After battle, Erwin’s lips taste like blood and steel, and it’s the only splinter of a moment in which Levi can bear with the dirt sticking to Erwin’s cheek. It’s the only moment in which he doesn’t care about rubbing the blood off his own blades, the death of comrades sticking to it like thick rainclouds that carry a hurricane.
After battle, Erwin’s hands are reverent and pray to the landscape of his body with gentleness, as they spread warmth into all his broken corners, into the shadows of Levi’s soul.
After battle, he can finally cry out when Erwin’s inside him, hot and thick and heavy, cock sliding deep, raw, until it hits that spot where Levi breaks. Where he shatters into a sob ripping from his lips, nails scratching down Erwin’s neck, tears dripping into the kiss of their tongues and lips and heart.
Moami 