Inglourious Basterds: "Lying Eyes" - Landa/von Hammersmark
Title: Lying Eyes
Fandom: Inglourious Basterds
Author: lion_heart
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: I make no profit from this, alas! (Stealing Ghani's disclaimer, HAHA!)
Characters/Pairings: Hans Landa/Bridget von Hammersmark
Prompt: Written for Porn Battle XIV - dubcon, suggestion, grin
Warning: Dubcon
Author's Notes: What am I doing? I don't know what I'm doing anymore.
Bridget put on her best smile (her most fake smile, but no one ever seemed to notice) and greeted every, uniformed officer with exuberance and charm. Hiding the extreme loathing she felt was a skill well-honed, befitting an actress, but still she sweated every so often with the knowledge some of it must pass through. Tidbits must be noted by the more perceptive ones.
Like Colonel Landa. He was a perfect example of someone else who hid behind their smiles with practiced ease. She only noticed because it took one to know one. That and his eyes, which never seemed to match the smile entirely. Of course this made her wonder what he might need to conceal. Why should that frighten her? She lied everyday. Then again, the main difference between hers and his was that she hid noble lies, in her opinion. And he hid... God only knew what, which always sent a tremor through her, one she covered by laughing at some ridiculously bad joke. Yet even if all he hid was some ulterior motive, some dark secret, which she didn't doubt they all had in some form, it was better than imagining that he harbored secret knowledge of her. Above all the others, he seemed the type who would know.
So charming him was paramount. She wondered if he was capable of being charmed, and that frightened her further. So much so that she jumped when she heard him call her name. She greeted him in return while forcing the tremble from her voice. She bemoaned the fact that she never got to come to their little gatherings, he joked about how he knew she was busy, and it wasn't as if a war was going on. And she laughed too hard, too loudly.
Talking to him about the weather, as it were, was excruciating. He'd take these odd pauses and seem to bore into her, watching her too closely as she talked, then claiming he didn't mean to stare, but she was just so beautiful. To which she swallowed nervously and acted demure.
"Colonel Landa--"
"Really, must we continue this way?" he asked her. "We're being so friendly. Surely you can call me Hans."
"Hans," she corrected herself with a giggle. "Then I'll be Bridget. That's usually who I am anyway."
She expected him to laugh, but he only nodded with a smile so enigmatic it chilled her. "Usually," he echoed.
"Yes," she shuddered, grinning. "I was... going to get myself another drink. I hate to excuse myself--"
"Then don't," he replied smoothly, reaching for her hand and lifting it. "I happen to have an office here, one set aside should I be needed for official business, and there is a small but well-stocked bar. I've been meaning to have words with you on a subject that would be better suited to privacy. Would you join me, Bridget?"
She had a feeling she was reading between the lines correctly and kept that smile plastered in place even as she paled. "Of course... Hans."
She followed him, led inexorably by his hand around hers. She smiled and nodded as she passed other officers, other women who seemed a lot more at ease with the situation than she was. She caught a couple of lascivious looks. Yes, apparently they'd caught on, as well.
They reached the office, and he closed the door behind them. Locked it, she thought, and she took a deep breath to steady herself. What was the American expression she'd heard? Taking one for the team? Sure. She could do that. It might just convince Hans beyond a shadow of a doubt that she was loyal. That could do nothing but help her. Still, she understood the concept of the colloquialism. The object being sometimes you do things you have to rather than want to.
She moved toward the desk near the far wall, swaying her hips, an easy smile on her lips now. She backed up against its edge and turned that smile on him. "All right then. Private matter? You must know I speak innuendo quite well, Hans. So... don't bother with the drinks."
He had been pouring and tilted his head at her now. "Am I so transparent?"
"Am I wrong?" she returned coolly.
His smile seemed to drop away as he put the glass and bottle aside and moved toward her, slowly, deliberately. "No, you're quite right." When he reached her, he took her slim hips in hand, lifting and sitting her on the edge of the desk. His hands brushed against her thighs, running the hem of her dress up higher, higher, until it teased at her hips, at showing her silk panties.
She closed her eyes and kissed him, anything to not have to look in those eyes and how terrible they were. Terrible in the way they scorched her, searched her, penetrated and spread fear out into her limbs. She gripped him maybe too tightly so that those limbs would be still, parting her legs, wanting to hurry to the finish of it.
"Are you cold?" he asked. "You're shaking." And from anyone else, it might've sounded like concern. From him, it sounded curious, watching the wings being pulled off a fly.
"Believe it or not, Hans," she sighed, "I've never been with an officer." That, at least, was the truth.
He chuckled at her. "Lie back and think of Germany," he offered, his hand skirting up from her hips, over her side and her breast, to her throat. He squeezed lightly, running his fingers up to her jaw, staring.
Then it started, and it was furious and pent-up and shocked her with its suddenness. She was flat on the desk, papers flying, legs in the air. Her dress hiked up and pulled down so that it was around her waist. She could feel where she would bruise from his manhandling her. She absolutely didn't know what to think when he rubbed his fingers into her and didn't stop until she was wet. What kind of power-play was that? One to show he could make her wet? One to simply make things easier on himself? She couldn't think straight at all.
She felt a mess, crying out and then slapping a hand over her mouth to stifle it when he entered her. She didn't want anyone hearing. She didn't care what they assumed, but she didn't want to make it fact. She looked at him, wanting him to look ridiculous, laughable, but he was none of those things. He was an animal, some true form of himself she'd not seen, and he was filling her up in the finest way. It made her turn red. It made her want to cry with shame. She grabbed his jacket and wrestled him, trying to kiss him, trying to put her tongue in his mouth. She hadn't anticipated losing her mind, clawing and wanting like this, responding to his animal instincts with some of her own.
She hitched on a moan, her whole body tightening. Even as wild as she felt, she'd not foreseen he'd do this, that he'd make her cum. And still he was relentless, pounding to reach his own end, overstimulating her until she wanted to scream. Then she felt his weight. If she'd had any power to control her trembling before, which was just barely, she had none now.
"There's a bathroom," she heard him say as he lifted himself from her, pointing at the door. He was disheveled, trying to maintain his dignity. Something about that made her feel halfway normal when she pulled at her dress and forced it back over herself.
"I'll have to... think of Germany more often," she muttered as she stumbled to the bathroom, surprised to hear a soft laugh from him at her back.
She washed, straightened, wiped, doing all those things that don't seem quite as bad when you're with someone who doesn't repulse you. She looked in the mirror and searched her own eyes, finding shame and an almost reluctant glow of pleasure that mixed so well together.
"Come," he called to her. "When you're ready, have that drink with me."
"Yes," she purred at her reflection. "I'll need it."
Fandom: Inglourious Basterds
Author: lion_heart
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: I make no profit from this, alas! (Stealing Ghani's disclaimer, HAHA!)
Characters/Pairings: Hans Landa/Bridget von Hammersmark
Prompt: Written for Porn Battle XIV - dubcon, suggestion, grin
Warning: Dubcon
Author's Notes: What am I doing? I don't know what I'm doing anymore.
Bridget put on her best smile (her most fake smile, but no one ever seemed to notice) and greeted every, uniformed officer with exuberance and charm. Hiding the extreme loathing she felt was a skill well-honed, befitting an actress, but still she sweated every so often with the knowledge some of it must pass through. Tidbits must be noted by the more perceptive ones.
Like Colonel Landa. He was a perfect example of someone else who hid behind their smiles with practiced ease. She only noticed because it took one to know one. That and his eyes, which never seemed to match the smile entirely. Of course this made her wonder what he might need to conceal. Why should that frighten her? She lied everyday. Then again, the main difference between hers and his was that she hid noble lies, in her opinion. And he hid... God only knew what, which always sent a tremor through her, one she covered by laughing at some ridiculously bad joke. Yet even if all he hid was some ulterior motive, some dark secret, which she didn't doubt they all had in some form, it was better than imagining that he harbored secret knowledge of her. Above all the others, he seemed the type who would know.
So charming him was paramount. She wondered if he was capable of being charmed, and that frightened her further. So much so that she jumped when she heard him call her name. She greeted him in return while forcing the tremble from her voice. She bemoaned the fact that she never got to come to their little gatherings, he joked about how he knew she was busy, and it wasn't as if a war was going on. And she laughed too hard, too loudly.
Talking to him about the weather, as it were, was excruciating. He'd take these odd pauses and seem to bore into her, watching her too closely as she talked, then claiming he didn't mean to stare, but she was just so beautiful. To which she swallowed nervously and acted demure.
"Colonel Landa--"
"Really, must we continue this way?" he asked her. "We're being so friendly. Surely you can call me Hans."
"Hans," she corrected herself with a giggle. "Then I'll be Bridget. That's usually who I am anyway."
She expected him to laugh, but he only nodded with a smile so enigmatic it chilled her. "Usually," he echoed.
"Yes," she shuddered, grinning. "I was... going to get myself another drink. I hate to excuse myself--"
"Then don't," he replied smoothly, reaching for her hand and lifting it. "I happen to have an office here, one set aside should I be needed for official business, and there is a small but well-stocked bar. I've been meaning to have words with you on a subject that would be better suited to privacy. Would you join me, Bridget?"
She had a feeling she was reading between the lines correctly and kept that smile plastered in place even as she paled. "Of course... Hans."
She followed him, led inexorably by his hand around hers. She smiled and nodded as she passed other officers, other women who seemed a lot more at ease with the situation than she was. She caught a couple of lascivious looks. Yes, apparently they'd caught on, as well.
They reached the office, and he closed the door behind them. Locked it, she thought, and she took a deep breath to steady herself. What was the American expression she'd heard? Taking one for the team? Sure. She could do that. It might just convince Hans beyond a shadow of a doubt that she was loyal. That could do nothing but help her. Still, she understood the concept of the colloquialism. The object being sometimes you do things you have to rather than want to.
She moved toward the desk near the far wall, swaying her hips, an easy smile on her lips now. She backed up against its edge and turned that smile on him. "All right then. Private matter? You must know I speak innuendo quite well, Hans. So... don't bother with the drinks."
He had been pouring and tilted his head at her now. "Am I so transparent?"
"Am I wrong?" she returned coolly.
His smile seemed to drop away as he put the glass and bottle aside and moved toward her, slowly, deliberately. "No, you're quite right." When he reached her, he took her slim hips in hand, lifting and sitting her on the edge of the desk. His hands brushed against her thighs, running the hem of her dress up higher, higher, until it teased at her hips, at showing her silk panties.
She closed her eyes and kissed him, anything to not have to look in those eyes and how terrible they were. Terrible in the way they scorched her, searched her, penetrated and spread fear out into her limbs. She gripped him maybe too tightly so that those limbs would be still, parting her legs, wanting to hurry to the finish of it.
"Are you cold?" he asked. "You're shaking." And from anyone else, it might've sounded like concern. From him, it sounded curious, watching the wings being pulled off a fly.
"Believe it or not, Hans," she sighed, "I've never been with an officer." That, at least, was the truth.
He chuckled at her. "Lie back and think of Germany," he offered, his hand skirting up from her hips, over her side and her breast, to her throat. He squeezed lightly, running his fingers up to her jaw, staring.
Then it started, and it was furious and pent-up and shocked her with its suddenness. She was flat on the desk, papers flying, legs in the air. Her dress hiked up and pulled down so that it was around her waist. She could feel where she would bruise from his manhandling her. She absolutely didn't know what to think when he rubbed his fingers into her and didn't stop until she was wet. What kind of power-play was that? One to show he could make her wet? One to simply make things easier on himself? She couldn't think straight at all.
She felt a mess, crying out and then slapping a hand over her mouth to stifle it when he entered her. She didn't want anyone hearing. She didn't care what they assumed, but she didn't want to make it fact. She looked at him, wanting him to look ridiculous, laughable, but he was none of those things. He was an animal, some true form of himself she'd not seen, and he was filling her up in the finest way. It made her turn red. It made her want to cry with shame. She grabbed his jacket and wrestled him, trying to kiss him, trying to put her tongue in his mouth. She hadn't anticipated losing her mind, clawing and wanting like this, responding to his animal instincts with some of her own.
She hitched on a moan, her whole body tightening. Even as wild as she felt, she'd not foreseen he'd do this, that he'd make her cum. And still he was relentless, pounding to reach his own end, overstimulating her until she wanted to scream. Then she felt his weight. If she'd had any power to control her trembling before, which was just barely, she had none now.
"There's a bathroom," she heard him say as he lifted himself from her, pointing at the door. He was disheveled, trying to maintain his dignity. Something about that made her feel halfway normal when she pulled at her dress and forced it back over herself.
"I'll have to... think of Germany more often," she muttered as she stumbled to the bathroom, surprised to hear a soft laugh from him at her back.
She washed, straightened, wiped, doing all those things that don't seem quite as bad when you're with someone who doesn't repulse you. She looked in the mirror and searched her own eyes, finding shame and an almost reluctant glow of pleasure that mixed so well together.
"Come," he called to her. "When you're ready, have that drink with me."
"Yes," she purred at her reflection. "I'll need it."