Senses
It was those simple touches that sent a jolt of electricity down his spine. That feather light graze across his clavicle. The brush of her plush lips against his neck that left him careening for her, hands clenching the crate he's leaned on till his ashen knuckles turned a paler tint. Her nimble fingers sliding gradually up his abdomen; applying only the slightest of pressure to feel the contours of muscle hidden beneath the fabric.
They would be so close to each other, hidden in some dingy shed; he could always smell the perspiration from their last spar and the hint of lemon zest waft off her.
She was so small. So petite. He wanted to gather her in his arms and sit her on his lap, touch her in the same way she has touched him.
Each time he's tried, she would bat his hands away, as if to scold him. Like a mother would a misbehaving child. Then he would nuzzle his nose against her neck apologetically, and wrap his arms around her waist, hold her tightly against him till she tried to wriggle free from his embrace like a trapped cat.
It was odd of course. How she did not like being touched. Shied away from it. And yet favored being the one to do all the touching. He saw the way her pupils would dilate, black taking over icy crystalline blue, as she felt him.
Callous pale hands trailing over his clothed arms, across his neck then to cup his jaw and lean him down as she gently grazed her lips against his own. He'd willingly part his mouth for her; feel the wet warmth of her tongue dance with his own. A guttural moan would erupt from his throat.
He'd fight himself for self-control. He knew she was testing him. Seeing just how far he could go. How much he can take. It drove him mad.
How this seemingly apathetic girl can bring him over the edge with just her hands, the slightest touch would ignite the flames within him. Get him hot, heavy. He wanted her.
Told her as much, but she merely payed attention to his words. Only physical contact. Eren figured that to her, this wasn't that much different from sparring. Fighting always meant getting physical; it meant touching. Invading your opponents space. Seizing them. Dominating over the other.
It was just in her nature to take the lead. To take over. Though he wished she'd let him return his affection for her, he was just fine with letting her have the upper hand, for now.
"You're making me love you." She gasped shakily into the shell of his ear once, warm breath ghosting over his skin causing goosebumps to rise. As she grind into his lap, guided by his hands on her waist. His skin felt scorched and prickly beneath his uniform. Too much layers. He wanted them off.
"Good." He groaned into the crooked of her neck, damp with sweat, he brushed away the stray platinum tendrils that stuck to her skin, kissed her pulse point. Felt her thrum alive beneath his lips, "Now we're even."