eloquent | nine
pairing: levi x reader
word count: 5.7K
tw: swearing, mentions/descriptions of sex, alcohol consumption, cheating
themes: modern au, college (grad school) au, enemies with benefits, enemies to lovers, slow burn, professor levi, writer!levi, extremely smutty, lots of pining, hurt/comfort & hurt/no comfort, dom levi/sub reader
tags: @number-0-iz @propertyoftoru @commanderawkward @thenamesholly @shortmexicangirl @missyasma @syubseokie @ceceofthevalley | reply to be added!!
note: i hope you guys enjoy this one!! i spent a lot of time with it and i think i like it :) back to the reader's pov, picking up right where we left off.
Dr. Ackerman’s walls are soundproof.
Part of you immediately assumes that he was not aware of this fact when he was harshly instructing you to moan his name loud enough for Reiner to hear on the other side of the wall, but a much more insistent part of you believes that Levi loves two things and two things alone: humiliating you — his topmost priority — and being a shining example for the drama queens of the world.
As you sit on the passenger’s side of Reiner’s SUV for the second time today, you would prefer to be anywhere else in the world. Thick fingers rest idly on your leg, a near-unnoticeable tap of his pointer finger keeping time with the song on the radio, which you’d already heard on the ride up to Levi’s office. The sun is higher now, on track to reach its cusp by noon as it beams through the windshield to irritate your eyes.
Upon staggering out of the great oak door and greeting your apparent new ‘boyfriend,’ you knew that a plan was in order. Originally, you assumed Reiner would be long gone to likely never call you again — and the fact that you were content in that is something you’ll have to address later — but there he sat, unaware of the betrayal you committed right behind his back, all smiles. Quickly, you applied a melancholy expression to your panting mouth and informed him that you had to go home and get to work on your novel immediately. Of course he obliged politely; the more agreeable the man is, the more you want to rip your own hair out.
Sane women appreciate kind men, you assume. But you’re far too exhausted to explore where that leaves you.
“You shouldn’t let him get under your skin,” Reiner says suddenly, making you jump. “What he thinks doesn’t mean anything. You write beautifully.”
If Zeke or Eren or your mother had said something so brash, you’d know they meant it for comfort and no more. You’d agree and laugh and move on, both parties involved knowing that Levi’s opinion is easily the most important thing that will ever come across your ears. When the clueless blond at your side says the same, it’s because he believes it to be true. If he thinks you can out-write Ackerman, all of his compliments become null and void.
A long-highlighted quote from Serpentine races through your mind, more fitting to the sentiment than makes you comfortable. Artists' souls are few and scattered, unknown and unheard to those not cut from our cloth.
“He’s practically the god of writing, you know,” you answer, not meeting his eyes as he stops at a traffic light. “If he says my work is bad, it’s because it is.” Reiner lets out a long sigh in place of a rebuttal, not bothering to defend his position. A loud buzz sounds in the seat beneath your leg — your phone announcing a new email. The brick apartment complex appears on the horizon as you open your inbox, fingers punching the screen more harshly than usual.
Subject: Contact Information
To whom it may concern:
Dr. Ackerman has instructed me to provide you with his cellphone number; his information is attached.
Zoe Hange
Although you click the attached contact information without hesitation, anxiety runs to your core. Your thumbs twiddle over the keyboard idly while the gears in your mind grind harshly against one another. A few rough drafts of the fateful message roll off of your fingers while you think it through.
Hey, Dr. Ackerman, I got your email. This is my cell phone number! Okay, no exclamation points. Should you call him Levi? Is that too suggestive?
Hey, Levi, I got your email. Assuming he does not return to being a devil next time you see him, you’ll probably text him more than professionally — so should you lose the capitalization? It would be much more strange to randomly switch one day, right? Speaking of seeing him, Tuesday is far too distant; as soon as you have time to sit down and think, you’ll likely have a life-altering nervous break from the unanswered questions between the two of you alone.
hey, levi, i got your email. is there any way we can meet sooner than tuesday? Perhaps calling him by his first name is too suggestive. Thumbs beginning to ache, you type the final draft of your message: hey, dr. ackerman, i got your email. is there any way we can meet sooner than tuesday?
Ten minutes later, you’re shutting your bedroom door tight behind you. Of course, your elusive and frightening writing advisor has yet to reply to your message — still, you’re thankful to be away from your other problem, a man named Reiner Braun. Ever since he happily informed Dr. Ackerman that he was your boyfriend, the issue has been rather thought-provoking.
You groan before tapping the telephone icon, scrolling through your recent calls. Zeke is out to lunch with a girl he met at school, but Eren is rarely busy — the line begins ringing without another thought. Putting the call on speaker, you lay your phone down flat on your desk and tug your hair free from the elastic restraining it. Your shoes hit the floor next, then your skirt, which you’re bare underneath due to Levi’s new white lace pocket square.
The line picks up as you tug a pair of lounge pants over your legs. “You okay?” Eren asks immediately, his voice wary of your mood. You almost giggle at the assumption, but there are much more serious matters to address.
You tie the drawstring around your hips and settle into your desk chair. “I feel. . .” you begin, taking a deep, audible breath. “Clinically insane. Disloyal. Humiliated. Slutty. Intrigued.” A quiet laugh sounds through the speaker, bringing a little smile to your lips. “I’m in a good mood, although I shouldn’t be. Dr. Ackerman may have —” you pause, deciding how much to reveal, “made a move.”
Eren gasps sarcastically. “A move?” he pries curiously, as you log into your computer and swirl the cursor around idly. “You’ll have to give me more to work with.” You open a blank document and position your hands over the keyboard, not quite sure what you’re aiming for. The smooth plastic glides beneath your fingertips as you brush them back and forth.
“Well, it was more than a move,” you admit, the memory stuck to the front of your brain. The blinking cursor begins to morph into words as you speak, the gray-eyed man’s advice ringing loud in your ears. “First, he’s totally fucking rude to Reiner. He introduced himself — like, ‘it’s an honor to meet you,’ and all — and Dr. Ackerman literally said, ‘Okay,’ and ignored his handshake.” In some other compartment of your brain, there’s a room — scratch that: it’s a tent lit with only a lantern, with a pallet on the ground made of blankets — and the deliciously frightening love interest, Jasper, is berating Laura’s ridiculous behavior.
Laughter bursts loudly through the phone, but it doesn’t interrupt your desperate typing. Words have become a paragraph now, closing in on two. “God,” Eren wheezes out, “I would’ve fucking gone home, man.”
You can’t help but chuckle along with him as you recall the memory, but there are too many trains of thought running for it to keep your attention long. Jasper’s hand brushes Laura’s wrist scarcely, just enough to send a chill through her. “Then he sends me to the office, and I’m in the chair I always sit in. He comes in, sits on the front of the desk instead of his chair, and is like ‘I don’t want to read your shit today.’”
Eren winces through the phone as your fingers continue their rapid assault of the keyboard below them. “Harsh.” You giggle as you indent another paragraph.
“No, it’s okay,” you assure him, “because here’s the thing. After that, one thing led to another, and he gave me head. Against the wall, that Reiner was sitting on the other side of.” Adrenaline coursed through you like nothing ever had before — you won’t tell your friend that you moaned the man’s name shamelessly thinking that Reiner absolutely could hear you. Some secrets must stay in that office.
Eren doesn’t say anything for a long moment, but you aren’t unnerved. A certain ambitious electricity pulses through your fingers as you finish off the first page of the scene, watching the satisfying appearance of a fresh, white space. “I have so many questions. Reiner — what’s the plan about him? Feelings for Dr. Ackerman? How was the head? What the fuck is wrong with you?”
You laugh loudly as Jasper takes Laura’s chin between his fingers and stares down at her. “Why do you think I’m calling you?” you ask playfully. “I only know the answer to one of those questions, and it was pretty damn good.” A jarring vibration sounds against your desk, sending your heart to your throat as you peer down at the notification. “Oh my god, Levi texted me. Love you. Bye.”
You hang up the phone viciously before opening the text thread with Dr. Ackerman, reading his message immediately as he had yours just a little while earlier — perhaps you would take your sweet time to reply, as well. As you read the contents of the message, you know that won’t be possible. The blue bubble reads: I really need to see you tomorrow.
Tomorrow — you could finish these pages by tomorrow. Only one page in, and you know this scene is going to be worlds ahead of the last thing you brought to his desk. Your heart skips at the word choice; should you reciprocate it? A split-second decision and your fingers are beating at the keyboard. i really need to see you, too. what time? i have class, but i’ll make myself free.
The message is marked read immediately, making you suck in a breath. Your teeth grind together as the three gray dots at the bottom bounce rhythmically. Dinner tonight, then. I’ll pick you up for reservations at 7. Blood sets your cheeks ablaze as you read, freezing you in place. Reservations sound rather upscale — as if the fabulously wealthy dine out at Olive Garden — which makes your skin crawl. Furthermore, this is a man you fervently despised until his fingers started to trail up your legs.
But who are you to deny dinner with a famously unobtainable master of literature? Especially when it's the same one that had you writhing underneath him only an hour ago — and you wouldn’t mind doing the same after the dessert course this evening. You read it over a thousand times before you send it, but you finally deliver your address and toss your phone as far from you as possible.
Directing all of your focus on the document in front of you, you pour yourself into the keyboard with vigor, desperate to present something worth reading to Levi the very next time you sit before him. Making time to get ready for dinner will be a challenge, but it’s one you take in stride. You have a big day ahead of you.
-
As the clock begins to wind down to your impending doom, anxiety starts to rear its unbearably large head. After squeezing the most expensive dress in your closet over your head and carefully perfecting your appearance, the pages you printed an hour ago are screaming at you to read them over again; you try to ignore them at first, scrolling idly through social media, but it becomes deafening after a while. Reluctantly, you pluck the manila folder from the desk and start out your bedroom door.
The hallway is loud with the scent of clashing perfumes — Zeke had been holed in his bedroom with his brunch date since they arrived around noon. Raven-haired and rather tired looking, the girl was very kind and introduced herself to you — Pieck, from out of state, and she’s an editor. Still, she kept a confidant of yours from crucial intel regarding Dr. Ackerman, so you were praying for her departure. Now that she’s gone, you hardly have time to tell a good story.
Zeke is laid across the couch, round glasses nudged toward the tip of his nose as he peers down at a worn out copy of Mrs Dalloway. As you cross the threshold, his eyes come up to meet yours. “What are you all dolled up for?” he gawks, folding down his page and laying the book on the coffee table.
You wiggle your eyebrows suggestively before changing the subject. Holding up your manila folder as if it’s a certificate of achievement, you shoot him an award-winning smile. “New pages. Can I pick your brain?” Zeke only lingers on the previous topic for a second before deciding to cooperate. A wise move.
He waves his hand at you as if he’s herding cattle, and you’re quick to oblige; your heels click beneath you as you dart across the den, offering your friend the envelope like a thoughtful gift. You swallow hard as he takes it and sits up straight, pulling the packet free. “I want to show these to Levi tonight. Tell me what you think,” you say as you chew on the inside of your lip.
“Tonight? Sorry — did you call him Levi?” Zeke questions, forehead wrinkling as his eyebrows shoot up.
You shake your head rapidly, giving him a quick, sly smile before throwing the subject out again. “I am begging you to read the fucking pages, Zeke.”
Now a bit tense, your roommate thumbs through the packet while you bite your nails beside him, focusing all of your energy into reading his facial expressions. Halfway through, you decide you must stop surrounding yourself with such stoic company. You glance at the clock as he turns to the last page, and the fated hour is closing in. Nausea churns through your stomach.
You brace for impact as Zeke hands back the neat stack, but he presses his lips shut tight. After five long, silent seconds of staring at one another, he says, “I’m not spilling until you do.”
Letting out a dramatic groan, you begin to pace back and forth across the hardwood living room floor. “I wanted to wait until I had time to give you the details,” you explain, pleading with him through wide eyes. Regardless of your defense, he remains stubborn, pushing his glasses further up the bridge of his nose and crossing his arms over his chest. “I’m getting dinner with Dr. Ackerman,” you admit. “We kind of had a moment today.”
Zeke, now totally upright with his brow drawn in, looks speechless for a moment. You find that a sliver of nervousness slinks through your brain as he stares at you, although you never considered before that you fear his reaction. He opens his mouth to speak twice before he actually settles on his next words. “Just so I can be sure we’re talking about the same person — you do mean Dr. Ackerman, your personal antagonist, right?” your friend asks, gawking at you as if you’ve sprouted an extra head.
You frown. “We aren’t eloping. It’s dinner. Who the hell says no to fancy dinner with a famous author?”
Zeke shakes his head, rubbing one hand across his brow back and forth. “Probably the girl he’s sent home crying on multiple occasions? I just don’t feel right about this, dude. Like, it was funny that one time, but he’s a lot older than you. I thought this was a joke.”
Heat rushes to your face as you shove the packet back into the folder and shut it tight. “Why would it be a joke? I’m an adult, you know. I have a college degree and pay stubs to show for it.” Rolling your eyes, you stuff the envelope into your purse and toss it over your shoulder.
“I just wouldn’t want you to get taken advantage of,” he says, his concern clear in his expression. Zeke reaches out to you as you adjust your hair in the mirror, probably for a hug or the type of come-to-Jesus discussion that requires hand holding and eye contact, but you pretend not to see it. After a second, his hand drops away.
Your phone vibrates on the table beside you, and you snatch it up immediately. From Levi: I’ll be there in a minute or so. Shaking the irritation from your skin at once, you tuck your phone away and spin to face your protective friend. “I have it under control — pinkie promise. But I can’t argue with you right now because I’m leaving.” You walk over to him and squeeze his shoulder with one hand before starting toward the door.
“Be careful,” Zeke calls as you leave. “Text me if you need me.”
The door clicks shut behind you, and you are overcome with fear. No new headlights shine in the wide parking lot outside of your apartment door, although the street lights reflecting off of the afternoon’s rainfall on the slick, black pavement fool you once or twice. Admittedly, you aren’t quite accustomed to the never-worn shoes currently strapped uncomfortably around your ankles, so you’re glad he isn’t here to see you stagger down the slippery, concrete stairs.
As you reach the bottom, two near-blinding headlights start up the drive; as the car takes a careful left into the lot — sleek and black, a BMW — your phone vibrates in your pocket. Anxiety shoots through you, and you don’t even bother to check the screen. The car comes to a halt with the left side facing you, the driver door opening before you can take your first step.
A man in a suit nods his head at you politely before grasping the handle of the back door, pulling it open slowly to reveal dark leather interior. More of the spacious backseat comes into view as you approach, and you immediately spot pressed black slacks and pale knuckles. Levi sits on the far side, knees spread wide with one hand resting limp across his left leg. Over the crisp white button-down shirt, a deep crimson blazer clings to his shoulders and makes the pink of his lips impossible to ignore. The watch on his right wrist shines while he props his chin, elbow against the door, and his charcoal eyes examine you up and down.
“I was afraid you would wear a sweater,” Dr. Ackerman quips as the suited driver offers you his hand. Hesitant, you take it in your grasp and allow him to help you into the warm, comfortable seat.
“Thank you,” you tell him warmly as he shuts the door behind you and goes back to his place at the steering wheel. You return Levi’s blank stare with a nervous grin. “I like to think I clean up pretty well.” The car shifts back into drive and eases forward, turning a wide circle in the lot and heading back down the entryway.
“You do,” he says, and your smile becomes more genuine. After a second of only the low classical music — a cello, you think — playing softly through the speakers, you begin to rummage around in your purse for the manila folder. Fishing it free, you extend it timidly to the man at your side.
Dr. Ackerman glances down at it briefly before looking back at you, folding in one of his eyebrows just slightly. The warm, cozy interior of the BMW suddenly becomes unbearably hot. “I wrote this today,” you elaborate, watching the whites of his eyes grow just a little wider. “I think that it’s closer to your expectations.”
A smirk flits across his mouth as he takes the envelope from your shaky hands, leaning forward and snaking his arm around the passenger’s seat to lay it down flat. “Give that to Hange while we’re eating,” Levi directs the driver, who nods along with his instruction. “Have them put it on my desk in my study at home.”
His back comes to rest against the seat again, and his eyes fall straight to you. “I’m excited to read it,” he tells you, his tone genuine. You fight to keep your jaw from dropping, but you’re sure the widening of your eyes gives away your surprise. “I always am.” The elixir that courses through your veins is warm and comforting, and you feel the corners of your mouth pulling up high.
It gives you enough confidence to push your luck. “I really wanted you to read it tonight,” you say, leaning toward him. He chuckles and shakes his head, making you frown.
“I’d rather not have to insult you. You always cry, and the place we’re eating has a dress code,” Levi responds flatly, and you almost think it’s a joke. Still, with his history, you tend to stray on the safer side. Crossing your knees, you pull your phone from your purse and unlock it. “I would just really like it if I didn’t upset you tonight,” he continues suddenly, making you look up to meet his gaze.
You shoot him a reassuring smile as the car pulls beneath a pavilion. “I’ll be on my best behavior.”
In the light, you can see now that the suited driver is brunette and pale, in his late twenties. He exits the vehicle again to open your door, offering a hand and helping you out, then taking your purse with the other. You thank him as you take it back, looping it around your shoulder and watching as Levi steps out onto the cobblestone beneath you.
The restaurant is sleek and modern, painted in shades of burgundy and grey along the long, rectangular exterior. Dim, yellow-toned lights are your only indication toward the door, which is tall and cherry colored with a man in a suit standing at the frame. After tucking a bit of cash in the driver’s pocket and sending him off, Dr. Ackerman is right back at your side. He offers you his arm, and although it sends a chill through you, you take it without a bit of protest.
“French food?” you ask curiously as the two of you stroll past the sign. “I’ve never had anything you could consider French.”
His arm breaks away from yours as he pulls open the door, holding it for you and following behind. “You’ll love it,” Levi promises, laying his hand flat on the small of your back as he guides you toward the hostess. “I’ll order for you, if you’d like.”
Dr. Ackerman’s hand stays snug against you as you follow the hostess through the small, packed restaurant. The round, white-clothed tables are populated with men in suits and women dressed to the nines, sipping glasses of wine and dining on dishes you’ve never seen before. In a corner, you spot Zeke’s latest fling dining with a woman in a pantsuit — you wave, but she doesn’t notice you.
Though you can’t identify the scents that surround you, you know that they’re utterly delectable. Every second you continue to traipse through the restaurant and breathe the mouthwatering aroma feels like hours. Finally, the black-clad woman leading you lays your menus down at a more private table in the back corner, half obscured by lattice and already set with two glasses of water.
Levi pulls out your chair as he detaches his hand from its place on your back, and you take a seat. You clear your throat as you take the sturdy plastic menu and give it a once-over, not recognizing or understanding a single word — the prices aren’t even listed. Before Dr. Ackerman has made it around to his chair, you’ve already tossed it back onto the table in resignation. “I’ll have whatever you’re having and a glass of wine,” you inform him as he sits down.
He takes his menu and yours from the table, stacking them neatly and setting them on the edge of the pristine white cloth. “You have excellent taste,” he praises sarcastically, lifting a hand to get the attention of a server in a black button-up shirt. A moment later, she stands a few feet away, hands folded neatly behind her back.
“Good evening, Mr. Ackerman,” she greets him, and Levi returns a polite nod. “Will you be having the usual, sir?” She’s blonde and fox-faced, with a lilting voice. Her name tag reads “Ella.”
“Yes,” he replies smoothly, unfolding a cloth napkin to lay over his lap, “and the same for the lady. Could you pick out a nice bottle of wine for us?” Ella nods and ducks away, tucking the menus underneath her arm as she goes. The water is cold against your teeth as you sip from the glass, watching your date nod in acknowledgement of a group of suits strolling by.
You can’t help but feel a little important as you sit among such wealthy company, eyes hungry to take in every luxurious detail. Long-stemmed roses inside clear crystal vases sit in the middle of each table, and you’re surprised to see that they’re real; you don’t envy the poor restaurant employee tasked with putting them out each morning. Arranged neatly at each place setting is a cloth napkin and more silverware than one could ever use, filling you with a bit of apprehension as you try to deduce which fork would be best for each course.
A loud, continuous vibration shocks you back to your plebeian existence, making you flinch. Rummaging through your bag, you locate your cell and yank it free, lifting it to your eyes for inspection. Your heart sinks to your feet — it’s Reiner. You’d forgotten about him. Again.
Avoiding the storm-cloud eyes dissecting you a few feet away, you decline the call rapidly. writing — i’ll call you back, you type, guilt flooding through your chest. Powering off the phone, you stow it back in your purse and fold your hands on the table in front of you; a fake smile paints across your lips as you combat Dr. Ackerman’s suspicious stare.
“You can take that if you need to,” Levi says plainly, and you shake your head in response.
“They seem to be familiar with you,” you redirect, gesturing to Ella as she approaches. “Come here a lot?”
A rare grin flashes across his face as two empty wine glasses are placed in front of you. “Often enough,” he answers, shrugging. “There isn’t much worth eating here in the city, but I try not to work Niccolo to death.” An ounce or so of deep red wine splashes against the glass before Ella pulls the bottle back. Without prompting, Levi lifts it by the stem and swirls it twice before taking a long, slow sip. “Yes, that’s good,” he tells her, before turning his attention back to you.
“Niccolo?” you question, cocking an eyebrow as the server fills both of your glasses and turns to leave again.
“My chef,” Levi explains, leaning back in his chair. “He’s fucking annoying.” You can’t help but laugh despite his seriousness, and his eyes get a bit warmer. Though you knew he was wealthy, Dr. Ackerman being rich enough for a private chef surprises you. You’re suddenly very aware of the fact that you’re a cashier for a living.
As the small talk continues, you learn a lot of things about him that you didn’t know before. French food is actually his favorite — best eaten in Paris according to him, and his brief mention of bringing you along one day soon did not go unnoticed — but he isn’t averse to Italian. He’s traveled the world a hundred times over it seems, his magazine always fully loaded with anecdotes and details. More pressing than any of the other facts, however, was that Levi is capable of being nice.
Monotonous as speaking to him can be, you’ve begun to notice a couple of tells to which Dr. Ackerman is prone. Recognizing his jokes was your first feat of the evening — the tip of his nose twitches like a bunny before he makes a sarcastic quip, and you realize he’s a lot wittier than he gets credit for. However, that is not to say that the man sitting across from you does not enjoy being mean; the second tell you identify is that he narrows his eyes when he mentions someone he doesn’t particularly enjoy.
“I actually wanted to discuss something with you tonight,” Levi begins as you pop another hors d'oeuvre between your lips. Without waiting for your reply, he continues, “I want to apologize before I even get into it.”
The sincerity in his eyes frightens you, sending your back straight and drawing your brow in. “What’s going on?” you inquire, trying to judge his expression and failing miserably. He dabs his mouth with his napkin.
“I have not been honest with you. I chose you to work under my wing personally, and I have sent your portfolio to my publishing team. I’m sorry for not telling you before.”
Your ears ring. Although it seems that your body has petrified in place, your mind is sprinting marathons — the words personally, chose, and publishing repeating in your head at a screaming volume. One thing that evades you is why Levi is hanging his head; how is the admission that your childhood idol hand-picked you worthy of such a sincere apology? A giggle bubbles at your lips.
“You chose me?” you ask, eyebrows pinched tight against the bridge of your nose. “I thought you hated my work.”
As if the situation was not already puzzling enough, Dr. Ackerman lets out a laugh. Not bothering to explain further, he reverts back to his previous sullen demeanor. “I just want you to be aware of your position. To give you an opportunity to duck out, if that’s what you decide.” He runs one hand through his hair before taking a long swig of the sweet red wine.
“Duck out? What the fuck are you talking about?” you blurt out, regretting the harsh tone as soon as you employ it. You lower your voice quickly before starting again. “Why the hell would I give up this kind of opportunity?”
Levi clears his throat, leaning back and gesturing to Ella as she approaches with your entrees. As she sets the plate gently in front of you, you’re momentarily distracted by the sight of perfectly cooked duck breast. “I’ll have a scotch,” he sends her off, picking up his fork and knife. “If that’s how you feel, I’m glad. I’d like to continue working with you,” he says, cutting into his food. “I just thought you’d be intimidated to be published alongside me.”
You hesitate before putting the first forkful in your mouth, but it melts deliciously on your tongue when you finally do. Living in his shadow hasn't crossed your mind, but you try to push it away as soon as he introduces it. Currently, you aren’t published at all. Anything is better than that, right? The validation you’re feeling right now could last a lifetime. So you shake your head and smile wide. “No, not at all. Thank you,” you tell him genuinely.
A scotch on the rocks appears at his side without a word, and Levi lifts it to his lips, trying to obscure the pearly white of his teeth as the first real smile you’ve seen flashes across his face.
-
Nearly two bottles of wine and a créme brûlée later in Levi’s beamer, his rough hands are pulling you to his lap, pearly teeth pricking at your neck and two fingers rubbing harshly through your panties. The buzz in your brain gives you more courage than usual as you loop intricate knots in his hair and grind against the growing bulge in his slacks. “We don’t have time, sweetheart,” he whispers, peppering a few more kisses on the base of your throat before lifting his chin to look at you.
A whimper sounds from your throat as you stare down from him, steely eyes entrancing you as you watch your reflection in the billowing flames of his pupils. “Spend the night with me,” you murmur back, more wine-drunk than you’re willing to admit. He just shakes his head with a little grin, reaching to comb a loose strand of hair out of your face.
The air around you shifts all the sudden as your eyes dart to Levi’s lips, and you realize that you’ve yet to taste them. You lay your hands flat against his warm, heaving chest, spreading your fingers out wide and feeling his heart thumping underneath the right. Maybe it’s the wine, or instinct, but you begin to lean in. “Kiss me, then,” you say, feeling his thumb glide softly across your cheek.
You swallow when his left hand comes to cup the other side of your face, molding along your jaw like its twin and pulling you closer. His lips brush yours chastely at first, with a gentle hesitance that sends a tingle down to your toes, red wine and mint and raspberry reduction dancing across your tastebuds and electricity streaking through your veins. It stops here for a moment, fleeting, as Levi’s entrancing heather eyes examine your expression; before you can take a breath, he pulls you flush against him, slipping his tongue past the threshold as his lips crash onto yours. Your mind explodes into colors and feeling, nothing tangible or decipherable left to identify as you return the feverish kiss, arms looping around his neck to close the gap between your drunken bodies.
The cruel universe only allows a few seconds more of this heaven before you feel the car begin to slow to a stop, shifting into park before your eyes open again. Levi, looking uncharacteristically bewildered with his tousled hair and swollen lips, allows his hands to slide from your cheeks to rest on your hips, never looking anywhere but up at you.
You’re broken from the serene trance as the back door opens with a pop, eyes darting to the driver through the tinted window as it swings wide. Quickly, you peck another kiss on the red lips beneath you and shoot him a smile. “Text me,” you say, and he nods in agreement. As you look over to get your purse, the sound of a barking dog grabs your attention.
Eyes darting out the door, you see Reiner and his lab sitting in the trunk of his SUV.
-
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