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Levi A. x Fem! Reader | Chapter Nine

Summary: It’s the night of the play. Levi wants to cook you dinner when you return home.

Word Count: 18.1k+ (and it’s literally all smut…)

Content: ANIME SPOILERS FOR SEASON 4 PART 2 AND CH. 139 MANGA SPOILERS, penetration (protected sex), oral (both receiving), fingering, exhibitionism, orgasm delay, light emotional angst, rimming (f receiving), slight self-hatred, brief mentions of scars and canon-typical violence

Author’s Note: I completed this chapter way faster than I thought I would. But, it’s here you guys… I have a general idea of where the story is going after this point, but I will be taking a week or two to really plot out the general premises of the next few chapters because I think we have officially reached the halfway point of the fic! Big thanks to @lammello (aka levissquishy on tik tok) who helped beta read. Thanks for all the support and feedback so far! Love you guys [ Levi inspiration for this chapter ]

+ IMPORTANT: I have officially transitioned blogs from here -> @bibblelevi. If you want to chat about the chapter, do so here. Asks on this account (@oi-levi) are turned off. Thanks!

Series Masterlist | AO3 | Next

Levi sits on the edge of the bed, ring-clad finger tapping away profusely at his knee. As soon as he hears the bathroom door unlock, he’s lifting his chin and drinking up the image of you stepping into the room.

A long black dress clings to your frame, flaring out near your hips and hanging loosely around your legs before cutting off at the center of your calf. The silk swaddles your skin like a dream, and a tie is wound around your waist, cinching the dress in where his hands have rested several times before.

His breath hitches at the sheer stockings hugging your calves—which are far too reminiscent of the first night you ever spent together for him to not feel something electric stirring in his gut—and then he’s wondering just how quickly that silk would unravel around your limbs if he tugged on the dangling end of that ribbon.

Loose, puffy long sleeves cinch around your wrists, enhancing the elegant silhouette and only allowing for a peek of skin to show below the V-neckline. There’s no dainty jewelry. There’s only a giant silver ring on your fourth finger, with a whopping turquoise stone—the exact ring he bought for you weeks earlier.

He’s already decided. He will be fucking you in that ring and those stockings later tonight.

“Hi,” you murmur, folding your hands together. “Is… this okay?”

Levi is too slack jawed to respond coherently. “Huh?”

Swallowing, you gesture to the dress. “It’s appropriate for a play, right?”

He closes his mouth and nods once. “Yes.”

“I…” Levi trails off, his voice hoarse. Your brows raise slightly like you’re waiting for him to finish his thought.

“Yes?”

He clears his throat and stands. “I need to… brush my teeth.”

You shrug, “Can we share the mirror? I need to finish my makeup.”

“You can do whatever you want,” he replies quickly, then brushes past you into the bathroom. He has to ignore the way the silk of your dress glides so smoothly over his knuckles. He has to ignore the whiff of sunflower and oak he inhales near the spot on your neck he’s kissed several times before. Garnering every ounce of restraint not to pin you over the countertop and take you right here right now, he aggressively reaches for a tube of toothpaste and shoves his toothbrush into his mouth.

Levi steps to the side, and you squeeze in next to him, rummaging through your toiletry kit for your powder and a brush. His eyes dart across the mirror while you bounce the bristles over your nose and forehead, gaze flitting to meet his in the glass. A smile threatens to tug at your lips.

“You look nice,” you say. Levi’s hand stalls and his heart lurches forward in his chest.

Through a mouthful of toothpaste, he mutters, “Whatever.”

You snort.

Of course it isn’t a lie. Levi looks beautiful. Black slacks cling to his firm thighs, held up by a thick leather belt. A white collared shirt is tucked into his waistband and covered by a black vest, buttoned snug and cinching in his shapely torso. The collar of his shirt is folded over a black tie which is pulled taut around his neck.

On the bed, his blazer is laid out and creaseless, ready to be tugged on before the two of you leave for the evening, and it looks as if a dollop of gel was combed through his midnight locks, which are taming his usually rumpled fringe.

You huff, reaching into your back for a berry-colored lipstick. Parting your mouth and leaning forward, you begin to blot the buttery product onto your lips.

Levi furrows his brows. “Do you have to do that?”

You glance at him through the sides of your eyes. “Do what?” you sass.

He rinses his mouth and slams down on the faucet. “You know what.”

“No, I don’t. I’m just putting on lipstick. I didn’t realize— “ Your pause is followed by a tense silence, then a sweet laugh. “Oh. That’s it.”

He shakes his head and leans against the counter, watching you continue despite how much he despises it. Despite how much it makes him want to rip off every inch of clothing from your body and have you.

You tear off a few squares of toilet paper and blot your lips around it before reapplying. Levi hangs on to the parting of your lips and the sharpening of your jaw as you tilt your head.

A perfect imprint of your mouth is left behind on the white paper. Levi’s gaze lingers a little too long on it before you scrunch it up in your hand.

“Actually,” he considers, “I think like watching you do this.”

Your movements stutter and you cast him a look. “You do?”

Yes, it feels like something that lovers do. Are you lovers? Is that what this thing between the two of you is? But lovers must mean that you love each other, hence the “love-“, and while he is certain he loves you, he doesn’t know whether you love him back in the same way. So maybe you’re his lover, and he’s your… What is he to you?

“Yeah. It’s relaxing,” he adds. His fingers are in the pockets of his pants, and God, you just want to step forward and splay your hands over his stomach. He looks so firm and lithe in this vest and shirt combination and you want to show him exactly how this shade of pink looks on his fair skin.

“Help me with my eyeliner,” you say, holding out a pencil-looking product. Levi glances down and grabs it, examining the pointed tip.

“Eye-what?” he spits. “This looks like a fucking pencil.”

“It is a pencil.”

“Why are you using a pencil on your eye? Lead is poisonous.”

“That was cute, Levi,” you chuckle softly, patting him on the chest. Now he’s staring at the little wrinkle in the corner of your mouth that forms when you smile at him like that—like he’s the only person in the world who has ever brought you joy. “It’s just pigment. Like what I was wearing a few weeks ago when I went to the museum. It makes the eyes look darker.”

“Oh. Well, why would you want me to do it?”

“My hands are too shaky,” you shrug.

He flips his hand over and draws a line across his skin. It appears carbon black and stands stark against the milky hue.

“I would look like a raccoon if I wore this,” he says, then points to the countertop. “Up.”

Excited, you bounce onto the marble countertop. Your heels tap the wooden cabinet, knees spread to adhere to the width of Levi’s hips as he keeps himself situated between you. He could be a surgeon with how steady his hands are—and while his right hand still has its fair share of tremors and aches, that doesn’t change your mind.

His brow is riddled in concentration, and if he weren’t so focused on etching the line across your lash line, you would think he’s in a deep, pensive state. Possibly thinking about books or something both smart and absurdly pretentious.

But Levi would never say anything to be pretentious. He would just say it to be an asshole.

Your jaw is tilted in the concave of his right palm, pad of his thumb digging into your cheekbone to hold your skull steady.

“Don’t even breathe,” he murmurs, feeling your breath ghost his nose. There’s a disciplinary flash in his eyes, and you want nothing more than to challenge him so he will put you in your place.

“Want me to die, then?”

He clenches his jaw. “Don’t even joke about that.”

Knowing he would rather not ponder on morality at such a time, instead you ask: “Where did you learn to do eyeliner, anyway? Past lovers?”

“I’m sure you would love to know all about my past lovers.”

Your face heats like a pile of coals lit aflame. “Maybe.”

Levi’s wrist pauses for a minute, and his pupil expands as his gaze flickers to meet yours. He stiffens, holding his breath before letting his shoulders slump. “You’re the only one,” he admits with a quiet breath.

He may as well have unwittingly tossed you into a river of molten lava. The painful twisting of your heart prompts your stomach to churn, and suddenly you are far too aware of who you are and where you are and how Levi is looking at you right now.

You open your mouth, ready to gawk at him outwardly, before sealing your lips shut and locking away what would have been an utterly humiliating stream of thought.

Instead, you level the playing field. You reward his candor with your own. “You’re the only one for me, too.”

You mean it in more ways than one, but he doesn’t ruminate much, or make a move to dissect any hidden meanings.

His wrist remains still, and he moves his face a little further away. “You mean…?”

A sheepish laugh comes out in the form of a breath. “Thanks for some memorable firsts, I guess.”

“Should we buy a bottle of wine to celebrate? Only took us a century and a half to get here.”

Now, you throw your head back and cackle obnoxiously. Levi’s fingers still cup your jaw. He smirks at you. Barely, but he smirks. Even he can’t hide how much he enjoys this conversation.

“It’s not like we ever had any time to relax and indulge,” he adds, waiting for you to calm before starting on your left eye.

“That is true. But, it does hurt to know what I was missing out on all those years.”

More honesty, Levi realizes. He wonders what you mean—that you were missing out on him all those years, or missing out on sex? Insecurity tugs at his heart. He doesn’t want to imagine you with anyone other than him. The thought alone sparks something fiery in his chest. Something bordering on dangerous.

He doesn’t even want to think about how unfair it is for him to feel like this. He hasn’t even “claimed” you, so you aren’t his to mark, but at the same time, you had operated beneath him and worked as his diligent stead for decades, and the thought of reducing you back to something—someone—he has, rouses something sorrowful and nauseating in his gut.

Maybe, this time around, he is hoping for you to claim him. That is, if you will have him.

“We had jobs to do,” he finally answers. “Now that it’s over, we’re free to indulge as we please.”

“Oh, come on. You really think that? All you ever do is hold back, Levi.” He blinks at you, unsure of what to say, but he doesn’t try to argue, either. You presume that you said something right then.

Of course he holds back. It’s hard not to when he’s so blatantly aware of how delicate this entanglement between the two of you is.

He remembers that distant but painstaking feeling, like being skinned alive and torn from his very bones, that time you nearly bled out on the airship. It was his desperation and blind thinking that resulted in you swept up in his arms, half-dead and muttering something he couldn’t understand.

One hand cannot count the amount of times you have been ripped away from him, and each time has left him floundering more than the last.

Anymore, and he would break wholly.

Even he can handle only so much hurt before it’s too much. And he’s right fucking there. Right on the ledge, taunting fate by balancing on one foot. He never goes down without a fight.

So yes, this is fucking delicate. Perhaps he is a little more delicate than he would ever care to admit, too.

“Levi?” He hears your voice in his thoughts. By now, he has it memorized like it’s his favorite song. “Where did you go?”

He grunts. “Hm?”

He sees your lips, plump and lathered in a tart shade. Heat swarms him as he imagines the outlines of your lips pressing colorful shapes down his navel, sneaking below his waistband, ghosting along his inner thighs. Shamefully, he even goes as far to picture the hue rubbing off elsewhere.

He clears his throat and pulls his head out of the gutter.

“If you want the right side of the bed tonight, I’ll accept your offer.”

You laugh again. You didn’t think he’d remember that. “Unfortunately, I doubt that’s the only thing you were thinking about.”

“It wasn’t,” he concedes. The smokey line enhances the flecks in your irises and the milks of your corneas. He wants to drink up your eyes and lick you and feel your warmth buzzing inside of him. Something warm and homey curls up like a kitten inside of him. In the gentlest of voices, he says, “When we get home, let me cook you dinner.”

You don’t think much of his request.

But Levi, who knows how painfully embarrassing he is when it comes to romance, envisions you perched on the kitchen counter, just as you are now, swirling a glass of expensive red wine that he bought just for this occasion. And he would cook pasta from scratch and sip the wine from your glass just to try it and light a few candles in the living room before going down on you in the throes of throw pillows and blankets bundled on the floor. He would fuck you meticulously, petting every inch, until the orange sky faded black and the midnight breeze blew out the candles, drenching your naked and hot bodies in darkness. Then he would do it all again. Fuck you so tenderly, so deeply, until the only sound that fell from your lips was his name—a Holy prayer, a mantra, a vow.

“You always cook me dinner, Levi,” you whisper.

He presses the tip of the liner to your out corner. “Yeah, I do.”

It’s not a rejection, he reminds himself. He knows he didn’t clarify what he meant, and he isn’t sure if he wanted to clarify it or not, either. He just felt inclined to say something like that so he said it.

Your arm jerking towards your eye rips him from his thoughts.

“Levi! Ow!” you cry, feeling wetness smear your palm.

His mouth parts. “What the fuck did I do?”

“You poked me in the eye!”

“Well, it’s your fault that your eye got in the way. It’s so big.”

Your hand comes down on his bicep, smacking him hard through his shirt. He recoils. “So violent.”

“I don’t have a big eye,” you hiss, appalled.

He murmurs something incoherent under his breath before taking a step forward. His palms come up to your jaw but you’re quick to grip both his wrists and hold them mid-air.

“I don’t think so,” you quip, the two of you pushing against each other. “You’ve lost all makeup privileges, Mr. Ackerman. Please turn in the eye pencil and await further instruction.”

“You’re ridiculous,” he sneers. Yet he still fights you. “It couldn’t have hurt that bad.”

You wail, “It did!”

Now, makeup is smudged beneath your eye. You’re just happy you didn’t put on mascara beforehand otherwise you really would be sporting the raccoon eyes Levi would if he ever tried eyeliner himself.

“Well if you stopped being a brat, I could look and see how bad it is!”

“There’s only one way to fix a fatal injury like this, Levi.”

“What? I thought you said it wasn’t poisonous— “

Dead serious, you say, “You have to kiss it better.”

Levi gapes at you. You wonder if he’s actually debating leaning in to press a quick smooch to the corner of your eye, but instead, he simply caps the eyeliner and slides it into your palm.

“You win.”

In a casual gesture, he reaches up to wipe at the corner of your eye with his thumb and smear away any lingering product.

You don’t even realize how fast your heart is racing until you’re forced to wait for your hand to quit shaking before you finish reapplying on your right eye.

***

You’re starting to wonder why the fuck Onyankopon gave you these tickets free of charge.

You know he said his fiancé had a work opportunity suddenly interfere, but this is just too nice. While you had your taste of luxury weeks earlier, the architecture here on the pier is still as extravagant and grandeur. The ceiling consists of multiple convexes, with glass chandeliers dangling from the centers, radiating fragments of light that seems to cast mirages across the white-tiled floors.

Levi’s as impressed as you are. Though he doesn’t show it outwardly, you can tell by the subtle opening of his eyes that he’s admiring the design and cleanliness. There are booths with formally-dressed employees conversing with attendees, gesturing past red ropes into what you assume is a wide hallway.

When you slide the two tickets out of your bag and offer them to the employee, she flashes a smile and points towards one of the entryways.

“Thank you. Please turn right at the door and meet the usher at the elevator. From there, someone will escort you to your seats.” She hands you a playbill and points to the right.

You blink. “Elevator?”

You feel a hand on the small of your back, warm and familiar, guiding you towards the red ropes. Levi murmurs a “Thank you” to the woman and continues into the hallway.

The walls are lined with crannies, where small, slick wooden tables reside decorated with vases of fresh cut flowers. The carpets are a rich crimson. All the way down the hallway is the usher, standing beside the elevator dial with his hands clasped behind his back.

“What exactly does Onyankopon do for a living?” you ask Levi, whose hand is still on your lower back. You could’ve sworn he was a pilot… Do pilots make a lot of money?

“I think the question is, what does his fiancé do for a living,” he corrects.

You and Levi arrive at the golden gates of the elevator, which is just as elaborately designed as the interior of the hallway. A few seconds later and you emerge on the next floor, where an usher greets you and escorts you to your seats.

Apparently, the seats in the theatre house that are on the highest levels are called “nosebleeds” because of their high altitude. It’s supposed to be a hyperbole, but you don’t see anything unfortunate about the seating. Your section is empty, composed of two rows of about a dozen bronze-rimmed red seats. There’s a railing in front of you to cage you in without obstructing the view, and you take the opportunity to peek over the bar.

Below you are likely thousands of chairs, most of them filled with well-dressed families. Low chatter echoes off the walls, and dim lights illuminate the paths weaved through separate sections. It’s unlike anything you’ve seen before.

“Not too bad,” Levi agrees. There’s something giddy popping in his chest, and he peeks behind himself, reading the number etched into the bronze plaque. When he recognizes his assigned seat, he slides in, propping his cane up beside him.

Kindly, he pushes down to unfold the chair for you, and you smooth down the skirt of your dress before taking your seat.

“Happy we came?” you ask, remembering how hesitant he was last week. Although, it wasn’t like it took much to convince him.

“Yes.” His elbow brushes your forearm and you’re so shocked by how quickly he responded that your head jerks to face him. He’s already looking at you, wearing a fond expression where even his eyes seem to glow. A smile finds its way onto your mouth.

He searches your eyes and admires the smoky shade that lines your upper and lower lash, drawn by his own hand, then he clears his throat before he gets any ideas.

“So, you never even told me what this play was about,” he says.

You perk up. “Oh, right.” Sheepishly, you flip through the playbill, skimming the cast and acts before settling on a brief summary. “It’s about Mel, a young woman who travels to Utopia with her mother, where she ends up falling in love with a shopkeeper, Franz.”

Levi snorts. “Franz.”

“It’s really cute,” you chuckle.

“Real ‘slice of life’,” Levi adds.

You nod, “Yes! Exactly! It’s just like all those romance novels you love to read!”

Levi’s face scrunches and he shoots you a sour look. “Excuse me?”

“What?” You lower the playbill.

“I don’t read romance.”

“Yes, you do. It’s literally contemporary romance.”

“It’s not— “ He inhales sharply, biting back a curse. “It’s gothic.”

“What do you mean, ‘It’s gothic’?” You ask incredulously, using your fingers to add quotes. “Sex scenes are still sex scenes whether it’s gothic or contemporary.”

“I don’t—! They just… come out of nowhere when I’m reading,” he mutters. “Sometimes.”

You flatten three fingers over your lips and laugh through your nose. Levi’s glare continues to penetrate the side of your face as red spreads through his cheeks, but you spare him further humiliation by minding your business for once.

The seats below you continue to flood with people as eight o’clock nears, and by the time it’s fifteen till, none of the other seats in your section have been occupied. Though all the way across the auditorium is another section similar to your own that’s dotted with a few people. It seems that multiple “nosebleed” sections follow the perimeter of the interior.

“Looks like we might get this area all to ourselves,” you note aloud, sinking back into your seat.

Levi hums. His heart is pounding. This feels like a date and now he’s regretting not making it one.

“You…” He combats his nerves by swallowing thickly, then exhales, “look beautiful.”

Your jaw drops as you register the gentle tone he used and the way his lips moved to mold the words. There’s something miraculous about hearing Levi so unabashed. It’s a privilege.

“Thank you,” you reply quietly, cheeks glowing.

Should you tell him that he looks good, too? You did earlier, but maybe you should remind him. But what if he gets annoyed? What if it’s too much?

This is weird. It’s not awkward. There’s just a thickness in the air that’s constantly surrounding the two of you.

And that thing he said to you earlier, when he was fixing your eyeliner—that he wanted to cook you dinner when you got home. What the hell does that mean? He cooks you dinner all the fucking time. Nowadays he never has to ask what you want. He simply knows what you like and gauges your moods to know what to make that evening. That’s sweet, right? That he knows you that well.

That’s… a boyfriend thing. A husband thing. A partner thing. Or is it mostly a platonic thing? A romantic thing? Both?

The lights begin to dim, and at the exact moment they do, your elbow nudges the armrest and accidentally pushes it up.

Levi quickly bats it between the two backs of your seats. Now there isn’t a single barrier between your bodies. All there is is heat. Your arms brush together and your entire body stiffens, and you wonder if Levi feels just as tense as you do right now. You can almost hear him in your ear, murmuring a gentle “Relax” and kneading your shoulders until you liquify into a puddle.

Somehow that very thought stirs something within you. Goosebumps tickle your forearms, and you bite down on your bottom lip as your mind continues to wander. The dark tends to have that kind of hold on you.

Levi sits as still as a statue beside you. Even though the show has begun, and there are voices booming into sound equipment he knows next to nothing about, all he’s thinking about is if he should reach for your hand or your thigh or your knee. The best part about being alone is that this moment is something that belongs to only the two of you, which means it’s far easier for him to grow comfortable in this space.

His fingertips twitch in your direction. He swears he feels your body shifting closer to him. Then it feels like ten minutes pass before he’s inching them even closer. Both your breaths are baited when your shoulders touch, and he gets a clearer idea of where your hand is, resting just above your knee on your thigh.

Holy fuck, there is no way in hell you’re going to pay attention at all. You feel like a bit of an asshole for that too considering Onyankopon really just handed these tickets and a hotel room over to you and Levi without accepting any sort of consolation from either one of you. He blatantly refused.

Pay attention. Pay attention. Pay attention. Stop thinking about Levi in that vest, and how it’s practically crushing him, and how he—

Skin brushes against the side of your palm, and you know already that it’s Levi’s hand. Why he just leaves it laying there without doing anything else, you have no idea, but he’s stunned you into silence and stillness, so you sit there with your guilt and try to watch the show.

Key word: Try.

Another ten minutes pass by, and it goes quicker than anticipated. You’ve picked up bits and pieces from the play, and your heart has relaxed in your chest. The darkness does make you feel a little sleepy but the piercing sound keeps you awake and brimming with energy.

There’s some kissing and some running and a fight and a makeup. You wonder how the fuck this woman can have such an interesting life and it’s only the first act. You feel like you’re in the hundredth consistent act of your life, with about zero intermissions to catch your breath in between.

Maybe it’s because you’re in your own head that your fingers suddenly overlap with Levi’s. Or it’s just a mere accident—you happened to move your fingers and Levi’s hand still happened to be close to yours. But that one breath of touch is enough to spur him into action.

His fingers slide fully over yours, folding around them, offering a reassuring squeeze before his grip loosens and your hands rest casually on your leg.

Finally, you exhale.

At ease, you bring your folded hands into your lap, placing your other palm around his. Levi lets you play with his fingers until the intermission arrives, and you have popped every single one of his knuckles twice.

“You’re gonna break my fucking hand,” he mutters.

“No,” you argue. “It’s just fun.”

“Cracking someone’s knuckles is fun? You’re a freak.”

“You’re mean.”

“You’re annoying.”

Feigning hurt, you drop his hand into your lap and slouch into the back of your seat. He watches with a slightly raised brow at the pout that forms on your mouth and has to try not to snort.

It starts off as a sweet gesture—when he spreads his fingers over your upper thigh and begins to stroke. He has no intention of sparking a flame. No intention of going any further than you may want. It’s just a way for him to touch you after you swatted him away like a fucking brat.

“You always get such an attitude,” he says in a low voice.

You gawk at him. “That better be a joke.” But it’s a tad hard to be frustrated with him when you feel his fingers dragging back and forth over one of your garter belt straps. He has no idea what’s beneath this dress, or that half the reason you wore it was because you wanted to do it for him.

Your face burns.

“It definitely wasn’t a joke,” he retorts.

“Stop talking to me.”

He actually laughs. “Is that what you really want?”

“No,” you respond raggedly. You relax when he removes his hand from your inner thigh, but the damage has already been done. You are ridiculously horny.

And it certainly doesn’t help when his hand is back, this time on your bare fucking knee. Your gaze snaps down to where his hand and wrist disappear within the slit of your dress. You inhale.

“What do you want then?”

“A cat.”

“Again with the fucking cat?”

“And a dog,” you add with a bright grin.

He shakes his head. His fingers slide up your inner thigh so he can relish in the texture of your stockings against his skin.

You swallow dryly and pray he stops at the hem and doesn’t dare stray any further.

The lights dim before you find out.

***

Fuck Levi Ackerman and his stupid hand.

It’s been sitting on the inside of your leg now for what feels like twenty minutes, never moving, not even twitching. It just sits there and taunts you, and you’re constantly finding your gaze snapping towards your lap where he’s holding you beneath the dress.

You can do this. You can do this. You can—

No, no, no. His fingers are drawing circles on your stockings, inching towards the hem, until—

You swear you can hear Levi gasp when his fingers run over the silk straps.

“Levi,” you whisper, your thick, gooey tone seeping through his ear. It rouses goosebumps down his spine beneath the layer of fabric clinging to his hot skin. He recognizes that tone. He’s heard you whimper his name in that same tone dozens of times before. The same heat flushing his cheeks trickles down between his thighs, and now he’s remembering how fucking breathtaking you looked emerging from the bathroom doorway in that silky dress. He remembers you painting your lips in that stunning berry tint.

“Hm?” he hums shallowly. Your palm is now sliding up his arm, and he feels your cheek against his bicep, and the way you shiver as his fingers inch further and further up your inner thigh, beyond the straps of your garter belt, too close to your lace panties.

“Please.”

Fuck. That single word has him throbbing.

“What are you hiding under here?” he asks with a hoarse voice, his lips brushing the crown of your head.

Your eyes scan the hundreds of heads in the crowd below, and you can’t possibly be more thankful than you already are for this seating arrangement—for being alone with him, cloaked in darkness, semi-hidden by the bronze outer railing surrounding the seats.

“N-nothing,” you gasp. The tip of his forefinger presses firm into your clit, and you squeeze your thighs around the pressure to trap it there.

The finger slides down, following the crease of your folds before barely pushing into your entrance.

“Shit, how are you this wet, sweetheart?” he whispers, and he sounds debauched.

Your hand closes around his bicep and your entire body burns with shame, but even more so with arousal. It pools like a thick honey between your thighs, staining the thin garment of your pitiful excuse for panties. You partly blame the seam for rubbing you right at your spot, yet also blame Levi for being ridiculously attractive in his vest. “Do something about it. Please, Levi,” you beg him.

“Right here? Right now?” he asks. A second finger joins the first one, working in tandem to rub soft circles over your clit. Every inch of you is aflame. Your breasts are straining against your bra as your pebbled nipples scrape against the cups. Your mouth is gaping. You’re clenching around nothing, a well-enough sign that you’re desperate to be filled.

“God, please don’t make me say it,” you whimper.

Levi glances down at you through hooded eyes, before he snakes an arm around your shoulders and tugs you protectively into his chest. His other hand is still between your thighs, and your fingers seek refuge in the fabric of his shirt, wrinkling what was one creaseless and pristine.

“It’s a good thing that no one else is in the section,” he utters in a hushed tone. You feel his lips pressing against your forehead, right above your brow bone. “Stay fucking still.”

His order has you grinding forward against his hand, but Levi remains true and pushes you against your seat by laying his entire palm flat against your cunt. Your heart jolts in your chest.

“What did I just say?”

You bite back a whine, gritting your teeth when Levi presses on your inner thigh, parting your legs wider so he can dip two fingers beneath the thin fabric. The warmth of his fingers sinks into your folds, accumulating wetness at their tips.

“Fuck, you’re so turned on you need me to repeat myself,” he practically groans. The pace Levi sets is slow enough to have you biting in your lip, yet fast enough to have you bracing yourself against his torso. “What were you thinking about to get like this?”

A soft moan vibrates against his chest, and Levi stops his movements, as if to wordlessly convey how important it is to have your silence in this moment. You try to give it to him. You try to be good.

“You,” you rasp. Your fingers squeeze tighter around his shirt. “Your hand… was so close.”

Levi feels himself swell painfully against his slacks, and he curses you and your honesty. His fingertips resume their circular motion, dipping down between your folds to lather more slick over your clit. You feel the coil in the pit of your stomach tighten and threaten to snap.

“You drive me crazy, Levi,” you babble. “I can’t take it. I need you so badly. I need you inside. God.”

He nearly dies on the fucking spot. Not only have you snatched the breath right out of his lungs, but the sheer lust woven within your admission has his stomach in knots. You’re so precious right now, snuggling into him like he’s a safe space, begging him for his cock. Hearing you say it out loud is what does it—what makes him fucking break.

“I’ll give it to you,” he promises. His palm smooths down the back of your hair and he strokes the side of your clit perfectly. With the way you tense and tremble beside him, he knows he’ll have you coming in no time. “However you want it.”

You nod against him, dragging your hips forward into his hand. “S-sorry…” You remember he told you not to move.

He shakes his head. “I don’t want anyone else to see you like this,” he says. “That’s why I need you to try and stay still, sweetheart.”

That coin of endearment shouldn’t fuel your arousal but it does. It makes you feel as if you belong to him. You inhale sharply against Levi’s shirt, drowning in an ideal amount of cologne and aftershave, and you wonder if you’ll smell like him when you inevitably have to pull away.

His hand works diligently between your thighs, the pads of two fingers continuing circles on your clit, feeding into that burning sensation inside your lower belly that has you trembling and gasping. You shut your eyes tight and hold your breath to keep down any sounds threatening to burst from your lungs.

“Levi.” Your hands tug on the flaps of his blazer. You feel a gust of hot breath fan against your forehead.

“Shhh. I can tell you’re close. You wanna come? You gotta be quiet.”

“I’ll be good, Levi,” you whine in an airy tone. He presses a damp kiss to your forehead while his pace on your clit remains the same.

“Fuck,” he exhales. “How about you keep being good and tell me your favorite part of the show so far?”

You shudder. “I-I can’t.”

His lips move against your skin as he continues to talk, suddenly slowing his fingers. “You’re coherent enough to form a sentence, aren’t you?” The words are cutting, making your entire pussy flutter.

“I-I think so. Yeah.”

“Yeah?” You feel his fingers dive further between your slit, prodding at your empty and gaping entrance before dragging back to your swollen bud. You hiss. “If you can tell me your favorite part, I’ll let you come.”

You swallow, wetness pricking your eyes.

“If you can’t,” he continues, “then I guess we’ll just have to wait until we get back, won’t we? That way you have time to think about it?”

A whimper vibrates against his chest, and if you reached down, you would feel the hardness in his trousers. You’re almost tempted. Almost. But you don’t because you have a feeling you wouldn’t like the consequences—or that you’d like them a little too much.

“I wanna come,” you beg.

“Believe me, I can tell,” he says thickly. “My fingers are covered in you. You have no idea how badly I wish it was my tongue.”

“Oh.” You shift against him, forcing your thighs down into the seat when his fingers start coaxing you closer towards the edge. As soon as you get close, he slides his palm further down and teases your entrance, purposefully ignoring your throbbing clit. “Why do you always have to tease me like this?”

“Because you like it when I do,” Levi answers. “And because I like it, too.”

“Please, please just let me come, Levi.”

You gasp as he works two fingers easily inside you. “All you have to do is answer my question and I will. Don’t tell me you were too horny to pay attention to the entire first act?”

His fingers feel perfect buried inside of you, exploring the sides of your walls, curling and searching for that spot within you that makes you arch. Levi knows your body well enough that he won’t have to try for long.

“I-I liked the beginning,” you begin with a shaky voice. Your grip around his blazer loosens as the high from your first neglected orgasm fades. “When she… first made it to Utopia. When she ran into Franz rushing out of the shop. It was… cute.”

Levi feels the corner of his mouth tugging up, and another rewarding kiss is pressed to your forehead. “I never pegged you as the type to enjoy meet-cutes, just like I never pegged you as the romantic type, either,” he murmurs.

“There’s… a lot you don’t know about me,” you reply.

He hums, closing his eyes. “True. I do know one thing, though.”

Your throat goes dry. “W-what’s that?”

Fingers thread through the back of your scalp, yanking your head back until he’s peering deep into your eyes. Silver bores into your soul, and you fear he’s looking at every inch of you, devouring you, then suddenly his fingers shift and his thumb nuzzles your clit. Your jaw drops. Your eyes go wide.

His nose brushes yours and you swear you can feel his lips moving as he speaks.

“I know how to make you fucking come.”

You are so goddamn grateful it’s dark.

To anyone else, it may look as if you’re curled against Levi’s chest, watching the show through the sides of your eyes; but only the two of you know that he’s two knuckles deep, working you right over the edge, fast and hard. He hears your breath hiccup and his palm moves from around your head over your mouth, until your neck is cradled in the crook of his elbow.

Your fingers dig into his chest as you clench around him and come silently. Tremors wrack your body while moans threaten to spill through his cupped palm. Levi’s shushing you through your climax. You can feel him saying something against your forehead but you can’t actually hear anything.

His strokes slow. Before he completely withdraws his fingers, he circles your clit to help you ride out those final ripples of pleasure, then slides your soaked panties back into place and pulls his hand out completely from between your shaking legs.

You slump against his chest, panting when he finally removes his hand from your mouth. Gently, he swipes your saliva-coated bottom lip with his thumb and corrects your smudged lipstick. When you blink your eyes open, he’s wiping his fingers with a clean handkerchief.

“You okay?” he murmurs. You nearly jump out of your seat when he pats your knee, but instead you sink into the cushion and nod your head. His gaze lingers before doing a once over of your surroundings. The adrenaline is still there, he realizes. Not to mention he’s hard as a fucking rock to the point it’s uncomfortable.

The hand that wasn’t inside you seconds ago continues to sit at home on your knee, and you remain leant into Levi’s side, your head still nudging his shoulder and craving that closeness you’ve always craved after he has wrecked you.

This is ridiculous, you think to yourself. Fucking each other, pretending like it happens just because it happens, and not because you’re both so obviously attracted to each other. You’re frustrated because this closeness is something that is fleeting. It happens sporadically for a weekend, then life is like it never happened the time in between. It’s awful. It’s terrible. You want this every night of your life and the thought of not having it makes you want to cry.

You don’t know why you’re thinking this now. God, all you wanted the last hour was for Levi to touch you. You didn’t care where you were. Maybe the thrill of being caught egged you on even further. And the opportunistic seating arrangement, and the dark lighting, and the distraction of the production, and the loud noises—you were tucked away in your own little corner of the world back here. He tucked you away. He shielded you. He covered your mouth.

So then why do you feel so dirty? Why are you aching for something when he’s just satisfied you?

Dialogue is echoing in your ears, but all you can focus on is Levi’s hand on top of your thigh. Either his thumb is twitching, or he’s voluntarily drawing circles into the silk fabric of your dress, his head tilted so he can watch the show like he didn’t just make you come harder than you’ve ever come in your whole life.

Your eyes follow the curvature of his jaw, carved out like clay by sharp tools and skilled, steady hands. He has always had a strong nose with a straight ridge, and hollowed, sunken cheeks to match the violet below his eyes. You can see the scars perfectly on his cheekbone. You can see the flush in his cheeks that climbs to the tips of his ears, and the pout of his mouth as he blows air from his lungs.

You can just say it was the heat of the moment if he gapes at you like you have all the audacity in the world. Maybe you are greedy for craving this from him, after he’s given you his fingers, after he’s protected you. But you think this feeling stirring in the pit of your something is something only his mouth on yours can stop.

Trembling, you lift a hand, your fingertips scraping the far side of his face. He tenses at the unprompted contact.

You hold his jaw delicately with three flattened fingers and tilt your head.

You barely have any time to gauge his expression. You just close your eyes and lean forward and press your mouth onto his.

Levi doesn’t move a fucking muscle.

He sits there with his body half-turned towards yours, one hand on your knee while the other clutches the armrest for dear life. Your lips don’t even move. You just press them against his, testing their cushiony weight, experiencing their plushness for the first time. He expects his heart to pound like a hammer against his chest but instead it stops entirely. Instead he can’t even breathe. He can’t even close his eyes. He can’t even fucking think.

It feels like half his life has passed him by when you finally pull away, fingers still lingering on his jawline, eyelids drooped shut, and lips slightly parted.

When you finally open them, you think you might faint. Levi’s looking at you like… like something awful. Like you just killed him.

“What the fuck?” he blurts, lips parted and glaring from the sheen of saliva and berry you left behind. Levi’s cheeks, once rosy, are now a burning red, up to the very tips of his nose and ears, all down his neck, too.

“I—“ Your speech sputters. You aren’t capable of breathing, much less speaking. “I’m so sorry, I— “

“You just kissed me.”

“I did,” you whisper. “I should’ve asked, Levi, I’m so— “

“You kissed me,” he says again, helplessly.

Levi doesn’t believe people are made of glass, but he feels a little broken. You have destroyed him through and through.

“Yes.”

He swallows, opens his mouth, and closes it again.

His brows tug together.

His shoulders lift with a shaky sigh, and you feel a pit open up in your stomach because these are one of Levi’s expressions that you don’t yet understand.

You think he’s distraught, especially from the crease wrinkled across his forehead, or maybe it’s the inherently sad way he whispers, “Again. Do it again,” like he’s sorry that he isn’t as strong as he used to be. Like he’s sorry that he can’t hold himself back anymore.

Or maybe he isn’t sorry at all. He shouldn’t be. He should never be sorry for wanting to kiss you back.

Even though he asks, you still have to gather the courage to hold his jaw in your palm. You still have to gather the courage to tilt your chin back so you can connect your lips for a second time.

He inhales sharply against your nose then moments later releases a shuddering breath as he eases your mouths together. It’s a mere fusing of lips. His upper and lower lip close around your bottom, and your upper and lower lip close around his top. For the first time, you feel his long eyelashes tickling you closer than ever. You feel the molding of his mouth as he moves it, trying to understand, trying to find what fits. He learns quickly that he’s scared of teeth and bad breath, but your thumb gently stroking over his scarred cheekbone singes away any doubt and replaces it with an emboldened curiosity, sticky palms, and butterflies that swarm his belly in a way that reminds him of warm summers spent with you. His fingers dig into your leg in an attempt to still. His eyes are squeezed shut.

Sometimes, it feels like you and Levi are the only two people in the world who exist.

When you pull away, Levi is faint on your lips. You need his tongue in order to properly taste him, but there’s a time and a place for you to do so unabashedly, and it certainly isn’t here.

“It’s okay,” you exhale, mostly to yourself, but Levi sighs through his nose and his shoulders wilt forward.

He resigns.

Again, he slots your mouths together. He kisses you.

Somewhere along the line, the hand that was limp by your side reaches for Levi’s curled over your thigh. He turns his hand over and spreads his fingers. Your palms meet, as if you’re comparing hand sizes, until your fingers finally interlace.

You tilt your head back and let Levi massage your mouth, eager for him to do with you what he wants and learn the parts of you he is unfamiliar with. Just as he pulls away, he presses another chaste kiss to your lips, then another, then one more that lasts a few beats longer until he’s too dizzy he has to rest his forehead against yours.

“Why did you kiss me?” he asks huskily, the tips of your noses touching.

Neither of you have opened your eyes.

“Why did you kiss me back?” you ask in return.

Before his body becomes too enamored with being this close to yours, he tilts his head back by a fraction. It’s enough so he can find your gaze through half-lidded vision. Your eyes are dark and meeting his just as dazedly, almost as if the two of you had drank too much of each other.

Levi's throat is dry. Your mouth is salivating.

“Levi.”

“Hm?”

“Nothing,” you breathe. “I just wanted to say your name.”

There’s a pang in his chest. “Fucking hell.”

You exhale with pleasure. “Hm.”

“Is this some elaborate ruse so you can get the right side of the bed?” He runs a hand through his hair and anxiously mouses it. “Because if it is, you can have it. It’s yours.”

The corner of your mouth quirks up. God, you will never tire of him. You want to watch him fuss over you and your games for the rest of your lives. You want to pester him until he buys you three cats and a dog and more half-broken antiques that you can hoard on his cherry wood shelves.

You don’t realize how tightly the two of you have been groping each other’s hands. Levi is so obviously pent up, and you ache to unravel him so you can watch those shoulders sag, in sync with his eyelids. You ache to have him moan into your mouth so you can feel it wrap fully around your heart.

He has never looked at you this long. Or, you’ve never held his gaze this long. He’s desperate to strangle you because of how you blink so sensually at him, and you’re desperate to strangle him because of how utterly irresistible he is.

You blink slowly again at him, feeling the arousal pulsing through you. You want to tell him that you are so ready for him, but you think if you try to speak, you will moan, so instead you let your head drop against the back of your velvet seat, and you wiggle your fingers free so you can press your hands palm to palm atop your thigh. The tips of Levi’s fingers stretch a few inches over yours. His palms are wider. He’s so thick and soft and muscly and warm, and you want to burrow yourself in him and hibernate for the rest of your wintery life.

“God,” he exhales. “Fuck you.” He has such a lovely way with words.

The smile on your lips is lazy. You feel like you have gulped down a five-hundred dollar bottle of red wine by yourself.

“I love it when you swear at me, Levi.”

“Fuck you again then.”

“Please do.”

“You’ve been saying my name so much. I’ll make you scream it later. That’s a goddamn promise.”

“Levi— “

He hates you. He leans in and shoves his mouth onto yours. It’s quick and abbreviated. It means something like: Shut your fucking mouth before I stuff it full of my cock, and you have no qualms about it. You are just eager to feel his tongue darting past your lips. Eager to divulge in what he tastes like. Is it possible for someone to taste the way that linen sheets smell?

The two of you are too busy flirting that you don’t even notice the mirage of the auditorium lights, and the eruption of applause. For a minute, you think it’s for you—for the glorious show you and Levi have put on tonight. Described and wildly raved about by critics as erotic, pulsating, and raunchy. It started soft then became rough, and you aren’t complaining. You have wanted this for so long. You have wanted this since you met him.

“Up,” he orders. “Let’s beat the crowd.”

“Good idea.”

The two of you are running away as if you’ve committed a crime. In the first degree. Maybe you have murdered each other. Maybe you have robbed a bank. The cab you will catch outside isn’t actually a cab, but your getaway car, and inside, the getaway driver, a trusted confidant tangled within your elaborate plans.

As soon as your heels clack against the outside pavement, and the wind blows the skirt of your dress, Levi’s fingers are digging into your waist. You feel his hard-on prodding your leg and nearly smile because it’s so obvious how badly he wants you, and that is all you have ever wanted.

“But what about dinner?” you ask. You imagine the bowl of rigatoni with vodka sauce that will go amiss tonight.

He looks at you incredulously then reaches up to squish your face between his fingers. Your lips pucker dramatically and against your will.

“What the hell do you mean, 'What about dinner?’ Obviously I’m starving.” Levi leans forward and purrs into your ear. Your knees wobble. “I’m going to fucking lick you clean tonight.”

You blink profusely and will yourself to hold onto whatever dignity you may have left.

He pulls away to commandeer the getaway driver, and in the blink of an eye you are crammed against him in the backseat, woeful over how needy you are, desperately groping him with carnivorous claws. Levi is petting your knee. He’s so hard. He’s throbbing. If you say his name one more goddamn time, he’s going to come moaning yours.

Once the getaway car arrives at the entrance of your hotel, Levi bestows him his agreed earnings, and you swear to never speak again. You three go your separate ways. The getaway driver to his next gig; you and Levi to bed where he promised to unravel you with his tongue.

The air is salty as the two of you slowly walk to your room. In the quiet, you hear the occasional chirp of crickets, the croaking of a depressed frog yearning for a lost love, and the hiss of the ocean. You can envision the tide collapsing into the sand then crushing backwards, terrified of the world.

Levi hangs off you. It’s so rare to feel him this close to you for this long. Despite how turned on you are, a sentimental part aches to make something as simple as this last for as long as possible.

He tries to walk as normal as he can with an aching knee. Your arm is locked around his lithe waist, and his arm is wound around your shoulders. A wooden cane dangles in his free hand. He feels unsightly, coddled and humiliated. He is worn out and too tired to play these games.

When you make it to the door, you wait. You stare. In the dark, his eyes are glinting, back to being inherently sad just as his voice was earlier when he told you to kiss him again.

There are two different Levi’s looking back at you. On the left side, where his face is marred, etched with beautiful carvings that you could draw on paper with your eyes closed, is Levi with a cloudy iris. You can’t see him. Maybe he will never show himself to you, forever tucked away, safe and secure in the walls he has built ever since he was young and starving.

On the right side, you can see what he lets you. Sometimes, the slate-like gray is transparent enough to where you can look deep inside of him. All of the ugly parts are there. Your favorite, most treasured parts, because you know that you are ugly too, in some places, and you are just as scared to show him that as he is you.

Doesn’t he know that? Maybe he doesn’t, and maybe you should tell him, but it doesn’t feel like something you can say aloud when the two of you are so fragile and aching for each other like this. The only way to make it all okay again is to touch each other with your mouths and come together as close as you can.

Levi’s back hits the door. He sighs. Then he closes his eyes and effectively hides in the comfort of his own home, and you want to knock and beg him to let you in.

“Ruined it,” he says so quietly. He leans the wooden cane against the crack in the door frame.

You shake your head. “Not at all. I want you.”

“Do you? Really?” he asks you in a tone that is just as self-deprecating as it is sincere. “This is serious.”

“I know,” you reply. “God, I know, Levi.”

He tells you, “I am not the person you think I am. I am… I don’t know what I am. I’m terrible. I’m…”

You think this may be the first time Levi has ever outwardly spoken so horribly of himself, and it punctures your heart because you hope to God this isn’t how he exists in his own head. If he thinks the same of himself as you think of yourself you may very well want to bury yourself in the ground. But you don’t know that this is his last resort to get you to change your mind. Because otherwise, he has no idea—actually, he has a perfect idea—what he will do to you when you say “yes” and let him inside of you.

“If you are terrible, I am worse,” you say.

He slowly shakes his head. There are so many questions. In his head, he’s interrogating himself: ‘Am I even allowed to touch her if I put that scar on her chest? Do I tell her now that I did that? Would she despise me for what I did the way I do myself? What have I ever done to deserve this? Can I take care of her? Does she want to take care of me? Can I make her happy? Am I allowed to be happy? Am I really allowed to have her?’ It’s a ceaseless ringing in his head. He just wants it to stop, and fuck, how ironic is it that you’re the only person in the entire world who he trusts enough to quiet his mind for a precious second of peace?

Out of desperation, he reaches for you.

His pale hand wraps around your bicep and tugs you forward, until your palms are splayed against his firm chest.

When you look into his eyes and watch the black of his pupil expand, it’s like there’s flecks of white twinkling in that dark pool. You have never seen him more clearly. Then he closes it to prepare for your lips, which you press slowly to his. Initially, his lips are still. Yours are, too. You think that maybe he is still struggling with himself, and if that’s the case, you give him time to decide what kind of man he wants to be tonight.

The kiss ends as quickly as it begins before it begins again. You pepper his mouth, each one meticulous, until his hand drops to your hip and he parts his lips wider. It’s the first time your tongue has ever been in Levi’s mouth, save for dozens of dreams. But it’s the first time your tongue has ever really touched his.

He inhales, tensing as your tongues skate beside each other. Wet and warm, like a softer, milder version of sandpaper. Your saliva pools in his mouth. You can hear the faint meshing of lips, and the occasional and clumsy knock of teeth, where he pulls away and huffs a “sorry” before you can silence him once again

You grab each of his wrists, removing his hands from your waist so you can pin them at his sides to the door. Levi’s back goes flush against the wood with his arms, chest puffing out, neck awkwardly craning because of how you press your mouth to his.

It’s not a shock that Levi doesn’t taste like linen sheets. You imagine you’d be confused if he did.

He tastes like cinnamon. Cinnamon. You have not once seen Levi ingest anything cinnamon in the entire twenty years you have known him. He eats eggs for breakfast and has never had a cinnamon roll, and he uses minty toothpaste and strong mouthwash. Neither of which are cinnamon-flavored. But he tastes like fucking cinnamon. Cinnamon, black tea, and licorice. And you, but how? Has he always tasted like you, or is it only because your mouth is on his?

When your frontside presses against his, you feel the hardness against your pelvis. Levi groans audibly, growing sloppy in his movements, silenced further when your tongue dips deep into his mouth.

“You still have to open the door,” you tell him.

He huffs. “Or we can do this here on the deck.”

“Maybe next time,” you jab, “if you’re into that sort of thing.”

“Next time?” Suddenly, he jolts against you, switching places until your back collides with the door. One of his hands has your wrist pinned to the small of your back, while his other fiddles with the key in the lock. “You’re awfully cocky for a girl I just finger fucked in an auditorium full of people.”

Your face burns. “Well, don’t say it like that. Jeez.”

“Why would I say it any other way?” He stalls with the lock and captures your mouth for a fleeting moment before easing his thigh between your legs. You gasp, reminded of your own building desire. “Surely you must have a good idea of how risky that was.”

You bite your lip and reply, “It’s embarrassing.”

“Embarrassing, yes,” he agrees. “Embarrassing that you came so easily and so hard on just my fingers. But adorable, too. Admittedly it strokes at my ego.”

You clench around his firm thigh and strain against the grip of his hand on your wrist. Your other hand reaches for his shoulder, seeking balance.

“Levi,” you whine.

He nearly growls. “It’s amazing, having someone who is always so ready to be touched. You’re aching all the time, aren’t you? Just last night, I had you coming for me just by rubbing you over your shorts.”

“Fuck, Levi, what if someone hears?”

He shoves his leg harder. You gasp. “Then that will just make you come even harder.” His lips graze your jaw, sneaking back toward your ear. God, you have craved him for an entire week, and you are getting even more than you asked for.

Levi finally gets the door, and the two of you tumble inside. Amidst the struggle, and this never ending push and pull, you once again have Levi pinned. The two of you are panting, breathless and worn out from fighting each other. He doesn’t want to talk anymore. You don’t want to, either. Now, all you want is him inside of you, and his mouth on yours. Nothing else.

You step back to even the playing field, and Levi straightens his shoulders, clothing rumpled. It’s the last thing he cares about, especially when the floor is about to be a sea of underwear and socks and wrinkled fabrics.

You kiss him. Again. You can’t help it. You never want to stop. His brows lift, and Levi lets his face settle in both of your hands just as his palms go to scoop the bends of your elbows. He is a quick learner, but an eager one, at that.

You pull away, just to breathe, “Slower,” into his mouth. He adjusts. His tongue only swipes at yours, daring and methodical, before easing deeper.

As you kiss, you shove his blazer down his shoulders, listening to the whoosh of the fabric as it falls to the floor. Levi is digging his toes into his heels to kick off his shoes. Leather soles clatter against the hardwood. Your fingers pluck at the vertical array of buttons on his vest. It clings to his torso, cinching in the compact muscle you are shaking to run your hands all over; to spoil with endless kisses and blot faintly with dried lipstick.

You pull away, admiring how pink and swollen Levi’s lips look from kissing. The color stands stark against his pale skin, even in the dark, and you are grateful to be close to him. The air sizzles around you, only your breaths piercing the quiet, and you stare at him head on as you undress him with abandon. He shifts below your gaze.

He remembers the condoms in his luggage. He remembers the bottle of lube beside them.

“I’m so tired of all these layers,” you say. There are three buttons left. Levi has to swallow his laughter because it feels too dire to ruin this moment with such an ugly sound.

“Would you rather I just be naked all the time?”

“Preferably.”

“You’re always objectifying me,” he bites.

“Because you’re hot,” you breathe. Finally, the last button comes undone, and you help Levi shrug off the vest same as his blazer before getting to work on his collared shirt. “Hot. Sexy. Beautiful.”

“Shut up,” he warns. “What am I, some wistful bride-to-be?”

“Something like that.”

You kiss him, stopping so you can feel through his clothes how much closer he is without all those layers between you. His tie is loosened and comes off in one swoop, and when you unhook enough buttons of the shirt, Levi is stretching his arms high and you are helping him feed his arms out of the sleeves. Your palm presses flat to his bare, taut stomach, fingertips mulling over familiar muscle and skin. You sigh like you’ve made it home after a long, weary day at work.

“Happy?” he asks.

Your thumb follows a pronounced line. Your other palm finds his chest. “Mm-hm,” you sigh sharply, feeling your noses touch. His shallow breaths fan over your lips.

“Your turn,” his mouth moves against yours.

His palms slide over your knuckles to follow your movements as you explore his bareness, until he finds the tie around your waist. There’s a neat bow twisted behind you, and he twists a finger around the end, kissing the side of your mouth.

“I’ve been wondering all night what’s under here,” he says.

You swallow. Your entire body flushes with heat. “Um…”

His brows shoot upward and he tugs on the ribbon. Just like that, the bow unravels, and Levi lets it fall. He parts your dress like curtains, mouth gaping as his fingers slide over criss-crossings of lace and sheer fabric and silk. All of his thoughts come to a jarring, violent halt. He hopes you will forgive him for letting your dress gather in a heap around your ankles, where it is destined to become wrinkled.

He drinks in the sight of you like a drought is occurring in both his mouth and throat.

“Shit.”

You pick at his waistband. Your forefinger slots through his belt loop. Levi’s hot hand falls on your garter belt and his fingers begin to trace a line down your torso to the band of your lace thong. He strains against his slacks.

“Fuck. Fuck,” he gasps. “You’re killing me.”

You bite down on your lip, shaking your head.

“No, no,” he grabs your face in his hands and pulls you close until you’re stumbling into his chest. “I don’t think you understand what you’ve just done to me. God. Look at you.”

His mouth kisses your jawbone right where it meets your ear, and you dig your fingers into his skin to bolster yourself in place

“You did this to spite me, didn’t you?” There’s something thick in his tone that makes you drip for him. He continues to curse you, “Damn you. Open your mouth and let me kiss you.”

You can’t shake your head when Levi is holding you like this, then he showers your newly parted lips in a series of quick kisses before he’s guiding you a few paces back.

The backs of your knees hit the bed, and he pushes you down gently until you’re splayed out for him, legs spreading so he can stand between your knees just as he did earlier that night drawing on your eyeliner. He stares down at you, lips parted, bare-chested and fingertips dancing over your thighs.

His forefinger finds the silk strap of your garter belt that clings to your stocking, where he tugs before allowing it to snap against your skin. Laid out like this, he gets to see every inch of you; the way your breasts are pushed up, nipples nearly spilling over the edge of the cups; wrapped in vines of black lace that hug you close; lovely legs swaddled by sheer stockings that bring him back to the first night he ever touched you.

He groans, gripping your hips and shoving you closer towards the middle of the bed so he can crawl on top of you. Your legs spread wider for him. One of your heels clatters to the floor.

“Levi,” you gasp, heart pattering.

“No one should be allowed to look like this,” he sounds like he’s sneering, but he’s lifting your leg until your ankle is resting on top of his shoulder. He kisses the sensitive bone. “It’s bullshit.”

Your face is hot and so is the rest of your body. Anxiously, you curl your fingers into the duvet. After he spares a few kisses on your calf, Levi catches the wrinkle between your brow.

He stops, and murmurs, “Are you okay?”

Swallowing, you nod. It’s just odd to be called beautiful so many times in one night.

“That wasn’t a proper answer,” he replies and lowers your leg. “We can stop here, if you want. Order room service instead.”

“I have condoms,” you say, brushing off his offer.

Levi blinks at you, then echoes, “I have condoms.”

You blink at him.

“I have lube, too,” he adds.

“You bought lube?”

“Technically, Onyankopon bought it.”

You cackle. “That’s hilarious. And what face was he wearing exactly when you asked him to buy you condoms and lube?”

“Shut up,” Levi grumbles.

His body slumps on top of you, and you can feel his mass melting into yours until the two of you combine into one sizzling ball of heat.

You pull down on his bottom lip with your thumb and slide your other hand around to the small of his back, pushing him into you. Levi groans into your mouth.

“So, you had every intention to fuck me?” you whisper.

“I had every intention to make you sob from how wonderful you feel,” he breathes hotly, then allows the pad of his finger to follow the labyrinth of lace threaded into your bra. “The condoms and lube were just a precaution.”

“A precaution,” you repeat.

“Mm-hm. And when did you go out to buy a box of condoms?”

You lick your lips, closing your eyes when you feel his mouth on your neck. He’s playing with the thin straps resting snug on the curve of your hip.

“After… I went down on you,” you confess. “Better safe than sorry.”

“I agree.”

You loosen your grip around Levi and prop yourself up on your forearms as he drags himself over to his luggage. After rummaging through folded clothes, he pulls out a cardboard box and a bottle and places them on the dresser for later. You glance at them before looking back at Levi. He’s once again standing between your knees, prompting you to shake the heel off your other foot. It clicks against the floor.

“Talk to me,” he breathes.

“And say what?”

He hooks his hands beneath your knees and guides them to his waist so you can wrap your legs around his torso. He seems to audibly exhale at the way you squeeze around him.

“Anything,” he replies. “Anything at all. I’ve told you what I want. It’s your turn, now.”

“I want your cock,” you blurt, stretching your arms out so you can lay your hands over his on your outer thighs. “I need you. So bad. I almost can’t stand it.”

“Almost?” he taunts you. He bends forward so his lips are hovering over yours, reeling you in, and you barely feel the dampness of his mouth swiping below your ear before he whispers, “You need me so badly?”

“Yes. Yes, Levi. You’re so good.”

“Tell me again.” He kisses your neck.

You do so with pleasure, “You’re so good.”

Two large hands slide up the tops of your thighs then grip your hips in a fever, dragging them impatiently against his heat. He’s so firm and so hard, and you want him down your throat almost as badly as you want him sheathed inside of you.

His thumbs press below the band of your bra, continuing their trail upward until he grazes the ticklish undersides of your biceps, then your forearms, until he’s gathering your wrists and pinning them together above you, all while suckling on your throat. An airy sigh falls from your lips.

“Tell me once more,” he asks.

His flattened tongue soothes your stinging pulse point. You test the strength of his hands on your wrists, not to escape, but to feel him grasp you tighter.

“God, you’re so good, Levi.” You bite down on your lip. Between your thighs, wetness that cannot be seen has soaked through the gusset of your black panties.

His mouth is on your collarbones now, lips and tongue and teeth carefully lathering your scar tissue in a glistening sheen—what a healing ointment, that is.

“I’m sorry. I should try to express how beautiful you are,” he whispers. “Always.”

There are flurries of snowflakes floating in your stomach. You are so grateful that the hands around your wrists are now squeezing the sides of your palms in some teasing version of holding hands. You are so grateful that Levi kisses you right between your breasts, where he is close to your heart.

“Don’t be sorry,” you hum into the quiet.

No, you never want him to be sorry for saying something that he means. It’s an absolute pleasure to hear him say things that otherwise would go unsaid if it weren’t for your stripped-down states. It’s a rare peek at that fleeting softness protected beneath plates of armor.

Levi kisses the tops of each of your breasts then begins to mouth the straps crawling up your chest. “There is so much to be sorry for.”

“Not right now. Not anymore,” you gasp. “You could betray me, and I would forgive you. I would still be yours.”

He clicks his tongue. You have flattered him too much, because he blushes furiously into your chest before beginning his descent down your belly. Open-mouthed kisses are placed along the garter belt, and his tongue runs under the thin band of your thong. The closer he gets, the stronger your scent; your blatant arousal, and the blatant hold he has over you in this moment, become more apparent.

“I wouldn’t let you forgive me,” he decides.

His mouth is ghosting over the straps on your left thigh, and his hand works to unclip your stocking. He nudges the hem down with his nose, breath tickling your skin like a feather, hot and searing and electrifying.

“Then I would tie you down,” you pant. He rolls down your stocking and you feel him kissing your knee, and your calf, and your ankle. Somehow, even the way he grips the arch of your foot is soft and tender. “I would tie you down and force you to forgive yourself.”

“And if you can’t convince me?”

Your leg is on his shoulder. His hands are on your breasts, pawing at you, then they are sliding down to your hips again. He won’t let a single inch of you go untouched.

“I can. I will,” you growl.

He seems awfully sure of himself. “You can’t.”

It almost makes you laugh, because deep down you know you have a way of getting Levi to surrender. Deep down, you know you can break him. It’s a part of you that you’re afraid of, because Levi is the last person on the face of this planet that you ever want to hurt.

“Oh, I will. I already am,” you say, because by fucking you, in some way he has given into the urge he’s so long tried to fight. “Levi, please let me touch you more. I want your cock. I wanna taste you.”

“After.”

You whine, “Now.”

Without warning, he buries his mouth against your panty-clad cunt, licking the soaked fabric before commanding you, “After.”

A moan bubbles up from the back of your throat as you feel the pressure of his mouth digging against your sensitive clit. Even though he touched you earlier, and he made you come, you are still making a mess for him. You are still needy for him. You think that Levi can take anything he wants from you and you will still offer him more.

Just as soon as he blesses you with stimulation, it’s gone. His lips are back to exploring the luscious creases of your thighs and admiring silk strings. You blink down through hooded eyes, hypnotized by Levi and how beautiful he looks as he rids you of your other stocking. He uses that same gentle caress to pepper your leg with a dozen kisses, then his hands coast back to your waist where your garter belt cinches you in.

“You have to tell me how the fuck to get this thing off,” he begs.

A smirk sparkles on your lips. “A hook, in the back.”

“Then turn around.”

Eagerly, you flip onto your stomach, choking on a gasp when Levi grabs your thighs and yanks you backwards. Your ass is pert and in the air, rough but smooth hands following the curvaceous outline that is the awkward bend of your body. Levi is behind you. Then he’s on top of you. One of his hands slides around your naked waist and presses it against his abdomen, before migrating up to your sternum. All of the air seems to drain from your lungs as you inhale.

“Levi,” you whimper.

His other arm is stretched out, practically caging you in as those fingers interlace with the back of your hand. The hand on your sternum inches down to your lower tummy, eventually cupping your entire pussy.

He pushes against your ass as if he’s already inside of you.

“Hmm,” he moans. “How’s this?” His words tremble as he breathes into your neck.

“Good,” you say, almost wantonly. “Fuck. Fuck, it’s perfect. Want more.”

Your brow furrows in concentration as you grind your hips into his hand, desperate for friction against the throbbing area between your thighs. You assume the only reason he allows it is because you’re grinding against him, too.

“Damn it,” Levi swears. His hand tightens around yours and curls your fingers into a ball. “That’s it. Good girl. Keep grinding on my hand like that.”

“If we… keep this up”—you clench around nothing—“we’re both… gonna come.”

He drops his head into your neck. “You make a fair point.”

A second of silence lingers and you feel his chest rumble against your back, and then he starts at the nape of your neck, dotting kiss after kiss down the groove of your spine, over your bra strap and all the way to the garter belt. It takes a few tries to unclasp the hooks, but once he does, the bundle of lace and silk joins the trail of clothing on the floor.

Levi stands back on his knees, watching you with a light sheen twinkling over his eyes as you turn back around. You really do look beautiful.

You reach for his belt and he doesn’t stop you, still staring with rosy cheeks as you feed the leather from the loops. And you do it slowly, too. Your gazes are burning into each other’s. Your breaths are caught. You are out of breath from just looking at each other.

You smile gently and breathe, “Don’t give me that shitty expression.” Fondness drips from your words like a sugary syrup, and Levi melts against you, connecting your mouths.

You swing your leg over his hip and hook your arm around his neck, while he sprawls his hand over the side of your face and takes a great handful of your ass in the other palm. You can still feel him hard and aching, pressing against you, but any worries of finishing early are long forgotten in this tangle of limbs and lips.

His tongue pushes into your mouth, wanting and forceful, but also curious. When he pulls away for air, your tongue is half-lolled out of your mouth, licking between his lips for more. And he gives you more. He gives you everything.

“I don’t even know if I can fuck you when all I want to do is kiss you, Levi,” you confess.

He gasps down your throat. Something raw and laden with an emotion you can’t quite place. Then he threads his fingers into your hair and suffocates you with swollen lips. You think that’s his way of saying: Yes, yes, me too.

His thumb brushes your bra strap and he paws at the clasp, too eager for his own good.

“Take off your bra,” he demands between a bruising kiss.

You shed off your bra and press your bare chest against his. Levi’s soft thumb rolls over your nipple, flicking it to a hard bud. Meanwhile your hand is once again between his legs, fingertips easing down his zipper and fiddling with a stubborn button.

“Slower,” he exhales, echoing you from earlier. You can’t tell if he’s teasing you or not, but you don’t care either way as he bends to kiss the corner of your mouth, then your cheek. He breathes heavily as he pulls away only so he can unbutton his slacks and slide them down his legs.

His cock is straining against the cotton fabric of his briefs, and your mouth salivates at the sight. He sits on his bottom, reaching out to coax you back into his arms, and you oblige him. His fingers find your waist. Your heat presses against his, dragging as you roll your hips. Levi hisses through his teeth.

“Fuck,” he murmurs. You kiss him chastely, massaging his lips with your own as you card your fingers through his soft hair. It was slick with gel earlier, but now it falls in coarse waves in front of his gray eye. You use two hands to tuck his bangs back, so you can see him clearly.

“Levi,” you exhale. He seems to go slack when he hears his name from your lips. You cup his face in your hands and bring your mouth to his scarred eye, kissing him briskly over the eyelid.

“Yes?” He bites back a groan, grinding his hips upwards for a taste of friction. His arms completely encircle you, both of his palms pressed flat against your skin.

“You’re pretty,” you whisper, grazing over every scar with the plush velvet of your mouth. Levi can feel his heart in his chest, pounding furiously, so hard that it almost hurts. He’s winded. “One day you’ll let me take your picture again.”

“You’re such a pervert,” he groans. His eyes are pinched shut, and your tongue is licking at his jaw.

“Well, this pervert wants your dick in her mouth. Now,” you demand.

Something bordering on a snarl leaves his lips, and he breaks away from your hands just so he can kiss your chest. You lean backwards, holding his shoulders for support as he pops a nipple into his mouth. His tongue curls around the erect bud, then his teeth gently clamp. He nips softly, only hard enough to elicit a proper gasp. And then his hand is once again on your ass.

“Only use your tongue,” he says.

You nod and sit back, while he leans into the mass of pillows behind your bodies, bringing his knee up so you can settle between his legs and nuzzle your mouth against his clothes cock.

Your fingers are already hooking under his elastic waistband, shredding him of his briefs, and Levi’s cock swells against his pelvis. It’s as pretty as you remember, and precome leaks from the very tip.

“God, your dick is perfect,” you practically moan. Levi grits his teeth as you flatten your tongue and drag it up the bulging vein under his shaft. Your hand rests on the crease of his thigh, your other one cupping his balls. “I bet you adore my mouth on it, too. Don’t you?”

He grunts and nods. His toes are already curled and he slides his fingers into your hair so he can pull you off when he needs to.

“Don’t… don’t let me come,” he shudders. “Not so soon.”

Your tongue swirls around his red tip. His arousal is potent and salty, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d say the moment he dipped his fingers into your panties, his need had festered.

You watch with glowing eyes as his sweaty chest heaves. Then your eyes rake further down, flitting over the faded marks burnt into the pale flesh of his thighs. You pull your mouth away just so you can focus your gaze. How didn’t you notice these before?

Levi’s body is ridden by plenty of marks and scars. Many of which on his upper half you’ve seen before—many of them you have dressed yourself. But the ones on his legs are another story.

“From the harnesses,” he explains too quickly. He blinks down at you, regaining some sense of sobriety.

Your gentle fingertips brush over the indigo-tinted stripes, like veins rippling under skin. You bow your head and press a kiss to each one.

Maybe you didn’t notice them last week because it was too dark in the room to see. Or maybe you were so nervous about going down on him that it escaped your mind somehow.

“I used to have them, too,” you say. “They faded with time. And with lots of salve.”

He hums, twirling a strand of your hair around his thumb. “I remember all those poultices. You always made your gear too tight. I lost track of how many times I fixed it for you.”

“You should have let me fix yours,” you agonize. “You’re too good at pretending you’re invulnerable. It’s extremely annoying.” You wonder how many times Levi aided you while neglecting his own hurt. Or if his thirst for humanity’s success omitted any and every ounce of pain in his body. You know nothing of his sadness and only his rage.

He bottles it up until it explodes. But when there isn’t a fight, does he still explode, or does it slowly trickle out of him? Is it still simmering inside him?

After all this time, you still don’t know.

Levi slides his thumb over your bottom lip, slipping it past your teeth. As if he can hear your thoughts whirring, in the gentlest of voices, he whispers, “None of that talk.”

His affirmation sends you lurching forward, and you throw your arm around his back, shoving your lips onto his. He makes a muffled noise of surprise, vibrations coursing along your tongue and down your throat, until you can feel him floating around in your lungs. It’s exactly what you craved—exactly what you needed.

The wet tip of his cock slides against your lower belly, and as you press your forehead to Levi’s, you sneak your hand down and wrap your fingers around his thick length, slowly flicking your wrist up and down. A slew of moans is once again unleashed down your throat, and he even spares a whimper as he grabs onto your bicep.

“Shit… Shit,” he curses. “Hah, you’re gonna make me come. Fucking—you’re so greedy.”

You chuckle deeply, relinquishing your hold so he has a moment to recuperate. Levi distracts you with his mouth on your neck before he slides you beneath him. One of his arms wraps around your legs, just above your knees, where he tilts them off to the side so he can tug your thong over and rub your slick, bare folds.

“So wet down here,” he coos. His fingertip teases your entrance, eager to swallow it’s length.

“Mm-hm. For you.” You hiss as his middle finger easily bottoms out inside of you.

“For me?” he repeats. “How generous.”

You try to pry your legs apart, wanting more. “Please, Levi.”

Levi weighs your expression, drinking up the sight of your neck craned back, chest heaving and nipples pert and glowing from lingering saliva. Your lips are swollen and parted, nearly raw from kissing, and your fingers are wound within the sheets. With a growing smile, he parts your thighs at his pace, his hands pressed just below the backs of your knees.

It’s such a humiliating position, as if you’re baring yourself to him, but Levi buries his nose and mouth into your clothed cunt unperturbed.

“Cute panties,” he mumbles, licking a stripe from your clenching hole to your twitching clit. No amount of squirming can distract him. “Are they new?”

“Mm-hm,” you confirm.

“That’s too bad. They’re fuckin’ ruined now.”

Levi releases one of your legs in favor of pushing your thong all the way to the side. His breath hitches as the sight of your cunt. God, he can’t remember the last time he tasted you. At least, not fully. It had to have been weeks ago when he was fully buried between your thighs. Too long, he decides. His tongue pokes out of his mouth and curls around your clit, lips suctioning around the sensitive bud.

You moan sweetly, finding solace in your hard grip in his hair. His tongue flicks back and forth, rolling over and swiping under, and he slowly eases two fingers inside of you, beckoning you.

“So fuckin’ good,” he rasps. “No one else can touch you the way I can, hm? Just wouldn’t feel the same.”

Your back arches off the mattress and a whine crawls from your throat when his fingertips nudge against that spongy spot inside of you. You can hear the squelching of your cunt, both from being suckled between his lips, and from his fingers pounding away at the sweet spot.

“Levi! Levi, fuck—slow… Shit, slow down,” you gasp, gripping his shoulder.

Your entire body trembles beneath him, and he eases up, lulling his tongue out, making a perfect mess. Spit and slick glisten on your silky folds. Then he presses a wet kiss to your inner thigh while his fingers remain stuffed inside you.

“Are you okay?” he asks. More kisses are spared over your thigh, and he hooks your other leg over his shoulder so he can reach up and cup your breast in his palm. “Too much?”

You shake your head and gasp, “Hardly.” He tweaks your nipple between two fingers, then sticks his thumbs under the flimsy waistband of your thong and tugs it down your legs.

Then his mouth is back on your cunt. He drags the tip of his tongue through your slit, parting your folds and retreating in circles around your clit. His pace is more forgivable, slower and conscious, and his eyes are flicking up to read your expressions, no matter how small.

You feel his arm slide over your lower belly, pressing you in place when you start to twist away from him. Then he pulls his mouth away and replaces his tongue with his two fingers.

He carefully presses your clit, beginning slow strokes in agonizing circles, tracing all the way back down to your dripping little hole so he can bring your sweetness back and slather it over the throbbing bud. Despite any attempt to close your legs, he continues.

“That’s it,” he encourages. “It’s sensitive from earlier, isn’t it, sweetheart? Makes it feel a little too good.”

You nod dumbly, hips involuntarily twitching away, only for Levi to wrap his arm around your thigh and rip it open.

“Levi,” you moan, pawing at his forearm. “Kiss me.”

“I will. Keep your damn legs open,” he growls.

A frustrated whine tugs your mouth into a frown, until Levi’s leaning forward to spit directly onto your cunt. You don’t know how you don’t come right then and there, but that sight alone has you quivering and succumbing in the blink of an eye. The warmth of his saliva seeps into your folds as he smears it around with his fingers, eventually lowering his mouth back onto your cunt.

Your mouth is wide when he glances upwards, making direct fucking eye contact with you while your soft pussy is literally on his tongue.

It’s impossible to tell whether you want him to continue kissing your cunt or kiss you instead.

You grit your teeth, hissing when he suckles your clit between his plump lips, fingertips digging into the fat of your thigh. You aimlessly pound on his shoulder.

“Levi! Levi, fuck— “ A choked sob bubbles up from your throat and you writhe, “I can’t!”

“Yes, you can. Just a little longer,” he assures in a dark but honeyed tone. “But don’t even think about coming.”

He tortures you for a “little longer” just like he said, the damp surface of his tongue laving through your silky folds, flicking right over your clit. When you’re close to coming, he ventures down, wetness seeping down between your ass as his tongue pokes at your entrance.

Cautiously, he inches even further down, eyes trained on you the entire time the tip of his tongue pokes around your much tighter entrance.

Your jaw drops. “Levi… Oh my God, what are—oh, fuck… Fuck.”

“Interesting,” he murmurs. His thumb nudges your clit as he continues to lap at the same spot, testing his theory. “Oh, you must like that.”

Your body trembles, and pleasure spikes in your core. All you want is to be filled—to be kissed. And Levi’s tongue on your ass, completely ignoring your pussy save for his teasing thumb, has you warped in a thick fog that makes your entire body burn. Maybe it’s the humiliation. Maybe it’s the fact that there isn’t any part of you he doesn’t want to touch.

“Well, would you look at that,” he breathes. “You do.”

“I’m… I’m gonna come,” you cry.

“No. You’re not.”

You whimper in defeat. He’s right. You won’t.

His tongue drags upwards again, licking up spare wetness that seemed to leak out of your pussy, before he smashes his lips to your overstimulated clit.

“Kiss,” you gasp. “Wanna kiss. Please.”

He can’t help but feel his heart squeeze at how fucking cute that was.

As much as you miss the sweet friction on your clit, and as much as you despise your orgasm dwindling away, you drown in the taste of your own arousal muddled with Levi’s tongue. His cock presses hard into your skin, and the two of your bodies become slick with the other’s juices, but his mouth still remains plastered over yours.

He swallows you this time. Teeth clash, not out of clumsiness, but more because neither of you are coherent, too drunk on arousal. Noses nock. If you aren’t careful, at some point, your foreheads will slam together and the night will end with two concussions and zero climaxes.

“Come on,” he urges, pulling you up by the waist. He sits on the bed with one of his legs strewn over the edge, and the other bent by his side in a half criss-cross.

You kneel beside him, cheek digging into his shoulder, eyes trained on the silver package between his fingertips. The side of his face leans against the top of your head. “Don’t watch me do this.”

You snort. “Why not?”

“Just don’t. Close your eyes,” he grumbles.

“Levi.” You blink up at him, capturing his lips, and he falls into your trap easier than expected, because you snatch the flimsy packet away with ease.

He groans. “Give it back.”

“No.”

“You’d prefer I come inside you then?”

You and Levi stare at each other, rewinding exactly what he said. You open your mouth to speak, but Levi presses his forefinger to your lips.

“I take that back,” he breathes.

He watches unamused with twinkling eyes as you bite down on his finger. Something about the gesture has him melting against you, so he can kiss you again. Your brows shoot up, and your palm slides down from his chest over the soft grooves of his stomach as they flex with every shallow breath taken against your lips.

“Fine,” he exhales with defeat, handing you the foil. “By all means. You’re just proving you’re even more of a pervert.”

You comb your fingers through his hair, still trying to make sense of how you got here; still trying to make sense of how Levi can feel so wonderfully soft beneath you. It makes you ache to swaddle him in your arms and hide that softness from anyone who threatens to toughen it, like he hasn’t been toughened enough. You crave all the parts of him that you rarely ever see.

You peel the wrapper, but still hand the rubber to Levi, nibbling below his jawline as he rolls the condom down to his base.

“How do you wanna do this?” he whispers.

You swallow. “On my back.”

He nods, removing his hand from your knee so you can lay back on the pillows. Levi reaches for the bottle of lube on the nightstand and settles between your spread legs. You lick your lips in anticipation.

He squirts a dollop onto his fingers then brings the liquid to your already slick folds. A jolt of iciness has your back arching from the bed, and Levi presses on your hip bone, anchoring you in place as he begins to smear the lube around your clit. Wispy moans climb from the back of your throat, forcing him to bite down on his bottom lip.

Still, he groans. “Shit.” He shakes his head, and his two fingers slide in a little too easily past your folds, all the way to that familiar spot he’s curled them against a handful of times already.

“God, Levi!” you choke out, straining against the hold of his hand on your inner thigh.

“I should touch you like this every day of my life,” he blurts.

You’re getting a little too close, and a little too loud. “Levi! I’m… Fuck, you’re gonna make me—“

His hand stills inside of you, and your clit throbs. Through cloudy eyes, you watch him grab his cock and similarly coat his length in the lube. He pumps himself before lining up the tip with your slick entrance.

“I know it’s hard, but you gotta tell me how you’re doing,” he says through gritted teeth.

You nod, practically whining as he eases his tip inside of you. Fuck, you’re so warm around him; so fucking soft and hugging him dangerously tight that it makes him gasp in the most pathetic of ways.

You grunt. “Keep… going.”

“Ohhh, that’s not fair,” he groans, now halfway inside you.

His cock is stretching you wider than his fingers ever could, leaving no room for empty space inside. He isn’t even all the way in, yet you feel ridiculously full. Your jaw goes slack and your head lolls to the side, brows puckered together while tiny mewls escape through your lips.

Despite the dull sting, you keep your legs spread and even spread them wider for Levi. “All of it,” you shudder. “Want all of you. Fuck, Levi.”

He stares down at you through half lidded eyes, nearly whimpering at how delicious his name sounds on your tongue right now. Cautiously, he continues to push in, biting down on his swollen bottom lip until finally his pelvis presses flush against yours.

“Holy shit,” he mutters. “I’m here.”

You’re gripping the sheets with one hand, while the other is half-curled over your breast.

Levi leans over and cages you in with his body, elbow digging into the soft surface beside your head. He drags his thumb over your nipple and ghosts your lips.

“C’mere. Kiss,” he breathes, needy.

You moan when his cock shifts inside you as he lowers his mouth to meet yours, and you let your palm slide down his chest and stomach, relishing the texture in his skin. His tongue gently prods yours while he massages your lips with his, still slick and warm and perfect. Your heart is burning through your chest. Your fingers wrap around his neck.

“Please move, Levi. Please,” you whimper.

He finds your other hand with his and pins your wrist above your head. The hand around his neck quickly joins beside it.

The only reason they’re trapped above you is because if you touch him like that any longer he’ll fall apart faster than he intends.

“You feel so fuckin’ good, sweetheart,” he exhales.

Half your face is buried in the side of your arm, and your mouth stays in a perpetual “O” shape, every inch of you completely enthralled by the stretch of Levi’s thick cock inside of you. He eases into a faster pace, still tame and slow enough to have you drooling, but not quick enough to have you utterly stupid. You don’t want to be stupid, though. You want to remember this.

Levi’s hands feel so wonderful around your wrists. You hope he leaves bruises behind where he touches you. You hope he knows that you’re his.

“God,” you croak. Your hands ball into tight fists, and Levi’s pace quickens. He moans unapologetically when you wrap your legs around his waist and cross your ankles, trapping him deep inside of you—payback for earlier.

“Fuck. ‘can’t do that,” he groans, fingers digging into the skin of your wrists.

You press yourself closer to him, lips grazing his, breaths fanning his face. Naturally, your hips grind forward from below as you chase your impending high.

“Do what?” you hiss.

“Fucking—that!”

Levi rolls onto his side, taking you with him. He releases your wrists in favor of grabbing your ass.

“You’re being mean,” you whisper. “‘not letting me touch you.”

“Fuck."

Your arms glide up his chest, where your thumb brushes his hard nipple and aimlessly flicks back and forth over the bud. His mouth hangs open as you attempt to kiss him, your bodies still while you relish in tormenting him. Confident fingers thread through his hair.

“Shit, y-you can’t do that, either.” He gives a throaty groan, palm scooping up the bottom of your thigh to hold it in place over his hip.

“What… what am I doing now?” you ask.

“Clenching. God. You’re clenching. Fuck you. Fuck you!”

You can’t help but laugh breathlessly, head lolling backwards. Your fingers coast up his spine, exploring his shoulder blades, digging into soft muscles and bone. He’s so fucking warm. You love how he feels pressed against you like this, with one of your legs swung over his hip, locking your bodies together. Nothing can take you away from him, not when the two of you are inside each other; holding each other.

“Don’t—fuck, Levi—have control over that! Just happens ‘cause… you feel too fucking good.”

He brings his hand up to your face, fingers dragging over your damp skin. His thumb traces your eyebrow then brushes over your eyelid before resting on your cheekbone. You lean into his touch and gasp into his mouth.

“In that case, keep doing it,” he exhales, biting back a whine of his own when you clench around him again.

His lithe fingers are laced into the back of your head, and his forearm is now pressed firm against your back. He isn’t even kissing you. He’s panting and whimpering, borderline incoherent from the sensation of your pussy hugging his thick cock. Every noise he makes you taste on your tongue. He’s so depraved, utterly debauched, and he’s rolling his hips, and you don’t think you’ve ever heard Levi’s voice so airy and high pitched in your entire life. It makes you flush all over. It makes you grin.

He’s murmuring your name over and over again, followed by endless curses and a single plea. Your nails dig into his toned shoulder blades, raking down the pale skin, undoubtedly leaving pink marks, but he doesn’t scold you.

Your mouth moves against his. “Oh—God, Levi! You’re… gonna make me come. Christ— “ You feel the tight coil in the pit of your stomach snap, and you’re surprised by how fast you come undone.

You can’t even think as he rolls you onto your back. You don’t even know if your legs are wrapped around his waist or if he’s pinning one of them up so he can fuck you harder and deeper. You just know that he’s coming when his choked moan unfurls down your throat and his movements grow sloppy with inconsolable need.

You jerk beneath him in that moment of mind boggling overstimulation, your hands gripping his shoulders, and he shifts his weight to the side so he isn’t completely crushing you. With your fronts pressed flush together, you can feel every ragged inhale. You both are trembling in each other’s skin.

A handful of seconds pass and Levi is still inside of you, warm and slowly softening. Your heart thumps heavily at the intimacy, even more so when his hand comes up to caress the side of your face. You feel his thumb smoothing out the messy end of your eyebrow.

All that’s heard in the bedroom is the quieting of your breaths fanning over each other’s mouth. Then you feel the weight of his forehead leaning against yours. His nose brushes yours, all apprehension dissolved, and his lips mold to your own. It’s affirming and slow, slightly salty from the taste of your cunt still lingering on his tongue. But he takes his time with you. He suckles on your bottom lip, releases it and continues to move your mouths together.

Out of breath, the kiss ends with you gasping for air, and with Levi’s forehead limp against your lips. Your fingers card through his damp hair, smoothing it over his scalp.

The air is thick. Probably because you both know something for certain that you didn’t know before, and now you aren’t exactly sure how to breach that topic. Not to mention, you are too fucked-out for anything requiring an ounce of intelligence.

Levi rolls onto his back while drowsiness already begins to accumulate behind your eyes. You can make out the shape of his back as he sits up to dispose of the condom.

You blink slowly, then his hand is on your forehead, wiping away sweat and moussed hair. Your eyes flutter shut.

“You always get so tired after you come,” he teases.

A soft huff shakes your shoulders just as an affectionate smile tugs lazily at your swollen lips. “Your fault,” you murmur, your fingertips straining to brush his hip bone. “Do you need anything? Are you okay?”

“No, I’m all right,” he whispers. Levi’s thumb continues to stroke your brow bone, somehow coaxing you to sleep quicker than anticipated.

Once your breaths have evened entirely, he stands, sans clothing, and wanders to the bathroom where he searches for a washcloth. A splash of warm water to the face, and a damp rag later, he’s back in bed, dipping his hand below the thin sheet to wipe at your inner thighs. You hum softly in your sleep—enough that it puts a featherlight smile on his lips.

His movements stall as he sits and he stares. Maybe it’s creepy—it is creepy to watch people when they sleep. But there’s a solace he finds in watching the rise and fall of your chest. In memorizing your breathing patterns. In knowing that you’re alive and in bed. Together.

This very well may be the rest of his life.

Levi leans forward, feeling the tightness in his throat. “Fuck,” he exhales, because he doesn’t know how else to say that he has never felt happier and more scared than he is now.

He cups the side of your face with his palm and presses a gentle kiss to your temple, breathing in the scent of your hair before slipping back into his side of the bed.

Everything smells like you. Everything tastes like you. Everything feels like a dream he never wants to wake up from, and for a split second, he feels like maybe—just maybe—he deserves this.

His hand rests on your sternum, right between your breasts, where the thrum of your heartbeat vibrates through his fingertips. He falls asleep just like that, watching you through slowly blinking lashes, with half his face shoved in a pillow too comfy for his own damn good.

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