Battle of the Rhine

When Michael was in boot camp, the instructors asked him what kind of enemy was the most difficult to fight.

The answer was quite unexpected for Michael. He thought the most difficult enemy to deal with was the machine gun—now, he finally understood what Instructor Salomon meant, fuck it, madmen are the most difficult to deal with.

He was punched twice in the face, and his cheekbones were burning hot.By the time Michael staggered to his feet, Quincy had found the real murder weapon—a ten-inch chef's knife.

"Fuck!" Michael was thankful that he hadn't neglected to exercise during his four years in college, turned around to avoid a blow, and picked up a chair to block in front of him.It's not a joke to stab the body with a knife, the heart, liver, spleen, and large blood vessels, as well as his radiant lower body.Quincy's attack was haphazard, he slashed to the left, slashed to the right, and once slashed on the table, leaving a scratch.

"Calm down!" Michael held up the chair, "I won't fucking do anything to you!"

Of course Quincy would not throw down the butcher knife because of this sentence, he waved his arms in a mess, pushed the table away, trying to catch up with Michael.A bottle of red wine bought by Michael fell to the ground with a loud noise.He was stunned, and in just two seconds, Michael saw the opportunity, put his foot on Quincy's chest, and knocked him to the ground; Press down back onto the floor.

"Reflex, sorry," Michael said, snatching the deadly knife and throwing it under the stairs, "You don't know how to use this, don't hurt yourself." He pulled out his belt and tied Quincy's hands behind his back.At this moment, he suddenly noticed that because of the struggle, one corner of Quinnessy's gray sweater was turned up, exposing the white shirt and waistband of his trousers.God bless, he's still wearing those straight, high-waisted suspenders!This kind of nineteenth-century stuff is so troublesome that Michael thought it would have been thrown into the garbage dump long after the war.

The only good thing about the suspenders was that Michael had finally found enough rope.Regardless of Quincy's struggles, he pulled off the suspenders, tightly trapping the dishonest legs.The world temporarily returned to peace. Michael touched his pocket. Oops, he forgot to bring his cigarettes.

"I quit smoking, but I still want to have one now and then," he muttered. "Calm down, the war's over—"

"Fuck you!" Quincy yelled. "Fuck you, Fiennes!"

This is really funny.Michael spoke stumbling German, trying to pronounce his uvula; Quincy scolded him in English.There was no smoke, Michael touched the corner of his mouth and then his chest.The military badge dangled, "I know, you plan to kill me."

At this time, there was a knock on the door, Dangdangdang——

"Carl, are you okay?"

That's great, this got the neighbours.Call the police later, um, murder or assault, Michael thought, maybe he will spend this weekend in the police station.

"I'm fine." Unexpectedly, Quincy actually lied, "I accidentally overturned the pot."

"Are you really okay?" The neighbor sounded worried, "Do you need my wife to help you?"

"It's done, thank you, Mr. Muller."

Looks like there's no need to go to the police station.Michael touched his chest, and Quincy in front of him turned his face sideways, his eyes closed, and he was breathing rapidly.This position is very uncomfortable, but Michael is not sure what other hidden weapons are in this living room, hammers, wrenches, cutting boards, plate fragments...you can never imagine how many people can commit crimes with everyday objects murder.

According to scientific research, when faced with the threat of death, what kind of hormone will be stimulated in the human body.Michael didn't remember the term, but the feeling after the fight made him both familiar and excited.The first time he hit Quincy, it was after Tim's death.Damn it, Michael's heart was pounding, as if it was going to burst out of his chest, yes, impulse and death go hand in hand, he didn't need to lower his head to know that he was so hard and swollen.

"...If you calm down, I will let you go." Michael said, "You want to kill me. To be honest, I have no objection."

"Hypocrisy," Quincy gasped, in a position that made it hard to breathe, "fuck you!"

He might know the English swear word, and Michael, holding his military badge through his sweater, saw a wonderful sight—at least, to him, quite a wonderful sight—Quinnessy's hair was disheveled, showing a little fairness. Earlobes and neck; those high-waisted trousers nicely framed his waist and hips, all the way down to his calves... not to mention the thin ankles under the light gray cotton socks.Michael admired it for a while, yes, he used the word "appreciation" in his heart, and at the same time gradually felt that his practice in the church in the past few years was in vain, and the dark cloud of Satan once again enveloped his soul.

So, driven by Satan, Michael stretched out his hand, brushed away that piece of blond hair, and stroked along Quincy's earlobe, like teasing a disobedient cat.Quincy froze, he was always very froze under Michael.

"I knew you came to Germany...to my doorstep...for this," he said, with a slight sob, "for this, Fiennes, you—"

Michael retracted his hand in embarrassment. For heaven's sake, he had just found a Protestant church and was going to start his first service in Europe this week.Evil desires, this may be God's trial.He recited a few verses silently, cheering himself up, but his penis didn't obey the piety of his brain, man, and he felt a faint pang of despair.

"Okay, okay," Michael untied the suspenders and belts that bound Quincy, "it's nine o'clock, and I'm going back."

Quincy sat up with his hands on the floor, slowly moving his wrists and legs.Michael found his coat in a puddle of wine, soaked, and had to go back and wash it well—he had to tuck his legs, or else the lecherousness would be exposed to Quincy's eyes.Michael picks up the coat...a frustrating Friday.

"If you want to do it, go take a shower," Quincy said suddenly. "Second floor."

"What?" Michael didn't understand, he was always worried about his German level, "Oh, what did you say?"

"Go take a shower," Quincy roared with red eyes, "the second floor!"

The sun was hidden behind the clouds, and the freezing rain crackled on the windows.Michael opened his eyes in the gloom, and the watch randomly placed beside the bed reminded him that it was already 42:[-], nine hours, and he had slept the deepest sleep in five years.

A handful of blond hair was on the other side of the pillow. Michael turned over and saw a fair nape, a thin back, and a narrow waist...

"Fuck." Michael touched the military card on his chest, he was definitely dreaming.