A/N: based on the conjecture of Reiner & Bertholdt saving Annie and eventually managing to escape from everyone - but not from their own inner demons.
Contains hints of spoilers, possible OOCness (as in Annie pining over Reiner), graphic mental breakdowns and splashes of kinky drama you wouldn't want to try out with your friends. Unless they're into it, of course.
She should have known better, honestly.
If she hadn't been so reckless they wouldn't have had to perform that dubious mission of rescuing her. Thus leaving her the one indebted to their albeit unwilling but services nonetheless. It sucked, at the lack of a better description - the whole situation was a complete and disgusting bummer.
Worse than that, she couldn't really bring herself to remember what happened in between the tortures and the present moment. She couldn't even feel the flow of time anymore – not like she'd ever been capable of doing so, crystal or not, but this void of an existence began getting on her nerves real hard.
She tried moving – which surprisingly came out with much less pain than she had expected. At least her body remembered about its self-healing abilities, Annie smirked in her mind. Some muffled sounds of movement and the sound of a closing door – she opened her eyes to be greeted with an unusually empty room, dimly lit from a small window close to the ceiling and not much of a detail to catch her eye. Almost as if trapped in an unlikely hospital, – she thought, – or a VIP prison cell. Granted, any sort of a cell could be luxurious compared to those in her experience.
Footsteps in the probable hall approached the door and stopped. A few hushed words later, there entered Reiner with as much of an aloof expression as Reiner could wear – perhaps, he did it specifically to annoy her, Annie didn't really know. She would tell herself she didn't give a single damn – but that would only add to the endless maze of lies she had already lost herself into. Because cursed be her evil conscience – she cared. Cared and hoped he would at least spare her a friendly glance – not that of tired vexation, as if she was his greatest nuisance – which, she had to admit, she probably was.
– Why would you run away to come back like that? – She inquired, wondering what that fuss in the hall was all about, simultaneously delighting in the way she could actually use her voice without coughing fits and pangs of pain to her lungs. Talking was refreshing, but Reiner didn't look like sharing the wish to converse with her, not by the stern look he gave her.
– It was Bertholdt, you'd rather thank him for all the… – Annie cringed at the name. Indeed, Bertholdt. She should have guessed Reiner wouldn't as much as lay a finger on her even if she was at her last breath. Stupid dreamer, she was just too repulsive for his majesty. She had to be.
– Why wouldn't it be you? – She didn't want to ask it but snapped nonetheless. He had to have come for sheer mocking at her expense. "Or am I so disgusting to you that you would rather die a dishonourable death than have to deal with me, right?" – she couldn't help but continue the bittersweet slaughtering of herself in her own mind, thoughts sharper than blades she had been tortured with, words worse than senbons, reality of Reiner looking at her like that – multiplying the anguish by thousands.
– As if Bert would let me. – Reiner nearly laughed, it seemed almost light-hearted if it weren't for his hard eyes on her, suppressing something suspiciously like rage. Why would he rage at her? – Was she really so loathsome?
Probably she was. Reiner couldn't be wrong in his assumptions, and it killed her, over and over again. Reiner thought that way, Reiner acted, Reiner said, it was all irrevocably about him no matter how hard she tried to ignore the obvious.
Annie glanced away from him, unable to withhold the mental torment anymore. So Bertholdt pretended to be a nurse and finally got his lucky chance to have her body, why was he running away, then? Or was it too much for him to ogle her when she'd finally came to her senses? Perhaps he preferred her in the weakened state – so that he himself could appear by her side as the mighty savior, a knight in his shining armour…
Pun was totally intended. The knight in the shining armour stood beside her, but never as close as she could have preferred, and probably dreamt of that woman again. Hell, he kept pining about her all the time when he thought she weren't watching – even back then it had been so painfully obvious. Or maybe, it was just Annie and her damned heightened perceptional senses.
Either way it didn't matter, because she wasn't that woman, even if visually alike – still not with the same hair, not with the same eyes – she was just, simply put, inferior. It must have been the nose, – she mused grimly, and nearly snickered at her own stupid assumptions. She couldn't be getting that childish and whiny over the one candy she could never have – or could she?
Upon her spirits being dashed once again in that pregnant silence, there entered Bertholdt, steps as careful and quiet as ever – if she weren't trained to listen, he could have startled the living daylights out of her by his mere presence. Not that he didn't make her feel naked and detestable and all sorts of trash by simply approaching her, perhaps asking how she was feeling… She refused to let his questions sink in, to catch the notes of evident concern in his voice, oh no, she knew too well what hid behind that fake kindness. It just couldn't be any other way.
She felt the sudden urge to slap him. Since, really, how dare he – touch her? Undress her? Take care of her? She was fully capable of tending to her own wounds let alone they healed nicely on their own – yet he just had to waltz into her private space with his worry and annoy the hell out of her with those blackest pleading eyes.
What right he had to, seriously? No rights at all, yet there he was, probably attempting to change the bandages on her arm, – in his presence she felt so numb, so out of herself and miserable – because no, she couldn't bring herself to be in that same body he was now tending to with some unholy gentleness; no, it was just too humiliating.
Yes, there he was, telling Reiner to leave them so that she wouldn't feel awkward in his presence… Awkward, her ass! In front of Reiner of all people! Since when did Bertholdt get to decide whose presence she required and whose was unwelcome? Annie hated every moment of his being next to her, commanding her, suffocating her even – so she jerked her arm away with as much contempt in her facial expression as she could muster, and glared, and tried to catch her breath, because she didn't want to scream at him, no way she'd loose her calm in front of him, but the obnoxious caregiver had to learn his limits!
Reiner sighed in exasperation and was actually glad to leave his friend in the lion's cage– those two obsessions of theirs weren't getting them anywhere. If only he knew how to fix things… But instead, she would keep craving, and his friend would keep up with his self-inflicted sufferings. They shouldn't have gone out to save her at all, truly, this was just complicating everything, exponentially and painfully – for he hated seeing Bertholdt like that, reduced to a shelf of his previous self, feverish and ridiculously happy in his humiliation of serving her in her weakest.
This was sick, they had to stop eventually. If only Reiner could leave his friend behind and not think about his own betrayal on his merry lonely way – the fact was there before him as obvious as their current state – he couldn't give up on Bertholdt no matter how hard he tried. Friends didn't act like scum. And leave it for Bert to be stubborn and continue his futile game of loves-me-not.
– Get away from me. – It came out in a surprisingly steady, threatening voice. She almost didn't tremble, quenching the unwanted thoughts of how he probably touched her exposed self when she couldn't push him away, – the feeling churning her insides with rage she had no idea how to suppress.
– Annie, please… – He appeared unfazed, but the hurt in his eyes was soothing to her angered state. May be she even caught a sight of fear there, and as much as it was entertaining, his whole presence was still unbearable. So there went the long-awaited slap.
She truly felt better at his dumbfounded expression, but not good enough to calm down. Oh, she had to erase that ugly feeling of being his plaything for god knows how long she'd been unconscious. So another slap followed. And may be some kicks. And definitely several punches.
She didn't scream at him – he hadn't deserved to hear her voice. He deserved nothing at all – yet there she was facing the events she was in no position of changing, and she could just imagine that smug smirk of his, as his hands had gone lower and… No, that was all too frustrating to process; it had to be taken out of her system.
His lack of reaction didn't help much. He just stood there rooted to the floor, letting her deliver punches one worse than the other – yet his build alone allowed him not to waver in the slightest, which enraged Annie even more – she was an expert fighter, after all, how come her blows did not affect him?
He seemed to understand her inner struggle, and so he let go of trying to stand still and allowed her next strike to send him to the floor. Oh how she had to enjoy this! – He wasn't even slightly resisting the mortification of being kicked by a girl. But she weren't enjoying the beat up even if she tried to convince herself otherwise. He just lay there and allowed her to do as she pleased.
She half-expected, half-feared the possible snide remarks on her appearance, on his advances, and on the possible pleasure she unwillingly had delivered him, but there was nothing of the sort – just hurt and some sort of a plea in his intense unwavering stare. She hated that stare, she could picture the way his eyes travelled around her under some previous circumstances.
- Don't you dare look at me. – More slaps. – What's with that "please"? Why did you shut up? Won't you tell me how you enjoyed playing the nurse? How was it – changing the bed, right? Or those bandages on my chest – did you sniff them and take them everywhere with you upon changing them? (Now where was that even coming from? – yet scream she continued.)
– How long did it take you to change them, by the way? In between the jerk-off sessions, I mean. (His frightened gaze was hilarious, she could swear on her very life she'd die from laughter – were it not for the anger having devoured her completely.)
–Did you even dress me? Or perhaps it was another kink to dress me up? Were it not? – Look at what I'm wearing now, it's all your doing, admit it.
She was going hysterical and losing all the rational train of thought but couldn't bring herself to shut up. It was one thing that her fears were simply disgusting, but having put them in actual words added a whole new level of loathsome to her current state. She could practically see his dreamy eyes on her skin, his slow touches, and a thin string of saliva falling from his parted lips… Detestable.
So a solid fist was delivered onto those lips to have them smashed until the overly familiar scent of blood fill the room. He still didn't resist, letting her smear his blood across his face as she kept slapping him.
If only she could know, or may be listen to him, if only he had enough courage to tell her how he never even dared to perform the bandaging with the lights on. He knew it was ridiculous, and Reiner had his fair share of jokes at his attempts of being respectful, but he just couldn't bring himself to… Without her consent, even though she was in a near-comatose state… Indeed, the whole process of caretaking took him long; because avoiding looking at her seemed counterproductive, at first, yet he still managed to, somehow, learn her body without learning it the way he wanted since day one.
If only he could tell her how he dared not breathe in her presence when he was trying to figure and count her heartbeat. How he would never ever touch her more than basic needs would require; how he constantly felt like he was intruding, he felt it so intensely it infuriated him to no end – his inability to find anybody else to tend to her wounds.
Or rather it was his inability to let anyone else close to her, to let them see her in such state, let them near his very heart, no, he couldn't. He knew he was being selfish, and he had kept on berating himself – until the very moment she finally came to her senses to be able to punish him herself. In a sense he was kind of grateful for her outburst – he deserved every bit of her maddeningly painful blows.
That was his righteous award for letting himself be near her and attempting to save her – he knew she could manage on her own, much better than he or Reiner, for that matter, but again, he was too selfish to watch her suffer through her recover and do nothing about soothing her pain. Selfish, that was Bertholdt Fubar.
Oh how she hated him for being unresponsive like that! Saviour almighty, was it why he kept the façade despite all of her kicks and curses? Because he was so above her vile behavior, was it? Oh but she would find a way to bring him down to her level of disgusting anguish, she would so thank him for his assistance – right like Reiner told her to do.
Yes, Reiner told her to. And Bertholdt sent Reiner away. She was well aware of his reasons, of her hysterics, that he probably had never done what she thought of him, that his huge but gentle palms on her sides were only there to calm her down – not even to stop her – but there was no way she could bring herself to believe what she saw.
She had seen too much in her life to trust her eyes, she needed better evidence, but above that – she needed his subjection as means of payback, as her own unique way of saying thank you. So he wanted Reiner away? Well she wanted the opposite. Hell if she didn't play that card on him!
– Why would you send Reiner away? Caring for my decency? Well you know what – there's none! Thanks to you, there's none so stop playing the defender, I don't need you!
He tried not to show her the hurt her words caused him, but that was of no effect – she got him. And revel in her victory she would – asking in pretence concern how exactly was it that he needed her, at what places and how often.
She had her mind made up then – since his beaten and defeated form didn't bring her joy any longer, she had to expand their little game to be done with his impudence once and for all. Why not involve Reiner then?
– Oh so you need me, right? How pathetic, because no one ever needs anyone, you're just a freak of nature to be feeling this! (How ironic – in a sense, they all were, freaks and all, but that didn't really matter, not in the moment).
– There's nothing pathetic, Annie. – Oh how he wished to believe his own words yet he knew for sure he couldn't, not when she was mocking him so openly, not when it hurt, hurt, hurt. – Because you need Reiner, don't you?
That was a good blow, even in her violent state of mind Annie wasn't above admitting that – right into the core, with so much accuracy she glanced at him anew – was he so silent all that time because he'd been planning on delivering that counter strike to her assaults all along? She found herself at a brief lack of profanities to spew out at him, so drained she suddenly felt with his simple stating the barefaced facts.
– Well yes I do need him! What will you do about it? Make me stop wanting him? Tell him to love me back may be? Are you that selfless, really? – She was definitely beginning to lose it altogether.
– Or may be… – A wicked idea suddenly flashed in her disturbed mind. – How about I pretended you – are Reiner. This is what you've wanted all along, haven't you? – Not even her smug expression could hide the disdain, not ever, not anymore. – And I will scream his name, in your face, how do you like it? I will call out for him while you will hold me with your filthy hands; I will moan his name and never look into that wretched face of yours!
She was totally loosing it. What else could explain her willingly throwing herself at Bertholdt just to prove the point of her contempt for him?
He was at a loss of words, he didn't mean to hurt her with his remark in first place – it was an accident, mind you, a mere accident caused by her intoxicating presence and her wild behavior, it had never been in his vilest intentions to hurt her! And worse than that, he truly couldn't admit it in the open that he was willing to hear Reiner's name escaping her lips – as long as it could make her happy, he was sincerely fine with it – since he had already been past the point of no return on his journey to ultimate humiliation.
– Go for it. – It sounded more like an exhale than an actual voice. Suddenly the idea weren't all too appealing to Annie anymore – he was just agreeing with every preposterity she threw up at him in hopes to let him down – and yet it weren't working the way she had hoped it would.
– But I will. – Her smirk showed anything but bliss, or victory, for that matter. – And to make it more pleasurable for your Majesty, – the way she quirked her brows was too enticing to watch, – you'll take me to Reiner yourself. I want him to watch me screaming his name. And I want you to not dare look at me. I'm sick and tired if your stares, go stare a hole somewhere, other than my face – but first, take me to Reiner. I'd bet you want to see me doing what I plan on doing – so you won't regret it, Berthy.
It sounded like a plan Berthold would have never wanted to participate in – although apparently his consent wasn't required at all. On a completely unexpected note, Annie began pulling off her shirt – that very shirt that took him so much deliberation to put on her without touching her body – her stare at him way too lecherous to be real, for her azure eyes were as cold as that damned crystal, if not colder.
He wanted to stop her, he really did – but a man could only do as much at a sight of a topless female he desired more than his very life. Life was a suffering, after all, and Annie – Annie was his afterlife, his heaven, what would never come to be. Her snide remarks weren't helping either – she somehow had convinced herself he'd seen her, all of her, and so not the slightest hint of shame was visible in neither of her movements, nor her posture.
– How do you like me, Reiner? – Well, that was much more painful to hear than Bertholdt could have ever assumed. She took his hands into hers and led them to the upper side of her body – obedient as ever, he hung his head low so not to enrage her any further if he dared stare one more time – but the contact he expected never happened. Instead she gripped his chin and looked him straightly in the eyes, her glare nothing but menacing.
– You will take me to Reiner and you will help me get what I want. Oh, and you would not look at me anymore, that's right, ain't the nape of my neck as interesting as my face? – With that said, Annie felt strangely empowered, like a tamer, forcing the giant before her kneel to her whims, take her into his arms, and walk in the destination she ordered, not once turning his head to look at her like a dutiful servant he was.
Of all things, Reiner certainly weren't expecting that. The way Bertholdt marched into his room, holding her like a treasure in his arms… Wait, a half-naked treasure – what sort of a demented dream was that? Reiner quickly looked away from the pair, but with the way Bertholdt approached him it looked like all escape routes were cut. The sound of lighter steps told him Annie was on her feet as well – proceeding straight to him.
He tried looking her straight in the eyes which she didn't seem to mind – pressing herself into his body with a very uncharacteristic smirk. Bertholdt simply stood there behind her, probably staring at his feet like it was the most interesting thing in the whole world. Reiner was perplexed – he even pushed Annie away – as much as he could without actually touching anything of her he would regret later – but the movement was cut by Bertholdt catching Annie before she could register what had happened, and way before Reiner could flee from that slapstick comedy.
The look on Bertholdt's face told him more than words could ever do, and Reiner stood unmoving before them, Annie unashamedly licking her lips while ogling him, with Bertholdt holding her from behind like it was all he had ever dreamt of doing. It was unsettling, the way Annie was too close to him to avert his gaze, the way his friend feigned complete comfort with the situation.
- Bert, what do you think you're...
- Reiner, just let her. – Bertholdt sounded uncharacteristically anxious. This was purest madness.
- I'm not going to… Not with her, Bert, you're my friend, for God's sake, why are you…
- I know, that's why you have to… I'm asking you.
- But I can't do this to you! I know you're a masochist and all but, Bert, seriously… Annie, stop it!
- Reiner, please. Let. Her. I ask you. As a friend.
- Friends don't ask for… Arrgh… - all Reiner's attempts to talk Bertholdt out of this insanity went out of the window the moment Annie sealed his mouth with her small yet demanding lips.
He didn't budge, it had to be some sort of a prank. Or his nightmares must have returned – this surely couldn't be real, but he refused to open his mouth anyways. Reiner would never admit this out loud, but he was pretty afraid of the possible outcome.
- Just pretend it is Christa, would ya? – There wasn't even a barest hint of humor in her voice – just raw anger – at herself for acting like an utter slut, at him for not accepting what she had to offer. Never ever accepting a token of her appreciation, not a single glance, not a smile, not a nod – nothing, like she was nothing, a mistake, a wrong item, a broken, used, unwanted toy.
- Look at my hair. It's like her hair, isn't it? – Although she sounded unemotional, there was a battle within her, the ever present mental punches at her own expense: because of course her hair was softer, and so much more pleasant to his touch, than Annie could ever dream of her own unruly mane.
There was a soft almost inaudible sigh into that mane coming in an exasperated exhale from behind her, reminding her of a third person in this mess, the one who pleaded with Reiner for her, the one who kept holding her so gentle she had completely forgotten of his overbearing presence… And that was unnerving – how could she possibly let her guard down so easily to relax in his arms, of all people?
She tried to convince herself that was because of Reiner's intoxicating closeness that she lost all sense of her surroundings, that it was Reiner's scent invading her very being, the hard planes of his chest under her greedy palms, the perky nipples so responsive to her needy fingers; the quickening of his usually steady breath as she drew nearer to latch as much of her body on him as it was possible, what with their height difference and all, made her grinding really interesting.
The one behind her seemed to not mind that obstacle of their heights in the slightest, for his palms were too busy in their deliberate roaming in her midsection, his hot breath fanning her spine in between her shoulder blades, there couldt have been some occasional feather-light kisses at her back – she'd probably just made them up in her feverish mind as well as an image of Bertholdt standing on his knees and still being the same in height as she was standing on her toes, trying to get herself more of Reiner's addictive mouth – none of that could be real.
Speaking of Reiner, he had probably resigned to his fate, which was so characteristic it was irritating… Could be irritating, instead – it violently turned her on, his feigned submissiveness, behind which he tried to hide the perpetual disinterest in her ever so eager ministrations. Oh, she knew it was all fake but she couldn't let her only chance be wasted, could she?
Even if he didn't respond, she could lick him all over and produce the desired reaction from his body alone – even if his mind wandered elsewhere to the petite angelic girl, her eyes opening in pain mixed with wonder as he penetrated her with all the gentleness the giant like he could muster when it came to showing his affections on the most intimate level – Annie felt her own tears searing her skin as they ran down her cheeks, the mental image of Christa losing her breath and inhaling Reiner's sweet musky scent as he moved above her, muscles shining with sweat, strained in a maddening attempt not to crush her as he moved inside her in agonizingly slow motion, waiting for her to adjust and send him the signal to move faster and rougher.
It was unbearable – the way Annie could picture Christa whimpering, and how Reiner would be getting even harder (if that was even possible!) at each of her kitten-like mewls, how he would hate to hear her own low breathless moans instead, how he would try to shut himself from her ugly wanton voice and crave for oblivion in between Christa's small and welcoming thighs.
Annie tried fighting her wicked imagination with opening her eyes wider, taking in the glorious abs and rippling muscles of his front, grazing his arms, finally getting him rid of his shirt – and he didn't even care enough to touch her in response – Reiner just threw his back against the wall and indeed tried to separate himself from reality, to let his body overtake his mind and not hear the erratic breaths of his friend who was tightly holding Annie throughout her little adventure, not dare look at the dark-haired head bent too low for him to recognize his expression, but still too predictable in the occasional shakes of such an unmanly action as crying.
Reiner felt like crying out himself – albeit for reasons slightly different, but he couldn't unleash his own demons, not in front of his friend he was hurting so much at the moment. She was hurting him too – but Bertholdt asked for it; so Reiner shouldn't feel guilty for his nipples being sucked and his insides squirming at her caresses going south, oh no he shouldn't!
Bertholdt indeed couldn't stop the tears even if Annie demanded he ceased making her back wet – so instead he kissed her shoulders, and spine, and arms, and couldn't open his eyes to meet Reiner's heated gaze, directed at someone who weren't not even present – when Annie, Annie was in front of him, enchanting him to no avail; and when he, the useless Bertholdt Fubar, was holding her and felt absolutely nothing close to happiness at the situation, but merciless ache slapping him so much worse than Annie ever did, kicking him in the chest, prying his heart open – at the feel of her softest skin under his lips, the muscles of her arms and abdomen – the faintest feel of hairs prickled by his touch sent him into overdrive, and even if he would have hell to pay afterwards, he let his hands wander lower, 'cause there had been nothing left for him anymore.
She seemed like she didn't notice – oh how Bertholdt was tempted to believe she really didn't feel his awkward fingers unzipping her pants and cupping her through the thin fabric of her underwear – but in reality, she preferred to discard the unnatural warmth massaging her inner thighs for the sake of pretending, as if she was imagining Reiner actually responding to her unsaid entreaties, and that thought alone was making her excessively wet down there, definitely the thought – absolutely not those fingers going in sync with his kisses and sighs.
- Imagine it's her! Say her name, say it, just say it… - Annie was almost breathless, her careful fingers working their little miracles as she glanced at Reiner's flushed features from beneath, her face marred with tears of jealousy yet contorted with desire nonetheless.
Reiner exhaled, erratically, since her fanning breath on his throbbing length wasn't helping him to fight this delicious nightmare away. For once he decided to play along and agree to her pleas, imagine Christa and be done with this madness now and forever – and there were her lips kissing the top of him gently, for she was too small, too fragile – or rather, he was too huge for her to take him in her mouth without suffocating.
Albeit suffocating was what she presumably wanted, in that whole situation it could probably be the best resolution – as she continued licking him and pumping with her hands, still crying, still trying to fight away the painfully gorgeous feeling of those foreign fingers that found way into her own core.
Yes, she wanted to shake them away, to get off that heated presence behind her back – yet at the same time she wouldn't be able to release the divine tension on her own, would she? And it was him to blame for her wiggling her back into his hard body, for her too busy with pleasing Reiner in front of her to take notice in just the right way his fingers curled expertly - like he had certainly done it when she had been unconscious.
She'd never believe him if he confessed to her that that cursed moment was being his very first time inside her, delivering her the most exquisite pleasure she could crave for – she would never know that, she would keep thinking he was simply taking his sweet time to ravish her one more time, when it was actually their very first.
It was easier that way – to think of him as an obnoxious assailant who knew how to play every nerve of her body – than to admit she was so naturally fit for him that his every single move drove her closer to the edge without much effort.
She tried to concentrate more on the god before her than to let her treacherous body bask in the warmth and glory coming from behind, but fail she did – even at that seemingly simple task, or so she told her – in truth it was nowhere near simple, keeping encouraging Reiner to think of her as Christa, to groan Christa's name and not hers; to muffle her own needy moans because Christa weren't acting that way in Reiner's land of dreams…
It was maddening her with jealousy so much more than with desire, and not even the mildest sense of accomplishment overwhelmed her as Reiner eventually found his release in her desperate mouth, not when he tugged at her hair none too gently, not when his knees gave in from the intense blackout she granted him and he almost tripped over her – were it not for the timely pair of arms that dragged her from under the sweaty body of her dream man.
Once he moved her from under Reiner's palpable satisfaction (the man still couldn't bring himself to breathe properly let alone process his surroundings, whimpering Christa's name as he basked in the recurring waves of pleasure), Bertholdt hurried to continue what he started with his fingers before Annie could have a chance to break in his arms all over again – Reiner's seed smeared around her face as she diligently tried to lick all of it and swallow - and probably tell herself it was some divine liquid no less.
It wasn't divine however, semen mixed with her own tears that never ceased streaming down her cheeks, as she choked on that mix of fluids trying simultaneously to gag and to swallow, to let go and get out – that was when Bertholdt's fingers finally found the best way to his purchase, that was when she cried out of sheer desperation that he stroked her in all the right places – and her cry turned into a wail of so much pain one couldn't possibly distinguish any kind of pleasure beneath those moans, but Bertholdt knew better – he could recognize the multiple intonations of her voice anywhere – and the thought of her finally feeling something other than pain, the sound of her husky moans changing into whimpers as her inner walls proceeded with clenching around his fingers – brought him to his own peak in no time, he didn't even have nor time nor inclination to give himself an experimental stroke or two – seeing as Annie was still tightly pressed to his front, he wouldn't ever willingly let her go.
Key word – willingly. Even in his high, Bertholdt still managed to scold himself for being selfish again, for staining her clothes, for clutching her to himself perhaps too tightly – otherwise she would be breathing normally, wouldn't she? But still he could neither move away from her nor uncircle his arms, no, never.
An experimental groan to his side revealed Reiner finally having gotten back from his ecstasy enough to realize the awkward gravity of situation and make his attempts to leave the battlefield. "You asked for this" – was all but written over his confused face as he tried to evade Bertholdt's gaze, however it wasn't really necessary – if anything, Bertholdt appeared thankful, or so Reiner thought he read that expression among all the stupefying bliss on is friend's face.
That kind of bliss mixed with guilt and self-derision more than anything, as Reiner quickly averted his gaze from Bertholdt's hand still nested deeply between Annie's thighs. Oh he really had enough for that day, and he wouldn't be able to look at Annie for quite some time, not that he wanted to, or anything.
With that decision Reiner left them to their own demons, for he was more than sure the escapade wouldn't be just discarded like it never happened. Secretly he worried for Bertholdt, since Annie was definitely out of her right mind to talk him into doing what they'd done, and when she came to her senses… Perhaps he should be on guard to rescue his friend.
She didn't want to open her eyes. She didn't want to feel a thing let alone think about the warmth engulfing her with something akin to a lover's caress. She knew for fact this weren't Reiner, so the comparison had been wrong on so many levels – yet the soothing warmth never wavered and if possible, became even more omnipresent and relaxing. That was bad.
She talked Bertholdt into letting her whore herself over Reiner, and he didn't miss the chance to take advantage of her state. But why did it feel so damn pleasurable, to be taken advantage of like that? Something was missing from the puzzle, as Annie adjusted herself against her man-heater who seemed to move in sync with her, allowing her as much room as she wanted. Then she felt some warmth leaving her private areas, and even though she'd never admit it – that was the wrong move from the man behind her, no one gave him the right to…
The right to molest her, bring her to the peak of heavens and not be Reiner? The right to hold her like it was the most natural thing in the world? Oh he had no rights at all, no rights on her, most importantly. Yet his breath was soft on her neck, and what was it? – His hands seemed to have left her for the sole reason to bring some clothes to cover her exposed front.
She lazily watched the arm that tucked her own shirt around her chest (when had he even snatched it?), and then rested on her midsection like it belonged there. That was new, the arm should be gone by now, together with its unlucky owner, and her – left behind in the mess they had created in Reiner's room (boys' room, technically, but for her it was Reiner's and not the other way around!)
- Get out. – It was all she could voice on the matter, if his presence had been unnerving before, then it was simply impossible to figure at the moment – all the why's spinning wildly in her head making it ache ruthlessly; he just had to get away from her as soon as possible. Or she would snap…
Snap, yeah. And then – what? Continue the pretenders' parade all over again, force him taking her to Reiner one more time, get reduced to the slut she had never wanted to be and imagine the shock and humiliation swimming in his eyes over and over again. But he wouldn't budge, it just weren't in his nature – he would continue the torture, heck, he might even welcome it! He truly had to be insane – to deal with her the way he did.
As expected, Bertholdt didn't listen to her. Not a single effort to get out, right as she feared. Annie scowled in realization it was really fear, what she was feeling at the moment – because as much as she could imagine his actions along the lines of molestation attempts, he didn't appear like planning on performing them any time soon, and what lied beneath irked her to no end – for she saw tenderness there behind his hurt and worry, and that was one thing she was never taught to deal with.
He could throw her away – just like Reiner kept on doing, and she wouldn't feel a thing close to remorse; or he could force himself on her – like she believed he'd done multiple times – and she would protect herself with all she had; but at the moment it felt like he was protecting her, from the whole world, even with Reiner in that world, and all the heartache that was Reiner's rejection, – and ridiculously enough, she did felt protected.
Like she didn't want to cry anymore. Like he would never break, which seemed legit with all the colossal reserves he had to possess. It was beyond frightening – it was horror unleashed which made her tremble the way she did.
Her terror increased when she felt him unmoving behind her. Solid like a wall (oh the irony!), but unlike the wall, he was warm, perhaps too warm, and his breathing was steady. She could feel his heartbeat right behind her shoulder blade, and that sense of not being alone, the presence of a warm living being who weren't going to harm her any time soon; the one who had been with her, heck – practically glued to her, when she lashed and broke and collapsed – it was washing over her in something she could neither name, nor mock at.
It was just there, right beside her, not a figment of her sick imagination, not Reiner, not pain. It seemed like it was simply Bertholdt, but it wasn't that facile.
It was Bertholdt who was hugging her; Bertholdt kissing her neck so gently she gave up on the previous idea of not crying. He was just too affectionate for his own good, and she could hold her tears no longer. Only there wasn't anguish in those tears, not anymore, but surprise and may be, who knew, may be even hope.