Muse.

Fashion Porn and Fomo

I have to fight to keep my jaw hinged when Armin walks out.  His fair hair is combed away from his face on the sides, his bangs parted to a side. He wears a loose black sweater, tucked into belted black trousers. His bare skin shows pale through a large cutout at the center of the shirt. It's shaped like a cross and held together with safety pins over his chest and abdomen.

I want to slide my fingers in. I want to feel his skin. I want to—

Then it occurs to me, I can.

I get up. The wine bears me buoyant towards him where he stands, reaching up into a cabinet for a quarter of crystal glasses, facing away from the room.

"You look good," I say quietly, mooring up beside him.

He drops back onto flat feet, setting the glasses down, then turning toward me. His pretty blue eyes come level with mine. "Yeah?"

We stand close. His arm presses into mine. His lips still lack color.

"Yeah." I slip my hand across his abdomen, inserting my fingers between the fabric and his silky skin.

He chuckles and smiles with superb satisfaction. His hand slides down to scrunch the thin cotton of my pajama shirt at the small of my back. "Thanks." He slips his hand under the hem. His finger tips scathe over my spine in circles between my hips.

My breath catches. Eros seeps into me. The sacred space between my legs goes warm and wet and weak. I squirm and chuckle placing a hand on his arm to stop him and back off. There's no point in getting bothered. I lean back against the opposite counter.

He presses his lips together, then he walks to the pantry cabinet. He takes lemons, simple syrup, and a bottle of some dark liquor off the wine rack.

He begins mixing beside me. I watch as he cracks an egg against one of the glasses and carefully passes the yolk between the two halves of shell, until the gelatinous white finally releases the yolk and falls into the glass.

"What is it?"

"Whiskey sour. Would you like one?"

"Can I just try a sip of yours. I'm already..."

He looks at me with those eyes. I lose my train of thought. He smirks, knowingly.

"....Already feeling it," I finish.

He smirks. "Yeah. You can try mine."

A minute later, he slides me his glass. I take a sip and wrinkle my nose, hiding behind the glass.

"Not your thing, huh."

I shake my head. "I'm sure it's great though. If you like that kind of thing," I offer.

He takes pause and measures me. "You're being awfully nice."

My eyes flicker between his. A shy smile lifts my lips. I feel like I've been caught, somehow.

He takes a sip while holding my gaze.

"Look what I found," comes a faux Texas drawl.

Despite myself, I turn to look.

Eren stands against the cased archway, wearing a white and chestnut foal skin cowboy hat, tipped dramatically to obscure his face.

He looks up, revealing only a megawatt grin, the hollows of his cheeks stretching in taught lines just outside the corners of his lips.

Historia laughs. "Oh noo."

"Oh shit," says Connie. "Jaeger Texas Ranger is on the job."

With the hat, Eren's paired a quilted white leather jacket, dangling straps that, if fastened, would restrain him like a mental patient.