Eren hasn't screamed at anyone in awhile, really. He can't remember the last time he bothered yelling, which is…wild, for someone like him, filled to bursting with emotion, prone to fly off about every little thing. Maybe at Hange in that jail cell, so long ago, before Folkmore, before coming here, before everything felt so fucking surreal. What he's doing now combined with the memory bleedover from the metal titans is like opening Pandora's box on his emotions, something he can't recover from properly. Maybe he'll remember how to laugh again, or how to cry, or how to scream. He's…sort of getting there. It's been a year since he's been home.
Five years or something like that since he was screaming at Reiner. The last time he saw Reiner face to face, as a human being, he wasn't screaming at all.
He also sure as hell wasn't making sounds like this, holding on to Reiner like he needs him. If he hates himself about this later, fine, what does he care. He hates himself for a million much worse things. There are worse betrayals that usually felt worse.
Reiner says fuck like that, just as unbidden as when Eren did, and Eren's eyes close again. He won't keep them closed; he can't stay in the present as easily, but it's a lot! Sensation and sound and his swirling thoughts are a lot. To think he could have this much effect on someone, on Reiner of all people, someone who should hate him, someone who probably does hate him. It's strange how that feels like power, like victory, like something he wants to chase.
Eren's eyes squeeze shut a little tighter at that tug in his hair, teeth against his bottom lip for a moment, the little tells he has no idea he has. He immediately misses Reiner's other hand on him, hips pressing forward as much as they're able to. He's always been impatient, demanding, unreasonable. Those things, at least, haven't changed much.
He says Reiner's name again, hardly realising it. His eyes open again at Reiner's words. He wants to argue or say something else mean just to recover here a little…
No. No he doesn't. If he wanted to do that, he'd just do it. What he wants, he can't have, but he'll settle for doing as he's told for once in his damn life. It will get him closer.
He opens his mouth and sucks Reiner's fingers past his lips, tongue swirling over them. Of course he bites down a little, unable to not be a brat, unable to keep from pushing. The whole thing is probably more obscene than it needs to be, the way he looks at Reiner from under his lashes, face flushed and eyes a little glassy, tongue moving over and between the fingers in his mouth once he lets up with his teeth.
Eren's hips jerk forward, pressing toward a touch that Reiner had to withdraw. It's endearing, in a way—as much as something that makes Reiner burn inside, half-delirious with lust can be called "endearing." Automatically, Reiner shifts his stance, pressing his thigh more firmly between Eren's legs. His thigh isn't as good as his hand, but at least it'll provide some friction, some semblance of relief.
It's a kindness. One that Reiner shouldn't give his enemy. One that he doesn't question before bestowing. He barely even notices he's done it, too accustomed to looking after the people he cares about—looking after Eren—willfully ignorant to his own contradictions. He'll chop off Eren's limbs if he has to, but he won't leave Eren hard and aching without some small comfort.
Then his fingers slide past Eren's lips, sucked into a willing mouth, skin scraped and nipped by blunt teeth. Reiner thought he knew what it would feel like: a quick, cursory wetting, erotic but entirely manageable, a mere prelude to other things. Trust him to underestimate Eren again.
Reiner doesn't curse as Eren looks up at him, green eyes dark beneath lowered lashes, teeth teasing before that hot tongue moves, licking and caressing every centimeter of Reiner's skin. Cursing would require more brainpower than Reiner currently has, his thoughts short-circuiting, his grasp of language failing. All he can manage is a noise deep in his throat, too breathless to be called a groan, a hot flush staining high cheekbones.
He could come just from this. Just from the sight of Eren looking at him like that, sucking his fingers like they're a cock, face flushed, tongue utterly lewd. In some very distant corner of Reiner's mind, he knows he'll jerk off to this memory later; he doesn't even think he'll hate himself for it. Why would he? How could he, when Eren is so fucking gorgeous it hurts?
As it is, he's seriously considering altering his plan and putting Eren on his knees. But Reiner tries to be a man of his word. He thinks he is, for the most part, when he can be (which isn't a ringing endorsement, even to him). So he draws in a shaky breath, willing himself to stay the course. Reminding himself that there's always next time.
(There has to be a next time. He thinks he'll go even crazier if there isn't.)
"Eren," he murmurs when he can parse language again, the name falling from his lips too readily, too naturally, echoing the way his own name tumbles from Eren's. He moves his fingers a little, the shadow of a thrust that isn't subtle at all. "Look at you…"
He'll stay the course. But he can't stop himself from appreciating this moment, indulging just a little.
Eren makes a noise around Reiner's fingers, half moan and half whine, hips seeking friction against his thigh. It is a kindness, giving him something. He wonders if he could just come like this, work himself up enough, Reiner's fingers in his mouth, Reiner watching him like that, like he never wants to look away.
Maybe he could. That would be humiliating, but he's not sure he'd even care.
But no. He can hold off until he gets at least some of what he wants. He could drop to his knees, use his mouth for something else, choke on Reiner's cock instead. He could get himself off while he did that and it wouldn't be enough but it would be fine and he's definitely thinking about that now, the weight of Reiner's cock on his tongue instead of in his hand. Reiner thrusts his fingers into Eren's mouth and Eren sucks harder, moans a little around them without even meaning to. How did this get so out of his control? How is he so worked up from so little? Desperation isn't a good look, he thinks. (He's wrong.)
He finally lets Reiner's fingers drop out of his mouth, spit trailing down his chin. He doesn't care if he's a mess, not really.
"I want you," he says, unashamed. They've come this far, and honesty is something he knows can turn against him. It's something he'd use as a weapon as soon as he could if it would serve him to do so. But for as much of a liar as he's had to be, he's never liked lying, not to other people and not to himself. Like this, there's nothing worth lying about.
He tightens his hand on Reiner's cock for emphasis, not painfully, just enough. His hips move again against Reiner's leg. He bites his lip again before he says something stupid like please, but it's a near thing.
One of these days, Reiner might have the wherewithal to make Eren beg. He might set that as a goal, refusing to allow himself to indulge Eren until he hears please pass those lips. But Reiner is driven by action more often than not, striding forward regardless of the obstacles barring his way. He's a person who dives headfirst into danger, protecting his loved ones before his mind fully processes the risk. He'll leap before he looks, act before he can talk himself out of it.
Could he resist until he heard a "please"? Potentially. Could he restrain himself even if Eren said other things instead? Probably not.
Because it's hard enough to resist when Eren moans, the sound vibrating against Reiner's fingers, a mere hint at how incredible it would feel on his cock. Reiner's lips are parted, breath coming quickly despite himself, every ounce of his attention locked on Eren's face, Eren's body, Eren's heat. And as Eren says those words—I want you, spoken without shame—Reiner's remaining defenses crumble.
Pathetic, really, for the Armored Titan to collapse beneath the weight of someone wanting him. But Reiner is still human underneath it all. Isn't that why his mind tore itself to pieces?
Eren tightens his grip on Reiner's cock, and it's impossible to miss how much Reiner likes it: his hips jerk forward, fingers reflexively tugging Eren's hair, breath catching in a gasp. Another hint of masochism shining through, even if it doesn't quite touch the border of pain.
"Yeah, me too," he confesses, easily, readily, his voice better suited for the darkness of a bedroom than a trash-strewn alley. He's all but forgotten where they are, heedless of the people passing just beyond the pseudo-privacy of piled crates. He leans in, kissing Eren one more time, teeth catching those maddening lips (how can he resist?) as he runs his fingertips over Eren's throat, then down his body, careful not to wipe away the saliva Eren worked so hard to provide.
This would be easier if Eren's back were to him. However, Reiner dismisses that possibility before it even forms into a proper fantasy. There's no way in hell Eren will allow Reiner's teeth unfettered access to his nape (even if Reiner wants it, even if he'd lick and bite that sensitive skin so sweetly)—and besides, he wants to see Eren's face. So he hooks his thumb into Eren's waistband, tugging it down a little more before his hand slides beneath rain-damp fabric, fingers caressing the curve of Eren's ass.
"Raise your leg a little," he says. It's not the best angle for this, but Reiner has dealt with worse while pleasuring himself. He'll manage.
Even in his distracted state, Eren does note the way Reiner reacts, hand tighter in his hair, hips moving. He'll remember later. But he'd be the same, of course. In some ways, sensation is sensation; who cares if it hurts or doesn't? But in some ways it's more than that. Pain can be so good and if there aren't consequences, nothing permanent, they could push it so far. He's not a sadist, really; he's done enough of hurting people. But like this, he likes making people feel good, even someone he shouldn't enjoy being with. If that means pain, then…
Another time, though, when they aren't this close to fraying. Or when they are, but in a more private place. He would die before he did this back at the apartment (or so he thinks, but never say never, Eren), but there are plenty of places in Ellipsa that aren't alleyways, too. He's already moved on to the idea that this will happen again, if only because he wants it to. And he may not always get what he wants, but he's already proven to himself that he knows how to push Reiner's buttons.
Me too, Reiner says and it goes straight to both Eren's head and his cock. Just a few words can turn him into such a mess, and he didn't realise. The sick sort of kinship he feels for Reiner grants him this, maybe. No one could understand him the same. Sex with people who aren't from their world, who could not possibly understand what they've done, it's not quite this intense, this fraught.
He can overthink that later.
Reiner's fingers move down his throat and he almost leans his head back, some other damning thing to reveal about himself. But they're gone quickly enough that he doesn't have to. He can keep that weakness locked away for now.
Obviously he knew where this was going, so whatever he can do to accommodate, short of turning and facing the wall, he can do. The angle might not be the best but he doesn't want to let go, doesn't want to look away, doesn't want to lose those other points of contact. He moves his leg, lifting it up so Reiner's hand can slide down, granting him access. He shouldn't do this so easily, probably, all but begging an enemy to fuck him senseless in an alley. There's no shame left in him for it, though, only base need.
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.
Eren has no resistance to offer when Reiner tugs his head back. He can't keep his enjoyment from being obvious. Reiner's mouth on him again only makes it better. He could hurt him this way, sure, dig his teeth in somewhere bordering on dangerous. Eren doesn't think he will, but even if he did, wouldn't it feel good?
Reiner's fingers find his hole. There's a tease for awhile, and Eren squirms under it, needy and demanding though he doesn't say anything. Finally, finally, Reiner gives him what he asked for, the heat of his finger pushing into him, thicker than his own, hot in a way he isn't because it's different when it's someone else. He can't bite his lip hard enough to keep from making sound. He tries, but it's useless. He wants this and more; he would take and take until there was nothing left. It's not that he wouldn't give anything in return, but he would still take.
Reiner moves too fast for his body to adjust and he thinks he might come from that alone, the struggle of his body to accommodate, the way he can't figure out whether to push into the touch or pull away. Other lovers are too careful, though that's not really a complaint. This isn't entirely careless. It's just different.
Other people's hands also aren't quite as big, but that's not a complaint either.
He tightens his hand again because he knows Reiner enjoys it. It's payback, a little.
He's dimly aware that he's saying something, mostly nonsense, Reiner's name and fuck me and some disjointed words that don’t mean anything. Eren could fall apart from too much sensation, a fact he sort of knows about himself and stupidly forgot when this started. Oh well. He's hanging on passably, grounded in here and now in a way he isn't always.
Ultimately the desire to push into touch, rough or not, is what wins out. He definitely can't recover any upper hand he might have had but he finally does not care. He can care later. He can care next time. He can do a thousand things in various orders but right now all he can think of to do is move his hips as much as his tiny amount of leverage allows and move his hand on Reiner's cock, faster and more sure, no teasing, no exact art.
Some moments burn in Reiner's mind, seared into his memory even when his thoughts fracture, and he can't remember who or what he is. The noises Eren makes—the need, raw and unfiltered—may become one of them. Reiner drinks down those sounds like he's dying of thirst, greedy, desperate for more. Eren moaning, Eren demanding to be fucked, Eren saying his name. Eren wanting him despite everything, or maybe because of everything. Eren. Just Eren.
His teeth scrape against Eren's throat, an open-mouthed kiss that turns to a swipe of his tongue, tasting the rain on Eren's skin. Fuck, he wants to devour Eren, to leave him a drooling, glassy-eyed mess. It's a sick impulse, probably. Some twisted tangle of frustration and desire, remnants of screaming at each other while Bertolt and Ymir looked on. Maybe Reiner will forget it later. Or maybe it will haunt him, waking him from restless sleep, confused and hard and aching for the taste of Eren's skin.
Eren pushes back onto his finger, the hand on his cock tightening, then stroking quicker. The touch is confident, bold in a way that would make Reiner smile if he weren't so busy kissing Eren's neck. Reiner's hips jerk forward, thrusting shamelessly into Eren's grip. It's not a perfect rhythm, but it's perfect in its imperfection. It's something real, something desperate and genuine. Something Reiner can look back on and believe it wasn't a fantasy.
"You feel so good," he finds himself saying, words kissed into Eren's throat. He withdraws his finger slightly, then thrusts in again. Withdraws, then thrusts, his wrist flexing, finding a rhythm that mimics Eren's hand on his cock. "Fuck, Eren, you feel so good…"
He'd feel even better around Reiner's cock, hot and tight and so damn needy. He'd feel better with his wrists pinned to a mattress, legs spread wide around Reiner's hips, head thrown back in a moan. He'd feel so good stripped bare, hot skin against skin, no walls between them. And Reiner is mumbling something, a jumble of could and could've been, his finger curling, pressing, searching for that spot that makes him see stars.
Despite everything. Because of everything. It's both, in the end, some mixed up idea of understanding and connection, a blurred line of emotion that he can't quite set out, like the way he can't sort out time and events quite right anymore.
He should definitely move away from that scrape of teeth, but they're so far past that it's laughable. There's no away right now, only towards, only a further tilt of his head as much as he can with Reiner's hand and the wall behind him.
Reiner moves into his hand and he says something encouraging. He thinks it's out loud. Maybe it's just wordless sound. What's the difference at this point? His hand still moves, squeezing and releasing every now and then as he strokes Reiner's too hot cock. There's a sort of pace to it, a rhythm they fall into. It would be easier if they were actually fucking, their hips moving together, Reiner's cock in him and not just his hands. But this is good, so good, something he'll think of later too, maybe in the shower where it's (the same) easier to bite his lip hard enough to bleed, hard enough to muffle sound, to make sure the apartment's other occupant remains unaware of what he's doing.
He catches those bits of words. Could have.
He knows better. There was never any other way. Eren isn't responsible for the Marley Warriors coming to the island and wrecking the walls, but he doesn't think that could have changed either. They'd been racing towards the end since before they were born, the illusion of freedom that Eren still doesn't see as an illusion trapping all of them in its pull.
But could be...what a dangerous fucking idea that is. Actual freedom, the freedom to choose who they are and what they do, to understand one another, to be anything other than what they had to be before.
They won't have the rain next time, the need to touch. Maybe Reiner will know what he's done, what he will do, the next time they see each other. Maybe Reiner will hate him then.
Not that it matters. Even with that, there's still a next time for this in Eren's mind, with a bed (or a couch, or even a floor, something) and less clothes between them. If it's a bloody next time, not like he can complain.
He opens his mouth to say something but Reiner's hand moves deeper, finger curling just right, and words escape him. It really is just wordless sound this time, louder than he means to be. It's a miracle he keeps his hand moving. His other hand clenches on Reiner's shoulder. He doesn't care who hears.
He can't possibly last much longer like this. He thinks of shoving his hand back between them, touching himself like he's touching Reiner, but he...doesn't. He's still got Reiner's leg against him, the angle not quite enough on its own, but with everything else? He doesn't have the sense left to be embarrassed about it. If he comes largely untouched then fine, as long as he gets off at all.
What role the rain played in their first touch has fallen from Reiner's mind, erased save for that single drop that trailed down Eren's cheek and jaw, demanding that Reiner kiss it away. Maybe later, he'll recall events in more detail. Or maybe they'll remain lost, wiped away by Eren's soft demand, "do it" spurring Reiner forward in a way he can never erase.
A broken wall. A kiss in the rain. Strange how they feel so similar.
Reiner relishes the tilt of Eren's head, the implicit acceptance of what he desperately wants. His teeth scrape skin a little more firmly, but it's still not quite a bite. Still dancing along that knife's edge, daring Eren to fight back, half-hoping he does, half-hoping he doesn't. Maybe all Reiner wants is a reaction. Maybe he's intoxicated by the attention as much as by the fact that Eren wants him.
No, Eren wanting him definitely comes out on top. Digs into Reiner's mind and heart in a way that's far too dangerous, but he's helpless to stop. Too many crossed lines, too many crushed defenses. He'll pay for this later. Right now, he can't even care.
Then Eren makes that sound, fingers digging into Reiner's shoulder, and Reiner moans against Eren's neck, his cock throbbing, more precum staining the tip. Drags his lips higher as he whispers into Eren's ear.
"There it is," he all but purrs, victory singing in his blood. His fingertip massages that spot—deliberately, relentlessly, rubbing tiny circles as he nips Eren's earlobe, only easing off for a moment. Just long enough to nearly withdraw his finger, then start pushing in the second beside the first, hoping Eren's spit still makes it slick enough.
Eren, of course, doesn't fight Reiner's mouth on him. Maybe he could in some situation, but he doesn't have any fight in him at the moment. He just has need, so close and a little strung out with it, nerves lit up as Reiner's finger rubs against his prostate like that.
He makes a sound that becomes a protest, starting to move again, suddenly worried that Reiner is going to just stop. It would be a hell of a thing to do, wouldn't it, work him up and then walk away? But…no. Of the two of them, which of them is could manage to be that cruel? Not Reiner, surely.
And no, Reiner isn't actually denying him, not for long. There's a little resistance, maybe, because spit really isn't enough for this. But that's only for a moment, and if it hurts for that moment, all it does is make Eren want it more.
He had paused his hand for that second that he started to protest, but he goes back to it now, pushing his hips into Reiner's hand and stroking his cock again faster, sliding a thumb over the now slick head. All of this, the tension of it, Reiner's cock dripping for him, it's…exciting, really. That Reiner, who doesn't trust him, who has no idea what the future really holds, who sees them as enemies (they are, they have to be, they are so the same), can get this hard for him, can whisper in his ear like a lover…he feels almost drunk with that knowledge.
There are so many ways to have power over another person. Eren doesn't crave power for power's sake and never has, but…knowing the effect he can have on someone? Sure, he likes that. He can't help but like that.
As if he hasn't given away that same power.
"Fuck, I need—" he says, but even he's not sure what he's going to say. His hand slides from Reiner's shoulder back up his neck to the back of his head again, not quite high enough to tangle in his hair, just enough to keep him close. Too close, maybe, if there's such a thing as that left now.
He's worked himself up now as much as anything else, face flushed and eyes half-shut again, breath coming in gasps. Just a little more.
Spit really isn't enough for this, but it doesn't matter right now. Not to Eren, who makes that quiet (disarmingly cute) protest when Reiner's finger withdraws, then pushes himself down onto two. Not to Reiner, who curses as Eren's body squeezes around his fingers, hot and tight and so fucking perfect, he can't imagine asking for anything else.
No, that's a lie. Reiner can imagine asking for more. He can imagine asking for so many things, begging Eren to let him have more, to let him take more, greedy and desperate and drunk on it. Not just on Eren's body, but on Eren, in all his infuriating glory.
Eren's hand on his cock, thumb sliding over the too-sensitive head, Reiner fucking shamelessly into his grip. Eren's skin beneath his teeth, neck bared as though Reiner deserves such trust. Eren's hair tangled around his fingers, opening a whole new world of possibilities. Eren's voice, half-pleading, half-demanding. Eren's hand sliding up his shoulder, smoothing over his nape, holding him close. Eren needing him, if only for a moment.
This embrace will haunt Reiner later. It'll make that nameless something ache deep inside, tearing new holes in his already fractured psyche. But right now, it's perfect.
"I've got you," Reiner whispers, thoughtlessly, recklessly, lips against Eren's ear. He brushes a kiss against the lobe, then relinquishes his hold on Eren's hair. Drops his now-freed hand down, fingers wrapping around Eren's cock without preamble, squeezing it, stroking quickly.
It doesn't occur to Reiner to do anything else. Doesn't occur to him to make Eren finish that sentence, or to deprive Eren of what Reiner knows he needs. His first instinct is the same one that compelled him to reach out a hand and help Eren off the ground.
"Come on," he murmurs, taking care of Eren as best as he can. "Come on."
Reiner's hand finally moves out of Eren's hair, leaving Eren to just rest against the wall. But what he gets is better, at least in the moment, Reiner's hand on his cock, neglected for most of this time, dripping with need. Their clothes are both going to be a mess when they're done with this, but he's not thinking about that, and it never would have stopped him anyway.
The thing that will snag Eren later is Reiner's voice in his ear. I've got you. Somewhere in the midst of all of it, the years between them and the blood and horror and the animosity, he'd forgotten what Reiner was like when they met. He has no idea which version of Reiner is the real one, or if there is a real one, exactly. Reiner had been kind, compassionate, someone who was good at taking care of other people. This is that, isn't it? This bit of softness tangled up with whatever else they're doing.
Eren is so unused to softness. He hasn't let anyone care about him -- care for him -- in what feels like years.
That's the thing that does it, in the end, the thing that pushes him over the edge. Another time it would be blood and pain and all the things he can't get people to give him. Today it's this.
He comes with Reiner's name falling from his lips, body taut as a bow string, hips rocking into Reiner's touch. If he forgets where and when they are for a minute or two, that doesn't matter. He doesn't forget who he's with, and that seems more important right now.
A part of Reiner wishes—sharply, desperately—that Eren was laid out beneath him, not pressed against a wall. He wishes he could raise his head and watch as Eren comes, his cock still buried deep, Eren clenching around him as cum stains their bare abdomens. He wants to see it, burn it into his mind, one beautiful memory that might (just might) offset some of the horrible ones, helping to balance the scales. He wants to memorize Eren's face twisted in pleasure instead of rage; he wants to watch as he gives Eren something good instead of ripping away years of friendship.
Next time.
For now, this is enough. It's enough to feel Eren's body wind tighter and tighter, hips jerking and stuttering as he hits his peak, spilling between them. It's enough to hear Eren say his name, Reiner transformed from a curse to a benediction, searing itself into Reiner's memory. It's enough to know that he brought Eren this pleasure; it's enough to know that Eren needs him.
Reiner milks him through it, stroking Eren's cock and prostate until there's nothing left. Then he has the good sense to withdraw his fingers, squeezing Eren's ass instead, his other hand moving from Eren's cock to his own. It won't take much: just a few too-tight strokes, his breath unsteady against Eren's ear, gasping, whispering nonsense.
He comes with a shudder that wracks his frame, moaning, instinctively curling closer. His head drops, hot breath pressed to the place where neck joins shoulder, teeth scraping skin as a second shudder rips through him. Insensible, for the moment, lost in the sensation of their bodies pressed close, the scent of Eren filling his nose, pleasure buzzing through his being.
Eren makes noise practically the whole time, unable to keep his mouth shut, unable to just be quiet, too filled with need and sensation. Reiner works him over the whole time. He could keep going, push Eren harder, drag the sensation past where it would feel good. But he doesn't. True to his word (I've got you), he doesn't push it any further than he has to.
His hand joins Eren's on his cock but it doesn't take long at all.
Eren can count on one hand the times anyone has ever called him beautiful. Actually this is maybe the second time ever that he can recall. He would scoff or roll his eyes or try to play it off in another situation. After all of this, it makes his breath hitch. Reiner says his name the same way he says beautiful and Eren will pretend up and down for weeks that it doesn't affect him but it does. Damnit.
Eren holds on to Reiner's shoulder like a lifeline, like he's afraid he'll lose himself if he lets go (he might). For a long moment afterward they're just there like that, together, breathing. He should let go. He should move. He should…do anything, but he still doesn't. When they move, this will end, and they will be enemies again and who the fuck knows what else. For now, they can just be two boys, together in the rain, alive and breathing, undeserving of it but still here nonetheless.
It's a golden moment carved out of a slew of pain. One moment that isn't bloody or twisted; one moment that is simple, pure. And for the first time in a long time, Reiner doesn't ask who or what he is; he doesn't wonder how he's supposed to accomplish his mission (or how he will bear its weight); he doesn't feel the guilt, despair, and fear curling around his throat, choking him, trapping him, leaving him staggering forward, clutching any handhold he can find. He just … is.
He breathes deeply, his eyes closed, inhaling Eren's scent. Feeling the rain on his skin, more a mist now than a steady fall, pleasantly cool. Relishing all the places where he and Eren touch, their bodies still pressed close, their too-warm skin feeling normal, natural. Basking, for just one moment, in the hazy afterglow.
When Reiner finally moves, he doesn't think. Doesn't hesitate. He turns his head and presses his mouth to the side of Eren's neck, lips lingering in an unmistakable kiss. It's too soft for what they are, too sweet for what they have done (what they will do) to each other. He's acting on instinct again. Following his heart instead of his head.
Eren lets his eyes close again, not as worried about flipping his shit as he was twenty minutes ago. He's never exactly safe or stable or any of that, and he's under no delusions about it. But he's so in his body and here that it doesn't seem to be as big a deal at the moment.
When he can manage to unclench his hand, his fingers find their way back to Reiner's nape, not as a threat but because his neck is just close. Eren's touch there is as gentle as he ever is, just fingers on skin, intimacy they don't deserve and can't possibly hold on to.
What could they have been in another life? What could they have been if they even tried to understand each other? All the branching time that Eren has ever seen, and he's never known any of the what-ifs. It doesn't quite work like that. He's only really ever known an unchanging ending.
He really, really does not want to go home to their world. He thinks that often, but sometimes he's just very sure.
Reiner kisses him, softly, and he doesn't understand. This is easier if they're rough, fighting, that first taste of blood. This softness is unfamiliar and strange and he wants to hold onto it. If he holds too tight, surely it will slip away like sand, like everything else.
There's a moment where he considers doing the opposite, swinging the pendulum back so far that it damages any opportunity he has of doing this again, causing a fight because he does not know how to handle softness. But even Eren's cruelty has limits; his edges are dulled at least a little, because he doesn't want to lose this, the closest he's felt to anyone in…ages.
This is fucked up, he thinks. The closest he's felt to anyone isn't Mikasa or Jean or even Levi. It's Reiner. Maybe that's typical, though, all things considered. Reiner has no idea that just how alike they are and Eren decides that now, today, here, isn't the time to clue him in. Someday, probably.
"We shouldn't stay here," he says, softer than he even means to.
It was a threat before, that hand on Reiner's nape. A threat, a temptation, a taunt, a promise, simultaneously dangerous and irresistible. Now, it's … tender. Gentle. Intimate in a different way than it was before. Intimate in a way that twists that raw, jagged thing lodged in Reiner's chest, filling him with a sharp ache for something that can never be.
Why didn't Eren come with him that day? Why couldn't he have taken Eren home without any more bloodshed? Why couldn't they have this?
We shouldn't stay here. For so many reasons, they shouldn't stay here—the very least of which is some stranger stumbling upon them with their cocks out. But what happens when they move? What happens when Eren pulls his hand away, and Reiner stops kissing Eren's neck? What then?
For so many years, Reiner has worked toward a singular purpose: retrieve the Coordinate and return home. He chased Eren without even knowing it, then chased him more fiercely once he did. What does he do now that he can't knock Eren out and haul him back to Marley? Where does that leave them?
Like this, apparently. Holding each other. Speaking softly, touching gently.
If things were different, is this what they could've been?
Reiner squeezes his eyes shut, face still hidden in Eren's neck. He doesn't want to move. He doesn't want to leave. He wants to stay close, their bodies pressed together, the threat of violence temporarily abated. He wants to cradle Eren in his arms and comb his fingers through that long hair. He wants Eren to keep wanting him. He wants to just be.
Such naïve desires. So fucking stupid.
Reiner is the Armored Titan. He doesn't get to just be.
"… Yeah," Reiner agrees, lips still so close that they brush Eren's skin. Slowly, he moves: his thigh leaving its place between Eren's legs, his hand releasing its grip on Eren's ass, his lips withdrawing from Eren's neck. He shifts back maybe a half step, lingering but no longer pinning Eren to the wall. Then his hands go to his trousers, starting to put his soiled clothing back in order, his motions mechanical.
Maybe in another life they could have fought the world and its order together. Maybe in another life they could have understood one another sooner. Maybe. Maybe.
For now they have to settle for this, broken pieces they can alternately harm each other with or try not to harm each other with. Softness found in surprising places. The thought of what they could be if they weren't already something else, enemies, monsters, unforgivable.
Eren has long given up on the idea of life, of what comes after, because there is no after. There was only his terrible end, the end of the world and all its ills. Or not? What does he know? He hopes some of them survive it. He desperately wants them to, to give his insane actions some meaning. They have to live. But he can't.
For a few moments here, he almost contemplates it. This place. The after. The connections he has unwittingly cultivated with other people, ties he tried to sever and couldn't. Even Reiner doesn't only hate him. Even Reiner could be someone Eren would protect. He was once. Funny how everything always circles around again.
Naive as hell, that's right.
Reiner moves away, slowly, and Eren lets him. There's some reluctance in the way his own hands move, letting go or falling away. He has both feet on the ground again but it feels less steady somehow. They're both a mess (in many ways).
He looks down at his hands, his clothes.
He pulls off his shirt and uses that to clean up a little before he fastens his trousers again. Was that smart? Not at all, but it's not like he had a towel. Whatever. Levi probably won't be home and even if he is, is he really going to ask questions about why Eren rolled up missing a shirt? Unlikely.
But Eren isn't even considering that.
He holds his shirt out to Reiner. Better than nothing.
He doesn't trust himself to speak. He knows how he is. He'll ruin this shaky peace if he speaks.
Unstable, unsteady, broken pieces grinding like gravel, the awful desire for intimacy slowly slicing his insides. Reiner tries to ignore it. He's good at ignoring things. Good at pretending things are okay until he comes to terms with them or forgets his ills altogether. Good at carrying on, pressing forward no matter the circumstances. He can deal with wanting Eren, right? It's not so different from before, is it?
It is different. Eren moaning, gasping, touching him, kissing him, saying his name while coming—of course it's different. Reiner knows what Eren tastes like now. Knows the heat of his skin, the heat inside. That alone would be enough to change things. But that's not what hits hardest. That's not what hurts.
Eren removes his shirt, using it to clean himself. Reiner stares blankly at Eren's chest, all the bare skin he didn't have a chance to touch or taste. Will he get a chance later? They must get another chance, right?
Then Eren holds out his shirt like a bizarre peace offering. Reiner blinks at it, then wordlessly accepts it. Cleans himself off with those same mechanical motions. Fastens his trousers. Hands the shirt back. Raises his head.
That last act is a mistake.
His eyes meet Eren's, gold holding green. Reiner's throat tightens. He wants to lean in and kiss Eren again, starting this encounter anew. He wants to say thank you for the shirt. He wants to ask why and doesn't even know what he'd be asking about. He wants so much, and he can't have any of it.
In the end, Reiner gives Eren a nod, acknowledging all the things he can't say. Then he takes another step back, turns, and starts to leave, picking his way past the refuse.
It's different for Eren, too. As soon as he'd recognised Reiner, he'd planned something much different. This is better? Though whether it lasts is anyone's guess. He doesn't know if he wants it to last, but he wants this again. No, not this. More.
This is dangerous, he knows, the gap in knowledge and his own inability to root himself in time and Reiner's inability to remember which him he is. But danger has never been a deterrent for people like them.
He takes his shirt back, lifts his gaze.
There are so many words between them left unsaid. Eren's not sure where he'd start. A flood of lies? A flood of truth? That one is worse. Something in between? Likely.
He takes a breath but Reiner turns away and saves them both from whatever it is Eren might say. His hands clench in the soiled fabric so he doesn't do something absolutely idiotic like reach out again.
He watches for a long time after Reiner leaves, past and present melded like it always is, before he snaps out of it enough to also leave.
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dreamsofwings) wrote2020-11-19 01:04 pm
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Five years or something like that since he was screaming at Reiner. The last time he saw Reiner face to face, as a human being, he wasn't screaming at all.
He also sure as hell wasn't making sounds like this, holding on to Reiner like he needs him. If he hates himself about this later, fine, what does he care. He hates himself for a million much worse things. There are worse betrayals that usually felt worse.
Reiner says fuck like that, just as unbidden as when Eren did, and Eren's eyes close again. He won't keep them closed; he can't stay in the present as easily, but it's a lot! Sensation and sound and his swirling thoughts are a lot. To think he could have this much effect on someone, on Reiner of all people, someone who should hate him, someone who probably does hate him. It's strange how that feels like power, like victory, like something he wants to chase.
Eren's eyes squeeze shut a little tighter at that tug in his hair, teeth against his bottom lip for a moment, the little tells he has no idea he has. He immediately misses Reiner's other hand on him, hips pressing forward as much as they're able to. He's always been impatient, demanding, unreasonable. Those things, at least, haven't changed much.
He says Reiner's name again, hardly realising it. His eyes open again at Reiner's words. He wants to argue or say something else mean just to recover here a little…
No. No he doesn't. If he wanted to do that, he'd just do it. What he wants, he can't have, but he'll settle for doing as he's told for once in his damn life. It will get him closer.
He opens his mouth and sucks Reiner's fingers past his lips, tongue swirling over them. Of course he bites down a little, unable to not be a brat, unable to keep from pushing. The whole thing is probably more obscene than it needs to be, the way he looks at Reiner from under his lashes, face flushed and eyes a little glassy, tongue moving over and between the fingers in his mouth once he lets up with his teeth.
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It's a kindness. One that Reiner shouldn't give his enemy. One that he doesn't question before bestowing. He barely even notices he's done it, too accustomed to looking after the people he cares about—looking after Eren—willfully ignorant to his own contradictions. He'll chop off Eren's limbs if he has to, but he won't leave Eren hard and aching without some small comfort.
Then his fingers slide past Eren's lips, sucked into a willing mouth, skin scraped and nipped by blunt teeth. Reiner thought he knew what it would feel like: a quick, cursory wetting, erotic but entirely manageable, a mere prelude to other things. Trust him to underestimate Eren again.
Reiner doesn't curse as Eren looks up at him, green eyes dark beneath lowered lashes, teeth teasing before that hot tongue moves, licking and caressing every centimeter of Reiner's skin. Cursing would require more brainpower than Reiner currently has, his thoughts short-circuiting, his grasp of language failing. All he can manage is a noise deep in his throat, too breathless to be called a groan, a hot flush staining high cheekbones.
He could come just from this. Just from the sight of Eren looking at him like that, sucking his fingers like they're a cock, face flushed, tongue utterly lewd. In some very distant corner of Reiner's mind, he knows he'll jerk off to this memory later; he doesn't even think he'll hate himself for it. Why would he? How could he, when Eren is so fucking gorgeous it hurts?
As it is, he's seriously considering altering his plan and putting Eren on his knees. But Reiner tries to be a man of his word. He thinks he is, for the most part, when he can be (which isn't a ringing endorsement, even to him). So he draws in a shaky breath, willing himself to stay the course. Reminding himself that there's always next time.
(There has to be a next time. He thinks he'll go even crazier if there isn't.)
"Eren," he murmurs when he can parse language again, the name falling from his lips too readily, too naturally, echoing the way his own name tumbles from Eren's. He moves his fingers a little, the shadow of a thrust that isn't subtle at all. "Look at you…"
He'll stay the course. But he can't stop himself from appreciating this moment, indulging just a little.
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Maybe he could. That would be humiliating, but he's not sure he'd even care.
But no. He can hold off until he gets at least some of what he wants. He could drop to his knees, use his mouth for something else, choke on Reiner's cock instead. He could get himself off while he did that and it wouldn't be enough but it would be fine and he's definitely thinking about that now, the weight of Reiner's cock on his tongue instead of in his hand. Reiner thrusts his fingers into Eren's mouth and Eren sucks harder, moans a little around them without even meaning to. How did this get so out of his control? How is he so worked up from so little? Desperation isn't a good look, he thinks. (He's wrong.)
He finally lets Reiner's fingers drop out of his mouth, spit trailing down his chin. He doesn't care if he's a mess, not really.
"I want you," he says, unashamed. They've come this far, and honesty is something he knows can turn against him. It's something he'd use as a weapon as soon as he could if it would serve him to do so. But for as much of a liar as he's had to be, he's never liked lying, not to other people and not to himself. Like this, there's nothing worth lying about.
He tightens his hand on Reiner's cock for emphasis, not painfully, just enough. His hips move again against Reiner's leg. He bites his lip again before he says something stupid like please, but it's a near thing.
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Could he resist until he heard a "please"? Potentially. Could he restrain himself even if Eren said other things instead? Probably not.
Because it's hard enough to resist when Eren moans, the sound vibrating against Reiner's fingers, a mere hint at how incredible it would feel on his cock. Reiner's lips are parted, breath coming quickly despite himself, every ounce of his attention locked on Eren's face, Eren's body, Eren's heat. And as Eren says those words—I want you, spoken without shame—Reiner's remaining defenses crumble.
Pathetic, really, for the Armored Titan to collapse beneath the weight of someone wanting him. But Reiner is still human underneath it all. Isn't that why his mind tore itself to pieces?
Eren tightens his grip on Reiner's cock, and it's impossible to miss how much Reiner likes it: his hips jerk forward, fingers reflexively tugging Eren's hair, breath catching in a gasp. Another hint of masochism shining through, even if it doesn't quite touch the border of pain.
"Yeah, me too," he confesses, easily, readily, his voice better suited for the darkness of a bedroom than a trash-strewn alley. He's all but forgotten where they are, heedless of the people passing just beyond the pseudo-privacy of piled crates. He leans in, kissing Eren one more time, teeth catching those maddening lips (how can he resist?) as he runs his fingertips over Eren's throat, then down his body, careful not to wipe away the saliva Eren worked so hard to provide.
This would be easier if Eren's back were to him. However, Reiner dismisses that possibility before it even forms into a proper fantasy. There's no way in hell Eren will allow Reiner's teeth unfettered access to his nape (even if Reiner wants it, even if he'd lick and bite that sensitive skin so sweetly)—and besides, he wants to see Eren's face. So he hooks his thumb into Eren's waistband, tugging it down a little more before his hand slides beneath rain-damp fabric, fingers caressing the curve of Eren's ass.
"Raise your leg a little," he says. It's not the best angle for this, but Reiner has dealt with worse while pleasuring himself. He'll manage.
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Another time, though, when they aren't this close to fraying. Or when they are, but in a more private place. He would die before he did this back at the apartment (or so he thinks, but never say never, Eren), but there are plenty of places in Ellipsa that aren't alleyways, too. He's already moved on to the idea that this will happen again, if only because he wants it to. And he may not always get what he wants, but he's already proven to himself that he knows how to push Reiner's buttons.
Me too, Reiner says and it goes straight to both Eren's head and his cock. Just a few words can turn him into such a mess, and he didn't realise. The sick sort of kinship he feels for Reiner grants him this, maybe. No one could understand him the same. Sex with people who aren't from their world, who could not possibly understand what they've done, it's not quite this intense, this fraught.
He can overthink that later.
Reiner's fingers move down his throat and he almost leans his head back, some other damning thing to reveal about himself. But they're gone quickly enough that he doesn't have to. He can keep that weakness locked away for now.
Obviously he knew where this was going, so whatever he can do to accommodate, short of turning and facing the wall, he can do. The angle might not be the best but he doesn't want to let go, doesn't want to look away, doesn't want to lose those other points of contact. He moves his leg, lifting it up so Reiner's hand can slide down, granting him access. He shouldn't do this so easily, probably, all but begging an enemy to fuck him senseless in an alley. There's no shame left in him for it, though, only base need.
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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.
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Reiner's fingers find his hole. There's a tease for awhile, and Eren squirms under it, needy and demanding though he doesn't say anything. Finally, finally, Reiner gives him what he asked for, the heat of his finger pushing into him, thicker than his own, hot in a way he isn't because it's different when it's someone else. He can't bite his lip hard enough to keep from making sound. He tries, but it's useless. He wants this and more; he would take and take until there was nothing left. It's not that he wouldn't give anything in return, but he would still take.
Reiner moves too fast for his body to adjust and he thinks he might come from that alone, the struggle of his body to accommodate, the way he can't figure out whether to push into the touch or pull away. Other lovers are too careful, though that's not really a complaint. This isn't entirely careless. It's just different.
Other people's hands also aren't quite as big, but that's not a complaint either.
He tightens his hand again because he knows Reiner enjoys it. It's payback, a little.
He's dimly aware that he's saying something, mostly nonsense, Reiner's name and fuck me and some disjointed words that don’t mean anything. Eren could fall apart from too much sensation, a fact he sort of knows about himself and stupidly forgot when this started. Oh well. He's hanging on passably, grounded in here and now in a way he isn't always.
Ultimately the desire to push into touch, rough or not, is what wins out. He definitely can't recover any upper hand he might have had but he finally does not care. He can care later. He can care next time. He can do a thousand things in various orders but right now all he can think of to do is move his hips as much as his tiny amount of leverage allows and move his hand on Reiner's cock, faster and more sure, no teasing, no exact art.
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His teeth scrape against Eren's throat, an open-mouthed kiss that turns to a swipe of his tongue, tasting the rain on Eren's skin. Fuck, he wants to devour Eren, to leave him a drooling, glassy-eyed mess. It's a sick impulse, probably. Some twisted tangle of frustration and desire, remnants of screaming at each other while Bertolt and Ymir looked on. Maybe Reiner will forget it later. Or maybe it will haunt him, waking him from restless sleep, confused and hard and aching for the taste of Eren's skin.
Eren pushes back onto his finger, the hand on his cock tightening, then stroking quicker. The touch is confident, bold in a way that would make Reiner smile if he weren't so busy kissing Eren's neck. Reiner's hips jerk forward, thrusting shamelessly into Eren's grip. It's not a perfect rhythm, but it's perfect in its imperfection. It's something real, something desperate and genuine. Something Reiner can look back on and believe it wasn't a fantasy.
"You feel so good," he finds himself saying, words kissed into Eren's throat. He withdraws his finger slightly, then thrusts in again. Withdraws, then thrusts, his wrist flexing, finding a rhythm that mimics Eren's hand on his cock. "Fuck, Eren, you feel so good…"
He'd feel even better around Reiner's cock, hot and tight and so damn needy. He'd feel better with his wrists pinned to a mattress, legs spread wide around Reiner's hips, head thrown back in a moan. He'd feel so good stripped bare, hot skin against skin, no walls between them. And Reiner is mumbling something, a jumble of could and could've been, his finger curling, pressing, searching for that spot that makes him see stars.
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He should definitely move away from that scrape of teeth, but they're so far past that it's laughable. There's no away right now, only towards, only a further tilt of his head as much as he can with Reiner's hand and the wall behind him.
Reiner moves into his hand and he says something encouraging. He thinks it's out loud. Maybe it's just wordless sound. What's the difference at this point? His hand still moves, squeezing and releasing every now and then as he strokes Reiner's too hot cock. There's a sort of pace to it, a rhythm they fall into. It would be easier if they were actually fucking, their hips moving together, Reiner's cock in him and not just his hands. But this is good, so good, something he'll think of later too, maybe in the shower where it's (the same) easier to bite his lip hard enough to bleed, hard enough to muffle sound, to make sure the apartment's other occupant remains unaware of what he's doing.
He catches those bits of words. Could have.
He knows better. There was never any other way. Eren isn't responsible for the Marley Warriors coming to the island and wrecking the walls, but he doesn't think that could have changed either. They'd been racing towards the end since before they were born, the illusion of freedom that Eren still doesn't see as an illusion trapping all of them in its pull.
But could be...what a dangerous fucking idea that is. Actual freedom, the freedom to choose who they are and what they do, to understand one another, to be anything other than what they had to be before.
They won't have the rain next time, the need to touch. Maybe Reiner will know what he's done, what he will do, the next time they see each other. Maybe Reiner will hate him then.
Not that it matters. Even with that, there's still a next time for this in Eren's mind, with a bed (or a couch, or even a floor, something) and less clothes between them. If it's a bloody next time, not like he can complain.
He opens his mouth to say something but Reiner's hand moves deeper, finger curling just right, and words escape him. It really is just wordless sound this time, louder than he means to be. It's a miracle he keeps his hand moving. His other hand clenches on Reiner's shoulder. He doesn't care who hears.
He can't possibly last much longer like this. He thinks of shoving his hand back between them, touching himself like he's touching Reiner, but he...doesn't. He's still got Reiner's leg against him, the angle not quite enough on its own, but with everything else? He doesn't have the sense left to be embarrassed about it. If he comes largely untouched then fine, as long as he gets off at all.
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A broken wall. A kiss in the rain. Strange how they feel so similar.
Reiner relishes the tilt of Eren's head, the implicit acceptance of what he desperately wants. His teeth scrape skin a little more firmly, but it's still not quite a bite. Still dancing along that knife's edge, daring Eren to fight back, half-hoping he does, half-hoping he doesn't. Maybe all Reiner wants is a reaction. Maybe he's intoxicated by the attention as much as by the fact that Eren wants him.
No, Eren wanting him definitely comes out on top. Digs into Reiner's mind and heart in a way that's far too dangerous, but he's helpless to stop. Too many crossed lines, too many crushed defenses. He'll pay for this later. Right now, he can't even care.
Then Eren makes that sound, fingers digging into Reiner's shoulder, and Reiner moans against Eren's neck, his cock throbbing, more precum staining the tip. Drags his lips higher as he whispers into Eren's ear.
"There it is," he all but purrs, victory singing in his blood. His fingertip massages that spot—deliberately, relentlessly, rubbing tiny circles as he nips Eren's earlobe, only easing off for a moment. Just long enough to nearly withdraw his finger, then start pushing in the second beside the first, hoping Eren's spit still makes it slick enough.
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He makes a sound that becomes a protest, starting to move again, suddenly worried that Reiner is going to just stop. It would be a hell of a thing to do, wouldn't it, work him up and then walk away? But…no. Of the two of them, which of them is could manage to be that cruel? Not Reiner, surely.
And no, Reiner isn't actually denying him, not for long. There's a little resistance, maybe, because spit really isn't enough for this. But that's only for a moment, and if it hurts for that moment, all it does is make Eren want it more.
He had paused his hand for that second that he started to protest, but he goes back to it now, pushing his hips into Reiner's hand and stroking his cock again faster, sliding a thumb over the now slick head. All of this, the tension of it, Reiner's cock dripping for him, it's…exciting, really. That Reiner, who doesn't trust him, who has no idea what the future really holds, who sees them as enemies (they are, they have to be, they are so the same), can get this hard for him, can whisper in his ear like a lover…he feels almost drunk with that knowledge.
There are so many ways to have power over another person. Eren doesn't crave power for power's sake and never has, but…knowing the effect he can have on someone? Sure, he likes that. He can't help but like that.
As if he hasn't given away that same power.
"Fuck, I need—" he says, but even he's not sure what he's going to say. His hand slides from Reiner's shoulder back up his neck to the back of his head again, not quite high enough to tangle in his hair, just enough to keep him close. Too close, maybe, if there's such a thing as that left now.
He's worked himself up now as much as anything else, face flushed and eyes half-shut again, breath coming in gasps. Just a little more.
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No, that's a lie. Reiner can imagine asking for more. He can imagine asking for so many things, begging Eren to let him have more, to let him take more, greedy and desperate and drunk on it. Not just on Eren's body, but on Eren, in all his infuriating glory.
Eren's hand on his cock, thumb sliding over the too-sensitive head, Reiner fucking shamelessly into his grip. Eren's skin beneath his teeth, neck bared as though Reiner deserves such trust. Eren's hair tangled around his fingers, opening a whole new world of possibilities. Eren's voice, half-pleading, half-demanding. Eren's hand sliding up his shoulder, smoothing over his nape, holding him close. Eren needing him, if only for a moment.
This embrace will haunt Reiner later. It'll make that nameless something ache deep inside, tearing new holes in his already fractured psyche. But right now, it's perfect.
"I've got you," Reiner whispers, thoughtlessly, recklessly, lips against Eren's ear. He brushes a kiss against the lobe, then relinquishes his hold on Eren's hair. Drops his now-freed hand down, fingers wrapping around Eren's cock without preamble, squeezing it, stroking quickly.
It doesn't occur to Reiner to do anything else. Doesn't occur to him to make Eren finish that sentence, or to deprive Eren of what Reiner knows he needs. His first instinct is the same one that compelled him to reach out a hand and help Eren off the ground.
"Come on," he murmurs, taking care of Eren as best as he can. "Come on."
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The thing that will snag Eren later is Reiner's voice in his ear. I've got you. Somewhere in the midst of all of it, the years between them and the blood and horror and the animosity, he'd forgotten what Reiner was like when they met. He has no idea which version of Reiner is the real one, or if there is a real one, exactly. Reiner had been kind, compassionate, someone who was good at taking care of other people. This is that, isn't it? This bit of softness tangled up with whatever else they're doing.
Eren is so unused to softness. He hasn't let anyone care about him -- care for him -- in what feels like years.
That's the thing that does it, in the end, the thing that pushes him over the edge. Another time it would be blood and pain and all the things he can't get people to give him. Today it's this.
He comes with Reiner's name falling from his lips, body taut as a bow string, hips rocking into Reiner's touch. If he forgets where and when they are for a minute or two, that doesn't matter. He doesn't forget who he's with, and that seems more important right now.
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Next time.
For now, this is enough. It's enough to feel Eren's body wind tighter and tighter, hips jerking and stuttering as he hits his peak, spilling between them. It's enough to hear Eren say his name, Reiner transformed from a curse to a benediction, searing itself into Reiner's memory. It's enough to know that he brought Eren this pleasure; it's enough to know that Eren needs him.
Reiner milks him through it, stroking Eren's cock and prostate until there's nothing left. Then he has the good sense to withdraw his fingers, squeezing Eren's ass instead, his other hand moving from Eren's cock to his own. It won't take much: just a few too-tight strokes, his breath unsteady against Eren's ear, gasping, whispering nonsense.
(So good. Beautiful. Eren. Fuck. Fuck. Want you. Fuck. Eren. Eren.)
He comes with a shudder that wracks his frame, moaning, instinctively curling closer. His head drops, hot breath pressed to the place where neck joins shoulder, teeth scraping skin as a second shudder rips through him. Insensible, for the moment, lost in the sensation of their bodies pressed close, the scent of Eren filling his nose, pleasure buzzing through his being.
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His hand joins Eren's on his cock but it doesn't take long at all.
Eren can count on one hand the times anyone has ever called him beautiful. Actually this is maybe the second time ever that he can recall. He would scoff or roll his eyes or try to play it off in another situation. After all of this, it makes his breath hitch. Reiner says his name the same way he says beautiful and Eren will pretend up and down for weeks that it doesn't affect him but it does. Damnit.
Eren holds on to Reiner's shoulder like a lifeline, like he's afraid he'll lose himself if he lets go (he might). For a long moment afterward they're just there like that, together, breathing. He should let go. He should move. He should…do anything, but he still doesn't. When they move, this will end, and they will be enemies again and who the fuck knows what else. For now, they can just be two boys, together in the rain, alive and breathing, undeserving of it but still here nonetheless.
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He breathes deeply, his eyes closed, inhaling Eren's scent. Feeling the rain on his skin, more a mist now than a steady fall, pleasantly cool. Relishing all the places where he and Eren touch, their bodies still pressed close, their too-warm skin feeling normal, natural. Basking, for just one moment, in the hazy afterglow.
When Reiner finally moves, he doesn't think. Doesn't hesitate. He turns his head and presses his mouth to the side of Eren's neck, lips lingering in an unmistakable kiss. It's too soft for what they are, too sweet for what they have done (what they will do) to each other. He's acting on instinct again. Following his heart instead of his head.
cries about this
When he can manage to unclench his hand, his fingers find their way back to Reiner's nape, not as a threat but because his neck is just close. Eren's touch there is as gentle as he ever is, just fingers on skin, intimacy they don't deserve and can't possibly hold on to.
What could they have been in another life? What could they have been if they even tried to understand each other? All the branching time that Eren has ever seen, and he's never known any of the what-ifs. It doesn't quite work like that. He's only really ever known an unchanging ending.
He really, really does not want to go home to their world. He thinks that often, but sometimes he's just very sure.
Reiner kisses him, softly, and he doesn't understand. This is easier if they're rough, fighting, that first taste of blood. This softness is unfamiliar and strange and he wants to hold onto it. If he holds too tight, surely it will slip away like sand, like everything else.
There's a moment where he considers doing the opposite, swinging the pendulum back so far that it damages any opportunity he has of doing this again, causing a fight because he does not know how to handle softness. But even Eren's cruelty has limits; his edges are dulled at least a little, because he doesn't want to lose this, the closest he's felt to anyone in…ages.
This is fucked up, he thinks. The closest he's felt to anyone isn't Mikasa or Jean or even Levi. It's Reiner. Maybe that's typical, though, all things considered. Reiner has no idea that just how alike they are and Eren decides that now, today, here, isn't the time to clue him in. Someday, probably.
"We shouldn't stay here," he says, softer than he even means to.
cries with 😭
Why didn't Eren come with him that day? Why couldn't he have taken Eren home without any more bloodshed? Why couldn't they have this?
We shouldn't stay here. For so many reasons, they shouldn't stay here—the very least of which is some stranger stumbling upon them with their cocks out. But what happens when they move? What happens when Eren pulls his hand away, and Reiner stops kissing Eren's neck? What then?
For so many years, Reiner has worked toward a singular purpose: retrieve the Coordinate and return home. He chased Eren without even knowing it, then chased him more fiercely once he did. What does he do now that he can't knock Eren out and haul him back to Marley? Where does that leave them?
Like this, apparently. Holding each other. Speaking softly, touching gently.
If things were different, is this what they could've been?
Reiner squeezes his eyes shut, face still hidden in Eren's neck. He doesn't want to move. He doesn't want to leave. He wants to stay close, their bodies pressed together, the threat of violence temporarily abated. He wants to cradle Eren in his arms and comb his fingers through that long hair. He wants Eren to keep wanting him. He wants to just be.
Such naïve desires. So fucking stupid.
Reiner is the Armored Titan. He doesn't get to just be.
"… Yeah," Reiner agrees, lips still so close that they brush Eren's skin. Slowly, he moves: his thigh leaving its place between Eren's legs, his hand releasing its grip on Eren's ass, his lips withdrawing from Eren's neck. He shifts back maybe a half step, lingering but no longer pinning Eren to the wall. Then his hands go to his trousers, starting to put his soiled clothing back in order, his motions mechanical.
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For now they have to settle for this, broken pieces they can alternately harm each other with or try not to harm each other with. Softness found in surprising places. The thought of what they could be if they weren't already something else, enemies, monsters, unforgivable.
Eren has long given up on the idea of life, of what comes after, because there is no after. There was only his terrible end, the end of the world and all its ills. Or not? What does he know? He hopes some of them survive it. He desperately wants them to, to give his insane actions some meaning. They have to live. But he can't.
For a few moments here, he almost contemplates it. This place. The after. The connections he has unwittingly cultivated with other people, ties he tried to sever and couldn't. Even Reiner doesn't only hate him. Even Reiner could be someone Eren would protect. He was once. Funny how everything always circles around again.
Naive as hell, that's right.
Reiner moves away, slowly, and Eren lets him. There's some reluctance in the way his own hands move, letting go or falling away. He has both feet on the ground again but it feels less steady somehow. They're both a mess (in many ways).
He looks down at his hands, his clothes.
He pulls off his shirt and uses that to clean up a little before he fastens his trousers again. Was that smart? Not at all, but it's not like he had a towel. Whatever. Levi probably won't be home and even if he is, is he really going to ask questions about why Eren rolled up missing a shirt? Unlikely.
But Eren isn't even considering that.
He holds his shirt out to Reiner. Better than nothing.
He doesn't trust himself to speak. He knows how he is. He'll ruin this shaky peace if he speaks.
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It is different. Eren moaning, gasping, touching him, kissing him, saying his name while coming—of course it's different. Reiner knows what Eren tastes like now. Knows the heat of his skin, the heat inside. That alone would be enough to change things. But that's not what hits hardest. That's not what hurts.
Eren removes his shirt, using it to clean himself. Reiner stares blankly at Eren's chest, all the bare skin he didn't have a chance to touch or taste. Will he get a chance later? They must get another chance, right?
Then Eren holds out his shirt like a bizarre peace offering. Reiner blinks at it, then wordlessly accepts it. Cleans himself off with those same mechanical motions. Fastens his trousers. Hands the shirt back. Raises his head.
That last act is a mistake.
His eyes meet Eren's, gold holding green. Reiner's throat tightens. He wants to lean in and kiss Eren again, starting this encounter anew. He wants to say thank you for the shirt. He wants to ask why and doesn't even know what he'd be asking about. He wants so much, and he can't have any of it.
In the end, Reiner gives Eren a nod, acknowledging all the things he can't say. Then he takes another step back, turns, and starts to leave, picking his way past the refuse.
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This is dangerous, he knows, the gap in knowledge and his own inability to root himself in time and Reiner's inability to remember which him he is. But danger has never been a deterrent for people like them.
He takes his shirt back, lifts his gaze.
There are so many words between them left unsaid. Eren's not sure where he'd start. A flood of lies? A flood of truth? That one is worse. Something in between? Likely.
He takes a breath but Reiner turns away and saves them both from whatever it is Eren might say. His hands clench in the soiled fabric so he doesn't do something absolutely idiotic like reach out again.
He watches for a long time after Reiner leaves, past and present melded like it always is, before he snaps out of it enough to also leave.