[Generation Kill] [Brad/Nate] Let The Water
Title: Let The Water
Subject: Generation Kill | Brad/Nate
Rating: R
Summary: That should be awkward, being caught by your ex-girlfriend's brother while you break onto his property.
Notes: For the prompt shelter. Inspired by this film.
WC: 825
He sees Nate for the first time in years when he's breaking into Christy's backyard, and maybe that should be awkward, being caught by your ex-girlfriend's brother while you break onto his property but it's not, because Nate just grins and lets him into the garage to get his surfboard.
"I thought you were in L.A.," Brad says, tucking his surfboard under his arm. "Being a fucking hipster or whatever."
"Or whatever," Nate says. He glances after Brad, glances back to the corner where another surfboard sits before he shrugs. "Mind if I come?"
"Sure," Brad says, easy grin on his face, managing to look cool and relaxed, chilled out while standing up. "I need someone's ass to kick."
Nate slots himself into Brad's life like it's nothing, just slides right in there with breakfast and beers and surfing. He bridges the gap between Brad and Christy too, makes it something a little less than awkward when she comes home to Brad on her sofa, like the old times, except she's sneaking up to her bedroom with Ray, not Brad.
Nate slots himself into Brad's life and then he starts asking questions.
"I thought you wanted to join the Marines," he says one day, stretched out on the sand beside Brad. His skin his freckling, it's definitely browner than it had been last week and Brad doesn't want to think about how much attention he's been paying to notice that. "You're still living with your sister, right? What happened?"
"Things happened," Brad says. "Life."
"Was it Christy?" Nate asks, too blunt, too close to the truth that it makes Brad want to to curl in on himself. "It was fucked up what she did, you know-"
"Leave it, Nate." Brad keeps his fixed on the ocean, doesn't turn around at the click of Nate's teeth closing together, doesn't turn around when he hears Nate getting to his face, doesn't let himself tense when Nate rests his hand against Brad's shoulder for a moment.
"It's okay, Brad," Nate says, voice as soft as the hush of the sea. "It's okay." Except Brad is really sure it's not.
Brad kisses Nate.
It's something about the atmosphere or the beer coating his throat or just the way Nate looks at him, like he's got all the faith in the world and the only thing he believes in is Brad and he's happy with that. It's any of those things and it's just Brad, who thought, at first, that maybe he just wasn't over Christy, except Nate is nothing like Christy.
Brad doesn't know what it is, but it makes him kiss Nate, makes him lean over and cup his jaw and kiss him. Nate kisses him back and surely that should be enough, that Nate wants this too, that Nate wants to kiss Brad back, wants to touch him and - and - and -
Brad doesn't know shit, because he runs away. He says no like it hurts, because it does hurt, and he runs the fuck away, like a little girl, like a coward.
The sea takes him back, cradles him and coddles him and leaves him on the shore when he's done. It cleanses him, gives him time to clear his mind and time to forget everything except staying on the board because staying on the board is sometimes directly related to staying alive. It gives him peace and quiet then it lets him go, calmer but no cleverer.
Christy's waiting for him on the shore, sandals and a pastel peach cardigan and Brad wanted to marry her once, wanted to slide a golden ring onto her finger (because she thinks silver looks cheap) and marry her, even though Christina Colbert was always a strange sounding concept.
"Don't hurt him," she says, reaching for his hand. "I don't care what you do but don't hurt him," she says, holding on tight to him. He doesn't say you hurt me but she knows it, and she doesn't say I'm sorry, but he knows it.
Nate's hips are flush against his, his head tipped back, his throat bare, and Brad's heart is pounding like he's a scared virgin.
"Brad," Nate gasps, levering himself up, dropping himself down. Brad's hands scrabbled against his skin, desperate for purchase, his blunt nails leaving trails of pink against Nate's skin. "Brad.
The air is thick, it's hard to breathe, but everything is perfect, everything is perfect and Nate is rocking against him and Brad still doesn't know shit, but this is perfect.
Subject: Generation Kill | Brad/Nate
Rating: R
Summary: That should be awkward, being caught by your ex-girlfriend's brother while you break onto his property.
Notes: For the prompt shelter. Inspired by this film.
WC: 825
He sees Nate for the first time in years when he's breaking into Christy's backyard, and maybe that should be awkward, being caught by your ex-girlfriend's brother while you break onto his property but it's not, because Nate just grins and lets him into the garage to get his surfboard.
"I thought you were in L.A.," Brad says, tucking his surfboard under his arm. "Being a fucking hipster or whatever."
"Or whatever," Nate says. He glances after Brad, glances back to the corner where another surfboard sits before he shrugs. "Mind if I come?"
"Sure," Brad says, easy grin on his face, managing to look cool and relaxed, chilled out while standing up. "I need someone's ass to kick."
Nate slots himself into Brad's life like it's nothing, just slides right in there with breakfast and beers and surfing. He bridges the gap between Brad and Christy too, makes it something a little less than awkward when she comes home to Brad on her sofa, like the old times, except she's sneaking up to her bedroom with Ray, not Brad.
Nate slots himself into Brad's life and then he starts asking questions.
"I thought you wanted to join the Marines," he says one day, stretched out on the sand beside Brad. His skin his freckling, it's definitely browner than it had been last week and Brad doesn't want to think about how much attention he's been paying to notice that. "You're still living with your sister, right? What happened?"
"Things happened," Brad says. "Life."
"Was it Christy?" Nate asks, too blunt, too close to the truth that it makes Brad want to to curl in on himself. "It was fucked up what she did, you know-"
"Leave it, Nate." Brad keeps his fixed on the ocean, doesn't turn around at the click of Nate's teeth closing together, doesn't turn around when he hears Nate getting to his face, doesn't let himself tense when Nate rests his hand against Brad's shoulder for a moment.
"It's okay, Brad," Nate says, voice as soft as the hush of the sea. "It's okay." Except Brad is really sure it's not.
Brad kisses Nate.
It's something about the atmosphere or the beer coating his throat or just the way Nate looks at him, like he's got all the faith in the world and the only thing he believes in is Brad and he's happy with that. It's any of those things and it's just Brad, who thought, at first, that maybe he just wasn't over Christy, except Nate is nothing like Christy.
Brad doesn't know what it is, but it makes him kiss Nate, makes him lean over and cup his jaw and kiss him. Nate kisses him back and surely that should be enough, that Nate wants this too, that Nate wants to kiss Brad back, wants to touch him and - and - and -
Brad doesn't know shit, because he runs away. He says no like it hurts, because it does hurt, and he runs the fuck away, like a little girl, like a coward.
The sea takes him back, cradles him and coddles him and leaves him on the shore when he's done. It cleanses him, gives him time to clear his mind and time to forget everything except staying on the board because staying on the board is sometimes directly related to staying alive. It gives him peace and quiet then it lets him go, calmer but no cleverer.
Christy's waiting for him on the shore, sandals and a pastel peach cardigan and Brad wanted to marry her once, wanted to slide a golden ring onto her finger (because she thinks silver looks cheap) and marry her, even though Christina Colbert was always a strange sounding concept.
"Don't hurt him," she says, reaching for his hand. "I don't care what you do but don't hurt him," she says, holding on tight to him. He doesn't say you hurt me but she knows it, and she doesn't say I'm sorry, but he knows it.
Nate's hips are flush against his, his head tipped back, his throat bare, and Brad's heart is pounding like he's a scared virgin.
"Brad," Nate gasps, levering himself up, dropping himself down. Brad's hands scrabbled against his skin, desperate for purchase, his blunt nails leaving trails of pink against Nate's skin. "Brad.
The air is thick, it's hard to breathe, but everything is perfect, everything is perfect and Nate is rocking against him and Brad still doesn't know shit, but this is perfect.