[Generation Kill/True Blood] Brad/Nate | Predator and Prey
Title: Predator and Prey
Summary: Brad gets up, ignoring Ray's "Daddy's home, bitches!" as he walks across the crowded nightclub. The night might be interesting after all.
Fandom: Generation Kill/True Blood
Characters/Pairings: Brad/Nate (as Eric), Ray (as Pam)
Genre: AU, crossover
Rating: R; light swearing, non-graphic sexual themes
Warnings: N/A
Word Count: 1120
Author's Notes: For the 30 days writing challenge. Prompt #6: image; vampire/Bad Things. From prompt archive: "True Blood/Generation Kill, Eric(/Nate), Brad is Eric." I kind of like this but I wish the sexy bit was written better. Inspired a lot by 2.08 of TB.
Disclaimer: Based on the fictionalized characters as played by Alexander Skarsgard, Stark Sands, and PJ Ransone in the HBO miniseries, not the real people.
Corruptible is the word that comes to Brad's mind when he sees the man leaning against the bar. Green eyes flash in the club's dim light, tracking the room and its occupants before landing on Brad himself. Well now. Maybe sinful is a better descriptor.
He quells the human's simpering with a dry look, smirking as she backs into Ray, who looks vaguely annoyed before making his way to Brad's side. "That man," Brad says, flicking his eyes at his target, "what can you tell me about him?"
"Well homes, as your deputy-slash-bouncer who doesn't get paid while you sit back and enjoy everyone fawning over your Viking ass, I can tell you that I checked his ID when he came in because he looks like he's all of motherfucking twelve years old. His name is Nathaniel Fick, he's an ex-Marine, he's very friendly and apparently very fuckable." Ray grins slyly when a growl escapes from Brad's throat. Ray might be this close to what passes for a friend in Brad's tiny social circle, thanks to his loyalty-or simply because Ray has constantly refused to fuck off despite too many orders to do so, even though Brad has technically released his progeny decades ago-but he's still not exempt from Brad's wrath. "Hit a vein there, Iceman? Pun totally intended, by the way." Brad would put him in a chokehold, but it might scare off Nathaniel, who's staring at the two of them with an amused smile.
Brad gets up, ignoring Ray's "Daddy's home, bitches!" as he walks across the crowded nightclub. The night might be interesting after all.
*
Thirty minutes after meeting Nate, Brad thinks that intriguing is a good word for him. Ex-Recon Marine, but his words are still full of command, even if they're quiet. Has a look of age and pain about him, despite being only in his mid-twenties. Grew up in Baltimore, but lives in Boston. Graduated from Dartmouth, then Harvard. Smart, intelligent, curious.
"What are your views on the political situation?" Nate asks, sipping from his bottle of beer. Nate's lips are red, and he licks at the droplets left on them. Intentional or not, this makes Brad's fangs click open, and he can feel desire thrum in his belly. "Or do you not partake in such affairs?"
Brad lifts up a corner of his mouth in a smile, noticing the way Nate's pupils darken at the sight of sharp teeth. Interesting indeed. "Unfortunately, it is required of me to keep an eye on current events. I much prefer the violence of action to empty promises. As long as humans don't meddle in my affairs, they can live. I'm magnanimous like that."
"And if they offer up their blood-" Nate glances at a couple heading towards one of the back rooms.
"That's a bonus." Brad quirks an eyebrow. "The synthetic rip-off you humans have invented to torture our delicate palates is a poor substitute for the richness of the actual product."
"Like MREs." Nate grins. "Like getting the flatness of peanut butter day after day when all you want is a jalapeño and cheese." He turns his head and Brad's eyes slip to the pulsing vein on the side of Nate's neck; Brad's very grateful that he fed earlier, but even so, this is almost too tempting to pass up. Then Nate looks back at Brad, and fucking smirks, and Brad adds dangerous to the list.
*
"I was thinking about before?" Nate pants out even as Brad growls and divests him of his shirt, revealing more skin with dots of freckles scattered haphazardly. "About-about the violence of action?"
Brad's slightly distracted by the sudden interruption, but hums a query as he continues to mouth his way down to Nate's hip.
Nate's eyes are a deep green now, and he doesn't say anything until Brad runs his teeth along the thin skin covering Nate's hipbone. "Christ," he mutters, head falling back onto the mattress. "While force and bloodshed are sometimes needed, I think negotiation is almost always the better way to go."
"Are we really having this discussion now?" Brad makes quick work of Nate's belt, but takes time to tug down the jeans and briefs, and to run his teeth gently along the femoral vein in Nate's left thigh. He picks up several gasps, and his eyes dart lazily to Nate's steadily hardening cock, wrapping a hand around it. Nate is feverishly warm against his cool skin. "I could think of better things for you to say."
Nate falls silent after an aborted "oh" when Brad's hand starts to move, then continues to babble about diplomacy with gritted teeth, and this should not be sexy at all, but there are little moans escaping through his monologue, and Brad has to press the heel of his hand against his groin. He listens though, catches every word and every hitch of breath, especially when Nate finally runs out of language and comes with a strangled cry all over Brad's wrist.
Nate is-he's something. Brad licks at the white as he moves up the bed to face Nate, watching as Nate's fucked-out expression darkens with every swipe of Brad's tongue.
"What is it?" Nate says hoarsely, as he trails a hand down Brad's chest, green eyes flashing with concern.
Brad shouldn't find it mindblowingly hot that Nate knows how to read his mood, given that most of his expressions are commands for people to fuck off, if you believe Ray, but it does. He tilts his head to one side, angling his gaze down two inches to look at Nate, just thinking. "Nothing," he says finally, brushing a thumb across a pale cheek, "you just remind me of somebody that I used to know."
Nate raises an eyebrow and starts to ask who and why, but Brad strikes first, closing the distance between Nate's mouth and his, licking and biting along full lips and swallowing every puff of breathy moan that Nate struggles to keep back.
"Later," Brad says, pressing every inch of himself against Nate's blazing skin, the contrast only serving to make his cock even harder in his jeans. Nate's hips jerk upwards to meet his, and he groans deliciously into the crook of Brad's neck before pushing against Brad's chest and gulping down some air.
He stares at Brad unblinkingly for a few moments. "No empty promises."
Brad nods, thinking that it's no wonder Nate was chosen to lead his men into war. Hell, he'd follow Nate into war. He reverently sweeps away the thought of Godric again, because Nate might remind Brad of his Maker, but he's all Nate, and leans down to nuzzle at the spot behind Nate's ear, dimly aware that Ray is going to give him so much shit the next evening.
Summary: Brad gets up, ignoring Ray's "Daddy's home, bitches!" as he walks across the crowded nightclub. The night might be interesting after all.
Fandom: Generation Kill/True Blood
Characters/Pairings: Brad/Nate (as Eric), Ray (as Pam)
Genre: AU, crossover
Rating: R; light swearing, non-graphic sexual themes
Warnings: N/A
Word Count: 1120
Author's Notes: For the 30 days writing challenge. Prompt #6: image; vampire/Bad Things. From prompt archive: "True Blood/Generation Kill, Eric(/Nate), Brad is Eric." I kind of like this but I wish the sexy bit was written better. Inspired a lot by 2.08 of TB.
Disclaimer: Based on the fictionalized characters as played by Alexander Skarsgard, Stark Sands, and PJ Ransone in the HBO miniseries, not the real people.
Corruptible is the word that comes to Brad's mind when he sees the man leaning against the bar. Green eyes flash in the club's dim light, tracking the room and its occupants before landing on Brad himself. Well now. Maybe sinful is a better descriptor.
He quells the human's simpering with a dry look, smirking as she backs into Ray, who looks vaguely annoyed before making his way to Brad's side. "That man," Brad says, flicking his eyes at his target, "what can you tell me about him?"
"Well homes, as your deputy-slash-bouncer who doesn't get paid while you sit back and enjoy everyone fawning over your Viking ass, I can tell you that I checked his ID when he came in because he looks like he's all of motherfucking twelve years old. His name is Nathaniel Fick, he's an ex-Marine, he's very friendly and apparently very fuckable." Ray grins slyly when a growl escapes from Brad's throat. Ray might be this close to what passes for a friend in Brad's tiny social circle, thanks to his loyalty-or simply because Ray has constantly refused to fuck off despite too many orders to do so, even though Brad has technically released his progeny decades ago-but he's still not exempt from Brad's wrath. "Hit a vein there, Iceman? Pun totally intended, by the way." Brad would put him in a chokehold, but it might scare off Nathaniel, who's staring at the two of them with an amused smile.
Brad gets up, ignoring Ray's "Daddy's home, bitches!" as he walks across the crowded nightclub. The night might be interesting after all.
*
Thirty minutes after meeting Nate, Brad thinks that intriguing is a good word for him. Ex-Recon Marine, but his words are still full of command, even if they're quiet. Has a look of age and pain about him, despite being only in his mid-twenties. Grew up in Baltimore, but lives in Boston. Graduated from Dartmouth, then Harvard. Smart, intelligent, curious.
"What are your views on the political situation?" Nate asks, sipping from his bottle of beer. Nate's lips are red, and he licks at the droplets left on them. Intentional or not, this makes Brad's fangs click open, and he can feel desire thrum in his belly. "Or do you not partake in such affairs?"
Brad lifts up a corner of his mouth in a smile, noticing the way Nate's pupils darken at the sight of sharp teeth. Interesting indeed. "Unfortunately, it is required of me to keep an eye on current events. I much prefer the violence of action to empty promises. As long as humans don't meddle in my affairs, they can live. I'm magnanimous like that."
"And if they offer up their blood-" Nate glances at a couple heading towards one of the back rooms.
"That's a bonus." Brad quirks an eyebrow. "The synthetic rip-off you humans have invented to torture our delicate palates is a poor substitute for the richness of the actual product."
"Like MREs." Nate grins. "Like getting the flatness of peanut butter day after day when all you want is a jalapeño and cheese." He turns his head and Brad's eyes slip to the pulsing vein on the side of Nate's neck; Brad's very grateful that he fed earlier, but even so, this is almost too tempting to pass up. Then Nate looks back at Brad, and fucking smirks, and Brad adds dangerous to the list.
*
"I was thinking about before?" Nate pants out even as Brad growls and divests him of his shirt, revealing more skin with dots of freckles scattered haphazardly. "About-about the violence of action?"
Brad's slightly distracted by the sudden interruption, but hums a query as he continues to mouth his way down to Nate's hip.
Nate's eyes are a deep green now, and he doesn't say anything until Brad runs his teeth along the thin skin covering Nate's hipbone. "Christ," he mutters, head falling back onto the mattress. "While force and bloodshed are sometimes needed, I think negotiation is almost always the better way to go."
"Are we really having this discussion now?" Brad makes quick work of Nate's belt, but takes time to tug down the jeans and briefs, and to run his teeth gently along the femoral vein in Nate's left thigh. He picks up several gasps, and his eyes dart lazily to Nate's steadily hardening cock, wrapping a hand around it. Nate is feverishly warm against his cool skin. "I could think of better things for you to say."
Nate falls silent after an aborted "oh" when Brad's hand starts to move, then continues to babble about diplomacy with gritted teeth, and this should not be sexy at all, but there are little moans escaping through his monologue, and Brad has to press the heel of his hand against his groin. He listens though, catches every word and every hitch of breath, especially when Nate finally runs out of language and comes with a strangled cry all over Brad's wrist.
Nate is-he's something. Brad licks at the white as he moves up the bed to face Nate, watching as Nate's fucked-out expression darkens with every swipe of Brad's tongue.
"What is it?" Nate says hoarsely, as he trails a hand down Brad's chest, green eyes flashing with concern.
Brad shouldn't find it mindblowingly hot that Nate knows how to read his mood, given that most of his expressions are commands for people to fuck off, if you believe Ray, but it does. He tilts his head to one side, angling his gaze down two inches to look at Nate, just thinking. "Nothing," he says finally, brushing a thumb across a pale cheek, "you just remind me of somebody that I used to know."
Nate raises an eyebrow and starts to ask who and why, but Brad strikes first, closing the distance between Nate's mouth and his, licking and biting along full lips and swallowing every puff of breathy moan that Nate struggles to keep back.
"Later," Brad says, pressing every inch of himself against Nate's blazing skin, the contrast only serving to make his cock even harder in his jeans. Nate's hips jerk upwards to meet his, and he groans deliciously into the crook of Brad's neck before pushing against Brad's chest and gulping down some air.
He stares at Brad unblinkingly for a few moments. "No empty promises."
Brad nods, thinking that it's no wonder Nate was chosen to lead his men into war. Hell, he'd follow Nate into war. He reverently sweeps away the thought of Godric again, because Nate might remind Brad of his Maker, but he's all Nate, and leans down to nuzzle at the spot behind Nate's ear, dimly aware that Ray is going to give him so much shit the next evening.