GK fic: Sea Change
Never mistake me for fashionable. This is for alethialia, because if anyone deserves 9k of first times, it’s her. Also, I kind of love this story, so that’s on her too, because good people deserve good things. I love you, alethialialalala!
Title: Sea Change
Author: nightanddaze
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Brad/Nate
Word Count: 9152
Summary: What are you gonna do on your leave?
Notes: WWII AU. Beta and French-checking by snglesrvngfrend. A thousand thanks to amberlynne and shoshannagold for cheerleading and listening to me moan (all the time!).
When it happens Nate can’t quite believe it. When he, Marsden and Weber get called on by the Lieutenant he figures John and Alex are in shit and they lied to include him. But instead of getting reprimands, they get weekend passes. If the Lieutenant is amused by the surprise on their faces he doesn’t show it, just says, “Gentlemen,” and salutes them back.
It’s only Thursday, so they still have all of tomorrow to do patrols and busywork, but that also means an entire day of planning. Nate already knows what he wants to do, but it’s not something he could say to these guys.
“What are you guys gonna do?” He asks instead while they head out in the direction of their billets.
John grins. “I want to actually see this fuckin’ city. We’ve been here for so long and I’ve barely seen shit.”
“You know what I wanna see?” Alex says, leering. He holds his hands in front of his chest, cupped. “Some titties.”
“I heard there’re hookers down by the harbor,” John whispers excitedly. “Let’s fuckin’ go.”
They both turn to Nate, grinning.
Nate slows down a little. “Maybe,” he says quietly.
“C’mon, Nate! We need your sweet baby face to get us women at a discount.”
Nate’s never even seen a hooker. They probably have them in Baltimore, but not where Nate’s from. He’s pretty sure he doesn’t want to. Not like John and Alex want to.
“I’ll think about it,” he tells them, and they seem satisfied. They don’t know that he doesn’t mean it.
*
A little after midnight Nate sneaks out. He shouldn’t mess around so close to the weekend, but he can’t help it.
He’s better behaved than John and Alex, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t know anything. He dresses in the dark and slips out of the house without making any noise, sliding down the silent street.
The night patrols are generally pretty lazy, but Nate takes the side streets anyway, staying close to the buildings when he hears footsteps. It ends up being just a young French couple full of beer and love passing by.
He finally ducks under the blue and white awning and peers into the window above the Closed sign. It’s dark inside, but Nate thinks he can see a thin line of light under the door to the backroom.
The doorknob turns all the way in Nate’s hand smooth and easy, like Colbert oiled it this morning. He stops like that, the door still closed but the latch all the way back, suddenly thinks about Colbert’s face upon seeing Nate intruding on him.
Two shadows interrupt the light under the door: footsteps passing by, and Nate opens the door a few inches. The shop feels quieter than it usually does, although he can hear clinking in the backroom.
Going forward is easier than going back where Colbert is concerned, so Nate collects himself and steps inside, closing the door carefully, following the little light.
He’s thinking about telling Colbert about his pass, forty-eight hours with no patrols or paper checking, time to do anything. His mind is so full with possibility that he’s startled by the sight of Colbert sitting at a table in the backroom with two men and a woman, all of them holding cards.
“Oh,” he says, staring at them staring at him.
One of the men, built small with dark hair and eyes, smirks.
“Well, hello soldier,” he says. He fans his face with his cards and his eyes cut between Nate and Colbert.
Nate flushes and looks away.
The other man is blonde, with shorter hair than Colbert, and a much kinder face. His surprise turns into a friendly smile for Nate.
The woman is gorgeous, olive-skinned with a loose pile of wavy black hair and a low-cut dress. She looks at him like he’s something to eat and he flushes harder.
Colbert just stares at him for a long moment.
“Sorry,” Nate says and backs a little bit out of the light. “I just uh-”
Colbert pushes his chair back and stands. He shuffles his cards together and, with a look at the dark-haired man, tucks them into the inside pocket on his suit jacket. He approaches and Nate backs into the shop, into the darkness. Colbert shuts the door to the backroom behind himself.
“Hello,” he rumbles, “what brings you to me so late at night?”
It feels silly to say now, but Nate can’t have come here for nothing. “I got a weekend pass.”
“Good boy,” Colbert says fondly. “You must be even better behaved than I thought.”
Nate laughs; if only Colbert knew what he’s been thinking about since he found out he had the weekend off.
“Not so good,” he says, shooting for coy.
Colbert cups a hand around the back of his neck, squeezing gently.
“I’ll bet-” he starts, but someone-probably the small man-yells, “Hurry the fuck up, Colbert. Walt’s getting tired!”
“I am not!” the other one yells.
Colbert smiles wryly. “I should get back before Ray steals my money. Is there anything you’d like, besides spreading your good news around?”
“No.”
“Well,” Colbert turns him by his shoulders and gives him a little push toward the door, “go to bed. Be good.”
*
Nate spends all of Friday dreaming and avoiding John and Alex. Both Mme. Desjardins and Mme. Lafaire comment on his never-ending smile. Mme. Lafaire invites him over for dinner when he tells her he’s off, but doesn’t mind when he turns her down.
“Big plans?” She asks, tucking an apple into his palm. It’s warm from the sun.
He shrugs shallowly and she smiles.
“Have a good time, Nate. I’ll have my papers ready on Monday for you to check.”
Nate winks and tosses the apple up in the air, saying, “Merci, Madame.”
Neither of the Poulains ask where he’s going without dinner, nor do they comment on his taking of an old pair of work trousers and a shirt. But Mme. Poulain brings him an icy glass of milk when he’s almost out the door, and she waits while he drinks it. And then she wraps a thin arm around his neck and kisses his hair.
“Be safe, Nat’an-yell, whatever you do,” she says quietly, in the same voice his mom used to use, back when there wasn’t anything to be afraid of.
He scrubs over the kiss as he walks down towards Colbert’s street, a dusty Algerian sunset lighting his way. As he turns onto the little street with the fluttering awning a soft pulse starts beating in his belly.
The sign says Closed, but the door is unlocked, so Nate goes in. He stops to smell the silver polish and cigarette smoke in the air-the pulse inside beats harder for a moment-and then peeks in the backroom. It’s empty.
Upstairs someone strides lightly across the floor toward the stairs and Nate follows it to the middle of the room, waiting for Colbert. Inside of him is the thump-thump-thump, eager to burst out.
Colbert starts to descend the stairs and Nate watches the landing. He’s surprised when a woman comes down, mussing her hair. It’s the same woman from the poker game, wearing a dress that’s a little too slinky for daytime and lipstick the colour of a ruby ring.
She doesn’t even seem surprised to see him.
“Hello,” she says. She even has the perfect French accent, thick but not murky.
The pulse dies inside Nate, but he still says, “Ma’am,” quietly, because he has to.
She laughs, like breaking glass. “Parfait.” She carefully strokes a hand over her bangs and tilts her head back to call up the stairs, “Bradley, that boy is here to see you.”
“What boy?” Colbert calls back, starting to come down from the apartment.
“The one from the other night.”
Colbert steps onto the landing, a woman’s coat slung over his arm. He’s in one of his several cream suits and a light blue shirt. Nothing’s out of place but Nate’s still ashamed to be here, interrupting. He holds his blush in by sheer will.
“Nate,” Colbert says in greeting as he holds up the coat for the woman to slide her arms back into.
Nate swallows and nods.
“Il est très joli,” the woman says over her shoulder to Colbert as he settles the coat. He smirks.
“Is he always this quiet?” She asks laughingly while Nate fidgets.
“Not usually,” Colbert says, letting go and stepping to her side. “Mais, les garçons provenant de fermes, vous savez comment ils sont.”
She smiles at Nate, kind of gently. “Farmboys are the best ones, I’ll have you know,” she says.
“You would know,” Colbert retorts. He and the woman laugh and then he says, “Nate, this is Yvette. Yvette, Nate.”
“Ma’am,” Nate says again.
“Nate,” Yvette says, the English way. “I have heard about you. Very good things. Bradley says-”
“Bradley says nothing,” Colbert interrupts. “Don’t you have things to do?”
Yvette grins, and winks at Nate. “That I do. It was a pleasure to meet you, Nate.” She turns to clasp Colbert’s biceps, almost pressing her mouth to his cheek while he holds her elbows and actually kisses her cheek.
“Merci encore, vieil ami. Jusqu'à la prochaine,” she says against his skin.
“I’ll have it by the week after next,” Colbert replies, “Bon soir, Madame.”
She waves at Nate and the bell above the door tinkles as she leaves.
Colbert shakes his head fondly as the door closes and then walks back to the counter, pulling his ledger off the shelf behind it and opening it. He picks up the pencil next to the register and carefully writes something down on a page in the middle. Then he carefully replaces the pencil and the book and finally looks at Nate.
“Are you excited for your leave?” he asks, smiling.
“Yeah,” Nate says.
Wiping an errant fingerprint off the top of the glass counter Colbert asks, “What would you like to do?”
Nate shifts. He’s still holding the clothes he brought, feeling stupid.
Something almost imperceptible slides over Colbert’s face, but Nate doesn’t know what it is exactly.
“Are you hungry? We could start with dinner. Let me buy you something to eat.”
Nate thinks about leaving, but the Poulains don’t expect him back tonight and he really doesn’t want to go to the harbor with John and Alex. So he nods at Colbert as he rounds the counter to approach Nate. He says, “Okay.”
“Wonderful.” Colbert cups Nate’s shoulder, pressing him toward the stairs. “Go get changed and we’ll go.”
*
They go to the Café Juno, which is not far from the shop. And even though it’s full the owner, Pierre-who has always been cranky towards Nate-finds them a table out of nowhere, tucked in the back near the kitchen.
Colbert immediately lights a cigarette as they sit, even before he’s stopped shifting his long legs underneath the table. He blows a smoke ring up toward the rafters and asks, “Do you like wine?”
“I’ve never really had it,” Nate says. A few people are looking over at them, at Colbert leaning back in his chair and Nate in the clothes of a citizen. They seem impressed.
“It’s good.” Colbert looks to the bar where Pierre is and holds up two fingers, mouthing Rouge.
The wine is good, Nate thinks. Smoky and rich, with startling fruitiness. Nate sips it carefully, watching Colbert drink half a glass in one go.
Colbert blows another smoke ring and refills his glass from the bottle between them.
“Ça va?” he asks.
“Good,” Nate replies, stifling any question that might be rising in his throat.
Colbert shakes a finger at him lightly. “I asked you en français. You’ll never learn if you don’t try.”
“Bien. Et vous?” Nate’s accent is clunky, silly-sounding.
Colbert smiles indulgently. “Très bien, merci. Now why don’t you tell me what’s got your panties in a knot.”
Nate looks down at the menu he hasn’t opened yet. Colbert waits, stubbing his cigarette out and drinking more wine. He looks like he could wait all night.
Finally, Nate says, “Who’s Yvette?”
The smile on Colbert’s face comes back smoothly and he says, “A friend of mine.”
“Are you sleeping with her?”
“I have, but not now.”
“Oh.”
“Oh is right.” Colbert takes another drink and knocks his foot against Nate’s under the table. “Are you satisfied now?”
Nate pushes his foot back against Colbert’s. “Yes.”
Holding up his wine glass Colbert smiles at Nate, saying, “Perfect. To free time and amiable prostitutes, then.”
Nate’s mouth drops open and a choked laugh falls out. Colbert lifts his glass a little higher, nodding until Nate picks his up too. Their glasses clink over the middle of the table and inside of Nate a faint thump-thump-thump starts up again.
*
Nate has three glasses of the wine, each one better than the last, making his mouth free and his stomach warm. He’s never done this before, sat in a public place with someone, tipsy and talking, not even with the girl he left behind in Maryland.
Colbert drinks even more than Nate does, but aside from feeding Nate the last spoonful of his ratatouille on the sly and telling Nate the story of how he met Yvette and the small man from the poker game-Ray- at the harbor, he remains as unflappable as ever.
His eyes gleam in the low candlelight though, and he presses Nate for stories about everything from the farm to his family to the girl, Emily.
The wine makes Nate brave enough that when the bottle’s empty he asks why Colbert left America.
Glancing at the last dredges of wine in his glass Colbert shrugs. “Some things went pretty wrong for me and I decided to indulge my sense of adventure.”
Nate shifts a little. One of Colbert’s feet has been between his for the last hour, not doing anything, just resting there as Colbert sprawls further and further back across his chair.
“Why Algiers?” Nate asks.
Colbert’s mouth goes wry. “It was as far away as I could get.”
Nate nods. He understands the feeling, even though nothing bad has ever happened to him.
Colbert drains his glass. “Algiers is my home now,” he says with finality. He pulls a thin leather wallet out of his inside jacket pocket and retrieves several hundred francs and a few coins, tucking it all under the empty wine bottle.
Startled, Nate stammers, “I can-”
Colbert waves him off, muttering, “You can’t,” which is true, and standing, raising his hand in the direction of Pierre, who hasn’t left the bar yet tonight. “My treat.”
“Thank you,” Nate says, following him through the mostly-empty restaurant, past the few dreamy-eyed couples left in the café. It’s dark outside and it feels like they melt into it. For the first time in months Nate feels inconspicuous, like maybe he fits into Algiers too.
They walk aimlessly through the streets, slowly moving toward Colbert’s street. It’s not cold by any means but Nate’s cheeks feel hot in comparison. From an open window above them a woman sings “It Had to Be You” to someone, interrupting herself to murmur to them.
On the last corner before the shop Colbert stops to light a cigarette, handing the shop keys off to Nate at the same time he leans against the window, in the shadow of the awning.
Nate obediently unlocks the door and then brings the keys back. Colbert rarely smokes in the shop, because of the delicate tapestries and Gharadella chaise he’d like to sell some-damn-day. Even when he smokes in the apartment, he does so with the window open, more often than not with his right hand hanging out the window, the smoke drifting to settle on someone’s hung sheets.
The glass is cool through his thin shirt, but Colbert slings an easy arm around his shoulders, warm and not too heavy.
He scrubs his fingers through Nate’s hair lightly and flicks the ashes of his cigarette with his other hand. Nate shivers under the touch, looking from the cobblestones in the lamplight to Colbert’s face.
Colbert exhales slowly, his thumb brushing Nate’s ear. He’s looking at the same place on the street Nate was.
“Tell me about your first kiss,” he says, in an odd voice, one full of distant yearning and something closer. He turns Nate’s head a little, so Nate can only look at him even though he’s still looking out at the street.
Nate closes his eyes, to think better and because for some reason his heart lurched when Colbert said kiss.
“It was,” he says, sinking back into the memory, the light from the porch, the taste of lipstick, the feeling of fear coupled with joy, “with Emily.”
Colbert hmms, but Nate keeps his eyes closed.
“I took her to see You Can’t Take It With You in the city. My dad let me borrow the truck. It was okay. She liked it, loved it. I- when I took her home she let me kiss her on the porch. I was so-”
He’s stopped by Colbert’s thumb brushing his cheek and Colbert’s mouth settling over his lightly. The word scared disappears but he keeps his eyes closed.
Colbert pulls back just enough so he can kiss Nate again, his lips against Nate’s bottom one, pressing just enough to make Nate lean in too.
Colbert’s mouth is soft and smoky and his stubble scrapes against the corner of Nate’s mouth, sending something electric through Nate’s veins. He turns so he can get his hands on Colbert, return his kisses properly, the way they do in the movies.
In the past they’ve kissed like there was something at stake, like someone could lose if they waited. But tonight Colbert doles out the kisses slowly, his mouth barely open. He kisses Nate like he’s something sweet Colbert want to savor forever. Nate hears him flick his cigarette and the low hiss of it going out in the darkness and then his other hand is against Nate’s hip and his tongue brushes over Nate’s.
Nate makes a noise like he’s been struck. He aches suddenly, his hips and knees and fingers. Colbert pulls his mouth away but stays close, his nose brushing Nate’s.
“Are you staying tonight?”
The yearning in Colbert’s voice has ratcheted up so much Nate would never dream of saying no. He nods and gets his mouth taken again, Colbert pressing him back against the glass gently, touching the open collar of his shirt.
“Can we,” he asks in stops and starts, “can we go inside?”
He’s not thinking about getting caught, although he should be. He’s only thinking about Colbert’s mouth and everything he planned for this weekend, so close to his grasp.
*
Now Nate knows why people get drunk. It’s because it makes them feel like this: loose and hot, in love with the world, everything so big it feels like he could gladly suffocate under the weight of it.
He’s babbling and he doesn’t even care, that’s how nice it is.
Colbert’s hips push against his and the slick tip of his cock nudges Nate’s balls, the space underneath and he moans, “Fuck me, please please please.”
Colbert laughs at him, not unkindly, the way he does when he sees someone he despises, but messy and warm, his palms on Nate’s cheeks.
“Didn’t they teach you patience in the Army?”
“No,” Nate insists, nipping Colbert’s lip, inhaling his laughter.
“Of course they didn’t. How useless of them. Here.”
He moves with the hands that push him down onto his front. And there’s slickness between his thighs, and Colbert’s cock sliding there too.
“Keep your legs closed,” Colbert murmurs, his arm belting around Nate’s chest, “just like that, yeah.”
Nate wonders if this is what it’s really like, to be fucked. He wonders what would happen if Colbert slipped on his next thrust, pushed higher. But Colbert’s never slipped, not once, so Nate raises his hips up a little, just imagining it.
He comes like that, his cock rubbing against the sheets and Colbert’s cock slipping between his thighs. His orgasm feels big and dreamy, but he hears himself cry out.
“I’ll fuck you tomorrow,” Colbert promises roughly when he comes. “As long as you want.”
After, he cleans himself up in the bathroom without turning on the light, wiping the come and lubricant off his belly and thighs in small strokes, avoiding any area that’s too sensitive. He feels shaky and off-centre, but good. He leans close to the mirror and smiles, looking at his teeth.
Colbert’s not done making the bed when Nate comes back, but he stops and gestures toward it. Nate hesitates. He’s fooled around with Colbert here and one time he fell asleep for twenty minutes before Colbert woke him for his patrol, but there’s a certain amount of gravity to climbing in, settling on the side without the table.
Colbert doesn’t say anything, just waits until Nate’s lying down before he drapes a thin quilt over the entire bed and gets in the other side.
“Comfortable?” If Nate squints he can see Colbert digging his shoulder into the mattress, his eyes already closed.
He nods. “Yes.”
Colbert smiles faintly on the other side of the bed. He reaches out across the sheets, over the wiped-off wet spot, to squeeze Nate’s hip.
“Go to sleep,” he says.
*
The next morning Nate wakes up not sure of where he is, but he’s naked, warm and comfortable, although his mouth tastes like woodchips. He blinks, stretching out his legs, looking over at the bedside table. It’s late, almost nine. The bed smells like cologne and active bodies.
Colbert is long gone, and if Nate tries he can remember fuzzily the sensation of the bed getting lighter and cooler, although Colbert tucked the covers around him again. Now the bed’s only warm where Nate is.
His clothes have been folded on the chair by the window and his boots are tucked underneath, but Nate ignores them for the time being. He goes into the bathroom naked, smiling at himself in the mirror, looking at the reflection of his body.
He wonders if Colbert meant what he said while he drinks from his cupped hand and wipes his wet fingers over his hair, but can’t come up with a conclusion. He pees and rubs a fingerful of toothpaste over his teeth and stretches, watching the muscles in his arms and chest move. He feels good.
He puts on the clothes he wore last night and leaves his uniform on the chair, determined to be who he’s not until Monday morning. The sun is already shining brightly outside.
Colbert’s downstairs in the shop, sitting behind the counter, looking through a loupe at a string of pearls. He has a cigarette tucked behind his ear.
“Ah,” he says, still looking, “it rises.”
“It’s my leave,” Nate says, mock-petulantly, “I’ll do what I want.”
“In that case,” Colbert sets the pearls down on a velvet pad and the loupe on the counter. He opens the cash register and pulls out two hundred franc notes, “Why don’t you use your leave to go buy me a newspaper? And get yourself something to eat too.”
“You don’t have to feed me,” Nate says as he takes the money.
“Well, I don’t have anything to give you here,” Colbert replies. “So unless you plan to beg you should go buy a pastry with the change from my newspaper.”
“Yes, sir,” Nate says, because he is hungry.
“Go,” Colbert says, picking up the loupe again, dragging his ledger closer with his elbow.
Nate buys a sweet roll from the bakery and eats it while he looks for Remy, the man who sells newspapers off the street. They exchange pleasantries while Nate buys a paper and Nate tips him all the change.
Colbert’s moved on from the pearls when he gets back in the shop and is instead oiling the hinges on an ancient jewelry box.
“You gave Remy the change,” Colbert says when Nate puts the paper down.
“Yes.”
Colbert wipes his fingers on the front page. “Good. And now what will you do?”
Nate wants to say something risqué and intriguing, but he chickens out, shrugging instead.
“Well, there are things that need dusting here. Or you could go out into the world and entertain yourself before it rains.”
Nate looks outside. “It’s not going to rain.”
Colbert’s reading the smudged headline now. “Yes it will. This afternoon. I might close the shop if it does.” He smiles at Nate, the right corner more turned up than the left, naughty.
Nate’s stomach goes warm and he smiles back.
“Okay,” Nate says, still smiling. “I’ll be back later.”
*
He goes to the harbor, not to see hookers, but to see the sea. There are some people on the beach splashing in the little waves and picking up stones. Nate stays on the boardwalk, looking out on the water, inhaling salt and sunshine.
There’s a post office in the middle of town and Nate steps in to write a letter to his family.
Mom, Dad, Maggie and Ella, he writes in smudgy pencil, I’m on leave, just for a few days, just because. I’m trying to see more of the city, which is especially beautiful when you don’t have to watch for Italians and Germans.
I’m doing very well. I hope everyone at home is good. I miss you all.
Give Ace some scratches from me.
Love,
Nate
All he has is five francs, which isn’t really enough for the paper, envelope and stamp, but the postmaster sees his dog tags and lets him off cheap.
It’s almost noon when Nate gets back onto the street. There are some clouds on the horizon, grey and heavy at the bottom. Nate smiles, his hands in his pockets.
*
“Well, if it isn’t the littlest soldier,” Ray says when Nate opens the door. He’s leaning on the front of the counter, the book between him and Colbert. The velvet pad and loupe are there, but the pearls are not.
“Ray,” Colbert chides. “He has a name and it’s Nate.” He looks at Nate and nods at Ray. “This is Ray. You might remember his big fucking mouth.”
“I remember.”
Ray grins. “I am pretty unforgettable.”
“I wasn’t paying you a compliment,” Colbert says, closing the book, stowing it on the shelf.
“Of course you weren’t,” Ray snorts. “L'homme de glace does not pay peons compliments.”
“In fact I do. But to people who deserve them. Nate, that shirt fits you exquisitely.”
“Thank you,” Nate says.
“De rien. Now, Ray, unless you want something else, you should probably go bother Walt or Poke instead of me. I have to take the young Corporal out for lunch.”
Ray rolls his eyes. “Well, I got what I wanted.” He pats a bumpy lump in his jacket pocket. “Don’t forgot to come get your…” He looks at Nate, “Packages. People need that stuff.”
Colbert nods. “Lundi, bien? Emmenez-Walt à vous aider à organiser tout et je ferai les livraisons.”
Ray makes the A-Okay sign with his fingers.
“You got it, boss,” he says jauntily, striding toward the door. “A la prochaine, Nate.”
Nate waves vaguely at the closing door.
“You do deliveries?” he turns and asks Colbert.
Colbert shrugs. “Lunch?”
*
They go back to the Juno and have garlic soup and cold roast chicken. Colbert asks him about the harbor, if he picked up any shells or walked on the sand.
“No,” Nate says. “I sent a letter to my family.”
Colbert nods, stirring his soup. “Do you miss them?”
“Yeah. What about you?”
“Hmm?”
“Your family. Do you miss them?”
Colbert shrugs. “We write,” he says. “It’s enough.” He smiles at Nate’s frown. “My family is likely very different from yours, Nate, and I am different from my family. They know I want to be here.”
Nate nods because he understands, not because he agrees. The rest of their lunch passes quietly, in small talk and coffee. Raindrops start hitting the window as Colbert drops several crisp notes on the table.
Colbert smokes on the way back, his cigarette pinched under the shelter of his fingers so it doesn’t get wet. He finishes his cigarette under the awning and Nate waits with him, watching a stray dog try to squeeze its nose into an empty jar.
When Nate goes inside Colbert stands for a moment in the open doorway, looking left and right down the street.
“Well,” he announces. “It does not seem like anyone needs anything fine or old today. I guess I have to keep the damn chaise for another day.”
He shuts the door, locks it and does both deadbolts. He turns the sign in the window to Closed and flicks the back of it with some finality. Then he leans against the door, grinning at Nate.
“I told you it would rain.”
Nate kisses him. He takes the four steps across the wood floor-his boots sound so loud-and kisses Colbert’s smile, presses as close as he can, one palm against the cool window, one holding Colbert’s collar, his knuckles brushing Colbert’s hot throat.
It feels like his knees might give out, but the door’s got them and he doesn’t want to ruin this with something as stupid as rubbery knees. He kisses Colbert harder to make up for it, making an urgent noise, and Colbert smiles wider against his mouth.
“This is what I get for being right?” Colbert murmurs into his mouth. “Intriguing.”
“Shut up,” Nate says roughly, laughing, diving in for another kiss. He doesn’t come up for a long time, too busy exploring Colbert’s mouth, his slick teeth and his half-French tongue. Colbert cradles his hips and lets him do whatever he wants.
When he’s had his fill of Colbert’s mouth he sucks at Colbert’s jaw, touching the pale shell of his ear. Colbert shudders faintly when Nate buries his face against his throat, taking deep breaths. Colbert smells like smoke and the cologne he shouldn’t be able to afford. Nate’s hips sway into Colbert’s, just this side of frantic.
“We have all day for this,” Colbert tells him, stilling his hips. He tilts Nate’s chin up, kisses him once, nice and slow. “Try not to come in the first five minutes.”
Nate laughs again and tilts his face back down. He’s crushed Colbert’s finely starched collar in his grip. He lets go and steps back, far enough so he can’t touch. With a little flourish he gestures to toward the staircase.
“Après vous.”
The stairs are too narrow and shabby for anything to happen, so Nate just watches Colbert’s long back as they go up to the apartment. It feels like it takes years but then they’re there, Colbert about-facing, walking backward through the kitchenette, watching Nate watch.
“Are you excited?” he asks as he shoulders the bedroom door open.
“Yeah,” Nate says, crowding close to get at Colbert’s mouth again, let him feel how excited Nate is. Colbert makes a soft, impolite noise into his mouth and squeezes his ass, holding him close while they shuffle back to the bed.
It’s a dizzy tumble down to the rumpled sheets that smell like them and then Colbert pins him there, kissing him long and hungry, unbuttoning his shirt with one hand. Nate reciprocates, but he’s a bit clumsy as he tries to juggle kisses and Colbert’s perfectly knotted tie at the same time.
“Buttons,” he grumbles when the tie’s been sent to the floor. Colbert laughs against his jaw before sitting up, fingers flying down his shirt front and cuffs faster than Nate ever could do it. The blue and white striped shirt and the bone-white jacket end up on the floor with the tie, where Nate has never seen any article of clothing.
He’s tan. Nate knows it, has seen him naked before, but not shirtless, wearing white trousers. Nate takes a breath, but Colbert straddles him and sucks it in, urging Nate up and his shirt down until he’s tangled up in it, stuck at the elbows while Colbert kisses his throat.
Colbert didn’t shave this morning, so his stubble prickles over Nate’s nipples, making him whimper and arch. His cock feels hot and impossibly big inside his pants, but there’s nothing to rub on, Colbert’s cock a few inches up in the air above his.
He whimpers again and Colbert nips one of his nipples. The sound cuts off while he gasps, Colbert’s hand squeezing his cock.
“Jesus,” Colbert murmurs, “you kids and your sex drives.”
“Like you’re old,” Nate grits out, trying to ignore Colbert’s hands undoing his pants.
“Twenty-six is plenty old,” Colbert says as he eases Nate’s pants and underwear over his cock and down his legs, making another pile on the floor, topping it with Nate’s socks.
“Now that,” he says, pushing Nate’s left leg up toward his body, looking at Nate’s cock resting on his belly, “is beauty worth something.”
His voice is thick and appreciative enough that Nate flushes, but he tries to hide it by sitting up and getting rid of his shirt while Colbert gets out of his trousers. He leans over the side of the bed to drop his shirt and his dog tags swing back and forth, clanking against each other. When Nate sits up again they swing back to thump against his chest, resting right on his breastbone.
He looks down at them. A good soldier never takes his tags off, because you can never be sure when you’ll be a dead soldier and they’ll come in handy. Colbert’s completely naked by now, watching him. Nate rubs his thumb over the print of his name and number, his immunizations, the little B for his blood, the C for Catholic.
His chest feels odd without the little weight of being a good soldier on it, but Nate doesn’t want to be a good soldier today.
“Can you take these?” Nate asks, already dropping the tags into Colbert’s outstretched palm.
Colbert looks at them for a moment, swiping over the information like he could learn it by touch, and then carefully coils them on the beside table next to the clock and his watch. While he’s there he dips into the drawer underneath and gets the little tub of Vaseline out, tossing it next to Nate.
Nate shifts, ready to turn on his hands and knees, because he knows that’s how men fuck, but Colbert stops him by crawling over him, backing him down on the bed.
He murmurs something in French Nate doesn’t catch, but his voice is quietly fond the way it is every once in a while and he kisses Nate. So Nate kisses him back hard because he’s full of fondness, feeling deep like he never has before, not even the day he and Emily decided to go steady.
Still kissing, Colbert cradles his shoulders and rolls them bodily so Nate’s on top of him. Nate’s cock catches in the ditch of his hip and Nate arches into it, moaning softly.
“What do you want to do?” Colbert asks. He pushes Nate back so he’s straddling his pelvis.
“Uh.” Nate can feel Colbert’s cock brushing his ass. He can dimly remember last night, his slurred voice whining, Fuck me, please, but he just says, “Uh,” again.
Colbert rubs a knuckle up the underside of his cock. “Do you want to come first, or do you want to wait? If you come first you might be less tense, but you’re used to my fingers, right?”
One little drop of precome slips from the tip of Nate’s cock to land underneath Colbert’s belly button and Nate nods.
Colbert arches one eyebrow. “Your choice, Nate.”
“I-” Another slow rub ending at Nate’s frenulum, another droplet that ruins the perfect circle of the first. “I can wait.”
Colbert smiles, smearing the next drop over the head of Nate’s cock with his thumb.
“Good man,” he says. “Get me the Vaseline.”
Nate knows about this part, has done it before, although not sitting astride Colbert’s ribs. He feels a little exposed, but this way he can stroke his own cock while one of Colbert’s fingers brushes wet and smooth against his asshole.
One finger is easy, but Colbert takes his time anyway, crooking and pressing, laughing when Nate makes an impatient noise, muttering about how the Army is really screwing him up.
Two fingers has him resettling his knees on either side of Colbert, stroking his cock a little faster. Colbert rubs his thigh, his face stony with concentration until his fingers press deep enough that Nate’s hips jerk and he groans, trying to catch that spot again. Then Colbert smiles.
He thrusts a few times with his fingers, slowly, testing for something, then he says, “I’m gonna do three, alright?” and pulls his fingers out.
Nate nods, holding onto the base of his cock. His face and chest are warm with the stupid flush he always gets and there’s a yawning pit in his belly, nervousness and some want there that’s echoed in the place behind his balls.
Colbert re-slicks his fingers and holds them up for Nate’s inspection: his index and ring fingers slightly tucked under his middle one. They’re all shiny and thick, faintly obscene.
They start to press against his asshole and Colbert says, “Push down a little,” his other hand gripping Nate’s hip.
Nate closes his eyes and does it, thinking about the first time he saw Colbert’s hands, polishing the ladle that’s not downstairs anymore, his fingers long and talented. Back then Nate never would have imagined this, the slow push of those fingers stretching him, the tip of his cock resting against Colbert’s breastbone, the little ooze of precome and Colbert’s fingers inside connecting them.
Finally Colbert’s fingers stop moving and they both take a breath. Nate’s stretched, he can feel it. It’s not too much and it doesn’t hurt, but it feels strange, like a pulse radiating from his ass that might be sore later, pumping in time with his heart. He tries to stay still while Colbert touches one of his nipples.
“It’ll feel sort of like this,” Colbert tells him. “You’ll be full and that’ll be strange, but good.” His fingers twist and spread. “I’ll make you feel good.”
The empty feeling inside Nate suddenly swells and he squirms on Colbert’s fingers.
“I want to,” he says, hot and trapped even though he’s on top. “I don’t want to wait anymore.”
Colbert blinks at him twice before sliding his fingers out, watching Nate’s face. Then he rolls them again, laughing a deep joy-brimmed laugh when Nate yelps.
He’s hot and heavy all over Nate, his cock brushing Nate’s and his slick fingers holding Nate’s face still. Nate mouth is open before Colbert’s hits his, the tip of his tongue lifted for that first rushing touch with Colbert’s.
Colbert groans into his mouth, his hips rolling into Nate’s hard.
“You feel so fucking nice around my fingers,” he says, low and hot against Nate’s ear. “I can’t imagine what you’ll be like around my dick.”
Nate makes a soft noise, his cock jerking and a hard clenching between his thighs. They kiss again, rubbing together, almost the way Nate wants it.
Reluctantly Colbert pulls away, reaching for one of the pillows, murmuring, “Up,” so Nate lifts his hips. The pillow goes underneath him.
“Shouldn’t I turn over?”
Colbert urges him to plant his feet flat on the bed, and then he reaches for the Vaseline again.
“If you want to,” he says, smearing Vaseline down his erection, all the way from the head to the thick base. “But you’ll be more relaxed this way, and I can see your face.”
Nate nods, but he’s looking at Colbert’s cock, trying to think if it will feel like three fingers or if it’ll be like more, if more is possible.
He lifts his knees when Colbert tells him to, so Colbert can settle over him, his cock catching the rim of Nate’s ass.
“Deep breath,” Colbert tells him, starting to push when he inhales. The head of his cock pops in suddenly and he clenches around it involuntarily.
The muscles in his thigh jump and he whimpers.
“Relax,” Colbert murmurs, pressing in another inch and then stopping when Nate tenses again. He gets a hand between them to stroke Nate’s cock, his thumb circling the head until Nate’s knees lower a fraction of an inch. “There.”
Then he pulls back a little and pushes back in, a bit further, forcing half a breath out of Nate. He hums and then starts speaking to Nate in French in a soothing rumble as he keeps going.
Nate has no idea how long it takes, but he’s holding onto Colbert’s ribs hard when he finally stops, still muttering, calling Nate something he doesn’t know, kissing him, his tongue as deep as his cock.
Nate feels full, fuller than the three fingers, but not in a way that hurts. He kisses Colbert back, unsure whether he should stay still for Colbert’s first few gentle thrusts or do something.
He lifts his hips carefully and Colbert groans into his mouth, saying, “Yeah,” breathlessly, making heat spark in his belly.
“Feels good,” Nate whispers back. It’s not completely a lie. The fullness has smothered the empty feeling and the rhythm is starting to rub him the right way. He lifts his hips again, right as Colbert thrusts in and that makes him shiver.
Colbert shifts, pulling his hand away from Nate’s cock, cupping his jaw instead. He nips Nate’s lip.
“Jerk yourself off,” he says, saying the thing Nate doesn’t understand again, following it with a few slow thrusts before he speeds up again.
Nate’s cock flagged a bit before, but it doesn’t take much to get it going again. It’s hard to jerk off, lift his hips and watch Colbert’s face at the same time, but he manages, even though he gets caught up in it, his own face flaming hot and his calves cramping.
Colbert groans quietly, his mouth rubbing over Nate’s jaw, fucking Nate harder, hitting that place inside he does with his fingers.
Nate cries out, louder than he means to, a sticky string of precome hitting his knuckles. Colbert smiles against his skin and does it again and again, kissing Nate’s chin when he tips his head back.
Nate’s toes are curling and his balls feel heavy, like his ass, like his stomach. He’s gasping. “‘M gonna come,” he whimpers.
“Good,” Colbert purrs, his hips rolling hard and constant, “C’mon, Nate.”
Nate closes his eyes so he can feel the wave inside him cresting better. He squeezes the tip of his cock tight in his fist and moans.
His orgasm feels different. Being bent like this means his muscles are taut, twitching hard with each contraction, and he can feel those too, feel his body pulsing around Colbert’s cock, and that makes it better. He makes an embarrassing noise as he comes- uhn- with every jerk, every spurt onto his belly, until he feels empty and limp.
Colbert’s stopped moving so he can watch. Nate opens his eyes, breathing hard, to see Colbert staring at him like he’s done something amazing.
Nate pulls him down with trembling hands and kisses him, arching his hips up so Colbert will keep fucking him.
“I can stop,” Colbert murmurs into his mouth.
Nate shakes his head. It still feels good. Almost better, since Nate’s full of bliss now. He holds onto Colbert’s thighs, feeling his muscles tense and release.
Colbert comes quieter than Nate, just one long groan forcing its way out of his mouth and his cock pushed as deep as it can go, deep enough so Nate won’t forget the feeling any time soon. Nate holds onto him and tastes the sweat on his neck, saltiness filling his mouth, the taste making his stomach clench.
He feels exhausted when Colbert collapses on top of him, hot breathing skating over his forehead. Still, he manages to share a few lazy kisses and to roll onto his side when Colbert pulls out and away, although Nate knows he doesn’t go far, at least not before Nate falls asleep.
*
He wakes up a little later with his face buried in a pillow and half his body covered by the sheets. He stretches, the muscles in his thighs and stomach twinging. There’s a tiny burn between his thighs too, but Nate relishes it, stretching into it.
He picks his face up, blinking. He’s alone in the bed, but Colbert’s not gone. He’s sitting in the chair by the window, his bare feet propped up on the windowsill and his hand hanging out, smoke drifting up. It’s not really raining anymore, but it’s dreary looking, highlighting Colbert’s tan and his white trousers. They’re all he’s wearing.
Nate watches him for a moment, his slow inhale and exhale, the way he smoothes his hair back, his toes curling against the window frame. Nate could watch him forever.
His smile when Colbert looks at him feels huge, a little crazy, but Colbert smiles back, dropping his cigarette out the window, fixing the crease in his trousers.
“Was I asleep long?” Nate asks, slowly sitting up, mindful of the new pull in his back. He’s not as much of a mess as he thought he would be, most of the stickiness wiped away sometime while he was sleeping.
Colbert shakes his head. “Maybe half an hour. Do you feel okay?”
Nate pulls the sheet over his hips, so he’s not quite as naked. “A little sore, maybe, but good.”
Colbert says, “Being bent in half can do that do a person,” in a wry, teasing voice and Nate blushes.
The blush doesn’t stop him from replying defiantly, “I can live with that.”
Colbert grins.
*
Nate would be content to stay in, half-naked and eating fresh chèvre on bread, waiting for the right moment to have sex again, but around nine Colbert starts looking out the window. Nate joins him at the window, trying to see what he’s seeing.
“What is it?”
Colbert points to a street fairly far off. “Watch for a light.”
Nate squints. Sure enough, a tiny yellow glow starts up, like a firefly. He points. “There.”
“Ah,” Colbert says. “Ray was right. I don’t know how he knows these things. Some sort of backwoods sense for it.”
“For what?”
“I have an errand to run. A short one. Would you like to come? I have to drop something off.”
Nate looks at Colbert. “What? Where?”
Colbert points to the little speck of light.
“Right there,” he says.
*
The light turns out to be a lamp hung above an almost invisible doorway in an alley. Colbert hands Nate the package - an envelope full of stacks and stacks of francs pulled from the safe Nate didn’t know was behind the shop counter and a note that says You owe me-and raps his knuckle four times on the door.
When it opens, light and music pour out. Colbert ushers him in quickly, and a burly man in a fine suit shuts the door behind them. There are plush red stairs leading somewhere, and Nate follows Colbert down them, into the light and music which only get brighter and louder.
It’s a club or café, with low ceilings and crowded tables and booths, certainly the nicest café Nate’s seen yet in Algiers. Most of the patrons seem to be men, and most of them are wearing suits as they lean into each other to whisper. At one end of the space is a long bar and at the other is a stage where a man in a white tuxedo is playing a piano while another blows long notes on a trumpet and a third plays the cello.
Colbert pulls the thick envelope from Nate’s hand and leans into him so he can be heard. “I have to give this to a friend in the back. Find a table and wait for me. Order a drink if you want.”
“Okay,” Nate says, but Colbert’s already moving towards a red curtain near the stage, disappearing behind it.
Nate picks a booth close to the bar, rubbing his hands over the marble tabletop and pressing into the velvet seats, trying to remember if there was a sign anywhere saying where they are. A waitress in a plunging dress takes his order and asks if he has a tab. When he stammers something about Monsieur Colbert she blinks at him, but says nothing.
Colbert’s not gone very long, but it is enough time for Nate to notice all the looks flying at him from many of the men sitting near him. They look at his slightly rumpled shirt and his beer and they whisper. Most of them seem curious. Nate hunches his shoulders, feeling horribly out of place, watching for the moment when Colbert’s white jacket slides through the red curtain again.
Everyone watches him walk across the café towards Nate, but Colbert pays none of them mind. He slides into the booth next to Nate, looking very pleased with himself.
“Went well,” he says, as though Nate asked, his arm resting on the seat behind Nate’s shoulders. “Have you seen Ray?”
Nate shakes his head. People are really looking now.
“It’s probably too early for him,” Colbert says lightly, picking up Nate’s beer and drinking what’s left. He looks around with satisfaction and everyone who is looking at them looks away.
“I guess I should get you out of here,” he says, “before these jackals get their hands on you.”
They leave the lights and music and decadence behind in favour of the Juno. Colbert talks about helping a friend out. That’s what the money’s for, Colbert says, a friend. Colbert says he makes enough that he can do that with such a large amount of money, even in times like these.
It makes sense, and frankly Nate’s glad to be back in a place where Colbert’s the only one watching him like this.
They go to bed when they get back, not because anyone’s tired, but because Nate hasn’t stopped wanting to have sex again since his orgasm hours ago. And it’s a little different than last time, in the dark and not as fervent, Colbert blanketing his back and their arms intertwined, his mouth kissing Nate’s ear and telling Nate he’s perfect in two languages.
*
Sunday is odd, every minute passing is minute closer to tomorrow when Nate will have to go back to his uniform and the things he has to do.
He tries to sleep as late as possible, flopped over Colbert’s warm back, his nose buried in the sweet waxy-creamy smell of Colbert’s hair. Colbert stirs at ten, like an alarm is going off inside his mind, but it takes him a long time to get up and going, which Nate never would have thought, but he likes it. They fool around for a bit, lazy and naked in the sun, before Colbert extracts himself, leaving Nate lying on the sheets, watching Colbert pull on a new suit.
When Nate finally gets dressed he puts his dog tags back on, but it’s still too early for his uniform.
Sundays are for book-balancing, Colbert says, so Nate leaves the shop. He goes to the harbor again, walking slow so the sun soaks into his hair. This time he goes down onto the sand, his pants rolled up and his boots and socks off so he can feel the sand. Everyone’s busy with their families, so no one talks to him, but he doesn’t mind. He steps into the chilly surf and lets it wash over his ankles, watching the waves lap at the horizon.
He stays for a long while, just existing. It’s past three before he even thinks of going back and longer still before he actually goes.
He’s warm and sweaty when he gets back into the shop, the bell tinkle bringing Colbert’s head up. He’s lying on the chaise near the window, reading a book called L'Étranger by Albert Camus.
He asks if Nate had fun and Nate’s still full of leftover sun so he says yes, although it would be nice if this wasn’t a once-every-three-months kind of thing. Colbert chuckles and offers him the use of his bathtub.
Nate washes the smell of sex and cigarettes and sweat off, looking out the bathroom door at the big bed with the rumpled white sheets. He wonders when Colbert will wash them, if he does it himself or if someone else does.
By now his uniform is cleaner than the other clothes he’s bought, but he puts them back on and just carries the bundle of his fatigues downstairs.
Colbert’s back behind the counter, although he’s still reading, bent down, his elbows resting on the glass. He puts the book down when Nate stops in front of the counter and straightens.
“Gonna head out?”
“I think so. Sunday dinner.”
Colbert smirks. “Wouldn’t want to miss that.”
“No,” Nate says and they smile at each other.
Nate’s not sure what comes next, how to say thank you for whatever this was. Colbert doesn’t say anything, but he has that fond expression on his face again, the one that seems to only be for Nate.
Nate shifts his weight, and the weight in his pocket shifts too. “Oh,” he says, digging for it, “I brought you something.” He pulls his hand out of his pocket and lays a smooth grey stone and a swirling pink and white shell on the counter. “Hello from the beach.”
Colbert picks up the stone and shell carefully, looking them over, rubbing his fingers over them like he’s testing their worth.
“Nate,” he says quietly. “Thanks.”
He puts the stone next to the cash register and the shell on top of it. Then he pulls Nate in close enough to kiss him long and slow, the way they do in the movies. When he pulls back he doesn’t go all the way, his hand still cradling Nate’s nape and face so close. His eyes are very blue.
“Let’s do this again some time,” he says, his eyes crinkling in the corners when he smiles.
Nate laughs, more than the joke deserves, just because it feels good and he wants to.
“I’d like that,” he says, still laughing, his heart thumping like crazy in his chest, the sound echoing inside his body, almost loud enough for anyone to hear.
If you’re lost but intrigued, allow me to direct you to this selection of links: snippet snippet snippet snippet snippet, or there’s the wwii au tag. Also, here is some beautiful art done by trolleys which makes me hearteyes all over the land.
Title: Sea Change
Author: nightanddaze
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Brad/Nate
Word Count: 9152
Summary: What are you gonna do on your leave?
Notes: WWII AU. Beta and French-checking by snglesrvngfrend. A thousand thanks to amberlynne and shoshannagold for cheerleading and listening to me moan (all the time!).
When it happens Nate can’t quite believe it. When he, Marsden and Weber get called on by the Lieutenant he figures John and Alex are in shit and they lied to include him. But instead of getting reprimands, they get weekend passes. If the Lieutenant is amused by the surprise on their faces he doesn’t show it, just says, “Gentlemen,” and salutes them back.
It’s only Thursday, so they still have all of tomorrow to do patrols and busywork, but that also means an entire day of planning. Nate already knows what he wants to do, but it’s not something he could say to these guys.
“What are you guys gonna do?” He asks instead while they head out in the direction of their billets.
John grins. “I want to actually see this fuckin’ city. We’ve been here for so long and I’ve barely seen shit.”
“You know what I wanna see?” Alex says, leering. He holds his hands in front of his chest, cupped. “Some titties.”
“I heard there’re hookers down by the harbor,” John whispers excitedly. “Let’s fuckin’ go.”
They both turn to Nate, grinning.
Nate slows down a little. “Maybe,” he says quietly.
“C’mon, Nate! We need your sweet baby face to get us women at a discount.”
Nate’s never even seen a hooker. They probably have them in Baltimore, but not where Nate’s from. He’s pretty sure he doesn’t want to. Not like John and Alex want to.
“I’ll think about it,” he tells them, and they seem satisfied. They don’t know that he doesn’t mean it.
*
A little after midnight Nate sneaks out. He shouldn’t mess around so close to the weekend, but he can’t help it.
He’s better behaved than John and Alex, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t know anything. He dresses in the dark and slips out of the house without making any noise, sliding down the silent street.
The night patrols are generally pretty lazy, but Nate takes the side streets anyway, staying close to the buildings when he hears footsteps. It ends up being just a young French couple full of beer and love passing by.
He finally ducks under the blue and white awning and peers into the window above the Closed sign. It’s dark inside, but Nate thinks he can see a thin line of light under the door to the backroom.
The doorknob turns all the way in Nate’s hand smooth and easy, like Colbert oiled it this morning. He stops like that, the door still closed but the latch all the way back, suddenly thinks about Colbert’s face upon seeing Nate intruding on him.
Two shadows interrupt the light under the door: footsteps passing by, and Nate opens the door a few inches. The shop feels quieter than it usually does, although he can hear clinking in the backroom.
Going forward is easier than going back where Colbert is concerned, so Nate collects himself and steps inside, closing the door carefully, following the little light.
He’s thinking about telling Colbert about his pass, forty-eight hours with no patrols or paper checking, time to do anything. His mind is so full with possibility that he’s startled by the sight of Colbert sitting at a table in the backroom with two men and a woman, all of them holding cards.
“Oh,” he says, staring at them staring at him.
One of the men, built small with dark hair and eyes, smirks.
“Well, hello soldier,” he says. He fans his face with his cards and his eyes cut between Nate and Colbert.
Nate flushes and looks away.
The other man is blonde, with shorter hair than Colbert, and a much kinder face. His surprise turns into a friendly smile for Nate.
The woman is gorgeous, olive-skinned with a loose pile of wavy black hair and a low-cut dress. She looks at him like he’s something to eat and he flushes harder.
Colbert just stares at him for a long moment.
“Sorry,” Nate says and backs a little bit out of the light. “I just uh-”
Colbert pushes his chair back and stands. He shuffles his cards together and, with a look at the dark-haired man, tucks them into the inside pocket on his suit jacket. He approaches and Nate backs into the shop, into the darkness. Colbert shuts the door to the backroom behind himself.
“Hello,” he rumbles, “what brings you to me so late at night?”
It feels silly to say now, but Nate can’t have come here for nothing. “I got a weekend pass.”
“Good boy,” Colbert says fondly. “You must be even better behaved than I thought.”
Nate laughs; if only Colbert knew what he’s been thinking about since he found out he had the weekend off.
“Not so good,” he says, shooting for coy.
Colbert cups a hand around the back of his neck, squeezing gently.
“I’ll bet-” he starts, but someone-probably the small man-yells, “Hurry the fuck up, Colbert. Walt’s getting tired!”
“I am not!” the other one yells.
Colbert smiles wryly. “I should get back before Ray steals my money. Is there anything you’d like, besides spreading your good news around?”
“No.”
“Well,” Colbert turns him by his shoulders and gives him a little push toward the door, “go to bed. Be good.”
*
Nate spends all of Friday dreaming and avoiding John and Alex. Both Mme. Desjardins and Mme. Lafaire comment on his never-ending smile. Mme. Lafaire invites him over for dinner when he tells her he’s off, but doesn’t mind when he turns her down.
“Big plans?” She asks, tucking an apple into his palm. It’s warm from the sun.
He shrugs shallowly and she smiles.
“Have a good time, Nate. I’ll have my papers ready on Monday for you to check.”
Nate winks and tosses the apple up in the air, saying, “Merci, Madame.”
Neither of the Poulains ask where he’s going without dinner, nor do they comment on his taking of an old pair of work trousers and a shirt. But Mme. Poulain brings him an icy glass of milk when he’s almost out the door, and she waits while he drinks it. And then she wraps a thin arm around his neck and kisses his hair.
“Be safe, Nat’an-yell, whatever you do,” she says quietly, in the same voice his mom used to use, back when there wasn’t anything to be afraid of.
He scrubs over the kiss as he walks down towards Colbert’s street, a dusty Algerian sunset lighting his way. As he turns onto the little street with the fluttering awning a soft pulse starts beating in his belly.
The sign says Closed, but the door is unlocked, so Nate goes in. He stops to smell the silver polish and cigarette smoke in the air-the pulse inside beats harder for a moment-and then peeks in the backroom. It’s empty.
Upstairs someone strides lightly across the floor toward the stairs and Nate follows it to the middle of the room, waiting for Colbert. Inside of him is the thump-thump-thump, eager to burst out.
Colbert starts to descend the stairs and Nate watches the landing. He’s surprised when a woman comes down, mussing her hair. It’s the same woman from the poker game, wearing a dress that’s a little too slinky for daytime and lipstick the colour of a ruby ring.
She doesn’t even seem surprised to see him.
“Hello,” she says. She even has the perfect French accent, thick but not murky.
The pulse dies inside Nate, but he still says, “Ma’am,” quietly, because he has to.
She laughs, like breaking glass. “Parfait.” She carefully strokes a hand over her bangs and tilts her head back to call up the stairs, “Bradley, that boy is here to see you.”
“What boy?” Colbert calls back, starting to come down from the apartment.
“The one from the other night.”
Colbert steps onto the landing, a woman’s coat slung over his arm. He’s in one of his several cream suits and a light blue shirt. Nothing’s out of place but Nate’s still ashamed to be here, interrupting. He holds his blush in by sheer will.
“Nate,” Colbert says in greeting as he holds up the coat for the woman to slide her arms back into.
Nate swallows and nods.
“Il est très joli,” the woman says over her shoulder to Colbert as he settles the coat. He smirks.
“Is he always this quiet?” She asks laughingly while Nate fidgets.
“Not usually,” Colbert says, letting go and stepping to her side. “Mais, les garçons provenant de fermes, vous savez comment ils sont.”
She smiles at Nate, kind of gently. “Farmboys are the best ones, I’ll have you know,” she says.
“You would know,” Colbert retorts. He and the woman laugh and then he says, “Nate, this is Yvette. Yvette, Nate.”
“Ma’am,” Nate says again.
“Nate,” Yvette says, the English way. “I have heard about you. Very good things. Bradley says-”
“Bradley says nothing,” Colbert interrupts. “Don’t you have things to do?”
Yvette grins, and winks at Nate. “That I do. It was a pleasure to meet you, Nate.” She turns to clasp Colbert’s biceps, almost pressing her mouth to his cheek while he holds her elbows and actually kisses her cheek.
“Merci encore, vieil ami. Jusqu'à la prochaine,” she says against his skin.
“I’ll have it by the week after next,” Colbert replies, “Bon soir, Madame.”
She waves at Nate and the bell above the door tinkles as she leaves.
Colbert shakes his head fondly as the door closes and then walks back to the counter, pulling his ledger off the shelf behind it and opening it. He picks up the pencil next to the register and carefully writes something down on a page in the middle. Then he carefully replaces the pencil and the book and finally looks at Nate.
“Are you excited for your leave?” he asks, smiling.
“Yeah,” Nate says.
Wiping an errant fingerprint off the top of the glass counter Colbert asks, “What would you like to do?”
Nate shifts. He’s still holding the clothes he brought, feeling stupid.
Something almost imperceptible slides over Colbert’s face, but Nate doesn’t know what it is exactly.
“Are you hungry? We could start with dinner. Let me buy you something to eat.”
Nate thinks about leaving, but the Poulains don’t expect him back tonight and he really doesn’t want to go to the harbor with John and Alex. So he nods at Colbert as he rounds the counter to approach Nate. He says, “Okay.”
“Wonderful.” Colbert cups Nate’s shoulder, pressing him toward the stairs. “Go get changed and we’ll go.”
*
They go to the Café Juno, which is not far from the shop. And even though it’s full the owner, Pierre-who has always been cranky towards Nate-finds them a table out of nowhere, tucked in the back near the kitchen.
Colbert immediately lights a cigarette as they sit, even before he’s stopped shifting his long legs underneath the table. He blows a smoke ring up toward the rafters and asks, “Do you like wine?”
“I’ve never really had it,” Nate says. A few people are looking over at them, at Colbert leaning back in his chair and Nate in the clothes of a citizen. They seem impressed.
“It’s good.” Colbert looks to the bar where Pierre is and holds up two fingers, mouthing Rouge.
The wine is good, Nate thinks. Smoky and rich, with startling fruitiness. Nate sips it carefully, watching Colbert drink half a glass in one go.
Colbert blows another smoke ring and refills his glass from the bottle between them.
“Ça va?” he asks.
“Good,” Nate replies, stifling any question that might be rising in his throat.
Colbert shakes a finger at him lightly. “I asked you en français. You’ll never learn if you don’t try.”
“Bien. Et vous?” Nate’s accent is clunky, silly-sounding.
Colbert smiles indulgently. “Très bien, merci. Now why don’t you tell me what’s got your panties in a knot.”
Nate looks down at the menu he hasn’t opened yet. Colbert waits, stubbing his cigarette out and drinking more wine. He looks like he could wait all night.
Finally, Nate says, “Who’s Yvette?”
The smile on Colbert’s face comes back smoothly and he says, “A friend of mine.”
“Are you sleeping with her?”
“I have, but not now.”
“Oh.”
“Oh is right.” Colbert takes another drink and knocks his foot against Nate’s under the table. “Are you satisfied now?”
Nate pushes his foot back against Colbert’s. “Yes.”
Holding up his wine glass Colbert smiles at Nate, saying, “Perfect. To free time and amiable prostitutes, then.”
Nate’s mouth drops open and a choked laugh falls out. Colbert lifts his glass a little higher, nodding until Nate picks his up too. Their glasses clink over the middle of the table and inside of Nate a faint thump-thump-thump starts up again.
*
Nate has three glasses of the wine, each one better than the last, making his mouth free and his stomach warm. He’s never done this before, sat in a public place with someone, tipsy and talking, not even with the girl he left behind in Maryland.
Colbert drinks even more than Nate does, but aside from feeding Nate the last spoonful of his ratatouille on the sly and telling Nate the story of how he met Yvette and the small man from the poker game-Ray- at the harbor, he remains as unflappable as ever.
His eyes gleam in the low candlelight though, and he presses Nate for stories about everything from the farm to his family to the girl, Emily.
The wine makes Nate brave enough that when the bottle’s empty he asks why Colbert left America.
Glancing at the last dredges of wine in his glass Colbert shrugs. “Some things went pretty wrong for me and I decided to indulge my sense of adventure.”
Nate shifts a little. One of Colbert’s feet has been between his for the last hour, not doing anything, just resting there as Colbert sprawls further and further back across his chair.
“Why Algiers?” Nate asks.
Colbert’s mouth goes wry. “It was as far away as I could get.”
Nate nods. He understands the feeling, even though nothing bad has ever happened to him.
Colbert drains his glass. “Algiers is my home now,” he says with finality. He pulls a thin leather wallet out of his inside jacket pocket and retrieves several hundred francs and a few coins, tucking it all under the empty wine bottle.
Startled, Nate stammers, “I can-”
Colbert waves him off, muttering, “You can’t,” which is true, and standing, raising his hand in the direction of Pierre, who hasn’t left the bar yet tonight. “My treat.”
“Thank you,” Nate says, following him through the mostly-empty restaurant, past the few dreamy-eyed couples left in the café. It’s dark outside and it feels like they melt into it. For the first time in months Nate feels inconspicuous, like maybe he fits into Algiers too.
They walk aimlessly through the streets, slowly moving toward Colbert’s street. It’s not cold by any means but Nate’s cheeks feel hot in comparison. From an open window above them a woman sings “It Had to Be You” to someone, interrupting herself to murmur to them.
On the last corner before the shop Colbert stops to light a cigarette, handing the shop keys off to Nate at the same time he leans against the window, in the shadow of the awning.
Nate obediently unlocks the door and then brings the keys back. Colbert rarely smokes in the shop, because of the delicate tapestries and Gharadella chaise he’d like to sell some-damn-day. Even when he smokes in the apartment, he does so with the window open, more often than not with his right hand hanging out the window, the smoke drifting to settle on someone’s hung sheets.
The glass is cool through his thin shirt, but Colbert slings an easy arm around his shoulders, warm and not too heavy.
He scrubs his fingers through Nate’s hair lightly and flicks the ashes of his cigarette with his other hand. Nate shivers under the touch, looking from the cobblestones in the lamplight to Colbert’s face.
Colbert exhales slowly, his thumb brushing Nate’s ear. He’s looking at the same place on the street Nate was.
“Tell me about your first kiss,” he says, in an odd voice, one full of distant yearning and something closer. He turns Nate’s head a little, so Nate can only look at him even though he’s still looking out at the street.
Nate closes his eyes, to think better and because for some reason his heart lurched when Colbert said kiss.
“It was,” he says, sinking back into the memory, the light from the porch, the taste of lipstick, the feeling of fear coupled with joy, “with Emily.”
Colbert hmms, but Nate keeps his eyes closed.
“I took her to see You Can’t Take It With You in the city. My dad let me borrow the truck. It was okay. She liked it, loved it. I- when I took her home she let me kiss her on the porch. I was so-”
He’s stopped by Colbert’s thumb brushing his cheek and Colbert’s mouth settling over his lightly. The word scared disappears but he keeps his eyes closed.
Colbert pulls back just enough so he can kiss Nate again, his lips against Nate’s bottom one, pressing just enough to make Nate lean in too.
Colbert’s mouth is soft and smoky and his stubble scrapes against the corner of Nate’s mouth, sending something electric through Nate’s veins. He turns so he can get his hands on Colbert, return his kisses properly, the way they do in the movies.
In the past they’ve kissed like there was something at stake, like someone could lose if they waited. But tonight Colbert doles out the kisses slowly, his mouth barely open. He kisses Nate like he’s something sweet Colbert want to savor forever. Nate hears him flick his cigarette and the low hiss of it going out in the darkness and then his other hand is against Nate’s hip and his tongue brushes over Nate’s.
Nate makes a noise like he’s been struck. He aches suddenly, his hips and knees and fingers. Colbert pulls his mouth away but stays close, his nose brushing Nate’s.
“Are you staying tonight?”
The yearning in Colbert’s voice has ratcheted up so much Nate would never dream of saying no. He nods and gets his mouth taken again, Colbert pressing him back against the glass gently, touching the open collar of his shirt.
“Can we,” he asks in stops and starts, “can we go inside?”
He’s not thinking about getting caught, although he should be. He’s only thinking about Colbert’s mouth and everything he planned for this weekend, so close to his grasp.
*
Now Nate knows why people get drunk. It’s because it makes them feel like this: loose and hot, in love with the world, everything so big it feels like he could gladly suffocate under the weight of it.
He’s babbling and he doesn’t even care, that’s how nice it is.
Colbert’s hips push against his and the slick tip of his cock nudges Nate’s balls, the space underneath and he moans, “Fuck me, please please please.”
Colbert laughs at him, not unkindly, the way he does when he sees someone he despises, but messy and warm, his palms on Nate’s cheeks.
“Didn’t they teach you patience in the Army?”
“No,” Nate insists, nipping Colbert’s lip, inhaling his laughter.
“Of course they didn’t. How useless of them. Here.”
He moves with the hands that push him down onto his front. And there’s slickness between his thighs, and Colbert’s cock sliding there too.
“Keep your legs closed,” Colbert murmurs, his arm belting around Nate’s chest, “just like that, yeah.”
Nate wonders if this is what it’s really like, to be fucked. He wonders what would happen if Colbert slipped on his next thrust, pushed higher. But Colbert’s never slipped, not once, so Nate raises his hips up a little, just imagining it.
He comes like that, his cock rubbing against the sheets and Colbert’s cock slipping between his thighs. His orgasm feels big and dreamy, but he hears himself cry out.
“I’ll fuck you tomorrow,” Colbert promises roughly when he comes. “As long as you want.”
After, he cleans himself up in the bathroom without turning on the light, wiping the come and lubricant off his belly and thighs in small strokes, avoiding any area that’s too sensitive. He feels shaky and off-centre, but good. He leans close to the mirror and smiles, looking at his teeth.
Colbert’s not done making the bed when Nate comes back, but he stops and gestures toward it. Nate hesitates. He’s fooled around with Colbert here and one time he fell asleep for twenty minutes before Colbert woke him for his patrol, but there’s a certain amount of gravity to climbing in, settling on the side without the table.
Colbert doesn’t say anything, just waits until Nate’s lying down before he drapes a thin quilt over the entire bed and gets in the other side.
“Comfortable?” If Nate squints he can see Colbert digging his shoulder into the mattress, his eyes already closed.
He nods. “Yes.”
Colbert smiles faintly on the other side of the bed. He reaches out across the sheets, over the wiped-off wet spot, to squeeze Nate’s hip.
“Go to sleep,” he says.
*
The next morning Nate wakes up not sure of where he is, but he’s naked, warm and comfortable, although his mouth tastes like woodchips. He blinks, stretching out his legs, looking over at the bedside table. It’s late, almost nine. The bed smells like cologne and active bodies.
Colbert is long gone, and if Nate tries he can remember fuzzily the sensation of the bed getting lighter and cooler, although Colbert tucked the covers around him again. Now the bed’s only warm where Nate is.
His clothes have been folded on the chair by the window and his boots are tucked underneath, but Nate ignores them for the time being. He goes into the bathroom naked, smiling at himself in the mirror, looking at the reflection of his body.
He wonders if Colbert meant what he said while he drinks from his cupped hand and wipes his wet fingers over his hair, but can’t come up with a conclusion. He pees and rubs a fingerful of toothpaste over his teeth and stretches, watching the muscles in his arms and chest move. He feels good.
He puts on the clothes he wore last night and leaves his uniform on the chair, determined to be who he’s not until Monday morning. The sun is already shining brightly outside.
Colbert’s downstairs in the shop, sitting behind the counter, looking through a loupe at a string of pearls. He has a cigarette tucked behind his ear.
“Ah,” he says, still looking, “it rises.”
“It’s my leave,” Nate says, mock-petulantly, “I’ll do what I want.”
“In that case,” Colbert sets the pearls down on a velvet pad and the loupe on the counter. He opens the cash register and pulls out two hundred franc notes, “Why don’t you use your leave to go buy me a newspaper? And get yourself something to eat too.”
“You don’t have to feed me,” Nate says as he takes the money.
“Well, I don’t have anything to give you here,” Colbert replies. “So unless you plan to beg you should go buy a pastry with the change from my newspaper.”
“Yes, sir,” Nate says, because he is hungry.
“Go,” Colbert says, picking up the loupe again, dragging his ledger closer with his elbow.
Nate buys a sweet roll from the bakery and eats it while he looks for Remy, the man who sells newspapers off the street. They exchange pleasantries while Nate buys a paper and Nate tips him all the change.
Colbert’s moved on from the pearls when he gets back in the shop and is instead oiling the hinges on an ancient jewelry box.
“You gave Remy the change,” Colbert says when Nate puts the paper down.
“Yes.”
Colbert wipes his fingers on the front page. “Good. And now what will you do?”
Nate wants to say something risqué and intriguing, but he chickens out, shrugging instead.
“Well, there are things that need dusting here. Or you could go out into the world and entertain yourself before it rains.”
Nate looks outside. “It’s not going to rain.”
Colbert’s reading the smudged headline now. “Yes it will. This afternoon. I might close the shop if it does.” He smiles at Nate, the right corner more turned up than the left, naughty.
Nate’s stomach goes warm and he smiles back.
“Okay,” Nate says, still smiling. “I’ll be back later.”
*
He goes to the harbor, not to see hookers, but to see the sea. There are some people on the beach splashing in the little waves and picking up stones. Nate stays on the boardwalk, looking out on the water, inhaling salt and sunshine.
There’s a post office in the middle of town and Nate steps in to write a letter to his family.
Mom, Dad, Maggie and Ella, he writes in smudgy pencil, I’m on leave, just for a few days, just because. I’m trying to see more of the city, which is especially beautiful when you don’t have to watch for Italians and Germans.
I’m doing very well. I hope everyone at home is good. I miss you all.
Give Ace some scratches from me.
Love,
Nate
All he has is five francs, which isn’t really enough for the paper, envelope and stamp, but the postmaster sees his dog tags and lets him off cheap.
It’s almost noon when Nate gets back onto the street. There are some clouds on the horizon, grey and heavy at the bottom. Nate smiles, his hands in his pockets.
*
“Well, if it isn’t the littlest soldier,” Ray says when Nate opens the door. He’s leaning on the front of the counter, the book between him and Colbert. The velvet pad and loupe are there, but the pearls are not.
“Ray,” Colbert chides. “He has a name and it’s Nate.” He looks at Nate and nods at Ray. “This is Ray. You might remember his big fucking mouth.”
“I remember.”
Ray grins. “I am pretty unforgettable.”
“I wasn’t paying you a compliment,” Colbert says, closing the book, stowing it on the shelf.
“Of course you weren’t,” Ray snorts. “L'homme de glace does not pay peons compliments.”
“In fact I do. But to people who deserve them. Nate, that shirt fits you exquisitely.”
“Thank you,” Nate says.
“De rien. Now, Ray, unless you want something else, you should probably go bother Walt or Poke instead of me. I have to take the young Corporal out for lunch.”
Ray rolls his eyes. “Well, I got what I wanted.” He pats a bumpy lump in his jacket pocket. “Don’t forgot to come get your…” He looks at Nate, “Packages. People need that stuff.”
Colbert nods. “Lundi, bien? Emmenez-Walt à vous aider à organiser tout et je ferai les livraisons.”
Ray makes the A-Okay sign with his fingers.
“You got it, boss,” he says jauntily, striding toward the door. “A la prochaine, Nate.”
Nate waves vaguely at the closing door.
“You do deliveries?” he turns and asks Colbert.
Colbert shrugs. “Lunch?”
*
They go back to the Juno and have garlic soup and cold roast chicken. Colbert asks him about the harbor, if he picked up any shells or walked on the sand.
“No,” Nate says. “I sent a letter to my family.”
Colbert nods, stirring his soup. “Do you miss them?”
“Yeah. What about you?”
“Hmm?”
“Your family. Do you miss them?”
Colbert shrugs. “We write,” he says. “It’s enough.” He smiles at Nate’s frown. “My family is likely very different from yours, Nate, and I am different from my family. They know I want to be here.”
Nate nods because he understands, not because he agrees. The rest of their lunch passes quietly, in small talk and coffee. Raindrops start hitting the window as Colbert drops several crisp notes on the table.
Colbert smokes on the way back, his cigarette pinched under the shelter of his fingers so it doesn’t get wet. He finishes his cigarette under the awning and Nate waits with him, watching a stray dog try to squeeze its nose into an empty jar.
When Nate goes inside Colbert stands for a moment in the open doorway, looking left and right down the street.
“Well,” he announces. “It does not seem like anyone needs anything fine or old today. I guess I have to keep the damn chaise for another day.”
He shuts the door, locks it and does both deadbolts. He turns the sign in the window to Closed and flicks the back of it with some finality. Then he leans against the door, grinning at Nate.
“I told you it would rain.”
Nate kisses him. He takes the four steps across the wood floor-his boots sound so loud-and kisses Colbert’s smile, presses as close as he can, one palm against the cool window, one holding Colbert’s collar, his knuckles brushing Colbert’s hot throat.
It feels like his knees might give out, but the door’s got them and he doesn’t want to ruin this with something as stupid as rubbery knees. He kisses Colbert harder to make up for it, making an urgent noise, and Colbert smiles wider against his mouth.
“This is what I get for being right?” Colbert murmurs into his mouth. “Intriguing.”
“Shut up,” Nate says roughly, laughing, diving in for another kiss. He doesn’t come up for a long time, too busy exploring Colbert’s mouth, his slick teeth and his half-French tongue. Colbert cradles his hips and lets him do whatever he wants.
When he’s had his fill of Colbert’s mouth he sucks at Colbert’s jaw, touching the pale shell of his ear. Colbert shudders faintly when Nate buries his face against his throat, taking deep breaths. Colbert smells like smoke and the cologne he shouldn’t be able to afford. Nate’s hips sway into Colbert’s, just this side of frantic.
“We have all day for this,” Colbert tells him, stilling his hips. He tilts Nate’s chin up, kisses him once, nice and slow. “Try not to come in the first five minutes.”
Nate laughs again and tilts his face back down. He’s crushed Colbert’s finely starched collar in his grip. He lets go and steps back, far enough so he can’t touch. With a little flourish he gestures to toward the staircase.
“Après vous.”
The stairs are too narrow and shabby for anything to happen, so Nate just watches Colbert’s long back as they go up to the apartment. It feels like it takes years but then they’re there, Colbert about-facing, walking backward through the kitchenette, watching Nate watch.
“Are you excited?” he asks as he shoulders the bedroom door open.
“Yeah,” Nate says, crowding close to get at Colbert’s mouth again, let him feel how excited Nate is. Colbert makes a soft, impolite noise into his mouth and squeezes his ass, holding him close while they shuffle back to the bed.
It’s a dizzy tumble down to the rumpled sheets that smell like them and then Colbert pins him there, kissing him long and hungry, unbuttoning his shirt with one hand. Nate reciprocates, but he’s a bit clumsy as he tries to juggle kisses and Colbert’s perfectly knotted tie at the same time.
“Buttons,” he grumbles when the tie’s been sent to the floor. Colbert laughs against his jaw before sitting up, fingers flying down his shirt front and cuffs faster than Nate ever could do it. The blue and white striped shirt and the bone-white jacket end up on the floor with the tie, where Nate has never seen any article of clothing.
He’s tan. Nate knows it, has seen him naked before, but not shirtless, wearing white trousers. Nate takes a breath, but Colbert straddles him and sucks it in, urging Nate up and his shirt down until he’s tangled up in it, stuck at the elbows while Colbert kisses his throat.
Colbert didn’t shave this morning, so his stubble prickles over Nate’s nipples, making him whimper and arch. His cock feels hot and impossibly big inside his pants, but there’s nothing to rub on, Colbert’s cock a few inches up in the air above his.
He whimpers again and Colbert nips one of his nipples. The sound cuts off while he gasps, Colbert’s hand squeezing his cock.
“Jesus,” Colbert murmurs, “you kids and your sex drives.”
“Like you’re old,” Nate grits out, trying to ignore Colbert’s hands undoing his pants.
“Twenty-six is plenty old,” Colbert says as he eases Nate’s pants and underwear over his cock and down his legs, making another pile on the floor, topping it with Nate’s socks.
“Now that,” he says, pushing Nate’s left leg up toward his body, looking at Nate’s cock resting on his belly, “is beauty worth something.”
His voice is thick and appreciative enough that Nate flushes, but he tries to hide it by sitting up and getting rid of his shirt while Colbert gets out of his trousers. He leans over the side of the bed to drop his shirt and his dog tags swing back and forth, clanking against each other. When Nate sits up again they swing back to thump against his chest, resting right on his breastbone.
He looks down at them. A good soldier never takes his tags off, because you can never be sure when you’ll be a dead soldier and they’ll come in handy. Colbert’s completely naked by now, watching him. Nate rubs his thumb over the print of his name and number, his immunizations, the little B for his blood, the C for Catholic.
His chest feels odd without the little weight of being a good soldier on it, but Nate doesn’t want to be a good soldier today.
“Can you take these?” Nate asks, already dropping the tags into Colbert’s outstretched palm.
Colbert looks at them for a moment, swiping over the information like he could learn it by touch, and then carefully coils them on the beside table next to the clock and his watch. While he’s there he dips into the drawer underneath and gets the little tub of Vaseline out, tossing it next to Nate.
Nate shifts, ready to turn on his hands and knees, because he knows that’s how men fuck, but Colbert stops him by crawling over him, backing him down on the bed.
He murmurs something in French Nate doesn’t catch, but his voice is quietly fond the way it is every once in a while and he kisses Nate. So Nate kisses him back hard because he’s full of fondness, feeling deep like he never has before, not even the day he and Emily decided to go steady.
Still kissing, Colbert cradles his shoulders and rolls them bodily so Nate’s on top of him. Nate’s cock catches in the ditch of his hip and Nate arches into it, moaning softly.
“What do you want to do?” Colbert asks. He pushes Nate back so he’s straddling his pelvis.
“Uh.” Nate can feel Colbert’s cock brushing his ass. He can dimly remember last night, his slurred voice whining, Fuck me, please, but he just says, “Uh,” again.
Colbert rubs a knuckle up the underside of his cock. “Do you want to come first, or do you want to wait? If you come first you might be less tense, but you’re used to my fingers, right?”
One little drop of precome slips from the tip of Nate’s cock to land underneath Colbert’s belly button and Nate nods.
Colbert arches one eyebrow. “Your choice, Nate.”
“I-” Another slow rub ending at Nate’s frenulum, another droplet that ruins the perfect circle of the first. “I can wait.”
Colbert smiles, smearing the next drop over the head of Nate’s cock with his thumb.
“Good man,” he says. “Get me the Vaseline.”
Nate knows about this part, has done it before, although not sitting astride Colbert’s ribs. He feels a little exposed, but this way he can stroke his own cock while one of Colbert’s fingers brushes wet and smooth against his asshole.
One finger is easy, but Colbert takes his time anyway, crooking and pressing, laughing when Nate makes an impatient noise, muttering about how the Army is really screwing him up.
Two fingers has him resettling his knees on either side of Colbert, stroking his cock a little faster. Colbert rubs his thigh, his face stony with concentration until his fingers press deep enough that Nate’s hips jerk and he groans, trying to catch that spot again. Then Colbert smiles.
He thrusts a few times with his fingers, slowly, testing for something, then he says, “I’m gonna do three, alright?” and pulls his fingers out.
Nate nods, holding onto the base of his cock. His face and chest are warm with the stupid flush he always gets and there’s a yawning pit in his belly, nervousness and some want there that’s echoed in the place behind his balls.
Colbert re-slicks his fingers and holds them up for Nate’s inspection: his index and ring fingers slightly tucked under his middle one. They’re all shiny and thick, faintly obscene.
They start to press against his asshole and Colbert says, “Push down a little,” his other hand gripping Nate’s hip.
Nate closes his eyes and does it, thinking about the first time he saw Colbert’s hands, polishing the ladle that’s not downstairs anymore, his fingers long and talented. Back then Nate never would have imagined this, the slow push of those fingers stretching him, the tip of his cock resting against Colbert’s breastbone, the little ooze of precome and Colbert’s fingers inside connecting them.
Finally Colbert’s fingers stop moving and they both take a breath. Nate’s stretched, he can feel it. It’s not too much and it doesn’t hurt, but it feels strange, like a pulse radiating from his ass that might be sore later, pumping in time with his heart. He tries to stay still while Colbert touches one of his nipples.
“It’ll feel sort of like this,” Colbert tells him. “You’ll be full and that’ll be strange, but good.” His fingers twist and spread. “I’ll make you feel good.”
The empty feeling inside Nate suddenly swells and he squirms on Colbert’s fingers.
“I want to,” he says, hot and trapped even though he’s on top. “I don’t want to wait anymore.”
Colbert blinks at him twice before sliding his fingers out, watching Nate’s face. Then he rolls them again, laughing a deep joy-brimmed laugh when Nate yelps.
He’s hot and heavy all over Nate, his cock brushing Nate’s and his slick fingers holding Nate’s face still. Nate mouth is open before Colbert’s hits his, the tip of his tongue lifted for that first rushing touch with Colbert’s.
Colbert groans into his mouth, his hips rolling into Nate’s hard.
“You feel so fucking nice around my fingers,” he says, low and hot against Nate’s ear. “I can’t imagine what you’ll be like around my dick.”
Nate makes a soft noise, his cock jerking and a hard clenching between his thighs. They kiss again, rubbing together, almost the way Nate wants it.
Reluctantly Colbert pulls away, reaching for one of the pillows, murmuring, “Up,” so Nate lifts his hips. The pillow goes underneath him.
“Shouldn’t I turn over?”
Colbert urges him to plant his feet flat on the bed, and then he reaches for the Vaseline again.
“If you want to,” he says, smearing Vaseline down his erection, all the way from the head to the thick base. “But you’ll be more relaxed this way, and I can see your face.”
Nate nods, but he’s looking at Colbert’s cock, trying to think if it will feel like three fingers or if it’ll be like more, if more is possible.
He lifts his knees when Colbert tells him to, so Colbert can settle over him, his cock catching the rim of Nate’s ass.
“Deep breath,” Colbert tells him, starting to push when he inhales. The head of his cock pops in suddenly and he clenches around it involuntarily.
The muscles in his thigh jump and he whimpers.
“Relax,” Colbert murmurs, pressing in another inch and then stopping when Nate tenses again. He gets a hand between them to stroke Nate’s cock, his thumb circling the head until Nate’s knees lower a fraction of an inch. “There.”
Then he pulls back a little and pushes back in, a bit further, forcing half a breath out of Nate. He hums and then starts speaking to Nate in French in a soothing rumble as he keeps going.
Nate has no idea how long it takes, but he’s holding onto Colbert’s ribs hard when he finally stops, still muttering, calling Nate something he doesn’t know, kissing him, his tongue as deep as his cock.
Nate feels full, fuller than the three fingers, but not in a way that hurts. He kisses Colbert back, unsure whether he should stay still for Colbert’s first few gentle thrusts or do something.
He lifts his hips carefully and Colbert groans into his mouth, saying, “Yeah,” breathlessly, making heat spark in his belly.
“Feels good,” Nate whispers back. It’s not completely a lie. The fullness has smothered the empty feeling and the rhythm is starting to rub him the right way. He lifts his hips again, right as Colbert thrusts in and that makes him shiver.
Colbert shifts, pulling his hand away from Nate’s cock, cupping his jaw instead. He nips Nate’s lip.
“Jerk yourself off,” he says, saying the thing Nate doesn’t understand again, following it with a few slow thrusts before he speeds up again.
Nate’s cock flagged a bit before, but it doesn’t take much to get it going again. It’s hard to jerk off, lift his hips and watch Colbert’s face at the same time, but he manages, even though he gets caught up in it, his own face flaming hot and his calves cramping.
Colbert groans quietly, his mouth rubbing over Nate’s jaw, fucking Nate harder, hitting that place inside he does with his fingers.
Nate cries out, louder than he means to, a sticky string of precome hitting his knuckles. Colbert smiles against his skin and does it again and again, kissing Nate’s chin when he tips his head back.
Nate’s toes are curling and his balls feel heavy, like his ass, like his stomach. He’s gasping. “‘M gonna come,” he whimpers.
“Good,” Colbert purrs, his hips rolling hard and constant, “C’mon, Nate.”
Nate closes his eyes so he can feel the wave inside him cresting better. He squeezes the tip of his cock tight in his fist and moans.
His orgasm feels different. Being bent like this means his muscles are taut, twitching hard with each contraction, and he can feel those too, feel his body pulsing around Colbert’s cock, and that makes it better. He makes an embarrassing noise as he comes- uhn- with every jerk, every spurt onto his belly, until he feels empty and limp.
Colbert’s stopped moving so he can watch. Nate opens his eyes, breathing hard, to see Colbert staring at him like he’s done something amazing.
Nate pulls him down with trembling hands and kisses him, arching his hips up so Colbert will keep fucking him.
“I can stop,” Colbert murmurs into his mouth.
Nate shakes his head. It still feels good. Almost better, since Nate’s full of bliss now. He holds onto Colbert’s thighs, feeling his muscles tense and release.
Colbert comes quieter than Nate, just one long groan forcing its way out of his mouth and his cock pushed as deep as it can go, deep enough so Nate won’t forget the feeling any time soon. Nate holds onto him and tastes the sweat on his neck, saltiness filling his mouth, the taste making his stomach clench.
He feels exhausted when Colbert collapses on top of him, hot breathing skating over his forehead. Still, he manages to share a few lazy kisses and to roll onto his side when Colbert pulls out and away, although Nate knows he doesn’t go far, at least not before Nate falls asleep.
*
He wakes up a little later with his face buried in a pillow and half his body covered by the sheets. He stretches, the muscles in his thighs and stomach twinging. There’s a tiny burn between his thighs too, but Nate relishes it, stretching into it.
He picks his face up, blinking. He’s alone in the bed, but Colbert’s not gone. He’s sitting in the chair by the window, his bare feet propped up on the windowsill and his hand hanging out, smoke drifting up. It’s not really raining anymore, but it’s dreary looking, highlighting Colbert’s tan and his white trousers. They’re all he’s wearing.
Nate watches him for a moment, his slow inhale and exhale, the way he smoothes his hair back, his toes curling against the window frame. Nate could watch him forever.
His smile when Colbert looks at him feels huge, a little crazy, but Colbert smiles back, dropping his cigarette out the window, fixing the crease in his trousers.
“Was I asleep long?” Nate asks, slowly sitting up, mindful of the new pull in his back. He’s not as much of a mess as he thought he would be, most of the stickiness wiped away sometime while he was sleeping.
Colbert shakes his head. “Maybe half an hour. Do you feel okay?”
Nate pulls the sheet over his hips, so he’s not quite as naked. “A little sore, maybe, but good.”
Colbert says, “Being bent in half can do that do a person,” in a wry, teasing voice and Nate blushes.
The blush doesn’t stop him from replying defiantly, “I can live with that.”
Colbert grins.
*
Nate would be content to stay in, half-naked and eating fresh chèvre on bread, waiting for the right moment to have sex again, but around nine Colbert starts looking out the window. Nate joins him at the window, trying to see what he’s seeing.
“What is it?”
Colbert points to a street fairly far off. “Watch for a light.”
Nate squints. Sure enough, a tiny yellow glow starts up, like a firefly. He points. “There.”
“Ah,” Colbert says. “Ray was right. I don’t know how he knows these things. Some sort of backwoods sense for it.”
“For what?”
“I have an errand to run. A short one. Would you like to come? I have to drop something off.”
Nate looks at Colbert. “What? Where?”
Colbert points to the little speck of light.
“Right there,” he says.
*
The light turns out to be a lamp hung above an almost invisible doorway in an alley. Colbert hands Nate the package - an envelope full of stacks and stacks of francs pulled from the safe Nate didn’t know was behind the shop counter and a note that says You owe me-and raps his knuckle four times on the door.
When it opens, light and music pour out. Colbert ushers him in quickly, and a burly man in a fine suit shuts the door behind them. There are plush red stairs leading somewhere, and Nate follows Colbert down them, into the light and music which only get brighter and louder.
It’s a club or café, with low ceilings and crowded tables and booths, certainly the nicest café Nate’s seen yet in Algiers. Most of the patrons seem to be men, and most of them are wearing suits as they lean into each other to whisper. At one end of the space is a long bar and at the other is a stage where a man in a white tuxedo is playing a piano while another blows long notes on a trumpet and a third plays the cello.
Colbert pulls the thick envelope from Nate’s hand and leans into him so he can be heard. “I have to give this to a friend in the back. Find a table and wait for me. Order a drink if you want.”
“Okay,” Nate says, but Colbert’s already moving towards a red curtain near the stage, disappearing behind it.
Nate picks a booth close to the bar, rubbing his hands over the marble tabletop and pressing into the velvet seats, trying to remember if there was a sign anywhere saying where they are. A waitress in a plunging dress takes his order and asks if he has a tab. When he stammers something about Monsieur Colbert she blinks at him, but says nothing.
Colbert’s not gone very long, but it is enough time for Nate to notice all the looks flying at him from many of the men sitting near him. They look at his slightly rumpled shirt and his beer and they whisper. Most of them seem curious. Nate hunches his shoulders, feeling horribly out of place, watching for the moment when Colbert’s white jacket slides through the red curtain again.
Everyone watches him walk across the café towards Nate, but Colbert pays none of them mind. He slides into the booth next to Nate, looking very pleased with himself.
“Went well,” he says, as though Nate asked, his arm resting on the seat behind Nate’s shoulders. “Have you seen Ray?”
Nate shakes his head. People are really looking now.
“It’s probably too early for him,” Colbert says lightly, picking up Nate’s beer and drinking what’s left. He looks around with satisfaction and everyone who is looking at them looks away.
“I guess I should get you out of here,” he says, “before these jackals get their hands on you.”
They leave the lights and music and decadence behind in favour of the Juno. Colbert talks about helping a friend out. That’s what the money’s for, Colbert says, a friend. Colbert says he makes enough that he can do that with such a large amount of money, even in times like these.
It makes sense, and frankly Nate’s glad to be back in a place where Colbert’s the only one watching him like this.
They go to bed when they get back, not because anyone’s tired, but because Nate hasn’t stopped wanting to have sex again since his orgasm hours ago. And it’s a little different than last time, in the dark and not as fervent, Colbert blanketing his back and their arms intertwined, his mouth kissing Nate’s ear and telling Nate he’s perfect in two languages.
*
Sunday is odd, every minute passing is minute closer to tomorrow when Nate will have to go back to his uniform and the things he has to do.
He tries to sleep as late as possible, flopped over Colbert’s warm back, his nose buried in the sweet waxy-creamy smell of Colbert’s hair. Colbert stirs at ten, like an alarm is going off inside his mind, but it takes him a long time to get up and going, which Nate never would have thought, but he likes it. They fool around for a bit, lazy and naked in the sun, before Colbert extracts himself, leaving Nate lying on the sheets, watching Colbert pull on a new suit.
When Nate finally gets dressed he puts his dog tags back on, but it’s still too early for his uniform.
Sundays are for book-balancing, Colbert says, so Nate leaves the shop. He goes to the harbor again, walking slow so the sun soaks into his hair. This time he goes down onto the sand, his pants rolled up and his boots and socks off so he can feel the sand. Everyone’s busy with their families, so no one talks to him, but he doesn’t mind. He steps into the chilly surf and lets it wash over his ankles, watching the waves lap at the horizon.
He stays for a long while, just existing. It’s past three before he even thinks of going back and longer still before he actually goes.
He’s warm and sweaty when he gets back into the shop, the bell tinkle bringing Colbert’s head up. He’s lying on the chaise near the window, reading a book called L'Étranger by Albert Camus.
He asks if Nate had fun and Nate’s still full of leftover sun so he says yes, although it would be nice if this wasn’t a once-every-three-months kind of thing. Colbert chuckles and offers him the use of his bathtub.
Nate washes the smell of sex and cigarettes and sweat off, looking out the bathroom door at the big bed with the rumpled white sheets. He wonders when Colbert will wash them, if he does it himself or if someone else does.
By now his uniform is cleaner than the other clothes he’s bought, but he puts them back on and just carries the bundle of his fatigues downstairs.
Colbert’s back behind the counter, although he’s still reading, bent down, his elbows resting on the glass. He puts the book down when Nate stops in front of the counter and straightens.
“Gonna head out?”
“I think so. Sunday dinner.”
Colbert smirks. “Wouldn’t want to miss that.”
“No,” Nate says and they smile at each other.
Nate’s not sure what comes next, how to say thank you for whatever this was. Colbert doesn’t say anything, but he has that fond expression on his face again, the one that seems to only be for Nate.
Nate shifts his weight, and the weight in his pocket shifts too. “Oh,” he says, digging for it, “I brought you something.” He pulls his hand out of his pocket and lays a smooth grey stone and a swirling pink and white shell on the counter. “Hello from the beach.”
Colbert picks up the stone and shell carefully, looking them over, rubbing his fingers over them like he’s testing their worth.
“Nate,” he says quietly. “Thanks.”
He puts the stone next to the cash register and the shell on top of it. Then he pulls Nate in close enough to kiss him long and slow, the way they do in the movies. When he pulls back he doesn’t go all the way, his hand still cradling Nate’s nape and face so close. His eyes are very blue.
“Let’s do this again some time,” he says, his eyes crinkling in the corners when he smiles.
Nate laughs, more than the joke deserves, just because it feels good and he wants to.
“I’d like that,” he says, still laughing, his heart thumping like crazy in his chest, the sound echoing inside his body, almost loud enough for anyone to hear.
If you’re lost but intrigued, allow me to direct you to this selection of links: snippet snippet snippet snippet snippet, or there’s the wwii au tag. Also, here is some beautiful art done by trolleys which makes me hearteyes all over the land.