a/n - I am not a supporter of Hitler and the Nazi's, nor am I a Neo-Nazi - anything like that. But I am facsinated with the man behind the monster (I wonder how many times that phrase has been used in a book or movie!) and his relationship with Eva Braun.

*I love writing fiction about historical figures, but I've never actually done any on the computer or really, finished them, taken them anywhere, etc. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this short story, oneshot thing. :)

*Also, I feel I should mention it isn't meant to be romantic or pornographic, just raw.


My Fuhrer.

His mind was far away. Somewhere, deep below the earth. In a bunker, a prison cell, or in a furnace. He didn't feel it when her warm hands touched his chest - or at least did not seem to notice. Sometimes, she wondered if he could feel. He seemed distracted the entire time, not once looking into her eyes. So she looked past him too - the curtains were open, and their bedroom window faced the snow-capped mountains, the moonlight that showered the dark room seemed especially bright. Afterwards, they never embraced, so she wasn't too worried. His thrusts had not been gentle, as they were when he was thinking of the filthy Juden, or Goebbels, or his problem with Röhm, or every member of the volk who were, on paper and in his speeches, more important than her. If only they knew. He would sacrifice them so willingly for the greater good.

They lay about half a foot apart, Eva on her side holding the blankets to her waist and starting at the distant peaks of the Barvarian Alps. Though it was a reasonably warm night, she could still feel a chill on her skin. She could feel that the mattress had not moved since he had rolled off of her, and she guessed that he was still laying on his back, staring at the ceiling. Slowly, Eva pulled the pins from her hair, no longer needing to look presentable for Adolf now that they were here. One by one, she sat them on her bedside table, rolling over to face her lover on her way back. If he was in a dangerous mood, she would address him formally.

'My Führer?' Eva looked at his face in the semidark, wondering if he would be angered by her using this title after such an intimate moment. Though he still lay on his back, something clicked in his eyes and brought him back to earth and Eva.

He turned onto his side, his eyes meeting her and her hand rising. He smiled a little when she flinched, and lay a hand gently on her neck.

'I am sorry, love. My thoughts were not with you this evening.'

She put her simple grin on, happy that he was now paying her some attention.

'I understand, you're a very busy and important man.'

'Not too busy for you.'

'Oh. Well,' she giggled. 'This is true. But you have been quite busy this past week. We haven't watched a film in about three! What do you say? If you aren't too busy that is.'

'I say that sounds like a very good idea, my love.' His blue eyes shone in the moonlight, taking in her naked form. Though at times like this he was a selfish lover, her Fuhrer was a real man. Not the kind of man responsible for November 1918. When they were like this, she felt safe. Safe in their mountain home, watching their safe colour films, and in their four-poster bed. She had her own room, as sometimes the Fuhrer slept alone, but all the while Eva felt secure being this far away from Berlin. She preferred not to ask Adolf about the details of his day as to not anger or upset him. As long as he was happy with her, she was happy.

Of course, like with all her previous boyfriends, there were some annoying quirks that she couldn't shake. The Fuhrer, for instance, had a habit of oversuckling her nipples in a babyish way, tweaking them with more force than necessary and more often than not, leaving her wanting. Though they never spoke about it, Adolf's moods reflected his treatment of Eva. For instance, tonight he had been stressed, so came quickly. When he was angry, he was far more rough with her, often demanding sodomy or biting her neck so hard she had to wear her faux fur scarf for days. He could be gentle, caring only for her pleasure, and he would often hold his own release holding her for hours after, even if it was too hot. Eva indulged in the Berghof estate, wine, cheese and occasionally vermonth. Even Blondi was her friend when Adolf's temperament changed and she was left alone.

Tonight, she felt, he would want her there. On her own side, ready to either send away in the morning, or fuck when he was ready again.

He kissed her then, his dark, downy moustache irritating her delicate top lip. Though she wouldn't let him know that she had not been satisfied, but enjoying the feeling of her crotch touching his little pot belly. His weight gain was a secret between Eva and her legs - she always let him tell her these things, the faded bruise above her head was a reminder to keep her observations to herself. Eva pushed her breasts against Hitler's chest gently, concentrating on keeping her breathing even. There was a chance hat if she gave herself away, it would boost his self-esteem. But Adolf was usually smarter than that. He'd figure out her little gasps and moans were lies if she got too carried away.

'More, eh?' He teased. She froze, her bottom lip unsticking from his top. It was never a good idea to show fear immediately, because sometimes - when he was worn out and distracted - he didn't notice. Eva would often overthink things like this, and miss the point of his important talks about the Jews and Communists and dissent in the ranks. She was glad when he smiled genuinely. 'I'm sorry Eva, it's late. Besides, I don't think I could again, even though you are so beautiful.'

She grinned in relief and pride. She was rather pretty. She hoped that though he was tired, she would be awake before him. She would bathe, do her hair and put on some lipstick, so she was good for her Adolf tomorrow.