linndechir (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
linndechir) wrote2009-11-09 12:44 am
linndechir) wrote2009-11-09 12:44 am
Entry tags:
FIC: Five Senses - Part Four: Taste (Hellstrom/Landa)
Title: Five Senses - Part four: Taste
Author:linndechir
Fandom: Inglourious Basterds
Pairing: Hellstrom/Landa
Rating: PG-13
Warning: top!Hellstrom, sub!Landa, hand kink, smoking porn
Words: 818
Links to part one, part two, part three, part five.
4) TASTE
They were standing in front of the Opéra Garnier in Paris, having fled the foyer where they could hardly make two steps without having to shake hands with colleagues, party functionaries, and other acquaintances. It was the night of a premiere, and the noise on the street seemed almost peaceful compared to the bustling foyer.
Hellstrom was leaning against one of the pillars of the opera house, shivering a little. He was only wearing his dress uniform, and the spring air was still rather cold. Landa didn’t mind, but it didn’t surprise him that somebody as thin as Hellstrom couldn’t stand the cold.
Landa was chattering about the first act of the opera, about the lead soprano whom he knew quite well, trying to think of anything but Hellstrom in this bloody elegant dress uniform, maybe even trying to convince him that a ladies’ man like him couldn’t possibly desire his own colleague.
Hellstrom nodded or objected occasionally, but he didn’t seem very interested. He didn’t particularly like operas and had only agreed to come because his superior had practically ordered him to.
While Landa kept talking Hellstrom’s fingers went for his cigarettes, surprisingly nimble in his white gloves, offering one to Landa. The colonel realised that he had left his own cigarettes in his coat and gladly accepted, trying not to stare at Hellstrom’s hands when he lit first Landa’s cigarette, then his own.
Landa took a deep drag. Usually he only smoked when he had the time to enjoy his cigarettes, but right now he did it in the hope that it would ease his nervousness. He almost coughed - it had been weeks since he had last accepted a cigarette from Hellstrom, and he remembered now why. They were stronger and more bitter than any other brand Landa had ever tasted. But he overcame his usual revulsion and inhaled again, more calmly this time.
His eyes met Hellstrom’s before they unconsciously looked down at the thin lips, closed tenderly around his cigarette, sucking on it almost devotedly. White-gloved fingers took the cigarette out of his mouth, and Hellstrom quickly licked his lips before the next drag.
Taking another drag on his cigarette Landa realised that Hellstrom had to taste just like this. His mouth was certainly filled with the sharp taste of these cigarettes. He imagined kissing Hellstrom in between two puffs, breathing the bitter smoke into Landa’s mouth when their lips met.
Landa’s hand clenched, almost crushing the cigarette. He felt bare, naked, vulnerable under Hellstrom’s gaze, knowing and cold, but at the same time sensual, filled with the almost sexual pleasure smoking seemed to give him.
He was sure that no cigarette had ever been smoked so slowly before. A small eternity seemed to pass in which they were just standing there, alone, facing each other, exhaling small clouds of smoke into the night. For the first time since they had met Landa finished his cigarette before Hellstrom.
Waiting for Hellstrom to smoke up he felt like a schoolboy waiting for his teacher to deal out the punishment for his misbehaviour. He shivered in anticipation when the stub of Hellstrom’s cigarette was flipped to the ground and then crushed by a boot heel.
Once more Hellstrom’s tongue darted out, tasting his own lips, and Landa’s lips parted in response, silently begging for the same honour. Hellstrom stepped closer to him, shamelessly invading Landa’s personal space.
“You must wonder whether reality lives up to your imagination,” Hellstrom said suddenly, his voice a low whisper. Landa’s eyes widened in shock, panic even. Before he could protest Hellstrom’s lips were on his, and he surrendered to him as willingly and completely as Austria had surrendered to Germany.
It was hot, and bitter, and sharp. The taste of too many cigarettes mixed with the champagne Hellstrom had sipped in the foyer, and there was even a lingering taste of coffee, or maybe Landa only imagined it because he knew that Hellstrom lived on coffee. Black, bitter coffee.
He didn’t even taste half as sweet as the many women Landa had kissed, but this short kiss set him on fire like a young boy who had never been kissed before.
It was over too quickly. Hellstrom drew back before Landa could even return the kiss, either because he feared discovery or because he wanted to tease him. Knowing him, it was probably both.
Landa’s heart was racing, and he could hardly breathe. He didn’t even hear what Hellstrom said, probably an empty, polite phrase about rejoining their colleagues in the foyer; he hardly noticed when the major straightened up in a mock gesture of respect before he returned inside.
Left alone in the cold spring air, Landa touched his quivering lips, filled with disbelief and astonishment. The taste of bitter cigarettes, mixed with something more pleasant, sweeter, promising, lingered on his lips for the rest of the evening.
ON TO PART FIVE
Author:
linndechir Fandom: Inglourious Basterds
Pairing: Hellstrom/Landa
Rating: PG-13
Warning: top!Hellstrom, sub!Landa, hand kink, smoking porn
Words: 818
Links to part one, part two, part three, part five.
4) TASTE
They were standing in front of the Opéra Garnier in Paris, having fled the foyer where they could hardly make two steps without having to shake hands with colleagues, party functionaries, and other acquaintances. It was the night of a premiere, and the noise on the street seemed almost peaceful compared to the bustling foyer.
Hellstrom was leaning against one of the pillars of the opera house, shivering a little. He was only wearing his dress uniform, and the spring air was still rather cold. Landa didn’t mind, but it didn’t surprise him that somebody as thin as Hellstrom couldn’t stand the cold.
Landa was chattering about the first act of the opera, about the lead soprano whom he knew quite well, trying to think of anything but Hellstrom in this bloody elegant dress uniform, maybe even trying to convince him that a ladies’ man like him couldn’t possibly desire his own colleague.
Hellstrom nodded or objected occasionally, but he didn’t seem very interested. He didn’t particularly like operas and had only agreed to come because his superior had practically ordered him to.
While Landa kept talking Hellstrom’s fingers went for his cigarettes, surprisingly nimble in his white gloves, offering one to Landa. The colonel realised that he had left his own cigarettes in his coat and gladly accepted, trying not to stare at Hellstrom’s hands when he lit first Landa’s cigarette, then his own.
Landa took a deep drag. Usually he only smoked when he had the time to enjoy his cigarettes, but right now he did it in the hope that it would ease his nervousness. He almost coughed - it had been weeks since he had last accepted a cigarette from Hellstrom, and he remembered now why. They were stronger and more bitter than any other brand Landa had ever tasted. But he overcame his usual revulsion and inhaled again, more calmly this time.
His eyes met Hellstrom’s before they unconsciously looked down at the thin lips, closed tenderly around his cigarette, sucking on it almost devotedly. White-gloved fingers took the cigarette out of his mouth, and Hellstrom quickly licked his lips before the next drag.
Taking another drag on his cigarette Landa realised that Hellstrom had to taste just like this. His mouth was certainly filled with the sharp taste of these cigarettes. He imagined kissing Hellstrom in between two puffs, breathing the bitter smoke into Landa’s mouth when their lips met.
Landa’s hand clenched, almost crushing the cigarette. He felt bare, naked, vulnerable under Hellstrom’s gaze, knowing and cold, but at the same time sensual, filled with the almost sexual pleasure smoking seemed to give him.
He was sure that no cigarette had ever been smoked so slowly before. A small eternity seemed to pass in which they were just standing there, alone, facing each other, exhaling small clouds of smoke into the night. For the first time since they had met Landa finished his cigarette before Hellstrom.
Waiting for Hellstrom to smoke up he felt like a schoolboy waiting for his teacher to deal out the punishment for his misbehaviour. He shivered in anticipation when the stub of Hellstrom’s cigarette was flipped to the ground and then crushed by a boot heel.
Once more Hellstrom’s tongue darted out, tasting his own lips, and Landa’s lips parted in response, silently begging for the same honour. Hellstrom stepped closer to him, shamelessly invading Landa’s personal space.
“You must wonder whether reality lives up to your imagination,” Hellstrom said suddenly, his voice a low whisper. Landa’s eyes widened in shock, panic even. Before he could protest Hellstrom’s lips were on his, and he surrendered to him as willingly and completely as Austria had surrendered to Germany.
It was hot, and bitter, and sharp. The taste of too many cigarettes mixed with the champagne Hellstrom had sipped in the foyer, and there was even a lingering taste of coffee, or maybe Landa only imagined it because he knew that Hellstrom lived on coffee. Black, bitter coffee.
He didn’t even taste half as sweet as the many women Landa had kissed, but this short kiss set him on fire like a young boy who had never been kissed before.
It was over too quickly. Hellstrom drew back before Landa could even return the kiss, either because he feared discovery or because he wanted to tease him. Knowing him, it was probably both.
Landa’s heart was racing, and he could hardly breathe. He didn’t even hear what Hellstrom said, probably an empty, polite phrase about rejoining their colleagues in the foyer; he hardly noticed when the major straightened up in a mock gesture of respect before he returned inside.
Left alone in the cold spring air, Landa touched his quivering lips, filled with disbelief and astonishment. The taste of bitter cigarettes, mixed with something more pleasant, sweeter, promising, lingered on his lips for the rest of the evening.
ON TO PART FIVE