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Biggles - Squadron Leader James Bigglesworth of the RAF - suppressed a sigh. The mess looked perfectly normal: there was a low murmur of conversation; the men smoked and played cards as he would have expected. However, things were different here, the uniform the men were wearing was foreign, almost alien to him. For this, despite the heat of Africa, was a German mess and the men were German pilots and therefore his enemies. He did not like spying, he strongly disliked being here and not just because he was risking his life, he felt that spying was not...right, not honourable.
Colonel Raymond of British Intelligence was a hard man to refuse, though, and Biggles had been sent here to make contact with a double agent. So far the missing spy had yet to make contact and Biggles had nothing to do but watch out for him and worry about being identified. As a group the pilots seemed much the same as his own men, they had the same enthusiasm and the same professionalism, and Biggles reflected that he would have been happy to have almost any of them assigned to him. One exception, though, was the young Oberleutnant known as 'der Rosen Kavalier'.
The name was an obvious falsehood for a start and even from where he was sitting Biggles could hear him arguing with someone as usual. Ever since his arrival Biggles had heard 'Herr Kavalier's' opinions about just about everything, he was capable of taking either side in just about any dispute, and take it to a point beyond reason or good manners. Once again Biggles watched as Kavalier's opponent finally lost patience, pushed his chair back and stalked out. Kavalier grinned, apparently thrilled that once again his arguments, which owed more to volume and verbal fireworks than to logic, had won out. Kavalier looked at his watch and Biggles guessed that he would be leaving soon. Kavalier's habit of going off on his own when off duty was strange and indeed in a British unit it would not have been tolerated.
It was time Biggles also left, he had to meet his contact. He sighed. He had a little previous contact with the seamier side of life but he took no pleasure in it, and his contact was a prostitute, a French woman known as Grisette.
He collected a key from the madam, he had no intention of availing himself of the girl's 'services' but he needed an excuse to see her. However while waiting he heard a voice at the door and dived into a wardrobe with only a moment to spare. As he looked through the intricate filigree of the door he could see Rosen looking out of the window at the other side of the room, presumably watching the souk below. He seemed quite at ease and Biggles wondered for what on Earth he could be waiting, presumably the young Luftwaffe officer availed himself of the more usual services the house offered and Biggles pursed his lips in invisible disapproval.
Rosen moved away abruptly. A few moments later the door opened and another person walked in. To his surprise Rosen pulled the other to him and their lips met, Biggles had only time to register a dark jacket, pink (surely not?) breeches, tall boots and a high peaked officer's cap. The newcomer fumbled the door closed.
Biggles mind refused to credit what he was seeing, he had no idea that the house offered what he could only think of as 'fancy dress specialities', a phrase he had once heard one of his own young officers use. He calculated that the newcomer was tall, well over six feet. Rosen was a good three inches taller than Biggles and he was five feet eight or nine. Biggles had never seen a woman as tall as that.
The kiss was continuing, surely one or other would need to breathe soon? Biggles found that he himself was breathing faster. He saw a pale (gloved?) hand come to rest on Rosen's waist, it was holding a riding crop with a pink bow. Even from his wardrobe he could hear them sigh.
"Oh Gott, Pfirsich!" he heard Rosen murmur, the longing in his voice made Biggles shiver deep inside. Rosen returned his attention to Pfirsich's mouth, Biggles could now see both gloved hands on Rosen's waist. Pfirsich? Strange name, thought Biggles, surely that means Peach? He wondered if she was pretty.
Biggles experience of love was limited and a long time ago; he could not help but feel envy at the intensity now displayed. He was sure that he and Marie had not had what these two were experiencing, no wonder Rosen left the unit in such a hurry each night, if this was his reward.
Rosen turned Pfirsich round and Biggles got his first proper look. What he saw almost made him fall down. Far from being the woman Biggles had imagined, Pfirsich was a man, a tall, broad shouldered, and very handsome man with blue eyes and blond, almost yellow, hair. More than that, he was an officer of the Wehrmacht, and by the rank pins and the epaulettes, if Biggles wasn't mistaken, he was a full Oberst.
"Ein bißchen mehr romantik, Rosen, bitte," Biggles heard Pfirsich say. His voice was pleasant, quiet, a little feminine but still commanding.
Rosen said, "Ich bin romantisch." Then he kissed Pfirsich deeply again, taking his cap off and throwing it to the floor in Biggles direction. The piping on the discarded cap showed it to belong to an engineer, hardly what Biggles would have guessed from Pfirsich's manner or appearance.
Breathlessly Biggles watched as Rosen unwound the pink chiffon scarf from around Pfirsich's neck then untied his tie and unfastened the buttons on his shirt. He could have sworn that the wardrobe in which he was confined became several degrees warmer - he was conscious also of a tightening in his own cock and balls. He had never seen anything like these men, and no woman had ever attracted him in the way Pfirsich obviously did Rosen Kavalier.
"Ooh!" He saw Rosen fasten his teeth on one of Pfirsich's nipples and heard Pfirsich cry out. Biggles could not imagine how that felt, but Pfirsich did not seem to be in pain the look on his face was more of ecstasy. He watched as Rosen pushed the shirt and jacket back over Pfirsich's broad shoulders and saw them drop to the floor.
Had Biggles been asked to describe a man who loved other men he would have said someone effeminate, small possibly, and unhealthy looking. He would certainly not have suggested one as strong and masculine as Rosen or as tall and broad as Pfirsich. And they were both so - handsome; Rosen's dark hair contrasted beautifully with Pfirsich's pale colouring.
Biggles saw Rosen bend down and help Pfirsich remove the tall boots. Rosen said something, Biggles didn't catch what, and saw him smile up at Pfirsich, his brown eyes sparkled with amusement. Most men would have looked dissolute when half naked but Pfirsich managed to retain a dignity that was wholly unexpected. Rosen was still fully clothed and Biggles breathed hard as Pfirsich ran his hands over Rosen's leather flying jacket, and inside the wardrobe Biggles mirrored Pfirsich's actions helplessly, the leather of his own jacket smooth under his hands.
Rosen slid the jacket down off his shoulders then rubbed the leather across Pfirsich's face. Pfirsich's groan was almost echoed by Biggles in the wardrobe, the fresh leather smell of his own jacket wafting up to him.
Rosen's tie, braces, shirt, and boots were removed; Pfirsich watched him, a look of unbridled wanting on his pretty face. For a moment Biggles was consumed with jealousy, no-one loved him as Pfirsich loved Rosen; for a moment he wondered if that love was all one way but looking at Rosen there was no doubt it was returned. Real love was rare, and Biggles hoped he never had to meet Kavalier in combat, never had to destroy what these two had.
He watched as Rosen finished stripping off his breeches and draws to reveal a very attractive, and large, cock. That he could find another man attractive had never occurred to Biggles, not at least since his long-gone schooldays, it was a new idea and he did not know quite what to make of it.
Pfirsich ran his hand over the erection and then leaned forward, to take it into his mouth. The look on Rosen's face was a mixture of lush satisfaction and the most exquisite pleasure, but most of Biggles attention was on Pfirsich. He had heard of cocksucking, mess room talk, but to see someone actually prepared to do it was a shock. He felt as though his belly was filled with warm butter; he was more aroused than he had ever been, his need fed by the smell of leather and the stuffy closeness of the wardrobe.
With a yell Rosen reached the peak of pleasure and Biggles expected that Pfirsich would pull away; he didn't, he remained there until Rosen was done then wiped his mouth elegantly with a lace-edged handkerchief. Rosen lay back, "Gott! Oh, Gott, du bist gut!" he said.
"Danke," said Pfirsich, coolly. But he looked sunny and pleased.
For the first time Biggles saw him full face and he was assailed by a memory, surely he knew this man? But the name remained elusive.
Pfirsich kissed Rosen's chest and then moved lower to his stomach and then up again to his face. Rosen breathed deeply, Biggles saw his chest rise then fall, and then he pulled Pfirsich to him exploring his body, the chest with its smattering of fair hair, his shoulders and to Biggles puzzlement, his armpits.
"Du riechst gut," Rosen said. Pfirsich smiled, looking attractively shy.
Rosen turned Pfirsich over and kissed down his spine to end up, to Biggles astonishment, at the crack of his arse, then he moved lower and Biggles heard him groan out loud, a sound of need and of lust. For a moment Biggles could not understand what he was doing, then he realised that face buried between his buttocks Rosen was licking Pfirsich's arse. Biggles was shocked to the core, he could not understand why anyone would want to do this but the idea made his cock hard even while it made his stomach churn.
He heard Pfirsich sigh. Pfirsich relaxed, and as Rosen's tempo increased he looked increasingly boneless. Rosen massaged the buttocks with both hands then rubbed his fingers on Pfirsich's arse. "Willst du das?" he asked.
"Ja," answered Pfirsich softly.
"Sicher?" Rosen pressed harder, Biggles saw the muscles in his arm flex.
"Ja! Oh! Rosen, bitte!"
Reaching out Rosen took a jar from the table beside the bed. He put the stuff - Biggles couldn't quite see what it was - on his fingers and slid them up Pfirsich's arse. Rosen took a long time over this, he seemed to be enjoying it. Biggles could see that Rosen was hard again, fully erect, he knew that he himself would not have recovered so fast and he was astonished and envious.
Eventually he saw Rosen use some of the grease on his own cock, bring it into place and thrust inside in one smooth movement. Pfirsich cried out, Rosen soothed him, hands on his shoulders and Pfirsich stretched into the touch.
Rosen's movements were smooth and practised, he rode Pfirsich as easily as he would a good horse, Biggles could see him thrusting into Pfirsich, the light playing on his muscles as he pulled back to thrust again. He reached round to play with Pfirsich's nipples. Pfirsich responded to him as readily and eagerly as a Spitfire to the controls, and he pressed back against Rosen to take him in deeper. Biggles could hardly breathe, the intensity of their coupling was almost too much for him.
He heard Pfirsich gasp, "Nein! Bitte nicht!"
"Oh, doch!" Rosen responded, and bit down on Pfirsich's neck like a stallion biting a mare. Rosen's speed and depth seemed to increase, suddenly he yelled, "Jawohl!" and Pfirsich let out a loud, inarticulate cry of satisfaction. To Biggles he looked transformed, he almost glowed.
In the wardrobe Biggles had been unable to keep his hands off himself, but he had not needed to open his flies, his hand on the outside of his trousers had been enough. He contemplated the stain on the fabric ruefully.
He half-expected that they would say something to spoil the moment, but far from it Rosen pulled Pfirsich into his arms and sighed deeply. "You are so beautiful," Rosen said. "I frequently think the same of you," Pfirsich replied quietly.
"If you were a woman I'd have married you."
Pfirsich smiled, "To leave me in Germany? I'd not have thanked you for it."
"I would!"
"I know." Biggles saw Pfirsich smile again, his look mildly ironical, "But what would Erwin say?"
"About what? The fact that I'm a lazy Luftwaffe-Taugenichts or that I'm half English?" Rosen grinned, "The English part should make up for me being in the Luftwaffe, Erwin likes the English."
"I suppose so."
"And just think of the expression on his face if his brother suddenly became his sister!"
"Idiot!" But Pfirsich's voice was affectionate.
Erwin? In the wardrobe Biggles suddenly put two and two together. He had seen this man before, they had met prior to the war, at some public schools sports event in England.
This was General Erwin Rommel's brother.
Biggles knew he should tell Colonel Raymond about this. He should. But if he knew the Colonel would certainly use it, and all that would achieve would be to drag the Rommel name through the mud unnecessarily. Better by far to defeat that very able commander in battle than have Hitler replace him, even if that might shorten the campaign. And Pfirsich looked so beautiful in the throes of orgasm.
Ein (?) Ende