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“So… Are you excited?”
Jean makes a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat, eyes turned resolutely towards the water. Eren surveys the boy in profile through the curtain created by his thick dark hair.
Moonlight reflects off the glassy lake into Jean’s golden irises and his throat bobs on a rough swallow. A well-documented habit. He’s holding something back.
“Well I, for one, am glad to see you leave,” Eren teases, nudging Jean gently with his shoulder, basking in the brief heat of the other boy’s skin through his thin t-shirt.
“Shaddup,” Jean mumbles, nudging Eren back with considerably more force. He lifts his beer to his lips and takes a slow sip, then another, fingers drumming erratic beats around the neck of the bottle.
The frogs are especially loud tonight, Eren thinks. Though maybe it’s because they’re the only two still up. The only pair outside. The croaking chorus pauses momentarily only to resume again with more force.
“Wanna go out to the lake?”
“Which one of us is gonna drunk drive?”
It was Eren, because of course it was. Jean was just buzzed enough to agree.
The Brauses reside on a large plot of land so at the very least they wouldn’t have to contend with the cops. Eren figures the worst he could do is hit a tree or drive straight into the water. Small mercies. The benefits far outweigh the risks in his opinion.
Eren was willing to do what needed to be done.
At that moment, viewing water was a necessity, so he hopped behind the wheel of Sasha’s beat-up truck and gave her a start, waiting with raised eyebrows for the man of the hour to join.
And though it was a tease, Eren is glad to see Jean leave. Just not in the way Jean thinks. Getting out of here ought to do him some good. Would for anybody.
Eren pats at his pocket, coaxing out his dad’s old silver hip flask. He takes a hefty swallow, letting the foul brown liquor scald down his throat. He coughs and sputters, choking back snot and spit. Probably scotch, Eren guesses. Dr. Yeager has a particular fondness for the drink over ice.
Eren has a particular fondness for vodka cranberries, but he’s well aware of the old adage, and beggars can’t be choosers, especially when they’re years below the legal drinking age.
“Fuck,” he gasps, glaring as the brown haired boy beside him laughs, turning to face him for the first time since they liberated Sasha’s truck. “My suffering is funny to you, huh?”
“Yes,” Jean replies solemnly. The corners of his mouth twitch.
“I have a question,” Eren says, determined to forge ahead. He feels his face growing hot, the blood rising and pooling in his cheeks.
“Shoot.” Jean punctuates his response with another swallow.
“Do you hate me?”
In six hours Jean will be gone and Eren… Well, Eren needs to know this one thing before he goes. Off to paint pictures of the Seine or whatever he’s planning on doing while he’s over there.
“‘Course not.” His response is immediate, firm and sincere, if not thoroughly flustered. “You’re annoying as shit and I don’t get you sometimes— most of the time— but I never… Christ, I don’t hate you, Eren.”
Eren’s heart pounds. He pushes his lower lip into a moody pout. “Sure seems like you do sometimes.”
Jean clears his throat. “Wanna smoke?”
Eren shrugs, wordlessly holding out his hand. Jean fumbles behind him in the bed of the truck for his half-empty pack of cigarettes. Eren watches on as he draws out two, sliding the filters between his lips, flicking his lighter, kissing each tip with the flame of his yellow Bic. He puffs twice to set the ends alight, then draws one away, situating it between Eren’s outstretched index and middle fingers.
They smoke in silence for a while, the weight of the novel interaction hanging heavy in the air. Eren decides to give Jean a parting gift in the form of steering the conversation back to well-trod territory.
“Think Connie’ll be pissed?”
Jean snorts, exhaling a thin stream of smoke through his nostrils, narrowed eyes following the gray wisps as they trail hopefully upwards into the starlit night. “Nah. He’ll respect it, I think.”
“Maybe,” Eren laughs, turning the Marlboro over in his hand, inspecting the cherry as it fades into darkness. Tastes like poison. Tastes like shit. He knows Jean hates the things. He also knows Jean tries too hard to fit in.
He draws the cigarette back to his lips and takes another drag, letting the smoke burn pleasantly through his chest. “He did mention getting something like it once before, now that you mention it…”
The stick-and-poke tattoo had been a team effort.
Determined to throw Jean the wildest going away party on record, their friend Connie had overindulged majorly before the festivities even began, resulting in a dangerous “first man out” scenario. There’s no way he’ll miss the pain tomorrow morning. The minimalist and shaky outline of a dick and balls on the outside of his right ankle.
Eren and Sasha had been in charge of the scrotum, Jean the shaft.
“Either way,” Jean says, “you’ll have to deal with him, not me.”
Eren feels a small but potent pang in his chest at the words.
He’s really going.
They’ve always dealt with Connie together. Maybe not as a unified team, but still the effort was made in a semi-concerted way. Because it had to be. Until Eren got close with Armin and Mikasa at the beginning of high school, it was always the four of them.
The thought stirs up feelings both bitter and sweet and his heart contracts painfully once more.
Truthfully, he and Jean haven’t spent any meaningful time together in a while.
That was then.
Back when he and Sasha wore matching dresses to go out to dinner for her birthday. When Eren, Sasha, Jean, and Connie sat at their own table, her parents at another, and Eren and Sasha hit on their harried waiter all evening long, much to the boys’ chagrin.
It’s difficult, sorting the good and the bad from back then. Some things were indisputably easier, regardless of how relentlessly his stomach churned inside. Eren was always Eren and Jean was always Jean, and Connie and Sasha were never far behind. The four of them were the perfect little quartet in the way only younger kids can be, bound by neighboring street signs and complimentary soccer teams.
Their families would get together for backyard barbeques in the dead of summer and the adults would all laugh. Standing around the cooler sweating, paper plates in hand, they’d make their uninspired predictions while they watched their children interact.
It always went like this: Connie and Sasha would get together, Eren and Jean too.
“You already fight like an old married couple.”
Jean’s mom had said it– on more than one occasion– mirth shining in her kind, hazel eyes. Eren’s mom would smile politely, ever the observer, quietly taking in the scene and no doubt preparing her stock-standard “you’re free to love whoever you want” speech for when the night was through.
Every time.
Every time, Jean would scowl and cross his arms, turning his face away.
“Girls are gross.”
And every time, Eren’s cheeks would burn and the yelling would start all over again.
Then they grew up a little.
Turns out Jean still thinks girls are gross. Turns out Eren’s not a girl. They still fight like hell. Turns out some things never change.
“Really, Yeager?”
“Huh?” At the sound of his name, Eren blinks, startled, turning his head. He guesses Jean must’ve been saying something while he took an unintended detour down memory lane. Jean sounds irritated but not surprised. After all, it’s not particularly unusual for Eren to disappear at a moment’s notice.
“Just… Saying I’m surprised you came is all,” Jean stubs out his cigarette on the side panel and flicks it into the waist-high grass beyond.
The butterflies in Eren’s chest flutter with possibilities and what ifs. Future regrets and the dull ache that comes with leaving things unsaid. “Yeah, you would be.”
Suspicious golden eyes meet his steady gaze. “Fuck’s that supposed to mean?”
Eren jerks his chin in Jean’s general direction. “You done with that?”
Jean swirls the bottle, holding it up to the moonlight. The thing’s been empty. He takes his last sip anyway, then passes it to Eren. Eren drops his butt down the green glass neck and places their new ashtray behind him, up against the back of the cab.
“Means you’re too stupid to notice,” Eren explains in the only way he can, plowing through his anxiety, his guilt, and every other thing. “You’re my friend, Jean, I was never going to miss it… Besides,” he says, pausing for a deep, bracing breath, “I like you.”
And maybe it’s selfish to say, especially now instead of way back when, but let it not be said that Eren isn’t deep down at his very core a selfish man.
Jean runs a hand through the back of his choppy hair. His eyes narrow further and a deep crease forms between his furrowed brows.
“Don’t fuck with me right now, I’m not in the mood.” Jean pushes himself up to kneel and turns, shuffling to the open rear window, reaching into the backseat of the cab and retrieving another beer. He pops the cap off on the lip of the bed and takes a swig, passing the bottle to Eren. “S’the last one,” he says. Eren takes a sip and grimaces, passes the bottle back.
“Nah.”
At least the scotch is effective and quick. If Jean pulls his head out of his ass, Eren might even deign to share.
“What did you mean?” Jean asks quietly, leaning in close. He thinks maybe it’s the closest they’ve ever been outside a fight. Eren’s practically breathing in his shitty body spray. Upsettingly piney. Reminiscent of Christmas trees. “Eren.” His voice holds a warning note, like Eren’s asking to get socked in the jaw if he answers wrong. Jean’s good for it, too.
Eren smiles. It’s not the reason, but it makes up a part of the why.
“You’ve never treated me any differently, you know? Maybe inside your head– I don’t know. Would hate to see what goes on in there,” Eren says, taking a left and breezing past the hard part.
Jean huffs a laugh, tries his best at looking offended and fails. He takes a deep breath and tilts his head back, eyes focused determinedly on the stars.
“Got a lot of shit for that by the way, thanks very fucking much.”
“Bet you did,” Eren murmurs in reply. He knows, in fact. People tend to baby Eren and they always have. They probably always will. Not Jean though— something that gave their friends and family pause.
Jean hitting back as they aged was the wrong thing to do in everyone’s eyes. Everyone’s except Eren’s, anyway. Somehow he had the least amount of say in the matter. Still, it was exhilarating picking fights with Jean, to feel the passionate kiss of fist on bone as soon as Eren prodded at the other boy’s hair-trigger temper.
Sure, licking blood from a split-lip isn’t a genteel way to pass the time, but it handily beats the standard for good, clean fun in their sleepy little town.
“Think you’ll wear a funny little hat when you get over there or are you going to keep growing out your stupid hair?” Eren asks, raising a hand to twist in the back of Jean’s lengthening locks. The other boy slaps his hand down reflexively and frowns, long fingers clasping around Eren’s thin wrist, lashing his hand to the truck bed.
“What’re you trying to say?”
“Got stupid hair,” Eren smiles, angling his body towards Jean’s, daring him to back away.
“Got a stupid face,” Jean replies, matching Eren’s energy, leaning forward and into his space. “So what? Looking for one last fight, Yeager? Is that it?”
“Not really,” Eren replies, inclining his head to close the distance, catching Jean’s lips in a brief kiss. Soft and simple with no added frills. Though Jean doesn’t participate, he doesn’t pull away. Eren breaks the kiss with a laugh, he already knows the look on Jean’s face. Bewildered and somewhat angry, the way he looks towards the end of one of Mr. Smith’s calculus tests.
“Am I a joke to you?” Jean hisses, pressing the mouth of the bottle to his lips.
“Yeah. But not for this,” Eren shrugs. Jean falls silent, attention back up towards the stars.
After a small eternity, he speaks. “For how long?”
Eren shrugs again. “A while.”
“And you never said. Why?” His voice rises in pitch and volume, belying his frustration and taking on an accusatory tone. That’s fine. Eren’s used to the sound. It makes him feel at home.
“Didn’t want to put that on you, you know? Figured you already knew and resented me for it,” Eren admits, “kind of like I did you.” He laughs. The chapter’s coming to a close, he might as well put it all out there now.
“Gimme a sip,” Jean demands, extending his arm and pointing to his pocket, indicating Eren should produce his flask. Eren balks momentarily because Jean’s not allowed to tell him what to do, then he acquiesces with a long-suffering sigh. It’s not like he was planning on drinking alone anyway. Jean unscrews the cap and takes two hefty swallows, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His chest rises as he inhales deeply.
“I guess I might’ve,” Jean begins slowly, “but I… Eren, the thing is…'' he stutters and stalls, finally coming to a complete stop.
“It’s fine,” Eren says. Because it is. Because, above all else, this was about him speaking his piece. Jean can call it selfish if he wants. Eren would call it on brand. He doesn’t care.
“No, Eren. Shut up for once in your life, will ya?”
“Okay, first—”
Jean pinches the bridge of his nose and exhales hard into the humid night. “Dude. What the fuck?”
“Sorry,” Eren says with a smile, though the sentiment is insincere.
“It’s not like I haven’t thought about it. But I realized it would make my mom so happy. Not like— happy that I’m happy or whatever. Like…” he turns his face away. “You know.”
He does.
“Like you quit screwing around and finally settled down with a nice girl,” Eren fills in the blanks. Jean nods once, curt and quick.
“So.” Jean lifts his shoulders and lets them drop, pushes a hand through his hair.
“So,” Eren agrees, reaching out and stealing back the flask, “what do we do now?”
Jean laughs, a sharp and bitter sound. “What do we do now? Eren, I’m as good as gone, there’s no point.”
“Sure there is,” Eren replies, bolstered by Jean’s lack of outright refusal. He eases down onto his back, arms crossed behind his head, marveling at the vast open sky. “We’ll speed date, decide it would never work, and then I’ll send you on your way.”
Jean mirrors his movement, lying on his back off to Eren’s right, muttering under his breath. Eren thinks he hears the phrase “stubborn ass,” but he can’t be sure.
“Alright, Yeager. Tell me about yourself,” Jean deadpans.
“Eren Yeager, eighteen years young with a zest for life,” Eren begins cheerfully, “Aries—”
“I know all this shit,” Jean cuts in.
“Alright, tell me about you, then.”
“We already know everything about each other,” Jean insists.
“Not really,” Eren says, “What’s your favorite color?”
Jean takes a pause. “Green.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. I always— You know what, shut up,” he grumbles, turning on his side to face Eren’s supine form. “Shut up, Eren,” he says again.
“I wasn’t—?” Jean pushes up on his forearms and bows his head, catching Eren’s lips with his own. Their second kiss. Clumsy and thorough and more adamant than the last. “You shut up,” he mumbles weakly when they part.
Jean shifts to lay half atop him then and Eren feels warm and perfect and sad, like maybe they could’ve been doing this the whole time.
But maybe they couldn’t have.
It’s possible that only now have the right conditions transpired to grant them this moment, this one-off chance that could necessarily never be anything more than what it is. He swallows down Jean’s quiet sound of frustration and pours himself into their third kiss.
He parts his lips and licks at Jean’s, daring him to do the same, letting slip a quiet moan when he acquiesces, their tongues sliding hot and slick together. Eren rolls his hips against the warm body above and Jean responds with a groan, dropping his head to hide his face in the crook of Eren’s neck.
“How’s the date going so far, do you think?” Eren asks, steadfastly ignoring how breathless he sounds already.
“Changed my mind,” Jean mumbles into his skin, sending a thrill down Eren’s spine, “I do hate you.”
“Good,” Eren laughs, “get on your stupid plane, idiot dumb- ah!” He’s cut off on a startled gasp as Jean sets to work, sucking a mark into the soft skin at the base of his throat.
“Never want to see me again, huh?” Jean rasps, finding his rhythm in the upward motion of Eren’s hips.
“No,” He breathes in reply, his eyes slipping shut, the damp warmth in his underwear disagreeing, giving him away. “I don’t care.”
“Okay,” Jean agrees, raising his head to catch his lips again, a hand making its way up into Eren’s hair, twisting and tugging on the strands tangled between his fingers.
Reminds Eren of how he didn’t hate it when Jean used to pull his hair all the way back then. He certainly doesn’t mind now either.
“Glad you’re letting it grow again,” Jean says gruffly. “Suits you.”
Eren sighs, the warmth in his stomach spreading through his limbs as his back grinds into the cold metal ridges of the truck’s bed. He blinks, eyes fluttering slowly open, finding himself trapped in place under lidded and hesitant gold.
“What’s next, then?” He asks, voice small in the vastness of the slow rolling landscape.
“Should probably uh…” Jean rolls off and sits on his heels. “Should we head back?”
Disappointment crashes down around Eren’s shoulders like a wave, threatening to pull him under and drown him in its depths. He bites back an acidic laugh. “Yeah, whatever.”
“What did I do now?” Jean asks, anger bubbling underneath the surface and barely contained, meeting Eren’s passive aggression with the regular thing. “You expect me to read your mind and then—”
Pushing his weight into his palm behind him, Eren props himself up to a half reclined seat, propelling forward and grabbing a fistful of Jean’s shirt. “How about just this once you don’t reason your way out of what you want,” Eren snarls against his lips.
“Fine,” Jean spits, temper sparking bright. He rises to the occasion, planting the heel of his hand into Eren’s chest, pushing him harshly back against the bed. His head hits the surface with a thwack and he cries out, pleased by the pain, by the way Jean follows him down, snaking his hand roughly beneath Eren’s waistband. “What if I wanted to be nice,” he mutters, bumping his fingers over Eren’s clit, traveling lower, skimming over the damp fabric at his entrance.
Eren gasps and whines, bucking desperately into his touch. “What if I don’t care.”
“Selfish prick,” Jean says, sealing his mouth to Eren’s in a biting kiss, tugging his lower lip between his teeth. Eren squirms, grinding up into his palm, letting slip a soft noise of assent. “Take these off,” he commands when they part.
Eren raises an amused eyebrow. Something about pots and kettles...
“Don’t say anything,” Jean warns, the tone of his voice only prompting Eren to laugh.
Eager hands make their way to the front of his pants, popping the button on the fly and drawing the zipper down. He wiggles halfway out of his underwear and jeans before Jean grabs fistfuls of the faded worn denim to help him along. Eren hisses as his backside connects with the cool hard bed, watching with interest as Jean pulls his shirt haphazardly up over his head. Jean reappears from beneath the frayed hem, his sweat-damp mullet fanning out wild in every direction, freezing when he catches sight of Eren. Even in the dead of night, Eren thinks he just can make out a dark flush creeping over his angular cheeks.
“Have you ever seen a pussy, Jean, or am I going to have to coach you through this?” Eren asks, light as he can, though his insides protest, stomach squeezing violently around a hot, sick feeling of partial regret.
“I know what I’m doing,” Jean protests hastily, “Just. Haven’t seen yours, I guess.” He sinks down onto Eren’s chest again, the warmth from his skin seeping through his shirt as Jean circles his fingers gently over his clit, growing bolder and faster when Eren reacts. He sighs in pleasure, in relief, tossing his head back and letting slip a strained cry as the pressure builds and intensifies.
He’s certainly not doing anything special— nowhere near what Eren can do for himself— but it’s not Eren, it’s Jean. He throbs and squirms under Jean’s touch, reactive and wanting. He whispers Jean’s name to see how it tastes, slick gathering and coating the space between his thighs as he begs him to go harder, begs him for more. Jean curses under his breath and trails his fingers lower, dipping two inside. He presses his palm against Eren’s clit and buries the digits deep, dragging them along his inner walls.
It would be embarrassing if he came now, Eren thinks, arcing up against Jean with a throaty moan, pressing his forehead into Jean’s shoulder, bitten off fingernails dragging helplessly down the broad expanse of his back.
Over his own quiet cries, over the soft, wet sounds of Jean pumping in and out of his core, Eren only just hears it. The sound of a carelessly whispered entreaty.
“Come with me?”
It’s so fucking earnest, it’s so pure. He squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head side to side. “Can’t, Jean. Nothing stunts your growth quite like me.”
“Fucking martyr,” Jean murmurs, pads of his fingers pushing firmly into the soft tissue inside, swallowing down Eren’s rebuttal with his tongue. “You got time to think. My dad’s pied-à-terre has plenty of room, all you have to do is buy a ticket.”
“I’ll visit,” Eren lies, gripping his shoulder tight, shaking apart underneath his oldest friend’s heated skin.
He’s dead set on staying put. Jean’s getting a chance most of them will never get. He’s going to build a new life over there and it wouldn’t be fair for Eren to come crashing through it, nevermind that Eren’s not sure he could stand to see what Jean makes of himself in their time apart.
“Good,” Jean smiles. Genuine. All white teeth and crinkling bright eyes. “I’ll buy you a stupid hat and a little stripy shirt so we can match.”
“Shut up, Kirstein,” Eren whines, rocking faster into his hand.
“Yeah, okay,” he says, turning his head, closing his teeth gently over Eren’s earlobe and tugging. It’s a simple, stupid thing– a thing Eren’s not even sure he’d notice on any other occasion– but the intimacy of the gesture sends a shockwave coursing through his body and he tightens, clenching and coming on Jean’s fingers with a shuddering sob.
Jean lingers a while longer, swirling his soaked digits over Eren’s sensitive clit, chapped lips pressed against Eren’s, meeting up and parting, slowly savoring the aftermath. The buzzing in Eren’s brain recedes and the sound of the crickets and the frogs, the sound of his own labored breathing rushing back in. He whimpers onto Jean’s tongue, a raw, exposed nerve.
“That was really hot,” Jean murmurs there in the sliver of damp air between them. He shifts and his breath hitches, the tent in his pants pressing into Eren’s thigh. “Sorry.”
Eren groans and rolls his eyes, shimmying back just out of reach. “Do you always apologize when you make a guy come or am I some sort of exception?”
“Some sort of exception,” Jean says quietly, simply, swiping his hand over his jeans and answering a different question. Eren pauses. He waits. There’s no discernible insult on the horizon, no cutting remark on its way. That knowledge frees his heart to do stupid things, sets his pulse to race.
“What are we going to do about you?” Eren recovers quickly and lifts his lips in a knowing smirk, eyes trained on the front of his pants.
“Doesn’t matter,” Jean says quickly, wincing as he palms at the obvious bulge there. “I’m fine.”
“Uh-huh, sure you fuckin’ are,” Eren laughs, folding his knees to his chest and rocking backwards, using the momentum to roll forward, tumbling into a seat splayed over Jean’s lap. “You ever seen me satisfied with just one of anything,” he asks, looping his arms around Jean’s neck. “Besides,” he smiles as he grinds down, coaxing a startled sound from the boy below, “it’s payback.”
“Eren,” Jean whispers, brows drawing tight together, forgetting himself temporarily before covering with a weak and shaky laugh. “It’s a bad idea.”
“Just gimme a condom and watch me work,” Eren replies, smug, his victory all but imminent. “Sasha always keeps a couple in the glove compartment.”
Reacting only slower than immediately, Jean bucks his hips, sending Eren careening off to the side, naked ass bouncing heavily back to the truck bed. Again Jean shuffles to the open window of the cab and plunges his arm inside, growling in frustration when it becomes apparent he doesn’t have the reach necessary to make it beyond the back seat.
“Have to go around,” Jean mutters to himself as Eren sneaks up quietly from behind, arms encircling his waist.
He lets his hands wander, relishing in Jean’s surprised gasp, his right traveling down to cup firmly around his clothed length, the left rising in concert to play with his pecs, thumb brushing teasingly over a peaked nipple. His friend lets slip a breathy whine, spine bowing, pressing his body into Eren’s chest.
“Knock it off, asshole,” he pants, rocking back against Eren’s pelvis and throwing Eren into a brief bout of mourning.
Back in his bedroom and hidden from sight, banished to the bottom of his sock drawer, lies a brand new and untested strap. Had he known Jean might be a willing subject, he likely would’ve risked driving them to his house instead.
“Don’t wanna,” he grouses, lips wet at the nape of Jean’s neck.
He should get to have his cake and eat it too, Eren decides. It’s all well and good to send Jean on his way to a clean slate, but no small part of Eren craves this. He needs to make sure Jean can never quite shake the memory of him. Of them. More than anything, he has to make his mark.
“I wanna fuck you,” he mumbles into the skin there, relishing in the way Jean shivers. Eren moves his hand, shifting to grip his hip, pulling him flush.
“Eren,” Jean mumbles, pliant and needy and a little bit dazed. He drops his head back heavily onto Eren’s shoulder, turning to mouth at the underside of his jaw.
“Yeah?” Eren’s adrenaline spikes and he swallows hard, grinding forward indulgently into Jean’s backside.
“Get the fuck off me so I can get a condom, right?”
Eren pouts. He whines. “Yeah, yeah, fine.”
He shuffles back a bit allowing Jean to break free. Jean rises slowly on shaky legs, vaulting out of the bed and circling to the passenger side door, yanking on the handle with considerable force. The door groans and creaks as it parts from the rusted out frame and Jean clambers inside, ash brown head disappearing from sight.
“Bring all of ‘em,” Eren says with a buoyant giggle, pulling his arms through the sleeves of his henley and lifting it over his head.
“S’only one,” Jean calls back, sounding slightly aggrieved.
“Fucking whore,” Eren says fondly, wondering what Sasha’s been up to lately. Or in this case, who.
“Mmm,” Jean agrees mildly, reappearing and planting his hands on the tailgate, hoisting himself up into the bed. “She’s hooking up with a cook now... though I’m not surprised you didn’t know that.”
Eren frowns. He can feel the familiar slipping away from him before his very eyes. Jean’s gone, Sasha’s moving on, and god knows what Connie’s getting into these days. Everything’s changing so fast and Eren suddenly feels as though he’s been left at the starting block. The only one to miss the sound of the gun, everyone else already long since taken off.
“You left us, Eren,” Jean corrects quietly, reading his mind.
Well, he didn’t. But if he did, it was because he had to, Eren thinks, temper inflamed. It's not like he didn’t see everyone week to week. It’s just that hanging out with Armin and Mikasa was a welcome balm to his aching soul. His new friends accepting him as he was without having to bear the burden of who he had been kept him tethered for the past four years, kept him sane.
“I–”
“It’s fine, stupid,” Jean says, like that’s that, clumsily shucking off his underwear and pants. He’s moving to crawl back between Eren’s legs when Eren stops him with a slow shake of his head.
“Lay down,” he directs, bunching up his shirt and placing it beside his friend. A makeshift pillow for Jean's thick skull.
Jean’s lips purse and his eyes narrow. Then, all at once, he relaxes, sighing loudly through his nose and easing down onto his back. Eren follows the motion, swinging a leg up over his torso, landing astride Jean’s lap. He didn’t get a good look in the dark, but he thinks Jean’s dick is nice, if average. Maybe like the man himself, Eren thinks, almost laughing aloud. He can already hear the indignant screams, the faces Jean would make upon finding out that Eren thinks he’s nice, let alone that he has an average dick.
“Hi,” He says, for something to say, rolling his hips back steady, feeling Jean’s cock sliding hard and heavy between his asscheeks.
“Oh,” Jean gasps, his eyes squeezing shut, bucking his hips up with abandon. “Fuck.”
“Jesus, Jean,” Eren laughs, “It’s not even in yet.” In lieu of a response, Jean exhales a shaky breath, his hands finding Eren’s waist, fingertips digging into the soft flesh as he hangs on. Eren finds then that he can’t help but to tease him a little longer. He resituates, rolling his hips languidly and sliding slowly, back and forth, along Jean’s length.
“Eren… Eren– Mhhh–!” Jean bites his lip to stifle the louder cries, every muscle in his neck standing taut as he throws his head back against Eren’s shirt, failing to swallow back a wavering moan as Eren lets the tip of his head catch on his slick entrance. “Eren! Fucking stop and— Ahhh… Condom,” he gasps weakly, throwing his hand out and drifting it over the floor beside his hip, coming up with a gold foil wrapper.
“Gimme.” Eren tears into the thing with his teeth and spits out the wrapping. A small piece sticks to his tongue and he sputters, trying to work it out with a forceful breath. Jean cracks one eye open and laughs, the sound straying quickly into a pitchy whine as Eren grinds down hard for his insolence. He lifts up onto his knees and fumbles blindly for the head of Jean’s cock, rolling the condom carefully over his shaft, following his fingers down and sinking onto his length in one smooth motion.
Jean’s chest heaves, his grip tightens around Eren’s waist, and he waits silently, golden eyes sliding resolutely shut. The ache is pleasant and Eren’s been ready, so he gets to it, lifting off part way and dropping back down, punching a surprised sound from his own throat.
That’s good.
It’s nice to do this with someone he likes, he thinks, folding down onto Jean’s chest, bracing himself with a hand planted firmly onto the back of the cab and bouncing rhythmically in Jean’s lap. Picking up the pace, Eren lets Jean hear just how good it feels as the noises pour forth from his lips. Gentle teases and praise alike combine, splashing down over the sunkissed skin of his friend’s shoulder, spurring him on.
Eren feels a tug and a painful tingle. Jean’s hand fisting hard in his hair, drawing his face harshly to the left, Eren’s lips to meet his own, Jean’s teeth claiming at the flesh in a biting kiss. Knees rise to bracket behind his back as Jean plants his feet on the truck bed below for leverage. Eren groans content when Jean thrusts up to meet him on his way down, pushing in that much further, filling him all the way full.
Rough as he likes.
“God,” Jean gasps, his hand falling free from his hair to cup his neck, roaming down over Eren’s clavicle, trailing lower still to brush inquisitively over his chest.
“Gonna miss ‘em when you’re gone?” Eren asks following a tremulous laugh, propping himself up to gaze down at Jean’s face, his hair tumbling around them both in waves, shielding them from the darkness beyond.
His breath catches in his lungs at the sight of him. Wide eyed and staring, mouth agape, looking at Eren like he’s some brand new thing.
Which maybe he is, to Jean.
After all, who is Eren to say he isn’t? He rolls his hips in a circle and smiles, watching the boy’s eyes drift closed once more, surrendering beneath him with a strangled sob.
“Good?” Eren asks, lashes fluttering, his own eyes threatening to roll in their sockets when he finds that perfect spot inside, tilting backwards at an angle and guiding Jean’s thrusts exactly where he wants them.
“Uh-huh,” Jean agrees faintly, his voice thin and ragged. “Really good… I– You’re so— ngh-!”
“Yeah,” Eren laughs breathlessly, “you are too.” He tracks Jean’s long fingers as they trail over the soft skin of his stomach, down to soothe a thumb absently over his inner thigh, four fingers digging hard into the flesh of the outside as Eren works, his movements hastened in his effort to feel good, to get himself off the way he likes.
Then he slows and stalls, his fevered mind retrieving a nearly dropped thread. Jean follows suit, dark brows lifted in a mixture of curiosity and confusion. His lips twitch, threatening to twist themselves into his signature scowl.
“Let me play with your ass,” Eren says, lifting almost all the way off and letting gravity aid his fall, punctuating his demand. Jean groans quietly and huffs a startled laugh, fingers squeezing, tightening his grip on the meat of Eren’s thigh.
“When you say it like that, how am I supposed to resist?”
Eren grins, fingers halfway to his mouth, the yes all but assumed from the start.
Blown pupils ringed in gold drift to focus on Eren’s lips as he pushes his index and middle fingers into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the digits, laving them thoroughly and drawing them away dripping wet.
Eren squirms in Jean’s lap, desperate for a little stimulation as he keeps his length trapped inside, leaning back to brace against his knees. He slips a hand down behind his ass, fingers coming to brush gently over where they meet, down over Jean’s balls and lower still. He presses the digits firmly against his perineum, causing the boy below to breathe out a labored moan.
“Yeah?” Eren asks, a shit-eating smile curving his lips. It’s not his fault, he can’t help it. Watching Jean in a moment of weakness must be one of his things. It’s lucky he’s going, Eren thinks. That stupid sound has all the potency to become ridiculously addictive to him specifically. He already knows. He’s going to hear it in his dreams.
“Yeah,” Jean mumbles in assent, too absorbed to notice the dig. His body reacting, shifting minutely to rock down against Eren’s fingers, seeking that spark of pleasure once more. Eren finds he’s all too happy to deliver, prodding purposefully at the tissue there, rolling his hips as Jean cries out, bucking up harshly into his core. Eager to get things going again, Eren trails lower, circling and massaging around Jean’s rim before easing his finger inside. It’s a tight fit but it's not impossible.
He must’ve done this before.
Of course he has, Eren thinks, willing the bitter bile taste of his jealousy away. He doesn’t have any sort of claim on Jean simply for knowing him as long as he has.
But Eren thinks perhaps he should. Maybe it would be better that way.
He wiggles his middle finger in alongside and begins to thrust shallowly, in and out, beginning again to ride his cock in tandem. Up and down, in and out, the synchronized effort leaving the boy below him breathless.
It’s so nice to see Jean fall apart, he thinks, feeling Jean thrust into his heat, hips rolling back onto his fingers, seeking more. Breathy moans and pitchy whines fall from Jean’s softly parted lips as he tries to decide, body torn between warring sensations.
“Jean,” Eren murmurs quietly, his own arousal all but forgotten as he works to maintain his steady pace, his wrist behind him growing sore, beginning to ache. In reply, Jean keens and shakes, dragging his nails harshly down Eren’s thigh, coming to catch at the hand braced on his chest. He tugs Eren down against his lips, pulling him into a messy, open-mouthed kiss.
“Fuck,” he gasps, hot breath fanning out over Eren’s face. “It’s too much… M’not gonna last.”
“Good, you’re not supposed to,” Eren replies, sitting back and bouncing in Jean’s lap, redoubling his efforts with the intent to bring Jean over the finish line. Eren starts babbling then, pleasantly full and floaty, his brain taking a vacation and handing his mouth the reins. “Just think, Jean. Next time… Next time I can… I’ll make you feel so good– hnnn– I’ll fuck you ‘til you can’t walk right. You’re gonna look so stupid… Bend you over and— and make you scream my–”
“Hah– Eren– Please–!” Jean tenses and twists, his hips stuttering as writhes, trying to escape the onslaught of sensation. He tosses his head back, turning his face to the side, his cheek pressing down against the truck bed. It’s just then, watching Jean fall apart from above, that Eren finds his prostate by feel. He crooks his fingers and pulses gently over the soft spot inside, rapt and waiting. Jean’s jaw clenches, his eyebrows dart together as a reedy whine forces its way through his teeth.
“C’mon Jean,” Eren goads in a breathless sing-song. “Give it to me.”
Air vacates Eren’s lungs in a punched-out “oof” and his back hits the bed with a loud, metallic clang. He finds his hands up by ears in surrender, his fingers having slipped from Jean’s ass somewhere along the way. Flustered and sweaty, Jean looms over him, staring down with burning dark eyes. Eren moans quietly, allowing his splayed legs to part and fall open wide.
“You’re so greedy,” Jean says, voice laced with quiet awe, “You always have been.”
“I was trying to get you off?” Eren replies, grinning as Jean wrenches his knees roughly up to his chest before sliding back in.
“Yeah, well,” Jean murmurs, thrusting at a furious pace, his length dragging along Eren’s entrance, leaving him sensitive and raw and begging for more. “Everything on your terms, isn’t it?”
“Mhhh!” Eren lets his eyes slip closed, giving himself over to Jean’s ministrations, squeezing tight around his shaft and relishing in his ragged gasps.
“Like I’d let you fuck me,” Jean grumbles, folding down over Eren’s chest, nosing at the side of his neck. “You’re probably shit at it.”
“Better than– anh!” Eren starts, incapable of letting the injustice slide, unwilling to allow Jean the final word on the matter.
“Yeah?” Jean asks, his smile evident against Eren’s skin.
“Yeah,” Eren repeats, sinking his hand into the back of Jean’s hair. “You’re hardly doing– hah! Jean!”
“Mhmm,” Jean agrees, sinking his teeth into his neck.
The angle’s good. Really good. And with the new position, Jean is able to get so, so deep. Eren feels the telltale heat building in his gut, sparks bursting behind his eyes as he begins to whimper in time with Jean’s forceful thrusts, laughing and crying as it hits. Slow at first, then all at once. Blinding and inescapable and quick. Eren’s orgasm steals his breath away, rends him apart at the seams.
“Can I keep going?” Jean rasps hot at his ear, never slowing in his pace. “I’m hnnnh– I’ll be done quick.”
“Don’t stop,” Eren giggles, sensitive and giddy, “I said fucking give it to me.”
Jean whines– whether in agreement or protest, Eren can’t be sure– and snaps his hips hard against Eren’s ass, desperately chasing his own climax.
Eren’s back slides along the smooth metal ridges with the force of his thrusts, shoulder connecting hard with the opposite side panel. He braces back with a hand just in time to keep from smacking his head against the inner wall as Jean’s rhythm falters. He pushes in as deep as he can, his whole body tense and rigid, crying out quietly and dropping his forehead down to meet Eren’s.
Eren tips his chin in invitation and Jean’s mouth meets his, unhurried and sweet, clumsy and breathless and chaste, trailing off into soft pecks peppered reluctantly across his lower lip before drawing away.
“Sorry,” Jean whispers after a long moment, wincing as Eren contracts around him.
“What’s with all the sorrys, Jean boy?” Eren asks, raising his eyebrows inquisitively, shuddering as Jean begins to pull out. Eren watches as he rolls the condom carefully off, pinching around the middle and knotting it, tossing it over his shoulder into the recesses of the bed before collapsing down to the floor, his head pillowed on Eren’s chest.
“I don’t know,” he admits quietly, fingers skimming slowly up and down Eren’s stomach.
“Well then, me too... I guess,” Eren says, winding a hand back into Jean’s hair.
All is silent for a while save for the crickets and frogs. Even Eren himself doesn’t feel qualified to break the tentative peace.
In tandem and without so much as an acknowledgement, the two decide to spend Jean’s final hours alternating between dozing and talking. On and off. About everything and nothing. About past mistakes and future dreams, about secrets safe only within one another, finally dressing after realizing just how mosquito bitten their aching bodies became over the course of the evening.
Eren traces down the puffy raised constellations on Jean’s forearm and watches the near twilight reflected in his sleepy golden eyes, hoping to find a spare hour before the dawn and the new day.
Jean’s clean slate. His flight looms on the horizon, landing heavy and weighted on Eren’s chest.
“You’ll come, right?” Jean asks again, eyes focused on the path ahead as he turns the key in the ignition, sober enough now to drive.
“Yeah,” Eren says, turning to stare out the back of the cab, the sun’s first rays glinting gold and shimmering across the lake. A funny, stupid feeling stirs in his chest and he amends his reply. “I want my matching hat.”