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Bertolt is on Reiner’s lap in the backseat of the car, straddling him with both knees pressed into the seat around Reiner’s hips.
Reiner’s hands are hovering awkwardly in the air, as if he’s unsure of where to put them. Bertolt doesn’t mind as he slowly kisses and sucks at Reiner’s neck, loving the little gasps he earns when he uses his teeth.
“Is this okay?” he asks softly as he brings his hand up to gently guide one of Reiner’s hands to sit at his waist.
“Y-yeah,” Reiner coughs after a moment, stammering. “Um...”
“We don’t have to do anything,” Bertolt says softly, kissing Reiner’s ear. “I just like being here with you.”
This is the fourth time they’ve made out in Reiner’s car—including the night of prom—and things have progressed very slowly.
For once, though, it’s not Bertolt who’s shy.
“Can I kiss you?” Bertolt asks. Reiner immediately sighs and nods; he’s always comfortable with that. They spend a long time kissing, slow and languorous, enjoying the feeling of each other’s lips.
Nevertheless, Bertolt is confused. Judging from the way that Reiner’s hips shift and his hands tighten, it seems like he wants more. Every time it goes any further than this, though, he gets so nervous he completely freezes up.
Reiner arches his back slightly, and his hands slide around to meet at the small of Bertolt’s back, pulling him closer.
Bertolt breaks the kiss and inhales sharply, aware of Reiner’s cock through his jeans. He’s aroused and practically trembling.
“Feels good,” Bertolt breathes, pushing his hips down in return.
And then, it all falls apart as Reiner turns his head to the side and drops his hands.
Bertolt immediately feels hurt as Reiner disconnects from him, and his face falls.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers, climbing off Reiner’s lap awkwardly and clambering into the seat next to him, feeling silly. His long legs barely fit in the backseat, and he stares at the floor mats.
“Wait, why?” Reiner says, staring at Bertolt with wide eyes. “Why are you sorry?”
Bertolt blinks at him, cocking his head to the side slightly, and then dropping his eyes again.
“I don’t want to pressure you into something,” he says softly, shame creeping into his voice.
“I just get nervous,” Reiner blurts out, before heaving a weary sigh. “It’s not you.”
Bertolt makes a startled sound as Reiner unexpectedly pulls him close again with one arm, wrapping it around his shoulders so that they’re flush next to each other. Bertolt leans against him, and Reiner runs his fingers through Bertolt’s hair.
“You smell good,” he says idly, turning his head to inhale.
Bertolt rests a tenuous hand against Reiner’s thigh and tilts his head to rest it against one broad shoulder. The sit there together for a while, Reiner’s fingers still stroking through Bertolt’s hair.
“You can touch me if you want,” Bertolt finally says quietly, pulling away slightly to look at Reiner.
Reiner sighs a little and turns his face away; he’s blushing fiercely, but doesn’t immediately say no.
“I’m really bad at this,” he finally murmurs, biting his lip. It’s surreal to see him look so unsure of himself. “I’ll just do it wrong.”
Bertolt shakes his head. “You can’t do it wrong,” he replies simply.
He doesn’t push it, though, and lets the subject drop. Eventually, it gets late, and they have to go home to meet curfew.
Every time they get physical, things fall apart, and Bertolt starts to feel guilty. He starts to wonder if Reiner changed his mind, or if he felt pressured into all of this. Bertolt never meant for Reiner to follow him that night, but he hadn’t known where else to go except the car.
They’ve got bigger things to worry about, though—like how Reiner’s about to turn 18, and Bertolt’s not far behind him.
It’s the first semester of senior year that Bertolt decides to drop out once and for all. He ages out of the system in the late fall, and by then, if everything goes according to plan, he’ll finally have a full time job at the restaurant. It’s just washing dishes, but he likes it well enough. His coworkers are surprisingly kind to him, even though he’s quiet, and he doesn’t mind his work. He likes being able to live safely in his own head, washing dishes and smelling the food in the kitchen. It becomes a game when he starts to get bored—the ability to identify all the different entrees as they come out.
Reiner turns eighteen before Bertolt in the summer, though, and ends up in his car for a while. Neither one of them know what to do, until Reiner receives a call from a distant half-cousin-somebody’s-uncle’s-ex-wife’s-brother who claims to be related, asking for money. The “cousin” had heard about Reiner’s inheritance from some other distant relative who probably didn’t even share a blood relation to Reiner, and he’d been very disappointed to find out that all Reiner had gotten was a car.
However, opportunity had knocked, and Reiner asked if he was looking for help with the rent.
It’s late fall when Bertolt turns eighteen, and he joins Reiner at the distant cousin’s house.
He feels a little pang of jealousy when Reiner spends late nights in the library, studying for final exams, while Bertolt is busy washing and endless line of dirty dishes. He never thought he’d do anything significant, like graduate high school, but now that it’s actually happening for Reiner, it makes him feel unexpectedly disheartened. He tries not to think about it.
Reiner insists on giving him the bed, since he’s the one with the job, and sleeping on an air mattress on the floor.
It occurs to Bertolt that he could simply invite Reiner up to sleep with him—they’ve done it before—but he chickens out every time. He tells himself it’s because the bed is too narrow, the different hours they keep, how it might look to the cousin who doesn’t appear to be particularly tolerant of “alternative lifestyles.”
The truth is, though: Bertolt is afraid Reiner doesn’t want him anymore.
He’s afraid that Reiner’s realized he made a mistake.
= = =
Reiner Braun has no idea if he’s gay.
It worries him every minute of every day when he sees how Bertolt openly looks at him now. He doesn’t even do it on purpose—those longing glances, the lick of lips when Reiner takes off his shirt, the little moaned murmurs of Reiner’s name in his sleep as he dreams—and if Bertolt knew he was giving himself away so obviously, he’d be mortified.
It’s not that Reiner doesn’t like the looks; quite to the contrary, in fact, but he’s terrified of disappointing Bertolt.
But it’s not just that Reiner doesn’t know if he’s gay. He also doesn’t know if he’s straight, bisexual, or anything at all. He’s never done anything with anyone else besides Bertolt, and even that first time was after a night of crying and confessions, when he simply didn’t have enough time to get hung up on insecurities. There was no question that he wanted to do it, though—that he wanted Bertolt underneath of him, gasping and clinging.
In the light of ordinary day, though, he gets so nervous during moments like those that the most he can do is kiss; and even then, he blushes furiously and has to fight the urge to withdraw.
Throughout school, Reiner has always kept to himself and his eyes down. He’s generally well liked—a totally uncontroversial figure who’s friendly enough to have a few casual friends and big enough that no one would ever think about messing with him.
He finds himself darting curious glances at other guys in the locker room when he’s sure they’re not looking, though.
There’s nothing he finds appealing about them. It’s just a bunch of sweaty guys, showering and getting dressed.
He tries the same thing with the opposite sex, making the effort to check out girls. He even gets a good look at Christa Lenz—carefully avoiding ogling her when Ymir’s around—but it also does nothing for him.
In fact, she smiles and waves a little, and he smiles and waves back. Reiner still doesn’t quite believe he’s in the same boat as the most popular girl in school, pretending to be someone she’s not.
He can acknowledge she’s pretty. In fact, Jean Kirchstein, who Reiner sees around regularly and is what most girls would probably call hot, can also be appreciated for these qualities on an abstract level.
The fact of the matter is, though, that he has no desire to ever find himself in bed with either of them; the thought actually makes him sick with anxiety.
Bertolt, on the other hand, is an undemanding partner in all ways. He doesn’t even ask Reiner to make out again after their awkward moment in the car. However, Reiner starts to wonder if Bertolt is actually fed up with his reluctance to do more. He’s stopped touching Reiner altogether, as if afraid he’s going to contract plague.
There are nights he comes home to find Bertolt sprawled out over the bed shirtless, one forearm resting over his eyes with a book still grasped in limp fingers in the other hand. He always manages to position his limbs at strange angles, and Reiner laughs softly as he repositions Bertolt’s awkward sleeping positions. He never even wakes up because he’s so exhausted from working all the time.
Reiner will sometimes sit on the edge of the bed after he’s tucked Bertolt in and turned out the lights, and just stroke his hair, loving the feel of it between his fingers. Bertolt never wakes up, just making happy little sounds in his sleep, practically purring. It’s the only time he sounds relaxed, which heartens Reiner.
Reiner loves the feel of Bertolt’s skin.
He loves it so much that it provides regular fantasy fodder when he’s jerking off; but unlike any other guy his age, even though he could probably make the fantasy into a reality, he never does.
Reiner also has fantasies that have nothing to do with sex. He imagines what it would be like to take Bertolt to prom, to hold hands in public, to go to football games together the way that other high school couples do. He knows it’s all stupid, but he still thinks about it all the time. He also figures that Bertolt would undoubtedly—in his own quiet way—think it was stupid, too.
Reiner knows his life will never be like that. Bertolt doesn’t want it, and everything for the two of them has always been about survival.
He tries to focus on graduating instead, spending more and more time in the library. He’s not expecting to go to college, like most of his fellow classmates, but he’s excited that he’s actually getting a high school diploma.
In reality, all he really wants to do is take care of Bertolt and stop having him take on extra shifts at the restaurant to cover the rent.
He also hates living at his distant relative’s house. The guy is at least twenty years older, and Reiner doesn’t trust him; he seems like a simple bum, but somehow also gives off a more sinister feeling.
If Bertolt weren’t able to take care of himself the way that he can, Reiner would be afraid to leave him alone there.
It’s one night when Reiner comes home to find his “cousin” sitting on the couch, smoking, that he decides they need to move as soon as they have enough money.
“Hey, you,” he says, jabbing his finger at Reiner, “you’re late on your half of the rent.”
He’s got yellow teeth and bony hands, skinny from too many drugs he claims to have given up.
Reiner frowns as he shuts and locks the door behind him, back late from the library.
“My paycheck’s late,” he lies. “Payroll messed it up. I’ll give it to you next week.”
The truth is that Reiner wasn’t given enough hours the week before at his own part-time job, and he’d forced Bertolt to take a night off because he was so exhausted. It’d put them behind substantially, but Reiner knows that his relative is about to get evicted, so he won’t kick them out.
“Whatever,” he mutters, standing up and stabbing his spent cigarette out in a beer bottle cap that’s sitting on the battered coffee table. “And tell your friend to shut up. He’s been in there moaning and banging around for hours.”
“What?” Reiner replies sharply, his eyebrows raising as he immediately turn to go toward the bedroom.
“Whatever,” his cousin adds. “I know you’re homos, but keep it down.”
Reiner blinks; he was expecting something a lot worse than “homo” when it finally came up.
Nevertheless, he’s got more important things on his mind as he hurries into the bedroom, closing and locking the door behind him.
Contrary to the cousin’s claims, though, Bertolt is sleeping peacefully in the bed, breathing evenly.
Reiner sighs, rolling his eyes and assuming drunk hallucinations, as he pulls his shirt over his head.
“Reiner?” comes a soft voice.
Reiner looks up in surprise, and Bertolt’s awake, staring at him. His eyes are wide, though, and they look haunted.
“Are you sick?” Reiner asks immediately, striding over to the bed to sit down on the edge. “What’s wrong?”
“Uh,” Bertolt says awkwardly, dropping his eyes. Reiner realizes right then he has tears dried to his face.
“What is it?” he repeats more softly, bringing his thumb up to rub gently at the tear tracks.
“Just stupid nightmares,” Bertolt murmurs in an embarrassed voice. “Is it raining outside?”
“Yup,” Reiner replies, nodding, realizing now what’s happening.
Bertolt sighs as he lies back down and pulls the blankets up to his neck; they both listen for a moment as the rain patters lightly against the glass window.
“Sorry I wasn’t here,” Reiner sighs, standing up to finish pulling off his clothes. “I had a study group.”
“You’re in a study group?” Bertolt asks in surprise, smiling a little at Reiner; there’s something wistful about it, though.
“Yeah,” Reiner says, smiling a little sheepishly. “I had to. It’s easier to catch up on stuff when you’re with other people.”
“Anyone I know?” Bertolt asks softly, dropping his eyes again.
“No,” Reiner says gently, “just random people. It’s not like I’ll ever see them again after graduation.”
He’s suspected for a while that Bertolt isn’t totally okay with dropping out, and this just confirms it.
“Bertl?” he says as he turns to fold his pants and put them on top of the dresser. “You could probably finish, if you wanted to—even next year. I’d help you, and—”
“There’s no point,” Bertolt interjects, something a little raw in his voice he’s obviously trying to hide. “But thanks.”
Then, he rolls over with his back to Reiner and pulls the blankets almost over his head, as if trying to block out the sound of the rain and the uncomfortable conversation.
Reiner doesn’t comment again, opting instead to turn out the light. As he’s about to slide down onto the uncomfortable air mattress, though, he looks at the lump that is his best friend and something-else-he-can’t-name.
Not allowing himself to think, he closes the distance between himself and the bed in two broad strides and taps Bertolt’s shoulder.
“Move over?” he asks, his throat dry.
He knows he’s taken Bertolt off guard when two green eyes appear in the dim light coming from outside, wide and surprised.
There’s absolutely no argument, though, as Bertolt immediately slides over to the edge of the bed against the wall to make room for Reiner.
He gets in and pulls the blankets up over both of them, pressing against Bertolt’s back and inhaling the scent of his hair.
“No more bad dreams,” he whispers, tentatively settling his hand on Bertolt’s hip. He’s not wearing anything except a t-shirt and his boxers, and he stiffens a little at Reiner’s touch.
At first, Reiner thinks it’s because he doesn’t want it, but then he relaxes and pushes back against Reiner.
Reiner takes the hint and wraps an arm around him, sighing quietly as he basks in the warmth of Bertolt’s long, lean body.
Reiner can tell he wants to say something, and waits.
“Do you think I’m stupid?” Bertolt whispers after a moment.
“Bertl,” Reiner whispers in surprise, tensing his arm in the imitation of a hug, “you’re not stupid.”
Bertolt sighs and shrugs minutely, and Reiner doesn’t think as he kisses the back of his head.
“It’s not like it matters,” he continues. Reiner realizes how much this must actually be bothering him if Bertolt’s the one who brought it up, and has said more than two sentences about it. “And it’s not like I had any friends, anyway. I’m sorry for complaining about it.”
Reiner shakes his head, his heart starting to ache as he listens to Bertolt’s quiet, small voice—calm, as if he’s accepted these sad observations about himself as absolute truths.
“Roll over,” he replies softly, pulling a little at Bertolt’s shoulder.
Bertolt makes a surprised noise, but does as asked after a moment. His eyes are wide in the dark as he stares at Reiner, as if unsure of what to expect.
“Can I...” Reiner starts, trying to find his voice. “Can I kiss you?”
To his surprise, Bertolt cringes and looks down in embarrassment. “You don’t have to feel sorry for me,” he whispers, “and do something you don’t want to.”
“It’s not that I don’t want to,” Reiner replies, not meaning for the tears in his voice to be so obvious. He swallows them back, though, pushing down the overwhelmed feeling and focusing on the fact that he genuinely wants to kiss Bertolt. “I just... get nervous.”
Bertolt studies him for a minute, but then nods a little.
“Okay,” he breathes, as if in disbelief.
As soon as Reiner presses their lips together, everything seems to make sense. The desire surges in him, and he moans softly, bringing his hand up to rest lightly as Bertolt’s waist.
He doesn’t taste like anything except warmth, his smell in Reiner’s nose—bar soap and something Reiner’s never been able to place—and everything in Reiner swells.
“Oh god,” Bertolt gasps as Reiner’s hand strays lower to curl around his ass and pull him forward. “Reiner...”
Reiner’s breath hitches as Bertolt immediately drapes his leg over Reiner’s hips, rocking forward.
He freezes, though, murmuring immediately, “Is that okay?”
Reiner hesitates, now that the momentum of the moment has been broken, until Bertolt follows up with, “Will you touch me?”
Something changes right then—the open admission that Bertolt wants him, the invitation to touch, rather than be touched—and Reiner nods.
“Do you want to touch me?” Bertolt corrects.
“Yeah,” Reiner whispers, nodding his head as he slides his hand up to cup Bertolt’s face and press another kiss to his lips.
Reiner wants to touch him everywhere, and he does. His fingers trace Bertolt’s features—his eyebrows, the long slope of his nose, his lips, cheekbones, and line of his jaw. Reiner’s fingers keep going to drag down over the long neck and Bertolt’s throat, his adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows hard, and then a thumb along his collarbones.
Bertolt’s closed his eyes, his eyebrows drawn together slightly as he breathes shallowly, as if every movement Reiner makes is some sort of exquisite torture.
Reiner’s always been fascinated with Bertolt’s shoulders, the way they’re so broad but always hunched over because he tries to make himself invisible; now, he runs his entire hand over one, nudging it slightly to push Bertolt onto his back.
Bertolt’s breath catches and his eyes slip shut; he moves in the direction Reiner pushes him, and then immediately arches his back and bites his lip.
If Reiner had to assign the word “hot” to something or someone the way other people did—implying desire—this would be the definition for him.
Bertolt, laid out like this, totally un-self-conscious, arching his back with closed eyes, his hair falling away from his face onto the pillow behind him as his head tilts back.
Just when Reiner didn’t think it could get anymore erotic, Bertolt murmurs his name in a vulnerable, breathless voice.
Reiner bends to kiss his neck, brushing lips down along his throat and collarbones. He doesn’t know what he’s doing, and then he blushes a little when he sees Bertolt’s hand immediately come up to rub at his own nipple, gasping as he does.
It obviously feels good for him, and Reiner doesn’t stop to ask; instead, he loses himself in the taste of Bertolt’s skin and the way he gasps.
He’s heard foreplay is good—mostly from magazines—but he’s not sure what else he could do, so he decides to do what he knows.
Bertolt’s cock is hard through his boxers, and his hips buck when Reiner’s slides his hand there.
“R-Reiner,” he pants, opening his eyes.
“Is this okay?” Reiner asks, immediately moving to draw back, realizing that the action might have been too forward.
Bertolt grabs his hand, though, and nods quickly. “Yeah,” he moans, releasing Reiner’s hand, “don’t stop. But only if you want to...” His voice trails off, and he settles back down.
“Feels good,” Reiner reassures himself softly, pressing a kiss to Bertolt’s jaw as he touches Bertolt’s cock. At first, it’s exploratory, but he’s not completely new to it.
He starts to stroke through the boxers, feeling the wetness of what he assumes is precome through the fabric; he wants more, though, so he pushes the boxers down around Bertolt’s thighs.
“Ah,” Bertolt gasps, almost whining, “fuck, Reiner, fuck...”
Reiner knows his eyes are wide as he stares at Bertolt, not even knowing he could be this way.
He spits in his hand, and then reaches back down to start to stroke, wanting more of those noises, of the way Bertolt sounds when he curses.
Bertolt starts to pump his hips with Reiner’s hand, and the bed is squeaking; it’s quiet, but given that Reiner’s cousin had complained only a short time before about noise, he’s wary. Now he’s also glad he locked the door behind him.
“Reiner,” Bertolt groans, bringing his hand up to his mouth and biting the back of it to keep from getting too loud, “I’m going to come...”
Reiner blushes hotly at the crude language, but it also makes his own cock throb.
Bertolt gives a muffled long, drawn out moan, and Reiner feels hot liquid drip over his hand; Bertolt’s entire body shivers as he orgasms, and then he relaxes and just lies there, trying to catch his breath.
His cock is softening, and Reiner pulls his hand away, suddenly feeling very vulnerable.
“Um,” he says awkwardly, “I... uh...”
Bertolt still has his hand in his mouth with his eyes closed, chest heaving, before finally opening his eyes with obvious effort.
And then Reiner is completely distracted from his own awkwardness when Bertolt smiles.
It’s the type of smile that comes along once every year five years, when something really good happens. The last time was when they were placed in the group home together, and Bertolt had known they wouldn’t be apart.
It’s that kind of smile—one devoid of anxiety or worry—and it’s directed at Reiner.
And then, Reiner doesn’t even know he’s speaking until he hears the sound of his own voice.
“I love you.”
Bertolt just stares at him for a moment in shock, his eyes widened in surprise, before his expression softens and he nods. “I love you, too.”
They both just stare at each other, until Reiner curls against Bertolt, hiding his face. He’s overwhelmed, but happy; and he knows Bertolt understands when he finds Reiner’s hand and twines their fingers.
After a moment, he says quietly, “Do you want me to...”
Reiner bites his lip, but decides not to hide his thoughts. “I’m not ready,” he says softly.
Bertolt nods, and to Reiner’s surprise, he doesn’t seem disappointed at all. He just turns to kiss Reiner’s head, and says softly, “Good night.”
The rain continues to pat against the window, and they fall asleep together.
= = =
The days start to get longer, and Bertolt and Reiner sleep in the bed together every night. They don't do anything beyond cuddling most of the time, but Bertolt loves waking up with Reiner every day.
It's drawing close to the summer, though, when everything will really change.
“So, do you have get fitted for a cap and gown or something?” Bertolt asks one morning, watching as Reiner pulls on his work uniform in the early morning light. It’s really just a pair of jeans and a button-up shirt, but he looks damn good in it.
Bertolt pointedly doesn’t dwell on this fact, looking down at the bedspread and blushing slightly.
“I’m not going to the ceremony,” Reiner says indifferently, checking his appearance in the small mirror hanging behind the door. “I have to work.”
“Oh,” Bertolt replies, lifting his eyes to look at Reiner in surprise. He clears his throat self-consciously, but forces out the words. “I would’ve gone to watch you.”
Reiner turns to look at him, and his expression softens as he comes to sit on the bed next to Bertolt.
“It’s okay,” he replies with a little smile and shrug. He leans forward, hesitates for a split second, and then keeps going to bump their foreheads together gently. “It’s just a really long, boring afternoon. I’d rather earn money, right?”
“Right,” Bertolt agrees, quickly darting his hand out to touch Reiner’s arm, before pulling it back just as fast.
Reiner watches the action; then he takes a deep breath, grabs Bertolt’s hand, and presses a kiss to his palm.
He’s up so fast that Bertolt doesn’t even have time to process the action, but his palm is still tingling from the warmth of Reiner’s lips.
“It’s supposed to be this Saturday, right?”
Reiner is staring at Bertolt, and absentmindedly hums an affirmative. “Um,” he says after a moment, dropping his eyes to the ground and shuffling his feet, “can I kiss you goodbye?”
Bertolt’s eyes widen, and for a moment, he just stares at Reiner in disbelief.
It’s obvious Reiner takes it for rejection as he turns away sharply, and Bertolt is up on his feet in an instant.
He wraps both arms around Reiner, pressing him against the door and kissing him as if both their lives depend on it.
Reiner immediately responds, pulling Bertolt closer, both hands splayed over his shoulder blades.
When they part, practically panting, Reiner blurts out, “If I take on enough hours, we can get the fuck out of here.”
Bertolt holds him tight and nods. “I wasn’t joking when I said I’d live in your car,” he says, his voice solemn.
Reiner presses another kiss to Bertolt’s cheek before finally drawing away. “It’s only a matter of time until we’re all evicted,” he says, making a face. “But between the two of us...”
Bertolt smiles at him now, catching his hand. “Yeah. We’ll be okay, right?”
“Right,” Reiner says decisively, nodding his head. “Maybe they’ll give me a raise to go with my fancy high school diploma.” He laughs a little with a shrug and rolls his eyes.
Bertolt rubs his hand over Reiner’s back once before drawing away. “You should be proud of yourself,” he says softly, before pulling away to return to his perch on the bed.
Before Reiner can respond, Bertolt continues, changing the subject. “I think I’m getting a more regular schedule now—evenings, five days a week.”
This is good news for both of them since Bertolt never knew when he’d have to go in. Sometimes, the schedule came out the day before shifts, or he’d be called in at the last minute if someone called out sick.
“Thank god,” Reiner exhales. “Maybe now you can get some decent rest without getting a phone call at ten at night.”
Bertolt smiles a little and nods. “Well,” he says, “I’m going back to sleep for a while. I got home pretty late last night because the bus stalled, and we had to wait for another one.”
Reiner frowns mildly at him as he turns to pull on his red jacket. “You should’ve called me,” he says simply.
Bertolt blushes and shrugs a little, lying down on the bed and turning away from Reiner. “It’s okay—it was really late,” he says, his voice muffled by where he’s pushed his face partway into the pillow.
He hears Reiner sigh; then, the bed dips and Bertolt feels a gentle kiss pressed against his shoulder.
“Have a good night at work tonight,” he says softly, rubbing his hand against Bertolt’s bare arm. “And call me if something happens with the bus again. All right?”
Bertolt hums an embarrassed affirmative.
“Bertl.”
“Okay,” he says with a nod. “I just didn’t want to wake you up.” He shrugs a little.
Suddenly, he’s being pulled onto his back, and Reiner is sliding into bed with him fully clothed.
Bertolt makes a disarmed squeaking sound, and Reiner smiles at him as he pulls Bertolt on top of him.
The jeans he’s wearing feel tantalizingly rough against Bertolt’s bare legs, and he looks down at Reiner with wide eyes.
“Wish I could stay with you all day,” Reiner says softly, reaching up to brush Bertolt’s hair to the side. “Right here, in bed.”
Bertolt is sure he must be a very interesting shade of crimson at this point, but he can’t help but smile subtly.
“Um,” he says shyly, not meeting Reiner’s eyes, “me too.”
Reiner presses a quick kiss to his lips, and then releases him. “I’ll see you tonight.” He moves to open the door, and then hesitates, shooting a hesitant look back at Bertolt.
Bertolt looks at him expectantly, arranging himself under the blankets again.
“Love you,” Reiner says. It comes out as a timid whisper, though, and he starts to blush faintly.
“Love you, too,” Bertolt replies just as softly, resisting the urge to bury himself under the blankets.
But the way Reiner smiles is worth fighting the urge to hide. He nods, rubs the back of his head, then exits the room and shuts the door softly behind him.
Bertolt sleeps for a few more hours before getting up. When he does venture out of bed, he’s careful to avoid Reiner’s cousin. Usually, the older man disappears for hours during the day, or he’s drunk and hung over in his own bedroom which is (thankfully) located on the other side of the apartment.
Bertolt puts on a pair of pants, and, feeling indulgent, pulls on one of Reiner’s shirts that’s lying on top of the laundry pile. It’s a little big for him, but he smiles as he’s enveloped in Reiner’s smell.
His days are calmer now without the pressure of trying to make it to work and school. He gets up during the day, tidies up, and then heads out to the restaurant in the evening. These days, he’s working six days a week, sometimes picking up back to back shifts if he can.
He’s poking around the cupboard for cereal when he hears the letter slot pop open and a few pieces of mail land on the floor. It’s rare him or Reiner receive any mail, given that this address is relatively impermanent, but it does happen. One of them tries to get to the mail drop before the cousin, just in case there’s something important or involving money.
Bertolt casually walks over to look at the envelope, and realizes that the top one is addressed to Reiner. It looks official, too, with a seal on it that indicates confirmation needs to be sent when it’s delivered.
He picks it up, frowning in curiosity, until he sees the return address; then, he realizes that it’s Reiner’s diploma. He must’ve requested to have it mailed to the apartment since he knew he wouldn’t be going to the actual ceremony.
Bertolt knows he probably shouldn’t open it, but he does anyway. It’s not exactly an invasion of privacy, since it’s obvious what’s inside, but he still feels a little guilty.
Taking it out, he just stares at it. In elaborate script, the name of their high school is embossed over the top, and underneath is text confirming the award: “Reiner Braun has completed all State and Local requirements for graduation...”
Bertolt bites his lip, feeling a pang that he doesn’t want to acknowledge. But then, he thinks about Reiner working through next Saturday, not even going to his graduation ceremony. There’s something about it that seems silly to worry over, but at the same time, it doesn’t sit right with Bertolt.
He frowns slightly, sliding the paper back into the envelope and retreating into the bedroom. He sets it on top of the bureau for Reiner to find when he gets home, and then goes out to locate some breakfast with a lot on his mind.
= = =
Reiner’s job isn’t glamorous. He spends most of his days lifting things, opening boxes, closing boxes, checking off inventory sheets, and learning to operate the forklift.
What Reiner does like about his job, though, is that everyone likes him. He’s been working there part-time since he was sixteen and he’s risen quickly through the lower ranks. He’s known for getting his work done efficiently, but more so for galvanizing other employees to work to a higher standard.
Today, though, his supervisor approaches him with a concerned look.
“Braun?” he asks, raising an eyebrow. “Are you sick?”
Reiner looks up from where he’s checking off an inventory sheet in surprise, cocking his head to the side.
“Huh?” he asks, blinking. “No, I’m fine. Did I do something wrong?”
The supervisor studies him for a moment, but then just shrugs. “No, not at all. You just seem a little... off.”
“Oh,” Reiner replies, laughing nervously and rubbing the back of his head, “sorry. Don’t know why that would be.”
“Didn’t you just graduate?” the man says, adjusting his glasses and looking at Reiner curiously now.
“Um, yes, sir,” Reiner replies awkwardly; although then he starts to hope this conversation will turn into a discussion of him finally being made full-time. “With honors.”
“Isn’t the ceremony in an hour...” the supervisor trails off, checking his expensive watch before looking up in confusion. “You’re here for at least another five hours.”
“Yeah,” Reiner confirms bluntly. “They mailed me my diploma.” He shrugs indifferently.
“My son is walking,” comes the awkward response.
The supervisor doesn’t say anything else, and there’s an uncomfortable silence.
“Congratulations,” Reiner finally says, his eyebrows raised plaintively in a silent request to end the conversation.
Finally, the man mumbles thank you and walks away, and he sighs. He can’t wait for this stupid day to be over and behind him. The only thing that makes him feel better is the idea that Bertolt will be home when he gets off shift, since the restaurant has switched him to alternate Saturdays.
A few hours later when Reiner finally gets out of work, he feels more tired than usual as he walks slowly to his car with his hands shoved into his pockets.
The car is waiting where he left it, and he smiles a little when it comes into view. He remembers his stupid, naive statement about making out with girls in it; little had he known...
He starts to think about Bertolt, and everything that’s happened in the car since that conversation nearly a year before. He wouldn’t mind having Bertolt with him right now, straddling him in the backseat, panting and biting at his ear.
As he climbs into the driver’s seat and starts the engine, the thought sends little shivers through his body. He realizes suddenly that for the first time, he wants to go home and just get Bertolt into bed. But he doesn’t just want to kiss; he wants to touch, too, and forget the rest of the world. The way Bertolt makes him feel doesn’t need to be explained or sifted through—it just is, even thought the details can be complicated.
Reiner smiles a little as he pulls out of the parking lot, suddenly feeling less weighted down.
By the time he walks through the door, all he can think of is seeing Bertolt, and he practically trips over his own feet to get through the door.
As the bedroom door swings open, though, he stops in his tracks, blinking in shock.
Bertolt is sitting there on the neatly made bed, looking a little nervous and blushing already. His hair is neatly combed and he’s holding what appears to be a twinkie with a small birthday candle in it.
“Whoa,” is all Reiner can manage. This, apparently, is taken as a very bad verdict as Bertolt cringes.
The room is decked out in streamers—over the window, strung over the bed, a few different colors. There’s even a bright, cheerful handmade sign strung up on the wall that says “Happy Graduation.”
“Bertl...” Reiner murmurs, his voice soft and incredulous.
Bertolt swallows hard and holds out the twinkie.
“This is the worst graduation cake ever, but it’s all I could afford,” he says, his voice obviously wracked with nerves. “Sorry if this is stupid.”
His face falls, and he looks downright mortified, until Reiner takes a sharp breath in.
“I can’t believe you did this,” he says very softly. “Bertl, thank you...” His throat constricts as emotion overwhelms him, but he fights it back with a smile.
He goes to sit down next to Bertolt and wrap his arm around the slightly hunched shoulders, leaning forward to press a tender kiss against Bertolt’s temple.
“Well,” Bertolt finally says softly, “it’s a big deal. It’s not just bullshit.”
He turns suddenly, setting the twinkie down on the night stand and envelopes Reiner in a hug.
“I’m really proud of you,” Bertolt murmurs, and this time, Reiner can’t hold back the shudder of a sob that’s trying to make its way out.
“Thanks,” he whispers, returning the hug. Then, he pulls Bertolt to lie down so they’re both lying on their sides, and presses forward to kiss him.
It’s a quick, chaste kiss, but achingly sincere as he smiles a little. “Thanks,” he repeats. “This is really nice.”
Bertolt offers him a timid little smile, and shyly reaches out to rub his fingers over Reiner’s arm affectionately.
“When we have some money,” he says softly, “you can get your diploma framed.”
Reiner takes a deep breath and pulls Bertolt close. “Don’t know what I’d do without you,” he whispers, pressing his face against Bertolt’s hair.
Bertolt sighs contentedly and curls closer, pressing his face against Reiner’s chest where he’s positioned and wrapping his arm around Reiner’s waist.
They lie like that for a long time. The light changes outside to a dark indigo, and finally, Reiner says what he’s been thinking about for what seems like hours now.
“Bertl?” he asks quietly.
Bertolt is obviously only half awake from the way he starts, and then lets out a sleepy hum.
“Do you want to touch me a little?”
That gets Bertolt’s attention, and he draws back a little with wide, surprised eyes.
“What?” he replies, as if not believing his ears.
“Well,” Reiner says quietly, feeling shy, “I don’t know. I was just... thinking about my car, and just...” He shrugs a little, fighting for the words.
“Okay,” Bertolt blurts out. “Um, if you’re sure.”
Reiner finally gives a nervous smile. “Yeah, I think so.”
Bertolt nods, and then gives a sweet little smile that Reiner doesn’t think he’s ever even seen before. “Okay.”
And without further ado, his hand slides up Reiner’s back over his t-shirt, and he leans forward to Reiner on the mouth.
They go slow, spending lots of time kissing; Reiner feels brave, and lets his hand stray down to Bertolt’s hip. Immediately, it earns a breathless moan through the kiss, and Reiner feels his cock twitch. When he stops feeling so nervous, he realizes how much he loves hearing Bertolt make those noises.
He gasps as he finally feels Bertolt’s hand slide underneath the back of his shirt against his skin; it’s a gentle, careful touch, as if he might break.
He arches into it, letting out a small sound of his own.
“Is it okay if I take your shirt off?” Bertolt asks quietly.
“Will you take yours off?”
That earns a little chuckle and there’s a smile in Bertolt’s voice when he replies, “Yes.”
They both strip off their shirts, and then Bertolt pushes Reiner onto his back, kissing slowly down his chest.
Reiner’s about to protest from sheer embarrassment when Bertolt first touches his nipples, but then he gasps and his head tips back.
It feels good—better than he ever thought it would—and Bertolt is obviously enjoying himself as he sucks at one and tweaks the other with deft fingers.
He obviously knows what he’s doing, but Reiner will save that topic to worry about for another time. He doesn’t want to worry right now or think too much; he just wants Bertolt.
His hand twists in Bertolt’s hair, and even though he’s still too embarrassed to look down and really watch, he does let his hand trail down to skim over Bertolt’s shoulders.
He starts to pant as Bertolt plays with his nipples, and then he whispers hesitantly, “You can keep going if you want...”
Bertolt looks up in surprise, and just the sight of his face makes Reiner feel like he could come right now.
His lips are swollen, he’s flushed, and he’s practically panting as he stares at Reiner, as if trying to catch up with his own thoughts.
Reiner grabs him, working on instinct, and pulls him in for a hot, impulsive kiss.
When it breaks, Bertolt is outright panting and obviously trying to hold it together. But he manages to regain his bearings, and slowly kisses down Reiner’s chest to his stomach as he undoes his belt.
Reiner’s mouth falls open and he lets out a sharp sound, bucking his hips, and Bertolt soothes him with a few light kisses.
He pushes his hand into his mouth, biting the back of it to keep quiet, and then he practically sees stars as Bertolt tentatively palms his cock through his boxers.
“Fuck,” he hisses around his hand.
“Is that okay?” Bertolt asks quietly, his voice very cautious.
“Yeah,” Reiner whispers, nodding his head. He groans again as he feels his jeans being pulled down his legs and off, and then Bertolt pushes his knees apart slightly as he kisses up his inner thighs.
“Bertl,” he moans, his eyes closed tight as he tries to breathe, feeling a little embarrassed at the position he’s currently in, but loving it at the same time.
He keeps reminding himself that it’s Bertolt—just Bertl—who wants him to feel good and won’t make him do anything he doesn’t want to.
“Is it okay if I... um...” Bertolt’s quiet voice cuts through Reiner’s thoughts. “Can I go down on you?” he blurts out.
Reiner doesn’t even think twice, too caught up in the need pounding through every vein. “Yeah.”
Bertolt apparently doesn’t need to be told twice, positioning himself between Reiner’s legs to lean forward and mouth at his cock through the thin boxers.
The whine that makes its way out of his throat would be downright embarrassing if he wasn’t so turned on and senseless, but suddenly, he feels overwhelmed. He needs something to grip, like the sheets or a headboard, but the bed is made and there’s no headboard.
Suddenly, he feels Bertolt grab his hand and hang on tight, lacing their fingers together.
“Hold my hand,” he says softly.
Reiner nods, biting his lip as Bertolt pulls the waistband of his boxers down one-handed to let his cock free.
“Fuck, oh god,” he cries as Bertolt pulls those down to, just to his thighs, and bends forward to lick at his cock.
He’s too nervous to open his eyes and look down, but he’s relatively sure that Bertolt is kissing it, and then he runs his tongue through the slit, and Reiner keens.
“Mm,” he hums, panting himself, before taking Reiner’s entire cock into his mouth and swirling his tongue.
“Bertl,” Reiner hisses, his hand tightening, “oh fuck... fuck...”
Bertolt starts to bob his head, his hand still firmly grasped in Reiner’s, as the other one explores, gently squeezing and caressing Reiner’s balls.
Reiner knows he’s not going to be able to come in Bertolt’s mouth—he’s too nervous—but Bertolt picks up on it quickly. Instead, he pulls back when Reiner starts to give short little whimpers, and then all it takes is a few firm strokes for Reiner to come over his hand.
For a moment, Reiner panics as Bertolt lets go of his hand, and he feels scared, laid bare, absolutely emptied; but then two strong arms wrap around him and pull him close.
Bertolt rests his chin on the top of Reiner’s head, and Reiner clings to him.
“Was that good?” he asks softly, stroking Reiner’s back.
“Yeah,” Reiner grunts, staying where he is, feeling fragile.
“Good,” Bertolt replies simply, kissing Reiner’s head.
Reiner finds his hand again without speaking, and Bertolt immediately offers it when he realizes what Reiner wants.
Eventually, they separate and pull the covers down. Reiner cleans himself up, and they settle into bed together.
Bertolt reaches for his hand immediately, and their fingers clasp.
“Happy graduation,” Bertolt says softly as they start to drift off to sleep.
“Thanks, Bertl,” Reiner replies, burrowing deeper into the comforter and against Bertolt. “For everything.”
They decide to leave the decorations up for a few days.