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oh-koenig-my-koenig · 5 months

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Fit for a King - WIP - "Let me patch you up"

Fit for a King - Masterlist

König and FMC just came back from a mission that went well, but FMC got hurt as they were trying to help one of the other operators. (random chapter in the König x FMC fanfiction, not chronological)

CW: bullet wound, some medical stuff, NSFW, explicit scenes 18+, slight tension & angst

a/n: I just keep writing, we'll see what will come out of it (this got way more angsty than I anticipated it to be)

(NSFW - explicit sex scenes - later in the chapter)

Medic ward:

"Are you sure, you're okay?" I can hear the worry in his voice, even if he seems to try and hold back. "Yes, I already said it thrice. ‘T’is but a scratch." I smile up at him hesitatingly, ignoring the pulsating pain in my thigh. The Monty Python quote is lost on him anyways. His brows are furrowed as he's looking down at me. He doesn't believe me. I sigh when he suddenly whips his head to the side.

"Doktor*, can I patch her up?" Before I can protest, Doc already put the first aid case in his hand. "Knock yourself out, as long as you do it somewhere else, Colonel." He looks at him like a father who has a child with bad temper tantrums on his hands, but König – as always – is oblivious to that. "Thanks, Herr Doktor*.", he says with a pep in his tone. Then he picks me up and carries me out the medic ward. "König, I can walk. The others are gonna see…", I protest, weakly, but I do protest. "Shut it, Mauserl**.", he throws back at me, clipped. "You should have never been there." I sulk a bit, but I know he’s right. "Should have, would have. How do you say? Hätte hätte Fahrradkette***?", I say between clenched teeth. My wound is still seeping blood into the fabric of my pants and now on König's shirt.

He carries me with ease in just one hand, with the other still holding the case. His long legs make huge strides down the hall, heading to the dorms, but as we pass my room, I get that he’s carrying me to his. “König…” He doesn’t look at me, just shakes his head. “Don’t.” I know him well enough already, that I can sense the distress emanating off him. Making it hard for him to say what he’s really feeling. He opens up the door to his room. I mean, it’s smart, we’ll be alone here, but it might also raise suspicions if the team gets wind of it. He sets me down on his bed and turns on the bedside lamp. “Hold still.”, he says and gets all the stuff out to dress my wound. Before I even see what he’s doing, he’s already cut my pants off. “What are you doing?!”, I scream at him. “That’s how you do this. Stop fretting.” His Austrian accent is as strong as ever. I don’t listen to what he’s saying, everything being too much. “You didn’t need to cut it off, we could’ve just-“ I move again, I can’t even sit-

“STAY STILL.”, he shouts and his hands grip me, gripping my waist, almost reaching around, as he pushes me down on the bed. I still because he never – NEVER – shouted at me like that before. My mouth stands open, I look up at him. He sighs, deep and desperate, and I hear his voice wavering as he puts his forehead against mine and says: “Please… just let me patch you up.” I feel his hood falling against my face and his warm and comforting smell cuts through the stench of blood and sweat. “Okay”, I breathe. His hand caresses over my cheek as he nods. “Gut****” He sits back on his knees and the room is immersed in silence.

He takes the disinfectant and cleans the area around the wound of the graze shot. The small noises and our intermingled breaths are all I hear. I feel his hands on my naked legs and the pulse in my wound quickens. “It didn’t stop bleeding.”, I whisper as I don’t want to disturb the quiet we’ve sunk into. “Hmm.”, is all he says before he presses a bandage against it. The bloods seeps through again and stains his fingers even more. “I’m gonna have to give you stitches, Liebes*****.”, he murmurs. I nod and he gets the needle and thread ready. “You have to stay still, okay?”, he orders me. “Hold onto me.” I grab his arm, the one not stitching me up, and as the needle sinks into my skin, I gasp dragging my nails into his muscles. “Yes, you’re doing so well for me.”, he whispers as he caresses my other thigh, preparing for the next stitch. I press my lips together, not to make any sounds. When he’s done, he puts a bandage over it to secure the stitched-up wound.

König sighs like there’s a huge weight falling off him and he meets my eyes again. The raw emotions in them scare me a bit. “Are you okay?”, I ask him as I put my hand on his cheek. He doesn’t answer my question but pulls me to the edge of the bed. “I need to be inside you. Please.” His hands trail up my inner thigh until he reaches my panties. The surprise hits me as he leans forward, his hood brushes over my skin and then I feel his lips on my neck. Soft kisses trail up to my ear and need settles in, low in my belly. “I need to feel you.”, he whispers, his hot breath skitting over the wet patches of his open-mouthed kisses, as he carefully pulls down my undies. He holds me close to him which gives me the opportunity to undo his belt. He nibbles at my neck and sucks on the sensitive spot, right below my ear, as I take out his dick and position him at my wetness. He doesn’t hesitate one bit, pushing into me slowly. A soft moan falls from my lips as I stretch around him. “Fuck.”, he mutters, burying himself in me. He’s still holding me close, not moving at all for a few seconds. I grip his sides, letting my nails sink into his back, as I adjust to his size and wonder if I’ll ever get used to it.

All the other times it had been fast. Passionate. Entangled limbs and hard thrusts until my legs gave out and I couldn’t move anymore. The other kind of human battering ram, if you catch my drift, because König fucks just like he fights. Putting the ‘insertion’ and the ‘specialist’ into ‘insertion specialist’. I was used to him jerking me on his cock how he liked it and me just taking it like a good girl, that I was completely… at a loss for words. Seeing him kneel before me, buried deep inside me, fucking me with lazy, languid strokes, while his hands are caressing my back, stroking over my sides softly. This is different. Slow, tender. Almost lovingly.

“You feel so good.”, he tells me. “But…” I halt. “But what?” – “I want to kiss you.”, he whispers. Okay, so this is definitely different from all the hasty stolen moments we had together so far. Even when he ate me out, he didn’t remove his cover, so I actually never saw his face before, except for his eyes. “We can do that.” I swallow down my nerves. “Should I lift your… mask?”, I ask him. He nods and my shaky hands reach for the hem of the hood, slowly pulling up, stopping right over his mouth. I look down, seeing the curve of his lips beneath the fabric as he leans forward. My hand cups his right cheek and I feel his stubble against my fingertips when he kisses me for the first time. His lips press against mine. Soft, so soft, in contrast to his big burly figure. He breaks away for just a moment, his eyes searching mine. König sees something in them that seems to satisfy him and he leans down again. I answer his kiss as a moan slips over my lips, giving him the chance to deepen it.

When his tongue moves against mine, he starts to push into me again. Tingles erupt all over my body and even if it’s not hard and fast like I’d normally prefer, the way he’s holding me, kissing me, fucking me is building up my arousal with every languid roll of his hips. I don’t think I had somebody ever do me like this before and I feel a pang of… some kind of emotion in my chest that I’d rather not dwell on right now. I push it away and concentrate on König again.

I want to feel him close, closer, my other hand, currently not on his face, is trailing up his back, feeling his warm body beneath my fingertips. He pulls me flush against him, picking up a little bit in tempo. Our movements are getting needier and I grind against him, not breaking the kiss, so he swallows up all my sounds and sighs. “Please, Liebes*****.”, he whispers against my lips. “Come for me.” His fingers trail down, finding my clit, stroking at the same pace, repeating his plea. The flood of arousal washes over me as he fills me up again and I can’t hold back the soft scream that escapes me as I come around his dick. I feel him tremble beneath me, coming inside me as the waves of my orgasm subside. All I hear are our intertwined heavy breaths as I still try to grasp what just really happened.

König pulls back, kissing me one more time, then the hood falls back down again. He puts his dick away and buckles his belt before he raises his hand one more time. His thumbs caresses over my cheek, I can feel his fingers on the side of my face. “For a second today, I was afraid that I lost you.” His voice is a whisper, almost soundless. His words hit me, like a punch to the stomach, I didn’t expect him to say anything about it, to feel this way. Before I can answer, he gets up and for the first time I register that he is still fully clothed, stains of blood all over his shirt, mine and the enemies. His tattooed forearms and hands are bloody. We didn’t even wash off the remnants of the fight before we fucked. The tender moments form a stark contrast against the blood and violence. The 6’10’’ killing machine standing in front of me whose hands can rip enemies apart, but I only know the pleasure they give me, how they caress me, how they patched me up today,

“Where are you going?”, I ask him as I look up at him. He looks down on the floor and I can see him shutting down a bit. “I just wanna get some workout done.”, he says finally. “You can stay here, get some rest.” With long strides he’s at the door. “I’m gonna be back… soon. Okay, Mauserl**?” I nod as light from the hallway streams into the room, then the door closes, he’s gone and I’m alone in his bed. I lie down, ignoring the wet sensation between my legs of our combined fluids. I grab the covers and pull them over me. The soft light still illuminates the room and I bask in König’s smell, the blanket and the warm glow giving me the comfort that the man himself couldn’t right now.

Translations: *Herr Doktor: 'Mister doctor', polite salutation for a doctor in german **Mauserl: more austrian version of small mouse ***Hätte hätte, Fahrradkette: a silly german way to say 'what happened, happened, can't do nothing about it now' ****gut: 'good' *****Liebes: 'my love'

#könig #könig cod #könig mw2 #konig #konig cod #konig mw2 #könig x fmc #könig fanfiction #cod mw2 smut #könig smut #konig smut #cod smut

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angst-buritto-wips-writing · 1 month

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X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies) WIP Dark!Charles Cherik

Charles often wondered what would have happened if he hadn’t been born with his mutation and had been unable to hide it during his early years, and had instead gained it at a later age when he would be more wary and knew to keep it hidden. Would his mother have still had him committed until he learned to hide his mutation and pretend to be normal? Would he be a better person? A worse person? Would he have met Raven under the same circumstances?

He met Raven on his first week out of the asylum at 14, her at 8, and he manipulated the household and their minds to believe she was his sister and had lived there all her life; it had her in awe and fear at the same time, but that was replaced with hero worship when he got the story of her parents from her, and within the week, and after a trip to upstate New York, informed her that she didn’t have to worry about her parents any longer. It was no big loss, really; they were terrible people, and Charles was doing the world a favour — anyone who tried to drown their child when they found out about their gift deserved what was coming to them, in Charles’ opinion.

Now, 28 years old and watching dispassionately as the scientist, who had been experimenting on the semi-unconscious teen lying on the metal table, writhed on the floor, as his red face slowly turned purple because he had conveniently forgotten how to breathe. When the human finally went limp, brain empty and pulse no longer beating, Charles stepped over the trash and motioned at the mind he could feel coming into the room behind him.

“Did you get the files, Raven?” Charles asked his sister, not looking up from studying the restraints on the boy. They looked like they were made specifically to hold the teen — Subject H171, according to the tattoo on the teen’s arm. Charles sneered; these humans were no better than Nazis, branding anyone they deemed less-than-human with numbers, stripping their identity from them and experimenting on them.

Only a moment later, he realized there was another mind with Raven. This mind felt…it felt.

The pain, sadness and rage, yet still with a core of aching brightness not yet snuffed pouring off this mind, had Charles salivating. Charles wanted to wrap himself in that mind and drown in its beating pulse, wanted to plant himself in it and grow roots upon roots and let it grow fruit, let seasons pass and grow a forest full of just himself and ErikErikErik.

Turning around, hoping his face didn’t show his hunger, Charles came face to face with one of the most devastatingly handsome yet dangerous-looking men he had ever seen.

He had the most intriguing grey-green eyes, which Charles first noticed about Erik Lehnsherr. Those eyes were haunted by whatever ghosts lay in Erik’s past, and Charles had to force himself not just to take the knowledge of what those ghosts were from Erik’s mind.

And Erik’s mutation…it was a beautiful thing — a Ferrokinetic, how fascinating. While a gorgeous gift, it would also be incredibly useful.

“Who’s this?” Charles asked lightly, throwing the teens arm over his shoulder and lifting him up.

Raven rolled her golden eyes at him. “As if you haven’t read his mind already, Charles. You know exactly who he is.”

Erik’s attention snapped to him, and his lips parted, looking surprised, then awed.

“Indeed, though It’s always polite to ask, darling,” Charles conceded.

“You can read minds?” Erik asks. Was the man always shirtless? He looked like he could use a good meal or twenty, but he was still achingly gorgeous. “Is that your curse?”

Charles frowned and narrowed his eyes, immediately seeking the memory attached to Erik’s misunderstanding of mutations. He stepped into a memory.

“Mein junge. Mein kleiner,” Herr Doktor crooned, cupping his face, “Your powers are destructive, a curse; imagine if we could make your curse work for us?”

“Du..Du hast meine Mutter getötet.” You killed my mother.

“Nein, mein kleiner, du hast sie getötet, with your curse. But I can teach you how to control the power, use all that rage towards other means, hm? The Nazis think small, Mein Junge, but I think big, ja?”

“…Ja, Herr Doktor.”

“Wunderbar.”

More flashes of the Camps and Herr Doktor Schmidtt, the experiments, the torture, pushing Erik’s power beyond its limits until he passed out for days at a time, nose and ears bleeding and eyes bloodshot with broken vessels, passed through Charles’ mind until he got to the memories of the Camps being raided and Erik being rescued, only for his power to be discovered and Erik being sent into the nearest American government lab, then another, and another, for years, until a gloriously blue woman in a short skimpy leather outfit burst through the doors of the operating room where they were about to amputate his hands to see if that would affect his control over his power, and killed the surgeons and the Doktor’s with a flash of blue hands and feet.

Blinking, Charles took a moment to control his rage, unwilling to accidentally hurt his sister or the two mutants in the room by letting them feel the full force of his anger. Judging by Erik’s flinch, though, he was unable to hide the rage that showed on his face.

“Oh, my friend, I am not angry at you; I am angry at everyone who hurt you and this boy, Those humans who told you that your gift was a curse. You are not alone, Erik.” Charles smiled at the man. “You are not alone, and you are not cursed.”

Charles hadn’t even noticed he had moved to stand close to Erik or that he had reached out to cup the older man’s cheeks between his palms, not until he felt the aborted sob that Erik let out at Charles’ words.

#magneto #charles xavier #erik lensherr #cherik #fanfic #fanfiction #my writing #do not steal

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fieldofdaisiies · 4 months

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Afraid to Get Close (pt. 1)

secret santa gift for @iftheshoef1tz ❤️ @acotargiftexchange ship: Azriel x Eris type: angst word count: 4,3k words warnings: talks about politics and WW2, mentions of homophobia story masterlist | ao3

The pendulum clock strikes 6.30 pm. The exact moment the little boy on the hospital bed sucks in a sharp intake of air - he is breathing again!

Eris, a rarely-there smile on his lips, stands in the threshold of the large hospital room in the Charité hospital, East Berlin. His tall figure nearly fills out the whole doorframe, his hands are in the pockets of his white, sterile coat, his hair neatly combed back, around him the glow of fluorescent lights and the sounds of many machines running. The mechanic, raw sounds reverberate through his body, but he is already used to them.

A muscle in his jaw feathers from how hard he has been grinding his teeth in the past few minutes, observing the scene with an eagle’s gaze, hoping and praying the little boy gets another chance at life.

His eyes fixate on said young boy lying in the large hospital bed, finally outside the colossal breathing machine he was in only moments ago - the one Eris had ordered his assistants to put the boy in. Each exhale he does on his own is now a hard-fought victory.

His frame is small, yet the decision his parents made tremendous. He wasn't vaccinated.

The West hasn't been vaccinating yet — blinded or driven by complacency, they have overlooked the importance of the vaccination. Polio is spreading rapidly, many kids have fallen ill in the past months. There is no causal therapy for the disease, only through the development of vaccines it can be permanently reduced. In 1960, the Sabin-Tschumakow oral vaccine was administered in the German Democratic Republic for the first time in Germany, and within one year it succeeded in almost completely eradicating spinal Polio in the GDR.

Yet, West Germany is still declining it, which leaves Eris both outraged and bewildered— how could you say no to something that would help so much. He believes the reason for it is that the vaccine comes from the Sowjet union…

He brushes these thoughts away, focusing on the young boy again — another life that has been saved. A sense of relief washes over him when he watches the steady rise and fall of the boys chest. Finally.

The boy's family surrounds him, their faces etched with worry and then slowly transforming into expressions of hope as they witness his shallow breaths become steady and robust once again.

As the room fills with the sound of the boy's regained breathing, the mother, tears glistening in her eyes, whispers, "Thank you, Doktor Vanserra. Thank you so much."

Eris only politely inclines his head, and turns to walk out of the room. He is not one to enjoy such compliments, nor likes receiving them. This is his job, he only does what he has to do.

The door closes behind him and Eris allows himself a moment exhale a long breath and close his eyes. The West needs to start vaccinating, it is an urgency, it can't be postponed any longer.

Eris steps out into the corridor, hoping no one here needs him anymore so he can head home, bathe and then go to the theatre.

He greets a few patients, tilting his chin at them and continues down the cool, white corridor. Only little light flows in through the milk glass windows.

If…if only he could leave his position here and go to West Berlin…he would start vaccinating there, convincing the people of the West of how important it is to start the fight against Polio. But he can't leave this place. For more than one reason. For his job, the life that has been given to him here, the possibilities and prospects and the one person he—

"Herr Doktor," a nurse calls behind him. "Herr Doktor!"

Eris fights the urge to roll his eyes, and looses a long breath. Many doctors have left the Charité in the past months, leaving them with a medical staff shortage in the hospital. He knows if he leaves the Charité as well it will only get worse, but what about the people in the West? The children. But the West…he couldn’t be himself there either…he would also have to hide - hide behind a mask.

"Herr Doktor! Emergency in room four. Young woman, severe nausea—"

He turns to Schwester Cerridwen, a frown on his face. "Make sure she rests and give her some—"

"She is throwing up blood, Herr Doktor." Nurse Cerridwen's gaze is hard, the urgency flashing brightly in her eyes. "A lot of blood!" She makes a movement with her hands to accentuate her point.

Eris understands — throwing up blood is never good. He swiftly follows after Schwester Cerridwen, washing his hands when he enters the room, disinfecting them and then strolls over to the patient, already lying on the hospital bed. Doktor Madja is at her side, her fingers pressing down on the patient's stomach.

"Swollen abdominal wall. Constant feeling of nausea. Very low blood pressure." Madja lifts her gaze to Eris and dips her chin.

The look in her eyes speaks volumes, but Eris wants to double check. Many illnesses can have the same symptoms, you shouldn't rush to conclusions too easily — at this point her symptoms could point at anything.

He takes over, Madja lifts her hands and steps back, gently pushing up the woman's blouse a little. Eris starts to feel her lower belly, from left to right, then from right to left, making sure there is no hardening of any organ. "Frau—"

"Emerie. Just Emerie." There is a sad smile on her lips when she turns to Eris, searching his gaze, but he avoids it.

He doesn‘t like eye-contact with patients, not when their state is yet unclear. They always try to read something in his gaze, something that is not there. Most of the time he is just concentrated and focused and people would often interpret these expressions as worry. But he is hardly ever worried. This is his job.

"How much weight have you lost in…let's say, the past six months, Emerie?"

"Not much. Maybe, one or two kilogram."

This is not bad, Eris thinks, yet doesn't let it show on his face. "Lack of appetite? A feeling of fullness? Anything like that?"

Tarquin, one of the trainee doctors, is meticulously taking notes, scribbling everything down the doctor says, his fingers quickly gliding over the keys of the typewriter.

Eris's cool hands move higher, pressing down just above her stomach and a cry parts Emerie's lips. She slams her lips together, and fights against the tears that have started to build up in her eyes. She blinks rapidly and sucks in a sharp breath.

"It's not cancer is it?" she then asks in a voice filled with terror and panic.

Now, Eris meets her gaze and slowly shakes his head. "No. No, I don't think so. Gastritis. Quite severe. You should have come a lot earlier."

"My father wouldn't let me…" She presses her lips together again — if he cares, Eris does not let it show. This is private business and nothing he should care about. His work is solely in the hospital…

"The blood comes from the gastritis, Schwester Nuala, I need you to collect an antiacid and two doses of antibiotics. We need to keep you here over night, probably for a few days if needed."

"I can't—my father—"

"You are not going home tonight. Not in your state. If your father has a problem with it, he can ring me and I'll explain the situation to him. Or he can come here, but you won't be leaving this hospital. Not under my watch." There is no room for objection, neither his tone nor his statement would allow it.

Eris gently pulls down her blouse. Then his eyes and eventually his hand land on her upper arm. He lifts up her arm, thumb brushing over the dark skin, the imprint of finger tips. Bruises. The kind of bruises he knows all to well. The kind of bruises his father had left on his skin when he was a young boy. The kind of bruises that cause much greater damage to your heart than to your skin.

"I assume this is not from the gastritis?" Eris raises his brow and a glimmer of shock and panic flashes in Emerie's eyes. She starts to shake her head and parts her lips, yet for a moment no words leave her. Then, "I must have hit myself somewhere. It's nothing," she says, her voice wavering the slightest bit. It is not Eris' place to question her further. His job is done here. He lowers her arm, although a bolt of hurt darts right into his heart. He feels…He shakes his head. He feels nothing.

"You are taking over?" he asks Madja when Nuala returns with the medicine. The female doctor nods, and smiles at Eris.

"The last ones," Nula says with a huff when she places the small bottle on the bed next to Emerie. "The haven't delivered properly in weeks."

"I'll make a call before I leave." Eris walks over to the basin, washing his hands again. He is not in the mood to chat any longer. He will make a call and hope for the best. It is what they have been doing for months now. Deliveries have come only sporadically in the past few months, and everyone inside the hospital is hoping for it to get better soon. They need the medicine…

"Have a good night," he says and opens the door. "I'll check on her tomorrow morning."

He is already nearly out of the door, when, "Nuala, a word." He waves her over with two fingers and the young nurse follows without a word. Once outside, and only when the door is closed does he speak to her. "Our patients don't have to know how low our stock of medicine is. This is hospital business, do you understand?" His voice is soft, the reprimand in his statement loud and clear. "I want nothing like this to happen again."

"Of course, Herr Doktor. Apologies, Herr Doktor." She bows her head, and curtsies a little.

"Oh, and Schwester Nuala, make sure she really stays in bed and does not try to get home. If she can't sleep, give her some Valerian."

Nurse Nuala gets dismissed with the wave of the same two fingers she has been called over. Her head lowered, she returns back into the hospital while Eris sets out for his office - or rather the room he does all his research in.

Shrugging out of his sterile coat, hanging it up, and collecting all his things, Eris is in a rush to get to the theatre as fast as possible. He is nearly out of the door when he remembers the phone call he has to make. So, doing that as well, makes him already twenty minutes late…and he isn't even at the theatre yet.

Eris knows that the moment he steps outside, and the warm evening air of late August greets him, that watchful eyes and wide open ears lurk behind every corner — making sure no one puts a toe out of place, or says one wrong thing about the authority.

The city is cloaked in tension and unease. It is not always palpable, but still the feeling of being watched, and followed never fully vanishes.

With implementing the Stasi the GDR introduced comprehensive surveillance. All citizens are controlled either through informers or the police, and communication is often monitored.

Despite the warm summer evening, Eris shudders at the thought.

This is all done in order to suppress opposition and create a climate of fear — freedom of expression is restricted, creating a sense of unease among the people. What a place to live in, Eris thinks but does not allow himself to dwell on these thoughts for too long. He wants to enjoy the evening.

He lifts his gaze, observing his surroundings.

The sun is slowly starting to set behind the towering buildings, some still marked by the happenings of World War two, casting long shadows on cobblestone road Eris is walking down

You can see spots where the walls were hit by pieces of bombs or bullets. Some parts look patched up, showing where repairs were made in a hurry during the war.

His gaze is trained on the ground beneath him, hands in the pockets of his trousers, a cigarette between his lips. He doesn't want to rush to the theatre, not draw any attention to him — not more attention that he already has on him.

"Guten Abend, Herr Doktor!"

"Guten Abend, Frau Oberlehrerin." Eris merely tilts his chin at Nesta Archeron. She is pushing a little pram in front of her. Her little son, just like his older sister were both born in the Charité and although Nesta and her husband pretend to be happy citizens of East Germany suspicions about them wanting to leave for West Germany are loud. They probably only want to follow their family, Eris thinks and walks past Nesta without another word.

Finally arriving at the theatre after a few minutes of walking in complete silence, only the chirping of birds and some vehicles in the distance audible, Eris exhales loudly. A breath of relief.

It is summer, he is wearing no jacket and so he simple walks past the cloakroom and pays for his ticket for the evening show. It isn't the first time he is late to a show, and so the people working there already know him, and gladly open the door for him — he after all is said to be the best doctor in East Berlin, and everyone hopes to be treated by him in case of an emergency.

After thanking the young clerk who holds the door open for him, he slips inside, his hurried footsteps softened by the plush carpeting. The door closes behind him, and Eris breathes a sigh of relief and stays by the door for a moment longer, overlooking the place.

The theatre hall shows plush red velvet seats arranged in a stadium-style around a single stage, framed by heavy velvet curtains. On the stage, the orchestra. His orchestra.

He allows himself to breathe in - deeply. Finally some well-deserved peace — hidden by the cover of darkness and embraced by the beguiling melody of the assemble playing in the theatre this evening.

He sets out for the back row, slides into a seat, the upholstery yielding beneath him and then relaxes. And then the music truly seeps into his ears.

Tchaikovsky.

They are nearly through half of the Overture 1812, and it sends a pang of hurt right to Eris' heart. Azriel always makes his ensemble, consisting of brass band, woodwinds, percussions and strings, play Tchaikovsky when he knows Eris is coming to see the show.

The doctor is a constant guest - the theatre has become a wonderful distraction to his otherwise rather mundane life. He loves it here — it brings him joy.

They are reaching the crescendo when Eris finally searches for Azriel. The man is standing in front of his orchestra, tall and almost a little majestic looking. His broad, sculpted shoulders are even visible through his dark blue tailcoat. The spotlights from above create an atmosphere that almost make it look like shadows dance around Azriel and with every move of his hands it seems like he is moving the shadows, controlling them.

Eris averts his gaze and then closes his eyes, only listening for a moment.

Playing Tchaikovsky — it is Azriel's way of telling Eris how much he means to him…or so Eris thinks. Maybe it is also just sheer coincidence, but since the moment he has mentioned that Tchaikovsky is his favourite artist Azriel has, without exception, always played one of his pieces when Eris came to see his show.

The doctor hates himself for having nearly missed the whole performance. He folds his hands in his lap, and tips his head back the slightest bit, eyes opening. Here, sitting in the last row, hidden in the shadows, he can admire…his—Azriel.

He can admire Azriel.

Here, in the shadows he is safe. Here, in the shadows he does not have to hide his true self.

The stage is bathed in a soft, dim light, creating an intimate atmosphere in the theatre and for the first time this evening the doctor feels at ease. He watches the small orchestra assemble and then looks at Azriel again, watching him intently. How he acts on stage. Eris' eyes follow every gesture and movement of Azriel's hands. His hands—

Momentarily, Eris is taken back in time. A few years actually. To the day he first met Azriel.

Azriel was born into a Jewish family, and was part of the large emigration in the 1930s, fleeing from the rising Antisemitisms and the Nationalsozialist regime, to find a new home in England. But after the war, after 1945, in May 1946, Azriel's father, alongside his new wife, and their sons returned to Germany.

Just two weeks prior, in April 1946, Eris had passed all his medical exams with flying colours, earning him the title of the best medical student of 1946 in Vienna and the youngest graduate. He quickly received an offer to work at Charité, specialising in forensic medicine, a subject he had focused on in his doctoral research.

In an unexpected turn of events, Azriel became one of Eris's first patients when the on-duty doctor needed assistance with a patient whose hands were said "to be on fire". Eris was initially skeptical of the nurses' description, thinking they were behaving a little over-dramatic, but understood the urgency when he saw Azriel's badly injured hands. It was clear that Azriel's injuries hadn't been an accident — he never revealed what had happened though. Eris had treated him back then, and they had exchanged a few words — nothing much, only the most necessary things

In the years that followed the incident, Eris and Azriel occasionally crossed paths until—

Applause and cheers interrupt Eris's thoughts, fetching him back to the moment in the theatre and he joins in, clapping his hands.

Overture 1812 has come to an end, and slowly Azriel turns to the crowd, his baton pressed to his chest. He bows at the waist and when he lifts his gaze, it lands directly on Eris.

It always does. He always finds him in the audience.

Their eyes lock across the dimly lit theatre, and a silent understanding passes between them. Azriel's gaze lingers on Eris, full of longing and pain, a silent thank you for coming to see the show. Eris, overwhelmed by the intensity of their prolonged eye-contact suddenly feels everyone's attention on them. He can only offer a subtle nod, his own eyes reflecting the pain and yearning they both feel.

Azriel, his eyes brimming with the unspoken pain, quickly lifts his gaze, looking over the crowd before he turns back to his orchestra.

✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　 . ✦　　　

"Waiting for someone?" Azriel's velvety voice slides over Eris' skin like an artist's brush on a canvas.

Eris straightens up from where he has been leaning against the big oak tree outside the theatre, observing the city that slowly entered the night. Hardly anyone is around anymore, everyone returning to houses.

"I'm smoking." The doctor's statement seems matter-of-factly and Eris doesn't even deign Azriel a glance.

"As a doctor, you should know better than to smoke." The amusement in Azriel's voice is loud and so is the paradox reprimand (he is smoking himself), and it makes Eris turn his head to the side. "Fire?" he offers.

Azriel bows his head, his cigarette already between his lips, shoving the yellow-green Juwel cigarette package into the chest pocket of his shirt. Eris lifts his hand, lighter between his fingers giving Azriel fire. The moment is so intimate, the doctor's fingers nearly brushing Azriel's full lips, it makes Eris grind his teeth, hard, and despite the cigarette in his mouth.

"Did you enjoy the show?" Azriel asks, taking his first pull on the cigarette, slowly blowing out a puff of smoke.

Eris is about to answer, but gets interrupted by Tamlin Frühling.

He walks by, and gives them nod and, says, "Guten Abend, Herr Doktor. Guten Abend, Herr Direktor!" He taps his head and walks past Eris and Azriel.

Eris visibly tenses, his breath catching in his throat, but he politely bows his head at the violinist of Azriel's orchestra.

"Until tomorrow evening," Azriel tells the blond. "Guten Abend!"

Once the man is out of earshot, Eris exhales a sigh of relief. He closes his eyes for a second and then flicks his cigarette away, stepping on it to extinguish the flame.

"I don't know why you're always so nonchalant about this, Azriel. What if someone sees us? Someone we know."

Azriel takes a long drag from his cigarette, his features lit by the soft glow of the small flame. "No one we know is here, Eris. It's just us. There is barely anyone around, and what would happen — we are two men smoking together. That isn't forbidden."

Eris paces back and forth, his anxiety palpable, his tension just as strong. "But you never know who might be lurking in the shadows." Eris looks over his shoulder. "The Stasi officials have their eyes everywhere."

Azriel shakes his head, seemingly unfazed and then rolls his eyes. "Eris, we've been careful for so long and we've talked about that so many times. They might have their spies in many places, but not everywhere. No one is around. And besides, we're only smoking outside. There's no harm in that."

Eris shoots Azriel a frustrated look. "It's not about the smoking, Azriel. It's about us. Don't you think people get suspicious of us."

"No," Azriel grumbles. "Why would they? We could be friends, you know. Hanging out because we are friends."

"But friends don't—"

"Fuck?"

"Keep your voice down!" Eris snaps, his tone hushed.

Azriel's eyes darken with anger. He steps closer to Eris, their faces only inches apart. "Or what? What will you do?" His nostrils flare. "Don't you think I am aware about how dangerous this is? How careful we have to be? I am not an idiot."

Eris's anger softens as he gazes into Azriel's eyes, filled with longing and hurt. "I know, Azriel…"

"I don't think you do. You think that I want to go around parading my love for you. You think I would be foolish enough to reveal this relationship. You don't know that I am happy with our secret meetings. That I find it alright to love you in the shadows."

Azriel leans in, their lips almost touching. The breath he blows out through his nose tingles Eris' face. His eyes dip to Eris' lips. But he lifts his gaze again, staring straight into the amber eyes of his lover. The doctor is a little taller than him, just the tiniest bit.

"I want you. I want you more than anything in this life. I want you more than this damn position in the theatre. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. But, I am alright with us pretending to be friends when outside if that is the only way I can be with you more often than in those fleeting, hidden moments." Azriel swallows, his Adam's apple bobbing.

"But I won't continue like this, not even being able to normally talk to you once we are outside, always living in fear. I'm not afraid that someone sees us, because all they will see are two men — we don't have homosexual written across our forehead, Eris."

"Azriel," Eris whispers, but he actually doesn't know how to continue. He can't do anything against his fear. His paranoia. He is scared, and he…Someone has been following him lately. He knows this. He hasn't shared it with Azriel yet, not wanting to worry his lover. But he knows someone is watching him and it might be for this reason. For him being intimate with a man.

Azriel draws in a deep breath and glances around. "No one is around, you don't always have to look for danger where there is none."

Their breaths mingle, and they share a moment of just looking into each other's eyes, the weight of their love hanging heavily in the late summer evening air. The tension between them builds, and for a moment, it feels as if they might finally give in to their desire.

"Leaving would make many things easier," Azriel breathes, and Eris finds himself nodding. Azriel has mentioned leaving a few times, but Eris doubts he would actually risk his life for it.

His gaze drops to Azriel's lips, lingering. It is almost like he can still feel their last kiss, feel the softness of Azriel's lips against his, taste him. This stole moments, where it is just them. Those explorative touches, the soft sighs and moans. Their bodies moving against each other.

Eris sharply pulls away. He steps back, his eyes filled with a mix of regret and sorrow. "I can't, Azriel. Not here. Not now. I can't"

Azriel, though disappointed, nods in understanding. He takes a final drag from his cigarette and exhales the smoke slowly. "I know, Eris."

Eris forces a weak smile onto his lips and wants to open his mouth to say something, but Azriel beats him to it. "Can I see you on Sunday? You could come over to my place. Saturday doesn't work…it's Shabbat, with the family."

But Eris shakes his head. "I don't know. I don't think it is a good idea."

Pain flashes across Azriel's features.

"I think I need some space." Tears glisten in Eris's eyes as he gazes at Azriel. "I need to think."

Regret fills the air as Eris turns and walks away, disappearing into the late summer night, leaving Azriel standing alone. The sadness of their situation hangs heavily over them.

Cause space is just a word made up by someone who's afraid to get close.

azris tags: @azrielsbabyg @lady-riel @moonlightazriel @aayo-whatt @brekkershadowsinger @ladyelain @banasheefan56 @a-frog-with-a-laptop @ofduskanddreams @acourtofladydeath @secret-third-thing @born-to-riot

#azriel x eris #azris #acotar #acosf #azriel #eris vanserra #acotar gift exchange

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