by Max Hudson
Martin’s thumb twitched. He managed a few seconds of complete stillness—burning muscles going taut and breath trapped in his lungs; that was when he jammed his thumb into the trigger.
The pellet shot out and pierced Bahr’s liver spot so fast that Martin would’ve thought nothing had happened.
Except that Bahr inhaled sharply.
And then an angry red spot blossomed from the reddish-brown splotch.
Emmerich and the other guard kept talking about Nurse Abigail Smith. Martin almost slipped—nearly cried out—and managed to not do either. Then he retracted his hand and replaced the pen back in his jacket pocket.
Job done. Now it was just a matter of discarding the pen and then getting back to the hotel room, rapid and undetected. The easy parts, as far as he was concerned.
Chapter Ten
“Are you all right?” Auta asked that morning after they had trudged back to their apartment, her bag in her hand and his bag in his. “You seem more stressed than usual.”
“I’m fine,” he lied. He hadn’t slept—hadn’t had the chance. His eyes stung and discomfort pulsated through various points of his body. He continued onward to the surveillance room and placed his bag on the floor by the clump of blankets.
“It’s about Emmerich, isn’t it?” she asked.
“It’s about his lack of intel,” he lied again, lips curling downward. “I’ll handle it.” He closed the door before he could hear another one of her opinions.
He also didn’t want her catching him snuggling into the blankets, his eyes closing and consciousness quick to leave him.
***
His eyes snapped open. Instinct had him flying to his feet and smoothing out his attire just as loud footsteps—boots, heavy, quick—approached the door.
Auta growled something to the intruder, so he wasn’t a real threat. That meant—
Emmerich swung the door open and sneered at Martin. “What the hell were you doing?”
Auta scoffed, high-pitched. “What is he doing? What are you doing?”
Emmerich ignored her, his chest heaving. “You could’ve—you almost—” He shook his head. “Why didn’t you at least tell me?”
Martin blinked tiredly. Training had taught him to always play the innocent, especially when you were anything but, yet staring at Emmerich—the rage that swirled in his eyes had an underlying sense of betrayal in them. And even some concern.
Martin rubbed his eyes, still sore from not enough sleep. “Is he dead?”
“Of course he’s dead.”
Auta paled. “Who’s dead?”
Emmerich moved closer to Martin and jabbed his finger against Martin’s chest. “I saw you, moron. And Gerger would’ve, too, if I hadn’t kept his eyes on the nurses in the hallway. You keep saying this is our mission, and then you keep me in the dark about something so big?”
“They believe Bahr died of natural causes?” he asked. Because if they didn’t—if they believed that Emmerich had failed in his duties—.
“Yes,” Emmerich snarled. “Stop changing the subject and answer my questions!”
Auta entered the small room and jutted her chin upward. “You don’t get to demand anything of him. He’s the boss, and this is a life-threatening mission. Why he pacifies you with his fake devotion toward you, I don’t understand. You’re not worth all of this.”
Emmerich’s anger cracked, eyes widening and glazing over. He looked frozen in pain—in sorrow—in loss, though his lips parted just barely enough for air to whoosh past them.
Martin’s chest felt as if it concaved on itself, and he stepped a little closer to him. “That’s not true.”
Auta scoffed and turned away, nose wrinkling.
“It’s not!”
Emmerich spun around and hurried out of the room.
“Emmerich!” Martin chased after him, only to stop the second Emmerich slammed the front door shut.
They couldn’t be seen together, not ever. Auta had been right about Emmerich bursting in there—again—and it was this awareness that kept Martin in place, despite the way his heart shattered.
This wasn’t right. This wasn’t fair.
“We’re better off without him, I think,” Auta said.
Martin’s blood boiled. Slowly, he looked at her, his eyes blazing despite their glassy texture. “You don’t get to decide that.”
She stepped back.
Martin bit his tongue before he said anything more. He returned to the surveillance room and slammed the door behind him.
***
He had called Charlie. Then he had tried to go back to sleep, but Emmerich’s face plagued him—the pain in those eyes...
Martin’s heart beat too hard and twisted too often for him to rest.
Evening darkened the sky, and he wasn’t sure what Emmerich’s duties were now. They hadn’t had the chance to debrief properly. They should’ve done that before everything else—Martin should’ve called and demanded details before trying to forget about Emmerich staring at him like—like—
Martin threw the blankets off himself, got up, and pressed one of the headphones against his ear. At first, there was nothing but static.
Then there was a restrained sob, breathy and quivering.
Martin dropped the headphones and ran over to the phone, his fingers twitching as he dialed Emmerich’s number. The ring droned in Martin’s ear, putting him on edge. “Emmerich, please…”
Emmerich answered. “Hello?”
For a few seconds, Martin couldn’t bring himself to speak. His tongue felt too heavy in his mouth, fear spiking up his chest.
“Hello?” Emmerich repeated testily, voice cracking.
“It’s Martin.”
“I assumed it was, but I thought I should make sure. I wouldn’t want to break our covers or anything.”
Martin closed his eyes, his palm pressing hard against them.
“So, what is it?” Emmerich asked. “What do you need me to do now?”
“Just listen, please. What Auta said—it wasn’t true.”
“Stop,” Emmerich rasped. He cleared his throat. “Look, you—I already told you that I know what I am to you. I shouldn’t have reacted like that. But I’m fine, it’s over with—I won’t risk your mission or anything like that.”
“I don’t care about the mission.”
Emmerich actually laughed, the sound brittle and resentful. “Fucking bastard. You think I’d believe that?”
“I care about you,” Martin snapped. His hand fell to the table and his eyes open. “I don’t—I don’t know how to do this. You know who you are and what you want, but I don’t know how to be that way. It terrifies me, but that doesn’t mean…” Doesn’t mean what? Lord, what was he trying to say?
“You don’t have to lie to me anymore.” Emmerich’s tone wobbled beneath the weight of frustration. Of grief. “I want the Nazis defeated as much as you do. Hell, probably more. Let’s just move past this, all right?”
“You’re not listening to me.”
“Are you listening to you? You do know who you are, and you know exactly what you want. It’s always been about the job with you, never about anything else.”
Martin’s mouth hung open, eyes bulging. Fondness warmed him, accompanied by a strange sense of pure relief. “You know me.”
“No shit.”
“No one knows me, Emmerich. My family, my friends—they don’t know what I do for living, much less that I’m…” He pressed his lips together and shook his head. “You know me. That matters. No, that’s everything.”
“It’s nothing other than something you can use against me. And I’m letting you.” He choked out another laugh, this one even more brittle as a hint of sob took over. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore. Call me when you actually need me to do something.” He ended the call.
“Emmerich?” The dial tone felt like a slap in the face. He hung up and was about to call again when he froze.
Emmerich wasn’t a man of words. He was
a man of action.
Martin glanced over the phone, determination swelling beneath his clavicle. That device was useless at a time like this, as was all his training. Emmerich wasn’t a target or an asset—not anymore—and Martin would be damned if he kept treating him like these things.
He deserved better.
Martin ran out of the room—yelling at Auta to stay put—and ran downstairs. His arms trembled with exhilaration, a devious smile spreading over his lips.
He barged into Emmerich’s apartment and closed the door behind him. “Emmerich, I know you’re still here.” He headed toward the bedroom.
Emmerich, clawing at his own arm for some reason, walked out of it and gaped at Martin. “What are you doing?”
Martin kept smiling. The liberation of this rebellion—of this gesture—it tickled his insides. “I don’t know what we are to each other, or if it is even possible that two men could have any real future together, but right now, I know you mean a great deal to me. You know me, Emmerich.” His smile widened, quivering as his eyes watered. “That’s the most treasured gift anyone has ever given me. Please, give me a chance. I’ll do anything to prove that I’m not lying to you.”
Emmerich stared at him hard. Scratching his arm some more, he asked, “Do you have any siblings?”
“Two older brothers and three younger sisters. We used to be close before I started my work with the OSS. I missed all their weddings. I don’t know how that proves anything though. Tell me to do something, and I’ll do it. I’ll get arrested for you—or something else stupid that doesn’t endanger your life or Auta’s.”
Emmerich cocked an eyebrow. “Have you been drinking?”
“No. Why?” He had to withhold the urge to get irritated. “Have you?”
“No,” Emmerich groaned, nails digging a little deeper into his arm. “I’ve been wanting to, believe me, but you get so fucking pissed off—important mission-this, and your life will be put in danger-that.” He shrugged. “I’ll try to drink myself to death after this is over.”
It wasn’t romantic, not really. But that didn’t stop the warmth from flooding Martin’s system. “You listened to me.”
“You’re really starting to depress me now with these statements. No one knows you, and now no one listens to you? How have you not become a drunk yet?”
Martin hurried forward, cradled Emmerich’s face, and kissed him.
Emmerich stiffened. Then he practically went lax, leaning into the kiss and grabbing Martin’s shirt. His lips were chapped—his grip on Martin’s shirt too tight; it felt like bliss.
They kissed like that for a while, Emmerich pulling back a breadth every so often just to change the angle of the kiss. His warm breath brushing over Martin’s mouth sent shivers down his back.
Emmerich’s grip on the shirt loosened, his fingers sliding lower—over Martin’s stomach, which flipped beneath the light touch.
“Tell me,” Emmerich whispered, “what can I see? What can I touch?” His hands moved to hold Martin’s hips, a grounding pressure.
Martin swallowed. “I…I don’t know.” He cupped Emmerich’s neck, the rapid pulse beneath his palms making Martin’s breath catch. “I have never…”
“Slow, then. Just tell me when to stop.” He undid one lower button on Martin’s shirt, then another one up higher, and another—so slow, so gentle.
Martin tried to look down, but Emmerich stood too close. Martin’s nose bumped into his cheek.
Emmerich didn’t move away.
Martin didn’t push him away, just focused on the feel of his shirt parting down the middle. He nearly jumped when Emmerich yanked the rest of the shirt out from Martin’s waistband and pulled it off.
The article of clothing fell to the floor.
Emmerich pulled off Martin’s undershirt next.
Though the air wasn’t cold, Martin couldn’t help but shiver against it. He closed his eyes and pressed his forehead against Emmerich’s temple, panting soft but rapid.
Emmerich’s feather-light touches trailed over Martin’s abdomen, up over his pecs and nipples—.
Martin nearly choked on a moan. Heat blossomed and swirled within his torso, his cock twitching.
Emmerich’s hands moved lower—massaging the flesh they came across now. He clamped on Martin’s hips, nails digging into the skin a little.
Pleasure—this pure yet tantalizing kind of warmth—was quick to envelop Martin fully, even rising up his throat and brushing against the back of his mouth.
“Maybe you should lie down,” Emmerich whispered against Martin’s jaw before running his teeth over it. “Let me take care of you like no one has ever done before.”
“Yes,” he said, though he didn’t lie down, rather he leaned forward and pressed his palm against Emmerich’s heart. “Can I…can I do the same for you? Will you show me how?”
“God, yes.” Emmerich guided him backward, into the bedroom. He kissed and licked at Martin’s jaw and throat so much that they two practically fell onto the bed—Martin landing on his back and Emmerich landing on Martin.
Sloppy—swaying on his forearms—Emmerich pressed fervent kisses over Martin’s clavicle, then lower.
Martin couldn’t help but smile and arch. “It…” He released a breathy laugh. “It kind of tickles.”
Smirking, Emmerich lifted himself up a little and blew a long breath over the skin.
Martin nearly jolted, eyelids fluttering. “That’s nice.”
Emmerich did it again, scooting lower and lower. His gaze flickered up at Martin’s face. The playful lust in his dark eyes made Martin blush.
Emmerich was at his waist when he tapped Martin’s belt. “May I?”
Martin pressed his lips together, mind racing—heart hammering. “I…” He glanced over Emmerich’s clothed torso before tugging at one of the sleeves. “What about you?”
Emmerich looked down at himself. “That’s fair.” He backed up and stood on the floor. With graceful ease, he took off his jacket and his shirt—strong arms stretching over his head as he tossed the clothing to the floor.
Martin was slack-jawed. He scanned Emmerich’s bare torso, each ripple of muscle—each small scar—each and every detail mesmerizing. Martin’s mouth watered.
Emmerich ran his knuckles down his own waist. “Would you like me to continue or—”
“Yes.”
Emmerich grinned. “Glad to know I’m irresistible.”
God, he had no idea.
Emmerich unbuckled his belt and then yanked it free in one quick swoop. It clattered to the floor as he slowly undid the button of his pants.
Martin could barely breathe. His cock throbbed, need quivering through his flesh. Instinct screamed at him to charge forward—to take, to devour, to fuck this gorgeous man into the bed. Holding it back made him twitch and shudder.
Emmerich kicked off his shoes and socks before he slid one leg free from his pants, and then the other. A blush crept over his cheeks as he pushed down his underwear and stepped out of them. He bit his lip, eyes honed in on Martin.
Martin’s eyes were glued to Emmerich’s cock, already hard. It was a little longer than Martin’s, the bushy hair around it a shade darker too.
Martin shot out of bed before even thinking about it, wrapping his arms around Emmerich and kissing him again.
Emmerich stumbled back, laughing against Martin’s lips. Their southernmost halves pressed together—rubbed against each other somewhat.
Martin moaned. “More, more, please—” He bucked his hips forward, increasing the pressure against their manhoods. The corners of his vision flashing white. “Em—”
“All right, all right, wait a minute. Patience.”
Martin tensed and clenched his teeth—willing his body to obey Emmerich’s wishes. He breathed heavily with the effort of it.
“You wanted me to show you, yes?” Emmerich asked.
“Yes,” Martin rasped.
“Then let me show you.” He was much gentler in taking of
f Martin’s belt—much gentler in getting Martin to push of his shoes and socks, to step out of his pants, and then to slide off his briefs. “Good, good.”
Martin closed his eyes and pressed his face in the crook of Emmerich’s neck. Curious as he was—needy as he was—he feared that looking down at both of them would be too much for him.
Emmerich grabbed Martin’s hand and placed it in between their waists. Into Martin’s hair, he rasped, “Have you ever touched yourself, Martin?”
Martin winced and pressed his forehead a little harder against Emmerich’s neck.
Emmerich swore. “Goody church boy. How you’ve survived this long without—” He sighed, kissing Martin’s hairline. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll still show you.” He led Martin’s fingers to Emmerich’s cock.
Martin nearly gasped.
“Wrap your fingers around it,” Emmerich whispered.
Martin did.
“A firmer grip. I’m not made of glass.”
He tightened his grip and jumped when Emmerich did.
“It’s been too long,” Emmerich moaned, releasing Martin’s hand to grab his cock.
Martin bucked and swore, face snapping up and aiming at the wall behind Emmerich.
Emmerich loosened his grip a little to slide his hand up and down, thumb flicking over Martin’s tip.
Mindless, Martin ground into Emmerich’s hand. The pleasure doubled—tripled—burning every inch of his body in such a glorious way. It would be blasphemous to call it spiritual—to say that Heaven was sinking into his pores, but—
“You do it, too,” Emmerich whined, nipping Martin’s ear. “Please.”
He nearly came then and there. By the grace of God though, he managed to hold back and do as Emmerich pleaded; he pumped his manhood, unsteadily at first. But as Emmerich writhed against him—as pleasure swelled higher and higher within his own body—Martin moved faster, gripped harder.
His orgasm hit him so hard, Martin swore his heart was giving out. But, God save him, he didn’t care. He trembled and whimpered, ecstasy overtaking all his senses and leaving him blind to everything but Emmerich.
It did feel like a religious experience, losing himself in such a way.
Emmerich came next, hot seed hitting Martin’s stomach, his leg, his hand—but once again, Martin didn’t care. Dazed, he watched Emmerich gasp and moan, eyes wide on the ceiling and his lips curled in the most satisfied smile.
