Attack On Titan: Dreams

His eyes open wide, and he finds himself staring down at the bridge of her nose, and he doesn't know what possesses him to, but he leans forward once more—only to have her move back completely—

—try to move back completely.

His body quickly acts on its own, hands latching onto her shoulders like a vice, and she jumps at the sudden movement, eyes widening.

Then he holds her still, and he can feel himself shaking—feel a storm beginning to brew within him as he grips her tightly, and perhaps even hard enough to bruise. But if he is, she is not showing any pain, but rather, stunned confusion.

"Why did you do that?" he whispers hoarsely, and it is equal parts a question, a statement, and a warning shot.

Mikasa blinks at him, mouth dropping open...

... mouth shutting, closed.

Silence.

He lets it fill the space between them—lets it fill the seconds that tick by slowly, as he commits to memory the porcelain cheeks that are flushed rose-pink, reading like frazzled naivete and innocence—and the wide, doe-like charcoal blues, that seem to scream I don't know but I know I actually know but I don't know.

How cute.

Yet nothing about this moment or the magnetic pull he feels towards her could be labeled with a word as light as cute . No, not when she was slowly burning him from the inside, making his blood thrum fast beneath his skin, making his heart thud hard against his ribcage, heightening his senses to the sound of her breathing—making him feel like a hunter closing in on his prey.

"Hmm?" he hums in askance, leaning forward so that the tips of their noses brush, and he swears the low note has reverberated between them and touched her, and is responsible for the shudder that he feels creep through her body.

He feels her muscles tighten within his grip as he shifts his gaze downwards, eyes affixed to her pretty, pink lips, and he admires how they look as they part once more to breathe his air and attempt to give an answer—admires how they look as they close in defeat.

Silence.

Now she is an immobile statue in his grasp, tense all over, and he wonders if perhaps he is going too far.

'She started it.'

He holds her stunned gaze, sliding his right hand up the firm slope of her shoulder, calloused touch grazing hot, smooth skin, and trailing up the back of her neck, the motion of his hand incredibly languid and cruel. Her eyes droop, and she visibly quivers under his touch, hot breath warming his mouth through shaky exhales as her breathing labours.

He drinks in the sight of her, committing this face to memory, because her dazed, yielding expression and the glimmer of something impure in her grey blues are all his doing.

He sucks in a breath, and nestles his hand in her silk raven locks and presses his forehead to hers, fisting his fingers loosely in her hair. And he closes his eyes. And he relishes the feel of her warm air on his mouth, the way her nose brushes his, and she is so, so close, and it is so, so nice, and he wants more.

So he pulls her in, and he takes more.

And he kisses her.

And then it's like a dam has broken, and there is a sense of finally, for fuck's sake FINALLY, even though he wasn't ever aware that he'd eagerly been awaiting this moment—and that is just the word that colors him and the way his mouth molds to hers, and the way his body reacts to hers: eager.

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Greedily—eagerly—he presses into the soft warmth of her lips, his other hand sliding down her shoulder to press against the small of her back to draw her in closer, closer, closer, lest she dare try to pull away again.

But there is no danger of separation this time, because her shoulders and limbs slacken, and she melts into his possessive embrace, surrendering completely to him.

But it's only a brief charade of submission, because just as soon as she gives in, she is the one deepening the kiss and sucking at his bottom lip, and sliding a hand up his chest. It all begins to feel like some strange form of retaliation, as though she is fighting to reclaim control of the situation.

And, while he is normally the confrontational type to stubbornly fight to victory, Eren finds the counterattack completely welcome, and immediately accepts defeat at the feel of her hot tongue sliding along his, the tug of her teeth at his bottom lip, and the desperate pull of her fists in his shirt and his hair.

And now, humanity's christened salvation and his keeper are nothing but labored breathing and the rustle and shift of clothing beneath restless hands, and wet, sloppy kisses that rapidly increase in number and desperation.

And for once, humanity's hope has become the prey, the hunted, and gladly so; in fact, he is the happiest prey in the world when he feels her hand sidle up his inner thigh, jaw going slack in dumb surprise and subdued excitement, effectively halting the fervent liplock.

He is left motionless, breathing hard against her mouth, the ache in his groin worsening at the pressure of her hand just there. Then, Mikasa presses a chaste kiss to his parted lips before opening her eyes to shift her gaze to his lap, hand roving up and down his thigh slowly with criminal intent, and he has to wonder if this is payback for earlier.

Eren feels his face flush at too many things—at her boldness, at her hands' movements, and at how exposed he feels, because how badly he wants her is becoming visibly evident.

When Mikasa looks back up at him through half lidded charcoal blues, he expects amusement at the observation, and perhaps some bewildered bashfulness. Instead, her eyes are dim with a hunger he has never seen before, and it makes his stomach burn with want.

He swallows hard when she crawls onto his lap and straddles him, closing her arms around the back of his neck, eyes locked on his.

Then, for a moment, they are still.

And she doesn't kiss him.

And he doesn't kiss her.

He is too entranced to move or think for himself, too deeply under her spell, a slave to her every move, waiting in eager anticipation of what she will do next, or what face she will make next.

He finds it fascinating that she is now calm Mikasa, eyes dark with focus, face flushed, lips swollen, yet not one ounce of embarrassment evident on her face. Was this not the same girl that had looked like a deer about to get shot just moments ago?