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The first time had been an honest mistake.
The second time had been a selfish request.
Floch has no excuses for the other times he's slept with Armin Arlert.
In his defense, Armin had initiated it this time. He'd purposefully caught eyes with Floch at mess. And Floch knew all-too-well what that stare meant. It sent shivers down his spine.
Meet me in my quarters after dark, Armin had said to him, even though Armin hadn't uttered a word to Floch. Those tired, somber eyes had bored holes into his fucking skull and that was all he needed to know.
And so that's how Floch finds himself standing at Armin's door in his sleepwear, knocking a soft rapraprap onto it.
"Floch?" Armin calls, making Floch swallow, because that usually means that Armin is in a state that he wants only Floch to see him in.
"It's me," Floch replies, forcing his tone to remain calm.
"You can come in."
Luckily—or unluckily?—Floch discovers Armin sitting on his bed in an oversized sleep shirt, making him decent. He clicks the lock behind him before he turns his focus to Armin, who keeps his eyes on the blank wall across from him.
Floch tries not to take it too personally. He'd go mad trying to understand each of Armin's actions. "You steal that from Jean's laundry?" he asks, placing his hands on his hips. Captain Levi had once called his stance defiant, but it was simply the most comfortable way to stand. And the Captain didn't have the best sense of judgement, anyway.
"No. It's yours," says the perfect case for Levi's batshit decision-making skills.
Mournful blue eyes turn to stare at Floch, who can't help but think that Armin's a bit eerie. He has dark circles underneath his eyes, highlighting the lack of sleep he's gotten while trying to plan the upcoming raid on Liberio. Armin has told Floch about the endless nights he's spent insuring that everything will lead to victory.
(It makes his cock twitch, the way that Armin murmurs about how he'll wipe Liberio's port out in less than thirty seconds.)
"Mine?" Floch asks, strolling over to Armin and reaching out to gently cup his jaw. The answer’s unexpected, but Floch enjoys the knowledge that Armin's draped in something of his.
"Took it the last time I was in your room," Armin mumbles, closing his eyes as he leans into Floch's touch. Fingers stroke Armin's cheek before Floch slides his thumb into Armin's mouth.
The tip of Armin's tongue swirls around his thumb in a way that makes Floch want to shake his head and whistle. Anticipation makes his pants tighten because all he can do is imagine Armin's tongue on a different part of his body.
He doesn't have to fantasize for very long, because Armin pulls his head back, releasing his thumb. "Go sit on the chair," he says.
"Impatient?" Floch teases with a click of his tongue.
"You could say that."
Floch can't help but snort as he turns on his heel and strolls over to the reading chair in the corner of Armin's bedroom. He collapses dramatically into it, then smirks as he looks back at Armin, who still has a dreary expression on his face. Floch shakes his head.
"I know I look like shit," Armin says, rising from his bed.
"I wouldn't say that. You look exhausted," Floch tells him, lounging back in the chair. Armin shrugs, then taps on Floch's knee.
"Just take these off," Armin whispers, dropping to his own knees on the floor.
Floch likes how Armin has no interest in wasting time. He raises his hips and pulls his sleep pants off; Armin helps him wriggle out of them completely. It's not long before Armin settles in between his thighs. Floch lets out a harsh breath as Armin takes his cock into his hand, touching him until he's completely hard.
A stream of obscenities falls from Floch's mouth when Armin's lips wrap around him. Warm, wet heat engulfs him, and Floch has to stop himself from trying to force more of his dick into Armin's mouth. Fiery fingers find their way to Floch's balls and begin rubbing him there, adding to his stimulation. Titan shifter biology, Armin had told him. His body runs warmer than normal and Floch notices it every time.
Floch props his hand under his chin and his elbow on the arm of the chair, steadying himself for a moment. But then Armin's tongue runs over the slit of his cock and he's cursing again because fuck that feels so good.
"You know," Floch murmurs, "even though you suck dick really well, I still think you should be dead."
The words have the intended effect on Armin immediately, as Armin takes more of Floch into his mouth with a new vigor.
"Everyone thinks the same thing, you know that?" Floch forces out, keeping his voice firm even though he wants to lose himself in Armin's wetness. "That Erwin should be here, not you."
Armin whimpers around his dick, which pulls a smirk onto Floch's lips. He doesn't fully understand it, but he knows it gets Armin off, so he obliges him regardless. Armin wants him to be so fucking mean and Floch has to admit that he likes it, likes how he's able to take out his frustrations, likes how Armin agrees with him.
It's a boost to his ego, a boost to his pride. He settles a hand on the back of Armin's head, petting the short hairs of his undercut as he watches Armin suck his dick. The obscene sight makes his cheeks burn. He'd never expected to have Armin like this, but now that they've messed around a few times, Floch knows he doesn't want to stop.
When Armin pulls away, Floch gasps, shivering at how cool the air feels on his cock. Fingernails begin to scratch against the floor as Armin hunts for something underneath Floch's chair. He finds what he's looking for, making Floch raise an eyebrow when Armin produces a small bottle of oil and uncaps it.
"Prepared," he remarks, watching Armin coat his fingers in the substance.
Armin sets the bottle down off to the side of one of his knees. "That's what I'm here for," he replies nonchalantly. "Making plans." He wraps his non-lubricated hand around Floch's dick, giving him a few lazy strokes. The other arm snakes around his backside, and Floch realizes what Armin intends to do far later than he reasonably should have.
"You're joking," Floch says, out of pure disbelief.
"I've no idea what that means." Armin pulls a gasp from Floch as he twists his wrist to stroke him harder. "I'm always serious about this."
In response, Floch fists Armin's hair and guides his mouth back to his dick. Armin accepts it without protest, hollowing out his cheeks and bobbing his head further and further. It's no wonder they keep coming back to each other—the way Armin makes him feel is addictive, regardless of the fact that Armin's one of the most loathsome people he's ever met.
And Armin's throat takes him so impossibly well. Floch doesn't know where to look because every interaction sends another wave of heat throughout his body. It's the little wet noises that come from Armin's mouth, the way that Armin's hand moves against his own bottom, and how some of Armin's bangs have started to stick to his sweaty forehead.
"You look pathetic," Floch sighs. He yanks on Armin's hair, holding Armin close to the base of his cock and savors the way Armin moans around him.
Intent on pushing Armin to his limit, Floch squeezes his thighs against Armin, restricting his movement further. Armin looks up at him and Floch bites down hard on his lower lip because he nearly comes from the sight of the tears pooling in Armin's eyes.
"Don't ever get it in your head that I think that you were the right choice," Floch huffs, pleasure surging in his cock because he's so close. "I don't give a fuck how well you take me down your throat. You should be dead."
He holds Armin like that until Armin can barely stand it, then spreads his legs apart to release him. Floch jerks Armin's head back, pulling his mouth off him.
"Holy shit," Floch remarks as he stares down at Armin.
Armin pants, eyes wet and red from how far Floch's pushed him. His face is flushed and there's saliva smeared all over his chin. He looks wrecked and Floch absolutely loves that.
"Can you keep going?" Floch murmurs, releasing his grip on the other man's hair.
"Of course," Armin says as he wipes his mouth with the corner of Floch's sleep shirt. "I can take you."
There's a flurry of movements as the two make their way over to the bed—they discard the rest of their clothes, Floch grabs the bottle of oil, and Armin pulls a pillow underneath him as he gets on all his elbows and knees. Once he coats his dick in the oil, he takes himself in hand and positions his body behind Armin.
"Ready?"
"Yes," Armin hisses, then sighs as Floch presses against his ass.
Armin had prepared himself well, so Floch slides into him with ease. The familiar heat makes him groan in anticipation—he wants this so fucking badly. Impatient, he doesn't give Armin any time to get used to his dick before he begins to move. But Armin meets his hips halfway, so clearly he's just as needy as Floch is. He runs a hand down Armin's spine, marveling at the fact that Armin, in all his faults, can do this just right. His body might not be as physically strong as Floch's, but Armin knows how to make each thrust better than the last.
(It's almost unbelievable—how Armin's whole body is a weapon. And that body is all his, in this moment.)
"You're better at fucking me than you are in battle," Floch whispers, leaning forward and driving into Armin harder. He pulls on Armin's hair again before he wraps his fingers around Armin's neck and squeezes.
"Floch," Armin groans, "yes. I know."
He tightens his grip and becomes quite satisfied with the way that Armin's mouth falls open, the way he makes pretty little noises with every drive of Floch's hips. "You wish you were dead, huh? Even though your friends begged for your useless life," Floch snarls, slamming himself into Armin, drawing a loud, broken moan from him as he shifts underneath Floch.
"Right there, please," Armin begs, fingers clutching at the sheets.
"How do you think Eren and Mikasa would feel? If they knew that all you want is my hand around your neck?"
Armin cries out in return. It makes Floch laugh—because he’s pretty sure that Eren nor Mikasa know about Armin’s little arrangement with him. Floch certainly hasn’t told Eren—didn’t want the daggers he’d definitely get, didn’t want to distract Eren before he slipped away from them in Marley.
He nips at Armin's shoulder blades, pleased with the noises he gets in response. Every sensation is electrifying; Floch can't get enough of how tightly Armin's ass grips his cock. He tries to mirror the grip in the way he keeps his hand on Armin's throat.
As the sounds of skin on skin and the bed creaking fill the tiny bedroom, Floch wonders if Armin knows. If he's already figured out all of Eren's plan and Floch's involvement in it. He's fucking brilliant and Floch knows they've been sloppy. Armin must have an idea of what they're plotting, right?
(He wants Armin alive after the Rumbling. And part of that is because he selfishly wants to keep up their little arrangement. But he'd never tell Armin nor Eren that.)
Armin trembles when Floch drops his hold on Armin's neck and instead palms at his leaking cock. It's been sorely neglected, so every pump makes Armin's thighs shake.
"This is the only thing you're good for, you know that, correct?" Floch mutters, leaning forward again and nipping at the skin on Armin's neck.
"You're right Floch, you're right, you're right," Armin whines, and Floch feels the boost to his ego right in his cock. Armin grinds his hips back against Floch, riled up by Floch's words.
"What am I right about?" Floch growls into Armin's ear.
"I should be d-dead, I'm so fucking worthless, everyone must hate me," Armin moans, the desperation in his voice evident as Floch strokes him harder. Floch, too, is growing desperate, the much-needed validation driving him right to the edge.
"That's true.” Floch’s teeth are grit, he can’t help the smirk that’s on his face. “What else?"
"I'm so weak. I can't do this," Armin sobs. "I'll never be good enough. I, I—Floch you're so right, Floch—"
Armin's body tenses as he comes, hot as he spills onto the pillow underneath him. Floch grabs onto his hips, nails digging into his as he fucks Armin through his orgasm, drinking in the sweet whimpers that he milks from Armin's mouth as he begins to feel overstimulated.
Floch lets out a deep, ragged gasp as his own climax follows; his vision spotting as pleasure courses through his entire body, pooled between his hips, focused on how Armin's heat amplifies it all. He slams a shaking hand down onto the small of Armin's back to steady himself, panting heavily as he comes down from the rush.
When he collects himself, Floch pushes himself off of Armin, then rolls over, laying down on the side of the bed that faces the wall. After he hugs his midsection tightly, he feels Armin shift beside him, hears the pillow being tossed to the floor.
The stench of sex and sweat hangs heavy in the air. Floch can discern Armin laying next to him, their backs to each other. There's never an afterglow, just a dreadful quiet until one of them decides to move.
"Are you prepared for Liberio?" Floch eventually forces out, voice suddenly hoarse.
"Yes," comes Armin's curt reply.
"Oh, nice," Floch mutters.
Silence envelops them again.
"You're shaking," Armin observes, laying a searing hand on Floch's arm.
Half of his body has the shivers. Floch hates that Armin is right. "S'cold in here."
The bed groans; Floch nearly jumps out of his skin when Armin turns and spoons him. Armin's chest and legs warm his slick skin. There's an arm thrown across his chest, too. Floch leans into the touch, chewing on his bottom lip.
"You…like what I tell you?" Floch asks quietly.
He feels a nod from behind him. "Yeah."
Floch bites back a sardonic reply, choosing to let out a hum of acknowledgement instead.
"You can think I'm weird. I won't be offended."
Floch blows puffs of air out between his lips, angling them upwards to flutter his fringe. "You're a bit creepy," he admits, not feeling as emboldened as he did minutes prior.
"You aren't the first person to call me that," Armin breathes.
Floch's heart thuds twice in his veins. He lets himself relax slightly, knowing that soon, there will be no time for leisure.