#but with my motivation in the fuckin drain it just kind of sucks when nothing exciting is happening

[we-are-dogclan]

Moon 65: Week 2

Yearning

(long time no see)

[alienheartattack]

In the Spider’s Web (NSFW)

Just when I thought I was out, they pulled me back in. After literal years of feeling uninspired by ship stuff (the manga is so far beyond shipping at this point that I now ship Mikasa with years of therapy), I went through my drafts and found a few attempts at the prequel to Things That Go Bump in the Night. To catch you up: modern AU, Levi is a vampire, Mikasa has been hunting him since he murdered Eren, then boners occur. And this time, thanks to the Comic Sans trick, I was able to bang out just under 5000 words of Rivamika vampire/hunter fun.

It’s been a really long time since I’ve written smut or even prose in general (I’ve been writing exclusively for stage and screen for the last 3 years) so I’m feeling kinda self-conscious that I may have lost my fanfic mojo or whatever. I usually don’t press for feedback but I would really love some this time around if you have the time. I hope you enjoy the story!

CW: death, gory injuries, getting drunk on blood, and straight up fuckin’.

Mikasa has to stifle a wild howl of laughter when she finally picks the lock on the blacked-out skylight atop the vampire's lair. This is it, she thinks, the culmination of her hard work to kill the man — No, not the man, the monster — who killed her brother. A flash of memory quickly stifles her silent celebration: the now-familiar sight of the shell that used to be Eren. The seemingly fathomless well of her sorrow threatens to overflow as she remembers the details she has tried so hard to forget: his golden skin turned to ash; his dimmed green eyes wide with surprise, staring infinitely into the void. Mikasa takes a few long, deep breaths, sucking in lungfuls of chilly October air until the image fades from her mind and she can devote herself entirely to her task.

The vampire's name is Levi, and even the most debased and inhuman Kindred speak of him in awed tones. Through her work with the Hunter Corps, Mikasa has learned of his legend: that he can puncture a mortal's throat and have the poor sack of meat half-drained before they realize they’ve been bitten. That he is faster, stronger, more cunning, and more ruthless than any of his kind. That he will not hesitate to display his physical and mental superiority to anyone, be they human, Kindred, or Hunter.

Tonight, Mikasa plans to drive a stake through the heart of the legend. She has followed him for over a year, tracking his movements and shadowing him as he prowled the streets of the City, hunting for prey. She has tried to kill him twice before, and twice he has held her off — but not hurt or killed her. Mikasa finds it peculiar that she has not yet met her fate at the end of his fangs, but has never considered why. The motivations of a monster are of no interest to her.

It has taken her far too long, by her estimation, to come up with this plan. She will hide on his roof at night while he finds his next meal, then wait for sunrise and sneak into his lair to kill him while he sleeps. She prefers to dispatch her quarries in a fair fight, pitting her impressive speed and skill against supernatural ability, but with Levi, her need for revenge outweighs her honorable convictions.

Mikasa watches the first rays of dawn creep over the horizon, chasing away the cerulean darkness with streaks of crimson. She takes the bloody sky as a good omen. According to her watch, it is 6:37 AM, just a few minutes before sunrise. Levi should be at his most vulnerable after falling into his daily slumber.

Time to go, she thinks, steeling herself for her mission.

She smiles a rictus grin as she slowly opens the skylight, careful not to let its hinges creak. Holding her breath, she climbs inside the building, finding a series of metal rungs to guide her down fifty feet into Levi's lair, and closes the skylight behind her. Her boot-clad toes seek soft contact with the next rung as she climbs down silently, languorously, like a stalking cat. Every few moments she stops to listen for his movements, to look down and see whether he is lying in wait for her. She hears nothing and sees nothing, so she continues.

The room below serves as some sort of ceremonial dining hall, with a long wooden table stretching across most of the room. Ornately carved wooden chairs sit around it, with the largest and most intricate chair at the far end: Levi's seat, undoubtedly. The table is set for a banquet with a multitude of plates, wine glasses, and silverware at each seat; empty silver candlesticks and candelabras run down the length of the highly polished oak. The hall is lit with hundreds of flickering candles in sconces and chandeliers, providing a dramatic backdrop to the priceless works of art contained within: painted portraits in gilt frames, marble sculptures, antiquities on pedestals and in glass cases. It is a museum of opulence, of corruption. Mikasa's stomach turns as she surveys the scene, imagining the countless people who gave their blood and their lives for Levi to amass a collection to rival the world's greatest museums.

And then, while she is deep in thought and dangling ten feet above the heavy wooden table, one of the metal rungs comes loose from its moorings — and Mikasa falls.

She has the forethought not to yelp in surprise as she pitches away from the wall, but cannot help herself from crying out as she lands on her side on top of the table, ceramic plates and crystal goblets shattering beneath her weight. Mikasa lies there, the wind knocked out of her, unable to take a breath from pain and shock. After a few moments, she regains her senses and groans as she registers a new pain; no, two of them, a dull ache in her ribs and a sharpness in her thigh. She feels around her thigh with shaking hands until agony surges through her and she finds the source of the pain: one of the silver candlesticks has pierced clean through her leg, its heavy base embedded in her hamstring muscles and its fluted tip sticking out through her toned quadriceps.

"Noooo," she moans. Even if Levi is not there, he will return any moment to see her served to him on his dining room table, bleeding and ready to be devoured. Mikasa attempts to sit up but finds that the slightest motion hurts so much that her vision starts to go white around the edges and hot tears stream down her cheeks. Even breathing hurts, sending stabbing pains through her side as she tries to catch her breath.

"So that's what you've been scheming, little fly," comes Levi's disembodied voice, slithering out from the room’s flickering dimness. Mikasa tries to summon the last of her strength to move, to do anything but lie there and suffer, but she can only raise herself a few inches before she lets out a tortured, feral scream, a wild animal cornered at last.

"Surely your feeble human brain can still form words. You're badly injured, but you're not dead yet," he says in a sharp, mocking tone, materializing seemingly from thin air next to her. "Emphasis on 'yet.'"

Mikasa takes in a shaky breath, rage and agony coursing through her in equal measure. "Fuck… you… Levi," she spits.

"For the record, that's not a sufficient apology for smashing my property and getting your blood all over my table." He goes to speak but pauses when he registers the scent of her blood, meaty and potent and alive, more delicious than anything he's ever smelled before.

"Your blood," he repeats, softer this time. "Oh, god." He groans under his breath, suddenly feeling weak in the knees as a potent hunger unfurls in his belly. Levi's expression starts to shift: his eyes widen and his mouth goes slack, exposing the tips of his fangs. His pupils dilate, inky black overtaking the otherworldly silver hue of his irises. He approaches her slowly, seemingly floating towards her, his eyes locked on her impaled thigh.

"Kill me," she grunts. "Just get it over with."

"No," Levi says, his voice hushed, almost reverent. "I don't want to kill you like this." He reaches one pale hand toward Mikasa and she attempts to roll away from him, crying out wordlessly at the waves of torment wracking her broken body. But he does not touch her: instead, his finger finds a spatter of her blood on the wooden tabletop and wipes it away, placing his finger between his parted lips.

The sensation that hits him is so unexpected and overwhelming that it nearly brings him to his knees. He almost comes in his pants just from anticipation; the fraction of a second it takes for his finger to enter his mouth feels like ten lifetimes, and he groans in ecstasy as he finally tastes her, all iron and heat. Mikasa's blood sings on his tongue, burning down his throat like the finest whiskey, filling his belly like a sumptuous meal and paradoxically making him even more ravenous for her. He is surprised to find that he does not want to drain her dry; he wants to savor her, coaxing a few drops of blood from her at a time, enrapturing her with the power of his fanged kisses.

Once the intense sensation fades enough that he can think somewhat clearly again, Levi realizes that Mikasa has been watching him the entire time. He meets her gaze, hoping he doesn't look as wild-eyed and utterly undone as he feels. If she notices, then he cannot tell, her face still distorted into a tortured grimace.

"Don't toy with me," Mikasa grinds out from between clenched teeth. Her breath hisses shallowly in and out of her mouth, occasionally punctuated by low moans.

"I'm not," Levi replies coolly. "I want to heal you, and I want you to come back and try to kill me in a fair fight. This..." he motions vaguely towards her curled body, "this isn't fun for me."

Mikasa lets out a guffaw despite herself, then howls as pain radiates through her broken ribs. "Fun? You find this fun?"

"I do," he says. He smiles wide, letting his razor-sharp fangs peek out from between his lips. "Your pathetic attempts to kill me have been fairly humorous, but the irony of you ending up in a bloody heap on my dining table, of all places, is too satisfying to put into words." Levi sucks in a shaky breath, inhaling more of her blood's heady perfume, then leans close to her, his mouth inches from her ear. "I should eat you up," he all but purrs. "But I won't."

With that, he disappears, leaving Mikasa alone in the great hall. She drags her arms, covered in her protective leather jacket, across the tabletop to sweep the shattered plates and glasses onto the floor, sending silverware clattering against the hardwood. She then feels around the tabletop for any other blood she has spilled, wiping it off with her hands before he can drink any more of it.  Even if he swears he will not kill her, she does not trust him, especially if he becomes intoxicated on the heady, rich blood of a Hunter.

He reappears a few minutes later, bearing a lacquered wooden tray. On it rests a delicate bone china teapot and two matching teacups and saucers, each painted with a pattern of vines and red roses. The roses look almost obscene to Mikasa, plump and splayed open, ready to be plucked.

"You're bringing me tea?" she sneers as Levi pours a measure of steaming amber brew into each cup. "That's really going to help get this candlestick out of my leg."

"No, but this will," Levi says, raising his wrist to his mouth and slashing it open against his fangs. He positions his hand over the tray as his blood washes over his alabaster skin and into one of the cups, darkening the tea until it looks like wine. He then licks his wrist clean, sealing the gash. Within seconds, his wrist is pale and pristine once more.

Mikasa goggles with disbelief at Levi, who places the cup of blood-tea near her hand. "You want me to drink your blood?"

"Are you just going to state the obvious over and over?" he snaps, earning himself a murderous glare.

"Pardon me for being a bit perplexed at my current situation. I don't usually make a habit of taking tea with the monster I'm trying to kill." Mikasa wrinkles her nose at him, thankful that she’s found one expression of contempt that doesn’t make her entire body ache.

Levi picks up his cup of tea, lifting it by the rim with his slim fingertips, and takes a sip. "Perhaps you should."

"Don't humor me."

"Look. I'm offering you a gift, in exchange for a promise."

"Then it's not a gift," Mikasa grumbles. Levi slams his teacup against the saucer but doesn’t spill a drop. The rattle of china on china echoes throughout the hall.

"Will you shut up? You’re really making me regret not killing you." Mikasa lets out an angry sigh. As much as she doesn’t want to make a deal with Levi, she can see no other way off the table without further injuring or killing herself in the process.

"Fine! Tell me your terms!" she grinds out.

Levi takes a long, slow drink from his cup before he answers. "You drink the tea and walk out of here healed and whole. In exchange, we call a truce. From now until the next sunrise, I don't try to kill you, and you don't try to kill me."

Mikasa considers his proposition, trying to find some flaw or catch. "Why should I believe that you'll honor this agreement?"

"Because if I wanted to kill you, you'd be dead by now," he says, his voice low and raspy, seductive yet poisonous. Levi puts down his teacup and reaches over to her, placing the pad of his index finger on her pulse point just beneath her ear. He feels her heart fluttering, the pulse of her blood through her veins, then traces his finger down the path of her jugular. Mikasa's breath quickens beneath his hand. His caress blazes a path of heat down her neck, into her breasts and belly, and lower.

"Or I can toss you out into the night to defend yourself. I can think of a few Kindred who'd love to get their hands on you." Suddenly he removes his finger from her skin and uses it to push the wine-dark teacup toward her. His gaze bores into her, evoking the same peculiar heated sensation as his touch. "Drink."

She doesn't want his help, doesn't want his blood flowing through her body. She’s read that drinking a vampire’s blood causes a bond between them, albeit an ephemeral one, and she does not want to test this theory for herself. In this moment everything feels too intimate and too perverse to her, the vampire who drained her brother dry offering her tea and sympathy instead of a swift death. But the pain in her body grows with each breath, and she knows that she cannot leave here under her own power. At best she will have months of recovery, at worst she will be permanently unable to continue her hunt. Mikasa reaches out a bloody hand toward the porcelain teacup, but before she can grasp its delicate handle, Levi stops her, capturing her wrist in his grasp.

"You're not touching eighteenth-century bone china with your hands caked in—" he swallows thickly— "filth."

"I can't exactly wash my hands—" Mikasa says, but is cut off by Levi running his tongue over her hand, licking her skin clean. He sucks on each of her fingers in turn, rubbing his lips over her fingertips, lapping at the semi-congealed blood pooled in the hollow of her palm. He lets out a ragged sigh and braces himself against the table with one hand as his cock grows hard again and his knees tremble at the taste of her.

Mikasa is transfixed by the sight before her, Levi's eyelids fluttering closed as he lavishes attention on her skin. She has been this close to him before but has never noticed the length of his eyelashes, the soft pout of his lips, or the raw male power emanating from him. She has been nearly nose to nose with him in a fight, but now, lying battered and bleeding in his lair, she has never felt more wetness or more warmth between her legs.

"God, you're delicious," he moans, licking the last of the blood away, and Mikasa has to fight herself not to mimic the low, rough sound. Her chest rises and falls heavily as she contemplates the tainted cup of tea before her, wisps of white steam swirling above deep garnet.

"I have to avenge Eren," she tells him, her tone steady and resolute, yet mournful. "No amount of kindness from you will change that."

"I know." Silence stretches out between them for a few moments. Levi looks as though he wants to tell her something, conflicting emotions warring on his face until he lets out an annoyed grunt and decides to speak.

"You should know that I did him a kindness as well. He was wanted by forces much more monstrous and evil than even me. The Strigoi," he says in a hushed voice, seemingly too afraid to speak the name of the vampire elders’ council at full volume. "A quick death was the best I could do for him. That is all I can say on the matter."

Mikasa stares at him, her eyes shining, then gives him a small nod. "Thank you," she whispers, then reaches for the china teacup. Her eyes do not leave his as she lifts its delicate rim to her lips and drinks the entire thing in one swallow.

She can feel the potency of the drink as soon as it hits her tongue, the grassiness of tea leaves mixed with the smoke and steel taste of his blood. It swirls around her mouth and warms her, trickling down her throat and into her stomach. Without realizing she is moving, she lifts her other hand to his mouth, smearing blood across his lips until he grasps her wrist with both hands and hungrily laps at her crimson-stained skin.

Her breath quickens as she feels his blood doing its work, suffusing itself into her cells, making her insides roil as bruised organs repair themselves, fractured bones knit together. Mikasa reaches for the candlestick in her leg, wincing as she wraps her fingers around one end and prepares to yank it out.

"No!" Levi cries. "Not yet. You’ll bleed out and I... I don’t know if I’ll be able to control myself." His voice is husky, thick with what Mikasa realizes is barely-contained desire. He runs his tongue across her thumb, capturing one last droplet of blood lodged in the corner of the nail, then lets her hand go.

If he wasn’t dead, he’d be blushing, Mikasa thinks, a similar flush blooming across her cheeks.

"Can you help me, then? I think you know your blood better than I do," she says with a knowing smile. Levi returns the smile and nods, climbing up on the table and kneeling beside her. He rests his palms against each side of her calf and runs his hands up her leg, stopping near the wound on her thigh. Mikasa shivers beneath his touch; the contact sends bolts of arousal throughout her body, overriding the last few threads of lingering pain. The only sound in the room is her labored breathing becoming more regular as her ribs heal, then the sound of fabric tearing as Levi rips her pant leg off from around her injury, leaving most of her leg bare.

"What are you—?" she blurts.

"I need to seal the wound," Levi interrupts, his tone brusque. "It’s easier this way." He waits a few moments, watching intently as the ragged flesh and muscle starts to join together. When it is sufficiently closed for him, he pushes Mikasa’s knee to her chest and grasps the base of the candlestick protruding from the underside of her thigh. He then yanks the candlestick out, sending it flying across the room, and attaches his lips around the open wound, drinking the residual blood and licking at her skin. Deep muffled moans escape from between her flesh and his mouth. When he is finished he gingerly puts her leg down and does the same to the other side of the wound, burying his face in her thigh. He uses one hand to steady himself and the other to rub his painfully hard cock through his pants, hoping to relieve some of the tension there. Mikasa writhes beneath him, though whether it is in pain or pleasure he cannot tell until he looks up from the now-healed wound to see her gazing down at him, her eyes heavy-lidded, her mouth set in a pouty O.

In response Levi leaps on top of her faster than the human eye can discern, pressing her against the tabletop with his heavy, muscled body. Although he is shorter than her, a fact she never hesitates to point out, every inch of his body is toned and taut and imbued with superhuman strength, giving him the presence of a man twice his size. Mikasa gasps with the dueling emotions of fear and arousal when she feels him atop her, unsure of his intentions.

"You promised," she says softly, surprised that she feels wounded at the thought of his betrayal.

"I did," he answers in a low, breathy tone, then lowers his mouth to hers and takes her mouth in a fierce kiss. Mikasa immediately responds, her arms crushing him to her, her hips arching up to meet the rigid bulge in his pants, her tongue flicking against his as she opens her mouth to him. Levi presses himself against Mikasa, grinding his cock against the now-damp juncture of her thighs. She moans wordlessly as his zipper grazes her clit, marveling how she can feel such a thing through layers of fabric. Levi seems to share her thoughts, momentarily pulling away from her so he can unbutton his shirt and pants. Mikasa does the same, undoing the zipper of her jacket before Levi presses his hands to hers, stopping her.

"Let me," he rasps, his voice rough with need. He finishes undressing, throwing his crisp white shirt to the floor, kicking off his shoes, pushing down the waistband of his trousers. Mikasa mentally notes with a smirk that he does not wear any underwear and that his noted penchant for cleanliness seems to have disappeared under the influence of potent blood and sensuality. When he is finally naked, his muscled frame looking like sharply chiseled marble in the candlelight, his cock swollen and thick and ready for her, he pulls her up to a seated position and slips off her leather jacket, pushing his hands down her arms until it drops off of her body and falls to the table. The jacket hangs there for a moment and then drops to the floor. Her shirt soon follows, his fingers undoing each button with agonizing deliberation, tracing each inch of exposed flesh with his hands and lips; then her bra, which he flings in some random direction. He doesn’t know where; instead he is gazing deep into her eyes, seeing his hunger reflected in her dilated pupils and parted lips. His movements are soft and sure, dragging out the process of undressing her until they are both trembling and frenzied, ready to pounce on each other with barely-controlled lust.

He is the first to move, grasping her by the hips and yanking her pants and underwear off in one fluid motion and pressing his mouth to her pussy, inhaling the scent of her before finally, blissfully tasting her.

"Fuck!" Mikasa moans as Levi drags his tongue in leisurely circles around her clit, each circuit coaxing more noises out of her, breathy little gasps and sighs that only serve to drive Levi wild. His cock throbs in response and he groans, aching to be buried deep inside her. Mikasa rests on her elbows and watches him, looking down the flat plane of her belly at the top of his head as he licks and sucks at her most tender flesh. She flexes her hips and opens herself even wider to his touch; he responds by gripping and massaging her inner thighs as he devours her, the taste of her sex as intoxicating as that of her blood. He is firm and confident against her most sensitive parts, each motion pushing her closer and closer to an explosive peak. Within minutes she is shrieking and thrashing beneath him, orgasm tearing through her body with a force that only Levi possesses.

Before Mikasa can fully come back down to earth, he reaches his hands beneath her body and flips her over, depositing her on her hands and knees, sending silverware skittering, plates and glasses crashing to the floor. He barely registers the wanton destruction, focused only on the needs of his body, the desperate desire to plunge himself into her. Mikasa pushes her ass against the stiff length of his cock, silently begging him to ravish her, to give her pleasure by mercilessly taking his. Levi chooses not to indulge her just yet, grasping his shaft and rubbing his head against her folds a few times before he can no longer take it. He growls as she takes him inside her, her cunt hot and tight and slick with shameless need.

"Yessss," she hisses, overwhelmed with the delicious sensation of herself stretching around his cock, feeling herself adjust to his thickness. Levi tries to savor the moment but cannot resist the frantic urge to slam his cock into her over and over again, her ass slapping against his hips with each frenzied stroke. Mikasa starts to keen, her pussy clenching around his cock, sending electric currents of pleasure through both of them with every motion.

Levi loops one arm around her waist and pulls her upright against him, molding her back to his chest as he still maintains his furious rhythm inside of her. Mikasa leans against him, arching her back to give him access to her bared neck. His features briefly take on a look of disbelief at her actions, but the look in her eyes says Come, taste me.

"So fucking hot," he cries. He grips her tighter around her waist, using his grasp as leverage to fuck her harder. His free hand finds her clit, teasing it with his fingertips until she twitches and shudders against him, primed for another orgasm. Levi increases the tempo of his thrusts and swipes at her clit roughly, building a furious rhythm that will soon leave her limp and exhausted, if her frantic moans are any indication. His ministrations increase in speed, building to a fever pitch as he feels his orgasm start to build in his thighs and his balls. Mikasa’s eyes clench shut in concentration; an iridescent sheen of sweat appears on her forehead and neck, and blazing spots of color burn in her cheeks. Just before he comes, just as Mikasa’s cunt starts to flutter around him, he sinks his fangs into her neck and takes a long drink, the familiar but still somehow unexpected taste of her blood pushing him headlong into an orgasm that feels as though he is the one being drained. In that moment there is no Levi and no Mikasa, only two beings of pure pleasure, screaming their release as one.

Mikasa is the first to regain her senses, collapsing forward onto the table, sending another plate and glass to the floor as she catches herself on unsteady arms. Levi’s cock slides out of her pussy, glistening with her wetness. She makes a disappointed noise, feeling keenly the loss of him inside of her, a sensation of emptiness without his cock filling her. She lies on her stomach atop the table and lets out a long, sated sigh.

"Holy shit," she rasps, her voice hoarse and her throat dry from her heavy breaths and screams. She looks over her shoulder at Levi, her hair damp and matted to her forehead in dark tendrils, her countenance disheveled and gleaming. If he still breathed, the sight of her would take his breath away.

"Yeah," he murmurs in agreement, reaching out one hand to stroke her lightly sweating back, his mind utterly blank. Physically he remains pristine, not even a hair out of place; mentally, emotionally, he feels as confused as he does satisfied, as though he has been broken apart and rearranged in a foreign configuration. In due time he will register the magnitude of this encounter, will rage and seethe at the destruction they’ve both wrought in his lair, will scrutinize what the hell he just did with the woman who’s been trying to kill him, but for now all he wants to do is gather her in his arms and take her to his bed. He does so, moving with such speed that Mikasa barely registers what has happened until Levi is propping her up against a mountain of pillows, her skin glowing against his crimson silk sheets. He settles himself next to her, his body curling around hers as she does the same to him. Mikasa reaches over and brushes a strand of dark hair out of his face, then presses her lips to his gently, almost chastely.

"What just happened kind of makes me wish I’d asked for a longer truce,” he says after a few minutes of intimate silence.

Mikasa giggles softly, then sighs. "Me too." Neither of them suggests one, though, because that is not the way of the world. He is a vampire and she is a Hunter. They fight on opposite sides of an eternal war; they are not supposed to be lovers and bedfellows. After tonight they must return to their roles and forget about the passion between them and how they gave in to it, although they both know that they never will.

"You do know I'm going to try to kill you tomorrow night, right?" she asks him.

"I know," he replies, his lips curving into a wry smile before he can think to hide it. "I'm looking forward to it."