FIC: Closed Without a Scar (1/1) Generation Kill
TITLE: Closed Without a Scar
AUTHOR: Laura Smith
PAIRING: Colbert/Fick
RATING: NC-17
SUMMARY: Had a bad day.
DISCLAIMER: Generation Kill and all the characters therein belong to people who are not me. I make no profit from this, I just like playing with them.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Thanks to inlovewithnight, as always. Written for hackthis and sparky77 and alethialia who humored my weirdness and ended up making me think thinky thoughts.
Nate stands outside the door of the condo, resting his head against it. He’s just fought through an hour of traffic and a day that could be described as a comedy of errors if anything that had happened was even remotely funny. He takes a deep breath, running a hand through his hair. It doesn’t help ease his mind or relax as he finger-combs the soft, styled strands that are long past the regulation length that he knows so well from his own past as well as the familiar rasp of Brad’s buzzed hair against the palms of his hands. The door is too thin, and he can hear Brad and Ray inside, insulting each other with the familiarity of good friends. It hits something deep in Nate and he listens for another few minutes, letting it all wash over him.
Most of their friends are from their Iraq platoon, and he hears this all the time - the back and forth combination of insults and banter. It doesn’t normally bother him, normally he joins in and gives as good as he gets. Tonight though, he feels the distinct separation of officer and enlisted, the marked shift of perceived power. Sighing, he moves back from the door and fits his key in the lock. There’s no real change in the noise level as he drops his briefcase and heads into the living room, smiling slightly.
Whatever stupid and irrational fears or jealousies he has, Person and Colbert fit side by side whether it’s on the leather couch Brad insisted on bringing from his old apartment or in the crowded cab of a Humvee. Ray’s wearing sunglasses that Nate can only assume he stole off Beyonce or a pimp…or Rudy. He and Brad are both in t-shirts and shorts, both relaxed, sloppy and tanned. Nate feels overdressed and adult in comparison, his tie strangling him even though it’s loosened.
“Hey, Cap!” Ray raises a hand in a gesture that’s something between a wave and flipping Nate off.
“Person.” Nate watches the play of muscles in Brad’s shoulders beneath the thin cotton of his shirt, telling himself he’s being ridiculous. He rests his hand on the junction of Brad’s shoulder and neck, his thumb rubbing lightly at Brad’s nape. “Hey.”
Brad smiles without looking away from the television, the blood and gore of the video game reflected against his teeth. “Hey.”
“You guys eat and drink us out of house and home?”
“Person ate all the Pop-Tarts.”
“Dude.” Ray slams Brad’s shoulder with his. “Those were rank. Probably from the first fucking Gulf War. Fuck that, probably from the first fucking world war.”
“Didn’t stop you from eating them.” Brad’s hand settles on top of Ray’s head and he shoves him away, and Ray falls back to where he’d been sitting. Nate watches them without meaning to, watches too closely with hard-won Recon skills that reassert themselves. He measures the distances, the terrain, the body gestures between them, evaluating, gauging.
Brad tilts his head slightly, the muscles bunching beneath Nate’s hand. He looks at Nate for a long moment then nods. “Ray.”
Ray stops mid-sentence, the fact that he’s no longer in the service unable to override the sharp command in Brad’s voice. Ray looks from Brad to Nate and then back. “Oh, shit, sir.” Ray pauses the game and glares at Brad. “I’m winning.”
“Ray, I want you to think very hard about what life is like with a pissy CO.”
“Oh, fuck you.” Nate jerks his hand away and turns on his heel.
“Way to go, Iceman.” Ray starts the game again as Brad tosses his controller on the coffee table. “You give lessons in interpersonal relationships? Because, dude, I think we could all learn from you.”
“Turn the volume up, Ray.”
Nate knows Brad is right behind him, even though he doesn’t make a noise. He knows he’s been childish when he closes the bedroom door behind him, throwing up flimsy barriers not meant to stop anyone, and certainly not a trained Marine. Still, it gives him the illusion of control, and as much as he hates to admit it, he needs it.
Brad opens the door and closes it behind him quietly. The bedroom is dark save for the fading daylight coming in beneath the half-drawn shade. He leans against the door, his blue eyes moving up and down Nate, assessing. “Nate?”
Nate meets Brad’s gaze then returns the appraisal. Brad looks relaxed, but Nate knows him too well by now not to notice the slow, silent drum of his fingers against the wood, the tremor of the muscles in his shoulders, aching for action. “It’s nothing, Brad.”
Brad’s jaw clenches hard and he nods brusquely. “Yes, sir.” He reaches for the doorknob and twists it viciously.
Nate curses under his breath. “It’s not nothing.” Brad stills and Nate rubs his eyes with his thumb and forefinger, catching his sigh of relief against his palm. “It’s not nothing, but it’s stupid.”
Brad closes the door again, relaxing back against it. There’s still tension dancing on his skin like electricity. “I don’t know if you remember this, but I served in Iraq. I’m well-versed in stupid.”
“Not from me, I hope.”
“Well, I’m going to go out on a limb, sir, and assume this isn’t about Iraq.”
“No. Not about Iraq.” Nate gives up his ground and sits on the edge of the bed. Brad raises his eyebrows and moves to the chair next to the dresser, the difference in height between the two negated, their eyes level. Brad doesn’t say anything, just watches Nate carefully. Nate can see the question in Brad’s eyes, the doubt - what had he missed? Nate swallows. “Okay, you know, this would go better if we just pretended it didn’t happen.”
“And what do you think the odds are of that happening, sir?”
“Don’t…” Nate starts to snap, then forces himself to close his mouth, breathing for a few minutes before he trusts himself to speak again at less than a shout. “Don’t call me sir.”
Brad doesn’t move, but the widening of his eyes is like a flinch. His relaxed posture from the living room is completely gone, replaced with the sitting equivalent of being at attention. The faint sound of Ray shouting at the TV set fills the silence between them. “Should I ask Ray to leave?”
“Are you sleeping with him?”
Brad’s mouth quirks in the hint of a smile and he starts to say something. He stops before anything is spoken getting to his feet and opening the bedroom door. “Ray. Go home!”
“Are you and the Captain going to be kinky?”
“Just setting Nate straight on few things.”
“Brad, buddy, I hate to break this to you, but if it involves you, Fick and a bedroom, there’s nothing straight about it.”
“Go the fuck home, Person.”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
Brad shuts the bedroom door, waiting until the house goes quiet, the front door slamming and shutting out the sound of Ray singing, before he turns to face Nate. “Now. You asked me something, and I know I must have fucking heard you wrong.”
Nate looks over at him, finding himself facing the Iceman, all of Brad’s controls firmly in place. “Are you and Person…”
“Okay, I need you to not say that again. Ever.” Brad pushes off the door and goes over to the bed, sitting next to Nate. “Because I think you want to have a serious conversation, and that’s not going to happen if you’re basing the need for it on the thought of me and Ray.” He smiles and shakes his head slightly, his brow furrowed. “What’s going on, Nate?”
“Nothing.”
“Yeah, I wish I believed that. Come on.” He reaches out, curling his fingers under the knot of Nate’s tie, tugging it apart. “Talk to me.”
“You don’t talk about shit like this.”
“Well, the way I see it, we talk about this, or you go on thinking I’m slumming with Person, which…you know, I think I’m really fucking offended.”
Nate watches Brad undo his tie, closes his eyes as Brad tugs on it until it slips apart, the silk whispering against the fabric as he pulls it free of Nate’s collar. He shakes his head and opens his eyes. “Brad.”
“Don’t worry.” Brad unbuttons the top button of Nate’s dress shirt. “I’m not seducing you.”
Nate fights to keep from leaning in as Brad’s hands trail down his chest. “No?”
“No. If I did that, you’d think I was trying to hide something.”
Nate pulls back from the warmth of Brad’s touch, turning to the side and putting his leg up on the bed, separating them. “So you’re not fucking Ray.”
“No. Not fucking him. Not being fucked by him.” Nate fights an involuntary smile at the thought of that. “I’m also not engaged in mutual masturbation or any voyeuristic activities. I will confess to having told him to fuck off, fuck me and fuck himself, but I can assure you that in all of those instances, those statements were taken in the spirit in which they were intended and not as request or invitation.”
Nate can practically hear the ‘sir’ Brad isn’t saying. His face is impassive though his eyes are hot with a host of emotions, none of which Nate thinks he’s brave enough to identify.
“Would you like a similar testimony for the rest of the battalion, Nate? The rest of the Corps?”
Nate swallows and shakes his head. “No.”
“So, do you want to tell me what this is about?” Brad doesn’t move, doesn’t change the tone of his voice. Nate stares at Brad’s hand where it sits on his knee, remembering hours of stillness on missions, hours of movement together. “Nate?”
“Do you wish I was still in the Corps?”
Whatever - if anything- that Brad had been expecting, it’s clear from the drawn-out pause that it wasn’t that. “Why would you think that?”
“No answering questions with questions.”
“Okay.” Brad shakes his head. “No. Now, why would you think that?”
“You don’t?”
“No. First of all, being in the Corps made you miserable.”
“That’s not true.” Nate shakes his head, his voice heated and surprised. “That’s not true, Brad.”
“The reality of the Corps made you miserable.” Brad holds Nate’s gaze, daring him to argue. “You had ideas and ideals and you bought into the recruiting hype like all the rest of us. And just like the rest of us, you found out it was all bullshit.” Nate bites his lower lip to keep from saying anything. Brad glances at his mouth, a surge of heat lighting his eyes for a moment. “You wanted it to be all it promised, Nate, and it wasn’t, so you took what it gave you and moved on to something else that lets you make a difference. You don’t spend your time looking agonized from trying to choose between what’s right and what you’re told to do.”
Nate gets off the bed and moves over to the window, rubbing his hands up and down his arms. He glances at Brad and then back out at the dusk. “You stayed.”
“That’s because I’m a grunt, Nate. I don’t think. I just do what I’m told. I fit, Nate. You didn’t fit. You’re too smart.”
“That’s bullshit.” Nate barks a laugh that hurts his throat. “You’re a fucking genius, Colbert.”
“I’m good at what I do. Maybe it’s screwed up, fucked up and stupid, but I’m damn good at it, and it’s not always the colossal clusterfuck that was IOF. Sometimes I actually help people.”
Nate takes a step back, surprised by the vehemence in Brad’s voice. “I know that, Brad.”
“Besides, if you were still serving, who the fuck knows where you’d be or when I’d see you or who the fuck was watching your back.”
“You still call me sir.”
Brad laughs, the sound almost helpless. “Fuck, Nate, is that what this is about?” Brad gets off the bed and stands beside the window in front of Nate. “Is it?”
Nate shrugs. “No.”
“I call you ‘sir’ for two reasons, Nate. One is because I actually respect the hell out of you.”
“What’s the other?” Nate’s chest is tight, breath locked up by the look in Brad’s eyes.
Brad smiles and reaches out, his thumb tracing Nate’s bottom lip as his fingers cup his jaw. “Because it turns you on.”
“Ah.” Nate laughs softly. “I should have known.”
“So, you want to tell me what this is really about, Nate? Because I’m pretty sure it’s not really about Person.”
Nate shrugs. “Rough day. Funding fell through. And I came home, and I wanted…” He shrugs again. “So, I have to go back to DC and try again.”
“You’ve become fond of careers that involve beating your head against a wall.”
“Not just careers. Look who I live with.”
“You’re just going to have to own up to the fact that you’re a masochist, Fick.” Brad’s free had snags Nate’s wrist, pulling him closer. Nate steps into Brad’s personal space, closing his eyes as Brad’s arms circle him. “There’s nobody else, Nate.”
“I know.”
“Especially not Person. Fuck, how would you concentrate on fucking him with him talking the entire time?”
“A gag?”
Brad laughs, the sound rumbling against Nate’s skin. “Should I worry that you’ve put thought into this?”
“A gag is always the answer with Person.” Nate exhales against Brad’s chest, wrapping his arms around Brad’s waist. “You don’t think less of me?”
“Where’s this coming from?” Brad asks softly, his fingers stroking Nate’s hair. “I told you I respect you.” Brad presses his mouth to Nate’s temple. “You know I trust you with my life.” His lips move gently, slowly, sliding against Nate’s skin. “Unless you want me building shrines in our hallway…”
Nate laughs and tilts his head back. “How are you so sure about all of this?”
“There are two things in this world that matter to me, Nate. The Marines and you.” Brad leans in, his lips brushing Nate’s, catching him in a slow, thorough kiss, his tongue exploring Nate’s mouth as if it’s new territory. “If I have to choose, Nate-” his voice is breathless and soft, whispered against Nate’s mouth. “I already know my answer. No question.”
“Dump me in a heartbeat, huh?” Nate smiles as Brad raises an eyebrow. “Oh. Right. Leave the Corps.” Nate glances over at the bed. “You know, I’m pretty sure if Ray were still here, he’d accuse us of acting like a couple of girls.”
“Are you feeling particularly feminine…” Brad stops awkwardly.
Nate laughs, realizing what Brad wants to say, what he’s waiting to hear him say. “Go ahead and say it.”
“Sir?”
“Not in the ‘dress me up in women’s clothing’ sense.”
Brad chokes on a laugh. “There’s an image I’m never going to get out of my head.”
“However,” Nate jabs Brad in the ribs. “I might be willing to…” He stops as Brad pulls away, fighting not to laugh. “Okay, just for that, Colbert, you’re not getting laid tonight.”
“No problem. I’ll just go find Pers-” He’s cut off as Nate springs forward, catching Brad around the waist and taking him down to the floor.
“Not another fucking word about Ray Person,” Nate warns him, shifting his grip to pin Brad to the ground. He kneels on Brad’s forearms, his hands around Brad’s wrists as he straddles his lower stomach. “Understood?”
Brad nods, his eyes hot. “Yes, sir.”
“Smartass.”
“You going to do something about that?” Brad shifts beneath him, thrusting upward so that Nate can feel the press of his hardening cock.
“Did you have something in mind?”
“Nothing the Corps allows, sir.” Brad groans as Nate shifts back, his ass firm against Brad’s erection. “Fuck. C’mon, Nate.”
“I think I should.” Nate’s thumbs rub Brad’s wrists. “Fuck you, that is, for questioning my masculinity.”
“You’re the one who brought up women’s clothing.” Brad gasps as Nate rocks back. “Okay. Okay.” He laughs and bucks his hips so Nate falls forward, releasing Brad’s wrists to catch himself. He stares down at Brad, breathing heavily. Brad’s voice is a low growl. “Fuck me, Nate.”
Nate lowers himself, his mouth hungry against Brad’s, turning any remaining uncertainty to need. Brad frees his arms from under Nate’s knees as Nate shifts and slides his body down along Brad’s. Brad strokes Nate’s back, urging him closer until Nate breaks away, easing back and breathing roughly as he kneels on either side of Brad’s legs. “Be right back.”
“Wouldn’t have this problem if you were a girl,” Brad reminds Nate as he wriggles out of his clothes, not taking his eyes off Nate as he gathers lube and condoms from the bedside drawer.
“Beg to differ,” Nate tosses the supplies to Brad so he can shed his clothes as well. “If you want a girl to fuck you, she’s going to need a few things, one of which I come with standard.” He kneels back down, coaxing Brad’s legs apart and moving between them.
“Are you saying a woman can’t be good with a dick, Nate?”
“I’m saying,” Nate’s lubed fingers slide against Brad’s opening. “That if you don’t stop talking about fucking women, or vice versa-” He pushes a finger in, reveling in the low, desperate sound thick and deep in Brad’s throat, “I’m going to leave you to jerk off all by yourself.”
Brad laughs roughly, gasping as Nate fucks him slowly with his finger. “I’ll be good.”
“Oh no.” Nate shakes his head and presses another finger inside Brad. “Don’t promise that.”
Brad braces his heels on the ground and arches up, urging Nate deeper. Nate complies, fingers curling slightly at the apex of their thrust, causing Brad to choke out another desperate sound. “N…” He breathes roughly through hi nose, his body bowed and taut. “Nate.”
Nate groans and eases his fingers free, watching Brad shudder in the aftermath. He manages the condom without looking away from Brad, moving back into him as quickly as possible. The first push is tight, both of them gasping into a fumbled kiss. Brad thrusts upwards as he wraps his legs around Nate, driving him deeper. Neither of them speak, both struggling to breath, stealing air from each other. Every thrust is hard and aggressive, everything they couldn’t or wouldn’t say before translated into sweat and flesh and possession.
Nate rests his forehead against Brad’s and works his hand between them, wrapping it around Brad’s cock and stroking him in time with the frantic thrust of their hips. Brad tightens around him, cock pulsing hotly against Nate’s palm in the timeless second before he comes. Nate’s breath catches, and he chokes out a strangled cry as Brad’s heels dig into his skin and he arches upward, wringing Nate’s orgasm from him.
They lie there, tangled together until the sweat cools and Nate feels goose bumps crawl along his skin.
“We should fight more often.”
“Mmm,” Nate murmurs against Brad’s neck. “Were we fighting?”
“Seems nicer than saying you should come home paranoid and delusional all the time.” Brad runs his fingertips along Nate’s spine. “Fighting means make-up sex.”
“And paranoid and delusional?”:
“Well, in this case, it meant make-up sex. I don’t know that it always would.” He looks at Nate, his blue eyes intent and serious. “I’m not going anywhere, Nate. Not fucking anyone else. Don’t want to fuck anyone else. And I can promise the only fucking I get that’s not from you is from the Corps, and that’s not personal.”
“And not always consensual?” Nate shakes his head. “I’m sorry I took my shitty day out on you.” He rests his head on Brad’s shoulder, tasting salt. “I didn’t mean to.”
“It’s okay. It sort of comes with the territory.” Brad turns his head and kisses Nate softly, just as much ownership in that bare touch as in their earlier frenzied fucking. “Afraid you’re stuck with me, Fick.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Nate nods and smiles, closing his eyes. “I love you too.”
AUTHOR: Laura Smith
PAIRING: Colbert/Fick
RATING: NC-17
SUMMARY: Had a bad day.
DISCLAIMER: Generation Kill and all the characters therein belong to people who are not me. I make no profit from this, I just like playing with them.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Thanks to inlovewithnight, as always. Written for hackthis and sparky77 and alethialia who humored my weirdness and ended up making me think thinky thoughts.
Nate stands outside the door of the condo, resting his head against it. He’s just fought through an hour of traffic and a day that could be described as a comedy of errors if anything that had happened was even remotely funny. He takes a deep breath, running a hand through his hair. It doesn’t help ease his mind or relax as he finger-combs the soft, styled strands that are long past the regulation length that he knows so well from his own past as well as the familiar rasp of Brad’s buzzed hair against the palms of his hands. The door is too thin, and he can hear Brad and Ray inside, insulting each other with the familiarity of good friends. It hits something deep in Nate and he listens for another few minutes, letting it all wash over him.
Most of their friends are from their Iraq platoon, and he hears this all the time - the back and forth combination of insults and banter. It doesn’t normally bother him, normally he joins in and gives as good as he gets. Tonight though, he feels the distinct separation of officer and enlisted, the marked shift of perceived power. Sighing, he moves back from the door and fits his key in the lock. There’s no real change in the noise level as he drops his briefcase and heads into the living room, smiling slightly.
Whatever stupid and irrational fears or jealousies he has, Person and Colbert fit side by side whether it’s on the leather couch Brad insisted on bringing from his old apartment or in the crowded cab of a Humvee. Ray’s wearing sunglasses that Nate can only assume he stole off Beyonce or a pimp…or Rudy. He and Brad are both in t-shirts and shorts, both relaxed, sloppy and tanned. Nate feels overdressed and adult in comparison, his tie strangling him even though it’s loosened.
“Hey, Cap!” Ray raises a hand in a gesture that’s something between a wave and flipping Nate off.
“Person.” Nate watches the play of muscles in Brad’s shoulders beneath the thin cotton of his shirt, telling himself he’s being ridiculous. He rests his hand on the junction of Brad’s shoulder and neck, his thumb rubbing lightly at Brad’s nape. “Hey.”
Brad smiles without looking away from the television, the blood and gore of the video game reflected against his teeth. “Hey.”
“You guys eat and drink us out of house and home?”
“Person ate all the Pop-Tarts.”
“Dude.” Ray slams Brad’s shoulder with his. “Those were rank. Probably from the first fucking Gulf War. Fuck that, probably from the first fucking world war.”
“Didn’t stop you from eating them.” Brad’s hand settles on top of Ray’s head and he shoves him away, and Ray falls back to where he’d been sitting. Nate watches them without meaning to, watches too closely with hard-won Recon skills that reassert themselves. He measures the distances, the terrain, the body gestures between them, evaluating, gauging.
Brad tilts his head slightly, the muscles bunching beneath Nate’s hand. He looks at Nate for a long moment then nods. “Ray.”
Ray stops mid-sentence, the fact that he’s no longer in the service unable to override the sharp command in Brad’s voice. Ray looks from Brad to Nate and then back. “Oh, shit, sir.” Ray pauses the game and glares at Brad. “I’m winning.”
“Ray, I want you to think very hard about what life is like with a pissy CO.”
“Oh, fuck you.” Nate jerks his hand away and turns on his heel.
“Way to go, Iceman.” Ray starts the game again as Brad tosses his controller on the coffee table. “You give lessons in interpersonal relationships? Because, dude, I think we could all learn from you.”
“Turn the volume up, Ray.”
Nate knows Brad is right behind him, even though he doesn’t make a noise. He knows he’s been childish when he closes the bedroom door behind him, throwing up flimsy barriers not meant to stop anyone, and certainly not a trained Marine. Still, it gives him the illusion of control, and as much as he hates to admit it, he needs it.
Brad opens the door and closes it behind him quietly. The bedroom is dark save for the fading daylight coming in beneath the half-drawn shade. He leans against the door, his blue eyes moving up and down Nate, assessing. “Nate?”
Nate meets Brad’s gaze then returns the appraisal. Brad looks relaxed, but Nate knows him too well by now not to notice the slow, silent drum of his fingers against the wood, the tremor of the muscles in his shoulders, aching for action. “It’s nothing, Brad.”
Brad’s jaw clenches hard and he nods brusquely. “Yes, sir.” He reaches for the doorknob and twists it viciously.
Nate curses under his breath. “It’s not nothing.” Brad stills and Nate rubs his eyes with his thumb and forefinger, catching his sigh of relief against his palm. “It’s not nothing, but it’s stupid.”
Brad closes the door again, relaxing back against it. There’s still tension dancing on his skin like electricity. “I don’t know if you remember this, but I served in Iraq. I’m well-versed in stupid.”
“Not from me, I hope.”
“Well, I’m going to go out on a limb, sir, and assume this isn’t about Iraq.”
“No. Not about Iraq.” Nate gives up his ground and sits on the edge of the bed. Brad raises his eyebrows and moves to the chair next to the dresser, the difference in height between the two negated, their eyes level. Brad doesn’t say anything, just watches Nate carefully. Nate can see the question in Brad’s eyes, the doubt - what had he missed? Nate swallows. “Okay, you know, this would go better if we just pretended it didn’t happen.”
“And what do you think the odds are of that happening, sir?”
“Don’t…” Nate starts to snap, then forces himself to close his mouth, breathing for a few minutes before he trusts himself to speak again at less than a shout. “Don’t call me sir.”
Brad doesn’t move, but the widening of his eyes is like a flinch. His relaxed posture from the living room is completely gone, replaced with the sitting equivalent of being at attention. The faint sound of Ray shouting at the TV set fills the silence between them. “Should I ask Ray to leave?”
“Are you sleeping with him?”
Brad’s mouth quirks in the hint of a smile and he starts to say something. He stops before anything is spoken getting to his feet and opening the bedroom door. “Ray. Go home!”
“Are you and the Captain going to be kinky?”
“Just setting Nate straight on few things.”
“Brad, buddy, I hate to break this to you, but if it involves you, Fick and a bedroom, there’s nothing straight about it.”
“Go the fuck home, Person.”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
Brad shuts the bedroom door, waiting until the house goes quiet, the front door slamming and shutting out the sound of Ray singing, before he turns to face Nate. “Now. You asked me something, and I know I must have fucking heard you wrong.”
Nate looks over at him, finding himself facing the Iceman, all of Brad’s controls firmly in place. “Are you and Person…”
“Okay, I need you to not say that again. Ever.” Brad pushes off the door and goes over to the bed, sitting next to Nate. “Because I think you want to have a serious conversation, and that’s not going to happen if you’re basing the need for it on the thought of me and Ray.” He smiles and shakes his head slightly, his brow furrowed. “What’s going on, Nate?”
“Nothing.”
“Yeah, I wish I believed that. Come on.” He reaches out, curling his fingers under the knot of Nate’s tie, tugging it apart. “Talk to me.”
“You don’t talk about shit like this.”
“Well, the way I see it, we talk about this, or you go on thinking I’m slumming with Person, which…you know, I think I’m really fucking offended.”
Nate watches Brad undo his tie, closes his eyes as Brad tugs on it until it slips apart, the silk whispering against the fabric as he pulls it free of Nate’s collar. He shakes his head and opens his eyes. “Brad.”
“Don’t worry.” Brad unbuttons the top button of Nate’s dress shirt. “I’m not seducing you.”
Nate fights to keep from leaning in as Brad’s hands trail down his chest. “No?”
“No. If I did that, you’d think I was trying to hide something.”
Nate pulls back from the warmth of Brad’s touch, turning to the side and putting his leg up on the bed, separating them. “So you’re not fucking Ray.”
“No. Not fucking him. Not being fucked by him.” Nate fights an involuntary smile at the thought of that. “I’m also not engaged in mutual masturbation or any voyeuristic activities. I will confess to having told him to fuck off, fuck me and fuck himself, but I can assure you that in all of those instances, those statements were taken in the spirit in which they were intended and not as request or invitation.”
Nate can practically hear the ‘sir’ Brad isn’t saying. His face is impassive though his eyes are hot with a host of emotions, none of which Nate thinks he’s brave enough to identify.
“Would you like a similar testimony for the rest of the battalion, Nate? The rest of the Corps?”
Nate swallows and shakes his head. “No.”
“So, do you want to tell me what this is about?” Brad doesn’t move, doesn’t change the tone of his voice. Nate stares at Brad’s hand where it sits on his knee, remembering hours of stillness on missions, hours of movement together. “Nate?”
“Do you wish I was still in the Corps?”
Whatever - if anything- that Brad had been expecting, it’s clear from the drawn-out pause that it wasn’t that. “Why would you think that?”
“No answering questions with questions.”
“Okay.” Brad shakes his head. “No. Now, why would you think that?”
“You don’t?”
“No. First of all, being in the Corps made you miserable.”
“That’s not true.” Nate shakes his head, his voice heated and surprised. “That’s not true, Brad.”
“The reality of the Corps made you miserable.” Brad holds Nate’s gaze, daring him to argue. “You had ideas and ideals and you bought into the recruiting hype like all the rest of us. And just like the rest of us, you found out it was all bullshit.” Nate bites his lower lip to keep from saying anything. Brad glances at his mouth, a surge of heat lighting his eyes for a moment. “You wanted it to be all it promised, Nate, and it wasn’t, so you took what it gave you and moved on to something else that lets you make a difference. You don’t spend your time looking agonized from trying to choose between what’s right and what you’re told to do.”
Nate gets off the bed and moves over to the window, rubbing his hands up and down his arms. He glances at Brad and then back out at the dusk. “You stayed.”
“That’s because I’m a grunt, Nate. I don’t think. I just do what I’m told. I fit, Nate. You didn’t fit. You’re too smart.”
“That’s bullshit.” Nate barks a laugh that hurts his throat. “You’re a fucking genius, Colbert.”
“I’m good at what I do. Maybe it’s screwed up, fucked up and stupid, but I’m damn good at it, and it’s not always the colossal clusterfuck that was IOF. Sometimes I actually help people.”
Nate takes a step back, surprised by the vehemence in Brad’s voice. “I know that, Brad.”
“Besides, if you were still serving, who the fuck knows where you’d be or when I’d see you or who the fuck was watching your back.”
“You still call me sir.”
Brad laughs, the sound almost helpless. “Fuck, Nate, is that what this is about?” Brad gets off the bed and stands beside the window in front of Nate. “Is it?”
Nate shrugs. “No.”
“I call you ‘sir’ for two reasons, Nate. One is because I actually respect the hell out of you.”
“What’s the other?” Nate’s chest is tight, breath locked up by the look in Brad’s eyes.
Brad smiles and reaches out, his thumb tracing Nate’s bottom lip as his fingers cup his jaw. “Because it turns you on.”
“Ah.” Nate laughs softly. “I should have known.”
“So, you want to tell me what this is really about, Nate? Because I’m pretty sure it’s not really about Person.”
Nate shrugs. “Rough day. Funding fell through. And I came home, and I wanted…” He shrugs again. “So, I have to go back to DC and try again.”
“You’ve become fond of careers that involve beating your head against a wall.”
“Not just careers. Look who I live with.”
“You’re just going to have to own up to the fact that you’re a masochist, Fick.” Brad’s free had snags Nate’s wrist, pulling him closer. Nate steps into Brad’s personal space, closing his eyes as Brad’s arms circle him. “There’s nobody else, Nate.”
“I know.”
“Especially not Person. Fuck, how would you concentrate on fucking him with him talking the entire time?”
“A gag?”
Brad laughs, the sound rumbling against Nate’s skin. “Should I worry that you’ve put thought into this?”
“A gag is always the answer with Person.” Nate exhales against Brad’s chest, wrapping his arms around Brad’s waist. “You don’t think less of me?”
“Where’s this coming from?” Brad asks softly, his fingers stroking Nate’s hair. “I told you I respect you.” Brad presses his mouth to Nate’s temple. “You know I trust you with my life.” His lips move gently, slowly, sliding against Nate’s skin. “Unless you want me building shrines in our hallway…”
Nate laughs and tilts his head back. “How are you so sure about all of this?”
“There are two things in this world that matter to me, Nate. The Marines and you.” Brad leans in, his lips brushing Nate’s, catching him in a slow, thorough kiss, his tongue exploring Nate’s mouth as if it’s new territory. “If I have to choose, Nate-” his voice is breathless and soft, whispered against Nate’s mouth. “I already know my answer. No question.”
“Dump me in a heartbeat, huh?” Nate smiles as Brad raises an eyebrow. “Oh. Right. Leave the Corps.” Nate glances over at the bed. “You know, I’m pretty sure if Ray were still here, he’d accuse us of acting like a couple of girls.”
“Are you feeling particularly feminine…” Brad stops awkwardly.
Nate laughs, realizing what Brad wants to say, what he’s waiting to hear him say. “Go ahead and say it.”
“Sir?”
“Not in the ‘dress me up in women’s clothing’ sense.”
Brad chokes on a laugh. “There’s an image I’m never going to get out of my head.”
“However,” Nate jabs Brad in the ribs. “I might be willing to…” He stops as Brad pulls away, fighting not to laugh. “Okay, just for that, Colbert, you’re not getting laid tonight.”
“No problem. I’ll just go find Pers-” He’s cut off as Nate springs forward, catching Brad around the waist and taking him down to the floor.
“Not another fucking word about Ray Person,” Nate warns him, shifting his grip to pin Brad to the ground. He kneels on Brad’s forearms, his hands around Brad’s wrists as he straddles his lower stomach. “Understood?”
Brad nods, his eyes hot. “Yes, sir.”
“Smartass.”
“You going to do something about that?” Brad shifts beneath him, thrusting upward so that Nate can feel the press of his hardening cock.
“Did you have something in mind?”
“Nothing the Corps allows, sir.” Brad groans as Nate shifts back, his ass firm against Brad’s erection. “Fuck. C’mon, Nate.”
“I think I should.” Nate’s thumbs rub Brad’s wrists. “Fuck you, that is, for questioning my masculinity.”
“You’re the one who brought up women’s clothing.” Brad gasps as Nate rocks back. “Okay. Okay.” He laughs and bucks his hips so Nate falls forward, releasing Brad’s wrists to catch himself. He stares down at Brad, breathing heavily. Brad’s voice is a low growl. “Fuck me, Nate.”
Nate lowers himself, his mouth hungry against Brad’s, turning any remaining uncertainty to need. Brad frees his arms from under Nate’s knees as Nate shifts and slides his body down along Brad’s. Brad strokes Nate’s back, urging him closer until Nate breaks away, easing back and breathing roughly as he kneels on either side of Brad’s legs. “Be right back.”
“Wouldn’t have this problem if you were a girl,” Brad reminds Nate as he wriggles out of his clothes, not taking his eyes off Nate as he gathers lube and condoms from the bedside drawer.
“Beg to differ,” Nate tosses the supplies to Brad so he can shed his clothes as well. “If you want a girl to fuck you, she’s going to need a few things, one of which I come with standard.” He kneels back down, coaxing Brad’s legs apart and moving between them.
“Are you saying a woman can’t be good with a dick, Nate?”
“I’m saying,” Nate’s lubed fingers slide against Brad’s opening. “That if you don’t stop talking about fucking women, or vice versa-” He pushes a finger in, reveling in the low, desperate sound thick and deep in Brad’s throat, “I’m going to leave you to jerk off all by yourself.”
Brad laughs roughly, gasping as Nate fucks him slowly with his finger. “I’ll be good.”
“Oh no.” Nate shakes his head and presses another finger inside Brad. “Don’t promise that.”
Brad braces his heels on the ground and arches up, urging Nate deeper. Nate complies, fingers curling slightly at the apex of their thrust, causing Brad to choke out another desperate sound. “N…” He breathes roughly through hi nose, his body bowed and taut. “Nate.”
Nate groans and eases his fingers free, watching Brad shudder in the aftermath. He manages the condom without looking away from Brad, moving back into him as quickly as possible. The first push is tight, both of them gasping into a fumbled kiss. Brad thrusts upwards as he wraps his legs around Nate, driving him deeper. Neither of them speak, both struggling to breath, stealing air from each other. Every thrust is hard and aggressive, everything they couldn’t or wouldn’t say before translated into sweat and flesh and possession.
Nate rests his forehead against Brad’s and works his hand between them, wrapping it around Brad’s cock and stroking him in time with the frantic thrust of their hips. Brad tightens around him, cock pulsing hotly against Nate’s palm in the timeless second before he comes. Nate’s breath catches, and he chokes out a strangled cry as Brad’s heels dig into his skin and he arches upward, wringing Nate’s orgasm from him.
They lie there, tangled together until the sweat cools and Nate feels goose bumps crawl along his skin.
“We should fight more often.”
“Mmm,” Nate murmurs against Brad’s neck. “Were we fighting?”
“Seems nicer than saying you should come home paranoid and delusional all the time.” Brad runs his fingertips along Nate’s spine. “Fighting means make-up sex.”
“And paranoid and delusional?”:
“Well, in this case, it meant make-up sex. I don’t know that it always would.” He looks at Nate, his blue eyes intent and serious. “I’m not going anywhere, Nate. Not fucking anyone else. Don’t want to fuck anyone else. And I can promise the only fucking I get that’s not from you is from the Corps, and that’s not personal.”
“And not always consensual?” Nate shakes his head. “I’m sorry I took my shitty day out on you.” He rests his head on Brad’s shoulder, tasting salt. “I didn’t mean to.”
“It’s okay. It sort of comes with the territory.” Brad turns his head and kisses Nate softly, just as much ownership in that bare touch as in their earlier frenzied fucking. “Afraid you’re stuck with me, Fick.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Nate nods and smiles, closing his eyes. “I love you too.”