Bloodlines

It’s not long after Erwin’s presentation that representatives of Lady Ackerman’s court arrive. He and his father have lived a simple life out on the plains since Erwin was a child. He does not recall his mother, though his father, a Beta himself, said that she was a fine Omega. All he recalls of her is her scent–the soft earthiness of summer wheat. She was a brunette, but he’s inherited his father’s looks. Sometimes he wishes he wore more of her on his face. 

They arrive in the summer of his nineteenth year, soon after the barley has been sewn in the lower fields. It’s quite the spectacle. Their village has not seen an Alpha in nearly seven winters, and the last in his own family was back four generations. It was an unexpected presentation, one that Erwin did not quite understand the implications of until he was no longer allowed to tend the fields at the old Zacharias farm. There were whispers about keeping the innocence of their daughters and he suspects the whispers in town were much the same. 

They arrive in the heat of August, the handmaidens, dressed in their finery with their hair wrapped in scarves and dyed silks that Erwin had only seen on the priests in town on the high holidays. They sit him down in the kitchen while his father prepares cheap tea, the best they have in their modest house. They ask strange questions. Has he taken lovers among the village girls? Does he eat meat often? They pry back his gums to look for rot and check his palms for signs of plumbism from the well. They measure the breadth of the barrel of his chest and the size of his feet, ask him to heft the barrels of hay in the yard while they watch in silence, whispering amongst themselves. 

There is little discussion with his father, one Erwin is not privy to as though their decision ultimately does not concern him and he supposes his opinion holds little sway in such matters. They will take him to the castle or they will not. There is little he can do about it, either way, though he supposes it’s unlikely that they do. Erwin assumes there are better options, men and occasional women of noble houses with prospects for alliance and inheritance that he can’t offer. It would be better, more appropriate, though he supposes you can’t force a true bonding. He resigns himself to it, in either case. He stares out at the rolling hills of Rose as sunset falls over the landscape. The crickets whistle summer tunes beyond the school house and he wonders if they have crickets in the capitol.

They do take him. 

It’s decided the following morning, though Erwin is not told much about it. He doesn’t bring many clothes, and he does not have many to bring in the first place, but they assure him he will not need them. His belongings are modest. A leather bound journal, a gift from his father, and an atlas of Paradis and the lands beyond with a map of Rose with a registry of the noble houses. His village is marked on the pages, a small dot in a great sea of parchment far too insignificant to be worthy of note. 

He is given his own carriage, though not for celebration. The entourage assigned to escort his collection is composed entirely of Betas and eunuchs and Erwin supposes the nature of his affliction dictates one can never be too careful. They ride from dawn until dusk through the countryside, out beyond the farthest reaches Erwin has journeyed on horseback. The quaint river valley of his youth passes out of view slowly, lazily, as if unwilling to witness the parting but it fades eventually to a divot on the horizon carved into the foothills of the mountains. A footnote in an atlas.

The meager offering of bread and cured meats left to him vanishes quickly. Erwin has found his appetite has grown from ravenous to insatiable since his rut, and perhaps it’s a blessing the court has stolen him away else he might have eaten his father into poverty. When he’s finished his modest meal, his stomach twists with dissatisfaction, hungry for more. He’s sweating in the heat of the high summer. He hasn’t felt well and truly cool since his presentation, hot embers never quite doused beneath the surface of his skin. He draws the velvet curtains and endeavors to let the soft footfalls of the horses lull him to rest.

They arrive at the Lady’s estate after nightfall. Erwin checked his map the morning of the departure. More than fifty miles from his home. It’s no longer visible on the horizon, even if it were daylight. The bustle of commerce within the walls of the city is more at this hour than even during the festivals where he’s from. He stares at the firelight, enamored with the novelty of it.

“Quickly now,” One of the eunuchs hisses in his ear. He’s a full head shorter than Erwin, with a nasally voice high in his throat. He could run for it, he thinks, if he wanted to. He wouldn’t get far. “Wouldn’t want anyone to scent you.” 

They wrap him in a heavy wool cloak despite the oppressive heat with non-negotiable instructions to keep the fabric hoisted high on his collar to obscure the scent glands behind his ears. The scratchy fabric irritates the sensitive skin. They lead him not through the gates but behind the paddock, away from wandering eyes and curious noses into the east wing of the castle. The air is cooler within, by the grace of the stone facade, though the torches do little to light the dank halls. It’s not so lavish as Erwin would have imagined the high born folk live, though Erwin reckons it’s amenable to his status. He is not high born. The room he is given is above the stable attached to the servants quarters, with a small wash basin and a modest cot and a window too small to crawl through. Very nearly a prison if one wanted to think of it as such. The eunuchs deposit him there with little fanfare, promising they will collect him in the morning. They lock the door from the outside.  

Erwin sweats with fever, curled up against the cool of the stone floor, and watches the moonlight pass through the window. There are no crickets in the halls of the castle. None that sing at any rate. He passes out beset by hunger and exhaustion from the journey.

The eunuchs return at dawn, and Erwin supposes that they will not be sending the Beta women to tend him any longer now that he has been chosen to serve his duty, in as vulgar a manner as his biology dictates. They lead him down a labyrinth of corridors to the baths, instructing him to strip out of his traveling clothes. Apparently, linen stained with hard labor is unbecoming of the royal court. They toss them aside. 

Erwin is not expected to speak as he is washed, or at least is not invited to do so and does not know what he would ask if he did. They douse his hair in unscented oils so as not to disrupt the character of his natural scent, careful to avoid brushing the sensitive skin beneath his hairline. Everything else they scrub raw with a boar’s hair brush until the top lair of his skin has sloughed off in the cold water in a fine film of grit and grime. Erwin hisses with discomfort. 

“The regent is quite particular about cleanliness, sire.” 

Sire, Erwin thinks. That is what he is reduced to in this place. He is not the teacher’s son, not the farm boy, the poet, the author of missives, the bass in the village choir. He is a sire, and that is the purpose he is expected to serve in this place, stripped of all else for a singular goal he is not even certain they will find him fit to serve. Perhaps, he thinks, if he’s found unworthy they might send him back to his quiet life in the village. He’s not sure what would be worse–to be granted the opportunity to see the world beyond his walls and thus denied or to be granted the chance and have it ever out of reach on account of his ‘duty.’ 

They do not trim his body hair. They’re careful to avoid the calluses on his hands and feet as they work. He supposes the marks of labor are aesthetic on an Alpha, perhaps especially among the high court that don’t see so much themselves. Perhaps if he’s not well suited for mating they will have him trained to fight, as he’s heard is in the erotic fashion. The nobles often tire of bulls and seek out more exotic entertainment when they can afford it. 

To his surprise, they have him redress in the clothes he arrived in, sweat sodden and stinking as they are. Heavily scented. Clever. 

“Hurry, now. We are scheduled to be in the grand hall before the hour’s through.” 

No one thinks to specify what sort of meeting Erwin is scheduled to attend, though he can presume as much. He thinks blandly about accompanying Mike and his brothers to the cattle auctions in Trost and wonders absently if it will be much the same as it was for the stout heifers. 

They deny him breakfast and Erwin is not so presumptuous to risk asking. His stomach growls and he wills it to silence. Hunger is unbecoming, he thinks, or perhaps it is not on an Alpha. Perhaps the unquenchable, feral desire is all a part of the allure in a place where everything desired can be granted without question. Perhaps the people in this place do not know what it means to feel desire–or more base than that–need and so endeavor to live it vicariously on the faces of others for sport and exhilaration without the threat. 

They cuff his hands behind his back before guiding him through to the receiving room.

It is more a parlor than anything, a few sofas and chairs with teas and sweet cakes set out in the omegan fashion on a small cart. The handmaidens keep a careful distance aligned against the drawn curtains. They don’t raise their gaze when Erwin is brought through. Three Betas are posted as well, two at the entrance and one beside the chase which Erwin presumes is to be the seat of their guest of honor when she deigns to grace them with the magnanimity of her presence.

There are two others already standing at attention on the fine weave carpet, all blonde haired and blue eyed and Erwin wonders if her highness the regent has a type. One has a thicker beard and his glasses render him too weak and docile, another is thin of frame and perhaps malnourished. Erwin’s instinct informs him without request that he could take either in a fight and he squashes the itch. The air stinks with something his brain is hardwired to perceive as competition and he grinds his teeth beneath his cheek. Erwin has not met another Alpha since his presentation and his blood runs hot with threat under the skin. The Betas keep them out of bucking distance of one another. 

Her highness blessedly arrives not long after. Erwin can smell her before he sees her, and the cloying aroma claws up his throat with the urge to growl. It is strange–he did not find the few omegas in their small village to be quite so affecting, but now he thinks he understands what the poets meant when they wrote of desire as a thing of conquest and surrender in a singular beast. She does not scent sweet as the cakes on the table, of peaches or cream like the maidens in the village. No, she scents of… grass. Perhaps, but that sounds too unflattering to be correct. Of sunlight, then, the lifeblood of skies and endless fields. Scents of running to heady exhaustion, until dizzy with exertion, and lying in the warm embrace of the low country where the earth swallows you and reminds you that you will return to dust. Yes, she scents with the musk of peaceful destruction and Erwin imagines he would quite like to learn the taste of oblivion between her thighs. It is fresh and hungry and yet unknown and uncontained–

He makes a low sound in his throat and the Beta guard kicks him in his shin. 
And perhaps it is uncouth. 

He does not see her face. She arrives flanked by members of the court, dressed in robes dyed to resemble the dawn, yellow at the crown and fading through orange to violet and pink through the train. The shape of her is indiscernible, as is her face behind the veil. All he can gather is that she is petite, smaller than the women Betas by a few inches, though that’s not unusual for an Omega. She seats herself on the chase with practiced elegance and declines the cakes in favor of the tea. She takes it sweet with four sugars and no cream, as her handmaiden prepares it for her. The only glimpse Erwin is allowed is of her delicate fingers, thin and pale, when she accepts the cup not by the handle but draped over the rim. She lifts it under her veil to drink. Erwin would offer his right arm for a glimpse of her lips pursed around the delicate china.

She doesn’t speak. Erwin thinks it odd that she doesn’t ask anything of them. He thought perhaps she might have them wrestle on the carpet, for her amusement or judgment, and declare the strongest the victor of the spoils. Instead, she merely observes. Or, he assumes she observes, because he cannot see her eyes or the tilt of her gaze through the shroud. For all he knows, it could be the tea that has captured her rapt fascination more than the men.

“Might I present Prince Zeke of House Jaeger, first son to the Lord of the Riverlands, Duke of the Eastern Islands, Home of Bright Mornings and Gate to The Shallow Seas.” 

No omegas in line for inheritance, Erwin’s mind supplies suddenly, having been conveniently absent up to now. He remembers his schooling, but only in service of his knot that worries he’s of lowest standing in the room. It does not bode well for his current circumstance. 

“Farlan Church, eldest son to the head of the prestigious Shiganshina Merchant’s Guild.” The guard gestures to the second Alpha, the thin one. Erwin wonders why his father never fed him if they’re truly doing so well for themselves. Jealousy mutates to bile in his stomach. 

“And Erwin Smith. Teacher’s son.” The guard gestures to him last and to his credit, he doesn’t give any bias away in his tone, though he’s certain he must hold some. Yes, Erwin Smith, holder of no titles and no lands. He wonders why they brought him here in the first place and so resigns himself to the noble fate of gladiator. Perhaps he will get to battle a lion before he dies in service to his blossoming infatuation. That would be noble, to be sure. He’s always wanted to see one. 

She remains silent, sipping her tea down to the last dregs. The more time passes, the stronger the atmosphere stinks of fight. The Beta guards hold steady hands over the hilts of their swords. She curls a finger in Erwin’s direction and one of the guards kicks him forward, barely within arm’s reach of the regent. The guard unfastens the buttons of his shirt, exposing the thatched hair on his chest. Erwin is suddenly conscientious of the fact he still reeks of horse and sweat and field hand. 

The crown regent reaches into the folds of her bodice and draws a fine, sharp blade, decorated on the hilt with delicate inlay of mother of pearl. Erwin winces when her small hands rise to his throat, holding the blade to his pulse, before rerouting to knick the delicate skin of his scent gland behind his ear. The brush of her skin is electric, but her fingers are ice cold. She wipes the blood on the cotton of his shirt just beneath his arm where his scent is thickest before cutting free a bloodied square of fabric and tucking it back inside her robes alongside the knife. 

“You are dismissed.” The guard announces, and one Beta each takes hold of Erwin and the other Alphas, guiding them back to their temporary quarters via different routes. 

They feed him a dinner of fried eggs and cured pork and tell him to keep his strength up. It isn’t enough.

They arrive at dawn once again, this time with a grand smorgasbord of high delicacies, mostly protein and fat laden–salted butter and sugared ham, grits with melted cheese, expensive teas with heavy cream, larded beans with spices and all manner of grilled meats. 

“Eat.” They tell him, and Erwin does. His Alpha instincts drive him to consume enough to fill the stomachs of five men. “You’ll need it.”

The eunuchs lead him to the baths once again, though this time the water is so scalding it is enough to burn the flesh. It softens his skin and opens his pores. They drench him in oils that leave his skin supple as tanned leather and his hair with the texture of downy pillows. 

The regent’s staff cuff his hands with shackles, and this time his neck as well. The bonds are forged of silver in place of rope and iron.

“Would you like me to dress?” Erwin asks, hopeful but not expectant.

“That won’t be necessary.”

They guide him out the east wing of the castle once again, and Erwin can only pray that he’s not being led to fight to his death. He is led down a different hall, one they did not visit on the days prior. Erwin has been marking the turns and corridors in his head, memorizing routes for his escape though he assumes it would be a futile effort with the number of guards posted at each turn. Even an Alpha can fall to a single well-shot arrow. 

They pass through the grand foyer, where pennants and flags hang with the sigils of House Ackerman, basking in the kaleidoscopic light of a great stained glass window. The artist has finely crafted a heroic portrait of the first Lady Ackerman, feasting on the flesh of a slain dragon, her Alpha standing at attention at her right hand with bloodied blade in hand. The artist has paid particular mind to capture her breasts and the spilled blood in fine detail. They continue onwards towards the throne room.

The guards open the great oak doors and Erwin is met with the sight of the court gathered in seats about the center of the chamber. Lady Ackerman, Kuchel, sits on the throne, with the seat to her right standing empty. To her left is the Duke Uri and his Alpha-Consort, Kuchel’s brother Kenneth, appearing bored with the whole affair. The remainder of the room is flooded with nobles Erwin doesn’t have time to wrack his brain and memory of his books for, but it doesn’t matter because they are all watching him. The Alphas fan their Omegas on account of the heat and their tight bodices and the sea of Betas in the more receded seats murmur amongst themselves with gossip, eyeing him with curious and demeaning stares. Erwin is suddenly, humiliatingly, aware of his nakedness. Lady Ackerman appears wholly unphased. 

That is when he sees her–the crown regent, dappled in white robes the shade of moonlight, in the center of the room standing before her courtiers with her handmaidens at attention and still a veil draped over her face. A priest stands at attention at her right hand and–

Oh. Now Erwin understands.
He is the one she has chosen to be her bonded.

A deep stirring, something like pride or triumph, something very alpha at the notion of besting his rivals, stirs in his gut.

“You are expected to bond the regent before the court, that the nobility might bear witness to the consummation of the union.” One of the eunuchs hisses in his ear. 

Before the court? As in… in front of everyone? To someone he has never so much as spoken to or seen her face?

Erwin doesn’t have time to question or protest before he is led by the silver leash about his neck to the center of the room. 

“To the Lords and Ladies of this noble court, we are gathered here today to witness and celebrate the union of Erwin Smith and The Crown Regent of House Ackerman in this ritual of bonding…”

The heralder begins his speech and Erwin scrambles against the floor, trying to delay the inevitability of his prescribed fate without making a scene of the whole affair for fear he might face execution. 

“True bonding cannot be tallied in blood and alliances, not as a social institution, but something far deeper, far more ancient.”

The regent steps closer to the priest at the edge of the carpet, who Erwin is now close enough to see is holding a small line of fine orange powder on the silver platter. It is the priceless spice that induces heat. House Ackerman must have spent a small fortune on just this paltry amount for such a ceremony. 

“It is measured in the moments in which we confide in each other, laugh with each other, enjoy life together, and share moments of quiet and peace when the day is done. May you be blessed with a lifetime of happiness and a home of warmth and understanding."

Erwin wonders if perhaps the regent requested such soft nothings be included in the vows to soften the blow against her choosing such a low-born mate to take as her consort. 

The regent raises her delicate hands to the platter, and Erwin notices they are shaking with as much nerves as he feels. She leans her head down to inhale the fine powder with a small spoon beneath her veil. 

“No other human ties are more tender and no other vows more important than those you are about to take. Both of you come to this day with the deep realization that the contract of bonding is sacred as are all of its obligations and responsibilities."

The Alphas present raise sachets of potpourri to their noses. Erwin thrashes again against his shackles. 

“The court wishes you happiness, and a future of strong litters with offspring that will bring honor to the noble House of Ackerman.”

The crown regent buckles over at the waist, clutching her stomach in pain. Her handmaidens rush to her side and Erwin jerks again at his binds, this time not to escape but with the overwhelming instinct to come to her aid. Two of the eunuchs struggle to hold him back, and only succeed on account that the collar chokes him into a coughing fit. 

The Betas do not help her to her feet. Instead, they work diligently to strip her of her robe and veil, deft fingers working at the ties and buttons in a frenzy to free her of the fabric. Erwin’s nose is hit with the unmistakable scent of heat as he watches her knees buckle and she nearly collapses to the floor. One of her handmaids is needed to support her. Erwin’s keepers fumble incompetently with the keys to his binds, struggling to liberate him even as he trashes senselessly against them, driven into a mad fury of fear and desire. 

The maidens manage to strip her of her garments and Erwin’s paramour is revealed to him in bits and snatches–sleek, sable hair, cropped short to the ears–silver chains and bangles about a slender neck and wrists–pale skin, the color of moonlight, as though never once kissed by the sun–a flat chest, bricked with sinew and taught with wiry muscle–fine silver earrings that jingle with the sound of bells–petite feet and lithe ankles–dark and downy hair leading to–

When she is bare, Erwin is met with the realization that the regent was never a she at all–she is a he.
A male omega.
A rare thing, of the most prized and unusual sort, more rare even than female Alphas. 

The court holds their breath, but does not speak their shock. Apparently Erwin wasn’t the only one who was kept in the dark for the secret. House Ackerman has never had a male heir, not once in seventeen generations. Erwin would know. He memorized the genealogy. A hushed silence falls over the room. The only sound is the clink of the key in Erwin’s collar, and the staff step backwards to the edges of the colonnade, bowing their heads in reverence. 

“Lords and Ladies of the house, I am honored to present to you His Royal Highness Lord Levi Ackerman, Heir to Her Majesty Lady Kuchel Ackerman, Prince-Regent of the Seven Peaks and the valleys here guarded.” The heralder supplies, perhaps to fill the awkwardness. 

Levi is bedecked in fine jewels in the omegan fashion, even beneath his robes. His left ear is pierced seven times with silver hoops, one for each of the seven peaks, and his lobes dangle heavy with glistening sapphires. His neck and wrists and ankles and even his svelte waist are hitched with argent chains, his rosy nipples pierced through with shining bars tipped with small gems. Erwin, blushing red, dares to let his eyes find his cock, small enough to fit in a fist even stiff with mounting heat, and that, too, is pierced. Once through the tip, and three more in a ladder down the shaft, presumably for the omega’s pleasure. 

He winces again in pain, one hand placed over his abdomen, as he takes a knee on the floor. He strives valiantly to hide what must be excruciating pain. The nobles suppress their Omega’s heats until it is time for their bonding, for the sake of modesty. The pain must cut hot as a knife through the stomach.

“Are to gonna fuck me…” Levi grunts and swallows hard, panting. Brave–he is a dragon-eater, strong as the rest of them–but his hands are trembling with nerves. He says it soft enough the court can’t overhear. “Or just gawk at me?”

Erwin rushes to his side, overcome with the lingering throws of desire from yesterday's meeting to nose at the rich scent of his neck, not caring that they’re being watched. He inhales deeply at the root of it, behind those silver earrings. 

“S-Shit…” Levi returns the favor, rubbing his scent against Erwin’s to let them mingle, pulses pressed together at the join of their neck, nuzzling him like a stray cat. The rings of his fingers catch on Erwin's hair as he grinds up into the warmth of his body. He has a foul mouth for a prince, or perhaps he is struggling to preserve what’s left of his pride. Erwin wonders if he should care or if the court cares, but his concern about such things is fading quickly and giving way to the beginnings of rut, senses blind to everything but the smell of fresh grass carried on the wings of the first breath of spring. 

Levi rucks furious against his thigh, heat drunk from the spice, eyes crossed and welled with water. He chews on his tongue and Erwin notices that too is pierced through the dimple of it when he opens his mouth to pant. Levi’s cock leaks down his thigh in an unpleasant, unsatisfyingly empty orgasm and his manicured fingernails dig into his shoulders with enough force to draw blood. He is wild and fearful, shaking and blistering with fever, gaze wandering around the room in search of something he’s not yet learned how to ask for. 

Erwin captures his lips with his own to save him the humiliation of howling with desperation and turns drunk in turn off Levi’s inebriation. The rut is building, deep in his gut, building to an insatiable thing despite his earlier reticence, this need to take and to claim, to possess–to bite. His teeth break his own cheek, sharp now with the itch for it, and split Levi’s lip open when he licks into his mouth hungry to consume Erwin, in some way, in any way that might placate the burning need of the thing. Levi grips Erwin’s cock, taking the two of them together in his small hands. He jerks with a force that borders on painful in his desperation, his fingers on fire where he remembers them being cold. The rings of his piercings are a delightful sensation on his swollen skin and Erwin grunts into his hair when Levi comes again, hollow and empty and weeping with the pain of it. 

Levi is coming undone, the spice drives him higher towards seizure with only one thing that can quench the thirst and only one person who might give it to him. Erwin shoves his fingers into his mouth to give him something to swallow around and spare him embarrassment before the court in his lust-drunk state. He winces when Levi bites into him and licks at where he’s drawn blood. Erwin draws him to his chest and turns his body away from the crowd so that he might hide it with the broad width of his frame. Levi hitches his ankles around his back and the slick of his hole drips over Erwin’s cock.

They shouldn’t see you like this, he thinks, Only I should get to see you like this. What animals, to steal what is mine by right by looking at it. They shouldn’t see you like this. Mine, mine, MINE–

It is some baser desire that wells up unrecognized, long dormant and awakened in a primal corner of the mind. Erwin lays Levi back on the carpet and is pulled down on top of him, Levi scenting wildly against every inch of his body with the glands on his throat.

“Mine, mine, mine.” Levi mumbles incoherently under his breath. “I picked you. I did! My Alpha–”

Levi moans through broken sobs when he rucks his cock against Erwin’s abs for the sake of the friction, drawing him down with unexpected strength until as much of their skin is pressed together, flesh on flesh, as is possible in their position. 

“Knot me. Please–” Tears are streaming down his face, and Levi’s eyes are glassy and far away. “Erwin, please–I can’t take it.”

The inside of Levi’s thighs are slick, dripping over his skin and onto the carpet. The scent of it is heady and over powering, Erwin can’t even remember where they are. Levi’s fingers grab greedily at his cock, lining it up with his own leaking hole and grinding himself down onto it. His eyes roll back into his head with the pleasure of it, the air forced from his lungs as his stomach hollows out when he moans. He will have rug burn on his back and ass tomorrow. 

“More.” Levi orders, insatiable in his delirium, and Erwin is helpless to oblige. He fucks into him, knees digging into the carpet while Levi endeavors to rip his hair out by the root. They’re sliding over the floor, closer to the feet of the ‘bonding party’ which includes Levi’s mother with each thrust. Levi’s heel kicks his kidney when he bucks his hips off the floor. 

Erwin’s knot is a hot thing, big as a fist, begging for pressure before it splits him open, but Levi is so tight he can barely fit inside him as it is. 

“Please–please–please–please–please–” Levi babbles meaninglessly, desperate, biting him everywhere, piercing his scent gland, drawing blood with his bonding teeth and leaving bruises everywhere else. Erwin obliges, holding him down by his shoulders to force the knot inside.

Levi groans and hiccups on a sob, eyes rolling back into his head. He shivers with pleasure when the pressure of it catches inside him, locking their bodies together. He moans loud enough to echo off the colonnade and through the hall. He smells delightful, irresistible, and while Erwin has him pinned to the floor, he leans down to sink his teeth into the soft spot behind his ear.

Levi squirms, locked at odds between pain and pleasure, into his touch and away from it, within and without. He whimpers and whines, breathing hot on the shell of Erwin’s ear. He bites down harder until he feels the leaking of Levi’s cock spilling on their stomachs between them. His breathing starts to slow, finally satiated, as his body clenches around Erwin’s. Erwin comes with a start, emptying himself so deep and hot he feels Levi’s stomach twitch under the weight of him. It’s slow, filling his tiny frame with more than he has the room to accept, until it spills out between them, staining the carpet. 

Levi tastes even better than he smells and he can feel it–better than an orgasm–the warmth of the bond spilling over into the distant corner of his mind, Levi’s light and boneless orgasm washing over him as well through the join of it, echoing and rattling around in his skull. He doesn’t release his teeth til his knot is entirely spent. He hopes the mark scars well. 

When Erwin finally lets go, he can’t draw back very far–they will still be joined for a while before the knot stops swelling. Levi’s hazy gaze has abated, and his silver eyes look up at him with nothing more than a peaceful contented happiness. The Alpha in him swells with pride at having done a fine job. 

Lady Ackerman is the first to clap, and Erwin is suddenly reminded that they are not alone, sweating on the floor and stinking of sweat and sex before the entirety of the royal count. The crowd cheers with jubilation and the heralders begin sounding trumpets and the full carillon. Couples kiss in the audience in celebration.

“A truly delightful bonding, don’t you think so?” Duke Uri says.

“Yeah, so he’s knocked up. Big deal.” Kenneth sinks into his chair, grumbling.

Erwin looks down at Levi, still joined to him below the waist, a fierce blush blooming from his ears to his navel. He tries to cover his face with his arm in embarrassment.

“What are you looking at, dumbass?”

But Erwin catches the hint of a smile from between his fingers and he smiles too.