The moment Eren's lips curl into that smirk, Reiner knows he let his gaze linger too long. He's been found out, his wayward thoughts read like a damn book. But before Reiner formulates his next move—before he can even react beyond an internal curse, dammit whispered in the privacy of his mind—Eren licks his lower lip. Licks it, like Reiner doesn't know precisely what that tongue feels like against his own, hot and heady and—
Eren turns around. Tells Reiner to follow. Starts walking away.
… That little shit.
Predictably, the idea of not following Eren doesn't even occur to Reiner. Maybe he's too bullheaded or direct. Or maybe he just can't see a challenge from Eren without rising to meet it. They've never been rivals, not in the way Reiner and Porco are. (Were? What's changed since Reiner left?) Whatever he and Eren have—whatever label Reiner might try to slap on their relationship, only to peel it off and affix a new one later—is far more fraught than that.
Losing to Eren is life or death. Maybe not here, maybe not now. But those maybes can change in an instant. All it takes is a little blood.
It's probably for the best that they're underground. Probably for the best that Reiner doesn't surrender to the impulse to grab Eren by the collar and kiss him, or hit him, or both. Which option would he even choose? After that blatant taunt, both seem equally appealing.
So when Eren glances sideways in the food court, Reiner is right there: visibly annoyed, a hint of a flush touching the tips of his ears, but definitely there. He pointedly refuses to look Eren's way, keeping his eyes firmly on the menu lest he glimpse that damned tongue again. He knows better than to kiss Eren in such a public setting. Then again, he knew better than to kiss Eren in the street, too. Or at all.
Yet here they are.
Reiner orders something with meat. Lots of meat. Who cares if he's half the reason it was so scarce in Paradis? He can eat it now, so he's going to do so.
Predictably (again), Reiner is perfectly polite to the person taking the order, taking his annoyance and tucking it down beneath a friendly facade. (At least he's just faking, not forgetting.) The wait for their food isn't long—but Reiner can't maintain his cold shoulder for even that length of time. He glances over at Eren from the corner of his eye: once, twice, three times. Takes a breath to speak, then decides better of it. But as soon as they find a table—people all around, no chance of avoiding casualties if this escalates—Reiner breaks his silence.
"So?" he asks, as immediately as a watchdog barking at a stranger. He sits down across from Eren, straight-backed but not tense, finally meeting Eren's eyes. "You said we should talk."
no subject
Eren turns around. Tells Reiner to follow. Starts walking away.
… That little shit.
Predictably, the idea of not following Eren doesn't even occur to Reiner. Maybe he's too bullheaded or direct. Or maybe he just can't see a challenge from Eren without rising to meet it. They've never been rivals, not in the way Reiner and Porco are. (Were? What's changed since Reiner left?) Whatever he and Eren have—whatever label Reiner might try to slap on their relationship, only to peel it off and affix a new one later—is far more fraught than that.
Losing to Eren is life or death. Maybe not here, maybe not now. But those maybes can change in an instant. All it takes is a little blood.
It's probably for the best that they're underground. Probably for the best that Reiner doesn't surrender to the impulse to grab Eren by the collar and kiss him, or hit him, or both. Which option would he even choose? After that blatant taunt, both seem equally appealing.
So when Eren glances sideways in the food court, Reiner is right there: visibly annoyed, a hint of a flush touching the tips of his ears, but definitely there. He pointedly refuses to look Eren's way, keeping his eyes firmly on the menu lest he glimpse that damned tongue again. He knows better than to kiss Eren in such a public setting. Then again, he knew better than to kiss Eren in the street, too. Or at all.
Yet here they are.
Reiner orders something with meat. Lots of meat. Who cares if he's half the reason it was so scarce in Paradis? He can eat it now, so he's going to do so.
Predictably (again), Reiner is perfectly polite to the person taking the order, taking his annoyance and tucking it down beneath a friendly facade. (At least he's just faking, not forgetting.) The wait for their food isn't long—but Reiner can't maintain his cold shoulder for even that length of time. He glances over at Eren from the corner of his eye: once, twice, three times. Takes a breath to speak, then decides better of it. But as soon as they find a table—people all around, no chance of avoiding casualties if this escalates—Reiner breaks his silence.
"So?" he asks, as immediately as a watchdog barking at a stranger. He sits down across from Eren, straight-backed but not tense, finally meeting Eren's eyes. "You said we should talk."