Motorcycle Rides with Nate and Brad are Fun, Too
Title: Ride with the Devil
Author: m_buggie
Fandoms: “Generation Kill”/“Band of Brothers”
Pairing: pre-Colbert/Fick
Word Count: 2,924
Rating: PG-13
Standard Disclaimer: This is based off performances in the HBO miniseries, not the actual soldiers. The only thing I own is the computer I wrote this on. I make no profit and mean no disrespect so please don’t sue.
Author’s Note: This takes place in the world of the Big Damn Modern Day Crossover AU of Doom-verse…I think that says it all.
~x~
“Well, that makes for two students that Professor Sixta has driven to tears this term,” Henry Jones IV remarked with a sigh.
“It’s only the first week of July, Henry,” Nathaniel Fick responded, keeping step alongside his friend. “He’s still got a whole two months left to make some more kids break down and cry. Give him time. I’m sure Sixta’s got a quota to meet.”
“I wonder if the university gives him some kind of cash bonus for every student he emotionally scars for life?”
“I don’t think they pay him, Henry.”
“You’re right, he probably does it for his own entertainment.”
Nate laughed.
For each of the three years they’d spent at Dartmouth, Nate Fick and Henry Jones IV had somehow managed to have Professor Sixta for one class every term. The man was a legend in the academic community: an old school overachiever with so many PhDs that it was rumored he needed an entire room in his house just to display them all. Sixta taught no less than five subjects and was a master of half a dozen more. He was a tough teacher, one with high standards that he expected all his pupils to adhere to. Henry and Nate counted themselves among the lucky few who’d never gotten on Sixta’s bad side and they intended to keep it that way.
They were on their way to the dorms Henry happened to turn his head and notice a familiar figure by the street, watching them intently from beneath the shade of a tree.
“Oh God, it’s him,” Henry muttered.
Nate made an inquisitive “hm?” noise and glanced over. What he saw made him stop in his tracks and smile.
“Nate, what are you doing?” Henry inquired anxiously as he trailed after his dormmate.
“Saying hi,” Nate replied, walking straight up to the man leaning against the tree.
Brad Colbert pushed off the old maple tree and stepped forward, eyes fixed on Nate and a barely-there grin on his face. He held a motorcycle helmet in his hands and had an ensemble to match; plain white tee and dark denim jeans, black Frye boots and a classic biker jacket - he was Marlon Brando in The Wild One, updated. Typically this would’ve been an outfit too warm to wear in the summer but the weather was unseasonably cool that season; sunny but a good ten to fifteen degrees lower than the average temperature for the time of year.
He was Easy Rider, James Dean, the great American rebellion. And he’d come to the Dartmouth campus to see Nate.
“Done with class?” Brad asked by way of greeting.
“For now,” Nate replied, hands in his pockets and trying not to stare or smile too much in the company of the taller man.
Their eyes locked in one of their too-long gazes and Henry let out a very loud and purposeful sigh in frustration. He muttered something under his breath about there being laws against stalking but was promptly silenced by an elbow to the ribs from Nate.
Brad turned away then, nodding his head in the direction of the beautiful configuration of chrome, leather, and raw horsepower sitting by the curb behind him.
“So what do you think?” Brad asked, helmet resting against his hip.
Nathaniel Fick gave an impressed whistle and walked slowly around the motorcycle. “It’s very pretty,” the younger man remarked.
“Harley Davidson FXDX Dyna Super Glide Sport, my pride and joy,” Brad declared, practically beaming. “I was just about to get a Yamaha R1 but then I saw this baby and had to have her. Isn’t she beautiful?”
Nate delicately arched one eyebrow and inquired, “She?”
“Of course. All highly functional pieces of machinery are female. I figured someone as excessively educated as yourself would know that.”
Nate shrugged. “I always thought that was just for ships and cars, having feminine pronouns attached.”
“Well, Dana and I are here to prove you wrong on that point.” Brad took a few steps, swung long leg over, and straddled the motorcycle, turning the key. “Dana, say hello to Nathaniel.” He revved the engine then, smiling mischievously.
Nate grinned softly, chuckled under his breath, and tried not to gnaw at his bottom lip in nervous habit.
“I think she likes you,” Brad remarked in a low, throaty sort of way that made Nate blush. “Want to go for a ride?”
“Nate, we should really get going,” Henry said, interrupting the exchange. He adjusted his backpack with purpose and shifted to stand between his best friend and the barbarian with the two-wheeled death trap who had recently invaded their lives. To Brad, he said, “We have another class.”
Brad Colbert glanced at Henry Jones IV for all of half a second before choosing to ignore him and instead focusing completely on Nate Fick. He rested his bike helmet in his lap and it became evident that a second one was strapped to the back of the motorcycle.
“What time do you get done?” he asked.
“We need to go to the library after class,” Henry declared at the exact same moment that Nate responded, “Seven-thirty.”
Brad smirked.
“Nate…” Henry schooled his facial expression to something as close to blank as possible, looking at his friend out of the corner of his eye with a hint of warning in his tone. “What about…”
“Where should I pick you up?” Brad asked, cutting Henry off.
Nate pursed his lips, tilted his head. There was something coy about him but innocent at the same time as he began walking backwards, moving away from Brad but without breaking eye contact. “You know where my dorm is.”
Brad nodded. “That I do. I’ll see you there, 19:45 hours.”
“Okay.” Nate smiled again, sweet and a little bashful. “Bye, Brad.”
And with that, Nate Fick spun upon heel and strode away at as fast a clip as he could manage without looking like he was actually in a hurry. Brad Colbert’s smirk grew and, helmet in place, he allowed himself to appreciate the view of a particular Dartmouth student departing the scene. Henry Jones IV, meanwhile, shot one last sour look over his shoulder at the leather-clad ruffian before moving to keep pace with his friend.
The roar of the motorcycle engine was heard as it rolled down the street and Nate snuck a peak, trying not to smile too much, as Brad drove by.
“Nathaniel,” Henry remarked exasperatedly as they headed towards their next class, “have you lost your mind? What the hell? Are you serious? Tell me you’re not actually getting on the back of that thing with Colbert, please, Nate, tell me that’s not what you’re doing. Motorcycle riders are organ donors waiting to happen.”
“I’ve never been on a motorcycle before,” was all Nate could say, unable to meet the other young man’s perturbed gaze. “Don’t worry so much, Henry. I’ll be fine.”
Henry sighed.
A few hours later, Henry stood by the window in his dorm’s common room, staring out at the street. An ominous rumbling sound crept up, snarled like an angry beast, as Brad Colbert appeared with his shining black and chrome mount.
“He’s here,” Henry announced distastefully.
Nate poked his head out of his bedroom. “Already?”
Henry shrugged. “He’s punctual, I’ll give him that.”
“But nothing else?” Nate commented.
The roll of Henry’s eyes and the rude sound he made answered Nate’s question.
“See you later, Henry,” Nate said, heading for the door.
“If you’re not back in 48 hours I’m filing a missing persons report and calling the cops,” Henry responded.
Nate shook his head, chuckling. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
Meanwhile, on the street Brad Colbert lounged on his motorbike, engine idling, helmet off in the cool evening air.
“Nice jacket,” he remarked, eyeing Nate’s change in wardrobe.
“You think you’re the only one who can wear leather?” Nate countered lightly.
It was a streamlined racing-style jacket that had probably been purchased at a Macy’s somewhere, but it looked good on Nate and was more than suitable. Brad raised an eyebrow, drinking in the sight with a wolfish gleam in his eyes. Everything Nate wore looked good on him but this was the first time Brad had ever seen the younger man dressed so casually. The Ivy Leaguer walked up in well-worn blue jeans with tears in the knees, hiking boots, and a dark red T-shirt with a faded logo of the National Aquarium in Baltimore, Maryland.
“Ready to go?” Brad inquired, giving Nate the once-over twice.
“Ready as I’ll ever be,” Nate replied. “I’ve never been on one of these things before.”
Brad smiled. “Really?” He handed Nate the spare helmet and their fingers touched during the exchange. “I’ll be gentle since this is your first time.”
Nate may or may not have turned three shades of red at the connotations of that statement and the tone it was delivered in, but it was hard to tell as he slipped on Brad’s extra helmet. “Just try not to kill or injure me. I don’t graduate until next year.”
Frowning, Brad turned around, lifted the visor on his helmet so the expression in his keen blue eyes could show. “Nathaniel, I would never let anything bad happen to you. Never.”
They gazed at each other for a moment until Nate blinked.
“Okay,” Nate murmured and lowered the visor on his helmet.
Nate climbed on the motorcycle and Brad looked over his shoulder. “Now just hang on and don’t let go,” he said. “Riding is fluid. If I lean into a turn, just lean in with me; move when I move. Okay?”
Nate wrapped his arms around Brad’s waist. “I think I can do that.”
And then they were off, into the summer dusk.
Brad growled in the pit of his throat, in time with the engine as they motored out of town. The feel of Nate’s arms around him, the younger man’s warmth against his back - those were things that Brad reveled in, sensations he could get used to if given the chance. He’d taken plenty of folks for rides on his bike, women mostly, but this was different somehow. This felt special. And while Brad would never admit it, that sent a shiver to his core.
To Nate, it felt like flying. The Dartmouth student held on to the taller man as tightly as he dared, feeling the rush of moving so fast and so freely, the bike’s engine growling between his legs like some mechanical steed. Nate had never ridden a horse but he could almost imagine it being similar. If he closed his eyes he could almost picture himself and Brad on some great warhorse, charging forward with swords and steel like Crusaders or something of that ilk. The mental image passed as quickly as it came, though, when Brad gunned the engine and took them wailing up the highway then off down some scenic route exit away from all the pressures of college and life in general.
And in that moment, Nate stopped caring. It didn’t matter where they were going, when they’d be back. It was just him and Brad and the bike, zooming along at probably illegal speeds. They could’ve kept riding forever and Nate would’ve been perfectly happy.
As it was, they pulled off the road at a rest stop somewhere, a quiet spot surrounded by trees with a picnic area off to the side. They stretched their legs, took off their helmets, and absorbed the cool night air.
“Wow,” Nathaniel murmured, exhaling slowly. His eyes shone with excitement, his smile bright enough to shame the stars in the sky.
“It amuses me that some with as extensive a vocabulary as yourself is at a lack for words,” Brad commented.
Nate shrugged, a happy and dazed expression on his face. “I don’t know what to say, this the first time I’ve ever been on a motorcycle. It’s quite the experience.” He paused, searching for the right words. “I don’t think I’ve ever been more terrified in my whole life…but it was amazing and exhilarating. It was…fun.” His smile became more dazzling, if such a thing was even possible. “Thank you, Brad. I think I kind of needed that.”
Brad’s heart skipped a beat and for a moment he couldn’t breathe. It was getting harder, denying the feelings that had been bubbling up in his chest for the past couple of months. From the moment he looked into those brilliant green eyes Brad hadn’t been able to stop thinking of Nathaniel Fick. That soft voice, so melodic but determined as he spoke of everything from Ancient Mesopotamia to modern American politics to a childhood fondness for vanilla ice cream and apple pie. Those lips - good Goddamn, the boy had a pretty mouth. Everything about Nate was mesmerizing and Brad was thankful for the darkness of twilight, where he could drink in the sight of his new companion without being too obvious in his intent observation.
“Don’t mention it,” Brad said, effortlessly concealing the tumult of his emotions with his time-honored Iceman persona firmly in place. “It’s a well known fact that a good bike ride is one of the most perfect ways to clear your mind.”
Nate made a little “hmm” noise and raised his hands above his head, stretching out his back. Brad tried not to stare and failed spectacularly, his eyes raking along Nate’s trim torso and backside where his hands wished to roam. The collegiate had mentioned one time, in passing, that he held a third-degree black belt in Tae Kwon Do and Brad’s mind wandered now to images of what kind that slender physique looked like out of clothes.
“So now where to?” Nate inquired.
“Wherever you want to go,” Brad replied, sounding huskier than he would’ve liked. “Anywhere. California, Mexico, you name it, we’ll go.”
Nate leaned against one of the picnic tables, half-sitting on it, and looked at Brad with a Mona Lisa smile. “Yeah?”
“I’ll take you anywhere you’ll let me.”
And Jesus fucking Christ, it took every ounce of self-control in Brad’s being not to lean down and press his lips against Nate’s. All Brad wanted to do was grip the smaller man by the back of the neck, wrap an arm around his waist, and kiss him like the sky was falling down around them. He wanted to push Nate back onto that picnic table, climb on top of him, and…
Nate’s cell phone rang then, breaking the spell.
Brad blinked and spun away while Nate apologized and answered it, dragging his fingers through his blond crew cut to try and distract him from the fact that what he wanted to do was run his fingers through Nate’s golden bangs.
“Sorry about that,” Nate murmured when he got off the phone. “My sisters have preternatural abilities when it comes to bothering me.”
Brad just shrugged, feeling the moment pass. “I should probably be returning you to your Ivy League ivory tower now anyway. Heaven forbid you stray into the real world for too long.”
“Yeah, okay.”
For a second Brad thought he saw disappointment flicker in Nate’s expression.
“Let’s go then,” Nate said, and strolled back to the Harley.
Brad followed a few steps behind, scolding himself for wanting to put a hand on Nate’s hip.
~
Nathaniel Fick closed the door and leaned back against it, sighing heavily.
“So how was your ride with the devil?” Henry Jones IV inquired from the common room.
“I think my immortal soul might be in peril,” Nate replied, folding his arms and trying to forget the feel of hugging Brad’s broad chest.
Henry looked up from his laptop, ready to launch into a tirade against the shady character that was Colbert but stopping himself when he saw the look of vulnerability painted on his best friend and dormmate’s face.
“You need to be careful around that guy, Nate,” Henry said, dulling his words with a sympathetic tone. “I don’t want to see you get hurt.”
Nate shook his head. “Brad’s an excellent motorcyclist.”
Henry paused. “That’s not what I’m talking about.”
~
“What the hell are you still doing in New Hampshire?” Ray Person demanded from the other end of the telephone line. “Shit on a shingle, holmes, I figured you’d of been outta that punk-ass white-collar hippie latte-sipping wank town a long time ago. I hope to fucking God you ain’t hanging around there so you can be all masochistic and shit with watching that bitch ex of yours and her trick-ass piece of shit husband walk around playing happy family.”
Brad Colbert sighed, the sound barely audible over the phone. “Believe it or not, Ray, Caroline has nothing to do with my decision making processes these days.”
“Right, sure, I’ll believe that when I see it. Dude, you fucking carried her picture around with you for how many years after she dumped your ass?”
“I don’t carry her picture in my wallet anymore,” was all Brad said in response.
Ray snorted.
“I’m serious, I don’t.”
“Why? Did you finally find someone to replace her on the pedestal in your heart?”
Brad was silent. He stared at the wall, still feeling Nate’s phantom arms clinging to him.
“Oh my fucking God, Brad, did you? Did you actually meet someone new?”
Brad closed his eyes, rubbed his forehead. “It’s not that simple.”
“Yes it is. Who is she? Where’d you meet? Is she hot?”
Brad sighed again, louder, burdened. “Here’s the thing, Ray…it’s not a she…”
Author: m_buggie
Fandoms: “Generation Kill”/“Band of Brothers”
Pairing: pre-Colbert/Fick
Word Count: 2,924
Rating: PG-13
Standard Disclaimer: This is based off performances in the HBO miniseries, not the actual soldiers. The only thing I own is the computer I wrote this on. I make no profit and mean no disrespect so please don’t sue.
Author’s Note: This takes place in the world of the Big Damn Modern Day Crossover AU of Doom-verse…I think that says it all.
~x~
“Well, that makes for two students that Professor Sixta has driven to tears this term,” Henry Jones IV remarked with a sigh.
“It’s only the first week of July, Henry,” Nathaniel Fick responded, keeping step alongside his friend. “He’s still got a whole two months left to make some more kids break down and cry. Give him time. I’m sure Sixta’s got a quota to meet.”
“I wonder if the university gives him some kind of cash bonus for every student he emotionally scars for life?”
“I don’t think they pay him, Henry.”
“You’re right, he probably does it for his own entertainment.”
Nate laughed.
For each of the three years they’d spent at Dartmouth, Nate Fick and Henry Jones IV had somehow managed to have Professor Sixta for one class every term. The man was a legend in the academic community: an old school overachiever with so many PhDs that it was rumored he needed an entire room in his house just to display them all. Sixta taught no less than five subjects and was a master of half a dozen more. He was a tough teacher, one with high standards that he expected all his pupils to adhere to. Henry and Nate counted themselves among the lucky few who’d never gotten on Sixta’s bad side and they intended to keep it that way.
They were on their way to the dorms Henry happened to turn his head and notice a familiar figure by the street, watching them intently from beneath the shade of a tree.
“Oh God, it’s him,” Henry muttered.
Nate made an inquisitive “hm?” noise and glanced over. What he saw made him stop in his tracks and smile.
“Nate, what are you doing?” Henry inquired anxiously as he trailed after his dormmate.
“Saying hi,” Nate replied, walking straight up to the man leaning against the tree.
Brad Colbert pushed off the old maple tree and stepped forward, eyes fixed on Nate and a barely-there grin on his face. He held a motorcycle helmet in his hands and had an ensemble to match; plain white tee and dark denim jeans, black Frye boots and a classic biker jacket - he was Marlon Brando in The Wild One, updated. Typically this would’ve been an outfit too warm to wear in the summer but the weather was unseasonably cool that season; sunny but a good ten to fifteen degrees lower than the average temperature for the time of year.
He was Easy Rider, James Dean, the great American rebellion. And he’d come to the Dartmouth campus to see Nate.
“Done with class?” Brad asked by way of greeting.
“For now,” Nate replied, hands in his pockets and trying not to stare or smile too much in the company of the taller man.
Their eyes locked in one of their too-long gazes and Henry let out a very loud and purposeful sigh in frustration. He muttered something under his breath about there being laws against stalking but was promptly silenced by an elbow to the ribs from Nate.
Brad turned away then, nodding his head in the direction of the beautiful configuration of chrome, leather, and raw horsepower sitting by the curb behind him.
“So what do you think?” Brad asked, helmet resting against his hip.
Nathaniel Fick gave an impressed whistle and walked slowly around the motorcycle. “It’s very pretty,” the younger man remarked.
“Harley Davidson FXDX Dyna Super Glide Sport, my pride and joy,” Brad declared, practically beaming. “I was just about to get a Yamaha R1 but then I saw this baby and had to have her. Isn’t she beautiful?”
Nate delicately arched one eyebrow and inquired, “She?”
“Of course. All highly functional pieces of machinery are female. I figured someone as excessively educated as yourself would know that.”
Nate shrugged. “I always thought that was just for ships and cars, having feminine pronouns attached.”
“Well, Dana and I are here to prove you wrong on that point.” Brad took a few steps, swung long leg over, and straddled the motorcycle, turning the key. “Dana, say hello to Nathaniel.” He revved the engine then, smiling mischievously.
Nate grinned softly, chuckled under his breath, and tried not to gnaw at his bottom lip in nervous habit.
“I think she likes you,” Brad remarked in a low, throaty sort of way that made Nate blush. “Want to go for a ride?”
“Nate, we should really get going,” Henry said, interrupting the exchange. He adjusted his backpack with purpose and shifted to stand between his best friend and the barbarian with the two-wheeled death trap who had recently invaded their lives. To Brad, he said, “We have another class.”
Brad Colbert glanced at Henry Jones IV for all of half a second before choosing to ignore him and instead focusing completely on Nate Fick. He rested his bike helmet in his lap and it became evident that a second one was strapped to the back of the motorcycle.
“What time do you get done?” he asked.
“We need to go to the library after class,” Henry declared at the exact same moment that Nate responded, “Seven-thirty.”
Brad smirked.
“Nate…” Henry schooled his facial expression to something as close to blank as possible, looking at his friend out of the corner of his eye with a hint of warning in his tone. “What about…”
“Where should I pick you up?” Brad asked, cutting Henry off.
Nate pursed his lips, tilted his head. There was something coy about him but innocent at the same time as he began walking backwards, moving away from Brad but without breaking eye contact. “You know where my dorm is.”
Brad nodded. “That I do. I’ll see you there, 19:45 hours.”
“Okay.” Nate smiled again, sweet and a little bashful. “Bye, Brad.”
And with that, Nate Fick spun upon heel and strode away at as fast a clip as he could manage without looking like he was actually in a hurry. Brad Colbert’s smirk grew and, helmet in place, he allowed himself to appreciate the view of a particular Dartmouth student departing the scene. Henry Jones IV, meanwhile, shot one last sour look over his shoulder at the leather-clad ruffian before moving to keep pace with his friend.
The roar of the motorcycle engine was heard as it rolled down the street and Nate snuck a peak, trying not to smile too much, as Brad drove by.
“Nathaniel,” Henry remarked exasperatedly as they headed towards their next class, “have you lost your mind? What the hell? Are you serious? Tell me you’re not actually getting on the back of that thing with Colbert, please, Nate, tell me that’s not what you’re doing. Motorcycle riders are organ donors waiting to happen.”
“I’ve never been on a motorcycle before,” was all Nate could say, unable to meet the other young man’s perturbed gaze. “Don’t worry so much, Henry. I’ll be fine.”
Henry sighed.
A few hours later, Henry stood by the window in his dorm’s common room, staring out at the street. An ominous rumbling sound crept up, snarled like an angry beast, as Brad Colbert appeared with his shining black and chrome mount.
“He’s here,” Henry announced distastefully.
Nate poked his head out of his bedroom. “Already?”
Henry shrugged. “He’s punctual, I’ll give him that.”
“But nothing else?” Nate commented.
The roll of Henry’s eyes and the rude sound he made answered Nate’s question.
“See you later, Henry,” Nate said, heading for the door.
“If you’re not back in 48 hours I’m filing a missing persons report and calling the cops,” Henry responded.
Nate shook his head, chuckling. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
Meanwhile, on the street Brad Colbert lounged on his motorbike, engine idling, helmet off in the cool evening air.
“Nice jacket,” he remarked, eyeing Nate’s change in wardrobe.
“You think you’re the only one who can wear leather?” Nate countered lightly.
It was a streamlined racing-style jacket that had probably been purchased at a Macy’s somewhere, but it looked good on Nate and was more than suitable. Brad raised an eyebrow, drinking in the sight with a wolfish gleam in his eyes. Everything Nate wore looked good on him but this was the first time Brad had ever seen the younger man dressed so casually. The Ivy Leaguer walked up in well-worn blue jeans with tears in the knees, hiking boots, and a dark red T-shirt with a faded logo of the National Aquarium in Baltimore, Maryland.
“Ready to go?” Brad inquired, giving Nate the once-over twice.
“Ready as I’ll ever be,” Nate replied. “I’ve never been on one of these things before.”
Brad smiled. “Really?” He handed Nate the spare helmet and their fingers touched during the exchange. “I’ll be gentle since this is your first time.”
Nate may or may not have turned three shades of red at the connotations of that statement and the tone it was delivered in, but it was hard to tell as he slipped on Brad’s extra helmet. “Just try not to kill or injure me. I don’t graduate until next year.”
Frowning, Brad turned around, lifted the visor on his helmet so the expression in his keen blue eyes could show. “Nathaniel, I would never let anything bad happen to you. Never.”
They gazed at each other for a moment until Nate blinked.
“Okay,” Nate murmured and lowered the visor on his helmet.
Nate climbed on the motorcycle and Brad looked over his shoulder. “Now just hang on and don’t let go,” he said. “Riding is fluid. If I lean into a turn, just lean in with me; move when I move. Okay?”
Nate wrapped his arms around Brad’s waist. “I think I can do that.”
And then they were off, into the summer dusk.
Brad growled in the pit of his throat, in time with the engine as they motored out of town. The feel of Nate’s arms around him, the younger man’s warmth against his back - those were things that Brad reveled in, sensations he could get used to if given the chance. He’d taken plenty of folks for rides on his bike, women mostly, but this was different somehow. This felt special. And while Brad would never admit it, that sent a shiver to his core.
To Nate, it felt like flying. The Dartmouth student held on to the taller man as tightly as he dared, feeling the rush of moving so fast and so freely, the bike’s engine growling between his legs like some mechanical steed. Nate had never ridden a horse but he could almost imagine it being similar. If he closed his eyes he could almost picture himself and Brad on some great warhorse, charging forward with swords and steel like Crusaders or something of that ilk. The mental image passed as quickly as it came, though, when Brad gunned the engine and took them wailing up the highway then off down some scenic route exit away from all the pressures of college and life in general.
And in that moment, Nate stopped caring. It didn’t matter where they were going, when they’d be back. It was just him and Brad and the bike, zooming along at probably illegal speeds. They could’ve kept riding forever and Nate would’ve been perfectly happy.
As it was, they pulled off the road at a rest stop somewhere, a quiet spot surrounded by trees with a picnic area off to the side. They stretched their legs, took off their helmets, and absorbed the cool night air.
“Wow,” Nathaniel murmured, exhaling slowly. His eyes shone with excitement, his smile bright enough to shame the stars in the sky.
“It amuses me that some with as extensive a vocabulary as yourself is at a lack for words,” Brad commented.
Nate shrugged, a happy and dazed expression on his face. “I don’t know what to say, this the first time I’ve ever been on a motorcycle. It’s quite the experience.” He paused, searching for the right words. “I don’t think I’ve ever been more terrified in my whole life…but it was amazing and exhilarating. It was…fun.” His smile became more dazzling, if such a thing was even possible. “Thank you, Brad. I think I kind of needed that.”
Brad’s heart skipped a beat and for a moment he couldn’t breathe. It was getting harder, denying the feelings that had been bubbling up in his chest for the past couple of months. From the moment he looked into those brilliant green eyes Brad hadn’t been able to stop thinking of Nathaniel Fick. That soft voice, so melodic but determined as he spoke of everything from Ancient Mesopotamia to modern American politics to a childhood fondness for vanilla ice cream and apple pie. Those lips - good Goddamn, the boy had a pretty mouth. Everything about Nate was mesmerizing and Brad was thankful for the darkness of twilight, where he could drink in the sight of his new companion without being too obvious in his intent observation.
“Don’t mention it,” Brad said, effortlessly concealing the tumult of his emotions with his time-honored Iceman persona firmly in place. “It’s a well known fact that a good bike ride is one of the most perfect ways to clear your mind.”
Nate made a little “hmm” noise and raised his hands above his head, stretching out his back. Brad tried not to stare and failed spectacularly, his eyes raking along Nate’s trim torso and backside where his hands wished to roam. The collegiate had mentioned one time, in passing, that he held a third-degree black belt in Tae Kwon Do and Brad’s mind wandered now to images of what kind that slender physique looked like out of clothes.
“So now where to?” Nate inquired.
“Wherever you want to go,” Brad replied, sounding huskier than he would’ve liked. “Anywhere. California, Mexico, you name it, we’ll go.”
Nate leaned against one of the picnic tables, half-sitting on it, and looked at Brad with a Mona Lisa smile. “Yeah?”
“I’ll take you anywhere you’ll let me.”
And Jesus fucking Christ, it took every ounce of self-control in Brad’s being not to lean down and press his lips against Nate’s. All Brad wanted to do was grip the smaller man by the back of the neck, wrap an arm around his waist, and kiss him like the sky was falling down around them. He wanted to push Nate back onto that picnic table, climb on top of him, and…
Nate’s cell phone rang then, breaking the spell.
Brad blinked and spun away while Nate apologized and answered it, dragging his fingers through his blond crew cut to try and distract him from the fact that what he wanted to do was run his fingers through Nate’s golden bangs.
“Sorry about that,” Nate murmured when he got off the phone. “My sisters have preternatural abilities when it comes to bothering me.”
Brad just shrugged, feeling the moment pass. “I should probably be returning you to your Ivy League ivory tower now anyway. Heaven forbid you stray into the real world for too long.”
“Yeah, okay.”
For a second Brad thought he saw disappointment flicker in Nate’s expression.
“Let’s go then,” Nate said, and strolled back to the Harley.
Brad followed a few steps behind, scolding himself for wanting to put a hand on Nate’s hip.
~
Nathaniel Fick closed the door and leaned back against it, sighing heavily.
“So how was your ride with the devil?” Henry Jones IV inquired from the common room.
“I think my immortal soul might be in peril,” Nate replied, folding his arms and trying to forget the feel of hugging Brad’s broad chest.
Henry looked up from his laptop, ready to launch into a tirade against the shady character that was Colbert but stopping himself when he saw the look of vulnerability painted on his best friend and dormmate’s face.
“You need to be careful around that guy, Nate,” Henry said, dulling his words with a sympathetic tone. “I don’t want to see you get hurt.”
Nate shook his head. “Brad’s an excellent motorcyclist.”
Henry paused. “That’s not what I’m talking about.”
~
“What the hell are you still doing in New Hampshire?” Ray Person demanded from the other end of the telephone line. “Shit on a shingle, holmes, I figured you’d of been outta that punk-ass white-collar hippie latte-sipping wank town a long time ago. I hope to fucking God you ain’t hanging around there so you can be all masochistic and shit with watching that bitch ex of yours and her trick-ass piece of shit husband walk around playing happy family.”
Brad Colbert sighed, the sound barely audible over the phone. “Believe it or not, Ray, Caroline has nothing to do with my decision making processes these days.”
“Right, sure, I’ll believe that when I see it. Dude, you fucking carried her picture around with you for how many years after she dumped your ass?”
“I don’t carry her picture in my wallet anymore,” was all Brad said in response.
Ray snorted.
“I’m serious, I don’t.”
“Why? Did you finally find someone to replace her on the pedestal in your heart?”
Brad was silent. He stared at the wall, still feeling Nate’s phantom arms clinging to him.
“Oh my fucking God, Brad, did you? Did you actually meet someone new?”
Brad closed his eyes, rubbed his forehead. “It’s not that simple.”
“Yes it is. Who is she? Where’d you meet? Is she hot?”
Brad sighed again, louder, burdened. “Here’s the thing, Ray…it’s not a she…”