Work Text:
Jean wakes up first and watches the way Armin’s eyelashes flutter as he sleeps, the gentle rise and fall of his chest, the curl of his fingers around the pillowcase. He wonders what he’s dreaming of, if he can feel the kisses he’s dropping along his cheeks, and sighs his name softly into his ear. Armin doesn’t wake, just stirs and groans a little, his lips parting ever so slightly, and Jean runs his thumb along his lower lip.
It’s not as if they’ll die tomorrow.
When Armin’s eyes finally creak open, Jean will brush their noses together and wish him a good morning, tells him to be careful today in practice, and Armin will laugh that sweet, sleepy laugh as he pulls him in for a proper morning kiss. Armin’s fingers will be slim and perfect in the spaces between his own and he’ll want to take a hot bath together, but then the bells will ring to signal the start of a new day.
Breakfast will be the same as it is every day before, shapeless, tasteless gruel and bread if they’re lucky. Maybe Armin will still be half asleep, leaning against him heavily as they eat, and maybe a few of the newer recruits will stare, but Jean doesn’t even notice, not when the commander walks in with bad news. He’ll hear the blood rushing in his ears, the erratic thump of his heartbeat, and Armin’s voice as he excuses himself to join the emergency meeting. Jean wishes he doesn’t go.
He’ll suit up, buckling the straps of his gear mechanically as he stares straight ahead, and think of Armin, pale and small and beautiful, of stealing a kiss before they break up into smaller groups, of holding on until he absolutely has to let go. And a roar will shatter the morning air like glass.
He runs calculations in his head. How much gas does he have left? How much gas does Armin have left? If he were to send his team to the east, another to the north, would they be able to create a suitable diversion to move Eren’s protection unit forth? Is he going to be able to feel Armin’s body pressed up against his again? Just one more time is enough, he tells him, but he knows it isn’t.
Maybe, when he sees the flare, it will be green. Green for go ahead, green for everything’s alright, and maybe it will be Armin firing that flare with a secret prayer. And maybe it will be black and he’ll feel his world darken a little as he hears the thud and rumble of a wave of Titans, a wave he hasn’t got a single chance against. Maybe he’ll fall to his knees with Armin’s name on his lips, or maybe he’ll fight to the death, every kill, every move, every breath for Armin’s sake.
And maybe he’s terrified.
He’s supposed to be strong enough for this.
He sees Armin shift slightly, his mouth forming words he can’t hear, and he leans down to kiss him awake because he’s selfish like that. It’s too early, Armin murmurs against his lips even as he deepens the kiss, lazy and slow like they’ve got all the time in the world. Jean whispers secrets against his skin as he runs his hands down Armin’s chest, longing, leaning down to taste him. Armin makes those noises that sets his blood on fire, that makes the short hairs on the back of his neck stand up, and he loves the way Armin’s got him wrapped around his little finger.
When Armin’s eyes darken underneath his gaze and a pink tongue darts out to lick his lips, Jean feels consumed by some unsaid frenzy as he (gently) leaves behind blossoming bruises along his collarbone like flowers, as Armin’s fingers rake down his back. He wonders if there will be questions asked in the shower, can picture Armin’s smirk as he answers them with playful banter, and kisses him once more.
Armin cries his name so loudly he wonders if they’ll be heard among the footsteps and morning chatter that’s already filing past his door, and he tugs at long, golden hair just to see Armin undone and spent underneath him as he comes, shuddering and beautiful.
In the morning light that creeps its way through half closed blinds, Armin is bathed in a soft light and his chest heaves as Jean admires the mess he’s made. Armin laughs all breathy, his touches airy and teasing, and tries to convince Jean to spend the day in bed. He kisses Jean’s forehead to kiss away the worries and all those unnecessary thoughts he’s always thinking, and raises his hand to rest on his heart, solid and real, and Jean always gives in.