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Jean wakes to a loud rapping at his door. He turns over in his bed, squinting at the alarm clock’s red digits glaring in the darkness. 1:20AM. Who on earth would be at his door this late? With a groan, he obliges the stranger’s insistence and heaves himself off the bed. He drapes his fluffy robe over him, shrugging into it and tying the sash around his waist. It would have to do. Better than answering the door naked.
The rapping continues despite his footsteps approaching. There’s a murmuring on the other side of the door with the hint of a giggle. Jean stops to lean against the door and listen. The voice is warm and such a relief to hear. Its familiar lilt brings a smile to his face and he opens the door.
“Marco, buddy, it’s 1am,” he chuckles, leaning against the door frame. Dressed in a long military coat, Marco sways slightly under the hall light. His eyes hover briefly on the door before staring uncomfortably long into Jean’s. His smile fades in and out of laughter. Jean can’t help but join in on his apparent joy.
“I know, I know.” Marco tries to place his hand on the door frame to lean against it, but his hand slides up and he falters for a moment. He laughs it off and pushes himself off the wall to saunter up to Jean, closer than he normally would stand. “You gonna le’ me in, hmmm?”
Jean huffs a laugh and closes his eyes, shaking his head. “What are you doing here?”
“Lemme in.” His hand presses ever so slightly against Jean’s chest. It isn’t until he leans against him that Jean realises Marco is trying to push his way in. He can smell the alcohol then. It’s sweet with a hint of spice, but he can’t place it.
“Okay. Come on in.” Jean opens the door and gestures in. Marco follows his direction and walks into Jean’s studio apartment. It’s a large open space, lit by the combination of moonlight and city lights streaming through the windows. Jean hadn’t seen to getting the blinds fitted yet. As Marco stands there before the couch, lit softly by the moonlight, Jean hardly regrets his procrastination.
Marco sticks his thumbs into his pockets and shrugs. “Iz y’r birfday.” His voice seems to be slipping more and more into a slur.
“Uh huh, yes.” Jean approaches, rubbing his eyebrow. “It’s also the middle of the night. On my birthday. You’re a little early for the party.” He gestures around at the empty room and points down to his nightgown, remembering it’s all that he is wearing.
“I thought we could have our own party.” Marco looks up sheepishly then. A small hiccup interrupts the dead silence of the night. Jean can only hear the breaths he takes as he realises what Marco means. They become slower and heavier and soon he can no longer hear them over the beating of his heart. Even in the dim light he can see Marco slowly unbutton his coat.
“Marco, look, I think you’ve had too much to drink.” Jean raises his eyebrows with a flicker of a concerned smile. He appreciates the gesture, but it doesn’t feel right. He closes his eyes, frustrated at the turn of events.
Marco steps forward. The coat is half-way unbuttoned. “I’m fine, Jean. I - I go’ here a’right.” Despite his words, he struggles to undo his coat.
“Please.” Jean’s voice cracks a little. He’s not sure he has the willpower to stop Marco, but he pushes himself to say the word anyway. “Stop.”
“But Jean.” He unbuttons the last one and tries to shrug the coat over his shoulders. It fails and lingers on him. It drapes open, making it incredibly clear to Jean that Marco wasn’t wearing anything underneath. “I god’ all dress’ f’r you.”
Jean becomes very aware of how very little of his nightgown is held together. He immediately moves to the couch to sit down, crossing one leg over the other to hide his erection, hoping it will die down. Now closer, Marco’s body shimmers in the light and Jean’s eyes wander over him, taking everything in.
“Is that…” He squints. Marco moves and tiny silver dots flicker over him from chest to thighs. Jean gulps, feeling warm in his cheeks.
Marco chuckles like he’s been caught out. “Glidder.” His hands self consciously rub across his pecs. He nods and staggers across to Jean, arms up to show him. Marco’s crotch moves into his eyeline. It seems happy to see him.
“Marco…” Jean clears his throat. It’s difficult to look away. His eyes dart up to Marco’s eyes and back down again. True to Marco’s word, he was dusted from shoulder to knee in silver glitter.
Marco tries to lean onto the couch slowly but fails, falling heavily with all the grace of a misguided puppy. He bumps his shoulder against the couch and nudges against it to balance himself. He pulls at the coat again, tugging it down his arms. “I coul’ be your presen’.” Marco pulls at the sleeves until they are like flippers on his hands.
“And that’s really sweet, Marco, but…” Jean covers his eyes. This is all too much.
Marco leans forward, the couch creaking beneath him. His hand presses into Jean’s thigh for balance. “It’s edible. You c’n eat me.” Marco sucks on one of his fingers. He tries to make it look effortless but Jean chuckles at how much it looks like he’s trying to clean his teeth. He is trying too hard and nowhere near sober enough to stop himself.
“Wh-what?” His mind runs over all the ways he could test how Marco tastes, and he shuts his eyes to block out the image. He can’t. Not now. It isn’t right to go along with this when Marco’s clearly downed all that liquid courage to try this on him.
Marco looks over himself, swaying on his knees. He runs a finger up his abs, collecting the glitter on his finger, and presents it shakily before Jean’s face. “Tryyy me.”
Jean stares, frozen in place, and licks his lips. “Marco.”
Marco nods encouragingly, running his finger across Jean’s lower lip, pulling it down gently. “Please?” Jean laughs nervously and slowly opens his mouth to run his tongue across Marco’s finger. It tastes like vanilla. He tastes like vanilla.
Jean sinks back into the couch, crossing his legs harder. He struggles to focus, breathing heavily, his pulse racing. He covers his mouth, savouring the taste on his lips, and curses into his hand. "Holy shit, you taste amazing."
Marco takes his mumbling as an invitation to lean up against him. He’s clumsy when he does, making himself an uncomfortable weight pressing Jean further into the couch. Jean reaches up with both hands, pushing him up by the shoulders. “Marco. I can’t do this.” The eyes that greet him look hurt, but as horrible as Jean feels to turn him down, he’d feel worse if he went along with it. “It’s a really nice present. You’re a really nice present, but I really want you to be… you, if I’m going to…”
“Swallow me whole?” Marco rubs his own thigh. His thumb brushes close to his erection that Jean’s eyes are trying to desperately to avoid.
Jean’s breath hitches and squeaks as he realises it. He closes his eyes to focus. Marco is leant back now. The view is too distracting. He rushes the words so everything is finally out there. “How about we pick this up in the morning?” He squints out of the corner of his eye at Marco, who is now nodding like a bobblehead. Jean smiles, trying to calm himself down so he can make it until morning. “Then at least I can unwrap you myself.”