trista_zevkia: (Heroes)
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Title: Mistletoe and Doves
Author: Trista_zevkia
Chapter: 1/1
Fandom: Hogan's Heroes
Characters/Pairing: Hogan/Newkirk
Rating: PG-17
Warnings: SLASH
Summary: A sprig of Mistletoe goes a long way.
Disclaimer: All monies made will be used to buy Shultz brand toys. He has a family to feed, and you should see how they can eat!

There was a trick to Christmas and birthdays, and even Bastille Day when you best mate was French. But like all good tricks, Newkirk was very good at it. It started about two months before the actual holiday, or earlier. Before Hogan and his ideas, it was a matter of stealing from the guards. After leaving camp became a regular occurrence, Newkirk was able to get better things.

It was remarkable how many Gestapo agents left valuables just lying around. So maybe wool socks with only a limited amount of stretching and half packs of cigarettes weren’t that valuable to them, but two half packs made a whole in a prison camp. The trick now was in delivery. It started with a bit of jollying a person up, that ended with their handkerchief in Newkirk’s pocket.

A bit of string, and the present was wrapped in that person’s handkerchief. The real trick was the delivery. Smile, Carter, and hand me a handkerchief. A magic pass, and out came the wool socks for long feet, wrapped in the man’s own handkerchief. The twine made it unbelievable, and while they were amazed at Newkirk’s talents, he gave back the second handkerchief without them noticing.

All was going fine, until Christmas night, just before lights out. Shultz came in to remind them of what they all knew, lights out now, and saw Newkirk jollying up Louis. Shultz was such a sweet, innocent guy with puppy dog eyes, and a valuable stationary target for all sorts of things, that Newkirk found himself one present short. Even if he know Hogan loved chocolate, Newkirk could believe it would eventually wind up in Shultz’s pocket anyway.

So Shultz opened the chocolate bar, Newkirk stole Hogan’s handkerchief back and Hogan went without. The distraction of lights out kept anyone from noticing, anyone except Newkirk and Hogan. The colonel noticed everything, even if he pretended he didn’t. Newkirk noticed, because he’d really wanted to be nice to Hogan, though he was afraid to think about why.

Newkirk’s dreams knew, but he was pulled away before they could get interesting. The creak of an empty bunk, the pitter-patter of Kinch’s feet crossing into Hogan’s office. Soft conversation, and Newkirk tried to go back to sleep. The hand on his mouth woke him, showing he was actually asleep.

“I need some fast fingers.” Hogan whispered after Newkirk had focused on him.

A nod, and the rough hand pulled away. Up and moving Newkirk tossed on his boots, since he was sleeping in all his clothes for warmth. In the tunnels, Hogan told him about the mission while they changed into low ranking Gestapo uniforms. A general had changed his plans and left his house vacant for a few nights while visiting relatives for Christmas. This gave them the perfect opportunity to rummage his desk for anything important.

An easy job for skilled hands and a full lock pick set, so Newkirk was grinning as they photographed every piece of paper in the office. Just to keep in practice, he even found and opened the safe. No papers, just easily identifiably jewelry that would raise concerns if it disappeared. Hating to leave such treasure behind, Newkirk put the details in the back of his mind, just in case.

“Any other cracker boxes you want me to practice on, Colonel?” He asked with his cocky grin firmly in place.

“Kitchen? Look for some real crackers to bring back to the guys?”

“Good idea, we can have our Christmas pudding a day late.” Smiling now, in genuine appreciation of the only considerate officer he’d ever met, Newkirk went to find the kitchen. It was very well stocked, in the latest corrupt officer style. “Blimey, shame we can’t take it all.”

“Why not, they’ve even got large flour sacks to stuff it in?”

“I thought we weren’t supposed to advertise we’d been here?”

“Upstairs, in the office, sure. But that’s an entirely different crime than the starving neighborhood kids breaking in to steal food when they notice the guy was gone for a few days.”

“All the suspicion will be here, no one will even look at the office twice, if we did leave something out of place?”

“That’s what I was thinking.” A not so modest shrug, and a cocky grin that matched Newkirk’s came with the words.

It took them six trips apiece to remove most of the nonperishable items, and a tired Newkirk looked up from making sure they had everything to see a strange sight. Hogan was in the middle of making it look like inexperience burglars had forced the door to get at the food, but staring upward with a stricken expression.

“Colonel? What’s got your attention?” Newkirk was glad his voice wasn’t half as concerned as he actually was. Hogan didn’t pull his thinking cap over his eyes and meditate for hours during the jobs.

“Nothing important.” Hogan managed, pulling his eyes down to look at Newkirk. “Just occurred to me this is my first time getting caught under the mistletoe without getting kissed. We got all the good stuff?”

Newkirk made his decision about six months ago, when he first realized how much he liked the way Hogan looked in black. Holding the sack out like he wanted Hogan to take it, Newkirk walked over to his Colonel. He dropped the sack as soon as he was close enough, freeing his hands to slide them into dark hair and pull.

The moment of surprise, of not reacting, didn’t last long. Hogan, Rob was kissing him back, large hands wrapped around his shoulders, pulling, needing. It was slowly penetrating Peter’s mind that there was an empty, large bed just a flight of stairs above them. If they took the mistletoe, Peter didn’t get far in speculating before he heard a strange noise. It wasn’t Rob, slamming him into the doorway to get a better angle for the kiss. Nor was it Peter moaning in a way that should have been shameful.

Rob stopped what he was doing to turn toward it, and Peter felt he had to as well. A shapeless figure, outside in the cold and dark. Footsteps stopped, now that the figure was close enough to be sure of what it was seeing. Two gestapo non-coms, kissing under the mistletoe. Clearing his throat, Hogan called out in German.

"There's some food in here, but the owners will be looking for whoever took it when they get back." Hogan turned away to pick up his last bag of food and smiled at Newkirk. "Let's go before whoever that was decides the reward would be better than food."

"Good plan, gov." A nearly breathless whisper and Newkirk was running for the car, sack in hand. If Hogan didn’t know everything that Peter carried back with him, so much the better.

Peace on Earth

Louis had made them a feast to be proud off, with the few items Hogan hadn’t dropped off with the underground or put in stores for when they really needed them. Most of the camp was relaxing after such a feast, except the few roped into cleaning up. Newkirk thought it was okay to pull his Christmas present out of his most secret pocket. Between learning to be a seamstress and a master thief, Peter had sown hidden pockets in most of his clothing.

“Is that mistletoe?” Carter’s bright, cheery voice carried far too far in the almost silent barracks.

“Andrew, you miss it when the seasons change, so how is it you notice something as tiny as two berries and three leaves?” Newkirk regretted how angry his voice sounded, but the snark was his oldest defense mechanism. Carter, however, was oblivious to the big things.

“Well, I guess cause it’s always cold here, but we don’t often have leaves in the barracks.”

“What’re you going to do with it?” Olsen asked, as other heads popped up from their bunks. It wouldn’t be long before they all started asking questions, or making jokes, anything to make the time go faster.

“I was thinking about putting it in Klink’s office. See how many repeat visitors he gets when they all think they’re under orders to snog him.” Shaking the mistletoe over Carter’s head got Cater dancing backwards and an entirely new train of thought for the guys. A good thing, that, keeping the guys minds out of the gutter Peter’s was in. Now, however, he couldn’t hold the mistletoe and dream about the kiss under it. Hopefully, Hogan had chosen to ignore the whole exchange and would never ask.

“Newkirk, come help me fill out the report on last night’s mission.”

“Oh, right, sir.” Newkirk didn’t let himself look at where he knew Hogan would be, half in half out of his office door, where mistletoe should be hung every day of the year. Scrambling down and tossing on his boots, Newkirk tucked the mistletoe into the flap of Cater’s hat. They guys were laughing and Andrew was clueless, so all was as it should be. All, except the knot of fear in Peter’s gut about what Rob was up to.

He was at his desk, filling out his paperwork and reports. So far in the front, the reports still had to be filled out, but they also had to be encoded, just to make it an even more annoying task. Rob didn’t normally require help though, having a far better memory than he liked to pretend. He looked up when Peter closed the door, and smiled. It had to be illegal for certain people to smile like that, without cunning shining out of his eyes. Smiling as if his whole world just got better because you walked in the door.

“If this is about last night, it can be a joke if you want, but either way I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell the guys, you know how they are about something new to talk about.”

“Peter, you’re rambling.” Speaking made the smile slip off of Rob, Hogan’s face, so Peter could think again.

“Sorry, gov.”

“I really did want to ask you if we saw six patrols or seven last night, but if you want to talk about the kiss, we can do that.”

“Seven patrols, if you count the two privates drinking on the job.” Peter ran his words together in an effort to get onto this much safer topic of conversation.

“Best not to count them. If the Germans read the report, those two will get in trouble and them being stupid and drunk only helps our side.”

“Is that all? Sir?”

“Apparently not.”


“We need to talk about the kiss, apparently.”

Peter forgot to breathe, hating, loving, the way Hogan was looking at him.

“If you want it to be a, how do you British put it? Right, a one off. If you want it to be a one off, it will be. A gift to a lonely man isn’t queer.”

“I am. Queer as seven pound note, loving the women but not for a long term thing. Had a major crush on Louis for a long while, but now he’s my best mate and you’re haunting my darkest fantasies.” Peter felt fire in his face as he realized he’d said all that out loud, felt himself burning as he thought about the calculating uses Hogan would have for such an asset on his team. Except Hogan was smiling at him again, in that brilliant way that made his eyes twinkle. And kissing him without the restraint he’d had last night.

Last night’s kiss had to be Hogan restrained, because Peter was hard from this kiss. And the rubbing, matching hardness on his thigh was unrestrained in it’s motion, except for those unflattering brown uniform pants Rob wore and why where they wearing pants? There had to be an answer somewhere but Peter figured he’d never find it, until Rob pulled away and let a little bit of blood reach Peter’s brain.

Before he could figure out if that was good or bad, Rob was falling, slowly, dropping to his knees in slow motion. Peter heard a guttural groan, but Rob looked up at him like he was the source of the noise. Was that possible? Did it matter when Rob was pulling his cock out, freeing Peter’s little Peter from blue fabric, and licking? Things went white for a little while, and Peter road the waves.

Slowly, the grimy real world was demanding his attention and Peter had to go back to it. Took a while to figure out where he was, a dangerously long time considering things. He was in the Colonel’s office, sprawled on the floor as if he didn’t have any bones left. That was fine, because that meant he wouldn’t be killed in the next few minutes. Someone was trailing kisses down his neck, around his throat and down to his exposed chest.

“Rob?” A soft question, a plea to the universe that this wasn’t a dream.

The kissing stopped as a voice answered. “Been a while, for it to be that strong, huh?”

“Not all of us signed the contract that said we’d get to snog any female who came across our paths.”

“Only because you had to snog the general to get that contract.” Rob’s voice was a little more smug than amused at the joking, but his hand was dragging Peter’s around.

“Oh.” Peter gasped a little, realizing Rob was still aching for some relief. There was snogging, and then there was this. Peter’s bones returned, his muscles found a last reserve of strength, and he rolled over to take Rob’s little Peter into his mouth. Rob didn’t seem to last very long either, Peter noticed with a smirk.

He probably would have taken just as long to recover if a clatter didn’t pull their attention. Rolling to their feet, tucking into pants and straightening shirts, they hoped whoever was in the locker was somebody they could kill. This was their moment, damn it. A hand came out of the locker, holding a canister like a white flag. The uniform coat was brown.

“LeBeau?” Rob responded first, pulling open the locker door as Louis stepped out.

“I was developing the film you took last night. Dark room was damaged in the air raid last week, remember?”

“You should have said something earlier!” Peter was snarling, embarrassed by what he’d said and done with a French peeping tom peeping at them.

Louis pulled himself up to his full height, such as it was, and stared at Peter. “Frenchmen do not interrupt love, especially when it takes some men so long to see such a gift.”

Peter snapped his mouth shut, having no smartass comeback for that. Though, if Rob said something about it not being love, just a quick wartime shag, Peter thought he might spend the rest of the war hiding in the tunnels.

“So, you’re not going to tell on us, Louis?” Rob asked, completely devoid of any of his calm mannerisms or air of command. This was one man pleading with another.

“Tell? I am going to go out there and see that you are not disturbed until roll call. Under one condition.” Louis added, halting the grin that was working its way across Peter’s face.

“Remember that I am French. I prefer the women, yes, but that does not mean we can’t all be friends.”

Flipping his scarf over his shoulder, Louis carried the film container out of the room. Rob looked at his watch before glancing up at Peter. It was the same devilish smile that had kicked off Peter’s first thought of this American on his knees.

“Two and half hours until roll call. What do you suggest we do?”

Peter shimmied out of his jacket, figuring that was all the talking Rob would need. He’d never been so glad to be right as he was when those grinning lips were on his own, talented hands pulling at his clothes. Who knew all it would take for them to get together was a sprig of mistletoe?


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May 2014

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