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The battlefield wasn’t the only way to chug up the body’s adrenaline or make the world spin. Sometimes that was just how his body reacted from even the simplest of looks from Jean.
He felt like he was tensing and relaxing at the same time; his body losing its defensive pose as his heart contracted, squeezing harder than Marco really found necessary. All today, seeing Jean in every stress-filled situation that could have happened (minus death, thank god) probably gave him at least three heart attacks, judging to how hard his heart would pound after suddenly stopping for a moment, pausing in his chest, along with the air in his lungs.
Another thing to add to the pro column; moments with Jean couldn’t kill him.
They were finally not in immediate danger, Jean especially, and talking.
They hadn’t done that in years.
It wasn’t like Marco didn’t want to - hell, he still checked regularly on Jean -
“The guy under this mask isn’t the one you remember.” There were probably more eloquent ways to say that, but that’s what Marco found himself whispering, blaming the shotty words on the fact that they all almost died like, thirteen times in the past hour. “He’s got scars and-”
Jean interrupted with a look that seemed to be caught between annoyance and amusement, “The man I remember has scars, just as I do. In fact, it was something we shared and bonded over. I’d like to hope you at least remember that.”
A short chuckle left him at Jean’s words and he glanced away, finger itching to swipe under his nose, despite him knowing it wouldn’t be able to do much, not with his mask in the way. “I remember,” he confirmed, and Jean grinned, too pleased, honestly, for what just happened.
“Good.”
Their silence was comfortable for a moment, and Marco was sure that the other two had already left. That was probably why Jean kept shuffling around, as if all he wanted was to reach forward and touch Marco again. Solitary always gave him more confidence than an audience ever had.
Instead of letting him, Marco spoke up again, clearing his throat as he stared at his ex. “They’re physical - the scars. They don’t really…” he trailed off for a moment and bit his lip under his mask, the risen skin thick under his teeth, “They don’t look that great under the mask.”
“So?” Jean popped off almost immediately afterwards, “Shit, Marco, you’ve always been a looker, but that’s not why I fell in love with you.”
The word love as always when he heard it from Jean’s lips, sent a thrill through his spine, tingling all the way to his fingertips and toes, a feeling similar to when his super regeneration kicked in. After two years he thought that the feeling wouldn’t be as strong, even if his own feelings for Jean were still strong as hell (that’s who he had been fighting for after all - the only man as fucked up as he was to be able to stand being around for the rest of his life), but they weren’t and it was threatening to give him another short death.
He fought the urge to shiver and instead took in a deep breath, watching Jean as carefully as he could, to watch for any change in his words or expression. “I think it was my looks originally, though. Then, my money.”
Earning a smirk when Jean reminisced on the memory of their first meeting, Marco dug his teeth into his lip again, harder than before. He hadn’t seen that look in such a long time and he wasn’t sure if it was making him happy or not to see it. “I like to believe it started with the ski ball and the ring.”
“You made me pay for both of those and only gave me fifty-one minutes for my cash and gift.”
Giggling, Jean finally stepped closer and took Marco’s clothed hands in his own, threading their fingers together as he looked up at him through shy lashes. “And it was worth it, wasn’t it?”
Marco couldn’t remember ever hearing Jean sound so hesitant and doubtful of himself.
“Of course,” Marco assured him, adjusting their hold so his grip was tighter on Jean’s long, thin fingers. He stared down at their joined hands, eyes wandering over the red and black material of his costume and asked himself Jean’s question again.
He’d do it all over again, just for this moment to be longer, to happen once more.
He repeated himself, voice more confident as he looked up to see Jean’s nervous smile grow larger, “Of course, it was worth every second.”
Even some of the worst ones. He’d do it all over again.
After a moment of them just standing together, appreciating each other’s company and touch, Jean’s fingers twitched against his own and he released them, his own curling and uncurling into and from fists as they began to slide up his arm. They slithered up his biceps and shoulders, only stilling when they curled around his neck in that very way that they would when Jean would pull him down for a kiss so he didn’t have to stand on the tips of his toes.
“I don’t know if kissing is such a good idea,” Marco told him, reaching up to gesture to his mask. “‘ wouldn’t really be able to feel your tongue in my mouth very well.” And what a sinful experience that could be. Marco wouldn’t let it be short-lived by trying to french kiss with the stupid material over his mouth.
Snorting, Jean shook his head and his fingers pushed deeper into the fabric, to where Marco could feel them pressing directly against his neck. “I already told you-”
Just because Jean was okay with Marco being potentially - actually, being quite - ugly didn’t mean that Marco was okay with Jean seeing him. Jean didn’t know what was under the mask and he wasn’t ready to really show the love of his life what hid under it, either. He cut him off, voice shaking and coming out more like a pitiful whine than a firm no, “Please don’t make me take it off.”
The noise and his words seem to startle Jean into taking a mental step back, as he paused, face falling, fingers loosening and letting go of the fabric, only barely keeping themselves looped around Marco’s neck. He looked so crestfallen and apologetic and…
And Marco didn’t really want to see that. He especially didn’t want to be the cause of such a look from the other.
“Here,” he started, stepping even closer as he dropped his hands to Jean’s waist where they still sat so comfortably, just as they would two years ago. He held his breath as he appreciated the feeling of a warm body under his hands, Jean’s warm body. Jean relaxed so easily under him and Marco found himself pulling Jean even closer, to where their bodies were aligned and he felt even more warmth against him, all over his torso rather than just in his neck and hands. He sighed out his next words, “Close your eyes.”
Doing as told, Jean gave a soft smile, biting his lip in anticipation. Marco watched it, heart fluttering happily at the look as he pulled his mask up from the bottom, uncovering only as much as he need to - his nose and mouth - and folded the material over the bridge of his nose. “So, it might be a little weird… The skin is kind of-”
“Don’t care,” Jean interrupted with an excited breath as he surged up while pulling Marco down with the hands on his neck, and pressed their lips together, his twisting into a larger smile when he felt Marco’s skin finally under his own.
His lips were soft, so much softer than Marco’s own, which he didn’t think even could be soft any more. They felt amazing, especially when his tongue was between them, or when little pants of breath left them, with little moans of Marco.
Pulling away with his eyes still closed for Marco’s benefit, Jean licked his swollen lips, and smirked, voice breathy and so good to hear again, “Did you start smoking?”
“It’s from the guns, I swear.” Marco had suffered enough cancer to fill a lifetime, and he wasn’t about to infect his lover (is that what they were going to be again?) with nicotine filled kisses.
Humming, Jean pulled him back into another kiss, “That’s pretty hot,” and pressed his form harder against Marco’s own with a small groan.
Digging his fingers into Jean’s hips, Marco knew that it honestly shouldn’t have been, but he couldn’t agree more.