wasn't one for compromise (parts 8-12); Aldo/Utivich
Title: Wasn't One For Compromise (parts 8-12 out of 12)
Pairing(s): Aldo/Utivich, OMC/Utivich, implied Aldo/Donny.
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 11,390 (too long for one post, apparently.)
Notes: Knifekink, gunkink, rankkink, baseball, baths, scalps, that sorta thing.
Summary: After alla' them schnapps, Utivich gets a big fucking mouth and backed in a corner.
x-posted to 100_scalps.
CHAPTER EIGHT; AFTERSHAVE & POMADE
The Basterds had been without cigarettes for the better part of a month, and tensions were too high. There was more infighting than usual, petty squabbles that even smoke-starved Stiglitz would sometimes start. When Aldo broke them up, it was with more aggression, and when the argument would resurface, it was with more teeth.
They were fifteen miles outside Montoire, crouching in a bombed-out textile warehouse that smelled like ash and dye. They were waiting for orders and for Donny to strangle Hirschberg.
"No," Donny said, "it's fuckin' rock-paper-scissors, three fuckin' words, three fuckin' pounds."
"But then the shoot part's when you decide," Hirschberg countered, fingers still stuck out in scissors.
"The game ain't called rock-paper-scissors-fuckin'-shoot!" Donny shouted, then chose rock and gave Hirschberg a shot in the jaw. In a moment, Stiglitz and Omar were grappling with the fighting soldiers, linked and held at the arms as they struggled and lunged back at eachother. Stiglitz wrenched Donny's wrist to his back and brought him to the ground.
"Wouldya boys just play fuckin' tic-tac-toe?" muttered Aldo over a French phrasebook he was trying to decipher, jotting down words here and there. "Donny, stop fuckin' 'round and bring Utivich over here."
Utivich had himself leaned against the wall, cross-legged, a Ridgely Torrence book close to his nose in the dim light. He hadn't heard a thing, ears immune to the regular tiffs.
"Utivich," said Donny over him, toeing at his knee. "Lieutenant wants to see ya."
They crossed the floor in file, to a half-walled corner room with a brokedown loom inside that Aldo was leaning on. His shirtsleeves were cuffed up his biceps, the top few buttons unhooked. He pushed a piece of paper into Utivich's hands.
"Go on 'head 'n read that out loud, son," said Aldo. Utivich squinted at the chickenscratch.
"Je veux beaucoup de cigarettes, s'il vous plaît," he said. Donny and Aldo grinned at eachother.
"Sergeant, I think we got the Private his next mission," he said.
"Didja teach him how to say eighty?" asked Donny. Aldo sighed wearily and rubbed the bridge of his nose.
"Donny, in case y'forgot, this's wartime. Pretty sure we can't get eighty packs o'cigarettes."
"But how'll we know if he don't know how to say it?"
"That'll do, Sergeant," Aldo said impatiently, and Donny snapped his mouth shut. Utivich looked up from the paper. "Private, the town a' Montoire (Mont-oyer) is just northwest a'here," Aldo tapped his finger on a tore-up map he'd hung on the wall with errant nails, "you speak the best French outta' alla' us, 'n look most the part, bein' so little 'n starved," Aldo explained, and Utivich immediately shook his head, eyes wide.
"Are you fuckin' crazy? That city's full of Gerrys," he protested. Donny folded his arms and exchanged a cool glance with Aldo before laying a hard gaze back on Utivich.
" 'scuse me Private," and oh, that Boston accent was more patronising than ever, "but did I just hear ya say that the orders a' your commanding officer were 'fuckin' crazy'?" Utivich moved his mouth in a silent stammer, gave a salute for good measure.
"No sir, Sergeant, sir," he said, "but that place is crawling with Gestapo, I don't know if--"
"Wellthen, you best bring that carvin' knife with yeh, and you'll be at a hunnerd scalps right quick," Aldo interrupted, "Donny, I'm sure there's a washroom somewhere'n here, get our boy lookin' presentable for his night on the town. Dis-missed," said Aldo, and Utivich couldn't say another word about it.
"Sir," said Donny, saluted, and disappeared out the door. Utivich followed suit with far less enthusiasm.
Aldo had gone around with an old tobacco tin and collected the francs and Reichsmarks the Basterds had swiped from their slaughtered. They all gave generously, and Aldo pocketed the tin and trotted down the wrought-iron spiral staircase to the basement.
"Donny, you down here?" he called on his way.
"Come take a look at ya boy!" Donny shouted up from below and Aldo walked past the boilers to the dingy washroom.
"Well, wouldja lookit that," Aldo mused, appraising Utivich approvingly, "alla them mam-zells are gonna be on you like flies onna shithouse handle."
Utivich grinned, cleaned up nice and coiffed to perfection, wearing black slacks and a vest over a dark blue button-down dress shirt. Aldo savored the scent of aftershave and pomade off him.
"Yee-eah," said Donny, "bring some a'them back too, will ya, Private?" he clapped Utivich on the back, and Aldo set the money tin in his hands.
"There's yer ration," Aldo said, "bring back cigarettes 'n whatever hooch yeh can get fer near-nothin'."
"Yessir," said Utivich, and slid the money in the watch-pocket of the vest, "how far until Montoire?"
"Oh," said Aldo easy, shrugging his shoulders, "I'd figure 'round fifteen mile, giv'er take."
"But," he paused, sure to add, "sir, that'll take all day; I don't think I'll get back by sundown," his eyes were wide again. Aldo pushed a piece of Utivich's greased hair back into place.
"Wellthen, I'd say you better get hoofin'."
By the time Utivich had arrived in town, his hair was a mess, the bag at his side was slicing his shoulder, and his shirt had been sweat through. He tried to compose himself, forced his dirty shoes not to drag on the cobblestones, and staggered into a shop with cigarettes in the windowcase.
"Bonjour, monsieur," chirped the clerk. Utivich panted.
"Cigarettes. Beaucoup," the sheet of paper with the original sentence had been misplaced along the way, and that was all he could remember. She stared at him through big dark eyes and set three packs on the counter.
"Bien?"
"Beaucoup," he repeated, and stretched his hands apart. She bit her lip, peered into the back room where Utivich could see an older man--probably her father--checking inventory stock. She reached beneath the counter and came up with four cartons, ten packs apiece.
"Vite," she hissed, setting them on the counter, gesturing hurriedly. Utivich dug in his pocket, felt relief at the tin in his hand, and dumped it out on the counter. The clerk changed him out quickly, red painted nails flitting through the notes and coins.
She raised her hand to her mouth and blew a brief kiss as Utivich unzipped the bag. "Au revoir," she said coyly as Utivich jammed the cartons into his pack instead of paying her mind.
"Merci, madamoiselle," he said, and backed out into the street.
Back at the warehouse, Donny was starting to worry. He kept saying he wasn't, but for someone who couldn't give a shit, he sure kept bringing him up.
"Donny, wouldjeh shut up about 'im?" said Aldo, who'd picked up Utivich's book and was paging through it. Fuckin' poetry, pie-in-the-sky waste a' damn time. "Yeh saw 'im yerself, he'll blend in like a local."
"Yeah, well, he's been gone nearly nine hours. Shit shouldn't take that long," Donny muttered, continuing to stare out the smoked glass window.
"Siddown, sergeant," said Aldo. Donny did, and the Basterds waited in silence. Finally, there was a knock on the corrugated steel door. Donny scrambled to his feet and strode over.
"Who's it?" he asked gruffly.
"Who do you think?" asked Utivich. His voice was weary, breathless.
"You been followed?"
"No," Utivich hissed, "can you let me the fuck in?"
Aldo pushed past Donny and opened the door, tired of the charade when five minutes earlier Donowitz was near wringin' his hands for the kid. Utivich staggered in, the bag around him bulging, clanking with bottles as he dropped it to the ground.
He'd gotten a heroes' welcome, the company hooting and patting his back, ruffling his hair and shaking his shoulders. Shit, even Stiglitz' stony face was carved in a grin. Aldo stuck two smokes in Smitty's mouth and lit 'em up.
"Bra-vo, son," he said, and slung his arm around his shoulders. Once the schnapps started pouring--down Utivich's throat most especial, since the boys wouldn't let up on him--he started to feel warm and hazy, felt like he'd finally set himself apart. He felt like Donny must've felt every damn day when he'd stride from the shadows, come out swinging.
CHAPTER NINE; TENDERNESS & BITTERNESS
"I really, really don't remember that," Utivich continued to reel. Aldo snorted snuff from his thumbtip, clapped the clasp shut.
"That don't surprise me a lick," Aldo said, scrunching his nose and snuffling, "tried my damnedest to get ya in the ruttin' mood. Had to take yeh outside to that old machine shed, thought yeh were gonna git up on my lap right there in fronta' the boys."
"I don't count that as my fault," Utivich stated, sure he couldn't've divulged all of that information about Charlie Hale without some interrogation. Aldo smiled fondly and drew up a knee, resting his elbow cocked on it, hand dangling.
"I'll admit, I didn't 'zactly discourage ya, but it turned out not t'matter too much anyway. I got yeh out there 'n you were game for a hot-minute 'fore passin' out on me," Aldo glanced sidelong at Utivich, a strange mixture of tenderness and bitterness in his eyes, on his face. Utivich breathed a sigh.
"Well, I guess that's goo--"
"Then yeh fuckin' sicked up ev'rywhere," said Aldo, grinning crookedly and Utivich's hand was back at his forehead. "I ain't seen that much sick outta anyone, 'cept maybe Omar that first day out when we'd strung up that whelp Nazi 'n I gutted 'im like a mule deer."
He recalled; Omar in the ditch on all fours. Utivich had stayed back with him, 'cause while the company was marching, he couldn't even stand. Aldo remembered it, too. Remembered Utivich comin' into camp, bringing Omar and the Basterds' starting scalp.
"Naw, naw," Aldo reconsidered, "Omar wasn't even bad. You retched yerself inside-out."
"Can we stop talking about this?" Utivich asked flatly. Aldo pushed himself closer, and Utivich was still as a deer while the lieutenant bit his earlobe.
"My vote's we stop talkin' altogether," Aldo murmured as he licked the curve of his private's ear, "n'less there's somethin' more yeh wanna tell me 'bout yer schooldays."
Utivich shivered at the voice in his ear, the closeness of his mouth. He turned his head to one side and brushed Aldo's lips.
"I don't think it's exactly fair that I've only got half the conversation on that night. Sure the shit you were sayin' was just as bad," Utivich's voice had a marked tone, a certain spunk that made Aldo seize his neck in his teeth, biting and licking up his jaw.
"It was nothin'," he murmured into Utivich's wet skin, "somethin' bout the luck a' the Irish," he sucked a bruise up from the private's collarbone, "somethin' 'bout seein' you comin' in with alla' them smokes makin' me wanna fuck yeh witless."
Utivich resented the high snicker that escaped him.
Aldo took the opportunity to plant a hand on the private's chest and push him back onto the wood floor. He landed with a clatter, back arched strange, hands grabbing at Aldo's shoulders.
"Ahh, fuck," Utivich hissed as Aldo noticed, then grasped, the black strap running crosswise along the private's chest. He pulled Utivich back up by it, dragged it around front.
"Mm," Aldo nearly purred, his hands sliding tender along the smooth steel of the machine gun. Utivich had completely forgotten about it. Aldo wrapped one hand around the stock, the other hand on the magazine. "Where'd ya get that gat?"
"Off that Nazi me and Donny killed," Utivich ran his thumb up the barrel distractedly, then furrowed his brows. "Donny was saying that scalp was his. It's damn well not, he shot the guy in the knees, but I cut his fuckin' throat, and the scalp, so by all accounts, that makes it mine. But Donny--" and all of a sudden, the tip of the Schmeisser was pressed to his lips.
"Private, what'd I say 'bout all this talk?" Aldo asked, voice husky as he pushed the barrel forward, sliding the cool steel through Utivich's lips, clicking on his teeth. He opened his mouth.
The muzzle sight scratched at the roof of his mouth, but Utivich closed his eyes and put on a show. He slid his mouth along the metal in tandem with his fist wrapped around it--which he thought a bit too theatrical, but when Aldo had started up a muttered mantra of aw, yehh, Utivich was reminded that the man didn't strike him as a great appreciator of subtlety. He dragged his mouth off the gun, licked up the length, and made damn sure he was looking right in Aldo's eyes when he stuck his tongue inside the bore of the barrel, tasting the gunpowder from Stiglitz' discharge. Utivich noticed the lieutenant's hand had left the clip in favor of palming slowly at the groin of his pants. He eased himself to sit back on his knees, batting Aldo's hand away and replacing it with his own, rubbing circles against the hardening bulge, his other hand still jacking the slick gunbarrel.
"Fuck, Utivich," Aldo swore, breathless at the sight of his mouth back on the muzzle, sucking the tip before dropping his lips down around it again, pushing it deeper. Aldo bucked involuntarily into the hand on his crotch, hissing as it fell away to run down his hip.
Utivich touched the elk-handle of that knife strapped to Aldo's thigh. He pulled his mouth from the gun.
"What about you, Lieutenant?" murmured Utivich, drawing close, his hand still tugging at the hilt, "Haven't seen you cut any scalps," his eyes were narrowed, bowed lips curled in a smirk. Aldo pulled Utivich's hand away at the wrist, pushed it back onto the straining corduroy, then grabbed the handle himself and drew the knife from its hide holster.
"Son, you know damn well the cuttin' I been doin's of a different sort," he muttered, raising it to brush back some dark hair that had fallen on Utivich's forehead with the point. The private felt his blood chill. "And if yeh recall, I said each man under my command's the ones'at owe me the quota," Aldo explained, patting Utivich's cheek with the blade-flat. Utivich turned his face carefully, felt and heard the hair-thin blade scrape his skin.
Aldo watched rapt as he stuck that pink tongue against the blade and lapped at the metal. He turned the knife; Utivich licked up the other side. And oh, fuck, Aldo could've watched that boy suck and lick on weapons all damn day, but those pangs in his cock were telling him to move on along. He dragged the tip of the blade down Utivich's neck and along his collarbone before it slid back into its sheath.
"Sounds t'me like you gotta' problem listenin', so open them ears, one-striper," Aldo growled, tapping with his knuckle-backs what would've been the rank-side breast of Utivich's uniform, "let's not ferget 'zactly who it is yer takin' orders from."
"Yessir," Utivich murmured, catching Aldo's mouth in a retaliatory too-tender kiss. But Aldo fought right back, snatching the nape of Utivich's neck and crashing their mouths together, savagely prying his tongue into his private's mouth, then abruptly breaking away. Utivich pushed forward, but a hand halted him.
"What I want's for you to get along behind that drape, in fronta' that--thing," it wasn't a damn couch, but he didn't know any Frog word for it, "and I want yeh on that floor 'n on them knees, 'zzat understood?"
"Understood, sir," he uttered, head swimming, heart pounding.
"Wellthen, looks like alla' that fancy schoolin' was worth every penny paid."
CHAPTER TEN; NECK & LIPS
Utivich followed his orders. To the letter. He'd nestled nice in front of the chaise and between Aldo's thighs, touching his stiff dick through his trousers, licking at the thick corduroy in vain except Aldo thought it looked damn fine, even if he couldn't feel a fuckin' thing. Finally, Aldo thumbed his fly open and tore the rest of the buttons down, shuddering while the cold air hit that taut skin. He tangled a hand in Utivich's hair.
"Would yeh lookit that, so fuckin' shy for a second ago, but," he murmured, hand cupping the kid's cheek and tipping his head up and damn if that mouth wasn't just the nicest thing he'd seen in this fuckin' hellhole of a countryside.
Aldo Raine wasn't one for patience; Utivich scarcely saw him on-edge except after days of trudging, but most especially after days of waiting. He was the stir-crazy type, pacing around a concrete bunker, tapping his heels, popping every joint in his fingers 'til Utivich could nearly hear Donny's teeth gritting. All this in mind, he shouldn't have been surprised when Aldo thrust his uncut cock in his mouth before his lips even wrapped around it. His cheek bulged full to the left. Aldo realigned Utivich by the hair, pulled back out, pushed back in. Utivich swallowed a gag around him and pushed his hands on Aldo's stomach, the muscles there tense and crawling under his skin.
"Shit," Utivich gasped, dragging his lips off, his hands sliding down and catching in Aldo's unstrung belt loops. "Cool it on that, hey? Fuckin' drowning down here," he panted hot breath on Aldo's spit-slick dick, then compromised with a hand curled at its base, tonguing the tip. The lieutenant growled, long and low. Utivich mustered the sultriest up-through-the-eyelashes stare he could, but Aldo's eyes weren't open anyway. At first he felt silly, then felt a hand on the back of his head, felt the head of Aldo's cock thrust well beyond his molars. Aldo Raine wasn't one for compromise, either.
" 'pologies," Aldo grunted, but Utivich figured he couldn't have been so sorry because he did it again just a few seconds later. Finally, Utivich started working him into a slow rhythm with his neck and lips and Aldo's hips rolling in time.
"Fuck, Donny," Aldo hissed, dragging his hands through the head of dark hair in front of him. When Utivich choked this time, it wasn't on dick.
"Smitty?" Utivich corrected after he'd cleared his throat. Aldo chewed the inside of his cheek, his eyes slitting open and his brows bowed in staged confusion. From that angle, both those boys looked the exact damn same.
"Whud' I say?"
"Donny, sir."
Aldo appeared to consider it, but then gave his head a shake and put his impatient hands back on Utivich's head, scrabbling at his haircut. "Thinkeyer mistaken,"
Utivich stuck his sneering lips where Aldo pulled him to. Donny, Donny, fucking Donny. Donny with his damn swagger and fucking swing and all the high-fives and hand-claps he'd get from the Basterds after rending some Nazi skulls, the looks that Aldo gave him before the first crack, his eyes narrow, intent, practically fuckin' salivating.
It took Utivich awhile to realize all his sucking had ground slowly to a cease, eyes darkened in some distant envy, thinking on all their covert rendezvous; the way Donny'd strut around, his suspenders dangling down with a fresh bite-split in his lip, the way Aldo would neglect to fasten the top couple buttons on his trousers when it was obvious they'd been drunk and filled with a fast, desperate lust. But really, the lieutenant's partiality couldn't be blamed. Donny was the type who'd wind up a war hero; he was the type who'd wind up dead, bones on the forest floor, another fuckin' tickmark in a ledger.
"Utivich? Yeh want me ta put on one 'a them accents?"
He was still easing himself in then out of his private's slack lips. Utivich spat out Aldo's dick, spat at the floor for added spite.
"Your own's enough," he muttered, "and if Donny's really so distracting, I can stand his watch and send him in here."
"Fuck naw," Aldo grunted, hand finding its way back into Utivich's hair, "that boy's been rubbin' me raw as a' late, alla' his fuckin' caterwaulin' in the swamp, you'd think he'd ain't ever--" Aldo thought further, felt a twinge shock through his aching prick.
"--'less o'course yeh wanted 'im here?" It was less of a question, more of a suggestion. Instead of answering, Utivich stacked himself on his knees and bit at the inside of Aldo's spread thigh.
"Mmm, fuck, that Donny," Aldo let his eyes slide shut as Utivich's teeth gave way to tongue, "sometimes that mouth a' his ain't worth that mouth a' his."
"Can you stop talking about him?" asked Utivich wearily, feeling like a ringer.
"Can you stop thinkin' on him?"
"Can you? I'm not the one saying wrong names."
Aldo gave his thigh a pat and grinned crookedly down at Utivich between his knees.
"C'mere," he murmured, and Smitty crawled up like a lap-dog, licked Aldo's ear and neck like one, too.
CHAPTER ELEVEN; STARBURSTS & MUZZLE FLASH
Utivich was getting hard for Aldo's graceless kisses that had grown looser in lip every time he'd ground his hips down on the lieutenant's. He'd swear and Utivich would smile and do it again, and watching the Apache come undone was just too good a game not to be played for keeps. After awhile, he was just pressed against the kid, open-mouthed and breathing hard, gripping Utivich's waist and pushing him down, feeling the rough fabric against his still-exposed groin. Utivich licked Aldo's teeth, moaning in his mouth when the lieutenant fumbled his trousers undone and pushed his hand in, figurin' it was high-time the kid got some attention.
Aldo's hand was hot and rough against his cock, coiled like a cobra. Utivich rode against it, pushing alternately into his hand then down onto Aldo's lap, which was gettin' groans from the both of them.
"God, Aldo," Utivich whimpered into the patch of skin below Aldo's ear, licking at the light beginnings of that scar, dragging his lips and fingers all over it, following the thickening rise where the rope had dug deeper. Aldo tensed and bristled at the touch; his jaw clenched and a cord of muscle tightened against Utivich's cheek.
Suddenly, Aldo's hand was around his neck, tight to the private's throat as the scar to his skin.
"Private," he spat the rank like a curse, "when you been close 'nuf to death that he ain't even gonna bother reachin' out for yeh, bein' reminded--even by that nice little shit-talkin' dick-suckin' mouth a'yers--ain't exactly somethin' I savor."
"Yessir," came the timid reply when Aldo released him. He pulled his hands away, stuck them still at his sides. Aldo spat in his hand and rewrapped Utivich's cock.
"Son, I'll fuckin' tell you when to take yer hands off me," he snarled, and Utivich couldn't do anything but comply, laying his palms indiscriminate along the flesh of his neck, still cognizant of the scar tissue bumping up against the fresh welts on his palms. Aldo rumbled a gutteral assent, lifted Utivich to push his heavy pants down his thighs, hand pumping faster, squeezing tighter. And all the sudden, Utivich's hand was on his.
"Stop," he gasped, pulled Aldo's wrist away, "stop," he reiterated. There was no way, no fucking way he was gonna lose it, blow it all right now. It'd been too long since there'd been any hand on his cock but his left, and shit, this wasn't just any hand. "I need a minute." Aldo just stared bewilderedly, then took to rubbing Utivich's hipbones.
"How 'bout now?" Aldo asked between bites to the neck. One hand left his hip, and a thumb rubbed across the head of his cock. Utivich yelped, jolted.
"Oh, god, Aldo, you better just fuck me now," he hissed. It had definitely not been a minute, but there was no way to stall the lieutenant.
" 'zzat a command, Private?" he asked amused. Utivich made a desperate sound, and Aldo eased him from his lap, helped arrange him on all-fours. "Jes' like that," he murmured, tracing a hand down Utivich's spine, letting his hand rest in the little arch at the small of his back. "You been fucked 'fore, son?"
"Yeah," said Utivich, and it was true. He'd been fucked once, by Mac Cadden, when he'd been invited out to dinner with some of the boys. He didn't want to go, but felt obligated because of that fucking knockoff Rolex he'd been bought and because it was obvious that Mac was head-over-goddamn heels for him. When he'd showed up late and was led to the table, save for Mac, they all had their wives with.
They all had their wives with and three-piece suits and Utivich had worn Utivich clothes that night, a black vest and an olive blazer, because Charlie Hale never fucking dressed up. Utivich caught his reflection in the picture window; he looked like he was going to a lecture, out to dinner with his mother. He got a hundred-yard gaze, said something about how it was nice meeting them, and walked stiffly back out to the street and down the walk.
"Charlie!" he heard, and didn't turn around, and for having a bum leg Mac sure caught up quick. He grabbed him by the shoulder and spun him around. "What in the fuck was that all about?"
"This is crazy. I feel crazy," was all he said, and Mac just put an arm around him, rubbed his shoulder through the jacket.
"Listen, if y'don't wanna go back in there, y'don't have to. I got some dinner back at mine, we can do our own--" and he hadn't even finished before Utivich was kissing him, hard and feverish.
"Let's do that," he said quietly as he pulled back, and Mac led him back to a big black car. The drive back to Mac's apartment was perilous because they couldn't keep their hands off eachother. After they'd bumped up on the curb for the third time, Utivich got contented with hovering at the wheel, lips on Mac's knuckles, licking at the white-gold Claddagh on his little finger.
Utivich didn't get dinner, he got fucked, and when Mac came hot into him, moaning a name that wasn't his, Utivich decided that he needed a change of pace. He pretended to sleep a couple hours, still and quiet in that gangster's arms before inching his way out. He dressed silently and left a note on the nightstand in scratchy blue ink, Mac, I think I'm going to war, Charlie. A parting glance when he slipped out that apartment door was the last he'd seen of Marathon Mac.
Utivich remembered how he'd been offered a job in the mafia even though he wasn't Irish. Small-time, separating heroin into gram-bags--Mac called them Cadillacs for some fuckin' reason--running cocaine, odd deliveries. He thought about after the war, knocking on Cormac Cadden's door, yeah, you need anyone taken care of? I'll bring you their fuckin' scalp. He'd leave a kid, come back a killer. He thought about these things as he sucked on Aldo's fingers.
"You fucked a guy before?" he asked when Aldo had pulled his hand from his mouth and traced the slick fingertips down the cleave of Utivich's ass, then pushed two in at once. It hurt at first, but those hot streaks of pain were quickly smoothed over by the gentle crooks of Aldo's fingers. He'd forgot he'd asked a question at all.
"Gat-damn, but ain't you hot fer it," Aldo mused darkly as he watched Utivich writhing back against his touch. "Private, you answer me when I'm makin' an inquiry," there was a particularly tough twist, and Utivich moaned sharply.
"Fuck yes, sir," he said emphatically and Aldo pulled his fingers out, spat into his palm.
"That's what I like'ta hear." He slicked spit on his cock, and when he sidled behind him and put his hands on his hips, Utivich rolled like a scared gator and scrambled back against the high-end of the chaise.
"No," he said, "that's not enough. You ever fucked a guy before?" he asked, skeptical. Aldo set his jaw impatiently.
" 'course I fuckin' have. Figured we'd already established that Team Dead Natzi ain't the only one Donny's swingin' fer."
"Well, then," Utivich cast his eyes aside, "guess I'm no Bear Jew. Ain't enough."
Aldo rose and hitched up his pants, rounding past Utivich and disappearing behind the curtain. He heard a bit of clattering, a scrape of metal on wood, and didn't Aldo just look like a cat that got the cream when he came back with the little tin of gungrease.
"You ain't no Bear Jew," Aldo said as he scooped a couple fingers into the tin and smoothed his hand back over his dick before rolling Utivich back over. He pulled him to his knees by his hips, the private's top half still draped over the arm of the chaise, "but yer sure somethin'," he murmured as he pushed partway into Utivich, who had to think about a pile of Nazi guts, a pile of Omar's puke, to keep him from coming then and there.
Aldo thrust the rest of the way in.
"That good?" he asked. Utivich groaned.
"God, yeah," he gasped. Aldo pulled back out, drove back in.
"Yeh, that good?" he growled again, just because he liked hearing Utivich.
"Yeah," he answered belatedly, too fuck-struck to figure his tongue out immediately. He bucked back against Aldo, pushing deep. "C'mon, Aldo," he whimpered, because Aldo would've been content to just watch the private fuck back on his cock, especially if it made him twitch and writhe like that, all tuned up and needy as hell. Aldo shuddered, Utivich felt it. He brought a hand off his hip, back on in a slap to Utivich's ass.
"What's'at, Private?" he prompted. Utivich hissed.
"Please, Lieutenant," he tried. He got another slap, hot and stinging, the pain rolling through in a prickling wave.
"Yer close."
"Apache!" he yelped desperately, "that's not fucking fair," he growled. Aldo rubbed the reddened skin, then hooked his hand back on his hip.
"Naw, but yeh just look pretty like that," Aldo said, and rewarded him with a few thrusts, pulling the private's hips back to grind against him, holding him there even as he tried to pull away for another buck.
"Hold yer damn horses, son," muttered Aldo, closing his eyes and rutting close against him, just savoring the notion of being buried deep and hot in that fuckin' tight ass, "thought yeh needed a minute."
"Need something else now," he pushed back on Aldo uselessly, breath hitching. He still felt the handle of that knife, still strapped on Aldo's thigh, scraping against the back of his leg. Finally, Aldo went at him, pushing violent enough for his teeth to clatter. He tried to counter the new fevered rhythm, but just ended up fucking up the sync and getting snarls from Aldo. Suddenly, he grabbed Utivich by the hair, pulling his head around to face him.
"Wanna see them eyes a'yers," he said quietly, and Utivich craned his neck, watching over his shoulder as Aldo slowed his pace and saw every thrust roll through Utivich in those fluttering blue eyes. With the heat of his fucking, ass tight around him and those big damn eyes on his, he suddenly felt very close. He stuck a palm in front of Utivich's mouth, and he laid his lips and tongue all over it, guided it down to his cock.
"Shit, son, got some fuckin' mouth on yeh," Aldo guttered, pumping his hips and Utivich's dick, shivers coursing through him 'cause the kid was moaning loud enough to wake the fuckin' dead. But despite the obvious risk, Aldo liked that. Donny, fuckin' prima-donna he could be, pretendin' like he didn't want it, like he could take it or leave it. Yet in no time at all, he'd cut the shit and be beggin' and whinin' for his dick like Utivich was. It's just that the game got old, and the private's earnest eagerness was sure refreshing, sure turned him the hell on.
"Aw, fuck, sir, 'm gonna--" and he did a moment later, came twitching and shuddering into Aldo's hand. He drew it away, wiped it on the back of Utivich's disheveled jacket, then grabbed at his hips and plunged hard into him, pistoning until his teeth were grit so his jaw was sore, and under his eyelids he saw starbursts and muzzle flash. He came hard, kept pushing into Utivich until the last of the tension had slipped from his body, and he dropped himself slack over the kid, who struggled to roll to his back. Aldo settled his head on Utivich's chest, felt his breath steady, heard his heartbeat. They laid like that awhile. Utivich tried to twine his hand in Aldo's hair, but he pushed it away. He rested it behind his head instead.
"You afraid'a death, Private?" Aldo asked.
"No," Utivich said, bleakness in his voice betraying the lie.
"You should start bein'," said Aldo, "keeps yeh livin' longer," and Utivich thought that made sense.
"You want me to go, sir?" he asked, making to get up even with Aldo still laying on him. He just put a couple fingers blindly to Utivich's lips.
"Naw, it's fine, y'can stay here," Aldo murmured, and Utivich shifted onto his side, nestled himself between the low back of the chaise and Aldo's still-warm body. "I hope y'don't think I'm too hard on yeh, son. It's just the way it's gotta be."
"I didn't come out here to be coddled," Utivich answered, steel in his voice belying the way he nuzzled up under Aldo's chin. He decided to let it lie; he didn't necessarily mind cuddling, but post-coitus Aldo was always a little touchy like his skin was on wrong. That was sure somethin' Donny understood; they never spent nights together, just feverish hours. He reached to the floor and drew up the wool blanket he'd been sleeping with earlier, spread it over them and shut his eyes, one arm around Utivich's waist despite himself.
CHAPTER TWELVE; WIDE & WICKED
Aldo woke suddenly, not sure why until Utivich whined again, a strange anguished half-sob. Then he started pushing. It took Aldo a moment to realize that he was still sleeping; he pulled Utivich closer to him, putting his lips to his private's ear, telling him to shhh. It worked for a moment, then he started kicking. Aldo swore and shifted himself on top of Utivich, pinning him down.
"Utivich, son, wake up," he said sharply. Utivich opened his eyes halfway, stared blank up at Aldo and saw nothing before closing them again. His whimpering struggles continued, despite Aldo's attempts at comfort, smoothing his dark hair, nosing his cheek, and god wouldn't Donowitz have himself a fuckin' laugh if he saw him cuddling and cooing to the private. Finally, Aldo rolled off the chaise and left the little drawing room to curl on the floor in front of the stove, balling up his shirt and shoving it under his head.
Come dawn, Aldo felt a nudge against his shoulder.
"Utivich," he muttered and rolled to one side. Then he felt a jab in his chest that nearly knocked the wind from him. When he opened his eyes he saw Donny blearily above him, his rifle butt still resting against his ribs. Aldo pushed the gunstock away, sat up.
"Donny, what the fuck're yeh doin'?" he muttered.
"It's oh-five-hundred, sir."
"We ain't got nowhere to move out to today, Donowitz," Aldo muttered, pulling his jacket tighter around him to ward off the chill. "Stayin' here 'till we hear from the brass, 'less you're so eager to get back out ta' them wet woods." Donny didn't say anything, just leaned against the rifle.
"What're you doin' sleepin' on the floor? Ground's probably fuckin' softer," Donny said pointedly, and Aldo hardly had time to make up an excuse before they both watched Utivich shoulder his way through the curtain, head down and focused on the buttons of his shirt.
"So you couldn't stand sleepin' next to him, either," Donny said with a snort, and Utivich's head shot up. He stared wide-eyed between the two.
"Morning, Lieutenant," he said shortly, "Sergeant," he added.
"Save the shit, Smitty," Donny mumbled, and Utivich couldn't help but savor that envious twinge in his voice, in the sneer on his lips. Oh good god, was he smiling? He hoped he wasn't smiling. He flattened his lips to a thin, grim line just to be safe. Aldo settled his feet under him and rose, dusting himself off and popping his stiff neck.
"Say, Sergeant," Aldo said brightly, trying to diffuse the situation the way he always did, with that fuckin' casual charm, "yeh worked extra hard last night, coverin' for the Private'ere, what say you to a night off?" It appeared to work, Donny tried to keep his scowl in place, but it was already turning up at one corner.
"I'll tell Omar," he said, the smirk growing wide and wicked.
"I'll take it," Utivich offered. He was halfway to the door. Donny and Aldo just grinned, slid eachother a glance.
"Bet yeh fuckin' will," said Aldo.
Utivich smiled apprehensively, felt their eyes follow him out the door.
FIN
Pairing(s): Aldo/Utivich, OMC/Utivich, implied Aldo/Donny.
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 11,390 (too long for one post, apparently.)
Notes: Knifekink, gunkink, rankkink, baseball, baths, scalps, that sorta thing.
Summary: After alla' them schnapps, Utivich gets a big fucking mouth and backed in a corner.
x-posted to 100_scalps.
CHAPTER EIGHT; AFTERSHAVE & POMADE
The Basterds had been without cigarettes for the better part of a month, and tensions were too high. There was more infighting than usual, petty squabbles that even smoke-starved Stiglitz would sometimes start. When Aldo broke them up, it was with more aggression, and when the argument would resurface, it was with more teeth.
They were fifteen miles outside Montoire, crouching in a bombed-out textile warehouse that smelled like ash and dye. They were waiting for orders and for Donny to strangle Hirschberg.
"No," Donny said, "it's fuckin' rock-paper-scissors, three fuckin' words, three fuckin' pounds."
"But then the shoot part's when you decide," Hirschberg countered, fingers still stuck out in scissors.
"The game ain't called rock-paper-scissors-fuckin'-shoot!" Donny shouted, then chose rock and gave Hirschberg a shot in the jaw. In a moment, Stiglitz and Omar were grappling with the fighting soldiers, linked and held at the arms as they struggled and lunged back at eachother. Stiglitz wrenched Donny's wrist to his back and brought him to the ground.
"Wouldya boys just play fuckin' tic-tac-toe?" muttered Aldo over a French phrasebook he was trying to decipher, jotting down words here and there. "Donny, stop fuckin' 'round and bring Utivich over here."
Utivich had himself leaned against the wall, cross-legged, a Ridgely Torrence book close to his nose in the dim light. He hadn't heard a thing, ears immune to the regular tiffs.
"Utivich," said Donny over him, toeing at his knee. "Lieutenant wants to see ya."
They crossed the floor in file, to a half-walled corner room with a brokedown loom inside that Aldo was leaning on. His shirtsleeves were cuffed up his biceps, the top few buttons unhooked. He pushed a piece of paper into Utivich's hands.
"Go on 'head 'n read that out loud, son," said Aldo. Utivich squinted at the chickenscratch.
"Je veux beaucoup de cigarettes, s'il vous plaît," he said. Donny and Aldo grinned at eachother.
"Sergeant, I think we got the Private his next mission," he said.
"Didja teach him how to say eighty?" asked Donny. Aldo sighed wearily and rubbed the bridge of his nose.
"Donny, in case y'forgot, this's wartime. Pretty sure we can't get eighty packs o'cigarettes."
"But how'll we know if he don't know how to say it?"
"That'll do, Sergeant," Aldo said impatiently, and Donny snapped his mouth shut. Utivich looked up from the paper. "Private, the town a' Montoire (Mont-oyer) is just northwest a'here," Aldo tapped his finger on a tore-up map he'd hung on the wall with errant nails, "you speak the best French outta' alla' us, 'n look most the part, bein' so little 'n starved," Aldo explained, and Utivich immediately shook his head, eyes wide.
"Are you fuckin' crazy? That city's full of Gerrys," he protested. Donny folded his arms and exchanged a cool glance with Aldo before laying a hard gaze back on Utivich.
" 'scuse me Private," and oh, that Boston accent was more patronising than ever, "but did I just hear ya say that the orders a' your commanding officer were 'fuckin' crazy'?" Utivich moved his mouth in a silent stammer, gave a salute for good measure.
"No sir, Sergeant, sir," he said, "but that place is crawling with Gestapo, I don't know if--"
"Wellthen, you best bring that carvin' knife with yeh, and you'll be at a hunnerd scalps right quick," Aldo interrupted, "Donny, I'm sure there's a washroom somewhere'n here, get our boy lookin' presentable for his night on the town. Dis-missed," said Aldo, and Utivich couldn't say another word about it.
"Sir," said Donny, saluted, and disappeared out the door. Utivich followed suit with far less enthusiasm.
Aldo had gone around with an old tobacco tin and collected the francs and Reichsmarks the Basterds had swiped from their slaughtered. They all gave generously, and Aldo pocketed the tin and trotted down the wrought-iron spiral staircase to the basement.
"Donny, you down here?" he called on his way.
"Come take a look at ya boy!" Donny shouted up from below and Aldo walked past the boilers to the dingy washroom.
"Well, wouldja lookit that," Aldo mused, appraising Utivich approvingly, "alla them mam-zells are gonna be on you like flies onna shithouse handle."
Utivich grinned, cleaned up nice and coiffed to perfection, wearing black slacks and a vest over a dark blue button-down dress shirt. Aldo savored the scent of aftershave and pomade off him.
"Yee-eah," said Donny, "bring some a'them back too, will ya, Private?" he clapped Utivich on the back, and Aldo set the money tin in his hands.
"There's yer ration," Aldo said, "bring back cigarettes 'n whatever hooch yeh can get fer near-nothin'."
"Yessir," said Utivich, and slid the money in the watch-pocket of the vest, "how far until Montoire?"
"Oh," said Aldo easy, shrugging his shoulders, "I'd figure 'round fifteen mile, giv'er take."
"But," he paused, sure to add, "sir, that'll take all day; I don't think I'll get back by sundown," his eyes were wide again. Aldo pushed a piece of Utivich's greased hair back into place.
"Wellthen, I'd say you better get hoofin'."
By the time Utivich had arrived in town, his hair was a mess, the bag at his side was slicing his shoulder, and his shirt had been sweat through. He tried to compose himself, forced his dirty shoes not to drag on the cobblestones, and staggered into a shop with cigarettes in the windowcase.
"Bonjour, monsieur," chirped the clerk. Utivich panted.
"Cigarettes. Beaucoup," the sheet of paper with the original sentence had been misplaced along the way, and that was all he could remember. She stared at him through big dark eyes and set three packs on the counter.
"Bien?"
"Beaucoup," he repeated, and stretched his hands apart. She bit her lip, peered into the back room where Utivich could see an older man--probably her father--checking inventory stock. She reached beneath the counter and came up with four cartons, ten packs apiece.
"Vite," she hissed, setting them on the counter, gesturing hurriedly. Utivich dug in his pocket, felt relief at the tin in his hand, and dumped it out on the counter. The clerk changed him out quickly, red painted nails flitting through the notes and coins.
She raised her hand to her mouth and blew a brief kiss as Utivich unzipped the bag. "Au revoir," she said coyly as Utivich jammed the cartons into his pack instead of paying her mind.
"Merci, madamoiselle," he said, and backed out into the street.
Back at the warehouse, Donny was starting to worry. He kept saying he wasn't, but for someone who couldn't give a shit, he sure kept bringing him up.
"Donny, wouldjeh shut up about 'im?" said Aldo, who'd picked up Utivich's book and was paging through it. Fuckin' poetry, pie-in-the-sky waste a' damn time. "Yeh saw 'im yerself, he'll blend in like a local."
"Yeah, well, he's been gone nearly nine hours. Shit shouldn't take that long," Donny muttered, continuing to stare out the smoked glass window.
"Siddown, sergeant," said Aldo. Donny did, and the Basterds waited in silence. Finally, there was a knock on the corrugated steel door. Donny scrambled to his feet and strode over.
"Who's it?" he asked gruffly.
"Who do you think?" asked Utivich. His voice was weary, breathless.
"You been followed?"
"No," Utivich hissed, "can you let me the fuck in?"
Aldo pushed past Donny and opened the door, tired of the charade when five minutes earlier Donowitz was near wringin' his hands for the kid. Utivich staggered in, the bag around him bulging, clanking with bottles as he dropped it to the ground.
He'd gotten a heroes' welcome, the company hooting and patting his back, ruffling his hair and shaking his shoulders. Shit, even Stiglitz' stony face was carved in a grin. Aldo stuck two smokes in Smitty's mouth and lit 'em up.
"Bra-vo, son," he said, and slung his arm around his shoulders. Once the schnapps started pouring--down Utivich's throat most especial, since the boys wouldn't let up on him--he started to feel warm and hazy, felt like he'd finally set himself apart. He felt like Donny must've felt every damn day when he'd stride from the shadows, come out swinging.
CHAPTER NINE; TENDERNESS & BITTERNESS
"I really, really don't remember that," Utivich continued to reel. Aldo snorted snuff from his thumbtip, clapped the clasp shut.
"That don't surprise me a lick," Aldo said, scrunching his nose and snuffling, "tried my damnedest to get ya in the ruttin' mood. Had to take yeh outside to that old machine shed, thought yeh were gonna git up on my lap right there in fronta' the boys."
"I don't count that as my fault," Utivich stated, sure he couldn't've divulged all of that information about Charlie Hale without some interrogation. Aldo smiled fondly and drew up a knee, resting his elbow cocked on it, hand dangling.
"I'll admit, I didn't 'zactly discourage ya, but it turned out not t'matter too much anyway. I got yeh out there 'n you were game for a hot-minute 'fore passin' out on me," Aldo glanced sidelong at Utivich, a strange mixture of tenderness and bitterness in his eyes, on his face. Utivich breathed a sigh.
"Well, I guess that's goo--"
"Then yeh fuckin' sicked up ev'rywhere," said Aldo, grinning crookedly and Utivich's hand was back at his forehead. "I ain't seen that much sick outta anyone, 'cept maybe Omar that first day out when we'd strung up that whelp Nazi 'n I gutted 'im like a mule deer."
He recalled; Omar in the ditch on all fours. Utivich had stayed back with him, 'cause while the company was marching, he couldn't even stand. Aldo remembered it, too. Remembered Utivich comin' into camp, bringing Omar and the Basterds' starting scalp.
"Naw, naw," Aldo reconsidered, "Omar wasn't even bad. You retched yerself inside-out."
"Can we stop talking about this?" Utivich asked flatly. Aldo pushed himself closer, and Utivich was still as a deer while the lieutenant bit his earlobe.
"My vote's we stop talkin' altogether," Aldo murmured as he licked the curve of his private's ear, "n'less there's somethin' more yeh wanna tell me 'bout yer schooldays."
Utivich shivered at the voice in his ear, the closeness of his mouth. He turned his head to one side and brushed Aldo's lips.
"I don't think it's exactly fair that I've only got half the conversation on that night. Sure the shit you were sayin' was just as bad," Utivich's voice had a marked tone, a certain spunk that made Aldo seize his neck in his teeth, biting and licking up his jaw.
"It was nothin'," he murmured into Utivich's wet skin, "somethin' bout the luck a' the Irish," he sucked a bruise up from the private's collarbone, "somethin' 'bout seein' you comin' in with alla' them smokes makin' me wanna fuck yeh witless."
Utivich resented the high snicker that escaped him.
Aldo took the opportunity to plant a hand on the private's chest and push him back onto the wood floor. He landed with a clatter, back arched strange, hands grabbing at Aldo's shoulders.
"Ahh, fuck," Utivich hissed as Aldo noticed, then grasped, the black strap running crosswise along the private's chest. He pulled Utivich back up by it, dragged it around front.
"Mm," Aldo nearly purred, his hands sliding tender along the smooth steel of the machine gun. Utivich had completely forgotten about it. Aldo wrapped one hand around the stock, the other hand on the magazine. "Where'd ya get that gat?"
"Off that Nazi me and Donny killed," Utivich ran his thumb up the barrel distractedly, then furrowed his brows. "Donny was saying that scalp was his. It's damn well not, he shot the guy in the knees, but I cut his fuckin' throat, and the scalp, so by all accounts, that makes it mine. But Donny--" and all of a sudden, the tip of the Schmeisser was pressed to his lips.
"Private, what'd I say 'bout all this talk?" Aldo asked, voice husky as he pushed the barrel forward, sliding the cool steel through Utivich's lips, clicking on his teeth. He opened his mouth.
The muzzle sight scratched at the roof of his mouth, but Utivich closed his eyes and put on a show. He slid his mouth along the metal in tandem with his fist wrapped around it--which he thought a bit too theatrical, but when Aldo had started up a muttered mantra of aw, yehh, Utivich was reminded that the man didn't strike him as a great appreciator of subtlety. He dragged his mouth off the gun, licked up the length, and made damn sure he was looking right in Aldo's eyes when he stuck his tongue inside the bore of the barrel, tasting the gunpowder from Stiglitz' discharge. Utivich noticed the lieutenant's hand had left the clip in favor of palming slowly at the groin of his pants. He eased himself to sit back on his knees, batting Aldo's hand away and replacing it with his own, rubbing circles against the hardening bulge, his other hand still jacking the slick gunbarrel.
"Fuck, Utivich," Aldo swore, breathless at the sight of his mouth back on the muzzle, sucking the tip before dropping his lips down around it again, pushing it deeper. Aldo bucked involuntarily into the hand on his crotch, hissing as it fell away to run down his hip.
Utivich touched the elk-handle of that knife strapped to Aldo's thigh. He pulled his mouth from the gun.
"What about you, Lieutenant?" murmured Utivich, drawing close, his hand still tugging at the hilt, "Haven't seen you cut any scalps," his eyes were narrowed, bowed lips curled in a smirk. Aldo pulled Utivich's hand away at the wrist, pushed it back onto the straining corduroy, then grabbed the handle himself and drew the knife from its hide holster.
"Son, you know damn well the cuttin' I been doin's of a different sort," he muttered, raising it to brush back some dark hair that had fallen on Utivich's forehead with the point. The private felt his blood chill. "And if yeh recall, I said each man under my command's the ones'at owe me the quota," Aldo explained, patting Utivich's cheek with the blade-flat. Utivich turned his face carefully, felt and heard the hair-thin blade scrape his skin.
Aldo watched rapt as he stuck that pink tongue against the blade and lapped at the metal. He turned the knife; Utivich licked up the other side. And oh, fuck, Aldo could've watched that boy suck and lick on weapons all damn day, but those pangs in his cock were telling him to move on along. He dragged the tip of the blade down Utivich's neck and along his collarbone before it slid back into its sheath.
"Sounds t'me like you gotta' problem listenin', so open them ears, one-striper," Aldo growled, tapping with his knuckle-backs what would've been the rank-side breast of Utivich's uniform, "let's not ferget 'zactly who it is yer takin' orders from."
"Yessir," Utivich murmured, catching Aldo's mouth in a retaliatory too-tender kiss. But Aldo fought right back, snatching the nape of Utivich's neck and crashing their mouths together, savagely prying his tongue into his private's mouth, then abruptly breaking away. Utivich pushed forward, but a hand halted him.
"What I want's for you to get along behind that drape, in fronta' that--thing," it wasn't a damn couch, but he didn't know any Frog word for it, "and I want yeh on that floor 'n on them knees, 'zzat understood?"
"Understood, sir," he uttered, head swimming, heart pounding.
"Wellthen, looks like alla' that fancy schoolin' was worth every penny paid."
CHAPTER TEN; NECK & LIPS
Utivich followed his orders. To the letter. He'd nestled nice in front of the chaise and between Aldo's thighs, touching his stiff dick through his trousers, licking at the thick corduroy in vain except Aldo thought it looked damn fine, even if he couldn't feel a fuckin' thing. Finally, Aldo thumbed his fly open and tore the rest of the buttons down, shuddering while the cold air hit that taut skin. He tangled a hand in Utivich's hair.
"Would yeh lookit that, so fuckin' shy for a second ago, but," he murmured, hand cupping the kid's cheek and tipping his head up and damn if that mouth wasn't just the nicest thing he'd seen in this fuckin' hellhole of a countryside.
Aldo Raine wasn't one for patience; Utivich scarcely saw him on-edge except after days of trudging, but most especially after days of waiting. He was the stir-crazy type, pacing around a concrete bunker, tapping his heels, popping every joint in his fingers 'til Utivich could nearly hear Donny's teeth gritting. All this in mind, he shouldn't have been surprised when Aldo thrust his uncut cock in his mouth before his lips even wrapped around it. His cheek bulged full to the left. Aldo realigned Utivich by the hair, pulled back out, pushed back in. Utivich swallowed a gag around him and pushed his hands on Aldo's stomach, the muscles there tense and crawling under his skin.
"Shit," Utivich gasped, dragging his lips off, his hands sliding down and catching in Aldo's unstrung belt loops. "Cool it on that, hey? Fuckin' drowning down here," he panted hot breath on Aldo's spit-slick dick, then compromised with a hand curled at its base, tonguing the tip. The lieutenant growled, long and low. Utivich mustered the sultriest up-through-the-eyelashes stare he could, but Aldo's eyes weren't open anyway. At first he felt silly, then felt a hand on the back of his head, felt the head of Aldo's cock thrust well beyond his molars. Aldo Raine wasn't one for compromise, either.
" 'pologies," Aldo grunted, but Utivich figured he couldn't have been so sorry because he did it again just a few seconds later. Finally, Utivich started working him into a slow rhythm with his neck and lips and Aldo's hips rolling in time.
"Fuck, Donny," Aldo hissed, dragging his hands through the head of dark hair in front of him. When Utivich choked this time, it wasn't on dick.
"Smitty?" Utivich corrected after he'd cleared his throat. Aldo chewed the inside of his cheek, his eyes slitting open and his brows bowed in staged confusion. From that angle, both those boys looked the exact damn same.
"Whud' I say?"
"Donny, sir."
Aldo appeared to consider it, but then gave his head a shake and put his impatient hands back on Utivich's head, scrabbling at his haircut. "Thinkeyer mistaken,"
Utivich stuck his sneering lips where Aldo pulled him to. Donny, Donny, fucking Donny. Donny with his damn swagger and fucking swing and all the high-fives and hand-claps he'd get from the Basterds after rending some Nazi skulls, the looks that Aldo gave him before the first crack, his eyes narrow, intent, practically fuckin' salivating.
It took Utivich awhile to realize all his sucking had ground slowly to a cease, eyes darkened in some distant envy, thinking on all their covert rendezvous; the way Donny'd strut around, his suspenders dangling down with a fresh bite-split in his lip, the way Aldo would neglect to fasten the top couple buttons on his trousers when it was obvious they'd been drunk and filled with a fast, desperate lust. But really, the lieutenant's partiality couldn't be blamed. Donny was the type who'd wind up a war hero; he was the type who'd wind up dead, bones on the forest floor, another fuckin' tickmark in a ledger.
"Utivich? Yeh want me ta put on one 'a them accents?"
He was still easing himself in then out of his private's slack lips. Utivich spat out Aldo's dick, spat at the floor for added spite.
"Your own's enough," he muttered, "and if Donny's really so distracting, I can stand his watch and send him in here."
"Fuck naw," Aldo grunted, hand finding its way back into Utivich's hair, "that boy's been rubbin' me raw as a' late, alla' his fuckin' caterwaulin' in the swamp, you'd think he'd ain't ever--" Aldo thought further, felt a twinge shock through his aching prick.
"--'less o'course yeh wanted 'im here?" It was less of a question, more of a suggestion. Instead of answering, Utivich stacked himself on his knees and bit at the inside of Aldo's spread thigh.
"Mmm, fuck, that Donny," Aldo let his eyes slide shut as Utivich's teeth gave way to tongue, "sometimes that mouth a' his ain't worth that mouth a' his."
"Can you stop talking about him?" asked Utivich wearily, feeling like a ringer.
"Can you stop thinkin' on him?"
"Can you? I'm not the one saying wrong names."
Aldo gave his thigh a pat and grinned crookedly down at Utivich between his knees.
"C'mere," he murmured, and Smitty crawled up like a lap-dog, licked Aldo's ear and neck like one, too.
CHAPTER ELEVEN; STARBURSTS & MUZZLE FLASH
Utivich was getting hard for Aldo's graceless kisses that had grown looser in lip every time he'd ground his hips down on the lieutenant's. He'd swear and Utivich would smile and do it again, and watching the Apache come undone was just too good a game not to be played for keeps. After awhile, he was just pressed against the kid, open-mouthed and breathing hard, gripping Utivich's waist and pushing him down, feeling the rough fabric against his still-exposed groin. Utivich licked Aldo's teeth, moaning in his mouth when the lieutenant fumbled his trousers undone and pushed his hand in, figurin' it was high-time the kid got some attention.
Aldo's hand was hot and rough against his cock, coiled like a cobra. Utivich rode against it, pushing alternately into his hand then down onto Aldo's lap, which was gettin' groans from the both of them.
"God, Aldo," Utivich whimpered into the patch of skin below Aldo's ear, licking at the light beginnings of that scar, dragging his lips and fingers all over it, following the thickening rise where the rope had dug deeper. Aldo tensed and bristled at the touch; his jaw clenched and a cord of muscle tightened against Utivich's cheek.
Suddenly, Aldo's hand was around his neck, tight to the private's throat as the scar to his skin.
"Private," he spat the rank like a curse, "when you been close 'nuf to death that he ain't even gonna bother reachin' out for yeh, bein' reminded--even by that nice little shit-talkin' dick-suckin' mouth a'yers--ain't exactly somethin' I savor."
"Yessir," came the timid reply when Aldo released him. He pulled his hands away, stuck them still at his sides. Aldo spat in his hand and rewrapped Utivich's cock.
"Son, I'll fuckin' tell you when to take yer hands off me," he snarled, and Utivich couldn't do anything but comply, laying his palms indiscriminate along the flesh of his neck, still cognizant of the scar tissue bumping up against the fresh welts on his palms. Aldo rumbled a gutteral assent, lifted Utivich to push his heavy pants down his thighs, hand pumping faster, squeezing tighter. And all the sudden, Utivich's hand was on his.
"Stop," he gasped, pulled Aldo's wrist away, "stop," he reiterated. There was no way, no fucking way he was gonna lose it, blow it all right now. It'd been too long since there'd been any hand on his cock but his left, and shit, this wasn't just any hand. "I need a minute." Aldo just stared bewilderedly, then took to rubbing Utivich's hipbones.
"How 'bout now?" Aldo asked between bites to the neck. One hand left his hip, and a thumb rubbed across the head of his cock. Utivich yelped, jolted.
"Oh, god, Aldo, you better just fuck me now," he hissed. It had definitely not been a minute, but there was no way to stall the lieutenant.
" 'zzat a command, Private?" he asked amused. Utivich made a desperate sound, and Aldo eased him from his lap, helped arrange him on all-fours. "Jes' like that," he murmured, tracing a hand down Utivich's spine, letting his hand rest in the little arch at the small of his back. "You been fucked 'fore, son?"
"Yeah," said Utivich, and it was true. He'd been fucked once, by Mac Cadden, when he'd been invited out to dinner with some of the boys. He didn't want to go, but felt obligated because of that fucking knockoff Rolex he'd been bought and because it was obvious that Mac was head-over-goddamn heels for him. When he'd showed up late and was led to the table, save for Mac, they all had their wives with.
They all had their wives with and three-piece suits and Utivich had worn Utivich clothes that night, a black vest and an olive blazer, because Charlie Hale never fucking dressed up. Utivich caught his reflection in the picture window; he looked like he was going to a lecture, out to dinner with his mother. He got a hundred-yard gaze, said something about how it was nice meeting them, and walked stiffly back out to the street and down the walk.
"Charlie!" he heard, and didn't turn around, and for having a bum leg Mac sure caught up quick. He grabbed him by the shoulder and spun him around. "What in the fuck was that all about?"
"This is crazy. I feel crazy," was all he said, and Mac just put an arm around him, rubbed his shoulder through the jacket.
"Listen, if y'don't wanna go back in there, y'don't have to. I got some dinner back at mine, we can do our own--" and he hadn't even finished before Utivich was kissing him, hard and feverish.
"Let's do that," he said quietly as he pulled back, and Mac led him back to a big black car. The drive back to Mac's apartment was perilous because they couldn't keep their hands off eachother. After they'd bumped up on the curb for the third time, Utivich got contented with hovering at the wheel, lips on Mac's knuckles, licking at the white-gold Claddagh on his little finger.
Utivich didn't get dinner, he got fucked, and when Mac came hot into him, moaning a name that wasn't his, Utivich decided that he needed a change of pace. He pretended to sleep a couple hours, still and quiet in that gangster's arms before inching his way out. He dressed silently and left a note on the nightstand in scratchy blue ink, Mac, I think I'm going to war, Charlie. A parting glance when he slipped out that apartment door was the last he'd seen of Marathon Mac.
Utivich remembered how he'd been offered a job in the mafia even though he wasn't Irish. Small-time, separating heroin into gram-bags--Mac called them Cadillacs for some fuckin' reason--running cocaine, odd deliveries. He thought about after the war, knocking on Cormac Cadden's door, yeah, you need anyone taken care of? I'll bring you their fuckin' scalp. He'd leave a kid, come back a killer. He thought about these things as he sucked on Aldo's fingers.
"You fucked a guy before?" he asked when Aldo had pulled his hand from his mouth and traced the slick fingertips down the cleave of Utivich's ass, then pushed two in at once. It hurt at first, but those hot streaks of pain were quickly smoothed over by the gentle crooks of Aldo's fingers. He'd forgot he'd asked a question at all.
"Gat-damn, but ain't you hot fer it," Aldo mused darkly as he watched Utivich writhing back against his touch. "Private, you answer me when I'm makin' an inquiry," there was a particularly tough twist, and Utivich moaned sharply.
"Fuck yes, sir," he said emphatically and Aldo pulled his fingers out, spat into his palm.
"That's what I like'ta hear." He slicked spit on his cock, and when he sidled behind him and put his hands on his hips, Utivich rolled like a scared gator and scrambled back against the high-end of the chaise.
"No," he said, "that's not enough. You ever fucked a guy before?" he asked, skeptical. Aldo set his jaw impatiently.
" 'course I fuckin' have. Figured we'd already established that Team Dead Natzi ain't the only one Donny's swingin' fer."
"Well, then," Utivich cast his eyes aside, "guess I'm no Bear Jew. Ain't enough."
Aldo rose and hitched up his pants, rounding past Utivich and disappearing behind the curtain. He heard a bit of clattering, a scrape of metal on wood, and didn't Aldo just look like a cat that got the cream when he came back with the little tin of gungrease.
"You ain't no Bear Jew," Aldo said as he scooped a couple fingers into the tin and smoothed his hand back over his dick before rolling Utivich back over. He pulled him to his knees by his hips, the private's top half still draped over the arm of the chaise, "but yer sure somethin'," he murmured as he pushed partway into Utivich, who had to think about a pile of Nazi guts, a pile of Omar's puke, to keep him from coming then and there.
Aldo thrust the rest of the way in.
"That good?" he asked. Utivich groaned.
"God, yeah," he gasped. Aldo pulled back out, drove back in.
"Yeh, that good?" he growled again, just because he liked hearing Utivich.
"Yeah," he answered belatedly, too fuck-struck to figure his tongue out immediately. He bucked back against Aldo, pushing deep. "C'mon, Aldo," he whimpered, because Aldo would've been content to just watch the private fuck back on his cock, especially if it made him twitch and writhe like that, all tuned up and needy as hell. Aldo shuddered, Utivich felt it. He brought a hand off his hip, back on in a slap to Utivich's ass.
"What's'at, Private?" he prompted. Utivich hissed.
"Please, Lieutenant," he tried. He got another slap, hot and stinging, the pain rolling through in a prickling wave.
"Yer close."
"Apache!" he yelped desperately, "that's not fucking fair," he growled. Aldo rubbed the reddened skin, then hooked his hand back on his hip.
"Naw, but yeh just look pretty like that," Aldo said, and rewarded him with a few thrusts, pulling the private's hips back to grind against him, holding him there even as he tried to pull away for another buck.
"Hold yer damn horses, son," muttered Aldo, closing his eyes and rutting close against him, just savoring the notion of being buried deep and hot in that fuckin' tight ass, "thought yeh needed a minute."
"Need something else now," he pushed back on Aldo uselessly, breath hitching. He still felt the handle of that knife, still strapped on Aldo's thigh, scraping against the back of his leg. Finally, Aldo went at him, pushing violent enough for his teeth to clatter. He tried to counter the new fevered rhythm, but just ended up fucking up the sync and getting snarls from Aldo. Suddenly, he grabbed Utivich by the hair, pulling his head around to face him.
"Wanna see them eyes a'yers," he said quietly, and Utivich craned his neck, watching over his shoulder as Aldo slowed his pace and saw every thrust roll through Utivich in those fluttering blue eyes. With the heat of his fucking, ass tight around him and those big damn eyes on his, he suddenly felt very close. He stuck a palm in front of Utivich's mouth, and he laid his lips and tongue all over it, guided it down to his cock.
"Shit, son, got some fuckin' mouth on yeh," Aldo guttered, pumping his hips and Utivich's dick, shivers coursing through him 'cause the kid was moaning loud enough to wake the fuckin' dead. But despite the obvious risk, Aldo liked that. Donny, fuckin' prima-donna he could be, pretendin' like he didn't want it, like he could take it or leave it. Yet in no time at all, he'd cut the shit and be beggin' and whinin' for his dick like Utivich was. It's just that the game got old, and the private's earnest eagerness was sure refreshing, sure turned him the hell on.
"Aw, fuck, sir, 'm gonna--" and he did a moment later, came twitching and shuddering into Aldo's hand. He drew it away, wiped it on the back of Utivich's disheveled jacket, then grabbed at his hips and plunged hard into him, pistoning until his teeth were grit so his jaw was sore, and under his eyelids he saw starbursts and muzzle flash. He came hard, kept pushing into Utivich until the last of the tension had slipped from his body, and he dropped himself slack over the kid, who struggled to roll to his back. Aldo settled his head on Utivich's chest, felt his breath steady, heard his heartbeat. They laid like that awhile. Utivich tried to twine his hand in Aldo's hair, but he pushed it away. He rested it behind his head instead.
"You afraid'a death, Private?" Aldo asked.
"No," Utivich said, bleakness in his voice betraying the lie.
"You should start bein'," said Aldo, "keeps yeh livin' longer," and Utivich thought that made sense.
"You want me to go, sir?" he asked, making to get up even with Aldo still laying on him. He just put a couple fingers blindly to Utivich's lips.
"Naw, it's fine, y'can stay here," Aldo murmured, and Utivich shifted onto his side, nestled himself between the low back of the chaise and Aldo's still-warm body. "I hope y'don't think I'm too hard on yeh, son. It's just the way it's gotta be."
"I didn't come out here to be coddled," Utivich answered, steel in his voice belying the way he nuzzled up under Aldo's chin. He decided to let it lie; he didn't necessarily mind cuddling, but post-coitus Aldo was always a little touchy like his skin was on wrong. That was sure somethin' Donny understood; they never spent nights together, just feverish hours. He reached to the floor and drew up the wool blanket he'd been sleeping with earlier, spread it over them and shut his eyes, one arm around Utivich's waist despite himself.
CHAPTER TWELVE; WIDE & WICKED
Aldo woke suddenly, not sure why until Utivich whined again, a strange anguished half-sob. Then he started pushing. It took Aldo a moment to realize that he was still sleeping; he pulled Utivich closer to him, putting his lips to his private's ear, telling him to shhh. It worked for a moment, then he started kicking. Aldo swore and shifted himself on top of Utivich, pinning him down.
"Utivich, son, wake up," he said sharply. Utivich opened his eyes halfway, stared blank up at Aldo and saw nothing before closing them again. His whimpering struggles continued, despite Aldo's attempts at comfort, smoothing his dark hair, nosing his cheek, and god wouldn't Donowitz have himself a fuckin' laugh if he saw him cuddling and cooing to the private. Finally, Aldo rolled off the chaise and left the little drawing room to curl on the floor in front of the stove, balling up his shirt and shoving it under his head.
Come dawn, Aldo felt a nudge against his shoulder.
"Utivich," he muttered and rolled to one side. Then he felt a jab in his chest that nearly knocked the wind from him. When he opened his eyes he saw Donny blearily above him, his rifle butt still resting against his ribs. Aldo pushed the gunstock away, sat up.
"Donny, what the fuck're yeh doin'?" he muttered.
"It's oh-five-hundred, sir."
"We ain't got nowhere to move out to today, Donowitz," Aldo muttered, pulling his jacket tighter around him to ward off the chill. "Stayin' here 'till we hear from the brass, 'less you're so eager to get back out ta' them wet woods." Donny didn't say anything, just leaned against the rifle.
"What're you doin' sleepin' on the floor? Ground's probably fuckin' softer," Donny said pointedly, and Aldo hardly had time to make up an excuse before they both watched Utivich shoulder his way through the curtain, head down and focused on the buttons of his shirt.
"So you couldn't stand sleepin' next to him, either," Donny said with a snort, and Utivich's head shot up. He stared wide-eyed between the two.
"Morning, Lieutenant," he said shortly, "Sergeant," he added.
"Save the shit, Smitty," Donny mumbled, and Utivich couldn't help but savor that envious twinge in his voice, in the sneer on his lips. Oh good god, was he smiling? He hoped he wasn't smiling. He flattened his lips to a thin, grim line just to be safe. Aldo settled his feet under him and rose, dusting himself off and popping his stiff neck.
"Say, Sergeant," Aldo said brightly, trying to diffuse the situation the way he always did, with that fuckin' casual charm, "yeh worked extra hard last night, coverin' for the Private'ere, what say you to a night off?" It appeared to work, Donny tried to keep his scowl in place, but it was already turning up at one corner.
"I'll tell Omar," he said, the smirk growing wide and wicked.
"I'll take it," Utivich offered. He was halfway to the door. Donny and Aldo just grinned, slid eachother a glance.
"Bet yeh fuckin' will," said Aldo.
Utivich smiled apprehensively, felt their eyes follow him out the door.
FIN