Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/1109551.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Choose_Not_To_Use_Archive_Warnings, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Shingeki_no_Kyojin_|_Attack_on_Titan
  Relationship:
      Erwin_Smith/Eren_Yeager
  Character:
      Erwin_Smith, Eren_Yeager
  Additional Tags:
      Manhandling, Daddy_Kink, Angst_and_Porn, Anal_Sex
  Series:
      Part 8 of Tell_It_Like_It_Is
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-12-30 Words: 1946
****** rockabye ******
by odoridango
Summary
     “Oh my god,” Eren gasps, and he can’t stop laughing even when Erwin
     draws him close, “We’re so fucked up. We’re fucked up.”
Notes
     tumblr request written for Onigiri! <3
     Takes place after the female titan mission.
When Eren first shows up in front of Erwin’s room with two cold plates of
bread, cheese and meat, neither of them really know where it will go. It’s as
far as it can get from their usual appointments with the dark bruises under
Eren’s eyes, the slight slump to his back, and the teethmarks that have taken
up permanent residence on his bottom lip. Erwin’s not much better, his hair
messy and falling into his eyes, deepened frown lines carved into his brow and
the corners of his mouth. His feet are bare, and soft, worn cloth pants pool
around his feet, pink from the cold stone. Erwin’s collar is askew, the top
buttons undone and wrinkled shirt tails untucked, mirroring the tangled,
lopsided strings of Eren’s shirt, its threadbare state a testament to better
days, and maybe, a certain kind of comfort that only the softness of an old
shirt can give.
They eat quietly. Erwin is precise in his feeding habits, taking appropriately
small bites, chewing robotically, leaving barely a crumb behind. In comparison,
Eren eats with a genteel sort of savagery, with a desperate energy contained by
the manners instilled in him by his mother. His mouth works vigorously with
every bite and he stops every so often to shake away the stiffness of his
shoulders, but it doesn’t seem to help. Restlessness lives in the frustrated
wrinkle and knit of his forehead, in the unconscious baring of his teeth, and
he starts when Erwin rests a large palm on his thigh.
“Don’t choke,” he says quietly, squeezing gently. He won’t tell Eren to chew
slowly. He’s not in a position to tell anyone how to take care of themselves,
much less Eren, whose manic brand of energy is still something slightly foreign
to him, so controlled and carefully masked as he is in Erwin’s bed.
Eren just stares at him mutely, gaze flickering over the lowered lashes, the
shadow of cheekbones, the jut of a wristbone as Erwin sinks straight teeth into
a dry sandwich of cheese and nothing else. The meat lies neglected on the
plate.
“…are you taking care of me?” he asks, carefully, deliberately. He holds
Erwin’s stare as he takes a slow, small bite of his sandwich, and purposely
modulates his chewing before swallowing, opening his mouth and extending his
tongue, tipping his head backward, eyes hooded.
Erwin’s shaking fingers skim his Adam’s apple, slide up to caress his jaw and
follow the stubborn line of it to his chin, where Erwin pushes lightly, closing
his mouth.
“Good boy,” he murmurs on a wavering breath, because he recognizes this,
acknowledges the need. “Chewing nicely for me like that. You’re such a good
boy, Eren.” And Eren closes his eyes like he’s about to cry, bites his bottom
lip and rubs his cheek into Erwin’s hand.
“Daddy,” he whispers brokenly.
“Finish your dinner, baby,” Erwin says, can’t stop the dull relief he feels as
Eren’s body moves easily with the hand slid into the curve of his  waist,
spilling into Erwin’s lap, warm and solid. He sets Eren’s plate on top of the
boy’s thighs, rests a hand between the gentle slope of shoulderblades and lets
his lips brush against the shell of an ear. Eren’s replying shudder sinks into
his bones. “You can do that for me, can’t you?”
“Yes, Daddy,” he murmurs, picking up another sandwich. He hesitates for a
moment before he leans against Erwin’s chest, lets himself nestle there as he
takes another careful bite, lets himself hide and feel safe if only for the
time being, lets himself be warmed by the heat pressed against the line of his
body, the slight movement of Erwin’s ribs as the man breathes in and out a
reassuring reminder of his presence.
They don’t speak again until they’ve finished dinner, and for a while Eren just
watches Erwin eat, the bob of his throat as he swallows, the quick pink flash
of his tongue as he swipes away the small crumb that sticks to his upper lip.
Soaks up the heat, soaks up the comfort, lets himself get distracted with every
flick and smooth movement of calloused fingers, remembering their rough texture
against his skin, the gentle force exerted when they slide inside of him,
stretch him open. He doesn’t notice that he’s been toying with his lips again,
tracing their shape with his tongue, wetting them, nor does he notice that his
breath flutters across a particularly sensitive patch of neck. What he does
notice is the rising bulge that nudges insistently against his left thigh, but
Eren’s a good boy. He’s good. He is.
He closes his eyes, his breath coming fast and deep, turns his face into the
crook of Erwin’s neck and breathes his scent. Those fingers come to cradle his
head, curl into his fluffy, tangled hair, just dried from a recent shower.
Warmth. Comfort. Affirmation.
“Good,” Erwin croons into his ear, hands wandering, groping down his arms,
swiping down his spine and prompting him into a sinuous arch, “Eren, you’re so
good, such a good boy for me. You finished it all, didn’t you, baby?” And he
can’t help the moan that rise from his mouth as he raises his arms, moves with
the urging of Erwin’s powerful hands to straddle his lap, clings helplessly to
that broad back as he’s hefted up and carried to the bed.
“I wanted to be good for you, Daddy,” he says, sinks his teeth into a plush
earlobe. “I’ll be so good, Daddy, you’ll see.” The mattress creaks, and he’s
lowered carefully onto the comfortable surface, springs creaking with his
weight. Erwin looms above him on all fours, cups his face, looks at him like
he’s made of glass so fragile it will shatter at a single touch.
“I know, baby,” Erwin says, voice a little rough and strangled, brings his head
down and rubs their noses together, a quiet moment of peace just for them. “I
know, I’ll take care of you, I’ll take such good care of you, baby, you’re so
good, baby—“
“—Daddy—“
And Erwin surges forward, and Eren feels like he’s being pried open, like he
could almost choke on that searching tongue, could suffocate on the faith and
desperation being shoved into him by insistent lips. The cry Erwin wrings from
him is nothing short of painful, fighting out from the nauseating mess it feels
like his insides have become ever since he returned from the mission, scraping
against his throat like broken glass, tears itself from his lips.
Erwin is forceful, and even as he kisses away the lone tear that traces its way
down Eren’s cheek like a perfect gentlemen, he’s tearing cotton pants away from
slender legs, pressing fingers into that firm flesh and dragging up to cup that
ass, driving Eren into the mattress with each powerful roll of his hips.
“Shh, don’t worry about anything, baby, Daddy will take care of you, Daddy’s
got you…”
He almost doesn’t recognize the words flying from his mouth, he’s so desperate
for it, to know that he can do this, to know he can cradle this boy in his
hands and give him what he needs, to know that he can take care of even this,
gives it to Eren fast and dirty, biting lightly at a nipple as he burrows a
finger, two, into that tight heat, feels Eren’s hole clench and bear down
around him.
Eren bucks up into his touch and his chest clenches, heart pounding in his ears
as his fingers slide in all the way and hit that spot, and Eren moans, whines,
and he’s sweet, he’s beautiful in Erwin’s arms, but his fingers are digging
into the meat of Erwin’s shoulders hard enough to draw blood. He writhes in
pleasure, hips jerking and kisses sloppy and wet, but the way his eyes flash
and the way a stray groan turns into a sob the longer Erwin whispers to him how
good he is, how he’s Daddy’s little boy and how he deserves something nice as a
reward, makes Erwin clutch him tighter, makes him slide in with a single thrust
and feel his concentration narrow down to that warmth, that sucking, filthy,
push and pull, the breaths and moans, both his and Eren’s that rise into the
air.
“Daddy,” Eren gasps, and tears spill down his face, “Daddy—am I—am I—“
“You’re good, you’re so good for me,” Erwin groans, and Eren kisses him,
clenches when Erwin pulls out, relaxes when he thrusts in, clutches at his
face, scrabbles at his chest, slides a hand down to feel where Erwin’s sliding
in and out of him, looks up at Erwin’s face with tear-blurred eyes that hover
between earth and sky in color.
“Ah—Daddy, you feel so good, you’re so hot inside, Daddy, you’re so good at
taking care of me, Daddy—!“
And Eren throws back his head with a howl as Erwin picks up the pace, wrists
pinned by his head as Erwin takes possession of that mouth, lips reddened and
swollen, and for a while it’s a jumble and no one can tell who’s fucking who,
Erwin ramming into Eren’s body or Eren rolling his hips and taking Erwin in
deep, so deep. Eren snarls, grabs the side of Erwin’s head, clenches his legs
around Erwin’s waist and digs his heels into his ass, and he cries again, cries
with pleasure, and the tears come rolling down his cheeks, and he hates them,
hates them, and he talks through it all, talks because he can see that
frustration and sorrow tucked deep and dark in the Commander.
“Fuck, Daddy, you’re in so deep, you’re fucking me so deep, Daddy, you’re so
good, you’re so good for me, Daddy, you take care of me and you’re so
good—hngh—you, you’re good—“
“Baby,” Erwin pants against his mouth, “Baby,” and hangs his head like he can’t
force anything else past his lips, sinks vicious teeth into Eren’s collarbone,
and they fuck and they fuck and they fuck until Eren’s wrecked with it, coming
with a scream, drawing a bloody gash down Erwin’s side, and Erwin shouts as he
pulls out and comes against Eren’s leg, the creamy white of his come staining
tan skin.
Erwin rolls to the side next to Eren, and they lie there, panting, until Eren
flings an arm over his eyes and start to laugh, loud and hard, snide, tinged
with hysteria.
“Oh my god,” he gasps, and he can’t stop laughing even when Erwin draws him
close, “We’re so fucked up. We’re fucked up.” He doesn’t cry this time, and the
touch he places over the scratches and marks he’s dug into the commander’s back
is gentle, apologetic. Blood and come mingle on the sheets.
Erwin doesn’t say anything, just curls around the body that leans on him, that
seeks for him, pretends that he can actually protect someone worth a damn for
once. In his arms, Eren feels small, so small, made of light and air, but Eren
licks one of the scrapes on his chest, and the sting wakes him, jolts him back
to life.
Eren sighs, calm now, crawls up so he’s looking Erwin in the eyes, swipes a
fond hand through tousled blond hair.
“We gotta pull our shit together,” he murmurs, maybe to Erwin, maybe to himself
and his eyes are old and pained.
Erwin just draws him into another kiss, open-eyed, watches candelight flicker
in the green of Eren’s eyes.
“You’ll get used to it,” he says grimly, and Eren laughs against his throat,
defeated and weary.
 
 
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