Fic: The Care and Keeping of Smithson Utivich
Title Clothes (1/3?)
Rating R
Fandom Inglourious Basterds (AU)
Characters -
Pairing Donny/Utivich
Summery Donny thinks Uti is a huge fagatron. He sets out to correct it.
Note: This is a Modern!AU of the Basterds, in which Donny is a retired soldier and Utivich is a journalist for a Manhattan magazine/newspaper. References for them can be found here, at charge_0 's DeviantArt.
Two months ago, Donny Donowitz did something he never thought he'd do. He moved out of his childhood neighborhood in Boston, Massachusetts to move to a loft in Manhattan, overlooking nothing but city lights and stand still traffic. He didn't do this of his own will, but at the request of something of a leech on his life named Smithson Utivich, a frilly little fuck from the city. He was everything Donny despised about people-well-groomed, well educated, eloquent and creative while still being darkly hilarious and interested in everything-but something about the little man, be it his attitude, style, or just his fine, firm ass, drew Donny in and caused him to move away from the town he loved to the city life he loathed.
It wasn't all painful. Donny enjoyed the fact he didn't have to take a bus anymore to go where he wanted. The grocer was five blocks down, the park was a half hour walk, and movies were right in his range. Plus Smithson was always an entertainment source, with the stories he worked on for the magazine he worked for, interviewing visiting celebrities and the top cats of Manhattan life. This was how the two men met. He had originally been sent to Boston to do an article on the returning War Hero Sergeant Donowitz and his invaluable contribution to Operation Niko. From there the two became fast friends and somehow fell into bed together, and as they say, the rest was history. That brought him to the city.
Now, by no means did Donny consider himself queer or faggy. Just the opposite, as he still actively enjoyed tits on a regular basis (from afar, in the form of several internet sites Smithson must never know about, lest Donny be truly cut off from a decent fuck) and he never acted, even for a second, gay. Okay, there was the cuddling after sex, but how could anyone refuse Smithson's warm body when they just creamed his ass?
These were Donny's delicate terms.
Smithson, according to Donny, was a grade-A fag in every possible way. And, as he would explain at length, frequently, Smithson loved taking his cock way too much to be anything but totally queer, end of discussion. Frequently it was, as Smithson refused to comment because arguments such as these tended to end with him sucking Donny's dick like an eager whore. That didn't mean anything to him-he liked doing that, and clearly Donny had no problems with that either. But it did manage to worm under his skin every time foul-mouth Donowitz spoke up about his 'fagitude' or whatever the numbskull called it.
“Yah know, yah really do need new clothes,” Donny muttered one afternoon from the couch while Smithson was at his desk, typing up an article.
“I know that,” Smithson muttered back, mind clearly more on transcribing his encounter with Christopher Walkin.
“No, not yah gross Good Will hand out clothes,” the older man turned, arms crossed over the back of the couch, eyes boring into the back of Smithson's head enough to get him to look over his shoulder.
“I don't know what you're talking about.”
Honestly, he did, but he liked the hand-me-downs he found at the thrift shops. And Hell, affordable clothing. Though he did admit actually going to buy said clothes was a terrifying experience all on its own (he could have sworn he heard someone giving birth the last time he went-currently the reason he was avoiding the store).
“Yah need good clothes. Man clothes.”
“Fuck,” Smithson gave up on the article and turned from his Mac Book, “You have something in mind, Donowitz?”
“I do. My clothes,” Donny beamed, a child done well in school. Smithson was less than impressed, eyebrows heavy-set behind his expensive-looking thin framed glasses.
“No.”
“C'mon, Smitty,” Donny hopped over the couch, ignoring a Red Sox game for the first time in his life (hopefully only) in favor of bothering his buddy, “Yah need a new look. This,” he gestured to the brightly colored plaid button up and fraying scarf Smithson was currently adorned in, “Is just faggy. Seriously.”
“Yeah, well, I happen to like it. Now buzz off and watch your baseball. Some of us can't live on Government checks.”
“Hey, fuck you.”
“Fuck you too.”
However, Donny Donowitz was nothing if not persistent and stubborn; Smithson knew this was not the end of whatever fucked up mission Donny had decided on. True enough, not five minutes later did Donny appear behind him, hands on the back of his chair, trying to make this case again.
“I'll let yah borrow mine, even.”
“Oh,” Smithson cooed quietly, fingers typing away, “What an offer...”
“Shut up, I have great clothes. Manly and comfortable. Unlike this junk yah got on. It's ninety degrees out and yah wearin a scarf.”
“Donny, I have work to do.”
He didn't listen, just spun the computer chair around and loomed over Smithson, all up in his face and smelling like relish from his hot dog lunch in the park. Smithson narrowed his eyes, unafraid of the towering Bostonian.
“I mean it, I have to get this done by midnight so it can go to press by noon tomorrow. Raine's already on my ass for staying so long in Boston because of you, so just get over whatever you're thinking about and let me work!”
“But yah love showin' off for me,” Donny put on his low, sexy voice that Smithson found difficult to resist, especially with Donny so close and kissable, even with that relish-breath, “Don't yah?”
“... Under other circumstances, of course,” he reluctantly admitted. He did love to put on a show for Donny, not just in the bedroom.
“Well c'mon then,” Donny grinned, the fucker knew he'd won, “It'll be like a little fashion show.”
“Donny.”
Then he gave him That Look that made Smithson shut his computer and follow Donny to the bedroom to hopefully do more than just try on clothes.
None of Donny's clothes fit Smithson. They were all two sizes too big and looked beyond stupid on his small frame, especially with his neatly combed hair and fine glasses. Even the smallest of Donny's shirts, his wife beater, sagged miserably, exposing more of his chest than he would have preferred.
Donny thought this was all very adorable. Even moreso when Smithson would slump down on the bed, sit and pout, and complain loudly about how horrible he looked. Donny didn't care. Immediately, he appeared by Smithson's side, pulled him close, and kissed the absolute fuck out of him. It wasn't long, with Donny being who he was, before he'd wormed one large paw of a hand inside Smithson's pants and was jerking him off roughly, addicted to the sound of his eager moans for more. With his old wardrobe, his pants were always too tight for this kind of rough and ragged handjob, but with the loose, baggy jeans, it was all too easy for Donny to just push his hand in and drive Smithson fucking nuts, hips tilting into his hand and the boy kissing him messily, nearing completion.
The only problem was having to wash the jeans repeatedly, as Donny found opportunity to do this kind of thing again and again over the few days Smithson promised to try the clothes out.
At this rate, they were going to lose a fortune on laundry detergent.
Rating R
Fandom Inglourious Basterds (AU)
Characters -
Pairing Donny/Utivich
Summery Donny thinks Uti is a huge fagatron. He sets out to correct it.
Note: This is a Modern!AU of the Basterds, in which Donny is a retired soldier and Utivich is a journalist for a Manhattan magazine/newspaper. References for them can be found here, at charge_0 's DeviantArt.
Two months ago, Donny Donowitz did something he never thought he'd do. He moved out of his childhood neighborhood in Boston, Massachusetts to move to a loft in Manhattan, overlooking nothing but city lights and stand still traffic. He didn't do this of his own will, but at the request of something of a leech on his life named Smithson Utivich, a frilly little fuck from the city. He was everything Donny despised about people-well-groomed, well educated, eloquent and creative while still being darkly hilarious and interested in everything-but something about the little man, be it his attitude, style, or just his fine, firm ass, drew Donny in and caused him to move away from the town he loved to the city life he loathed.
It wasn't all painful. Donny enjoyed the fact he didn't have to take a bus anymore to go where he wanted. The grocer was five blocks down, the park was a half hour walk, and movies were right in his range. Plus Smithson was always an entertainment source, with the stories he worked on for the magazine he worked for, interviewing visiting celebrities and the top cats of Manhattan life. This was how the two men met. He had originally been sent to Boston to do an article on the returning War Hero Sergeant Donowitz and his invaluable contribution to Operation Niko. From there the two became fast friends and somehow fell into bed together, and as they say, the rest was history. That brought him to the city.
Now, by no means did Donny consider himself queer or faggy. Just the opposite, as he still actively enjoyed tits on a regular basis (from afar, in the form of several internet sites Smithson must never know about, lest Donny be truly cut off from a decent fuck) and he never acted, even for a second, gay. Okay, there was the cuddling after sex, but how could anyone refuse Smithson's warm body when they just creamed his ass?
These were Donny's delicate terms.
Smithson, according to Donny, was a grade-A fag in every possible way. And, as he would explain at length, frequently, Smithson loved taking his cock way too much to be anything but totally queer, end of discussion. Frequently it was, as Smithson refused to comment because arguments such as these tended to end with him sucking Donny's dick like an eager whore. That didn't mean anything to him-he liked doing that, and clearly Donny had no problems with that either. But it did manage to worm under his skin every time foul-mouth Donowitz spoke up about his 'fagitude' or whatever the numbskull called it.
“Yah know, yah really do need new clothes,” Donny muttered one afternoon from the couch while Smithson was at his desk, typing up an article.
“I know that,” Smithson muttered back, mind clearly more on transcribing his encounter with Christopher Walkin.
“No, not yah gross Good Will hand out clothes,” the older man turned, arms crossed over the back of the couch, eyes boring into the back of Smithson's head enough to get him to look over his shoulder.
“I don't know what you're talking about.”
Honestly, he did, but he liked the hand-me-downs he found at the thrift shops. And Hell, affordable clothing. Though he did admit actually going to buy said clothes was a terrifying experience all on its own (he could have sworn he heard someone giving birth the last time he went-currently the reason he was avoiding the store).
“Yah need good clothes. Man clothes.”
“Fuck,” Smithson gave up on the article and turned from his Mac Book, “You have something in mind, Donowitz?”
“I do. My clothes,” Donny beamed, a child done well in school. Smithson was less than impressed, eyebrows heavy-set behind his expensive-looking thin framed glasses.
“No.”
“C'mon, Smitty,” Donny hopped over the couch, ignoring a Red Sox game for the first time in his life (hopefully only) in favor of bothering his buddy, “Yah need a new look. This,” he gestured to the brightly colored plaid button up and fraying scarf Smithson was currently adorned in, “Is just faggy. Seriously.”
“Yeah, well, I happen to like it. Now buzz off and watch your baseball. Some of us can't live on Government checks.”
“Hey, fuck you.”
“Fuck you too.”
However, Donny Donowitz was nothing if not persistent and stubborn; Smithson knew this was not the end of whatever fucked up mission Donny had decided on. True enough, not five minutes later did Donny appear behind him, hands on the back of his chair, trying to make this case again.
“I'll let yah borrow mine, even.”
“Oh,” Smithson cooed quietly, fingers typing away, “What an offer...”
“Shut up, I have great clothes. Manly and comfortable. Unlike this junk yah got on. It's ninety degrees out and yah wearin a scarf.”
“Donny, I have work to do.”
He didn't listen, just spun the computer chair around and loomed over Smithson, all up in his face and smelling like relish from his hot dog lunch in the park. Smithson narrowed his eyes, unafraid of the towering Bostonian.
“I mean it, I have to get this done by midnight so it can go to press by noon tomorrow. Raine's already on my ass for staying so long in Boston because of you, so just get over whatever you're thinking about and let me work!”
“But yah love showin' off for me,” Donny put on his low, sexy voice that Smithson found difficult to resist, especially with Donny so close and kissable, even with that relish-breath, “Don't yah?”
“... Under other circumstances, of course,” he reluctantly admitted. He did love to put on a show for Donny, not just in the bedroom.
“Well c'mon then,” Donny grinned, the fucker knew he'd won, “It'll be like a little fashion show.”
“Donny.”
Then he gave him That Look that made Smithson shut his computer and follow Donny to the bedroom to hopefully do more than just try on clothes.
None of Donny's clothes fit Smithson. They were all two sizes too big and looked beyond stupid on his small frame, especially with his neatly combed hair and fine glasses. Even the smallest of Donny's shirts, his wife beater, sagged miserably, exposing more of his chest than he would have preferred.
Donny thought this was all very adorable. Even moreso when Smithson would slump down on the bed, sit and pout, and complain loudly about how horrible he looked. Donny didn't care. Immediately, he appeared by Smithson's side, pulled him close, and kissed the absolute fuck out of him. It wasn't long, with Donny being who he was, before he'd wormed one large paw of a hand inside Smithson's pants and was jerking him off roughly, addicted to the sound of his eager moans for more. With his old wardrobe, his pants were always too tight for this kind of rough and ragged handjob, but with the loose, baggy jeans, it was all too easy for Donny to just push his hand in and drive Smithson fucking nuts, hips tilting into his hand and the boy kissing him messily, nearing completion.
The only problem was having to wash the jeans repeatedly, as Donny found opportunity to do this kind of thing again and again over the few days Smithson promised to try the clothes out.
At this rate, they were going to lose a fortune on laundry detergent.