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The first kiss with Eren was fueled by anger. It was new, but it was not unexpected. The jests about enemies-to-lovers had been around for long enough to lose their impact. Jean had given his opinion about something unimportant, Eren had thrown an irrelevant statement in his direction to counter, and before they knew it, they had habitually fallen into a heated argument. It was nothing uncommon for Jean to grab Eren by the collar, nothing uncommon for Eren to shove at his shoulders in return, and Armin hadn't batted an eye at any of that. Armin hadn't turned his attention away from the game on TV as Jean pushed Eren against the wall, the usual sound of bones hitting something solid, and he may or may not have been bothered by the heavy gasp that cut off Eren’s string of curses. Eren hadn't fought it as Jean shut him up with a fierce kiss; he hadn't known how to respond for a second, frozen in surprise, but then he let his eyes slide shut and he accepted the challenge. Angry pushing turned into angry pulling and angry shouting became angry groaning; wild, aggressive passion passing between them. It quickly turned hot, fast, fervent, many things, and it was good; it was full of body and desire, and there was heart, but not the kind that turned enemies to lovers. They were enemies who had been friends all long, and friends who now shared a very intense, but casual experience. It was good, but smooth lips weren't about to replace rough fists.
When they parted, Jean grinned victoriously and Eren glared at him, shoving him aside to find Armin long gone.
The first kiss with Mikasa was long anticipated. By Jean, by anyone who had ever seen them in the same room, and probably by Mikasa, too. Everyone knew Jean thought she was beautiful. Everyone knew Jean would like to ask her out, and that Mikasa shared the curiosity to give it a try. It was waiting for something to happen. When Mikasa arrived at the year-end gala in the most stunning, elegant, silky red dress and Jean was already two drinks in, there was no need for anything more than that bit of liquid courage and slow music. Jean asked Mikasa to dance, songs faded into hours, boundaries of personal space kept shrinking by the minute. Mikasa was smiling that blinding smile, and as she spun to the music when the rhythm changed, Jean pulled her into his arms. Even though they hadn’t gone to the gala as a date, that was so clearly what the night had become. Their friends didn’t interrupt unless they chose to go over to the group, not even Eren, and quick food and drink breaks were filled with laughter for two. Mikasa could appear hard and cold if you didn’t know her, but she wasn’t. Her eyes were gentle and her touch was warm; soft hands and soft kisses. She wasn’t aloof; she was sweet and caring, a strong girl who knew when to take control and when to let go. She would make a great lover; honest, confident and fun.
Just not for Jean. Mikasa had a pretty pink blush on her cheeks when she looked up at him, and Jean could feel that his own face was equally heated, but both of them knew that this wasn’t it.
The first kiss with Connie was lighthearted fun. Connie was an enjoy-the-moment type of guy. Jean was, too, in his own way. Ymir had dragged them to a club to celebrate that midterms were over, but she had disappeared off with her girlfriend long ago. Reiner and Bertolt were on the dance floor together, Eren was entangled in heavy make out sessions with the short blonde from Business Law in the back of the booth, and Sasha was distracted by some guy who seduced her with claims of being a great cook. Bored, Connie and Jean had just kind of given each other a look, shrugged, and scooted closer on the seat to follow the trend. Connie was lean and skinny, and it was almost a little creepy the way he reminded Jean of himself, but the thought soon faded as Jean got the hang of where Connie liked a squeeze and a bite. Jean ran his hands down Connie’s sides and grabbed his hips, teasing and trying. Connie wasn’t afraid to let him know what felt good, or to demand hearing the same from Jean, concealed by loud music, dim lights and collective alcohol consumption. Jean found that he enjoyed that bit of brashness; that lack of inhibition or shame that allowed him to know exactly what the other wanted and let him exploit it.
When they had enough, nothing had changed. Jean shuffled back to the friendly distance he had been sitting at before, and Connie didn’t miss a beat to start rambling about this other time at this other club he was reminded of.
The first kiss with Marco was sort of an accident. Not really, because Jean knew that he was doing it, but it was on an impulse that Jean should probably have ignored. It happened at a pool party over summer, and the whole thing began when Jean noticed that someone he had dated was there with what looked to be a new boyfriend. Call it petty, but the second her eyes landed on Jean’s and she sent him that little, lying smile, Jean looked for the nearest person to flirt with. He could still hear her insult him, tell him he’d never be as happy in a relationship as she would be, and with his thoughts elsewhere, the first alluring step closer caught on a tile. Marco was quick to respond, catching Jean by the waist and pulling him upright. Suddenly, Jean was so close to Marco, close enough to discover a wonderful scent of skin and soap, and there was nothing more than swimming shorts between them. Suddenly, Jean was looking into a pair of gorgeous eyes, deep and dark and drowning him, and it all morphed into a cliché movie scene. Before Jean knew it, a smile stretched on his lips and his arms rested over Marco’s shoulders. He didn’t think about it as he leaned up and pressed a quick peck to Marco’s cheek. Marco’s eyes widened, but then they softened and his head tilted, and Jean didn’t know if Marco knew that he was doing it, but Marco certainly didn’t object when Jean kissed him on the lips. Marco let his hands slide around Jean’s back, drawing him in, and it had somehow taken until Jean closed his eyes for him to see how strong Marco was, feeling it under his fingertips. It was a different kind of kick, a subconscious reaction to Marco's every action, and it almost escalated, but hearing his own contented sighs made Jean painfully aware that they were still in the middle of the Yeager’s backyard.
Marco drew back, breathless, and Jean wasn't quite sure how to feel. Guilty, maybe a little; after all, he had started this for the wrong reasons, but Marco’s heavy eyelids and parted lips didn't look like he minded.
The second kiss with Marco was a spark of excitement. It was a quick and powerful extension of a congratulation. Jean knew how much Marco wanted that internship. Their friendship hadn’t been affected by Jean’s lapse in judgement that summer; Marco didn’t treat him any different, and Jean didn’t feel any different around the other, except sometimes when his eyes dropped to Marco’s lips and he remembered the feeling of them and the feeling of Marco’s hands on his skin and Marco's skin available to him and… Yeah. Hot friend. This kiss was on one of those days where Marco came over to Jean’s apartment, nothing unusual, although unannounced. He’d brought with him the long awaited letter revealing the research lab’s decision, unopened, and he read it for the first time with Jean peeking over his shoulder. Neither of them really read exactly what the letter said, scanning for the main message and the relieving words. Marco dropped the paper when he found what he was looking for, and Jean didn’t need to look at him to know he was hiding a ridiculous smile behind his hands, but Jean wanted to. He’d taken Marco’s hands, taken one good look at the sunlight breaking from Marco’s expression and the freckles dancing on the apples of his cheeks, and Jean had locked that smile away behind his own lips. For safekeeping. For admiring. Marco was beyond beautiful when he smiled like that, and he more than deserved this opportunity to do what he enjoyed and smile like that every day. Marco was kind but honest, supportive but realistic, and Jean was discovering something naughty in the mix, even if it was only a tug of teeth for that one second before they parted.
When Jean opened his eyes, they were instantly captivated by Marco’s. The light reflected in his eyes and illuminated his smile, even more stunning than before, and Jean sheepishly whispered a congratulation as he let go of Marco’s hands before he could do anything more reckless.
The third kiss with Marco was full of surprises. The kiss itself was a surprise; three was well over the amount of kisses with the same person that Jean usually achieved, and it wasn't even by his initiative. It was the second kiss shared in Jean’s apartment; Marco was over for a TV marathon and it was far too late at night to still be awake. Jean was getting tired, and he denied it, but at the same time he was leaning more and more heavily onto Marco’s shoulder. Jean had seen the series before, but Marco hadn’t, and Jean didn’t want to be the one to end the night, even as Marco sat him upright and asked him if they should. Jean told him no and made to lean back against the couch, but Marco stopped him, mumbling something about being adorable that barely registered in Jean’s foggy mind, before he leaned in. He pressed a chaste kiss to the corner of Jean’s mouth, not drawing back much, breath mingling with Jean's, and Jean tried to focus, but he kept getting tempted by those soft lips so close by. Marco pulled him back in and Jean gladly complied, shifting closer and closer until he was lying more or less across Marco’s lap. Jean was definitely half asleep, the position not helping as it allowed him relax and let Marco do the work, but it was a dream he had no desire to wake from. His breath caught in his throat when Marco began to nibble and suck on his neck and Jean gave up on coherence, letting his head fall to give Marco full access. Jean hadn’t considered himself a needy lover, or Marco a greedy one, but god, this felt good, and Marco’s maddening grip on him grew tighter with each sound of pleasure.
With a warm sigh over Jean’s sensitive skin, Marco let the heat of the moment escape them. He slipped an arm around Jean’s middle and pulled him into a hug, and Jean simply curled into the other, far, far too content to resist the sleepiness.
The fourth kiss with Marco was decisive. After that, there was no going back. It was nothing of an accident this time. They had been working on class assignments in the library together that day, hands lingering on arms or thighs whenever one had to lean over. They had grabbed dinner at the cafeteria, no shame in stealing each other’s food or sending hungry stares. Jean found himself walking Marco to his dorm room afterwards, since he lived off of campus himself and simply didn’t want to lose the company yet. Marco was already inside, more or less; open door behind him as he turned to greet Jean one more time. It was in his eyes. Jean knew that Marco was thinking of kissing him goodbye. Looking behind the other, Jean didn’t see any sign of Marco’s roommate, and without further hesitation, Jean pushed Marco into the room and closed the door behind them. He could barely look up before Marco had him pinned to the door, lips capturing his before he could gasp. It was no subtle kiss; hard pressure of mouths and hands and hips and chests and anything that could press into anything. There was a bit of the fight Jean had had with Eren, a bit of the romance he had had with Mikasa, a lot of the fun he had had with Connie and a whole lot of the carnal craving he always had with Marco. Jean could draw comparisons to other people, but it would never do Marco justice. Marco sent Jean into overdrive, sparking a passion that seared his body and bared his soul, and it made him want nothing more than to burn completely. He was on fire for Marco, hoping more than anything that he could set Marco aflame, too. Jean’s hands were under Marco’s shirt, on planes of warm skin and defined muscle. Thoughts and boundaries were wiped out in mere seconds and they kept seeking for more and more and more, and it was a wonder they hadn’t started tearing off each other’s clothes altogether.
At the thought, Jean drew back from Marco’s lips far and firmly enough to make the other look at him, holding his gaze as he felt around for the lock on the door. Marco smiled a knowing, wicked smile as he twisted the deadbolt and put the door chain in place.
The fifth kiss with Marco was many little kisses. It was on the morning after, barely awake and accompanied by cuddles and sweet whispers. It was a whole experience of its own; so contrasting to the feverish rush of yesterday, and yet so fitting. The kisses were soft, sincere and chaste; a morning greeting, a show of affection, a silent commitment within. Brief, but unbelievably powerful. It was definitely something new. Hours had gone by sleeping under Marco’s sheets, in Marco’s bed, in Marco’s arms; all of this tenderness and trust was new, but it was somehow the most natural thing to do. Jean wasn’t worried. He knew Marco. He knew what they had built together. He wouldn’t have let this get so far if he didn’t think Marco was still worth trusting in the morning, worth trusting when a new day brought its changes and vulnerability struck. Jean felt light, bare, simple, and it was comforting more than concerning. There was an intimacy in the way Marco held him that had never been there before; an exposure of something deep and raw, but Jean could see the same things in Marco, and he wasn’t afraid. He closed his eyes and let himself be swallowed by the moment, let Marco take him even higher as he kissed another trail down Jean’s neck. That was brief, too, replaced by a tangle of limbs and immensely satisfactory laziness. There was a lot of change in their relationship all of the sudden, but change wasn't bad. Change was the addition of new layers to the meaning of Jean and Marco; the addition of love and lust, the addition of future to their past and present. Change was the contentment to stay and the excitement to discover. Change was a whole lot to look forward to.
The peace was disturbed when a key was jammed into the lock and the door chain rattled with the force of it pulling tight. Showing Jean an exaggerated pout, Marco turned around to see Connie’s hand waving through the gap of the door.
“Marco?” Connie called out, “Care to let me in?”
“Grab yourself a coffee and come back in 30 minutes, alright?”
Jean snorted at the plain, unexplained request. Marco wasn't subtle about hiding something, and Connie, too, seemed to notice that something was off.
“Marco Bodt, what did you do?"
“You mean who.”
“Marco!”
“Jean?!” Connie’s incredulity was obvious, audible even through the rumble of Marco trying to hold in his laughter and Jean's utter mortification. Marco broke when he saw the horror on Jean’s face, earning himself a playful punch in the arm that told him to keep it down. “Alright. I see. Congrats guys!” Connie’s voice sounded again, unsure but not uneasy as he shut the door. An afterthought came to him, shouting it through the wooden barrier. “Sasha’s gonna tell me she told me so!”
Marco laughed again, greatly amused with everyone’s awkward reactions. Jean gave him another shove to the shoulder, keeping up an irritated front but fighting down a smile of his own. Jean apparently preferred privacy when it came to this, but Marco knew it would be okay. Connie would tell Sasha, and maybe it would spread among their friends before they had the chance to tell on their own terms, but even that wouldn’t lead to worse than a few good-hearted jokes. They were safe with their friends, and their friends had enough sense to know when not to tell. Jean was embarrassed to be found out, but Marco met his skeptical glare with a bright smile.
“You did that to yourself.”
“Your fault,” Jean countered instantly, scowling in false offense.
“Got him to leave, didn't I?” Marco said, a teasing glint in his eyes that had Jean struggling not to melt right into him. Marco traced his fingers along Jean’s jawline, beckoning him closer, and whispered against his lips. “Now get back here.”