**Look out conservatives…this gets mighty steamy! Enter the M part of the rating. But not too grotesquely graphic, I'm a big believer in imagination always being better than what I could ever spell out. Also, I think anything too much more graphic would be an assault on Landa's sense of taste. Enjoy! This is probably it for this tired old fic. If you're still around, I thank you for your interest in these two. It's been a jolly good time writing this fic and chatting with you wonderful reviewers! I don't own a shred of Landa, but sweet Lord I wish I did!**
The Jew Hunter's mouth on hers…
The Jew Hunter's lips at her throat…
His hands on her waist…
His breath at her ear…
His eyelashes tickling her cheek…
His teeth feather-light at her jaw…
Her breathing is much too loud and the pounding of her heart is far too quick. Books at her back and Hans Landa's delicious weight crushing her chest…but not crushing enough. Never enough. She can still breathe, can still pant, can still gasp and sigh and whimper.
The slick button at The Jew Hunter's collar slips through her frantic fingers yet again, and she gives up; satisfied to simply claw at the cool material of his shirt. There is lean muscle there beneath her trembling fingers and the mere thought of his warm skin is maddening. At least Landa had not bothered with a tie, today. He chuckles in his throaty way and helps her to dispense with the topmost button…then the second…and the annoying third. She cannot help her palms and their greedy exploration of his understated musculature. Fingernails graze his perfectly modest chest hair and sneak underneath the lapels of his coat to grip his strong shoulders…he seems real enough, she decides. Off comes the decorated coat. It clatters to stone floor, the many medals tinkling like tiny bells.
The air shimmers and swirls with their heat and the glittering light thrown from the stained glass dances on his handsome face. It is her turn to make him groan when her hesitant tongue tastes his lips. The sensual sound makes her spine hum like a tuning fork. Pitch perfect.
His thumbs hook into her hipbones, and tug at her soft cotton dress. Nervous, but needing no further encouragement she turns, resting her hot cheek against the cool books, giving him access to the zipper at her back. But instead of Landa's fingers on the zipper, she feels them sweep her hair to the side and his wonderful mouth on the back of her neck. He is clearly not in any hurry, intent only on savoring each sensation. Eva on the other hand, can't make herself focus. How can she, when his lips and tongue torture neck…while his hand presses into her ribcage…while his torso and legs sear her body at every blessed point of contact?
She reaches behind to pull him closer, wanting to make him melt into her. But The Jew Hunter growls at her impatience and pins both her wrists above her head. A husky giggle escapes her lips and his chest shakes in response at her arched back. She allows her eyelids to close and inhales to calm herself. The smell of books: paper and leather. The divine smell of Hans Landa: warm, clean, masculine and dangerous. Finally, at last, at long last…she hears the zipper teeth disengage…one…by…one. The dress falls open and cool air sweeps on her shoulder blades, awakening every single nerve in her body.
It is an unwelcome and confusing surprise to both of them, however, when the library door rumbles with a fierce knock. Eva's eyes snap open and Landa growls viciously, slamming his hand violently into the books above Eva's head.
"WAS? WER IST DA?" Landa roars.
"Dietrich, Herr Oberst," comes the muffled reply.
With an angry growl, Landa yanks the zipper back up on Eva's dress, turns her around like a rag doll and shifts their bodies to face the door, sheltering her from view.
"WAS JETZT, DIETRICH?" the Colonel seethes.
"Verzeihen Sie mir, Herr Oberst. An urgent cable from The Führer himself: we have several rebellion leaders in custody. They await your attention, sir."
Eva cannot see Dietrich over Landa's shoulders but can definitely hear the poor man's embarrassment in his voice. How obvious the situation must be to him…Landa's wasted coat lies at her feet and his shirt practically hangs from his body. Humiliation colors her cheeks, yet she cannot help the resentment that washes over her. Things had been so perfect just moments ago…
"Are they held in France?" Landa asks calmly. It ruffles Eva to think that Landa is so easily sobered, while her heart still beats unevenly.
"Nein, Herr Oberst. The captives are mid-transport, and make their way through Rheinland-Pfalz. Shall I arrange for you to meet them?"
"No," Landa cuts the embarrassed soldier off. "No, I desire to speak with The Führer first. Get his office on the radio, if possible. I will be there momentarily. Thank you, Dietrich."
"Jawohl." Dietrich takes his swift leave, anxious to breathe less awkward air.
Eva stares mutely at the motionless set of shoulders before her, and dare not move or speak.
"Are you alright?" Landa's silken voice asks.
What a silly question? Eva muses…until she realizes that her hands clutch the back of his shirt, and how her entire frame shakes.
"I…yes…I think so." She breathes, letting her hands drop to her sides. As soon as the sentence leaves her lips, however, her knees buckle and she begins to sink to the floor. Her body seems unwilling to function properly. Landa catches her, of course, a strange expression in his eyes.
"I'm sorry…I don't know why--" she apologizes.
"No, I am the one who's sorry, Eva…but this is not something I can ignore. I need to speak with Hitler immediately; I need to gather more information. Can you make it to the bedroom on your own, or shall I have Dietrich see you back?"
"NO!" she blurts, not wishing to endure any more embarrassment. "No, I'll be fine. I'll rest, I promise. How long do you think you'll be gone?" she struggles in vain to keep her tone calm.
"I don't know that I will be leaving at all. I'll do my best to come and tell you if it comes to that. I can't have you stay here, if I leave, though. Not by yourself, not after you've been so ill…there is much to be decided…I am truly sorry, Eva. Excuse me." He sweeps from the room leaving a quick and dizzying kiss on her mouth.
For the second time, she is left confused, disappointed and abandoned in Landa's library. Miraculously, though, her feet move and carry her numb body to the door.
***
How she ends up back in Landa's bedroom escapes Eva's foggy mind, but she is grateful to be on autopilot and does not question it. Denying her desire to simply sink into the comfortable sheets of Landa's bed, she drags her lead feet to the W.C. and draws a scalding bath. Steam fills the cold room as she slips out of her dress and drapes it over the backrest of vanity stool, before talking a seat. Her slip-clad reflection stares from the hazy mirror and Eva likes what she sees. It seems cliché, but she is most certainly not the brash girl that stormed over here just days before. She has thought and dreamt long and hard about herself and about Landa. About what is important, what she is willing to fight and to accept. Her physical advances are proof enough of that. She may be a hormone riddled twenty-year old, but she is also extremely conscious of the significant initiation she made not an hour ago. She is also conscious of just who that initiation was directed at…
Hans Landa: Hunter of Jews. Detective. Genius. Murderer…
Or is he not Hans Landa: Man of sophistication. Musician. Expert Linguist. Scholar. Lover…?
Why not both?
Two sides of the same complicated coin.
It's not as though her qualms have disappeared, rather that she has decided what she is willing to live with. Just like he said. No doubt, she will have conflicted feelings about his job and his methods in the future. In fact, she wonders idly, just what his 'interrogation' of the French resistance captives will entail…
He is dangerous…incredibly so. Eva cannot deny that a part of her is incensed by that danger--that she is curious about and attracted to it. What that makes her, she doesn't know…and she doesn't quite care, either. Life does not deal in absolutes, why should she?
She riffles through the drawers of the vanity until she finds a brush and begins to pull it through her hair. The unmistakable scent of Hans Landa meets her nostrils; the brush must have some of his aftershave in the bristles. She squints at her reflection, the mirror is so fogged that she can no longer see herself, so she leans forward to wipe the glass clean.
A scream rips from her throat to see a man staring at her in the glass. A hand clamps hard over her mouth to stop the sound.
"Shh. It's just me. I didn't mean to scare you…" Landa croons in her ear, kissing her neck and moving his hand from her mouth to her shoulder. She feels gooseflesh erupt all over her body despite the room's now warm temperature.
"Hans! What are you doing here?" she gasps trying to sound more composed than she feels and folding her arms in a feeble attempt at modesty.
"The French will keep till morning…" he whispers, still leaning over her and staring wickedly at their reflection. He appears to be at complete ease with her lack of proper clothing…but then again, his shirt is as wonderfully unbuttoned as it was before Dietrich interrupted them.
It takes a moment for her to grasp his meaning, but when she does, the smile that lights his eyes is echoed on her face.
"Really?" she squeals. "You're staying?"
He nods in affirmation and twirls a lock of her hair absently. "Were you planning to flood my bathroom?"
Her eyes travel to the reflection of the almost over-flowing tub behind her and she leaps to her feet with a yelp. "Scheiße!"
She closes the taps hastily, and the sound of running water is replaced by his dark chuckle. Red-faced, but determined to ignore Landa's taunting expression; Eva crosses the room haughtily to reclaim her seat.
"Darf ich?" The Colonel motions to the object in her hand.
She raises a suspicious eyebrow and surrenders the brush with a warning look that could very well rival one of his own.
"Fraulein Schultz, you frighten me!" he gasps with mock innocence as he pulls the brush gently through her hair. It feels amazing/
"I frighten you? You who crept in here on cat's paws and scared me half to death?"
"Hmm. Point taken," he concedes gravely. "But I already apologized for that…"
"How is it that you are able to stay? Dietrich seemed to think the development was pretty important--"
"And it is," he interrupts softly, "but The Führer feels it is more intelligent for me to wait for the convoy to reach its destination…rather than storm off to a moving target. Are you trying to get rid of me?" He stops brushing her hair and lets the challenge ring in the silent room.
"What if I am? I was just about to bathe after all." She teases.
"My mistake. I thought you were keen to spend more time together…I'll leave you to it then. I have paperwork to tend to anyway…" He hands the brush back to the stunned girl and heads casually to the door.
"Paperwork!" she quips. "After what Dietrich walked in on earlier you want to do paperwork?"
"The war will not win itself Eva." He says with his back to her. His tone is quite serious and she isn't sure what to make of it.
"Hans Landa! If you walk out of this room right now, I swear to God I will never speak to you again!"
"A threat, Fraulein?"
"A promise." She corrects.
"Good." He growls. "I loathe indecisiveness…"
And with that he rounds on her, tearing his shirt off as he goes.
She doesn't even have proper time to marvel at the exquisite sight of him before his mouth is on hers. Her nails claw at his naked back: so warm and smooth. He goes too slowly, though. Once again she has more clothes on than he, and he does practically nothing to help her change that. She wants to rip the incessant slip from her body, but he is wrapped deliciously around her, preventing her from doing so.
"Hans…" she pleads.
"Yes?" he prods coyly.
"Get me out of this wretched thing!" she commands.
"Very well." He sighs, chuckling at her unyielding impatience.
She bends to grab the hem of the thin silk, but he pulls her upright and turns her lazily in place. Nimble fingers unfasten the tiny buttons down her back and he slides the delicate straps down her arms, leaving a trail of sinful kisses. Gravity does the rest of the work and the garment falls into a lustrous pool at her ankles.
"Finally!" she huffs triumphantly. She whips round and pulls his face to hers, their bare chests crashing like rock and wave. He moans into her mouth with such urgency, she knows she will pass out. It is too much. He is everywhere. She can see, taste and smell only him…only Hans Landa. There is nothing else in the world but this overwhelming bliss…and it feels too good! A slow painful throbbing beats somewhere deep in her belly. It hurts, God it hurts. But she prays that it will never end!
"If you thought for one minute, " he pants while she nibbles at his neck. "that I was capable of walking out of this room…"
She hushes him with her lips, which he gives in to for a good minute before reluctantly pulling away.
"How on earth would I have been able to finish what we started, with you a whole room away?"
"Shut up Hans!" she begs leaning in to him again.
"Be careful..." he warns so seductively that the throbbing in her belly will surely kill her.
"Make me!" she challenges.
His responsive growl and kiss is so agonizingly delectable that she has no doubt that he will. He will, indeed…and she will never ever tire of it.
**Ahhh! I want a Landa! Tell me how much you do too!**
