Generation Kill fic: A Second Eden
A Second Eden [Generation Kill, Lord Fick/Mr. Colbert, Miss Amelia Fick, Regency AU, R, 1,665 words, for mlyn (another 4_a_star offering). Huge thanks to kahtyasofia and 
foursweatervests for awesome beta notes. This is in the same universe as Trip the Lake Fantastic and The Music Thief.]
There are moments in a man's life when everything that follows feels as inevitable as ocean waves beating against the shore, fighting it as futile as attempting to harness the power of lightning or the roar of thunder.
This was one such moment.
It began after tea, innocently enough. Nathaniel's duties for the day were done and the sun was still warm, so when Bradley suggested retiring to the roof to read, Nathaniel gathered a book and a blanket and followed him.
There was no intent, at least not on Nathaniel's part; he had never had any foolish notion that he understood the thoughts and inclinations that travelled through Bradley's head. There was simply a sheltered, warm rooftop, stone balustrades to hide them from sight below, and a baking sun that made clothing feel unnecessary. Nathaniel stripped easily and settled on his blanket, book in hand, Bradley nearby but not so close it felt like it should become anything more than two old friends enjoying time in the sun.
Nathaniel read, turned pages, absorbed himself in the wars of centuries ago and continents away. The sun was pleasant on his back and he shaded the page with his hand as he read. Until Bradley spoke, he was only superficially aware that his were the only pages turning, that Bradley's book was lying untouched beside him.
"I had not thought you would take my suggestion of reading on the roof so literally," he said. He sounded somewhat amused, a little impatient. He often sounded that way when he spoke to Nathaniel. With everyone else he sounded more impatient, less amused. It is his way.
"It is a fascinating book," Nathaniel replied. It was the truth, but another truth was that Nathaniel had read this book so many times he could quote entire passages from memory. He had no need to read it again, least of all when Bradley was by his side, his focus entirely upon Nathaniel.
There was something almost terrifying about having Bradley's undivided attention. Nathaniel had been home from the wars for over a year, but the army was in his blood, and he was no coward. He has stared down the barrel of a musket, wielded his sword in conditions that would leave most men paralysed with fear. He has led men into battle and safely out again. And yet Bradley's piercing blue gaze fixed firmly on him left Nathaniel shivering, even with the sun warm on his bare skin.
Perhaps it was the inevitability of the moment. Nathaniel knew he did not have the power to resist; he was a strong man, but only human after all.
Bradley noticed the shiver, slight though it was. Of course he did. He was not given to missing even the faintest of signs. "Cold, Nathaniel?" he asked, his tone dry and barely masking his amusement. He knew full well that Nathaniel was not cold. He moved closer.
Nathaniel has never sworn to end whatever it is between them. One day he may have to, and there have been many times he has wished he had the willpower to force their relationship back into the easy friendship it was when they were but boys, before they complicated things. But he will not make such a cruel oath until it is truly necessary. And while that day might be drawing nearer, it was not here yet. For now, he could smother all his misgivings like a snuffed candle, and simply surrender to the moment.
He lifted himself up on one elbow and reached out, tracing familiar lines, taut muscle under warm skin. Bradley sighed, an aching sound that hit Nathaniel in the gut. They had too much power over each other, to give and to take, to soothe and to hurt, and for all that Nathaniel trusted Bradley implicitly and knew Bradley trusted him, it felt dangerous. But then, perhaps that danger was tied up in the attraction.
Sometimes they had little time for more than fumblings, breeches open and fast hands. Leisurely moments like these were a rarer pleasure. Nathaniel kissed Bradley, pulling them nearer yet, skin to skin, wrapped himself around Bradley so there was nowhere he could move other than closer.
"What do you want?" he whispered, his words muffled against the strong jut of Bradley's jaw.
Bradley was rarely fluent at answering such questions with words, and this was no exception. He lay silent in Nathaniel's arms, kissed him quickly, twice, impatient, then moved down Nathaniel's body, a trail of kisses that had an obvious destination. He always did prefer to let his actions speak for him.
Nathaniel's breath caught as Bradley wrapped his mouth around Nathaniel's hardness. He was too much of a gentleman to grasp at Bradley's hair and push and pull and order him to swallow him deeper, to buck his hips and force himself further inside, but he thought he might be leaving bruises in the muscles of Bradley's shoulders. He could not bring himself to let go, though, the need to hold on as great as the natural urge to pull in deep gasps of air.
Bradley pulled off and lifted himself up to stare eye to eye with Nathaniel. "You can let go," Bradley said, and he wasn't talking about Nathaniel's hands on his shoulders. "Let go," he said, quieter, and it wasn't an order, it was a plea, and Bradley never begged for anything.
So Nathaniel let go. He held nothing back. This was Bradley, and Nathaniel would do almost anything for him. He closed his eyes against the yellow sun and let himself fall to pieces.
*
After, he was as hot as if he were under the noon day sun in the desert. Bradley did this to him, always.
*
Nathaniel had a theory that life was not a simple progression from one moment to the next, past moments relegated to memories, future moments a mystery yet to be discovered, unfathomable. Perhaps that was Eve's sin in the garden, not a simple act of disobedience, not illicit carnal relations, but the forbidden realisation that God holds all of it in his hand, past, present and future, and it is all inevitable.
So regret is not just a weakness to which a man should not succumb. Regret is fruitless: decisions, be they right or wrong, are made and cannot be unmade and to rue them benefits no one. The years he and Bradley spent apart were lost, always had been and always will be. Decisions were made that sent Bradley to France when Nathaniel was at home; decisions Nathaniel made had them passing each other by, a few stolen hours before miles separated them. The years ahead that they'll spend apart are equally inevitable, just as foolish to regret.
There was simply now, and Nathaniel would not let any tinge of regret or doubt or guilt mar the moment. He might have been a sybarite in another life, he thought, as he closed his eyes again to better appreciate the feel of Bradley's body against his own. Bradley's skin was warm, the coarse hairiness of his legs a pleasing contrast with the smooth skin of his buttocks, the dip in his back a channel begging Nathaniel to follow it. If Nathaniel were blind, he would still be certain of Bradley's beauty.
*
The sun was gaining the reddish glow that suggested that wise young men might wish to dress against the chill that was soon to fall, but Nathaniel was loathe to move. He knew from experience that their little suntrap would stay warm longer than anywhere else and he could not think of anywhere better to be, any company he would chose over Bradley's, even though they both were silent. If he were more of a romantic, he could have fetched candles, but they were both practical men, and they wouldn't make more of such moments than they should.
Practical men, and both fighting men, highly trained, and so the gasp, quickly muffled, should not have caught them by surprise. Nathaniel jumped to his feet, pulling his blanket up with him to preserve his modesty, and Bradley performed the same manoeuvre next to him. It was Nathaniel's younger sister, Amelia, one hand over her mouth, the other over her eyes. Nathaniel strongly suspected that she was peeking through her fingers. He could not entirely blame her: Bradley's skin was golden in the dimming light, legs too long to be hidden entirely by a clumsily positioned blanket.
Amelia took her hand away from her mouth. "Are you both decent?" she asked, and there was a tremor in her voice that made Nathaniel believe she was trying very hard not to laugh. His sister had never been as demure as their mother would like. In truth, it was one of things he loved most about her.
"Not really, Miss Amelia," Bradley replied, "but considerably more decent than the first eyeful you caught. You may open your eyes. If, of course, they are actually closed." He had never been one to mince his words, and it was Nathaniel's turn to hold back his laughter as his sister turned a rosy shade of deep pink to match the sunset streaks in the sky.
"Mama was asking where the household ledger is, and I promised her I'd find you and ask," she said, her tone prim but her visage anything but ladylike.
"In my study," Nathaniel said. "Give us a few minutes, and I will be there."
His sister, the little minx, winked at him as she turned to leave. "I believe I will go and search the stables. I'm sure that will take me some considerable time. You are both quite impossible to find," she called back as she slipped through the door to the stairs.
Nathaniel turned to Bradley once she had departed. The moment was over, perhaps, but they had a little time, and they were both skilled at making the most of stolen time.
//
N.B. This story didn't want to be porny! I think it also really wanted to be from the point of view of Amelia, which probably explains the issues with the porniness! Sorry, but no points for guessing that I stole the rooftop interruption from Evelyn Waugh.
foursweatervests for awesome beta notes. This is in the same universe as Trip the Lake Fantastic and The Music Thief.]
There are moments in a man's life when everything that follows feels as inevitable as ocean waves beating against the shore, fighting it as futile as attempting to harness the power of lightning or the roar of thunder.
This was one such moment.
It began after tea, innocently enough. Nathaniel's duties for the day were done and the sun was still warm, so when Bradley suggested retiring to the roof to read, Nathaniel gathered a book and a blanket and followed him.
There was no intent, at least not on Nathaniel's part; he had never had any foolish notion that he understood the thoughts and inclinations that travelled through Bradley's head. There was simply a sheltered, warm rooftop, stone balustrades to hide them from sight below, and a baking sun that made clothing feel unnecessary. Nathaniel stripped easily and settled on his blanket, book in hand, Bradley nearby but not so close it felt like it should become anything more than two old friends enjoying time in the sun.
Nathaniel read, turned pages, absorbed himself in the wars of centuries ago and continents away. The sun was pleasant on his back and he shaded the page with his hand as he read. Until Bradley spoke, he was only superficially aware that his were the only pages turning, that Bradley's book was lying untouched beside him.
"I had not thought you would take my suggestion of reading on the roof so literally," he said. He sounded somewhat amused, a little impatient. He often sounded that way when he spoke to Nathaniel. With everyone else he sounded more impatient, less amused. It is his way.
"It is a fascinating book," Nathaniel replied. It was the truth, but another truth was that Nathaniel had read this book so many times he could quote entire passages from memory. He had no need to read it again, least of all when Bradley was by his side, his focus entirely upon Nathaniel.
There was something almost terrifying about having Bradley's undivided attention. Nathaniel had been home from the wars for over a year, but the army was in his blood, and he was no coward. He has stared down the barrel of a musket, wielded his sword in conditions that would leave most men paralysed with fear. He has led men into battle and safely out again. And yet Bradley's piercing blue gaze fixed firmly on him left Nathaniel shivering, even with the sun warm on his bare skin.
Perhaps it was the inevitability of the moment. Nathaniel knew he did not have the power to resist; he was a strong man, but only human after all.
Bradley noticed the shiver, slight though it was. Of course he did. He was not given to missing even the faintest of signs. "Cold, Nathaniel?" he asked, his tone dry and barely masking his amusement. He knew full well that Nathaniel was not cold. He moved closer.
Nathaniel has never sworn to end whatever it is between them. One day he may have to, and there have been many times he has wished he had the willpower to force their relationship back into the easy friendship it was when they were but boys, before they complicated things. But he will not make such a cruel oath until it is truly necessary. And while that day might be drawing nearer, it was not here yet. For now, he could smother all his misgivings like a snuffed candle, and simply surrender to the moment.
He lifted himself up on one elbow and reached out, tracing familiar lines, taut muscle under warm skin. Bradley sighed, an aching sound that hit Nathaniel in the gut. They had too much power over each other, to give and to take, to soothe and to hurt, and for all that Nathaniel trusted Bradley implicitly and knew Bradley trusted him, it felt dangerous. But then, perhaps that danger was tied up in the attraction.
Sometimes they had little time for more than fumblings, breeches open and fast hands. Leisurely moments like these were a rarer pleasure. Nathaniel kissed Bradley, pulling them nearer yet, skin to skin, wrapped himself around Bradley so there was nowhere he could move other than closer.
"What do you want?" he whispered, his words muffled against the strong jut of Bradley's jaw.
Bradley was rarely fluent at answering such questions with words, and this was no exception. He lay silent in Nathaniel's arms, kissed him quickly, twice, impatient, then moved down Nathaniel's body, a trail of kisses that had an obvious destination. He always did prefer to let his actions speak for him.
Nathaniel's breath caught as Bradley wrapped his mouth around Nathaniel's hardness. He was too much of a gentleman to grasp at Bradley's hair and push and pull and order him to swallow him deeper, to buck his hips and force himself further inside, but he thought he might be leaving bruises in the muscles of Bradley's shoulders. He could not bring himself to let go, though, the need to hold on as great as the natural urge to pull in deep gasps of air.
Bradley pulled off and lifted himself up to stare eye to eye with Nathaniel. "You can let go," Bradley said, and he wasn't talking about Nathaniel's hands on his shoulders. "Let go," he said, quieter, and it wasn't an order, it was a plea, and Bradley never begged for anything.
So Nathaniel let go. He held nothing back. This was Bradley, and Nathaniel would do almost anything for him. He closed his eyes against the yellow sun and let himself fall to pieces.
*
After, he was as hot as if he were under the noon day sun in the desert. Bradley did this to him, always.
*
Nathaniel had a theory that life was not a simple progression from one moment to the next, past moments relegated to memories, future moments a mystery yet to be discovered, unfathomable. Perhaps that was Eve's sin in the garden, not a simple act of disobedience, not illicit carnal relations, but the forbidden realisation that God holds all of it in his hand, past, present and future, and it is all inevitable.
So regret is not just a weakness to which a man should not succumb. Regret is fruitless: decisions, be they right or wrong, are made and cannot be unmade and to rue them benefits no one. The years he and Bradley spent apart were lost, always had been and always will be. Decisions were made that sent Bradley to France when Nathaniel was at home; decisions Nathaniel made had them passing each other by, a few stolen hours before miles separated them. The years ahead that they'll spend apart are equally inevitable, just as foolish to regret.
There was simply now, and Nathaniel would not let any tinge of regret or doubt or guilt mar the moment. He might have been a sybarite in another life, he thought, as he closed his eyes again to better appreciate the feel of Bradley's body against his own. Bradley's skin was warm, the coarse hairiness of his legs a pleasing contrast with the smooth skin of his buttocks, the dip in his back a channel begging Nathaniel to follow it. If Nathaniel were blind, he would still be certain of Bradley's beauty.
*
The sun was gaining the reddish glow that suggested that wise young men might wish to dress against the chill that was soon to fall, but Nathaniel was loathe to move. He knew from experience that their little suntrap would stay warm longer than anywhere else and he could not think of anywhere better to be, any company he would chose over Bradley's, even though they both were silent. If he were more of a romantic, he could have fetched candles, but they were both practical men, and they wouldn't make more of such moments than they should.
Practical men, and both fighting men, highly trained, and so the gasp, quickly muffled, should not have caught them by surprise. Nathaniel jumped to his feet, pulling his blanket up with him to preserve his modesty, and Bradley performed the same manoeuvre next to him. It was Nathaniel's younger sister, Amelia, one hand over her mouth, the other over her eyes. Nathaniel strongly suspected that she was peeking through her fingers. He could not entirely blame her: Bradley's skin was golden in the dimming light, legs too long to be hidden entirely by a clumsily positioned blanket.
Amelia took her hand away from her mouth. "Are you both decent?" she asked, and there was a tremor in her voice that made Nathaniel believe she was trying very hard not to laugh. His sister had never been as demure as their mother would like. In truth, it was one of things he loved most about her.
"Not really, Miss Amelia," Bradley replied, "but considerably more decent than the first eyeful you caught. You may open your eyes. If, of course, they are actually closed." He had never been one to mince his words, and it was Nathaniel's turn to hold back his laughter as his sister turned a rosy shade of deep pink to match the sunset streaks in the sky.
"Mama was asking where the household ledger is, and I promised her I'd find you and ask," she said, her tone prim but her visage anything but ladylike.
"In my study," Nathaniel said. "Give us a few minutes, and I will be there."
His sister, the little minx, winked at him as she turned to leave. "I believe I will go and search the stables. I'm sure that will take me some considerable time. You are both quite impossible to find," she called back as she slipped through the door to the stairs.
Nathaniel turned to Bradley once she had departed. The moment was over, perhaps, but they had a little time, and they were both skilled at making the most of stolen time.
//
N.B. This story didn't want to be porny! I think it also really wanted to be from the point of view of Amelia, which probably explains the issues with the porniness! Sorry, but no points for guessing that I stole the rooftop interruption from Evelyn Waugh.