Jean and Marco want to celebrate their ten year anniversary of dating, but no-one at the restaurant has come to serve them yet. Marco runs his fingers through the long part of his black undercut. From the way he grits his teeth and his jaw clenches dangerously, Jean knows he's mad.
It looks like Marco wants to lash out and hit someone, so Jean leans back in his chair in an attempt to stay away from his hands. There's no telling what Marco will do. He's spontaneous, and usually Jean likes that.
Fingers tap against the wooden table impatiently. Marco turns to Jean, smiling sweetly, freckle invested cheeks rising and brown eyes crinkle in the corners. He watches Jean unblinkingly.
He laughs bitterly and Jean holds his breath.
"I guess I'll have to go to the bar and order myself then, huh?"
Marco's smile doesn't seem to reach his eyes, so Jean tries to reassure him with a bashful smile, one he knows Marco likes. Jean's pale, long fingers fiddle nervously with the blonde tips of his two toned undercut. He glances from the empty, chestnut table to Marco. The shy smile drops from Jean's face.
"I'll go with you, if you want. We'll let them know that nobody messes with us. Or ignores us." he whispers across the table, just loud enough for Marco to hear.
The freckled man grins back at him mischievously, and Jean visibly loosens at the genuinely of his smile. He can relax. For now.
Marco hasn't hit Jean, ever. But from the way he looks sometimes… it looks as though he would without a second thought. Jean never drops his guard, just in case. There's always a first time for everything.
"Nah, that's fine. It just means you gotta treat me later." Marco winks, dark eyelashes brushing his freckled cheek, as he rises out his seat and Jean can't help but keep his loving gaze on Marco's back when he struts to the bar.
Jean likes the sway of his hips, likes the straightness of his shoulders and the shirt he's wearing-brand new, courtesy of their special night. It means he's confident and Jean can't help but admire that virtue, seeing as he lacks said confidence in himself. For instance, there's a randomer that's obviously checking Marco out. Jean can't help but feel an outrageous surge of jealousy and downright glares at the guy.
Jean can't ever help but get paranoid that someone will win Marco over, but like Marco's told him; showing signs of weakness shows that Marco means a lot to him, and Marco tells him all the time that he loves knowing how Jean feels for him.
A blonde man comes and takes the dark haired pervert by the shoulders. The blonde's sickly pale face gleams with sweat in the dim restaurant lights, fearfully glancing in Marco's direction with wide blue eyes.
He's hurriedly telling the short pervert; 'Whatever you do; do not get involved with Marco Bodt. Stay away from him like your life depends on it'.
Jean hasn't really had the option of staying away from Marco.
Not for a full twelve years.
Jean's 'grown' into the belief that he wouldn't have it any other way. He likes being wanted in every way, especially by Marco. In fact, Marco worships Jean. In body, mind and home.
When Jean was twelve years old he went to live with Marco after his dad was killed. Marco had been waiting for him patiently on the couch because Jean had had school that day. Jean stopped dead in the door of the living room upon seeing the freckled man. A man he'd known since he was born.
Marco was sitting on his couch, cleaning a dirty bread knife with a red cloth while a body with two toned hair lay on the floor.
Expressionless. Golden eyes wide open. Crimson blood still slowly pouring from his abdomen and onto the floor.
When the metallic smell reached his nose, Jean had thrown up on the cream carpet, weak legs shaking uncontrollably and warm acid clogging his senses. Tears brimmed his eyes and he was ready to bolt when Marco walked up to him. But he froze.
He wasn't sure what to expect, but Marco suddenly pulled him into a warm, reassuring hug, regardless of the vomit that trickled down Jean's school uniform. Jean didn't hug back. He didn't know what to do. Scream, maybe? Marco gently rubbed circles into his back with his free hand.
Marco's soft voice reassured him. "Your dad's been hurting me behind our parent's back since we were children, y'know? I couldn't just let him wander around the Earth knowing he could easily do the same to other people. To you, Jean. I love you too much for that to ever happen."
Jean Kirschtein had never really been connected to his dad in any way. He'd taken his mom's maiden name, went to see his mom on weekends; and saw more of her during that time than his dad during the rest of the week.
'I'm working you little shit.' he'd told him day after day, forcefully pushing his son away when he was climbing onto his desk or asking questions to get attention. Jean was often left to his own devices. He was used to being by himself in his room.
It made sense, hearing Marco tell him that his dad had hurt Marco. His dad always did look like a criminal. He had that evil glint in his eyes. Jean would know. He'd drawn them countless times and shown his drawings to everyone, trying to convince them he was evil. But the people at his school, his mom; they never bothered to listen to his 'stories'.
Sure, Jean's dad was a little neglectful.
But Jean was being fed three square meals, his dad wasn't physically hurting Jean; Jean's dad had full custody over Jean, since his severely depressed mother couldn't cope with Jean's hellish behaviour. Pfft, just because Jean accidentally set the house on fire once and had ran away when he was three years old to the next town over, didn't mean his behaviour was hellish.
Marco's voice was soft, soothing against his shoulder. "We're gonna live together, Jean. I've got a really nice apartment, I think you'll like it. Okay?"
Jean gulped audibly. He didn't hate his dad, not completely. This was no way for his dad to die, by the freckled man's hands, but Jean didn't want to go the same way.
He didn't want to mess with Marco, he'd be mad to try and go against him. The knife was still in his hands.
"O-okay, Uncle Marco."
Moving into the condo and the years after that became a blur in his memory. Jean moved schools, spoke to Marco every day and they went out together and had fun. Marco was like the dad he'd never had, and came as a close second; considering he was his dad's -Jason Bodt's- brother.
Marco had a pretty weird idea of fun games though… When Jean turned fourteen, Marco began to let Jean taste some of his expensive wine when he returned home after work, and they played a different kind of 'blind man's buff'.
Jean can always recall the darkness being put over his eyes, the coldness of his body as his clothes were cast off, how he shuddered under Marco's breath ghosting over his skin. The painful arousal in his lower body, helplessly arching into the older man's wandering hands. When he woke up bleary eyed the morning after, Marco helped him wash the blood and white stuff on his thighs with smiles and sweet kisses.
Now Jean wasn't stupid; he knew it was wrong that Marco was doing this. Marco was older, a man, and even though he didn't seem to mean to, he usually ended up hurting Jean. Jean went to a Roman Catholic school because of his bad behaviour and habits of getting into fights.
If they knew he was having gay sex they probably would've called him a 'sinner' and kicked him out the school. His mom died of alcohol poisoning when he turned thirteen. He couldn't visit her anymore, Jean couldn't tell her about Marco and their nights together. He didn't really have any friends at his school either. And all his teachers were just dumb nuns that said too many prayers.
Jean didn't always mind what Marco did, because Marco liked to make him feel good. He was sick to enjoy it. It meant he couldn't tell anyone, ever.
When they started on the sex education in school, and they told him that sex was for married couples; it made Jean hate Marco for trying to do 'married couple' things with Jean.
See, Jean wanted Mikasa Ackerman to be his wife.
On his first day of high school, Jean had blurted out a compliment about Mikasa's hair. Mikasa was his first crush, so he didn't beat himself up about making a bad impression on her. She had thanked him, and Jean had befriended her. Well, he'd tried to at least.
Mikasa was beautiful, but she was also cold and distant. Except with Eren. When Jean tried to compliment her after that first day, she ignored him, in favour of being by Eren's side. Nobody ignored Jean. Not anymore.
Everyone told Jean that he was just like Eren. If that was the case, then why did Mikasa not like Jean? What made Eren so special? Jean fought with him a few times, watched him in school, and tried to copy his behaviour and flaunt it in front of Mikasa. But it never worked. For once, Jean could see that he wasn't the problem.
Mikasa was tough and Jean admired her brutality. But her feisty fists made it hard for him to ambush her when she was walking home, alone, through a yellow corn field after she'd finished club activities.
Jean will let it be said that she put up a good fight, earning him a number of fatal bruises before the skin around her neck darkened like a flower blossoming, her nails stopped scratching him through his leather jacket, and she stopped breathing with a final gasp.
He came back to the spot the next day before school with jars that he'd brought in his backpack. He used Marco's bread knife to shave her beautiful black hair off and put it in a jar. The skin under her long and well kept nails were as pink as the inside of her mouth as he peeled them off one by one and put them in another jar. The jar rattled when he shook it and Jean liked the sound of it.
Jean kissed Mikasa's cold lips, then decided he wanted to keep her mouth too.
He got found out by Marco. The day after her funeral, he was masturbating with Mikasa's hair in his spare hand in the darkness of his room. The hair and the nails were the only things that hadn't rotted. Jean had also taken her eyes, put them in a jar, and buried the rest of her the same day. But they too had rotted.
Jean had kept the body parts in the jars, but even then, the smell was putrid and filled the whole room. Jean had ignored it. Marco hadn't. When he walked into Jean holding the loose hair as he stroked his cock, he immediately turned around and locked a flustered Jean in.
Jean was left alone in his room for a few days as punishment. But Jean was already used to being alone, so it didn't bother him much. He didn't mind being locked away, because that meant that Marco was locked out; so he wouldn't try to play blind man's buff with Jean.
On the day Marco unlocked the door, he sat down with Jean on his bed, explaining how it was bad for him to have killed Mikasa, disposing of the jars despite Jean's protests. Retaliating with the point that Marco had killed his dad hadn't been a good idea. Marco made him have sex with him night after night and kept him locked up until he agreed with him.
Jean realized he was postponing telling Marco he agreed that he'd been bad. Somehow, he craved the freckled man's touches, and if it meant not agreeing with him; he was fine with the rough treatment.
He remembered how much he liked Marco's warm hands touching his cock and circling his entrance. Remembered that he didn't mind playing Blind Man's Buff when Marco let him feel good. He touched himself with the image of a freckled face in front of him, licking him and nipping at his lips, just like he always did. He got over Mikasa, and began to have a crush on Marco. He wanted to marry Marco now.
Marco walked in again to Jean masturbating, but this time Jean kept going, not taking his eyes off Marco as he sprawled out on the bed, fingering his ass like Marco often did, calling his name out, telling him he'd been right.
That night, Jean told Marco he loved him, and his uncle had lit up like a Christmas tree and said it right back, entering more gently into Jean, pleasuring every part of Jean's body like it was precious.
Jean was allowed out his room and the punishment was over. He moved to another school -one that didn't have stupid nuns or Eren Jaeger- and they went on dates like any other couple.
After a while of talking one night, Jean managed to badger Marco about asking for proper consent, seeing as he saw so many signs about rape which made him uncomfortable, because he knew Marco would never take advantage of him like that, though the thought lingered.
Marco agreed, but Jean had to promise that if he didn't consent to sex, he'd at least give Marco a blowjob. Jean didn't mind.
He hasn't minded for the last ten years. He's twenty four, and they've been together since Jean was fourteen. He mostly trusts Marco now.
From his seat, Jean sees Marco coming back to him with their meals. The freckled man whispers in his ear as Jean tries not to flinch away, before setting the plate down and heading for the bathroom.
Jean pokes the food around on his plate for a few minutes in apprehensiveness. He's been nervous the entire night, wanting to propose to Marco, but since the older man wants to have public sex in the bathroom, he guesses he'll have to wait until later. He looks over at the pervert from earlier, but nobody will meet his eyes. Not even the waiter across the room. Jean smiles innocently nonetheless.
They don't know. No-one knows about his or Marco's pasts. But they seem to have an inkling.
Maybe it's just their survival instincts kicking in.
When he's in the deserted bathroom with Marco, both their pants are down and Jean's already got a hold of Marco's length after some heavy petting and lots of kisses, Jean asks him in a husky whisper, "I'll treat you, yeah?" remembering Marco's words from earlier that night. He's a little worried when Marco raises his hand, but Marco only wraps it around his neck and kisses him hard enough to bruise.
His uncle gives in, loving that Jean's old enough to know what he wants, loves giving into a dominant Jean who's grown to be taller than him. Marco thrusts into his hand, panting breathily into the crook of Jean's neck, whining louder and louder until he cums.
Marco's eyes widen and he rides out his orgasm with loud, continuous groaning and swearing.
"Oh God, Jesus, fuck, J- Jason."