Work Text:
Jean was tired, and no wonder. They day had been a long one, so full of intense training it seemed as if he'd progressed more in the past 12 hours than he had in the entirety of his first year in the Training Squad. Not that the level of intensity was surprising, what with a good 60% of the class in trouble for something or other and marked for punishment. Keith had not been happy with them. They'd all marched off moments ago, at the conclusion of dinner, to begin their all-night cross-country speed-hike of punishment. Jean, one of the few currently clean, may have gloated a tad at dinner. And maybe gotten his face slightly smashed in by Eren. But right now, wandering back to the sleeping quarters, Jean was focusing only on the night of sleep ahead of him.
As he approached the cabin, he was greeted with something very odd. Silence. Usually the cabin was full of arguments and jokes, boys horsing around and others begging for some quiet in which to sleep, at which point Keith would arrive and roar at them all to shut up. But tonight, there was nothing. Even as he opened the door the silence reigned on, even though the room's lanterns were lit.
"Hey guys?" Jean called, trying his hard not to appear nervous. "What's with all the quiet?"
"Hi Jean," someone said from the top bunk of a nearby bed, their head emerging from the covers moments later.
"Marco," Jean breathed, praying he didn't sound as relieved as he felt. "I didn't see you at dinner today, I thought maybe you'd gotten a headstart on the hike or something…"
"I wasn't hungry, and believe it or not I'm not in trouble."
"Ah," said Jean awkwardly. "Um, do you know where the rest of the losers are? They're kinda freaking me out."
"Now they are in trouble. They're all on the detention hike," Marco announced with an exasperated smile, dropping off the side of the bunk.
"What, all of them?" Jean's eyes flickered around in disbelief. "Even our goody-two-shoes? Armin? Bertholdt?"
"All of them," said Marco. "It's just you and me tonight."
A quick smile flashed over Marco's lips and Jean found himself concentrating all his will on not reacting to it.
"I was thinking we should do something," Marco continued. "After all, this is probably the only time we'll ever have access to a completely deserted barracks. It'd be silly to - literally - sleep through something like this."
Jean found the beginnings of a blush start to creep up his face, which he tried to cover with nods and a smile. "Yeah," he said. "Totally. Definitely. We should do… a thing. Yeah." Through this Jean found himself continuously nodding at his . . . Friend. Yes, that was it, Marco was his friend. Close friend. Close friend who liked to stand very close to him and smelt nice and could always draw his attention from across the room and had the most perfect smattering of freckles across his face and an ever-present but always-fascinating smile and-
"Like build a fort!"
"Huh?" Jean blurted.
"You know, like a pillow fort," Marco grinned. "We have so many pillows and sheets and mattresses and all this space… Why not?"
"Uh, well," Jean spluttered, trying to bring his thoughts back to the very, very real realm of Marco is a Friend and Just a Friend and What Did You Think He Wanted? "I uh-"
"It's- It's okay if you don't want to," said Marco with a quick shake of the head and relentless optimism. "It is rather silly… Quite childish, yes."
Do NOT fuck this up, was all Jean's brain was offering him at the moment. "Pfft, are you kidding me?" he half-yelled. "Hell yeah I want to build a fort!"
Marco beamed.
***
Step one was levelling the land.
Shoving the bunks occupying the centre of the room to the edges proved to be quite strenuous work, what with their sturdy wooden frames and only two teens to push them. It was work that caused sweating and grunting, and from there a very flustered Jean, but soon the two had a wide central space where their fort could stand unobstructed.
"How much space do you reckon we have?" Marco asked, relaxing against one of the bunks.
"About a metric fuck-ton," Jean replied.
Step two was laying the foundations.
The two laid down as many mattresses as they could, covering every single inch of floor and bumping into the bunks despite all their earlier shoving. Marco lifted the mattresses from their bunks and Jean was the one to lie them on the ground, catching them as Marco threw them down to him.
"Hey Jean!" Marco had called once from a top bunk. As Jean turned to face him, Marco tossed down a mattress with full force, knocking Jean flat on his back, pinned more by shock than the actual mattress. But Marco was laughing and Jean had a full view of him sitting back on his haunches with his head thrown back and pure mirth flowing from his mouth. The only thing more beautiful than that sight had been the smile Marco had given him as he made sure Jean was okay. No, I'm not okay, Jean had been tempted to reply. Not with you up there and not with me. But of course he'd just laughed in turn and assured Marco he was fine.
Step three was erecting the walls.
The few mattresses that had not been used as flooring were relegated to acting as makeshift walls where there were no bunks to serve that purpose. This had taken only about a minute, but Marco's shirt had ridden up just a bit as he pushed a mattress upright and Jean had gotten a glimpse of softly sculpted abs and a quick flash of navel, and thus was classified in Jean's mind as Best Damn Minute Ever.
Step four was plastering the walls.
Sheets were their plaster, and there was certainly no shortage of them. Each bunk had one sheet wrapped around the mattress and another for the trainee to sleep under, while some of the more well-behaved students had received the privilege of old-yet-wonderfully-comfortable eiderdowns to warm them in the colder months.
The longest part of the operation had been was removing all the sheets from the beds and, unintentionally, they ended up throwing them all down into one pile in the centre of the half-built fort. As the last sheet fell onto the pile with a muffled crumple, Jean found himself watching Marco on the bunk opposite, who was intently staring at the pile. There was a lantern hanging directly to the left of Marco, casting stark shadows on his face. Half of it disappeared into the night, while the other half practically glowed in the light. His eyes seemed a thousand times deeper than usual and his freckles stuck out so pointedly, Jean swore he could count them. Darkest brown hair was transformed into a mess of gold and black and every shade in between, tousled from the long day and the vigorous fort-construction, so soft in the lantern light that Jean could feel it, shifting beneath his fingers slightly slick with sweat and warm from the heat of Marco's body-
"Hey Jean, are you thinking what I'm thinking?"
"No chance," Jean muttered, barely making a sound at all.
"Because I'm thinking we should jump into that pile."
Jean met Marco's eyes and was almost overcome with how adorable he was, with eyes so full of hope and childlike glee.
"That is the best damn idea ever."
Jean couldn't really remember how they tied all the sheets into walls, his memories faded away once the two finally clambered out of the pile, probably because he had been so reluctant to leave. Even after working with 3D Manoeuvre Gear for over a year it was still a thrill to leap into the air and crash straight into a soft pile of worn linen and Marco. The two had collided just as they hit the pile and sunk to the bottom in a tangle of limbs, sheets and laughter. Marco had landed on top of Jean and had been quite content to lie on him for some time while the two slowly stopped laughing. Having so much Marco so close to him had been quite the experience for Jean, who had tried to enjoy his warmth, soft breathing and general proximity as much as possible, whilst simultaneously trying not to… react to this presence in any way.
This had been especially trying when Marco finally climbed off him, and, in doing so, casually dragged his hand over Jean's chest. It was nothing more than a gentle brush, really. Probably totally accidental. The way Marco's breath had paused slightly as he did so was pure coincidence, surely.
Step five was furnishings.
This was just pure fun, with Jean and Marco gently laying down the eiderdowns like carpets, and then throwing pillows hither-and-thither. Wherever they landed they would stay, scattered around the fort in fluffy piles and comforting clusters with no order or meaning to them whatsoever. And, of course, occasionally a pillow would go slightly astray and strike one of them on the head, forcing the other to retaliate in the most comfortable warfare humanity had ever created: the pillow fight.
It was madness, chaos, but a mild insanity full of innocence and laughter and genuine fun. How long had it been since Jean had experienced something like this? Something so perfect and beautiful as Marco doubled over in laughter, clutching a pillow to his stomach? He had no idea.
Step six was assembling the roof.
This one proved to be more difficult than expected, as there was no way a single sheet would bridge the length of their fort. But Jean merely shrugged and began tying sheets together, end-to-end and doubling them in length.
"Brilliant," smiled Marco as he started to tie sheets of his own. "You always have the best ideas, Jean."
"Hey," Jean laughed shakily. "This awesome fort was your idea. I'm just the help."
Marco just smiled softly and leant to grab another sheet, brushing Jean's hand as he did so. Jean's mind whirred as he tried to think of a reason for Marco to do so, but couldn't find one that didn't sound ridiculous. That sheet had been nowhere near his hand. Don't get your hopes up, don't ruin the friendship, his brain hissed at him. Just keep building the fort, and before the night's out you'll see a few more smiles and brush up against him once or twice. Don't try for any more - you'll never get it.
Jean lowered his eyes and returned to making roof sheets.
They scampered over the top bunks moments later, securing the roof sheets and stretching them over the open space beneath them, watching as the pillows and eiderdowns disappeared beneath a soft, opaque roof.
"We're done," Marco breathed eventually, standing on one bunk and surveying the roof. His head snapped up to catch Jean's eye and he grinned. "Let's go inside."
Step seven was the last step, and the greatest. The touring of the fort.
The two slipped beneath the roof via a small gap aligned with the ladder of a bunk. Marco was first down the ladder, and so it was he who witnessed it first.
"Jean!" he called from inside the fort. "You have got to see this!"
Jean slid down the ladder using only two of its rungs and joined Marco in a matter of seconds. He was ready for Marco's gorgeous smile and flushed face, but he was not prepared for the fort.
The sheets, being old and not of great quality originally, were not good at blocking out light. Instead, they merely filtered the light, taking the already-dim light of the lanterns and letting through only the bare minimum. As a result, the perfect amount of light had made it into the fort. It was neither light nor dark, not bright but not impairing of the vision, either. It was like the light of dusk, those perfect few minutes where the world hung in limbo between day and night and was bathed in light so soft and comforting it was like a visual hug. Having that light inside a fort made of pillows and constructed with Marco was just incredible, beautiful, perfect.
Jean, who had unconsciously wandered into the middle of the fort, turned to face Marco and was surprised to find him standing right by his side.
"This is the greatest fort of all time," Jean grinned, making Marco laugh.
Marco closed his eyes and his face was just so serene and content it drove Jean's heart to pumping at the speed of light. But then the brown eyes opened, and if Jean was having heart troubles before he was now due for full cardiac arrest. The look Marco gave him - directly in the eyes - was so full of love Jean could barely breathe.
"Thank you," said Marco.
"You're - You're very welcome," said Jean, breath hitching.
Marco's smile grew wider and quickly, so quick Jean had no idea what was happening, his hand grabbed Jean's and he began to lead him further into the centre to one of the piles of pillows. Jean allowed himself to be seated beside Marco, the both of them resting against the pillows, probably because the only thoughts in his head ran along the lines of hand hand hand he's holding my hand his hand is in mine we are holding hands he has such perfect hands hand hand hand in my hand I CANNOT FUCK THIS UP hand hand holding hands Marco is holding my hand.
"You know," said Marco with laughter in his voice, "I've always loved pillow forts."
Jean took a deep breath and swallowed harshly in an attempt to restore himself to working order. He managed a nod.
"I always used to make them at home, when I was a kid."
"Me too," said Jean, although he didn't quite trust himself not to say something stupid. "But I always used to have to make them on my own; I didn't have any siblings or anything."
"Me too!" said Marco, smiling. "I always wanted someone to share my pillow forts with, but no one I knew was interested."
HE IS STILL HOLDING MY HAND.
"Well," said Jean, and then took an embarrassingly deep breath, "You make an excellent partner-in-pillow-forts."
Marco's thumb gently stroked Jean' s hand as the two sat in silence for a moment.
"So," said Marco eventually, "Are you going to kiss me or-"
Jean's head darted over and pressed his lips to Marco's before he even fully realised what was being asked of him.
AM I KISSING MARCO?
Marco's mouth pushed back into Jean's own closed lips, and he had no idea whose blush he was feeling, but he could definitely feel Marco smiling.
"Now we're getting somewhere," Marco muttered, and now there was no doubt in Jean's mind about who was blushing. And it was about here that what they were doing really sunk in for Jean.
I AM KISSING MARCO.
Leaving his right hand still entangled with Marco's left, Jean brought his other hand up to cup the side of Marco's face, pulling him closer into the kiss. Clearly this was the right thing to do, as he could feel Marco's lips slide into a smile while pressed against his. Marco's own free hand rose and pressed against Jean's neck, pulling their lips somehow even closer.
And then Marco broke the kiss. Jean was filled with disappointment for an instant, but Marco had not yet pulled away. Instead he renewed their kiss, nipping at Jean's lips with tiny, playful bites. Now this was something new to Jean. He'd kissed girls back in Trost, of course, but he'd only been twelve and had never gotten further than the sort of closed mouth kiss he's just shared with Marco. A thought occurred to him, slightly delayed by how wonderful it felt to have Marco's moth dart against his.
"Marco," he managed to murmur in between nips.
"Mmm?" Marco responded, not pausing in his assault against Jean's mouth even slightly.
"Have you… done this… done this before?"
And then Marco's nips did stop and the taller boy withdrew from Jean, only slightly, but enough to cause worry.
"Once," said Marco quietly. "With a boy back in my hometown. But we never… we never got further than this."
So this is the record to beat, Jean found himself thinking. Well, no time like the present.
Giving Marco's face a quick stroke with the hand that cupped it, Jean was the one to resume the kiss this time. He went in open mouthed but only two seconds in Marco burst out laughing.
"You have no idea what you're doing, huh?" he asked, playful.
Jean looked away in embarrassment, and managed to shake his head through all the negative thoughts and shame swirling through it.
"Here," said Marco, disentangling his hand from Jean's and resting it on Jean's back. And then he pulled him forward, nowhere near as fast as Jean wanted him to, and met Jean's lips with his own. Jean was amazed at how well their lips fit together but momentarily lost all conscious thought as Marco's lips got to work. For a while he could only sit dumbfounded as Marco worked the kiss, kneading Jean's lips with his, darting his tongue in to meet Jean's, and once he gave a little bite to the lower lip and brought forth a shy noise that Jean had not been able to stifle in time.
"You can do something, too," Marco whispered against his lips after a while.
Jean blushed again. "I'd just mess up."
Marco gave a laugh, or as much a laugh as possible when crammed up against someone else's mouth, and continued whispering. "You won't. Go on. Kiss me."
And so Jean did, his kisses shy and unadventurous to begin with but grew stronger, bolder as time went on. Spurred on by Marco's affectionate responses - stroking his neck, smiles under the kisses, soft, tender noises - Jean found both his hands in Marco's hair and the kiss deepening with every movement. Running his hands through Marco's hair proved to be a thousand times better than Jean had expected , it was warm and soft and ever-so-slightly sweaty but it smelt beautiful too and it tickled his fingers and forehead but most of all Marco's hair was Marco's and every time Jean 's fingers moved so too did Marco move, reacting to Jean's touch so appreciatively that the two were drawn into a trance of affection.
And then suddenly Marco's mouth wasn't enough. The kiss was loving and perfect but Jean wanted more - he wanted all of Marco and all of him forever. So Jean started to move his kisses, slipping away from the embrace of Marco's lips and moving down along his jaw until he hit Marco's neck. He paused there for a moment, thinking.
"Jean," said Marco, his voice with a slight pained twinge. "What are you doing?"
Jean, suddenly mortified, started to pull back from Marco, only to be held in place by the other's strong hands.
"Because if you were thinking of kissing my neck, you really shouldn't be shy."
Jean wasn't quite sure what to do with his hands, but they somehow ended up near Marco's hips, and slowly, shyly began to work Marco's neck with his lips. It was harder, in his opinion, to know what to do without Marco's lips working with him but Jean was steadily forgetting to worry. Marco's skin was so soft and sweet, dotted with freckles and warming to his touch, and Jean began to loose himself in Marco. Marco's hand on Jean's back clenched and grabbed at his shirt, the hand on his neck became more forceful and Jean was soon pressed against Marco, surrounded entirely by Marco, and unable to escape. Not that he would ever want to leave.
And then he ran out of neck.
Jean stopped, lips lingering over the top of Marco's shirt. What do I do now? Do I kiss his neck again or do I go back to his mouth or - his heart started to beat faster - can I go further down?
But he didn't have to think for very long.
"My turn," smiled Marco. He let go of Jean gently and gave his face a small stroke. The his hands moved with incredible speed to the hem of Jean's shirt and managed to pull the garment off before Jean had any notion of what he intended.
"Hey, woah," Jean blurted and Marco tensed, worry and concern in the back of his eyes. "Yours comes off, too."
Marco laughed, his eyes scrunched and the sound clear and perfect, while Jean set about removing his shirt with considerably less grace than Marco had displayed. The two sat back on their knees, resting amongst the pillows, and simply observed each other for quite a long moment, neither daring to make a comment. Everything about Marco was flustering to Jean at the moment, from his perfect, slightly defined abs to that soft trail of hair running from navel down into his pants to the freckles that left no body part unattended to that look on his face. What was that look? Affection, yes, admiration, maybe? In actuality Marco was completely enamoured by the sight of Jean's bare chest, with muscles more defined than his own and skin pale from rarely seeing the sun. Jean would never believe it, though. Hell, he could barely believe he was making out with Marco, and the giant blanket fort wasn't exactly adding realism.
"Like I said," said Marco, his usual warm smile tinged with slight wickedness, "My turn."
And then Jean was certain he was making everything up, because there was no way Marco would ever push him down into a giant pile of pillows and begin running his mouth over his chest. That was just absurd. Absurd and wonderful. Marco managed to kiss him with the perfect combination of tenderness eagerness, his mouth gleefully nipping at Jean's chest with surprising strength. This is a dream, Jean thought, but the kisses were real, just like the love they sprang from and the gasps and moans that sprang from Jean.
Jean scrabbled at Marco's back in an attempt to ground himself and was surprised to find more muscles there. Hard, thick shoulder muscles and such a well-formed lower back sent Jean's body temperature and… other things rising. It probably didn't help that Marco had just started to bite, either.
"Marco," Jean found himself gasping. "Marco, is this real?"
"Unless we're sharing a dream," Marco whispered into Jean's chest, "This is real," and began to roll his tongue around Jean's nipple.
"Marco!" Jean found himself yelling. He couldn't think of anything else to say. There was just Marco. But Marco was pulling away, sitting up, and Jean let out a whimper.
"Jean," said Marco, rather awkwardly, "Are you… hmm… Do you want me to…" He trailed off, making very vague gestures with his hand. Confused, Jean's eyes darted about as he tried to understand what Marco meant, whilst simultaneously trying not to notice how close Marco's crotch was. It didn't work. A glance at Marco's crotch, and Jean realised that he'd been enjoying their encounter just as much as he had himself. And then he understood what Marco was asking with those gestures of his.
"Go on," said Jean, a grin widening on his face and his head suddenly clear. "Fuck me."