“Oh. Well, okay.” A voice rings out behind Erwin, and he freezes, despair coiling in his gut because this is the end, he’s been seen and he’ll be captured and experimented on and it’s five in the goddamn morning, who else is in the showers? He chose this time specifically because no one else is ever in the showers at five in the fucking morning.
Erwin would not be here at five in the morning if he didn’t have to be. It’s five in the fucking morning.
Shoulders hunched – not that it would hide the grey-black wings stretching out of his back, but it’s a damnable human instinct, to protect oneself when one’s feeling frail – he turns to look at the perpetrator of his downfall.
Fuck, and he was almost Corporal, too.
A brown-hair, brown-eyed woman stares back at him, and Erwin frowns. “This is the male shower room.”
“You have wings,” she retorts, stepping into the room and deftly avoiding Erwin’s large wingspan by sidestepping the left wing. He can feel her body heat as she passes by, and it makes the feathers ruffle.
Fucking showing off for her, and he cups himself, frantically realizing that he’s naked, she’s naked.
She can see his wings.
“Besides, there’s so much more soap scum in the woman’s shower room, because of all the fancy hair goop and stuff, which I don’t mind, really – they all smell nice, I guess – but it makes the floor really slippery and I’m only not clumsy in manoeuvre gear, which is – maybe it’s a sign that I’ve found my calling?” The woman babbles, stepping under a showerhead three spots over from Erwin’s. “I don’t know if I believe in callings at all, but I think it would be cool, you know, if everybody had one thing that was just their thing, you know? SO much less stress. But also maybe not as fun.”
She shampoos her hair. She rinses the shampoo out of her hair, and then she gracelessly scrubs her bar of soap under each pit, on her crotch, militant and clinical about it all as she re-traces the path the soap make with scrubbing fingers.
“And Elenor, she gave me this stuff,” the woman bends down and picks up her second bottle, shaking it in Erwin’s direction. “Called conditioner? It’s the fancy hair goop that makes their hair so shiny and untangle-y and stuff, you know, and she said to try some out. See if I like it.”
Popping the cap and squeezing some white substance into her palm with a wet, hideous noise not unlike Erwin’s granduncle’s drunken farts, she sniffs, tilting her head to the side as she looks at where Erwin has remain frozen, hands cupped over his cock and eyes wide. “Are you done your shower or?”
Then she just mashes the conditioner onto the top of her scalp, and Erwin winces. “You’re supposed to comb it through.”
“The conditioner. You’re supposed to comb the conditioner through your hair.”
“Oh,” the woman says, adjusting the movements of her hands till she’s doing just that. “You can finish your shower, if you want. I won’t tell anyone. About, you know, your wings.”
She grins at him, blinking earnestly as she yanks her fingers through a knot in her hair that makes Erwin want to cry. The terrible, crude motion has to be repeated three times for her fingers to work their way through.
“…okay,” Erwin replies, comforted at the acknowledgement of his wings – at last, finally, he wasn’t sure what was happening for a few moments – but also unsettled.
It’s the first time someone outside his family has seen them, and it’s… Intimate.
Turning back to the showerhead, Erwin resumes rinsing his own conditioner out, convincing himself he doesn’t want to mention how she’s brutalizing her hair.
“So can I touch ‘em?”
Erwin jumps with a yelp, twisting to the side because she can move quickly, holy shit, and quietly, and that’s just –
Her face is an inch and a half from his face – his neck, really, with the height difference. Erwin takes a few stumbling steps back, to keep her fully in his sight. “What?”
“Wings. Your wings. Can I touch ‘em? I won’t hurt you, if you teach me what not to do. How do you wear manoeuver gear? Doesn’t that hurt? How long have you had these? Were you born with them? Wow, did your mother survive that? Her vagina must be very strong. A godlike vagina.” The woman – sort of skip-dances around Erwin, ducking under his wings casually, like approaching winged men in shower rooms is something she does every Thursday.
What the fuck, for all Erwin knows, it is.
“I –” His mind is whirring. “Please stop talking about my mother’s vagina.”
The woman laughs, stepping in front of him again, blocking the stream of water. Erwin steps back, hates how this feels like retreat. “You’re funny. I like you.” She grins, holding out her hand. “I’m Hanji Zoe. Call me whatever, I don’t really care.”
“Erwin Smith,” Erwin replies, shaking her hand cautiously. Zoe’s grin widens. “Are – when –”
He’s tripping over his words like a schoolboy, and Erwin just knows his cheeks are red.
“I’m part of the Recon Corps’ newest batch of meat. Came in last week.” She steps a little closer, eating away the space he put between them. “So, can I touch your wings?”
He’s hard. He’s embarrassingly hard, and Zoe glances down at his erection with another smile. “Don’t worry, I get it, I’m hot, it’s cool. Can I touch ‘em?”
“Yeah,” Erwin says, before he can think it through. “You don’t have to worry about hurting them, though, they – uh. They sort of hurt all the time.”
It’s a product of keeping them strapped to his back all the time – the muscles are permanently contorted, knotted horribly. Erwin hasn’t actually been able to stretch his wings fully in years.
Not that he’d have any reason to, anyway.
“That’s pretty shitty,” Hanji hums, fingers ghosting over the feathers, tracing over the muscle before she finds a bulge of knotted pain and presses.
“Fuck,” Erwin bites out, pain knocking the strength from his knees and making one leg jackrabbit as he braces his hands on the tile floors.
“How the fuck did you function?” Hanji asks loudly in his ear, completely ignoring his desperate gasps of pain while kneading the knots out of his left wing. The right is twitching and swaying spasmodically, and his wings have never actually felt like part of his body until now, more like hunks of unwanted flesh attached to his back than something alive and responsive.
His wings are feeling very alive and responsive now.
“Oh, God,” Erwin keens, and fuck, that’s a sex noise, that’s not a – a casual wing-grooming noise. Except there’s an answering hum of arousal on Hanji’s part, and shit, he can smell her now, how wet he’s making her.
“You’re pretty hot, too, actually.” Hanji almost throws these words away, digging her elbow right where the skin of Erwin’s back starts to thin out and merge into his wing. It always hurts there the most, two twin spots of pain on his back with every shift of his body. Erwin heaves in a breath and bucks against this, dick twitching and hands scrabbling at the tile floor for purchase in something.
He ends up bent over himself in child’s pose, hands alternately twining together and dancing on the tiles, cock between his thighs and every time the skin of his leg brushes his dick it gets a reaction.
Hanji’s moved onto the right wing now, and there’s a bright, pleasant heat slipping through his left wing, like the second your orgasm unclenches in your gut and starts to spread.
“Oh fuck, Hanji, Hanji,” he’s babbling, has always been a babbler in bed but Hanji seems to like it, laughing while she works along the outer edge of his wing.
“Yeah, Erwin? What was that?”
“I – fuuuuck.” He draws the word out into a moan as she drags her fisted hand down a ripple of knotted muscle.
“It’s so cool that this causes like, actual sexual pleasure. Instead of just a massage sort of feeling. Were you born with them?” Hanji works her thumbs around a painful joint, rubbing away stagnant lactic acid.
“Wh – what?” Erwin asks, trying to press his thighs closer together and move up into her hand and think around the slippery mass of pain-pleasure that’s moving through his body. The precome has formed a small puddle underneath him, and Hanji – Hanji dips her fingers into this before she puts them to his lips, and he opens his mouth easily, drawing her fingers in with his tongue and blowing her hand like he would the cock of a man he was trying to impress, all deep and sloppy and eager.
Hanji shudders, and Erwin’s eyes flick down to watch her cunt clench on nothing, doesn’t stop how a moan burbles in his throat at the sight or how his stomach clenches down in something akin to hunger. “Your – ah, your wings, Erwin, were you born with your wings?”
Pulling off with a pop, he tips his head back for her, watches how she watches his show of submission and shivers. “No. I got –” his voice catches as she kneads away another knot, the pleasure in his gut building in intensity to something like pain. “I got tumours on my back when I was nine – we, we thought they were tumours but – ahh, God, Hanji, fuck.”
She laughs and wiggles the finger she has in his ass, slicked up with the conditioner she still has in her hair oh god the conditioner will fry her hair if it’s in there any longer –
Crooking her finger down, toward his stomach, Hanji laughs harder when this makes him jerk, thrashing like an untamed horse till she clampers beside him and throws her limbs over him in a way that forces him to be still. Holds him still. He throws his weight against her arms, growling, but she has the advantage of leverage and a finger on his sweet spot, so she just moves her finger, tightens her hold, and Erwin stops – fighting it, he guesses.
“You’re really loud, Erwin.” She sings, sweetly, the bitch, fuck, as she keeps rubbing slow circles on his prostate, other hand working out the last of the tension in his right wing. “You were saying?”
Erwin remembers dizzily that he was saying something, yeah, before this, but he can’t think through the heady swirl of pleasure through his brain and the heat is getting tighter and tighter and Erwin’s, Erwin’s gonna –
Hanji pulls her fingers out, draws her hand away. Erwin shouts, bucking against nothing and biting his lip in a whine, cursing her.
She giggles, slaps his ass. “Creative, that’s a really creative use of a fork you’re describing there, really, congrats, but –” she slaps his ass again. “You were saying?”
“Fuck! Fuck you! The skin broke, the skin – I. Oh, oh God please,” Erwin babbles when it feels like Hanji’s drawing away again. “And underneath the skin it was like, shit, like plant buds, I don’t know, feathery, and they just grew I don’t know why I don’t, fuck, please just let me come, goddamnit, Hanji –”
She presses all three of her fingers down, rubbing hard over his prostate and Erwin comes with no hands, shuddering and jerking and watching his spunk stripe the tiles. All of his muscles go lax under his skin and he slumps to the side, panting, feeling dizzy and loose and distant from himself.
When he’s back in his body, Hanji’s just finishing herself off, crouched in front of him like an animal and watching him with bright, bright eyes until the last moment, when the final shudder forces her eyes shut. Erwin makes a protesting noise in his throat. “’d have done that,” he murmurs.
“Yeah, I know,” Hanji says, rising to her feet at stretching. “But whatever, there’s next time, it’s cool. Um. I got shit to do, but.” She nods, pops her lips, gathering her things. “Yeah. We should do this again some time. Your wings make me all moist and tingly inside.”
With that, she’s gone, and Erwin can only thinks despairingly that she never rinsed her conditioner out.