so, finally, something a little more full-length! this is a slight au with a timeskip, set in the future where the shiganshina trio is separated and armin retains brief control of the scouting legion while irvin is summoned to the capital by the king.

these last few weeks i have honestly been supplementing as many things from my everyday life with shingeki no kyojin as i possibly can, and so this week with the recap episode i'm thankful for the downtime (not to mention the fandom is about to get really gross with this upcoming trial scene and i can't say i'm really looking forward to it). i spent quite a bit of time drafting something else for armin and eren but accidentally ended up raiding pixiv one day for every last piece of armin/jean fanart and betrayed eren super hard. i apologize for the pretentious writing and angst and theatrics – this was conceived during two days of nonstop listening to 自由への進撃. i hope that it's at least moderately enjoyable.

thank you.

1. The meeting in the war room adjourns and to his right, Jean rubs irritably at the back of his neck.

"These damn things keep getting longer and longer," he grouses, shutting his eyes. His brow furrows; he's exhausted, slouching in his chair in a way Armin would possibly reprimand had everyone not begun to shuffle out of the stuffy room or had he not found it oddly charming. He finds himself appreciative of Jean's candor, to say the least; behind the lenses of his spectacles do pale eyes flicker away from the crease of his long waist.

Armin leans forward and sweeps his reports into order, shuffling them as simply as a deck of cards. Rising, he turns to regard Jean – he cracks an eye open in response of Armin's presence, and Armin's mouth curls softly in a smile.

"Are you coming? Unless you would rather save yourself the trouble of waking up early for the next one…"

He makes an unpleasant face at the taunt. Jean groans and gets to his feet – it's become routine, a momentary reprieve of complaining while he gathers his materials, and Jean walks with him to his quarters.

2. "It's on the way," he said defensively, heat burning in his cheeks. "Hey, if you don't want me to—"

Armin laughs, so bright it thoroughly surprises the other. He tucked a long strand of hair behind his ear, an action as genuine as it is facetious. "Yes. I'd like that."

3. Habitual, Jean walks with his arms folded behind his head; Armin half-listens to the heavy thud of his boots in the hall and the deep reverberation of his voice as he blows off more steam.

"If I have to listen to one more of those geezers preach about how sacred the walls are I'll—"

"Jean," Armin laughs, pausing just outside of his door. "We're here already."

He twists his neck to take in the corridor before his focus darts from the blonde in front of him. "Yeah," he says sullenly, a little embarrassed at getting carried away. "I knew that."

"Was it really that bad?" he asks softly, noting how dark eyes return to study him after his inquiry. A solid silence forms between them before Jean's lip puckers sourly – he's pouting.

"There's just so much more we could get done. I'm tired of running in circles trying to find loopholes for these permits. What makes any of these old men think the walls are more important than the lives they protect?" Armin's a bit surprised at the fervor in his voice; times like this he recalls just how passionate Jean truly is. "How do they expect to protect their precious walls without any kind of firepower anyway?"

His nose turns up in a sneer, an expression rarely seen save the times Jean becomes truly indignant about the matters at hand. Armin allows himself to look for longer than necessary; takes in each detail of both growth and regression, weariness.

War has made them grow up much faster than they ever should have. For the first time, Armin disregards routine to reach out and touch.

Muscle twitches under the surface; his fingertips brush over high cheekbones and meet as they drag down to his chin. Jean's mouth parts in surprise and Armin can feel how he nearly pulls away.

"Would you like to come in?" His hands fall; fingers curling at his sides, tingling in sensory memory. "I don't think we should discuss something like this out here."

Jean nods once, a quick jerk of his head. Armin indulges in a tiny, secretive curl of his lips as he turns to twist the handle of the door – Jean is effectively stunned into silence with each passing moment, stepping into the room to be marveled at the size of it.

"Shut the door once you're in, please," Armin instructs, leaving him to stack his reports neatly on the desk by the window. Jean looks over each facet of his quarters – a bed in the corner in place of a cot, a cream colored couch and a low coffee table. He breaks his silence with a slight scoff.

"So this is the kind of place you get while the Commander's away, huh?"

Armin doesn't look up; scrawls something quickly as he leans over the desk. Long locks slip from the tie at the back of his head, veiling his face in a sheet of gold. Jean can't see him but he anticipates his words, mentally kicks himself as he expects to be chided.

"I appreciate the luxury, but it's not required," he replies neutrally. "I do enjoy the bed, though."

Having dodged the bullet, Jean sighs in relief. He takes a seat at the edge of the mattress – he hasn't felt anything like this in a long time. "Think we could appeal for some new upholstery for our meetings? I'm pretty sure my ass is thanking me for this cushion right now."

Armin grins to himself. "Duly noted."

"Come on," Jean groans, sprawling out backward over the bed. "Some padding might improve half the attitudes in there."

He's met with silence signaling the end of the current route of discussion. A twitch at his temple and he lets out a huff, unwilling to let his comfort be spoiled by impending meetings with hard chairs. As each moment passes he settles further into it, mind going hazy; he isn't sure how long ago he's dozed off but it's hard to lift his lids and look at Armin when his weight presses close to his side.

"Were you planning on staying the night?" Armin's words are warm on the shell of his ear; if Jean were more than half awake, he'd probably be embarrassed. He simply grunts in response since he can't find the impetus to move. Armin, however, seems not to protest, nudging Jean's side so that he can curl against him more comfortably.

"If you snore, I'll never have you over again."

Armin can't help but smile again when he receives no answer, his comrade fast asleep.

4. "You look like you've slept in your clothes."

Jean rubs at his eye, attempting to glare at Armin through his fist as he ties back his long hair. As expected, he looks impeccable while Jean broods in his bed over appearing every bit as rumpled as he actually is.

"That's because I did," he mutters. "What about you? I don't remember you changing before you went to bed."

"You were out after half a conversation. Besides, I'm under obligation to always look acceptable."

Jean snorts, attempting to pull his jacket into straightness. "I'm almost sure you're cheating somehow."

A sly look paints itself over Armin's features as he reaches up to shift his glasses into propriety on the bridge of his nose. "I wouldn't say something like cheating." He collects the neat stack of papers from his desk and tucks them neatly under his arm. "We'll be late."

Jean skulks to the door, raincloud pouring over his head; he's already defeated thinking about the flak he'll catch for looking as he does. He turns the knob and moves out into the hall, stuffs his hands into his pockets as he walks and tries not to already vehemently hate the entire day.

"Jean," Armin calls after him. The door clicks closed and he reluctantly turns around, mutters something about nice uniforms and cheap tricks – Armin's face is calm as it is fair as he approaches, reaching out to pinch the button at Jean's collar closed. He feels the heat rush to splay across his face; sees it as it dusts rosy over Armin's.

"What—"

"You do kind of snore," Armin says quickly, eyes flickering away to some corner of the floor. "I don't really mind, though. I've heard worse."

"Yeah…" Jean feels the syllable drop like a weight from his tongue, unable to do much else as Armin hurries past him and down the hall.

5. The coup goes every bit as disastrous as Jean had imagined – old men bickering and of course, the nitpicking of his uniform; let's not forget these chairs, he muses, shifting uncomfortably against the hard seat. It takes its toll on Armin as well. Any number of times does Jean look to his left, sees the blonde rub at the bridge of his nose in frustration. The officers begin to scuttle out the door and he's more than ready to follow their lead.

"Day off," he says, leaning over where the other is hunched over a plethora of papers. Jean rests his elbow on Armin's shoulder, grinning when he looks up. "Finally. Ready to go?"

Blue eyes squint before he's able to focus more discernibly. Jean feels a tinge of sympathy for his friend; can't imagine what it's like to read half the bullshit he'd just had to listen to.

"You don't always have to wait for me, Jean." The corner of his mouth lifts despite his words.

Jean folds his arms over his chest, incensed. "I told you, it's on my way."

Armin raises an eyebrow before turning away and gathering his materials. "All right," he says resignedly, "I'm sorry to have kept you waiting. Let's go." He stands and pushes in his chair, waiting for the taller man to guide him as per usual.

They exit the war room in tense silence, winding through the corridors of the administration building before Jean feels something catch at his sleeve. Turning, Armin releases him; he stares at their shoes, crestfallen.

"We aren't getting an inch with these people." It's been a long time since he's heard him this upset. It makes Jean grieve immediately, not quite sure why. "How are we supposed to make any progress this way? The Commander left me in charge, but we're not getting anywhere. I don't know what I'm supposed to do, Jean. Every day we just fight with each other in there, when we're supposed to be working together for everyone's benefit."

His voice lowers but he still hears when it cracks, and Jean becomes terrified that he may have to experience Armin falling apart for the first time in several years. Reaching out, he grabs the other's shoulders, holding him steady. "Hey…"

"It's been so long," Armin tells him. "I don't want to have been the only one of us who failed—"

"Armin."

He raises his head, fogged eyes sharpening into clarity. He lifts his chin to look at Jean; although he's done so much growing Jean still has many inches over him, broader shoulders, stronger hands. They slide down the curve of his shoulders and over the muscle developed just below.

"Why don't you save that for when we actually do?" Jean swallows hard, attempts to play the hero when he's never been good at it. "Put your head back on. Without it, we're all doomed. I know it's a lot of pressure, but I don't think there's a single one of us ready to give up on you."

Armin's mouth parts in a curious circle and he finds his eyes drawn to it. Jean licks his lips, mouth only seeming to become drier before he glances back up to meet Armin's questioning stare.

"It'd be a shame if you spent the only day we have off worrying about that, huh?"

His fingers release; ache strangely at the absence of warmth under them but Jean is relieved when that familiar arches back over Armin's lips – he breathes out a small, grateful sound and it's enough to get Jean to release the air trapped in his own lungs.

"Thank you," he says quietly, righting himself. "I don't really know what got into me. Sorry." Armin's cheeks take on the carnation color from earlier as he straightens his back and shuffles past.

"Are you coming?"

It takes a painful second of shaking the lead from his tongue before he nods, twisting around to follow after. The silence returns, however, much more amiable than before and awkwardness only creeping in when they each Armin's door.

"So, you think you'll be alright?" He shifts his weight from left to right foot, doing his best to ignore the nibbling at the back of his mind that tells him he's being overbearing. "I mean, if you don't want—"

"I'm fine." Jean's oddly disappointed, inhaling both oxygen and the effort to say goodbye. "But you can come in anyway, if you'd like."

He's floored, as he often is, by Armin's soft grin and sweetly angled features. "Well, it is a nice bed."

6. He strains up against warmth and hisses when pearly teeth pinch at the sensitive area just below his ear. It's more than he ever deserved – to be attended to in the manner of someone entirely beloved as Armin applies delicious pressure with his mouth. Jean's hands squeeze at either side of his hips as he holds on to the boy above him. The temperature steals higher with each wet slide of a tongue against his skin; Jean doesn't bother to hide the groan when Armin latches on.

"You'll leave a mark." His breathing is uneven, voice ragged.

"Most likely."

His right hand comes to release the angle of bone, sliding over his waist and up to the center of his back. Jean seeks out each knob of the other's vertebrae; he tips his head so Armin has more space to do with what he will, an opportunity the other immediately takes – he can feel the blood sing to the surface, welling into a bruise as it displays itself just under his flesh with nowhere to go.

The blonde lifts his head. His mouth is swollen and glossed and Jean's neck is already beginning to ache. When he shifts, his weight presses deliberately on Jean's waist; heat rushes through his body and pools just below where Armin chooses to settle.

His hair is every bit as soft as Jean had ever imagined, falling to frame them both as he leans down to brush their lips together. Jean's thankful, endlessly so, that there are no words he needs to scramble for – Armin dispels the tension, pushes it far away for later. His kisses prove as gentle as each smile he awards Jean in the hallways after meetings and before he returns to his room alone.

Warped, he can't recall the last time he actually felt alone.

Across his chest he feels the pressure release – there's a split second of thin fingers worming their way under the strap before the center buckle separates. Armin slips each button open as easily as he had closed; Jean growing heated with the memory.

"I don't think I ever would have expected this from you," he teases, grinning against the other's mouth.

Armin blinks down at him, long lashes sweeping low; he's a dream up close and this time Jean can't help it when he lifts his head to fit their mouths together, licking across the seam of his lips. A very content sound winds from Armin's chest as he parts his mouth, bearing his hips down to roll slowly over Jean's. He's unrelenting with the speed with which he reacts, arching to where he's flush against it. Clothes seem tighter now; sweat condensing under the fabric – before he can properly complain his shirt falls open and loose around his shoulders.

The room fills with more desperate sounds; Armin leaves Jean's mouth with a smacking sound as he descends, crawling down the length of his body to leave fevered presses of his lips over the exposed skin. A bite over where his heart pounds wildly in his chest and light sucking just below his ribs, Jean feels reduced to something viscous as his body is laved with the other's affections.

Each part of him hums with the sensation of kisses. Jean lifts his head to look down at the other boy, swirling his tongue just above his belt and finally he is able to make the connection, reaching down to haul Armin close once more by the arm.

"To hell with it," he rasps, rolling them when Armin is close enough. One of his thighs slides right between Armin's legs – he immediately parts them to accommodate, and Jean might blush a little at that later. For now he dispatches each of the straps over the other's chest as he'd had to him, only slowing a little when he takes too careful notice of the way Armin's breath speeds at the almost rough handling.

There's a desperate sound, so low he nearly misses it. He openly scans over the other's puffed mouth, calling for him – it's pink, lovely strawberries in the summertime; Jean despairs at the amount of clichéd imagery that floods his mind. With minimal fumbling he makes quick work of the harness, Armin kind enough to slide his arms out of it before returning to compliance with each touch.

Caught in the moment, he doesn't realize how quickly he's learning.

7. Certainly he'd been born with the uncanny ability to put his foot in his own mouth.

"Hey, why me?" Fear and insecurity approached like a wave; he'd always tried not to pay attention to those types of feelings because he was less suited to fight them than any other. "Not that I mind." Frantically he grasped for straws, anything, the pad of the mattress much more comfortable underneath him than it had any right to be. "I'm starting to get used to the bed."

At his shoulder the other's mouth moves, slow. He'd jumped then, Armin's knuckles brushing over his side, and he muffled a laugh against the bare curve of flesh.

"If I wanted, I could ask you the same thing."

Jean shut his eyes in frustration, rolling onto his side; he scoffed, shutting his eyes and folding an arm to pillow his head. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"You could have just asked me." Armin scoots up behind him until his chest bumps against Jean's back, dull heartbeats knocking at his spine. His arms fold around his waist and he shivers when Armin nuzzles between his scapulae; he hums, mischievous, like he's thinking of sharing a secret. "I wouldn't have said no. I'm not someone whose company you have to earn."

Creeping, the flat of his palm comes to rest just over the irregular thump at his chest. Squeezing, he gathers each of Armin's fingers in his own; he emits discontentment while Jean struggles to stay level-headed.

Armin's face contorted in a wince. "You don't have to make excuses to be close to me, Jean."

Dark eyes tore open – he reaches the precipice and tumbles over; releases his grip to stroke apologetically over sore bones.

"If you say so," he conceded, and pulled Armin closer.

8. The silk of the skin underneath his clothing is overwhelming, Jean immediately ducking his head to attach his mouth to the side of his pale chest. Adrenaline makes him soar, pressing the boy down against the mattress; he drags his mouth down and over in painstaking inches as he pulls hard at the belt around Armin's waist. Above him, Armin makes another restrained noise, eyes growing dull as he loses himself with each passing moment.

Jean experiences an ounce of irritation added to arousal. "Could you stop looking like that for one second? It's seriously fucking with my motor skills."

A ghost of a laugh floats in the space between them, cut short when Jean successfully undoes the buckle and shimmies the fabric down his legs. He leans, stealing a quick kiss in triumph before moving to handle his own – however he's stilled by Armin's hand winding around his wrist, pulling it close to his mouth. The air turns charged, volatile when stares lock, and his lips turn up just before they close over Jean's index finger.

He's startled by the sensation of it, the suddenness of warm and wet muscle sliding around his knuckle. Jean watches completely mesmerized when that small mouth opens again, the tip of his tongue tracing up to the tip of his finger before tilting his head enough to pull his middle one in. He forces down the lump in his throat and the urge to curse, attempting to be content with the display of Armin sucking diligently on his fingers.

"Is that it?" he asks incredulously. He's suffocated, at a dead end. Jean's wrist twists in Armin's grip, bones working under muscle as he spreads his fingers over the flat of his tongue. "You want that?" Something dark twists in his stomach; he adds pressure until tears spring to the corners of azure eyes.

Mouth bursting open with a cry, Armin gulps in air. Jean withdraws his fingers, sticky and wet, brushing them over the swell of his lip; he contemplates his next course of action, heated focus roving down the lithe frame beneath him. Damp prints on a pale thigh as he pushes them apart, Jean settles between the other's legs – he bites at his lower lip as he presses in a slick finger, and relishes the moan that Armin awards him.

"You trying to get us in trouble?" he berates, though it's half-assed at the very most. He's fixated on the way the blonde arches his back, rolls his entire body in a plea for Jean to continue. He smirks a bit, touching with purposeful slowness, fascinated at the way in which each muscle straining for contact. Armin can only curl his toes; twist on the sheets in response before Jean pushes another into him.

He's never heard his own name whispered so fiercely.

Armin's chest falls heavy with the effort; he writhes unabashedly as he bears down as deeply as he can onto Jean's fingers, craves everything as he never has. "Please," and it rushes out of his throat with a miniature sob. He complies, wrist beginning to ache with the continued movement. In and out again, Jean watches from beyond himself as he works Armin open.

A dull spark of pain brings him back, nails tearing down his forearm – he can't take it anymore, restless with the teasing. Armin rises to meet Jean and his hands tremble as he claws the last of their clothing away. Briefly, when he pushes lightly at his chest, urging him onto his back, does Jean cover them with his own.

Armin crawls over him, reaching behind to leave skating touches up Jean's thigh and then between them. Panting, he's reduced to an animal as he remembers how to breathe properly. He comes to grip Armin's waist as he grinds his hips down over Jean's; it's too much and not enough at the same time and he's about to lose his mind over it. He digs his fingers in enough to elicit a whine from the boy above him.

"I haven't—" He nearly doesn't realize it when Armin speaks. Priorities – the heated look in his bright eyes, how if he lifts his hips Jean can rub against where he'd spread him with his own fingers.

"I'll be careful."

Armin inhales through his nose and nods once. It does little to clear the haze in his head. "Okay."

Armin's hands ball into fists; he bites down on his lower lip as he sinks down, tries not to cry out from the fullness. Lids flutter shut against the white behind his eyes and minor flashes of pain. Jean waits, heart hammering to a beat he's never heard before Armin raises his head, wiggling his hips experimentally. Each of them makes an obscene sound that rivals the other.

He settles for providing support at his waist as Armin finds what works for him. Each turn of his hips sends gratification spiraling through his veins and Jean lifts himself again, jostling the blonde out of his rhythm and causing him to shout in both pleasure and surprise. So flushed, worry comes – albeit fleeting – that it's proving too much for his companion.

Instead, Jean lifts him up and away, folding an arm behind his back as he pushes Armin face-down against the mattress.

"You're loud," Jean hisses, sliding back into heat. Armin cries half into the pillow they'd shared prior, the friction against both his stomach and each dizzying thrust into his body completely maddening. His knees sink hard into the cushion, toes curling on either side as he attempts to spread his legs further. Jean takes the opportunity as it's given – he moves inside as deeply as he can, already experiencing the pricks of lightning at his spine.

He thinks to ask if it hurts or if it's good. He has nothing, forcing Armin's arm up between his shoulder blades; the strain on his back is beginning to make his whole body protest. Below, Armin melts away, each corner of his mouth leaking as he pleads for everything Jean has to give. All that he can do is oblige, meeting him with rough shoves of his hips until he can feel Armin tense around him.

Jean releases his arm, releases control, releases everything.

9. He'd waited for Armin to tell him to get his feet off the coffee table, slouching down into the sofa in the center of the room; the last half hour had been filled with complete silence save the scribbling of pen over each new report.

"Isn't a commander's top priority the wellbeing of their soldiers?"

"When he comes back," Armin replied, not looking up, "You can feel free to ask him his opinion on the matter."

Marginally slighted, Jean settles for drumming his fingers on the arm instead.

10. The palms of his hands are rough and calloused from the constant handling of blades, but it's easier for Armin to feel them – lately his vision has gone a little blurry at the corners; takes him a half second longer to reach his desired focal point. It's no emergency, yet, but he needs his eyes like he needs his mind and these moments relay to them the break they deserve.

He turns Jean's hands over in his own, content to feather light touches over each bump and groove. Tangled together, he sleeps soundly – from the first time it hadn't been a problem for him to come to a peaceful slumber in Armin's quarters, but it wasn't ever something that truly worried him. He indulges in a knowing smile.

Soldiers are all they are, the knowledge of that ever-present through the wounds on their bodies and scars on their hearts. No matter how healed, they'll reopen them fighting each skirmish over until a victor is finally decided. However, before discord can fill the space they share Jean turns in his sleep, unruly and mussed as his head bows to knock softly against Armin's chest.

It's not love, but perhaps in this time of war it's the closest thing to it they'll get.