More Than Comrades

Love <3

Hans' instict gew stronger. He closed the gap between him, his lips pressed harder, his head bobbed to feel more of its warmth, its fire, to feel more alive during the pain and terror. 

This is something that Russia would kill them for, but they are in prison, forced to fight in mud and blood.

Faintly, He feels Stan's tounge. He trusts him. He does the same, tasing just the soft flesh that reminds him of the lives depending on him. He trusts in him. His mouth closes, his teeth nibbles and scrapes. The texture folds. We are indeed the great creation of Russia. They trust in themselves. If given something, he can do anything,

Amidst the love, Stan caresses Hans' cheeks, the two close on eachother, feeling their bodies, the frantis and weak breath, the soft fabric on their cloths, the strands of hair their hands brush, the outline of their bodies contacted, and the shared despairs they had, became a magical called hope: the little spark that dances between them, the growing determination against the enemy that crosses their path, in their human selves, in small miracles despite in war. 

In a victory faraway, further than Russia.

Hans' fingers splay across Stan's shoulders, then near his collar, onto his soft cheeks, across the faint, thorny beard then any facial features of a human. Hans loves and loves, He feels like the void melts away, the clod despair replaceed by a fiery love, clanging and sharpening its blade, unsheating with a silver glint. Once more, Stan's tounge runs across Hans' lips, and him tasting it like love, in his caressing hands the home. So he gives back his newfound courage, agaisnt the terror ahead threating to crush them.

But Stan's lips withdraw till they leave, his hand moving to take John's. The flame wisps out like a blown candle, but the smoke smell still lingers in their grip. "Hans, we don't have much time".

With less hesitation, Hans moved forth. The unknown down the battlefield is mortiflying, but he now knows he is never alone, no matter what.