Before the Lily


Author: wanderingsmith
Started nov 2021 - latest update nov 2022
Summary: Outtakes of The Lily
between Lily ch 2 (the fire) and ch 4 (visitors arrive)
Rating: NC17
Disclaimer: I ain't got no money, and nobody'd be daft enough to pay me for this. As it is thought, so let it be said; you make the toys, I play with 'em..

AN: The number of topics researched for these tiny scenes, and the difficulty to get google to give any useful information, was not even funny!!!

Prequel: The Lily


Goto Chapter 2 (PG13)
Goto Chapter 3: Postman (PG13)
Goto Chapter 4: When in Spain ( NC17 )
Goto Chapter 5: Sultans (PG13)
Goto Chapter 8: Silvester '43 (PG13)



Chapter one : At the beginning with you (PG13)
nov 2021

AN:early spring '43
directly after The Lily chapter 2


The next day, when they finally tore themselves out of the slow kisses they had apparently slipped into while only half-awake, they cracked open the hatch to blinding sunshine bathing them through the bare branches of the forest they had slept in, with birds trilling as though the world were as fair and innocent as in the garden of Eden, even though spring had not yet arrived.

At least the wild chittering also heralded the lack of any human visitors to their little corner of France.

Even with his back stinging with every movement, and his belly aching with hunger that brought back disturbingly sharp childhood memories, Hubert stood with his head tipped up to gather the warm rays; grateful the last of his headache had passed. And *happy*. Sleeping in a tank, particularly after driving half a day with injuries on his back, had been even more uncomfortable than usual; and René did indeed snore... like a tank. A badly tuned one. And yet, once he had shifted René to his back, which seemed to quiet him, Hubert had tucked René's robe more snugly around them, and put an arm across René's middle, and his head on René's bicep; and he'd slept like a babe.

He did not have to report to anyone. Did not have to wonder what horrific order might be handed to him in the next moment.

Avoiding Germans that would kill him for deserting, and peasants that would kill him for being German, simply paled in comparison. At least it did with René at his side.

He looked besides him where the man was stretching his neck and back in his too-tight, thick peasant shirt, and equally crude wool trousers held up by suspenders, and Hubert smiled, warmth filling his chest. He was not alone. He had a lover standing with him. One that... seemed to *desire* his... attachment. His 'tendresse', as the French put it. ...If the world were different, his public claim, even; but Hubert was not darkening this morning with such thoughts. They had enough to do, and a beautiful day to start it on. Together.

"You were right that those trousers mark you a German," René's eyes were dry when they suddenly met his, "That is no longer an advantage."

Hubert grinned, barely holding back a laugh of sheer, childish joy, simply because a man he had admired for so long had apparently been staring at him while seemingly busy stretching. "Too true. Though I'm not certain if wearing your sleeping pants would cause any fewer questions."

René shrugged, "They would be less dangerous than the recognition, but we can probably do better," he looked thoughtfully into the trees surrounding them for a moment before turning back to Hubert, "I assume you have a knife?"

Hubert's brows flicked up in curiosity, but, as René watched him with what Hubert was beginning to let himself believe might actually be more than reluctant fondness, he obediently reached into the pocket of the tunic he had put back on to sleep. When he took the wooden handle Hubert handed him, Hubert nodded at it, "Hold it downward and push the lever forward," he watched the blade drop and catch the light, for a moment remembering a different stretch of forest, much further North, "When you release the lever, the blade will be locked. A paratrooper gave it to me in Arras before being evacuated home."

René's only comment at this bit of story was a dry glance before he turned to walk into the trees. Hubert finally made himself think practically, and climbed back into the armoured vehicle to strip it of everything useful so they could get away from it before it drew attention. Hopefully he would find some hidden food that had evaded them during their brief, tired, search, yesterday afternoon.

--

When René walked back to the tank with his bundle of rope-thin willow branches, it was to the sight of 'Ubair's bum wriggling as he apparently fought with something inside 'The uncharacteristic German swearing was also a large hint of the fierceness of the resistance he was facing'. He smirked to himself and was about to lean on the nearest trunk and enjoy the view, however much he knew he would be mentally grumbling at himself the whole time, when 'Ubair stumbled sideways and snarled, in pain this time. Before René could hurry over to offer help, he crawled out of the vehicle, dragging their blanket with a meagre assortment of military supplies dropped on it to join their own few, but precious, items.

He touched the man's shoulder carefully, "Did you open some of those burns?"

'Ubair grimaced, waving him off, "I don't think so, René. It simply stung rather badly."

Letting it go for now, René accepted and immediately bit into the section of chocolate 'Ubair held out as he made short work of his own, only then grumbling, "There was only that small piece of bar left, stuck under the driver's seat. I could not find so much as a single packet of dried meat. Bastard was too lazy to keep his supplies in order."

René shrugged fatalistically, "At least the first-aid kit was full." He held up his own hunt, "We should start by pulling the trouser legs over those fancy boots." Rather than give the man a chance to bend over and stretch his scabbed back, René dropped to his knees to do the job himself.

"That is a very lovely view..."

René snorted at the teasing hum, remembering well his own enjoyment of the same view last night. He concentrated on tugging a boot off while 'Ubair leaned his hands on his shoulders, and then stopped, "Too bad you were not wearing your thermal underwear, yesterday. The boots will not be comfortable on your skin over the long walks ahead. We need a better solution."

"If we cut a leg section of your night-pants and slit it, I can wrap my leg."

René nodded, setting the boot down and taking the material 'Ubair grabbed from the blanket. "Let me take the other boot off first, then you can drop your trousers down and we can see how this will fit."

"It 'fits' very well, as I remember..."

René snorted at the gloat, pulling the second boot off before looking up to catch 'Ubair unsurprisingly all too cheerful to be undoing his trousers. The man had no shame. And a one-track mind.

'*Very* well, 'Ubair. But this is not the time to be using any of the grease I see on that blanket." He pulled out the knife he had slipped into his pocket after his tree-trimming and ran the sharp tip along the threads of the bottom seam of the worn sleep-pants, and then along the inseam. When he had what he thought would be enough inches undone to bridge the gap from sock to boot-top, he looked up and 'Ubair, standing quietly holding his waistband up as he worked, let the material go with a wink.

Shaking his head with a fond smile, René set a boot besides 'Ubair's leg and marked where he needed to cut the material. Folding the cotton to quickly cut through the slit it created, he tucked an inch into the top of 'Ubair's tall sock, glad it only overlapped a couple inches, and then carefully fed the boot through the trouser-fabric gathered on his foot, and then upward, nodding with satisfaction when his protective band flopped over the top without being excessively tight. "There. Hopefully that will stay tucked in your sock." He quickly repeated the operation on the other leg and then raised the waistband of the trousers up for 'Ubair to re-fasten. "There. By tonight, that shiny leather foot will be covered in unremarkable dust and mud."

'Ubair wriggled his leg a bit and nodded, "Comfortable."

Now that the tell-tale boots were hidden, René tugged his flexible branches nearer and reached up to knot the tip of one through a belt-loop at 'Ubair's side. Then drew the wood down toward the back of his thigh, and then forward between his legs- And snorted, looking up at his lover with a smirk, unsurprised to find him looking down with a happy leer.

"You cannot expect me not to react to such fondling, René, I happen to enjoy *your* touch very much as well."

Laughing under his breath, René ignored him, and the dynamite distorting his placket, and instead focused on wrapping the willow around his thigh to flatten that betraying puff of material, then on down so it seemed more deliberate. Also ignoring the blood gathering below his own waist remembering kissing his way up those legs, and... up other things... Apparently they were *both* hopeless!

He pressed a very quick kiss to that tensed material, grinning at the memory of 'Ubair doing the same, before rising, rather more slowly than he 'ad dropped 'Sleeping on the rough ground might actually be more comfortable than that 'tank'! ' Stepping back to look at the result, he grimaced, "Nothing will make that jacket anything but what it is..."

'Ubair wordlessly took it off and gave it to him, letting René look him over again.

"Better. You look like some sort of hillsman." He looked from the jacket to the hat that had ended up among the spoils on that blanket, "They are almost too dangerous to keep, even wrapped in a bundle," 'Though they already did carry something dangerous' his fingers rubbed at the tough material idly, "And yet throwing away material that could be of us-" René stopped, suddenly reminded of a day listening to Mimi give in to violent daydreams against Hitler. In front of 'Ubair and Helga, for all that not even Helga was about to get impassioned defending the madman.

As he hesitated, wondering how much 'Ubair cared about his now former military career, he saw the tip of those still-shiny boots appear near his own worn toes. "René," 'Ubair's familiar palm cupped his jaw and encouraged him to look up, meeting a steady look in bloodshot hazel eyes, "My loyalty is to *you*, René."

For a moment, René let that idea warm him, after all the years since he had truly trusted anyone. But he could not take it at face value. He 'ad seen far too much of both wars, not to mention of his own countrymen's behaviour both during the wars and after the last one. "Not to the fatherland?"

'Ubair's expression hardened, though his voice stayed quiet and solemn, "My fatherland is not Hitler's." When he hesitated too long to continue, René reassuringly turned his head to kiss the palm warming his jaw, wondering whether he had lied to Edith. *Would* he be willing to go to Germany if 'Ubair asked... Those eyes seemed far too calm to be thinking of such a serious question when 'Ubair finally continued, "Though.. when we can, I would like to send my babushka a note to let her know I live. She is the only family I have left. If we have not had to destroy those," he nodded at the tunic, "I could use them to sneak into a German camp long enough to drop a letter in their mail bag. I do not think I would trust a French post office to send it to Germany."

René snorted, his shoulders relaxing, "No. I would not give *that* letter good odds." Dropping the topic, he nodded at the blanket of supplies, "We should get moving. I heard vehicles in the distance. I would rather we not meet anyone while near this thing." When 'Ubair went to turn away, René carefully tapped his shoulder, "But let me look at your back, first."

Once he had managed to change the bandage on the worst area without adding to the damage, René made certain the rest of the bandages were smooth enough to avoid friction, and grimaced at not being able to order his lover to bed rest. Instead, he took his nightshirt and cut it to end at 'Ubair's waist and slipped it over his shirt. "This will keep you warmer, as well as hiding that burned material, when we do eventually encounter company."

Then they both silently and quickly started packing their pilfered supplies into two bundles, hiding what needed to be hidden as best they could, so they could get moving away from the tank that was too easy to recognize in the daylight.

"What if they kill Hitler?" He felt 'Ubair glance at him out the corner of his eyes, but did not bother to look as he split the medical supplies in two in case one of them lost their bundle.

"By the time they undo all the evil he has done..." 'Ubair shook his head slowly, "My future is-" René stopped and looked at him as he cut himself off, frowning to see his throat swallow hard as he looked away. René touched his arm, bringing his attention back, disliking the sight of that old sadly-yearning expression, "Regardless of anything... I would like my future... to be with you."

René gently tugged him close enough for a soft kiss, "I meant what I said, last night, 'Ubair. I..." He did not think either of them would truly believe in 'forever' any time soon, even from life; let along from each other. The mutual desire for such a thing would have to do for now. And shared smiles. "I wish... to *be* with you."

'Ubair watched him with a rare sharpness, and René held the gaze. He had nothing to hide here. He had no faith in the future to offer; but for this moment, for once, he had no ulterior motive, either, and was not lying. He might not know how, but 'Ubair had won him, and in this moment there truly was nowhere else that he wanted to be than besides this *man*.

'Ubair finally relaxed and tipped his head forward to stroke the tip of his nose against René's. Then he stepped back gently, a soft smile on his lips, "Then we should get underway."

As René handed him a stick to hold his bundle far from his back, restraining the momentary twitch of nerves at what he had packed in it 'It was better-hidden there. And he... trusted 'Ubair. He did... He must, or he could not ask 'Ubair to return the faith' and followed 'Ubair's glance to the East, "I *would* like to see babushka again before she dies, if it is possible... but she has seen many wars... she will understand if I cannot make it there."

His own bundle wrapped in his robe and slung across his chest, René slipped his arm low around 'Ubair's waist to avoid the burns, and they started off South through what he was fairly certain was the large forest West of Chartre, though he was not certain how much longer they had before they would reach more cleared areas. At least his head was down to a manageable ache, today.

As they slowly got into step over the even stretch of ground, he thought of the dangers of even attempting a trip to Germany, now. And then distantly remembered that there had been a time, between the wars, when it would not have been nearly such an undertaking; however long ago that felt... "I would be pleased to meet her, if it becomes possible." He could only hope he would get on better with her than with Edith's mother.


AN:Leichter Panzerspähwagen: Operational range 350 km (220 mi)[1] Maximum speed road: 80 km/h (50 mph) cross-country: 40 km/h (25 mph)
Used by the reconnaissance battalions (Aufklärungs-Abteilung) of the Panzer divisions
avoiding highways to avoid germans, they might get past paris to near lemans. there's a big park before it.... Park naturel du perche which was only created in 1998... but I assume the place was pretty wild before that, lolsigh

If a walker is well-trained and is taking breaks and a meal stop, then 20 miles a day is reasonable. If you take no breaks and are going fast, you may be able to cover 30 miles if you have steadily built your mileage over the course of three to six months.

so 592km/20km per day=30 days.
if they walked constantly. they might be faster walkers from being in better shape than modern folks. but with little food and avoiding Germans would likely be even longer.

https://www.reddickmilitaria.com/ww2-german-militaria-folding-knives/ww2-german-paratrooper-gravity-knife/
To release the blade, hold the knife in a downward position and push the lever forward. When the blade is completely extended, release the lever and the blade will be locked in place. To retract the blade, follow the same steps holding the knife upright.
There is also a spike on the side houses which was used for untangling knots, and there is a swiveling loop on the butt end for attaching a lanyard. The wooden handles are nicely finished walnut, and each knife is RB numbered and waffenamt marked just like the originals, making them the finest reproductions on the market.
Overall, closed: 6-1/16". Open, with blade extended: 10".

https://twitter.com/buddnicholas/status/971361364630540291
The Verbandkasten (First-aid box). Used within soft-skin & armoured vehicles. Pics are an example from my collection & period use (door of Sdkfz 250). This is an early-mid War example (1942 dated) with a well-made, 2 latch, 1 handle case, wooden lined interior and contents label. The kit was designed, unsurprisingly, w/ vehicle crews in mind & is reflected in some differing contents to a Sani pouch/bag.
Pic 1 shows a standard packing order (subtle changes may be forced by wire splint) & pic 3 the contents removed, exposing the wooden interior.
From L-R some more detail.
Flexible wire & stiffened card splints. The wire could be cut and moulded to suit the injury. Next, 6 canvas bags containing from top L, tourniquet, sling, x2 wound wadding, x2 pressure bandages. The wadding & pressure bandages are also found in the Sani kit & have expiry date labels that change colour when expired. Then we have x10 small dressings. Moving right, we have Elastoplast tape, iodine (or ersatz iodine), leather pouch with 20 safety pins & below, another Verbandkasten specific item, x4 burn* bandages. Finally, we have a canvas pouch containing Verbandkasten specific clothes shears & standard straight scissors and tweezers as per Sani.
The design, unsurprisingly became less sophisticated as the War progressed, w/ cheaper construction/less material. The last were wooden


Chapter two (PG13)
nov 2021

AN:still early '43
directly after chapter 1


They managed to walk until mid-afternoon before their diet of water was no longer enough to keep them from stumbling, though at least they had come across some clean streams to refill the canteen. Hubert finally touched René's arm, realizing the man's gaze was as vague as Hubert's thoughts, "We need to find some food."

It took several steps for the man to stop on the admittedly forwardly-sloped deer-path, and then he shook himself before frowning at their surroundings with more awareness, "Umm. We could use the pistol you took from that fellow to hunt a rabbit. And... now that we are safely away from that vehicle, those farms we avoided today might look abandoned, but I would bet at least some of their gardens re-seeded themselves. Tomorrow we should be able to find some tubers from last year without risking being seen, at least some of which will be edible. Perhaps some endive if they were in a protected spot." He frowned at Hubert's trousers, "But unlikely there would still be any clothes left unlooted."

Hubert shrugged, "We both need a jacket, especially when it starts to rain, but we can make do with the blanket... and my tunic under this night-shirt, at need." He was truly not looking forward to rain in the still-cool spring; that warm sun from the morning had not lasted long, and the grey day had been chilly enough to make him remember some very unpleasant nights on the Eastern Front. He was still entirely glad to be where he was, of course. But he needed to do something to at least make their night less miserable once the evening breeze came up. He looked around the tree-shrouded hollow they had walked into, "This is as good a place as any we've passed to make camp." He brought his bundle forward, rolling the shoulder the stick had dug into, and raised a brow as he pulled the weapon out before carefully hanging the bundle on the nearest sturdy branch, "Have *you* ever hunted rabbit with a pistol?"

René took the pistol from his hand, shrugging, his expression going distant, "From time to time."

"Please do not take this the wrong way, René, but you did not appear... all that comfortable with a weapon when you were challenged by the undertaker?" He had barely resisted ducking as the man waved a loaded weapon about, as a matter of fact.

René's jaw clenched as he checked the rounds with the kind of practised ease that made Hubert's brows rise even more, also noting that he was being rather more careful to keep it aimed away from either of them, "I will never use a gun on another person." Then he stilled, unmoving for a moment before he looked up at Hubert with unpleasant realization, "I... am not certain I could even if... you were being threatened, 'Ubair..."

Hubert gripped the pistol canon, knowing his expression had gone grim, "I would *never* ask you to shoot anyone, René."

René watched him silently, his eyes dark with unpleasant thoughts.

Hubert shook the pistol gently, smiling reassurance and changing the subject, as he remembered René doing for him when he had struggled with the truth of his twin, or lack thereof, "But you think you can hunt us a meal? Because my father only taught me with a riffle; I am not such a good pistol shot."

René tried, and failed, to smile, though he lightened when Hubert reached up to run his fingertip along his already very rough cheek, "I am. I once came across a .32, at a time when bullets were all too easy to get a hold of. And I needed to find food for my family. But if I do not come across one at close enough range, I will not waste the bullets we have. I will simply set snares, and get up early so we can have a hearty breakfast."

Hubert nodded, then reached in his bundle again, "The dagger I took from the bastard would serve you better for hunting." He accepted the pocket knife and René's bundle in return for the heavier and more solid weapon. "Happy hunting, René."

Hubert grinned at the wink he got as the former café-owner slipped into the forest with remarkable quiet.

--

Seeing the man sitting on a rock before a small fire tense, René called out to identify himself, "Lovely fire, 'Ubair. And well hidden; I only smelled it as I got near."

'Ubair turned toward him, his face still in shadow as René carefully stepped down the incline at this end of the miniature ravine. "Thank you. Father taught me *that* before I could read. I see you had a successful hunt."

Once he was on flat ground, René could not help strutting the last few feet to the fire, "Indeed, I even happened on some wild parsnip root I can cook inside it, and a bit of wild garlic and thyme. A shame you were not wearing your tin hat, I could make us a nice rabbit stew. And some tea would be nice."

'Ubair sent him a self-congratulatory smirk, visible now that René was no longer light-blinded, and held out two neatly-hollowed pieces of wood. "You will still need to roast the rabbit, but I found another stream to refill the canteen, and cut some willow bark to make tea. I will see if I can make some sort of pot, tomorrow," he nodded at the thin white roots René was holding, "You are braver than I. We never spent enough time foraging before father died for me to trust myself with such dangerous plants." He silently picked up the skin René had set down near their bundles and pulled out his pocketknife to start cleaning it properly.

René smiled, arrested by the idea of being on the run with someone who was entirely capable of carrying his weight, rather than depend on René. He silently crouched besides his cheerful partner and leaned in for a soft kiss. "Both our aching bodies, not to mention my head, will thank you for your handy carving. Though we should watch for remaining rosehips as we walk tomorrow. We will not be eating well for a while, they will help keep scurvy away." He started to chop the spicy, but tough with age, parsnip, "As for the risk," he shrugged, trying not to wallow in the past again, "I did once pick wrong, very long ago. I learned to pay attention after that. ...I am glad I had this dagger, however; the earth was packed solid."

-----

Watching 'Ubair crouch like a particularly graceful hillsman and carefully turn the spit, René sipped his warm tea and slowly relaxed against the trunk at his back, careful not to disturb the blanket slung precariously over his shoulders. Grateful for the warm and *dry* night. And... for the companion coming back to carefully sit between his legs with his injured back resting on René's front. He pulled the discarded robe back over the man's chest as 'Ubair picked up his own coal-warmed mug.

René rubbed his cheek on his lover's still-soft hair 'Another day of marching and neither of them would be so pleasant to smell or touch any more'. "If I shave off the moustache, even Edith would not recognize me, let along any random person from my past that we might pass, though there are few enough that would have bothered to remember me. If you grew one it would likely do the same for you..."

'Ubair shrugged, "No doubt. If I could grow one."

René slipped a hand under the blanket to stroke the man's chest in reassurance, tangling happily with 'Ubair's fingers when they touched him. "Well, at the least we need to change your name." Stroking at those skilled piano-man digits, René smiled whimsically to himself, "...In a different world, I would put a ring on your finger and call you Artois." Considering the lieutenant's oft-stated opinion of marriage, he expected a snort in reply.

Instead he got a wriggling armful that turned into a man sitting in his lap, flat bum weighing René's thighs down and his lover's crotch firm against his own. And a hungry, stubble-sharp kiss that distracted him so much that he almost stroked his hands on 'Ubair's back; that he had only finished patching up a few minutes ago.

Eventually, they parted, smiling at each other through trailing little kisses. And René knew they were both too tired and sore and hungry -for food-, tonight, to do anything about the other hunger pressed between them, though he suspected by morning they would both need a bit of intimacy before focusing on the day. As 'Ubair settled himself more comfortably in his lap, René watched him thoughtfully, "My mother's maiden name was Duprés..."

This time the kiss pressed to his lips was soft, fitting the melting warmth in 'Ubair's eyes and whisper, "I would be honoured."

--

They were gnawing the last of the meat from their skinny meal when 'Ubair offered up a thoughtful "I could let my hair grow".

René grinned in memory, "Like your golden friend?"

'Ubair laughed, much to his delight, and grinned back, "I think it took Klaus several years to grow that."

René tried to picture his 'Ubair with that fine hair grown out... "Umm, it would suit you... perhaps a cap in the meantime would be enough to change you. And..." he gave the man an apologetic shrug, "Although your speech is correct, we do need to do something about your accent, I'm afraid..."

'Ubair grimaced ruefully, "That will take much longer than growing my hair out."

René snorted, "D'at. *W*ill."

They finished supper before 'Ubair managed to remember to pronounce a w properly. And to mangle his th. Among more than a few snips at their respective languages, and rolled eyes and snorts. And chuckles. And Affection. René had a feeling the die of their evening for some time to come had just been cast. Which was an entirely too pleasing thought. It had been... a lifetime, since he had had anyone that he could truly tease without worrying about drama. Who would tease back the same way.

Using the grease from their supper to oil his skin in lieu of proper shaving soap, René took the dagger from the makeshift sheath he had hung at his waist and held it out to 'Ubair, "If you would not mind getting rid of this moustache, my dear? I'd rather not try to manoeuvre around my nose blind."

"No," 'Ubair stepped between René's legs before getting on his knees, and then leaned in and gently bit the tip of his nose, making René crack a laugh, "*W*e *w*ould not *w*ant th- *d*'at."

 

Of course, when cleaning up was followed with curling up together, between a few thick bushes and a windbreak 'Ubair had managed to weave, with old leaves for a bed and his robe for a blanket, René found the die of their nights more pleasant than sleeping on cold ground had any right to be.

"The areas we drove through before we entered this forest were quite lovely."

René shifted his lover a little higher, bringing his cheek onto René's shoulder as 'Ubair's body rested half on him to try to keep him off his back. "D'e areas *w*e. D'is forest *w*ere." He made 'Ubair repeat it a few times before answering the implied question. "The Loire is lovely, yes. Good soil. Even some areas of gently rolling hills that grow both wine and various orchards. Though mostly wheat and corn. Cows. Warmer than Nouvion."

"Are orchards easier than vines?"

René snorted, smiling to himself in the dark as he turned his head to rub his nose on 'Ubair's wide forehead, "No farming is easy. It all demands backbreaking labour at *least* half the year, nail-biting about the weather every few weeks. And hardly any money for it all."

'Ubair chuckled, his arms tightening around René and his lips starting to nuzzle René's neck, smooth from the full shave the man had given him with such quiet enjoyment that René suspected he would not be shaving himself very often any more. As for what those tender nuzzles did to him, well, he had already been falling for the physical warmth between them. The added affection might possibly be making him fall for the man so much deeper.

"You sound very unfond of it."

René shrugged, silent for a moment before answering seriously, "It has its rewards. In these times, it is certainly better to be on a farm than in any city. Unless your farm is in the path of a Panzer battalion, of course. But I was always too impatient, or greedy, to settle for thin living of a farmer. The café certainly came with its own risks," he rubbed his nose again, grinning a bit in memory, "Including the threat of a tank being driven through it." They were both quiet a moment as 'Ubair hugged him in silent apology and René returned his earlier nuzzles in reassurance. And then continued them because even though 'Ubair's neck was as rough as during that first night together, a lifetime of smooth female skin did not change that that scratch at his lips made him smile; made him feel alive, "But the returns were better than depending on the land, mostly."

"...I'm not certain I could tolerate serving people."

René smirked, "Oh, certainly Germans are quite annoyi-" he flinched with a laugh when 'Ubair pinched his side. "I *am*" A few more minutes of pronunciation lesson trying to shift that accent and he finally replied to the original statement, "I have great difficulty seeing you running a café, I must admit. Though you would certainly bring in the customers if you sat at the piano."

'Ubair hummed hazy agreement and René slipped into sleep to soft strokes on his chest; and the tender notes of Für Elise dancing through his mind.


AN:this is where I imagine their walking Perché regional parc
This is obviously today, ie, 80 years later but you can see the lay of the land, anyway, including a few ripples :) though this is a little further South than the Lily will be

German officer uniform includes a MAB Model D .32 ACP 50yards 

What is in season 

Be careful of parsnips!!
Really, not kidding 

Loire: The major river valleys are where flowers, apples, and grapes are cultivated

Sabaton - Panzer battalion: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Zag-XnwLLpo 
 
s3e02 I have been ordered to drive my little tank from where it is parked into your garden at the back


Chapter three : Postman (PG13)
dec 2021

AN:still early '43
not long after chapter 2


Only a few days into their journey 'Namely when 'Ubair decided that 'is hair would be too long if they waited any longer', they stopped early to clean themselves. And give a bit of a freshen-up to the jackets that they had found in a recently-abandoned house that the sound of chickens had almost made them avoid, seeing as they assumed it meant there must be caretakers still in residence.

The fresh eggs had been a lovely indulgence, but the well-used, while still in good condition, clothes they'd found had been better. 'Ubair was no longer sporting willow branches, and René had swapped the glassworker's too-tight shirt for one that was perhaps not as warm, but infinitely more comfortable. And they both had old, crude, workmen's wool jackets to keep them warm, and even dry; at least long enough to find shelter during sudden showers. And which should let them pass relatively unnoticed through towns. They had even found a beret and a leather neck flap to make 'Ubair that little extra less familiar.

As afternoon crept toward evening, René carefully unwrapped the paper from around one of their rolls of bandage and handed it to 'Ubair. "At least your nemesis kept a pencil in the vehicle."

'Ubair snorted, taking the paper and laying it on the first-aid box that currently held their potato supply.

René's brows rose as, instead of beginning to write, 'Ubair started to draw, but he kept quiet and warmed himself watching their thin soup simmer in the battered aluminum pot they had also found. It was nearly half an hour before 'Ubair stopped to stretch, and René stepped over to rest his chin on his lover's shoulder to see. And blinked, seeing a rough, but recognizable, version of himself staring back at him; smiling, and standing besides his companion in their 'workmen's best'.

"She cannot read."

Smiling at the picture, René nodded, affecting to ignore 'Ubair's stillness. "You do draw well. I only just realized I had never actually seen your work outside of a sausage."

'Ubair huffed a laugh against him, "Thank you."

René turned his head and pressed a soft kiss on his cheek, "You are a good grandson."

'Ubair smiled at him with that old familiar fondness, "You do not mind that I included you?"

René looked down at his smiling features, sketched in black pencil on cheap paper, wearing a quiet smile he could not remember seeing in his mirror in Nouvion, even outside of the absence of his moustache; though he had often felt it on his cheeks as they sat in their chilly camps at night. Besides that smiling man, his lover, so-obviously intimately close, was also smiling joyfully, blowing a kiss off the page while the image of René had a hand in the air, mid-wave at the 'reader'.

"I would very much like a copy of my own."

'Ubair laughed as though it were a joke, though there was a pleased note to it as he leaned over to add more details.

--

The next day, they walked around Angers carrying piles of branches, wrapped in sackcloth also courtesy of that abandoned farm, so as to seem safely employed older men while they determined where everything was. And then they spent time up a tree where they could look into the Angers Base; which the Kriegsmarine had taken over.

Once it was full night, 'Ubair polished his boots and changed into his uniform, though taking off and handing René the shiny cord of an ADC for him to add to their belongings, all safely hidden in a long-dead tree, though it gave René a twitch to leave them. Not that being on his person struck him as particularly safe, considering where he was going. A good blanket of leaves was as safe as anywhere in France, really.

"You have your plan in mind?"

'Ubair nodded but did not answer right away, frowning as he repeatedly, distractedly, adjusted his stolen belt, and then shifted his shoulders as though the tunic had got tight, instead of slightly looser, as René could plainly see. He finally clacked his heels and stopped fidgeting, standing not quite at parade rest and looking René in the eye as though reporting to Klinkerhoffen, "Get over that point in the fence that the Résistance have made scalable, march calmly, but in the shadows, toward the building next to the Feldpost truck. Get inside, put this," he patted the pocked he had slipped his drawing into, "In an envelop, write babushka's address, mark it as being from the colonel in case someone examines its right to travel, apply a stamp, mark it checked for traitorous material, and then get it in a box on that truck. Come back over the wall."

René nodded, though he could not help a dry thought that goosestepping and hell-clacking were also going to need to be addressed once they were away from here; he had already had to jab 'Ubair during that nervous trek through town, when he had started to step forward straight-legged after they had had to let a truck by, "And if you are stopped?"

"If it is by enlisted, haughtily put them in their place and send them to scrub a deck. If it is by anyone that outranks me, pretend to be foolish and ramble on about zee schtupid offizrrs int zee Panzrrs ant beink ont mia vay too zee fifth ant lost ant hungrry ant-"

René snorted at the whining in a terrible accent that 'Ubair had claimed was from the mountains of Bavaria, and settled for leaning in to give his erstwhile German lieutenant a quick kiss. "Be careful."

'Ubair gave him that pressed-out pleased smile, for a moment very much the enamoured man that would lean on his bar to flirt almost every night, "Of course, René."

The uniform should be making René feel distant, as used as he had become to 'Ubair looking like any other Frenchman 'Until 'e opened 'is mouth'. But instead, he found he was just as drawn to him; no more caring what he wore than how he spoke.

And remembering all those evenings, and his own mostly grouchy and distant response, to say nothing of the extra danger 'Ubair was walking into, he let the cord drop and stepped closer, slipping his palms to cheeks that were freshly-shaven for the occasion, and angling those already-parting lips for a proper kiss. Slow, and deep, and utterly intimate and possessive 'Because he *could* be possessive, now!', and he was soon shivering as much from familiar warm hands smoothing his back as from a skilled tongue dancing with his.

Drawing back from the passion rising so effortlessly between them, René took a deep breath, shuddering at the moan of complaint from the man holding him so close in his arms. But they both knew this was not the time. They were far too close to that city to stay one moment longer than necessary in the open; well, not really the open, only compared to the carefully-hidden camps that they allowed themselves to be intimate in.

René pressed a quick kiss to 'Ubair's cheek before making himself let go and step back, "If I see you in difficulty I will see to creating a diversion."

Though he looked like he wanted to argue 'Again', 'Ubair finally nodded and gave his hat one last adjustment before setting off, René following him as far as his chosen watch spot. Namely crouched behind winter-bare bushes, in shadows but just barely able to see the mail truck between other small clapboard buildings.

And he waited tensely for some squad of sentries to turn a corner and see 'Ubair step into the open fifty yards that he had to cross.

They had argued, possibly their first real argument 'And the making up had had them *both* limping the next day, René could not help thinking with a brief grin, though 'e 'ad nonetheless got wiser when it came time to argue that he was going with 'Ubair', between going in earlier, when there would be more people moving about, thereby making 'Ubair's presence less conspicuous, and going in later, when 'Ubair's Panzer uniform would be less likely to attract questions from some strolling navy superior. 'Ubair had won, and now the base was, to René, eerily quiet.

But 'Ubair made it to the little building without encountering a soul, nor getting a shout from the gate off to René's right behind several other, older and more solidly made of brick and stone, buildings. And René tried to take a deep breath. One third done. Now 'e 'ad to be patient as 'Ubair found everything he needed in the unfamiliar room, trusting his lover's claim of yet another stop in his varied life, this time commanding a section of administration clerks at a base in Hanover while he recovered from the Eastern Front; and so learning the ins and outs of the German army mail service, among other, no doubt dreary 'At least to René', details. None of which stopped René from biting his nails, feeling all too much as though he were back in Nouvion on some 'airbrained scheme of the Résistance. Or the Germans.

And then, after what felt like an age but was likely no more than five minutes, a patrol came marching from the caserne's old main building, pale, worn stone glowing ghostly in the moonlit night, which was all too close to René's left.

René could not see the windows of the post building, let along the door that was all the way at the back. He could only hope 'Ubair was either already keeping in shadows in there, or heard the stomping boots and hid from the men about to pass between them. And for the love of God let him not step out just now!

But no shouts broke out. The boots stomped on toward the gate, and the eerie silence returned.

Finally, though unfortunately before that patrol got itself back into the main building, René saw movement behind the truck, a brief flash of moonlight on over-polished jackboots moving from building to hatch-covered truck-bed. Another third done. Except once he had dropped the letter, he would have to cross open ground in plain sight, now with that patrol likely bored and looking for a reason to be rude, and 'Ubair would have to put his best haughty sneer to the test...

Then René heard a faint metal clang, as of something falling on a truck bed. Faint to *him*, but voices rose where the gate was, and those stomping boots came back, not near so synchronized. René hurriedly pulled out the little slingshot he had made himself more out of amusement at finding the perfect piece of wood during their second day's walk than anything else.

When he saw the soldiers slow as they approached the truck, René swore under his breath.

The rubber someone had stuffed in the first aid kit was far from optimal, but it had been enough to show off to his lover; he really had, in his youth, been able to bring down squirrels and the odd pigeon napping too deeply. Luckily, his current target was not going to get spooked and fly off. He had picked up a pocketful of rocks of the right shape but he skipped them and pulled out some acorns and took aim at the metal circle the invaders had mounted above the main building's doors, shiny around the ominous red.

He was far enough that it would have been a tricky shot even when he was young. As it was, he missed the first time, and his teeth clenched as he heard the guards start to shout orders, hoping 'Ubair did not obey too quickly. The second shot hit the damned embossed marker with a ting that was barely audible, to him, especially with the shouting. But someone in the unit had sharp ears. And the thing was apparently not mounted all that solidly to the stone, so that you could still see a slight wave to it.

It didn't make the shouting *less*, of course. And no chance 'Ubair could make it back across the open area even with the men having all hared off. The wall behind the building was going to be challenging to climb.

And René did not dare move with the men so close and alert, though he wished he could send another nut to rest under the truck to complete the lie. A ridiculous fussiness he blamed on Michelle's bad influence.

Instead, he crouched in his bush and prayed as he had not in years.

A few minutes later, he heard stealthy steps approaching him and he thought he would be sick with the wash of fear, but he fumbled a stone into his sling, dimly thinking he would be better off to hide it and pretend to be a sleeping peasant, instead. Or a scared peasant. Which he was. Terrified.

Before he could bring himself to lay his bets on actually bringing the weapon to bear or hiding it, he felt a touch on his calf and almost screamed.

Which would have defeated 'Ubair's choice of not calling out to him. As it was, René was not certain his pulse would ever return to normal. And 'Ubair was motioning for them to crawl away, looking sickly-pale, himself. Which René very much wanted to argue, seeing as he could still hear the overturned anthill of Germans behind him. But he also preferred to be with 'Ubair.

Once far enough from the wall, they switched to crouch-walking from bush to tree to bush, René keeping his eyes on his lover and his mouth shut and trying to watch where he stepped and expecting at any time for the soldiers to pour into the woods after them.

Eventually they made it to their hidden supplies, apparently undisturbed, and René was finally convinced the navy had accepted his trick to mean squirrels, or trees, were defending France, now; or heaven only knew what other interpretation. He leaned on the tree next to their hideaway, feeling his knees trying to turn to underdone jelly.

"Are you alright?"

René nodded at the worried whisper, rubbing his jaw into 'Ubair's reassuring palm, "Yes. You?"

"Yes. Thanks to you." With a quick kiss, 'Ubair leaned in to get their bundles and handed René his, "We should keep moving."

---

By the time dawn started threatening, their trek had included a walk several hundred feet down a river to break their trail, should it still end up followed, and they had made it to the long-abandoned farm they had chosen yesterday. The barn had enough old hay to make a comfortable bed, up high and out of sight in the hayloft, dry and warm.

René sighed in relief as he laid down on his back and let his head fall.

'Ubair also sighed, near his feet, accompanied by the sound of fabric sliding on fabric, "I am sorry things went wrong."

René turned his head to watch his lover slowly emerge from the shell of the German lieutenant. "Believe me when I say the colonel and the Résistance both regularly dropped me in worse. We both escaped without actually being seen. If you actually accomplished your mission, then that will outright make this one of less than a handful of such miracles." He smiled, more for 'Ubair having pulled off his shirt than any care for the past. For the moment glad for the sun that was rising and lighting the room; and the view. He would no doubt be less pleased with the light when they were trying to sleep.

'Ubair chuckled sadly, though his look was knowing and the cock of his hips to undo his trousers was an enticement rather than a necessity, "I can only hope- *'ope* it is the last time you are in such danger."

"Not likely. Not so long as this war lasts," René grimaced, "And likely not some time after that, based on 'ow the last went." He cheered up as 'Ubair stepped over to straddle his hips, "You should get dressed. You will itch unpleasantly everywhere this hay touches."

"Umm," 'Ubair's hands were warm through René's shirt as the almost-naked man smiled gently, back to being René's lover who disliked danger as much as René did. Whose exaggerated mannerisms in Nouvion still showed, in a less extreme flavour; flippy wrists and a high voice. Though the lack of any complaint about their clothing, food or accommodations had been a welcome surprise. And who had proved just how talented those fingers were at playing René's senses. René raised his own hands to that smooth chest, licking his lips half in memory, half to tease. 'Ubair laughed softly, " *I* was going to say you earned a- *'ero's* reward, earlier."

René snorted, "The reward for heroes-" he quieted when 'Ubair laid two fingers on his lips.

" *Your* reward, my dearest René, is whatever you would like of me."

René slid his hands to 'Ubair's hips and gently encouraged the man to lay down on him, and then reached to where he had set the robe they still used as a blanket, and draped it over them. "Re*w*ard." A hand on 'Ubair's nape brought his lover's grin within reach of a kiss, " *W*atever." Another kiss, though René's own grin interfered a bit, " *W*ould."

---

When René had slipped into sleep as soon as he'd caught his breath, Hubert had gloated silently and nuzzled at René's neck a moment, not quite certain why it had become a habit, but feeling himself wanting to purr at the familiarity of the scent of his lover's skin. At this point, he was actually far more familiar with it mixed with sweat, which should make him want to keep his distance. There *was* a reason he had worn lotion. And yet... it didn't. He had slept half on top of René to protect his back the first few nights, waking with his nose an inch from René's neck, mostly. Sweaty and stubbly and it was- Home.

So quickly the word had snuck into his thoughts.

He had finally made himself stop lazing and cleaned them up, and gotten himself dressed and René's clothes tidied. Laying down next to his snoring lover, he gently rolled René until his head was on Hubert's shoulder, and the man automatically threw an arm across Hubert's chest. A bit of wriggling and Hubert got their blanket from where it had got pushed and covered them, glad for the comfortable bed.

And then he breathed deep and finally started to lose the panicked worms in his belly. René was safe. They were both safe.

The day spent reconnoitring in the town had been tense, after avoiding all contact with humanity since they had escaped Nouvion together. He knew that they would eventually have to go back among people; knew it would mean constant tension from the danger of being uncovered, one way or another. And, as René had said, the danger of being caught up in war troubles as innocent bystanders. But it had still been unpleasant.

And then actually entering the Kriegsmarine base had been nerve-wracking. Putting that uniform back on... he did not want to be that man ever again. He wanted to be the man in René's eyes. 'Ubair who could not yet remember to pronounce a w. Who impressed René with the simple skills his father had taught him. Who made René smile; and made him moan with pleasure.

But he also wanted babushka to know he lived. The fact that René had been willing to risk such danger for such a small thing, and without once questioning the wisdom of it... Hubert's arm tightened and he pressed his lips to the patch of bare skull at his shoulder. He liked to imagine that 'bushka would be happy he had found someone who cared for him enough to do such. Certainly the woman he had only ever known as white-haired and wrinkled and smiling at him with complete acceptance would be kinder to René than Madame Edith's mother had ever been. He would have to warn René that she did like to challenge people -including her only grandson- to think on their feet, though. He remembered his mother rolling her eyes retelling her first encounter with her mother-in-law, and how father had gotten an earful for not warning her not to take the sharp eyes to mean dislike. And René could be quite acerbic when he felt pushed in a corner.

He was not certain what he had expected when they had set out. René's moods had always been... very variable. From the too-warm wheedling that heralded schemes, to a casual, roughly-accepting friendliness that had laid waste to Hubert's defences from the moment they'd met, to irritable indifference or outright snarling. Not that he blamed anyone for being irritable or getting caught up in schemes in these terrible times.

But he'd- *he had* still been glad that his companion, though still tending to moodiness, was not nearly so mercurial now that it was just the two of them. And... Hubert was beginning to trust his sudden seductive moments to simply mean he... desired Hubert. Nothing more and nothing less.

He still suspected there would be times René would use that intimacy to sway Hubert... but they were not on opposite sides of a war anymore. Being swayed in a... domestic... argument. Well. Hubert smiled to himself. He could imagine being tempted to start a few 'discussions' just on the off chance of some swaying. *He* certainly would not hesitate to use every wile he had ever developed, if he needed to wheedle René around to his way of thinking...

As a matter of fact, when he had proposed to deliver his mail alone while René waited with their supplies, safely away from any mess Hubert might find himself in if he failed to argue convincingly with sailors, there had been a frustrated glare and a mutter that he suspected was not complimentary as they cleaned up as best they could in a cold stream. And then, as they dried themselves, there had been chilled little kisses that quickly warmed as hands slipped under the thin towels they had found along with the old jackets. And somewhere between kisses and wandering hands, there had been murmurs of teamwork and keeping watch... And Hubert was nothing but grateful he'd had company for the nerve-rattling day.

He tried closing his eyes, knowing he needed to sleep. They had not been able to relax enough to nap while they waited close to town for nightfall. And then the fear that had washed through him at being caught in a way that he would have had to lay the southern-fool act on very thick indeed, and still likely would have ended up in the nick. Or in front of a firing party without their bothering to ask questions, damn the fool that had left a hammer leaning on that transport box. Only to feel his heart stop when he realized that ting on the emblem almost had to be from his lover's slingshot. And René was not nearly that well hidden!!

It *had* pulled that guard-squad away nicely. Enough so that Hubert had managed to sneak to the gate that they had left guarded only by one man. Man who had been flicking his eyes from the commotion of his comrades over by that brightly-lit building, who thankfully did not seem to have thought to beat the bushes, yet, to quick glances outside the dark gate that undoubtedly accomplished exactly nothing. There were no glances to the inner perimeter of the base where Hubert debated in the shadows for one moment whether he should hit the man to be certain he was not caught after having passed him.. or try to get by without being caught so there was less suspicion afterwards.

Against every bit of training he'd had -which would please his mother, he waited and, just as the man turned his gaze to his friends, Hubert walked quickly -lest sudden movement draw even light-blind eyes- around the edge of the wall and out of sight. And then covered the ten feet or so to the treeline as fast as he could without risking making noise, expecting to hear shots and shouts at any instant. When he reached the shadow of trees with neither, he had to stop to silently catch his breath from the panting terror, and then he hurried to where René had been, knowing they were far from safe.

Even knowing where to look, he had almost missed his lover with how tightly he had hidden himself in the bushes. And then almost got himself beaned in the head with a rock when he touched the panicked man.

But, as usual, René recovered from panic quickly. And did indeed know how to move quietly.

And now they could rest. And if he was very lucky, he need never put that uniform on again. Though he knew it was unlikely they would avoid dangerous situations.

He sighed, focusing on René's breathing and very slowly feeling himself slipping toward sleep. They were safe. For now.


AN:Angers military base 

Feldpost
more Feldpost
and yes, there was some censorship, but intermittent due to volume. and apparently mostly to catch military information (location of soldier, weapons,, etc) rather than ideological.
German post office article [in german]
Thought this was interesting, lol: "Since 1943 there was a free express message service after Allied air raids"
But a soldier would still need to get a special envelop from the camp post office, and have it stamped. he just would not have to pay.

OH is from North Germany and always comments when he hears Bavarian accents when watching German documentaries. Seemed as good a trick as any. Except I do not have the patience to watcha bunch of Bavarian and try to figure how to 'write' it. so I figured 'comic German' would give you the korrekt feeling, lol
comic German dictionnary, lolz
a few more linguistic discussions


Chapter four : When in Spain ( NC17 )
jan 2022

AN:first half of '43
here there be SEX. in all its messiness.
as well as a dash of angsty boys


Please note that I do not know Spain, even today, and I know it was quite different 75 years ago.
I am trying to speak generally enough, based on what information I can get from google (who doesn't really like to share information about ww2 era other than war-specifics) to not insult anyone. If you know something is drastically wrong, please let me know, politely, and I will twitch the story, or at least warn that it is fabrication.

Gruber's 'mental' speech patterns are deliberately all over the place. As he tells you himself, he is in the midst of trying to change, and I wished to try and have that show. Just as I have Rene think in his own vocabulary (though I have not had other character's speech reflect 'accent' because in this show it would indeed be all over the place... and I'm lazy.. so yeah.)


I want to know if you can be with joy,
Mine or your own,
If you can dance with wildness and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes
-The Invitation, By Oriah Mountain Dreamer

-s-e-x-s-e-x-s-e-x-s-e-x- WARNING -s-e-x-s-e-x-s-e-x-s-e-x-


Trying to ignore his lingering hunger by sipping more water, though even that would likely soon have to be rationed, Hubert watched the sun setting between the sharp peaks and rounded shoulders of the hills ahead and all around them, glad to be able to relax and enjoy the simple beauty of colours and their shades blending along the horizon, broken by the paleness of the stone, and the dark of the shadows cast by that same back-lit stone. It reminded him of hiking in the Black Forest around Baden as a boy, and later around Heidelberg. Though that had not been *remotely* dry. But very hilly, even if any sharp peaks that had existed in Germany had long since been weathered down to rounded humps.

Hiking down these sharp, sparsely-wooded, slopes was certainly not relaxing. He was back to the excellent shape he had gotten to in his first months in the military; but he worried for René. Though the former café-owner had taken to walking surprisingly quickly, Hubert had noticed he had begun moving more slowly in the morning, and hesitating when straightening, sometimes, as their path had turned hilly.

They had entered this range after creeping their way as close as possible to the Pyrenees as they could, to shorten their trip, while avoiding the arid zone where they would have starved without a great many more supplies. Not to mention that the border was monitored by all kinds of nasty fellows from all sides, and those rocky foothills offered very little in the way of cover, and plenty in the way of opportunities to get lost. They had even risked entering Arbus to find a proper -very dimly-lit- café for René to make inquiries. His time colluding with the Résistance in Nouvion had apparently given him a good instinct of who to safely accost, and they had come away with instructions for a less dangerous path that led along what passed for a river in northern Spain, which the fellow claimed was running low this year. Though it still forced them to take to the hills sometimes to get through rough sections. Such as this afternoon.

Things had nonetheless gotten distinctly drier even on their chosen path, losing the spring-green they had gotten used to in the north. Unfortunately, the vegetation had changed as well, even in this hilly, but still fairly thick, forest of oaks and pines, becoming unfamiliar to his dear René, which made living entirely off the land impossible from here on; and the provisions they'd gathered before attempting the crossing were almost gone. And even with the civil war that had raged in the area only a few years ago, there were not as many abandoned farms, with their very handy reseeded gardens, here.

Though supposedly there was trout in this river, if they could but find a section with enough flowing water, so he was keeping an eye out for a proper branch to make a long rod, and had already carved up a few wooden hooks that had made René grin at him. And kiss him very enthusiastically indeed...

It was warm enough tonight that they had not bothered making a fire, simply sharing one of their few remaining potatoes, cooked in the coals last night; but they had set some snares before making camp, so hopefully they would have a bit of meat for breakfast, rather than continue to reach into their meagre supplies. René had muttered that they could always shoot one of the goats they'd seen scampering through the peaks, but Hubert hoped it didn't get to that point; dried goat did *not* sound appealing to him. It sounded worse than Eastern Front rations, actually. Though the gurgle in his stomach could be interpreted as an opposing vote, Hubert would rather lay his hope in fresh trout.

He finally broke the tired silence they had fallen into, glumly stating the reality he knew René had to also be brooding over, "We will starve, even with your excellent foraging skills, if we wait for me to lose my accent before going among people." He was beginning to remember the simpler changes like pronouncing w and mangling th, sometimes even remembering not to hyphenate; but actually altering his general pronunciation to anything like René's was a word by word struggle that was quite plainly going to take months. *Particularly* to keep it steady when not thinking on it.

"I could tell people you cannot speak."

"Umm. What if we cross paths with someone again, after I do start to speak?" He could, of course, simply never speak again in public. But that seemed as though it would make life more challenging than reasonable.

René frowned into his hands silently for a moment, their knees and shoulders absently pressing together as they sat on the wide, flat rock in a little plateau that had made them pick this spot to stop. "I have known men that suffered through terrible things, and lost... the ability, or willingness, to speak. I could say you watched your family be killed and had not spoken since..." Looking at the man besides him, Hubert could see the edge of René's grimace in the shifting shadows of the sun now rapidly disappearing behind the peaks, "Unfortunately, that will encourage people to speak ill of Germans to you, any time I am not there to silence them..."

Hubert hunched in on himself, feeling grim, "...Better than *killing* me for being German..." René's arm wrapped around his shoulders and tugged him close without comment; what could he say, after all? Hubert had made the choices that led him here.

"I have been thinking; even my own name could be asking for trouble. It seems impossible that the few people that know me would cross our path again, but luck is an evil thing. I was thinking I might use René Artis, from Verdun. I know the area well enough to bluff."

Hubert nodded, trying to pronounce it the same way, "René Artis. ...And me?"

René turned his head and pressed a dry kiss to his forehead, "I will... snarl discouragement at anyone that asks about you while you are present. If anyone dares ask when I am alone, I will mutter that I... found you outside of Poitiers, working on a farm, and one of the men told me what had happened to you. Which can be used to avoid having to say where your family were killed."

Hubert leaned his head against René's, closing his eyes. They had avoided a few apparently-empty, and yet in far too perfect condition, farmsteads already: there *were* people around. With these peaks, there could be a village around the next valley. Hopefully, with a viable story, now, and the few words of Spanish he had taught René as they travelled, his chatty Frenchman would be able to talk them into the means for some food. He knew René hated his failure to recognize edibles the last few days, but even in France, if they had had to be on the run in full winter, they would have had a bad time of it without the help of people able to grow things and preserve them.

Between lean rations and the constant walking, both their trousers were getting loose, but however much his belly might twist, they were alive, and *able* to spend the day walking. If they had been able to forage food, even with this challenging terrain they might have reached their destination in another couple of weeks, according to the map of Spain he had looked at several times in the library of the castle in Nouvion, dreaming of escaping the mess Hitler had put them in. But now... he only hoped René's deceptions would work.

And that Hubert would not give them away.

--

After being on the run in springtime France, spending day and night out in the elements, Spain's dry heat was a balm on a man's joints; even if its effect on nature was not.

Hubert almost changed his mind when René managed to talk and mime them into a few days of work with a farmer who apparently believed René could keep Hubert from destroying whatever crops he was growing in his strange little piece of land, so much greener than the surrounding. Though how he convinced the man of this, when Hubert had certainly not taught René any Spanish that related to gardening, was a mystery.

The work was indeed backbreaking.

And he had to admit that René had been entirely right to force him to change to shoes when they finally found some that fit; he would not have survived a day of crouching in his boots, especially in this blazing sun. He was very glad for the beret, as well; he'd gotten a sunburn on the top of his skull when he'd- *he had*, first been in France, and had no desire to repeat the experience. Though he found René with a handkerchief held over his head by a string *quite* appealing. At least they no longer needed to worry about damp socks making them sick; Hubert had not needed convincing to look hard for spares of *those* while in chilly France!

René managed to keep him from 'weeding' anything that would become edible -these would be beans, according to one of René's occasional comments- if undisturbed, and the language barrier actually made it easier for the other workers to ignore that Hubert was not speaking, but things almost went very ill when the farmer tried to send them to separate cabins to sleep. Hubert was not certain if he wished he could speak, to diffuse the situation... or if he was simply glad René had apparently gotten so attached to him. He glumly suspected it would have been Heidelberg all over again; he would not have spent a restful night, surrounded by strangers that he had no reason to expect friendliness from.

"Non! We sleep in the *same* room." René gestured from Hubert to himself as he glared at the rough, darkly-tanned fellow with the untamed hair and the perpetual unlit-cigarillo who was actually a bit taller, if leaner- than René, for all his lover was doing a magnificent job of appearing to loom. The farmer had not seemed overtly unfriendly, before, but the leer he was sending them now convinced Hubert they would be wise to leave as soon as possible. Even if they ended up having to approach one of the -more common- cow farms. Perhaps caring for cattle was not as unpleasant as it appeared, though René had glared at one particular farmstead they had passed as they entered this hamlet and grumbled the word 'sheep-shearing' as though it were a terrible swear indeed.

"He has nightmares." Hubert was not certain if the hand-movements that accompanied the word qualified as the French 'hand-speaking', or pure miming. Either way, René shook his travel-bundle -which they had gotten suspicious looks for keeping with them as they worked, "We will sleep outside." When he waved beyond the property's gate, the farmer, whose age Hubert placed somewhere between themselves and the colonel, waved him down with rolled eyes and some muttered Spanish that sounded as unkind as the French that René groused under his breath as they headed, with their few fellow workers, toward the larger of the two *very* aged, windowless, mud 'buildings' that apparently served as dormitories for migrant workers such as they now were.

---

Apparently the fellow admired those who stood up to him. The next day, he sent René off to continue weeding the field they'd, they *had*... * 'ad*, started the day before, and 'e cheerfully took Hubert and 'ad him help 'im with something mysterious to some trees that René later identified as grafting, babbling away in rapid Spanish the whole time. Hubert was rather less enthused by the following day of digging up stumps -even less so when 'e woke the day after. And then 'ad to carry water.

But over the week they stayed on, 'e realized he was actually rather enjoying himself. There were no patrols to worry about, no angry French to make him wary of any movement giving himself away -even if he slipped and spoke French, it was not really likely that most of these peasants would realize he had a German accent, they would simply question *that* 'e spoke.

But he noticed that René's fingers twitched at mealtimes, as though dearly wishing he could take over the kitchen. Seeming to enjoy the work itself, but muttering about farmers who over-stripped their soil, and other things that Hubert did not understand; and could not ask about, at the moment.

And generally seeming... unhappy. Which made Hubert think too often of Nouvion, and all the mixed memories attached.

Still, they stayed on for the week or so that it took to get what René called the spring duties completed, and then they took the money and moved on; or, in this case, René convinced the arrogant farmer to pay them in food that would keep.

Potatoes and beans would apparently be on the menu for the foreseeable future, with some rice for variety. Better than rations.

Unfortunately, the shared accommodations, for all that not sleeping on hard ground in occasional rain had been nice, had meant they could not work on Hubert's accent, even in the evenings; nor do a number of other, very pleasant, things. Including simply fall asleep curled together as they 'ad gotten used to on their way south. Which, considering how sore they both were, was likely all they'd have done in any case.

But Hubert still felt woefully deprived of affection 'e 'ad only been starting to get used to. They followed the hard-packed dirt road past the strangely homogeneous square buildings, all the same colours of pale-beige adobe seeming to have been there since the Moors invaded the country, all so unadorned, that neighboured the Spaniard's farm. But the moment they were beyond the last of them, they clambered down the embankment, and once they were into the trees, out of sight of any judging local passing by, he slipped behind René and wrapped his arms around him, holding on as René stumbled at suddenly being held back. He started chuckling as Hubert pressed his lips under his ear, but he did not argue Hubert's interruption of their journey.

In fact, he sighed with every indication of pleasure, and melted against Hubert, as easily seduced as the first time. Hubert snuggled him close, muttering, "I missed you, my dear René. Missed holding you."

"Umm," René tugged one of Hubert's hands to his mouth, rubbing his lips on the palm that Hubert was now badly chafed, and rough with broken blisters, "I missed your touch."

They stood leaning on each other, the fingers of Hubert's free hand wriggling toward skin, under René's bandolier-shaped pack, rather more bulging than on starting out, after their meticulous hunt for supplies, and then between two buttons of his shirt. Just a little time and he would let go and they could spend a day hiking; and then a whole night holding each other. He might yet become spoiled.

--

With the food René had got them for their labour, they would be able to spend several days hiking through the hills and valleys -and nights holding each other; after evenings trying to make Hubert bite the tip of his tongue to speak 'properly' while discussing gardening, and what René knew of orchards. And cattle. But it was obvious they would have to find more employment, none likely offering privacy, to make it to Zaragoza.

"If the rest of the year is like that *w*eek, I see *w*hat you meant about the *w*ork of being a farmer." Hubert rolled his head, listening to his spine pop, and still feeling a stiffness between his neck and shoulders.

René chuckled, looking fond rather than annoyed at the thought, "You seemed happy enough doing it, though."

Hubert shrugged, "I don't- do not truly mind the work-"

" *W*ork."

" *W*ork. And it is..." he grimaced, "Far better than being ordered to drive a tank through a café." Though that was another occasion where René had been surprisingly understanding.

René snorted amused agreement, then changed the topic to what 'e called kitchen gardens, as opposed to the Spaniard's, which were meant for the market. And Hubert could not help but remember that there had been sections of bare earth behind the café when they escaped, which he now realized 'ad to mean René grew at least some of 'is own vegetables. And did not have the objection to such that he had to farming, by the actually cheerful light in 'is eyes at the subject.

-----

A few days of hiking 'Along a supposed 'rio' that was frequently drier than a number of Nouvion ditches. Though when it did actually sprout water, 'Ubair had turned out to be a surprisingly good fisherman' after leaving the amateur orchard farmer, this time René had found an elderly couple needing help to get the potatoes planted in their little valley. They had been friendly, even if in something like that disturbing way he still sometimes encountered in people whose sons had died in the last war; they even knew a few words of French.

Indeed, when their daughter came to visit one day, riding a donkey in a pretty frock, with a babe strapped to her chest as her husband and another small child walked in front in wide-brimmed hats 'As picturesque as a postcard, he could not help but think with rolled eyes', she had let slip during the introductions that her brother had died in Barcelona, fighting for the Republicans. And the daughter lived near Layana with her 'Rather arrogant' sheep-farming husband, too far to help with planting, with their own work.

Since they sent René and 'Ubair off to their own section of field together 'Without his needing to raise a fuss', each day, they could actually work on 'Ubair's accent. It was entirely amusing to teach his sometimes exceedingly prim and proper lover to swear at his donkey as René taught him to run the plow. He was rather surprised he had remembered so much of its use from the couple of years he had been forced to labour in war-ravaged fields as a young man. At least they did not constantly encounter shell casings, here.

But they slept on pallets in a corner of the brightly-coloured, but very 'uncluttered' main room of the lightly-sleeping couple's small stone house for the two weeks, so there was no snuggling beyond a tight hug when René had pulled them into the shade of a rare tree by one of the fields. The couple seemed nice, but the chances that their sensibilities would not be offended by two men being intimate were extremely thin.

It was odd just how much he missed holding 'Or being held' his lover. Several times while they were bent over, too tired and hot to talk, facing each other and planting the same row of potatoes, he found himself brought up short when he looked up from the tedious 'Backbreaking. He truly hated farming.' work 'Under an already blazing sun'... and saw *Gruber* crouching in front of him 'If a rather tanned Gruber, in very unfashionable, ill-fitting, simply-made, cotton shirt and trousers'. But then his eyes were drawn beyond the smooth features, down to shoulders better accented by that loose shirt the taciturn Mr. Almera had given him than they had ever been by layers of a fitted uniform, and familiar hands and.. he found himself wanting, viscerally, to reach out. To touch, and see the man smile, and have warm hazel eyes hungrily stroke over him. He knew 'Ubair was just as starved, had more than once caught him watching René as though he was imagining doing all manner of shiveringly-sinful things to him.

René had never really thought about the fact that he was so used to physical contact. It had been at least 25 years since he had spent any length of time without a lover; without being able to touch his lover. All else aside, he and Edith had never taken trips separately 'Unfortunately'.

Days on end without holding 'Ubair in his arms made him feel ridiculously grim, considering the man was right there. Unharmed and in no way angry. He told himself repeatedly that this was just temporary 'Do grow up, René *Artis*.'

But he still felt glum.

Which left him worrying about every little thing as though he were back in Nouvion, surrounded by conflict.

He was quite certain the blasted clock was indeed worth a fortune. And it was well-known that Spain was a good place to find buyers for such things, even if Paris' Hôtel Drouot, or the Savoy in Nice, might have netted them more money with less effort.

It would more likely have netted them trouble.

The danger of 'Ubair being recognized by Germans, to say nothing of the likeliness that they would simply take the blasted clock from two wanderers without recourse, were much higher than that of their finding a buyer with more money to burn than greed.

But... there was *always* danger in such transactions. And neither of them spoke the language with any great skill. And he had just spent more than a year dragged along as Michelle 'And London' came up with plan after failing plan; he knew just how quickly things could turn into pissups!! 'Ubair did say he had a friend, which could make things safer... but he was all the way in Madrid; though they might yet have to risk that longer trek 'And then risk the man betraying 'Ubair to the Germans; there was, after all, likely a reward for returning deserters.'

And then there was the question of afterwards. This blazing heat so early in the year was... not as pleasant as he had thought he would find it, coming as he did from dreary, chilly spring in northern France. To say nothing of the over-emotional way everyone seemed set on going on in this country! And, of course, the language issue. He never had had skill at learning foreign words 'Even when it was not idiotic English'; it did not appear that age 'ad improved him.

Yet, going back to France, even aside from the much greater danger to 'Ubair, was not entirely safe for *him* 'Or anyone'. But where else was a Frenchman without a knack for language to go? Belgium and Switzerland were no safer than France. Africa even more overheated than Spain. *And* utterly unsafe in too many ways to list! There was always Canada... Assuming you made it across the Atlantic without being sunk by a U-boat.

And if they were not to stay in Spain, then how would they get the money back to... wherever they went?? Seeing the villages they had passed through as they looked for work had reminded him that Spain's financial situation was not the best. For all Franco was reputed to try to make friends with both Germans 'And considering 'Ubair had grimly recognized tracks on the road as being from a German tank, those, at least, likely had some truth' and Allies, René could not see any signs of it having improved the country 'The Bank of Spain was certainly not in Nouvion! And he doubted it had got to Amiens, either. Possibly not even Paris, from all he had heard.' He had some unpleasant doubts that they would find a reputable 'In other words: non-Spanish' bank, even in Zaragoza. All their mad capers aside, making any sort of extended trek with the equivalent of 10 million francs, down their trousers or not, was extremely unsafe. And trying to then exchange pesetas for the currency of another country would also not be an easy, or safe, trick.

He knew he was being almost as melodramatic as the ridiculous locals, and he had caught 'Ubair giving him worried glances when he spent too much time chewing over the worries, so he was likely not hiding it remotely well 'There was a reason he did not try to make a living at cards.'

Knew he mostly simply wanted 'Possibly *needed*' to hold 'Ubair through the night. Cuddle and kiss and make love and everything would be brighter.

And now they were finally on their way again, with enough food and money and directions to possibly get them to their goal, this time, if they could forage at least a little. And he had managed to communicate well enough with the cheerful Mrs. Almera that she had showed him some of the things she picked from the hills and meagre forest. And how to cook it all, though his stomach was still not especially keen on all that spice; even this morning's breakfast beans and rice 'With an unfortunate amount of those evil red peppers; what was wrong with simply using garlic??' would simmer in his belly for hours, now.

They needed no words, with or without accent, to go with the look they shared when they saw the man-size opening in the hillside, just a few minutes after they left the road, heading toward the valley of the Arba river 'Creek, most likely'. It did not matter in the slightest that they had only just set out.

All it took was a step into the still-cool shadows, and they were completely, safely, out of sight of anyone using the path. And René pressed 'Ubair up against the nearest wall with his body, the man's once-pale clothes by now so filthy from their work that it would not even show, and cupped his jaw for a long kiss. Eventually, they both fumbled and wriggled their packs off, still holding the kiss, though they grinned through it at their foolishness, and then heavy hands were gripping his back to drag him closer as 'Ubair groaned and kissed back with all the rough passion that had stolen the last of René's reservations that first day.

It was just what he needed after so many days with nothing but the hidden brush of fingertips and 'Ubair's quiet voice.

Now, though, those strong fingers were flexing as though 'Ubair could never be close enough, a wide tongue taking him as demandingly 'If 'e 'ad known 'ow utterly wild he would feel to be possessed so forcefully...'; René could feel tension evaporating, and was more than happy letting himself be manhandled until it was *his* back on the rough wall, with 'Ubair's solid body pressing him back with a soldier's 'Or labourer's' insistent strength. And René moaned, sliding his hands down to his lover's flat bum to grind their cocks together through their trousers.

When his arms were suddenly empty, he could not help but whine, " 'Ubair-"

"Shhh." The command would not have made him be quiet, but quick fingers working his trousers undone were another matter.

René shivered and slid his own fingers into hair that was just barely starting to feel longer, though it was still thin; the silky-soft strands catching on his skin, newly roughened by constant gardening.

'Ubair smiled at him as his trousers and underwear dropped down, leaving his stiff cock sticking out in quite rude demand, "You do not need to be quiet."

"Tru- oh!"

Oh what that mouth did to him!

"I have missed- ummmm. Missed this-" he gasped a laugh when he felt a lovely, thick finger slick along his back quarter, realizing the man had carried one of their little tins of grease in his pocket, "You do plan ahead..."

"Ummhumm."

The vibration from that pleased hum made René shudder, moaning even before that finger snuck its way to a familiar spot. He had missed this so much! His eyes had slipped shut but he made them open as he desperately tried to keep himself from rocking into the bliss, utterly unable to keep pleading whimpers from slipping out, staring at his lover as he felt tension build almost painfully quickly. He wanted this to last forever, wet welcoming hunger and that fingertip slip-sliding deep inside as though it held a live wire to the other end of his cock and he barely managed to let go of 'Ubair's skull before his fingers clenched as he cried out at the sharp pleasure flashing through him 'Too too too quick!'

He barely noticed 'Ubair release him and stand, but he felt the stone at his back again when that so-male body pressed into him. Felt swollen lips smooth, parted and wet, along his cheek 'So perfectly familiar', 'Ubair's breathing almost as disturbed as his own, hungry as the hands running restlessly along his sides. René tugged him close and allowed himself to enjoy the glow of ease, and his lover's body, for a few moments.

 

It had only been two weeks. Hardly any time at all, really, compared to the months he had sometimes gone without a real lover. But Hubert still felt almost desperate for this. Sex, yes; but also touch.

René was so wonderfully tactile, when he could be, and there was no longer any doubt that Hubert had gotten entirely addicted. Though it was interesting to work with René -at something other than mad plots; to see him calm and efficient, and have him teach Hubert with quiet enthusiasm, sharing of himself. But the heated glances they shared, a rare hand to his back or shoulders; they had been like drops of water in the desert, enough to stay alive, but almost more painful than their lack would have been.

All of which meant that standing in a dusty cave, aching with need, did not bother him at all when he had René's body pressed to his. Could touch him anywhere he liked, could taste his pleasure, bitter in his mouth, still. Had René's arms wrapped around him and hands stroking him, an almost silent hum under his breath to go with his shivers, all gratifying tells of just how well Hubert had pleased his lover.

It was as close to Heaven as he needed.

...And he knew that once René caught his breath, he would more than take care of the ache. Hubert had long since learned patience.

Which did not stop him from grinning when René suddenly gripped his shoulders and spun them until Hubert's back was back to the stone. With René's soft body pressing into him, and warm lips parting his own with hungry passion. And there were skilled fingers at Hubert's waist.

When he was released from his too-tight trousers, he would have been more than pleased to have those no-longer-soft, always-beautiful, fingers simply tug him to orgasm, every sense steeped in his lover; nothing like the lonely rushed releases in the dubious privacy of the farm's clapboard latrine.

He almost complained when René dropped to his knees before him instead.

But he managed to stop the childish whine, his eyes wide with the sight of those lips wrapping around him; still, even after all these weeks, not used to the idea of René being willing, even apparently *happy*, to do such things. The simple sight of his cock sliding into that mouth was more than enough to make him moan as his hands went to rest on the soft slip of hair around the cap of René's skull; and, today especially, he had to strain to keep himself from thrusting into the heat and wet suck-

"Hold my hips."

René's lovely dark eyes widened in surprise at his gasped words, but he shifted his hands from the base of Hubert's cock to rest gently on his hips. Hubert shifted his own hands to press his lover's harder on himself until René pushed him so perfectly firmly to the wall and Hubert could let himself go, a streak of wild pleasure flashing through him simply at the joy of not having to keep himself under control, the freedom to tense muscles to reach for more, without worrying of hurting his lover; and to feel his René's strength in the hands keeping him in place!

He lost the sight of René's wide eyes, and the want he read in them, when climax sent him arching back with a shout; or trying to. He was still shaking with the spasms when René stood and kissed him, clumsy around Hubert's panting, but still an insistent tongue taking him, wet and dirty and only making the pleasure more overwhelming.

Long minutes of such frenzied behaviour, and they both finally slumped together, weak but warm. Happy. Still touching each other, if with nothing but gentle care, now. René's forehead pressed to his as they breathed quietly in time, occasionally still indulging in a kiss; but mostly just breathing.

"I thought you did not wish to be overpowered."

René's voice was idle, and gravelly with their activities, and made Hubert smile to hear its mellowness. "I trust *you*."

René's expression went terribly tender at that, and their next kiss was very soft; but it also went on for long minutes, as the dry heat of the day rose outside and slowly wreathed around their bare legs; distinctly more pleasant than the intrusively-chill spring-night air he remembered from their doing this a week or two after setting out.

When they drew out of it, René started to step back, but Hubert grumbled wordlessly and tightened his arms around him, smiling to hear René chuckle indulgently as he settled back onto Hubert for a last cuddle.

Reliving the interlude, Hubert hummed to himself, "Do you remember when you came to my room on my birthday?"

René snorted into his neck, the grin plain against his skin, "Of course I remember."

"Umm. Do you remember holding my head to the bed?"

René stiffened, raising his head with a worried expression, "Yes... I-"

Hubert shook his head, smiling fondly, "René. You know very well I had no complaints." He waited for René to slowly nod, worry still wrinkling his brows slightly, "I ... 'ad not realized how... pleasurable it could be to feel my lover's strength at such a moment." At least when he trusted the man.

René lost his tension, looking at Hubert quietly, as though making certain he was speaking the truth, and then nodded, a small smile crimping his lips, "It is certainly pleasurable to watch you go a little wild, my darling."

Hubert could not help a spate of giggles, giving René a last tight hug before letting go so they could both get dressed again and get on their way. Until tonight, when they would sleep wrapped around each other for hours.

---

They had been in Spain almost a month, now. But the heat was still difficult for them to bear.

They managed to spend the morning talking on the unpopulated trail, of everything under the -blazing- sun to work on Hubert's accent, but by midday, their mouths got too dry, and their heads too thick, and they travelled silently. When they finally encountered a running stream -hopefully the rio the Almeras had told them to follow- in late afternoon, there was no need to discuss anything. They stopped and immediately drank their fill, and then washed off the sweat of two weeks of nothing but hasty wipe-downs of essential areas -his mother would be appalled; before even making camp. Even rinsing their terrible garments of at least *some* of their stains and smells.

With their laundry done, standing naked under the protection of the bushy trees that grew along the rare watercourse, it was far from surprising that they soon gravitated closer to each other. Teasing each other for their new tans. And trying to tease about their shrinking bellies, though that was another thing that Hubert could not help but silently worry over. A few weeks of short rations was no terrible thing, but everything was precarious, right now, and it was hard not to rehash the same thoughts he had already tried to dismiss.

Would they actually find a buyer? Or get robbed, one way or another; and he knew René did not wish to be a labourer. Nor did *he*, of course. Even his father had always said he should get a proper trade to avoid ending up a starving peasant.

Would he lose René; to time, boredom, or someone else. A thought he tried to avoid as unworthy, even when he saw René sitting lost in frowning thought. Though the man's polite but quizzically uninterested response to their employer's grandchildren had reassured him on at least *that* front. He knew many men wanted children, sometimes regardless of how they felt about women.

Then there was the blasted war, and how difficult it had been getting to acquire food, even before they had run off; even, he knew, for the quartermasters of the Wehrmacht. What if they did get all the money that clock was worth... and found there was no food left to buy? As he remembered happening when he was young, and the *last* wave of madness had swept Europe under...

No, it was not easy to tease about their tightening waists.

But today was still a *good* day, and Hubert smiled, berating himself for the grim moment and focusing on René's very real, still-pale skin, everywhere that he did not let the sun see it. But he allowed Hubert. Welcomed him, in fact. His touch. Missed it when they were apart, even!

Touching and then hugging quickly included kissing, even as they relished being fully skin to skin, and not even reeking of sweat.

And when that was no longer enough, they had reluctantly taken a moment to spread their blanket on the rocky sand, and then gone back to enjoying the lazy glide of skin on skin. The hedonistic pleasure of making love in the light of the sun, however unforgivably dangerous it was for them to do so; though at least these back trails seemed very rarely-used indeed -they had not seen or heard a single human being since they had left the farm.

Though it had started as a feast to their starved senses, their dalliance had turned rather more passionate than Hubert had really allowed himself to be, up to now, so that by the time the sun started to dim and he made himself end their post-coital cuddles, and lift his weight from his lover, his arms, along with the rest of his muscles, were as shaky as jelly. And any animal in the vicinity had likely been thoroughly scared off by their loud voices of a few minutes ago. A buried worry was reassured when he caught sight of the beatific smile on René's relaxed features, and he could not help but grin to himself proudly.

When he drew his hips back, he felt René's body suddenly stiffen, and Hubert for a moment feared he'd hurt his lover after all. But the expression in René's eyes was something like alarm; not pain. " 'Ubair! I-"

The odd warmth as he slipped out pulled Hubert's eyes and he realized what the expression was; embarrassment. He looked back up, smiling reassurance with a shrug, and being very careful to keep from wrinkling his nose -thank Heavens for hard lessons learned long ago, "It happens. At least this thin blanket is easy to clean."

He was glad that René seemed to un-tense, mostly, though his cheeks remained distinctly red under his light tan. His brows rose as he waited for Hubert to carefully tug the blanket out of the way before they untangled themselves fully, ungracefully, both wordlessly trying to avoid spreading the bit of unpleasant mess. "Just how often does it happen?"

Hubert shrugged again, giving the man a hand up so they could return to the stream, "Not often, in my experience," he rolled his eyes before muttering, "Wet spots are much more annoying."

René snorted at what Hubert knew was a complaint he repeated rather often, giving his shoulder a friendly shove as they stepped into the shallow creek. It was odd how the type of 'manly gestures' that frequently annoyed him from most people... had instead always made him feel as though René were letting him into yet another part of himself, *accepting* him; rather than trying to make him something he wasn't, as it generally felt from other men.

Of course, he still far preferred René's more intimately affectionate gestures!

--

Most of their camp duties had long since gotten clearly separated. Hubert stayed away from the food preparation, and René did not try to weave windbreaks -when they were needed. Building the fire they shared, depending on who was going to hunt or gather for foodstuffs.

In the warm and dry weather, a quick hole in the ground for necessities, and then laying down a few layers of soft things like old blankets and clothes, was about the limit of Hubert's duties. Though tonight he also rigged up a bit of a stand to dry the assorted wet laundry that they had not put back on. And, of course, he gathered wood for René's fire, and refilled the water pot as it got used.

It was not the first time he had camped with someone, of course. There were the long-ago days where his father took him out to learn to survive; though he had been only a child, then. But even as an adult, the assorted campaigns, with a variously-large group of soldiers, were a world away from their quiet travels. From the ease they had settled into as they had come south, and gotten to know each other in this new context. Discovering skills quite different from those used to scheme, up north.

Working *together*. Which in a way was similar to his years in the Wehrmacht; except they were not being forced to, nor was it to... hurt people. It was strangely satisfying to work toward a common goal that was *for* them. Every step chosen by them -even if circumstances *did* persist in limiting their options. Leaning on each other, which was so different from depending on his often silently-suspicious fellow soldiers.

As he brought the first potful of water back into the little glade they had settled in, far enough from the stream that animals could get to it without feeling the need to investigate the humans, he found his eyes again reaching for his wonderful lover. Found his fingers sneaking their way to his skin, as they continued to whenever he got close enough for a moment. Enjoying the furtive touches all the more for knowing they did not *need* to be hidden. Or contrived, as René smiled welcome each time.

...The second time he turned from the bags, this time with the dandelion they had collected for René's delicious tea, he raised his chin and firmly tried to ignore the twitch in his belly at again catching René staring distractedly into nothing.

----

They had fallen asleep as soon as their heads had touched their makeshift pillows, Hubert gladly snuggling in with his head on René's shoulder. The snoring hardly woke him anymore, most nights. It was only the sun peeking over the hill and onto his closed lids that finally drew him from the arms of his own Morpheus.

For a change, René did not immediately leap up and start bustling about as he had every morning since they had left together, and Hubert turned to look at him, smiling at his relaxed features. He had- *'e 'ad* not realized that he had never seen his lover sleep before. Hubert 'ad not thought himself lazy, but the lack of necessity to rise had proven that belief false. 'e would 'ave to teach 'imself to rise without a wake-up from his batman. Or René.

Especially if the reward was to see René's features smoothed of trouble. Umm, and that little smile... Hubert looked down and smirked to himself at the telling bulge in René's crude workman's trousers.

He sat up stealthily, and shifted over to gently straddle his companion. Watching him slowly swim to wakefulness, Hubert started to undo the buttons of René's shirt, leaning down to smooth kisses on his belly as it was exposed.

"Umm, good morning..."

Hubert smiled at the gravely murmur, and the familiar hands stroking his temple as he continued to mouth at the soft flesh. The thin skim of hairs was stiffer than the moustache that had been able to make Hubert squeal like a girl, let along the thinning crop of hair on René's head. But it was oddly pleasant to trail his tongue around it, feeling René gasp and shiver and his belly recoil, and Hubert could not help but chuckle and look up with a wicked grin, remembering that deliberate tickling on their first night together.

Although René was smiling back, Hubert's humour faded at seeing the tension around his eyes, realizing he was still pulling back, even though Hubert was no longer tickling. He rose to his knees until he could lower his hands to bracket René's head, and gazed down into black eyes he still rarely had occasion to indulge himself staring into. Particularly not in the light.

Though he would rather do so when René was not so tense...

"You said, that night, that you enjoyed worshipping... me. Will you not let me do the same?" That almost seemed like embarrassment, but that would be entirely unlike his René...

René's lips parted as though to argue, but no words came, and his mouth twisted instead, those lovely dark eyes not looking away from Hubert. Turning soft and fond, even. 'e shifted his arms to the side in something that could pass as relaxation, and his legs did the same, parting as far as Hubert's crouch over him allowed.

Hubert smiled gently, glad at the acceptance, though he still was not certain at the odd reaction. He lowered himself down to his elbows to kiss his lover, as softly and slowly as he wanted to do everything, on this new morning.

When he finally made himself trail away from those soft, wet kisses and slide down to René's rough neck, he felt his lover sigh, and tip his head back, his body loose and at ease under Hubert's. Even when he crawled down and returned to spreading kisses on René's soft chest and its crinkle of hairs, René did not pull back, this time.

Though his hands did not stay on the ground, Hubert was not about to complain at the pets through his slowly-lengthening hair. As Hubert gently sucked at a patch of soft skin, René bucked like an untrained colt, but when Hubert looked up in worry, that tension had not come back; René was distinctly flushed in the dawn light, and slightly wide-eyed. But mostly aroused. Hubert kept his eyes up as he kissed more, feeling the apparently involuntary jerk under his lips and beginning to suspect it might simply mean his lover had not had anyone cherish him so.

The sun was warming his bare back by the time he was satisfied that he had made his point that he happened to be attracted to René, and desired him, his body. And if no one had done so before, well, Hubert was still going to make love to him whenever the opportunity arose.

Listening to his soft moans as he shivered and rippled under Hubert, made Hubert clumsy with ignored passion as he fumbled for the tube of Vaseline he always set near their blankets, and René's legs wrapped around his hips with his own urgency.

It was far from his most skilful lovemaking. But they were both frantic with need, and had quickly gotten familiar enough with each other to easily slide into a pace that threw them both over the edge just as quickly as they wished.

--

They had caught their breath a while ago, but René was playing with Hubert's hair, which was only beginning to be long enough for him to wrap the strands around his fingers. The slow tugs were an odd sensation, but hypnotic, and he was not especially inclined to leave his cuddle on René's chest.

Other than their limited food supplies, there was no true reason they had to hurry on their way, but he did not wish a burnt back from the sun that he could feel had now fully risen. The recent memories the thought brought up were enough to convince him to get his hands on the ground and push himself up, however reluctantly. As he waited for René to stop his fondling, he heard a sudden chittering from the stream that sounded like the flock of warblers that used to nest in the big oak outside his apartment in Berlin.

Before Hubert could make a comment about their becoming so lazy the bird got up before them, he looked up and caught René looking very thoughtful while staring at nothing.

And felt suddenly unaccountably chilled, a flock of worms drawing ice along his belly.

"René... What-" He could not have explained why René's distraction drained the warmth of their morning. But it did.

Still far away, perhaps smiling ever so slightly, René finally gave a distant "Umm?"

When Hubert stiffened, crouched over him, René finally focused on him, " 'Ubair?"

He was starting to frown in confusion when Hubert made himself ask, trying to ignore the cold crawling up his chest, "What... were you thinking?"

Still frowning faintly, René nonetheless tried to smile it off, "Oh, just thinking-"

And this time Hubert pulled away fully, getting on his knees abruptly, feeling himself shut down as the worries that he had tried so very hard to block since his birthday, in the hopes of having at least a little time with this unexpected joy, were suddenly confirmed. He should have known better. He *did* know better!

René stopped smiling, clumsily pushing himself up with one hand while the other flew to grip Hubert's side, looking confused and worried and with a dim annoyance Hubert remembered from so many days in Nouvion when he knew the man had felt trapped and in danger, " 'Ubair? What is wrong??"

He tried to keep his breathing calm. He was not a boy. He would not throw a tantrum or leave in a huff. He was a grown man and- And would deal with the situation. Pain was to be borne. He had survived before.

He swallowed hard, hoping he could keep his voice flat and even, "Thinking of what?"

René's eyes were too wide, and normally Hubert would be worried -would try to help- at what was making him panic, but- His jaw clenched again and his eyes burned as René's palm slipped to his cheek.

" 'Ubair-" Hubert heard the man's breath shake as he swallowed, and tried not to let it make him care, "I was thinking... that people always expected me to be masterful," he winced and stared into Hubert's eyes as though more worried by the moment, "Even... even women- who-" he grimaced and looked away a moment, though his hands gripped at Hubert harder, as though worried he would take the opportunity to escape. When his eyes came back, there was frustration in them on top of the worry, and his voice had a coating of hardness, "Women that you would not think, still expected it. And," his hand clenched desperately on Hubert's side, the hardness evaporating, "It is... *nice*, not to have to be. That you-" he stared at Hubert searchingly as Hubert started to relax, blinking in the wake of the relief turning his limbs to water, "That you do not expect, or need me to be."

Hubert nodded, running his cheek on René's still mostly-soft palm, unable to speak yet.

When René hesitantly pulled him closer, he let himself be drawn forward, closing his eyes when René pressed their foreheads together, his palm still cupping Hubert's jaw, as though trying to keep him close, "It is... surprisingly pleasant when... you are masterful."

Hubert huffed, making himself take a deep breath and let go of the apparently unfounded fear.

" 'Ubair?"

Hubert opened his eyes, rueful at having indeed behaved like that wounded boy, "My apologies, René. I-," he shrugged, "I jumped to conclusions."

René nodded slowly, still frowning faintly, "I... had not realized how closed your eyes were, before..."

Hubert shrugged again; he hardly needed to explain to René why.

René grimaced, his own jaw twitching as he looked away again, "Not that I blame you. I-" he breathed out with annoyance before facing Hubert with a firm look, "It was all I deserved. But..." Hubert quirked a smile and turned into the thumb beginning to stroke the stubble he had meant to shave from his cheeks last night, "It is... unnerving to see that again."

Hubert finally straightened, sliding his arms back around his lover and managing a proper smile as he tugged René down until they were side by side, and rubbed the tips of their noses together as René chuckled, amused... but not resisting Hubert's manhandling at all, "I do not mind you being masterful, my dear René; but no, I do not need it. And I am glad... you do not mind-"

"Enjoy, actually."

Hubert smiled at the firm murmur. "That you enjoy *my* being... masterful." They lay quietly for long minutes, the threat of a sunburn no longer enough to make Hubert move as he let the feeling of René's soft exhales on his chest, where he had snuggled without a word, calm him. Eventually, he mused aloud, "I am used to either following orders, or giving them. Being equals... is a bit of a new experience," he rubbed his chin on René's forehead, "Pleasant, mostly."

René snorted, gently rubbing back, "Mostly. I think we both need practice at that."

"Umm." Hubert smiled to himself, thinking of the lovely 'practice' they'd already done pleasing each other, exchanging 'positions' back and forth without the hesitation he had once assumed would exist; in the unlikely event that René ever let himself be seduced by him. 'Equals',

" 'Ubair?"

"Umm?"

" *W*at. *W*ere."

Hubert chuckled, hugging 'is lover close and whispering the demanded corrections into 'is ear.

--

Hubert was letting himself slowly slip toward sleep, since René apparently agreed with him that a bit of snuggling was in order. Squinting in the sun as he listening to the birds still occasionally breaking out in arguments nearby, and idly stroking his fingertips through René's hair where he had stretched out besides him, head heavy on Hubert's bicep, dimly aware of just how much it would hurt to lose him, now. And how terrifying that realization was.

"I am sorry," Hubert turned his head and opened his eyes fully at the quiet words, "For... always..."

Hubert looked at his lover seriously as he hesitated, recognizing the same regret *he* often felt at their previous roles, "I suspect if we try to fix the past, we will bury ourselves in... details. It might be best to agree to... forgive what is done, and focus on the present." Possibly even the future...

René grimaced tiredly, "Agreed."

Hubert smiled and tipped him onto his shoulder to cuddle properly. Thoroughly enjoying the armful of man that snuggled into him, apparently unselfconsciously. Though when he closed his eyes, they quickly sprang open again, his smile twitching at the memory that had floated up. Black had truly not suited his mother.


AN:Zaragoza temperatures

Black Forest, Germany article


Arbus, France
so I didn't find a refrence to Resistance activity in the town.. but I'm just going to pretend there was. it's way too close to the border...

so the Iraty, to the Arba, to the Ebro, 300km

Rivers of Northern Spain


Maps of the path


Fishing trout
fish hooks

where Artis families lived (for all that means in these times

region of Aragon The river Cinca, a tributary of the Ebro, rushes down in waterfalls and torrents from the snowy peaks, and, when it reaches the plains, lends its name to the Cinca Medio district, in Huesca province in the region of Aragon. This is a rich agricultural area surrounded by stunning landscapes and a wide diversity of ecosystems; a number settlements line the riverbanks.
One such town is Binaced. The red soil contrasts with the bright green of the fruit orchards, and humankind has settled this place for millennia: the prehistoric caves at Pins have been dated to the Neolithic period.
Mainly peach, nectarine and pear
Most of the area under cultivation is occupied by pea, tomato, potato, onion, peppers, runner bean and other crops like asparagus and cauliflower.

cool budding info

Agriculture in Spain 'These poor results were only marginally affected by the war, yet agricultural output during the 1940s remained below the 1933 level.[2] This low agricultural productivity led to food rationing, substantially contributing to the great hardships endured by people living in the cities'
'As in the past, latifundio areas with low yields and little irrigation were primarily devoted to the production of such traditional commodities as olive oil, grains, and wine.[2] They were, moreover, the areas where casual rural laborers (braceros) were concentrated, where wage levels were lowest, and where illiteracy rates were highes'
'Though Spain boasted the world's largest area of land devoted to vineyards, much of the wine it produced was of mediocre quality'
'Although most of the wheat was grown in dry upland areas'


potatoes in Spain
more potatoe info
Horse-helped potato farming

Huesca province

'Blockade' a 1938 American film directed by William Dieterle, starring Madeleine Carroll and Henry Fonda. The story is set during the Spanish Civil War, as farmer takes up arms to fight for the Republican side.
Spanish civil war

empty Spain

and a couple interesting sites
what is grown (by humans) where
what René wishes he had access to (what mother nature grows)

Site with pics of Huesca



paleolithic cave art

Aren pic site





spanish_farmer pics



pics along the road


Spain provinces


Art
there WAS art dissapearing into Spain
but likely not in Zaragoza -shrug- lets pretend the Germans kept their art thieves scatterd everywhere
1940 - Zaragoza Population: 238,601.[5]

Paris and Nice art thefts during the Occupation

Gruber's contacts
s8e00 - friend at the monestary
s8e01 - friend in madrid who would find art expert
s8e02 - art expert in Seville

I looked for banks in Spain, and spanish banks in France, (in 1943) and could not find an intersect

3 sites with info about a less-spoken of side of sex
sex1
sex2
sex3

s9e02 - dandelion tea

birds of the Ebro
birds of Germany"

s3e04 - roadwork
look at your partner as though you were a painter

s5e01 - crawling earvigs in my tummy


Chapter five (PG13)
nov 2022

AN:still early '43
directly after chapter 4
No, I haven't *deliberately* abandonned these (though I know I am bad for leaving WIPs). It's just been a rough year. The next ch. of Lily is largely written, just some details left, unless I add a few more sections to it, which I may.


The living quarters they had found were lovely. Extravagant in contrast with the rising shortages from the war. After Nouvion and the hard ground as they'd made their way here. But lovely. And they could find food to pay for, for now. Mostly.

 

They had been lucky, only having to skulk through the town a handful of mornings before stumbling across mutters of a German offering gold for art. The arrogant pup was apparently some low-level lackey for Göring that had got himself attached to a delegation dealing with Madrid so that he had an escort while he sniffed out any acquirable art that might please his master.

Still too pale to pass as any sort of local, Hubert had slid into his French workman's togs and hunched silently at René's side as the former café-owner spun a deliberately obviously-false tale of being run out of a border-town by the Résistance, leaving the clear impression of having been caught at something nefarious; possibly stealing. The tone had thoroughly appealed to Mr. Schäfer, who had been far too gleeful at taking advantage of a fellow thief.

Little did he realize that his two million peseta and change's worth of gold bars were better than Hubert and René had really dared hope of getting. Ten million francs might be scant the worth of the oldest existing cuckoo clock, but it was still a miraculous amount for two men on the run from the Reich and the Résistance both.

The fool never looked twice at Hubert, nor apparently had enough training to realize that he could steal from French runaways just as easily as from anyone else that could not cry foul to the authorities. The shame was that, without contacts, all that money was not enough to get them champagne to celebrate, in the current times.

But it got them a beautiful suite at the Catalonia el Pilar; with a comfortable bed the likes of which neither of them had laid on in years. And absolutely no necessity to get out of it in the morning.

And one thing they *could* easily buy in Spain, was oil.

That bed would stay in Hubert's thoughts for years.

 

Staying at the Catalonia like a Sultan of old was a pretty thought, but neither of their easy talk of being rich could set aside the very real habits of the lives they'd lived. The math of staying in a hotel, even without including the suspicion of the people in their calculation, had sent them looking for something less obviously-opulent.

A steely-eyed widow of the war rented their pristine apartment, likely to high-ranking government officials taking a holiday on some thin excuse or other. She did not care about René's nationality once they flashed a sheaf of currency after the Banco changed one of their heavy bars into something rather more portable. And shareable.

Though, really, the news had to be all over town of the stack of shiny gold the German had had transferred to an account they had claimed. Zaragoza was really too small for them to safely remain in; and yet, how were they to take their heavy prize with them? Without being robbed at the next bend in the road.

It was a question they were both avoiding whenever conversation started hinting toward it.

But Hubert had been watching René's lips turning down more every day, much as they used to in Nouvion. Could see tension around his eyes, and feel it in his shoulders deep into the night as Hubert tried to fall asleep; tried not to cling too hard to the man sleeping restlessly in his arms.

And Hubert had nearly forgotten himself and shooed away two sneering, macho fools in Zaragoza's sad little Saturday market just an hour ago. And God only knew in what language it would have come out!

...He had just snarled at René.

"René-"

Hubert hunched in and stepped back when he saw René flinch away from even his most apologetic tone. He had not seen that wary, deer-in-the-headlights look since René had been trying to run away, dressed as a Vichy general, and been intercepted by Hubert and the colonel thinking to hand the turn-coat general to Flick.

He could not help pleading, whinging as his mother had always berated him for, "I am *sorry*, René. I did not mean-"

It was his turn to flinch when René waved a hand at him; but at least that awful fearful look eased out of the Frenchman's expression. "Never mind, lieu-"

This time they both froze, wide-eyed at the dangerous word almost escaping; at normal voice and with people just an open window away.

The instinctive terror was paranoia, but the evil looks they saw the people sending the Germans that passed through town, and the haze of suspicion even between neighbours, both here and in France, was not imagination. If bad luck leant in and the wrong sharp-eared person heard...

René sighed, slumping as well, "I have snarled any number of times. At you, and Edith, and Yvette..." he grimaced as Hubert watched him, the ghosts as thick around them as the evil miasma of occupation.

"You know I would never-" Never again, at least, the ever-present voice at the back of his mind jeered.

"I know."

They looked at each other, half of their generous living room between them, the usual too-bright early-summer sun reflecting off the pale pastel coating the thick stone walls. Hubert hated how fondly he had caught himself thinking of the Eastern front, recently.

But none of the minor annoyances of this life excused his losing his temper and trying to bully his lover.

He finally made himself straighten as René took a step toward the window and drew the thick white curtain over the window that had made Hubert flinch from the moment they chose the place.

"We have done what we had to, here, René. We can go back. You are not happy."

René turned back to him, painfully expressionless for a moment, but then sagged and quickly covered the distance to tug Hubert into a loose hug. "You are not happy either," he turned his head and kissed the corner of Hubert's mouth gently, "Your lips are often as pinched as those of a," he lowered his voice to a quiet whisper, "Lieutenant I once knew."

Hubert shook his head, careful of the man leaning on him. "I do not think either of us is truly meant for a life of ease."

René snorted, but softly, looking very self-deprecating. "I truly thought I was, 'Ubair."

Hubert shrugged, smile twisting sadly, "And perhaps in a different time you, we, would enjoy it more. If war was not stealing all supplies, and making everyone..."

René nodded with a grimace of his own.

"I hav- 'ave not goosestepped in a long time, and I can be as silent there as 'ere."

They looked at each other silently, the suite for once quiet, even the street beyond the open windows not filled with grumpy voices as it usually was. It was... strange, in a pleasant way, to look at each other as equals like this. On the same page, but also not... in the heat of some moment of decision or other. As serious men... calmly deciding together. Without the colonel or Madame Edith or dozen other people that had tried to tell them what to do in the past. Without an easy goal up ahead. There was only the two of them. Choosing... their future.

"The cities in France are no place to be, and appearing in some village with money would get us as many evil looks as here. And likely get us rounded up by the Germans and sent to work in camps."

Hubert hunched his shoulders, knowing that was not aimed at him, and yet... "We could find farmers to work for, as we did when we came here. Away from cities, safe from the press gangs." Something like safe.

"...You would still not be home."

Hubert shrugged, relaxing, and even smiling a bit, "I like France. Far more than Spain. And... I think it would take very little time for it to truly be 'ome, if I lived there being treated as a local-"

"As a peasant?"

Hubert frowned for one moment, looking at René in worry, but then relaxed as he saw that it was a serious question and not a... not anger for Hubert's admittedly sometimes excessive arrogance. "Yes, as a 'peasant'. Not as a 'ated conqueror." He smiled hopefully, "With a proper Frenchman at my side..."

René smirked slowly, the ever-present stress fading to warmly-glowing eyes that made Hubert grin in anticipation, "In an improper Frenchman's bed?"

"Umm, yes, please, my very dear René."

---

With the decision to return to France made, there were still a number of problems that they knew all too well would delay their desire to be gone. Even assuming that they could solve them seemed a foolish arrogance, in the world they lived in.

They had kept the rough clothes they had worn to travel south, as much out of forgetfulness as the frugal reality that no one, no matter how rich, could afford to throw away anything, these days. The suite was paid for by the week, so they took their time to look at what maps they could lay hands on without suspicion so they would have information to decide by as they travelled. And gathered as much food that would keep for the journey as they could, to avoid having to try to acquire any on the way.

None of which solved the real problems. Namely how to take their money with them, and how to cross the border. Let along cross the border with that much gold; they could not, after all, stuff 200 pounds of gold bars down each of their trousers. Not even for a moment. Nor could the two of them carry it, or drag it in any way, over the terrain they had crossed to enter the country without notice.

And the little local Banco did not have two million pesetas on hand to buy their gold from them. To say nothing of the reality of taking that many pesetas to a French Banque and expecting them to exchange them into francs without royally gouging them, if not simply selling them to the local Germans as suspicious fools.

No one outside of Spain had any interest in acquiring pesetas.

Gold on the other hand, could always buy silence, among other things; including sudden, greedy death.

But if they did come up with some mad plan, there was no doubt the escapade would be as grand a story to tell, one day in some far future, with some good wine and safe company, as any of their capers from Nouvion.


AN:https://www.itinari.com/one-night-in-zaragoza-43eq

https://www.cataloniahotels.com/en/hotel/catalonia-el-pilar
Formerly Catalonia Zaragoza Plaza. This magnificent hotel is situated in the historic centre of Zaragoza, a few metres from the Basilica of El Pilar. It is situated in a modernist building from the beginning of the 20th century.


https://moneyinc.com/5-expensive-clocks-ever-sold-auction/#:~:text=It%27s%20no%20wonder%20this%20incredible,Sotheby%27s%20auction%20in%20Hong%20Kong.&text=The%20renowned%20clockmaker%2C%20Thomas%20Tompion,turn%20of%20the%2018th%20century
so if they really had 'the first cuckoo clock' it could sell for 10M franc
https://www.historicalstatistics.org/Currencyconverter.html
10,000,000 French franc [1795-1960] in year 1943 could buy the same amount of consumer goods and services in Sweden as 2770820.061038867 Canadian dollar [1913-2015] could buy in Sweden in year 2015.
10000000 French franc [1795-1960] in year 1943 could buy 193489.51169437735 gram gold. The price of 193489.51169437735 gram gold in year 2015 was 9219183.612369163 Canadian dollar [1913-2015].
193,489/450g = 429pounds of gold
1 gold bar=25lb so ~17 bars

https://ies.princeton.edu/pdf/E3.pdf : 4.7 francs to a peseta in June 1943
so 10M franc=2,127,659.574peseta


notes and links about rationing
in Spain The period after the Spanish Civil War was marked by scarcity. A ministerial decree dated May 14, 1939, established a rationing system for basic products and foodstuffs. This rationing did not cover the basic food needs of the population, which experienced misery and famine for years. There were two ration cards, one for meat and one for other foods. The population was divided into several groups: adult men, adult women (80% of the adult male ration), children up to fourteen years of age (60% of the adult male ration) and adults over sixty years of age (80 % of adult male ration). The allocation of quotas could also differ according to the type of work of the head of household. Initially the ration cards were family, before being replaced in 1943 by individual cards, which made it possible to control the population more strictly. From the entry into force of the individual card, in May 1943, the number of Spanish rationed rose to 27,071,978. The distribution of food rations was characterized by the poor quality of the products and revealed widespread corruption and the market noir. The rationing lasted officially until May 1952, for food products. Between 1950 and 1960, the per capita consumption of meat and paper doubled while that of sugar or electricity tripled. in France A rationing system similar to that established during the previous war was implemented in March 1940, including March 10, 1940 in Paris, and was extended for certain products, such as bread, until November 30, 1949. From March 10, 1940 in Paris, Parisian restaurants could no longer serve two consecutive plates to a customer. The average meal cost 15 francs and the customer was entitled to 150 grams of bread.


random info :)
An average donkey of approximately 11 hands high or 160 kg can carry up to 50kg (8 stone) on its back or can pull up to twice its bodyweight on level ground.


Chapter eight : Silvester '43 (PG13)
jan 2022

AN:december 31, 1943
there will be later chapters that would, chronologically, come before this

rushed as hell. -shrug- but words.. and snuggles... and.. hope for the future, even though they also are having a rough year and know there is more to come


"What would you be doing, tonight, if you were home?"

Hubert tightened the arm he had resting on René's sadly shrinking belly. "I *am* 'ome." He rubbed his chin absently on René's skull, eyes still on the star-lit horizon.

René chuckled softly, raising his glass of the good cognac their employer had given them earlier to his lips. "You are a shameless romantic, my darling."

Hubert snorted, smiling at both the accusation and, still and always, at the easy endearment, "Always, my dear René. But... in this case, I mean it quite simply. My 'ome is with you. Be it snuggled in a stolen tank, smiling at each other in bunks in Spain, or sitting under a tree in some rural farm in the hills of Aquitaine."

In the distance, there was the sound of a few dismal firecrackers, drawing both their surprised stares. They had not thought anyone would have found such luxuries here. Perhaps someone had managed to hoard some in a very well-hidden cellar...

Hubert carefully brought the glass he held in his free hand to touch René's, "Happy New Year, René."

René clinked his glass to Hubert's, pressing the back of his head against Hubert's shirt, washed that morning for the 'occasion', "It already is, 'Ubair."

Another set of dull cracks were accompanied by dim sparkles on another tree-covered hillside as they each took a drink.

"If you mean what would we 'ave done when I was a youth... 'ave sausages and sauerkraut, because fish was bad luck," he chuckled, "We would melt bits of lead in a spoon over a candle flame, then pour it in water, and try to read the future in the globs-" he waited as René laughed briefly, "And after drinking whatever sparkling drink you could afford, you would stand in the street before your 'ouse and set off fireworks, often using the empty bottles. The streets would always be a mess, after. If I could escape, it was interesting to walk among the wreckage... You?"

He let go his hold as René sat up enough to turn his head, tipping his chin up and puckering his lips in silent demand.

The kiss was more intimate than would have been acceptable in public, but still short. They had their own tiny cabin, and a cozy bed; they would celebrate properly soon enough.

René returned to his spot, sitting between Hubert's stretched-out legs, and Hubert returned his hand to his belly, grinning to himself at the year that had brought such luck that this was beginning to feel like a familiar position.

"When I was young, I would hunt us a pheasant, or even a duck, if I was lucky. But between the wars, the supper had become assorted shell-fish, perhaps a bit of black pudding. Followed by some cheese. And a log..." he sighed, slumping onto Hubert, "I do miss a Saint-Sylvestre log. Good sponge cake, properly soaked in syrup, a smooth layer of buttercream, and then rich dark chocolate..."

Hubert hugged him close, rubbing his cheek against the side of René's head, "One day..." Surely the war could not last much longer...

"Umm. Yes, well. This was followed with kissing under mistletoe. And usually the village would organize some fireworks."

"I think we will 'ave to go inside and make our own fireworks, this year. ...And I do not need mistletoe to kiss you." And next year he would try very hard to gather the ingredients for his René to have a *proper* celebration!

René chuckled, swallowing his last bit of alcohol, "Infinitely better than even the best sparklers with my unfriendly neighbours."


AN:German NYE fireworks...
and lead melting
more info on the future, lol
and I misplaced the article where someone talked of sausage as the meal...
OH says they would have more of a 'heavy' meal, like goose and carp and veggies and salad, and people visiting. and spending the evening drinking.

french traditions (though WE did NOT eat that at home in Quebec.... lol, oh well...)
French Auld Lang Syne
and lyrics meaning




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