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Jean had fallen into this strange and wonderful space that could be called home without meaning to, without really knowing what was happening, with plenty of hesitation but without much effort on his part. One day he was told he was going to play for the Trojans, and he accepted this. He was shown where he would live, and he accepted this. He was told to help Cat cook and was given clothes to wear, and he accepted this.
It had taken longer for Jean to accept that he was a Raven under pain of torture than it did for him to become a Trojan. He couldn’t call it easy—people like Jean were not allowed the privilege of “easy”—but it had been akin to being thrown out of an airplane and landing in something very soft, completely unharmed. Terrifying … until it was safe.
Now Jean was standing up on wobbly legs, almost sure that he was going to be okay. He was making choices for himself. Finding not only things worth living for, but favourite things. Refusing things he could easily bear but didn’t really want, like an offer of ice cream or to go see a movie. Flagging Coach when he was injured instead of playing through it.
And Jeremy had been inconveniently attractive from the very first moment Jean had seen him on the post-match interview Kevin made him watch. Even moreso in close proximity. Jean could tune it out for a whole week at a time, perhaps, but then the sun would transform his bleached hair into spun gold or he would smile at Jean as though they shared a secret or he would stretch his arms above his head and his shirt would ride up just a little bit, and Jean would have to leave the room before Cat or Laila noticed and gave him that look.
The look that said he was not as subtle a man as he wanted to be. The look that said it was okay with them, of course it was okay with them, and would he like a pep talk?
Jean would not like a pep talk.
And Jeremy, well, Jean got the sense that perhaps Jeremy was a subtle man when he wanted to be, and yet there were still glimpses.
If Jean lapsed into French to swear at something with the derision it deserved and which English could not supply, Jeremy looked at Jean’s mouth with slack-jawed hunger until he caught himself. Jeremy was the kind of man who looked men only in the eye with practiced carelessness while in the locker room, but there was a tightness to his expression when Jean spoke to him in there like it took more effort. And then there were times that had no prompt at all, where Jeremy slipped, and Jean saw, and Jeremy would smile in slightly embarrassed apology, and they would continue their days, both of them knowing that Jeremy wanted Jean.
This all seemed like it should have been simple. Two men who were attracted to one another and secure in one another’s attraction—what could be a problem in this scenario? Well, Jeremy was a very respectful man who would walk into the sea before taking a risk at something that might make Jean uncomfortable. And Jean … had not done this before.
He was very sheltered in Marseille, and was only fourteen when he was given to the Moriyamas. Riko could look the other way at the other Raven men finding release from the intense pressure and isolation with one another due to the shortage of available women, but Jean had a number tattooed on his face. Riko corrected Jean’s lapse of control and made it so Jean never was caught looking at a man again.
Now … he was sometimes caught. He had been made soft and secure, and sometimes he was even caught half on purpose. He could look away, or he could linger, knowing it would be noticed. And Jeremy smiled, and Jean burned, and nothing happened.
No, this would not be entirely accurate. Every time one of them caught another, something so small it was almost nothing happened.
It was as though a large pot was placed on a small burner to be observed but not felt. For a very long time, it would appear as though nothing at all was happening. Longer than might seem reasonable. And then there would be a bubble, so small and fast to burst that it could have been nothing, a trick caused by a meandering lash caught in your eye. And then another. Then ten. Twenty. The bubbles more rapid, growing in size, and you are sure that it will cross the point from simmering to boiling any second, any second, any second … and just when you’re doubting if such a small burner can even warm the pot enough, it roils.
It was like that.
It crossed into simmering when Jeremy leaned his arm into Jean’s, perhaps accidentally, and Jean touched their ankles together, and they sat in full knowledge of each other’s proximity, choosing where they were.
It simmered when Jean put the earphones Jeremy had been wearing into his own ears and repeated back the French phrases with a complacence that was very nearly cocky. When he handed them back with a light, ‘Merci, Jeremy,’ knowing that it was saying Jeremy’s name that had the biggest effect of all.
It simmered when Jeremy looked at Jean before he picked up the hem of his shirt to wipe sweat from his face, and when Jean looked Jeremy in the eye after, he knew he’d been caught staring, and they both knew Jeremy wanted him to.
Jean expected Jeremy to make a move. Then he realised that of course Jeremy would not, Jeremy was too respectful and too conscious of Jean’s trauma. And this provoked a few days of anxiety before Jean realised that maybe it was fun to see how much he could wind Jeremy up, knowing that he did not have to be responsible and Jeremy did.
And it was very fun. Jean was not allowed to enjoy hurting people anymore, but this was not real hurt. It was playful frustration. With every touch and implication and casual willingness to try on the new pants Laila had bought him in the middle of the living room, the tension thickened.
It was after this last move that Jeremy finally was in on it. He hung his head back and laughed. Jean met his eyes and laughed too, and both of them refused to tell the girls why.
‘It’s a game,’ Jeremy grinned, not looking away from Jean.
It was a game, and Jeremy knew they were playing, and he liked it.
There was an implied promise here. The game would be most fun if they eventually won. Which meant that all of this teasing was an extended game of foreplay. Which meant that they both agreed they were in this, even though they weren’t in it yet.
It was the opposite thing to a trap. It was a home with a key and a motorcycle waiting at any moment if Jean wanted to leave.
It was at this point they started flirting with the limits of each other’s personal space.
Jean might need a mug from the cupboard behind Jeremy’s head, but don’t move, mon ami, Jean could reach around him, hand on Jeremy’s hip to protect them both from sudden movements.
Jeremy might want to know what Jean was reading, and lean his head in so close they were nearly cheek to cheek. He had discovered, evidently, that Jean loved the smell of his shampoo.
Jean might ask Jeremy to come to the fitting room of a store to help him choose which shirt he should choose for the Fall Banquet, and Jeremy might move close to fix Jean’s collar, and Jean might find himself kissing Jeremy before he had even made the decision to.
Jeremy kissed back, hands moving to cup Jean’s cheeks so gently, their breath too loud in a room with gaps under the walls and a curtain in place of a door, but Jean could do nothing about this. Jean’s hands found Jeremy’s waist, where his t-shirt was riding up enough for Jean’s palms to feel a sliver of hot skin.
‘Your shirts are too short,’ Jean murmured, leaning his forehead to Jeremy’s.
‘I got someone from a textile class I did once to hem them,’ Jeremy said. ‘Just a bit.’
‘For your previous vanity or for me?’ Jean asked.
‘You,’ Jeremy said. ‘Say the word and I’ll make them all crop tops.’
Jean laughed lowly and kissed him again. Jeremy wrapped his arms around Jean’s neck and sucked on Jean’s lower lip. Jean pushed Jeremy against the thin wall of the fitting room and they both froze at the noise before breaking down into badly suppressed giggles. It took them a couple of false starts to even be able to continue kissing, because Jeremy couldn’t stop laughing, and then Jean couldn’t, and then it was only the fact that Jeremy was most beautiful when his eyes were smiling that swept Jean along enough to be able to kiss him again.
Neither one of them mentioned the fact that giggling was an even more incriminating sound to be coming from a fitting room than the thud of a body against a wall, or that the shop was quiet enough that the bored sales assistant could choose to entertain herself by checking in on them at any moment. Jean knew they weren’t going to fuck in this fitting room. He just wasn’t ready for it to end yet.
Jean had never actually kissed anyone romantically before. He had been kissed and ordered to kiss, to sell the act, but that was far away from his thoughts at the moment. It had never been romance. He had never felt a partner’s tongue touch invitingly to his without pushing for more, or the thrill that accompanied giving more willingly, enthusiastically, traveling up his spine like carbonation in a Champagne flute. He’d never felt as though his very pulse was aching to be closer to someone he was already pushing against the wall.
He realised he was hard not at the sensible moment, not when it was his cock pressing into Jeremy’s abdomen, but when he felt Jeremy’s matching erection against him. He flushed with embarrassment and arousal, and was very very sure that he should stop, but Jeremy moaned quietly into Jean’s mouth and Jean’s mind went blank.
The skin of Jeremy’s side was warm and soft under Jean’s hand. His scent permeated every rough breath between them. When Jeremy wound his fingers through Jean’s hair, tingles effervesced down Jean’s scalp and through his body. When Jeremy pressed an open-mouthed kiss to Jean’s neck, the warmth intensified, Jean’s hips stuttered against Jeremy and—
Jean’s breath stopped; his fingers curled and his lips expression froze with his eyes wide and lips parted. For a moment, he balanced at the apex of a rollercoaster … and then … the cart tipped down and he could breathe again.
Fuck.
Jean stepped back abruptly and nearly stumbled on the chair provided in the fitting room, leaving Jeremy’s hands lingering midair for a moment. It was nice that as tightly as Jeremy had been holding Jean, there had been no resistance against Jean stepping away. Jeremy was a very nice boy, who would presumably never want to meet Jean’s eyes ever again.
Oh shit. Jeremy wouldn’t want to come around anymore. The girls would have to murder Jean. Jabberwocky would be heartbroken.
Jeremy took a half-step forward and placed his hand on Jean’s chest. Jean realised his breaths were faster now than they had been when he’d barely had room to gasp for air between kisses.
‘It’s okay,’ Jeremy said.
Jean’s breathing began to slow. Jeremy’s touch had become a very grounding thing when Jean was anxious. It was so unlike any way he’d been touched before.
‘I’m sorry,’ Jean said.
‘What are you apologising for?’ Jeremy said. ‘Who hasn’t made a mess of their pants when making out?’ He looked down suddenly, then covered his mouth. ‘Oh shit. Not your pants. Jean, we absolutely have to buy those pants now. Oh my god.’
If Jeremy had sounded worried or judgemental, Jean would absolutely have spiralled. But Jeremy was giggling, and looking at Jean in that way that he did when they were both in on the joke together. Jean’s mouth twitched up too.
‘I’m sorry,’ Jeremy said, still giggling too much to sound very sorry at all. ‘I’m not laughing at you, I really really don’t want you to be ashamed and under very similar circumstances that would have actually been really hot, I’m just trying to figure out how we get her to scan the pants so we can pay without noticing and it feels like a comedy sketch.’
‘Merde,’ Jean said, pushing the pants down his thighs before the dampness could spread further. ‘Collect your foolishness, Jeremy,’ he commanded with as much authority as he could with the contagion of Jeremy’s laughter in the air.
This only made Jeremy laugh harder.
Jeremy had tissues in the ridiculous little bag he wore on his hips, and while Jean was cleaning himself up, Jeremy went back into the store and collected the same shirt and pants Jean had been wearing from the rack and told the cashier that he wanted to pay for them before Jean had finished changing and tried to pay for them himself. Jean pretended to be affronted by this, and when the cashier asked to bag the clothes Jeremy blurted that he was an environmentalist and trying to reduce packaging.
‘We will never shop there again,’ Jean said, with all the gravity the situation deserved.
‘You need to buy me a new shirt and pants from there before the banquet,’ Jeremy said. ‘My mom will want to see my new clothes when she sees the charge.
‘I will give you the cash and you can do this on your own,’ Jean said. ‘I am incapable of being seen there from this day on.’
‘You sure you don’t want to help me find a shirt that fits me properly?’ Jeremy teased.
‘You are remarkably chipper for a person who did not complete,’ Jean said.
Jeremy snorted. He squeezed Jean’s hand for a moment before letting go, though the mall was quiet.
‘I’m impressively grounded for a person who just got to kiss his crush,’ he corrected.
‘Completely idiotic word,’ Jean said.
Even his disgust for the English language was not enough to keep him from smiling.
‘What would you say in French?’ Jeremy asked.
Jean considered.
‘L’amoureux,’ he said. ‘Though admittedly I did not have an interest in such films as High School Musical when I lived in France. Perhaps there is another word which is also nonsensical, however we both know that it would not compete with the idiocy that is this language I degrade myself to speak every day for the convenience of others.’
‘Feel free to relieve yourself of the degradation around me anytime,’ Jeremy said. His smile had, if anything, become more affectionate as Jean disparaged English.
Jean obliged without slowing in sympathy for Jeremy’s burgeoning comprehension. ‘But you will be indecent again, and then where will we be?’
Jeremy’s brow furrowed.
‘I enjoy running, what are your hobbies?’ he said, in perfect, if entirely irrelevant, French.
Jean’s lips twitched upwards. Jeremy had never really pushed himself to learn a language before and it was still slow going, but it meant a great deal that when he spoke he did so with an accent very close to Jean’s own. Still American threading through, but it was home.
And maybe it was even better this way. Jeremy was unlike anyone Jean had ever encountered before, and his attempts at French reminded Jean not of the house he grew up in, and not of teaching another beautiful boy how to speak it.
All it made him think was that he had someone who cared enough to learn something that didn't come naturally, just because he wanted Jean to be able to put down the burden of using a third language that still took effort every now and then.
Jean brushed the back of his hand against Jeremy's and smiled at him.
‘You are incredibly beautiful,’ Jean told him.
Jeremy grinned.
‘I know a whole bunch of adjectives,’ he said in English.
‘You are beautiful too,’ Jeremy said, swapping back to the superior language without missing a beat. ‘I adore you.’
Jean had to look away. When he looked back, his sunshine captain was still looking at him with a smile that only reinforced his words.
Jean glanced around before pulling Jeremy into one of the indoor alleyways where restrooms were tucked away. Hidden more effectively, Jean cupped Jeremy's cheeks in his hands and kissed him gently on the forehead. It was the best way he knew to express what he was feeling.
From the way Jeremy smiled, he was learning to interpret more than just Jean’s words.
‘Later,’ Jean said, ‘I will be more composed.’
‘I hope not,’ Jeremy murmured. ‘Something a little longer, sure, but you were so gorgeous.’
Jean kissed Jeremy properly, relishing in the way Jeremy gave into it so completely. He pulled back long before he wanted to and tugged Jeremy back into the mall proper and towards the exit.
‘Tease,’ Jeremy smiled as Jean dropped his hand for the benefit of the public.
‘You like it,’ Jean said imperiously.
‘You have no idea,’ Jeremy said.
Jean was unable to look at Jeremy, but he didn't resist the smile that came so easily in his company.