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Eren is nearly silent, and for once, she is glad.
He is under her—pliant, sweat gathering on his brow and the base of his neck, mouth agape with quiet gasping breaths as she fucks him; a hand planted squarely in the centre of his chest as she drives her hips forward.
The whole ordeal is not ideal; Eren is already in a serious amount of trouble for going AWOL, in serious trouble for endangering his comrades, for inciting a war—and yet, she couldn’t hold herself back from seeing him. The last time they had actually spoken was the day he went missing, and the night before, things had… Transpired.
When she sees him then, laying in the cell alone, she feels her heart slowly break all over again, because she can barely recognise him. His hair is long, longer than it has ever been, and much to Mikasa’s chagrin, she has to admit that it suits him. Up close, she can see every crease, every burgeoning wrinkle, the dark hollows under his eye—and to her surprise, he allows her to touch his face: shaking fingers trailing over his sharp jaw and gaunt cheeks, feeling the roughness of his facial hair, his dried skin.
“What have you come for?”
The question and the abruptness startles Mikasa. Eren levels a gaze at her, eyes swimming with an intensity innate to him, that same longing gaze that he had leveled at her in Marley, and it all but halts her train of thought; why come see him, after everything? I wanted to make sure that you were alright, is what she thinks she’d ought to say—but she knows for sure that Eren would without doubt see right through that; Annie once told her that she was a terrible liar, and after all these years, she couldn’t bring herself to disagree.
Because the truth was she was furious—for months, the embers of anger had been slowly stoked by his silence, by his non-compliance, by his total disregard for his comrades—but still she was here, in his cell.
She doesn’t get much longer to dwell on the question though as Eren seizes his chance, and leans to kiss her, and for those brief moments, she forgets why she was ever angry in the first place and instead remembers how good it felt to have his mouth against her own, how good it felt to have his lips on her neck, hot breaths against her collar bone as he begins to undo the buttons of her blouse with haste.
“Missed you,” he murmurs harshly, his lips capturing hers again in a bruising kiss, his hands palming her shirt, pushing the garment over her shoulders until it hangs around her elbows. Mikasa doesn’t say anything back, consumed with him, with the feel of him, with the taste of him.
“Missed you so much,” he sighs once again, biceps straining as her hoists her into his lap—sturdy thighs bracketing his own as he begins to mouth at her breasts through her bralette, wet mouth pressed against the thin fabric, his teeth pinching her just right, ducking his head again to trail kisses down her stomach, Mikasa’s fingers twining with his long hair to hold him in place.
His hands are everywhere now; on her back undoing her the clasp of her undergarments, sliding up her thighs, rucking her skirt up over her hips to better access her cunt—that first initial slide of his fingers against her clothed slit making her buck, hips winding down as he slips his fingers beneath the fabric. He slides two fingers in—long, prone, delicate, and all she can think of is how she wants more as she drops her head onto his shoulder, her arms desperately clinging to his upper arms when she begins to properly fuck herself on his fingers.
With his free hand he takes hold of her chin, kissing her hungrily once again, as if it was going be one of the last things he would ever do, as if this was going to be one of their last moments together. When he pulls his slick fingers from her she can’t help but whine with dissatisfaction, trying to ignore how Eren is sighing her name, still repeating that he missed her, and still, she has not said a thing.
He lays on his back, pulling off his green tunic and tossing it to the side, cock straining against his sweatpants—the very sight making her cunt throb with need. She does the same then, shucking her loose garments free, undoing the buttons of her skirt and pulling it over her head as she shuffles towards him, letting his hands slide over the musculature of her stomach, up over her small breasts. Her head lolling backwards at the feel of his rough palms, his larger hands, ghosting her hips and pulling her towards him.
Barely looking at him, Mikasa leans to pull down his pants, finding his cock straining taught against the sinewy muscle of his abdomen, blushing with need and wet at the tip with pre-cum.
It’s only then as she lingers on his abdomen and torso that she realises that she can see the curves of his ribs, every rigid round bone leaving a shallow gap where the skin of his stomach undulates as he heaves breaths. Her eyes find his face then and it irks her that he looks content—after everything—and then, she’s reminded why she came down her anyway, but it’s far too late for that.
She climbs astride him, hands trembling as she guides his cock into her, his own larger ones sliding over her knuckles as she presses him inside—relishing how he soothes the ache in her cunt, but keenly aware at how it does little to dissipate her own anger, her own upset.
Eren bucks into her, a snarl emanating from his lips as they curl into something of a smile when she drags her hips forward and back—the thick length beginning to stir something within her. His hands find Mikasa’s hips again, pressing firmly into skin and bone, ushering her up and down on his cock with wet slaps as his thighs and hips drive against her. The motion makes her fall forward, back arching in a desperate attempt to find that additional friction that sets her sweet-spot alight. She lifts her head then, long bangs falling around her face—and she sees Eren, watching her adoringly.
Mikasa sits upright then, still fucking herself on his cock but the swing of her hips becomes harsher as she moves, causing the bed to creak beneath them, the steel rails behind Eren’s head scraping off the brickwork. The sudden intensity makes Eren’s hold on her falter, hands falling by his side, fingers twisting desperately into the thin sheets of his bed as she fucks him—tight and heated moans falling from his lips when Mikasa furthers the pace.
Her pace slips when Eren reaches for her clit, his fingers feather light, brushing over coarse curls—but she does not let him, instead gently pushing his appendages to the mattress, holding them there.
“No,” she says, voice crackling with emotion and it is the only thing that she has said to Eren since she arrived at his cell. “Please, just let me…”
She sees him swallow a groan, throat lurching as he does, solemnly nodding at her as he submits to her rhythm, fingers instead coming to rest on the top of her thighs, continuous small gasps of pleasure falling through the cracks of the facade that Eren had put on. The palms of her hands find the centre of Eren’s chest, the building of tension in her gut slowly unfolding into a delirious haze of pleasure—and judging by the way Eren’s face contorts, he too is not far away from release.
“I’m s—”
“Please, stop talking.”
And so, Eren is silent—she lets him kiss her one last time before he groans against her mouth, rolling his hips one more time as he gasps out her name—she quickly slides off him, taking him in hand and with strong firm strokes lets him cum all on her belly, stray flecks finding the underside of her breasts, the crevices of his abdomen.
Mikasa still sits astride him—breath ragged, but desire sated, her anger lightly quelled; she hoped that maybe later on that she and Armin would be able to talk about everything properly—that there may be still some way to work this out.
“I have to go,” she says, quickly dressing, not even bothering to wipe herself off, it was late at night and no one was going to see her anyway. “I don’t know when I’ll see you next.”
Eren remains silent, nodding sullenly, resigning himself to the fact that he didn’t know when they’d next meet—if they’d ever see each other at all.
“I’m sorry,” he says, this time without being interrupted—and Mikasa thinks that he does not sound that remorseful, because beneath the apology, she knows that there are a litany of excuses—it was for them, it was for Paradis, it was for Eldia. She hoped that at the very least that he was on their side, there was not much doubt in her mind that he was.
Mikasa kisses him goodbye, one more time, deciding to accept the apology for what it is, even if she suspects that it is hollowed.
She locks the cell behind her, stuffing the stolen keys back into the pocket of her overcoat, looking up one more time to steal a glance at Eren, only to find him wrapped in his sheets and turned over away from her—the heartbreak the sight brings bordering on intangible.
Days later, Eren would break her heart once again—except in a way that she never expects.