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Armin sighs into Eren’s mouth as they kiss, always content with the smallest of gestures. “Eren…” he lightly moans. It’s a soft and breathy tone Eren can never get enough of, one he’ll do anything for.
They press against each other on the soft bed, Armin’s face buried into Eren’s neck. Can he hear his blood rushing?
Eren likes to stay close to him, most of the time. There are days where even he can't stand to be by Armin, like how he now stays apart from everyone else. But as of now, he is in his touchy mood. Armin commented on it the first few times, playfully and perhaps a bit confused, but after seeing the unspoken hurt in Eren's eyes, he stopped. Now he only encourages, quietly indulges, leans back into Eren's touches and smiles in return. It's like how Armin always grasps for Eren's left hand since that day, to make sure it’s true and real that Eren’s back with him. That it wasn't all his fault.
Legs entangled and hearts beating in sync, their bodies practically melt together the longer they embrace. Warm light streaming through the window makes it even harder for them to separate; it feels so perfect and peaceful that Eren would never even want to. Eyes half-lidded, Eren commits it all to memory. There’s Armin, always handsome and now a comforting weight on top of him, eyes still closed as he’s occupied with their current kiss. The low bed and surrounding sparse decorations are nothing of note, this tiny study room long-forgotten or not even known by most; if not the both of them stealing away to comfort each other when there’s spare time, Armin is the only one who uses it for its intended purpose. Behind Armin are a wooden desk covered in his scrawled papers and heavy shelves filled from floor to ceiling - motes of dust float around the aged books he carefully pores over, their decaying scent on his fingers that brush against Eren’s cheek.
His own hands lazily encircle Armin’s waist, rubbing along every nearby inch of his body, then slowly stroking upwards until they cradle the back of Armin's head.
Flashes of dogs and torn-apart bodies still clothed. Screams, blood running down cobblestone, and smoking flesh.
Eren’s fingers pause against Armin's shaved nape, before gently curling his fingers into the fine strands above. Armin pulls away from his lips and laughs about how Eren’s now grown his hair out instead, clueless.
He wants to protect Armin. It’s foolish thinking - with all of their training they did together, how he’s survived titans. His body, changed now that he’s consumed another. His intelligence and courage. He’s already so strong. But still, also so weak.
Eren thinks about the years Armin has left. His own, even less.
Some days Eren gets rough, turns Armin onto his hands and knees so he doesn’t see the crazed look in Eren’s eyes and so Eren doesn’t have to see his face in response. Fear, or hatred, he couldn't bear it. Armin must get stronger, become used to being a titan and all that entails, for what’s to come. He bites hard, even with the slight possibility of Armin transforming, even though Armin wouldn't. He imagines ripping out the nape muscle with one strong turn of his head, if Armin would try to stop him, or trust him. It makes Armin shake and clench beneath him, finishing onto the sheets, but if there’s any suspicion, he says nothing besides a slight complaint on how he'll possibly hide this bite this time.
“Our bodies will repair it,” Eren reminds him plainly, though part of him wishes it would stay. A mark belonging to just the two of them. Armin looks down in embarrassment at forgetting the most obvious solution, and at this, Eren pulls him into a tight hug. Someday, this innocence too will disappear, and despite it all, he wishes it wouldn’t.
They travel back to the beach whenever they have the chance. Even without the biggest deterrent, it’s quite a ways further than anywhere they usually travel, and they leave at dawn to experience its full glory during daylight. Of course, there’s so much to study and observe that they often end up staying until late evening and sometimes nights. For this trip, the two don’t plan to end up sleeping on the dunes, but they do prepare lunch - no longer a camp stakeout of tasteless rations, but a real picnic of sorts. There’s fresh bread, some cheese, even some thin slices of meat that may or may not have been taken with permission. Armin bites into a shiny apple warmed by the sun and Eren only stares as the juice runs down his chin.
Less preferable than observing Armin, Eren tears his eyes away and turns to the ocean before them. Back then, and even now, it’s exactly how it looked in Eren’s (his father’s) memories. It still gives him pause, the revulsion washing over him like the waves at their feet. But slowly, he is learning to appreciate it more, like he used to imagine he would. Or tries to, at least.
For the dream they shared, even if for different reasons.
Today, they sit together on the wall to watch the sunset.
He stretches his arm out to meet the glittering sunlight on the ocean’s surface. It’s so long and shiny in a straight line directly towards them alone; he asks Armin how this is possible and Armin begins an effusive lecture on the angle of incidence and how light reflects back into their eyes - truth be told, Eren can’t comprehend a single word, but watching Armin speak with so much life is brighter than any celestial star could be.
He kisses Armin mid-sentence, his teeth against Armin's bottom lip and a grip around his shoulders pulling him closer.
“Love someone - love anyone.”
How the man his father named him after could say such a thing, after everything he did to people like them, on an island far across the sea. That he was right about this, for once, after all, Eren detests even more. As if he truly understood.
He halfway opens his eyes mid-kiss to observe Armin with his eyes gently closed, his face rosy and the tips of his ears burning with the shining light now behind him.
If nothing else, he can depend on Armin's affection, despite everything. That's all that matters. That's all Eren needs.
His hands slide down Armin’s warm back, who eventually breaks away in a huff at Eren teasing the strip of exposed skin between his untucked shirt and pants hem. Despite this, after a few breaths, he's the one who leans back to kiss Eren again. His knobbly fingers struggle to unbutton their pants and remove their multiple belts, then draws out both their already-erect cocks to squeeze together. It’s wet and warm, their flushed heads sliding against each other in Armin’s grasp, and Eren moves to wrap his hands around them as well.
His anchor between past and present and future - Armin’s touch is burning, more real than any titan memory could be.
Was this all meant to happen? Was there a reason beyond their own feelings, their own memories and pain and joy shared together, that they were so drawn to each other? Could anyone or anything foretell Armin?
Armin is quieter than most people would expect, with him constantly yelling and screaming during every prior titan fight. Lost in pleasure, he’s breathless and shy, only a peek of teeth between his lips as he fails to hold back a whimper (that never fails to send a shock right down Eren's cock). They’re so close, Eren can see every eyelash and pockmark as Armin draws his head in, gaze focused down on their bodies intertwined. He only bothers to look down once or twice himself as he strokes them together. It’s not a lack of interest in Armin’s body, far from it, but Armin's face - Armin's expressions - are infinitely more erotic. He needs to catalog every reaction to every touch before he never can.
“Eren?”
Armin’s large eyes are now looking back into his. Eren tries not to focus on his own wet reflection.
“Yeah?” Eren’s voice is deep and slightly hoarse from lack of speaking, and he feels himself force an awkward grin. He doesn't even notice his own heavy breathing, too focused on Armin's pleasure. A hand, not slick with precum, reaches up to hold Eren’s cheek. Eren leans into it (warm and soft, almost velvet) and looks back at Armin - sunset glitter in his eyes and a golden halo of hair.
“Are you feeling good?”
His grip on Armin’s hips tightens enough for Armin to let out a strangled noise, unconsciously jerking forward with a spurt of pre-cum. His hand moved from Eren’s face to clutching his hair, desperate for a part of him to hold onto.
“Of course I am.” Another buck of his hips in return and Armin falters, pressing his lips together in holding another groan. Better than good, too simple a word - every time feels amazing. If Eren had even slightly less self-control (whatever small amount of it that he possessed), Armin wouldn’t have the energy nor the notion to ask something like that. But for now, he’ll settle for fucking Armin’s brains out in one grand moment rather than five times consecutively.
Armin looks down towards Eren's left hand. He wants to hold it, Eren’s sure, but Armin’s right hand is occupied with jerking them off. Eren shuffles so now Armin's fully in his lap, and he can easily take care of them both.
Eren folds his fingers around Armin's, clasping him tight.
Armin throws his other arm around Eren's shoulders, hugging him securely so they don't fall over. Their foreheads press together, hot breath mixing and raising the local temperature even with the low sun and cool ocean breeze. Eren plays with him, one kiss, two kisses, another, back and forth until Armin stops him with a deeper kiss in place. He continues to caress their erections in his hand just as playfully - alternating his stroke speed, tightening his grip as he pleases, rocking their hips together all to feel the other shiver and twitch against him.
“Why’d you ask?” Finally, Eren returns the question. Needs to know what Armin’s thinking.
“It's hard to tell sometimes,” Armin replies with a slight smile. Now, lately is the unspoken truth. It didn't used to be this way. But a lot of things didn't used to be this way.
It hurts.
By now, after everything, some wires have crossed, certain forms of pain and pleasure that Eren can no longer tell the difference between. But this uncertainty from Armin, about the both of them, hurts more than he could ever conceive.
Someday he'll be gone and a new titan will take his memories and they will see Armin looking at them with adoration and hesitance all at once, their slick skin against each other. The ocean of supposed freedom, now only a backdrop to a perfect being that nothing else will ever come close to.
He wonders if Armin should be the one to eat him when the day comes. If only to understand what Eren sees and feels in this moment.
Until then-
“I love you.”
I want you.
I need you, Armin.
Armin’s eyes widen at the unbidden statement. It’s no apology, maybe only part of an explanation, but Eren hopes it’s enough.
Letting go of his hand and their cocks, he hugs Armin even tighter than back then, after Bertholdt. He could crush them together now, bones cracking and jutting through their torn flesh, blood running down every open wound, forever embracing as their bodies inevitably regenerate and repair until they are finally one. Instead, Armin only holds back a choking noise, then squeezes Eren back just as hard. He moves his face to capture Eren again in one prolonged kiss, deep and impassioned.
No longer reliant on hands, their hips gyrate against each other enthusiastically, the slick lack of friction an unreal sensation. The way Armin’s soon stutter in an erratic rhythm, his climax must be approaching. Eren’s also close, just from the way Armin reacts. Mind fogged, his hands clasped around Armin roughly claw his shirt and skin underneath, the need to somehow be even closer uncontrollable. As he’s hazily wondering if he’s scratching hard enough to leave any more marks, Armin abruptly shudders and cums. He continues jerking back and forth in Eren’s lap with short thrusts, riding out his orgasm, and Eren can’t help but finally cum too.
Still kissing, Armin’s moans vibrate down his entire body, heightening his continuing orgasm to a degree he’s not sure he’s experienced before. In the midst of this, Eren suddenly recalls a previous lecture Armin gave many moons ago, about this feeling being called a little death. “La petit” something or another. So it was true after all - of course it was, Armin knew everything - and what a way to discover. Eren really could die right now, if he could choose.
Armin’s head lolls onto Eren’s shoulder when they finally separate for air. He’s practically boneless against him, every hot breath against his neck a sigh in post-coital bliss. A light breeze blows his hair against Eren’s cheek, soft and ticklish.
No matter how much they change, he never wants to let Armin go.
While he continues to hold them together in this moment, he becomes aware of the drying stickiness between them. He drags a hand through their mess to wipe it up, the other boy shaking from sensitivity. All the napkins they packed are lying below in the basket, and Eren doesn’t want to part for even a moment. He licks his own palm. Salty.
“Eren…” Armin lightly chides; he’s lifted his head up and witnessed the whole thing. Before he can admonish any further, Eren gently kisses him again, sharing each other's taste. Armin lets him, like he always does. After a thorough exchange, softly against his lips-
“Love you too, Eren.”
The concrete wall isn’t an ideal choice of overnight bed, but having each other as a pillow almost makes up for it.