Chapter Text
It’s something like 10:30 pm on a Thursday night, and Jean always resents the library’s cafe for not being open past five. Who the hell needs coffee before five, anyways? He blinks. Well. He does. And did this afternoon. And the afternoon before that. But fuck it, he’s a PhD student. He figures it’s a little different for people like him. Leaning back in his chair and stretching his arms above his head, he only halfway stifles the massive yawn that bursts forth from his mouth before peering around in semi-embarrassment. There’s not too many people around, and even if someone did hear, he’s sure they would understand. This is the Health Sciences Library, after all. Medical students and biomedical doctoral candidates and research assistants—his kind of people, and the people who would never pass judgement for yawning in a public place.
Jean glances back at his computer screen for a moment, considers typing up one more paragraph of the review article he’s been working on forever; but decides almost instantly that if there’s no white chocolate caramel frozen Magic Mocha to keep him going, he might as well be dead.
Fuck it. There’s tomorrow.
He gathers his shit and for the first time in several hours glances around a space that’s not the tiny desk-cubicle he’s been working in—there are a few more people left in the library than usual for this time of night, but the fourth floor where Jean has set up camp is still almost abandoned. With his backpack slung over one shoulder, he circles around the bookshelves and the back wall towards the elevators, where a few doors lead to private study rooms. The little windows on the door only allow Jean a passing glance into most of the rooms, but the light remains on in one, the door solidly closed. He thinks he catches a glimpse of Marco, and he doubles back just to check. A grin spreads across his face.
Jean is unapologetic when Marco nearly startles out of his seat at the abrupt opening of the study room door. “Long time no see, babe.” As close as they are, they respect each other’s busy schedules and constant need to live in the library or the lab; but that doesn’t mean that Jean misses his boyfriend any less when it’s been particularly hectic for the both of them.
“Jean,” Marco breathes out.
He looks tired. His hair is ruffled, probably from where he’s been desperately running his hands through it to keep himself awake; and two thermoses full of what was presumably a couple of caffeinated beverages sit on the desk amongst his laptop and spread of notes. An empty chip bag and half a Mountain Dew tell of his adventures to the third floor vending machines.
“Exam tomorrow,” Jean guesses when he slings his backpack onto the other side of the table and leans down to wrap his arms around Marco’s neck from behind.
“Final exam,” Marco emphasizes.
“Poor baby.” Jean kisses the back of Marco’s neck, who leans back into Jean’s touches and lets his eyes slide shut.
“You glad you got out when you did?”
Jean breathes out a little laugh against Marco’s skin. “Not like being a PhD is any easier. I just couldn’t handle another damned patient throwing shade at me for being a student.”
“Gets worse in residency,” Marco chuckles.
“Exactly what I’m fuckin’ saying.”
For a few moments, they enjoy each other. It’s quiet save for the hum of the air conditioning, and Jean bites his lip when a crazy idea pushes itself into his own weary brain.
“You probably haven’t done anything to de-stress in, like, two weeks,” he comments when he slides away from Marco’s neck.
A little whine of loss accompanies Marco’s deadpan answer. “Oops. Got me.”
“Well I’ve got an idea.” Jean glances out the tiny window into the rest of the library and considers his options for a moment. If he positions himself under the table, no one would ever know. Hell, it’s hard just to see enough into the room to know that Marco’s in there at all, and no one’s going to walk by and just plant themselves by the window to watch. Jean smirks. They won’t know what they’re missing.
The moment he slips underneath the table and nudges himself between Marco’s legs, he realizes just how badly he’s been wanting to suck cock for the past week. Bertholdt’s been way too stressed over some experiment of his that hasn’t been working, and Reiner’s on his surgery rotation so like hell he’s been in the mood for much of anything except sleep during his precious hours away from the hospital.
“Jean,” Marco scolds, voice a harsh whisper.
Nope. He’s not taking “no” for an answer.
Marco pleads with him as Jean fumbles with the button and zipper on his pants. “Jean. Jean, I’m not even going to be able to get off. I’m way too stressed. I don’t have time. We’re in the library. It’ll make me sleepy. I’’m trying to pull an all-nighter. Jean. Jean. Fuck, Jean.”
No point in waiting any longer, Jean figures, and takes as much of Marco into his mouth as he can, all at once. The heavy taste of musk on his tongue is so much better than the sugary coffee he was craving ten minutes ago. If only he could see Marco’s face. Too bad there’s a table in the fucking way, and Marco seems too reluctant to make any sort of noises that aren’t disgruntled, half-hearted protests.
Jean takes the base in one hand, rests the other on Marco’s thigh and offers him a light, reassuring squeeze; and then he’s pulling himself back off of Marco’s cock and tapping just the tip against his tongue. He can only imagine how hard Marco is trying not to moan, with Jean’s breath hot and his tongue wet on the most sensitive parts of Marco’s cock. He twists his wrist once, twice, experimentally, and tickles at the slit with the tip of his tongue. He’s already rewarded by a hint of salty pre-come. And here Marco didn’t think that he could get turned on right now because he was too stressed out over an exam.
Oh, ye of little faith.
When Jean closes his lips around Marco again, it’s just the head, and he swirls the flat of his tongue in circles around its underside. It’s dark under the table, so Jean goes by feel alone when he rests his cheek against the inside of Marco’s thigh and offers light pressure of his fingers around the base.
By now, Marco’s rock solid, vein on the underside of his length pulsing, and Jean is intent on swallowing him down again. He takes Marco in until he feels the tip touch the back of his throat, then swallows. Shivers pulse down his spine when Marco’s thigh trembles beneath his grasp. Fuck, Jean thinks when he feels heat pooling in his own abdomen and his pants getting tight. It’d be selfish, unreasonable to expect Marco to return the favor the night before an exam—at least Jean can expect to thoroughly enjoy wanking himself to sleep. The memory of this, plus that new vibrating toy Reiner ordered from the internet (an apology for not being around much while he applied for residencies and struggled in the OR), would certainly be enough.
Jean would sleep fucking well tonight.
Soon, he’s bobbing his head with all the enthusiasm that’s been building, pent-up for too long—he hears little sighs whenever Marco hits the back of his tight throat.
The relaxation would be good for him. It’d clear his mind. Jean was doing him a favor.
A little knock on the wooden table above him makes Jean think that Marco must have grabbed onto the edge or slammed his fist down in his efforts to keep quiet. Damn, he probably looks amazing, trying to keep his expression stoic in the event that someone walks by and happens to peer into the study room that Marco’s claimed for his own.
Marco’s thigh trembles again—Jean feels the muscle clench—and then there’s Marco’s seed spilled on the back of Jean’s tongue, a little trickling down his throat. With Marco’s cock still buried deep in his mouth, Jean swallows it down and hums approval around Marco’s girth.
The chair Marco is sitting in squeaks. Jean peers out from beneath the desk, swiping wetness away from his lips with the back of his hand, and sees his boyfriend’s head thrown back, his arm over his eyes.
“Dammit, Jean,” he whispers. He sounds disappointed, and for a moment Jean is worried.
He props his chin on Marco’s thigh and peers up at him from between his legs. “What? Did someone see?”
Marco grimaces. “No. I’m just painfully aware of how fast my heart is beating and trying not to think about tachycardia or EKGs or cardiac myocyte action potentials.”
“Love you, too, Marco.”