Armin awoke with a start to the sound of a ringing Skype call and a shrieking fire alarm. Jean had been gone for a week now, visiting family overseas, and every mealtime Armin and Eren felt the sting of his absence. Frozen (burnt) pizzas, takeout food, and cup ramen dominated every day of their lives now, and the second Jean stepped off that plane, Armin was going to force him to make them so much pasta that he would, perhaps, become pasta himself.
Armin grumbled and grabbed his laptop, carrying it along as he went to investigate the charred remains of this evening's cooking attempt. He set the laptop on the counter, and accepted the call as he went to work.
"Hey. How's France?"
"Hey, it's—is that the fire alarm? Again?" Jean's voice crackled from a million miles away. Or five thousand, more exactly.
Armin grimaced at the mess that greeted him in the oven. He turned off the heat, grabbed the sink's spray hose, and doused the worst of the flames. They'd already used up the fire extinguisher earlier in the week when Eren tried to make lasagna.
"Yes, and it's—it's fine now." Armin was glad that he did not enable video chat for this particular call. He hosed the remains one last time, and shut the oven door gingerly. Very, very glad indeed. The fire alarm didn't seem to agree, and continued to scream its brains out. Armin glowered at it, cracked open a window, and briefly considered knocking it down with the broom to really give it something to scream about.
Jean groaned. "I left you guys stuff to microwave in the fridge; what'd you do with that?"
Gone the first few days. Jean truly had much more faith in Eren and Armin's ability to manage their food supplies than was warranted.
"We ate it? You've been gone a week now, Jean. I don't want to have another talk about how I shouldn't be doing this or that while cooking—"
The front door rattled and banged open, and Eren's voice echoed through the apartment.
"Back! Picked up a new fire extinguisher on the way home!"
Jean sputtered. "Why do you need a new fire extinguisher? You're supposed to get the old ones refilled!"
Not after what they did to that last one, Armin thought. Whatever Eren put into that lasagna wound up being able to corrode metal when heated. Armin had managed to contain and preserve a sample of it in a glass container to bring to Professor Hanji for post-mortem investigation. That was beside the point now, though. Armin turned his head to greet Eren with a kiss, smoothed his hand along Eren's wrist and arm as Eren's hand crept under and up his shirt.
Armin tilted his head in thought, and also to better allow Eren to suck kisses to his neck. Jean was going off on one of his impromptu cooking lessons now – don't fall asleep while the oven is on, there is no such thing as serving chicken "rare", don't let Armin near the knives, Eren, do you want a repeat of last October's pumpkin pie incident, he's still got the scar on his thumb, he's lucky to still even have the damn thing – and Armin could think of much better things to do than listen to it. Such as having sex with Eren while he watched Jean touch himself approximately five thousand miles away. He pressed his lips to Eren's ear, and murmured the suggestion, low. Eren groaned his agreement.
"Hey." Eren positioned them in front of the laptop camera, slid one hand down Armin's pants, and used the other to activate video. The green light shone atop the laptop, and Jean abruptly sputtered into silence. Armin licked along the length of Eren's jaw, and muffled a whimper into Eren's neck as Eren unbuckled Armin's jeans for the camera, shoved them down his hips, underwear and all. Eren's hand wrapped around his dick, jerking him firmly and slowly, getting him hard and leaking for Jean's viewing pleasure.
After a few long, long moments of silence from Jean's side, Armin almost thought that the call had dropped, and they were just waving their dicks at Armin's unamused computer. Thankfully, Jean finally found his voice and breath.
"…shit, at least…least let me lock my bedroom door…"
Appropriate motivation made Jean's task quick, and soon, he was back at his computer, breathing low and heavy into the mic.
"Miss you two," he whispered, urgent, and so soft. "God. Miss you two so much."
Armin's heart felt close to bursting. He stepped out of his jeans, turned and dropped to his knees, and went to work unbuckling Eren's belt. It wouldn't do to make Armin the only star of this show, Armin reasoned. He traced the deep lines of Eren's hipbones with his fingertips, hooked a finger into the elastic of Eren's boxers. That just wouldn't do at all. Armin mouthed Eren's cock through his underwear, sucked at the damp head leaking precome through the fabric. Eren groaned through his teeth and grasped at Armin's hair desperately, seizing his hair tie, letting it down to brush his shoulders.
"Hey asshole," Eren managed to choke out hoarsely at Armin's computer. Armin let out a warning hum, pinched Eren's thigh lightly. "Stop breathing like…like a fucking creep into the mic. Turn on your goddamn camera."
For once, Jean didn't argue, just cursed and frantically clicked his mouse. Armin slit open his eyes to watch the video feed flicker to life, to see Jean in his sleeping tank, his hand shoved under the hem of his boxers, muscles in his arm twitching and jumping with every stroke. Armin let out a deep, slow breath, and tugged down Eren's boxers to suck him down. Eren leaned back against the table, braced a shaking hand down for balance, and breathed curses to the ceiling at every brush of Armin's tongue. Armin took him deep, and swallowed around him at the feel of his cock bumping against the back of his throat. Eren traced the stretch of his lips around his cock with gentle, shaking fingertips, smoothed his hand to cup Armin's cheek.
"Let me fuck you for him," Eren said, urgently. Jean moaned, and let out a "fuck yeah" of concurrence. "Fuck—I'll make you feel so good, like we're all here together…"
Armin hummed thoughtfully, and slowly, deliberately sucked his way off Eren's cock with a wet slurp. Eren hastily helped him to his feet and seized him by the cheeks, licking his way into Armin's mouth desperately, kissing him deep enough to make his mind a blank. Eren drew back, yanked his shirt over his head in one, fluid motion, and pecked Armin on the forehead once before dashing off to the bedroom butt-naked to grab the lube. Armin tried to catch his breath and gather his thoughts in his absence (difficult as it was, with Jean still on-screen with his biceps in full view, with Jean still on-screen staring at his own screen with such need and tenderness) – it really would be more comfortable, probably more sanitary, to carry the laptop back to the bedroom and finish off there, though it wasn't as though they could do any more damage to the kitchen at this point…
Eren returned with the lube before Armin could put his thoughts into action, and, as he leaned over Armin to kiss him stupid once more, Armin came to the final conclusion that being fucked over the kitchen table was fine too, and they always had cleaning wipes. Eren turned him, bent him over, breath hot against his neck and fingers wet and urgent against his ass. They pressed in, one, two, stretching him and fucking him with deliberate care, until Armin's whimpers of his name became more insistent. The fingers were replaced with the press of Eren's cock against his hole, and Armin crumpled over his folded arms on the table as Eren slid in with one smooth push.
Eren held himself there for a long moment, rubbing circles into Armin's back. Armin pushed his hips back in frustration – he didn't need a backrub, he needed Eren fucking him hard over this table, right this instant.
"Goddamn it, Eren, get fucking on with it—" Jean began, and Armin couldn't have agreed more, but Eren decided to concede the point. Warm hands seized his hips, and Eren set to fucking his brains out in earnest. A moan was caught in Armin's throat, choking out in short gasps with every thrust. His feet scrambled for purchase on the linoleum, desperately trying to find footing enough to shove his ass up and back harder to meet Eren's pistoning hips. Somehow, he choked out a plea for Eren to yank his hair, the deliberate slide of Eren's fingers through the strands and the tug of his head back more for Jean's benefit, they both knew it, Jean begged him to grow his hair out, so he could slide his gentle fingers through it, drawing him close, drawing Eren close, curled warm and together in their tiny bed—
He heard Jean come, and managed to focus his eyes on the screen long enough to enjoy the sight before Eren's cock pumping hard into him and Eren's fist pumping hard around him had him seeing stars, had his whole body tightening up and releasing in shivers. He collapsed against the table, hair a mess, feeling Eren manage only a few more thrusts before sinking into him one more time, holding him close as he filled him.
Some quiet, comfortable moments passed. That is, until the oven started smoking again. The fire alarm gave one garbled, accusatory chirp before its batteries died entirely. Cheek mashed against the kitchen table, Armin heaved a sigh. It was time for some post-coital firefighting, and then another night of Chinese food and Skyping until Jean passed out. Once he came back, Armin was definitely holding him to that pasta idea.