by Max Hudson
When Emmerich’s gaze lowered back to Martin, the adoration that filled his eyes made Martin suck in a breath.
“You learn fast,” Emmerich said.
A nervous giggle burst out of Martin, try as he might to quench it. Turning red, he ran his teeth over his bottom lip. “My teacher is excellent.”
Emmerich hummed in agreement, leaning forward and giving Martin a chaste kiss. “I’ll clean up. Wait right here.” He exited the room as Martin’s expression pinched.
He looked down at himself, at the floor—the semen. Ah.
With the lust ebbing away, Martin regained a greater sense of awareness of himself. He shifted awkwardly and tapped his thighs. What else was he supposed to do with his hands? With his…anything?
Emmerich returned in haste, thank the Lord, with some moist washcloths. He lightly cleaned Martin first, whose face burned as he watched the humbling sight. Then Emmerich cleaned himself before lazily swiping at the floor.
“I guess I should go,” Martin said, not knowing what else to say or do. Such an intense experience…it left his mind empty of meaningful thought.
Emmerich’s face fell. “Oh. I suppose you should, yes. But…”
“But…?”
“There’s more to this than just…well, this. People tend to stay over, rest a little while before leaving. Do you want to do that first?”
It was the tone, pitchy and rough with need, that had Martin’s chest warming over. He nodded.
Emmerich visibly relaxed. “Come here.” He grabbed Martin’s forearm and guided him to the bed. They both wrestled with the tangled covers somewhat until they rested on top of the two men.
Emmerich wrapped his arms around Martin and brushed his nose against his. “Nice, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” Martin said, closing his eyes and breathing deeply. His body had never felt so sated. And, despite the obvious dangers, he felt safe. Relaxed. Cared for.
Stupidly, he fell asleep.
Chapter Eleven
“EMMERICH!”
Martin jolted, eyes snapping open and heart lodging itself into his throat.
“OPEN THE DOOR!” a woman yelled from…somewhere.
Don’t panic, Martin told himself as his gaze dashed all over the unfamiliar setting—morning light seeping through the closed curtains. When his eyes landed on Emmerich, snoring and drooling peacefully beside him, Martin blanched.
He had stayed the night at Emmerich’s.
“Emmerich!” And that was Auta yelling outside the front door. “I know you’re in there!”
Martin leaped out of bed and ran over to each of his discarded articles of clothing. He shoved his limbs in the proper sleeves, pant-legs—wobbling sometimes but never quite falling over. He snarled quiet curses to himself as Auta kept screaming.
Emmerich’s eyes fluttered open, his lips smacking together. He glanced around before he noticed Martin—shoving on his shoes after he had stuffed his socks in his pockets. He frowned. “What’s wrong? You look like you pissed yourself.”
Auta shouted Emmerich’s name again.
Emmerich stiffened. “Shit.”
Martin—fully dressed in wrinkled clothing—raced over to the front door and opened it.
Auta’s face fell, horror blooming in her eyes. “You’re here. I thought—you never came back, and I thought—but I didn’t think this—” She stepped away, bumping against the wall behind her. “You stayed here, didn’t you? You and Emmerich were…” She cringed. Shaking her head jaggedly, she started to hurry away.
But Martin grabbed her and yanked her into the apartment.
“Let me go!” she yelled, shoving herself off from his torso.
Martin closed the front door with one hand while reaching out toward her with the other. “Let me explain—”
“No,” she said, lips quivering. “No, no, you can’t keep lying to me about this and expect me to believe you. You’re sick, just like him. That’s why you—” She gagged, her hands flying to her mouth. “I can’t believe this.”
“Auta, there are much more important things than this.”
She snorted, voice high. “I’m well aware! My mother is upstairs wanting to talk to you about more wedding details. And she’s wondering why I don’t know where my husband ran off to!”
“Don’t yell.” He pressed his lips together and breathed deeply through his nose. “We can figure this out, but we have to stay calm.”
“Figure what out?! That you’re a homosexual?!”
“Quiet,” he hissed, grabbing her shoulder and crouching closer to her level. “You’ll get us all killed.”
“No, just you,” she growled shakily. She tried to push his arm off her, but his grip on her shoulder remained strong. “Stop touching me. Get away, you freak.”
Emmerich swaggered over to them, his torso bare but his lower half covered by pants. Small mercies, that. He smirked at Auta, his gaze hard. “What did I miss?”
Auta flinched and glanced away, murmuring fervently to herself.
“What?” Emmerich asked, moving a little closer to her. “He has to keep me pacified, otherwise I’ll rat you all out to the Nazis.”
Her eyebrows shot up.
Martin groaned, glaring at Emmerich. “Stop.” Then he glared at Auta. “And you need to stop, too. This line of work is dangerous, it’s crazy, it involves a lot of compromises and risks, and right now, I need you to be calm so that our covers don’t get blown. Your mother is still in the apartment?”
She hesitated before nodding.
Damn it. “All right,” he said. He looked over his messed-up clothing and winced. “All right. I need to clean myself up a little. You,” he turned to Emmerich, “need to stay quiet and not antagonize anyone. And you,” he turned to Auta, “just need to take some deep breaths. If you want to report me to the OSS after the mission is through, fine. But doing it during the mission will only take me off it, and the agency doesn’t have time to get a new agent informed on everything which has happened the past several months.” That might not be completely true, but he wasn’t going to admit it. “All right?”
Auta glanced between him and Emmerich. She also took the time to pointedly glare at Martin’s hand on her shoulder.
Martin released her and rushed to the bathroom. “Work on looking calm then,” he snapped. “I’ll work on my appearance in the meantime.”
Emmerich said, “You look great to—”
“Not now,” Martin barked.
Emmerich snorted. “Fine.”
Auta released a distressed, disturbed noise, but she remained where she stood. She didn’t go running out screaming that Martin was a homosexual, so that was something. At least, he hoped it was something.
***
There was only so much one person could do in a few minutes. His clothes were still a little wrinkled, but his shirt was tucked in now and his hair looked somewhat prepared—not too rustled, combed back using dabs of water.
Auta had managed to stop squeaking—whining—whatever noise she had been making earlier—by the time she and he left Emmerich’s apartment and returned upstairs. He grabbed her hand smiling sweetly at her.
She winced, but she didn’t pull away. She was trying to play the part, at least.
“There you are!” Edda called when the entered the apartment. She stood in the center of the humble abode, a fur wrapped around her neck and a thick hat covering most of her short hair. “Martin, you had us so worried.”
“I apologize,” Martin said, squeezing Auta’s hand when she still didn’t smile. “The neighbor downstairs requested that we walk lightly, and—” Martin shrugged, his expression softening in amusement. “We worked it out.”
“Are you sure?” Edda asked. She clasped her hands together and glanced at the floor. “I heard yelling.”
“He’s an SS Officer. I can’t blame him for being a little stressed sometimes. He’s a hero.”
Edda’s eyebrows rose, her shoulders lowering. “Oh, what’s his name? My husban
d may know of him.”
“Forgive me,” Martin said quickly, releasing Auta and moving closer to Edda, “but I’m afraid I’m a little too eager to hear about your thoughts on the wedding. Auta said you had new ideas?”
“Yes!” Edda said, beaming. She grabbed his upper arm and squeezed. “I just found my husband’s tux—the one he wore to our wedding. I was hoping we could get it tailored to fit you.”
“Sounds lovely,” he said. He glanced back at Auta. “Doesn’t it, sweetheart?”
Auta blinked hard. “My father’s tux…on you…during our wedding.” She stared at him for several seconds before she walked into the kitchen. “What can I say to such…traditionalism? I’ll make us some coffee.” She fumbled through the many cupboards.
Edda huffed. “She’s always been an odd one,” she whispered to Martin. “But don’t be too put off by her. She’s a very maternal, devoted young lady.”
“I know.”
“Oh, of course you do! Silly me.” She laughed.
Martin made himself laugh along with her.
***
After Edda had finally left, Martin didn’t bother with Auta anymore; he ran into the surveillance room and called Charlie. “Our covers may have been blown,” Martin whispered. “You have to get our main asset to a secure location.”
“Burn and torn, remember?”
“I know, but it’s not necessary.”
“It’s not about necessity. It’s more convenient, cleaner. No paper trails. No betrayals. You understand?”
He did—always had, if he was willing to be honest with himself—and that was why he went rigid, tongue heavy in his mouth. He tried to swallow, but his throat wouldn’t cooperate.
“Martin?” Charlie said. “Do I need to repeat myself?”
“No,” he spat.
“If you and the secondary asset need to flee, we can set up—”
“The secondary asset is a potential mole. Our main asset is…disturbing, apparently.”
“Ah. Then do whatever needs to be done to please the secondary asset. Or, if need be, let that asset do the burning and tearing.”
Martin clenched his teeth. “Fine,” he gritted out. He slammed the phone down on the receiver. God damn them all.
He shouldn’t have wasted time hoping for different responses. But with Emmerich’s life on the line—
The front door squeaked open, then closed. Auta had left.
Chapter Twelve
She didn’t betray them—didn’t run to her father or any other authoritative figure and cry about how she knew of these two men who had been intimate with one another.
“After this is over,” she told Martin when she had returned from walking around the city. “That is what you said, and I think that is right. We do the mission first, and then we deal with this secondary problem.”
Martin had glared—had been irritated—but he had also nodded in agreement. Some things did need to take priority, after all.
***
Things had calmed considerably for another long period of time. Though Auta was more distant with him, she had kept her word and not put him and Emmerich in danger.
And Martin—despite knowing better, despite fearing the worse, despite everything—kept visiting Emmerich. He became addicted to Emmerich’s snark, his lips, his ruthless honesty, his strong hands—
More and more, Martin understood why people like Emmerich took the risk of being with other men. Martin had never known such happiness before, and he couldn’t bring himself to let it go.
It made the approaching wedding all the more stressful. Less than a week away—it wasn’t official, of course, and even if it had been, it wasn’t like he and Emmerich could—
“Martin,” Auta said shakily, entering the apartment and closing the door behind her. Her hands clasped together, she raised them to her mouth as her body quivered. “Martin, there’s—it’s…”
Martin left his lunch at the table and hurried over to her. “What is it? Does your mother want us to cartwheel down the aisle now?”
She shook her head jaggedly. “I overheard my father and his colleagues. They want to murder someone.”
Martin kept his expression gentle, lips quirking downward. “I’m sorry you had to hear that, but that’s not uncommon. Not within the Nazi military.” A haunting of his conversation with Emmerich about stopping the raid in an innocent neighborhood clutched the back of Martin’s mind. “I’m sorry, Auta, but we can’t risk our covers just yet. Not for one man.”
“But that man is Dr. Werner,” she said. “And my father thinks he’s trying to defect.”
Hope sprung within him. “Doctor. As in—”
“I think it’s in nuclear physics. Papa kept talking about weapons and threats and…those kinds of things.” Her gaze lowered to her hands. “I knew what he was, but to actually hear him talk about ending someone’s life—and their family—so casually and cruelly.” She covered her face and shook her head again. “God forgive him.”
Martin grabbed her shoulder and squeezed. “This intel is good, Auta. Really good. We can do the right thing now.”
She didn’t glance up from her hands, a quiet sob wracking her form.
“You did good,” he said gently. “I’ll call the OSS and get a plan in the works.” He patted her arm. “In the meantime, try to rest. We’ll save the doctor and his family.”
She didn’t respond right away, so he did as he said he would: he went and called Charlie.
***
“Here’s how it’ll work,” he said to Emmerich over the phone hours later. Martin tapped the table in a rapid rhythm. “Auta and I are going to invite you and your girlfriend to the reception, which will take place in General Achter’s home. Edda Achter will probably love the idea, too. It’ll give her a chance to show off her daughter’s charming husband—or, ‘husband-to-be’ as some of the relatives believe.”
Emmerich made a noise of acknowledgement, then grunted.
“Auta and I will be the distractions, and you can look through the General’s bedroom and office. Any information about a Dr. Bernhardt Werner.”
Emmerich grunted again before sloppily—noisily—licking his lips.
Martin stopped tapping. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“Emmerich.”
Static jittered through the line, Emmerich releasing a long sigh. “You’re getting married. I’m going to be a little uncomfortable with that. It’s not unreasonable.”
“It is, actually,” Martin said, smiling and shaking his head. “There’s no real significance in it, and even if there was, she couldn’t keep me away from you.”
“Well, sure, but then there’s my date.”
“You’ve been doing excellent work staying with that woman for so long. It’ll be a waste if you got rid of her now. More than that, it could get people doubting your…preferences again.”
“Work.” He snorted. “That’s exactly the problem, Martin. Being with her is work, and I always feel…it’s just not right, any of this.”
“They’re lies. And I’m afraid they’re necessary.”
“I just want to be with you. Why is that such a fucking problem with everyone?”
Martin’s heart fluttered, his smile widening into something more sincere. “I want to be with you, too. But we must be patient for now.”
“I don’t like it. Feels like I’m betraying you.”
“You’re not—”
A quick slosh came over the line, followed by a gentler sound of someone gulping.
Martin glared, his grip on the phone tightening. “Are you drinking? Now?”
Emmerich was quiet for a moment.
Martin growled and rubbed his forehead. “Damn it, Emmerich.”
“Don’t do that,” he snapped. “I’m nervous and depressed as hell. I only need a few swallows to keep myself in check. I can’t be fucking perfect all the time.”
“You told me you had stopped.”
“I had. And now
I’m starting it up again.” Another louder slosh came over the line.
“Emmerich,” Martin growled, “this is serious. You need to be sober if you want to stay safe.”
“That may be true for you, but it’s not for me. Drinking helps me stay calm, and if I’m calm, I’m focused. That’s safer.”
“You nearly got executed in this country. Don’t tell me you know how to be safe when I know that isn’t even a little true. Put the bottle down and call your date.”
Emmerich paused. And then there was another slosh.
Hurt and frustration simmered beneath Martin’s clavicle. “Emmerich—”
“I’ll get my date, watch you get married—do all that fun shit, and I’ll do it well. Stop nagging about a few drinks, all right?”
“I’m not nagging, and you’re being stupid.”
“Let’s talk about this after you get married, okay? Goodbye.”
“Don’t you—”
Emmerich hung up.
“—hang up.” Martin lowered the phone and pressed his palms over his eyes. He shook his head, worry twisting his insides. “Moron.” Sometimes he just wanted to grab Emmerich and—
A light knock rasped against the door before it opened.
Martin swallowed back a frustrated groan. “Not now, Auta.”
“You really care about him, don’t you?”
It was such an absurd question. Brow furrowed, he let his hand drop as he turned to gawk at her. “You still thought I was using him?”
“No.” She picked at her fingernails, face twisted in deep thought. “I thought that you just…that you were giving in to a sick need. But it’s more than that. It’s not merely a…fetish. You care about him.”
Martin stayed quiet, confirming her statement.
Auta looked down at her fingers. “I’m sorry. I haven’t treated you or Emmerich very kindly because I thought….” She blushed, clearing her throat. “But there’s sincere love behind it. If what you two do is a result of some kind of mental illness, it doesn’t seem so horrible. It’s not worth killing men over, at least.”