Generation Kill fic: drowning but not scared of the water
drowning but not scared of the water [Generation Kill, Brad/Nate, NC-17, 1,359 words, a 4_a_star commission for mlyn. A huge thank you to kahtyasofia for betaing. amberlynne safe! Also on AO3 here.]
Nate sits on the pier and waits for the ripple, air bubbles rising to the surface. It doesn't come, so he dangles one foot in the water; bait.
It works. He barely has time to register the chill - lake water, deep and dark and Nate doubts it ever warms up even in the height of summer, and it's only May now, the sun nearly set, fallen behind the peaks half an hour earlier - before there's a hand around his ankle and a sharp tug. Nate lets it take him, falls into the water willingly.
Brad surfaces, barely gasping. His hair is plastered to his forehead, grown longer these days so it doesn't spike in the water like it used to.
"I want you to fuck me," he says, treading water like he was born to it. He does most things like he was born to it: sometimes it makes Nate a little jealous, but mostly it's just a huge turn-on. Right now, though, Nate's balls are practically trying to crawl back inside him from the cold, and Brad's been in the water far longer.
"You couldn't have said that before my dick shriveled up from the cold?" Nate says, and ducks under the water. The cold is less sharp when it's all encompassing, but he'd still rather be on shore. He surfaces in Brad's space.
Brad's lips are chilly and taste of lake water. He lets Nate kiss him, but doesn't kiss back. It's his unsubtle way of letting Nate know he's tolerating the delay but isn't encouraging it. Nate smiles against Brad's cheek - one more kiss on his jaw, fine end-of-the-day stubble under his lips - then pulls away, heading for shore. Most of the shore line is rocky, trees hanging over the water, dark reflections like a black lace border, but there's a small grassy area beside the pier. The grass is soft between his toes.
Brad's right behind him and they stand like that for a moment, water sluicing down their bodies. Nate turns and he's had enough of the delay too. He steps to one side, motioning Brad towards the nearest tree. If they're going to fuck outdoors, they might as well go for the full cliché. Brad smirks, as though he knows what's going through Nate's mind, and leans against the tree, head resting on his arms. He wants Nate to do all the work today. That's fine by Nate.
Nate tugs Brad's trunks down, leaving them to pool by Brad's ankles. They hobble him slightly, but he doesn't step out of them.
"Want me to prep you?" Nate asks, though he thinks he knows the answer.
"I prepped earlier," Brad says, and there's something in his tone (teasing with an underlying note of impatience that he's trying unsuccessfully to hide) that tells Nate everything.
Nate releases a huffed breath, amused. He should have noticed. Not that Brad was obvious about it or anything, but he'd been unusually still on the drive up, even for him. He must have had a butt plug in.
He ruts up against Brad's naked ass, deliberately lets the seam of his own trunks rub against his dick, though the idea of Brad wearing a butt plug all day is doing more for him than the friction. He thinks of Brad planning it, ignoring the discomfort, fucking wanting Nate non-stop, and the chill from the water vanishes like he's burned it off.
He ducks his head and presses his forehead against Brad's neck, hands straying up and down Brad's flank. He loves that he's free to touch Brad like this, no need to hold back, nothing off limits. He lets his hands stray further, reaching around. Brad's still mostly soft, his dick cool and small in Nate's hand. It won't be like that for long.
Nate's nearly hard already, his dick bulging obscenely up against his trunks. He squeezes it through the clingy fabric, tugs a few times until he's ready and his breath is running ragged. Nothing more, because he wants this to be for Brad, about what he wants.
"You going to get naked any time soon?" Brad asks.
"No," Nate says, biting at Brad's shoulder, because he doesn't need to let Brad know he's getting anything he wants right now. Brad'll work it out.
"You'd better be joking."
"I never joke during sex," Nate says, which is true enough. He jokes before and after, everything easy between them ever since they got past who they were and moved on to who they wanted to be, but he never jokes during sex. When he's fucking Brad or Brad's fucking him - they're both flexible about that - he can never think clearly enough to joke. All he can ever think about is how fucking lucky he is, and sometimes he's too far gone even to think at all.
He strokes his dick one more time for good measure. He's already leaking, a spot showing up even on the damp fabric, so he carefully slips the waistband of his trunks down, low enough that his dick springs free. He rubs it up against Brad's asscrack, promising, the first touch of Brad's bare skin against his dick almost enough to make him lose his focus. He thinks he hears a muffled thank fuck.
He's not giving Brad his dick just yet, though. He drops to his knees, glad of the soft grass, and spreads Brad's asscheeks. Nate swipes his tongue down from the small of Brad's back and relishes the shudder that Brad doesn't try to hide, the cool taste of water that's almost but not quite wiped away the scent and taste of Brad. His tongue slips into the hole easily - the butt plug can only have been out fifteen minutes, since they'd jumped out of the rental and changed - and he works Brad over. He knows he can make Brad come just like this, given long enough, and maybe tomorrow he'll do that, when he isn't so desperate to fuck him.
It's enough. Nate's dick is swinging heavy between his legs, and while he loves rimming Brad, loves making him fall to pieces, he wants to be plastered up against him, inside him.
He stands up and slides in, slowly but steadily, one long movement that feels achingly good and tortuous at the same time, Brad blood-hot and still tight for all that he's prepared. Nate bottoms out, amazed as always at the way they fit, so perfect.
Brad grunts, an involuntary sound that's as good as a demand to move. So Nate moves, fucks him hard, trusting Brad to hold himself far enough off the tree that he doesn't get hurt. The only sounds are the slap of Nate's balls against Brad's ass and the lap of water on the shore, Brad's breath, slow and soft, Nate's faster and sharper.
Nate could last longer if he tried, but he doesn't want to. He wants to savor how fast Brad can get him worked up. He wants to lose control and show it, give it to Brad as a gift, so he thrusts once more, twice, again and again until he loses his rhythm, hands punching at the air as he comes hard, sharp pulses, filling Brad, stuttering out meaningless phrases, breathless fragments of words, unintelligible sounds that he knows Brad will be able to put together and understand. He feels like he's drowning but not scared of the water.
He's loose-limbed afterwards, glad of Brad's frame to lean against. He reaches around again and this time one hand won't cover Brad's swollen dick. He uses both hands, rolling Brad's balls with one, his other tugging not-quite viciously at Brad's dick. He knows exactly how Brad likes it, what makes him swear and curse and beg for more.
"Shit, shit, Jesus fuck," Brad says, not trying to hold on either, and then there's warm come trickling over Nate's hands. Nate holds him through it until Brad flinches, too sensitive for more.
"Happy anniversary," Nate whispers into Brad's shoulder before turning him around and holding him tight, just the two of them, belonging.
//
N.B. mlyn, this is a little extra thing - the Regency AU fic is coming soon, but stayed resolutely unporny, so I attempted something pornier for you to make up for that (though down and dirty it ain't!).
Nate sits on the pier and waits for the ripple, air bubbles rising to the surface. It doesn't come, so he dangles one foot in the water; bait.
It works. He barely has time to register the chill - lake water, deep and dark and Nate doubts it ever warms up even in the height of summer, and it's only May now, the sun nearly set, fallen behind the peaks half an hour earlier - before there's a hand around his ankle and a sharp tug. Nate lets it take him, falls into the water willingly.
Brad surfaces, barely gasping. His hair is plastered to his forehead, grown longer these days so it doesn't spike in the water like it used to.
"I want you to fuck me," he says, treading water like he was born to it. He does most things like he was born to it: sometimes it makes Nate a little jealous, but mostly it's just a huge turn-on. Right now, though, Nate's balls are practically trying to crawl back inside him from the cold, and Brad's been in the water far longer.
"You couldn't have said that before my dick shriveled up from the cold?" Nate says, and ducks under the water. The cold is less sharp when it's all encompassing, but he'd still rather be on shore. He surfaces in Brad's space.
Brad's lips are chilly and taste of lake water. He lets Nate kiss him, but doesn't kiss back. It's his unsubtle way of letting Nate know he's tolerating the delay but isn't encouraging it. Nate smiles against Brad's cheek - one more kiss on his jaw, fine end-of-the-day stubble under his lips - then pulls away, heading for shore. Most of the shore line is rocky, trees hanging over the water, dark reflections like a black lace border, but there's a small grassy area beside the pier. The grass is soft between his toes.
Brad's right behind him and they stand like that for a moment, water sluicing down their bodies. Nate turns and he's had enough of the delay too. He steps to one side, motioning Brad towards the nearest tree. If they're going to fuck outdoors, they might as well go for the full cliché. Brad smirks, as though he knows what's going through Nate's mind, and leans against the tree, head resting on his arms. He wants Nate to do all the work today. That's fine by Nate.
Nate tugs Brad's trunks down, leaving them to pool by Brad's ankles. They hobble him slightly, but he doesn't step out of them.
"Want me to prep you?" Nate asks, though he thinks he knows the answer.
"I prepped earlier," Brad says, and there's something in his tone (teasing with an underlying note of impatience that he's trying unsuccessfully to hide) that tells Nate everything.
Nate releases a huffed breath, amused. He should have noticed. Not that Brad was obvious about it or anything, but he'd been unusually still on the drive up, even for him. He must have had a butt plug in.
He ruts up against Brad's naked ass, deliberately lets the seam of his own trunks rub against his dick, though the idea of Brad wearing a butt plug all day is doing more for him than the friction. He thinks of Brad planning it, ignoring the discomfort, fucking wanting Nate non-stop, and the chill from the water vanishes like he's burned it off.
He ducks his head and presses his forehead against Brad's neck, hands straying up and down Brad's flank. He loves that he's free to touch Brad like this, no need to hold back, nothing off limits. He lets his hands stray further, reaching around. Brad's still mostly soft, his dick cool and small in Nate's hand. It won't be like that for long.
Nate's nearly hard already, his dick bulging obscenely up against his trunks. He squeezes it through the clingy fabric, tugs a few times until he's ready and his breath is running ragged. Nothing more, because he wants this to be for Brad, about what he wants.
"You going to get naked any time soon?" Brad asks.
"No," Nate says, biting at Brad's shoulder, because he doesn't need to let Brad know he's getting anything he wants right now. Brad'll work it out.
"You'd better be joking."
"I never joke during sex," Nate says, which is true enough. He jokes before and after, everything easy between them ever since they got past who they were and moved on to who they wanted to be, but he never jokes during sex. When he's fucking Brad or Brad's fucking him - they're both flexible about that - he can never think clearly enough to joke. All he can ever think about is how fucking lucky he is, and sometimes he's too far gone even to think at all.
He strokes his dick one more time for good measure. He's already leaking, a spot showing up even on the damp fabric, so he carefully slips the waistband of his trunks down, low enough that his dick springs free. He rubs it up against Brad's asscrack, promising, the first touch of Brad's bare skin against his dick almost enough to make him lose his focus. He thinks he hears a muffled thank fuck.
He's not giving Brad his dick just yet, though. He drops to his knees, glad of the soft grass, and spreads Brad's asscheeks. Nate swipes his tongue down from the small of Brad's back and relishes the shudder that Brad doesn't try to hide, the cool taste of water that's almost but not quite wiped away the scent and taste of Brad. His tongue slips into the hole easily - the butt plug can only have been out fifteen minutes, since they'd jumped out of the rental and changed - and he works Brad over. He knows he can make Brad come just like this, given long enough, and maybe tomorrow he'll do that, when he isn't so desperate to fuck him.
It's enough. Nate's dick is swinging heavy between his legs, and while he loves rimming Brad, loves making him fall to pieces, he wants to be plastered up against him, inside him.
He stands up and slides in, slowly but steadily, one long movement that feels achingly good and tortuous at the same time, Brad blood-hot and still tight for all that he's prepared. Nate bottoms out, amazed as always at the way they fit, so perfect.
Brad grunts, an involuntary sound that's as good as a demand to move. So Nate moves, fucks him hard, trusting Brad to hold himself far enough off the tree that he doesn't get hurt. The only sounds are the slap of Nate's balls against Brad's ass and the lap of water on the shore, Brad's breath, slow and soft, Nate's faster and sharper.
Nate could last longer if he tried, but he doesn't want to. He wants to savor how fast Brad can get him worked up. He wants to lose control and show it, give it to Brad as a gift, so he thrusts once more, twice, again and again until he loses his rhythm, hands punching at the air as he comes hard, sharp pulses, filling Brad, stuttering out meaningless phrases, breathless fragments of words, unintelligible sounds that he knows Brad will be able to put together and understand. He feels like he's drowning but not scared of the water.
He's loose-limbed afterwards, glad of Brad's frame to lean against. He reaches around again and this time one hand won't cover Brad's swollen dick. He uses both hands, rolling Brad's balls with one, his other tugging not-quite viciously at Brad's dick. He knows exactly how Brad likes it, what makes him swear and curse and beg for more.
"Shit, shit, Jesus fuck," Brad says, not trying to hold on either, and then there's warm come trickling over Nate's hands. Nate holds him through it until Brad flinches, too sensitive for more.
"Happy anniversary," Nate whispers into Brad's shoulder before turning him around and holding him tight, just the two of them, belonging.
//
N.B. mlyn, this is a little extra thing - the Regency AU fic is coming soon, but stayed resolutely unporny, so I attempted something pornier for you to make up for that (though down and dirty it ain't!).