So here's some smut just for the 69 sake xD (pls i hope that's not a thing only puertoricans know). If you don't know what the number implies, Mr. Google can help you xD

Disclaimer: I do not own Attack on Titan.

SIXTY-NINE

Well, would you look at that. I can see my vitality drifting away, merging with the breeze that blew by.

And Mikasa hasn't even moved against me, but she was vexed. Fuck, I've never seen her like this. She got mad at me whenever I started fights with Eren randomly (because, hey, why the fuck not? I enjoyed pissing the jerk off -he also pissed me off, okay?), but this time, I tricked her -or better yet, I ordered someone else to trick her so I could get what I want. It was worse all way 'round and if there's something Mikasa loathes... is treachery.

-"Jean!"- She snarled and in the corner of my eyes, I spotted Marco sprinting directly towards us. She then growled at him because of course she would. Marco's just as guilty as I was, -"You!"

But oh no, that's as far as she goes. The old Jean would've just stood there, slobbering over her while she completely dismissed his existence, but she got nothing on this one.

Swiftly, I stepped in front of her and Marco by instinct. I'm not set on fighting women (then again, Mikasa's not just any woman), but if she lays a finger on Marco, I'll...

-"Jean, please!"- He wrapped his arms around mines, tugging me, -"Don't fight her. Let's talk to her, she has to understand."

-"I already tried that, remember?"- I reminded him, eyes on her.

-"Let me try,"- I was dubious about that, but when I saw his determination, I nodded and allowed him to step closer to her, -"Mikasa, listen to me, I can expl-"

-"Why should I? You lied to me!"- She had a point.

I rolled my eyes. Damn, isn't she dramatic still.

-"You're right, we did, but we had to. Eren needs help and we can help him."

-"You don't know anything about his problems."- She spat, flatly.

I groaned, -"Do you?"- I stepped in, unable to bear her tone of voice at Marco.

Her face creased as she gazed at the bathroom. Of course she didn't. Poor Eren can't tell his... friend? What was Mikasa to him anyways? A sibling? Mere friend sure didn't seemed like it.

-"He hasn't told you, eh?"- I said, a bit smugly. Sighing, I scratched my scalp. I know this probably seemed real dick of me, but I wanted to get this done and dusted, -"Fine, if he won't, I will."

I gaped my mouth, but before I could mutter a word, we all heard Eren's calls from inside, -"It's fine, Mikasa. Just let them go."- He stepped out, giving me a side glance while he did.

I quirked an eyebrow and he gazed down to the floor, kicking a few concrete debris out of the way. His eyes shifted from me to the floor, trying to tell me something without Mikasa's cognizance, and I knew he'd call me sometime. Not today, not tomorrow, but he will.

Marco and I looked at each other and I nodded towards the field. We left, but I couldn't help wonder if he'll tell Mikasa. He has to. I can see she's dead worried about him behind that taciturn shell.

I slacked onto bed the minuted I got home and pulled my cellphone from my pocket after feeling it vibrate. One unread message. I swiped my finger down on the screen, popping up the notification panel and when I saw Marco's name, a smile bloomed in my face as my chest warmed. I tabbed on it and read: I just arrived and I hope you did too. Please, let me know as soon as you can.

His concern always melted any cold sentiment in me, because to be honest, I've been feeling cold and lonely, mostly because I was alone in my house. No Mom, no Dad, no dogs (been thinking on getting one), no bugs buzzing the tolerance out of me...

Then again, they say feeling alone is not the same as feeling lonely. I don't know. I'm literally alone here and I do feel lonely. It's been a month now; the silence and the absence of company kinda gets to you. I miss Mom and her shouts, I miss Dad and his attempts to recreate conversation were none thrived. I remember how he tried to solve Mom's and I's everlasting strife with dinners. I used to think it was pointless and I used to beg for the solitude, but now... fuck, what I wouldn't give to go back in time...

I felt my cheek damp. Damn. A tear or two had managed to slip past unnoticed.

Without hesitation, I dialed Marco's number while I laid sprawled across my bed, looking at my boring as fuck ceiling as I waited for my freckled boyfriend to pick up, -"Hey, Jean."- He finally answers, sighing in relief.

-"H-Hey, just got home. Saw your message now."- I replied, clutching my bed's fleece, wishing he'd be here instead of there, on the other line, side, whatever. God, I wish he'd be here to rub and nurse my bruises like he always does, his soft fingers messaging my tensed muscles, because I don't know why every single one of them hurts like hell now . My whole, distorted face throbbed.

-"I'm glad,"- He breathed out, a bit weary. We've both had a rough week and we could really use this weekend, -"How are you feeling?"

-"Lonely,"- I blurted, not really by mistake. My grip on the sheets tightened, my knuckles blanching, -"Could really use your, um..., face stroking -I mean, nursing!"- I swallowed a handful of tears. God, I must look pitiful, all slushy and weepy, -"H-hurts like fuck."- And I sound like a kid. Marvelous.

Marco breathed, fully worried about me, and the soft sound resonated within me, pricking my skin in both angst and glee -mostly glee, because I do enjoy seeing and hearing Marco dead worried about me. Guess that makes me selfish, -"Jean..."

-"Sure miss you and Mom... and Dad,"- I sighed, deflating deeper into my bed, -"Feels so empty without them, specially without Mom's crazy yelling,"-I laughed bitterly at a sudden memory that flashed by, which I just garbled, -"I remember when she started hitting me with her flip-flops, shouting so loud I could barely hear myself, but she was just sick and I... I..."- My eyes fogged, hindering my vision, and a knot set up in my throat. A muffed wail escaped my gaped lips, -"Fuck..."- Come on, Jean, keep it together man. You promised her you'd stay strong...

I know, I know! I'm fucking trying, Jesus! There goes my internal debate while I covered my mouth, stymieing the incoming whimpers but failing miserably.

After Mom's death, I though I'd be cool about it and I was, temporarily. Her parting hurt, but I watched her die peacefully, dauntless against her imminent death and I couldn't have been more proud of her. I was happy too; I've managed to stitch up our fractured relation and I took care of her well, we spoke and shared special moments, but... it doesn't really fade, does it? The sadness, the loss, the guilt, the anger (at yourself)... it gets to you eventually and I can't help it. I want to stay strong, but sometimes I...

I'm not as strong as I thought.

-"I... I could have done something before. If I... if I wasn't such a jerk and just laid our tiff aside, I could have opened my eyes and saw that she was sick since..., I could have..., she'd still be here...,"- I slurred, my voice caught between wails as I mull over the though over and over again, -"I-I'm so sorry, Mom..."

I shouldn't mewl and wallow over this. I shouldn't punish myself. The past's in the past. Remember her face, Jean, the face of a woman who regrets nothing of her last days. I shouldn't overthink, dammit! How many times has Marco warned me?

But I couldn't stop it or stop myself. I tired out, everyone does. Over time, I'd wear down. I'm not perfect, I'm not Batman or Superman, we all break once in a while and it hurts. I want to rise again (yeah, Batman and Alfred banter all over), but it's hard and this is real life, which makes it harder.

-"Jean,"- Then came his smooth, mellowy voice with depth and intensity. Marco's inept ability to just... ease me always impress me. I can breathe better again, -"I'm coming to stay over, okay? Don't go anywhere."

-"I'd... like that. Please."- I practically begged. Not gonna deny anything. I needed him right now. Me, me, me, right?

He chortles and oh God, it reverberates in me, -"I'll bring some movies and videogames."

-"And popcorn."- I add and I was regaining my smile.

-"Duh, what's a movie without popcorn?"- He laughs and it was so fucking saccharine that it makes my body tingle and my chest warm up, -"I'll be there in a few, Jean. Let me pack up quick."

-"Okay,"- I breathed and swiped off a few tears from my cheeks. I swallowed the lump in my gutter before speaking, -"I'll be waiting."- We hung up and I began to pace around the house.

Wrong move.

That's the worst thing I could've done in my current mood. The moment I passed by Mom's couch, my heart fell and the whole clutching of the fleece -only this time, I held onto my jeans- occurred again. I suddenly watched her figure, slacked over there watching one of her dramatical, boring ass novels, doing absolutely nothing, or that's what I though way back. Mom actually washed, dried and flattened the creases on our clothes with care and effort. She cooked for us everyday and washed the dishes. She cleaned the house, leaving our rooms dainty. When I began to mistreat her and be a total dick, she stopped doing those things for me, because really, I didn't deserved it.

Without realizing, I'd tightened my grip on my jeans.

She's not really there, no matter how bad I really wanted her to. This is real life, Jean, and she's dead. You know that.

Another lump began to form on my throat. Gee, for a guy who fights for a living (yeah, I'm exaggerating a bit. I don't get paid for knocking a few bullies out), I'm pretty high-strung.

I decided to distract myself. I whipped around and headed straight to the kitchen, not looking back, and rummaged around the fridge. Fuck, this isn't good either, but still better. I just realized I ran out of groceries. Whatever will Marco and I eat for breakfast tomorrow, huh? I'm such an amazing guest, aren't I?

I yanked a bag of chips and tucked the fridge shut. I sat and contempted the... wall. Yeah, fucking interesting. I heard petty taps on my windows and that's when I realized it's raining a fair deal. Great. The weather doesn't help my mood one bit. I then worry for Marco. I know he's one who often gets ill.

Around 5:30, car revs rattles in my front yard and an imminent, sappy smile perks to my lips as I stared down at my chips like an idiot. I felt my cheeks lit up the moment my doors opens. I peek to it's direction and spotted Marco closing it silently, as if he arrived at midnight.

I took him in, like always. He had his white Superman overcoat down to his wrist, considering the cool breeze that drafted by when he rushed in, and the hood was over his head. I couldn't help but snigger at his (you guessed it) Superman slacks pajama with lots of the said superhero's badges, and white, furry slippers.

He then faced me with a gasp and a muffled yelp, not expecting me here. Apparently, he didn't saw me when he entered. While startled, he dropped his rucksacks (he had two: the school's and the one with his clothes for the weekend) and I boosted from my chair to help him, but before I could even reach one of them, he grabbed my hand and hauled me into an embrace, burying his face in my chest like he always does.

I hugged him back, more tightly, entombing my face in his hair, needing to feel his presence, that warmth on me that purged any demoralizing thoughts and sentiments. Marco was the hook on me that kept me on my feet, kept me vivid and valiant.

My latter internal monologue reminded me of this super corny game that I keep forgetting me name of (Kingdom something; Marco played it). I remember this thing the boy had for a girl, all pink and girly, and he always said that she was his light. That's the epitome of what I'm feeling now: Marco was my light, not gonna deny it, no matter how clichéd and ridiculous that sounds.

Marco wriggled his face up and smiled tenderly at me, his eyes narrowing my face, -"Hey,"- He began, clutching my shirt and jiggling his fingers up and down my back in a smooth motion, putting me at ease, -"Are you okay?"

My lips contorted into another sappy smile as I ran my thumb trough his jaw, -"I am now."

Marco chuckled, his heart pounding stoutly against my chest. I had a brief image of him raising his leg backwardly, his calves closing in his tight, like those school girls do when they kiss their all steroids boyfriend, -"Lemme unpack my stuff. I-I have the movies here, um, I brought Shrek and Kung Fu..."- His cheeks lit up, his eyes parting from mine as he fidgeted with his fingers.

I laughed out loud, but fuck, he looks so cute... and stupid. Marco loves his animated movies, even if some were shitty, -"Oh, Marco, you and your childish movies,"- I jibed, nearing my face to his, -"That's fine, so long as we cuddle."- Christ, who's the most dorky again?

His temples reddened next, -"O-okay."

I shivered at the ebb of glee before I kissed him fervently.

I helped him unpack his stuff and headed upstairs after placing the popcorn in the microwave. While we waited for it, we prattled and I immediately forgot about my mopey outburst a few hours ago. Marco has a facility to mollify me, always surprising me. I can't calm myself from wallowing over depressing thoughts; that's unsurprising, I've never been able to understand or control my emotions, but the fact that someone else could (with ease, at that) was astonishing.

When I heard the microwave's beep, I sprung up and dug it out, hissing at the scorch on my fingers. Up in my room, Marco already prepared our, ahem, cuddling area: my quilts were tidily disseminated across the floor near my TV and my cushions and pillows lent on my sides of my bed like one of those round, comfy sofas.

Marco sniffed the air and swooped towards me, -"Great! I, um, placed Kung Fu Panda...,"- Again, he fidgeted with his fingers, -"We can watch something else... if you'd like. I don't really have anything else than animated flicks at home so..."

I laughed again, because really, it's funny and adorable. He knew I wasn't into animated movies like him, but I can deal with them. I just wanted to spend quality time with him, -"Marco, it's fine, really. Kung Fu Panda's cool."

We finally sat and snuggled. Like always, he sat before me, between my legs, while I enfolded my arms around him, cocooning ourselves within my fleeces. He had the popcorn bag with him and I often dug out a horde of the sweet stuff and dropped it in his mouth, his tongue licking my finger. So I admit I got gleeful at that, his moist tongue transmitted ebbs of thrills down south, but Marco wasn't exactly paying attention to me. Yeah, he was way into the movie and whenever I tickled him or prodded him for attention, he'd just giggle, his eyes carved on the TV.

I often huffed, pretty loudly, to see if could just make him look at me at least once, but nope. There's no way I'm getting him down from Marco's land of puerile. I avow I was getting a bit desperate, but looking at him, I'd just smile and chuckle, shake my head and let my growing hard-on smother. Oh well. It's incredible how his eyes gleamed at the damn movie and his smile practically reaching his ears. When it ended, he stretched and yawned, burying his head on my chest, -"That was so cool,"- He stated, looking up and trailing his finger trough my chin, -"Did you enjoyed it?"

I snorted, -"Not really, I spent the whole time trying to get your attention."- I affirmed, a bit whiny, nudging his belly button playfully.

His eyes widened, -"I-I... well, you should've said something."- He pouted, his cheek reddening.

I chuckled, twirling my finger in his smooth hair, -"It's fine, Freckles, watching you giddy over the movie was a sight."- I neared my face to my sheathed finger and inhaled his sweet vanilla scent from his hair.

His cheeks reddened more and his face softened into concern, -"Jean, are you sure you're okay?"

I breathed deeply and nodded, -"Yeah, I'm okay. I was just... kinda upset when I called you. Sorry I had to drag you here, but I really needed someone -I mean, you."

Marco squirmed out of my hold, settling his body before me. He crossed his legs and took both my hand into his, tangling his fingers with mines, -"It's okay. You know I'd do anything for you too."

I smiled, my eyes never parting from his, -"Yeah, I know, I just..."

He then sighed, squeezing his grip on my hands, -"Jean, it's okay to feel sad or scared, but please, don't punish and blame yourself. You told me that once, remember?"

I nodded, -"Yeah...,"- It's ironic, really, how these things work, but that was a bit different. He was punishing himself because he loved a man, something considered a sin in the Christian community, but I was punishing myself because I was too blind and selfish, -"But still, I could've..."

Marco knew where I was going with this and he placed his finger on my lips, hushing me. He shook his head and smiled sympathetically, -"That was a long time ago, Jean, and you've changed. Nobody's perfect, but we change and work on our mistakes. You did something and I know you think it was too late, but you still did it and it was worth it, right? It would've been worse if you didn't do anything, but you're not like that, you acted and opened your eyes because you cared. I'm proud of you and so is your mom and your dad and-"

Overwhelmed with warmth and rejoice, I lurched forwards and kissed him abruptly, unable to control the growing feeling of resolution and fortitude. I pushed him to the floor and landed on top of him, ravening his lips while cupping his face and pushing my mouth deeper into his. I parted and lent my forehead against his, breathing heavily, -"Fuck, what would be of me without you, you cute -I mean, stupid bastard..."

Marco chuckled and wrapped his arms around my torso, -"I think I rather not think about it."

I laughed, feeling completely anew and stronger, -"Me neither."- I felt his chest going up and down beneath me, his warmth radiating to me as I closed the space between us.

I kissed him again, more intimately, running my tongue in his mouth and licking his lips. We rolled over and over, tangling ourselves with my sheets and drawing nearer to each other. The air surrounding us got hot and reeked of sweat, despite the fact it was raining outside, but we didn't cared. I scraped my hand against his abdomen throughly, feeling the hotness at the tip of my finger and shoot through my veins. Both of Marco's hand were twirled and matted in my hair, performing circular motions and tickling my scalp playfully. It made me croon his name joyfully and I increased speed with my mouth in his until my breath expired. Running my tongue trough his jawline, I tasted his skin and gulped, feeling my throat hot and raspy. I played with his earlobe and like always, moans slipped past his lips and into mines, titillating me.

His neck was my favorite spot of his body (well, I loved his whole body, in fact), but his neck was so goddamn perfect and I can't point out why. Maybe it's because his neck (and this is a fact) was the first spot I was drawn to the moment we got so close like this. It was in the men's bathroom at school and holy shit, I couldn't peel off of it. Maybe it's the overly adorable trail of freckles that cascaded down to his elbow, or maybe because his vanilla scent was richer there, or because his skin was softer there -fuck, I don't know. All I know is that I was gnawing at it, feeling it's skin on my tongue, and sucking on it gently, but lecherously.

Marco's moans welled my room. They were deep and full of pleasure; he tugged my head closer to him, to his neck. He loves it when I osculated him there. He craved for more though. I felt a bulge from him grazing my pelvis.

One of my hands was still venturing his abdomen; the other one moved south to his crotch and fingered him deep inside, fondling his balls. He wheezed and breathed out louder moans as I neared my lips to his ears, -"Want me to blow you?"

Marco swallowed, biting his lip. He blushed as he gave me a slow, but clear nod.

I grinned and wriggled my body southward. I pulled his pajama pants down with his funny Superman undies he likes so much and drew my face near his crotch. I honestly though I'd never do this again, I mean, I didn't think it possible. Marco's first blow job wasn't that good and it wasn't because of me (I think I did a good job, to be frank), he fainted and almost fell unconscious. He wasn't exhilarated about it like I was when he blew me, so yeah, I left it there and tried not to think about blowing him again.

And yet, here I am, sucking on his dick and throttling his cum down my gutter. Marco writhed and jolted his body upwards at the sensations he's now familiar with (hopefully). He puffed and breathed as steady as he could, clutching the fleeces again. His cock stiffened and spit more cum as I powered my suctions, holding his sprawled, shivering legs with force.

When his body began vibrating vigorously and his breathing got ragged, I got the cue that Marco was having an orgasm, but somehow, the number 69 kept popping in my head. Don't ask why, because I don't know.

Me and my sick, fucked up mind.

I stopped and crawled forward, wiping cum out of my mouth with my thumb. Marco huffed, obviously distraught, -"H-hey, I was thinking maybe we could, uh...,"- Well fuck me in the ass, how do I put it? -"...s-sixty-nine?"- God, I felt like an idiot.

Marco tilted his head, not getting it.

Or wait... he didn't know...?

My head hung and I slammed my hand against it, feeling it hot. Marco and his innocent mind..., -"Y-you know, sixty-nine as in..., uh, can't you just picture it? Like..."

Whatever I said entered one of his ear and left from the other, but of course he wouldn't understand shit of what I was saying: he was high as fuck, his mind blurred with euphoria. Explaining him now what 69 implies on this fucked up society was a waste a of time -precious time, considering his actual position.

So I opted to show him myself and while I unzipped my pants, Marco was landing from his voyage of blissfulness and sat up, -"J-Jean? W-what are you..."- He slurred and when my dong was out, he gulped on the rest of the sentence, his face sloshing with red. Last time, the size of it got his tongue too. Again, not gloating, it's just a fact.

-"Just, uh..., go with it."- It's all I managed to mumble, the idea seeming more and more stupid (and radical, not gonna lie) each time I spun my mind on it, but fuck it, what could go wrong? I literally couldn't stop the goddamn number from taking over my mind. I swear, I can't flap it off and I felt like I have to do it. I'm a weirdo, I know.

Again, he tilted his head, but couldn't avert his eyes from my cock. See? He was still confused and had no idea what I was planning, but if it involved my dick, heck, YOLO, right?

I pushed Marco down again and breathed deeply before I flipped my body. I heard Marco's muffled gasp before I neared my mouth down his cock while mines jiggled over his face, but he didn't question me or anything, so I continued to work on his dick while mines flung over his head. A few minutes passed and I didn't felt anything. I sighed and just continued to blow him, genuinely thinking this was a bad idea.

But suddenly, I got tickles down below and a soft, slimy tongue rub against my cock, licking it like an ice cream cone. Just as soon as he grazed it, I got chills; my arms gave up on me and I tumbled down, down into his cock. I coughed and pulled away for a bit, taking in a chunk of air before sucking him vigorously. Marco bleated my name, pretty fucking loud, surprisingly blowing me at the same time. My mouth flooded with his cum and I slurped it all down, down, down, but I was getting hazy and it was Marco's mouth's fault, supping me, making my body thrill and my head spin. I felt as if I was on fire, the blaze scorching my skin, and God, it felt so good. That sensation of ecstasy, of pure bliss was... it was... invigorating.

My heart beats accelerated, I could hear it right beside my ear, and my breathing hampered. My body vibrated in pleasure and I moaned and cried Marco's name a fuck loud of times. Oh God, oh God, oh God, shit, fuck, fuck... fuck. I was blowing Marco, but at the same time he was blowing me and it felt... fuck, it felt... fucking good (how many times have I said it already?). I was getting thrills from both ends and I was growing wings, I swear... I'll soon reach Olympus or whatever deity was up there...

I can't think. I literally can't think straight. Marco's loud sips and moans reverberated in my ears and the sensations overrunning my body were the only thing I could think of right now. It was like a lightning beam struck me and it was speeding trought my veins, paralizing and vibrating me. Yeah, gotta say it, it felt good.

Both of us sucked harder and harder each passing second and our moans were seriously fucking loud as fuck. I swear my neighbors could hear us right now and Nana's wondering what the fuck is going on. I hope no one decides to investigate, because they'd be digging their own graves.

Our little sixty-nine momentum ended when both of us released and spit cum like crazy. My head spun and I rolled over my back and looked up at the swirling ceiling. Shit, I felt gassed and wasted, like I just throttled down 20 bottles of beer, but no, instead, I swallowed down a shit load of cum. Marco's cum. My boyfriend's cum. The love of my life's cum. My head was light and I could feel my consciousness slipping from me. I fumbled the area beside me, blindly searching for Marco and I think I got his leg, or cock (again), or his arm. Whatever. I gripped whatever-it-was and shrouded my arms around it, murmuring his name before passing out.