Generation Kill ficlet: I got to slow right down
I wrote something! Or, more to the point, I actually started and finished something!
For raidtheskies' prompt on Oorah - A Generation Kill Multigenre Porn Fest. The prompt was: Brad/Nate, shower Sex on a sleepy Sunday morning. Slick boys and slow kisses." How could I resist? I couldn't! Though it's more sleepy kisses than actual sex. Title from Amy Macdonald - Slow It Down.
I got to slow right down [Generation Kill, Brad/Nate, PG-13, 505 words.]
What would I do if you died?
He doesn't ask that.
I can't live without you.
He doesn't say that.
I love you.
He breathes that. Breathes it in and out, exhales the faintest whisper of it against Brad's neck, writes it in the trail of his fingers on Brad's back.
The water's hot and sharp, stings his skin, makes him feel alive even though he's still half asleep. No need to be fully awake yet, not on a slow winter Sunday with nowhere they need to be. Even his dick's not awake yet, but that'll happen soon enough. No rush. They can make today last an eternity.
He had a dream like this once. Out there. One night, catching an hour's sleep that he needed to be deep and dreamless and six hours more, but then he never did get what he needed out there.
(Other than a platoon who he trusted with his life, men who trusted him with their lives, and that was everything really, but he was never content with everything, he still wanted more. He pushed until he got more, and that's what's gotten him here today, in this life. In this moment. Pressed slick against the man he loves more than anything.
There was a voice in his dream. Nate, it said, Nate, soft and drawn out and needy. Saying his name like any other word was beyond the speaker, like his entire world and vocabulary consisted of Nate. They were wet in the dream - Nate can't remember if they were warm or cold, just the smoothness of wet shoulders under his hands, the taste of clean skin on his tongue - and it was so real he ached with the loss when he woke up to the sound of his name, LT. Sorry, Sir. A hand on his shoulder and marching orders relayed. Questions and responsibilities and the acrid taste of dust on his lips.)
The water's hot, and Brad's skin is slick with it, and no one is waking Nate up this time because this isn't a dream. This is his life.
You're my life.
He says that.
"You're my life," he says, and Brad smiles at him, so Nate knows he said it out loud, which is good because he meant to. He punctuates the declaration with kisses, ragged ones, some off the mark because the water's streaking down his face and it's hard to see. Brad laughs when Nate kisses his chin, but he stops when Nate finds his mark, his lips going slack and soft under Nate's, his answering kiss so slow Nate thinks they could do this forever, fall back to sleep doing this.
Later, Nate is going to make Brad say his name like he did in the dream. He'll fall to his knees, water still streaming over them, and press Brad against the tiles. Nate, Brad will say, and he'll mean so much in that one simple syllable, and Nate will understand it all. He'll give Brad everything he needs.
//
Just to be extra sure you see the pimping, here it is again - Oorah, a porn fest, on now @ generation_kill. Go, join in, prompt, write, draw, read, get dirty!!
For raidtheskies' prompt on Oorah - A Generation Kill Multigenre Porn Fest. The prompt was: Brad/Nate, shower Sex on a sleepy Sunday morning. Slick boys and slow kisses." How could I resist? I couldn't! Though it's more sleepy kisses than actual sex. Title from Amy Macdonald - Slow It Down.
I got to slow right down [Generation Kill, Brad/Nate, PG-13, 505 words.]
What would I do if you died?
He doesn't ask that.
I can't live without you.
He doesn't say that.
I love you.
He breathes that. Breathes it in and out, exhales the faintest whisper of it against Brad's neck, writes it in the trail of his fingers on Brad's back.
The water's hot and sharp, stings his skin, makes him feel alive even though he's still half asleep. No need to be fully awake yet, not on a slow winter Sunday with nowhere they need to be. Even his dick's not awake yet, but that'll happen soon enough. No rush. They can make today last an eternity.
He had a dream like this once. Out there. One night, catching an hour's sleep that he needed to be deep and dreamless and six hours more, but then he never did get what he needed out there.
(Other than a platoon who he trusted with his life, men who trusted him with their lives, and that was everything really, but he was never content with everything, he still wanted more. He pushed until he got more, and that's what's gotten him here today, in this life. In this moment. Pressed slick against the man he loves more than anything.
There was a voice in his dream. Nate, it said, Nate, soft and drawn out and needy. Saying his name like any other word was beyond the speaker, like his entire world and vocabulary consisted of Nate. They were wet in the dream - Nate can't remember if they were warm or cold, just the smoothness of wet shoulders under his hands, the taste of clean skin on his tongue - and it was so real he ached with the loss when he woke up to the sound of his name, LT. Sorry, Sir. A hand on his shoulder and marching orders relayed. Questions and responsibilities and the acrid taste of dust on his lips.)
The water's hot, and Brad's skin is slick with it, and no one is waking Nate up this time because this isn't a dream. This is his life.
You're my life.
He says that.
"You're my life," he says, and Brad smiles at him, so Nate knows he said it out loud, which is good because he meant to. He punctuates the declaration with kisses, ragged ones, some off the mark because the water's streaking down his face and it's hard to see. Brad laughs when Nate kisses his chin, but he stops when Nate finds his mark, his lips going slack and soft under Nate's, his answering kiss so slow Nate thinks they could do this forever, fall back to sleep doing this.
Later, Nate is going to make Brad say his name like he did in the dream. He'll fall to his knees, water still streaming over them, and press Brad against the tiles. Nate, Brad will say, and he'll mean so much in that one simple syllable, and Nate will understand it all. He'll give Brad everything he needs.
//
Just to be extra sure you see the pimping, here it is again - Oorah, a porn fest, on now @ generation_kill. Go, join in, prompt, write, draw, read, get dirty!!