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Jeremy has come out of the shower, fading blond hair damp, a worn t-shirt with a faded USC logo. Jean can’t help think Jeremy looks softer, like this, and aches to set the spatula he is currently flipping pancakes with down and reach out. He doesn’t know what he’d do, exactly–everything is still relatively new, uncharted territory for them both. But the knowledge that he could, if he wanted to, and would be met with enthusiasm, warms him inside out anyway.
After days of intermittent begging, Laila let Cat convince her to take her out for a long ride of the coast on the motorcycle; the house is blissfully quiet, Jeremy’s voice and the gentle sizzling of breakfast settling Jean’s heart.
“They smell divine,” Jeremy says, propping himself on one of the stools at the counter.
Jean makes a noncommittal noise, his eyes darting to Jeremy, who is already looking at him, a smile spreading on his mouth.
His mouth.
Jean lingers on its shape, retracing its feel on his. He didn’t used to believe in miracles, but maybe he does now. He knows his cheeks are darkening, and is not worried about Jeremy’s reaction.
“Syrup?” Jean asks as he begins transferring the pancakes to a plate.
“You know it,” Jeremy nods.
Jean puts together a perfect little stack, drizzling syrup generously. When he’s satisfied he pushes the plate toward Jeremy, and crosses his arm, leaning on the counter.
He doesn’t miss the way Jeremy’s beautiful eyes track the flex of Jean’s muscles, and he’s learning not to feel vain, nor afraid, for enjoying it.
“You know,” Jeremy starts, pausing to bite on his lip. Jean is briefly jealous of Jeremy’s teeth. “If you keep spoiling me like this you might never get rid of me.”
“I don’t want to get rid of you,” is Jean’s instinctual reply.
Jeremy’s smile is sad, but so bright. It shouldn’t be possible for someone to be so miserable yet look so happy, but he manages it with ease. Jeremy swallows on a small bite, a bead of syrup lingering at the corner of his mouth. Jean doesn’t have to think before he’s moving to round the counter, his thumb reaching to swipe it away. Jeremy’s pupils are blown wide as he looks up at Jean, pitch black hanging in a sea of swirling brown. Jean eyes the sugar-coated pad of his thumb, and while a few months ago he would have wiped it clean, what he does instead is bring it to his lips.
He sucks the sugary liquid off, eyes locked on Jeremy’s, who looks for all the world as if he forgot the mechanics of breathing.
“You are going to kill me one of these days,” Jeremy says with quiet awe.
The corner of Jean’s mouth twitches; he cannot hide that he is pleased to know Jeremy feels it too, the fire that lights up when they are together. Threatening to consume him from inside–and Jean doesn’t doubt that he would let it.
But Jeremy wouldn’t, and that makes all the difference.
Jean sits beside Jeremy, then, content to watch him enjoy his food. Jeremy offers him a triangular piece of pancake, one that escaped the syrup, and Jean gingerly accepts it, placing it on top of a napkin. Jeremy doesn’t say anything about it, chatting instead about this dream he had about being a cat and being chased by Jab. Jean frowns at the absurdity, and barely realizes he’s chewing on the pancake as he listens to Jeremy’s chaotic story. Jeremy glances at him, his knee touches Jean’s under the table, and Jean hopes this feeling, like he truly is going to be alright, will never fade.
“Can I kiss you?” Jeremy asks then–and it takes all of a fraction of a second for Jean’s stomach to tumble with pleasant anticipation. Jean doesn’t answer quickly enough, because Jeremy continues, his cheeks alight with a creeping blush. “Sorry, that was–too eager,” he chuckles, more to himself than to Jean. “I just–I’ve been thinking about it from the minute I stepped in the kitchen.”
Jean has been thinking about it for the past three hours, but he’s not going to say it out loud.
“You can,” is what he says instead.
Jeremy smiles, shoulders deflating with relief. Jean doesn’t know how to tell him that he doesn’t have to worry, because he trusts him completely–but he will, someday. Jeremy leans in, one hand rising to rest lightly on the side of Jean’s face, his eyes attentive to Jean’s every silent response.
“I can’t believe you want me to kiss you.”
Jean’s lips part, and he shakes his head lightly.
“Believe it,” he says with a small smirk. Maybe there will come a time when Jeremy doesn’t doubt this is happening–that this thing between them is real. The realest thing Jean has ever known. Jean eliminates the last inches of distance, pressing his lips to Jeremy’s. He can count their kisses on the fingers of two hands, and can recall each of them with startling clarity, but he can’t fathom how good they all feel. Each and every time. He never wants to forget what it feels like to kiss Jeremy Knox.
Jean presses one palm on Jeremy’s knee for balance, distantly aware as it travels higher up Jeremy’s exposed thigh. Jeremy makes a soft noise in the back of his throat and Jean takes it as a good opportunity to open his mouth, like they’ve done a couple of times before. When Jeremy’s tongue touches his, Jean’s senses explode in a flurry of pleasure and sugar.
“You taste like syrup,” Jean whispers when they detach for air, their noses touching. Jeremy is breathless, and Jean loves being the cause of it too much.
“Hmm,” Jeremy hums, stealing another quick peck. “Too sweet?”
“No,” Jean says. Never, Jean thinks.