Eren Jaeger (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
dreamsofwings) wrote2020-11-19 01:04 pm
dreamsofwings) wrote2020-11-19 01:04 pm
seasons overflow
overflow | nsfw | misc.
from here
Eren walks a knife's edge saying things like that, gaslighting Reiner into second-guessing himself. He's not exactly grounded in reality himself, here, especially after spending too much time in his memories and in other people's thanks to those metal titan things. Reality is difficult, a tenuous thing that twists around him, something he's lost hold of since he kissed Historia's hand years ago. He knows Reiner has troubles with it, pushes that button on purpose because he can, though what he expects to get out of it…
Well, he's not Armin. He can't plan contingencies all that well. He can plan for a future he knows, but not for one he doesn't, and not as well for something immediate. He's too reactive for that. He just has to take the consequences as they come.
He knows, too, what he's doing moving his hand like that, pressing on a vulnerability. That's what it is, what it will always be for either of them even when they're just human (as if they're ever just human). He doesn't really push it, though he could, the threat lingering unspoken because he's Eren and Reiner is right to distrust him.
Strangely, unexpectedly, he didn't kiss Reiner to hurt him. His words, his other bullshit actions, sure. Those are designed to cut. He said he didn't want to fight (a half-truth) and he said he promised to be better (he did, but what that means in a situation like this, even he doesn't know), but that first press of lips on his skin took was too far outside of what he expected. No planning left, only reaction. Only the rain driving him.
Or at least he can blame the rain. What will he do later when he doesn't have that to hold onto? Who and what can he blame then?
Rage and desire are so hard to separate out, especially like this, with someone he understands so well and someone he has hated so much and been so furious at. But he bled that hate out of himself, redirected it at a world that cannot stand against him. He has/will hurt so many people, some of whom he loves enough to ruin everything for them. What's one more?
He's out of his league with this, though, but he can't admit that even to himself.
He knows better than to let an enemy see his weakness, but Reiner has seen so much of him. They lived together when he was younger, after all, when he was weak all the time, before any of them knew he was a titan at all. He was so emotional then, getting in fights with Jean, yelling, crying, flying off the handle at everything. Somewhere inside his repression he is still that boy with all his very human weaknesses, much as he tries to deny them.
Without thinking, his now free other arm finds its way around Reiner's shoulders and there's no way in the world it's not obvious that he likes this, Reiner's hand too tight in his hair and the way Eren's own tense pseudo-resistance causes those teeth to scrape too hard. He's never cared much if he bleeds. He wants to.
Is this a fight or something else he can't name? Hell if he knows.
He crashes their mouths back together. Too much teeth at first, the bone-jarring clash of them. But then there's (slightly) more art to it this time, if whatever this is could be called art. Eren could never deescalate anything he's done, of course, and he doesn't even make an attempt. There's no space left between them and he can taste blood on his tongue when he presses it against Reiner's lips. Everything he does now is a challenge or a demand. It could be something desperate, years of being alone and touch-starved and haunted. Maybe Reiner doesn't deserve to bear the weight of it, Eren taking out his bullshit on him like this. Here they are anyway.
Eren walks a knife's edge saying things like that, gaslighting Reiner into second-guessing himself. He's not exactly grounded in reality himself, here, especially after spending too much time in his memories and in other people's thanks to those metal titan things. Reality is difficult, a tenuous thing that twists around him, something he's lost hold of since he kissed Historia's hand years ago. He knows Reiner has troubles with it, pushes that button on purpose because he can, though what he expects to get out of it…
Well, he's not Armin. He can't plan contingencies all that well. He can plan for a future he knows, but not for one he doesn't, and not as well for something immediate. He's too reactive for that. He just has to take the consequences as they come.
He knows, too, what he's doing moving his hand like that, pressing on a vulnerability. That's what it is, what it will always be for either of them even when they're just human (as if they're ever just human). He doesn't really push it, though he could, the threat lingering unspoken because he's Eren and Reiner is right to distrust him.
Strangely, unexpectedly, he didn't kiss Reiner to hurt him. His words, his other bullshit actions, sure. Those are designed to cut. He said he didn't want to fight (a half-truth) and he said he promised to be better (he did, but what that means in a situation like this, even he doesn't know), but that first press of lips on his skin took was too far outside of what he expected. No planning left, only reaction. Only the rain driving him.
Or at least he can blame the rain. What will he do later when he doesn't have that to hold onto? Who and what can he blame then?
Rage and desire are so hard to separate out, especially like this, with someone he understands so well and someone he has hated so much and been so furious at. But he bled that hate out of himself, redirected it at a world that cannot stand against him. He has/will hurt so many people, some of whom he loves enough to ruin everything for them. What's one more?
He's out of his league with this, though, but he can't admit that even to himself.
He knows better than to let an enemy see his weakness, but Reiner has seen so much of him. They lived together when he was younger, after all, when he was weak all the time, before any of them knew he was a titan at all. He was so emotional then, getting in fights with Jean, yelling, crying, flying off the handle at everything. Somewhere inside his repression he is still that boy with all his very human weaknesses, much as he tries to deny them.
Without thinking, his now free other arm finds its way around Reiner's shoulders and there's no way in the world it's not obvious that he likes this, Reiner's hand too tight in his hair and the way Eren's own tense pseudo-resistance causes those teeth to scrape too hard. He's never cared much if he bleeds. He wants to.
Is this a fight or something else he can't name? Hell if he knows.
He crashes their mouths back together. Too much teeth at first, the bone-jarring clash of them. But then there's (slightly) more art to it this time, if whatever this is could be called art. Eren could never deescalate anything he's done, of course, and he doesn't even make an attempt. There's no space left between them and he can taste blood on his tongue when he presses it against Reiner's lips. Everything he does now is a challenge or a demand. It could be something desperate, years of being alone and touch-starved and haunted. Maybe Reiner doesn't deserve to bear the weight of it, Eren taking out his bullshit on him like this. Here they are anyway.
There's a part of Reiner that will always crave approval. A deep-seated, profound part baked into his core, tied to him as tightly as liver and lungs and heart and brain. Tighter, maybe. He can go without his organs, regrow them if they're damaged, replacing parts of his body as easily as he substitutes pieces of his personality. A Warrior one day, a soldier the next, a dutiful son keeping his smile in place while his mother spins lie after lie after lie. But that desire for approval never fades, tied so tightly to his need for love that he sometimes mistakes the two.
Love. Approval. Respect. Affection. All things he has fought to gain. All things that were withheld whenever he fell short: by his mother, who hated her blood in his veins; by his fellow Warrior candidates, who saw him as the weakest of the bunch; by his father, who spit on his existence. He fought tooth and fucking nail to be good enough, strong enough, smart enough, loyal enough. But he can never shake that craving. He can never stop wanting people to care about him.
There's nothing caring in this kiss. Nothing considerate in the way they crash together, Eren's blood bright on Reiner's tongue when he parts his lips, accepting Eren's unspoken challenge without a shred of hesitation. Nothing gentle in the way Reiner clutches Eren against his body, hand still tight in Eren's hair, less an embrace and more a desperate attempt at eliminating all space between them. There's no affection in any of this, a possibility that burned to ash when Reiner healed his broken arm, telltale steam damning him, transforming lunatic ramblings into indisputable fact.
No, there's no affection in this. But Eren is still kissing him. Eren's arm wraps around Reiner's shoulders, his other hand still pressed to Reiner's nape, a threat and a caress all at once. Eren is still here, body pressed tight to Reiner's, all Reiner's years spent searching finally—if momentarily—at an end.
That's enough like approval for Reiner. (He's settled for less.)
It still hurts, though. Still hurts in that nameless way, too many sharp emotions stabbing and searing, twisting his insides into knots. He wants to scream—at Eren, at himself, at this place, at the world. He might do so if his mouth weren't otherwise occupied.
Instead, he drags his tongue over Eren's teeth, trying to taste his own blood, too.
The last thing they need is for both of them to bleed. It's one step closer to a transformation, one step closer to this crowded street turning into another war zone. Another bloodbath. Another list of casualties, bodies and houses and lives crushed beneath two Titans' feet. But Reiner does it anyway.
Because just as there is a part of Reiner that will always crave approval, there's a part of him that will always think he is unworthy. There's a part of him that will always seek punishment.
Is it really any surprise that he tests his luck? Is it any surprise when the hand on Eren's back moves, fingers finding the hem of Eren's t-shirt, seeking to press his palm against bare skin?
He's not playing with fire so much as plunging headfirst into an inferno, arms outspread, screaming at it to do its worst.
Love. Approval. Respect. Affection. All things he has fought to gain. All things that were withheld whenever he fell short: by his mother, who hated her blood in his veins; by his fellow Warrior candidates, who saw him as the weakest of the bunch; by his father, who spit on his existence. He fought tooth and fucking nail to be good enough, strong enough, smart enough, loyal enough. But he can never shake that craving. He can never stop wanting people to care about him.
There's nothing caring in this kiss. Nothing considerate in the way they crash together, Eren's blood bright on Reiner's tongue when he parts his lips, accepting Eren's unspoken challenge without a shred of hesitation. Nothing gentle in the way Reiner clutches Eren against his body, hand still tight in Eren's hair, less an embrace and more a desperate attempt at eliminating all space between them. There's no affection in any of this, a possibility that burned to ash when Reiner healed his broken arm, telltale steam damning him, transforming lunatic ramblings into indisputable fact.
No, there's no affection in this. But Eren is still kissing him. Eren's arm wraps around Reiner's shoulders, his other hand still pressed to Reiner's nape, a threat and a caress all at once. Eren is still here, body pressed tight to Reiner's, all Reiner's years spent searching finally—if momentarily—at an end.
That's enough like approval for Reiner. (He's settled for less.)
It still hurts, though. Still hurts in that nameless way, too many sharp emotions stabbing and searing, twisting his insides into knots. He wants to scream—at Eren, at himself, at this place, at the world. He might do so if his mouth weren't otherwise occupied.
Instead, he drags his tongue over Eren's teeth, trying to taste his own blood, too.
The last thing they need is for both of them to bleed. It's one step closer to a transformation, one step closer to this crowded street turning into another war zone. Another bloodbath. Another list of casualties, bodies and houses and lives crushed beneath two Titans' feet. But Reiner does it anyway.
Because just as there is a part of Reiner that will always crave approval, there's a part of him that will always think he is unworthy. There's a part of him that will always seek punishment.
Is it really any surprise that he tests his luck? Is it any surprise when the hand on Eren's back moves, fingers finding the hem of Eren's t-shirt, seeking to press his palm against bare skin?
He's not playing with fire so much as plunging headfirst into an inferno, arms outspread, screaming at it to do its worst.
Eren thinks, maybe incorrectly, maybe skewed by his years of being wrapped up in too many people's memories, slid out of time and living asynchronous to everyone else even before coming here, that maybe this is better than someone who could never understand. Blood in their mouths and pressed against each other, rain or not, is there anyone alive (or not) that could possibly understand? He's been alone for so long, alone in his anger, alone in his head, alone in the knowledge of the end of the world, the knowledge that there is literally no length he would not go to, no depth he would not sink to, to save the people he thinks of as family.
Sure, he told Floch. Floch, committing atrocities with a cult branded with Eren's name. Floch, obsessed with the idea of the Eldian Empire, something Eren doesn't give a shit about and never has. Floch, who is maybe a worse person even than Eren himself, who needs Eren to be Paradis's devil, a figurehead that will spark unrest for years after his death. Eren doesn't know that Floch's fanaticism will make him a martyr to a cause he could not care less about. Floch never understood that this wasn't for an empire, for power. It was for them, Armin and Mikasa and the others, so that they would live, so that they would have freedom that Eren could never find.
And he told Historia, out of necessity, so she couldn't be used like a tool any more than she already was. The worst girl in the world, keeping her silence even though she might not agree with what he was doing. Could she really understand?
Other reasons aside, who could understand how he destroyed himself and whatever shaky morals he might have ever had better than Reiner? That's not a good reason to keep going with this. It's not a good reason to let his desperation drive him. They're way past good reasoning, though.
They don't have to talk about the horrible future that Reiner knows nothing about yet, the past actions that Eren will hold against Reiner until they are both dead (or longer), the blood they have spilled and will spill in between. In some ways, this is the most honest thing either of them can do, isn't it?
Reiner's hand on his skin there under his shirt is hot like a brand. People are probably staring, making some kind of remark at the two of them that they're beyond hearing. Is the blood in his mouth his or Reiner's? He's not sure. He's tasted so much blood in his life. Blood always just tastes like blood. He doesn't get off on the taste of it exactly, but the knowledge of danger pushes something in him. He reacts too easy, like he does to most things, pulse too fast, body too demanding.
Embarrassing, really. They're in the fucking street, after all.
He pulls his face back for a moment, blood and water trickling off his bottom lip, a wisp of steam lingering there as whatever damage there was heals itself. He could stop it from healing if he wants, or he could just…instigate more damage.
Reiner's hand is still in his hair. Moving Reiner is like moving a solid brick house; he's never going to be able to do it if the blond won't go with him. But that's not the case, right? That's not the case this time, Attack Titan against Armored, immovable objects colliding. So glances off to the side for a moment, long enough that if they were fighting he would be opening himself up too much, until he sees a break in the buildings, a dim alleyway not far away.
And he pulls. It doesn't matter if his hair gets tangled, if something snags, if his shirt gets torn or whatever else. It doesn't matter if some rando makes a snide remark. It's something closer to privacy. He's not ready to give up on touch, on connection, sensation seeking, whatever this really is. It's only a few meters' worth of interruption.
Sure, he told Floch. Floch, committing atrocities with a cult branded with Eren's name. Floch, obsessed with the idea of the Eldian Empire, something Eren doesn't give a shit about and never has. Floch, who is maybe a worse person even than Eren himself, who needs Eren to be Paradis's devil, a figurehead that will spark unrest for years after his death. Eren doesn't know that Floch's fanaticism will make him a martyr to a cause he could not care less about. Floch never understood that this wasn't for an empire, for power. It was for them, Armin and Mikasa and the others, so that they would live, so that they would have freedom that Eren could never find.
And he told Historia, out of necessity, so she couldn't be used like a tool any more than she already was. The worst girl in the world, keeping her silence even though she might not agree with what he was doing. Could she really understand?
Other reasons aside, who could understand how he destroyed himself and whatever shaky morals he might have ever had better than Reiner? That's not a good reason to keep going with this. It's not a good reason to let his desperation drive him. They're way past good reasoning, though.
They don't have to talk about the horrible future that Reiner knows nothing about yet, the past actions that Eren will hold against Reiner until they are both dead (or longer), the blood they have spilled and will spill in between. In some ways, this is the most honest thing either of them can do, isn't it?
Reiner's hand on his skin there under his shirt is hot like a brand. People are probably staring, making some kind of remark at the two of them that they're beyond hearing. Is the blood in his mouth his or Reiner's? He's not sure. He's tasted so much blood in his life. Blood always just tastes like blood. He doesn't get off on the taste of it exactly, but the knowledge of danger pushes something in him. He reacts too easy, like he does to most things, pulse too fast, body too demanding.
Embarrassing, really. They're in the fucking street, after all.
He pulls his face back for a moment, blood and water trickling off his bottom lip, a wisp of steam lingering there as whatever damage there was heals itself. He could stop it from healing if he wants, or he could just…instigate more damage.
Reiner's hand is still in his hair. Moving Reiner is like moving a solid brick house; he's never going to be able to do it if the blond won't go with him. But that's not the case, right? That's not the case this time, Attack Titan against Armored, immovable objects colliding. So glances off to the side for a moment, long enough that if they were fighting he would be opening himself up too much, until he sees a break in the buildings, a dim alleyway not far away.
And he pulls. It doesn't matter if his hair gets tangled, if something snags, if his shirt gets torn or whatever else. It doesn't matter if some rando makes a snide remark. It's something closer to privacy. He's not ready to give up on touch, on connection, sensation seeking, whatever this really is. It's only a few meters' worth of interruption.
The last thing that Reiner wants is for Eren to pull away.
Maybe it would be smarter in the end. Maybe it would be for the best. Maybe it would allow Reiner to crawl away from this with what remains of his sanity still somewhat intact: his priorities clear, his purpose sealed by a tap between his shoulder blades, Bertolt's voice promising, "Leave it to me." Maybe he would remember that no matter what Eren was to him before, Eren is now no more than an objective to secure, a sacrifice to be made. Maybe he would stop craving lost affection, stop caring about the so-called Suicidal Bastard.
But when Eren starts to pull away, what swells within Reiner isn't relief: it's something edging close to panic. He knows he's testing his luck, but still, he wants to protest. Wait, he wants to say. Wait, as if he would know what to say next. Wait. Just wait.
His voice catches, though, his attention snagged by the wisp of steam that rises from Eren's mouth. Reiner shivers, slight but perceptible, finding himself fixated by it. There's something so revealing about that steam, honest in a way that makes his head spin. How many times did Reiner have to suppress his own healing, allowing his body to remain injured to maintain his cover? How often has he sighed in relief since he stopped having to lie, allowing that telltale steam to rise like a banner? And here Eren is, letting it appear between their lips, showing exactly what he is.
Eren's gaze flicks toward an alley, then he pulls. And fuck him, but Reiner follows. He follows, letting Eren direct them, determining their path, doing no more than snarling a "shut your mouth" at some asshole who jeers too loudly. And for a split second, Reiner is back in a torchlit courtyard looking up at Erwin Smith, fist over his heart as he follows Eren into the Survey Corps. For a split second, they're comrades again.
Then they reach the shelter of the dim alleyway, boxes and crates piled along one wall. Reiner waits until they're just past the refuse, then he stops allowing himself to be pulled. He pushes instead, seeking to drive Eren up against the alley wall—an impact that may hurt, cushioned only by Reiner's hand on the back of Eren's head.
"Eren," he whispers, the name a prayer and a curse all at once; a reminder of who he is, of what he is, of what he wants. Then he seeks to seal their lips together again, his knee shoving between Eren's thighs, wordless and demanding.
Action is easier than talking. Words never really work between them anymore, anyway.
Maybe it would be smarter in the end. Maybe it would be for the best. Maybe it would allow Reiner to crawl away from this with what remains of his sanity still somewhat intact: his priorities clear, his purpose sealed by a tap between his shoulder blades, Bertolt's voice promising, "Leave it to me." Maybe he would remember that no matter what Eren was to him before, Eren is now no more than an objective to secure, a sacrifice to be made. Maybe he would stop craving lost affection, stop caring about the so-called Suicidal Bastard.
But when Eren starts to pull away, what swells within Reiner isn't relief: it's something edging close to panic. He knows he's testing his luck, but still, he wants to protest. Wait, he wants to say. Wait, as if he would know what to say next. Wait. Just wait.
His voice catches, though, his attention snagged by the wisp of steam that rises from Eren's mouth. Reiner shivers, slight but perceptible, finding himself fixated by it. There's something so revealing about that steam, honest in a way that makes his head spin. How many times did Reiner have to suppress his own healing, allowing his body to remain injured to maintain his cover? How often has he sighed in relief since he stopped having to lie, allowing that telltale steam to rise like a banner? And here Eren is, letting it appear between their lips, showing exactly what he is.
Eren's gaze flicks toward an alley, then he pulls. And fuck him, but Reiner follows. He follows, letting Eren direct them, determining their path, doing no more than snarling a "shut your mouth" at some asshole who jeers too loudly. And for a split second, Reiner is back in a torchlit courtyard looking up at Erwin Smith, fist over his heart as he follows Eren into the Survey Corps. For a split second, they're comrades again.
Then they reach the shelter of the dim alleyway, boxes and crates piled along one wall. Reiner waits until they're just past the refuse, then he stops allowing himself to be pulled. He pushes instead, seeking to drive Eren up against the alley wall—an impact that may hurt, cushioned only by Reiner's hand on the back of Eren's head.
"Eren," he whispers, the name a prayer and a curse all at once; a reminder of who he is, of what he is, of what he wants. Then he seeks to seal their lips together again, his knee shoving between Eren's thighs, wordless and demanding.
Action is easier than talking. Words never really work between them anymore, anyway.
Eren might laugh -- sort of -- if he knew Reiner thought of him as a sacrifice. Eren, of all people, the boy who will end the world, bring hell to almost everyone in it, and especially to Reiner himself. A sacrifice. But that's just the years between them, the things Eren has seen that Reiner hasn't yet. And none of it fucking matters here anyway. It might in an hour or tomorrow or in two weeks but right now, he just does not care about that at all.
For years, Eren didn't have much control over his healing. It would work or it wouldn't, seemingly on a whim, based on how much energy he had and who knows what else. It took everything he had to figure it out, to keep his body severely injured for months in Liberio. Showing what he is indeed, a monster with a pretty face. Reiner has no idea.
Maybe he does. Or maybe he could. After all, they're the same.
Eren doesn't care about answering that person making some remark that Reiner snaps back at. He uses this thing between them as a grounding point, as an anchor to the present. It isn't fair but so little that he does is fair. And it's not entirely like he's taking advantage. What cards does he really hold now that matter? The future? Yeah, so what. That has no bearing on this. He wonders if this is something Reiner has done before, and with who (Bertolt, ok, even Eren could guess), and when. It's dirty, he knows, and he might feel shame if he bothered but there is very little he bothers feeling shame about. This doesn't even register.
He's a little surprised when Reiner flips it on him, shoves him against the wall hard enough that he feels it. Breath rushes out of him. He isn't quite winded, but the impact hurts a little. The sound he makes is damning, though. Pain isn't a problem for him, after all, and in his limited experience, people are afraid to actually hurt him. He notes Reiner's hand still there, though, blocking the jarring impact it could have had.
He can't think of this as affection, but he's not sure Reiner actually hates him at this point in time. (Does he ever? Will he ever? Eren might not really know.)
"Reiner," he says back, voice still not raised, but heated at least. The incident with the metal titans left his repressed emotions frayed out. He can't hide what he feels as much as he could, so that want -- need -- is more honest than he means to be. Damnit.
His legs part enough to let Reiner's leg press up against him and that's the last pretence, really. Blood and pain and violence and desire, and he's too hard to hide it, not this close. Reiner kisses him again and he's there to meet him, all demand. Eren has always been good at taking things from people, hasn't he? There are so many meanings laced in that word. Take.
One hand moves to Reiner's face, some parody of affection. He doesn't kiss people this much that often but fuck, he just wants to. They could eat each other alive. Wouldn't that be appropriate? His hips grind against Reiner's leg -- embarrassing, still -- and he slides his other hand up into short blond hair. There's enough to get his fingers in, not letting Reiner second guess and pull away. Reiner isn't the only one who doesn't want this to end.
He pulls his mouth away again though, dragging it along Reiner's jaw. He can't last like this, can't keep his hands where they are, he'll need too much too soon. He's too impatient and he knows that about himself but he's trying to...delay, maybe. Make Reiner chase him just a little more.
For years, Eren didn't have much control over his healing. It would work or it wouldn't, seemingly on a whim, based on how much energy he had and who knows what else. It took everything he had to figure it out, to keep his body severely injured for months in Liberio. Showing what he is indeed, a monster with a pretty face. Reiner has no idea.
Maybe he does. Or maybe he could. After all, they're the same.
Eren doesn't care about answering that person making some remark that Reiner snaps back at. He uses this thing between them as a grounding point, as an anchor to the present. It isn't fair but so little that he does is fair. And it's not entirely like he's taking advantage. What cards does he really hold now that matter? The future? Yeah, so what. That has no bearing on this. He wonders if this is something Reiner has done before, and with who (Bertolt, ok, even Eren could guess), and when. It's dirty, he knows, and he might feel shame if he bothered but there is very little he bothers feeling shame about. This doesn't even register.
He's a little surprised when Reiner flips it on him, shoves him against the wall hard enough that he feels it. Breath rushes out of him. He isn't quite winded, but the impact hurts a little. The sound he makes is damning, though. Pain isn't a problem for him, after all, and in his limited experience, people are afraid to actually hurt him. He notes Reiner's hand still there, though, blocking the jarring impact it could have had.
He can't think of this as affection, but he's not sure Reiner actually hates him at this point in time. (Does he ever? Will he ever? Eren might not really know.)
"Reiner," he says back, voice still not raised, but heated at least. The incident with the metal titans left his repressed emotions frayed out. He can't hide what he feels as much as he could, so that want -- need -- is more honest than he means to be. Damnit.
His legs part enough to let Reiner's leg press up against him and that's the last pretence, really. Blood and pain and violence and desire, and he's too hard to hide it, not this close. Reiner kisses him again and he's there to meet him, all demand. Eren has always been good at taking things from people, hasn't he? There are so many meanings laced in that word. Take.
One hand moves to Reiner's face, some parody of affection. He doesn't kiss people this much that often but fuck, he just wants to. They could eat each other alive. Wouldn't that be appropriate? His hips grind against Reiner's leg -- embarrassing, still -- and he slides his other hand up into short blond hair. There's enough to get his fingers in, not letting Reiner second guess and pull away. Reiner isn't the only one who doesn't want this to end.
He pulls his mouth away again though, dragging it along Reiner's jaw. He can't last like this, can't keep his hands where they are, he'll need too much too soon. He's too impatient and he knows that about himself but he's trying to...delay, maybe. Make Reiner chase him just a little more.
Reiner. The sound of his name trickles down his spine, pooling low in his gut, lodged beside that delicious noise Eren made when he hit the wall. Who knew Eren could make such sounds? Who knew Eren could grip Reiner's hair hard enough to feel good, desire crawling through Reiner like fire through his veins? Like the heat of his Titan forming around him, encasing him in something that seems more real, more solid than anything else ever could? Who knew that Eren could sound like he needed Reiner?
He's not surprised when his cock gives an approving throb, so hard in his trousers that it's starting to hurt. He's not surprised when he feels exactly how much he wants to be wanted, how much he desires being desired.
Still. He really is fucking pathetic.
The hand on his face sends a fresh shiver through his body, even the parody of affection twisting in his chest, a sharp ache for something softer, tender. Something he'll never get with Eren; something he doesn't deserve with Eren. Or with anyone, maybe—but he still craves it. Despite everything, all the death and horror and destruction and insanity and walls, walls, walls, Reiner still relishes that simple touch to his cheek.
Then Eren's hips are grinding against him, taking Reiner's offered thigh and using it, which centers him. Brings him back to reality: Eren pushed against a wall, pinned by Reiner's bulk, their hands all over each other, cocks hard beneath fabric, rain on their skin and trash at their feet. What a spectacle they must make.
He doesn't care. If there was a point of no return, Reiner charged past it when he kissed Eren's jaw. And when Eren returns the favor, lips dragging along Reiner's jaw in turn, Reiner charges past it a second time. Tips his head to the side, neck bared a little more, offering his throat to an enemy's teeth. Willing to take whatever pain Eren seeks to inflict. Sure, it would hurt to get his throat ripped out—but Reiner wouldn't die. He can handle whatever Eren does to him, deal it back as he sees fit. And there's something freeing in that, something perversely satisfying in the thought that they could unleash themselves on each other and still walk away.
Maybe that fight as the Armored and Attack Titan messed with Reiner's head. Maybe the close-quarters violence of Reiner choking Eren into unconsciousness while Eren gnawed his own arm flipped some fucked up switch. Or maybe there's always been a part of Reiner that enjoys crashing against someone, testing his strength and winning. He enjoyed seeing Porco on his knees, didn't he? What kind of person relishes in another's devastation like Reiner did, even if that person is a consummate bully?
He tightens his grip in Eren's hair again, drags his lips to Eren's ear. "You drive me up the damn wall," he murmurs, a confession laced with all his frustration, lips brushing the lobe. His hips push forward, rolling against Eren, seeking to establish some kind of rhythm in their mindless grinding. Then his other hand slides past Eren's hip, reaching for the back of his thigh, trying to haul Eren's leg up and spread him wider.
"Do you know that, Eren? Do you have any idea how maddening you are?"
Words that may carry a different connotation when spoken by Reiner Braun, whose grip on sanity is slippery at best—and he's not at his best. He hasn't been at his best in a very long time.
He's not surprised when his cock gives an approving throb, so hard in his trousers that it's starting to hurt. He's not surprised when he feels exactly how much he wants to be wanted, how much he desires being desired.
Still. He really is fucking pathetic.
The hand on his face sends a fresh shiver through his body, even the parody of affection twisting in his chest, a sharp ache for something softer, tender. Something he'll never get with Eren; something he doesn't deserve with Eren. Or with anyone, maybe—but he still craves it. Despite everything, all the death and horror and destruction and insanity and walls, walls, walls, Reiner still relishes that simple touch to his cheek.
Then Eren's hips are grinding against him, taking Reiner's offered thigh and using it, which centers him. Brings him back to reality: Eren pushed against a wall, pinned by Reiner's bulk, their hands all over each other, cocks hard beneath fabric, rain on their skin and trash at their feet. What a spectacle they must make.
He doesn't care. If there was a point of no return, Reiner charged past it when he kissed Eren's jaw. And when Eren returns the favor, lips dragging along Reiner's jaw in turn, Reiner charges past it a second time. Tips his head to the side, neck bared a little more, offering his throat to an enemy's teeth. Willing to take whatever pain Eren seeks to inflict. Sure, it would hurt to get his throat ripped out—but Reiner wouldn't die. He can handle whatever Eren does to him, deal it back as he sees fit. And there's something freeing in that, something perversely satisfying in the thought that they could unleash themselves on each other and still walk away.
Maybe that fight as the Armored and Attack Titan messed with Reiner's head. Maybe the close-quarters violence of Reiner choking Eren into unconsciousness while Eren gnawed his own arm flipped some fucked up switch. Or maybe there's always been a part of Reiner that enjoys crashing against someone, testing his strength and winning. He enjoyed seeing Porco on his knees, didn't he? What kind of person relishes in another's devastation like Reiner did, even if that person is a consummate bully?
He tightens his grip in Eren's hair again, drags his lips to Eren's ear. "You drive me up the damn wall," he murmurs, a confession laced with all his frustration, lips brushing the lobe. His hips push forward, rolling against Eren, seeking to establish some kind of rhythm in their mindless grinding. Then his other hand slides past Eren's hip, reaching for the back of his thigh, trying to haul Eren's leg up and spread him wider.
"Do you know that, Eren? Do you have any idea how maddening you are?"
Words that may carry a different connotation when spoken by Reiner Braun, whose grip on sanity is slippery at best—and he's not at his best. He hasn't been at his best in a very long time.
Edited (casually forgets canon points) 2023-06-07 02:20 (UTC)
Eren's mouth is only a little forceful, the hint of teeth, a threat like everything else but no follow through. It's funny, really. Eren's threats are not always empty ones, not in other contexts. But here, it's almost like teasing. He's not really the teasing sort, too little experience with it and not enough patience. But it's a coin toss, tease, threat. Maybe they're not that different.
He doesn't actually bite, but he sucks hard, a purple spot that will fade in seconds. There won't be any evidence of anything they do unless they make some effort to keep it there, and they're not that stupid. Right?
Eren has spent so long with only violence and madness as company. The twisted world he sees in his memories, future and past tangled up, so much awful destruction. Mindless hours, weeks, months in a hospital for the damned, the insane, soldiers too broken to even be used as canon fodder. Zeke didn't make him less lonely. He was only ever aware of the game he was playing, a game he knew he could lose but imagined he wouldn't because the future told him so.
He's fallen into bed with people a few times. Not in an alleyway, but sometimes in desperation, longing for connection the people who were once closest to him can no longer provide.
It almost makes sense that it's Reiner of all people that can, that does. The irony of it. Their repeated endless clash that will end only when Eren is dead turned into this instead. The other side of the coin.
Eren makes another noise he can't quite stifle against Reiner's skin at that hand in his hair. He knows he likes pain but this hair thing is actually new. He hasn't had a lot of people put their hands in his hair, nice or not nice, and now he's going to be ruined about it later. Fine. He's learning things rapid fire like he often does, learning by doing them, usually recklessly, often at his own expense.
Reiner's voice in his ear makes him shiver. He could blame the rain but he knows better. He's been in this rain before and he didn't fuck any of the people he met before who he wanted to touch. Eren isn't always honest with himself but even he can't blame the stupid rain.
No, this reaction is to Reiner himself. The physical is one thing; this could have been about anyone. Sex is just sex and he knows that. But it isn't. It's more personal than that. Reiner says you drive me up the wall and Eren believes him, even if that's a new thing sparked only today, some revelation they would never have gotten to at home.
In another world, another life, they could...
What, Eren? Be something other than enemies?
He doesn't chase that thought. Not now. He doesn't dare. Maybe another time when he's spun out and crazy and alone he'll think of it before he shuts it down or picks a fight with someone who doesn't deserve it or finds some words that will bruise in a way his mouth never can.
Today, he lets Reiner hitch his leg higher, shuts his eyes for just a second, matches a rhythm when he hooks his leg around the blond. Eren is tall but he's got nothing on the way Reiner is built. It's hot, kind of, when he thinks about it. No one else he's screwed around with was this strong, and of course he thinks strength is attractive.
He might have actually found Reiner attractive once if he hadn't been a traitor. Murder. Liar. All the things Eren himself is, all the things he wishes he'd never had to become. Reiner had been good to them, pretended so well, much better at playing a part than Eren could ever be. So good at it he convinced himself, sort of, or lost himself trying to.
"No," Eren says, almost amused.
He drops the hand that isn't in Reiner's hair, snakes it between them. There isn't much space there, especially now with his legs like this, but he can still find the edge of Reiner's pants. The angle is wrong and he can't do much, but again, a tease or a threat, fingers dipping inside fabric but not going anywhere important yet.
He wants to say something back, something about strength and attraction and how they fit together because they're alike. But he can't take the honesty of it, Reiner's words and his own fucked up desire, that thought he didn't dare to chase. So he says something goading instead.
"Is this what you wanted when you looked at me, Reiner? Fuck me before you turned me over to Marley?"
He says it and it's so shitty and he knows it. He scrapes his nails along Reiner's scalp where the hair is shortest and rocks his hips and keeps right on going.
"Who knows. I probably would have let you."
He doesn't actually bite, but he sucks hard, a purple spot that will fade in seconds. There won't be any evidence of anything they do unless they make some effort to keep it there, and they're not that stupid. Right?
Eren has spent so long with only violence and madness as company. The twisted world he sees in his memories, future and past tangled up, so much awful destruction. Mindless hours, weeks, months in a hospital for the damned, the insane, soldiers too broken to even be used as canon fodder. Zeke didn't make him less lonely. He was only ever aware of the game he was playing, a game he knew he could lose but imagined he wouldn't because the future told him so.
He's fallen into bed with people a few times. Not in an alleyway, but sometimes in desperation, longing for connection the people who were once closest to him can no longer provide.
It almost makes sense that it's Reiner of all people that can, that does. The irony of it. Their repeated endless clash that will end only when Eren is dead turned into this instead. The other side of the coin.
Eren makes another noise he can't quite stifle against Reiner's skin at that hand in his hair. He knows he likes pain but this hair thing is actually new. He hasn't had a lot of people put their hands in his hair, nice or not nice, and now he's going to be ruined about it later. Fine. He's learning things rapid fire like he often does, learning by doing them, usually recklessly, often at his own expense.
Reiner's voice in his ear makes him shiver. He could blame the rain but he knows better. He's been in this rain before and he didn't fuck any of the people he met before who he wanted to touch. Eren isn't always honest with himself but even he can't blame the stupid rain.
No, this reaction is to Reiner himself. The physical is one thing; this could have been about anyone. Sex is just sex and he knows that. But it isn't. It's more personal than that. Reiner says you drive me up the wall and Eren believes him, even if that's a new thing sparked only today, some revelation they would never have gotten to at home.
In another world, another life, they could...
What, Eren? Be something other than enemies?
He doesn't chase that thought. Not now. He doesn't dare. Maybe another time when he's spun out and crazy and alone he'll think of it before he shuts it down or picks a fight with someone who doesn't deserve it or finds some words that will bruise in a way his mouth never can.
Today, he lets Reiner hitch his leg higher, shuts his eyes for just a second, matches a rhythm when he hooks his leg around the blond. Eren is tall but he's got nothing on the way Reiner is built. It's hot, kind of, when he thinks about it. No one else he's screwed around with was this strong, and of course he thinks strength is attractive.
He might have actually found Reiner attractive once if he hadn't been a traitor. Murder. Liar. All the things Eren himself is, all the things he wishes he'd never had to become. Reiner had been good to them, pretended so well, much better at playing a part than Eren could ever be. So good at it he convinced himself, sort of, or lost himself trying to.
"No," Eren says, almost amused.
He drops the hand that isn't in Reiner's hair, snakes it between them. There isn't much space there, especially now with his legs like this, but he can still find the edge of Reiner's pants. The angle is wrong and he can't do much, but again, a tease or a threat, fingers dipping inside fabric but not going anywhere important yet.
He wants to say something back, something about strength and attraction and how they fit together because they're alike. But he can't take the honesty of it, Reiner's words and his own fucked up desire, that thought he didn't dare to chase. So he says something goading instead.
"Is this what you wanted when you looked at me, Reiner? Fuck me before you turned me over to Marley?"
He says it and it's so shitty and he knows it. He scrapes his nails along Reiner's scalp where the hair is shortest and rocks his hips and keeps right on going.
"Who knows. I probably would have let you."
Just the hint of teeth against Reiner's skin is intoxicating, a threat that should repel him but enraptures him instead. He shuts his eyes, breath hitching as Eren sucks on his skin, a tingle of pain that buzzes with pleasure. He hopes Eren leaves a mark; he hopes that his body doesn't immediately begin repairing itself. It would be better to have a mark, wouldn't it? Something he could look at later to assure himself that this really happened?
Even in the moment, it's hard to believe it's happening. Eren makes another one of those quiet, delectable noises, shivering as Reiner murmurs in his ear. It's adorable, really—a word that Reiner never would have imagined he would associate with Eren. Maybe once upon a time, when they were younger and Eren was desperate to prove himself, seeking Reiner's advice (as if Reiner had any right to give it). Maybe back then, "adorable" would've fit if Reiner had allowed himself to think of such things.
But he didn't think of them. He suppressed everything until he imploded, fault lines fracturing him in two, filling him with jagged edges that never quite align. A soldier, a Warrior, a friend, an enemy. What is he now? What are they, two men with the power of the Titans clutching each other close, teeth grazing each other's necks without biting down, Reiner's hand squeezing Eren's thigh, Eren's fingers dipping just below Reiner's waistband? What is this thing they're doing?
Then Eren asks that question, says the word Marley, drops a bomb between them as though it's nothing. Reiner's rhythm stutters, shock flashing through him, mind briefly going blank. He never mentioned Marley on that island—not to Eren, not to any of them—but somehow, Eren knows.
It should make Reiner stop. He should withdraw, reevaluate, reassess. He should find out what else Eren has discovered, and how, and when.
He should.
But the rest of Eren's question hits just as hard—and as soon as the shock lessens, a hundred fantasies unfurl themselves in Reiner's mind. Eren with them atop Wall Maria, wrists pinned above his head, back arching off the stone. Eren curled up in their tent at night, fingernails clawing Reiner's shoulders, making more of those wonderful sounds. Eren pressed between Reiner and Bertolt's bodies, Bertolt's long fingers trailing down his stomach, Reiner's lips on his neck.
Eren listening to Reiner's explanation of the situation, agreeing to go with them willingly. Eren discovering the truth of the world. Eren pledging his power to Marley so he wouldn't have to die.
I would've been good to you, he wants to say. I would've taken care of you, he wants to believe.
Pointless fantasies. Pipe dreams at best, delusions that Reiner can't entertain again.
(He would've kept Eren bound and gagged atop Wall Maria, and he knows it.)
Eren scrapes his nails along Reiner's scalp, and Reiner doesn't even try to hide the shudder that runs through him, exhaling a harsh breath against Eren's ear that teeters on the edge of a moan. Fuck, he needs to get their pants off—or at least open—but the thought of relinquishing even an inch of space between them is abhorrent.
"Liar," he accuses, trying to recover. Resuming his rhythm, fingers digging into Eren's thigh, sliding toward his ass. His teeth catch Eren's earlobe, giving a nip, almost as if to scold. "You would've ripped my heart out."
So many meanings to that phrase.
Even in the moment, it's hard to believe it's happening. Eren makes another one of those quiet, delectable noises, shivering as Reiner murmurs in his ear. It's adorable, really—a word that Reiner never would have imagined he would associate with Eren. Maybe once upon a time, when they were younger and Eren was desperate to prove himself, seeking Reiner's advice (as if Reiner had any right to give it). Maybe back then, "adorable" would've fit if Reiner had allowed himself to think of such things.
But he didn't think of them. He suppressed everything until he imploded, fault lines fracturing him in two, filling him with jagged edges that never quite align. A soldier, a Warrior, a friend, an enemy. What is he now? What are they, two men with the power of the Titans clutching each other close, teeth grazing each other's necks without biting down, Reiner's hand squeezing Eren's thigh, Eren's fingers dipping just below Reiner's waistband? What is this thing they're doing?
Then Eren asks that question, says the word Marley, drops a bomb between them as though it's nothing. Reiner's rhythm stutters, shock flashing through him, mind briefly going blank. He never mentioned Marley on that island—not to Eren, not to any of them—but somehow, Eren knows.
It should make Reiner stop. He should withdraw, reevaluate, reassess. He should find out what else Eren has discovered, and how, and when.
He should.
But the rest of Eren's question hits just as hard—and as soon as the shock lessens, a hundred fantasies unfurl themselves in Reiner's mind. Eren with them atop Wall Maria, wrists pinned above his head, back arching off the stone. Eren curled up in their tent at night, fingernails clawing Reiner's shoulders, making more of those wonderful sounds. Eren pressed between Reiner and Bertolt's bodies, Bertolt's long fingers trailing down his stomach, Reiner's lips on his neck.
Eren listening to Reiner's explanation of the situation, agreeing to go with them willingly. Eren discovering the truth of the world. Eren pledging his power to Marley so he wouldn't have to die.
I would've been good to you, he wants to say. I would've taken care of you, he wants to believe.
Pointless fantasies. Pipe dreams at best, delusions that Reiner can't entertain again.
(He would've kept Eren bound and gagged atop Wall Maria, and he knows it.)
Eren scrapes his nails along Reiner's scalp, and Reiner doesn't even try to hide the shudder that runs through him, exhaling a harsh breath against Eren's ear that teeters on the edge of a moan. Fuck, he needs to get their pants off—or at least open—but the thought of relinquishing even an inch of space between them is abhorrent.
"Liar," he accuses, trying to recover. Resuming his rhythm, fingers digging into Eren's thigh, sliding toward his ass. His teeth catch Eren's earlobe, giving a nip, almost as if to scold. "You would've ripped my heart out."
So many meanings to that phrase.
Eren feels it immediately, the stutter that breaks the rhythm. He half-expects that he's pushed too hard, let his mouth run too far, that Reiner will shove himself away from this wall and away from Eren and leave. It wouldn't be the first time in the last ten minutes that Eren misjudged something. He holds on, unwilling to let that happen.
But no. That's not what happens at all. He got the start of this wrong but he didn't get this part wrong. Sure, the Marley thing was a gamble, and it will probably leave Reiner with questions later. Maybe the curiosity will burn. Maybe he'll have to come demand answers. Whether Eren will give them or not is another matter. But it's fine. They can't quite let go of each other, can they, at home or here or maybe anywhere. Some of that is still Eren's own doing now, seeds planted on purpose for reasons Eren himself couldn't even quite articulate.
Reiner doesn't leave. Eren wonders what he thinks. He could guess. A couple guesses might not be far off. He wonders if he'd choke if he was on his knees instead of up against the wall. Reiner is big all over, right? He gets stuck on that for a second, mouth open and hot against Reiner's skin. Reiner makes the ghost of a sound against his ear that he couldn't have even dreamed up and there are too many layers between them. Which one of them did Eren think he was playing, again? He thinks he has the upper hand because he can say things like that, but that's half delusional. He loses it again with just that edge of a sound, before Reiner even manages to say anything back.
Liar.
Obviously. But there might have been another point -- a point Reiner doesn't know about -- where he was so far gone that he'd have done anything just to feel again. He could never have risked it, but part of him entertains the thought here for a minute, Reiner's hands and mouth on him in his hometown and not Eren's, Eren's fake injuries or not.
What the hell is even wrong with him. He's self-aware enough to know how fucked up that is, even the weird fantasy of it. Who the hell would think such a thing? Who the hell would think such a thing and rock their hips harder and have to bite down against their enemy's skin to keep from making some embarrassing sort of sound about hardly anything? Couldn't be him.
The extra meanings in Reiner's words aren't lost on him. Those words are probably true in as many different ways as they're meant.
"Fuck," he says after that, shaky, head falling back against Reiner's hand and the wall for a moment. He tries to recover his thoughts but he's not entirely successful. Reiner moves his hand further up Eren's leg and Eren's torn. He likes this, the press of them against each other, the mash of their hips together.
No. It's not enough. It's too much and they're both fucking stupid and they should have stopped long before now and it is not enough. He doesn't really have room to work Reiner's pants open with one hand. So he drags his nails down again, blunt edges all the way down Reiner's neck, that threat over his nape again because he can't not do it, before finally shoving that hand between them too.
It's a sort of tug of war with himself, really, because he doesn't want Reiner to move, but he needs him to enough so he can get his hands in his pants.
Unfortunately for Eren, his need gives way to honesty more than manipulation. He might get it back, find some other awful thing to say, once he gets more of what he wants. For now, his mouth runs away with him. He's always gotten into trouble that way, hasn't he? Screaming emotional things into the air at titans, at his friends, at Reiner himself.
This is a lot quieter, at least.
"Come on," he says, too fast, "I wanna feel you."
Much too honest, too close to the truth. If only he meant something purely physical. He tells himself that's what he means and he can try to believe that lie for awhile. At the same time, he's mad at himself for saying anything at all. If it was just something dirty or scathing, fine, but that? That's what he managed to say? Like he's some needy barely-not-a-teenager in an alleyway instead of someone orchestrating yet another atrocity? Ugh.
"Reiner," he says again, but he bites down again, his own lip this time, turning any other words into garbled sounds instead. Wouldn't want to say something revealing like please, not after all that effort.
But no. That's not what happens at all. He got the start of this wrong but he didn't get this part wrong. Sure, the Marley thing was a gamble, and it will probably leave Reiner with questions later. Maybe the curiosity will burn. Maybe he'll have to come demand answers. Whether Eren will give them or not is another matter. But it's fine. They can't quite let go of each other, can they, at home or here or maybe anywhere. Some of that is still Eren's own doing now, seeds planted on purpose for reasons Eren himself couldn't even quite articulate.
Reiner doesn't leave. Eren wonders what he thinks. He could guess. A couple guesses might not be far off. He wonders if he'd choke if he was on his knees instead of up against the wall. Reiner is big all over, right? He gets stuck on that for a second, mouth open and hot against Reiner's skin. Reiner makes the ghost of a sound against his ear that he couldn't have even dreamed up and there are too many layers between them. Which one of them did Eren think he was playing, again? He thinks he has the upper hand because he can say things like that, but that's half delusional. He loses it again with just that edge of a sound, before Reiner even manages to say anything back.
Liar.
Obviously. But there might have been another point -- a point Reiner doesn't know about -- where he was so far gone that he'd have done anything just to feel again. He could never have risked it, but part of him entertains the thought here for a minute, Reiner's hands and mouth on him in his hometown and not Eren's, Eren's fake injuries or not.
What the hell is even wrong with him. He's self-aware enough to know how fucked up that is, even the weird fantasy of it. Who the hell would think such a thing? Who the hell would think such a thing and rock their hips harder and have to bite down against their enemy's skin to keep from making some embarrassing sort of sound about hardly anything? Couldn't be him.
The extra meanings in Reiner's words aren't lost on him. Those words are probably true in as many different ways as they're meant.
"Fuck," he says after that, shaky, head falling back against Reiner's hand and the wall for a moment. He tries to recover his thoughts but he's not entirely successful. Reiner moves his hand further up Eren's leg and Eren's torn. He likes this, the press of them against each other, the mash of their hips together.
No. It's not enough. It's too much and they're both fucking stupid and they should have stopped long before now and it is not enough. He doesn't really have room to work Reiner's pants open with one hand. So he drags his nails down again, blunt edges all the way down Reiner's neck, that threat over his nape again because he can't not do it, before finally shoving that hand between them too.
It's a sort of tug of war with himself, really, because he doesn't want Reiner to move, but he needs him to enough so he can get his hands in his pants.
Unfortunately for Eren, his need gives way to honesty more than manipulation. He might get it back, find some other awful thing to say, once he gets more of what he wants. For now, his mouth runs away with him. He's always gotten into trouble that way, hasn't he? Screaming emotional things into the air at titans, at his friends, at Reiner himself.
This is a lot quieter, at least.
"Come on," he says, too fast, "I wanna feel you."
Much too honest, too close to the truth. If only he meant something purely physical. He tells himself that's what he means and he can try to believe that lie for awhile. At the same time, he's mad at himself for saying anything at all. If it was just something dirty or scathing, fine, but that? That's what he managed to say? Like he's some needy barely-not-a-teenager in an alleyway instead of someone orchestrating yet another atrocity? Ugh.
"Reiner," he says again, but he bites down again, his own lip this time, turning any other words into garbled sounds instead. Wouldn't want to say something revealing like please, not after all that effort.
The press of Eren's teeth against his skin sends Reiner shuddering again, aching for more but unwilling to sacrifice what they have. Unwilling to relinquish even a centimeter of space. He could lie to himself, saying he doesn't want Eren to escape his grasp again. He could spin himself a story, pretend that he's only acting as a Warrior securing his objective. But even Reiner isn't quite delusional enough to believe that.
As a Warrior, Reiner should choke Eren into unconsciousness and lock him somewhere below ground. As a Warrior, Reiner shouldn't run his hand greedily over Eren's ass, squeezing muscle concealed by fabric, wondering how hot Eren is inside. As a Warrior, his mind shouldn't go blank when Eren scrapes blunt nails down his nape—and he sure as hell shouldn't make the noise he does.
Fuck. Fuck.
Reiner can't suppress his groan; he doesn't even try. It vibrates in his chest, low and throaty against Eren's ear, wordless but painfully revealing. He'd feel embarrassed if there were any room left for shame. As it is, he feels too raw for that. Too ragged. Too honest, pressed against a man who has seen the best and the worst of him, who has taken Reiner's shattered sanity and thrown it back in his face.
Distantly, he wonders if this is all part of Eren's plan. Is this part of the suffering Eren promised to inflict on him? Does Eren mean to drive Reiner to desperation, tempting him with the dream of something more before cutting him off at the knee?
But then Eren speaks, quick and quiet, honest desire laced in each word. And it doesn't matter if this is all a trick, doesn't matter if it's a trap. It only matters that Eren wants him.
This isn't love; it's not even close. But it's enough to be wanted.
"Okay," Reiner says, forcing himself to draw back, forearm resting on the wall as he sucks in a breath. "Okay," he repeats, tipping his chin forward, brushing a kiss to Eren's cheek before he withdraws a little more, relinquishing his hold on Eren's hair and ass. Then his hands move to his middle, likely bumping against Eren's as he sets about giving Eren what he wants.
It's shameful, really, how quickly Reiner surrenders. He'll berate himself for it later.
For now, Reiner tugs up his rain-damp shirt to get it out of the way, the wet fabric bunching beneath his arms, exposing his midriff. Then he drops his hands to his belt, quick fingers helping to unfasten first it, then his trousers, the swell of his erection pushing against his underwear, a bead of precum marking the tip. (Even with that final piece of fabric in the way, it's evident that Eren's suspicions are correct: Reiner is a big, broad man from top to bottom.)
His gaze flicks up, amber eyes bright as he watches Eren's face. Wanting to see Eren's reaction as he tugs down that last barrier just enough to free his cock. Craving approval, same as always.
Whether he finds his sought approval or not, his fingers reach for Eren's clothing next, aiming to bare him in turn.
As a Warrior, Reiner should choke Eren into unconsciousness and lock him somewhere below ground. As a Warrior, Reiner shouldn't run his hand greedily over Eren's ass, squeezing muscle concealed by fabric, wondering how hot Eren is inside. As a Warrior, his mind shouldn't go blank when Eren scrapes blunt nails down his nape—and he sure as hell shouldn't make the noise he does.
Fuck. Fuck.
Reiner can't suppress his groan; he doesn't even try. It vibrates in his chest, low and throaty against Eren's ear, wordless but painfully revealing. He'd feel embarrassed if there were any room left for shame. As it is, he feels too raw for that. Too ragged. Too honest, pressed against a man who has seen the best and the worst of him, who has taken Reiner's shattered sanity and thrown it back in his face.
Distantly, he wonders if this is all part of Eren's plan. Is this part of the suffering Eren promised to inflict on him? Does Eren mean to drive Reiner to desperation, tempting him with the dream of something more before cutting him off at the knee?
But then Eren speaks, quick and quiet, honest desire laced in each word. And it doesn't matter if this is all a trick, doesn't matter if it's a trap. It only matters that Eren wants him.
This isn't love; it's not even close. But it's enough to be wanted.
"Okay," Reiner says, forcing himself to draw back, forearm resting on the wall as he sucks in a breath. "Okay," he repeats, tipping his chin forward, brushing a kiss to Eren's cheek before he withdraws a little more, relinquishing his hold on Eren's hair and ass. Then his hands move to his middle, likely bumping against Eren's as he sets about giving Eren what he wants.
It's shameful, really, how quickly Reiner surrenders. He'll berate himself for it later.
For now, Reiner tugs up his rain-damp shirt to get it out of the way, the wet fabric bunching beneath his arms, exposing his midriff. Then he drops his hands to his belt, quick fingers helping to unfasten first it, then his trousers, the swell of his erection pushing against his underwear, a bead of precum marking the tip. (Even with that final piece of fabric in the way, it's evident that Eren's suspicions are correct: Reiner is a big, broad man from top to bottom.)
His gaze flicks up, amber eyes bright as he watches Eren's face. Wanting to see Eren's reaction as he tugs down that last barrier just enough to free his cock. Craving approval, same as always.
Whether he finds his sought approval or not, his fingers reach for Eren's clothing next, aiming to bare him in turn.
Eren might also laugh if he knew how twisted up Reiner was about this, second-guessing Eren's motivations. He doesn't really have an agenda. He likes to push boundaries and he's manipulative and he's kind of a piece of shit about how he handles people these days. Sure, he wants to push the walls of whatever Reiner has built around himself, truths and identities that aren't quite there. He's not a saint, and the thread of his hatred runs so deep. He'd continued this by being terrible on purpose, saying things designed to bite. He said he didn't want to fight. He never once said he didn't want to inflict damage.
Hate isn't what he feels now, though, and all his half-baked ideas of how he was going to orchestrate this slip through his fingers. Reiner makes another sound against him like he's never dared to dream of and he's suddenly sorry they're doing this in the rain and not somewhere he can draw more of that out, somewhere they can slow down a little. Contradictory thoughts. He's in a hurry because he wants to be touched yesterday, because he's afraid if he doesn't push it then Reiner will get a handle on his shit long enough to walk away. He doesn't care if someone sees them. He cares about getting what he wants, what he thinks (knows?) he needs even if he can't name it.
Maybe it's a little bit of a trap. Maybe (definitely) Eren will push this later, remind Reiner of this thing they've done that they can't undo once it's over. Eren doesn't have to beg to get Reiner to give in and that's sure something to know. He can lord that over Reiner another time (as if he's any different, as if he resisted this in any way). For now, he's not even fooling himself about it anymore.
He lets his foot find purchase on the ground again for the time being, though he's sure Reiner wouldn't let him fall if he was off balance. That thought again of missing limbs, some fucked up thing that sparks through his scattered memories, blending fantasy with fact. It's only a thought, though. He can hold onto it later and decide how much to hate himself over it.
Their fingers almost tangle, something close to intimate, before Eren moves his hands enough to let Reiner open his belt. He drops his gaze to watch, though he can't see everything from here. He can see enough, though. Eren isn't small, he thinks, based on his limited experience with other people, but Reiner is big, like he thought. Good.
His lips are parted, subconscious hunger plain on his pretty face without him even realising it. But he too is beyond shame. He said what he wanted, why act coy about it now?
He doesn't make the next part entirely easy, because rather than help Reiner with his clothes, he reaches for the blond's cock. It's right there, hard and hot, impossibly hot compared with the rain cooled air as his fingers wrap around it. They're titans, after all, so they run hotter than normal people.
He's never slept with another titan shifter. He only knows his own temperature, which feels normal to him. How hot would Reiner feel inside him? Would he burn like iron? God, he hopes so.
He's not resistant to Reiner's hands on his own pants. He's just not actively helping. He doesn't have a belt on; it's a wonder he manages clothes at all with how fucked up his head is some days. He does want Reiner to touch him, obviously, he just needs a second to enjoy this part.
His eyes flick up, and that feels like a mistake, another vulnerability laid open to someone he cannot afford to show it to. He catches Reiner watching him and his face flushes all over again. His body is honest where his mouth often refuses to be, continuing the trend.
Hate isn't what he feels now, though, and all his half-baked ideas of how he was going to orchestrate this slip through his fingers. Reiner makes another sound against him like he's never dared to dream of and he's suddenly sorry they're doing this in the rain and not somewhere he can draw more of that out, somewhere they can slow down a little. Contradictory thoughts. He's in a hurry because he wants to be touched yesterday, because he's afraid if he doesn't push it then Reiner will get a handle on his shit long enough to walk away. He doesn't care if someone sees them. He cares about getting what he wants, what he thinks (knows?) he needs even if he can't name it.
Maybe it's a little bit of a trap. Maybe (definitely) Eren will push this later, remind Reiner of this thing they've done that they can't undo once it's over. Eren doesn't have to beg to get Reiner to give in and that's sure something to know. He can lord that over Reiner another time (as if he's any different, as if he resisted this in any way). For now, he's not even fooling himself about it anymore.
He lets his foot find purchase on the ground again for the time being, though he's sure Reiner wouldn't let him fall if he was off balance. That thought again of missing limbs, some fucked up thing that sparks through his scattered memories, blending fantasy with fact. It's only a thought, though. He can hold onto it later and decide how much to hate himself over it.
Their fingers almost tangle, something close to intimate, before Eren moves his hands enough to let Reiner open his belt. He drops his gaze to watch, though he can't see everything from here. He can see enough, though. Eren isn't small, he thinks, based on his limited experience with other people, but Reiner is big, like he thought. Good.
His lips are parted, subconscious hunger plain on his pretty face without him even realising it. But he too is beyond shame. He said what he wanted, why act coy about it now?
He doesn't make the next part entirely easy, because rather than help Reiner with his clothes, he reaches for the blond's cock. It's right there, hard and hot, impossibly hot compared with the rain cooled air as his fingers wrap around it. They're titans, after all, so they run hotter than normal people.
He's never slept with another titan shifter. He only knows his own temperature, which feels normal to him. How hot would Reiner feel inside him? Would he burn like iron? God, he hopes so.
He's not resistant to Reiner's hands on his own pants. He's just not actively helping. He doesn't have a belt on; it's a wonder he manages clothes at all with how fucked up his head is some days. He does want Reiner to touch him, obviously, he just needs a second to enjoy this part.
His eyes flick up, and that feels like a mistake, another vulnerability laid open to someone he cannot afford to show it to. He catches Reiner watching him and his face flushes all over again. His body is honest where his mouth often refuses to be, continuing the trend.
Heat rolls up and down Reiner's spine, the hunger in Eren's expression washing over him, filling him, blinding him to everything else. It's dangerous. It's foolish. It's too much trust, too much desire, too many things that can never exist between them. Not in any pure way; not in any way that isn't tied up in guilt and resentment and a veritable ocean of blood. But Reiner's pulse still pounds, his cock twitching at just the sight of Eren looking at it, those pretty lips parted, all but begging for a taste.
Maybe next time, Reiner will give Eren that. Maybe next time, Reiner will tangle his hands in Eren's hair, guiding him down, heart slamming against his ribs at the inherent threat of teeth. Maybe next time—
… Next time?
For a moment, time seems to stretch, a single second that drags on and on, real and entirely unreal.
(Next time? But this is only the first time. Only the first time, right? He didn't take Eren to Wall Maria; he didn't strip Eren bare and work him open by the campfire; he didn't fuck Eren beneath the stars. He didn't smile as he watched Bertolt kissing Eren's neck, their legs tangled together. He didn't put Eren on a ship back to Marley. He didn't cup Eren's cheeks between his hands and kiss Eren beside the barracks when they were still in training. He didn't do anything until today, here in the rain. Right?)
Then Eren's hand reaches out, wrapping around Reiner's cock—and reality snaps back into place. Reiner blinks, exhaling a shaky breath as heat floods him again, burning away everything but this moment. Eren's hand is a little smaller than his, but it's as strong as any soldier's, single-minded in a way that's so Eren that Reiner almost laughs. His lips twitch, fingers on the fastenings of Eren's pants, doing his best to make quick work of them.
Not that Eren helps in the least. Not that Reiner can focus very well regardless, fixated as he is on Eren's parted lips and too-warm grip. (Fuck, how hot is Eren inside? How soon can he find out?) His hips keep twitching, reflexively thrusting into Eren's hand, and if he doesn't get Eren's pants open soon, he might resort to ripping the fabric.
But before he can take drastic measures, those vivid eyes meet his, a flush instantly spreading across Eren's cheeks. It's so…
Impulsively, Reiner leans in, their noses brushing, pressing his lips to Eren's in another kiss. His teeth catch Eren's lower lip, nipping before he murmurs, "You're so cute when you blush."
Words that could be innocent enough were it not for the blatant lust in Reiner's voice.
Finally, he gets a hand beneath Eren's underwear, nearly sighing as he touches the hot, velvety shaft. So hard, just for him. Just for Reiner.
Maybe next time, Reiner will give Eren that. Maybe next time, Reiner will tangle his hands in Eren's hair, guiding him down, heart slamming against his ribs at the inherent threat of teeth. Maybe next time—
… Next time?
For a moment, time seems to stretch, a single second that drags on and on, real and entirely unreal.
(Next time? But this is only the first time. Only the first time, right? He didn't take Eren to Wall Maria; he didn't strip Eren bare and work him open by the campfire; he didn't fuck Eren beneath the stars. He didn't smile as he watched Bertolt kissing Eren's neck, their legs tangled together. He didn't put Eren on a ship back to Marley. He didn't cup Eren's cheeks between his hands and kiss Eren beside the barracks when they were still in training. He didn't do anything until today, here in the rain. Right?)
Then Eren's hand reaches out, wrapping around Reiner's cock—and reality snaps back into place. Reiner blinks, exhaling a shaky breath as heat floods him again, burning away everything but this moment. Eren's hand is a little smaller than his, but it's as strong as any soldier's, single-minded in a way that's so Eren that Reiner almost laughs. His lips twitch, fingers on the fastenings of Eren's pants, doing his best to make quick work of them.
Not that Eren helps in the least. Not that Reiner can focus very well regardless, fixated as he is on Eren's parted lips and too-warm grip. (Fuck, how hot is Eren inside? How soon can he find out?) His hips keep twitching, reflexively thrusting into Eren's hand, and if he doesn't get Eren's pants open soon, he might resort to ripping the fabric.
But before he can take drastic measures, those vivid eyes meet his, a flush instantly spreading across Eren's cheeks. It's so…
Impulsively, Reiner leans in, their noses brushing, pressing his lips to Eren's in another kiss. His teeth catch Eren's lower lip, nipping before he murmurs, "You're so cute when you blush."
Words that could be innocent enough were it not for the blatant lust in Reiner's voice.
Finally, he gets a hand beneath Eren's underwear, nearly sighing as he touches the hot, velvety shaft. So hard, just for him. Just for Reiner.
Eren twists his hand a little, experimentally. The angle is a little wrong because they're so close together but it's not like he's never touched a cock that isn't his before. It doesn't take too much thought to figure out, and Reiner is as eager for this as he is, moving against him like that. They could finish just like this, hands on each other too quickly.
He wonders what the refractory period is. It's like healing factor, right? Fast. Maybe they could go all night if they had it. He's not really sure; again, he has only himself to go by, and he's only been with other regular humans with their regular limits. What does this look like when you remove the barriers, increase the amount of damage, ignore the part where you have to wait between?
Yeah. Next time, he thinks too, but he's not confused about what's come before. Unmoored in when they are, maybe, but not what has happened between them. Whether or not Reiner gives him a next time, he can't be sure. Reality might be more fucked up for him then, because then he will have this time to look back on. Oh well, he can figure that out then, if it happens.
Reiner's mouth is on his again and he kisses back for a moment but then Reiner has to say stupid shit. It does nothing to make Eren stop blushing. His eyebrows pull together a little, though he can't exactly be irritated, not like this.
But he can't abide it, the softness of those words. It drags him too close to feeling something.
"I'd be cuter with your dick inside me," he says, the flush on his face and the way he doesn't quite meet Reiner's eyes again even this close the only tell that he's not very used to saying things like that.
Before he can recover from that, Reiner gets his hands in his underwear. He short-circuits a little again and for once it doesn't matter at all when he is, when they are. When was the last time he was this hard? When he learned what vibrators do, maybe? Maybe not even then, and whatever that says about him probably isn't very complimentary.
He leans his mouth back into Reiner's, demanding again, an accidental clash of teeth because he doesn't actually have to be careful, because they both apparently like it that way. He remembers to move his hand again, managing to keep it fairly controlled instead of desperate, but like all of this he's fighting a losing battle. Eren and self-control are only friends sometimes.
He wonders what the refractory period is. It's like healing factor, right? Fast. Maybe they could go all night if they had it. He's not really sure; again, he has only himself to go by, and he's only been with other regular humans with their regular limits. What does this look like when you remove the barriers, increase the amount of damage, ignore the part where you have to wait between?
Yeah. Next time, he thinks too, but he's not confused about what's come before. Unmoored in when they are, maybe, but not what has happened between them. Whether or not Reiner gives him a next time, he can't be sure. Reality might be more fucked up for him then, because then he will have this time to look back on. Oh well, he can figure that out then, if it happens.
Reiner's mouth is on his again and he kisses back for a moment but then Reiner has to say stupid shit. It does nothing to make Eren stop blushing. His eyebrows pull together a little, though he can't exactly be irritated, not like this.
But he can't abide it, the softness of those words. It drags him too close to feeling something.
"I'd be cuter with your dick inside me," he says, the flush on his face and the way he doesn't quite meet Reiner's eyes again even this close the only tell that he's not very used to saying things like that.
Before he can recover from that, Reiner gets his hands in his underwear. He short-circuits a little again and for once it doesn't matter at all when he is, when they are. When was the last time he was this hard? When he learned what vibrators do, maybe? Maybe not even then, and whatever that says about him probably isn't very complimentary.
He leans his mouth back into Reiner's, demanding again, an accidental clash of teeth because he doesn't actually have to be careful, because they both apparently like it that way. He remembers to move his hand again, managing to keep it fairly controlled instead of desperate, but like all of this he's fighting a losing battle. Eren and self-control are only friends sometimes.
Something within Reiner preens as he watches Eren's eyes dart to the side, cheeks still painted with a pretty blush even as those dirty words pass his lips. It's the same part of Reiner that relishes competition, one more tangled branch leading back to the same desire. (Approval. Affection. Acknowledgment. Love.) A harmless quirk most of the time, except in the rare cases when it turns ugly. But this doesn't feel ugly; this feels like a win. Eren's averted eyes, Eren's pinched brows, Eren's flushed cheeks, Eren's hot, hard cock wrapped in his hand—it all feels like victory.
Reiner is heady with it. Stupid with it, meeting Eren's kiss greedily, all tongue and teeth, sighing when he tastes fresh blood. It's his blood this time, he thinks, but it's hard to tell. He hopes it's his. He hopes that a part of him lingers inside Eren, even if it's just a few drops of blood.
And isn't that fucked up? Isn't it sick for him to want that? Isn't it deplorable, considering how he knows his life will end? Isn't it twisted, when he remembers precisely what it felt like to rip Eren from the Attack Titan's nape, the Armored's teeth snapping straight through limbs because Reiner was in a hurry?
Maybe Reiner just wants to be inside of Eren that badly. Maybe he'll settle for some of his blood if he can't use his cock.
Because there's no way he can fuck Eren properly right now. Gone as Reiner is, lost in the taste of their kiss, the feeling of Eren's hand around him, his own hand squeezing and stroking Eren's length, thumb rubbing just beneath the head—he knows he can't actually fuck Eren. Not in the way that he wants to. Not unless Eren has a vial of oil tucked in a pocket. And considering that blush, the averted eyes when Eren spoke those words, Reiner's sure that's not the case.
So he slides his other hand up Eren's side, over his shoulder, up toward his neck—a touch that's a little too firm to be called a caress, greedy as his kiss. Aiming to re-establish that grip in Eren's hair, craving more of those wonderful sounds.
"Is that what you want, Eren?" he asks when he breaks for breath, his voice low, almost teasing. Something that doesn't quite fit what they are, in the way that nothing about this really fits. "Do you want me inside of you? I can give you that … if it's what you want."
Not with his cock, not right now, but his fingers should work just fine. That is, if Eren will say he wants it. Because while Reiner may not have made Eren beg earlier, he still wants to hear that he's wanted.
Funny how such a thing can be so addicting.
Reiner is heady with it. Stupid with it, meeting Eren's kiss greedily, all tongue and teeth, sighing when he tastes fresh blood. It's his blood this time, he thinks, but it's hard to tell. He hopes it's his. He hopes that a part of him lingers inside Eren, even if it's just a few drops of blood.
And isn't that fucked up? Isn't it sick for him to want that? Isn't it deplorable, considering how he knows his life will end? Isn't it twisted, when he remembers precisely what it felt like to rip Eren from the Attack Titan's nape, the Armored's teeth snapping straight through limbs because Reiner was in a hurry?
Maybe Reiner just wants to be inside of Eren that badly. Maybe he'll settle for some of his blood if he can't use his cock.
Because there's no way he can fuck Eren properly right now. Gone as Reiner is, lost in the taste of their kiss, the feeling of Eren's hand around him, his own hand squeezing and stroking Eren's length, thumb rubbing just beneath the head—he knows he can't actually fuck Eren. Not in the way that he wants to. Not unless Eren has a vial of oil tucked in a pocket. And considering that blush, the averted eyes when Eren spoke those words, Reiner's sure that's not the case.
So he slides his other hand up Eren's side, over his shoulder, up toward his neck—a touch that's a little too firm to be called a caress, greedy as his kiss. Aiming to re-establish that grip in Eren's hair, craving more of those wonderful sounds.
"Is that what you want, Eren?" he asks when he breaks for breath, his voice low, almost teasing. Something that doesn't quite fit what they are, in the way that nothing about this really fits. "Do you want me inside of you? I can give you that … if it's what you want."
Not with his cock, not right now, but his fingers should work just fine. That is, if Eren will say he wants it. Because while Reiner may not have made Eren beg earlier, he still wants to hear that he's wanted.
Funny how such a thing can be so addicting.
Reiner's blood, he thinks. Not the first time he's tasted it today. Not the first time ever, but tasting blood with a titan's mouth isn't the same thing at all. He likes this because Reiner does, the hurt of it. He's not entirely obtuse and he knows how alike they are anyway.
They could rip each other to shreds and they'd still get off and part of him wants to do it just to see what happens, just to get Reiner to fight back.
Sometime, maybe. If he can goad Reiner into doing this again, who's to say what he might get from him? Neither of them are playing with a full deck and both of them are desperate. Eren knows he can be cruel, he's already danced that edge a bit today, but he thinks Reiner could be too if he pushed him just right.
For now, he no longer needs all of that pretence, the idea of enemies. They already threw that out, the shakiest temporary truce, if they could even call this a truce.
Fuck, there's that hand in his hair again and he can't stand how much he likes that. Growing his hair out was just carelessness, really. Why did he keep it long after he got back to Paradis...? He doesn't really know. Maybe just for this, for someone with big, strong hands to twist their fingers into it and pull. Not that he had the chance at home. Not that he ever would have. Whatever.
"Yes," Eren says, insistent, eyes moving back to Reiner's face. He doesn't hesitate, doesn't even realise he's lost when he says it. Fuck it, though. How much more could he really lose in this situation with his pants open in an alley hidden behind a stack of crates?
He doesn't have any lubricant on him, of course. He doesn't just carry it around (maybe he'll start). He thinks he doesn't care, so what, so it will hurt and he'll bleed and it doesn't matter. Spit. Blood. The rain. They can use something.
He knows better, though. Much as he's suddenly daydreaming about Reiner's cock inside him for real, that's not how this is going to end. Again, he considers what might happen if he can get Reiner to touch him again, maybe in a bed, maybe not in a hurry, maybe...
He loses the thread of wherever that goes.
He moves his hand so he can run his thumb over the head of Reiner's cock, smearing precome over it. He makes a noise he doesn't realise he's made, soft and needy. He can't take himself out of this equation, tell himself that this isn't personal. It is, isn't it? They want each other and he's half-drunk with it.
Will Reiner still want him when he knows the truth? Maybe he'll keep that secret, the weight of the future, if it means he gets to do this again. It's the most selfish reason and he won't think that way later, but he's not thinking straight now at all.
They could rip each other to shreds and they'd still get off and part of him wants to do it just to see what happens, just to get Reiner to fight back.
Sometime, maybe. If he can goad Reiner into doing this again, who's to say what he might get from him? Neither of them are playing with a full deck and both of them are desperate. Eren knows he can be cruel, he's already danced that edge a bit today, but he thinks Reiner could be too if he pushed him just right.
For now, he no longer needs all of that pretence, the idea of enemies. They already threw that out, the shakiest temporary truce, if they could even call this a truce.
Fuck, there's that hand in his hair again and he can't stand how much he likes that. Growing his hair out was just carelessness, really. Why did he keep it long after he got back to Paradis...? He doesn't really know. Maybe just for this, for someone with big, strong hands to twist their fingers into it and pull. Not that he had the chance at home. Not that he ever would have. Whatever.
"Yes," Eren says, insistent, eyes moving back to Reiner's face. He doesn't hesitate, doesn't even realise he's lost when he says it. Fuck it, though. How much more could he really lose in this situation with his pants open in an alley hidden behind a stack of crates?
He doesn't have any lubricant on him, of course. He doesn't just carry it around (maybe he'll start). He thinks he doesn't care, so what, so it will hurt and he'll bleed and it doesn't matter. Spit. Blood. The rain. They can use something.
He knows better, though. Much as he's suddenly daydreaming about Reiner's cock inside him for real, that's not how this is going to end. Again, he considers what might happen if he can get Reiner to touch him again, maybe in a bed, maybe not in a hurry, maybe...
He loses the thread of wherever that goes.
He moves his hand so he can run his thumb over the head of Reiner's cock, smearing precome over it. He makes a noise he doesn't realise he's made, soft and needy. He can't take himself out of this equation, tell himself that this isn't personal. It is, isn't it? They want each other and he's half-drunk with it.
Will Reiner still want him when he knows the truth? Maybe he'll keep that secret, the weight of the future, if it means he gets to do this again. It's the most selfish reason and he won't think that way later, but he's not thinking straight now at all.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
from here
Eren has seen Kyle's warnings several times about this lightning. He has never once believed them, since he's been here through several storms and it's been fine. Well, now he'll be a believer, won't he?
By the time he finds Zechs, he's only been hit once, but Zechs might not be so lucky. He recognises the other man, of course, from when they met in the desert. Is this better? It feels better, at least. Eren is still only wearing what he had from Euphoria, something he certainly didn't pick but got stuck in himself, tight black pants and a cropped shirt. It's hardly his usual fare. At least whatever was going on in there has worn off, but that still leaves…the lightning.
"Zechs," he says, drawing closer, trying to resist the urge to just reach out and touch, hands balled into fists at his sides. This is a losing game. "It's not safe out here. This lightning is…messed up."
Eren has seen Kyle's warnings several times about this lightning. He has never once believed them, since he's been here through several storms and it's been fine. Well, now he'll be a believer, won't he?
By the time he finds Zechs, he's only been hit once, but Zechs might not be so lucky. He recognises the other man, of course, from when they met in the desert. Is this better? It feels better, at least. Eren is still only wearing what he had from Euphoria, something he certainly didn't pick but got stuck in himself, tight black pants and a cropped shirt. It's hardly his usual fare. At least whatever was going on in there has worn off, but that still leaves…the lightning.
"Zechs," he says, drawing closer, trying to resist the urge to just reach out and touch, hands balled into fists at his sides. This is a losing game. "It's not safe out here. This lightning is…messed up."
Edited 2023-06-15 16:02 (UTC)
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.
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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