Marco smiles, tipsy and abashed, when they tell him he could never be that guy. It's not even something he can get embarrassed about. No one wants to be that guy. He's glad they have so much faith in him.
Bertolt tugs him in closer after a moment, and Marco shifts against him willingly, giving a small laugh when Bertolt nudges their noses together. He moves one hand to brace on the ground - the other rests on Bertolt's chest, but he slides it over to rest on Reiner's after a moment.
"Hey, how do you know I have butt freckles? Maybe they're only on my face," he argues, but it's only for the sake of protest. Then he realizes he's really close to Bertolt's face, and he swallows.
"Can I, uh -" he starts to ask, then sort of trails off (it's the alcohol) and then leans in that last tiny bit to press a kiss to Bertolt's mouth, chaste and quick.
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Bertolt tugs him in closer after a moment, and Marco shifts against him willingly, giving a small laugh when Bertolt nudges their noses together. He moves one hand to brace on the ground - the other rests on Bertolt's chest, but he slides it over to rest on Reiner's after a moment.
"Hey, how do you know I have butt freckles? Maybe they're only on my face," he argues, but it's only for the sake of protest. Then he realizes he's really close to Bertolt's face, and he swallows.
"Can I, uh -" he starts to ask, then sort of trails off (it's the alcohol) and then leans in that last tiny bit to press a kiss to Bertolt's mouth, chaste and quick.