
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/990410.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Shingeki_no_Kyojin_|_Attack_on_Titan
  Relationship:
      Eren_Jaeger/Jean_Kirschstein
  Character:
      Eren_Jaeger, Jean_Kirschstein
  Additional Tags:
      are_bathroom_handjobs_a_thing
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-10-05 Words: 3838
****** we are capsules of energy ******
by Greenflares
Summary
     Intense sexual frustration kind of came hand-in-hand with living in a
     dormitory with a dozen other guys. Jean knew this from personal
     experience.
Notes
     This is my first fic for this fandom and also my first time writing
     really shitty smut so yay for that I guess. The title is from Dry and
     Dusty by Fever Ray.
See the end of the work for more notes
It didn’t take long for Jean to learn that the one major downside of living in
a dormitory with a dozen other guys was the complete and total lack of privacy.
“I’ve lost track of the number of times I’ve woken up to the sound of Connie
jerking off,” he complained over breakfast, rubbing at the tired ache behind
his eyes. He’d barely slept, managing only a few scraped hours of restless
half-sleep. He blamed Connie, of course. “He’s just so – so—” He floundered for
words, unable and unwilling to say it.
“Energetic,” Marco finished solemnly. He looked at Jean from across the table
and added, “You really ought to invest in some earplugs. I got mine half price
at the convenience store by the fish market. They block out everything.”
“I’ve tried earplugs,” Jean whined, pulling at his face and wishing he could
just – rip it off, or something. “I don’t like how thick the silence is. It
freaks me out.”
Marco hummed thoughtfully, accepting Jean’s oddities as he accepted Jean
himself. “Maybe you should – I don’t know – take Connie aside and—”
Jean held a hand up. “Let me stop you there,” he said. “That’s not going to
happen. I’m not going to be the one to – eugh– give Connie the talk.”
“If you don’t, who will?” Marco fixed him with one of his patented Marco Looks
that conveyed both disappointment and encouragement all at once.
“I don’t know,” Jean grumbled unhappily, repulsed by the conversation, “but
it’s not gonna be me.” He shuddered delicately, disgusted beyond belief. “He’s
fifteen years old, for fuck’s sake. He should know how to be discrete by now.”
Marco shrugged and stirred his spoon through his porridge. “I’m just sayin’,
your whole problem could be solved if you only took Connie aside and told him
what needs to be said.”
Jean glowered at him. “It’s too early for that kind of painful advice,
alright?” he grumbled, and he turned his attention to his breakfast, which was
a much better alternative to thinking about Connie with his hand around his
dick.
Marco only smiled and ate his porridge.
 
----
 
Jean had to wonder if Connie, with his squeaky mattress and – ugh– sounds, was
the only one in the dorm who was jerking off throughout the night. On the rare
occasion when Jean was too pent up to wait until his early morning shower, he
woke a little earlier than the others, sometime before 5, and silently took
care of himself. He prided himself upon being deathly quiet, making no more
than a whisper of noise. He wasn’t Connie, after all.
But then, the others didn’t exactly live like monks, either. Jean would have to
be blind to miss the way Thomas sometimes crept out of the dorm late at night,
tiptoeing out to the girl’s dormitory for a late night rendezvous. Franz often
did the same, and once, much to Jean’s surprise, he’d seen Armin sneaking out
of bed.
Jean noted with distinct satisfaction that Eren, at least, wasn’t sneaking out
or noisily getting off in his bunk. Jean decided that he could live like a monk
just as long as Eren was, too.
The thing was, though – Jean was pretty confident that he couldget some, if he
wanted to. He wasn’t blind, or dumb, and he wasn’t ugly, either. He knew well
enough that Reiner wasn’t fussy about who he got around with, having caught him
red-handed with Dazz in a supply closet one afternoon, and Reiner himself
wasn’t too bad to look at. But there was something about him – not that Jean
could put his finger on it – that left him a little afraid of the guy. He
supposed it was his size. The guy was huge, after all.
And then – then– there was the Marco situation. Jean knew that if he wanted to,
if he played his cards right, if he smiled a little warmer and walked a little
closer, he could start something with Marco. There had been times when he’d
caught his friend looking at him, his eyes a little glassy and his cheeks a
little too pink, and Jean had recognised it as something a little more than
admiration. He knew this, knew it would be easy, but still – Jean was an
asshole, sure, but he had his limits. He wasn’t about to play his best-friend
when it was heartbreakingly obvious just how much his best-friend cared. It
wouldn’t be fair, not when Jean didn’t feel that way, when all Jean wanted was
touch. Marco deserved better than an occasional fuck.
So Jean lived like a monk, gritting his teeth through the sound of Connie
jerking off in his bunk across the room. He did his best with what little
shower time he was afforded, and then he spent the rest of his time looking
forward to retirement, when he’d have all the time and privacy in the world to
get himself off.
 
----
 
“You fight like a girl,” Eren grunted, holding Jean’s shoulders down with his
hands and pinning his waist with his thighs. The ground was hard under his
back.
“I must’ve picked it up from you, then,” Jean snarled in return, doing his best
to buck and twist beneath him, refusing to surrender.
Eren snorted scornfully. “That’s the worst comeback I’ve ever heard,” he told
him, and he grinned menacingly, all of his teeth perfectly white and aligned.
His face was boiling red in comparison, blisteringly hot from their combat
training. They’d been sparring for the better part of an hour and Jean’s body
was definitely aware of the toil. Everything burned and ached in misery.
“Is this the best you can do?” he demanded, thrusting his chin stubbornly
outwards in a refusal to submit. Eren’s weight was heavy on top of him, heavy
but just enough, and he was finding it increasingly difficult to breathe
without struggling.
Eren’s eyes were sharp and bright as he looked down at him, toying with him.
“Just surrender,” he said, sounding almost charitable, like he was offering up
free advice. “There’s no beating me now, I’ve got you pinned.”
Jean struggled again, this time bringing a hand up and jabbing at Eren’s ribs.
The wince and jolt was instant – Eren’s hands loosened, his arms eased, and
Jean was able to flip them over. Dust flew around them and settled in clouds,
and Eren coughed violently as he lay sprawled under Jean, his arms pinned above
him and his thighs pinned under Jean’s ass.
“I’m sorry,” Jean whispered, just a little breathless after the exertion of
kicking ass, “what was that you just said? There’s no beating you? You have me
pinned?”
Eren glowered at him. His face burned even darker, turning pinker by the
second. Defeat looked good on him. “That was unfair,” he said, voice raspy and
low. “You prodded me. That’s – that’s not fair. It’s a low blow.”
“It got me the upper hand, didn’t it?” Jean tightened his grasp around Eren’s
wrists, just to demonstrate. Eren squirmed a little beneath him, though not
nearly as fiercely as Jean would have guessed he might. The hour of grappling
had taken its toll on his stamina.
Still breathing heavily, Eren ran his tongue over his dry lips and managed,
“You’re an asshole, you know that, right?”
“I’m aware,” he said. He grinned at him and leaned in closer, leaving only an
inch between their faces so that Eren couldn’t avoid his smirk.
Eren’s eyes met his, light green and vibrant through the dusty air, and Jean
found himself trapped. There was something there – something deep within his
irises – that just…caught. It snagged him, caught him breathless. Eren’s mouth
fell open, his lips deep red and wet, his breath still escaping him in ragged
huffs. The colour of his face had darkened again, hot pink and pretty –
Jean’s eyes bulged and he looked away, staring off to the side. Heat crept
along the back of his neck and across his cheekbones, and he swallowed dryly
around the lump that had appeared in his throat. He was suddenly aware of how
intimately they were positioned, with Jean straddling his groin and Eren
sprawled out beneath him, helpless and – fuck, fuck, fuck– really hot.
“Surrender?” he asked, though it sounded more like a raspy plea.
Eren’s fists, which had been clenched tightly despite Jean having hold of him
by the wrists, opened loosely. He splayed his fingers. “I surrender,” he said,
voice low, and just like that Jean was off him.
He didn’t offer Eren a hand to his feet, nor did he look back at him as he
stalked hurriedly across the combat field in the direction of the dormitory.
“Fuck,” he breathed, rubbing the dirt off his shirt and struggling to control
his heart rate. “Fuck.”
 
----
 
All things considered, Jean was pretty sure the universe was playing some kind
of a joke on him. Not only had he come horrifyingly closeto getting hard whilst
straddling Eren fuckin’ Jaeger during sparring practice, but now he was being
forced to spend his evening with the guy – cleaning a bathroom, no less. Sure,
he kind of deserved it, considering it was punishment for fighting with Eren in
the dining hall a month earlier, but still.
“This is child labour,” he announced for what was probably the fifth time in an
hour.
Eren slopped a wet mop across the tile floor of the bathroom, as enthusiastic
about the task as Jean was. “You’ve said that already,” he muttered, sounding
just a little anxious – and that gave Jean a spark of confidence. At least he
wasn’t the only one feeling shaken to hell.
Jean was almost certain about what had happened. He’d seen the look in Eren’s
eyes – the sharp heat, the startled realisation – and he’d felt the electricity
between them. God, as cheesy as it sounded, there’d been a fucking spark and
everything. He had Eren Jaeger had shared a moment of undeniable sexual
tension, pure and simple.
Jean spared a moment to wonder when it was that he’d started using terms more
at home in one of his mother’s romance novels, and then he dunked his mop in
its bucket and got back to work.
The thing was, though, Jean had to question himself. The whole situation was a
little unbelievable, after all – who would think Eren Jaeger, of all people,
would make eyes at him? The idea was preposterous. Crazy, even. Offensive to
all parties involved.
But no – no– Jean wasn’t dumb. Despite what Eren often told him and despite
what some of the others secretly thought, he wasn’t actually dumb. He knew what
he’d seen – what he’d felt, fuck – and it wasn’t some trick of the light, or
wishful thinking. He wasn’t delusional. It had happened.
He glanced over at Eren and found his bright eyes were already on him. As quick
as lightning, Eren’s eyes were back on the floor. Jean blinked at him,
dumbfounded, before he returned his gaze to his own mop.
Well.
Thoughts flashed through his head – the feeling of Eren, solid and heavy,
straddling him, his chest heaving; Eren squirming restlessly beneath him, his
arms stretched above his head and his wrists caught in Jean’s hands; the heat
in his eyes when Jean had leaned close, the way his tongue had ran over his
lips, the way they’d fallen apart for him, almost inviting him in—
He swallowed thickly and took a deep, shaky breath.
He wondered if there was any chance he was mistaken – but no, he couldn’t have
been, no, not about this.
As though he’d pulled at a single loose strand on a sweater, everything had
suddenly unravelled. For the first time everything about Eren Jaeger finally
made sense.
Eren was always fighting with him, bickering over the smallest things, making
any excuse to get into Jean’s personal space and push. They were total
opposites, Jean knew – had been told as much by just about everyone from the
moment they were all acquainted. Eren was noble and courageous, and Jean –
well, Jean had survival instincts where all Eren had was grandiose ideas about
slaying titans.
And if Jean was honest with himself – brutally, horribly honest with himself –
maybe he found it a little hot when Eren got all flustered and passionate.
Maybe he liked the way Eren’s eyes would grow large, the way his lips would
curl back, his chest heaving, and his fists balled. Maybe he liked the way Eren
radiated power and strength and determination. Maybe it was just a little hot.
He watched Eren, taking in the way the muscles of his arms flexed with each
push and pull of the mop, and the way his hair only just fell in his eyes.
Fuck, when had Eren Jaeger started looking attractive? Fuck, when had Jean
started to care?
He took a breath.
Jean was many things, but despite what Eren often said, he wasn’t a coward.
He set his mop aside, resting it against the wall, and took four even steps
towards Eren until they were face to face. Eren took a step back, bumping into
the bathroom sink. The mop fell from his hand and clattered loudly to the
floor, but neither of them so much as glanced at it. Eren stared up at Jean,
his eyes both curious and cautious.
“Have I got the wrong idea about this?” Jean asked, and his voice stayed
perfectly level. He rejoiced a little inside.
Eren slowly cocked his head. “What do you mean?” he asked, and something danced
within his voice, something telling. Push harder, his every action seemed to
say. Fight a little more. I’m not giving in that easily.
Jean took a leap of faith and stepped closer. His body brushed against Eren’s,
and Eren – who was pressed up against the rim of the sink – breathed so heavily
that his chest jumped. Jean placed his hands on either side of Eren’s body,
curling his fingers around the rim of the sink. Eren was caged in before him,
but from his sharp intake of breath and the way he wet his lips, he didn’t mind
at all.
“Quit playing dumb,” Jean told him in a low voice, “because we both know you’re
not.”
Eren’s lip twitched, the first time he’d so much as almost-smiled at Jean in
all their time of knowing one another. Before Jean could triumph too much, Eren
said, “I thought you had something going with Marco. He’s not subtle.”
Something twanged painfully in Jean’s chest. He thought of Marco, of the way he
always smiled and doted upon him, like Jean was all that mattered. He thought,
just a little mournfully, that if things were a little different and if Jean
wasn’t as fucked up as he was, then maybe he and Marco could’ve been good
together.
Deciding not to drag Marco into things, he countered with an edge to his voice,
“I could say the same about you and Mikasa.”
Eren’s face contorted into a petulant scowl, the kind of expression that Jean
was far more used to from him. “She’s like my sister,” he replied, though a
blush had coloured his cheeks.
Jean met his eyes and weighed what he saw there. Their chests were pressed
together and their faces were incredibly close.
“So,” Jean continued, “are we clear, now?”
Eren’s eyes flickered lightning-quick to Jean’s mouth and back to his eyes
again before he breathed, “Yes.”
They closed the gap between their mouths without a thought. It was a hesitant
kiss, something Jean would have never expected from either of them. It was an
anxious dip of a toe into water, a case of trial and error, a quick check of
the territory. For a brief second Jean wondered if he’d made a mistake, if he’d
slipped up and judged it wrong, but then Eren’s hand was on his wrist, his
nails sharp on his skin, and the kiss changed. Their lips were demanding and
needy, and Jean kissed Eren as though he’d been waiting all his life to.
Eren’s hand ran up his forearm to the joint of his elbow where he’d rolled his
sleeve. He pushed his fingers under the fabric, his fingertips soft and
desperate against Jean’s hidden skin. Jean had a hand on Eren’s abdomen – god,
when had he even moved it there? – and he could feel his muscles tense and
shift beneath his palm, shifting like the tides.
Jean’s chest was going to explode, he was sure of it. His lungs, which were
working overtime, were going to burst through his ribs and kill him. He was
going to pass out for lack of air, for lack of everything, for overabundance of
Eren. His mouth and his lips and his tongue were all that mattered, now. His
own stomach lurched and clenched and his groin felt heavy with heat, with need.
He wanted to be closer, needed to be closer.
“God,” Eren breathed when they broke apart, a quick pause. “God, fuck, Jean,
god.”
Their breathing was frantic and ragged and their hands were desperate over one
another. Jean pushed a hand through the back of Eren’s hair, the strands soft
and longer than he was used to between his fingers. Eren shifted his hips,
rolled them against Jean’s, and they both moaned into the kiss and pressed
themselves seamlessly together, seeking more.
Eren was hard against him, hard and willing and beautiful, fucking beautiful.
Jean wondered just how long he’d been that way, if he’d been hard as long as
Jean had been. He groaned into the kiss again, desperate and frustrated,
needing something – needing anything. He broke the kiss and thrilled at the
little sound of disappointment that escaped Eren before he could rein it in.
“C’mon,” he murmured, his voice a slur, a jumbled mess of sound. He grabbed
Eren by the front of his shirt, not bothering to be gentle, and he dragged him
towards one of the toilet cubicles, freshly cleaned. They barely fit inside,
their limbs long and frustratingly big. Their breath mingled and their lips
grazed against each other, and Jean had to force himself to shut the cubicle
door after them before he became distracted.
Eren met his lips with another kiss, his tongue hot and gentle and perfect.
Jean pulled him closer, rolled their hips together, and they groaned in unison,
their mouths breaking apart. Jean stuttered a kiss against Eren’s jaw, too
desperate to care where his lips fell.
“Fuck,” he breathed, his entire body shaking and alive. “Eren,” he rasped, and
he dug his fingers into his shoulders as he held him in place.
God, fuck, it was Eren.
Their eyes met, and Jean was sure Eren was having his own existential crisis as
well. In the timeframe of a single day they’d somehow gone from kind-of-enemies
to kind-of-something. It was dizzying, the speed of which it had all unfolded.
Eren was dizzying all on his own. He was – fuck, Eren was something else,
entirely. How had Jean failed to notice that before?
Eren’s eyes were dark and desperate, and something was flaring and sparking
from within the depths of his irises. Jean, in a moment of utter impulsiveness,
reached a hand between them and found Eren’s fly. He looked at him, asking for
permission, and Eren let out a breath and his fingers met Jean’s. They tugged
at the button and the fly, the task made impossibly more difficult by Eren
trying to help. Jean dipped his fingers inside, feeling the coarse hair against
his skin, and he took Eren in his hand. He was hot and wet with pre-come, and
Jean almost groaned at the feel of him. Eren’s responding moan was almost loud
enough to make Jean cover his mouth.
“God,” Eren cried, his voice so different now that he was so utterly ruined.
“God, Jean,” he breathed. Their forearms tangled and bumped as Eren forced his
way through to Jean’s trousers, his fingers shaky and quick against his fly. He
wasted no time in getting his hand in Jean’s pants, in curling his fingers
around his dick and stroking it. Jean’s throat went dry and his head fell back.
For the first time, he might’ve been speechless.
Their positions were awkward, their limbs butting together and their
surroundings cramped, but it felt so good – so fucking good – the best feeling
he’d felt in years, the best wank he’d ever had, the first time in months he’d
had anything other than his own hand in the shower. His breath stuttered from
him until he was winded, and he pressed another kiss against Eren’s face,
against the corner of his mouth, his jaw, his chin. Eren’s breath was hot
against his skin as he choked, “F-fuck, Jean.”
Eren’s mouth travelled down his jaw to his throat, and then his teeth were
worrying at the skin. Eren’s fingers curled and tugged at his cock, stroking
him as though Eren knew the precise way Jean liked it, as though he’d studied
up on his technique in advance. Eren’s dick twitched eagerly in Jean’s hand as
he slicked it from the base to the head and back again, and he shuddered when
Jean’s fingers ran along the vein underneath, so he did it again just to watch
him tremble.
“Fuck,” Eren hissed, and he bit down at Jean’s neck, no doubt leaving a mark,
but Jean found, surprisingly enough, that he didn’t care. He pressed himself
closer to Eren instead, breathed in deeply, and took pleasure in what was
offered to him.
They didn’t last long. They gasped into each other’s skin, speech no longer an
option, as they fisted each other’s cocks. Eren came first, gasping hot and wet
into the hollow of Jean’s jaw, his come flooding into the palm of his hand and
running down his fingers, and then Jean came a second later, Eren’s shuddering
hand finishing him off.
For a long moment it was all Jean could do to stay standing on two feet. His
head was buzzing, his heart-beat raging behind his ears, and his throat was raw
and dry. He was slumped against Eren, and Eren’s face was lost in the curve of
his throat. His back was pressed up against the wall of the cubicle, his
shoulder blades raw and achy from the afternoon of sparring. The pain didn’t
feel like a bad thing now.
“Shit,” Jean breathed, exulting and awe-struck. “I just – fuck – there’s come
in my pants.”
Eren’s laughter was breathy and quiet. He pulled back a little and lifted his
face to meet Jean’s eyes. His smile was earnest and dizzy, and Jean didn’t
doubt himself as he leant in for another kiss. Eren’s lips were soft and warm
and gentle, this time. They were too tired for anything else.
When they broke apart, noses grazing as they slowly separated, Eren said in a
breath, “I don’t know about you, but that sure beat my own hand in the shower.”
Jean grinned.
End Notes
     And_now_for_a_little_bit_of_shameless_self-promotion.
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
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