Pairing: Riren/Ereri
Rating: T
Summary: Rivaille doesn't like the way Yeager treats him and maybe Yeager's doing it on purpose.
A/N: please excuse this dumb shit like it got way out of hand and real dumb real fast sorry lol but ereri is my ultimate nowadays... so...
Once he's neatly slipped out of his tan jacket, Rivaille arranges the clothing on the back of his chair before promptly taking a seat again. The holding cell beneath Castle Uthgard is presently hosting the legion, and their so-called prisoner. Hours ago the vast expanse of courtyard and stone fortress was tainted with layers of dust and grime, almost strategically garnished with budding weeds making their way through the cracks of the ramshackle flooring.
It held not suitable for their long stay accommodation, however, Rivaille had to only cast one look – then the horses were taken to, orders were given out and, in a matter of hours, had the castle looking at it's primest again.
A job well done has earned the remainder of the legion a good night's rest, but what looms over most of them is the fact that tomorrow is their final deadline in terms of Yeager's consequences. With great toying have they only gotten him into their hands, except the Military Police aren't giving up, and apparently can't live with seeing the boy breathing.
It's not his fault Yeager won't abide by any of his examination procedures. The little brat doesn't bat an eyelid when Hanji practically sprawls on his bed to discuss her latest findings and Yeager certainly doesn't even shiver the slightest when Irwin offers to loosen the shackles or spoon-feed him his meals, so it begs the question; what's he got against him? Unless Yeager still can't see past the logic behind the courtroom's happenings, Rivaille can do nothing but wait for him to come around.
Otherwise, Rivaille can opt for the easier method of process, which is basically forcing Yeager to let him do his thing and hopefully contain that obnoxious behaviour for as long it takes.
There's the distinct scrape of a pair of boots pacing their way towards him, and another of barefoot padding. Rivaille briefly glances at Irwin's build with his arm round Yeager and he can't help but scowl at the brunette when he lets loose a massive howl of laughter at something he just said. Yeager looks almost pleased to be by the man's side, absolutely no recognition of the grimace he usually moulds his face into.
The pair stops short a few meters from the Corporal, who seems to be staring straight into the holding cell as if Eren has never left. Irwin and Eren share a confused look before advancing forward, Eren habitually glaring at the sitting man as he does whenever he comes to be in his presence, which, not surprisingly, is far too often. Corporal appears just as every other night he is to be under his watch, and Eren hates it. With Irwin it's playing cards until dawn, and Eren starkly remembers Hanji brining him books to read to him when he can't sleep at night. Rivaille is an entirely differently story, a hard brimmed paperback with unfilled pages and blank sentiments.
"Be seeing' you in the morning, Corp'," Irwin declares as he bids farewell to the both of them, a thin smile for Rivaille and a reassuring pat on the back for Eren.
He leaves without another word and soon the shrinking beating of the soles on his boots come to a close, and then the basement is silent again, until Eren slides into his bed and thrusts his limbs into the restraints, staring expectantly at the Corporal.
"What, you're thinking of leaving me uncontrolled tonight?" Eren spits out suddenly, scorn burning at the tip of his tongue, "What if I transform in my sleep? What if I go on a rampage and attack somebody? Oh no, who knows what can happen to poor old me while I'm sleeping!" Eren doesn't mean to twist his words so tight around the room, but it happens regardless of his own control for his mouth. He doesn't have the guts to express the rest of his intense hatred for the shackles and for the man, because he might drop a cuss bomb and Eren knows enough to imagine the penalties.
Rivaille doesn't like his tone. He stares Yeager down from the steel bars of the cell and continues to watch. Neither of them intend on lightening the atmosphere. It doesn't even seem possible any more.
"I was considering it."
Rivaille vigilantly strides into the room and coils his slender fingers around Yeager's shaking ones; his skin is unexpectedly hot. The older deliberately traces his eyes down to the corner of the room, outside the cell, where the anaesthetics and sedatives are latched onto the wall. Yeager follows his line of sight and growls. Arms and legs secured, Rivaille debates kneading the padlocks with his hand, just to see his reaction. His hands extend towards them and Yeager bars his teeth.
He turns to him and the candle flickering beside his chair shapes the contours of every pore and scratch and line of the boy's profile. Rivaille smirks as his lips spiral into a one sided chuckle, "Was."
Rivaille drops his wrists forcefully and marches out the cell, back straight and not a hair out of place, except not as oblivious as he'd rather prefer to be in regard to the daggers Yeager practically stabs him with from the corner of his eye. His ears perk up at the distant mutterings of Yeager's, but he wills himself to ignore it. He is in no place to lower himself to the rank of a mere graduate trainee. Yeager may appear to be half human and half titan, but he is without a doubt completely infuriating.
Kicking the cell's door behind him shut, Rivaille spins around to face him again, clutching the bars so tight the cylindrical shape starts boring red into his palms. "I'm here all night, so don't assume I'm incapable of holding a conversation. You're ramblings do not go unheard of."
He surveys the manner in which Yeager rolls his eyes and eventually settles into bed, his discomfort apparent to the both of them, maybe even marginally on purpose. Rivaille blinks and takes his place on the chair. He pays no heed to the stack of newspapers Irwin has collected in case of his boredom, all what he needs to keep busy is feigning sleep not so far away.
Hours slip past the pair but Rivaille doesn't seem to either care or notice, because he has not broken his contact with Yeager's sleeping body. He slumbers the same as every other of his shifts, occasionally thrashing and sometimes even mumbling incoherent words and sounds. Rivaille seeks amusement from these night time mischiefs and, on occasion, pries his lips to form a grin, even if just for a few seconds.
Yeager's sheets are proving more comfort for the floor than himself. Upon closer inspection, as in, Rivaille has to sacrifice his seat to stand and look into the cell; he almost drops his jaw at Yeager's shivering body. This is new to him, to Rivaille at least, but wouldn't Irwin and Hanji have notified him if his top priority had been quivering in his sleep? Rivaille aches for a closer inspection, but he can't, not without Yeager up and awake and very much conscious.
Although, sooner or later the examination results will have to be accumulated, whether or not he likes it. And Rivaille can't really cope with the thought of any other member of the legion, dare he include the Military Police, scouring over his assigned task's body. The courtroom has already admitted to consenting Yeager's unconscious figure over to the police a day before they were allowed remittance. Rivaille forces himself to stray from the string of thoughts that cloud his mind, of how deeply they had taken Yeager into consideration. The kid himself looked as scandalised as any other when he had found out at the same time as himself during the trial.
Rivaille bites his tongue as he peers into the darkened surroundings, seeing that traumatised expression on Yeager's face in his mind for the umpteenth time. It shouldn't affect him, it doesn't, but then why does he have to ball his fists whenever he hears the Military Police snicker in his direction?
Before he realises it himself, his hands have unlatched the holding's small door and his boots have more or less dragged him inside within Yeager's territory deprived of any worthwhile. He doesn't recall the last time he was inside the cell with him to see to anything other than his bindings, but he does somewhat remember the look in Yeager's eyes as he stiffened his body at the barest form of touch when his fingers accidentally tinged his palm.
However, the thing is, Rivaille isn't one to care about that sort of garbage. He doesn't need approval from an overgrown loon and he most certainly doesn't doubt his consent of doing what he likes with the authority that's rightfully his.
Hesitating whether he should take another step, Rivaille's eyes cannot seem to take in anything in the room other than Yeager, who's now breathing in deep whimpers and is Rivaille imagining it or is the kid actually rolling his body, too? The bed responds in exaggerates springs, creaking and squeaking, topped off with the echoing clangs of the four sets of constrictions. Rivaille is witnessing this for the first time and to be honest, he doesn't know what to do.
"Yeager! Yeager, can you hear me?" He yells, right into his ear, but at the closeness of his voice Yeager's unconscious mind seems to tear himself in the opposite direction. "I order you to cease your trembling!" Rivaille's deafening heart beat pounds in his own ears as his eyes race to the boy's beads of sweat collecting at the tip of his forehead, his arms ferociously banging down on the bed in a maniacal pattern of consistency. Rivaille tries to grip his wrists but the kid's battering anywhere and everywhere too fast and too quick, and it's about then the corporal realises he's got to take action.
As he battles with his own mind, Rivaille seeks the outcomes of the sedatives, other than lulling the boy to an immediate rest. Yeager would know in the morning, and he'd most likely make the assumption that he'd have done it on purpose, and then his bitterness would only intensify and even the rockiest of their conversations might come to a standstill.
Rivaille can't bring himself to terms with the fact that he's actually mulling over the thought of the after effects of a goddamn relationship, one that may or may not exist. Even so, Rivaille overlooks the narcotics and with a breathy sigh, settles for calming Yeager down by himself, no matter the regret quick to pool at the bottom of his stomach.
But then he discovers his services aren't of need. During the time he was thinking to himself and weighing out his options, Yeager has stopped shedding exaggerated groans, but his skin is still glistening with sweat collected down his cheeks and nose. The chains are silent, and his soft exhales are the only thing perceived in the dungeon. Rivaille isn't sure if he's up for another surprise. Sighing, he moves himself away from the bed and turns for the door for the second time that night, except what stops him is Yeager's voice. At least, he thinks it is.
"S-s-stop… stop, plea-se, stop!" And it's soft and nice and sort of like a plead and a beg or a moan and a groan all combined into one, topped off with the delicious voiceover off his that's the typical sluggish declaration of any teenage boy, raspy and jagged and essentially marvellous in Rivaille's ears. He doesn't face him, he just widens his eyes the most he has ever and depends on his hearing to capture any more sounds from Yeager, who seems all to happy to comply.
"No — gerroff' me, now!" Rivaille whirls around and Yeager's hips are vaulted and curved and rounded high off the mattress and midway, and he's grinding them and Rivaille can actually, physically, pin point the second it hitches his breath and his heart threatens to stop beating right then. "Ah…" Yeager almost mewls; hair sticky and attached to his forehead and god, Rivaille's had more than what he's ever considered enough. "D-don't let go…"
Rivaille considers he's too far deep in the lost case of the situation to back out now. Or maybe he doesn't want to in the first place. He genuinely doesn't know what to do, and with the addition of Yeager practically on the verge of climaxing because of his pathetic wet dream, Rivaille decides he has to leave now or witness the most excruciatingly humiliating moment of his life. He raises his boot and takes a step away from Yeager; the moment Yeager utters the words that halt the entirety of his body.
"Corporal… C-corporal!" More frantic breathing, and then, "L-Levi – why are so you mean to me?"
Oh, thinks Rivaille, oh. Yeager can't possibly be sleep talking slash dreaming about him, can he? But then, there aren't many Corporals the kid knows, and next to none that share his name. Hell, Rivaille's perhaps the only Corporal he's on official terms with, and evidently enough to moan his name during sleep. Rivaille swallows the growing lump in his throat, mouth scarily void of any moisture, and progresses towards the boy even though every rational part of his body is screaming, yearning for him to stop. He's luring you in – he's a monster! He's in your hands to mind and your hands to kill; think, Rivaille, think!
And suddenly Rivaille doesn't like where any of this is going, what his mind is telling him and what his body is carrying out without his approval. With one last look at Yeager's mumbling lips, dangerously light in colour and appearing nearly engaging, Rivaille flees the holding and bounds out the dungeon, past the courtyard shimmering in Yeager's work, from hours before, in the moonlight and stops as he nears the fountain. Breakfast spills out his mouth and just misses the water.
The following morning, Günther has to take the precaution to knock double the amount he usually does on Rivaille's door, when everyday it's actually the opposite. He washes, slips into his usual attire and trots his way downstairs to the table, deliberately slow enough for the squad to be aware of his mood and how he'd like the day to ensue. There are going to be questions, no doubt, what with Auruo's naturally frustrating personality and Petra's eye for anything differing from the norm – his being late to breakfast shouldn't result in this much, but Rivaille's brought it upon himself and he's got to face it one way or another.
Inside, the squad are seated as per usual around their table, with Yeager sitting forlorn in the corner of the room, following orders. He doesn't look up when the corporal enters.
Hanji thumps him politely on the back and Erd looks up from the newspaper he's engrossed in to offer him a weak grin. Rivaille manages to return a cracked line and steps into the lunch table before accepting the cup of coffee Petra slides towards him, along with a plate of a single hard bread-bun. He tips it into his mouth and immediately the burning liquid takes its effect, burning a sliver of warmth as it travels down the length of his throat to the pit of his stomach; all during his intense staring dispute with Yeager's nape.
"Excuse me," Rivaille says as he clatters his cup into its saucer and daintily slides out his seat. "Thank you Petra, amazing as always."
The others let him be as they watch him saunter over to Eren, who doesn't notice the man until he chooses to slump into the seat opposite him. He visibly flinches at the sight and clutches the bread in his grasp tighter; Rivaille notices he's nibbling bits off one at a time at the pace of a snail. "Have you had anything to drink?"
Yeager shakes his head with a small mouthful of bread, watching him from beneath his thick lashes. He wants this conversation to be quick. "Use your mouth to answer me, shitface." The boy's eyebrows crease together the way Rivaille's comes to get used to, his eyes squinting to take in the Corporal's smug expression. When he prefers not to, Rivaille sees it as a chance for a little bit more.
He stands up in a flash and before either of them come to, Yeager's collar is embedded deep between Rivaille's knuckles, forcing him only inches away from the man's face. Yeager can sense Rivaille's hot breathe against his lips and nostrils, and he has to fight his lids to not shut tight at the daunting glare he has plastered on now.
"Did I not make myself clear the first time?"
"I…" Yeager mouth is moving but no sound is coming out. Rivaille tightens his grip of the shirt and almost hears him wince. It's a nice little noise but the boy purses his lips like he's willing himself not to obey his superior's command. "… Have not had anything to drink… S-sir."
"Now was that so difficult, Yeager?"
"No, sir."
"And will you ever disobey me, or at least make an attempt to, next time?"
"No."
The boy scrunches up his face as Rivaille yanks him out of his seat until he's sprawled on the tabletop, the breakfast cutlery strewing into a graceful mess of cups and saucers and forks on the floorboards beneath. "No, what?" Rivaille whispers down the side of his well-defined jawline; he continues to trace it down the expanse of his neck using only his respires, until he's hovering slightly above his own fist, jerking the shirt into a tight knot between his fingers.
"Sir."
After the word tumbles out his lips, Rivaille makes no move of letting go, and neither does Eren of struggling to release himself. Both of them seem to be proving a point by not altering the stance, until Yeager gulps and his throat bobs up and down and it sort of, possibly, mesmerises the Corporal beyond explanation, of seeing the pale flesh move so close up and personal as he tries to ration his swallows. His grip loosens by chance, and Yeager takes the opportunity to wriggle out his hold and make a run for it out the double timber doors.
Rivaille watches the back of his disappearing physique for the second Yeager is still in the room. He doesn't realise his knuckles are clutching nothing and are still shaking in mid air.
Three days go by and it's by a stroke of luck that a titan has been discovered hiding within the Military Police grounds. Nearly all the soldiers are put to work and assigned an order of uncovering the mystery – fortunately that's all taking part far from the castle. Rivaille skims over the rash warnings in his hand, delivered by a messenger, inquiring of Yeager's current health and when are the examination results going to be processed? The corporal merely flicks his wrist and throws the letter onto the floor, stamps on it, and then clicks his tongue to himself. He is aware that postponing the boy's examination any longer can and will only end critically, but at the same time Rivaille isn't exactly jumping at the task.
Auruo, Günther and Petra have respectively fulfilled their night shifts with Yeager over the course of the preceding evens, and so far none of the three members have alerted the corporal on any new happenings troubling the boy. Rivaille doesn't know how to react to the overly quiet feedback other than chewing his bottom lip and wondering if maybe he'd imagined his own shift.
Rivaille tends to his thoroughbred by himself the following evening, just as he prefers it. The stables of the castle are small and somewhat cramped, but their horses are accustomed and don't make a fuss, his own steed greets him with a light nicker as the soles of boots click against the cobblestone and the Corporal strolls in with his hands behind him. The horse notices his master's grin and inhales quickly, black eyes lighting up at the thought of a treat only inches away. Rivaille gives in as his horse neighs and the fine hairs of his lips brush against his own cheek. The apple is devoured in a few mighty chomps.
Corporal loathes dirt; he'd avoid it like the plague if he could control himself, but he always ends up cleaning an entire mess and busting out what the legion has deemed his 'housewife' gear. Anyway, for an odd reason, horses have never stimulated his neat obsession and maybe that's the reason he adores confiding in his animal counterparts than his actual teammates that are prepared to sacrifice their lives by his command.
"Marty," Rivaille sighs as he runs his hands down the thick, coarse mane, preening the rare knots with his nails until he directs his forehead down against his. His breath is warm and the smell is like home, familiar and companionable. Rivaille is sometimes teased because he actually took the effort in naming Marty, cause nearly everybody believes there's not really much of a point. There's no benefit in forming a bond with an animal that'll most likely be ripped to shreds in front of your own eyes.
"Something's wrong with me." Marty looks down at him with those big, black orbs and cocks his head to the side, his ears perking up in concern for the man's own voice seeping with something that's unlike the no-frills orders and softened tones he's been hearing for years.
"Well, not me exactly," Rivaille shrugs, and Marty pushes at his cheek for him to go on, "something's wrong with Yeager."
Rivaille doesn't care if he can't understand most of it, cause he's been looking over their species barrier for as long as he can remember. The surname sparks little to no recognition across the diamond face. Rivaille has forgotten that he rarely ever addresses the boy with that in front of Marty. "I mean, Eren."
Hot steam blows out Marty's flaring nostrils. Rivaille laughs and brings their heads in closer, before latching open the stall and making his way between the small barrel of hay, his bucket of water and scarce bedding. The horse swallows another treat he offers and Rivaille promises him he'll delight him even more when they return home to his real, larger pen.
Rivaille presses the gate closed behind him and meanders to the wall, presses his back against it and slides down until he's got his knees up and arms around. Marty observes him and doesn't like this side to his friend; a gloomy, given-up aura that reeks off his clothes and pains the horse to do nothing of. Rivaille feels Marty nuzzling his hair and then he feels a heavy thump and then there's a big lump of brown sprawled on the ground beside him.
He shifts closer and lifts Marty's head into his lap, "Eren, he's been such a little shit. I mean, that's nothing out of the ordinary, but he has absolutely no right to! He's…" Rivaille stops stroking the horse and sighs, "a totally different person with me."
Marty snorts and Rivaille takes offence. "I'm not acting under the effects of a crush, I'll have you know!"
"It's like he purposely does all this stupid crap. I'm the one with the authority, I'm the one who has priorities but is shifting them to take care of his sorry ass and I'm humanity's most bloody powerful soldier, for crying out loud!"
Rivaille stoops down and it feels like the day's wear and tear finally catches up to him. He keeps stroking the horse and keeps muttering to the both of them, long after he thinks he's close to drifting off, Rivaille whispers to the already snoozing mount. "If all it takes is for some fucking kid to say the wrong name in his sleep to break me, then," he says wearily, his eye's gradually drooping lower and lower, "I'm not much, am I?"
The Corporal has been missing for a full hour now and Eren's been on the prowl since. The legion are apparently too exhausted to scour the castle for themselves, and have retreated to their beds, but not before blearily ordering the boy to find Rivaille himself. Eren can't care less where the man is; he just needs him to work the shackles. The night before, Petra had assured him that it wouldn't be long until the constraints would even be necessary, they're just procedure, considering his shaky health and still to be determined physical results.
It's close to dark out, and the training Hanji had put him through is taking its toll now. Eren thinks there can be nothing worse than having to troop through the castle and then the courtyard with an aching arse in the hopes of finding the Corporal, and then dragging him to the dungeon to watch him sleep. Screwed up, he knows.
When he happens to pass by the small, wooden lodge where they're housing the horses, something entices him enough to make him shuffle past the rows of sleeping beauts. A head of crisp black in contrast to the mane he sleeps against makes him groan sincerely, tiredly. Eren can't even begin to piece as to what compelled the Corporal enough to give in to sleep by his horse, when his supposed clean-freak antics had him almost tossed off the window when he was reaching for a stubborn blotch just that morning.
He leans over the latch and almost says something, but then he doesn't. Eren thinks it's because maybe he doesn't want to collapse the scene in front of him, of the most brutal, most merciless soldier, capable of slaying towering monstrosities without dulling a blade, lying in equal beside his animal of battle.
Eren peeks out the roof of the makeshift stable and he sees the tint of the moon, it alerts him that both of them need to get back inside soon otherwise they would never be able to wake the next morning. With the quietest voice he can substantially manage, Eren sighs, "Corporal! Wake up, sir!"
A light sleeper is a term that'd be put to shame if used to describe the speed of Rivaille's lids as he bursts them open and, ever so daintily, shifts the horse's head off his lap. Eren notices and raises his brow in question, but Rivaille is too fumed to take it into account. "Yeager, you idiot! Why are you roaming about without permission?" He voices, and Eren comes to know it's because he's worried he'll wake the horses, "How dare you disobey orders!"
"S-sir, you see, this was an order! I had to find you, I mean, I can't attach my own cuffs, can I?"
"I don't give a flying fuck about you! Don't you dare meander around the grounds so freely again without my presence, understood?" Rivaille essentially hisses at Yeager, who takes enough precaution to carefully inch back a bit from the stall's door between them. His palms are raised in mock effort beside his shit-eating grin, and it's boiling the shorter's blood. "Keep in mind that I may slit your throat at any given moment!"
Rivaille looks like he's going to start off again, but then sleeping form of Marty drives his rant to an impromptu close. He doesn't want to wake him up, especially not with Yeager standing right there. "Return to the dungeon, immediately."
"You literally just ordered me to not go anywhere without you."
Rivaille blinks. Once, twice and then a third time, until Eren thinks perhaps the Corporal has got a piece of stray feed lodged in his sockets. When he finally stops his rapid flickering, Yeager pieces together that maybe those last few words weren't such a great idea. Ultimately, the consequences erupt in a series of silent minutes passing between them, before Rivaille unlatches the stall's door and slips through, making no noise whatsoever. He stands his ground inches from the taller and eyes him, his expression dismal and almost misleading Yeager. "I'm allowing you five seconds."
"Huh?" Eren says, looking back and forth and while lasting the stare, amused but tired.
"One." Yeager makes no trace at moving his legs. Rivaille steps forward. "Two."
"I'm fifteen, I don't need this."
Rivaille raises his brow now; the dark beneath his eyes seems to blacken slightly every time and Yeager notices. He wonders what the Corporal has to be weary about, but then he remembers being humanity's sole source of hope must be a tonne to uphold. "Three."
Rivaille is too close for comfort now. He himself can sense Yeager's discomfort, it's clear in the manner his nose twitches and how the corners of his mouth struggle to sustain the frown they so customarily have set into. He just about reaches Yeager's ear, usually a sensitive topic, but right now Rivaille doesn't seem to mind, cause he knows to matter how tall or short – he'll always be able to control, continue and complete.
And there's something in the way Yeager is looking down at him, some reflection off the moon sparking in his irises or whatever, and then Rivaille sort of forgets what number comes in sequence after three, but then it doesn't seem to be the biggest of his problems because Yeager has inched closer and Rivaille assumes he's not going to do what he think's he's going to do.
Except he does, he dips his head down and Rivaille can literally feel breath against flesh prickling his skin and dispatching distress signals to every nerve of his body. The same impulse from when Yeager whined his name in his sleep basically kicks out of nowhere and Rivaille sucks in his breath as he steps to the side and gives in to his legs. Just as he begins to question what the fuck he's doing, Yeager heaves on his wrists and the black haired almost stumbles from his potency, but whatever, he is a titan after all.
Rivaille begs himself not to stare at the bronzed hair's splendidly bent lips. "Don't leave," Yeager mutters, his own bangs sheltering his iridescence in the dim light.
"Y-Yeager, I'm ordering you to let go of me! Who even gave you permission to touch me?" Rivaille blunders over his words as his eyes stare Yeager up and down and suddenly he doesn't know if running away is the right thing to do anymore. "Let me go!" Rivaille presses louder this time, he yanks his own wrist out of Yeager's hold.
"Get to bed this instant, don't even let me see your fucking face."
Yeager stares sheepishly at him and god, what's he got to say now? "Corporal … what do you think of me?"
Rivaille looks up at him, really looks at him, as in, he squints his eyes and takes his whole expression in, and then he decides perhaps they're both mildly screwed up with their own feelings and assumptions and all they need is to spill – except he's the Corporal, and never even in his last breath would he admit to the most bizarre of his feelings, especially those concerning him. There isn't even any use of these stupid innervations of affections, no, not during these times and with the current happenings of the world and with death peering out the corner from each step and – does it really matter?
Does it really matter if he's to live in pleasure with himself for a second, if he put his own needs in priority than those around him, of those that have only recently earned his respect? Does any of it matter? Did it ever? Rivaille's head's spinning and then so are the stables and then Yeager and then he stumbles and almost falls backwards. "I… you're… n-nothing to me. You're a mere convenience to the brigade and a possible utility to the entirety of mankind, but me… Yeager, I see you the same as you see me."
"As a soldier. We've crossed paths by coincidence and by happenstance it will stay. Yeager, humanity still has their doubts about you, but they don't know you the way I do. I'm certain nobody does."
Yeager hands have found their way to the back pockets of his uniform; Rivaille doesn't know why he's still sporting them. He sways his body to the side and then looks up, stretches, as if he has all the time in the world for this conversation. "And how do you know me, Corporal?"
The Corporal ignores the query and starts his walk to the castle. He expects the boy to follow and it isn't long until he unearths rhythm in their steps, of both their boots walking in pattern against the courtyard. Yeager hopefully gets the gist and keeps his mouth sealed, his hands behind his back and his head hung low behind his superior. Rivaille doesn't need to turn around to know he's got his brows knit together and confusion sprawled over every known inch of him.
"You're going to have to stop moaning in your sleep."
"Eh?" There's a hint of discomfiture in his otherwise casual tone and Rivaille pricks his ears at it. He turns around whilst making his way into the castle's foyer and catches a deep tint of blush across his cheeks.
"Don't know if you've noticed, but you are being supervised every second of the day. And if you're horny," Rivaille says, a grin plastered over his face as he looks Yeager in the eye, "well, jacking off to a certain corporal shouldn't be a problem."
"I really hate you." Rivaille raises his brows and watches regret unfold over Yeager's features, it's amusing to hear the disdain in his voice, just after having asked him such foolish questions.
In a matter of minutes, they've both made way down to the basement and eventually to the dungeon. Yeager hesitates before crawling into bed. "Don't listen to me in my sleep."
Rivaille clicks his constraints in and leans by the cell's bars, from the inside. He eyes the boy and wonders what Yeager would taste like, tied down by tight cuffs and muffled by layers of sheets. Rivaille's positive these thoughts weren't clouding his brain days earlier, but then again, Yeager wasn't acting like a jerk. He still is though, but maybe it's safe to say to a lower degree.
"Why, am I not approved to hear my own name echo through the entire dungeon?" Even with his own criteria, Rivaille himself deems that last remark a little too far. But the kid deserves it and it's about time he reminded Yeager of the fact that he's in charge; he seems to be straying from his own situation and taking himself farther and farther up the ranks of the legion with the way he talks and acts.
Yeager blushes and looks away. It's a good look on him, Rivaille supposes, an improvement from the usual incensed manifestation bothering a face that has the potential to charm just about anyone, him omitted, of course. The boy buries his head into the sheets, he's still sitting up with his knees bent into each other and the sight is almost saddening. Rivaille angles his head and asks, "Moments ago you were practically hissing out your teeth, but now you're blushing like a little bitch. And this is supposed to be mankind's freshest advantage." He scoffs and tries to notice an effect his words have on him, but Yeager continues to burrow into the sheets. "You make me sick."
The Corporal earns no response, and sighs before striding out the cell and declining towards his stool again. He leans his back onto the wall, basking in the shadows the candle flickers on it, and watches, as Yeager doesn't go to sleep and just hides in his sheets. Rivaille blinks; he doesn't let the possibility of him crying invade his personal thoughts. He means what he said – he doesn't care about him. And the scene of the bedding silently quivering in front of him doesn't pull his heartstrings the least. The same goes for the messy bed hair he has two hours later, after the boy falls asleep and wakes with a start to the Corporal watching him closely from his stool.
"Bad dream?"
Rivaille watches him struggle to catch his breath and wonders what lucid nightmare he's had now. Yeager pants and his tongue lolls out his pink lips, it's alarming in a way. "N-no…" Yeager scratches the back of his nape and Rivaille catches the first few buttons of his nightwear undone. He must have had a pretty rough time. "Glass – Could you get me glass of water, sir?"
The Corporal sighs and rolls his eyes before fetching the prepared mug and unlocking the holding. Yeager's still winded and gasping, but fortunately his tongue is lodged back in his mouth. Rivaille thrusts the glass towards him but Yeager's eyes reel back and forth in his sockets and his hands are set hugging his knees, it doesn't seem like he can manage by himself.
"You're fucking kidding me."
Yeager looks up at him with this distraught appearance and Rivaille doesn't know what to feel anymore. He grazes his fingers beneath his chin and angles his mouth accordingly, Rivaille can't believe what he's doing, and he tips the mug in his hand slowly and watches as Yeager eagerly drinks. He swallows impatiently until the water is drained and when Rivaille detaches the glass from his lips, a trail of glistening liquid hangs off the bottom of his chin. He widens his eyes at the sight and waits until Yeager meets his eyes.
"What were you dreaming about?" Rivaille asks as soothingly as he can, nonetheless his voice is still is impassive and conventional as ever.
Yeager bites his lips and doesn't pay attention to the string of saliva on his jaw. "Nothing, sir."
"I'm ordering you."
Yeager wavers and glares at him, before opening his mouth vaguely and stuttering, "I-I think it'd be better if you didn't know. Actually, I know it'd be better if you don't find out, like, ever."
Rivaille sets the glass on the table beside the bed. Honestly speaking, how bad could said dream have been for Yeager to so strongly believe so? He lifts his boot and strolls around the cell, hands crossed behind him and head held high, as he feels Yeager's watch intensify after he makes a few rounds around his cell.
"Unless it was anything close to you banging me against a wall, I'm fairly sure nothing can strike me as horrifying as that," Rivaille mentions jokingly, smirk embedded between.
"H-how did you know?" The brunette stares at him, mouth agape and eyes open doubly large. Rivaille catches the look on his face seconds later and then for a fleeting moment they're both panic stricken because Yeager's not denying anything at all and it seems to be that the Corporal just absentmindedly blurted out exactly what's on his mind. They look at each other in this sort of horror that's topped off with a dash of disbelief, astonishment and maybe even forced repulsion, in Rivaille's honour.
"You better deny those words right now, shitface," he nearly squeaks, colour drained off his plain-faced façade, fingers nearly ice to the touch as they pull at Yeager's shirt. Rivaille needs to hear it again, not soaked in cynicism and from Yeager's own lips, but he's not talking and he's not blinking and he's not really doing anything except blushing his cheeks off and looking anywhere but directly at the piercing eyes staring at him widest he's ever witnessed.
"Yeager! Stop making a mockery of me, how fucking dare you! I'll have you-u… I'll exaggerate training by tenfold, I'll force you to skip every meal, and I-I'll – "
Rivaille's last warning just about reaches his tongue before the chains he's tended to so often clasp behind him and he feels himself lurch forwards, a heavy arm twisted by his nape and another caught between his shirt, and then suddenly everything is slow and steady and blurred and fuzzy and he clings to the hope that if he shuts his eyes maybe something'll make sense.
But nothing does and he realises that too soon, long after he apprehends and comes to that there are another pair of lips pressed harshly against his, and the fact that they very much belong to Yeager cease his short-lived satisfaction and make him flicker his eyes open and yelp, as teeth clash against teeth and Yeager tries harder in restricting Rivaille's initial struggle.
The shorter tries, he seriously does, to fight against the clamp, because come on, he's the strongest soldier of the entire brigade and he'd be demoted in a second if anybody is to find out that he couldn't release himself of Yeager's grip, but no matter what he tries his arms provide no use. Seeing as his current situation, Rivaille reduces to letting his body go limp. And then Yeager notices and forces him closer, but Rivaille purses his lips into a line and he waits until the other breaks the contact and even then, the brunette is too bashful to look him in the eye.
Rivaille dusts non-existent residue of the chains from his back and embellishes the silence between them, until, "Eren Yeager."
"I-I'm sorry, it'll never happen again, I don't know what I was thinking, sir!"
Yeager looks up at him and then, then Rivaille does it, with a smirk teasing along his bruised lips, he snatches the collar of his shirt and it's a thousand times more than Yeager could ever imagine, let alone dream of, and he sinks into the wall behind him as Rivaille takes charge with a mouth and impulse they both dare to experiment amid.