[Generation Kill] [Brad/Nate] Lisztomania
Title: Lisztomania
Subject: Generation Kill | Brad/Nate
Rating: PG-13
Summary: It was Ray's idea, but Brad doesn't admit that easily.
Notes: For the prompt musician AU. It's...a musician AU! I like this verse this verse can stay.
WC: 629
It's the thrill of being on stage, with a guitar in his hands, with Walt at his back and Nate to his front and Ray...Ray's usually pretending to hump everyone. There's nothing better than that rush, than leaving everything else behind, all the bullshit, life, forgetting everything but the set list and the chords, thinking about nothing except when to let Nate get his breath and when to let Ray show off. It's like the best fuck, but better. It's like the best rush, but better. Drugs have nothing on it, nothing on the complete oblivion of just being on stage, performing to an audience of people who love you, and Brad's not a self absorbed man.
It was Ray's idea, but Brad doesn't admit that easily. Ray takes stock of their talents - Brad can play guitar decently, Walt's pretty good at drums, Nate's got a great voice even outside of the shower and Ray's passionate, at least. He ropes them into the garage, forces Brad to write songs and forces Nate to sing them and he sits back and takes the credit.
It wasn't Brad's thing at first, too much time spent with other people and not enough time spent alone, especially once Ray decided they had to go on tour, but he fell in love, with the sound, with the rush, with Nate, maybe, but Ray doesn't say anything about that in interviews. He's got some kind of self preservation urges left in him.
"You were awesome tonight," Nate says, slips into Brad's bunk. It's the only semblance of privacy they have these days, wedged in like sardine cans. "Hounds sounded amazing." There's a racket of noise coming from the front of the bus, machine guns and grenades and Walt's laughter and Ray cursing. It's almost a sanctuary, breathing in Nate's exhales, legs pulled up so he can fit on.
"Did you see the girl in the front row?" Brad asks. "She had your name on her tits." Nate shifts on the bed, tucks his legs up and fits them in the gap between Brad's, calf pressed to thigh, feet slotted underneath.
"I saw." Brad slides his hand along the seam of Nate's jeans, traces his calf, there's a hole growing in the knee. They can afford new jeans. Brad remembers when they couldn't, when it was a choice between food or electricity, another attempt at something like fame or having somewhere to sleep for the night. "I can't believe the tour's nearly over."
"I can't believe Ray's mom never washed his mouth out." Nate's hand settles over his, fingers interlocking. At the front of the bus, Walt laughs and Ray screams and the bus keeps on rolling.
Nate kisses him on stage and it's a protest, a statement and absolutely nothing at all. He's been on Brad's side of the stage all night, pressing into his space before moving away, some fucked up kind of the hokey pokey until, in the middle of Brad's solo in Dear Frederick, he straight up leans into Brad's space and kisses him. It's nothing special and it's nothing passionate but it's enough, and Brad screws up and the crowd screams and even over all the noise, Brad can hear Ray crowing with laughter - but Nate's grinning against his lips and stroking a hand along his arm and just for a moment, maybe, Brad can forgive Nate for the amount of attention this'll put on him.
Subject: Generation Kill | Brad/Nate
Rating: PG-13
Summary: It was Ray's idea, but Brad doesn't admit that easily.
Notes: For the prompt musician AU. It's...a musician AU! I like this verse this verse can stay.
WC: 629
It's the thrill of being on stage, with a guitar in his hands, with Walt at his back and Nate to his front and Ray...Ray's usually pretending to hump everyone. There's nothing better than that rush, than leaving everything else behind, all the bullshit, life, forgetting everything but the set list and the chords, thinking about nothing except when to let Nate get his breath and when to let Ray show off. It's like the best fuck, but better. It's like the best rush, but better. Drugs have nothing on it, nothing on the complete oblivion of just being on stage, performing to an audience of people who love you, and Brad's not a self absorbed man.
It was Ray's idea, but Brad doesn't admit that easily. Ray takes stock of their talents - Brad can play guitar decently, Walt's pretty good at drums, Nate's got a great voice even outside of the shower and Ray's passionate, at least. He ropes them into the garage, forces Brad to write songs and forces Nate to sing them and he sits back and takes the credit.
It wasn't Brad's thing at first, too much time spent with other people and not enough time spent alone, especially once Ray decided they had to go on tour, but he fell in love, with the sound, with the rush, with Nate, maybe, but Ray doesn't say anything about that in interviews. He's got some kind of self preservation urges left in him.
"You were awesome tonight," Nate says, slips into Brad's bunk. It's the only semblance of privacy they have these days, wedged in like sardine cans. "Hounds sounded amazing." There's a racket of noise coming from the front of the bus, machine guns and grenades and Walt's laughter and Ray cursing. It's almost a sanctuary, breathing in Nate's exhales, legs pulled up so he can fit on.
"Did you see the girl in the front row?" Brad asks. "She had your name on her tits." Nate shifts on the bed, tucks his legs up and fits them in the gap between Brad's, calf pressed to thigh, feet slotted underneath.
"I saw." Brad slides his hand along the seam of Nate's jeans, traces his calf, there's a hole growing in the knee. They can afford new jeans. Brad remembers when they couldn't, when it was a choice between food or electricity, another attempt at something like fame or having somewhere to sleep for the night. "I can't believe the tour's nearly over."
"I can't believe Ray's mom never washed his mouth out." Nate's hand settles over his, fingers interlocking. At the front of the bus, Walt laughs and Ray screams and the bus keeps on rolling.
Nate kisses him on stage and it's a protest, a statement and absolutely nothing at all. He's been on Brad's side of the stage all night, pressing into his space before moving away, some fucked up kind of the hokey pokey until, in the middle of Brad's solo in Dear Frederick, he straight up leans into Brad's space and kisses him. It's nothing special and it's nothing passionate but it's enough, and Brad screws up and the crowd screams and even over all the noise, Brad can hear Ray crowing with laughter - but Nate's grinning against his lips and stroking a hand along his arm and just for a moment, maybe, Brad can forgive Nate for the amount of attention this'll put on him.