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The days drift by, one by one, ants marching in a line from a molehill across the grass, unexceptional and steady. Bertholdt drifts with them, with dark eyes and what feels like a darker heart.
Four has never been a significant number to him. But when it hits him, near what everyone knows will be the end of the war with the Middle-Eastern Alliance - four years since Shiganshina, four years since Reiner- it's like a punch to the gut.
He lets it curdle inside him, a slow, uncoiling heat. He can't tell the difference between grief and despair, and which one he is feeling now; most days, Bertholdt only ever feels angry.
"That's a pretty scary face you're making, Bertl," Pieck tells him quietly. She's smiling, though it's hard to tell how genuine it is. He can never read her.
"Is it?" he asks her, shaking himself out of his thoughts.
"A little," Pieck responds dryly.
"Oh," Bertholdt says, and then, "Sorry," an afterthought.
The evening breeze ruffles their hair and their uniforms, soothing but cold. The sun is blood red against the orange sky, hanging over the once proud and tall military base that's been turned into a barren desert, a scorched crater emanating from the center of it all.
They sit on the roof of a house that's been blown apart by a tank shell. It must have been beautiful, once; the architecture of the Middle-Eastern countries has always distantly struck him as being so. It would have amazed him before, but Bertholdt doesn't have enough left in him to truly care.
"You know, there was a religion once," Pieck says suddenly. Bertholdt looks at her, but she doesn't meet his eyes, staring far ahead into the unforgiving landscape of a dying country that reaches past this city. Her face is thoughtful, but Bertholdt can see what looks almost like a childlike glint of wonder in her half-lidded eyes.
"This country, they said it was the Holy Land," Pieck says. "God's chosen place. Paradise, maybe."
Bertholdt thinks of an island, and then he doesn't. He looks below their hanging feet, through the sloping streets of this once bustling city; there are still bloodstains on the dusty earth.
"There's nothing holy here," Bertholdt says. Just pain and death, forever a staple of mankind. He's seen this view too many times, in different variants, but there is always red, always the smell of rot.
"No?" Pieck says. She looks at him. "But they must have gotten something right. God has left His mark here now, hasn't he?"
His inhale is sharp. "I'm not God."
Pieck's gaze is appraising. "No. But you're close enough, aren't you?"
"That's..." It's a thought he can't finish. His eyes fall to his hands, big, knuckles bruised with purple as they curl on his thighs.
Pieck's laugh breaks through the air, making him look up. "I'm kidding, I'm kidding. Help me up, I really shouldn't have been sitting this long. And there's a celebration at the bar tonight, we're going."
Bertholdt doesn't protest. He helps her up and gives her her crutches.
Darkness quickly falls over the city as they walk. Golden lights flicker on, providing illumination of their path. Marleyans and Middle-Eastern intermingle, sharp contrasts in every way, victory and defeat. The scent of spices clog his nostrils, foreign and unfamiliar. Bertholdt is comfortable saying nothing, but Pieck speaks, never one to linger in silence. "Your scary face might not bother me, but you should tone it down around the kids, you know."
"Tone it down?" Bertholdt asks disinterestedly. He glances at a child huddled at the gaping mouth of an alley, with nothing in their eyes. "Do I really look that terrifying?"
With the exception of Gabi, the cadets struggle to meet his eyes and address him as Mr. Hoover in quiet voices. Reiner would have gotten along with them, Bertholdt knows. They would have adored Reiner. He is just a distant colossal figure they hope to become one day.
Pieck's face is white and small, almost ghoulish, her eyes for once huge under her tangled hair as she tilts her head to look up at him. He remembers a tiny, blonde girl, who would sometimes direct that kind of mocking expression at another blond boy when she wanted to taunt him, the insincere o of her mouth cruel and mean. "That's funny, Bertl. Anyone ever tell you you're funny?"
"No, because I'm not," Bertholdt says flatly.
The mocking expression falls away, and Pieck sighs. "You should try looking in a mirror sometimes."
"And you shouldn't call me Bertl, but you still do."
A startled laugh rises out of her. "Fair enough," Pieck says. "But you're an intimidating guy. Even if you don't realize it, and I know you do."
Bertholdt thinks about that. He's gotten taller again, topping out at 6'5" at twenty. The roundness of his cheeks are gone, and he no longer lets his hair fall into his eyes except for the few stray strands that refuse to be managed. He's filled out, no longer lean and willowy. His face is empty; Bertholdt has seen it reflected at him enough in glass to know.
It would have bothered him when he was still a teen. He'd fussed over his appearance so much back then, as self-conscious as he'd been.
And now?
No one approaches him when he looks like this, do they? So it suits him well enough.
"We're here," Pieck says.
They walk in. There's glints of broken glass on the counter that the dark-skinned bartender stands behind. Broken windows that have been hastily covered with wooden planks hammered into the walls, some hanging off their nails. Despite the rowdy soldiers who surround tables, laughing and shouting as they slam their pints on their tables, the establishment feels hollowed out.
Sometimes, after a long training day, the 104th would head out to bar. Just the boys, but they would all be drunk and stumbling not long into the night. The first few times, Reiner would not be among those boys, but eventually, he was. Bertholdt remembers clasping his wrist too tightly, the sour twang of fear on his tongue as Reiner looked up at him, blinking and confused, pale and his eyes glazed over with something feverish. "We can't drink this," Bertholdt had told him. "We can't."
The low croon of the song of the record in the corner fills his ears as Pieck drags him to the bar counter, where two blond men already sit on stools talking.
Zeke turns with a grin and greets them with a wave, while Porco looks over his shoulder to nod at them curtly, his eyes meeting Bertholdt's before looking away.
"We were starting to wonder where you two were, Pieck-chan," Zeke says as Pieck sits next to him. Bertholdt looks at the space between the stool and the counter that will definitely not be wide enough for his legs, sighs and drags out the stool next to Pieck with a harsh screech against the floor. The other three warriors glance at him, but don't let their eyes linger as they return to chatter amongst themselves once more.
The bartender approaches, wiping his hands with a towel. "Can I do anything for you two?" he asks, in accented Marleyan. Bertholdt doesn't miss the momentary look of fear and hatred that passes over his face, and looks at him blankly until the bartender breaks his gaze first.
"Just water, thank you," Pieck says, while Bertholdt, with a suddenness that startles him says, "Give me the strongest drink you have."
The bartender doesn't hesitate. Bertholdt can feel the eyes on him, and doesn't look.
"You don't usually drink, Bertholdt," Zeke says.
Bertholdt can imagine the gaze hidden behind opaque glasses. "I'm in the mood for it today," he says shortly. Zeke doesn't press him further.
Amber liquid in a glass is pushed to him across the wooden surface. He thinks of amber eyes, and his hand trembles as he reaches for the shot. Bertholdt is quick to raise it to his lips and drink, closing his eyes when the harsh tang of it sinks into his mouth and down his throat. Inebriation does not last long for shifters, but Bertholdt does not need something long. He'll settle for a brief relief.
He ends up swallowing it in three more gulps, and pushes the glass back to the bartender. "Another shot, please." His voice is rough.
He's never wanted to get as wasted as he does now.
When the edges of the room blur and everything becomes hazy, Bertholdt steps out of the bar, his head buzzing. He leans against the wall of the bar outside away from the lights pouring out while more soldiers wander in, still giddy in their victory, clapping others on the back.
Fuck it. If he's drunk, he might as well have a smoke as well. He'd bummed a cigarette off of Zeke once, a few years ago, and Bertholdt has taken to sometimes carrying around a pack since. He pats and searches his pockets, but finds nothing except for lint and a few coins.
Bertholdt swears under his breath, and when he looks up across the street there is a man with golden hair staring at him.
At first, Bertholdt wonders if he is seeing a ghost. But when the man tips sideways and grabs the wall of the building behind him for balance, and casts a haunted glance at Bertholdt before turning on his heel and walking away, almost running, Bertholdt can't stop himself from following. Even though it's probably the alcohol, he can't.
In spite of being drunk, it is still easy to push people out of his way. Bertholdt follows the colour of gold, his heart pounding. Reiner, he wants to call out. He doesn't. The man is not real. He can't be. But his pace quickens, almost as if realizing Bertholdt is gaining, and Bertholdt wonders, the fierce beat of his heart spreading to his ears.
The man that looks so much like Reiner swerves into an alley. Bertholdt is on his heels. It's almost pitch black, only faintly illuminated by moonlight, and Bertholdt slows down, the man no longer in sight. He takes a few steps, and then someone is shoving him against the wall.
It's instinct more than anything that controls his next move. Bertholdt grabs the arm of his attacker, switching positions and slamming them chest-first into the wall of the alley, trapping the arm against their back.
A short and sharp whoosh of breath leaves the man, and he struggles against Bertholdt's grip uselessly. Bertholdt opens his mouth, about to speak when the man looks over his shoulder and the golden eyes of Reiner Braun meet his, large and angry and desperate.
He's startled enough that his grip slackens, and it's enough for Reiner to slip out of his grasp and turn to run.
Bertholdt's arm shoots out, his hand slamming against the rough brick and preventing Reiner - real or not - from doing so. He crowds in, keeping him cornered, and when a fist is hurled at his face Bertholdt catches it with his own and moves to keep it pinned against the wall. There's solid flesh under his hand, hot and trembling, and Bertholdt doesn't know if he's dreaming but this feels too real, so much more than the glimpses he sometimes thinks he can see from the corner of his eyes. Maybe it is, Bertholdt thinks, and he must be losing his mind, finally.
Reiner's eyes are darting wildly, a cornered animal. "Let me go," he says, and he sounds terrified. "You're not real, let me go, go away-"
Bertholdt's seen this kind of thing before, too many times, when the lines separating the Soldier and the Warrior blurred too much. It's too much for Bertholdt to take, and he doesn't care if he's just seeing things. This is Reiner.
"I'm Bertholdt," he says, his voice shaking. "Bertholdt. Remember, we- we promised we would go home one day, together-"
No longer struggling, Reiner cries out at that, anguished, and covers his face with his free hand. "Just let me go," he says, his voice breaking. On the edge of tears, Bertholdt realizes, and his heart has been broken for so long that he hadn't thought it was possible for it to break further, but it does. "You're not real, please."
Bertholdt does something that he never did when he had the chance, something he should have done so many times.
He drops his hand from where it pins Reiner's, and hugs him.
The other man freezes, his hand falling from his face. Bertholdt's arms tighten around his waist, and it's so much leaner than he remembers. The man in his arms is smaller, not the boy of his memories, and Bertholdt stoops to bury his head in the juncture between Reiner's neck and shoulder.
He pulls his face away from the soft skin uncovered by Reiner's coat. "You can feel this, can't you?" Bertholdt breathes into his skin. "You can feel this. This is real."
He feels Reiner's shaky exhale against his face as he shakes his head, then presses it against Bertholdt's. "Just because I can feel something doesn't make it real," he whispers, and tears fall on to Bertholdt's hair.
Bertholdt pulls Reiner tighter against him, crushing him against his chest and Reiner's breath hitches, his hands reaching up to clutch at Bertholdt's shoulders.
"I told you I'd end it," Bertholdt says. The buzz of alcohol is gone and there are tears in his eyes, but he does not let them fall. "And I didn't. I'm sorry, Reiner. I'm so sorry."
A sob falls out of Reiner's mouth. "Shut up," he says. "You couldn't have - I was the one who failed you-" and he can't finish, burying his face against Bertholdt's chest, his fingers winding in his jacket as he shakes.
There's nothing Bertholdt can do to stop his tears now, and they slide down his face silently. He presses his face into Reiner's soft hair and breathes him in, holding him as he cries. "It's okay. I'm here now."
Eventually, the sobs die down into a few gasps, and then lapse into silence. Bertholdt's jacket is wet, but he doesn't care. He releases Reiner to wipe a hand across his eyes, aching and sore. He pulls back to look down at him and is startled when he realizes the gap between them is larger than it was when they were kids, the last time he saw him. Reiner's skin is white in the moonlight, and Bertholdt takes in the stubble at his jaw and around the pink smear of his mouth, the dried tears that streak through a somewhat dirty and thinner face.
"You're older," Bertholdt whispers, stunned.
Reiner smiles weakly. "So are you." He leans up on his toes to run a hand through Bertholdt's hair, ruffling it and causing it to fall back in Bertholdt's eyes, to its natural state. Reiner falls back to his heels, blinking and looking a little lost. "You changed your hair."
"And you changed it back," Bertholdt grumbles, but he smiles. He doesn't know what this is, what gave him this gift, and there is no word to encompass the depth of what he feels but the closest is grateful.
Reiner stares up at him, mouth open.
"Wha-?" Bertholdt starts, but before he can finish saying what Reiner is rocking upwards and kissing him.
His fingers slip into Bertholdt's hair, and his mouth is hot as it slides against Bertholdt's. Bertholdt doesn't respond for a moment, frozen, and then a dam within him collapses and he is pressing Reiner back against the wall, hands clasping his hips and hitching him up against him.
Reiner breaks the kiss, gasping. "I'm sorry," he mutters. "I know you liked- I don't know, like Annie, I just- I had to do that, at least once."
Some things just never change. Bertholdt laughs. "God, Reiner, shut up," he says, and leans down to kiss him.
It's slower and less hurried this time, sweeter. Reiner's lips are surprisingly soft, and he tastes sweet. Reiner isn't wrong about Annie; there was a time where Bertholdt's eyes had used to linger on her, and he'd wondered what it would be like to kiss her. But when he was sixteen dreams of Annie had been replaced with dreams of Reiner, and he'd wanted to know what it would be like to kiss him, to suck that plush bottom lip between his own.
He does that now, biting gently, and Reiner moans softly. Bertholdt slips his tongue between Reiner's lips, and it's wetter than he expected but the heat between them builds up between them even more as their tongues meet and they kiss, open-mouthed. The rasp of Reiner's beard is rough against his chin, and Bertholdt loves it. Eventually Reiner gasps and pulls back a little. "Um," he whispers against Bertholdt's lips.
His cheeks are stained a bright pink, and his mouth is red and swollen. His eyes are wide and he's panting a little, looking vulnerable and young, and to Bertholdt he has never looked more beautiful.
Bertholdt slips a knee between Reiner's legs, and lowers his mouth to the underside of Reiner's jaw. He presses a soft kiss to it and feels Reiner tremble under his hands. "Let's go back to my place."
It's all so sudden and fast, probably too sudden and fast, but Bertholdt does not know how long this gift is going to last and he is determined not to waste it. Bertholdt fixes his hair and clothes and slips out of the alley first; after a few minutes so does Reiner, and Bertholdt leads him back to the building that's been designated as bunks for the soldiers.
The crowd of people on the streets has thinned, and it's easier to walk and slip through. Bertholdt briefly ponders how much time they were in the alley before dismissing it. It doesn't matter. The urge to reach out and grab Reiner's hand is almost impossible to restrain, but somehow he manages. Bertholdt settles for reaching out a hand and squeezing his elbow instead; Reiner smiles at him, small but bright, and Bertholdt's heart seems to grow a size.
"The city looks different," Reiner says, sounding bemused.
Bertholdt looks back at him, brows furrowed. "It does?"
"Yeah." Reiner looks around. "The destruction is... different. People- our people seem more happy." He smiles, a little lopsided. "You probably had more of a decisive win than I did. Obviously, if they had you to help them."
There's a lot of things there to question, but the last is what makes Bertholdt pause. "Where you came from," he says. "Am I not... there?"
The light in Reiner's eyes fades, and he doesn't say anything. It's enough of an answer.
Bertholdt remembers a boy that looked impossibly small being cut out of the Armoured Titan, and swallows. "Was it Shiganshina?"
Reiner nods, and Bertholdt isn't surprised. "It was the same for me too," Bertholdt says quietly. "But I lost you."
"I'm sorry," Reiner says, so painfully sincere and understanding, because of course he understands.
Bertholdt aches, but he smiles at him. "There's nothing to be sorry for."
Reiner laughs, and it surprises him. "There's so much to be sorry for," he says bitterly, and falls quiet in a way that silently screams I don't want to talk. Bertholdt doesn't push.
The silence is as familiar to him as an old friend. It would always follow conversations between them that ever mentioned Wall Maria, and then a couple of years later Trost. It was inevitable that this heaviness would wear down on them sooner or later.
Before long they reach the building, a hotel reconvened for the use of Eldian soldiers for the night. There's no one in the foyer when they walk in, thankfully no one to question Reiner's presence beside Bertholdt. Likely, people are either exhausted and recovering in their rooms or out to celebrate.
His room is on the first floor. He's painfully aware of Reiner behind him as he opens the door with a key, and when they walk in Bertholdt flips on a lamp instead of the light. He locks the door and steps away from it, and then he and Reiner are looking at each other.
"You know..." Reiner starts. "How do you think this happened, anyways?"
It could be the same stuff that fuels the power of Titans. He doesn't think so, but more importantly: "Does it matter?" There are enough things in this world that they can't explain. It doesn't hurt to add one more.
"I guess not."
Reiner's expression is lost again, and he wraps his arms around himself as he looks around. The brown paint on the walls is peeling, cracks running through the patterns, and there is a dark stain on the red loveseat by the gramophone.
"Kind of cozy," he says, and tries to smile. He looks so lonely standing there that it's impossible for Bertholdt to stay where he is.
He steps forward, and cups Reiner's cheek in one hand. Reiner's lips part as he looks up. He looks like he wants to shrink away, his expression raw, but he doesn't move.
"Reiner," Bertholdt says. His mouth is dry. "No matter what happens. No matter what's already happened. I love you. Okay?"
Reiner looks like he's about to cry. "Bertl," he says.
"No, I-" Bertholdt takes a breath. "I never told you. So I'm telling you now. I love you."
Reiner pushes him against the door. His hands are shaking as he removes Bertholdt's belt, and fumbles with the buttons and zipper at the top of his pants, before tugging them down to his thighs. One hand reaches into Bertholdt's underwear, and Bertholdt gasps as Reiner's cold hand wraps around him, jerking him out. He's hard within seconds.
Reiner sinks to his knees, and Bertholdt grabs his shoulders, stopping him. "You don't have to," he says.
Reiner shakes his head. "I want to," he says, and when his mouth wraps around Bertholdt's dick, it's hot and wet.
Bertholdt groans, and claps a hand over his mouth to muffle it. If anyone's nearby, he doesn't care that much if they hear him, easily extrapolating what he's doing, but who he's doing it with would be harder to explain.
Reiner doesn't have much technique. It's easy to tell it's his first time, as he clumsily bobs his mouth, drool slipping out at the corners. Bertholdt's length is too big for his mouth, and Reiner wraps his hand around the base, pumping as he sucks.
Bertholdt has technically received better than this. But those people weren't Reiner, heartbroken and desperate to please, and that makes all the difference as he presses his hands to his eyes, shaking as the pleasure steadily mounts.
When he feels himself getting close, he rasps, "Stop."
Reiner pulls away, looking confused, his mouth and beard wet with saliva and other fluids. He wipes them on his sleeve as he stands up, blinking. "Did I." It comes out as a croak. He stops, and clears his throat. "Did I do something wrong?"
"Of course not," Bertholdt says. He adjusts himself, fixes his pants and pulls Reiner close for another hug. He's taken aback when Reiner makes a surprised little noise, flustered, and then he laughs. It's cute. If he'd known this was the kind of response he'd get, back then he would have hugged Reiner all the time.
"I don't want to finish just yet," Bertholdt whispers in his ear.
"Um. Why not?" Reiner asks in the same volume, and he sounds so innocent that Bertholdt laughs again. It's obvious how much experience, or lack of it he has at twenty-one, and Bertholdt feels a little sad. But then it's gone as heat laces through him when he leans close to Reiner again.
"I want to fuck you," Bertholdt says, and Reiner's eyes widen as he turns red, and then ducks his head.
"Only if you want me to," Bertholdt belatedly adds.
Reiner mutters something under his breath that he can't hear. "What?"
"I said," Reiner says, and sighs. His cheeks are still red. "I, um, I want you to."
"That's good," Bertholdt says as he places his hand at the dip in Reiner's waist, manoeuvring him against the door while he looms over him. "Because I really want to," he finishes in a low growl.
"I don't remember you being this assertive," Reiner murmurs, and is cut off by a gasp as Bertholdt lowers his head to kiss his neck and pushes his coat off his shoulders and arms. It's true enough, Bertholdt muses to himself. Four years ago, those words never would have come out of his mouth. But a lot can change in four years, especially when Reiner was there for none of them. He's wanted Reiner for longer than that.
Bertholdt bites Reiner, pulling at the skin with his teeth, and Reiner starts to whimper, a whimper that cuts off as Bertholdt's mouth seals over his. It's not sweet like earlier, but desperate, both of them knowing that it's a lead-up to something they may only do once.
Reiner lurches up to his toes to pull Bertholdt closer, his arms winding around his neck. Bertholdt wraps an arm around Reiner's waist to steady him, his other hand falling to Reiner's ass. At that, Reiner's mouth opens a little in surprise, and Bertholdt cups Reiner's ass in both hands and squeezes, hitching him up even higher.
It feels just as round and firm and perfect as it looks in the tight pants Reiner's wearing. Reiner squirms and whines softly, pushing it back into Bertholdt's hands when he stops squeezing. Taking the cue for what it is, Bertholdt cups and squeezes a cheek in one hand, using the other hand to trace a finger up the crease in between, stopping where he knows the hole is and pushing his finger in, rubbing.
"Bertl, please," Reiner whimpers, and Bertholdt picks him up, hands still on his ass and using the door to help support his weight. He can instantly tell that Reiner's lost at least twenty pounds, but Bertholdt doesn't let the concern eat at him, pushing it away.
"Wrap your legs around my waist," Bertholdt says softly. Reiner does so immediately, arms still tight around Bertholdt's neck as he smiles hesitantly, and Bertholdt kisses him. As they kiss, Bertholdt ruts up against him, grinding his dick against his ass.
"Oh," Reiner says. "Oh," he says again, as Bertholdt squeezes his ass tightly and rolls his hips forward. Reiner bites his lip, and then rolls his own hips forward, grinding down against Bertholdt's erection.
They rut against each other until they're both panting loudly. Bertholdt can't remember the last time he was this hard, and he looks at Reiner with a silent question. Reiner nods, and Bertholdt puts him down.
He unbuckles Reiner's pants and helps pull his shirt off. Bertholdt steps out of his pants and underwear with little trouble, tugging off his shirt and tossing it away without looking. They both admire each other's naked bodies for a moment, and at another time it would be enough, but right now, Bertholdt wants more.
He guides Reiner to the bed, pushing him down while he goes to the bedside table. There are supplies he's left there, stuff he's learned to carry around just in case; a rubber, and some oils.
"If you want to stop, tell me," Bertholdt says, and Reiner nods.
Bertholdt sucks in a breath. "Okay. Get on your knees, back to me."
Reiner listens. His naked ass looks so inviting as he raises it in the air, swaying slightly, and Bertholdt swallows. If this is the only chance they'll ever get, it's something he'll remember.
Bertholdt spreads oil on his right hand and splays his other over one asscheek, pulling it to the side to reveal Reiner's hole. "The more you relax, the easier this will be. Ready?"
"Yeah," Reiner whispers, and Bertholdt slips a finger in.
He's tight. Reiner sucks in a breath, shoulders going tense. Bertholdt runs a hand down his back, soothing. "You have to relax," he says, tracing his spine. "Or this won't work. Okay? I won't hurt you, but you have to relax."
"Okay," Reiner breathes, and the stiffness leaves his body as he sighs.
Bertholdt slips the finger in and out until he's sure it's okay to add another. He hasn't hit Reiner's prostate yet, and Bertholdt searches until Reiner suddenly moans, gasping and pushing his ass back.
That's the spot. Bertholdt scissors his fingers, and Reiner gasps. He adds more fingers, pushing in and out, until Reiner is begging him for it.
"Just fuck me," Reiner groans. "Please, Bertholdt," and Bertholdt breathes out a shaky yes, close to the edge himself, his dick aching and ready for relief.
He starts to position himself behind Reiner. "Wait," Reiner says, and he stops. "I want - I want to see your face while we do it," Reiner asks. "Please." Even if he wanted to say no, the pleading quality in Reiner's voice would have made it impossible.
Bertholdt pauses. "Okay," he says finally, "Turn over."
Reiner's cheeks are still flushed as he settles back against the pillows, looking up at Bertholdt. His hair falls over his forehead, his eyes gleaming and lips bitten a dark red from struggling to keep himself from crying out. Bertholdt buries his head in his chest, and after a moment Reiner's hands are running through his hair. "Are you okay?" he asks gently.
"Yeah," Bertholdt says, blinking back tears, and lifts his head to kiss a line down Reiner's stomach. Reiner's back arches off the bed as he muffles his hand with his fist before he can audibly moan.
Bertholdt raises himself back up so he can look down at Reiner's face. "I'm going to push in," he says. "It hurts too much, you tell me to stop."
Reiner nods, and Bertholdt pulls the rubber on and lines up his dick with his hole. He rubs oil over his dick as well, and then presses the tip of it into Reiner.
Reiner makes a noise, and Bertholdt stops. "Do you want me to keep going?"
"Yeah," Reiner says, eyes a little wide. "Um, you're just big."
Bertholdt smiles. "Am I?" he asks, teasing, and then pushes in slowly.
Reiner's arms wrap around his shoulders. By the time Bertholdt is fully in, they're both gasping. Reiner is so pleasantly tight around him, and unfortunately, Bertholdt already knows he isn't going to last long.
Bertholdt clenches his jaw. He pulls back a few inches, and then snaps back in.
Reiner cries out, fingers digging into Bertholdt's back. Bertholdt takes that as encouragement and hitches Reiner's legs over his hips. "Okay," he murmurs, and pulls back out before snapping his hips in again.
He builds a fast rhythm, like that, pushing Reiner to the edge. Reiner gasps and cries out his name, burying his face in Bertholdt's shoulder and clinging to him while lowering one hand to his dick to jerk himself off while Bertholdt fucks him.
When he's truly getting close, Bertholdt slips an arm around Reiner's waist, hitching him up at the angle that will let him hit his prostate.
"I love you," Reiner breathes into his neck, and Bertholdt almost stops, before renewing his pace with a new vigour.
"I love you, I love you, I love you," Reiner cries, and before long there is come splattering over Bertholdt's chest. Bertholdt can't hold himself back for long after that, and the orgasm rolls through him in waves as he slumps against Reiner, breathing heavily.
Once the final last sparks are gone, Bertholdt pulls out, collapsing next to Reiner and pulling the rubber off, typing it up and dropping it into the garbage beside his bed. Reiner wipes both of them up with a sheet, wrinkling his nose at the mess before flopping over across Bertholdt's chest, an arm falling over his side.
Before he can finally drift off, Bertholdt lowers his head to kiss Reiner's brow. "I love you," he murmurs, and he can hear the smile in Reiner's voice as he replies, "I love you too."
~
When he wakes up, golden morning light streaming through the frosted windows, only the faint imprint of a figure on the white sheets is all that's left of the night before.