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She’s beautiful.
He thinks about that often. It’s not something he romanticized, honestly. It’s always been a predominant fact. The reason she was stolen away was because she’s beautiful. The reason she’s always been at his side (correction: why he’s at her side) is because she’s beautiful. The reason she’s at the top of her class is because she’s beautiful.
Not particularly her outward appearance.
Because if Eren ever focused on that, he wouldn’t get anywhere. It’s just everything about her. The tight grip on her weapon, that flex of her thigh one can hardly see beneath the material of her trousers, the twitch in her eyebrow as she gets irked, the broad shoulders as she shuffles through a crowd, the chin raised in complete dignification because she’s Mikasa.
And Mikasa is, with every context included, beautiful.
He supposes it doesn’t strike him because it’s never mattered. Mikasa is Mikasa and she’ll always `be there. He never expected her passing before his. This is a fact. Even with the shock of his mother’s death never shook his understanding that yes, Mikasa will survive because that’s what she does. With all his reckless abandon and wild assumptions, Eren knows this.
Though, tonight...well, tonight it finally settles in. Maybe.
In her slumber, he watches her from the window. A bit strange and possibly creepy, he guesses. Though he’s done it countless times and he’s sure she’s done the same. They keep watch for each other, though he does it in the simpler ways, like when there really isn’t danger (but there is, he thinks, there’s always danger everywhere). He watches her when there are others around, her little reactions to what others say, those small moments when she’s not his keeper.
Moonlight falls through the open window, bright and in hues of blue, ascending upon her form, wrapped in a thin blanket and barely covering her from the waist up. She doesn’t quite sleep with blankets, he remembers and always thought that in the back of her mind, she must be on the alert for everything. Mikasa, the savior, the warrior. He won’t mask his bitterness there; how she’s always so much better than he. His desire to have that privilege has faded away, knowing the only way to be the greatest is to throw away humanity.
(Humanity. He ponders that sometimes. Mikasa instilled hers long ago, in a cabin in the woods of a quiet dusk and a small knife in her small hands. Had he brought humanity to that door step? Had he humanity as he drove a blade into a man’s neck, not stop to see the blood run down? Mikasa has mixed humanity with cruelty long ago, he’s figured. Sometimes, he switches back and forth. he can never truly be both as she can. A life in black and white and she’s the spectrum of gray.)
Stretching his leg out on the windowsill, hands in his lap, he gazes at her. She sleeps so soundly but lightly. The slightest movement may waken her. That’s how she is.
An abnormality in her pale skin catches his eye. Her right cheek bares the mark of his grave mistake as a monster. That scar that outlines something in their relationship. It stretches across her skin and won’t heal. At least, not to him. Something twists in his chest and he darts his gaze away immediately. He’s harmed her and yet she still wraps him up in the love she had for him since that night as children. Her grays are so transparent and he wonders how he falls in somehow. How could she adore him after that?
He feels a little sick thinking about it too much. That’s his problem. He thinks far too much upon these things. His impulsiveness comes from that---not wanting to think too much.
So he does something. Eren switches that part of his brain off.
Quietly, he gets down upon the cold floor and pads over. With caution, he sits down on the bed next to her. His hand reaches for her cheek, a thumb skimming over the mark; a sign a monster had dared touched her (just like now, he would think, if not for pondering too much on it). Her eyes slowly open with quiet drowsiness. With that, he lays next to her, part of him on top. His face nuzzled into her side.
“Eren…?”
He breathes her in, hand drifting downwards to caress her the side of her neck lightly, butterfly touches. She makes a small sound laced with question. His other hand dancing over her side beneath them. Touch, his mind says, touch her.
It’s always been the hardest and easiest thing to touch Mikasa. As children, she’d never ask permission, never be hesitant, to lay a hand on him. Slap him, throw him, hug him. For him, it could be the same, though there’s always been an underlying inquiry to it. To simply touch her. And, oh, how it feels so familiar to do so. Every time.
She says his name again, though it’s bolder but breathy and fuck he wants to touch her.
He’s more on top of her now, with slow movements and hands holding her side, knee in betwen her legs and his face smothered into her abdomen. She smells nice, like always. Something she’s always maintained and he’s not sure how. There’s a certain scent to her and he wonders if she knows that. Something that’s just Mikasa.
“Please,” he says and it comes out in a rasp, as if he’s been crying. “Please…”
He kisses her there, and up more, unless he reaches the clothed valley of her breasts, lingering there until he opens his eyes and meets her gaze. Then it shocks him, what he’s doing. His heart races faster and perhaps he should have thought about this but---
She’s beautiful.
Her pupils are dilated but eyes wide open. Surprise. It’s not like he hasn’t seen that face on her before but this time it’s different. This time, there’s a light shade of red brushed over her cheeks, lips parted and her hands are ghosting over his arms.
“Please,” he says again and he’s not sure what exactly he’s begging for but he just wants permission for it.
Her chest rises and falls and he can feel the thrum of her heart, alive and loud. She’s not sure what to do, he thinks. And, yeah, this has never happened before. There’s been nights he woken up from a dream of her and she’s sleeping next to him. It’s always been there---that desire. But a voice says sister and another says want. And he wants her. She’s not his sister; that’s always been clear, even when she was adopted. They’ve never been that way. But there’s a closeness that can’t be totally defined so sometimes it falls into siblings. They’ve both acknowledged that. Precious friend describes them. Maybe.
Her right leg moves a bit and that unintentionally grinds his knee ever so slightly in between her legs again. There’s this quick intake of breath she has, her eyes shut tight for a moment, and his pants are suddenly far too tight for him to handle. Heat and electricity shoots to his lower abdomen and he groans, gritting his teeth.
Oh, god, why is he doing this? What’s he doing to both of them?
(There’s always been...well, that between them. He will never deny it. He’s loved her in all sorts of ways the first moment he handed over his scarf to her. He couldn’t let her go. Except...well, when he has to.)
He buries his face within her chest, arms around her and begs pleads again.
“Please, please, please, Mikasa…”
Her right hand finds the top of his hand and rests there, fingers skimming through his hair and doing things to him she probably doesn’t know about. His cock twitches with each touch and he just wants fucking permission to act. To do something for her.
“Let me do this,” he pleads again into her shirt, kissing down and down until he’s reached the button of her trousers. “Let me do this for you, please.”
There’s a long moment and his fingers trace the seam of her pants, trailing downwards, in between her thighs and he applies some pressure there. Another intake of break, something that just kills him. She lets out a shuddered breath and the fingers in his hair grip some strands.
“Let me do something, please, please, please…”
Always looking out for him. Always saving him. Always there, right by his side through everything. She’s put unadulterated trust within him and he realizes that maybe, yeah, he’s never truly returned that favor. That maybe she thinks she owes him and, fuck, fuck, fuck no, that’s not how it goes, Mikasa.
“Eren…”
It’s laced with some question, some trust and some desire. And that’s all he really needs.
“Mikasa…please…”
“Yes,” comes the breathless response.
And he’s undoing her pants faster than anything. She lets him do it, taking her trousers away and throwing them to the side, her boots still on and everything. He slides her panties halfway because, fuck, that’s kinda hot, and his thumb finds the spot he knows will send electricity through her body. Instantly, her back arches and she almost says his name but it comes out strangled.
His lips skim across her left thigh before he darts his tongue out in between her legs. His thumb rubs light circles on her clit and she’s writhing already, his tongue drawing over her sensitive flesh. And it arouses him even more that she seems to already be turned on by the bit of wetness he already finds. His right hand is holding her leg while his left sneaks down between his own legs and he begins palming himself.
Whines of desperation begin pouring from her lips and he knows she’s trying to be quiet as possible. His tongue darts inside her for a quick moment and her back arches again, a small twist and he has to hold her leg down firmer. He does it again, though longer, exploring her as he thumbs her clit with more pressure. There’s a more high pitched whine and he glances up just in time to see her slap her free hand over her mouth and tightly shut her eyes.
Satisfaction runs through his body and it doesn’t help the throbbing in his pants that he desperately tries to keep at bay with useless palming. He dives back in again, his actions more needy and fast, applying more pressure. Mikasa’s sounds grow more and she’s twisting and turning.
His tongue roams around, tasting, memorizing. As he peeks up, Eren has to pause for just a moment. Her hand pressed against her mouth, some water latched onto her lashes, eyes tightly shut and a flush over her cheeks. His thumb does another run over on her clit and he watches with quiet awe as she throws her head back, a muffled whimper into her hand. Fuck. His left hand his nearly holding his cock through his pants as much as he can. He goes back with his tongue, listening to her sounds and trying to hold her other leg down.
When she comes, she’s a beautiful mess, hair splayed upon her pillow and his licking his lips. She gazes up at him with half lidded eyes, breathing heavily and, god, she’s fucking gorgeous. He wants to tell her but he’s not sure how, except, well, actually saying it.
He bends down, kisses her neck, up to where her earlobe is. Whispers, “Thank you.”
A hand comes to the side of his face and she reaches up to kiss him. Even knowing it would happen, he’s shocked. Because just the feel of Mikasa is familiar and foreign all at once. In every way, he’s touched her like never before, despite how touch is so normal between them. And she does it the same way: without hesitation.
He kisses her back, unapologetically, hard and without thought. His hand reaches for the side of her neck and he brings her closer, her chest against his. Breaking it, she pulls away all too fast and he just wants to keep his lips on her, map her body with them.
“Eren,” she murmurs and he wants to snatch the word from her mouth, swallow it, taste it because the way she says it is like no one else. “You’re beautiful.”
He could say the same. But instead he’s kissing her again.