A New Job - Pt 2 (Explicit)

[Staf. F. von Waffenschmidt]

Deutsch gave Hogan a long look. "Oh, fuck. It's you. Not only do I have to put up with my half brother swanning about like a fucking peacock, you get to look at me like I'm a dog in a cage. Don't mistake me for liking you, Colonel. I owe you an ass kicking for what you did to me!"

Scorn dripped off every single one of his words Saying that Deutsch hated Hogan was probably the understatement was an understatement. He had no idea who Papa Bear was, but he had a bad feeling about this. If he had to beg on his knees for this son of a bitch to take him out of Germany... Well, he would shoot himself first. He didn't want to be in the debt of this obnoxious American. His body ached, though, and most of his spite was just that - empty words with nothing backing them up. Deutsch didn't like Hogan and the feeling was mutual. He hoped this man wasn't going to be his "advocate". That would get him shot.

***

"Do you want me to have him executed for you?" Franz asked. He poured a little schnapps for himself and Bridger, quietly debating what he was going to do with his half brother. Robert had thrown every single one of his plans into a tailspin. "I could always have my men shoot him and dump the body outside of camp. I did this in Russia."

Bridger gave Franz a nasty smile. "Oh, Cathedral's here as bait. You see, we think that Papa Bear is in the area. If he tries to rescue Cathedral... well, we'll know where to start looking and who to kill. What do you say, Colonel?"

Franz forced a smile on his face. "Sounds like a plan, Major. Let's get started."

[Col. R. Hogan]

"Your half-brother?" Robert repeated. He had a bad feeling in his stomach from the way the man had said those words. "That uh, that wouldn't happen to be Colonel von Waffenschmidt, would it?"

Robert hoped not. He rather liked Franz; the same could not be said for Colonel Julius Deutsch. That tended to happen when you tried to scare the life out of someone. Yes, he had mouthed off, but only after Deutsch had called him and his men pigs in a pigpen. Even Klink had looked uncomfortable about the description. If Franz turned out to be his half-brother, the colonel could only pray that they didn’t like each other.

"Trust me, I don't like you either," he said irritably. "You came into a prison camp and said you only liked prisoners if they were dead! Not exactly a great way to introduce yourself. You deserved what you got. By all rights, I should leave you in here for the krauts to kill. But I'm not that cruel. Not cruel enough to fight you when you're wounded either. After you heal, that's a different story." 

He blew out a breath of air and motioned to the tunnel. "Get your sorry ass into Papa Bear's den before I change my mind. Whoever brought you here is probably gonna check on you soon, and I don't intend to be here when they do."

[Staf. F. von Waffenschmidt]

"Also," Deutsch brightly said, "I know too much. And I know about Bridger, North Star, and half the rest of the network." His face fell and he ran his hand through his hair. "Becker's dead, isn't he? I was supposed to meet Bridger for some papers and got a gun in my face instead. You need to find the time to alert every unit in the area. God only knows who else he's pulled that stunt with."

Deutsch could put aside his dislikes long enough to get out of Germany. Going to Russia changed a man. Where it made Franz soft and sad, it made Julius hard and cruel. There were worse fates than death. Deutsch had seen enough of them to know what a mercy kill looked like. An American - an American who had the freedom to swan about and go outside the wire - wouldn't understand. Bridger being a spy also wasn't a surprise. Everyone always underestimated him and Deutsch did rely on that fact. He was the bastard son of a half Yenish whore. No one thought that he could be clever enough to sell out the Reich. He was viewed as another Klink at best and a complete failure at worst.

A wry smile played on Deutsch's face. "You know, I think I have a way to discredit Bridger and get Berlin to kill him for us. Are you in, Colonel?"

[Col. R. Hogan]

"I have no idea. Haven't heard from Becker recently, but probably," Robert answered. Although he didn't know what had brought on the sudden change in attitude, he wasn’t going to question it. "I'll get Kinch to start alerting them. We don't need to lose any more Underground members."

He moved aside so Deutsch could enter the tunnel. "Any plan that ends in Bridger dead is one I'm on board with. In the meantime, kindly get in the tunnel before someone comes in. You can tell me all about your plan while we're walking to the guest room. Wilson should be done patching up Captain Mannheim and Lieutenant McLean by now."

[Staf. F. von Waffenschmidt]

Deutsch followed him. He didn't mention that he didn't like being underground - having tunnels collapse on top of you tended to do that to a man - and he pulled out his pack of (American) cigarettes. Belatedly, he realized that the polite thing to do would be to offer Hogan some. Deutsch ground his teeth as he gestured to the pack. These were the last ones that he had left and he didn't want to waste them. Then again...

"I don't bite," he growled. "Much." Julius sat on a upturned crate as he ran his plan through his mind. "Bridger has some papers of mine in his coat pocket. Not the ones Mannheim and McLean lost - those were drowned in the Franzheim Rover. But he had enough to hold me on suspicion of treason. That's why they brought me here - they don't want me to bolt and get away. All the papers he has are pretty much standard SS orders. The ones he wants - the ones that could hang me - are in a safe in Berlin. The combination is on my cat's collar."

Julius smiled wryly. "Good luck to him if he tries to catch my cat, by the way. Lucky is... well, he comes around twice a week for me to feed him. But what we need to do is replace the papers in his coat with clear forgeries - forgeries that even a fool could tell are forged. Once we do that..." He trailed off, letting Hogan fill in the rest.

[Col. R. Hogan]

“Thanks, but I’m trying to cut back. Appreciate the offer, though,” Robert said. He leaned against the wall and put one foot up on it. “Good to know. That’s one less problem to deal with. Fran – I mean, Colonel von Waffenschmidt – seemed pretty upset about them.”

A slow smile crossed his face. “I get ya. If we replace the papers with clear forgeries, Berlin won’t believe a word he says and they’ll kill him for trying to discredit you. That’s genius!”

The colonel wasn’t lying; it truly was a brilliant plan. He was grateful the Nazis’ adherence to rules and regulations was going to work in the Allies’ favor for once. One could almost see his clever mind whirring as he paced in the tunnels, his arms wrapped around himself. He considered the task at hand. Anyone could forge the papers since they had to look terrible, but Newkirk would have to be the one to swap them out.

“Let me ask you something, Colonel. If you return to your cell, do you think that’ll keep Bridger here longer than if you stayed down here?” Robert asked. “Also, about your half-brother…do we need to worry about him showing up here too? I don’t need any more problems today, and if he’s a true believer, that would be considered a problem. A big one.”

[Staf. F. von Waffenschmidt]

"Bridger is going to run me to Berlin as soon as he can," Deutsch flatly said. "It's better if he thinks I've escaped. He's not going to risk leaving without his prize. And before you ask - yes, my brother is von Waffenschmidt and yes he's the one who got me into this business. Otherwise... Well, I would not be here right now. I have a few things to tell you about the papers, too. Just so it's quite clear he botched it."

It was a dirty way to fight, but it was almost the only way for Julius to get out of this with his life intact. He wasn't all that loyal to any cause, not really. The Allies paid very well and he had written promises for land in Germany after the war. It would be nice to own something for a change. Deutsch lit another cigarette with the butt of the old one and studied Hogan. He didn't know what his brother saw in this man, if anything, but he was wise enough not to push things. Deutsch tapped his fingers against his pants as he waited for the other man to do whatever he was going to do.

[Col. R. Hogan]

Robert nodded. “Alright, then you’ll need to stay down –”

He cut himself off and stared at the other man. If he’d been paying attention, he would have noticed that Deutsch and Franz did indeed look very similar. The only noticeable difference he could see was that Deutsch had red blond hair instead of the dirty blond his half-brother had. Then again, many people looked similar in Germany at the moment. The colonel had never had a reason to suspect that his lover could be related to someone whose personality was the exact opposite of his. Where Franz was soft and sweet, Deutsch was hard and rough. It boggled the mind. He shook his head, snapping himself back to reality, and groaned.

“Swell,” Robert grumbled. “Out of all the people he could be…oh, never mind. I’ll talk to him about this later on. Gotta deal with Bridger first.” He ran a hand down his face and sighed. “I can probably get the paper situation sorted out in less than an hour. What all do I need to know about them?”

[Staf. F. von Waffenschmidt]

"You'll need to make it look correct," Deutsch said. "The correct letterhead and everything. My crest is a bastard crest and it is fairly unique. I don't know if you can have someone copy it, but do try to have them make a decent copy? There are copies in Bridger's briefcase that you can use."

He didn't like admitting that his was a bastard crest - where Franz had a full sword being forged, Deutsch had a small dagger being held over a forge. It was enough that someone could tell he was the bastard son. Having this being plastered all over the papers used to kill Bridger would be a sweet revenge. Deutsch lit another cigarette as he thought. It had been a long time since he had done something like this, but he had an idea. A slow grin spread across his face as he got an idea. Deutsch grabbed a pad of paper and scrawled down a note in German.

"Since he's just going to kill me, he probably wouldn't think anyone would read the papers, right?" Deutsch said. "Why not have the reports on the papers be standard issue Gestapo reports? Something... mundane. Like how many mess trays they needed in Paris. Or a shopping list to feed their dogs. Something that makes it clear he's trying to kill his superior officer."

[Col. R. Hogan]

“You have a specific crest just because of your parentage? Wow. And here I thought that was only for the nobles,” Robert said. “I should be able to make a good copy, though. I’m decent enough at drawing if I take my time. Used to practice on billboards back in the day.”

The scheming grin he normally wore when a plan came together appeared on his face after listening to the proposed plan. “I like the way you think, Colonel Deutsch. Just wish I could be topside to see the show when the shopping list is discovered. Unfortunately, Bridger knows what I look and sound like, so that’s a no-go,” Robert told him. “I’m gonna go get this party started. Once Bridger is dead, I’ll let you know. Here’s hoping Berlin doesn’t drag their feet on this.”

He started to leave, but soon stopped. He turned around and gave the man a long look. “After the dust settles, what do you say we settle our differences the old-fashioned way? I haven’t had the chance to actually brawl with anyone in ages. Besides…” The colonel raised an eyebrow and spoke in a teasing tone. “I still owe you an ass kicking. Can’t let you die before I give you that, old man.”

Franz was probably going to kick his ass when he found out about this. Of course, at the rate he was racking up stupid stunts, his lover might just decide to keep him naked and tied to the bed instead. That was an idea Robert wouldn’t object to one bit.

[Staf. F. von Waffenschmidt]

Deutsch smirked. "As if the soft American can take on me. But if you want to hurt yourself with my fists, Colonel, have at it. I'll go easy on you."

The fact that he had a bastard crest reflected that, technically, he was nobility. After all, it was the father's line that determined such things. The Waffenschmidt family had been minor princes before Hitler had essentially gotten rid of the upper levels of aristocracy. There were still nobles and princes around, but they were the ones who had joined the Party. Plenty of nobility - and their bastards - had decided to join or bankroll various resistance groups. That had been their death, of course. Deutsch had plenty of cousins among the dead now. It made one bitter and he wasn't going to pretend that he wasn't.

Franz had no idea where Hogan was. He couldn't search for his lover without altering Bridger to what was going on. The fact that Julius wasn't in the cooler wasn't alarming - he had quietly accepted the fact that Robert was a loose cannon who did whatever the hell he wanted too. They were going to have a... talk about this later. A talk that involved his hand on Robert's backside. Repeatedly. Probably enough to give the man a good thrashing. Bridger stormed around the camp, barking at everyone who dared look at him.

"Robert," Franz whispered, "I am going to kill you..."

[Col. R. Hogan]

Robert returned the smirk. “Maybe I’ll buy you a beer afterwards, Colonel. Celebrate my victory and all. That’s a day I’ll be eagerly anticipating.”

And he would. Officers generally didn’t get into physical altercations with anyone – it was seen as unprofessional. But it didn’t mean they didn’t enjoy a good brawl. If nothing else, it was a good way to burn off some excess energy. He was a damned fine fighter who fought dirty and was willing to bet Deutsch was the same way. Yeah, that would be a fun day. It’d been a long time since he’d fought anyone with decent stamina. He tossed the man a casual salute, then spun on his heel to go find Newkirk.

***

Two hours later, the colonel returned to where Deutsch was with a shit-eating on his face. “We caught a lucky break. After Newkirk swapped the forged papers, we found out Berlin already has a representative in the area on other business. A quick phone call about the coup Bridger is attempting pushed said other business down their priority list. With any luck, they should be here in a few minutes. Newkirk said he’d tell me when it was safe to come out.”

He laughed. “Man, wait until that guy gets a load of the shopping list! Face paint, black clothes, notes about the amounts of Reichsmarks to donate to the Free French Forces…everything. We made it look like Bridger’s been skimming from the SS to bankroll the Underground for the last 3 years,” Robert explained. “I’m sure that one will go over like a lead balloon. So will the signed statement with Bridger’s signature promising to assassinate Hitler the first opportunity he gets. That’s the only paper that looks real, of course.”

[Staf. F. von Waffenschmidt]

Franz had no idea what was going on. He reached for the brandy and tried to ignore the brawl that was starting to form outside. His plan to get rid of Bridger had gone off the rails the second he brought Robert into it. Someone had forged papers - and done a very good job of it, if Franz was being honest - and Bridger looked like the spy he thought he was. And going by the amount of SS troops starting to band together in front of the office, there was going to be a fight. Family drama, if you would. Franz took a shot to calm his nerves and stepped outside.

"Trouble in the family?" Franz brightly asked. He lit a cigarette and watched the other troops as they started to form into bands. "You know, this might be why I never did get those winter boots I ordered when we were in Pinsk. If he's been active for the last three years..."

"Lies!" Bridger screamed. "These are all lies!"

Franz picked up one of the papers. "This is my brother's crest on papers that don't have his handwriting. He's been in Russia when these papers were being written up, so I know that he didn't do these."

Especially because the ink was still damp on one of the papers. Franz had a feeling these were just made, which meant that Hogan had been involved. Franz just took a step back. He was going to let this play out without his input. If he got too close to the brewing SS brawl...

[Col. R. Hogan]

Newkirk watched the ongoing chaos with a satisfied smirk. It was times like these he appreciated the tricks he’d learned growing up in the gutters of London. He was an excellent forger, if he did say so himself. But he couldn’t take credit for the crest. Hogan had handled drawing that part…and had done a very good job of it too. He wished the man could be up here to see Bridger get what was coming to him. Too bad that wasn’t possible with the current situation. Ah, well. There would always be a next time. Nobody who lived at Stalag 13 could ever say they didn’t get enough excitement.

The Englishman straightened his borrowed uniform, his heart beating rapidly in his chest. Pretending to be an officer was a crime that could get him shot, even though the officer in question had told him to do it. He mimicked the flippant salute he’d often seen Hogan give a few times in the mirror. This performance had to be perfect. Nailing the American accent was slightly harder – his CO had a distinctive baritone that was warm and inviting – but Newkirk thought he sounded alright. He had been practicing in his sewing hut ever since Hogan had suggested he stick to impersonating German officers. Not that he’d mentioned it, of course. A man had to have some secrets.

Newkirk exited Barracks 2 about a minute later. He casually scanned the compound, inclining his head when a few of the POWs called out various greetings. So this was it felt like to be in charge. The feeling was both strange and addictive at the same time. He pulled his borrowed crush cap down low against the sun while he walked, mimicking Hogan’s casual gait. As far as the visiting Jerries were concerned, he was Colonel Robert E. Hogan of the USAAF, and his word was law among the prisoners. He gave the bands of SS troops a wide berth. Not a hard task – he didn’t want to be near them anyhow. The Englishman continued to mimic his commander’s way of moving while he walked up to von Waffenschmidt. He gave the blond German a casual salute and a cocky grin. Hopefully, all of his practice would pay off.

“Colonel, I’m gonna have to protest about the racket. Some of my men are trying to play chess and can’t concentrate with all this noise. Under the Geneva Convention, we don’t have to put up with this sort of treatment,” Newkirk said. He hooked his thumbs in the pockets of his jacket. “Say, you mind if we take this discussion into your office? I promised the fellas I’d ask you a few things.”

[Staf. F. von Waffenschmidt]

Franz gave him a long look and hoped no one else mentioned the exaggerated accent. Maybe he should have tested Newkirk's acting abilities before he decided that this was a good idea. With a sigh, he nodded and beckoned the other man inside. No one seemed to notice that Julius was missing. Perhaps that was better - they would think that Bridger had already killed the man and execute him without a trial. Franz poured himself another drink. He offered one to Newkirk and gestured for him to sit down.

"Let's hope that they get this dealt with before I die of old age," Franz muttered. He glanced at Newkirk. "Where is he, by the way? He's supposed to be in the cooler but I get the feeling that he's not there."

Seconds later, a single shot rang out. No one ever returned fire, making Franz think that the deed was done. He had just relaxed back into the chair with Colonel Feldkamp came storming through the door.

"You entertain prisoners now?" the man sneered.

"When it's required." Franz didn't bother to stand. "Is it done?"

"It is," Feldkamp said. "Stealing money from our forces while funding the Underground? And he told us that he was a spy!"

"He was," Franz laughed. "But for the wrong side. Tell me, Colonel, is there anything else you require?"

"A few forms that should be in your desk," Feldkamp replied, "and a pen. It's always a good day to take out a traitor, no matter the red tape involved!"

[Col. R. Hogan]

“Thanks, sir. Much appreciated,” Newkirk said. He hadn’t broken character for fear of not being able to reprise it on a whim. “Not sure which colonel you’re talking about, but it doesn’t matter because both of ‘em are in the downstairs apartment. They’re gonna head up to your quarters as soon as I go tell them it’s safe to do so. Which, as soon as I leave here, is exactly what I plan to do.”

He managed to refrain from saying anything when an SS officer came stomping in. It would be very bad if his act slipped. Instead, he focused on casually sipping his drink while the two men talked. It was easy to pull off being confident when everyone except von Waffenschmidt thought he was the ranking officer. At least this act had a perk, though. Newkirk enjoyed his alcohol but rarely got a chance to partake of it. He polished off what was in his glass and stood, then gave the man a sloppy salute.

“Appreciate you hearing me out, Colonel. My men are gonna be awfully disappointed, but hey…there’s a war on,” he quipped. “You know where to find me if you change your mind.”

The Englishman turned on his heel and flounced out of the office, just like his CO always did. He couldn’t deny pretending to be Hogan had been fun. If nothing else, it’d been nice not to immediately sneered at by the visiting Jerries because he was British. But playtime was over. He needed to get changed back into his own uniform and go deliver the news of Bridger’s death.

***

Robert waited until Newkirk delivered the news and left to do a celebratory fist pump. Once again, the impossible had been achieved at Stalag 13. His smile dimmed when he recalled that Franz was still mad at him. Well, maybe that wasn’t the case anymore. Maybe he would get lucky. If he acted like he hadn’t been worried, it might defuse the situation some. That seemed like a good plan to him.

“Finally! I’m starting to go stir-crazy down here,” he commented. He turned to Deutsch. “I need to go touch base with Fra – Colonel von Waffenschmidt. If you wanna come, great. If not, feel free to stay down here. There’s another exit directly behind you when you decide to go topside – just hook a left when you get to the end of the path and keep going straight until you reach the ladder.”

The colonel turned and headed for the tunnel that led under the kommandant’s quarters. He hoped Deutsch wouldn’t follow him, or at the very least, not stick around in the building. Whatever happened next – be it good or bad – was something he didn’t want an audience for. He had no clue if the two men even got along and didn’t want to find out the hard way.

At least Wilson had informed him that McLean and Mannheim were patched up and set to head out on the escape route in a few days. That was good news. Any time Robert caught a lucky break, it was appreciated. The near constant chaos his operation created in and around the camp became tiring after a while. If he didn’t have a full head of silver hair by the time the war ended, he would be surprised.

He climbed the ladder, pushing aside the stove once he reached the top. It was showtime. He climbed out of the tunnel, his eyes scanning the room for Franz. A grin appeared on his face as soon as he spotted the man. Robert moved the stove back into place and glanced at his nails, acting like nothing major had happened.

“Hi, Franz. Boy, it has been a day so far. An execution, nearly getting shot, having to rescue your half-brother…lots of excitement. The fun never stops for me,” he chuckled. He headed toward the master bedroom, ignoring the fact his lover’s expression hadn’t changed. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to go brush my hair. It got all messed up when I was running through the woods.”

[Staf. F. von Waffenschmidt]

"You," Franz growled, "are in deep, deep, deep trouble. What the hell were you thinking?! Oh, right, you weren't!" He straightened up, a dark look in his blue eyes. "I know you might not like following orders, but you very nearly cost us our mission! Didn't you know that Bridger was going to come in a convoy?! What did you think you were going to do, play the Lone Ranger? Over the bed! Now!"

Franz grabbed Robert's shoulders. A mixture of fear, anger, and anguish passed over his expressive face. Robert could have died. He could have been tortured by the Gestapo, he could have been shot, anything horrible that would have ended his life could have happened. Not to mention the loss of the mission or the entire operation being discovered. Franz didn't know what to say. He just shook his head as he tried to form the words. He loved Hogan, he really did, but this reckless nature of his was going to get them all killed one day.

"What the hell were you thinking?" Franz asked. He rested his hand on the small of Robert's back. "Why would you do something like this? And then you come in here acting like it's no big deal? We have got to work on building your impulse control because I swear that you don't have any! Now. Ten swats. I think that's a fair punishment. I'll have you count off, so brace yourself."

[Col. R. Hogan]

“Not really, no,” Robert answered. “I thought he was gonna come by himself and see if his suspicions were true before he called in reinforcements. Didn’t think he’d wanna look stupid if he was wrong. As for playing the Lone Ranger, yeah. That’s exactly what I planned to do. It’s kind of my thing. Also, it seemed like a good idea at the time.” He shrugged. “To me, risking my life is no big deal. I do that pretty often. And by the way, I’ll be doing it again tonight. I have someone in Bad Kissingen I need to meet up with.”

After draping his lean body over the bed, he spread his legs shoulder width apart and stuck his bottom up. Ten swats was nothing; he could easily handle those. Hell, his old man had given him a lot more than that growing up. Not that General Hogan had ever counted swats – he’d preferred to go both by the color of the skin and his son’s reactions – but Robert knew he’d been there for about 10 - 15 minutes each time and was aware he’d gotten quite a few of them. The defiant side of him chose that moment to rear its ugly head, resulting in him shaking his ass tauntingly as he gave Franz a devil-may-care grin. There was a small voice that said challenging his lover was a terrible idea. It was probably his sense of self-preservation. This one was much louder at the moment, though. It was cockiness and arrogance all rolled into one.

“Ooh, deep trouble. I’m soooo scared,” the colonel said sarcastically. “I thought you Germans were all about efficiency. Is that really the best you can do? Or are you just too weak to do the job properly and don’t want to admit it?”

He mentally groaned the moment those words left his mouth. Franz was right – he didn’t have any impulse control. He didn’t even know why he’d just done and said those things. Maybe it was the part of him that enjoyed pushing people’s buttons, or the part that wanted to see how much lip the blond German would take from him. However, Robert did know he still felt guilt and shame from the night he’d discovered exactly who Raven was. Today’s events had only added to both of those. What he truly wanted was for Franz to thoroughly tan his hide so he could rid himself of those things. The problem was, he didn’t know how to verbally say that. Maybe actions would speak louder than words in this case.

He stood up and walked over to the dresser to grab his hairbrush. It was a flat, wooden oval shape that would probably sting like hell. Just touching it created nervous butterflies in his stomach. This was a ritual he never thought he’d be doing again, but it did wonders in adjusting his mindset. The change in his body language revealed that much. The cocky officer had quickly disappeared, leaving behind a nervous young man who was aware he’d royally fucked up. He couldn’t even look Franz in the eye as he walked back over to him. Robert handed him the hairbrush, then removed all of his clothing from the waist down. He knew his lover didn’t want to hurt him. At the same time, it would be difficult for Franz to avoid doing that if he couldn’t see the skin. Besides, he knew this method had always worked in the past to teach him a valuable lesson, and he was pretty sure that was what Franz’s goal was.

“Over your knee until I’m thoroughly sobbing. Oh, and you might wanna pin my legs as well so I don’t accidentally kick you,” Robert said softly, still staring at the ground in shame. He hoped Franz would understand the rest of his request without him having to spell it out. “I deserve it for all the things I’ve done recently, both acting like an idiot and disrespecting you so much. None of it was okay to do. And I’m sorry for everything, but I still have a lot of bad feelings to rid myself of. I need you to, uh, to...s-spank me so I can do that.” He blushed at the childish word. “Please?”

[Staf. F. von Waffenschmidt]

"I need to give you a golden shovel," Franz whispered. "You really don't know when to quit, do you?" He fingered the hairbrush and shuddered. "This is what my father did to make my brother so vicious. I don't... Robert, I don't want to cause my lover pain. I don't know if I can too often. Please... please don't make me do this too much."

He felt like a child again, watching his father beat his brother mercilessly. A sensitive child in Germany was not tolerated if said child was a boy. Franz had been made to watch when Julius was punished. Julius would only be punished more if Franz tried to comfort him him. Franz blinked back tears and lapsed into German again. The words were soft, almost like a prayer, and he brought down the hairbrush for the first time. The pain almost surged through him as much as it surely surged through Robert. He didn't want to hurt his lover. He made sure to pin Robert's legs before he gave him another series of blows.

Robert's cries brought pain to his soul with every one. Franz knew what total, broken submission looked like. He wanted to avoid that and, instead, listened closely to the man's cries. More German spilled from his lips and finally Franz threw the brush aside. He pulled Robert into his arms. Tears streamed down both men's faces and Franz heard himself promising that nothing like this would happy anytime soon, that Robert was good and perfect and loved. Franz took no pleasure from hurting him. The only words that came from his lips were in German, so he hoped Robert understood.

Franz held Hogan close. "Forgive me," he whispered. "Please forgive me for hurting you."

[Col. R. Hogan]

“Unfortunately, no. It’s one of my character flaws,” Robert admitted. He swallowed hard and draped himself over Franz’s lap. “I’ll try not to. Just…just get it over with, please.”

Robert let out a pained yelp as the hairbrush struck his backside. That had hurt a lot more than he remembered from when he’d been a kid! He did his best to cooperate while Franz spanked him – even pushing his ass up a bit so his sit spots would be easily accessible – but it was a task that was easier said than done. Multiple squeals of pain fell from his lips. He was glad when his legs were pinned; holding still had become nearly impossible by that point. Although he heard the German words, he didn’t pay much attention to them. He was much more focused on how sore his bottom was and all the things that had gotten him into this predicament to begin with.

He doubted he’d be misbehaving for a while. Franz had a hidden strength in those slender hands, and it was currently being used to teach him a lesson he wouldn’t forget anytime soon. The colonel wasn’t sure when his repeated promises to be good became repeated apologies instead. He was just grateful nobody was around to witness him regressing into a well-spanked schoolboy. Tears streamed down his face, matching the sorrowful sobbing sounds he was making. His ass officially felt like it had been flambéed. But it hadn’t been for nothing – the message had definitely gotten through! He allowed Franz to pull him into his arms. Robert clung to the man, sobbing out more apologies and promises to think before he acted from now on. It took him a few minutes to calm down before he could say anything else.

“There’s nothing to forgive, Franz. It was supposed to hurt,” he finally sniffled. He gave his lover a hug and a small smile. “I earned every swat you gave me and then some. More importantly, I needed that to get rid of everything bad I was feeling, so thank you. Thank you for caring enough to punish me when I deserve it. I, uh, I tried to cooperate as best as I could. Don’t know how much I succeeded, but I tried.”

Robert kissed him on the lips. “Listen, what your dad did…that was wrong. You’re only supposed to discipline your kids in a loving way. Not that I’m your kid, but you get the idea,” he said. “Remember when I told you about how my pop punished me growing up? He did the same thing you just did. Yeah, he would tan my hide until I was a blubbering mess, but he always comforted me afterwards. Same went for Thomas whenever he got in trouble. And our old man would always make jokes to break the tension afterwards too. I swear he saved all of them for those occasions. Usually I was the one who ended up over his knee, though. I was a very hard-headed, stubborn kid who didn’t listen worth a damn. Can’t say I’ve changed that philosophy.”

He gave Franz a knowing look. “This is what I meant when I told you I needed you to take me in hand if I stepped out of line too much. Which, by the way, I still think would be a good idea. I’d hate to do something that ended in anyone getting hurt next time because I wasn’t thinking. Usually, the memory of something like this lasts for a few days before it starts to fade,” he explained. “For example, I can safely say I’m not going out on that mission by myself tonight. Or at all, come to think of it. My ass is too sore to do a bunch of walking. You’ve got a better swing on you than my pop does, though, which is really saying something since he’s a lifelong tennis player!”

Robert shifted his weight some and hissed. “Owww. So...can I rub my butt now? Also, am I forgiven?”