dedicated to mintycrystal’s amazing art of Marco and Jean stretching and the conversation with her and nippaaah and twitter. You left me no other choice, comrades. Here we go with a short drabble.

———————-

“I’m gonna pair you up for stretching now. Do it thoroughly, you don’t want to hurt your ligaments! Girls first, you guys wait until I’m done and then you’ll start.”

The trainer of the cheerleading class was obviously designed to be a young slender woman with legs as flexible as a rubber band. Otherwise she wouldn’t sit there, thighs split into the most impossible angles and still a smile on her face.

Jean had no idea why he’d started all of this, cheerleading (that included stretching) wasn’t really his thing and neither were those damn tight pants that stuck to his body obnoxiously and outlined all of his bumps.

Maybe it was the temptation to see short skirts flying up with every other movement. Maybe it was to get his own hands on a nice female butt when lifting a tiny figure of a girl up in the air and have her cling to his shoulders, squealing and laughing when he threatened to let her fall, whispering a soft “idiot” and still meaning the opposite, because he was so damn smooth when flirting –

Jean smirked and the trainer’s voice blurred and faded, his attention swayed away from instructions and warnings.

Being a male cheerleader had undeniable benefits and all of those were sitting on the floor and bending forward to push their arms up and butt out into his general direction. God, cheerleading was a wonderful sport and should be taught in every gym class, Jean decided and elbowed the guy next to him, grinned, and twitched his head towards the girls. 

“Hey, you here for them too? I’d seriously die to lift one of those cuties up in the air and peek under their skirts.” Having at least one male friend around here would be nice. All the guys were standing in a row and waiting to start stretching. The trainer was still giving instructions to the girls, and to Jean’s disappointment she also reminded them to switch positions soon and keep their skirts at a reasonable level.

Dammit. 

“Actually I’m here for the sport itself.”

A low voice replied from his left and Jean jolted.

The guy he had spoken to was now looking at him. His dark hair was pushed back, a few wisps framing his sharp jaw. He should cut it, Jean thought, it made him look so soft and warm. Men were supposed to be masculine and not have the facial features of an attractive woman – what? And no guy should have that many freckles, and why the hell was Jean now eyeing down on him and checking if his pants were as tight as his own – oh god, they were.

“For… the sport?”

Jean had found his speech back and threw the trainer a glance. Still busy, and with the other guys talking out of boredom, he could also make new friends around here. And no guy went cheerleading without clear intentions. He was probably just shy to admit it. Perfect, maybe he’d make a nice wingman. So Jean tried his brightest smile and brought one hand to the guy’s ear, whispering:

“You aren’t here for some cute girls? Nah, I don’t believe you. You can tell me, ’s cool.”

Jean grinned smugly, feeling absolutely certain that he’d just found an ally for this boring practice. But Mr. Too-Many-Freckles just quirked a dark brow and wrinkled his nose. Adorable, Jean thought, and then he mentally slapped himself because those weren’t female freckles and definitely no cute dimples along the guy’s cheeks when he smirked –

“Too bad you aren’t here for the sport. No, I’m not doing this for the girls. The butts are a plus though, well – not theirs but maybe yours, to be honest.” What was that supposed to mean? Jean made a face and his hand slid off the guy’s shoulder.

“Uh. What? I mean – hah?”

Jean bursted out a few unintelligible noises and wrung his hands helplessly. All of a sudden, he felt really uncomfortable. That guy was looking up and down on him, and the way his mouth twitched in amusement wasn’t exactly comfortable anymore. Jean swallowed a lump in his throat.

“You’re not here for – uh. You actually enjoy this shit?”

“I play for the other team. Also, maybe we should exchange names first before you come talking about girls’ butts to me. I’m Marco. And yes, I’ve been cheerleading for six years now.”

The guy simply took Jean’s hand and shook it. Jean barely squeezed back. He was busy gathering the ruins of his self-confidence that had just been blown away by a simple silent statement of “I’m gay and you just made a fool of yourself” by the cutest version of a Marco Jean had ever seen. Marcos were supposed to be old Italian guys in pizza restaurants, with terrible accents and lame pick-up lines for women.

Marcos were so NOT supposed to be two inches taller than him, have a far too large biceps tensing under tanned skin, and they were definitely not supposed to smile as if Jean had just embarrassed himself in the most awkward way possible.

When had it gotten warmer in here, Jean briefly wondered and tugged at his shirt collar. “Fuck, man, I’m – sorry. For saying that it’s shit. You, uh, seem to take this sports thing really seriously, that’s cool. But you’re seriously really gay?”

“Yes, I am ‘really gay’. Not half gay, not 40 percent gay. Homo from head to my manicured toes. And I love cheerleading.”

Jean laughed and bursted out: “You seriously manicure your toes?!” Then he stopped and clapped a hand over his mouth. Shit.

“No, that was a joke.”

Marco smiled sweetly and still, Jean was a bit afraid of the low rumble in his voice when he raised both hands behind his head and tip-toed up with a grunt. He wasn’t the most tactful person and he very well realized that Marco was going easy on him. Anyone else might have already hit him. So why couldn’t his stupid mouth stay shut?

“Gay,” Jean breathed shakily and kind of wanted to sit down and scream for a few minutes.

No cute girls for him, instead a training around guys who were after HIS butt. Suddenly, he pitied the girls, knowing how they’d feel under his eyes. Moral of the story ahead, fuckin’ shit.

“Okay, that’s uh – a surprise. You don’t look like you, well, prefer cock over a cute butt.” Fuck. That had been hella insulting and Jean instinctively bit his lip before he spilled more nonsense. But could he even be blamed? He’d never met a gay guy before. But Marco, the guy with freckles and an unfairly strong rippedness, laughed out loud and Jean decided that he was officially too nice for this world when Marco said softly:

“You know, gays aren’t a mystery. We actually exist. And I wouldn’t advise you to hit on the girls, by the way. Our trainer might be small but she could roundhouse-kick you straight into the infirmary.” Marco brought his arms back down and flexed them behind his body, turning the fingers outwards and lacing them up. Jean automatically imitated him and the other male cheerleaders followed them.

Marco then said: “So, why don’t you just take a lesson of cheerleading? Too late to flee now, anyways. Also, for the taking cock thing – I still like cute butts, too. Just not from girls.”

Jean nearly choked on his own breath when Marco winked and turned to face the approaching trainer. Fucking shit, what the HELL had he gotten himself into?

“Oh and Jean? Coming here to assault girls isn’t nice. Just imagine – how would you feel? Let’s find out.”

Jean stared up at dark brown eyes and fuck, it felt as if he’d just swallowed his own tongue because Marco’s calm words had him open and close his mouth dumbly now, and when the trainer put them into pairs and Marco began to guide him over to the yoga mats by grabbing his wrist painfully hard, Jean knew he was fucked.

—————

Five minutes later, and Jean cursed all existing deities into the smoldering depths of purgatory and hell.

Marco was spread open before him and panting heavily. His arms were holding onto Jean’s knees and he threw his head back in a breathy moan when Jean pressed forward and towered over him.

“God Jean, don’t treat me like I’m porcelain. I can handle your hands being rough. Just – ” And then Marco honest to god moaned in pleasure and rocked forward into Jean’s arms, his legs looming into the sky. 
“Fuck, just like that, you’re so good to me.

"Shut up, shut the fuck up.”

Marco smirked, and Jean wanted to wipe the smugness and content hum off his stupid mouth.

Marco threw him a lewd noise and a “come on, harder” and Jean included him in his curses, even thought of an extra painful death for Marco-not-Italian-but-perverted-as-hell. That guy was enjoying every second of their collective stretching, and the position Jean was forced to treat him in was pure and utter humiliation and brought a flush of blood to his cheeks.

Marco was lying on his back, legs outstretched into the air and his butt pressing into Jean’s knees. And because of that damn trainer, they had been paired up – (“Marco, you can show Jean how to stretch, he’s new after all!” – “Yes, I’d love to”) and Marco was taking his revenge through agonizingly slowly stretching himself with Jean’s help and his fingers wrapped tightly around Marco’s calves.

‘I’m not gay,’ Jean thought as he bent Marco’s legs a bit and shifted around, searching for the position in which he’d fell as little as possible from the firm backside prodding into his knee and distracting him. ‘I’m not gay, and stretching Marco’s legs isn’t turning me on the slightest bit.’

“What’s the matter, Jean?” Marco’s eyes had turned into malicious black blurs, focused entirely on Jean. His grip around Jean’s knees was merciless, muscles of his forearms protruding and stretching under his tanned skin. Jean licked his lips and wished he’d shut up earlier. He wished that all the girls were gone and that he could just apologize, and maybe find out just how flexible Marco was.

“I’m fuckin’ fine,” Jean pressed out between gritting teeth and cursed the sweat dripping down his hairline and falling from his nose to Marco’s chest. Marco’s legs were still tensed but now they were shaking the slightest bit and Jean knew he was at his limits. The strained muscles under soft skin quivered, and Jean instinctively caressed Marco’s calves with his thumbs.

“What about you?”

His voice cracked, a mere whisper left of it at the end of his pathetically weak question. Marco’s eyes had fallen shut after Jean’s last long press and now flew open again. Fuckin’ shit, the sight Jean was getting was seriously to die for. Marco had intented to mock him, punish him for the impudence Jean had allowed himself with him. And yeah, okay fine, he had been tactless and stupid.

“I’m peachy, babe,” Marco purred and his tongue made a quick appearance, coating his mouth and Jean felt his sanity crumble. Oh god, this was heaven and hell and the best torture ever.

But now they were both panting from the stretching before, and with Marco’s legs resting in Jean’s sweaty hands, and his thumbs tracing the skin insecurely, dancing lightly over Marco’s ankles, it was a whole different story. No punishment anymore, or revenge for him being an asshole about someone gay. In fact, Jean would doubt his own sexuality right now, with a tall masculine cheerleader pressed to his heaving chest, if only he could take his eyes off Marco’s cute lips.

“How long,” Jean bit his own bottom lip and worried it for a second. Marco watched him with blown out eyes; the gym was boiling from heat and other people panting and stretching, and Marco waited for his reply with a face peeking from in between slightly parted legs. Fuck it, just fuck it.

“H-how long do we have to do this?” Jean let his head sink down, it fell into Marco’s legs and then all pressure was gone. Marco yelped softly and his knees bent rapidly. He threw them around Jean and pulled him down in a wave of force. Jean had no time to think, his elbows caught the momentum and he came to a halt, hovering a few centimeters from Marco’s sweat-damp face.

“We’re done when you learned your lesson,” Marco breathed out shakily, his fingers tangling in Jean’s hair and fuck, Jean’s eyes widened when Marco brought his knee over his crotch and rubbed against him. That last moan he could impossibly bite back. Jean sunk down and cracked.

“I’m sorry, fuckin’ shit, okay! I’m sorry I – s-stop it, you idiot!”

But Marco seemed to be perfectly content with holding Jean against his chest, his legs wrapped tightly around Jean’s sweat-damp waist, lips pulling back into a white-teethed smirk.

“Fine. You owe me a date and I’ll let you stretch me a bit more until that problem of yours goes away.” Marco purred and tilted his head on the mat, hair spread out darkly around him, eyes glowing in smoldering heat. One hand found Jean’s crotch and gave it a squeeze, fingers cupping him through his gym pants.

“G-god, I – fine, okay! You always get what you want, right?!” Marco made a soft noise and unwrapped his legs, bringing them back to his chest – but this time his ass pressed between Jean’s thighs and rocked gently into him.

“I do, you’re right. And I have the feeling that you’ll only run after one cheerleader in the future.” Jean rolled his eyes and punished Marco’s boldness with a curl of his fingernails into the freckled skin of his stupid attractive biceps.

“Only if you wear a skirt, asshole.”

Marco’s grin was the best promise in the world. “We can arrange that. Now get my legs up again, we’re not done stretching, Jean.”

He could get used to Marco saying his name like this.