Chapter Text
"Okay, now you're just being mean," Marco pouted.
Jean nipped at his lower lip, making the freckled man yelp in protest. "You know that pout of yours does things to me."
"It didn't make you any less of a mean-butt, that's for sure," Marco muttered.
"Keep that up," Jean called over his shoulder. "And you're not getting any pancakes."
Marco leaned back against the pillows, watching Jean walk out of the room without a stitch on that damned fine body of his. His butt, which Marco had called mean just mere seconds ago, was a fantastic one and the darker-haired male was enjoying the view. He snuggled under the duvet, feeling warm and secure and happy... and incredibly sore.
He groaned as he tried to roll on his side from his back, feeling the muscles twinge in protest. Jean was a beast in the MMA fighting ring, and he had the trophies and belts to prove it. He was also a beast in bed, something Marco couldn't decide if it was a good thing or a bad thing.
But the most important thing was, Jean might be a beast... but he was Marco's beast. The thought sent a shiver of pleasure down his spine and he burrowed deeper into the goose-feather pillows. After six years of pain and skewed thinking, he was Jean's "mon cœur" again. He wanted to shout out his delight and joy to the whole world, but settled for squealing and blushing into Jean's pillows instead. They even smelled like him: all manly aftershave and manly soap. Marco was still using his mother's cinnamon shampoo, because Jean liked that smell on him ("it reminds me of how you when we were 21," Jean had declared) and because it was his only familiar rock besides Jean in this strange land that was France.
Marco had never travelled beyond the borders of U.S. of A. Now that he thought about it, he had never even seen the ocean until he was on the plane, flying across the oceans stretching between Europe and U.S. of A. It had been a breathtaking sight, and so had Paris. The cobblestone streets, the picturesque landscape and architecture, and even the people! Oh, and seeing the Eiffel Tower had been just lovely, especially with Jean getting them past the long queues at the elevator by simply flashing his face and passport to the guards just so Marco could get a view from the top of it.
Jean, who had been so attentive and so sweet, was now making pancakes (probably blueberry) to bring to Marco to eat in bed. His heart wanted to leap out of his chest through his throat and do a happy jig on the varnished Brazilian teak floors of the Kirschstein Paris residential apartment. In which he happened to be naked, and in a gay relationship with the only son and heir.
His heart thudded as he realised the weight of what he'd just thought. Only son and heir.
Jean was the only son and heir of the LaRue Shipping company, an international corporation with profits in the billions. He was going to inherit it one day, which meant he was going to have to have a successor to inherit it after him.
A successor Marco couldn't give him.
Marco looked down at his naked body, and cursed himself for having a penis instead of a vagina, pectorals instead of breasts. He knew, and it hurt to know, that eventually Jean was going to have to cast him aside to marry a woman. A woman who could give him an heir.
I shouldn't have come back, Marco's thoughts grew steadily more frantic as he pursued the topic in his mind. What was I thinking? I should have stayed away, maybe just kept in contact as friends. I'm going to ruin everything. I'm going to spoil--
"Marco, mon amour," Jean peered at him from the foot of the bed, poking his head under the duvet and more importantly, between Marco's legs. "What are you doing under here?"
"WAARGH!"
When Jean finally stopped laughing, he had Marco propped up in bed with a silver tray of freshly-made golden blueberry pancakes, a small bowl that could pass as a cup of diced up fruits, a sunny side-up egg and a glass of freshly-squeezed orange juice.
And all Marco could think was: one day, Jean is going to make this for his wife and son.
"Marco, what is going on up here?" Jean grabbed his chin and forced him to meet Jean's probing ochre gaze. "There's that look on your face I don't like, and I know what it means. You're thinking about something useless again, aren't you?"
"N-no," Marco said a little too hastily, a little too nervously. Jean was fast picking up on how to read Marco, and the latter could not do the same for his boyfriend. How does one read Jean Kirschstein when his face is perpetually set in an inscrutable scowl?
"Yes, you are," Jean didn't release his hold on Marco's chin. "Spit it out."
Marco hesitated. What if Jean grew tired of his endless doubts and insecurities? What if-- no, that was the old Marco. The old Marco was afraid of speaking his mind for fear of being looked down on. Jean's expression now was one of genuine concern. He would never let Marco feel like any of his thoughts were insignificant, or trivial. So Marco took a deep breath, and spit it out.
He expected a sneer, or some sort of derisive response. Instead, Jean just started to laugh so hard that he cried.
"Really?" Jean gasped between peals of humour. "That's what you were worried about?"
"It's a legitimate concern--"
"Marco," Jean finally stopped laughing, but still gave one last snort of mirth before smoothing the hair from Marco's forehead and kissing it. "Don't worry about it. I forgot I didn't tell you. Everyone in my family knows I'm bisexual. And if Evangeline hasn't already told them about us, I'm fairly certain they wouldn't quite care either way. My dad just wants me to succeed him. Who comes after me, is not his concern or his problem. So long as the LaRue Shipping prospers in his lifetime, he couldn't give two hoots about who my successor is. So we could pick up a kid from the garbage can and call him my successor and my dad could care less. Besides, if he really was pedantic about bloodlines and all that crap, he could always count on Evangeline for that. Except that she's demisexual, and her having a kid could be never."
"Your parents know?" Marco gaped at the blonde.
"What, you thought I wouldn't come out to my parents because I was ashamed of my sexuality?" Jean smiled, stroking his beloved's cheek and absently wondering how someone could be so adorable. It should be illegal for Marco to be this adorable. "Well, yeah, my dad pitched a fit at first and tried to threaten me with disinheritance. Then he realised that it wasn't a choice but simply the way I was. There was a lot of tension in the house for a while. But then he got over it and was just 'whatever'."
"Wow," Marco stammered, trying not to let Jean's feather-light caresses distract him. "That's really understanding of him. I still haven't told my parents that I'm gay, but I think my mom kind of figured it out...?"
"What did she say?"
"Nothing," Marco shrugged, taking a bite of blueberry pancake. Jean was, as always, an amazing cook. No wonder the two of them barely left the apartment except to get groceries.
"Is that bad?" Jean nuzzled Marco's ear with his nose. The effect on Marco was palpable. It was a good thing he'd finished eating, because the free hand that Jean hadn't wrapped around Marco's shoulders was moving south of Marco's stomach.
"N-no," Marco stuttered, turning a bright scarlet. "But this is. Jean, we just did it--"
"That was an hour ago," Jean whispered, putting the breakfast tray on the nightstand to get it out of the way. "This is now."
"I just ate!"
"Which means your stomach won't start growling halfway, right?" Jean grinned.
"Jean!"
"What?"
"Don't you have work to do?" Marco clutched the duvet to him in desperation.
Jean gave him a sulky look. "Really? Do you hate having sex with me that much?"
"What? No!" Marco flicked his shoulder. "My hips and my ass are both sore! And you wouldn't let me sleep last night--"
"Well, you were the one who kept asking me for more."
"Jean!"
"Okay, okay," Jean relented, and settled for a steamy kiss that had Marco semi-erect and pouting. "My dad wants me to send in the finalised reports for the quarter anyway. Do you want to take a shower before you nap?"
"Yes, please," Marco grimaced. He was sticky all over from various bodily fluids drying on his skin. He tried to crawl out of bed, but his lower half was aching so much he felt like a newly born foal trying to stand up for the first time.
"Here," Jean carried Marco in his arms to the bathroom. It was an embarrassing gesture, but Marco had to be grateful for the assistance even if it was Jean's fault to begin with. Not that he was complaining. He gently put Marco down in the grand bathtub in the ornately-decorated bathroom and began to fill it with water that wasn't too hot, testing it with the back of his hand so that it wouldn't burn his lover. "That should be just about right."
"Thanks," Marco blushed.
"Take your time," Jean kissed Marco's cheek. "But don't overheat yourself. Save that for me to do, when I'm done with my work."
"Jean!"
The blonde merely laughed.