aftg | jerejean | rated t
a/n: this is my very first aftg fic and tbh the first fic i've written in a very long time, but i felt inspired!! i'm only about 60% done with the golden raven so pls keep that in mind!!
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It was late at night when Jeremy came home from the long drive from his parent’s house and back here. It had been another family dinner and though he’d tried everything within his power to get out of it, he’d failed. He had, however, managed to get out of staying the night thanks to his early morning practice the following day.
He was happy to pull into Laila’s driveway, despite the ridiculously late hour and his exhaustion. He glanced at the analog clock on his dashboard and the numbers read 1:43 AM.
Jeremy cut the engine and mopped a hand down his exhausted face as he climbed out and locked the doors behind him. He figured everyone would be asleep given the time and their incredibly early practice start time, but he noticed the kitchen light was on when he walked in through the door as he toed off his shoes.
He didn’t bother calling out, in case everyone was in fact sleeping and the light had accidentally been left on.
Jeremy was surprised to see Jean, of all people, in the kitchen.
Or maybe, not as much considering how sporadic the other man’s sleep schedule tended to be at times. He was sure that years at Edgar Allen played a heavy hand in that, but he wouldn’t dwell right now. He’d spent most of his night tamping down his anger while he dealt with his family, he didn’t have the capacity to dwell on something else that made him equally as upset.
At Jeremy’s arrival, Jean didn’t look up from what he’d been doing immediately, seemingly very concentrated on what he was measuring out onto a spoon. He dumped the contents into a pot that was steaming on the stove before finally looking up at Jeremy.
“Surprised to find you awake,” Jeremy said, stifling a yawn as he opened the door to the fridge and plucked out a bottle of water. He cracked it open as he closed the door with his hip.
Jeremy looked over at Jean to find him pressing a finger to one of the pages of Cat’s cookbooks, seemingly muttering something under his breath in deep concentration.
“What are you making at this hour?” Jeremy asked as he came up beside Jean. The smell finally hit him and he let out a satisfied hum. “Smells good.”
Without looking up, Jean said, “American goulash.”
For some reason, the way Jean said, in such a serious tone American goulash, had Jeremy smiling fondly. “I do love me some goulash. Dallas used to make it for me all the time when I was little. Though, I’ve…never heard anyone refer to it as American goulash.”
“It originated in Hungary,” Jean said matter of factly, still serious as ever despite Jeremy’s smile.
“I guess that is true…” Jeremy murmured. “Well,” he gulped his water, “It looks and smells amazing.”
Jean was staring down at the recipe book, eyebrows pinched together in concentration as his fingers traced each line one by one. “I think I have missed something.”
Jeremy blinked. “Want me to try it, see if I can figure it out?”
Jean nodded without looking up. “Perhaps.” And then he reached for the wooden spoon that was sitting on the counter. He dipped it into the pot and held it out to Jeremy.
Jeremy reached his free hand up to take the spoon, but was briefly distracted with the way Jean was staring right at him, expectantly. Jeremy looked at the spoon, fingers reaching for it, but Jean didn’t let go. He panicked for a moment as he looked up from the spoon, to Jean’s face.
“Are you going to try it?” Jean asked, almost sounding confused.
Jeremy’s fingers went lax against the spoon as he leaned a little closer to finally take a bite.
Jean didn’t move as he watched him. And suddenly, Jeremy couldn’t focus on what he was supposed to be doing, far too distracted with every ounce of Jean’s attention directly on him.
Jean’s gray eyes looked a little darker in the low lighting, and Jeremy couldn’t help but focus on just that.
“Well?” Jean asked, his voice coming out a little quieter than Jeremy had expected. And…had he imagined the slight waver in it?
“Just needs a bit more salt,” Jeremy finally said as Jean pulled the spoon away and bit off what Jeremy hadn’t eaten.
Jeremy’s brain nearly splattered on the damn wall as he watched Jean lick his lips right after as he nodded in agreement.
Jeremy turned away immediately and chugged his water.
Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Jean sprinkling some salt into the pot before stirring it and holding it out for Jeremy to try again. This time, Jeremy didn’t make the mistake of trying to take the spoon from him. Instead, he just leaned in and took a bite. He nodded and smiled. “It’s perfect.”
Jean’s eyes went down to Jeremy’s mouth. He set the spoon aside and said something quiet in french Jeremy didn’t catch as he reached a hand out. He swiped his thumb across the corner of his mouth. “You have sauce on your face.”
He just fucking stood there, stock still, frozen in place as he stared at Jean. His eyes were still on Jeremy’s mouth. Then, up to his eyes. Jeremy didn’t say anything and neither did Jean.
Jeremy waited for Jean to step out of his space, but he didn’t. He remained rooted in place and if it had been anybody else, Jeremy would have had them against the counter by now, hands pushing up their shirt.
But this wasn’t just anyone.*
This was Jean Moreau. This was his team partner. This was the man he was supposed to be looking out for, not taking advantage of. He knew what he’d been through and Jeremy would string himself up before he ever made the first move.
He’d known there was something there, hanging above them. It was so subtle, easy to miss, but Jeremy could feel the mutual attraction. But..god, it was really, really fucking complicated in so many ways.
And Jean Moreau was looking at Jeremy in a way that was reminding him that the attraction was very much mutual. That made something hot and needy twist up in his stomach.
Jean leaned in and Jeremy’s knees nearly gave out as he dropped the bottle of water onto the counter.
Jeremy’s hand came up and touched Jean’s jaw. He felt him startle in the slightest, but he didn’t pull away. The tiny jump had been so small, Jeremy had nearly missed it.
Jean’s mouth opened against his and Jeremy moved to press him against the counter and suddenly something clattered and Jean hissed as he broke away, turning quickly to catch the pot before it completely fell over on the stove. Jeremy had accidentally pushed him against the stove and--
“Fuck,” Jeremy huffed out. “Shit, I’m so sorry.”
Jean let out something that almost sounded like…a laugh. If it wouldn’t have been for the way Jeremy had seen that there was a small smile on Jean’s face, he would have been convinced he’d imagined it.
That Jean had *laughed,* and then said, “It’s ok.”
Jean had managed to save most of it, but a good amount ended up on the stove. Jeremy rushed to grab paper towels to clean it up. He refused Jean’s help as he wiped up the bit that ended up on the floor and rushed over to the kitchen to rinse his sauce-covered hands off.
As he was shutting the sink off, he reached for the paper towels to find that they weren’t there. He’d grabbed the entire roll in his haste and left it by the stove on the floor. When he turned, Jean was already there, handing him the roll.
Jeremy quietly said, “Thanks.” He set the roll down and dried his hands, looking down at them as he did so.
Jean didn’t move from his side. After a few drawn out moments, he asked, “Was that…ok?”
Jeremy wasn’t sure he’d ever heard Jean Moreau sound so…uncertain of himself. It made his heart go impossibly weak. He turned, maybe a little faster than he should have. “Yes, definitely. Yes.” He said yes twice. Shit.
There was that small smile again. The one that had Jeremy’s heart stuttering.
“Ok.” Jean nodded. “Good.” And then he turned back toward the stove to begin pouring the leftovers into a container.
“I should really go to bed,” Jeremy said. “That drive took it out of me.”
Jean nodded, and gave a small wave over his shoulder.
“Remember, early practice tomorrow.” He sort of felt like a mother hen, but he wanted to make sure Jean was getting rest. Taking care of himself.
“I know,” was Jean’s response.
Jeremy crossed the kitchen, over to the stove where he’d left his bottle. When Jean glanced at him curiously, Jeremy smiled and held up the bottle. “Good night,” he said.
Jean caught him by the arm before he could walk off. Jeremy froze, glancing back at him. Jean’s eyes traced his face, the line of his neck and then flicked back up to Jeremy’s eyes. “Good night,” he said as he let Jeremy go.
When he climbed into bed a few minutes later, Jeremy squashed his pillow onto his face and tried not to scream and kick his feet.
fin.
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