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It started with a single apple, sitting innocuously on his rickety wooden table when he returned home. Doors within the internment zone didn’t lock and there were occasions he’d return home to find something missing, but he’d never stumbled upon an addition to his house before.
He picked it up, examining the apple’s mottled red skin in his hand. Admittedly, he’d been having a lot of memory gaps lately— could just be another thing he forgot. He took a bite.
It was crisp and tart and the first thing he’d eaten all day.
The days crawled by, full of uneasy afternoons watching the Warrior candidates train and war room meetings where his judgment was refuted the moment he said something the Marleyan generals didn’t want to hear. He slogged through each one, tried to make himself numb to the fact that in a few years his cousin would inherit the Armored and go on to commit the same atrocities he had.
He had all but forgotten about the odd little gift until he swung open the door to the metal-and-concrete box he called home one afternoon and was greeted by the sight of a pear. He picked up the fruit dazedly, shifting it from hand to hand as he peeled off his coat. The same thing happening twice seemed less like coincidence and more like a purposeful gesture of goodwill. He pressed the pear to his nose and breathed deep. It smelled good.
The sound of boots shuffling in the dirt outside caught his ear and he went over to peer out the steel-barred window and see if his benefactor still lingered.
When Reiner looked down, he saw that Falco sat underneath his window, munching on a bruised pear. So, it had been him. Reiner studied the pear in his hand— it was all but flawless. Falco had left him with the better one. Fresh fruit of quality was hard to come by in the internment zone and he had given the best of his hard-earned bounty to Reiner. He didn’t know what he’d done to deserve it.
He turned away from the window, let the juice drip down his chin as he ate and thought of Falco.
Reiner started looking forward to the days he would come home to a treat, the gentle affections of a boy leaving him gifts of fruit. The next week, it was two small peaches, warmed by the afternoon sun. He picked one up. It was blush pink, small and soft in his hand. He took a big, grateful bite. The juice ran down his lips, his wrist, his arm, and he rolled his sleeves up to take another fragrantly sweet bite. He found little pleasure in food anymore but Falco’s gifts were delicious.
He went to glance out the window again and, sure enough, he was met with the top of Falco’s little blonde head. The boy sat hugging his knees, gazing out towards the quiet streets. He hadn’t saved a piece for himself this time.
“Hey,” Reiner called between the bars. Falco jolted at the sound of his voice, smacking the back of his head against the deteriorating concrete wall. He winced, rubbing his head, and craned his neck up towards the window.
Reiner curled one hand around a steel bar, resting his forehead against the cool metal.
“Come inside and share with me,” he said.
Falco grinned up at him and, headache all but forgotten, took off around the building towards the front entrance, kicking dust up behind him. Always running, that one was. When was the last time he had run just for the pleasure of it? Not from bullets, not with fifty pounds of gear on his back, just running for the sheer joy of having two good legs. He wondered if he had known, back then, the day that pleasure disappeared, that he had felt the wind rush past his joyful face for the last time. He stroked the fuzzy peach skin beneath his thumb and took another bite.
The sound of boots against stone echoed through the hallway, growing louder until they skidded to a stop at his doorstep. Falco swung the door open, blonde hair mussed, cheeks ruddy from exertion. He let the door close heavily behind him and leaned back against it as he caught his breath.
“You found me out,” he said with a wry smile, rocking back and forth on his heels. Reiner huffed an amused little laugh through his nose.
“It wasn’t hard.” He took the second peach from the table and offered it to Falco.
“Thanks, Mister Braun,” he said cheerily, as if he hadn’t been the one to procure it. He strode forward to take the peach from his hand but stopped short of closing his fingers around it. Reiner turned the fruit over in his hand to see if it bore some sort of blemish that had escaped his attention when Falco reached for his wrist instead.
"What’s that on your arm?" he asked, fingers encircling his wrist.
Reiner had forgotten his sleeves were rolled up.
From wrist to his inner elbow, his arms were speckled with wounds. Pink welts over round white hollows that spattered his skin and two deep red wounds that were freshly scabbing over. Some were so close together that the edges melded into one long, oblong wound. Each one a reminder of all the ways that he had failed.
"Got bit by something," he grunted.
He made to move away but the small hand around his wrist tightened. Falco’s expression was grave as he studied his wounds.
"They're cigarette burns."
Falco looked up at him, worry written in the crease of his brow and the downturned corners of his mouth. His golden eyes were clear and honest. Reiner wondered if there had ever been a time in his life when his own eyes looked like that.
"Are you hurting yourself, Mister Braun?"
He inhaled sharply. If Falco was smart enough to recognize cigarette burns, he should know that they were something you didn’t ask about. There was nothing he could say. He let his eyes bore into Falco’s until the boy grew uneasy enough to drop the subject.
Falco lasted all of five seconds up against him before lowering his gaze. He looked down at his feet, scuffing the heel of his boot on the stone floor.
"I don't want you to hurt yourself," he said in a small voice. His fingers slid over his marred skin, rubbing gently at the inside of his wrist. It made his heart ache. Falco raised his head and took a step forward, steadfast in his resolve.
"What can I do to help you, Mister Braun?"
His throat tightened. Falco knew what it meant when a Warrior’s wounds ceased to heal. Falco thought he could still help him, that he could pull him back from the brink. He didn’t know that Reiner was already too far gone. All the energy he had been putting into holding himself together drained out of him at once and he slumped down into one of the rickety wooden chairs.
"Call me Reiner," he croaked.
"Okay, Reiner,” Falco said, testing out how the word felt in his mouth, exploring the new familiarity he had been afforded. He took the fruit out of his hand and set it back on the table.
As if it were the most natural thing in the world, Falco settled into his lap and wrapped his arms around his neck. The impossibly sweet gesture made his breath catch in his throat and the tears he had fought to keep at bay spilled from his eyes, dropping silently onto Falco’s jacket.
Falco didn't say anything to him, didn't comment on the snotty sound of his sniffling or how his breath shook as he struggled to collect himself. Didn’t shush him gently in an attempt to stop his crying. Just sat there quietly with him, arms around his neck and the comforting weight of him in his lap. He’d never more keenly felt how much the absence of words could say.
Falco reached his little hand up and petted his hair gently, gingerly, as if afraid his access would be revoked at any time. Reiner felt guilty for making him feel the need to be on guard. He knew he had been emotionally volatile lately, that his words had scared Falco more than once. And yet, he had still crawled into his lap to comfort him. He’d done nothing to deserve his kindness and Falco still gave it freely. Reiner held him close against his chest.
“I think you’re really nice to hug,” Falco said softly, cheek pressed against Reiner’s shoulder. He nuzzled gently into the crook of his neck. If he smelled like cigarettes and sweat, it didn’t matter to Falco.
They stayed like that for a little while, after his tears had ebbed, Falco’s arms around his neck and Reiner’s head bowed against his shoulder. Falco’s breath was warm against his neck, soft and even. His spiky hair was pleasantly scratchy against his cheek. A gentle reminder that someone was there with him. It had been so long since a warm body had been wrapped around him.
It felt nice.
It felt good.
It felt… a little too good.
Reiner realized with horror that he was growing stiff in his pants.
Falco was pressed flush against him, straddling his lap so that his groin was pressed up against Reiner’s belly. If he got hard, Falco would feel it against his ass. God, please don’t let him feel it.
It wasn’t as if… it wasn’t like he wanted Falco. His body was reacting to the warmth and weight of him. It would’ve happened with anyone in his place. It wasn't because it was Falco.
Just as he was trying to figure out a way to shift the boy in his lap until his erection abated, Falco bolted upright. His eyes were wide.
“Mister Braun,” he began, alarm in his voice. Reiner squeezed his eyes shut. “Reiner, um…” The boy fidgeted in his lap, succeeding in doing nothing more than encouraging his cock to swell.
“You’re hard,” he whispered. Reiner wanted to sink into the floor.
"It doesn't mean anything,” he said tersely. “If you just ignore it, it'll go away.”
Falco shifted in his lap uneasily, Reiner’s erection pressed into the soft flesh of his thigh. He was quiet for a moment, eyes downcast, flickering across his chest as he thought. Falco laced his fingers behind Reiner’s head. He looked up at him from under his eyelashes, the picture of innocence, cheeks as pink as the peaches he had brought him.
"What if I don't want to ignore it?" he asked.
Reiner fixed him with a hard stare. "Do you understand what you're saying?"
Falco bit his lip. "Yeah,” he said with a nod.
"So then you understand why I can't let you," was his reply.
In his whole sorry life, the last remaining comfort he had was the four Warrior candidates who adored him. He wasn’t just a means to an end for them. They cared about him as a person. Maybe he hadn’t put enough distance between them, had been too indulging with Falco. He should never have let him think that this was appropriate. He couldn't let this happen.
Falco sighed and brought his hands down to Reiner’s chest. He fiddled with the lapel of his jacket, smoothing out the creases with his fingers over and over again.
"I just want to make you feel better,” he said, his little hand finding Reiner's wounded wrist again. His thumb rubbed slowly back and forth over the scarred skin, tracing gentle circles around his burns.
Touch and pain had been so tightly interwoven throughout his life that it felt completely alien to have one without the other. It had been that way as long as he could remember.
His mind drifted back to the cold comfort of fingers brushing hair from his forehead as he was told—as simply as if it were the day's weather—that the reason his family was broken was because devil's blood ran through his veins. A hand only offered to him when his knees were scraped, only being held close when he was torn out of the Armored Titan's carcass. It felt as instinctive as breathing, that when Reiner touched his own wounds it was to dig scabs off with his fingernails so that they would bleed, pressing into them until the pain made him see stars.
The slide of Falco’s fingers against his skin pulled him back to reality. His hand had moved up his forearm to caress the soft, unmarred skin of his inner elbow. His touch was warm and resolute, abundant in its kindness. It was the first that sought to soothe him instead of wound. “Let me help, Mister Braun,” he whispered and Reiner's resolve melted like butter.
This life came with no guarantees. Either of them could be dead tomorrow. If Falco wanted to touch him, he would let the boy touch him.
“Falco…” he said softly. He hoped that was encouragement enough. He could give him no more than that. If he didn't touch him, he could pretend that he wasn't ruining him.
Falco’s eyes brightened and he grinned, the triumphant face of a boy who had successfully cajoled someone into getting what he wanted. He swiveled so that he sat on Reiner’s thigh, one leg across his lap and the other dangling between them so that his back bumped against the table. Reiner put his hand on the small of his back so that he wouldn't fall. That didn't count as a touch.
"I'm not a little kid, you know,” he informed Reiner as he reached between his legs to unzip his pants. “I've touched myself before. I know how to do it.”
He parted his fly to reach into his pants and pull out his engorged dick, which strained upwards in an unwelcome, brazen display of arousal. Falco’s self-assuredness faltered as he stared down at him, mouth dropped open in silent awe. Reiner was a big guy and below the belt was no exception. His fingers reached out to him, touch featherlight as he traced the fat head of his cock and trailed down his shaft, mapping out the shape of him. His eyes were wide and bright. It felt so damn good to have someone looking at him as if he were something to marvel at. Even if the one granting him that pleasure was Falco.
Falco delicately wrapped a hand around his cock. It twitched hard against his palm, pleading for more touch, and the boy’s lips quirked upwards in delight. Reiner’s head tipped back with a groan as Falco plunged his fist down his shaft and back up again in his first full stroke. His touch was clumsy, stroke stuttering and uneven but being touched again felt blissful . Reiner wrenched his head back down to watch. Falco wasn’t looking at him at all, mesmerized by the sight of his fist sliding up and down Reiner’s cock. It must’ve felt hot and thick in his hands, exhilaratingly unfamiliar. Falco leaned forward to wrap his second hand around him and it was then that Reiner noticed his hands were so small that his fingertips didn’t touch as they wrapped around his cock. The sick feeling the sight left him with was all but obscured by how hot his arousal burned.
It had been a long time since he had touched himself. Even longer since someone else had touched him. As Falco worked his hands up and down his shaft, building a steady rhythm, his cock eagerly oozed pre-cum. Falco caught the dribble with one finger, stretching the viscous strand upwards to watch it glisten in the light. When it snapped, he sucked his finger into his mouth in an act that made Reiner’s eyes bulge out of his head.
Falco thought for a moment and then slid off his lap onto the floor. Onto his knees.
“Falco, don’t. ”
Falco’s body buzzed with nervous defiance as he took Reiner’s cock in his fist again, his crooked smirk equal parts jittery and playful. Reiner felt sweat trickle down his arm.
What are you gonna do? Falco’s eyes said as he opened his mouth and pressed his hot tongue against the slit of his cock.
Cock tasted different than the little dribble of pre-cum and Falco flinched, taken aback by the unfamiliar taste. He quickly collected himself and pushed through his initial discomfort, licking down his shaft, feeling the texture of vein and velvety skin underneath his tongue. Reiner blew out a shaky breath and ran a hand through his hair. He watched uneasily as Falco considered the head of his cock with his tongue, preparing to open his mouth and wrap his lips around him.
“Why do you even know—” He didn't want to say blowjob or oral sex. Giving a name to what Falco was doing just made it worse. If it wasn't named, it wasn't as real. “—that this is something people do?”
“I have an older brother,” Falco informed him matter-of-factly. “I saw him do it once.”
Reiner grimaced. The thought of Falco crouched half-hidden in a doorway, breathlessly watching Colt suck dick and thinking about how to use what he’d seen to pleasure Reiner made him want to push the boy away. But he was weak. And he didn’t.
Falco’s jaw couldn’t open wide enough to take much into his mouth but he wrapped his lips around the fat head of his cock and sucked. He bobbed his head gently, probably just as he’d seen his brother do. Christ. His little mouth was hot and tight and Reiner could feel that his cock filled every inch of available space, pressed between the roof of his mouth and the wet heat of his tongue. It felt amazing. He was so sick, that the clumsy touch of a little boy could make him feel so good. Falco continued to work his hand up and down his shaft to stimulate the parts he couldn't reach with his tongue. He hummed gently to himself as he sucked, swirling his tongue around the head of Reiner’s cock as if he were savoring a candy.
As he grew accustomed to having Reiner’s dick in his mouth, he took a little more of him in, maybe half an inch, moaning as his mouth was filled entirely. He held it there as long as he could, sucking lightly as his cock pressed against the back of his tongue. Eyes watering, he pulled back with a gasp and a cough, long strings of saliva dripping from his lips. He looked up at Reiner through a haze of arousal, eyes hooded, pink dusting his cheeks.
"Am I doing good, Mister Braun?" he panted.
Falco looked so vulnerable between his legs, so in need of reassurance. His feelings were all mixed up— disgust at himself for allowing a boy so young to touch him and desire for every ounce of earnest love Falco had to give pulling at him in equal measures. He reached out and ruffled his hair, just as he had done a hundred times before. It didn't count as touching him.
"Yeah, kid. You're doing good."
His fingers lingered, brushing his spiky hair back with his fingertips. It sprung back up as his hand moved past, like stalks of wheat rustling in a field. He stroked gently at the nape of his neck where the hair was short, scratching lightly at the base of his skull. Well. Maybe that counted a little.
Falco smiled and rested his head on Reiner’s thigh. Tilting his cock to match the new angle of his mouth, he pressed a soft kiss to the head of his penis. Reiner shivered.
He took Reiner’s dick into his mouth again and Reiner could feel his jaw working against his thigh as he sucked him. He watched Reiner’s pleasure-slack face with heavy, glassy eyes as he explored what made his expression change. The tremor that ran through him when Falco licked at the sensitive skin of his frenulum didn't go unnoticed. He focused his attentions there, rubbing the underside of his cock against his wet lips and lapping at it with his tongue. Reiner panted in earnest, every swipe of his tongue sending a new shiver up his spine until his body trembled ceaselessly. Falco cradled the head of his cock between his lips and tongue, alternating between licking and kissing at it. Reiner’s toes curled and flexed in his boots.
He was going crazy. The earnestness of Falco's affections was too much. The heat coiling deep in his belly grew urgent, white-hot pleasure building in his loins as orgasm careened towards him.
"Get off, kid,” he said hurriedly. “I’m gonna—”
Falco sat up just in time for a spurt of cum to splatter across his lips, painting his cheek and the tip of his nose a creamy, viscous white.
His eyes widened in realization of Reiner’s orgasm and he bobbed his head back down, licking up his cum and wrapping his mouth as far around his cock as it could go, sucking and swallowing everything Reiner had to give. Reiner groaned outright as pleasure pulsed through him in waves, splinters digging into his fingers as he gripped the bottom of his chair. He spread his trembling legs wider so he wouldn’t crush the boy’s head between them, arched back into his chair so he wouldn’t buck his hips up into Falco’s hot mouth.
Falco gulped noisily as he swallowed Reiner’s pent-up load. One, two… three big gulps.
Reiner pictured his thick load sliding down Falco’s throat and settling in his belly, warm and salty. His whole body was racked with tremors, electrified by the intensity of an orgasm after months without one. He clamped a hand over his mouth to muffle the moans that worked their way out of him with every breath.
The tension of his muscles eased as his pleasure dissipated and Reiner sagged in his chair, gasping. Falco pulled his lips off Reiner’s cock with a wet pop and panted heavily, dizzied by the experience. He smiled up at him, breath puffing hot against his spit-slick cock. There was cum streaked across his face and he was smiling. In a boyish gesture, Falco scrunched up his nose as he wiped his face with his sleeve.
"Wow, that was a lot!” he chirped, grinning as brightly as ever. “I bet it felt really good, huh?"
Reiner grunted his assent as Falco gave a few parting strokes to his softening cock. He gazed down at it fondly, as if he would miss it, before gently tucking Reiner’s cock back into his underwear.
“I’m glad to have made you feel so good,” he said as he pulled the zipper of his pants back up.
He settled back on his haunches, rubbing Reiner’s thighs gently as his breath steadied. His lips were all shiny from saliva, pink with friction. Falco’s innocent, earnest face looked up at him expectantly from between his legs.
"Are you still hurting, Mister Braun?" he asked.
His heart squeezed. Falco really thought that his pubescent mouth could drive Reiner’s dark thoughts away. If anything, he had even more reason to kill himself now. He was sicker than he had even known, that he would allow Falco to touch him. That he would allow Falco to touch him and like it.
It took everything in him to manage a smile for the boy.
"No. Thank you, Falco."
Falco grinned broadly and crawled up his body, snuggling into his chest for another hug. How simple things were in Falco’s head, that someone’s pain could melt away with enough touch. He would have thought that his time on the frontline had shown him the permanence of pain. Maybe they were both pretending. Maybe Falco needed to think that he was able to fix the man that he looked up to.
He squeezed Reiner tight and let out a little hum of satisfaction before he climbed off his lap.
"I'm glad. Whenever you want, Mister Braun, I can help you feel better.” He reached out to take his hand. Falco had rough hands for someone his age, chapped and cracked by days spent digging trenches and crawling on his belly through corpse-strewn battlegrounds. But they felt soft against his palm. Falco squeezed his hand gently. “I want to help you feel better. Whatever that entails."
Now that he was standing, Reiner could see that a wet spot darkened the inner thigh of Falco’s pants. He had cum in his pants as he sucked him off. Fuck.
It was one thing if he was sick enough to find pleasure at the hands of a little boy but Falco shouldn't… he shouldn't have liked it that much. Reiner had warped his sexuality, poisoned what little good awaited a Warrior in his future. His head felt thick and cottony as he stared down at the stain. What had he done?
“Your pants,” Reiner croaked, mouth dry.
Falco’s eyes went wide as he looked down at his pants, color rising in his cheeks as he realized how the wet stain had come about. “Oh, gosh, I–I–” he stammered, tugging at the wet inseam of his pants. “I didn't even notice… I’m so embarrassed.”
Falco dropped his hand and tugged off his jacket, tying it around his waist to cover the stain. He looked even smaller without his jacket on. Even younger. Reiner’s cum was still smeared on one sleeve.
The guilt he felt was crushing.
None of this had ever been for Falco, not really. It had been for him. Reiner had taken advantage of the boy’s kindness and naiveté, all so that he could be afforded a few minutes away from his misery. Falco looked up to him, was so deeply invested in his well-being that as he watched his brother make another man moan in bliss he thought about how he could make Mister Braun happy too.
Falco was red all the way to the tips of his ears when he looked back up at him, lips pulled tight in a distressed grimace. He patted Reiner’s shoulder apologetically.
“Sorry, Mister Braun, I have to go,” he said quickly.
Flushed with exertion and embarrassment, he hurried off, heels click-clacking on the stone floor as he rushed towards the doorway. Reiner heard the doorknob rattle as Falco took hold of it but the groan of the old door opening didn’t come. He had paused, reconsidering his exit. Reiner’s gaze was still fixed to the spot on the floor where the boy had been kneeling.
“Reiner,” Falco called over his shoulder.
Reiner’s head turned stiffly on his neck to face the doorway. He hadn’t moved an inch since Falco had climbed off his lap.
Falco turned back towards him, one hand on the doorknob. His gaze was soft and warm, his eyes shimmering and gold like honey. He looked at Reiner as if he loved him.
“Take care of yourself, okay?” he said with a smile as warm and heartfelt as his touch, eyes crinkling up at the corners.
With those parting words, he turned the knob and slipped out the door. It creaked on its timeworn hinges as it failed to close fully, slowly swinging back open to afford Reiner the sight of Falco’s little blonde head disappearing down the hallway. The echoes of Falco’s boots on stone tile had scarcely faded before the wave of guilt crashed down on Reiner.
The next six years yawned before him like a gaping maw.
Falco had so much to lose if anyone found out that he had gotten on his knees for him. If it came to light that Reiner had allowed Falco to be guided by the hand of his budding sexual desires instead of rebuffing his advances. He hadn’t been thinking about the consequences when Falco spoke to him softly and touched him gently. When he took his arm in concern instead of averting his eyes from his ugliness. Reiner curled his hands into fists atop his thighs.
Would he tell his brother? He could hear the argument between them play out in his mind and it twisted his stomach up in knots. Colt cared fiercely for him, would he jeopardize his own position as heir to the Beast Titan for his little brother? Jeopardize his family’s chance to become honorary Marleyans through his service? If he did, Falco would suffer for it. All because Reiner had ceased to be a participant in his own life long ago, the same way he was only going through the motions of being the Armored Titan anymore.
His reckless disregard for his own life was hurting the only people left on the planet that he cared about. His chest tightened. It felt hard to breathe. He willed his stiff legs to rise and stumbled toward the door, wrenching it shut as he forced breath in and out of his lungs. He leaned heavily against it, cold sweat prickling on his face and back. The peaches still sat half-eaten on the table, pale flesh growing discolored.
He felt himself spiraling, sunk down against the door and fumbled into his pocket for a pack of cigarettes and a matchbook. He tapped one out of the pack and lifted it to his lips with trembling fingers. The smell of Falco’s hair still lingered on his palm. Goddamn it all.
With unsteady hands, he struck a match and lit the cigarette. He hadn’t picked up smoking with the intention to hurt himself, not at first. At first, it was relaxing. When he inhaled deep, warm smoke curling in his lungs, it unwound the tension in his shoulders. The only time he wasn't clenching his jaw was on that exhale. There was a rhythm to it, each pull of smoke in and exhale out— smoking had stopped his mind from racing, for a while. Now, nothing could fully unwind the tension he held in his body anymore. The only time his mind stopped racing was when it had the searing pain of hot ash against his skin to hone in on. Hurting himself had become as addicting as nicotine had, as relieving as that first inhale. He sucked smoke into his lungs until the cigarette’s tip glowed red hot. When he ground the stub into his forearm he hoped for sepsis to take him.