Chapter Text
Prologue
When you kiss Jean Kirstein for the first time, he tastes like grape soju.
The second time you kiss Jean Kirstein, you aren't really there, but his imagination is so vivid that he's almost convinced it's real.
The third time you kiss, Jean Kirstein leaves marks on your throat and thoughts of him in your head.
The fourth kiss from Jean Kirstein isn't on your mouth. But it still counts.
It's not until the fifth time that you kiss Jean Kirstein that you finally feel like he's yours.
You're having a shit night.
You're dressed to the nines – hair done pretty with makeup to match, boobs pushed up and exposed under a shifty little loose top tucked into a skirt that hugged your ass and cut off just at the mid-thigh. Annie, the friend you dragged along to this little shindig, is playing on her phone and ignoring the six-foot-something puppy desperately trying to get her attention. From the corner of the room, dimly lit save for the vibrant disco lights dragging colours across his skin as he belts out a song you don't know the words to, your friend Reiner is too distracted to notice that you and the guy he was trying to set you up with aren't getting along.
Porco - with his sexy little slicked-back hairdo and his cool-guy clothes - hasn't looked at you even once tonight, busying himself chatting away with the raven haired beauty with tired eyes and a hooked nose. Under different circumstances, maybe you wouldn't blame him, but tonight you look sexy and you hate that no one has noticed.
"Goin' to the bathroom," you announce, as if anyone could hear you over the blasting echo of Reiner's voice mixing with the karaoke instrumentals. As if anyone cared you were leaving.
What a goddamn waste of an outfit. You almost have half a mind to call yourself an Uber and abandon Annie and Reiner here just to finish drinking at home – it would definitely save you the suffering of listening to Reiner sing anymore shitty rock ballads – but then your eyes settle on something that changes your mind.
"Single stall only," it says – or you should say, he says, and what a man he is. "And gender neutral. Lucky us, getting to wait in line, huh?"
He's leaning against a wall with crossed arms, tall and slim with broad shoulders. He looks close to your age, likely some kind of professional – he's wearing a white dress shirt and slacks that hug his ass just right. He's got a haircut you could only describe as a mullet and it ignites the urge in you to grip it tight and yank his hair back to get at his throat. You must look hungry when you look at him because his eyebrows raise and his glance shifts down to your mouth, then your chest, then back to your eyes again. The muffled sounds of a hallway full of rented out karaoke rooms isn't enough to drown out the screaming in your head.
"Yeah," you agree. "Lucky us."
You settle next to him on the wall and in the distance you can hear Reiner trying – and failing – to hit an egregiously long high note.
"You having a good night?"
You turn to look up at the man standing next to you and scoff.
"No," you say. "Are you?"
"It's alright," he tells you, scratching at the stubble along his jawline with a big, sexy, veined hand. "Got peer pressured to come out tonight. Can't waste a Friday night."
He says it bitterly, like he's not happy with the owner of those words. You feel yourself growing curious.
"Girlfriend?" you ask.
"Annoying college friend," he corrects. "I left out the part where he called me a pussy."
You snort and look down at your feet. Your heels are tall, your legs look impeccable. You should be kissing someone by now.
"So... No girlfriend?"
The man's breath stills for just a half second, then in a low, smooth voice, he says, "No. No girlfriend."
You hum in reply and press your shoulder blades to the wall, jutting out your chest. He looks – of course he looks. You're demanding him to, standing like that.
"Karaoke just not your thing, or are your people ruining your night?"
You try not to smirk. He's interested, and it feels good, makes something hot and tight spark in your abdomen.
"The people," you say. You kick one leg out and roll around your foot to stretch out your ankle. He looks at your leg, and you feel like he likes it. "I'm here with friends," you tell him. You lick your lips when you pause, and his eyes fixate on your mouth. "Got set up with a man who hasn't looked at me even once tonight. So..."
His eyebrows raise again, his eyes draw half closed and a smirk quirks onto his pouty lips. "Can't imagine someone resisting the urge to look at you," he says.
Got him. You smile at him, warm and inviting, batting your eyelashes.
"Oh, yeah?" you say, playing coy.
"Yeah," he confirms, and the stranger taking up the restroom exits to the sound of running water, leaving the door hanging open in his wake. Your eyes dart to the harsh light of the bathroom, and so do the eyes the man you're flirting with.
"How bad do you have to go?" you ask him.
"Honestly?" He glances over his shoulder as if someone could show up to overhear him. The coast is clear. He turns back to you. "I don't have to go at all. Just needed a break."
"Same here," you say, and he smiles, commiserating.
Down the hall you can hear that Reiner's doing a duet with the puppy who was pestering Annie, and when you lean over to look you can see Porco and the beautiful dark haired girl sneaking off to smoke outside. Jealousy – not at the loss of Porco, but at the fact that someone is getting some and it isn't you – sparks fire in your chest. You let yourself turn back to the man with the mullet and say, "I would do anything to kiss you right now."
If his breath hitched before, it disappears from his chest entirely now. His Adam's apple bobs as he swallows roughly, but he kicks himself off the wall to face you. He's in.
"Shit – okay. Yeah."
You grab him by the wrist – it's slender and sturdy – and you pull him into the bathroom, shutting the door behind you. It's a typical public bathroom – white tile, white walls, white sink with a mirror bolted to the wall. The toilet is in the corner and its miraculously quite clean. The room smells like the air freshener sitting atop the porcelain edge of the sink.
He's not sure what to do with himself, and he stands waiting for you to guide him.
"Anything," you say, and it jolts excitement in his belly. "Anything. Just make me feel wanted."
"Shit," he breathes, and he gets close, peering down at you, ducking his face toward yours to kiss your lips. It feels good, it feels exciting. He wants you. You can feel it in his hands, the way they grip your sides and pull you closer. He kisses like he needs it, and he starts to lick into your mouth.
He tastes like grape soju and you're reminded you've been drinking too. You hope you don't regret this later, but how can you regret something that feels this good? Making out in an overly bright karaoke bathroom, distant sounds of terrible singers and the rumble of bass leaking in from the doorway. It feels too good. Regret things later. For now, let this stranger suck on your tongue. You need it.
"My tits," you breathe, pulling back from his eager mouth. "Play with my tits."
Oh, fuck, okay. "Yeah."
His hands slide from your sides up to your chest and he grips at you roughly, eagerly, deft fingers finding your nipple through the thin lace of your bra and applying just the right amount of pressure to them to make you squirm.
"Shit," you pant. "You're doing good, keep doing that."
You don't have to tell him twice. He sucks on your lip and keeps his hands massaging at you over your clothes; a good listener, an even better executer of orders. He's loving this – such an unexpected encounter – and he wonders if you'll sleep with him tonight. He wasn't sure how he felt about having sex in a karaoke bathroom, but shit, he was already so hard, if the moment took him there, he'd do it.
"Wanna see?"
He's out of breath, but he's nodding. "Yeah," he says. "Yeah, I wanna see."
You tug down your top to reveal your lacy bra. You wore this to impress Reiner's single friend, but the man hadn't so much as coughed in your direction all night, but it was worth waiting for this mulletted pretty boy to see it because this is true reverence.
His mouth is practically watering, his lips parted and his eyes gazing at the swell of your breasts like he'd die if he didn't get a chance to feel them with his bare skin.
"I'll show you mine if you show me yours," you tell him, your voice thick with lust. "Unbutton that sexy little shirt of yours, and I'll pull them out."
He's already tugging at the buttons on his shirt. Eager little thing, you think to yourself. His cheeks are painted pink and you can see him straining hard against those slacks of his. Air is puffing out from his parted lips, hot and sticky. His breath smells good, it makes you want to suck on his tongue. You wonder if you're drunk enough to give him head in this bathroom. You decide you'll see where the moment takes you.
His shirt drapes open at his sides, now, and you get an eyeful of his chest. His skin is smooth, blushed under your gaze, and he's breathing heavy, excited. You reach an eager hand forward and press your palm into the center of his chest. He watches you do it.
"Damn," you say. "I got lucky running into you."
"You can get more lucky," he says, fire behind his brown eyes. "If you want."
"Oh really?" His words pool heat between your legs.
"Sure," he goes on. "If you show me yours."
Galvanized, you dip your hands between the lace and your bare skin and pluck your breasts out from your bra. They sag heavily against the thin fabric, and the stranger's eyes draw half lidded and lustful.
"Fuck," he whispers. His hands eagerly trail up your front and cup them, thumbs ghosting over your nipples. Immediately, they stiffen under his attention. Shit, he's good. "Those are incredible."
"You're incredible," you say. "Tell me your name so I know what I should be calling out."
Goddamn, you were driving him crazy. "Jean," he tells you. "Kirstein."
"Okay, Jean Kirstein," you say. He perks up at his name. It sounds good coming from your lips. "Use that pretty mouth of yours."
He bends himself down, eager and hard, dipping his head between your breasts, burying himself there. He makes quick work of it, though, and soon he's smearing his wet lips across to suckle on one of your nipples, shooting jolts of excitement down between your legs.
"Jean," you whisper. Your voice coats his ears like a thick layer of honey and he feels it sliding down his throat. He sucks a little harder. "Jean, you're so hard. Can I play with you?"
You're asking but you're also already sliding a hand up between his thighs. He doesn't stop you, he's aching for touch right now, burying his mouth against your breasts. He practically whimpers against your skin. Needy. Desperate.
"Oh," you breathe when you find the length of him over his pants. He's a nice size, heavy and hard, and a groan spills from his throat when you squeeze at him. He doesn't stray from his duty of worshipping your tits, but you can feel him try to angle himself closer to your hand when your rub against him. "Aw, Jean, you want some attention, huh?"
He pulls back from where he was laying hickeys into your skin and your nipples shine under the light from his saliva.
"Yeah," he tells you, earnest, horny, eyes dark and lips parted. "I told you mine – what's your name?"
You smirk and press a kiss to his lips. They're wet from his efforts on your chest and he kisses you back like your mouth is the only thing tethering him to earth. You peel back and suck in a breath, ready to tell him, but then – you hear it, just outside the door, three sharp raps against the wood.
"Hey!" It's Reiner. He's calling your name. "That you? You in there?"
He's drunk – you can hear it in his voice, because normally he wouldn't dare pester someone in the bathroom unless he knew for sure it was someone he knew.
You pull away from Jean – desperate, horny, hard Jean – and call out. "Yeah, Reiner, I'm here."
"We're leaving," Reiner tells you. "Meet us out front? Hurry, though, Uber's gonna be here soon."
You swear under your breath.
"Okay," you call out. "Okay, I'm coming. Meet you out front."
"Okay," he almost sings it, then you can hear him shuffle away.
You turn, devastated, to Jean, who is still frazzled and blushed pink and horny.
"I gotta go," you tell him. "Fuck."
"Yeah," he says, and he runs a hand through his hair as if it isn't devastatingly sexy of him to do so. He lets out a hefty sigh. He wants more – of course he wants more, you desperately want more, too – but he knows when something is over. "This was fun, though."
"It was," you say. And you start to fix your clothes. "Thanks for saving my night, Jean."
He says your name back to you, and adds, "Thanks for saving mine. Not every day a beautiful woman pulls me into a bathroom to show me her tits."
You snort and send an admiring glance his way. He's charming. He doesn't need to be – he already has his saliva drying on your breasts – but he is.
You look toward him with fondness, then drag your eyes down his body while he buttons his shirt back up.
"Too bad I didn't get to see it," you say, eying the still-hard part of him straining against his pants. "Maybe we'll meet again."
"Yeah," he agrees, eager. He wants to ask for some contact info, but bites it back. You were so forward that he thought you'd have asked for his if that was something you wanted. It's just as likely that you dragged him into this purely because he was a stranger, and that prolonging it wasn't ever an option. He doesn't mind staying a stranger, even if he would prefer to do this again. And see it all the way through. But it is what it is. "Maybe."
You turn to the mirror sitting above the standalone sink at the corner of the bathroom. You do a cursory look over yourself, fixing your hair, adjusting your clothes, then you frown. You don't look like someone who hooked up in a bathroom.
"One last thing," you call out to Jean as he's tucking his shirt back into his slacks. "Do me one last favour."
"Sure," he says, curious.
"Suck on my neck," you say, tossing your head to the side and gesturing to the smooth, bare skin of your throat. "Real hard. Leave a mark."
With raised eyebrows Jean closes the gap. "Trying to make someone jealous?" he asks.
"Yeah," you say. "Plus, I want a souvenir."
He smirks. He likes it. He likes being accessory to that. He hopes that one day you'll see him in a crowd and point him out to a friend and say that man sucked on my neck in a karaoke bathroom once, and that your friend would reply Oh shit, really?
He lowers his face to your throat, pressing teasing pecks along your skin, making you shiver. A damn tease, he is, the hair of his jawline and his chin tickling your skin as he presses himself into you. It's exciting. It feels good.
With hot sticky breaths billowing out against your throat, you feel him finally open wide and push his mouth into you. Then, he sucks. Slow, long, hard sucks, a pressure that made your legs ache and a whimper draw out from somewhere behind your tonsils. You shouldn't do that – you shouldn't whimper for him. He can't take it. He wants you so badly.
"Shit, Jean, that's good," you tell him. He knows. He knows it's good, he can feel you gripping the back of his shirt. "Fuck, I have to go, you gotta stop. But… it's good."
He pulls away. He won't start to defy your orders, now. He peers down at his handiwork. A dark, purpley red mark blooms into your skin, and he touches a finger to it.
"I think that should do it," he says. "Unless you want a few more."
You glance to the side at the mirror. It's a good hickey. Nice and big and respectable.
"Want and have time for are two different things," you tell Jean. "Thank you."
"Sure," he says. "I'm available for any of your hickey-related needs."
You laugh, low and short, then you press a hand against his cheek, let your thumb trail the shape of his mouth.
"Are you easy to find, Jean Kirstein?" you ask. "I left my phone with my friends. Would I be able to search that sexy little name of yours and find you?"
He presses a hand to his ass – shit. He left his phone with his friends, too.
"Easy, yeah," he says.
"Okay. Well…" you give him one last glance-over, one last commitment to memory, then you pat him gently on the shoulder. "Good to meet you, Jean Kirstein. Thanks for the hickey. Hope I see you again."
You draw away from him and head toward the bathroom door, loudly unclicking the lock. You look back to him one more time and say, "You probably wanna scoot out of sight in case someone is standing there."
He does as he's told, stepping out of view, and you sneak out of the bathroom. There's a blonde man standing there, staring down at his phone, and his big blue eyes meet yours when you exit.
"Still occupied," you tell him when he moves like he's about to head in himself.
He doesn't get it. "H- huh?"
He glances at the door that slams shut behind you without you touching it. His eyes dart down to your throat and realization visibly washes over him.
"Oh."
You leave quickly to catch up with Reiner and the others.