HI everyone! This is my first submission for EreriWeek ‘Paths’. I am going to post it on AO3 as well.
Hope you enjoy it!
xoxo Lexi
Word Count: 1027
The silence around him is deafening, like a void sucking in all sounds, so powerful it also seems to muffle his own thoughts as he sits in his office. His eyes focus on the fire snapping in the hearth where the flames lick and jerk with quick motions. Despite the closed window a wintery cold breeze appeared to sneak in from crevices and gaps in the frame.
Levi doesn't care that much right now. Sitting here with a glass of Erwin's port he has stolen a couple of weeks back, the weather is certainly not the first thing on his list.
He's never liked over-thinking things, he's never found any benefit in doing so though he's always been careful before making a decision – life in the Underground would do that to a person. Over-thinking though has always been something he would see like a waste of time, going over and over the same problems without ever finding a solution.
Then why is he here? Drowning his sorrows in too fine a port to be used for this pathetic endeavour? He had thought that in his thirties he wouldn't have to endure this sense of loss and heart-break he's currently feeling. Pathetic, really, losing himself for 'matters of the heart' as Petra had liked to call them years ago. Levi simply calls it pining over an eighteen year-old bird-brain who's chosen the wrong path because of some complex of grandeur.
No. No, that isn't it.
Levi would like to say that was the case but unfortunately he's come to know the brat too well to actually believe that. Not like those wipe-asses from Mitras or the Military Police.
Eren Jaeger has always been strong-willed and stubborn but his resilience comes from his unmovable moral compass and aspiration to freedom. Monster, they've called him more then once, disregarding his unwillingness to be used as a human experiment in his father's quest for freedom. Levi remembers the many midnight talks they've had in front of the fire in his office, when the brat would go on and on about a better world, a better life. If he has to be honest, the Captain has always admired the optimism the brat is capable of despite the misery, heart-break and tragedies he's had to endure in life, on top of finding out the truth about his father and how he's been used by him. In a remote part of his mind, Eren Jaeger reminds Levi of himself. Both monsters. Both strong believers of freedom and justice. The years have shown Levi a more cynical view of the world and of people but Eren seems to still have that pink-veiled naivete of childhood when it comes to ideals and utopias.
Levi knows that's why he rebelled, why he left behind everything he's ever known to keep fighting, only this time in his own terms. The only thing the raven-haired wouldn't have expected is Eren joining arms with his half-brother, especially after everything Zeke has done and deaths he's caused.
What would you say if you could see me now, Eyebrows?
The death of his old friend sits still sore in his chest and knowing that the brat – his brat – is now working with the man responsible for it almost breaks him apart. Almost. Though it feels like he's grieving the loss of Eren now on top of everyone else's, he knows the seventeen year old better than this. He knows him (for a second he wonders if that's true or he's simply trying to convince himself, creating excuses for someone he once held very dear and still might).
He's reminded of something that Kenny once said, an eternity ago, when his life teachings were beating Levi down to the ground every other day. “Life is full of choices, kid. Crossroads. And sometimes whichever path we take, whatever road we end up walking, is a life sentence. So choose well”. Probably one of the only smart, useful things Kenny has ever taught him.
Crossroads. Did Eren have to stand in front of that crossroad, doubtful of himself and who or what he was, alone? From Armin's and Mikasa's reaction they couldn't have known Eren was doubting his place in the world, in the war. Eren took the road he most thought right and walked it. He's still walking it. There's no turning back now and probably that's the road the brat will die on. A life sentence.
The scary thing is that, Levi doesn't think he might be wrong.
A choice with no regrets. Levi looks down into the deep-coloured liquid and watches hypnotized the light from the fire playing with it. He sees Isabel and Furlan. Erwin. Petra. Oluo, Eld and Gunther. And so many others. And he wonders. He doesn't want to see the brat's face in that glass of port, not tonight or ever, but he's afraid that if he doesn't make a choice now those bright eyes will hunt him for the rest of his most probably short life. He's always followed his brain and once a decision was made he's gone through with it every single time. It's not going to be different now.
A choice with no regrets.
When he gulps down the rest of the port and stands up Levi doesn't do it because of his quite concerning feelings for the brat. He doesn't do it to run away from his problems, neither to get into trouble. He does it because right now and probably until his life sentence is concluded this is the right choice to make.
With controlled gesture he places the empty glass down and picks up his civilian jacket and cloak before going for the door. He closes it without looking back. Without looking at his uniform neatly folded on the desk, the wings of freedom bright even in the darkness of the evening; without looking at the familiar neck-tie resting on top of it.
And he certainly doesn't look at the letter burning in the fire, the embers once an official document where the words EXECUTION ORDERS FOR EREN JAEGER used to sit boldly and haunting on the whiteness of the paper.
“I don't think anyone is really taking this seriously”, Stiles comments, stepping over a tree trunk with the same grace Derek has just showed. Exactly the same. He flays around his arms a tid bit but apart from that? They could be mistaken for the same person.
Derek twists around and goes to help him. “Are you?”.
“Well, considering who thought about this you're damn right I am”.
The treasure hunt was Lydia's idea, a way to build in-pack relationships and create a more stable net of connections among them. If Stiles thinks her intention was to simply prove again to everyone else who's the smartest in the pack—he's certainly not going to tell anyone, he's not suicidal. And that's exactly the same reason he's taking this (honestly a bit ridiculous) relationship building exercise seriously. Or as seriously as he can take it, anyway.
“Lydia scares you?”.
“Of course she does! Doesn't she scare you?”.
“Oh, I'm terrified of her”, Derek answers with a frown. “And she's tiny”.
Stiles laughs, dried leaves crunching underneath his sneakers. “Don't let her hear you”.
“She's not a werewolf”. A small shrug. “Jackson is the only one around and he's at least a mile away”.
As they walk in silence, the only noise around them being their footsteps thudding on the ground, Stiles finally finds some appreciation for the quietness of the preserve. Being here with Derek, letting their shoulders and fingers brush against each other after the messy few weeks they've had with threats in the supernatural world feels comfortable and surreal. And probably it's his leftover-teenage hormones speaking but he can't wait for this treasure hunt to end so Derek and he can run off to his room and blow off some steam. Or blow off something else. That does sound like a plan.
His dad would not come back until later that night, probably after dinner, and that'd give them – Stiles calculates quickly in his mind – five hours to get funky, to jelly roll. Scrog a bit and schtupp together. To take old one eye to the optometrist. To play hide the salami. To dip Derek's cookie in Stiles glass of milk. Numerous times, if the werewolf's refractory period gives any clue. They could start small; make out on Stiles bed and test the sturdiness of the frame – which they've already done, by the way and sneaking out a broken bed slat out of the Sheriff's home is not as easy as it might sound. Which doesn't sound easy. At all. So one can only imagine the uncomfortable conversation he's had to have with Mrs Wunderby from across the road – and then get rid of their clothes because Stiles is a selfless person and Derek's body is something that needs to be cherished and admired. Keeping it clothed would be like...like clipping wings off of a mighty eagle. Or shut down the Smithsonian. It'd have that much of a cultural backfire. It'd be immoral.
So Stiles would take Derek's clothes off and admire that chest of his, all wide and muscly and warm and furry in a sexy way. He'd dip his hand down to follow the line of hairs to his navel, go over it and open his jeans because if unclothing Derek's chest is a cultural aid for the entire state of California, than the sight of his cock is a spiritual experience.
Derek Hale is big. Not impossibly big – Stiles is sure he doesn't live in one of those ridiculous stories people read with enhanced and horse-sized dicks – but nevertheless he's...gifted. Must have something to do with those werewolf genes of his and if that's the case, dear Mother Nature, wolves are a gift to them all. What turns on Stiles though it's not just the size of his shaft – still has a pretty high place in the list of 'Reasons why Derek Hale is a gift from the gods and Stiles is grateful he's his boyfriend' – it's the utter difference there is between the two of them. And that's not a euphemism about his own cock, Stiles is pretty content with his genitals, no complaints there. No, that's not it at all.
Stiles still remember when he recognised what the issue was and he probably has to thank Erica for that.
“You're such a twink, Stiles”, she had said once during their weekly coffee meetings and Stiles has seen enough gay porn after his surprising epiphany in high school to know what a 'twink' is. He's not oblivious, or his name would've been Scott McCall.
He had tried to deny that in front of his salted caramel frappuccino but as usual Erica had her own arguments. “You are, Stiles. You and Derek are literally the epitome of a bear-twink relationship”.
And God, was she right.
The werewolf might be only slightly taller than him but his presence is mightier, his shoulders wider and his arms definitely bigger. Stiles always feels dwarfed every time he's in close proximity with Derek and he does not complaint about that. Not. One. Bit. Dude can pick him up without breaking a sweat and fuck him against the wall as if he weighted less than a baked potato with bacon sprinkles on top. Jeez, those are good times. Hot times. As in Death Valley hot.
“Stiles”.
Surely they can do something like that today. There are so many options to spend five hours sexing up a werewolf Stiles gets a bit dizzy sometimes: this is literally his teenage dream, with no skinny jeans on and a comfy mattress instead of bedsheets forts in a motel room. Take that Katy Perry.
“Stiles”.
“What? Whassup?”, he asks turning to look at Derek.
Who is currently staring angrily at him. He seems pretty pissed actually, if Stiles has to tell the truth. Unfortunately he thought he had left all those annoyed stares and growled words in the past so this is turning out to be a shocking turn of events. In a not-so-sexy way.
“Uhm...Der? Everything okay?”.
Green eyes seems to struggle to not turn bright blue, flashing dangerously between the two shades. “Where's your head at?”.
Okay, this does seem like a trick question. Lydia taught me about this sort of things. “On my...shoulders?”.
Derek does not seem impressed. “You smell—you're stinking up the place”.
“Oh. Sorry”, he mutters self-consciously.
He thought Derek liked his smell. Sometimes he also finds him with his face deep into his own pillow when he comes back from the bathroom after Derek spends the night; or he would dip his nose along Stiles' neck while they're watching a film on the were's laptop in his apartment. When they're in public and Stiles thinks about sexy-times-ensuring things Derek always can smell him and he gets this intense expression that almost resembles his old…
Oh. Oh.
“Oh”.
“Yeah”, Derek agrees tightly as he steps forward. “Oh”.
“I think—I think my head is not taking this, uh. This treasure hunt as seriously as before, big guy”.
One step forward. “Really now?”.
“Mmh-mm”. Stiles steps back. “I mean. Can you blame me?”.
“I don't know. We were just talking about Jackson”. Another step.
Urgh. “Let's not mention him, deal?”. Last step backwards and Stiles' back hits the thick trunk of a tree. “I really don't wanna think about him and sex together. That's just plain wrong”.
He can see a gleam of amusement and coyness as Derek stops in front of him, face just inches away from Stiles'. “Oh, is that what you were thinking about? Sex?”.
“Uh, duh. I was thinking about, you know, when this stupid treasure hunt is other and we can go back to mine and the fact that my dad is going to be out for at least five hours – I know, I counted them – and we could, you know. Get some stankie on hang down—”.
“God, Stiles”. Derek's face scrunches up horrified. “No”.
“No? You don't like that? Okay, how about I ride your flagpole?”.
“Stiles”.
“Storm the cotton gin”.
“Stiles”.
“Hit a home run”.
“Stiles”.
“Sorry!”, he says with a small smile at Derek's exasperation. “Thought you'd appreciate the baseball reference. But another thing I was thinking was—”.
Derek glares at him. “I swear to God, Stiles. If you say one more—”.
“—you said Jackson is at least a mile away and we're all alone now”. Stiles looks down bashfully and hooks his finger in Derek's waistband. “And who knows when this awful thing is going to end. Might not have time when we get home”. Looking up from under his eyelashes he smirk a bit. “We could save time and...do this. Now. Here”.
He sees a shiver running up Derek's arms just before they're placed on the tree caging his head. “You want to do it here?”.
“Yes”, he whispers.
“Now?”.
“Yeah”. A breath and a whimper.
He has enough time to think about the possibilities when a mouth descends on him and sharp, human teeth bite his lower lip, pulling reverently before nipping it. Stiles gasps when Derek's body presses up against his through the many, too many layers of clothes they're currently wearing. Derek takes that opportunity to slip his tongue between the other's lips, teasing the wet muscle and probing the mouth with deep, hungry movements.
“Lydia's—shit. Lydia's going to be so angry”, Stiles weakly comments before moaning as Derek's hips press against his, trapping him between his warm, strong body and the cold trunk behind him.
“Do you care?”.
“Fuck no”.
He snakes his hands underneath Derek's t-shirt, revelling in the heat of his olive skin, the softness of his hairs and the hardness of his muscles. One of the wolf's thighs gets between his own, providing some blessed friction for Stiles' awakening cock. He rubs himself against Derek, feeling the need to open his legs for him and the sensation of emptiness is starting to get too uncomfortable to be ignored as they're kissing. He's never been an exhibitionist (he thinks, though he's discovering all kinds of kinks in his relationship with Derek) but the idea of having the wolf inside him, right here and now in the middle of the preserve with the afternoon light out still, the terrifying possibility of the pack finding them out—it seems to be exciting in all the wrong ways.
“Derek”, he sighs, lips sensitive from beard burn. “I need—God—I need you to—to fuck me. Like. Yesterday”.
Derek's mouth descends on his neck and at the deep inhale of his arousal Stiles shivers, feeling like the teenager he used to be five years ago. “We don't have anything”.
AH! With a dramatic flourish – probably more ridiculous than dramatic. If only that Sourwolf would stop doing what he was doing with his mouth on his ne—oh. Oh, that's nice – Stiles takes out his phone from his back pocket and slips off the case. “Speak for yourself”. The small packet of KY seems to shine in their eyes, a little lost treasure, their own small miracle. “I think I have a rubber in my wallet as well”.
“Have you always had lube inside your phone case?”, Derek asks with a shocked expression. “And do we need a condom?”.
“Don't want to leak all over my underwear. Especially not around a pack of werewolves, thank you very much”. Stiles takes out a wrapper from his wallet and hands it to Derek before he resumes touching underneath the other's shirt. “And the answer is yes. From the moment we've started dating”.
They kiss, lips open and sharing breath. “Nice to know”.
“We need to—god—”. An aimed thrust sends shivers up his legs. “Derek—we need to move”.
He gets one of his hands down, slipping in the tight fit of Derek's jeans and the hard, big cock he touches through his underwear makes him moan and spread his legs as he leans back to push his hips outward. Stiles has touched it an endless number of times yet every time seems like a new experience, a new discovery.
At Stiles' touch Derek exhales, relieved and aroused. Those lean, slender fingers massage his cock with experienced motions and the grip they use after teasing it into full firmness is heaven for Derek's spurred mind. It doesn't matter if they're in the middle of the woods with a pack of werewolves only a mile away and probably listening in, the Beta can't help but await impatiently to be inside Stiles body and thrust into that heated tightness in abandonment. Maybe there's a part of him – the wild wolf that seems to constantly seek out freedom and nature – that is turned on exactly by that fact; the possibility of being found out while collecting his prize and marking his territory, his mate in the open.
The moment their jeans are undone and their erections brush against each other, Derek grabs Stiles slim hips and turns him quickly but not violently, his cheek now resting on the roughness of the bark and ass pushed back to rub on the wolf's cock. There's only their erratic panting for what feels like ages as Derek rips the lube open and then, “God, Der—Fuck me already”.
“I'm not gonna hurt you, Stiles. Especially not out here”.
“Then shove your fingers in me!”, he cries out turning at an odd angle to plead the wolf with his eyes. “Please, I need you inside. Right now. Please”.
Derek wants that. Oh, he so wants that. And from around that pale, sinewy body he can see Stiles' red dick skim slightly against the trunk of the tree. It can't be comfortable nor pleasurable and even though Stiles seems to have other things in his mind, Derek pulls his hips back a bit more to put more space between the delicate part and the pine husk. He doesn't spend much time warming up the lube and the moment his forefinger touches the puckered hole in front of him he sees Stiles jerk up before quickly settling down again. He prepared him as swiftly and efficiently as standing in the preserve half-naked would allow, Stiles moans and whimpers accompanying each thrust of his fingers.
“Please. Please, just fuck me. Just fuck me, Der”.
Through his lust-fogged mind Stiles hears Derek opening the condom wrapper and sigh deeply as he rolls it on. He wants to reach behind him and touch his shaft, feel the girth of it and its size. Wrap his fingers around it and when noticing he can't fit it all in one hand envelope it with his other one as well. He wants to feel its thickness opening him up, make him almost worry he's gonna split in two.
The first few inches are painful, they always are: Derek might not be overworldly big but he's certainly packing down there and every time he slips inside Stiles needs to relax, bear down and bite his lip until the head is in. It's what happens now, particularly because it's not the most convenient place to have sex despite the packet of lube and the arousal he gets from being so exposed to the elements. After the head is in though...that's when Stiles can remind himself why he craved it so much in the first place. Derek is inside him balls deep and at Stiles' nod he starts to move, thrust in and out. In and out. It's slow at first, careful but they do need to be quick in this situation. The aim is a bit off, the head of the hard cock pounding him simply caresses his prostate in the most heavenly torture sending abortive shivers up from his toes, shocking through his hips and reaching the tip of his own erection like an electric shock. Each thrust, each withdrawal forces moan after moan from his mouth, noises he can't control. Mumbling reaches his ears and with a small sense of amazement he notices it's him.
It's not the best sex they've had but Jesus if it's not the hottest. Derek's hand gripping his hips in a tight hold, his puckered hole contracting around the fat shaft sliding inside and out of him in pure abandonment. Derek slides closer, t-shirt covered chest shaping around Stiles' back, and the slight change of angle causes the wolf to groan in the brunet's ear. It's a sound so primal, so inborn in Derek that Stiles needs to close his eyes not to come right in that moment.
He's so close, though. So close. After getting used to Derek being inside of him without a barrier the rubber desensitises the feeling of being fucked a bit but it's not totally unpleasant; it's smoother and easier. Stiles doesn't know if it's the build-up, the idea of being out here in the forest in broad daylight or Derek's fat, big cock beating into him but he's about to come. He spreads the legs as wide as he can manage with the jeans around his knees and he almost brings his hands back to grab his cheeks and expose himself even further. He doesn't. He needs an anchor and right now the roughness of the bark on his fingertips, under his nails is the thing that keeps him grounded.
“Oh, my God. Der—Derek. Oh, God. Fuck me. Please, fuck me”.
“I am. Shit. You're gripping me so tight”.
“What if—oh, fuck. What if they see us? What if they find us?”.
Stiles senses Derek breath itch next to his ear. “Let them. You're mine. Let them see”.
Oh. My. God. Possessiveness is certainly a kink he didn't know he had. “Say that again”.
“You're mine. Let them see, I don't care. I want them to see. I want them to see you're mine”.
Oh God. Oh God, oh Godohgodohgod.
The orgasm hits him like a blinding light. His back snaps and he arches with the force of it, his cock pulsating and trembling as his cum sprays white on the dark bark. It's seemingly artistic in an erotic way. His insides constrict around Derek and through the condom he can feel his rod vibrate as his thrust become irregular. Slower. Deeper. He misses the sensation of Derek's come hitting his walls but he guesses they still have five hours if they leave now.
“Derek—shit”, Stiles pants out after they both regain their breaths, cheek still against the tree and hips still held by Derek.
“Yeah”.
“Who would've thought? Public sex is hot”.
“What the fuck guys?!”.
They both jump at the disgusted shout from behind them, Isaac currently standing there dumbstruck, hand on his eyes. “I'm gonna need bleach”.
Yeah. Maybe not as hot around a pack of werewolves.
So fourth entry of my Kinktober series and first contribution to the LanceLot ship (there is not enough LanceLot love out there, let me tell you).
It's short, I know, but I hope it can be a good start for me in this fandom.
Enjoy (or don't ;) ) and let me know what can be improved.
Originally posted on AO3
xoxo Lexi
The mattress underneath him is soft and familiar, one that smells like sunlight and fresh cotton just like it does night after night. His body is bare and Lotor can feel the warmth of the heating system of the Castle caressing his left side as he lies there unable to move and unable to see. Hands tied above his head, the Galra inhales from his mouth deeply in anticipation of what is going to come.
The blindfold covering his eyes is slippery and soft, the black satin slightly cold against his face. When Lotor tries to arch his body its knot digs painfully into the back of his head, forcing him to lie flat again on top of the covers.
He's never minded being tied up but the idea to be completely blind used to make him restless, knowing that there was someone in there with him whom he couldn't see had never be on top of his list before actually trying it with the right person. Despite his innate distrust which Lotor blames to the childhood's stain that was Father he knows he is safe in here, in this room that has become surprisingly appeasing and comforting with its smell of lotion, sun and home.
There are familiar sounds around him – the low humming of the Castle of Lions' engine that can always be felt underneath the floor, the continuous groaning of the air recirculation system, the soft buzzing of the suffused light probably still switched on – yet his inability to see makes Lotor shiver in apprehension and arousal. There's the heavy, warm weight of his hardening member resting on his thigh and he's trying to lying as still as possible, however strong his need to rub his legs together for some friction might be.
He knows he is watching. He knows that. He can feel those bright, luminous eyes on his body as a warm breeze sliding down his purple skin. This is a familiar situation, one of his favourites now, yet every time seems different as he lingers with baited breath for him to make the first move. It's the waiting, the anticipation that kills him every time.
Something warm touches his shin. He jerks, his system shocked at the unexpected contact, his many years of military training and survival instincts battling against the tiny, alleviating voice whispering 'It's fine' in his ears. Skidding up his skin the hand caresses his knee and Lotor hurtles away again, the ticklish touch making him giggle. “Stop that”.
“Quiet”.
The word is delicate, murmured in a familiar voice usually associated with laughter, pouting and endless pleasure. It comes from the foot of the bed letting the Galra imagine him standing right there as he takes in every little small detail in display. The hand smoothly veers up his leg, stroking slowly his muscled thigh and swiftly fondling it before letting go as quickly as it came. As it moves up Lotor knows what the next stop is going to be and he can't control the full-body flutter that hits him with the same force of a rampaging Ukrann: he can sense his rod stiffening up at the expectation of having those nimble, tanned fingers wrapped around it, caressing it to then move up and down. It's such a powerful imagery that the prince is almost able to feel the ghost hold around it as his member fills. Just the fantasy of it makes him whimper. He spreads his legs wider trying to arch again, the knot behind his head still boring into his skull uncomfortably. If only he could take this quiznaking blindfold off.
“Please”.
There is a faint sigh of laughter as answer to his breathy whisper, no other sound while the hand goes up.
And up.
And up.
Lotor moans long and loud awaiting for his member to be taken in hand.
The hand goes around and past it.
A sob escapes from his throat, feet planting in the mattress and Lotor tightens his butt cheeks to push his hips upwards. His silent pleading don't seem to make a difference though, the hand continues relentless away from his erection, now flopped heavily against his stomach in an odd curve.
“Lance, please”, he breathes under his voice, nearly inaudible.
“Please what, Papi? What do you need?”.
Lotor hears the affectionate voice of the Blue Paladin murmuring the question near his face, so close that he nearly manages to feel his minty, warm breath on his blindfolded face. The hand drifts up his tight stomach, then the feeling of nails scraping lightly the line between his pectorals. Shivers run down from the point of his tied hands to the tip of his toes in a tingle of pure delight and his cock fills even more.
“Take me in your mouth”.
“Ah, ah, ah”, Lance tuts mockingly above him, his sensitive hearing picking up the delicate footsteps of his bare feet against the carpet of his room. “No ordering around, Papi. Not tonight. We talked about this”.
“Lance—”.
“Please, Lotor. Just for tonight”.
How did he end up in this position, listening to an Earthling, a Paladin of Voltron of all things? How did he end up letting a Paladin tie him up and blindfold him, as if he's never been betrayed, never been hurt by people close to him? And yet Lance has the kind of soul that could melt frozen hearts, has the type of smile that warms more than a summer day on Agahbria. That's why he said yes. Why he says yes every time Lance asks him to play this game of theirs. And tonight is no different.
As answer Lotor relaxes against the mattress, focussing on the feeling of Lance's warm hands against his own heated chest, sliding upwards along the elegant line of his neck and following the shape of his full lips. Lance's touch is comforting and familiar even in this situation, with Lotor tied up and blind. He's always exploring, always touching and driven by a sense of curiosity that Lotor sometimes envies of Earthlings.
It might take ages but finally Lotor feels the mattress dip, giving to the weight of another body, and his hips are slowly straddled by two lean legs. Lance's genitals – testicles, is what the Paladin called them once – are resting heavy on his thighs while his member feels rock hard bobbing against his own. It resembles a wave, a hot, dry wave as Lotor sense first the human's abdomen then his chest lowering down to connect with his; a blanket to cover him.
“Papi”. A humid sigh whispering against his mouth. “Can I kiss you?”.
Yes, that's what Lotor wants to say but when he tries to part his lips and speak his muscles won't work. So he ends up nodding, slowly yet surely to answer the question that Lance always asks. Apparently consent is a huge thing on Earth, that's what Lance told him one of their first times together.
The kiss, however delicate and dare he say romantic, sends uncontrollable shivers of pleasure down his spine and makes his rod sitting proudly against his own stomach, rubbing eye-wateringly against Lance's. It's just a peck at first, a whispered word here and a touch there, but Lotor opens his mouth and snakes his tongue between Lance's lips like the Paladin taught him. There's no askance for dominance, their tongues moving in a slow, erotic dance as the wet noises of their kiss fills the room in echoes that the Galra's sensitive ears could pick up from miles away. He can't see Lance; he can't see if his blue eyes are open or hidden behind long lashes, he can't study the smoothness of his skin on his cheeks, not even the faint freckles on his noise. But he can imagine them after so much time spent in watching them.
He senses the smirk against his mouth before anything else. The hand enveloping him is slightly cold but the contrast with his hot rod is mind-blowing, so much so that Lotor arches is back and moans in Lance's mouth. The pace is smooth, just on this side of too slow and eventually the Galra feels the a tightening in his guts as the pleasure surges skyward.
That's when all movement ceases.
“Lance!”.
“Ssh”. His sensitive ears pick up the noise of something being squirted and the hand comes back, warmer and wetter. “I got you”.
It's quick, more functionary than pleasurable but when the hand disappears again and Lotor sense Lance moving around and placing himself better on top of his hips he knows what that means. He knows the familiar heat that envelops his hard member, slow oh so tortuously slow. It's tight, red-hot, squeezing him and adjusting around him like only human bodies seem to do.
“Lotor”. It's a whispered sigh above him and Lotor can only imagine Lance's expression as he lowers himself on his shaft. “Oh my God. Lotor”.
Not knowing how long Lance took to prepare himself the prince doesn't want to rush this despite his mind screaming at him to take and ravish and pleasure. It's sweet, sweet torture. Cruel and beautiful in a way Lotor has rarely experienced before starting this thing with the Earthling.
It seems like years when he finally bottoms up, when he feels Lance's butt cheeks resting on the top of his thighs. He can almost envision how they feel in his tight grip, soft and muscled at the same time as if they were ripe berjo fruits. “Untie me”.
“No orders tonight, Papi”, Lance repeats, words choking slightly.
“Untie me, please”.
“I will if you promise to keep the blindfold on”.
Quiznak. That's not what he wants. He needs to see Lance, to watch his expression as he takes his pleasure from Lotor, as he bounces up and down on him until he reaches completion. But if this is what his Paladin wants…
“Fine. Just untie me”.
There is movement above him, the body in which he's buried squeezing and slightly loosening up around his member as his boundaries come finally undone. As soon as that happens, Lotor snatches those thin, enticing hips in his hands but keeps his promise, blindfold still in place.
Lance's skin is warm, reddened by lust and pleasure and when Lotor's hold tightens Lance start jouncing on him. At first is slow, unsure, shy. Then the pace changes, the erotic sound of skin slapping getting louder and louder and louder. He opens his mouth at the shivers shaking his body but no sounds come aside from the inaudible groans of pleasure; Lance though doesn't misses one bit. The rowdy moans and deafening cries spike his own gratification so high the Galra can't help but lift his hips to meet Lance's. The constriction around his rod is getting unbearably arousing, his climax getting nearer and nearer.
“Lance”.
“Dios, Papi. I'm gonna come”, Lance moans brokenly as his body meets his.
“Lance! I—Fuck!”.
“Oh God, Lotor. I'm so close. God, I'm so—”.
Lotor feels the Earthling stiffen around him, his muscles gripping him in a vice and shakes break onto Lance's skin. When the first wet drop hits his chest Lotor reaches up and rips the blindfold off of him with uncontrollable strength. The suffused light around the room is shockingly bright to his eyes but he doesn't care; right now his eyes are glued to the shivering boy riding him drinking every last details as Lance comes with an intense, short scream. The sight is too much for him and soon he's releasing his own seed inside the Earthling with an arched back and a silent cry.
The aftershock seems to last aeons but lying there, Lance's hands massaging his wrists and lips kissing his eyes, Lotor can't help but feel content. Relaxed.
“Do you think they heard us?”, Lance asks once they're lying under the covers facing one another.
“Oh, definitely, my Paladin. And they're gonna hear us again right now”.
The office is nothing more than a small mezzanine area facing the front door, accessible from a narrow iron case that spirals up from behind the reception table. The walls in here are covered with sketches for ideas and Levi's favourite photographs, mostly portraits and products. He sits at the imposing wooden desk in the middle of the space and switches on the desktop monitors taking most of the space before sipping from Levi's travel mug. Mina yells a warm goodbye from downstairs after the sun has set and a few minutes later Eren hears the locking of the front door and familiar steps coming up the stairs.
“Right. Let's look at these beauties”, Levi says reaching him at the desk, the screeching noise of a chair being dragged next to him making his skin crawl temporarily. The older man can be such an obnoxious piece of shit when he wants to be, but apparently Eren still loves him for his flaws.
It doesn't take long for Levi to find the picture folder and two minutes later Eren is staring blushingly at his own body on the screen. On the right he can see smaller copies of all the pictures Levi took a week ago but the current one being shown is...well, sexy. Is it okay to say that if he is the one modelling for it?
“Wow”.
“Yeah”, Levi whispers distractingly as he studies it with assertive eyes. “Not bad”.
“You're the one that's taken the photo”.
“I was talking about you”.
“Oh”. Eren blushes at that and goes back to look at the picture.
It's the first one they've taken and he has to admit the stool was a brilliant idea. The extent of golden skin – now grey thanks to the black and white effect – shades gradually into a paler tone in the shaved groin area, where the top part of his soft member can faintly be seen before hiding behind the metal reflection of the stool. His abs are tight due to the cold and discomfort he was feeling in that moment but certainly the result was worth all the emotional torture he put himself through; the Adonis belt is decorated with barely there veins that can be thinly noticed against the white of his hips. Legs are apart, forming a symmetrical 'v' in between which the stool lies. The blanket falls in a point from his left shoulder, the arm behind his back forming a sensual angle at the elbow underneath that. His nipples are pointed, his jaw muscles well-defined and the fingers holding the top of the stool are white-knuckled.
“This is...”. Eren nods with an embarrassed frown. “This is cool”.
Levi huffs in amusement. “Only you would call a nude of yourself 'cool', Eren”.
The next picture is the one with the dress shirt, where the dark curve of his ass against the whiteness of the shirt sends trembles down his spine. Can one get aroused by a picture of himself?
“Love your ass in this one”, Levi comments pointing at it. “Looks bouncy”.
“Looks?”.
“Is. Is bouncy”.
“Better”, the brunet smugly concedes.
There are two other black and white pictures of his back, one where his muscles are beautifully outlined by the shadows, his spine a ling, deep black line that reaches the roundness of his cheeks. In that one the shapes are all geometrical, symmetry ruling over the lines of his shoulders, his teres and rhomboid carved in an attractive display thanks to his hands clenched above his head. The other one is more romantic, sensual instead of the virile scene of the previous one. The lighting had been moved in front of him as his back faced the camera, almost hugging himself. He put all his weight on his left leg, disregarding symmetry in a showing totally different from the other one. The brightness of the lamp touches his hand and outlines his body in what resembled a celestial halo, while the curve of his shoulders is accentuated by his head bowed low. Every knob in his spine is visible and the light against his legs illuminates every single light hair on his thighs. He sees the ever so faint paleness of his shorts line but this one seems almost...magical.
The next one makes Eren bite his lip as he watches raptly. He's sitting on the stool, his body only visible from his groin area to his nose and his legs are wide open. He's leaning on his left, showing off each ripple of his muscles, each veins in his arms and hips in a subtle way but that's not the one that catches his eye. It's a quiet thing, something so ingenious someone wouldn't really see it if they didn't pay attention but Eren follows the line of his own right hand that falls almost too precisely between his legs and there's when Levi's genius comes to play. The shape of his cock head is half hidden, the top illuminated by the light coming from above him. If focus is not used in watching this picture, one would think the hand is simply making a fist. When the eye actually falls on what the fingers are wrapped around it's elegant and understated. He notices with a shivers the interesting contrast his dark slit makes with his lighted head.
“This my favourite”, Levi says under his breath and Eren can feel his eyes on him.
“Uh. Can't imagine why”.
The last picture it's as delicate as the other one, with the light still coming from above him on his right side and his soft member illuminated slightly, emphasising the curve of it as it falls down. Most of his body is darkened, his Adonis belt and the top of his thighs subtly brightened in shades of greys and blacks. His left side which seems to be facing more the camera is completely in shadows, his arm lifted to reach behind his back over his shoulder and determining the shape of his blades side. His right arm is a corded line of veins running down the hidden right side of his body.
“Levi, this—”.
“What?”.
Eren doesn't have many words to describe what he's just seen. Doesn't have any, to be honest. “It's beautiful. And sexy”. At the other's smirk he rolls his eyes. “I'm not calling myself beautiful or sexy. I'm just saying, you've...you've done an amazing job”.
“As I said. You're the subject”.
“Right”, Eren chuckles before turning to look at his husband and deadpans:“I'm hot”.
Levi laughs with gusto at that and for a second Eren wishes he could have half the talent the older man has for photography so that he could appreciate Levi's body the same way his husband seems to have done with his.
Eren takes in the photographic studio Levi owns downtown, the huge umbrellas reflecting the brightness coming off from the lamps still on on the opposite side of a wide, grey backdrop. A metal stool with a thick fur blanket thrown over it is abandoned in front of it, like an item from a long forgotten dream. The room is not very spacious – Eren has seen the other rooms Levi uses as studios in the converted warehouse and this is certainly not the biggest one he has – and he knows his husband uses this for his more...intimate commissions. He's never been at one of those sessions but he knows from what Levi has told him that erotic and nude photography can be very tasteful and elegant if done properly. And Levi doesn't do anything if not properly.
“A client is commissioning an album for her partner”, Levi replies as he walks to switch off he blinding studio lights. “High heels is the theme. Have never seen anyone bringing so many shoes in one session”.
“And fur, I presume?”. Eren touches the soft, synthetic blanket, rubbing it between his fingers. The texture is fluffy and comfortable, but if he pays enough attention he can feel the slight roughness of the synthetic fabric. He tries to imagine the blanket in a different context, maybe thrown on the floor in front of a lit fireplace, like at the cabin they've rented for Levi's birthday last Christmas. Eren can imagine it sliding against his naked skin, figuring how it'd feel down his body.
“And nothing else”.
There is nothing much to add about the session Levi has just had and Eren knows better than enquire about the client and her identity. Not for jealousy – Levi s one of the most straightforward people he's ever met – but because Eren values privacy more than anything else in regards to intimacy and eroticism. The only thing Levi told him more than once is that there are a lot of individuals “in the Scene” that he knows requesting these sort of photographs. For the older man it's always been a job like another and as a man of the “Scene” himself, Levi doesn't mind complying to help others achieve their kinks and pleasures. If erotic photography is a kink, Eren is not really a connoisseur. He's personally never been portrayed by Levy despite the raven-haired numerous attempts at doing so, however…
Eren knows he's a good looking guy – he's not that oblivious – but the idea of posing naked in front of the camera makes his blood rush quicker in his veins and butterflies sparkle in his stomach in an anxious way. And yet, now...maybe it wouldn't be so bad.
“Would you—”.
At the unsure words Levi turns from the lamp, his trusty travel mug probably full of Lapsang Souchong held firmly in his hand. “What?”.
Come on, Eren. He's your husband. He's seen you naked more times than your mother has. “Would you want to—to photograph me? You know, naked. Like your client”.
Deep, grey eyes stare at him seemingly blank though Eren sees the minute difference in the pupils, something he's trained himself to do after almost three years of marriage. Levi twists his obdy to face him now, full attention completely on him. “You know I would”.
“Do you have another appointment soon?”. A shake of the head is all the answer he needs. Eren inhales deeply attempting to build himself up. “Right. So...”.
“So...”.
“How do you want me?”.
The brunet can sense his body becoming a bit restless under the attentive scrutiny of his husband, who brings his hand up and switches back on the lamp. “Naked”.
Fair enough, Eren thinks with an affectionate eye-roll and a small smile. While Levi goes to set back up the studio, he takes off his navy sweater and begins to unbutton his dress shirt; his hands are shaking annoyingly hard and the act of working off his clothes resembles more a herculean task worthy of a classic, Greek epic poem on its own. It's so frustrating how nervous he is considering this is certainly not the first time he's undressed in front of his husband and yet it all feels new. It takes him what seems like an hour before he can hand his discarded clothes to Levi, who as usual folds them neatly and puts them on one side.
Eren looks down at the metal stool for a minute before focusing back up on the older man. “What do I have to do?”.
“Stand behind the stool first. Legs apart. Wider. One hand behind your back”. When Eren complies he fixes marginally his pose. “Not something I do with clients but I can touch this, can't I?”, he asks referring to the tanned body.
The twenty-seven year old sees an almost invisible smirk on the other's thin lip and he can't help but huff a laughter. “Was that in our vows?”.
“No. It would've been grand, though. Especially in front of our parents. 'I'll take thee from behind, front and side every day for the rest of our lives as my legitimate husband'”. Eren explodes in a full-belly laugh, his abdominals shaking with hilarity. “Imagine your father's face”.
“Oh, he's seen worse things up people's butts. I've seen worse and I'm just a family doctor”.
“Ever told you I don't envy you one bit?”.
“Yep”, Eren grins with fondness.
Levi makes him grab the stool with his right hand and he pushes it forward slightly, only the front legs touching the hardwood floor now. “Come forward. A bit more. That's it, stop”.
Looking down, Eren notices the top curve of the stool – now sitting uncomfortably cold against the hidden soft member – is leaving the lighter skin of his groin bare to the eye. The only thing left to the imagination is the size of his dick, the rest? Pretty much everything is well in sight. Levi's steps appear deafening loud in the silence of the studio before a warm weight is placed on his left shoulder. He studies with detached interest while Levi does his job, throwing artistically the fur blanket over his shoulder. After the last light fixes are done, the brightness suffused to a more intimate luminosity, the older man marches back to prepare his camera.
As he waits, Eren can sense goosebumps appearing on his arms but even naked in the middle of a brick-walled room he's not cold; the jitters are palpable as he stands there, muscles tight and jaw clenched.
“You're as sexy as an antique wardrobe”, Levi mutters from behind his viewfinder.
A confused frown. “Are those sexy?”.
“No”. The deadpan almost makes him laugh. “Relax, brat. You're trying to seduce me, not make me sign up for the army”.
“Right. Right, yes”, he sighs. “Uniforms are sexy, though”.
“You're not wearing a uniform”.
“Right”.
He hears a few clicks, sees Levi change position but still staying dead on in front of him. Eren is not completely uncomfortable, though the chill of the metal against his groin seems to be spreading to his whole body now. When he tells the other, Levi rushes to fetch a space heater and puts him outside the frame but still close enough that the warm air hits pleasantly Eren's legs and hips. It seems to go on forever before the older man tell him to leave the stool and blanket on the side and pick up his white shirt.
“I want you to wear it and then take it off down to your elbows”, he's told with the same assertiveness Levi sometimes uses in the bedroom. “Turn on your side, left leg forward”.
After Levi has adjusted the lighting some more he joins Eren in front of the backdrop and twists his arms around so that the shirt hanging from his left arm covers his groin. Through the viewfinder he can notice the sensual, tight curve of Eren's cheeks highlighted by the shirt white hanging behind it. He's been numerous times in this sort of situation – taking nude pictures, sometimes even sexually appealing ones – and always, always kept his professional wits about him. His mind has always looked at what he was seeing under an objective, artistic point of view. Yet now, having his own husband posing naked in front of him is enough to make his jeans feel a bit too tight.
“Look forward”. He takes a few more shots and zooms in. “Look at me”. Eren turns his head. “No, head facing forward still. Just look at me with your eyes”.
“Won't I be ridiculous?”.
“If you think about how much I want to fuck you right now, probably you won't be”.
Eren chokes on his own spit, sputtering inelegantly before glaring at the other. “Levi!”.
“What? It's boudoir photography, Eren. I'm taking nude pictures of my husband right now”.
“So, you want me to think about having sex with you while I'm standing here, naked?”.
Levi looks up from his camera, eyes burning behind black lashes. “If that helps with you relaxing”.
A throat clears uncomfortably and then Eren follows the instructions he's been given. He can't really see Levi in this position. There's a black and pink mass of colour on the corner of his eyes as he tries to stare where he assumes the camera is, and for the first time since he's taken his clothes off Eren lets his mind travel.
The way Levi has always looked at him in the bedroom is something he can't seem to ever forget, with his usual cold eyes burning with lust as Eren walks out of their en-suite with only a towel around his neck, his body still damp from the shower. He can envision the raven-haired lying on their bed, ankles crossed and arms behind his head, watching every line of Eren's body. Levi would have to be naked as well in this setting, obviously, because his physique is the most attractive piece of art he's ever seen. Levi's body is perfect with strong lines flowing straight down his stomach, the bedside lamps creating hypnotic games of light and shadows on his cutting abs; the well-defined cord of his biceps as his head rests on his hands.
“Now we're getting there”.
Levi's voice reaches him like a bucket of ice water and he shakes himself, sight focussing back on Levi taking a few more pictures of him before walking to his laptop to check the shots he's just uploaded from his camera.
As time goes by he's asked to changed position endless times, alongside props and lighting equipment – Eren's never known this was the work that goes behind one shooting session and fortunately Levi doesn't seem to have another client booked for the remaining of the late afternoon. As the day draws to a close Eren relaxes more and more, comfortable in his own skin the more time he's standing naked in the middle of the studio. It's a forbidden feeling the one he has as he poses bare for his husband while Levi takes picture after picture: the knowledge that he shouldn't be doing this is almost disorienting, sending a rush to his brain in a pleasant way when he starts to enjoy the evening spent doing exactly this. When Levi gives him the all-clear to get dressed again before disappearing behind the door that leads to the public area of his photographic studio, Eren takes his time doing so despite small shivers shaking down his muscles from the cold.
He's sitting on the chair tying up his shoes, Levi walks back in with a steaming mug of tea which is handed to him with a small, familiar smile and a kiss on the cheek. “I asked Mina to help me out cleaning up in here. We can go home after that, I'll work on them and we can look at them together next week if you want to come down here again after work”.
The drive to the pack house takes less than twenty minutes, time that Stiles uses to go over every single time Derek has behaved weirdly during sex. The idea that this might not be about him doesn't put his insecurities to rest, but it certainly makes sense; Derek's hand always around the root of his cock even during the haze of sex, always controlling when he was about to come and making sure that Stiles would not touch his erection while orgasming. Stiles hopes with his entire being this is actually the answer to the werewolf's behaviour because if Derek doesn't really have knot and it has nothing to do with his withdrawing right after sex...Stiles doesn't like the alternative.
When he parks Roscoe in front of the house Derek is already there at the door, arms crossed and confusion written all over his face.
“What's wrong?”, he asks as soon as Stiles got out of the Jeep.
“Nothing. I think”. Walking up to him he kisses his mouth, his beard hitching him in all the good ways. “We need to talk?”.
If Derek is anxious about this he doesn't show it, simply walking back in and leading Stiles to sit in the living room. The sofa is spacious and wide but he decides to accommodate next to Derek before facing him, eyes staring dead on his face.
“Okay, so. This might sound crazy, okay? I'm aware of it but I need you to be a hundred percent honest and just roll with it, fine?”. A nod and Stiles keeps talking. “Right. I don't think there's a nice way to ask this. I mean, it's pretty private considering how Scott reacted and I'm not all in to watch his family bits and whatnot but we've had sex, we're together. Me and you, I mean. Not me and Scott. That'd be disgusting. Urgh. He's like, my brother. He'd be my brother if I had one and even if we're not related by blood that would technically still be incest. Right? Not that I care about—”.
“Stiles? You're rambling”.
“Yep. Yeah, I am. Okay, here goes nothing”. Stiles takes a deep breath in. “Do you have a knot?”.
The silence is deafening. If he couldn't hear the clock ticking from the kitchen Stiles would think time had froze. Instead, here he is sitting on a sofa that's become more his home than his actual bedroom hoping, hoping the answer was a yes. Because the alternative is gloomier and Stiles doesn't want to think that Derek doesn't enjoy sex with him, that he is the problem.
“Yes”.
Oh. Okay. Right. That's...fine.
“I knew this was going to happen”.
And that is…wait, what? “What?”.
Derek sighs and looks away, a deep frown on his face. “I knew you were going to find out and be disgusted. I've been trying to not let you notice and I thought that was working and now—”.
“Wait, wait, wait. Do you mean, all this, like...you not...finishing...inside and everything else was just because you didn't want me to find out about it?”.
The lack of reply is enough of an answer. But then the answer comes and it makes Stiles' insides contort.
“Kate didn't like it”.
They never really talk about it. Never really breach the subject of her because every time they do Derek's mood seem to dim a bit and Stiles feels a painful anger when he finds out more about the huntress.
He lifts a hand, touching a bearded cheek and guiding Derek's face to look at him. “I'm not her. I thought you didn't want to...you know, just...you didn't like me enough. To come inside, I mean”.
“Of course I like you enough, Stiles. I—I love you. I just didn't want you to be freaked out”.
“Er, do you even know me? I just found out from my best friend that you might, in fact, have a knot on your dick and you think I might be freaked out?”.
A shrug.
“I want to see it, Derek”, Stiles states with surprising determination. “And I might want to try to have it inside. That's how much I'm freaked out”.
*
“Yeah. I definitely want it inside”.
That's the first thing that comes out of Stiles mouth when Derek's cock starts filling up. He's not knotting yet and from what the wolf's told him it won't fill up fully until he's about to orgasm.
They're lying in bed, Stiles's idea of making out and studying his knot on the sofa downstairs quickly shut down by Derek because 'The pack might be put off by the smell' – is it weird that Stiles is not really bothered by it? Uh, life in a werewolf pack rubbed off on him – and they're both sitting against the soft headboard. Derek's back is against it at least, Stiles is cuddled under the other's arm, leg shoved on top of one of Derek's and hand now exploring the shivering muscles of his abdomen. He nuzzles closer to the man's shoulder, hairs on his chest fluttering at Stiles' breaths.
The cock he's been so familiar with for half a year is now slightly different, similar to the drawing Stiles has seen but his biased mind thinks it's definitely better than the scan on his laptop. Thick veins are still visible lines down the rod but the root of it is slightly swollen, now the size of a small mandarin. Scott had been right, if Stiles didn't know what is happening he would probably go ballistic, calling 911 or driving Derek to the hospital without caring for the national speed limit or traffic lights. The idea of having that inside him though, now that he is aware, is tentatively appealing.
“It'll get bigger. It might hurt a bit”.
“Will it?”.
“It's not exactly designed for assholes, Stiles”, Derek hisses under his breath as Stiles pokes the head.
“I guess not. Oh, you meant me? Thank you, Sourwolf. Love your sweet talk”.
His finger slides up and down the side of the erection always stopping before it touches the knot and the cock twitches against Derek's stomach.
“Can I touch it?”.
“God, please”, he breaths out.
Stiles looks up at Derek and grins wickedly in seeing the Beta's expression tight with restrained arousal. The second-hand thrill he gets is like an elastic band in his guts, ready to snap back in place but still strained. He first touches it with a finger, delicately and unsure. It feels unfamiliar, peculiarly hard and interestingly different from the soft-hard binary system of Derek's cock; the skin that envelopes it is stretched and he notices with hypnotising awe the numerous capillaries decorating the surfacing. It's fascinating. When his touch doesn't cause Derek to scream in pain, Stiles gets his entire hand involved and circles it as he would a normal erection.
That earns a reaction.
The loud groan is a sound Derek has never really made and Stiles pulls away immediately, causing a small whine to emerge from the wolf's throat. “I'm sorry. Did it hurt?”.
“No. No, no. It didn't”. Green eyes open a fraction before Stiles' mouth is assaulted by a moaning werewolf. A wet tongue invades the space between his lips with aggressive, lust-driven precision and Stiles can't help but feel his own cock twitch at that. He grabs the knot in his hand again and this time starts experimenting, twists his hand right and left as if he was unscrewing something. “Fuck”.
The curse is hissed against his mouth. “Is this good, Der?”.
“Tighter”.
The hand on his shoulders moves and his hair is gripped in a constricting hold that makes his inside boil. This is so. Fucking. Hot.
“Oh, God, Der. Why did we wait to do this?”.
“Stiles. Stiles”. His names feels so good from Derek's mouth he wants to straddle him and fuck himself on that tanned cock.
He tighten his grip and quickly he can feel the skin underneath it getting larger. Stiles imagines having that inside of him, straining him and spreading him so well the pain would become pleasure, and he can't help but straddle Derek's thigh and rub against it. “I so want you to fuck me with it. You never came inside me”.
Apparently the softly spoken words against his mouth send Derek over the edge. Stiles drops his forehead against the other's shoulder and stares wide-eyed as the knot gets bigger, painfully so, and when the cock shudders a long pearly fluid comes out of it reaching up to Derek's chest.
“Tighten it”. It comes out strained and Stiles is worried he might end up hurting the wolf but he does as he's told. The enlarged root is incredibly hard underneath his hand; as soon as he grips it with determination a loud cry leaves Derek and his head bumps back against the headboard. It's a sight he's never seen before – the corded muscles in his neck, the abandoned expression of pure ecstasy when pleasure borders just this side of painful. And Derek is beautiful in it.
His own member is aching now. Stiles takes himself in hand and moves it quickly with the easiness familiarity brings, eyes not straying from the hypnotising sight of the knot in his other hand. He feels empty and the need of having Derek's cock inside, Derek's knot inside is starting to drive him crazy. It's nothing he's never thought of before, never had the need to research or even the spark that something like this might exist. While talking to Scott the thought of it hadn't sparked joy at all but then, here with Derek, seeing him so lost in pleasure...he can't help but think that is hot. And he's going to have it, he's going to have that inside of him as soon as Derek is up for it again – which won't take long because that's one of the upsides of dating a werewolf – and he's going to feel it. To feel it tight inside of him just like he has it now in his hand.
Shit.
Shit.
Shi—
“—it. Shit”. The whisper is uncontrollably falling from his lips and between the tightness of his own hand and the warmth of Derek's thigh underneath him Stiles comes with a drawn moan. His teeth sink into the solid chest in front of him, causing the muscles he's straddling to jerk and twitch at the pain. His cum sputters on tanned skin, resting and mixing with the remains of Derek's orgasm already staining his hairs.
Their bodies are clammy with sweat but the musk of Derek's sweat is pleasant in his nose as Stiles simply melts into the warm embrace.
“I hate you”, he mumbles in the other's neck.
“That's a first, after sex. With you anyway”.
With the small strength he still has, Stiles lifts his head and stares heavy lidded into green, stormy eyes. “We could have been doing this for six months if it weren't for you. I could have had this—”, he tightens his grip around the knot, “—inside of me for six months”.
Derek hums in amusement and leftover excitement. “Don't think it would last six months”.
“Pity”.
It might not last for six months, but Stiles is certainly going to have that in him before the end of the night.
Day 2 of Kinktober. Definitely not SFW. Am not sure I can post the entire thing here so I’ll just post a snippet considering is *uhm uhm* knotting....
Originally posted on AO3
Stiles Stilinski has always been known to be a curious guy, a trait that according to some of his friends – well, many of them. Okay, most. Alright, all of his friends – can sometimes border to him being a pain-in-the-ass. That's not territory he's ever wanted to be in but surely, considering his current predicament, is a pretty fitting mental image. The thing with Stiles is that he never takes anything at face value and his brain has the annoying habit of never shutting up – asking questions can be incredibly tiresome for the person that does the asking as well, fact. There are moments when the twenty-one year-old really doesn't want to question other people's actions; be that because he might not like the answer or because ignorance is indeed sometimes bliss.
Stiles has never being subjected to peer pressure the same way Scott has – point in case the whole junior year-slash-werewolf-slash-lacrosse débâcle – but he's been feeling the need to prove there was something normal in his life too after five years of fighting supernatural creatures and surviving less than ideal life-or-death situations.
Not that his relationships have ever been conventional with his whole failed record in his file but he can guess his situation can be considered better than Derek's. And how unfair is it that when Stiles is finally happy he can see trouble charging at him from a two mile distance like Iron Man plunging down from the sky at an alarming speed, weapons drawn? It almost feels like standing on train rails and knowing the high-speed locomotive is approaching but being unable to move; and that's not in the inspiring Mel Gibbson way yelling “Freedom!” with a blue face and a naked willy hanging in the air. If only. No, Stiles is more terrified to move and therefore acknowledge the problem than standing his ground and pretend everything is fine until the train wipes his face out. Morbid, but accurate. Because Stiles knows deep down that he and Derek have issues, personal ones at that but they're still echoing between them.
Obviously the lack of self-esteem they both experience from time to time is outstandingly ridiculous when it comes to the werewolf but in his good days Stiles finds it quite funny: the fact that they have that in common out of anything else that could have been is saddening but ironic. Only the good bits, right? Despite how Derek sees himself, Stiles knows and has always known since he was a spazzy, sixteen year-old puberty-victim with a masochist-prone crush that the werewolf is too good for him – issues and personal history aside, Derek is so out of Stiles league he doesn't even play the same sport (and that's apparently proven by the few photo survived from the fire because Derek was a top basketball player). What had pulled the Beta towards him and in wanting to establish a relationship with Stiles the human will never know but he can't see this thing continuing for much longer. And that has nothing to do with what Stiles wants: if it were up to him, he'd marry the werewolf tomorrow, grow a uterus and carry his babies but unfortunately it's not. Up to him, that is. Also the whole pregnancy thing seems a bit overkill – simply because it's impossible, for now – but in a hypothetical world where guys could magically get pregnant, sure he wouldn't mind that happening.
Since their relationship changed from friendship to oh-you're-hot-and-we-both-like-each-other-let's-have-sex, Stiles has let Derek in total control of things. Sometimes subtly, others pretty explicitly. Point is he doesn't want to be like the others, he doesn't want to be the reason Derek will look back at this speck in history and put Stiles in the “Reasons why I don't trust people” column. The guy has been through too much already and however, whenever the werewolf will end things he wants to know he's done all he could to bring Derek back from the abyss.
All this tirade is not unfounded. Stiles might not be a genius when it comes to relationships but it's pretty known what are the red flags in one – it might have to do with a Cosmopolitan number he's read at Lydia's but it also might not. He's definitely not going to tell which option is true. The article was obviously directed to a human audience but he can easily convert it to a more supernatural situation. How during the full moon Derek would retire to himself in the new pack house, usually alone but Isaac would spend some time there as well. How Derek seemed to always apologise and tense up every time he was starting something or how he would always pull back out before coming.
Now, Stiles has never experienced the joys of gay sex before Derek – though his long, long list of favourite porn might have been stashed in a random-named folder on his laptop for almost five years now – but he could understand having some qualms around the mess of clean up after having sex without a condom; personally Stiles doesn't mind that but he knows some people can get squeamish when it comes to that. That would be great and good...if only Derek had given him reason to be one of those people.
Sex with Derek is amazing, one of the best Stiles has ever experienced though he doesn't have a real comparison regarding to gay sex. They are both adventurous and like to try new things and something that drives Stiles crazy is when Derek gives him head. Being a first for both of them, the initial attempts had been clumsy and hesitant but they built up on them and learnt how to pleasure the other and enjoy the act in itself. Stiles loves having the heavy weight of Derek in his mouth, he feels a euphoric sense of accomplishment and arousal every time his movements cause Derek to moan or groan, every time he sees his green eyes staring down at him in excitement or how his abdomen tenses up before he needs to come. He doesn't know what Derek likes about blowing Stiles but he knows, even in the haziness of an approaching orgasm, that the werewolf does. Sometimes he will grip the human's hips tightly enough to stop him from push him away just before he comes and Derek would simply drink him in, clean his softening member before nuzzling his face against his groin. It's an act that reminds Stiles more of a cat or a dog – pun secretly intended, he grins – but it doesn't give him the impression of Derek being against the taste, feel or smell of cum. Stiles finds Derek lick his own hand clean after he jerks the younger man off, or suck on Stiles' skin when he comes on his abdomen. Which doesn't really make any sense when it comes to the problem at hand.
Derek doesn't seem inclined to ever, ever come inside Stiles. Be that during a blowjob or sex. He would keep an end at the root of his erection while the human jerks him, push him gently away from his groin when Stiles is face-deep in it pleasuring him or pull out of his body every time Derek is deep inside Stiles' hole. Same method as always, hand at the root, gently pushing Stiles away, coming and hiding in the bathroom for what sometimes feels like hours before coming back to bed and snuggling tightly against Stiles. It happens more often than not and after six months of sexy times, Stiles is starting to have his doubts.
Stiles is kneeling between Derek's open legs on his bed, long-fingered hands caressing and gripping the wolf's muscled thighs as the air in the bedroom of the pack house hits his bare hole. The musky, clean smell of Derek is heady and the thick hardness in his mouth is heavy as he slowly bobs his head up and down. Soft, lazy groans reach his ears and when a big hand finds its place in his hair Stiles looks up along the naked body lying supine on the mattress. He loves seeing Derek like this, relaxed and aroused, face contorted in low-humming pleasure and muscles tightening rhythmically as green eyes stare down at him heavy-lidded. The sight is something Stiles doesn't want to forget, ever; he wants to print it in his mind, draw it with a permanent marker on a thick A2 sheet and nail it up in his bedroom. He wants to take this picture and be able to look at it every time he feels the need to remember that for however long he's had this, that he's given Derek the pleasure he so much deserves.
My god, I do love him.
And isn't that funny, having such a romantic thought as he's blowing his boyfriend? He doesn't know if it's a normal occurrence for other people but he's rolling with it.
When Stiles locks his eyes with Derek's and starts moaning, sucking and bobbing a bit faster and then faster and faster as he feels the wolf tense underneath, as he sees his muscles contract, the fingers in his hair grip him tightly enough to control him without hurting and Derek's other hand flies to the root of his cock before arching and pushing it out of Stiles mouth. The first spurts of cum hit his cheek but Stiles has no time to revel in it and enjoy it before Derek is pulling him up next to him, mouth kissing his with boiling enthusiasm, groans and moans still spilling from deep in his chest.
Stiles is just starting to respond, arms lifting to circle Derek's neck, when the wolf moves off the bed and walks to the en-suite. The doors shuts softly behind him. The shower starts to run.
Okay. Stiles lies there on his back, eyes fixated on the ceiling. Okay. He can feel a rogue trace of something sliding down his cheek and when he brings his finger to it he sees it's Derek's spend. Right. He has to clean himself. Okay.
With sluggish moves he grabs a tissue from the box on the night-stand and wipes his face. Okay. No big deal, Stiles. It's fine.
This time it takes fifteen minutes before he can hear the shower turning off and the door open. There are no lampposts in the preserve and aside from the soft light coming from the corner of the room, everything is dark. He can make out Derek's figure walking to switch off the light before reaching the bed. Strong, warm – he's so warm – arms embrace him and Stiles has to bite his trembling lower lip to avoid a pathetic noise to come out as he's pulled in. He feels the soft touch of Derek's thumb on his cheek, exactly where the white stain was before he cleaned it off.
“Sorry”.
“It's fine”, Stiles whispers into a solid chest. “Der?”.
The humming in his hair is answer to go on and he convinces himself to do this. “You didn't like it?”.
There is short moment of silence then the older man pulls himself away enough to look at him in the darkness. The knowledge that Derek can see him does not reassure him in this moment. “Did you miss the bit when I came all over you?”.
Yes. “Uh—”.
“I liked it Stiles. I love whatever we do”.
And for that night, when Derek kisses him tenderly, it seems like that's enough.
*
The hint of an answer comes as unexpectedly as the source it comes from.
Stiles shouldn't really be surprised because after five years maybe Scott knows a tiny bit more about being a werewolf than he did when he was sixteen. Maybe. There's also the issue of his best friend never telling him something this big – both figuratively and literally.
“What the fuck?!”.
They're in Stiles' bedroom a few days after the Blowjob Accident (Stiles is trying to get that licensed and copyrighted) and at his friend's outburst Scott flinches. “Stiles! Jeez!”.
“No. No jeez. Knot”.
“Not?”.
“No. Knot. K-N-O-T”.
With sharp hands, Stiles unplugs his laptop and stands from his desk, bringing it to his friend currently chilling on his bed. He shoves the computer at Scott, who sees the open Word page where Stiles was copying and correcting the Bestiary on a digital file. He makes a perplexed face at Stiles' urging and scrolls his eyes down, still not getting what the human is all worked up about.
Apparently he is working on the werewolf entry, a pretty disturbing drawing from the Middle Ages covering most of the top page. The text goes on about the history and biology of the wolves and then he sees it. This drawing looks like an extract from a scientific research from the V century but despite its thick lines and confusing text Scott knows what it is.
“Oh. So that's what it's called”, he whispers, his cheeks feeling a bit too warm.
“Wait, you knew about this?”.
“Well—”.
“Do all werewolves have one? Do you have one? Oh my God, do you think Derek has one?!”.
“What the hell, Stiles! You're the one sleeping with him”.
Okay, good point. Stiles has never seen it during the six months they've been sexually active – urgh, that's so science-y – so that must mean Derek doesn't have one. He looks down at the screen and studies the image with what he hopes it's a critical, objective eye. The different prospectives of a member are scribbled all over the page and the idea that someone had actually studied an enlarged cock from all angles while drawing it makes him a bit giddy and amused.
“So, do you have one?”.
Scott sighs in exasperation and his face turns the same shade as a sunburnt tomato. “I—I think it came out when I became an Alpha. I was with Allison and—it popped out”.
“And you never told me anything?!”, Stiles exclaims, disbelief heavy in his voice. “Dude!”.
“I was embarrassed! I didn't know what was going on, I thought I was dying or getting impotent or something. I thought my dick was about to explode, man!”.
That makes sense, if that happened to Stiles he'd probably start screaming bloody murder and pass out. After taking a picture and poking at it with a pen. Or a finger. In fact, it did look painful. The top of the penis seems completely normal, there's nothing out of the ordinary about it; the root though is another story. It's enlarged and swollen, and it doesn't look pleasant.
“So only Alphas have it?”.
“I—don't think so? When I went to Derek with it—”.
“You went to Derek and not to me?!”.
Scott throws his arms out. “What was I supposed to do? He's the werewolf expert”.
“Right. I can't imagine how that went down”.
“Horribly. Anyway, he said it was normal. That it happened to every born wolf and apparently to bitten Alphas as well. Something about reproduction, I don't know, he was mumbling at the end of it”. Scott frowns at that. “He was probably embarrassed”.
Every born wolf. That can't be right, Stiles has never seen...oh.
He snatches his laptop and shut it down before running out of the bedroom. “I need to go! Don't wait up!”.
Their kiss is still unhurried, drawn-out, tongues moving against each other with the sensuality of familiarity. Levi lifts his hand and grips Eren's nape to pull his face in while tanned fingers scan over his back, their touches a whisper on old battle scars. He's always loved how that body would warm him up, how much hotter Eren runs thanks to his shifter's blood. With it next to him and the covers on top of them, the cold is quickly forgotten as their humid, panting breaths mix. Levi takes the younger man's bottom lip between his lips and oh so carefully bites and pulls it, provoking a low groan from Eren's chest.
A muscled leg settles on his hip and Eren swiftly straddles him, elbows placed next his head and hands gripping his hair in a passionate hold. The weight is not foreign nor unpleasant, reminding Levi of all the times Eren rode him with abandonment, nails biting in his chest and hips moving on his cock. The memories are enough to let him sigh in pleasure and with a tight grip on the straddling thighs, the older man encourages Eren to move.
Their members brush against each other, Eren lowering his head on a pale shoulder with a chocked moan. Wet lips start kissing the raven-haired's neck and shivers and goosebumps break onto his skin, hips pushing up against the brunet's.
When Eren slides his hands down his bare chest and his sides before placing them on the mattress next to his hips Levi knows what's coming. He turns his head, giving space to that wandering mouth and grips harder on the thighs straddling him as Eren slides down after throwing the covers away, nipping and kissing his collarbones, his chest, his abdomen. His wide shoulders push Levi's legs open and not long after, finally, his half-hard cock is engulfed in a familiar, hot mouth.
Levi lift his hips when Eren's head starts bobbing up and down, cheeks hollowing as he sucks the member deeper into his mouth. He can feel the shifter's throat tightening around his head, squeezing marvellously his cock as he swallows, trying to reign in on his gag reflex.
The raven-haired bends his legs, feet flat on the mattress, and despite being naked and bare he doesn't seem to feel the cold air on his body.
Eren slides up and with a slurping popping sound he lifts his head before kissing open-mouthed up his body. He bites his neck hard enough to cause him to groan, then he stretches towards the bedside table, where the vial of oil is. That tiny jar looks so innocuous and yet the sight leaves Levi almost trembling in anxiety.
Teal eyes glance at him and Eren lowers his head, kissing him deeply and filthily. “You okay?”.
“Do you intend to ask me every time you move?”.
“Pretty much. Problem?”, Eren questions him with raised eyebrows.
“Have at it”.
“Wow. Please, contain your enthusiasm”.
Levi glares coldly at him, trying to hide his amusement at his own sarcasm coming out of the other's mouth. “Stop being cheeky, brat”.
Eren nips at his jaw, following the edge until he can suck his earlobe into his mouth. “Would you rather I took you back in my mouth?”.
The breathy question causes him to inhale sharply and he knows the brat heard it – he's most probably smiling smugly to himself, the little shit. Before Levi can retort, Eren scrambles downwards and after taking his hard cock in his hand, he licks it long and slow, from root to tip. His lips settle around the crown and suck it noisily, then pushing down to encase the entire length in his mouth.
“Shit”, Levi hisses, bringing his hands to the head between his legs and gripping brown locks.
At the gesture, Eren moans around him, sending vibrations up his body so strongly Levi can feel them in his fucking toes.
Then, it's there. It's the embarrassing, unexpected sensation of a warm, wet finger against his puckered hole and his body stiffen at the presence.
“It's okay”. It's a whisper so low he'd swear he had imagined it if it weren't for the lack of warmth around his cock. “It's fine. Just relax. Relax”.
Easier said than done.
The finger moves about, circling his tightened entrance with lazy, lethargic motions. Eren peppers his hips with open-mouthed kisses, lovingly. His tongue follows the line where groin meets thigh before his mouth descends on his cock again. The familiar pleasure from Eren's mouth drifting up and down and the relaxed, repetitive gesture between his ass cheeks make his defences go down slightly, his legs opening wider and fingers caressing the long brown hair tickling his waist.
There is pressure and then the uncomfortable sensation of something wrong happening when the finger pushes inside him. It's not painful. Just awkward.
“Relax”, Eren breathes once more against his skin before dropping his head again.
Inside him, the finger starts moving carefully, sliding in and out with long, drawn-out thrusts. The discomfort is starting to disappear and relaxing once more Levi pushes Eren's head down, arching to meet him to get deeper inside.
The pointer finger is thrust one last time before Eren takes it out, the pressure coming back with the addition of his middle finger, warmer and wetter than before. It's a tighter fit this time and after a precursory push, the shifter starts moving them around, scissoring them to prepare him for his cock now trapped against the mattress.
“How can you fucking like this—shit—this part when I do it?”, Levi growls with his eyes shut, attempting to focus on Eren's mouth instead of his fingers.
“Sorry. It's uncomfortable the first time. I know”, he mumbles reassuringly, stilling his fingers long enough to pull himself upwards and kiss languorously Levi's lips. “I know. You always make it so good for me. Just try and relax”.
His mouth sucks a line of marks down his throat, and then Eren's fingers do something...they curl upwards, massaging his insides and Levi, oh, Levi knows what he's trying to find. The memory of the brunet's face when Levi's fingers are inside him and find that little spot is one of the most treasured ones he has. He wonders what that amount of pleasure really feels like.
“Try—urgh—a bit on the left”.
Levi can't really help him in any other way – he has never touched himself inside, nor let anyone else do it for the matter, but he has fingered Eren enough times that he could find the shifter's spot blindfolded and armless. The only hint he has to go with is his own experience in doing this to the other.
“Mine or yours?”.
Oh, for fuck's— “Yours, you little—Shit!”.
Levi widens his legs and arches towards the fingers inside him as an embarrassing, foreign sound draws out of his mouth.
The pleasure is blinding, mind-blowing. He can't tell what exactly he was expecting – he's seen and caused the same reaction in Eren numerous times but fuck, he wasn't imagining that.
“Do it again”, Levi breathes out against Eren's mouth, resting his head on his pillow.
Eren shuffle down his body while trying to keep his fingers inside, and takes his hard, hard cock in his mouth before pushing again against that bundle of nerves. He massages it, just like Levi does when he's preparing the youth, and holy Walls, does he understand Eren's reaction now.
Despite the nerve-shivering bliss, Levi takes a little bit more time adjusting to the third finger Eren pushes, oiled, inside of him. The stretch is not unbearable – Levi has tolerable way more pain than three fingers shoved up his ass - but it's not as pleasant as it was before.
“Does it hurt?”.
“I've taken worse”, Levi growls in irritation and ache.
The fingers stop moving and he looks down at Eren, now watching him with a frown. “That is not how this is going to go, Levi”.
The older man sighs, secretly content at the stillness inside of him. “It doesn't hurt. It's just—there”.
“Well—yeah”.
“Fuck, you know what I mean, brat”.
He's not as hard now, his member resting half-soft against his thigh due to that invasion. With a focus trained after six years of knowing the shifter, he can see Eren's doubt, he's want to almost ask him if he needs to stop, if he's sure. So he cuts him off before he does.
“I'm sure, Eren”.
The brunet nods, goes through the same calming routine of kissing his thighs, his hips, his groin while slowly starting to inch his fingers inside.
“For a first timer”, Levi breathes out, head resting once more on his pillow and eyes focused on the wooden ceiling, “you're doing well”.
He senses Eren's smile against the curve of his cock. “Back at you”.
At that...Levi doesn't know why, but how of all the surreal things that are happening right now – he's got fucking fingers sticking out of his ass, for fuck's sake – that is what makes him laugh. It's not more than a chortle but Eren finds the situation as funny as Levi does apparently, if his hardly contained hilarity is to go by. The raven-haired covers his face with his arm, chest hiccuping with laughter.
“Go on”, he tells him when he's back to himself.
And man, does Eren go on.
For the umpteenth time since they've started, his cock is taken safely in Eren's warm mouth. This time, though, the shifter gives it his all. There are wet, gagging noises and an oh-so-delicious constriction around his crown that makes him inhale sharply. The three fingers inside him start moving again, slowly at first, tentative, and then the pace increases as the lips sliding up and down his girth quicken.
It takes the shifter some time but then he finds it again. The spot. And Levi is groaning and writhing and he'd be so fucking embarrassed if it weren't for the astounding pleasure he feels at this precise moment. Maybe he will once all this is over but fuck, right now all he wants to do is relax into it and fucking come. In Eren's mouth.
Levi is never very vocal in bed, limiting himself to pants and whispered moans and silent groans when he comes.
Those fingers are relentless, pushing and moving against that clump like a woman kneads sour dough. When a tongue teases his slit, Levi bites his lip to silence himself, bringing a hand downwards to clutch at Eren's head and guiding it lower onto his cock.
Eren rubs his spot harder, dragging the movement out but still on this side of teasing. A warm thumb settles on his taint, just underneath his sack, and pushes, massages the spot from the outside.
“Fuck! Eren—”.
“I want you to come, Levi”, Eren orders him against the underside of his shaft, sucking kisses there and teasing his glans.
“Just don't fucking stop”.
“My mouth or my fingers?”.
Levi arches against him. “Both”.
He feels Eren moaning against him and after a few moments of those vibrations and the unrelenting fingers inside him, the wave of pleasure floods down to his groin, taking his breath from him. He comes inside Eren, abdomen shivering and tensing while his hole twitches around tanned fingers. He sees a flash of light behind his eyelids as he squeezes his eyes closed, colourful stars appearing.
The shifter swallows around him and lets him go when the aftershocks become too much for him. Levi pants his exhaustion in quiet, heavy puffs of air. A wet mouth pecks him on his own, dry lips and the raven-haired let his arm flop on the side, uncovering his face.
“Good?”, Eren asks him with a small, timid smile, his voice a whisper against his mouth.
“Couldn't you tell?”.
They kiss languidly, leisurely for a few moments. Eren caresses down his sides, up his thighs and he circles his fingers around his navel when Levi stops to look at him.
“Do your worst”.
Eren stare into his eyes, affectionate and attentive. “Stop me if—”.
“I will”, Levi cuts him off, without bite and a hand on his cheek. “I will”.
The younger man's innocence shines through in that moment. Despite all the horrors and the death and the pain Eren had to suffer through life, when it comes to love Levi his young age becomes painfully obvious. All his romanticisms and little things that he's not afraid of doing or saying to his lover are proof of how naive and guileless Eren is in the matters of the heart. For Levi, that is a mystery. He grew up in a brothel in the dirtiest corners of the Underground, trained by the most moral-less criminal in the reign most probably.
Eren and him are made of the same substance. They're both soldiers, they both belief in humanity with an intensity that readies them to do whatever needs to be done. They have both stained their childhood with the dirty nectar of death. They're monsters, that's what people consider them.
Yet, the shifter maintains an air of forthrightness and naivete that's refreshing in Levi's dark world and that's why this – what they've done and they're about to do – is possible now for the raven-haired.
“On your front will be more comfortable”, Eren murmurs against his mouth.
For the first time in years, Levi understands first Farlan's then Eren's prompting in looking into his eyes. He doesn't know if it's the confirmation that it's indeed Eren who's about to pummel his cock in his ass or simply his sickening love for the brat, but Levi feels the need to look the other in the eye during the upcoming situation.
So he shakes his head. Slightly, almost imperceptibly, possibly afraid of being vulnerable in front of the shifter eye now.
The brunet settles between his legs – an unfamiliar sensation, opening his thighs to fit in Eren's hips – without questioning or stopping their mouth from moving against one another. The weight is surprisingly nice, warm and comforting in a way Levi couldn't have expected. Tanned hips rolls against his own, solid erection sliding against the line of his groin.
“Levi”.
It's just a breath, a sigh that escapes the shifter with a small tremor as Levi's hand moves downwards and grabs his shaft. Despite what he says, the older man loves the sensation of Eren's in the fist of his fingers: the soft skin sliding beautifully around a hard core of blood and flesh. It's not as thick as Levi's but it is slightly longer.
At the other's touch, Eren jerks with a hiss. “Shit, you're cold”.
“Sorry”. From the small smirk it's obvious he really isn't.
“Liar”, Eren mocks before becoming serious. “You ready?”.
“I'm about to take a dick up my ass, what do you think?”.
Laughing shortly, Eren takes hold of his pale thighs and widens them before lowering a hand to guide himself inside, Levi giving him the honours to do it.
The push hurts. Obviously he has endured far worse during his time with his uncle, during the War; yet, the pressure makes him squirm and coerces him into jerking away from the persistent, slow progress. He can feel the stretch and it's uncomfortable, the stinging, acute pain of something trying to fit in a too tight place.
Eren stops immediately and presses his own forehead to his, heaving. “Are you okay?”.
“It feels like I'm taking a huge shit”.
He can feels the other's laughter reverberating inside his body through his member. “You calling huge?”.
“I'm calling you a shit, brat. Keep up”, Levi hisses in discomfort. “How far along are we?”.
Teal eyes gaze down. “The head is not even in”.
“Fuck 'his shet”. There is a small hitch of embarrassment at the slip up of his Underground accent.
“You want to stop?”.
“No. Just—”, the older man breathes deeply to try and relax himself. “Just do it”.
It does feel like he's taking a shit and it is painful and uncomfortable and Levi wonders why he decided to do this, probably not for the first time since they've started. He can't even remember. He just knows that time is dragging and what should be like minutes feels like hours. The sliding of Eren inside of him is a strange sensation to describe and in his mind there's the memory of a blade cutting along his back. But the sting is not the same, the pain is not belated. What reminds him of his uncle cutting between his shoulder blades is the total lack of control over the path and force of the weapon. Just like now.
Eren is not Kenneth, though. And that is absurdly easy to remember.
Finally, after an hour or a day, Eren's hips stop their movement, now connected against his buttocks. “Tell me when”.
And divines bless his golden heart, the brat is in pain. Maybe not the same type of pain Levi currently is in but he knows from experience how much suffering immobility brings when you're inside someone. Warm puffs of breath caress his face like loving fingers and he can't help but open his eyes – when did he close them? - to revel in the sight of Eren above him.
They're close and with the deep sting of affection he notices the shut expression on the shifter's face, warped by self-control and tense-muscles. Against his body he can discern the dainty jolts along Eren's thighs, the shivers down his lower back and the contractions of his tight abdomen.
“Breathe, brat”.
“You're just so—fuck—”. Eren groans at his involuntary grip around his cock.
“Sorry”. This time the apology is genuine. “Didn't mean to”.
“Uh. 'S fine”.
The pain has dulled down, still ever present but more a companionable friend than a wretched log in his side. Or up his butt.
Levi breathes. “Try moving”.
The cock inside him retreats deliciously slow before Eren slides back in in a long, dragged out thrust.
“Fuck, Levi”.
The moan in his ear resembles more a low whine and Levi winces at the sudden bite on his neck. Skin vibrates for the groan Eren releases as his hips continue with their lazy, suffered pace. It's still an uneasy stretch but the noises Eren is making in his ears – all the whimpers and his droning purrs – send a pleasant shiver down his spine towards his balls. It becomes bearable, familiar in spite of how strange that might sound.
Levi widens his legs and slides his hands down the brunet's back where muscles are moving in a hypnotizing flow under-skin. He arrives to the contracting globes of his ass and after tangling his calves around Eren's thighs he pulls the shifting hips closer at the same time he jerks his own up, meeting the younger man's thrust halfway.
The moan almost breaks him. “Levi”.
“Faster”, he exhales, fingers clamping in the soft, hard muscles of the shifter's ass cheeks. “It's fine, go faster”.
He suppresses a mewl when Eren stops for an instant to shuffle his weight onto his knees, body still covering his own like a steamy, warm blanket, and then the shifter starts again. The pace increases gradually and now that Levi is as much an active participant as Eren the pain is just a little prick in the corner of his mind. The hard cock pushing in him is missing the spot with every thrust but he doesn't care: there is something to be said about having Eren in every possible way, inside of him as much as above him and around him. The gift he's giving the brat while hugging his waist with his legs and letting his head fall on the pillow, victim of this strange, indescribable pleasure is freely given; just like the gift Eren is giving him, protecting him with his body and reminding him that he's right there, whispering curses and moans in his ear, is enough to remind him the reasons why he blurted those words in the first place.
I want you to fuck me.
With every plunge, Levi's breath is taken from him in loud pants he'll plausibly be ashamed of when all this is over. He's not hard but the pleasure is right there, echoing throughout his body, from the tips of his toes to the hairs on his nape.
“Eren”, he moans, hand travelling up to caress one cheek hidden against his own neck.
The shifter lifts his head and when teal eyes stare into mercurial globes, Levi notices the pace decreasing, slowing down to a sluggish, languid rhythm that pushes soft sighs out of him.
“You don't have to slow down. You can go faster”. The raven-haired is reminded of how attentive Eren was in sending him to orgasm before. “I want you to come, Eren”.
A soft mouth touches his own and he's surprise by the immense, painful love he feels for this brat. “I want to come making love to you”.
It's a whisper so soft Levi would think it's a secret. And maybe it is. They've never talked about making love before, despite having made it different times during the three years they've spent together. Those words hanging in the air between them it's a new thing for both of them. It's a new start.
“Sappy brat”, he replies in the same conspirational tone.
“Only for you”. The blinding, starry-eyed smile Eren sends him melts his last defences.
He doesn't know what happens first and who moves before the other. In the same moment, Eren starts moving again, thrusts erotically leaden and smooth, as if he has done this before today. Their lips meet before opening to share the same breaths, the same air, the same words. A pale hand moves from a tanned cheek to intertwine its fingers with the ones currently placed on the pillow while the other still prods against an ass cheek, pulling hips along. It feels so good, so good that Levi can't imagine living without this in his life again. Odd thrusts sometimes plunge against his prostate and if he were younger again his cock would definitely get harder once more; the pleasure is intense and too much and just perfect.
It's so relaxed and perfect. Something Levi had never thought he could have.
“Eren”. He can't stop sighing the name, tasting each letter on his tongue and its flavour on his palate. “Eren”.
“Levi, I—”.
“Just come”, the raven-haired breaths in his ear, purposely tightening his inner muscles around Eren's rod. “Just come for me, Eren. Come for me”.
There's a chocked sob and a humid groan against his cheek, fingers clutch his own in a white-knuckled hold and Eren thrusts become messy, following no rhythm. The sensation of the brunet coming inside of him is awkward but not unpleasant: he can sense his cock jerking inside of him and Eren's seed hitting his walls.
The golden body above him trembles with the aftershocks of his orgasm and the tremors make him hunch over Levi the same way a baby asks for their mother's protection. It's endearing and heart-warming. So the man bring his arms around the brunet and caresses his hair and his cheeks and his back; he kisses his shoulders and neck before pecking his temple.
They stay like that for what feels like an eternity, lost in one another. When Eren slips out of his body, Levi can't help a slightly disgusted curse in feeling the liquid finally coming out of him. It's tolerable tough, especially when Eren massages his thighs and his groin. The shifter settles next to him on his side in their usual position, and kisses his jaw reverently.
“How are you feeling?”.
Levi closes his eyes for a minute, trying to find an answer for that question. He feels sore, drowsy and relaxed. There's an unfamiliar vulnerability flooding his senses and he feels as bare as he's never felt before in his life. He feels content. He feels happy. He feels safe.
He feels loved.
“I'm fine”, he answers simply, turning on his side and looking into Eren's bright eyes. “You?”.
“That was—”. His forehead crumples in a thoughtful expression Levi has always found endearing and cute. “Intense”.
“Yeah”.
“Did you—did you like it?”.
He doesn't answer the question. There are no words to describe what Eren has gifted Levi today and he doesn't even want to try to explain himself. Not right now. So he just leans forward and kisses soft lips that sleepily reciprocate the affection.
So, really, he should've seen this coming if he'd taken into consideration his history with Eren.
The hut is silent now. The only noises resonating are their slowing breaths and the birds tweeting outside in the forest. The mattress underneath their cooling bodies is slightly dump with sweat and Levi will need to remind Eren to bring the sheets to the stream to clean them up when the brat will be able to walk again. The thought brings an annoying sense of pride in him but the displeasure vanishes as suddenly as it appeared the moment the body next to him moves.
“I was thinking”.
“Bad idea”.
Eren swats him weakly on the chest and once again Levi has to violently push down the smugness in having fucked the energy out of him. “Ass”.
“Why were you thinking about ass?”.
When the raven-haired turns his head to look at Eren's frustrated expression he can't help a small smile to creep on his face.
The twenty-three year-old is lying on his front, the hand that swatted him a familiar weight on Levi's chest as long fingers caress his pale skin. His taut back is bare to the moonlight sneaking in from the closed window and steel eyes move languidly down along the profile to land on the round, tight mount of Eren's cheeks before looking back up at his face. His expression is peaceful, drowsy with his eyes slightly open and wide pupils staring lovingly at him from behind long, brown hair.
Lovingly. Since when doesn't that make him want to run for the hills?
Full lips stretch into a barely contained smile. “I was calling you an ass”.
“I miss the time when you were scared of me”, Levi jokes dryly with a huff.
“I'm literally too fucked out to care, Captain”.
No one has called him that in years, since the end of the War when he had looked Erwin in the eyes and said he'd had enough. Eren sometimes taunts him with the title but it doesn't bring responsibilities along anymore. He's free from all that shit.
At those words, sighed with weary content, Levi wonders for the first time what it would be like to be in Eren's situation.
“What does it feel like?”, the older man asks before he can stop himself.
He is blinded by a pair of teal eyes opening and peeking at him. “What? Being too fucked out to care?”.
Levi shrugs. “When I fuck you”.
Eren inhales deeply, thoughtfully as he gets closer to the other body. The raven-haired lifts his right arm when the intent becomes clear and the brat settles against him, head on Levi's pillow and arm placed around his pale waist. There is the warm, light pressure of a kiss on his neck and Levi tightens his hold enveloping muscled shoulders in answer.
“It feels like—it feels surreal. Like I always remember how full I am with you inside, like I have this...ghost sensation in me. But everytime we do it again, the memory is not as accurate as I thought”, Eren whispers underneath his ear, his warm breath causing goosebumps to appear on his arms. There's a moment of silence, as if the shifter is trying to assess if Levi wants him to keep going. “I feel safe. It's a nice feeling, it kind of reminds me of when I was a kid and my mum would put this huge cover around me to dry me when it rained outside”.
“Are you comparing me to your mother?”.
Eren snorts tiredly at the remark. “No. I'm comparing you to the sheet”. When Levi is still quiet, he continues. “Anyway, what I meant is that it makes me feel protected, especially when you're on top and you look at me. I don't know, I just—I trust you. It's nice. And it's good. Like, impossibly good”.
“When I look at you?”.
“When you fuck me”.
“Mmm. I noticed”.
Their sweat is starting to cool off and despite being next to the furnace that Eren's body is, Levi can't help a shudder at the evening air in the room. The shifter untangles from his embrace long enough to take a hold of the covers and throw them to blanket their bodies.
“Levi—”.
“What were you thinking about?”.
“What?”, Eren asks, lifting his head from its place on Levi's pillow.
“Before, when you said you were thinking”.
The twenty-three year-old settles back and chuckles sluggishly. “I don't remember”.
It takes him a couple more minutes but then Levi hears the hushed deep breathing of Eren next to his ears, signalling the other has fallen asleep. Even though the older man is drowsy as well, he can't seem to find slumber as easily as his lover, instead staring blankly at the wooden ceiling of their hut outside the ruined Walls, in the East.
Safe. The word is not something Levi would ever used to describe his life. He's never felt safe in the thirty-eight years he's being alive. No, that's a lie. Recalling all the mindless, happy moments he's spent with the brat in the last three years, Levi can honestly say that he's felt safe. He feels safe.
With Eren.
He trusts him with the undoubting conviction only six years of friendship among death and desperation and dependence can bring. And if there is someone who can make him feel treasured, protected and yes, loved, is the shifter currently sleeping next to him.
*
“I want you to fuck me”.
Eren blinks aggressively at him, fingers stilling their massage on his soles, as if his brain can't register the meaning of the words. Levi doesn't blame him; after all, there has never been the actual possibility of him blurting the words, especially not while the two of them were cramped in their wooden bath tub facing one another.
The shifter's hold on his foot goes slack, letting it rest on his tanned chest. “What do you mean?”.
“One would think after three years you'd know the meaning of 'fucking'”, Levi deadpans at the other.
“I do. It's just—”.
“You don't want to?”.
“No. No, I do. I just—didn't think it would be something you wanted”.
Levi shifts his gaze out of the window behind Eren's shoulder. “I didn't”.
“Then—what changed?”.
And isn't that the golden question? Levi's rules have accompanied him his entire life and he is, what? Ready to throw them out of the window for a brat like Eren? When his grey eyes look back at the confused face in front of him, the answer comes naturally and immediately. Yes. To tell the truth, Levi had thrown those habits out of the window the moment he had let Eren kiss him in Shiganshina. He had put them aside when they had first fucked. When they had first slept in the same bed. When they had first made love.
He has been living with the brat for three years, for fuck's sake. And not in the innocent, friendly way he'd lived with Farlan and Isabel. No, Levi and Eren are domestic, just like a fucking married couple. And isn't that grand?
“Me”.
They stare at one another for what feels like hours, days. The meaning, the profound meaning of that simple, little word is not lost to Eren. Levi knows it; he can see it. The light in Eren's eyes is far from condescending. Far from excited, as well. He's simply watching Levi with the eyes of a blind person that sees for the first time. In that word, there is an unspoken yet loud confession. Right there, hanging in the air between them.
“Okay”.
Eren doesn't ask him if he's sure, he respects him too much to doubt his decision. He knows Levi too well to even wonder for a second if he had really meant those words and Levi can't help but fall in love with the brash-turned-mature brat in front of him a little bit more.
“When do you want to do it?”.
“Now”, Levi shrugs. “Tonight. Tomorrow. It doesn't matter”.
“It does matter”, Eren contradicts him, ever the passionate one. Ever the romantic.
He sighs deeply. “Fine. Now”. So we can get it over with.
Under the studying gaze of Eren the raven-haired feels the need to fidget, possibly trying to escape those eyes. It's almost ironic how much growing up made Eren observant to Levi's every little quirks and tells and if it were anyone else, the older man would feel uncomfortable at being so vulnerable and bare.
The water sloshes melodically when the shifter stands up, his marvellous body unscathed by all the fights thanks to his regenerative ability yet perfected with years of training under Levi's guidance. The vee of his abdomen is defined and tense as he pushes himself up, his flat chest decorated by two brown nipples currently erect due to the cold air. There's a speckle of fine hairs between them, lightened up by the many hours he's spent under the sun bare-chested. Levi follows with his eyes the tantalising veins running down his arms and disappearing into his hands before lowering his gaze at eye-level, where Eren's soft member is resting between two long legs, enveloped by coarse brown hairs.
The brat has turned into an incredibly attractive man and not for the first time Levi wonders how he managed to snatch the attention of such an arresting youth.
Eren clambers over the edge of the tub and bends to kiss Levi, softly and chastely. “I'll wait in bed. Just take your time”.
He is left alone in the tub, only his thoughts to keep him company. He's sure about this, about his decision. That much he knows. However, he can't help but feel an unnerving amount of anxiety at what is about to happen; what he asked to happen. Baring himself this way to someone – despite that someone being Eren – is cause of tense nerves and faster heartbeats. Levi can feel his stomach twisting and tensing, a sensation he can barely remember happening in thirty-eight years.
It's Eren, he tries to remind himself, repeating it like a mantra as he cleans himself up.
It's uncomfortable, tight and honestly embarrassing yet, like everything else, Levi takes good care of doing it properly and right.
He gets out of the tub, chilled air causing unpleasant shivers to break on his scarred skin. Grabbing a large linen towel, Levi spares only a quick look at the water in the tub before deciding to empty it later on, after the deed is done.
In the bedroom, Eren is still naked while busying himself with fetching the oil and other covers. His shoulder-long hair are still dump from the bath, raining water drops on his back and front as Levi's eyes are drawn to the taunt muscles of his butt-cheeks contracting with every movement the shifter makes.
“We should've invested in a fireplace in the room”, Eren comments half-heartedly as he turns around to look at the other man, hugged in the white sheet.
“Like those rich bastards in the Capital?”. The brunet shrugs at the question. “You run hot enough for the both of us, brat”.
Apparently that's cause to be smug for the younger man and the raven-haired rolls his eyes in affectionate exasperation. Leave it to Eren to still have his old arrogant streak.
The way the other moves towards him right now reminds Levi of a magnificent predator, ready to pounce on his prey. He can see clearly the nervousness in his teal eyes but Eren doesn't seemed discouraged by the novelty of the situation, facing it with the same determination he's always faced any other challenge in his life.
The afternoon light invading the room doesn't hide anything from their eyes and the realisation hits the former captain with unfamiliar embarrassment.
Eren stops in front of him, head lowering to touch willing lips with his own in a slow, placid dance.
“I don't need flowers and honey, brat”.
“Just let me do it my way, okay?”, the brunet tells him peevishly.
Another eye-roll is the concession Levi decides to give him before Eren starts kissing him once more.
At first it's just a timid encounter, chaste and teasing and Levi register with the force of a Titan's slap that this right here is his first time as much as it is Eren's. That thought is strangely calming, letting the man relax into the kiss.
He parts his lips, tongue teasing Eren's mouth in doing the same. The kiss is languid, the wet noises of their tongues meeting an erotic incentive despite their nerves. Warm hands, so soft and careful, graze over his own prompting him gently to let go of the linen sheet and bare himself.
“You okay?”, Eren murmurs against his lips as he keeps kissing him.
“It's fucking freezing”.
“Sorry”. The shifter takes his hand and pulls him onto their bed, the sheets cold by their disuse when they get underneath them. “Better?”.
Levi nods and awkwardly turns on his side to look at Eren, who is simply staring while holding his weight on his left arm. “What?”.
“I'm nervous”.
Me too, Levi wants to tell him but he doesn't. “We don't have to”.
“I want to. Do you—”, Eren stops himself and lies down in front of the raven-haired. “Just stop me whenever, okay?”.
“Eren, I'm not made of fucking glass”.
“I'm aware, I just want to make this as good for you as you always make it for me”.
And that...Levi should've expected that, really. This fucking brat.
Hi there! This is my first contribution to Kinktober 2020. Originally posted on AO3. You can find me there with the same user.
Beware NSFW ahead.
First Time - Part 1
He should have seen this coming.
Levi has had rules for everything his whole life. Most of them borne out of necessity, some out of habit. Routine has always meant comfort and safety for him; first in the Underground and then in the Scouts, having habits had been a privilege allowed only in those peaceful, stolen moments between heists and murders and expeditions. Something to be treasured because in the Underground, habits could get anyone killed.
On those rare days during the War, Levi would wake up from a two-hour sleep – three if dark memories left him alone for long enough – nestled in his office chair with cramps and pains all over his body. It would happen just before dawn bled into the night, as the hummingbirds started singing and the darkness still enveloped the Headquarters like a warm duvet. He'd walk into the empty kitchens to prepare his tea with practised, calculated gestures, a meticulous ritual perfected through years of repetition. Sitting in front of the massive hearth in the mess, Levi would enjoy the warmth of the dying fire in the silence of the early morning while sipping his hot beverage. The leafy taste and earthy smell would always soothe him despite the raging death outside the Headquarters and inside his mind.
After finishing his drink, the raven-haired man was accustomed to spend the next hour or two exercising in the biting chill of the training grounds before walking back inside just in time for the end of the night shift. It was a perfect combination of sounds and silences: the corridors of the fort echoing with soft, sleepy grumbles mixed with the inactivity of daybreak. His day would continue in a messy confusion of events: drowsy, young faces mumbling at the tables as they ate breakfast; noisy recruits excited by hand-to-hand combat practise or a gear-training session; two awfully competitive and loud brats who could still barely stand each other despite being part of his squad. There would be reports to write with the slow, careful hand of someone born in the Underground – Erwin's lessons had been useful all those years ago, yet the captain preferred to methodically think about each one of the black letters before putting it to paper – or go ahead's to give for a future shipment of equipment from Yalkell.
Some of those evenings would end finding Levi in front of the lit fireplace in the mess again. Sometimes with Erwin and a good glass of fortified wine imported directly from Mitras, talking about the War and the past and the people they had lost. Others, more quietly pleasurable ones, would be spent in his office with a warm cup of tea and a talkative brat who couldn't seem to shut up about the future.
His routine was always the same in those years.
And just like everything else in his life, sex had rules as well.
Growing up in a squalid brothel in the Underground to the sounds of his mother's cries and moans at the hands of dirty, disgusting old men, Levi has always seen the act of sex as a physical need; a way to relieve tension and stress; something men had to do despite the aversion of the act itself.
The first time he had found himself in that sort of situation himself, Kenny had been the one to put him in the arms of a whore. It was his thirteenth birthday.
“You're a man, now”, he had said as he pushed the boy up the stairs of a filthy building near the north corner of the Underground. The old bastard had even wished him a “nice time”.
During the whole night, the uncontrollable need to wash himself and scratch away the memories of those touches had carved itself deep in Levi's flesh. He had felt sullied, defiled. The only thing he had wanted had been clean his skin raw, until there had been nothing left. The whore had been mature, with grey hair with streaks of yellow that had probably been blond once and bony hips which had hurt Levi more than once. The faint memory of beauty still touched her face but the hard life of the Underground had been cruel to her; caved-in eyes, skeletal fingers, yellowed teeth and a flat chest that would have suited more a girl at the doors of puberty than a woman of at least thirty-five years of age.
Despite the abhorrence and disgust, Levi had come twice that night.
The proud expression on his uncle's face the morning after hadn't been enough to make Levi feel clean.
The raven-haired had felt a sort of repulsed acceptance towards sex from then on. Indeed, it was a vulgar, unhygienic act where naked, sweaty forms, body fluids and unimaginable odours played the main role. But Levi was only human and at his greatest chagrin, he had needs and impulses as well as the next person.
The rules had made him feel safer, more in control.
His own preference towards men had been immediately obvious to Kenny after that disastrous night. The second time the old man had tried to gift Levi with a whore, it had been a boy not much older than him. When the prostitute had brought his lean fingers between pale, creamy legs to touch a puckered hole, Levi had gripped them in a vice grip and growled not to touch him before rolling their bodies around and getting on top.
Being vulnerable in that sort of place, with that sort of people – trust is sparse in the Underground, replaced by the backstabbing of opportunity and survival – was something Levi had avoided at all costs, not unlike a rat avoids cats.
There was never supposed to be affection nor intimacy in the act. Levi has never liked looking at his partners in the eyes, always preferring to take them from behind to satisfy a biological function. During the years, he's indulged in it as little as he could. Not for lack of sexual gratification, but for shame. Levi has always been deeply ashamed of the physical contentment sex brought him. Maybe it's because he's more often been proud of the tight hold he has on his impulses. Maybe because he reminds himself of those old, disgusting men fucking his mother while he was hidden in a corner of the room.
Then Farlan happened but despite the deep, friendly affection the raven-haired had felt for the man, those rules were always followed. Encounter after encounter. No matter how many times Farlan's pleas of 'making love' would tighten his chest. Levi knew very well there was no such thing as that and to prevent each other to end up broken or hurt, there was never any kissing, never any eye-contact.
“I want to see your eyes tonight”. Farlan's voice had been so soft, almost broken when that request had fallen from his lips as Levi fucked him one night. The answer had been “no”.
The numerous experiences in life that had taken away his control from him had been what had caused him to never, ever cease the power to someone else. Not in bed. Pleasure was always a means to an end – scratching an itch, sexual gratification, loosening of tension – never an end in itself.
Eren waltzed in his life like a hurricane of passion and strong beliefs and with him, long list of firsts that Levi had never expected to face, not in his thirties.
He can still remember with vivid perfection the first time Eren had made him tea.
The captain was sitting in his office, writing reports with slow flicks of his hand. His eyes had started to burn some time ago due to the low lighting of the almost extinguished candles and he put the pen down before looking up at the brat. Eren had been sixteen at the time, eyes just as determined as the first time they'd had a proper conversation in that lurid cell, face clearly slack with tiredness and sleep. The older man had ordered the brat to go fetch some tea and if he hadn't been so focused on an intricate sentence he would've laughed at the wide-eyed expression on that youthful face.
It had taken him almost twenty minutes to come back with a tray and when the shifter had placed his cup in front of him, Levi couldn't help but stare at the brownish liquid.
Milk.
Looking up at Eren, straight into teal eyes darkened by the shadows the fire fell on his face, Levi raised an eyebrows in askance.
“It helps with the bitterness”, he had mumbled, shyly.
He sipped at it with caution. The following “not bad” had been answer enough for both of them.
*
Their first kiss had been unsure and inexperienced. It was surreal, kissing another human being after the appalling experience he'd had at thirteen. Eren's lips were chapped, dried from the sweet, sticky cider he had drank during the celebrations of Shiganshina's liberation. The captain had left Erwin to deal with the thankful brown-noses of the Military Police and had silently leant on a half-destroyed brick wall, watching his squad of brats having fun with laughters, dancing and dirty songs. He had slipped away little after Connie had fallen asleep against the remains of a well but he hadn't been able to go that far.
Eren was now licking his lips with the timid gestures of a virgin. The shifter was seventeen but if it had been anyone else, the captain would've thought them not innocent at all; after all, the stories of what goes on in the barracks are pretty much true and well-known. Yet, Levi had spent numerous moments with Eren and the shifter had been under surveillance for little more than two years. The raven-haired knew very well no one had visited the brat during those lonely nights sleeping in the cell.
The attraction the brat had had towards him was not a secret to Levi and he had to admit Eren had grown into a fine young man.
He still doesn't know why that evening he let the seventeen year-old kiss him. He doesn't know why he didn't shove him away with a punch on that captivating face. Instead, the captain lifted one of his hand and when he felt the brat tense – probably in anticipation for an attack – Levi had found himself caressing a soft, unblemished cheek with the delicate touch of curiosity.
After a few instants of tickling coercion from Eren's tongue, Levi parted his mouth. It should've been revolting, the moist meeting of the young man's muscle between his lips. And yet, Levi answered in kind as unsure and shy as the shifter.
He couldn't have blamed the alcohol even if he had drank an entire cask of cheap wine considering his high tolerance to it, and Eren seemed as present as always though slightly encouraged by the cider.
When they stopped, Levi felt like someone had punched him in the gut at the sweet, hopeful expression in those breath-taking teal eyes.
“This was a mistake”.
Useless to say, the mistake had happened again.
Eren had been the first person he looked in the face when he first fucked him. In spite of the pull they both could feel – and with silent understanding, affection – Levi had been unmovable in his avoidance of a sexual relationship with the other.
“Is it because I'm seventeen? Because I can guarantee you, if I'm old enough to die for th—”.
“No. But you're my charge, brat. I'm your superior”. And the unspoken 'I'm the one that needs to kill you if it ever comes to that' had hanged heavy between them in Levi's office.
For three years, longing looks, silent pleas and quiet words had been all they'd had.
When the War was over, there was nothing to stop them from getting rid of this thing. Because that's what Levi had thought it was: something to get rid of. Just once, and it'd be okay. Yet, during that first time, a strange, unfamiliar need had moved Levi's hands. He slipped out of the warm body beneath him, causing a soft whine to echo in the guest room of the Palace in Mitras, and turned the twenty year old on his back.
Eren's face – sweaty, red and disfigured in pleasure – was beautiful, something Levi had never thought of anyone else. His bright eyes were darkened by lust and yearning, his lips parted in silent moans and heavy pants. His hands – which should've been calloused by years of training and fighting – were soft on his arms while sharp nails bit deeply into his shoulders, probably drawing blood.
Driven by an unnamed feeling, the older man had pushed again between Eren's legs, revelling in the expression of complete abandonment on the shifter's face.
That night, had been the first time he had slept with someone.
The first time he had thought about love.
Sex with Eren brought another peculiar want in him. If there was something Levi started enjoying more than simply satisfying a sexual need, was bringing pleasure to Eren. There was no need for reciprocation, no need to know that the gratification would have been Levi's as well. The noises and the pleas and lewd moans the brat seemed capable of while in the thralls of passion were strangely enough for the captain.
He spent many hours learning and mapping the places that brought more pleasure, the spots that seemed to ignite the other with a fire he wasn't used to witness. Wasn't used to care about.
