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 Posting a reply to post #36731

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36731 No.36731
Sage'd a-fuckin-gain. Nice.

Old thread >>19366

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In light of sage'ing, I'll just link to the LJ posts when I'm done with this series.

The Courtship of Aldo Raine and Hans Landa
Chapter 6/7

Landa wakes up the next morning shirtless and in his own bed. For a second he hesitates, wondering if the night previous was only a dream, but doubts this possibility when he truly absorbs his surroundings; his trousers are on and fully closed, no signs of “accidental staining”, though he notices a paper tissue waded up on his floor. He remembers suddenly and groans with annoyance. Aldo, the cock tease, had fallen asleep on top of him and left Landa horny and frustrated with little choice than to take care of it himself.

Back against his bedroom wall, Hans’ hand disappears inside his trousers and strokes himself roughly, crying out unabashedly for once—if Aldo hears, if he awakes, that should be all the encouragement he needs to come and ravish him—while his other hand scrabbles at the wall. He pants brokenly, Aldo, Aldo, Aldo, with the jerking tugs, bucking hard and fantasizing of what could have—should have—been. Aldo’s weight bearing down on him, bite marks at his neck, fucking him roughly into the mattress as their hips knock together unevenly. Hans would keep shouting his name, driving Aldo deeper with his legs around his shoulders and Aldo would swear out his name and climax deep and hot inside him and Hans would come, voice hoarse from screaming his name, claw marks on Aldo’s back and it would be—it would be—it would—Hans’ hand clenches tight, he climaxes against his hand and stomach, tries to breathe without sobbing, and cleans everything up with a napkin. He tosses it to the floor and himself into bed, passing out into a deep, relieved sleep.

That’s where he wakes up. He can hear Aldo stumbling around the kitchen, trying to make coffee or breakfast or something. Landa rolls onto his side, scratches his stomach, and stares at the wall until Aldo knocks at his door five minutes later and pads in uninvited. He sits down in the chair at Landa’s desk and speaks hoarsely; he’s hung-over. Somehow, Landa feels vindicated.


“Good morning,” his hands go behind his head; completely relaxed. Have I left my shirt open, Mr. Raine? Silly me, hadn’t noticed. Landa glances up and down Aldo’s form.

“Listen, about last night…”

“Ah. I did wonder if you remembered anything,” Landa rolls his eyes, “God knows I wouldn’t if I had been that drunk.”

“Yeah,” Aldo is squinting, even with the dim glow of Landa’s room, only illuminated by the outside light, “Yeah about that. I, uh…”

Landa sits up, sighing, “What? Honestly, I’m annoyed by you right now so just say it and leave.”

“… Sorry for passing out.”

Landa cants his head, surprised, “What?”

“Well look, it ain’t like it’s some big fuckin secret that I want to get into your shorts—gotta pardon the expression there. And I do. Want to get into your shorts. Hans.”

He wrinkles his nose at the bastardization of his name, “Landa is fine.”


Landa fidgets, considers buttoning up his shirt after all. Aldo’s voice stops him.

“So,” he sighs, standing, “Iffin’ you’re up for Round Two, I’d like to give it a go. But one thing, and I gotta stress this; I top. Ain’t no way I’m getting some messa Kraut cock up my ass. Got it?”

“… Chrystal.”


“Chrystal clear?”

Aldo groans, rubbing his face with his hands. Landa frowns, “Say that when I ask if it’s clear.”

“… Oh, right.”

“Whatever. I’m making bacon. You can come out of your little Kraut nest if you want any.”

Aldo leaves, Landa watches him, then follows like the desperate bitch he knows he is. Fine, he can judge and degrade himself, but Aldo is finally being civil to him without the direct intention of molestation and hell is Landa will pass up civility (and maybe molestation). He joins Aldo in the kitchen, forgoing his entire morning routine—brush teeth, wash face, shave, comb hair—to be close to him again. After rubbing one out last night, his dreams had followed the suite, leaving him more frustrated and more ready to find himself under Aldo and filled with delicious Apache co—

“Landa, wake up!” he practically yells straight at Landa’s face, like he has for the last two calls of his name. Landa blinks; reality is back. His pants feel tight.


“Eggs, motherfucker. Do you want eggs with your breakfast?”

“Oh, yes, that would be lovely,” Lovely and unnecessary. Landa can’t feel his stomach craving food over the tight trousers he suddenly finds himself in. Aldo doesn’t seem to notice, just carries on with breakfast and ignores the Hell out of him. Landa briefly envisions himself sidling up behind Aldo, hand pressing over his crotch, telling him he isn’t hungry for anything but his delicious, uncut Apache co—

“Yoo hoo!” There is a plate of bacon and eggs stuffed in Landa’s face; he goes cross-eyed and accepts it. He wonders if Aldo can read his mind and is just fucking with him now.

Oh he’d love that.

When he sits at the kitchen table and eats without much of a word otherwise, Landa tries to formulate a plan; hopefully one that involves—Landa glances up at Aldo briefly, checking—getting some Apache co—

“How far’d we get last night?”

Fuck him.

“Nowhere. Just more of your half-witted molestations before you passed out on my chest,” Landa bites his fork in annoyance.

“You’re not bitter, are you?” Aldo half smiles with a mouth full of bacon.

“Christ, no, what would give you that idea?”

He chews and drinks his milk without answering Landa; Landa wonders why he wants him as badly as he does.

“I like it.”


“You bein’ all hot an’ bothered over there. Tells me one thing, Landa.”

“And that is?”

Aldo drinks his milk again, finishing it, “You want your ass stuffed fulla Apache cock, is that about it?”

Fucking mind-reader.

Landa sits back, cool and calm, “I won’t deny that.”

There’s a flash of something in Aldo’s eyes—intrigue, maybe—but it dies too soon to tell. Clearly the Captain has ideas—two full rank promotions and it irritates him so much that he was rewarded for Landa’s own sacrifice—and they clearly work out in Landa’s favour. Landa burns with lust and hope and maybe a little anger, but eats his breakfast in silence. Everything tastes like a foggy memory. The milk has gone warm by the time Landa finishes it, and Aldo is still looking him over with some sort of smug satisfaction. The glass drops—empty—to the table and Landa confidently meets Aldo’s gaze.

They stare, daring the other to be weak enough to make the inevitable first move.


lmao I don't even. Landa's thoughts being cut off is hilarious.
I love their conversations. I love this fic aaahhh

>>Eggs, motherfucker.
Brb, dieing of lulz.

can you please finish asap so it can get out of my fucking life and lj communities

You want some cheese to go with that whine?

I pretty much love the fuck out of this fandom
um, so why isnt there more basterds fan art? I'll have to draw some later...

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<3 Donny

More to love?


I'm starting to feel bad for Donny. All this weird shit keeps happening to him.

The Courtship of Aldo Raine and Hans Landa
Chapter 7/7

There was a time, not so long ago, that Landa wouldn’t expect how drastically his life would turn. It had been six months ago that German victory was secured in the war, that he was a high ranking member of the SS, that he would be assured a beautiful life in the German country, far from petty politics that he was, unfortunately, very skilled in. His life now would have been simple and carefree, he would have been called a hero by his friends and family and would live a rich, modest life.

In reality, he is now face-down in the pillows with two thick American fingers being pushed inside him and he, God have mercy, is moaning like a loud and eager whore. Hips bucking back, face a mess of sweat and heat, Landa looks back with lustful eyes at Aldo and can’t remember a single thing he’d rather have than his Apache right here, right now. His breathing is loud, deafeningly so, in his nearly empty room, but with his head clouded with sex and lust, Landa can’t seem to care; especially not if Aldo keeps crooking his fingers just like that.

Three fingers in, Landa has to grab himself and will his body not to climax just yet. He looks back again, his dilated eyes meeting Aldo’s calm ones, and there is some sense of trust and urgency there that makes Landa push back his hips on Aldo’s hand and fuck himself on his fingers. God in Heaven, he never thought he’d be here, in a bed with Aldo the Apache, willing and eager to be fucked senseless with big, uncut Apache c—

“Fuck you look so good,” Aldo interrupts, his voice washing over Landa until he’s drowning in that low Southern drawl, “Damn, Landa, could fuck you forever…”

“Then do it,” Landa nearly whines; cloudy head makes him forget to control his accent and his voice is thick with German inflections. That pushes the fingers in deeper, faster, until Landa is rolling with them, panting in an open-mouth whine because he’s so fucking close already.

When Aldo is finally inside him, Landa’s world tunnels. All he can hear now is the thick sounds of their skin slapping, feels Aldo moving deep inside him and he feels a million times thicker and bigger and more gloriously pleasurable than he really is or could be, tastes the sweat on his tongue from his own forehead, the blood from a split lip. His whole being is rocked with the thrusts so much that for a second, he breathes, and all he hears is the thrum of his pulse in his ears and Aldo’s thighs slapping his.

He chokes on thick musk, smelling the salt and lust from both of them in the orange light of his desk lamp; he’s bathing in it, Aldo. Firm flesh lies across his back, a thick drawl fills his ears. Landa can’t breathe. His fingers tangle with Aldo’s, his hips buck and drive him deeper still, and all the while he pants Aldo’s name like a prayer, dying for salvation and relief. His precome drips slowly to the mattress until Aldo’s hand wraps around his erection, tugs him slowly, and suddenly this isn’t a simple fuck like they had planned. Suddenly Aldo’s dirty talk turns soft, his thrusts push deep and slow inside Landa, and rather than spreading his legs and begging to be taken, Landa murmurs back his own nothings for Aldo and lets him finish him off.

Climax hits like a freight train; abrupt and powerful, knocking Landa completely out of the water and leaving him screaming as he shoots again and again over Aldo’s hand. He wants to cry, it feels like sweet heaven at last, and he nearly does when Aldo finishes off inside him, growling something close to ‘love’. Spent, they pull apart and lie on their backs, staring at the ceiling though their hands are still grasping each other.

“Did you hear violins?” Landa asks, bumping their grasping hands against the mattress, his other perched behind his head.


“Me neither,” and he’s fine with that. It wasn’t some meaningless fuck (how could it be?) and it wasn’t a honeymoon love making to unite their souls. Landa can’t find the words to describe what they did in any language, and settles on something else. Nothing normal, that’s for sure. How could it be? Given their lives, their journeys thus far, Landa knows that anything they had couldn’t be normal.

He’s fine with that.

“You awake?”

“I am.”

“You’re workin’ on something, I can see it.”

“It’s… linguistic.”

Aldo smiles, bringing their hands to his stomach, thumb running over Landa’s, “Make fucking.”

Landa looks. Aldo smiles into nothing.

“We made fucking. That’s what you were looking for.”

Hans Landa smiles then, rests his ash blond head on Aldo Raine’s shoulder.

He’s fine with it.


sweet mother of jesus, that was the best thing ever. I'm just saying, I can't feel my legs here.

That was literally the best ever. Ever.
Please write more. Especially more Aldo/Hans. They need more love. Though I think you've just given them enough to last for decades. <3

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>>40578 Mee-yow. More from this artist plz?

Once upon a time in /y/ an anonymous writefag wrote some Landa/Fredrick. Today I shall copy pasta that writefaggery for you. I apologize if this doesn't paste correctly. I've never posted huge amounts of text before.


Fredrick knew he had crossed the line when he was ordered to report to the Standartenführer that evening. He had suspected it when he had risen from kissing Emanuelle's hand farewell and met the Colonel's eyes for a moment. The faintest hint of a smirk Landa had given him told him he was in trouble. He hadn't meant to question orders, but Fredrick was genuinely concerned for the young Frenchwoman. He was in for it now, he thought as he examined his dark grey dress uniform in front of the mirror; Landa was very particular about neatness when being reported to personally. He smoothed down the front of his jacket and checked the gaudy silver cufflinks. He ran a comb through his hair one more time and practiced the charming smile he knew Landa was immune to, then headed towards the Colonel's office. Outside Landa's room, Fredrick poised his hand over the door, watching the second hand on the hallway clock. As soon as it crossed the twelve at 8 'o' clock, he rappped sharply three times on the door.

"Kommen Sie," came a bored-sounding voice inside.

Taking a deep breath, Fredrick opened the door and entered, striding to the center of the room. He stood at attention and brought his heels together swiftly, making a crisp clicking sound that came with immeasurable practice. He stared straight ahead for a moment before realizing the Colonel was seated about a head lower than where he was looking.

Landa was reclined leisurely at his desk, his boots kicked up on the surface, the heels quite clean save for a bit of dust. It irked Fredrick just a little that soldiers were expected to maintain their air of perfection while officers were allowed to relax as they pleased. This thought was dashed when he noticed what Landa was holding. He seemed to be testing the rigidity of a black leather riding crop, sliding it along one palm then gripping and bending it slightly.

Frederick swallowed nervously. “Standartenführer …”

“Ah, Schutze,” Landa replied without looking up. He stayed silent for a moment, continuing to examine the crop, then glanced at the clock on his desk. “I see I cannot chide you for being late.” He looked up finally, smiling jovially. Unfortunately, this only had the effect of making Fredrick more tense. He smiled tentatively and nodded in thanks.

Landa continued to watch him critically. “You know why I asked you to report, Schütze?”

“Well, ah, I must admit, I am not entirely certain, Standartenführer.”
“Not entirely? So you must have some idea?” he smiled kindly again, and Fredrick cleared his throat.

“I thought it might…be related to this afternoon in the restaurant. Did you want to discuss your conversation with Mademoiselle Mimmeux?”

“Tsk, don’t play dumb, Zoller,” he swung his feet off of the desk and stood up, striding around to stand in front of Fredrick. “It was very rude of you to blurt out your doubts about my orders.”

“Ja, Standartenführer, it was thoughtless of me. I apologize...” he paused as Landa took a step forward, crop still in hand “profusely.”

The Colonel continued walking forward, looking over Zoller top to bottom, examining his uniform.

“You’ve had quite an interesting time during the war, haven’t you, Schütze?” he asked rhetorically, flicking an invisible speck of dust away the shoulder of Fredrick’s pristine uniform and walking around Zoller. “Marching through Italy, your heroic stand in the bell tower, then being whisked away to France to be praised repeatedly” he brought the shaft of the crop sharply against the small of Fredrick’s back, causing him to correct his slipping posture.

“Ja, Standartenführer,” Fredrick was glad Landa was behind him and could not see the embarrassment on his face. It wasn’t long till Landa was facing him again, however, smirking at the color in the private’s cheeks.

“I think,” he said lowly, bringing the head of the crop to the center of Fredrick’s chest, idly lifting the silver braided fourragere and letting it fall. “That perhaps you have forgotten what it is to be a Schütze.”

“Ja… Standartenführer.” Fredrick tried to ignore his sweating palms, his racing heart, and the completely unsettling smile Landa was still directing at him.

“You need to be less self centered, Zoller. You need to be reminded that you are still subordinate to your country,” He leaned in close and brought the riding crop up to the underside of Fredrick’s chin “and your superiors.”

Pangs of dread and strange tendrils of anticipation welled up in the pit of Fredrick's stomach as Colonel Landa continued to stare at him with those clear, steady eyes. He could not even manage to speak his ascent, and merely nodded his head haltingly, feeling the crop press harder against his chin as he did.

"On your knees, Soldat," Landa ordered, still grinning. Fredrick opened his mouth in protest, which only made the Colonel smile wider. He pushed the crop up to forcibly close Fredrick's jaw. Fredrick closed his eyes in defeat and bent down.

"Not with your trousers on, Zoller. We wouldn't want them to get dirty on the ground." He beamed patiently as Fredrick looked at him in shock, and ran the crop against his other hand as warning. "You're hardly fit to wear the uniform anyway."

Fredrick swallowed and removed his painstakingly polished boots, then unbuttoned and stepped out of his trousers, going very red as the cool air hit his legs. He carefully folded the pants and set them on the chair Landa indicated, pushing the boots underneath. Then, staring almost pleadingly at Landa, he knelt down on the floor.

"Gut. Now." He placed his foot on the center of Fredrick's back and pushed him down to crouch on all fours, completely negating his earlier statement about keeping the uniform clean. Fredrick could almost feel the dusty bootprint on his back after Landa's foot had left it. He felt completely ridiculous, dressed in full regalia with nothing but regulation undershorts and socks below the waist. He held faint hope that Landa would get this done quickly if he was obedient. This was greatly challenged, however, when he felt the end of the riding crop hook under the back of his underwear waistband and drag downwards.

He sat up a bit in surprise "Standarten-"

"Let go of any pride you have for yourself, Schutze." Landa cut him off, putting his boot against Fredrick's back again and forcing him down. "Your pride is only for the Vaterland."
Squeezing his eyes shut and trying to obey this existential order, Fredrick's breathing quickened as he felt his underwear moving down to expose his backside to the Colonel.

"You must think you are quite special." Landa began bringing the crop against Fredrick's ass in light swats. It didn't hurt, but there was an unsettling feeling to it, and Fredrick's stomach turned over as he tried to keep control of the beginnings of a perverse arousal he was experiencing. "Being pulled out of combat so you can make a movie and become famous."

"N-nein, Standartenführer." Fredrick bit his lip as the swattings stopped at his response.

"Do not lie, Schütze." The crop tapped his chin and he looked up to see Landa's smirking face above him. "You think you are an exception, a hero, the darling of the Reich."

Fredrick hesitated, holding Landa's gaze as long as he could before blushing again and looking back down at the floor. "Ja, Standartenführer."

"Well, I am here to tell you that you are wrong." Landa brought the crop down against Fredrick's ass sharply and painfully this time. Fredrick couldn't help but let out a small cry, furiously biting his lip now.

"You are not a movie star, Schütze."



"You are not the toast of Paris."



"You are not the Nation's Pride."


Fredrick tried not to let his tears fall, but it was incredibly difficult, each blow was more painful than the last. What was worse, he was getting hard underneath the thin fabric of his underwear. It was so different to be punished instead of praised. It was true, with everyone including Dr. Goebbels himself doing whatever Fredrick wished, he had forgotten what it was like to follow orders, how much he loved to be told what to do.

"And you certainly," CRACK! "are not" CRACK! "special." CRACK! Landa continued, his voice calm as ever. Fredrick could hear the smug grin in the as he watched tears hit the floor beneath him.
The Colonel gave a short laugh and walked around to stand at his side, situating his foot right beneath Fredrick's face. Fredrick lifted a hand to wipe his eyes before any tears fell on that perfect boot, but the crop smacked his wrist away, and he put his hand back on the floor.

"You are just a soldier, Zoller, a Schütze, the lowest rank." Fredrick squeezed his eyes shut, but several fat drops of moisture plummeted down and splashed on the toe of Landa's right boot, spreading themselves out with the impact and running down the sides. "Don't you ever," Landa grabbed the back of Frederick's head by the hair and tilted his face back sharply "question my authority again." He was still smiling stoically, while Fredrick was gasping and red-faced, tears streaming down his cheeks.

"Especially," Landa brought his face closer to speak softly right into Fredrick's ear, his hot breath making Fredrick's erection strain against the cotton of his underwear. "for the likes of some French flittchen" He pushed Fredrick's head back down towards the ground roughly.

"N-nein Standartenführer..." Fredrick tried to compose himself. He had completely forgotten about Emanuelle. "It won't happen again."

"Of course it won't. Now," Landa gave Fredrick's ass another sharp smack, "You've soiled my boot. Clean it up." Fredrick didn't need telling twice. He bent down awkwardly, not wanting to lean on his elbows and risk getting the uniform dirtier, and pressed his tongue against the polished leather, licking away the salty tears. He was very thorough, dragging his tongue back and forth across the shining surface almost lovingly and resisting the urge to touch himself.

"Hm. I think that's enough, Schütze. You may sit up." Fredrick hesitated, he was painfully hard now, and sitting up would that shamefully obvious. Fredrick couldn't imagine anything more embarrassing, even after everything that had just happened.

"I said 'up.'" The Colonel lifted his drying boot and pushed Fredrick into a sitting position, adding another shoe print to the previously pristine uniform.

As Fredrick straightened, he found he couldn't bear to meet Landa's eyes. He gazed pointedly at the floor and blushed even more (if that was physically possible) feeling the Colonel's calculating gaze on him.

"What," Landa asked lowly, "is this?" He tapped the crop lightly against Fredrick's still-clothed cock, causing him to give a soft gasp.

"T-tut mir leid, Standartenführer." Fredrick could scarcely keep himself from openly sobbing in humiliation, balling his fists tightly at his sides. He could imagine the look of disgust on Landa's face and it made him feel absolutely terrible to let the Colonel down even more than he already had.

"I can't imagine which part of our little meeting it might be, Schütze." The crop lingered now, lightly running up and down the length, completely unsatisfying. "Was it the whipping? Cleaning my boot? Prostrating yourself before a superior? Being told you are nothing?" Fredrick chanced to look up at Landa, to be met with that same maddening indulgent smile as always. Incredible.

"All of it, Standartenführer." Fredrick chewed on his lip, horribly unaware of what was to come next. Landa stared at him a moment longer, then suddenly turned on his heel and strode over to his desk, sitting down in the regal leather chair behind it. Fredrick wondered if he was going to pick up the phone and have him sent away to a camp.


"Herkommen, Zoller." He patted his knee in an almost fatherly manner, then raised his hand as Fredrick made to rise. "Do not get up."

Fredrick bowed his head and leaned forward, making his way over to the desk on his hands and knees. With every shift of his legs, the fabric rubbed against his cock, and he couldn't help but whimper softly. The medals at his chest jangled against each other as he moved, offering another reminder of the absurd juxtaposition of the situation above and below his waist. His ass ached, his knees were beginning to get sore, and still he crawled towards the Colonel, ready to obey any order.

When he was almost between Landa's knees, the Colonel stopped him with a tap on the shoulder with the crop. Fredrick looked up, and was almost taken aback when he saw that the other man was not smiling. Landa was regarding with a hawk-like expression. Fredrick had thought nothing could be more unsettling than that eternal grin, but the graveness with which Landa was looking at him sent a shiver down his spine.

"You want to serve your country, don't you, Schütze?" he asked, watching Fredrick's face, ready to dissect his answer as if he was interrogating a spy.

"Ja, Standartenführer. Of course."

"And you want to serve your Standartenführer, don't you?" Landa smirked just a bit.

Fredrick chewed on his tongue, tears of shame threatening to fall from his eyes again. "Ja, o-of course, Standartenführer."

"I don't believe you, Schütze," he replied almost immediately, smiling again. He grasped Fredrick's chin with his thumb and forefinger, the soft black leather of his glove sticking slightly to the tear-stained skin. "I think you still believe you are too good for your superiors."

Fredrick wanted to die with the indignity of it all, wanted to touch himself, wanted to run away and never come back. But more than anything, he wanted to please. "Bitte...bitte, Standartenführer." He tilted his head to kiss at each gloved finger devotedly. "Bitte, allow me to...s-serve you, Standartenführer."

Landa watched as Fredrick worshipped his hand, looking mildly amused. He leaned with his other elbow against the armrest, hand against his own lips as if trying to stifle a laugh. After a few moments he gripped Fredrick's chin again and pushed two fingers into his mouth. Fredrick accepted them readily, making an effort not to let his teeth scrape against the glove as he licked and sucked at the digits. The Colonel brought his other hand down to the crotch his trousers, stroking himself through the fabric.

"Alright, Schütze, you've convinced me." He chuckled a bit and removed his fingers from Fredrick's mouth, using his whole palm to lightly push his face away. With both hands, he unbuttoned his trousers and pulled down the waistband of his underwear to reveal his half-hard cock. It wasn't as though Fredrick hadn't been expecting this for the last few minutes, but he couldn't help but panic slightly. He had never done anything like this before. His breath and pulse quickened, and he looked up a bit fearfully at Landa, who only smiled kindly.

"Go on, Zoller," he said calmly, giving himself a single light stroke and then removing his hands from the area, leaving it unobstructed for Fredrick. Fredrick moved forwards tentatively, glancing up again at Landa, who seemed to sense what the problem was. "It is not difficult." He stroked the back of Fredrick's neck with the kind of coaxing motion that one reserved for a pet. "Just keep your teeth out of the affair."

Fredrick nodded and shuffled forward a bit more, bringing a hand up to grip Landa's erection, but the Colonel shook his head patiently,

"Nein, Schütze, your hands are dirty from the floor."

"Ja, Standartenführer," Fredrick replied and moved his hands to grip the legs of the chair instead for support, staring apprehensively at the task before him, painfully aware of his own neglected erection.
Deciding things would not turn out well for him if he refused, Fredrick leaned forward and pressed his lips to the head of Landa's cock. He sensed no reaction from the Colonel, and so opened his mouth to run his tongue over it. It was an odd taste, like nothing he had ever tasted before, that was certain. He took the head into his mouth, heeding what Landa said about teeth, and moved his tongue up and down against it, trying to imagine what would feel good.

He glanced up at Landa, thinking maybe direct stimulation would have some effect on that facade. But Landa had the same fairly entertained look on his face, hand on his chin again like he was considering a piece of amateur artwork. It was infuriating, not to be able to get any sort of reaction out of him, but Fredrick found that instead of making him want to leave as it might have with anyone else, he felt the incredible need to do better. He opened his mouth wider and took Landa in as far as he comfortably could, twirling his tongue around the shaft.
"Mh. Do you do this for Dr. Goebbel's, Schütze?" Landa asked. Fredrick lifted his mouth off of Landa's cock, frankly shocked by the question. Surely he didn't seem the type to do this for everyone? Then again, the way he obeyed the Colonel's every order must have made him look like a shameless whore. This realization sent another wave of humiliation over Fredrick. Landa was excellent at bringing out any feeling he wished in the young soldier.

"N-nein, Standartenführer."

"Gut." Landa offered no further explanation for this question.
"Standartenführer? May I- ah....touch myself? Fredrick flushed again hearing himself ask such a question. The desire he felt was almost unbearable, he couldn't keep himself from asking anymore Landa gave a short laugh.

"Hmm, no, I don't think that would be very befitting of a soldat of the Reich, do you?" He nodded for Fredrick to continue, and Fredrick hastened to comply, tilting his head to run his lips and tongue up and down Landa's shaft. "However, you have been quite good. I think maybe you deserve some sort of recognition."

As Fredrick continued to work, he felt something flat and smooth against his crotch. Looking down momentarily, he saw that Landa had placed the heel of his boot flush with Fredrick's cock, pressing it into his stomach. The Colonel offered no movement, and it was clear Fredrick was expected to do all the work himself. Eagerly Fredrick rolled his hips against the boot, gasping at the sensation. By itself it would have been entirely unfulfilling, rubbing himself against a flat surface while still in his underwear. But combined with everything else, the pain in his knees and backside, the ever-stoic Colonel in front of him, and the wet sounds his mouth was making in his ears, it was heavenly.

Landa set his hand atop Zoller's head, lazily petting, running his leather-clad fingers through his hair in a deceptively gentle manner. As soon as Fredrick had gotten the hang of it and settled into a comfortable rhythm, Landa gripped him by the back of the head and forced him down, making Fredrick take in the entirety of his erection. Fredrick tried not to choke, gagging and sputtering around the Colonel's length. Tears sprang forth from his eyes again, falling onto the skin around Landa's cock. When Landa lifted the pressure a bit, Fredrick involuntarily raised his head up, gasping for air, only to be pushed back down a moment later. Landa repeated this process, setting a more unforgiving pace Fredrick had no choice but to follow, his greatest effort going into keeping his teeth from scraping the cock in his mouth.
"Open your throat, Schütze," Landa ordered, sounding almost bored. Fredrick tried to obey, unsure exactly what it meant, and found that when he relaxed his throat muscles he could take Landa's length more easily. He reflexively closed his throat around the head of Landa's cock and heard
the Colonel inhale sharply. Finally he had found something that garnered a reaction, and it only made him try harder, doing it over and over again.

Fredrick bucked his hips desperately against Landa's unmoving heel. Never had he been more in need of release than now, as Landa fucked his mouth unforgivingly. If anyone could see him now, red-faced and crying, mouth full of another man's cock, shamelessly rubbing himself against his boot, Fredrick knew he would die of humiliation. The thought of someone walking in and finding him in this position sent him over the edge, and he came finally with a moan, pressing his cock firmly into Landa's boot. He could feel the moisture seeping through his shorts, undoubtedly getting onto the bootheel. The thought of having to lick it clean was almost too much so soon after his orgasm, and he focused all his attention on Landa once more, pressing his mouth down as far as he possibly could.
Fredrick heard a soft sigh and glanced up, just catching Landa in a completely unguarded moment. His head was tilted back a bit, his mouth parted slightly in pleasure, looking entirely different from his usual aloof and unimpressed self. Fredrick relished this image,feeling his efforts had finally paid off, and was completely unprepared for the flood of liquid that burst into his mouth as Landa came. He choked and coughed, some of the bitter semen running out of his mouth, dripping onto the front of his uniform jacket.

Landa withdrew his cock from Fredrick's mouth and grabbed him by the throat, tilting his head back so he was forced to swallow. With the forefinger of his other hand he wiped the stray liquid from Fredrick's chin back into his mouth, where Fredrick licked it clean. Once satisfied he wasn't going to spit it out, Landa let go and pushed Fredrick away again. Fredrick sat back, dazed and gasping for breath, staring at the wet spot on the bottom of the Colonel's shoe. He took stock of just how completely disheveled he was: hair a mess, face still furiously blushing, drying rivulets of moisture streaming down it, a dubious stain on the collar of his jacket, three bootprints on it as well, his bruised ass and the sticky mess in the front of his underwear. He certainly hadn't expected things to turn out like this when he was getting ready to report this evening.

Landa cleared his throat, looking pointedly at Fredrick, clearly indicating that they were done. In contrast to Fredrick, the Colonel was perfectly composed, his trousers already closed, appearing exactly as he had when Fredrick had come into his office. He ignored Fredrick as the young soldier slowly got to his feet, put his trousers back on (grimacing a bit as the wetness in his underwear pressed against his skin), and replaced his boots, both in perfect order. It was comical how his upper half and lower half now contrasted.

Fredrick ran a hand through his hair, trying to get it to lie flat again, while he stood in the center of the room, waiting. Landa was writing something in one of his many official notebooks, and didn't even look up to say "You are dismissed, Soldat."

"Ja, Standartenführer."Fredrick saluted even though the Colonel wasn't paying attention, and strode towards the door. He took a deep breath and opened it, desperately hoping he would not run in to anyone on the way back to his rooms.

"Oh, Schütze." Fredrick stopped and looked back. "I want you to report to me at eight 'o' clock tomorrow evening. You have some very interesting ideas of what constitutes as a clean uniform that need to be corrected as soon as possible." Landa gave that kind, understanding smile again, as if it would just take some time for Fredrick to learn how uniform standards worked in the military.

Fredrick stared back at him from the doorway, thinking of a myriad of responses pointing out the ironies and injustices of this statement. He bit it all back though.

"Ja, Standartenführer... Danke Schoën," he replied, and shut the door behind him.


hey guys
This is the fic I have been wanting since the movie ended.
I thought some of you were craving a good hans landa fic.
Fair warning IT IS hans landa/OMC
The story builds up slow, landa is in nantucket and trying to make a happy ending.
This story really reminds me of the short story "The lady or the Tiger?"


oh god, it still does it for me time after time

Desperate bump for more Landa

Writeslut here, looking for Landa prompts...
Content: third one down.



I want to see more of Landa's sadism.


Landa spitroasted by Aldo and The Little Man after the swastika is carved onto him

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Bump for fic or art!

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These are hilarious and hopefully inspiring

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I can't help but love these

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I know, they're hilarious!

Last thread finally 404'd. Does anyone have/have a link to the Stiglitz/Donowitz story that started out that thread?
Really, any Stiglitz would be good.


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