Yes. No hesitation, no hedging, no room for misinterpretation. Nothing but unequivocal desire. Yes, a demand spoken into the tiny space that separates them, Eren's breath hot against Reiner's spit-slick lips. Just yes.
If only it were so easy to convince Eren to agree to other things. If only Reiner could believe he'd convinced Eren at all. But he knows better, even like this, with his hand tangled in Eren's hair and their hands wrapped around each other's cocks. There are precious few people who can change Eren's mind once he's set his course; if Reiner was ever among that number, he set fire to that honor atop Wall Rose.
Then Eren makes another sound, quiet and needy and perfect, his thumb rubbing over Reiner's tip, and Reiner can't think. Can hardly even breathe. Can't imagine anything better than that tiny noise, so much sweeter than he could've dreamed. Did touching Reiner elicit that sound? Weren't they screaming at each other just a few weeks ago? How long ago was that moment for Eren, trapped in trees while severed limbs steamed, Eren's hatred boiling between them, Reiner somehow managing to outshout him?
Later, Reiner will wonder what changed during that time. He'll wonder what happened between them; he'll wonder how Eren knows about Marley; he'll wonder how Eren survived to turn twenty. He'll have a thousand questions that he'll wish he asked, that he'll want to ask.
But right now, there's no room for anything but Eren, his yes still thrumming in Reiner's veins, filling him with the same pure, exhilarating sense of purpose that courses through him when he slices his palm and lets the Armored take hold. He curses, a choked out "fuck" that thoroughly sabotages any chance he might've had at playing unaffected. But truthfully, he knows he could never pull off such an act. Eren Jaeger has gotten under his armor from the day they met.
He hesitates for approximately a quarter of a second, debating whether to release Eren's hair or cock, vaguely wishing he had an extra hand. Then he tightens his grip on Eren's hair, tugging his head back just a little.
"Wet these for me," Reiner says—orders, more like—dragging his index and middle finger over Eren's chin, pressing them against his lips.
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If only it were so easy to convince Eren to agree to other things. If only Reiner could believe he'd convinced Eren at all. But he knows better, even like this, with his hand tangled in Eren's hair and their hands wrapped around each other's cocks. There are precious few people who can change Eren's mind once he's set his course; if Reiner was ever among that number, he set fire to that honor atop Wall Rose.
Then Eren makes another sound, quiet and needy and perfect, his thumb rubbing over Reiner's tip, and Reiner can't think. Can hardly even breathe. Can't imagine anything better than that tiny noise, so much sweeter than he could've dreamed. Did touching Reiner elicit that sound? Weren't they screaming at each other just a few weeks ago? How long ago was that moment for Eren, trapped in trees while severed limbs steamed, Eren's hatred boiling between them, Reiner somehow managing to outshout him?
Later, Reiner will wonder what changed during that time. He'll wonder what happened between them; he'll wonder how Eren knows about Marley; he'll wonder how Eren survived to turn twenty. He'll have a thousand questions that he'll wish he asked, that he'll want to ask.
But right now, there's no room for anything but Eren, his yes still thrumming in Reiner's veins, filling him with the same pure, exhilarating sense of purpose that courses through him when he slices his palm and lets the Armored take hold. He curses, a choked out "fuck" that thoroughly sabotages any chance he might've had at playing unaffected. But truthfully, he knows he could never pull off such an act. Eren Jaeger has gotten under his armor from the day they met.
He hesitates for approximately a quarter of a second, debating whether to release Eren's hair or cock, vaguely wishing he had an extra hand. Then he tightens his grip on Eren's hair, tugging his head back just a little.
"Wet these for me," Reiner says—orders, more like—dragging his index and middle finger over Eren's chin, pressing them against his lips.