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Nighttime maneuvers demand an element of secrecy, and Reiner begins by falling out of bed with a solid thud.
Immediate grumbles from the other trainees, though not many. Bertolt can only specifically pick out Jean’s voice above the rest, one loud groggy, “Are you serious,” before the barracks return to that textured almost-silence of a building full of sleeping boys.
Rather than return to his own bunk, Reiner slides in next to Bertolt.
They duck under the covers, feeling their way in measured gestures intended to avoid detection. Bertolt is curled vaguely in a ball when Reiner’s hand finds him, the fingers chilly on his skin. Under the blankets it’s too dark to see, and touches seem to appear and disappear from nowhere. Reiner presses his palm against Bertolt’s ribcage and readjusts, tracing a path to Bertolt’s chest and to his thigh, opening him up with quiet touches that are patient in a way that Bertolt suddenly isn’t.
At least they’ve learned open mouths actually aren’t very good for muffling sound.
He’s been waiting as long as Reiner for everyone to fall asleep, but even now the presence of fellow trainees and the rustling of an old blanket enforces a lingering pace. They’re both trembling when Bertolt touches Reiner’s chest and feels down, finds they’re both hard and oh, what he wouldn’t give to have some light when they’re like this. All he hears Reiner’s tiny suppressed gasps, puffs of air hitting his cheek and stutter when Bertolt moves their clothes aside with excruciating stillness until they’re skin to skin and Reiner’s breathing goes a little funny. Bertolt can hear him swallow.
He closes his eyes even though it’s dark and imagines Reiner’s eyes going wide then squinting shut, mouth a little crooked, all of him briefly overwhelmed.
The air under the covers is hot and damp. The darkness is somehow emboldening. An unsteady hand molds over Bertolt's grip, making him squeeze, and his hips jerk forward before he can stop himself. It crackles the blanket over them with a sound like a roar. His knees scissor open to give Reiner more room and Reiner scoots over, pulling him halfway over top. That probably sounds like anyone turning over in their sleep, doesn’t it?
Bertolt lets his hand slip out from under Reiner's and pushes up on his elbows, and he's surprised when Reiner holds fingers against his lips to quiet him. Bertolt doesn’t recall making a sound. It seems like it’s always Reiner who rushes forward, the one who always makes noise—
But Bertolt very abruptly finds he can’t finish the thought.
They haven't kissed open-mouthed since the first night but Bertolt doesn’t have a problem nipping at the fingers, turning his head and finding more of them by touch before licking and drawing them in with his tongue. Reiner’s chest heaves; it’s strange how much it turns Bertolt on to hear Reiner breathe like that, trying to muffle his gasps and only mostly succeeding. Soon, someday soon they’ll have all the time in the world to do this, all the time they need and they won’t have to be quiet about it, Bertolt thinks. He’ll be able to talk and kiss Reiner just how he likes instead of needing to steal every moment when they can.
The fingers disappear from his mouth and he feels them a second later reappear on his lower back—holding them together, Reiner's other hand still working them both in long tight pulls right where they need it, only moving from the wrist to keep from rustling the blankets. A moan sticks in Bertolt’s throat, lodged there like a stifled sob. He can't make them go faster but he wants to, he needs more. His head drops onto Reiner’s shoulder and he grinds, one deep push that urges their hips together in agonizing slow motion. Neither of them can hope to maintain a rhythm after that, Bertolt just holds himself over Reiner and clings to silence as he pulses into Reiner’s hand.
Reiner isn’t far behind. After, the first thing Bertolt notices is Reiner mouthing at his ear like he's about to whisper something, teasing the lobe between his teeth.
They notice the second thing at the same time—the barracks have fallen absolutely silent. Not even a snore to be heard.
Jean’s voice breaks the hush, not loud on its own but loud enough to be heard by anyone awake. “Hey, you know what I haven’t done in three nights?” he asks.
“Gotten lucky?” Connie answers and boys around the room snicker.
Bertolt and Reiner freeze.
“Haven’t slept the whole night through,” Jean snaps, and the irritable edge to his voice is matched only by the drunk slur of exhaustion. “Know why they’re called sleeping quarters? Because they’re for sleeping, dammit.”
Connie chuckles. “Aw, I bet missing your beauty sleep isn’t the only reason you’re cranky.”
“Yeah, you’re being even more of a jerk than usual,” says Eren mildly from another corner, sounding just as tired.
“Maybe ‘cause you’re still talking, ever think of that?” Jean says.
A few other voices chime in to offer their gentle teasing wisdom. “It’s not good to be jealous of others’ fortune, you know.”
“You ever need ten minutes alone to unwind, say the word, Jean.”
“Or just a minute.”
“We could all plug our ears for a few seconds—”
“Oh, ha ha, assholes,” Jean says and there’s the soft sound of pillows hitting faces and more suppressed nighttime laughter from those woken by the talking. It releases tension and nerves unwind until the trainees settle back to sleep, relaxed this time and no doubt smiling to themselves like those bonded as comrades.
Reiner relaxes too, letting out a short breathy laugh. “Oops,” he whispers against Bertolt’s jaw, lips curved in a smile.
Bertolt uses the point of reference to find Reiner’s mouth and draw him in for a thorough goodnight kiss.