Disclaimer: I own no part of the Die Hard movie franchise. I'm just having some smutty fun with the sexy Hans Gruber because I adore Alan Rickman. There will be a bit of plot woven in while making plenty of room for adult smut on the way, just as a fair warning to all. Also for this story, we're going to assume Hans is in his early thirties. The story is set post-movie, with this chapter starting only a few days after the movie's ending, so just after Christmas. References may also go somewhat AU from a few events in the movie, though we will eventually get to the how on Hans' survival. Thanks for reading!
Noises in the Night
Layla rolled over and suddenly sat up in the plush, satin bed. Something had awoken her but she had no idea what. Had it been a noise? Was it her nerves? Looking around the dimly lit hotel suite, it took her eyes several moments to adjust. They were high enough up that the incessant, nightly blinking and flashing along the untamed Las Vegas streets shed little light in the windows, while still affording a breath-taking view at any given moment of the day.
Glancing to her left, she could tell that Hans was no longer on the other side of the enormous bed. Had he stepped out to talk to her father? Could he have some sort of private business he was taking care of? Was he simply in the bathroom?
So much had happened in the past few days, Layla still had a difficult time wrapping her head around it all. But here she was, married Vegas-style to Hans Gruber, long-time friend of her father's, all in a ruse to get him safely out of the country and across the border into Mexico. Oddly, even though it had been her idea, everything still held a rather surreal quality to it.
Why the idea had even come to her in the first place, she didn't know or rightly understand. Maybe it was the simple fact that she never did anything wrong or remotely daring. Not ever. She'd never smoked or tried drugs. And only once had Layla dared to take a sip of wine at a friends house. She studied hard, kept her curfew, and even kept her language clean on most counts. Layla never put a toe out of line, at least not outwardly. Not with having the strictest sort of mother who questioned every motive and rarely allowed her to pee in peace.
Layla thought about it and realized the only times she experienced any real provocative fun and outright daring came during the once a year visits to her father over the summer. Leaving Cape Cod and her overbearing, protective mother behind to come to her father's place in Lake Havasu, Arizona, was always exhilarating and refreshing. Her father didn't care if she wore a two-piece, skirts several inches above her knee, or shirts that hugged her chest, bolding outline her feminine assets. In fact, he expected her to act and dress like other normal teen girls.
She giggled almost manically over it all, holding her hand over her mouth. Married. Her, of all people, and at the young age of eighteen. Why, it was outlandish and absurd! What would her friends back in Cape Cod say if they ever found out? Even if it was only to last for the next few weeks, it felt like a wild and weird dream, something out of a movie really. And God-forbid, if her mother discovered it, oh, the steps she would take to prevent Layla from ever seeing her father again. She'd start by calling every manner of law in the land.
There were times, of course, that Layla considered bucking her mother's rule completely and moving out west to live with her father. With those crazy thoughts, there always came a deep-seated guilt that viciously crept over her at the idea of leaving her mother alone and on her own. But now, here she was, taking the biggest, most exciting risk ever in her life and the only logical defense she could come up with was that she was of legal age. Her father was ok with it. What could her mother really do to her over it? Lock her away for the rest of her life?
Layla sighed and settled back into the pile of fluffy pillows. While she did not know the outlying circumstances that made his escape necessary, she felt no fear as Hans had been nothing but an extreme gentleman toward her in all the years she'd known him. Layla certainly appreciated that fact, though, she was admittedly feeling a bit frustrated over what exactly her role was going to be during this whole marriage façade. With a handsome man like Hans, it would be very easy to forget herself, lose her head, and throw herself at him. Hans was exceedingly gorgeous with the sexist voice and beguiling accent she'd ever hoped to hear. Swoon-worthy she would even dare say. And those rich, chocolatey eyes could melt her in seconds when he simply grinned in her direction.
What had really gotten her hot and frazzled was in how he'd kissed her at the end of their vows in the Little Chapel of Love. Layla knew they were going for an authentic presentation, hoping for a sweet peck on the lips at best, figuring in all actuality, that Hans would settle for quickly kissing her cheek. Especially with her father right there. Instead, Hans smiled quite devilishly at her, lifted her right off her feet and full-on kissed her, tongue included. She hadn't even mind the scratchy facial hair, she was so surprised and excited.
Layla had Frenched her ex-boyfriend plenty of times, but never in her life had it caused her to go utterly weak in the knees and feverish in the head for more. She's concluded that kind of reaction only happened in movies and romance novels. Closing her eyes, she tried her best to relive Hans' kiss all over again, while laying there in bed, alone, and in the dark. Eagerly, she recalled every vivid detail from just hours earlier. He'd held her firmly with one strong hand wrapped around her waist while the other tilted her head back for the kiss. The longer Layla reminisced about Hans and their shared kiss, the more she could feel a tantalizing heat building between her thighs.
Feeling bold, Layla reached down and rubbed a finger over the thin cotton of her panties. This wasn't the sort of thing she normally did, but somehow it just felt so right tonight. It was her wedding night, after all, and she could manage to still enjoy it, despite it being an elaborate hoax. Rubbing over her panties again, she pressed harder, circling with two fingers while fighting back a tiny moan.
Out of nowhere, there came a deep moan, followed by a sharp inhale of breath. Layla immediately sat up in the bed again. She had definitely not uttered those noises. Was Hans still in the hotel room with her? Perhaps he'd moved to the sofa in the setting area by the fireplace. Had it been a noise from him that woke her? Her face flushed at the idea of him being so close by while she'd been touching herself.
Against her better judgment, curiosity drove her and slipping out of bed, she cautiously tiptoed toward the large bathroom. A sliver of light was showing around the edge of the doorframe. As Layla got closer, she heard several more low, deep moans. She didn't understand how she knew it, but they were completely sexual in nature and they only served to heighten the intense feeling that had been rapidly building between her own legs.
Reaching the bathroom door, she realized it was ajar, and, giving it the smallest of nudges, Layla silently opened it just enough to spy through a one-inch crack. Somehow she managed not to respond vocally to the sight her soft green eyes found before them. Layla stood utterly transfixed as she saw Hans reflected in the large mirror, leaning back against the tiled shower wall. He was naked. Completely naked and fully aroused by the sight of his engorged cock that he held in his hand. Layla's mouth formed into a silent O-shape. Not only was Hans handsome, but his entire body was beautifully chiseled and well-toned. She wanted nothing more than to stare at his naked form forever.
Layla's mouth dropped open wider while watching his hand glide over his solid flesh. Never had she seen such a large and perfect specimen of manhood before. Part of her could not believe that she just stood there, continuing to stare, so transfixed. Her bare feet were glued to the cool tiled floor beneath her. There was no turning away, no retreating. Layla just watched, mesmerized, as his hand worked up and down his own manhood, grasping and squeezing along his turgid shaft. At one point, he even reached down to cup his balls with his other hand, letting out a deeper moan that vibrated across the room and through the door to where she was standing. Its enchantment hit Layla's ears and went straight to work, instantly dampening her panties.
Sucking in a deep, quiet breath, Layla's own fingers began to wander again as she observed the seductive scene. This time, her finger breached the fabric barrier and slipped down inside her panties as she watched Hans' hand move faster. With his brown eyes closed, Hans reached up to grab hold of the shower curtain rod, while lifting a foot to brace himself better against shower tiles. His breathing came in soft, rapid pants as did Layla's until she saw his hand suddenly halt in place as his seed spurted out in several long jets, hitting the opposite shower wall.
Her own little fingers continued rubbing her hot wetness, speeding up and finally bringing a gentle orgasm that quickly rippled through her body. As it subsided, Layla desperately hoped more than anything that she'd kept quiet throughout it. Carefully watching Hans and seeing no reaction on his part ensured her that she'd been successful in suppressing all sounds. Layla lifted a hand to grasp the doorframe in an effort to steady herself in the aftermath of rushing heat while Hans continued to lean against the white tiled wall, eyes still closed as his breathing slowly returned to normal.
Faster than a spooked jackrabbit, Layla abruptly turned and bolted back to bed, yanking the covers up to her shoulders as she curled onto her side, pretending to sleep. Disbelief at both their actions overwhelmed her and she knew he could come out at any moment. Anxiously listening, more sounds issued forth from the bathroom, though they were of the toilet flushing and of running water. Several minutes passed until Hans exited the bathroom, dressed in a pair of black silk lounge pants. Peeking through her long lashes, Layla's heart pounded away as he approached the bed. Not in fear, but rather of a forbidden excitement over what had just occurred.
He surprised her by stopping just in front of her. Hans reached out a large hand and gently swept the tousled hair from her face. Then he leaned down and kissed her cheek.
"Oh Layla… you're so young and innocent! What have I gotten you into?" Hans whispered tenderly in his bewitching German accent.
Hans traced his long index finger along her shoulder and down the length of her arm. Layla involuntarily shivered at the alluring feeling and shifted slightly, acting as though she was fast asleep. Giving a reluctant sigh, Hans rounded the bed, slipping in between the sheets while taking great care not to disturb Layla. It was easy to keep their distance in the oversized king bed of the honeymoon suite.
Dozens of questions swirling into Layla's thoughts as she lay there feigning sleep. How much was she going to discover about Hans Gruber on this venture? Would they get him out of the country safely? How long would they have to remain married? Would it be annulled as easily as her father explained, when she returned to the States, without Hans? And who could it have been that Hans was imagining in his mind as he pleasured himself?
A/N: Any thoughts would be greatly welcomed, especially if you would like for me to continue? ;)