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Pens are Sexier than Quills

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The first time Marco saw a ‘pen’, he was as amused as any pureblood would be. His friend Bertl used one to write home to his mother, who was a Muggle. Apparently Muggles used them instead of quills, but when Marco had sweet-talked Bertl into letting him borrow the pen, he couldn’t understand why. It was much fatter and a little heavier than a quill, and it was made of plastic, which felt weird and unnatural underneath his fingers, and Marco immediately disliked it. Sure, it was cool that it was self-inking, but all his quills were charmed to do that anyways. Pens were just another weird Muggle contraption.

The second time Marco saw a pen was a little different.

Probably because it was in Jean’s mouth.

Right after lunch, the Slytherins had Transfiguration with the Hufflepuffs. Naturally Marco sat next to Jean. Despite being in different houses, they were best friends. (For now).

“Hey Marco,” Jean said as Marco took his seat to the right of him.

“Hello.” Jean looked really good today, Marco noticed. His hair was a little messed up, for whatever reason, and it suited him quite nicely. 

Marco reached into his bag and pulled out his self-inking quill and a couple of sheets of parchment. According to the chalkboard, they would be taking notes today. He straightened the items on his desk, so that the bottom of the parchment was perfectly parallel with the edge of the table and his quill was perpendicular to the bottom and two inches to the left of the paper.

Marco huffed in satisfaction and withdrew his arms into his lap.

Jean was leaned over the side of his seat, still rummaging around in his sack. Marco rolled his eyes. Disorganized as ever, he thought to himself. Marco imagined just how disorganized Jean would be if Marco ran his –

THWAK! Jean’s elbow rammed him in the gut as Jean popped back up.



Marco rubbed the spot on his stomach that ached. He looked up and his eyes met Jean’s.

Jean pointed to him with a – oh, another one – a pen in his hand.

“You,” Jean deadpanned, “should not have been zoning out.”

That little shit, Marco thought. Jean’s attempt to be serious failed as he cracked a smile at his lame attempt to be funny.

Marco rolled his eyes and punched his shoulder.

“Ow!” Jean squeaked. “Jesus, Marco.”

“You,” Marco looked him straight in the eye, pointing his quill at Jean, “should have seen that coming.”

Man, would Marco like to see him cumming – No, Marco, don’t go there.

Jean narrowed his eyes, but smiled with one of his not-trying-to-be-seductive-but-succeeding-at-it-anyways grins.

“You’re mean, Marco,” Jean teased.

“I’m not the one who punched you in the gut in the first place – “

“That was an accident!”

“- and I’m not the prick who has a pen.”

Jean’s eyes fell onto the piece of plastic in his right hand. It was a straight black piece of plastic almost as long as his hand. There was a ‘cap’ on the top, with a thin, strangely bent piece coming off of that. In other words, it looked weird. Marco could feel himself cringing at the sight of it.

Jean snorted. He looked back up at Marco and giggled. “What the hell do you have against pens?”

“They’re bulky and hard to use,” Marco argued. “Why do you even have one?” Marco actually was curious as to why. Marco knew Jean was a Muggleborn, but he had used a quill for the past five years. Although he complained about it a lot. And his handwriting was horrendous.

Jean rolled his eyes. Marco thought he heard him mutter “purebloods” under his breath. “I accidentally brought one back with me after Christmas holiday. And I’m sick of shitty quills. So I thought I'd use it.”

“Alright class!” called Professor Smith before Marco could reply. “Let’s get started!”

Marco was prepared for a full class of boring theories and pointless lecture. As a top student, though, he was also prepared to fully devote his attention to said lecture because you never know when something essential might come up, and, of course there was no way Professor Smith was going to catch him slacking off.

“Today we will be discussing the theory behind vanishing spells…”

Something out of the corner of his eye caught his attention. He glanced sideways to see Jean twirling the pen around in his fingers. He held it between his second and third finger, and bobbed it up and down, and then started turning it in circles with his thumb. Marco was entranced by Jean’s long fingers playing with the object, and the way they bent around the pen, spinning it daintily, and Marco could only think of those hands in his, those hands on his face, on his chest, around his –


Marco snapped his gaze up. Jean was looking at him, with his brows furrowed with concern. “You alright?”

“Yep,” Marco squeaked. He blushed the weak noise he made. He cleared his throat, and repeated, “Yes, I’m fine.”

Jean narrowed his eyes, but turned back to Professor Smith.

“…more complex the creature, the harder it is to vanish.”

Marco again tried to focus on the lecture. Vanishing was, after all, one of the hardest parts of Transfiguration and was essential to their O.W.L.s later that year.

Marco started to write his own notes, and Jean his. He tried – he really did – not to be distracted by the pen, but it was just so strange how it looked, and how it effortlessly glided across the surface of Jean’s paper…which, come to think of it, wasn’t parchment at all, but a thinner, lined paper. Jean’s fingers gripped the pen firmly, and Marco licked his lips imagining those strong fingers tied up, or gripping his nipples, or shoving into his – 

“…chant the incantation ‘Evanesco’…”

Jean grunted and made a shuffling noise. Marco glanced over to see him taking off his robe. It is rather hot in here, Marco thought. Then he noticed the pen in Jean’s mouth.

It shouldn’t have been seductive. It really shouldn’t have been. It was a piece of fucking plastic. But the way Jean’s lips curled up around it, and the way his teeth bit around it, and the way he stripped of his robe, with his arms caught in the sleeves and his chest sticking out…Jean sucked in a breath and shrugged the rest of the robe off. Marco’s nether regions started feeling heated. Jean, you moron, he thought, trying to end his erection before it even started. You just could’ve put the fucking thing down on the table.

Jean's teeth firmly held the pen in place, and his lips twitched as his muscles in his mouth pulled them up around the pen, and Marco could just imagine those teeth, those lips, somewhere else…

Once his robe was properly draped on the chair behind him, Jean pulled the pen out of his mouth. There was a little trail of glistening saliva along the side, still attached to Jean’s mouth. Jean reached up and wiped it off with his sleeve, and Marco was transfixed by the dark spot on the white fabric, on the cuff near the top. His dark brown eyes slid back up to Jean. Amber eyes stared right back at him.

Marco’s eyes widened. Shit.

Then Jean winked at him.


What what what what what.

Marco couldn’t take his eyes off of his best friend, though, even as Jean turned back to his notes with his pen in hand. Jean brought it up to his mouth again, and started biting the end. Not this again.

Immediately Marco’s gaze wandered to Jean’s mouth and his lips and his teeth and that damn pen. Jean teased the poor thing, biting the cap with the side of his mouth and moving it across his teeth.

Marco felt Jean’s gaze on him and looked back up at him. “You sure you’re okay, Marco?” He pulled at his bottom lip with the pen, making little arcs around the smooth pink flesh.

Marco felt blood rush to his pants as he forced himself to look away. He’s just your friend, he’s just your friend, just your friend, he forced himself to think, even though the way Jean was eyeing him screamed more than friends.

“…f-fine. I’m fine,” Marco sputtered, and tried to focus back on the lesson.

It was impossible. The entire hour Jean chewed and nibbled on the pen, played with it in his fingers, behind his ear, and even poked Marco with it. His tongue pulled at the weird bendy part on the cap, and he left trails of spit and bit marks all over the black plastic. It was an hour of hell of hiding erections and dirty, dirty thoughts. Jean must have known what he was doing…as much as Marco tried to hide his thoughts, he knew his heart was on his sleeve this time. Well, more like his cock.

That little shit, Marco thought, he’s doing this on purpose.

Finally, after the longest and most sexually frustrating hour of Marco’s life, the bells chimed, and class was over.

He let out a sigh of relief and shoved his quill in his back and thrust the parchment in with it. Jean was taking too long, so he shoved the paper into Jean’s bag and threw his robe at him and snatched the pen from his hands and hissed, “Come with me,” and dragged Jean by the strap on his bag out of the classroom.

“Oi! What the hell’s your problem!?” Jean shouted. Marco could feel the stares of his classmates as he dragged the screaming Hufflepuff down the hall and into the nearest empty classroom, the pen still gripped tightly in his hand.

Marco flung Jean and his belongings into the room and slammed the door shut. It let out a loud bang! behind him that made Jean flinch. The Hufflepuff stood transfixed in the middle of the room. Marco had never let himself be so mad around Jean before, but now there was no holding back his anger.

“You know exactly what my problem is!” Marco fumed. Steam practically poured out of his ears as he stormed up to Jean. The blonde backed up to the wall, almost tripping over his own feet, as Marco got even closer. Marco held Jean’s right wrist against the wall and shoved his face into Jean's, mere inches away, and poked the pen into his cheek. “You! You are my problem!”

And he had been for months. They had begun as friends back in first year, and had grown very close over time. Too close, Marco eventually realized once he started having dirty thought all involving his best friend.

Jean’s mouth dropped into an ‘oh’...and the little fucker smiled.

Marco tried to cool himself down. The pen remained on Jean’s cheek. He spat out, almost in a whisper, “What the hell is that about, Jean?!”

Jean remained silent, and Marco’s arms shook. The pen quivered against Jean’s face. It wasn’t like Jean to be so quiet. Usually he was ranting about whatever it was that was bothering him that week, and Jean was never afraid to speak his mind, however pessimistic or just plain dumb his thoughts were. And now, of all times, Jean wouldn’t speak.

Well, Marco supposed he shouldn’t be bashing Jean for being quiet. He had been crushing on Jean for all these months and had never told him how he really felt. (In his defense, he was just waiting for the right moment).

“Jean, talk to me!” he demanded. “I know you know that you were – what you were doing to me back there!”

Jean looked down, and blushed. Then he turned his cheek so that the pen touched the edge of his mouth. Marco froze. Not again! His stare was transfixed yet again on Jean’s mouth. A pink tongue darted out from between his lips, and ran slowly along his bottom lip, until it hit the pen and licked the tip of it.

Marco’s breath hitched, and he looked back up into Jean’s eyes.

“What do you think it was about, Marco?”

Marco gripped the pen tightly and took a step back. He furrowed his brows at Jean, who was looking bashfully at the floor. His keen Slytherin mind went through all the possible explanations as to why Jean had been teasing him…to be funny? No, Jean had other ways of doing that. Had he found out about his crush and was teasing him about it? No, Jean wasn’t that cruel. Maybe…

Jean…likes me back?

Only one way to be sure.

“You…you like me, too?”

Jean flicked his eyes up to Marco’s and he gave a slight nod.

Marco flung himself onto Jean. He threw his arms, one still clutching that damn pen, around Jean's neck and smashed their lips together. Marco abused Jean’s lips like he’d been yearning to do for the past hour. He pressed and sucked and prodded with his tongue against Jean’s lips – which were as tasty as they looked – until Jean was moaning beneath him.

They broke away to gasp for air, and there was a moment of them both panting and sucking in breaths before they were at it again. Time seemed to pass quickly and slowly and not at all and all the sudden the bells were chiming.

“Shit,” Jean muttered against Marco’s lips. “I should be in Potions.” 

“And I should be in Herbology. But there are other things I’d rather be doing right now,” Marco pulled his hand from around Jean’s shoulders and ran the pen down Jean’s chest, “You should have known better that to mess with me, Jean. You’ve made me frustrated.” Jeans eyes widened and Marco grinned. He dragged the pen slowly around Jean’s nipples, making little circles, and he smirked when Jean shivered. He dragged the pen further down his chest, over the waist of his pants and his buckle, and around the bulge in Jean’s pants. “You need to be punished.”

Jean turned bright red, but thrust his hips against the friction from the pen. Marco smirked. For all his swagger, Jean was a real dork.

Marco felt his own erection throbbing and pushed harder with the pen. Jean’s breath hitched and he muttered, with a little smile, “I never liked Potions anyways.”