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Jean wiped his hands on his green work apron, smearing potting soil on it. He straightened and looked up at the customer that had requested his attention, and his mouth quickly ran dry, his tongue turning to cotton. He’s back!
Mr. Tall-Dark-Handsome-Adorable-Gardening-Freckled-Spanish-God, or more commonly known as Marco Bodt (Jean wasn’t a stalker, but he paid with a credit card, which was decorated with willow trees, every time he came in here, and with the forearms this man possessed, it was difficult not to take note of his name, alright?) currently stood in front of Jean, a pleasant smile on his face. Quickly regaining some sense of composure, Jean offered a small smile in return.
"How can I help you, sir?" Marco’s smile widened, and he rubbed the back of his neck rather sheepishly. Jean found himself fighting not to bite his lip.
"I’m not really a sir, you know," he said. Jean shrugged and rolled his eyes, a smirk on his lips.
"Company policy an’ all that." He waved a hand dismissively. Marco chuckled.
"It’s just a little weird, I guess. I see you more than I see most of my friends, hah," he laughed. "But I’m almost done with my greenhouse; I just need something to put in it!” He looked back up at Jean and his eyes brightened. “Do you have any suggestions?”
Jean tapped his chin with a finger, not particularly caring that he was probably smudging dirt on his face. And then an idea struck him, and if he’d had a mustache, he’d have probably stroked it like an old English dandy. Fetching a garden cart, he pushed it along while Marco told him what he was interested in.
In the end, Marco approached the outdoor register with a small Stephanotis plant, a black-eyed Susan, and a Lisianthus. He handed Jean the willow decorated credit card, and Jean rung up the plants (surreptitiously giving Marco the employee discount).
"Thank you for your help, both today and these past few weeks," Marco said kindly. Jean looked up from the register, and he smiled a little hesitantly. He spoke so easily, complimented so effortlessly. Like the guy was hardwired to be nice.
"Oh, s-sure. Happy to help!" Jean said, a little too loudly. He clamped his mouth shut and really wished that the anti-fatigue mat was actually a wormhole to a dimension where he didn’t stammer like a high school freshman talking to the hot senior. "Oh!" He brightened considerably, causing Marco to smile and raise his eyebrows. "One more thing, just a moment." Jean left the counter, and an amused Marco, and hurried behind a shelf containing a plethora of seed packets. He plucked a pack of yellow Chrysanthemum seeds from a cardboard box and dug a Sharpie out of his apron pocket. Without pausing to think (because if he did, he’d chicken out and spend his evening drinking his regret away), he scribbled his name and phone number on the back of it. Stuffing the marker back into his apron, he walked back over to Marco. "Here; from me." He tried his best not to mumble, but his lips barely moved. Marco beamed at him and accepted the seeds, his hand brushing Jean’s.
"Oh, really? Thanks!" the taller man said enthusiastically. Jean fought down a blush and laughed nervously. Marco declined Jean’s offer to help load his car, and bade him to have a good evening. Jean turned back to the register and uncapped his water bottle, and was taking a drink when Marco called back, "I’ll text you a picture of the greenhouse, Jean!"
Jean spat his drink out.
——
Marco had always been a fairly confident guy, but when he finally decided to ask Jean Kirschtein out, he fumbled over every word and bit the inside of his cheek. They’d been texting each other for a few weeks and had just happened to run into each other at Starbucks. When he asked, Jean’s eyes widened and he stuttered for a moment. Marco didn’t know if Jean’s reaction was for his sake or not, but he grinned broadly at him when he suggested they sit down right there.
Neither had anywhere pressing to be, so they occupied two armchairs and sipped their coffees, chatting amicably. He learned that Jean was enrolled in online college courses for journalism, but that he’d studied botany at a community college for a few years and was happy with his job at the local nursery. He didn’t have any siblings, he loved Western films and cliches, and was a compulsive Tolkein geek. They chatted away the late afternoon and evening hours, and Jean sheepishly suggested they leave when the employees began to pull out mops.
They’re standing in the car park and Jean fiddles with his keys, and Marco wonders if Jean’s cheeks hurt as much as his do from smiling almost nonstop for so long.
"This was a nice first date," the younger man said; he sounded much more confident than when they’d begun their impromptu date, to Marco’s relief.
"I still want to actually take you out. To a real restaurant without any high school hipster kids,” he said. Jean laughed.
"Do you have any plans Friday night?" Now it’s Marco’s turn to toy with his keys and stare at them, grinning like a fool.
"I’ll pick you up at six?" he offered.
——
Jean shot him a grin when they pulled up to a cheesy French restaurant, known in their area for having thinly-mustached men in berets playing the accordion and serenading the diners. They dined mostly on fish and bread, and split mille-feuille for dessert.
Despite not having been on an actual date in years, Jean found it incredibly easy to talk to Marco. He was probably the nicest human being Jean had ever encountered; though he’d left most of these feelings back in high school, he still heard a little voice in the back of his head telling him that he wasn’t good enough for someone like Marco. But there was a genuine warmth in Marco’s smile, a warmth directed at him. Jean smugly told the voice to fuck off.
They left the restaurant late, and Marco even did a mile or two under the posted speed limit, but they still arrived at Jean’s house quickly. So they did what any two rational adults would do: they sat in Marco’s idling car, opened the moonroof, and talked. He found out that the greenhouse was actually Marco’s aunt’s, but since her passing, he’d decided to revive it and fill it with flowers in her memory. His uncle was in the process of giving his house to Marco, deciding to move in with his daughter, who could take care of him in his elderly years and failing health. He worked as a physical therapist at a children’s hospital, which truly suited his warm-hearted nature. He had a wolfhound named Titan and a leopard gecko named Skittles. Lizards creeped Jean out a little, but he figured that if it were Marco’s pet, it couldn’t be so bad.
"D-do you want to come in? I could put some tea on," Jean offered. Marco brightened, a light flush spreading across his cheeks.
"I’d love to, but I’ve got to get home to let Titan out," he said. "Rain check?" Jean smiled.
"I’ll hold you to it. Oh, and here. For your greenhouse." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a pack of hyacinth seeds. Marco’s expression softened, though his smile remained in place.
"These were my aunt’s favourites." Impossibly warm brown eyes gazed at Jean and the younger man was suddenly struck with the feeling of having stared into them countless times before. His breath hitched in his throat, just momentarily, and then he shook his head slightly, smiling once more. "Thank you, Jean." There it was again; that bizarre feeling that he’d heard this particular voice speak his name in that particular way.
His mind operated on linear thoughts, and so when he leaned over and covered Marco’s lips with his own, it was far less inappropriate than it should have been and far more right, like it was the next logical step.
Marco must have felt along the same tracks as Jean, because he didn’t gasp and pull back; his lips curled upward, just slightly, and he kissed back.
——
Two months later, they were curled up in Marco’s new house, which was he had just moved into a week ago. He didn’t have much in the way of furnishings; the living room was bare but for a single couch and the television (and the box it sat upon). A box of movies was opened and disorganized on the floor next to them, and Titan dozed peacefully at their feet.
They’d celebrated by ordering carry out Chinese and drinking cheap wine. Jean gifted Marco with a lovely silverware set as a sort of housewarming gift (which was a practical gift, as they both discovered that neither could use chopsticks with enough proficiency to actually feed themselves). Before the next episode of the second season of The Munsters began playing, Jean pressed a packet of Aster seeds into Marco’s lap.
His arm tightened around Jean’s shoulders, and he pressed a kiss against his temple. “You’re going to single-handedly fill my greenhouse, you know.” Jean smirked.
"At least it’ll look perfect."
——
Four months into their relationship, Jean was helping Marco plant his most recent seed acquisition: geraniums. Marco never wore gloves when planting the tiny seeds; his hands were nearly black with potting soil, and it blended up his freckled arms. Jean thought it suited him.
So did the blush that spread across his face when he asked Jean to move in with him.
With a boisterous laugh, Jean launched himself at Marco. The taller man, unprepared to be charged at, quickly threw his arms out and caught Jean. Momentum carried them backwards, and a plexiglass panel of the greenhouse wall popped out of its metal slots, dumping them outside. Jean had twisted them mid-fall so that they both landed on their shoulders, facing one another. Ignoring the pain, Jean took Marco’s face in his hands and kissed him for all he was worth.
——
Jean couldn’t sell his house fast enough. They rented a UHAUL and packed his old life up, and Marco’s house - their house - opened up to him. It echoed less with all of Jean’s bookshelves and notebooks and fountain pen collection. A dusty corner became home to a vintage record player. A stark bathroom was filled with a book about poop jokes. A cold, lonely bedroom transformed into the warm heart of their home.
That weekend, Jean wrapped his arms around Marco’s waist from behind as the taller brunet planted his newly acquired Casablanca lily seeds. Jean hummed against his neck as he gently patted soil over them, placed a kiss on his freckled cheek when he turned his head slightly.
"Those Chrysanthemums you gave me are doing well. The hyacinths should be blooming, soon, too," Marco said happily. "They should all look great by springtime. How many more do you plan on getting?"
Jean slipped a finger between the buttons of Marco’s shirt, rubbing gently at the soft skin of his stomach. “As many as it takes,” he answered, his voice a murmur against Marco’s neck. Marco sighed, leaning back into him.
"As many as it takes to do what?" he murmured, quickly becoming distracted. Jean shrugged.
"Fill the greenhouse, make you happy… whatever comes first." With a contented hum, Marco twisted himself around in Jean’s arms, placing his hands on the other man’s waist.
"I’m already happy, dummy." He kissed Jean between his eyes. "But I won’t say no to more flowers."
——
Winter brought cold weather, hot chocolate, and an endless supply of cuddles from Marco. Jean had never liked cold weather all that much; he’d always found it inconvenient and he could never get sufficiently warm. He came home from work one day, however, and his opinion changed rather quickly. The living room furniture was rearranged so that the loveseat was cushion-to-cushion with the couch. It was piled with blankets and pillows and incredibly inviting. Jean dropped his bag by the door and toed off his shoes; he stripped his peacoat off and tossed it to the floor, then practically dove into the blanket nest, wriggling underneath and curling into a ball. He sighed happily, feeling himself slowly starting to thaw out.
"Hey," a voice murmured by his ear. The blanket lifted, and Marco’s face appeared in his line of vision. "Beef stew?" Jean poked his head out from beneath the blankets and saw the steaming bowl that Marco had balanced on the armrest. He craned his neck up and kissed Marco gratefully.
"You’re the best; have I told you that?"
"Mm, you could stand to mention it more," Marco chuckled.
"Noted. C’mere." Moving the bowl of stew, Jean pulled Marco into the blanket nest, shifting and rolling over one another until they had one large blanket wrapped around both of their shoulders. They ate their stew with their hands wrapped gratefully around the warm bowls.
"Oh," Jean mumbled around a mouthful of stew. "I got you a little holly bush." He swallowed, scalding the back of his mouth. "It’s out in the car." Smiling, Marco twisted and draped his long legs across Jean’s lap.
"You’re going to spoil me," he said affectionately. Jean set his bowl down on the coffee table and curled against Marco’s side.
"Too late," he murmured. Marco grabbed his side of the blanket and flipped over Jean’s lap, burrito-ing them. Jean grinned at him, snuggling in closer. He was pleasantly warm from the inside out, and it was only partially related to the stew and the blankets.
——
They rarely argued; when they did, it usually ended with them walking away from one another for a few hours. Marco would go to the greenhouse and Jean would take Titan on a walk. By the time Jean returned home from wandering around the town for an hour or two, Marco would be inside, waiting on their bed, or in a hot shower. Jean would go to him and wrap his arms tightly around Marco’s waist, would drop little kisses across his shoulder and neck. He’d mumble an apology, setting aside his pride just for him. Marco would shake his head and try to take all the blame for it, remaining adamant in Jean’s innocence. Jean would chuckle, call him dumb, then seduce him with tacky Lord of the Rings pickup lines.
They went through a small rough patch in January; Jean was stressed over his online courses and his hours had been cut at work, and he was picking fights every few days. More than once he tried to leave. He soon discovered that Marco was a crafty son of a bitch and that his own resolve against the other man’s sex appeal was thin and weak.
They didn’t leave the house, or put on more than a pair of boxers, for two straight days. Once Jean was sure that Marco had thoroughly screwed the stress out of him, he helped him plant the striped carnation seeds that he brought home.
——
By late spring, the greenhouse was colourful and vibrant and smelled floral and wonderful. Marco was ensconced within; he often sat in there for hours, usually reading a book. Jean entered in the early evening, pulling a garden cart behind him. Marco looked up from his book and smiled.
"You’re home early," he observed.
"Slow day at work. It’s fine, though. We have these to plant," the younger man grinned. He tugged the garden cart in and jerked his thumb at its contents. A small red rose bush and red and violet tulips swayed as the cart came to a halt. Marco made his way over to Jean, kissed him full on the mouth. Jean felt like melting; he’d never get tired of Marco’s greetings.
They set to work, the greenhouse quiet but for Marco’s content, off-key humming. He would glance at Jean every so often, but his lover was absorbed in his own world, his lips forming words that had no voice as he carefully broke up the roots of the little rose bush and set it in the hole in the ground.
"Jean?" He broke the silence a few moments later. Jean looked up, his lower lip still caught between his teeth. "Can I ask you something?"
"Mm, what’s up?" Jean asked. He pulled off his gloves and inched over toward Marco, hands instinctively wandering to the other man’s waist.
"You never do anything without a reason," Marco began. Jean stood behind him, wrapped his arms around his waist. Placing his chin on his shoulder, he nodded. "So, why all the flowers?" Jean followed his lover’s gaze to the flowers he’d given him over the past several months. They were all in various stages of bloom and growth, but all were healthy and vibrant.
"Flowers used to mean things," Jean started. "My professor mentioned it in one of my biology classes at the community college, and I thought it was interesting." He brought a hand up and gently turned Marco’s head to the yellow Chrysanthemums he’d first given him. He chuckled lightly, pressing a kiss to Marco’s neck. "You don’t miss a thing, do you?
"The yellow Chrysanthemum represents a secret admirer." He could feel Marco’s cheeks stretch wide in a smile. He gestured to the hyacinth next. "That one is sincerity. I hadn’t been so interested in a date before you asked me out, you know."
"What about the Aster?" Marco asked, his voice growing tight.
"Contentment. I’m happy just being with you," Jean murmured. Still pressed against Marco’s neck, he could hear the older man’s breath hitch just slightly. "The Casablanca lily is celebration, and I couldn’t think of anything more fitting to show you how happy I was when you asked me to move in here. Big mistake on your part, but you’re not getting rid of me now."
"You’re my favourite thing I’ve ever done," Marco said. Jean felt his cheeks heat up, but he squeezed his lover round the middle. "What does the holly mean?" Jean cleared his throat a little, and Marco chuckled.
"That one basically says how much I like living with you."
"Oh, well that’s good to know," Marco observed. "And the carnations?"
"Those are a direct reflection on you," Jean answered quietly. "You were so stubborn; you refused to let me leave when we were fighting." Jean’s hands wandered up to rest on Marco’s chest, and Marco held them tightly.
"I knew you’d regret it if you did," he whispered.
The stood in silence for a moment. Jean could hear Marco’s pulse hammering away, and he was sure his own was just as frantic. Marco’s hand squeezed his rhythmically, probably to keep from shaking. Jean looked down at the roses and the tulips, and he knew that Marco was gazing at them, too.
"Jean.."
"Do you know about these?" Marco’s breath hitched again.
"They mean that I’ll love you, and only you, forever. If you’ll let me," Jean whispered.
"Dumbass," Marco muttered. "No one lets Jean Kirschtein do anything.” He turned around in Jean’s arms and it was Jean’s turn to lose his breath. The love and passion in Marco’s eyes, in his smile, in the way his nose crinkled, was enough to almost render him speechless. Almost.
"True, but I’m asking now," he admitted. Marco brought his hands up to Jean’s face, and neither of them cared about the dirt that was currently being smeared across his skin. Marco brushed his thumbs over Jean’s cheeks.
"You’re a cheesy, cliche man, you know that? But I love you, too." Marco sealed their lips together, one arm looping around Jean’s waist to support him when his knees buckled. Jean grabbed at the collar of Marco’s shirt, backing up to the outdoor-style chaise lounge that he’d previously occupied and settling the older man on top of him. They made love (Marco reminded him that it was still cliche, but didn’t mention that it was also incredibly erotic) in the greenhouse, surrounded by the flowers that brought them together.