Chapter Text
The morning rose colder than the last. A thin veil of mist clung to the edges of the trees beyond the clearing, and the clouds overhead were heavy—gray with darker streaks gathering near the horizon. The air coming through the small gap in the window smelled of damp earth and the faint metallic bite of rain not yet fallen.
Levi stirred first, as he often did—this time, the shift in weather pulling him gently from sleep. He slipped from the bed quietly, careful not to wake Eren, and padded into the bathroom. Here, the window had also been left open, forgotten to other, less practical matters.
The wind that rushed in had a bite to it, not sharp, but enough to make Levi’s skin prickle. He stepped further in, quickly closing it in case it decided to get more intense as the day went.
That out of the way, he turned to the wash basin. The mirror above greeted him with its usual blunt honesty. He leaned in slightly, looking at himself. The usual sharpness was still there, but something had shifted. The lines around his eyes were deeper—not from fatigue, but from recent mirth. Different. His mouth, usually drawn tight, looked softer somehow. He frowned, not in disapproval, but in quiet confusion.
Less harsh. That’s what it was. But why?
He didn’t linger. The thought passed like a breeze through an open window.
“Bathroom’s free,” he called out, voice steady as he stepped into the hallway.
Eren grunted from the bed, still half-buried in blankets.
Levi moved to the kitchen, already thinking about breakfast. His mind ticked forward to dinner—what needed prepping, what could be brought in from the shed. He glanced out the window. The clouds had thickened, and the wind was picking up.
His ankle gave a muted throb. He flexed it once, testing. It wasn’t bad. Not yet.
Better than it would’ve been without Eren’s massage.
The thought came uninvited. He blinked it away, already reaching for the kettle.
A flicker of unease passed through him—quick, like a snapped thread. He couldn’t name it. But it lingered.
Eren passed through the hallway, rubbing his eyes, hair still tousled. “Looks like rain,” he said, voice low and easy. “If I’m going to feed the animals, I should move fast before the sky opens.”
Levi paused, hand hovering over the stove.
That stopped him more than it should have.
Since when was it Eren’s job to feed the animals? Since when did I expect someone else to get wet in my stead?
He turned back to the stove, movements sharper now. The eggs cracked harder. The knife hit the cutting board with more force than necessary. The rhythm of his body had shifted—tightened.
Eren came in from the bathroom, dressed and ready, his mood still buoyed by the softness of yesterday. He moved behind Levi, arms slipping around his waist in a casual hug, lips brushing the top of Levi’s head.
Levi froze.
Eren felt it instantly. His grip loosened.
“Levi? You good?”
Levi didn’t turn. “Peachy. I’m cooking though, and you’re making it harder than it needs to be.”
Eren stepped back, hands raised slightly. “Okay. I can give you space if that’s what this is about.”
He leaned against the table, not leaving, but watching. Levi’s shoulders were tense, his jaw set.
The warmth of the kitchen had turned heavy, like a blanket too thick for comfort.
“ This is about nothing,” Levi said, voice clipped. “You just don’t need to coddle me so much come morning.”
Eren’s eyes widened. His fingers curled around the edge of the table, knuckles whitening.
“Had I been coddling you just now?” he asked, voice still calm but tighter now. “Why is it coddling now, but not yesterday? What changed?”
Levi didn’t answer. The silence stretched, brittle.
Eren’s voice softened, but tension crept in. “I might have not asked this time. Assumed it was okay. That’s what I can apologize for. I don’t think, though, that that’s what you really want or think is the issue, now is it?”
He paused, watching Levi’s back. It refused to give any answers. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t feel like it, but don’t make it about what it isn’t. That much, I think, even I deserve at this point.”
Levi’s hand paused mid-chop. His face didn’t change, but something flickered behind his eyes. A flash of recognition. He was hurting someone—for no good reason. And he hated that he saw it so clearly. That he cared to take note.
He turned, finally facing Eren.
“You don’t get to pretend to read my fucking mind, Eren,” he said, voice low but sharp. “You may know me some. But that’s it.”
He stepped closer to the table, the knife still in his hand, though lowered.
“You think it’s normal that my first thought seeing clouds was that I don’t have to rush because you’ll feed the animals before it rains? That I can just finish breakfast and not worry my ankle will get worse from the cold?”
His voice cracked slightly, not from volume but from strain.
“What a bunch of bullshit. This is not who I am. Some… weakling who’s afraid of getting wet and dirty and taking a bit of pain with his day. That’s not—me.”
Eren’s fingers tapped a nervous rhythm on the table, his eyes flitting to the ground for a brief moment, then back to Levi. He wasn’t afraid of him—knife in hand or not. Not that. He just didn’t know what to say. Not yet.
But the hurt was there, quiet and real.
“Levi. Levi? Is that… really what you feel?” he asked. “If it wasn’t you with me all those times… who was it then?”
Levi’s mouth opened, then closed. His jaw tightened. His eyes refused to meet Eren’s, even though now he was searching for contact.
“I… don’t know. I don’t fucking know, Eren. Not today.”
Eren stepped forward, instinctively reaching out. Levi saw it—felt it—and turned sharply, stepping away before contact could be made.
He didn’t look back. Eren didn’t call after him.
He walked out the door, the cold air hitting him like a slap. The contrast to the warmth inside was jarring. His breath caught. The tension in his body surged, then faltered. He stood for a moment, trying to steady himself.
He felt heavy. The contrast highlighted by how light he had felt just the night before. When drifting off to sleep even. But something had come to the surface and he wasn’t able to name it.
Not an itch, but a wound reopened after too much strain. Made to bare weight it was not fully prepared for. Too optimistic. Too enthusiastic. Naive. He was too frazzled to command his thoughts into any order.
Standing felt like too easy a target.
He marched forward, crossing the short path to the edge of the forest. The wind picked up. The clouds above began to churn.
He didn’t know what he was walking toward. Only that he couldn’t stay still.
The wind met him with no hesitation. It curled around his sweater, tugged at the edges like fingers trying to pull him back. But Levi didn’t stop.
The trees loomed ahead, their silhouettes blurred by mist and the first threads of rain. It wasn’t heavy yet—just enough to dampen the ground and leave a sheen on the leaves. The kind of rain that whispered rather than roared.
His boots sank slightly into the softened earth. The ache in his ankle sharpened, but he didn’t slow. Pain was familiar. Predictable. Unlike the mess inside his chest.
He ignored thoughts about routine. The breakfast, the feed, the shared tasks of quiet mornings—all of it felt distant now. Distance is what he needed. Not from Eren, exactly. But from the version of himself that had started to expect comfort. That had started to soften.
The forest swallowed most of the sound. Only the wind remained, rustling through branches and brushing past his ears like breath. He walked until he reached a fallen log and sat, not gracefully, but with purpose to stay. The bark was damp, the cold seeping through his clothes.
He didn’t shiver.
His hands rested on his knees, fingers twitching slightly. He hated that he’d left like that. Hated the look on Eren’s face. But more than that, he hated the part of himself that had wanted Eren to follow.
He didn’t know what he was waiting for. Maybe nothing. Maybe just the rain to drown out his thoughts.
It came slowly, then all at once. A steady patter that grew louder, heavier. The mist gave way to droplets, and the forest began to smell of petrichor and pine.
Levi tilted his head back, letting the rain hit his face. It was cold. Cleansing. Unforgiving.
He closed his eyes.
And for a moment, he let himself feel it all.
The house was quiet. Too quiet.
Eren had stopped pacing and now stood at the counter, the knife in his hand hovering above a half-peeled root. The light from the window was dim, filtered through the thick gray of rainclouds. Outside, the steady patter of rain had deepened, no longer a whisper but a rhythm—soft, persistent, like a heartbeat against the roof.
He tried to focus. Levi had started this earlier, before the kitchen fell silent. Before the words. Before the door slammed. Eren had thought finishing the task might help. Might anchor him. But his fingers trembled slightly, and the blade slipped, grazing the edge of his thumb. Not enough to bleed. Just enough to sting.
He stared at the cut. Then at the root. Then at nothing.
The ache in his chest was dull, but constant. He could hear Levi’s voice still— “This is not who I am.” Not angry. Not cruel. But distant. Final.
Eren stepped back from the counter. The knife clinked softly as he set it down. He moved to the window, arms crossed, watching the rain blur the edges of the world. The forest beyond was a smear of green and gray, the meadow between them slick with water and scattered petals from the wind’s earlier tantrum.
He thought about going after him. Had thought about it the moment Levi walked out without a coat, without his cane, without even a glance back. The ankle. The weather. The way Levi had moved—determined, but not steady.
But then the other voice came. The one that sounded like Levi. “No coddling.” And Eren had stayed. Had waited. Had tried to trust that Levi knew what he needed.
Still, the silence was growing heavier. Not oppressive. Just… hollow.
He turned toward the door. His eyes caught on the coat hanging beside it. The cane leaned against the wall, its worn handle darkened by years of use. Eren hesitated. Reached out. Let his fingers rest on the cane’s curve.
If Levi didn’t want them, he wouldn’t take them. But if he did—if he was hurting—Eren could offer. Not carry. Not drag. Offer.
He took both.
The door creaked open, and the wind met him immediately, damp and cool against his skin. He stepped out, the rain soaking into his sleeves within seconds. No longer a whisper, but a steady cadence. The path to the gate was short, but each step felt like a choice repeated.
He reached the gate and placed one hand on the latch. The meadow stretched before him, the grass flattened by rain, the earth dark and rich with petrichor. He looked up.
And froze.
There, at the edge of the forest, Levi stood.
His figure was blurred slightly by mist, but unmistakable. He wasn’t moving. Just standing. Watching. Maybe.
Eren couldn’t be sure. But he felt it. The moment. The stillness. The way the rain seemed to hush around them, as if the world itself had paused.
He opened the gate.
Levi didn’t move.
Eren stepped forward.
And then—Levi did too.
They walked slowly, neither rushing. The rain fell between them, around them, soaking into their clothes, their hair, the ground beneath their feet. The meadow was quiet but alive—the scent of pine and wet grass rising, the distant rustle of wind through leaves.
They met in the middle.
Now close enough, Eren could see the details. Levi’s shoulders squared, his sweater clinging to him, hair damp and flattened against his forehead. His eyes were tired, but clear.
Eren didn’t speak. Just held out the coat and cane, not pushing, not insisting.
Levi looked at the coat first. Took it. Slipped it on without a word.
Then his gaze dropped to the cane in Eren’s other hand. His eyes lingered there for a moment, then rose to meet Eren’s.
Something passed between them. Not a question. Not quite an answer. Something heavier than silence, lighter than forgiveness. A steadying.
Levi reached out again, his fingers brushing over Eren’s knuckles as he took the cane—not to walk with, but to shift into his other hand. Then, without ceremony, he found purchase in Eren’s arm. His grip was firm. Not desperate.
He held on for a moment longer than necessary. Not looking at Eren. Just feeling the contact. Letting it be.
Then he looked up. Met Eren’s eyes.
And Eren understood.
They turned together, walking back toward the house. No words. No kiss. Just the rain and the quiet rhythm of two people once more walking side by side.
The door creaked open, and the warmth of the cottage met them like a sigh. Not hot—familiar. The kind of warmth that came from wood, and stone, and the memory of meals cooked and shared.
Neither spoke.
They stepped inside, boots heavy with mud. Eren bent first, tugging his off with practiced ease, setting them by the door. Levi followed, slower, careful not to track the wet too far in. He shrugged off the coat, water dripping from the hem, and hung it on the hook. The cane he placed back where Eren had taken it from—no haste, no rejection.
Eren disappeared briefly, returning with two towels. He dried himself first, briskly, then draped the second over the backrest of the kitchen chair. A silent offering.
Levi watched him move—how he didn’t hesitate, how he didn’t ask. Just did. The kettle was filled, set to boil. The cups came out next—porcelain, green leaves around the rim, the ones Levi had once said were too fine for everyday use. Eren didn’t hesitate now. They were for Levi. That was the point.
Levi stepped forward, took the towel, and began drying his hair. Half-heartedly. His eyes stayed on Eren, who moved through the space with quiet purpose. No tension. No tiptoeing.
This was the man he’d invited. Encouraged to stay. The man who’d made a home for himself in the space Levi had opened.
That home was kindness. Small gestures. Action and care. Levi had taken it, kept taking, until it overspilled—and then made it feel like offense.
For how long had it been easier to stay stronger than needed?
He’d called Eren adaptable. And he was. But what of himself?
If change seemed so frightening that he’d run for the hills once he noticed it in himself…
To face what he was weakest at and turn it into strength—wasn’t that the truer character?
Afraid of himself more than Eren. That’s what made him run.
But he came back.
And here he was. They were.
Maybe being weak was staying the same when the world changed. When it showed him possibility and he saw threat. When it offered affection and he took it for babying. When it gave him back Eren and he was too afraid of holding his hand lest it grow too attached—and thought it less devastating to let go of it first.
Short-sighted fool that he was.
But Eren met him halfway. When the rain washed away the doubt—and some of his idiocy with it.
Levi’s grip on the towel loosened. His shoulders dropped, just slightly.
Eren turned, catching the movement. He didn’t speak. Just watched.
Levi looked at him. Really looked.
“I was wrong,” he said, voice low. “About what I needed. About what I thought I had to be.”
Eren didn’t answer right away.
“And you came back.”
Levi nodded. “I did.”
There was more to say. Not all of it needed words. But some did.
And Levi was ready.
The kettle had boiled. Steam curled upward, vanishing into the dim kitchen light. Eren poured the water slowly, the porcelain cups warming in his hands. The scent of dried herbs—mint, maybe chamomile—rose gently, grounding the space in something familiar.
Levi stood nearby, towel still in hand, his hair damp and half-dried. He hadn’t moved much since Eren began. Only watched. The tension in his shoulders had loosened some more, not entirely, but enough to let breath pass through without catching.
Eren placed one cup on the table, then the other. He didn’t speak. Sat down, fingers curling around the ceramic, letting the warmth seep into his skin.
Levi joined him after a moment. Took the towel from his shoulder, folded it once, and set it aside. His hand hovered over the cup, then wrapped around it.
They drank in silence.
Outside, the rain continued its steady descent. Inside, the quiet was different now—not brittle, not strained. Waiting.
Levi set his cup down. His fingers lingered on the rim.
“I was afraid,” he said. “Not of you. Of what I’d become. It suddenly hit me.”
Eren didn’t interrupt.
“I thought strength meant staying the same. Holding the line. Not needing.”
He looked up, eyes steady. “But I do. I need. Keep wanting, too. Things for myself.”
Eren’s throat tightened. He reached out, fingers brushing Levi’s wrist.
“I know,” he said. “And I’m here.”
Levi nodded, once. Then again.
The silence returned, but it was warmer now. Eren stood, moved to the stove, ensured the fire would burn off clean. He glanced back.
“Come on,” he said softly. “Let’s get out of these wet things. We’ve left them on for too long.”
Levi followed.
They moved through the hallway, into the bedroom. The light was low, the sheets still rumpled from the morning.
The door clicked shut behind them, muffling the sound of distant rain, louder in the kitchen. Eren’s fingers trailed along Levi’s wrist, guiding him gently toward the bed. No urgency. Just the quiet pull of gravity between them.
Levi stood still for a moment, watching Eren peel off his damp shirt. The fabric clung to his skin, making a soft suction sound as it was tugged free. Eren’s hair was tousled, his chest flushed from the chill and the anticipation. He didn’t speak—reached out, fingertips grazing the hem of Levi’s sweater.
Levi let him. One sleeve at a time, Eren slid the fabric off his arms, careful not to rush. The weight of it hit the floor with a muted thud. Beneath it, Levi’s undershirt was damp too, clinging to the curve of his spine. Eren’s hands moved slower now, knuckles brushing Levi’s ribs as he lifted the thin material over his head. Levi exhaled, the sound barely audible.
Their eyes met. Eren’s gaze was steady, reverent. Levi’s was wary, but softening.
Eren knelt to undo the fastenings of Levi’s trousers, his breath warm against Levi’s stomach. The fabric slipped down, pooling at Levi’s feet. Eren’s hands lingered—thumbs tracing the sharp lines of Levi’s hips, the dip of his navel. Levi stepped out of the last layer, bare now, and Eren rose to meet him.
He took Levi’s wrist again, not to lead but to anchor. His other hand lifted to Levi’s face, thumb brushing the cheekbone, palm cradling gently. Levi leaned into it. A kiss was pressed into the center of Eren’s hand—delicate, meaningful.
He let it linger before he moved to sit down on the bed, facing Levi.
“Come here,” Eren murmured, voice low and steady.
Levi regarded him, inviting and solid, and climbed onto his lap, knees bracketing Eren’s thighs. The position was intimate, vulnerable. Calculated. Their chests touched, skin to skin. Everywhere else, too. Some places more heated than others. Eren’s arms wrapped around Levi’s waist, not possessive—protective.
For a while they took each other in, pressed together like that. Until stillness became movement as they sought out more contact.
They kissed. Not the hungry kind. These were slow, exploratory. Lips brushing, parting, returning. Levi’s fingers threaded into Eren’s hair, tugging just enough to feel the tension. Eren’s hands roamed Levi’s back, memorizing the terrain.
Only then did the fever begin to rise. Eren’s touch grew bolder, fingertips tracing the curve of Levi’s spine, the dip just above his tailbone. Levi shifted, breath hitching, and Eren paused—waiting, watching.
Levi nodded, barely.
Eren leaned in again, mouth at Levi’s throat.
His hand drifted down, fingers brushing Levi’s thigh, then inward. He reached between them, touching Levi first, but then aligning them both in his grasp—just enough to feel their heat, the strain. Levi exhaled sharply, hips jerking, a quiet gasp escaping him.
But Eren paused, feeling the drag.
“Wait,” he murmured, voice husky but steady. “Just let me…”
He eased Levi off his lap with care, hands firm but gentle, guiding him to sit beside him on the bed. Levi’s skin was warm, flushed, his breath still uneven. Some confusion seeped in as Eren leaned forward, reaching for the nightstand. His fingers fumbled for a moment, then curled around a small bottle tucked behind a folded cloth.
Levi blinked. “Where…”
Eren glanced back, a grin tugging at his lips. “Apothecary.”
Levi stared. Blankly and then with swift understanding. “That little—”
Eren laughed, soft and low. “I don’t know. Can’t say I’m mad at him now, considering.”
Levi huffed, but didn’t argue. His gaze lingered on Eren’s hands as he uncapped the bottle, poured a small amount into his palm. The oil shimmered faintly in the dim light, and Eren rubbed his hands together, warming it. Levi was expecting for some kind of scent to rise between them, but there was just a hint of something faintly familiar.
Eren set the bottle aside and turned back to Levi, who was watching him with a guarded softness. Levi didn’t speak. He simply shifted forward, climbing back into Eren’s lap with quiet certainty—knees bracketing his thighs once more, chest to chest, skin to skin.
That was his answer.
Eren’s hands found Levi’s hips again, slick now, gliding over the curve of bone and muscle. His touch was smoother, slower. Levi’s breath caught again, his body responding before thought could interfere.
Eren didn’t rush. His hands moved with intention—tracing the dip of Levi’s waist, the line of his ribs, the hollow just beneath his sternum. He leaned in, pressing a kiss just below Levi’s collarbone, then another at the base of his throat. Levi’s fingers curled into Eren’s hair, anchoring them both.
Their mouths met again—deeper now, but still tender. Levi tilted his head, allowing it, inviting it. Eren’s hand slid lower, not to provoke, but to explore. The oil made everything smoother, softer. Levi shivered, not from cold, but from the way Eren touched him like he was something precious.
Levi’s legs parted slightly, instinctive. Eren adjusted beneath him, the shift subtle, just enough to feel the tension change. His hand moved again, this time with more purpose, and Levi’s breath sped up.
But still, Eren didn’t hurry.
He watched Levi’s face—the way his lashes fluttered, the way his lips parted. He kissed him again—slow, sweet—and whispered against his mouth, “Tell me what you want next.”
Levi didn’t answer with words at first. He pulled Eren closer, fingers digging into his back, hair falling into his eyes. Then looked down, tested his weight and winced as his knees took the brunt of it.
It felt good like this, but probably not for long.
“My knees… On the side would be better.” he whispered.
There was no judgement. No reluctance. Only Eren who shuffled back in understanding until he could no longer do so with Levi in his lap. But was quick to arrange them anew in what seemed like their favourite, chest to back. Levi simply followed the flow, his body pliant where it used to be stubborn.
The moment of break did nothing to stave off their thirst for each other.
Quite the opposite. The anticipation and the consideration of what could make the moment last helped it swell.
The tenderness was still there, but not alone. It was dimmed by pure desire.
Crude. Animalistic. Maybe even repulsive, if Levi let himself linger long enough to dissect it.
But it was there. Theirs. So, so painfully welcome that Levi felt he could drown in it and die a happy man. He hadn't, though—Eren had pulled him to the surface.
And there Levi could hear it all.
Noise.
It was everywhere all at once.
In the whisper of sheets scraping overstimulated skin as they shifted closer—Eren’s knee sliding into the heated space between Levi’s tense thighs. Hardly relaxing.
In the barely-there scrape of rough stubble against the soft junction of neck and shoulder—eliciting another involuntary shiver.
It hummed along Eren’s curious yet practiced fingers as they traced a bony hip and found purchase—Levi's uneven balance resting briefly on the anchor behind him: a wall of muscle coiled with strength and barely restrained want.
It filled the room with the obscenely slick slide of a hand against Levi’s aching cock and his half-choked gasp at a thumb teasing right below the head.
It travelled their small and intimate cocoon of space from mouth to mouth—mouths reaching, awkward and earnest, for a kiss caught halfway.
It slipped out of Levi’s throat—a stray whimper—as new hardness pressed into the small of his back. The hot weight sparked a surprising thrill, laced with trepidation, low in his chest and underbelly.
It was a damp caress against his nape, slick with exertion that only this kind of excitement brought. Then it moved—mouth to ear—Eren’s lips carrying Levi’s name like a prayer. Nothing religious. And yet… it reverberated like benediction.
“Levi, here... like this—feels good?” Eren asked, voice low and sweet, almost reverent. His grip on Levi’s cock stayed firm, hips grinding with distracted intent, while a stray hand swept across his chest—a fingernail catching on a pebble-hard nipple.
“Agh!” Levi gasped, his voice tangled in the slow-building symphony of heat and noise. The lightning of sensation sparked from nipple to cock—he wasn’t sure which led the way, only that speech had long abandoned him.
The sensory onslaught was overwhelming—sound and skin and ache all at once. Levi had been starved of this, of Eren, for too long; craving like a void he could never fill fast enough.
Regrets no longer mattered—not here, not now. If he was allowing himself this, finally, what was the use in tallying up failures already etched into his disappointing life's creed?
And so he decided to let go of any further forbearance and just… be.
Letting go of restraint felt like pulling back a heavy curtain, revealing how dim all his past experiences had been in comparison.
Suddenly everything sharpened—sound, touch, need. He let his body take and ask, craving openly, crying out as Eren’s thigh brushed beneath his balls and his hand twisted just right over aching flesh.
He pushed his chest out to meet Eren’s fingers—clever pinches along his sternum igniting a frisson up his spine he welcomed without shame.
Levi pressed back into the solid heat behind him, asking wordlessly for more. More of Eren. More than he'd already given. Because Eren always had more to give—he always did.
Any restraint on his side had always been on Levi’s account and not his own. And the young man wasn’t afraid to show them both what they had both been missing together until that moment.
As much as Levi would let him.
“Levi, hey... You gotta tell me what you want, yeah?” Eren breathed hot against his ear, unrelenting even now. “You wanna finish like this? With my hand? Like last time?” he asked, punctuating the words with a precise squeeze—because of course he did. Eren always saw things through.
That Eren asked—didn't assume, didn’t just take—meant more than Levi could articulate. It was trust. It was care. And it was everything Levi had feared he’d never deserve.
It meant so much…
Levi was a soldier. A part of him always would be. He was Eren’s senior, once his superior, once Humanity’s Strongest, but what remained was a man: lonely, broken in several places, strong still, but now unbearably open. He was held by the very man who had shattered the world—and Levi along with it.
What Levi felt in that moment wasn’t surrender. It was something closer to power. There was strength in allowing himself to be vulnerable when he chose to be. Not taken. Not coerced. Shared. That choice—what parts of himself to bare, when to speak, when to gasp, when to reach—it was deliberate, dignified, even exhilarating.
He had mastered restraint like a blade. For years, that discipline had shielded him from desire he deemed reckless. Frivolous. Unworthy. But here, his restraint shaped something else. A communion. A yes he owned entirely.
Knowing he could be strong in his choice of pleasure—of Eren —just as he had been in battle, made this feel less like indulgence and more like truth.
And so Levi did what he knew best.
He gave orders. And let instinct translate them into movement.
His fingers curled around Eren’s wrist, halting the next slick stroke—a denial that sparked heat and ache in equal measure.
“Stop for a second. Let me shift,” he said.
The full sentence felt foreign in his throat—clumsy, even—but sacred somehow, because it was unguarded.
Eren stilled. Not with confusion. Not with resistance. But with that quiet attentiveness that meant he saw Levi —and would wait for him.
The brat was probably expecting Levi to pull away. Put distance between them. But instead, Levi pressed forward.
He repositioned, planting his leg over Eren’s hip with practiced effort. His gaze dropped to where their bodies met—his own skin flushed, vibrating with arousal. He ran his remaining fingers into Eren’s hair, gripping with enough force to sting.
Pleasure—uncomplicated, unearned—wasn’t supposed to feel powerful and fun.
The buzzing in his head crescendoed the moment his pelvis ground into Eren’s, the strain in his hip pulling them closer, tighter. And Levi didn’t flinch. Didn’t fall back.
He claimed it.
Levi had a fleeting thought that the ridiculous height difference might actually be doing them both a favor—his face was at the level of Eren’s collarbones, not his eyes. Which was ideal.
No need for direct gazes. Not with a face like his.
Especially not when one of his eyes didn’t even fucking work anymore.
There wasn’t much to admire in Levi’s features. Probably hadn’t been even before the thunder spears, but now—with the scar tissue stretching unevenly over cheek and temple, the hollowed edge of what used to be symmetry—it was hardly the kind of face people associated with desire.
But Eren didn’t flinch. Didn’t hesitate.
“You’re so fucking gorgeous like this,” he rasped—low, thick with breath—and Levi couldn’t argue. Not out of politeness. He didn’t have the breath to spare. Not with the way Eren was looking at him like the injuries didn’t subtract a thing. Like Levi’s body was still whole in a way that mattered. Like he was still Levi.
There was no hesitation in Eren’s touch, either. His fingers traced the ruined skin on Levi’s face with aching certainty, lifting him gently, tilting his chin, lowering his own. The kiss that followed was deep and deliberate—his hands firm, his reverence loud enough to drown any protest Levi might've thought of forming.
One of them sighed. One groaned. And heat surged again with the lazy slide of tongues against one another, sweet and heavy.
“You probably need your head checked if that’s your immediate thought,” Levi murmured into Eren’s mouth, his own voice breathless but barbed. “But it’s working to my advantage, so... screw it.”
His palms dragged down Eren’s spine, shameless in their admiration. Not just of form or heat—but of the fact that Eren was his , here, like this.
Eren shivered, hips twitching. “You don’t see it,” he murmured, jaw grazing Levi’s temple. “Not yet. But I do. I see it in your eyes, under my hands. You’re not less. You’re—fuck, you’re more. And I care how you feel. Because you deserve to feel like you matter.”
Levi exhaled sharply, half scoff, half surrender.
“Dangerous line of thought,” he said. “Keep going and I might believe you.”
Eren didn’t stay still.
He couldn’t —not with Levi leaning into him like gravity had teeth, not with that fractured, beautiful body pressing closer and open. Not when all he wanted was to keep touching, keep proving it with every inch of skin he could reach.
Levi felt the flex beneath his fingertips before Eren’s broad palms swept over his shoulder blades and the hollow of his spine—tracing its curve, pressing into each ridge and dip like he was taking inventory of something sacred.
There was a fire blooming now, stoked by Eren’s mouth and mapped out by his hands. It crawled slow and sure across Levi’s nerves, licking warm at the base of his back where a thumb lingered in the shallow dimple—settling there like it had found home.
Levi wasn’t done exploring. He didn’t want Eren to be. Not yet.
He pressed in, hips aligning with purpose. Their cocks slid together—hot, slick, electric—and Levi barely registered which of them groaned first as hands skittered, scrambling for more skin, more anchorage, more heat.
His pulse pounded; blood roared in his ears. The ache was no longer just want—it was velocity.
Levi guided Eren’s hand lower, over the curve of his ass suggestively, fingers twitching where flesh gave under the touch.
Eren squeezed, reflex sharp and reverent. That part of Levi yielded easier than the rest—fuller, less wiry, a muscle rarely admired but suddenly, clearly seen.
Levi’s breath came sharper now, unsteady as Eren’s fingers spread and mapped lower terrain, not shy anymore—just deliberate.
The muscle beneath was firm, shaped by strain and held tension like it had been waiting to be noticed. Eren's thumb brushed inward, where hip curved into thigh, tracing the seam with reverent intent that drew a hiss from Levi’s throat.
Every nerve felt tuned to Eren’s hands. The next pass, the next push—Levi craved it.
He angled his body in silent invitation, granting room to explore. Demanding it. Levi’s hands roamed up Eren’s sides, kneading muscle, fingers curling at his waist—skimming bold along the line where want became something unmistakable.
No coyness lingered in Levi’s movements now. What pulsed between them was heat, and insistence.
They both inhaled, sharp and loud. Eren’s gaze searched Levi’s—both the clarity and the milky haze. His hair hung wild and mussed, cheeks flushed deep and pupils eclipsed by need.
He was stunning. If someone was gorgeous, it was Eren.
Levi felt it catch behind his teeth, unsaid. But Eren got there first.
“Fuck! Levi… What I want, I’ve wanted for a long time now and… I need to be sure that… You need to tell me, okay? I can’t… I won’t just… You have to say it for me,” he blurted in one broken rush, eyes pleading, voice edged with fire.
Levi’s breath stuttered at the sheer force of it—desire honed sharp, all of it trained on him.
The way he wanted this man—who shattered the world and then cracked himself open—wasn’t healthy. Levi knew that. He felt it in the way his need pressed against sense, warping it. But even so...
Nothing else had ever lodged itself in him with that kind of longing. Nothing he’d yearned for more or feared as deeply.
Not having Eren was a regret that had already settled inside his bones. Shifting that regret into something else—consequence, destruction, rawness—felt like a trade he’d already made.
There was always pain. Whether before or after, it came.
“Take it, then, if it’s what you want, Jaeger,” Levi said, voice low but unwavering. “I want you to take it. I want you to fuck me.”
It wasn’t theatrical. It was stripped-down. Like a man admitting starvation without ever knowing the name of what he’d been denied.
The sound Eren made—half gasp, half growl—was feral.
Levi couldn’t tell if it was sanity cracking or just something deeper breaking loose. Didn’t matter. Eren was on him, devouring that permission in a kiss that burned. His mouth explored every inch Levi offered—sucking at his bottom lip, lapping at the tip of his tongue, then plunging into his mouth like he needed to claim it from the inside.
“I’ll make you feel so good, Levi,” he whispered fiercely. And Levi believed him—not because he’d proved it before, but because he’d never once held back when trying.
That was the core of Eren Jaeger. Even reckless, even trembling—he gave everything.
Determined to a fault.
Some things never changed. And Levi was done trying to resist the ones that never did.
There was a bit of fumbling—Eren blindly reaching for the discarded vial of oil on the far side of the bed. Levi caught the sound of glass thumping against the mattress when slick fingers slipped, followed by the soft pop of a cork and the sudden press of anticipation against the base of his throat.
His body stiffened—reflex or nerves, he wasn’t sure.
Levi’s instinct was to shift, to move—back or onto his knees, his brain whirring through logistics like they were battle formations. Something to focus on.
He barely had time to discard the second option. Knees wouldn’t hold under Eren. Not for long. And that was assuming the miracle of re-learning to walk hadn’t already drained enough from him. A cane, yes. A limp, more often than not. But it was movement. It was mobility. Freedom redefined.
Eren didn’t give him time to spiral.
They were back on their sides—chests brushing, heat pooling between them. Levi ended up higher, hip pressed to Eren’s taut stomach, cock trapped in the friction, while Eren’s own length nudged at Levi’s thigh with intent.
There were too many points of contact for Levi to track.
The older man’s right leg curled over Eren’s hip—skin meeting skin, underside of thigh catching heat—and the simple shift grounded Levi with how close they were. How much closer they were going to get.
Eren’s grip stayed steady, even as he tried to avoid spilling oil like a rookie.
A kiss landed soft. Not distracting—just framing. Levi felt the weight of Eren’s touch again, one hand braced at his hip, the other sliding behind. The press of a thumb there said: I’m here.
And then it vanished—and Levi’s lungs caught.
He knew what was next. Sort of. Not like this.
Still, he wasn’t ready for Eren’s now-wet hand to land above the curve of his ass, slick and deliberate, cradling him inward. Long fingers slipped lower, slower, until they ghosted between his cheeks—searching, patient, full of promise.
Eren’s teasing whisper cut through Levi’s concentration.
“Breathe, Levi. Can’t pass out on me now, yeah?”
Levi snapped back into himself, realizing how tightly he’d clenched everything—jaw, fists, lungs. Ridiculous. Except it wasn’t funny.
“Get on with it, brat, or I might just change my mind,” Levi barked, half reflex, adding a slap to Eren’s shoulder. “I thought patience was your weakness, not mine.” He looked up—one eye catching everything, even the tension he wished he could ignore.
One eye. Still better than none. And more than he ever thought he’d have for something like this.
Eren chuckled, breath catching against Levi’s lip.
Were they stalling? Or were they holding the moment close, letting it stretch?
“With purpose, I can wait years. You know that,” Eren murmured, a shadow of sadness in his voice. “I wait when it matters, Levi.” The kiss that followed stole words—left behind a grunt as fingers slipped deeper into uncharted territory.
“Don’t make me rush it,” Eren whispered into Levi’s jaw, mouth trailing toward his neck. “I’ve hurt you enough. There’s no place for hurt here—not if I’ve got any say.”
Clever fingers moved—circling, steady, slick.
“Speaking like you haven’t already,” Levi stuttered, the sentence hitching in his throat as control left him. “Stubborn fucking brat. I may be going senile early, letting you do this.” His body flushed—heat radiating outward with every carefully timed press, every retreat.
His brain, inconvenient and cruel, decided embarrassment was better than panic.
If he thought too long, he might knee Eren and call it a day. Mortifying. Unsatisfying. Definitely too late now that he’d gotten a taste.
“You forgot greedy,” Eren shot back, and his timing was impeccable—finger breaching Levi fully, voice laced with awe and satisfaction.
His hips jolted at the sudden intrusion, undecided whether it was welcome—or just tolerated.
He let out a steady breath, counting backwards from ten in his head for some semblance of composure.
They were fucking. Not running drills. It should’ve felt routine, like a walk through a park. Instead, it felt like executing a high-stakes 3DMG manoeuvre mid-squad formation—with a bum knee and a half-functioning eye.
Levi wasn’t exactly fresh with his skills anymore. For obvious reasons.
Now it seemed there was another addition to the growing list of activities he’d never expected to re-learn. Cable-flight. Distance walking. Getting fingered by a brat with more compassion than finesse.
Still—his resolve hadn’t dulled. Levi Ackerman might’ve lost mobility, but not his dominion over his own goddamn body. That was non-negotiable.
Determination. They had that in common. If nothing else.
“That makes two of us, brat,” Levi rasped, tone dry enough to sandpaper wood.
He’d had enough of Eren’s painstaking tenderness. There was slow, and then there was borderline masochistic restraint. If this was Eren’s idea of not hurting someone, it was closer to psychological warfare—the languorous pace at which he was sliding his finger in and out of Levi’s ass at this stage.
“Add another or I swear I’ll pass out from boredom. We’re past my bedtime,” he grunted, angling his hips back just enough to press Eren’s finger deeper—timing it with the brush of Eren’s cockhead grazing over his balls again. The friction sparked a full-body shudder.
His ass clenched involuntarily around the invading digit. Strange, how clearly he registered Eren’s knuckles pressing inside him.
And just as his brain was trying to make peace with that, Levi—despite himself—laughed.
A low, bitter chuckle at the absolute absurdity. Not the best timing.
That was when Eren actually listened—another finger joined the first and Levi, under duress or threat of execution, would never admit to the sound he made.
He buried his face in Eren’s neck, teeth sinking in. A bruise bloomed there—retaliation or distraction, who knew.
If anyone had ever told him he’d enjoy getting fingered by none other than Eren Yeager—the titan-child, symbol of salvation and destruction—they’d have earned either a headless corpse or six weeks of stable duty with the greenhorns.
And yet here he was.
Letting Eren have his way. Liking it. Making it obvious.
If Eren noticed the shift—from nervous flinches to Levi’s hips rhythmically rolling into his hand—he had the good grace not to mention it.
Only, what he was saying wasn’t all that much better. It was one thing to hear filth as background noise to filter out and another to have it directed at himself with Eren’s sharp focus.
“Gods, you are so tight inside, Levi… Does it feel good when I do this? If you squeeze like this when I fuck you with my cock, I’m not sure I can last more than three minutes. I can’t believe I get to do this with you,” Eren kept whining, breathing quicker by the minute, his prick leaving a wet trail down Levi’s leg with each grind against each other, reminding Levi of the main event incessantly.
By the time the brat was three fingers deep, Levi’s entire being seemed reduced to the places where their skin was touching, his own cock throbbing for release it wasn’t getting and muscles spasming around dexterous digits intent on lighting him on fire from within.
He felt alive.
Both of them were slipping into delirium now—noise everywhere. Leaky sounds, quick breaths, soft curses. Half the things Eren said didn’t register anymore unless it came out as a question.
And they weren’t even fucking yet. Not properly. Not the way Levi wanted them to be.
“If you don’t get your dick inside me in the next two minutes, I’m hunting for another one. I don’t care how far I’ve gotta walk, Jaeger. Just do it already. For fuck’s sake. Unless your plan is to kill me with overstimulation, ‘cause you’re toeing the line,” Levi snapped, reaching for Eren’s cock, intent on redirecting this absurd level of edging.
The brat was faster. He trapped Levi’s arm against his chest, locking him in with too much tenderness.
“Just a little more,” Eren insisted. “I swear, it’s only to make sure I won’t hurt you.”
And Levi wanted to scream. Not from pain—from this cautious handholding, likely guilt-patched from every past fuck-up.
Levi leveled a glare, about to go for full frustration until his body betrayed him—another bolt of pleasure landed and wiped clean his moral compass.
“If you keep poking around, you’re gonna hit something no one’s ready to deal with. I’m not gonna be any more ready in five minutes than I am now. Hell, I’ve been ready since five minutes ago. You dragging this out—feels like you’re scared of what comes next.”
Silence. Just breathing. Heavy, humid, static in the space between them.
Whatever Eren was looking for, Levi hadn’t a clue. But apparently he found it, because the next blink had Levi staring at the ceiling, legs slung high around Eren’s hips, cockhead hot and slick, sliding between Levi’s asscheeks.
It caught at his rim—and his legs trembled. Every nerve went on high alert.
Then Eren looked down, voice low but so damn clear it left no room for doubt:
“You, Levi Ackerman, are better than anything or anyone I’ve ever known. I don’t deserve you—not one damn bit. But I’m not a good man, so I’ll take it. I’ll take all of you. Every piece you offer. And I’ll cherish every fucking second you let me have. I need you to know that. I need you to understand it’s not just want—it’s need. Because if I don’t say it out loud, I’m afraid you’ll never hear how much this means to me.”
Eyes locked. No exit. Just Levi, unshielded beneath a gaze that could burn worlds, but for once… didn’t. It cradled him.
And Levi couldn’t break that eye contact, lids fluttering wildly in time with his pulse as Eren finally filled him.
It was unlike anything he'd imagined.
His vocabulary fled the scene, leaving him to think in fragments—hot, hotter, too much, more; so fucking full. Eren inside him.
Gods.
He couldn’t take it.
He was going to unravel before this kid like a house of cards in a breeze.
They hovered in the eye of the storm, pretending at calm, both trying to get a grip and failing miserably.
A damp forehead landed on Levi’s shoulder. A curl of brown hair stuck to his skin. A tongue licked salt from the dip of his collarbones. A thumb tickled the underside of his ass.
Touches everywhere—on spots he'd never consciously registered, like the crease where groin met thigh, the sensitive underside of his knee, the stretched and trembling ring of muscle around Eren’s cock as it sank deeper, slower, deliberate.
“I knew you’d be heaven,” Eren mewled as he bottomed out, lips catching Levi’s in a clumsy kiss.
“Fuck, Eren… Don’t just talk… Move,” Levi grunted. “I need to come or I’ll lose my fucking mind,” not caring how desperate he sounded.
And Eren moved.
He braced himself, knees digging in, shifting Levi’s hips to the perfect angle, and obeyed.
Levi could only curse and moan, laid bare beneath each thrust.
He was nothing but hunger dressed in human skin, aching for release.
He met each push with his own, chasing that pressure curling low and dark inside him, swelling until it burned behind his eyes and pooled in his cock.
Every sound in the room spilled like a confession meant only for them.
There was no tuning out Levi’s staccato breaths, nor the litany of sighs, groans, sharp-edged whines that escaped him with every plunge.
No ignoring the slap of skin, the wet squelch of oil and precome painting the rhythm with new notes.
Eren’s voice kept whispering Levi’s name like it was an incantation.
Pleas passed between them—half-formed, raw, sometimes senseless. All of it became their language. A babble that built a connection far beyond words.
After the initial wonderment burned off like steam, Levi started taking it all in more consciously.
Eren seemed to notice. His gaze locked on Levi’s like a tether, then—
“You with me, captain?” he asked, soft but sharp—like Levi’s answer mattered more than air.
Had Levi actually possessed a soul, that look might’ve reached it.
This wasn’t just fucking. It was choosing. Consciously. Deliberately. And Levi knew they weren’t choosing a warm body—they were choosing each other.
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m with you. I’m—fuck!” Levi gasped, throat dry, muscles firing as he met Eren’s driving hips with his own.
“You good then? Is it good for you, Levi?”
Levi blinked, dazed by the sheer absurdity of the question. He was flushed, drowning in sweat and slick and noise. What the hell else could Eren possibly need?
But then he checked himself.
Not asking. Not talking—that’s what got them hurt last time. What cracked them wide open with silence and left scars that still itched.
“If I didn’t—ah,” Levi started, lungs deflating as Eren bent him deeper, one leg tucked almost to his chest.
“If I didn’t know you, I’d think you were fishing for compliments, brat,” he rasped. “But yeah. You’re good. It’s... good. Feels good.”
That last part escaped with a whiny gasp as white burst behind his eyes—Eren had hit something.
Eren grinned, cocky and too pleased. Normally off-putting. But now? Now it made Levi’s chest clench like a fist. Bastard.
“That shift—was that better?” Eren asked.
Levi wanted to curse that damn perceptiveness. But denying it now would be self-sabotage.
He grunted. Nodded. Tried to angle again.
“’T’was better. Felt... more intense. If you just—”
Eren knew what he meant. He helped, pressing Levi’s leg higher, locking it firm over his arm—
And Levi short-circuited.
“Shit! Fucking—” he cried out, nails biting Eren’s bicep in pure surprise. “Hell, Jaeger... What the actual fuck? Why the fuck did no one tell me a human body can feel that good with a cock up its ass?”
Not a scratch-an-itch kind of good. Not the offhand soldier’s banter over beers. This was—this was symphony-level madness.
Eren broke into laughter, jostling them, and Levi groaned as the movement set his nerves singing again.
“I’m glad my cock’s earning its place, captain,” Eren said with a grin, kissing Levi and grinding right against that spot—again. Shivers. Everywhere.
“Why don’t we learn all the levels past good and better we can reach?” Eren offered, voice curling with that devilish determination on his face—that same contradiction of boy and soldier Levi couldn’t seem to resist.
“Challenges are a daily pill in this body,” Levi muttered, hair damp and plastered to his forehead, chest heaving like he'd outrun a titan. “Haven’t given one up yet. Not starting now.”
Given the build-up from that first kiss and the slow kindling ever since, it didn’t take long to realize they could go from better to excellent if Eren added more shallow, grinding thrusts instead of the steady, deeper ones he'd started with.
And then, that they could elevate it to breathtakingly satisfying if Levi met him halfway—undulating his pelvis just right to align with that perfect spot—and clenched down around Eren’s cock on a slower slide out. Eren moaned into Levi’s ear, loud and unfiltered, affirming Levi had hit the mark.
From there, it was a swift climb to exceptional . Levi’s hands gripped Eren’s ass, guiding him faster, closer, desperate. Then their eyes dipped down—where they were joined—and Eren, visibly awed, massaged the wet skin stretched taut around his cock.
That nearly fried Levi’s brain.
He had to squeeze his eye shut—his one functioning eye—to avoid falling over the edge from the sheer visual overload.
Absurdly filthy. Overwhelmingly joyful. Just the two of them, taking exactly what they needed, reckless and selfish in the best way—free from the world’s rules. Free to be greedy because the moment demanded nothing less.
And then they soared higher—to superb . Eren’s hand closed around Levi’s weeping length, stroking loosely for friction while licking back into his mouth, erratic and desperate.
“You feel so fucking good inside, Levi. I can feel you sucking me back in,” Eren gasped, voice wrecked as he sped up, the slap of his hips against Levi’s ass echoing, the bed creaking in protest.
“Shut up, idiot,” Levi groaned—more breath than voice, half-turned on and half-horrified by the observation. “Keep going, ah, just like that. I’m so fucking close, Eren,” he whined, thighs quaking from exertion, stomach and ass clenching with each grind.
He could hear Eren now—louder, rougher—his words gravel-thick with hunger.
“Yeah, yeah. Okay… Fuck, I can see you trembling all over. That’s so hot, Levi. You’re fucking gorgeous, this close. Go on, let it happen. Come for me,” Eren urged, his grip tightening, fist pumping faster to pull Levi past the brink.
He watched Levi like a hawk, fixated, obsessive.
Levi could only endure so much before his body betrayed him.
“Ugh, fuck! Eren! It’s—” The words fractured. His voice collapsed into a sharp moan. And then his whole body locked, went rigid—before melting into full-body tremors as he came, barely aware of his release hitting his own skin.
If not for the rush of new warmth blooming inside him and the loud, broken roar echoing against his skin, Levi might not have even realized Eren had followed him over the edge—orgasm seizing his larger frame and pressing Levi’s body more fully into the mattress, now soaked through with sweat and fluids Levi preferred not to itemize just yet.
His limbs gave out. Legs dropped limply from around Eren’s arms.
He drifted, numb for a breath, hovering somewhere just outside himself—on the edge of consciousness, weightless.
The world returned slowly. First as a high-pitched ringing between his ears, then as muted awareness: breath, damp skin, and gravity again.
Eren's voice was a slurred apology, murmured against Levi’s neck about crushing him with his dead weight. Levi barely registered it—only noticing once Eren started to shift, pulling back… and out.
That— That was a sensation all on its own.
Somewhere three rungs below “good” if he were feeling generous. It wasn’t pleasant.
No real pain before, which was frankly a surprise. The exit stung, though—not shocking, considering how reckless they’d been near the finish line. A little sting: mildly insulting, easy to ignore.
He hadn’t anticipated the throbbing. That caught him so off guard he let out a noise, unfortunately shaped like a squeak.
Eren, twisted half sideways, gave him a look—eyebrow arched, amusement barely contained.
“Don’t look at me like that, brat.” Levi's voice was dry as bone. “I haven’t spent my entire life sexless, but getting railed isn’t exactly a weekly indulgence. If my ass keeps twinging every ten minutes, I’m going to be exceptionally irritable. It’s distracting.”
And, annoyingly… kind of enjoyable? Like a phantom shiver rolling up his spine—a lingering reminder of the mess they’d made together.
Well. That was a stupid thought.
He supposed a thorough pounding could scramble one's coherence. Probably something to accept. Or outgrow.
Maybe.
He’d give it a shot.
What a night.
There were nights when silence weighed heavier on Levi—clinging, heavy, unforgiving.
Now, there was only the twin rhythm of hearts, syncing and slowing. Breath shared. Space claimed.
Lightness found him—not from absence, but presence.
A hush of peace threaded through the aftermath. It drifted in like soundless laughter, like rediscovered camaraderie echoing across the mattress and the skin still warm beneath his palm.
Their melody and the resonance of their hearts.
The world was no longer quiet… And he chose to listen.