The Prizes - Three Landa/Hellstrom Haikus and a Wicki/Von Hammersmark Fanfic
Over a week ago I had a contest asking people if they could guess what I look like and offering bonus points to anyone who could also guess what my son looks like.
Primus Sile won the grand prize by coming closest to what I look like, and her prize is an IB fanfic with the pairing of her choice: Wilhelm Wicki/Bridget von Hammersmark. The title is A Kiss Before Dying.
Miss Talitha won the bonus points for guessing exactly what my son Alexander looks like. Her prize is three erotic haikus with the IB pairing of her choice. She chose Hans Landa/Dieter Hellstrom. I’ll start with the haikus first.
Three Erotic Haikus by a Lonely Hans Landa
For Miss Talitha - Bonus Points Award Winner
Pairing: Landa/Hellstrom
Rating: PG
The premise: Dieter has been sent to Lyons for a fortnight on a special case. Hans misses him. About halfway through the fortnight he’s in a fit of lonely, horny, drunken angst and decides to compose a few haikus. What follows are the results; I’m afraid Landa isn’t much of a poet.
Smooth As Velvet
Skin smooth as velvet
Yes, my hands do tremble
With every caress.
Without You
A night without you
Is far too unbearable
Your scent stays with me.
Your Sweet Taste
Let your sweet taste last
In my mouth and on my tongue
Always, forever.
A Kiss Before Dying
Fanfic for Primus Sile - Grand Prize Winner
Pairing: Wilhelm Wicki/Bridget von Hammersmark
Rating: M
This is a sequel of sorts to my one-off NC-17 slash fic entitled I Only Have Eyes for You. After enjoying a shagfest with and subsequently killing Hellstrom in the private bed-sit in the back of La Lousianne, Hicox palms several hundred francs in Eric’s hand with a note and a wink to keep the situation under wraps and get rid of the body after closing. Then he, Wicki, Stiglitz and Bridget depart the tavern and head back to the Basterds headquarters. The story picks up from there.
Please note: the term Feldwebel has been a formal German military rank since at least the 18th century, with its usage dating back to the Middle Ages. It is the equivalent of the rank of a Sergeant OR-6 in the NATO rank comparison chart, which would be a British Army Sergeant or a US Army or Marine Corps Staff Sergeant.
I was truly delighted with Primus’ choice of a pairing. We rarely see any fics about Wicki aside from the standard slash ones, and as a Jewish refugee of Austria I believe he has the potential to be a very interesting character indeed. His character is yet another reason I’d like to see a prequel to Inglourious Basterds in which more of the 500-page original screenplay is incorporated. For the time being I’ve done my own take on Wicki, and I must say I’m very fond of this story. It quickly became one of my favorites as I was writing it. I hope you enjoy it; please be sure to leave a review or comment. I love feedback.
When Wilhelm Wicki and his mother and sister fled Salzburg nearly six years ago, the last thing he’d ever expected was to find himself face to face with the German film star Bridget von Hammersmark.
Well, not quite face-to-face. Indeed, not face to face at all. Wicki was in fact facing the wall of the small room in which Fraulein von Hammersmark was being held, and the actress herself was behind him. She’d just emerged from the bathroom in a cloud of steam, dressed in a nightgown and wrapped in a plush robe.
“You may turn around, Feldwebel,” she announced with a sigh.
Wicki turned around. He supposed it was a bit absurd, his being sent in as her sentry, especially since she was on their side, but “I’m a slave to appearances,” Lt. Raine had declared, “and I’d just as soon keep this Froh-lein under guard.”
“Is that absolutely necessary?” Hicox had protested.
“Well…lemme see. Yeah. I don’t want her outta our sight ‘til she heads over to the premiere tomorrow.”
“I must admit, Fraulein,” Hicox then said, “that it does look rather odd that your little ‘rendezvous’ with us was planned to take place in a basement-”
“-that just happened to be filled to the rafters with the enemy,” Aldo interrupted. “If Hicox here hadn’t dispatched that Gestapo officer in the back room, who knows what would’ve happened? We might’ve lost all of you. Then what would we have done?”
Raine leaned in with these last words, his face threateningly close to Bridget’s.
“So…” he drawled, “we’re keeping this little lady right here with us until the time comes.”
And that had been that. Since Stiglitz’s reputation had more than preceded him, it was decided that Wicki would guard her.
So here he was, in a small bedroom with one of Germany’s most famous actresses, a woman he’d seen on screen at the very beginning of her career, long before he and his family had fled Austria.
A woman for whom he’d developed quite a crush in those innocent days of his youth. And now here she was, in the very same room with him. This was, without question, one of the more intriguing of his wartime experiences-as well as one of the most pleasant-because the woman he’d worshipped from afar when he was just a boy and she little more than a girl had, of course, grown and matured, just as he had.
“When I first saw you onscreen I had a feeling that you’d become a big star,” he told her.
“Really," Bridget replied, “and why did you think so?”
“Because I looked around the cinema and saw that every man and every boy couldn’t take his eyes off you,” he grinned.
“How sweet of you to say so.”
“Only because it’s true. Of course I wasn’t able to see many more of your films because we had to leave not long after.”
The look she gave Wicki was filled with sympathy and compassion, but not with pity-he liked that. He’d experienced enough pity from the moment he’d arrived in America to last him a veritable lifetime. It was one of the reasons he’d joined the Basterds in the first place: to demonstrate to all of them that he didn’t need-much less want-their pity. He wasn’t the first Jew in history to be displaced, after all.
“Feldwebel-”
“-Wilhelm, please. Or Willi, if you prefer.”
Bridget returned his smile. He was undeniably attractive, this young Jewish man with the craggy, masculine face and the lovely deep voice-it was both melodious and silken, as smooth and plush as velvet. Had things been different, he might have become an actor himself with that marvelous voice, and she most likely would have played opposite him. And he probably would be as big a star-perhaps bigger-than she was now.
“You have the voice of an actor,” she told him. “Did you ever consider it as a career?”
Wicki smiled. “I’ve had many people ask me that,” he replied. “I’m afraid I didn’t have much of an opportunity to even think about a career in those days. None of us had any idea where our lives were going. All we knew was that we had to get out as quickly as possible.”
Bridget’s smile faded, and she felt ashamed. She’d had it so easy, after all, compared to this young man-who’d committed no offense, indeed done nothing at all to warrant any kind of hardship-and yet had it forced upon him and his family.
“Your life’s been changed more than anyone’s in this war,” she said, her voice and her eyes filled with sympathy.
Wicki chuckled at the irony of her response. “No more and no less than any Jew born in Austria and Germany over the last 80 years. And I’m one of the lucky ones,” he went on, “I got out, after all. Most people didn’t-indeed, most people couldn’t.”
“I know,” she said softly.
“My aunt-my mother’s sister-she and her husband and their three children-last we heard they were being sent to a camp in Czechoslovakia called Theriesientadt. We haven’t heard anything since, except-well, rumors.
“When that film was released in America,” he said, “the one that showed Theriesientadt as a special ‘city’ Hitler had built for the Jews, we went to see it, hoping to catch a glimpse of them. But we never saw them in it.
“We knew something was very wrong because we hadn’t heard anything,” he went on, “but it was only after seeing the film that Mutter began to really worry about them.”
“Why?”
Wicki looked Bridget straight in the eye before answering her, his handsome face now clouded and somber.
“If that city was so normal, normal to the point of being almost paradisiacal the way they portrayed it, we would have received mail from them, yes? But we didn’t. That told us a great deal. That and the rumours spreading about deportations to the east."
Again, Bridget looked ashamed.
“Vater always knew, or rather, he expected it,” Wicki continued. “Months beforehand he had sworn me to secrecy about the location of some money he’d been saving ever since the Nazis came to power. He told me that should anything happen to him, I would be responsible for ensuring that my mother, my sister and I left the country as quickly as possible.”
“And that’s how you were able to get out in time.”
“Exactly. And he must have suspected that the Gestapo would pick him up sooner rather than later, because when I opened the hiding place it was filled with American currency, and included the address of the local travel agency and the name of our contact there. So when he was picked up, we left the following day. We’d been packed for weeks in advance with what little we could take.”
They were quiet for a few minutes when Wicki had finished. He didn’t like long silences. They made him think about all that had happened and all that might happen. So he looked up at her again with a sly grin.
“I remember the day I saw your very first film,” he said.
“Herr Doktor?”
“Yes.”
“I was a teenager then…” she broke off suddenly, and looked away, a distant smile on her face.
“And so was I. I was quite taken with you. Smitten, in fact.”
“Smitten, eh?” Bridget was delighted; she understood this kind of conversation; she was used to it; she was good at it. And it came as a great relief after their previous discussion. She began to relax.
“Yes. I thought you were the most beautiful girl I’d ever seen…”
Bridget quirked an eyebrow. “Were?”
“Yes, were. Now you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”
Bridget smiled. “What an actor you would have been.”
“Until they shipped me to Dachau, anyway.”
Bridget’s smile vanished.
“Tell me,” Wicki went on, “would you have kissed this mouth onscreen? This Jew’s mouth? Would you have been able to bring yourself to do so?”
She reached out then, touched his mouth lightly with three fingers.
“Yes,” Bridget whispered. “Without hesitation.”
Wicki reached up, took hold of her hand, brought it against his mouth and kissed it, lightly at first, and then again, and again; he never took his eyes from hers as he did so.
It went quickly but seemed so much longer to them both. He lay her back against the small bed, lifted her legs over his shoulders, pulled up her nightgown and undid his trousers. She let out a small cry at his first thrust.
Her flesh was so warm, so inviting. He half-groaned, half-grunted with each thrust, feeding off the gasping moans that fell from those beautiful lips of hers. He pulled her legs down and leaned over to thrust his tongue into her mouth. She wrapped her legs around his waist and pulled him in deeper.
It was frantic and breathless and immensely, immensely pleasurable, and when Wicki felt her grip him as she came he fought hard to stifle his groan against her mouth when he followed her over the edge, toppling into his own orgasm; but it was so fiercely wild and wonderful that he didn’t succeed, he couldn’t succeed.
He stayed on her and inside her afterwards, kissing her gently, almost tenderly, touching her tongue with his, enjoying the feel and taste of her mouth. He never left her body and when Bridget felt him harden again within her, she lifted her hips to take him deeper and wrapped her arms around him, and it was just as delirious and dizzying as before, only this time they clung to each other until they were both engulfed in waves of ecstasy.
* * * * * * *
They didn’t speak much the next morning, only smiled at each other. No one noticed the new intimacy in those smiles. Operation Kino, after all, was scheduled to take place that very night. There was no time to notice the sad glances that two of their cast of characters exchanged between them.
When they arrived at the theater that evening-Wicki, Hicox and Bridget-Utivich opened the car door like a dutiful chauffer. Archie exited first, then turned to reach a hand out to Bridget. Before taking that hand Bridget turned to look at Wicki, and their eyes locked. Each gave the other a final, bittersweet smile. Then Bridget turned back and stepped out of the car, and Wicki followed her.
All three would be dead before the night was out.
FIN
Primus Sile won the grand prize by coming closest to what I look like, and her prize is an IB fanfic with the pairing of her choice: Wilhelm Wicki/Bridget von Hammersmark. The title is A Kiss Before Dying.
Miss Talitha won the bonus points for guessing exactly what my son Alexander looks like. Her prize is three erotic haikus with the IB pairing of her choice. She chose Hans Landa/Dieter Hellstrom. I’ll start with the haikus first.
Three Erotic Haikus by a Lonely Hans Landa
For Miss Talitha - Bonus Points Award Winner
Pairing: Landa/Hellstrom
Rating: PG
The premise: Dieter has been sent to Lyons for a fortnight on a special case. Hans misses him. About halfway through the fortnight he’s in a fit of lonely, horny, drunken angst and decides to compose a few haikus. What follows are the results; I’m afraid Landa isn’t much of a poet.
Smooth As Velvet
Skin smooth as velvet
Yes, my hands do tremble
With every caress.
Without You
A night without you
Is far too unbearable
Your scent stays with me.
Your Sweet Taste
Let your sweet taste last
In my mouth and on my tongue
Always, forever.
A Kiss Before Dying
Fanfic for Primus Sile - Grand Prize Winner
Pairing: Wilhelm Wicki/Bridget von Hammersmark
Rating: M
This is a sequel of sorts to my one-off NC-17 slash fic entitled I Only Have Eyes for You. After enjoying a shagfest with and subsequently killing Hellstrom in the private bed-sit in the back of La Lousianne, Hicox palms several hundred francs in Eric’s hand with a note and a wink to keep the situation under wraps and get rid of the body after closing. Then he, Wicki, Stiglitz and Bridget depart the tavern and head back to the Basterds headquarters. The story picks up from there.
Please note: the term Feldwebel has been a formal German military rank since at least the 18th century, with its usage dating back to the Middle Ages. It is the equivalent of the rank of a Sergeant OR-6 in the NATO rank comparison chart, which would be a British Army Sergeant or a US Army or Marine Corps Staff Sergeant.
I was truly delighted with Primus’ choice of a pairing. We rarely see any fics about Wicki aside from the standard slash ones, and as a Jewish refugee of Austria I believe he has the potential to be a very interesting character indeed. His character is yet another reason I’d like to see a prequel to Inglourious Basterds in which more of the 500-page original screenplay is incorporated. For the time being I’ve done my own take on Wicki, and I must say I’m very fond of this story. It quickly became one of my favorites as I was writing it. I hope you enjoy it; please be sure to leave a review or comment. I love feedback.
When Wilhelm Wicki and his mother and sister fled Salzburg nearly six years ago, the last thing he’d ever expected was to find himself face to face with the German film star Bridget von Hammersmark.
Well, not quite face-to-face. Indeed, not face to face at all. Wicki was in fact facing the wall of the small room in which Fraulein von Hammersmark was being held, and the actress herself was behind him. She’d just emerged from the bathroom in a cloud of steam, dressed in a nightgown and wrapped in a plush robe.
“You may turn around, Feldwebel,” she announced with a sigh.
Wicki turned around. He supposed it was a bit absurd, his being sent in as her sentry, especially since she was on their side, but “I’m a slave to appearances,” Lt. Raine had declared, “and I’d just as soon keep this Froh-lein under guard.”
“Is that absolutely necessary?” Hicox had protested.
“Well…lemme see. Yeah. I don’t want her outta our sight ‘til she heads over to the premiere tomorrow.”
“I must admit, Fraulein,” Hicox then said, “that it does look rather odd that your little ‘rendezvous’ with us was planned to take place in a basement-”
“-that just happened to be filled to the rafters with the enemy,” Aldo interrupted. “If Hicox here hadn’t dispatched that Gestapo officer in the back room, who knows what would’ve happened? We might’ve lost all of you. Then what would we have done?”
Raine leaned in with these last words, his face threateningly close to Bridget’s.
“So…” he drawled, “we’re keeping this little lady right here with us until the time comes.”
And that had been that. Since Stiglitz’s reputation had more than preceded him, it was decided that Wicki would guard her.
So here he was, in a small bedroom with one of Germany’s most famous actresses, a woman he’d seen on screen at the very beginning of her career, long before he and his family had fled Austria.
A woman for whom he’d developed quite a crush in those innocent days of his youth. And now here she was, in the very same room with him. This was, without question, one of the more intriguing of his wartime experiences-as well as one of the most pleasant-because the woman he’d worshipped from afar when he was just a boy and she little more than a girl had, of course, grown and matured, just as he had.
“When I first saw you onscreen I had a feeling that you’d become a big star,” he told her.
“Really," Bridget replied, “and why did you think so?”
“Because I looked around the cinema and saw that every man and every boy couldn’t take his eyes off you,” he grinned.
“How sweet of you to say so.”
“Only because it’s true. Of course I wasn’t able to see many more of your films because we had to leave not long after.”
The look she gave Wicki was filled with sympathy and compassion, but not with pity-he liked that. He’d experienced enough pity from the moment he’d arrived in America to last him a veritable lifetime. It was one of the reasons he’d joined the Basterds in the first place: to demonstrate to all of them that he didn’t need-much less want-their pity. He wasn’t the first Jew in history to be displaced, after all.
“Feldwebel-”
“-Wilhelm, please. Or Willi, if you prefer.”
Bridget returned his smile. He was undeniably attractive, this young Jewish man with the craggy, masculine face and the lovely deep voice-it was both melodious and silken, as smooth and plush as velvet. Had things been different, he might have become an actor himself with that marvelous voice, and she most likely would have played opposite him. And he probably would be as big a star-perhaps bigger-than she was now.
“You have the voice of an actor,” she told him. “Did you ever consider it as a career?”
Wicki smiled. “I’ve had many people ask me that,” he replied. “I’m afraid I didn’t have much of an opportunity to even think about a career in those days. None of us had any idea where our lives were going. All we knew was that we had to get out as quickly as possible.”
Bridget’s smile faded, and she felt ashamed. She’d had it so easy, after all, compared to this young man-who’d committed no offense, indeed done nothing at all to warrant any kind of hardship-and yet had it forced upon him and his family.
“Your life’s been changed more than anyone’s in this war,” she said, her voice and her eyes filled with sympathy.
Wicki chuckled at the irony of her response. “No more and no less than any Jew born in Austria and Germany over the last 80 years. And I’m one of the lucky ones,” he went on, “I got out, after all. Most people didn’t-indeed, most people couldn’t.”
“I know,” she said softly.
“My aunt-my mother’s sister-she and her husband and their three children-last we heard they were being sent to a camp in Czechoslovakia called Theriesientadt. We haven’t heard anything since, except-well, rumors.
“When that film was released in America,” he said, “the one that showed Theriesientadt as a special ‘city’ Hitler had built for the Jews, we went to see it, hoping to catch a glimpse of them. But we never saw them in it.
“We knew something was very wrong because we hadn’t heard anything,” he went on, “but it was only after seeing the film that Mutter began to really worry about them.”
“Why?”
Wicki looked Bridget straight in the eye before answering her, his handsome face now clouded and somber.
“If that city was so normal, normal to the point of being almost paradisiacal the way they portrayed it, we would have received mail from them, yes? But we didn’t. That told us a great deal. That and the rumours spreading about deportations to the east."
Again, Bridget looked ashamed.
“Vater always knew, or rather, he expected it,” Wicki continued. “Months beforehand he had sworn me to secrecy about the location of some money he’d been saving ever since the Nazis came to power. He told me that should anything happen to him, I would be responsible for ensuring that my mother, my sister and I left the country as quickly as possible.”
“And that’s how you were able to get out in time.”
“Exactly. And he must have suspected that the Gestapo would pick him up sooner rather than later, because when I opened the hiding place it was filled with American currency, and included the address of the local travel agency and the name of our contact there. So when he was picked up, we left the following day. We’d been packed for weeks in advance with what little we could take.”
They were quiet for a few minutes when Wicki had finished. He didn’t like long silences. They made him think about all that had happened and all that might happen. So he looked up at her again with a sly grin.
“I remember the day I saw your very first film,” he said.
“Herr Doktor?”
“Yes.”
“I was a teenager then…” she broke off suddenly, and looked away, a distant smile on her face.
“And so was I. I was quite taken with you. Smitten, in fact.”
“Smitten, eh?” Bridget was delighted; she understood this kind of conversation; she was used to it; she was good at it. And it came as a great relief after their previous discussion. She began to relax.
“Yes. I thought you were the most beautiful girl I’d ever seen…”
Bridget quirked an eyebrow. “Were?”
“Yes, were. Now you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”
Bridget smiled. “What an actor you would have been.”
“Until they shipped me to Dachau, anyway.”
Bridget’s smile vanished.
“Tell me,” Wicki went on, “would you have kissed this mouth onscreen? This Jew’s mouth? Would you have been able to bring yourself to do so?”
She reached out then, touched his mouth lightly with three fingers.
“Yes,” Bridget whispered. “Without hesitation.”
Wicki reached up, took hold of her hand, brought it against his mouth and kissed it, lightly at first, and then again, and again; he never took his eyes from hers as he did so.
It went quickly but seemed so much longer to them both. He lay her back against the small bed, lifted her legs over his shoulders, pulled up her nightgown and undid his trousers. She let out a small cry at his first thrust.
Her flesh was so warm, so inviting. He half-groaned, half-grunted with each thrust, feeding off the gasping moans that fell from those beautiful lips of hers. He pulled her legs down and leaned over to thrust his tongue into her mouth. She wrapped her legs around his waist and pulled him in deeper.
It was frantic and breathless and immensely, immensely pleasurable, and when Wicki felt her grip him as she came he fought hard to stifle his groan against her mouth when he followed her over the edge, toppling into his own orgasm; but it was so fiercely wild and wonderful that he didn’t succeed, he couldn’t succeed.
He stayed on her and inside her afterwards, kissing her gently, almost tenderly, touching her tongue with his, enjoying the feel and taste of her mouth. He never left her body and when Bridget felt him harden again within her, she lifted her hips to take him deeper and wrapped her arms around him, and it was just as delirious and dizzying as before, only this time they clung to each other until they were both engulfed in waves of ecstasy.
* * * * * * *
They didn’t speak much the next morning, only smiled at each other. No one noticed the new intimacy in those smiles. Operation Kino, after all, was scheduled to take place that very night. There was no time to notice the sad glances that two of their cast of characters exchanged between them.
When they arrived at the theater that evening-Wicki, Hicox and Bridget-Utivich opened the car door like a dutiful chauffer. Archie exited first, then turned to reach a hand out to Bridget. Before taking that hand Bridget turned to look at Wicki, and their eyes locked. Each gave the other a final, bittersweet smile. Then Bridget turned back and stepped out of the car, and Wicki followed her.
All three would be dead before the night was out.
FIN