Work Text:
It always started with a gift.
“Hey, Jean, guess what I’ve got for you.”
He didn’t want to guess. However, he still, distracted, replied with, “What is it?” He knew it was going to be bad and if he focused on the thought of what it would be for just a second, he would have already known.
“A red turtle shell,” Eren answered, tone smug, despite the fact that right after he sent the shell Jean’s way, he ran right off the fucking map like an idiot. Serves him right for picking a bike.
Shaking his head, he watched as he dropped at least two places and thanked everything in the sky that at least they weren’t on their final lap, and groaned, “You’re the red turtle shell of my life.”
At this, Marco walked in from the kitchen, resting his arms on the back of the sofa behind Jean and ducked down to kiss the top of his head in sympathy. He pushed the sigh that tried to slip out back down his throat as Eren laughed at his words. Nothing Jean said ever fazed him and while it made their trash talk creative and enjoyable to hear, it was a little unsatisfying.
“If I’m the red, then who’s the blue turtle shell of your life?” Eren asked, shifting his legs under him as the cloud tugged him up off the edge of the map again.
Man, he sucked at MarioKart.
(Jean loved playing with him. It was nice to win for a change.)
Jean didn’t even need to think about it. “Marco.”
“Huh?” Said man stopped nuzzled his nose against Jean’s hair and pulled back. “What-”
“And by that, I mean,” Jean interrupted smoothly, just barely pushing his head back up, hoping that Marco would get the hint that he didn’t mind the touching. “I love you and you’re very helpful, but when I’m in first place, you need to leave me the fuck alone.”
There was just a second of a pause as the words kicked in before Marco pulled back completely and sniffed, “You’re in fifth place,” before stalking off into the other room. Jean was definitely going to regret that later.
“You are so not getting laid,” Eren unhelpfully pointed out what Jean already knew. “For weeks.”
Biting his lip, he waited until he was safe with his auto-driving bullet form and then reached out to kick Eren, happily making him jerk into a banana peel. “Neither are you. Armin doesn’t fuck with losers and I’m going to send him the results of this game and with your status of,” he paused for the needed tension and so he could look at the place Eren was in, “Ninth place, I’d say you’re going to end up, well, I can’t say fucked, because-”
Eren interrupted with an enraged squawk when he got kicked again. “Dick.”
“If I’m not getting any ass because of this game,” he leaned over to hiss, when Eren tried to kick him back. “I’m going to bring you down with me.” Eren kicked at him again anyway.
Jean barely ended up two seconds ahead of Eren, and they took the two last places, at least fifteen seconds later than the rest of the computers. Armin and Marco, suffice to say, were very disappointed when they found the two of them grappling on the couch, MarioKart credits rolling in front of them, forgotten.