Work Text:
At the sound of the microwave beeping, Marco hurriedly pressed open the machine’s latch, grabbing tentatively at the steaming bag of popcorn, earning a mild heat blister on his thumb for his troubles. Wincing, he delicately pulled apart the paper of the contraption, emptying out the slightly darkened buds of kernels into a bowl.
Today was what Jean and Marco liked to call a lazy Saturday, where neither of them had to work and they could just enjoy each other’s company in the best way they knew how -- by watching trashy television and cuddling into each other’s arms until four in the afternoon.
Marco sat down next to the other, his freckled hands held fast to a bowl brimming with slightly half burnt popcorn. Sliding the glass bowl onto the coffee table before them, he sank down onto the couch, grabbing at the stack of mail on the slightly scuffed table. Musing over what seemed to be a smaller stack than usual of bills, Marco absently flipped through the pile.
At his side, Jean fumbled with the television remote, searching for something that was not kid’s cartoons and not boring old men droning on and on about how miraculous nature was. Spying the popcorn before him after he mindlessly flipped through a few stations, he paused, the channel poised on a hockey game that slightly interested the two-toned blond.
“Ahh, a chef who burns popcorn -- I knew you had a flaw somewhere.” Jean teased, grabbing a handful of the still hot kernels. Marco snorted at his side, pausing his thumbing of the vanilla envelopes and flimsy magazines of supermarket coupons.
“Hey, calculating the seconds it takes for the perfect kernel to pop is not cooking, it’s not my area of expertise. It’s like… chemistry or math…or something.” Marco huffed, only realizing slightly too late that cooking was in a way very much like chemistry. He frowned to himself faintly; perhaps he should have paid more attention to all those science classes in high school.
Through a mouthful of popcorn Jean snickered. “Just admit it, you suck at something!” He sang. Marco smiled affectionately at the other who was chewing obnoxiously with his mouth open. Rolling his eyes, he nodded. “Okay, okay, I suck at making popcorn. That’s it.” He affirmed going back to the mail. Jean just grinned to himself, resuming his task set before him -- finding a good channel that didn’t cause them to fight over the remote like bickering five-year-olds.
After flipping through almost the last of the mail, Marco came to the final magazine, shiny and glossy from its new print. However, what was featured on the on the cover caused his eyebrows to quirk up, an amused smile on his face.
“Did we subscribe to Victoria Secret by any chance?” He hummed, flipping through the catalog that featured quite a few women and a hell of a lot of under-garments. He stopped the page at a section dedicated entirely to lingerie and panties, all silky or lacy with a contraption of ribbons and bows. Marco frowned. They looked frustrating as fuck to put on.
“Hmm…?” Jean mumbled, leaning over to look at the slim magazine in the others hand, the column suggesting that this year lace was “bigger than ever” and “all the glamorous celebrities were sporting it underneath their skinny-pants and pencil skirts”.
Jean snatched at the flimsy shined paper, flipping it over to inspect the name on the mailing address. “Ahh, there’s your problem. It’s Connie’s,” Jean tapped at the name on the little rectangle of white above the mixed up address, “…and he’s gonna want this back,” Jean grinned, handing the stapled magazine back to Marco in favor of flipping through more channels, angrily huffing when the only thing on the History channel schedule was a marathon of pawn stars.
Staring at the glossy print for a few seconds longer, his eyes taking in the fabric that looked pretty and delicate, Marco finally flung the magazine to the side, making a mental note to drop it off with Sasha tomorrow – knowing she would get a big kick out of it no doubt.
Only, Jean noticed the slight lust-tinted look in the other’s eyes, how Marco seemed to have his brows furrowed slightly as his eyes swept over the varying designs on the panties and slips.
"You have a panty kink." Jean mumbled, slightly amused. Marco sank deeper into the couch, a nervous chuckle erupting from his mouth that held a half smile. "Ehhh, it's not important," he muttered back, grabbing at Jean and snugging into the other with finality. “So, what are we going to watch?” He asked, eyes staring back at the television that was playing a re-run of The Goonies. Jean settled himself next to the other, handing Marco the remote to do with as he deemed fit. Jean’s mind was already focused on something else entirely unrelated to the screen which depicted a classic scene of one of the characters riding down a hill on a stolen tricycle as long as his arm.
Jean couldn’t help his gaze flick back to the magazine on the coffee table, a few bits of burnt popcorn scattered over the print. Jean bit his lip, humming to himself as Marco laughed at the screen, arms hugging the other.
…
He asked Petra to help him with the dastardly deed, the long wait at the Victoria Secret cashier desk not worth it at all in Jean’s eyes as he stared at the fistful of panties in his hand. After wiping down their workstation for the next employee shift, the two had clocked out and took their separate cars to the strip mall in search of a pair of panties that would tickle Marco’s fancy. Petra had been mildly amused and just a little bit taken aback that Jean would even want to go to such great lengths to make one of Marco’s fantasies a reality. It wasn’t hard for her to pick up on the other’s determination that was soon bleeding into a sense of distress. Jean himself knew he had to rein in the bubbling sickness in his throat at the task he had put himself to. Panties had always served one purpose and one purpose only for him – and it was one he did not enjoy one bit. He felt that maybe if he could just focus on the fact that this was for Marco, it would be easier and he wouldn’t have the sneaking suspicion that just slipping on the chosen pair wouldn’t give him a near-panic attack.
However, almost every pair staring the other in the face had Jean’s throat tickling with upcoming bile, and it was in fact Petra that had to urge him into buying just a simple little triangle of black cloth and be done with the whole thing finally. With hardly any lace or frills to it, it was by far the least threatening pair in the store, but Jean still felt horrible chills with the silky fabric hugging his hips that he could now not help but think looked defined and bigger. Absently smoothing his hands over the soft fabric that brought back too many awful memories for his taste, he took a stuttering breath as he heard the jingling of house keys, signaling the others arrival from a slightly late shift at the restaurant.
“Marco likes panties and you like Marco, just suck it up.” Jean mumbled hurriedly to himself, shoving the bathroom door open and skidding out into the hallway to the safety of the two’s bedroom, the chill in the room only heightening the feeling of cold on Jean’s bared thighs.
Finding that the other was not still yet alerted to his absence, Jean threw open the beds big fluffy duvet and snuggled under it, the cold sheets like ice on his slightly scratchy legs. Should he have shaved? He mused worriedly, toeing at his hairy legs and biting absently at his lip. His mind just would not shut the fuck up and he really hated himself in this moment, his fingers absently scratching at his black binder – he thought matching the panties would be a nice touch.
But his thoughts were thankfully disturbed as he heard the bedroom door creak open, Marco smiling as he walked into the room, already unbuttoning the clasps at his chef’s uniform. “Hey, I was wondering where you were – are you okay, babe? You feeling a bit sick?” Marco asked, dropping his hands from his half-way undone button up to wander over to Jean, the other finding his voice momentarily caught in his throat.
“Ah, nah, I’m…good. Actually, I have a surprise for you.” Jean mumbled, smiling in what he hoped was a confident and sexy smirk but really more than likely looked like a nervous tilt of his lips.
Marco furrowed his brows, eying the death grip his boyfriend seemed to have on the light blue comforter, his knuckles white and his fingers tittering slightly in their jitteriness. “Jean, I’m starting to get worried,” Marco flashed concerned eyes to the other and Jean swore under his breath, swallowing in his throat as he threw the blankets off of him. Willing his eyes to look at the other and not away from embarrassment that was turning into uncomfortable shame faster and faster, Jean croaked out his next bought of words. “Ta-dah!” He warbled, his legs awkwardly sliding open in slight invitation, the silken black panty lace feeling like thin fingers viciously clawing at his pelvic bone and waist.
Marco felt his breath punched out of him, his gaze falling on what could only be described as a more than lovely sight. Marco had to commend his boyfriend for having a nice pair of legs, admiring the way the others slightly fair-colored happy trail dipped into the pair of stretched triangle cloth that looked smooth to the touch. Marco licked his lips, his face starting to tint and clamor with heat, fingers twitching at his sides.
Marco opened his mouth to say something, anything – to thank Jean for this surprise, to compliment the other on his aesthetics and flirtatious try at seduction, to huskily whisper his approval – but all of that died in his throat as his eyes really took in the sight he should have been honing in on from the start.
Something was wrong, very wrong – Jean’s body told the other that much.
Legs quivering and not from arousal, stomach tight and strained in its vicious plea to curl in on itself, arms that would not hold still in their flighty motion of covering up Jean’s bared thighs, the hollow in the others throat fluttering with dry heaving, those eyes glassy with becoming tears trying to look so eager to please. Marco suddenly felt sick and horrible.
“Jean…” He croaked out, the other mistaking it for a hoarseness that affection and arousal lent to voices. “I… I know it’s your kink, so, what do you think?” Jean laughed breathlessly but there was no mirth in it and it just about nearly killed the other inside.
Marco sucked in a bought of breath that suddenly tasted stale, his eyes staring at the small slice of fabric along the others hips and instantly he knew it had to be ripped off the other and burned.
“I don’t really have that kink anymore,” he mumbled softly, loving the way his words seemed to calm Jean, allow the other to finally fucking breathe. Marco’s fingers trembling, he brushed his fingers over the hem of the fabric, his thumbs hooking into it and slipping it down the others thighs. Jean raised his hips slightly, allowing the other to finally rid his body of that scrap of cloth, Marco throwing it into the trash without a second glance.
“I’m sorry,” Marco breathed against the other’s lips, sinking down into the bed and gathering Jean up in his arms. If his sleeve is dotted by the slight flickering of tears, he doesn’t mention it. Jean himself just buried his head into the others shoulder, licking his dry lips. “Thank you,” He replied softly, clearing his throat of what Marco knew would have been a sob had they continued with Jean’s original plan instead.
Marco absently petted at the nape of the other’s neck, closing his eyes, thankful for every opportunity that he was given to learn. “I never want you to feel that way again.” He mumbled quietly after a few minutes of a silence that wasn’t deafening, but relaxed and calm, a silence that enveloped them kindly.
After a few seconds Jean sighed against the other, Marco huffing with amusement as Jean wriggled his way up and onto his elbows, pointedly staring at Marco with somewhat sleepy eyes blinking slowly. “There’s a re-run of Magnum PI episodes tonight…” Jean yawned, sitting up and stretched, Marco feeling his eyes catch the slightly less tense and more languid feel to the other’s movements.
Without another word to see if the other was coming, Jean crawled out of the dent the two left in the bed, rummaging through random drawers till he found a pair of comically bright red boxers – Marco’s – and slung them on with a shimmying movement, Marco catching the sigh of “perfect,” on his lips as he snapped the band on his hips.
Marco scratched his head slightly, rolling out of the bed too, wanting to change out of his smelly work jacket.
“I’m gonna get dinner started,” Marco murmured into the now empty bedroom, Jean having adorned himself with a sweatshirt – Marco’s, again – and wandered into the small living-room to flop on the couch.
After setting the materials for an easy dinner on the counter – mainly a box of Kraft’s comforting mac n’ cheese that he assumed Jean would appreciate – Marco wandered over to the other who had fully sunken into the depths of the couch to stare blearily at the screen that was playing iconic 80’s theme music.
Falling onto the couch next to the other, Jean immediately nuzzling at Marco’s neck, the freckled one of the two rearranged themselves so that Jean’s elbow wasn’t digging into the other’s armpit. After finding the most enjoyable and comfortable position, Jean let out a pointed sigh, long and content. Marco returned it with a smile that was just for the other.
“I’m not really feelin’ the Magnum mustache,” Jean mumbled after a second or two of them watching the screen. Marco chuckled, flicking his gaze over to Jean, snatching the remote from the others prowling hands for good measure.
“Too bad, I happen to like this episode,” Marco grinning at Jean’s pouting face. “Marco,” He whined, making faux grabby hands for the remote, the other’s laugh finally subsiding. “Fine.” Marco conceded, handing the remote to the other, Jean smiling triumphantly as his thumb attacked the arrow buttons.
Marco leaned his head back, crossing his feet at the ankles on the coffee table as he squeezed Jean closer to him, the other making a humming noise as he clicked sleepily at the buttons. After giving up and landing on some random Southern cooking channel, Jean mumbled a huffed goodnight and buried his nose in the crook of the other’s chest. Marco wouldn’t recall it, but he smiled in his sleep.