Work Text:
"Jean?!? Jean. Oh my God. You have no idea how scared I was... You have no idea. It is so good to hear your voice, babe."
"I'm fiiiinneee," he grumbles. "Don't ever worry that much about me." I rest the phone on my chest for a moment to rub my eyes.
"Don't go fricking jumping out of cars and I won't have a reason to worry."
"I didn't jump, I slipped."
I exhale forcefully through my nose. "Do you know how awful it was to sit there for four hours, waiting for your mom to tell me if you would ever even be able to talk to me the same way again? Here's the full extent of what I knew; you were hospitalized after jumping out of a moving car. You cracked your head open, blacked out, then made no sense when you started talking again. I thought... I thought everything there was to think. I thought you had some serious, serious brain damage."
"Buuuut I don't, Marco. I don't even have a concussion. I'm fine."
"...You can't keep getting in crazy accidents like this. Jean, I'm going to have a full head of gray hair before I'm even legally an adult. All because of you." I hear him chuckle through the phone. "It's not funny! You're an idiot! Luckily for you, you're pretty cute, so accident-prone or not, you're still my idiot."
"Mmm," he muses. "I like that word, 'my.'"
"Yeah, yeah. This is going to be a doozy to explain to my mom in the morning. Hey, any chance I can drive over there and visit you tomorrow?"
"Yeah, 'course. Actually, that would pretty much be the only thing that could possibly make tomorrow not-awful."
"Alright, awesome. Jean... What really happened? Can you honestly tell me no one was drinking?"
"Yeah, not one drop, I swear, Marco. I wouldn't lie to you- I didn't drink anything but water. I was literally at the high school for the purpose of giving Connie a ride home. While I'm there, fucking Reiner Braun shows up with his new Jeep that he's way too proud of and asks me if I want a ride."
"Aaand you love your cars, so I know you wouldn't turn him down."
"Couldn't refuse. I don't know exactly what happened then because after I got knocked out, I couldn't remember a whole lot. I don't doubt I did something stupid. All I know is I got on the back, got thrown from the car, and that dick Reiner kept driving. Hasn't checked up on me since."
"Wow. So I was one hundred percent justified in being scared for your life."
"I suppose so."
"...Jean, I'm so happy you're okay... I would've..."
"Yeah. I'm sorry I make things so hard on you."
"It doesn't matter. You're okay. Listen, I'm exhausted- living in a state of constant fear for hours does that to you. I know you're okay, so I'm finally at peace and we can both get some good rest. Night, Jean."
"Night, babe. I love you."
"I love you to pieces. Just not in pieces"
-
It's an ordinary Bodt Sunday. The house rises early and heads to church. My sister takes ages to get herself ready so I don't have enough time to tell my mom the story until we are all packed in the car. "I was up until 3:30 last night," I begin. My mother shoots me a bewildered look. "My reckless-hooligan-boyfriend was in the hospital. Cracked his head open jumping off a moving car. No brain or skull damage, just a ton of stitches."
She furrows her brow. "Marco, you're kidding."
"Nope. He's alright, just really banged up and-"
"Every time I see Jean, every time you talk about him, it's always 'Jean is sooo against this and that. He's a really good, cautious kid. He would never get into trouble.' But lately it's just been one thing after another. If he's so good, why does he keep making bad decisions? Were he and whoever else was there drinking?"
"No, Mom, Mom. Listen, I trust him. I called him, he sounded fine. I think the hospital would know if he was under any influence. I think he was just being the dumb teenage guy he is and he screwed up. For most guys my age, that's the norm, you know," I explain. She doesn't know him like I do. I understand that she's trying to look out for me, but this is already hard enough.
"You'd better not do any of the stupid things he-"
"Honey. I did many worse things than jumping off of cars when I was in high school," my dad interjects. We pull up to a stoplight and my parents' eyes meet. My mom's shoulders relax slightly.
"Anyway," I continue, "I was wondering if I could visit him today?"
"I guess so, as long as a parent is home," my mom responds.
I snort. "Thanks, mom. I don't think you need to worry, though. I seriously don't think he'll have the energy to be up to no good today."
-
Church flies by. I listen and I contemplate and I enjoy the message, I just don't feel as connected to it as I normally do. I run some errands, drop siblings off around town, visit my grandma, and eventually decide I've gotten enough done to not feel guilty for visiting my bruised boyfriend.
Mrs. Kirschtein greets me at my car. "Marco, your boyfriend is in trouble with me." She smiles and hugs me after I shut the door. "Hi, sweetie, I missed you."
"He's in trouble with me, too! And I know, it's been so long since I've come over here. It's always the other way around."
She leads me inside, reminds me as always that I don't have to take my shoes off, and (as always), I take them off anyway. "He's in here. He was napping in the chair."
Jean is curled up in an armchair, buried beneath at least three blankets. He turns his head when he hears us and smiles blearily. "Heyyy...!" he calls weakly.
"Hey hey heyyy." I kiss his forehead with an obnoxious amount of caution. "Alright, lemme see the damage." He whips the mutilated side of his face towards me with a frown. There are stitches through, above, and below his eyebrow. He lifts his arm to reveal a thick bandage around his elbow.
"The arm is sooo much worse. Hurts like a bitch. I can't even bend it. It's awful, I can't do anything," he whines. I squat beside his chair and run my fingers through his hair.
"That's what you get for making nutty choices. Can I take a picture?"
"Noooo, I look gross and weak. I don't want people to see me like this!" he protests.
"Jean, please? I'll just get the stitches, I won't even take one of your whole face." He is completely oblivious to the fact that I've already taken four photos of him and sent them to my mom.
He flares his nostrils and rolls his eyes at me. "Alriiiiight."
"Thank you." I lean in and snap a disgustingly clear picture of his gnarled eyebrow. "Poor Jean."
"Jean, move to the couch so Marco can actually sit with you," Mrs. Kirschtein orders. Suddenly, Jean seems to regain his energy. He scuttles over to the couch, still cloaked from the shoulders down in blankets, and pats the space beside him.
"Yeah, Marco, come over here. Don't look too closely at that chair; my arm bled through the bandage earlier so it's all gross anyway."
We sit and chat with his mother for a few minutes until she says, "Well, now that Marco's here and settled, I've got someone else to babysit Jean for a bit, so I think I'm going to run to the drug store. That okay? Anybody need anything?" I am suddenly very concerned; would 20 unsupervised minutes be going against the one rule my parents had set in place??? I decide not to fuss about it and simply smile in response. After all, what could anyone accomplish in such a short time?
"Can you get me whatever pain medication they gave me when I busted up my hand?" Jean asks, only half kidding. "That stuff woorrrked." Mrs. K. rolls her eyes, then leaves us.
-
For the first few minutes, we do nothing more than smile at each other and kiss innocently. The more time that rolls by, however, the less satisfied I am with just this.
These are dangerous feelings, Marco.
The next time our lips meet, I press myself in closer. He shifts to accommodate me, and this new angle is so much easier, so much sweeter. I grab hold of his face and massage his hairline with my thumbs, accidentally grazing over a stitch. He smacks his forehead against mine and pulls his mouth away. "OW. Jeez, Marco, you tryna kill me?"
"I'm so sorry oh my gosh I forgot! I'm sor-" He laughs at my concern, then takes my breath away by cutting my stammering short with a solid kiss. I suck on his lower lip, which elicits a beautiful groan from the back of his throat. I find nothing more enticing than the sounds of pleasure I can pull from him. I grab his hand and place it over my butt. He squeezes tightly and pulls my body closer to his. Jean breaks our liplock to bring his mouth a millimeter away from my ear. I feel his warm breath over the hot, sensitive skin there and nearly melt.
"I want this," he tells me, patting my back pocket, "right here." He points to his blanketed lap. I grin excitedly and swing one leg to the other side of him. Jean continues to grope me and I arch my back to give him a better grip.
"Mmff. I love this ass, Marco."
"You tell me every time I see you, haha. I love that you love it." His kisses get sloppier and his breathing gets heavier. I trail kisses from the corner of his lips, down his jaw, and straight to the sensitive skin on his neck that I know drives him crazy. I never bite, I just brush my lips against him as long as he lets me. After all, we'd both be dead meat if our parents found hickeys on us.
Jean is practically growling beneath me. His pelvis rolls up to grind against mine and I let out an embarrassingly girly gasp. Enjoying my response, he lets his hand gravitate from my butt to the area where pressure is steadily building between my legs. I'm not very vocal when it comes to things like this, but some noise definitely escapes me when his hand glides up and down.
Suddenly, I hear a creak from somewhere in the house. I dismount my boyfriend and drape my arms around his waist in a way I imagine looks nonchalant in order to make it appear that we'd been cuddling platonically the entire time.
"What?" Jean asks, in a whisper.
"Thought I heard the door."
"Marco, it's been seven minutes. It takes that long just to get to the drug store."
"Sorry," I reply sheepishly. "Just tryna be careful. Hey, aren't you hot with this blanket?"
"Agh, no, I've been cold all day. You're hot, though," he says with a cheeky grin. "Seriously, though, losing as much blood as I did yesterday will do that to ya. But if you're hot, feel free to take it off, by all means." Still curled up beside him, I shove the blanket clear off the couch.
Jean is wearing his favorite, most comfortable basketball shorts. And when I get a glimpse of what he's packing through the minute bit of coverage they provide, they become my favorite shorts, too. I stare for a good twenty seconds. He must notice me at some point, because he tilts my head back towards his with two fingers and kisses me deeply again. I let my hand rest on his boner and his hand falls atop mine, gently pushing it down. I drag my fingers back and forth across the athletic fabric as I kiss him, feeding my curiosity by exploring this part of him that I've never seen.
I know I'm being an awful tease. I do. And it's not that I don't want to go further than this; I just don't want to make a fool of myself. I slip one thumb under his waistband and, immediately, I'm brought back to a quiet, warm July night a month and a half ago in his car. I'd moved my hand through the leg of his pants, through his boxers until I'd touched the base of his penis with shaking hands. And then I'd psyched myself out and left him with blue balls.
"It's completely fine, Marco. It's been two months; I wasn't expecting anything. Don't ever do anything with me that you don't want to," he'd reassured me.
"No, I really, really want to! I just... I don't know if I can."
"If you want to, you'll be able to. Another day. We've got all the time in the world, baby."
Was this the "other day" we were waiting for? My brown eyes meet his, and I hope he can read them. When he says nothing, I ask. "...Do you want me to...?"
He cocks his head to the side. "Want you to what?"
I roll my eyes and rub my thumb along the inside of his waistband, then look back to him for guidance. "Only if you're ready, Marco."
I kiss his cheek gently, then pull his shorts and boxers down all at once.
And there it is; the most flawless dick imaginable, right under my nose. I take it in my hand slowly, then promptly burst out laughing. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I just don't know what I'm doing! Can you please help me? Tell me what to do. What do you like? I don't have a clue how to go about this..."
"Uh, I mean, I don't know if we have enough time to... Just, do what you think you can."
I am frustrated by his lack of direction, but determined to make him feel good. I squeeze with very little force, scared it will be too much pressure for him too soon. Suddenly it's as if I've forgotten how I jerk myself off, and I just sit there stupidly with him in my unmoving hand. I eventually break my daze and start to bounce my fist. From my peripheral vision, I see Jean throw his head back. I am sitting beside him with my cheek against his chest and I can hear his heart thumping wildly and feel his chest rising and falling rapidly.
Even I, in my position of giving, am outrageously turned on by his responses. I move a little quicker and I'm rewarded by a few sexy sighs.
Despite his eminent pleasure, I feel unbelievably dumb and as if I'm doing it all wrong. After a few more pumps, he croaks my name and I pause to look at him.
"Can you put your mouth on it...?" he requests breathlessly in the most attractive tone I've ever heard.
I was not at all planning on going down on him today, and I surprise even myself when I reply with a hushed "Yes!"
It's his voice. It's the excitement of being alone in a truly private place. It's my thankfulness that he's alive and will heal soon. In the same way he couldn't resist riding Reiner's Jeep, I can't resist myself now. Everything is moving so fast. I am moving so fast. Before I know it, my mouth is closed around him and I am carefully tucking my teeth under my lips.
My bobs are slow and shallow at first, but I quickly fall into a rhythm and begin to up my speed.
I feel like I am flying. I can only imagine how he feels. Thinking about it arouses me even further. People complain about how awful blowjobs are all the time, but I can't understand why. He feels amazing under my tongue. He sounds amazing as I swirl it around the tip. I could do this all da-
Creak.
We both hear it this time and assume our positions at lightning speed. Jean pants audibly and I wipe my mouth. He pulls his shorts up forcibly and wraps the blanket around his hips, then waddles grumpily to the door. He returns a moment later and plops on the couch again. "It was nothing. I looked all around. I shut the garage door so she'll have to open it when she gets home; then we'll definitely know."
I nod and stare straight ahead. He fiddles with one of his bandages.
After a momentary break, I stand up and move to sit on the floor between his knees. Jean looks at me questioningly. "Wanna... Give it another go?" I suggest, rubbing his kneecaps. His eyes go wide.
"Y-yeah, sure...!" He drops trou in a heartbeat and I shuffle in closer. Positioned better this time, I try to look Jean in the face, but I simply can't do it without laughing.
"Sorry, sorry, I need to collect myself... Oh my gosh..." I refocus and get back on task.
Round two is every bit as exhilarating. Probably more so. I remember halfway through that I have two free hands to work with, so I start rubbing the places my mouth can't reach. He is just getting close to the edge as we hear the garage door open. "Now we should stop," he admits.
I curl up beside Jean and he gives me one last, passionate kiss. He can't stop smiling.
"Holy frick..." I whisper.
"Holy frick, indeed," he agrees, nodding vigorously. "It was sooo good. Not a single part of me hurts right now."
"Really? Ha, I almost forgot I was here primarily to 'relax with my invalid boyfriend.' I can't believe you enjoyed that as much as I did, I felt like such a noob." Jean laughs and rubs his face.
"Well, I'm most certainly open to practicing, but that was more than good enough for me. You're next, okay? You're in for a real treat." Jean winks and I giggle nervously.
I decline his offer. He stares at me in shock.
"Why the fuck not? I-I mean, if you don't feel comfortable, I don't want to push you, but I kinda owe you-"
"You don't owe me. Not until I can finish your turn, at least." When this registers with him, he closes his eyes and whistles.
-
When Mrs. Kirschtein returns, I am nestled sweetly in what would be the crook of his injured arm, had he been able to bend it. The rest of my visit is lazy and adorably awkward. We watch some action anime he's into about man-eating giants and exchange the occasional chaste kiss, but that's about it.
On my way home, I pass my church and find myself ducking in my seat.
Shortly after I walk in my door, I snatch a zucchini from the refrigerator and snap Jean a photo of me holding it, with the brief but explanatory caption of "You."
It takes him a good hour to snap me back, and when he does, it's a picture of him facepalming. He's used the red draw tool to write, "sent my response to your snap to sasha on accident."
I take a selfie while pulling on my hair. "What did it say?!?" I type.
In his next picture, he's face-down in his bed. "said dont think its that big but glad u liked it"
I am unsure whether to laugh or cry. I put on my best 'yikes' face. "Guess everyone will know soon that I blow more than just your mind!"