What a lovely thing Jochen can be when he had enough alcohol to melt his uneasy shell. Very pleasingly he lies in Kurt’s arms and looks like he hardly knows up from down, let alone left from right, but Kurt thinks Jochen does recognize him, the way he presses himself against Kurt’s chest and never breaks eye contact, clings to Kurt’s eyes like it’s a lifebelt thrown to a drowning man and in a way he is a drowning man, dizzy with wine, nearing unconsciousness and Kurt will save him from the indignity of being seen like that and put him in a nice warm bed to enjoy his amiable conduct.  

Jochen is easy enough to carry, there being more muscle on Kurt’s arms than fat on Jochen’s entire body, except there is also that flight of stairs leading up to the bedroom and suddenly Kurt is reminded that he also had a drink, or two or possibly ten. He turns to whistle for Max and is surprised to find him just a few feet behind them. He stands in the dimly lit hallway, still looking very neat – the only sign of intoxication is the hair clinging to his forehead with sweat,  glowing cigarette in the corner of his mouth, his hands in his pockets and an expression that suggests that he watched the two of them for a while and found the scene very amusing.

“I’ll need your help with this,” Kurt says nodding towards Jochen, who – perfectly timed – raises a little from their embrace, just enough to rest his forehead on Kurt’s, a gesture so innocent Kurt can barely resist the urge to pat him on the head or kiss him on the nose. He would certainly have done so if it wasn’t for Max, who makes his dislike for Jochen known when he grins, holding his cigarette between his plenty white teeth, then spits the cigarette out, stomps it out under his boot and says: “This is Obersturmbannführer Peiper, one of Himmler’s finest men.” His tone makes it very evident that he personally prefers to refer to Jochen as an object or treat him like one too, spit him out and stomp on him like his cigarette.

He does help Kurt of course, he would never not help him carry a comrade – even this one. In that moment, with both their arms slung around Jochen – charmingly helpless, conveniently clueless Jochen – Kurt thinks now would be the perfect time for him to help them both get over their differences. How much more considerate that would be for his nerves if they got along and also how much fun it would be to introduce them to each other.

Once they have put Jochen on the bed – he lays there just like they dropped him – they take off his heavy mountaineering shoes, so he doesn‘t get dirt all over that lovely bed and while they are at it they take off the belt around his waist that must be way too tight for comfort. Once in the habit his tunic follows and his trousers and eventually they have him stripped entirely. He watches them, or watches as much as as he can focus on in his current state of mind. Once looking at Max’s heavy hand that’s keeping him down and once at Kurt’s fingers lightly dragged along his hips, always seeking the eyes flickering across his body and occasionally finding lips raised at the corner and teeth bared.

They let go of Jochen who curls up like a cat. His body is entirely too small and lithe for his own good. He is as white as the sheets they have bedded him on. Even the hair of his body is light, except for the trail of hair on his stomach which, like an exclamation point, is so much harder to avoid for it. To the men’s excuse it is an inviting body and it‘s not exactly like Jochen really tried to stop them and no one could drinks so much and not expect to be taken advantage of, Kurt thinks and is sure Max would agree if he asked him – not like he needs to. That mean grin of his says it all.

When they sit down on the bed next to Jochen he sprawls out and places his head on Kurt’s lap. He looks like he could fall asleep any moment if they just let him and Kurt almost wants to if it wasn’t for Max’s scoffing laugh which is no longer an annoying reminder of this senseless rivalry but a portent of all the fun they could have tonight. He pulls Max closer into a tight embrace. “I wish you two would just get along,” he says with a mockingly scolding tone, “he can be very nice if you‘re nice to him. Watch and learn.”

Kurt strokes Jochen over the neatly parted hair, along the neck and down to the tailbone. It‘s a pleasant feeling, dragging his thumb along the small humps of his spine and the soft hair at the base of it. He does not like that, when Kurt touches him there. He flinches and moans disapprovingly, but Max is attentive and eager to help if it means bothering Jochen. The firm hold of his hand on the back of Jochen’s neck prevents any hasty escape attempts and Kurt proceeds to stroke him like a delicate pet. And what a good and pretty pet he is. Soon he just shivers and blushes and then the red crawls down his neck, across his chest and stomach and into his cock. Kurt follows the trail of blood. He strokes Jochen’s neck a little rougher than necessary, so he can really feel it, which prompts another struggle, but that is soon forgotten when Kurt traces the line of his sternum – which is rather too visible for his taste – strokes the nice soft fur of Jochen’s belly and brushes lightly past his the swelling cock. It twitches for Kurt’s touch and when Jochen moans this time it’s different. It’s low and needy.

It’s such a nice sound, all the pleasure and desperation in it. Would it be more entertaining to keep petting Jochen and coax out more of those lovely moans or to torture him with neglect and see how much he would beg for it then? He has a lovely cock though, the palest white with such a pronounced ridge at the bottom, like he was ripped in two and sewn together again and that is a nice image to linger over – the little body with its guts spilling out. It’s very easy to imagine him panting not with pleasure but with pain.

Kurt runs the flat of his thumb along the ridge, up and down, and Jochen moans again and tries to turn over, but he can’t with Max’s hand still so firmly on his neck. He whimpers and it doesn’t sound much different from the moaning, still begging to be touched just the same. Max chuckles. Jochen presses his face into Kurt’s crotch like a boy hiding his face in daddy’s trousers. The mental image is like a punch in the guts, a drop of poison in Kurt’s veins which once pumped into his dick makes it incredibly hard to think about anything but sheathing himself inside of Jochen right now. Fortunately the innocence of the movement is very unlike the indecent sounds coming from Jochen’s throat, muffled now by the wool of Kurt’s pants, a pleasant, soothing hum tickling Kurt’s dick every time he strokes Jochen’s cock.

With each touch Jochen melts a little more. Eventually he is just a bundle of weak limbs, hot and cold all over; cold in his tickling fingertips that fumble across the sheets for someone to hold onto, and wet and hot in Kurt’s hand, leaking precum like he’s never been touched before, and also so hot in Kurt’s lap, where Jochen’s breath is seeping through the fabric, warm and moist, and eventually Kurt realizes it’s not just his breath, Jochen is drooling on him.

He pulls Jochen up by the hair, because he just has to see – and what a good sight it is. His mouth hangs half-open, just enough that they can see the wet tongue curled against his teeth. The tint of red wine rests on it and in the cracks of his lips. Jochen looks at them almost expectantly. He is panting and every time he blinks his eyes stay closed just a little too long, but there is still a dismissive edge, an almost bored expression in his eyes. He is practically begging to have his face stuffed.

It’s not a hard task at all. First Kurt makes him suck on his fingers. When he taps Jochen’s lips with a sharp “open up, boy”, he instantly complies and Kurt can slide two fingers in his mouth up to the knuckles without causing much of a reaction from Jochen except for a low hum that itches under his fingernails when he’s scraping the back of his throat. Kurt makes a show of it, sliding his fingers in and out for Max to see and dear Max is suddenly tense and quiet, and holds his breath watching Jochen suck on Kurt’s hand.

It’s bad having an audience, in particular one so spiteful. Naturally Kurt is looking for a reaction and he gets the best from his audience when he makes Jochen squirm. It’s not like Kurt wants to hurt him, he is behaving so well, not biting once. Fucking his mouth a bit like that does wipe the condescending look off Jochen’s face and he looks a little sad, but it’s just so much fun when Kurt rams his fingers in the back of Jochen’s throat and Jochen winces, his cock bounces adorably every time he gags, and Max bares his teeth and his eyes radiate lust.

“Do you want to fuck his face?” Kurt asks. It’s not a necessary question, he knows the answer, Kurt just likes the sound of it.

“Yes.” Max sounds winded.

“Do you promise not to break him?” The implication of destruction is another one of those drops of poison that make it hard to think.

Max says “Yes, of course” but it sounds like a promise to do the opposite.

The height of the bed is very practical, Kurt can turn Jochen so his head hangs off the side of it just right for Max to shove his dick down his throat. Although Jochen looks as weak as a kitten, not moving a limb, Kurt straddles him and holds down his arms in case he does change his mind about being a good boy. But Jochen is well-behaved. When Max unbuttons and pulls out his cock he seems practically curious. He doesn’t flinch or complain when Max grabs him and rubs his cock across his face with mischievous glee. Max rests the plump head on his lips. Kurt doesn’t have to tell him to open up. He smiles weakly, opens wide and stretches out his tongue.

Max thrusts into his mouth with one sharp jab. Much fatter than Kurt’s fingers, his cock fills Jochen’s mouth completely and it’s still not all the way in. Max groans and squeezes his dick deeper down Jochen’s throat. Kurt can see it from the outside. Jochen’s neck all stretched out, perfect to run a blade across it, every muscle tense under the skin, looking like they could snap any moment, and then the outline of Max’s cock bulging, inch by inch until he’s sheathed in him to the hilt. Jochen makes a gurgling sound, his throat trembles, his body tenses up. He can’t get away. Kurt counts the seconds while Max remains like that, not moving, just watching the tremors that his dick is sending down Jochen’s body, all the way down to his cock which still, despite all the torture, is hard and flat on his stomach. Max looks very proud of his length and girth. He waits an awfully long time until he pulls out again. The heavy weight slides out of Jochen’s mouth, dragging with it a thick line of spit that hangs between the blunt tip and Jochen’s stretched out tongue. Jochen coughs and sucks in air. Max smiles dimly at Kurt.

“Does he realize I’m fucking him?” he asks.

Kurt looks down at Jochen who is staring at the dick in front of his face with an expression he’d call anxiety if Jochen wasn’t also seemingly stretching his neck to get it back into his mouth.

“I think by this point even he realizes he’s being fucked.”

“No,” Max says frowning, „I mean, does he know I’m fucking him.”

Kurt shrugs. For all he knows Jochen might think the Russians are ploughing him. “I guess you will have to tell him that.”

The cruelty of the suggestion only really becomes apparent to Kurt when Max does it. When he shoves his dick back into Jochen’s mouth, looks down at him with all his contempt and tells him that he will now be fucked by Max Wünsche. That Max Wünsche is going to fuck Jochen Peiper’s face. That Max Wünsche is going to make Jochen Peiper his bitch.

He follows up on his words, ruthlessly thrusting into Jochen’s mouth. Now Jochen struggles terribly, flailing as much as his weakened state allows. Kurt puts all of his weight on him and tries to calm him down by snuggling up against him. He rests his head on Jochen’s chest, he tells him how nicely he’s doing and that it will be over soon if he’s a good boy for Kurt and Jochen wants to be good. His body slackens. He manages to relax his throat too, when the jabs go deep it doesn’t hurt as much but Kurt can still hear him whine, muffled and broken by the gagging. He feels a little sorry. Jochen deserves some gratification and it’s about time Kurt gets himself off too.

Kurt unbuttons himself and wraps one hand around their cocks. It’s a cute pair, perfectly mirroring their builds, stout and slender. Jochen is still wet with precum. Kurt adds to it when he slides his hand up and down their shafts. It doesn’t stop the whining but Jochen moans and hums occasionally and that gets Max close to coming very quickly. Kurt can see it, the way his thrusts get fast and shallow. He matches the rhythm with his own hand.

Max’s grip on Jochen becomes so hard Kurt can see every vein on his hands. He comes while spitting profanities and places his spunk deep down Jochen’s throat. Jochen retches, swallows and retches again from the taste of it. Kurt sends him over the edge with a few more strokes. His orgasm is oddly quiet but pretty nonetheless. He looks like he is breathing his last breath when he spatters his stomach with come. Another poisonous image. It runs out in his head into all the images, the small details, the body parts, flesh stretched and skin ripping, muscles dancing, blood pumping and sweat running and the sound of Jochen’s greedy moans mixed with his pained whining and then none of the images are in his head anymore, just a white flash. Jochen receives it half-asleep but smiling.

While the friendly introduction didn’t go quite the way Kurt had intended they do fall asleep together sharing one blanket and Max doesn’t hesitate to snuggle up to Jochen. Evidently being Max’s bitch, as he put it, did also entail some benefits.