Fic: Running in circles (GK, Brad/Nate)
running in circles
Brad/Nate, 1000 words
for lickingbeads' prompt at lunatics_word's DADT repeal porn fest, but sadly without much porn
Nobody said it was easy
Oh it's such a shame for us to part
Nobody said it was easy
No one ever said it would be so hard
--Coldplay, The Scientist
DC, autumn 2003
Nate's first furniture purchase upon moving to DC was an extra-firm mattress and box-spring set. He didn't bother with a proper bedframe, figuring that he'd be moving again in a year or so, and he doesn't want more crap to haul to Boston or Princeton. (If he gets in; it's possible he'll still be in DC, either working or attending Georgetown.)
It seemed practical at the time. Now, he braces his palms against the wall, pushes back onto Brad with every shift of his hips, and he wishes he had something to wrap his hands around, something to hold onto.
A similar thought occurs to him when he drops Brad off at the international departures terminal of Dulles, and receives a smile and half-finished salute in response to his, "Semper fi, Brad."
Boston, spring 2005
Nate refuses to put his life on hold for Brad, whose emails are sporadic and phone calls even rarer. That's what he tells himself, anyway, and that's fine. He's not looking for a permanent relationship, he's looking for comfort and sex. And that's what he gets, generally with women. He tries with other men, but after three separate incidents of waking up thinking it's Brad beside him, he decides that's a no-go.
It's Thursday evening, and his plans include a long run, followed by a longer shower to slough off the frustration from his Applications of Economic Theory lecture. He made tentative plans to meet Katrina at the Commons tonight after her sociology seminar ends. Night-chilled air burns his lungs by the time Nate feels unwound enough to loop back to his apartment building. He's sweaty and panting, groping for the key he pins to the inside of his waistband, when he looks up to see Brad waiting outside his door. Nate didn't know Brad had leave, didn't expect him, and feels a moment of resentment and hurt that Brad didn't bother to share his schedule, just appeared, confident in his welcome. Nate tells himself he doesn't want him, that he's done with this.
Ten minutes later, Brad is on his knees in front of Nate, warm water sluicing over both of them, and Nate admits to himself that he might never be done with Brad.
Oceanside, summer 2008
Everyone who had been part of Bravo Two for Operation Iraqi Freedom (and wasn't that a misnomer, given First Recon's most recent and next scheduled deployments?) attends the five-year reunion. Nate is the only one who comes without a date.
It's fucking awkward, is what it is. It's nothing Nate doesn't expect, and he knows he could have brought someone as well, but there's no one that Nate felt comfortable inviting along, not on a trip across the country, across years of personal history.
Terri seems like a perfectly nice woman. She deals with the Bravo Two spouses, the kids, the men, with aplomb; she even greets Nate with a friendly smile. Nate wants to hate her from the moment Cara introduces her as Brad's friend, but he can't.
He feels vaguely guilty when he overhears Poke scolding Brad about the white man's inability to make a commitment.
But guilt is nowhere to be found in the wee hours of the morning, when he's sprawled, boneless and sated, next to Brad on tangled hotel sheets.
DC, 2009
"There's an opening at Quantico for an instructor for the next round of OCS. Edgars says my name's on the list."
Nate's bedroom - it's not their bedroom, not really, because there's nothing of Brad's there except Brad - is dark, quiet. Nate had been a breath away from sleep before Brad's words emerged, whispered against the back of Nate's neck like a shameful secret, but now he's wide awake.
"Do you want the spot?" Nate's body remains relaxed, giving no sign of his excitement, his terror. What does it mean if he says yes; what about no? Would proximity be better or worse? These and a dozen other questions run through his mind in an instant.
"Want? Yes. It'd be closer. But... how safe is that? How much time can we spend together before it's not just two old friends?" How long can they keep on doing what they're doing without getting caught, especially if they're together on a more regular basis?
Nate's spent a lot of his life wanting things he can't have. When First Recon receives early deployment orders back to south Asia, Brad in Quantico joins that list.
Oceanside, December 2010
It's not like Nate is unaware of the potential. But for this once, he's not thinking about it. He's thinking about the fact that Brad is home, safe and sound. A little bit older, a little bit sadder, with more scars, visible and not. He's worshipping the most obvious of these, a narrow white line of flesh high on Brad's shoulder, where debris from a RCIED managed to slice through the layers of humvee and gear to embed itself in flesh, when his and Brad's phones go off. He gropes for them blindly, silences them, and returns his mouth to skin.
An hour later, there are no less than six messages from Person (five on Brad's voicemail, one on Nate's; they delete them all unheard), a text from Tom, and one voicemail from Nate's sister, Liza, telling him, "Turn on C-SPAN. I know it's your weekend away from DC and politics, but you'll want to see this."
Theoretically, DADT ends on a Saturday morning when a handful of politicians decide that party lines are less important than human rights.
Legally, DADT won't be a thing of the past until the Pentagon certifies the law's changes and the UCMJ is altered to reflect the new policy.
Practically, for Brad and Nate, DADT ends Saturday evening, when Nate meets Mike and Cara for dinner, and he brings Brad instead of going alone. Cara looks surprised when she sees his companion, but welcomes him just the same. Mike just shakes his head and tells them it's about fucking time.
Brad/Nate, 1000 words
for lickingbeads' prompt at lunatics_word's DADT repeal porn fest, but sadly without much porn
Nobody said it was easy
Oh it's such a shame for us to part
Nobody said it was easy
No one ever said it would be so hard
--Coldplay, The Scientist
DC, autumn 2003
Nate's first furniture purchase upon moving to DC was an extra-firm mattress and box-spring set. He didn't bother with a proper bedframe, figuring that he'd be moving again in a year or so, and he doesn't want more crap to haul to Boston or Princeton. (If he gets in; it's possible he'll still be in DC, either working or attending Georgetown.)
It seemed practical at the time. Now, he braces his palms against the wall, pushes back onto Brad with every shift of his hips, and he wishes he had something to wrap his hands around, something to hold onto.
A similar thought occurs to him when he drops Brad off at the international departures terminal of Dulles, and receives a smile and half-finished salute in response to his, "Semper fi, Brad."
Boston, spring 2005
Nate refuses to put his life on hold for Brad, whose emails are sporadic and phone calls even rarer. That's what he tells himself, anyway, and that's fine. He's not looking for a permanent relationship, he's looking for comfort and sex. And that's what he gets, generally with women. He tries with other men, but after three separate incidents of waking up thinking it's Brad beside him, he decides that's a no-go.
It's Thursday evening, and his plans include a long run, followed by a longer shower to slough off the frustration from his Applications of Economic Theory lecture. He made tentative plans to meet Katrina at the Commons tonight after her sociology seminar ends. Night-chilled air burns his lungs by the time Nate feels unwound enough to loop back to his apartment building. He's sweaty and panting, groping for the key he pins to the inside of his waistband, when he looks up to see Brad waiting outside his door. Nate didn't know Brad had leave, didn't expect him, and feels a moment of resentment and hurt that Brad didn't bother to share his schedule, just appeared, confident in his welcome. Nate tells himself he doesn't want him, that he's done with this.
Ten minutes later, Brad is on his knees in front of Nate, warm water sluicing over both of them, and Nate admits to himself that he might never be done with Brad.
Oceanside, summer 2008
Everyone who had been part of Bravo Two for Operation Iraqi Freedom (and wasn't that a misnomer, given First Recon's most recent and next scheduled deployments?) attends the five-year reunion. Nate is the only one who comes without a date.
It's fucking awkward, is what it is. It's nothing Nate doesn't expect, and he knows he could have brought someone as well, but there's no one that Nate felt comfortable inviting along, not on a trip across the country, across years of personal history.
Terri seems like a perfectly nice woman. She deals with the Bravo Two spouses, the kids, the men, with aplomb; she even greets Nate with a friendly smile. Nate wants to hate her from the moment Cara introduces her as Brad's friend, but he can't.
He feels vaguely guilty when he overhears Poke scolding Brad about the white man's inability to make a commitment.
But guilt is nowhere to be found in the wee hours of the morning, when he's sprawled, boneless and sated, next to Brad on tangled hotel sheets.
DC, 2009
"There's an opening at Quantico for an instructor for the next round of OCS. Edgars says my name's on the list."
Nate's bedroom - it's not their bedroom, not really, because there's nothing of Brad's there except Brad - is dark, quiet. Nate had been a breath away from sleep before Brad's words emerged, whispered against the back of Nate's neck like a shameful secret, but now he's wide awake.
"Do you want the spot?" Nate's body remains relaxed, giving no sign of his excitement, his terror. What does it mean if he says yes; what about no? Would proximity be better or worse? These and a dozen other questions run through his mind in an instant.
"Want? Yes. It'd be closer. But... how safe is that? How much time can we spend together before it's not just two old friends?" How long can they keep on doing what they're doing without getting caught, especially if they're together on a more regular basis?
Nate's spent a lot of his life wanting things he can't have. When First Recon receives early deployment orders back to south Asia, Brad in Quantico joins that list.
Oceanside, December 2010
It's not like Nate is unaware of the potential. But for this once, he's not thinking about it. He's thinking about the fact that Brad is home, safe and sound. A little bit older, a little bit sadder, with more scars, visible and not. He's worshipping the most obvious of these, a narrow white line of flesh high on Brad's shoulder, where debris from a RCIED managed to slice through the layers of humvee and gear to embed itself in flesh, when his and Brad's phones go off. He gropes for them blindly, silences them, and returns his mouth to skin.
An hour later, there are no less than six messages from Person (five on Brad's voicemail, one on Nate's; they delete them all unheard), a text from Tom, and one voicemail from Nate's sister, Liza, telling him, "Turn on C-SPAN. I know it's your weekend away from DC and politics, but you'll want to see this."
Theoretically, DADT ends on a Saturday morning when a handful of politicians decide that party lines are less important than human rights.
Legally, DADT won't be a thing of the past until the Pentagon certifies the law's changes and the UCMJ is altered to reflect the new policy.
Practically, for Brad and Nate, DADT ends Saturday evening, when Nate meets Mike and Cara for dinner, and he brings Brad instead of going alone. Cara looks surprised when she sees his companion, but welcomes him just the same. Mike just shakes his head and tells them it's about fucking time.