First kiss

josrich-oats:

Himmler thought he’d never see his opportunity rise, nor did he think his dirty fantasies would come true, as this was almost too perfect; It was dark, and the moon’s pale light shone over the world as the night froze the atmosphere, the puddles on the ground from the afternoon shower thin as ice; Himmler could see his own breath along with the cigarette smoke, as Goebbels stood beside him smoking his third one.

They never really talked, and if arguing and nasty glares counted as interactions then they’d be the most sociable leaders in the Reich, and the fact that they stood alone together so late at night and smoked together was almost a miracle; more so that Goebbels himself invited Himmler, he was apparently the only person who wouldn’t talk his ear off or complain about the amount of cigarettes he’d burn in one break; and he almost denied, as it seemed like a joke, but it was almost too perfect to reject.

The ashtray was conveniently placed on Himmler’s side rather than Goebbels’, and this was almost too good; how Goebbels reached over to tap his cigarette in the tray and how he’d reach in front of Himmler, and what an opportunity this was, grabbing his face, planting his thumb in one side of his cheek and his index in the other, yanking him forward and oh, the lustful thrill that rushed through Himmler’s body as their mouths connected, pushing his tongue into Goebbels’ mouth and being so selfish with how he kissed and how much more he wanted with every second he was making out with Goebbels, and he didn’t notice Goebbels’ eyes widen, or his face going pale; he didn’t notice the struggle to resist his iron grip, nor did he hear Goebbels’ cigarette land on the floor, putting the cigarette out with a long, dragging hiss.

voyeurism

rubidus-hepta:

God, just look at those two disgusting faggots going at it where they think no one can see their frail weakling frames (and well, they’re right, but I was intrigued by their repeated disappearance and followed from afar), Bimmel has his face buried between Hartmann’s legs, lapping like a feral dog and the kid has the audacity to throw his head back like a teenaged cunt and wriggle on the dusty ground, but for sure some cadet would sell his soul to clean after the Black Devil’s uniform, maybe scavenge a bit of his prestige by carefully licking clean every crusty cumstain, right?

For some reason I can’t tear my binoculars from my eyes, the metal sinking on the bridge of my nose and I’m starting to really crave a smoke but god, another hot wave of rage (and of course, the hint of unpleasant arousal, but what can I say, I’m lost in some godforsaken country on a war I never signed for, away from home, away from her, and not even qualified for a brave death as all I do is stick my hands in oily engines day after day) rushes through me as I observe those two little creeps kissing like schoolkids, and thankfully i’m a bit too far to see Bubi’s face as -oh, dread- Bimmel seems to nibble on his nose, hands on the aviator tiny thighs, splitting them apart and I almost retch, I swear.

Hartmann flails his arm around him with jerky twitches, and that’s not surprising with the amount of Pervitin our dear country has in store to keep little cunts flying high ( two soviets he claimed today, can you believe that?), now Bimmel is hammering into him, looking quite motivated to fill him to the brim with his spunk as much as he’s filled with drugs, and I just can’t watch this shit anymore, I shove my binoculars on their holster, light a cigarette with sweaty hands and head back to camp where hopefully some distraction will prove useful on not lingering on what I just witnessed.