#r 18

“Office sex. At Command. Idiot. I can’t believe I let you talk me into it. Don’t ask again. Stop talking about it.”

“Bertoooolttt, I’m sorry. Come on. It was so much fun right up until he walked in.”

“Until!”

“And it was fun after.”

“For you!” Bertolt snaps, genuinely enraged. He goes on a tear. “You always do this! You just DO and SAY things to get whatever you want! You said the door was locked. You fucking PROMISED me the door was locked. You said Becker was gone! And trapping me under your desk? Saying you’d call Becker back? Pathetic. Coercion. You knew I’d feel bad for you! Was I supposed to let you die in your office chair? How would you have walked home? You should be on your knees thanking me. I didn’t even get to-”

The dish clinks into the rack. Reiner leaves his side. A soft thump.

“Thank you, Bertolt Hoover. Commander. Angel. Forgive me?”

Bertolt is already rolling his eyes as he turns to fling an insult, but the sight that confronts him is not…completely unappealing. 

Reiner is sitting on his heels, knees wide, down on the kitchen floor.

“I’m not going to-” Bertolt starts, but Reiner puts his hands behind his back and grabs his elbows. The pose pushes his ridiculous pectorals into the kind of relief that reminds artists to order fresh marble.

“No, you’re not getting-” Bertolt continues determinedly, but Reiner is gazing up at him in an attitude of trusting, golden-eyed, penitence and worship.

‘I…” Bertolt trails off, moving forward despite his best efforts, drawn by irresistible magnetic force towards the spectacle. 

Reiner is biting his lip.

Fuck it. 

“Unbutton your shirt and then put your arms back.”

Reiner’s performative “I’m so terribly sorry” face cracks into a shit-eating grin. He undoes the buttons on his white shirt and pushes it away from a torso that they both know is almost unfair to everyone else on what’s left of the Marleyan continent. He puts his arms behind his back again, as ordered, leaving the shirt wrapped around his arms. 

Oh, God. He’s still wearing his dog tags, glittering on a chain against his bare chest. Bertolt fortifies himself for an endurance struggle and stands between Reiner’s knees, glaring down.

“Stay exactly like that. If you move your arms before I tell you to, I’ll…you know what? I don’t know yet. I don’t know what I could do, to show how incredibly disappointed in you I’ll feel. So just don’t let it happen.”

Reiner’s eyes widen at this unexpectedly terrible threat. Bertolt’s irritation is hilarious, but his disappointment is a hovering dagger, pointed directly at his heart. 

“I won’t, B,” he promises, tilting his head all the way back, at his most endearing and earnest, “Commander.” 

Bertolt smirks. He’s starting to like being called Commander. Even if he’d rather die again than actually be one.

“Convince me.”

Reiner dives forward. He nudges Bertolt’s shirt out of the way with his nose so he can lay kisses down his stomach. Bertolt steps back just a smidgen, out of spite, but Reiner is strong enough to hold himself up at an angle. He mouths Bertolt’s dick (which, if Bertolt is honest, has been half-hard since the second shirt button) through his pants.

The implicit promise in this hot, moist caress is too much to bear. Bertolt unbuckles his belt and lets Reiner work his dick free.

He’s immediately engulfed. Reiner moves his tongue in circles, in lines, in firm strokes, knowing exactly how to make him weak. He hollows his cheeks, sucking and being as sloppy and loud as possible. He has Bertolt quivering in about thirty seconds. He’s very good at this, and he knows it.

This smug fucker.

Bertolt fists two hands into disheveled hair and pulls, burying himself up to the hilt in willing, warm, pink heat. 

“Stay.” He slowly releases his grip.

Reiner is gagging around his cock, but he obediently stays put, digging his nails into the fabric tangled around his forearms. His throat convulses thrillingly. Bertolt moans at the sensation—soft heat around his shaft, and fluttering around his head.

“Back.”

Reiner retreats a few inches, and drags in a shaky breath, mouth still full, moving his tongue in circles around ridges. Bertolt lets him recover, less out of charity than out of fear that he’s going to come if he stays inside too long.

“Again.”

Reiner swallows him whole. This time he undulates his palate and tongue. Bertolt almost faints. But the self-satisfied gleam in Reiner’s eyes as he revels in his own admittedly perfect technique is annoying.

“Say you’re sorry.”

Bertolt stops Reiner from pulling away with a palm against the back of his head.

“No. Like this.”

Reiner’s stuffed face contorts as he struggles to push words around the obstruction. Bertolt waits patiently and tries not to die.

“Gm…Grrgy…”

“Look at me when you talk. You’re selfish, and you’re sorry.” A mean tug to drive the point home.

Reiner fixes his watering eyes on Bertolt and chokes out approximations of words. “Ungh…glshsh ng ghmm…ghry.” A blooming flush compounds his increasingly miserable expression.

Bertolt pulls him off completely and watches him drool and struggle for breath.

“Are you?”

“Urgh. Yeah,” rasps Reiner, hanging from his hair like the head of a vanquished enemy warlord. He’s bright red, but he holds himself still, doesn’t drop his arms, doesn’t punch any cabinets, and doesn’t tackle Bertolt to the ground to turn the tables. Bertolt knows him well enough to know that he wants to, and that he’s weighing the risks and rewards.

“Are you angry, Major?”

“No,” Reiner rumbles, angrily. 

Bertolt raises his hand and carefully watches Reiner. Reiner looks up at it, then back, with a fiery little glint of excitement. The slightest of nods is permission; Bertolt slaps him sharply across the cheek.

Reiner grunts, squeezing his eyes shut and clenching his jaw against the sting. When he raises his head again he’s laughing through tears.

“Damn, Commander. Did I really fuck up that bad?”

Bertolt slaps him again.

Reiner wheezes. It takes longer for him to lift his face this time. 

Still, he resets himself, straightening on his knees and signaling his soldierly willingness to take whatever Bertolt can dish out. When Bertolt raises his hand again he flinches and shuts his eyes. His lips are trembling. Bertolt lets the hand drop. It’s enough then.

He can’t help but notice that Reiner’s suffering hasn’t done anything to deter a painful-looking erection trying to bust through the seams of his fly. He leans his foot against the bulge, wishing that he was still wearing his boots.

“Yes, you fucked up. I didn’t get to finish this properly, last time. ‘Cause you don’t know how to lock an office door and you didn’t bother to checkif that nosy little bastard aide of yours was still around.”

Reiner tenses, staring down between his legs. Bertolt adds some force, pressing his rigid dick into his pelvis. 

“Agh.” Reiner’s shoulders jolt. His body tries to curve protectively around the pain, but Bertolt is impressed to see him fight the urge. The dog tags hang in the air, jingling. The foot lifts.

“I should’ve left the belt around your wrists and let Becker find you like that. Major Reiner Braun, tied to a chair, half-stripped and whining for me to fuck him into the floor.”

Press. Bertolt increases the pressure by degrees, feeling mean.

Since they aren’t in his office now, Reiner can make all kinds of noise, and he does, crying low and swearing at the ceiling.

Release.

“Are you proud of yourself? You cocky fuck? Letting me down like that? Taking advantage?”

No. Reiner hangs his head and shakes it wordlessly, shuddering.

He really is being good. Bertolt wants to reward him. He squats and circles Reiner’s face with his hands, kissing leftover tears and quivering lips. Reiner kisses back, docile and grateful. He doesn’t let go of his elbows.

Aw. “Okay. You can let go.”

Reiner lets his shirt fall to the ground and draws him closer into the kiss.

Bertolt lets himself enjoy it for a while. It’s nice. But it’s way too soon for nice. Reiner is nowhere near absolved of his never-ending bullshit.

He slides down Reiner’s stomach, fingers creeping past his waistband. “Hey, this is when he walked in, right? I was just about to…”

He ghosts over Reiner’s cock, hearing a gasp when skin touches skin. Reiner is impossibly hard. He holds on to Bertolt’s shoulders and arches his back, squeezing his hips up into his grip, trying to fuck his palm.

“You were begging me to fuck you. Remember? Do you still want me to fuck you?”

Reiner gapes at him, starry-eyed, still writhing against his hand. 

“Yes! What? Really? God. Yes. Please.”

“‘Kay. Go to the bed. Get undressed.”

Bertolt ignores Reiner’s undignified scrambling and goes hunting for oil, stripping off his shirt along the way. He catches a glimpse of himself in the hallway mirror as he passes. Maybe it’s just the power trip of kicking Reiner around, but he swears he’s starting to look stronger. More like his old self. He comes into the bedroom whistling and tossing a bottle up and down, feeling good about everything.

Reiner is leaning back on his arms on the bed, looking simultaneously godly and pitiful. Bertolt gives him a show, clicking the oil bottle ominously on the bedside table and sliding out of his trousers and underwear. He stands over the edge of the bed.

Reiner, for once in his ridiculous life, seems bashful.

“How do you want—“

“Lie back.”

Reiner does.

“Spread your legs.”

Reiner does.

Bertolt drizzles generously, wanting to see how the oil looks spread all over Reiner’s front. It looks fantastic. He spends some time just rubbing it into his skin. Where his fingers go, goosebumps follow. Eventually, his fingers find their way down to Reiner’s hole.

It’s been a while since they’ve done this. Reiner is dangerously tight. Bertolt massages him open, stretching slowly. When he finally takes him, it’s still like sliding into a closed fist. They’re tied together in a rippling, taut knot.

The ecstatic sound that Reiner makes when Bertolt thrusts deep sets something inside him burning. Reiner is nowhere near as flexible as he is, so he pushes his knees up instead of flat into the bed, and fucks him as hard as either of them can take.

“God. Bertolt!” Reiner’s cries are everywhere, fevered and senseless. Bertolt drinks up the sight of him, splayed out and rocking against the blanket. Powerful, pliant, and shining with oil. Wincing and panting while his painfully hard dick slaps against his stomach. Where is that spot? Reiner always finds it inside him. He yanks a leg up onto his shoulder and tests angles until an honest-to-god shriek tells him he’s hit it. Reiner convulses around him, his dick leaving a thin milky smear on his stomach.

“Right there?” Bertolt pounds into the cluster of nerves, watching his work pull Reiner to pieces.

“Yes!" Reiner gasps. His legs start to quake.

“Feel good?” 

“Yes…fuuuuuck. B, I’m gonna come.”

Bertolt stops dead.“What? No you’re not,” he snarls, “Don’t you fucking dare.” He snaps his hips hard against Reiner’s to make him throw his head back. When he senses him gathering and clenching, he stops again.

“BERTOLT,” screams Reiner, grinding helplessly.

“I haven’t decided if you’re going to come at all, Reiner. So don’t. Do you think you deserve to?”

The question is too hard and Reiner is too delirious to figure out an answer, so he just lies against the mattress, shaking and clutching at nothing. His stomach muscles visibly clench with the effort of holding back an orgasm. Bertolt snickers at him and goes back to torturing his prostate.

After another three rounds of stop and go, Reiner is whimpering beautifully, leaking precome from his red, swollen dick, still focusing brokenly on not coming at any cost, and still trying, with his entire body, to not disappoint Bertolt.

Bertolt is hitting his own limit. He drops the leg and pitches forward. 

“Reiner, look at me.” Reiner opens red, wet eyes, and Bertolt whispers “You feel so good.” They rock together, he trails kisses up his neck. “You’re so good. Reiner, you did perfect.”

Reiner bursts into tears, and circles his arms around Bertolt’s shoulders. Bertolt slides his hand into the tight space between their bodies, wraps it around Reiner’s cock and strokes while he finishes fucking him. They’re both pressed against the edge, barely holding on.

“Come.”

Reiner’s groan vibrates all the way through their bodies and the bed. His orgasm pulls at Bertolt, sucking him in, and he rides Reiner’s waves until he comes too, enveloped in his own fluids, everything slick around his cock while he moves through his last deep thrusts. When he’s done, Reiner is still pulsing around him and dripping into his fist, making sharp little sounds. It’s an astonishingly long time before his body finishes releasing its pent-up frustration. Bertolt is actually jealous. He brushes Reiner’s hair off of his forehead and stays with him, watching affectionately, until he stops being a sniffling, cumming mess.

When he finally withdraws, he rolls feebly onto his back, feeling like a very contented, but also very sore and exhausted, mud puddle. Being in charge is a lot of work. No wonder Reiner’s abs look like that.

Oh. Right. Reiner. “Reiner? You okay?”

Reiner shoots out his arms and drags him into his chest. “Ow,” says Bertolt, his skin sticking sweatily as he judders across the blanket.

“B, you’re a mean, scary bastard. God. That was amazing. I fucking ascended.”

“Heh.”

They lie together for a while, smog-brained and staring at nothing. Bertolt plays idly with the dog tags, making them clink. His mind is drifting towards the bathtub. Reiner drops a kiss into his hair and holds him tight.

“Hey, Commander?”

“What?”

“Next time you’re in my office I’m gonna fuck you up so bad.”

Bertolt shoves himself up out of Reiner’s arm-jail, and stares at him with utter incredulity.

“WHAT?”

“We’ll see.”

“We won’t see! Did…what is wrong with you? Did I not just spend an hour-”

“Yeah, but you were just mad about the door, so if I lock the door it’s fine.”

“IT’S NOT FINE.”

Reiner grins like an unrepentant asshole, shedding the traces of his cathartic meltdown. He flips a startled Bertolt onto his back and comes down hard on top of him. Then he puts his teeth around his shoulder and laughs into the bite, because that’s what Reiner does.

---

Note: Reiner ugly-crying when someone tells him he’s perfect and good just feels true.