Work Text:
There he is again. That great, blonde god at his oak desk, pretending the world consists of nothing but ink and paper. Levi leans in the shadows of the doorway. Every time Erwin tilts his head, the skin at the nape of his neck pulls taut. He wants to bite it.
The people outside believe that "Ackermans’ bond" bullshit, babbling about blind loyalty as if Levi were a dog on his master’s leash. Idiots—they’ve clearly never handled a heavy dog if they think a leash is a one-way street. In here, it’s Levi who decides when Erwin Smith is allowed to breathe.
Levi steps forward, sliding the bolt of the heavy oak door shut with his foot. The metal clicks. No one is coming in. The guards in the hallway know to deafen themselves when the Captain "consults" the Commander. It’s part of the discipline. Those who eavesdrop die—or at least wish they had.
The room smells of lamp oil and, as he steps closer, the familiar, heavy scent of Erwin. He steps behind the chair. Erwin’s back is a fortress. Admirable. But the urge to breach those walls is too great tonight.
"Put that pen down, Erwin. You’ve signed enough lies for one day."
Erwin pauses, the nib trembling an inch above the paper. He doesn't look up. A calculated disrespect. The old game. The bastard is trying to provoke him—a silent plea for harshness. He can have that. "I still have to finalize the supply routes for the Western Sector—"
"Fuck the Western Sector." Levi reaches out, grabs a handful of Erwin’s hair, and yanks his head back with a brutal jerk. "I said: stop."
Erwin lets out a rasping laugh, the candlelight glinting off his exposed throat. "You’re impatient tonight, Levi."
"I’m just sick of your fucking mask." Levi draws his knife. One of the good ones—no trouble through a branch, or a finger. He presses the tip directly under Erwin’s chin, letting it slide down his throat. Erwin sits perfectly still, following the steel with his eyes. His Adam's apple bobs as he swallows hard.
Levi slowly slides the blade beneath the white shirt until the metal meets the collarbone. Then he pulls it back.
"Take it off."
Erwin obeys. He fumbles with the buttons one-handed, a laborious effort. It’s pathetic, what they’ve made of him. He’ll gut them all. But not now. Now, he beats that hatred into the shape of his own cruelty and gifts it to Erwin.
Erwin peels out of the shirt until those massive shoulders are bare. God, he’s so goddamn broad. A monument. Levi stops him with a gesture before the shirt is fully discarded. He studies the contrast—the places where, for years, the straps of the gear dug into the skin. Still calloused. It wasn't that long ago that Levi gripped those very straps to fuck him harder. Blood rushes to his cock at the thought.
But not yet. Tonight, he wants to see Erwin break before he grants him release.
"On the table. Face down."
Erwin obeys heavily. The oak groans under his weight as he lies flat on his stomach. Levi steps behind him, stripping Erwin’s trousers down to his knees. Yeah, good. This disarrayed uniform, acting as a shackle—infinitely more degrading than naked skin. Perfect.
Levi reaches for the leather strap hanging carelessly over the back of the chair—a piece of Erwin’s harness, the very instrument he uses to soar over the walls. Used to. Supple and soft from years of wear. He loops the leather once, twice around Erwin’s wrist and cinches it to the massive leg of the desk. The creak of dry leather is the only sound in the room.
Then he takes the rest of the long strap, passes it under Erwin’s chin, and lays it across the back of his neck. He doesn't pull too hard—Erwin needs to breathe, and Levi wants to hear him—but he pulls enough to force Erwin’s head into that vulnerable, overextended line. Like a panicked stallion. Wonderful.
Levi wraps the end of the strap around his gloved fist. A tug. Erwin gasps, his spine arching under the tension.
"Come on, Commander," Levi whispers against his ear. "Tell me how it feels to have your little guard dog desecrate you in front of your own master plans."
Erwin presses his lips together, his eyes wide, his blue pupils nearly black with arousal. "It’s the only thing that still feels real. Everything else is just... theater for the sheep." God, Erwin is such a slut for pain.
"Good boy." Levi pushes up the shirt until it bunches over Erwin's shoulders. Then he sets his knife to work.
It’s fascinating how Erwin’s muscles ripple and contract at the touch. A fine red line, not too deep. A single drop of blood gathers at the bottom, growing thick and heavy until it rolls down over Erwin’s ribs. Erwin doesn't even flinch; only his breath hitches for a moment. Levi sets the blade again, firmer this time. So ruined, this man—his threshold for pain, for pleasure, shifted into something morbid. Levi feels a tingle travel from his spine directly to his cock. He traces the cut he left on Erwin’s back with his fingertips, pushing in just a little.
This time, Erwin groans, his hand clawing at the edge of the desk, his knuckles turning white.
If he carves enough fine scars into him—more than the battles have left behind... will Erwin finally belong to him more than to the battlefield? He makes a third cut.
Erwin hisses through gritted teeth, writhing toward him.
How does it feel for Erwin? To place his life in Levi’s hands? He risks it. Again and again. That is how much he trusts Levi. It makes him so fucking hard.
Erwin looks up at Levi over his shoulder. He looks ruined, his hair disheveled, his cheeks flushed, his eyes glassy.
"Come on," he pants. "Destroy me."
Levi reaches for the tin of hoof grease on the shelf. The smell is rancid, cheap—exactly right for what comes next. He slathers the grease thickly over his fingers.
"You’re such a proud bastard, Erwin," Levi murmurs, sliding two fingers into Erwin’s heat. Erwin breathes heavily, gripping the tabletop. "The great strategist. The Savior of Humanity. And here you are, crouching in the dirt, letting a brat from the Underground smear your ass with stable grease. What would they say if they could see you now?"
Erwin turns his head, his eyes harsh, greedy.
"Levi... keep going. Break me. I don't want to have to be anything anymore. Take the responsibility away. Please."
"I’ll take it all, Erwin." Levi stretches him unyieldingly. Erwin goes soft beneath his fingers, opening like a wound. Levi glances at Erwin’s cock. The thing is huge, useless in the face of his submission. Levi grips it roughly, squeezing until Erwin moans. "Look at this. A prize specimen. But for what? You’re hanging here, Erwin. You’re just the hole I’m going to come in. Your stature won't save you."
Levi withdraws his fingers. He reaches into the tin once more and coats himself in tallow. Then he positions himself behind Erwin, whose chest is heaving visibly now. The first thrust is a hammer blow. Erwin needs to feel his weight, the stretch, the sheer audacity of this invasion. Erwin bites his own arm to muffle the sound Levi presses out of him.
Power. The most powerful man in humanity, spread out before him on his desk, on his leash. Begging for his cruelty, his cock. Coming to him with this perverse need because he knows only Levi can give him the ruthlessness, the hardness he requires. This unfathomable trust. It is a goddamn honor.
Levi fucks him without a shred of finesse. It is heavy labor. Every thrust drives Erwin deeper against the desk, making the wood groan under his weight. Levi reaches for Erwin’s stump, pressing it hard against his back. Scarred, dead tissue beneath his gloved hand. "Your reputation, your life, your fucking name—I have it all in my palm. I could walk out tomorrow and tell them how you whimpered here. How you begged for pain, for humiliation. Your entire legacy... I could burn it."
"Do it," Erwin gasps, his body trembling under every impact. "Burn it. Leave nothing. Only you... only this..."
This. Erwin and he, holding each other all night long. Kissing and kissing and kissing until they forget where one ends and the other begins. Knowing that it only takes a whispered "Vengeance" for Erwin to flip him onto his back and repay the humiliation and the pain, fucking the thoughts right out of his body.
But not today. He takes what feels good until the world consists of nothing but sweat, hoof grease, and the smell of blood.
The pace becomes unbearable. The adrenaline sharpens his mind. Glistening sweat running down Erwin’s back, the blood of the welts mixing with the sticky grease under Levi's grip. It’s filthy, he hates it, he loves it, and it’s glorious. He drives himself into Erwin until he reaches the point of no return.
Erwin braces himself against the leather, the tendons in his neck standing out like steel cables. Always the same with him. He wants the pain; he wants to be led; he wants to feel the leash that connects them.
Levi grips Erwin’s jaw, forcing it to the side, wanting to see the total annihilation in his eyes. "Who do you belong to? Say it, you bastard!"
"Yours!" Erwin pants, his voice breaking. "Only yours..."
Levi slackens the strap. He presses Erwin’s head down against the tabletop as he comes deep inside him. It nearly costs him his sanity. He forces himself to keep going, a few more hard-won thrusts to drive Erwin over the edge as well. Erwin groans and spasms beneath him, his seed defiling the maps, soaking the ink of the plans he had drawn so carefully moments before.
For a long time, both men breathe heavily in the silence of the office. Levi slowly withdraws, his legs trembling. He sinks to the floor behind Erwin, pulling his sweaty, massive body into his arms.
Levi adjusts his trousers, unties his sweat-soaked cravat, and reaches for the half-full whiskey glass on the desk. Dammit, who is he kidding? He slumps back down when he realizes he’s too short to reach it.
Erwin laughs darkly and lifts the glass from the table effortlessly. He places it on the floor between them with a small clink. With a scathing look—hopefully—Levi dips the cloth in and begins to disinfect the wounds on Erwin’s back. His movements are gentle now, almost reverent. Erwin hisses softly.
"You’re an idiot, Erwin," Levi murmurs. "Don't let yourself get driven this far again. I can’t save you from yourself every time."
Erwin leans his head against Levi’s shoulder, his blue eyes clear again. They hold that expression only Levi is allowed to see. "You do, Levi. That is exactly what you do."
Levi kisses Erwin softly on the forehead, exactly where the Commander’s mask will begin to grow again the moment he leaves the room. But not yet.
He will wash him, clean the table, and ensure that everything looks perfect again. But the smell of sweat and hoof grease will remain in the grain of the wood. The secret leash that binds them both together.
Erwin rises heavily, pulls up his trousers, and sinks back into his chair, his shirt still hanging halfway off his bloody back. Erwin wipes his semen off the reports, licks it from the edge of his hand, and begins to read again. That sight... If he were a few years younger, he'd be hard all over again.
Levi grabs his cloth—he has to boil the damn thing anyway—and starts scrubbing. Above him, Erwin sits more relaxed now. Half-naked and bloody, but finally at peace.