Eren's eyes hold onto Reiner, pinning him, wide and vibrant and so intense, he wonders how he never got lost in them before. It would be easy to fall into those eyes, easy to crumple beneath that gaze that seems to see straight through him. It's exhilarating. Terrifying. Eren knows what Reiner has done—all the people he's killed, all the lies he's told, all the suffering he's inflicted—yet those eyes remain locked on him. Seeing him.
If Reiner had any sense in his brain, he'd shy away from those eyes. If his fight-or-flight instinct weren't so broken, he'd recoil from the danger. Instead, Reiner twists his fingers in that long, lovely hair, tugging Eren's head back. Trying to kiss the place on Eren's neck where that damned raindrop lingered, the dip where Eren's pulse beats just beneath the skin.
His fingers find what they seek, brushing gently over Eren's hole. Circling, teasing, if only for a moment. Reiner can't do it for as long as he'd like to, considering their makeshift lubricant: spit dries too quickly at the best of times. But there's a hint of a tease. A hint that if circumstances were different, Reiner would enjoy dragging this part out.
Next time.
Reiner's fingers are much like the rest of him: strong, thick, and warmer than they ought to be. They press firmly, his wrist flexing, forefinger finding just the right angle—
"Eren…"
Sighed out like a promise, a prayer, as his finger presses into that heat. So much hotter than any ordinary human. So much like it feels it should be, deep in Reiner's heart. So much like home.
He moves more quickly than he probably should, pressing in farther before he feels Eren's body relax, possibly blurring the line of "too much." It's something he does with himself all the time, an impulse he doesn't think to curb at this moment.
no subject
If Reiner had any sense in his brain, he'd shy away from those eyes. If his fight-or-flight instinct weren't so broken, he'd recoil from the danger. Instead, Reiner twists his fingers in that long, lovely hair, tugging Eren's head back. Trying to kiss the place on Eren's neck where that damned raindrop lingered, the dip where Eren's pulse beats just beneath the skin.
His fingers find what they seek, brushing gently over Eren's hole. Circling, teasing, if only for a moment. Reiner can't do it for as long as he'd like to, considering their makeshift lubricant: spit dries too quickly at the best of times. But there's a hint of a tease. A hint that if circumstances were different, Reiner would enjoy dragging this part out.
Next time.
Reiner's fingers are much like the rest of him: strong, thick, and warmer than they ought to be. They press firmly, his wrist flexing, forefinger finding just the right angle—
"Eren…"
Sighed out like a promise, a prayer, as his finger presses into that heat. So much hotter than any ordinary human. So much like it feels it should be, deep in Reiner's heart. So much like home.
He moves more quickly than he probably should, pressing in farther before he feels Eren's body relax, possibly blurring the line of "too much." It's something he does with himself all the time, an impulse he doesn't think to curb at this moment.