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“Would you like a cup of tea?” Ancap queried, welcoming the Nazi into his office.
“Huh? Tea? No, thank you.” Nazi replied coldly, almost startled by the request, “I just wanna do this deal, mkay?”
“Suit yourself, take a seat.” Ancap shrugged and gestured to a plush velvet chaise longue against the back wall of his obnoxiously vast office. He pulled a luxuriously padded desk chair along the polished wooden floor and sat opposite the fascist, crossing his legs dramatically and procuring a pink pen with a comically large fluffy pom-pom on the end out of his blazer pocket and flipped open an expensive looking leather-bound notebook to an empty page.
“Right,” the capitalist began, “So how are you doing, what’s new with you?”
“Excuse me?” Nazi questioned, “I just want to buy a nuke from you, what’re you doing?”
“We never talk anymore, Nazi, I just want to know what’s going on with you.”
“Well I don’t want to tell you, I just want to buy a fucking nuke you freak.”
“So defensive, Nazi, this is what I mean,” Ancap leaned forward in his seat, “once we get to the bottom of all this we could be more civil, maybe even be friends!”
The Nazi looked at Ancap as if he’d just scraped him off the bottom of his shoe, how dare he suggest such a thing as talking about how he felt, he had no reason whatsoever- him and the freemarketeer were not friends, let alone close enough to talk about feelings. It was completely unbecoming of a man, according to the fascist, to talk about that kind of thing. If you were feeling down you just bottle it up and get on with it, therapy was for sissies, and that is something the Nazi absolutely was not.
“Shut the fuck up, Ancap.” Was the only thing that the Nazi decided to say in response to his queer inquiry.
“Oh come now, that’s no way to talk to your old pal.” Ancap drawled, his words dripping with something else that the Nazi couldn’t quite place, something that frightened him.
“We’re not ‘friends’ or ‘pals’ or ‘buddies’ or ‘chums’ or anything, I just want to buy a sodding nuke off you, what’s gotten into you?” Nazi snarled, almost recoiling into his seat.
“Nuke? What nuke?” Ancap started, feigning innocence, “I presumed your ethnostate was already kitted out with defences, what on earth could you need another for?”
“Don’t play stupid, I know the last one you sold me was faulty.”
“Hmm?” Ancap questioned, his tone laced with mock concern as he tapped the pink puffball on his pen against the jut of his chin, “well that’s no good at all, are you completely sure it’s faulty?”
Nazi stared in disbelief at the capitalist, they both knew it wasn’t faulty- Ancap took great pride in the quality of his recreational nuclear weapons, standardised and perfected to a tee. He would never sell the very goods that made his fortune if they were of shoddy quality, even if it meant working his slaves to the bone. However, the concept of ‘the customer is always right’ was almost completely alien to him, so even if one defect, god forbid, slipped through the cracks- he would never admit responsibility. Objectively, he was a shoddy businessman in this respect, he just sugarcoated his slimy ways in his signature smarmy charisma.
Ancap quirked an eyebrow, knowing he had the upper hand in this, either he was going to get what he wanted, or Nazi would leave without a nuke.
“It’s definitely faulty, just name your price and I’ll pay whatever, just stop whatever all this is.” The Nazi practically spat at the smug capitalist.
“Are you sure you’re not just…now what’s the word…compensating for something?” Christ above, Ancap was virtually purring. This really set the Nazi on edge, every fibre of his rational self was screaming, clawing at his sensibilities to run out of the room, to say something degrading, hurtful, possibly even racist, and never talk to the degenerate capitalist again. But something deeper, something primal, was keeping him glued to the cushy chair he sat on.
“I really don’t know what you’re talking about, have you been smoking some weird gay shit with Ancom again? Just sell me a fucking nuclear bomb before I shoot you square in the forehead.” Nazi’s voice wavered, nervousness lacing every word, his breath growing increasingly shaky.
“Oh, Nazi, come now,” Ancap placed his pen and notepad aside and wheeled closer to him, leaning further forwards in his seat, closing in on the fascist, “you’re so damn repressed, maybe that’s why you’re so miserable all the time. I see how you look at Tankie, I see how you gaze at those soldiers on the posters on the wall in those tight pants,” he coyly nudged the insole of Nazi’s jackboots with his brown calf leather Louboutin brogues, “just admit it Nazi, you’re a little bit gay.”
Nazi flushed a violent scarlet at Ancap’s accusation, his jaw clenched so tight his teeth were on the verge of being completely crushed under the force of his bite. Nazi wasn’t gay, he wasn’t some sort of degenerate. It went against everything he stood for, his ideology, everything about him. It was disgusting, a man who held himself in such high regard, so highly respected (he believed) in his quadrant.
He couldn’t be gay.
So what? Sure, he might have posters of the SS on his wall in not-quite-period-accurate-close-fitting uniforms, they were the pinnacle of perfect masculinity, they were gods to him, it was merely inspiration. And maybe he happened to stare at the Communist for longer than necessary, but that was purely due to his ultra-masculine physique, that was probably just jealousy. Yeah, jealousy, he thought.
Jealousy that manifests itself in stolen glances and condemning oneself to a life of self-loathing.
Jealousy that manifests itself in hyper-insecurity, and the need to constantly surround oneself with the most extraordinarily masculine men.
Jealousy that manifests itself in staring bug-eyed at the offputtingly erotic images of the Schutzstaffel on his wall as he jacked off, imagining it was some beefy, stoic soldier’s touch instead of his own.
That last part was far more difficult to explain.
“I’m not gay.” He finally managed.
“Sure, and that’s not a semi in your slacks.” Ancap smirked and nodded toward the growing tent in the Nazi’s crotch.
“I-”
“Listen, Nazi,” Ancap dropped his voice an octave, sporting an uncharacteristically husky tone, “I’ll give you the nuke, you won’t even have to pay,” he slid his foot up the Nazi’s leg, letting it rest on the bit of seat mere millimetres from his crotch, “but just tell me how you really feel.”
The Nazi stayed deathly silent, almost as if he would dissolve instantly if he opened his mouth. For someone usually so conniving, whiny, and dramatic; Ancap could be particularly sultry. Nazi had often briefly pondered what it’d be like to shut him up, to use him for his own pleasure- obviously not in a gay way, he reasoned with himself, just a way to assert his own social dominance over him- but the way that Ancap was practically undressing him with his reptilian eyes behind his shades, the wanton need in his voice, it was definitely doing something for the fascist, and Ancap knew this.
“Go fuck yourself.” The fascist snapped through fiercely gritted teeth.
“Only if you watch, fascist.” Ancap licked his lips and lightly nudged Nazi’s erection, earning a poorly suppressed hiss and an involuntary buck of the hips.
“Oh dear Nazi, so sensitive already,” Ancap cooed, “let’s make this a worthwhile transaction.”
Ancap pulled his shoe away from Nazi’s lap and sat back in his seat, spreading his legs teasingly and running his hands down his chest, loosening his lilac tie with a slender finger and undoing the top button of his shirt. His shades had slid down his nose so the Nazi could get a glimpse of his golden irises, his predatory, slitted pupils blown with lust. Ancap never broke eye contact with him. His lean hands stopped at his belt, undoing the buckle so tantalisingly slowly. He began palming himself over his mustard slacks, biting his lip and hissing out a near-whorish moan as he slowly grinded against his hand.
Nazi could barely take it anymore, such a lewd sight in front of him, teasing him, such utter debauchery. Usually he’d be utterly repulsed at such an unholy, degenerate sight. But the overwhelming ardour clouding his mind, riling his senses, he needed Ancap, deep in his bones. His own erection was now straining against him, becoming almost painful.
Fuck it.
Nazi practically lunged out of his seat and onto Ancap’s lap, ripping his sunglasses from his face and tossing them to the floor.
“Those are vintage!” Ancap protested, furrowing his eyebrows,
“Shut up, kiss me.” Nazi demanded and pressed his forehead against the capitalist’s.
“Knew you’d come ‘round, darling.” Ancap breathed and pressed his lips firmly against Nazi’s.
Nazi leaned into the kiss, immediately opening his mouth to allow Ancap entrance. Ancap’s sharp canines nipped at the fascist’s lower lip, his tongue quickly licking a stripe over the wound to soothe it, the taste of iron flooding his senses. Nazi whined, rutting his hips against Ancap’s lean frame, his tongue messily fighting against the other rightists. Nazi was vastly unskilled in intimate aspects, having only ever kissed homonationalist one time while drunk, whereas Ancap was incredibly experienced. He deftly caressed Nazi’s firm chest and rested his hands on his hips, holding them firmly as he languidly pressed up into the fascist, his own arousal becoming difficult to bear. Nazi undid Ancap’s tie completely, and began working on the buttons of his dress shirt, revealing Ancap’s chest.
The fascist pulled away from the kiss, gasping for air, and looked down at a smirking Ancap, whose breathing had become near laborious.
“God, you’re good, Nazi,” Ancap panted, “so needy just for me.”
“If you tell anybody, you’re dead, and I mean it.” Nazi prodded his finger into Ancap’s exposed sternum.
“I won’t, but I tell you what,” Ancap pressed a kiss into Nazi’s neck, “I really want to see you come completely undone.” he bit down, leaving what would soon become a hickey.
“I hate you.” Nazi keened.
“I know, dear, but you and I both have something of a pressing issue, and it would be in both of our interests to fix it.” Ancap bucked his hips up into Nazi, his voice audibly aroused and gravelly.
Ancap shifted Nazi backwards slightly, undoing his fly and freeing his dick from his underwear, he nodded for the fascist to do the same. Nazi obliged and his already leaking cock sprung free from his clothes. Ancap pressed his against Nazi’s and wrapped his hand around the both of them, eliciting a grunt from Nazi, who involuntarily began fucking against Ancap’s erection.
“S-sorry,” he breathed, “feels good.”
“No no, keep going darling that’s right,” Ancap pressed another kiss against Nazi’s jugular.
“Don’t call me- fuck- darling,” Nazi breathed, “none of that faggot shit.”
“And yet you’re leaking already,” Ancap leered, “just let go.”
Nazi continued fucking up against Ancap’s dick into his fist, the feeling was overwhelming, the almost condescending tone from the capitalist spurring him on. He grunted and gripped onto Ancap’s shoulder for stability, he could feel the arousal knotting in his stomach already.
Shit.
Was he really going to cum that quick? From rutting against a slimy anarchist’s knob?
“You’re doing so well for me, I’m going to finish soon.” Ancap panted, letting his hand speed up, selfishly chasing his own pleasure.
“So close- shit.” Nazi moaned, biting his lip as his hips began to stutter.
“Cum for me.” Ancap groaned.
Nazi let out a pathetic mewl as he spilled over Ancap’s hand, expelling a litany of vulgar curses as the white heat of his orgasm wracked through his body.
Ancap began fucking up with wanton abandon, chasing his own high as Nazi shuddered from overstimulation, his cum lubricating Ancap’s erection.
“Oh, fuck!” Ancap cried as he finished, spurting ropes over Nazi’s twitching dick. He slowed down, working his way through his own orgasm as the fascist shuddered and squeaked from the abuse his sensitive knob was enduring.
A beat of silence settled over the room as the two rightists came down from their shared high. Ancap pecked a kiss onto Nazi’s cheek, much to the fascist’s chagrin.
“I’ll get that nuke over to you tomorrow.” He winked, his forehead completely drenched with sweat, yet still somehow maintaining a semblance of professional charm.