Work Text:
"Know what I told 'em?" Donowitz asks, apropos of nothing. He's crouching under a tree, bottle of rubbing alcohol balanced against the roots, cleaning that goddamn bat. When he speaks, he doesn't look up from the bat to do it, so Utivich has to take a moment to look around. Just to make sure Donowitz isn't talking to somebody else.
Utivich isn't one to jump into conversations with an unstable footing if he can help it, so he answers Donny's question with a question. "Told who?"
If he's being honest with himself, and Utivich prides himself on being unflinchingly honest with himself -- although very rarely out loud -- he likes to watch Donowitz.
Donowitz seems almost completely alien to Utivich sometimes, and his (near sexual, Utivich thinks) excitement at his escapades as the Bear Jew is something Utivich has been mulling over. He isn't sure if Donowitz is so into it because he's being watched -- because the Lieutenant is watching him, because Stiglitz is watching him, because, hell, why not, Utivich is watching him -- or if it's actually the bludgeoning Nazis to death part. Not that Utivich has a whole lot of room to judge there, but it's not the same thing . In any case, he's considered asking, but he suspects his question would not be welcomed.
Still, Utivich does like to watch the entire process from Donny's fondness for dramatic entrances down to this part. The clean-up. And in times like these, Utivich isn't going to take the time to analyze why the whole thing settles too-warmly in his gut, but will instead only acknowledge that it does.
He walks over to the tree, shuffling dead leaves, and leans back against the trunk. And watches.
Donny still has bits of today's Nazi's brain splattered across his undershirt, and his bare arms are blood-spattered up to the shoulders. But instead of tending to that mess, he's tending to the bat -- no knock-offs here, a genuine Louisville Slugger. Top of the line. If Donowitz has a girl somewhere, Utivich would eat his hat if he found out Donowitz treated her half as nice as that bat, Slugger or no.
For the longest time, Utivich thinks Donowitz isn't going to answer his question, and finds himself content to watch the movement of shoulders, arms, muscle bunching under dirty skin. But after a few moments, Donowitz does continue, watching two thick fingers running along one of the names carved into his bat. "They make you talk to a headshrinker when you signed up?"
Oh boy, Utivich thinks, and takes a moment to formulate a reply. "The interview had some psychological questions, I guess." His voice comes out less shaky than he expects, so he continues, "They're trying to weed out the guys who can't take it. Read it in the paper back home."
"Yeah, yeah," Donowitz says, a hand coming up to wave dismissively, flicking the rag a couple times. "So, when I go in to enlist, after they know I ain't colorblind and all, this guy asks me if it was up to me, what I'd do to Nazi war criminals. They ask you that?"
The recruitment officer had asked a lot of questions, some of which Utivich may have flubbed the truth on, but they hadn't asked him that. He shakes his head, then realizes Donowitz still isn't looking at him, and says, "No."
Donowitz breathes something that might be a laugh. "Asked all the guys that early on. Most of the guys I know said they wanted to be doing what we're doing right now."
Utivich still hasn't taken his eyes off Donowitz, and something about the way he's leading up to this clicks in Utivich's head, and he says, "So what did you say?" Even if his suspicion is wrong, Donowitz likes to talk about himself anyway.
This time, Donowitz actually does laugh. He rocks back onto his heels and pushes up to stand, right hand loosely gripping the bat. Utivich's mouth goes dry for a second, and he decides if he looked half as good splattered with gray matter and plasma as Donowitz does, he wouldn't wash it off right away either.
Donowitz turns, and his smile, like all Donny's smiles, is a little bit... askew. They either don't reach his eyes, or they morph into something altogether sinister once they get there. It's pretty hot. Hot enough that Utivich doesn't move out of the way until Donowitz is too close, looming in. The strings of German dogtags looped around Donowitz's neck brush against Utivich's chest, and Utivich can smell him. Sweat and grime and smoke and the tang of death.
He leans in further, breath hot against the side of Utivich's face, and says, voice a parody of solemnity, "'They ought to be tried in a court of international law, sir.'"
Donny waits a beat before he pulls back, and grins again, like he got away with something, even though he knows they were letting guys in who answered the question wrong.
It takes a moment for Utivich to catch his breath. "Recruitment officers want to be lied to," he says. "It makes their job easier." He'd lied through his teeth on his own interview -- the extent of his lies becoming more apparent the closer Donowitz and his shoulders and his arms and his fucking Louisville Slugger got.
And Donowitz might be a dumb shit, but he's at least not blind , because he replies, "Bet you did some lying of your own, huh," just before his free hand comes down against Utivich's hip.
Utivich can feel himself starting to smile (no, to smirk ) and he can't resist rising to the dare. The blink of an eye, and his hand darts out to grip hard at Donowitz's other wrist, to twist it hard , and he wonders if he can get Donny to drop his precious bat. "Like you're not panting for the Lieutenant," he grits out, his voice too rough, lower than it ought to be.
Donowitz hisses and twists his wrist further in Utivich's grip, trying to swing out of the hold. His other hand pushes Utivich hard against the tree trunk. "You don't know what the fuck you're talking about, Smitty."
Like somehow nobody's managed to notice Raine and Stiglitz and Donowitz's little menage a trois of psychopathy, even if Donowitz is the only one Utivich is pretty sure actually gets off on the whole business. Well, it's not like that for the Lieutenant, and it's probably not for Stiglitz, although what the fuck went through that man's head was really anybody's guess. In any case, it definitely wasn't what Utivich had in mind when he enlisted.
He takes a slow breath, then says, "You like when people watch you, right?" The question comes out in a rush, and Utivich is tenser than he'd thought he was.
Donowitz's eyes narrow, and his fingertips are digging hard into Utivich's side and even that's kind of hot right now. Still, Donowitz doesn't say anything, but waits for Utivich to go on.
For a second, Utivich considers letting the tension drag on, just to see how long he can draw out this 'Donowitz not running his mouth' thing. It's new. But instead, Utivich's mouth flies on without bothering to consult his brain, and he finds himself saying, "Cause when people watch you, sometimes they actually see things."
He tightens his grip on Donowitz's wrist and wrenches it further off line. Not far enough to do any lasting damage, or even enough to force Donny's hand to fall limp. Just enough to smart. But the bat slips out Donny's fingers anyway, landing with a soft thud in the damp leaves, and Utivich has barely registered that before Donowitz twists his hand free, and by the time he's registered that , suddenly Donowitz's hand is on Utivich's face . His palm and fingers press into the underside of Utivich's jaw, and his thumb brushes along Utivich's bottom lip for mere moments before pushing in. All Utivich can taste is salt -- sweat or blood he isn't sure of -- and a part of him wants to let go, now that he's pretty certain he and Donowitz are at least in the same chapter, if not on the same page, but he isn't going to let go that easy.
Instead, he arches an eyebrow at Donowitz.
Donowitz's thumb is leaden, pushing Utivich's jaw a little wider. The knuckle scrapes back hard against his teeth, and having Donowitz's fingers that close to Utivich's jugular is either terrifying or exhilarating. He hasn't decided yet.
The whole thing is ridiculous; Utivich is barely even involved here, but the look on Donowitz's face is rapt. Donny's own lips are slightly parted, eyes peering in intently, almost curious.
It's that look on Donny's face that pushes Utivich's hand; this is clearly going to happen -- is clearly happening -- and it may as well happen in the way that appeals most to Utivich. He lets his head fall back a little, rough bark rubbing against his scalp. Donny's hand at his jaw tightens a little as he leans in closer, and Utivich drags the flat of his tongue along the side of Donny's thumb. The sound is slick, almost too wet. Donny grunts a little, pushing his other hand tight against Utivich's stomach in an attempt to pin him to the tree.
Utivich drops a hand to slide between them, over Donny's hand at his stomach, taking the moment to trace Donny's fingers with his own. The pressure of that hand lightens a little, Donny's fingers lifting a little to thread against Utivich's. And that slightest tenderness is Utivich's cue to strike. His knee grinds up hard into Donny's inner thigh -- he's not so cruel as to go for the groin shot -- and his hand shoves back hard at Donny's solar plexus.
The sound Donny makes is an almost indignant squawk, and his hand at Utivich's jaw tightens. Utivich bites down on Donny's thumb, maybe hard enough to draw blood. It's hard to tell.
When he releases the pressure, Donny starts to pull his hand back on instinct more than anything, and Utivich throws his weight forward hard into Donowitz.
Utivich is scrappy; he's always had to be. But Donny's still got maybe fifty pounds on him, so when they hit the leaves, Donowitz gets his weight half on top of Utivich, pinning his calves with the weight of his thighs. Donny's saying something (you little shit ) but Utivich is honestly not paying attention, too distracted by the weight on him, and the bulk looming over him.
He swings out almost lazily, his fist connecting with Donowitz's mouth out of luck more than out of effort.
"Fuckin'..." Donowitz begins heading off into a string of irritated cursing. He's quick, and he's bigger, and he has the more advantageous position, so it's no real surprise when he catches Utivich's fist and pins the arm down to the ground. Donowitz isn't fucking around here: the grip is sure and tight, and the angle is awkward on both Utivich's shoulder and elbow.
Donny's looming , running his mouth (This what does it for you? This what gets you hot? Shit, shoulda said something. Woulda got a regular gangbang started) and Utivich smashes his free hand against Donowitz's face, palm flat against his mouth, muffling him mid-sentence.
Fuck. Fuck. He hadn't thought this through .
The problem is that he has no desire to try to really hurt Donowitz -- much as he wants to be in charge here. (get Donny's bulk under his command. fuck.) And maybe Donowitz wants Utivich to fuck him up, but the Lieutenant would have both their hides.
So Utivich stops. Stops straining up with his pinned limbs, stops twisting his body, drops his hand from Donny's face. He just stops all of it, and breathes.
The look on Donowitz's face is priceless. Almost perfect.
And there's less weight on his legs for a moment, and then the weight's back, but displaced. A thick thigh on either side of one of his, pushing up, and Donowitz is fully upon him. His hand finds Utivich's free hand, and then he's completely pinned down. Donny's hard against Utivich's thigh -- so hard that maybe Utivich was right about him being a little keyed up to start with. (And score one for the powers of observation.) The leaves crunch beneath them, and there's a root under the small of Utivich's back, and it's still just about the hottest thing ever.
Donny's muttering something as he thrusts down against Utivich. Rough, rigid, pointed thrusts; they make Utivich feel fucked , head to foot, even though they've still got their clothes on.
"Come on, Utivich. Come on," is what Donny's saying, over and over, and it takes Utivich another lust-fogged moment to realize Donowitz doesn't mean 'hurry up and come,' but rather 'hurry up and do some hot thing you'd been doing previously.'
Utivich would think it was his mouth, but Donny's not staring at it anymore, and he's not trying to shove dirty fingers in his face either.
And then it clicks for Utivich, and okay, all right, he can do that.
He tries to wrench his arm out of Donowitz's hold again, and the torque on his shoulder sends a shock of pain straight through him. The noise he makes is little more than a hiss, but it makes Donowitz's chatter stop dead, falling down into a grunt.
Fuck. Of course Donowitz wants him to fight, and Utivich forces himself not to think about what that might mean about Donowitz (nothing he didn't already mostly know). Instead, he throws himself into it. He pushes his wrists up against Donowitz's grip, and rocks his body beneath him, and gives a few feeble attempts at bucking Donny off him. He stops thinking, and lives in the adrenaline rush with Donowitz for the time being.
He actually manages to fight the arm that doesn't hurt free, and grasps wildly between them until he catches his fingers on the chain around Donny's neck. He tugs -- hard -- dragging Donny in closer.
Donny's thrusts grow ragged against Utivich -- two, three -- and the last is a full body shudder. Donny's mouth falls open to let out a harsh breath as he comes, and his body sags heavy against Utivich after the aftershocks wear off.
Utivich doesn't mean to make a sound, but it just pours out of him when he gives another tug on Donny's chain. He's closer than he'd thought he was, more into that than he'd have thought, and now he can't stop thinking -- what's he gonna be able to get Donny to do ? He wonders how far he'll be able to push him.
When Donny catches his breath enough to talk, that question gets answered, because Donny leans in further, mouth inches away from Utivich's and says, "Shit. You fucking loved that, huh? Don't worry. I got two hands. I can still give it to you good," and Utivich lets go of Donowitz's chain and clocks him right in the face.
If it weren't for Donowitz being post-orgasmic, it might not have worked, but luck is on Utivich's side, and the punch is enough distraction to let him get some leverage out from under Donowitz.
Donowitz's body is shifting, moving, sliding against Utivich in a way that only makes him boil hotter (but never boiling over ), and as they wrestle, their hands tangle. Utivich pulls hard, trying to keep Donny off-balance, and in the end, Utivich winds up half atop Donowitz, and the hold is in his favor.
He's breathless, hard, frustrated as hell, and his left shoulder is going to hurt for days . Donny, still post-orgasm stupid, fumbles at Utivich's fly, and he's saying, "Come on, come on, show me how bad you want it."
And Utivich says, "Why, you gonna help me out?" and then he bats Donny's hand away and gets his own fly undone, cock out, and it almost hurts to let go long enough to spit in his hand, get things moving along. He has to fight not to grip too hard, come too soon, but he forces himself to ease up, draw it out, and for all the watching of Donowitz he'd done, Utivich never thought the tables would be turned quite like this.
"Don't look like you need much help," Donowitz says, almost mutters.
And something about the softness of his mouth at that moment, that too-intense stare fixated straight on him, makes Utivich answer, "Unless you wanna suck me." His hand tightens on his cock almost in reflex as he hears the words coming out of his own mouth.
Donny's eyes widen slightly, but then he smirks, and even if Donny was going to say yes to it, it's too late, and Utivich comes hard, on his hand, and on Donowitz's undershirt. And fuck, he couldn't have held on to get Donowitz on his knees in front of him -- all that brute strength softening and easing to let Utivich fuck his mouth? And it would have been... Well, it sure would have been something.
"Nice," Donowitz says. His fingers are in the wet spot on his shirt where come and blood and dirt have mixed. Utivich knows what's coming, but he's riding too high to care, and when Donowitz gets two fingers in his mouth, Utivich doesn't play head games, just sucks. Donowitz says it again, but differently this time, "Nice," and shifts a little beneath him.
After a moment, Utivich lets Donowitz's fingers slip slick out of his mouth, and they slide down his chin, trailing spit on the way.
"Bet you'd like that, huh?" Donowitz says, voice rough, and a little of the bite out of it.
"I..." Yeah, yeah, let's do that. Utivich stops himself before he makes the mistake of saying that out loud, and instead says, "I should get back." He hitches up his trousers, starts to do up his fly.
Donowitz grins and slips out from under Utivich. He has leaves in his hair and he's filthy , and Utivich still -- damn it all, still -- wants to fuck him. "You do that," Donowitz says, and reaches out for his bat. Frowning when he sees how damp the leaves have made it.
Utivich feels like he should say something snappy, but he can't find the right phrase, and instead he decides to say nothing at all. He pushes himself back onto his heels and up onto his feet. Pats his hair down to pull out a leaf, but really, there's no shame in having sparred with Donny, is there?
It's hard, Utivich thinks, as he makes his way back to camp. It's hard to figure out where this is going next -- if it's going anywhere at all. The one thing he decides is that he needs to get some plans in place now . That's his edge, anyway, and he can't have Donowitz going around thinking he's got the upper hand.