FicWad

He was calling himself "Paris Bellaguarde". It wasn't too far from the truth. Paris was his middle name and "Bellaguarde" was the name passed down through his father's line. In truth though, he was Micheal Paris Westhaven, an American spy posing as a French collaborator. It sounded fancy enough, like something he'd brag about at parties once he returned to his real life.

Right then it seemed the most boring occupation ever.

He sat out on the front steps of the building where the Irish archaeologist had busted up the party that Tacconelli was holding, stealing a scroll that his brother "Aloysis" was in the midst of sneaking in to look at. They weren't able to catch the cursed man as he fled as skillfully as any cat with a freshly caught mouse would, possessively clutching his trophy and looking back with an element of superiority. It had been a late hour even then as his brother took off in pursuit, promising that he would return.

So there in front of that now dull and lifeless building sat the brunet, calmly waiting with his elbows on his knees and his chin in his hands and the bottom of his all black tux collecting dust from the step on which he sat.

To him, it seemed a tad tasteless for Tacconelli to be holding such a lavish affair in the midst of the half ruined city, but he wasn't one to argue with the host. Especially not after seeing that the guests of honor were the Gestapo overseeing the area. When he had entered the party, he'd caught a good sight of the higher ranking officer, James Carmichael. Alongside him, like a pet he kept a tight leash and an ironclad grip, was his subordinate Dimitri Hurst.

The more he thought about it, that made the whole evening worth it. Seeing the way the uniform fit the slender form of the green-eyed man, and the way his dark death's head cap fit over nearly white blond hair. His rounded glasses gave a scholarly look to the man in them and the uniform he wore to inspire nothing but fear did something far different for the brunet looking at it.

Dimitri was a far cry from his taller, broader, and older superior, whose salt and pepper hair and gray eyes gave an impression of pure cold steel. Sure the older man was attractive as well, wearing his years quite fashionably, but the younger man had some sort of appeal that couldn't quite be placed but oozed out of every pore. In addition, the older man had a reputation for his deplorable cruelty. The POWs he'd captured, if they were found after the man was through with them or if they actually lived long enough to be taken to Berlin they were sometimes so mutilated you couldn't guess the person that they once were.

For half a moment he'd even gotten the blond off to himself, hinting at what he was thinking of that uniform...

But all hell had to break loose. And now the scroll Tacconelli was going to present at the party was gone, his brother was gone in search of it as was Hurst separately, and he was sitting alone on those blasted chilly steps listening to thunder in the distance. He'd been waiting long enough for them to have dismantled the catering equipment and remove it from the building. He didn't know what time that made it, but he knew it made it later than he would have liked.

Clouds were looming precariously on the horizon, threatening to swallow it as they approached. Over the peal of distant thunder, though, he heard the click of a heelplate behind him. He didn't even have time to turn his head to glance before he heard the guttural German voice, one he'd not expected to hear back so soon.

"I assumed that you had joined your brother in chasing the thief."

He stared up over his shoulder at the gray clad figure, eyeing him from his jackboots to his death's head cap. He was honestly surprised to hear it again. "He told me to wait, so I'm waiting..." he responded, not deviating from French. "I don't think he's coming back though." He hugged his arms around himself against the chill of the night and looked off at the storm in the distance as it ate up more of the starlit night. /Try hitting on him again, that's when it'll start pouring the rain/, he thought to himself.

"I'm lying. I think he'll come back for me. I just... worry." He lifted up his hand and ran it through his increasingly tossled brown hair.

As lights flashed in the distance (which could either be lightning or something else, though it was hopefully the latter) the blond lifted his gaze, giving the brunet a clearer view of his nicely shaped face from beneath the brim of his cap. The way the dissipating moonlight looked reflecting in those features was almost heavenly, lighting off the visible blond hair and pinpointing green in his eyes. It was a pity that he carried the deplorable stigma that he did. He was so lost in his reverie he almost missed what the Nazi said.

"It looks like rain is headed our way. If he is coming back, I doubt he'd mind if you went somewhere to escape the weather."

"How far do you live?" Westhaven responded sooner than he would have liked. "It looks like it might strike rather quickly..." He paused to try to remember if all the important documents were appropriately hidden. Deciding that he had and it was safe, he proceeded. "Would you like to come back with me? I don't live far."

The soldier gave him a sharp nod. "That would be best. Though I lack proper transport. My commanding officer hired a driver for tonight, and has left with that driver, leaving me stranded." A touch of uncertainty hit Hurst's face.

"You're commanding officer seems like the self-interested type," the supposed Frenchman said, rising to his feet and dusting off his posterior, seeing the expression. "Our home is this way. You'll have to forgive the state of the neighborhood, there was an air-raid yesterday and three of the nice flat buildings were destroyed."

"I am sure that it is much better than the military issued residence than I have." The blond switched to a heavily accented French, a hint of the guttural tone there and very carefully pronounced, watching his words diligently. Westhaven moved to the sidewalk and waited as the blond caught up to him, trying not to notice how the man moved or the idea of what he might look like caught in the rain. He knew the offer was more than dangerous, ludicrous even, but if he couldn't service the elegant looking man as his imagination was toying with he could at least get him out of the rain.

To distract himself from his highly incriminating thoughts, he chose to make idle conversation, attempting to choose his words carefully. "Don't take this incorrectly, please. But I fear when this war is over the entire continent will stink of dead bodies." /Thank god I live on another/. He continued on his way toward the university housing. "I'm not sure why Tacconelli invited us tonight, but I assume it had something to do with reading that scroll. I wish my brother wouldn't do so much to draw attention to himself. He has to be a show off." He idly spoke and looked up at the clouds, trying to not look over at the uniform that was supposed to be imposing but instead was sending his loins coursing with blood.

Hurst kept his attention focused strictly forward, bringing his hands up behind his back, one clasping the other. "The decay of bodies will be the least of their problems in this, and other, countries once the smoke clears." That was a safe statement, he decided, to ally and enemy alike.

Rolling it over in his head, Westhaven slowly nodding in agreement and hesitated in his gait. "Mr. Hurst, would you condemn or scorn a man like me for having strange tastes?" His patent leather shoes shifted nervously on the pavement.

The officer stopped as the other did, turning to face him. He didn't respond immediately, and he appeared to contemplate the question. "It is not my place to pass judgment on something as simple as personal taste, outside of militaristic interest."

"The young singer who was on stage offered me a ride home earlier... I refused her," he explained, and left it at that for a moment. He could actually hear distant thunder now. If he decides to shoot me, people will think that it's the storm. The danger though seemed minuscule in comparison to what his body was pleading of him. Still overwhelmed by the urge to get closer, he let his eyes rest on the officer's face once more and stepped up close to him.

Even in the shadow of the bombed building next to them and the dimming light he could bask in the green of the other's eyes. "She didn't suit my tastes very well." He was tempted to get even closer, but he managed to control his body, centimeters away and near enough so he could feel the other's breath faintly. That was close enough, and too far within the limits of personal space.

Much to his dismay, the only visible reaction to the man's approach was a narrowing of those green eyes. "I advise you step back." Dimitri spoke sharply once more. "Or else your 'strange tastes' earn you a one-way train ticket."

Briefly, the brunet was silent and staring without response, trying to ignore the sullen feeling that overcame him, before he brushed by the officer. "It's this way," he said without turning to check if the other were following. The blond had rejected him, and he quietly resigned himself to his rejection.

He was already to the duplex before he pulled out his key and turned to look to see if Hurst was still there. Though when he did, he was surprised slightly. The Nazi had followed, close behind in fact, and Westhaven opened the front door and held it respectfully for the other. "It's not as warm as it could be, though it will improve when the fire's lit."

He could see rain start to speckle the sidewalk lightly and the thunder had grown louder as the storm bore down overhead. Hopefully he won't put your name on a list in the morning and have you shipped away. Why don't you tell him you're an American too while you're at it. Make yourself that much more attractive. He watched as the man stepped briskly over the threshold and stopped dead a few strides in. Fists clenched at his sides.

Abruptly, Hurst spoke in slightly softer tone than anything he'd said all night. "I wouldn't actually put you on a train. Your...tastes are not as deplorable as I may have implied."

As Westhaven closed the door, he glanced up and his breath coming more quickly than it had on the walk there. Carefully he closed the door and locked it, and licked his dried lips again. He swallowed down the lump of anxiousness forming in his throat. "You scare me," he said honestly.

"If I didn't, then I'm not d--" Dimitri's statement was cut short by the other turning and grabbing his jacket. Risking being stabbed, kicked, punched, or any number of injuries Westhaven tugged him around, pulling him harshly against his body and giving him a strikingly soft kiss, contrasting with his rough grip.

He expected any one of the previous reactions, but not what he got. The disciplined demeanor was broken. Dimitri let out a surprised noise, and he lifted a hand to keep his hat on his head as the movement threatened to cause it to slip off. Rather than resist though, Westhaven felt the other's hands slip up behind his neck, and the officer's head tilted and his lips parted, deepening the kiss.

His chest tightened as he felt the blond's thumb graze over his cheek. His lips pressed as gently as his heart was pounding hard, and with as tightly as he was pulled against him he could almost feel the heart of the other pumping like an echo of his own. He moved his lips against the other's mouth as they returned the motions, starting to whine slightly between each bit of pressure and slick glide. He could feel the other's taste linger against the tip of his sneaking tongue, slipping it against the slightly textured wet surface.

Hands flat, he ran them down his sides and over the back of the blond, absorbing the feel of the uniform. His pelvis moved slightly against the other's, and he ran his inner thigh up Hurst's outer one, lifting his leg, just to give himself a little more contact even through the layers of fabric. Through it, he could feel heat radiating from Hurst, and with the grinding there was a bit of added pressure, a tightening of his uniform pants. One of Dimitri's hands trickled down from his neck, moving slowly down to his shoulder-

With a look of fear, Hurst pushed away from the brunet, the thrill and attraction overpowered and causing the other to shout in surprise. He resumed his strict stance. "I'm afraid we can not continue," he stated, putting his hands behind his back once more.

Westhaven panted as he stared, feeling only the emptiness of what had been there now removed and words not registering for a bit. Slowly they took hold though, as the coldness replaced the warmth where the other's body had been. "Can I then...? Can you just stand there, and I stay here?" He was aching to touch the blond and likewise to be touched, but a well placed fantasy would suffice. If it only meant that he'd stand there and be looked at, allow himself to be the subject of that fantasy, it was enough in the state that he was in.

More shocking than what had happened during the kiss. "While we are both committing treasonous acts," Dimitri spoke in English with a distinct British accent, "then perhaps I may use the language I am most comfortable with?"

Overwhelming shock crossed Westhaven's face. For a fleeting moment he wanted to admit it all. He wanted to break down and speak American English. He wanted to hold him in his arms and whisper sweet nothings in a language that he missed for so long to a man who could understand them. It was a desire he held in check though, and continued in French. "You can speak to me in whatever tongue you desire... well... a lot of them." He slid off his tuxedo coat before leaning back against the entryway wall.

Pulling off his hat for the first time that night, Hurst ran a hand over his hair before returning it to his head. "I shouldn't want to do anymore with you....I should be sending you off somewhere unpleasant..." He let his gaze drop slightly, "...but I do want to do more...with you, that is..."

"I want you to do more to me." 'Bellaguarde' returned. Again it took him a moment to realize what was said, this time from his end. "With me..." he attempted to correct himself, but the words were out there. /My tie! Would he believe it was a just a toy? A naughty thing for a dirty Frenchman to carry around? ...Hardly, I'd bet/. Desire overwhelmed by impending doom, he momentarily considered what would happen to him when the blond made the discovery of the extremely long tie, concealing filament line, or if he'd even let on. "You're beautiful, my worry comes not that you're an officer, but that you're too good for me."

The light cheeks of the officer turned pink at the compliment, and he pulled his had off once more. Though this time he held it in both hands, running his thumbs over the back rim and gazing down at the accessory. "We would both be taking a great risk... And though we've only just met..." he lifted his eyes to look at the other with out lifting his head, "...I feel it's more than worth the risk."

"I take a great risk even being here, so there are far less worthy causes I could be risking my safety with than touching you." He took another step forward, forgetting the tie completely to cup Dimitri's cheeks in his hands, cradling his face. He leaned forward, brushing his lips against the other's once again. Dimitri drew in a shuddering breath around in that smidge of space between them.

"I'd risk anything to stay here..." He closed the remaining space as he captured the man's lips, his fingers working to unfasten his jacket.

Westhaven's stomach fluttered against the blond's touch, and his own fingers trailed down his neck, over the dark collar to his uniform, and worked at the front of that jacket with him. The moan he gave into the kiss was grateful, and once he was close enough again, his hips rocked up against the Nazi's, not caring about his nationality and just focusing on his unconquerable desire to touch him.

The blond wrapped an arm around behind the man to pull him as close as possible before sliding his hands over him. A soft, desperate noise started at the back of his throat. He didn't just want the man, he needed him, and clothing was something of a nuisance now. Blindly, he reached up to the bow at the spy's throat, and began tugging it loose.

Westhaven's mind was too clouded, distracted what his hands were doing to really pay attention to what the blond was doing. Indeed, thinking with entirely the wrong part of his anatomy. He slipped his hands inside his uniform jacket to feel his body through the shirt beneath, his temperature rising by leaps and bounds. His hands sank down, feeling all the delightful little dips of his sides around to his back to find his the soft curves of his ass. Grasping firmly and pressing himself against the blond, the brunet groaned and deepened the kiss further.

It was all returned easily and readily, Hurst leaning into each and every affection lavished upon him. However, when he tried to pull the tie away, there was more resistance than he'd expected. Pulling away from the kiss, though not away from the man's body, he turned his head to see why. Gently pulling on the strip, he quickly discovered what was wrong, as he began to unwind it from around the other's neck.

Westhaven opened his eyes as he trailed kisses beneath the blond's ear, he wondered about the hesitation he was feeling on the other end, especially with his body swimming and head surging the way that it was. However, when he felt the tie being tugged free, his heart sank. He let his roaming hands come to a rest on the other's sides. He's going to kill you for this.... I should have waited in the rain for my brother...

"What is this?" he asked, flatly. The desire that was in the Nazi's face was gone, instead replaced by a steadfast cold look.

Light Blue eyes glanced over at his own garment, then back at the SS officer. "Convenient," he replied simply, breath quickening slightly.

Clenching his fist around the tie, Hurst pressed his lips into a thin, pale line.

"...I know what Carmichael does," Westhaven pleaded, dropping to his knees and clenching his hands in front of him. "If you still have an ounce of pity in you I'd rather you shoot me now with a good memory to go out on and tell them what you found later. Just please... please don't take me back alive."

"I really don't want to do this..." he muttered, expression pained as if the man's words hit him like a knife in his chest. "...But if you know Carmichael so well, then you'll know why I have to..." He was slow and hesitant, fingers trembling slightly as he wrapped them around the pistol at his hip. But once he had a decent grip on it, he calmed a little. Pulling the gun out, he steadily aimed it at the kneeling man.

He'll have to shoot me or knock me out first... "You risk demotion... I'd rather be in the cattle car compared to what that man will do." He fumbled to launch out of his kneeling position, scrambling for his unfortunately locked door. "FUCK!" he screamed in English at the lock, having a brief fight with it as it refused to grand him the freedom he so desperately needed.

"If I don't do this, then I risk falling to the same fate you fear!" His voice trembled as he tightened his grip on the gun. "...I promise..." He said through clenched teeth as he rushed forward. Raising his gun hand behind the man, he swung the butt of the thing down against the back of the brunet's head. "...it will only be temporary..."

The words of the promise lost in his curse, the sharp pain made him see stars and his eyes watered at the ache. Then they rolled upward, dizziness overwhelming him, and his fingers slipped from the lock as he fell back against Dimitri. He only had time to glance up at the Nazi's face for a moment and have it focus. "For a moment it felt real-" he murmured, the room growing darker.

"It was real..." he returned, pressing his lips to the top of the man's head. Squeezing his eyes shut and dropping to his knees with the man in his lap as he lost consciousness, he tried to regain composure of himself. "I'll see that you feel it again."