3 Works in Conrad Veidt

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    Summary

    Even if he's the one wearing the dress--a beautiful, white silk dress and silk stockings, with smooth-shaven legs underneath--Connie's the one who's ended up on top tonight. And very literally so: now, Connie is straddling Baz, kissing him, grinding into him, hard underneath his dress; determined, he is pressing Baz's wrists into the bed and won't let him move.

    All of this had happened naturally, somehow; inevitably. The moment Baz had shown up looking gloomy and tense--well. Connie had taken one look at him and had known that tonight, he needed to take charge, needed to undo that stupid anguish of his, those knots in his being.

    Even if it's but subconscious, both of them know that tonight's the night: tonight, Connie will finally take him. He wants Baz so much he isn't going to be satisfied with just taking the female role this time--well, depending on the female. For Connie is now also the woman who takes, the maneater, and Baz cannot help but think of the firm command with which Marlene had taken him to her bed.

    Therefore, after a little tumble upon the bed, it just so happens that Connie throws Baz face down upon the bed, yanks up his hips and buries his tongue in his arse.

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    Now, Connie leans onto his right side a little, moving Baz's legs, guiding him into a sideways position, face to face. "How does that feel?" he asks.

    Baz is not sure if he can come like this, but he's not sure if that's even Connie's intent; however, when he decides to wrap his right leg around Connie's waist, something happens inside of his hips and his eyes roll back in his head. He freezes, shuddering; Connie decides to try for a slow thrust, and now all Baz can see is white, all the hair on his body standing on end.

    "That's very good," Connie drawls, and just keeps going, calm and easy and slow and sweet, even if Baz is going to utter pieces around him. Now, Connie can deliver only the shortest of thrusts; yet the tightness, the heaviness, the pressure against Baz's prostate is incredible. Baz can only hang on for dear life, his mouth gaping open wide; all of him is open wide, open, open for Connie to fill again and again and he loves this ridiculous gangly German bastard and he wants to weep.

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  3. Tags
    Summary

    "The term is bisexual," Basil remembers Connie telling him that very first night they'd met, when they'd still been just friends. With frankness, Connie had told him this; with challenge, the way he'd looked into his eyes. As if he could see into his soul, see all his sins within, all the cocks sucked, all the frots that didn't end after public school. Before him lies a man who had lived his true nature openly in his Berlin days, loving both women and men, with a courage he could scarcely believe was real.

    Larry had warned Basil about Connie, if not in detail. But now that he knows the man himself, he can only imagine how formidable he must have been ten years ago, when he'd initiated Larry into all the sins of Berlin. Faggot or no, you wouldn't pick up a fight with a six foot three man with the bearing of an emperor, the eyes of a big cat, a man who could crush you with a glance.

    Those eyes are still staring into his in the twilight, the setting sun's rays refracting through them as if they were glass. As always, they demand honesty from him.

    "I know what I am," Connie had told him in no uncertain terms, that first night; "do you?" he'd asked Basil.

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