(no subject)
Title: Four Compromising Situations That Lt. Fick Won't Soon Forget
Chapter: 2/4
Author: Darco16
Fandom: “Generation Kill”
Pairing: Colbert/Person
Word Count: 1,972
Rating: R
Warning: Cursing/Sexual Situation
Disclaimer: This does not belong to me. This is based on the characters from HBO's 'Generation Kill'. I do not mean to offend anyone with this piece of complete fiction.
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Night and darkness in general were not conceivable times to work on your Humvee's interior or exterior framework. This was a fact that Lt. Nathanial Fick was assured of. That was his reasoning for being a little bit more than concerned when Sgt. Espera informed him that Brad was putting in extra time on his Humvee.
“What is he working by? Candle light?” Nate let an incredulous tone seep through his question. Most of his men didn't have enough batteries to run their NVG's, and he knew for certain that whatever light that Colbert might think was sufficient wouldn't save the twenty-eight-year-old from electrocuting himself when he laid hands on the wrong wiring in their inky surroundings.
“What can I say, Sir, he's Iceman: faster than a speeding bullet and is able to jump tall buildings in a single bound.” However, the large, farcical grin that set the Sergeant's face guaranteed that he was just as amused with Colbert's antics as Nate was.
“Let's just hope he doesn't plan on cleaning his M-4 rifle next.” Nate returned Espera's grin with his own worried smile, then clapped him on the shoulder in a gesture of comradery, before taking his leave.
From there, Nate made his journey to the staging area for the Humvees, where he made a bee-line to Brad's Humvee. He halted, though, when he heard a muffled cry come from the backseat, and as he focused his eyesight into the darkened vehicle he recognized Brad's lone figure. The first platoon leader sat, half bent in his seat with the better part of his fist stuffed in his mouth. His harsh breathing was regularly interrupted by quiet cries.
Nate knew well that Marines who were in their second, third, forth missions, the ones that had past battle experience behind them, were likely to have post-invasion jitters before stepping off. However, he hadn't expected such an emotional breakdown from someone of Brad's professional caliber, who usually put on such a cool exterior; more than earning his name as the Iceman.
Moments later, though, Nate was broken out of his murky contemplations by a bawdy grunt, followed by a stream of vulgarity that would put any sailor to shame. His head shot up on reflex, and in time to see a shorn, brunette head pop up from its concealed position on Brad's lap. Before the lieutenant had time to react in any other way besides that of a gaping fish, Ray was by the side of the Humvee, spitting the contents of what he held in his mouth out the side window, and inadvertently on Nate's boot.
It was truly one of those moments straight out of a bad, shenanigans movie, where Nate looked at his cum-covered shoe, then slowly moved his gaze up to meet eyes with Cpl. Person. Ray's face changed from one of confusion to a configuration of a round, open mouth and wide eyes, a true 'oh, shit' expression.
“You see, Ray, when you spit with your teeth, you increase the distance of whatever it may be that you are spitting out of your mouth, be it dip or copious amounts of my cum.” Nate watched as both he and Ray turned their attention to Colbert, who was doing up his pants, as far as Nate could tell, with a very satisfied smirk adorning his face. That was until Ray gave a very sharp jab with his elbow into his Sergeant's side, before slinking down into the cramped back seat. All Nate could view of the Corporal was his cropped hair, but it gave Brad the opportunity to become aware of what had caused his RTO to become so fazed.
Nate watched as Brad's expression changed little, if not at all. The Lieutenant couldn't decide if his relaxed attitude came from pure shock or from the blowjob he had just received. Brad only blinked a few times, then leaned over closer to the window, covering the majority of backseat, as well as hiding most of Ray that was left visible.
“Is there something wrong, Sir?” Brad gave an uncomfortable cough and his eyes never actually met those of Nate's.
“I don't know, Sergeant, should we put this down as a case of hysterical rabies?” Nate couldn't help the half smirk that laid across his mouth, and his amusement must have been shared by Ray, who gave a snort from his hidden position below Brad.
Brad, however, didn't seem to share their hilarious understanding. He looked down at his slouched lover before asking, “What the fuck, Ray?” His question was followed by an echoing laugh, giving way to Ray's boisterous answer of, “I spit your cum on his boot.”
For his part, Brad had the mindfulness to look bashful. “Rabies, you said, Sir, must be from those damn wild dogs,” Brad agreed, with a mouth set into a thin line, holding back a grin that was sure to spear his face if given a less embarrassing situation.
“Might want to see Doc. Bryan if the symptoms become any worst, though.” Nate couldn't help the sarcasm that glazed his voice. There was a sort of pleasure from being more composed and less flustered when compared to his reaction the first time he caught the two Marines with their pants down.
“No offense, Sir, but the last time you caught us in a compromising position, you advised us to find a more private environment. When is comes to a Marine camp, and as far as clandestine goes, we're practically in fucking Siberia, which should more than meet your standards of private.” Brad's comment could have been taken harshly, but his tone was completely neutral, if only a little defensive.
“My apologies. You're right, but Sgt. Espera raised some concerns about you laboring over your Humvee at night. He hadn't informed me that Ray had also joined you. I would have probably been less apprehensive if I had been aware.” Nate observed Brad's reaction to his explanation. As he said Ray's name, he watched as the Sergeant laid his hand where Nate guessed the Corporal's shoulder must be. Suddenly, his first assumption of Brad hiding Ray with his body when he first noticed his superior's presence was replaced with new concepts, like shielding and protecting. It sent a queer twinge through Nate's gut, but he had no tangible explanation of why it did.
“I told Poke that Ray was going to assist me. He must have assumed that you would guess that Ray would be attached to my hip,” Brad half-joked, with a sly grin that played upon his face. Seconds later, he moved back scantly and made some space for Ray to stretch out, so he was again visible to Nate.
“Yep, Lieutenant, it's like assuming that flees are on a Labrador. If you go to pet one, you're probably gonna find a flee humping it.” Ray's dimples set into his face with an almost a cynical grin. Thoughts popped into Nate's head of the many times Brad had called Ray trailer trash, whiskey tango and how he'd give the same manic grin. He could never tell if he enjoyed the insults or if he would just grin and bear it.
“I really wouldn't compare you to the proverbial flee, Ray. Maybe a main gunner without a shield. It could operate fine without it, but everyone would feel much safer if they were together.” Nate didn't know why he brought two cents into it or if he even made any sense. “I'm sorry, I'm rambling, and not even making any sense. I should probably get some sleep.”
“Shit no, dude. It made perfect sense.” Ray turned to Brad before he said, “Told you, I'm fucking awesome.” Nate was surprised at the intensity of Ray's stare as he turned back to meet his eyes. “Hey, we have canteens back here if you want to clean your shoe.”
It was possibly the look in Ray's eyes, or the inclination of Brad's head that told Nate that there was more to that offer than the definition of what the words gave. He shook his head thinking of the absurdity behind the idea of the two lovers soliciting him.
However, as he took the next step into the gritty sand, his thoughts wildly flashed forward to him getting into the Humvee. The backseat would be too cramped and would cause him to press into Ray's chest. The water forgotten almost immediately, Ray's lips would enthusiastically crush into his, with playful nips and soft laughs that were so like the Ray that Nate imagined. Ray wold lave languid licks along Nate's neck. This would give Brad the chance to press his hand around the back of Nate's head, bringing him closer so he could lay a forceful kiss on his mouth. He would thrust his tongue between Nate's lips, not asking, but taking.
With a few rapid blinks, Nate stilled his steps. This wasn't something that could happen, and it wasn't an opportunity Nate would allow to take place; not now at least. With a harsh grunt, he cleared his throat, and only then noticed that the entirety of his mouth and throat were dry. Nate quickly turned and took a deep breath of fresh air before he answered Ray. “I have a canteen on my person, but thank you for your concern. However, I should really be getting back.”
Nate moved with a rapid stride, with the hope that once he obtained enough distance from the Humvee, he'd be perfectly squared away. However, a trick of the desert was the illusion of space. The echoes brought one closer to everyone else, like they were right behind you.
“You spit cum on his shoe, Ray?”
“It's not like I spit fucking random cum on his shoe. To the best of my knowledge, it was your dick I had in my mouth moments before the incident in the motherfucking question.”
“As a Marine, you should always look before you shoot. Basic knowledge, Ray. Or, in your whiskey tango case, look before you spit.”
“Now isn't this some kind of bourgeoisie bull crap. All you upper-class cocksuckers trying to blame it on the proletariat.”
“Cocksucker? Was it not your mouth that was holding my cock but a few minutes ago. In almost any dictionary, I think that would be the precise definition of a cocksucker.”
Nate considered how childish the act of sticking his pointer fingers in his ears and repeating continuously 'I'm not listening' would be. The truly pathetic thing about the situation was that Nate didn't actually have a canteen on his person. He analyzed the possibility of dragging the toe of his boot against the sand, but that would only result in him having a disturbing mixture of cum and sand on his shoe.
Nate let out a long drawn sigh, then with as much dignity as he could sum up, wagged his foot back and forth. He watched as most of the cum flung off his boot, but then observed as the rest splashed across his laces.
“Fuck it!” Nate let the grumbles seethe in the back of his throat before he relaxed all the tension in his muscles. He couldn't help but muse that he should have accepted Ray's offer, consequences be damned!
Chapter: 2/4
Author: Darco16
Fandom: “Generation Kill”
Pairing: Colbert/Person
Word Count: 1,972
Rating: R
Warning: Cursing/Sexual Situation
Disclaimer: This does not belong to me. This is based on the characters from HBO's 'Generation Kill'. I do not mean to offend anyone with this piece of complete fiction.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Night and darkness in general were not conceivable times to work on your Humvee's interior or exterior framework. This was a fact that Lt. Nathanial Fick was assured of. That was his reasoning for being a little bit more than concerned when Sgt. Espera informed him that Brad was putting in extra time on his Humvee.
“What is he working by? Candle light?” Nate let an incredulous tone seep through his question. Most of his men didn't have enough batteries to run their NVG's, and he knew for certain that whatever light that Colbert might think was sufficient wouldn't save the twenty-eight-year-old from electrocuting himself when he laid hands on the wrong wiring in their inky surroundings.
“What can I say, Sir, he's Iceman: faster than a speeding bullet and is able to jump tall buildings in a single bound.” However, the large, farcical grin that set the Sergeant's face guaranteed that he was just as amused with Colbert's antics as Nate was.
“Let's just hope he doesn't plan on cleaning his M-4 rifle next.” Nate returned Espera's grin with his own worried smile, then clapped him on the shoulder in a gesture of comradery, before taking his leave.
From there, Nate made his journey to the staging area for the Humvees, where he made a bee-line to Brad's Humvee. He halted, though, when he heard a muffled cry come from the backseat, and as he focused his eyesight into the darkened vehicle he recognized Brad's lone figure. The first platoon leader sat, half bent in his seat with the better part of his fist stuffed in his mouth. His harsh breathing was regularly interrupted by quiet cries.
Nate knew well that Marines who were in their second, third, forth missions, the ones that had past battle experience behind them, were likely to have post-invasion jitters before stepping off. However, he hadn't expected such an emotional breakdown from someone of Brad's professional caliber, who usually put on such a cool exterior; more than earning his name as the Iceman.
Moments later, though, Nate was broken out of his murky contemplations by a bawdy grunt, followed by a stream of vulgarity that would put any sailor to shame. His head shot up on reflex, and in time to see a shorn, brunette head pop up from its concealed position on Brad's lap. Before the lieutenant had time to react in any other way besides that of a gaping fish, Ray was by the side of the Humvee, spitting the contents of what he held in his mouth out the side window, and inadvertently on Nate's boot.
It was truly one of those moments straight out of a bad, shenanigans movie, where Nate looked at his cum-covered shoe, then slowly moved his gaze up to meet eyes with Cpl. Person. Ray's face changed from one of confusion to a configuration of a round, open mouth and wide eyes, a true 'oh, shit' expression.
“You see, Ray, when you spit with your teeth, you increase the distance of whatever it may be that you are spitting out of your mouth, be it dip or copious amounts of my cum.” Nate watched as both he and Ray turned their attention to Colbert, who was doing up his pants, as far as Nate could tell, with a very satisfied smirk adorning his face. That was until Ray gave a very sharp jab with his elbow into his Sergeant's side, before slinking down into the cramped back seat. All Nate could view of the Corporal was his cropped hair, but it gave Brad the opportunity to become aware of what had caused his RTO to become so fazed.
Nate watched as Brad's expression changed little, if not at all. The Lieutenant couldn't decide if his relaxed attitude came from pure shock or from the blowjob he had just received. Brad only blinked a few times, then leaned over closer to the window, covering the majority of backseat, as well as hiding most of Ray that was left visible.
“Is there something wrong, Sir?” Brad gave an uncomfortable cough and his eyes never actually met those of Nate's.
“I don't know, Sergeant, should we put this down as a case of hysterical rabies?” Nate couldn't help the half smirk that laid across his mouth, and his amusement must have been shared by Ray, who gave a snort from his hidden position below Brad.
Brad, however, didn't seem to share their hilarious understanding. He looked down at his slouched lover before asking, “What the fuck, Ray?” His question was followed by an echoing laugh, giving way to Ray's boisterous answer of, “I spit your cum on his boot.”
For his part, Brad had the mindfulness to look bashful. “Rabies, you said, Sir, must be from those damn wild dogs,” Brad agreed, with a mouth set into a thin line, holding back a grin that was sure to spear his face if given a less embarrassing situation.
“Might want to see Doc. Bryan if the symptoms become any worst, though.” Nate couldn't help the sarcasm that glazed his voice. There was a sort of pleasure from being more composed and less flustered when compared to his reaction the first time he caught the two Marines with their pants down.
“No offense, Sir, but the last time you caught us in a compromising position, you advised us to find a more private environment. When is comes to a Marine camp, and as far as clandestine goes, we're practically in fucking Siberia, which should more than meet your standards of private.” Brad's comment could have been taken harshly, but his tone was completely neutral, if only a little defensive.
“My apologies. You're right, but Sgt. Espera raised some concerns about you laboring over your Humvee at night. He hadn't informed me that Ray had also joined you. I would have probably been less apprehensive if I had been aware.” Nate observed Brad's reaction to his explanation. As he said Ray's name, he watched as the Sergeant laid his hand where Nate guessed the Corporal's shoulder must be. Suddenly, his first assumption of Brad hiding Ray with his body when he first noticed his superior's presence was replaced with new concepts, like shielding and protecting. It sent a queer twinge through Nate's gut, but he had no tangible explanation of why it did.
“I told Poke that Ray was going to assist me. He must have assumed that you would guess that Ray would be attached to my hip,” Brad half-joked, with a sly grin that played upon his face. Seconds later, he moved back scantly and made some space for Ray to stretch out, so he was again visible to Nate.
“Yep, Lieutenant, it's like assuming that flees are on a Labrador. If you go to pet one, you're probably gonna find a flee humping it.” Ray's dimples set into his face with an almost a cynical grin. Thoughts popped into Nate's head of the many times Brad had called Ray trailer trash, whiskey tango and how he'd give the same manic grin. He could never tell if he enjoyed the insults or if he would just grin and bear it.
“I really wouldn't compare you to the proverbial flee, Ray. Maybe a main gunner without a shield. It could operate fine without it, but everyone would feel much safer if they were together.” Nate didn't know why he brought two cents into it or if he even made any sense. “I'm sorry, I'm rambling, and not even making any sense. I should probably get some sleep.”
“Shit no, dude. It made perfect sense.” Ray turned to Brad before he said, “Told you, I'm fucking awesome.” Nate was surprised at the intensity of Ray's stare as he turned back to meet his eyes. “Hey, we have canteens back here if you want to clean your shoe.”
It was possibly the look in Ray's eyes, or the inclination of Brad's head that told Nate that there was more to that offer than the definition of what the words gave. He shook his head thinking of the absurdity behind the idea of the two lovers soliciting him.
However, as he took the next step into the gritty sand, his thoughts wildly flashed forward to him getting into the Humvee. The backseat would be too cramped and would cause him to press into Ray's chest. The water forgotten almost immediately, Ray's lips would enthusiastically crush into his, with playful nips and soft laughs that were so like the Ray that Nate imagined. Ray wold lave languid licks along Nate's neck. This would give Brad the chance to press his hand around the back of Nate's head, bringing him closer so he could lay a forceful kiss on his mouth. He would thrust his tongue between Nate's lips, not asking, but taking.
With a few rapid blinks, Nate stilled his steps. This wasn't something that could happen, and it wasn't an opportunity Nate would allow to take place; not now at least. With a harsh grunt, he cleared his throat, and only then noticed that the entirety of his mouth and throat were dry. Nate quickly turned and took a deep breath of fresh air before he answered Ray. “I have a canteen on my person, but thank you for your concern. However, I should really be getting back.”
Nate moved with a rapid stride, with the hope that once he obtained enough distance from the Humvee, he'd be perfectly squared away. However, a trick of the desert was the illusion of space. The echoes brought one closer to everyone else, like they were right behind you.
“You spit cum on his shoe, Ray?”
“It's not like I spit fucking random cum on his shoe. To the best of my knowledge, it was your dick I had in my mouth moments before the incident in the motherfucking question.”
“As a Marine, you should always look before you shoot. Basic knowledge, Ray. Or, in your whiskey tango case, look before you spit.”
“Now isn't this some kind of bourgeoisie bull crap. All you upper-class cocksuckers trying to blame it on the proletariat.”
“Cocksucker? Was it not your mouth that was holding my cock but a few minutes ago. In almost any dictionary, I think that would be the precise definition of a cocksucker.”
Nate considered how childish the act of sticking his pointer fingers in his ears and repeating continuously 'I'm not listening' would be. The truly pathetic thing about the situation was that Nate didn't actually have a canteen on his person. He analyzed the possibility of dragging the toe of his boot against the sand, but that would only result in him having a disturbing mixture of cum and sand on his shoe.
Nate let out a long drawn sigh, then with as much dignity as he could sum up, wagged his foot back and forth. He watched as most of the cum flung off his boot, but then observed as the rest splashed across his laces.
“Fuck it!” Nate let the grumbles seethe in the back of his throat before he relaxed all the tension in his muscles. He couldn't help but muse that he should have accepted Ray's offer, consequences be damned!