linndechir | Fic: Rest (Landa/Hellstrom)

Title: Rest
Author:

linndechir
Fandom: Inglourious Basterds
Pairing: Landa/Hellstrom
Rating: PG-13
Words: 1890
Warning: fluff
Summary: Even Landa and Hellstrom need to rest and relax occasionally.
Author’s note: Apparently, Hellstrom’s pomade is very difficult to wash out. Also, apparently August Diehl likes it when people do his hair. I wondered whether the same was true for Dieter … and this is what happened. This one-shot does not follow the storyline of La musica delle parole; I’m just saying this to avoid confusion. By the way, part 3 of La musica will probably be written before the end of the month, if anyone is still waiting for the sequel.

“How do you ever manage to wash this out of your hair?” Landa complained, examining Dieter‘s wet, stringy hair critically. The younger man didn’t even open his eyes. He was reclining in the bathtub, relaxed in the hot water, with Landa sitting on the edge of the tub, sleeves of his shirt rolled up.

“It just takes a bit of time, do it again,” Dieter mumbled, his voice too soft to make it sound like an order. Landa sighed, but he wasn’t really annoyed. He had been the one complaining about the sticky pomade in Dieter’s otherwise so soft hair, and he couldn’t pretend that he wasn’t enjoying himself - watching Dieter naked in the tub, touching him, making him relax. For the third time he started to work the shampoo into Dieter’s hair, gently massaging his scalp.

Dieter’s head lolled back, a relaxed smile on his lips. It was hard to believe that this was the same man as the ruthless Gestapo officer Landa worked with all day. But then again, he supposed that he himself didn’t exactly look like the Jew Hunter either, déshabillé like he was and busy washing another man’s hair. Even Dieter was so used to seeing him either in uniform or naked in bed that he had seemed quite surprised when Landa had followed him to the bathroom, clad only in his trousers, shirt and socks.

Landa was careful not to let the soap run into Dieter’s eyes when he rinsed his hair again, and when he ran his hands through the wet strands again, they finally felt clean. Nothing left of this awful pomade that Dieter insisted on smearing in there. He always said that nobody took him seriously without it, and he purposely ignored Landa’s suggestions to use less. This unflattering hairstyle really did betray Hellstrom’s lower middle-class background, Landa thought, and it was probably good that Dieter always wore his uniform. He didn’t even want to imagine what kind of suits his young colleague would wear.

“Finally,” Landa remarked, and the word made Dieter look up at him. He did seem smug, yes, probably gleeful that he had got Landa to wash his hair - never mind that Landa had been the one to suggest it. But the smile on his lips was for once genuine, and with the wet strands hanging into his face he looked like a mischievous boy. No wonder that he felt the need to make himself appear older.

“One might almost believe you’re ashamed of your beauty,” Landa whispered, fingertips caressing Dieter’s cheek. Admiring the pale skin, the high cheekbones, the slightly parted lips. Every hunter would be proud of such a prey.

“I just know it attracts lecherous old men,” Dieter quipped, yanking Landa out of his contemplation, but he rubbed his cheek against the caressing hand, very much like a cat. At any other time that remark would at least have earned him a reproachful glare, but tonight Landa just chuckled.

They were both tired after slaving away on a particularly complex case for weeks - one of the most influential Parisian collaborators was allegedly conspiring with the France libre against the Germans. The problem had finally been solved today, but they were exhausted after weeks of too much work and not enough sleep. It was December, on top of everything, and although French winters were much milder than German ones, Dieter’s fragile health didn’t handle the cold very well. Landa had virtually forced him to take a hot bath after he had brought him home. Hellstrom had been coughing the whole week, and Landa had been quite surprised to realise that he was worried about him.

“But you like lecherous old men, Dieter,” he just joked back before he got up and stretched his back a little. He never would have thought it possible, but after the past few weeks, even he was tired of manipulative games. He just wanted a peaceful, calm evening with the only man who meant at least something to him. “The water is growing cold.”

Dieter grumbled a little, but he did get up. Landa, hand outstretched to grab a towel, suddenly paused, his breath caught in his throat. Water drops ran over Dieter’s naked, thin body, gleaming on the white skin. His movements were a bit awkward when he stepped out of the tub, and for a second he reminded Landa of a lanky teenage boy who hadn’t quite grown into his body yet. It was quite an arousing thought to imagine his Dieter young again, innocent, untouched, untainted. What wouldn’t he have given for the pleasure of knowing him ten years ago, of being the first one to touch him, to teach him? The thought that some drunken student, or some scum from one of the shady bars back then had been granted the privilege to taste this skin made Landa sick. Nobody but himself was good enough for this treasure.

He closed the distance between them, roughly grabbed Dieter’s chin and stared into his eyes.

“You let anyone else touch you, and I will kill you,” he said matter-of-factly, but he couldn’t quite keep the agitation from his voice. Dieter’s eyes widened in surprise, and Landa realised that he might have given away too much. That his possessiveness might be misinterpreted as affection.

He quickly drew back his hand and cleared his throat, feeling quite embarrassed. He had never meant to speak his mind, and he really needed some rest if his self-control slipped so easily. He was irritable and overworked, and definitely not in the right mood to think about the possibility of losing his precious toy.

His hand finally took the towel and wrapped it around Dieter‘s body, noticing how the young man had already started shivering again. It was warm in the bathroom, almost too warm for Landa’s liking, but Dieter seemed to be cold most of the time. Their eyes met for only a second, and although Dieter obviously wanted to, he refrained from commenting on the colonel’s unexpected outburst. He really was an intelligent man, and Landa realised that Dieter was perhaps the only person who could truly understand him. Dieter never thought that moments like these were a weakness he could exploit, but a danger for both of them. He knew that Landa was a lot more likely to kill someone he cared about than a replaceable plaything.

But tonight was not the time to brood over this, not the time for threats and games, not when they were both so tired that they hardly knew what they were saying. Dieter just smiled a bit at Landa when the older man started to rub him dry, first his body, then his hair. Landa sighed in anticipation when he looked into Dieter’s boyish face, framed by moist, messy hair.

Warm hands slid under the towel and caressed Dieter’s back, pulling him close into a gentle embrace, tender, fatherly almost, right until Dieter turned his head to kiss Landa, leaning against him as if he didn’t even have the strength anymore to stay on his feet. Landa’s right hand sneaked between them, fingers wrapping around Dieter’s still soft cock, for once not teasing, but genuinely wanting to pleasure him.

All the while he returned the kiss softly, with more consideration than he’d bestow on a virginal girl, and for the first time in weeks he felt completely at peace. This blissful moment didn’t last long, though. Their kiss was suddenly interrupted when Dieter turned away and started coughing, and Landa could feel the violent spasms that shook Dieter’s frail body.

A dizzying wave of concern swept over him, this indescribable fear that had unsettled him for a few days now. His intellect told him that there was nothing to worry about, that Dieter had nothing but a cold, but part of him, an emotional part he had long thought subdued, was as disproportionately worried as a father who feared for his only child.

Dieter had always scoffed at Landa’s worried looks, but tonight he didn’t refuse the helping arm that stayed around his thin frame when Landa led him out of the bathroom, still only covered by the big towel, and to his bedroom. Dieter’s eyes were red-rimmed and underlined by dark circles. It only made him more beautiful.

As Landa watched Dieter put the towel aside and lie down on the bed, a tired smile on his lips, his concern gave way to renewed arousal when his eyes roamed over the white body. Almost as white as porcelain. Perfect, invaluable, but so easy to break. All the more beautiful because it was so fragile.

When he had been younger himself, Landa had preferred muscular men, tall, strong, athletic, healthy. He had enjoyed subduing men who could break his spine with their bare hands. But as he had grown more mature himself, he had discovered that subduing a brilliant mind was so much more rewarding, and also that a man’s fragility was so different from a woman’s. There was nothing feminine about his Dieter; fragile women used their weakness as an excuse, but for Dieter it was only one more incentive to make himself perfect.

“Are you going to stare at me for the whole evening?” Dieter interrupted Landa’s thoughts once more. His voice was a bit hoarse, but he was smiling, apparently not the least bit worried about his health. Landa scolded himself. Dieter was right, he shouldn’t waste their first free evening in a long time on introspective brooding - especially not when it might lead to unpleasant realisations about himself and their disturbingly intimate relationship.

“I hardly got to stare at you for two weeks, Dieter, give me a moment,” Landa joked, but he still felt a bit embarrassed, and he knew that Dieter noticed. Once more the Gestapo officer was either too tired or too cautious to remark on Landa’s unusual edginess. Instead he just sat up and stretched out his hand, long fingers reaching for Landa’s wrist. Their eyes met again, silently, and after talking too much for the past weeks, no words were needed now.

Landa quickly switched off the small lamp on the nightstand, and the room was now only dimly lit by the light of the street lamps that fell through the window. It made Dieter’s skin gleam almost unnaturally, but Landa didn’t get a chance to look at him for long. Shivering again, Dieter moved into his arms, putting his head against Landa’s chest, sighing contentedly when Landa pulled the thick blanket over them and embraced him. Dieter yawned and closed his eyes as soon as he had found a comfortable position, lazily nuzzling Landa’s throat.

It occurred to Landa that they had never before just gone to sleep together, but he was too tired to make much of this realisation. He might have been aroused before, but as soon as his head touched the pillow his body violently claimed the well-deserved rest it had been denied for too long. Everything else could wait until the morning.

He pressed a soft kiss on Dieter’s hair, and for a second he imagined grabbing it and pushing Dieter down, holding it while he ravished his mouth … A soft snore interrupted his sleepy fantasies. Tomorrow. Landa smiled and closed his eyes.