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It starts at some dumb, shit-faced party at Connie’s house. It wasn’t ever supposed to start in the first place, but Jean supposes shit happens for a reason. Or whatever. It doesn’t really matter, because currently he’s downing another shot and Sasha’s got her top off and keeps trying to climb Connie’s fridge, and Bertholdt's frantically trying to shove her shirt back on her body. Mikasa is by the stereo, surprisingly more tipsy that Jean had expected her to get, and for some reason she can’t seem to take her eyes off of Sasha. Unresolved sexual tension, Jean supposes.
Reiner hands him a beer, and Jean’s still got the taste of vodka on his tongue so he downs the bottle pretty quickly. The room’s not quite spinning yet, so he counts it as a win.
“Th’ fuck’s up with your weed supply? There is none, dude!” Eren calls out, stumbling into the kitchen and hopping up on the counter, almost knocking a few half-empty beer bottles off the counter. Jean glares as he steadies them, elbowing Eren in the ribs for good measure.
“I don’t want my house smelling like ass,” Connie says, digging around in his cabinet before pulling out a few more shot glasses. “Also, get your ass off my counter.”
Eren whines but obeys, hopping off the counter and stumbling straight into Jean. Eren’s considerably more drunk than Jean is, and his cheeks are flushed, his voice giggly when he says, “Fuckin’ a, Kirschstein!” before promptly punching Jean right in the shoulder. His alcohol intake has made him a little weaker, clumsier, so it’s more like a tap, but Jean still rolls his eyes and shoves Eren back. Hard enough to count, but gentle enough that the kid doesn’t go falling on his ass.
“God, you’re an annoying drunk.”
“Not drunk,” Eren replies, standing up straight and saluting Jean with his empty beer bottle, sloshing whatever was left down his arm and onto his shirt.
“Okay, whatever you say,” Jean mutters, rolling his eyes once more before pushing past him to see if he can get Mikasa to grind on him a little bit. He’s a little disappointed when he finds Sasha has made it to her first, and by the look of Mikasa’s face, flushed and a little bit pleased with the way Sasha is pressing close to her, she doesn’t mind one bit.
Jean regretfully plops onto the couch, only slightly aware of Christa and Ymir making out on the other end, and runs a hand through his hair, suddenly feeling out of himself and a little lonely. It’s been a while since he’s been to a party like this, and he’s not… really feeling it anymore. He suddenly wishes at least Armin came tonight, because Armin usually just gets a little tipsy and then let’s Jean play his DS while he cheers him on. When Jean feels a body plop down next to him, though, he turns and raises an eyebrow.
“Hey,” Eren grins, “I foun’ some pot in Reiner’s man purse an’ he’s so wasted he jus’ gave it to me. Wanna smoke?”
“I… think I’ll pass,” Jean says, snorting when Eren frowns like he’s utterly baffled that anyone would ever want to turn down getting high with him.
“But I wanna get baked,” he mumbles, “Like a fuckin’ potato.”
Jean stares. “I’m just going to pretend you didn’t say that. Also, you can get baked by yourself.”
Eren frowns. “S’not as fun when you’re alone.”
Jean can’t really argue with that, so he settles with a pained, “God, please go be drunk somewhere else.”
Eren glares, sticking his tongue out before finally standing up and going back to the kitchen. Jean hears a faint cry of, “Yes, jello shots! Lord baby jesus, thank you based god!” before he finally decides to wander upstairs to dig around for a few sleeping bags, since he knows Connie calls his own room, and the only other room is his parents’, which is Off Limits during parties, he’s been told.
Some people have already begun winding down, Mikasa and Sasha curled up on the floor near the back door, where all of the jackets had been piled up. Bertholdt looks about ready to pass out, leaning against the staircase, eyes drooping while he tries to pay attention to what Reiner’s attempting to tell him. The only person who hasn’t calmed down yet is Eren, who’s inhaling jello shots like it’s oxygen, Connie pumping the air with his fist in encouragement. Jean scoffs and shakes his head, continuing upstairs to the hall closet where he finds a few rolled up sleeping bags.
When he gets back downstairs, he shoves one in Bertholdt's face, who looks eternally grateful as he immediately begins unravelling it and tugging Reiner down with him. Christa and Ymir left a few minutes ago, completely sober. Sometimes Jean thinks they only come to these parties to make out on the host’s couch.
He tosses a few more around, and by the time he makes it back to the couch where he was planning on crashing, he find’s Eren has already claimed it, passed the fuck out and completely dead to the world, his alcohol consumption finally catching up with him.
Jean glares, considers rolling the fucker off the couch anyways, but sighs and decides against it, flicking Eren in the forehead instead before unrolling his own sleeping bag and laying it out on the floor next to the couch. He lies awake for a while, listening to the even breaths surrounding him and the sound of the fan whirring above them. Jean sometimes wishes Marco never moved away, that asshole. Leaving Jean here all alone. Sure, he has friends and shit, but. It’s not the same. He feels lonely, and it fucking sucks.
Fucking pathetic, Jean thinks as he rolls over and closes his eyes.
--
Warm, Jean thinks hazily, letting out a sleepy sigh and shifting a bit, and shoving his nose into something soft and slightly tickly. The thing on his chest mumbles something unintelligible before curling up more, and it’s only then that Jean blinks his eyes open, body going rigid as he slowly lifts his head and assess his current situation.
Eren Jaeger.
Eren Jaeger is curled up on his chest, warm and comfortable, one hand fisted in Jean’s tee shirt, and legs tangled together. Sometime throughout the night he must’ve rolled off the couch onto him, and the sleeping bag has managed to get tangled up around his feet, shoved all the way down his body. Jean’s got one arm wrapped around the boy’s body, and his face apparently was pressed into Eren’s hair. Which… smelled surprisingly nice. And it was really fucking soft too, what the fuck.
A quiet giggled jerks Jean out of his daze, and he looks up to see fucking everyone looming over them, Sasha currently with her phone out, probably taking a thousand snapchats of them. Even Mikasa looks amused, her lips quirked up in a smirk, and Jean only doesn’t feel that embarrassed because he knows Eren’s going to get infinite amounts of shits for it later.
Jean lets his head thunk to the ground with a loud, pained groan, and Sasha coos,
“You guys are so cute.”
“Don’t say a fuckin’ word,” Jean hisses when Reiner grins and goes to say something also. Reiner raises an eyebrow and raises his hands in surrender, and the commotion finally seems to have woken Eren up, the brunette blinking sleepily and knuckling his eyes. Jean internally beats himself up for finding it a little bit cute.
“Wha’s’it?” Eren mumbles, and Jean frowns, pained, because he kind of really doesn’t want Eren to move, fuck. He’s warm and soft and heavy on his chest, but it’s a welcome weight and the vague loneliness Jean felt last night seems numbed right now, one weight in his chest being replaced by another. Even if it’s only temporary, Jean finds himself craving the feeling he’s currently experiencing.
Fucking Jaeger.
Jean reluctantly shoves the smaller teen off of him, and Eren makes a noise of protest at the disturbance, still half asleep and comfortable. He hasn’t seemed to have noticed the audience, or doesn’t care, and that thought sends a weird spark through Jean’s blood.
“Thanks for the booze,” Jean mutters to Connie, scrubbing a hand through his sleep-mussed hair as he shoves his shoes on, grabbing his keys from his pocket and waving as he bolts out the door, face heating up. Eren’s probably already passed back out, maybe even curling up into the warm space where Jean just was.
--
The days that Jean has off of class and work are a miracle, so the first thing he does when his class gets cancelled for the day and he checks his work schedule, seeing he isn’t on for today, is to text Connie.
dude come over and hit it w/ me im free all day for once and im not fucking spending it alone
The response he gets is almost immediate;
sry dude cant!!! at my moms house all day helpin her bbsit my cousins
Jean frowns as he punches out a passive-aggressive response before scrolling through his contacts to find someone else who might be free.
Sasha’s says she’s ‘studying’ which is usually code for a) she’s about to get laid or b) she’s about to try and get laid. And Jean doesn’t even bother texting Mikasa because of that reason in the first place, god.
Armin literally is studying all day, says he’s got an anatomy text tomorrow morning which Jean unfortunately fully believes. Reiner never texts him back but from Bertholdt’s half assed response, Jean figures it’s because the two are busy doing something or another together.
Jean sighs, glancing at the clock and seeing it’s already almost noon. Half the day fucking wasted texting his shitty friends who all actually have lives and things to do, unlike himself. Still in his sleep pants and an old tank top, unshowered and shoveling his second bowl of cocoa puffs down his throat while he re-scrolls through his contacts on his phone.
He freezes when he lands on the one person he hasn’t texted yet, and yeah, sure, him and Eren hang out. Sometimes. At parties, when they’re both piss-ass drunk, or if they’re out with a group of friends. Or if Armin invites them both out together.
Jean rubs a hand over his face. He’s been trying not to think about that night at the party a few weeks ago, and luckily Sasha only did take snapchats and not actual pictures, so they were all gone within ten seconds or less. Unless someone screenshotted it, which Jean doesn’t entirely doubt, with his group of friends.
Eren hasn’t said anything about it though. No angry text messages or anything, and Jean can’t tell if that’s a good thing or a bad thing, that Eren doesn’t seem to really care about what happened at all. Maybe the kid doesn’t even fucking remember. He was half asleep, for fuck’s sake.
Jean groans before opening up his contacts again and shooting a quick message, fingers aching as they hit the screen too hard.
hey fuckface are you busy today
Jean’s finishing up his cereal by the time he finally gets a message back;
just woke up lmao the fuck do u want? wanna smoke?
Jean rolls his eyes because god, Eren’s such a fucking stoner, he swears to god. But, Jean tells himself, this is a good cop-out to his boredom. Also, it makes him feel a little bit better about texting Eren of all people to hang out with him and have, you know, casual plans with him. Like normal human beings. Like normal friends.
yea. so u should come over and smoke me out im bored af
The response back is a little more immediate this time;
watcha gonna do 4 me huh? weed aint free
Jean snorts;
what, my gracious company isnt enough for u? fine, ill buy a pizza or s/t how does that sound
The seams of Jean’s sleep pants are beginning to fray, and Jean tugs at them, stupidly self conscious, as he waits for his phone to beep again, and when it does he practically snatches the thing from the table to read the response;
lol sounds like u just discovered the one tru way to my heart, kirchstein. ill be over in like 15 mins k
Jean almost drops his phone and blinks widely, and he knows Eren’s just joking, just being a little shit like he is almost all the time, but for some reason Jean can’t stop his hands from shaking just a bit and - fuck, should he change? Shower? Wait, no, what is he thinking? He wouldn’t change out of his ratty sleeping clothes for Connie or Sasha or even Armin. Why the fuck would he try and look nice for Eren? That would essentially mean Jean’s trying to impress him or something, and fuck that with a ten foot pole.
He decides to throw on a pair of his nicer sweat pants but keeps on his ratty tank top, washed so much the fabric is thin and worn soft. He flops on the couch and fiddles with his phone, trying to decide if his stomach is doing flips because he’s hungry or because Eren is coming over and Jean can’t deny how much he’s thought about the boy’s body heat.
The door to his apartment swings open, and Jean jumps a bit before sighing when Eren bounds in, a dark grey beanie shoved on his head, nose pink from the brisk fall breeze outside.
“Oh yes, just come barging into my apartment, thanks,” Jean says, and Eren snorts as he sheds his jacket and toes his shoes off, making himself perfectly at home. Jean’s not sure if he’s thankful for that or scared.
“Maybe you shouldn’t leave your door unlocked then,” Eren says, and then, “You got a lighter? I left mine on my counter.”
“Straight to the point, huh,” Jean rolls his eyes, but gets up to dig around in the kitchen drawer where he keeps all of his random shit; pens and unpaid bills and old christmas cards, etc. He finds an old zippo from his cigarette days back in high school, and he tosses it to Eren, who’s already sprawled on the couch, packing a bowl.
The lighter his the back of his head and lands on the cushion next to him, and he turns his head and glares at Jean, before going back to his tedious work, and Jean just snorts and sits back on the couch next to him, watching him grind the weed before packing it carefully into the pipe. It’s one of his first pipes, Jean remembers it from sophomore year. It’s small, with blue and green swirls blown into the glass. There’s a chip in the side from when Eren dropped it outside behind the bleachers when they skipped class together to smoke, and Jean wants to hate himself for remembering all of this.
“First hit?” Eren offers, holding the pipe out to Jean, and Jean shakes his head, digging out his cell.
“Go ahead. I’ll order the pizza. Pepperoni and mushrooms, yeah?”
Eren grins at him and nods, showing the sharp points of his teeth, and Jean feels his throat tighten before he quickly dials up the pizza place while Eren lights up.
By the time Jean’s hung up the phone, Eren’s had two pretty good hits, and the smoke exhales through his parted lips as he nudges Jean with the pipe. Jean raises an eyebrow at Eren when the boy leers at him again.
“S’good shit,” Eren rasps, blowing out more smoke while Jean inhales, and then they pass it back and forth mostly in silence. Eren’s definitely taking larger hits than Jean, and when he fumbles and spills a little bit of ashes onto the coffee table, he giggles and bites his lip. Jean rolls his eyes, snatching the pipe.
“I’ll do it, you fuckin’ stoner,” Jean mutters, beginning to pack the second bowl. Eren leans into him, squishing his cheek against Jean’s shoulder, and fuck, Jean forgot how weirdly touchy Eren gets when he’s high.
“M’hungry,” Eren mumbles, watching Jean press his thumb down into the bowl before lighting up and taking a hit. When Jean holds the pipe out for Eren, the boy just grins and opens his mouth.
Jean blinks. “I’m not going to feed you weed like a fuckin’ baby bird.”
“I can’t move my arms, Jean, you have to.”
“Oh, my god,” Jean wheezes, shoving the pipe in Eren’s mouth right as there’s a knock on the door. Eren’s laughing too hard to inhale the smoke anyways so Jean sets the pipe on the table while he stumbles up to grab his wallet from his jacket pocket. His body feels heavy, and shit, he’s more stoned than he thought.
Not as much as Eren, though, Jean thinks as he returns to the living room with the box of pizza to see Eren lying across the couch, staring at the ceiling.
His face is oddly relaxed, eyes wide and blown and curious, and he’s playing with the hem of his shirt idly. The pipe on the table is black and burnt on the inside, and Jean sighs.
“Did you seriously smoke the rest of the bowl in the five minutes I got the pizza?”
“Dude, I’m so high,” Eren whispers, grunting when Jean shoves him half off the couch so he has a place to sit. Jean flips on the television to fill the silence while they eat, and Eren tosses his legs in Jean’s lap, settling back with a slice of pizza.
“I wanna watch Cupcake Wars,” he says around a mouthful, and Jean tries to ignore the weight of the other’s feet in his lap as he flips through the channels.
“We’re watching Family Fued.”
Eren whines but doesn’t protest, mind solely focused on licking the pizza sauce off his lip, and Jean averts his eyes, reaching forward to grab his own slice before settling back against the cushions. Eren gets stupidly focused on the show within seconds, and Jean carefully lets his hand idly rest on Eren’s ankle. The brunette doesn’t seem to notice, or care, and Jean turns his gaze back to the television, chest tight.
One episode ends, another begins, and Eren shifts around until he’s sitting up next to Jean, knees pulled up to his chest, chin resting on them, and he nudges Jean with his shoulder, says,
“Can we watch that shitty indie movie you showed me last time I came over?”
“Okay, one, it’s not shitty,” Jean points out, but he’s already getting up and crawling over to his pile of DVD’s next to the television. “And two, you better not fuckin’ fall asleep this time like you did last time.”
“I have to stay awake,” Eren grins when Jean sits back down next to him. “If I don’t, you might sleep-cuddle me again.”
Jean’s body freezes, and when he turns to glance at Eren, the boy is just grinning at him, in this leering, almost threatening way, and Jean feels his palms sweat as he glares.
“You’re the one who rolled off the goddamned couch, dickhole.”
Eren must notice how tense he’s gotten, how red his face has become, because he scoots just a bit closer, biting his lip when Jean flinches. “Dude, chill. It’s - ”
“Let’s just watch the movie,” Jean mutters, cutting him off as his thumb struggles to press the play button on the remote.
Fuck, he thought Eren forgot about that. It’s not really that big of a deal. Friends cuddle with each other all the time, right? But, friends don’t cuddle with each other and then think about it for days on end, dreaming about the heavy, welcome warmth, and the way their hair smelled and felt tickling his nose. The way Eren’s waist felt with Jean’s arm wrapped around it. The quiet, sleepy noises he made when Jean shifted enough to rouse him from his slumber. The small, sticky spot of drool Eren left on his collarbone that Jean should’ve been more grossed out about but for some reason he really, really wasn’t grossed out at all.
He’s not even paying attention to the movie, mind wandering in a thousand different directions, and he jumps a bit when he feels Eren press closer, their shoulders touching, knees knocking together softly, and Jean’s already in the corner of the couch so he can’t scoot away. He doesn’t want to.
Eren nudges him gently in the side, barely there, and Jean bites his lip and stares determinedly at the television screen, ignoring the boy next to him because Jean’s face is on fire and he’s honestly surprised he hasn’t combusted into flames yet and -
“Oh my god, Kirschstein, just put your goddamned arm around me already.”
Jean makes a strangled noise when Eren worms his way beneath his arm, until the boy is curled up against his side, Jean’s arm heavy and tense around his shoulders. Eren settles his head near Jean’s neck, and his breath is warm when it hits his skin.
“The fuck are you - ”
“Fuck off,” Eren says, and it’s then Jean notices the tiny, nervous tremor. “You’re fucking comfortable, okay? I… I slept better that night than I have in a long ass time.”
“You were drunk off your ass,” Jean wheezes, but finds his arm tightening around Eren’s shoulders anyways.
“I have insomnia when I’m drunk, normally,” Eren mumbles, and when Jean glances down he sees Eren biting his lip, the sharp points digging into the skin harshly, and Jean refrains from reaching out and running his thumb across the abused flesh. “But not that night. Um.”
“Are you high still?”
Eren curls up tighter against Jean, pinching his thigh just to hear him squeak. “Jesus, no, you asshole. Just fucking hold me.”
Jean’s lips twitch a bit, and he brings his cheek to rest against the crown of Eren’s head, smells the familiar shampoo he inhaled that night, feels the tickle of the flyaway hairs against his face. Eren’s warm and soft, tucked against his side, and though his shoulders are broader, Jean finds that he likes the solidness against him.
And Eren… Eren is pliant and relaxed, and he fucking initiated this stupid ass fucking - cuddle session, or whatever. So, facts on the table, Eren obviously likes it too. Likes him, Jean thinks. Maybe? Shit.
He’s so fucked.
--
It becomes….. a thing. A stupid thing that Jean stupidly looks forward to because it’s so stupid.
Eren will come over after Jean gets home from class if he doesn’t have work, and sometimes he’ll even be waiting in Jean’s apartment already, curled on the couch and eating his food, and yeah, Jean really should start locking his door.
But nevertheless, they’ll bicker for a bit, and Jean will do a little bit of homework before shoving his books to the side and waiting awkwardly fo Eren to press up against him. Jean will settle back against the couch, wrap his arm around Eren’s shoulders, and they’ll just watch the television like normal. They’ll make snide comments to each other like normal, Eren will call Jean a pompous ass for knowing the exact location and film date of a particular film like normal, and it’ll be all normal.
Except for the fact that they seemed to have become friends with benefits. In a way. Friends with cuddle benefits? Is that even a thing? Jean considers asking Marco later, but he’s still not sure if he even wants anyone to know about what exactly is going on between him and Eren.
Currently, Jean’s propped against the armrest of the couch, legs sprawled out with Eren seated between them, back to Jean’s chest, and Left 4 Dead is blaring on the TV screen, Eren rapidly smashing his buttons because Jean’s an ass and purposely attracted the hoard by shooting a car and setting the alarm off.
“Fuck you, I already have low health from that dumb ass witch ripping me apart,” Eren snaps, and Jean snorts, hooking his chin over Eren’s shoulder and gripping his controller tighter, watching as Eren attempts to survive the zombie onslaught. Jean’s safe on the roof of building, and when the tell-tale shake and thump ripple through the screen, warning the impending doom of the Tank, Eren growls,
“You better get your pussy ass down from that building and help me fight this piece of shit.”
“Whatcha gonna do if I don’t, hm?” Jean teases, and Eren turns his head abruptly to sneer some shitty retort, but he seems to have forgotten that Jean’s chin is resting in the crook of his shoulder, and when Eren whips his head towards him, they’re noses are touching and oh.
Eren freezes, but doesn’t pull away, and the familiar vibrations of his controller signalling him getting basically annihilated by the Tank doesn’t seem to grab his attention, with the way he’s staring at Jean. From this close up, Jean can see the glittering amber flakes sprinkled in Eren’s eyes, the ring of caramel around his pupils and blending in with the blue-green color of his irises. Jean remembers learning a list of useless words in AP English his senior year of high school, and the one word that comes to mind at the moment is clinquant.
He remembers having to write a poem about that word, looking up the definition and scoffing when he read clinquant; glittering, tinsel-like, and then he smoked a bowl with Eren before writing a half-assed poem about the stars in the sky.
He’s suddenly very grateful for remembering that dumb word now, because he can’t think of a better way to describe the way Eren’s eyes look right now, staring at him. Jean closes his eyes and takes a shaky breath, nudging Eren’s nose gently until the boy makes a quiet nose and leans forward, slotting their mouths together.
It’s soft, less kissing and more just pressing lips together, but then Eren lets his controller fall to the floor and he’s turning around in Jean’s lap, straddling his hips and pressing more into him, finally tilting his head for a better angle and sucking Jean’s bottom lip into his mouth. Jean hums and tosses his own controller to the carpet before sliding his hands up the back of Eren’s shirt, feeling the delicate knobs of his spine and feeling the boy shiver beneath his fingers.
“Fuck,” Eren breathes out, finally pulling away from the kiss, and his pupils are fat, cheeks flushed pink, and Jean bites his lip, pressing his forehead against Eren’s collarbone, embarrassed.
“Um.”
Eren laughs a little shakily, fingers gripping Jean’s shirt. “I think both of us just got slayed by zombies.”
“We just made out, and you’re concerned about the stupid video game?” Jean wheezes somewhat hysterically, pressing his face more into Eren’s chest to hide his burning face. Eren snorts and runs a trembling hand through Jean’s hair, fingers scratching the dark undercut buzzed short and soft near his nape. Jean hates himself for thinking about how fucking nice it feels.
“Okay,” Eren says, “I’m going to let you decide what happens next.”
“That’s unfair,” Jean whines, face still pressed against the soft cotton of Eren’s shirt, and when he pulls back eventually, Eren’s watching him with a contemplative look.
“We can either go back to playing video games, or,” he starts, voice dropping just a bit as he gnaws at his bottom lip before continuing, “we can go back to making out.”
Jean makes a strangled noise, eyes flicking from Eren’s eyes down to his lips, and then back up to his eyes again, watching the delicate fan of his eyelashes brush against the swells of his cheeks as he blinks, slowly, waiting for a response.
“Well?” Eren prods.
“Why do I get to pick?” Jean wheezes, fingers digging roughly into Eren’s sides, and Eren sucks in a sharp breath, adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows shakily.
“‘Cause,” Eren says, looking suspiciously shy all of a sudden, ducking his head down and sort of fiddling with the collar of Jean’s shirt. “If I got to pick, I’d probably just end up shoving my hand down your pants. Um.”
It’s quiet for a moment, just the stilted audio from their forgotten video game, and Eren’s fingers are fumbling over themselves, twisting and plucking Jean’s shirt until Jean finally hiccups out a surprised laugh.
“Oh my god,” Jean manages, and when Eren’s gaze shoots up to glare at him, Jean just laughs harder because this whole situation is so ridiculous and he kind of just wants to kiss Eren again. Or maybe suck his dick. Either one would be okay, actually. “Fuck it. C’mere, you fucking shithead.”
“Hey, fuck you - mmf!”
Jean’s licking his way back into Eren’s mouth, and Eren sucks in a sharp breath of air when Jean slides his hands down until they’re cupping Eren’s jean-clad ass. Jean gives an experimental squeeze, and Eren makes a small noise into Jean’s mouth as he bucks his hips forward, the slow grind of his hips causing heat to pool low and welcome in both of their bodies.
Jean slides down a bit until he’s lying down a little more, Eren sprawled on top of him and still continuing the delicious grind of his hips, and Jean’s dick is so hard it’s unfair. He uses the grip he has on Eren’s ass to help press the shorter teen down more, making Eren let out a trembling moan right into Jean’s mouth, and Jean swallows it up greedily. Jean’s body twitches, and he finds himself sliding one hand up the back of Eren’s shirt to feel skin beneath his fingertips, counting the prominent knobs of Eren’s spine as he slides his hand higher.
Eren pants into his mouth, lips red and wet, and Jean finds out, after Eren slides his lips to Jean’s neck, that he’s a fucking biter, and Jean’s only a little scared about the aftermath he’s going to have to face the next time he looks into a mirror.
“Fuck,” Jean groans, arching his head back as Eren sucks and bites down his neck, and Jean finds his other hand slipping from Eren’s ass up to fist the boy’s unruly hair, tugging sharply. Eren squeaks and fists the front of Jean’s shirt, hips stuttering to a stop, and Jean swallows, his fingers going loose in Eren’s hair, because oh, oh fuck, was that -
Eren whines suddenly, face still buried into Jean’s neck, and Jean furrows his eyebrows, lowering his hand from Eren’s hair, but then Eren’s snatching Jean’s wrist and tugging it back up to his head, licking a hesitant stripe along Jean’s jawline as he says, “Can you… um. Can you pull my hair again?”
And really, this whole situation is so completely unfair, and Jean can’t help the desperate, pleased noise that escapes his lips at he grips Eren by the hair again, craning the boy’s head back so Jean can place a few red marks of his own. The sound that comes out of Eren’s mouth should be illegal, and Jean pushes down the urge to say something completely disgusting like, “fuck, you sound so good right now, moaning all sweet for me, huh?”
“Jean, oh, fuck - please,” Eren manages, and Jean isn’t really sure what he’s asking for, so he just pulls a little harder at Eren’s hair, soft and tangled between his fingers. That seems to cause Eren’s body to jolt, almost violently, and then he’s grinding desperately against Jean, and if Jean wasn’t about to come in the next few minutes he’d probably inquire about possibly shedding a few layers of clothes. He’s close, though, and Eren seems to be in some sort of stupidly sexy trance that has Jean staring at him, unabashed, watching the slow swipe of tongue as Eren wets his lips; watches his eyes glass over and go unfocused as he tugs at Jean’s shirt, wrinkling the material in his hands. There’s entirely too many layers between their dicks, but the thought is fleeting because Eren leans down and kisses Jean again, hot and velvet-soft, and Jean finds himself shuddering and coming in his pants, moaning low into the heat of Eren’s mouth.
Eren follows suit soon after, voice pitchy and broken as he rides out his own orgasm, Jean’s hand sliding out of his hair in order to cup his cheek, fitting his thumb into Eren’s mouth just to feel the sharp canines dig gently into his flesh. Jean never fucking thought he’d have a thing for shoving his fingers in someone's mouth, but god, suddenly he can’t stop thinking about holding Eren down, telling him to suck his fingers until they’re dripping.
It’s quiet, as they both attempt to calm down, dicks softening in their now-sticky jeans, and Eren’s almost trembling against him. Jean hopes it’s from their activities and not because of regret, but he’s not completely sure yet so he lets his hand rake soothingly through the shorter teen’s hair. Eren seems to like that, because he sighs sweetly before letting his eyes flutter back open, sitting up a bit in Jean’s lap to look at him properly. His face is red, the sharp points of his teeth digging into the fat of his lower lip as he gnaws nervously on the flesh, and this time, Jean does let himself reach up, stopping the abuse with his thumb as he smooths his finger over Eren’s bitten lips.
“So,” Eren clears his throat, trying not to get distracted by the gentle way Jean fucking caressing his cheek. “That sure happened.”
Jean hums, eyes straying the to sparse freckles barely visible against Eren’s pink cheeks.
“Wanna, like, talk about it? Or something?” Eren asks, raising an eyebrow and batting Jean’s hands away when they try to trace the swells of his cheeks.
“Talk about what?”
“Oh my god, are you even listening to me?”
Jean can’t really gift that with a response, because he does kind of get dumb and spacey after having a really good orgasm. Totally not his fault, though. If anyone’s to blame, it’s Eren, that stupid, stupid asshole.
“Fine, okay, whatever,” Eren concludes, but he sounds more amused than pissed off, so Jean counts it as a win. “But, for the record, next time you should take me out on a proper date before we share mutual orgasms, yeah?”
Jean’s cheeks burn, and he honestly can’t tell if the word date or if the word orgasm is making him blush more, but hearing them both come out of Eren’s mouth in one sentence only minutes after their previous activities, is almost too much for Jean’s short circuited brain to handle, so he simply makes a strangled little noise before tugging Eren down until he’s sprawled against Jean’s chest.
He’s warm and loose-limbed, nose pressed against Jean’s neck, and Jean’s suddenly thrown back to that night at the party, waking up with a pleasant weight on his chest, except now they’re sober, and Jean can feel his come drying against his boxers, terribly uncomfortable and gross, but Eren’s giggling against his neck and Jean rolls his eyes, flicking the shorter teen on his forehead.
“Your kill stats just became so shitty,” Eren snickers, flapping a hand towards the television where the video game is still going, both of their characters dead on screen.
Jean wants to be pissed, because his headshots had finally succeeded Marco’s, and Marco rocks at racking up headshots, but he can’t bring himself to be anything but slightly annoyed, because Eren’s here, dumb and soft and warm, and he doesn’t seem to be going anywhere, and really, that’s enough for Jean. That’s enough.
And when they wake up a few hours later after dozing off, their spunk crusted to their thighs beneath their pants, Jean lends Eren some sweats to change into and doesn’t even need to be encouraged to wrap his arm around Eren’s shoulders, because this time, it’s real.