Smut up ahead. Not very explicit or deep in plot.
Jean sips on honey-coloured liquid, the din of the dingy bar drowning out the clinking of the ice against the crystal. He tilts his head up, capturing some more of the bitter liquid, smirking into it as he feels a familiar presence settle on the stool beside him.
"Didn't fancy seeing you here, Mikasa."
"Nor you, Jean," the bartender brings her a shot of clear liquid, and she challenges the bitterness entering his mouth with her own that she gulps down without a grimace.
"You know I come here to see you," he says wistfully.
They don't look at each other. They pretend to enjoy the harsh tastes on their tongues.
"Being direct today, are we?"
"Hardly," the bartender refills his glass with an amber coloured liquid, that almost matches his discerning eyes, now on his companion in a slinky, red dress with a matching lipstick. "I might have missed you admitting it's the other way around; I'm the frequenter here, and you're the follower."
The steel of her eyes are piercing on him, enough to break him down if not for the years of being trained to be around her, standing tall next to her in his suave coat with two of his shirt buttons undone. "Yet you take the blame."
"I was watching you long before you started watching me. It's easier for me take the blame."
He is smooth with his words now, fatigue of a mostly barren world blunted the rough edges he put on display as a youth. His struggles show on his face; his spirit has aged but his charm is like wine.
"You're still waiting."
She is sharp with her words now the way she was with her movements. The redundancy of battle has shaved down the hardness in her face and body, her new-found purpose imbuing her with a grace previously burdensome. It is even harder to look away from her now.
"If I change my answer, would it change your mind?"
Her lips curl into a coy smile. She was glad he was one of the few allowed to remain on the Island. She was glad he was as pretty with his words as he was pretty to look at.
"You want to stop?"
She doesn't wince even as the liquid burns her throat. No matter how many years pass, she doesn't think she can get used to the reminder of their scorching earth down her throat.
"I-"
Her finger is on his lips, silencing him into gulping down his words. She is on her feet next to him, before he even realises. "I won't believe you if you tell me you want to stop."
His breath is hot on her index finger and produces excited ripples across her skin.
He leads her finger to his cheek, flowering open her digits, cupping his own hand over her cupped one. He always managed to soften whatever meaning she intended to lay on them, for better or for worse.
He shakes his head lightly in disagreement, persuasion on his features, "No. I don't want to stop. I want to start something else."
She pulls her hand away. She can't let him get so close. She can't let him have what he wants, what he can give her. She leans on the bar counter for dramatic effect, looking solemnly ahead of her into the gaudy lighting decorating the canisters of intoxicants. "The tan lines on your ring finger have barely faded."
He takes a larger sip than he intended, putting down his glass on the counter with more force than necessary. "The silver on your finger is still bright."
She consciously slips the silver band off her finger, tucking it into her purse. "It's not final. It's business."
"We still have a chance," he challenges, he pleads; she can't tell.
His cologne reminds her why she's here. It takes her back to the clandestine meetings in far out forests, in isolated meadows, in abandoned forts, away from the discerning gazes of their enemies, ready to tear them apart, to ridicule the distance in their locations.
"What we have," she turns towards him and a look at his chiselled jawline that he has grown into and well-groomed mane that he prides himself with, ignites her with the same fire that has willed her to go wherever he can become one with her, "is a fleeting moment."
She leans in until her lips are grazing his earlobe, until he is shivering from the sensuousness of her sluggish, deliberate movements. "I'm going to go powder my nose. I'll see you in two right outside the door," she bites his ear whole, and he has to suppress a yelp from the throbbing pleasure of it.
He manages to deflect once the fog she has engulfed him partially clears as she adjusts her low, messy bun and takes her purse from the counter, "People may see."
"If they're lucky, they might."
Soft plumerias and plum blossoms drift in the air from her departure, and his morals are a haze again as his eyes roam her shapely, receding figure that has grown more womanly with time than he could ever have imagined in his wildest fantasies. He gets up, already uncomfortable from the insistent bulge in his pants. He slides some change to the bartender, who acknowledges the silent request with a subtle nod.
"You're killing me here, Mikasa," he rasps out once behind the engraved screen, where he finds her standing elegantly against the grungy wall near the unromantic toilet doors.
"Good," she is dismissive of his unsurety, coaxing him to shed his careful decision-making. "You're free to come here," and they know it's not an open offer; it's a demand their bodies make of them night after night, and they are too weak to deny.
Her slender fingers beckon him, the tan line on her digit going forgotten as well. He drifts towards her in a haze. He has never been one to think around her. It is this same thoughtlessness that gives him the courage to push himself against her for the umpteenth time, her back arched against the wall as his lips meet hers hard, letting go of the last traces of the hesitation they had in doing one another wrong.
She is quick to lose her inhibitions, moaning out softly as his tongue traces her lips as though he were memorising it for a future moment of parting. She pulls him closer, feeling his back muscles ripple under her quivering hands, encouraging him to relieve her hungry body from the tension it was coiled in, for him to caress her new-found curves the way he gently caressed the scars on her face.
She tosses his expensive jacket aside, and cards her fingers through his lovingly groomed hair, the tresses feeling soft against the rough of her calloused palm. Their lips intermesh desperately, and he would have pulled away for breath but there's always the fear that it would end the living fantasy instead. He grabs onto her shapely butt instead, and hoists her leg around his waist, straddling his pelvis against her hip, eliciting a sharp intake of breath from her. She matches his train of thought, grinding against him, tightening the grip of her leg around him.
He groans into her neck, and she tugs at his hair until he finds her lips again, any trace of the artificial red on it now long faded into a barely-there pink. He slides his hand under the slit of her dress, all the way up to her ample breast that fit whole into his large hand, glad that it was free from any bindings. He pinches her nipple, remembering how she liked it, even if he was averse at first at hurting her in any way. But they are past the stage of exploring. Now they find new ways of quenching an unquenchable thirst. He watches her face to see her expressions change. She doesn't even need to open her eyes to know he is observing her, pushing him by the cheek to look away, an innocent shyness still ingrained in her.
"Ah!" She moans out, her nipple perking up in his fingers. He proceeds to massage her whole mound once he is satisfied with the reaction he produces in her. She unabashedly guides his other hand, which was supporting her by the thigh, under her dress as well, feeling incomplete until he started circling her other perked up mound as well.
"There's not much more we can do here," he whispers into her ear, wondering if she could hear between her moans, "People might walk in."
She snaps her eyes open, smirking devilishly at him. He feared what he might have ignited in her. She brings his hands out from her dress, taking the times to slide them all over her body first, waking up all her nerve endings. In a swift movement, she backs him up against the wall, smashing her lips against his, undoes a couple of buttons on the bottom of his shirt, and pulls away after leaving him breathless.
She observes him from a slight distance, and he wonders if this is how naked she feels when he watches her. He has the urge to cover his almost exposed frontal body from her sight but she forces apart his arms with her superior strength, kneeling down in front of him, feeling every ridge of muscle on his still-toned abdomen.
"What are you…"
But his words are silenced once again as she is already at his underwear, and his throbbing shaft feels the sudden cold of the air shielded partially by the warmth of her hand wrapped around it. Without warning, she tastes his tip, her warm tongue against the sensitive opening, lighting a fire in him that almost makes his knees give way. Maintaining decorum is thrown out the window as he lets out a throaty groan when she takes the whole of his tip in her mouth, teasing him, drawing out his unbearable want for her.
"Please, Mikasa…" He grips the back of her head, unable to stop himself from putting pressure on it so she would relieve him of his aching. She has other plans however, circling her tongue continually along his tip to retracting his foreskin and back, taking her time in savouring his taste, her hands kneading his testicles.
She looks up to see his face painted in desperation, his length shifting around in her mouth from the throbbing of the blood vessels underneath.
"Okay," she hums into the whole of his length, sliding it into the deepest point her throat would allow. He rolls his head back, already seeing the light of heaven descend upon him. She starts forming a rhythm, bobbing the shaft in and out of her salivating mouth. He tugs at her hair painfully, and she moans into him, involuntarily increasing the build-up of his pleasure.
"You're so good," he whimpers out, taking a pause to bend and kiss the top of her head, her bun coming completely loose thanks to the mistreatment by his excitable fingers.
She quickens the pace, attempting to reach even further down her throat, feeling herself get wetter down there from his continuous moaning and his taste she had come to enjoy. She decides it's time to stop when she feels a thin, warm liquid drip out of his organ, not wanting to waste his erection in her mouth when her own organ was crying out to her for attention.
She stands up and wipes her mouth, and Jean doesn't waste a second before pinning her against the wall again and capturing her lips in fervent gratitude. He wraps her leg around his again, and inserts his finger into her underwear, right into her orifice. She lets out a gasp into his needy mouth, as he spreads her juices around, soaking her underwear through completely. He slides his finger into her opening, then another, using his thumb to occasionally flick at her swollen clitoris.
"You like that?"
"More," she cries out, meeting the thrust of his fingers but aching for more.
"We can't-"
He is overpowered, as she hurriedly, expertly frees his erection from his underwear again, rubbing it against her clitoris. "Do it," she orders with an intensity in her gaze he cannot refuse.
He teases her opening with his erection once, testing the waters. She wraps her arms around him, till their bodies are close, sucking on his neck meanwhile, leaving an angry, crimson mark behind.
"Jean!" She cries out when he slides into her abruptly, pushing her with force against the wall.
"Sorry, are you okay?" he mumbles out, bumping his forehead against hers.
"Again," she says breathily, having instantly adjusted to the full feeling of him inside her, as she holds on to his back from under his shirt for support, digging her nails into him the way he likes.
He complies, thrusting into her hard, her back hitting the wall mercilessly. She grits her teeth as he rams into her continually, lifting her slightly off her feet with a firm grip on her butt.
"Harder!"
The muscles of her core tighten around him, pulsating, pushing him to use more strength to go faster, harder, to please this beautiful woman he was inside of. He relishes the feeling of her nails further marring his already marred skin, aiding him in his quest to put more force into his thrusting. He reaches the end of her canal, which prompts her to yell every time he touched it. He covers her mouth with his, trying to silence her.
"I'm going to come," he shoves into her in shorter bursts.
"A little longer, please," she begs, frenziedly guiding his hand to her clitoris, which he starts rubbing with a fervour.
As he reaches the zenith of his climax, he fumbles out, "I – I love you, Mikasa!" before riding it out with a few more thrusts, not stopping the motion of his fingers over his companion's bud.
"That – not now, Jean," she protests.
"Ahhh," she lets out almost immediately after, the wave of climax crashing into her as well, her tense body going limp.
He pulls her into an embrace. They're still inside each other, feeling their organs throbbing from the afterglow, their exhausted breaths synching. He smiles into her hair, running his fingers through its knotted dampness.
He kisses the top of her head, "Was that good for you?"
She sighs out contently against his chest, pulling him closer to her by the back of his neck, "Mmhmm."
"…Mikasa… Is there a Mikasa here..?"
Their hearts stop when they vaguely hear the mention of her name in the background. They break apart in a rush, adjusting their clothes and hair in lighting speed, Mikasa being the first to exit the scene.
"Yes, what is it?"
The bartender hands her the landline telephone. Her heart is a thundering mess, sick with worry about the person who may be on the other side of the line.
"Hello?"
"I'm so sorry for interrupting you but the little one is insisting on not sleeping until she shows you her drawing."
Mikasa heaves out the biggest sigh of relief.
"Put her on the line. Let me speak to her."
"Mommy, can you please come home quickly? I want to show you the drawing I made of us."
"Sweetie, why aren't you sleeping? You're troubling poor Melissa."
"Pleeeease. I want to show you and daddy the drawing together."
"Okay, but just this once. You should listen to what Melissa says, alright darling?"
"Okay, mommy… You're the best."
Mikasa hands the receiver back to the bartender with the biggest smile, when Jean joins her by her side, mimicking the same worry she had held before.
"What's wrong?" He places a soothing hand on her back, despite his own apprehensions.
"You've spoilt our little girl. She is refusing to sleep until we return home," she scolds a Jean who looks like a deer caught in the headlights.
"That's your doing," he pouts.
"No way," she rolls her eyes at him, smiling politely at the confused bartender before they exit the bar in unison, hand in hand. "She might have called Mommy, but Daddy is the one she is enamoured with, trying to imitate his drawings all the time."
"Ha! Sure, blame it on me for encouraging our budding little artist," he folds his arms over his chest indignantly, as Mikasa continues glaring and clawing at him so his hand is back to enveloping her own.
"Wait a minute…" He grasps her hand, "are you jealous that she insists on spending so much time with me? That's what's happening here, isn't it?"
Mikasa sulks haughtily beside him. "Children just take up so much time. I barely get you alone anymore except on carefully planned date nights like these."
He chuckles amusedly, "Wow, I wish someone had warned me before we got married how truly possessive Mikasa Ackerman is!"
"Rich coming from you when you couldn't even go five minutes without confessing your love to me for the billionth time and completely ruining the final part of our act."
"You can't hold that against me. You're too beautiful," he defends himself, before laying a kiss on her cheek, that she melts into, "Plus, it's hard for me to pretend there's some other woman in my life, especially when the only love of my life is apparently being forced into a business-deal marriage to a Hizuran prince! You have some imagination."
"You better prepare to save all that love for me for scene two where you have to convince me to leave him and run away with you."
"Next weekend, right?"
"No," she states matter-of-factly, tugging him harder by his hand, "after you put your favourite child to sleep. I'll see you in our backyard."
"What about my scenario?"
"Hizuran princess is not in the mood to hook up with pauper, stable boy."
He fakes a distraught expression, that Mikasa simply smiles sweetly at. "We need to analyse why you enjoy this cheating scenario."
"We agreed on no kink shaming," She glares at him, offended at his insinuation. "It's not so much of a cheating scenario as much as it is an, ending-up-together-no-matter-the-timeline, scenario," she announces dramatically. "Now, hurry up before I lose my horny."
"Like that could ever happen…" he mutters under his breath before avoiding the shove of the shoulder from her and matching her hurried pace home.
I initially wanted to write a forbidden love type of scenario but I felt too sad during the writing process to put our favourite couple through that. I chickened out and ended up changing it to this married with kids, mild role-playing scenario instead! So, sorry if the last part sounds a bit choppy, but I really want them to be happy and playful ;_;