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[snk] Lesson Learned (Bertholt/Reiner)
Title: Lesson Learned
Rating: T
Pairing: Bertholdt/Reiner
Notes: For the kinkmeme - neck marking and neck play, trust.
Sometimes they joke about the things they learn in class. When everyone is out training or in the mess hall, Reiner steals a moment with Bertholdt in the quiet corner of their barracks. A textbook is opened between them, and Reiner leans in to laugh, cheek bumping against the hard bone of Bertholdt’s shoulder.
“It’s wrong. They have it completely wrong. And we have to study and memorize this.”
Bertholdt laughs too, because if they don’t, it’ll just hurt. He moves the book back into his lap, turning pages until he sees the pictures of titans and the back of their necks and the lines of where to cut and kill. He bends forward. This, they already have committed to memory, though he stares at the diagrams like he’s still trying to absorb it.
“Well, they got some things right,” he says, smile disappearing. He touches his neck, almost as if he’s tempted to run a finger over it. Turning pale, he clasps the exposed nape instead, shielding it from view. His voice is almost inaudible; “When we get our maneuver gear and swords, I think… it’ll be difficult for me.”
The confession makes Reiner blink. He can understand why, but he knows Bertholdt thinks in ways that are worrisome and unneeded. He looks back at the book and shuts it, tossing it to the end of their bed. The palm of Bertholdt’s hand is clammy when Reiner takes it, grabbing from the wrist and pressing his thumb into the center.
“It’ll be difficult for a lot of people. All it takes is practice and getting used to it,” Reiner says, frowning. He turns Bertholdt’s hand into a fist with the index finger out. He tilts his head away and, very gently, he runs Bertholdt’s finger across the back of his neck – just like the diagrams, a perfect kill. “Like that.”
He lets go of Bertholt’s hand, which hangs suspended in the air. The color has gone back to Bertholdt’s face, perhaps a little too much at the cheeks, but Reiner only cranes his neck and gestures to it.
“Go on,” he says. “Try it.”
“You don’t mind?” Bertholdt asks, already withdrawing, and Reiner can’t quite believe how Bertholdt still hesitates around him.
“No,” he says. He pauses, gaze lifting to the barrack’s entrance before continuing. “Not a lot of things damage me there. I guess that’s why I don’t worry a lot about it.”
Bertholdt hums in understanding, and Reiner bows his head once more, catching a glimpse of Bertholdt’s grim expression before training his eyes on his knees.
Bertholdt’s first touch is light, tracing over Reiner’s neck and tickling the short hairs at the back. Reiner is about to correct him, to go a little lower like how they were taught, but Bertholdt moves down on his own, more self-assured as he runs his finger across, blunt nail pushing a light pressure against Reiner’s skin.
A chill runs up Reiner’s spine. He’s had people touch him at the neck before, either during training or just messing around, but it’s never like this, never so deliberate and careful. His shoulders hunch up on their own accord and Bertholdt jerks away.
“Sorry,” Bertholdt says, sounding surprised. “Did that hurt?”
Reiner wants to put his hand up and cover his neck, just as Bertholdt did. He doesn’t even know why – he’s never had this problem before – so it’s strange.
“Haha, no it’s fine. Like I said, I don’t usually worry about this, but then you bring it up and…” he trails off and shrugs. “Honestly, I’ve never thought much about it before.” His hand comes up, fingers twitching, but he aborts the gesture at Bertholdt’s look of anxiousness. He frowns, annoyed at himself, and puts his hand solidly back in his lap. “Try again.”
Bertholdt doesn’t move. “You sure?”
“Hey, I have to get used to it, too,” he says and turns his back to Bertholdt, bending forward to bare his neck again. “Come on.”
Nothing happens for the longest time, but there is no sense in rushing Bertholdt and making him even more nervous. He waits, feeling the blankets shift and the bed dip towards his side.
Reiner feels Bertholdt’s breath first, a tiny little puff of air at the nape of his neck before there are lips brushing over his skin. He smiles wryly, the tension from his shoulders easing away, and Bertholdt’s nose bumps against him.
“Starting with something more familiar?” he asks.
Bertholdt laughs, the sound soft and breathy in Reiner’s ear. “Yes,” he says, and licks down the short line where his finger had traced.
“You are never going to kill a titan at this rate-” Reiner cuts off with a sharp intake of air as Bertholdt presses his teeth at his neck, too lightly for his tastes, but it turns into a tiny, harmless nip and for a moment Reiner’s mind goes blank. He clears his throat. “Ah, all right, maybe you will.”
He turns around, pressing his mouth against Bertholdt’s own. Bertholdt kisses him back, quick and easy with the familiarity of it. Kisses on face, lips, shoulders – Reiner starts to wonder how after all this time they have never thought to touch their necks. Their backs, wrists, thighs, knuckles – he realizes they are all parts of their bodies that are impregnable and safe. He supposes ignoring their one weakness makes them feel stronger and more secure, especially in the middle of a garrison that will do anything to wipe them out.
He reaches behind Bertholdt and lays his fingers on the side of the other boy’s neck. Bertholdt’s head is already slanted towards his shoulder from when Reiner had licked along his jaw. They glance at each other; Bertholdt is panting, looking a little dazed, but Reiner doesn’t doubt for a moment that he is aware of Reiner’s hand around his neck.
“May I?”
“It’s only fair.”
“Fair,” Reiner repeats flatly, but Bertholdt kisses him hard, almost demanding – and maybe it is, but Bertholdt never asks for anything unless he can’t help it. With a grunt, Reiner pushes back, shifting one knee to brace on the bed as he leans into Bertholdt’s space. He runs his thumb behind Bertholdt’s neck, imagining the diagrams, the measurements, and angles his head to bite.
Bertholdt twitches, going rigid for a quick second. His chest heaves and he makes a strange noise in the back of his throat that sounds equal parts alarmed and pleased. Reiner backs off in time as Bertholdt slaps a hand against his neck.
“What,” Bertholdt begins, fingers blindly following the circular indents on his skin. He looks unsettled, eyes wide and fixed on Reiner.
Reiner feels himself grow hot with embarrassment and shame. He should have asked or been clearer, or he could have done something other than jump right into the thing they had just cautiously toed into. “I didn’t mean-”
Bertholdt surges closer, one hand griping Reiner’s shoulder and the other gently fisting over the short strands of Reiner’s hair to tilt his head.
“No. It’s fine,” he mumbles into Reiner’s neck, breath fast and hot. “Can it be my turn now?”
Reiner barely manages to gasp out a quick yes before Bertholdt bites down, not as hard as Reiner had done, but he moves along his neck, sucking and running his tongue over the reddening flesh. It’s almost terrifying, but it’s also Bertholdt putting his mouth and teeth on him – Reiner’s heart is trying to pound itself out of his chest, but he’s safe.
They fall the rest of the way into their beds. Bertholdt hasn’t let go of him yet, so intent and focused on leaving his mark Reiner can only respond by moving wherever Bertholdt directs him with a touch or impatient nudge. He finds himself on his stomach, back arching as teeth sink in. There’s pain, real pain that draws blood. Neither of them notices until Bertholdt flinches back with a noise of surprise.
Reiner turns around, seeing the other boy wipe his mouth with his thumb, the pad stained red with Reiner’s blood. Bertholdt stares at it, wonderingly, and then looks up at Reiner. He opens his mouth, and Reiner thinks he’s about to apologize, but Bertholdt closes his eyes and bares his neck instead, silent and waiting.
Reiner doesn’t need to ask. He pushes off the bed and kisses Bertholdt on the mouth, the taste of blood long gone, but he makes his own, trailing over to the back of Bertholdt’s neck to give him a matching set of indents and bruises. Bertholdt doesn’t bleed much when he bites down, but Reiner’s never liked the coppery taste of blood. His teeth dig deep enough to make a mark, and that’s it. Bertholdt croaks out his name and pulls them back down until they are lying side by side.
Eventually the biting and opened-mouth kisses dwindle down merely their lips brushing over each other’s skin. Before Reiner knows it, Bertholdt gives him one last bite, stretching the fabric of Reiner’s shirt, and lets go.
There are bruises and red marks all over the back of Bertholdt’s neck. Reiner feels his own skin, fingers running around circles of indents. He thinks there might be more marks on him than Bertholdt.
Bertholdt seems to think the same thing too. He turns his face further into the bedding, embarrassed, but not before he reaches over to feel for the first mark he had left on Reiner.
“Well, I think I did a good job on you,” Reiner says after a moment. “How about you?”
A finger traces over the back of his neck, a perfect straight line across.
“Yeah,” Bertholdt replies, muffled, but he sounds a little sad. “I think I did good, too.”
Rating: T
Pairing: Bertholdt/Reiner
Notes: For the kinkmeme - neck marking and neck play, trust.
Sometimes they joke about the things they learn in class. When everyone is out training or in the mess hall, Reiner steals a moment with Bertholdt in the quiet corner of their barracks. A textbook is opened between them, and Reiner leans in to laugh, cheek bumping against the hard bone of Bertholdt’s shoulder.
“It’s wrong. They have it completely wrong. And we have to study and memorize this.”
Bertholdt laughs too, because if they don’t, it’ll just hurt. He moves the book back into his lap, turning pages until he sees the pictures of titans and the back of their necks and the lines of where to cut and kill. He bends forward. This, they already have committed to memory, though he stares at the diagrams like he’s still trying to absorb it.
“Well, they got some things right,” he says, smile disappearing. He touches his neck, almost as if he’s tempted to run a finger over it. Turning pale, he clasps the exposed nape instead, shielding it from view. His voice is almost inaudible; “When we get our maneuver gear and swords, I think… it’ll be difficult for me.”
The confession makes Reiner blink. He can understand why, but he knows Bertholdt thinks in ways that are worrisome and unneeded. He looks back at the book and shuts it, tossing it to the end of their bed. The palm of Bertholdt’s hand is clammy when Reiner takes it, grabbing from the wrist and pressing his thumb into the center.
“It’ll be difficult for a lot of people. All it takes is practice and getting used to it,” Reiner says, frowning. He turns Bertholdt’s hand into a fist with the index finger out. He tilts his head away and, very gently, he runs Bertholdt’s finger across the back of his neck – just like the diagrams, a perfect kill. “Like that.”
He lets go of Bertholt’s hand, which hangs suspended in the air. The color has gone back to Bertholdt’s face, perhaps a little too much at the cheeks, but Reiner only cranes his neck and gestures to it.
“Go on,” he says. “Try it.”
“You don’t mind?” Bertholdt asks, already withdrawing, and Reiner can’t quite believe how Bertholdt still hesitates around him.
“No,” he says. He pauses, gaze lifting to the barrack’s entrance before continuing. “Not a lot of things damage me there. I guess that’s why I don’t worry a lot about it.”
Bertholdt hums in understanding, and Reiner bows his head once more, catching a glimpse of Bertholdt’s grim expression before training his eyes on his knees.
Bertholdt’s first touch is light, tracing over Reiner’s neck and tickling the short hairs at the back. Reiner is about to correct him, to go a little lower like how they were taught, but Bertholdt moves down on his own, more self-assured as he runs his finger across, blunt nail pushing a light pressure against Reiner’s skin.
A chill runs up Reiner’s spine. He’s had people touch him at the neck before, either during training or just messing around, but it’s never like this, never so deliberate and careful. His shoulders hunch up on their own accord and Bertholdt jerks away.
“Sorry,” Bertholdt says, sounding surprised. “Did that hurt?”
Reiner wants to put his hand up and cover his neck, just as Bertholdt did. He doesn’t even know why – he’s never had this problem before – so it’s strange.
“Haha, no it’s fine. Like I said, I don’t usually worry about this, but then you bring it up and…” he trails off and shrugs. “Honestly, I’ve never thought much about it before.” His hand comes up, fingers twitching, but he aborts the gesture at Bertholdt’s look of anxiousness. He frowns, annoyed at himself, and puts his hand solidly back in his lap. “Try again.”
Bertholdt doesn’t move. “You sure?”
“Hey, I have to get used to it, too,” he says and turns his back to Bertholdt, bending forward to bare his neck again. “Come on.”
Nothing happens for the longest time, but there is no sense in rushing Bertholdt and making him even more nervous. He waits, feeling the blankets shift and the bed dip towards his side.
Reiner feels Bertholdt’s breath first, a tiny little puff of air at the nape of his neck before there are lips brushing over his skin. He smiles wryly, the tension from his shoulders easing away, and Bertholdt’s nose bumps against him.
“Starting with something more familiar?” he asks.
Bertholdt laughs, the sound soft and breathy in Reiner’s ear. “Yes,” he says, and licks down the short line where his finger had traced.
“You are never going to kill a titan at this rate-” Reiner cuts off with a sharp intake of air as Bertholdt presses his teeth at his neck, too lightly for his tastes, but it turns into a tiny, harmless nip and for a moment Reiner’s mind goes blank. He clears his throat. “Ah, all right, maybe you will.”
He turns around, pressing his mouth against Bertholdt’s own. Bertholdt kisses him back, quick and easy with the familiarity of it. Kisses on face, lips, shoulders – Reiner starts to wonder how after all this time they have never thought to touch their necks. Their backs, wrists, thighs, knuckles – he realizes they are all parts of their bodies that are impregnable and safe. He supposes ignoring their one weakness makes them feel stronger and more secure, especially in the middle of a garrison that will do anything to wipe them out.
He reaches behind Bertholdt and lays his fingers on the side of the other boy’s neck. Bertholdt’s head is already slanted towards his shoulder from when Reiner had licked along his jaw. They glance at each other; Bertholdt is panting, looking a little dazed, but Reiner doesn’t doubt for a moment that he is aware of Reiner’s hand around his neck.
“May I?”
“It’s only fair.”
“Fair,” Reiner repeats flatly, but Bertholdt kisses him hard, almost demanding – and maybe it is, but Bertholdt never asks for anything unless he can’t help it. With a grunt, Reiner pushes back, shifting one knee to brace on the bed as he leans into Bertholdt’s space. He runs his thumb behind Bertholdt’s neck, imagining the diagrams, the measurements, and angles his head to bite.
Bertholdt twitches, going rigid for a quick second. His chest heaves and he makes a strange noise in the back of his throat that sounds equal parts alarmed and pleased. Reiner backs off in time as Bertholdt slaps a hand against his neck.
“What,” Bertholdt begins, fingers blindly following the circular indents on his skin. He looks unsettled, eyes wide and fixed on Reiner.
Reiner feels himself grow hot with embarrassment and shame. He should have asked or been clearer, or he could have done something other than jump right into the thing they had just cautiously toed into. “I didn’t mean-”
Bertholdt surges closer, one hand griping Reiner’s shoulder and the other gently fisting over the short strands of Reiner’s hair to tilt his head.
“No. It’s fine,” he mumbles into Reiner’s neck, breath fast and hot. “Can it be my turn now?”
Reiner barely manages to gasp out a quick yes before Bertholdt bites down, not as hard as Reiner had done, but he moves along his neck, sucking and running his tongue over the reddening flesh. It’s almost terrifying, but it’s also Bertholdt putting his mouth and teeth on him – Reiner’s heart is trying to pound itself out of his chest, but he’s safe.
They fall the rest of the way into their beds. Bertholdt hasn’t let go of him yet, so intent and focused on leaving his mark Reiner can only respond by moving wherever Bertholdt directs him with a touch or impatient nudge. He finds himself on his stomach, back arching as teeth sink in. There’s pain, real pain that draws blood. Neither of them notices until Bertholdt flinches back with a noise of surprise.
Reiner turns around, seeing the other boy wipe his mouth with his thumb, the pad stained red with Reiner’s blood. Bertholdt stares at it, wonderingly, and then looks up at Reiner. He opens his mouth, and Reiner thinks he’s about to apologize, but Bertholdt closes his eyes and bares his neck instead, silent and waiting.
Reiner doesn’t need to ask. He pushes off the bed and kisses Bertholdt on the mouth, the taste of blood long gone, but he makes his own, trailing over to the back of Bertholdt’s neck to give him a matching set of indents and bruises. Bertholdt doesn’t bleed much when he bites down, but Reiner’s never liked the coppery taste of blood. His teeth dig deep enough to make a mark, and that’s it. Bertholdt croaks out his name and pulls them back down until they are lying side by side.
Eventually the biting and opened-mouth kisses dwindle down merely their lips brushing over each other’s skin. Before Reiner knows it, Bertholdt gives him one last bite, stretching the fabric of Reiner’s shirt, and lets go.
There are bruises and red marks all over the back of Bertholdt’s neck. Reiner feels his own skin, fingers running around circles of indents. He thinks there might be more marks on him than Bertholdt.
Bertholdt seems to think the same thing too. He turns his face further into the bedding, embarrassed, but not before he reaches over to feel for the first mark he had left on Reiner.
“Well, I think I did a good job on you,” Reiner says after a moment. “How about you?”
A finger traces over the back of his neck, a perfect straight line across.
“Yeah,” Bertholdt replies, muffled, but he sounds a little sad. “I think I did good, too.”