Generation Kill fic: The Platinum Service
I actually managed a prompt ficlet when I was in the park yesterday (and started a second, so there might even be more.) This one is for amberlynne's prompt: Captain Terminator goes on vacation with his hot boyfriend and has a hard time not spending the whole time saving everyone! amberlynne-safe, natch.
The Platinum Service [Generation Kill, Brad/Nate, explicit, 718 words, the third installment in the Captain Terminator AU (follows Jump and Vincible). Ameripick thanks to pjvilar ETA: Now with glorious artwork by eiirene.]
Brad isn't proud of himself. If the truth be told - he'd rather it weren't, but he's nothing if not honest with himself - he's feeling an uneasy mix of jealousy and embarrassment, and neither sit well with him. But, and this is important, it's all fucking Captain Terminator's fault.
The quiet getaway was Nate's idea. "After all," he'd said, "we might as well get some fun out of my abilities." Which in practical terms meant a vacation anywhere they wanted in the world, no limits. And Brad wanted Hawaii.
"We're not surfing all day, every day," Nate had insisted, and Brad readily agreed. After all, he planned on spending a good amount of time fucking Nate, or having Nate fuck him. Even surfing took second place. Except that, in practice, it took third place. A very distant third, with the first place activity a runaway winner in the time stakes. And it was the first place activity - Nate saving every tourist or local (or fucking dog, cat or chicken) who was dumb enough to get mugged or swim where they shouldn't, or go all out for a Darwin Award - that lead to Brad's current situation.
(Brad had tried suggesting that anyone moronic enough to go diving alone at night deserved whatever they got, but Nate had put on his Captain Terminator expression - which was all pinched and determined and fucking noble - and said it was his responsibility to help people, not judge them, and somehow had managed to make Brad feel for a moment like he was the one being unreasonable and ruining their vacation. Nate, of course, was set on doing his best to save them all and keep the collective IQ of O'ahu as low as possible.)
They're on day four of their vacation already - back to the grindstone on Monday - and Brad's barely seen Nate. Which is why Brad is currently clinging to the side of a cliff, a fifty foot drop to some nasty looking rocks and an angry ocean below, shouting for help.
It doesn't take Captain Terminator long to show up. He lands on an outcrop just above and to the right of Brad and sits down, swinging his feet over the edge. (Brad had considered waiting on that outcrop himself, but supposed he ought to look at least a little bit in danger, so he's got his back to the cliff and his feet awkwardly jammed onto a six inch ledge. It isn't particularly comfortable.)
"Having some trouble?" Captain Terminator asks, in the sort of tone he'd use to ask if Brad wanted a beer or if he wanted the air conditioner turned up higher.
"Yes," Brad says through clenched teeth, because seriously? Since when did Captain Terminator sit and ask questions before rescuing someone?
"So, what exactly happened?" Captain Terminator asks, and Brad is about to fucking well climb back up by himself - he's perfectly capable of it, thank you very much - because Captain Terminator fucking knows what's going on, or he wouldn't be looking so smug and amused. Except that Captain Terminator shifts on his outcrop, then flies down, hovers in front of Brad, undoes Brad's flies, and takes hold of his dick.
Brad's dick's been feeling as neglected as Brad, and it's no use Brad trying to stay pissed off and tell his dick to ignore Nate's fucking amazing mouth, because that just isn't going to happen. And it's incredibly hard to stay mad when Nate's doing his level best - and his best is god damn incredible - to suck Brad's brains out through his dick.
"I hope this isn't a typical rescue," Brad manages to huff out, finger nails scrabbling against the rock face. He wants to fuck Nate's mouth, but his position's too precarious, and he doesn't want anything to interrupt Nate.
"This is the platinum service," Nate assures him once Brad's shuddered out his orgasm. Nate tucks Brad's dick away and does his flies back up, then hovers higher, pressing up against him, which is a good move because Brad's feeling decidedly relaxed and post-coital, which isn't the wisest condition with a fifty foot drop below.
"I trust the platinum service is exclusive," Brad checks as Nate puts his arms around him and lifts off into the air.
"Very exclusive. One lifetime member only," Nate promises.
//
The Platinum Service [Generation Kill, Brad/Nate, explicit, 718 words, the third installment in the Captain Terminator AU (follows Jump and Vincible). Ameripick thanks to pjvilar ETA: Now with glorious artwork by eiirene.]
Brad isn't proud of himself. If the truth be told - he'd rather it weren't, but he's nothing if not honest with himself - he's feeling an uneasy mix of jealousy and embarrassment, and neither sit well with him. But, and this is important, it's all fucking Captain Terminator's fault.
The quiet getaway was Nate's idea. "After all," he'd said, "we might as well get some fun out of my abilities." Which in practical terms meant a vacation anywhere they wanted in the world, no limits. And Brad wanted Hawaii.
"We're not surfing all day, every day," Nate had insisted, and Brad readily agreed. After all, he planned on spending a good amount of time fucking Nate, or having Nate fuck him. Even surfing took second place. Except that, in practice, it took third place. A very distant third, with the first place activity a runaway winner in the time stakes. And it was the first place activity - Nate saving every tourist or local (or fucking dog, cat or chicken) who was dumb enough to get mugged or swim where they shouldn't, or go all out for a Darwin Award - that lead to Brad's current situation.
(Brad had tried suggesting that anyone moronic enough to go diving alone at night deserved whatever they got, but Nate had put on his Captain Terminator expression - which was all pinched and determined and fucking noble - and said it was his responsibility to help people, not judge them, and somehow had managed to make Brad feel for a moment like he was the one being unreasonable and ruining their vacation. Nate, of course, was set on doing his best to save them all and keep the collective IQ of O'ahu as low as possible.)
They're on day four of their vacation already - back to the grindstone on Monday - and Brad's barely seen Nate. Which is why Brad is currently clinging to the side of a cliff, a fifty foot drop to some nasty looking rocks and an angry ocean below, shouting for help.
It doesn't take Captain Terminator long to show up. He lands on an outcrop just above and to the right of Brad and sits down, swinging his feet over the edge. (Brad had considered waiting on that outcrop himself, but supposed he ought to look at least a little bit in danger, so he's got his back to the cliff and his feet awkwardly jammed onto a six inch ledge. It isn't particularly comfortable.)
"Having some trouble?" Captain Terminator asks, in the sort of tone he'd use to ask if Brad wanted a beer or if he wanted the air conditioner turned up higher.
"Yes," Brad says through clenched teeth, because seriously? Since when did Captain Terminator sit and ask questions before rescuing someone?
"So, what exactly happened?" Captain Terminator asks, and Brad is about to fucking well climb back up by himself - he's perfectly capable of it, thank you very much - because Captain Terminator fucking knows what's going on, or he wouldn't be looking so smug and amused. Except that Captain Terminator shifts on his outcrop, then flies down, hovers in front of Brad, undoes Brad's flies, and takes hold of his dick.
Brad's dick's been feeling as neglected as Brad, and it's no use Brad trying to stay pissed off and tell his dick to ignore Nate's fucking amazing mouth, because that just isn't going to happen. And it's incredibly hard to stay mad when Nate's doing his level best - and his best is god damn incredible - to suck Brad's brains out through his dick.
"I hope this isn't a typical rescue," Brad manages to huff out, finger nails scrabbling against the rock face. He wants to fuck Nate's mouth, but his position's too precarious, and he doesn't want anything to interrupt Nate.
"This is the platinum service," Nate assures him once Brad's shuddered out his orgasm. Nate tucks Brad's dick away and does his flies back up, then hovers higher, pressing up against him, which is a good move because Brad's feeling decidedly relaxed and post-coital, which isn't the wisest condition with a fifty foot drop below.
"I trust the platinum service is exclusive," Brad checks as Nate puts his arms around him and lifts off into the air.
"Very exclusive. One lifetime member only," Nate promises.
//