Thanksgiving

[amuly]

Hey everyone! Happy belated-thanksgiving to everyone living in the states (except PST. I got this in before it's midnight over there, so ha!). To everyone else in the world: happy friday! Except you guys in hawaii. It is not Friday yet for you.
Gracious that's confusing.
Anyways, here is a thanksgiving fic! Which I wrote while having terrible heartburn from delicious food/wine/cigars.
Enjoy!

Title: Thanksgiving (stealing from you Eli. come and get me! ... please come and get me!)
Pairings: Donny/Uti and Stiggy/Wicki (seriously this time)
Word Count: 4,153
Rating: NC-17
Summary: All the Basterds have something to be thankful for.
Warnings: slightly violent sex on the part of Stiggy/Wicki, but nothing major
A/N: look! I wrote Stiggy/Wicki! Oh great Stiggy/Wicki shippers, please don't kill me!
EDIT: So much love and thanks to raynelove  for translating that FUCKTON of German! Oh my gosh, you are the absolute best!!!!
Comments are love!

 

            Donny walked in formation, in front of Utivich. Carefully, he ticked days off on his hand. “Uti, okay, so, what day is it again?”

            Donny heard Utivich sigh behind him. He knew he had asked it several times, but he wanted to make sure. “It’s the twentieth.”

            Donny ticked off some days on his fingers again. “Okay, so, just hang on. My birthday was September fifteenth, right? And that was a Monday. Okay, so then…” fuck, math was hard… “seven days later was the twenty-second, then the twenty-ninth…then it was, um…”

            Utivich stepped in. “A week later would be October sixth.”

            Mock-irritably, Donny waved behind him at Utivich. “Yeah yeah. Okay, then it would be the thirteenth, then the twentieth, then the twenty-seventh. Then we’re in Novembah, and that would be…” As he tried to add the numbers, Donny could feel Utivich just thinking at him. “Damnit, Uti, fine, what would it be?”

            “The third.” Sighing, Donny glanced over his shoulder. “You’re a real pain-in-the-ass smart-ass sometimes, you know that?”

            Utivich raised his eyebrows suggestively. “You want me to be a pain in the ass? We could arrange that.”

            Furtively, Donny looked around at the other Basterds, then broke formation long enough to smack Utivich upside the head. “Shuddup.” He murmured. Turning around and stepping back into the formation, Donny continued his math. “Okay, so we got Novembah third, right? So then a week from that is the tenth, then the seventeenth. Then three days later we get today, the twentieth, right? So since all of those were Mondays, that puts today at a Thursday, right? And the twentieth would be the third Thursday in Novembah, right?”

            Triumphantly, Donny could feel the gears click into place in Utivich’s head behind him. “Holy shit Donny, it’s Thanksgiving, isn’t it?”

            Nodding, Donny twirled his bat happily. “Sure is. Fuck, what I wouldn’t do for some meat right about now...”

            Utivich’s voice crept up behind him. “Well, if you want some meat, I could…”

            Not waiting for the rest of the sentence, Donny jumped on Utivich, tackling him to the ground. “Utivich, shut your fucking mouth! Fuck!”

            A whistle alerted Donny, who jumped up off of Utivich and stood at attention. Utivich climbed up to his feet less slowly, possibly due to Donny knocking the wind out of him. “Damnit sons…” Aldo shouted at them from a few paces up, “You boys can’t wait to bunk up to do something like that? Fuck’s sake boys, wait till we set up tonight.”

            Snarling, Donny smacked Utivich upside the head. “Yeah Utivich, wait for us to bunk up. Wait, huh? Damnit Aldo!” Donny snarled and shut up, as the rest of the Basterds laughed. Snarling and stomping, Donny walked forward again. Grumpily, he shoved Wicki, next in line in front of him. “Keep moving, fuckah. Damnit.”

            Wicki laughed, but changed the subject. “Donny, Thanksgiving. You said that earlier, what is it?”

            Donny abruptly stopped kicking at pinecones. “Huh? You know, the holiday. Thanksgiving.”

            In front of him, Wicki shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know. I heard it mentioned before on the base, but, I wasn’t sure what it was.”

            Donny immediately leaned forward and shoved Wicki. “What? Hey, what? Oh, Aldo, did you hear this?”

            Two people up, Aldo nodded his head. “I heard Donny. What exactly are you proposing?”

            Donny got a goofy grin on his face. “Oh fuck, Aldo, you serious?”

            As he walked forward, Aldo pulled out his tin of snuff. “Well, son. If you can manage to dig up some Thanksgiving feast-worthy grub, then we can have ourselves a Thanksgiving dinner.”

            Donny glanced around, shoulders darting to the left, then to the right. “Okay, hang on…”

            Donny felt a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Donny, shush. Calm.”

            Smiling, Donny stopped worming around. He turned around and winked back at Utivich as they continued to walk forward. “You got any ideas on Thanksgiving?”

            Glancing around, Utivich sighed. “Wicki, do you have any ideas?”

            In front of Donny, Wicki scratched the back of his head. “Well, we have gruel. But if we can get a rabbit, or duck, or something…”

            Immediately Donny shot off into the brush. “What the fuck, Donny!” Utivich shouted after Donny.

            Aldo halted the company, and they all turned and waited. In front of Wicki, Stiglitz lit a cigarette and pulled a deep lungful of smoke from it. “Was denkst du, wo er hingeht?" /Where do you think he’s going?/

            Wicki crossed his arms and nodded after Donny. “Ich denke, einen Hasen oder eine Ente oder sowas holen." /I suppose, to get a rabbit, or a duck, or something./

            Moments later, the Basterds heard a thwack, followed by. “Fuck you rabbit! Fuck you! Not so fast, huh, you fucking piece of meat!”

            While they waited, Stiglitz dropped his cigarette on the ground and crushed it beneath his heel. A few seconds later, and a few loud crunching noises later, Donny emerged, holding two rabbits by the ears in his left hand, his bat in his right. “Fucking rabbits think they can fuck with a Donowitz? Wicki, we’re gonna have a proper Thanksgiving feast.” Glancing down at the rabbits clutched in his fist, Donny frowned. “Well, you know. We’re supposed to have turkeys, but rabbits are okay.”

            Aldo clicked his snuff case shut. “Donny, could you do this anytime you wanted to? Catch and kill rabbits?”

            Donny blinked, confused. “Whatchya mean? This is a special occasion.”

            He could feel the rest of the Basterds glancing sidelong at him, but he couldn’t really fathom why. Fuck them, he just got two rabbits for Thanksgiving dinner, after all.

            Shucking the rabbits into his sack, and his bat firmly over his shoulder, Donny continued to walk forward in formation.

            Two hours later, Aldo called the company to a halt. Carefully he took a knee in front of them. “Alright boys. We’ll call it in early tonight, and let Donny here show our non-American boys what a Thanksgiving dinner is. What are our supplies?”

            Reaching back, Donny pulled the rabbits out of his pack. “I have two rabbits!” He grinned, proudly.

            Stiglitz, sucking on another cigarette, slid his eyes at Donny. “We know, Donowitz.”

            Donny waved his hands. “Eh, shuddup Stiggy.”

            Stiglitz looked fairly murderous, but Donny ignored him. “What else we got? Wicki?”

            Wicki had set down his pack and was digging through it. “Well, we have gruel. What else do we need?”

            Donny chewed on his lip. “Well, normally we have turkey, but we got rabbits instead. And normally we have potatoes, but we got gruel. Sweet stuff, like cranberries or stuffing or corn, we usually eat that at home. Right?”

            The American-born Basterds nodded in concurrence with Donny. Aldo shifted. “Well, Donny, Wicki, what can we use for something sweet?”

            Donny immediately opened his mouth, grinning, and Utivich just as immediately smacked him upside the head. “Don’t.”

            Wincing, Donny rubbed the back of his head. “I’ll give you sweet, you fucking…” Leaping forward, Donny tackled Utivich to the ground from his sitting position.

            “Fuck! Donny!” Donny sat himself on top Utivich, resting the bulk of his weight on Utivich’s stomach, hands grabbing at Utivich’s wrists.

            “Now watchya gonna do, funny guy? Huh? You want something sweet?”

            Quite suddenly, Utivich and Donny both got very silent. Donny stared down at Utivich’s lips, slowly licking his own.

            A throat cleared loudly behind them, and Donny turned around to see Aldo glaring at the two of them. “Boys, a little focus would be greatly appreciated.”

            Donny lazily rolled off of Utivich and dusted himself off, grinning. “Aw Aldo, but it’s Thanksgiving!”

            “Sie brauchen etwas Suesses? Dahinten waren Blaubeeren und ich hab noch ein Stück Schokolade. Hatte ich eigentlich für uns aufgehoben." /They need something sweet? There were blueberries back there, and I have a piece of chocolate. I was saving it for us./

            Donny turned and listened as Stiglitz grunted out German. He didn’t sound too happy. Wicki’s face, however, lit up.

            “Hugo has something sweet. I can start cooking. Donny, skin the rabbit.”

            Wicki hefted a knife into Donny’s hand. Donny held it awkwardly. “Um…”

            Just as smoothly as Wicki had handed Donny the knife, Utivich took it away from him. “Here, let me.”

            Donny grabbed Utivich in a headlock and noggied him fondly. “Aw, Utivich. You’re the best. Taking care of all of cooking, just like a good froy.”

            Utivich wrestled himself out of the headlock, glaring at Donny angrily. “Why don’t you go sit over there, build the fire up or something.”

            With a last fond pat on the cheek, Donny jumped up. “Yessir Private Utivich.” Donny winked and waltzed away, getting started on the fire.

**

            It was dark out, but the Basterds sat around the campfire, passing around their bowls. Each plate got a piece of rabbit, a pile of gruel, and a small bit of chocolate covered blueberries. Personally, Donny could think of a few things better than blueberries that he would have wanted to cover in chocolate, specifically Utivich-related things, but blueberries were okay too.

            Standing up, Aldo cleared his throat. “Well, for you non-American boys, that meaning y’all, Wicki and Stiglitz, Thanksgiving is a celebration in memory of the Injuns that helped the Americans out during their first winter. They gave ‘em lots of food to eat, so, we eat lots of food. And as is tradition where I come from, we go around and say a little thing about what we’re thankful for. So I’ll go ahead and start first, show you how it’s done. Me personally, I’m thankful to the Lord above for this opportunity to kill a whole boat-load of Nazi bastards. I’m thankful to still be alive today, even though I might not be tomorrow. And I’m thankful I got you Basterds serving under me, because I figure you boys increase my chances of being alive tomorrow, which increases my chances of killing more Nazis.”

            Aldo sat down and nodded to the next man, Ulmer. Ulmer squirmed slightly uneasily. “Well, I’d thank JHVH for still being alive, like the Captain. I’d also like to thank him for taking care of my brothers, and sister, and mom and dad. They’re all safe back home still, and I want them to stay safe.” Ulmer nodded, sheepishly.

            Up next was Stiglitz. The German grunted. “Thank for you, freeing me from Gestapo. Thank for kill Gestapo.” Stiglitz nodded, thoughtfully. His face turned softer for a moment. Leaning over to Wicki, next to him, Stiglitz lowered his voice. “Ich bin auch für dich dankbar, Wilhelm. Dankbar für dich, deinen Mund, deine Haende, deinen Arsch." /I’m thankful for you too, Wilhelm. Thankful for you, your mouth, your hands, your ass./

            Donny narrowed his eyes as Wicki turned a bright red. “Hey, Stiggy. Stop saying dirty stuff in German. I think I heard the word ‘ass’ in there.”

            Stiglitz leaned back, a rare grin gracing his face. He nudged Wicki with his foot. “Du bist dran." /Your turn./

            Wicki cleared his throat. “Well, I’m thankful for the rabbits Donny caught, and the chocolate Hugo saved, obwohl es mir besser gefallen haette, wenn du es für uns aufgehoben haettest." /though I would have liked it better if you had just saved it for us/. "I’m thankful for my gun, my life. I’m thankful I can speak German, and can help kill Nazi’s.Und natuerlich bin ich dankbar für dich, Hugo. Ich zeig dir heut Nacht, wie dankbar ich bin. Dieser amerikanische Feiertag ist nett, oder?" /And of course I’m thankful for you, Hugo. I’ll show you how thankful tonight. This American holiday is nice, huh?/

            Stiglitz just grunted, but Donny saw a flush creeping up his thick neck. Donny glared. Fucking krauts, being all romantic over there. Well, he had Utivich, so screw them. Speaking of which, Utivich was shifting and saying his thanks. “I’m thankful that I’m not in Manhattan right now. I feel much better now about, well, everything, when I’m out here. I’m thankful for scalping. I’m thankful I’m still alive, and you are still alive,” Utivich glanced over at Donny when he said that, and Donny felt a shiver go down his spine. Damn, Utivich had an effect on him. “I’m thankful that I can kill Nazis, and JHVH is watching over us, helping us kill Nazis.” Utivich looked over at Donny again. They didn’t know a language that none of the other Basterds knew, like Wicki and Stiglitz, but they didn’t need it. Donny could see in Utivich’s look that he was saying I’m thankful for you.

            Holding that glance, Donny jumped up. “I got a lot I’m thankful to JHVH for. I’m thankful that I got lots of Nazi’s to kill, I’m thankful for the Sox, and Teddy Williams, and Southie, and all Bawston, the T, Fenway, all baseball besides the Yankees and Babe after ’18. I’m thankful for my mom’s cooking, and how good it’s gonna taste when I get home. Right now, I’m thankful for Wicki’s cooking, besides it’s a fuck-ton bettah than I coulda done. I’m thankful for my bat too, and my arms, so I can kill lots of Nazi’s with them. But yous guys know what I’m most thankful for?”

            Donny paused and took a deep breath. He stared down at Utivich, who was looking at him, pleading with his eyes. Don’t say it Donny. Shut up and sit down. Donny ignored the look. “I’m most thankful for Uti. No offense to anyone of you other Basterds, you’re all wicked. But Uti, you’re the best. And all those things I’m thankful for back home? After the war is over, I’m taking you home with me, and I’m gonna share all those things I’m thankful for with the guy I’m most thankful for. Because you’re fucking awesome, and you know, and…and yeah.”

            Donny sat down heavily. Utivich was clasping his face in his hands, the tips of his ears beat red from where Donny could see. He assumed the rest of his face was red too. Donny wrapped his arm around Utivich’s shoulders and leaned in, his lips brushing Utivich’s ear. He felt Utivich shiver slightly beneath him, and he smiled as he whispered, “I mean it Uti. You’re mine, and we’re going home togetha, after all this. You’re gonna live with me, up above the barber shop. You can get some smart-guy job, you know, like a teacha or something. I’ll cut hair, and we’ll go to Sox games during the summer togetha. Watchya say?”

            Utivich lifted his head up from in his hands. A feral look was in his eyes, and he growled at Donny: “finish up your Thanksgiving dinner. I need to show you how thankful I am for you.”

            Donny’s eyebrows shot up, and he turned to his food, wolfing it down. Less than five minutes later he had lit a cigarette and was dragging Utivich away from the fire, cigarette dangling from his mouth. “Alright, let’s go. Happy Thanksgiving.”

            Utivich turned and tried to wave at the rest of the group, but Stiglitz and Wicki had already disappeared, and Aldo and Ulmer were awkwardly setting up their bedding.

            Flicking his cigarette into the brush, Donny shoved Utivich up against a tree. “Thankful for you.” He mumbled, before shoving his lips violently against Utivich’s. Shoving his tongue into Utivich’s mouth, Donny reached for Utivich’s pants. Four buttons later, and Donny was slipping to his knees. Utivich stared down at Donny breathlessly. Glancing up, Donny frowned. “This is just for today, you know? ‘Cause I’m grateful. That’s all.” Utivich nodded, blue eyes wide.

            Licking his lips, Donny gently pulled Utivich’s cock out of his pants. It was already semi-hard, and a few strokes made it firm and ready in his hands. Hesitating, Donny licked his lips again. He figured he would just do whatever it was that Uti had done before, but now that it came time to actually do it, he couldn’t for the life of him remember what Uti had done. He grabbed the base of Utivich’s cock, he knew to do that much. He also pulled his lips over his teeth; he knew he didn’t like teeth. Sliding his mouth slowly over Utivich’s cock, Donny grimaced slightly at the bitter, somewhat dirty taste. Then again, what did he really expect? The closest thing they got to a shower for the past few months was walking through a stream or walking in the rain.

            Above him, Utivich gasped and sighed. Donny glanced up, slipping his mouth further down Utivich’s shaft. Utivich had thrown his head back. He swallowed thickly, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. Fuck, the sight of that made Donny hard. He fucking loved Uti’s Adam apple. Still, he turned his focus back to the issue at hand. Sucking firmly on Utivich’s cock, Donny pulled back, then slid his mouth back down. He could taste Utivich’s precome sliding down his tongue and into his throat. Kind of gross, but Donny didn’t mind too much. Not if he got to show Utivich how much he cared. Utivich had done this enough times for him, anyway.

            Tightening his grip on the base with his left hand, Donny continued to slide his mouth up and down Utivich’s shaft, continuing to suck as consistently as he could, and occasionally swiping his tongue across the shaft. Reaching his right hand up, Donny took Utivich’s balls in hand and rolled them carefully. Utivich groaned and mumbled above him. Trying to recall previous experience, Donny gradually let his right hand drift back, pressing firmly on the sensitive skin between Utivich’s balls and ass. Utivich mumbled something incoherent. Carefully, Donny let his finger slid further back, past the tight ring of muscles of Utivich’s ass. Crooking his finger carefully, Donny rubbed the spot he was looking for. With one last flick of his tongue on Utivich’s head, and finger on Utivich’s prostate, Utivich came with a strangled groan.

            Donny gagged a little at the bitter come in his mouth, and spit it onto the ground. “Ugk, Uti, don’t know how you do that so often. Seriously, you don’t have to…”

            When Donny stood back up, Utivich immediately attacked him, pressing his tongue between Donny’s swollen lips, lapping up all his own taste. Donny responded back, eagerly, and slowly crushed Utivich back into the tree. Utivich pulled away, panting. “I’m thankful suspenders are easy to slip off.” Utivich grinned mischievously.

**

            Stiglitz stubbed out his post-dinner cigarette. “Wilhelm, komm her." /Wilhelm, come here./

            Wicki grinned. Stiglitz was an assertive, and sometimes brutal, lover. But Wicki kind of liked it, and he really liked it when Hugo did it. “Nur, wenn du dankbar für mich bist." /Only if you’re thankful for me./

            Stiglitz grunted and grabbed Wicki by the neck, pulling him in close. Wicki could smell the tobacco on his breath, that warm, calming smell that he would always associate with Stiglitz from now on. “Ich bin dankbar. Hast du das Fett?" /I’m thankful. Do you have the grease?/

            Wicki nodded and extracted himself from Stiglitz’s grip, bending down to grab the cooking grease he kept in a small container in his jacket. He heard Stiglitz grunt behind him, then felt a sharp slap on his ass. “Scheiße! Hugo!" /Fuck! Hugo!/ Wicki straightened and spun around, indignant.

            Stiglitz shrugged. “Ich mag deinen Arsch. Lass die Hose runter und geh rueber an den Baum, mach schon." /I like your ass. Drop your pants, get up against the tree, come on./

            Wicki felt his cock twitch in his pants and harden. Eagerly he unbuttoned his pants as he walked over to the tree Stiglitz had indicated. He really shouldn’t react the way he did to being ordered around like some prostitute, but Stiglitz just did that to him. And Wicki really didn’t care.

            Dropping his pants, Wicki pressed his right hand against the tree, passing back the container of cooking grease. Stiglitz took the container from him with a grunt, and wasted no time slicking his fingers with it and shoving them into Wicki.

            Wicki groaned and bit his lip, screwing his eyes shut. Both hands dug into the tree bark, as Stiglitz mercilessly scissored two slicked-up fingers inside of him. Sex with Stiglitz was never soft, never gentle. Then again, Wicki never wanted it that way. The feel of Stiglitz’s fingers, fucking Wicki’s asshole brutally, preparing him inadequately for what was to come…it all just made Wicki’s exposed erection grow harder. He felt precome trickle down his shaft.

            Wicki pressed his ass back against Stiglitz’s fingers. Briefly, Stiglitz added a third finger. Roughly he pulled the three digits in and out, and Wicki keened, needy. Stiglitz must have taken this as a sign that Wicki was ready, because he extracted his fingers from Wicki’s ass. Wicki could hear him slicking up his cock with the grease, and he shivered in anticipation. He figured he must make quite a sight: ass hanging in the air, leaking cooking grease; erect cock dripping precome down its shaft. And a crazy ex-Nazi German standing over him, slicking up his formidably-sized cock, ready to pound Wicki’s ass until he couldn’t sit straight. Wicki couldn’t help himself, he reached down and gently tugged on his own straining member, looking for some momentary release.

            Then Stiglitz’s hands were back, gripping the sides of Wicki’s hips hard enough to bruise. With one smooth thrust, Stiglitz buried himself in Wicki. Wicki cried out, a mumbled “Hugo” falling from his lips. Stiglitz, not giving Wicki time to adjust, immediately started pulling out and thrusting back in. Within a few short thrusts, Stiglitz had begun to thrust full force, slamming his hips into Wicki’s ass with every thrust.

            Wicki shivered and gasped, the ferocity too perfect and pleasurable. He could feel Hugo inside of him, the head of his cock pressing in, deeper with each thrust. Fisting his cock fiercely, Wicki pumped it, matching both the timing and ferocity of Stiglitz’s thrusts. Wicki could feel Stiglitz standing straight up behind him, hips moving, strong thighs flexing with every powerful thrust. He was already too far-gone; within a few more thrusts Wicki came into his own hand.

            Panting, Wicki drifted back up into awareness, feeling the incredible pleasure of Stiglitz still pounding his cock into his prostate. Wicki struggled: it was almost an overload on his post-coital system. Stiglitz must have felt Wicki’s meager attempt to break free, because Wicki felt a sharp slap on his ass. “Verdammte Scheisse, steh still. Ich bin noch nicht fertig." /Stay the fuck still. I’m not done./ Wicki trembled. Gripping the tree with both hands, he gave himself over to the pleasure. A few more thrusts, and Stiglitz’s hands clenched hard into Wicki’s hips, and Wicki felt Stiglitz empty himself into his ass. A strangled mix of a scream and a grunt escaped Stiglitz’s gritted teeth, and Wicki smiled, eyes closed.

            Patiently, Wicki waited. After Stiglitz’s breathing had returned to normal, he extracted himself from Wicki, no more careful than when he had started. Wicki winced, but gingerly pulled up his pants without a word. By the time he turned around, Stiglitz had already pulled up his pants and lit a cigarette. He nodded at Wicki. “Zigarette?" /Cigarette?/

            Wicki gratefully accepted the proffered cigarette, and lit it with a match Stiglitz offered to him as well. Shaking fingers held the cigarette, as he stared down at the little burning tip, that little piece of captured fire. It was almost Promethean, really.

            Stiglitz grunted, and Wicki glanced up, shaken out of his own thoughts. “Ja, Hugo?" /Yes, Hugo?/

            Stiglitz narrowed his eyes, pulling long on the cigarette. “Hab ich dir weh getan?" /Do I hurt you?/

            Wicki, shocked, almost forgot to respond. When he did, it was with a smile. “Nicht mehr als ich dich lasse." /No more than I let you./

            Stiglitz nodded, apparently satisfied with the answer. “Ich bin dankbar für dich. Ich mag dich. Nach dem Krieg behalt ich dich vielleicht bei mir. Nicht in Deutschland, wir gehen rueber nach Amerika. Du kannst mir zeigen, wo du lebst." /I’m thankful for you. I like you. After the war, maybe I’ll keep you around. Not in Germany though, we’ll go over to America. You can show me where you live./

            Wicki ducked his head, and hid his reaction with a drag from the cigarette. “Okay, Hugo. Ich bin auch dankbar für dich." /Alright Hugo. I’m thankful for you too./

            Stiglitz lit another cigarette with his last one, then grabbed Wicki semi-gently by the neck. “Lass uns schlafen gehen." /Let’s get to sleep./

 **

            Donny cracked one eye open, glancing at Stiglitz and Wicki as they slipped into their bedding together. Sighing, Donny adjusted his grip on Utivich, pulling him closer. He pressed his nose into Utivich’s hair and breathed deeply. Surprisingly, these bunch of crazy Basterds in the middle of Nazi occupied France had a whole lot to be thankful for.