Fic | GK | on marking
Generation Kill | Brad/Nate | R | Predators-verse | 2K
Warning: extreme sappiness, I'm not even kidding
Nate lost track of time a while ago.
He's been hard for so long he's past hurting, hot and sensitized all over, even his skin tight and twitching. He'd beg if he had the air to do so. As it is, he attempts to arch up, only to be stopped by solid muscle. Brad growls, distracted. He's not finished yet.
It's one of those nights.
Nate secretly loves them and is a little bit afraid of them for the effect they have on him, how for weeks afterward he gets hard if he so much as glimpses at the memory.
Brad, almost out of control, all his focus on this one thing, is one of the most arresting things Nate's ever witnessed. There's a fury and power behind his barely restrained actions, like a storm just kept in check.
His fingers are light around Nate's skull but he doesn't let him move a single inch. Nate is shaking, his dick leaking steadily, as Brad rubs his wet, stained lips against the open wound on Nate's throat-keeping it from clotting by sharply tonguing the hole at intervals, between long periods of just resting his mouth there, where Nate is open and bleeding for him.
Nate shifts his lower body, can't help it, and his cock drags against Brad's stomach, and that's almost it, almost enough-
Brad makes another unhappy sound. During these nights, he doesn't let Nate make any decisions, not even about when to come. He tightens his hold cradling Nate's head, and sucks harder, sucks until the blood flows freely down Nate's neck again and the connection is opening up and Nate starts hearing a string of noise apart from his own panting, this, this, this, yes-
Brad twists his body against Nate just so, and Nate's throat closes up, and he's breathless and breaking as he comes messily between their bodies, the aftershocks running up and down his body and making him shiver. Brad exhales against the side of his neck, uneven and completely unnecessary except for when they are like this; and comes in silence, muscles tight and frozen, licking his lips.
After, Brad laps at the wound, and Nate knows he has pricked his own tongue to mix together their blood, to get Nate's skin to heal quick and painless and perfect.
Nate also knows that the next morning Brad will be evasive, quieter and more reserved than usual, and he'll avoid Nate's gaze until Nate finally gets angry enough to grab him by the arm and force their eyes to meet, and says, Stop; says, I loved it; says, nothing, nothing ever-I love-
And Brad will yield and his arms will go around Nate almost too tight, and everything will be just a bit more okay. Until the next time.
And never, ever does Brad leave marks on him.
+
"Nah, he wouldn't, homes," Ray tells him. "Not with that-thing you two have got."
"That thing?" Nate grins. "That's a rather more sedate description than usual, Ray."
Ray rolls his eyes. "I'd say you've been hanging around us too long, but you were already a brat when I discovered you in that park in Dartmouth."
"Don't talk shit, Ray." Walt walks in from the kitchen and offers Nate a wink and a coffee, perfectly prepared. Walt is a brilliant host. Nate might say that out loud, mostly to annoy Ray.
(Nate had been somewhat surprised to hear that Ray had actually been the one in charge of equipping his and Walt's apartment with a coffee machine, pretty much for Nate's visits alone.
"I was going to get a DeLonghi as well," Ray had said sulkily.
"Oh?"
"I would have. Iceman bit my head off, said you were spending too much time here as it was.")
Ray leans up and snatches Walt by the waist as he's passing, makes him tumble down on top of him-using vampire speed, which means Nate only sees the end result, Walt laughing and fighting Ray's hands away from his crotch.
Some days it bothers Nate more than on others. He knows it isn't a weakness, this missing things. Being a human isn't a failing. It's just different.
Of course, he also knows what will happen, at some point. He's more certain about it than almost anything else in his life.
Some things you just don't voluntarily give up after having been given them.
Brad, though-
Brad gets weird if Nate brings it up. And before Nate finds out the why of it exactly, and gets rid of the tiny part of him that wonders whether-maybe-if Brad isn't sure, sure enough for forever, literally-
Before that, there's no use having that battle.
Ray is saying, "You need to be more precise, darling. Talking shit is my M.O."
Walt escapes finally, slides off Ray to sprawl down next to him, their legs still tangled together. "Fine, sweetheart. Don't go around taking credit for other people's achievements. You never discovered Nate. Brad was there years before you had ever figured out humans could be anything more than playthings and snacks."
Ray looks at Nate, perfectly serious. "Don't listen to Walt, homes, that shit isn't true." He pauses dramatically. "I also sincerely appreciate the porn you people turn out."
"Porn?" Nate keeps his face earnest. "Is that what they're calling Disney films these days?"
The outraged sound Ray makes gets lost in Walt's laughter.
"That story was never supposed to get outside of these walls, Hasser!"
"Get over yourself, Ray. Nate doesn't count. He's family."
Nate hides his pleased smile behind his coffee cup. No use giving Ray Person any additional ammo.
"As I was saying," Ray changes the topic. "Leaving puncture marks."
Nate nods, frowning in thought. "I thought-he's so-"
"Possessive?" Walt suggests.
"Bat-shit crazy about you?" Ray offers.
"Um," Nate says. "Territorial, I was going to say."
Ray waves a hand. "Same difference," he says. "But the marks we can leave aren't like hickeys displayed by pussy teens, homes. You mark something, you're saying it's something you had and tossed away. Or that it's property, and property can be traded or sold or given as a motherfucking gift, you know?"
"Oh. I didn't-I should've guessed."
He thinks maybe he had thought-that maybe it was a sign of some sort, the absence itself. He doesn't voice the thought, but maybe it's somehow there in his expression because Walt shoots him a questioning glance Nate pretends not to notice.
"Well, luckily you can always count on your best buddy Ray-Ray to educate you."
Nate gestures with the cup he's holding. "Actually, my best buddy is still Walt. You might have bought the machinery, Person, but you sure as hell can't use it."
Ray's hey! is an indignant screech, and Walt laughs at him, and then Ray makes the wounded face and Nate has to play along and say he was only kidding-and Walt stage-whispers only he wasn't, really-and it just keeps degenerating until Ray gets on his knees on the couch and tries to hump Walt's face, and, yeah, it's all business as usual in the Hasser-Person household.
+
When Nate is leaving that night, Walt walks him to the door.
"You weren't really wrong, though." He looks at Nate intently. "You don't know, do you? That you smell like him, so much, a vampire would know from a hundred yards."
Nate blinks. "Well, we practically live together-"
The look Walt gives him is exceedingly unimpressed. "It's not just that. It's like he's gone over every part of you, claimed every square inch until he knows you better than anyone. Nate, he's taken responsibility, for any hurt you might ever suffer. Anyone of our kind standing this close to you would be able to tell there's a vampire who will do anything for you. Anything."
Nate feels his face flaming. "I-"
"Jesus christ, Hasser, what the fuck are you telling him, naughty bedtime stories?" Ray yells from the other room, although he knows, of course, has heard the entire conversation and smelled Nate's blush and if Nate wanted to avoid appearing pathetic and lame tonight, well-
Walt grins and yells back. "Just sending Nate off with something to think about during the drive."
Ray materializes in the foyer next to them. "You give him any more to think about and he'll drive off the road, homes."
Nate scowls, face still flushed. "Still here, guys."
"So you are," Ray agrees with a dark grin, inhaling deep. Just to fuck with Nate, because Ray is special like that.
"Just-" Nate hugs them both goodbye, half irritated still, before turning to go. "Thanks for the coffee."
"And the chat, right?" Ray crows after him. "Anytime, baby!"
+
The house is dark when Nate pulls up. He's unprepared for the surge of comfort that sweeps over him as his fingers close over the key in his pocket, how grateful he is, sometimes, and how surprised that he has found something that screams home to him like this, like there's nothing he'd alter, like this is it, total and complete.
Brad is in bed, lying on his back. He greets Nate with a silent nod Nate only sees because the moon is giving enough light through the uncurtained windows. Brad is either sulking or contemplative. He'd asked, earlier, whether Nate wanted him to come along-and Nate had panicked, and forced a laugh and said no need to subject you to any more Ray than absolutely necessary.
Nate pauses. Yeah, he guesses that could have been taken the wrong way. Especially since Brad can tell when Nate is even considering being anything less than completely honest. After his talk with Walt and Ray, Nate is feeling stupid and insecure and younger than he has for a long, long time.
Nate doesn't say anything, just undresses standing up in the middle of the room, leaving the clothes where they fall, and then climbs on top of Brad.
Brad might be sulking, even angry, but his hands come up automatically to grip Nate's naked hips. There's another surge inside Nate, a distinct wave of heat in his stomach, and his face, that makes all of him feel heavy and liquid and so fucking ready.
He bends down, reaches for Brad's lips. Brad's eyelids flutter shut at the contact.
Nate thinks he might lose his mind with the need to make Brad feel what he's feeling right then, to make Brad understand. You, he thinks hard but soundless, you, always, do you even get it-
Brad gentles the kiss, breaking off. He sounds guarded when he asks, "Have a good night?" He's not accusing Nate of anything, can smell the residue of the hugs, knows Nate was in Boston and only senses that something is up because, Nate is the first one to admit it, he's acting reckless and out of balance tonight.
"I wanted to talk to the guys," Nate says, cataloguing Brad's frown, his confusion, his hesitance.
"Yeah?"
"I was a moron," Nate elaborates. A faint grin twists up the side of Brad's mouth.
"Yes, well, willingness to endure Ray Person's company does indicate a certain-"
"Hush," Nate laughs. Then sobers up, and brushes his fingers against the spot on his neck where the pulse beats fast and visible. "I needed a lesson on vampire etiquette, apparently."
Brad has gone serious as well. "You-what, you thought-"
"I thought," Nate interrupts, "I thought, this is everything I want, and I can't help but wonder-"
It's Brad's turn to interrupt. The kiss is deep and slow, and a little reproachful. "Stupid," Brad says against his lips, very softly, "stupid human."
+
The next morning after Nate gets back from his run and goes to take a shower he halts in front of the full-body mirror, flushing as his eyes trace the perfect five-point collections of bruises that litter his thighs and hips.
He thinks of Brad, amused and long-suffering and rough, on edge; thinks, yeah, that's it, let me carry you on my skin, everywhere.
And he thinks he hears Brad smile, fierce and intense: You already do.
Warning: extreme sappiness, I'm not even kidding
Nate lost track of time a while ago.
He's been hard for so long he's past hurting, hot and sensitized all over, even his skin tight and twitching. He'd beg if he had the air to do so. As it is, he attempts to arch up, only to be stopped by solid muscle. Brad growls, distracted. He's not finished yet.
It's one of those nights.
Nate secretly loves them and is a little bit afraid of them for the effect they have on him, how for weeks afterward he gets hard if he so much as glimpses at the memory.
Brad, almost out of control, all his focus on this one thing, is one of the most arresting things Nate's ever witnessed. There's a fury and power behind his barely restrained actions, like a storm just kept in check.
His fingers are light around Nate's skull but he doesn't let him move a single inch. Nate is shaking, his dick leaking steadily, as Brad rubs his wet, stained lips against the open wound on Nate's throat-keeping it from clotting by sharply tonguing the hole at intervals, between long periods of just resting his mouth there, where Nate is open and bleeding for him.
Nate shifts his lower body, can't help it, and his cock drags against Brad's stomach, and that's almost it, almost enough-
Brad makes another unhappy sound. During these nights, he doesn't let Nate make any decisions, not even about when to come. He tightens his hold cradling Nate's head, and sucks harder, sucks until the blood flows freely down Nate's neck again and the connection is opening up and Nate starts hearing a string of noise apart from his own panting, this, this, this, yes-
Brad twists his body against Nate just so, and Nate's throat closes up, and he's breathless and breaking as he comes messily between their bodies, the aftershocks running up and down his body and making him shiver. Brad exhales against the side of his neck, uneven and completely unnecessary except for when they are like this; and comes in silence, muscles tight and frozen, licking his lips.
After, Brad laps at the wound, and Nate knows he has pricked his own tongue to mix together their blood, to get Nate's skin to heal quick and painless and perfect.
Nate also knows that the next morning Brad will be evasive, quieter and more reserved than usual, and he'll avoid Nate's gaze until Nate finally gets angry enough to grab him by the arm and force their eyes to meet, and says, Stop; says, I loved it; says, nothing, nothing ever-I love-
And Brad will yield and his arms will go around Nate almost too tight, and everything will be just a bit more okay. Until the next time.
And never, ever does Brad leave marks on him.
+
"Nah, he wouldn't, homes," Ray tells him. "Not with that-thing you two have got."
"That thing?" Nate grins. "That's a rather more sedate description than usual, Ray."
Ray rolls his eyes. "I'd say you've been hanging around us too long, but you were already a brat when I discovered you in that park in Dartmouth."
"Don't talk shit, Ray." Walt walks in from the kitchen and offers Nate a wink and a coffee, perfectly prepared. Walt is a brilliant host. Nate might say that out loud, mostly to annoy Ray.
(Nate had been somewhat surprised to hear that Ray had actually been the one in charge of equipping his and Walt's apartment with a coffee machine, pretty much for Nate's visits alone.
"I was going to get a DeLonghi as well," Ray had said sulkily.
"Oh?"
"I would have. Iceman bit my head off, said you were spending too much time here as it was.")
Ray leans up and snatches Walt by the waist as he's passing, makes him tumble down on top of him-using vampire speed, which means Nate only sees the end result, Walt laughing and fighting Ray's hands away from his crotch.
Some days it bothers Nate more than on others. He knows it isn't a weakness, this missing things. Being a human isn't a failing. It's just different.
Of course, he also knows what will happen, at some point. He's more certain about it than almost anything else in his life.
Some things you just don't voluntarily give up after having been given them.
Brad, though-
Brad gets weird if Nate brings it up. And before Nate finds out the why of it exactly, and gets rid of the tiny part of him that wonders whether-maybe-if Brad isn't sure, sure enough for forever, literally-
Before that, there's no use having that battle.
Ray is saying, "You need to be more precise, darling. Talking shit is my M.O."
Walt escapes finally, slides off Ray to sprawl down next to him, their legs still tangled together. "Fine, sweetheart. Don't go around taking credit for other people's achievements. You never discovered Nate. Brad was there years before you had ever figured out humans could be anything more than playthings and snacks."
Ray looks at Nate, perfectly serious. "Don't listen to Walt, homes, that shit isn't true." He pauses dramatically. "I also sincerely appreciate the porn you people turn out."
"Porn?" Nate keeps his face earnest. "Is that what they're calling Disney films these days?"
The outraged sound Ray makes gets lost in Walt's laughter.
"That story was never supposed to get outside of these walls, Hasser!"
"Get over yourself, Ray. Nate doesn't count. He's family."
Nate hides his pleased smile behind his coffee cup. No use giving Ray Person any additional ammo.
"As I was saying," Ray changes the topic. "Leaving puncture marks."
Nate nods, frowning in thought. "I thought-he's so-"
"Possessive?" Walt suggests.
"Bat-shit crazy about you?" Ray offers.
"Um," Nate says. "Territorial, I was going to say."
Ray waves a hand. "Same difference," he says. "But the marks we can leave aren't like hickeys displayed by pussy teens, homes. You mark something, you're saying it's something you had and tossed away. Or that it's property, and property can be traded or sold or given as a motherfucking gift, you know?"
"Oh. I didn't-I should've guessed."
He thinks maybe he had thought-that maybe it was a sign of some sort, the absence itself. He doesn't voice the thought, but maybe it's somehow there in his expression because Walt shoots him a questioning glance Nate pretends not to notice.
"Well, luckily you can always count on your best buddy Ray-Ray to educate you."
Nate gestures with the cup he's holding. "Actually, my best buddy is still Walt. You might have bought the machinery, Person, but you sure as hell can't use it."
Ray's hey! is an indignant screech, and Walt laughs at him, and then Ray makes the wounded face and Nate has to play along and say he was only kidding-and Walt stage-whispers only he wasn't, really-and it just keeps degenerating until Ray gets on his knees on the couch and tries to hump Walt's face, and, yeah, it's all business as usual in the Hasser-Person household.
+
When Nate is leaving that night, Walt walks him to the door.
"You weren't really wrong, though." He looks at Nate intently. "You don't know, do you? That you smell like him, so much, a vampire would know from a hundred yards."
Nate blinks. "Well, we practically live together-"
The look Walt gives him is exceedingly unimpressed. "It's not just that. It's like he's gone over every part of you, claimed every square inch until he knows you better than anyone. Nate, he's taken responsibility, for any hurt you might ever suffer. Anyone of our kind standing this close to you would be able to tell there's a vampire who will do anything for you. Anything."
Nate feels his face flaming. "I-"
"Jesus christ, Hasser, what the fuck are you telling him, naughty bedtime stories?" Ray yells from the other room, although he knows, of course, has heard the entire conversation and smelled Nate's blush and if Nate wanted to avoid appearing pathetic and lame tonight, well-
Walt grins and yells back. "Just sending Nate off with something to think about during the drive."
Ray materializes in the foyer next to them. "You give him any more to think about and he'll drive off the road, homes."
Nate scowls, face still flushed. "Still here, guys."
"So you are," Ray agrees with a dark grin, inhaling deep. Just to fuck with Nate, because Ray is special like that.
"Just-" Nate hugs them both goodbye, half irritated still, before turning to go. "Thanks for the coffee."
"And the chat, right?" Ray crows after him. "Anytime, baby!"
+
The house is dark when Nate pulls up. He's unprepared for the surge of comfort that sweeps over him as his fingers close over the key in his pocket, how grateful he is, sometimes, and how surprised that he has found something that screams home to him like this, like there's nothing he'd alter, like this is it, total and complete.
Brad is in bed, lying on his back. He greets Nate with a silent nod Nate only sees because the moon is giving enough light through the uncurtained windows. Brad is either sulking or contemplative. He'd asked, earlier, whether Nate wanted him to come along-and Nate had panicked, and forced a laugh and said no need to subject you to any more Ray than absolutely necessary.
Nate pauses. Yeah, he guesses that could have been taken the wrong way. Especially since Brad can tell when Nate is even considering being anything less than completely honest. After his talk with Walt and Ray, Nate is feeling stupid and insecure and younger than he has for a long, long time.
Nate doesn't say anything, just undresses standing up in the middle of the room, leaving the clothes where they fall, and then climbs on top of Brad.
Brad might be sulking, even angry, but his hands come up automatically to grip Nate's naked hips. There's another surge inside Nate, a distinct wave of heat in his stomach, and his face, that makes all of him feel heavy and liquid and so fucking ready.
He bends down, reaches for Brad's lips. Brad's eyelids flutter shut at the contact.
Nate thinks he might lose his mind with the need to make Brad feel what he's feeling right then, to make Brad understand. You, he thinks hard but soundless, you, always, do you even get it-
Brad gentles the kiss, breaking off. He sounds guarded when he asks, "Have a good night?" He's not accusing Nate of anything, can smell the residue of the hugs, knows Nate was in Boston and only senses that something is up because, Nate is the first one to admit it, he's acting reckless and out of balance tonight.
"I wanted to talk to the guys," Nate says, cataloguing Brad's frown, his confusion, his hesitance.
"Yeah?"
"I was a moron," Nate elaborates. A faint grin twists up the side of Brad's mouth.
"Yes, well, willingness to endure Ray Person's company does indicate a certain-"
"Hush," Nate laughs. Then sobers up, and brushes his fingers against the spot on his neck where the pulse beats fast and visible. "I needed a lesson on vampire etiquette, apparently."
Brad has gone serious as well. "You-what, you thought-"
"I thought," Nate interrupts, "I thought, this is everything I want, and I can't help but wonder-"
It's Brad's turn to interrupt. The kiss is deep and slow, and a little reproachful. "Stupid," Brad says against his lips, very softly, "stupid human."
+
The next morning after Nate gets back from his run and goes to take a shower he halts in front of the full-body mirror, flushing as his eyes trace the perfect five-point collections of bruises that litter his thighs and hips.
He thinks of Brad, amused and long-suffering and rough, on edge; thinks, yeah, that's it, let me carry you on my skin, everywhere.
And he thinks he hears Brad smile, fierce and intense: You already do.