*Emotions*
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Reiner can’t feel his arm.That probably means someone is lying on it, and he sleepily reaches out with his other arm. Sure enough, there’s a warm, pliable body next to him in the bed, and Reiner curls his arm around it, drawing him close to his chest, spooning around him. In his still-mostly asleep state, he defaults to it being Jean, the last person he regularly shared a bed with, and sleepily nuzzles into the back of his neck. Have things been righted? Is Jean not mad at him anymore? God, he’s missed this, these sleepy mornings together, lounging and cuddling, sweet kisses exchanged, and maybe some slow, gentle lovemaking before getting up and making breakfast.
Except Jean was always lean and whip-cord thin, all wiry muscle and knobby spine, and the person he’s holding is thicker, solid through the waist and heavy with muscles. His hair is shorter, shaved close to the skin in the back, bristly under Reiner’s lips, and he’s warmer; Jean always ran a few degrees lower than normal and easily got cold, and this man is burning like a little combustion engine in Reiner’s arms, pumping out heat into the little cocoon of blankets.
Reiner opens his eyes, and his vision fills with red-gold hair splayed across his pillowcase.
Galliard.
It all comes flooding back, all at once: Galliard bringing his dog over, then leaving to go to the gym; Reiner taking Sarge for a slow, meandering walk through the neighborhood, waiting patiently as the dog sniffed and then peed on almost everything in his path; Galliard coming back from the gym, and finding them on the couch, and then… and then everything that happened after.
Reiner shifts his hips back, both as a test and to get them away from Galliard’s rump, which he’d been nestled up behind and which had formed a very tempting cushion for his cock. He’s sore, the kind of sore that results from some quality sex, and he can feel dried cum and lube caked between his legs and in his pubic hair. He’s going to need a shower, and some time stretching, before he feels like himself again. That doesn’t address the more pressing problem, though: the fact that Galliard fell asleep here and somehow migrated over into a cuddling position during the night, and how he’ll react when he wakes up.
Reiner wishes he could just go back to sleep and enjoy this a little longer, but he can see his alarm clock over Galliard’s shoulder, and it’s coming around to six o’clock. He knows Galliard works at Starbucks in the mornings and sometimes in the afternoons—he’s frequently trailed by the scent of coffee and sugar, clinging to his clothes—and doesn’t want him to miss a shift.
“Galliard.” Reiner lifts his arm and lays it across Galliard’s bicep, giving him a little shake. “Galliard, wake up.”
Nothing. No movement at all at first, then Galliard makes that sleepy, grumbling sound in his throat that he’d made when he was napping on the couch, and rolls over, into Reiner’s arms. He flings his free arm over Reiner’s side and buries his face in his chest, mumbling something that is probably supposed to be words but just sounds like mush.
For just a moment, Reiner rests his chin on top of Galliard’s head, in his tangle of silky hair, and wishes they could stay like this, almost as much as he wishes Galliard would let Reiner hold him like this. If he was allowed, Reiner would hold him like this all night, and fall asleep to the gentle beat of Galliard’s heart next to his own.
“Galliard.” Reiner shakes him again, reluctantly lifting his head and leaning back. Maybe the cold air on Galliard’s chest will roust him? “C’mon, it’s morning, wake up.”
Galliard scrunches up his face, like a little boy who doesn’t want to get up from his nap, then opens his eyes to look directly into Reiner’s. There’s a brief second of confusion, then sudden, startled realization, and Reiner isn’t surprised in the slightest when Galliard pushes back out of his arms and sits up.
“What the…” Galliard stares down at him, and for just the slightest fraction of a second, Reiner thinks he’s going to lay back down and snuggle up against him. There’s a moment of indecision, of conflicting wants, and Reiner holds perfectly still, not trying to sway Galliard with anything other than his eyes.
It almost happens; the muscles in Galliard’s arms tremble minutely, and there’s the faintest quaver of his lower lip. But then his eyes widen, and he blurts out one word before leaping off the bed and dashing out of the room.
“Sarge!”
Damn, they forgot about the dog! Reiner groans and hauls himself out of bed, wincing at the very satisfying pangs the motion sets off in his ass, and follows Galliard. He only pauses long enough to grab his bathrobes off their hooks on the back of the bedroom door—one is his heavy winter one and the other is a silky, summertime affair, but they’ll have to do.
He finds Galliard in the living room, crouched next to the dog’s nest, almost hidden in the early morning shadows. Sarge has his head lifted, and Reiner can hear his tail thumping on the floor; the dog seems none the worse for the wear, and as Reiner watches, he licks Galliard’s palm.
“Shit, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, shit fuck shit, I can’t believe I…” Galliard’s voice suddenly cuts out, and he drops his head down, his hands cupping Sarge’s face on either side, and presses his forehead against the dog’s.
Reiner feels like he’s stumbled upon something very private, something painfully intimate, and he steps quietly into the kitchen. He shrugs into his summer robe, draping the heavier one over his arm, and waits until he hears Galliard clear his throat in the other room to enter again.
Galliard is sitting back on his heels, his hands fisted on both knees, with Sarge looking cheerful and perky beside him. “I need some cheese and his aspirin.” His voice is quiet and full of humility, very unlike how he usually sounds, and Reiner nods before dropping the robe of the couch and going back into the kitchen to fetch some cheese. When he returns, Galliard is wearing the robe—it’s delightfully oversized on him, the sleeves falling down over his hands, and Reiner is disappointed he won’t have more time to admire him in it—and takes the cheese chunk and bottle of aspirin without a word.
Sarge greedily devours his treat and then looks back and forth between the two of them, wagging his tail but making no move to get up. Galliard sighs and runs his hand through his hair, making a valiant effort to push it back and failing miserably. “What time is it?”
“A little after six.”
“Shit.” Galliard springs to his feet, wild-eyed and frantic. “My shift starts at seven-thirty, fuck!” He glances down at Sarge, and Reiner can just imagine the mental gyrations going on in his head as he tries to figure out the timing on everything.
“Where do you work?”
“The one near the university.” Galliard groans, his hand moving to rake through his hair again. “But I have to take him home first, and the subways are always fucking packed this time of day, and…”
“Galliard.” Reiner reaches out and puts a hand on Galliard’s shoulder, and while he startles, jumping under Reiner’s hand, he doesn’t bolt or push Reiner away. He just looks up at him, his eyes wide and close to panic. “Go take a shower and eat something. I’ll walk Sarge, and then I’ll drive you to work.”
The relief in Galliard’s expression is almost pathetic. It’s also short-lived, pinching off almost immediately. “He can’t come to work with me.”
“He can stay here. I can work from home today.” Reiner offers a tentative smile and squeezes Galliard’s shoulder. “I’ll take good care of him, I promise.”
Sarge’s tail beats on the floor, a percussive accompaniment of agreement.
Galliard is still clearly conflicted, warring back and forth between his options. Reiner stays quiet, letting him figure it out, his heart gently aching for him. He doesn’t know what happened to make Galliard so distrustful, so fiercely independent, but it can’t have been anything good.
Abruptly, Galliard lifts his arm, the one Reiner is touching, and for a moment Reiner thinks he’s going to throw it off. He doesn’t; instead, Galliard wraps his arm around Reiner’s and squeezes it, his hand on Reiner’s bicep in a gesture that’s almost a caress, giving the single oddest hug Reiner has ever had in his life.
“Give him ten minutes before you walk him, he needs time for his pills to work.” Galliard looks pointedly down at Sarge, who is grinning in that goofy Labrador way, and even though he’s not looking at him, Reiner notices how his cheeks get the faintest bit more pink. “Thanks.”
Then he shakes free and heads for the bathroom, closing the door behind him.
Reiner lets his breath out in a sigh, and bends down to pet Sarge. “Quite the guy you’ve got there, buddy.”
Sarge simply wags his tail and puts his muzzle down on his front paws.
Reiner gets dressed in a pair of sweatpants—he goes commando, not wanting to bother with underwear until he’s had a shower—and an old gym shirt. He looks scruffy as hell, his hair disheveled and his beard in need of a trim, but too bad. He’s just walking a dog, whatever, and Reiner shrugs into an old jacket before crouching next to Sarge.
“You ready to go?”
Sarge is not ready to go; he tries to get up once before collapsing with a whine, and Reiner settles onto the floor next to him, petting his head and giving his pills more time to work. He wonders how long Sarge’s back legs have been giving him trouble, and how dependent he is on his daily doses of aspirin.
Reiner’s phone is lying face down on the coffee table, and since he’s waiting, he snags it with his free hand and looks at the screen.
Forty-seven messages, twelve missed calls.
Reiner’s heart almost stops in his chest, and his first thought is that something happened to his mom. Something happened to her, and he was too busy getting fucked to answer his phone. With shaking hands, he unlocks it, and immediately goes to missed calls.
There aren’t any messages, and all the calls are from Ymir, Historia, and Bertolt.
All his energy runs out of him in a flood, and Reiner sags forward in relief. His mom is fine, it was just his friends being jack-offs. How did they even know that anything was going on last night?
There’s only one way to find out.
Sassy Lesbian Ymir: aaaaaaaaayyyy
Sassy Lesbian Ymir: heard u got a fuckboi up there
Historia R.: Reiner, was that the young man from the club in the elevator?
Historia R.: Aren’t you working with him at the gym?
Historia R.: Are you sure this is a good idea?
Sassy Lesbian Ymir: dont listen to hissy
Sassy Lesbian Ymir: u get that boy
Sassy Lesbian Ymir: u fuck him real good
Historia R.: You’re going to get your heart broken again!
Sassy Lesbian Ymir: no ur not
Sassy Lesbian Ymir: ur smarter than that
Sassy Lesbian Ymir: u get that rebound booty
Historia R.: How old is he?
Historia R.: He looked younger than he did at the club.
Sassy Lesbian Ymir: who cares he’s at least 18
Sassy Lesbian Ymir: rob that cradle
Historia R.: Do you even know his last name?
Sassy Lesbian Ymir: do u even know MY last name?
Bertolt Hoover: Reiner, why are Historia and Ymir sending me all these messages?
Sassy Lesbian Ymir: bert is on my side
Sassy Lesbian Ymir: he thinks u should get it
Bertolt Hoover: Wait
Bertolt Hoover: Do you have Galliard up there with you?
Bertolt Hoover: Reiner, be careful
Historia R.: We’re worried about you.
Bertolt Hoover: Are you at least using protection?
Sassy Lesbian Ymir: never mind bert is a traitor
And so on and so forth. Reiner groans quietly as he scrolls through them, his eyes glazing over; it had clearly been a boring evening yesterday, if everyone is so interested in his affairs and where his dick has or hasn’t been. He’s about to delete all of them and send a blanket I’m fine, leave me alone text when one of the last ones catches his eyes, and his thumb hovers as he reads.
J. Kirschstein: hey, I heard you met someone
J. Kirschstein: good for you, I’m glad
J. Kirschstein: call me if you want?
No, Reiner does not want, and he takes a small, savage thrill from deleting those messages in particular. Then he sends a quick message (I’m fine, stop worrying, it’s all good here, no one murdered me in my sleep) to the other three, and turns off the notifications on his phone before he can get a deluge of responses.
“Come on, Sarge. Let’s go take a walk.”
Sarge manages to get to his feet without any problems, and away they go.
~*~
Sarge marks the side of the building as soon as they get outside, and Reiner feels a flash of guilt for how long the dog must have been holding it. Sarge seems to bear him no ill will, and gives the bushes out front an interested, thorough sniffing while Reiner trails after him.
“Hello, Mr. Braun.”
Reiner turns, and it’s a pair of boys who live in the building, Udo and Falco, looking resplendent in their school uniforms, with Falco’s older brother Colt lingering the background and looking embarrassed by his charges. “Did you get a dog?”
Reiner smiles; he likes kids in general, and these kids in particular. “No, he belongs to a friend and is just visiting. Do you want to pet him?”
They do, and even Colt is lured over by the prospect of petting a friendly dog. Sarge deeply enjoys all the attention being lavished on him, and delights Udo by licking his cheek. Then the boys are on their way to school, and Reiner takes Sarge back upstairs.
Galliard is out of the shower and dressed in a black polo shirt and wrinkled khakis, rooting around in Reiner’s kitchen. There’s already evidence of his rampage for food on the kitchen counters: an empty yogurt container, neatly rinsed and set beside the sink for recycling; a banana missing from the fruit bowl; the kettle bubbling and Reiner’s can of Quaker Oats on the counter. There’s also a bowl of food out for Sarge, which he goes to immediately and starts eating noisily, his ears bobbing up and down with enthusiasm.
“You don’t buy cereal.” That could sound accusatory but doesn’t; Galliard merely sounds curious.
“Too much sugar and empty calories.” Reiner opens another cupboard and gets out the honey, offering it to Galliard, who takes it and squirts it on the bowl of oatmeal he’s working on. When he’s done, Galliard hands it back to Reiner and gestures to the counter, and Reiner is touched to find a second bowl of oatmeal there, along with a steaming mug of green tea. “Thanks.”
Galliard nods, and they eat breakfast together in silence. It’s not the kind of post-sex breakfast Reiner usually enjoys, but he’ll take it.
Galliard eats fast, tucking away the food like a man on a mission, and when he’s done, he rinses out his bowl and goes back into the living room, crouching next to Sarge’s nest, which he’d gone back to after eating, and talking quietly to him. Reiner finishes eating and gathers his wallet and car keys, and Galliard meets him at the door. “He’s going to want another walk around twelve o’clock. Then he’ll probably sleep the rest of the afternoon, but I’ll be back to get him before then.”
“All right.” They head out to the hallway and the elevator, and Reiner notices that Galliard is wearing his scarf again.
Galliard is quiet in the car, cradling his chin in his hand and looking out the window the whole way. Reiner is familiar with the streets around the university, and gets him to the Starbucks on the university’s outskirts with ten minutes to spare.
Reiner parks the car, but Galliard doesn’t get out right away. He keeps looking out the window, studying the Starbucks awning, unusually pensive and solemn, and Reiner wonders if he regrets what they did last night. Reiner doesn’t; it had been a pretty new experience for him, getting ordered around like that, but he’d do it again in a heartbeat. Being able to lose control that way had been something he didn’t know he needed. But now is probably not the time to discuss it—if Galliard wants to discuss it at all—so Reiner chooses a safer topic.
“Sarge met three of the kids who live in the building today. They loved him.”
“Sarge has always liked kids.” Galliard’s voice is distant, like he’s not really listening. He turns from the window and looks at Reiner, really looks at him, with his brows drawn in above his nose and his mouth held in a faint, barely there frown. It looks like he’s going to say something—he even opens his mouth to start—but then he puts his hand on the car’s door handle and gets out.
“I’ll be over around one to get him. Uh… thanks for watching him today.”
Two thank you’s in one day; Reiner ducks his head so he can smile at Galliard and make sure he sees it. “You’re welcome. I’ll see you later.”
Galliard just stares at Reiner, his hand still on the car door, holding it open. Not for the first time, Reiner wonders if Galliard realizes how much his expressions really give away about how he’s feeling; he knows that Galliard is capable of hiding everything, but then sometimes realizes absolutely everything with a single glance. This is one of those times: Galliard looks confused and miserable and alone, torn between opposing forces, and as much as it pains him, Reiner stays in the car.
Galliard breaks eye contact and shakes his head, jarring loose that one piece of hair that always hangs across his forehead. “I’ll see you later. Bye.”
He slams the car door and sets off for the Starbucks, his shoulders set and tense, nearly up to his ears, and Reiner watches him go. It feels like that’s all he’s been doing lately, watching Galliard walk away from him, and he doesn’t pull the car away until the door to the coffee shop has swung shut, sealing Galliard away inside.
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A/N:
Hmm I think Jaws has 26 or 27 chapters I think?
So yeah!
Bye!
(Gosh I'm so terrible in English!😫)