Chapter Text
Number 54, Reiner Braun, Wyoming Warriors’ nose tackle, takes the field opposite the Scouts’ center, Dieter looking absolutely insignificant before him. Eren’s heart sinks into the pit of his stomach, his eyes catching on Jean standing a few yards away. His hazel eyes are sparking from the shadows of his helmet, zeroed in on Reiner like a precision-guided-missile locked on target.
Shit.
“Connie.” Eren wanders over to his wide receiver as the teams start to get into position. He needs to call a play soon, but first he’s got to figure out how to keep Jean away from Reiner as much as possible. He doesn’t want a brawl on the field, and that’s precisely what he’s going to get if he lets those two share the same yardage.
“Yeah?” Connie stands with his hands on his hips, grass stains and mud on his white pants.
Eren nods his head in Jean’s direction. “If you knew he wanted to kill someone on the other side, would you try to keep him as far away as possible for as long as you could, or would you put him right in front of them and get it over with?”
Even through Connie’s facemask, he can see the arched brow and read the skepticism plain on his features.
“You’re a moron if you think you could keep him away from somebody over there he wanted to kill.”
With a hollow sense of dread opening up just above his diaphragm, he knows Connie’s right. Whatever’s going to happen now, he’d be a fool to think there was anywhere on this field he could put Jean that would keep him away from Reiner now.
Eren sighs, and then he calls Jean over.
At his QB’s call, Jean trots over, a loyal dog with excellent recall, while he’s still on the lead, anyway. Eren beckons him, and he leans in close, keeping Reiner in his periphery. He can see Eren’s green eyes shining beneath his helmet, Eren’s expression intense behind the cage of his mask, his mouthguard hanging below his chin. From this close, Jean can make out the imprints of his teeth on the supple EVA.
Eren’s hand falls on his left shoulder pad, and Jean leans in close so he doesn’t have to shout.
“You said you could block, right?”
Jean furrows his brow, shaking his head in annoyance. “Of course I can block, I’m a tight end, aren’t I?”
“Alright.” Eren grabs him by the collar, yanking on it so hard he knocks their helmets together. “Then block. Zone defense. I want a hole big enough for Mikasa to run through, got it?”
Jean nods. Eren yanks on his collar again. This time, the impact makes his eyes rattle.
“This is only gonna work if you keep your shit together, got it?” Eren hisses, and Jean glares at him. In the distance, a whistle sounds.
“I got it, asshole.”
Eren doesn’t release him. His eyes are bright and hot, burning Jean alive the longer he meets them. “I’ll let you knock him on his ass as many times as you want between now and the final whistle if you can promise me you’ll keep it together. Deal?”
Jean’s breath hitches, but he doesn’t hesitate before answering, “Deal.”
When he lines up this time, it’s on the left end of the offensive line, Connie and Sasha out wide to skate downfield as plan B. Jean turns his head, watching Reiner sink into a 3-point stance in front of the center. Eren’s behind him, hands outstretched, between Dieter’s thighs, ready to catch the snap and sink into the pocket.
The knot in his stomach makes him nauseous, and he keeps his eyes on Reiner until the whistle blows, Dieter snaps the ball into Eren’s waiting hands, and he charges forward as a shield rather than a spear.
The gift of zone defense is that Jean isn’t tethered to a specific linebacker or defensive end to guard against. He and the rest of the O-line block the area of the field in front of the QB together, opening up the smallest of the lanes for Eren or one of the backs to sneak through. In this case, it’s Mikasa, Eren handing off the ball to her shortly after the snap. Then, all Jean has to do is make a hole.
Quicker than anyone on the team but Mikasa herself, Jean darts around the Warrior in front of him, knocking him off his feet with a well-timed lunge to the side, shoulder pad crunching against hip. After that, it’s only Reiner to his right, and his weaponeering system is still locked in tight. Putting on a burst of speed, Jean ducks his right shoulder, charges like an angry bull, and roars his rage into the turf when he collides with Reiner’s middle, knocking him off his feet and slamming his helmet into the turf.
Caught up in it, his vision swimming red, he starts to go in for a swing to Reiner’s soft, exposed belly, but he remembers his promise to Eren. Eren, who had stepped in to defend him from himself in one of his darkest moments yet. Eren, who had touched him so carefully, so gently, patching him back up again. Eren with the dark, wild green eyes looking up at him like Jean’s the only one he trusts to do this job right.
He has to do this job right.
So he gets up, breathing like a freight train, grass-stained and muddied, circling back to the Scouts’ huddle and tearing his eyes away from Reiner still struggling through the daze of being knocked on his ass. His chest is heaving when he goes to the huddle, lightning beneath his skin making him fidget and tremble. A touch on his hip makes him look down, and he finds a gloved hand attached to Eren Jaeger’s form, all long, clean lines in green and white and silver, beautiful and strong and giving him this proud little half-smile like Jean’s actually done something right for once in his life.
It’s a drug, and he’s hooked with just one shot, straight to his heart, Eren’s pride. Those green eyes could have been whiskey-brown for all the difference it made, and for a fraction of a moment, he’s standing on the field with Marco smiling over at him, his face a constellation, and his eyes full of that same pride as he watches Jean work. It hits him in the chest, and he nearly stumbles, looking away and swallowing hard.
The chains move. First and ten on the thirty-nine.
“Again,” Eren says, a light in his eyes when he jostles Jean’s shoulder. “I want Ymir to run it this time.”
Jean nods. Ymir’s feral and wild, not as fast but twice as strong. Eren’s going to want to send her up the left where the Warriors are weaker.
Done.
Down into his 3-point, toes in the turf, knees bent, thighs aching with tension, fingertips in the dirt. He’s a weapon coiled to fire, target acquired, locked and loaded.
Whistle.
Snap.
Charge.
Again, his right shoulder lands hard on Reiner’s gut, and when he goes down Jean doesn’t hesitate to pivot for his next victim. Number sixty-three, defensive end, Pieck Finger, slips into the gap Jean had left behind to target Reiner. But it’s no matter, he’s faster and stronger, diving for her feet and tipping her over with a shoestring tackle, and she goes down before she can get anywhere close to Ymir taking the handoff from Eren.
Ymir bursts from the pocket like a bat out of hell, picking up speed in the open lane Jean had left. Reiner’s on his feet again, closing the distance on her faster than should be possible for a man of his size and stature. But Jean’s hatred is a tool, honed by need and sharpened by the eagerness and pride in glittering green eyes.
He doesn’t let Reiner get close enough. His cleats chew up the turf as he digs his toes in, springs up off the grass, and lunges into Reiner’s path. He uses his body like a shield, tucking his shoulders in and throwing his weight against his back, he and Reiner colliding with one another at full speed. Crashing against Jean’s spine, Reiner flips forward over him, landing hard on the ground and wheezing for air.
Ymir’s off like a shot, and the Scouts fans in the stadium go wild when she barrels into the endzone.
Reiner drags his ass up off the turf, and Jean stares him down while he does, muddied and bloodied, his eyes on fire. His hands itch and ache to wring that strong, chorded neck. His teeth long for Reiner’s jugular to sink into. His bruised, battered heart yearns for a justice he knows deep down neither he nor Marco will get by pummeling his old friend into a bloody pulp. Reiner’s eyes shine the same gold as Jean’s own, with the same sorrow and rage buried within. The two of them drift back to their teams in sync, watching one another.
Reiner nods at Jean, understanding plain on his face beneath the mask.
Jean bares his teeth around his mouthguard in return.
When the Scouts’ offense returns to the sideline for the extra point and then turnover, Jean and Eren gravitate toward one another, trading ideas in hushed tones while the stadium buzzes around them. As the Warriors near fourth down, and both of them can hear Zeke screaming in rage clear over the decibels of the arena, Eren gets Jean’s attention with an elbow to his side. Jean looks over at him. Eren’s eyes are locked on the game, but a little smile tugs at the corners of his lips.
“Thanks,” he says. “For keeping it together.”
“Game’s not over yet, moron,” Jean answers, watching Falco Grice, the Warriors’ kicker, flub a twenty-three yard field goal attempt. “But… I promised.”
By the end of the third quarter, the Scouts have narrowed the gap, 23 to 14. With Jean at his side, Eren’s an unstoppable force, reading the smallest openings and the clearest lanes with quick, sharp eyes, or charging through shallow defenses with screams of effort like he’s bursting through fortress walls. Together, the two of them break the Warriors’ defensive stronghold, and the Scouts’ offense begins to make up ground. The tide starts to shift. The energy of the crowd turns. It may not be enough to win this game, but it’s more than enough to keep hopelessness at bay. Jean and Marco may have been the dream team, but Jean and Eren aren’t half bad either, once they pull their heads out of their asses long enough to work together.
At the start of the fourth quarter, the Scouts take possession of the ball on the forty-seven yard line. Jean breaks from the huddle to take his place at the left end of the O-line, but something large and red fills up the space in his vision before he can. It’s Reiner, knocking his helmet against Jean’s hard enough to clack his teeth together around his mouthguard. Jean glares, taking a step back, but Reiner’s quick and prepared, grabbing Jean’s collar before he can go far.
“How long do you think we get to keep living these lies, huh, Kirschstein?” he hisses, low and hostile. Jean can barely hear him over the roar of the crowd. “You, me, Jaeger. How long do you think until the universe decides to knock us down a few pegs? I didn’t tell you about the accident, and that’s on me. I didn’t know what the fuck to say. How was I supposed to pick up the phone and say sorry, bro, but I killed your secret lover? I’m not the only one keeping shit from you, though. Why don’t you ask Eren what he’s not telling you when you guys all get back to Paradise tonight?”
The infection in his gut spreads like wildfire, the knot in his stomach tightening so hard and so fast he feels a prickling on the underside of his tongue. He chops down hard over Reiner’s grip on his collar, breaking it and shoving himself back and away, reeling. He’s dizzy, the world spinning on its axis, and he stumbles when he moves to his place on the line of scrimmage before the start of the quarter.
Eren?
What secret is Eren keeping?
Who else is keeping secrets from him?
He doesn’t think he can survive many more secrets, if he’s being perfectly honest.
And Reiner… throwing Marco back in his face as if secret lover is all he ever really was, as if he didn’t have a name and dreams of his own, as if Jean didn’t have a ring in a box somewhere in the home they shared just waiting for the right moment. Marco was all, and he was more, and Reiner Braun stole that from him.
He sinks down into his 3-point stance, replaying his promise to Eren over and over again inside his mind, but all he can think about are secrets. All he can think about are lies.
When next the whistle sounds, he’s the one who lands flat on his back, sent flying off his feet by Reiner who’d come in too quick and too hard for him to evade. The air rushes from his lungs, for a moment he’s wheezing into the late afternoon air, clawing at his throat and struggling for breath.
A gloved hand helps him to his feet, and when gold eyes meet green, he’s furrowing his brow, looking for secrets and heartbroken when he doesn’t find them.
Not you. Not you, too.
“You alright?” Eren asks, thumping Jean’s chest with his fist as if that’ll help him drag more air into his aching lungs. Jean nods, because he doesn’t have the oxygen for much else, and he feels a hand slap against the right side of his helmet. The side with Marco’s number seven. “I saw him talking to you. Don’t let him get in your head. We can still come back. We can still win this.”
Can they? He might have believed it when they were in lock-step with one another for the first time in a long time,
“He said you have secrets, too,” Jean tells him, though he’s not at all sure why, just as he’s not at all sure why the echo of an ache ripples out from the center of his chest when he looks into Eren’s eyes and finds a flicker of fear there.
“I don’t have any secrets from you, Jean,” Eren tells him, spreading his arms out wide. “All my shit is right out here in the open. Not my fault you’re too dumb to see it.”
🏈
And a third tough loss for the Scouts tonight. I gotta say, though, they really seemed to pick it up there in the second half, Brian. I hoped they were gonna pull off the win, but I guess it just wasn’t enough to break that Warriors defense.
Yeah, the Warriors brought their best onto the field tonight, Todd. Their offense seemed to struggle a bit out of the gate, but I don’t think I’ve seen their defense this on fire all season. Scott?
Definitely, Brian. Zeke Jaeger’s put together one helluva program, though. I mean, there’s a reason the Warriors are currently ranked number one in the AFC. There’s a lot more of the regular season to come, and anything could happen, but I think these guys are absolutely a team to watch for the Super Bowl this year.
I completely agree. And while I think the Scouts absolutely still have the potential to get there, I’m still seeing a little too much uncertainty from some of their best players. Jaeger and Kirschstein played a lot better tonight than they have yet, but it was still pretty touch-and-go there during the second half.
Yeah, I imagine it’s gonna be a pretty tough night back in Paradise, Scott. Three losses in a row to this program send a pretty clear signal that something’s gotta change if these guys wanna have any hope of making it to the playoffs this year.
FINAL SCORE: WYOMING WARRIORS 30, SAN JOSE SCOUTS 29
🏈
The ride back to Paradise that night is a quiet one. The game had ended closer than either team had been happy with, the Scouts less so than the Warriors. For those brief few sunlit moments after the start of the second half, it had really seemed like they were going to be able to sneak by with the win. But as the fourth quarter dragged on, keeping up became harder and harder, as the Scouts’ offense once again began to struggle to communicate with one another.
Jean can’t help but feel like at least part of it is his fault. Coach Smith had said nearly as much in his short, clipped, and deeply disappointed post-loss speech in the team room after the game. He’d looked right at Jean when he’d talked about trust and communication, and Jean had been forced to look away.
They’d had it. For a little while, at least, the Scouts had managed to capture the same lightning in a bottle they had when Marco and Jean had first started running together, stunning every player, coach, announcer, and reporter in the League with how well they knew one another, how well they read one another, and how well they trusted one another. For one brief, glorious moment tonight, he’d had that with Eren, too.
And then Reiner had to go and open his stupid fucking mouth.
Jean’s not proud of the way he’d let a single comment worm its way beneath his skin like a parasite, feasting on his brief few minutes of joy and hopefulness until there was nothing left but ash and despair. Even now, Eren sits beside him on the bus, and Jean struggles to relax the tension in his shoulders. Even now, after so much had happened between them over the past twenty-four hours, it only took one poorly timed reminder from one former friend to have him hardening his heart again.
It’s not just Reiner’s comment that has Jean’s mood souring more the closer they get to home. Eren manspreads like a motherfucker, as it turns out, and the warm press of his thigh against Jean’s own is a distraction he certainly doesn’t need…
Nor is the pine scent of the body wash he’d used in the shower that evening…
Or the way his long, chocolate brown hair falls in a silken sheet over his shoulders.
Jean could pull away, if he wanted. And he does want to. So why hasn’t he?
The bus pulls up to the compound, the Scouts disembark, and Eren falls into step beside Jean. He could lengthen his strides, if he wanted. And he does want to. So why doesn’t he?
Some of the Scouts filter into the locker room, Eren and Jean among them. Jean had left his civilian clothes here, and he doesn’t feel like wearing his Scouts athletic gear home. He’s not at all sure what Eren’s excuse is.
He could hurry and change and get out of there before the place becomes a ghost town, if he wanted. And he does want to. So why doesn’t he?
Why does he linger, taking his sweet time in the quiet as Scouts wordlessly gather their things and wander out to the parking lot until only the two of them remain? Why does he go still the moment the last Scout besides the two of them leaves, freezing like a deer in the headlights? Why doesn’t he move away when Eren steps into his field of vision, wearing dark jeans and a grey zip-up hoodie, his hair tied loosely at the nape of his neck?
Why does his heart rate quicken, and the temperature beneath his skin begin to climb?
They’ve been alone together before. They’ve been alone together before, in this very room, in fact. And each of those times, Jean had done whatever he could to vacate the premises as quickly as possible.
So why, now, does he drop his bag to the floor and look up at Eren, meeting his dark green eyes as if it were easy?
“How’s your hand?” Eren asks him, taking another step closer.
Jean flexes it, looking down at the bandage. It’s dirty, but still secure. He hadn’t bled through it. It stings, and it aches, but it’ll heal up just fine in time. Thanks to Eren.
“It’s fine. Held up nice. Thanks.”
“Sure.” Another step closer. Another increase in heart rate.
“You, uh… you didn’t have to… step in for me. Back at the hotel.”
Another step. “I know.”
“So why did you, seriously?”
“I told you not to ask stupid questions.”
The next step forward Eren takes, he’s standing toe to toe with Jean, peering up at him with those wide, guileless green eyes.
“I guess you’re gonna tell me that asking what the hell Reiner was talking about when he said you were keeping secrets from me, too, counts as a stupid question?”
“The stupidest.” Eren sticks his hands in his pockets, shrugging his shoulders. “Reiner’s an idiot who doesn’t know what the fuck he’s talking about. My cards are on the table. Doesn’t mean I’m gonna read ‘em for you.”
“Give me the Cliff Notes, at least? Reading was never my best subject.”
🌶️The lights go out in the locker room, leaving the two of them in pitch darkness for a moment or two. Jean’s heart drops, and he gasps, and a pair of hands settles on his hips. They’re gentle, but insistent, pushing him until his back hits the lockers with a metallic clang that echoes up and down the empty hallways.
Then the emergency lights flicker on, bathing the room in an eerie, red light, and Eren’s face is inches from his own. He’s gone up on his toes, his eyes zeroing in on Jean’s parted lips as he leans impossibly closer. Those eyes, gone scarlet with the garish emergency lights, meet Jean’s slowly, half-lidded and bewitching. Jean’s held by them, prisoner to them, the unabashed hunger in them making his blood run cold in his veins.
“I believe in you,” Eren murmurs, and Jean can feel the warmth of his breath ghosting over his mouth, his cheeks. His heart races. His breathing quickens. He feels cold and hot at the same time, blood pooling in places it definitely shouldn’t be right now.
Eren all but closes the distance between them, his lips just barely beginning to brush against Jean’s…
And he wakes up like thunder rolling over the desert, a rumbling in his chest and in his gut, a terrible need he doesn’t dare name or give voice to surging over the cracked, dry earth inside his heart. It comes on in a flood, a deadly rushing of water sweeping down from the hills and carrying with it debris and will and power enough to alter the very landscape beneath.
And it is terrifying.
So he runs from it.
With honed and well-trained reflexes, a hand snaps up, tangling forceful fingers into the dark hair at the back of Eren’s neck and yanking his head back, opening up space between their faces and Eren’s throat to Jean’s gaze. He watches it with his own sickly hunger, bobbing up and down when Eren gasps and swallows hard. Narrowed, shaded eyes remain locked on Jean’s face, and fingers curl into the black leather of the belt around his hips.
It’s so quiet he can hear Eren’s heart beating.
It’s racing even faster than Jean’s is.
Eren looks at him, in the red glow of the overhead lights, his lip going back in a sneer and his eyes vicious and predatory.
“Coward,” he whispers.
And anger follows fear in a lightning strike, setting scorching fire to his insides instead of a cleansing flood. He’s burning up from within, the knot in his stomach unraveling with the heat and spreading its infection through every blood vessel, all the way down to his fingers and toes.
Jean glares at Eren, pivoting until he’s the one with his back against the lockers, caging him against them with the weight of his body and his fingers still tangled in Eren’s hair. He gives the locks a sharp tug, pulling Eren’s head back and to the side, further exposing the pale curve of his throat. At the motion, Eren lets out a soft sound that travels through Jean’s bloodstream straight to his dick. Against his will and better judgment, there’s no mistaking the feeling of it beginning to stiffen behind his trousers, trapped against Een’s hip.
He shouldn’t be here. He knows he shouldn’t. He should walk away, pick up his bag, and make a break for the safety of the parking lot where Bitsy’s waiting to take him home to his cold, empty house and Marco’s ghost.
He should let go of Eren’s hair, put space between the two of them, and pretend this never happened.
But he can’t.
It’s in his DNA, now.
The line of Eren’s body is long, warm, and solid pressed against his own from chest to hip. He can feel Eren breathing, his chest rising and falling, rapid and heavy against Jean’s, and despite praying to any god up there listening that it would escape his notice, he feels Eren’s half-hard cock through his jeans against his thigh.
“What’s it gonna be, Kirschstein?” Eren asks, his voice a rough, low whisper in the darkness. “Make a move or let me go.”
Well, if those are his only two options…
It may well kill him to let Eren go now. As much as he misses Marco, he’s not ready to join him just yet. Not anymore.
His defenses come down in a rush, and with a sigh of anguish at his own weakness, he surges forward, sinking his teeth into the sweet muscle where Eren’s neck meets his shoulder, biting hard enough to leave a mark and shivering when Eren whines.
His body curls around Eren’s, slamming him back against the lockers with a crash of his hips, the hand not tangled in the dark, silken strands of his hair sliding down to grab at his ass and pull him closer. Eren arches into the friction with a groan, hitching a knee up over Jean’s hip and locking him in tight against him, clawing at his back through his shirt.
Jean moves to worshipping the curve of Eren’s neck then, trailing biting, open-mouthed kisses up to the soft patch of skin beneath his ear and the point of his jaw. Here he uses less teeth, pressing his tongue against Eren’s skin to lap up the taste of him and worrying a bruise into the flesh there that’ll last for days. Eren sighs and he gasps, shuddering in Jean’s grip, bucking his hips against Jean’s to get more of that friction where he needs it most.
He’s gonna regret this come morning. Hell, he regrets it now, even with every heady sigh and moan that falls from Eren’s lips sinking straight into his heart. He regrets that he can’t bring himself to kiss Eren stupid like he’d fantasized about only the day before, and he regrets that it’s been nearly four weeks already and they haven’t done this before.
Eren’s skin tastes like salt and pine, his hair is softer than he ever could have dreamed, and he fits against Jean like the missing piece of a puzzle. Eren curls into his empty spaces and wraps his arms around Jean to pull him closer and keep him there. They trap one another in a fiery embrace, flames licking at their feet and threatening to burn them both to ash if they’re not careful.
But the adrenaline feels like it does on the back of the Ducati, madly intoxicating, and even if Jean regrets this moment for the rest of his life, he knows he’ll regret it more if he stops now.
So he releases Eren’s hair, pulling down the hair tie to wrap around his own wrist, dark waves falling around Eren’s elfish face and his beautiful, marked-up neck. Jean leans back and away just far enough to unzip Eren’s hoodie and slide it off his shoulders, letting it fall to the floor in a haphazard heap. He’s got nothing on underneath, and Jean’s beginning to think he’d planned all this. The knowing, confident, cat-in-the-cream look on his face certainly supports that theory.
Well then. Jean had better not disappoint him.
He starts at the hollow of Eren’s throat, laying his palms flat against the firm, soft curve of his pecs and dragging them down his torso as he descends, laying sloppy kisses over Eren’s chest and his stomach as he drops to his knees, applying pressure with his nails and leaving red trails down Eren’s torso. He feels Eren’s muscles tightening beneath his mouth as he goes, hears him sighing with desire and need and anticipation, sees him biting at his bottom lip when Jean glances up at him, asking permission with his hands at the fastenings of Eren’s jeans.
Eren’s breath stutters, and he nods, and that’s all the encouragement Jean needs to pry open the button and lower the zipper, tugging his pants down just far enough to free his hot, heavy arousal and press his tongue against the head. Eren’s cock is hard in his hand, already leaking at the tip and flushed a desperate red, and the moan he lets loose when Jean wraps his lips around the tip of it is positively sublime. It tastes almost sweet, and he devours it like his last meal, sucking hard on the swollen head and licking precome off the slit.
Jean puts nearly a decade’s worth of practice to good use, starting with the intention to tease and torment, laying all his attention on the leaking head of Eren’s dick. He licks at it, sucks at it, lays sloppy wet kisses all over it, and hums with it behind his lips to give Eren just enough vibration to drive him insane. By the way Eren’s long fingers are pulling his hair out by the roots, and wanton, needy whines and moans are falling from his lips in rapid succession, he gets the sense that he’s meeting his goal.
So he begins the job in earnest, taking Eren’s cock into his mouth until the head meets the back of his throat, pumping his fist around the base that he can’t quite reach just yet. Just give him time, it’s been a few months, but he’ll remember how to do it right in a moment or two. He hollows out his cheeks when he pulls back, dragging his tongue along the underside of Eren’s shaft, and Eren whines his name with such devastating lust that a quiet moan escapes Jean’s own throat without his permission.
“Jean… Fuck, Jean…”
He works up a steady rhythm, bobbing his head down and back, each time taking Eren a little deeper and sucking a little harder on the way back up again. In no time at all he’s opening his throat, swallowing Eren’s cock and pressing his nose into the thatch of curls at the base. Each time, he hums softly when he descends in the way that always drove Marco to absolute madness, and he’s pleased to find that Eren’s no different.
Eren gets louder and louder the longer Jean works, gasping his name and writhing and whining fuck, oh fuck, baby, and pulling Jean’s hair so hard his eyes start to water, and stuttering his hips into Jean’s face, shoving his cock a little deeper into Jean’s throat. He gags once, but he recovers smoothly, humming lower and longer in apology for the way his teeth had sunk into the base just a little.
It’s filthy and delicious, sating a hunger Jean hadn’t even realized he had until this very moment. Every moan fills him up, every gasp excites him more, every twitch and tightening of Eren’s belly muscles beneath his hand as he drags it over every part of Eren’s torso he can reach drives him a little closer to the edge.
He doesn’t want to think about what any of this means for him, for them. It’ll be a question to answer come morning, or better yet, never at all. Right now, he’s far too busy salivating over the sweet taste of Eren on his tongue, the heat and heft of him in the back of his throat, and the symphony of sinful sounds Eren makes as Jean pushes him further and further with each bob of his head.
Those sounds increase in pitch and volume until Eren’s practically fucking Jean’s mouth and crying out with it, throwing his head back against the lockers, his eyes slammed shut and his mouth hanging open in ecstasy.
“Shit–” Eren gasps. “Jean, I’m… I’m gonna–”
Jean pulls back and away, letting Eren fall from his lips with a wet pop. He wipes his mouth on the back of his hand and stands, grinning a dangerous grin when Eren whines at the loss. He jerks his hips forward to try to get just enough friction to bring this to an end, and Jean grabs them, shoving them back against the lockers hard and holding himself away, denying Eren what he so desperately wants. He’s not ready for this to be over just yet. God knows if he’ll ever get the chance again.
Eren whines again, looking up at him with pleading, desperate eyes, and Jean reaches up to wrap his right hand gently around his delicate throat beneath his chin. He doesn’t apply any pressure, yet. He just holds there, tilting Eren’s face up and leaning in to bite at one of his collarbones.
Jean kisses a wandering line up the side of Eren’s neck to his ear and whispers, “I’m gonna fuck you, right here, right now. You got a problem with that?”
The answer is swift and eager.
“No problem. Condom’s in my pocket.”
At that, Jean arches an eyebrow, reaching into the pocket of Eren’s jeans, careful to avoid coming into contact with his still-hard cock. Sure enough, he pulls a little square foil packet out of his jeans, holding it up in front of Eren’s face.
“You planned this.” It’s not a question.
“Hoped. Told you. Cards on the table. I have faith in your reading abilities.”
Jean’s not going to stare that statement in the face long enough to let the meaning sink in, instead releasing Eren to turn around and crouch, digging for something in his bag. He feels static along his spine, wandering up and down and lingering on his ass. While he’s searching, one of Eren’s sneakers slides between his feet and tips upward, brushing against Jean’s hard-on still trapped down the leg of his slacks. He bites back a hiss and reaches around to slap Eren’s thigh in warning. The foot withdraws, but not without a low, rasping chuckle from Eren behind him.
When he turns around, he’s got a small jar of Vaseline in his hand, and he takes just a moment to relish the sight before him. Eren looks ravaged and debauched, his cheeks flushed and splotchy, his hair a wild and kinky mess around his shoulders. A trail of angry marks wanders down his throat, and eight red scratch lines wind their way down his bare chest and belly. His jeans are bunched around his hips, his cock standing at attention, needy and aching, clear liquid running in lazy drops down the shaft, curved toward the ceiling in want. He’s still bathed in the scarlet light from overhead, the picture of sin itself, and oh how Jean would love nothing more than to take out his phone and snap a photo right now so he could remember this image for the rest of his life.
He’s descending into hell tonight, and he’s never been more eager to fall.
“Fuck, look at you…” he mutters, stepping in close and putting his free hand back where it was around Eren’s throat, this time squeezing just a little. Eren gasps, biting his bottom lip, his eyes glued to Jean’s reddened and swollen lips. “What a pretty little disaster you are. Are you really this much of a mess for me, Jaeger?”
He means it to be dirty, but Eren’s eyes drift up to meet his, and the intimacy and vulnerability in them strikes him dumb. His heart stops. He grinds his teeth. He looks down and away.
“Cards on the table,” Eren murmurs for a third time like a prayer, like a plea, like a cry for help. Jean closes his ears to it.
There are no gods here tonight.
“Turn around,” he orders, plucking open the cap to the jar and dropping it to the floor.
When Eren doesn’t move, Jean looks up at him sharply, growling, “You don’t want me to do it for you.”
Eren’s eyes narrow, and he reaches for Jean’s belt, tugging him forward. “Why don’t you let me help with this first, sir.” He sneers the last word, prying open Jean’s belt buckle and diving for the zipper next. Jean glares at him but allows it, having only one hand free with which to rid himself of his clothes.
Eren unzips Jean’s slacks and shoves them down over his ass along with his underwear. To his overheated erection, the cool air of the locker room is a shock, and he sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth.
“Now I’ll turn around,” Eren taunts, giving a little shake of his head before doing just that, turning around and sticking his ass out, bracing his hands against the lockers. Jean allows himself a moment or two to admire the mouthwatering perky roundness of Eren’s ass, running his hand up the back of one powerful thigh and over the soft, firm curve, squeezing the muscle there and groaning quietly in anticipation. Eren arches his back in response, letting his forehead fall against the locker, pressing himself back into Jean’s hand.
Heeding the message, Jean dips his index finger in some of the Vaseline and presses himself against the fluid line of Eren’s gorgeous back. He wraps one arm around his slender waist and drags his cock along the inside of Eren’s thigh, slipping his finger between his cheeks and coating his hole with the gel. Eren moans, shifting his hips back even further, and Jean gives him what he wants, sliding his finger inside and dragging it along Eren’s blazing walls.
Eren gives a full-body shudder at the intrusion, his hole fluttering around Jean’s finger, swallowing him with little resistance. If it feels this good just to have a finger inside him, Jean can only imagine what it’ll feel like to shove his cock inside and watch as it disappears into that tight, eager hole. He can already tell Eren’s gonna fit him like a fucking glove.
Jean slides his finger out and back a few times, taking his sweet time exploring the new terrain, watching and listening carefully for Eren’s reaction to each and every spot he presses against. He starts out quiet, sighing with building pleasure and rolling his hips back to meet Jean’s hand when his finger plunges back inside, but then Jean curls his finger just right toward the front and slides the pad along the flesh there. Eren’s hips snap, and he cries out, choking the sound off to an almost pained-sounding whine when Jean pulls away again.
There it is.
He adds a second finger, and then a third, scissoring Eren open with careful precision, making sure not to abuse that spot any more than he must to keep Eren relaxed. The last thing he wants is for Eren to reach his orgasm before he even has a chance to sink into him.
That chance comes quickly, though. As it turns out, Eren’s ass has been well trained, and prepping him comes easy. His body stays relaxed and willing, even as the pitch and frequency and tempo of his pleading sounds gets higher and sharper with each pass of Jean’s fingers. They’re both dripping by the time Eren’s begging for it, reaching back and grabbing at Jean’s hip, his forehead leaving sweat behind on the cool metal of the lockers.
It’s a perfect mixture of sin and travesty, Jean Kirschstein defiling the house of worship where he’s come nearly every day for the past four years to burn away the darkness of his past and forge a new future in the crucible of the gridiron. With this one act, he throws all that away, diving headfirst into the deepest desires of a tortured heart that have haunted him for nigh on ten years.
He had loved Eren, then. Jean wanted to be his first and his last, to explore one another together, to make him laugh and hold him when he cried. At sixteen, he had wanted nothing more than to be the love of his best friend’s life, to have moments like these, untainted as they are now by years of agony and vitriol.
He rolls the condom onto his aching cock and presses against Eren’s back, biting another mark into the back of his shoulder and growling low in his throat when he grabs Eren’s hip, fists a hand in his hair, and steadies him to press inside.
“Jean…” Eren moans, breathless and wrecked. “Baby… Oh god, you feel so good… So fucking good, Jean. Please. Please…”
He’ll regret this for the rest of his life, but he couldn’t fight it even if he wanted to.
Slowly, he gives his hips an experimental press forward, gentle and probing while Eren adjusts to the size of him. Jean groans softly at the sensation of him, that tight, puckered hole twitching around him, and his cock jumping in answer. He’d been right. Eren fits him like a goddamn glove, hotter and softer and sweeter than anyone else he’s ever shoved his dick into, except one. But he can’t have that one anymore, so he supposes he’ll just have to make do.
“Eren… fuck…”
Marco had been made for him, he always believed. If that’s true, then Jean thinks he must have been made for Eren, filling him up and stretching him out so beautifully that every single inch of him feels the heat of Eren’s soft walls as he presses in deeper and deeper, little circles of his hips loosening the muscles there.
He doesn’t want to hurt Eren.
He’d rather die than hurt Eren.
He’s going to hurt Eren anyway.
He drags his teeth along Eren’s spine, at long last pulling out just far enough to leave the head of him inside, giving a brief moment’s pause before slamming back in again, the obscene slap of his hips against Eren’s ass nearly drowned out by the wrecked cry Eren gives that sounds a lot like Jean’s name.
He works up to a punishing rhythm, his fingers curled into claws around Eren’s tapered hips, nails digging in for purchase. His own hips collide with Eren’s ass hard enough to sting almost every time, forward momentum knocking him into the lockers with a harsh, echoing, metallic sound. Jean angles himself just so, up and a little to the front, until Eren’s whining and pleading with every thrust, throwing himself back to meet Jean’s movements and clawing at the lockers just for something to hang onto.
Jean knows he won’t last long at this rate. He’d teased too much and worked himself up too much sucking Eren off to leave him with much stamina to work with, and what little control he has left flies right out the window with every gasping cry pulled from Eren’s throat as Jean nails his sweet spot with violent, relentless force again and again and again.
He fucks into Eren harder and faster, dropping his sweaty forehead onto Eren’s damp back, pressure building low in his belly, and tightness gathering up the insides of his thighs.
“Jean!” Eren cries out. “Baby… baby, I’m so close, I’m–”
But Jean beats him to it, giving a couple more stuttering thrusts of his hips until he’s spilling his load into the condom deep inside Eren, his body on fire and his vision going white around the edges. In the next moment, Eren lets out a sharp gasp and he’s coming too, spattering white all over the floor and the lockers, his hole clenching around Jean’s spent and overstimulated cock in a way that makes him see stars. He yelps with it, falling against Eren’s back and wrapping his arms around his middle to steady himself, both of them trembling and panting as they each come down from their highs.
Jean leans on Eren for strength, Eren in turn leaning against the lockers, pressing his sweat-soaked temple against the cool metal. Slowly, their heart rates slow and their breathing evens out, their body temperatures descending toward something like a more reasonable level.
Jean’s not entirely sure what possesses him to do it, but an unknown urge has him dropping a tender, lingering kiss on the top of Eren’s spine. He breathes him in, smelling pine and sweat and sex and letting it intoxicate him for just a little bit longer.
“Forgive me,” he breathes into the stillness, and Eren shivers.
“Only if you kiss me before you go,” he answers, quiet and almost fearful.
Jean sucks in a sharp breath, but he’s helpless to resist. He couldn’t deny Eren if he tried.
One hand slides up Eren’s throat to his chin, tipping his face back over his shoulder. With his other hand he presses against Eren’s lower belly, so soft and so warm, and so fucking beautiful he could cry. Eren’s eyes are glassy and blown out, his face flushed, his lips parted, and when Jean leans around to seal his mouth over Eren’s he feels him sigh in pleasure and longing, reaching up to cup Jean’s jaw in his hand.
It lasts only a moment or two, and then Jean’s breaking away and carefully pulling out of him, tossing the condom and tucking himself away, scooping up his things and hurrying from the room.
He doesn’t look back.