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Marco is one of those touchy stoners. Not, like, the ones that outright cuddle and wrap their legs around you and nuzzle into your neck, though at this point Jean wouldn’t mind that so much.
No, Marco’s the kind that laughs at your jokes and runs his hand down your bicep, long fingers curling around and lingering a second too long. The kind that stretches his legs over your lap on the couch and slinks down until he’s sprawled lengthwise across you with his knees against your chest and a grin on his face. The kind that thanks you for bumming him a smoke by letting you light it and watching you through his eyelashes, chuckling a cloud of smoke, and holding your cheeks in his hands while he bumps your foreheads together gently.
Jean’s kind of fucking madly in love with him.
He has been for a while, actually. Ever since Marco trailed after Bert into Jean’s apartment, where he and Eren had been holding a ‘fuck it why not’ party, and Marco had grinned and let Jean pop his weed cherry. He failed miserably and coughed a lot and Jean had to hold and light the bowl for him while he inhaled and hoped for the best, but the bloodshot smile Marco had given him an hour later, his tongue poking out playfully, made Jean’s heart kind of stop in his chest.
Marco doesn’t actually smoke that much, apparently. A few times a year, when he doesn’t have homework or work or anything important, when they’ve all just finished a harsh round of midterms or something.
This is one of those times.
Finals are done, and Jean had gotten his ass absolutely rolled on. He’s basically running on fumes by the time the post-finals party rolls around. He can’t even really remember the last time he slept through the night, let alone slept well, so it’s no great surprise that long after the party has filtered out and the sun is starting to rise, Jean’s still slouched on the sofa, watching Mr. Rogers of all fucking things.
What’s more surprising is that Marco’s still up with him, legs stretched over his lap like usual, and he’s keeping pace just fine.
Jean makes to pass Marco what’s left of a joint, but Marco just groans and shakes his head, running his hands down his face.
“No thanks, man,” he murmurs into his palms, so Jean chuckles and finishes it out. “Ugh, I’m so baked,” Marco continues, dropping his hands to his stomach and laughing.
“I like being your TV neighbor,” Mr. Rogers says, switching out his classy sweater for a sport coat and smiling his calming, dopey smile.
Jean’s mind is still pretty blown. Watching Mr. Rogers while being extraordinarily baked is a questionable life choice, it turns out, but TV’s pretty slim pickings at six in the fucking morning.
Jean slouches down on the couch and wraps his arms around Marco’s bent legs, holding them closer to his chest, and Marco just smiles. He knows his cuddliness is rubbing off on Jean, who still likes to pretend that he’s not a crabby fucking teddy bear when they’re together. Weed or not.
“Why did I break up with Mina?” Jean asks as he buries his face in Marco’s knee, sighing loudly. Pot hornies.
“Mm,” Marco hums, reaching over to rub Jean’s shoulder lightly. “You said you feel more like friends than significant others, and that she’s too nice for a bullcrap relationship like that, and that you want someone to love madly.”
“Ugh, I said no such thing.”
“You did,” Marco chuckles, tugging on an errant lock of blonde hair. “You were very drunk for the last part, but you said it.”
“Gross.” Jean grumps and turns his face away from Marco, squishing his cheek against the brunette’s knee, and Marco just laughs at him.
“Why do you ask?”
A pause. “N-no reason.”
“Aha,” Marco laughs, a shit-eating grin spreading over his face. “You miss the cuddles, hmm?”
Another pause. Jean’s voice is tight and a little embarrassed when he responds. “Not exactly.”
The Looney Tunes theme plays between them, and like always, Marco doesn’t take long to pick up Jean’s meaning. He doesn’t push it, though, instead playing with the edge of his shirt and watching Bugs Bunny run around and troll Elmer Fudd. Jean’s half watching, half spacing out, idly tracing small circles over Marco’s thigh. He’s glad the brunette isn’t saying anything about it. He’s not really ready to admit to his Marco-induced half chub, and he’s definitely not ready to admit that this is not the first by a long shot.
Elmer Fudd fucks up his hunt again, and Jean’s about to retreat to the bathroom and rub one out when Marco leans up on his elbows and stares at Jean.
“You need some help?”
Jean blinks over at him, squinting, and Marco gives him that wide smile again, his bloodshot eyes wrinkling just a bit at the corners. “With what?”
“Well,” Marco says slowly, turning his palms up and lowering his eyes. “If you’re missing the, ah, benefits of having a girlfriend, I could probably help out. If you want.”
An ACME explosion in the background. Jean’s fairly sure he’s gaping, mostly sure his face is bright fucking red, and entirely sure that his dick is already showing its desperate approval. He laughs, though, and lets go of Marco’s legs so he can lean back into the couch. “Are you seriously offering me a bro handy?”
Marco leans his head on his shoulder and gives a half-smile. “I was gonna offer to suck your dick, but it’s cool if that weirds you out.”
Jean’s mind is completely blank. Full stop. Blue screen of death. He flushes darker, his face fucking hot in the already warm room, and Marco blinks patiently up at him.
Oh god. He’s serious, Jean realizes, and the only show of Marco’s nervousness is the way his hand pinches at the upholstery, elbows still propping him up.
“Uh,” Jean croaks, clearing his throat awkwardly. “I mean. Uh.”
“Just a yes or a no,” Marco chuckles, not looking away, but a faint pink tinge is spreading over his freckles. He’s fucking beautiful, Jean thinks, again not for the first time.
He swallows nervously. “Y-yeah. Okay.”
How the fuck is he supposed to turn that down? Especially with the way Marco’s smile widens like he’s being offered a fucking cookie, the way he swings his long legs off Jean’s lap and stands. The blonde stares, unsure what to do next. Are they moving? Should he stand? He’s fairly sure that if he stands he’s gonna either end up making out with Marco for a week straight or falling on his ass. Marco steadies himself with a laugh while Jean bites his lip, hands resting awkwardly on the couch. He doesn’t need to move, though, because Marco turns and sinks to his knees on the floor between Jean’s spread thighs, wiggling between them.
Jean’s mouth is dry. Marco’s hands slide up his inner thighs, fingers spread wide, and Jean’s dick is already straining at his zipper. God dammit. So much for not looking as excited as he actually is.
Dark eyes watch Jean from under long black eyelashes as Marco’s hand slides over the obvious bulge, palming at his aching cock with a little smile. Fuck. Jean fists his hands loosely, trying not to look like he’s memorizing every instant of this to store in the ‘insane jacking off brain porn’ folder in his fuzzy brain. In the file with the rest of the Marco brain porn. There’s a lot.
Jean’s eyes open again to Marco unbuttoning his pants. He’s getting right into it, apparently. As he tugs the zipper down, Jean gives a soft, relieved sigh. He doesn’t have long to relax, though, because Marco’s sliding his warm hands up Jean’s shirt, wrapping around his sharp hips, dragging his nails back down to the hem of his underwear, scratching gently through the dusting of blonde curls trailing down from Jean’s navel, and by the time Marco pulls his jeans and his underwear down to his thighs, Jean’s struggling to keep it together. He’s trying not to breathe as heavily as he fucking wants to, but he’s so turned on it fucking hurts, and Marco’s fucking incredibly hot with his eyes and his hands and his lips and the way he licks them as he eyes up Jean’s dick, and Jesus fucking Christ how is this actually happening?
Marco wraps a hand around Jean, slowly and without hesitating, and a shiver is already fighting its way up his spine. He exhales slowly, fists tightening beside him, and when Marco leans in and laves his tongue slowly over the head, Jean’s eyes about cross. He bites his lip harder and stares down at the brunette, eyes half-lidded and barely managing to focus. The way Marco’s tongue feels sliding through his soaked slit is gonna drive him fucking insane.
“You can close your eyes if you want,” Marco murmurs, his lips brushing against that sensitive spot right below the head. Jean shivers again and decides fuck restraint.
“Make me,” he whispers, the tremor gone from his voice, and the little moan Marco lets out breathes hot over sensitive skin.
He moves right into it, wrapping his lips around the head of Jean’s cock and winding his tongue easily and perfectly around it, his eyes not leaving Jean’s. The blonde reaches up with a shuddering sigh and tangles the fingers of one hand into soft black hair, encouraging him, and Marco slides down slowly. His tongue works Jean over in the most perfect way, sliding against the underside of his cock and slicking him and slowly taking him deeper. Jean curses and rests his other hand over the one bracing his hip. The hand in Marco’s hair tugs gently, challenging him, and he should have fucking known better than to fuck with Marco because he clearly knows what he’s doing. He hums before he dips down to the base, burying his nose in soft curls, and when he swallows around Jean’s cock the blonde fucking sees stars.
“H-holy shit,” he manages before whining and arching when Marco pulls back. He settles in, though, bobbing his head deep and slow and so fucking good, and when Jean rolls his hips up into that wet heat, Marco fucking lets him, and Jean can’t help the shuddering moan he lets out. He curses again, twitching up into Marco’s mouth, his fingers sliding further into his hair.
Jean’s brain is a fuzzy mess, somewhere between being way too fucking stoned for this and just stoned enough, and Marco’s bobbing faster and sucking so fucking perfectly and there are these beautiful little slurping noises that are too fucking good to be weird, because Marco’s lips are tight around him and his tongue is moving in ways Jean didn’t even think were possible and he notices then that the hand that had been holding the base of his cock is gone now. Marco’s face has lost that confident almost-smirk and is flushed bright red, his eyes closed tightly, and he lets out this little muffled moan before he dives down and swallows, and swallows again, and Jean’s lost.
“Fuck, Marco, how are you so fucking—fuck—”
Marco pulls off with a gasp and moves his other hand from Jean’s hip to his cock, holding him in place while he does something fucking insane against that sensitive spot, flicking his tongue under the head in a way best described as blinding. Little moans and whines escape his lips, and Jean’s eyes focus enough to notice that Marco’s shoulder is moving in a very telling way. Fuck, he’s jacking himself off while he swallows Jean’s cock, and that knowledge makes Jean’s hips surge up against Marco, his dick sliding wetly along his cheek. Jean bites his lips against the stream of moaned curses threatening to make their way out, pulling on Marco’s hair again, and Marco lets him shove his cock back into his mouth, a muffled, encouraging moan echoing out around him. He fucks his hips up into the brunette’s mouth, panting and gasping, and Marco moves with him, sucking him deep and perfect and fuck.
Warm fingers trail over the sensitive skin where his inner thigh meets his hip, sliding slowly lower, and if those fingers are going where Jean thinks they’re going he’s not sure he’s gonna be able to keep what fraction of his cool he has left. He arches up one last time before settling back into the couch and letting Marco take control again, and he does so with ease, sucking Jean off with long, deep pulls and wide strokes of his tongue. Those fingers trail up and through the saliva collecting at the base of Jean’s cock, and the blonde licks his lips and gasps when Marco stares up at him. His eyes are dark, so fucking dark with want, and they’re begging his permission, and Jean’s never wanted to give it so bad.
“W-what’re you doin’ with that, Marco?” He draws out the brunette’s name, his voice low and raspy, and Marco pulls off with a groan and nuzzles his face against insanely hard, slick flesh.
“You not into that?”
“’Course ‘m fucking into that,” Jean mumbles, slinking down further. He watches Marco’s arm, his movements slowing down to a languid pace, teasing himself. Jean thumps his hand on the couch cushion beside him. “’S lube under here. Don’t ask why.”
Marco laughs, the sound tense, and he pulls his hand off his own cock to dig around under the cushion until he finds it. Jean watches him pop the cap and drizzle the undoubtedly chilly liquid over two fingers, spreading it between them and warming it before he turns back to Jean with a crooked grin.
Jean shuffles his pants lower so he can spread his thighs more, shivering at the hungry way Marco licks his lips and eyes him up, and when the brunette curls his tongue around the head again to pull him between his lips, tracing slick fingers over Jean’s entrance, the blonde shudders and moans softly. The slow, gentle slide of one long finger inside of him perfectly matches the careful pace his lips take, sliding back down his cock at a torturous pace, and he swallows Jean’s cock down to the base just as his finger hits knuckle-deep. Jean’s fucking shaking, head leaned back against the couch, thighs tense, because Marco’s so fucking good at this it makes him want to cry.
Marco swallows him again before he sucks back up, his finger pulling back in perfect sync, and Jean’s not fucking ready for this. No fucking way. He chews on his lip, breathing short and stuttered, his stomach tensing and twitching and not because the finger in his ass is uncomfortable. The direct opposite. He whines at Marco, hips shaking, and he’s never really seen anyone smirk around a mouthful of his cock before but there it is.
That damned finger moves faster, thrusting easily, matching the lips wrapped around him, but it’s still slow and easy and fucking good and Jean wants more but he’s still too coherent to beg for Marco to fuck him on his fingers. He just lets his eyes shutter closed, rolling up into his mouth and back onto his finger, and by the time Marco’s sped up to a pace that’s enough to drive Jean insane the blonde is brainless from the way he sucks him down with every deep thrust of his finger.
He slides another in alongside it, slowing down again, but Jean’s gonna lose his shit. “F-fuck, Marco, c-come on,” he gasps, rocking his hips to take two fingers easily, tight and hot around them. While Marco’s brain has apparently stopped working, stunned by the way Jean’s begging for his fingers, the blonde whimpers and squeezes his eyes shut.
The way Jean fucks himself on Marco is apparently the brunette’s breaking point, because he moans and takes Jean deep again, slamming his fingers up into him, swallowing and bobbing his head and letting Jean’s loud moans wash over him. Jean tosses his head back and cries out, panting and arching up, Marco’s tongue driving him crazy while his fingers drive him even crazier, and he’s still too blurry and too smoked out to get there. But god damn, he’s fucking close, whimpering and gasping Marco’s name, his hips meeting the brunette’s fingers and his hand shaking in soft black hair.
The curl of Marco’s fingers is almost too fucking much.
He buries them deep, so fucking deep, and curls them up and rubs tight circles over his prostate, and Jean’s not sure but he might’ve fucking screamed from that. He’s too busy seeing stars and arching, bucking his hips against Marco’s lips again while the brunette sucks at the head and does wicked things with his tongue. Jean’s chest is heaving with his panted breaths, sweat shining on his skin, legs spreading as wide as his pants will let them to take Marco deeper.
“M-Marco, fuck, fuck,” Jean manages, his voice shaky and hoarse. He’s so close, so fucking ready to come down Marco’s throat, but he can’t quite reach it, and it’s driving him absolutely fucking insane. “Shit, Marco, f-fuck me, p-please fuck me, put your cock in me, come on—”
A whine escapes him again when Marco stares up at him, jaw slack, stunned again into silence. The brunette swallows, his hand stilling over his own cock again, his eyebrow twitching at the absolute mess he’s made of his friend. “C-condom?”
“’S with the lube,” Jean whines, grinding again onto Marco’s fingers, but he lets the brunette pull them out. While he’s digging frantically under the couch cushions again, Jean rips off his rucked-up shirt and kicks his pants off, turning to sprawl along the couch. Marco finds the strip of condoms and rips one off, sticking it between his teeth and pushing the cushion back into place. As he kneels on the couch between Jean’s legs, he hauls his shirt off, only bothering to shove his pants down to his thighs before tearing open the condom. Jean watches him roll it on and spread more lube over it, panting and wriggling toward him, and when Marco finally hooks his hands under Jean’s knees and bends him back, he melts against him, and stops himself just before he kisses the blonde.
He’s pressed right against Jean’s entrance, sliding slick against him, dark eyes staring into Jean’s, his lips flushed from sucking him off. Marco lets out a slow sigh, pressing his dick against Jean, so close they’re breathing each other’s panted breaths.
Jean takes the initiative and presses their lips together, digging his fingers back into Marco’s messy hair. The brunette moans into him, tilting his head to deepen the kiss, tangling their tongues gladly. The kiss feels electric, so fucking perfect, slow and messy and so fucking overdue. Jean hasn’t forgotten what’s going on, though, and he wiggles under Marco with a soft moan.
“Jean,” Marco murmurs against him, leaning his weight on one elbow while his other hand slides achingly slow up Jean’s thigh. “Jean, I like you.” He speaks so softly, like he’s hoping Jean won’t hear him, but the blonde’s too close not to.
“Fuckin’… like you too, Freckles.”
“I-I mean…” Marco trails off, still hovering there, pressed right there and driving him crazy. His hand continues its slow trail up his body, over his hip, fingers spread across his ribs. “I don’t think I c-can just… do this once and forget about it.”
Jean leans up, pulling Marco to him and kissing that stupid guilty look off his pretty face. He kisses him again, deep and full of promise, before mumbling, “’S what I meant, dummy.”
“O-oh.”
Unable to help himself, Jean laughs, the stupid butterflies twisting with the urgency from before and coming out as some kind of weird giddiness, and Marco grins down at him while he laughs like an asshole.
“C’mon, Marco,” Jean manages, catching his hand and twining their fingers. He winds his legs around Marco’s waist and pull him closer, licking his lips at the press of Marco’s cock against him. Marco sighs and squeezes Jean’s hand, kissing him again briefly, and when he finally sinks into him, they gasp against each other’s lips and shiver together. He slides in slowly, somehow managing to keep it together, which is more than can be said for Jean.
Jean’s mind is fucking blown. He’s had sex with a dude before, it’s not fucking rocket science. And yeah, he’s had sex baked, how could he not? This is something entirely different, though. This is Marco. This is that cuddly little shit that smiles patiently and doesn’t know when he’s being sexy as hell and has no idea what he does to Jean, and here he is holding Jean’s hand and burying his face in Jean’s hair and clearly holding himself still while Jean adjusts to his perfect thick cock filling him up so deep and good. Jean’s legs tighten around Marco’s waist, holding him closer, and he trails hot open-mouthed kisses down Marco’s sweaty neck to his freckled shoulder as they both adjust, as they both try to keep their cool.
“J-Jean,” Marco murmurs, nuzzling Jean lovingly. “Just s-say… say when, okay?”
Jean flops back onto the couch, Marco’s taste on his lips and his scent all over him, and he must look a special brand of fucked out because Marco groans softly and twitches his hips up.
“Come on,” Jean rasps, his free hand sliding slow up Marco’s arm, into his hair, giving him that challenging tug and a little smirk. Marco just laughs, his smile wide, and leans down to give Jean a soft, sweet kiss. He rolls his hips then, though, and Jean gasps against his lips, already all about that. Marco pulls back and starts this insane pace. Slow and fucking perfect, filling Jean up and sending his fuzzy brains higher and taking it away again, leaving him almost empty, impatient, hungry for more before he slides back home and Jean’s lost again.
Jean’s needy, gasping and arching up for Marco, and Marco’s dark eyes watch him with that same intense heat, unwilling to shutter closed for fear of missing the way Jean’s lips part on a soft moan when he impales him again, the way his teeth dig into chapped, slick skin, the way his panted breaths between them are colored with Marco’s name. This pace is so fucking perfect, so good, so in time with each other, bringing them closer and closer, unsure when they became one being but unwilling to fuck with that feeling. His legs wrapped around his waist, Jean can feel the insanely sexy way Marco’s hips move into him, the picture of control.
Marco’s control is slipping, though, with the way Jean feels around him and the way he moves under him. His even thrusts are starting to shake, because he wants more and he’s fucking this close to asking for it, to asking if it’s okay for him to move faster, to fuck Jean harder, but Jean’s a step ahead of him. He leans up and kisses Marco hard, sliding their tongues together, his desperation hot between them, and neither of them need to ask. Marco presses Jean back against the couch, moving to wrap his trembling arms around the blonde’s thin waist, and when he speeds his thrusts and fucks him harder, Jean’s soft moans grow louder, approving and asking for more, fucking his tongue into Marco’s mouth with a fervor that matches the way Marco’s slamming his cock up into him now. He gives him more, the sound loud in the thick, humid air around them. Their sweaty skin slides and slicks the way Jean arches, breaking their kisses and throwing his head back with a cry of Marco’s name.
The brunette groans and bites down Jean’s throat, his thrusts quick and deep, shifting so he can fuck along that sweet spot where he’d rubbed his fingers and elicited perfect cries of his name, and when he finds it Jean’s cries make his head spin. The blonde digs his nails into Marco’s shoulders, pulling and scratching as he arches harder. He moans into Jean’s ear, muttering shaky praises and gasping his name, the sounds almost lost in the increasing volume of his lover’s pleasure. He rams his cock up into him, his hands sliding down and curving around Jean’s tight ass, and when the blonde twitches and gives a choked gasp of Marco’s name, the brunette pulls back from the dark hickey he’d been sucking into pale flesh just in time to watch the beautiful way Jean’s face falls into an expression of absolute fucking bliss when he comes hard between them.
He tightens around Marco, thighs gripping him firmly, and the quick, pounding pace Marco’d kept is enough to drive him over the edge with the perfect way Jean’s heat holds him tight and welcomes him. He gives a soft, panting cry, tilting his head back, fucking them both through their orgasms as much as he can possibly take it before he buries himself in Jean and just shakes.
The clouds in Jean’s head refuse to let him focus again, still fucking blown away from how hard he came. Marco’s dick rubs inside him and spreads him open, and he’s so fucking sensitive that every tiny twitch from Marco makes Jean shake and jolt, his breath panting hot between them and his vision still blurry and too light. Marco’s whispering in his ear, yet more praises and sweet nothings, the brunette’s hands pulling Jean’s fingers from tanned shoulders and twining between them. Marco holds his hands and balances his weight over him and stays close enough to litter dozens of tiny kisses over Jean’s face. Jean shivers and relaxes his legs, and Marco takes the opportunity to pull out, the movement making both of them gasp a little bit. He doesn’t leave, though, still trapped between pale thighs and too hooked on the blonde’s warmth to even consider leaving him and returning to a world that must be a thousand times colder.
“Fuck,” Jean manages finally, focusing bleary eyes up at Marco, who’s giving him this insanely wide, perfect, fucked-out smile. “Goddamn.”
“How was that?” Marco asks as he nuzzles into Jean’s hair, inhaling deeply and getting equal measures pot smoke and a soft, earthy, woody smell. Jean’s smell. He makes a soft sound and buries his face deeper, more than willing to lose himself forever in this scent.
“English doesn’t have enough words,” Jean murmurs against Marco’s shoulder, dragging his lips softly between freckles.
“’S that a good thing?”
“Christ. Yes.” Jean turns and mouths up the brunette’s neck, kissing at the angle of his jaw and nibbling on his earlobe. “Shit.”
Marco laughs and pulls back to nudge his nose against Jean’s, smiling and radiant and perfect, and he when he kisses Jean again, the blonde muffles a content sound against his lips and twines their tongues lazily.
“Should sleep,” Jean murmurs against him. “First time in months I don’t gotta worry about waking up.”
“Mm,” Marco responds, leaning back again to press their foreheads together. “Can I come?”
Jean rolls his eyes. “If you seriously think you’re going anywhere in the next twelve hours, you’re sorely mistaken. Only item on your to-do list is located in my bed.”
“Oh yeah?” Marco chuckles. “And what’s that?”
“Find out when we get there.”
Turns out, Marco’s scheduled for twelve straight hours of cuddles, drifting in and out of peaceful slumber, and neither of them would have it any other way.