Archive of Our Own ^beta

It wasn’t that Jean was particularly bad at flirting. He was fucking terrible at flirting. It was almost debilitating watching him trying to flirt, all red in the face and stumbling over his words. For someone who acted like they were the shit, he did a lot of stuttering. And staring at his feet. In fact, Eren would swear that Jean looked almost relieved when the poor girl interrupted and pointed out the big brute to her side which was, in fact, her boyfriend. Jean shrank back, the dude glowered, and Eren readied himself for a fist fight.

This was how their Saturday nights usually went.

He’d met Jean back when they were sixteen year old gutter rats hanging out on street corners in oversized hoodies with scraped up palms. Eren had been into skate boarding, and Jean had been into Mikasa. They’d hated each other, because Jean was jealous and Eren was protective, but they’d mellowed out once Eren stopped being so aggro and Mikasa had kneed Jean in the balls for making a drunken move on her at a party.

“Back to mine?” Eren suggested, after, when Jean was trying to staunch the blood dripping from his nose. “Parents are out.” He added, and Jean shrugged and mumbled something, glowering ahead. Eren’s knuckles stung from punching the big guy’s rock hard head, and he slung a companionable arm around Jean’s shoulders. “You know, buddy, you are a distressingly bad flirter.”

“Like you’re any better.” Jean said thickly, and made a gross noise in the general region of his nose. Eren grimaced at him before schooling his expression into one of mock offence.

“I’m unbelievable at flirting.” He said, and Jean made that gross noise again in the back of his throat.

“Yeah, unbelievably bad.” Jean bit back, and Eren considered turning it into an argument, but decided Jean had had enough for one day. He let it slide.

“I’ll teach you, yeah?” He said, steering Jean towards the line for taxis and keeping an eye out for that slab of a human being who’d beat them up. Eren really hoped Jean appreciated how often Eren got his ass kicked from jumping into fights with him. He deserved a fucking bouquet or something. A thank you would be nice, at least.

Jean shrugged again, not looking at Eren even when he leaned all into his space and grinned. Normally that would elicit some sort of reaction in Jean, ‘get out of my bubble, Eren!’ but all it earned him was a sullen sidelong glance. Eren pouted over-exaggeratedly, and leaned away to scan the line. He was feeling good, despite Jean’s mood. His shoulder was aching from falling to the ground. He was definitely on the right path for a black eye, if not two. The adrenaline was pumping through his veins, making him feel alert and buzzed. Life was great. He repeated this to Jean, who gave him a look like he was crazy, hand still cupped over his swollen nose.

They caught a big eight-seater taxi back, Jean sliding around sullenly in the back whilst Eren sat up front to talk to the driver. He was an interesting guy, kinda cute if you squinted, and Eren flirted with him to show off a little. Jean just gave him a look of intense disbelief, to which Eren replied with a smug grin. Flirt master.

They stood around in the dark hallway when they got in, Jean toeing off his shoes and trying not to get blood everywhere. Eren stretched and felt his back pop satisfyingly.

“You want me to help you with -” Eren broke off and gestured to his own nose. “You’re looking bloody, dude.” Jean shook his head and traipsed upstairs to the bathroom where he knew the medical box was kept. They were both very well acquainted with the medical box.

Eren made coffee whilst Jean washed up. He could hear the tap running and Jean spitting, and wondered what the hell was up with him. Usually Jean was as pumped after a fight as he was. There was nothing like rolling around a dirty street at two a.m with the hot flush of pain from a landed blow and the feeling of invincibility when a punch hit home.

“So what’s crawled up your ass and died?” Eren remarked after Jean came down with a thankfully less bloody face. “Is that my shirt?”

“Nothing, and yeah.” Jean said shortly, taking his mug of coffee from Eren with a cursory glance at the clock. “Mine was bloody. Why’d you make coffee at 3 a.m.”

Eren shrugged and leant his hip against the kitchen counter, crossing his arms. “You’ve probably got a concussion, and I’m not having you slipping into a coma under my roof.” He picked at the scabbing wounds on his knuckles. Jean hummed thoughtfully.

The kitchen was silent, the only noises the hum of the fridge and the ticking of the clock. Jean drank his coffee noisily, and Eren flinched every time he made a gross slurping noise. He shot him a dark look, which Jean countered with a guileless look over the rim of his mug. His nose looked sore, but not broken, thank god. Eren caught himself thinking about how much of a shame it would be for Jean’s long, straight nose to be broken.

He was speaking before he realised it, cutting through the still silence gracelessly. “I’m glad you didn’t break your nose.”

Jean rolled his eyes and huffed. “Yeah, me too, man.”

“No, I mean.” Eren floundered. “I’m really glad you didn’t break it.”

Jean gave him a strange look, and they lapsed into silence again. It was the sort of silence which came after a good fight. Like coming down off a high, a slow, still silence. Eren dug around in the freezer and unearthed frozen burritos, which they ate half cooked and still cold in the centre. Jean made a jibe about Eren’s developing black eye, and Eren bit back with a comment about his split lip.

“Do you really think I’m shit at flirting?” Jean said abruptly. Eren looked up at him from his position on the kitchen floor and shrugged one shoulder.

“Yeah.”

Jean, who was sitting on the kitchen counter, drummed his feet against the cabinets. He looked pensive and vaguely annoyed. Eren checked the clock, 5 a.m, the pink light of dawn inching through the blinds.

“I think I was doing okay.” Jean muttered defensively, and Eren pressed the scraped up heels of his palms into his eyes. They felt gritty and hot from lack of sleep, and his bruises were starting to catch up to him. He ached all over. He didn’t have time for Jean’s crisis of masculinity, or whatever this was.

“Dude, her boyfriend handed our asses to us.” Eren muttered tiredly. “What part of that is okay?”

Jean made an indignant noise. “That wasn’t about the flirting, idiot.”

Eren got to his feet tiredly, hissing at the strain in his shoulder. He’d probably pulled a muscle or something, falling onto the pavement. He pressed a hand to his shoulder blade and his fingers brushed broken skin. He winced.

“You cannot flirt to save your life.” Eren said slowly, enunciating each word very deliberately, just in case they didn’t manage to penetrate Jean’s thick skull.

“Neither can you.” Jean shot back, and Eren hung his head, making a frustrated noise. “You‘re shitting me, I‘ve seen you flirt.”

Eren gave him a look through his hair, sizing him up. He could totally flirt with Jean. He could charm his metaphorical pants off. Hell, he could charm his actual pants off. Jean liked to think he was hot shit, could get anybody he wanted. He had an ego and showed it off on the regular.

“Alright.” He said, dropping his voice lower and straightening up abruptly. Jean gave him a hesitant look, and Eren shot him a slow smile in return.

Jean was easy. Flirting with Jean was a walk in the park. All it took was Eren pushing his way between Jean’s knees, and Jean was flushing red.

“This isn’t flirting, you cock.” Jean muttered, looking everywhere but down at Eren. Eren just pressed himself flush against the counter and stretched up to murmur into Jean’s ear.

“What would you call this, then?” He breathed, and fought back a grin when Jean flinched.

“Fucking seduction?” Jean pushed against his chest with tattered hands, and Eren relented, stepping backwards with a snort.

Eren leant against the fridge, the cool metal soothing against the scrapes on his back. Jean looked embarrassed and almost flustered, running his fingers over his scraped knuckles again and again. Eren laughed at him. “Fucking seduction.” He muttered, dropping his eyes to the floor and shaking his head. “Unbelievable.”

Jean didn’t reply, and when Eren glanced back up he was still looking red around the ears. His eyes were fixed firmly on a spot just to the left of Eren’s head. Eren sighed, it was way too early for this.

“You’re so transparent.” He muttered, and crowded close to Jean again, pressing against his knees until he let his legs fall open and Eren could press close.

This wasn’t the first time they’d done something like this. It had become a habit, ever since that one night where Jean had broken his hand from punching a wall, and Eren had kissed him because he’d never been so angry at him.

Jean did stupid shit. Jean said stupid shit. He was impulsive, like Eren. Sometimes the only way to shut him up was to press close to him like this, skim dirty fingers over a bruised jaw, and to press a rough kiss to a bared throat.

Jean melted into Eren’s kiss, just like always. He was easy like that. His hands rested lightly on Eren’s neck, one cupped under his jaw, and Eren tilted his head into the touch, nipped at Jean’s lower lip. He could taste blood in his mouth, and Jean’s stubble was hurting his face. It was perfect. The slow slide of lips and tongue, Jean’s hitched little breaths as Eren pulled him down to kiss him harder.

Eren didn’t know why Jean still bothered trying to get with other people. It was obvious that this was what he needed - Eren’s hands curled tightly in his hair, his mouth sucking a dark mark to the underside of Jean’s sharp jaw. Maybe he wanted to keep it casual, or maybe he was just stupid. Either way, Eren was genuinely fed up. Making out in Eren’s drafty kitchen at the ass crack of dawn wasn’t exactly couple behaviour, but it definitely wasn’t friend behaviour.

“You know,” Jean said breathlessly, when Eren drew away to wipe the back of his hand over his mouth. “You’re much better at kissing than flirting.”

“Wow, praise from fuckin’ Caesar.” Eren muttered, and huffed out an angry little breath. “I can‘t believe you.”

Jean just smiled complacently at him, and Eren rolled his eyes. At least someone was in a better mood than before. Now that his adrenaline rush had worn off, Eren was feeling tired and achy and pissed off. The caffeine had stopped thrumming through his veins, and suddenly he was very aware of how long he’d been awake for. He yawned and scraped his nails up the inside of Jean’s thighs, making him shiver.

“Stop flirting with other people.” He said in a low voice, eyes trained on how the overlarge neck of Jean’s borrowed t-shirt kept slipping over his collarbones.

“Okay.” Jean said, just like that. Eren looked up, surprised, and Jean gave him a wonky smile. He looked hesitant. “I’m awful at it anyway, right?”

“Right.” Eren muttered, and ducked his head so Jean wouldn’t see the grin stretching across his face.