[ he needed his fabric off just as much, immediately scraping into his clothes to toss it over his head and bundled up his torso to his neck as she does the same with hers. there’s rushed disregard when it catches against the points of his horns, sounding a rip (or rips) that he could care less to check on. another shirt ruined, tossed away wherever her armor landed, but they’ll have to react later.
eren’s chest, abdomen, all musculature is completely chiseled to its finest limit. he was built for battle, for sweat and blood. he was far more than healthy— he was visually at a physical prime that took his whole life to reach. in a monster’s primeval interest, he’d bare just as powerful young, and in his deeper thoughts, coded into a language he wasn’t fully aware of, she meant the same thing to him— she had build in her arms, her contours, she would fight until life was torn from her, and to get there one would have to face death itself. she had beauty he admired, strength he’d look up to and desired oh so much to favor.
she was perfect right now, before and after. when he stills to look at her, up and down, eren breathes in a fantastic sight. his scales lose their sheens of purple and charcoal, bright, saturated red, cherry red, blood red, even the lush orange of a stormy sunset splash across what normal skin he had. he flexes for her, involuntary but at the same time purposefully when he conforms to the shape of her body over his. god, how he wanted her to ride him.
desirous hands exert pressure up to sides of her rib cage, tracing her back and front at once. pleasantly, she dips forward and eren’s palm cups her breast, squeezing one with the same enthusiasm that their tongues mess together with, with his hips angling up to meet the tease of her grind. how many times could he think: it’s so good? too many.
their chests and spines are bare for claws to drag, for flesh to rub and for fingerpads to trace scars against the summer night’s air. so many scars, so much muscle and movement, eren groans hoarsely into her, the same curse she spoke seared between fangs and bites to the corner of her mouth. ]
Lex, [ he swallows, but straight into another sloppy attempt to lick her teeth and dive, ] ride, [ ride him dry, please. he’s never been so driven, and fucking hell he’s going to learn all her chips and imperfections before she could tell him her stories. ] God—
no subject
eren’s chest, abdomen, all musculature is completely chiseled to its finest limit. he was built for battle, for sweat and blood. he was far more than healthy— he was visually at a physical prime that took his whole life to reach. in a monster’s primeval interest, he’d bare just as powerful young, and in his deeper thoughts, coded into a language he wasn’t fully aware of, she meant the same thing to him— she had build in her arms, her contours, she would fight until life was torn from her, and to get there one would have to face death itself. she had beauty he admired, strength he’d look up to and desired oh so much to favor.
she was perfect right now, before and after. when he stills to look at her, up and down, eren breathes in a fantastic sight. his scales lose their sheens of purple and charcoal, bright, saturated red, cherry red, blood red, even the lush orange of a stormy sunset splash across what normal skin he had. he flexes for her, involuntary but at the same time purposefully when he conforms to the shape of her body over his. god, how he wanted her to ride him.
desirous hands exert pressure up to sides of her rib cage, tracing her back and front at once. pleasantly, she dips forward and eren’s palm cups her breast, squeezing one with the same enthusiasm that their tongues mess together with, with his hips angling up to meet the tease of her grind. how many times could he think: it’s so good? too many.
their chests and spines are bare for claws to drag, for flesh to rub and for fingerpads to trace scars against the summer night’s air. so many scars, so much muscle and movement, eren groans hoarsely into her, the same curse she spoke seared between fangs and bites to the corner of her mouth. ]
Lex, [ he swallows, but straight into another sloppy attempt to lick her teeth and dive, ] ride, [ ride him dry, please. he’s never been so driven, and fucking hell he’s going to learn all her chips and imperfections before she could tell him her stories. ] God—