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The castle ruin was a silhouette against a sky so black it looked hammered from old iron, its broken teeth rising from the scrubland between Wall Rose and Maria. Wind moved through the tumbled stones in uneasy drafts, rattling through arrow slits and across the floor of the empty hall where Erwin and Levi made their reluctant camp.
There had been no plan to stop here. Orders were to make the checkpoint before dawn, but the horses had gone lame with exhaustion, and Levi’s cough was getting worse, each sound brittle and scraping in the cavernous dark. They found the ruin by accident: a smear of shadow just off the half-buried road, a place so choked with rubble even Titans would stumble, and too cold for rats. Their breath clouded the air, white ghosts curling through gaps in the broken ceiling.
The only warmth was a squat pile of candles, dozens of them melted together on the cracked flagstones of the floor, pooled and re-pooled in messy tiers. Some scavenger or lost soul had lit them all at once—perhaps last winter, perhaps yesterday—and left behind a rind of old heat and the faint smell of spent tallow. Erwin gathered the stubby remnants, struck a match, and by some grace, coaxed a clutch of them back to life. The flames guttered, their small light shoving the dark only a few feet away.
Levi, hunched and sullen on the edge of a toppled pillar, eyed the squat candles with the tired resentment of a man who expected nothing to last. A dark green scarf was coiled around his throat, all white angles and a flash of restless hands.
“You’re shivering,” Erwin said, settling beside him, cloak loose, voice a low rumble swallowed by stone. His blond hair was mussed, the hard planes of his face thrown into moving gold by candlelight. “Take my cloak.”
“I’m not cold,” Levi muttered. But his hands betrayed him, thumb worrying a frayed edge of his scarf. “I’ve slept in worse.”
Erwin huffed—a sound like a verdict, not quite a laugh. “I don’t doubt it. But we’re not measuring pride tonight.” He reached for the edge of his own scarf, fingers brushing Levi’s knuckles as he drew the cloth open, careful and unhurried. “It’s colder than I anticipated. We’ll conserve more heat if we stay close.”
Levi held out a second longer than he needed to, then gave in to logic and lined up alongside him, so their legs were flush on the stone. Erwin waited until he’d closed the gap, then slipped his scarf around Levi’s shoulders—practical, no fuss, the gesture of a commander making sure his soldier didn’t freeze. The fire painted both their boots in a lick of gold.
“Don’t see the point,” Levi said under his breath, settling in anyway. “It’ll be just as shit in the morning.”
A faint smile played at Erwin’s mouth. “Maybe. But let's focus on the task at hand.” He looked at the melted wax, the shivering halo of their small world. “If I'm not mistaken, it’s the season for celebration.” He nodded toward the candles. “Closest we’ll get tonight.”
Levi snorted, rolling his eyes. “Tch. Didn’t even notice. Suppose you’ll want to sing now.”
“No,” Erwin replied, deadpan. “I’d prefer my nose to remain unbroken.” There was a small pause as Erwin rummaged in his pack, then, as if remembering something only now, he pulled out a battered flask—dinged up, wrapped in oilcloth. He shook it gently, and the faint sound of liquid sloshed inside.
He offered it to Levi, who eyed it suspiciously, then uncapped it and sniffed. The scent was unexpected: spiced, sharp, with notes of cloves and red fruit beneath the tang of cheap wine.
“This what passes for morale these days?” Levi said, squinting at him.
Erwin’s mouth twitched. “Mulled wine—or what passes for it in the Interior. Seems as good a time as any for a small tradition.”
Levi stared at him for a moment, unimpressed. Then took a grudging sip, the burn loosening something tight in his chest. “Hm. It’s fine. Didn’t take you for a sentimental idiot.”
“Sentiment’s a luxury, but I won’t apologise for it,” Erwin said, meeting Levi’s gaze, tone wry.
For a few quiet minutes, they passed the flask back and forth, the heat from the wine bleeding out to their fingertips, the chill easing, their edges softened by ritual and exhaustion. The room seemed a little smaller, the candlelight a little warmer.
When Levi coughed again, Erwin’s hand moved without comment, adjusting the scarf methodically around his neck. Levi’s scowl deepened, but he endured the fussing in silence.
The candles crackled; wax ran in milky rivers. Wind rattled the glassless windows. The mulled wine sat warm in Levi’s stomach. He wasn’t drunk, exactly, but the world felt a little less distinct—the wind, the flicker of light, even the look in Erwin’s eyes; all quietly out of focus.
He glanced sidelong, eyes reflecting the fire in hard, silver coins.
“Do you ever… think about what you’d be, if you weren’t this?” he said, a quick bite of sound. “If the world wasn’t always burning?”
Erwin considered, gaze going distant. The ends of their scarves lay twisted between them, their knees almost touching. “Once. A long time ago.” He flexed his fingers absently, as if working out old aches. “But I stopped. It was easier to keep moving.”
Silence stretched. Levi’s jaw worked—clenched, released. “Works until it doesn’t.”
Erwin’s voice was low. “Then, we change course.”
Outside, something howled—a beast, or just the wind running its claws along the ramparts. The world contracted to their small island of light, wax and tallow, old stone and two bodies pressed close by necessity.
Levi reached for the flask again, taking a longer pull this time, then another. The second mouthful numbed his tongue and left his chest thrumming, something in him unwinding by degrees. He stared at the wall for a while, rolling the flask in his palm.
“Not much left,” he muttered, half to himself, offering the flask back to Erwin. “Never liked the stuff. Don’t know why I bothered.”
Erwin accepted it, mouth quirking. “No harm in trying.” He sipped, then set the flask carefully beside his feet. “It’s not weakness to want a little warmth.”
Levi huffed: “Don’t read into it.”
A lull followed—just the sound of the wind and the candles fizzling down. Levi flexed his fingers, working blood back into them.
After a moment, Erwin spoke, voice barely above a whisper. “There’s a limit to what people can shoulder.”
Levi grunted, not looking at him. “Never said I was handling it.”
“I often think about the men we’ve lost. All the things I’ve asked you to do.” A pause; their legs pressed close for warmth, the contact suddenly noticeable, both of them holding still as if neither wanted to acknowledge it.
Levi glanced at Erwin, catching the distant look in his eyes as he watched the flames. There was a sadness there, sharper than Levi expected. “You did what you had to,” Levi said, voice rough. “So did I.”
Silence stretched again, a fragile truce in the flickering dark. Levi stared at the guttering candles, then at the way Erwin’s shoulders curled against the cold. He let out a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding. Maybe it was the wine, or maybe just the bone-deep weariness, but in that moment, distance felt heavier than closeness.
Levi’s grip on practicality slipped, just enough. He leaned in, unsteady. His temple drifted against Erwin’s shoulder, breath gusting warm against his collarbone beneath a scratchy tunic. The contact was tentative, an act of surrender Levi disguised as exhaustion. Erwin shifted, turning, his hand rising to rest at the nape of Levi’s neck—testing, then cradling.
Levi’s eyes darted up.
“Let’s not waste the warmth,” Erwin said, voice barely above the hush of melting wax.
For a heartbeat, Levi’s mask slipped—hurt, longing, a razor’s edge of want all naked in the candlelight. He started to pull away, but Erwin’s hand was gentle, a silent question.
When Erwin met his eyes and spoke, it was honest and raw, a rare admission: “We’ve seen the worst of each other. A little closeness won’t kill us.”
Levi looked at him—really looked, the way he might before the charge, before the wall falls. He hesitated, jaw tight, the distance between them suddenly feeling like the longest stretch of open ground. For a moment, it was all empty stone and the scrape of boot soles, and the steady, infuriating patience in Erwin’s gaze.
Then, Levi let himself tip forward, folding further into Erwin’s space. The body heat there was unfamiliar, but undeniable. His fingers found Erwin’s shirt and didn’t let go, clutching like a man bracing for recoil. He cursed himself for it, tried to swallow the spike of panic and need. Blamed the wine.
His breath shivered in his chest as he pressed his forehead, briefly, to Erwin’s collarbone, searching for a steadiness he didn’t trust. Only then did he force the words out, rough and uncertain.
“I don’t know how to do this,” Levi admitted, voice fraying at the edges.
Erwin’s thumb traced the hollow behind his ear, gentle but grounding. He didn’t answer right away—just let the silence stretch, thumb still moving.
Finally, Erwin spoke, low and steady:
“You don’t have to know how. Just trust me. For once.”
Levi felt the weight of the words, the patience in Erwin’s touch. He swallowed, risked a glance up—meeting eyes blue and steady, earnest in the dim light. Neither of them moved.
Erwin closed the space by a fraction, slow enough that Levi could lean away if he wanted. But Levi didn’t. Their foreheads touched first, uneasy and warm, then Erwin angled, brushing their mouths together, tentative, waiting for Levi to decide.
The kiss was clumsy, the first brush of mouth to mouth uncertain. Levi’s lips were cold and chapped, breath mint-sharp, his hands bunched in Erwin’s shirt as if expecting the ground to shift. Erwin tipped his head, tried again, patience in every line, letting Levi taste control—until Levi, with a stifled sound of frustration, pressed back harder. The candles fluttered, as if caught by the sudden wind.
They broke for breath. Levi’s face was tight with something like anger, but his body leaned in. “Don’t be careful with me,” he said, though his voice cracked on it. “Just—don’t stop.”
Erwin didn’t. His hands cupped Levi’s jaw, large and reverent. “I won’t,” he promised. His own restraint trembled; he felt Levi’s pulse, rapid and bright, beneath his thumbs.
When he found Levi’s mouth again, the kiss deepened—awkward at first, mouths slipping, teeth grazing, the unfamiliar slide of tongue an abrupt shock. Levi stiffened, caught in the newness of it—Erwin’s tongue slow, exploratory, their breaths tangling as the rhythm stuttered and found its own shape.
It was strange, too intimate—hot, slick, a collision of hunger and restraint. Levi tasted the wine on Erwin’s tongue, felt the tremor in his own hands as he tried to keep up, both of them learning the shape of this closeness one uncertain breath at a time.
They broke apart again, breathing hard. Levi stared up at Erwin—unsure, wary, a flush burning high on his cheeks. Erwin’s thumb found a scar just beneath Levi’s mouth and brushed over it carefully.
“Is this what you want?” Erwin asked, voice rough, blue eyes searching his.
Levi swallowed, his mouth twisting. “If I wanted you to stop, you’d know.”
Erwin huffed a laugh—quiet, disbelieving. “All right. I’ll take you at your word.”
Levi’s response was simple: he dragged Erwin down by the front of his shirt, kissing him again, harder this time—leaving no doubt.
Only then did Erwin guide Levi down, both of them still tangled in scarves and coats, bodies fitting together in their makeshift nest. The ruined castle faded, a memory of stone and shadow. The candles made a soft, golden chamber. Levi was all sharp knees and curled spine, his smallness accentuated by Erwin’s broad frame.
Erwin’s touch was slow, learning—palming Levi’s hips, feeling the sinew and tension, the way Levi tried not to shudder. His hands lingered there, thumbs pressing lightly as if mapping what Levi carried in his body, the places he held himself tight. The first slide of his fingers under his shirt made Levi flinch—Erwin’s hands still ice cold from the night air.
“You’re beautiful,” Erwin murmured, a raw honesty usually reserved for battlefield praise.
Levi made a dismissive sound, breath puffing out between them, but he didn’t turn away. He kissed Erwin again instead—harder now, deeper, as if trying to swallow the words before they could settle. Their mouths stayed joined, unsteady and searching, breaths tangling as Erwin’s hands moved again, slower this time, patient.
Erwin let their foreheads rest together, just for a beat, noses brushing, his breath warm against Levi’s mouth. His thumbs skimmed under the edge of Levi’s shirt again, higher now, palms spreading flat against his ribs. The cold of his hands faded as they lingered, heat blooming where skin met skin, Levi’s sharp inhale betraying how quickly his body gave in to it.
The air between them thickened. Levi’s breath hitched, mouth parting instinctively as Erwin kissed him again—tongue sliding in, deliberate now, no longer hesitant. Levi met it, clumsy but eager, hands fisting tighter in Erwin’s shirt as Erwin’s touch traced the length of his back, learning the slope of his spine, the way Levi arched without meaning to when warmth finally chased the cold away.
Somewhere in the tangle of layered coats and scarves, they pressed closer—hips rocking together, desperate for more. Both of them were hard, cocks straining against the rough wool and heavy canvas, friction building each time Levi rolled his hips. The ache was sudden and sharp, a wordless plea that neither of them spoke, their need written in the messy, breathless grind of bodies.
They stayed like that—kissing, pausing, kissing again—every touch measured, every breath a quiet negotiation, until there was nothing left in the space between them but heat, pressure, and the steady certainty of Erwin’s hands where Levi needed them most.
The moment Erwin began to work Levi’s clothes open, he felt him go tense, caught the way those grey eyes darted up—unease, almost fear, written in the tight set of his mouth. He stopped, fingertips gentle as he swept black hair—damp with sweat and want—from Levi’s brow.
“Relax,” Erwin whispered, mouth at Levi’s ear. “I’ve got you.”
Levi nodded, the movement barely perceptible. He let Erwin undress him slowly—layers peeled back, one by one. When Erwin’s mouth found bare skin, Levi arched with involuntary need, teeth gritted against the urge to hide. Erwin followed suit, shucking off his own shirts and jacket, hands only pausing when Levi’s eyes found his—asking, daring, allowing.
The air was sharp against their skin, every patch of bare flesh a shock after so long in the cold. When they were both stripped down to nothing, Levi felt the raw, unguarded heat of Erwin’s body—broad, solid, golden in the shifting candlelight. Their cocks brushed, bare and aching, leaking against each other. Levi shuddered at the slick press, the friction of skin on skin—so intimate it made his whole body ache, made him bite down on a gasp.
Erwin pressed their hips together, one big hand curling at the base of Levi’s spine, the other sliding down to thumb at his hipbone, gentle but insistent. Levi’s legs parted, breath ragged, needy in a way that made his face burn. There was fear there, yes, but it was want, too—wide-eyed, mouth trembling, a plea he could barely get out.
Erwin’s mouth found the line of Levi’s jaw, kissing him slowly, thumb skimming the inside of his thigh—soothing, grounding, giving Levi every chance to stop him.
Only then, as Levi’s hips lifted and his body made way for him, did Erwin pause, searching Levi’s face.
“You’re okay?” His voice was rough, nearly lost in the candlelight.
Levi’s mouth was set, eyes narrowed, but he nodded. “Don’t—don’t stop. I said.”
Erwin’s hands spread Levi’s thighs wider, thumbs stroking slow circles, lining them up with a reverent patience. He eased forward, the first push careful, guided by Levi’s sharp intake and the tremble in his legs. Erwin was big, the stretch unmistakable, and he braced his hands at Levi’s hips, pausing every inch to check his face.
He gave Levi time to adjust—panting, both of them—until their bodies fit together to the hilt, heat meeting heat. For a heartbeat, they just breathed—Levi’s jaw tight, Erwin’s head bowed, sweat beading along his hairline. Levi flexed his hips, getting used to the ache, Erwin murmuring low reassurances against his ear.
Then, Erwin started to move, each thrust cautious, measured, more about learning Levi’s limits than chasing pleasure. The rhythm built in increments, every push a negotiation of space and trust. Erwin rocked into him, slow and deep, one arm curled under Levi’s back, the other steadying them both.
Levi’s hands fisted in the scarf at Erwin’s neck—the only thing he had left on—using it to drag him closer, frustration sparking under his skin. Erwin’s gaze traced the lines of Levi’s body below him: the tight coil of muscle along his abdomen, the flex and strain in his thighs each time he shifted. The candles burned low, shadows flickering along Levi’s skin, the angle of his ribs and the hard planes of his chest. His voice was breathless, scathing when it broke loose—“Fucking—gentle—like I’m made of glass—”
Erwin stilled again, eyes searching Levi’s for real permission. Levi glared back, daring him, lips parted and pupils blown wide. “I’m not a goddamn relic,” he snapped, voice hitching on the last word.
At that, something in Erwin shifted—a glint behind the gentleness, the commander used to taking charge. His grip on Levi’s hips tightened, knuckles pale where he held him open, and then his other hand slid down, wrapping huge and intentional around the length of Levi’s cock. His palm swallowed it, the difference almost obscene. Levi’s cock looked flushed, almost vulnerable in Erwin’s broad fist; the contrast made Levi curse under his breath, throat tight.
Erwin’s next thrust was harder, deeper, his rhythm suddenly unforgiving—not cruel, but unfiltered, honest in its want. Levi’s eyes went wide, mouth falling open in a shocked gasp. Erwin drove in, each movement pushing Levi up the tangled clothes, making him feel every inch, every slow withdrawal and deliberate push forward. Erwin’s hand was moving mercilessly too now, stroking Levi with an easy power, thumb brushing over the head, then squeezing just enough to make Levi shudder.
Levi’s control splintered. His head tipped back, eyes fluttering closed as Erwin’s name escaped in a cracked, broken sound. “Erwin—shit, fuck, that’s—” Words dissolved, replaced by desperate, guttural noises as Erwin’s thrusts hit something inside that made his whole body jolt.
“Look at me,” Erwin murmured, voice thick and worshipful, leaning in so his mouth brushed Levi’s. “I want to see your face when you come.”
Levi bristled, colour flooding his cheeks. “Tch—don’t say shit like that,” he muttered, but when Erwin’s hand tightened on his cock, Levi couldn’t look away. He bit down on a curse, completely unable to fight it. He writhed beneath Erwin, body caught between the impossible stretch and the relentless hand working him. He jerked once, twice, and then broke apart—spilling hard and sudden, his release striping up his chest in thick, hot ropes, splattering across his collarbones and the edge of Erwin’s wrist. The intensity shocked something out of him—a breathless, involuntary groan, as if his body had been pulled inside out.
He tried to twist away, humiliated by the rawness, but Erwin held him fast, stroking him through it, murmuring soft praise that cut straight through Levi’s walls. “Beautiful. You’re perfect—look at you—”
Levi’s face burned, but he still glared, panting. “Shut up. Don’t—”
But Erwin only leaned down, mouth warm against Levi’s skin, and licked a slow line through the mess on his chest—collecting it with his tongue, adoring, savouring. Levi stiffened, a fresh shudder rippling through him at the sight—at the sheer size of Erwin above him, the gentleness turned to hunger, and the certainty that he was being seen, wanted, undone.
He ground against Levi again, the motion sharpening with a new urgency. The heat between them pooled thickly, sweat and slick mixing with the remains of Levi’s arousal, sticky and warm against both their chests, every motion pressing them together.
“Erwin,” Levi breathed, voice cracking around the name. “It feels—fuck, it’s too much—” Levi’s hands dug into Erwin’s shoulders, clinging, grounding himself against the mounting pressure. “Never—never been this—”
Erwin’s eyes met his, soft and searing. “I’ll give you all of it. You just hold on.”
He thrust again, bottoming out completely, and Levi felt the weight and stretch of being filled, something inside him blooming wide and sore and new. It was almost unbearable—raw and perfect. “Don’t—stop,” Levi gasped, voice breaking, almost babbling, words tumbling out between ragged breaths. “Please… Erwin… I… I—need you to—fill me…” His eyes rolled back, head tilting, heat coiling through him, and a shiver of shock ran through him at the boldness of the plea.
Erwin’s pace stuttered, overwhelmed by Levi’s request, by the tight heat squeezing around him. He buried himself fully, a low groan torn from his throat, and came—spilling deep, filling Levi with slow, trembling pulses, his whole body shaking from the force of it.
Levi’s back arched, breath breaking, hands clawing at Erwin’s back. The warmth pooled inside him, hot and sticky, weight pressing him down, every nerve alight. Another orgasm hit hard and fast, shuddering through him in waves, cursing, crying out Erwin’s name, hips jerking against the unrelenting pressure. The sensation of being utterly full, utterly claimed, drove him higher, and he could feel the press of Erwin’s cock still deep within, throbbing in time with his own spasms.
Erwin held Levi close, mouth pressed to sweat-damp hair, rocking gently to follow each pulse, grounding him. The heat, the wet, the scent of need—they were knotted together, every sinew and coil of muscle pressed tight, slick with the sticky, heavy proof of possession and desire. Levi trembled in his arms, entirely undone, and Erwin murmured low against his ear, letting him ride it out, every shiver and gasp a testament to the intensity of what they shared.
Levi let his eyes close, exhausted, sated, and so warm he almost believed in peace. He felt Erwin’s hand at his waist, thumb tracing circles over his hip, bringing him back from the edge. Their breaths mingled in ragged, uneven sighs; the candlelight flickered across sweat-damp skin and tousled hair. Levi’s body relaxed against Erwin’s, every tremor from release slowly settling.
Neither was willing to move, too spent—and maybe still too loose with drink—to care about dignity now, each of them warmed by more than just borrowed cloth. The aftermath was quiet, heavy with breath and the thrum of blood in Erwin’s ears.
Then, finally, Levi shifted slightly, letting a shiver roll through him, and, trying for humour and almost making it, muttered, “I’ll never get this out of the scarf.”
Erwin’s chest shook with laughter. “Seems like a permanent souvenir.”
Levi was still, eyes squeezed shut, cheeks flushed dark. He hated the heat in his face, the vulnerability pressed into his chest—but it wasn’t shame he felt. Just the realisation that Erwin had seen it all; every twitch, every shiver, every sharp, jagged edge of him he normally kept hidden.
“I hate you,” Levi muttered, thinking aloud, voice muffled in Erwin’s neck.
Erwin smiled, pressing a kiss to his temple. “And I’ll take that as a compliment.”
Eventually, the chill creeping back through the stone became impossible to ignore. With a quiet groan, they dressed again, piling scarves and cloaks back over themselves. They settled back onto the edge of the toppled pillar, still huddled close, and passed the flask between them, sipping the dregs in comfortable silence.
Levi let his head fall against Erwin’s shoulder, half-grumbling, half-content. “Next time… you’re not getting me drunk.”
Erwin’s lips curved into a small smile. “Noted. But I can’t promise perfection.”
Levi let out a long breath, settling against Erwin with the weight of exhaustion and satisfaction pressing pleasantly through him. The candlelight flickered across their bundled forms, shadows dancing over the edges of their scarves and jackets. Outside, the wind still howled, but inside, the quiet pulse of their shared warmth held steady—two bodies tangled in fabric and quiet, listening to each other’s breath, letting the night slip by without a single word.