Requested by Anonymous: Eremika study session with little to no studying.
Warnings: non-explicit sexual situations
A/N: Thanks, Anon, for the request, I'm sorry it took so long to get to you—I just got back home from camp a few days ago. Also, thank you to everyone who's been taking the time to favorite, and follow, and leave such wonderful reviews. It's really amazing to know that what I do is being appreciated and enjoyed.
21. Study
It's starts in comfortable silence as it always does—their thighs just barely touching, a book spread out in front of them as they study charts, and maps, and battle tactics they know like the back of their hands, but still feel the need to review anyways.
And they've been like this a thousand times: sometimes sitting not quite as close, sometimes sitting closer, but always following some untraceable path where they discover themselves with their arms and legs linked tightly together, and then someone's hands get too daring, someone's lips too curious, and the pot boils over with pent up passion, the book between them shoved to the side to make room.
Eren remembers the first time so vividly. He'd absentmindedly slid the side of his foot up Mikasa's calf as he adjusted the way he sat, brow furrowing when he noticed that she'd gone rigid. Sorry, he'd said. His face had grown hot, and he couldn't understand why she'd overreacted, and why he'd felt so flustered. It was, after all, just one touch.
They've somewhat outgrown that stage now, and Eren's come to learn that just a touch, just one, single touch, is all it really takes to set things in motion, and today, he does just that. His head dips down, lips finding the soft skin of her neck, heart fluttering when she lets out a breathy gasp. He laps at her skin, the hand curled round her waist bunching the fabric of her shirt in a fist, she allows him to wander, her head rolling back and lips parting when his fingers slide beneath her bra. Hearts beat faster, and breathing gets louder, eyes stray from the book before them, the geography of each other's bodies, every dip, every curve, every ridge, and every valley, so much more engaging than that of the land outside the walls.
"We should be reviewing," Mikasa murmurs as she peels off Eren's shirt, throwing it on the table next to her own clothes. Unobstructed, Eren pulls her into his arms, her back against his taut chest, one hand at her breasts while the other heads due south.
"We should," he agrees; he speaks softly into her ear, hissing as her hips push back into his. And yet what's voiced never comes to fruition, for they have leafed through the same books over and over, illustrations and tactics that once stunned them have lost their novelty. But no matter how many times they touch, no matter how many times they kiss, they never grow weary of one another, never cease to feel their hearts quicken as they shed their clothes and press naked flesh to naked flesh. This never gets old.