Aldovich gives me a total BONER... I gotta write more.
TITLE: "Rhetorical Questions", an Aldo/Utivich ficlet.
EXCERPT/SUMMARY: "It's a pretty dysfunctional thing they've got going on, yes, but Aldo can't really give a rat's ass." This one's from the same gene pool as my first Aldovich fic, "The Way They Like It" ...but you don't have to read that for this one to make sense.
WARNING/RATING: Some strong language and mild hinting at sex, but nothing to write home about. Rated R just to be safe!
DISCLAIMER: Everything you recognize belongs to QT. I'm not making any money off this. Boo ;_;
It can't exactly be called nightmares, what Utivich has. They're more like subconscious revenge fantasies coming to life at night, and he is the monster in them. He's tearing his victims limb from limb with an abnormal strength, a strength that can only come from pure, relentless anger. And it feels fucking fantastic. But while these dreams are rather enjoyable to him as they're happening, they become nightmarish once he is awake.
Utivich reckons he opened Pandora's box by joining the Basterds - his anger has turned into an itch he can't scratch. He wants more, he wants to go back to France and dig up all those anti-semite motherfuckers he has killed, just so he can resurrect them and kill them all over again. But he can't, obviously, so those dreams of his are nothing but teasing, and the frustration left within him afterwards drives him over the edge. He's shaking with fury, crying so hard he gets a splitting headache.
Aldo is awakened by the sound of sobbing. It's not the first time this has happened, nor will it be the last.
"Still angry, huh?"
It's a rhetorical question, and a pretty fucking silly one at that, but that's all Aldo's got to offer right now. He asks simply because he feels that he has got to say something, hoping that a few soft-spoken words will somehow help. And he knows damn well that these words can't be "it'll be alright" or any of that bullshit, he can't make that kind of promise. Of course Utivich is still angry, of course it won't be alright. Because no amount of butchered Germans can make up for his father's self-loathing, or the infinite number of times he's gotten words like 'faggot' and 'kike' thrown after him along with a bloody nose and a black eye. And it sure as hell won't make up for all these concentration camp stories that keep surfacing. Shit like that doesn't just go away, not for all the Nazi scalps in the world.
Unlike Utivich, Aldo is not prone to sulk and regret - but sometimes, in a moment of weakness, he'll catch himself thinking that they would both have been better off had they just gone down with the ship. As crazy as it seems, he sometimes envies Donny his fate.
"We never really thought this far ahead, did we?" Utivich says. He is starting to calm down now, pacified by the familiar sensation of Aldo's skin against his own.
Their somewhat unorthodox relationship serves three purposes; it keeps Utivich sane, it makes Aldo feel useful, and it makes them both feel a little less out of sorts. Under the circumstances, they would never even dream of calling themselves happy. But just being together counts for something, at least.
Aldo knows it should make him feel old, the idea that it's probably just Utivich's daddy issues talking when the kid presses up against him in the night, reaching for his hands as he whispers "touch me" - it doesn't faze him, though. It's a pretty dysfunctional thing they've got going on, yes, but Aldo can't really give a rat's ass. Because he will, on occasion, succeed in making Utivich forget who he is for a little while, making him let go of all that messed up shit that keeps fuelling his anger. When that happens, the kid will crack a broad, genuine smile that'll make Aldo wonder if this isn't such a bad life after all. And he'll try his best to hold onto that notion because he knows that, come night-time, Utivich will turn into a sobbing mess again.