Chapter Text
Wind raged outside the frosted apartment windows, blowing ice and debris across the lawn. The soft pitter-patter of freezing rain pelted against the glass and grew faster in tempo with every gust. The tips of Armin’s ears chilled at the sound. He hunched over to chase the phantom chill, the collar of his hoodie brushing against his ears.
As much as he loved the snow growing up, Massachusetts winters were a different beast. It rained more than it snowed, and sometimes, the raindrops turned into thin daggers from the wind, slicing open the tender, visible skin on his face. His knuckles always cracked open, and no amount of lotion could save them. And, god, he could wear six layers and still freeze to the bone. The paralyzing cold sank through his shoes, and his socks sponged up the melted snow, warmth abandoning him for the rest of the day.
This season was always miserable, and his workload worsened with each semester. He didn’t know what was worse: the dreadful bipolar weather or molecular biology labs. Both kept him holed up in the shared two-bedroom apartment.
What he would give to head down to the boardwalks where the sun warmed the waters. The boardwalks here were fine; they were a quick fix, and it was the first time Armin had ever seen the ocean. Though it had taken his breath away, the weather never seemed to cooperate. He wanted to try his hand at surfing, even though he knew his knees would be too wobbly and uncertain, that he’d fall into the water more often than not. He wanted to look for sand dollars on the beach and make detailed sandcastles. He wanted to rent a quaint beach house where the doors and windows could be left open all night to hear the gentle crash and lull of the waves.
He wanted Eren to laugh at him when he forgot to reapply sunscreen and got a sunburn that would leave an embarrassing tan line on his waist.
Pursing his lips, Armin’s hand stilled mid-sentence on his notebook. Against his better judgment, he glanced at the bedroom door that severed him from the world, from Eren’s touch. He smoothed a hand over his notes, smudging the fresh ink of the last few words he scribbled down. Deep in the pit of his chest kindled the desire to bridge the distance. His fingers twitched on the edge of the pages, almost closing the book.
“Why are you so nervous? Just open it!”
“But what if I didn’t get in?”
“Oh, please. You were born for the Ivy League.”
Armin’s fingers stilled. His vision went bleary as distant memories echoed in his skull. He could almost smell the warm, pine air and fresh bite of muddied roads post-storm, taste the sweet smokiness of late-night bonfires and blistering marshmallows that dripped into the flames, feel the hot breath against his cheeks under shared blankets in a quiet tent.
Laughter spiked from the living room, muffled only by Armin’s bedroom door. He stared at the weathered wood, imagining the warm bodies piled on the couch with booze flooding their bound-to-collapse veins and securing themselves a classic morning hangover. Curling his lip, Armin averted his gaze back to the books piled before him on the end of his bed.
“What are you running from?”
A shiver wracked his body, and he rubbed his arms. He should really invest in a space heater. He ran a hand through his hair and scratched at the freshly sheared hair, his eyes going cross-eyed again as he stared at the mess of textbooks surrounding him in a halo. The practice test he printed off mocked him as the words swam on the page, losing meaning with each second.
‘Which of the subunits of RNA polymerase holoenzyme is responsible for promoter recognition?’
He was going to fail. He was going to fail, and the one person that mattered was worlds away.
A four p.m. final taunted every firing neuron in Armin’s skull as the evening tricked away into the late hours of the night. It was his third final for the semester, and once finished, winter break was an arm’s length away. But he had to survive through this hell first.
At another burst of drunken laughter, Armin tightened his hand through his hair and tugged hard, and his molars squeaked as they ground together.
A sharp rattle sounded in the other room. Armin pictured a glass beer bottle clinking onto the coffee table sans coaster. Then he heard muffled steps approaching, growing louder as old floorboards creaked under shifting weight. Armin counted down from five before his bedroom door swung open without a single knock. Eren pressed against the doorframe with a muted thud. When green eyes darted to his face, Armin focused on the sun-kissed hand gripping the brass doorknob. Heat prickled at his cheekbones, where Eren's stare was prominent.
“You’ve been in here all evening,” Eren said as if that was enough to guilt Armin. His voice was smoother than molasses, and the sweatpants riding low on his hips didn’t go unnoticed. “Come out and hang.”
“Can’t. I’m studying,” Armin quipped back. He still hadn’t looked up at him and went back to reread the same sentence in his notebook, over and over, until the words felt like gibberish.
“You can study after a break. C’mon, we’re getting ready to play a game.”
“Cool. Have fun.” Acrimony oozed from his sheared words, and he nearly bit his tongue to keep himself from wincing at the sound of it. The doorknob squeaked, shifting under a tightening grip. He saw Eren move in his periphery.
“Suit yourself.”
Eren turned and pulled the door with him but left it cracked open. Frustration boiled within Armin’s esophagus and threatened to claw his throat open.
“Asshole.”
Armin was half-tempted to throw a pillow at the door and feel the sick satisfaction of the slam resonating through the apartment, but he snuffed the urge. He could hear the conversation more clearly from his room now, and he realized with a sinking dread what Eren wanted to subject him to. He could make out the words “party” and “sex” with a handful of slurs in between, and Armin genuinely reconsidered taking out his transgressions on the door. Pride was the only thing that kept him and his pillows glued to the bed.
A last-minute bout of desperation had him pull his headphones over his ears and blast his playlist just shy of max volume. Music flooded his ears in soothing reprieve, and for a moment, he felt tension bleed out from his shoulders. His eyes fell shut, and he breathed in and out slowly, tapping his finger against his thigh rhythmically. One track played after another, and he lost sense of time, his books left forgotten.
A sharp buzz beside his leg made his eyes open. He glanced down and saw his phone screen illuminated, a new text on his lock screen.
Jean: heyy how much do you love me?
Armin snorted. He swiped over the text and picked up his phone.
Armin: What are my options?
Jean: bastard
Jean: stop playing hard to get
Jean: you’re too squishy for that shit
Armin: Aren’t you trying to ask a favor? Shouldn’t you be
Armin: Y’know
Armin: Nicer?
Jean: guess you just bring out the worst in me
Despite himself, Armin grinned. His thumb hovered over the keyboard, a sarcastic response brewing in his head, but he stopped short when a bubble of dots appeared. He waited until the text came through.
Jean: okay but fr can we please like have an emergency study sesh tomorrow?
Jean: i’m gonna have a stroke if i keep staring at this textbook
Armin: Yes please. Library at noon sound good?
Jean: oh thank fuck. you’re a lifesaver
Jean: i could kiss you rn
Armin: Save it for tomorrow
Armin: And quit pouting
Jean: listen
A chuckle slipped past Armin’s lips. It did little to soothe him, but at least he wasn’t the only one suffering. He knew the coursework would only grow more intense as senior year approached, but holy hell. Staying focused in the sea of molecule jargon after Organic Chem fried his brain last year was a tall order. Anxiety collected in his chest like fresh cement as he fretted over whether his mind could afford the real estate for any more information.
Another buzz jerked his attention back to the phone, and the slight smile on his lips faltered.
Jean: is jackass at least playing nice?
Jean: he knows our final’s tomorrow
Armin paused his music for a moment and listened.
Silence. Sweet, euphoric silence.
Armin sighed and slumped in on himself, papers crinkling under the push of his knee. Strands of blonde hair spilled over his eyes, the tips tickling the bridge of his nose. He shoved the headphones off and let them hang around his neck again. He should be relieved, but all he felt was bone-deep exhaustion. A glance at the time told him it was almost eleven. If he slept now, he could wake up early and cram some more, which sounded more appealing as he considered. His thumb hovered over the keyboard, eyes hyper focused on Jean’s message.
A soft rap on the door sounded. He huffed at the weightless insult of secondhand courtesy and bit his cheek when the door swung open without so much as a “come in.” Eren walked in and shut the door behind him with a soft click. Armin could see in his periphery that a beer bottle occupied Eren’s right hand. He headed straight to him.
“Move over,” Eren said, fatigue hanging from his voice. He set the bottle on the nightstand once he reached the edge of the bed. Armin kept staring at his phone, ignoring the command. When Armin hadn’t moved, Eren knocked the books to the floor with one unceremonious swipe of his arm.
“Hey!” Armin dropped his phone and lunged to save the books, but Eren plopped down on the bed and blocked his path.
“You’ve studied enough.” Eren rolled over onto his back and draped an arm over his eyes. His black t-shirt rode up and showed a glimpse of toned, tan skin that Armin had memorized to a fault. Armin nudged him with his foot, pushing hard enough in warning that Armin wasn’t above knocking him off the bed and onto the perilous corners of overpriced, five-pound textbooks. Eren glared at him from under his arm.
“And you have your own bed,” Armin said, unfazed. He nudged Eren again for emphasis.
“Please, you’ll freeze to death.” Eren shifted his hips, and Armin’s eyes shamefully darted to the bulge resting between solid thighs. He knew that Eren took notice. “This is practically my room anyway.”
They had separate rooms even though Eren occupied Armin’s bed most nights of the year. The only time he wasn’t warming blue sheets was when his loser friends passed out from getting too drunk or if Armin was so pissed that he locked him out. He might be unable to kick Eren out now, but his anger was building enough that making the man sleep on the tiled floor like a dog was enticing.
“Sure that’s not too gay for you?” Armin said with a roll of his neck that elicited a concerning pop.
Eren chuffed a laugh and shot him a lazy grin. “You’re so sensitive.”
“I’m not the one packing my underwear,” was Armin’s easy reply. He watched the grin fall from Eren’s face like empires of old. He should feel bad, really.
He used to.
“Seriously, you’re not sleeping here.”
“And your books are on the floor,” Eren said pointedly.
“I’m going to fail because of you.”
Eren rolled his eyes and reached for Armin’s arm. “Get down here, Princess.” He yanked until Armin fell back against him.
Warmth radiated from Eren like the sun he no longer was, yet Armin still gravitated to him. Eren went supernova but mutated into a black hole, and Armin was lost inside the dark void that squeezed his lungs. The exit was there, but Armin had long abandoned the option to escape. He wasn’t sure if he remembered the way back out.
“How much did you drink?”
Eren hummed. “Enough.”
Armin tried to shake off the acrid taste that flooded his mouth. “You have morning lecture tomorrow.”
“I’ll skip. It’s boring anyway.”
“Eren,” Armin said. The man in question turned his head and cracked an eye open, his eyebrow arching in a smooth motion.
“Armin.”
Armin heaved an exasperated sigh. He didn’t even have to say anything; Eren read whatever he needed to do in his posture. A lopsided grin stretched his lips over pearly white teeth; it was almost blinding.
Armin rolled his eyes and reached for his forgotten phone. The screen lit up when he held it close enough to see, and he reread the last texts.
Armin: Yeah, right.
He hit send before a hand clamped around his wrist, causing his grip to loosen, and the phone slipped from his fingers. He stared, eyes wide, as Eren invaded his space. Emerald eyes bore into his own, a dark shadow making those eerie irises feel oppressive. Armin could only stare back.
A shaky breath pushed past Armin’s lips as he was frozen in place. He heard more than felt his phone vibrate, and his eyes shifted to look. The grip on his wrist tightened more, forcing a sharp gasp from Armin. He barely registered the sight of his phone sliding toward the end of the bed. Then, warm fingers curled under his jaw, forcing him to focus back on Eren.
“You’re mine right now,” he said. It was more of a husky murmur, cool and demanding, but it made Armin’s eardrums throb like he yelled instead. “Understand?”
Armin swallowed and nodded once. He hoped Eren couldn’t feel the erratic pulse under his fingertips.
“Good.” Not long after, Eren’s hands released him and shucked his shirt up to his armpits. Armin didn’t fight it.
“What are you doing?” he asked, his teeth clicking as a shiver rippled up his torso. He peered down his exposed chest and honed in on Eren’s hand, digging through his pocket. The man cut him a bored look.
“What do you think I’m doing?” He procured a small Ziploc bag of white powder and any remote hope Armin had that Eren would be at least one kind of sober for the night jumped out the fucking window.
“Not on my bed.”
“Don’t be stupid. I can’t do a line on your bed.” Eren opened the bag and shook some out onto the smooth expanse of Armin’s abdomen. Armin stuttered.
“Eren—”
“Hush, baby.”
Light caught the edge of a razor that Armin knew for a fact that Eren kept a touch too sharp. One uneven breath, and it was a one-way ticket to a hospital suite. The cool metal pressed against Armin’s skin, pushing and pulling the powder into a skinny line, and it took every inch of his self-control not to jerk at the touch. His stomach flexed and quivered under the careful graze of the razor, and he thought that the touch was far too steady and careful for someone who was more than buzzed.
His brain fixated on one grating question: if the blade plunged beneath his skin and turned his navel into a pool of blood, would Eren save him or ignore him in favor of getting blitzed? When a light sting pricked down his abdomen, he decided he’d rather suffocate than be enlightened.
He stopped breathing.
His heart was a war drum cracking open his ribs, the resonating sound the only thing he could hear. If Eren were to look up, he would no doubt see the nervous jump animating his neck.
The razor blade was gone. Warm breath ghosted over the curve of his adonis belt, followed by a soft caress of lips against flushed skin. Armin released a breath soaked in relief. He jolted when a sudden wetness dragged up his stomach.
Armin yelped. He glanced down, and Eren’s scorching gaze pinned him down, his tongue pressed flat against his navel. Armin pressed his palm against Eren’s forehead and pushed, but the man didn’t budge. “The hell are you doing?”
“I don’t waste.” Eren wrinkled his nose and cleared his throat. Armin watched him push up and reach for the beer on the nightstand, and his eyes focused on the bob of a golden throat as he drank. The sudden urge to reach out and drag his fingertips over the prominent Adam’s apple simmered deep in his abdomen. Green eyes focused back on him. Something dark lurked within the half-lidded gaze, and Armin couldn’t look away. Dark strands of silky hair spilled around the chiseled face, pulling free from the messy half-bun that was losing its battle with gravity.
The bed dipped right beside Armin’s shoulder right as a knee slid expertly between his legs, pushing his thighs apart. The expanding void of his pupils slowly devoured Eren’s irises, the black discs becoming an eerie eclipse darker than a moonless night. When he looked at Armin, what did he see?
The back of fingers brushed over the curve of his temple, pushing away strands of hair that were tickling his eyelashes. It was a surprisingly tender and steady touch. Armin barely had time to breathe in before Eren’s mouth crushed against his, the kiss deep and hard with a bit too much teeth—exactly how he needed it. Armin managed a small gasp that drowned in Eren’s mouth, and teeth dug into his bottom lip hard enough to nearly break the sensitive skin. The knee between his legs pressed completely against his groin, sending ripples up his abdomen. His head spun from the sensory overload, and he carded his fingers through brown hair, tugging at the root to help anchor him. He was encouraged with a low groan at the touch, and the sound made his toes curl.
Eren tasted like cheap beer and lime. He must have tried the simple syrup Armin had made. The bright pop of sweet citrus was nice and mellowed the bitterness of lingering hops breath. Armin was ashamed to admit he liked the taste, even more so on Eren’s tongue. He gave a muffled yelp as pain spliced through his lip, the mix of hot breath and saliva grazing the broken skin burning the nerves alive. He could taste a hint of copper spreading across his tastebuds. A tongue grazed over the swollen lip in nonchalance.
“People will think I’m abused,” Armin said when he was given the chance to refill his lungs. He felt blood pooling on his bottom lip, and a small bead dripped down onto his chin. Eren leaned in and swiped his tongue over the crimson trail.
“Better than them knowing you’re into freaky shit, yeah?” Eren said in a low drawl before he sucked all of the life from Armin’s lungs again.
There was once a time when Eren’s sober touch promised something kind and warm, promised something that went beyond the universally accepted societal constraints of friendship. A hand frequently used to linger between Armin’s sharp shoulder blades, sliding down to the small of his back before retracting completely. Bright grins had softened at the edges, and something simmered within the inviting depths of eyes the color of freshly pressed moss. If Armin had leaned close enough, he might have been able to tease the thought of a lively heart fluttering for him.
But Eren Jaeger wasn’t gay and would never be caught dead with a fag.
In the middle was where Armin found himself, stuck with a man he didn’t even know for sure existed. He surfaced on the waves of a high that had become commonplace within the vulnerable confines of the shared home. Those once-soft touches became harsher, heavier, leaving bruises in their wake. Bright grins faded into distant, empty stares. Life smothered the light out of Eren, and Armin watched the flame fade from Eren’s eyes until all that remained were curls of white smoke. He took and took and took, but Armin never stopped giving either. Self-preservation and dignity were age-old mythos that perished five religious systems ago. Armin was practically God in Eren’s eyes, so he wouldn’t stop giving; instead, he’d continue to offer himself up with both hands.
He’d give until nothing was left.
Teeth nipped at the spot on his neck below his jaw, and Armin turned his head to expose more of his throat, another breathless sound muffled by his clamped lips. A chuckle rumbled against his neck as lips kissed and sucked at pale skin. It would bruise an ugly, mottled color, but he didn’t push Eren away. He was too warm.
Armin thought back to when Eren’s system was clean, back to when Eren bloodied his fists for him when he was dealt a weight too heavy for his legs to carry, back to when a simple touch didn’t require two grams of coke. Armin dragged his gaze along the dusty pink gash running across the perfect line of a chiseled jaw, a result of Eren rescuing him from a fight that would have snapped his neck in two. Eren was his savior, and now—
What could he even call this?
The last remaining family he had was over three thousand miles away from home. No one was left to witness the preordained self-destruction of the golden spitfire Eren Jaeger. No one to stop it. Total isolation. Every day, in the back of Armin’s mind, was the lurking fear of finding Eren blue-faced in the tub with glassy, lifeless eyes.
When Eren looked at him, what did he see?
His ruin.
“You’re thinking too much.”
The air between them chilled as their distance grew. Armin shifted his eyes back to Eren, who was no longer pressed against him but now hovered above him, caging him like prey.
“I always think too much,” Armin said.
“I need you here.” Eren punctuated the sentence by running his palm up Armin’s exposed stomach.
“Then try harder.”
Nails bit the smooth skin on Armin’s side, and the knee against his groin was removed. A sharp protest pressed against his teeth but died when the firm, hot weight of Eren’s hips pushed down against his.
“Ah!” Armin gasped at the friction and rolled his hips up, seeking more. He heard a small huff and saw the signs of a smirk tugging at Eren’s mouth, and his eyes—
There was so much heat burning within them. He looked so… so…
Alive.
“Brat,” Eren muttered and fanned his long fingers over Armin’s throat, his black nail polish garish against skin the color of cream. Then, they squeezed as Eren eased more of his weight onto his palm. Armin’s eye fluttered at the pressure. He could still breathe, but if Eren kept grinding down against him, he might as well not.
“You’re awfully quiet tonight,” Eren said. Armin narrowed his eyes at him, flicked his gaze toward his throat, then back up. Eren snorted and gently squeezed again, teasing. “Smartass.”
Their mouths collided again, tongues pushing against one another and rendering Armin weightless. He hooked his calves around muscular thighs to keep them pressed together and moaned into the hot, wanton mouth. Pressure built against his navel wall, and he needed more. He needed Eren’s bare skin pressed against his.
He needed everything that he could take.
Armin reached down and found the hem of the black t-shirt and pulled. He couldn’t get the shirt off; Eren’s broad shoulders posed a daunting obstacle, and he seemed unwilling to release Armin’s throat to shed the fabric, but Eren appeared to get the memo because their stomachs pressed together, and Armin let out an embarrassing whine at the touch. Trembles racked through his thighs. His arms wound around Eren just below his shoulder blades and pulled taut, molding their bodies together as much as possible.
He felt Eren laugh more than he heard him, the deep timbre rumbling through his chest like an earthquake, scattering debris into every crevice. A burn seared his cheeks and nose when fingers slipped past the waistband of both his joggers and boxers and pulled them down in one practiced tug.
Cold air hit the mess between his legs, and shame deepened the color from his cheeks to his neck. A finger dragged through the slick dripping down his thighs and casually grazed the swollen, throbbing clit that hung heavy amidst it. Armin jolted, swallowing a moan.
“Christ, you’re so wet,” Eren said. There was an appreciation to his tone as he admired the sorry state he rendered Armin to. He acted like this didn’t happen every time.
Though, well. He usually had to do more.
“You gonna finish what you started, or do I have to?” Armin asked.
“Patience, baby,” Eren said with a saccharine purr. Armin shifted his hips up, ignoring Eren’s quip. Fingers grazed through the wet mess again, sparking the nerves alive with heat. He could feel his heartbeat thick in his swollen cunt.
“Please,” Armin half-whispered, his bangs spilling over his eyes. Sharp, white teeth gleamed in a crooked, feral smile. He could barely register the glint in Eren’s eyes before his thighs were pushed apart, and his clit was pinched between two fingers. Armin jolted at the touch, his hips seeking more of the direct touch, but a warm hand pushed his hips back down onto the bed, dragging a frustrated noise from him. Before he could complain, teeth nipped at his neck again, this time working on leaving a matching bruise on the opposite side. Then, below his ear. Then back down to the curve of his collarbone.
For every bite and kiss was the steady stroke of bent fingers against his clit, coaxing sweet and shaky breaths out of Armin. Heat and pressure built in his skull, making his head spin again. Eren made him feel intoxicated.
A teasing finger flicked at the soft folds between his legs, and he stretched his thighs further apart in invitation. He pushed his hips down and choked when not one but two slipped inside. The thick fingerpads pressed against the swollen wall and curved, burying all the way down to the knuckles. They applied more pressure as they slid in and out at a dizzyingly slow pace.
“How long have you been waiting for me?” Eren asked casually and flicked his wrist, the motion making the muscle in Armin’s stomach spasm.
“Since your dick was—ah! …B-Between my thighs this morning,” Armin said through broken gasps and muffled groans.
He had woken up with Eren pressed flush against him, a searing heat pressed against the back of his thighs. Strong arms were wrapped tight around his waist, keeping him hostage, and unfortunately, Eren had been asleep. Had a morning lecture not lingered ominously overhead, Armin would have stayed in bed long past his alarm.
Eren chuckled. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”
He quickened the tempo of his hand, the wet sounds of fingers fucking into his cunt were obscene, and Armin knew he was making a mess of his bed. He curled his fingers at the nape of Eren’s neck, playing with the baby hairs, and pulled him down so their foreheads touched. Green eyes stared right into the sea of blue, unblinking and heady. Armin could taste Eren’s breath; they were so close.
“Don’t you dare stop,” Armin whispered against satin lips.
“You’re so beautiful when you beg,” Eren said. His stare was so blistering. Armin couldn’t look away.
The pressure in his abdomen built until he could barely breathe. He was being cleaved in two and sewn back together, over and over again, and he wanted more. He wanted to taste Eren, be wholly used and discarded; he wanted to feel the ache in his thighs for days and be miserable with it; he wanted Eren’s handprint to melt into the delicate skin of his throat.
He came with a trembling cry, his hips staggering against the relentless plunge of fingers that denied him any chance to catch his breath. His chest rose and fell rapidly, and he fought to keep his vision from turning black. Slowly, Eren eased the thrust of his fingers to a steadier pace before stilling completely. A soothing hand touched Armin’s still-quivering thighs and caressed the sensitive skin. Eren rubbed a circular motion into his thigh, pacifying the overstimulated nerves with each passing second, and Armin locked in on the touch to cement his mind and breathing.
His lungs burned. There was a thick, dull throb deep in his cunt. An ache settled at the curve of his hips.
Satin lips melted against his own again, open-mouthed and full of tongue, but the motion was slow and lacked desperation. Armin sighed and relaxed into the lull of their tongues sliding against each other, the lazy pops of their lips separating only to press together again.
It was moments like this that Armin clung to. The boy he knew and became entwined with was still in there, somewhere. In a place that only Armin could see. He was just past the line of trees, and one day, Armin would run through the thicket and find him, and he would never let go again.
Eren shifted and lay beside Armin, his hair fanning out on the powder blue pillowcase. Armin pulled his sweats back over his hips before the room’s chill could whittle back into his bones and rested his head on the pillow. An arm curled around his shoulders, pulling him closer to a broad chest, and he didn’t resist, his body loose and complacent as it melded against Eren. He thought of returning the favor, but based on Eren's body language, he wasn't in the mood. He didn't take it to heart that Eren was barely hard; the coke flooding his system was often the mood killer, and if anything, it just made him more generous. Armin curled in closer and draped his arm over a trim waist, his nose pressing into the firm chest that smelled of the newest cologne—spiced citrus with hints of frankincense. Exhaustion weighed at the corners of his mind and blanketed his body, sinking him further into the bed and Eren’s embrace.
“Sigma,” Eren murmured.
Armin blinked sleep from his eyes, though it loomed over him like an oppressive shadow. He peered up at Eren, who had his eyes shut. “What?”
“Sigma factor. The subunit for promoter recognition.”