Eren’s bruised and reckless when Levi finds him.
He’s haunting the streets like a bleeding, silent specter. Eren’s dug his knuckles against the darkening rise of his cheekbones; Eren’s bitten bruises into his bottom lip. He’s antsy. He’s anxious. He wants to tear out from his flesh, like he does through the nape of his monster; part through the heat and the blood and the steam and whisk away like smoke into the ether.
And it’s in this night, he’s looking for a rush. A something. Anything — anything to get his mind to restart; to focus on something all consuming.
He’s beaten himself dumb — enough to leave his ears ringing, enough to make the kerosine lamps look foggy in his eyes — when Levi finds him in that alleyway, just a block from the barracks.
Levi’s found him and, shoulder leaned casually against the wall, as if he hadn’t just walked into Eren smacking his own face red, Levi starts saying something, but Eren doesn’t hear it.
Yet, he catches: ‘ everyone .’ ‘ You went.’ ‘Worried.’ And , ‘protocol.’
Eren can place it numbly together; can slot the words like the bricks beneath their feet. He knows he’s broken protocol; he knows he’s skipped out. His bed must have been found empty, by Armin, maybe. Mikasa.
Eren doesn’t care. He’s thinking instead about how much it frustrates him when it feels like only a deaf, hollow ‘ thump ’ when he hits his fists against his thighs.
And there’s a breath of life, suddenly. Levi’s gripping Eren hard on the arm. It’s not tender. It’s not kind. Eren doesn’t want it to be so; he wants to be fucked up and bruised and beaten; he’s jealous of himself, when he had been leaned over on the marble, arms behind his back, Levi’s boot connecting with his jaw; the sole thrusting hard onto his head over and over and over and over —
“Just hurt me.” And, Eren’s voice tumbles out like violence. “I don’t want to be scolded.. I keep fucking up and I just don’t want to think about it anymore. I can’t wail on myself. I don’t do it good enough, Captain. Please do it. Captain, just fuck me up. I can’t think.”
And Levi must understand somehow, someway in his bones; must ache to hurt and be hurt just as much as Eren — because they’re the same, really; not in every way, but in enough, because Levi does not lead Eren through the front door or to where the squad sleeps in their splintering, bunked beds, or where Armin and Mikasa trail the hallways in search of Eren; Levi does not speak, his tongue does not scold. He slips Eren into an office room. He leans Eren's body over the desk.
Levi pulls off the thick, black belt around his own hips. He folds it in his hands. Says:
“Alright. Undo your belt and your trousers, and underwear if you’re wearing it. I don’t care if you drop them to the ground, but the only thing on your ass needs to be your own skin. Got it?”
Eren breathes; the side of his cheek is pressed against the dark wood. He slides the edge of his face until his forehead is pressed to the desk. He slips his hands beneath himself, fiddling with his clothing until only the tan of his ass is showing above the lowered lip of his trousers.
He hears Levi hum.
“I’ll give you twenty,” he says. “Count each one. Say, ‘thank you’ each time.”
Eren’s gut twists; he can’t place the emotion. It bobs somewhere between fear and excitement. It brushes on arousal.
“Yes, sir,” he whispers.
“ Shit! ”
The first one stings. It sends a shock right up Eren’s spine. So sharp in its feeling, it could have almost felt cold. Eren gasps. Says,
“One. Thank you, Captain.”
He takes the next few fine. Or, fine enough. He grunts at the lashes. He winces, but does not stutter.
It’s on the eighth, he begins to struggle.
“ Ah . Fuck—“
“Eren. What number.”
Eren pants against the glossy desktop. He feels the warmth of Levi’s hand; it cups the hot skin on Eren’s right cheek, and it’s so painfully sweet a feeling. “Eight. Thank you, Captain.”
He’s yelping by twelve; a set of curses beneath his breath. His mind is fizzing like beer foam.
“Already bleeding,” he can hear Levi mutter. “Thin skin.”
He’s standing closer, Levi. No longer an arm’s distance away. After the eight hit, he had held the flat of his left palm against the desk for balance. He leans over Eren after every smack, now; the fabric of his trousers just barely brushing against Eren’s pretty, red ass. Eren hisses through his teeth at the smallest brush of feeling.
But it’s nice. It’s nice, really, because it’s Levi.
“Eren,” says Levi sternly. His voice is so close; it’s so deep and so good and Eren wants to cry. “Number.”
“ Fuck ,” chokes Eren. “Ah, fuck—”
“I’m not asking again.”
Fuck. What number. What number . Eren’s head is spinning.
Levi claps a hard palm on the rise of a red, raw cheek. His fingers curl below the stinging round of it.
“I don’t—“ and Eren’s voice breaks. He can taste salt on his tongue — hadn’t even noticed he had tears down his face until now.
“Alright,” Levi sighs. His weight lifts from Eren. He takes a step back. “Straighten your spine,” he says. “You look like a mess. We start at ‘one.’”
A hard whack. It bolts Eren forward, the sting coming hard on a previous welt. A sizzling noise escapes from Eren’s tight throat. He’s a stutter of tears and cries and ‘thank you, sir, thank you, sir, thank you, sir ,’’s until the adrenaline has numbed it. Until the pain makes his knees close to buckling. Each hit feels like the most painful ecstasy.
This time, he doesn’t lose count; he finds his sanity in the numbers and the snap that precedes them.
Fuck, it hurts.
Seven, eight, nine, ten —
But still, but still, but still , he wants to be hit again and again because he’s no longer thinking, he’s no longer hating himself, he’s no longer—
Thirteen, fourteen —
“ Fifteen . Fifteen. Fifteen, sir. Thank you, sir, thank you so much, sir.” It sounds like he’s begging. He is.
Levi straightens Eren’s ass after each hit; uses his own legs and pelvis to press Eren straight.
And, Eren feels it.
He’s hard. Levi’s hard.
And, “Good boy,” Levi’s saying. “I’m proud of you, Eren.”
And fuck, that feels good, that feels so good because all Eren wants is to do something right, to take something right, to make Levi proud of him. Eren wants to spill a monotony of words — love confessions, begging, pleading.
He feels drunk.
Eventually, his knees won’t stop buckling; he can’t stand straight.
Sixteen, seventeen, eighteen —
At nineteen, there's blood in Eren's mouth, his teeth having pinched through the inside of his cheek. That almost final, final hit has left him sore and shaking and he’s crying through the number. His ribs hurt as he heaves.
Levi presses heavy against him, his entire pelvis flush against Eren’s aching skin. And, Levi’s so hard against him. Eren can still feel the swell of Levi’s cock. And Eren wants that, too. He wants to feel as much as he can, internally and out. Wants Levi to thread his fingers around his neck; press himself into Eren’s body and fuck all the sorrow out from him. Hit against those stinging welts not with the chill of a belt, but with the repetitious smack of Levi’s skin against his.
Because all Eren is, is lonely and needy. He’s wanting. Just as much as to be hurt, he wants to pool at the edges of Levi’s ankles and be held and kissed and coddled. No, no — more than that, he begs to put this body that he hates into the hands of another; to control, to use, to fuck, to pretend to love...
“One more, Eren.”
One more —
Levi stills and in the silence of action, Eren can finally hear the panting between them both. Can feel the heat from Levi’s body; can sense the haze in his own brain like a warm fog.
Eren takes a breath. He’s horrifically aching. His heart is beating through his sternum, maybe enough to rattle the desk beneath him — it feels that way, anyway.
He feels Levi shift.
“Are you alright?” and there’s trepidation in Levi’s voice. Something that sticks sweet like worry. Are you alright?
Eren repeats it again in his head — ‘are you alright?’
It makes Eren want to sob.
“I’m— I’m okay. I’m alright,” struggles Eren. “I can, I can make it to twenty. But…”
But use me, fuck me. Please, please—
Eren’s tongue feels thick.
“Let’s just call it twenty,” says Levi. He sets the folded belt on the table. His hands grip Eren’s hips to steady him from collapsing. Levi’s about to step back—
“Wait, just…” Eren reaches back an arm. He digs his fingers into Levi’s thigh: a weak attempt to hold him in place, but it works.
“Just…” tries Eren again. He’s so desperate; he feels broken down to the most basic of thoughts.
Use me, fuck me, touch me, anything, but don’t go—
“Captain, please ,” and it comes out like a strangled whine. “Something more. Please, just fuck me here. Please. Before or after my ‘twenty,’ I don’t care when. But, please…”
Eren feels a finger suddenly twitch against his hip. Bracing his arms against the desk, Eren dares a glance just behind his shoulder.
And, Levi’s face is close. He’s still leaning over Eren, his brow furrowed in thought. Levi’s eyes don’t look at him; the thick fringe of his lashes touch the rise of his cheeks as he looks downward.
And, please, Eren aches to beg, please, pleasepleaseplease—
Bracing himself for the pain, Eren leans his hips back, pressing harder into the swell of Levi’s erection. A stifled grunt is his reward. Levi fingers press deeper into Eren’s hips.
And then, like giving up, Levi sighs.
“You really want that? For me to fuck you into the desk?” God, his voice sounds breathy. It curls near Eren’s ear. It trickles down his spine.
Levi presses into him; the pressure hurts and stings, but, god, that feels good.
“I’ve beaten your ass red, and now you want to be fucked like an animal?”
Eren’s breath stutters. “Yes,” he whispers, “yes, please.”
He listens to the undoing of Levi’s trousers; the beat of a button being undone, the hiss of unzipping, the soft sound of fabric being pushed down.
“You’re more of a freak than I figured,” mutters Levi. “I shouldn’t be surprised.”
“You too,” says Eren. He swallows. Gets the bravery to admit: “We’re both hard.”
“I noticed. You done this before?”
Eren shakes his head.
“I should prep you,” mutters Levi, almost to himself. “I’ll go get oil—”
“No.” Eren grabs for him again. “No, it’s okay. I don’t want that.”
Levi goes still. He must be thinking in the silence.
“This will hurt,” he says, and the low warmth of his voice lingers on something apprehensive; worried, maybe. “This will hurt a lot.”
“Good,” replies Eren in a whisper. He leans his face against the desk. It feels cold on his face. “Good. I want it to. I find peace in it.”
Levi spits into his hand before he cups this same palm around Eren’s mouth.
“Spit,” he says.
And, Eren does. His heart is in his throat, his stomach is in knots. He can’t look at Levi, but he can imagine him staring at the pink spit cupped in his hand — at the mix from their mouths, at the hint of blood between them.
“Alright,” says Levi. He slicks himself up. Drags his cockhead from the end of Eren’s tailbone to where the ring of muscle begins. Eren shivers at the feeling.
Levi asks, “You want my cock, Eren?”
Oh, fuck —
“More than anything.” His entire body feels like it’s on fire. “Fuck me. Please, fuck me. Please.”
Eren winces when Levi’s hand drags downward, coursing from Eren’s hip toward the open welts and reddening bruises.
“Needy.” And Levi draws back his hand to land it with a sharp, open-handed smack. Eren jolts. He yelps. A curse trembles through his teeth.
“ Twenty, sir !” Eren shrieks. His voice breaks. His body is shaking; he feels his hands stutter against the desk. He’s choking on tears. “Twenty, sir, please ! Tell me I did good. Please tell me I did good and — Fuck. Me. ”
And god, and god, and god — ! Levi slams forward and hits home, pushing in without prep. The pain and burning is overwhelming; Eren’s head snaps back before it falls and knocks against the table, his vision having gone blurry — he’s close to passing out, only for the jagged sting of pain to rouse him from the cliff of unconsciousness.
He loves it, he loves it, he—
“Look at you taking it,” he can overhear Levi. “You’re doing so good, Eren, taking my cock.”
He’s too overwhelmed to reply properly. It’s only a hurried hiss of moans Eren can give in return.
“Fu-uck —” The aching builds. Levi’s thrusting against him; skin against skin and everything and everywhere, and all that Eren is, feels like it's been engulfed in flames. A rush of adrenaline and dopamine spark behind his eyes. He could come like this, he could come, without being touched, by only being fucked, by only being used, by being bruised and broken by Levi Ackerman.
“Ah—! Yes, yes , please, yes—”
Lips press against Eren’s shoulder blade.
“This is what you’re good for,” Levi speaks against his skin. “Getting fucked against the desk. Tell me ‘thank you,’ Eren.”
“ Thank you —” Eren chokes. He’s sobbing. He hadn’t even noticed he’s sobbing hot, heavy cries. The edges of his vision are going black. There are fireworks in his nerves.
“When you’re sore tomorrow, think of this. Anytime you try to pull this shit again, think about how I’ll fuck the life out of you.”
“ Yes —” He’s close, he’s close, he’s close. “Captain, please, I—”
“Tell me what you want.”
“I want to come,” Eren gasps. “Please. Please . I’ve been good—”
He can feel Levi all over him; the meeting of Levi’s cock in his body, the warmth of Levi’s chest against his back. The soft touch of Levi’s mouth on the side of his neck.
“You’ve been good,” Levi breathes, warm, kind, sweet. “You’ve been good. I want you to come, Eren. You deserve to come…”
And Eren breaks.
His body convulses. Levi slips out, and Eren spills there against the desk, against himself. He’s the lighting strike of an explosion. And, he drops, finally; his knees hitting ground. His chest is heaving. He’s choking on his wails.
He feels heavier. No, lighter . He feels lighter. Most likely: a million contradicting things at once. But, fuck , it feels good to just collapse into himself and just feel and not think because there’s a warm hand, suddenly, on the curve of Eren’s shaking spine, and he knows that feels good without even thinking about it.
Levi has bent down beside him. His cock is slick in cum — had he ejaculated too? Had Eren made him feel good? Had he done well? It doesn’t matter; Levi pulls him into an embrace that shoves Eren’s wet and warm face into the curve of Levi’s left shoulder.
And Eren collapses there, totally. All his weight and all his thoughts. All his sorrows and shortcomings, for once, balanced by another body other than his.
It’s a burden relieved.
And free from himself, he feels for the first time — maybe for the only time — the closest he’s ever felt to freedom.