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Hans Weiß watched the dark haired officer carefully, impressed by the man’s grasp of French as he ordered a beer from the barman. He watched as the handsome man settled himself at the bar, eyes scanning the room intently and clearly waiting for someone particular.
How Hans wished those beautiful green eyes were looking for him, but all he gets from Hauptmann Mohn is a curt nod and a brief smile before his eyes move on… in search of someone else… Someone not Hans.
Hans wonders what Mohn would think if he knew what just that brief twist of the man’s beautiful lips did to him. How his stomach was churning from just one look. What would it be like to kiss those lips… to feel those large hands pulling him into a warm embrace… To be held against that hard, lean, well muscled body. Hans flushes, taking a sip of his drink and trying to reign in his wildly inappropriate thoughts.
Hans knows he shouldn’t torment himself like this, mooning over a helpless crush like a lovesick teenager.
He knows he should go home with one of the many other lonely people just like him, frequenting this dark, dingy, out of the way bar.
Hans knows he could.
He knows he’s not unattractive, the uniform an advantage in this case. Everyone likes a man in uniform it seems, no matter French or German. His muscles helped seal the deal and it wasn’t like they would be talking. Language wasn’t an issue here.
It all seems sordid somehow, Mohn the only bright thing in the place. If he can’t have his crush, Hans didn’t want anyone.
He sighs heavily, draining his glass just so he could have an excuse to stand at the bar. To get close to the dark haired beauty that haunted Han’s dreams and kept him awake at night.
Who knows, maybe Mohn might even accept his offer of a drink. That would keep Hans going for weeks. Something else to fuel his fantasies, where of course Horst was always interested. Horst would smile and be happy and let Hans take him home and love him like he so badly wanted to.
Smiling as he approaches the man at the bar, Hans raises his empty glass in greeting.
“Another beer sir? My treat.”
Horst eyes the newcomer warily, relaxing when he sees it’s only Hans Weiß, the big blonde clearly recognisable even in the dimly lit bar.
“Another beer would be nice,” Horst says, just to be polite, then smiling when the big paratrooper grins at him.
Is Weiß just being polite or is there more to this, Horst wonders, finding himself proved correct when Hans gives Horst a questioning look. It only lasts a moment and anywhere else Horst might have questioned it was even there. But here, in this place, he understands the question in those bright blue eyes, shaking his head in return imperceptibly.
Hans sighs softly, nodding, he too understanding the unspoken conversation. He raises his glass in a silent, sad salute before slipping back into the shadows. Back to the quiet table with the good view of the bar he’d just vacated.
He really should go home now. He’s only tormenting himself to stay.
To watch Horst greet the big blonde man that walks in the door.
To watch the wide smile that spreads across Horst’s face, the way he stands, embraces the blonde that isn’t Hans. Kisses him passionately… lovingly… like it’s comfortable and familiar and home in a way that makes Han’s heart ache and soar with the beauty of it at the same time.
Hans watches as Fritz von Arnsfeld whispers something in his lovers ear.
Watches as the dark haired man laughs and links his arm in Fritz’s, dragging him to the dance floor.
Watches as the pair walk straight past where he sits without a second glance.
Hans smiles, raising his glass in salute to the happy couple. Not that they notice, too wrapped up and in love to see anything but each other as they enjoy the music and the freedom to be themselves for just one night.
Hans can’t begrudge them that, slipping away silently to dream of Horst Mohn, smiling and happy and in love.