speaking like friends
könig x gender-neutral reader
warnings: it just gets a lil suggestive
inspired by this, this and this
part 2 of this
The effect you have on König is hardly a secret.
The team knows you as charming, someone with a silver tongue and the means to use it well, but König knows you differently. He knows you as a partner, as a friend, and as someone who gets under his skin in a way that he cannot explain.
You only know this because he confessed it to you.
He had left you to sit with the statement that he had no words to say just what it was that you did to him. Your prying gaze that longed for a clearer description only made him a stuttering mess that quickly apologized for even saying such, and in your shock, you told him goodnight and let him be.
Ever since then, you can't get him off your mind.
Any eye contact that you make with him is broken at once by a turn of his head. You notice the way that his entire body seems to grow taut when you draw near, as if he has taken in a breath and held it. Just a mere second of meeting your eyes will send him stumbling over his words in discussions with the other operators, knuckles turning white as his grip on his gun tightens.
There is little mystery in how he feels about you.
You cannot deny what you feel for him, either.
Being at his side on the field makes your heart race. If you can't be with him physically, you keep up with him over the radio, asking him for his status and smiling to yourself when he answers, voice trembling with an adrenaline high. You had made a silent vow to yourself when you began this way of life that you would never get too involved, never put yourself in a vulnerable position, never open yourself up so much that you couldn't go back.
Time and time again, you'd broken your own rules, all for him.
Since that night, there's been a discernible shift in the energy between you and him. He speaks much less, but he looks at you far more; you feel his gaze when it finds you from across the room, staring past everyone else. Though he cannot seem to find it within himself to talk to you anymore, you find that he's always close by, almost as if he is keeping watch over you in the way he sees fit.
In return, your silver tongue begins to target him specifically.
You refer to it as "payback" for his recent bout of silence towards you. In truth, seeing his eyes widen and his pupils dilate as a result of something you say makes you a bit weak at the knees. Passing him in hallways pulls a smile from you, and sitting next to him always leads to brushing touches and soft apologies that fix nothing, for the contact never fails to come again. The other operators make snide comments about how close you are to him, how the man built like a mountain seems to completely change when you're around, falling all over himself and losing every bit of his composure. They ask you just what in the hell it is that you've done to him.
You wonder about that, yourself. The night things changed left you without an answer.
One evening finds you with the team, and him alone -- as usual. But he isn't far, and it's never hard for you to find him. Stepping outside of the base and into the cool night air leads you to him, his large silhouette seated in the grass and hiding among the parked Humvees.
"You know I don't like seeing you alone, König."
The sound of his name catches him by surprise and he turns to look at you over his shoulder. You smile at him, and he shifts slightly, looking down.
"Don't like all the noise," He murmurs.
"Or you're avoiding me again."
There's a sound like a little laugh from the back of his throat, a humored hm.
"Never," He says. One simple word to elevate your heartbeat.
Quietly, you approach him, and a gentle nudge of your knee upon his shoulder acts as your request to sit with him. He nods wordlessly, and you settle down at his side. The night is dark, and staring out into it seems to go on for miles and miles. You lower your hands to weave your fingers into the grass, and your fingertips ghost against his hand in one fleeting touch. He tenses, mumbling a hasty "tut mir leid." When you lean over and bump his shoulder, he grunts in surprise, turning and finding your eyes.
"When will we speak like friends?"
Rapidly, he blinks.
"... Wh - what?"
"That's what we are, isn't it?" You arch an eyebrow, staring at him. "You tiptoe around me like I'm going to bite you, then say sorry for hardly anything at all. You say you want me around, then avoid me like a damn plague. Surely you know that I don't mind having you around, either."
"I--"
"That... is what we... are, right?"
Friends.
The word sits on the tip of your tongue with the weight of a lie. You cannot bring yourself to speak it again, not when König can't seem to decide if he wants to look at your eyes or your lips. Your heart races behind your ribs, fingers itching to pull the hood away and really look at him.
What is it that you do to him, that which he hadn't the heart to tell you?
"I'm beginning to think you don't like me after all," You say.
"It's not... scheiße, it's not that," He quickly stammers. His muscles are taut, like ropes beginning to wear down and fray. Without a moment's hesitation, you place yourself in front of him, sitting between his legs and staring into blue eyes that fixate on your lips.
"What is it, then?"
Your hand rests on his knee and he takes in a shaking breath. Slowly, you move forward, and he instinctively leans backward, audibly swallowing when you're on hands and knees above him and staring at him expectantly. His elbows rest on the grass beneath him, and he has nowhere else to go. His fingers are twitching, as if every part of him is longing to put hands on the exposed skin of your stomach where you feel your shirt riding up.
"We are... friends," He responds, rattling the word out, doing what you could not. "And I like you. In fact, I like you far more than..." He pauses, swallowing again. "... more than most."
A soft smile pulls up at the corner of your mouth. Despite the chill of the night, your face is hot.
Friends.
You can't bring yourself to even say it.
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