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Hellstrom made his way down a clunky, old set of stairs, leading into god knows where, searching for a better place to rest his head from the constant noise of conversation.
In front of him stood a lake, spreading far and wide in all its frozen glory. The overhead chuckles of fellow SS men drunkenly laughing inside the cabins keeping them safe from the bitter winter cold was appreciated. For now, he quite liked the time away from snobby remarks made by people too intoxicated to remember their own names.
Clearing a spot on a fallen log and making sure his winter overcoat wouldn't get wet, Dieter sat and took a deep breath in and out. It was much too warm and quickly condensated in the open air, turning to cloudy fog. Simply breathing in the cold had seated it deep within him, and he found himself already digging through his pocket for a cigarette. For a second the only sound was that of the lighter crackling to life as to ignite the one perched between his lips, and nothing moved in the empty cabin towards the other side of the lake, not a sound wandered through the woods beyond.
Months ago he would've killed for this kind of peace, this utter silence, but now he was anchored only by the log he sat on to the rest of the world. He found his fingers itching to grip onto non-existent paperwork and his right hand curling on invisible pens. Even if this wasn't a vacation, because guarding an old campsite was still work, the open space was surreal. Dieter had never been one for sports or the outdoors and he guessed growing compliant to the same four walls had somehow taken a toll on both his psyche and eyesight. Still, he let himself enjoy the silence of winter, taking a deep puff into his mouth and letting the warmth of it travel to his nose, the smoke he huffed out distinctly opaque in comparison to his frozen breaths. He repeated the motion a couple times before his cigarette was basically through. He lit another, this time exhaling through his mouth, and hummed pleasantly to no one but himself. He figured it didn't hurt to let those idiots watch themselves for a change as he closed his eyes, deep in thought.
The crunching of snow under boots which were not his own woke him from that unfocused, trance-like state, so noisy compared to the dead quiet forest around him. He was so startled the barely smoked cigarette fell from his gloved hand straight into the ground. He groaned in annoyance.
A familiar silhouette came into view and he could only sigh. Of course, out of all people, Landa would be the one to hinder his well-deserved break. The man, obscured by the lighting directly behind him, spoke flatly.
"Is this seat taken, Sturmbannführer? If not, I'll make myself comfortable."
Without Dieter's word in, Landa cleared a spot to his right and sat in silence, carrying a bag with him, coming to rest his face on his hands, watching the frozen lake intently before looking back to Dieter with a wobbly version of his usual charming smile…he was fiddling with something in the innocuous bag he'd brought, a glint of metal the only clue the Major had to the Colonel's intentions.
Only when Landa patted his thigh affectionately and got up on the snow, holding a pair of skates by their laces in his hand, did Dieter understand the silent proposition.
Taking a closer look he found Hans' face to be red hot from either the cold or, most likely, the alcohol. He had never seen Hans drunk (nor did he think he ever would with how the man knew his limits related to the substance) but this was perhaps the closest thing he'd get. With some degree of amusement he looked at the Colonel who held onto Dieter's left shoulder, tugging at him to get up as well.
"The lake is perfect, Dieter, let's not waste it."
That much was true, the lake was shining back all meager electrical lighting surrounding it and most importantly, the bright stars in the sky. It had barely been snowed on, like a mirror.
"Come on," Landa held himself closer to Dieter's ear and uttered, "unless you want to join the others inside?"
Dieter scoffed at the smiling Colonel and begrudgingly accepted the skates, getting chilled to the bone in the moments it took to tie them on.
They fit around him comfortably, the snug material warmer than his actual boots which was a relief, only waking more suspicion from within the Major. He cast a sad look to his fallen cigarette which had long ago been extinguished by the snow before getting up on it, shakily stepping foot on the ice some awkward waddling later.
He didn't wholeheartedly trust the ice or Landa’s decisions in general under the influence, so he would observe him first.
"...How did you know my shoe size?" He asked, moving his head to the side and raising an eyebrow at Landa, who had just gotten on the ice, but was already gliding past him effortlessly despite his apparent tipsiness.
…No ice breakage, that was a good sign.
Dieter didn't move much, baby steps getting him somewhat close to the middle of the frozen body of water. On the other hand, Landa was already getting far from him.
He slid past the younger man, saying something along the lines of "medical records". This prompted the even more confused Major to speed up to Landa, almost slipping on the ice.
"What?! Where did you even get my medical records from?!" Dieter screamed, going after the man who was trying to outrun him (out-skate him?) sliding through what would've been against the current if it were spring.
"Don't be a fool, Dieter, everyone has them. It's only luck that I found your first application for joining!" Landa cheered as he once more waltzed away from Hellstrom, those delicate movements got him far. Dieter was now determined to catch up to him and keep the questions up so Hans may lower his guard further.
Through uncoordinated motions Hellstrom had managed to get closer to him, but shaken by all the physical strength it took to move around the ice (nevermind the cold) he stopped the chase by placing one of his arms on Hans' chest for balance, folded over himself as he caught his breath, hand over his knee. He managed to get some words out of his mouth in time with his ragged breathing.
"Unbelievable...how...how did you even get my measurements? That shouldn't be listed on my first application, anyway!"
Hans laughed at him openly, cheeks red from exertion and possibly more. His gloved hand found the small of Dieter's back to take him closer, straightening his posture up instantly. Habit.
"A few appointments later that good doctor thought you were flat-footed, so your head physician contacted a podiatrist for more exact results! Quite simple, really, I thought you'd remember it."
Only that you have no reason to hold on to documents from more than five years ago. A complete invasion of my privacy.
Dieter thought, the words not quite reaching his mouth as Hans' hand thrummed against his nape, grazing over a bite mark he left there not long ago. That only he knew the exact location of.
Hellstrom looked at him then, aching for their usual set of teasing touches made forbidden by the literal army of men from above in the cabins. Anyone could, theoretically, go down the same set of stairs they had, but the thought of being caught wasn't enough to stop the fluent closeness between them, easy. Almost too easy…peaceful even, if it hadn't been for Landa holding him firmly close between his scapula, as if a kiss was inevitable, only to push him strongly enough so that Dieter's skates did all the work for him, sending him astray. Bastard.
"I see you're perfectly healthy now, Sturmbannführer!" The Colonel cheered at him, sliding away from any possible immediate repercussions his joke could've had.
Two could play at that game, Dieter decided.
He headed the opposite of where the Colonel had gone to, and instead of simply orbiting him like earlier, he took a route through the frozen ice which looked just slightly more treacherous. Making sure not to actually fall, and actively ignoring Hans' teasing voice behind him, insisting for him to come back and to "stop flaunting his athletic skills", he eyed the lake over. He checked the terrain with his foot, which almost made him trip over, confirming his theory.
With the help of the moonlight above he saw a narrow, steep passage in front of him, near the packed snow outside the ice. He had always been a good observer and, luckily, he was also a good actor.
Falling onto his back and letting out a faux gasp was enough for Landa to quit his games. Like a deer in headlights he seemed confused at the noise, but after hearing Dieter's low curses and seeing him grabbing one of his legs close to his chest, clearly hurt, he rushed over to him.
"Shit! Dieter, did you-"
The question died in his throat as he truthfully fell, in no small part due to the dislodged ice Hellstrom had conveniently planned he would step on. What he hadn't planned on was for Hans to almost smother him half to death when he did inevitably fall, but one couldn't always be a winner.
With a satisfied grin on his reddened face, seeing as Landa was already incorporating himself back on his haunches and arms, it only felt proper to comment on the Colonel's poor state.
"Serves you right, asshole."
Landa only smiled at him, and Dieter was promptly grabbed by the collar of his undershirt and pushed back against the frigid ice, the same hand traveled up his face and into the curve of his neck, finally guiding him to a feverishly hot kiss. He let out a strangled noise of relief, taking a brief look towards the set of stairs and the warmly lit cabins, too high up and with no one standing near the windows to be seen like this, almost flat to the ground.
Grabbing onto Landa's back, trying to return the kiss as best he could, he couldn't help but appreciate these games coming to a pleasurable end.
However, in his newfound excitement, Dieter hadn't noticed how Hans grabbed a fistful of snow, and had mistaken the other lifting his collar as mere flirting. In an instant he felt a searing cold ball of snow land on his naked chest, and the weight of Hans' body lifting, escaping again. He hissed and slurred through his cooling lips whilst getting up, determined to land the first hit to the Colonel's back.
He formed the ball with his hands carefully, waited for him to turn, and aimed.
He was successful, a reckless grin plastered over his face at the expression of utter surprise Hans had made, but that hit may have been the beginning of the two-man war that followed.
…
"You're turning blue. Let's go, Hans," Dieter laughed and elbowed the Colonel, "if you admit defeat we can avoid hypothermia."
"Nonsense, you are the one looking deadly pale," Hans chuckled and added, "and you're shaking like a leaf, as well."
"Maybe because you threw snow down my clothes, and now I'm both cold and wet?"
"Hmm...you may be right, for once."
Truth be told, Dieter did look worse for wear in that department, with lips cold to the darting touches of his warmer tongue and his overly wobbly steps towards the snow. With enough balance (and help from Landa which none of them commented on) they got back to their boots, but Dieter hadn't even started to tie his own when Hans kneeled in the path in front of him, offering to tie them for him, saying he should focus on warming his hands up instead.
Odd.
For a second he thought whatever alcohol Landa had been drinking must've been spiked, but when he offered to heat up water for him in the nearby bath house, he wondered if the man was already a specter. At least no one would bother them in such a secluded space, but the alarm bells rang in Dieter's head even as he stepped into the creaking wooden shack.
…
Stepping out of his boots, parting from his freezing undershirt and finally taking a seat on a nearby bench, Dieter found himself basked in warmth. Like a snake coiling around his body, vapor from the shower stall formed clusters around him. The thrumming water heater in the other room seemed to struggle to keep up, audibly complaining of what were probably months upon months of disuse and the sudden motion of being put to work again. Still, the water flow was pleasant as it filled the bucket he was adamant on washing previously, where his cold feet thawed. Like a spa, Hans had said.
He couldn't afford a wet bath, lest his hair freeze over when he got out in the open again, but he still appreciated the comfort of this unusually selfless favor from the Colonel, who patiently dabbed at his back with a warm, soaked towel, the touch alarming in its kindness and relaxing by nature. Maybe the water was too hot and it was simply his blood pressure lowering, a dizzying fog clouding his mind. He sighed, leaning back on Landa and looking up at him with airs of doubt. The man caught on quickly, saying:
"I'm helping you get to a healthy body temperature, Dieter. No need to make a fuss about it," he dabbed at his neck with the towel, "is the water too hot?"
No, but you're being too...
Another comment he couldn't make, hesitant to show Hans how truly worried he was. The man was unpredictable, and the chivalrous attitude wasn't budging out of place. Why would he be doing this? Unprompted, no less! Not like some play fighting urged this sort of wicked apology. Maybe that was where he went wrong in his train of thought, and Landa did in fact want something out of him…of course. Very much on brand for him, but it didn't make sense to butter him up like so. They had known each other for enough time to know it wasn't an utmost necessity, if what he was after were mere sexual favors or information. What if this time, it was something more?
Dieter gasped in shock at the soft kiss placed on his shoulder, noticing the hands gently holding him in a loose embrace, just below his sternum.
"You really should relax," Landa dove in for another kiss, "for someone getting a masseur service, you are awfully tense. Your frown is tangible." He could feel the smile on Hans' lips against his skin, and cringed. This was probably the worst masseur on earth, but he did raise a good point.
Wordlessly, the Major actively tried to erase that tension, straining against the arms holding him and ultimately throwing his head back on Landa's clothed shoulder, closing his eyes and keeping his frown on.
The warm towel found its way to his lap, discarded for now, as he contemplated whether to ever open his eyes again. Soon there were teeth playfully nibbling along his jaw, the sensation of Landa's own stubble over his skin bringing a small chuckle out of him, and Dieter realized he couldn't keep the poker face on for too long. Hans kept his ministrations going, tickling the exposed sides of Dieter's torso along the way, grazing his ribs.
After the water had gone lukewarm, Landa put his own heavy winter overcoat back over his shoulders, picking his cap up from the coat stand near the closed door of the bath house. He went up to Hellstrom, hand lightly combing through his hair.
“There's still people wondering why I left, you know I cannot just disappear from a crowd. I left Lieutenant Reiner hanging, as well, but don't get too comfortable here, it's very much still freezing outside,” he tilted Dieter's chin to kiss him before adding, “I do understand why you'd stay.”
Hearing the door click shut, Dieter prepared himself mentally to get up and over to where he'd left his clothes, thinking what to make of his most likely still soaked undershirt. He grabbed at the bridge of his nose, sighing bitterly upon realizing how cold the room had gotten.
...
He spent the rest of his night in that damned designated guard post, occasionally running a hand through his neck, aggravating the old bruise and preventing it from healing, only distracting himself with short smoke breaks and vague ideas of finding out just who this Reiner guy was. Should he even bother?
As he finished smoking the last cigarette in the case, uncertainty still tainted his thoughts.
If Hans hadn't come by, he would've had one more to keep busy with now.