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The first bite is just below Reiner’s belly button, teeth pressing in hard and unforgiving, the light touch of Bertholdt’s tongue to the trapped flesh a small reassurance before his head begins to twist from side to side, jaw clenching tight. The chunk comes free within moments and there’s blood everywhere, wet and hot around the wound and cool where it runs down Reiner’s sides, pools under his back. Bertl chews slow and careful, licks the blood from around his mouth, leans in to dip his tongue into the bloody hole, swirls it along the edges.
Reiner huffs, grabs what he can of Bertholdt’s hair, forces his head up higher. He thinks about kissing him, shoving his fingers into the gape of his stomach and letting Bertl lick them clean, about flipping the taller teen onto his back and chewing until he reaches his heart. Instead he hooks his fingers in Bertl’s mouth, drags his head down to where he wants the next bite, nearly screams when teeth come down, threaten to sever the fingers. He pulls them free, swats him on the back of the head.
The second bite is easier, the thin skin over Reiner’s lower ribs tearing with just one slow tug. Bertholdt swallows without chewing, noses at the exposed muscle, slips one finger up under his skin, presses up a little to separate it from the muscle beneath, chases it with his tongue. Reiner gives a trembling moan, drags his fingers through Bertl’s hair, scratches at the sensitive skin behind his ear, bites back a yell at the sudden third bite. Bertholdt’s teeth knock against his ribs twice as he chews his mouthful, fits his mouth around the thin bones, cracks through them easily.
He consumes those too and Reiner rubs at his throat and belly to help the pieces settle, guides his head back down to lap up some more blood. When Bertholdt lifts his head with a soft burp that makes his cheeks darken, Reiner kickstarts his regeneration and pulls Bertl down to lie with him, turns on his side to rest his head on his belly.