Warning-
This fanfic is not to be viewed by underage readers. Please turn back now if you are under 18. Thank you.
Author's note-
It is the sequel to Better have a good enemy than a crazy friend (cont.). I am very bad at coming up titles for fanfics. If you go to the comment section of the original Tumblr entry, you may see our friend @historyloverbelle suggested that I do an alternative ending. So, here's the happy ending.
I make a point to write AS MUCH SMUT AS HUMANLY POSSIBLE, so if you are underage, omegaverse fandom is not your kink, or you have no intention to see Monty and Rommel fuck, this is a chance for you to turn back.
Lastly, English is not my native tongue, so I appreciate it if my dear readers cut me some slack :)
Never in a million years does he expect the famed Desert Fox would surrender to him- him, personally. This is one of those “Generalfeldmarschalls” who would rather die than surrender.
Of course, it is not an easy task. Nothing is ever easy during a world war.
Rommel is covered in light bruises and shallow scratches, love bites and kiss marks. Despite being horny as hell, Rommel put up a fight against his battlefield foe. One short day ago, when Montgomery’s squad captured the Desert Fox, he ordered his man to throw away the few emergency pills on Rommel in case those are poisons—you couldn’t be more careful with these Nazi field marshals. That these little medicines were the only remaining omega hormone suppressants Rommel had, just fucking slipped his mind. Montgomery couldn’t have dreamt that Rommel is actually omega, could he? The Reich’s propaganda machine claims Rommel to be the greatest alpha hero ever. Anything other than a fierce alpha? Not possible. Yet, propaganda equals lies. He should know better.
Now, the alpha British general has a massive problem on his hands.
A fox in heat cannot resist this sex drive that threatens to swallow him up, nor could the fox hunter resist the seductive pheromone emanated from every inch of this omega’s being. The majority of the British soldiers are beta. The pheromonal fragrance might seem peculiar to them, akin to very subtle boutique cologne, alluring, but they are not nearly as affected. Montgomery sees his man going about their normal activities as if nothing is wrong. Not so lucky for him, though. Montgomery must put up a straight face and pretend that he wasn’t tormented by desire.
When the soldiers placed Rommel in Monty’s make-shift office, he was suffering classic symptoms of omega in heat- fever, sweats, delirium and that goddamn aphrodisiac scent on his skin. The African hot weather does not ease this situation. He knew, this Fox either takes a suppressant asap or have a hard dick inside him until the heat subsides. This whole ordeal could last for many days. Montgomery couldn’t interrogate him without being hard as hell himself, and banging an enemy commander in broad daylight is not an option. He takes a bunker bed cover, a blanket, then drives Rommel to a quiet hill 5 minutes away. There’s a massive rock formation to afford shading and some privacy.
“Is it some abhorrent Allied torture method?” Rommel frowns. Since they are alone together, Rommel sees a chance to stumble away- he must go back to his German troops- but the fever cripples his movements. The British general pounces on him, throws him to the ground, and then a scrambling wrestling match ensues, which ends with Montgomery overpowering Rommel and both of them naked. They stare at each other, Monty on top, the tips of their raging cocks touching. Monty couldn’t hold back the urge to kiss him on the mouth, but Rommel avoids him, panting, trembling, a hot, horny mess of a man.
“Not enough, this is not enough I don’t think he’s giving up fights.” is Monty’s hazy thought- Before him, Rommel’s body is fully opened up and ready to be fucked, but it is not enough. The hunter wants more from his prey- Montgomery couldn’t tell what more he wants. He parts Rommel’s legs and spreads him wide; the prideful German field marshal instinctually covers his face in shame. Swollen and pinkish, Rommel’s glistening, pulsating entry makes a lewd slippery sound as Montgomery penetrates him, it tightens around his shaft and sucks him desperately. Montgomery feels a slight hindrance that his cock needs to push through. The way Rommel needs to stretch his tiny passage to swallow down his member alerts Montgomery that this part of his enemy’s body is still virgin.
“Jesus Christ…” Monty groans in deep satisfaction; he musters all his will to not cum right there and then. He revels in the fact that he could feel the shape of his own cock in Rommel’s tight muscle.
Montgomery does not give him enough time to accommodate his huge member and starts pumping, almost pulling out and slamming all the way in. The Fox wantonly moans out jumbled German obscenities, in pleasure and in pain—his tight sweet hole is still not used to foreign object. This time, Monty forcefully muffles those tangled words in his mouth with a kiss. As soon as Monty’s tongue and smell hit his, Rommel goes limp, his entire body less tense. A surge of pleasure renders the Desert Fox soft and dazed.
Montgomery lifts his flushed chins, coercing him to meet his gaze, then taps lightly at himself and Rommel’s lips- “it’s Monty. Call me Monty.” It’s a universal gesture of calling an enemy a lover’s name during hate-fueled love-making.
“Monty…”voice hesitant, he tilts his red hot face aside. This man’s blue eyes are burning him, he is shaken to the core. “Monty…” a whimpering German accent, sounds like this war hero is at the verge of tears. He could not accept himself enjoying this situation.
Montgomery’s erection seems to grow inside him, with a thrust his thick cock goes as deeply as it could, grinding into Rommel’s sensitive spot on its way. The Fox bucks up his hips and almost cries and screams; his inside muscle contracts in steady waves as if to squeeze the semen out of his enemy’s meaty member. At this point, Rommel’s mind is still resisting “his Anglo-Saxon enemy”, but his body can’t get enough of the said enemy. He arches his back, pink nipples tingling in the air.
“how hard do you want me to fuck you?” Montgomery whispers at Rommel’s ear. The other man does not understand the foreign tongue at first, yet aware that Monty coos in tandem with each thrust. The meaning dawns on him, and the Fox becomes visibly pissed. Yet his body, even hotter and lustier, only wants to be fucked.
“The more he hates me, the more he desires me” Monty thinks, leans down for another kiss to smother any insurgency, while speeding up pace. Monty’s heart aches with pleasure and forbidden love, his hips pound into Rommel’s, feverishly and even harder.
Orgasm rips through the Desert Fox’s body, he feels himself torn like a wounded animal by such intense pleasure. Rommel’s eyes roll back into his head, his greedy organ clenches down around Monty like a wet fist, milking his cock until he is filled with the white stuff. Awash in flushed drunkenness, Rommel’s mind wanders helplessly- this is not good, this body might get pregnant, he is cornered, he is trapped. He could smell Montgomery’s cum and sweat as the other man grunts on top of him, singing his sweet English nonsense into his ear. Feeling disoriented, Rommel touches himself down there, finger tips drawing a circle around his entrance where Monty’s huge dick is pumping cum into him, slippery thick cum oozing out where their flesh connects—thick, white and warm.
He IS going to get pregnant. It is horrible.
As Montgomery leans in and nibbles on his neck, half-limp cock still inside him, those anxious thoughts evaporate from Rommel’s head.
“I love you… how do you say I love you in German?” Monty whispers. No answer. Rommel only glances at him inquiringly, then his mind drifts away, into somber contemplation, about life, pain, and lost honor,
And probably love.
The next day, in midnight; the heat symptoms make it very hard for Rommel to sleep. He'd rather endure constant fever and libido overdrive than to let any British physician near him. Rommel pushes down the urge to masturbate, when the shadow of an alpha male enters the prison camp and crawls into his bed. The startled Fox nearly strangles the intruder, only to be greeted by the cheeky smile of the British general.
“There’s a waft of your sweet pheromone in the night breeze; it gives me insomnia and an awful wet patch in my pants.” Montgomery whispers. He undoes his belt, pulls down the zippers, and the monster of a cock jumps out, clear slippery liquid smeared all over its head and down its shaft.
These Anglo-Saxons are so annoying-Rommel sighs, but it's a sigh of relief.
Monty’s dick enters his lovely POW, finds his prostate and slowly grinds against it. Precum drips from Rommel’s tip, his inside feels full; it’s a mixed sensation of his cock having a pleasant hard on and his omega sex organ a tingling vaginal stimulation— pleasure of both worlds but climax of neither. This lusty dissatisfaction draws long slutty moans from Rommel’s throat.
“Hush, babe, don’t make too much noise.” Monty moves his hips in small, gentle motions to massage that sweet spot.
At this point, Rommel totally gives up. He drapes himself around Montgomery’s shoulder, legs wrapped around his waist, just let Monty fuck him, fuck him to his heart’s content. The Fox twerks his hips a little to chase that elusive high, his dick hovers around almost cumming yet not quite there. The British gentleman remains exasperatingly slow and patient. It is driving him crazy. Montgomery watches Rommel with fascination when he touches himself under the dim, yellow light, droopy eyelids and slightly parted wet lips.
“Surrender to me, will you?”
Monty learned a few words from the front line translator. He attempts to get his meaning across to his dear Fox. There are many words in German that roughly translate to “surrender”, mostly harsh words, without the softer connotation of the English “surrender”. Rommel shoots him a dirty look- die Kapitulation? this Brit is being insufferable.
Immediately Montgomery realizes he says totally wrong thing. Yet there’s more sadness than anger in Rommel’s scowl, even though he struggles not to show for fear of being humiliated - “I thought he loves me” is the unspoken words in that look of a betrayed animal. Monty acts gentleman and showers him with apologetic kisses. “My German is horrible, I shall never pull that one again.” Montgomery ponders.
After they finish, Rommel lies on his belly, enjoying the gentle wind through the little window. Monty leans in to massage the nape of his neck, skins touching. “If you want to go, you are free to go. I don’t mind Churchill’s waffling, but my chief of staff probably will kill me if he finds out.”
Rommel is not listening. He stands up to grab a towel. Excess white semen trickles down his smooth thigh, a glistening white ribbon down his skin under the warm glow of night light. The air is heavy with the fragrance of their sex pheromones, mingled together in intoxicating concoction. Monty pulls him into his arms- “of course, you can stay with me… be mine… my translator will tend to your needs. He’ll get you my favorite earl grey and afternoon tea cookies through our supplies…”
Rommel nods, and feels the other man erupts with joy. He is sure he just heard Winston Churchill’s name; who the hell trusts that British politician, of all people. He will escape captivity as soon as his body allows. However, under such soft light, the warmth, the scent, his clouded mind likes the doting emotions in Montgomery’s voice when he speaks the latter option, even though he doesn’t understand it.
“I’ll have to sneak you out if we want to continue this.” Monty says between sucking and licking Rommel’s dick. He plants kisses at the base of Rommel’s penis in orbit, lavishly licks at all parts of his private skin, mustache lightly scraping his groins. The English man smiles. “Remember the quiet place where I took your virginity, one could see the most magnificent sunrise at that hill.”
The Fox looks down at the man between his legs. This Brit is saying something, his voice warm yet worried. Rommel tilts his head. He noticed Montgomery has been covering his mouth if he moans too loud. One time, he observed Churchill gave him a dressing-down on the phone for his “lack of resolution” or something. Nowadays the soldiers look at them differently. Not that he cares about any of this. Rommel holds his head high no matter what gossips spawned behind him. Has he, as a POW, become Montgomery’s burden? Fine, the more troublesome the merrier; there’s not supposed to be any peace between them.
Monty’s tongue swipes across the sensitive slit on Rommel’s tip, then slides his lips swiftly down the shaft till the glans of Rommel’s cock hits against the back of his throat. Monty takes a breath and let his deep voice curl around his lover’s penis. Then he sucks harder, tongue pressing flat on Rommel’s length to coax the white honey out of him. Rommel shivers, his cock twitches in his mouth. Monty swallows his cock down and lets his cum run down his throat.
Sucking off his Fox first would take the edge off his hard-hitting uterine orgasms. Monty could maybe keep his beautiful prisoner’s voice down and his bed manners more civil: less moaning out loud Montgomery’s love name to let the entire base know they’re fucking, less biting down Monty’s shoulders and draws blood when he shoots cum onto his lover’s belly, and less digging his fingers into Monty’s back until it bruises when he climaxes too hard.
“I won’t let him have his way.” Rommel huffs to himself.
Rommel shoves Montgomery on the ground. He climbs onto him, lowers his mouth to Monty’s cock, gives this hung monster a few sloppy slurps, and slowly pushes its thick length into the sweet slit between his legs until Monty is balls deep in him. The Fox frowns, bites his lower lips; it is still too big for him.
If he seeks to dominate his enemy, he must not lose his cool during the action. Rommel rides him with caution, eyeing him for smallest reactions: “You can’t fool me. I see you’re in a dilemma as a commander, but none of it is my concern. You are the one who should keep your voice down, not me.” His tone, both teasing and threatening, gives these foreign words sexy allure.
Monty watches with hungry eyes where his penis disappears between Rommel’s legs. When his hot Fox closes his eyes while giving his own dick sensual strokes, Monty’s heart skips a beat. He still tastes his lover’s semen in his mouth; it does not help him at all. He wants to fuck him badly, but he’s already fucking him. Truth is, he is the one being fucked. Rommel rides him clearly with the intention to torment, to goad, and to lead his desire to absolutely nowhere.
Rommel’s wiry body is nimble, muscular even. He is apt to use Montgomery’s cock to masturbate with erratic pace. “Slow down babe…no… I want more, harder…” Monty groans, his dick throbbing painfully inside his lover. Rommel’s devious moves would push him to the very edge, yet denies him the release; he wriggles his ass to give Monty’s cock an extra twist. Now he looks down on this British general- good, he is whining, got to extract louder “confessions” from him. Rommel listens to him breathe, to learn what his rival is made of.
The Desert Fox could sense the squirming man underneath him drooling all over him. Montgomery’s urge to kiss and suck on Rommel’s perked-up little nipples is also palpable, as his breath brushes against his skin. He puts his hands around Rommel’s waist, sneaking upwards, thumbs pressing at the sides of those pink jewels, but the spicy Fox slaps those hands away. The British general moans pathetically.
“Watch, and do not touch. Didn’t your military schools teach you discipline?”
As he speaks, he spreads his legs wide open with knees bent, his hips bobbing up and down along Monty’s swelling meat- Rommel’s hot omega vagina holds fast to the thick veiny cock inside him; this beautiful sight paralyzes Monty. For a brief moment, Montgomery is HIS prisoner of war.
“Don’t you believe I can vanquish you fair and square, on a battlefield?” This sassy desert animal is taunting his hunter- doesn’t matter if the hunter understands him.
Monty grabs his waist, bringing down his hips abruptly, jamming upwards hard into his taut passage. His cock reaches so far up into Rommel that its tip squeezes into his little cervix; pressure in the belly makes Rommel’s head spin and eyes see stars. Rommel yelps, surprised.
“I know fuck all about your German small talks, but in our military circles we call your behavior ‘fuck around and find out’.” Montgomery growls. Rommel can be cunning and dangerous if he so inclines- Montgomery should not let his enemy read any weakness in his eyes. He turns Rommel around, fucks him from behind.
Montgomery has no restraint, balls slapping his lover’s ass loud and clear, the whole base probably hears them. Rommel vaguely regrets ruining the other man’s orgasm—He has gone too far. Now Monty is going to retain a formidable stamina to fuck him, forcing him take in every inch of his manhood with violent motions-- the sex will not end nor relent. At some point Rommel couldn’t feel his white cum pushed out of him nor could he hear his own vulgar screams. It is such intense assault of uterus pleasure, that after being almost drained of semen, sweet liquid drips from his tired cock in clear strands. The sex organ inside him has turned him into a cock slut.
“Hör auf…” Rommel protests, but the juicy sound his pussy makes almost covers his feeble sighs. He feels less like a man and more like an insatiable piece of omega whore. Monty thrusts his cock deep into him, grinding his hip against his ass cheeks with pounding force. The Fox could not help himself, and climaxes again, liquid spurts onto a messy pool underneath him. Passionate surrender overcomes him, his legs feel weak, he almost tumbles; Monty hoists his lover up by the waist and reposition him, to fuck him with renewed fervor.
Rommel hasn’t finished his previous orgasm; the brutal pumping shows no sign of respite. Another hot surge rises between his legs, and he climaxes again. The sexy vaginal contractions come in like tidal waves, slippery liquid streams down his thighs. These multiple orgasms that build up one after another both frightens and intoxicates him. His eyes roll into his head, tongue hanging out as if about to lose consciousness. Finally, the man behind him is in the blissful throes of ejaculation, his breaths becomes uneven. Rommel perks up his butt in anticipation of cum as Monty’s speed grows frantic. The white elixir squirts right into his swollen womb, filling it.
Monty pulls out his cock while he’s still hard and cumming, spilling his seeds all over Rommel’s butt cheeks. The Fox collapses into Monty’s arms. Is his proud enemy sobbing? But why? Monty wonders to himself, content and exhausted. He dips his fingers between his lover’s legs, rubbing that creampied pussy till it slightly opens, little post-orgasmic spasms running across his groins.
Rommel is sobbing Monty’s name, without realizing it.
The luxurious starry sky hangs low against velvety black night. They touch each other’s injuries under the new moon, some new, some old; their bodies are maps of their career path, their fingers the navigator. By now the two enemies have grown familiar—too familiar.
Rommel caresses Monty’s chest, and notices a bullet must’ve punctured a lung, and scars etched on him in a plane crash. Monty could feel injuries on Rommel’s arms, legs and stomach, and guestimate how he got them- some caused by bullets, by splinters, some blunt force trauma, he takes time lingering his fingers on each of them.
“oh, Erwin, this one! This laceration must’ve hurt you like hell, you little impulsive fool, you little wild animal. No wonder you’re caught.” He chides him, ever so tenderly.
Rommel does not know what he’s talking about. He only feels the scent, warmth and heartbeats of the other man seep through his entire being. His own body, fully sated with Monty’s thick semen, reminds him that any defense line against this man is drawn in sands-- the way the English man nibbles a sensitive spot on his ear to elicit a moan, the way he knows his mustache tickles his belly when he kisses his body, the way he learns to anticipate his every move, in intimacy or in rivalry. It is love from his enemy, so pure and so amoral, a love that does not care what societal rules it breaks. This implication strikes Rommel like panic, he tenses up.
The Desert Fox easily stares down the abyss of death; he knows better to not look love in the eyes. But it’s too late. His heat symptoms have long gone, but his desires for a soulmate remain.
“What’s the matter, Erwin?”
Monty tries to hug him, but Rommel shoots him an dirty look.
“Bernard Montgomery! How unscrupulous! At least be an upstanding general for your country men! Don’t you have wife and children? What we are doing is corrupt, stop these… immoral games you’re playing on me!”
Rommel blurts out, and then he remembers: this naked foreign man who shows his vulnerability in front of him, has lost his wife shortly before the war. She was the only friendly company Montgomery ever knew, before this point of time, much like what Lucy meant to himself. From Monty’s inquiring eyes, Rommel could see this is a deeply lonely hunter who desperately loves the wild prey he chases.
The Desert Fox falls silent. He has lost. Time to think about salvaging whatever he could for his Afrika Korps and return to Berlin. He might as well admit defeat to Hitler’s face.
From now on, Montgomery's slow and methodical maneuvers will remind him of his slow and interminable love making. He cannot win this war against a man who doesn’t even see him as an opponent, for God’s sake! Montgomery must’ve known he’ll have to let him go at some point, but this poor soul is begging him stay.
However, they both know somewhere deep down, legend would have it that once upon a time, a great British warrior conducted mesmerizing courtship with his beautiful Fox, the love of his life, upon the boundless African sands. Rommel either surrenders at his feet or become a lost soul in this fairy tale called history.
Montgomery seems to understand fragments of the other man’s thoughts. Without a word, he weaves his finger into Rommel’s sand-colored hair. He tilts Rommel’s head backwards to give his Fox a possessive kiss. Rommel does not resist, their tongues dance together, like how they fight, how they love. Tomorrow, they might die, but still Montgomery is willing to speak of the future.
Compared to love, death is not so intimidating, after all.
A few months further into the war, the Allies have successfully penetrated Europe against the Nazis. Inside the wartime office located in Westminster, an emergency meeting with the agents from MI6 war branch is on-going. The general listens attentively.
“Our apology that we fly you back to London during such crucial moment of war, general. But our spy on the ground happened to intercept a telegram message between Hitler and some important OKH members.”
The agent continues: “To sum it up, Rommel is to be executed for his involvement in the July plot against the dictator, but by the looks of it, there seems to be… much more. Such usage of slanderous language is unprecedented, even for that madman.”
Montgomery frowns: “Hitler is riled up against Wehrmacht generals again. His messed-up mind could not see this war should’ve ended a long time ago.”
“You look so deeply concerned, general.” The second agent comments, “Anyhow, Hitler’s issue is not exactly war related. We consulted diplomatic personnel with high security clearances, what ‘whore’, ‘bastard child’ could possibly mean in this context, regarding the assassination attempt. I quote the following message verbatim- ‘Rommel is a worse traitor than Paulus’ in that ‘Paulus at least does not take Soviet cocks up his man pussy’. The diplomats made sure there’s no translation error in this vulgarity, which implies Erwin Rommel to be omega—which is highly improbable. We honestly don’t know what to make of it, other than pure insults.”
“I happen to know what Hitler's horseshit is all about.”
“Oh, you do, sir?” They look at him, curious.
“Is it so that the 8th army soldiers never leaked anything to your department? I admit I handle THAT situation poorly. My subordinates possibly all knew about it.”
“No, we did not receive any official reports.”
Good boys, thank god. Montgomery sighs in relief. He owes his comrades one.
“Could your diplomatic branch hurry up and get me on the line with General Patton? Any current plan upon Europe mainland needs to be put on hold, now we are on an urgent mission.” Montgomery gives out his order, “granted that hot-tempered American agrees to do me this favor.”
The agents look at each other: “so, there are something that the army knows but we don't. General Montgomery, how come you could anticipate what the Nazi’s next move could be?”
“During the war, you do not ask any frivolous questions.”
Montgomery’s dark expression frightens the MI6 guys. They quickly shuffle off to prepare the line with the US command. Patton is going to hate him for the mess he made, Monty thinks, but he is a typical American hero, he can’t say no to his plea.
Looking out from his binoculars, immediately, Patton could tell the surrounding roads leading to Rommel’s final destination have become a death trap. The supposed border villagers have been infiltrated by SS plainclothes. The sky is grim, which adds to Patton’s foul mood.
“Bloody hell, Bernard, what shit have you dragged me into? We need to take out a dozen Nazis for this plan to work.” Patton quickly retreats into the armored car, cursing under his breath.
All Montgomery could muster is an apologetic smile:” According to MI6 boys’ solid intel, the target should arrive any time. Clear this area of gunmen with firearms first, and then deal with the target with your fine sniper. We should be fine.”
“Yeah, right! The SS hostage car you said! It’d better worth all the postponement of my commanding job.” Patton huffs. He signals his man to move the vehicle forward to the hiding place.
Three SS officers who escort Rommel to the designated location keep very close eyes on the field marshal and the environment- they do not know why, but there’s eerie deathly vibe in the air. Nothing is trustworthy, no one knows what to expect, even though the mission seems straightforward: deliver Rommel, be the witness of his suicide, take his body to the nearby military hospital morgue, and report back to Fuhrer. They drive past the village, now the field marshal is one step closer to voluntary death, the last gesture to preserve what remains of his honor.
Rommel could smell blood and gun powder in the foggy woods. Suspicious indeed, but he gives no thoughts to it. His senses are numb to the brutalities, perhaps. He keeps strictly to himself, expressionless, except when occasionally he clutches at his lower belly, fleeting sorrow darts across his eyes. His mind sinks into the depth of grief for his precious unborn.
The black hearth screeches to a halt. The other two officers gasp out expletives, stunned and shaken:” Why stop in a goddamn forest? Are you crazy?”
“One front tire is punctured by some contraption. I need to check it.” The driver gets off the car.
One officer mumbles: “We are stranded. Our guards are supposed to man this area, but none are seen.”
Rommel becomes alert. He calmly looks at the driver through the windshield, and then observes the surrounding. There are traces of a hasty cover job done in the woods. He identifies trails of blood and obscured bodies in the bushes; the implication being- they are walking into an ambush placed by highly trained special forces.
“…wait, what are you doing?” The panicked officer sees Rommel pull out a gun out of seemingly nowhere.
“Sniper incoming. Move, take cover, if you want to live.” Rommel orders.
A muffled shot, the driver is down. There are machine gun echoes and confused commotions further away. Second officer down, shot through the window. The last one makes a run for it in horror, but luck is not on his side. Rommel immediately dodges from the car. He thinks to himself, what irony that he suddenly switches to survival mode. Montgomery orders cease fire. He jumps off the vehicle and makes a beeline towards Rommel.
Time freezes, all is quiet, when they gaze at each other.
Rommel points his gun at Monty’s face: “So, you are behind all this? I understand any means is justifiable in a war, but I could never imagine you would sink as low as a sneaky operation. How ignoble, Anglo-Saxon scoundrel. I have mistaken you for an honorable rival.” Rommel’s tone shows his meaning enough-- his voice is cold, literally drenched in hatred. His special hatred reserved for his nemesis is synonym with wounded love.
“Hey, Erwin, baby, I know I am with the Americans, I know we killed a bunch of German officers, and it looks really bad on me. But babe, I can explain…” Montgomery flusters, then he remembers he left the German translator in the vehicle and there’s a distinct confusion turning into more anger on the Generalfeldmarschall’s face. God damn it.
“You wouldn’t shoot me.” Monty pleads softly, hoping to get his message across.
There’s something in this English man’s soft, puppy eyes that makes Rommel tremble. Feelings of love that he normally reserves for his family craws in the back of his throat. This fucking British idiot… this idiot is his baby father, after all. Rommel’s moment of weakness allows Montgomery to close the gap between them quickly. He places his lips on Rommel’s, fully covering it. Rommel immediately leans into the kiss. Alas, how come he misses his lips so much.
“Hey, silly Bernard! I agreed to risk my boys in this hell hole, because you told me your youngest child is somehow held hostage by the Nazis! So what the heck? Why is Rommel here? Is he the culprit? Where’s the little one?” Patton hollers at them both, motioning wildly at his perceived Nazi enemy.
Montgomery swiftly sweeps Rommel off his feet, arm carrying him. He ignores Rommel’s wriggly protests and takes big happy strides back towards where he came from. Patton couldn’t believe his eyes. He snarls at Montgomery- “Alright! Something’s fishy! You have a lot of explaining to do, Bernard.”
Before Montgomery could say anything, Rommel narrows his eyes at Patton, and turns his face towards his lover- “This situation is suspicious to the utmost. You need to explain all of these to me.” he then returns to eyeing Patton, as if to find opportunities to kill this American.
The translator doesn’t know how to relay the message to everybody.
“hey, you, how do you say ‘I love you’ in German?” Montgomery beams brightly at the poor translator. Rommel and Patton exchange looks that could set the armored car on fire, but Monty is the happiest guy in the world.
Ich liebe dich.