#unwrap

Before he can even strip himself, he brings out his newly bought robe from the other day, so fluffy to the touch that it feels like petting a lamb. Marco leaves it hanging on the bathroom door before checking the water temperature about five times for the specific needed heat. When just right, he sheds off his nightshirt and instantly steps right in.

Oh how soothing does the running water feel on his shoulders, dripping down his back and all the way to his thighs. Certainly beats the lesser warmth from underneath the blankets of the bed, or the cheap, lacklustre soup he made himself prior to this.

Marco whole-heartedly embraces the tender warmth with a sigh of relief. From running his fingers through his black hair with foreign shampoo - shipped all the way from Marley - to the sensation of the rinsed soap dripping down his freckled skin. By the time he’s about finished, it feels as if his dreaded cold has been completely flushed down the drain too.

One foot steps out of the tub when suddenly a knock on the main door occurs.

*Knock* *Knock*

Although causing him to jolt for a second, Marco gets himself ready before answering - by that I mean rapidly slipping on his new fluffy robe without a second thought.

*Knock!* *Knock!*

With the knocks getting more harsh, he barely gives himself time to properly knot the belt or even comb his hair either. It’d be mortifying to appear like in front of anyone else, but ends up being lucky to see the one person who’s ever allowed to seem him in this state.

Jean Kirstein burts through the opened door like a bull and rams right into his fiancé’s chest, nearly knocking him to the floor. In contrast to the warm shower he just had, his fingers turn chilly from even the lightest touch on Jean’s coat. Snow melts off from the fabric and even drips down his mullet, some landing onto Marco’s foot and sends a chill through his veins. This drives him to move his hands up to Jean’s reddish cheeks, and as expected, are as freezing as icicles.

“Geez, Jean. How long were you out there?” Marco questions in a soft yet concerned tone.

“I had no choice but to run my way back here due to the roads being too icy for horse carriages.” Jean explains as he steadies back onto his feet.

The small blood patch on his knee confirms it.

Marco shakes his head at this. “Even though three years have passed since war, you’re still as reckless as ever.”

“Heh. I’m afraid that won’t wash away anytime soon, baby.”

The two share a light chuckle under their breathes. Speaking of wash, however, Jean quickly catches on the fresh scent coming from his beloved and picks up that he recently showered - not that the fluffy robe is an obvious clue. His instincts have him drag his own feet closer to gaze downwards at those pecs, all freckled and shiny, a perfect feast for the eyes.

And you know Marco will notice, spreading a little grin onto his face and his cheeks grow pinker. An idea has plopped inside his head which will certainly help Jean warm up again no doubt. But first, Jean states the obvious.

“I see the shower helped you with that cold, hm?”

Those cheeky eyebrows; he’s just teasing him at this point.

“It really has.” Marco notifies. “You should have one too… or do you have something else in mind?”

Jean pauses. He can’t properly speak a sentence while his mind races with arousement. He can also sense his own hand gravitating towards Marco’s hip, brushing the fluff on the robe carefully. Why does it feel like an eternity since he has touched him all of a sudden?

Yet with his heart wanting him to go through with his inner desires, his brain shifts his eyes over to the work desk on the opposite side of the room, reminding him what he came rushing back for. “I-I’m afraid I can’t stay long.” The dressed man stutters. “I had to come back for a missive I left here.”

Marco drops his eyebrows in disappointment. On one hand he can emotionally understand how important their current work is (something he also had to put up with the meeting too if he weren’t sick) but is also really cautious and knows when to put his foot down when it comes to personal health.

He attempts to convince by cupping Jean’s face with his warm hands and kiss his fiancé full on the lips.

“Darling, do you remember how I caught my cold in the first place?” Marco queried, parting their kiss.

“I know it was from being stuck outside for too long due to traffic, but-”

“Exactly, and seeing the state that you’re in, it won’t take long for you to catch one too - or break your knee even further.”

In this moment of concern, Jean can now sense Marco’s fingers steadily transfer upwards towards the collar of his thick, grey coat. Since he was in a rush to return here, he forgot to fasten the top button, making it easier for his fiancé to semi-spread said collar apart. His right hand then goes for the first button on Jean’s white shirt underneath; the glimmer in his eyes get more eager.

No words should be needed, as the taller man can read those eyes like an open book, but the message is driven home to him anyway:

“Stay here.” Marco pleads softly. “At least until you’re warmed up again, okay?”

There’s always something within Marco’s voice which makes it very hard to reject. That combined with his desperate look, forming a thin line between actually wanting Jean’s safety or wanting his physical affection, some things just cannot be helped.

Besides, it doesn’t seem like the package in his pants will calm down until his aspirations are made.

So Jean willingly drops his case (a literal one) and spreads out his arms halfway, the clear sign to allow Marco to undo the cold wrapped around him.

The coat comes first, being tirelessly toss aside without a second thought. All the cold that absorbed into it still soaked the back of his shirt but luckily it comes next. Chilly fingers take their time unbuttoning it all the way down to the last, some may even slip through to have a feel at the chest underneath, causing a hum to escape pass its owner’s lips.

Once again, it’s thrown away to focus more on the next phase: removal of the belt along with the slacks. Jean keeps his gaze on his lover the whole time, his cheeks already heating up at the sight and thought of him removing more than just his pants - his bulge will be very hard to ignore anyway. How he internally wants to grab onto that raven-black hair and guide him even closer to that length once it’s uncovered; surely the freckled man wouldn’t mind having it rough. His moan of delight unfortunately comes to a halt after Marco stands back up from one glance at Jean's boxers, just one.

The former is smart enough to hear the disappointed groan from the back of Jean’s throat and has to look him straight in the eye to inform him: “None of that until we’re properly married, okay?”

Either Marco isn’t as thirsty as he led on to be or is desperately trying to maintain his principles, either way, it briefly leaves a sour expression on Jean.

However, those delicate kisses Marco pecks all over his abs lightens him back up again. They pick up in speed and lead all the way to Jean’s neck, and he felt the vibration of his satisfaction upon his own lips. One dainty nibble at that spot causes the final straw of holding back to be taken.

With no warning does Jean grip his hands onto Marco’s legs, lift him up into his arms and carry him boldly to their bed. Marco is shocked at the sudden action but slowly embraces it as Jean slides his right hand all the way down his thigh under the robe.

All Marco needs to confirm his speculation is the low, alluring whisper Jean gives into his ear.

“Your turn.”

Now, with leaving that thigh alone for the time being, shifts his hand towards the belt and loosens the knot effortlessly. The lovers’ eyes fixiate on each other, full of trust and lust, something that’s been clear between them for three years. Jean breaks the eye-contact for him to focus on the semi-dry freckled shoulder now revealed to himself, his lips wanting to make connection with every single freckle, which he does.

Marco can revisit the tenderness from earlier but now in the hands and mouth from his lover. With every kiss he’s gifted with, a pleasured moan falls upon Jean’s ears. This encourages to continue all the way down the rest of the body; furthermore, unwrapping the extra warmth of the robe (like Marco needs it).

Shortly does Jean finally gets to his favourite part of him - the thighs. The sight of the light quiver out of excitement as he lifts on up high drives Jean mad, and instantly begins kissing on the inside skin. Marco whines and leans his head back onto the pillow, ravished by the care given to his legs, a great contender to the warmth of the shower - no, scratch that, it’s even better.

Heat expands throughout their veins as the pleasure carries out. Especially once the kissing turns into dainty nips and bites, Marco has so much redness flowing in his cheeks which he cannot hide. Jean takes ear of his noisy whines, and now desires to look at his aroused partner straight in the face.

The harsh grip on the thighs have vanished, the taller man climbs his way back up to the top of the bed, meeting with a sweaty, panting fiancé half-smiling up at him. They wish to speak, at least one small word, but choose to express themselves with a kiss instead. Marco wraps his arms around Jean’s back to reel him in closer, and he feels the warmth now pulsing there, a big contrast to how freezing he was since the first second he walked in.

Their lips part barely enough to have them graze upon each other, hot breaths still remain, and yet still have a lot to say.

“Feel better now?” Marco begins, cracking a smile.

“Definitely.” Jean calmly responds.

“Much more better than being out there, huh?”

“What do you think?”

As much as Jean wants to keep on staring into those warming eyes, the heat is a bit too much and forces him to turn over onto his back right next to his equally tired lover. They try to keep their warmth connected by clutching onto each other’s hands.

The peacefulness within the room does get interrupted, however. “But hypothetically speaking, if we were to return to work tomorrow, will I not get chewed out by everyone else?”

“We’re soon to be wedded, Jean. They’ll understand.”

“Yeah? Well I’ll still have you to blame just in case.”

Once more do the embracing couple share a laugh over the dumb bit of humor before slowly closing their eyes for the night.

-

The late night moon is now shielded by darker, thicker clouds, and the snow falls harder onto the streets of Paradis. Standing in the middle of it, Armin Arlert remains puzzling on what could be taking his co-worker so long. His nose is bright red, his fingers feel like icicles, and is quivering like there’s no tomorrow.

Before he knows it, a loud, bombastic sneeze escapes.