Generation Kill/Transformers AU - Bumblebee Ex Machina (Nate/Brad, PG-13)
I am writing yuletide stories for my girls.
L has her story. Q has her story. This is the story that A requested based on this art by trolleys. I'm just the conduit, that's all I'm saying. *covers eyes*
Generation Kill/Transformers
Alternate Universe (and how)
Nate Fick/Brad Colbert
PG-13
Bumblebee Ex Machina
I'm the opposite of moderate, immaculately polished with the spirit of a hustler and the swagger of a college kid …
Nate bangs on the steering wheel as he raps along with T.I. and hits the falsetto notes of Rhianna's vocals. Bumblebee hoots back, and the back wheels of the Camaro skid just that little bit on the paved road sprawled out beneath them.
Nate shakes his head. "How about you save the fancy dance moves for when we're not about to be late for dinner?" he suggests to the dashboard.
The sun is hanging low in the sky, bleeding pinks and golds that run into twilight. Dinner is at 7 p.m. Not 7:01. Not 7:30.
The music is momentarily overlaid by audio from the original Star Trek. "Roger that, Captain."
Nate's laugh rapidly slides into a coughing fit. Walking along the side of the road is an unmistakable lanky figure. Despite the fact that the figure is facing away from him, Nate would know those shoulders anywhere. That back. That ass.
"Shit, it's him," he hisses to the odometer. "B, it's him."
"Him" being Brad Colbert: the resident juvenile delinquent cum braniac cum hottest guy ever at Nate's high school.
The sad thing is that if Brad were just nice to look at Nate probably wouldn’t be so interested in him. But he's not just gorgeous, he's smart. And tall. And blond. And a surfer. Nate hates subscribing to so many clichés, but now that he lives in Southern California, it's inevitable.
The fact of the matter is that although Nate and Brad are in a lot of the same A.P. classes, they've never spoken. Then again, Brad only seems to come to class every other week.
Nate's pretty sure that Brad doesn't even know he's alive, which is probably a good thing since Nate's been crushing on Brad since Nate's family moved to Oceanside last year.
Nate's feet aren't on the pedals. Hell, he's not even driving, but the minute he feels Bumblebee slowing down he steps on the gas. "Don't even think about it," Nate warns.
He floors the accelerator… and the car comes to a dead halt right alongside Brad.
Shit shit shit.
"I hate you so much right now," Nate says bitterly to the yellow bumblebee air freshener hanging from the rear view mirror.
The car is silent; Rhianna no longer telling him to live his life.
"So you pulled over to insult me. Interesting."
Nate's eyes widen even as his head snaps towards the passenger side window. Leaning in the window is Mr. Hotass himself. Nate swallows at the inquisitive eyes and pink lips, at the silver necklace dangling from Brad's neck.
"Um, no. No, I was, uh, talking to my car."
"You were talking to your car." Brad's tone says it all. "Maybe I shouldn't get in a car with someone who's clearly mentally unstable," he says, opening the door and sliding into the passenger seat. "But I like to live dangerously."
Brad pulls the door closed behind him, trapping Nate in the car with him.
This is all Bumblebee's fault. Fucking sentient alien cars.
"You don't even know me," Nate protests.
"But you were going to offer me a ride anyway, am I right?"
"Um…"
"Yes - the word you're looking for is 'yes.'" Brad's smirk makes the backs of Nate's knees sweat.
"Yes," Nate nods as the car starts moving along.
Brad looks at him expectantly and Nate can feel the flush spreading across his face. "Are you going to drive this car or is it just going to drive itself?" Brad asks curiously; it takes Nate a minute to realize what he's suggesting.
Nate immediately faces forward and puts his hands on the steering wheel. He hasn't driven a car in months. Hell, he hasn't driven Bumblebee since the week he picked him out of the used car lot. Not since he found out his car was a sentient alien that fucking transforms into, well, a sentient alien. Did he mention that part?
Yeah, that's kind of important.
"This car drives itself," Nate offers with a nervous smile.
"That would be kind of cool if it did," Brad agrees.
The radio station in the Camaro crackles back and forth.
I am a man who will fight for your honor… I'll be the hero you've been dreaming of…We'll live together, knowing forever that we did all for the glory of love…
Nate whacks the radio with the heel of his hand. "Sorry about the music," he babbles. "My car's a little temperamental in its old age."
The engine growls; Bumblebee is taking offense.
That's what he gets. Fucking nosy alien robot.
Brad grins. "Don't worry about it. I like '80s music."
"You do?"
Out the corner of his eye, Nate can see Brad raise an eyebrow. "Do you have a problem with my musical preferences, Nate?"
The car lurches forward, catching Nate off-guard as he turns to look at Brad. "You know my name?"
"We do go to school together, or did you miss that part?"
"No," Nate mutters. "Couldn't miss you. That."
Brad chuckles low in his throat. "Maybe I should introduce myself, Brad Colbert."
Nate has a bad feeling. Or maybe that's just dysentery. "I know," he says.
"I know you do." Brad stretches his legs out in the foot well. The hem of his faded gray shirt rides up exposing a dangerous sliver of skin. "And I, well, I know all about you, Nathaniel Christopher Fick."
Nate's chest tightens to the point where he thinks he might blackout. Brad carries on blithely. "I know what position you played on your football team back in Baltimore. What your GPA is. That your favorite color is blue and your favorite movie is The Godfather. I know that you didn't read Of Mice and Men for English last month even though you managed to bluff your way through the test."
Nate hits the brakes and the car comes to a stop. Finally, man and machine are on the same page. "Are you stalking me?" he asks incredulously.
Brad's laugh is amazing. Warm and soothing and sexy all at the same time. "I'm just doing my homework," he says. "If you actually talked to me at school instead of staring at me all the time we wouldn't have this problem."
"I didn't - you didn't - it's not like that," Nate protests.
"It's not?" Brad asks. His tone is almost disappointed. "That's too bad."
"It - it is?" Nate says.
Brad just looks at Nate expectantly. Oh. Oh.
The radio crackles again. There's static and then Nate's balls try to crawl back into his body at the schmaltziness of the song Bumblebee has so thoughtfully chosen.
I used to think maybe you loved me, now baby I'm sure… and I just can't wait till the day when you knock on my door…
"Knock it off," Nate says, snapping the radio dial to silent. Not that it does any good.
Katrina and the Waves just keep on walking on sunshine.
Brad's shakes his head. "You and your car have an interesting relationship."
Nate rubs his face. Brad has no idea. "If I'm taking you home I should probably ask you where you live," he suggests.
"You should if you plan on taking me out tomorrow night," Brad agrees.
Nate's flustered. That's the only reason he has to double check what Brad's said. "I'm taking you out tomorrow night?"
"I accept your offer," Brad says magnanimously.
About a year ago, Nate Fick helped saved the world.
He doesn't talk about it much, because it's kind of stressful for all parties concerned. In a nutshell, though, the beat-up Camaro that Nate's dad bought for him right after they moved across the country and Nate turned sixteen turned out to be an alien from the planet Cybertron. It's not a planet anymore, but it used to be. And on that planet there were good guys (Autobots) and bad guys (Decepticons). Eventually the planet kind of got blown up (like they do) and the Autobots and Decepticons followed each other to Earth (like you do). And there was a bit about taking over the world (like there always is) and about Nate's car being one of the good guys and Nate helping to defeat the forces of evil. Which wasn't the U.S. government (for a change).
Yeah.
His parents are still in therapy, too.
Nate was late for dinner because he was taking a stranded classmate home. That's his story and he's sticking to it. If that classmate also happens to be the object of infatuation and lust and many many calluses on his palm, well, then that's just how these things happen. That's no excuse for his car to play matchmaker.
"You can't just randomly stop for anybody just because you want to," Nate berates Bumblebee after dinner. Nate's leaning out his bedroom window on the second floor and he's pretty much eye-to-eye with his now-transformed car.
Bumblebee whirs, his blue eyes radiant with happiness. If Transformers can be happy. "The lady doth protest too much, methinks," Glenn Close's voice announces in her best Shakespearean accent as Bumblebee clutches his hands together dramatically.
"That's not funny," Nate says, trying not to laugh.
A cacophony of voices chanting "Brad! Brad! Brad!" thunders through Bumblebee's circuits.
"That's not what I sound like!"
Bumblebee snorts very well for a car. He loops the audio again. "Brad! Brad! Brad!"
"Not so loud!" Nate hisses. "Mom and Dad are watching a movie; they're not dead to the world. And where's that from?"
"This is Mary Hart reporting for Entertainment Tonight from the premiere of Ocean's Eleven, the new movie starring George Clooney and Brad Pitt," Bumblebee provides.
Nate rubs his face. "Okay, look, B. I know you're excited. I'm - okay, I'm excited, too, but you have to behave. Seriously. This date tomorrow-"
Nate's cut off by stadium-sized cheering. In stereo. He gives Bumblebee a look. The cheering stops.
"I want - B, all I'm saying is no funny business. And no more cheesy love songs."
If an alien car could pout, Bumblebee would be pouting, instead he makes a half-hearted whirring noise, blue eyes dimming slightly.
Nate is not going to be distracted. He has to be firm. "I want your word," he insists.
"Tell me what's the word, Word up!" Larry Blackmon from Cameo sings.
Nate shakes his head. "Okay, close enough," he agrees, patting his car on the head.
Bumblebee's eyes brighten and he makes a bleeping noise.
Nate's about to say something else when there's a knock on his door. "Nate, what have I said about locking doors in my house," his father's voice calls.
"Shit, it's my dad," Nate says, waving his car off.
It's not that Bumblebee is a secret from his dad, but seeing Nate's car in non-car form tends to give his father chest pains, so for all parties concerned they try to keep things simple.
He shuts the window and dashes across the room to open the door. The floor shakes a little, which is presumably from the tremors of Bumblebee changing back into a 2009 Camaro.
He opens the door and his dad's clutching at the doorframe. "Damn California earthquakes," Kevin Fick complains. "I knew we should've stayed in Maryland. We could've gotten you a nice car there," he carries on, warming up to the idea. "I bet they don't even have alien cars in Baltimore."
Nate's had this conversation too many times to even bother to respond.
The next day, Nate changes his clothes for school three times before he finally manages to leave the house, and by then he's late.
"I know I'm running late," he concedes as Bumblebee takes a corner on two wheels, "but if I die I don't think that's going to make it better."
"I'm late, I'm late for a very important date, no time to say hello, I'm late I'm late I'm late," the White Rabbit from Alice in Wonderland mocks.
"Oh, you think you're funny, don’t you?" Nate retorts as the car slows down on the approach to the high school.
"I dunno if I'm funny, but I know I'm funny lookin'," Chris Rock's voice replies.
Nate can't help chuckling as Bumblebee pulls into what's apparently the only vacant space available in the school parking lot. Of course it's also the space the farthest from the front door.
Inside the school, kids are dashing here and there. According to the clock on the wall, Nate has three minutes to make it to homeroom, which is totally possible if he grows wings in the next thirteen seconds.
Instead he tries to run for it but he finds himself slowing to a halt when he rounds the corner for the science hall and sees Brad standing outside their Physics classroom talking to a girl. And not just any girl -- but Brad's ex, Jenny Parker.
Nate would know that black hair with pink streaks anywhere.
Nate is not jealous. Nate is not jealous. Okay, maybe Nate is a little bit jealous.
The fact that Soft Cell's "Tainted Love" starts playing in his head disturbs Nate on all kinds of levels.
He's spending way too much time with his car.
The sinking feeling in Nate's gut lasts just as long as it takes for Brad to lift his head and give Nate the most brilliant smile he's ever seen. Nate's pretty sure he would cross the desert barefoot, living on dried pound cake and peanut butter, just to get another smile like this one.
Even Jenny turns to see what Brad is smiling at. Nate can feel his hands going damp as he gets closer to the theoretical promised land. The promised land is not supposed to include ex-girlfriends. The only thing that could make this more awkward would be a talking car.
Oh, wait; he already has one of those.
"So glad you could join us, Mr. Fick," Brad teases.
"Oh, I wouldn't miss one of your rare appearances for anything, Mr. Colbert," someone who sounds just like Nate tosses back.
Jenny Parker looks from Brad to Nate and then back. "So you finally found somebody as sarcastic as you," she says, amusement writ clear.
Brad's impassive face doesn't really help matters when Nate looks at him quizzically, and Nate's even more startled when Jenny pats him on the forearm. "Good luck with that," she says before turning around and walking off.
Nate stares after her and then back at Brad. "What was that all about?"
"Anytime you two care to grace us with your presence," Mr. Patterson interrupts dryly.
Nate turns toward the voice of his Physics teacher to find half his class avidly staring at him and Brad in the hallway. Huh.
"Sorry," Nate apologizes as he precedes Brad inside, but he stops dead in his tracks when Brad whacks him on the back just below his left shoulder blade. Nate darts a glance at their otherwise-occupied teacher before turning sharply and whacking Brad in retaliation.
There's a flash of heat in Brad's eyes. Brad's resulting grin should not seem like some sort of sexual invitation -- but it does.
Nate thought you stopped hitting people to get their attention in kindergarten.
When Nate slides into his seat he can feel multiple sets of eyes on him. Mike Wynn even leans across the aisle to whisper to him. "What the hell is that all about?"
"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," Nate replies.
"Do I need to be worried that you've pissed off the Iceman and are about to go the way of the dinosaur and Jimmy Hoffa?"
Nate glances across the aisle at Brad, who lifts his head and smirks at Nate as though he just knows they're talking about him.
Egotistical ass.
Correction: egotistical perceptive ass.
Nate really doesn't need to be thinking about Brad's ass.
"No," Nate reassures Mike. "I don't think that's what you need to worry about."
Nate races home after school. Okay, Bumblebee races Nate home after school so Nate can do his homework and shower and change. And change again. And change again.
When Nate finally comes down from his bedroom in a dark green polo and dark jeans, his mother is just finishing preparing dinner. "Who are you and what have you done with my son?" she quips, motioning for Nate to set the table.
Nate picks up the silverware and begins to lay the settings.
"Just two tonight," his mother corrects. "Your father is working late."
Nate breathes a long sigh of relief. This would be much worse if his dad were here. His dad's kind of obsessive about Nate's social life since that whole averting the apocalypse thing last year. Or more importantly, his lack of social life.
It's not that Nate doesn't go out; it's just that he doesn't go out a lot. Unless it's with Bumblebee. His father has started carrying around a jar of Rolaids.
Nate finishes laying out the plates and then he looks at his mom's back. "I, um, I'm going to hang out tonight. With a friend. If that's okay with you?"
His mother's turns sharply, green eyes wide. "With a friend? A human friend? Oh, sweetie. That's great. That's just - does he have a name? Or is it a she. Is she cute? Or is he hot? I'm sure he, she, is cute. And hot."
It's been like this ever since Nate told his parents that he liked boys. And girls. There was a brief 24 hour period where his father just looked confused a lot, but he got over that pretty quickly. Probably in part because Nate liking girls and boys meant that eventually he might stop spending all his free time with his car.
"His name is Brad," Nate supplies. "And yeah, Mom, he's hot."
His mom beams. "Oh, your father is going to be so happy."
Nate smirks; it really is all about perspective.
Nate raps along with Run DMC on the way to Brad's house, focusing on Rev Run and Sucker MCs and not on the way his heart keeps racing in his chest. His hands are slippery on the steering wheel, so it’s a good thing that Bumblebee is doing the driving.
It occurs to Nate when he's about a block from Brad's house that going to Brad's house means he's possibly, probably, going to have to meet Brad's parents.
As if the idea of going out with Brad Colbert didn't practically induce a panic attack all on its own.
"Stop the car," he commands, and right in the middle of traffic, Bumblebee stops.
"I didn't mean in the middle of the street!" Nate corrects frantically as car horns blare and very large SUVs careen around him. "I meant - I meant - B, I can't go out with Brad. What if I fuck it up?"
"Do or do not, there is no try," a wizened voice intones as Bumblebee pulls over to the side of the road.
Nate bangs his head on the steering wheel. "Thanks, Yoda."
"Use the force, Luke."
"Okay, I get it. I'm being an idiot. You want me to stop bitching and defeat the Dark Side. Or something. Fine. Let's get this over with."
The engine backfires explosively.
"I didn't mean get it over with like that," Nate protests. "I meant -"
"You're talking to your car again," a wry voice observes.
Nate shakes his head at the Autobots logo on the steering column before turning to look at the passenger window.
For the second time in two days, Brad Colbert is leaning into Nate's car with a smirk on his face. This time, however, Brad's wearing a white undershirt and displaying very exposed shoulders.
Nate's cock twitches. Wow.
"I, uh, thought I was going to pick you up at your house."
"I thought you were, too," Brad says, climbing into the car just like yesterday. "But I saw your car sitting in the middle of the road and thought you might be having doubts. You're not having doubts, are you, Nate?"
Brad's tone is teasing, but there's something slightly off. As though he thinks Nate might actually be having doubts. Which he is, just not about Brad.
Nate looks over at Brad and then out the front window. Brad's house is at least five houses down the street. In order to see Nate idling around Brad would have to have been waiting on the curb for Nate to arrive.
That's… unexpected.
"Where were you that you saw me sitting down the block from your house?" Nate asks suddenly.
"It, uh, it doesn't matter."
Nate's never heard Brad trip over his words before. He looks at Brad a little more closely. Brad's hair is damp and Nate can practically smell the toothpaste and shaving cream from here.
Oh.
It takes Nate a minute to realize that Bumblebee is providing mood music.
I've got to get close, but I don’t know how…she makes me nervous, she makes me scared…I feel so good if I just say the word su-su-sussudio
Phil Collins.
Nate is never going to get laid at this rate.
At least this is what he assumes until Brad turns and gives him a smile that he's never seen before. It's not the brilliant smile from homeroom or the "I'm superior" smile that Nate sees so much around school. This smile is almost shy. This smile is making Nate think of all sorts of things he doesn't normally think about in the light of day.
"So, what are we doing on this date?" Brad asks bluntly.
Nate blinks at him. "How should I know -- you're the one who said we were going out."
"You didn't even plan anything? I think I'm hurt," Brad mocks.
"Well, am I getting a goodnight kiss?" Nate asks. "I mean, I need to plan ahead. I'm not going to spend a bunch of money on you if you're not putting out."
Brad's jaw drops just a fraction and Nate can feel Bumblebee purring underneath them. "Oh, you think you're cute, don't you, Fick?" Brad says, poking Nate lightly in the bicep.
Nate grins. "Well, you seem to like me."
"Yeah," Brad concedes. "Then again, I'm adopted. I might've been dropped on my head at birth, you never know."
Nate puts on his indicator to pull out into traffic before glancing back at Brad. "It would explain a lot," he says sagely.
Brad just laughs.
Despite what Nate said, he does actually have several options for their date.
They end up going to the batting cage for a few hours and hitting balls. After that they go to Luigi's for pizza and mozzarella sticks. They drink a pitcher of Coke between them, belching companionably at random intervals.
After pizza, Brad directs Nate to his favorite computer store, where he introduces Nate to the owner, Sal, and shows Nate the super computer he's saving up to get by working there on the weekends.
Sal promises Nate a 20 percent discount on anything he buys in the future because he's "a friend of Brad's and Brad needs more of those."
Brad flips Sal the bird good-naturedly, and Sal just laughs at him.
Nate likes this side of Brad, the one that laughs and smiles and every now and then glances at Nate from underneath his eyelashes like he's just making sure that Nate's still paying attention.
Not in a million years would Nate have thought that the great Brad Colbert, recruited by both M.I.T. (for his brain) and UCLA (for his considerable track and field accomplishments), could ever look uncertain about anything.
It just goes to show: even the most confident people have chinks in their armor.
It's almost 11 p.m. by the time they leave Computer Hut. They have school tomorrow; he needs to take Brad home.
Bumblebee is one of the last cars in the parking lot, apart from an old green van and a silver sports car, and Nate automatically walks around the car and opens Brad's door first.
It takes Nate a minute to realize what he's done, and he can feel the heat flooding his face rapidly. He stands there anyway, holding Brad's door open for him with Brad on the other side of the door studying him intently.
Nate looks at the silver Audi just over Brad's shoulder, waiting. He's white-knuckling the door handle when Brad exhales this soft, "Wow."
"Huh?" Nate says rather brilliantly.
Brad just shakes his head, leaning closer. "Where'd you come from, Nate Fick?"
Nate blinks. "Baltimore?"
Brad laughs low in the back of his throat and leans in more, his mouth just brushing against Nate's. Nate makes a noise when Brad kisses him. It's not a hard kiss, it's not awkward either, it's just - it's just right.
Behind his eyelids, Nate sees stars. And then he hears a familiar noise.
It's the sound of a Transformer mobilizing.
Nate's eyes snap open to see that the silver Audi behind Brad isn't actually an Audi at all.
It's a Decepticon.
"Bumblebee!" Nate hollers, grabbing Brad's hand and running for cover as Bumblebee swarms into action and the shots start echoing around them.
War is war no matter who or what is fighting. It is the one constant through time and across galaxies. If there are entities with the mental faculties for opposition there will be strife. There will be weapons. There will be death. The strong will prey upon the weak. There will be a loss of innocent life. There will be righteous deaths. The strong of body do not always defeat the strong of mind. There are opportunists and heroes and villains and warriors. There is life and there is death.
This is war.
And Nate, well, Nate is a warrior now, whether he wants to be or not. He's learned how to protect what's his and Brad is his. When the explosions start and there are sparks and flares and large weapons being fired, Nate's only thought is that Brad needs to be kept safe.
It's kind of hard to be actively involved in a battle between two alien bodies that are the size of a two-story house. At least it's hard to be involved unless you want to be smushed like a gnat.
Nate's learned that the best thing he can do at times like these is hide behind the largest non-sentient object available and try to avoid as many projectile car parts as possible.
And so this is what he does with Brad.
The amount of shrapnel, burning tires, and errant airborne lethal windshield wipers that can be produced during these moments should never be underestimated.
Nate's learned to hide next to a car and not underneath it in case someone falls on top. Nate also knows that the sound of a Transformer having an arm pulled off sounds a lot like a ten-car pile up on the interstate with the twisted, shrieking slide of metal on metal.
And a glance from just behind the rear bumper of the green Econo van reminds Nate vividly that even when Bumblebee is down on the ground, parts grinding and clanging, he's never out of the fight.
So even in the split second when the Decepticon turns its sights on the place where Nate's hiding with Brad, Nate's not afraid. Okay, he's not completely afraid, but he is mildly panicked.
And then there's the sound of a very large canon powering up. Nate twitches when Brad crowds behind him, his chin on Nate's shoulder and his mouth by Nate's ear, because of course he just has to know what's going on. Nate instinctively reaches back and grabs Brad's hip, holding him still and close so he doesn't get hurt.
And then there are sparks and explosions, and once again, it's raining shrapnel and lethal windshield wipers.
Nate's gotten very used to this part.
And after… well, after is always a mess. Half the strip mall is in smoldering ruins, but thankfully not the Computer Hut. Of the six light poles in the parking lot, only one is still standing. There's a crater in the asphalt the size of a Humvee. Thankfully, the Econo van provided cover for Brad and Nate while Bumblebee did what he had to do. And Nate -- Nate had to watch to make sure B was all right as much as he had to watch to make sure that he would have time to move Brad somewhere else if he needed to.
Now that it's over, Brad's sitting against the side of the van looking kind of shocked. "What the hell was that?" he demands.
Nate watches Bumblebee pull apart the Decepticon piece by piece. If you leave a Transformer intact he quite possibly might be put back together; they don't take chances like that anymore. Optimus Prime taught them that.
"That was the grand finale for our date," Nate offers flippantly. "I wanted to impress you."
Brad glares at him.
"You mean you weren't impressed?" Nate's trying to lighten the mood. "God, the gossip is right: the fact that you're a hardass has nothing to do with your ass at all."
There's not even a hint of a smile as Brad gets to his feet. "Your car just - just --"
"Saved your life," Nate finishes.
Brad blinks rapidly. He's trying to process; Nate can see it in his face. And he's totally failing. That happened to Nate the first time Bumblebee transformed in front of him, too.
Nate shakes his head. "B!" he calls. "B, c'mere for a minute."
The ground shakes as Bumblebee trots over like an overeager, very oversized puppy. He whizzes and bleeps at Nate and Nate looks at him intently. "Are you okay?"
More bleeps and bloops.
"Is he okay?" Brad asks incredulously. "What is he? Is it a he or an it - Nate, what the fuck is going on?"
A cacophony of noise radiates from Bumblebee as he waves his hands in the air. "I am he as you are he as you are me and we are all together …. Number one runner, number one stunna….I'm the greatest, float like a butterfly sting like a bee… I am the Matrix… Yippee Ki-yay motherfucker!"
Nate has to laugh: the Muhammad Ali, Beatles, Big Tymers, Die Hard and Matrix reference mash-up really is perfect for his 1979 transformed to 2009 Camaro.
Brad's face is all disbelief, but Nate takes heart from the fact that he doesn't actually move away when Bumblebee finishes his song and dance. Nate takes a step forward and pats somewhere around Bumblebee's shin. "This is Bumblebee. He's - he's an alien."
Brad snorts. "You think?"
Bumblebee rumbles and then Brad Pitt's voice projects out of his speakers. "The first rule of Fight Club is you don't talk about Fight Club."
"Thank you, Tyler Durden," Nate sighs. "But you can't put the horse back in the barn, and Brad's not - you're not going to tell anybody what you saw here are you?"
Brad shakes his head. "How can I tell anybody if I don't even know what I saw?"
Bumblebee bleeps and bloops and there's a whoosh of air as he transforms back into Nate's yellow Camaro. "You're right," Nate agrees. "We should probably get out of here."
"You understood that?" Brad's incredulousness is pitch perfect.
Nate shrugs as he walks around to the driver's side of the car. "You get used to it after a while," he explains over the roof.
"I thought you were just weird," Brad says. "But you actually were talking to your car. Jesus, Fick. You're not boring at all, are you?"
"No." Nate opens the door and climbs into the driver's seat.
He looks over at Brad still standing on the asphalt. He can't see much above Brad's stomach, but Brad seems to take a deep breath before he leans down to Nate's eyelevel. "Just because we almost got killed is no reason for you not to open the door for me," he berates Nate good-naturedly.
The door swings open and Brad's mouth quirks at the left corner. "At least somebody's got manners," he says, climbing in. A moment later Bumblebee closes his door and they're off.
Bumblebee drives them through quiet residential side streets until they reach a park not too far from the high school.
Nate gets out of the car, gesturing for Brad to follow him. "C'mon," he says, patting the hood before climbing up.
Brad looks at him askance. "I'm not sitting on an alien."
"Technically, you were just sitting in an alien," Nate reminds him. "And grammatically that sounds much worse."
Brad gives both Nate and Bumblebee a wary look, but he climbs up beside Nate anyway.
"So," he says. "What the hell is your story, Nate Fick? Because this sure as hell isn't in any Google search."
"Four score and seven years ago…" resonates from Bumblebee's speakers.
Nate shushes him. "Do you want to tell this story?" Nate asks.
"Tell us a story, please, huh, please?" children's voices resound from inside the car.
Brad shakes his head. "That's just creepy."
Nate repeats his earlier sentiment. "You get used to it."
"I'll be the judge of that."
Nate sucks on his lower lip. If Brad wants to judge for himself that's a good thing, but Nate has to be sure. "Do you want me to take you home? Do you want to forget that this ever happened?"
Brad shakes his head. "I don't -- I thought the big thing tonight would be getting in your pants," he says, scooting back to rest against the windshield. "I clearly wasn't thinking big enough."
Nate glances over his shoulder at Brad and then crawls over to him. He braces a hand on the windshield by Brad's ear before leaning down and kissing squarely him on the mouth.
It's as good as the kiss in the parking lot. Better actually. The tip of Brad's tongue slides between Nate's lips and Nate sucks on it. Chases it back into Brad's mouth where he tastes leftover tomato sauce and mozzarella.
The first time Nate tries to move away, Brad's hand curls around the nape of his neck and holds him still. Fingers stroke Nate's skin, and then there's a nip at Nate's bottom lip that gets soothed away by Brad's tongue. And Brad's mouth.
Brad's a very good kisser.
When Brad finally deigns to let him go, Nate pulls away and opens his eyes. His lips are tingling and he can taste Brad on his tongue. He's greeted by an excessively pleased look on Brad's face and a slick, puffy mouth just within reach.
"I wouldn't want you to be disappointed," Nate says while moving back, shifting to sprawl out next to Brad, shoulder-to-shoulder and thigh-to-thigh. "But I think we've had plenty of action already."
"Yeah, you may be right there."
Nate does his best to ignore the strains of REO Speedwagon's "I Can't Fight this Feeling Anymore" wafting from Bumblebee's speakers. Instead he rests his head on Brad's shoulder and curls his fingers around Brad's when Brad takes his hand.
Brad's fingers are a little bit longer that Nate's, a little bit wider, but his hands are dry and warm. They feel good. Safe.
And then Nate takes a deep inhale and begins to tell Brad a story. "So, a long time ago, there was this planet called Cybertron…"
-end-
For alethialia. Happy Holidays, sweetie. You make GK fandom a joy and a pleasure. I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it.
Inspired by this art by trolleys, which was inspired by dark_reaction.
Primary beta by the most excellent maurheti who is badass, and very astute and perceptive and can count on my repeat business. Additional skills provided by the fantabulous romanticalgirl and sparky77, who are kind enough to make sure I don't go outside with my skirt tucked in my underwear. Except for when that's what I'm going for anyway.
L has her story. Q has her story. This is the story that A requested based on this art by trolleys. I'm just the conduit, that's all I'm saying. *covers eyes*
Generation Kill/Transformers
Alternate Universe (and how)
Nate Fick/Brad Colbert
PG-13
Bumblebee Ex Machina
I'm the opposite of moderate, immaculately polished with the spirit of a hustler and the swagger of a college kid …
Nate bangs on the steering wheel as he raps along with T.I. and hits the falsetto notes of Rhianna's vocals. Bumblebee hoots back, and the back wheels of the Camaro skid just that little bit on the paved road sprawled out beneath them.
Nate shakes his head. "How about you save the fancy dance moves for when we're not about to be late for dinner?" he suggests to the dashboard.
The sun is hanging low in the sky, bleeding pinks and golds that run into twilight. Dinner is at 7 p.m. Not 7:01. Not 7:30.
The music is momentarily overlaid by audio from the original Star Trek. "Roger that, Captain."
Nate's laugh rapidly slides into a coughing fit. Walking along the side of the road is an unmistakable lanky figure. Despite the fact that the figure is facing away from him, Nate would know those shoulders anywhere. That back. That ass.
"Shit, it's him," he hisses to the odometer. "B, it's him."
"Him" being Brad Colbert: the resident juvenile delinquent cum braniac cum hottest guy ever at Nate's high school.
The sad thing is that if Brad were just nice to look at Nate probably wouldn’t be so interested in him. But he's not just gorgeous, he's smart. And tall. And blond. And a surfer. Nate hates subscribing to so many clichés, but now that he lives in Southern California, it's inevitable.
The fact of the matter is that although Nate and Brad are in a lot of the same A.P. classes, they've never spoken. Then again, Brad only seems to come to class every other week.
Nate's pretty sure that Brad doesn't even know he's alive, which is probably a good thing since Nate's been crushing on Brad since Nate's family moved to Oceanside last year.
Nate's feet aren't on the pedals. Hell, he's not even driving, but the minute he feels Bumblebee slowing down he steps on the gas. "Don't even think about it," Nate warns.
He floors the accelerator… and the car comes to a dead halt right alongside Brad.
Shit shit shit.
"I hate you so much right now," Nate says bitterly to the yellow bumblebee air freshener hanging from the rear view mirror.
The car is silent; Rhianna no longer telling him to live his life.
"So you pulled over to insult me. Interesting."
Nate's eyes widen even as his head snaps towards the passenger side window. Leaning in the window is Mr. Hotass himself. Nate swallows at the inquisitive eyes and pink lips, at the silver necklace dangling from Brad's neck.
"Um, no. No, I was, uh, talking to my car."
"You were talking to your car." Brad's tone says it all. "Maybe I shouldn't get in a car with someone who's clearly mentally unstable," he says, opening the door and sliding into the passenger seat. "But I like to live dangerously."
Brad pulls the door closed behind him, trapping Nate in the car with him.
This is all Bumblebee's fault. Fucking sentient alien cars.
"You don't even know me," Nate protests.
"But you were going to offer me a ride anyway, am I right?"
"Um…"
"Yes - the word you're looking for is 'yes.'" Brad's smirk makes the backs of Nate's knees sweat.
"Yes," Nate nods as the car starts moving along.
Brad looks at him expectantly and Nate can feel the flush spreading across his face. "Are you going to drive this car or is it just going to drive itself?" Brad asks curiously; it takes Nate a minute to realize what he's suggesting.
Nate immediately faces forward and puts his hands on the steering wheel. He hasn't driven a car in months. Hell, he hasn't driven Bumblebee since the week he picked him out of the used car lot. Not since he found out his car was a sentient alien that fucking transforms into, well, a sentient alien. Did he mention that part?
Yeah, that's kind of important.
"This car drives itself," Nate offers with a nervous smile.
"That would be kind of cool if it did," Brad agrees.
The radio station in the Camaro crackles back and forth.
I am a man who will fight for your honor… I'll be the hero you've been dreaming of…We'll live together, knowing forever that we did all for the glory of love…
Nate whacks the radio with the heel of his hand. "Sorry about the music," he babbles. "My car's a little temperamental in its old age."
The engine growls; Bumblebee is taking offense.
That's what he gets. Fucking nosy alien robot.
Brad grins. "Don't worry about it. I like '80s music."
"You do?"
Out the corner of his eye, Nate can see Brad raise an eyebrow. "Do you have a problem with my musical preferences, Nate?"
The car lurches forward, catching Nate off-guard as he turns to look at Brad. "You know my name?"
"We do go to school together, or did you miss that part?"
"No," Nate mutters. "Couldn't miss you. That."
Brad chuckles low in his throat. "Maybe I should introduce myself, Brad Colbert."
Nate has a bad feeling. Or maybe that's just dysentery. "I know," he says.
"I know you do." Brad stretches his legs out in the foot well. The hem of his faded gray shirt rides up exposing a dangerous sliver of skin. "And I, well, I know all about you, Nathaniel Christopher Fick."
Nate's chest tightens to the point where he thinks he might blackout. Brad carries on blithely. "I know what position you played on your football team back in Baltimore. What your GPA is. That your favorite color is blue and your favorite movie is The Godfather. I know that you didn't read Of Mice and Men for English last month even though you managed to bluff your way through the test."
Nate hits the brakes and the car comes to a stop. Finally, man and machine are on the same page. "Are you stalking me?" he asks incredulously.
Brad's laugh is amazing. Warm and soothing and sexy all at the same time. "I'm just doing my homework," he says. "If you actually talked to me at school instead of staring at me all the time we wouldn't have this problem."
"I didn't - you didn't - it's not like that," Nate protests.
"It's not?" Brad asks. His tone is almost disappointed. "That's too bad."
"It - it is?" Nate says.
Brad just looks at Nate expectantly. Oh. Oh.
The radio crackles again. There's static and then Nate's balls try to crawl back into his body at the schmaltziness of the song Bumblebee has so thoughtfully chosen.
I used to think maybe you loved me, now baby I'm sure… and I just can't wait till the day when you knock on my door…
"Knock it off," Nate says, snapping the radio dial to silent. Not that it does any good.
Katrina and the Waves just keep on walking on sunshine.
Brad's shakes his head. "You and your car have an interesting relationship."
Nate rubs his face. Brad has no idea. "If I'm taking you home I should probably ask you where you live," he suggests.
"You should if you plan on taking me out tomorrow night," Brad agrees.
Nate's flustered. That's the only reason he has to double check what Brad's said. "I'm taking you out tomorrow night?"
"I accept your offer," Brad says magnanimously.
About a year ago, Nate Fick helped saved the world.
He doesn't talk about it much, because it's kind of stressful for all parties concerned. In a nutshell, though, the beat-up Camaro that Nate's dad bought for him right after they moved across the country and Nate turned sixteen turned out to be an alien from the planet Cybertron. It's not a planet anymore, but it used to be. And on that planet there were good guys (Autobots) and bad guys (Decepticons). Eventually the planet kind of got blown up (like they do) and the Autobots and Decepticons followed each other to Earth (like you do). And there was a bit about taking over the world (like there always is) and about Nate's car being one of the good guys and Nate helping to defeat the forces of evil. Which wasn't the U.S. government (for a change).
Yeah.
His parents are still in therapy, too.
Nate was late for dinner because he was taking a stranded classmate home. That's his story and he's sticking to it. If that classmate also happens to be the object of infatuation and lust and many many calluses on his palm, well, then that's just how these things happen. That's no excuse for his car to play matchmaker.
"You can't just randomly stop for anybody just because you want to," Nate berates Bumblebee after dinner. Nate's leaning out his bedroom window on the second floor and he's pretty much eye-to-eye with his now-transformed car.
Bumblebee whirs, his blue eyes radiant with happiness. If Transformers can be happy. "The lady doth protest too much, methinks," Glenn Close's voice announces in her best Shakespearean accent as Bumblebee clutches his hands together dramatically.
"That's not funny," Nate says, trying not to laugh.
A cacophony of voices chanting "Brad! Brad! Brad!" thunders through Bumblebee's circuits.
"That's not what I sound like!"
Bumblebee snorts very well for a car. He loops the audio again. "Brad! Brad! Brad!"
"Not so loud!" Nate hisses. "Mom and Dad are watching a movie; they're not dead to the world. And where's that from?"
"This is Mary Hart reporting for Entertainment Tonight from the premiere of Ocean's Eleven, the new movie starring George Clooney and Brad Pitt," Bumblebee provides.
Nate rubs his face. "Okay, look, B. I know you're excited. I'm - okay, I'm excited, too, but you have to behave. Seriously. This date tomorrow-"
Nate's cut off by stadium-sized cheering. In stereo. He gives Bumblebee a look. The cheering stops.
"I want - B, all I'm saying is no funny business. And no more cheesy love songs."
If an alien car could pout, Bumblebee would be pouting, instead he makes a half-hearted whirring noise, blue eyes dimming slightly.
Nate is not going to be distracted. He has to be firm. "I want your word," he insists.
"Tell me what's the word, Word up!" Larry Blackmon from Cameo sings.
Nate shakes his head. "Okay, close enough," he agrees, patting his car on the head.
Bumblebee's eyes brighten and he makes a bleeping noise.
Nate's about to say something else when there's a knock on his door. "Nate, what have I said about locking doors in my house," his father's voice calls.
"Shit, it's my dad," Nate says, waving his car off.
It's not that Bumblebee is a secret from his dad, but seeing Nate's car in non-car form tends to give his father chest pains, so for all parties concerned they try to keep things simple.
He shuts the window and dashes across the room to open the door. The floor shakes a little, which is presumably from the tremors of Bumblebee changing back into a 2009 Camaro.
He opens the door and his dad's clutching at the doorframe. "Damn California earthquakes," Kevin Fick complains. "I knew we should've stayed in Maryland. We could've gotten you a nice car there," he carries on, warming up to the idea. "I bet they don't even have alien cars in Baltimore."
Nate's had this conversation too many times to even bother to respond.
The next day, Nate changes his clothes for school three times before he finally manages to leave the house, and by then he's late.
"I know I'm running late," he concedes as Bumblebee takes a corner on two wheels, "but if I die I don't think that's going to make it better."
"I'm late, I'm late for a very important date, no time to say hello, I'm late I'm late I'm late," the White Rabbit from Alice in Wonderland mocks.
"Oh, you think you're funny, don’t you?" Nate retorts as the car slows down on the approach to the high school.
"I dunno if I'm funny, but I know I'm funny lookin'," Chris Rock's voice replies.
Nate can't help chuckling as Bumblebee pulls into what's apparently the only vacant space available in the school parking lot. Of course it's also the space the farthest from the front door.
Inside the school, kids are dashing here and there. According to the clock on the wall, Nate has three minutes to make it to homeroom, which is totally possible if he grows wings in the next thirteen seconds.
Instead he tries to run for it but he finds himself slowing to a halt when he rounds the corner for the science hall and sees Brad standing outside their Physics classroom talking to a girl. And not just any girl -- but Brad's ex, Jenny Parker.
Nate would know that black hair with pink streaks anywhere.
Nate is not jealous. Nate is not jealous. Okay, maybe Nate is a little bit jealous.
The fact that Soft Cell's "Tainted Love" starts playing in his head disturbs Nate on all kinds of levels.
He's spending way too much time with his car.
The sinking feeling in Nate's gut lasts just as long as it takes for Brad to lift his head and give Nate the most brilliant smile he's ever seen. Nate's pretty sure he would cross the desert barefoot, living on dried pound cake and peanut butter, just to get another smile like this one.
Even Jenny turns to see what Brad is smiling at. Nate can feel his hands going damp as he gets closer to the theoretical promised land. The promised land is not supposed to include ex-girlfriends. The only thing that could make this more awkward would be a talking car.
Oh, wait; he already has one of those.
"So glad you could join us, Mr. Fick," Brad teases.
"Oh, I wouldn't miss one of your rare appearances for anything, Mr. Colbert," someone who sounds just like Nate tosses back.
Jenny Parker looks from Brad to Nate and then back. "So you finally found somebody as sarcastic as you," she says, amusement writ clear.
Brad's impassive face doesn't really help matters when Nate looks at him quizzically, and Nate's even more startled when Jenny pats him on the forearm. "Good luck with that," she says before turning around and walking off.
Nate stares after her and then back at Brad. "What was that all about?"
"Anytime you two care to grace us with your presence," Mr. Patterson interrupts dryly.
Nate turns toward the voice of his Physics teacher to find half his class avidly staring at him and Brad in the hallway. Huh.
"Sorry," Nate apologizes as he precedes Brad inside, but he stops dead in his tracks when Brad whacks him on the back just below his left shoulder blade. Nate darts a glance at their otherwise-occupied teacher before turning sharply and whacking Brad in retaliation.
There's a flash of heat in Brad's eyes. Brad's resulting grin should not seem like some sort of sexual invitation -- but it does.
Nate thought you stopped hitting people to get their attention in kindergarten.
When Nate slides into his seat he can feel multiple sets of eyes on him. Mike Wynn even leans across the aisle to whisper to him. "What the hell is that all about?"
"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," Nate replies.
"Do I need to be worried that you've pissed off the Iceman and are about to go the way of the dinosaur and Jimmy Hoffa?"
Nate glances across the aisle at Brad, who lifts his head and smirks at Nate as though he just knows they're talking about him.
Egotistical ass.
Correction: egotistical perceptive ass.
Nate really doesn't need to be thinking about Brad's ass.
"No," Nate reassures Mike. "I don't think that's what you need to worry about."
Nate races home after school. Okay, Bumblebee races Nate home after school so Nate can do his homework and shower and change. And change again. And change again.
When Nate finally comes down from his bedroom in a dark green polo and dark jeans, his mother is just finishing preparing dinner. "Who are you and what have you done with my son?" she quips, motioning for Nate to set the table.
Nate picks up the silverware and begins to lay the settings.
"Just two tonight," his mother corrects. "Your father is working late."
Nate breathes a long sigh of relief. This would be much worse if his dad were here. His dad's kind of obsessive about Nate's social life since that whole averting the apocalypse thing last year. Or more importantly, his lack of social life.
It's not that Nate doesn't go out; it's just that he doesn't go out a lot. Unless it's with Bumblebee. His father has started carrying around a jar of Rolaids.
Nate finishes laying out the plates and then he looks at his mom's back. "I, um, I'm going to hang out tonight. With a friend. If that's okay with you?"
His mother's turns sharply, green eyes wide. "With a friend? A human friend? Oh, sweetie. That's great. That's just - does he have a name? Or is it a she. Is she cute? Or is he hot? I'm sure he, she, is cute. And hot."
It's been like this ever since Nate told his parents that he liked boys. And girls. There was a brief 24 hour period where his father just looked confused a lot, but he got over that pretty quickly. Probably in part because Nate liking girls and boys meant that eventually he might stop spending all his free time with his car.
"His name is Brad," Nate supplies. "And yeah, Mom, he's hot."
His mom beams. "Oh, your father is going to be so happy."
Nate smirks; it really is all about perspective.
Nate raps along with Run DMC on the way to Brad's house, focusing on Rev Run and Sucker MCs and not on the way his heart keeps racing in his chest. His hands are slippery on the steering wheel, so it’s a good thing that Bumblebee is doing the driving.
It occurs to Nate when he's about a block from Brad's house that going to Brad's house means he's possibly, probably, going to have to meet Brad's parents.
As if the idea of going out with Brad Colbert didn't practically induce a panic attack all on its own.
"Stop the car," he commands, and right in the middle of traffic, Bumblebee stops.
"I didn't mean in the middle of the street!" Nate corrects frantically as car horns blare and very large SUVs careen around him. "I meant - I meant - B, I can't go out with Brad. What if I fuck it up?"
"Do or do not, there is no try," a wizened voice intones as Bumblebee pulls over to the side of the road.
Nate bangs his head on the steering wheel. "Thanks, Yoda."
"Use the force, Luke."
"Okay, I get it. I'm being an idiot. You want me to stop bitching and defeat the Dark Side. Or something. Fine. Let's get this over with."
The engine backfires explosively.
"I didn't mean get it over with like that," Nate protests. "I meant -"
"You're talking to your car again," a wry voice observes.
Nate shakes his head at the Autobots logo on the steering column before turning to look at the passenger window.
For the second time in two days, Brad Colbert is leaning into Nate's car with a smirk on his face. This time, however, Brad's wearing a white undershirt and displaying very exposed shoulders.
Nate's cock twitches. Wow.
"I, uh, thought I was going to pick you up at your house."
"I thought you were, too," Brad says, climbing into the car just like yesterday. "But I saw your car sitting in the middle of the road and thought you might be having doubts. You're not having doubts, are you, Nate?"
Brad's tone is teasing, but there's something slightly off. As though he thinks Nate might actually be having doubts. Which he is, just not about Brad.
Nate looks over at Brad and then out the front window. Brad's house is at least five houses down the street. In order to see Nate idling around Brad would have to have been waiting on the curb for Nate to arrive.
That's… unexpected.
"Where were you that you saw me sitting down the block from your house?" Nate asks suddenly.
"It, uh, it doesn't matter."
Nate's never heard Brad trip over his words before. He looks at Brad a little more closely. Brad's hair is damp and Nate can practically smell the toothpaste and shaving cream from here.
Oh.
It takes Nate a minute to realize that Bumblebee is providing mood music.
I've got to get close, but I don’t know how…she makes me nervous, she makes me scared…I feel so good if I just say the word su-su-sussudio
Phil Collins.
Nate is never going to get laid at this rate.
At least this is what he assumes until Brad turns and gives him a smile that he's never seen before. It's not the brilliant smile from homeroom or the "I'm superior" smile that Nate sees so much around school. This smile is almost shy. This smile is making Nate think of all sorts of things he doesn't normally think about in the light of day.
"So, what are we doing on this date?" Brad asks bluntly.
Nate blinks at him. "How should I know -- you're the one who said we were going out."
"You didn't even plan anything? I think I'm hurt," Brad mocks.
"Well, am I getting a goodnight kiss?" Nate asks. "I mean, I need to plan ahead. I'm not going to spend a bunch of money on you if you're not putting out."
Brad's jaw drops just a fraction and Nate can feel Bumblebee purring underneath them. "Oh, you think you're cute, don't you, Fick?" Brad says, poking Nate lightly in the bicep.
Nate grins. "Well, you seem to like me."
"Yeah," Brad concedes. "Then again, I'm adopted. I might've been dropped on my head at birth, you never know."
Nate puts on his indicator to pull out into traffic before glancing back at Brad. "It would explain a lot," he says sagely.
Brad just laughs.
Despite what Nate said, he does actually have several options for their date.
They end up going to the batting cage for a few hours and hitting balls. After that they go to Luigi's for pizza and mozzarella sticks. They drink a pitcher of Coke between them, belching companionably at random intervals.
After pizza, Brad directs Nate to his favorite computer store, where he introduces Nate to the owner, Sal, and shows Nate the super computer he's saving up to get by working there on the weekends.
Sal promises Nate a 20 percent discount on anything he buys in the future because he's "a friend of Brad's and Brad needs more of those."
Brad flips Sal the bird good-naturedly, and Sal just laughs at him.
Nate likes this side of Brad, the one that laughs and smiles and every now and then glances at Nate from underneath his eyelashes like he's just making sure that Nate's still paying attention.
Not in a million years would Nate have thought that the great Brad Colbert, recruited by both M.I.T. (for his brain) and UCLA (for his considerable track and field accomplishments), could ever look uncertain about anything.
It just goes to show: even the most confident people have chinks in their armor.
It's almost 11 p.m. by the time they leave Computer Hut. They have school tomorrow; he needs to take Brad home.
Bumblebee is one of the last cars in the parking lot, apart from an old green van and a silver sports car, and Nate automatically walks around the car and opens Brad's door first.
It takes Nate a minute to realize what he's done, and he can feel the heat flooding his face rapidly. He stands there anyway, holding Brad's door open for him with Brad on the other side of the door studying him intently.
Nate looks at the silver Audi just over Brad's shoulder, waiting. He's white-knuckling the door handle when Brad exhales this soft, "Wow."
"Huh?" Nate says rather brilliantly.
Brad just shakes his head, leaning closer. "Where'd you come from, Nate Fick?"
Nate blinks. "Baltimore?"
Brad laughs low in the back of his throat and leans in more, his mouth just brushing against Nate's. Nate makes a noise when Brad kisses him. It's not a hard kiss, it's not awkward either, it's just - it's just right.
Behind his eyelids, Nate sees stars. And then he hears a familiar noise.
It's the sound of a Transformer mobilizing.
Nate's eyes snap open to see that the silver Audi behind Brad isn't actually an Audi at all.
It's a Decepticon.
"Bumblebee!" Nate hollers, grabbing Brad's hand and running for cover as Bumblebee swarms into action and the shots start echoing around them.
War is war no matter who or what is fighting. It is the one constant through time and across galaxies. If there are entities with the mental faculties for opposition there will be strife. There will be weapons. There will be death. The strong will prey upon the weak. There will be a loss of innocent life. There will be righteous deaths. The strong of body do not always defeat the strong of mind. There are opportunists and heroes and villains and warriors. There is life and there is death.
This is war.
And Nate, well, Nate is a warrior now, whether he wants to be or not. He's learned how to protect what's his and Brad is his. When the explosions start and there are sparks and flares and large weapons being fired, Nate's only thought is that Brad needs to be kept safe.
It's kind of hard to be actively involved in a battle between two alien bodies that are the size of a two-story house. At least it's hard to be involved unless you want to be smushed like a gnat.
Nate's learned that the best thing he can do at times like these is hide behind the largest non-sentient object available and try to avoid as many projectile car parts as possible.
And so this is what he does with Brad.
The amount of shrapnel, burning tires, and errant airborne lethal windshield wipers that can be produced during these moments should never be underestimated.
Nate's learned to hide next to a car and not underneath it in case someone falls on top. Nate also knows that the sound of a Transformer having an arm pulled off sounds a lot like a ten-car pile up on the interstate with the twisted, shrieking slide of metal on metal.
And a glance from just behind the rear bumper of the green Econo van reminds Nate vividly that even when Bumblebee is down on the ground, parts grinding and clanging, he's never out of the fight.
So even in the split second when the Decepticon turns its sights on the place where Nate's hiding with Brad, Nate's not afraid. Okay, he's not completely afraid, but he is mildly panicked.
And then there's the sound of a very large canon powering up. Nate twitches when Brad crowds behind him, his chin on Nate's shoulder and his mouth by Nate's ear, because of course he just has to know what's going on. Nate instinctively reaches back and grabs Brad's hip, holding him still and close so he doesn't get hurt.
And then there are sparks and explosions, and once again, it's raining shrapnel and lethal windshield wipers.
Nate's gotten very used to this part.
And after… well, after is always a mess. Half the strip mall is in smoldering ruins, but thankfully not the Computer Hut. Of the six light poles in the parking lot, only one is still standing. There's a crater in the asphalt the size of a Humvee. Thankfully, the Econo van provided cover for Brad and Nate while Bumblebee did what he had to do. And Nate -- Nate had to watch to make sure B was all right as much as he had to watch to make sure that he would have time to move Brad somewhere else if he needed to.
Now that it's over, Brad's sitting against the side of the van looking kind of shocked. "What the hell was that?" he demands.
Nate watches Bumblebee pull apart the Decepticon piece by piece. If you leave a Transformer intact he quite possibly might be put back together; they don't take chances like that anymore. Optimus Prime taught them that.
"That was the grand finale for our date," Nate offers flippantly. "I wanted to impress you."
Brad glares at him.
"You mean you weren't impressed?" Nate's trying to lighten the mood. "God, the gossip is right: the fact that you're a hardass has nothing to do with your ass at all."
There's not even a hint of a smile as Brad gets to his feet. "Your car just - just --"
"Saved your life," Nate finishes.
Brad blinks rapidly. He's trying to process; Nate can see it in his face. And he's totally failing. That happened to Nate the first time Bumblebee transformed in front of him, too.
Nate shakes his head. "B!" he calls. "B, c'mere for a minute."
The ground shakes as Bumblebee trots over like an overeager, very oversized puppy. He whizzes and bleeps at Nate and Nate looks at him intently. "Are you okay?"
More bleeps and bloops.
"Is he okay?" Brad asks incredulously. "What is he? Is it a he or an it - Nate, what the fuck is going on?"
A cacophony of noise radiates from Bumblebee as he waves his hands in the air. "I am he as you are he as you are me and we are all together …. Number one runner, number one stunna….I'm the greatest, float like a butterfly sting like a bee… I am the Matrix… Yippee Ki-yay motherfucker!"
Nate has to laugh: the Muhammad Ali, Beatles, Big Tymers, Die Hard and Matrix reference mash-up really is perfect for his 1979 transformed to 2009 Camaro.
Brad's face is all disbelief, but Nate takes heart from the fact that he doesn't actually move away when Bumblebee finishes his song and dance. Nate takes a step forward and pats somewhere around Bumblebee's shin. "This is Bumblebee. He's - he's an alien."
Brad snorts. "You think?"
Bumblebee rumbles and then Brad Pitt's voice projects out of his speakers. "The first rule of Fight Club is you don't talk about Fight Club."
"Thank you, Tyler Durden," Nate sighs. "But you can't put the horse back in the barn, and Brad's not - you're not going to tell anybody what you saw here are you?"
Brad shakes his head. "How can I tell anybody if I don't even know what I saw?"
Bumblebee bleeps and bloops and there's a whoosh of air as he transforms back into Nate's yellow Camaro. "You're right," Nate agrees. "We should probably get out of here."
"You understood that?" Brad's incredulousness is pitch perfect.
Nate shrugs as he walks around to the driver's side of the car. "You get used to it after a while," he explains over the roof.
"I thought you were just weird," Brad says. "But you actually were talking to your car. Jesus, Fick. You're not boring at all, are you?"
"No." Nate opens the door and climbs into the driver's seat.
He looks over at Brad still standing on the asphalt. He can't see much above Brad's stomach, but Brad seems to take a deep breath before he leans down to Nate's eyelevel. "Just because we almost got killed is no reason for you not to open the door for me," he berates Nate good-naturedly.
The door swings open and Brad's mouth quirks at the left corner. "At least somebody's got manners," he says, climbing in. A moment later Bumblebee closes his door and they're off.
Bumblebee drives them through quiet residential side streets until they reach a park not too far from the high school.
Nate gets out of the car, gesturing for Brad to follow him. "C'mon," he says, patting the hood before climbing up.
Brad looks at him askance. "I'm not sitting on an alien."
"Technically, you were just sitting in an alien," Nate reminds him. "And grammatically that sounds much worse."
Brad gives both Nate and Bumblebee a wary look, but he climbs up beside Nate anyway.
"So," he says. "What the hell is your story, Nate Fick? Because this sure as hell isn't in any Google search."
"Four score and seven years ago…" resonates from Bumblebee's speakers.
Nate shushes him. "Do you want to tell this story?" Nate asks.
"Tell us a story, please, huh, please?" children's voices resound from inside the car.
Brad shakes his head. "That's just creepy."
Nate repeats his earlier sentiment. "You get used to it."
"I'll be the judge of that."
Nate sucks on his lower lip. If Brad wants to judge for himself that's a good thing, but Nate has to be sure. "Do you want me to take you home? Do you want to forget that this ever happened?"
Brad shakes his head. "I don't -- I thought the big thing tonight would be getting in your pants," he says, scooting back to rest against the windshield. "I clearly wasn't thinking big enough."
Nate glances over his shoulder at Brad and then crawls over to him. He braces a hand on the windshield by Brad's ear before leaning down and kissing squarely him on the mouth.
It's as good as the kiss in the parking lot. Better actually. The tip of Brad's tongue slides between Nate's lips and Nate sucks on it. Chases it back into Brad's mouth where he tastes leftover tomato sauce and mozzarella.
The first time Nate tries to move away, Brad's hand curls around the nape of his neck and holds him still. Fingers stroke Nate's skin, and then there's a nip at Nate's bottom lip that gets soothed away by Brad's tongue. And Brad's mouth.
Brad's a very good kisser.
When Brad finally deigns to let him go, Nate pulls away and opens his eyes. His lips are tingling and he can taste Brad on his tongue. He's greeted by an excessively pleased look on Brad's face and a slick, puffy mouth just within reach.
"I wouldn't want you to be disappointed," Nate says while moving back, shifting to sprawl out next to Brad, shoulder-to-shoulder and thigh-to-thigh. "But I think we've had plenty of action already."
"Yeah, you may be right there."
Nate does his best to ignore the strains of REO Speedwagon's "I Can't Fight this Feeling Anymore" wafting from Bumblebee's speakers. Instead he rests his head on Brad's shoulder and curls his fingers around Brad's when Brad takes his hand.
Brad's fingers are a little bit longer that Nate's, a little bit wider, but his hands are dry and warm. They feel good. Safe.
And then Nate takes a deep inhale and begins to tell Brad a story. "So, a long time ago, there was this planet called Cybertron…"
-end-
For alethialia. Happy Holidays, sweetie. You make GK fandom a joy and a pleasure. I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it.
Inspired by this art by trolleys, which was inspired by dark_reaction.
Primary beta by the most excellent maurheti who is badass, and very astute and perceptive and can count on my repeat business. Additional skills provided by the fantabulous romanticalgirl and sparky77, who are kind enough to make sure I don't go outside with my skirt tucked in my underwear. Except for when that's what I'm going for anyway.