Chapter Text
It began with a hiss, a pressure building in his ears, a faint tingle sharpening into a piercing kettle whistle. Soon, it was buzzing—a relentless swarm of hornets plotting a coup within his mind. They multiplied, darting from cranium to temple, scraping against his skull. These hornets twisted into this sinewy presence, coursing through his veins until they settled right in his gut. They screeched there without pause, an unrelenting demand for sustenance. His anger shifted into an insatiable hunger, this voracious yearning for anything to fill that gnawing void that consumed him – be it food, water, or whatever substance could quench that damn lust.
If he dared to ignore these insatiable urges, the beast within roared with savage intensity, morphing hunger into this scalding, white-hot desire that boiled and surged. An itch, a relentless need festered down there, between his legs—a damp anticipation that drove him toward a stranger in a night, an unrelenting pursuit of his own satisfaction. It could be anyone, but not anyone would do. Most men left him feeling nothing but regret and gave him a rising headache. So he abstained and clung tightly to his last remaining autonomy over his own body. He wouldn’t give in to what his body needed, choosing cold showers, rigorous exercise, and corporal punishment — anything that would take his mind off the hungering need for sex that came after each burst of violence.
His uncle, way back when, used to call it “bloodlust,” a condition that birthed violence, inhuman power, and heightened sex drive. “It makes us strong, kid,” his uncle muttered. “But it makes us weak as well. It’s a give-and-take. You gotta feed that beast inside.” For Kenny, controlling those violent impulses meant tearing through the guts of criminals, mostly pimps and rapists. Yet for Levi, it manifested as this unyielding pursuit of combat, entering the underground realm of bare-knuckle brawls—a world far removed from the polished spectacle of mainstream boxing. Levi could’ve been a legend, a generational fighter, if only he’d been born with the right anatomy. It was no matter that the official boxing leagues banned him from fighting other men--the city's underbelly always had an appetite for brutality and spectacle. In those gritty alleys, gender held no sway—it all boiled down to who could unleash the most brutal blows, leaving their adversaries cold and battered. And Levi, well, he never tasted defeat, not once. Hell, he never even felt a blow.
The crowd named him “Sugar,” a traditional title for fighters graced with speed, skill, and that certain flair in the ring. Legends like Sugar Ray Robinson carried that name with pride. But the thing lurking within Levi, there was no trace of sweetness there; it craved blood and a warm body. When Levi stepped into that ring, he surrendered to the primeval abyss deep inside him, unleashing that monstrous violence that festered there. And he emerged victorious every single time. Sometimes, he’d snap out of this trance, sprawled amidst a pool of blood, jolted back to reality by the harsh bell ring. Nevertheless, he stood tall and triumphant.
After a while, fighting alone never sufficed, and with every battle, Levi’s insatiable need to quench the lustful instinct within him grew fiercer. The initial rush of adrenaline spiraled into an electric frenzy, and his mind shifted from the inky darkness to a tingling, electric storm. He yearned for release, to be filled up, stripped of all dignity, embracing the most primal, animalistic instincts that clamored for satisfaction.
How long had it been since he had a good fuck? Perhaps years. His previous partners were mere placeholders, offering just enough to soothe an itch, like scratching a mosquito bite. Even so, his appetite persisted, unyielding and craving for more. After each fight, he retreated to his squalid room, switched on a vibrator, and brought himself to climax so many times he passed out on soiled sheets, trembling and desperate for something stronger, much like a junkie craving a fix.
“Hey there, Sugar,” his manager called out. Levi had been fighting for Lovoff ever since Kenny vanished into the abyss. “Today, you’re going up against the Beast.”
“That damn monkey,” Levi muttered, an image of Yaeger looming in his thoughts—ugly beard, beady eyes, and an unsightly face. Oh, how he longed to knock him out cold. He had to, or else... Levi couldn’t bear to contemplate the consequences. It could never repeat their last encounter, which ended with Levi being consumed by his lust, mounting the bearded man in the dressing room, drenched in sweat and blood. He pulled himself away and ran home before he did anything he would regret even more. The mere thought of his bearded face churned his stomach, bile rising in his throat.
“You better win. There’s a newcomer here, loaded with cash. He’s wagered a small fortune on you, Sugar.”
“Have I ever lost?” Levi asked without boasting. It was a mere statement of facts.
“He’s paid extra,” Lovoff replied, a smile tugging at his weathered face. “He wants a private audience with you after the fight.”
“Did ya sell me off, old man?” Levi retorted. “For fuck’s sake, I ain’t a whore.”
“Whores, fighters, what’s the difference? You’re selling your body one way or another.”
“I ain’t fucking him.”
“No one’s asking you to fuck him, Sugar. Listen first, will ya? He only asked to meet you after your match, for a nice sum, of course.”
“How much are we talking?”
Lovoff’s smile widened into a rapacious grin. “Enough that you won’t have to jeopardize that pretty face anytime soon.”
Levi groaned. A hefty wad of cash was the ticket to liberation from this dump, enabling him to snag a flat in a decent part of town. No more bunking with the damn cockroaches, who, despite Levi’s endless battle of scrubbing and disinfecting, seemed to breed faster than he could swat ‘em. The entire block was a breeding ground for these critters, and no matter Levi’s efforts, the roaches returned, hungry and relentless, just like him—indestructible, ceaselessly searching for something to devour.
“Sure, count me in,” Levi mumbled, rolling his eyes. What did he have to lose, anyway? He’d retain control for a while longer. He wasn’t some mongrel. He’d keep it together.
The ring reeked of blood and puke. In a prior fight, some guy went lights out after a knockout and left with a concussion that would mess him up for life, along with a pile of medical bills—no glamor in this sport. No one remembered their names or crafted documentaries about these underground warriors. They were oddities like the freak shows and circuses of yore. Levi stripped down to his skivvies, his entire torso sinewy and sculpted, adorned with dark ink that concealed his scars and gnarly ribs.
The crowd roared, chanting his name, “Sugar, Sugar, Sugar!” They knew they were in for a spectacle. The rookies underestimated him due to his small stature and weight, and a few even booed and heckled him based on his appearance. Big mistake. They’d be losing a bundle tonight.
In front of him, Yaeger stepped into the circle.
“Did ya miss me, pretty boy?” he asked, lips twitching.
“Keep dreaming, Beast,” Levi hissed, spit flying from his lips. “Say that again, and I’ll make sure you never wake up.”
“I don’t know, you bark a lot, but from the last time, it seemed to me you liked it more than you want to admit,” he whispered, low enough nobody else would hear.
Levi roared and threatened to throw a punch, but the judge stepped between them.
“Save it for the fight, boys.” He pushed Levi away from Yaeger.
Yaeger smiled and cracked his neck, preparing for his fighting stance. His hands were massive and deformed from punching with bare knuckles, as was his brow, and his nose slanted askew. The last time, Levi had knocked him out, he broke his nose. Maybe today day, he’d aim for his chin; the man had a weak one.
The height difference posed some challenges. Levi was used to fighting bigger men and knew how to strategize around his disadvantages in reach and span. Levi was quick, and he was experienced. He knew how to work his size to his advantage.
As the lights turned on, the world fell silent, everything blurring except for his opponent. His ears rang, that buzzing sound of his blood rushing to release an exorbitant amount of power, amped up, like a dog let off the chain. Yaeger was yelling, his mouth opening and closing. Spit fell from his tongue, and Levi could smell the fear on him. Despite his bravado, he was terrified. Good. Levi would take him down. His hands itched, and his body tingled.
The bell dinged, and the world slowed, a silence before an explosion. Levi launched himself, letting his body do what it did best. Levi easily avoided punches as the heavy hands closed in, predicting Beast’s every move. He closed in and landed an uppercut. The dull thud of contact, a fist against the skin. The crowd cheered as Yaeger wobbled but recovered. It would take more than that to take him down. He tried to hit Levi from a distance, keeping his hands up to protect his chin. Hah, not so fast. Levi’s attacks were agile and lightning-fast—bouncing, evading, always nimble on his feet. He found a combination, landed a left hook, then hit him with 1-2, then 1-4. Bam! He jumped, landing a decisive blow to Yeager's temple. Zeke’s knees gave out, and he fell on the concrete. The ref began counting down, but even before the final countdown, Levi knew he’d won. He stood like a lion over a gazelle’s carcass, his hands bloody but otherwise unscathed. He’d barely broken a sweat. His blood sang, it roared, soared. He was invincible; he was the strongest. He was the Ackerman.
“Once again, give it up for the undefeated, the man, the legend, the tiny devil of Sina, our very own menace from the Underground: Levi ‘Sugar’ Ackerman!”
Zeke struggled to regain his footing, visibly shaken. He attempted to embrace Levi to offer congratulations for the hard-fought victory, but Levi recoiled. Not this time. He didn’t want to let the thing inside him retake control, but his body was already buzzing, the pressure building in his lower belly. He needed to escape this place. So, he pushed through the crowd and made his way back to the dressing room, where Lovoff awaited him, greeting him with a slow, mocking clap.
“I don’t know how you do it, kid. But as long as you keep knocking those big sons of bitches down and filling my pockets, I don’t care.”
Levi shrugged, scratching his forearms, trying to still the trembling. Lovoff narrowed his eyes, giving Levi a long, hard look. “You okay, Sugar? You always look like death after a fight.”
“Gotta run,” Levi muttered, the sound of his own voice surprising even him. “Got a fever.” No, not a fever, but the ‘bloodlust.’
Lovoff took a step closer, tapping Levi’s bare shoulder. “A gentleman is waiting for you. I told you about him. He paid me a pretty penny to meet you and get your autograph.”
Levi knitted his thin eyebrows, the ringing in his ears intensifying. “Why?”
“Doesn’t matter why. Maybe he’s a fan. An admirer.”
“Nah. Sounds fishy. Has he ever been to my fights?”
Lovoff’s face hardened, his wrinkles deepening like the grooves in an ancient oak tree. “Yes. He’s been keeping an eye on you.”
“Any name?” Levi asked, suspicion lacing his words.
“He goes by Mr. Smith.”
“Well, damn,” Levi sighed. “He couldn’t pick a more generic name.”
“Go on. He’s waiting in a room above the inn. Ask the barkeep for directions.”
“In a room? You sure he doesn’t have any funny business in mind?”
“Well, if he does, you can knock him down with a single punch, can’t you?” Lovoff grinned, a sinister glint in his eye.
“Fine. Not like I have a choice,” Levi mumbled as he watched Lovoff exit the dressing room. He rushed to the shower and scrubbed his body. He was growing feverish once more, that stickiness the water and body wash couldn’t wash away. He cleansed his torso and slid his hand between his legs. Fuck. He was so wet, practically dripping. His sex throbbed, pulsating like a heartbeat against his fingertips. Damn. There it was again, the curse of his blood, forcing him to tend to his needs like an animal in a rut. He would make this visit quick, sign whatever shit was needed and then rush home, where he should chain himself to the bed and sit on the largest dildo he owned to prevent himself from doing something foolish.
After the shower, he dried himself off, threw on a dark hoodie and a pair of joggers, and made his way out of the underground gym toward a bar where the crowd gathered, downing pints of beer. Levi pushed through the throng and leaned against the bar, inquiring about the man, Mr. Smith. The young barmaid greeted him with her most charming smile. Petra, Levi remembered her name, barkeep Rall’s kid.
“Oh, there was a man in a suit. He asked to secure our second dining hall for a private event, but from what I’ve seen, he was alone. How weird, right?”
“Weird,” Levi repeated, exhaling a sigh of relief. Well, at least it wasn’t a hotel room or something. This sounded more like a regular affair. Just a fan, probably. Some rich kid with a banker dad who had stumbled upon underground fighting through a shitty podcast or an internet series. Just Levi’s luck. Lately, more and more yuppies have been coming to watch the fights, betting on them like they were fighting dogs. Freaks, all of them.
“Well, gotta check what he wants.”
Petra blushed, her eyes focused on the grain of wood on the bar. “I heard you won today. Have – one on the house.”
“Thanks. Don’t drink.”
“Oh, right - right,” she stuttered. “Well, ‘grats. Heard you were incredible.”
Levi gave a nonchalant shrug and strolled toward the secluded dining area, the kind some fat cat could rent out for a family shindig or whatever tickled their fancy. Levi had never set foot in that grimy corner of the inn before, with its dark wood paneling that made the whole joint feel like it was closing in on him. The corridor danced and swirled in his vision, the relentless buzz in his head cranked up a notch. Sweat had already soaked his back, leaving an embarrassing damp stain.
His fingers gripped the doorknob and he swung the door open with a turn. The cramped room lay covered under the veil of red flickering light, casting a dim haze overhead. Nestled on a large leather sofa, on an ancient armchair sporting velvet crimson cushions, sat a shadowy figure, shoulders broad, legs crossed, face obscured. From his lips hunga cigar, burning like an overheated wire, a target mark in the shooting range, a stop sign. As Levi ventured in, the man glanced up, nailing Levi in place with a gaze as cold and unrelenting as a butterfly collector jabbing needles through fragile wings. His visage boasted the classical handsomeness found only in Hollywood movies — none of that rugged, charming appeal or the raw, brutal might Levi sometimes rubbed shoulders with in the underground fight pits. No, this man was something else entirely, a proper gentleman from a bygone era, a dying breed. He wore a trimly tailored three-piece suit, hugging his form just right, with a pair of leather gloves snug over his elongated digits. Without a word of welcome, he gave Levi a curt nod, a sly grin creeping across his lips, lighting up the murky room like a matchstick in gasoline. He blew smoke and tapped the cigar in an ashtray.
The smell of smoke seeped under his skin, igniting an urge bubbling within him, a volcano ready to erupt. In an instant, his blood surged, phantom hands propelling Levi forward, thrusting him into the dark abyss, his steps stumbling and veering. He grappled for control, grounding himself where he stood. I’m in control here. Not this flesh, not this blood.
His blunt nails burrowed into his palms. The searing agony acted as an unrelenting reminder, a brutal jolt from the encroaching trance that threatened to consume him.
“What a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance, Mr. Ackerman,” the man drawled, his voice a rich, smoky cadence. “What a grand victory it was!”
Levi merely shrugged, retreating within himself, abruptly aware of the man’s piercing, icy gaze. His tongue felt frozen, like pressing an ice cube against his own flesh, a parched stickiness that both burned and chilled. His own name sounded alien, each syllable uttered as if in verse. Ack-er-man. A plain name, yet sculpted with finesse by the man’s tongue. The blond stranger drew on his cigarette, releasing a slow stream of smoke, patiently awaiting Levi’s response. Yet, Levi found himself rendered mute, not due to the man’s presence leaving him bewildered, but because of the struggle within himself. Words had become a burden, a social obligation he reluctantly engaged in, a cumbersome ritual.
He mumbled, “It’s what I do.”
“You laid that man down as if granting him mercy,” the stranger commented with a knowing nod.
In a way, I suppose I was. It’s more humane for his opponents to get knocked out quickly rather than prolonging their agony. He couldn’t stomach the idea of torturing his opponent, especially when he possessed such an inherent advantage. If word were to leak about his hidden prowess, he’d probably be banned from throwing another punch, even in the gritty underground where violence reigned supreme.
Levi shrugged once more, making an attempt to steer the conversation elsewhere. The persistent ringing in his ears had evolved into perpetual tinnitus. “So, what’s on your mind? I’ll sign whatever documents you need just so I can get some sleep. It’s been one hell of a night.”
“Hmm,” the man deliberated, taking a moment to mull over Levi’s request, savoring the smoke that lingered in his mouth. “But I haven’t had the chance to introduce myself properly. Please, have a seat.” He gestured toward an empty spot on the leather sofa. “Get yourself comfortable.”
Levi complied, albeit begrudgingly. It had better be worth the cash. Lovoff owed him a favor, and Levi aimed to remind him at every turn. He made his way to the couch and perched on the edge. The man extended his hand, gloved fingers creeping toward Levi.
“I’m Dr. Erwin Smith,” he declared, taking Levi’s hand in a firm and lingering grip. He shook it with his right hand and clasped it with the left, brushing over Levi’s bruised knuckles. “It’s a true honor to be in the presence of an Ackerman.”
Levi jolted upright, pulling away abruptly, his heartbeat racing and pulsating through his entire frame. “What did you say?”
“I’m not one for superficial small talk, Mr. Ackerman. Would you prefer I call you by your name, or do you prefer your nickname, Sugar?”
Levi blushed, his moniker sounding like toffee in the man’s mouth, oozing and velvety soft.
“Just Levi’s fine,” Levi mumbled, his words barely coherent. “Spit it out. What do you want from me, doc? Planning to take a blood sample or something?”
Levi braced himself, ready to throw a punch, the voice of his own blood urging him to strike and make a run for it.
“Oh, please, there’s a misunderstanding. I’m not that kind of doctor.” he smiled, then took a short inhale, before crushing a cigar. “I’m a historian, and in my research, I’ve studied your family’s history. I know about all the things that make you incredible: your strength, your recovery, but also your violence,” he took a dramatic pause and clicked his tongue as if searching for words, eyes on Levi’s crotch. “Your particular cravings.”
Levi instinctively closed his legs. He could feel himself, wet and leaking through his joggers. His cunt throbbed, live and wanting. He could almost smell his own arousal, and hoped the man beside him didn’t notice Levi’s change in demeanor.
“Ya wanna fuck me?” Levi asked, weakly, voice paper thin, the redness creeping in his cheeks, spreading like an ink spill. Shit. He messed up. He jolted up, springing to his feet. Run, get out, his sanity screamed, yet his knees gave out, like he was the one struckby the winning knockout. Before he lost balance, the gloved hand found his wrist, holding him.
“Easy, I still haven’t discussed my proposal with you, Levi.”
Levi… He pronouncedhis name like a snake charmer. Le-vi, slow and drawn out, a magic spell.
“Proposal?”
“Well, yes, that’s why I invited you over,” Erwin responded. Levi shot a quick glance at him, his eyes catching the thickness of Erwin’s perfectly manicured eyebrows, a shade darker than his golden hair. He must’ve put a whole lot of work into keeping up that look. Erwin pulled out a lighter, and from his pocket, he procured another cigar and lit it. “You a smoker, Levi?”
“Nah,” Levi chimed in, interrupting the flow. “That’s dirty.”
“I see,” Erwin said, a faint trace of amusement sneaking into his voice, like a hidden smile in the corner of his words. “I suppose it fits your background.”
Suddenly, Levi’s instincts went from murmuring to loud shouts. Danger. He could have lunged at the man, tackled him, twisted his neck, and made a run for it. But there he stayed, rooted in place, consumed by curiosity. He couldn’t help himself; he had to find out more. If the man turned out to be trouble, Levi reckoned he could take him down, no problem.
“Ya spying on me?” Levi hissed. “Huh, freak?”
“Spying? I prefer doing my research.”
Erwin took another drag, and suddenly, Levi sensed the space between them shrinking. He caught the rich scent of thick smoke mingling with the man’s musky cologne, a striking contrast to his own simple soap-and-water aroma. The back of his hoodie was soaked with sweat, a clear, almost saline liquid. Yet what concerned him even more was the growing wetness in his briefs, seeping through the fabric of his joggers. God, he was so wet, almost mesmerized by his own adrenaline, which demanded a reward for a hard-fought victory.
Smith shifted his hand, gently placing it above Levi’s knee, tracing small circles over the bony joint. Levi’s thighs parted instinctively like the wings of a butterfly. Below him, on the sofa, a damp spot stared back at him, evidence of his body’s betrayal. His breaths became shallow, controlled puffs caught in his throat, and the humiliation burned like cigarette butts pressed into his skin.
“I’ve heard tales of your family, the Ackermans, ancient warriors, invincible, with a single one of you equal to an entire army,” his fingers snaked upward, tracing Levi’s thigh.
“What are you – ahh – what –” Levi’s words seemed contradictory, for as Smith’s hand found its way to the wet spot between his legs, his desire throbbed, almost surging in anticipation.
“But your bodies had a fatal flaw. They demanded a reward for a victory in battle. The more you fought, the more uneasy you got.” His fingers, long and gloved, pressed against him, unmoving, just enough to tantalize and drive him wild.
“St-op,” Levi whimpered, attempting to still his hips from rocking against the stranger’s hand.
“Oh, nonsense, I haven’t even made myself clear yet.”
The hiss turned to static, clarity in his mind disintegrating like white noise on a broken TV screen. He craved more, wanted to straddle the man, bite off those gloves from his fingers, and shove them in his clever mouth. Then he would ride him until his body sparked and he was filled up and dripping with satisfaction.
No. Not like this. Couldn’t let himself fall into temptation again.
None of them can satisfy you. Not the way you need it.
Stop.
Go, Levi, run!
Don’t do it. Leave!
In the shadowy depths of the chamber, Levi’s voice quivered as he spoke, “Stop this -“ His words faltered as he swallowed hard, attempting to rise from his place. “I’ve had enough of your shit. I’m leaving.”
A predatory smile curled upon Smith’s lips as he withdrew his hand from Levi’s crotch, drawing it towards his mouth and tasting the remnants of the wetness. Levi’s gaze remained fixed upon Smith, a mixture of disgust and awe. Smith licked his fingers, eyes locked on Levi’s. A flash of his red tongue drew a moan from Levi’s lips, like a bitch in heat, needing him to lick every drop of the gushing arousal between his legs.
“Levi, I won’t stop you from leaving. You’re welcome to turn away and go.”
Levi’s fists clenched, his readiness for confrontation palpable. “I will go. I’m leaving.”
With arms crossed, Smith leaned forward, resting his chin upon intertwined fingers, his voice curling with tantalizing promises. “But what, dear Levi, shall you do about the turmoil that festers inside you? Has anyone ever been able to satisfy it?”
“Quiet, you pervert,” Levi hissed, but his voice cracked; from a threatening fighter, he turned into a needy slut.
“Mmm,” Smith purred, undressing Levi with his icy blue gaze. “I wonder if it’s even possible for a mere mortal to satisfy a god? But I like a challenge, and from the first time I’ve learned about you and your specific condition, I knew I had to see it for myself.”
Smith inhaled deeply from his cigarette, releasing tendrils of smoke that beckoned Levi closer. Entranced, Levi advanced like a sleepwalker intoxicated by moonlight, the scent enveloping him as the edges of his existence blurred.
Don’t resist it. whispered the insidious voices within. Let him.
“Shut your mouth,” Levi muttered.
Smith smiled again, his lips contorting Levi into a tangled knot.
“So, you’re not leaving, are you?” Smith asked, his voice a seductive opium trail.
“No,” Levi admitted, realizing the implications of his indecision. It was his surrender, a victory for the untamed desires raging within.
“Good,” Smith purred. “Then undress.”
Levi didn’t want this, not here and not now, with this stranger who compelled him so, but the command offered clarity, a razor-sharp purpose amidst the haze. Closing his eyes, Levi stripped down, the hiss in his ears reminiscent of a diamond-tipped drill. The next thing he knew, his knees gave out, and he found himself seated on the man’s sturdy thigh. He was now naked, stripped bare with his tattoos and scars, clad only in briefs, while the man remained adorned in his tailored wool suit. The position was humiliating and degrading.
Yet, the man placed his hand on Levi’s thighs, tracing his taut abdomen, following the contours of peaks and valleys on his torso.
“Magnificent,” Smith whispered and Levi knew he meant it. “Tell me, Levi, do you understand why sex never feels fulfilling? Why you never truly feel satisfied?” His fingers traced Levi’s tattooed chest, following the dark, inky shapes of the thorny roses etched onto his skin. “It’s because your blood doesn’t yearn only for sex, not really. Yes, it feels good at the moment, but it’s something deeper, something primal. I wonder if you know what it is.”
Think? Levi couldn’t think of anything else; his singular desire was to quell the fever raging within him, to grind against this man who exuded the scent of smoke and cigars, offering sweet release to his tingling nerves. He closed his eyes, allowing his other senses to dominate his perception. Every inch of his body craved to be touched, as if a thousand hands caressed all the places that made him feel incredibly right. He yearned to be suspended, utterly consumed, thrust into oblivion, sucking on the man’s gloved fingers as they teased and tantalized him.
“Ungh,” Levi moaned, undulating his hips, his throbbing cunt staining Smith’s woolen trousers. It wasn’t enough; he needed those fingers once more. His mind screamed, “Please,” but his lips remained stubbornly sealed.
“It seems you’re in dire need, and lucky for you, I’m more than willing to comply,” Smith’s voice drawled, a breath away from Levi’s ear.
Smith’s fingers discovered Levi’s clit, expertly manipulating the bundle of nerves while his thumb dug into Levi’s pelvis. Levi’s back arched, his mouth agape, his tongue escaping his lips. A guttural groan escaped him, a desperate and ugly sound, reminiscent of a dying creature.
“You’re practically soaked. Look at the mess you’ve made, Levi. If anyone saw how desperately you crave this, your reputation as the enigmatic underground fighter would crumble,” Smith teased.
“Damn you,” Levi managed to utter, his own weakness a source of self-disgust. Rather than resisting, he pressed into the man’s unyielding hand, grinding against it. The pleasure surged, warming and overflowing throughout his body. He was on the brink, so very close, the scent of smoke growing more intense, threatening to engulf and consume him in a fiery blaze.
“Open your eyes. Look at me,” the commanding voice ordered, and Levi’s eyelids snapped open without hesitation.
“What a good, obedient boy. Does it feel good to be instructed?” Smith inquired.
“Nah, no…I’m not sure,” Levi admitted.
“That’s perfectly fine. I suppose I’ll have to try harder.”
Smith’s touch persisted, the leather sliding downward, teasing Levi’s plump and engorged arousal, before delving between his slick folds, thrusting those thick fingers inside him. Shit, it was good, those clever digits filling him with an overwhelming purpose. A barrage of curses—oh God, oh shit, more, yes, fuck—hovered at the tip of his tongue, poised to unravel into incoherent babbling.
“Hmm,” Smith hummed, discovering the perfect angle, twisting, curling, in search of that elusive spot within him, while his thumb provided counterpressure. Levi gasped, emitting a series of gurgles as the pulsation within him intensified—more pressure, then another finger, right there. His muscles clenched around the long fingers inside him, and he released, wetness gushing down his thighs.
“It seems like you enjoy this,” Smith purred, leisurely fucking his fingers inside Levi. Levi could hear himself, the sounds his cunt was making. How embarrassing, utterly mortifying!
And yet all he could say was a pleading, “More – moremoremore.”
“Oh, you sweet thing, don’t worry. I’m going to take good care of you.”
Smith withdrew his fingers briefly, pulling Levi closer until every pore of his perfect face was within view. He raised his left hand, took a drag from a cigarette, savoring the smoke in his mouth, and then exhaled it onto Levi’s face. Levi inhaled deeply, taking in the ashy, burnt scent, gulping the air that had just been in Smith’s mouth. He longed to be a cigar between Smith’s fingers, to become the very air and smoke he breathed.
“Yes, it can be an acquired taste,” Smith commented, tapping the ash into the tray. “But so are all fine things.”
But it wasn’t the smoke or a cigar Levi craved. It was the man’s lips, his touch. He would take whatever the man offered. The cacophony in his mind faded into a single, monotonous note, high-pitched yet clear, his entire consciousness vibrating in its timbre. Smith took the hand that had been between Levi’s legs and pressed it against Levi’s parted lips. The slick fingers brushed against his swollen mouth, slipping inside. The taste of leather, his own essence, and saliva filled his mouth as Smith scrutinized every twitch and gesture on Levi’s face.
“It would be a shame for such a face to be marred in an underground brawl. No wonder they call you Sugar. You’re such a little thing, just melting and dripping with sweetness.”
He traced Levi’s features, as though he were discovering him anew, from the contours of his eyes to the gentle slope of his nose. The tenderness of the touch sent prickles through him, stirring a desire to flee, to lash out with punches and screams. No one had ever touched Levi this way—neither rough nor demanding, not as if trying to knock him down or exact punishment. Instead, it felt as though Levi were some precious painting in a museum, something worth admiring, rather than a jumble of sinew, muscle, and fractured bones, good only for brawling to earn a quick coin for underground slumlords.
If Levi were a man capable of gentleness, he might have parted his lips and requested a kiss—a simple peck on the lips, just to understand what it felt like when touch aimed not to destroy but to soothe, to bring pleasure rather than punishment. Perhaps a small kindness could heal the festering wounds within him, mending his fractured spirit. But Levi couldn’t bring himself to ask. His tongue knew only curses and insults, not how to request something as tender as a kiss. Yet the man, Erwin Smith, drew nearer, as if he could decipher the turmoil swirling within Levi’s mind.
“Open your mouth, Levi,” he commanded, his voice dripping with golden honey.
How could Levi possibly refuse?
Erwin leisurely took a drag from his cigar, savoring the smoke as it curled through his mouth. He then pressed his lips upon Levi’s, exhaling the smoke into Levi’s awaiting mouth. Levi received it as a holy communion, gulping down the shared breath with eyes wide open. His mind spun, his entire body felt like it was tinderwood poised to erupt into flames. Following the kiss, Erwin sealed Levi’s mouth, holding the smoke captive within him. It choked, burned, making Levi’s throat tingle, yet he remained motionless, increasingly intoxicated by the swirling fumes.
“Now, slowly, exhale,” Erwin softly commanded. Levi complied, releasing the smoke through his nostrils. “Mmm, very good. Shall we try it once more?”
Erwin continued to smoke, sharing his breath with Levi through each suffocating kiss. His other hand found its place back on Levi’s clit, initially stroking it with a teasing, deliberate slowness. Gradually, the pressure intensified, his fingers moving in and out with demanding precision, massaging Levi until the pleasure surged through him like a coursing electric current. Erwin took one last drag, crushing the cigar, before exhaling one last breath into Levi’s mouth.
“Hold it,” he commanded, thrusting his fingers into Levi’s moist heat up to the knuckles. Three thick digits plunged into him with unrelenting, accelerating strokes. Levi yearned to scream, to weep and moan, but the smoke constricted his throat, rendering him feeble, his vision fading to black, consciousness slipping away. More – more – more, his mind clamored. And it seemed as though the man heard him, intensifying the rhythm, driving him with such force that the wet, squelching sounds reverberated in the dim, smoky room.
Levi could feel the man’s arousal straining in his trousers, large — thicker than Levi imagined it. Instinctively, Levi’s fingers traveled to the erection, groping it, practically grinding against the bulge. He needed it inside him. Fingers weren’t enough. Nothing — nothing could fulfill him like feeling all of that thickness inside him. The man groaned, curling his fingers, attacking that spongy spot inside him.
Levi’s mind screamed, mouth filled with smoke. This is what he craved, to be annihilated by a force more powerful than him, to latch himself to a greater god.
Just as the pleasure surged to its climax, Erwin’s free hand encircled Levi’s throat, applying pressure. The smoke, the ecstasy, the fingers within and upon him—it all became too overwhelming. Levi gasped, exhaling the smoke from his mouth, his eyes rolling back, his tongue protruding, and he climaxed, a spurt of liquid gushing from him in a trembling release.
Levi’s vision wavered, slipping into the unexplored depth of the ocean, deep down where no light peeked through. His limbs dissolved, turning into a boneless mass. A comforting warmth enfolded him, two steady hands anchoring him to prevent him from slipping away.
In that brief moment, Levi experienced a rare calm hat had eluded him since the emergence of his extraordinary abilities. Instead of the usual scorching, unfulfilled lust coursing through his veins, there was a serene stillness. The incessant cacophony in his ears gave way to a few deep breaths.
The primal beast within him, the untamable wildness that had always raged for release, retreated to its lair, soothed by the touch of the man whose presence acted as a gentle antidote to his bloodlust.
Levi blinked his eyes open, and time felt like a riddle – seconds or days, he couldn’t say. He was cocooned in the man’s lap, the enormity of what just occurred flooding his awareness. When he tried to rise, his limbs refused to cooperate.
“Easy now,” Erwin murmured, his hand resting reassuringly on Levi’s back. “No need to rush.”
Levi shut his eyes briefly, then opened them to realize he was perched on the man’s thigh, his trousers drenched.
“Dammit,” Levi muttered, pushing himself away and struggling to stand. He avoided Smith’s gaze, reluctant to confront what might linger there. He gathered his scattered clothes, his briefs now beyond use. Without ceremony, he discarded them and hastily pulled on his joggers. He shoved the tainted briefs in his pocket, still smelling the scent of sex and sweat.
“Well, you do seem a bit better, Sugar — less on the edge, wouldn’t you say so?”
Levi’s eyes blazed with a fierce intensity, like molten steel set alight. He wouldn’t stand for someone addressing him with that patronizing veneer, as if he were a fractured thing in need of repair, as if he were entirely at the man’s mercy.
“You’ve got no bloody clue,” Levi retorted, his voice a harsh rasp, his brow furrowing with palpable irritation. “You think that’s all it takes, do you? You think you’re something special. Well, you’re not, doc. The next time I step into the ring, I’ll be that same jittery wreck. The moment adrenaline shoots through my veins, I’ll be back to that drooling, quivering mess you witnessed.”
The man held no supernatural power over Levi. He was merely present in the right place at the right time. Levi let it happen. Better this than having Jaeger fuck him in a dressing room, rutting against him but not even satisfying him. Better this than some nameless nobody in a dimly lit alley. Hell, maybe next time he should just chain himself to the damn bed.
Erwin’s unwavering demeanor continued as he delved into his proposal, reaching for his briefcase placed on the floor. He took a wet wipe to cleanse his gloves before retrieving a stack of documents bound in imposing hard covers. He extended the stack towards Levi, his enigmatic face betraying nothing. As Levi leafed through the papers, a distinct chill rippled down his spine, a cold foreboding lurking beneath the surface.
“What is this?” Levi inquired, searching for some inkling of intention in Erwin’s inscrutable countenance.
Erwin’s response was measured, his voice a steady, flowing stream. “This, Levi, is a solution to that peculiar genetic quirk in your blood.”
Levi, his curiosity piqued and anxiety mounting, pressed further. “What kind of solution?”
“I would like to make a deal with you, Levi,” Erwin explained, his proposal carrying a weighty gravity. “Fight for me, not for Lovoff. I can secure you better terms. You won’t have to brawl in grimy alleyways anymore; you’ll step into the ring like a professional, earning substantial sums.”
Levi shook his head and spat. “That’s impossible. The federation won’t accept fighters like me.”
Erwin’s expression shifted into one of mild amusement. “Well, the federation is in the wrong. You’re an incredible fighter and deserve a spotlight. Besides, there are those who’d pay handsomely to watch someone your size take on athletes twice your build.”
Levi couldn’t help but retort with a hint of sarcasm. “Is it some kind of size fetish? They want to see a little twink beat up hulks?”
Erwin’s raised eyebrows revealed his amusement. “Perhaps, Levi. But would it be so different from what you’re doing now? I’m only offering better compensation and conditions.”
Levi crossed his arms and took a step back. “So, what’s the catch?”
Levi had learned through harsh experience that such offers never came without strings attached. There was always a catch, always a hidden agenda.
Erwin rose, and as he did, his full stature came into view – an imposing figure towering over Levi, radiating the kind of confidence that could change the course of history with a single word. He advanced towards Levi, gently tilting his chin to lock their eyes in an intense gaze.
“My dear Levi, you’re very clever,” Erwin murmured, “In return, I would like to be the sole recipient of your company after your fights. Only I could have you – only I would touch you and satisfy that urge in your blood.”
The room seemed to contract, and the gravity of the offer hung in the air, thick with implications.
Levi flipped through the contract, but the words on the pages resembled a swarm of ants. What did this man think he was doing? Simply waltzing into his life with a shady proposition that seemed to imply he should spread his legs after each fight… This wasn’t the kind of sports deal Levi had in mind. He saw beyond the polished veneer and bespoke suit, discerning the shadow of yet another pervert who only sought to exploit him in the throes of his vulnerability. The idea of it – Levi sweaty, still dressed in his boxers, knuckles wrapped, and bent over for his new manager while the crowd roared in ecstatic approval – bore an unsettling resemblance to what Lovoff had once desired back in the day, before Levi had firmly put a stop to it.
Closing the contract, Levi extended his hand, a steely resolve in his voice. “I’ll pass.”
Erwin raised an eyebrow, seemingly unfazed. “Was the financial aspect insufficient for you?”
Levi shrugged, not even bothering to peruse the sum the doctor had offered. “I’m not for sale.”
“Very well,” Erwin responded. “As I mentioned earlier, the choice is entirely yours, Mr. Ackerman.”
Erwin extended his hand once more, and Levi accepted it, taking the offered business card. It was black with gold engraving, bearing the name Erwin Smith, Ph.D., along with an address and contact number. Erwin leaned in, his words a hushed whisper. “If you ever reconsider, find me here. It was a pleasure to meet you, Levi Ackerman.”
Levi recoiled, clutching the stack of papers, and skirred the secluded room. He pushed his way through the bustling crowd, exiting into the crisp, wintry night. As he ran home to his dimly lit apartment, the chilly breeze nipped at him, but he welcomed the chill, needing to wash away the unease.
Arriving home, he peeled off his sweat-soaked clothes and stepped into the shower, scrubbing his body to the point of near rawness. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, his tumultuous blood was pacified, the chaotic buzz of voices finally stilled. A sense of lightness enveloped him, his muscles rejuvenated. He felt as if he could move mountains, win battles – this was what his body craved, what it demanded.
Levi lay down on his narrow bed in his basement apartment. Upstairs, his neighbors continued their raucous party, and a man in the adjacent complex had a screaming match with his wife. A baby’s cries and a barking dog contributed to the cacophony. From the street, police sirens blared, piercing his ears. Yet, despite all the noise, Levi remained serenely calm. He closed his eyes, blocking out the surrounding clatter, retreating into the sanctuary of his body, sinking into the endless blue.
“Levi,” his blood whispered, but this time, the voices weren’t a discordant clamor. It was singular, a man’s voice, as smooth as aged leather. “Levi, Levi, Levi... I’m waiting for you.”