
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/1693046.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      F/M, Multi
  Fandom:
      Shingeki_no_Kyojin_|_Attack_on_Titan
  Relationship:
      Marco_Bott/Jean_Kirstein/Reader
  Character:
      Jean_Kirstein, Marco_Bott
  Additional Tags:
      Smut, Lemon
  Series:
      Part 1 of Jean_x_reader_x_Marco
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-05-26 Words: 5546
****** Two Times The Charm ******
by Falconette
Summary
     Jean, Marco and reader, a polyamourous trio from the 104th squad on
     their day off.
Notes
     One of my OT3 (Jean x reader x Marco) stories. They are
     interconnected as they happen in the same universe, however can be
     read separately.
 
Two Times The Charm
 
Getting back on a horse after couple of days in bed wasn’t as bad as you
expected it to be. Your back and ribcage were still stiff from the fall, but
apart from contusions and scabs, the retracting wire that struck you didn’t
leave permanent marks on your body. Luckily, red skid marks and bruises were
all that was left from your training mishap. Now that you were finally on your
feet again, the captain entrusted you with the task of delivering documentation
to the town office and taking a couple of novices with you to show them around.
You were grateful for being excused from drills for one more precious day and
were mentally preparing yourself to answer all sorts of tedious questions from
the novices. However, when you rode up to the gate in the garrison fence, the
two mounted figures waiting for you looked familiar.

Marco waved energetically, a wide smile on his face, while Jean just gave you a
barely detectible nod, his face more stern and humorless than usual.

“So you are the guys that need a tour of the town? Aren’t you bit too old for
rookies?” you laughed tauntingly, thrilled to see them.

Jean’s eyes, quick as darts, took in your face, posture, the way you moved,
pointedly disregarding the joke, “You haven’t been around lately.” His tone was
a mixture of accusation and distress.

“We were worried.” Marco’s gaze rested uneasily on a particularly nasty bruise
on your forehead, his brow knotted in a concerned expression. “We heard you
fell.” He added more quietly.

“It was nothing serious. A mishap with the reeling wire.” you swiftly rode past
them so the boys turned and spurred their horses to keep up on each side of
you. “Nothing was broken. I just had to lie still for a few days, ’s all.”

“From what I’ve heard,” Jean’s voice continued relentlessly, “It was a rookie
mistake. Apparently your timing of hook release was completely off, you
disregarded the basic positioning tips so when your own wire recoiled back in
your face it took you down, mid air.”

“Well, aren’t you well informed?“ you said coldly, feeling a shame inside you
burn. “It was a stupid slip! I blew it, I got hurt. End of story.”

You rode energetically through the gates and onto the road, feeling their gazes
weighing your dismissive words against what they saw. It was hard for you to
sit confidently upright and you were aware it showed, and only a blind man
would miss the way you winced every time your horse changed its pace or
threaded on uneven terrain.

“Sheeesh,” Jean finally grumbled, loosening up, “If you need maneuver gear
lessons, just ask.”

You shot him a venomous glare, fueled by the dull pain you were suffering, “I
don’t intend to amuse you with my ‘rookie mistake’ show.”

You rode in silence a bit more, Marco with his gaze uncomfortably sunken and
Jean sulking, staring at the distance.

“It doesn’t have to be with me.” when he eventually spoke, Jean’s voice was
flat, his eyes still fixed at the horizon, “Practice with Marco if you prefer,
just practice. I hate seeing you get injured from stupid slips.”

You lightly tapped your horse with a heel to approach Jean’s and waited until
he turned his eyes back to you. There was a defiant - and wounded - glaze in
them.

“That was harsh, I’m sorry.” you said, “I know you are trying to help.”

Jean nodded in acknowledgement, saying nothing.

“I will switch classes so I can join you during 3D gear practice.” Marco
cheerfully chimed in, relieved the tension was gone. “At least, I hope I will
be of assistance.” he nervously added, scratching the back of his neck with his
hand. “Jean is a lot better with it.”

“It’s alright, I just need to patch some holes in my training.” you said,
thankful for Marco’s readiness to assist. Jean’s skill and devotion to its
perfection was notorious, but also was his lack of tact and sharp tongue that
was quick to criticize. “Anyway, what happened to novices that were supposed to
go with me today?”

“They, erm…” Marco hesitated, “They found they had other, more pressing matters
to attend to.”

You cocked your head in an unspoken question. This would have been their first
venture out of the garrison and first visit to the town – a chance no one would
miss.

„We asked them nicely.“ Jean stated with the air of finality, his narrow, fox-
like eyes casting sideways glances at the surroundings. You were surprised that
your designated companions would agree so easily and Marco must have noticed
your puzzlement, since he leaned conspiratorially closer and added in a
serious, low voice.

„The first time.“

„What?“ your eyebrows rose.

Marco gave a good-natured chuckle at your disbelief, „It's not like that. We're
honor students so we can have a few perks.“

You cast an inquisitive glance at Jean but his eyes were still sweeping the
side of the road, a thin, treacherous smirk shimmering on his face. Maybe he
did ask nicely but if he did it with that no-nonsense expression of his, it was
no surprise a couple of juniors were more than happy to let him take their
place.

* * *

Even in early morning, the town was bustling with life. You have passed wagons
of goods being imported to its marketplace, visitors and dwellers making way
for your horses who nervously twitched their ears at unfamiliar sounds of
streets. Vendors were opening their shops, shouting out, luring buyers in.
Older people moved slowly about, the younger ones outpacing them just to make
way for an occasional horseman or a passing chart.

You were here on half official business and carried no weapons, but you still
wore your uniforms and were easily detectible in the crowd. You were used to
monotone sights of uniforms in your base so the colors and variety of the
townsfolk garbs amazed you. Most of the people paid you no heed and stepped
back to let you pass, some were curious, but you noticed several dark,
unwelcoming glares that made you glad the boys were at your side.

The streets soon became impassable on horseback, so you dismounted and led the
animals to military stables where they would get brushed off, fed and kept safe
under a roof. Jean went first, you followed and Marco lingered at the back,
easily distracted by sights and sounds of town. Stemming from a small village,
he never seemed to tire of the town’s buzz, fascinated by countless shops,
faces and streets that lied literally behind every new corner.

At one point you noticed Marco fell too far behind so you called out to Jean to
stop and wait.

“What is he doing?” irritated, Jean asked as he halted beside you. Marco was
holding his horse’s reins and standing in the middle of a small group of girls
who seemed fascinated by him. It was hard to guess their age because their
porcelain skin and soft, round shoulders made them look ageless, like precious
dolls dressed in frills and silk. Marco was smiling and unconsciously
scratching the back of his neck with his free hand and you could see why he
would draw their attention. His tall and slender figure stood out clad in the
uniform he wore proudly, as always, its standard issue however not able to
conceal his broad chest and shapely arms of a man-to-be. His slick black hair
framed expressive eyes that fitted nicely to the pale complexion of his
handsome face, and the freckles only gave him the air of approachability and
the irresistible, boyish charm. And the best part of it all – he was seemingly
unaware of the effect he had on women.

The girls around him cooed and giggled in high pitched tones, but one seemed to
be bolder than the rest, standing closer and suggestively petting the nuzzle of
Marco’s horse. She cast a lot of sideways glances at him underneath her long
eyelashes and coquettishly adjusted her curled locks, discreetly exposing
powdered cleavage just enough not to be brash, like a kitten or some
defenseless little animal that begged to be cuddled and kept safe. So soft,
harmless and adorable - so unlike you. It struck you that, compared to her
femininity, you must look like crude, unrefined at best. You couldn’t hear what
they were saying, but Marco had a wide, disarming smile on his face that
somehow kindled an uneasy feeling in your gut.

“Spoiled town girls; bored, well fed cats toying with a naive field mouse. I’ve
seen enough of it back home.” Jean’s low and close voice unglued your eyes from
the scene, startling you. “The idiot has it so bad for you, I would be
surprised he even noticed what’s beneath her corset.”

You looked again and now Marco’s face seemed even more sheepish, overwhelmed by
sudden attention and flood of chattering questions. But as he turned to look at
you, his smile waned when he noticed Jean’s lips mouthing words an inch from
your ear.

“And nothing stopped you from checking out her corset?” you silently growled at
Jean, suppressing the overflowing uneasiness in your gut. Was that jealousy?

He shrugged and snickered, a tinge of bitterness in his tone, “What makes you
think Marco was the idiot I was referring to?”

When the girl petting Marco’s horse noticed his attention was elsewhere, she
followed his gaze and eventually set her eyes on you. Fair orbs beneath thick
eyelashes and carefully formed eyebrows widened in a surprise, studying you
like an exotic bug behind a glass, soon accompanied by inquisitive gazes of her
friends. Cold, prying eyes. You felt blood irresistibly rush to your cheeks and
you suddenly wished the earth would part beneath your feet and swallow you
whole; your worn out uniform and dirty boots, your unstylish hair, short nails,
unperfumed and unpowdered skin, just so you could remove your sorry sight from
focus of their refined - and merciless - judgment.

Your fingers inadvertently went up to brush your hair over the bruise on your
face, but Jean’s hand shot out and grabbed your wrist, stopping you in mid-
motion and slowly lowering your hand. His hardened eyes, locked with the
girl’s, never wavered.

“Let’s go.” he jerked his chin at Marco. The dark-haired youth curtly nodded,
all traces of a smile gone from his face, and strode towards you, pulling his
horse’s reins without a single look back. Jean turned and started walking
towards the stables, your hand still tightly clenched in his. You obediently
followed, impressed and moved by Jean’s reaction. He didn’t say a word, but you
caught occasional glances he cast at you from the corner of his eye, holding on
to your hand despite the danger of being accused of non-professionalism. Using
the commotion on the street, you brought his hand to your face and brushed his
fingers with your lips for just a short moment, letting him know everything was
alright. ‘Thank you’.

His grip tightened. He understood.

When the horses were tethered and taken care of, Jean ushered Marco outside the
stables and nudged him with his elbow, “Stand guard.”

“Wha..?” Marco’s protests were cut off by slamming of the door, leaving him
standing in the yard with a dumbfounded look on his face. Once alone, Jean came
up to you, cupped your face with his hands and kissed you with cautiously
restrained hunger. He then examined the bruises on your face, the hardness from
his eyes gone.

“Are you sure you were not seriously hurt? Getting hit by recoil alone is no
laughing matter, and plummeting down on top of that…” before you could
interrupt, he added in a sober voice, “I know because I have been there myself.
It can happen to anyone.”

You scanned his face but could find no trace of his usual taunts, so after a
pause you replied, “I was lucky to have fallen in a thicket. Really, all I got
was a big scare, a couple of bruises and an experience to last me a lifetime.”

Convinced, he pulled you close and hugged you, careful not to squeeze too hard.
“We tried to see you but were not allowed into girls’ dorms. Stupid fucking
rules!”

“I know, I know…” you soothed his helpless anger, relishing in embrace of his
strong arms, “I am here now, you don’t have to worry anymore.”

“You should have seen Marco.” Jean snickered behind your shoulder, “He was so
distracted I was afraid he would end in infirmary as well.”

“And you?” you let the question hang in the air.

Jean sighed dejectedly “I probably got on everyone’s nerves by constantly
asking around about your condition. I just couldn’t help myself, I couldn’t sit
still.”

“I missed your attention.” you pressed tighter against him, tracing your hands
down his hips and nonchalantly sliding one of your thighs between his legs.

“You don’t have to…”, he stirred and mumbled, “I took you in here just to make
sure you really were alright.”

“I know,” your lips brushed against his earlobe and he softly groaned, “but
since we have a little time for ourselves….”

You pushed him against the wall and he sat down on a fragrant hay stack with an
uncertain look in his eyes. You didn’t give him the time to protest or stand
back up. Your fingers swiftly undid his belt and slid his pants down his
thighs, exposing his cock. His eyes quickly darted to the door and then back to
you, torn between danger and pleasure. These were official military premises
and getting caught here would spell disaster for your careers.

“Marco is keeping guard.” you assured him before you took him in your mouth,
ending all protests from his side. His honor student mind might have screamed
out rational reasons, but his body was more than willing, the resistance
melting beneath your touches. Jean leaned back and closed his eyes,
concentrating on wonders your tongue stirred in his nether regions.

“I have been thinking of you a lot these past few days.” he said under breath,
his heartbeat quickening.

“And…?”, you asked while lying on soft hay and thoroughly licking his shaft.

“Well…,” he gave you an embarrassed smile and slowly continued in unsure tone,
“I missed you and you weren’t there…”

“Aaand….??” you smiled and raised your eyebrows, enjoying his surprising
abashment. Modesty was Marco’s trait, not Jean’s.

“Aaaand this is so much better than...” he squeezed through his teeth, red in
the face. “Do you really need to ask that!?”

In response, you took him in deeply and made him groan, cupping his buttocks
with your hands. You didn’t have much time so you worked him hard, building up
the pressure in him with every rhythmical thrust.

“This is good…” he panted with hands on your head, struggling not to push
deeper, striving not to make too much noise, “Ohhhh, so good…”

Your tongue helped, massaging him from beneath, stimulating the sensitive tip
of his penis with every passing. When you felt it harden and twitch with a will
of its own, you knew he was irreversibly close.

“Ngghh…” Jean bit into his finger hard and shuddered with his entire body while
warm sticky liquid filled your mouth in strong spurts. When he opened his eyes,
you were already on your feet, ogling his limp, heaving body. Even spent and
relaxed, his physique, charmingly disheveled hair and flustered face made you
wish you had more time on your hands instead of precious moments you stole now
and then.

“We have to go.” you said, redundantly, because he was already up, buckling his
belt. As you opened the door, you felt Jean place a hot kiss on the nape of
your neck.

“Next time, it’s your turn.” he whispered, tickling your skin with his breath.

Marco regarded that with a dark glare, “We are the king’s soldiers in
training.” Marco’s subdued tone was urgent and lecturing, nervous paleness
making the freckles on his face stand charmingly out, “We must behave
appropriately.”

Jean grinned and put an arm around Marco’s shoulders, conspiratorially smirking
in his friend’s ear. “And it is ok for a king’s soldier in training to spy on
other people’s private affairs while he is supposed to be on sentry duty?”

Marco’s cheeks flushed bright red. His eyes met yours for a fraction of a
second then quickly looked away as he cleared his throat, “We are lucky we
weren’t caught, this place is swarming with uniforms. Let’s get going, we’ve
got documents to deliver.”

Jean turned to you and winked, a grin on his face matching yours.  

“Sure.” he said, earning one more disapproving glare from Marco, “what comes
better after pleasure than a little work.”

* * *

After the paperwork has been taken care of and the afternoon stretched on,
strolling through the town wasn’t as much fun as you thought it would be. Jean
was lazily chewing on a skewered piece of meat he bought from a stand,
disinterestedly sweeping his gaze left and right across shop windows, facades,
people, making occasional comments. Marco constantly lingered half a step
behind, uncharacteristically silent and moody, leaving you to your own
thoughts.

When you finally found the shop you were looking for, you asked the boys to
wait outside and went in. The place was selling trinkets, decorative pins,
clasps, combs, ribbons and good luck charms. You picked two plain looking
amulets that could go undetected sewn on the inside of a uniform, both
designated to bring luck in battle, figuring they would make nice graduation
gifts.

“One for you.” you said as you emerged outside and gave one of the amulets to
Jean who observed it with an uncertain expression.

“I don’t need this mumbo-jumbo.” he said flatly as he nibbled on the wooden
skewer, picking pieces of meat from between his teeth, “I train so wouldn’t
have to rely on luck.”

“No one should rely on luck,” you hissed through teeth, pressing the amulet
into his palm, “but everyone could use more of it.” He raised his palms in a
mockingly exaggerated conciliatory gesture then moved on, studying the patterns
imprinted on the charm.

“And one for you.” Marco accepted the amulet from your hand, the touch of his
fingers lingering on yours longer than needed.

“Thank you.” he gave you one of his door-opening smiles. “I could sure wish
upon it from time to time.” You smiled back but the mirth left his eyes.
“Because it seems some guys have more than their fair share of luck.”

You took a moment to realize what he was aiming at.

“Marco…” you started but he stepped closer, almost pushing you against the
wall, as his hands went to the collar of your uniform, straightening
nonexistent folds. Public displays of affection were out of question and this
was as close as he could get to you without raising attention of passersby. His
eyes were not smiling anymore and their depths suddenly threatened to pull you
in their treacherous, dark places. This was a side of Marco only a few saw and
those who have knew the fact that such seemingly easygoing and ambitionless
young man was among the squad’s elite was no coincidence.

“I haven’t seen you for days and was worried sick, plus I couldn’t get Jean to
shut up with complaining, annoying everybody and going around interrogating
people who knew nothing anyway. You know how he gets when things don’t go his
way.”  

You perfunctory nodded, but Marco didn’t even seem to notice, “I saw you with
him this morning.” He paused, frustrated, recalling, “I couldn’t help myself, I
couldn’t stop watching.”

You gave him a hint of a smile, knowing well that he was not an innocent lamb
people perceived him to be, “Nothing you haven’t seen before.”

Your attempt of a joke slid off him like oil off water. His gaze didn’t soften.
He looked you straight in the eyes, uncharacteristically serious, “I have been
following you with this bulge in my pants all day long and all I see before my
eyes is you going down on him.”

You sneaked a peek downwards and confirmed his words, meeting his gaze again.
Open street in the middle of town was the worst possible place for taking care
of those issues but something in that exact predicament stirred a dull longing
in you.

“I want you.” lust formed three hurried words, soft and uncompromising, pinning
you down with the weight of desire seeping from his voice. His teeth flashed
when he mouthed “Hard.”

His lips floated just inches from your face, half open and moist, yet you
couldn’t kiss so you ogled one another for several long seconds, devouring each
other without a touch, forgetting the commotion on the street. Then you audibly
swallowed, broke the spell and weakly said, “Let’s find a quiet corner.”

He didn’t hesitate a moment, lifting his head like a wolf on a prowl scanning
his surroundings. He then strode towards a back alley and you swiftly followed,
vainly trying to catch a glimpse of Jean’s unruly hair amid the crowd to let
him know where you were headed to.

After turning several corners, you finally reached a dead end of a sunless back
yard, the narrow street barricaded by a rusty padlocked door. The only stirring
you heard were pigeons spooked by your presence, fluttering somewhere above in
murky shades. Marco gave you a once-over, reluctant for a mere second, and then
pressed your body with his against the wall so unexpectedly, you didn’t have
the time to brace yourself.

“Ow, easy,“ you squeezed out, wincing “my ribs still ache.”

“Ah, sorry, sorry,” consideration was back in his voice as he examined your
face, “I got carried away. Are you alright?”

“Will you two stop asking that?” you exclaimed, half jokingly - half annoyed,
“Maybe I should have gotten myself an amulet against repetit….”

Marco pressed his lips against yours and muffled your voice in the sweetest
possible way, locking his fingers behind your head, cradling you in his palms.
You kissed long and feverishly, making every second last. His mouth and tongue
led you on and teased you, just to rob you of breath with their intensity and
passion. He pressed his chest and thighs against your body, pinning you
comfortably to the wall, making you feel protected and trapped at the same
time, coveted and covered in kisses. His fingers, sliding down the sides of
your body, took their time to feel every curve and form, like a blind many
tying to chisel your shape into his mind’s eye.

“Did you notice how many couples we passed on the streets? Holding hands,
laughing together… I want to do these things with you. ” his lips pressed
gentle kisses on your skin, “Watching you without being allowed to touch you is
torture.” he whispered, nuzzling your neck, his suppressed pants giving you
pleasant goose bumps. His face moved away so he could look you in the eyes, the
gleam in his dark orbs somewhat sad, “I wish we could have that. I hate coming
up with excuses just to be together.”

“We have now.” you heard yourself say, bravely despite the pang of pain. You
too wished you had that, and more. You wished you could walk hand in hand with
Jean or lie with your head on Marco’s chest, together searching starry skies
for constellation patterns. Instead of giving in to gloomy thoughts, you kissed
Marco back more intensely, rubbing his fresh, prickly undercut with your
fingers. You loved his muscled neck and the sharp outline of his jaw, so you
let your fingertips slide down their finely chiseled forms. His body reacted to
your presence and your touches, his pecks quickly becoming silent pleas, his
caresses wordless begging to be relieved of the pent up pressure lust had build
up inside him.

“Could you lend me a hand?” Marco eventually panted out a strained snicker, his
eyes imploring and smoldering at the same time. You smirked and readily
unclasped his belt, opening up his pants and gently stroking his protruding
shaft.

“How bad is it?” you swept your tongue across your front teeth, surprising
yourself with your playfulness. In the absence of daylight and people, far away
from your familiar surroundings, it was easy to be bold.


Marco breathed a single, serious, barely audible word: “Bad.” His hips swung
forward, sliding his hot penis across your palm, making him shudder against his
will. You felt your blood rush through your loins, exciting you. You met his
gaze, your desire as raw and open as his.

“Ahh, how I wish we could have a place for ourselves!.” you growled biting your
lip and Marco pressed back of his head against the wall in frustration.

“Fuck!” he spat angrily, frowning, but then you started tugging at his shaft
and his expression softened, the gleaming eyes losing their focus. Your fingers
stroked up and down his length, the overflowing precum making their job easier.
He was already close, you could tell by how relentlessly hard he was; he would
have probably climaxed just from grinding against you if he had kept at it.

“Ughhh….” Marco exhaled slowly from deep inside his chest, leaning with his
back against the wall, relaxing. The dark eyes watched you with admiration
beneath half-closed lids while fingers of one of his hands tenderly traced
contours of your eyebrows, cheeks, lips. You lightly kissed his fingertips when
they brushed across your mouth, loving the softness with which the young
soldier’s hands caressed your skin.

You leaned your chin against his shoulder and whispered in his ear, while
playfully gyrating your hips, “Try me. Come on, try.”

Emboldened by your squirming body, Marco shakily reached for your pants and you
sucked in your belly to allow his fingers to fit in between the fabric and your
skin and sink lower, in your moist crevice. He gasped, encountering the hidden,
enticing entrance, and you could feel his penis harden underneath your fingers
when a new pulse of arousal coursed through his body. His fingers moved about
gently and tentatively, before he pulled his hand out and brought it to his
nose.

“Mmmmhh…” Marco closed his eyes for a moment, twisting his brow in a painful
grimace, just to look at you with a ferocious glare, his hands feverishly
cupping the sides of your face, “I fucking want you, now! I want to be inside
you and fuck you hard against this wa… Aghhh! Ooohhh shit, I’m, I’m doneee!”

The spurt of seed exploded from his penis and spilled in forceful gushes to the
floor. Marco’s body trembled as he came, again and again, his cock twitching in
your fist in waning spasms. Spent, his shoulders slumped, he sighed heavily and
looked at you, your face still in his hands.

“I am sorry I cannot provide a place for us, so we have to skulk like
criminals.” instead of relieved, his voice was sad.

“Is that what you were thinking of all this time?” you asked in disbelief,
cleaning him up and buckling his pants again.

Marco shook his head smilingly but looked away. He was a lousy liar. “I just
think you deserve better than this.”

“Damn right she does!” Jean’s voice accompanied echoing stomps of his boots as
he approached. “I have been looking everywhere for you!” he turned to Marco,
furious, “Is this your idea of fun!? Dragging her to a filthy hole like this to
jerk you off?”

Marco’s cheeks flushed bright red, his eyes darting from you to Jean to you
again. The dim light was tricky but you could have sworn you saw tears welling
up in them.

“I am sorry I...” Marco began pitifully.

“Sorry doesn’t cut it!” Jean growled, pushing himself into Marco’s face, “What
were you thinking?!”

You interfered, your voice deceptively low and calm “Stop it, Jean. You’re out
of line.” Your palm pressed flatly against his chest, startled by vehement
pounding of his heart. He must have been running, worrying, panicking, though
he would never admit it. His rage was just a poorly vented concern. Your eyes
locked with his piercing glare and after a moment he backed away, his chin
sinking.

“I just wanted to get you something nice for the pendant, but when I turned
around you were both gone without me.” his eyes were accusing, his voice hurt
despite his effort to sound unfazed, “It’s not that I mind…” His gaze slid over
to Marco and back to you again, “It’s just, finding you in place like this...”
He pointedly kicked at a piece of discarded wood piece on the ground that could
have been a broken table leg.

“It was my idea. And yeah,” you said slowly, fighting against a budding grin on
your face, “it was fun.”

Jean glared at you for a moment longer then he looked away. “Tsk!”

You took Marco’s hand, turning to him, “You don’t need to apologize, Marco, for
anything. I know you would have given me more, if you had more to give.”

His arms silently reached out and he embraced you, clutching to you, pressing
his face against your neck, whispering barely audible words, “You know I would
never disgrace or hurt you…”

“I know.” you said, hugging him back tightly, wishing you could stay like that
longer. “I know.”

He then let go and strode towards the main street without turning back, wiping
at his face with the back of his palm.

Jean cocked his head at you with a raised eyebrow, a hand on his hip, feigning
confidence, “So, I am the bad guy here?”

You sighed and gave him an exasperated look, “You both really are something!
Sulk, quarrel and whine like little children on the playground, but the bottom
line is; both of you are going home with stupid grins on your faces and it will
be cold shower for me when we get back.”

Jean shot you a surprised glance then walked over and gently ruffled your hair,
laughing at your pout “You’re right, that is not something proper men would
do.” He then pulled you in and wrapped his long arms tightly around you,
kissing your forehead and saying softly, “We’ll take care of you, don’t worry.”

“I’m not worried.” you grumbled defiantly, holding onto folds of his cape,
enjoying his warm smell. “Next time any of you two come to me, I cum first. End
of story.”

He sighed, stroking your hair, “You know what I mean.”
Your voice was muffled and barely audible when you responded couple of moments
later, but distinct enough for Jean to hear, “Maybe.”

“Why do you always have to be so stubborn!?” he exclaimed, irritated, spooking
the nesting pigeons but not letting go. You could feel his blood pump faster as
he fought to regain his composure and secretly snickered. You didn’t let go
either, for a long time.

* * *

You didn’t rush on your way back, letting the horses easily sway you with their
rhythmic gait while you chatted in the soft sunset light. Every now and then,
when you all grew quiet, Marco would start humming various melodies which would
unravel into songs when he would forget himself. He might not have looked it,
but he had a deep, melodic voice that made you fall for him all over again.

“We are the king’s soldiers in training. We must behave appropriately.” Jean
interrupted when he had finally had enough, imitating Marco’s lecturing voice
from before. “I am pretty sure that does not include going around, singing. Not
everybody we pass has to know you got to blow a load.”

“I get carried away when I am happy.” Marco shrugged, offering an embarrassed
smile and rubbing a finger under his nose, then winking at you. You wondered
whether your scent still lingered on his hand but as you noticed the
mischievous gleam in his eyes, you felt your cheeks gently flush.

Jean rolled his eyes, sighed and looked away.

“When we get back, I will sew the pendants into lining of your uniforms.” you
reminded them, “Just have them washed first.”

Marco started frantically patting his pockets then gave out a small cry. “It is
gone! I lost mine!”

“Do you have any idea where could it be?” you inquired, a bit disappointed.

“Maybe in that back street… “ Marco’s voice didn’t hold much hope as he half-
turned his horse.

“Well, we are certainly not going back. Especially if it is in that place.”
Jean cut in a no-negotiatory tone, sounding more mature than he was, “We should
have returned hours ago anyway.”

You nodded and spurred your horse on, glancing at Marco’s saddened expression
and giving him a smile. “I’ll just get you another one after graduation. Your
supply of luck will have to hold out until then.”

He acknowledged with a faint smile and followed, casting one last uneasy glance
at the town’s gate before giving his horse a nudge forward with heels of his
boots.

His luck will have to hold out. It will have to.
 
THE END
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