Cocky

Cocky


Sometimes he thinks that goddamn boy knows how much he wants him. Something in his swagger as he walks out swinging that bat. In the way he struts and raves and boasts after he's made a kill. Something in the way his eyes flick to Aldo's for an instant, bare seconds before the wood comes down on another Nazi skull.

Whatever it is, Aldo finds it mighty ironic that he had to come all the way out to France to kill goddamn Nazis before he found something truly beautiful.

He manages to keep enough of his dignity that he doesn't get hard from it. Not during the fight, not in front of the men. Not even when Donny half smirks and drops a half dozen Nazi scalps at his feet - some a bit mangled, but he'll forgive Donny for that, all considered. No, he doesn't loose it until one day when they've made camp on an abandoned farm, where he comes on Donny washing up in a trough they've pumped full of cool, clean well water. Donny's topless as he makes an attempt to scrub the blood out of his undershirt, chest bare and suspenders hanging loosely around his hips. Drips of water still cling to his muscles from the wash, glinting in the sunlight as he moves. For a moment, Aldo just stays in the cottage doorway and watches him, watches his muscles tense and bunch under wet skin, watches the way a drip of water winds its way down Donny's spine.

Then the boy turns, apparently finished his task, wringing out the thin cotton garment and throwing it over the fence to dry, where it lands with a wet slop. Aldo knows that Donny knows that he's there, though the boy doesn't acknowledge it, just goes back to the trough, scoops up some water and dumps it over his head, running wet fingers through formerly dusty hair then shaking drops of water from his hands.

His bat, never far away, leans up against the pump. It's still bloodied, which surprises Aldo a little, because Donny usually takes care of it before anything else, like it's a fucking trophy. Which he supposes it is, a bit. Donny picks it up finally, fingers wrapping around the handle with practised familiarity. Then he finally chooses to acknowledge Aldo's presence, turning and meeting Aldo's gaze as he lifts the bat, cradling the side of the barrel with his other hand....

.... and he fucking licks the bat. Blood and all.

Suddenly, Aldo is harder than an eighteen year old at a titty flick, just from watching Donny's tongue swipe slowly against the wood. But he stands his ground and juts his chin out like he's still as cool as a cucumber. "What the hell're you doin', Donowitz?"

Donny's eyes move slowly, deliberately down his body. "Just cleaning up, sir." He turns back to the trough and begins to clean the bat, entirely nonchalant, and Aldo's torn between smacking that hint of a smirk off of his face and bending him over the damn trough and fucking him stupid. Undecided, he waits a few minutes more in the cottage doorway, watching Donny's fingers stroke water over the surface of the bat, up and down, slick and smooth even with all the dents and nicks on the well-used slugger. Then he wipes it dry on the side of his pants, and slowly walks - no, fucking swaggers - back to where Aldo stands in the doorway. For a moment he stands there, close enough that Aldo could reach out and touch him if he wanted to, watching him with dark eyes under dark brows, lips parted slightly, curving upward just a little at the edges.

When Aldo feels the barrel of the bat brush against his calf, he doesn't look down, doesn't acknowledge it. Doesn't break from his hold on Donny's gaze, not even as it slowly travels upward, brushing against the inside of his knee, then his thigh. Not until it whispers against the bulge in his pants, and then he can't help himself but shudder. He reaches forward in a flash, hands curling around the bat just below Donny's, skin hot where it touches his. "You don't know what you're doin', boy."

"Don't I?" His eyes narrow slightly, determined, and he steps forward, pushing Aldo's fingers on the bat up against the hardness he can feel through the boy's pants, forcing him to step back into the cottage, back until they're hidden in the shadows from prying eyes. Not that he expects anyone to wander by any time soon, with the others off setting up camp, foraging, or in the case of Utivitch, plucking a couple of fine purloined chickens - but it just might take a bit of explaining, why he's just been backed up against a wall with Donny's bat between his legs.

"You fuckin' cocky bastard," Aldo growls, and releases his hold on the bat to grab the front of Donny's pants and yank him forward. His other hand grabs his bicep, fingers digging in hard as their mouths come crashing together, hot and demanding and fighting for dominance like they would on a battlefield, strong and breathless and bruising. He's vaguely aware of the sound of the bat hitting the floor, but then Donny's fingers are pressed hard up against his cock, palming him, and it's all he can do not to buck up against his hand. Instead he returns the invasion with interest, yanking open his pants and pushing his hand inside, somehow not at all surprised that the damn boy has no underthings on as his fingers curl around a cock as rock hard as his own.

"Fuck..." Donny cusses against his mouth when most men would just groan, not that Aldo's had anyone in that particular position in a maddeningly long time. He bites down on Aldo's bottom lip as Aldo starts to stroke him slowly, and the sharp lick of pain does make Aldo thrust up against Donny's hand, hard and demanding. Thankfully the boy takes the not so subtle hint, yanking his clothes off enough to get Aldo's dick in hand, and his strong, calloused fingers feel better than he'd even imagined them.

He draws a sharp hiss against Donny's mouth, tasting iron on his lip and letting Donny suck it off. "Gonna fuck that smirk right off your face, you cocky sonovabitch."

He feels Donny's laugh more than hears it, a thrumming vibration deep in his throat, followed by a hissed reply, and he begins to think that maybe Donny's wanted it as long as he has. "Do it."

There's a bed - or what remains of one - in the tiny back room - a tattered, stained mattress on a rickety frame, springs rusty and broken. He rips the mattress to the floor, knowing the frame doesn't stand a chance with what he wants to do to the boy, and he pushes him down to his knees. Donny's hands pull his pants down enough to clench hard at his bare hips. Then he leans forward and takes Aldo's cock in his mouth without hesitation, licking and sucking like he's fucking starving, big brown eyes under heavy brows looking up at him as he does so. Aldo groans, catching hold of his hair and rocking his hips forward, and Donny takes it like a fucking natural, deep into his throat with a muffled moan. It feels so damn good that he momentarily considers just fucking the hell out of that mouth just to keep him quiet, but the boy really needs to be shown his place.

"Hands and knees," he orders, voice unexpectedly raw. He pulls back and pushes Donny down onto the mattress, yanking his pants down around his knees. The boy is surprisingly docile, leaning forward onto his forearms and presenting that tight ass prettily, but he makes up for it with language, hissed demands peppered with profanity, body faintly shuddering in anticipation under his manhandling.

"Not gonna be able to swagger for a damn week when I'm done with you," he growls, then spits on his fingers and eases two into him, just to feel how tight he is. He isn't disappointed, and Donny bucks back against them with a throaty cry and a curse, hands clenching at the end of the mat.

"Goddammit Aldo, shut the hell up and fuck me."

When his hand connects with Donny's ass cheek, it makes a satisfying crack, and pulls an even more satisfyingly indignant curse from the boy. But he's far too hard to delay this any longer, so he presses up behind him, hands curling around narrow hips, and buries his cock in that tight ass in a few hard thrusts.

For a moment, he just holds still, feeling Donny's muscles clench and flutter around him, and trying to push back the fireworks that threaten to burst behind his eyes just from how hot, how damn tight the boy is. Then he leans down, weight on his arms, and closes his mouth on Donny's neck, biting down hard on the muscle at the crook as he pulls back for one hard thrust. The effect it has on the boy is even better than anticipated, his whole body bucking up tense against him, vibrating like a bowstring, and every cuss word Aldo's ever heard spills out of his mouth along with a few that he hasn't, interchanged with gasping pleas, but they all boil down to "God - fuck, Aldo - more!"

He can't help but chuckle against the boy's skin, low and triumphant as he answers his demands, one arm wrapping around his waist to hold him in place as he picks up the pace, slamming into him hard and deep. He sucks and bites at Donny's skin, because when he does he can fucking taste the boy's pleasure, sweat and desire and strength, taste the string of profanity that leaves his mouth, feel his body shudder and quiver under him. It's the most intoxicating thing Aldo's ever done, fucking Donny hard and fast up the ass in the middle of bumfuck nowhere, France, and what are a few more bruises when they're so pretty with them already?

The best part is Donny gasping his name, whimpering like a fucking whore, crying out for Aldo to keep going, to come in him, cursing god and everything under the sky, and for once Aldo doesn't mind that he's running his mouth because it's so goddamn pretty to hear him beg for it. Donny's fingers have torn the top off the damn mattress, and they scramble to grab at the ticking, barely keeping his knees under him at the onslaught of Aldo's thrusts. He pauses just enough to haul him back to his knees, one hand holding his hip to keep him in place, tight enough to bruise, then he wraps his fingers around the boy's cock, stroking in time with his thrusts. It makes Donny's curses come jumbled and helpless, makes his whole body writhe and jerk up to meet his thrusts, and within moments he's climaxing, hot and slick in Aldo's fingers.

He finds it the most satisfying thing Donny's ever done, even more than bashing Nazis, and Aldo lets himself cry out in pleasure as he bucks hard and blows his load deep in that tight ass. Burst after burst of pleasure goes off behind his eyes, shuddering through his veins like the rush of killing, and for all the times he's guiltily imagined this, it's just like killing - nothing beats the rush and pleasure of the real thing.

He pulls away and drops back to rest on his heels, vaguely muttering something about standing at ease, and the damn boy falls onto his side and fucking laughs, throaty and breathless and unrestrained, though Aldo supposes in hindsight that it's probably better than the very real possibility of him going off about another home run. But this isn't the same Donny he sees post-kill, quivering with excitement and adrenaline and a strange mix of elation and rage. This Donny looks damn near fucked out, still damp hair sticking up all over the place from where Aldo had tangled his fingers in it, skin marked with unmistakable kiss-bruises. His body lays languid on the crusty old mattress, sweat-streaked and sated, and Aldo thinks that he wouldn't mind seeing him like this again. A few more times, maybe. Or more than a few.

From the look that Donny's eyes, the proud, triumphant smile, he has a feeling that he wouldn't mind it all that much either.

~~~fin~~~