Call Me Hans 6/?
Title: Call Me Hans 6/?
Characters: Landa
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: QT owns everything important. (in the fic, anyway)
Warnings: In this chapter: Sex, slight D/s
Summary: From his POV this time. Things is gettin' dark, kids.
Hans awoke suddenly and was surprised at the gloom in the bedroom. He planned on a simple nap, but it seemed perhaps he misjudged how tired he was. There was enough light to see, but he sensed the day was almost done. Julia’s head lay on his chest, her arm curled between her breasts, her breath was moist on his skin. He stared down at her profile in silent contemplation while he gave his body time to awaken.
Yes, his mind was alert, but his body…he flexed his legs under the covers. The normal aches one encounters in one’s joints were annoyance enough upon waking. Unfortunately, as one aged those aches only became worse, didn’t they? He shifted underneath her. Julia made a noise in her sleep and rolled infinitesimally away from him. Enough that he could look fully on her face.
When she slept, with her hair curling around her like that she looked softer. He was reminded of a Waterhouse painting of Ophelia. The one in the field, perhaps. Hans traced the curve of her cheek idly, fingers flicking her hair away from her forehead. He’d marked her. Worse than he intended. He was accepting of the fact that he lost control, pragmatic about it even. It was not that he was surprised, really, only that he was so pleased with himself about it after.
There was an impression of his teeth in her skin, the abrasions deeper along the top row, the wound was already clotted. But the bruise looked horrendous. He traced it with his index finger and Julia whimpered in her sleep. Yes, of course it would be painful. The skin on the inside of the bite was a livid purple, along the edges of the teeth marks it was darker, almost black. If he didn’t know any better he’d say she’d been savaged by a dog.
He supposed he should feel guilty. But then, why? Hans didn’t understand guilt, the way he saw it, if one felt guilty then it meant one did something wrong. But if one took the time to consider ones actions, if one acted decisively, then how could one ever feel guilt simply over making a decision? Of course it was entirely possible to make the wrong decision, but there was no need to feel guilt about that. Simply acknowledge the mistake and do what must be done to correct it. He did not see the mark on Julia’s body as a mistake. Actually, he quite liked what it represented.
Now, what woke him? He furrowed his brow. It must have been something, it wasn’t like him to simply wake from a deep sleep for no reason. What was he…he’d been dreaming. Something about…oh, yes. That was it. He had been dreaming of home. That is, the house in Munich. The big, dark bed that had been in his family for longer than he cared to think about and the feel of fresh, hand laundered sheets against his skin. He remembered the smell of something baking, which meant Ursula was downstairs in the kitchen.
Funny, he hadn’t thought about his wife in months. Hans considered Julia’s sleeping face. Ursula would be fifty-seven in August. And she was a good wife he supposed. Supported him in his career, turned a blind eye when his indiscretions were thrust upon her, so why hadn’t he insisted she be brought here to this house with him?
Julia sighed again in her sleep and murmured something that could have been his name. He smirked. That was why.
He married Ursula because it made sense, she was beautiful once and she came from a good family. Ursula was the right set of cuff links: she helped complete an image, rounded out his personal life so that he could advance in the partei. The only blemish on an otherwise uneventful marriage was the absence of children. Not that he particularly wanted them, but it raised questions about one’s loyalty to one’s country when everyone around one was spawning a passel of brats and it was only yourself and your wife in a big, sprawling mansion of an ancestral house.
But the dream…she was in it. Julia, that is. He remembered now. Draped across the mammoth bed, arms akimbo amid the bedclothes, chest heaving, legs spread like a wanton courtesan and eyes that said it was all for him. He remembered kneeling between her legs on the bed, holding her pelvis firmly with one hand, exploring her naked sex with the other. Leaning closer, lips parting in anticipation.
He shifted on the bed again, kicking impatiently at the bedclothes. It was hot under a duvet with a sleeping woman on top of you, wasn’t it?
Her sex tasted of spiced honey, he remembered, he didn’t have the ridiculous beard in the dream. There was nothing but the feel of her skin against his and the taste of her as she writhed on the bed that was his father’s and his father’s before that. He feasted on that bed, learning the contours of her body, the taste of her, the feel of her against his lips until she was nothing more than a mewling, gasping thing begging for release. He was preparing to finish when he woke, what was it? Ah yes, the strident sound of Ursula calling him from below stairs. It jolted him out of sleep.
But Ursula wasn’t here, was she? Thoughts of the dream aroused him and he stretched on the bed. Julia moaned in her sleep and part of him wanted to reach for her. To wake her with kisses and work his way down her body to tease, to taste. But that wouldn’t do. He needed to think about this most recent turn of events. What it meant and what he would do about it. And, he surmised, it would be better to do it without the temptation of Julia’s naked breasts pressed into his side like that. After all, he grinned, he was only a man.
Easing out from beneath her wasn't so difficult after all, he supposed he should be gratified that she was deep in sleep. It meant that he wasn't the only one to be exhausted from their afternoon romp. He had reached for her once more after the initial coupling, as the storm abated he woke her from her doze, pressing her onto the mattress, enjoying her startled gasp as he entered her from behind, her front pressed into the bedclothes.
Hans pulled the covers over Julia's bare shoulder, it was the curve of her neck that did it, he decided. If not for his sudden need to trace the vertebra of her spine with his tongue, he would have simply taken her again and enjoyed the sight of her hair sprawled across the pillows, her face as it reached orgasm. Instead he knew his weight crushed her into the mattress, he had felt her labored breathing beneath him and found it more intoxicating than any normal aphrodisiac could have ever been.
Julia rolled onto her side as he stepped away from the bed. Hans eyed her critically, wondering if she would wake when she realized he wasn't there. No matter, he needed to think and he couldn't do that with the temptation of her body so close at hand. Besides, he looked down at himself, he could use a shower.
In the master bath the tile gleamed and there were touches here and there to make it seem more inviting, but really, it was just a bathroom as this was just a house. Hans wondered if he would have more affinity for the house if it held anything from his life before. Certainly it was filled with everything he needed to see to his creature comforts, and really, everything had been new when he arrived. Over the years it did gain a certain lived in feeling, but nothing held the sense of history he was used to from before. He ignored the humidity control panel on the wall (stupid invention, ridiculously loud) and clicked open the shower doors. Soon the bathroom was full of steam and he stepped inside the shower, letting the water run over him.
He wondered how long he would be permitted this operative. Thomas, the first, stayed with him for quite some time. Certainly the longest. He was the operative that began Hans' "transition" into American life, such as it was. Thomas, Hans sneered as he reached for the soap, was the one who saw him in those first dark, abysmal days after he arrived. When he traveled in a kind of confused fog. But once he was at least a little his old self they removed Thomas and gave him that idiot Randall. Randall with his posturing and his arrogance. It hadn't been hard to see through Randall and he had, was it his fault that in giving the man what he really wanted he broke him? Hardly, Hans refused to accept blame for a man who couldn't correctly do his job. That was the problem with the Americans, he decided, they refused to accept the most fundamental truths and instead were forever trying to assign lofty reasons to things.
No, of course Randall himself wasn't unhinged, clearly Colonel Landa got him turned around and made him that way. Because if one wasn't the cowboy, then one was the mustachioed villain, was he? They were a stupid, simple people and if he hadn't been there himself he never have believed that they managed to defeat the fatherland in one fell swoop. At least not without extensive help.
Well, he supposed, they did have a bit of help.
And how did they repay him? By leaving him to rot on this godforsaken town with nothing but a library half stocked with, with Hardy Boy novels and an island full of philistines and juvenile delinquents. Hans rolled his neck under the shower spray. It was enough to drive a person mad. This was not what he had in mind for his life after the war. Townspeople that wouldn't meet his eye, children that dared each other to ring him at all hours of the night and an OSS director--
No. He refused to get angry, he wouldn't give them the satisfaction.
Julia had looked wonderful beneath him, hadn't she? He passed the washcloth over his chest. She wasn't at all what he normally found attractive. Generally Hans preferred blondes, sylph-like creatures who didn't so much walk as float. Actresses mostly, though he would admit to the occasional dancer. Julia was none of those things, of course. She was slender, certainly, but her breasts were a little too round to be considered delicate and her fingers too short to be graceful. She would have made an awful pianist, he thought.
Her nose was alright and he did enjoy her lips. It was the eyes that were so captivating, he let the water sluice over him as he considered. There was something downright enthralling about her eyes. He could practically smell her insecurity, her need for approval, but her eyes reflected a defiance he hadn't expected. Something to do with her past, certainly. He wondered about that. How does a girl who's obviously fought so long to be found capable in her career, who, by extension, probably went out of her way to be ignored by the opposite sex, suddenly find herself in a position to play not just seducer but a kind of domestic Mata Harri?
It made him wonder not just about Julia, but about her supervisor. What must that man have been thinking? Surely he knew Hans would eat her for lunch.
That fact that Hans hadn't as yet remained to be seen. He would. He just hadn't decided on when.
No, first he needed to understand what was behind her fear. Understand the fear, he reasoned, and you understood the person. Moreover, you could control the person. He wondered about Julia's sexual experiences before him. She was no virgin, certainly. But there was something...perhaps the combination of her resignation to compliance coupled with her outright surprise at pleasure. It made him think perhaps she wasn't at all who she wanted him to believe she was.
Thoughts like these aroused him. It wasn't simply thoughts of Julia, no, but figuring out what made her tick, so to speak. It was the puzzling out of all the details. Not that he wasn't supremely intrigued by her body. But he was being honest with her before, he wasn't sure if it were Julia herself, or the fact that she could have been any woman. Hans didn't want to believe for a second he was becoming emotionally attached to her, but stranger things had happened. One couldn't manipulate someone else into falling in love (which was entirely what he intended doing) without becoming at least a little infatuated oneself. It echoed something he said to her once.
Now the only question was, what was he going to do with her? What could he do with her? Whatever this thing between them was, it wasn't going to end well. She was, in essence, his jailer. It was her job to exploit him, to get him to forget his oaths and tell his secrets and frankly that wasn't something that was going to happen any time soon. Braver men than she and all that. Well, that was that then. He rinsed his hair again and let the water wash over his face. He'd delight himself in her body because she offered it, for as long as she offered it, he'd turn her head inside out because he could and because it amused him. He'd turn her against her own office if he could, both because it relieved the boredom and because it was his own special form of rebellion. And when he'd broken her, he'd do the same thing to the next agent they sent.
He only wondered if the next agent would be able to move him with the same innocent charm she employed, simply by looking at him under from her lashes. He almost laughed, her innocence made him want to both coddle and crush her.
There was movement on the other side of the glass and he realized he was glad of the distraction. He was getting a bit acrimonious, wasn't he? Hans wiped his face and draped the washcloth over the soap dish. The shower doors opened with an audible click and it was a testament to both how long he'd been thinking and how humid the air that there was no change in temperature from the shower to the bathroom proper. The water continued to run and he let it (again, another silent form of rebellion, he didn't pay the bills what should he care about water?)
Julia's back was to him, she wore the slip though it clung to her in the heavy air, and she was inspecting the wound in the fogged mirror. Her attention was so complete she didn't hear him at all. Oh yes, he thought sarcastically, she was a seasoned agent. One of the best, obviously.
"You're awake," his wet hands settled on her hips and she smiled at his reflection in the mirror. Julia had wiped a circle in the condensation and it was just clear enough that she could see their reflections. He hadn't startled her, but then, he hadn't been trying to.
"Mm," she leaned back slightly against his body and then was peering into the mirror again, "it's much later than I thought."
"Not having second thoughts about staying?" he reached up to pull her hair away from her shoulder, making a show of inspecting the bruise himself. She tilted her head to allow him a better view. The fog pulsed around them.
"No, not at all," she shivered under his touch, "I think I've missed the last ferry anyway."
"Probably," his eyes flicked to hers in the mirror, "if you'd be more comfortable you're welcome to stay in the guest room."
Julia laughed shortly and turned to face him over her shoulder, "I think it's a little late for that, Colonel."
Hans smiled, aroused again at the game. "So formal, Julia." he dipped his head and planted a chaste kiss on the curve of her shoulder. His breath was cool on her skin, "Must you only call me Hans when I give you pleasure?"
Julia blushed a hot red and immediately forced a flirtatious laugh, "Do I?" her eyes flicked back to the mirror, "I hadn't noticed."
"I had," his fingers played with the strap of the slip.
"You notice everything," she murmured as he noticed the way her nipples pebbled under the satin of the slip.
"Not everything, my dear," he slid the strap of the slip over the ball of her shoulder, watching her face to see her reaction. Julia bit her lip and inclined her head when his lips brushed the column of her neck. "May I ask what is the matter?" His words fell against her earlobe as she turned her head away from him.
"Nothing." Julia's hands were clenched around the sides of the sink. He covered one with his own and she trembled.
"Don't lie to me, Julia," the barest trace of annoyance in his voice. He had so little patience for the fluid emotions of women. "It's beneath you."
"You hurt me," she said finally. He appreciated how it was not accusatory, just a simple statement of fact.
"I did," he confirmed, fingers gently tracing along the line of the bruise.
"Why?" And she sounded so baffled, so genuinely mystified, that he found himself telling her the truth.
"Because I could," his lips caressed her jaw and she swallowed. He wanted to drink her innocence. It would taste sweet, delicate, like a summer wine.
"Will you do it again?" She didn't sound appalled, which intrigued him, if anything she sounded...curious.
"Quite probably," his hand left her hand on the sink and gently pulled the other strap of the slip from her shoulder. It fell and caught on her arms. She still held the sink as though it were a life raft. But her breasts were exposed now. He considered them, the rapid staccato of her pulse, he could see her heart beating. Her fear intoxicated him. Her refusal to submit to it nearly drove him mad. "Shall I apologize?"
"You wouldn't mean it," she twisted her head the tiniest bit to look at him instead of the mirror. "Hans," she stopped, choosing her words carefully. "Is it wrong of me to want you when you hurt me?"
He wondered if she were only talking about the wound on her collarbone. "Does it feel wrong?" His fingers were tracing her nipples, palms cupping her breasts, feeling her body respond. She closed her eyes and let out a tiny whimper.
"No," she opened her eyes and he would swear later they were wet. Though at the time he thought perhaps it was only the humidity of the bathroom. "That's what frightens me."
"Oh," his hand cupped her jaw, thumb caressing the corner of her lip, "my darling girl," her lips were hot against his. Her mouth opened almost immediately and she responded with such a fervor that he wondered if he was still asleep. Her hand left the sink and curled around the base of his skull, holding him to her lips. She moaned into his mouth and he deepened the kiss. He could get lost in a kiss like this. Hans broke the kiss and met her eyes. They held desire, certainly, but there was something about her eyes that was completely serious.
Moisture beaded on her skin, a drop trickled between her breasts and she shivered in spite of herself. "I know this should be wrong," she threaded her fingers through his wet hair and caught the hand that curled around her waist, holding it against her lower belly. "I know I should be...better at this," she lifted a shoulder in self deprecation, "but I don't care. I should be worried that I don't care, shouldn't I?"
"Perhaps," later he would appreciate the irony of her asking him these questions. It was a little like Eve asking advice from the snake, wasn't it? He wondered what she thought she was playing at. "What do you want, Julia?"
"The same thing I wanted when I got here." she laughed, "I want you to kiss me, Hans." Her lips were so close to his he could taste her breath. It tasted like desire and something else, something fragile, like lace. "Please?"
For a split second he wanted to protect her. And then his lips touched hers. She groaned low in her throat, the beard bit into her skin and he was lost again. She didn't move anything but her lips at first, and then something shifted and she was fighting out of one of the straps of the slip and she was turning to face him, to kiss him fully. Hans grasped her shoulders, breaking the kiss and turning her back to the mirror. "Look at yourself, Julia," his voice was brusque. His arm was wrapped across her chest, fingers digging into her shoulder, pinning her against his chest.
With his unoccupied hand, Hans reached out and wiped a circle in the mirror. Julia closed her eyes at the sight, the slip falling off one arm, free of the other, her breasts heaving, his fingers digging into her skin. She tossed her head on his shoulder, struggling to press her face into his neck, "You're being silly," she murmured.
"I am rarely silly, my dear," he gripped her chin with his unoccupied hand and turned her face to the mirror. "Look at yourself, Julia."
"I am looking," She stared at his reflection in the glass, clearly uncomfortable but defiant just the same.
"Look at what your desire gets you," he rested his forehead on her temple, guiding her head sideways so that she had a clear view of everything, her half clothed body, her bruises, his scar standing out in sharp, white lines while he dripped on the tiled floor.
"I know what I'm getting, Hans," she sounded a little confused, perhaps a little annoyed. He smirked into her hair, turning his head to look her reflection in the mirror.
"Do you, sweet?" He let the empty dark fill his eyes, held nothing back, lifting the veil as it were. "Look at this picture and tell me what you want."
Julia's breath rattled in her chest, he knew he was holding her too tightly, he didn't relent. "Do you want me to say that I'm afraid of you?" Her fingers curled around his forearm, he thought she would try to make him release her, but she didn't. "That I didn't know what you were and now I realize that I'm in danger?" She laughed and it sounded only a little forced, "You should know better."
His fingers tightened slowly, but purposely on her jaw. She jerked the tiniest bit when it became uncomfortable and winced visibly as it became painful. "I do know better, my dear," his words were clipped in her ear. He liked that she refused to break his gaze. It excited him. He was pressed tightly against her body, the curve of her ass cradled him and he resisted the urge to grind himself against her through the silk. "I told you I would have none of your simpering. Now," she pulled ineffectually at his forearm, "tell me," he tightened his grip on her shoulder, "what you want."
"I want you," she answered automatically, jerking once in his arms. His gripped tightened and she collapsed against his chest, frustrated.
"You know my impatience for the banal, Julia."
"Damn you, I don't know what you mean!" Julia seemed to be resisting the urge to stamp her foot. She was fighting more from frustration than fear, he could tell, and she seemed to know that he could over power her if he wanted.
"You little liar," his fingers slid from her jaw to her throat. He let the emptiness in his eyes speak as he deliberately curled his fingers around her neck, tight, tighter.
"Hans--"
"Tell me," she was struggling in earnest now and she pitched forward against the sink. He released her neck and slapped the mirror to stop himself from loosing balance completely. He fell against her painfully, her lower body was pressed against the porcelain sink edge and he still held her shoulders. The foggy air was thick around them and he found he was breathing hard himself. It wasn't much of a struggle, it shouldn't have winded him. There was a ragged sound in the air and he realized it was Julia's breathing. Her slip was short and in the scuffle it rode up on her hips, he was cradled against the backs of her legs.
"I want you to fuck me," she coughed hoarsely, one of her hands was curled around the edge of the sink, the other was flat against the mirror. She laughed, defeated, "It's all I've ever wanted."
"Oh?" He sat up slightly, releasing her shoulders to purposely move her hips more firmly against the sink, parting her legs.
"Yes," Julia's head rested against the mirror. "I like what I feel when you fuck me," her breath fogged the glass.
"And what is that?" He positioned himself behind her, enjoyed the anticipation for a moment and then thrust into her, hard. She made a noise beneath him. "Tell me," his pace was punishing. He pulled her up, arm going across her shoulders again, forcing her to look at herself in the mirror. She blinked, bracing against the sink with her hands, taking him wordlessly. He narrowed his eyes and brought his lips to her ear, "Say it."
"I like how you don't give me a choice," she closed her eyes and let her head fall back on his shoulder, not fighting him, moving with him. "When we..." she tossed her head on his shoulder. "I like the submission."
"Oh yes?" his pace quickened, "Some would call that perverse, my love."
"But you like it," his fingers bit into her shoulder, his other hand covered hers on the sink, tightening almost painfully. He was close, he knew she knew. "Admit it, Hans."
"Yes, I like it," his lips closed over her pulse, then traveled to her spine. He really was enamored of the curve of her spine. His teeth closed over the taut skin of the back of her neck. She cried out in surprise. His grin was lost on her, she couldn't see what he was doing in the mirror, but she could feel his lips, his tongue, his teeth. She closed her eyes and ground her hips back into him, his thrusts were painful and she liked that too. He jerked and pitched her forward, teeth biting harder into her skin, hips driving roughly into her, and into her, and into her.
He released her abruptly when it was over. Julia almost collapsed against the sink. He knew the back of her neck must throb painfully, worse than what he'd done before. He eyed her critically. So she liked it when he hurt her, did she? She liked the submission of it all. To say it was an interesting turn of events was putting it rather mildly. Hans let her catch her breath before he took her arm and led her to the shower. The water was still running, it would still be hot for some time. Say what he wanted about the American government, they provided good water heaters. "Did you enjoy that?"
She met his gaze tiredly, he reached out, idly pushing the slip over her hips, removing it from her body completely. Julia let him.
"Julia?"
"Yes I did."
"You did not climax," he knew without inspecting the wound on the back of her neck that it wasn't nearly as bad as the one on her collarbone. For starters, it wasn't bloody.
"You didn't allow me to," she pointed out. He wondered again if her superiors knew what they were doing when they sent her to him. It was going to be much, much easier than he thought. And he'd enjoy it.
"Very good, Julia," he leaned forward purposely and she didn't flinch. Instead she closed her eyes, inclining her head. He brushed her lips gently, almost reverently with his own. "Enjoy the shower, my dear."
He left her standing on the bath mat, staring after him with something that looked like longing, but tasted like surrender.
Characters: Landa
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: QT owns everything important. (in the fic, anyway)
Warnings: In this chapter: Sex, slight D/s
Summary: From his POV this time. Things is gettin' dark, kids.
Hans awoke suddenly and was surprised at the gloom in the bedroom. He planned on a simple nap, but it seemed perhaps he misjudged how tired he was. There was enough light to see, but he sensed the day was almost done. Julia’s head lay on his chest, her arm curled between her breasts, her breath was moist on his skin. He stared down at her profile in silent contemplation while he gave his body time to awaken.
Yes, his mind was alert, but his body…he flexed his legs under the covers. The normal aches one encounters in one’s joints were annoyance enough upon waking. Unfortunately, as one aged those aches only became worse, didn’t they? He shifted underneath her. Julia made a noise in her sleep and rolled infinitesimally away from him. Enough that he could look fully on her face.
When she slept, with her hair curling around her like that she looked softer. He was reminded of a Waterhouse painting of Ophelia. The one in the field, perhaps. Hans traced the curve of her cheek idly, fingers flicking her hair away from her forehead. He’d marked her. Worse than he intended. He was accepting of the fact that he lost control, pragmatic about it even. It was not that he was surprised, really, only that he was so pleased with himself about it after.
There was an impression of his teeth in her skin, the abrasions deeper along the top row, the wound was already clotted. But the bruise looked horrendous. He traced it with his index finger and Julia whimpered in her sleep. Yes, of course it would be painful. The skin on the inside of the bite was a livid purple, along the edges of the teeth marks it was darker, almost black. If he didn’t know any better he’d say she’d been savaged by a dog.
He supposed he should feel guilty. But then, why? Hans didn’t understand guilt, the way he saw it, if one felt guilty then it meant one did something wrong. But if one took the time to consider ones actions, if one acted decisively, then how could one ever feel guilt simply over making a decision? Of course it was entirely possible to make the wrong decision, but there was no need to feel guilt about that. Simply acknowledge the mistake and do what must be done to correct it. He did not see the mark on Julia’s body as a mistake. Actually, he quite liked what it represented.
Now, what woke him? He furrowed his brow. It must have been something, it wasn’t like him to simply wake from a deep sleep for no reason. What was he…he’d been dreaming. Something about…oh, yes. That was it. He had been dreaming of home. That is, the house in Munich. The big, dark bed that had been in his family for longer than he cared to think about and the feel of fresh, hand laundered sheets against his skin. He remembered the smell of something baking, which meant Ursula was downstairs in the kitchen.
Funny, he hadn’t thought about his wife in months. Hans considered Julia’s sleeping face. Ursula would be fifty-seven in August. And she was a good wife he supposed. Supported him in his career, turned a blind eye when his indiscretions were thrust upon her, so why hadn’t he insisted she be brought here to this house with him?
Julia sighed again in her sleep and murmured something that could have been his name. He smirked. That was why.
He married Ursula because it made sense, she was beautiful once and she came from a good family. Ursula was the right set of cuff links: she helped complete an image, rounded out his personal life so that he could advance in the partei. The only blemish on an otherwise uneventful marriage was the absence of children. Not that he particularly wanted them, but it raised questions about one’s loyalty to one’s country when everyone around one was spawning a passel of brats and it was only yourself and your wife in a big, sprawling mansion of an ancestral house.
But the dream…she was in it. Julia, that is. He remembered now. Draped across the mammoth bed, arms akimbo amid the bedclothes, chest heaving, legs spread like a wanton courtesan and eyes that said it was all for him. He remembered kneeling between her legs on the bed, holding her pelvis firmly with one hand, exploring her naked sex with the other. Leaning closer, lips parting in anticipation.
He shifted on the bed again, kicking impatiently at the bedclothes. It was hot under a duvet with a sleeping woman on top of you, wasn’t it?
Her sex tasted of spiced honey, he remembered, he didn’t have the ridiculous beard in the dream. There was nothing but the feel of her skin against his and the taste of her as she writhed on the bed that was his father’s and his father’s before that. He feasted on that bed, learning the contours of her body, the taste of her, the feel of her against his lips until she was nothing more than a mewling, gasping thing begging for release. He was preparing to finish when he woke, what was it? Ah yes, the strident sound of Ursula calling him from below stairs. It jolted him out of sleep.
But Ursula wasn’t here, was she? Thoughts of the dream aroused him and he stretched on the bed. Julia moaned in her sleep and part of him wanted to reach for her. To wake her with kisses and work his way down her body to tease, to taste. But that wouldn’t do. He needed to think about this most recent turn of events. What it meant and what he would do about it. And, he surmised, it would be better to do it without the temptation of Julia’s naked breasts pressed into his side like that. After all, he grinned, he was only a man.
Easing out from beneath her wasn't so difficult after all, he supposed he should be gratified that she was deep in sleep. It meant that he wasn't the only one to be exhausted from their afternoon romp. He had reached for her once more after the initial coupling, as the storm abated he woke her from her doze, pressing her onto the mattress, enjoying her startled gasp as he entered her from behind, her front pressed into the bedclothes.
Hans pulled the covers over Julia's bare shoulder, it was the curve of her neck that did it, he decided. If not for his sudden need to trace the vertebra of her spine with his tongue, he would have simply taken her again and enjoyed the sight of her hair sprawled across the pillows, her face as it reached orgasm. Instead he knew his weight crushed her into the mattress, he had felt her labored breathing beneath him and found it more intoxicating than any normal aphrodisiac could have ever been.
Julia rolled onto her side as he stepped away from the bed. Hans eyed her critically, wondering if she would wake when she realized he wasn't there. No matter, he needed to think and he couldn't do that with the temptation of her body so close at hand. Besides, he looked down at himself, he could use a shower.
In the master bath the tile gleamed and there were touches here and there to make it seem more inviting, but really, it was just a bathroom as this was just a house. Hans wondered if he would have more affinity for the house if it held anything from his life before. Certainly it was filled with everything he needed to see to his creature comforts, and really, everything had been new when he arrived. Over the years it did gain a certain lived in feeling, but nothing held the sense of history he was used to from before. He ignored the humidity control panel on the wall (stupid invention, ridiculously loud) and clicked open the shower doors. Soon the bathroom was full of steam and he stepped inside the shower, letting the water run over him.
He wondered how long he would be permitted this operative. Thomas, the first, stayed with him for quite some time. Certainly the longest. He was the operative that began Hans' "transition" into American life, such as it was. Thomas, Hans sneered as he reached for the soap, was the one who saw him in those first dark, abysmal days after he arrived. When he traveled in a kind of confused fog. But once he was at least a little his old self they removed Thomas and gave him that idiot Randall. Randall with his posturing and his arrogance. It hadn't been hard to see through Randall and he had, was it his fault that in giving the man what he really wanted he broke him? Hardly, Hans refused to accept blame for a man who couldn't correctly do his job. That was the problem with the Americans, he decided, they refused to accept the most fundamental truths and instead were forever trying to assign lofty reasons to things.
No, of course Randall himself wasn't unhinged, clearly Colonel Landa got him turned around and made him that way. Because if one wasn't the cowboy, then one was the mustachioed villain, was he? They were a stupid, simple people and if he hadn't been there himself he never have believed that they managed to defeat the fatherland in one fell swoop. At least not without extensive help.
Well, he supposed, they did have a bit of help.
And how did they repay him? By leaving him to rot on this godforsaken town with nothing but a library half stocked with, with Hardy Boy novels and an island full of philistines and juvenile delinquents. Hans rolled his neck under the shower spray. It was enough to drive a person mad. This was not what he had in mind for his life after the war. Townspeople that wouldn't meet his eye, children that dared each other to ring him at all hours of the night and an OSS director--
No. He refused to get angry, he wouldn't give them the satisfaction.
Julia had looked wonderful beneath him, hadn't she? He passed the washcloth over his chest. She wasn't at all what he normally found attractive. Generally Hans preferred blondes, sylph-like creatures who didn't so much walk as float. Actresses mostly, though he would admit to the occasional dancer. Julia was none of those things, of course. She was slender, certainly, but her breasts were a little too round to be considered delicate and her fingers too short to be graceful. She would have made an awful pianist, he thought.
Her nose was alright and he did enjoy her lips. It was the eyes that were so captivating, he let the water sluice over him as he considered. There was something downright enthralling about her eyes. He could practically smell her insecurity, her need for approval, but her eyes reflected a defiance he hadn't expected. Something to do with her past, certainly. He wondered about that. How does a girl who's obviously fought so long to be found capable in her career, who, by extension, probably went out of her way to be ignored by the opposite sex, suddenly find herself in a position to play not just seducer but a kind of domestic Mata Harri?
It made him wonder not just about Julia, but about her supervisor. What must that man have been thinking? Surely he knew Hans would eat her for lunch.
That fact that Hans hadn't as yet remained to be seen. He would. He just hadn't decided on when.
No, first he needed to understand what was behind her fear. Understand the fear, he reasoned, and you understood the person. Moreover, you could control the person. He wondered about Julia's sexual experiences before him. She was no virgin, certainly. But there was something...perhaps the combination of her resignation to compliance coupled with her outright surprise at pleasure. It made him think perhaps she wasn't at all who she wanted him to believe she was.
Thoughts like these aroused him. It wasn't simply thoughts of Julia, no, but figuring out what made her tick, so to speak. It was the puzzling out of all the details. Not that he wasn't supremely intrigued by her body. But he was being honest with her before, he wasn't sure if it were Julia herself, or the fact that she could have been any woman. Hans didn't want to believe for a second he was becoming emotionally attached to her, but stranger things had happened. One couldn't manipulate someone else into falling in love (which was entirely what he intended doing) without becoming at least a little infatuated oneself. It echoed something he said to her once.
Now the only question was, what was he going to do with her? What could he do with her? Whatever this thing between them was, it wasn't going to end well. She was, in essence, his jailer. It was her job to exploit him, to get him to forget his oaths and tell his secrets and frankly that wasn't something that was going to happen any time soon. Braver men than she and all that. Well, that was that then. He rinsed his hair again and let the water wash over his face. He'd delight himself in her body because she offered it, for as long as she offered it, he'd turn her head inside out because he could and because it amused him. He'd turn her against her own office if he could, both because it relieved the boredom and because it was his own special form of rebellion. And when he'd broken her, he'd do the same thing to the next agent they sent.
He only wondered if the next agent would be able to move him with the same innocent charm she employed, simply by looking at him under from her lashes. He almost laughed, her innocence made him want to both coddle and crush her.
There was movement on the other side of the glass and he realized he was glad of the distraction. He was getting a bit acrimonious, wasn't he? Hans wiped his face and draped the washcloth over the soap dish. The shower doors opened with an audible click and it was a testament to both how long he'd been thinking and how humid the air that there was no change in temperature from the shower to the bathroom proper. The water continued to run and he let it (again, another silent form of rebellion, he didn't pay the bills what should he care about water?)
Julia's back was to him, she wore the slip though it clung to her in the heavy air, and she was inspecting the wound in the fogged mirror. Her attention was so complete she didn't hear him at all. Oh yes, he thought sarcastically, she was a seasoned agent. One of the best, obviously.
"You're awake," his wet hands settled on her hips and she smiled at his reflection in the mirror. Julia had wiped a circle in the condensation and it was just clear enough that she could see their reflections. He hadn't startled her, but then, he hadn't been trying to.
"Mm," she leaned back slightly against his body and then was peering into the mirror again, "it's much later than I thought."
"Not having second thoughts about staying?" he reached up to pull her hair away from her shoulder, making a show of inspecting the bruise himself. She tilted her head to allow him a better view. The fog pulsed around them.
"No, not at all," she shivered under his touch, "I think I've missed the last ferry anyway."
"Probably," his eyes flicked to hers in the mirror, "if you'd be more comfortable you're welcome to stay in the guest room."
Julia laughed shortly and turned to face him over her shoulder, "I think it's a little late for that, Colonel."
Hans smiled, aroused again at the game. "So formal, Julia." he dipped his head and planted a chaste kiss on the curve of her shoulder. His breath was cool on her skin, "Must you only call me Hans when I give you pleasure?"
Julia blushed a hot red and immediately forced a flirtatious laugh, "Do I?" her eyes flicked back to the mirror, "I hadn't noticed."
"I had," his fingers played with the strap of the slip.
"You notice everything," she murmured as he noticed the way her nipples pebbled under the satin of the slip.
"Not everything, my dear," he slid the strap of the slip over the ball of her shoulder, watching her face to see her reaction. Julia bit her lip and inclined her head when his lips brushed the column of her neck. "May I ask what is the matter?" His words fell against her earlobe as she turned her head away from him.
"Nothing." Julia's hands were clenched around the sides of the sink. He covered one with his own and she trembled.
"Don't lie to me, Julia," the barest trace of annoyance in his voice. He had so little patience for the fluid emotions of women. "It's beneath you."
"You hurt me," she said finally. He appreciated how it was not accusatory, just a simple statement of fact.
"I did," he confirmed, fingers gently tracing along the line of the bruise.
"Why?" And she sounded so baffled, so genuinely mystified, that he found himself telling her the truth.
"Because I could," his lips caressed her jaw and she swallowed. He wanted to drink her innocence. It would taste sweet, delicate, like a summer wine.
"Will you do it again?" She didn't sound appalled, which intrigued him, if anything she sounded...curious.
"Quite probably," his hand left her hand on the sink and gently pulled the other strap of the slip from her shoulder. It fell and caught on her arms. She still held the sink as though it were a life raft. But her breasts were exposed now. He considered them, the rapid staccato of her pulse, he could see her heart beating. Her fear intoxicated him. Her refusal to submit to it nearly drove him mad. "Shall I apologize?"
"You wouldn't mean it," she twisted her head the tiniest bit to look at him instead of the mirror. "Hans," she stopped, choosing her words carefully. "Is it wrong of me to want you when you hurt me?"
He wondered if she were only talking about the wound on her collarbone. "Does it feel wrong?" His fingers were tracing her nipples, palms cupping her breasts, feeling her body respond. She closed her eyes and let out a tiny whimper.
"No," she opened her eyes and he would swear later they were wet. Though at the time he thought perhaps it was only the humidity of the bathroom. "That's what frightens me."
"Oh," his hand cupped her jaw, thumb caressing the corner of her lip, "my darling girl," her lips were hot against his. Her mouth opened almost immediately and she responded with such a fervor that he wondered if he was still asleep. Her hand left the sink and curled around the base of his skull, holding him to her lips. She moaned into his mouth and he deepened the kiss. He could get lost in a kiss like this. Hans broke the kiss and met her eyes. They held desire, certainly, but there was something about her eyes that was completely serious.
Moisture beaded on her skin, a drop trickled between her breasts and she shivered in spite of herself. "I know this should be wrong," she threaded her fingers through his wet hair and caught the hand that curled around her waist, holding it against her lower belly. "I know I should be...better at this," she lifted a shoulder in self deprecation, "but I don't care. I should be worried that I don't care, shouldn't I?"
"Perhaps," later he would appreciate the irony of her asking him these questions. It was a little like Eve asking advice from the snake, wasn't it? He wondered what she thought she was playing at. "What do you want, Julia?"
"The same thing I wanted when I got here." she laughed, "I want you to kiss me, Hans." Her lips were so close to his he could taste her breath. It tasted like desire and something else, something fragile, like lace. "Please?"
For a split second he wanted to protect her. And then his lips touched hers. She groaned low in her throat, the beard bit into her skin and he was lost again. She didn't move anything but her lips at first, and then something shifted and she was fighting out of one of the straps of the slip and she was turning to face him, to kiss him fully. Hans grasped her shoulders, breaking the kiss and turning her back to the mirror. "Look at yourself, Julia," his voice was brusque. His arm was wrapped across her chest, fingers digging into her shoulder, pinning her against his chest.
With his unoccupied hand, Hans reached out and wiped a circle in the mirror. Julia closed her eyes at the sight, the slip falling off one arm, free of the other, her breasts heaving, his fingers digging into her skin. She tossed her head on his shoulder, struggling to press her face into his neck, "You're being silly," she murmured.
"I am rarely silly, my dear," he gripped her chin with his unoccupied hand and turned her face to the mirror. "Look at yourself, Julia."
"I am looking," She stared at his reflection in the glass, clearly uncomfortable but defiant just the same.
"Look at what your desire gets you," he rested his forehead on her temple, guiding her head sideways so that she had a clear view of everything, her half clothed body, her bruises, his scar standing out in sharp, white lines while he dripped on the tiled floor.
"I know what I'm getting, Hans," she sounded a little confused, perhaps a little annoyed. He smirked into her hair, turning his head to look her reflection in the mirror.
"Do you, sweet?" He let the empty dark fill his eyes, held nothing back, lifting the veil as it were. "Look at this picture and tell me what you want."
Julia's breath rattled in her chest, he knew he was holding her too tightly, he didn't relent. "Do you want me to say that I'm afraid of you?" Her fingers curled around his forearm, he thought she would try to make him release her, but she didn't. "That I didn't know what you were and now I realize that I'm in danger?" She laughed and it sounded only a little forced, "You should know better."
His fingers tightened slowly, but purposely on her jaw. She jerked the tiniest bit when it became uncomfortable and winced visibly as it became painful. "I do know better, my dear," his words were clipped in her ear. He liked that she refused to break his gaze. It excited him. He was pressed tightly against her body, the curve of her ass cradled him and he resisted the urge to grind himself against her through the silk. "I told you I would have none of your simpering. Now," she pulled ineffectually at his forearm, "tell me," he tightened his grip on her shoulder, "what you want."
"I want you," she answered automatically, jerking once in his arms. His gripped tightened and she collapsed against his chest, frustrated.
"You know my impatience for the banal, Julia."
"Damn you, I don't know what you mean!" Julia seemed to be resisting the urge to stamp her foot. She was fighting more from frustration than fear, he could tell, and she seemed to know that he could over power her if he wanted.
"You little liar," his fingers slid from her jaw to her throat. He let the emptiness in his eyes speak as he deliberately curled his fingers around her neck, tight, tighter.
"Hans--"
"Tell me," she was struggling in earnest now and she pitched forward against the sink. He released her neck and slapped the mirror to stop himself from loosing balance completely. He fell against her painfully, her lower body was pressed against the porcelain sink edge and he still held her shoulders. The foggy air was thick around them and he found he was breathing hard himself. It wasn't much of a struggle, it shouldn't have winded him. There was a ragged sound in the air and he realized it was Julia's breathing. Her slip was short and in the scuffle it rode up on her hips, he was cradled against the backs of her legs.
"I want you to fuck me," she coughed hoarsely, one of her hands was curled around the edge of the sink, the other was flat against the mirror. She laughed, defeated, "It's all I've ever wanted."
"Oh?" He sat up slightly, releasing her shoulders to purposely move her hips more firmly against the sink, parting her legs.
"Yes," Julia's head rested against the mirror. "I like what I feel when you fuck me," her breath fogged the glass.
"And what is that?" He positioned himself behind her, enjoyed the anticipation for a moment and then thrust into her, hard. She made a noise beneath him. "Tell me," his pace was punishing. He pulled her up, arm going across her shoulders again, forcing her to look at herself in the mirror. She blinked, bracing against the sink with her hands, taking him wordlessly. He narrowed his eyes and brought his lips to her ear, "Say it."
"I like how you don't give me a choice," she closed her eyes and let her head fall back on his shoulder, not fighting him, moving with him. "When we..." she tossed her head on his shoulder. "I like the submission."
"Oh yes?" his pace quickened, "Some would call that perverse, my love."
"But you like it," his fingers bit into her shoulder, his other hand covered hers on the sink, tightening almost painfully. He was close, he knew she knew. "Admit it, Hans."
"Yes, I like it," his lips closed over her pulse, then traveled to her spine. He really was enamored of the curve of her spine. His teeth closed over the taut skin of the back of her neck. She cried out in surprise. His grin was lost on her, she couldn't see what he was doing in the mirror, but she could feel his lips, his tongue, his teeth. She closed her eyes and ground her hips back into him, his thrusts were painful and she liked that too. He jerked and pitched her forward, teeth biting harder into her skin, hips driving roughly into her, and into her, and into her.
He released her abruptly when it was over. Julia almost collapsed against the sink. He knew the back of her neck must throb painfully, worse than what he'd done before. He eyed her critically. So she liked it when he hurt her, did she? She liked the submission of it all. To say it was an interesting turn of events was putting it rather mildly. Hans let her catch her breath before he took her arm and led her to the shower. The water was still running, it would still be hot for some time. Say what he wanted about the American government, they provided good water heaters. "Did you enjoy that?"
She met his gaze tiredly, he reached out, idly pushing the slip over her hips, removing it from her body completely. Julia let him.
"Julia?"
"Yes I did."
"You did not climax," he knew without inspecting the wound on the back of her neck that it wasn't nearly as bad as the one on her collarbone. For starters, it wasn't bloody.
"You didn't allow me to," she pointed out. He wondered again if her superiors knew what they were doing when they sent her to him. It was going to be much, much easier than he thought. And he'd enjoy it.
"Very good, Julia," he leaned forward purposely and she didn't flinch. Instead she closed her eyes, inclining her head. He brushed her lips gently, almost reverently with his own. "Enjoy the shower, my dear."
He left her standing on the bath mat, staring after him with something that looked like longing, but tasted like surrender.