that’s not the blond’s problem.
It’s with a tone much quieter than his previous that he slips passed Marco, careful not to knock shoulders as he does when he says, "Doesn’t necessarily mean you’re mine too though, does it.” And it’s phrased as a question but not asked in any way. He doesn’t want an answer, doesn’t expect to hear what he wants to hear.
It’s just another way for Jean to pass his irritation on the matter without having to raise his voice. And maybe it’s a low blow, but maybe Marco deserves some flack, too. Eren wouldn’t have had that black eye if there were no reason; no smoke without fire, besides.
Kissing Jean was nothing like he remembered and yet it still felt familiar. It was like everything he imagined it to be but also excitingly new, foreign but oh so addictive. Separating himself from the other in-between swipes of tongue and smacks of lips to simply breathe, to attempt calming his racing heart as he let his hands wander. The way he held the blond’s face was a gentle but firm, thumb caressing a heated cheek while his index finger brushed past Jean’s earlobe to tilt his chin into the direction he needed it to be. It’s his other hand that gave away how nervous he was, how distracting every sound was that the other boy made.
The brunet still had one arm wrapped around the taller, but tanned fingers had started to draw small circles, brush over a muscular back only to pause every once in a while. It was involuntary but whenever a quiet gasp cut through the silence, Eren found himself distracted by it, not quite able to multitask as he dove back in to try and tickle more noises out of the other. Breathing still came shakily to him, maybe his lower lip had trembled at some point from the sheer amount of emotions he felt all at the same time, unable to process and put them in the right order.
Not that he was off any better than Jean.
Knees tightened around him, kept him in place – as if he planned on going anywhere, how could he, with Jean right there – and Eren grunted softly, exhaling sharply through his nose and reacted by pulling him closer still. Distant memories of the times where he wanted to draw the blond into his arms, hold him close, the last time not so long ago when they had been sitting side by side in his bed. It’s as if he was trying to make up for it now, ridiculously though.
The shifter had little doubt, that, if Jean knew, he would’ve scoffed and called him a sentimental fool – among other things – but he had always been a physical kind of person. Shying away from another’s touch rarely happened and both seeking and giving comfort was mostly accompanied by it, too.
Fingertips were in his neck suddenly and Eren shuddered, surprised by the goosebumps that travelled over his arms a second later and when Jean pulled away, a faint whine fell from the boy’s lips that startled even himself. A nagging feeling in the back of his mind that this wasn’t the first time but it was pushed away quickly in favour of glancing up at the other, trying to catch his eyes as soon as there was enough distance between them to do so comfortably and without becoming cross-eyed. His hand slipped from Jean’s back over his side to loosely hold him by the waist, forearm placed on his thigh comfortably.
It was when teal met golden, when he realized the paler boy’s skin had felt hot from the blush tainting his cheeks even visible in the dim light of the moon outside, that his heart skipped a beat. He probably wasn’t off that much better, judging by the heat that crept up his neck, but right in that moment he couldn’t care any less.
Jean drew in a sharp breath and made a sound before he broke off, seemingly struggling with something to say and the brunet’s right hand fell to his other thigh as well, both lightly stroking up and down in an encouraging gesture of some sort. For someone who usually had little patience and a lot trouble shutting up at times, Eren was awfully quiet as he watched the other’s eyes drift from his face. Tempted to reach out and touch his face, tilt it up until he’s looking at him again but left him be for now. What he did however was to make a small noise himself, a questioning one and a brief moment later, the blond picked up where he had left off.
There hadn’t been a need to put a label on this, Eren knew something about the way they now looked at each other had changed ever since that incident in the stable. He’d known after what used to be an urge to shove the other around whenever he pissed him off, changed into a need to pull him closer instead. He’d known by the first time that dreams had come to him in his sleep, revolving around a certain blond and leaving him in an embarrassing but quite familiar state.
And yet it felt good to receive words of confirmation, that those feelings were not one-sided.
Eren was suddenly smiling, lips stretching and cheeks aching until he was positively beaming with glee. His hands found the other boy’s face and he leaned up, mouths meeting only briefly before he pulled back in favour of catching Jean’s eyes. The opportunity was there to tease him about it, remind him that it had been quite obvious actually, demand why it had taken him this long to admit, but the brunet did none of the above. Instead he grinned at the taller.
“I like you too, Jean.” Then, as if on an afterthought- “Sort of.”
It came as a shock in itself, that something Jean said had been the reason Eren’s smiling so much. There was something very wrong with that, he thought, until the boy pushed forward another time and dropped another small peck to his lips. It was then that Jean decided otherwise, figured he could really get used to this whole ‘kissing his rival’ thing, and there’s something strangely infectious about his smile, too.
It’s more a reaction of his nerves than finding anything amusing that the boy laughs a little, looking anywhere but directly into his comrade’s eyes when he squeezes his knees against his sides and says, “Sort of.” As though he needed to once again make it a wavering thing. Not totally admitting anything, which only slightly gave his mind some comfort but he’d accept it. Petty as it may be. This is sort of a foreign area to Jean, he’s not entirely sure how to go about it nor does he know how to stop his heart having a fit in his chest.
He’s quick to realize he’s still got a hold on Eren’s collar and probably looks really fucking stupid with that alone, but his cheeks feel like they’re on fire and it leads to his brows knotting together in concentration. Thinking really hard about what to say next because he refuses to get himself stuck in a stuttering loop of morbid embarrassment; been there, done that. Having gotten the t-shirt long ago, Jean inhales through his nose and drops his hands back in his lap. They don’t stay there long though, at least one of them doesn’t because he’s soon grabbing the hand on his thigh and curling his fingers into the palm, forcing his eyes back up to meet Eren’s, he states, “I sort of think we should at least try an’ go back to sleep,” and he uses his heels to push further forward until he’s slipping down to the floor in the small wedge between Eren and the counter.
Awkward still, he allows their entwined hands to fall beside them and adds, “I’ve sort of gotten used to you-” Jean quickly clears his throat and doesn’t notice his gaze faltering before it’s too late, “-bein’ so close though, so.” A shrug. He shrugs because he doesn’t want to ask the other boy to stick around with him until morning; despite being fairly certain he’ll safely go without another episode after his night’s events anyway. He’s taken a liking to the bodily warmth Eren gives off.
Sort of doesn’t want him disappearing back to bed and perhaps resulting in another awkward meeting in the morning. And maybe he’s kind of a baby who just wants to wrap with him and fall asleep like that, but who could say, really.