Can He Do To You...
folder
Original - Misc › -Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
8
Views:
779
Reviews:
0
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Original - Misc › -Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
8
Views:
779
Reviews:
0
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
Yeah I own, I wrote, resembelance to dead/living etc is coincidence and it's fiction.
Shining Sig Runes
The soldiers are dead.
Bodies are strewn on the floor like snow in early spring.
Green uniforms contrast the stark pale skin of dead soldiers.
Dead.
They\'d been tossed to the Germans without a second of thought.
No remorse.
Anything for the Soviet.
They believed them.
stupidly.
He tries to pick himself up from the floor, his arm burning in pain. Not only his arm... His body is one large entity of pain, bullet wounds littering his skin. The bullets had rained down on them when they charged towards the Germans. Grey-blue in the chill on a mid-January battle, they had rained down as though the Gods themselves cursed the Russians.
Blood runs into his eye, obscuring the sight of his fallen comrades. Numb, he feels no pain anymore. The cold has mercifully helped him. He lays back, his head on someone\'s shoulder. Dead. They are all dead.
The sky iss beginning to turn dark as he counts the bullet wounds - the ones he can still feel. There are a few in his shoulder, and he is almost sure he will never use his left arm again. His legs make him wonder how he hasn\'t bled out yet, though they do account for the dizziness.
The sound of tanks shocks him out of the daze he didn\'t even known he\'d fallen into. He blearily looks up, unaware that he\'s making it obvious he\'s still alive. German reaches his ears, and with difficulty he twists his head. Schutzstaffel. His heart seems to stop for a moment as he talkes in the black uniforms and the severe men. He is not important enough to take hostage, does not know enough to keep him alive.
Death it is. He closes his eyes as they reach him, their words reaching him too but meaning nothing. These powerful men being out here has no other meaning than that they did it purely for the joy of killing.
They seem to range from around thirty to near fifty if he is right. A man steps closer to him, removing his cap as he goes. The skull on it gleams at him in the bright evening sun. He makes a small protesting noise about it, causing them to laugh.
The man in question kneels down, close enough to see he has close cropped blond hear and bright, bright blue eyes. The combination makes him laugh bitterly, because of course he would has the most prized combination.
In comparison to himself the man is particularly stunning. Where he himself has a long face with too many angles to be considered handsome, the Nazi is all cheekbones like razors and gorgeous features. Yvain immediately hates him.
They laugh between themselves when the man crudely forces him to face them, the leather glove warm and smooth under his chin. They all watch as their comrade kneels onto one knee, searching and stripping him of any and all weapons. He feels vulnerable - too vulnerable for a soldier - when he is easily lifted onto the shoulder of a normal trooper and thrown into the back of a truck.
Their menacing laughs follow him all the way to the concentration camp.
Bodies are strewn on the floor like snow in early spring.
Green uniforms contrast the stark pale skin of dead soldiers.
Dead.
They\'d been tossed to the Germans without a second of thought.
No remorse.
Anything for the Soviet.
They believed them.
stupidly.
He tries to pick himself up from the floor, his arm burning in pain. Not only his arm... His body is one large entity of pain, bullet wounds littering his skin. The bullets had rained down on them when they charged towards the Germans. Grey-blue in the chill on a mid-January battle, they had rained down as though the Gods themselves cursed the Russians.
Blood runs into his eye, obscuring the sight of his fallen comrades. Numb, he feels no pain anymore. The cold has mercifully helped him. He lays back, his head on someone\'s shoulder. Dead. They are all dead.
The sky iss beginning to turn dark as he counts the bullet wounds - the ones he can still feel. There are a few in his shoulder, and he is almost sure he will never use his left arm again. His legs make him wonder how he hasn\'t bled out yet, though they do account for the dizziness.
The sound of tanks shocks him out of the daze he didn\'t even known he\'d fallen into. He blearily looks up, unaware that he\'s making it obvious he\'s still alive. German reaches his ears, and with difficulty he twists his head. Schutzstaffel. His heart seems to stop for a moment as he talkes in the black uniforms and the severe men. He is not important enough to take hostage, does not know enough to keep him alive.
Death it is. He closes his eyes as they reach him, their words reaching him too but meaning nothing. These powerful men being out here has no other meaning than that they did it purely for the joy of killing.
They seem to range from around thirty to near fifty if he is right. A man steps closer to him, removing his cap as he goes. The skull on it gleams at him in the bright evening sun. He makes a small protesting noise about it, causing them to laugh.
The man in question kneels down, close enough to see he has close cropped blond hear and bright, bright blue eyes. The combination makes him laugh bitterly, because of course he would has the most prized combination.
In comparison to himself the man is particularly stunning. Where he himself has a long face with too many angles to be considered handsome, the Nazi is all cheekbones like razors and gorgeous features. Yvain immediately hates him.
They laugh between themselves when the man crudely forces him to face them, the leather glove warm and smooth under his chin. They all watch as their comrade kneels onto one knee, searching and stripping him of any and all weapons. He feels vulnerable - too vulnerable for a soldier - when he is easily lifted onto the shoulder of a normal trooper and thrown into the back of a truck.
Their menacing laughs follow him all the way to the concentration camp.