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You trudged up the stairs behind the rest of the men. They fired rounds at the runners and shamblers up ahead, detonating the occasional bomber with a deafening explosion. Miraculously, only one seaman got nicked by a shambler on the way up. You would tend to his wounds when you finished speaking with Blücher, whom you found in a room at the top of the spiral staircase, overlooking the Rhine.
Blücher noticed the arrival of reinforcements. His skin was a sickly color, the life rapidly draining from its ashen hue. He hurriedly turned from the window, quickly fishing something out of his coat. He held out a key, insisting that someone take it. “Take it, now!” He tossed it onto the floor, as though it were cursed, before dropping to his knees from a forceful cough. The officer rushed to his side, helping him to sit against the wall.
“Finish this!-“ He coughed. “Finish this for Prussia! These devils are trapped in the cellar.”
The rest of his words were a blur of noise to your ears. You watched his accompanying officer’s focused gaze intently for a moment, his appearance briefly catching your eye. A head of dark cinnamon-hued hair, most of it tucked neatly under a shako. Some tufts of hair peeked out characteristically from the straps of his shako. His uniform was that of an officer of the 1. Garde zu Fuß regiment. Furrowed brows, an unblemished face, and a youthful glow to his skin. A sight for sore eyes, and a rare one at that. His enchanting dark eyes, however, also fell victim to the same dark circles most of your comrades sported. The cannibals never rested, so neither did you or your colleagues.
You realized your eyes were glued on the officer for the entirety of Blücher’s ramble. The officer didn’t seem to catch you staring, but you averted your gaze before he noticed, nonetheless. You turned your attention to Blücher’s worryingly grey complexion. He was succumbing to his illness. Soon, he would turn into one of the devils he spoke of.
Blücher choked out another dreadful cough before falling limp, his body crumpling over to his side.
The officer, worried, knelt to check on Blücher. “Herr Feldmarschall?” he asked in a soft, concerned voice.
Your eyes widened. Blücher was gone, his eyes no longer human. The officer was far too close to the man-turned-cannibal. “Watch out!” you shouted, darting forward to pull the officer out of the way moments before Blücher’s feral hands nearly clawed his throat out. His eyes glowed a terrible crimson, darting madly about in search of prey. Guttural snarling came from his possessed mouth. Blücher attempted to pounce on one of the seamen, who just barely landed a solid hit on the demon’s head with the butt of his navy pistol, sending the cannibal stumbling backward. A point-blank shot into its skull sent blood spattering across the room, specks of red decorating the window. Blücher’s corpse soon thudded to the floor, his misery concluded.
You swallowed dryly, feeling your senses return amidst the adrenaline of spectating such a scene. You released your grip on the arm of the person in front of you, only now noticing the officer had stepped in front of you, his sabre unsheathed. You hastily apologized, adjusting your lightly blood-spattered glasses. He offered you a handkerchief, unbothered. You graciously took it, murmuring gratitude as you wiped the blood off your round lenses.
The rest of the men, aside from the one with the minor injury to tend to, had filed down the stairs with the key, muttering prayers for survival.
You opened your satchel and beckoned for the injured man to step forward. Taking out your roll of bandages, a needle, and thread, you began to seal the man’s open wounds. Your experienced hands allowed you to work rather quickly, and within minutes, the soldier gave you a curt nod, thanking you before rushing downstairs with the rest of the men.
“Are you also injured?” you asked, now facing the officer.
He shook his head. “No, I am unharmed, thanks to you. I only wanted to express my gratitude to you for saving my life.” He held a gloved hand out to you. You hesitantly took it, following along with a somewhat unconfident handshake on your end. “I am Officer Braun of the 1. Garde zu Fuß regiment.”
“Like your eyes,” you murmured aloud, smiling.
He gave you a small smile. “Yes, like my eyes,” he replied, amused. “You may call me Karl. The formalities have… been exhausting, as of late.” He returned his blade to its scabbard, sighing. “We should descend to aid the others with what’s to come.”
Side by side, you descended downstairs. The closer to the cellar you came, the less faint the low growling of the trapped cannibals became. You could hear them struggling against the iron bars keeping them in. The sappers had just finished their preparations, stakes carefully constructed on the steps closest to the cellar with barricades higher up on the stairs.
You turned to the officer before he stepped into the frontlines with the others. “Good luck, Karl.”
He nodded to you, speaking over his shoulder as he walked down the steps to join the others on the frontlines. “The same to you, doctor.”
The fight that ensued was more grisly than you expected. There was no way all those people could fit in that cellar. You and the infantry had been pushed up nearly to the top of the tower. After perhaps the thousandth cannibal corpse piled up on the stairs, the inhuman snarling coming from downstairs seemed to cease. The men praised God, hardly having the energy to celebrate that the demons finally stopped pouring out of the cellar.
The injuries were numerous. The seaman who fired the mercy shot at Blücher now suffered a deep gash on his left shoulder, inflicted by an undead sapper. The priest had to bless three of the men, whose bite and scratch wounds you would quickly stitch up. One man had a nasty scratch across his cheek. He likely only needed four stitches.
Karl was the worst case. His entire upper body was littered with wounds. His legs were the least affected. Blood seeped through his uniform on his thighs, arms, and chest. When you got a good look at his back, he had an obnoxiously long claw line that went diagonally from his right shoulder blade to the left side of his hip.
What you found most surprising was how he was not grimacing in pain so much as the ones with less troublesome injuries. You suspected he had a pain tolerance to credit.
You had taken up the room at the top of the stairs, with windows overlooking the Rhine, to treat the wounded. Someone had disposed of Blücher’s corpse, thankfully, and they wiped most of the spilled blood away. The floor was clean, at least. The windows still had some evidence of dried brown specks of blood.
The most urgent of your patients was the man with the gash, followed by the bitten, then the man with the gash on his cheek. Karl insisted on being treated last, considering he was not in pain. It took some convincing for you to allow him to wait to be treated last after everyone else.
You sent off the last man downstairs to join the others in resting elsewhere, preparing your supplies for Karl’s ubiquitous scratches. He sat patiently on a wooden chair, his hands resting on his thighs. His fingers drummed softly against his trousers, watching as you prepared a damp rag to wipe off the grime from his wounds.
You stood behind him, observing the laceration stretching across his back. “Alright. Could you remove your uniform jacket? I’d like to patch this one up as soon as possible. Sit with your front facing the back of the chair as well, please.”
He nodded, rising from the chair to undo the buttons on his front to slip the uniform jacket off. He sat back down on the chair, sitting in reverse with his jacket hanging on the backing. Now that his upper half was bare, you saw just how much of his skin was peppered with bleeding cuts. You pulled another wooden chair over to sit behind him, knowing you’d be occupied for a while.
Equipping your needle and thread, you leaned forward and started the task of sealing the wound on his back. He seldom winced, only when you dabbed at the blood on his fair skin. You did your best not to get distracted by his appearance. However, it was difficult to ignore how he was lightly toned, with visible muscle gained from frequent combat.
To occupy your thoughts with other things, you began humming the tune to the Hohenfriedberger Marsch softly as you worked on his back, threading your needle to create neat stitches to seal the wound.
You snipped the thread and moved on to cleaning his other cuts, dabbing at the blood and filth around the broken skin before closing them up as well.
You finished closing the last of his wounds on his back and sat up straight, no longer leaning forward. “Turn around to face me. Hopefully your chest isn’t as bad as your back.” Karl followed your instructions, rising from the chair again to sit facing you. You crossed your arms, observing him. “How the hell do you get nicked that badly back there when your assailants are always in front of you?” you asked, amused.
He shrugged, smiling guiltily. “I got… carried away, I suppose,” he answered ambiguously. He paused for a moment before elaborating. “I wasn’t being as cautious as I should have and a cannibal managed to grab me from behind. A private stabbed its head with his bayonet before it could bite me, but it sunk a claw into my shoulder and tried to hold on. It died and dragged its claw down my back as it collapsed. Hurt more than anything I’ve felt before,” he explained, watching you open your extended surgeon’s kit to grab a roll of bandages. He held his arm out, allowing you to wrap a bandage around a portion of his forearm.
You secured the bandage, reaching down into the bucket at your side to dampen the rag again. “But you don’t seem to be in pain.” You dabbed at the wounds on his chest, leaning quite close.
“Everything hurts. I try to hide it so others can feel more at ease.”
“Aren’t you worried about not receiving medical attention in time?”
“Not necessarily. A few minutes isn’t always life-or-death with these sorts of injuries. Besides, it helps morale, and the surgeon usually doesn’t seem as anxious as they work if they know I’m not suffering while they aid the others. They don’t feel as rushed. It seems effective on you, so why not continue doing it?”
You finished patching up his last open wound and sat up straight, cleaning your needle and preparing more thread. You hummed in acknowledgement, in a ‘whatever you say’ sort of manner. “You have a point.”
He nodded. You observed the smaller cuts on his thighs. Simple enough.
“Sorry to have you bare in the cold, but you’ll have to take those off as well,” you said, pointing at his trousers. He looked up at you, nodding understandably before standing from his chair. Before he bent forward to pull his trousers down, you put a palm out, stopping him. “Let me. The stitches on your back might tear.” He nodded, remaining standing with his legs slightly apart.
Your face flushed a little with the prospect of undressing him. You adjusted your glasses, pushing them higher up onto the bridge of your nose before pushing any thoughts contributing to the pink on your cheeks away. You hooked your fingers on the waistband of his trousers and tugged them down. In one go, you pulled the fabric down to his ankles, taking his undergarments down with his trousers. You avoided looking directly at his crotch, knowing your blush would not be easily attributable to the cold. You began working on the cuts on Karl’s thighs, distracting yourself once more with the tune of the march, the notes etched into your mind by the fifer.
Once you finished, you let out a sigh, preparing your tools for storage. Although your head was turned down to your kit, you could still see his crotch in your peripheral vision. Your eyes inevitably drifted curiously to his length. He was sizable, even in the cold. And he seemed to be half hard. You avoided staring too long, only glancing for half a second.
You cleared your throat. “You’re all set. Let yourself heal,” you murmured nervously.
He nodded. “Thank you, doctor,” he replied quietly, his face slightly pink now. You stared up at him for a bit too long before realizing his trousers were still bunched up at his ankles. You reached down to pick up the fabric, your head becoming level with his crotch as you pulled his trousers up his legs. You could tell he had more blood flowing in his member than before.
You stopped pulling them up halfway, your head inches away from his cock. When you looked up to see his facial expression, he was avoiding looking at you, his gaze turned to the wall.
“Would you like help with this, as well, officer?” you asked softly.
He turned his head, flinching slightly in surprise, looking at you from the corner of his eye. He swallowed, nodding.
You became acutely aware of a heated sensation between your legs. You reached up with one hand and wrapped your fingers around his length, placing the other on his thigh, allowing his trousers to drop back down his legs. Slowly, you pumped his cock with one hand, looking up to take in his flushed facial expression.
You gently rubbed circles on his tip with your thumb, pulling a sharp breath from his lips. “Tell me what feels good.”
You knew the others were long out of the tower by now. Their footsteps had echoed away with plans to scavenge for supplies in the rest of the castle. No one would walk in on you for a while. You decisively stood from the chair and shoved it away behind you with a kick from your boot, one hand continuing to slide languidly back and forth on his length. You looked up at him, beckoning him closer with a finger to whisper something in his ear.
“Can you keep a secret?” you whispered, cupping your mouth.
He swallowed again before hesitantly murmuring in reply. “Of course, doctor.”
You stopped pumping his length and stepped back from him, smiling. You set aside the satchel with your surgeon’s kit, placing it on the floor. Then, you undid the buttons on your Prussian blue surgeon’s coat, tossing it aside. Karl watched with the same intent gaze from before, his dark brown eyes focused entirely on you. You did away with the layers underneath, meant to keep you warm, revealing your skin and subsequently your chest. His eyes widened, looking you up and down before locking eyes with you.
“You… aren’t a man?” he asked, in complete disbelief.
Your stomach twisted anxiously for a moment. Perhaps he had lost interest. You hoped he wouldn’t go back on his word and call the others up. “…Would you have preferred one?” you asked hesitantly.
You flinched when he grabbed your arms and pulled you against him by surprise, staring down into your eyes. “Tell me I am not hallucinating. You’re really not a man?”
You shook your head. When he suddenly pulled you against him in an impromptu embrace, you stiffened momentarily. “Karl, are you alright?”
He released you from his embrace, cupping your cheeks to gaze into your eyes. “May I kiss you?”
You nodded, closing your eyes as he pressed his lips to yours. He pulled away for a moment, to mumble a hasty “I really won’t tell anyone” before meeting his lips with yours again. His hands drifted down your bare back, stopping to rest on your rear. You felt him palming at your body, clearly relishing in the intimacy. He was starved of it. You hadn’t had anything like this occur to you since you volunteered as a surgeon. Only once did you witness a pair of Prussian soldiers slip away for perhaps half an hour and return looking disheveled and more relaxed. You said nothing of it, knowing they, like many others, had been desperate for company.
You broke the kiss, looking at him through half lidded eyes. “It’s been lonely, hasn’t it?”
He nodded, beginning to grind against your front. “You had to have been sent from heaven.”
You chuckled softly, glancing at the chair just behind his legs. “Sit.” You gently pushed him down onto the chair by his shoulders. He sat with his legs spread. You took in the sight of his cock standing fully erect against his abdomen, precum beginning to bead on his tip.
You tugged your boots off, tossing them aside into the pile your coat and satchel lay in.
“May I?” Karl piped up. You nodded, stepping close enough for him to pull your trousers down a bit, just enough to see your cunt. He reached one hand toward your crotch, looking up as if asking for permission. You guided his hand between your legs, showing him how to rub circles around your sensitive bud. He had an enchantingly pure look of focus on his face once you let him continue on his own, as if truly committing the information to memory. You bit your lip, squirming a little as he slowly stimulated you. He withdrew his hand eventually, placing his dampened fingers in his mouth to lick them clean. Your breath hitched in your throat at the sight.
You tugged your trousers down the rest of the way, kicking them off into the pile of your other articles of clothing. You observed the chair Karl sat on. Not wide enough to straddle his thighs. You approached him, instead opting to turn to sit on his lap before doing anything.
Looking into his eyes again, you thought for a moment. “I’ll lower myself onto you. Let me do the movement for the most part. Tell me if something feels particularly nice,” you communicated, undoing the strap on his shako as you spoke. Karl nodded, his leg bouncing in visible anticipation. You set his shako aside gently on the floor, careful not to treat his belongings like your discarded clothing. You took off your surgeon’s hat as well and piled it on your other clothes, leaving your round, gold-framed glasses on. You left your hair in its short ponytail, keeping it out of your face.
You stood from his lap, spreading his legs a bit to stand between them with your back turned to him. You reached behind you, tipping his cock forward a bit to align it with your hole. Slowly, you lowered yourself onto his length, whimpering softly from the ache of your walls, accommodating him. He groaned softly, placing his hands on your hips before dragging them up along your curves to your chest, cupping your breasts.
“Beautiful…” he murmured. Experimentally, you tilted your hips forward, lifting yourself slightly off his cock, then sliding back down. His length dragged against your insides like nothing else.
His soft groans indicated you were doing something right. You continued your slow pace, maneuvering your hips up and down, pushing yourself by supporting your weight with both hands on his thigh. “Like that?” you asked, looking over your shoulder at his reddened face. He nodded, looking surprisingly dazed so soon into being ridden. He was likely getting used to the position.
You approached a faster pace, now bouncing on his lap with soft plaps and moans. The thought of being caught crept up on you, spurring you on. Karl reached forward with one hand and slid his fingers onto your clit, rubbing the bud like you showed him before. You placed your hand on his to adjust his hand a bit, moving your other hand to continue supporting your body as you kept bouncing on his member, the two of you moaning loud enough for anyone in the staircase below to hear.
He was an adept learner, his fingers becoming more dexterous in pleasing you by listening to what pace and pattern made you whimper in higher pitched melodies of pleasure. They were melodies to his ears, at least. Just hearing you moan was pushing him closer to his edge. You eventually slowed your pace, panting as you sat stationary on his lap. Confused, Karl reached for your hips and was about to fuck you on his own when you placed your hands on his, signaling for him to pause.
“Hold on,” you breathed out, rising from his lap with the wet sound of his length pulling out from your hole. He faintly grasped for your hand, reluctant to let you go.
“What is it?” He looked worried. “Are you hurt? Did you hear someone coming?”
You shook your head, observing the three crates piled against the wall. “What’s in those?”
Karl turned in his chair to look at what you were referring to, placing one elbow on the backing. “In the crates? Bedrolls. Would you like to take one out?”
You nodded, approaching the crates to open one. You removed the lid and pulled out a bedroll, sprawling it out onto the floor. You took out a blanket as well and unfurled it, setting it over the bedroll. You gestured toward the makeshift bed, smiling. “Lie down. It isn’t ideal, but it’ll be more comfortable than the stiff wooden floor.”
Karl smiled, rising from the wooden chair to fully remove his boots and trousers before stepping over to lie down on the bed. “Are you finally going to let me do the work now?”
You straddled his legs, bending forward to bring your face inches away from his, your elbows caging his head. Your glasses slid down your nose a bit, causing you to push them up. You grinned before putting on the surgeon act. A bit obnoxious, but certainly entertaining. “Absolutely not. You’re a recovering patient. Your stitches need to heal.” There was some truth to it. You were both having fun, but it would be interrupted if you had to redo the stitching on his back, for example.
You sat up straight, his cock waiting patiently in front of your crotch. You lifted yourself by your knees, aligning him once more before sinking down onto him. With one hand, you pressed on his abdomen, the other splayed out behind you so you could begin riding him as though he were your steed.
Like before, Karl’s hands rose to grip onto your hips, one hand drifting down to give your rear a squeeze as you bounced on his length, panting and moaning softly. “Good God, doctor,” he groaned out, his cock throbbing with an impending release. He came to the absurd realization that you never even told him your name. He hadn’t thought of asking.
He tugged you by your arms, pulling you flush against his chest before gripping onto your hips again, stopping your movements. “Please, just let me…” he whispered, sliding your hips back and forth on his cock. You allowed him to take control for a moment, appreciating the break. His groans of pleasure vibrated through your body, your breasts pressing against his chest. You pressed your lips to his, deepening the kiss with your tongues, bringing your hands up to run your fingers through his short cinnamon hair. You felt him begin to thrust his hips up into your body, rutting desperately for his release.
He pulled away from the kiss, panting and moaning aloud. “Close… almost… there,” he grunted, fucking into you roughly.
“Karl…” you began, coming closer to your own release. You felt him slide one hand between your bodies, rubbing your bud furiously to push you to your edge. His efforts quickly brought you to climax, sending you into pure ecstasy, mumbling his name into sweet nothings, your walls clenching around him and your thighs quivering.
He pulled out with a final groan just before following suit, spilling his seed onto your back and rear. His grip on your hips loosened, his hands slowly drifting up to hug you against him, your chests rising and falling in mutual exertion.
You both laid there in peaceful silence, gathering your senses. He caught you off guard when he flipped you over, now pinning you beneath him. He pressed a soft, loving kiss to your lips. More tender than the others.
He began to stand, pushing you back down when you began to sit up. “You’ve done enough. Let me handle the rest.”
“Fine.” You smiled and relented, your body melting back down into the bedroll in exhaustion. He spoke so softly that you could never have guessed he was the same assertive officer you witnessed on the frontlines a few hours ago.
You watched as Karl stood, searching for the bucket and rag he watched you use for the others. He brought them over, wringing out the water from the rag before kneeling beside you with the damp rag in hand. Karl gently wiped down the sweat and bodily fluids from your skin, humming the same tune you had been humming while you worked on tearing his injuries. For him, the humming seemed less a method of distracting himself than it did for you. He seemed to attribute the tune to your unique work habits.
“You did so well,” he praised. “Apologies for never telling you by word when you did something that felt pleasurable.” He pressed a kiss to your forehead. “I would have never stopped notifying you. You were part of it as much as I was, though. What did I do that felt the best?”
You huffed softly in amusement, watching his face soften into a smile. “I enjoyed when you kissed me. You’re rather good at that. And when you used your fingers on me.”
He nodded, setting the rag and bucket aside. “We should get dressed before we get found out,” he teased with a wink. “I’ll bring your clothes to you.” He rose to his feet, moving to pick up your articles of clothing, some of them strewn about.
He handed you your bottoms first. You slipped them on, standing up from the bedroll once they were on. You graciously took the layers of upper clothing, putting them back on your torso. Your boots and hat went on last, just before you slung your satchel across your body.
“Shall we check on the others?”
“It’s late. They’ve likely gone to rest.” Karl was adjusting his shako strap, the rest of his clothes now neatly covering his recently bare body. You could hardly tell he had just had intercourse. His trousers and jacket still had tears in them. Bothersome. You were about to offer to sew the tears, but Karl pressed a finger to your lips.
“I know you want to fix these too, but you’ve truly done enough. You deserve rest. We can take care of it tomorrow.” He pressed a kiss to your cheek, looking at you through those soft, dark eyes again. He had quickly developed a tendency to put you at ease.
You looked outside the window, seeing stars in the sky. It was quite late.
“I have a question.”
You turned to him, a little surprised. “What is it?”
“What may I call you? I never got past ‘doctor,’” he said, smiling sheepishly. “It occurred to me halfway through our fun.”
A small smirk tugged at your lips. “I like the sound of simply being called ‘doctor.’”
He laughed, crossing his arms. “Doctor it is, then. Could I at least have a surname to append to the title?”
“Küchler,” you answered.
“Well, then, Dr. Küchler. We should head off to sleep.” He held out a hand, intending to lead you over to the bedroll. The one you had just used wasn’t soiled, thankfully. He took another one out and unfurled it next to the one you settled down on.
“I’m not sure it’s entirely inconspicuous for two soldiers to be lying in the same bed. Under the same blanket,” you teased, slightly worried about someone coming up to check on you two.
“The crate didn’t have any extra blankets. We can use that as an excuse,” he reasoned as he slipped under the blanket beside you. He wrapped an arm over your body, pulling you against his chest.
“How are your stitches doing?” you asked, yawning.
“They feel fine. You’re as skilled in medicine as you are at sex,” he joked, mumbling off to sleep. You would soon follow suit, enveloped by his soothing body warmth. All you could think of was how you would spend tomorrow with him.