Levi likes it when their knuckles line up, fingers pieced together like zipper teeth, like cobblestones, like feathers. He squeezes their bones together, tries to fuse them into one mass, because then maybe he will never leave. He can’t leave. The sky is too high, and Erwin hasn’t shown it all to him yet.
Erwin likes it when Levi sighs out a moan so short and clipped, it’s as if he’s knocked the wind out him. This man with a title bigger than his stature, the man smart and determined enough to teach himself the directional gear, could be the same man that buckles under somebody as broken as himself.
And when it happens at the same time, Erwin’s hips meeting the back of Levi’s thighs, they find a piece that keeps them both whole. And when they come, they seem to lose their names and the bodies between them. And when they kiss, they know that it will need to end someday.
But someday is forever away, and Levi hopes it’s farther away than the vast fathoms of the sky.