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The autumn chill slithered through shut windows in the evenings, submitting only to the fireplaces blazing as the sole source of light in the room. The shadows danced in time to the crackling and it made everything so much more surreal--dream-like, even.
The hardwood floors were bare save for a bed here, a chair or two in the corner, and a handful of discarded leather straps. The corporal regarded the swollen breasts in front of him with an almost bored expression. He cupped one with a single hand with doctorlike interest and while his touch wasn't harsh the new sensitivity made Mikasa flinch without realizing. He shot her a reprimanding look, as though she wanted to cringe under his fingers, and she mustered a confident yet respectful expression as best as she could under the circumstances.
The corner of his brow raised so slightly that if she wasn't hyper aware of every little occurrence in the room she would have missed it. He let her mishap slide--she wasn't supposed to react at all and he'd specifically ordered that she not defy him by any means, and he made sure she understood--but wasn't about to let her do it again.
His attention went back to the matter at hand, or rather the matter in his hands. They'd grown dramatically, deliciously, over the last month or so and according to her, painfully. He'd waved off a physician saying he'd take care of it and he did intend to keep his word on that affair. With little fanfare and less grace her strained blouse was removed, most likely to never again be in wearable condition what with the tears he'd put in it, and she realized now just how small her brassiere seemed on her. Too slowly, or too quickly, (she couldn't tell which) his digits slipped under the fabric and seemingly scorched her skin. A hint of something appeared on his mouth, something she couldn't quite catch.
"Mercy, girl," he said through his throat, "you've become much more womanly when I wasn't looking." His grip tightened on her. Wryness appeared on his lips. "Congratulations."
Her brassiere shifted over her breasts to be replaced with his other hand, massaging at first, then pinching, tugging, stroking. Her face burned scarlet in the darkness, inadvertently rivaling the fire's glow, and only sheer will kept her from keening when his teeth met her flesh. Momentarily it brought a spark of pain and melded into a release of pressure, and she exhaled air she didn't realize she was holding. She would lose all composure if she looked down at the corporal, at Levi suckling from her breasts like a child, at him drinking her milk...
"S-sir, I can't--I'm sorry, I--I'm going to--" With a light, wet pop her breast slipped free of his mouth and she could not help but stare at the white coating his tongue, the droplets on his lips. He swallowed before erecting himself and hissing with the same tongue that caught the droplet just seconds before.
"Cut your goddamn nails, Ackerman, you sliced my shoulders to all hell."