Chapter Text
Chapter Eight
Jean's mouth was so hot and the world was on fire and I thought that maybe I was going to burst into flames.
And it was nice. Oh my god, it was so nice.
So smooth and messy and so full of Jean.
He held me tightly to him, scared that I might perhaps evaporate in his arms and with the redness I guessed that was in my face, I just might have. One of his hands had somehow made it's way to my waist and he was drawing soothing patterns against my skin. Circles mostly. It felt wonderful if we're being honest. It was like a trail of butterflies landing gently on my skin. Timid but welcome. I couldn't get enough of the intimate contact.
His other hand had barely moved from my cheek. He was tilting up my chin and pushing himself against me, his legs hopelessly tangled around mine -nearly in knots. It as like he wanted to kiss me like there was no tomorrow but also take the kiss slow and be soft with me as he tried to take all of this moment in. He didn't make up his mind so we were stuck in the most amazing, awkward in between.
His teeth clicked against mine and he drew back for a brief second to make sure I wasn't in some sort of pain and he eagerly leaned in for another kiss. I met his lips with a warm, open welcome.
I wondered if this was a good kiss. I was probably thinking too much, like I tended to but I couldn’t help but wonder. I hadn't kissed anyone before. Okay, that's a lie. I'd played spin the bottle twice but I had never kissed anyone like this. Passionately. In love-like. Sprawled out in the grass, hopelessly groping at one another, struggling for each other like we were both the last oxygen tank at the bottom of the ocean. I had never wanted to kiss anyone like this. I hadn't thought it was possible that someone would want to kiss me like this either.
Definitely not someone as good as him.
Maybe I had given up on looking.
This was the first time I felt like I was living up to the horny teenagers stereotype.
I didn't mind.
I was kissing Jean Kirschtein and by some miracle or fluke of the universe, Jean Kirschtein was kissing me back.
Jean pulled away softly, a small smile capturing his lips while his eyes remained half lidded. “We should stop.” he whispered into my ear. “I'm stealing all of your air.”
I shook my head, wordlessly, my hair falling into my eyes as I tried to catch his lips once more but he stopped me with a chuckle and a hand to my lips. “Marco Bodt, even angels need air sometimes.”
“I'm no angel.” I murmured, slightly irritated that he wouldn't let me keep kissing him. “Just try to do good things sometimes.”
“Well, I don't.” he whispered in my ear. “I'm a selfish bastard.”
“I guess we match then.”
He shook his head. “Oh no, you're too good for this world, you perfect, wonderful flower. There's no way you and I could ever match but I like that. It means we're opposites. We complete each other.”
“You don't give yourself enough credit.”
“Neither do you.”
“Jean-”
He shushed me by wrapping his fingers in mine. “You make me want to be a good person.” he told me. “You make me want to be so much more than I am so that maybe one day I can live somewhere outside of your shadow.”
“You shouldn't have to live in anyone's shadow.” I whispered, raising both of our hands so I could simply look at the sight. “Especially mine.” I added.
He nodded his head solemnly. “You're right.” he said thoughtfully. “I don't have to. But since I am, I know that I wouldn't want to live in anyone’s but yours. You're just so good Marco Bodt.”
I stared at him, at all of him. My gaze shifted from his hazy, clouded eyes to the gentle slope of this thin wrists and every detail in between. I reached out desperately to touch him, my movements frantic and suddenly aware of how quickly he might leave me if I let go. He laughed lowly and took my wandering hand and placed it against his heart and smiled softly at me.
He knew how I was feeling without even asking. He knew I was scared. He could read me so easily. I sniffed and feigned a smile. I was glad he couldn't see me in that moment because I wasn't sure if I was going to laugh or cry. Probably both, though. “I'm not.” I said. I'm not good, I'm poison.
Without a word, he drew me into him so he could kiss my forehead, denying my claims without even saying anything. I let him hold me. “You're so good.” he replied, kissing my ear as he whispered the words into it. “You're the fucking sun, Marco.”
In that moment, I looked not at him but through him instead. I felt the beat of his heart and the breath of his lungs, gentle and vulnerable at my fingertips and suddenly, I didn't know what to say.
So, I kissed him again and believed with all that I had that everything from here on out was going to be okay.
We had fallen asleep there, curled up again each other to ward off the nippy air using our coats as blankets. Jean held me to him, one of his hands on the small of my back and the other tangled in the ends of my hair. He was gentle, caring, soft and slightly foreign to my senses but he felt so nice pushed up against me that I couldn't bring myself to care very much. We laid there like a puzzle, unsolved and mashed together, out edges fitting together perfectly.
I think he was awake but he didn't say anything to me which was fine. His breath in my hair was good enough. It was peaceful and I was happy. I found myself hugging him tighter.
He laughed lightly and stroked my hair, burying himself closer to me. Neither of us wanted to talk or let go because if we didn't talk, we wouldn't have to answer the question that loomed in the air.
Where do we go from here?
I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket and I elected to ignore it. I wouldn't let myself ruin this moment. But the phone was persistent and I sighed harshly and sat up, pulling myself away from Jean. He groaned drowsily in protest and tried to pull me back down. I laughed, leaning back down to peck him on the forehead as I awkwardly tried to fish my phone from my pocket.
Six unread text messages and two missed calls.
From: Reindeer Sex
Yo dude, you gonna be here today?
From: Your Brausfriend
where r u and jean @
From: Your Brausfriend
ARE YOU TWO BANGING!!!!!!!?????
From: Bert
Please come to school. Sasha is making bets about your sex life.
From: Suga Daddy Springer
use protection
There was one from my mom, but I decided not to open that one.
“Fuck!” I exclaimed as I looked at the time. Nine o'clock. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.”
“What's up, turtledove?” Jean asked, sitting up beside me, rubbing my back soothingly concern falling off of him like autumn leaves.
“We're so fucking late Jean, oh god, the school is going to call home and my mom is going to have my head! I'm dead Jean, oh fuck. Fuck. Fuck me. Jesus Christ, I-”
Jean looked at me for a moment with his brows furrowed and then his expression broke and he collapsed back to the ground in a fit of laughter. “It's not funny!” I yelped, alarmed at his expression. How could he find it funny? I was drowning right beside him.
“Are you in like, third grade? Marco, it's okay. It's okay. I'm not new to ditching. Here, dial up the school for me and give me your phone, alright?”
Since I really didn't have any better options, I did what he asked, my fingers trembling over the keys.
Jean took the phone and on what sounded like the second ring, he spoke up in the most calm, tranquil voice I've ever heard. “Yes, hello, this is Marius Bodt, Marco Bodt's uncle. His mother has asked me to call you and inform you that he will not be in school today as he is very sick.” he paused, waiting for an answer. “Yes, alright, understood. Thank you for your time, have a good day.”
After waiting for them to hang up, he threw the phone at me. “Boom. Done. Your welcome. Now, come back down here and kiss me some more.”
“Wait, Jean, what-”
“Oldest trick in the book.”
“You're going to get yourself kicked out of school one day.”
He grinned. “Probably.” I wasn't sure if I should have been impressed but I was. He linked his arms around my neck and pressed his forehead to mine with the stupidest smile on his face. “Don't worry, okay? If we get caught, I'll take all the heat.”
I shook my head. My anxiety was beginning to calm itself down. I was feeling better. “No way, I'd say it's more of a sixty-forty situation. You can take most of the heat.”
“Jackass.”
“Mhmm.” I hummed, pressing my lips against his lazily in something that wasn't quite a kiss and he melted under me. “Hey, Jean?” I asked, pulling away from him in a sudden realization. “Did you say I was going to be away all day?”
His face split open into the most endearing smile. “Maybe.”
“Now I can't go to school, they think I'm sick.”
“Exactly.”
“Jesus, and I'm the jackass?”
“Yup.”
“Did you plan this?”
“Nope, but it sure as hell turned out in my favor.”
“You're an asshole.”
“Maybe so, but I'm an asshole who gets to spend the entire day with a pretty boy.”
“I hate you.” I mumbled pulling him in for another kiss.
Jean held my hand all the way back to his house. It was rhythmic, nice and calm. I let my head rest on his shoulder as his thumb went over my knuckles in a smooth motion. I didn't want this morning to be over. I was so worried that it was all going to end up being a dream. Jean's hand was my lifeline. As long as I held it, I wouldn't wake up from this beautiful dream and so I clutched it tightly. It's not a dream. I would remind myself but I couldn't bring myself to believe that. My brain felt like a Salvador Dali painting, everything was askew and in a state of weird bliss. I wondered if Jean felt the same way.
Love is like adrenaline. It's a mind drug that makes you feel more things than a human being ever should. It's weird and stupid and addictive and it makes you do crazy things that you wouldn't for anyone else. Love is abstract. It's like going to elementary school again when you should be headed off to college. It fucks with your mind.
Love is happiness and pain, all mixed up in one big bundle of raw disasters. Love is pure and innocent and absolutely worth the heartbreak.
Love is a little bit of this and love is a little bit of that. Love is me and love is him.
Love is a box of letters that I read every Friday night for months that led to my depression. Words spoken from a dying soldier man to his son made from pen and ink, formed into the last few words he ever wrote to me.
Take care of them Marco. Take care of them and everyone else that loves you.
I'm sorry Marco. More than words could ever say.
That was love and this is love, with only a fraction of a difference.
I was going to take care of Jean but he was also going to take care of me. Helping each other, as we get through the tough times: that's what love is.
I squeezed Jean's hand and if silently agreeing with me, he squeezed back.
Today was going to be a good day.