Chapter Text
When Hange bursts unannounced into his studio for the nth time that month, Levi decides logically that the next time they do so, he would decapitate them with a paint scraper.
“Levi!” They whistle excitedly, “my dear boy! I've got some great news for you!”
“Nothing that comes out of your mouth can be great,” Levi grunts as he smooths another layer of gesso onto his canvas.
“Woah, harsh,” Hange says with mock hurt, “anyway, I came here to tell you that they want to display your art in the new contemporary exhibition at the Trost Art Gallery.”
“What?”
“Hey, I know, I was surprised too,” Hange says, crouching down in front of the canvas, “your art’s gonna be recognised while you’re still alive, ain’t that cool? Don’t wanna end up like van Gogh, do ya’?”
"I'm not putting my paintings up in some shitty gallery for a bunch of mindless corporate idiots to look at,” Levi hisses.
Hange grins knowingly at that. "I think you’ll have a hard time turning the offer down,” they say, “the creative director is very adamant about your work, I hear. Seems like you got yourself a big, big fanboy.”
“As if I'd give a shit,” Levi snorts, "I'll beat my refusal into him if I have to. Tell him I'm not doing it.”
“Well buddy,” Hange sighs, their tone more serious than Levi had expected, “you’re gonna have to turn him down yourself. if I say no to those huge teary puppy-dog eyes of his again, I'd think I've completely lost my humanity.”
Levi growls.
“Plus,” they add with a smile, pointedly ignoring the death glare he’s sending their way, “look on the bright side. Think of it as free advertisement, will you? I think they’re also planning an auction, there’s literally no harm, only gains. You get paid, I get paid, your art becomes more well-known, what could possibly go wrong?”
“My art becoming mainstream,” Levi deadpans and flicks the gesso brush at Hange threateningly. “Set up a meeting, I'll go myself to tell him no. You better pray that that so-called fanboy of mine isn’t some perverted old geezer, or I'll literally chop your head off.”
“You’d be surprised.” Hange leaves with a smug wink.
<>
“Mr Ackerman?” A scrawny blond man sporting an uptight vest greets as he rounds the corner, “Mr Smith would like to see you now.”
Levi doesn’t bother to reply and follows the secretary into Smith’s office, looking up to see Smith just as he bends down past the height of his desk to pull out some files from the drawers underneath.
“Would you like any help, Erwin?” the secretary asks with a familiarity that confuses Levi. What? Why does a grown-ass man need assistance gathering paperwork?
“No, it’s alright, I've got it, Jean,” Smith says, voice deep and commanding. Yet, it’s cushioned with an oddly placed gentleness. “Thank you for the offer, though.”
"I'll be taking my leave then,” Jean says, closing the door shut on his way out. Levi’s eyes follow him until he’s gone and then he slowly turns back towards where Smith is sitting back upright behind his desk.
“Sorry for the delay, Mr Ackerman,” Smith says apologetically, "I hope you didn’t wait long–”
Whatever else Smith says goes into one of Levi’s ears and out through the other, spins a few merry times on top of his head before finally flying out the window.
Hange, that bastard, Levi curses mentally, had failed to mention how incredibly hot Smith is, or that he is almost perfectly Levi’s ideal type. Fuck, he thinks intelligently as his eyes zero in on the way Smith’s dress shirt stretches across his chest. It’s nothing short of professional attire, but surely the way Smith’s tie sits in the dip of his freaking (Levi narrows his eyes—b-cup? c-cup?) cleavage should definitely violate some kind of office-wear regulation.
“Mr Ackerman? Are you alright?” Smith’s piercing blue eyes and delicately long blond lashes come into view, and Levi finds himself with his jaw slack and saliva pooling against his tongue.
“F-fine. I am fine,” he manages to stutter out, ''I mean, I am Levi. Ackerman–Levi Ackerman. Just Levi is fine.” God, Levi clenches his jaw shut to prevent further embarrassment to tumble out, when was the last time he got laid?
“It’s very nice to meet you, then, Levi.” Levi hates how he feels about the way his name rolls off the blond’s tongue. "I am Erwin Smith. Erwin will do.” He offers Levi his left hand, and it is then that Levi suddenly notices that the right sleeve of Smith’s—er, Erwin—Erwin’s shirt tapers off into a loose knot.
Shoving his hand into Erwin’s grip, Levi gives the man a sharp handshake and then pulls his hand back abruptly, the warmth of Erwin’s skin against his own sending electric shocks through his whole arm.
“So, what’s the story there?” He says instead, wanting to direct the attention away from himself, and nods in the direction of Erwin’s missing right arm. A brief flash of surprise overtakes Erwin’s expressions before he masks it with light amusement. If Levi had been any other usual man, he would not have caught the sudden fallacy in Erwin’s posture, but he’s always been more perceptive and aware than others, forcefully trained by the environment he had grown up in. Although he has to admit, he’s never come across someone with as much control over their emotions as Erwin does. The softness of Erwin’s expression is so authentic it almost makes Levi believe he’d imagined the irritated shock that had briskly passed over his face.
“Normally, people have enough shame to not ask about it right away, you know?” Erwin smiles at Levi kindly, unperturbed by his jarring comment. “Well, it’s a story for another time, I'm afraid. I believe you are here to discuss your participation in the upcoming gallery exhibit?”
“Yeah, about that,” Levi plops himself unceremoniously into the chair in front of Erwin’s desk, "I'm here to tell you to drop it. I'm not going to put anything in this blasted gallery.”
“Oh? And why is that?”
Levi eyes him carefully, ticked off by how calm and collected the other man is.
“Because I don’t want to.”
Erwin blinks at him, and says, “is it because you’re afraid that your own opinion about your art will be affected by how others view it?”
Levi’s eyes widen as he tries to regurgitate what Erwin had just said. It infuriates him how accurate he can pin down Levi’s weakness within minutes of meeting him.
“That’s not necessarily a bad thing,” Erwin continues when Levi remains silent, "I'd be an ungrateful fool to deny that your style influenced mine a lot during my graduate years. I ended up doing my thesis on The Walls Against Humanity. Opinions help–well, good ones do, anyway. Influence is not always a tragedy that lays waste to originality.”
Levi opens his mouth to, he doesn’t know, retort? Thank him? Call him a pretentious idiot? But all that comes fumbling out is, “you paint?”
“Well, I used to,” Erwin gives a nonchalant shrug, the motion causing his empty right sleeve to sway, drawing Levi’s eyes to it like a beacon of light—a stark reminder, “can’t really paint anymore now, so I mostly enjoy the medium through celebrating and preserving it.”
“Sorry,” Levi mutters quietly, and doesn’t delve into the depths of his mind that houses the dreadful fear of ever losing his painting arm. Erwin does him a favour by pretending not to hear him, and moves onto the next conversation topic.
“That being said, I'd like you to reconsider your opinion regarding the exhibition,” he says diplomatically, "I believe it is integral to the concept we are presenting, and the exhibition will surely be lacking if your work is not there.”
He pauses, leaning forward to rest his chin on top of his palm. "I assume you’re aware we’ll also be holding an auction? The artists get their full cut, and the rest of the profits from the exhibition will be going to charity. We don’t get a single cent.”
Levi freezes and reluctantly begins to rethink his decisions. Watch these capitalist fuckers waddle around frantically trying to appease their patrons of stature and not earning a single shitting cent? Heck, he’d probably pay to do that.
"I would also like,” Erwin says again, the perfect picture of benevolence and elegance, “that you join us in the pre-auction party at the gallery.”
Levi furrows his brows at the suggestion (which is beginning to sound more like a demand, for what it’s worth). “Like hell I'm going to entertain your shitty cocktail parties,” he spits.
Erwin pays him no heed. “The presence of the artists will definitely draw more patrons in. You wouldn’t want to deduct from the possible profits for the charity, would you? Let children starve just because you don’t like milling around making small talk with a glass of champagne in your hand?” He grins, except this time, he stares at Levi like a cat who’s cradling a quivering mouse inside it’s rows of sharp teeth. The kindness in his eyes giving way to a cruel, calculating coldness. A mixture of trepidation and arousal slides down Levi’s spine.
This is the real Erwin Smith, he blatantly realises. Underneath the extremely well-crafted disguise of an altruistic yet charismatic leader is just a scheming little bitch who’s selfish and manipulative enough to have everyone wrapped around his fingers.
“Don’t fucking guilt-trip me,” Levi seethes, the torrents of rage roaring in his mind. Inadvertently remembering the days he had to steal, beat up other kids on the street, hooking up good kids who’d finally given in to societal pressure on the shittiest powder his source supplied him—good kids who’d deserved better, good kids whose life he’d single-handedly ruined, just to keep him and his mom through the freezing night and alive until the breaking dawn of the following morning.
It hadn’t been enough one day. His mom hadn’t woken up with him the next morning. Hadn’t survived through the darkness of the night with her son.
Slamming his open palms against the mahogany desk, Levi stands up with so much force the chair loses its balance and topples over with a jarring crash.
Erwin remains infuriatingly unfazed.
"I am not,” he muses, peering up at Levi with soft, innocent blue eyes, the switch between personalities is so fast it gives Levi’s stomach an anxious twist. However, despite his instincts going off at him, warning him about the devil who wears the skin of an angel, sat casually opposite the desk to him, Levi feels every inch less of prey caught in the den of a predator, and every inch more like a predator who has unfortunately blindly barged onto an equally dangerous predator’s territory. And he’s peculiarly attracted to the thought of it, to the thought of finally meeting someone who isn’t intimidated as soon as Levi turns his glare towards them, someone who could challenge him head on—someone who could make Levi work for it and knows exactly how to.
"I am merely suggesting that you give up a little bit of your time to help out the less fortunate, like the rest of us are doing despite our own difficult circumstances.” Erwin deliberately glances down at the empty space where his right arm would have occupied.
“You shove that shitty personality of yours down everyone’s cakehole as soon as they don’t give you what you want?” Levi sneers, shoving his hands into his pant pockets, afraid if he kept them unrestrained, he’d end up somehow strangling Erwin (and not the sexy kind, either).
“Not a lot of people refuse to comply with me. Think of yourself as someone special,” Erwin hums thoughtfully, “or not, because you’re still complying.”
“Fuck you,” Levi snarls, spinning on his heels and trudging out of the room.
"I'll see you next week regarding which pieces we will be including in the exhibit and auction, and how you prefer the labeling and format,” Erwin calls out after him.
Levi really fucking hates the way Erwin’s voice lingers on his mind for the rest of the day.
And for the rest of the week, too.
<>
Despite what he says, Levi still finds himself parking his motorcycle in the gallery’s parking lot a little over half a week later.
As Levi pulls up to the art gallery and marches through their grandiose revolver door for the second time within the last five days, he’s (un)pleasantly surprised when he finds Erwin, bent over the counter with his ass jutted out in the air, chatting up the petite blonde receptionist.
What a nice ass, Levi thinks to himself as he strides up to the counter, if only he didn’t have a horrible personality.
As if he can read Levi’s mind, Erwin turns towards him then, and flashes him a dazzling smile. Levi observes the receptionist swooning a little out of his peripheral. “Levi,” he greets amicably, "I'm glad you’ve stopped by.”
“Wasn't given much of a choice, was I?” Levi snipes back, and mildly wonders what kind of face the receptionist would make if he gave Erwin’s butt a smack right now. He contemplates what kind of face Erwin would make.
Who’s he kidding? Erwin would probably brush it off with a chuckle in front of the receptionist like the gentleman he pretends he is and then hire someone to shoot Levi’s head off afterward.
Erwin pretends not to hear the rudeness in Levi’s voice and straightens up. "I'm afraid I have to go, Christa,” he says, offering the blonde woman a small, wilting smile, "I'll be sure to stop by tomorrow morning with an update on how Nile reacts to the candles.” He turns back around towards Levi. “If you would follow me.”
They walk silently through the hallway until Levi spits out, “so who’s Nile? Your boy-toy?”
“Nile is my cat.” Erwin rolls his eyes. “He’s been a little wound up lately. Ms Lenz has very helpfully suggested that I can try using a honeysuckle scented candle to help him relax.”
“You got a cat?” Levi jeers, “didn’t expect you to be into that kind of pussy.”
Erwin scrunches his nose and squints ahead. “Must everything that comes out of your mouth be so vulgar?”
“What,” Levi snickers, “your prissy feelings can’t fucking handle some swearing? Trust me, I don’t give a shit.”
“There’s a difference between not caring and not having enough intelligence to know how to filter your language and speech,” Erwin scoffs, tone turning malicious, “but you just sound like your parents didn’t have enough to send you to school.”
Levi stops in his tracks, memories of his mom pulling him out of fifth grade while crying into his tiny shoulder swirl around his mind briefly before dissipating. Just lost the job, she’d sob, just lost the house. There’s no money left. You’re all Mama has left, Levi. Levi, Mama is so sorry. Levi, Mama can’t do this anymore. Glaring at Erwin, he grouches out, “you speak to your employees like that? Show ‘em that nasty little bitch you showed me the other day?”
Surprisingly, Erwin just looks apologetic. Although, genuine or not, Levi can’t decipher. "I apologise for last week,” Erwin says ruefully, “you caught me on a bad day. I normally have more… control than that.”
“Bad day,” Levi repeats, snorting loudly, “what’s a bad day to you? Did that twink secretary forget to warm up your milk bottle for you?”
“Shockingly, no,” Erwin answers, "I'd just found out my father passed away actually. A few minutes before you walked in.”
Levi freezes, and his guts twist up in knots. On one hand, this doesn’t excuse Erwin’s inherently manipulative and downright horrible nature. On the other, the man’s dad had just fucking died.
Something must show on Levi’s face then, because Erwin sighs and dismissively says, “it’s alright. We weren’t particularly close in the decade following up until his departure, anyway.”
“You always this heartless?” Levi scowls. He’s met his fair share of absolute pricks before, but he’s never met someone so utterly deprived of humanity as Erwin.
“No.” Erwin leers at him carefully. “But I imagine losing an arm can change a person for the worse.” Levi can tell that Erwin takes obvious delight in the way anguish ungracefully crashes onto Levi’s face, as the unshakable feelings of guilt and shame dredge up his stomach. However, the pity he had felt rapidly dissolves into anger when Erwin makes it abundantly clear that Levi’s comment about his alleged heartlessness had in no way comprehensible, made him feel insulted. Erwin’s just having a real great field trip fucking gaslighting him.
And now Levi’s just pissed off at himself, and approximately everything else, for feeling ashamed and empathetic for Erwin Smith.
Turning around a corner, Levi follows Erwin down another set of corridors and spots the man’s secretary up ahead, being crowded by a man and woman who are both donning security guard uniforms. Levi honestly can’t tell if they are bullying him or just want to rip the restricting clothing off of his body with their bare hands and then double-team him in the middle of the art gallery.
As he walks past, the secretary, oblivious to Levi and Erwin passing through as he is heavily preoccupied by the two security guards, flings an arm out and it knocks against Levi’s shoulder. Immediately, everyone except Erwin goes rigid.
The secretary spins around, eyes wide with fear, and pathetically stutters out, “s-sorry, sir.”
Levi glares at him. “Fucking whore,” he mutters under his breath, just enough so that the secretary can hear him and no one else. the secretary shudders frightfully and dips his head with distress, bowing so deeply he’s basically prostrating himself before Levi.
Two pairs of eyes train on him within seconds. Levi glares right back at the security guards, unafraid. The man’s gaze is sharp and the woman’s is dull. A dull blade is often more dangerous than a sharp one, Levi recalls his mom telling him once, chopping carrots in the kitchen before they’d lost the house, but neither of the guards seem to be able to smother the burning fury set ablaze in their eyes.
The man’s just about to open his mouth to yell something at Levi, no doubt attempting to spark an altercation—lure Levi into throwing the first punch, when Erwin clears his throat and claps his hand against his thigh twice.
“Alright, let’s get back to our jobs,” he says, like a primary school teacher rounding up his rowdy bunch of 5-year-olds. The guards stiffen and snap out of it immediately, appearing to be ashamed of themselves, which is absurd as Erwin is not responsible for, and is neither a direct nor indirect superior officer of the security team. “Mikasa, Eren, can you please go stand guard in the post-impressionist exhibit, there’s been an odd phenomenon where couples like to act indecently there. And Jean, I believe Christa may greatly appreciate your assistance with a few entry records.”
Mikasa flashes Levi a pointed look before grabbing the scruff of Eren’s neck (who still hasn’t stopped trying to kill Levi with his eyes, but has managed to keep silent after Erwin had flashed him a placating yet evidently authoritative smile) with one hand, and Jean’s wrist (who lets out a rather embarrassing squeak and almost trips over when Mikasa hauls him closer to herself protectively) with the other and bodily drags them both out of sight.
“Those kids really respect you, huh,” Levi comments, “did’ja show them your nasty side as well?”
“Nope,” Erwin hums tunelessly, "I guess you’re special after all.”
<>
"I have no fucking idea what you’re getting at,” Levi says for the fourth time in a row.
Erwin looks at him questioningly, like he’s trying to figure out if Levi’s purposefully giving him a hard time or is just genuinely confused. “It’s not that hard to comprehend–”
And fuck it, if Levi has to hear words like conceptual design and classicism themes one more bloody time, he and Erwin may actually engage in a vicious, bloody battle where only a sole survivor will emerge alive.
“Yeah, but I didn’t go to some fancy ‘nd prestigious art school like you did,” he grunts, "I just picked up a brush one day, and kept picking it up because my art sold, and I earnt money.”
“Well, this obviously is not going to work, then.” Erwin pinches the bridge of his nose. “It’s not like I can just ‘pick up a brush’ and show you what I mean. You’ll need to bring in your paintings tomorrow morning, and we need to start considering complementing decorations for the exhibition, and bidding prices for the auction. And the registry, oh dear.”
"I'm not lugging my canvases from my studio to here and then having to lug them back if you don’t want them displayed,” Levi bites back, "I don’t want decorations around, it’ll just distract from the art, and you can discuss pricing with my agent, Hange Zoë.”
“Levi,” Erwin breathes harshly, Levi’s skin tingles slightly. Is that what Erwin would sound like whispering his name if Levi was to be between his legs? “We need to negotiate which pieces will go on display, and which ones will be sold or returned to you. Moreover, I haven’t got the slightest clue if your paintings are framed appropriately or not, and we have less than two weeks left because that agent of yours has been avoiding answering us for so long!”
Good on you, Hange, Levi thinks, uncaring towards Erwin’s mini outburst, if only you held out for a little bit longer, but I guess Evil Bitch Smith got to you too, huh? That why you came running to my studio so many damn times?
An answer—idea pops into Levi’s head.
“Yo, Smith,” he wonders out loud, “won’t it be easier if you just came over to my studio?”
<>
"I'm not getting on the motorcycle,” Erwin sniffs, like the prissy, stuck-up prick he is.
“Well I don’t see any fucking cars around here that we can drive, princess,” Levi sneers back, crossing his arms over his chest, “how the fuck do you even get to work?”
"I have a chauffeur.”
Levi almost sighs. “Of course, you do.”
“You try driving with only your non-dominant arm,” Erwin hisses at him. They stare at each other, at a stalemate.
“Get on the bike, Smith,” Levi says, exasperated, “it’s a sturdy thing. I earn more money than you think I do.”
“Why don’t I call my chauffeur and have him drop us off at your studio?”
Levi snorts. “And what? Just leave my bike out here in this open parking lot? It’d be long gone by tomorrow morning.”
“Well,” Erwin squints with disdain, “you can bike back to your studio, and I can have my chauffeur drop–”
Levi’s patience finally snaps. “Get on the fucking bike, Smith.”
Erwin performs a deliberate show of how incredibly reluctant he is, but still, he gets on the damn bike. Levi counts it as a win. Checkmate.
<>
Three minutes into watching Erwin bend over to inspect a drying oil on linen resting on a particularly low easel, Levi gives in to his urge and gives Erwin’s left ass-cheek a friendly squeeze followed by a nice, resonating swat.
Erwin doesn’t even bother to react with surprise, just straightens back up to his full height, which is way over a head taller than Levi, and backhands Levi across the face like he isn’t even worth the time of the day for an actual acknowledgment. Levi takes it in full stride because he had probably deserved that, and allows Erwin to bend back over to continue his admiration of the painting, ass swinging back up into the air. Tease.
So much for a fanboy, Levi thinks, whores are definitely better.
“Why did you do this?” Erwin suddenly speaks up.
“Do what?” Levi asks, still scrutinising Erwin’s bum.
“This part here.” He brushes his fingers over some paint and quickly retracts it when he realises it’s still soft underneath the dry crust. “If I didn’t spend two years academically obsessing over your work, I'd think it was an accident, perhaps a happy mistake at best.”
Levi peers down at where Erwin had identified and huffs a little. It’s a small stroke of crisp green, startling against the otherwise smooth patches of muted navy and royal blue.
“It’s seaweed,” he answers, truthfully.
Erwin raises his head and frowns at him. “Do you mean that metaphorically or…?”
“Psh, no. It’s not that deep,” Levi snorts, “it’s the ocean. The ocean has seaweed in it.”
“Interesting,” Erwin mutters under his breath, "I would have interpreted this as the sky, and the green as a leaf, symbolic of the coming of new life. Dawn of a fresh start, if you will.”
“There’s literally foam on it. You see that white stuff? Seafoam.”
“What makes you so sure they aren’t clouds?”
Because I'm the one who fucking painted it, Levi thinks but he doesn’t respond beyond that. Frankly, just like Erwin had pointed out a few days prior, he’s always been afraid of hearing other people’s opinions on his painting, uneasy with the possibility that it may influence the way he looks at his own art and even more so, the way he created it. Deep down, he is fearful of losing originality, his own brand, and becoming more commercial, conventional, common, more… normal.
"I usually hate meeting the artist,” Erwin announces to the canvas, apropos of nothing, “it subtracts from the mystery of art and deducts from the experience of open interpretation. But I always find myself wanting answers, questioning the artist’s choice. It’s a very frustrating feeling, seeking knowledge yet desiring to keep your own ideas unplagued by someone else’s.”
“Is this your roundabout way of telling me that you hated meeting me?”
Erwin smiles, it’s sweet. It’s fake. “Not at all.”
“Whatever,” Levi huffs tersely and runs a hand through his dark hair. “Just so you know, I hated meeting you.”
"I'm aware,” Erwin replies conversely, “you made that very clear on day one.”
Narrowing his eyes, Levi bites out, "I've known men running crime syndicates who are less two-faced than you are.”
“Funny. I've always suspected I would do a spectacular job in managing organised crime,” Erwin deadpans.
Levi stifles a chuckle at that. Silence sweeps over them as Erwin moves towards another canvas that has caught his eyes.
“Fascinating,” he whispers, rambling, “you can obviously comprehend enough data to reach photographic levels of realism, but there is so much more thought that goes into your contemporary pieces. And yet, this portrait is nothing short of showcasing an abundance of skill and experience. Did you have a model for this? What made you choose her? This shot looks candid, how do you construct something so realistic in your mind, and even be able to translate it with so much detail onto canvas? How does your memory–” Erwin pauses abruptly, “Levi, take your hands off my ass.”
“So, you can swear,” Levi grins, “and no, I like where my hands are right now.”
“‘Ass’ hardly counts as profanity,” Erwin counters, rolling his eyes, but doesn’t further urge Levi to remove his hold, so Levi gropes the swell of his buttocks a little harder, swiping his thumb along the seam of his pants.
“You’re an ass,” Levi snorts, feeling a little bolder when Erwin subtly leans back against his touch. He rubs his thumb firmer further down the seam until he’s pressing against Erwin’s perineum through his dress pants. Erwin lets out a breathy noise, a little hitch of familiar pleasure, and suddenly Levi finds himself lightheaded, all the blood in his body rushing to and concentrating in his dick.
“Holy shit that’s hot,” he says, wondrous, and removes his thumb to give Erwin’s buttocks another resounding slap. “You’re hot. So hot.”
Erwin laughs at that. “Thank you. You’re very honest.”
“Yeah,” Levi breathes, turning so that he can fit his other hand around Erwin’s hips, digging both hands into the meat of his cheeks. Erwin squirms at the unrelenting grip and Levi sinks his fingers in tighter. “Wanted you since I walked into that shitty office of yours. Wanted to bend and fuck you pretty over that fancy desk. ‘Cept you started talking, an’ you talk nasty. I don’t fuck with nasty.”
“Don’t act like you don’t like it,” Erwin whispers coyly into Levi’s ear, nipping lightly at the lobe, “turns you on, doesn’t it? Knowing that you’re not in control anymore.”
“Same goes for you, too. Aren’t I right? You like that I know what you’re really like, you like that you can’t control me completely. We’re on the same level, Smith. If you don’t think I’m up there with you, then you’re down here with me.”
Erwin looks temporarily taken back at Levi’s words, but it’s not long before a wild glint glimmers dangerously in his eyes.
“You are perceptive,” he says, “I will reward you for that.”
“Fuck yeah,” Levi hisses, tilting his head up and pulling Erwin into a messy open-mouthed kiss.
Erwin grins into the kiss, and twists a hand in Levi’s hair, slowly backing them until Levi’s back is pushed up against the wall. He gets as far as Levi’s button-on off one shoulder, distracting the other man with the sucking and biting along the column of his neck, before Levi flips them around in a massive show of strength. He sheds his own shirt off and tosses it in some random direction, then his hands are ripping Erwin’s tie away from his neck, and popping the first two buttons off of his dress-shirt. Erwin makes a noise of displeasure that quickly turns into a muted moan when Levi unbuttons his pants and sneaks a hand inside.
“Shit, what are your pants so tight for,” Levi gripes into Erwin’s collarbone.
“Fuck it,” he declares and drops to his knees, gripping the fabric around Erwin’s hips and hauling downward. Surprisingly, the dress-pants don’t rip, and stay passive-aggressively around the blond’s mid-thighs like a paid cock-blocker.
“How the fuck did you even get them on?” Levi asks, incredulous.
“Get off me,” Erwin sighs, waiting for Levi to make some space for him before bending down and pulling the pants down far enough so that the end of the pant-legs bunched around his ankles. He steps one foot over the fabric of the opposite leg and pulls the leg out of the pant leg. He then does it for the other leg as Levi watches like a dumbfounded dog.
As soon as the pants are off Erwin’s legs though, Levi’s lizard brain kicks into place and suddenly realises that now he’s got approximately miles of lightly-haired, porcelain skin to kiss and lick. But he’s barely shuffled close enough to put his hands on one of those glorious legs before Erwin is pushing away from the wall and stepping over Levi to walk away.
“Are you serious?” Levi grunts as Erwin looks down at him, halfway to the door.
“Dinner first,” he says calmly in response, like his engorged erection doesn’t bother him in the least, “I’m not a whore, Levi.”
“The fuck you such a prude for?” Levi growls, standing up to follow the other man into the other room, “I was the one who was ‘bout to suck a dick.” He doesn’t bother with putting his shirt back on, hardly finding the decency necessary as he stares at Erwin’s naked legs strut around his apartment as if he owns it. He does, however, pick up both his shirt and Erwin’s pants, though, and neatly drapes them over the back of one of the armchairs in the living room.
“Dinner,” Erwin demands from his spot on the couch, where he’s made home with Levi’s TV and remote. Levi peers down at the sublime expanse of smooth skin that is Erwin Smith’s legs, wondering how much sex he can cajole out of the blond man with a satisfactory dinner, because intercourse is clearly transactional with Erwin. Clicking his tongue, Levi begrudgingly stalks his way into his kitchen, willing his boner to submission.
<>
“It’s done,” Levi announces, striding into the living room with his arms crossed.
Erwin doesn’t reply, just stares intently at the television screen where a replay of some old action movie is showing.
“Go eat in the kitchen. C’mon, no fucking way are you eating anything on my couch.”
“I’m really into this movie right now, Levi.” Erwin turns to smile at him, and Levi feels the beginning of fury swirl in the pit of his stomach. Levi’s left eye twitches. Erwin’s smile pisses him off. His whole face pisses Levi off. But what is he supposed to do about it? Take on Erwin and punch it out like a couple of unruly teenagers?
“You’re eating at the dining table in the kitchen, or you’re not eating at all.” He levels Erwin with a potent glare.
Erwin grins wider and shifts around so a leg is now folded against his chest. His new position causes his shirt to ride up from where it had been covering his thighs modestly like an overused hentai scene. Levi still gulps at the sight, though.
“I’m watching the movie,” Erwin says, giving Levi an appreciative look. He hadn’t bothered with putting on another shirt, and well, Erwin’s already seen him without a shirt, it hardly seems more scandalous if he wore an apron without one.
Levi silently heads back to the kitchen in defeat. He can’t believe he’s doing all of this just for some dick, albeit it is some good dick and possibly the only dick he’s gotten in a while.
Hanging the apron back onto its hook, Levi grips the two plates tightly and walks back into the living room. He holds out Erwin’s above him with a scowl. Erwin’s still smiling at him. Levi wants to slap it off his face.
In the end, he settles for the other end of the couch, as far away as the other man as possible. Except, his couch isn’t that big to begin with, and halfway through their meal, Erwin stretches his legs back out again. Levi almost chokes when he feels the pressure against his crotch where Erwin has conveniently deposited his feet in his lap.
“Get the fuck off, Smith,” he growls. And then almost whines when Erwin’s heel presses harder against his dick.
Levi expects Erwin to jester and step onto his crotch with more force, except the blond pulls his legs back and stands up. Levi almost reaches out to pull the foot back, unwilling to part with the pleasure despite how humiliating it is. However, he catches himself halfway in the act and snatches his hand back instantly. Unfortunately, he doesn’t miss the cocky smirk on Erwin’s face, though.
“I saw a wine cellar on the way to your studio,” Erwin says, standing up.
Levi glares up at him, “are you trying to piss me off?”
“Maybe,” Erwin chuckles, walking out to go fetch a couple of bottles of wine.
<>
When he returns with the alcohol, Erwin lays his feet in Levi’s lap again, heels digging snugly into Levi’s groin and pads of his feet steadily kneading his lower abdomen, placing a subtle pressure on Levi’s bladder. Only this time, Levi knows to stay silent and not take it for granted.