Disclaimer: 'Allo 'Allo and all characters belong to David Croft, Jeremy Lloyd, and the BBC.
"You will be wondering why I have requested your presence this evening." Herr Flick walked around Lieutenant Gruber in a tight, precise circle that was only slightly spoiled by his limp. Nevertheless, he managed to make something effectively ominous out of it. Gruber was never quite sure whether the chill of the Gestapo headquarters was due to their menacing reputation, or something left to be desired in the damp coursing. He cleared his throat.
"I had assumed that you wished to question me further about the forged paintings."
"This is not the case. We have already obtained sufficient information about the paintings, and the original will be in Gestapo hands soon enough and delivered safely to the Fuhrer in Berlin."
"Then I am at a loss as to what more I can do for you, Herr Flick. I hope that I am not to be detained here too long. I told Clarence my driver earlier that we will be carrying out the monthly inspection of my big gun tonight, and he will be disappointed if I am late."
Flick ignored this. "Were you able to correctly follow the private and confidential directions that I gave you in order to find my top-secret Gestapo dungeon?"
"Well, I did become slightly disoriented at the corner of the Rue Racine, but I asked at the fishmonger's, and they were able to point me in the right direction."
"Good. You will divulge what you know to no-one. If you do, you will be shot. However, I do not think that you will wish to do this."
"I do not think that I will wish to do this, either," Gruber said, nervously. He hoped that Flick would get to the point soon. It was all most unsettling. He was beginning, nevertheless, to understand a small part of what Helga found so attractive and exciting about the Gestapo. He did not feel that he would be very suited to all of the shouting and interrogation techniques, but the idea of casting a ruthless, unrelenting eye over someone and making them weak at the knees was decidedly appealing.
Indeed, he was starting to feel a little weak himself. Still, he remained confused by the fact that Flick was not yet doing any shouting, and by the slight flush that, at these close quarters, he was sure that he could detect in the other man's face. Perhaps it was a trick of the low lamplight. He did not altogether trust it.
"You are an intriguing man, Lieutenant Gruber. Many rumours about you have come to my attention, and I have found myself wondering if some of them are true."
"You know how it is in the army, Herr Flick. There is a lot of barrack room banter. One slip of the tongue, and a half-truth is blown out of all proportion."
"The rumour that intrigued me the most was the one which apparently claims that you are hung like a donkey."
The clock heavily counted out a few seconds of silence.
"Well," Gruber said, eventually, "it is true that there is not usually any smoke without fire."
"Quite." Flick moistened his lips. "The other rumour is that you are in possession of remarkable abilities unrelated to your duties."
"I have been known to tinkle the ivories in the cafe on occasions, but I would not -"
Flick took a step forward. "You are also known to show a man a very good time in the sack."
Gruber opened his mouth, closed it, and then opened it again. "There are those who have called me a generous lover..." he admitted.
Usually he would have heaved a small inward sigh of regret at this point that Rene could not have been among them. Gruber would have been the very pinnacle of generosity with Rene, of that he was certain. He could have happily knelt before the man and kissed his feet, then done something very similar to two or three other things on the way back up. But now... now he was starting to feel a decided thrill, and for once it was not Rene at the forefront of his mind.
"You in turn may be aware," Flick continued, "that I am a butch and red-blooded ladies' man who has left dozens of satisfied females of the opposite sex in his wake."
"No - I do not think I have ever heard such a thing."
Flick looked indignant. "Why not? I have been making every effort to spread it around through the Gestapo grapevine."
"I am not one for gossip." Gruber found himself watching the droplets of sweat beading on Flick's upper lip, and suddenly Little Hubert lifted his head, looked around with interest, and began to politely ask for more room than Gruber's trousers had had to provide since the time he had come upon Rene with his big packet.
"The truth, Lieutenant, is that I am not as straight as my manly bearing and commanding presence may suggest. I am, as they say, 'curious'."
The chill that Gruber was accustomed to feeling was now not very much like a chill at all. Quite the opposite, in fact. He could scarcely believe what he was hearing, but his body - which seemed to have no sense of loyalty whatsoever - was adamant that it wanted to keep hearing it. "And you wish to - experiment?"
"I wish to try you for size."
Gruber's voice dropped a couple of octaves. It wasn't voluntary. "I have always been known for my ability to adapt to the situation, Herr Flick. During my service in the tank corps I have been able to get in and out of some very tight spaces."
The colour that he had noticed earlier deepened. "We will utilize the Gestapo sofa. It is very large and has only one squeaky spring."
"May I kiss you?" Gruber asked. He had a strong preference for kissing first, although of course one was not always in a position to do so. He would not be feeling the sensuous tickle of the moustache that had occupied so many of his dreams. But, yes, he wanted to do this, very much.
"Yes," Flick answered. He sounded, most uncharacteristically, nervous, quite as nervous as Gruber felt himself. As Gruber leaned in to brush their mouths together, delicately, at first, then again, he could feel Flick's quiet, harsh gasps against his skin. He waited, patiently, for the Gestapo man to open up wider for air, and then slipped his tongue in and carried out a thorough investigation. Flick emitted a slightly startled noise that was nonetheless accompanied by a fair amount of grabbing at Gruber's backside. When they parted, both of them were breathing heavily.
Gruber felt his head swimming a little. "Was that good?" he enquired.
"Very good." Flick's voice sounded similarly unsteady. "Begin stripping. I will do likewise."
Gruber did not have to be given this order twice. He peeled his boots off, and then turned his attention to his belt and buttons. Losing the first, he slowed his efforts at the second, popping open one fastening at a time as he held Flick's eye, deliberately mirroring his movements as the other man divested himself of his own garments. One tunic and one finely tailored jacket hit the floor. Gruber's undershirt ended up lost somewhere beneath Flick's desk, and Flick's tie draped artistically over a small bust of Hitler. Gruber had fully intended to commence work on his trousers as quickly as possible, but as he grew aware of Flick's gaze following the downward journey of his hand, he paused when he reached his destination to indulge in a little fondle. Flick's tongue worked around his lips like a lizard's.
"You came very quickly when I sent for you, Gruber. This pleases me."
"Yes, Herr Flick. But sometimes I prefer to try to wait a while."
In a flash, Flick tossed away the last of his clothing and stood naked before him. "This will remain a secret. If word were to reach my godfather, Heinrich Himmler, that I am a fairy, he would have me sent to the Russian Front and my career in the Gestapo would be over."
"The winter weather around Stalingrad does have a tendency to wither a man's ambitions," Gruber murmured.
The last time that anything had excited him this much was when he had accidentally leaned against the tank when it was stuck in the mud on high gear. He moved close. Closer.
"You will speak of this to nobody else," Flick said. He removed his glasses. His eyes, behind the magnifiers, were strikingly blue.
"You can depend on me, Herr Flick." And Gruber switched off the lamp behind them and pulled his trousers down.
In the darkness, the squeaky spring seemed very loud.
"Stop! I think that there is an unused knockwurst sausage still secreted in the sofa cushions. I feel myself being poked by something very long with a rounded end."
"... that is not a sausage, Herr Flick."
"... I believe that you may be correct in this."
Squeak.
"Under the cushions, however, you will find a jar of Gestapo issue Vaseline. It is highly effective during interrogation for conducting electricity."
"Then why is it in the sofa?"
"It is also highly effective for rubbing one out."
Squeak.
"May I ask you to spread your legs a little wider for me, Herr Flick... ah... yes. Just that way. Now, do you think that you are able to take it..?"
"We are the Gestapo," Flick informed him, a little too breathlessly to be very sinister about it. "We are trained to take anything."
Using the very best of his abilities, Gruber set about discovering whether this were true.