?

Log in

No account? Create an account
 
 
11 February 2004 @ 07:22 am
FIC: "Kiss me, Traitor!", Orli/Viggo, NC17, complete  
Author: Osiris Brackhaus (OsirisBrackhaus@aol.com)
Website: Fafnir's Lair: http://www.MorningChilde.com
Part: 1/1
Pairing: Orli/Viggo
Rating: NC 17
Archive: Yes, but please ask first.
Feedback: Sure, hit me!
Warnings: RPS, WWII setting, angst,
Summary: Working undercover in the heart of the Third Reich, Orli learns that being supposed to sneak of to safety in silence can be all but a simple task. Especially when there is someone he would loathe to leave behind the enemy lines – even if said someone is the very enemy he was supposed to bring down...
Disclaimer: not mine, sigh...


----


At this late hour the monumental marble halls of the Reichskanzleramt in Berlin were almost deserted, and the sharp sounds of his boots on the shining floor echoed eerily through the night. White marble stood in stark contrast to the omnipresent red swastika flags at every other wall, and over-large bronze busts of the Fuehrer stared out into the night from hollow eyes.

This was the last time he would use these corridors, the last time ever he would walk through the rotten heart of Nazi Germany. The last time he had to wear this dreaded brown uniform, as much as it might have suited him. He had fulfilled his assignment, and splendidly so, and now he yearned to go home, to see his parents again, to begin a life of his own again.
No more Roland Bluhm, but Orlando Bloom again for the rest of his life.

He had just briskly turned around a corner, as a hand in black leather gloves grabbed his arm, pulling him into the shadows behind a column. Simultaneously another gloved hand cupped his mouth to silence any scream he might have given, if he were the bright young SS officer he paraded for.

"Shh, Roland, silent!", a dark voice whispered, and with a sinking heart Orlando recognized the very one person he had hoped not to face tonight.

Rather, he would have encountered a whole squad of armed SS militia, or jogged through a mine-field, but this man was not a threat to his body, but to his heart. And still, hoping he still had a chance to get out of this unscathed, he nodded, and the hand on his mouth lifted its grip.
Yet the arms that had pulled him into the shadows still held him in a close embrace, and the thought of having to leave these arms behind forever made his heart sink even more.

"Victor", Orlando whispered. "What the hell are you doing? Do you want to get both of us imprisoned?"

Abruptly, he was turned around, and the young man looked into the eyes of the man he, against all his initial intentions, had grown to love during the last months. Clad as usual in his crisp black uniform, wearing the trademark black leather coat of the Gestapo, the 'secret' police of the National Socialists, Victor looked the very paragon of the sleek, dark officer even the German public had learned to fear since the war had begun. They spied on everybody, coaxed people to denunciate any 'non-german' activities of neighbors, colleagues or relatives. They were the dark, dangerous head of the machinery that at its unbelievable roots had children betraying their parents for a recommendation to their superiors at the Hitlerjugend.
But Victor, he had learned, was different in ways he would never have dared to imagine.

Now he grabbed Orlando's head with both his hands, kissing him passionately, almost violently, pulling both of them deeper into the shadows of the corner.
Despite his will to leave this place as soon as possible, despite his decision that it would be best for both of them if he would just forget his affair with Victor, Orlando felt himself melt into this kiss, clench his hands into the soft leather of his coat to pull his body even closer to him.
This kiss was not merely foolish, it was suicidal at best, but right now, none of this mattered.
Almost desperately their mouths found each other, kissing, biting, sensitive lips scratching over skin that was rough from the first stubble of re-growing beard, two bodies holding on to each other with a violent passion fanned by despair.

Despair...?
With a visible effort, Orlando pushed himself away a little to look at his lover. Victor was worried, he could see this. More, his eyes were as gray as the stormy sea, something he had never seen on his lover before.

"Victor, what's wrong?", he asked insistently, but still no louder than a breath.

"How could you do this to me?", his lover whispered.

"What? What are you talking of?"

"You know."

In silence, they looked at each other, eye in eye, arm in arm, searching for an answer in the other's face but finding none.
Finally, Victor said in a voice so flat it chilled Orlando to the bone:

"How could you betray me like this...."

Could he know? Could he really know?
But there was not a single trace he had left, no way to know he had been spying for the Allieds for years.
Oh God, why of all possible trials did you have to send me Victor? I already sacrificed my self-esteem; do you have to break my heart as well?

Feeling the body of the man he loved so close to his own, separated only by the uniforms that marked them as the elite of a system that fatally despised a love like theirs, Orlando once again felt this whole affair taxing him more than he would have admitted to himself before. He felt worn out, tired of the fear, the constant alertness. Why couldn't they have met in another live?

"Roland, answer me. Why did you do it?"

Victor's voice, though still no more than a whisper, was stern now, cutting like a knife, and his eyes were as cold as the marble of the sickeningly splendid place they were in.

"Lover, why?"

Orlando tried to look somewhere else, tried to escape the piercing look of the man he love more than anything else in his life, but he could not lie. Not this time, at least. And apparently, he knew something already.
So he forced himself to look up again, and he felt his eyes brimming with tears as he said:

"I would never want to harm you, never in my life", he pressed out, and the hurt he could see in his lovers eyes felt like a dagger of ice in his heart. Almost desperately, he pleaded: "I love you, Victor..."

But the Gestapo officer just looked at him, silently, gray eyes full of hurt and sorrow. Then, unexpectedly, Victor's features sobered, and untangling their embrace, he said briskly:

"Your cover's been busted. I overheard a search-squad being sent to your flat. It's over."

Yes, apparently it was. My life, and my love as well.

"I'm sorry, Victor..."

But he just shrugged, straightening his uniform and apparently emotionally utterly uninvolved.

"If we hurry, we might still get out of Berlin before they close the roads."

We?

"Come on, my car's waiting outside."

And then, he turned around, gesturing for Orlando to follow him. Could he really trust him? But then, if he would like to see him killed, why this charade? Hesitantly, Orlando made a first step to follow his lover, and then another, and soon, he had gathered enough composure again that no-one would suspect anything untoward of the Gestapo officer and his young aide that left the Reichskanzleramt in crisp, professional silence.


----


"So", Orlando said after too long a silence. "I suppose now it's time for farewell."

Against his will, it came out more of a question than a statement, and the hesitation he saw in Victor's eyes painfully confirmed that both of them would rather not part at all. Standing in the corner of one of the waiting rooms at Berlin's central Friedrichsstrasse train-station, chance had given them a few minutes of relative privacy before Orlando would leave on a train who'd bring him to Paris in relative safety, where he would be able to contact help.
The young spy craved to touch his lover's face one last time, to say farewell in a manner that would befit the lovers they were, not the colleagues they pretended to be.

But suddenly, the banging of a door and the sharp snap of a boothilt salute made them turn around, watching a young SS cadet enter with the omnipresent greeting:

"Heil Hitler!", he snapped, all his bearing and uniform crisp and shiny like a newly minted penny. How much did he know of the horrors that bread just at the fringes of his perfect arian society, Orlando wondered with a mental shiver. Do I still look that convinced when I greet others, Orlando mused on, or could a careful observer see past the ruse and spot the dread in my eyes?

"Hauptmann Mortenson?", the cadet asked rather politely, only continuing after a brief nod of his superior. "I have orders to inform you that the general's train will have to be searched again, as there are news of an allied traitor on the run. You'll have to wait for another half an hour before the train will leave. The general sends his apologies for this delay and asks if there is anything you might need."

Whatever Victor might have told the people around here, they surely did accept his story. But then, no-one dared to question the actions of the Gestapo nowadays lest some doubt to their infallibility of devotion to the common cause might arise.

What did that boy see anyway, Orlando wondered. Two frightened lovers huddled together in the bleak place where they would be torn apart?
Probably not. More likely, he just saw a high-ranking and therefore very dangerous Gestapo officer standing in a dark corner with someone he was about to sent on a mission, dealing in secrets and murder. So nothing out of the ordinary and every reason not to look too closely.
The boy would never see them holding their hands in the dark folds of Victor's coat, nor would he ever guess that the intimacy the two sought in the corner was far less intimate than both of them desired.

"No", Victor answered sharply, adding in a slightly annoyed tone: "I'll send for you if I need anything."

The cadet more then got the hint, and with another snapping salute, he answered:

"Of course, Hauptmann. I'll make sure you'll stay undisturbed. I'll knock when it's about time."

Instead of a confirmation, Victor just gave the boy a bored look, and with a muttered excuse, the cadet left the room and closed the door behind him.

Orlando had to stifle a macabre giggle. Somehow, this situation was hilarious. Both of them were feared and trusted members of this society, as safe as any man could be in this madhouse, and yet both their lifes hung by threads as thin and fragile as moonbeams.
Half an hour left to go. Only thirty minutes more, where a whole lifetime might not have been enough. Somehow, Orlando wished the cadet had come to fetch him instead of prolonging his pain for another dreadful 1800 seconds.

"I-", Orlando began, fighting the tears that came up in his eyes despite all his efforts. "I have so much to tell you, Victor, so much, and I don't know where to begin..."

As if trying to convey his feelings by touch alone, Orlando put his hand against his lover's chest, not daring to show any sign of affection outside the little protection the coat gave them.
Silently, Victor's still gloved hand rose up to cover the younger officer's slender hand, pushing it to a place above his heart, holding it there.
Orlando could feel the warmth of his lover's hand penetrate the thin leather, could feel the heartbeat through the thick black uniform Victor wore, and his gaze went up in search of his lover's eyes. So much sadness he saw in those eyes changing and deep as the sea. Those eyes he had seen blue and full of joy in the golden light of the first morning when they had the chance to wake up in one bed together, grey and cold as he told him that he knew of his betrayal.
So much sadness now, so much grief. And love.

"I don't know...", Orlando whispered, but Victor merely touched his lips with a black-gloved finger, whispering:

"Then don't speak at all. It'll only make it hurt all the worse."

And then, like the most natural thing in the world, the Gestapo officer bend forward and kissed him.

Panic flared up in Orlando, white and searing, cold and hot at the same time, and he pushed away his lover with more force than he would have liked.

"No!", he tried to say, but unable to decide between shout and whisper, he only managed a weak yelp. "What are you doing, Victor? You're going to get both of us killed!"

Closing up to Orlando again, this time forcing Orlando deeper into the shadows between a large grey locker and the corner of the room, Victor said in a soft voice:

"Coming out of your mouth, Roland, this realisation comes somewhat late, it seems to me."

Of course he was right. There was no point now in being afraid, no point in trying to safe what was already lost, by all accounts. There was no logical reason left to be afraid now, but nonetheless Orlando's heart pounded in his chest like he had just run the mile.

"I was not afraid for my life"; Orlando whispered. "Only for yours."

Taking another step towards the young SS officer, Victor had Orlando now finally cornered behind the locker, one of his hands on the wall next to the young man's head.

"Since when do you care about the life of an Arian, traitor?", Victor asked, his expression unreadable.

This accusation hurt more than Orlando had thought possible. But he already knew the only answer that would be the truth.

"Since I fell in love with you, Victor."

Bringing his face mere inches to Orlando's face, Victor asked with an expression that still defied any attempt to read it:

"Why should I believe you, traitor?"

Orlando fought the urge to run, for he knew it would serve nothing at all. Why on earth did Victor have to put him through such an ordeal? Why did he pretend to help him escape when he just wanted to rub salt to his heart's wounds?

"Answer me!", the Gestapo officer snapped, one of his still-gloved hands grabbing Orlando's chin, jerking his head upward so he had to face his lover's piercing gaze. "Say it, traitor!"

"I love you", the young spy answered in a choked whisper, a single tear running down his cheek. "I love you, and I would never be able to hurt you."

And he held the stern gaze of the elder officer, defying his own fear and confusion with the courage and confidence he found in this simple truth. Slowly, he watched Victor's iron control waver, saw his face twitch, his stern expression once again turn sad and longing.

"I know. Have know it all the time", Victor whispered without relieving his firm hold of Orlando's chin. "You might betray your country, but never your heart."

Bending forward so that their lips did not touch just yet, pressing Orlando's body into the corner with his own, Victor added:

"Kiss me, traitor."

This time, he did not resist. Too much he longed himself for a last kiss, to little did he care for what might come tomorrow. If there was to be one at all.

So his lips returned the passionate kisses Victor offered, and he kissed him and held his lover like there would be no tomorrow. Shivering both with fear and anticipation, he sneaked his hand underneath the jacket of Victor's uniform, pulling at his shirt impatiently, craving to touch the skin of his body.
And Victor didn't resist. Not at all.

Orlando had know it wouldn't stop with kissing, not as desperate and longing as both of them had been, but he also knew that it was mere suicide. Every moment, someone could walk in, peep through the single window, notice their muffled sounds on the hallway.
If they were shot on sight, he could count himself lucky, he knew. Other option were being sent into prison or hard labor, into one of the camps no-one returned from. Even being clubbed or stoned to death by shamed and furious soldiers would not be out of the possible.
So many ugly ways to die for the only thing he had done during the last year that he didn't think of as a crime, Orlando thought to himself.

But his musings were cut short as in turn, Victor's hand sneaked a way trough layers of clothing, and found it's way down between Orlando's legs. Under his breath, he gasped as a gloved hand slid around his pulsing dick, firmly grabbing and holding it. For a moment, none of them moved.
Both of them stood still, breathing deeply, Orlando with his back against the wall, Victor pushing against him with his other hand still next to the younger man's head.

Slowly, Victor's head dropped onto Orlando's shoulder, and unbelieving, he heard him whisper:

"Maybe you are a traitor to my country, Roland, or whatever your real name is. But just as you cannot betray your heart, there are things I just cannot do as well."

And with a longing kiss, more like a little bite, in the neck of his lover, Victor added:

"I love you, Roland, and I will never hurt you. So, I turn into a traitor myself. Are you happy now?"

Still befuddled with disbelief, Orlando shook his head.

"No, I'm not happy. There still is too much grief in both of us."

With a shiver, he stopped as Victor moved his hand again, sending waves of hot desire through the young man's body.

"But that you love me", he continued after he had found his breath again, "that is a gift beyond worth to me."

Again, Victor moved the hand he had wrapped around his lover's dick, and Orlando strained not to moan. Shivering, he clenched his hands into the collar of Victor's coat, hoping to hold him as close as possible.

"And my name," he gasped, his eyelids half-closed as his attention was drawn inwards so much, "my name is Orlando."

"What a beautiful name."

Victor did neither stop now slow down his gentle, massaging movements as he began to speak, and Orlando's ragged breath rewarded him for his efforts.

"Orlando...", the Gestapo officer whispered into his lover's ear. "It means: the courageous one, the loyal one. Your people must be damned proud of you."

Instead of an answer, a low moan escaped Orlando's mouth, and Victor knew his lover was about to come every moment now. Carefully, Victor let his hand slip out of Orlando's uniform, kissing the young man's throat, his chin, his cheeks.
Their eyes met, and both of them knew that there was no way back by now. Too much their desire had been fanned by fear, too much they had to feel a confirmation of their love at least once again. This was not a time for much words, but for love.

So when Victor turned Orlando around to face the wall, he did not object, when his hands unclasped the brazen buckle of the young officer's belt, both of them shivered in anticipation.

Hidden underneath the black leather coat, Victor's hands slowly opened the younger man's trousers, pushing them down just far enough to free Orlando's dick and uncover his butt. The young man could feel Victor's cock hard though the other man's uniform, and the way Victor pressed himself against the butt of his lover made him want to scream of desire.

This was madness, utter madness, Orlando thought to himself. We're going to get ourselves killed, nothing else. But then again, better to die for love than for duty, wasn't it?
Biting his knuckles to suppress a minute scream, Orlando felt his lover getting rid of his infamous gloves while having hugged him around his waist, occasionally a sleeve or a wrist brushing the exposed tip of his cock. Then one of Victor's now bare hands grabbed his dick again, the other one deftly caressed his naked backside. Shivering again, Orlando leaned his forehead to the cool metal of the locker, on hand above his head for support, the other in his mouth to stifle any sound that might slip through his tight control.
When Victor's finger's searched for his entrance, moist and slick with spittle, he almost let out a groan, and the single finger that entered him shortly after was a mere teasing annoyance, a promise of what he knew was about to come.
Orlando desired the sleek curve of his lover's dick within him so much, craved to feel him inside of him as he had done so often and never enough. This was going to be the last time ever he had a chance to do so, and he would bloody well make sure he had all of it.

Apparently, Victor had sensed his impatient desire, and before he could brace himself, he felt himself pried open by his lover's cock, smooth and hard and hot. Slowly but unrelentingly, he felt Victor enter his body, and if anything less than their very lifes would have depended on it, he would not have been able to silence his scream of lust and affirmation.
But this way, only a low groan escaped him, but he could feel the coppery taste of blood in his mouth.

Slowly, Victor began to move, bit by bit, first only some few inches, then more and more, until he pulled out almost all the length, only to shove it in again with the same, slow, maddeningly controlled pace. Orlando felt cold sweat break out on his forehead, and he was glad for the support he found between the wall in front of him and his lover behind him.
This was madness, he thought to himself again, this was madness, and yet he would not have it any other way.
Gradually, the speed of Victor's movements increased, and soon, he was groaning as well, one of his arms clasped tightly around his lover's waist, the other one holding Orlando's dick, stroking it in barely controlled jerks.

Their coupling was frantic, hard and urgent, as if any unnecessary tenderness would endanger them even more than the mere act by itself. But the urgency made their bodies all the more willing, the need to stick to silence, to give no hint of their actions either by sound or by moving out of their corner where one might not immediately see what they were doing added another edge to their already searing desire.

Soon, Orlando could not hold on any longer, and with another low groan, he gave in to his tension, his body jerking almost uncontrollably, coming violently, pulling his lover with him in a maelstrom of passionate release. Both men clung to each other desperately, the mutual shivers running through their bodies, suspended in a moment of peaceful bliss despite all the danger around them.

But far too soon, reality came crushing back into their minds, and without any words, they separated again, beginning to clean and dress again in an almost shameful hurry. Only when they were appropriately clad again, did their eyes meet once more, and despite all the sadness Orlando found in his lover's eyes, he knew he had done right. Whatever could have been said about regret and longing, sharing love in such danger was more affirmation than anyone could wish for.

"Will you be alright?", Victor asked, already his hands hidden again within his awful gloves.

Orlando only nodded and wiped away a damp strand of hair out of his lover's face, still sad, yet calm and somewhat better suited to face the perils ahead. Even Victor looked more relaxed now, Orlando found, actually better than even most of the times they've met in private, and he was beautiful, his sharp feature graced by some gentle nobility one only could guess at when he was less relaxed.

This was the way he wanted to remember his lover, beautiful and gentle, Orlando decided, the way he would keep him in his heart forever.

----

Stepping up the few stairs from the platform onto the wagon, Orlando turned around one last time, kindling a vain hope to see his lover somewhere in the grey light of dawn. But the platform was empty except for the soldiers that guarded the supplementary train that was supposed to bring one German general and some secret cargo to Paris. And, in addition to addition to that cargo the Reichssicherheitshauptamt had not trusted to send via plane, it would carry one lonely allied spy toward freedom.
Or at least to somewhere he would easier find some support than here in Berlin, Orlando thought with a sigh.

Final farewell had come swiftly and surprisingly painless, as the young cadet knocked on the door and entered the room Orlando and Victor had been 'waiting' in. Orlando, in adherence to his role as the Hauptmann's assistant, had asked for any final orders, then had saluted and turned away to follow the cadet that would bring him to the train.
There simply had been neither the time nor the opportunity for lingering looks and tearful promises. And yet, Orlando already felt that he was missing him terribly.

Only later he had realised that Victor had not answered his last salute with the appropriate 'Heil Hitler!', but with the usually strictly military 'Sieg Heil!'. Blessed Victory.
Considering that Victor had known that they were fighting for very different kinds of victories, Orlando was left to wonder which of the many possible meanings his lover had tried to convey. Victor was no-one who'd make a simple, meaningless mistake in such a situation.

But he would have many hours for fruitless musings on the train, Orlando thought, and with a considerable effort, he turned away his eyes from the station and stepped onto the train, as a harsh voice yelled across the platform:

"Stop! Hold the train! It must not leave the station!"

Urging down the reflex to scream and run, Orlando turned around to look onto the platform, trying to look nothing but unconcerned if slightly curious.

But what he saw made the blood congeal in his veins: a cadre of black-uniformed armed SS militia jogged down the station towards the train, and their massed appearance usually only spelled one thing: the Gestapo was hunting traitors.

Had Victor betrayed him after all? Unthinkable.
Had his attempt at rescue been too late? Maybe they had traced them here at the station and Victor was now charged for treason as Orlando himself would be...
Or, maybe it had nothing to do with him after all, Orlando thought. If I run now, I'll be killed anyway. So I just stay here, stay calm, hope they'll pick out someone else and let me go.

As the black-clad group closed up with the first soldiers, their captain stopped and talked to the highest-ranking soldier he encountered. They were too far away for Orlando to overhear a single word they said, yet it made his skin crawl none the less.
Soon, a soldier was dispatched from the cluster around the SS cadre, and jogged as a messenger towards the front end of the train. The group slowly dissolved, both soldiers and SS men standing on the platform, waiting.

Several minutes passed without anything happening, and Orlando decided he had to do anything to prevent himself from going mad.

So he went back to the train's door and gestured one of the soldiers to come over.

"Hey, you, soldier!", Orlando yelled in his best commanding voice, "Come here!"

His rank as indicated on his uniform allowed him such a tone, and as expected, the man moved closer to the train.

"What's all this delay about?", he asked full of annoyance. "I have to be in Paris with important documents, and I have no time to sit here and wait."

The soldier obviously was at a loss about what to say, but at last he said carefully:

"I'm not sure, Sir. But after all I've heard, we're expecting another traveler."

"Thanks. You may leave."

Another traveler? But who could that be? This train intentionally had been a secret, supplementary thing, and only by chance Victor had known that this train existed, and that it would be neither stopped nor searched on its way to Paris.

But at least, it was not about him. Though every moment he had to wait here longer increased the risk of someone finding out where he was, someone sending out another cadre, only this time to get him.

So he waited.
Patiently, he sat down in one of the seats, tried to read one of the newspapers that lay around in the wagon. But Orlando couldn't focus on the letters, far less could he sit still while his life was at stake and the only thing he could apparently do was to wait.

When he couldn't stand it anymore, he stood up again, and walked to the still-open door. Nothing had changed, only the light had grown brighter and soon, the first real sunlight would manage to creep over the roofs of the city.
It was only when Orlando was just about to turn back into the wagon again, as a black figure emerged from the shadows of the station, wearing a long, leather coat and carrying a large travel-bag.

For a heartbeat, Orlando was convinced that it was Victor coming down the platform in long, unhurried strides, yet that was impossible. Was it?

Staring so hard it made his eyes water, Orlando fixed that apparition, watched that man come closer and closer, and yet it still looked very much like Victor.

Painfully, so.

Speechless with irritation he saw the man talk to both the soldiers and SS militia, still hoping that somehow this man would suddenly turn out NOT to be Victor. But even as that man turned around to step onto the train through the very same door Orlando was standing in, his looks did not change.

"Roland", Victor said cheerfully, "you so kind and take by luggage? Sorry for being so late."

Instinctively, Orlando grabbed for the bag he held out to him, but then froze in the motion and bent forward to whisper:

"What the fucking hell are you doing here?"

Cocking his head ever so slightly, Victor answered calmly:

"I'm coming with you."

This was madness!

"You can't throw away you life for me! You're mad!", Orlando hissed under his breath.

"My life is mine to give away to whom I want. Like my heart."

Helpless against this completely ignorant argumentation, Orlando shook his head, whispering again:

"You're fucking mad!"

"We're both going to be fucking dead if you continue making a scene. They're already staring."

All of a sudden, the whole surroundings jumped back into Orlando's mind, and with a effort, he managed to laugh and take the bag. Amiably, he offered a hand for Victor to help him into the train, nothing more than a colleague helping another, yet for both of them Orlando's acceptance of Victor's folly.

As soon as the door had closed behind Victor, a whistle yelled and the train started to move. Still staring at his lover with slack-jawed disbelief, Orlando watched his lover brush some imaginary dust off his coat, saying:

"I think I'd make quite a good spy of my own, don't you think?"

Shaking his head in silence, Orlando could do nothing but stare at the dark haired man in front of him, who had so flamboyantly demonstrated that Orlando still didn't know one bit of him.

"So now, what do you say?", Victor asked cheekily, and apparently very satisfied with his own mad ideas.

Shaking his head again, Orlando smiled and replied:

"What could I be saying?"

Stepping closer to his lover, he pulled him behind the cabin's door where they were out of sight at least for a few moments, grabbing the collar of Victor's coat and whispering:

"Kiss me, traitor!"
 
 
 
Raffienanakomatsu on February 15th, 2004 04:59 pm (UTC)
Yay, I love your fics at MorningChilde, and I really like this :)
I friended you, I hope it's ok!
osirisbrackhausosirisbrackhaus on February 19th, 2004 11:22 pm (UTC)
Re:
Hey, I feel flattered when friended.
Thanks so much for your kind feedback, and I hope I will manage to post regularly in my LJ as well... Though right now, RL seems to work against it ;-)

Thanks so much again,
take care,
Osiris