Untitled

“I’m not gambling anything.” You hold the joint out to him, ember glowing cherry-red in the dim light. “I’m offering you thirty seconds of not feeling like the entire fucking wall is sitting on your chest. You’ve been grinding your teeth so hard I can hear it from across the mess hall.”

He doesn’t move. Just stares at the offered joint like it personally insulted his mother.

“You think getting high is going to fix the fact that we’re one bad expedition away from extinction?” he asks.

“No. I think it might stop you from snapping your own spine in half from how tight you keep yourself wound.” You take another pull, deeper this time, hold it, then step closer. Close enough that he has to tilt his head slightly to keep eye contact. “You trust me with your life every time we go outside the walls. Trust me with this.”

Something flickers behind his eyes, exhaustion, mostly.

He exhales through his nose, sharp. “If I do this and Erwin finds out, I’m telling him it was your idea.”

“Of course.”

He uncrosses his arms. Takes the joint from your fingers like he’s handling evidence. Studies it for a long second, then brings it to his lips. The first inhale is cautious, almost clinical. He holds it like he’s waiting for the world to end, then lets it out in a measured stream. His eyelids flutter half-closed for just a heartbeat.

“See?” you murmur. “Not so bad.”

“Shut up.”

You grin, taking his hand so he sits by your side. Take the joint back. This time when you hit it you don’t exhale right away. Instead you turn fully to him, slide your free hand to the back of his neck, thumb brushing the short hairs at his nape. He goes still.

You lean in until your mouths are barely an inch apart.

“Open,” you say quietly.

His eyes narrow, but his lips part anyway.

You shotgun the smoke into his mouth. Warmth, herb, faint char. His throat works as he pulls it in. You feel the soft sound he makes against your lips more than hear it.

When you pull back just enough to breathe, his pupils are already blown wide.

“Again,” he says.

You do it again. Deeper this time. Your mouths brush while the smoke slides between you. His hand comes up, fingers curling into the front of your shirt, anchoring you closer to him. You pass the joint back and forth like that, mouths meeting longer each time, until the line between shotgunning and kissing blurs out of existence.

The next time you exhale into him he chases it, tongue sliding against yours, tasting smoke and salt and want. You groan low in your throat. He answers it with grabbing your waist and putting you on his lap, your legs straddling his hips.

The joint is burning low now. You pinch it out against the side of a crate without looking, then both hands are in his hair, tugging just enough to tilt his head the way you want it. He lets you. Opens for you. Lets you lick into his mouth like you’ve been starving for it.

His hands slide under your jacket, palms flat and hot against your ribs. You press him to you, bodies slotting together in a way that makes every nerve ending sit up and pay attention.

“Fuck,” he breathes against your lips. “This is still a terrible idea.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you mutter, kissing along his jaw, feeling the way his pulse kicks under your tongue. “Worst idea I’ve ever had.”

He huffs something that might be a laugh, then drags you back to his mouth, harder this time. Teeth. Tongue. The faint residual burn of weed and the taste of him underneath it.

Neither of you hears the door.

Not until it swings open all the way and lantern light from the corridor spills in like cold water.

Erwin stands there, arms folded, expression unreadable in the way only he can manage. His silhouette fills the doorway. Blue eyes move slowly from you, to Levi, to the faint haze of smoke still hanging in the air, to the way Levi’s fingers are still twisted in your shirt and your legs cage him.

Silence stretches. Long enough that your stomach drops.

Then Erwin steps inside and closes the door behind him with a soft click.

“Well,” he says, voice calm, almost amused. “This explains why the two of you have been conspicuously absent for the last twenty minutes.”

Levi goes rigid against you. His hands drop like he’s been burned.

You don’t move. Just meet Erwin’s gaze over Levi’s shoulder.

“Commander,” Levi starts, tone flat and dangerous. “This isn’t—”

Erwin raises a hand. Cuts him off without effort.

“I’m not here to lecture.” He steps closer, boots quiet on the stone. “Though I will admit I’m… curious.”

Levi’s eyes flick to him. “Curious.”

Erwin’s mouth curves just a fraction. “You both look like you could use the break.” His gaze slides down the length of Levi’s throat, still flushed, then back up to you. “And I find myself wondering what exactly I interrupted.”

You feel Levi tense further, but there’s something else under it now. Not just embarrassment. Interest. Dangerous, reckless interest.

You tilt your head, studying Erwin right back.

“You want in?” you ask.

Erwin doesn’t answer immediately. He reaches into his jacket, pulls out a slim silver case, flips it open. Inside are two slender, hand-rolled cigarettes—clearly not tobacco.

“I prefer something a little cleaner,” he says, taking one out and lighting it with a match from his own pocket. The flame catches the sharp lines of his face for a second. “But I’m not above sharing.”

He exhales a thin plume toward the ceiling, then looks between the two of you.

“Unless you’d rather I leave you to it.”

Levi lets out a slow, controlled breath. His fingers flex against your hip.

Then, quietly: “Stay.”

Erwin smiles. Small. Satisfied.

“Good choice.”

He steps closer. Close enough that you can smell the cedar of his coat and the faint char of his own smoke.

You feel Levi shift against you, making room without ever really pulling away.

Erwin's cigarette burns steady between his fingers as he takes another drag, the smoke curling up like a secret uncoiling. The air in the storage room thickens, laced with the heavier, earthier haze from your joint and the sharper, almost medicinal edge of whatever he's smoking. Something finer, purer, probably smuggled from the underground markets he never admits to tapping.

Levi hasn't pulled away from you entirely. His hand lingers at your hip, thumb tracing a slow, absent circle against the fabric of your shirt. But his eyes are locked on Erwin now.

"You're serious," Levi says, not quite a question. His voice is gravel-low, the kind that usually precedes a blade draw, but there's no threat in it. Not anymore.

Erwin exhales sideways, away from your faces, then stubs his cigarette against the crate's rough edge with precise pressure. It hisses out. He doesn't answer right away. Instead, he closes the distance in two unhurried steps, stopping just short of where your bodies press Levi against the flour. Close enough that you feel the warmth radiating off him, the faint starch of his uniform brushing your arm.

"Deadly," Erwin murmurs, blue eyes flicking between you both. They linger on Levi's mouth (still swollen from your kisses) then up to meet his gaze. "You've been carrying the weight of my plans long enough, Levi. Both of you have. If this is how you unwind…"

He trails off, one hand coming up to grip Levi's jaw firm enough to tilt his head back. Levi doesn't resist.

You watch the play of muscle in Levi's throat as he swallows. "This doesn't change anything," he warns, but his free hand shifts, fingers brushing Erwin's wrist like he's testing the give.

"It changes enough." Erwin's thumb drags across Levi's lower lip, parting it slightly. He leans in, not to kiss, but to speak directly against his mouth. "Tell me to stop."

Levi's eyes narrow. But he doesn't.

Instead, he surges forward, claiming Erwin's mouth in a kiss that's all teeth and pent-up frustration, years of following orders, of cleaning up after gambles that could have killed you all. Erwin meets it without flinching, one hand sliding into Levi's hair to hold him there, the other reaching past him to curl around your nape. Pulling you into the fray.

You don't hesitate. Your mouth finds the side of Levi's neck first, sucking a mark just below his ear while your hand slips under Erwin's coat, palm flat against the hard plane of his stomach. He tastes like smoke and command, skin warm through the thin shirt. Levi groans into Erwin's mouth at the dual assault, body arching between you.

Erwin breaks the kiss first, breathing steady even as his pupils dilate. He turns his head, captures your lips instead, slower than Levi's fire, but deeper, like he's mapping territory. His tongue slides against yours, tasting the lingering weed on your breath. You pass a thin thread of leftover smoke from your last hit into him that way, and he takes it down smooth.

"Fuck," you mutter when he pulls back, forehead resting against his for a beat. Your hand dips lower, fingers working at his belt buckle. He doesn't stop you.

Levi watches, chest rising faster now. His own hands are busy—yanking your shirt up to rake nails down your back, then switching to Erwin's thigh, gripping hard enough to bruise.

"Commander," he says, mocking the title just a little. "You gonna stand there, or—"

Erwin cuts him off with a hand fisted in his shirt, hauling him closer until Levi's flush against him. Your bodies form a tight knot now: you pressed to Levi's side, Erwin looming over both.

"Or?" Erwin echoes, voice dropping an octave as he grinds forward once. Levi's head knocks back against the wall with a dull thud.

You take the opening, dropping to your knees before either can protest. The stone bites cold through your pants, but the heat rising off them drowns it out. Levi's fly is already half-undone from earlier friction; you tug it the rest of the way, palming him through the fabric. He swears under his breath. Erwin watches you both with that unflinching stare, his own belt loosening under your free hand.

"Share," Erwin says, not an order but close enough. You do. Mouth on Levi first, hot and wet, taking him deep while your fingers stroke Erwin in rhythm. Levi's hand fists in your hair, holding you closer. Erwin mirrors him, threading fingers through the strands at your crown.

The room spins hazy: smoke, sweat, the low grunts Levi can't quite stifle. Erwin's composure cracks first; a sharp inhale when you swirl your tongue just right, his hip jerking forward.

"Enough," he rasps eventually, hauling you up by the armpits like you weigh nothing. Levi's right there when you surface, kissing you sloppy and desperate, tasting himself on your tongue. Erwin grabs Levi so easily to put him on his knees right between your legs

Your pants are open, shoved down just enough. One of your legs is hooked over his shoulder, the other trembles against the stone floor.

Erwin’s taken the half-smoked blunt from your fingers and holds it now between his own. He takes a slow pull, lets the smoke roll out before he speaks.

“Start with your tongue flat,” he tells Levi, like he’s giving field instructions. “Long strokes. From the bottom up. Don’t rush the clit yet, I bet she’s sensitive.”

Levi doesn’t look up at him. His eyes are locked on you, dark and focused. But he listens. His hands slide up the backs of your thighs, thumbs spreading you open with a gentleness that feels obscene coming from him. Then his mouth is there, warm, wet, deliberate. Flat tongue dragging up the length of you in one filthy pass.

You choke on a breath. Your head thumps back against the wall.

“Fuck, Levi—”

Erwin’s free hand comes to your jaw, tilting your face toward him. Not rough. Just firm enough to make you look at him while Levi works.

“Breathe through it, darling, don't cum too fast,” he murmurs. “Let him hear how good he’s making you feel.”

He brings the blunt to your lips. You part for it automatically. He feeds you the smoke, slow exhale from his lungs into yours, then you pull it deeper, hold it while Levi’s tongue circles your entrance, not pushing in yet.

You exhale shakily against Erwin’s mouth. He kisses the corner of yours, soft, almost sweet.

“Good girl,” he says against your skin. “Look at him. Look how focused he is.”

You do. Levi’s eyes flick up, meeting yours for a heartbeat, and something in your chest twists hard. Then he dips lower again, tongue sliding inside you now, curling just enough to make your hips jerk.

“Holy—ah!”

Erwin’s thumb strokes your bottom lip.

“Tell him,” he says. “Use your words.”

You’re already unraveling. The weed has turned everything soft at the edges, slow and syrupy, but the heat between your legs is insistent.

“L-levi, your tongue... feels so fucking good—so so ngh!” The words tumble out, slurred and desperate. “Don’t stop, please—”

Erwin hums approval. He takes another pull from the blunt, then leans down and blows the smoke across your parted lips while Levi sucks gently at your clit for the first time.

Your whole body locks up. A high sound rips out of you.

“There it is,” Erwin says, voice darker now. “Right there. Flick your tongue like that. She likes that.”

Levi obeys instantly. Quick little passes over your clit, precise, relentless. His fingers dig into your thighs to keep you still when you start to writhe.

You’re babbling now, can’t help it.

“Levi—Levi—fuck, right there—don’t—don’t stop—gonna—gonna come—”

Erwin’s hand slides into your hair, cradling the back of your head so you don’t crack it against the wall when your spine arches.

“That’s it,” he murmurs. “Let go for him. He’s earned it. You’re doing so well, look how hard you’re shaking.”

He brings the blunt back to your mouth one last time. You suck weakly, lungs burning, head spinning. The smoke hits like a second wave just as Levi flattens his tongue again and sucks harder.

You break.

The orgasm crashes through you in slow pulses, stretching out until you’re trembling, thighs clamping around Levi’s head, fingers twisted in his hair so tight it has to hurt. You’re loud, gasping, whimpering his name, Erwin’s, half-formed curses and pleas.

Levi doesn’t stop until you’re twitching with aftershocks, oversensitive and boneless. Only then does he pull back, lips shiny, chin wet. He rests his forehead against your thigh for a second, breathing hard.

Erwin exhales the last of the blunt’s smoke toward the ceiling. The cherry has burned down to almost nothing. He stubs it out against the crate with the same calm precision he does everything else.

Then he crouches beside Levi, close enough that their shoulders brush.

He cups Levi’s jaw with one hand, thumb wiping a slow stripe across his lower lip, collecting the taste of you.

“Perfect,” Erwin says quietly. Not to you this time, to Levi. “You listened so well.”

Levi’s eyes are still glassy, pupils huge. He leans into the touch just a fraction, like he can’t help it.

Erwin looks up at you next. You’re still panting, leg trembling where it’s draped over Levi’s shoulder.

“And you,” he says, “took it so beautifully.”

He rises, smooth and unhurried, and pulls you into him—chest to chest—while Levi stays on his knees a moment longer, catching his breath against your hip.

Erwin kisses you slow, tasting everything Levi left behind. When he pulls back, his smile is small.

“We should probably air this room out before someone else comes looking,” Levi says before you are pulling him into a kiss to shut him up.