Horrifically Wounded, Strikingly Gorgeous & Deadly [ErenXMikasa] [Eremika]

XXIII: The Queen's Lamentation

For a moment, I do indeed entertain the thought - yet the reasonable part of my mind shuts that notion down just as quickly as it appeared. I know Mikasa - at least well enough to know that when she says she's okay, she very much isn't. 

We lay like this for a brief moment, in complete silence; our bodies still yet remaining tightly intertwined - almost as if were we to let go, the end of the world would be upon us. "...Mika, it's okay. We really don't have t-"
"Please." 

[Mikasa] 

I'd begged. I, of all people, had begged for him to continue. Despite my tears, for some reason, I wanted to keep going; I wanted more. More of his touch, his kiss, his affection - the way he caressed my body as if I were some priceless artefact to be revered, exalted. Handled only with care for fear it might break if one touched it the wrong way. The way his hands graced themselves over my body was nothing like I'd ever imagined; hauntingly comforting. His lips, how plush they felt whenever they pressed themselves against my bare body - unadulterated affection sweeping beneath my skin and relieving me of every tension. The way his body - corded with muscles - rolled against mine as he took my hand in his in sinful delight. 

I'd never thought in a million years I would be able to have such a christening experience; something that transcended beyond the physical realm and one-dimensional ordeal of everyday casual sex - and yet, here I was, at the mercy of a man who managed to make me feel just that when no other could. I couldn't get enough of it. 

"P-please, Eren." I stroke his cheek sweetly, the heat of his skin setting my freezing fingertips alight. I look up at him in the low light; his sea-foam and topaz eyes are glazed over and half-lidded, his hair that was once tightly bound at the back of his head now reduced to nothing but a loose, messy bun at the nape of his neck. Longer strands of his hair that have since fallen out dangle from the sides of his head. His neck is covered in a thin film of sweat, lips parted as he heaves heavily. To see him like this - in a vastly different state from what I'm typically used to seeing - stirs something deep in the pit of my stomach. All I can think about is how divinely captivating he appears, and how much I need him. I squeeze his hand. I watch as his eyes dart between mine, a glimmer of compassion traversing across his iris'. He opens his mouth to speak again, but I quickly cut him off as I crane my neck, ramming my lips against his before he can have a chance to talk me out of it. 

My lips press against his with such a force, a groan immediately rips through Eren's throat as he returns it with an even greater intensity. I sense Eren attempt to recoil back, hesitant, and in an act of desperation slip my tongue between the seam of his lips. Another guttural moan escapes him, and I smile; yes, Eren. That's it. Don't stop. My hand removes itself from his cheek, developing a mind of its own as it brushes against the texture of his toned chest, travelling south. I feel Eren shudder at the contact and internally rejoice. Motivated to compel him further, I take his bottom lip between my teeth as we separate. At this, Eren seemingly snaps, no longer able to maintain his composure as he thrusts his hips vivaciously against mine. I immediately feel the wave of pleasure I've been longing for hit, my hand flying up to his hair and gripping it ardently. I throw my head back, mouth agape. "A-Ah! E-Eren," I moan, a warm feeling brewing in the pit of my stomach. This. This is what it's supposed to feel like. Eren silences me with yet another kiss, and for a moment I'm in absolute bliss - this euphoric cocktail of bodily pleasure and Eren's affection is one I wish to experience all the time. I squeeze my eyes shut, eager to think only about him, about Eren. 

Everything was perfect; nothing like what my father's actions had led me to believe sex to be like. So why did I cry? Why was I so distraught after the fact? I enjoyed it. I loved it. So why? Why did those cursed memories have to plague my mind, take it hostage like that? I had been so desperate in the moment for his warmth, his touch - for the embrace of his affection to sweep me away from the horrid reality that laid lurking behind Eren's bedroom door. And yet, those memories still made their way into the moment of bliss I wanted to believe I deserved, had patiently waited and prayed for for years. Now, all I can think about is how foolish I was; I had sex with Eren. We fucked. And even afterwards, I didn't leave - I stayed. Fell asleep in his bed. Let him pull me close. I'd foolishly hoped that my night terrors would be kept at bay if I stayed, wrapped tightly in his caress as he stroked my hair and hummed a soothing tune against the side of my head. Nonetheless, the comfort of his grasp was no match for the stray tears that escaped onto my cheeks and fell to the pillow with a soft 'pat.' Eren had noticed that, too, no matter how much I wanted him not to. He'd whispered in my ear as we felt sleep arrive at our doorstep; "Are you okay, Mika?" He'd asked. I'd nodded at my head at the time - despite my tears - because I was. I was elated, still riding the emotional high the experience had blessed me with only moments before. I knew the tears I shed were only grief, but what did I have to grieve? I'd lost my virginity long ago.