FIC: Five Senses - Part five: Touch (Hellstrom/Landa)
Title: Five Senses - Part Five: Touch
Author:
linndechir
Fandom: Inglourious Basterds
Pairing: Hellstrom/Landa
Rating: R
Warning: top!Hellstrom, sub!Landa, hand kink, boot kink, smoking porn
Words: 1744
Author’s note: Finally, the porn! Thanks to
assassin_nariel , who came up with the idea for the ending.
Links to part one, part two, part three, part four.
5) TOUCH
As Landa caught himself dozing off for the second time in the evening, he decided to call it a day and closed the file on his desk. It was so late that his office was probably the last one in the SS-headquarters in Paris to be still illuminated. He and Hellstrom had brooded over a particularly complicated case for hours, without reaching any conclusions.
He looked over to his colleague, who was sitting on the second chair in the office, his usually straight posture slumped. Landa noticed only now that Hellstrom’s eyes were closed, his hands resting loosely on the documents on his lap.
Landa frowned a little, almost worried for a moment, before he saw how relaxed Hellstrom looked, his breathing slow and regular. At some point since they had last talked he must have fallen asleep. It wasn’t surprising, considering that Hellstrom was a very early riser.
As soon as Landa had realised that there was nothing to worry about, a more pleasant thought occurred to him - if Hellstrom was sleeping, he could watch him without being noticed. Ever since their kiss a week ago Landa had been on edge, unsure what Hellstrom would make of his knowledge and new power over Landa. The boy was such a tease, giving Landa superior looks whenever he was smoking, constantly reminding him that he knew about his desires and had strictly no intention of doing anything about them. Yet Landa wasn’t about to miss such a rare opportunity to watch him at leisure and without much risk.
He slowly rose from his chair and walked through the room, sneaking on tiptoes to keep his boot heels from waking his sleeping colleague. He smiled when he saw Hellstrom up close - thin lips slightly parted, eyelids fluttering occasionally, he had to be dreaming. It didn’t seem to be an unpleasant dream, though, not when he was breathing so calmly, and Landa wondered what a man like him dreamt of.
He gently took the documents from Hellstrom’s limp fingers and put them away, resisting the urge to touch his hands. His attraction was almost painful at moments like these, when the object of his deepest desire seemed so close and yet unattainable. He felt like Tantalus, dying of thirst, but unable to reach to cool water at his feet.
But he had tasted it for a moment, hadn’t he? He had been granted this one blissful moment, only to have it taken away from him again. Landa shivered when he remembered their quick kiss, and he forced himself not to look at Hellstrom’s lips.
His gaze roamed over Hellstrom’s clean-shaven jaw, then up to his hair, slicked back with this awful pomade. It always made Landa wonder if Hellstrom was trying to hide his boyish looks on purpose, afraid that he wouldn’t be taken seriously.
The pomade didn’t reach Hellstrom’s neck, though, and the hair there was surprisingly fair. It looked as soft as a child’s, and before Landa could rein himself in his fingers were already brushing Hellstrom’s skin. He knew he was being reckless, but what did it matter now? Hellstrom wouldn’t have kissed him unless he had been absolutely sure. Even if Hellstrom woke up, this wouldn’t tell him any more than he already knew.
Landa’s fingertips were burning under the careful touch, barely daring to caress the fuzz on this pale, slender neck. Landa had always thought necks to be particularly erotic - fragile, graceful, soft. Touching someone’s neck felt almost as intimate to him as kissing them.
When Hellstrom didn’t wake up, didn’t even stir in his sleep, Landa became a bit more daring. His fingertips drew small circles on the base of Hellstrom’s head, combing through the short, silky strands. He wondered what Hellstrom looked like without the pomade, what it would feel like to run his hands through his hair when it was all soft and clean.
Hellstrom had opened the upper button of his shirt and loosened his tie earlier that evening, and Landa’s hand slid down carefully, slipping under the shirt to touch his upper back, feeling the pointy shoulder blades. Hellstrom was apparently even thinner than Landa had thought, and it aroused him all the more that someone this fragile could still hold so much power over him.
When his hand slid up again, this time to the side of his neck, Hellstrom’s eyes suddenly snapped open and met Landa’s with the triumphant expression of a hunter who had lain in wait for hours and finally caught his prey.
Hellstrom’s hand moved as quickly as a snake, but to Landa the seconds seemed to pass in slow motion. Long fingers tightened around his wrist and twisted it slightly, but even the pain was a welcome reminder of his helplessness. It was a relief, losing control over the situation, or else he would have had to stop this. And that would have been the last thing he wanted right now. It was irrelevant that he could easily overpower Hellstrom - his mind had already surrendered to him long ago.
Neither of them said a word when Hellstrom lifted his free hand to Landa’s face, gently caressing his cheek. His fingers felt as soft as Landa had imagined, deceivingly fragile and yet uncompromisingly strong. Manicured fingernails scratched over Landa’s throat when the hand slid down, grabbing his shoulder and slowly pushing him down.
Despite Hellstrom’s strength there was no violence in his gesture. He didn’t need to force Landa to his knees, he simply suggested what he wanted, certain that he would be obeyed. A good officer never had to raise his voice. Landa’s body quivered in tension when he sank to the floor, his eyes as fixed on Hellstrom’s as the prisoner’s had been in the interrogation room. He knew that he was just as much in Hellstrom’s hands as this man had been, with the difference that the thought aroused him beyond words.
His knees protested when they met the hard wooden floorboards, but the discomfort was a price he was more than willing to pay to see the approving smirk on Hellstrom’s face. The major finally let go of his hand and started to caress Landa’s face, endless long fingers flitting over the stubble on his chin, his cheeks. Landa’s eyes closed obediently when Hellstrom’s fingertips touched his eyelids, he opened his mouth willingly when they slid between his lips. He kissed his hands greedily, whimpering when the fingers were withdrawn from his mouth and combed through his hair.
Desperate to touch him Landa bent forward to kiss Hellstrom’s knee, then further down to the bootleg. The leather was smooth under his lips and his tongue, the taste was as bitter as Hellstrom’s lips had been.
Tears filled his eyes, blurring his vision, and he shivered in the ecstasy of an atheist who had been allowed to witness the divine. The hands in his hair, gentle until now, tightened painfully and yanked his head up, accompanied by a playfully disapproving look. One booted foot found its way to Landa’s thigh, caressing him at first before it stopped, the heel pressed firmly into Landa’s leg, the tip barely brushing his groin.
Landa felt almost hypnotised when one hand left his hair to unbutton Hellstrom’s trousers. He licked his lips in anticipation, and a grateful moan escaped him when fingernails dug into his neck and pulled him close.
Looking up at Hellstrom, Landa saw his eyes flutter closed, the mask of control finally broken by pleasure. He heard the strangled noise of a suppressed moan. He smelt his arousal, tasted it on his tongue, felt it in every tightening of Hellstrom’s fingers in his hair, in the increasing pressure of the boot on his leg. He moaned when Hellstrom’s foot moved forward a little, starting to rub his groin through the uniform trousers.
Pleasure blurred Landa’s awareness, and the next thing he could remember was being slumped on the floor before Hellstrom, his head still resting in the major’s lap, his face nuzzling his groin, the rough fabric of black uniform trousers scratching his cheek, while an almost tender hand stroked his hair. Smoke filled his nostrils, and he lifted his head to see Hellstrom sucking on his cigarette, more relaxed than he had ever seen him before.
His head sank back on Hellstrom’s lap, and he felt oddly at peace. He was still almost painfully hard, and he didn’t expect Hellstrom to care, but he had already received so much more than he had ever hoped for. The very thought of touching himself while he still had Hellstrom’s taste on his lips was enough to make him moan; he was so grateful for what he had been given that he couldn’t even feel pathetic for contenting himself with so little.
It was quiet except for the regular sound of Hellstrom’s inhaling and releasing of smoke. Long fingers caressed Landa’s hair like they would caress a pet, and the dismissive tenderness of the touch made Landa sigh in pleasure.
He only wished that Hellstrom would allow him to stay at his feet a bit longer, and he tensed up in apprehension when Hellstrom shifted on his chair. His hand went from Landa’s hair to his chin, lifting it, and a slender thumb wiped the moisture off Landa’s bottom lip.
“I will fuck you when we get home,” Hellstrom said calmly, his voice rough and smoky. The major took another drag on his cigarette, and his eyes were filled with contempt when he looked down into Landa‘s widened eyes. His foot, still covered in sleek leather, gently nudged Landa’s groin again, and a sneer spread out on his face. His voice dripped with sarcasm when he added, “Unless you mind, Standartenführer.”
Landa stared at him in disbelief for a moment before he nodded and reached for Hellstrom’s hand. The major graciously let his hand rest in Landa’s, allowed him to rub his face against it, to cover it in reverent kisses, sucking on each knuckle, each joint, laving the warm skin with his tongue. Why would anyone want to worship an idol when the divine could be found in a man? Why kiss a cross when he could kiss these hands?
“Please …”
The word was only breathed against Hellstrom’s hand in between two kisses. His lips didn’t even leave Hellstrom’s skin when he looked up pleadingly and saw the smug, triumphant smile on Hellstrom’s face.
“Wunderbar.”
Author:
linndechir
Fandom: Inglourious Basterds
Pairing: Hellstrom/Landa
Rating: R
Warning: top!Hellstrom, sub!Landa, hand kink, boot kink, smoking porn
Words: 1744
Author’s note: Finally, the porn! Thanks to
assassin_nariel , who came up with the idea for the ending.
Links to part one, part two, part three, part four.
5) TOUCH
As Landa caught himself dozing off for the second time in the evening, he decided to call it a day and closed the file on his desk. It was so late that his office was probably the last one in the SS-headquarters in Paris to be still illuminated. He and Hellstrom had brooded over a particularly complicated case for hours, without reaching any conclusions.
He looked over to his colleague, who was sitting on the second chair in the office, his usually straight posture slumped. Landa noticed only now that Hellstrom’s eyes were closed, his hands resting loosely on the documents on his lap.
Landa frowned a little, almost worried for a moment, before he saw how relaxed Hellstrom looked, his breathing slow and regular. At some point since they had last talked he must have fallen asleep. It wasn’t surprising, considering that Hellstrom was a very early riser.
As soon as Landa had realised that there was nothing to worry about, a more pleasant thought occurred to him - if Hellstrom was sleeping, he could watch him without being noticed. Ever since their kiss a week ago Landa had been on edge, unsure what Hellstrom would make of his knowledge and new power over Landa. The boy was such a tease, giving Landa superior looks whenever he was smoking, constantly reminding him that he knew about his desires and had strictly no intention of doing anything about them. Yet Landa wasn’t about to miss such a rare opportunity to watch him at leisure and without much risk.
He slowly rose from his chair and walked through the room, sneaking on tiptoes to keep his boot heels from waking his sleeping colleague. He smiled when he saw Hellstrom up close - thin lips slightly parted, eyelids fluttering occasionally, he had to be dreaming. It didn’t seem to be an unpleasant dream, though, not when he was breathing so calmly, and Landa wondered what a man like him dreamt of.
He gently took the documents from Hellstrom’s limp fingers and put them away, resisting the urge to touch his hands. His attraction was almost painful at moments like these, when the object of his deepest desire seemed so close and yet unattainable. He felt like Tantalus, dying of thirst, but unable to reach to cool water at his feet.
But he had tasted it for a moment, hadn’t he? He had been granted this one blissful moment, only to have it taken away from him again. Landa shivered when he remembered their quick kiss, and he forced himself not to look at Hellstrom’s lips.
His gaze roamed over Hellstrom’s clean-shaven jaw, then up to his hair, slicked back with this awful pomade. It always made Landa wonder if Hellstrom was trying to hide his boyish looks on purpose, afraid that he wouldn’t be taken seriously.
The pomade didn’t reach Hellstrom’s neck, though, and the hair there was surprisingly fair. It looked as soft as a child’s, and before Landa could rein himself in his fingers were already brushing Hellstrom’s skin. He knew he was being reckless, but what did it matter now? Hellstrom wouldn’t have kissed him unless he had been absolutely sure. Even if Hellstrom woke up, this wouldn’t tell him any more than he already knew.
Landa’s fingertips were burning under the careful touch, barely daring to caress the fuzz on this pale, slender neck. Landa had always thought necks to be particularly erotic - fragile, graceful, soft. Touching someone’s neck felt almost as intimate to him as kissing them.
When Hellstrom didn’t wake up, didn’t even stir in his sleep, Landa became a bit more daring. His fingertips drew small circles on the base of Hellstrom’s head, combing through the short, silky strands. He wondered what Hellstrom looked like without the pomade, what it would feel like to run his hands through his hair when it was all soft and clean.
Hellstrom had opened the upper button of his shirt and loosened his tie earlier that evening, and Landa’s hand slid down carefully, slipping under the shirt to touch his upper back, feeling the pointy shoulder blades. Hellstrom was apparently even thinner than Landa had thought, and it aroused him all the more that someone this fragile could still hold so much power over him.
When his hand slid up again, this time to the side of his neck, Hellstrom’s eyes suddenly snapped open and met Landa’s with the triumphant expression of a hunter who had lain in wait for hours and finally caught his prey.
Hellstrom’s hand moved as quickly as a snake, but to Landa the seconds seemed to pass in slow motion. Long fingers tightened around his wrist and twisted it slightly, but even the pain was a welcome reminder of his helplessness. It was a relief, losing control over the situation, or else he would have had to stop this. And that would have been the last thing he wanted right now. It was irrelevant that he could easily overpower Hellstrom - his mind had already surrendered to him long ago.
Neither of them said a word when Hellstrom lifted his free hand to Landa’s face, gently caressing his cheek. His fingers felt as soft as Landa had imagined, deceivingly fragile and yet uncompromisingly strong. Manicured fingernails scratched over Landa’s throat when the hand slid down, grabbing his shoulder and slowly pushing him down.
Despite Hellstrom’s strength there was no violence in his gesture. He didn’t need to force Landa to his knees, he simply suggested what he wanted, certain that he would be obeyed. A good officer never had to raise his voice. Landa’s body quivered in tension when he sank to the floor, his eyes as fixed on Hellstrom’s as the prisoner’s had been in the interrogation room. He knew that he was just as much in Hellstrom’s hands as this man had been, with the difference that the thought aroused him beyond words.
His knees protested when they met the hard wooden floorboards, but the discomfort was a price he was more than willing to pay to see the approving smirk on Hellstrom’s face. The major finally let go of his hand and started to caress Landa’s face, endless long fingers flitting over the stubble on his chin, his cheeks. Landa’s eyes closed obediently when Hellstrom’s fingertips touched his eyelids, he opened his mouth willingly when they slid between his lips. He kissed his hands greedily, whimpering when the fingers were withdrawn from his mouth and combed through his hair.
Desperate to touch him Landa bent forward to kiss Hellstrom’s knee, then further down to the bootleg. The leather was smooth under his lips and his tongue, the taste was as bitter as Hellstrom’s lips had been.
Tears filled his eyes, blurring his vision, and he shivered in the ecstasy of an atheist who had been allowed to witness the divine. The hands in his hair, gentle until now, tightened painfully and yanked his head up, accompanied by a playfully disapproving look. One booted foot found its way to Landa’s thigh, caressing him at first before it stopped, the heel pressed firmly into Landa’s leg, the tip barely brushing his groin.
Landa felt almost hypnotised when one hand left his hair to unbutton Hellstrom’s trousers. He licked his lips in anticipation, and a grateful moan escaped him when fingernails dug into his neck and pulled him close.
Looking up at Hellstrom, Landa saw his eyes flutter closed, the mask of control finally broken by pleasure. He heard the strangled noise of a suppressed moan. He smelt his arousal, tasted it on his tongue, felt it in every tightening of Hellstrom’s fingers in his hair, in the increasing pressure of the boot on his leg. He moaned when Hellstrom’s foot moved forward a little, starting to rub his groin through the uniform trousers.
Pleasure blurred Landa’s awareness, and the next thing he could remember was being slumped on the floor before Hellstrom, his head still resting in the major’s lap, his face nuzzling his groin, the rough fabric of black uniform trousers scratching his cheek, while an almost tender hand stroked his hair. Smoke filled his nostrils, and he lifted his head to see Hellstrom sucking on his cigarette, more relaxed than he had ever seen him before.
His head sank back on Hellstrom’s lap, and he felt oddly at peace. He was still almost painfully hard, and he didn’t expect Hellstrom to care, but he had already received so much more than he had ever hoped for. The very thought of touching himself while he still had Hellstrom’s taste on his lips was enough to make him moan; he was so grateful for what he had been given that he couldn’t even feel pathetic for contenting himself with so little.
It was quiet except for the regular sound of Hellstrom’s inhaling and releasing of smoke. Long fingers caressed Landa’s hair like they would caress a pet, and the dismissive tenderness of the touch made Landa sigh in pleasure.
He only wished that Hellstrom would allow him to stay at his feet a bit longer, and he tensed up in apprehension when Hellstrom shifted on his chair. His hand went from Landa’s hair to his chin, lifting it, and a slender thumb wiped the moisture off Landa’s bottom lip.
“I will fuck you when we get home,” Hellstrom said calmly, his voice rough and smoky. The major took another drag on his cigarette, and his eyes were filled with contempt when he looked down into Landa‘s widened eyes. His foot, still covered in sleek leather, gently nudged Landa’s groin again, and a sneer spread out on his face. His voice dripped with sarcasm when he added, “Unless you mind, Standartenführer.”
Landa stared at him in disbelief for a moment before he nodded and reached for Hellstrom’s hand. The major graciously let his hand rest in Landa’s, allowed him to rub his face against it, to cover it in reverent kisses, sucking on each knuckle, each joint, laving the warm skin with his tongue. Why would anyone want to worship an idol when the divine could be found in a man? Why kiss a cross when he could kiss these hands?
“Please …”
The word was only breathed against Hellstrom’s hand in between two kisses. His lips didn’t even leave Hellstrom’s skin when he looked up pleadingly and saw the smug, triumphant smile on Hellstrom’s face.
“Wunderbar.”