Archive of Our Own

It was funny. No matter how many times Erwin saw him play, it always felt like the first. Family sitcoms and high school dramas and surly, PR nightmare interviews and radio single after radio single after can’t-play-it-on-the-radio single didn’t come even remotely close to the religious experience that was seeing Levi Ackerman play live.

It was bizzare how different he was here on stage than he was literally everywhere else. If it hadn’t been for this Erwin knew Levi’s star would have faded years ago. His silent, brooding, perpetual bad mood had made him wise beyond his years as a child, a devastating heart throb as a teenager, and an iconic bad boy in his early twenties.

But now, pushing toward forty, and with over thirty years in the public spotlight, some of the mysterious tortured soul appeal he’d held had twisted and turned until his reputation was no longer that of the young, reluctant actor-turned-musician, and had become that of a reclusive, stubborn, misanthropic man.

In other words, it wasn’t cute anymore.

By the time Erwin got his hands on Levi Ackerman, no other manager had wanted him. The interview requests had died, as had the TV and movie cameos. He’d even been having trouble booking tour venues, which, for the past twenty years and no matter how many unseemly shenanigans had the Ackerman name stamped all over them in the tabloids, had always been mostly a sure thing.

Erwin had had his work cut out for him, but he had always reveled in a challenge.

He’d put Levi in front of his piano, and they’d recorded an unplugged album, stripped of all the songs except the ones Levi had written himself and a few new, previously unreleased tracks.

Erwin had let Levi burn the ridiculous sequins and metallic faux leather and fur his previous management teams(s) had forced him into. He’d done away with the dancers and the djs, and fired every single one of Levi’s truly awful stylists who kept trying to make him look like the eighteen year old he’d been decades ago instead of the man he’d grown into. Age agreed with Levi-- under the childish clothes and the cakey make-up, Erwin had found a beautifully mature man, with eyes that seared like cold steel and a mouth that--

Erwin cleared his throat.

“Wow.”

Erwin’s tiny cough seemed to have jolted the reporter at his side from his daze. Erwin looked over at him and raised his brows in amusement. “You’ve never seen him play.”

“No,” the reporter, a Mr. Hoover, said quietly. He was a young, soft spoken man who, for some reason, Erwin didn’t entirely trust despite his unflinching respect and politeness. “Just youtube videos, talk shows. That kind of thing.”

“It’s very different in person.”

“Yeah. He’s…”

Levi finished the song, and when he did, he looked off stage, to where he knew Erwin would be standing. Erwin gave him a curt nod of acknowledgement, hands clasped tightly behind his back to keep them from shaking.

“Mr. Ackerman has a notoriously fraught relationship with his management team,” Hoover said then, watching Erwin too closely for Erwin’s liking. Erwin looked over at him as Levi cracked a wry, almost bitter joke, and then started the next song.

“Is that a question?”

“Do you find Mr. Ackerman to be a difficult client?”

“No,” Erwin answered without hesitation. “Levi is a model client, for the right manager.”

“And that’s you.”

“I should assume that would be obvious.”

“And what makes you the right manager for Mr. Ackerman?”

Erwin hesitated to answer.

The truth was, there was something ineffable about it. He’d known Levi’s reputation going in. He’d done his research, knew that good, trustworthy management teams had broken under Levi’s heel. Erwin couldn’t think all those people had been making it all up.

But from the start, he’d found working with Levi to be not only simple, but also profoundly enjoyable. Levi was ruthlessly smart, and there was a wickedly dry, bitter humor about him, if one knew to look for it. He was a hard worker, and a perfectionist, had a few quirks, like his tendency to start dusting and cleaning in a furious huff if the space he was occupying wasn’t up to his exacting standards. He used insults as a form of endearment-- but his deadpan delivery left thin-skinned assistants, agents, and stylists convinced he believed them worthless. He didn’t like to do anything without a good reason.

“Mr. Ackerman and I understand each other,” Erwin said succinctly after a long pause.

Hoover jotted something down in the journal he carried, and then peered across the stage at Levi.

It was a very good show. Levi was in rare form, even for him, and Erwin was struck by how different he seemed now, than he had when Erwin had met him a year ago. A year ago, he’d hated performing, trussed in sequins and high heeled boots and talked into dancing, which he was incredibly good at, but also despised.

He looked relaxed now, looked like he was playing the music he wanted to play. Erwin thought he might be the only one who really saw the difference. The way the little lines around Levi's eyes relaxed. The way he smiled a little at the piano keys while he played. The way he lingered just a few seconds longer to listen to the applause after he’d played his encore.

When Levi left the stage, eyes on Erwin, Erwin felt Hoover tense up. Most people did, when they met Levi. He was the sort of star that both frightened and dazed people, left them star-struck, and also a little afraid of invoking that legendary temper and cold sneer.

Erwin wordlessly handed him a cold bottle of water, and helped him out of his sweat soaked leather jacket.

Levi took a sip and then shoved his sweaty hair out of his eyes. “Fuck is this beanpole?” he asked motioning to Hoover and staring up at Erwin.

“This is Mr. Hoover. He’s here for your interview with Rolling Stone.”

Hoover stuck out his hand and said, “It’s an honor, Mr. Ackerman--”

“What the fucking fuck, Erwin. You know I don’t do interviews after fucking shows.”

“I just need--”

“Mr. Hoover needed to see the show for his article. But he’ll be with us all week, if you’d prefer to sit for the interview later.”

Levi glared at Erwin and then finally looked at Hoover. “Yeah, fucking fine. Whatever, come like, follow me around or whatever you fuckers do.”

Hoover looked at Erwin, who motioned for him to follow as Levi stomped past.

Hoover tailed them both as Erwin helped Levi navigate his various after show duties-- there were a few VIP ticket holders to greet, which Levi hated, but had agreed to tolerate if Erwin cut the number of available tickets by two thirds and saved four for a lottery program for those in the cheap seats. Erwin had happily agreed to these terms, since he had fewer greater amusements in life than watching Levi snub some plastic suburbanite housewife and her spray tanned husband for someone with a ten dollar VIP ticket and a mostly charming obsession. Levi shook hands and posed for a few photos-- one of the lottery ticket holders begged him for a hug even when he scowled and complained he was drenched in sweat from the show. She didn’t care, so Levi complied with a stilted embrace; Erwin thought he was probably the only one who saw the good natured fondness in the gesture. Levi didn’t like strangers touching him, but every so often he put aside that discomfort to appease a (polite) fan.

There was no real talking until Erwin escorted Levi to his car and the three of them began the journey back to the hotel room.

Then Hoover set in with the questions.

They were innocuous at first, things everyone asked Levi. About his new music, about his shows, about how he enjoyed the city.

The first hint Erwin had that Hoover was not the mild mannered, soft spoken journalist he claimed to be came just before they reached the hotel.

“And your uncle? Have you had much contact with him--”

“It was made very clear,” Erwin interrupted, “That Mr. Ackerman will not be speaking about his family. I can provide you with a copy of the list of disallowed topics you received if they have. Slipped your mind.” “Right, my apologies,” Hoover said with a self deprecating smile.

Levi watched Erwin interrupt with an unphased look on his face. When Erwin met his eyes fully, the corner of his mouth lifted. “You wanna know shit about that asshole, you can call him. Long as you don’t mind talking in twenty minute increments.”

“Uh.”

“They don’t let the inmates talk for longer’n that without placing a new call,” Levi explained, tossing his hair from his eyes as he turned to look out the window. The front of the hotel was thronging with fans and well wishers, and Erwin turned in his seat and tapped on the divider. It dropped just enough for Erwin to tell Mike, “Take us around the block and then to the back.”

The limo cruised past the hotel, and kept going, leaving the little huddle of fans frowning after them and looking for another limo. Mike drove in circles for a few minutes, and then pulled up behind the hotel while Erwin spoke with the hotel staff about getting Levi into the building as quickly and painlessly as possible. He didn’t hear what Hoover asked Levi while he was talking, but when he lowered his phone, Levi was watching Erwin again, eyes narrowed a little.

Erwin looked to Hoover, who was simply writing something down in his journal, and when Erwin’s eyes flicked back to Levi, Levi smiled.

Or came as close as he ever did to smiling.

They made it to Levi’s room without encountering anyone but hotel staff; Levi grunted a goodnight and they all went their separate ways.

*

Hoover followed them from city to city for the next week, watching all three shows Levi had scheduled, hovering in the wings when Levi posed for the photographer the magazine had sent to meet them in city number two, and throwing questions at him between meals and plane rides and sound checks.

He finally got Levi to sit for a real, thorough interview on the last day, while they all ate lunch in Levi’s hotel suite.

Erwin was there of course; he always was.

“I have to say, Mr. Ackerman, you’re nothing like I expected you to be.”

“Why’s that?” Levi drawled, leaning back in his chair a little.

“Your reputation isn’t-- particularly kind,” Hoover said carefully.

Levi shrugged.

There was a silent moment, Hoover clearly trying to decide if he should press the issue, and Levi obviously not at all willing to offer more than that.

When the silence started to become uncomfortable, Hoover returned to safer waters-- he asked Levi about his music.

“You’ve worked quite a few new numbers into your shows. Do you plan on releasing these new songs?”

“Maybe,” Levi said with a shrug. “Haven’t decided yet.”

“Your newest material is a fair bit different from your previous work. It’s more--”

“Personal,” Levi interrupted. Hoover nodded and waited for Levi to go on-- which Erwin thought was quite smart, considering how difficult it was to get Levi to talk about himself. “When you’ve been in this business as long as I have, sometimes you get sucked into doing shit you don’t like. My label used to insist on filling half my fucking albums with this shallow, chirpy bullshit electronic crap. I fucking hated it.”

“Your new label has allowed you more freedom, then? To play the music you want to play?”

“Yeah. That and my new management team.”

Hoover glanced at Erwin and then back to Levi when he said, “Erwin.”

“Yeah. Fucker knows music.”

“I’m particularly interested in hearing your thoughts-- processes maybe-- for the love songs.”

Levi scoffed and turned his head.

“These last two seem more… specific than your past work. Did you have someone particular in mind when you were writing them?”

“Mr. Ackerman’s love life is on the list of disallowed topics,” Erwin interjected, a little testily.

But Levi smirked a little and looked Erwin in the eye when he said, “Maybe.”

Erwin adjusted a bit in his chair.

“Can you tell me anything about her?” Hoover said quickly, swooping in on the hint like a hawk-- Erwin had known he didn’t like this man.

“Uh--” Levi paused and then chuckled a little coldly. “I’m gay,” he said.

The room was ringingly quiet.

Hoover’s whole face was slack in shock and Erwin could just guess what was going through his head. This scoop would make his fucking career.

Levi leaned back in his chair, casual, and said, “You know that shit was actually in my record contract? That I had to be seen however fucking often with some model type chick.”

Erwin swallowed very hard. He had been aware of that clause in several of Levi’s various contracts-- he hadn’t fully understood it’s purpose though.

Hoover’s eyes looked like they were about to fall out of his head. “So your relationship with Petra Ral--”

“She’s a good friend,” Levi said.

“Uh-- why was--”

Levi shrugged. “Fucking image, man. It’s all most of these assholes care about.”

Erwin finally found his voice, and said, “I think that’s enough for today--”

“Nah, it’s fine,” Levi interrupted, eyes on Erwin again, sharp and amused. They reminded Erwin of a freshly sharpened blade and he found his chest going a little tight.

Hoover took a deep breath; Erwin could tell he was trying to keep himself calm, that he knew he was about to make pop culture history. Rumors had swirled about Levi’s love life and sexuality for years-- Erwin had assumed they were just that, and he’d never seen fit to ask Levi about any of them. He’d never really had to. Levi hadn’t so much as gone on a single date since Erwin had met him-- at least as far as Erwin knew.

“Anyway, I guess they thought I’d be less marketable or whatever,” Levi continued.

“So your new music. It’s about. A man you know.”

Levi looked at Erwin and smirked again before he said again, “Maybe.”

He wouldn’t say anything more on the topic, but Hoover got him to open up about a few other things-- that he’d always been gay, that his uncle had forced him to sign the first contract that had stipulated that would remain a secret, when Levi was a teenaged soap opera star opposite Petra. That they’d cheerfully pretended to be dating on and off for years just to keep people off Levi’s back.

Erwin chased Hoover out the second he was sure the vulture had enough for his article, and then he whirled on Levi.

“That was stupid.”

Levi narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest. “Not you too.”

“If you wanted to come out there are a dozen different ways we could have done it!”

“We?”

“A charity concert,” Erwin suggested. “An interview with a queer magazine--”

“It’s Rolling Stone.”

“You should have let me get in front of this. I don’t trust that man as far as I can throw him.”

Levi’s eyes dropped to Erwin’s chest and he said, “How far is that, do you think?”

Erwin narrowed his eyes, cheeks a little hot. “You should have told me.”

Levi shrugged. “Thought you knew. You read all my contracts.”

“I--” Erwin wasn’t entirely sure what he’d assumed. Mostly that the clause had just been a way for record labels, managers, and Kenny Ackerman to exert even more control over Levi. It was a tactic he’d certainly seen before.

“Be prepared,” Erwin told him finally. “This is going to be a circus.”

*

It was, but not entirely for the reasons Erwin had predicted.

By the time the article dropped, the tour was on a scheduled break-- Levi, and by extension, Erwin, was back home, recuperating before the next leg began.

Erwin started his day early, as he always did. He worked out, checked his email, and walked to his office, pausing at a news stand just long enough to pick up the magazine and a cup of coffee.

When he stepped into his office, Mike was waiting for him, another copy of the magazine open on his desk, and a pinched look on his face. When he saw Erwin he said without preamble, “You haven’t read it yet.”

Erwin groaned a little. “Is it that bad?”

“It’s-- uh…” Mike trailed off.

Erwin set his things down and immediately flipped the magazine open. He skimmed until he saw his name, and then he started to read in earnest, annoyance, and then downright rage spiking with each word.

Mr. Smith, a tall, attractive man in his late thirties, who still wears a wedding ring despite letting it slip that he’s been divorced for nearly a year, is never far from Mr. Ackerman’s side. The two men share a silent, but obvious camaraderie that becomes more apparent-- and more suspicious-- with each second spent in their combined presence. Mr. Smith would have all believe their relationship is solely professional, but the communication and respect the two share for one another borders on loverly, even from an outsider’s perspective.

Unfortunately, it’s nearly impossible to confirm my suspicions. Mr. Smith keeps a very firm hand on his staff-- when asked if there was something more personal between the two, Mr. Ackerman’s driver and bodygaurd, Mike Zacharias, said, “Don’t fucking talk to me.”

Still, one doesn’t need a verbalization to draw one’s own conclusions. Especially when Mr. Ackerman admits, openly and unrepentantly, that some of his most recent loves songs are written for a special man in his life.

The admission-- that Mr. Ackerman is gay-- catches me off guard, but Mr. Smith is almost suspiciously hostile, and immediately tries to put an end to our interview. Mr. Ackerman, however, is eager to talk about the revelation-- and the various ways he’s been forbidden from doing so in the past.

“You know that shit was actually in my record contract?” Ackerman asks me, tilting back ever so slightly in his chair and shooting casual, furtive glances at Mr. Smith as he speaks. “That I had to be seen however fucking often with some model type chick.”

One assumes he must be referring to Petra Ral, and when I mention her name--

Erwin couldn’t read anymore. “That slimy, duplicitous little--”

“It’s not… that bad,” Mike muttered.

“He made it sound like you were covering for us!”

“I mean. Yeah.”

“I’m going to kill him.” Erwin wordlessly opened up the magazine, but he was too angry to see straight.

“It’s not-- the rest of it isn’t. That bad. He says a lot of nice things about the music and the shows!”

“I have to go.”

“Go where?”

“To Levi’s,” Erwin spat. “To make sure he doesn’t punch out another paparazzo. Or six.”

“You want me to--”

“Yes, come on.”

Erwin let Mike drive-- he was fuming the whole time, hands shaking in his lap while he tried to compose himself.

Mike said, “Did you uh. Did you know he was…”

“No. He dropped it during the interview on a fucking whim. He doesn’t think.”

“What, you think he should have kept it a secret?” Mike scoffed.

“Of course not,” Erwin snapped. “It’s a sensitive subject and he should have let me choose the right moment--”

“Why do you get to choose when he comes out of the closet?” Mike said, half wry, half biting.

“A better reporter,” Erwin countered. “A more nuanced article.”

“I. Honestly thought it was pretty good. You know, kinda casual about the whole thing.”

“He claimed we’re having an affair, Mike,” Erwin said, so angry now his voice came out dead pan.

“So? Magazines have claimed Levi’s having affairs with lots of people.”

“I’m his manager. It’s. Unseemly. And unprofessional! This is my career. I can’t have people thinking I fuck my clients.”

“Well I--” Mike cut himself off when Erwin’s phone dinged. Erwin furiously tugged it from his pocket and found that Hanji had sent him a link-- the kind of clickbait article full of twitter reactions. He scrolled through it too quickly to really see, and then got a second message from Hanji, with a second link.

“Oh, son of a bitch.”

“What?” Mike said sharply, turning his head and taking a turn too fast.

Erwin lowered his voice, mumbled, “They’ve got… pictures.”

“Of what?”

“Of me.”

“Of what, Erwin?”

“This idiot I dated in college, the man I was with after the divorce was finalized-- my wife--”

“Ex wife.”

“-- is saying I cheated with him--”

“You’re right,” Mike muttered. “This is a disaster.”

That was only the half of it. By the time they reached Levi’s, the place was thronging with paparazzi and Erwin was finding articles about himself with titles like Who is Erwin Smith? And Levi Ackerman’s Mystery Man Revealed. Which was stupid because Hoover’s article hadn’t really presented any mystery to begin with.

Mike got out of the car first, and used his body and an umbrella to block Erwin’s face from the cameras. Erwin kept his head down and pulled his jacket up over his ears just like he would have had Levi do-- it was odd being the focus of all those flashing lights for once.

He punched the lock code into the keypad at Levi’s front door and stumbled inside like he was escaping a violent storm. Mike stayed on the front step, booming voice carrying inside as he tried to chase the paparazzi away.

Erwin pulled off his jacket and hung it up before he stepped out of the foyer and toward the piano room-- he could hear Levi playing, something soft and terribly dexterous.

Erwin paused in the doorway when he found him.

He was writing, completely oblivious to the chaos outside his front door. He played a few bars and paused before he jotted the notes down on the sheet music in front of him. He looked like he’d almost wound up here by accident. His hair was still damp and slicked back, and he was only wearing a pair of gray boxer briefs. His bath towel was on the ground beside his piano bench.

Erwin felt himself calm a little, at the sound of the gentle, tinkling keys ringing in the massive open space of this room.

He supposed he’d dealt with worse tabloid circuses-- he just hadn’t been at the center of one before.

Levi’s hands tripped up the keyboard and when he leaned for a high note, all the muscles in his shoulders bunched and then stretched. He paused, didn’t like the note he’d struck, so he played the phrase again and ended on a different high-- this one better, apparently because he stopped to write it down.

He played some more, wrote some more. Then he paused and Erwin realized he was playing the whole thing from the top, all together.

It was beautiful. All of Levi’s music was lately. Something about the way he played always left Erwin enraptured, incapable of speech. He tried to hide it, when he was backstage, when he was supposed to be working, but he was never far from the wings when Levi was playing. He felt compelled to listen, like he was drowning, like every note vibrating at the tips of Levi’s fingers was a single bubble of air.

The last note was still ringing when Levi said, “You gonna stand there all fucking day?”

Erwin tried to calm his arrhythmic heartbeat and said, “I didn’t want to interrupt you.”

Levi turned his head, and when Erwin caught the line of his jaw, the fall of his hair over his brow bone, he had a very strange thought-- that his heart hadn’t been beating erratically, that it was just in time to the song.

“You’re not as quiet as you think you are.”

“Sorry.”

Levi turned his head back to his keys and Erwin took a few more tentative steps into the room before he realized he was being foolish and crossed to stand in the bow of the piano.

“Have you seen--”

“The article? Yeah. Read it on my phone this morning.”

“Have you looked outside--”

“Nah, but I can hear the shitheads.”

He was so calm. Erwin was almost surprised. Surprised Levi wasn’t as furious as Erwin was. “That little rat is never coming near you again,” Erwin told him. “I’ve half a mind to black list the magazine if they don’t print a retraction.”

Levi looked down at his keys and played some kind of circular practice melody with his left hand. “You’re all riled the fuck up, aren’t you.”

“Have you even looked at twitter?”

“You know I haven’t.”

Erwin pulled out his phone and opened Levi’s twitter feed with short, jerky movements before he thrust the phone at Levi.

Levi frowned, scrolled for a second, and then said, “Oh, who’s this little blond thing?”

“A mistake,” Erwin grit out. “Who is going to hear from my lawyer about selling that goddamn selfie.”

“I didn’t know you took selfies.”

“I don’t. He took it.”

Levi’s eyes flicked up from the phone and he peered at Erwin through his hair without lifting his head. “Good picture of you.”

“Will you focus?” Erwin snapped. “This is a complete shitshow.”

Levi leaned back on his bench, a smirk playing on his lips that made Erwin shiver. “For you.”

“And you. You’re really comfortable with the entire world thinking you’re sleeping with your manager?”

Levi shrugged one shoulder. “I’m used to a lot of people thinking I’m sleeping with people I’m not sleeping with.”

Erwin scowled and took his phone back. He had three more texts from Hanji, all with links to ridiculous articles he would rather not think about.

“We need a plan. And to release a statement. We can tweet--”

Levi started playing again, the same song, but a slightly different variation. A different verse maybe. Erwin fell silent, mind emptying again at the sound. He had no idea how Levi could fit so much emotion into four bars.

“Wait--” Levi muttered before he went back, played a passage again.

And then he looked up at Erwin, drying hair falling over his forehead a little.

Erwin’s mouth felt dry. “That’s beautiful,” he whispered a little grudgingly.

“Glad you think so.”

“Do you have lyrics yet?”

“Some.”

Erwin waited, elbows against the top of the piano, leaning forward so he could see Levi’s hands.

Levi sang a few lines, quietly, under his breath, not really full voice. He usually wrote like this-- treated Erwin to little progress reports of a sort, but refused to truly sing out until the song was finished to his liking.

Another love song.

There was something about Levi’s love songs lately-- something personal, like he’d told Hoover, and something painful. They were brutal, bitter things, that still somehow managed to be the most romantic music Erwin had ever heard.

Levi stopped singing, but kept playing, and Erwin moved to sit on the bench beside him, a lump in his throat like he couldn’t catch his breath.

“Stop,” he said softly. “You’re distracting me. I need to know how you want to handle this, Levi.”

Levi stopped playing, and when he spoke, his voice was sharp, twisted, annoyed. “We could give ‘em something to talk about.”

“Be serious,” Erwin hissed too quickly.

Levi made a sound in the back of his throat, one he made often when he found Erwin particularly trying. “You’re impossible.”

Erwin opened his mouth but no sound came out. He’d sat too close to Levi on the piano bench. He’d made that rule for himself, months ago, to keep his distance. To be sure this never happened, to be sure his leg was never flush with Levi’s, and he was far enough away that he couldn’t smell-- Erwin wasn’t sure what it was. His shampoo, or his soap, or his clothes, or--

It was there now. Clean, clinging to his skin, still too warm from his shower, and Erwin could feel that, feel where their legs touched and Levi’s shoulder brushed Erwin’s arm.

For such a small man there was always so much of him. He took up so much space, Erwin didn’t see anyone else when Levi was there.

Levi was looking at him, waiting for him to speak, but he just kept not saying anything, and Levi just kept looking.

This was… unfortunate. Erwin didn’t usually let Levi see him looking. Of course-- of course he did look. How could he not? But he did it in secret, when no one could notice, or he pretended to be working, pretended he had to approve Levi’s clothes or his hair or-- any thing to let him spend just a spare moment seeing.

Levi looked away first and Erwin felt his cheeks burn. But instead of sliding away like Erwin expected him too, Levi lifted his hand to the piano again-- his right this time, the one closest to Erwin. He played the melody he’d played when Erwin had come in, but without the left hand and-- maybe he changed the third, made it minor, but it was different now, and it cut through Erwin’s chest--

“How many more songs do I need to write for you?”

Erwin felt like the floor had collapsed beneath them, like it had been made of glass and it fractured and there was no holding back everything that came rushing up through the cracks. He felt like a fool, like he’d been staring through the glass and telling himself he couldn’t see what was on the other side. Except now he was sure he’d always been able to tell exactly what was looking back at him.

He was still quiet though, watching the air get thick around them. Levi was still looking at his keyboard, but he’d played the last note and it was dying.

The silence stretched a beat too long because Levi shoved back from the keyboard, made the bench screech across the floor, frustration, maybe anger, making his movements sharp and jerky.

Erwin caught him by the hand before he could slide away, pulled him back, felt him twist, maybe to yank away, or to tell Erwin to let him go.

But Erwin couldn’t do that, not now, not now that he’d broken. To touch Levi had felt like an impossibility. To stop now was worse, and it was reflexive when he pulled Levi to him, free hand lifting to catch his jaw, lead him where Erwin wanted him to go.

For a long time-- or what felt like a long time-- he didn’t think.

When he did finally regain control of enough neurons to form a single thought, the fuzzy, dream-like realization was painfully simple-- that Levi used cinnamon mouthwash.

Erwin knew that, actually. He knew that because he’d sent people to the drug store before, to pick some up if Levi forgot his own, or ran out, or the hotel didn’t carry what he liked. Toothpaste too, not just the mouthwash. Everything cinnamon. Erwin knew that.

But there was a difference, a profound difference between knowing that, and knowing it, like this, tasting it and connecting that sense with the hypothetical that he’d never fully let himself consider except for one time, when it was three in the morning and he was tired and somehow he was the one staring at the toothpaste aisle and wondering how even the most menial tasks took on new meaning when he was doing them for Levi.

And then it was like every electrical pulse in his brain went off all at once and awareness crackled all around him and they were-- this was more than kissing, it was--

Levi put his hand on the keyboard and the loud, cacophonous crash made them both jump but just as Erwin started to pull back, reflexively, Levi followed him, refused to break. The piano clamoured again-- Levi pushing himself into Erwin’s lap, so Erwin had to tilt his head all the way back. Levi put his hand in Erwin’s hair, grabbed the biggest fistful he could and kept Erwin’s head locked in position, and only then did he close the kiss, lift away and peer down his pert little nose. His eyes reminded Erwin of moonlight-- or maybe moonlight behind a cloud. Silver-gray and sharp and cold.

Erwin thought maybe he should say something, but there were no words that could encapsulate the feeling in his chest, and the way he knew he was looking at Levi. They’d never really needed to say much anyway. Hadn’t Erwin said-- we understand each other.

And the thing was-- Levi was looking back. He was breathing hard, little puffs of cinnamon against Erwin’s lips, and the sharp, dangerous glint in his eye was different too, was-- inviting. Or maybe taunting.

Reality had temporarily suspended itself. Erwin had forgotten why he was here, that Mike was outside, and that a very small army of paparazzi was waiting on Levi’s front lawn.

Which meant that Erwin-- both of them really-- didn’t have the time Erwin wished they had to enjoy this, to watch it all slowly shift into focus.

Erwin stood up, hands moving to catch under Levi’s hips, and since he gave no warning, Levi let go of Erwin’s hair and thrust his hands back reflexively to catch himself.

The piano jangled in the confusion, Levi’s hands, hips, heels, all catching the keyboard in a quick clattering jumble.

There was an unfortunate crack-- the wooden filigreed music stand that Erwin quickly shoved to the floor, and neither of them otherwise acknowledged. And then Erwin had him where he wanted him, hips balanced on the top of the piano, with his legs wrapped around Erwin’s waist.

He’d. Wrapped his legs around Erwin’s waist.

Christ, how had he let it get this bad? He’d pretended and ignored so much and why, exactly?

Because he hadn’t thought Levi-- and if he’d done the mature, emotionally healthy thing and actually let himself feel-- he’d have resigned. There wouldn’t have been another option, not-- he couldn’t pine after a client, and he certainly couldn’t come onto one and--

There was only so long a man could ignore the crack in the dam before he had a flood on his hands.

Levi was so quiet. Erwin tasted the curve of his jaw and the pulse in his throat and pressed his lips over the tiny little asymmetrical knot in his collarbone, where Erwin knew-- because he knew everything there was to know about Levi-- that Levi had broken it fifteen years ago when the equipment he’d been using for a movie stunt had malfunctioned.

The only sounds he made were air. Erwin read him other ways. His nails digging into Erwin’s scalp. The way he’d thrown his head back, chin turned so Erwin could reach his neck. His heels pressing into the small of Erwin’s back.

Erwin still hadn’t said a word to him. What was there to say?

Erwin had one arm wrapped around Levi, and he was pulling at Levi’s underwear with the other before he could let himself think twice about it. Levi huffed, and wriggled, and lifted his head up off the piano, so that when Erwin looked at him to see-- to see if he was okay, to be sure this was-- their eyes met. Erwin hadn’t been expecting that, and it ran through him like an electric shock.

It froze Erwin just long enough to wonder if he should stop, if they should enjoy this moment in a more meandering fashion, leisurely and luxurious.

Levi narrowed his eyes and he put his legs over Erwin’s shoulders. When Erwin leaned forward, Levi’s heels slid down his back, the rasp of his skin against Erwin’s blue cotton dress shirt inexplicably loud.

Erwin had never wanted to taste someone quite as badly as he did in this moment. He almost closed his eyes when he did, when he pressed his lips over the flushed head of Levi’s cock, like Levi was some decadent dessert and Erwin was breaking a fast.

But if he’d done that-- retreated into his own head and reveled in his own enjoyment-- he would have missed the way Levi’s eyes rolled back and his mouth fell open before he let his head fall between his shoulder blades and breathed a long, low, shuddering, “Fuck.”

Some strange, contrary part of Erwin’s brain tried to make this seem impossible, outlandish, that he had his lips wrapped around Levi motherfucking Ackerman’s cock and they were doing it on his fucking grand piano no less-- but--

Levi was just Levi. Nevermind that Erwin had been seeing him on TV and in movies since he was a kid, and had even attended a concert or two before he got into this business himself. There was a disconnect between the man Levi was when he was out there and the man Erwin actually knew. The man Levi really was.

Levi had been holding himself up on his elbows, watching Erwin since Erwin started pulling down his underwear. But now, he thumped back down heavily enough to make the piano echo. He put his hands back in Erwin’s hair, and there was a sudden synchronicity between them, between the way Erwin pulled and the miniscule motions of his head, and the way Levi tugged at Erwin’s hair, directed him, and lifted his hips in short, desperate little jerks.

Like they’d done this before. A thousand times before.

Like they understood each other.

Another day, another circumstance, and Erwin would have made him wait for it. Would have pulled back and teased and licked and luxuriated in Levi’s soft, spit-slick skin, and coaxed Levi along with the tips of his fingers and a promise of more, always more.

There was no time for that now, though. They had already been here for too long.

So Erwin listened for those sharp, desperate breaths, listened for the tiny, unconscious sounds he made that were too soft and short to be called moans, but that were certainly more than just air. Followed those nameless sounds until they became curses and Levi was pulling Erwin’s hair so hard, Erwin almost had to fight to keep his rhythm. He followed them until he heard Levi suck in a harsh, frantic breath and when he released it the deep, vibrating bass in his voice was almost musical.

Erwin was so enraptured, so caught up in the taste of him and all the different ways he felt against Erwin’s body, he almost missed it-- that that breathy, tremulous sound he made when he came had been wrapped around Erwin’s name.

Erwin curled his tongue, hollowed his cheeks, swallowed Levi back just a moment too long, made Levi shiver and curse and push him away with his foot flat against Erwin’s shoulder.

Erwin felt almost dizzy when he finally let himself relax, realized he’d been so focused on Levi, on following all his subtle little cues that he’d forgotten to breath-- or at least that he probably needed more breath than normal, given the level of exertion involved here.

Or maybe he just needed to work more cardio into his morning workout.

He was smiling though, breathing hard through his nose and watching Levi’s chest rise and fall. He looked so good like this, spread out across this piano, Erwin wondered why no one had ever thought to photograph him like this before.

And then he thought that was good. Because that meant this was only for him. For the two of them together.

“Say something, you shithead,” Levi snapped, lifting his head, but not moving much at all beyond that. Erwin had his hands wrapped around Levi’s waist, one thumb rubbing at the skin over his hip bone.

He pulled Levi to him, urged him down off the piano and momentarily into Erwin’s arms before his feet hit the floor.

“All declarations of love and everlasting adoration will have to wait,” Erwin told him curtly, blushing a little when he heard the low, grating hoarseness of his own voice. “Mike is outside and so are about ten paparazzi, last I checked.”

“Oh, motherfuck--”

Erwin tugged Levi’s underpants back up. He was, unfortunately, completely unwilling to let Levi go however, a fact that Levi very quickly noticed because Erwin was just sitting there, on the piano bench, holding Levi by the hips, the band of his underwear.

Levi licked his lips. “Did you say--”

“Yes.”

Levi kissed him, hard and fierce and very short, and when he broke away, he said, “Tell Mike to come inside.”

He slithered out of Erwin’s grip then, and made for the door.

“You want--”

“Yeah, yeah, tell him to get in here!”

Levi disappeared-- presumably upstairs-- and Erwin, bemused and not at all in the mood to question or argue anything Levi told him to do-- texted Mike.

A short moment later, he heard the front door open (the security system helpfully announced ‘Front door’), and the sound of Mike’s heavy footsteps echoed down the hallway.

It wasn’t until Erwin actually saw Mike that he stopped to consider-- Erwin's hair was mussed, his shirt was half untucked and his tie was loose and crooked, and the sheet music and the broken music stand were on the floor.

Mike paused in the doorway, looked at Erwin, sitting in a daze on the piano bench, and said very slowly, “Uh huh.”

Erwin blinked and tried to neaten his hair.

They both looked up in abject horror when they heard the robotic voice of the security system proclaim, “Balcony door.”

Both of them raced out of the piano room, down the hallway, up the stairs, and into to Levi’s bedroom just in time to see him, dressed only in a pair of jeans, lean out over the balcony railing that looked down into his front yard.

There was a very loud splash, a series of outraged shouts, and then Levi said loudly, “Condom water balloon, bitch. Get the fuck off my lawn.”

He had an actual bucket by his feet, and Erwin and Mike stood very still as he reached down and hauled out an oversized, misshapen water balloon, took very careful aim, and dropped it. The resultant shrieks told Erwin Levi had certainly hit his mark.

“Should we stop him?” Mike asked, brimming with amusement.

“And be seen in his bedroom?” Erwin muttered.

“Did he just have those already?”

“I imagine so,” Erwin said. “He was only up here for a few minutes.”

“Long enough to get dressed?” Mike asked slyly.

“I will fire you.”

Mike just crossed his arms over his chest and watched Levi fling a few more ‘balloons.’

When he was finished, he whirled on his heel and stomped back inside, eyes on Erwin. Like they always were.

“Hope you ruined a few cameras,” Mike said.

“Did,” Levi said, rather viciously.

No one else said anything, and when the silence became very obvious, as did the fact that Levi and Erwin were still just staring at one another, Mike said very loudly, “Right. Hey, boss, you care if I raid your fridge? I skipped breakfast.”

“Go for it,” Levi replied, deadpan and droll, as if nothing at all substantial was happening.

Mike turned on his heel and strolled away, whistling a little.

When the whistling faded from earshot, Levi said, “What are we gonna do? You wanna tweet something or some shit?”

Erwin shook his head. “No. Don’t say anything.”

“Serious?”

“It’ll blow over in a few days,” Erwin told him.

Besides, what would they say? That Hoover had lied, but in the telling it had come true? There was no truth and no lie that fit. There was no affair. But to deny one felt even more false, felt like shame and deception and hiding and none of those things fit around Erwin’s feelings for Levi.

“Yeah,” Levi said a little uncertainly. His cheeks were pink, and the tip of his nose. Erwin never saw Levi uncertain. It made him remember that this thing, this thing that had rushed up and swallowed him whole, it was new and parts of it were tenuous and fragile, like all new things were.

Erwin said, “Levi, would you let me take you to dinner?”

Levi’s eyes went almost comically wide, and he said, “Shi-- really?”

Erwin nodded.

“They’ll see us.”

Erwin said, “Let them look.”