Generation Kill triple drabble: batteries not required
I just love this bit from Generation Kill (page 52) SO much:
At about ten in the morning, Fick gathers the platoon for a briefing. This is held, as all future ones will be, around the hood of his Humvee. ... They jostle together, leaning on each other’s shoulders, trying to get as close as possible to Fick.
Italics mine! *g* Someone in the tea room at work this afternoon asked what I was smiling at - it was that. Of course they all want to be as close as possible to Fick. And of course Brad always gets pole position.
Now for a little bit of not-porn.
batteries not required [Generation Kill, Brad/Nate, PG-13, 300 words. For the Get Some Skirmish, prompt: batteries, first posted here. Beta thanks to the lovely lunasky].
"God damn thermals." Brad sounds- fraught is the most apt word Nate can come up with. Decidedly fraught. And frustrated. If there were enough light to see more than just shapes and shadows, Nate suspects Brad would look petulant. "At the risk of sounding ungrateful, sir, I really wish you hadn't acquired so many batteries this morning."
Nate raises his eyebrows. "At the time, if I recall correctly - and I'm quite certain I do - your words were 'I could kiss you'. And I got the distinct impression that you would have offered more if there hadn't been young and impressionable ears close by, not to mention a reporter taking down every word."
"That was a lack of foresight. They were definitely not worth you blowing a Sergeant Major over in the First Tank Battalion, or bending over for some POG, or whatever it was you did to get them."
Nate knows the Sergeant Major in the First Tank Battalion. The thought of sucking his dick isn't a pleasant one. And he doesn't bend over for anyone other than Brad. He lets his expression convey his distaste and hopes Brad picks up on it in the dark, but otherwise ignores the accusations.
"You choose some unusual issues to rail against, Brad. You've got Iraqi ambushes, sand in your boots, fucked up commands, half rations and more to pick from, and you opt to gripe about everyone in the platoon having batteries?"
"Think about it. How the hell are we going to get any privacy when the entire platoon has enough batteries. You think it's strange that I'm frustrated because I can't find a single god damn place to blow you that won't be overlooked by Marines with working NVGs?"
Man has a point. A good point.
"Fucking batteries," Nate says, heartfelt.
//
Disclaimer: Based on the fictionalized characters in the HBO miniseries, and not intended as any reflection on the real people bearing these names.
At about ten in the morning, Fick gathers the platoon for a briefing. This is held, as all future ones will be, around the hood of his Humvee. ... They jostle together, leaning on each other’s shoulders, trying to get as close as possible to Fick.
Italics mine! *g* Someone in the tea room at work this afternoon asked what I was smiling at - it was that. Of course they all want to be as close as possible to Fick. And of course Brad always gets pole position.
Now for a little bit of not-porn.
batteries not required [Generation Kill, Brad/Nate, PG-13, 300 words. For the Get Some Skirmish, prompt: batteries, first posted here. Beta thanks to the lovely lunasky].
"God damn thermals." Brad sounds- fraught is the most apt word Nate can come up with. Decidedly fraught. And frustrated. If there were enough light to see more than just shapes and shadows, Nate suspects Brad would look petulant. "At the risk of sounding ungrateful, sir, I really wish you hadn't acquired so many batteries this morning."
Nate raises his eyebrows. "At the time, if I recall correctly - and I'm quite certain I do - your words were 'I could kiss you'. And I got the distinct impression that you would have offered more if there hadn't been young and impressionable ears close by, not to mention a reporter taking down every word."
"That was a lack of foresight. They were definitely not worth you blowing a Sergeant Major over in the First Tank Battalion, or bending over for some POG, or whatever it was you did to get them."
Nate knows the Sergeant Major in the First Tank Battalion. The thought of sucking his dick isn't a pleasant one. And he doesn't bend over for anyone other than Brad. He lets his expression convey his distaste and hopes Brad picks up on it in the dark, but otherwise ignores the accusations.
"You choose some unusual issues to rail against, Brad. You've got Iraqi ambushes, sand in your boots, fucked up commands, half rations and more to pick from, and you opt to gripe about everyone in the platoon having batteries?"
"Think about it. How the hell are we going to get any privacy when the entire platoon has enough batteries. You think it's strange that I'm frustrated because I can't find a single god damn place to blow you that won't be overlooked by Marines with working NVGs?"
Man has a point. A good point.
"Fucking batteries," Nate says, heartfelt.
//
Disclaimer: Based on the fictionalized characters in the HBO miniseries, and not intended as any reflection on the real people bearing these names.