A/N: I don't know if I want to turn this into a multi chapter fic, but I did want to unload this for the time being, as it has been sitting in my documents for a while, and I took the day to edit and finish it off.
Note: There is mature language and toned down lemons towards the end, but otherwise, this is pretty tame for me.
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Please don't sue me.
1943 December
After months of sleeping in basements of abandoned buildings, and against trees in the french countryside, the Basterds were in heaven when Aldo guided the through one of the thicker forests somewhere near Orleans.
When they made it through the falling snow, shivering and starving, to see endless expanse of high stone walls covered in dead vines and ice of a massive chateau, it was a gift from heaven. The stone walls kept it impenetrable, the large lands covered in the skeletons of orchards and gardens and crops that must look a dream or fairytale during the spring and summer months. The blessing was that, as Aldo swore, the place was secure enough they could hide out there for the winter, they just had to keep quiet and stay hidden.
No one had a clue how Aldo had heard, or knew, of the place, but it was fucking great just thinking about a hot bath, a hot meal, and a real, warm bed.
Although, what was shocking to every single Basterd, was that the chateau wasn't owned by some out of owned by some out of sorts, snobbish asshole wanting to stick it to the Third Reich. It was a woman of perhaps 22 years, drop dead fucking gorgeous in just tight leather trousers and a thick winter coat. She had a face that would make any man stare, and her gray eyes sparkled with secrets.
She was waiting for them, lantern in hand at the wrought iron gates. They were ushered in quickly, the gates locked once they were on their way up the graveled lane. It was eerie, in the dark hours of the morning, as the sky turned a dim blue, and the snow glowed with it. There was an unsettling silence about the place that made most of the men nervous, but Aldo swore this was to be a safe haven, and no one had the nerve to question him. And on this occasion, not even Donny was going to open his mouth and ruin a good thing.
As Aldo told them time and time again, "Don't look a gift horse in the mouth."
Still, there was the unspoken question of how Aldo knew this woman, or of this woman.
After a bit of a trek up the drive, they followed her around to the back, and through an enormous greenhouse. They all entered through a set of windowed doors, and stood in a chamber leading into a large kitchen. It was all dark, or dim near the windows, and no one spoke as the woman showed them through the hidden corridors up through the house until they were on the topmost floors, on the farthest side of what most of them were now considering a fucking palace.
"The main corridors to this wing have been boarded up," the woman said, shocking most of the the men, who were starting to wonder if she was mute. It shocked most of them to hear her speak clear English. "There are twenty-six rooms on this side of the house, all unaccessible, except for the corridors you just came through. Not even the servants know of them, nor the others living on the other side of the house. There is running water, and I shall bring you all trays of hot food, once you have settled. Lieutenant Raine can explain the rest."
And with that, she was gone, and they were left in the dark.
Aldo took control then, opening a door nearby and jerking his head in a clear order for them all to shuffle in.
Thankfully, the house had been wired for electric light, and one switch by the door illuminated the entire room. The bedroom was large, lavish, and fitted with chairs and lounges and a sofa. The bed was huge, and the whole room looked too luxurious to be real. None of them wanted to sit, uncomfortable with the idea of getting dirt on any of the finery. They all waited, looking around at it all, wondering where they would be laying their heads, or if they would be crammed into this one bedroom.
"Don't fuckin' worry, you'll all have your own room for a change," said Aldo, sniffing a bit of snuff off a finger. "Gettin' down to business, this ain't any run of the mill house…"
Classified as a boarding house, or something of that nature, there were other women living in the east wing, and it was actually more of a swanky harem. The Countess, as Aldo called her, ran a few operations on the grounds, one of which was the hiding and moving of jewish refugees, like the European underground railroad. The activities at night with high ranking German officers and french nobility, acted as a solid cover for the smuggling of people to Switzerland, and the women working for her managed to get a lot of information out of the Nazis that came for dinner.
Apparently, she couldn't keep the Germans out, but she was able to prevent them from residing in her house, and on the premises. No troops, no menial soldiers, no spontaneous droppings in. She kept the grounds closed, except for a few nights during the month. The invitations alone to the exclusive dinner parties, the salon of the modern era, brought in quite a lot of money in bribes to obtain one.
Intellectual conversations, champagne, and the possibility of sex was what she was selling, and her girls were highly educated, refined, and specifically plucked from some rather prestigious bloodlines in France, but the incredible wealth she was grossing wasn't the reason she was doing it.
After a few thorough searches, a couple by the Jew Hunter, himself, there was not a single mark on her reputation, and no one would ever look further. She covered her tracks well, and nothing would ever come back on her. When the searches ceased, she was open for business.
This was the safest house in France, and they were damn lucky she reached out to bring them there.
"Now, there's around twenty or thirty jewish gentiles being hidden in the rooms above us," continued Aldo, taking off his coat and scarf, tossing them on the back of a wooden, plush chair. "We don't go up there, and we don't mention 'em, unless she asks you, or talks to you about 'em. They know the rules, we know the rules, and if we fuck up what she's got goin' on here, it could mean their lives, our lives, and the good she's been doin' for the past couple years.
"The Countess runs a tight ship," he moved on. "She expects us up at the crack of dawn, every morning, when she deems we've had enough time to get settled, and we're expected to do our fair share of the work. She's a remarkable woman, so none of you better screw this up. Now get the fuck out and find your own goddamn room."
Dismissed as the sun peeked over the horizon, the men filed out without a word, and everyone took a room, no fuss. Donny took the one across from their leader, Wicki took the one next door, Stiglitz took the one next to the only other german speaker, and so on. A bed was a bed, a bath was a bath, and no one gave a shit about the colors of the sheets or the prints on the walls. Most of the time they were washing up in a freezing cold creek, or not at all. They slept against trees and on the hard ground, on creeking, rotten wooden floors, or in the dirt.
Yet, faced with the care and luxury of each room, all the men stripped out of the clothes they had been wearing for months, not sure how long it had been since they had been clean. And not wanting to over work the plumbing or pipes, they each filled their tubs with no more than 4 inches of hot water. The bathrooms had all been stocked with masculine scented soaps of sandalwood oil and a saccharine spiced bar that was rough on the skin, but took care of the weeks of blood and grime that had built up without any effort. It wasn't a long, pampering soak to soothe the aching muscles and joints of the last year, but it was better than nothing. Enough hot water to heat up their chilled skin and warm their souls.
Most of them simply dried off with a large, thin linen towel, and pulled out the cleanest undergarments in their sacks, noting they would wash their clothes after a bit of rest. A few just wrapped the linen around the low sling of their hips and wiped out the tub, only to refill it and dump in their filthy clothes. The fireplaces were easy to start for everyone, as each of them knew how to start a fire.
It was inevitable that the Countess would walk in on most of them in some state of undress, but she never batted an eye, or made a comment whatsoever. Starting at the end of the hallway and working her way towards the rooms closest to the hidden tunnels and corridors, she simply let herself in with a heavily laden tray of bowls of hot broth, boiled eggs, and warm cuts of baguette. She carried the spoons in her pockets, and unloaded a meal each in every man's room with a small smile. Nothing was said, except for the embarrassed, muttered appreciation of the officers.
In Sgt. Donowitz room, she waltzed in, stopping in her tracks as the man came out of the bath stark naked, muscled, and unabashedly unashamed about the large, flaccid cock swinging between his thighs. Mostly all of the men had been covered in some capacity or another, but she had not been given a full show. Yet, she wasn't embarrassed, at all. She left a meal on the small table in the room, and went to leave, ignoring the slight burn in his cheeks, and the sly smirk on his face.
Before she left, she turned and gave him an appreciative look with a nod and a smirk, "Impressive…"
The last room was Lt. Aldo Raine's, and after Sgt. Donowitz, she wasn't surprised to find the leader of the Basterds nude, as well.
Facing the windows, watching the sun rise, Aldo had yet to wash up. He was bone tired, and his joints ached something fierce, but there was something about watching the sun rise for the day, over the snow laden trees, that stopped him. It reminded him of winter mornings running moonshine with his daddy, and then when he was grown, with a cabin of his own. The simplicity of Appalachian living; setting traps and hunting for food, chopping wood to keep the house warm, and sliding into bed with his wife.
That had been a long time ago, but sometimes, if the sun rose just right, it took him right back, to when life wasn't fucked up with war.
"Sit, Lieutenant," the Countess said, setting the tray down on the table. "Eat, and I'll run you a bath."
"I can do it myself," he offered, still standing without any shyness or shame at her seeing him completely unclothed. "You've done more than I could've brought myself to ask."
She pulled out a chair with a stern look, "Sit, eat. I'll draw the bath."
He didn't argue a second time, and did as he was told. His men would never know, and she wouldn't say a thing. Tight lipped, this woman. Hard as nails, but a big heart. There was no denying she would survive the war, and if she didn't get snatched up by some aristocrat snob, Aldo would. He didn't care for the rich life, but he could tell a good woman when he met one.
Watching her bend over and test the water, Aldo couldn't help himself. He outright stared at the contours of her ass, the tight leather pants conformed to her body in a way he had never seen on a woman before, and it was quite a sight. In his defense, it had been almost 10 years since he'd been with a woman, and it was a nice ass, if he did say so himself. That aside, he had definitely noticed the way she looked him over when the door was closed, and he turned around to see who had disturbed him. There had been a glimmer of appreciation and a smirk that tugged at the corner of her full lips. Despite his filthy skin, and his overlapping scars, she had taken him in, and she hadn't looked away. He was just repaying the compliment, in a way.
Done with the light meal, he sank into the tub without needing to be ordered, and relaxed into the heat. He tensed a moment, when she knelt down and lathered a harsh cloth. She scrubbed his back, no request, no permission, she just did it. Not that he was complaining, since she was working out the tension he held in the middle of his back, and she was getting the hard to reach spots, but it was an odd sensation that turned into an intense arousal that took him for a spin. He could smell her, all french lavender and something sweet, like almonds or honey, and that undertone of female that went straight to his dick in the fraction of a second. Like a shot, he was getting hard, and until she left, it took all his strength to go flaccid, and it took all his restraint not to pull her into the tub with him.
Her breasts pressed into his back, arms over his shoulders as she rinsed out the dirt from the cloth, and grabbed the soap to re-lather. At this point, he was wondering if she was doing this on purpose, taunting him. There was no way he was going to call her on it. He sure as shit wasn't going to offend her and ruin a good thing. He and his men needed the warm safe haven she was providing for the winter, or longer. He would rather see what she did.
And then she was gone, leaving the cloth on his chest.
It sounded as though the door closed, and he assumed he was alone. He thought, then, that he could handle his rush of desire. It was after he had reflected on the smell of her hair, the feel of her breath ghosting over his neck, the way one delicate hand followed after the scrubbing cloth to work out the knots in his back, that he grew long and hard. Reaching his hand down, he took hold of his raging erection, and groaned.
It felt goddamn good.
There had been no privacy to do this with the work they were doing for war effort. Patrols, scouting, murder and scalping, interrogations. There had never been time, always something to do, always a fuck up needing fixed. They were always on the move, and the men in his platoon were his first priority.
Now, though.
Now he had the privacy, the time, the bit of refreshing energy to go about releasing some pent up frustration. He was a man, afterall. He may be nearing his mid-40s, but he damn sure wasn't dead, yet.
"I'm surprised you haven't died, yet," came her voice, and then she came into view, completely nude, light brown curls tumbling over her shoulders. Her french accent was barely noticeable, but that could be the fact that he was focused on her breasts, and not her voice. "You'd do better to make certain you are alone before you place yourself in such a vulnerable position."
She was in the tub now, straddling his waist. She was a beauty to behold, and if this was his opportunity, he wasn't going to pass it up for the sake of propriety. If she wanted it, he'd damn sure provide it. And from the way she was hovering over his cock, and the way she was looking him straight in the eye as she did it, full of challenge and desire, she wasn't saying no.
"I don't even know your name," he croaked, her slender fingers followed the lynching scar across his throat, intrigued. "I'm traditional that way."
A puff of air escaped her, broadening smile taking control of her face, and it was stunning. She dragged the soapy cloth up his chest, wiping away the blood and grime from his face, thumb tracing the line of his lips. She cleaned him up, drawing out the agonizing arousal pulsing tall and hard between his legs, until the last thing to clean was his cock, and she did. Taking that cloth, she reached down between them, took his throbbing erection with a firm squeeze, and stroked, soft palm massaging the tip of his head in a way that made his eyes roll back, and his hips buck. She'd even washed his hair, rinsed him clean, and dried him off, before leading him back to the bedroom, and to the overstuffed bed.
Finally, she spoke, giving him an answer, "Josephine. My name is Josephine."
That was all he needed...