Chapter Text
Bertholdt has been standing in front of the pantry for five minutes before he finally makes up his mind. Fuck decaf, he decides, reaching for the regular coffee. He's already gay and depressed. How much more harm can caffeine do?
He does take into consideration the fact that it's almost ten p.m., that he has a deadline in two hours, and that he might die in a public spectacle if he doesn't get enough sound sleep to be functionally literate for teaching Hamlet tomorrow morning. But then again, he is deeply in debt. Death would not be the worst thing to happen to him.
The coffee machine spits, sputters, and begins to brew. Bertholdt rubs his eyes, turning back to the counter where he set his laptop. He carried it into the kitchen mainly because he still has Reiner on Skype, but partially in the hopes that a different setting might inspire him to finish writing the fight scene he's been struggling with all day. But so far, it's not working. Maybe it's because he knows fuck-all about swords. He should've picked a later time period, one where his characters can just shoot each other Indiana Jones style and he doesn't have to spend six hours researching combat footwork. He sighs and leans over the counter, staring blankly at his laptop. The green camera light shines in his eyes. The sound of Reiner's fingers at work on his keyboard echoes through the speaker, and Bertholdt scowls before reaching out to mute his laptop. The point of their cowriting Skype sessions is to motivate both of them to work, but knowing that Reiner is thousands of words ahead of him is really not helping Bertholdt tonight.
Maybe it's not too late to change the setting of the story. Maybe it's not too late to change his story entirely. Maybe it's not too late to drop out of the MFA and move to the woods to become a hermit.
A text message appears in the top right corner of his screen. Bertholdt leans over, sipping on his coffee.
Reiner
i said bring me a cup
wtf did you mute me?
Bertholdt hits the unmute button.
"Sorry," he mutters, heaving his laptop onto one arm. He cradles it against his elbow, warm mug of coffee in his other hand as he ambles out of the kitchen and drags himself back to his bedroom.
"Did you mute me?" Reiner exclaims, his voice screeching through the computer. "What the hell?"
"It's annoying that you're doing better than me," Bertholdt grumbles. The floor creaks beneath him as he backs up against his bedroom door to close it. He needs to call his landlord tomorrow about the water heater. "I've barely written anything today."
"I'm not doing better than you. I'm just writing."
"At least you're doing that." Bertholdt sinks back into his desk and lets out a sigh, coffee mug clutched between his hands. He fumbles with the mousepad to switch windows on his computer; he closes out of the half-empty Google Doc he's been staring at and opens Skype to see Reiner hard at work. He's multitasking; he continues to type as he talks to Bertholdt, stopping every once in a while to respond to a ding from his phone. He hasn't even bothered to change out of his work clothes, and to that end, he's still sweaty from half a day of teaching housewives how to hold themselves upright on a barre.
"It's all bullshit," Reiner says, head bent over his keyboard. He slams out a few more words, then glances into the camera and gives Bertholdt the panicked smile of a graduate student on a deadline. "It's all total bullshit."
Bertholdt takes a sip of coffee. "At least you have bullshit. I have less than bullshit."
"Then stop complaining and start making bullshit."
"Bossy," Bertholdt breathes, pulling himself upright at his desk. He sets his coffee mug aside and thumbs back to his story outline.
"Oh, you have no idea."
Bertholdt parses through the remainder of his outline, cringing inside. It's stupid, all of it, but he's nearly halfway to his goal word count. If he can just meet this deadline tonight, then he can start something new for next week, something that might actually have the potential to be a manuscript. He just has to get there first. He sighs, clicking back to his Google Doc and scrolls up the empty page to reread what he's already written.
"I was actually looking forward to the critique for once," he sighs, reaching for his coffee cup. "I thought I actually had something here. But now-"
"Now that you're about to miss the deadline?" Reiner jokes. Bertholdt can only see half of his grin, the rest obscured by his Google Doc window. "I know. But once you finish it, you don't have to think about it again until next week."
"Great, and then I get to hear everyone's opinions."
Reiner starts hitting the backspace furiously. "Hey, we're all going to turn in bullshit together. Zeke can't fail all of us."
"I wouldn't be so sure," Bertholdt mutters. He takes another sip of coffee. "God, I'm tired."
"Aw, poor baby."
"Shut up."
"Take a nap and get up in an hour to finish."
"That's lunacy," Bertholdt exclaims, setting his mug down. "I don't understand how you do stuff like that."
"It guess it'd be hard if I slept like the dead." Reiner pauses, his gaze moving across his computer screen for a minute before he glances back into the camera. "Remember when you slept through the fire alarm and your apartment almost burned down?"
"It did not almost burn down," Bertholdt mutters. He opens a plain text file, hoping he can work around the distractions of Google Docs. "But I did burn my dinner."
"Don't make it sound like you cook. You were making soy nuggets."
"I was using the oven," Bertholdt says. "That counts as cooking."
"Sure, and I cooked this cup of tea."
"Leave me alone. I'm tired."
The tapping of Reiner's keyboard comes to a top, and he sighs. "I'm gonna take a break. You better have made some progress by the time I get back."
"Please go take a shower. You haven't moved in four hours. I can smell you from here."
He hears Reiner laugh. "Bye, Bear. I'll be back in a bit."
"Bye," Bertholdt mutters, and Skype bloops as Reiner ends the call.
Bertholdt tries to refocus on his laptop. He watches the blinking cursor in his Google Doc, sitting at the end of an unfinished sentence. He checks the word count. 7,279. He's supposed to submit ten thousand words tonight for next week's critique. Ten thousand words of a concept that could be expanded into a full manuscript, which he'll have to write someday for his thesis, pending approval of the board. But instead of hammering out those last few thousand words today, Bertholdt has spent his time grading papers, doing laundry, and staring at his ceiling.
He sinks back into his hair and huffs. Maybe he should take a break to clean his room. He still has papers from undergrad crammed into his desk drawers, not to mention the ever precarious stack of books that continues to grow beneath his window, threatening to tip at any minute. Wouldn't it be a much better use of his time to organize those books? He already knows it wouldn't, and he purses his lips, scrolling back through what he's already written. He should have just made this story about a suffering graduate student. At least then he could've projected onto his main character. Instead he's dug himself into this alternate Tudor history plot with no end in sight.
Writing sucks, he decides, before opening Twitter for the twenty-fifth time in the last hour. It's just the same shit as the last time he looked, so he clicks over to his email, immediately panics at the number of unread emails in his inbox, then clicks back to Twitter and settles for scrolling through things he's already seen. Somehow scrolling through Twitter becomes watching random YouTube videos, and when a sudden buzzing startles Bertholdt out of his rabbit hole, it's already 10:45.
He blinks, glancing away from his laptop. His phone is lying still on his bed, the screen lit up with a notification. He set it aside earlier to prevent distractions, but that's not very effective when the biggest distraction of all would be actually writing something. He closes YouTube, reassuring himself that loving Jenna Marbles is not a choice, and swivels his chair around to grab his phone. The notification is from Reiner. Except it's not a text asking to see if he's still working or an email asking for a quick beta read. It's a snap. Bertholdt doesn't even remember installing Snapchat, which means that it probably happened years ago, when he was an alcoholic undergrad with no friends and a lot to say about Holden Caulfield.
He swipes ceaselessly before he finds Snapchat hidden in an unnamed folder of otherwise abandoned apps, like Tinder and Venmo and Health, because he has no love life, no money, and no energy to do anything more than sit at his desk and slowly decay. He swivels back to his desk, praying that Reiner is sending him news of a disaster. The English department has burned down, or their professor has spontaneously combusted, or Bertholdt is being framed for murder and has to go on the run. Anything that will save him from having to meet this deadline tonight. He opens the message and gets a face full of cock.
Literally.
A darkened video plays on the phone, the audio muffled by Bertholdt's thumb. But the visual is undeniable, and when the video ends ten seconds later, Bertholdt drools onto his shirt and slaps the replay button.
Reiner's hand slides over his swollen cock. Slick drops of pre-cum shine under the harsh light of his phone camera as his thumb massages his head, pink and wet. He groans, his breath echoing through the speaker. His fist starts moving, jerking up and down his shift in an increasingly frantic rhythm, until a thick load of cum erupts over his hand, dripping down his fingers as he sighs in the background. The camera shifts just enough to capture a full view of his cock as pumps it through to the end, his skin shining in the darkness. Then the camera moves again, and the video ends.
Bertholdt stares at his phone.
He doesn't. Did that just. Why would.
He can't finish any of those thoughts. All of a sudden, he's hard, an erection springing up in his track pants as he sits and gapes at the empty message, the video now gone forever. And because it's after dark and he's alone and he's hit absolute rock bottom, he drops his phone onto his desk and digs a hand down into his boxers.
His cock is already hard when he gets it into his hand, breathing a sigh of immediate relief. That doesn't last for long, not when the video begins replaying in his mind. The wet slick beneath Reiner's fingers as he stroked himself, and the unholy noises he made, the sighs and moans echoing through Bertholdt's bedroom. Thinking about it sends a shiver through his spine. He shakes his mouth falling open as he curls a fist around his cock. He lets his eyes fall shut.
He strokes himself, up and down, slow to start. The touch on his skin is unreal, unlike anything he's ever felt, and he can't keep his mind from repeating the video. It plays again, and this time he thinks about Reiner's touch on himself. His big, calloused hands cupping Bertholdt's balls. His long fingers trailing up Bertholdt's length as he whispers on Bertholdt's skin. His tongue passing over the head of Bertholdt's wet cock.
The thought of Reiner's tongue on him sends a flood of heat through Bertholdt's body. He can't help but gasp, picking up the rhythm of his movements. With his other hand, he fumbles at the waistband of his track pants, pushing them down with his boxers to get a better grip on himself. The sudden cold air sends goosebumps across his stomach. He slides the thick skin of his thumb over his head, and he moans in shallow breaths as he drags pre-cum back down his length, his hand moving even faster.
It doesn't take long after that. Between the heat, the cold, and the friction, Bertholdt goes spiraling over the edge with a groan. He finishes hard, cum shooting into his hand. It splashes onto the waistband of his pants. He falls back into his chair, panting.
The room spins for a minute. Bertholdt blinks, then glances down at his spent cock.
"Fuck," he mutters.
He just did that. He just sat at his desk and jerked himself off in twenty seconds like a touch starved high schooler in the bathroom at a house party. He hasn't come so hard in years. The exhilarating release he feels as he strokes a bead of cum along his relaxing length comes to an abrupt end when he realizes that he just jerked off to Reiner.
Reiner, his best friend, who has seen him through the thick and thin of the last year, the hardest days of their lives as they navigate a graduate program that neither of them feel remotely qualified to be in. It's always been Reiner who's had his back, who's given him honest critiques, who gets drunk with him on weekdays when the prospect of actually finishing a novel one day seems like too much to bear, who Skypes with him every Thursday night to make sure they each have something to turn in for next week's critique.
What if it's always been Reiner?
Bertholdt jerks upright in his chair. The thought is so dangerously enticing that his heart stops beating for a second. They've had their fair share of homoerotic moments, from subtle glances during romance readings to joining an all-male recreational volleyball team together. They're constantly mistaken for a couple anyways. They use it to get discounts on Valentine's Day. Would it be so out of the question for that to come true?
He drops his cock and reaches for the bath towel hanging on his bedpost. He can't think like that. It was just a video. Granted, it was a video of Reiner masturbating and it came totally out of nowhere, but it doesn't have to mean anything. Surely it doesn't mean anything. Surely Reiner was just being... friendly.
Bertholdt's phone buzzes again.
He starts, glancing warily at his phone. Oh god, what if there's more? With shaking hands, he tosses the towel aside and reaches for his phone. It's just a text.
Reiner
did you finish?
Bertholdt is typing
Reiner
i bet you didn't even write anything
Bertholdt
oh
no i didn't
Reiner
come on dude
Bertholdt
midnight is just a suggestion
Reiner
interesting interpretation of the word "deadline"
Bertholdt leans back in his chair, staring at his phone. This is a strangely nonchalant conversation, considering Reiner sent him a ten second porno just minutes ago. Why hasn't Reiner said anything? Oh god, was Bertholdt was supposed to reply? Is he supposed to bring it up? Is there some kind of horny social cue here that Bertholdt isn't picking up on? He grimaces and waffles before settling for some basic probing.
Bertholdt
what are you doing rn?
Reiner
not much wyd baby ;) ;P ?
Bertholdt is typing
Reiner
jk i'm back to writing
obviously i'm writing. what else would i be doing?
Bertholdt
idk
i thought you were taking a break
Reiner
i did. i got naked in the shower and everything
Bertholdt
haha
Reiner
i knew you weren't going to write
i bet you got distracted softblocking ppl on twitter
Bertholdt
i've already softblocked everyone
Reiner
of course you have
never change, bear
Bertholdt
lol
Reiner
i'm going to bed soonish
text me when you finish so we can swap for notes
Bertholdt
okay
Reiner
i promise i'll be nice ;)
Bertholdt bites his lip. His heart pounds as he scrolls back through the conversation, euphemisms and all. He can't tell if the double entendres are intentional or if he's reading too much into Reiner's words. That's how he normally talks, after all, and he still hasn't mentioned the video. But something about him is especially lively tonight, considering they have a major deadline in two hours. Usually he's a nervous wreck before critiques no matter how what he's written. Something has him in a good mood. Something like finally making a move on his best friend?
It wouldn't be like Reiner to play games with someone's feelings. Maybe he's being coy on purpose. Maybe he's being a tease, tempting Bertholdt to throw away his work and make a mad dash across town to ravish him on his kitchen floor.
God. He's hard again.
He types out a quick goodnight & good luck, knowing that neither of them will be coherent enough to provide concrit tonight. He sets his phone aside and stares blankly at his computer screen.
He can't stop thinking about the video, but he has to play it cool. Reiner would have been blunt if he'd wanted to: hey Bear, it would be really hot if we fucked, right? What about if we got a mortgage together? He would've said so, if he'd wanted to say it; but instead he chose to toy around by sending a video and lacing an innocent conversation with double meanings. So, Reiner doesn't want to talk about it. He wants to drop hints. He wants to send winky faces and insert subtext. He wants to ride the waves of homoerotic tension between them, sticking to their skin like static on a balloon.
Something ignites in Bertholdt's stomach. He switches to a new document, swallows his pride, and begins writing.
The tall door creaked as Bertholdt pulled it open with one hand, clutching the strap of his messenger bag to his shoulder with his other hand. He ducked his head from a glare of afternoon sunlight that beamed over the top of the building and he stepped inside, breathing a sigh of relief as the silence of the English building rushed over him. He turned his gaze over the quiet foyer, one of the few places undisturbed by students on a Friday afternoon. The only noise came an office down the hall, the sound of a professor typing out a critique, and the occasional trickle of a faucet somewhere else in the building, a subtle sign of life. Otherwise, peace and quiet. Bertholdt reveled in it for a moment, feeling whole in such a sacred, untouched space before he continued inside.
His shoes tapped softly against the wooden floor as he walked, heading along a familiar path into the heart of the building. He passed a few familiar faces on his way upstairs, fellow graduate students who nodded at him from over the tops of their books. He came to his destination at the end of the hallway, the office of the English teaching assistants, with tall white walls and stacks of books that nearly reached the ceiling. It was one of Bertholdt's favorite places to work, and it was always a good place for uninterrupted contemplation of quiet afternoons. He hoped he’d be able to concentrate on his work there.
But as he entered the room, he realized that he was not alone. He heard a scratching as he steps through the doorway, the telltale sound of pen on paper, and when he surveyed the room, his gaze latched onto someone blond, absorbed in their writing.
Bertholdt lingered in the doorway. Reiner hadn’t seen him yet, and if he turned around now, maybe he could disappear without being noticed. But he had work to do at his desk, and more than that, he had no reason to be afraid to speak to Reiner. No reason except for the incriminating message he opened last night, the one that sent flames through his veins and kept him awake until dawn. He nearly blushed just thinking about it again, but he managed to swallow that and make up his mind. There was no reason to make a big deal out of nothing. He would just continue as he had before.
No sooner had he started into the room than Reiner glanced up from his work, blinking as Bertholdt approached the table where he sat.
“Oh, hi,” Reiner said, staring up at him. Afternoon sunlight shone in through a partially covered window, and the dust in the air sparkled before his eyes.
Bertholdt swallowed the lump in his throat. “Hi. I wasn’t expecting anyone to be here.”
“I know,” Reiner said, glancing down at his work. He had papers strewn across the table and a stack of books within arms reach. He looked at them, his gaze meandering. He bit his lip as he glanced back up towards Bertholdt. “Sorry, I hope I’m not interrupting your work.”
“No, of course not,” Bertholdt exclaimed. His sweaty fingers tightened on the strap of his backpack. “There’s room for both of us.”
“I was actually hoping that I’d see you here,” Reiner admitted. He met Bertholdt’s eyes for a moment, then broke into a smile and ducked his head.
Bertholdt watched him, his heart beating faster. He knew he shouldn’t think about the video, that it should go unspoken between them like a secret, but when he looked at Reiner, it was all he could imagine. His lithe fingers wet with cum, jerking himself off as he moaned. The way he must have looked in that dark room, one hand holding the phone, the other on his cock, and the way he would look in the daytime. His head tilted back as he barely kept himself seated on the edge of his bed, shivering with anticipation of his climax. Shuddering in pleasure when it finally came. And his shaky fingers, pressing Bertholdt’s name when he sent the video.
“Were you?” Bertholdt asked. His voice came out softer than he intended, and he couldn’t help but blush a tiny bit.
Reiner glanced up at him, still smiling.
“Yes,” he said. “Of course I was. Why else would I be here? I was waiting for you.”
“For me?” Bertholdt echoed.
“Bertholdt,” Reiner said, nearly whispering. “Why else would I have sent you that video?”
He felt his cheeks flush, and he turned his head to the side. “I wasn’t sure, I thought maybe it was a mistake- or maybe that it didn’t really mean anything. Just something friends do.”
Reiner rose from his seat slowly, pen falling out of his hands as he did so. He drew himself up to Bertholdt’s height, still on the other side of the table, and when he spoke again, his voice was soft but stronger, as though as he was completely certain of his words.
“I’ve never had a friend like you,” he said. “Is that something friends do, Bertholdt? Watch each other from afar for years and wonder what they’d have to do to get closer? Drop hints and take chances until they just can’t bear it anymore?”
Bertholdt meets his eyes. “Is that what you’ve been doing, Reiner?”
He turns red as he smiles at Bertholdt. “It took you long enough to figure it out. Turns out all I needed to do was be a little bolder.”
“How could anyone misinterpret that video?” Bertholdt asked, his voice cracking a bit as he smiled. “Even I understood that, deep down.”
“I knew you would,” Reiner breathed. He hesitated on his next words, glancing away before he met Bertholdt’s eyes again. “So, how did I do? Am I the kind of friend you’re looking for?”
“I don’t want to be friends,” Bertholdt said.
Reiner smiled. “Then kiss me.”
There was a thud as Bertholdt's bag fell to the floor, no longer held in place on his shoulder, because he reached across and took Reiner's face in his hands, stopping only for a moment to consider how beautiful Reiner looked in the golden sunlight, how gloriously his eyes sparkled, and how well he fit into Bertholdt's hands. It was only a second, before Bertholdt leaned in and kissed him. Their lips collided in heat, and they fit perfectly together. He was warm beneath Bertholdt’s touch, his lips soft; Reiner’s hands began to travel, pressed against Bertholdt’s shoulder, then grasping at the collar of his shirt, holding on relentlessly.
They broke apart, but only for a moment. Reiner leaned in again and pressed their lips back together, one hand trailing up Bertholdt’s neck to cup his jaw as they kissed. Bertholdt let his fingers fall and brush against Reiner’s collarbone, exposed from beneath the wide collar of his tee-shirt. Reiner hummed at his touch. He pulled back again, breathing heavily, and held their faces barely an inch apart, staring deep into Bertholdt’s eyes.
“I think I’m in love with you,” he murmured. He cupped Bertholdt’s face, staring deeply into his eyes. “I think I’ve been in love with you all this time. I’m such a fool. How could I not have realized my feelings sooner?”
“Don’t,” Bertholdt said softly. “I didn’t realize either.”
Reiner came closer, but only slightly. His breath was hot on Bertholdt’s lips, and his eyes glimmered. “Do you love me?” he asked.
“Of course,” Bertholdt said. “Always.”
“Then make love to me,” Reiner breathed.
Bertholdt leaned in to kiss him again, taking Reiner's face in his hands and pressing their lips together hard. The heat of their bodies rose in their blood as their chests pressed against each other. He could feel Reiner moving beneath him, moaning against his lips as the warmth of their touch intensified. Bertholdt began to trail kisses downwards, grazing along Reiner's chin down to his neck and his exposed collarbones, reveling there in the fragile touch of bare skin against his lips. He took his teeth and left a gentle mark on Reiner's skin; it was a pink reminder that he'd been there before and that he would be there forevermore. Reiner hummed at the lingering touch, and finally, Bertholdt couldn't bear to hold back anymore. The heat in the room rose insatiably, and he wanted Reiner badly.
He fumbled with the hem of Reiner's shirt, stepping back to get a good look at him as Reiner lifted his arms to let the shirt roll off his body. It brushed over his short hair as it came off over his head, leaving him looking windswept, and Bertholdt let the shirt fall to the ground without another though, his hands instinctively reaching to steady himself on Reiner's shoulders. Beneath his fingers, Reiner's skin was warm. He trailed his hands down Reiner's chest, from his firm pecs to the lean muscle on his stomach, flexing and relaxing beneath Bertholdt's tingling touch. Reiner shivered, his mouth falling open, his eyes falling shut. He clutched one hand to Bertholdt's elbow to hold himself upright, the other toying at the collar of Bertholdt's shirt. His hand trailed down from there, as if to work on undoing Bertholdt's buttons, but he seemed to get lost in the moment, the touch of his bare skin overwhelming any of his other thoughts. Bertholdt smiled to himself. He loved that about Reiner, the way he got lost in things. Bertholdt leaned in to press a kiss to the corner of Reiner's lips, wondering how he'd gotten so lucky to end up with this man as his.
"Let me help you with that," he murmured, smiling, as he began to undo his shirt buttons.
Reiner smiled, stifling a laugh, and he set his hands on Bertholdt's shoulders. He watched with attention as Bertholdt's buttons came undone, revealing the skin beneath. Reiner leaned in and pressed his lips there, just over Bertholdt's heart, as his shirt fell to the floor, undone. Bertholdt quivered beneath his touch, and when Reiner looked up, he made his move. He cupped Reiner's face in his hands and kissed him fully, deeply, their heart and bodies moving in rhythm together. He felt Reiner's pulse quicken, his own heart beating faster as the kiss deepened, as their bare chests pressed together and their lips wandered to land on shoulders and stomachs. Bertholdt's mouth trailed down, his hands following not far behind, caressing the warm skin of Reiner's chest as he pressed soft kisses down Reiner's stomach. Reiner gasped at each little touch, hands clenching onto Bertholdt's shoulder to steady himself.
Bertholdt paused just above the waistline of Reiner's jeans, his heart suddenly caught in his throat. He stood upright, glancing at Reiner, and he caught the warm afternoon sunlight passing in lazy beams across Reiner's face, highlighting his fluttering eyelashes, his pink lips, gaping as he pushed a hand back against his brow, overwhelmed by touch, but begging for more. Bertholdt smiled, still nervous, but confident now, knowing that Reiner wanted this just as much as he did. Of course he wanted this. For so long, they'd been dancing around each other, flirting without meaning to, exchanging looks that lingered in their minds, standing too close, always finding excuses to be near each other. This was a long time coming, and he couldn't wait any longer.
He set his hands on Reiner's waist and dropped to his knees. He felt Reiner gasp when he set to work undoing the buttons of his jeans, and he glanced up to be certain that this was what Reiner wanted. A moment later, he felt Reiner's hands in his hair, soft but firm, holding onto him, and Reiner stared down at him with a hunger that he had never seen before, a thirst in his eyes that begged Bertholdt not to stop.
"Is this okay?" Bertholdt asked in a whisper. He undid Reiner's zipper with a deft hand, never breaking eye contact.
Reiner nodded, his lips pursed, unable to speak. He brushed a thumb over Bertholdt's forehead.
Bertholdt could feel Reiner in his jeans, getting harder by the second. He took his tome, rolling the jeans down Reiner's thighs to expose his black briefs, clinging to his skin. His cock bulged in the front, a sight that made Bertholdt shiver when he looked at it, suddenly imagining what it would feel like inside of him. That was a thought for later, he told himself coyly, and he reached out a tender hand to grasp Reiner's length through his briefs.
Reiner gasped. "Oh, god."
"Do you want this?" Bertholdt asked, leaning in. He pressed a kiss to Reiner's length over his briefs, his breath warm on the fabric as he cupped Reiner, his eyes closing.
"God, yes, Bear. Keep going."
Bertholdt kissed him again, but it wasn't enough with the fabric beneath his lips. Suddenly impatient, his fingers itching to dig themselves into the skin of Reiner's thighs, he reached up and unrolled Reiner's briefs, exposing him to the afternoon sunlight. His cock hung gloriously, popping upright to attention, thick and pink and already wet at the head. Bertholdt admired him for a moment, one hand hooking around the back of Reiner's thighs to stroke the sensitive skin there, another cupping his balls between his fingers. He leaned in and gave a tentative flick of his tongue over the shaft of Reiner's cock. The touch elicited a sharp moan from Reiner, and Bertholdt couldn't help but smile to himself. He wanted to make Reiner feel good, feel great, give him everything he wanted and more, and he knew that this was a good start.
He pressed his lips to Reiner's shaft, letting his eyes fall shut as he did. The skin felt familiar between his lips, and at once, he found his rhythm. He moved his lips up Reiner's length, a shiver running along his spine every time he heard Reiner moan. His own erection was straining in his jeans at one that point, and he wondered which one of them would cum first. He wondered if he would cum just by the sound of Reiner's gasps and moans. His tongue reached the head of Reiner's cock, and after an experimental swipe to get the taste of his slick pre-cum, Bertholdt grabbed Reiner's cock by its base and dove in, taking him inside his mouth.
"Oh, god, Bear," Reiner panted, his hand clenched in Bertholdt's hair. "Don't stop, don't stop, that's so
Reiner
you still up?
The message blinks in the top right corner of his computer screen. Bertholdt stares at it for a moment, his mouth falling open as he processes the words. He snaps his lips shut, his eyes going wide, and he glances in horror at the clock. Ten minutes after midnight, and his assignment is sitting unfinished in an abandoned Google Doc.
"Shit," he hisses.
Midnight is a suggestion, he reminds himself, and he's definitely submitted things later than this; but they were completed things, fully written things that at least had a beginning and an end. Bertholdt fumbles through the folders of his Google Drive, swallowing the realization that he can't finish his piece tonight, not even if he works at it for the next few hours. He could gamble and submit something tomorrow, but Zeke has been known to close submissions on the deadline, right down to the minute. Bertholdt dives into his WIP folder and snatches something abandoned that he wrote last summer. It's trash, and he'll get wrecked at the critique, but it hits the word count. He'll survive. He downloads the document and uploads it to the critique forum before the clock has struck 12:15.
He drops back into his chair and sighs as another message comes through.
Reiner
did you turn it in?
Bertholdt stares at the message. He reaches out to respond after a moment, but his fingers hover over the keyboard, motionless, thoughtless, and suddenly all he can see is Reiner's smiling face, panting and moaning as Bertholdt deepthroats him.
Reiner
dare i check the forum to see if ur lying?
Bertholdt
haha
i turned it in
Reiner
whew i got worried for a second ;)
ok good night bear
Bertholdt's heart screams through his chest. His fingers shake as he scrolls through his tabs, shifting back to the untitled doc that fills him with terror now that he rereads it. A two thousand word confession of utter love and adoration, with bonus cock sucking at the end. Over two thousand words admitting that he would do anything for Reiner, and it's all he can do not to melt into the floor and die.
Bertholdt
god night
*good night
Reiner
haha good night <3