Fic - The Baker Street Irregulars - 4 - David Get Your Gun - The History Boys - NC-17
Title: The Baker Street Irregulars
Chapter Title: 4 - David Get Your Gun
Fandom: The History Boys
Characters/Pairing: Posner/Scripps, Lockwood, Akhtar, Rudge
Summary: Historical AU, WWII.
Scripps was in his brown suit that Posner had decided he liked him best in: narrow-legged trousers clinging to his hips and backside, broad shoulders filling out the matching suit jacket, the brim of his hat tilted down over his forehead.
Posner had never wanted anyone so much in his life.
Rating: NC-17
Contains: Violence
Word Count: ~3,600
Notes: My God has this been a long time coming. I'm so sorry for the delay and hope you enjoy this part!
4 - David Get Your Gun
February, 1942
A fortnight passed. With the help of the rest of his small network of agents and a couple of resistance members, Scripps got Posner settled into life in Paris. It was easier than Scripps had been anticipating - remarkable though Posner was, with his charm and copious amounts of talent, he blended in well. He didn’t look out of place at all in the clubs and cafés they frequented in their quest to establish a reputation for ‘Henri’ and get him a couple of bookings. He charmed restaurateurs and publicans in flawless French and Scripps watched, amazed, as he’d laughed and joked with a group of Nazi officers in perfect German. Talking to... to those men was something Scripps didn’t find particularly easy even after months of forced association with them.
Posner’s appartement was in a building in the next street to Scripps’s. The landlord was largely absent, asked no questions and never came knocking as long as the rent was paid on time, which was fine by them.
Dakin and everyone back at HQ had given Scripps a two-week reprieve from transmitting information back to them while he settled Posner. Now, though, the two weeks were up, and Scripps had arranged to meet Posner at his flat before heading to somewhere rural to send their information together. Between them they’d cooked up a story of Scripps being Posner’s part-time sort-of agent, which gave them valid reason for being seen together so frequently.
It was late afternoon and already mostly dark when Scripps knocked on Posner’s door.
‘Monsieur Hertz!’ Scripps exclaimed, squeezing Posner’s upper arms and kissing both of his cheeks in greeting as soon as Posner opened the door.
‘Monsieur LeCroix, c’est un plaisir incroyable de vous voir! Entrée, entrée, s’il vous plaît, souhaitez-vous un verre?’
They kept up the familiar charade while Posner made them both a drink and they loudly discussed their plan to go and see an owner of a pub a little way out of Paris to see whether he’d be interested in having Posner sing there, just in case any of Posner’s fellow tenants were listening in.
Scripps sipped his drink and complimented Posner at volume as he moved closer to the other man. ‘Are you alright?’ he asked in a low murmur, switching to English.
Posner smiled and nodded, resting his thin, elegant hand on Scripps’s forearm. ‘Fine,’ he said. ‘No problems.’
Scripps looked down at Posner’s hand on his arm and licked his lips. ‘Good,’ he said quietly, nodding. ‘Good.’
April, 1942
The weather had been kind to them. It had hardly rained at all the past few weeks; the days were getting longer and the nights warmer. Posner had started singing in pubs and clubs and bars and cafés in March and had been universally well-received.
‘I get a certain amount of twisted pride from knowing Sturmbannführer Schuttmann and his friends enjoy my singing,’ Posner said as he dressed for that evening’s work in a sharp suit.
‘Why’s that? Because we’re going to slip something into his drink tonight?’ Scripps replied with a smirk, walking over to Posner and taking his wrist, fastening his cufflinks for him.
‘Precisely,’ Posner said, looking up at Scripps from underneath his eyelashes. Scripps was in his brown suit that Posner had decided he liked him best in: narrow-legged trousers clinging to his hips and backside, broad shoulders filling out the matching suit jacket, the brim of his hat tilted down over his forehead.
Posner had never wanted anyone so much in his life.
‘You look very handsome,’ he murmured, looking back down at where Scripps’s hands were deftly fastening his cufflinks.
‘Oh?’ Scripps replied, pausing in his task for the briefest moment, and then continuing.
‘Very dashing,’ Posner said with a nod, his cheeks flushing. He lifted his eyes to meet Scripps’s and swallowed when Scripps arched one eyebrow and didn’t say anything. Taking in a nervous breath, Posner forced himself to meet Scripps’s unwavering gaze. They stood, staring at one another, for what must have been near enough a minute. The hammering of Posner’s heart sounded deafening to his own ears.
Scripps’s voice was an octave lower than usual when he finally spoke, leaning close to address Posner in English after clearing his throat.
‘Get your gun. We don’t want to be late.’
***
The night was hot, the air close and cloying as Scripps walked into the bar where Posner would be singing tonight. His performance was to act as a distraction to the Nazi officers who had been invited to hear him sing a string of German favourites while Scripps and the rest of the network carried out their first major act of sabotage as a team.
Walking into the club, Scripps made no sign of having recognised Akhtar wiping down the bar, Rudge posing as a driver just inside the doorway, Lockwood seated at a table at the back of the main room, dressed in civilian clothes, smoking. Posner was warming up with the band onstage, looking a picture in his suit. Scripps’s tongue darted out to wet his lips somewhat unconsciously as he went to sit at the bar, swallowing against the nervous lump sticking in his throat. His whole network was here tonight, if something went wrong, if one single thing went wrong...
He ordered a scotch and water from Akhtar and knocked half of it back with a gasp, sliding his hand into his pocket and wrapping his fingers around the cold, reassuring weight of his gun. He observed the room as Posner began to sing, his voice soaring over the noise in the bar as he launched into Lili Marlene to the obvious approval of the table of Nazi officers that Scripps’s network had been targeting for weeks.
The owner of the bar, a certain Monsieur Broggi, was a member of the Resistance about to go into hiding and was all too happy to offer his establishment up as the place where Scripps’s network would attempt to bring down the ring of Nazi officers who had been terrorising this part of Paris. His only involvement so far had been with Akthar, the young British Indian who’d begun working in Broggi’s bar a month ago under the guise of being an economic migrant from Algeria.
The plan was for Akhtar to slip something into Sturmbannführer Schuttmann’s drink in order to poison him, for M. Broggi to evacuate any civilians during the inevitable fuss (though he was apparently, according to Akhtar, somewhat reluctant about saving des collabos), then for Scripps’s network to pick off the remaining officers, none of whom could be allowed to escape. The network was slightly outnumbered, though they did have the element of surprise and the benefit of not being inebriated, another key element to the plan being to get the officers absolutely roaring drunk.
Akhtar kept the table of officers supplied with more drink than they could possibly need. Posner kept them entertained. Scripps, Lockwood and Rudge kept their eyes trained on them.
A couple of hours after he’d entered the bar, Akhtar rapped twice on the highly-polished wood of the bar to signal to Scripps that he was about to give Schuttmann the poisoned drink. He’d prepared a tray of shots for the officers and walked calmly over to their table, placing each shot glass in front of an officer. Scripps watched as Akhtar smiled and bowed slightly, gracious, before he backed away and returned to the bar, giving M. Broggi the signal to get ready. Scripps caught Lockwood’s eye, then Rudge’s, then Posner’s. He nodded once.
The Nazi officers clinked their glasses together and knocked back their drinks.
Schuttmann was dead before he hit the floor.
‘Schuttmann!’ One of the officers shouted with a laugh, bending down to try and pick his comrade up. Scripps’s rudimentary understanding of German meant he was able to tell that the giggling officers believed that Schuttmann had simply reached his limit and passed out. They all began to fuss over him, attempting to haul him back onto his chair, not yet realising his fate.
Broggi moved from behind the bar, laughing as well as he cried ‘zut alors!’ and successfully - thank goodness, Scripps thought - ushering the half-dozen civilians outside. Scripps watched as Posner trailed off in his singing and told the band to leave, putting on an excellent show of confusion. Broggi got them outside too, despite some of them protesting about their instruments being left inside. He brushed off their concerns and nodded solemnly to Scripps once before pulling the door shut behind himself and locking it.
Shifting his gaze to Lockwood, Scripps nodded.
Lockwood took the first shot and hit one of the younger officers in the chest. Pulling his gun out of his coat, Scripps shut one eye to aim before he squeezed the trigger and shot one in the back; squeezed again, hit him again.
The Nazi officers began to shout and drew their own weapons, their movements drunken and slow. Rudge shot and caught one in the arm - Akhtar shot the same one in the stomach. Shouting, one of them turned and began to stumble towards Rudge. Scripps shot him without hesitation. The sound of pistols cracked through the air; Akhtar ducked behind the bar as someone shot at him; Lockwood killed one he’d already injured with a shot to the head.
Scripps’s stomach seized as he saw the youngest officer run and lunge at Posner, who had his back turned as he aimed to take a shot at the officer who had his sights set on Lockwood.
‘DAVID!’ he roared in his own accent, and Posner whirled round. Scripps jumped and threw himself across several tables, frantic in his need to get to Posner, to distract the lad with the gun aimed at Posner’s chest. ‘Shoot!’ he yelled as he fired at the lad himself, his heart in his mouth, feeling nothing but sheer panic. ‘Fucking shoot!’
Posner pulled the trigger and the boy fell to the floor.
Breathing heavily, Scripps looked at the prone figure of the young officer, lying dead, his blood slowly seeping from his chest and across the stage.
He didn’t expect to be seized from behind and have the warm barrel of a shotgun pressed to his temple. He let out a shuddering breath.
Posner turned a sickly shade of white, his eyes wide and fearful. Scripps tried to turn to look at who was holding him, but had his head smacked roughly away.
‘I’ll shoot,’ the officer said in his native German, his voice high-pitched. Scripps noticed that, although he was being held tightly, the hands holding him were shaking.
Posner barked something back in German in a tone entirely unlike anything Scripps had heard from him so far.
‘I’ll shoot,’ the lad repeated, and Scripps closed his eyes, swallowing, his adam’s apple bobbing furiously. He opened his eyes again to find himself facing Posner’s shotgun. Posner had both of his hands wrapped around the gun, his grip like iron. His eyes and the set of his jaw had taken on a steely quality.
‘Don,’ he murmured, his inflection English this time, not taking his eyes off Scripps’s assailant, ‘keep very, very still.’
Scripps swallowed again and nodded, his head hardly moving.
‘I’ll shoot!’ the boy cried desperately, and at the loud crack of a gun, Scripps thought, for a split second, that he was dead. That was until the young officer’s body fell away from his and Scripps turned, his legs shaking from adrenaline, to see the bullet hole between his eyes.
‘All clear, Sir,’ Lockwood said.
Scripps stared at Posner, his mouth dry, a loud roar in his head and ears. Gasping from relief, he didn’t look away from Posner as he gave orders, struggling to think.
‘Akhtar, disappear back to England. Report to Dakin and Irwin as soon as you’re there. Rudge, Lockwood - no transmitting for a fortnight. I’ll be in touch. Posner--’
Posner licked his lips, still breathing heavily.
‘Well done, Sir,’ Lockwood said with a tact Scripps hadn’t known him to possess, offering Scripps his hand. Scripps finally looked away from Posner and shook with Lockwood, then Rudge, then Akhtar.
‘Congratulations, chaps. All the best. Godspeed.’
Lockwood saluted and left. Rudge and Akhtar both nodded and did the same.
***
The glasses on the shelves of the storeroom rattled with the force of Scripps slamming the door behind Posner and himself. Scripps wrested Posner’s gun from the small of his back, throwing it to the ground before picking Posner up and shoving him against the door, bringing their lips together in a bruising kiss.
Posner’s hands stalled in the air for a moment before he tangled them in Scripps’s hair, kissing back as hard as he could, his legs wrapped tightly around Scripps’s waist. Their heavy breathing sounded loud and desperate in the dark storeroom, the only light coming in from a small square window high on the wall in the corner where a half moon shone in the sky over Paris.
‘I’ve wanted you for so long,’ Scripps moaned, deftly undoing the buttons of Posner’s shirt so that his neck and chest were exposed. ‘I’ve waited so long, David,’ he murmured as he bit and sucked at Posner’s neck with a frantic need.
‘Yes,’ Posner gasped, arching into Scripps as he fumbled with the buttons of his waistcoat, pulling Scripps’s head up for another wanting kiss. ‘Don, please, please...’
Scripps moaned and kept Posner pinned to the door with his hips as he shrugged out of his jacket and removed his tie, nearly tearing the buttons off his shirt in his haste to undo it. He kissed Posner again as he tore his shirt out of his trousers and pressed their bare chests together with a slow, deep groan into Posner’s mouth.
Posner twisted his fingers in Scripps’s hair again as he shoved his hips forward, rubbing his crotch unashamedly against Scripps’s stomach.
‘More,’ he gasped, pushing his tongue inside Scripps’s mouth, biting the other man’s lower lip. ‘More.’
Hissing, Scripps dragged his hand down Posner’s chest, roughly palming Posner’s cock through his trousers. He moved his mouth down Posner’s jaw, biting and sucking down his throat and neck and onto his chest as he flicked the button of Posner’s trousers open and began tugging his cock hard, but torturously slowly, tightening his hand towards the end of each stroke.
‘Don!’ Posner exclaimed breathily, his own hand tightening in Scripps’s hair, ‘Oh, oh, Don!’
Breathing hard, Scripps bit Posner’s neck again, moaning against his skin. He pressed his lips to Posner’s throat, pinning the other man forcefully to the door as he undid his own trousers.
‘The things I’ve dreamt about you,’ Scripps whispered, pulling back to look at Posner’s face, cupping his jaw, kissing him desperately. ‘David, I’ve wanted--’
‘Take it,’ Posner murmured, kissing Scripps’s forehead, his cheeks, his eyelids, stroking his hair back from his face. ‘Take it. I need you. Please.’
Scripps groaned and nodded, pushing two of his fingers into Posner's mouth as he brushed kisses over Posner's neck. Posner hollowed his cheeks and sucked hard on Scripps's fingers, nibbling the pads of them gently with his teeth.
'God, David, when I picked you up, that first night, I can't tell you...' he trailed off and bit Posner's collarbone, slowly drawing his fingers out of Posner's mouth and pressing the heel of his palm to Posner's cock, rubbing his fingertips over Posner's entrance before pushing in with them slowly.
'Ah!' Posner gasped, his teeth gritted, his hands tightening in Scripps's hair as his body tensed at the intrusion. 'Go on, go on, I'm fine,' he whispered at Scripps's concerned look, bending down to bring their lips together again, their tongues tangling obscenely. 'I wanted you too,' he whispered against Scripps's mouth, cradling Scripps's jaw, his prominent chin in his own thin, delicate hands. 'When I got into the car with you, I thought it was just my luck, being sent to join someone so -- ah! -- so handsome and... so untouchable.'
'David,' Scripps moaned, thrusting his fingers in and out steadily, keeping Posner pinned to the door with his hips and his left hand, splayed over Posner's hip, where his bone jutted out through the skin. 'I'm yours,' he breathed, sucking Posner's lower lip into his mouth and curling his fingers just so--
'Don!' Posner cried, arching away from the door, the long, graceful line of his spine bending towards Scripps. 'Please, please, I need...'
Scripps pulled his fingers back and kissed Posner hard, desperately. 'Tell me,' he said. 'Tell me what you need.' He spat into his own palm and moved his hand down to stroke himself, hissing at the sensation.
'You, you, I need you,' Posner whimpered, kissing Scripps again, stroking his cheek and his neck. 'Don, please, I...'
Moaning, Scripps pushed Posner higher up the door and steadied him before bringing their bodies together. He pushed in slowly, almost torturously so, his thighs trembling and his knees going weak at the feeling. Posner whimpered, his fingers clawing at Scripps's shoulders and back as he tried to bear down.
'Shh, shh, I've got you,' Scripps murmured, bringing one hand up to stroke Posner's flushed face, rubbing his thumb against Posner's red, swollen lips. 'I've got you, David.'
Nodding, Posner leant forwards and kissed Scripps's forehead, shuddering.
'Fuck,' Scripps gasped, shoving in the last inch, forcing a low, guttural cry from Posner.
'Don,' Posner moaned, shivering again when Scripps pulled out and pushed back in, slowly, gently. 'Don, I...'
'Come here,' Scripps whispered, resting his thumb against Posner’s cheekbone, rubbing away the blood that had dried there as they kissed again, passionate and slow. Scripps began to establish a steady rhythm, his thrusts slow and deep, causing Posner to gasp into Scripps’s mouth and arch his back, bringing their chests together. 'I bet we look a sight,' Scripps muttered against Posner's lips, grabbing the back of his thighs and hitching him higher up the door.
Hissing at the new angle, Posner nodded his agreement, biting his bottom lip so hard it turned white. 'Good job no-one... oh... good job no-one comes up this way anymore.'
'Very good job,' Scripps agreed, his braces falling down his arms as he pushed in hard, drawing quiet whimpers out of Posner. He clutched hard at Posner's thighs, his arse, his back, wanting to give Posner his hand but reluctant to change their intimate position. The more he thought about it, the more he thought about the fact that tonight had been a success, that they'd managed what they'd set out to do, that they were alive, that he was alive and he and Posner were as close as they could be, two awkward, broken parts of a whole, the more he couldn't quite believe his luck. 'God, David, we...' he thrust up hard with a loud cry as he remembered the way Posner had held the gun and stared down the officer who'd had his arm wrapped round Scripps's neck, how calm Posner had been, how brilliant... 'You saved my life,' he gasped, crushing their lips together, fisting one hand in Posner's hair and wrapping the other awkwardly around Posner's cock, stepping forwards so that there was barely an inch of space between them.
'You saved mine, it only seemed fair,' Posner gasped when Scripps pulled back for air, his hands gripping Scripps's shoulders again. 'God, Don, I...'
'Please,' Scripps groaned, moving quicker, deeper, tightening his hand around Posner's length, dragging Posner down by the back of his neck for another bruising kiss. 'David, please,' he said, his voice cracking as he snapped his hips up over and over again, revelling in the feeling of being this close to someone else, of being this close to Posner, of being hot and human and alive. Sweat trickled down his forehead and the back of his neck, mingling with the blood of others and some of his own that was smeared across his skin. 'Do it, go on, do it for me,' he growled, shoving his tongue into Posner's mouth and flicking his thumb over the head of Posner's cock, his wrist cramping, his thighs burning until he felt Posner shudder and moan, felt warm fluid seep over his fingers and down his hand.
With a shaky breath in and a sound that was almost a wail, Posner tilted his neck back and moved with Scripps, trembling hands bracketing Scripps’s face. ‘Come for me, Don,’ he breathed. ‘Come for me.’
Grabbing Posner’s hips, Scripps began to thrust in almost violently, sinking his teeth into the pale skin of Posner’s neck, mouthing at his collarbone and then biting his shoulder, pushing in once, twice more before coming with a series of muffled groans.
Their breathing sounded obscenely loud in the quiet. Scripps pressed several warm, wet kisses over where he’d been over-enthusiastic with his teeth on Posner’s skin. Posner sighed and closed his eyes, playing with the damp hair at the nape of Scripps’s neck.
‘You... are... amazing,’ Scripps murmured, kissing Posner’s neck, stroking his chest gently as he disengaged their bodies, moving his hands onto Posner’s hips again and holding tightly as Posner slid down the door and tried to stand.
Falling forwards slightly, Posner grabbed hold of Scripps and kissed him tenderly. ‘Come on,’ he said, glancing up at the window and the moon outside. ‘Time to go.’
Chapter Title: 4 - David Get Your Gun
Fandom: The History Boys
Characters/Pairing: Posner/Scripps, Lockwood, Akhtar, Rudge
Summary: Historical AU, WWII.
Scripps was in his brown suit that Posner had decided he liked him best in: narrow-legged trousers clinging to his hips and backside, broad shoulders filling out the matching suit jacket, the brim of his hat tilted down over his forehead.
Posner had never wanted anyone so much in his life.
Rating: NC-17
Contains: Violence
Word Count: ~3,600
Notes: My God has this been a long time coming. I'm so sorry for the delay and hope you enjoy this part!
4 - David Get Your Gun
February, 1942
A fortnight passed. With the help of the rest of his small network of agents and a couple of resistance members, Scripps got Posner settled into life in Paris. It was easier than Scripps had been anticipating - remarkable though Posner was, with his charm and copious amounts of talent, he blended in well. He didn’t look out of place at all in the clubs and cafés they frequented in their quest to establish a reputation for ‘Henri’ and get him a couple of bookings. He charmed restaurateurs and publicans in flawless French and Scripps watched, amazed, as he’d laughed and joked with a group of Nazi officers in perfect German. Talking to... to those men was something Scripps didn’t find particularly easy even after months of forced association with them.
Posner’s appartement was in a building in the next street to Scripps’s. The landlord was largely absent, asked no questions and never came knocking as long as the rent was paid on time, which was fine by them.
Dakin and everyone back at HQ had given Scripps a two-week reprieve from transmitting information back to them while he settled Posner. Now, though, the two weeks were up, and Scripps had arranged to meet Posner at his flat before heading to somewhere rural to send their information together. Between them they’d cooked up a story of Scripps being Posner’s part-time sort-of agent, which gave them valid reason for being seen together so frequently.
It was late afternoon and already mostly dark when Scripps knocked on Posner’s door.
‘Monsieur Hertz!’ Scripps exclaimed, squeezing Posner’s upper arms and kissing both of his cheeks in greeting as soon as Posner opened the door.
‘Monsieur LeCroix, c’est un plaisir incroyable de vous voir! Entrée, entrée, s’il vous plaît, souhaitez-vous un verre?’
They kept up the familiar charade while Posner made them both a drink and they loudly discussed their plan to go and see an owner of a pub a little way out of Paris to see whether he’d be interested in having Posner sing there, just in case any of Posner’s fellow tenants were listening in.
Scripps sipped his drink and complimented Posner at volume as he moved closer to the other man. ‘Are you alright?’ he asked in a low murmur, switching to English.
Posner smiled and nodded, resting his thin, elegant hand on Scripps’s forearm. ‘Fine,’ he said. ‘No problems.’
Scripps looked down at Posner’s hand on his arm and licked his lips. ‘Good,’ he said quietly, nodding. ‘Good.’
April, 1942
The weather had been kind to them. It had hardly rained at all the past few weeks; the days were getting longer and the nights warmer. Posner had started singing in pubs and clubs and bars and cafés in March and had been universally well-received.
‘I get a certain amount of twisted pride from knowing Sturmbannführer Schuttmann and his friends enjoy my singing,’ Posner said as he dressed for that evening’s work in a sharp suit.
‘Why’s that? Because we’re going to slip something into his drink tonight?’ Scripps replied with a smirk, walking over to Posner and taking his wrist, fastening his cufflinks for him.
‘Precisely,’ Posner said, looking up at Scripps from underneath his eyelashes. Scripps was in his brown suit that Posner had decided he liked him best in: narrow-legged trousers clinging to his hips and backside, broad shoulders filling out the matching suit jacket, the brim of his hat tilted down over his forehead.
Posner had never wanted anyone so much in his life.
‘You look very handsome,’ he murmured, looking back down at where Scripps’s hands were deftly fastening his cufflinks.
‘Oh?’ Scripps replied, pausing in his task for the briefest moment, and then continuing.
‘Very dashing,’ Posner said with a nod, his cheeks flushing. He lifted his eyes to meet Scripps’s and swallowed when Scripps arched one eyebrow and didn’t say anything. Taking in a nervous breath, Posner forced himself to meet Scripps’s unwavering gaze. They stood, staring at one another, for what must have been near enough a minute. The hammering of Posner’s heart sounded deafening to his own ears.
Scripps’s voice was an octave lower than usual when he finally spoke, leaning close to address Posner in English after clearing his throat.
‘Get your gun. We don’t want to be late.’
***
The night was hot, the air close and cloying as Scripps walked into the bar where Posner would be singing tonight. His performance was to act as a distraction to the Nazi officers who had been invited to hear him sing a string of German favourites while Scripps and the rest of the network carried out their first major act of sabotage as a team.
Walking into the club, Scripps made no sign of having recognised Akhtar wiping down the bar, Rudge posing as a driver just inside the doorway, Lockwood seated at a table at the back of the main room, dressed in civilian clothes, smoking. Posner was warming up with the band onstage, looking a picture in his suit. Scripps’s tongue darted out to wet his lips somewhat unconsciously as he went to sit at the bar, swallowing against the nervous lump sticking in his throat. His whole network was here tonight, if something went wrong, if one single thing went wrong...
He ordered a scotch and water from Akhtar and knocked half of it back with a gasp, sliding his hand into his pocket and wrapping his fingers around the cold, reassuring weight of his gun. He observed the room as Posner began to sing, his voice soaring over the noise in the bar as he launched into Lili Marlene to the obvious approval of the table of Nazi officers that Scripps’s network had been targeting for weeks.
The owner of the bar, a certain Monsieur Broggi, was a member of the Resistance about to go into hiding and was all too happy to offer his establishment up as the place where Scripps’s network would attempt to bring down the ring of Nazi officers who had been terrorising this part of Paris. His only involvement so far had been with Akthar, the young British Indian who’d begun working in Broggi’s bar a month ago under the guise of being an economic migrant from Algeria.
The plan was for Akhtar to slip something into Sturmbannführer Schuttmann’s drink in order to poison him, for M. Broggi to evacuate any civilians during the inevitable fuss (though he was apparently, according to Akhtar, somewhat reluctant about saving des collabos), then for Scripps’s network to pick off the remaining officers, none of whom could be allowed to escape. The network was slightly outnumbered, though they did have the element of surprise and the benefit of not being inebriated, another key element to the plan being to get the officers absolutely roaring drunk.
Akhtar kept the table of officers supplied with more drink than they could possibly need. Posner kept them entertained. Scripps, Lockwood and Rudge kept their eyes trained on them.
A couple of hours after he’d entered the bar, Akhtar rapped twice on the highly-polished wood of the bar to signal to Scripps that he was about to give Schuttmann the poisoned drink. He’d prepared a tray of shots for the officers and walked calmly over to their table, placing each shot glass in front of an officer. Scripps watched as Akhtar smiled and bowed slightly, gracious, before he backed away and returned to the bar, giving M. Broggi the signal to get ready. Scripps caught Lockwood’s eye, then Rudge’s, then Posner’s. He nodded once.
The Nazi officers clinked their glasses together and knocked back their drinks.
Schuttmann was dead before he hit the floor.
‘Schuttmann!’ One of the officers shouted with a laugh, bending down to try and pick his comrade up. Scripps’s rudimentary understanding of German meant he was able to tell that the giggling officers believed that Schuttmann had simply reached his limit and passed out. They all began to fuss over him, attempting to haul him back onto his chair, not yet realising his fate.
Broggi moved from behind the bar, laughing as well as he cried ‘zut alors!’ and successfully - thank goodness, Scripps thought - ushering the half-dozen civilians outside. Scripps watched as Posner trailed off in his singing and told the band to leave, putting on an excellent show of confusion. Broggi got them outside too, despite some of them protesting about their instruments being left inside. He brushed off their concerns and nodded solemnly to Scripps once before pulling the door shut behind himself and locking it.
Shifting his gaze to Lockwood, Scripps nodded.
Lockwood took the first shot and hit one of the younger officers in the chest. Pulling his gun out of his coat, Scripps shut one eye to aim before he squeezed the trigger and shot one in the back; squeezed again, hit him again.
The Nazi officers began to shout and drew their own weapons, their movements drunken and slow. Rudge shot and caught one in the arm - Akhtar shot the same one in the stomach. Shouting, one of them turned and began to stumble towards Rudge. Scripps shot him without hesitation. The sound of pistols cracked through the air; Akhtar ducked behind the bar as someone shot at him; Lockwood killed one he’d already injured with a shot to the head.
Scripps’s stomach seized as he saw the youngest officer run and lunge at Posner, who had his back turned as he aimed to take a shot at the officer who had his sights set on Lockwood.
‘DAVID!’ he roared in his own accent, and Posner whirled round. Scripps jumped and threw himself across several tables, frantic in his need to get to Posner, to distract the lad with the gun aimed at Posner’s chest. ‘Shoot!’ he yelled as he fired at the lad himself, his heart in his mouth, feeling nothing but sheer panic. ‘Fucking shoot!’
Posner pulled the trigger and the boy fell to the floor.
Breathing heavily, Scripps looked at the prone figure of the young officer, lying dead, his blood slowly seeping from his chest and across the stage.
He didn’t expect to be seized from behind and have the warm barrel of a shotgun pressed to his temple. He let out a shuddering breath.
Posner turned a sickly shade of white, his eyes wide and fearful. Scripps tried to turn to look at who was holding him, but had his head smacked roughly away.
‘I’ll shoot,’ the officer said in his native German, his voice high-pitched. Scripps noticed that, although he was being held tightly, the hands holding him were shaking.
Posner barked something back in German in a tone entirely unlike anything Scripps had heard from him so far.
‘I’ll shoot,’ the lad repeated, and Scripps closed his eyes, swallowing, his adam’s apple bobbing furiously. He opened his eyes again to find himself facing Posner’s shotgun. Posner had both of his hands wrapped around the gun, his grip like iron. His eyes and the set of his jaw had taken on a steely quality.
‘Don,’ he murmured, his inflection English this time, not taking his eyes off Scripps’s assailant, ‘keep very, very still.’
Scripps swallowed again and nodded, his head hardly moving.
‘I’ll shoot!’ the boy cried desperately, and at the loud crack of a gun, Scripps thought, for a split second, that he was dead. That was until the young officer’s body fell away from his and Scripps turned, his legs shaking from adrenaline, to see the bullet hole between his eyes.
‘All clear, Sir,’ Lockwood said.
Scripps stared at Posner, his mouth dry, a loud roar in his head and ears. Gasping from relief, he didn’t look away from Posner as he gave orders, struggling to think.
‘Akhtar, disappear back to England. Report to Dakin and Irwin as soon as you’re there. Rudge, Lockwood - no transmitting for a fortnight. I’ll be in touch. Posner--’
Posner licked his lips, still breathing heavily.
‘Well done, Sir,’ Lockwood said with a tact Scripps hadn’t known him to possess, offering Scripps his hand. Scripps finally looked away from Posner and shook with Lockwood, then Rudge, then Akhtar.
‘Congratulations, chaps. All the best. Godspeed.’
Lockwood saluted and left. Rudge and Akhtar both nodded and did the same.
***
The glasses on the shelves of the storeroom rattled with the force of Scripps slamming the door behind Posner and himself. Scripps wrested Posner’s gun from the small of his back, throwing it to the ground before picking Posner up and shoving him against the door, bringing their lips together in a bruising kiss.
Posner’s hands stalled in the air for a moment before he tangled them in Scripps’s hair, kissing back as hard as he could, his legs wrapped tightly around Scripps’s waist. Their heavy breathing sounded loud and desperate in the dark storeroom, the only light coming in from a small square window high on the wall in the corner where a half moon shone in the sky over Paris.
‘I’ve wanted you for so long,’ Scripps moaned, deftly undoing the buttons of Posner’s shirt so that his neck and chest were exposed. ‘I’ve waited so long, David,’ he murmured as he bit and sucked at Posner’s neck with a frantic need.
‘Yes,’ Posner gasped, arching into Scripps as he fumbled with the buttons of his waistcoat, pulling Scripps’s head up for another wanting kiss. ‘Don, please, please...’
Scripps moaned and kept Posner pinned to the door with his hips as he shrugged out of his jacket and removed his tie, nearly tearing the buttons off his shirt in his haste to undo it. He kissed Posner again as he tore his shirt out of his trousers and pressed their bare chests together with a slow, deep groan into Posner’s mouth.
Posner twisted his fingers in Scripps’s hair again as he shoved his hips forward, rubbing his crotch unashamedly against Scripps’s stomach.
‘More,’ he gasped, pushing his tongue inside Scripps’s mouth, biting the other man’s lower lip. ‘More.’
Hissing, Scripps dragged his hand down Posner’s chest, roughly palming Posner’s cock through his trousers. He moved his mouth down Posner’s jaw, biting and sucking down his throat and neck and onto his chest as he flicked the button of Posner’s trousers open and began tugging his cock hard, but torturously slowly, tightening his hand towards the end of each stroke.
‘Don!’ Posner exclaimed breathily, his own hand tightening in Scripps’s hair, ‘Oh, oh, Don!’
Breathing hard, Scripps bit Posner’s neck again, moaning against his skin. He pressed his lips to Posner’s throat, pinning the other man forcefully to the door as he undid his own trousers.
‘The things I’ve dreamt about you,’ Scripps whispered, pulling back to look at Posner’s face, cupping his jaw, kissing him desperately. ‘David, I’ve wanted--’
‘Take it,’ Posner murmured, kissing Scripps’s forehead, his cheeks, his eyelids, stroking his hair back from his face. ‘Take it. I need you. Please.’
Scripps groaned and nodded, pushing two of his fingers into Posner's mouth as he brushed kisses over Posner's neck. Posner hollowed his cheeks and sucked hard on Scripps's fingers, nibbling the pads of them gently with his teeth.
'God, David, when I picked you up, that first night, I can't tell you...' he trailed off and bit Posner's collarbone, slowly drawing his fingers out of Posner's mouth and pressing the heel of his palm to Posner's cock, rubbing his fingertips over Posner's entrance before pushing in with them slowly.
'Ah!' Posner gasped, his teeth gritted, his hands tightening in Scripps's hair as his body tensed at the intrusion. 'Go on, go on, I'm fine,' he whispered at Scripps's concerned look, bending down to bring their lips together again, their tongues tangling obscenely. 'I wanted you too,' he whispered against Scripps's mouth, cradling Scripps's jaw, his prominent chin in his own thin, delicate hands. 'When I got into the car with you, I thought it was just my luck, being sent to join someone so -- ah! -- so handsome and... so untouchable.'
'David,' Scripps moaned, thrusting his fingers in and out steadily, keeping Posner pinned to the door with his hips and his left hand, splayed over Posner's hip, where his bone jutted out through the skin. 'I'm yours,' he breathed, sucking Posner's lower lip into his mouth and curling his fingers just so--
'Don!' Posner cried, arching away from the door, the long, graceful line of his spine bending towards Scripps. 'Please, please, I need...'
Scripps pulled his fingers back and kissed Posner hard, desperately. 'Tell me,' he said. 'Tell me what you need.' He spat into his own palm and moved his hand down to stroke himself, hissing at the sensation.
'You, you, I need you,' Posner whimpered, kissing Scripps again, stroking his cheek and his neck. 'Don, please, I...'
Moaning, Scripps pushed Posner higher up the door and steadied him before bringing their bodies together. He pushed in slowly, almost torturously so, his thighs trembling and his knees going weak at the feeling. Posner whimpered, his fingers clawing at Scripps's shoulders and back as he tried to bear down.
'Shh, shh, I've got you,' Scripps murmured, bringing one hand up to stroke Posner's flushed face, rubbing his thumb against Posner's red, swollen lips. 'I've got you, David.'
Nodding, Posner leant forwards and kissed Scripps's forehead, shuddering.
'Fuck,' Scripps gasped, shoving in the last inch, forcing a low, guttural cry from Posner.
'Don,' Posner moaned, shivering again when Scripps pulled out and pushed back in, slowly, gently. 'Don, I...'
'Come here,' Scripps whispered, resting his thumb against Posner’s cheekbone, rubbing away the blood that had dried there as they kissed again, passionate and slow. Scripps began to establish a steady rhythm, his thrusts slow and deep, causing Posner to gasp into Scripps’s mouth and arch his back, bringing their chests together. 'I bet we look a sight,' Scripps muttered against Posner's lips, grabbing the back of his thighs and hitching him higher up the door.
Hissing at the new angle, Posner nodded his agreement, biting his bottom lip so hard it turned white. 'Good job no-one... oh... good job no-one comes up this way anymore.'
'Very good job,' Scripps agreed, his braces falling down his arms as he pushed in hard, drawing quiet whimpers out of Posner. He clutched hard at Posner's thighs, his arse, his back, wanting to give Posner his hand but reluctant to change their intimate position. The more he thought about it, the more he thought about the fact that tonight had been a success, that they'd managed what they'd set out to do, that they were alive, that he was alive and he and Posner were as close as they could be, two awkward, broken parts of a whole, the more he couldn't quite believe his luck. 'God, David, we...' he thrust up hard with a loud cry as he remembered the way Posner had held the gun and stared down the officer who'd had his arm wrapped round Scripps's neck, how calm Posner had been, how brilliant... 'You saved my life,' he gasped, crushing their lips together, fisting one hand in Posner's hair and wrapping the other awkwardly around Posner's cock, stepping forwards so that there was barely an inch of space between them.
'You saved mine, it only seemed fair,' Posner gasped when Scripps pulled back for air, his hands gripping Scripps's shoulders again. 'God, Don, I...'
'Please,' Scripps groaned, moving quicker, deeper, tightening his hand around Posner's length, dragging Posner down by the back of his neck for another bruising kiss. 'David, please,' he said, his voice cracking as he snapped his hips up over and over again, revelling in the feeling of being this close to someone else, of being this close to Posner, of being hot and human and alive. Sweat trickled down his forehead and the back of his neck, mingling with the blood of others and some of his own that was smeared across his skin. 'Do it, go on, do it for me,' he growled, shoving his tongue into Posner's mouth and flicking his thumb over the head of Posner's cock, his wrist cramping, his thighs burning until he felt Posner shudder and moan, felt warm fluid seep over his fingers and down his hand.
With a shaky breath in and a sound that was almost a wail, Posner tilted his neck back and moved with Scripps, trembling hands bracketing Scripps’s face. ‘Come for me, Don,’ he breathed. ‘Come for me.’
Grabbing Posner’s hips, Scripps began to thrust in almost violently, sinking his teeth into the pale skin of Posner’s neck, mouthing at his collarbone and then biting his shoulder, pushing in once, twice more before coming with a series of muffled groans.
Their breathing sounded obscenely loud in the quiet. Scripps pressed several warm, wet kisses over where he’d been over-enthusiastic with his teeth on Posner’s skin. Posner sighed and closed his eyes, playing with the damp hair at the nape of Scripps’s neck.
‘You... are... amazing,’ Scripps murmured, kissing Posner’s neck, stroking his chest gently as he disengaged their bodies, moving his hands onto Posner’s hips again and holding tightly as Posner slid down the door and tried to stand.
Falling forwards slightly, Posner grabbed hold of Scripps and kissed him tenderly. ‘Come on,’ he said, glancing up at the window and the moon outside. ‘Time to go.’