It's All Eren's Fault
Levi reached his office and slammed the door shut. He bolted it for privacy and went to the side room he had claimed as his bedchamber, since he hated to sleep in the barracks with all the snoring and drooling and filth. He lit a lamp, but that was the only light he wanted. Too much and some patrolling soldier might get curious about why the captain was up at such a late hour. He brought the lamp to the moonlit bed and set it on a small table.
Before sitting, he adjusted his clothes. There was no way he would sully his uniform for something like this. He removed his shoes, pulled off his cravat, unbuttoned his shirt, draped them over a chair, removed his trousers and underwear, folded them neatly, and placed them on the seat of the chair. Even when desperate, his uniform should at least remain pristine.
Now naked, he collapsed onto the bed, so familiar but rarely used for this purpose these days. He bent his knees up and wiggled around to get comfortable. Once settled in, he wasted no time grabbing his cock.
Damn that brat! Damn him to hell! A fifteen year old should not have this sort of effect on him.
Granted, Eren was of legal age, a soldier, but still ... so young! Levi remembered being that young. He had hardly been innocent even in bedroom matters, but he had not been a slut. Eren, the way he acted, the way he looked at Levi, the way he moaned and arched and screamed out Levi's name right at the end...
"Che!" the captain scoffed, biting the edge of his fist as the memories inflamed him.
What was that brat thinking? Wasn't he aware of their age difference, their ranks, their gender? Was there an underlying sexual infatuation Eren never expressed before now? Or had he attempted to entice Levi in the past and he simply never noticed? He tried to think back, but his brain was too focused on the here-and-now: his cock, his hand, and the need to ease his desires.
His hand was rough, thickly callused, which made fighting easier but fucking harder. Annoyed, he stopped and rolled over to the nightstand. Inside one of those drawers, he used to keep ... yes, he still had it. How long had it been since he purchased this bottle of oil?
He poured a little onto his hand and grabbed himself again. This time, the oil soothed his skin. He could stroke faster, and the oil heated up as he went. The fragrance was reminiscent to a lover he once enjoyed. That person was dead now. Most of his lovers ended up dead, since all of them had been soldiers.
Would Eren also...?
No! The brat at least had to survive this. He had dreams, goals, an ambition, childish and naive perhaps. Levi would make sure Eren at least survived long enough to see that mystical ocean he spoke about with Armin and Mikasa.
Levi thought about Eren. Theirs had been a rough camaraderie, harsh and painful. Hell, he had beaten the shit out of the boy! Why would Eren admire him, let alone look at him with those eyes as he pleasured himself?
Flashes of the scene in the dungeon accompanied each stroke of his hand. He had imagined himself doing that to Eren, touching him, pleasuring him, but more than that. He wanted it back! He wanted that arrogant mouth to be silenced with his own cock. He wanted Eren on his knees, hands and lips put to better use than mucking horse stalls and talking back to superiors. He wanted to break him in!
"Shit," he hissed softly as the fantasy took hold.
It could be right here, a room he could lock, in his own bed. No one would know. They could go as far as he wanted. He felt disgust at the idea of his cock in another man's ass, all that filth! But perhaps Eren would like to do that. Of course, it was purely a position of Levi's preference. Eren would never really be in charge in this relationship—
Wait, relationship? Dammit! All he wanted was a good fuck, some crazy fantasy of breaking a mostly-innocent person, showing him how much pleasure there could be.
Relationship? Fuck that!
Still...
Other soldiers joked that Eren had a big mouth. Did he have tight lips? A warm throat? Wet and smooth, a dexterous tongue, soft lips moist with dripping saliva and Levi's own pre-cum...
"Nngh!"
Just a soft grunt, that was all he would let out. Levi had plenty of experience with keeping near-silent while doing this. Enough years in barracks and missions out beyond the walls taught soldiers how to ease their body's needs without the unnecessary loudness. Obviously, this was something Eren had not yet learned. That damn brat had been noisy. Always so loud, so wild...
So glorious!
He wanted to hear how loud Eren really got. He wanted to draw out moan after moan and have him screaming "LEVI!"
He reached for his handkerchief, but it was still sticky with Eren's cum. He had forgotten to wash it, and he had no tissues. He could seek out a towel, but that would take too long. He needed something now!
He held the cloth over the tip of his cock, ready to catch the mess. His other hand did not stop stroking. His heels tug down into the mattress, and his hips rocked more as his muscles began to clench.
"Shit," he hissed. "Eren, you brat, you fucking ... fucking ... fuck!"
His world burned, froze, exploded, and narrowed to a singular point of gushing pleasure. That silence during masturbation he had perfected so well now crumbled as he wondered what Eren would look like drinking down his cum. He moaned at the images flitting past him: Eren's mouth, Eren's watering eyes, Eren's sweaty hair, Eren's sleepy smile of satisfaction, Eren ... Eren...
"Eren." Levi opened his eyes and stared up at the rafters. There was a spiderweb in the corner, gleaming threads of silver in the moonlight. He would need to dust tomorrow. Maybe he could teach Eren to dust properly. Get Eren into this office. Teach him. Mmh, yes ... teach him how to do it right, precisely how he liked it.
... Damn brat!
Levi slowly sank back into reality. The cloth in his hand was utterly ruined now, filled with the deposits of himself and Eren.
Their cum ... mixed...
Any pleasing thoughts about that were washed away with a flood of disgust as Levi realized the handkerchief was so saturated, his hand was now sticky. He sneered at the mess.
He rose, stiff and yet limp at the same time, muscles sore and yet so incredibly relaxed. He took the cloth to a wastebasket and unceremoniously dumped it. Cleaning it at this point was pointless.
He filled up the washbasin and scrubbed his hands. He vigorously rubbed the soap over his hands, again and again, yet he could not get the feeling of sticky wetness washed off of his fingers, nor could he get the erotic images of watery teal eyes gazing up at him scoured out of his head.
He was tainted now, and it was all Eren's fault.
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