Stiglitz/Wicki

[amuly]

Edit: HA, FIXED. screw you html code!! screw you to hell! i just kicked your ass! *dance dance*
So, I have finally, officially, written Stiglitz/Wicki. Think of this as my first probing into these characters, finding my bearings and what-not. This is almost more of a character study, than a fic. Let's see if I get it right. *nervous face*

Title: Wicki Knew, Not Knowing
Pairing: Stiglitz/Wicki
Word Count: 1,463
Rating: NC-17
Summary: er...a series of vignettes, about Stiglitz and Wicki's relationship. Also, Stiglitz has nightmares.
Warnings: rough sex/violent!Stiggy. but come on, what do you expect?
A/N: probably my angsty-est piece ever. Which, after you read this, you'll realize that means I write zero angst. Hope you enjoy this though. This kind of writing is a bit out of my comfort zone, so I hope I did all the characters justice, and kept you guys entertained.
One more thing: I'm pretty sure this is the first time I've written from the POV of a sub. I generally write from the general POV of dom characters, since I relate more to them. But Stiglitz is...Stiglitz...and so I felt it easier to get into the head of Wicki this time. So there's another added complication in my attempt to write this fic.

Translatory shout-out: Much love and thanks to raynelove , who translated all this german for me. Thank you thank you thank you!

            Sometimes Stiglitz was gentle, most times he wasn’t.

            The nights he woke up, shouting and swearing in German, those were the nights he wasn’t.

            Wicki knew this. Wicki accepted this. Even as tears welled in his eyes, and Stiglitz grunted and thrust mercilessly into his already raw ass, Wicki accepted this. It was what he could do for Stiglitz.

            Stiglitz wasn’t exactly the type to talk about it, obviously. Wicki had tried, a few times. The last time he tried, they were walking in formation. Wicki and Stiglitz stuck together, under the pretense of Wicki teaching Stiglitz English. Today, Wicki was only speaking German to Stiglitz, not wanting the other Basterds to hear. “/If you would just tell me, I could help./”

            “Fick dich" /Fuck you./ Stiglitz sucked on a cigarette and stared straight ahead, a murderous look in his eyes.

            “Was auch immer du gesehen hast, wir haben es alle gesehen. Wenn du vielleicht drueber reden wuerdest, haettest du keine Albtraeume…" /Whatever you saw, we’ve seen it all. Maybe if you said something, you wouldn’t have the nightmares…/

            Next thing Wicki knew, his nose was bleeding and the wind was knocked out of him. He lay on the ground, staring up at Stiglitz’s crazed eyes, hands tight around his neck. “Ich sagte, verpiss dich." /I said fuck off./ He snarled.

            A moment or two, and Stiglitz let go and stood up. Behind him, out of the corner of his eyes, Wicki saw Ulmer start forward to help him up. Wicki waved him away and clambered to his feet, wiping his bleeding nose on the sleeve of his shirt. He saw Aldo glance back, but say nothing. The Basterds started moving forward again.

            Wicki walked for a moment in silence next to Stiglitz, grumbling at his own unfortunate choice of fuck-buddy. Glancing over, he risked a response. “Zuerst reisst du mir den Arsch auf, jetzt mein Gesicht. Tschuldigung, wenn ich dachte, ich haette ein Recht zu wissen, warum. /First you tear up my ass, now my face. Sorry if I thought I had a right to know why./

            Stiglitz puffed out a cloud of smoke, laughing. He wrapped an arm around Wicki and pulled him close. The heavy feel of Stiglitz’s arm raised conflicting emotions within Wicki. He knew the painful and deadly power in those arms and hands, but those very same hands had also brought him pleasure over the past few months.

**

            But that’s how it always was with Hugo Stiglitz. And stupid Wicki knew that, from the first time they had fucked.

            Stiglitz had been with the Basterds for a week. He latched onto Wicki, as the only Basterd who could speak German. And really, how else could it have turned out? Two men, fighting for their lives every day, forced together by a common language, and with nothing else to fuck…the result was inevitable.

            Wicki had been lying in his bedding, trying to read a German newspaper in the dying firelight. Most of the Basterds were asleep; Hirschberg was on watch, but he was a distance away. Wicki watched as Stiglitz stood up from his own bedding and walked over. He had lit a cigarette while still sitting in his bedding, and as he squatted down in front of Wicki he breathed the smoke into his lungs. Fuck, being around Stiglitz made him want to chain smoke.

            Stiglitz stayed there, squatting in front of Wicki, until he finished his cigarette. Wicki just waited, letting Stiglitz study him in the dying firelight. He knew what was about to happen, but he didn’t feel the need to rush it.

            After what felt like the longest smoke ever, Stiglitz ground his stub into the ground carefully, until the last burning ember was out. Looking up, he nodded at Wicki. “Ja?"

            Taking a deep breath, and fully aware of what he was getting himself into, Wicki nodded back. “Ja."

            That was all the two of them needed to say, that first night. Stiglitz climbed into Wicki’s bedding and fucked him mercilessly, only stopping to slick up his cock because Wicki insisted on taking it into his mouth, for his own lubrication. After he was done, Stiglitz gave Wicki a cigarette, lit it for him, then walked away back to his own bedding. Wicki had never needed, or enjoyed, a cigarette more in his life. The next morning his ass was sore, and from that day on he made sure to steal a little cooking grease every day, so that he was ready for Stiglitz.

**
            The last time they had fucked, neither of them knew it was going to be the last time. As last fucks go, however, Wicki would be happy with the knowledge that this was their last one. It wasn’t the violent type, at least, it wasn’t the most violent type. He wasn’t soothing Stiglitz out of a nightmare, and it wasn’t immediately after a kill, the adrenaline still flowing through both of their veins. It was just a calm, normal fuck, before they went on their mission to meet up with the Frau.

            During these fucks, Wicki could relax, could really feel each movement of Stiglitz inside of him. Stiglitz held onto his hips, powerfully rocking Wicki with every thrust. Wicki’s hands slipped and scrambled on the cold stone floor, slick with sweat and unsteady with pleasure. He lifted one hand to jerk himself off, but Stiglitz’s hand beat him there, batting his away. Wicki gasped down at the floor at the feel of Stiglitz’s hand gripping him tight, thumb roughly rubbing over the head. Stiglitz rarely jerked Wicki off, or really took any interest in Wicki’s pleasure at all. Today Stiglitz was in a generous mood.

            With the added pleasure of Stiglitz’s hand, it didn’t take Wicki long to come. Panting, he laid his head on the ground, waiting as Stiglitz finished himself up, pounding into Wicki’s ass. Stiglitz always came last.

            A few more powerful thrusts, and Stiglitz was coming, filling up Wicki’s ass and grunting loudly. Stiglitz released his grip on Wicki’s hips, and Wicki’s lower half fell to the ground, where he lay there, panting. Stiglitz, rather than buttoning up and leaving as usual, lay down next to him. Wicki turned to face Stiglitz, curious in the change of pattern. As if answering his unasked question, Stiglitz reached his hand forward, and pulled Wicki’s head in for a kiss. It was rough, and violent, and Stiglitz used more teeth than was really necessary, but it was still a kiss. Wicki kissed back, just as fiercely, knowing that Stiglitz liked the violence.

            Pulling back, Stiglitz eyed Wicki, then patted him on the cheek. “Du bist zu mehr zu gebrauchen als nur zum Ficken, weißt du?" /You’re good for more than fucking, you know?/

            Wicki laughed and shrugged, as best he could lying on his side. “Na, ich denke, meine Mutter wird sich freuen, das zu hören. Wirst du ihr einen Brief für mich schreiben?" /Well, I’m sure my mom will be glad to hear that. Will you write her a letter for me?/

            Stiglitz frowned and rolled himself onto his feet. He shuffled across the room and grabbed his cigarettes from his jacket pocket, which lay, discarded, on the ground. Lighting it, he stared down at Wicki, none-too-happy. “So meinte ich das nicht. Du wolltest mehr über meine Albträume wissen. Du bist zu gebrauchen für… du hilft." /I didn’t mean it like that. You wanted to know about my nightmares. You’re good at…you help./

            Wicki propped himself up on one elbow and smiled. “Ich weiß, Hugo. Ich geb mein Bestes." /I know, Hugo. I try./

            Stiglitz nodded again, then turned away to get properly dressed. Wicki sighed and gathered up his clothes too. “Weißt du, ich hab gehört, die Bar ist in nem Keller." /You know, I heard this bar is in a basement./

**
            Wicki never found out what it was that woke Stiglitz up every night, that caused him to need to fuck Wicki into oblivion, that made him murderous with every Nazi uniform he saw. Him and the other Basterds hate Nazi’s, but Stiglitz…something happened with Stiglitz. But Wicki never found out what. As they were sitting in that stupid-ass basement bar, and as certain death approached, Wicki thought, he would never find out. Even if they had lived an entire lifetime together, Stiglitz wouldn’t have told him. Still, he would have liked to have known. And he would have liked to have fucked Stiglitz, just once, instead of it always being the other way around. But all that was over and done with now, and he was just going to have to die, content with the knowledge that, for a little while at least, he had helped Stiglitz ease the pain.