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He’s so new he’s green.
He’s too thin and too small and too delicate and subjecting him to this hazing ritual feels cruel.
Eren remembers how hard it was to be in his position, but Eren is a squad leader now and he’s earned the right to do all of the things his superiors so callously did to him. You learn not to flinch when you’re spat on, in the scouts. There are other cadets, but Eren’s been drawn in and netted by the one kneeling at the far end of the line and he can’t stop staring. All these men- no, boys, because they’re fresh out of training and don’t know shit about the world outside the walls -keep their eyes on the ground and don’t look up unless they’re spoken to. So Eren stops in front of the one that makes it a little harder to breathe, stares down his nose at him, and says-
“Armin Arlert.”
Armin looks up at him like he’s been ordered to.
He’s got these big blue eyes that scream vulnerability. Besides that they scream,
Protect me.
Alternatively:
Eat me.
Eren stares down with his own pair, toxic green in contrast, and it seems to make Armin shiver. Armin’s in nothing but his underwear, much like the rest of the cadets. Except there’s minimal definition to his body and he’s practically emaciated. The long line is full of guys who could chew through steel and Eren has to wonder how Armin made it through training. All around them there are nothing but rows of bunk beds. The higher ups don’t condone of this shit, but it’s an open secret and it’s tradition so even if somebody rats, those grey old men turn their eyes away and say nothing.
“How did you make it through survey corps training?”
“L-Like everyone else. Sir. Hard work and determination.”
Bull shit. Eren crouches down in front of the now trembling cadet. He can hear Armin swallow. The man carries on in making unbroken eye contact even as his face creases in distress and discomfort. Down the line, other cadets are quickly blurting answers to fired questions with their hands held behind their backs in respect. “Your daddy’s Commander Smith, ain’t he?” And Eren snaps like he just realized, even though he’s read a file on every one of these lined up pieces of shit and he’s known the whole time. “Holy fuck, he is. What was the name change for, huh? Aren’t you proud? Daddy got you a place in the Corps and everything and this is how you repay him, Arlert?”
“I-I want to be treated like everyone else. Sir.”
Eren grabs a fistful of Armin’s hair and Armin doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t break eye contact either. There’s something about how he narrows his eyes ever so slightly that gets blood flowing right down to Eren’s dick. Armin’s got nerve. A backbone. Underneath all the trembling, maybe he’s more than Eren’s first impression of him. More than a rich pampered bitch waiting in her ivory tower to be rescued.
From a distance, squad leader Mikasa calls, “Not that one, Jaeger. That’s-!”
“He’s not going to tell.” Eren tightens his grip and Armin winces, keeping his arms behind his back. “Are you, Arlert?”
There it is again. The slight narrowing of Armin’s eyes. The flash of contempt.
“No, sir.”
It’s love at first sight.
The end of multiple branding irons glow hot. These green cadets, they kneel there perspiring. The torment of being questioned on their right to be scouts is done and over with. Their eyes flash up from the concrete floors to watch as squad leaders walk down the line and mark their soldiers permanently. The room is full of the stench of burning flesh. Eren keeps a grip on Armin’s hair, and somebody hesitantly hands him an iron.
“You want to be ‘just like everybody else’?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You want to explore the world for queen and country?”
“Yes, sir.”
And Armin nearly cries out as the brand is pressed right over his heart, where every soldier salutes. He bites his bottom lip so hard it bleeds. He keeps his eyes on Eren as a streak of red races down his chin. When Eren pulls it back, there the wings of freedom are. Seared into his flesh. Eternally another leashed dog in the military. “Welcome to the scouts.”
The hazing is over for everybody but Armin Arlert, and the man must know by now that he’s been singled out by Eren for being special. Though he doesn’t know that he’s special to Eren for reasons beyond his father being the Commander of the Survey Corps. If Eren were honest, and he’s never honest, he really doesn’t give a damn about that.
The trouble is,
Armin’s too fucking pretty.
Other men have noticed.
Eren takes his showers in the evening, during dinner in the mess hall. He’s not especially keen on doing it with other people. There’s something about all the noise that irritates the hell out of him. Jokes about dropped soap and too much horseplay. He’s not at all surprised to find Armin Arlert with his arms wrapped around another soldier’s shoulders. He’s pressed up against a wall. Both men have their eyes clamped shut so they don’t see Eren enter the showers with a towel thrown over his shoulder. He stands close to the entryway, watching the two as they kiss sloppy. The bigger one must be,
What’s his name…
Hoover.
Hoover has their cocks in his wide hand and he’s jerking them off against each other.
Eren whistles like he’s calling a dog and that’s what breaks them up. Hoover stumbles from under the showerhead and through the cloud of steam. Armin peels himself away from the wall panting and bows his head.
Together, in unison, “Squad leader!”
Eren rubs his temple like he’s got a headache, eyes shamelessly flitting over Armin’s body. Every inch of him is flushed from the heat.
“Hoover, fuck off. Arlert,” Eren sets his eyes on the man who looks like he’s going to melt into the floor from humiliation. “Come with me.”
They’re the only ones in the barracks and Eren’s sitting on the edge of Armin’s bed, legs spread, lit cigarette hanging between his lips and dog tags shining in the light of the only oil lamp burning away in the room. It sits on a nightstand next to a radio playing nothing but fuzzy white noise. Soldiers are in the mess hall having dinner, and here Armin is trying, and struggling, to do one armed pushups. Eren plays with the dial on that portable radio and surfs for a station. Runs a hand through his short, messy brown hair.
“What are you on, Arlert?”
“Sev… En.”
It’s rare for Eren to have a reason for the things he makes Armin do. Fraternizing in the showers? For once, Armin deserves it. Hoover is somebody else’s problem. He’s not on Eren’s squad and therefore doesn’t exist.
Eren exhales smoke, half-lidded eyes flitting down to the cadet. His white tank top is damp with sweat and tendrils of his short golden fringe have fallen in front of his eyes. His dog tags are hanging, dangling around his neck. They graze the concrete of the floor as he lowers himself into his eighth pushup. He bares his teeth in effort, pushing himself back up. The veins cording around his shaking arm draw Eren’s eyes.
“You can stop.”
And Armin just drops there in relief, panting, cheek planted on the concrete. He’s clammy, eyes hazy. Eren takes a drag on his cigarette, fingers still wrapped around the dial. He stops when he hears a radio host’s voice through the static.
“There are great efforts to explore the expanse of the land mass that is currently being unofficially called Saint Maria. More expeditions are well underway. And now a word from the greatest commander of the greatest country in the world.”
Eren nudges the heaving cadet with his socked foot. “Hey, it’s daddy. You’ve gotta tell me what life was like with him one of these days. Or did he have a nanny raise you?” Eren watches the look of pain that twitches in then entirely disappears from Armin’s face. “Poor thing.”
“We will carry forth boldly east. I ask every soldier and every citizen to dedicate their hearts to the cause.”
Prerecorded. The man is somewhere on base right now. Still, he salutes the radio with a clenched fist held over his heart. Over his long since healed branding. It’s a force of habit.
He drops it and blows smoke, eyes trailing back to Armin, who’s looking up at him. There’s that familiar contempt. “Did I say you could look at me?”
“No, but-!”
“No what?”
Armin pushes himself up on his hands and knees, eyes setting on the floor. “No, sir.”
“Take off your shirt.” Eren’s cigarette hops between his chapped lips as he speaks. He waits for defiance, for hesitation. Armin is obedient in the end, sitting up on his knees and pulling the sweat soaked wifebeater over his head. He tousles his hair like that. The wings of freedom are healing nicely. Scabbed over, slightly raised skin. Armin remains in nothing but his undershorts. Olive colored fabric, loose on him.
Something stirs in Eren’s own undershorts. He spreads his legs a little wider.
“Come here.”
And there the hesitation is. Armin doesn’t move, instead beginning to tremble. Frozen in place. “Permission to speak freely, sir?”
“Come here.”
Still Armin hesitates. And maybe he ever so slightly scoots back. Eren stands and that’s when Armin scrambles back entirely. He really doesn’t get very far like that. Eren kicks him in his chest and he hits the floor, the wind so abruptly knocked out of him that he lies there gaping and gasping for it. Eren settles down, straddling the cadet’s face. Boxing Armin’s head in between his muscular thighs. Eren slips his dick out of the slit in his own olive undershorts, half-erect and twitching. Armin’s kicking, struggling. Eren rubs his cock against his face. Streaks precum against his cheek. It’s demeaning and he gets off to the expression Armin makes.
“Stop, stop-!”
“It’s like you forgot I’m your squad leader.” Eren pinches Armin’s nose shut. “Stop, sir. No, sir. Show some fucking respect.”
It takes a minute for Armin to run out of air. Swing is playing on the radio. Real smooth, and he thinks about those stuffy military balls with women stronger than him dressed up like dolls. Gowns long and shimmering. He pictures what dancing with Armin would be like as he forces his cock into his mouth. Eren would hold him close. Eren would lead. Hand resting in the small of his back, with an anxious, uncertain cadet looking up at him for guidance.
Parting his pink virginal lips and saying, “I don’t know how to do this, actually.”
“Oh, shit.” He breathes that as he begins to fuck into Armin’s mouth. The man probably could bite him, but he doesn’t. Only lying there and choking because Eren keeps sliding his dick down deep into his throat. Positioned like this, he’s got good access. Good control. He releases Armin’s nose and instead swipes the tears bunching on the man’s lower eyelids with the pad of his thumb. The end of his cigarette burns red as he takes another drag.
Armin struggles even though he must know this is happening no matter what he does.
Eren is stronger. And Eren isn’t stopping until he’s done.
Armin’s flushed red, nose nestled in the wild patch of Eren’s dark pubic hair. And it’s perfect how Armin’s eyes always say the things he’s too big of a bitch to say to his superior. They’re burning with all that untamed contempt and they say,
You’re scum, Eren Jaeger.
I’ll bite your dick off.
Eren groans, taking his cigarette between his fingers and letting his head fall back, blowing smoke upwards. A haze that dissipates. “…If I even feel your teeth graze me, I’ll fucking kill you.”
Maybe, just maybe, things like laws and codes and their brotherhood through both being scouts don’t mean a damn to him. Maybe, just maybe, he means it when he says that.
So Armin doesn’t bite.
Eren thrusts his hips at a quick pace. Keeps whispering how he’s going to make Armin swallow it, about how it’ll be like a second branding. He’s taunting him. He’s fucking with him. Because Armin seems to hate the idea. The man clenches his eyes shut, and finally, finally, settles down there against the concrete floor. “Yeah. Why fight it?” Eren tangles his fingers in Armin’s hair, cigarette still burning away between his index and middle finger. But the cherry end is dying out and soon it’ll be nothing but a butt. “You know what they call guys like you in the scouts?”
Eren drags his aching cock out and Armin chokes and sputters, throat spasming, chin wet with drool. “Peaches. You’re just fuckin,” Eren strokes his wet shaft fast, shuddering. Something’s coiling tight in his belly. Coiling and- suddenly unwinding. He grunts as ropes of his cum paint the cadet’s face. Armin keeps his eyes clenched shut during it, and cracks them open when he figures Eren is done. His eyelashes are heavy and matted with cum. Some of it is drooling over those trembling pink lips. “You’re just peachy keen, aren’t you?”
“It isn’t any of my business, but.”
Mess hall. Eren is eating with his fellow squad leaders. Sitting right next to him is Mikasa Ackerman. She’s clingy but she’s sharp and he’s old enough to realize the military needs people like her. He often jokes about hostile takeovers, and she never laughs, only saying very seriously, “If you need me, I’m yours.” He thinks Mikasa is intense.
But people say the same thing about him.
He suspects his and her table would be empty if there were more tables to sit at.
“It isn’t your business, but what?” Eren asks, only half-curious, half-listening, half-present. He spoons gruel into his mouth. She raises her hand to feel at the shaved down hair at the back of his head. She cuts his hair and has made it a point to come to him when she thinks it’s getting too unkempt. ‘That style isn’t following military regulations, Eren. Let me get the scissors.’
“Don’t you think it’s time to leave that cadet alone? I hear some people go into the barracks and see you putting him through various forms of torture.”
“Simple exercise is torture now?” Eren gets a dreamy look in his eyes as he stares into space. “I could get far more creative. People have got it all wrong- I like Arlert. More than most of those fucking rookies anyway.”
Mikasa nudges his knee under the table with hers. She doesn’t look up at him and instead stares down at her spoon. Maybe there are chunks of turnip. Or maybe that’s not even turnip. Maybe it's some new form of highly experimental lab grown protein, courtesy of the psychopaths that spend every waking hour in the interior's central lab. “Just go easy on him. You can be,” She turns her spoon over and watches the gruel creep off her spoon. It falls in slow motion. Nothing like liquid. She watches it rejoin the bowl full of it dully. “Obsessive.”
“He’s behind in literally every form of P.T. He ought to thank me for helping him.”
Eren’s eyes trail towards the cadet table. Armin is sitting there with his fellow soldiers and he laughs as that big one, Hoover, tosses an arm around his shoulders. The man leans down to whisper something in the smaller one’s ear and Armin laughs harder.
He laughs until his eyes meet Eren’s.
Then he flinches and sets them on his tray.
Eren grunts as his head is turned towards Mikasa’s. She’s got her hand around his face. Thumb in one cheek, the rest of her fingers in the other. She cups his chin like that and feeds him a spoonful of gruel.
“Eat. This is our last hot meal and you’re letting it go cold.”
“I’m not a child, Mikasa.”
“Not in the literal sense.” The woman doesn’t smile even though it seems like she ought to. She’s got such a dry sense of humor sometimes he misses her jabs entirely; people are supposed to laugh when they’re amused and all she does is stare impassively. He shakes her off and slouches.
He eats. He obeys.
She absently pats his head.
“You’re gonna dance with me.”
Eren’s breath reeks of liquor and he’s leaning back in his chair. His service uniform is covered in medals that glint under the dim lighting and the ballroom is full of men and women who dance in slow circles. And Armin Arlert wants nothing to do with him, only sitting near because he was ordered to, and he’s got a weird thing about following orders even if they come from the man who assaulted him. Eren takes a swig from his silver flask.
Armin grits his teeth, knees pressed together and eyes on the floor. “I’d rather not, sir.” And he adds just a smidge less bitterly, “I don’t know how.”
“I know.” Eren had figured, anyway. There's something about Armin’s lanky body that immediately appears awkward, and he seems like the sort of guy that could and would trip over his own feet and manage to get his partner to trip over theirs in turn. Eren finishes off the rest of his drink and tucks his flask into the inner pocket of his coat. Stands, offering a callused hand to Armin, who scowls at it.
The man accepts it.
Armin's service uniform is empty. No medals to decorate it, not yet. It’s olive green like the rest of the suits men are stuffed into in this joint. Eren drags him out onto the floor. Wraps an arm around his middle and brings him close. Armin says in a severe whisper, “You’re drunk.”
Eren would argue that he’s just mellow. The music comes through his ears low and muted and it feels a lot like he’s underwater. He leads Armin, and much like he’d pictured, Armin stumbles and trips. He clings to Eren, afraid of his own feet. They’re in the center of the floor. A sea of military green. Faceless soldiers with blurred smiles. The top brass are at a table near the stage, chatting over wine from the interior, and briefly Eren thinks he catches the eye of Commander Smith.
He supposes even if the man avoids acknowledging that Armin is his son, there are always tells like that. The way he watches anyone who interacts with Armin Arlert.
His eyes are ice, but he smiles.
Eren has always found the man a little creepy. Maybe that’s where his cadet gets it from- eyes that speak for him. Eren turns Armin away from the man, his hand drifting from his lower back and downwards. Armin flinches against him. Hisses, “Stop it.”
“You think your daddy would be proud of you?” This is whispered back. Eren squeezes at the man’s bottom once, fast and quick, and Armin does nothing. He doesn’t want to make a scene. Not here. “You think he’d be proud to know how good a cock sucker you are? Have you had Hoover’s in your mouth yet?”
Eren will admit.
He expresses his affection in the strangest ways.
If he truly hated Armin he’d never look his way.
They sneak away together, alone in a supply closet, and Armin makes it so difficult for Eren to continue expressing all that wild affection. Pushing at him with timid hands, voice lowered as to not attract attention to the closet, “I said I don’t want to. Do you want me to go to your superiors? Is that what I have to do to-!”
“Oh, you’re gonna try and get me court maritaled huh?” Eren mocks as he shoves Armin against a wall. He boxes him in there. Kisses at his neck as he undoes his tie, grinding his erection against him. “Or maybe you’re gonna tell daddy. Bet he's fought all your battles your whole fuckin' life.” Eren rakes his tongue up Armin’s throat and makes him shudder. He reaches down to squeeze Armin’s cock through his trousers. He’s hard and the discovery makes Eren groan. “Fuck, turn around.”
“Squad leader, please I-” And, maybe it takes all his bravery but a moment later he snarls, “Eren!”
Eren slaps him. Just once. Just to get him to shut up. It’s not like it’s even all that hard but he’s made his point. He gets Armin turned around. Struggles to unbuckle his belt as Armin keeps his shaking hands pressed against the wall. Armin’s pants drop and bunch around his legs. Eren kneels and spreads Armin’s ass cheeks, leaning forward to lick at his tightly clenched hole. Long, quick stripes that leave behind too much spit. Eren does it only for a few seconds before pushing himself back up and getting his own belt unbuckled.
Outside of the closet there’s nothing but the sound of muffled screaming.
And inside of it Eren’s got his hand wrapped around Armin’s mouth and is forcing his dick into his dry ass. Eren heaves by his ear, “Did’ja like dancing with me Arlert?”
It’s impossible to tell if Armin reacts at all.
Eren gets halfway inside of him before he can’t force himself any deeper. He grits his teeth as he drags his cock back out. His shaft is streaked red. Eren let’s go of Armin’s mouth and the man slides down, his legs giving out on him.
Eren’s eyes flash around the supply closet.
There’s nothing that he can use to lubricate himself, and his eyes fall back on Armin who’s trying to get his pants back up but failing, hands shaking far too much to manage the seemingly simple task. Eren drags the man forward by his hair and Armin winces, belt buckle clinking against the floor. “Suck me.”
Armin doesn’t open his mouth. Maybe he’s put off by the blood. By the fact that it was just in his ass. The man grunts as the grip on his hair tightens. He opens his mouth and gives the tip of Eren’s dick a small, reluctant lick. Like a kitten, and Eren can’t help but force his cock in entirely. Armin’s bloodshot eyes looks up at him underneath his delicate eyelashes and it’s almost like he’s expressing his submission. His face is wet with tears and if he was crying at some point during almost being fucked against the wall, he’s done now. He blinks slowly as Eren’s grip on him loosens.
Eren’s whole body tingles as Armin runs his tongue along the underside.
And the rush of agony that follows is so abrupt and immediate that Eren clenches a fist and slams it against the side of Armin’s head.
Armin unlatches his teeth and falls back against the wall as his hair is released. Heaving there, disheveled, ass leaking blood onto the concrete, a bruise already spreading around his temple. He carries on looking up with such contempt and animosity for his squad leader. “We’re… Even.” Armin heaves, lips sticky with his own blood. And maybe some of Eren's. Eren stumbles back, hand around his dick. It’s falling limp and there are distinct teeth marks.
It’s like his soul was just torn in half by a bear trap and he can’t do anything but stand there and hold his dick and hope to god Armin didn’t bite hard enough to do any kind of lasting damage.
Their eyes meet and he’s reminded of the first time they met at that hazing ritual.
…The ball.
Eren salutes Commander Smith as he kneels before him on the stage.
“This, Squad Leader Eren,” The Commander is saying as he pries open a small velvet box, “Is a medal for your leadership and excellence.”
Briefly, Eren’s eyes roll in his sockets towards the crowd. Most soldiers are sitting. Cadet Armin Arlert is standing, leant up against a wall and glaring towards the stage like he’s picturing it being swallowed up by flames.
Eren winks.
There was once a titan problem but newly enrolled recruits know nothing about it and it’s hard to explain how dangerous expeditions once were to people who don’t even know what titans looked like. Eren doesn’t even know what they looked like. So Eren doesn’t bother explaining.
The Survey Corps charts land and maps out unexplored territory.
So there’s always a wonder of why they bring things like ammunition, but Eren suspects that the Commander wants their military branch to remain strong not because of tasks outside of the walls, but tasks inside of them. The Empire is not as tightly woven together as it seems. There are branches that don’t exactly get along with theirs.
However. Eren is not paid to think. He mindlessly salutes. He does his job.
They’re inside of a pitched tent and Armin is on his back, in his olive undershorts and that simple wifebeater. A strap is slipping down his shoulder and in the dying light of their one and only lamp he looks terrified. Eren has some of his squad up patrolling the perimeter around their camp. Others are asleep in their own tents.
Eren sinks two of his fingers in and out of Armin’s mouth. His expression is lax. It’s been a while since they’ve been alone together. Getting bit had left him uncomfortable for such a long period of time that he couldn’t even fucking masturbate. He likes to think in a way, it was the same for Armin.
Mutually assured destruction. It’s intimate. It’s romantic.
To Eren, anyway.
“I brought you some lube this time. You gonna be good for me?”
Armin’s teeth graze his fingers like it’s a gentle reminder of their last dance and Eren shudders. He’s getting hard and he’s sure Armin can feel it against his lower stomach. They’re so close they speak in whispers.
“You gonna be as good for me as you are for Hoover?”
And as Eren drags his fingers out of Armin’s mouth, the man spits at him. It strikes Eren's cheek and he gets flashbacks from his own days as a cadet. Eren swipes at the glob with his thumb and sucks Armin’s saliva from it.
“Jealous, Eren?”
It’s such a venomous, rage inducing word that Eren briefly considers slapping him. He grins around his thumb then pries it from his mouth. “He’s not fucking you. You’ve been bleeding out of your ass for weeks. We could do it dry again so I know I’m the only one who’s been inside…” Eren kisses his cheek sweetly. Their dog tags meet, clanging and clinking against each other, “So don’t tempt me, sweetheart.”
Armin’s knee jerks up to meet his groin and it stings like a bitch. A wrecking ball to the side of a building.
The fighting starts and it’s all nails and bared teeth. If Armin would only learn how to clench his hands into proper fists, maybe he’d get somewhere. But Eren outweighs him. Outranks him.
He gets the man on his stomach, and he thinks Armin could scream.
But like with everything else, there’s this strange desire not to be seen as weak. Even though he is. And maybe screaming for help, crying about all of this to somebody, would prove something he doesn’t want to consider.
Eren knows because he’s just as fucked up about things like pride.
“You’re so brave.” He praises as he opens the tin of lubricant and coats his fingers. He carelessly tosses it to the side and it lands near Armin’s leather journal. It’s open and half a page is written in fine dark cursive. The ink isn’t dry. “Such a brave young man. A shining example of a proper scout. Love to see it.”
“Fuck you!”
“Lower your voice before I knock your teeth out.” Eren tugs the man’s undershorts down and presses a finger into him so quickly that Armin’s body jerks. “Though maybe you’d give better blowjobs like that. What kind of feral shit was that, huh? Your ass’ll heal if I ruin it. My dick would never grow back if you’d-!”
“Get off of me! Get off, just-!”
A second finger and Armin’s writhing. His insides are so warm. Tight. He wonders how many men have been in here. Then he realizes he doesn’t want to know. He’s never liked sharing. Not in his whole life. “If I see him touch you again, you can forget about me being this fuckin' gentle, Arlert.”
“Stop making it out like you’re doing me some kind of favor.”
“Aren’t I?” Eren stretches his fingers inside of the man and Armin grunts, clawing at his sleeping bag. The lamp’s died down completely now. It’s dark and without his sense of sight now, he focuses on the way Armin breathes as he fingers him. There’s a wet squelching noise below. He pries his fingers out and blindly slaps around in the dark.
Lube. He finds the tin and greases his fingers. Armin pants, trying to crawl from underneath Eren’s body. Eren sets a hand on the back of Armin’s head, holding it down as he gets his cock out of his underwear. “Wish I could see your face.” He murmurs.
“Ah-!”
Armin arches his back as Eren crams his cock into him. He can’t get all of himself in on the first stroke. Not the second either. He keeps holding his head down, and he can hear the man sniveling. Whimpering.
“Shh.”
He considers telling him how pretty he is, how perfect he is.
Instead he says, “You’re so fucking tight. You like that?” He revels in the way Armin’s ass clamps down on his dick. The way Armin lies there and takes it like the brave little scout he is. He sets his weight down on him completely, their damp tank tops acting as a barrier between his chest and Armin’s back. He grunts in Armin’s ear, fucking him roughly against the hard ground. The sleeping bag does little to cushion it.
Armin won’t stop sobbing and Eren worries about the patrols. Grits his teeth and fucks him with urgency now, because even if they’re caught he at least wants to finish first.
He squeezes his eyes shut and for one wonderfully long minute, the universe is nothing but roses. He opens them and he realizes his hips have stopped and he’s tugged out his cock and Armin must be full of his cum.
Eren rolls off of him and lies on his back as Armin curls on his side and trembles in the dark.
Eren wants a cigarette. He drags a hand down his clammy face and says,
“You know what, Arlert? You really ought to meet my parents- you’ll love them.”