Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/1555463.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage, Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Shingeki_no_Kyojin_|_Attack_on_Titan
  Relationship:
      Armin_Arlert/Levi, Armin_Arlert/Eren_Yeager
  Character:
      Armin_Arlert, Eren_Jaeger, Mikasa_Ackerman, Levi_(Shingeki_no_Kyojin),
      Hanji_Zoe, Original_Characters, Jean_Kirstein, Connie_Springer, Sasha
      Blouse, Reiner_Braun, Erwin_Smith
  Additional Tags:
      Angst, Slow_Build, Alternate_Universe_-_Canon_Divergence, Bondage_and
      Discipline, Sexual_Violence, Body_Horror, Psychological_Trauma, Self-
      Harm, Underage_Sex, Blood_and_Gore, Cannibalism, Cannibal_AU
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-05-02 Updated: 2015-06-16 Chapters: 11/? Words: 46273
****** The Thing He Hates Most ******
by bloodmilkku
Summary
     Armin was hallucinating again. It had been three years, and he
     thought he had gotten over this, but with the terror and trauma of
     the 59th Expedition only dubbed "the incident," everything came
     rushing back. The Corporal is his only hope - a whirlwind of anxiety,
     release and sex - but things have become complicated and using his
     body seems to be the only way out. If that was what he had to do to
     forget, to keep his ever-running mind from running itself into the
     ground, then he'd do it. He had to be useful, yearned for it, because
     a titan wouldn’t spare its next meal just because it was smart.
Notes
     If you're coming from my tumblr, let me tell you that this story is
     dark. Very dark. And even though this first chapter is similar to
     what's on my tumblr page, I've tweaked it a little from a different
     authorial point of view. I'm adding additional tags/triggers as I go,
     so what I have now doesn't account for future chapters.
     This chapter is by far the "worst", and if it makes you uncomfortable
     you can just skip it entirely. There's barely any content since this
     all started out as smut.
     That's the best warning I can give.
***** Chapter 1 *****
The floor boards creaked, soft sticking footfalls trailing along his ears; he
could feel them resonate in his lungs, through his chest pressed to the hard
wood. It was cold – even in his clothes – and it was dark, and his breaths came
too fast, too shallow. His whole body shivered again, the cold clink of thick
metal chilling his wrists, the lighter tinks of the chain that rattled against
his exposed skin – his shirt had already been ripped from its place tucked deep
in his pants – down his back and to his feet, was almost like music to his
ears. Speaking of feet, he could feel them on pins and needles, the thick pads
around his ankles not as alarming as his inability to move them; they were in a
position of constant strain, because no matter which way he moved he couldn’t
get his feet to come together.
Somewhere between the frantic kissing, the body that had overpowered him and
brought him to his knees, and the hasty – and surprisingly effortless – removal
of his maneuver gear, he had been immobilized, long heated bites on his lips
and roaming hands grasping his attention and refusing to let it go. The
darkness before his eyes wasn’t just from the night-time hour; the blindfold
was scratchy against his skin. He was vulnerable.
“Are you comfortable?” The words caressed him, smooth and hot and listless next
to his ear. How long had he been placed on the floor, waiting? A warm hand
trailed his back, creeping over his shoulder blades and right down his spine,
coming to rest between his lethargic, shackled fingers; he didn’t dare move to
embrace it. “Armin,” the voice came again, a little more eager yet impatient.
He could feel the warmth of the body near him, kneeling next to him, radiating.
“I asked you a question.”
A spark of nerves ruptured behind his closed eyes. He wanted to move, to see
and touch and claim. The intensity they had started out with hadn’t resolved,
but had been buried when he found himself trapped. Now that he had lost all
control, Armin couldn’t do anything but wait for that hot touch again. His
mouth watered. He shifted his weight instead, trying to take a slow breath to
ease his painful excitement. “Yes,” he spoke softly, his fingers lightly
tracing the outline of the other man’s fingers. And then the hand disappeared,
leaving a cooling splotch for his mind to ruminate over. “Sir,” he cooed,
eager, voice still heavy from his latest fall into subspace, and he knew it. He
wanted to feel those hands on his body again.
“No.” It was so final it hurt; his heart started to pound. There were footsteps
again, trailing away from him, and Armin strained his ears to catch any sound.
There was a soft clattering, another kind of chain maybe, and with a drag of
what sounded like metal against wood, the footsteps made their way back to him.
“Don’t move,” he was told as he listened to the stretch of denim and the airy
ruffle of cotton. There was a click, and then he felt a warm hand around his
neck.
At first, Armin wanted to panic, the instant response only due to his lack of
sight (even though he knew there was no danger, he couldn’t quell the
possibility, the faint outlines of the recent titans still swimming in his
head), and he took a shaking breath as something was slipped around as well. A
collar. He only knew when he heard it fasten and felt the heft of it lay
against the back of his neck. But then there was a sudden yank, a threatening
pull right against his windpipe, and he had to crane his neck to be able to
breathe again, an involuntary whimper falling from his lips as he felt another
rush of vulnerability and uselessness. “Corporal,” he half-moaned, unable to
steady himself with his hands behind his back as they were, but before he could
try, the collar was pulled tighter, a foot planted squarely into the small of
his back, eliciting a sharp inhale and a wave of pain.
“Shut up,” was the stern command, and Armin obeyed. He curled his toes – used
to pain – but the weight directly along his tailbone and through his hips was
unbearable. “You asked for this Arlert.”
Armin felt a blush rushing to his face. Maybe he had, he certainly hadn’t
denied it. He had – only moments ago it seemed – been wrapped up in his arms,
their mouths hot and wet and moving, fingers digging into skin and fabric and
leather, tearing at one another as if they had been made for it. Though, he
didn’t quite remember agreeing to be strapped down and treated like a dog. “No,
I-“ but he couldn’t finish, the sudden sensation of falling registering in his
mind before his face came in contact with the floor – the sound of heavy chain
following suit – that same foot bearing down on him weightier than ever. He
could taste blood, and his pulse quickened again. Was that excitement, or was
that fear? But then there was movement again, a hand wrapping around the collar
of his shirt and pulling his face from the floor.
“Don’t you want this, cadet.”
It wasn’t even a question. Armin knew when he was being talked down to, but
however angry it made him, he couldn’t quiet the storm that was his body. “I
do,” struggled from his mouth, another surge of agitated glee stirring in his
stomach. And he was suddenly being pulled to his feet, the sensation strange
when he couldn’t find his footing, but he soon realized he didn’t need it as he
was pulled back, stumbling, and discarded onto a bed. He felt the dig of
buckles through his shirt, hyper aware that he was lying on his discarded
maneuver gear. He heard some kind of shuffling, and then he was being touched,
warm calloused hands on his cheeks.
“Arlert,” was whispered against his lips, the bed sinking around him as sharp
knees settled themselves against his hips, a mouth on his own. It wasn’t as
fast as before, as feverish or passionate. It was a slow smoldering in his
mouth, and as he parted his lips he couldn’t contain a weak moan.
“Levi…” he whined, the word muffled by their mouths, the wet sounds of their
tongues together, a coppery taste between his teeth.
But it was gone quicker than it came, pain erupting across his face instead
when he registered the sound of skin on skin. “What did I say,” echoed Levi’s
flat tone.
“Ah,” Armin shuddered back a cry, still reeling from the assault on his face,
realizing what a hindrance being blindfolded actually was. “J-just Sir,” he
stammered out, remembering now how Levi had ordered him not to use his name. He
was surprised he forgot, but he was tempted to use it again just to see what
would happen. Was he willing to beat him like he had Eren? Suddenly he felt
hot.
Then, he felt Levi’s hand come back to his cheek – the one that wasn’t still
searing – and he felt his thumb against his lips. “I let you get away with
‘Corporal,’ but you took it too far, brat.”
“Yes sir,” was his automatic reply, and it brought Levi’s lips to his again,
then to his feverish cheek, down his neck. It was then that his hands found
their way under his shirt, burning up trails of skin as they waltzed across
him, Levi’s mouth never leaving the crook of his neck. Armin merely stifled a
moan under his tongue, not wanting to sound too eager by just his touches,
however true it was. He always wanted more. “Sir,” he breathed. Levi seemed to
understand, as his mouth left his neck.
“What a greedy child.” He sounded disappointed, but it was impossible to tell
without looking at him. Still, Armin felt Levi’s mouth against his once more
before disappearing again, the roaming hands traveling up further, and he
lifted his back as best he could, assuming Levi was aiming to reveal more skin.
Then his mouth returned, kissing his ribs, and Armin shuddered, the sensation
completely new and exciting. He kept his back arched, wishing he could use his
hands and run his fingers through Levi’s hair, the idea itself tantalizing
enough to force a soft sigh from his lips.
“Sir, please,” he begged, unable to resist shifting his hips, but only meeting
open air. He groaned to himself more than anyone, clenching his fists around
the leather straps beneath him, half-hoping he would be hit again for being so
impatient. But either Levi didn’t notice, or didn’t care, because he continued
to line his sides with kisses, his fingertips finally brushing over the
sensitive skin of his nipples. “Hah,” he breathed, unable to do anything but
squirm. He heard Levi chuckle, a sound he never thought would grace his ears.
It was light, and arousing, but he couldn’t dwell on it, as he was overcome
with something else: the heat from Levi’s mouth as he met his fingers and took
the flesh between his teeth.
Electric sparks skid through his body, a whimper dripping from his mouth as he
writhed, craving more contact. Armin couldn’t help but imagine what that mouth
would feel like lower, slowly sucking the heat from his erection, kissing his
thighs, nibbling sensitive flesh. But he didn’t expect it. Levi had made it
clear – even through the lustful haze that occupied most of his brain – that he
was in charge, and that Armin had no say in what happened to his body. It had
been too exciting at first; Levi hadn’t touched him in what felt like weeks,
and the frustrations and disappointment of losing more friends to those
monstrosities called titans...it was wearing on him. Armin saw the pain that
Levi was trying to hide behind that stoic expression, and he said it time and
time again that it wasn’t right; he was the Corporal, practically the leader of
the Corps, and it would be tactical suicide if he were to let their deaths
weigh him down. At least, that’s what he had said. Armin was just as sure Levi
was looking for an outlet as much as he was willing to let his body be such. If
he couldn’t make himself worthy in battle, he at least wanted to make himself
worthy in bed.
He’d rather die than become a burden.
“Mmmh,” he mewled, his voice tumbling around the small room, one of Levi’s
hands digging under his ribs, the other kneading the hardened nub now between
his fingers, his mouth seemingly unable to stop sucking and biting. It felt so
good, his body consumed by wave and twinge and sharp stab of pleasure. He
couldn’t clench his fists any tighter, couldn’t arch his back any higher
because his muscles were screaming because they hurtand were trembling from
exertion. He wanted to pant, to moan and move and scream but his restraints
were too tight and Levi had told him not to be loud and so he held his breath
instead. But he couldn’t stop himself from letting out long breathy sighs
before he held onto the silence until he couldn’t anymore.
Armin exhaled again, shaking a moan lose with it, and the hand that had been
bruising his ribs vanished, the chain attached to the collar latched just lose
enough around his neck rattled then pulled tight. Levi’s mouth left. “Don’t do
that.”
“Hah?” he voiced, a wisp of a question.
“Don’t hold your breath.”
Armin couldn’t help himself. “But-”
Levi pulled harder, lifting Armin’s head from the bed by his neck. “I said no.”
And then he was released, his head falling back against the sheets, and Levi’s
hands where in his hair, and then with a hasty sweep the blindfold was gone.
“You listen to me.” Armin tried to blink back the darkness, searching for
Levi’s face in the churning black, but he couldn’t find it, only feeling the
hands tightening on large chunks of hair and their mouths together again. Levi
however pulled away quickly, pressing their foreheads together. And when Armin
could finally see him, his eyes just as cold as if they had been talking about
their next mission or some such tactical dialogue, he asked “do you
understand?”
What a question. Armin couldn’t help but smile, taking the initiative to
capture Levi’s mouth with his own again, mumbling a “yes sir,” through his
teeth.
But Levi pulled away again, letting out a breath that sounded halfway between
frustrated and furious. “Good,” he stated, and Armin was in motion again, Levi
pulling him up by his bunched up shirt and in a blur of movement – had his feet
even touched down? – he was on the floor again, his chin cracking against the
surface – he was sure he bit his tongue so hard it was bleeding – and he
yelped, stars in his eyes as the pain radiated outward. His entire body tense,
he didn’t notice Levi leaving him until he heard a thump on the bed, too busy
feeling his shoulder and hip shooting up pains as well. He had a chance to take
a quick glance down, seeing exactly what was keeping his feet from touching: a
type of makeshift spreader bar, maneuver gear straps included, before Levi came
back into his focus, irritated as ever.
Armin didn’t bother to speak, letting Levi manhandle him as he pleased, letting
him use his foot to roll him back on his knees, cheek once again pressed to the
floor. And he wasn’t going to argue when Levi pressed up against him from
behind, finally validating the arousal Armin had hoped he had caused him. But
when he felt his hands on his arms, untangling him from the restraints strapped
up to his elbows – the metal cuffs falling to the floor with a distinguished
clunk – a question was already on his lips, but it melted when Levi forced a
hand down his pants, wrapping his fingers along the seeping heat between his
legs, a lurid “nnngh” replacing it.
His body reacted on its own, his hips turning and moving with the now stroking
hand, yet another moan, wet and throaty and tasting of blood, falling from his
open mouth. Armin dug his palms into the floor, glad he had use of his arms
again, but unable to use them for anything other than immediate gratification.
He intended to slip his hand in his pants too, but when his fingertips touched
Levi’s hand, almost instantaneously Levi grabbed a fistful of his hair, yanking
up his head and forcing him to keep both hands on the floor to keep his body
stable.
“Tch,” Levi sighed, pulling harder and contorting Armin’s body, seeming to be
unsatisfied until his back arched painfully.
Armin whimpered, hearing strands of hair snap from the grasp, small tears
forming in his eyes. “It hurts,” he said, his fingernails digging notches in
the floor, Levi’s other hand no longer stroking his cock but unbuttoning his
pants. There was no reply to his complaint, just a series of forceful tugs on
his pants until they were to his knees. It wasn’t until he felt Levi leaning
over him, a bare arm resting up against his side, muscled flesh against his
back, the grasp on his hair unwavering, that he received a proper reply.
“Little shit,” he spit into his ear. “We have some fucking training to do.” His
grip relaxed just enough for Armin to turn his head, knowing he looked more
scared than excited. “Do you know why?”
Armin swallowed, catching Levi’s impatient look from the far corner of his eye.
“Because I’m your bitch?” He knew that was what Levi wanted to hear, but he
wondered what would have happened if he had decided to play innocent. The ache
in his neck, however, told him now was not the time.
And then Levi let him go, Armin letting his head lull between his shoulders, a
wave of cool relief washing down his back. “You’re too noisy,” Levi elaborated,
grabbing a firm hold on Armin’s hip, pressing his own contained erection
dangerously close to Armin’s entrance. “I’m going to force you to be the
obedient dog you fucking are.”
Obedient dog? Armin shifted backwards, as if he were resting against the
firmness of Levi’s hips. The thought of that heat inside him made him shudder.
He could be his dog. But he didn’t make a sound until Levi’s free hand came
back to stroke him again. And his hips were moving once again – fabric against
bare skin – and long, slow pulls on his throbbing flesh had him moaning loudly.
“Cor-por-al,” Armin whined as he tried to hold still, the bruising vice-grip on
his hip just barely enough to keep him from grinding against the hand between
his legs. “Please.” But Levi didn’t respond, or at least not verbally, until he
gave one last tug – ‘explosive nebulae,’ Armin would describe it as later – and
once again left his dick feeling neglected. Armin let out another whine,
swearing to God that he was going to explode and die before Levi was finished
with him.
And then he heard a hollow pop, feeling something cold and wet snaking along
his tailbone and continuing down between his legs. He turned to look, his brain
already listing the possibilities the substance could be, and yet he was still
taken by surprise when, without any kind of warning, Levi thrust a finger right
through the ring of muscle that had been so eagerly yearning for attention, and
completely inside him.
The noise he made, Armin wasn’t quite sure what it was. What he did know, was
that his whole body lit up, muscles clenching and relaxing, and amongst it all
he heard Levi’s voice: “Lesson one: silence.” The finger wiggled in place, and
Armin responded, a tense moan wavering on his throat, louder than he knew he
should have been. “That’s no good.” And punishment was quick; Levi’s finger
slid right out, but that empty feeling was only momentary as something harder
and much bigger was pressed against him instead. What a learning curve.
There was no time to question, it was already being rammed inside, the object
rearranging his insides, the shooting pains melding with the indescribable
pleasure that slid with every centimeter, leaving Armin silent, gagging on air.
His arms couldn’t support him, sinking his face to the floor again, pulling his
shoulders back as he tried to clutch at whatever his fingers touched, all the
blood that had been in his head rushing to the spots Levi continued to abuse.
“Now you really do look like a fucking bitch,” Levi commented, sounding rather
proud of himself. Armin didn’t dare to speak, letting his body get accustomed
to the wide plug that had finally come to rest fully inside him, and wondered
what felt so fuzzy against his legs. “And even no noise.” Levi bent over him
again, the skin contact torture but the pressure his hips put on the plug even
worse. Armin bit back another moan, curling his toes instead while Levi kissed
the exposed skin of his back before letting him go, commanding Armin to get up.
How was he supposed to be silent when he felt like this?
He took a moment, letting his body continue to supply electric volts to his
fingertips and behind his eyelids – on fire from the waist down – and it seemed
to be radiating upwards, constricting around his chest and holding his voice
hostage. Still, he tried to relax, chewing through his bottom lip as he
adjusted, pushing himself up on his palms again, unable to categorize the fwump
he heard out in the darkness. When he was able to take a shuddering breath, his
body tightening around the plug again, he looked up and scanned the darkness
for the older man. Levi sat not far from where he had been kicked from the bed,
legs crossed and a stark expression of agitation spreading across his face. “I
don’t have all fucking day,” he said, though Armin already knew it was a farce.
His foot tapped impatiently against the floor.
A faint sneer crossed Armin’s lips. He was unable to let this moment pass him
by, silence be damned. “No,” he spoke under his breath, finding his ability to
crawl much more embarrassing than he wanted to admit with the spreader bar in
place. Even so, he felt like he owed Levi at least some resistance. “You have
all fucking night.”
Silence, then “what a dirty mouth for a dog,” Levi growled, keeping Armin’s
defiant stare as he waited for him to reach the bed.
“A dog is merely a reflection of its master.” Armin knew the retort was weak,
but he still felt a burst of excitement when Levi’s expression changed. It may
have been dark, but there was no way he would have missed it. But when Armin
straightened, pulling his body close to the bed, giving himself enough room to
wrap his arms around Levi’s waist, there was only silence. For a moment,
everything felt wrong, as if his comment had been more of an insult than he had
imagined, but when he looked up into Levi’s face again, there was a playful –
yet sinister – smirk on his lips.
Levi grabbed a fistful of Armin’s hair again, gently at first. “I will change
that,” he stated, and Armin didn’t resist when he pulled his head back,
exposing the length of his neck. With his other hand, he unbuttoned the rest of
Armin’s shirt, tossing it behind him when he was finished. “Let’s get started.”
Armin shuddered at the thought. Levi hadn’t let his grip on his hair go, but
was slowly tracing a path over his collar bones and down his back. He closed
his eyes, fingers tangling in the sheets as he waited, anticipating too many
things at once. What would Levi do? What wouldn’t he do? The hand ended at his
hip, but that wasn’t all; Levi pulled Armin’s hips closer, forcing him – and
his still very hard erection – against his clothed leg.
Breath hitched in his throat, and Armin almost let a word slip out. That was
good. Slowly, he let out the air caught in his chest, making sure not to make a
sound – just in case a kick to his abdomen was in order – as Levi pushed his
hips away. Armin groaned to himself, already missing the contact, but then Levi
was guiding him again, rubbing and grinding his dick against his leg. Was this,
part of the lesson? Armin wondered, letting his hips be rocked back and forth,
trying to keep his mewling to himself. And then it dawned on him, just as
Levi’s grip on his hair twisted: he was supposed to be doing this on his own.
Armin’s face immediately turned white hot. Now was not the time to feel
shameful, but it didn’t ebb even as he started moving his hips in his own
rhythm, the brief friction just enough to give him shivers down his back each
time.
“Good boy,” slipped the compliment, being heard better by his crotch – it
twitched as Levi said it – than his ears. Regardless, it was encouragement
enough, as Levi let his hair go again, and Armin buried his face in his thigh,
panting. His hips were moving faster on their own, each collision rating higher
on his body’s Richter scale, the only thing keeping him from doing this until
he came – panting and moaning and a complete mess – were Levi’s hands now
holding his hips, trailing the bruises on his thighs from his maneuver gear,
tugging at the tail plug?!
Armin yelped, the sensation more surprise than pain. He froze, for a moment
unsure of what to do. “Don’t fucking stop,” was spoken low, and Armin complied,
rolling his hips again. But he couldn’t stand Levi’s hands toying with the
plug, twisting and turning it inside him, coupled with the abrasions between
his thighs; it all clouded his focus, making him unable to keep up with any hip
motions.
“Aah...I can’t,” he pleaded, bringing his hands to Levi’s thighs, grabbing them
for all they were worth because he couldn’t do anything but push back against
the hands toying with him, pressing his cheek closer to Levi’s own arousal. If
only he could put it in his mouth. “I really...nngh...can’t,” he moaned, voice
low. “Please just fuck me.”
Levi kneaded the muscle of Armin’s ass before he voiced a response, placing the
foot of his crossed leg to Armin’s cock, pressing it into his stomach. “Dogs
don’t get to make demands,” he spoke over Armin’s lewd moaning. “But,” he
continued, shallowly thrusting the toy in and out, “I’ll take pity on you this
time, since you want me to tear apart that cute ass of yours so fucking badly.”
He didn’t wait for Armin to reply, simply standing up and untethering him from
his makeshift leg restraints.
Was he still panting? Armin couldn’t tell anymore, his mind only focused on
clambering into the bed, his legs finally free. He couldn’t hear anything other
than the blood rushing in his ears. Levi was nice enough to help him into bed,
disregarding Armin’s pants on the floor, and he didn’t waste any time slipping
his own hands in Levi’s pants as the older man kneeled over him, finally
kissing him on the mouth again. One hand hit heated flesh first, his fingers
wrapping around Levi’s rather large cock while his other hand fumbled with his
pants.
Levi let him struggle, his own hands all over Armin’s trembling body. But after
another series of kisses and Armin still hadn’t managed to get him rid of his
pants, he whispered “fuck,” and took them off himself.
“Sorry,” Armin mumbled, feeling pathetic through the lust. He just wanted him
so badly; even the tail that was slipping back and forth near his prostate
wasn’t enough. He needed him, all of him, and Armin wasn’t happy until he had
his arms wrapped around Levi’s back, messily jerking his hips up to rub their
cocks together. “P-please...aahn, please take it out,” he begged between pants.
How much longer was he going to be able to wait? He pulled Levi closer, taking
his mouth captive again, tangling his fingers in his hair and moaning wantonly
into their kiss as Levi trailed a hand down, stopping to tease the tip of his
dick with his fingers. “Nngh-no...aah!” Armin squirmed, breaking the kiss.
“That’s n-not-”
“I don’t give a shit,” Levi stated, his voice lower than it was before. “I’ll
touch you where I fucking like.”
“B-but,” Armin tried again, bucking his hips rather ungracefully beneath him,
but Levi growled in response, wrapping his hand around Armin’s throat, choking
off any more of his words.
“You’re pathetic.”
Armin’s gasp was involuntary, arching his back in a mixture of frustration and
fear. He grabbed at the offending arm, but Levi was solid, and he couldn’t get
him to move, air barely passing through his mouth and into his lungs. He tried
to mouth what he wanted, another silent ‘please’ on his lips, but Levi seemed
to have missed it as he was looking down. Armin followed his gaze, his eyes
catching sight of the gray chunk of fur that was between his legs. He saw the
glint flash in Levi’s eyes, and he saw his hand take a firm grasp of it. “Wai-”
he tried to say.
But it was too late. In one swift yank it was out, a strangled scream bubbling
from Armin’s mouth, tears now in his closed eyes. His body was screaming, and
he knew his fingernails were leaving wounds on Levi’s arm and back, his mind a
kaleidoscope of searing pain and just as much intense arousal. He didn’t have
the place of mind to resist when Levi lifted his hips, shoving his terrible
heat deep inside him. He was moaning, he couldn’t help it, his head hazy from
his futile pants; he could only get just enough air, his chest burning, and
there was Levi, ruthless as ever.
Armin had thought the plug had stretched him enough, but he had been wrong. It
was shallow, for one, and Levi was so much more. He filled him completely,
tearing through him with each reckless thrust, and if he was screaming he
didn’t care; Armin wanted them to hear. At the same time he was glad Levi had
such a grip on his throat, even if it hurt. At least no one would come running
thinking he was dying. “Aaahn, fuck,” he croaked out, the pressure in his groin
increasing exponentially. His hand traveled to Levi’s hips, as if knowing his
motions would help. He watched, lazily, as their bodies moved together; each
time his hips fell, Levi’s collided with his, nearly shattering his pelvis and
making him shriek in pain.
Levi didn’t speak – as if he would even be able to hear him – releasing Armin’s
neck to bruise his hips again, and with only his collar as a barrier for his
moans, Armin knew he was loud. He couldn’t help it, each breath barely making
it to his lungs before Levi would force it out again, his pace increasing,
slamming Armin against the bed. And he couldn’t take it, the pressure. The wet
shluck-shlick-shluck of his dick pounding his ass. Armin didn’t know where to
grab, his hands finding the bedsheets again and balling large clumps into his
fists, each muscle in his body tense and vibrating, every single one of Levi’s
thrusts pummeling that spot so deep inside him he saw stars. “Please! Nn!
Aaah...fuck!” He was shouting anything that came to his mind, mostly curses. He
thought his spine was going to snap, ankles locked dangerously tight around
Levi’s violent hips.
He was going to die, he knew it.
And then his body cracked, a mere fraction of a second, and he heard Levi
whisper a string of words, and felt each of his fingers drill into the bone of
his hips, and he knew his lungs were inhaling, and a tremor ran up his body. He
felt it just before it happened; Levi gave a series of short thrusts, and Armin
felt the telltale throbbing inside him, his own erection trembling just so
before everything crashed around him, the jab at his prostate ricocheting
through his bones, throwing his body into fits as he actually cried out when he
came, the tension that had pulled his body tight snapping all at once. He
couldn’t form words, emptying himself in spurts, his toes curling, thighs
shaking as he stopped breathing, knowing Levi was still grinding inside him,
and he threw his head back, riding it out as his voice warbled off into a
sobbing “oh God.” And then Levi bent and kissed his neck, and Armin felt his
cum shooting up inside him, hot and satisfying.
“Don't stop,” Armin whispered as Levi treated him to a few more, much more
controlled thrusts. And slowly, his own body began to relax. He could breathe,
and he let his legs fall from Levi’s hips, taking his face in his shaking hands
and kissing him – wet and sloppy – again and again. Levi moaned into the kiss
as he came to a rest, wrapping Armin up in his arms. Armin’s voice was weak.
“Don’t pull out.”
He watched a faint hint of a smile finally light up Levi’s face. “Whatever you
want.” Armin kissed him again, letting Levi roll him over, looping his leg over
the older man’s hip. There was a long half-silence, Armin still sobbing as
quiet as he could, Levi stroking his hair. Armin breathed him in, their bodies
still so close – and now covered with his cum – just the way he wanted it. He
had to have Levi’s arms around him, had to be able to wrap his own arms around
him and know that he was safe. This was the only place he felt safe. And as his
sobs finally quieted, Levi said, “what a sorry excuse for a dog.”
A smile cracked Armin’s wet lips. “I’m sorry sir.” He couldn’t help the laugh
that sparkled in his lungs. “I’ll try harder next time.”
Levi took Armin’s face in his hands this time, looking amused. “Don’t
apologize,” he stated, wiping the tears from his face. “I’m not interested in
bestiality anyway.” Another giggle before Armin closed his eyes, focusing on
breathing, know he was alive. Why did he always feel so dead? Why didn't think
make it a little better? Something had changed, obviously, but he couldn't
gather his thoughts up fast enough before he fell asleep.
 
***** Chapter 2 *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
Armin was awake. It was still dark, and he couldn't remember falling asleep,
but he knew he was awake. There was the faint sound of birds chirping, their
cheerfulness not something he wanted to be subjected to just yet, and there was
breathing next to his ear. But he laid there, unwilling to open his eyes to
another day – another attempt at living in this hell, was it? – breathing and
letting the slow awareness of his body creep into his consciousness. It was too
late now to pretend he was still dreaming and fall back asleep; this was bad.
The breathing next to his ear could be no one else's but Levi’s; he was in bed
with their corporal. This was bad. It wasn't something that happened, not like
this; usually Levi was more than willing to kick him out of bed once he quieted
down, so how had they fallen asleep together? And slept the rest of the night?
Eren and Mikasa would be looking for him soon, and if he wasn't in his own room
before they came knocking, then what would he do?
Panic was setting in already, the mere thought of having to come up with a
convincing lie for breakfast giving his stomach knots. He should go. He should
be in his room now, and he could plan out the rest later. But first, he had to
open his eyes. ‘What a daunting task,’ he mused, because if he didn't open his
eyes, he still had that shimmering hope that this wasn't reality. Armin new
better, and he told himself that too many times to count already, but he held
onto the thought as a comfort until he cracked his eyes open and didn't see the
familiar walls of his lonely bedroom.
Instinct told him to bolt out of bed, but Armin thanked the Walls that he
didn't. He knew what had happened last night – how couldn't he? – and moving
quickly was going to be difficult. His jaw felt heavy, probably bruising a deep
purple by now, and he could still taste blood in his mouth. He brought up a
hand to rub his eyes and was greeted with a series of welted scratches across
his wrists merging with darkening red splotches up to his elbows. Great. It
wasn't like he hadn't known he'd be bruised – just strapping himself into the
maneuver gear was enough to irritate his skin – but this was bordering on
ridiculous. He rolled his neck to get a glance at Levi still sleeping soundly,
his dark hair tousled. The man wouldn't have any sympathy for him.
Armin chewed his lip, glancing out into the still darkened room; their clothes
were still all over the floor. He closed his eyes, pushing the palms of his
hands against his eye sockets and letting the frustration wash over him. He
could do this. He was overreacting already. This was no different than any
other time Levi tied him up, fucked him, and then kicked him out. Just, this
time he didn't get kicked out so he had to kick himself out. Yeah. Ok. He
massaged a few circles over his eyes and sat up, focusing all this attention on
the sounds of the sheets crumpling at his lap than the pain radiating and
expanding up his spine. He ignored it as he wiped his bangs from his forehead,
tilting his body so he could drop his feet to the floor, hoping the cool early
morning air would be a better distraction. But still, as his toes touched the
icy old wood – when he had first come to the former headquarters made new
headquarters, he was pleasantly surprised to find the upper floors were wood
instead of stone – the pain in his hips became more apparent and he had to
stumble beside the bed, hissing as he tried to stay upright but also silent.
This was bad. Levi had wrecked him this time, and it was apparent by the purple
around his ankles and the splatters of black and blue on his thighs and hips.
Armin felt each injury flare as he limped, but as he stooped to grab his pants
from the floor, his stomach rolled over itself and he had to cover his mouth.
It was so sudden. One moment he was fine and then he was retching into the
trash, body trembling, and it hurt so bad because every muscle was tense and
vibrating, pulling at his skin and sending pain to spiral from his fingers to
his toes. He raised his head, feeling a migraine already starting to form
behind his eyes, and he sighed, knowing that training was going to be a bitch
like this.
“Fuck.”
Armin turned, the voice not his own but the sentiment the same. His eyes met
Levi's, calculating and irritated, probably pissed about waking up and finding
him still here. A shiver ran through his body and he turned to heave into the
trash again. This was so embarrassing; puking in front of the Corporal, naked,
trembling like a leaf. “Shit,” Armin murmured. “This is shit.”
“You look like shit.”
Levi's voice echoed in his head. His stomach lurched again but it was quelled
at his throat, and Armin let out a groan instead. He heard the man's feet
padding towards him, and his fingers tightened into a death grip around the rim
of the container. Was Levi going to really kick him out now? He wasn't
heartless – Armin had always assumed – but this was an inconvenience for the
both of them. “Wow, thanks,” he growled. He hadn't meant to sound so spiteful,
but he didn't need his bad start to the morning validated; maybe he was getting
worked up over nothing.
“Are you going to be alright?” Levi seemed willing to ignore his bite, leaning
over him and brushing the hair from his cheeks. “I can let you stay here.”
Levi may have been speaking matter-of-factly, but Armin's heart rose in his
chest. But so did this grating feeling of vulnerability, and his brain couldn't
settle on if he should feel thankful for such a kind offer, or insulted because
he was – in a roundabout way – being called weak. “I'm fine,” he snapped first,
brushing the lingering hand from his face and pulling his legs closer in
efforts to stand up. However, they trembled, and Levi's hands were already on
his shoulders, and his stomach was gurgling again as he dropped his face back
to his personal vomit bucket.
“You're not leaving,” he heard over his gagging and heaving, all traces of food
having been expelled in his stomach's previous attempts to make his life even
more miserable. Armin lifted his head, about to object, but catching Levi's
stern expression which told him to shut his mouth. He had stood up, bundles of
clothes wrapped in his arms. “How much blood did you swallow last night?”
Armin's eyes fluttered closed, then he reopened them. “What?” He caught the
exasperated eye roll before Levi stepped up to him again, kneeling and wrapping
his fingers on his chin.
“Open up.” Armin did as he was told, suddenly unable to look the man in the
face. Armin let his eyes travel the room, the messy sheets on the bed, the neat
pile of leather straps that had, at some point, been organized, anything but
the cool eyes examining him. Then he heard Levi click his tongue, and he was
towering over him again. Armin didn't look up. “You fucked up your tongue,” he
started, placing his now free hand on his hip. “Don't swallow any more blood,
and don't get sick on my fucking floor. If you don't feel better in a few hours
go find Hanji.”
“But-”
“I'm taking your clothes with me, so unless you want to walk out fucking naked
get your ass back in bed.”
What the fuck? Armin didn't have the nerve to disobey, muttering a “yes, sir”
under his breath and slowly getting to his knees. Levi was going to let him
stay? That only added to his uneasiness. Eren would surely come looking for him
after breakfast, and even though he knew no one would ever think of looking in
the Corporal's personal quarters, he was still wary. How was he supposed to get
around without anyone seeing him leave? Not to mention Levi was taking his
clothes, and though they were practically the same size, wouldn't someone find
it a little suspicious washing only two of the same outfit? It wasn't that
Armin didn't trust the man in being inconspicuous – in fact it was very much
the opposite; they had kept their night-time escapades unknown for a few months
now – but he couldn't shake the feeling of dread that was sinking in him no
matter how hard he tried as he stood, body still reeling as he shuffled back to
the bed. He heard Levi get dressed – refusing to watch, the slowly coming dawn
casting the room in an opaque blue, and he'd rather watch the colors change
before his eyes than him – and soon he left without a word. Armin settled into
the bed again, only able to lie flat on his back to not feel like his pelvis
was splitting. What the fuck was this feeling in his chest?
He didn't know what to do. It wasn't like he could go back to sleep, and he
dreaded getting dressed later and having to make sure to cover up every single
bruise. He hadn't even seen his face yet, and he still didn't have an excuse
for it. What was Eren going to think? He could feel his best friend's eyes on
him already, his voice heated and swift: what happened? Who hit you? And he
knew it would quickly turn into anger. Tell me who hurt you, I'll make them so
fucking sorry. Armin shook his head. Eren had become a handful, well, more than
usual. But he wasn't going to think about it now; times were dire with each
failing excursion outside the walls, and with most of their friends
dead...Armin sighed, rubbing his eyes again. He wasn't going to think about it.
He didn't want to remember how useless he was at protecting everyone. He didn't
want to remember the dead bodies, the screams, the smell. He shuddered, feeling
queasy again. He kept his eyes closed, counting in multiples of three to keep
his head clear.
At some point, he had fallen back to sleep. The sun had risen when he opened
his eyes again, however he didn't feel much better. Yet the light was dull as
it filtered through the window; he knew he couldn't have slept long. Sitting
up, he resisted his urge to stretch and noticed his clothes folded neatly at
the foot of the bed, his gear laid beside it as well. So Levi had returned.
Again, Armin felt conflicted. He could have at least woken him up, and yet did
that mean he was being considerate by letting him sleep? Was it because he was
ill, or because the Corporal felt guilty? Armin shook his head. Why did it even
matter? What use was this train of thought? 'It's not like I love him,' he
thought as he leaned onto his knees and grabbed his possessions. 'It's not like
he cares about me, it's not. It wouldn't even matter.' Maybe it was inevitable
for him to grow attached to someone who fucked like Levi did, but if it was
anything, then yes, it was attachment. There wasn't room in the world for love
anymore, not in his world, and Armin didn't want to have his heart shattered
again; he had had enough of it already. He had had enough of everything.
He ran a slow hand through his hair, letting his bangs fall back into place in
front of his eyes. He wasn't going to start down that path again, he wasn't. So
he dressed as quickly as he could – making sure every coverable mark was
covered – finding his boots sitting neatly in the far corner of the room, and
he wondered if he should take the dirtied sheets with him. But upon thinking
that thought through, Armin sighed and made the bed, knowing he couldn't just
take the sheets and walk all the way to Laundry without having anyone question
him. He still didn't know what he was going to say if anyone asked where he had
been, however, his growing migraine did give him an idea. He fluffed the last
pillow, slipped on his boots and prayed no one would see this room until the
sheets were clean. Levi would be pissed, but he could handle that.
It was quiet as Armin wandered the halls. He figured he could find Hanji and
get something for his head, and try to make it back to his room in peace as
quickly and silently as possible. He had only been walking a few seconds but
already his knees were aching. A groan rattled in the back of his throat. How
was he supposed to make it through training today? With the thought of another
round of drills ahead of him – Erwin seemed to feel pretty dismal at the low
maneuverability rate of most of the troops just as much as he did, especially
after getting slaughtered like they had only days ago – Armin was grateful to
at least be handed some medicine from a very distracted looking Hanji – raving
about something or another once again – before he made his way to his room. He
could still smell breakfast wafting through the halls downstairs, but his
stomach was still telling him 'no' and that he would rather lie down than sit
on those hard chairs again.
Taking the stairs proved to be much more difficult on the second go. He hadn't
had a problem going down the steps to find Hanji in thier self-proclaimed
“titan science lab,” but getting back up them, on the other wing of the castle
that lead to the lower ranked soldier’s rooms? Torture. Not only was the
staircase steep, but most of the stone steps were in disrepair and required a
certain amount of balance to traverse safely. Why was he even using these
steps? Oh, right, trying to avoid Eren. It was funny, because even though he
was trying to avoid his presence, his friend took up residence in his head
instead.
There was no doubt Eren had been growing suspicious of his absences. They had
used to be inseparable – Annie inexplicably bonding them closer together rather
than tearing them apart like he had feared – but now thanks to his own doing,
Armin was isolating himself. Mikasa had a knowing look about her now, tending
to keep more and more silent during Eren's rapid-fire interrogations, but Armin
wasn't sure if it was because she knew something, or if she merely thought Eren
was right. It was becoming more and more difficult for him to judge her, but
Armin was more willing to blame himself and his lack of perception than it
being any fault of Mikasa's; maybe he was just paranoid, or even all the sex
was getting to him. Armin snorted. He wasn't actually getting much of anything.
His time with Levi was short and infrequent – maybe only once a week if he was
extremely lucky – even though it had expanded in intensity. That was simply the
result of stress, and stress was notaffecting his judgments.
Taking the last step, Armin peered around the corner, listening to some fading
dialogue and tugging at the top button of his shirt as he looked for any more
living beings inhabiting the hallway, but it had melted into silence. He wasn't
too far from his room, and he turned over the leather harness he had been
holding in his other hand one more time before stepping out, intent on keeping
a quick yet silent pace. Rounding another corner, his door was in sight, and he
slipped inside without a noise, letting out a breath he hadn't even realized he
was holding. With the door locked, he placed his gear on his desk – a “present”
from Erwin for being such a tactical “genius” – and he laid himself gingerly on
his stomach in bed. It felt so much better being in a place that felt so
comforting. It had taken awhile for Armin to get used to sleeping on his own
again after spending so long in the barracks with so many other people, and he
had forgotten how recuperating it was to spend time alone. He took a slow
breath, smelling his bed sheets and clutching at his pillow. Neither smelled
like Levi, of course, but did he want them to? Armin tried to relax deeper into
the bed; he wasn't going to make a good impression during training today.
He let that thought drift off with him, sinking into the darkness behind his
eyelids. He was alone, far away from here, from anywhere, just...alone. There
wasn't a sound, not yet, and it was too dark to see the field that he knew
spanned out in front of him. He felt the grass sticking its blades up through
his clothes, felt it in his nostrils and against his cheek. The rest of him was
numb, possibly cold, but Armin knew that if he stayed here then it wouldn't
matter. He would be picked up by someone, or something, sooner or later.
But that something...what was it? There was a faint sound in the distance,
chiming out into the night. What was it? Who was it again?
“Armin...?”
No, no, it wasn't him; how could it be? It was much too far away. However, the
noise, high-pitched and continuous, sounded like it was coming closer. He heard
his name again, under that noise, and as it encroached upon him, smothering him
with a ringing between his ears, heavy and sharp, he realized it was screaming.
The sound of horror in that wail, the warble of the pitch, the breathelessness
as it seemed to continue on, not coming from human lungs even though no other
being could sound so horrified. It was wet, as if between sobs, and then it
cracked, a loud pounding reaching his ears.
“Hey Armin!”
And he bolted upright, the screaming bouncing in his head, but he realized with
a glance that he was back in his room. Alone. As safe as he was going to get.
And someone was knocking at his door. “Hold on,” he croaked, clearing his
throat as he stood slowly. Jolting awake had sent all his nerves firing again.
“I'm coming.” Armin already knew who it was, and he wasn't ready. Steeling
himself for the barrage of questions that were going to follow, he had enough
foresight not to try and bite his tongue lest he make it bleed again, and swung
open his door.
Eren stood before him, Mikasa to his left, and Armin watched as Eren's bright-
eyed look of eagerness shadowed into a heavy-browed concern. “Armin,” he
breathed, bringing up his hand to cradle Armin's still-bruising cheek. “What
happened to your face?”
He looked to Mikasa first, taking a split-second to recognize her blank
expression before his eyes flickered back to Eren. “Ah,” he glanced away,
already feeling embarrassed about the most pathetic attempt at a lie that clung
to his lips. “I fell out of bed, actually,” he started, feeling his face get
hot and hoping it wouldn't give him away. He'd have to look Eren in the face
for him to believe it; avoiding eye contact was a blatant tell of a lie. So he
forced his eyes up, locking his gaze and putting on a sheepish smile. “I fell
right on the book I was reading; you know, the one from the Commander?” He
watched as Eren's expression softened, grey eyes lighting up again.
“You should be more careful,” he said, dropping his hand, but not before
brushing his knuckles against Armin's hair. And then it was silent, and Armin
felt his friend's gaze still on his cheek, and he shuffled his feet.
“So did you need something?”
Eren tilted his head and blinked. “Oh right!” A smile careened across his face,
but Armin saw it didn't reach his eyes. “Corporal wants us all down at the
stables to get ready for drills.” And then Eren shifted, making a face Armin
couldn't place. “You don't even have your gear on.”
“Uuuh,” Armin took a step back, feeling rather transparent. Why was he so
bothered? “No, I was-”
“Lemme help,” Eren was saying as he came into the room, hands finding the gear
neatly on the desk. “Take your shoes off, we're gonna be late!”
Hesitation. “Wait I can-”
But Eren was interrupting again. “Man, I don't want to be chewed out by him
again,” he said as he turned, seeming to wait for Armin to do as he was told.
“Especially when it's not my fault,” he laughed, and Armin tried to laugh with
him.
So, he kicked of his boots, letting Eren wrap his hand around his feet and
buckle him in as he worked with the straps crossing his chest, quickly locking
himself in and meeting Eren at his waist. “Thanks,” he said as he slipped the
leather from Eren's fingers and fastened the last buckle, feeling awkward with
Eren's hands on his hips, looking up at him as if searching for something. Eren
never had been subtle. “I got it,” Armin grinned as he inched back, pulling his
boots on again and giving Mikasa another look. She had moved to the doorframe,
but she stood just as stoic as before. He turned away, grabbing his cloak from
its hook. Wings of freedom, hmm?
“Come on, let's go!” Eren chided as he grabbed Armin's hand, leading him out of
his room without a glance.
This was strange, wasn't it? Had Eren always grasped his hand this firmly? Was
he really so worried about being yelled at, or was Eren concerned for him
instead? Armin smiled, feeling warm at the sentiment, though knowing Levi
wouldn't bother to berate him if he was late today. But Eren didn't know,
nobody knew, and it had to be kept that way. If Eren knew the bruise on his
face was from Levi...Armin shook his head, focusing on trying to keep pace with
an aching body and not show it. He wrapped his fingers around Eren's own,
letting himself be pulled, silent.
Levi awaited the three of them – apparently the last – with a stare so frigid
Armin was sure the man had some kind of supernatural power. “You're late.”
“Sorry, sir,” Armin apologized first, knowing full well it wasn't going to make
a difference. He wrestled his hand from Eren's – much to his friend's
disapproving whine – and said, “I had some trouble getting up this morning.” He
just couldn't resist.
“Your excuses don't interest me Arlert.” He may have sounded bored, but Armin
saw that twitch at the corner of his mouth.
“Yessir.”
“Jaeger, Ackerman. Get your fucking horses, we're going. You too Arlert. I'm
sick of waiting for you shits.”
Eren made a face, one of his usual combinations of undirected anger and
frustration, and Armin smiled. “Could be worse,” he cooed as he saddled his
horse. Eren grunted but didn't speak.
“I agree with Armin,” Mikasa voiced, finishing the reigns Eren left only half-
buckled on his horse before she mounted her own.
“Whatever,” Eren groaned. But his bad mood didn't last long once they had
caught up with the group and settled their horses into a slow trot. “So, you
weren't in your room this morning; where'd you go?”
Armin paused from re-buttoning his cloak. Shit. “I went to go see Hanji,” it
was only a half-lie, “since I busted up my face.” He turned to Eren, smiling to
hide that his teeth were on edge. “It hurts you know. Never thought falling on
my face could be worse than barreling into a tree.”
“I've told you before not to fall asleep reading,” came Mikasa's simple
reprimand. Armin turned to her, about to answer, but the way she pulled at her
scarf, loosening around her neck, reminded him of the bruises that were surely
encircling his throat, and then she looked at him, unreadable as always, but
something in her eyes told him that she was curious. At least. Armin refused to
think that she knew anything. “Right?”
Armin only nodded, feeling exposed under her gaze, and shifted in his saddle.
He could feel Eren burrowing holes into him, and he cast him a sidelong glance.
“You didn't eat breakfast?”
“I didn't, I went back to sleep.”
Eren sounded truly offended. “What?!” Armin jumped, feeling his horse startle
as well, looking around to see if anyone had heard the outburst. But Eren
merely continued. “You can't just skip it!” And then Eren seemed to take the
hint, lowering his voice. “You've been looking sick for days, Armin. Are you
okay?”
He couldn't deny it. Sleeping had been becoming more and more difficult. He had
had a nightmare the night before they travelled out to set up another supplies
route, and with the massacre that had happened during...he couldn't exactly
shake the screaming. “I'm alright,” he chirped. “A few too many late nights,
but I'm okay.”
Eren frowned. “You used to sleep really well.”
“I used to do a lot of things, Eren,” Armin smiled. “Times have to change.
We're in the Survey Corps now.” He tilted his head, letting the rhythm of his
horse lull his brain. “It's only natural to lose some sleep after how traumatic
our lives have become, you know. The human brain can only take so much stress
before it starts to find other ways to alleviate its....” Armin turned, finding
Eren staring at him, not a thought on his face. He laughed to himself. “I'm
sorry. What I meant was that it's to be expected.”
“Armin...”
“No, no, don't worry about it. I'm fine, obviously!” But he couldn't bring
himself to paint on another smile. He touched his swollen jaw and sighed. He
was feeling very off, and he couldn't explain it away this time; he didn't even
know why. Usually, at least for half the day, he'd feel pretty great after his
nights with Levi, but this one...no, it wasn't the Corporal's fault. He was
simply worried about the drills today, that was all. Once those were over he'd
feel just fine. Like normal.
Eren let out a sigh as well, turning his attention ahead of him again. “You're
not skipping lunch too.”
Mikasa agreed, and Armin knew there was no way it wouldn't happen. That was
fine, lunch sounded doable. At the very least, it was something to look forward
to, unlike the looming clump of trees that was off in the distance. Great.
Trees. It had to be trees.
Levi rounded the group around the base of what Armin could only call a half-
forest. It really was a clump of trees, most of them no more than about
eighteen meters tall, spaced at awkward distances apart, as if they had been
planted in that position instead of growing there naturally. “This,” the
Corporal called out, not even waiting for everyone to be within earshot, “is
our training grounds today. All you little shits are going to practice your
maneuverability between these trees, since most of you are complete morons when
it comes to avoiding titans, as previously shown.” He crossed his arms. “And as
much as I hate to admit it, some of the blame falls on me, and I don't fucking
appreciate being blamed for shit that can be fucking fixed.”
Levi continued to talk, explaining the basics of the in-air obstacle course,
but Armin couldn't help but let his eyes wander around his dwindling group of
friends. How many times had he wondered how many were lost 'last time'; how
many people that he knew were now dead? No one looked pleased to be here this
morning. Erwin may have somehow rounded up more recruits – what was the use?
Most of them barely looked like they knew what day it was, let alone how to
maneuver around a tree – but they looked more terrified today than they when
the blood of their friends was falling from the sky, gushing from the titan's
mouths and from discarded limbs littering the ground. That had been so much
worse than the chaos Annie had caused, worse than anything he had seen before,
worse than when he had thought Eren had died, simply because he was going to
die first and there was no way for Eren to know, no way to warn the others,
nothing to do but wait.
He recognized only a few of the faces now: Connie, Jean, Sasha, Krista. But
with the brand new faces fresh from the Walls and Gods knows where else – there
had somehow been about thirty of them, but now that number had been nearly
halved – it was not only strange to have people he’d never seen before, talked
to, even known had existed, appear and die right in front of his eyes. Where
had Erwin picked them up from? Why? How were they so willing to die for
humanity when they looked captured and confused? Armin had his doubts about
them, but it was something that couldn’t be asked, under Erwin’s orders, and
the issue had been dropped. He could still remember the night they had all
shown up: unseasonably cold and right after Annie had been shipped underground.
But, with Levi's squad dead, how were a few more inexperienced teenagers going
to make a difference? The best, they were gone, and it was such a huge loss
that Armin couldn't fathom why Erwin would even bother trying to replace them
with rookies. If it had been any other time, a peaceful time where they could
be trained adequately, then he could make sense of the risk, but as they were
now, with only the Corporal as instructor and the threat of titans still oh so
imminent...what was the point? Why were they even here? The supply line had
gone unestablished twice now – even though the first had been a farce – and
still, both times they had suffered tremendous losses, and if this was what the
Survey Corps was now, loss after loss after loss, then why was he even here?
How was he supposed to help make a difference? How could he help save humanity
if all that awaited him outside those failing walls were the deaths of everyone
he knew, and less hope than he had started with?
“Arlert!”
Armin jerked at the shout, sending his horse backpedaling as he realized he was
being called. “Y-yes Sir?” he asked, pulling the reigns with both hands to get
his horse still again.
“Since it seems a waste of your sweet fucking time to pay attention, you're
fucking first. Get your shit and let's go. Everyone else gear up.” Armin
replied with silence, most of the troop turning to look in his direction. He
turned to Eren, who gave him a nervous smile as he dismounted his horse. On the
ground, Mikasa placed her hand on his shoulder, and it was a nice enough
gesture – he appreciated it of course – but it wasn't enough to settle his
nerves. “Hurry the fuck up Arlert,” was thrown at him next, and he hurried to
finish strapping himself into his equipment.
The trees looked a lot taller up close, but it was much more obvious now that
they had been planted in such a way to be a complete pain in the ass. Fiddling
with the clasp on his cloak again, Armin stood, waiting to be the first guinea
pig in this death trap. He had to wonder why no one else had used this spot for
training, but he let it fall as Levi took his place beside him.
“Let me explain this one more time.” Armin swallowed, feeling all eyes on him
again instead of Levi. “Make one pass around the perimeter of these trees, then
make your way in, grappling each tree only once. I will fucking know. You're
going in groups of three when I say. Understood?” Everyone gave a slow nod and
a salute, however Armin had been counting heads. There was an uneven number of
people. One group was going to have four people, or.... “Now, Arlert here is
going to show you how this shit is done. He's pretty average, so if he can
fucking do it so can you.” Armin shut his mouth and closed his eyes, breathing
through his nose, smothering his retort on his tongue. Focus. He could do this.
Everything would be fine. He was worried for nothing. “Go.”
The sound of his gas canisters firing blurred out his thoughts, letting him
focus on the trees, and just the trees. Armin knew he had messed up already,
using too much force to get going, and as he anchored onto the first tree, it
sent him in an counter-clockwise arch too wide to grapple the next. He was
swinging low, and there were only two options. Miss the second tree and
embarrass himself in front of everyone, or take the risk of firing a shot high
enough to keep his ass from digging its grave into the ground. 'That wasn't
much of a choice,'he thought as he fired the next wire. For just a second he
was sure he missed, the ground getting uncomfortably close, but the wire pulled
taunt, letting him swing around the second tree and grapple the third. And the
fourth. The fifth tree almost caught him with one of its branches, Armin
swinging under it barely with enough time to grab the next tree, ending up
spinning outwards, away from the trees altogether, instead of towards the
unreasonably close sixth one.
So all in all, he wasn't doing too bad, or so he thought. Completing the
perimeter, the last tree seemed to disappear with his speed. Which one was he
supposed to grab again? He hadn't passed it had he? And then Armin panicked,
realizing he was headed feet first into the trunk of the tree he had started
on, and that his next point was the tree behind him.
He could make it. He knew he could.
He just had to make it back around the trunk he was attached to without hitting
anything. Though weighing the options, it seemed safer for him to rocket feet
first into the tree than fire blindly behind him, but he had to at least try.
He was going to try.
And he missed the tree completely.
“Oh fuck,” he murmured, in a panic, detaching the wire he was swinging with and
firing off the other as it retracted. This one hit, barely, but it was enough
to reverse his direction and let him swing between all the other trees with a
lot less stress.
Well, almost. He had calculated one tree too many, and as he swung about twelve
meters from the ground he saw there was nothing for him to latch on to. “Shit,”
he cursed as everything slowed down. Armin wasn't exactly ready to plummet to
his death, but each tree had been strategically placed to be just out of his
reach. What kind of training course was this? It was much more suited to being
called suicide. But he knew that it couldn't be possible, it wouldn't be safe
to let others train here if the price for mistakes was death. Or near death.
Was that why he hadn't known of its existence? Was that why he went first?! No
no stupid thought, he couldn't think of that right now. He had to get higher if
he wanted to live, in effect vaulting himself from the swing and using that
force to make it close enough to hook another tree and slow his descent. But
that required risk, one worth taking, because as he began to reach the peak of
his swing, he knew that if he didn't he was either going to swing right back
into the thick trunk behind him and breaking his back, or his wire was going to
lose its hold, and either way it would be all over.
So he took his chance, recklessly blowing all the gas in his canisters, praying
for the first time in a while that it was enough to get him far enough. And
then his wire detached, the sound of it automatically retracting not the least
comforting because it meant for a moment he was weightless. And falling. No, he
was falling already. “Shit shit shit.” He fired everything, anything. But there
was nothing but empty air, and the first wire fell short, arching so very high
and hitting absolutely nothing. But the next one, thank the Gods, dug into the
bark, flinging him feet first into the tree like a boneless doll – the force
taking all the air in his lungs, his legs crumpling upon impact – but at least
he wasn't fucking dead. Yet.
His heart was in his throat, but Armin didn't feel any pain. He heard the
splintering of wood, and he knew he was falling, but he didn't feel an impact.
Was this death? No, he was still starring at the sky, blue, cloudless. And then
he took a breath, one he hadn't known he needed, but his lungs shook and he was
coughing, gagging, wheezing. “Fuck Armin,” came an exasperated sigh, “calm
down, you're fine.” Who was that? The Corporal?
And then, “Shit, Armin are you okay?!” Eren? He was coughing too hard to
answer, but as his eyes began to focus and his ears stopped ringing he heard
footsteps. “Armin? Armin!”
“Jesus brat, leave him the fuck alone for a second.” Armin wanted to turn his
head, but his neck was radiating pain now. “Arlert, are you alright?”
Was he? He still wasn't sure. “I think,” he wheezed out, his chest hurting now
too. What had happened again? Was he moving? No sooner had he thought about it,
he felt his body being placed in the grass, Levi coming into view.
“How many fingers am I holding up?” he asked, waving his hand around. He was
waving it, right?
“Um, two?” Even though his vision was a little blurry, he could tell it was
only two. Or three. But probably two judging by the position of his thumb. His
head hurt.
“Good,” Levi nodded, his face becoming a bit more clear once Eren came into his
line of sight. He seemed ready to lean in for a hug, or something, but Levi
grabbed him by the shoulder and practically threw him back three feet. “Don't
fucking touch him you shit, he fell out of a god damned tree.”
“But!”
The Corporal hissed and Eren fell silent. “Armin, look at me,” he spoke, softer
than moments ago. “Do you hurt anywhere?”
It took him a moment to gather himself, the confusion fading as he sat in the
grass, the morning sun warmer than it had been earlier. It felt nice. But he
had to focus, he had to answer, he had to think, his brain still thick and
cloudy. “My legs...really hurt,” he said slowly, watching Eren's look of horror
crystallize on his face. He glanced at Levi, feeling sick suddenly, and looked
down, half expecting not to see his legs at all. But they're there, and they
looked fine. “Everything,” he elaborated more firmly, with a nod this time. “I
hurt fucking everywhere.”
Armin caught Levi's smirk, just for a moment, before he offered up his hand.
“Can you stand?” Armin took it silently; his knees hurt as he pulled them up,
but that wasn't unusual. However, when he tried to put any weight on his
ankles, a strangled shriek fell from his lips and he found himself back in the
grass. “Guess not,” Levi mused, and for a moment Armin caught sight of Eren
again, standing up and making his way over. But either he was too slow, or he
knew what was happening, because he didn’t make it over until the Corporal had
scooped him up in his arms again. “We're done here,” he said low into his ear,
turning on his heel and walking towards the tethered horses, leaving Eren
behind. “Hanji! Fucking took you long enough! Watch these brats for me; this
one fucked himself over.”
Hanji? Armin shifted in the grasp, just enough to see Hanji and a few members
of thier squad come riding up. “Armin!” they waved, and he gave them a meek one
in response. Levi didn't seem willing to wait for a reply, since he was already
loading Armin onto his horse like some kind of luggage.
“Sit.”
Armin grinned, stretching his legs over the saddle and giving a quiet bark.
Levi grimaced, turning away without another word and stalking over to Hanji.
'What a day.' He sighed, feeling the adrenaline seeping from his body.
Everything hurt. Everywhere. In places he didn't even know could hurt. And
Eren. Armin glanced around, spotting his friend coming towards him, albeit
slowly. Armin motioned him over, looking in Levi's direction and finding him
still engrossed with the other squad leader.
“Are you okay?” Eren asked again, softly as he grabbed his friend's hand in his
own. “When we saw what was happening, everyone freaked out, but Corporal Levi,”
Eren glanced over, disapproving. “He told everyone to just watch. Fucking
sadist.”
“I'm fine,” he smiled, recognizing his mind wasn’t in a place to be able to lie
much more than that.
But Eren frowned, his grey eyes darkening to almost black. “Armin, you're not
fine. You hit a tree full force. You blacked out. If the Corporal hadn't caught
you.” But he stopped, shaking his head. “Did something happen between you two?”
Armin froze. “What do you mean?” He looked down, giving Eren the most confused
face he could muster.
Eren shrugged, running his thumbs over Armin's knuckles a few times. “Well
like,” he leaned in. “He's been very...gentle with you.” Armin couldn't help
the giggle that left his throat. Was it nerves? Probably, but how Eren proposed
the idea, as if it was some dark secret, touched him in a way that he could
only laugh at. “D-don't laugh!” Eren hissed, a well-suited flush enveloping his
cheeks. “I'm serious, he acts different around you!”
“I'm sorry I'm sorry,” Armin smiled through chuckles, wishing he hadn't been
placed on a horse so he could wrap his arms around him. Eren just looked so
indignant; he couldn't help but smile. “I don't really know what you mean,” he
continued, squeezing Eren's hand in his own. “Maybe he just has a soft spot for
people his height.”
This time it was Eren's turn to laugh. It left his lips as a chuckle, but soon
escalated in volume and intensity, a true laugh, something Armin hadn't heard
in a while, and it felt good. He always wanted Eren to laugh, every day, and
for a moment he felt warm and maybe even happy to bring that little bit of joy
to him.
But it was short-lived, as Levi interrupted with “you two seem to be having a
good fucking time.” Armin jumped for the second time at hearing his voice,
again shaking his hand from Eren's. But Levi just crossed his arms, looking
between them both. “Jaeger,” he finally started, seeming to get a grasp on
whatever he had been wanting to say. “Take Arlert back to his room. Hanji will
check on him later, so just get him out of that shit and back in bed.” He
shifted his weight to one foot and continued. “And you better be back here in
thirty minutes because you don't want to fucking know what I'll do if you're
not. Got it?”
Eren gave a hasty salute, looking rather terrified. “Sir!”
Levi gave him a nod, turning his attention to Armin. “Do not. Get out. Of bed.”
Armin swallowed hard. “Yes sir.”
“Good. Just take my horse; you're on it already anyway.” And he walked away.
Eren let out a sigh.
“You okay?” Armin asked, not necessarily curious.
“I should be asking you,” Eren retorted, hefting himself up in the saddle
behind him. “You're the one who can't walk.”
“I said I'm fine.” But Armin knew it was pointless to argue. Eren wasn't going
to let it go until he got the news from Hanji. Until then, he was going to
pester him to death, maternal instincts fully bloomed.
“I know that's what you said,” Eren sighed as he grabbed Armin's hips – the
lightest touch he had ever felt – and positioned the both of them more
comfortably on the saddle. “But I'm not going to believe that until I see it
with my own eyes.”
Armin rolled his. “Yeah, I know.” He leaned back, feeling the warmth of Eren's
chest against his back, and he didn't complain when his fingers slipped the
reigns he had been holding from his hands. No doubt Eren made sure to keep the
horse in a fluid trot, leaning slightly over him, their bodies that much
closer. Armin knew it wasn't going to be a long ride, and that fact alone made
him break out into a cold sweat. Eren was going to mother hen him all the way
to the end, and he wasn't going to like what he was going to see.
Chapter End Notes
     Don't let this fast update fool you! I've had the first chapter
     written for weeks.
     Anyway, I'd like to thank sweet-arlert-booty for beta'ing this
     chapter and all around being amazing!!
***** Chapter 3 *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
His breaths may have been a bit too shallow, yes, but he had his reasons. His
heart was shuddering in his chest, Armin unable to look anywhere but at his
trembling hands as Eren clambered off the Corporal’s horse, feet thudding
against the hay. ‘I have to carry you,’ he heard repeated in his head again. It
looped and looped: ‘carry, carry, carry.’ Eren had been adamant, and no amount
of whining or persuasion had changed his mind, even when he had feigned being
close to tears.
“It won’t be that bad, I promise,” Eren grinned as he reached out, wrapping his
arms around Armin’s waist. “It’ll be just like when we were little!” Armin
couldn’t deny the wave of nostalgia that washed over him, but he wasn’t pleased
about it. Little did Eren know, he had never exactly liked being carried by him
as a child. So Armin didn’t speak; he just let Eren lift him from the saddle,
determined to be dead weight as Eren whisked him from his seat without even a
grunt, cradling him in his arms. “Come on Armin,” Eren continued as jovially as
before, his grasp around his shoulders and knees warm and firm. “Isn’t this
fun?”
Eren just chuckled as if Armin had answered, walking slowly over the gravel,
the crunch of his boots the only thing Armin was willing to listen to. “You
know it is,” Eren pried, glancing down, seemingly unfazed by the dark scowl
Armin knew was on his face. He could feel it festering between his teeth.
“Eren, put me down I swear to God.”
“Huh?” It wasn’t even a question, Eren’s hand moving from his shoulder down to
support his waist. “What for, you’re so light!” Armin stiffened, knowing full
well Eren would notice, but his next words didn’t miss a beat. “Besides, I’m
way more comfortable than Corporal Levi right?” He looked down, finally, and
Armin saw his expression change – a kind of surprise in his eyes – recognition
of the frustrated frown on his face. “What’s wrong?”
If Armin had been the type to growl, he would have. But his frown only deepened
as he repeated, “Eren. Put me down.” But still no dice. Eren just shook his
head and smiled, an apology on his lips.
“No way Armin, you can’t even walk.”
“I don’t care just put me down,” he ground out flat. He would rather shatter
his ankles walking to his room than have Eren carry him there. In the very
least, he wouldn’t have to explain his bruises. Maybe if it had been another
day, years ago before he felt too dirty to be touched by the people he cared
about most, then he could have played everything off as a joke, but Armin felt
too raw, too wounded to let his friend, poor dear Eren, carry him like some
treasured token to his room and have everything Eren had thought he knew
snatched away from him. Armin couldn’t do that; he wouldn’t. “Eren please,” he
pleaded this time, hoping he could finally appeal to that soft heart of his.
“Please just put me down.”
The steps paused, just inside the large side door that lead to and from the
stables, the archway casting a heavy shadow over them both, and Eren looked at
him, really looked at him as if judging him before he spoke. “Are you sure?” He
sounded hurt, the question quiet from his lungs, but Armin only nodded, and
Eren slipped his arm out from under his legs, setting Armin on his feet in
front of him.
And at first, everything was okay. Armin was going to thank him, he swore he
was, but as soon as Eren’s supportive arms left him to wobble on his own, he
felt his ankles shake, and he was on the ground before he could do anything
more than bite his lip to drive away the pain. Eren rushed to him, his hands on
him again, gripping his arm and hovering over his feet as if he could help,
such a deep concern etched into his eyes that Armin couldn’t stand to look at
him. He turned away, feeling sick as every curse he knew drifted heavy in his
head, but he kept quiet, embarrassed, knowing there was no way he could ditch
Eren now.
A breeze blew through the archway, somehow warm with a lingering chill, as
Armin felt Eren lean closer to him. “You look like the Corporal with such an
angry face.”
“Shut the fuck up Eren.”
He laughed, another passionate one, yet Armin ignored the spark that warmed his
chest. He didn’t want this to happen, yet another series of mistakes. He didn’t
speak as Eren picked him up again – where Eren’s hands shaking? – whispering
words meaning to placate him as they walked, not listening to a single one. He
wished Eren was right, that this was fun, and that he could enjoy it. He wished
he wasn’t so angry, so sleep deprived and lonely. He wished he hadn’t messed up
during drills, that he hadn’t woken up in Levi’s bed, that he hadn’t started to
get close to him in the first place. He wished he had never noticed that
certain way Levi would look at him, a way that wasn’t at all unusual yet set
his body on fire. He wished he had never joined the Survey Corps, had never
thought of leaving the Walls, had never even bothered to read his grandfather’s
books. It had all built up, all those little things in his life, and here he
was now, making horrible decisions his supposedly “genius” brain couldn’t get
him out of. If he had just died with his parents instead of being sent to the
landfill, if any of those monstrosities had eaten him instead, if he had just
failed out of the trainee corps and lived on the streets, it would have been
better than subjecting himself to more of this guilt.
He didn’t know how, and he didn’t know why, but he didn’t want to face another
titan again, and he didn’t want to hear Eren’s voice. He wanted to be alone,
just to sort his thoughts maybe, but now he was crippled and would have his
friends – Mikasa, Sasha, Eren, Jean, everyone he didn’t want to see, and he
didn’t want to see him – surrounding him for longer than he could take. He
didn’t deserve it, and when Eren stopped at his bedroom door he was almost
grateful, that twisted anxiety hardening his stomach telling him that soon, at
least, he would be alone – if only for a few moments – because Eren was going
to hate him.
Eren seemed to hesitate before opening his door, something Armin found a little
strange but couldn’t bring himself to care. Eren sat him on his bed, turning
around without a word and Armin half-hoped he’d just leave, but instead, Eren
simply closed the door and locked it. Armin sighed, feeling his pelvis shoot up
sharp pains as he tried to find a more comfortable position to sit, but if he
leaned back every muscle between his shoulder blades hurt. He couldn’t stop
himself from chewing his lip again, eyeing Eren as he strode across the room, a
tentative smile on his face.
“Are you okay,” he asked, for what, the hundredth time?
Armin’s voice came out much weaker, more soft than he had anticipated. “I’m
fine.” Eren had started to kneel at his feet, taking off his boots. “Y-you
don’t have to do that,” Armin rushed out, tempted to curl up on his bed away
from his probing fingers, but he stopped. Instead, he began unbuckling each
metal hinge within arm’s length, hoping Eren would get the message. But as he
slipped off his cloak and jacket, Eren working his way through the leather
straps wrapped around his calves, he clenched his teeth. “I can do it myself,”
he grumbled.
Eren looked up, bright as ever. “I want to help.” His eyes sparkled, really
sparkled with such earnesty that a thorn worked its way into his chest.
“But I can-“ Armin started, bending over to snatch the leather from his
fingers, but he didn’t bend very far before he remembered he couldn’t, another
snap of pain clawing around his hips. “Ow.”
“See?” Eren sounded rather smug. “Just sit still.”
He tried, really, quelling the urge to squirm from Eren’s hands travelling his
body with such light, careful touches. He was already in pain, a little more
wouldn’t make him feel any worse. Armin tried not to think about it, trying to
block the map of bruises that resurfaced in his mind, but he could already see
them through his clothes, and as Eren fumbled with the bands around his thighs
he flinched. “Sorry,” Eren whispered, traveling his hands around the strap to
the buckle on the side, sliding it off without a sound. And then his hands were
on his hips, making quick work of the buckles there, and he slipped the entire
harness from Armin’s shoulders. He laid it on the bed and smiled yet again.
“You wanna change, right?” He asked, his fingers coming up to the buttons at
Armin’s throat.
Armin pulled back, his breath hitching. He gave Eren’s look of wary confusion
some consideration before he grabbed his hand, stating, “I can do it myself.”
But he felt his blood warming, embarrassed.
“F-fine,” was the hesitant reply, and Eren stood – looking quite unwilling –
slipping from Armin’s light grip. “I’ll get you another shirt or something,” he
drawled, turning away slowly and making his way to the small dresser.
Armin heart hammered in his chest. He had to remember to breathe, watching
Eren’s stiff silhouette from the corner of his eye as he fiddled with the
buttons on his shirt, wondering how he was going to get his pants off without
making too much of a fuss. When Eren stepped back into his vision, a nightshirt
and pants in his hands, he looked dubious. Armin took them from him without a
word, honestly at a loss for them. ‘If I could just get him to leave.’ So he
looked up, giving him a tender smile. “Thanks, you really don’t have to stay,
Levi is going to be angry.”
“Nah,” Eren shifted, running a hand through his hair. He was nervous, he only
did that when he was nervous. “You’re more important than drills anyway.”
Armin flushed, not sure how those word were meant to be taken. “Uuuh,” he
hesitated. Now that he had to make him leave, the words wouldn’t come. His mind
was empty. “C-could you,” he tried again, feeling his face get more and more
heated. “Could you turn around?” Close enough.
“Why?”
Armin could literally hear the superfluous questions marks falling from Eren’s
mouth. He looked at him, incredulous.
The seconds of silence seemed to let Eren put the pieces together, and his ears
turned a slight shade of pink. But then he chuckled, saying, “you’re being
modest now? You never used to care before!”
Armin chewed on his words, feeling as much embarrassed as pathetic for having
to act like this. “We’re not kids anymore,” he hushed, lowering his head just
an inch.
“Okay okay, sheesh!” Eren took the bait, swinging around on his heel.
Armin hummed, not willing to respond. He tore through the buttons on his shirt,
tossing it on the bed as he fumbled with his pants, hoping this was fast enough
and that Eren wouldn’t get impatient. But of course, the zipper on his pants
caught, and Armin tugged it up and down trying to unstick it. It only took a
second, and when his pants hit the floor, he felt a small wave of relief wash
over him. Until he heard something, something that sounded suspiciously like a
very loud, very shocked, gasp.
Armin looked up, wide-eyed, to see Eren peering over his shoulder, mid-turn.
There were no words as they stared at each other, just Eren’s slow turn to face
him, his eyes scouring each bruise, each bite, each scratch on his body. This
was it. Armin could already see the anger bubbling within him, the way his
fingers curled into a clench, jaw setting, the darkness seeping into his eyes.
He had thought he had gotten away – so briefly – but Armin had also known
better. He didn’t have that kind of luck, that kind of fate to be able to
continue with a secret that recorded this kind of evidence on him. Yes, he had
known it was a matter of time. No, he was still not prepared. And Eren’s mouth
moved, silent at first, as if he couldn’t find any words to say, and Armin had
to break the gaze because he could feel his head spinning, his blood running
ice cold and he wanted to die, all traces of his existence wiped from the
world. There was nothing he could say to defend himself, not like this; he had
barely been able to convince Eren to turn his back, what could he possibly say
to the blatant proof his bruises were screaming? What?
What?
“Armin…”
What?
“How hard did you hit that tree?!”
What?
What was this in his throat? A laugh? ‘Eren, you idiot.’ But this was his
chance, and Armin didn’t want to waste it; he ran with it. “P-pretty hard,” he
shrugged, knowing that if he kept his cool then maybe he’d get out of this
alive. But Eren was stepping closer, the expression on his face unreadable, and
Armin shimmied further onto his bed, feeling more naked than he ever had.
“But,” Eren whispered, and then his fingers touched his chest, pinpricks of
irritation sprouting in their wake. He traced along the bruising flesh, Armin
shying away from his touch by only millimeters, knowing that what Eren was
examining was in fact the aftermath of his impact with the tree. “But,” he
repeated, fingers spanning his shoulders, dusting over the fading bruise on his
shoulder, the welts and scratches on his wrists, the splotches on his thighs.
“These other ones…” his voice falling so low Armin would have missed it if he
hadn’t been listening. And then he caught Eren’s eyes again. They were melding
mixed emotions, but what Armin could make out most was earnest, his hands too
close to his naked lap – he almost never wore anything under his pants, none of
them did – and Armin swallowed hard. Eren licked his lips. “Armin,” and a
perturbed grin cracked his face. “Did the Corporal beat you up or something?”
Eren was laughing. Eren was fucking laughing. Snickering turned into a full on
chortle at his own joke, but Armin sat still, knowing he couldn’t be serious.
It was unpalatable, especially for Eren because he knew how strong Levi was. He
knew it, and he was still joking about it? “You didn’t lose a tooth did you?”
he cackled, ending up on the floor giggling and wiping tears from his eyes.
Armin saw the smile falter, but he kept his mouth shut. Was this even
happening? Should he be angry right now, or should he be happy? What was he
supposed to say?
“Go fuck yourself Eren.”
Eren’s hand stopped wiping his eye, his chest stopped heaving. Armin stopped
breathing, thinking. There was just silence, the kind of silence Armin was sure
would suffocate him if he didn’t apologize, if he didn’t say that he hadn’t
actually meant that, that he was just angry and frustrated and so many things
he couldn’t put into words. But he sat there, his nightshirt now on his lap and
he couldn’t move another muscle. He hadn’t meant it. He hadn’t meant it.
“Armin, what-“
“No, shut up!” His mouth was moving without him. “Dammit Eren that wasn’t even
fucking funny.” Armin felt his eyes getting wet. He wasn’t going to cry was he?
Eren shifted forward, pain flickering in his eyes. “No b-“
His arm was moving without him too, holding out his hand. “Don’t. I’m too tired
for your stupid jokes.” What was he saying? And his body continued on, throwing
the nightshirt over his head and pooling it at his lap. When Armin looked up
again Eren had inched closer.
“I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I didn’t...I never, you don’t tell-“
“What’s to tell?” Armin snapped again, unable to stop himself. He knew he was
glaring, this sudden anger that was driving him unstoppable. Why did he feel so
deeply offended? “Fuck, Eren it’s not like you don’t know everything about me!”
“But I don’t!” Eren jumped up, throwing his arms out as if in defense. “You
don’t tell me anything anymore, Armin!”
“What are you talking about?!” Armin knew, mouth already bitter. “All I do is
talk to you! I don’t talk to anyone else!” And then he was standing too, as if
his shorter stature would somehow threaten the taller boy. “We’re fucking
exclusive,” he continued, throwing his hands around. “What else do you want?!”
“Armin,” Eren panicked, taking a hold of his shoulders. “You need to sit down.”
But he wouldn’t have it. Armin shook him off, yanking his body away from the
touch, feeling his sore ankles grind against bone. “Don’t fucking touch me!” He
was shrieking, “don’t tell me what to do, I can handle myself!”
“I’m just trying to help!”
“I don’t need your help!” Was that true? Did he really mean that? “I’m sick of
your help, I don’t want your help!” No, that wasn’t true at all. “We’re not
kids anymore.” That wasn’t true either.
“Does it matter?! I can still protect you!”
“Wa-what?!” Armin stalled, his brain firing and his hands flying through his
hair. “I don’t need you to fucking protect me!” Yes he did. He wanted it, he
needed it. Armin pulled at his hair, feeling the frustration boiling inside
him. He was going too far, he shouldn’t be talking, but he couldn’t stop.
“Eren, oh my God do you hear yourself? What kind of bullshit is that?! You
can’t protect me, I don’t need it!” Lies. “We’re not outside the Walls, Eren,
there are no titans here! What do you think you’re protecting me from?!”
“Armin, please.” Something happened. Something Armin didn’t take into account,
didn’t even think Eren would do. He smiled – as broken as it was, it was still
there, the curve of his lips tilting faintly upward – and Armin didn’t
understand. He couldn’t imagine, didn’t know why, and it infuriated him.
“NO! I’m sick of your stupid jokes! Just shut up and leave.” Why wasn’t Eren
yelling? Why wasn’t he angry? Why was he smiling?
There were a few shaking breaths, but Eren didn’t move. “Armin I-“
“Leave.”
Eren shook his head. “No, listen-“
“Leave.”
“Shut up!” Eren’s hands found Armin’s shoulders again, gripping them tight as
he shook him back and forth. “I want to know what’s wrong with you!” And now
there was a desperation in his eyes, a kind of look that reminded Armin of the
seconds before he had been eaten by that titan, his hand still stretching out
of its mouth as if that had been a good idea.
“Nothing’s wrong!” Armin denied, voice cracking as he yelled. He didn’t want to
lie anymore. He didn’t want to remember that.
“Something is wrong; why won’t you tell me? I need to know!”
“You don’t need to know anything!” Armin screamed, his whole body stiff with
the force of his yell, the heft of his denial. And it echoed around the small
room, bearing down on them both.
The hands dropped. Eren took a step back, then another. Armin didn’t dare look,
keeping his eyes on his swelling ankles. A few sounds escaped Eren’s mouth, but
he didn’t form a coherent sentence. Armin watched his boots, feeling the crack
he had made between himself and Eren begin to gape and fissure. He was ruining
everything; he might as well finish it.
“There’s nothing for you to know,” he lied, voice small, warbling. “There’s
nothing I want you to know.” He threw himself back on his bed then, refusing to
look up. It was over, wasn’t it? With his own two filthy hands, he had soiled
everything he held close. Maybe it was for the better. Maybe having Eren at a
distance would be safer for the both of them. It would keep his secret –
meaning at the very least there wouldn’t be any rumors for anyone to spread –
and, as he realized with abject horror, that was all he wanted. “Please just
leave.”
When Eren spoke, his voice was calm, peaceful even. It didn’t make sense. “I
can’t leave you here.”
“Yes you can. The Corporal is going to beat the shit out of you.”
“I don’t care.”
A sigh left Armin’s lips, haggard. “Get out. I don’t want you here.” And that
seemed to do it. He watched Eren’s slow feet turn and vanish from his view. He
didn’t move as he heard him hesitate at the door, nor when he passed through
it. It was only when his door was shut again, and he could no longer hear
Eren’s methodic footsteps, did he put his face in his hands, screaming silently
as he felt something in his chest shatter. What did he do? Why? Why? Why had he
been so scared, so desperate to push him away, one of his last few friends that
was still living, breathing, willing to stay by his side? Why? What was wrong
with him?
Nothing alleviated his thoughts as he curled up on his bed, hands buried in his
hair as if pulling each strand at the roots could somehow let them out. Of
course it didn’t, but that didn’t stop Armin from trying, from taking large
fistfuls of hair and pretending the pain was a distraction. However, a few
moments more and he sat back up, casting a solemn glance to the pants he had
yet to put on, and he grabbed them, falling onto his back – yeah it hurt, no he
didn’t fucking care – shoving his feet through their respective holes at the
hem and lifting his hips, pulling them pants up and over and crumpling back
into bed.
Armin rolled over, catching sight of his harness dipping halfway off the
mattress. He reached out, feeling the cool metal of one of the buckles on his
fingertips and fantasized for a moment what it would feel like if he wrapped it
around his neck, then scowled, pushing it off. He fucked up. He fucked
everything up. Why did he always fuck everything up.
He didn’t move for a while, rotating each ankle in a slow, masochistic daydream
as he breathed into his pillow. Footsteps echoed the hallway – drills must have
either ended or someone else had gotten hurt – as muffled speaking drifted in.
Armin couldn’t make out anything intelligible, so he didn’t bother to react,
keeping his right ankle now in a meticulous clockwise rotation, feeling the
muscle grate and snap. He could take a good guess at what Hanji would have to
say about it; that he should be keeping off them and especially not doing what
he was now, but Hanji wasn’t here, and there was no one to stop him.
Until Eren flashed in his mind, that dismay he saw between his laughter, and
Armin’s chest tightened. Eren would be destroyed if he wasn’t able to fight,
wouldn’t he? If his ankles never healed, would Eren blame himself? If he were
to be kicked from the Survey Corps completely, what would Eren do? Armin’s
ankle stopped turning, his chest burning. Every breath was fire in his lungs,
and he clenched his jaw, pressing his face further into his pillow. He had to
stay for Eren. For Levi too. He had to make himself useful, somehow. Any way he
could. He wouldn’t be anything without the Corps, nothing at all. At least here
he had a name; there were people who knew who he was. Armin Arlert. Genius.
Weak.
So weak. Useless.
How could he…?
Who would he…?
A soft sob weaseled its way from his lips, drowning in his pillow. The tears he
had been holding back were seeping into it as well, and he let them. No one
would see, so why bother hiding it? Armin didn’t like crying, it made him feel
feeble, but just for now, while he mourned the death of his friendship with
Eren, the death of the ease his life had become, he could put up with the
tears. Just this once, because he didn’t know what else he could do. Just for
right now, because in only a few months time he had managed to drive away
everyone, except Levi, and that brought with it a danger that was worse than
death, a danger of humiliation, and if there was one thing Armin feared more
than being found sobbing like a child, it would be the spread of his
personal…matters with the Corporal. He could mourn everything, anything but
that. He didn’t know what would happen if that secret ever came to light.
Chapter End Notes
     There was a lot of "yolo"-ing during this chapter, but thanks to
     sweet-arlert-booty once again for being super awesome at inspiring me
     and telling me when I got my shit wrong (a lot).
     Also, Eren's an idiot. I'm not sorry. There's gonna be a whole lot of
     that.
***** Chapter 4 *****
Chapter Notes
     Whoops, time to change the tags! Officially adding Eremin to this has
     made me feel good about everything. Also, I think my new philosophy
     for writing this fic is now "YOLO!!!!!!1!!".
See the end of the chapter for more notes
“What I’m saying is, you really shouldn’t walk on them. At the very least, no
more maneuvering for a week. Then we’ll see.”
“But what about-”
“Oh don’t worry about it Armin! Nothing’s broken, so I don’t see the point in
transporting you to one of those hospitals. There’s not much more they could do
for you there than we can do here, at least at the moment.”
“…Right, okay. Sorry.”
“You don’t have to apologize; I know you’re worried. Sometimes I wonder if all
that smarts in your head is good for you!” Hanji pushed his shoulder with a
smile, which Armin returned.
“Yeah, I certainly wonder myself.”
“It’s good to wonder,” Hanji nodded more to themself than anyone. “But don’t
think that just because you’re stuck here in bed it means we won’t find
something for you to do.” It was then that Hanji started shuffling with the
stack of papers and books they had brought, searching through the pile spread
across Armin’s bed in mock fury. He could tell they weren’t in any hurry, their
face had a certain peace to it – right between the eyes – that told him just
how relaxed they were. “Aha!” they chirped at last, taking a long roll of paper
in one hand and a thick pile of papers in the other. “This is Erwin’s latest
battle plan,” Hanji said with a smirk, waving the long roll in front of his
face. “He doesn’t know I have it yet, but I figured I’d take the initiative and
ask for your help. See, old Erwin probably wouldn’t have the nerve to ask you
to help at a time like this.” Armin would have disagreed, but then again he
hadn’t seen the Commander in days. Maybe it was true. “Anyway, what I want you
to do is review this. Erwin’s got some hot idea to make a run for another
supply line, but this one isn’t as reckless as the last; we won’t be trying to
round up titans anymore.”
Armin nodded, pushing the flashbacks as far from his mind as possible, the
screaming muffled by his thoughts. “So those papers are for cross-referencing?”
“You got it.”
“I’m surprised,” Armin thought aloud, taking the presumed map and papers from
their hands. “I assumed I would be doing paperwork, not strategic planning.”
“Oh, don’t worry, there’s plenty of that for you later.” Hanji grinned, their
hands fumbling through their pile of books and papers again. “Anyway, that’s
all I have for you now. Get some rest.”
“Right,” Armin waved them off, making sure to put on a bright smile as Hanji
gathered their things and closed his door behind them. Once they were gone he
sighed, glaring daggers into his bandaged feet and ankles, the pressure against
the sore muscle and bone both reassuring and frightful. Limited walking for a
week? That sounded much too long for a couple sprains. No training, only
strategy? But, he couldn’t stay in his room for a week; what was he supposed to
do with himself? Sure, he had wanted some time alone, but this was a little
excessive, even for him. It was hardly past noon; there was no way he could
review tactics until it was time to go to sleep.
Regardless, he began to unroll the large sheet of paper, spreading it across
his lap and laying the other assorted documents on top. It was a simple plan,
it seemed. Similar to their first excursion, it was only the bare bones. So
this was the grand 60th Expedition? Armin shuddered, his mouth feeling dry and
sticky. If he thought about it, he could still taste the blood in his mouth,
the way the ground smelled as bodies were ripped apart in the fading light. He
rubbed his eyes, the scene disappearing before he could bubble up the memory
with it and he stared at the lines and diagrams on the paper again. He couldn’t
do this. Every time he looked at the crudely drawn symbols his mind went far
away, back to the last mission, back to the screaming.
That had been the worst, if Armin could have picked through each detail and
ranked it. The screaming was the worst. It was so inhuman but not. So feral,
yet not.
And as if to pull him from the murky waters of that lucid memory, there was a
knock on the door. “Come in,” Armin said without a thought, wincing as a muscle
in his leg decided to spasm. The doorknob turned – with what sounded like
difficulty – and Mikasa strode into the room with a tray nestled between her
elbow. From the smell, she had brought him lunch, and his stomach dropped.
“How are you,” she asked, stepping up to his bed and waiting while Armin made
space for her. He noticed the gaze she placed on the assortment of papers on
his lap, but she didn’t say anything else, presumably waiting for his answer.
“Alright,” he dismissed, rolling up the plan as quickly as he could before
nestling it between his ankles, setting the pile of other papers on top. “Thank
you.”
Mikasa settled herself on the edge of the bed, rotating the tray on her arm and
offering it up. “For what?” She didn’t look quizzical in the least.
“For lunch…?”
She nodded. “Eren was persistent.” She adjusted her scarf, a faint whisper of a
smile on her lips. “So how are you,” she reiterated.
Armin felt his mouth pull into a frown as he settled the tray – with a bowl of
some kind of soup, and bread, and even a large glass of water – on his lap.
“Alright.” He kept his gaze on the food, feeling ill if he was being honest, as
he stared at it. Mikasa was looking at him, he could feel it, but he didn’t
want to talk. “I’m fine,” he said again when he had mustered the nerve to look
up, scanning her face for some kind of acceptance, but it wasn’t forthcoming.
“Armin,” her voice was cool. “You don’t have to hide it from me.”
“Hide what?”
“You’re hurting; I can see it. Eren can see it.” Armin reached for his water,
putting the glass up to his lips and leaving it there. So he hadn’t been
fooling anyone; he was just as transparent as he had felt he was. “It’s okay,”
Mikasa continued, the ease in her voice lulling him like a sleepy puppy. She
had grown, somehow, between all the missions and stress and fear, into
something much softer, but also distant. Even though the change suited her,
Armin almost missed how blunt she had used to be. “If it’s a secret, you can
tell me.”
He wanted to tell. He would haveloved to tell, to keep his friends from
worrying about him. He would haveloved to ease that distress, to wipe it away
completely, but he knew Mikasa wouldn’t be willing to accept it because she
knew where this behavior stemmed from – she was completely in control of
herself, unlike him – and then, of course, Eren would have to know. Eren. He
wouldn’t want to know. None of them were virgins anymore, not really. Things
happened, and Armin couldn’t change that. But even still, once he had realized
how he was, how sick a fascination he could harbor, he had locked it away and
everyone continued to pretend he was just as innocent and “sweet” as before.
Though Armin knew he wasn’t, and Mikasa had seen the tail-end of that travesty,
and it all felt like a farce. His entire existence was a sham.
“I don’t have anything to tell,” he spoke around the glass at his lips, finally
taking a sip and feeling the dryness he had been ignoring in the back of his
throat ache with satisfaction. Mikasa didn’t look convinced, and Armin placed
down his glass to smile at her. “None of it is important, honest.” His eyes
fell back on his food, away from her prying eyes, the smile slipping. “Nothing
worth mentioning.”
Armin flinched as Mikasa took his hand, her fingers warm and work-worn, but
still smooth like they used to be. But he didn’t like her fingers on him, yet
he couldn’t pull away as she guided his hand to the spoon nestled along the
edge of the tray, exposing the harsh red welts on his wrists. “Then let me see
you eat,” she stated, slipping the cool metal into Armin’s fingers and waiting,
her hands drifting away from him. He swallowed. If she had something to say
about his injuries she didn’t speak them. But this test – the spoon wavered in
his hand – he wasn’t going to pass it.
“I-” he faltered, feeling suddenly panicked and flushed. ‘She’s testing me.
She’s testing me and I’m going to fail. She’s going to find out.’ “I’m not
really,” Armin turned to her, cracking another smile under her gaze again. “I,
uh…” But he couldn’t finish, and Mikasa merely raised an eyebrow – ever so
slightly – in expectation, and Armin turned back to his soup, the yellowish
color itself off-putting enough. He didn’t have an excuse; he had to eat.
It was always harder taking the first bite, but as he let the liquid slide down
his throat, he did feel somewhat better. The second spoonful was easier,
especially as he watched the terseness that had rested in Mikasa’s eyes fade
into a cool comfort. So she wasn’t as worried as she had been. She was motherly
in that aspect alone: making sure those dear to her were fed and breathing. But
even though she didn’t question him again, and told him to be careful about his
ankles – Armin assumed she had heard from Hanji, because she didn’t ask for him
to validate her assumptions – he could feel her curiosity. The prickling
feeling of unspoken words behind her lips. But she still left him with his
lunch – which he couldn’t bring himself to finish – and after what seemed like
days of reading Erwin’s reports and sitting there thinking, Armin couldn’t
anymore.
Unfortunately, the feeling of restlessness persisted into the next morning.
When he had woken up – his bedroom a murky kind of grey – he had to sit up and
body-check, praying he still had all his fingers and limbs, his ears, hair,
eyes. Everything. The sound of his ears ringing the only noise trying to
convince him he was alive – dead people didn’t hear, right? – and while his
lungs shivered with each deep breath, every one deeper than the last, Armin
pushed the palms of his hands into his eyes and choked out a sound. He wasn’t
going to cry, but he was willing to throw up. It felt like something was lodged
in the back of his throat, and he gagged on it, the fleeting thought of
throwing up for the second morning in a row grating on his nerves. But he held
it down, his fingers in his hair again. What did he have to do to forget?
Slowly, Armin let his hands fall, clutching the sheets instead as he swallowed.
“I’m fine,” he whispered to himself. “Just fine. Everything is fine.” Swinging
his legs over the edge of the bed, he was careful not to hit the tray of half-
eaten food on the floor – he had fallen asleep before dinner, specifically to
avoid having Mikasa or Eren finding out he hadn’t finished lunch – and bent to
pick it up. Placing it on his bed, Armin braced himself against it and stood,
noting how his ankles wobbled, but were much more sturdy now that they were
wrapped. The initial sharp pains that had dug into him were subsiding into a
hot burn, and he knew he shouldn’t be walking just yet. Logically anyway, but
at the very least he wanted to get his food to his desk while grabbing all the
papers he had managed to hobble over there yesterday.
His glass almost clattered to the floor, but he made it, dropping the entire
tray with an arrangement of noise and swiping all his documents – thanking the
Gods that his bed wasn’t far from his desk – and tossing the map over his
shoulder. He had just sat himself back down when he heard a trail of footsteps,
and as he rested his feet back into the mattress, there was a knock at his
door. Armin didn’t have a chance to answer; Eren just let himself in, a
restrained smile on his face and – to Armin’s horror – his breakfast.
“Good morning.”
“Good morning,” Armin echoed, watching Eren with a doubtful gaze. His hair was
messy this morning, and it actually looked wet, blacker than usual. Curiosity
gurgled in his stomach instead of hunger; did something happen? Maybe it was
trivial, but he couldn’t help but wonder; it wasn’t raining after all, and
morning showers weren’t his thing.
“I brought you breakfast.”
Armin let out a stiff chuckle. “I see that.” He watched Eren step closer to him
– “wary” would have been the most accurate word to describe him – holding the
tray with his food in a grip that seemed a little too tight. But Armin had no
plans to apologize, to even bring up the fact that they had fought only
yesterday. The memory of his faltering smile flashed before his eyes, drawing
the inside of his cheek against his teeth. How could he apologize? He couldn’t
admit he was wrong without incriminating himself.
“Ah,” Eren faltered, eyes drifting over to the previous tray Mikasa had bought
before stepping up to the side of the bed. “Yeah, I guess you can,” he mused
quietly.
Armin felt his eyes roaming over his body, probably looking for new bruises
that could have formed in his sleep, and he noticed how Eren’s eyes would
flicker back and forth between his face and his bandaged ankles. Feeling
vulnerable, he asked, “is that for me?” Eren’s eyes flashed over the food –
some kind of porridge, it looked like – and an outline of a smile formed on his
lips.
“I thought you might be hungry.” He settled the tray on Armin’s lap. “Since you
missed dinner.” Armin didn’t bother to reply, seeing Eren look hesitant as he
took up the spoon and dipped it into his cooling cereal. “Are you,” Eren
started before falling back into silence.
Armin, determined, shoved his spoon into his mouth before he let himself speak.
“Hm?” He looked up, fully expecting Eren’s answer as their eyes met. He looked
worried, a hidden kind of worry muddled in those eyes.
With a sigh, Eren looked away, muttering, “are you feeling okay?”
Was he? Honestly? “As good as can be expected,” Armin dismissed, focusing his
attention on his food again. It was sweet, and milky, and it reminded him of
the simple porridge his grandfather would make him when he wasn’t feeling well.
It was nothing like the hot cereal they were usually given. “The Commander gave
me some things to do,” he let the sentence fall, not sure where he had intended
to go with it anyway. Armin spooned in another mouthful to keep himself from
talking.
Eren seemed unable to hang onto the silence, soon talking about how he got in a
fight with Jean during dinner – over what, he didn’t say – and even though
Armin was mostly silent, it felt like a more comfortable silence than before.
He listened to Eren’s monologues, feeling maybe a bit normal in the first time
in a while, but as he scraped the side of his bowl and swallowed the last he
could muster, it shifted.
Eren had been mid-sentence, and he paused. Armin turned to see the reason for
his distraction, but the only clue he was given was Eren’s furrowed brow, eyes
focusing on Armin’s hands. “Eren? What’s wrong?” But he didn’t answer.
“I know you don’t want to talk about it,” he said after a few tense moments.
Armin felt all the blood rush from his face. Was he going to start that again?
Hadn’t he learned already?
“Eren, I-”
But Eren shook his head, leaning over too quickly for Armin to let it register
in his panicked mind, feeling Eren’s fingers brushing away his hair and his hot
lips on his forehead. “But I don’t like to see you hurt,” he murmured into his
skin. Armin didn’t reply. What could he even say? ‘Thank you’? No, that wasn’t
a proper response. However, he didn’t have time to keep thinking as Eren’s
hands found their way to his cheeks, and Armin tried to pull away.
“I know,” he tried, leaning back far enough to see the hurt in Eren’s eyes, and
he felt so guilty for being the source of it.
“I know you know,” Eren continued softly, coaxing Armin in that gentle way he
had, back towards him, his hands pulling him closer, pressing Armin’s forehead
to his own. “But I,” he whispered, his breath so warm against his cheeks. This
was familiar. How long had it been, actually? When was the last time Eren
touched him like this? “I just want you to know,” he finished, pressing their
mouths together unbearably tender.
And Armin couldn’t resist, letting Eren kiss him slow. It had always been
platonic before, years ago before he had messed everything up, but Eren’s lips
on his – parting, breathing, licking – was a deep seated comfort Armin had
forgotten he needed. Ever since….
A soft whimper escaped Armin’s lips, his eyes shut now because this was such a
bittersweet betrayal. Though he let Eren part his lips and slip his tongue
inside, he let himself react, his hands on Eren’s forearms, and he didn’t care
that he slid his own tongue against Eren’s, the familiar texture sending his
body reeling as it pulled up hazy memories. And he didn’t object when Eren
pulled away, his face as flushed as Armin’s felt, and when Eren smiled at him,
Armin smiled back.
Maybe it was an apology. Maybe it wasn’t.
Armin reached up and ran a hand through Eren’s hair. It really was wet. “I
think I understand completely.”
“Good,” Eren sighed, his hands vanishing from Armin’s face and finding their
way into pockets as he backed away, just out of Armin’s reach. “Cause you know
how bad I am with words,” he grinned.
Armin rolled his eyes. “Very well.” And then silence. It stretched as Armin
turned back to what was left of his breakfast – about half – and the feeling of
hesitation seeped from Eren. He was fidgeting, obviously wanting to say
something, but Armin didn’t want to hear it. He couldn’t ignore him, no, but as
the seconds passed he felt he should at least try and pull up a subject. “You
know,” Armin grabbed the mug resting on his tray and realized it was tea. “It’s
been a while hasn’t it?”
‘What the fuck Armin.’
He watched as Eren’s ears turned pink, horrified at what he just said, praying
Eren wouldn’t take that as a clue to continue. Though, in the back of his mind,
Armin already knew he wouldn’t resist if Eren put his hands on him, laid him
down and touched him in ways much more gentle than Levi ever had. He wanted to
take it back, to say something, anything, but he had forgotten what Eren tasted
like, and he forgot how warm he was when he would press their naked bodies
together, and with a pang in his chest, Armin realized he had even forgotten
what Eren smelled like; that post-sex exertion smell, the way his body would
drape over his own. He wanted to remember them all.
Eren laughed, light as if he almost didn’t agree. But he still looked flushed.
And for a fleeting second, between Armin’s eyes scanning the burst of heat on
Eren’s face and his brain telling him that Eren was feeling exactly the same
way as him, Armin wanted him. All of him. Just this once. Just like before. And
sometime between that thought and Eren’s next breath, they were together again,
Armin holding the collar of Eren’s shirt as he kissed him breathless. He didn’t
care about the rest of his breakfast, or the fact that his door was unlocked;
all that mattered was Eren’s mouth on his, the wet sucking of his tongue, and
the half-moan building in his throat.
And then Eren broke away, his hands ghosting Armin’s shoulders as he looked at
him with half-lidded eyes. “Are yo-“ he started to say, but Armin denied him,
pulling him back for another kiss as his only form of answer.
“Shut up,” Armin whispered into his teeth, and Eren’s hands trailed down, so
very warm, to rest just right on his hips.
“Fine,” he pulled away to say, tilting his head to kiss Armin’s neck.
“Eren,” Armin stretched, slipping his arms over Eren’s shoulders as he let his
head lull to one side, giving as much skin as he could. He didn’t know what to
say, other than Eren’s name over and over again, but it was ill-suited right
now and he didn’t want to speak. Armin wanted to feel. The wet heat on his neck
wasn’t enough, and he remembered bits and pieces of how good Eren felt, and as
he felt a nip at the recent bruise he had gained from his collar, he chose his
words carefully. His voice dropped, and Armin couldn’t let himself feel
ashamed. “Touch me, please.”
Eren didn’t answer with words, simply lifting one hand off Armin’s hip and
dipping down under the sheets, his fingers familiar with the warmth they found
there, enticing a breathy sigh from Armin. “Does that feel good?” he mouthed
into Armin’s collarbones.
Armin hummed a reply, trying hard to stay in the moment. Where Levi had been
sharp, Eren was so soft. Where Levi was structured, Eren was natural, and with
his fingers wrapped around that pulsating heat that bled into his thighs, Armin
sighed, one smooth roll of his hips into Eren’s hand making him quiver. “I
forgot,” he paused, fisting his hands into Eren’s jacket, “how good this
feels.” And he wasn’t lying; Eren was completely different.
“Am I interrupting something?”
Speak of the devil.
If there had been a noise Eren should have made, the one that left his lips was
not it. In effect, he squealed, recoiling off Armin in record time, turning to
give a hasty salute. Armin sat still, gazing at the intruding Corporal with
unrestrained agitation. He couldn’t help it. But he copied Eren in a half-
hearted salute before dropping his hand, curious if Levi would be as willing to
jerk him off as Eren had.
“No, sir,” Armin answered when the silence started screaming to be filled, Levi
glancing between the two of them looking rather angry.
“Well then Jaeger, get the fuck out. I need a word with Arlert.”
“Yessir.” Eren didn’t waste much time – Armin could never blame him for that;
Levi was still plenty threatening – as he grabbed yesterday’s lunch tray and
gave Armin an embarrassed look from over his shoulder. Armin read his lips,
‘sorry,’ and replied with a nervous smile, waving him off.
Once Eren shuffled out, closing the door behind him, Levi crossed his arms over
his chest, and Armin sighed. “You didn’t have to scare him,” he said, rubbing
his shoulders as he suddenly felt cold without Eren’s titan-heat so close to
him.
“As if I’m going to sit back and watch my soldiers fool around with each
other.”
“Don’t act like you never knew.”
“Not the point brat.” Armin continued to feign his annoyance, crossing his arms
as Levi strode over to him, placing his hand on Armin’s head. “How are you
feeling?”
If he were honest, Armin loved the Corporal’s infrequent displays of affection.
He was prone to petting, and Armin couldn’t deny that he liked it. “Awful,” he
admitted.
Levi nodded, running his hand through Armin’s hair before dropping his hand to
his hip. “That’s to be expected.”
Chapter End Notes
     Ok so I cut that off rather abruptly I'm sorry. There are just so
     many plans. In my head. I have ideas. Also, yes, I changed pronouns
     for Hanji. I'll probably go back in the earlier chapters and fix
     those later.
***** Chapter 5 *****
Chapter Notes
     All the sex in this chapter is dedicated to Brownie for being the
     perfect little shit and letting me read his fanfic. A PROMISE IS A
     PROMISE.
     Sorry for taking way too long to get this chapter out. Been stewing
     on it for a while mostly because deep Armin things are trying to come
     up when I don't want them to. No one believes me when I say there's a
     plot here. Cockslut!Armin is a plot I SWEAR.
     Oh, and I've fixed up the summary a bit. That may or may not change a
     lot, depending on where this fic goes. Summaries are hard.
How long was Levi planning to stay? Not that Armin was complaining, but didn’t
he have something else to do? He had started to clean his room while they
chatted, not exactly saying anything. It was strange to make small talk with
his superior – Levi’s bored expression still never wavering – and Armin thought
his own voice sounded more and more strained as he watched Levi traverse his
room, the belts on his legs maybe possibly tighter than he had noticed before,
the way his hips moved kinda sorta smooth and fluid, his hands looking a bit
delicate, potentially.
Armin turned away – back to the documents on his lap – and he picked up the
nearest paper, intent on reading it, even though he knew it by heart. It was a
simple request for more supplies, like extra horses and traveling equipment.
Nothing special. But it was a good enough distraction – he added and multiplied
and categorized and sorted the numbers over and over again in his head – from
Levi and his cleaning. How could someone who seemed so straightforward do
something as obtuse as cleaning his subordinate’s chambers? Not that Armin was
complaining, but, he thought he knew the man – maybe a little – and something
in the back of his head told him Levi wasn’t the type of person to just clean
things he didn’t deem important. Armin’s things weren’t important – not to
mention organized and tidy – and he sure as hell wasn’t going to believe Levi
was bored enough to do it. Unless he was killing time, but then, was he
avoiding something? He shook his head, knowing he was thinking too much about
it. That was why he had been reading, it was why they had both lapsed into a
thick silence, and it was why he was ignoring the damned boner between his
legs. Wait.
There was a loud thunk, averting Armin’s attention to the source of the noise,
where he found Levi rifling through his desk, one of its large drawers
presumably pulled open. “What’s all this shit?” Levi looked at him, expectant,
waving a few loose sheets of paper in his hand.
Armin blanched. That was his painstakingly neat handwriting. “Those,” he
muttered, wanting to sound indifferent but sounding more than terrified, “are
just some things I wrote. I have nightmares.” He looked down, away from Levi’s
cool expression. “So…kind of like a journal I guess?” He saw Levi nod out of
the corner of his eye and place each page carefully on the desk, stacking them.
To his breath of relief, he didn’t seem to be reading them, just moving them
out of the way. Somehow, Armin didn’t feel like he needed to defend himself, to
fabricate a story for his anxiety-reducing ritual, and it felt rather good. His
chest didn’t feel so tight anymore. With a final glance as Levi continued to
organize his things, he focused back on the papers nestled around him and
sighed.
“Something wrong?”
Armin spoke without thinking. “I’m really aroused.” Or, maybe that wasn’t quite
true. He heard Levi’s snort before he understood what he had said, cursing
himself under his breath. But there was no point playing dumb anyway.
“What, Jaeger got you all turned on?”
Armin didn’t look up, feeling his lips starting to press together. “Somewhat,”
he said, picking up another report. He heard Levi take a seat in his chair.
“What are the specifics between you and that fucking brat?”
Was he really asking? “Mm,” Armin started, fully aware that there wasn’t
anything he could say that would make it clear; he didn’t know himself. He
placed the report back down, shifting to catch Levi’s eyes. “We’re friends.”
And he wasn’t surprised when he scoffed.
“A little fucking more than that,” he said, leaning back and crossing his arms
over his chest.
‘Well…’ Armin drew his bottom lip into his mouth. “We’ve always been close.” He
had wanted to keep it at that, but it didn’t sound final enough, and he found
himself talking again. “I mean, Eren and Mikasa and I have been the best of
friends since we were children. And since we enrolled in the Trainee Corps
together,” he couldn’t find the nerve to explain why, “it just seemed…natural.”
He shrugged then, wanting to scan Levi’s face for any emotion at all, but
instead staring behind him.
“That doesn’t explain a damn thing,” Levi mused, catching Armin in a mocking
smirk.
Armin shrugged again, unsure of what to say. It wasn’t like he could mention
what had happened between them those three long years, and that really wouldn’t
explain much either. It had all kind of happened, and Armin had rehashed each
scenario so many times none of it seemed to make sense anymore. It was rather
embarrassing, but it only proved to him how out of control he could get, and he
didn’t want to think about that on top of everything else. There was nothing to
say. “I guess not,” he agreed, only to fill the silence.
“So are you two a thing?”
“Why?”
“So I know who I need to interfere with the most when one of you shits gets
fucking eaten.”
Armin swallowed. “No, I wouldn’t call us that.” He couldn’t tell if Levi was
joking, but the idea of Eren getting eaten by a titan made him sick all over
again. He didn’t know if it was actually possible, considering he was next to
invincible, but he couldn’t shake the sound of crushing bone and Eren’s blood
splattering on him. No. No. Never again. “Besides, I wouldn’t let that happen.”
Levi simply snorted and readjusted himself on the chair. “Possibly,” he said
low, Armin almost missing it.
“I won’t.” That sounded final enough, and he cast Levi a firm frown. He wasn’t
going to make him think about things like this. In fact, the only thing he
wanted to think about was how his dick was still throbbing and he needed to do
something about it.
“You’re really something, you know that?”
Armin slipped a smile. “Why thank you.” He couldn’t help shifting in his bed –
thighs pulling together, the miniature jolts that ran up through his stomach,
that murky craving to have a dick in his mouth – knowing that was probably the
best compliment Levi would be willing to give, considering the circumstances.
And his face flushed as he registered the need churning inside him, the smile
still on his lips parting into a smirk. “I’m sure you know I’m a lot of
‘something’s,” he mused, a chuckle forming when Levi raised an eyebrow.
“I’m sure I do,” Levi agreed with a breath, his shoulder rolling back.
Armin continued. “Do you want to know what else I am?” ‘Stupid,’ his brain
added for him, but the thought evaporated as fast as it had come. Was he really
trying to play this game right now?
“I’m sure you’ll tell me.”
Armin licked his lips, making sure he could analyze every one of Levi’s
calculating stares as he tucked some hair behind his ear. He made sure to speak
his next words slowly, pushing out each sound with precise movements of his
lips. “Really. Fucking. Aroused.” And he didn’t wait for a response, knowing
Levi would have a sarcastic retort waiting for him. “And it’s your fault, so
you should do something about it.”
Levi didn’t seem ready to give any ground, asking “should I?” as if it were the
only logical response, then crossing his legs.
Armin sighed, feigning lost patience; he could afford it. “You’re the one who
interrupted us,” he started – and judging by the rolling of Levi’s eyes and the
groan he let out, it was a moot point – and shifted his plans mid-thought.
“Look, if you don’t want to help, then kindly leave.”
That seemed to perk things up since Levi uncrossed his legs. “You don’t get to
command me, cadet.”
“You’re in my quarters sir. I believe I can command you however I wish.”
Another grin flourished on his face as Levi clicked his tongue.
“Each of these rooms is fucking mine you little shit,” he said, laced with a
diluted venom.
“Sir, this castle belongs to the entire Survey Corps,” Armin objected,
lighthearted. Levi was actually looking a little flustered. “But if you want to
be technical, I believe the Commander has the rights to claim ownership,
correct?”
The chair Levi had been resting in clattered over, him having kicked it after
he stood. “Don’t give me that shit Arlert,” he fumed, taking a few steps
forward. Armin shied away, the sudden heaviness of his presence intimidating.
However, mirth was still swimming in his stomach. Levi had reduced their
distance, his next words spoken inches between their mouths. “I’m not in the
fucking mood.”
Armin hummed, reckless. “But I am.” And he reached up, cupping Levi’s cheek in
one hand before crushing their mouths together, forcing his tongue between
teeth. There was no resistance, nothing to tell Armin to stop, so he didn’t,
reaching his other arm over Levi’s shoulder and bunching his fingers in the
fabric, only pulling his mouth away to fill his lungs and say, “you are going
to have to finish what Eren started.” Armin caught Levi’s irritated eye twitch
and smiled.
“Only for you, Arlert,” he sighed against his lips, easing their mouths
together again.
But Armin didn’t want easy, not right now as he pulled Levi’s bottom lip
between his teeth and bared down, drawing a groan from him. He wanted to feel
something other than the pain radiating along his legs, the heat of his groin,
the pinpricks of fear that still lingered in the back of his mind. Levi’s
response was to kiss him harder, drowning him with the heat of his mouth,
melting him back into bed, and he heard the jostle of dishes on his lap. He
didn’t care, Levi sensible enough to slide the tray down as he encroached into
the space, straddling Armin’s hips with apparent ease.
“What do you want,” Levi asked as they separated, voice low.
His hand was in Armin’s hair, and Armin let out a breath. “The desk,” he
muttered, planting a trail of kisses along Levi’s jaw, slipping his fingers to
the buttons on his shirt.
“Your ankles.”
Armin shook his head. “I don’t care.” There was a shift in Levi’s eyes, from
that bored steel-grey to something he would call “light concern”. Armin kissed
him again, his fingers bunching at his shirt as he pulled their bodies
together. “I want it to hurt,” he whispered, brushing a finger against the cool
metal buckle at Levi’s chest.
Levi, however, didn’t speak, tugging away the collar of Armin’s shirt as he
planted his lips on his neck, leaving wet trails as he lined down to his
collarbone with sloppy, open-mouthed kisses. “J-just take it off,” Armin
stuttered, feeling his skin flush at the attention. A swift bite was his
answer, and he yelped, squirming, the sharp sting already fading into a blotch
of angry skin. “Do that again,” he demanded. Levi complied, another squeak and
a sigh slipping from Armin’s lips; a breathy “fuck.”
A chuckle drifted to his ears, Levi pulling away again. “Why am I not
surprised, Arlert?” he seemed to muse more to himself than expecting an answer.
“Shut up and fuck me,” Armin said, fingers working on the buckle again.
“Bossy little shit.”
Armin couldn’t finish his task, because Levi slid off the bed, scooping him up
in his arms without another word. Armin grinned. “Do you like it?” he asked
into his ear, brushing his lips against the skin and feeling Levi’s hands
tighten around him.
“I don’t dislike it,” Levi stated, sitting Armin on his desk – between all his
papers – before gripping the back of his head and pulling him in for another
kiss. Armin couldn’t help but moan, Levi taking the chance to roll their
tongues together, and he felt it in his hips.
“You locked the door, right?” Armin asked weakly when they broke for air.
“No one will be around.”
“…But, did you lock it?” To be honest, Armin didn’t care. He was too busy
spreading his legs so he could reach the buckles around Levi’s hips, too
distracted by the hand tangled in his hair and the other pressing into the
bruises on his thigh. He didn’t care who would happen to walk in – hell, they
could watch if they wanted – so long as Levi didn’t stop.
“No.”
Something sparked along Armin’s spine and he whimpered, pressing his mouth to
Levi’s shoulder. “Ahn—touch me already.”
“Patience,” Levi growled, releasing his hold on Armin to shrug off his jacket,
his gear soon dropping to the still-fastened straps on his thighs.
“I really don’t have any,” Armin drawled, pulling Levi’s shirt from his pants
and working up the buttons again. And with that, Levi slipped from his fingers,
stepped back against the chair that still lay on the floor, out of Armin’s
reach. “H-hey,” he stuttered, panic rising in his chest.
However, all of Armin’s questions died in the back of his mouth as Levi
stripped himself of his shirt and cravat, tossing them towards the bed, and
bending slow – the muscles of his back flexing so smoothly – to pick up his
jacket. A needy moan slipped from Armin’s mouth instead, and when Levi
straightened, he turned on his heel with a smirk to lay his jacket on the arm
of the toppled chair. “Are you ready for another lesson,” he asked, husky,
shifting his weight, “my little bitch?”
A strangled cry.
Levi took his place back between Armin’s knees, placing a hand in his hair
again, Armin desperately touching him. Armin let him tilt his head again,
exposing the side of his neck, and Levi sunk his teeth into the already
bruising flesh. Armin choked out a wet sound, his body trembling, grabbing the
edge of the desk. Levi licked the spot, suckled it, before breathing his next
words into his skin. “That wasn’t an answer.”
He didn’t sound too upset, but Armin shuddered anyway, the heat of Levi’s mouth
intoxicating. “Yes,” he mumbled, reaching one hand around Levi’s waist to dig
his nails into skin.
“Yes what?”
The grip on Armin’s hair tightened, pulling his cheek to his shoulder. The
muscles in his shoulders flared, Armin biting back a groan before he could
speak properly. “More than ready.”
“Then,” Levi ran his other hand down to Armin’s hip, kneading. “You’re going to
be good and patient, correct?”
“Hell no.” Armin lead Levi closer, tightening his grip on his waist while
looping his other arm around Levi’s back, digging in his fingernails and
ignoring the pull on his hair, the mock-irritation in Levi’s chilly eyes. “Fuck
no, never,” he stated, relishing the sudden rush of control he felt, sighing
when he felt the long-awaited brush of pelvis against dick.
“No?” Levi quipped, digging his fingers into Armin’s hip. “You’re so
disobedient.” Amusement.
“Fuck it out of me,” was his commanding reply, and he felt Levi tense against
him, those eyes scanning his face now, searching for something Armin knew he
wasn’t going to give. His hand left his hair, and as Armin straightened his
neck again, Levi crushed their mouths together, taking his tongue hostage with
his teeth and pulling at his hips, pulling at his clothes, gripping his thighs
with enough force to bruise.
Armin let out a moan, getting more friction against his groin as Levi – none
too gently – pushed him down against the desk, sending a few of the papers to
flutter to the floor. Levi didn’t stop kissing him, his teeth scraping taste
buds as his fingers yanked and jerked the knot that tied Armin’s pants, and
when he seemed to at least loosen it, Armin’s back was arching because Levi’s
fingernails were leaving welts with the force he used to remove them, the
fabric sliding from both bandaged feet and seeming to disappear. And then he
dug in his fingers – like claws – heated skin against wood as he dragged Armin
forward.
Thank the Walls Levi had his mouth suffocating his own, because Armin couldn’t
keep from moaning, coughing on his own sounds as Levi manhandled him. Armin
rubbed rough circles into Levi’s back, torn between rolling his hips up against
his or waiting, sparing himself potential punishment. He knew Levi could very
well force him to learn a lesson in patience if he wanted. So he kept his hips
still, turning out of Levi’s smothering kiss, panting. Levi’s mouth moved to
his shoulder, wounding him again, and Armin groaned, low and needy.
Levi hummed into the crook of his neck, mumbling something so low Armin
couldn’t understand. And Armin writhed when he let go of his hips, dragging his
hands up under his shirt and pinching along his ribs over and over, every
little jolt firing right to his cock pressed ever so snugly between them. “L-
levi,” Armin whined, finding purchase on the bumps of his spine and burying his
fingers between them, earning a grunt and shudder. Armin didn’t have any other
words to say, almost passing the point where they made sense to him.
As if he read his mind however, Levi wrapped his fingers under Armin’s ribs and
dipped down, his body trailing off the desk as he planted his lips to Armin’s
inner thigh, chewing the flesh to his melodic moaning. Armin carded his fingers
through his hair, raising his hips to rub his cock against his jaw. “Suck it,”
came his breathy command, but Levi denied him, biting at the skin around it.
Armin hissed, unable to keep his thighs still as he urged, desperate. “Please.”
If he could have used his feet as motivation, he would have.
“Shhh,” Levi hushed, causing Armin to arch his back again; his breath burned.
“Be patient little one.”
Armin groaned, not interested in his teasing. “Fuck you,” he whined, twisting
his grip on Levi’s hair and feeling his toes curl, fire erupting up his ankles.
Tears sprang into his eyes just as quickly as he tried to lock a pitched cry in
his throat, but it leaked out as a pained whimper, and Levi shifted.
“What’s wrong?” He sounded so concerned, but Armin tried to focus on getting
enough air, keeping his eyes firmly shut. “Armin.”
“It’s nothing.” It took him a few more seconds, but Armin shook his head,
noting Levi’s frown through his bleary eyes. “I’m fine,” he continued, running
a hand from Levi’s hair, down his cheek and to his own aching erection,
grasping that in his hand instead. “Fuck,” he sighed, just touching himself
forcing the not-so-pleasant pain in his feet from his consciousness. “I need
this…” And then he cast a gaze down, watching Levi watch him as he set a slow
stroking pace, a grin painting itself on his lips. “Are you gonna suck it or
not?”
No words, just a hot wet mouth, and Armin was moaning again. His fingers met
Levi’s lips, saliva seeping between them, creating a tandem pace that burned
Armin to the core. How badly he needed that mouth. And Levi hummed, the
vibrations more than enough to make Armin choke on a breath, until he began to
suck. Armin’s voice pitched, shaking pants replacing his initial cry.
“Sh-shit,” he whined, raising his hips to force more of himself into Levi’s
mouth, but was denied with Levi’s hands on his hips again, the sharp crescents
of his short nails still just enough to puncture skin. So he whined again,
lifting his thighs up off the surface of the desk, another whirlwind arching
his back, and he knew he wouldn’t last long like this. The pace he had set was
already erratic, his fingers brushing veins and spit and warmth, Levi’s tongue
lapping at the head of his dick over and over and over. “S-sir.” Armin had had
every intention to tell Levi to stop, to sit up and demand that he fuck him
against the desk until he couldn’t see anymore, but when Levi’s hands scraped
across his hips and up his back, teeth dragged down his shaft, it was too late
to do anything more than whimper pathetically, the feeling of Levi’s scorching
mouth sucking the orgasm out of him too much to fight.
And then Levi pulled away, spitting Armin’s cum onto his heaving stomach. Armin
watched him wipe his mouth, tried to focus as Levi moved away, leaving him
panting and tingling and just fucking high on the desk. Slowly, Armin realized
he wasn’t disgusted by the fact that Levi had spit on him. He let his head roll
to the side, recognizing Levi’s hands on his knees, but he didn’t have the
energy to respond. At least, not until he felt fingers tracing down the back of
his thigh and pressing knuckle-deep into him. “Shit, sir!” He squeaked, the
fingers foreign and painful, though Levi seemed eager to kiss the pain away
once their mouths met again, stifling any more of Armin’s outbursts.
Had time slowed down or had it stopped? Armin couldn’t tell, each thick inhale,
every plunge of Levi’s fingers, felt too slow. He could feel his muscles
relaxing, and the heat that had been boiling through his hips was barely
lingering, though he wondered if it would come back as those fingers continued
to play with him, stretch him. Armin continued to wonder until a particularly
hasty shove set his body alight again, white hot and yearning. Levi praised him
for it, his words unimportant when he said them so weighted and rough. It
wasn’t like Armin would have been able to answer anyway – his mouth too slow –
when all he could do was rock his hips back against Levi’s hand and hope.
“Now what a good boy,” Levi commended. Armin answered with another wordless
whine, missing the fingers pulling out of him. Then Levi kissed him again,
entering him in one swift movement of his hips.
Armin cried, actually cried, his body screaming for him to find a way to let
out the pressure that had suddenly built up inside him, to push back the thick
cock forcing its way inside him, hot and abrasive and painful. But at the same
time – as Armin couldn’t breathe with the sensations that were overwhelming him
– his hands grabbed Levi’s shoulders, finding resistance in the firm muscle and
planting his fingernails deep, the feeling of skin under his nails both
welcoming and horrifying.
A mangled mess of sounds dribbled from his lips as Levi’s mouth left them, one
hand pushing Armin’s thigh gently to his chest, the other running through the
sticky puddle across his stomach and taking his hardening heat. His tears were
hot, the sobs shaking his body, but were as silent as Armin could make them,
unable to move his hips on his own without losing himself completely. Levi
abused him with perfect timing, each down stroke of his hand meeting the
upstroke of his hips, leaving Armin to clench his jaw in lieu of sounding like
a whore and letting his tears fall in silence. Maybe Levi had asked if he was
hurting him. Maybe he had arched his back in another orgasm, stronger than the
first. Maybe, just maybe, he wondered if this was more than just sex.
Armin wasn’t sure when Levi had come, exactly, but somewhere between knowing he
needed to wipe the tears from his eyes, and hearing Levi complain about the
amount of cum on his stomach, Armin gained enough awareness of himself to
speak. “I’m sorry,” were his first wavering words, hardly above a whisper.
Levi was leaning his hip against the desk. “I just fucked you into this desk
and you’re fucking apologizing again?” He looked more surprised than he
sounded, and then he reached out, placing a gentle hand in Armin’s hair.
“You’re really something.”
Was he? He couldn’t be sure. He swallowed, tongue still thick in his mouth. He
didn’t know what to say, and he didn’t dare sit up just yet, but Levi seemed to
be waiting for something. “I’m really not sir,” he concluded, even if he had
told him that twice today. Armin wasn’t the least bit sure what he meant by it,
but it couldn’t be much.
Still, Levi ruffled his hair before he bent to pick up Armin’s pants, folding
them over his arm. Armin didn’t fight him when his laced an arm under his
knees, nor did he say anything when his picked him up off the desk, taking
those few steps to his bed and sitting him down again. “Thank you,” he said
hastily. He took his pants, situating his feet into the hems and paused. There
was a distinct lack of cum on his stomach. In fact, there was a lack of any
bodily fluids on either of them. “You cleaned up?” Armin hadn’t meant to sound
so surprised. Levi responded with a gaze that told him just how idiotic he
sounded. “Of course you did,” he muttered, leaning back to pull his pants back
over his hips. He elbow smacked his half-eaten bowl of porridge, the entire
contents of the tray rattling.
“Careful.”
Armin reached out to still the mug, it being the most dangerous. “Oh.” He had
forgotten Eren had brought him tea, but the idea of the still-warm beverage
wasn’t appealing. However, he took it in his hands, feeling the warmth seep
from the thick ceramic. Armin looked to Levi, knowing his preference for the
drink, and saw him picking up the papers they had knocked from the desk. He
also noticed a wet rag dangling off the edge of his water basin. Of course. The
least he could do was give such a clean freak something to drink. “Do you,” he
started, feeling rather embarrassed for some illogical reason, “want my tea?
It’s still warm.”
Levi turned to him, looking him up and down.
“I didn’t even drink it I just-“ Armin’s face was flushing, the words tumbling.
And then the mug was lifted out of his hands.
“Thanks,” Levi interrupted, his shirt already on his shoulders. Armin didn’t
look at him, something fluttering in his stomach and he hated it.
“No problem.”
***** Chapter 6 *****
Chapter Notes
     I want to thank Brownie for giving me the idea of "drama queen Armin"
     because that's a thing and I aim to add superfluous amounts of drama
     everywhere.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
This was what it felt like to be used. This had to be it, this constricting in
his chest. It couldn’t be anything else, and it was his own fault, because he
had agreed to be the Corporal’s plaything. He had started this by accident,
sure, but he was the one always crawling back, sneaking in a suggestive glance
or showing up unannounced. But now he felt used, the sudden regret that filled
his heart aching and swallowing him whole. Why did he do this? Why did he agree
to become histoy? Why did he have these odd feelings for him, now of all times?
Why was it that he stuttered out of embarrassment instead of fear when they
talked, and why did he feel so warm in his presence? Why did his hands shake,
all his control slipping away? It didn’t feel like a job anymore. Somewhere
inside, Armin was terrified that he could have fallen in love.
Which, if any, of these thoughts rang true Armin didn’t know. Levi had left,
Hanji had checked him over days ago – but there were still a few days left in
his “no maneuvering” timeline – and Armin didn’t know what to do with himself
now that walking was a necessary, but painful, chore, and there was nothing for
him to do. Hanji had been leading large groups out for training since Levi left
with the Commander two days ago, strictly telling him to “get some rest, you’ll
need it” as if that would somehow help. Armin was bored, and nothing but
putting himself to work was going to fix that. Erwin had taken his finalized
plans and reports and requests with him, and without those to focus on, the
only thing left was reading – every book he had again? No thanks – and
ruminating over the fragility of his life.
Armin didn’t exactly want to do that anymore.
So, he stood in the stables, leaning his weight off his left foot since it was
burning up in his boot, keeping his arms crossed. “What are you doing Arlert,”
he whispered to himself. Of the horses that were left, none of them paid him
much heed; he just stood, feeling the humid breeze blow through him, smelling
hay and shit and dirt, feeling more at ease here with the sun against his back
than he had in his room; everywhere he had looked there he could see Levi’s
handiwork. Every spine of every one of his books arranged in a straight line,
the papers in his desk – well, some of them – stacked and sorted and grouped,
not a spot of fucking dirt to be seen and for fuck’s sake why did he have this
warm feeling in his stomach like it meantsomething? ‘It doesn’t mean a damn
thing,’ he told himself, gripping his elbows in his hands and letting his feet
start moving.
The soreness brought him back, letting him breathe a little easier before he
worked himself up again. He had already thought himself into a circle this
morning, and winding his thoughts on the same spool wouldn’t be fruitful. ‘And
yet here I am again,’ he thought, pacing up and down the stables with only Levi
in his head. They hadn’t talked since that mistake in his bedroom – and Armin
would never classify it as anything but – and somehow nothing felt right about
it. Of course, that was why it was a mistake.
Armin wanted to blame Eren, to blame those lips that he hadn’t felt so firm
against his in what felt like forever. He wanted to blame Levi – what a sick
freak, willing to fuck a child – but really, he could only blame himself.
Living this life, inhabiting a place of constant fear, had worn on him. If he
didn’t join the trainee corps and hope for some kind of future, Armin already
knew he’d be dead. He saw the looks that passersby had given him when he was
little – ‘what a tiny child,’ they said; ‘he looks just like a girl,’ they said
– and the sense of unease wasn’t unwarranted; it wasn’t like Armin could forget
the amount of times he had gone home with a bleeding lip, a swollen ankle, a
bloodied hand. He knew his weaknesses, and he knew he could use them just as
well as his strengths. And in the end, it was those weaknesses that had ended
everything between Eren and him, and it was those weaknesses that drove him to
cling to the Corporal as if he were his savior, his last hope. Maybe he was.
What had he said again?
“You’re really something, aren’t you?”
That’s right. He had said that their first time, almost to the level of
frequency now, and Armin still didn’t understand why. “Really…something,” he
muttered, turning on his heel again. What could that mean, or rather, why was
he so hung up on it? Why couldn’t he just let it go?
Continuing to pace, Armin sighed, dropping his arms and running a hand through
his hair. He didn’t have time to be acting like a child; it had only been two
days since Levi left and he acted like something had been stripped from him.
Levi wasn’t his, Armin couldn’t own him, and that wasn’t what their deal had
been. Well, there wasn’t technically a deal to begin with – secrets, but not
deals; no words had been exchanged on the matter – and yet here he was, pacing
the stables in the broad daylight like some…Armin sighed again.
The sound of footsteps drifted to his ears. “Um, excuse me?”
Armin turned, coming face to face with someone he couldn’t say he explicitly
knew. If he hadn’t been so busy cursing himself for letting someone, anyone,
sneak up on him, he would have offered the other boy a proper, polite response.
Instead, he folded his arms around himself and took a deliberate step back.
The boy looked nervous, words spilling from his quick lips. “Oh I’m sorry, I
didn’t mean to-to frighten you.” Frighten. “I uh, you’re Arlert right? The one
in that accident last week. I-I mean wow I’m glad you’re okay and everything
and-“ He was rambling. Really rambling. But then he paused, taking a slow
breath, and Armin realized the boy was taller than him. It could have only been
by an inch, but Armin found himself glancing ever-so-slightly up to catch the
other boys autumn eyes. “I’m sorry,” he started again, speaking with a kind of
calm Armin wished he could inhale. “My name’s Diederich. Aah, Gottlieb.
Diederich Gottlieb.”
Armin smiled – reflex – and shook his outstretched hand. “You’re right, I’m
Arlert. Armin Arlert.” But the pleasantries were a farce; something about him
made Armin feel ill at ease. Was it the wide stance he took, or was it that his
hands were bigger than his own? Diederich didn’t look like he could overpower
him, and yet, something in the way his fingers flexed against Armin’s palm and
the quirk between his lips, almost screamed at the very least, ferocity. The
more he stood and thought – not listening to Diederich continue to speak at him
– the more he felt like he was looking at another version of Eren. Their eyes
had the same intensity – though Armin was always first to admit that Eren would
forever contain more passion within his pinky finger than the Survey Corps
combined – and even though his hair was long enough to pull into a short
ponytail, and his fringe seemed determined to overtake his face – meaning he
didn’t look the least bit violent – Armin could feel his shoulders sting when
Diederich’s gaze caught his own. Just like Eren’s.
“—thinking that, pretty much since we saw you.” Armin blinked, suddenly aware
that Diederich had stopped talking, had wrapped his arms around his chest and
seemed to be waiting. When Armin didn’t answer, a smile lit up his face. “You
don’t have to decide now. We can talk about it later.” And suddenly he seemed
rushed, giving Armin a pat on the back before he near sprinted around the
stables, out of sight. Armin blinked again. ‘What just happened?’
Thoughts rattled, he couldn’t think anymore. He had no idea what Diederich was
expecting of him now, and even worse, he didn’t know where to find him. In
fact, he was almost sure he had never seen the boy in his life; but that didn’t
make sense. ‘It’s impossible that I’ve never seen him,’ he mused, leaving his
pace marks in the dirt and striding towards the small gardens. Even though it
had started to chill at night, the flowers were still blooming. ‘He must be
new. Maybe one of the unlucky ones the Commander picked up.’Where they really
unlucky? He had heard stories of the slums, and military life didn’t sound much
too bad in comparison. ‘Then again, I’ve never lived down there, underground
like that.’Still, he couldn’t place the face, or even the sound of his voice.
He could recall most of the faces he had glanced at last week, last month, his
own private survey of new recruits – and he used the term “recruit” loosely –
where had Diederich been within them?
He said something, had said “we” while he had been chatting. Who was “we”?
A curse forced itself from under Armin’s breath. He should have been paying
attention. It wasn’t like him to space out during conversations, and there he
had been, thinking of Eren of all people. How much more irresponsible could he
be? Eren was busy, safe, training with Hanji and the others. Diederich had
looked pretty clean, alert, not like he had been training for hours or had
injured himself and come back early. Why was he even here? Armin shook his
head, hoping it would clear out the thoughts. It didn’t matter. It couldn’t
possibly matter because Deiderich seemed nice enough, and if he had been dumb
enough not to listen to him speak in the first place then whatever consequences
came from it were his own damn fault. He huffed, frustrated.
The flowers before him swayed with an errant breeze, but Armin frowned. He
needed something to do, he needed to find somewhere to sit and read. There was
an old library in the castle, dusty and mistreated, and to be honest, a place
Armin didn’t frequent. It was small, and for whatever reason it gave him mild
claustrophobia, something he used to have no experience with. But for now,
right now, as he made his way back inside, roaming the empty halls with only
his echoing footsteps to keep him company, he wanted to risk it.
Chapter End Notes
     I know I know I know it's so short and everyone has been waiting for
     so long! But this is just what needed to happen, and I'm hoping the
     next chapter will make up for it. Please don't be mad at my OC, he
     kind of just BEAT HIS WAY IN but I do have a purpose for him so...
     Besides that, if any of you don't know, you can find me on tumblr!
     Though, I'm not really a fandom blog so don't expect many snk posts
     from me, if you decide you want to follow me.
     I'm off to Wizard World tomorrow, so maybe all the sweaty fanboys can
     give me some kind of inspiration?
***** Chapter 7 *****
Chapter Notes
     Happy 4th you brats.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
The heavy book thumped closed, another burst of dust and mold and dirt jumping
from the pages, mingling in the air and making it that much harder to breathe.
Light still filtered from the library’s dirt-clouded windows, but it didn’t
alleviate the feeling of the burdened bookshelves leaning further over him, of
the table reaching out and engulfing what little empty space was left, the
knowledge that the open door was out of view and an unknown number of
serpentine-steps away. His body shook through a shudder, fingers dusting then
gripping the edge of the worn-smooth wood, and Armin stood. Slipping a foot
around the leg of his chair, he slid his way out, twisting around the edge of
the table and leaving the large tome in its place. His fingers prickled with
want to trace along the spine, to push the book back into place among the
others, but his feet were guiding him to the door, and his tight chest was
telling him to get out.
So he got out, thinking.
'DOG, noun.A kind of additional or subsidiary Deity designed to catch the
overflow and surplus of the world's worship.'
The urge to shake the thought away caressed him.
He hadn't spent much time in the small library after all. The castle halls were
still a little stuffy, and the sun was still soaking the walls. Words were
dancing in his head, cluttering the thoughts that tried to form, breaking them.
He didn't want to think about the words that had caught his eye. The stupid
books. He didn't want to ruminate about any potential meanings to anything he
had read. 'Don't overthink this. Don't. Please don't.'
He should have never picked up the book – its thick fiber pages tempting him –
and read those stupid sentences, spent those minutes closing in on an hour.
Why? What a waste of time. This had nothing to do with Levi, no. Nope. Never.
It was getting closer to dinner-time, and he was hungry, that's all. The hunger
that was conveniently absent at the moment was the cause of this chaos. Not
that maybe he really was useless, that these running thoughts about the
Corporal were deeper than he could ever admit. No, he was a dog, the Corporal's
dog, and the bruises that were fading around his neck proved it. He was
supposed to be used, so why was he so upset? 'I'm just a toy,' he reminded
himself. 'A vessel for anything Le—the Corporal will give me.'
His footsteps echoed lonely across the messy cobblestone of the lower floors to
the carefully lain patterns of the upper floors. There was no one around, he
was alone again.And he liked it that way, and was much more grateful with the
realization when his feet led him to the Corporal's closed chamber door. He
stared at the wood grain, following the patterned rings and lines of years of
outward growth, stained and shaped and killed to be molded into this heft that
looked like it may splinter if he gazed too hard.
Then there was a sound. Shuffling.
'GHOST, noun.The outward and visible sign of an inward fear.'
Armin shook his head, taking a step back. Now was not the time to be thinking
like that, but the sound bounced the barren walls, and he felt uneasy just
standing dumbfounded at the door of the absent Corporal as if he may, somehow,
let him in. His feet are the first to recognize the anxiety, setting off in a
rapid pace anywhere else but there, through the hallways and down the stone
stairs, back to the unfamiliar windows and crevices before reason came back to
him. Where was he going? Why was he scared? No one would bother to question him
wandering the hallways; everyone knew he was still bound to the ground – he
heard from Eren only yesterday that he had been the topic of discussion at
quite a few meals – so how unusual really would it be for him to be found in
various boring places around the headquarters? Not at all. No one would mention
it. He wasn't important enough for anyone to even remember he was there.
But the knot in his chest lingered, and he contemplated going back to his room
when he heard footsteps rounding the corner and Jean stalled before him,
looking like he might just turn around and run. But then he seemed to change
his mind, not taking another step but opening his mouth to say, “Armin!”
“Jean,” he replied, tilting his head and hoping to just pass the other boy and
keep the silence.
“Um hey, wait a sec,” Jean fumbled as he took a few steps forward, successfully
stopping Armin in his tracks. He looked nervous, something he didn't often look
in front of anyone as of late, but then again it had barely been a week
since... “How—how are you?”
“Feeling much better, thanks for asking.” Even though the response was
pleasant, a particular flavor of vomit seeped in the back of his throat.
Grinding his heels into his boots, a forced smile parted his lips. Jean nodded
but didn't make any move to leave.
“I uh—” he started, looking everywhere but in Armin's face, before his sigh
lingered in the air. “I know I haven't seen you around lately, and that's good.
I mean, it's good you feel better. Um, fuck, I'm sorry I didn't come see you
before now.”
“Jean.”
“I've just been really busy with so much shit to do, and all these new fucks
around, and the horses and—”
“Jean, Jean!”
“What?!”
A soft snort filtered out, arresting the last of Jean's words as Armin smiled.
More convincing this time. He had to keep up the pleasant face, he didn't want
an apology from him. “It's fine, I understand.” He didn't really, only because
he had never thought Jean had cared enough to want to visit. Then again, with
Marco gone, who did he have left to turn to? Sure, he considered himself Jean's
friend, and when they had the chance they would kill time together, but they
were understandably busy, and an apology was unnecessary. Or rather, Armin
didn't need to hear someone else feeling guilty because of him.
Jean shuffled his feet, shoving his hands in his pockets, a laugh tinged with
nerves dropping from his mouth. “Do you?” he started before glancing down at
his feet. And Armin would have answered, but Jean opened his mouth again.
“Sorry, sorry, that was dumb.” Then he looked up, that fear that brushed his
eyes now gone. “Actually uh, I wanted to ask you something.”
“Oh?” Armin shifted back, waiting.
“Yea, well, there's this kid,” Jean looked down again, something like a blush
passing over his cheeks. “And uh...” silence filled the space between them.
Curiosity peeked, but Armin didn't want to pry. Jean looked as if he was having
trouble speaking – his mouth moving slowly, and his hand wrapping around the
back of his neck – and disturbing him would probably stall his explanation.
Instead, Armin took a silent breath and prayed for patience. He really wanted
to go back to his room before dinner. “Do you,” Jean turned to look at him
again. “You know Diederich? And that firecracker, I think, Mabel?”
Armin didn't hear anything else. Diederich. A chill ran through him, and he
shook his head, disregarding Jean still speaking. His words tumbled from his
mouth before he could think of anything better. “Jean, can we not talk about
him please.”
'GUILT, noun.The condition of one who is known to have committed an
indiscretion, as distinguished from the state of him who has covered his
tracks.'
Jean wouldn't understand, didn't even seem able to understand, as his mouth
snapped shut with confusion between his brows. Of course Armin couldn't try to
explain the vague feeling of dread he got when Deiderich was around. He knew he
wouldn't be able to put into words the subtle threat that was in his eyes.
Sure, Jean knew he was smart, but his feelings towards the boy he barely knew
were in fact, very stupid.
“Oh—okay,” Jean murmured.
“I'm sorry I just...”
“No no,” he interrupted, throwing out his hands. “It's okay I mean, whatever.
Don't worry about it, I was out of line.” And then he rushed off, stalking down
the hallway and around the other corner before Armin could think of a proper
reply. Jean was gone. He had looked...disappointed.
That look haunted him to his room, in his bed, as he laid on his side trying to
blink away the pain in his stomach. He was nauseous. Kind of. Armin couldn’t
say he was anything with any amount of certainty; he didn’t know anymore.
Eren found him in his room for dinner as the sun was finally setting. Armin
wanted to object, to deny the hunger in his gut, but Eren seemed ever-stubborn
and refused to let him miss another meal. He seemed to be hiding a blush as
well, not quite meeting Armin’s gaze as he led him – hand in hand of course –
down to the large hall, Mikasa waiting at the towering wooden doors. The smell
of food hit him like that tree he had hurdled into. He wasn’t so hungry
anymore.
“How are you feeling,” she asked, stepping up to his free side and walking
alongside. “We didn’t mean to leave you alone so long, just…”
“I know,” Armin interrupted. ‘Not another apology, please.’ Sighing, he turned
to her with a strained smile. “Training. I understand, really.” Eren’s hand
tightened around his own. And hedid understand; why did everyone feel it was
necessary to apologize to him about it? Their lives weren’t in their control,
of course. Armin had even ceased to feel bad about being too busy – or too
tired, or too sick, or too angry – to kiss Eren when he wanted to years ago.
There used to be a mutual understanding that their duties came first and yet…
Eren’s grip tugged him out of his rant. Connie was coming up to their left,
eager expression on his face. If Armin hadn’t felt so antisocial, he would have
been glad to see him. How long had it been?
“Hey!” he shouted over the remaining feet of distance, throwing his arms up
into the air. Armin cast him a faint smile. “Haven’t seen you around these
parts in a while huh?” he continued, meandering around a table to walk with
them, albeit backwards.
A dry chuckle jumped from Armin’s lips. “Yeah, sorry about that.” He sounded
like he was pleading.
“Don’t worry about it man,” Connie complied, pummeling a well-meant fist into
Armin’s shoulder, an involuntary flinch tingling through him. Connie still
seemed unable to understand his own strength; it was both heart-warming and
disappointing. How could he be so normal after all that had happened? Wasn’t he
suffering at all? But Armin knew that was a terrible train of thought.
‘Everyone grieves on their own terms,’he told himself, rubbing his shoulder as
he thanked his friend. “We know it’s been rough on you and all. I mean, you
were the one closest to—“ Connie stopped, stuttered then laughed. “Uh, h-how’re
your feet? It’s good to see you walking,” he stumbled, his words softer now, as
he caught himself from backing into the large table behind him.
“Better,” Armin answered, casting a side-long glance at Eren, then Mikasa, then
Eren again, distracted. Mikasa’s gaze hadn’t changed, but Eren looked a little
heated. “I still have a few days until Hanji will let me back in gear.” He
couldn’t help himself running a thumb over Eren’s knuckles, giving his hand a
comforting squeeze. At least, he hoped it was comforting. Eren didn’t seem to
notice.
And then Armin’s steps faltered. His breath locked itself in his lungs. His
vision was on the verge of tunneling. Eren twisted him around, both hands heavy
on his shoulders. He felt like he was watching himself, seeing Mikasa stop and
turn towards him, Connie’s tighter grip on the edge of the table. Was he
breathing? Who was the shaking blond? “Armin?” Oh, right.
Eren’s voice was gritty like sand in his ears. When had he gotten so far away?
The air was thicker here, darker. That scent of pollen and bitter, old blood.
“Armin.”
Armin shuddered, pulling his hands – that felt like boiling lead – up to his
face. Covered it. He didn’t want to see the blood dripping from Eren’s face.
Not again. He pushed his palms into his eyes, taking slow, calculated breaths.
“I’m fine,” he whispered, the feeling melting away like a trail of ice. Those
severed limbs. They were in his mouth. And his dropped his hands, fluid,
tilting his head over his shoulder.
Hair. Dark. Those searching eyes.
Deiderich.
He swallowed hard, turning back to Eren’s broken expression. “I’m okay, sorry,”
he apologized, now that he felt his own skin encasing him. “I just,” he closed
his eyes, “felt a little lightheaded,” he lied.
“It’s because you’re not eating,” Eren warned, though empty. He sounded just as
hopeless as he had back then.
Armin couldn’t reply. Eren’s hands fell to his sides, but Mikasa’s replaced
them for a fleeting moment. An offer of comfort. Then she was next to Eren, and
Armin didn’t miss her fingers going to his. But Armin still wobbled on his
feet, and Eren was quick to grasp his hand again. He didn’t ask. Armin couldn’t
even look at him. Instead, he let his body drift, turning to Connie who looked
between the three of them with a tenseness in his blank stare. Then he smiled,
half-hearted, before saying, “how about we get some food.”
This was so embarrassing. Armin let Eren lead him again, keeping his eyes fixed
on either his boots or his plate of food. ‘Don’t look up, don’t look at him,
don’t look up.’ Though, if he closed his eyes for too long, his stewed meat and
various vegetables looked more and more like the flesh still warm between those
titan’s teeth. He couldn’t get away. The smell, the noises. The wet slaps of
meat on enamel, the rubbery globs of drying blood. He ran a hand through his
hair, groaning to himself. Eren shifted on his right.
“You should eat, Armin,” he spoke low, pressing their shoulders together.
“I know.” But he looked at his food, and then up at all the still-familiar
faces of the dinner table, and he could feel them all looking back at him,
concerned, pitying him. He couldn’t… He didn’t want… What were they… Still,
Armin picked up his fork for the third time, and he saw Eren watching from the
corner of his eye, and he stabbed a carrot and scraped it into his mouth with
his teeth. It was soft, warm, as salty as skin.
He wasn’t going to swallow it, he couldn’t. He couldn’t even chew it. But Eren
was watching, and his thigh was pressed against Armin’s trembling own, and he
knew that if he didn’t eat it then no one was going to stop looking at him,
stop judging his worth on his ability to eat a simple meal. But it wasn’t the
meal — it wasn’t — it was the taste, the texture, the wetness in his mouth, the
feeling in his teeth. It was that it reminded him of Eren, and it was that the
reminder made him wonder again. He didn’t want to wonder.
“You can do this,” Mikasa encouraged from his left, and Armin nodded,
swallowing.
‘LONGEVITY, noun. Uncommon extension of the fear of death.’
“And Hanji started yelling ‘if you go any more backwards you’re gonna get eaten
through a titan’s ass!’ and I swear I saw him start crying!” Sasha was
laughing.
“Right?” Connie chimed in. “I’m pretty sure we’re gonna hear about Hanji’s new
theory about titan digestion evolution or something because of that.” He
sounded quite disgusted.
“Geeze, you know they only got stomachs.” That was Jean, at the end of the
table. His voice sounded strained.
“Shut up horseface, I know that! You know how the Squad Leader is…”
It all faded to silence; his ears were clogged with it, all the chatter. Armin
wanted to contribute, to say something like he used to, but he hadn’t left the
castle grounds in a week, taking care of whatever chores Hanji would leave him
with before everyone else headed out to train. Day after day of being utterly
alone – or, alone enough – left him with nothing to say. Except Diederich. A
scowl tried to crawl its way up until Armin smothered it with another carrot.
His second carrot. This one was undercooked and crunched between his teeth.
Like bone.
“Hey, just breathe ok? You’re fine, it’s fine.” Eren’s voice. He had leaned
over at some point. “Everything’s ok Armin,” he placated, an errant hand
rubbing his back through his shirt.
Armin would have believed him but, “I didn’t know you missed your boyfriend
that much Jaeger!” carried Jean’s voice. That was all Eren needed to turn his
attentions, and in seconds they were yelling at each other. Armin just gave
Eren some room and looked back at his food, sighing. He listened to them argue,
neither saying anything of substance like usual, and an ease of nostalgia
washed over him. Jean was still alive. Eren too. Most of the 104th. It was
almost like they were thirteen again, back in the mess at the barracks and
being reckless children.
No, they still were reckless children.
His fork clattered against his plate. ‘Fuck this. Why am I even here? I’m going
to bed.’ And he had every intention to make true those thoughts, shifting to
push away from the table, but Mikasa wrapped a careful hand around his wrist.
She didn’t speak, only looked at him like an expectant mother would, and Armin
knew then that he was being childish. ‘But,’ he thought, a slew of curses
rushing against his lips as her fingers made him cringe, yet he picked up his
fork again. ‘Stop being a baby, Arlert,’ he sighed to himself, scooping up bits
of meat and shoveling them into his mouth. Mikasa held his hand in hers for two
more bites, and then – satisfied? – she turned back to her own food. Armin
didn’t know why he was being so difficult, making his friends, what was left of
his family, worry over him like a toddler. He had to get himself together. His
food wasn’t going to kill him, nor was it going to ruin the rusting steel trap
that was his resolve. He wasn’t going to be like that again. He didn’t want to
see the fear in Eren’s eyes again, not like that, not because of him.
So he didn’t think as he ate, tried to be sociable as Eren stemmed his anger
while Jean finally shut the fuck up, and he even smiled at Krista and Ymir when
they walked past and offered some words of comfort. Maybe he’d remember them,
maybe he wouldn’t, but it didn’t matter now. He had to get through this; Armin
Arlert was not weak. He wasn’t going to be bested by his emotions, not now, not
when that titan massacre was drifting farther and farther from his memory – was
it? – and he could barely remember most of his trainee days – really? – and he
wasn’t eager to kiss and sleep with Eren any longer – yeah right – and lastly,
when he needed to be able to look Diederich in the eye and not falter. It
didn’t make any sense, and Armin wanted to make sense of it, but he had to
gather himself first, had to find all those pieces he knew were missing long
ago. He needed them now; how could he do it?
“Armin, you alright?” Eren’s voice again. He looked up, finding a smile in his
eyes again. Thank god. His heart fluttered; he missed those. “You’ve been
starring for a while.”
Sounds left his mouth, but he couldn’t form a complete sentence. His meal was
mostly eaten – good – and Armin just nodded. “Yeah,” he tried again. “Just
thinking.”
It wasn’t until he was standing in the kitchen, washing up his dishes with Eren
behind him that he realized something. Something he didn’t realize he could
have felt. He was lonely. Completely, utterly, desperately lonely. Armin let
his hands in the sink, pruning under the soapy water, as he systematically took
apart the feeling. He wasn’t alone, not with Eren and Mikasa always thinking
and taking care of him. And even though he had limited contact with everyone as
of late, he had never felt the coolness pooling in his stomach, the hollowness
in his chest, until now.
He turned, watching Eren stack his plate with the others, and he shifted to see
Mikasa drying the flatware. She looked up to him, and he turned his gaze back
to the sink, moving his hands again to at least look like he was trying. The
lamps burned dull, orange and acrid smelling. The ones in Levi’s room didn’t
smell this bad.
Levi. He had been gone two entire days. Why…did that matter? But the pang in
his chest was verification enough. ‘I miss him,’ he thought, rinsing the late
plate and shaking the suds from his fingers. ‘I miss him and I don’t want to. I
don’t want this pain in my chest because of him.’ But that wasn’t it. Not all
of it. He didn’t want to hurt him, didn’t want to sink his teeth into flesh and
tear out chunks of him too. Armin would tear him apart if he could – and he
knew he could – and if he ruined Humanity’s Strongest, what would be left for
them?
It had all been a terrible, terrible mistake. The sex. Why?
Footsteps rang in his ears, as if he needed more things to think about. But
Hanji burst through the doors, looking positively elated before standing in the
middle of the kitchen, surveying all three of them. Armin was the last to give
a sub-par salute, but the expression on Hanji’s face didn’t change. “Armin!
Great news!”
Was he supposed to speak? Hanji looked at him expectantly, then seemed to think
better of it. “Actually, great news for all of you! Commander Erwin and
Corporal Levi are coming back from Sina a day early. Apparently they overstayed
their welcome.” A low chuckle. “In any sorts, Armin, they’re gonna wanna meet
with you sometime tomorrow, so be on your toes.”
Armin could only nod, letting the information wash over him.
Eren was next. “And you!” He backed away, one step, but Hanji only grabbed at
his hands. “I have some plans for you!” Eren swallowed, looking over to him for
what was probably help, but Armin couldn’t move, let alone speak. “Don’t you
worry Eren, you’ll be in good hands as always!”
Hanji continued to talk. Eren continued to look more and more concerned. Armin
felt that coolness in his bowels turn to ice. Levi was coming back. He would
see him again, that fucking scowl. But he wanted to talk to him? That
meant…another expedition. Titans. Did the Commander tell the officers in Sina
what they had seen? Did they tell them… A shudder shook him. No, that didn’t
matter. What mattered was that the Commander may have gotten his plans
approved, which meant a tactical meeting tomorrow, which meant discussing the
supply line once again, which meant…titans. More titans. Why did it have to
betitans?
“Oh, and Armin,” Hanji called. “You’re on breakfast duty with Deiderich and
Reiner tomorrow.”
Armin could have cried.
Chapter End Notes
     Definitions curiosity of The Devil's Dictionary.
     Sorry for taking half a year to get this out. Stuff is happening. I
     dunno if you can see it, but it's happening. I'm kinda excited.
***** Chapter 8 *****
Chapter Notes
     oops i took 8 years to write this chapter; i'm so sorry. life got
     hard, but here i am updating again! i'm hoping to get back on a roll
     and grind out some more chapters but we'll see. have fun reading this
     bullshit cuz i know i sure do
If there was anything Armin hated more than waking up before the break of dawn
to dress himself and shuffle down into the kitchen with half-lidded eyes, it
was to wake up on time and skid into the kitchens with Reiner and Diederich
waiting on him. It could have been anyone else, anyone but Diederich. But Armin
grinned because he knew he had to bear it, greeting them both with a raspy
“good morning” and a yawn.
“Didn't sleep much?” Reiner asked, his voice echoing the small room. Armin only
groaned. No, no he really hadn't. Sleep wouldn't come to him between the aches
in his bones, the shrieks in his head, and the knowledge that he had to face
the one person he had an irrational fear of and another who sent him into fits
of anxiety and arousement. Not today. So he got to work. It was still too
early, the sun casting weak rays of light through the windows. Someone
obviously had been slacking on their cleaning duties, as they were covered with
streaks. He made a mental note to clean them after breakfast if he could
remember. Reiner's voice then broke through his thoughts. “Armin, you got a
handle on the oatmeal, right?”
“Mmhm.” The pot clattered as he placed it on the hot metal of the stove.
Considering its size, he bent and tossed a few more chunks of wood into the
open door. The already burning wood cracked with a plume of smoke and embers;
Armin shut it.
A chuckle from Reiner. “Great. D, can you hold this for me?” Footsteps.
Chatter. The clink of utensils.
Armin closed his eyes, intent of finding the metal tin of dry oats instead of
listening to his comrades. Well, comrade. Turning on his heel, he stepped
closer to the line of shelves mounted to the wall, scanning the containers as
if they were labeled and he could see through them to the contents. The names
had rubbed off in thick smears again, fingerprints of black scattered on each
surface. He sighed to himself, resorting to systematically choosing, shaking
and opening each container. This could have been so much easier. Why couldn't
someone simply rewrite the contents on the lid? At least then there would be
less of a chance for them to rub off. It was only logical. With sore fingers
the first lid finally popped. A sigh.
Rice.
Two canisters more and Armin found the oats, staring into the large tin to find
it almost half empty. Great. Rations of course had been in effect ever since
the Commander gathered up his surplus of off-season recruits, but this was a
little too far. He'd have to thin it. Three years ago he had always thought the
just-enough meals were a large disappointment – weren't soldiers well-fed? -
but he'd soon realized that they had no choice but to make do, and it was
better than trying to fend for himself within the Walls. The Survey Corps lived
in a perpetual shortage of funds, supplies, and sometimes even basic
necessities; making do was what he was best at.
Right, the oatmeal. The large pot sent off tendrils of smoke, unable to make
progress with breakfast considering there was no water in it; this was the way
Armin liked it. “Armin!”
Fuck.
“W-what” he stuttered, his skin tingling, “Reiner?”
“You trying to burn the place down or what?” The question came tinted with
curiosity.
“Of course not,” Armin answered, sure not to face him as he scrambled to
measure out bowlfuls of oats and dumping them into the hot vessel. “I had to
find the oats. The names are gone again.” He turned this time, a half smile
painted on, and Reiner reacted preferably. He had a few choice words on the
lack of labels as well, bemoaned the general inconvenience of things, and went
back to cracking eggs. What a luxury. And Diederich, he was stirring something
in a large bowl. Fine. So long as he left him alone. Even from behind, Armin
was sure he was somehow looking at him.
He turned back to his pot, stirring the toasting grains. The nutty smell of
cooking oats didn't do much for his appetite, instead, the memory of his
grandfather cooking him a creamy bowl of this stuff for him bringing a faint
smile to his face. His heart twisted; he missed him so much. 'Water,' he
thought. With the metal being so hot, it didn't take long for it to boil. He
covered it, rubbed his face and steeled himself. “Do you guys need anything?”
“Nah,” Diederich spoke, looking over his shoulder to give Armin a toothy smile.
“We got this, right?” He nudged Reiner with his elbow, another crooked smile on
his lips.
“Yeah, I think we're good.”
What a relief. “Okay, good. The stove is open for a bit so, I'm going to clean
the windows.” And he did, listening to the eggs cook in the pan on the stove as
the oatmeal boiled. Anything to keep from looking Diederich in the face. And
yet, Diederich was mostly silent, taking care of his own business with Reiner
and being all around pleasant. Even though he didn't want to be surprised, for
some reason he had expected something less savory. The uneasy feeling lessened,
but even with him not talking, Armin knew he had to be planning, calculating
like himself. But what was it? Why was he so hooked on this boy?
He dropped his rags in the bucket, the water sloshing at his feet but not
spilling. The windows looked marginally better, and he was thankful he didn't
have to sweep the entire kitchen floor. Reiner was laughing. Diederich too. It
felt odd, almost cold, as he watched them from behind. Even though Reiner
dwarfed Diederich – like he did with most people – his wide stance looked
harmless next to him. It was as if Diederich held some secret strength, his
only tell an aura that surrounded him. But he was so friendly! Armin shook his
head, bending down and picking up his bucket. He emptied it outside, the sudsy
water channeling trails through the dirt. A gush of fresh air swept through the
open door. Early morning dew. Armin yawned again.
“Hey Arlert! I think the slop is done!” Reiner's laugh echoed through the
halls.
In the end, breakfast duty proved itself to be uneventful. At least to Armin's
current standards. Reiner may have almost burned himself on the heavy stock pot
as he carried it out into the dining hall, but that wasn't unusual. The hall
had filled up fast as the sun breached over the trees, and their chatter could
be heard echoing the castle. Hopefully he had made enough food; breakfast was
always rowdy – especially if Eren was up – but he knew what it felt like to run
out of food before everyone had made it downstairs. He had done it more than
once. Though, it was usually the fault of poor Sasha being on duty and helping
herself before she could even finish cooking.
Having been lost in thought – yet again – he didn't notice Reiner had returned
and gathered up all the bowls and spoons until he looked up from washing his
last bowl and found them all missing from their resting place on the counter.
Realization shot through him: he was alone. With Diederich. “Armin?” Speak of
the devil. Panic fluttered in his chest – a bird in a cage - but he swallowed
it down, hands wringing his clothe under the cover of bubbles. Calm down, calm
down. He can't hurt you.
“Yes?” he asked, relieved that his voice didn't waver. Diederich appeared in
his peripheral, but Armin made sure not to look up, washing and rewashing and
doing his best to look busy. But he still felt eyes on him.
“Pretty dirty, huh?” A chuckle. Armin hesitated.
“Uh, hah, yeah I guess it is.” Fuck. Shit. Fuck. He felt on fire, the light-
headedness of complete panic burning through him. Armin turned on the faucet –
his hands were shaking weren't they? - rinsed the bowl, reached for the plug in
the murky water. Diederich stepped closer – probably wondering why he wasn't
talking like a decent human being - but his presence suffocated him. Armin
willed himself away, his body tilting as far from the other boy as possible; he
tugged the chain, popping the rubber from the drain, and the water swirled. The
silence was unnerving, his stomach churning and rumbling, the bowl in his hands
shaking, and it was all so embarrassing. He was being irrational, ignoring
someone who may end up saving his life one day. He could at least be amicable.
But he couldn't, the words dried up in his mouth. So he didn't look up as he
rinsed the bowl – again, he realized later – and suddenly a hand was placed
over his own. Armin lurched away, the bowl shattering against the floor, his
feet moved backwards, over themselves, and the room tilted upside-down.
“Shit, are you okay?”
How could he answer. This was, this was bullshit. “Y-yeah,” he muttered,
bolting up coming inches too close to ramming foreheads with Diederich as he
kneeled over him. “Oh God, I'm sorry,” Armin continued, feeling his face
ignite. Why was he apologizing? What the hell even; why was he so jumpy?
“I didn't mean-” bled Diederich's voice, concern drifting in waves.
“No no, I mean, I'm just-”
“Here,” Diederich offered his hand, dripping wet. “Lemme help you up.”
What. What? Armin took his hand – as if it were the only possible option - let
his body be hefted to its feet. His hand was firm, similar to the Commander's
handshake, but he didn't let go. Armin fumbled on his toes before he steadied,
saying “thanks-” in the hope of ending the skin-on-skin contact, but as he
looked up into those strange brown eyes again, he felt ill. Really ill. The
brown in Diederich's eyes splotched blood-red, seeped and overtook his irises,
spreading, weaving, covering his face completely, blood oozing from his mouth.
Armin was throwing up, curled over the sink and vomiting as if his stomach
wanted to come out as well. There wasn't anything, there never was, but his
head was ringing again and the screaming was back. He didn't know how it came
to this. Everything was back, flooding the room, drowning him in it, and Armin
found himself coughing and he felt Diederich's hand on his back rubbing what
must have been meant to be soothing circles. Diederich's body draped over his
own – a buckle digging into his back, the tawny khaki of a sleeve slipping
across him, the press of leather straps against his thighs - a mouth sliding up
to his ear.
“I know what you are.”
Armin gagged, a violent cough following it, but before he could turn his head
to look the other boy in the face, to question that loaded sentiment that was
put out into the world so innocently, he was gone. Vanished. Fuck. He sighed
into the sink, trembling, feeling weaker than ever. His knees ached, ankles
hissing as he twisted and turned so he could wash his vomit down the drain. The
running water rinsed his hands, and he wiped his mouth when he heard footsteps
approaching. Reiner appeared in the doorway, hands empty but eyes widening as
he gazed on him.
“Armin, fuck, are you alright?” Reiner took two strides to help Armin lean
against the sink. “You're white, what happened?” He continued to stare, keeping
his heavy hands on his shoulders.
Armin shook his head, the weakness fading but his mind was still slow. Reiner
felt like a boulder strapped to him. “I don't know. I felt sick.” He swallowed,
rubbing his eyes before glancing up at Reiner's concerned face. “I'm okay now.”
His whole body shook. “I gotta,” he looked away, he ran a hand through his
hair. “I gotta go meet with the Commander so.” He trailed off, watching the
concern melting into hesitance until Reiner finally released him.
“Be careful,” he said, sending him off with a pat on the back. “Don't need you
running into anymore trees!”
A dry laugh scratched up his throat. “Yeah.” He shook his head once he turned
the corner, arms latching onto elbows while the nausea settled. What was that,
exactly? Nightmares he could understand, but now he was hallucinating during
the day? And not only was it a visual hallucination, but an auditory one? What
he heard Diederich say, it didn't make sense. It couldn't make sense. He
couldn't know anything, nothing at all. There was nothing to know. But that
didn't dissuade his nerves, and no matter how many times he told himself that
everything was fine as he skipped breakfast and climbed the stairs to the
Commander's office, all he could do was pace the hallway until he felt that
enough time had passed. Once it felt like he would be expected, he knocked on
the door. “It's Arlert, sir.”
A beat of silence. “Come in.” The large desk, filled with papers and maps and
charts and graphs, never ceased to impress him. He loved it, the fragrant
display of intelligence. The musty smell of dust and rotting vanilla. He
cracked the door, slipping in with a hasty salute and pushing the door closed
with his foot. He winced as the muscle pulled and spasmed, but that was all.
The Commander's desk did, in fact, seem to span towards him today, the maps and
scribbles he had written himself scattered across the top of a topography map
that dipped off its wooden edges. Mottled sunlight and dust motes, an impatient
tapping of leather on wood, and a blue, bleary-eyed smile. “Please, sit.”
Armin shuffled forward, averting his eyes from the Corporal lounging in his own
plush – though threadbare – seat. He took the only empty one, shoved into the
bookshelves and covered in a particularly thick layer of dust. When was the
last time he had been in here? Dragging the chair over to the closest corner of
the desk, he sat, a plume of detritus blooming around him. “Welcome back Sirs,”
he said in something softer than a whisper. His face flushed again.
Levi didn't reply, Armin didn't notice any movement at all expect for his still
tapping foot, however Erwin cleared his throat. “Thank you. How are you
feeling? Better?”
Armin shrugged, then remembered he wanted to be respectful. “As good as could
be expected.”
Erwin seemed pleased enough, the slant of his mouth uplifting for a moment
before he spoke again. “Good. Then, to get on to what we need to discuss. As
you know Arlert, our coming excursion will probably be the last attempt at
completing this supply line. I've taken a look over your notes, and I would
like to clarify some things.”
“Of course.”
Large hands clasped atop the papers. “We've been granted the funds for one last
run, and I know you're concerned – as we all are – about the,” a pause. A
clearing of the throat. “The incident that was our last excursion.”
“Suicide run,” the Corporal spit under his breath.
“It was out of our control,” Erwin tempered, but Levi crossed his arms with a
smoldering frown.
The Commander was right, it had been out of their control. But Levi too, he had
no reason to say anything different. It had been a massacre; white-knuckled,
ear-searing, stomach-clenching horror. Surrounded, chased down and picked off
like ants. They were lucky to be alive. Armin didn't feel very lucky.
Erwin leaned back in his chair. “Regardless, we don't want a repeat of that.
However,” Armin stiffened, “we're going to capture that abnormal if we are to
run into it again.” Oh. Oh fuck. Was he breathing? No, no, he knew this would
happen.
Levi was speaking, possibly yelling, but Armin heard waves. “You can't expect
this kid to face that again,” the words were hot and sharp.
“Of course not. There's a contingency plan.”
It didn't matter, it really didn't matter. Armin's breaths came short, tongue
swollen and heart pounding. He knew. He knew and ignored it, but he knew. Its
speed, potential brain processes, abilities to adapt and change to hunt and
consume its target...it could possibly be studied, there could be something to
learn, but by the Walls he didn't want to see that crooked smile again. How
many would die this time? Would this be his last mission? Eren's? Mikasa's?
“Okay,” he wheezed, interrupting whatever Levi had been saying about 'wasting
lives' or some such thing. “Okay, what do we have to do?”
Erwin paused, Levi turning to glance at him before leaning back into his chair
again. Then the Commander smiled. “Let me elaborate.”
And it was an hour. Two. Rewrites and re-plans and calculations. Headaches,
frustration, strategy and the Corporal's consistent distaste for the entire
affair. He didn't approve of their “side quest,” so he said, and seemed ready
at every opportunity to chastise the Commander on his particular flavor of
insanity. Still, he helped, and as the afternoon sun rolled around the
distorted window panes, Armin sat himself down again with a sigh.
“This is the best we can do,” he stated. It felt like he had said that eight
times already. “We don't have enough supplies to do more than establish the
base. If we were to encounter that...abnormal, the best course of action is
distraction. We have to keep it away from the supplies. That outlier line is
the best chance; if they see it before we do, they'll be able to keep it at
bay.” Armin tangled his fingers in his hair. He felt like he was sending his
friends to their deaths. “I don't see any other way.”
“We'll equip them with additional flares,” Erwin started, gazing at the map as
he spoke. “If we keep most of the group on this outer side, away from the
trees, then we will all be within eyesight.” Armin nodded. What else could he
do now? He didn't have anything else to say. “Armin, I want you to lead the
supply group.” Erwin placed a finger on the map. Then he slid it off to the
left. “I will lead the outer line,” he tapped his finger. “I will take Hanji,
Eren, and a few more select soldiers with me. Levi, you stay with Arlert and
the rest; they are our main objective, and shouldn't cause a problem for either
of you.” And Erwin looked up, blue eyes meeting blue and all Armin could do was
nod again.
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. I think you've done enough today, cadet.”
“Yea kid, get outta here.”
Armin would have laughed, but he stood instead, relieved to know he could get
out of this now stuffy office, but also terrified for his friends. “Right.
Thank you.” Another salute, a few long strides to the door and he was gone. Yet
the hallway didn't give him the fresh air he thought it would. People shuffled
around him, wet rags and mops and other supplies in hand; busy. Now what was he
going to do? He couldn't tell Eren, he would be infuriated with the idea of
capturing that thing. If he heard it from the Commander's mouth – if he heard
it at all – maybe he'd be more willing to accept it.
Armin hoped a book would ease his mind.
***** Chapter 9 *****
Chapter Notes
     i'm on a roll so i figured i wouldn't wait. does this make up for
     those long long months without an update? no? crap.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
No books, no chapters, no words eased Armin's mind. If thoughts of the coming
trek beyond the Walls didn't suffocate him, then worry for Eren, for Jean,
Mikasa, Ymir, did. Then the fading bruises. The pain in his ankles. The sticky
scent of blood and flesh that permeated the barracks. The state of calm he
wanted so desperately eluded him, slipped through his fingers over and over
again as he paced the stables, waiting. He waited for the sound of hooves
digging into the grass, the chatter of impatient friends ready to clean up and
get food in their stomachs. He waited, but no one came; not a noise reached his
ears except the huffs of the stabled horses and the wind that blew through. The
sun hadn't even reached midway across the sky, of course no one would be
coming. “What are you thinking?” he sighed to himself. Lack of sleep made him
dull. He had to shake these frantic thoughts, but how?
Count. Breathe. Count the inhales. Take a step. Take two. Count out the length
of the stables. No, keep moving, don't stand still. “Don't give yourself time
to think.” Straight lines, look, each door, each panel of wood, straight though
warping. No, no, there were horses everywhere, galloping to safety, leaving
everyone unlucky enough to have fallen off alone, to death. Like him. He had
fallen off, swiped from his horse like a rag doll, rolling head over head again
and again, unable to tell ground from sky, and he laid there.
'No, think of something else,' he reprimanded, his pace quickening. The scuff
of his boots on dirt. He could smell the earth, the bugs and the pollen and the
mud as he laid there, praying, listening to the dying screams of those around
him. Armin shook his head. “Don't,” he whispered, “please don't not now.” But
now was the time, the darkness that encased that night, their flee into the
setting sun only to be chased by hammering footsteps, inhuman, monstrous howls.
The yelling of commands – scatter, go go go, don't look back, keep going, no
help us, no no no no, we have to save them, why is this happening what do we do
what do we do what do we do – it pounded in his head. His knees shook, hay
under his feet, unable to tell the difference between the musty dirt of the
stables and the windswept mud of his nightmares.
I know what you are. I know what you are. I know what you are I know what you
are I know what youareIknowwhatyouareIknowIknowIknowIknow.
Armin couldn't escape now. His horse had left him, its retreating hoofbeats
taking his heart with them. His last hope leaving him behind. He thought of
Eren, of if he had managed to get away, if he was with everyone else. The titan
had burst through the trees, scattering the formation like marbles. Erwin
shouted orders, Levi was the first off the ground to fight. Armin's horse
reared up, taking all his strength to keep it from bolting.
That day, the sun had set red-orange, fiery and hopeful. They'd make it back to
Maria before it disappeared into darkness. But the trees rustled. The lookouts
– a group of five – barreled towards them, screaming and waving their arms. Two
horses ran without riders.
“Titan! Abnormal!”
It echoed, the formation lurching into a gallop in haste. 'We have to outrun
it, we have to get away.' Panic rose, resurfacing the memories of Annie hunting
them down all over again, but as Armin turned towards the sound of breaking
trees on his right, he knew this was worse. It was large, humanoid in shape,
yet its spine stretched into a boney, elongated line like a pipe. Arms and legs
nearly double the length of its body – sinewy skin, veiny and steaming, sharp,
pointed elbows and expansive hands with webbed fingers - it crawled with a
crooked smile, flat human teeth and tongue. A lungful of air caught in Armin's
throat. He was going to shout, tell the lookouts to swerve, to just get away,
but the titan's long arm stretched out, plucked them from their horses and
swallowed them whole. A blink and they were gone. Was that him screaming? He
couldn't look, yanking his eyes away from the scrambling horses. He heard it,
the sound of breaking ground and panicked animals; the horses were gone,
vanished, a splatter of red in his peripheral vision.
No one was supposed to fight it, they were only ordered to run. The whizz of
maneuver gear erupted around him – the idiots – and another chorus of screams.
Scatter. Blood. Everyone scattered, any direction viable as long as it was way
from that thing. But it shook the ground, racing up to them, picking off anyone
too close. And the ones in the air trying to prove their worth, they peeled no
skin from the titan. Simply the crushing of bones and gushing of blood and
organs before they were silenced. Armin didn't dare look. He could see it in
his head.
The sun seemed to be setting too fast, the Walls never close enough, and the
titan always closer. Even though Eren had shifted, he didn't seem able to stop
it. The open plains were receding to rocky ground, obstacles slowing everyone's
retreat. Eren couldn't protect them.
Armin didn't know what happened. One moment he was steering his horse towards
the trees, and the next a long, sinewed arm came swinging. It missed by what
felt like inches, but his horse spooked, a frantic buck of its back legs and he
was out of control. His horse veered around, the carnage he had wanted to avoid
backhanding him in the face. They were close, Eren and the thing. People were
still going in all directions, the only sound the growls and howls of the two
titans locked in their death grip blasting across the plains. There were still
a few trying to dig their blades into its neck, but none of them managed. They
were crushed instead. Eren wasn't winning.
Horses lay sprawled around him in bits and pieces, bloodied cloaks and boots
and body parts resting nearby. His horse picked its way through, trampling some
and avoiding others. There was another cry and everything went dark as
something – Armin really didn't know – came hurdling through the air, colliding
with him.
Tumbling. Yeah, he was tumbling through the air, hitting the ground, rolling
and bruising and coughing. He felt the grass dig into this clothes, irritate
his nose. His horse, it was gone. Galloping to freedom. Erwin's voice, a blast
of heat, and it was much more quiet. But still, that ground shaking gait; Eren
hadn't killed it. It was still alive.
It stayed that way, attacking everything that moved, following whoever was left
to the Walls. It passed him by, dripping blood and gore, gnawing on the remains
of people he barely knew. Maybe. He watched it skin a soldier alive, snap their
limbs and slurp them slow. He listened to their deaths, each one a horror-
filled shriek that ended with the same choking sound. It was dark. So dark.
Why was it so dark?
A familiar scent drifted to him. Old bed linens and young bodies. Oh, right. He
lifted his sheets from his face, staring at the splintered bunk above him.
Eren. He lay beside him, fast asleep, face too young and still peaceful. But
there were flaming red indents on his neck, ones only Mikasa knew about. Bite
marks from him. And Armin licked his lips, turning over to nestle closer to him
and his scent, all the while opening his mouth wide. Wider.
Eat him.
“Arlert?”
Eat him. Eat him.
A hand clasped his shoulder, a strike of lightening on skin and Armin jumped,
swiveling on his heel as he found himself kneeling in a corner, his hands on
his ears. “What's wrong?” Armin blinked. The world swam in front of him.
“Arlert, what's wrong?”
Oh. “N-nothing!” he squeaked, glancing up to see the Corporal standing above
him. He looked back to his knees, waited for the hand to release him before he
stood, head down. “I'm okay now, sir.” He looked up.
A frown greeted him, a pause as Levi seemed to compose himself. “No, I don't
think you are.” He crossed his arms over his chest, surveying him. “Why are you
hunched up in a corner?”
“Um...” Armin couldn't answer. His mouth moved, but no words appeared. He kept
his eyes on Levi, who, when he seemed to realize he wouldn't get an answer,
shifted his weight and let his arms drop. The less threatening stance put off a
strange comfort, and he chewed his lip.
“That's fine.” Armin saw a flash of something cross Levi's face. Concern? Pity?
He swiped his fringe with his hand before grimacing. Was that because of him?
Did the Corporal find him so disgusting? Armin moved to ask, but Levi turned
around and started walking. “You look like you could use some rest,” he called
over his shoulder, voice dropping and smooth. “Stop thinking about what's out
there,” he motioned his head towards the Walls. “And worry about yourself for
once.”
“Yessir.”
A huff. Levi's boots stalled and he turned again. “Goddammit Arlert. If you're
not okay you need to tell me. Tell someone. Don't let us assume you're fine;
I've seen too many good soldiers go out that way, and you're mind is too sharp
for that. You're an asset.”
Armin shuffled his heels in the dirt. An asset? Maybe. The Commander must have
put him up to this. “Thankyousir,” he muttered, giving Levi a salute and
turning to leave. As quickly as possible. He didn't wait to hear if the
Corporal was angry with him leaving, he didn't wait to see if he would follow,
he just had to get away. Anywhere. Out. Just out.
He barricaded himself in the lonely, dusty library again, piling book after
book atop the worn table. Books about plants, old world medicines, works of
fiction and dictionaries. Medical textbooks. Books on titan anatomy. He piled
it all up, taller than himself, reading each title, touching the spines and
placing them just so. If he had seen anyone in this library in the months he
had been here, Armin would have worried about his actions. But it was always
empty, waiting for someone. Just him. So the mess didn't matter, and really
what mattered at all? He could be dead soon. Everyone could be gone.
Life was fragile.
Like skin over bone. One misstep and it's exposed.
The sun set, Armin finding comfort in the darkness. And then a knock on the
door. “I know you're in there,” Mikasa's flat voice leaking through the wood.
Armin shuffled his way the door, wondering why she didn't just open it, but
pulled the door handle letting the ambient lantern light into the room. Mikasa
stood before him, eyebrow raised. “Are you hungry?”
Armin shook his head, remembering his dinner of stewed fingers – no, carrots –
before. “Not really.” He smiled. Would she leave it?
She tilted her head, her eyes softening as she took a light hold on his arm.
“Let's talk.” She pulled him from the doorway, taking his hand as she led him
from the library, back through the darkened hallways and back to his room. She
twisted the knob, pushed open the door and released him. Armin went first. She
wouldn't be letting him leave, her focus palpable around her. Armin leaned
against the nearest wall, sighing to himself as she let herself in and shut the
door.
“Mikasa...” he let out in a half-groan. “If you're worried about me-”
“Of course I'm worried about you.” The statement stung. “Armin, everyone is
worried about you.” Mikasa didn't move, but she frowned, one hand fingering the
end of her scarf. “Eren is worried, I'm worried. Very worried.”
No. No they couldn't be. They shouldn't be. A sinister laugh bubbled up his
throat. “But I'm fine,” he chuckled. “Everything is fine.” Had to be. But
Mikasa didn't seem to believe him, taking a step forward and grasping both his
hands. She hadn't done that in years.
“Armin,” her words brushed against him like fleece. “It's okay. You can tell
me.”
Hadn't she said that before? Days ago. Years too. Deja vu washed warm over him.
It smelled like old wood. Hazy memories of dark rooms, naked skin, familiar
scents and an overbearing exhaustion. “I don't have anything to tell,” he
denied with a shrug, keeping his gaze level. “Sorry.”
Mikasa didn't budge however, encroaching into his space, a faint smile on her
lips. “Then what's this?” She folded down the collar of his shirt before he
could blink, running her cool fingers against the fading bruise that encircled
his neck. Yeah, his face was getting hot. “And this?” She flipped the hand she
held, tugging his sleeve and exposing the welts melting into his wrist. She
looked at him, firm, waiting for an answer.
Nothing. No air. Armin's throat closed up, face burning, ready to run. She
cornered him. He couldn't fight this. His inhale shook him to the core. “It's
nothing, I mean, it's fine. It doesn't hurt.” Pathetic.
“So you can't tell me,” she breathed, a deep pit of sorrow swelling in her
eyes. Mikasa leaned in, wrapping her arms around his trembling shoulders. She
breathed him in, and Armin smelled the softness in her hair. “I don't know what
you're doing, and that's okay,” she spoke into his shoulder. “You don't have to
tell me. I just want you to be okay.”
Armin held back a sob. He couldn't cry now, not after keeping his secret for so
long. But his mouth felt like it would blubber if he spoke, and if he blinked
he wouldn't be able to stop the tears. He mimicked her, relaxing into her hug
and burying his face in her jacket. “Thank you,” croaked out. “Please don't
worry.”
“Are you having those urges again?”
“No.” Armin's answer rang in his head – such blatant denial – but it sounded
forceful like he was telling the truth. His fingers dug into Mikasa's jacket,
and he felt her arms tighten around him.
“If you do, come to me first.”
Hurt. It hurt. “I will.” But really? Armin had already put it behind him.
Right? He wouldn't...do that anymore. It wasn't worth it. Eren didn't deserve
it. He couldn't do it anymore. A thought echoed again: 'eat him'.
Mikasa shifted, her shoulders pulling back and her arms loosening. She fixed a
steady gaze on him, molten emotions that Armin couldn't decipher. “Promise?”
He nodded. “Of course.”
She didn't let him go, unwrapping herself from him. “Then let's go eat.” And
she pulled him, and Armin didn't have the strength to fight her about it. He
didn't need to bring more attention to himself, he just wanted to be alone and
think. Yet the thoughts, he had no control over them; what was the point? He
was restless. Being unable to train was affecting him more than he thought.
Right? He'd fought so hard to keep this down for so long, he couldn't lose now.
Yet, even Eren's infectious smile couldn't being Armin out from the circle he
was running in. What if what if what if?
The plate of food sitting in front of him, Armin couldn't identify it. He heard
conversations from across the long table, but words meant nothing. Eren pressed
himself into his hip, casting half smiles and wondering eyes. Mikasa leaned
back to examine him every few breaths. Whatever was in his mouth tasted like
sawdust, gritty, bitter and thick. It didn't matter. None of this mattered.
Levi had told him to tell someone. How could he? He'd be kicked from the Corps,
hands down, and then what would they do with him? Lock him away in a small
little cell and feed him the same three meals every day? No, he couldn't tell
anyone.
“Um, excuse me?” came a light voice.
Eren turned but stayed silent. Armin turned too, noticing the darkness in
Eren's eyes before he switched his gaze. Black curly hair caught his attention
first; Armin was looking into the green-brown eyes of the girl standing in
front of him. “Hello,” he replied, as if she demanded it.
She looked at him, starred really, before she asked, “are you Armin?”
“Yes?” His hesitance palpitated his heart. She seemed to pull his answers from
him.
She stuck out her hand – small – and tilted her hips back. “I'm Mable. Nice to
meet you in person.”
Her hand drew him in; he shook it with light fingers. “Ah, in person?”
Mable smiled. “Jean has told me a lot about you.” His name sounded so natural
from her mouth. She nodded her head towards him before releasing Armin's hand
and placing them behind her back. Her voice didn't fit her face, the spun-sugar
sweetness odd coming from a face that had such piercing eyes. She reminded him
of Erwin, always a step ahead. Then he heard Jean shout in recognition to her,
and she gave a smile with a wave but didn't move.
Eren bristled, Armin felt it on the back of his neck. But Mable. That sounded
so familiar. “Has he?” Armin strained to keep his expression blank.
“Mmhm, like how nice and smart you are,” she said, the innocent look on her
face not matching up with the sinister undertone in her voice. A loud bashing
disturbed the room, someone started yelling and Armin was about to turn around
and look – naturally everyone else had as well – until he felt Mabel slip her
small hands over his shoulders and whispered something that forced his stomach
into his bowels. “And about how much cock you suck.”
What.
What was this? Who was this girl? What was she even talking about? What did she
know? What was she referencing? Who told her that. What? Why? A deep breath
filled his lungs and Mable slipped away, bidding goodbye to their side of the
table as she strolled away. No one else seemed to notice. What a convenient
distraction. Was that paranoia talking? What were the chances? What the fuck
was going on? He looked to Eren who glared at Jean for reasons unknown. Mikasa
chatted with Krista beside her, or at least that's what it seemed. Connie sat a
distance away, and he had all his attention on Sasha. The new kids, they
crowded together near the end of the table, unrecognizable faces that didn't
bat an eyelash at him. It was like they had already forgotten Mable had been
talking to them.
Speaking of, Mable passed across from him, slipped into at seat at the table,
turning to say something to the boy beside her. Oh. Diederich. Armin
remembered. Jean had mentioned her...yesterday? He shook his head. All the days
ran together. But Jean wanted to talk to him about her, and he had shut him
down. Did he tell her? Was she angry with him? Was that what this was? Some
kind of revenge for ignoring them? It couldn't be, he wasn't important enough
for them to bother, but the words echoed in his head. 'I know what you are. I
know about how much cock you suck.' Ridiculous. It was so childish! They were
children, remember? Armin always found himself forgetting. He was only fifteen.
Eren was fifteen. Mikasa too. Everyone was around the same age, and they were
children. Except for him. He didn't feel much like a child anymore; how could
he? He had ruined his innocence years ago.
Armin brought his hands up to cover his face, hoping the warmth and darkness
would soothe him. They didn't mean anything by it. They were just harassing
him. If he left it alone they'd get bored and do something else. But his heart
still stuttered when he thought about it. If they started spreading
rumors...what would happen then? Could he cover all that up? What if...what if
they did know. What if they knew about all of it? With the Corporal. What if
they knew what he did to him? Levi would stay, he would have to stay, he was
important. He himself would go. Back to the streets? No, please, not there.
He had to know what they knew.
At any cost.
But what would he do. He had to do it alone, he had to leave the facade of
comfort Eren's body was giving him, and he had to escape Mikasa's gaze, and too
many thoughts whirled in his head. He ate his food. Tasteless. He couldn't keep
his eyes off Mable. Diederich too. And they watched him as well, taking to each
other. He had to ask them. It would be better to face them now than try and
ignore them. But his stomach hurt, and when Armin cast a pointed glance across
the table to Diederich then the large double doors, he gave a curt nod and
turned to Mable. This was it.
Armin slid from the table, apologizing for leaving so early, keeping a slow
pace to the kitchen to hand off his dishware. Across the table, Diederich stood
up as well, not giving Armin a glance. But he heard the footsteps behind him as
he walked, that prickling feeling of being followed flaring on his back. This
didn't feel right. He rounded the corner, taking note of the three recruits
working to keep up with the dishes. Commit it to memory, map a route for
escape. He slipped his plate in the filling sink without a word, sidestepping
Diederich on the way out.
Where to go...where would be quiet enough? Armin continued to walk the empty
corridors, heading to laundry. No one would bother washing clothes at this
hour, and it wasn't so far away that if he had to yell, he wouldn't be heard.
But as he walked and listened to the heavy footsteps behind him, dread dripped
into his veins. It was farther than he thought. It felt lonely, isolated in
this wing. What if he needed help? What if something went wrong? He paused,
surveying the dark hallway and the flickering light of laundry down the hall.
This was good enough. He turned in wait.
“What is it Armin?” Diederich asked as he approached, brown eyes reflecting the
lantern light.
Time to be brave. Armin folded his arms and grabbed his elbows. “I want to know
what Mabel is talking about. What you both are.” At least he sounded unfazed.
“Talking about?” Diederich looked confused, raising both eyebrows and easing
his shoulder casually against the wall. He shrugged with his other shoulder,
crossing his arms as well. “I don't know what you mean.”
No hint of threat alerted Armin. Nothing at all. He seemed so harmless, but his
stomach still knotted. He couldn't be playing dumb now, could he? Out in a
hallway that was almost always empty, unable to hear the commotions from the
dining hall? Maybe he really didn't know. “What you said the other morning,
about 'knowing'?” This felt ridiculous.
“Oh,” Diederich replied, drawing out the sound before pushing himself from the
wall, taking an uncomfortable amount of steps towards him. “Yeah,” his voice
lowered, eyes bright. “I 'know' some things.”
Armin backpedaled. “Care to explain?” He asked, but he didn't want to really
know. Diederich gave him a knowing smirk, continued to press into his space,
and then cold stone touched his back. Cornered. Fuck.
“Don't look so scared Arlert,” slithered into his ears. “I know how worried you
are,” he continued, overshadowing him. “And I don't want to upset you much
more.” Armin couldn't answer, the space between them centimeters, and now he
felt threatened. That aura he had felt before, that tingling in the back of his
head, it made sense. This had been a really stupid idea. “How about we make a
deal.”
Chapter End Notes
     them: have you seen corpse party?
     me: *sweats nervously*
***** Chapter 10 *****
Chapter Notes
     i did the thing. enjoy
Too many thoughts, too many outcomes. “What kind of deal?” Armin asked,
standing his ground now because if he leaned any further back into the wall
Diederich might smother him. Anxiety prickled through him, avoiding the gaze
that pinned him in place and looking for somebody, anybody, to pass by. But
they had walked far enough, and the shadows danced thick on the walls; no one
would be coming this way. He didn't think this through.
The smile that cracked Diederich's lips leaned to one side. “I ask you for some
simple favors, occasionally, and we keep our mouths shut.” He leaned back on
his heels, but didn't let in more air. “Does that sound alright with you
Armin?”
He asked so casually. He didn't seem to care at all. Armin glanced at his feet,
listened again to the silence, and hesitated. What kind of favors? Why? “I
don't-” he started, but the other boy interrupted him.
“It's real easy Armin, don't worry. I wouldn't ask you to do something I
wouldn't do.”
The sing-song in his voice, Armin almost laughed. Sick. He didn't feel
reassured at all. But he couldn't be discharged from the Corps. Eren would
collapse without him, wouldn't sleep until he found him, and it would cause so
much trouble. He couldn't let that happen, he couldn't risk their survival for
a stupid little secret. “You promise?” It was a last ditch act of desperation.
Maybe he would change his mind.
The chuckle told him no. “We promise,” Diederich smiled, still just as slanted.
“So do we have a deal?” He still didn't move, eyes heavy with expectation.
“Y-yes, okay. It's a deal.” Armin couldn't look him in the face. He didn't look
at him at all despite the handshake, the promise of 'more later', or even as he
retreated into the dark. What did he just agree to? It wasn't until he heard
footsteps that he looked up, Mable drifting around the corner like she had been
there the entire time. She waved at him, then disappeared with Diederich at her
side. Nothing felt right about this, something was very very wrong, but it was
too late now. Eren was more important, the entire Corps more important than
him. Whatever he had to do, whatever happened to him, it would be worth it to
keep everything running. It was a small sacrifice. “And,” he mused, taking up a
slow pace to his lonely room, “if worse comes to worst I could always get
eaten.” Eaten. Eaten. The word was thick on his tongue, slimy and warm.
He lay in bed once he locked his door, miserable. Another secret to keep,
another reason to stay isolated, another reason to die. How did this happen?
Why? Armin couldn't fathom what he did to deserve it. He couldn't reason
himself through it this time. He needed to talk to Levi. But what to say? 'Oh,
sorry, we can't fuck anymore because I'm being blackmailed by my fellow
soldiers'? Right, that would fly so well. What if Erwin mounted a full-scale
investigation? What if Levi ignored him completely? No, neither of those were
feasible; he had to stay quiet. Armin buried his face into his pillow. Then he
realized: he still didn't know what Mable or Diederich knew. Fucking shit. He'd
been so fucking worried, so off-kilter with those eyes so close, that he didn't
think to ask for more information. He didn't think at all. 'God dammit Arlert
you need to think.' He'd panicked and now...nothing. He didn't know anything
more than he had before dinner.
Sleep came with a high moon and sweat. Wake up. Train, breakfast, dinner.
Sleep. Wake up. Breakfast. Diederich's knowing smirks. Try to sleep. Wake up.
Diederich. Sleep. Diederich. Wake up, Diederich. Train, Diederich. Sleep and
Diederich, Diederich, Diederich. Armin couldn't take it; how many more weeks
would pass like this? The constant grinding stones in his stomach and the
frigid freeze of his lungs every time him or Mable looked his way. It was like
looking his executioner in the eye and asking if it was his day to die. His
head, it couldn't take it. He didn't want to think about all those possible
requests, the state of anxiety it put him in, the urge for safety and
protection that gagged him like a slug in the back of this throat. Every day
that passed and Diederich didn't ask him of anything made the anticipation
worse.
And then, how did it all end up here? No, he knew. The coil of heat permeating
through his tailbone drove him crazy, made him frantic and reckless. The voices
in his head urged him on – yes, yes, you useless thing – and when that night
came, a thick, rainy blackness that settled in the air, Armin witnessed his own
darkness overtake the many others inside himself.
So it went. Dark, a faint moon casting no light through the crusted windows,
almost alone in a musty room, not a thought in Armin's head as some boy he
couldn't remember the name of benignly sucked him off. All he had to do was
keep his hands tangled in his hair, breathe out any pleasure, and let his body
react as it will. He didn't have the space to feel embarrassed with the hand
digging into his hip or the other traveling his thigh. The sparks of orgasm
blinded him to the familiar bitterness in his mouth that would never leave, and
he road it out as he was manhandled, fucked, and left to himself with one last
delirious look to the boy he wouldn't remember the face of in the morning. How
did it end up like this? Where was his pride? How many more?
No, it didn't really matter did it? They were almost as much of a distraction
as the Corporal, almost as good as Eren. It would have to do, right? Mikasa
kept her eye on him after all, and Eren wouldn't be the wiser as long as he
could keep a smile on his face. He shivered at the thought, pulling his pants
back up from his knees. What else did he have left? It was survival; he was
trying to survive. And if he ever thought of something better, then he could
stop this. Of course. As if he had control over it. “I'll be okay,” he
whispered into the silence – something he found himself doing often - running a
hand through his matted hair and leaving the abandoned upper floor – nothing
like he had found it – and slipped through the hallways with practiced silence.
Not like it mattered; the entire castle seemed asleep, the walls themselves
oblivious to the sins he committed. Thank the Walls.
However, it spiraled like Armin knew it would. It could have been because he
had started it, because he knew what the lingering hands during training were
supposed to mean - or maybe he was simply hyper-aware - but even if no one but
himself and whoever was brave enough to touch him knew, he felt as if his body
was to be kept on display for all to see. The prying eyes. The closeness of
bodies he had never noticed before. Somehow, Eren's heat couldn't soothe him,
and he didn't seek it. Maybe it was shame. Maybe it was fear.
And then... “Hey Armin!” he paused from mucking the stables, pitchfork in hand.
He caught eyes with one of the new recruits – even though Armin couldn't count
the number of days they had all been crowded together anymore, they would
always be the “new ones” - jogging over to him with a packet of papers in hand.
“Smith is looking for you!” He didn't stop running until he was an arm-lengths
away, his face flushed. Armin recognized parts of his face.
“Uh, thanks,” he smiled, leaning his pitchfork against the stall and reaching
out for the papers he wasn't at all interested in. The Expedition was probably
being revised again, and the thought of another few hours in this nauseating
heat in that suffocating room made him want to crawl into a hole and die. But
the papers weren't given to him, and Armin blinked as they fluttered above his
open palm. He glanced up, scanning the dusky brown eyes staring back at him.
Ah. A new smile slipped to Armin's lips, sickly sweet words piling on this
tongue. He cast his eyes down, retrieving the papers without a lack of skin
contact – fingertips to knuckles, slow down, keep it light – and looked up
again as the documents fell into his hands, those brown eyes cast-over. Gods
save him. “You know,” he sang in a hush, pulling up the pages to cover his
mouth. He watched as the other boy looked back to his face, that knowing glint
and flushed cheeks. “I won't be too busy later,” the words drifted. An eyebrow
raised. A step taken closer, a hand brushing his bangs and just a whisper.
“Wait for me then.”
Armin stepped back, a painful giggle in the back of his throat smothering his
desire to cry. He could gag on it if he wanted. “Of course,” was the answer
that always came next, and then the rushed exit, the realization that he had
done this again, put himself through this again, like it was nothing. He hadn't
meant to.... But Gods he needed it.
Documents. Armin looked down, unable to keep his frown from breaking apart his
facade. He shuffled through the pages – more reports, more inquiries, more
details and details and details – then sighed. The Commander was looking for
him, he'd have to read on the way.
Did he? Armin groaned to himself as the familiar heavy door towered over him.
In fact, he hadn't read a single word. Regardless, he knocked, praying
intuition would help him wing it. He didn't feel proud of it, no way in hell,
but he had to hold onto something. The thoughts of that unfamiliar-familiar
mouth on his body gave him chills, though at least they blocked out that
constant self-depreciation. Armin stood for another moment until he realized
the stretching silence. Was the Commander not in? Foregoing knocking again –
was there really any point? - he twisted the doorknob and peered inside.
“Arlert.” Oh. Armin let out a puff of air before slipping in, pressing the door
closed behind him. “I didn't invite you in,” continued that rigid tone.
“You didn't not invite me in either,” Armin mumbled to himself, then said, “my
apologies, Corporal. Am I interrupting?” Why was his voice shaking?
Levi sat on Erwin's wide desk, one leg crossed as he leaned back on one hand,
holding a few papers up to his face with the other. He looked over them. “Of
course not.”
Well, that was all well and good, but, “um, the Commander was looking for me?”
Armin crossed the room with quiet strides, taking his place in his designated
chair, uncomfortably close to Levi's swinging foot.
“Erwin stepped out.”
Ah, well, “oh.” Now what? Read? A chuckle caught in Armin's throat, the idea of
failing another attempt at understanding his new reading material beyond the
point of actual humor. Still, he pushed himself further back in his chair and
pretended to look busy. He listened as Levi leafed through a few more pages,
then the desk creaked, then more silence. Armin sucked his bottom lip into his
mouth – don't say anything, don't say anything, don't say anything – before
reaching up to thread his fingers through his hair; it needed cut.
Levi cleared his throat, somehow the small noise bouncing across the room.
Armin felt his shoulders tense. “So what do you think of Sina's proposal?”
Armin looked up. Shit. Words tumbled around in his mouth – mostly curses – yet
nothing came out. The silence stretched as he stared, wide-eyed, at the man
gazing at him, expecting an answer from him. “Well, I-” he started, not ready
to admit defeat but not ready to try and bullshit his way through the question.
But Levi let him flounder, continued to give him that dissatisfied look as he
stuttered, stumbled, and tried to pull up any wisp of memory about anything he
had tried to read. Why was he doing this? Why couldn't he have just read the
damn papers?
“You didn't read it did you?”
Armin couldn't stop the choking sound that verified his misdeed. He shriveled
in his seat. “Not...entirely,” he slipped out. Fucking embarrassing. “B-but I-”
“You look ill.”
“W-well-”
“And you've been sub-par during training lately.”
“Yeah, but-”
“You've been missing errors in the paperwork.” Armin stopped. “And now this?”
Levi swayed his hand, pushing himself forward to slip off the desk. “Don't act
like I haven't noticed.”
“...Noticed?” Armin couldn't complete his train of thought, Levi's hand
sweeping in to grab the collar of his shirt with a sharp tug, exposing the bare
skin of his shoulder.
“This.” Vehement. Armin tilted his head to look, having forgotten the wound
there. The impression of many teeth, red and purple and stark white. Levi
leaned down, the sharpness in his voice raging his eyes too, and Armin leaned
back on instinct. “Those aren't from training.”
He couldn't breathe. This wasn't happening. “I-”
Levi let him go then – and Armin was sure to straighten out his shirt with
shaking hands – before he leaned against the desk once more, foreboding, icy
cold. “I don't care what you do in your spare time Arlert, but it's affecting
your work.” A beat of silence before he continued. “You're not taking care of
yourself, you're letting too many things slip between your fingers.” No. No no
no no. “I can't have you languish like this, being a-” Please.
“Burden?” There it was, the tipping point. Armin didn't dare stop it. “Right?
I'm just being useless? Dead weight again?” He couldn't believe this. Levi's
eyes bore into him, expressionless, and it brought Armin's blood to a rolling
boil. How dare he. How dare he call him out like this in a goddamned tactical
office. Gods, the fucking irony. How dare he acknowledge his slipping strands
of dignity, how dare he observe his falling apart. “Please,” Armin continued as
he lifted himself from his chair. “If my best isn't good enough for you
anymore, just let me know. I wouldn't want to inconvenience my superiors.” The
words, they tumbled, civility be damned; this man had already seen the worst of
him, another step lower couldn't change much of anything now. He wouldn't be
able to crawl back up from any of this.
“Hell,” he cursed, rounding his chair and gripping the sides. “Don't look at me
like that,” he muttered, the heft of Levi's gaze still weighing him down. The
rawness of his shattered facade dug deep. He was worthless. Sick. Armin knew
already, he had known all of this, and he didn't stop himself either. He didn't
have that sort of control, the kind Levi would always try to fuck into him, but
it never took. Levi was mocking him. “I just – I mean, what does this have to
do with you anyway, Sir?” Armin tugged his shirt before taking a step back, the
lack of interest directed towards him a spike to his heart. “You keep saying I
have potential, that I can solve anything, and then somehow we end up here
where I'm not good enough anymore?” His voice was rising, he couldn't stop it.
“I don't,” he choked, “I didn't want this! Where do you get off bringing it up?
Does this help you?”
“Armin...”
“No! I want to know. Why me, why this? What the fuck do you want from me?!” He
didn't know what he was talking about; maybe everything, maybe nothing, there
were just so many thoughts, too many emotions, and worst of all Armin knew it
was the worst possible time to bring any of it up. These ones, they were the
deep ones he didn't want to open the lid to. Not now, not ever, and yet he
couldn't stop himself when Levi called his name again, a certain softness in
the tone he hadn't heard since Trost. The bubbling burn made him sick. What had
everything come to? And that realization weighed too much for Armin to bare.
They couldn't go back, nothing could go back.
Levi hadn't moved; Armin surveyed him, the ease in his shoulders, the slope of
his legs. He wasn't nearly as wound up as himself, and Armin bit his tongue.
“Don't,” he spat, taking yet another step back. He had to get away, go anywhere
but here and face all of this.
“Armin, don't do this shit, listen to me a second.”
This shit? Never. Armin's molars dug into one another. “No, you listen to me.
I-” The door behind him clicked, a splash of water to the fire in his head, and
he turned to see exactly who he had come looking for.
Erwin gave a small smile. “Am I interrupting?”
“No.” Levi punctuated. It was all over. All the blood drained from Armin's body
as he continued to stand, the thought of giving a proper salute too far back in
his mind. “Nothing of much importance anyway.”
Armin bit his tongue with a nod – if he didn't he would be able to stop his
screaming tears - Levi's words ringing in his ears. Was this what a shattered
heart felt like? Scorching and frozen at the same time? He swore he felt each
fissure break him into pieces. “No sir,” he mimicked with a neutral glance to
the side. Then he looked up. “Nothing of much importance.” He was going to
vomit.
Erwin raised a single eyebrow, his gaze shifting to the Corporal and back to
himself. Seeming satisfied, he made his way to his desk, spreading the papers
already there across the worn wood. “Well then, let's go over this from the
beginning shall we?”
Armin fell into his seat, chest burning too hot for him to speak. If he didn't
hold it in he would be a mess of sobbing and shaking and sickness. 'Swallow it
down, pretend nothing matters.'
Levi began to talk as calm as ever.
***** Chapter 11 *****
Chapter Notes
     i'm not even sorry because i'm drowning in eremin feels
     yes, i added new tags. no, i am not joking. this shit is gonna get
     crazy
“Sina wants to derive our funds from the working camps around Maria,” Levi
frowned. “We're going to need less supplies before we ruin the already failing
economy of the outer walls.”
“So what can we let go?” Erwin had sat at his desk – to Armin's eventual relief
– without any more words on his tantrum that he may have heard. Gods, could
this get any more awkward? Levi let out a sigh beside him right as Erwin
cleared his throat. “More importantly, what do we essentially need?”
Horses. Rations. Medical supplies. Flares. The additional recruits taxed those
necessities harder than Armin had thought when they first arrived. It seemed
Erwin didn't mind, but the Corps still ran on debts and under-stocking. But of
course, Armin didn't read the reports, so he couldn't give an answer when Erwin
cast a glance at him.
Levi saved his ass. “If we take the younger stallions and let the more
experienced handle them, that reduces new stock by a terribly meager percent.
But it'll save us some fucking money.” He shrugged. Erwin nodded and scribbled
something down. Armin felt sick.
The two men continued on without him. How, Armin didn't dare ask lest they want
something from him, however it felt terrible. He was failing the one thing he
was good at. As silent as he could, Armin slipped his fingers into his papers
and started to scan the paragraphs. A list of names. Formation sketches.
Something was missing, something scratching at the back of his head.
The warmth of a voice directed his attention. “Armin.” Erwin held a faint smile
on his face, a comforting yet unusual casualty and softness about him. He was
trying to soothe him.
It felt like years until Armin found his voice. “Yessir?”
Erwin paused, seeming to examine him before he spoke. “I want to talk to you
about your place in all of this.”
Panic. “My place?”
His eyes softened, Levi didn't make a sound. The humming of the flies outside
the windows filled Armin's head. “How would you feel about sitting this
expedition out?”
No. Oh no. Oh no no no no. “Sit out?” As if he were deaf. “You mean, stay
here?” As if he could have meant anything else. The rest of his thoughts
avoided all attempts to decipher, and Armin stared, feeling incredibly stupid.
Why...why would he ask that?
Erwin folded his hands together, diplomatic. He looked like he was about to
give a child bad news, a soft smile still on his lips, but Armin only felt his
anxiety spike. They didn't want him there. They actually didn't want him to go
on the mission. All these meetings simply to be put in the back, to stay and
watch over a nearly empty castle while everyone else was saving the god damned
human race. Could he be that useless? Could they think so lowly of him now?
Levi's words rang in his head again. He wasn't pulling his weight, he had let
himself slip too far. What did this mean for him? What if this was the start of
something? Becoming some tactical tortured genius that had to be kept hidden
from the rest of the world? Armin's stomach filled with rocks. “Don't worry
Armin, we hope it will only be for this excursion.”
Hope?
“Levi has informed me how traumatic that incident has been for you; and all of
us, Armin, think it would be much safer for you to stay behind.” Erwin paused,
but Armin didn't speak. He couldn't. His brain only heard that Levi had talked
about him. Why did he feel betrayed? “We...don't want you to have to come in
contact with that again.”
“I want to go,” Armin spilled out, voice cracked. “Sir.”
Levi huffed. “Please Arlert, you're not okay with that.”
Armin turned, biting through his tongue, unable to figure out which emotion he
wanted to show first. “I'm fine!” He squeaked.
“Of course you are,” Erwin buffered, drawing Armin's attention again. “We want
to keep you that way. Think of it as taking a break.”
Some sound gurgled out of Armin's throat. “I'm sorry Commander, I can't do
that. I...I wouldn't be able to relax at all.” The urgency in his voice seemed
to have an affect as Erwin shared an indescribable series of minuscule looks at
Levi before he spoke.
He turned to Armin again. “It's your choice of course, we would suffer without
your skill, but-”
“You need to stay,” Levi interrupted, crossing his arms across his chest as if
chiding a toddler.
“I'm sorry,” Armin lied, looking down at his hands that he had been
unconsciously wringing raw. He placed them on his knees. “I don't want to stay
behind.”
An exasperated huff left Levi's mouth.
“Then it's settled.” Armin didn't look up. Levi didn't move from the corner of
his eye.
“Thank you sir.” But Armin didn't feel relieved. His stomach boiled, jaw tense
and lungs quaking. Ridiculous. But he couldn't complain now, couldn't do
anything about it; his superiors thought he had lost his usefulness. Levi
called him out on it, as if he hadn't been the one fucking him to screaming for
weeks. Though, in his defense, it had been a while since either of them even
talked to one another. But that didn't matter. His position was at stake; he
had to prove himself now. If that...if that titan came back, he'd face it, kill
it if he had to, and then the nightmares would stop and he wouldn't smell blood
in his pillows anymore and Mikasa and Eren wouldn't have a single reason to
worry about him. Because they were worried. He saw it at every meal, felt it in
Eren's hands, and if he listened hard enough, Armin swore he heard it in hushed
discussion too. Fucking shit, he needed to get his act together.
Erwin continued to talk a while more, mostly discoursing with Levi on the
amount of black tea they would be able to afford, next to more cleaning
supplies. And then, “with these last few things soon being settled, I'll
announce the expected expedition date tomorrow. I know you'll get the recruits
prepared?” Levi tilted his shoulder. “Then, Arlert you can go. Get some rest,
eat a good meal. I'll see you during gear prep tomorrow.”
“Yessir,” echoed through the office as Armin sped from the room, the next sound
being the door closing behind him and the ear-ringing silence of stone
hallways. He placed his hand on his bruised shoulder, pressing to feel the
tingle of misplaced blood. His voice rattled in his head, stomach clenching as
he rolled his shoulder, unsure where exactly he would go, but knowing anywhere
would be better than near those large doors.
Though, maybe that hadn't been exactly true.
The hot mouth on his neck felt rushed, as did his hands as they trailed an
abdomen and delved beneath pants. A moan, maybe his own, it didn't matter. Skin
touching, teeth, prying fingers, hoarse panting. Armin couldn't tell his limbs
apart, drowning in the need to just shut everything up, to rid himself of this
burning anger. It rolled through him again as he pushed the hovering body back,
clamored over his hips, took his mouth in his own. If only the hands that
trailed his sides dug into the skin, if only he were forced to take the cock
that waited for him. If only... Armin knew he'd do it, enjoy the sharp protests
of his body, swallow up all the pain to bursting, pray to rid himself of it.
Levi would know. Levi would....
Armin's body tensed, a familiar and yet foreign chill slipping into him. Maybe
it would always be that way; a chuckle told him yes, the voice that spoke
reminding him that this time was different. “You're so tense,” the voice
chided. “Relax.” Armin pressed against the fingers that continued inward,
biting his tongue because who the fuck did this kid think he was? Yet, he
pressed his mouth into the other's damp neck, inhaling a lung-full of
evanescent scent.
“Just fuck me already,” he cracked, fists balling into the sheets, a spike of
anxiety splitting his stomach. This wasn't Levi, never could be Levi, but it
was worse. 'Thrown to the wolves,' Armin thought, gasping as he got what he
wanted - wet heat and burning, a whimper - but it didn't feel right. No, it
would never feel right this way, with a brown-eyed black-haired boy that gave
him the sweetest face when they caught eyes. It couldn't be right even though
he enjoyed it, rolled his hips like he knew Levi had liked some time ago, felt
his groin tighten when a careful hand wrapped around his dick.
Armin couldn't stop. He moaned at the thumb pressed firmly on the head of his
cock, listened in horror as it warbled off into a wet choke, a cry. It seemed
to spur on the boy beneath him, meeting each downward push with more and more
frantic thrusts. It hurt, thank the Gods that it hurt, but Armin couldn't
contain the bubble in his throat, the sob he had prayed would wait until they
were finished, when he could cry alone and at least satisfied. But it was
forced from him, his body too full to hold much else, and the one beneath him
faltered, a whisper of surprise on his ragged inhale.
“Ah-shit, are you-”
“I'm fine,” shuddered heavy in the air. A hand tried to press itself to Armin's
cheek, but he turned, hissing “don't fucking stop,” though he dare not look
into those brown eyes. Instead, he pressed their lips together, sharing needy
breaths, shifting his hips to find that spot, anything to keep their friction
going. “I need it,” he mouthed, tasting his own tears on his lips, clenching
around the heat inside him, coaxing a confused yet lusty moan to fall into his
mouth. He couldn't breathe between held sobs.
The pace grew frantic, haphazard as Armin cried as silent as he could. Every
wailing moan a strike to his heart - how much more embarrassing could this be?
A few more disjointed thrusts and he felt it, hands on his hips clutching for
release, the tell-tale shiver then splatter of warmth filling him up, a
crackling cry of satisfaction. Armin almost didn't make it, his deprived lungs
gasping for air while his body shook out his own orgasm. He listened to the
panting so he didn't have to listen to his own hiccuping sobs.
The hand fingering through his hair didn't matter. The way his body collapsed
atop the other, the angry static still in the pit of his stomach – yearning and
yearning – the wet kiss to his forehead. It felt too sweet for legitimacy.
Still, Armin didn't fight, simply let himself be handled around, twisted and
coiled and pulled until they were apart, until he could curl up and sob into
the mattress. It didn't last long however once the mattress sank and he heard
the sounds of cloth on skin. Armin tilted his head from the wet sheets, hiding
behind a layer of matted hair and elbows. He took a shuddering breath. “You're
leaving?” Of course he was leaving, what else would he do anyway? Stay and chat
now that he sobbed with his dick in his ass? He sighed to himself. “I mean...”
But he didn't know what he meant.
The boy finished placing himself back in his pants before he turned, the sad
look in his eyes yet another spike to Armin's heart, even though he was
smiling. “Was I that bad?” he tried to laugh off, but silence answered him.
“Ugh, Armin, I mean...” More silence.
“Colt, I-” Armin whimpered, burying his face back into his puddle on the bed.
“It's not you,” he croaked, curling his body even tighter, knowing what a
pathetic sight he had to be. “I don't...I don't want to talk about it.”
The oil lamp on the wall flickered, twisting the light into grotesque shadows
until it calmed. He had to get up. He couldn't let him leave looking this
ridiculous. The other didn't speak, the aura of confusion that seeped from his
gaze motivating Armin to get dressed, act like everything was fine; nothing was
ever wrong.
“You weren't bad.” Armin split a smile, stood up on his toes to give the boy a
small kiss on the cheek. The usual shudder accompanied it, jostling all the way
down his spine. “It was nice,” he continued, putting on another smile – could
he really stack them? - waiting for the inevitable conversation that would
come.
“Um.” Right, there it was. “Are you okay? Er – it's not like...a problem
or...?”
Gods. Armin leaned back, shrugged his shoulders and said “whatever you want.
Ha, don't dwell on it, everything's fine.”
Boots shuffling against floor. “Then...I'll see you later.”
“Right.” Did he even sound friendly? Hell, Armin couldn't hear himself anymore.
Tears were stinging behind his eyes again, the threat of tomorrow circling his
mind, knowing Levi hated him now, knowing he chose to risk his life again and
he couldn't prepare himself mentally this time. Knowing his avoidance tactics
barely worked. Armin saw Colt to the door, giving him a chuckle and a brush of
his hip as he left, holding his breath when Colt leaned in and kissed him
again. “Aw comeon,” he whined, giving Colt a shove. “Don't make me drag you
back in here.” The words dried out his tongue. Still, he watched the shadow
retreat down the halls, thought of Diederich – because why not think of
everything that was upsetting all at once? - and leaned against the doorframe.
The light filtered into the dark, barely far enough to illuminate a few feet in
front of him, and he turned, hand on the door knob, wondering how sleep would
settle over him tonight, but then he heard it.
“Armin?”
No, oh no no. “Eren?” The darkness shifted, light falling over his friend,
those dark eyes. It was like magic, him appearing out of thin air, yet Armin
couldn't talk to him now. Not now.
“Who was that?” Eren asked, stepping closer, his appeased expression turning
sour as he approached. “Armin, what's-” He didn't finish. Armin stared, unable
to speak lest he burst into tears again. Eren was in front of him now, right in
his personal bubble. He could smell him, felt his body heat radiate off in
waves. That questioning look. No, not now.
Say something. Say anything.
Armin swallowed. “We were uh, just -” a ragged breath, “talking.” But his voice
hitched and his chest burned and all composure melted under Eren's gaze. He
started to cry again. Thick heavy tears, his mouth too dry to hold any sound,
just a hand over a choking throat and more of that damned stretching silence.
He felt Eren panic, being pulled away from the door, the closeness, the sound
of a click and a lock. And then Eren wrapped him up, drowned him within his
heat. It was too late to be embarrassed. Whatever Eren said, Armin didn't hear;
his head was fuzzy with a syrup of mixed emotions, the only response he could
muster being more tears and clutching at Eren's shoulders like a child. Still,
Eren's hands spread a sense of comfort, the way he hushed him as he cradled
him, absorbing his shaking sobs, the hushed sound of his voice near his ear.
Eren knew.
“Come on,” Armin heard, the words drifting right out of his reach. Eren pulled
him, pushed and coddled him into his bed again, encasing him with his own body.
“Everything's okay, okay?”
If only. If only. Still, Armin curled up into Eren's chest, listening to that
strong heart beat of his. It pounded as if prideful, unlike his own that
faltered and jumped. The constant beat soothed his tears but awoke something
else. “I'm sorry,” he sniffled into his chest.
“Shhhh,” Eren hushed, rubbing circles into Armin's back. “Everything's okay.”
He repeated. And repeated.
Armin knew better than to believe it – couldn't even if he had wanted to – and
Eren's blind confidence stirred his stomach. He wanted to make him realize, to
make Eren really know. By his fifth repeat Armin's sobs settled, so he shuffled
into a better position to look Eren in the eyes. They were a light grey now,
encircled with a dark ring. Eren smiled, but Armin looked away.
“Armin...”
“Please-”
“No listen.” Eren pulled him close again, pressing his chin atop his head. When
had he grown so much? “I'm here for you, for whatever you want. Anything.” His
hand ran through Armin's matted hair. His lips brushed his forehead. “I'm not
leaving you.”
For a moment, Armin wondered – hesitated even. But by then he had already
pressed his lips to Eren's, every doubting thought overwhelmed by the musky
warmth of his best friend. “Please don't leave,” he whispered into the kiss,
feeling Eren's arms tighten around him. “Don't ever.”
“Never,” Eren replied once released, a smile spreading across his face again.
Gods, where did that come from?
Armin was ashamed, yes, but Eren was so willing. He kissed the smile away,
slipping his hands under his cropped jacket to fist his shirt in his fingers.
Eren molded around him, neither disturbed by the thunk of boots falling to the
floor, the toss of a jacket, Armin's teeth on Eren's neck. How long had it
been? How long had he needed this? Where Armin's resolve had stood was only
impatience now, that feeling of damnation and ecstasy all at once. It would be
a mistake, but Armin didn't care anymore. Their clothes didn't matter, nor
Eren's hesitating hands unbuttoning a shirt possibly unclean. His hands running
between thighs, Armin's hands tangled in the ankles of pants.
They piled their clothes on the floor.
Eren's skin burned just as much as he remembered, the feeling of his hands
pulling at his hips almost too nostalgic. The way Eren's mouth moved across his
body – little nips in perfect places, teeth dragging with heavy tongue – Armin
shivered with it. Fingers in his mouth? Fine. Anything so long as their bodies
kept moving, a caress of thigh here, a kissed-away moan there. It felt like
before. Nothing had changed.
Armin sighed as Eren dug his teeth into his shoulder, that exact same bruise he
had been ashamed of becoming his new prize. Eren's eyes asked, but Armin
couldn't answer; he arched his back instead, sliding his dick along Eren's
stomach in an open-mouthed cry. Eren covered his mouth with his own, taking
Armin's silence and pulling sound from him. Heavy hands pushed his straining
hips down again, the pressure points perfectly painful. Armin tried to press
harder, the resistance exactly what he needed, Eren's tongue in his mouth the
perfect plaything, saliva trailing down his chin.
He gasped when Eren pulled away, smoothing his tongue down his body, making
sure to keep Armin's coiling body pressed into the bed. “Nng-fuck...” Eren
chuckled.
“Now that's familiar,” he grinned, Armin catching the coyness in his eyes
before he buried his face into the crook of Armin's thigh. Armin wanted to cry.
Eren lapped at the skin so cleverly close to his aching heat, Armin unable to
do more but thread his fingers in Eren's hair and whimper like some pathetic
animal. But Eren didn't touch him – of course not – yet Armin still blubbered
for it, his words broken and as wet as his eyes. He would have begged, he
really would've, but it would have been well-rehearsed, and this didn't quite
feel like those years ago.
“Go on,” Armin ushered as Eren stalled. Eren had always been selfish with this,
but it was always worth it in the end. His chest heaved once Eren took his
hands, entwining their fingers like a promise, Armin pulling his knees close as
Eren leaned back.
He paused. Eren looked hesitant. “Are you sure?” The question was soft, as if
he suddenly thought better of it.
Armin couldn't lose this. “I'm always sure with you, Eren,” he encouraged, even
though his voice had dropped to a lusty moan. He just needed it this once,
please this once.
A slow smile, Eren's eyes darkening against the light. Armin waited as they
kissed again, the kiss more of Eren's attempt at distraction – Armin knew –
than meaningful. He always tried so hard to not make it hurt. At least that
would never change. “Breathe,” Eren cooed, and Armin melted away.
Where had the world gone? They were back in the barracks, exhausted and sweaty
from doing laps late into the night, though they still had the energy for one
last kiss. For one last.... Armin had been on his knees, pants still gathered
around them, both too impatient. Too reckless. Eren's fingers stretched him
wide, just like he had shown him, bringing Armin to silence himself in his
pillow. They had tried to be quiet, really.
“Eren,” Armin hushed, the desire dripping from his voice. He had been so young
then, hadn't he? “Please hurry up!”
“Okay okay sorry,” Eren pulled out – literally – slick fingers grasping the
mounds of his backside. Armin dropped his head into the pillow again, hands
clenching folds and folds of sheets. He waited, the anticipation sure to make
him cum if Eren didn't, listening – feeling – Eren reposition himself and then
him, lowering the angle of his hips that required Armin to spread his legs
wider. Embarrassment flushed through him, and then Eren leaned over, panting
into his trembling shoulder. “Armin, breathe.”
He could have been there instead of here, back those years ago instead of
witnessing the wreck he had become. Eren pushed in slow, agonizingly slow,
waiting, watching for something Armin knew not to give him: pain. Armin's body
reacted just the same, the electric spark first sped up his spine, and then the
overwhelming feeling of heat. The way his body stretched and moved to
accommodate him, the teeth-grinding yearn to resist, the final burst of
something – and Armin still didn't know what – that traveled up and lodged
itself in his lungs trying to choke him. It didn't matter how many times Eren
told him to breathe, because Armin never could. The same pitched, strained
whine left his mouth. Eren's hands rubbed his thighs in the same comforting
pattern. His legs still shook. His voice was hoarse. “Eren, please.”
Armin's tingling fingertips lassoed Eren's shoulders, Eren's hands pulling his
hips into his body felt hot and tight. Armin lifted his hips, watched Eren bite
his lip and falter before he leaned over him again, winding his hands down to
Armin's knees. Armin caught the smile there, could read all the thoughts that
passed through Eren's head simply by looking at his eyes. He caught his gaze,
nodded, his body going limp as Eren forced his knees back and buried himself
inside.
The heavy thump-thumping of a heart. Blood rushing through ears. Burning lungs
with a wet, wet mouth. Fingernails and kneecaps, clenched toes and a name
floating in the air. Armin arched his back, pulled at Eren's straining
shoulders, tossing his head as he was swept away. A hot breath blew past his
ear, Eren's eyes hovering over him – sparkling - coming down to devour his
mouth again, Armin's hips being kept still by knowing hands. But soon Armin
tilted out of the kiss – Eren's mouth proceeding right to his outstretched neck
– almost hyperventilating as their bodies moved together. Dance-like, Eren knew
which way to turn, how to keep their fingers entwined, how to pull out the most
sensual sounds from him. Armin turned his hooded eyes back to Eren. “Are
you...?” he gasped between breathless pants, his shoulders jolting back when
Eren gave a gut-wrenching thrust.
“Yeah,” spilled from Eren's mouth, a lopsided smile seeming to be his attempt
at an apology. Like he needed to. Armin felt it, could practically smell Eren's
coming orgasm, the heat of his body sweltering inside and out; Armin knew the
routine. It had never mattered how many times they did it, what position, what
pace, even what emotion either of them were feeling; Eren always, always, came
too fast and too furious. He fell apart every time, and it was what Armin
waited for, even though he had become less and less sensitive to it. But the
heat, Gods the heat, it was so satisfying.
Eren let out a groan, something mixed between a growl and a wail, low in his
throat. It rang in Armin's head, another flood of nostalgia – the pillows, the
quiet barracks, the almost-constant threat of being caught – and then thunder
in his bones. Eren choked, Armin keening as Eren's heat burst inside him, a
spiraling spread of warmth that overtook every nerve in his groin, through his
stomach, fanning up into his chest. And then the anxiety, the stinging
encircling his hips – he was close, he was so close – unable to topple into his
own release despite the uncontrollable buck of his hips.
“Shit,” cracked Armin's needy lips. “Shit shit shit,” he mewled at the back of
his throat, back arching too sharp to help, but the new angle of Eren's dick
was just....
“I got it.” Bleary eyed, Armin reached out a trembling hand. Eren grasped it,
chuckled, didn't respond to Armin's whines as he wrapped his free hand around
his flushed cock. “Just hold on,” Eren hushed.
Armin shook his head, lost in his desperation. His entire body sparked and
burned, Eren's grasp of his hand no better than a bandaid on a stab wound until
he felt the empty space Eren had left in him, saw his head dip, moaned out a
sob. His wet mouth quenched the heat, a shudder through his thighs, Eren
putting his tongue to work. He cared - had always cared - because he knew
Armin's body, knew its limits and its preferences and exactly how to finish
Armin off into a puddle of flesh. And Armin moaned his name, rolled his hips in
little circles because shit, the way Eren left his tongue rest on the head of
his cock infuriated him in the best ways. Then Eren hummed. Armin felt his body
snap, couldn't focus on anything but that moist heat that seemed to swallow him
whole. Was he crying again? Were those sobs of impatience or regret? Why did
the smell of sex – their sex – carve itself into him so badly? Why hadn't this
happened sooner? Why had they stopped again?
Inhale. Hold it. Explode. Armin was blinded, deafened too when he came like he
hadn't in years, reveling in the way Eren paused, swallowed, and seemed ready
to suck the rest out of him. And the inevitable collapse, the exhaustion in
every cell, still panting, still electric, still wanting. “Eren,” he murmured.
And Eren came, pulling Armin into him like he knew he wanted it, Armin nestling
his cheek into the crook of his shoulder, kissed it. “I love the way you
smell,” he said after a moment, glad he could hide behind his hair. “I like how
we smell.”
Eren didn't reply.
More silence, then, “thank you,” Armin whispered.
Eren shifted, wrapping his arm around Armin's waist. “For what?”
“For not asking.” Silence again.
“Armin?” Eren sounded hurt.
“Hm?”
Again Eren seemed to hesitate. Armin listened to their hearts slowly begin to
match pace, coming down slowly. “Nevermind.”
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