“Dead,” he finally said. “Both of them.”
The lazy circular patterns slowed, the fingers drawing them lightening on John’s skin. “I see.”
“My mother, tuberculosis.” John brought his own hand up and ran it through his hair. Then, absently, he lay it over the top of Hagen’s. The movements stopped, the contact didn’t. “My father, in a trench somewhere in—” His gaze slid toward Hagen. “The last war.”
He looked back at the ceiling. Between his hand and his chest, fingers twitched, and he lifted his hand in case Hagen was trying to free his. Hagen pulled his free, but then put it over the top of John’s, lacing their fingers together.
“And here’s his son,” Hagen whispered, “fighting just like he did.”
John nodded, glad that the touch continued. For all he knew, Hagen’s father and his own had sat in opposite trenches, but Herr Friedrich had come home and fathered a third child before he’d died in peacetime. In a riot? Well, that was a question for another time. He knew that the economic crisis had plunged Germany into despair and violence. It wasn’t always outright war that killed people. Maybe a death in peacetime was more shocking. Who knew.
“I decided to join up to make sure there would be no third war that devours my nephews.” He looked up into Hagen’s eyes, but Hagen just nodded, not scandalized at the idea that Germany needed to be beaten yet again, just differently—more completely—than last time. To keep it from attacking its neighbors again.
“So you’re not married. No children?”
“No, Hagen. I’m not married. I don’t have a girlfriend, either.”
More thoughtful silence.
“What about you?”
Hagen looked surprised. “Me? No. Siegfried had a fiancée, though. Lisa.” His face fell. “She’s close with Mother.”
John exhaled, his chest sinking beneath their loosely joined hands. “She won’t know yet, will she? Your mother or . . . Lisa?”
Hagen was quiet. John ran his thumb along Hagen’s first finger, as if to remind him he was still here.
Finally, Hagen said, “No. No, they won’t know yet.” He closed his eyes, and for a moment, John thought he was drawing away, but it was more of a slow shudder, an inward cringe, before he rested against John again. “For all they know, Siegfried and I are both dead.”
“Or both alive.”
“And when will they know?” Hagen looked at John. Though there was some sharpness in his voice, a thinly veiled accusation, his blue eyes held something else. Desperation of a different variety than it had been, what, ten minutes ago? “How can I let them know that I’m alive and Siegfried is dead if I’m in a POW camp in America?”
John swallowed. “Maybe I . . .” He hesitated. How many protocols would this violate? “I could put a message through. To the Red Cross.”
Hagen searched his eyes silently, maybe for sincerity. “And the message would make it to my mother?”
John nodded. He didn’t know precisely how, but the Red Cross got their messages to their intended recipients. One way or another, the information would reach Hagen’s mother and sister and would-have-been sister-in-law. “It will,” he whispered. “You have my word.”
Hagen rubbed his face against John’s shoulder like a cat. John reached over and pulled him closer. What the hell—he could play pillow for a while. No reason to pretend any distance between them was necessary or felt more natural.
Hagen followed, brushing him with the full length of his body, all angular strength. Lean muscle over a broad frame that might yet fill out more, once he got regular meals and wasn’t scared to death for a while. Once the thrum and manic energy of war purged from him. He ran his fingers along Hagen’s shoulder, quite contented to feel his breath ghost over his chest.
The weight on his shoulder felt right and comfortable, like he’d never expected an enemy to feel right next to him. But then, he’d never particularly had any desire for one of Hitler’s Teutonic beasts to fuck him. Seemed he was lucky that Hagen wasn’t that at all. Right now, at least. And if he could help it, Hagen’s superiors would never get him back under their control.
Hagen relaxed, and John closed his eyes for a few moments, listening to the creaks and groans of the old house and Hagen’s breathing.
Eventually, Hagen pushed up and away. “I’ll fall asleep.”
John reached for his arm, not wanting to break the contact just yet. “So soon?”
“So soon?” Hagen gave a tired smile. “You’ve had more sleep than I have recently.”
I wouldn’t be so sure. “Maybe so. But I can’t imagine when we’ll have an opportunity—” To not be scared of dying? To be in the same room with no one else around? To be in the same room—on the same continent—at all? John swept his tongue across his lower lip. “There’s still time to sleep.”
Hagen sat up against the headboard with a pillow tucked behind his back. Upright, he looked more awake. “For a while. But don’t be insulted if I sleep anyway.”
John laughed and propped himself up on his arm. “I won’t take it personally. I promise.”
Closing his eyes, Hagen laughed softly. His hand slid across the covers and blindly searched before coming to rest on top of John’s arm. He was still for a moment, and silent, and John thought he might have drifted off already, but his thumb traced a deliberate arc back and forth on John’s forearm.
John watched Hagen’s thumb move. Watched the gooseflesh come to life on his own skin even before he felt them. Just a few more hours, and they wouldn’t be able to touch like this again. Probably for the rest of their lives. Their first night like this—as men, without a trace of their adversarial beginnings—would also be their last. And in the morning, this house would be awash with activity, with ears that could pick up the faintest groan or motion that might rouse suspicion. Though exhaustion burned its way into every one of John’s muscles, his heart pounded a distinct now or never, now or never.
He lifted his gaze, and that rhythm in his chest accelerated when he realized Hagen had been watching him. The fingers around his forearm tightened. Hagen’s thumb stopped, but the tip of his tongue traced a nearly identical arc across his lower lip.
John pushed himself up onto his knees. He was over Hagen now, just a few inches above his eye level, and Hagen watched him through dark lashes. When John reached for the headboard beside Hagen’s head, they both drew in deep breaths. Not gasps, just two men determined to catch a second wind while they still could.
“I think there’s something I want to show you,” John said, deliberately using the cheesiest tone in his arsenal. With one of his previous lovers, it might just have been banter, but Hagen’s eyes showed immediate—and entirely unjaded—interest. One of the things that made him so enticing: his responses were unguarded, and often enough surprised John. They could be much stronger, much more shameless than he’d have expected from anybody, even men more experienced than Hagen.
And there was, of course, the thought that Hagen hadn’t done this before. It was damn near impossible to be jaded with a young man whose soul was still in every touch and every kiss. That spark of innocence the Führer hadn’t taken from him. That John himself hadn’t taken from him before things between them had changed.
That had been missing from other, more practiced encounters. Sex was again that shiver of exploration rather than a competent transaction. He hadn’t thought he’d ever miss this, but he had, and Hagen reminded him of it.
“I want to try something if you’ll let me.” John dipped low to plant a kiss on Hagen’s pulse at his throat. “If you’ll trust me.”
Hagen tilted his head to offer him all of that flesh, and John traced the taut muscle with his teeth, immediately sparking interest and the beginnings of arousal. “What?”
John trailed his hand over Hagen’s chest, toward his abdomen. “I’d like to fuck you.”
Like. Nonsense. He’d been imagining what it would feel like since it had seemed like even a remote possibility.
Hagen frowned, as if considering the suggestion. That earnestness alone was terribly endearing, and John smiled. He took his hand and guided it down to cup Hagen’s own cock, and Hagen shivered when John tightened his grasp. “I want to feel you the way you felt me.”
Hagen nodded and kissed him, deep, a little distracted, but who wouldn’t be? That was a big push for anybody. John gave it time, fully enjoying Hagen’s mouth in the meantime, their kiss gathering heat and passion the longer it lasted, as if Hagen was now fully convinced. And his teasing touches coaxed Hagen back to life, which in turn sparked his own arousal. It was much more tender now, careful, which suited John. He knew how much he could take. He wasn’t so sure about Hagen.
Hagen gasped when John gently squeezed his balls between strokes, and then he freed himself with a movement as if he’d lost patience. He turned around, assuming a similar position to John’s just an hour or so ago. And as tempting as it was—and it was quite tempting—John couldn’t help but be touched by this very different kind of courage.
He ran his hand over Hagen’s ass, then, as if to reward him, slid his fingers along his belly, soothing, tender. “Lie back down. On your back. There’s a different way to do this.” Even though the other position gave him all the control, that wasn’t what he needed with a virgin.
Hagen turned around, expression sheepish. “Like . . . before?”
“Wait and see.” John stretched out alongside him, tracing Hagen’s chest and abs with a flat hand, a firm, soothing touch. He nodded past Hagen, toward the nightstand. “Bring that closer.”
Hagen turned, and his abs contracted under John’s hand as he saw the tub of petroleum jelly. He glanced at John again.
John smiled. Leaning in, he whispered, “Trust me,” and kissed Hagen’s mouth before drawing back again.
More tension beneath John’s hand, probably Hagen steeling himself, or maybe just muscles doing what they were designed to as Hagen reached for the tub. He grabbed it, and brought it to the center of the bed where they were nearly tangled in each other.
John took off the lid and set the tub aside, keeping it nearby. As he dipped his fingers into the slick substance, he met Hagen’s eyes. Apprehension had creased his forehead and deepened the grooves between his eyebrows, and his lips were tight, but he didn’t protest. As John slowly—giving the man time to accept the idea—moved his hand from the tub toward Hagen’s lower body, he actually relaxed. Settled. Like they’d passed the brink of inevitability and there was no turning back, so why resist?
With the dry side of his hand, John nudged Hagen’s thigh, and he obediently—eagerly, even—parted his legs. John trailed his unlubricated fingers up Hagen’s inner thigh, and shivered when Hagen bit his lip.
“We’ve not even started yet,” he murmured playfully.
Hagen laughed. Actually laughed, if so softly it was barely audible. “So you say.”
John laughed too, and as he nudged Hagen’s legs farther apart, he leaned in and kissed him. Hagen returned his kiss hungrily, no timidness here, just excited and innocent need.
That excitement didn’t wane as John found Hagen’s anus and pressed gently with a slick fingertip. He did tense, though, so John slowed down, keeping the pressure constant but not increasing it.
“Breathe,” John murmured against Hagen’s lips, and sank into another kiss. Hagen did. His breath fluttered across John’s cheek, warmed his skin, and in seconds, Hagen’s body relaxed.
John pressed harder. A moment of resistance, a full body reaction of simultaneous defense and retreat, but then he relaxed a little. A little more. The finger slid in, and Hagen shuddered, groaning into John’s kiss.
Somewhere overhead, miles in the distance in a world that shouldn’t have existed anymore, a plane rumbled past. And here, in the dim warmth of a French château, while a war raged on outside without regard for day or night, John slipped a finger deeper into Hagen, then added a second, and slowly, tenderly, desecrated one of Himmler’s men, John’s prisoner.
My lover.
Hagen arched into the touch, so knowing, tender, insistent, and John was with him all the time, close, ready to swallow every gasp, kiss him when he needed it, and soon he did, as the unfamiliar feeling of invasion and the burn that accompanied it turned into something entirely different, like there was a secret that John knew in those touches that made him tighten in reflex.
He couldn’t help it and worried a little about John’s fingers inside him, but it felt—maybe not good, just incredibly intense, like there was something closing an electric current in his body that shot upward from his dick to his teeth.
The more he got used to the touch, however, the more it seemed to be possible it would feel good, and he was almost surprised that he was still shuddering so hard. And speaking of hard, surely if it felt too weird, then why was his dick so hard? He kissed John again, taking the challenge from his tongue, and they wrestled like that until Hagen was breathless. He thought he could quite easily deal with this, and looking down at John’s erection, he wondered how it would be different.
He nodded, finally, between kisses. “Do—do what I did.”
John kissed him on the lips again, then his forehead, and changed position, moving between his legs. John put some of the greasy substance on his dick, and then got on top. Hagen automatically closed his legs around him, holding him, even supporting him as John reached down to position himself. His dick felt hot, blunt, larger than the fingers, at the same time softer, gentler, but that was before John began to push forward. Hagen remembered to breathe, but only barely, and how John had pushed back against him—but with his legs up, he had precious little leverage.
John paused, looked into his eyes. Hagen nodded, brushed his hair from his face, then clutched the headboard because John was pushing, and this time, something gave.
He knew the burn. It meant John was getting inside him, and he gritted his teeth and took it. He wanted to know what it felt like, exactly what had driven John insane, and if he could have that, could let John do that to him, because right now it didn’t really feel possible.
But oh. His whole body tensed, nearly spasmed as that electric current closed again, snapped shut, the shock flashing through his body, and he arched. Gott. That was it, wasn’t it?
John moved again.
Yes. No doubt. Exactly that. Hagen stared at John, saw the control on his face, but also a gentleness he’d never expected, concern. And watching him. Watching. Hagen pulled him closer with his legs, reached up to his shoulders, pulled himself up enough to kiss, suck on John’s throat, but lost all focus when John began to fuck him with slow, even strokes that seemed to go deeper and deeper.
His spine liquefied, and he sank to the bed again. “Gott . . . oh, Gott . . .”
John groaned, his whole body shuddering as hard as Hagen’s had as he pushed even deeper inside him. No, not deeper. Faster. Again and again he closed that current, his cock sliding across some perfect spot inside him and turning the darkness behind Hagen’s eyelids silver.
“You . . . you all . . .” John shuddered again. Swore. Withdrew and then plunged in hard enough it should have hurt, but oh Gott, it didn’t. Or maybe it did. But it was spectacular, and when John finally slurred, “Are you all right?” Hagen didn’t hesitate to moan an affirmative.
“Jesus Christ,” John whispered. “The way you look . . . like this . . . oh, God . . .”
Hagen forced his eyes open and looked up at John. The man was flushed again, sweaty, his eyes wide and pupils blown, and even more than Hagen marveled at these alien—and increasingly intoxicating—sensations, he was enthralled by the sight of John.
The man who’d tried to break him, and then seemed to break with him—somehow, somewhere along the way—becoming a friend. A lover. This. Lips forming silent curses. Cords standing out from his neck. His arms and abs shaking with exertion. The smooth, demanding cadence of his thrusts—hips rolling flawlessly like this was the only thing they were ever meant to do?
??coinciding with those electric waves radiating through Hagen’s shaking body. Nothing burned now. Nothing except Hagen’s abdomen as he rocked his hips to try to complement John’s thrusts, and though he had no idea what he was doing, he must have done something right because the electricity intensified, and the curses coming off John’s lips weren’t so silent now.
Hagen reached up and grabbed the back of John’s neck, dragging him down into a kiss in part to silence him, in part because he damn well wanted to. Needed to.
And that electricity was almost constant now. He could barely pull in enough breath, and he didn’t care enough to break the kiss. He was probably going to pass out anyway, so to hell with it, and he dug his fingers into John’s neck and shoulder, and John thrust even harder into him, like he no longer worried he might hurt him, and Hagen realized he’d stopped being afraid that John would hurt him.
John shifted his weight. His rhythm faltered a little, but at this point, it didn’t matter, and he closed his now free hand around Hagen’s dick. That felt like too much. A human body shouldn’t be able to feel so good, contain so much pleasure, and at first Hagen couldn’t decide what felt better, or which way to move. He wordlessly begged for release, but when it came, it was as forceful as striking lightning, so intense it damn near hurt, if pain was anything his body could feel right now. An overwhelming pressure and then release, in waves, spurts, small explosions.
John shifted and thrust harder, faster, but before Hagen managed to divine whether this was still pleasure or already pain, John came inside him, going rigid, every muscle visible under his skin, face first a grimace, then slack with release.
Hagen pulled him closer, rested him against his shoulder, John’s gasping breaths caressing his ear.
John kissed the side of his neck. “Are you all right?”
“Ja.”
Another soft kiss, and then John stared to get up. Hagen lowered his legs, and John slid out of him. He nuzzled Hagen’s head. “Don’t fall asleep.”