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Marco has weird taste in music. He’s willing to admit that, at least. He’s on music forums, and he gets introduced to the strange, new genre’s before most, and usually he ends up actually liking them.
That much, he’s willing to admit.
Jean loves to constantly tease him, especially when he can hear the weird stilted guitar and maybe, also, probably, heavy metal accordion harmonies leaking out from his earbuds when they’re just hanging out in the dorm together. Marco tried to get Jean to listen to some of his stuff, but introducing Jean to music that isn’t laced with acoustic guitar and off-key hipster harmonies is like trying to force him to keep up with his roots; virtually impossible.
So Marco finds himself alone when going to local concerts, which he usually doesn’t mind. The crowd is usually friendly enough, the venue is small and dark enough that no one can tell he’s by himself like a loser, and since he turned twenty one last year, he can get a few beers into his system which makes it even better.
Tonight is some local thrash metal band, tearing up the stage and tearing up their instruments, and one or maybe two of them is bleeding from their face somewhere. Marco’s adrenaline is pumping, and the crowds decently dense. All in all, it’s a good turn out, and he’s just beginning to sync with the swaying and shoving of the bodies around him when he feels a sharp tug on his shirt from the back, and Marco turns around as much as he can in the plethora of human beings surrounding him.
When he looks down, a pair of bright, tinsel-like eyes are staring up at him, and Marco has to crane his neck down to properly look at the shorter boy. He’s grinning, rocking back on his heels, and he’s wearing one of those old-school fishnet tops with thumb holes in the sleeves. There’s silver glitter smeared around his eyes with smudges of probably yesterday’s eyeliner.
The boy rises up on his tiptoes, steadying himself on Marco’s shoulders to yell in his ear, “Hey, man, uh. I can’t really see? Like, at all.”
His breath is warm against Marco’s skin, and when he pulls back a little, Marco’s eyes widen, and he says,
“Shit, I’m sorry. Here, get in front of me?”
The kid shakes his head. “Not gonna help. I was actually wondering if, um. If maybe I could sit on your shoulders? You seem pretty built.”
Marco flushes at the last comment, and he’s not really sure what compels him to agree so fast when he doesn’t even have any alcohol in him yet, but he nods, and then he’s turning back around and crouching on his knee as much as he can while trying to keep balance from the moshing bodies. Luckily, the boy is quick to hop on, practically climbing Marco like a tree, and once Marco feels his knees bracket his face, he shakily stands up, getting used to the extra weight.
The boy is pretty light, and when Marco reaches up to grip his thighs for extra safety, his hands meet soft, warm skin, and Marco’s eyes widen as he looks to his side and sees the boy wearing a pair of sinfully short shorts. They’re just above mid thigh, black and white pinstriped, and when Marco glances down, he sees the boy wearing a pair of ratty vans with pink flamingos all over them.
All in all, it should be a fashion disaster, but for some reason it’s working on this kid, and Marco can feel himself getting drawn in.
Lips brushing the shell of his ear startle him, “I’m Eren, by the way! Figure you should at least know my name, since my dick is pressed against your head and all.”
Marco laughs, feeling himself loosening up as Eren swings his legs a little bit, like a small, excited child. At a thrash metalcore concert.
“Marco,” Marco yells back, turning his head to speak into Eren’s ear where the boy had leaned down more. Marco sees the flash of a grin, and then Eren is whooping as the band starts up another song, and the show continues on in kind of a blur because Marco keeps feeling Eren’s thighs tense and relax as the boy keeps balance, and sometimes Eren’s fingers will find their way into Marco’s hair, scratching his scalp idly, and it should be weird, and uncomfortable, since they just met, but it’s not in the least.
As the show comes to a close, Eren pats Marco on the cheek sloppily and Marco snorts before walking out of the crowd and to the bar area, where he can safely crouch down fully this time so Eren can hop off. When Marco stands back up, he finds himself missing the consistent warmth against him, and he tries to mask his disappointment.
“So, where do you live?” Marco asks, shoving his hands in his pockets and following Eren out the door and into the fresh, cool air outside. Marco inhales deeply, trying to get the scent of cigarette smoke and stale sweat out of his system.
“About twenty minutes that way,” Eren says, pointing with his thumb, and Marco nods.
“Cool. Uh,” he starts, and when he looks over, Eren’s grinning at him, eager and telling, and Marco feels his palms start to sweat. “I live a few streets over. I’m pretty close.”
“Yeah?” Eren inquires, biting at his thumb nail and glancing at Marco shyly, and fuck it, Marco thinks, tugging at his hair as he nods to his car.
“Wanna come over?”
--
They don’t do anymore more than make out on Marco’s couch, but god it’s good. Eren’s so eager and pliant in his lap, hands everywhere, but always coming back up to cup his cheeks, like he needs something to hold on to, to ground him in some way. Eren’s mouth is wet and warm and he tastes like orange soda. Marco can feel small specks of glitter flake off of Eren’s eyelids and fall on his own cheeks, but he doesn’t care, because Marco’s hands have made their way to those probably illegal thighs again, and he’s kneading the flesh there eagerly while Eren breathes encouragement against his lips.
When Marco slides his hands to Eren’s ass, digging his fingers in roughly, Eren gasps and shoves his face into Marco’s neck, licking wetly at his skin while his hips stutter against Marco’s.
“Yeah?” Marco rasps, keeping one hand planted on Eren’s ass but sliding his other one up beneath his top, his fingertips dragging over each vertebrae of his spine.
Eren shivers against him, almost violently, breathes out, “Yeah, yeah,” and soon he’s kissing Marco again without hesitation, making sweet, desperate noises into the taller boy’s mouth.
As the minutes tick by, their movements get sloppier, and Marco adjusts them so he’s lying flat with Eren tucked half on his chest and half in the space between the back of the couch cushions. Eren tosses a leg over Marco’s hip, mouths sleepily at Marco’s jaw, and the taller of the two grins and splays his hand on Eren’s thigh.
“So,” Marco clears his throat, shivering as Eren licks at his chin with tiny flicks of his tongue, like a goddamned cat. “Did you like the concert?”
Eren snorts and hefts himself up so he can kiss Marco on the cheek before flopping back against his chest. “It was alright, I guess. It was nice being able to see though, for once.”
“Really? I wonder who’s to thank for that, huh?”
“Hm, don’t know,” Eren grins, and when he looks up, Marco can see the light flush on his cheeks. “It’d be kinda cool to see him again, though, when I’m not half drunk and covered in glitter.”
Marco bites his lip, nudging his nose against Eren’s as he feels his body start to weaken with exhaustion.
“I think that can be arranged.”