Love of a Captive

The next two days were rather anti-climatic. There was no trouble, the Nazis most likely too busy to chase two runaways, and nobody even came close to discovering their flight. They stopped when they could, or when it was absolutely necessary. They stopped late in the evening, and left again before the sun shone over the horizon. They slept far back off a side road, camouflaging the truck as best as they could while they rested.

When they crossed the official border into the Netherlands, there was a bit of trouble, since it was quite obvious that Adrian was a Nazi, and he was driving an army truck. But Malachi smoothed it over, explaining that he and Adrian were trying to escape the Nazi regime and wanted no part in the atrocities they were committing. The fact that Malachi was quite obviously not of the proud Aryan nation went a long way in convincing the border guards to allow them passage, but they were forced to leave the truck behind and walk on foot.

Occasionally, as they walked, other travelers or townspeople would stop and jeer at them. More specifically, at Adrian, if the rocks they were throwing his direction were any indication. Malachi did his best to stand in their path, so that the people hesitated to throw their projectiles at them. After all, he was an innocent, wasn’t he? Perhaps the German soldier had forced him to bring him to this country? Maybe he was here as a scout, to determine the best way to invade their country?

It was difficult to find an inn with Adrian by his side, and so eventually, Malachi was forced to leave him outside, tucked in an alley, while he took some money and requested shelter for himself and his companion. Once the money was accepted, Malachi brought Adrian in, his hair covered and his eyes shadowed by a hooded cloak that they had pulled from the truck before walking into the Netherlands.

Having obtained a room for the night, Malachi sent Adrian ahead to take a shower first. He wanted to make sure that the other man made it back to the room okay before he took his own. When Adrian came back to the room fifteen minutes later, clean and looking put upon, but not hurt, Malachi ordered him to lock the door and left to take his own shower.

The hot water felt good on his skin as it washed away the dirt and grime from the road. Malachi hadn’t realized just how dirty he really felt until he had a chance to wash it all away. While he was in the shower, he thought. Now that he had escaped Germany, and brought Adrian with him, he had to decide what would be the best course for them. Whatever he chose, though, Adrian would be with him, he was sure of it.

Stepping out of the shower, a general plan in place, Malachi slipped on a pair of soft pants and slipped down the hallway. Knocking on the door, he murmured, “It’s just me, Adrian.” Seconds later, the door opened up, and Malachi was greeted with the pleasant sight of Adrian’s chest right at eye level.

Adrian stood back, and Malachi stepped into the room, shutting and locking the door behind him. He noticed that Adrian had claimed the bed furthest from the door, leaving Malachi with the faster escape route. Smiling softly, he turned to Adrian, reaching out his hands and grasping his shoulders. Once he had the blonde man in his grip, Malachi leaned forward and laid a gentle kiss on his chest, just above his heart.

A gasp above him, and Adrian’s hands came forward and pushed him back a little. Malachi looked up at him, frowning lightly in confusion. “What? You didn’t like it? Or you’re just not in the mood?” he asked, staring steadily at Adrian.

Swallowing, Adrian husked, “None of that. It’s just…I didn’t think you’d want to – not so soon after…” he trailed off, and Malachi smiled, reaching up and moving Adrian’s arms. The soldier didn’t resist, and when Malachi reached up to kiss him, he caved in with a groan of surrender, banding his arms tightly around Malachi as he held him, as if afraid to let him go.

Malachi opened his mouth in invitation, his hands stroking along the bare flesh of Adrian’s hips and back as Adrian slipped his tongue inside, his strong fingers digging into Malachi’s back, kneading pleasantly. The warm, wet slide of their tongues was rather distracting, and Malachi only broke free with a great effort, gasping for breath.

Adrian, however, just moved from his mouth down, nibbling along the slender column of his throat, stopping occasionally to suckle at an area that he seemed to find particularly attractive. Malachi knew he’d have bruises to show for it in the morning, but he didn’t care. This is what he had decided; what he wanted, more than anything.

His hands still wandering, his mouth now seeking more flesh to kiss, Malachi walked backwards, bringing the oblivious Adrian with him. His knees hit the edge of the bed, and they tumbled onto it. Adrian startled, pushing himself off of Malachi so that he could stare down at him. “Are you sure about this?” he asked, and they both knew that if Malachi didn’t back out now, he wouldn’t be able to, because Adrian wouldn’t be able to stop.

Malachi nodded, determined. “Yes, I’m sure. I want you,” he demanded, and Adrian groaned in utter defeat, dropping back down onto Malachi’s prone body, hands and lips wandering, the movements frantic and almost desperate. It was as if Adrian feared that Malachi wasn’t really there, or that he’d wake up and find the other man gone. Malachi frowned at this; that wouldn’t be entirely wrong, he admitted to himself. This would probably be their last night, so he had better enjoy it while he could.

Refocusing on the present, and on the pleasant arousal that thrummed through him, Malachi gave himself over to the sensations. Tomorrow would wait. Tonight was all that mattered to either of them right now. A night to last a lifetime, Malachi thought, not missing the irony in his own thoughts.