Work Text:
Erwin stared blankly at the washing machine, then kicked the basket of laundry over in frustration. Storming upstairs, he went to get himself a shot glass and a bottle of whisky, before storming back down, leaning on the wall and glaring daggers at the soap. None of the machines were starting, the water refused to fill, and as he downed his first shot, the whole system gurgled weakly as though it was going to die. He hiccoughed, set the glass down angrily and nudged the dirty, scratch that, filthy, clothes together into a pile.
Even though he was pissed, he knew he had to get the laundry at least started before Levi got back an hour later, otherwise he would skin him alive. So, begrudgingly, he poured himself another drink, and stomped back upstairs, the amber-clear liquid sloshing dangerously.
He paced in circles, kicking out at something every few minutes in his tantrum. Finally, he dug under the sink and dug out some gloves, some sponges, and some dish soap, the last one not so much because he needed it as he just wanted to.
How the fuck he gets this done every week, I have no idea, Erwin thought angrily. He had his equipment clenched tightly in his left hand as he went down again, and a toolbox balanced dangerously under the other arm. The now empty glass was stuck to his face as he inhaled desperately trying to keep it stuck to his face until his hands were free.
After half an hour of whacking vaguely in the direction of the pipes with the wrench, the only thing Erwin had successfully managed to do was cover himself in grease and dish soap, and overall become thoroughly fed up.
Annoyed, he caved to his temper and hit the side of the machine with a well placed kick. All that did though was hurt his foot.
Swearing loudly and clutching his foot, he hopped backwards. Suddenly, surprisingly, the washer sputtered to life and began to fill itself with water as Erwin watched astonished.
"Was that so difficult?" he muttered under his breath, before he began to toss clothes haphazardly into it. He paused however, when he pulled a stained cravat out of the pile, a smile trickling onto his face
The temptation was too much.
Levi got home early that day.
"Erwin?" he called out. "I'm home!"
There was no response.
"Weird," he murmured to himself. "Maybe he's still doing the laundry." He put down his bags on the kitchen table, and walked curtly down the stairs, an eerie creaking echoing behind him. For some reason he was strangely uncomfortable. He paused at the door to the laundry room, listening to the thump thump of the machines, before inhaling and pushing it open.
He stopped dead once he saw what was happening inside.
The whole place was a mess, clothes and soap and water everywhere, as if a Mr. Clean hurricane had hit the place. That wasn't even why he really froze though; the real reason was perched on a toolbox in the middle of the room, covered in oil or something just as slimy, and holding a monkey wrench, all dressed in his clothes. There was an empty bottle of some sort on the drying machine, and one of his spare cravats was tied sloppily around his neck. Even sloppy was a generous term, it looked as though Erwin had gotten in a violent fight with a dishtowel that was now trying to asphyxiate him.
Silence stretched between them as they stared at one another; the only sound was the metallic clang of the wrench hitting the floor.
"It's not what it looks like..?" Erwin tried, before he flinched at Levi's expression. Levi picked up the bottle and stared at the label.
It was expensive whisky, and there wasn't a drop of it left either.
"Were you drinking this straight?" he asked, holding up the bottle.
"Maybe," Erwin replied, his eyes crinkling unhappily again. "I thought the door was locked," he explained lamely.
Levi looked him up and down, before grinning mischievously. The lock clicked behind him as he advanced towards Erwin, undoing the cravat from his neck and tugging off his shirt.
"It is now," he grinned. "These clothes look filthy. Here, let me help you out of them."