bare it down
Title: bare it down
Author: silenceguardian
Rating: pg-13
Characters/Pairings: Brad/Nate
Summary: Brad redresses his grievances over Nate's choices.
Wordcount: ~550
Disclaimer: I do not own generation kill and I mean no disrespect.
Notes or Warnings: Title belongs to Sufjan Stevens, I wrote this and based it off kind of his song "all for myself". Dedicated to my friend amanda.
I want all of you, from the golden crown on the top of your head to the grooved soles of your boots. I want to camp in the forest that is wooded in your eyes, and hide near that sand under the fingernail on your left pointer finger that you can never seem to get out. I want to feel the pads of your worn fingers against my neck, and your chapped lips at my throat.
I also wanted to be more than a few passing paragraphs in that book you wrote, too.
But it seems like my luck ran out after that time I was stranded in a shamal, pissing before a cloud descended on me and I was praying for the first time in literally God knows how many years. I found my way to your victor and crouched in the back and you wrapped your arm around me in the dark. That’s all the fate wanted me to have, I guess.
My problem with fate, though, is that it has a fickle cousin, coincidence, and I know for a fact it wasn’t just a fortuitous happenstance that you let me into your grave leaning towards the end of the invasion and told me you were scared of going back.
Not Mike, not anyone else. Me. I saw you break with shaking fingers pressed to your dirty temples. You dismissed me with that officer voice but not before you gripped around my wrist. Your eyes said “I’m still terrified.”
But your voice said “Get a good night’s sleep, Brad.”
So, you can’t assume that I’d be okay with you dropping me like a sack of potatoes as soon as we hop back across the pond and then getting promoted and then retiring and writing an admittedly inaccurate account of your time in shitty Iraq, because you can misrepresent yourself to every other person on this earth, Nate, but you can’t lie to me.
I know who you are and what you think because you could have redressed your grievances to any other officer in Bravo, but you choose an enlisted sergeant. I’m not mad at your decision, just confused on how you expected our connection to end as soon as you strapped yourself into that C-130.
And honestly, I still can’t say no to you. If you asked me today to join OCS and be everything that, if it were not for you, I would have despised, I’d say yes. I’d say yes if it brought me back to your arm around me in that shamal. I’d say yes if it guaranteed a few days with you and your daughter in Baltimore. I’d say yes if you’d let me attend the classes you teach.
I’d say yes to anything if you said my name like you did in the desert.
And I know Nate; I know how much anything that could become a constant terrifies you. If you won’t let me tell you what I feel at least let me tell you more that I want.
I want the gentle tilt of your smirk against my cheek in the bleary morning, I want to drink a hundred year old scotch and smoke cigars that look older than both of us with you, I want to watch your genuine smile break out on your miraculously unmarred face.
I want it all for myself.
Author: silenceguardian
Rating: pg-13
Characters/Pairings: Brad/Nate
Summary: Brad redresses his grievances over Nate's choices.
Wordcount: ~550
Disclaimer: I do not own generation kill and I mean no disrespect.
Notes or Warnings: Title belongs to Sufjan Stevens, I wrote this and based it off kind of his song "all for myself". Dedicated to my friend amanda.
I want all of you, from the golden crown on the top of your head to the grooved soles of your boots. I want to camp in the forest that is wooded in your eyes, and hide near that sand under the fingernail on your left pointer finger that you can never seem to get out. I want to feel the pads of your worn fingers against my neck, and your chapped lips at my throat.
I also wanted to be more than a few passing paragraphs in that book you wrote, too.
But it seems like my luck ran out after that time I was stranded in a shamal, pissing before a cloud descended on me and I was praying for the first time in literally God knows how many years. I found my way to your victor and crouched in the back and you wrapped your arm around me in the dark. That’s all the fate wanted me to have, I guess.
My problem with fate, though, is that it has a fickle cousin, coincidence, and I know for a fact it wasn’t just a fortuitous happenstance that you let me into your grave leaning towards the end of the invasion and told me you were scared of going back.
Not Mike, not anyone else. Me. I saw you break with shaking fingers pressed to your dirty temples. You dismissed me with that officer voice but not before you gripped around my wrist. Your eyes said “I’m still terrified.”
But your voice said “Get a good night’s sleep, Brad.”
So, you can’t assume that I’d be okay with you dropping me like a sack of potatoes as soon as we hop back across the pond and then getting promoted and then retiring and writing an admittedly inaccurate account of your time in shitty Iraq, because you can misrepresent yourself to every other person on this earth, Nate, but you can’t lie to me.
I know who you are and what you think because you could have redressed your grievances to any other officer in Bravo, but you choose an enlisted sergeant. I’m not mad at your decision, just confused on how you expected our connection to end as soon as you strapped yourself into that C-130.
And honestly, I still can’t say no to you. If you asked me today to join OCS and be everything that, if it were not for you, I would have despised, I’d say yes. I’d say yes if it brought me back to your arm around me in that shamal. I’d say yes if it guaranteed a few days with you and your daughter in Baltimore. I’d say yes if you’d let me attend the classes you teach.
I’d say yes to anything if you said my name like you did in the desert.
And I know Nate; I know how much anything that could become a constant terrifies you. If you won’t let me tell you what I feel at least let me tell you more that I want.
I want the gentle tilt of your smirk against my cheek in the bleary morning, I want to drink a hundred year old scotch and smoke cigars that look older than both of us with you, I want to watch your genuine smile break out on your miraculously unmarred face.
I want it all for myself.