Work Text:
Bertolt waited until everyone was asleep to reach over to Reiner’s bunk and shake his shoulder. It took a while for Reiner to wake up, sleep heavily taking him at all times. He seemed to sleep heavier now, lost in dreams more often. But he still woke up the same way, his hand moving to rest over Bertolt’s. He looked over at Bertolt, squeezing his hand. “What is it? Are you alright?”
Bertolt smiled a little bit. He always was concerned about everyone. It wasn’t anything special, but it still made Bertolt feel so happy whenever he came first. “I’m fine. I wanna talk about your birthday.”
Reiner didn’t remove his hand even after he realized that there wasn’t a problem, that it wasn’t Bertolt waking up crying this time. He rubbed his finger against his knuckles. “What about it?”
“What do you want to do?”
“What if I don’t want to do anything?”
“You have to. It’s your birthday. It needs to be important.”
“We didn’t do much for my birthday back at the village.”
“You’re turning sixteen in a week. We should make it a big deal. You’ll be older now. Not really a coming of age…but…”
“I don’t care, Bertl.”
“Reiner.”
“I don’t care Bertl.”
“It’s a big deal and we should do something.”
“I don’t care Bertl.” His voice was starting to raise a bit, a bit more agitated. He was probably a bit sleepy. They worked hard that day, their muscles aching from the effort. He just wanted to sleep the night away.
But he wouldn’t let him sleep. Bertolt shook his shoulder to keep him awake. “Give me an answer please.”
Reiner sighed and glanced at him. “Fine. Be a stripper.”
Bertolt froze and only got out a few random words that didn’t make any sense. Finally, he formed one word. “What?”
“Be a stripper. Jump out of a cake and strip for me.”
More random words. “Isn’t a girl supposed to do that?”
Reiner sat up, leaning in close to Bertolt. “Twenty years we’ve known each other—”
“We’re not twenty, Reiner.”
“And now you don’t want to jump out of a cake for me? You insult me.”
Bertolt reflexively apologized without realizing that it was a stupid thing to apologize for. “Where are we even going to get cake?”
“I don’t know, but when you get it, bust through it like Wall Maria,” Reiner said, rolling over to go to sleep.
Bertolt stammered more incomprehensible words, managing to get tasteless in there. For a couple of minutes, Bertolt stared at Reiner as he fell asleep, watching his body move slowly as he breathed. It never was really much of a secret that they liked each other. It would be hard to deny it considering the amount of trainees that walked in on them furiously making out in a shed or biting each other’s shoulders against the back of the building or just lying down in the grass sharing chaste kisses that grossed more people out than the making out did. But they hadn’t gone too far. They undid their shirts to get at their shoulders—necks felt too sensitive still—but nothing like stripping and jumping out of a cake.
But if that’s what Reiner wanted, why should Bertolt refuse him? It’d require a bit of planning though. He had no clue how stripping worked. He hoped other people did. The next day, he grabbed Jean’s arm. “Jean, can I talk to you?”
Connie and Sasha were in the middle of an excited conversation that Bertolt couldn’t even comprehend (it was about food, maybe) when they suddenly stopped, both their mouths open and their hands frozen mid wild gesture. Their heads turned slowly to stare at Bertolt. He started to sweat. There were too many eyes on him. “You just spoke,” Sasha said. Bertolt fidgeted. Her words were so simple but the tone and look made it seem like she had just witnessed an angel descend from the heaven and blessed Bertolt. “You never speak.”
“I speak.”
“Not without Reiner nearby!”
There were a million different retorts to that. He could say something like how he and can function without the other around. Or maybe something like how he speaks all the time and they just never listen. Or maybe an insult about how they’re not worth his few words. He opened his mouth and mustered up all the confidence in his body.
“SoyeahJeanlet’sjusttalkonmybedI’llseeyouthere.” Bertolt ran out of there faster than he ever ran before, leaving everyone’s eyes behind. He only relaxed when he was sitting on his bunk in the empty room. He rested his head on his knees and waited for Jean. It took about a minute, but Jean joined him on his bunk, his eyebrow raised. They were silent for a bit as they sat together. Bertolt spoke first. “Sorry for making you come all the way up here.”
Jean made a dismissive gesture and an odd sound. “Dude, it’s fine. What do you need?”
Bertolt cleared his throat and took a couple of seconds to figure out how to word Reiner’s request. It was probably best to ease him into it. “What do you know about strippers?”
Jean stared at Bertolt. “They’re expensive and we don’t get paid yet so you might wanna get that idea out of your head.”
It was hard to not burry his sweaty face into the pillow and scream. “I-I-It’s not for me. Reiner wants one for his birthday.”
“That doesn’t actually change anything.”
“He wants me to be a stripper.”
Jean stared at him, eyes widening. “Really?”
Bertolt nodded.
“Really?”
“Yes, really.”
“Really?”
“Jean.”
“You guys are that kinky?”
Bertolt couldn’t look at Jean anymore and looked down at the door. Most people were outside, but Marco was talking to someone at the door. He couldn’t tell if he was leaving or coming, but the back of his head was a good thing to stare at, at least for now. “It’s just what Reiner wants for his birthday.” He had enough will to look in Jean’s direction again. “I’m not going to question it.”
“You probably should.”
“It’s not hurting anyone,” Bertolt said, defending Reiner. It would probably hold more weight if he wasn’t looking at a fold in the fabric, but he couldn’t meet Jean’s gaze, always so critical and demanding of everyone.
“I don’t want to see you two banging again.”
Oh. That. Bertolt turned red at the memory and his tongue felt heavier in his mouth. “W-we weren’t…We were just making out…”
“Your legs shouldn’t be in that position if you’re just making out!”
“W-we—”
“I’m pretty sure that’s illegal in the interior. Just sayin’.”
“C-can we just get back on topic?”
Jean nodded and went into serious mode. Bertolt glanced at him and was able to meet his eyes more. “Yeah, sure. But I don’t actually know a lot about stripping.”
It wasn’t that surprising. He only asked Jean because he seemed the worldliest out of everyone. “I just need a bit of help.”
Jean scratched his head. “Well, I guess you just take off your clothes.”
“That’s it?”
“I guess. It’s stripping. I guess that’s why it’s called being a stripper.”
“It doesn’t seem very important then…”
“Dude, trust me, when people are horny, they’ll do anything.”
Bertolt wasn’t sure where that knowledge came from. He decided not to question it. There was only so much random facts that he probably didn’t want to know about people that weren’t Reiner or Annie. He knew everything about them, so much so that nothing surprised him about them anymore. He was surprised a bit by Jean’s comment and wanted to distance himself as far away from the explanation as possible. “So it’s not actually that complicated. Great! Thanks!”
Marco—having eventually stopped talking to whomever was at the door and moved his way to Bertolt’s bunk and up the latter—tapped his knuckle on the wood. He felt a little sheepish under Jean and Bertolt’s sudden gaze, cheeks turning a bit pink, but he talked as if it was just a normal conversation, smiling widely. “Sorry, am I interrupting?”
Jean waved his hand. “It’s fine.”
Bertolt felt that contradicting Jean was a bad idea, so he shook his head.
“What do you need, Marco?”
“I overhead your conversation and you’re extremely wrong, Jean.”
Bertolt straightened suddenly while Jean made an odd surprised sound.
“I mean, I really don’t know a lot so I’m giving a lot of conjecture, but…It’s not just as simple as taking your clothes off. I’ve seen you guys do it all the time and it’s not really attractive or alluring and it certainly wouldn’t be worth the amount of money one would shovel into it, I assume.” Marco rested his elbow on the rung of the latter and cradled his chin in his hand. Bertolt would rather know about Jean’s horny problems than know why Marco was seriously thinking and analyzing what stripping was. “It’s a performance. So it’s more dramatic than that. Slowing taking off their clothes instead of just chucking it on the floor like you do, Jean. And then there’s also the fact that sometimes people find that certain clothes are more attractive.”
“How does that make sense?”
“They’re called kinks, Jean. Like when people wear socks that don’t cover the entire leg. That little bit of skin showing is really nice. People would rather have that more clothes than less clothes. I bet that our maneuver gear counts, at least the harness. But that’s just my opinion. You’re free to do whatever you want, but that would probably be really sexy for Reiner.” Marco shrugged and took a step up the latter. “Anyway, I wanted to know what book you were reading. It seemed really interesting and I was hoping to borrow it.”
Bertolt stared at Marco, mouth agape and a thick layer of sweat staining his clothes. Jean was equally shocked, but he reached over and grabbed the book from under Bertolt’s pillow and handed it to Marco. He gave an incredibly happy thanks, waving the book as he slid down the ladder. The two of them just stared at Marco as he left the room, talking happily with Christa. Even after his voice faded, they didn’t speak, staring at the doorway.
Jean found his voice first. “Where the fuck did that come from?”
Bertolt didn’t find his voice at all and just shook his head slowly. It took a couple minutes before he could speak again, but he still didn’t know what to say. At least he knew how to strip for Reiner and make it more worthwhile than just tossing clothes across the room. The next two days, he tried stripping with Marco as a witness—Marco had proven himself more worldly and worthy than Jean—but even with his constant encouragements and suggestions, he couldn’t embrace the act of sexily slipping off his shirt off with Marco there. If it were Reiner, it’d be easy. He could meet his eyes easily. Marco was still too foreign and no matter how nice he was, he couldn’t stare at him for that long without the urge to look away in any direction but his overcame him. He’d handle it when the time came. He just needed confidence. Confidence was sexy, according to Marco. He didn’t know if that was true or not, but Reiner certainly was attractive, though for far more reasons than just his confidence. He took Marco’s advice and set to figuring out number two of Reiner’s birthday present. The cake.
No one knew about food more than Sasha. She had made it apparent since her first day. But considering her reaction when he talked to Jean without Reiner…he didn’t know if he could handle that much attention and staring and he’d really be better off talking to Ymir and Christa. Ymir was intimidating too, her eyes glaring at him as he approached, like she hated everything that wasn’t small, blonde, and a goddess in disguise. But luckily, that goddess was the exact opposite of Ymir, happy, kind and not afraid to not meet Bertolt’s eyes (mostly because it hurt her neck). That lack of eye contact was a relief. “Oh, Bertolt!” Christa smiled widely and waved, “It’s good to see you!”
Bertolt looked down at Christa, his neck already starting to ache. More than a foot difference was hard on everyone’s neck. He tried to word an equally happy greeting, but the words stuck in his throat. He smiled a little bit and nodded.
“Where’s the tank?” Ymir asked, glancing behind Bertolt, as if Reiner’s massive bulk could be behind Bertolt’s skinny form.
“He’s not here. I want to talk to you two.”
Christa touched Bertolt’s arm, concerned. “Is everything alright between you two?”
Bertolt blushed. He never really was attracted to girls. They were too small, too delicate, too not equitable to Reiner. He liked strong and blunt women like Annie, who gave him a black eye when he kissed her when they were seven. Christa was not Annie but there was something about her that made him uncomfortable. He scratched his neck and looked away. “N-nothing is wrong. It’s about his birthday.”
Christa’s concern melted away into a wide smile. “That’s so nice of you.”
“You’re an adorable boyfriend,” Ymir said, not as nicely as Christa did. She made loud, wet kissing noises.
Christa slapped Ymir’s arm before straining to look up at Bertolt again. “What do you need help with?”
“Reiner wants…cake.” He didn’t want to explain why he wanted the cake.
Ymir laughed loudly. “You’d be lucky if you got a potato for his birthday! Only the fatass cats in the Interior can get cake.”
“He has very exquisite goals,” Bertolt said, looking away.
“You won’t be able to get cake. Anywhere.”
Bertolt lowered his head. “I see…”
Christa frowned and grabbed Ymir’s hand. “Ymir! On Reiner’s birthday, help me steal a baked potato for Bertolt!”
Bertolt braced himself for a fight, but Ymir simply shrugged and pinched Christa’s cheek. “Fine. But you owe me, the both of you. If I get caught, I’m skinning you, sweaty.”
Christa smiled and laughed, dismissing Ymir’s threat while Bertolt tried to make himself as small as the tiny goddess.
By Reiner’s birthday, he had everything planned. He put his harness in the shed for when he’d sneak out for Reiner’s present. He hadn’t practiced yet, but he had visualized the event that would leave him standing there with just the harness for Reiner to grab onto…if he wanted to. Ymir and Christa promised him that they’d give the cake substitute to Reiner and lead him to the shed. Ymir winked when she said that and Bertolt had to take a couple of minutes in the bathroom to stop his brain from stuttering. He was nervous. Not quite shaking in his boots nervous, but it was close. It was all so foreign. They had never done this before. He didn’t need any more reminders about how scandalous the two of them were being and the apparently extremely sexy representation he had to live up to and how excited Reiner was going to be to see his tall lanky body doing…Bertolt ducked back into the bathroom to hide and make his cheeks a little less red. He wasn’t ready for this. Not at all. Why did Reiner want him to strip? And jump out of a cake? Why was that a thing? Why did he have to do it?
But he stood in the shed, in his uniform, hand clenched behind his back as he waited for the illegal potato pass into Reiner’s hands and for him to come into the room. It didn’t take long for Reiner to step into the shed, potato in hand. He froze when he saw Bertolt, confused as to why he was there and why he was in his uniform. “What the hell is going on?”
Bertolt only paused for a second before he calms down his nerves enough to speak. He hoped it sounded like a general pause, not awkward and scared. “This is your birthday present, Reiner.” He slipped off his jacket and had it fall to the ground. Bertolt was impressed by how smooth the motion was and how it fell without getting caught on anything. He looked at Reiner, meeting his eyes. Reiner was still a bit confused by what was going on. “You’ve been a good soldier, Reiner. This is your reward.”
Marco said that it was good to appeal to something of Reiner’s, make him feel proud. It had an effect immediately, Reiner’s cheeks flushing and his mouth dropping open. “Bertl, are you seriously—” he cut himself off as Bertolt untucked his shirt.
“No words, Reiner. The only words I want to hear are ‘good boy’.”
“What the hell?”
Bertolt turned red. He misread. That wasn’t a kink. He misread, shit. But he didn’t apologize. He just had to distract him. He pulled up his shirt, slowly, making a show of it, his hips moving in a slow circle so his muscles would look better. He had been sure to do sit-ups beforehand so the hard abdominal muscles were defined for Reiner. Judging by how Reiner’s eyes immediately dropped to Bertolt’s stomach and didn’t move for a long time, he appreciated the effort.
Then Bertolt’s shirt got stuck on the harness. It had to happen eventually. He didn’t wear a buttonup shirt so it couldn’t be struggled off. He didn’t want to rip his shirt. It may work, but it wasn’t worth it if it didn’t work and he’d be one less shirt. But the harness was so hard to take off. And he was going to leave the harness on when everything was done because that’s what Marco said to do and it was sure to work. But it wasn’t sexy to take something off and then immediately put it back on.
Confidence, Hoover, confidence! Bertolt lectured, willing himself to just say fuck it and be sexy. He stopped pulling up his shirt, leaving it bunched up over his chest and slid the harness straps down his arms. It took a bit of struggling to force the tightened leather down his arms. Reiner looked at Bertolt, his face becoming concerned. He didn’t say anything yet, letting the atmosphere stay as sexy as it could while Bertolt fumbled with the straps, slowly destroying the mood. It only took a minute to get the straps down all the way, Bertolt quick to get rid of his shirt. He pulled it off and tossed it on the floor near Reiner’s feet. It would probably be a better memento if it wasn’t drenched in sweat, two very large and embarrassing dark spots staining the green. One part down, he thought as he stretched, showing off the muscles, hopefully distracting Reiner long enough for Bertolt to calm down. He needed his harness back on. Everything sexy hinged on that harness. That was the next step and there would be no problem.
But there was a problem. The straps liked fabric, fit well with fabric. They had the exact opposite feelings for skin. It scraped his skin as it slid up. When he got them into position, he fidgeted uncomfortably. They weren’t made for skin, they were made for clothes, for a layer that didn’t scratch against the skin and pull against them. The buckles felt cool against his skin, making up for how it bit.
“You okay, Bertolt?”
“I’m fine.”
“Your shoulders are turning red.”
“Shut up, I’m being sexy.”
“I realize. I just want to make sure you’re not hurting yourself.”
“Thank you. Can I continue stripping?”
Reiner started to ask a question but just shook his head and enjoyed the show as Bertolt undid his pants with a dramatic flourish. He unzipped his pants, rotating his hips. Things were going back to sexy now, judging from how he stared at Bertolt, unblinking. He slid his hands over his hips and realized that his harness was around his waist too. And his legs. How could he go pantsless if the harness was binding the pants to his body? He hesitated and experimentally tried pulling his pants down. It didn’t budge.
Reiner noticed the gesture. “That’s not going to—”
“Please let me strip without the running commentary, soldier.”
“Yessir.”
Boots first. Boots first. He could deal with pants after boots. He slammed his foot on the wall and flinched at the sound before going back to what he was doing. He worked on undoing his boot, the leather pushing into his skin as his back arched against it. He ignored it and fumbled with the ties of the boot, somehow unable to work with the boot. He leaned into the boot more, his foot no longer firmly planted on the ground, but he would be fine without one hundred percent of his weight on the floor.
He wasn’t fine without one hundred percent of his weight on his foot. He slipped and stumbled. He wasn’t sure how he lost his footing, but he was falling into Reiner’s arms. Reiner had, apparently, seen the chaos begin to unfold and rushed to catch Bertolt, still clutching the potato in his fist. Reiner was heavier than Bertolt, but he couldn’t hold him steady as he stumbled flailed his arms for balance. They both crashed into the ground. Reiner made sure to take the blunt of the blow, pushing Bertolt’s head into his shoulder. The two of them sat there for a couple of seconds, still tense from the fall. Slowly, Reiner relaxed and tilted his neck back and took a deep breath as Bertolt pressed his head into his chest, muttering various curses into his shirt.
“What the fuck was that?”
“I fell. I’m sorry.”
“No, I mean the whole thing.”
“I’m sorry.”
Reiner rubbed his head, fingers winding into his hair. “Don’t be. It was pretty good until the end.”
Bertolt smiled into Reiner’s chest.
“I just want a little explanation. Because that was weird.”
“It’s what you wanted though.”
“What?”
Bertolt pulled away and looked up at Reiner. “You asked me to last week. Remember?”
“I was joking.” Reiner said, stroking his hair. “I thought: ‘what is the most un-Bertl thing and what has the least possibility of happening’ and told you that.”
“Why would you do that?”
“I was sleeping. You woke me up. I didn’t think you’d actually do that.” Reiner laughed a bit and gripped his hair, gently tilting his head upwards. He smiled and rubbed Bertolt’s cheek. “Why did you do that whole thing?”
Bertolt kissed Reiner’s palm. “Because you asked.”
Reiner blushed, his eyes widening. “Seriously?”
“Seriously.”
“Please learn to take a joke. I’d hate to have you do something…” he couldn’t find the words to voice what he was feeling, so he stayed silent, staring into his eyes and rubbing his cheek.
“Don’t worry. I didn’t mind this.”
“Your shoulders are red.”
“Leather straps aren’t supposed to go against skin.” Bertolt rested his chin on his shoulder. “That’s what the shirt was for.”
Reiner rubbed his shoulder, undoing the strap. “Still pretty sexy.”
Bertolt leaned up and pressed his lips gently against Reiner’s. “That was the point.”
Reiner reconnected their lips. “And then you fell on your ass.”
“Into your arms,” Bertolt corrected, running his fingers through Reiner’s short hair.
“You fell either way.” He managed to unhook one strap and rubbed Bertolt’s skin. “You know, we’re going to have to get you out of this.”
“Do you want me to strip?”
“Well yes, but I’d like to help.” Reiner kissed his hair and began working on the other strap. “Is that alright?”
“That’s perfect,” Bertolt said, resting his forehead against Reiner’s as he worked. He slid the harness off and rubbed his shoulders. Bertolt pressed his lips against Reiner, his body sliding against his, chests touching gently. The shirt felt odd against his skin. They only touched like this when there was a solid layer between them. He didn’t mind the sensation, but he felt like it didn’t work when they weren’t consistent. He pulled away from Reiner as he licked his lip. “You might need to lose the shirt.”
“I’ll work on it. You first.” Reiner bent down and kissed the red mark from the strap, his finger tracing the mark on his other shoulder.
“That’s not fair…” Bertolt complained quietly, barely a whisper in Reiner’s ear as his cheek rested against his forehead.
“Before I forget…” Reiner pulled away and pushed Bertolt back so he was less on Reiner, sitting on his legs instead of leaning on his lap. Bertolt made a small of protest, but didn’t move to pull him back. Reiner reached for something near him and held it up to Bertolt. “Why did they give me a fucking potato?”
Bertolt smiled a little bit and looked to the side. “We couldn’t get a cake. Potato was the best alternative.”
“Guess that makes sense.” Reiner looked down at the offending artifact and back up at him. “You didn’t jump out of it.”
Bertolt jabbed his finger into the potato and pulled upward. “There.” Bertolt looked up. “Good enough?”
Reiner tossed the potato to the side and grabbed Bertolt’s hand. “Good enough.” He sucked Bertolt’s finger and he moaned softly, blushing. His heart was beating a bit faster, his hand snaking up to grab Reiner’s shoulder. He scrapped his teeth against Bertolt’s finger, gently enough to be mistaken for a scratch, and pulled his finger away. “I do think you should finish stripping. Completely. I’ll join you so you’re not lonely.”
Bertolt squeezed his shoulder and shook his head. “Too fast.”
“We’ll keep pants on.”
Bertolt nodded and stared at Reiner. “That’s good. Thank you. Happy birthday.”
“Thank you. For everything.”
They leaned in and met each other in a kiss.