#HayWire | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

yamikailyn · 12 days ago

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I've been working on Ablaze's continuation, and since I haven't updated my drafts in a while, I decided to give you Haywire's first chapter. Haywire is unedited and unfinished, so I don't want to upload it on Ao3 yet.

Haywire

Summary: Jean and Floch are together, for the best but also the worst. Navigating differences in their relationship isn't easy, especially for Jean, who struggles to find the right balance. But keeping his hormones in check is soon the least of Jean's worries when Commander Zoë announces their new plan—to visit Marley to find new allies.

Chapters: 1/?

Ships: Flojean, past jeanmarco, past jeanrei

“So, did you fuck last night?”

“Connie! I don’t think that’s anyone’s business!”

“Come on, they left together pretty early, Jean is in rut, Floch is just fresh out of his first heat and weirdly late, I mean, do I even need to ask?”

“Then don’t ask!” Armin cries out again, and Jean winces—the mess hall is loud enough already. If only he could be somewhere else. Anywhere else. “Why are you so invested in this anyway?!” Yes, why is he?

Connie leans his elbows on the table, averting his gaze. His lips twist. “It’s either that or talking about Marley, and I don’t wanna talk about Marley.”

Armin opens his mouth, looking ready to argue more, but steals Jean a nervous glance instead.

Great. At least one of them realises Jean’s trying his very best not to punch Connie’s stupid face and make him run laps around the courtyard. By the walls, that would be glorious. Not punching Connie, because that’s what any brain-dead alpha would do, and Jean prides himself to do better than acting on animalistic impulses. But it’s misty and rainy this morning, not a time to do any work outside. That would serve Connie right. Unfortunately, punishing Connie also means watching him to make sure he isn’t slacking off, and Jean would rather finish his breakfast and go hide in his office rather than being chilled to the bones. Though, if Connie keeps prying, Jean might end up behind bars for murder.

Deep breath. While Connie and Armin resume their argument, Jean rubs tired eyes and refocuses on the sad porridge filling his bowl. But even with the best will in the world, his body still lets him know that he got to sleep alone, to wake up alone, and that violet melissa or not, it is very, very against his nature to be alone in such time.

Some ruts are harder than others. This one is competing for a spot on the podium.

It wasn’t for lack of trying. Jean infused and drank some violet melissa flowers before going to sleep. But Floch’s scent still permeated everything in his room—clothes, sheets, mattress, and, damn it, it took only a few minutes before Jean started to bite a pillow, thrusting into his own hand and chasing a release more pathetic than satisfying. If the flowers helped, Jean doesn’t even want to think what would’ve happened without them. Or if he’d caved in and let Floch spend the night with him, his warm body pressed against Jean’s with just a thin, easy to rip layer of fabric between them.

His stomach heaves.

To Sasha’s greatest joy, Jean pushes his bowl towards her. The porridge is a far cry from last night’s feast anyway. Armin gives him a sympathetic look. What does he think? That it’ll alleviate Jean’s torment? Cute. He’s not hard—not yet. Maybe the violet melissa does work, after all. But every smell, sound, and movement grinds his senses.

The friction of his clothes on his overheated skin sends pins and needles along his limbs. Connie’s laugh rings in his ears like a gunshot. And the smell of a group of omega drifting to him reminds him that even if they aren’t in heat, their wet, hot flesh pulsating around his knot would feel good all the same.

He could power through it. Not his first rut. Not his last. Mornings and evenings are always the worst because his mind isn’t busy enough to ignore the intrusive thoughts and his body going haywire. But he doesn’t want to trial his self-control today. And one glance across the mess hall to Hange tells him they already know he’s forfeiting and yearns for the quietness of his office, where no one will challenge his restraint. Even if there’s also an amused sparkle in their eyes telling Jean they can’t wait to see how things are going to turn out.

Jean finishes his tea in one gulp and gets up. But as he does, his nostrils tickle. Notes of lavender and irritation hit him before he even turns around and meets Floch’s pale face.

Bed hair and dark circles. Creased uniform smelling like slicky desires and urges. Did he sleep badly? Did his heat resume? Did he even change clothes, or does he still wear yesterday’s? Stupid question. Of course Floch still wears yesterday’s clothes.

Jean takes a step forward, aching with the need to reach, touch, kiss and steal his partner away. His omega. But piercing golden eyes bore into his, and he stills, a shiver running down his tensed spine.

People. Public. Floch doesn’t want that. Intimacy isn’t something he’s comfortable with yet, love another thing he doesn’t know if he’s still capable of, whatever that means. Jean needs to back off. Back off. Right now!

So he backs off, peeling his eyes away.

Eren watches them from his seat with that bored, distant expression that never fails to make Jean’s knuckles tickle. Fuck him. What does a beta like him know about what they go through? Has he ever fucked anyone? Armin? Mikasa? No, not Mikasa, for fuck’s sake! Armin, just Armin. Yes. Better. Though Armin is too cute and smart for Eren. Damn it! Jean balls his fists, the wildfire of his jealousy bursting.

It’s not that he cares that much about Armin, it’s just that Eren shouldn’t have all the nice things.

“Jean.” Floch sighs, and Jean swears he moved closer, but he won’t turn his head to check. Because if he does …

He steps to the side, glaring at Eren, who just chews on his food as if he couldn’t care less. Is he trying to provoke him? And why did Armin and Mikasa join in the staring? What do they want? Are they siding with him? Oh, of course they are!

Jean grits his teeth. Exhales through his nose. Not the 104th training years anymore. Commanding officer, now. Can’t pick a fight with Eren in the middle of the mess hall like he used to. Can’t see if he’s as punchable as before.

A hand brushes Jean’s arm. Little sparks of pleasure heat up his nerves and drowns the rage into syrup. He swallows. Hard. So. Hard. Fuck!

“Floch … I’ll … I’ll see you later.” Or in a couple of days, when the rut eases off, and he isn’t picturing himself trailing his tongue along the curve of the omega’s neck, hands kneading his firm ass. He’d nuzzle the area over Floch’s scent glands. No bite, no claiming, of course. Just gentle licking and nibbling. Just a taste before he … before he …

Crap.

Pulling down on his jacket, Jean rushes out the mess hall. Can’t think of any other way to fight off the hormonal storm brewing in him. Or to hide his embarrassing boner before someone—Connie, it will be Connie—points at it.

He walks to his office in a daze, barely noticing the thin rain on his face as he crosses the courtyard, or the warmer air inside the administrative building once he enters it. His head is spinning by the time he closes the door and leans back against it.

The office is still a new thing Jean isn’t quite used to yet, but the lack of omega scent hanging in the air—in particular the lack of Floch’s oh-so-alluring scent—helps him to contain the fire. But not to extinguish it.

Wet hair sticks to his forehead. He should dry. Instead, Jean trails a hand down his stomach and between the lapel of his jacket to grab himself through his uniform pants. He groans. “Fuck …!”

The back of his head hits the door, but only jolts of pleasure shoot through his groin. He rubs his palm up and down along his trapped cock. It leaks. Pitifully.

It’s nowhere the place, nor the time, but does it stop him from unclasping his belt buckle, opening his pants and lowering his boxer briefs? No, even if the air licking his wet tip tears a hiss from him. But it could be worse. It could be the damp, cold fabric of his underwear sticking to his skin for the rest of the day.

Jean spits into his hand and wraps it around his length. It’s not his own touch he craves, but it’ll do. Eyes closed, he can pretend for a second Floch is leaning against him, whispering intoxicating words into his ear. ‘Look at you, all hard and dripping for me. Do you like my hand that much?’ Yes, yes, he does. Fuck! He does!

If only Floch’s heat and Jean’s rut could’ve been perfectly in sync. He wants to return back in time, before that insane meeting in Mitras and the disappointing night he spent in his room, alone. It could’ve just been them, in bed, exploring each other’s bodies and achieving new heights of pleasure. It doesn’t matter that they’ve only been intimate for a few days, they’ve known each other for years. Comrades in arms. Friends. More than friends. How did they even live this whole time without even a kiss, an embrace.

Shit, Levi was right, Jean’s been in love for quite a time, and Floch? Well, whatever this is, Floch cares about him. They just needed a pinch to be together. If it hadn’t been Floch’s heat, it’d have been something else.

A bit of pressure on his swollen, oversensitive knot, and it’s enough to make him whimper and work his hips into, well, just his fist. But it could be different. It could be Floch surrendering to the pheromones and bending over for him. He’d let Jean slide up and down between the cleft of his ass and tease his puckered, slicked entrance. Yes. He’d beg for Jean’s cock, his knot, his mark—fuck!

The tightening of his hot flesh is the only warning he gets. Jean bites down on his lip to muffle another groan. Toes curling into boots, he rides waves of sheer ecstasy, only slumping back against the door once he’s spent. His chest heaves as he catches his breath, mouth spreading into a blissful grin.

But the cum rapidly cooling on his knuckles drags him back into the harsh reality. He’s not in bed, his dick deep buried into Floch’s wet warmth. And the mess he made on the floor is more than beyond disgusting.

*~*

The cold air drifting from the open window is a caress Jean is aware of but not bothered by. It’s better than the alternative—sitting in the smell of his shame while he’s trying to tackle a report on the new recruits assigned to his squads.

Reports. Marco would’ve loved that. Always writing down his observations, even if it was just scribbles on a scrap of paper. When Jean offered him a notebook for his last birthday, Marco’s whole face lit up. Never thought Jean noticed his interest. How could he not?

But Marco’s dead, and Jean lost more than his best friend that day��Marco would’ve been a better commanding officer than Jean could ever dream to be. And a better alpha. Not the kind to wank off at the thought of submitting and knotting an otherwise unwilling partner. Floch made his boundaries clear, and Jean promised he’d respect them. But can he?

Piece of shit.

That’s all Jean is, a piece of shit, getting high and hot at the fantasy of defiling Floch. But that sad realisation won’t get any of his work done.

Jean stares at the words he wrote until they blur and his eyes sting. ‘The recruits from the 108th Training Division are …’ The recruits are what? Future dead meat, because once Marley attacks, most of them will die, no matter how harshly they are trained? No. He can’t write that down even if it’s the truth.

What about their political views? It didn’t escape to his attention some are radicalised already, especially the youngest. Floch is particularly good at rallying them up. But Jean can’t report that either. Their feelings are only natural. They grew up in a world scared of the colossal titan breaking through Wall Rosa, and now they have to live with the fear of other humans plotting their end. They shouldn’t be punished because no one can give them hope.

‘The recruits from the 108th Training Corps are still lacking in some areas. Despite three years of intense training, they struggle with 1) safely handling thunder spears 2) anti-titan ODM gear maneuvering. I recommend’

Jean stops writing and raises his head, nostrils flaring. Levi’s scent reaches him before the Captain even knocks at the door.

Don’t move. Don’t say anything.

No. That’s stupid. Levi has to know Jean’s here. Where else would he be? Obviously, he’s not supervising any training. He’s not working in the quietness of the storage rooms, either. Or tending to the horses. The office is the only other place. Levi handled some of his administrative tasks during the past few days, but he must know how behind Jean is. Besides, it’s the perfect shelter for an alpha in rut who doesn’t want any company.

Except it isn’t anymore.

Jean clears his throat, but Levi lets himself in before he’s invited to. Typical.

Sharp steel eyes quickly survey the office and zero in on the open window. “Damn, brat, either you want to catch a cold or you’re trying to hide you shat your pants when you stormed out that mess hall.” Of course Jean knows better than looking guilty. And, of course, he still can’t help a glance at that specific spot on the floor. He scrubbed it until he couldn’t feel his fingers, and yet, when he returns his attention to Levi, the captain glowers harder.

“Really?”

Face burning, Jean ducks his head. So much for not looking guilty. “It’s not what you—”

“No, it’s exactly what I think it is. But you look ashamed enough already.” Levi strides across the office and posts himself next to the window. Crossing his arms, he looks outside. “Come here. There’s something I want to show you.”

Jean doesn’t move right away. But he can’t just ignore Levi’s order, so he pushes his chair back and gets up from behind his desk. Wanting to keep a safe distance, he places himself on the other side of the window and forces his attention on the courtyard. A few recruits are doing laps around it, even if the rain is heavier now. The fat droplets crashing on the sill sprays Jean’s hand with cold mist. Autumn is starting to show its true colors. And Levi smells like soap, tea, and unshakable resolve.

Don’t breathe in. But of course Jean does, and his belly tightens with something that isn’t quite arousal but isn’t quite platonic either. Comfort? Safety? Is it because Levi is bonded to someone else, even if that person is gone? Or is it because nothing seems to shake him, not even the presence of an alpha in rut who’s a head taller than him? Not that Jean could even dream of submitting the captain. He wouldn’t even try to.

“This is your doing.”

“What?” Jean detaches his eyes from Levi—when did he even start staring?—and glance down at the courtyard again.

“Pack of little beta and alpha shitheads from the Garrison. 103th Training Corps. Trained together, served together. They teased the fuck out of Floch because you blew him off this morning and wasn’t even there for lunch. So, guess what happened next?”

Jean shakes his head. “I didn’t blow him off. I just—”

“That wasn’t my question, now, was it?” Levi narrows his eyes at him, and whatever warmth Jean felt congeals into the ice of the captain’s glare.

“Floch picked a fight.” Levi nods, and Jean’s chest caves in. Because, if Floch isn’t running laps too, where is he? The infirmary? Did they gang up on him? Is his omega wounded?

Jean spins around, a growl in his throat and eyes set on the door. But a firm hand grabs his elbow before he can go raise hell on the recruits.

“Glad to see you actually care, but I’m not done yet. Why are you avoiding Floch? Surely you didn’t notice his oh-so-charming personality just now?”

Does Levi really have to ask? Did he forget during the night? Jean’s fingers twitch. “I’m in rut.”

“A fact I’m disgustingly aware of.” Levi releases his grip and steps away from the window. Jean drills holes into the back of the captain’s neck. “Usually, when an alpha is in rut, they seek the omega they claimed.”

Jean’s face burns. “I didn’t claim him!”

Levi shrugs and sits down on Jean’s chair, crossing his legs. His attention turns to the report for a second, then flicks back to Jean. “Forget about marking—it can happen even between sworn enemies. Feelings matter more because they can’t be forced on anyone. I saw the way you both behave. To me, you claimed each other. You should be skipping duty to fool around, and I should be chewing you out for that. But this morning?” Levi clicks his tongue. “That was a pitiful show. And it gave those recruits the impression that you not only used Floch during his heat, but that he’s also not ‘good enough’ to satisfy you during your rut.”

“That’s not—” Jean doesn’t finish his sentence and rubs a palm over his face. Urgh. Why is everything so complicated? He wants to kick or punch something or someone, but he can’t. So he just strides left and right, fists clenched by his side and anger trapped without a single crack to escape through. “Fuck!”

This time, Levi doesn’t say anything. He just grabs a sheet of blank paper and the fountain pen to scribble down what looks like a list. His calmness doesn’t ease Jean’s bubbling rage, but he eventually settles on the opposite seat, elbows propped on his thighs and chin resting on his clasped hands. However, it doesn’t take long before he starts bouncing his leg.

Levi stops writing, folds the piece of paper and meets his eyes. “You’re scared of hurting him, aren’t you?”

Jean freezes. Then drops his gaze. “I crave things he can’t give me.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

“Can’t.” Jean presses his lips together, waiting. But only silence answers back. Levi expects him to elaborate, doesn’t he? Jean shakes his head and rubs the back of his neck. His whole body cringes at his vulnerability. He shouldn’t be trapped in his own office, interrogated by an omega. No. He should be tearing through Levi, even if it’s just with words. But it’s also not who Jean is. So, he forces himself to still, rests his hands flat on his thighs and takes a deep breath. “We talked about it. I can be very … well, lustful and promiscuous, I guess. He’s not. And I’m fine with that. But. The rut … I’m scared of crossing boundaries.” Jean shivers. His heart sinks, and his fingers tingle. The same fingers he used to grab Floch’s hips before they went to sleep. Did Jean bruise him? “I … I did that yesterday and—”

“Did you like crossing those boundaries?”

Jean jerks his head back up. “What?! No! I felt awful! I still feel awful! But part of me, my instinct, my body, really wants to. When I’m with him … Even when I’m not with him … It’s all I can think of! And it’s wrong!”

Levi arches a brow. “What’s your plan, then? Stop yourself from thinking bad thoughts and never see Floch again?”

“Maybe it’s what I should do. For him.” Even if Jean’s heart breaks at the notion.

Levi stands up, hitting his palm with the folded piece of paper. He moves to close the window and stays in front of it, as if he needs time to ponder. The silence between them drags long enough for Jean to stirs on his chair with relentless energy. So, when Levi finally speaks, he snaps to attention even faster.

“Erwin wasn’t interested in sex. You could barely tell when he was in rut. My heat didn’t affect him at all. Was this another biological oddity or just his personality, I still don’t know. But we made it work.” Levi doesn’t add anything for a little while, and Jean doesn’t dare pry. This confession is probably all Levi is willing to say about his relationship with the late commander. And after what happened yesterday during the meeting, Jean should be glad he’s willing to say anything at all. “You’re scared of losing control and obeying your most primal instincts because of the rut, but here you are, having a conversation with me, an omega.”

‘Omega.’ The word feels so wrong in Levi’s mouth. Levi is so much more than an omega. Without him, they’d already be dead. “You’re my captain,” Jean corrects. “Humanity’s strongest.”

Levi turns around, a small, mocking smile tugging at the corner of his lip. “The son of a whore who would be put in better use as one. A thug picked up from the Underground’s filthy streets by the Survey Corp. An omega slut that hasn’t been properly tamed by his alpha. Or who needs a stronger, better one to break him into a more pliable plaything.”

Jean gapes. “Capt—”

“I heard it all from the nobles and the top brass, and often swore to myself I’d slice their throats. Thoughts are just thoughts. You need to trust yourself more.” Levi crosses the distance separating him from Jean and tucks the piece of paper into his breast pocket. “I sent Floch to clean the stables before he maimed a recruit. Hopefully, the stench of horse shit will help you keep your mind clear. And if not, pretty sure the little prick can knee you in the balls.”

Jean snorts. It’d hurt like a bitch.

Anger and worry melt down into a different feeling. It’s not quite relief, but it’s warm and comforting enough for Jean to slump down on the chair, legs extending in front of him. Like the good kind of exhaustion that comes after a harsh but fruitful day.

Maybe Levi’s right. Floch isn’t defenseless. He proves that again and again. And if Jean doesn’t trust himself much right now, perhaps he should trust Floch.

He pats his breast pocket and fishes the piece of folded paper. “What’s that?”

“The proper dosage and brewing technique for violet melissa.” Jean’s brow shots up. How does Levi—“Floch told me.” Oh.

Jean puts the paper back in his pocket. He licks his lips, nervousness growing in the pit of his stomach. “Are you going to tell the Commander?”

Levi curls his lips over his teeth, recoiling at the whole idea as it seems. “That little weasel, stealing the Military Police? Hange would be far too entertained! I don’t need that.” Even after years, Jean still can’t tell if Levi likes Hange. What are they to him? A superior? A comrade? A friend? More than a friend? It’s not like he can ask. Levi would tell him to mind his business.

Boots click on the floor. Levi moves to the door, and if Jean doesn’t turn his head to watch him, he can’t resist breathing in his scent one last time. Usually, the captain is more guarded, discreet. Maybe it’s how he shows his trust in Jean. Or, most likely, the peak of Jean’s rut still exacerbates his sense of smell.

“Take the day off. You’re useless anyway.”

Jean nods, then turns around on his chair to thank Levi. But the door closes.

*~*

Hay. Straw. Sweat. Shit.

The musky stench greeting Jean weighs on his tongue. Nose wrinkling, he walks further into the horse stable. Dust particles dance in the lights of the shining stone lamps. Low nickers and the stomping of hooves echo in his ears. But Floch is nowhere to be seen, which allows the courage Jean mustered up to wither even more.

He almost jolts out of his skin when Levi’s black mare sticks her head out of her stall, sniffing his hair and trying to chew on it. Despite the growing churning in his stomach, or perhaps because of it, Jean strokes the velvety coat of her muzzle up and down. But the mare’s nostrils flare, and she pulls back with a loud snort, most likely because he has no apple or carrot to give her. Bitch.

A few moments later, Jean finally finds Eren’s horse tied up outside a stall and, inside, Floch, napping on the clean bedding of straws he spread on the floor.

He looks so peaceful, with his eyes closed, his mess of bed hair, and his hand resting on his stomach, Jean doesn’t dare to step in right away. Instead, he leans against the door frame to watch him, sighing with relief. No bruises despite the brawl. Or no bruise anywhere visible yet.

Breathing in Floch’s alluring scent, Jean moves closer like a moth drawn by the flames. He kneels in the straw and reaches out for his partner. His companion. His ome—

“I haven’t forgiven you.” Jean freezes, his hand only a few centimeters away from Floch’s cheek. The omega doesn’t crack his eyes open, but his lips purse into one of his sullen pouts. “You’ve been an asshole.”

Jean blinks, then withdraws his hand and sits back on his heels. Floch’s irritation curls around them like a snake ready to strike. It’d be so much easier to lash out, pin Floch to the floor, show him who’s in charge, but … Jean shakes his head, swallowing the angry impulse down, even if it’s like gravel scraping against his throat. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“Well, you did,” Floch hisses. “And a lot of people seem to think it’s so fucking funny. ‘Oh, look at that, the little male omega put back into his rightful place—a slut, just good to be knotted. Jean will find a good omega woman to bear his kids soon enough.’”

Jean flinches. Is it really how people see him? “You know I wouldn’t.”

“Do I?” Floch rolls to his side, offering his back.

Jean grabs a fistful of straw with a trembling hand. It’s rough against his palm, and cracks when he tightens his grip. Or perhaps he’s just imagining the noise, because he wants to break the recruits’ necks so damn hard. “I’m trying to protect you.”

“From what?” Floch scoffs with a small shrug.

Jean sucks in a breath, his heart beating fast. “From me. I was afraid of losing control.”

Floch turns around again and sits up, narrowed golden eyes fixed on Jean. Is he angry? Suspicious? Pondering? Hard to tell. But when he speaks again, his eyes are watery. “So what now? Do you plan to avoid me whenever you’re in rut? Did you try the melissa, at least, or did I steal it for nothing? Because I stole it for you, not for me!”

“I know! And I did! I drank it!” Jean shouts back, taken aback by Floch’s accusation and whiny tone. But the way the omega blinks at him, equally in shock, makes him lower his voice. “It’s just that it didn’t seem to do a lot for me.” Jean touches his breast pocket, feeling the edge of the folded piece of paper tuck in it. “Maybe because I didn’t know how to prepare it correctly.”

“Oh …” Gaze shifting away, Floch bends his legs and wraps his arms around them. He rests his chin on his knees, letting out a strained sigh. “What about now? How do you feel?”

“I’m … alright. More clear-headed. But maybe it’s because it smells like horse shit.”

Floch rolls his eyes. “You sound just like the captain.”

“Because I’m quoting him.”

“So, he visited you too …”

Floch doesn’t add anything else, and for a while, Jean doesn’t know what to say either. Doesn’t know if he should try to reach out again, now that Floch’s hostility has fizzled out. He opens his hand, releasing the straw, and rubs clammy palms over his thighs. Why does everything have to be so complicated?

“Look, after what I did yesterday … I was worried it’d happen again. I don’t want to cross your boundaries.”

Floch shakes his head, sighing again. “Yesterday was … overwhelming. My heat, that stupid meeting, your rut starting … But you did nothing wrong. I asked you to stop and you did. You gave me space, time. I … I still regret that I couldn’t … that I was so distant when you needed me …” Floch’s voice trails off, and his expression darkens.

Even if Jean stays riveted to the spot, he aches with the need to pull Floch into a tight embrace and to pepper him with kisses.

But if he starts, he won’t stop.

“This morning, I was really looking forward to seeing you, you know?” Floch continues in a whisper, as if he’s afraid of being overheard. “Because the night was shitty without you.” His cheeks turn red, and he hides his face between his arms. Being vulnerable is still not something he’s comfortable with. “I wanted to hold you and wake up next to you,” he croaks.

Jean crawls closer, his arms almost locking around Floch’s curled up body. But he picks the straw out of his hair instead. So close, he can smell Floch’s scent more vividly. It ranks sadness, which helps to qualm his arousal. But it sweetens with bubbles of joy too, and Floch eventually raises his head again. He’s still red-faced, but a small, almost mischievous smile plays on his lips.

“I want to spend the night with you.”

“Floch—” A finger presses again Jean’s lips.

“Don’t treat me like I don’t know what I’m doing. I trust you. I also trust my own strength. So, can you trust me?”

Jean exhales. “Yes. I trust you.”

“Unlike you, I actually have a plan.” Jean quirks a brow, but Floch doesn’t elaborate. He cradles Jean’s face instead, and this simple touch is enough for Jean’s eyes to flutter shut.

Jean moves closer, right into Floch’s comforting heat, and buries his head in the crook between Floch’s neck. Of course his cock stirs. The scent glands are just a few kisses away. But Jean is nowhere as aroused as he would’ve been this morning if they had hugged in the middle of the mess hall. If anything, he’s melting, all tension and stress leaving his body. Incredible what talking can do to alleviate one’s anxiety.

“Stupid alpha,” Floch mutters, but it sounds more affectionate than insulting. He tangles a hand into Jean’s hair and pets his head. It’s nice. Soothing. Jean wraps his arms around Floch and slots himself between his thighs. He nuzzles Floch’s neck until he finds his pulse. It’s when they lose their balance, but the straw mattress is here to collect them, so Floch barely huffs in protest.

It’s everything Jean needs. Floch’s presence, his warmth and scent surrounding him until Jean gets drunk on it and his brain clouds. It’d be even better without their clothes on, skin against skin, both bodies intimately entwine, but he shouldn’t be greedy. Even if he can’t stop his hips from grinding up and down against Floch’s thigh.

Too much pressure down there. His cock throbs, hot blood rushing into his inflating knot. Is it Floch’s hand on his ass, pulling him even closer? Inviting him to hump him? Does Floch finally want to know how an alpha’s cock feels? Jean tries to suck and pinch the curve of the omega’s neck. But the collar of Floch’s jacket is in the way, and the buttons of his shirt are so, so complicated to undo.

“Easy! My clothes stay on.” Floch warns, the hand in Jean’s hair tightening its grip.

“But I love you,” Jean whines. And, shit, why does Floch not let him prove it? He’d make him feel so good, so full, so—

Floch pulls on Jean’s hair, forcing him to raise his head. Jean growls and bares his teeth, desire turning into aggression, until he meets narrowed golden eyes.

Alphas don’t submit to omegas. This is the natural law. But the glare is like a slap in the face.

Jean withdraws his hands, apologies burning the tip of his tongue. Floch, however, seems to have a different idea. Expression softening, he pulls Jean closer again. Their lips brush. And Floch kisses him first.

Jean’s eyes flutter shut, and even if it’s sloppy and hesitant, he slumps against Floch’s warmth, kissing him back until they are both breathless.

“See?” Floch pants, his hands cradling Jean’s face again. “You listen to me. I’m more than my instinct, and so are you.”

“Yeah …”

“So …” Floch licks his lips and looks away, a bit red in the face. “Do you wanna get off?”

“Yeah! No! Wait? Are … are you even hard?” Jean blurts out.

Floch glances back at him, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, and rubs his thigh against Jean’s crotch. “No. But you are. So flattering to know I have this effect on you.”

“Like, it’s new,” Jean breathes out, his face burning hot.

“You were smoother during my heat. Where did all your experience go? Southward to meet your other brain?”

“Shut up,” Jean snaps before sealing their mouths together again. He repositions himself, grinding down. It’s nowhere as good as if they were humping each other naked, but the friction still tears a guttural groan from his throat. His tongue slides over Floch’s. His hips rock back and forth, chasing the pleasure he’s been fantasizing so much about. Floch grabs his shoulder with one hand, fingers digging into his jacket, while the other reaches down to knead his ass.

Jean freezes at first, rut-fuelled instinct rebelling with all its might. But the anger flickers away, and he licks Floch’s bottom lip. “You could fuck me. I’d let you.” It might not be what an alpha primarily needs, but it’ll scratch the itch regardless, Jean knows it. He just has to wrestle his instinct, and then—

But Floch pulls a face. “Disgusting. Not touching your asshole.” His harsh words don’t stop him from grabbing the back of Jean’s neck. They exchange another heated kiss, and Floch hooks a leg around Jean’s waist. Floch’s scent, sweet and soothing like rarely, wraps them into a soft cocoon.

Is his companion getting excited or is he just indulging him? Jean can’t quite tell. Doesn’t wanna know either. Hell, indulging him is not bad anyway, Jean can work with that.

The bucking of his hips grow more desperate and urgent by the second. He abandons Floch’s lips to bite down on his collar, the rough fabric brushing his tongue. A poor diversion, but it still quenches the urge to claim and mark and make sure Floch belongs to him forever. As long as Floch is covered with Jean’s scent and Jean with his, it’ll be proof that they own each other, right?

Fuck, he’s so close, so close, so—“Are you serious now? In my horse’s stall?!”

*~*

Nothing can kill a boner faster than Eren Jaeger. Well, an attack from Marley would too, but the annoying prick’s indignant yell is still high on the list.

Growling his frustration, Jean pushes himself up and turns to the entrance. Eren glares, of course. And Jean stomps forward, eager to punch Eren’s lights out. But Floch firmly grabs Jean’s arm before he can.

Maybe it’s for the best. The beta has always been strong. Probably another nice gift from his titan shifter’s blood. It’s not like Jean can win against someone who heals fast and never lacks stamina.

But more than that, Jean would regret the violence once he cools down, because it’d be the rut acting for him.

Jean breathes in and out, and relaxes fists he didn’t realise he clenched. “Sorry about that.” Apologizing stings his tongue. Still, it’s the right thing to do, isn’t it?

At least Eren’s gaze softens—a rare sight these days. Rubbing the back of his neck, he glances away and clears his throat. “Well, it’s just that I didn’t expect to stumble on you two. Could you do this in a room?” Eren gives Floch a quick glance. “And also, why are you even here? I was supposed to clean the stalls.”

“The Captain made me,” Floch dryly says, his hand still locked around Jean’s bicep. Why? It’s not like Jean still wants to pick a fight.

But here it is again, Eren’s annoyed look. “He did what? But you’re not even good at cleaning!”

If it weren’t for Floch, Jean would lunge forward and shove Eren to the ground. “Hey, shut up! He’s amazing!” Especially when he washes and grooms Jean in a bath. Yes. Right. They should do that. Now. Or take a shower, even if the water is cold. Anywhere where they can be naked and exploring each other. They still have that lavender soap. They don’t need more to rinse the awful stench of horses off their skin. Then Jean will carry Floch to—

“Can you not be horny for thirty seconds?” Eren curls his lips, his body tensing as if he’s about to throw a punch. Jean readies himself too, even if his mind still clings to his sensual daydream. Why does Eren always have to ruin everything?

Floch squeezes Jean’s arm, forcing back his attention to him. But the omega’s eyes are fixed on Eren. “If you’re so eager to clean the stalls, be my guest. I’ve done enough.”

Eren’s eyebrows shoot up. “But you said Captain Levi tasked you with—”

“Do I look like I care?” Floch shrugs, an insolent smile flicking on his face.

“Floch,” Jean warns, but Eren is louder than him. For once.

“You’d disobey the Captain’s orders?!”

Floch rolls his eyes. “Oh, wow, truly an unexpected event, me being reluctant to carry a superior’s order. I’m not on a quest to get his approval, and I thought you were aware of that …”

Instead of arguing more, Eren shuts his mouth right away, which is one of the least Eren-thing he ever did, especially with Floch.

Huh.

Jean looks between the two of them. Did he miss something? They always quarrel, although … Jean frowns. When did that happen for the last time? During the festival in Trost to celebrate the opening of their first railroad almost two months ago? Not even. Floch had been a bitch about being tasked with watching Yelena and her volunteers, but Eren didn’t fight him on that. However, he did several times before that when Floch would accompany Hange and Levi to the railroad building site. Hard to blame Eren. Floch liked to loudly remind them their efforts were fruitless and they’d be better off coercing the volunteers into giving them modern artillery schematics. Not that Floch was wrong either …

The air surrounding them thickens with the mix of their scents. It’s not quite hostile but the tension still tastes sour on Jean’s tongue and urges him to move between Floch and Eren, puffing his chest out. Even if he’s not sure which one he should protect from the other …

“Eren, you’ll follow your initial orders. I’m taking responsibility for him, so don’t worry.”

“Oh, I know. You always do.” Eren steps aside to let them pass and crosses his arm, his gaze turning serious.

This unshakable, stoic front he has been putting up a lot lately is nerve-racking. Jean can’t squash the feeling that he’s still missing some context, but he also doesn’t want to linger to find out what’s going on in Eren’s brain. Most likely, he’s thinking the same thing as everyone else—their impending doom. And his own death, that’ll happen sooner than Jean wants to, even if they rarely see eye to eye. However, it’s a conversation he’s in no state to have now, and besides, Eren made his point clear before—he won’t burden any of his friends with his power.

Eren wants them to live long lives. But can they really? The notion feels ridiculous, even as Jean interlocks his fingers with Floch’s.

#flojean #in my drafts #jean kirstein #floch forster #haywire #aot #omega verse #not beta read #full story will be added to my ao3 once finished and edited #yeah i know it's long and tumblr isn't the best platform for this but i have so many drafts i don't want to publish rn on Ao3

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