Only Needles in the Hay - Inglourious Basterds fic
Title: Only Needles in the Hay
Fandom: Inglourious Basterds
Rating: PG-13? (gay + some language + violence)
Summary: During the execution of Operation Kino, Omar thinks about the relationship he's developed with Donny.
Notes: Donny/Omar doesn't get enough fucking love. THEY KILL HITLER TOGETHER! >:( PS: the little breaks between the paragraphs = going between past and present. <3
Omar takes everything one step at a time. He takes slow, controlled breaths; he fakes his way through Italian he can hardly remember. On the outside he's totally calm, but on the inside he's about two seconds from puking all over this Nazi's shoes.
He's not supposed to be here. It's supposed to be Stglitz and Wicki and that English guy, not him and Aldo and Donny- Omar looks over at Donny, noting the fake smile almost as bad as his Italian, and wishes even more that they could be anywhere but here. Here is just a terrible idea. Here can only end in two ways as far as Omar's concerned: either it works and they're blown to smithereens like everyone else, or worse, they get caught and die at the hands of the Nazis after a lengthy interrogation.
Before he got here, he would've gladly died for the cause, probably even for the first year he was in France. But everything had changed over the long months marching through the woods, scalping and murdering and miraculously never getting caught. Now if he could get out of here alive, he would.
Omar follows Donny inside the theatre, taking in a deep breath as he looks around. He's sure he's never seen more people in a theatre this size, and knowing they're surrounded by the enemy... He feels sick. Donny nudges him with his elbow and smiles, a real one this time, which calms him a little.
-----
Winter came early the first year and they were unprepared; soon enough Omar found himself huddled up to Donny Donowitz, trying to be thankful for the warmth of the larger body rather than terrified of the person it belonged to, whose reputation made even the other Basterds nervous. He didn't relax until he could hear the older man snoring, and Omar was sure he was sound asleep.
Once in a while they managed to find abandoned houses, all thankful to get out of the cold. Sharing a bed with a superior officer all winter turned out to be a positive- Aldo and Donny got the two bedrooms; Omar was surprised when Donny offered to share.
“How many ya got?” Donny asked, swinging his bat with one hand as he tipped a half-empty flask to his lips with the other. Omar was lounging on the bed; he looked up from his book.
“What?”
“Scalps.”
“I got my hundredth today after that attack.” A small, proud smirk curled over Omar's lips, and Donny grinned, flopping onto the mattress beside him with a thunk.
“Congrats,” he slurred, and handed Omar the nearly-empty flask, watching him intently. Omar took the last bit of the alcohol, and as he swallowed and turned to hand it back, Donny moved and crushed his mouth against his. Omar froze, dropping the flask down on the mattress and touching Donny's arm. As Donny pulled away, he laughed at Omar's dumbstruck expression.
“Uh, sarge?” Omar asked quietly, his cheeks red.
“Yeah?”
“Why'd you do that?” Donny snorted, lying back and crossing his arms.
“Because I fuckin' wanted to. Anything else?” Omar looked at Donny and he could tell he was angry, and a lot less drunk than he was putting on earlier. Shaking his head, Omar scooted closer.
“Nah, I just wish you would've told me sooner. I mean, winter's almost over and all.” Leaning in to kiss him again, Omar was guided by the large, rough hands on his hips until he was straddling Donny.
The next day, Hirschberg made a few comments to Kagan about the noises he'd heard through the wall, but promptly shut up as soon as Donny so much as looked at him with his bat in hand.
-----
The movie starts; Omar can't remember the last time he went to the theatre, and thinks for a moment that it's a shame his last has to be a Nazi propaganda film. He reminds himself that if they do this right, there won't be any more Nazi propaganda films and their sacrifice is going to end the war and all the things Aldo told them last night.
Where is Aldo, anyway?
Donny nudges Omar again and leans in to whisper in his ear.
“I'm gonna go check things out,” he murmurs before getting up and apologizing in Italian to the whole row of people who are craning their necks and diving around in their seats to try and see around him. Omar leans back in his seat and takes a deep breath, focusing on the movie, or at least trying to.
He mutters a little prayer under his breath before fixing his gaze on the screen again.
-----
Omar stared up at the tops of the trees, closing his eyes as he felt the familiar scrape of Donny's razor against his jaw, then the old handkerchief wiping the last bits of shaving cream from his face. It's not like he couldn't do it himself, but he liked the way Donny did it. Slow, thorough, careful. Unlike most of Donny Donowitz's personality.
“Sit up and I'll get your hair.”
Omar did as he was told and sat straight up, looking around in silence as Donny began to snip away at split ends.
“What's the date?” Omar finally asked.
“May 12th if the newspaper was right yesterday. Hold still, you're worse than a kid. Look with your eyes, not your head.”
“Sorry,” muttered Omar. “I think it's my ma's birthday.”
“You gonna write her a letter?”
“Family doesn't know I'm out here. So probably not.” Donny raised an eyebrow.
“They don't know?” Snip. Omar felt more like he was at a regular barbershop now with all the small talk, though he was pretty positive most barbershops weren't in the woods and most barbers didn't fuck their customers on a regular basis. Or even an irregular basis.
“My dad was in the war. Shell shock. Lost a leg. Didn't think it'd be good to tell 'em so I don't write. If I do anything worthwhile they'll hear about it in the paper when this is all over and if I'm alive I just won't go home.”
“You could come to Boston,” Donny offered, brushing away bits of black hair from Omar's shoulders, and Omar fell quiet again because he never could tell what Donny was going to do next. One moment he'd be cold and callous and bashing Nazi skulls in, the next he'd be telling Omar to come with him after the war or biting his neck and pressing up behind him growling in his ear.
“Maybe.”
“I should write to my son. He's six. He'll like you.”
-----
They go back into the bathroom after taking out the guards so they can get everything ready and check to make sure the explosives are going to blow; Omar kneels down to check the timer strapped to his leg.
There's not much time left at all.
“Donny?” Omar murmurs, getting to his feet and looking over at Donny, who's double-checking to make sure everything's in working condition.
“Yeah?”
“I don't wanna fuckin' die.” He runs his fingers through his hair, because it's not like it matters if it's perfectly combed back anymore. “This is stupid. It's not supposed to be us here. We're supposed to be waiting for all this to be over and going to Boston and not fucking blowing up!” He knows it's immature. He knows he's just being a coward. But he can't help it.
Donny grabs him by the shoulder.
“Listen. Whether we go to Boston or not isn't gonna mean shit, Omar. But we're gonna die here. No way of avoiding it now. And we're gonna kill all these fuckin' Nazis on the way, alright? And in a hundred fuckin' years everyone's still gonna call us heroes. Now we're gonna go shoot Hitler right in the face. Sound good?”
Omar hiccups a little as he gives Donny a little breathless laugh, his eyes watery.
“Yeah.”
Setting his gun down, Donny grabs Omar by the lapels, kissing him just as hungry and rough as it's ever been, and it gets Omar all the way down to his toes as he clutches at Donny's sleeves, and suddenly he's ready for all of this.
They run into the hallway and there's screaming and everything smells like smoke, and they soon find out why when they burst into the theatre doors, firing wildly and Omar almost feels like he's dreaming, maybe he's just lightheaded from the smoke or the fact that they're actually doing this.
By some chance they manage to glance at each other at the same time, exchanging devilish grins just before time runs out and everything goes white.
Fandom: Inglourious Basterds
Rating: PG-13? (gay + some language + violence)
Summary: During the execution of Operation Kino, Omar thinks about the relationship he's developed with Donny.
Notes: Donny/Omar doesn't get enough fucking love. THEY KILL HITLER TOGETHER! >:( PS: the little breaks between the paragraphs = going between past and present. <3
Omar takes everything one step at a time. He takes slow, controlled breaths; he fakes his way through Italian he can hardly remember. On the outside he's totally calm, but on the inside he's about two seconds from puking all over this Nazi's shoes.
He's not supposed to be here. It's supposed to be Stglitz and Wicki and that English guy, not him and Aldo and Donny- Omar looks over at Donny, noting the fake smile almost as bad as his Italian, and wishes even more that they could be anywhere but here. Here is just a terrible idea. Here can only end in two ways as far as Omar's concerned: either it works and they're blown to smithereens like everyone else, or worse, they get caught and die at the hands of the Nazis after a lengthy interrogation.
Before he got here, he would've gladly died for the cause, probably even for the first year he was in France. But everything had changed over the long months marching through the woods, scalping and murdering and miraculously never getting caught. Now if he could get out of here alive, he would.
Omar follows Donny inside the theatre, taking in a deep breath as he looks around. He's sure he's never seen more people in a theatre this size, and knowing they're surrounded by the enemy... He feels sick. Donny nudges him with his elbow and smiles, a real one this time, which calms him a little.
-----
Winter came early the first year and they were unprepared; soon enough Omar found himself huddled up to Donny Donowitz, trying to be thankful for the warmth of the larger body rather than terrified of the person it belonged to, whose reputation made even the other Basterds nervous. He didn't relax until he could hear the older man snoring, and Omar was sure he was sound asleep.
Once in a while they managed to find abandoned houses, all thankful to get out of the cold. Sharing a bed with a superior officer all winter turned out to be a positive- Aldo and Donny got the two bedrooms; Omar was surprised when Donny offered to share.
“How many ya got?” Donny asked, swinging his bat with one hand as he tipped a half-empty flask to his lips with the other. Omar was lounging on the bed; he looked up from his book.
“What?”
“Scalps.”
“I got my hundredth today after that attack.” A small, proud smirk curled over Omar's lips, and Donny grinned, flopping onto the mattress beside him with a thunk.
“Congrats,” he slurred, and handed Omar the nearly-empty flask, watching him intently. Omar took the last bit of the alcohol, and as he swallowed and turned to hand it back, Donny moved and crushed his mouth against his. Omar froze, dropping the flask down on the mattress and touching Donny's arm. As Donny pulled away, he laughed at Omar's dumbstruck expression.
“Uh, sarge?” Omar asked quietly, his cheeks red.
“Yeah?”
“Why'd you do that?” Donny snorted, lying back and crossing his arms.
“Because I fuckin' wanted to. Anything else?” Omar looked at Donny and he could tell he was angry, and a lot less drunk than he was putting on earlier. Shaking his head, Omar scooted closer.
“Nah, I just wish you would've told me sooner. I mean, winter's almost over and all.” Leaning in to kiss him again, Omar was guided by the large, rough hands on his hips until he was straddling Donny.
The next day, Hirschberg made a few comments to Kagan about the noises he'd heard through the wall, but promptly shut up as soon as Donny so much as looked at him with his bat in hand.
-----
The movie starts; Omar can't remember the last time he went to the theatre, and thinks for a moment that it's a shame his last has to be a Nazi propaganda film. He reminds himself that if they do this right, there won't be any more Nazi propaganda films and their sacrifice is going to end the war and all the things Aldo told them last night.
Where is Aldo, anyway?
Donny nudges Omar again and leans in to whisper in his ear.
“I'm gonna go check things out,” he murmurs before getting up and apologizing in Italian to the whole row of people who are craning their necks and diving around in their seats to try and see around him. Omar leans back in his seat and takes a deep breath, focusing on the movie, or at least trying to.
He mutters a little prayer under his breath before fixing his gaze on the screen again.
-----
Omar stared up at the tops of the trees, closing his eyes as he felt the familiar scrape of Donny's razor against his jaw, then the old handkerchief wiping the last bits of shaving cream from his face. It's not like he couldn't do it himself, but he liked the way Donny did it. Slow, thorough, careful. Unlike most of Donny Donowitz's personality.
“Sit up and I'll get your hair.”
Omar did as he was told and sat straight up, looking around in silence as Donny began to snip away at split ends.
“What's the date?” Omar finally asked.
“May 12th if the newspaper was right yesterday. Hold still, you're worse than a kid. Look with your eyes, not your head.”
“Sorry,” muttered Omar. “I think it's my ma's birthday.”
“You gonna write her a letter?”
“Family doesn't know I'm out here. So probably not.” Donny raised an eyebrow.
“They don't know?” Snip. Omar felt more like he was at a regular barbershop now with all the small talk, though he was pretty positive most barbershops weren't in the woods and most barbers didn't fuck their customers on a regular basis. Or even an irregular basis.
“My dad was in the war. Shell shock. Lost a leg. Didn't think it'd be good to tell 'em so I don't write. If I do anything worthwhile they'll hear about it in the paper when this is all over and if I'm alive I just won't go home.”
“You could come to Boston,” Donny offered, brushing away bits of black hair from Omar's shoulders, and Omar fell quiet again because he never could tell what Donny was going to do next. One moment he'd be cold and callous and bashing Nazi skulls in, the next he'd be telling Omar to come with him after the war or biting his neck and pressing up behind him growling in his ear.
“Maybe.”
“I should write to my son. He's six. He'll like you.”
-----
They go back into the bathroom after taking out the guards so they can get everything ready and check to make sure the explosives are going to blow; Omar kneels down to check the timer strapped to his leg.
There's not much time left at all.
“Donny?” Omar murmurs, getting to his feet and looking over at Donny, who's double-checking to make sure everything's in working condition.
“Yeah?”
“I don't wanna fuckin' die.” He runs his fingers through his hair, because it's not like it matters if it's perfectly combed back anymore. “This is stupid. It's not supposed to be us here. We're supposed to be waiting for all this to be over and going to Boston and not fucking blowing up!” He knows it's immature. He knows he's just being a coward. But he can't help it.
Donny grabs him by the shoulder.
“Listen. Whether we go to Boston or not isn't gonna mean shit, Omar. But we're gonna die here. No way of avoiding it now. And we're gonna kill all these fuckin' Nazis on the way, alright? And in a hundred fuckin' years everyone's still gonna call us heroes. Now we're gonna go shoot Hitler right in the face. Sound good?”
Omar hiccups a little as he gives Donny a little breathless laugh, his eyes watery.
“Yeah.”
Setting his gun down, Donny grabs Omar by the lapels, kissing him just as hungry and rough as it's ever been, and it gets Omar all the way down to his toes as he clutches at Donny's sleeves, and suddenly he's ready for all of this.
They run into the hallway and there's screaming and everything smells like smoke, and they soon find out why when they burst into the theatre doors, firing wildly and Omar almost feels like he's dreaming, maybe he's just lightheaded from the smoke or the fact that they're actually doing this.
By some chance they manage to glance at each other at the same time, exchanging devilish grins just before time runs out and everything goes white.