I can't fucking remember where I was going with this oops. I know the ending, had a plan for the middle but then forgot it. This whole story is written between midnight and 3 am So I'm very sorry for everything I've written so far
Warning:smutty
"Fuck~" Eli moaned, arching his back to push his body closer against Peter's. "Keep going, please, please, I want you so badly," he whispered, nipping at his ear, breathing heavily.
This had been a common theme over the past couple of years. They'd have their 'meetings' (which Eli realised more and more how illegal they were), they'd talk to their friends, drink a bit, generally be very gay, then go upstairs and fuck until everyone left or they were forced to kick them out because the sun was rising.
It was 4 years since he'd moved in with Peter, 2 since he'd given him the ring and made Eli realise he never wanted anything else other than what he had now.
Beautiful boyfriend, beautiful home.
It was almost enough to block out what was happening outside.
It was hard to keep track of everything that was happening because it was happening so fast. He'd thought about going back to college so he could get a better job because he always felt guilty about Peter being the main source of income while he sat around in an empty shop all day. But he couldn't do that anymore. Couldn't go to school. Not even little kids could anymore. All Jews had been banned from schools across the whole country. His mother taught in a private school that had been set up to try help the tiny kids learn so they wouldn't grow up knowing nothing because of other people's prejudice. For Eli, at least he'd gotten through high school, he had enough to get him through life, these kids might not.
It had been years. It had been years since this began and yet he still couldn't believe it. Couldn't believe this could be happening.
But he was happy here. He felt safe, surrounded by people like him. He felt safe with Peter.
But it wasn't always a kind of safe he enjoyed. Most of the time, him and Peter got along like two peas, other times they, well...didn't.
He knew whatever petty squabbles he and Peter had, there was worse going on outside their little bubble, but sometimes their little safe haven of being gay, drinking, and sex felt more like a cage than a bubble.
He just felt trapped.
He knew he had it better than others just like him but it was stifling. He feared going out by himself due to everything happening out there so Peter walked him to and from work. He was there at dinner, he was there in bed, he was there at these damn parties. That's when it was worst.
Those people. All those people. Men with men, women with women. They were just like him in that they were gay, but he didn't feel like it was really him there.
It was 'Otto' there. The stupid alter ego Peter had created for him. But Otto was no different than him. Except for the fact Otto wasn't Jewish. Otto didn't have to be ashamed of his religion because no one would hate him for it.
Maybe they'd be accepting, all the gays partying downstairs. Oppressed supporting the oppressed. You'd think they'd understand, that they'd see past previous prejudice in these desperate times. And who knew, maybe they would be.
But they didn't know for certain.
It was a risk Eli was willing to take.
But Peter wasn't.
It's what almost all their arguments stemmed from. And every time Peter called him Otto, the more he just wanted to walk out.
But he had nowhere to go. He couldn't go home because his father was still there. The nightmares had returned. He was 22 and waking up in a cold sweat at least twice a week, and had even gone back to stuttering sometimes, just like he used to as a teenager when his father was around.
But he loved Peter. He didn't want to leave him. Sometimes he just felt like he needed a break from it all.
He felt Peter's lips brushing his neck, his fingers gripping his hips. The quiet creek of the bed in time with his movements. The whisper of his fingers against the soft cotton bed sheets as he raised it to brush through Eli's now chin length curls, fanned out against the pillow.
His words came out as no more than a breathy whisper, warm against Eli's skin.
"I love you, Otto."
An instant click. A hitch in his breath as those words sank in.
That wasn't his name. The wrong name? Someone else's? Peter was cheating?
No.
Of course, Otto was him. He was Otto. But that wasn't his name, why was he calling him that?
Eli sat up slowly, his face devoid of expression as he pushed Peter away and off him, drawing the sheets up over himself, just staring at him.
"Schatzi?" Peter said, puzzled, kneeling on the edge of the bed as he placed his hand on Eli's knee, squeezing slightly. "Baby, what's wrong?"
Why? Why did he say that?
And why did it bother him so much?
Peter had called him Otto many times before. Every time they had a party or meeting with the others he became Otto for the day. But now...
This was different. Because they were alone. There was no one to deceive. No one to lie to. So why was he still calling him by that damn name?
"Peter, are you ashamed of me?"
"What? No!" Peter exclaimed, moving closer to him and trying to take his hand but Eli yanked it away. "Why would you say that?"
"Why would you say that!?" Eli snapped back.
"What? Seriously, Eli, I don't know what the hell you're upset about."
"Otto. You called me Otto."
Peter stared back at him, shaking his head slowly before sitting back on his heels.
"Right. I'm sorry. It just slipped out after calling you that all night," he sighed.
Eli raised an eyebrow and gave him a bitch please kind of look before turning his gaze to the window and looking out over the night time city lights of Berlin instead of his boyfriends pitiful expression as he tried to justify calling him the wrong fucking name.
"Eli?" Peter repeated, trying to grab his hand again but this time Eli didn't try to stop him, just didn't react at all when he did. Honestly, that was worse. "I'm truly sorry but I don't understand why you're so upset. I call you Otto all the time. We've talked about this."
Peter sighed. Eli just wasn't going to listen to him. When he got like this, there was no reasoning with him whatsoever. He'd end up staring into space for hours, completely ignoring everything around him, especially Peter if he was mad at him.
"Fine. Have it your way," he snapped as he got up and dressed quickly. "I'll be downstairs, having a nice time with our friends. Come find me when you're willing to actually have an intelligent conversation with me instead of wallowing in self pity over something I don't even understand."
He opened the door and stepped out into the hall, hesitating before closing it.
"Y'know-"he said, looking back into their bedroom from the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest, "-this, all of this, all our arguments, could be solved so much quicker if you'd just fucking talk to me."
He stepped out and closed the door, cursing Eli out under his breath as he skidded down the stairs and into the living room where the usual party was taking place. One of his friends from university patted him on the back and handed him a drink, saying things he could hardly hear over the volume of both the talking and his thoughts.
The next couple of hours passed in a dizzying blur. He engaged in conversations he didn't remember. His lips moved but his mind was elsewhere. Just thinking about Eli. He should have stayed with him. It wasn't his fault that he got like this sometimes. He'd block off from the world, stop himself from showing emotion.
Peter just wanted him to get help for these things but he knew he couldn't. He'd heard stories of what they did to the so called crazies. Tortured, experimented on, killed. He'd take Eli's panic attacks or zoning out over losing him forever any day, no question about it.
But it sucked that that ever had to be an option. They were trying to change things, these people he was with. They were rebelling just by being here, but did it really make a difference? Sure, they'd printed out some pamphlets and they could go to jail just for that, but none of them really cared about anyone but their own marginalised group. The gays didn't care about the communists, the communists didn't care about the gypsies and the gypsies didn't care about the Jews. Not really. Deep down, they were all horrible, horrible people, himself included.
He slammed his drink down on the table and moved to go back upstairs and apologise to Eli properly without trying to blame him for it.
"Hey, is that smoke?" Someone yelled from the window, looking out from the front of the house where they could see the streets snaking off into the distance.
The chatter died down as everyone crowded around the window, craning their necks to see over each other.
"Holy fuck, it is," someone else muttered incredulously. The group moved to the door and out into the street to get a better view of what was going on. Starting from just about a mile away from them and spanning for miles after that, parts of the city were ablaze, plumes of dark, black smoke billowing out into the starry sky.
Peter turned from the others and ran back up the stairs, bursting into their bedroom with his heart in his throat.
Eli was gone.
And Berlin was burning.