GK, As you lose your sense of ground, 1/7, R, Brad/Nate, 7,967
Title: As you lose your sense of ground
Author: sephirothflame
Fandom: Generation Kill
Rating: R
Character(s)/Pairing(s): Brad Colbert x Nate Fick, Walt Hasser, Ray Person (unrequited Walt/Ray)
Warning(s): AU - angels, adult language, adult situations, homophobic slurs, one night stands, unrequited love
Spoiler(s): N/A
Prompt(s): N/A
Word Count: 7,967
Master List: fic | verse
Notes: Part the first
Summary: No one has ever made Brad's Grace respond the way Nate does.
Disclaimer: I do not own Generation Kill. This is a work of fiction inspired by the fictional portrayal of the actual events. No harm intended.
Brad knew inviting Julie and Mark over was a bad idea. Or, more accurately, his mother used to tell him bad things always happen in threes. Mark’s new vegan diet was only the tip of the iceberg.
”He is such a fucking faggot,” Brad tells Julie. He accepts the packet of tofu dogs that she passes him gingerly, gripping the plastic between his thumb and forefinger and eyeing it suspiciously. “People aren’t meant to eat like this.”
”You’re too negative,” Julie tells him. Her brow furrows, but he’s used to her looking at him with mild disappointment.
”Your husband is still a pussy,” Brad replies. He drops the hotdogs on the weathered table and wipes his hand on his shirt. “What kind of grown-ass man enjoys hotdogs, anyways?”
”I like hotdogs,” Julie says. There is a thin frown on her lips but Brad knows she’s fighting the urge to smile.
”I bet you do,” Brad says, and he knows he deserves the smack to his arm.
”Shut up and cook, Brad.” Julie eases herself down onto one of the deck chairs and stretches out leisurely. “I know your mother taught you better than that.”
”It’s hard to tell if his mother managed to teach him anything,” Mark says. He joins them on the back porch and has to juggle the bottles he brought out with him carefully in order to slide the glass door shut after him. “And fuck you, Brad, I have health issues.”
Brad means to tell him there is no cure for being an insufferable asshole, but Mark hands him one of the beers so Brad bites his tongue. He uses his shirt to help him twist it open and takes a long, slow drag. “How much do you hate work these days?” Brad asks, more out of polite interest than anything.
Brad doesn’t care, and Mark knows he doesn’t care, but he tells Brad about his students and starts rambling endlessly about new rules for faculty and how many school supplies he’s been buying out of his own pocket. The topic is boring, but safe, and it’s easy to get lost in the monotony of it while the grill heats up and Brad starts to cook.
It’s almost nice. The three of them, lounging around and drinking beer in the early afternoon and talking about nothing of consequence. It’s almost like the summers when they were still in school, before Brad joined the Marines and Julie left him for Mark. Brad feels his shoulders relaxing despite the fact it will always be awkward as hell to be with the two of them.
The feeling doesn’t last though. The burgers and tofu hotdogs are barely off the grill when Brad feels a tension in his core, causing the hair on his arms to stand up and his feathers to spread and prickle uselessly. He cocks his head in the direction of the house and shoves the plate in his hands in Mark’s direction. “Take this.”
Mark accepts the plate almost immediately but he’s still confused. “Brad?”
Brad doesn’t answer. He waves Mark and Julie’s confusion away with a vague gesture and slips through the sliding glass door to make his way to the front of the house. Brad jerks the door open before anyone gets the chance to knock, and he isn’t the least bit surprised to see Walt standing on the other side.
For his part, Walt looks more gloomy than surprised. He can feel Brad just as easily through their Bond, the thing that ties them together that Brad refuses to acknowledge as being Flock. “If I’d known you were gonna have guests, I wouldn’t have stopped by.”
”Don’t be stupid,” Brad says. He raises his hand slowly to touch Walt’s wing, smoothing his fingers through the feathers until they lay flat. When he’s satisfied, Brad steps away from the door and lets Walt in and Walt accepts the invitation with a small smile.
Walt fidgets with the tassels on his First Recon hoodie, tugging at them uselessly until they’re even. “Rumor has it we get our new lieutenant tomorrow,” Walt tells him. He looks around Brad’s living room, but he doesn’t seem to see anything. “And rumor is we’re officially deploying.”
”You knew all of this was happening,” Brad says. There is no way to have not known, or even suspected. It’s the only thing anyone on Camp Pendleton has been talking about for weeks. Brad’s not even a social creature and he’s heard all the gossip, but that could just be from the time he spends with Ray.
”I guess,” Walt says. His wings slump with his shoulders.
Brad doesn’t know what to do with Walt. He doesn’t know how to comfort people and he doesn’t want to push this thing, this Flock, because he’s not sure how the power lies and it’s not his fucking responsibility. It’s not Brad’s fault Walt flocked to the first angel he could after getting stationed here. It’s not Brad’s fault that he chose Brad.
Rubbing the back of his neck to avoid reaching out and tugging Walt’s feathers back into place, Brad asks, “and the other thing that’s bothering you?”
”Ray’s got a new girlfriend.” The words are quiet and Walt’s feathers bristle as he says the words, his cheeks reddening and fists clenching at his side.
Oh, Brad thinks. He sighs. “Do you want to stay for dinner?”
Walt looks at Brad, a little suspicious but mostly relieved. He nods. His mood deflates and he starts to run his fingers through his feathers idly. “I’m sorry about this.”
”Don’t worry about it,” Brad says. He turns on his heels to head into the kitchen and he mostly even means it.
* * *
Walt manages to politely swallow a tofudog, lips pressed together in a thin smile, but he doesn’t seem offended when Mark and Julie laugh at him. He devours the burgers Brad shares with him and by the time dinner is over, he’s managed to completely engross himself in a conversation with Mark about the second World War and how kids these days have no respect for history.
”He’s sweet,” Julie tells Brad when they abandon Walt and Mark to do dishes in the kitchen. She towel dries things after Brad washes them, but Brad can feel her eyes on him as she tries to figure him out and see how he’ll respond.
”Walt’s a good kid,” Brad says. Kid might be a stretch when Walt is only six years younger than Brad, but Walt is sweet and earnest and trusting. He is a child, in some ways. The little crush he’s got on Ray is further proof of his naiveté.
Julie hums and rests her hip against the counter, turning her body towards Brad and effectively drawing his attention. “You two are cute together.”
A cup slips through Brad’s fingers and splashes him as it falls into the sink. Brad barely registers it though, because - because no. No. There are a million reasons why Brad wants to tell Julie no but he can’t seem to find the words and he can feel the feathers on his wings bristle in annoyance at her and himself.
”Walt is like me,” Brad manages, after a moment. He stops glowering at Julie to search the soapy water for the cup he dropped, scraping a sponge over it with more force than strictly necessary. “He’s - “ Brad means to say not like me again, but he knows Julie’s first thoughts are on Walt’s sexuality and it isn’t true. Walt is. But that’s none of Julie’s business and it isn’t Brad’s place to even tell her. Instead, Brad gestures at wings she can’t see and says, “like this.”
Julie mouths oh and looks a little sheepish. Her fingers brush through the air for something she can’t see, and Brad can feel her in the core of his being, in what Walt calls his Grace. Julie can’t see Brad’s wings, she can’t touch them, but it doesn’t stop her hand from passing through where Brad knows them to be and he grabs her wrist to stop her.
It’s rude. Also, it tickles in a bad way that he’s never quite been able to explain to her. Julie blamed Brad for not being able to see his wings. The first time they fucked, eager and awkward, and he told her his secret. She blamed Brad for not loving her enough and Brad didn’t know enough back then to even try to deny it.
”Don’t,” Brad tells her. He lets go of her wrist. “It feels weird.”
”Right, the bad touch,” Julie says. She rubs her wrist gently with her other hand but she doesn’t seem angry. Mostly a little gloomy, like Walt did when he showed up.
Brad rinses off the cup Julie had used at dinner and shoves it at her to dry. There isn’t any silverware to wash and Brad’s fingers grope the bottom of the sink blindly just to find something to keep his hands busy and distract himself with. “So. Mark’s a vegan.”
”Brad, I’m pregnant.”
As soon as the words are out of her mouth, Julie looks embarrassed. She puts down the cup and wrings the dishtowel between her hands. Julie looks straight at Brad though, waiting for his reaction, and Brad chooses to pull the plug in the sink and stare out the back window at Walt and Mark instead.
Walt’s wings tense slightly and he turns back to look at Brad in concern. The thing that Brad is trying to do, to not feel at all, is strong enough that Walt can feel it.
Honestly, Brad has no idea what he’s supposed to feel. He drops his gaze to watch the water go down the drain and says, “mazel tov.”
”Brad,” Julie says, quieter.
Shaking his head, Brad sighs. He looks over at Julie and fights the urge to put his hand on the top of her head. She barely comes to the top of his shoulder, and when they were younger, all Brad wanted to do was see if he could bury her in his feathers. “I mean it.”
”I know,” Julie says. She tries to smile, but she’s still looking at Brad like she expects him to break. “I only found out today. We haven’t even told our parents. I just. Thought you should know.”
”So you asking if Walt was my boyfriend was you trying to feel less guilty?” Brad asks. He doesn’t mean to say it, certainly not with the coldness that he does, but Julie looks like he hit her and Brad almost wishes he could take it back. He shrugs a shoulder and feels the tightness in his wings, the desire to get on his bike and fly away.
”Brad.” Julie touches his bicep cautiously, her fingers sliding down to curl around his elbow and tug gently. Her hand is small and cold and Brad wants to do nothing more than to smack it. “Don’t be like this.”
Pinching the bridge of his nose, Brad makes an annoyed sound. He doesn’t know how to tell her what he means and everything he says seems to come out bitter. Brad isn’t bitter. He’d gotten over Julie leaving him for Mark not long after it happened. Being dragged to Tijuana for the weekend did a good job of that.
”Julie,” Brad says slowly. He drops his hand and looks at her. “I don’t care. Mazel tov. Whatever.” He eyes her belly and then meets her gaze. “That is not a bombshell you drop over fucking dishes.”
Julie opens her mouth to object, but the back door opens and she snaps it shut again. She’s got a forced smile on her face and when Brad turns to see Mark, he knows he’s just been caught out. “Another bottle?” She asks.
Brad declines when Julie pulls one out of the fridge to give him, and he marvels at his self-control for going out onto the back porch to spend the last few hours of sunlight listening to Mark and Julie talk before they call it a night.
Walt looks suspicious, but he’s too wobbly on his feet for Brad to feel comfortable evicting. “You’re probably right,” Walt says gloomily, and he lets Brad herd him to the couch. “Will you groom my feathers?”
”Some other time,” Brad says. It’s ridiculous the way he actually feels guilty when Walt looks up at him and flutters his wings uselessly, but Brad has a plan. One that involves taking a shower and not being here in an hour. “Don’t break anything.”
”You’re leaving me?” Walt asks, expression a little startled.
Brad has no reason not to. Yes, there are fraternization rules about NCOs and what not, but it’s Walt. Even if he did have some perverse plan to tattle and get them in trouble, Brad can always pull the Flock card. Even if Brad doesn’t want a Flock, Walt still came to him and he’s stuck around despite the way Brad’s been known to treat him. That’s more than most people in Brad’s life have done.
”Just. Watch TV and go to bed,” Brad tells Walt, and when Walt slumps back into the couch and turns on the TV, Brad tries not to feel guilty over his victory.
* * *
Brad gets on his bike and drives fast enough that the pressure on his wings becomes almost unbearable. He grits his teeth and suffers through it, and he races around on the backstreets before giving up and driving to the nearest bar. He’s got enough money for a motel room, he doesn’t care who he ends up dragging into bed as long as it happens.
It has nothing to do with Julie. Julie is past tense. The news of her pregnancy doesn’t change things. She’s moving on. That’s good for her. Brad’s actually kind of happy for her, except he hates children and there’s a gleeful sort of justice in the fact she’s going to be changing diapers and getting up at ass o’clock in the morning every day soon.
No. Brad doesn’t care about Julie. He doesn’t care. Brad’s wings ache and his Grace is kind of cold when his mother or Walt aren’t around to make him feel like a person again. Brad misses being young and irresponsible and drinking until he doesn’t know which way is up and fucking the first warm body that will let him.
Brad is just letting off steam. That’s why he took his bike and drove so far away from the base. He doesn’t want to get recognized and be dragged out of the mood he’s in now. Brad needs, and that’s enough to have him sliding onto a bar stool and ordering a White Russian because it’s the first thing that pops into his head.
It’s easy to relax into the drone of music and voices, sipping his drink and eyeing the bar carefully. Anyone in a booth tends to be off limits, and the boys - and Jesus, Brad thinks, they’re literally just boys tonight - dancing tend to be more effort than they’re worth. There’s definitely nothing remarkable about the boys that sidle up to his side and start flirting instantly and Brad only feels a little guilty in staring at them until they saunter off with their hurt pride.
Brad has standards. They might be low, most of the time, and they definitely vary given the situation, but he still has them. It means there isn’t much of a selection, but when Brad turns away to order another drink, someone leans against the bar at his side.
”Rum and Coke, please.”
There is nothing wrong with staring. Staring at a bar is perfectly normal and appropriate, and even if it wasn’t, the way the guy’s faded Dartmouth tee clings to his chest and the strip of pale skin over the hem of his jeans would have made it impossible not to. He smiles when he realizes Brad is staring, and his body twists slightly to face him. “Hi.”
Brad considers him. He drains the last of his drink and puts it on the bartop, letting his eyes drag down the stranger’s front before settling on his lips. Lips that are crooked in wry amusement, Brad notices, and not disgust. “Brad.”
A quirk of an eyebrow and the guy relaxes more against the bar while he waits for his drink. “Nate.”
When their drinks are in front of them, Brad pulls out a twenty and waves at the two drinks. “I’ve got it,” he says. He takes a sip of his own and turns the barstool to face Nate proper, taking the time to appreciate Nate’s body. He hasn’t left or upended his glass on Brad, and he looks more amused than anything. Brad takes that as a good sign.
”It’s going to take a lot more than one drink to get me into bed, Brad,” Nate tells him. He’s trying not to smile and Brad doesn’t miss it. He takes a sip of his drink and Brad is distracted by the bobbing of his throat.
Yes, Brad thinks. He knows who he wants to take home with him. “I like a challenge.”
Nate just laughs, amused and brilliant, before he picks up his glass and downs the entire thing in one go. He sputters when he’s done, wiping his mouth and chin with the back of his hand and gesturing at the glass. “Buy me another and we’ll talk.”
Brad’s pretty sure he’s already won Nate over, but he plays by Nate’s rules anyways. He’s positive it’ll be worth it.
* * *
As soon as they’re in the motel room, Nate is stripping out of his shirt and kicking off his shoes. “How do you want to do this?”
For a moment, Brad doesn’t understand. He’s distracted by the soft color of Nate’s nipples and the obscene way he seems to undoing the buttons on his jeans. For all that Brad wants to touch him, he wants to burn this in his memory for a little while. He’ll need something to think about during combat jacks when he deploys again.
”I mean,” Nate says, slowly pushing his jeans down his hips, exposing more of the dark ginger of his happy trail and the curve of his hips. “Do you want to fuck or be fucked?”
”Fuck,” Brad says. He strips off his shirt when Nate just quirks an eyebrow at him expectantly, and lets it fall onto the motel room floor. The keys join them, along with his shoes, though Brad tugs a strip of condoms and lube out of his jeans and tosses those to Nate before he starts to fight with his belt and the denim.
Nate sits down on the bed after he finishes stripping and it takes Brad a moment to notice Nate is staring at his dog tags. “You’re military,” he says, almost contemplative. “Marine?”
”Yes,” Brad says. He crowds into Nate’s space to keep him from talking, catching Nate’s jaw in one hand and tilting his head up. His thumb brushes against Nate’s chapped lips and he leaves it there. He doesn’t want to talk about that or anything else tonight.
Something about Nate’s parted lips, the way his green eyes are watching Brad half-lidded and amused, that makes Brad’s wings flutter and his Grace feel warm. This is the connection Brad was looking for tonight. This is what Brad needs.
Nate smiles and kisses Brad’s fingertip. “Come on, Brad. Fuck me like you mean it already.”
Brad pushes Nate back onto the bed and climbs on top of him, pinning him in place easily. Brad’s pretty sure it’s only because Nate lets him, but when Brad is brushing kisses along Nate’s jaw and down his throat, Nate seems more than content to be compliant in all of this.
There’s no reason to take his time, but Brad can’t bring himself to rush this. Not when Nate’s back arches so wonderfully when his nipples are bit and his breath hitches at the first touch of Brad’s fingers to his cock. If it wasn’t for Nate’s demands and his pushing back, Brad wouldn’t mind getting lost in the way Nate responds to each and every touch.
But Nate is a boy from a bar, and Brad is just trying to burn something out of his system, so he lets Nate push him up the bed and roll him onto his back. Instinctively, Brad’s wings spread across the bed, and the feathers tingle when Nate slips through them, but it isn’t bad. Not when Nate straddles Brad’s chest as and pushes his fingers into Brad’s mouth.
Brad feels connected in a way he hasn’t in a long time, and he sucks Nate’s fingers until Nate pulls them away. He pushes them inside of himself and moans softly and Brad has no idea what to do while he watches. He wants to touch Nate everywhere, but he settles for sliding his hips up Nate’s thighs and whispering soft praises.
By the time Nate rolls a condom on Brad’s cock and slides down his length, Brad’s almost forgotten how to breathe. Nate is tight and hot and perfect and he makes little breathless sounds the further he takes Brad into himself, and it takes everything in Brad not to roll him over and fuck him into the mattress.
It’ll be worth it, Brad tells himself. What he’s been telling himself all night since he first met Nate in the bar. Brad even believes it, without a shadow of a doubt.
Nate will be worth it.
* * *
Nate doesn’t move when Brad rolls out of bed, but he cracks one eye open tiredly. “Leaving already?”
”I’ve got work in the morning,” Brad says. It’s not exactly a lie, but it’s almost 0300 and Brad’s never been one for sticking around after a one night stand. Even a highly successful one night stand, the kind that leaves him pleasantly sore and sated for what Brad’s pretty sure could be an eternity. “I left a drunk Marine on my couch.”
”Brad.” Nate’s voice is soft, and he smiles when Brad meets his gaze. “Hand me my shirt?”
They dress quietly and Brad isn’t sure if he’s supposed to feel awkward about it or not. He’s done this dozens of times in the past and he’s never cared then. Some of the people he’s been with have been just as quiet and content as Nate, though debatably sore.
Brad’s decided he really likes the way Nate sounds when he moans, and it took a lot of effort to get him to drown out the sound of the motel room bed hitting the wall. Brad should be embarrassed or guilty, but he’s mostly just sort of gleeful that he managed to drag those noises out of Nate. There aren’t enough condoms in the world to cover all the things Brad would have liked to do to Nate tonight.
”Maybe I’ll see you around sometime,” Nate says quietly as he finishes buttoning his jeans. He leaves his shoes unlaced, and he shoves his hands in his pockets when he turns to look at Brad. “Be careful on your way home.”
Brad’s not sure what he’s supposed to say so he lifts a shoulder in a vague shrug and nods. He lets Nate step into his space, and Brad fights the urge to put his hands on Nate’s hip. He can feel Nate’s breath on his skin, his lips, and the hairs on Brad’s arms prickle and his feathers do the same.
Nate doesn’t kiss him, because he doesn’t want to or because he took the hint from Brad not kissing him all night, but he doesn’t move away. Eventually, he settles for squeezing Brad’s bicep and dragging his lips along Brad’s jaw slowly. “Goodbye, Brad.”
”Goodbye, Nate,” Brad says. He touches his hands to the small of Nate’s back to Nate’s amusement as they leave the room, and he misses the warmth as soon as he stops and Nate keeps walking to his car. He watches Nate go without another word, before turning on his heel and heading in the opposite direction. He has a key to drop off and he’d really rather not know which direction Nate is headed in.
As much fun as Nate was, there’s no reason to needlessly complicate things and ruin a perfectly good night by wanting more. Nate didn’t offer his number and Brad didn’t ask. If that wasn’t a sign, Brad doesn’t know what it is.
Brad has keys to return and Walt to check up on. He got what he wanted. It’s time to move on.
* * *
Walt isn’t on the couch by the time Brad makes it home, but his truck is outside. It doesn’t take long for Brad to track Walt down to the guest bedroom, sleeping on his belly soundly with his wings sprawled as far as they will stretch.
Brad watches him for a moment, but he doesn’t bother him. He thinks about draping the blanket over Walt, but he decides against it. He’s not Walt’s mother and he doesn’t want to risk waking up Walt and explaining where he’s been. Walt isn’t his mother, either, and Brad shouldn’t have to explain himself.
It’s bad enough Brad has to be up in two hours or so to shower and get ready for work. He doesn’t want to delay that any by being guilt tripped into confessing about the most awesome one night stand he’s had in as long as he can remember. Potentially ever. So Brad closes the door quietly behind him, turns off the lights in the hall, and heads for his own room.
Tomorrow, Brad might regret staying out so late and drinking so much, but he doubts he’ll regret the sex. He’s pretty sure he could never regret that. It makes a pleasant thought to strip to and fall back on his bed, but almost as soon as Brad’s head hits the pillow, he’s out like a light.
* * *
Ray finds Brad during their lunch break, but Ray would somehow manage to find Brad if he was half a world away and hiding under an assumed name and prepping for a gender reassignment surgery. Ray is like a little bloodhound, at least when it comes to Brad. Which would be endearing, maybe, if it wasn’t Ray.
Really, Brad wasn’t trying to hide though. The one quiet place he can escape to without leaving the base altogether is one of the abandoned picnic tables near the parade ground. It’s not uncommon for Brad to end up sitting on the tabletop and eating a sub, staring blankly at the grass and the housewives walking their tiny dogs.
Ray doesn’t say anything when he plops down onto the table at Brad’s side, but he tears open the chips that came with Brad’s lunch and eats one without a second thought. He chews quietly, and he doesn’t quite manage to swallow before asking, “is Walt mad at me?”
Brad crinkles his nose and stares pointedly out at the parade ground. “Why would Hasser be mad at you?”
”I don’t know,” Ray says. He sounds genuinely confused, and it’s the only reason Brad turns to look back at him. “We were going to hang out last night, but then my girlfriend showed up. Walt said he didn’t want to get in the way so he left and now he’s not talking to me but I think he’s trying to make my head blow up by staring at me.”
It’s kind of a tossup if Brad should be surprised if Ray was able to notice Walt’s discomfort at all, or if Brad’s just overly sensitive to the issue because he can feel Walt’s miserableness in his Grace. Ray’s not a bad person, not really, so Brad opts to give him the benefit of the doubt. “You’re probably reading too much into it.”
”Maybe,” Ray says. He eats another chip before offering the bag out to Brad. “He just didn’t seem happy today.”
Brad stares at the bag before taking a chip, but he doesn’t try to reclaim the food from Ray elsewise. He chews slowly and swallows before answering, “Walt’s just anxious about deploying again.” It’s not a lie, but it’s not the whole truth, either. “You have a chance to meet the new LT?”
”Nah.” Ray sighs and picks at the bag in his hands, but he doesn’t eat anything else. “Stafford said he saw Gunny showing someone around earlier. Didn’t get a chance to say hi, though.”
If their new lieutenant was on base, then they were probably going to meet him after lunch. Typically it should have happened first thing in the morning, but Brad was nursing a headache and his back and wings ached so he's glad it didn't, for whatever reason. He isn’t sure how much bullshit he could have tolerated without saying something that would get him in trouble. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time.
Brad finishes the rest of his sandwich and Ray takes his silence as a sign to pull a cigarette from the lining of his sleeve and light it up. The smoke doesn’t bother Brad, and Brad shakes his head when Ray pulls out another to offer to him. “I quit.”
Ray makes a soft snorting sound and tucks the cigarette back into its hidden spot in his uniform. “For now.”
”For now,” Brad agrees. He downs a Coke and the last of the chips before balling everything up to toss in the waste bin. “You staying out here until you’re finished?”
For a moment, Ray seems to consider it. He slides off the table to his feet though, and idly brushes off the back of his uniform of fallen leaves. “I’ll walk with you.”
It doesn’t take long to walk back to their building, and Ray’s cigarette is nearly completely burned out by the time they make it there. He drops it into the smoking urn as they pass it and asks, “did you really go out bar hopping on a Tuesday night?”
Brad resists the urge to hit his head on the wall. Of course Walt knew what Brad was up to last night. Brad had no reason to hide it and he’s certainly not ashamed. There’s just something about the way Ray says it and the way his lips curl into a smirk that makes Brad want to hurt Ray. “Are you my mother now?”
”Do you want me to be a tiny Jewish woman?” Ray asks, still smiling. “Because I can say mazel tov and rock a yarmulke with the best of them.”
Brad stares at Ray, but Ray’s grin doesn’t falter. “Get your ass back to work, Person.”
Ray sticks his tongue out, orange from eating Doritos, but he doesn’t leave Brad’s side. He stops talking though, and Brad considers it a win in his favor.
* * *
They fall into formation after lunch is officially over, but it’s cramped in their warehouse cum training area. Brad doesn’t understand why they didn’t do this outside, and judging by the look on Mike’s face, he’s thinking the same thing.
Brad knows something bad is about to happen before it does. He can feel it in his bones and the ache in his wings, but he steels himself for the introduction of their new lieutenant and whatever Gunny has planned. Brad’s gone through SERE training; he can handle anything.
Except, SERE didn’t exactly train Brad to expect to see one of his one night stands walk in through the door to Bravo 2’s makeshift classroom in uniform, lieutenant bars on his shoulders.
Well fuck, Brad thinks, and he grits his teeth and drags his wings in closer to his body. No one can see them but Walt, and Walt’s on the other side of the room. It’s the only outward sign Brad lets show for his discomfort and he waits patiently while Nate and Mike to finish their quiet conversation.
”At ease, gents,” Nate says. He smiles, a genuine little thing that makes Brad’s Grace flutter. He waits for the noise in the room to die down as they obey, before continuing. “I’m lieutenant Nate Fick, and we’ll be serving together.”
The words are succinct and clear. Brad doesn’t have to look around the room to know that Nate’s next few words are make it or break it, can feel the unease and distrust from the other men. Either Nate will talk their ear off or he’ll dismiss them to do their jobs. Brad’s pretty sure he knows which is going to happen.
”I’ve been informed there are rumors about an upcoming deployment, but I can neither confirm nor deny them. Rest assured, if the order comes down, you will know.” Nate pauses and shifts a stack of papers in his arms, mindful not to drop them. “I’ve got a lot of catching up to do here and I’d appreciate if you went easy on me. Gunny Wynn says you’re the best men he’s ever worked with. I’d like to believe that.”
Mike doesn’t quite smile, but he isn’t tense, either. Nate has passed his initial inspection, then, and that’s sign enough for most of the men in the room to relax. They might not trust Nate until they’ve been given reason to, but there’s no reason to treat him poorly. They know how to be on their best behavior.
”I’ll let you get back to work now,” Nate says at last. He straightens up and looks at Mike. “Gunny, they’re all yours.”
Nate doesn’t leave when Mike dismisses them. He watches the room scatter to desks or worktables, looking contemplative and talking with Mike quietly. He doesn’t look at Brad, but he doesn’t not look at him, either. There’s no connection.
Not until the room is mostly cleared and Brad is standing by a box of glow sticks and trying to remember what he was supposed to do with them. Nate looks at Brad, honestly looks at him, and his tongue peaks out to wet his lower lip.
Whatever hopes Brad had of hoping that Nate is just a lookalike of the Nate he fucked into the mattress last night are pretty much shattered. Brad just nods, hoping Nate understands what he means - that Brad knows it’s him, that Brad doesn’t care, that he isn’t going to tell anyone - before he drops his gaze and starts to sort through the items on the desk before him.
There’s no way for Nate to get Brad in trouble without incriminating himself. There’s a twisted comfort in that knowledge, but it’s enough. It’s all Brad needs. For now, his secret is safe.
* * *
Brad does not spend all of Wednesday night drunk on his living room floor, even though he’s sorely tempted to. He regrets now not getting Nate’s number before they went their separate ways at the motel, though he has no idea what he would say if he did call. Probably ask if Nate wanted to come around and repeat last night, if Brad’s honest. Relationships with anyone in any way are complicated. At least Brad and Nate both know the sex is fantastic.
There are no good outcomes, Brad is pretty sure. Either he leaves Nate alone completely or he’s going to end up inviting the lieutenant back into his bed and Brad can’t afford that. Not with his lieutenant. Not with another Marine, especially one he’s going to be serving with.
Idly, Brad thinks that it certainly explains the way Nate had looked at his dog tags last night. Nate hadn’t been wary of them, not exactly, but it could be why they parted ways without any hope for a rematch. It makes Nate’s maybe I’ll see you around sometime almost perverse in hindsight, a curse on both of them.
Nate couldn’t have known and neither could Brad. They’re both at fault for what happened and Brad isn’t going to be responsible for anything that happens in the future. He’s moving on. He’s not going to think about sex with Nate, no matter how awesome it is.
Once he’s made up his mind, Brad realizes he actually has to do something about it. Something that isn’t spending all night on the living room floor drunk off his ass. If Brad is going to forget about one night of sex, he might as well replace it with another. After what happened last night, Brad opts to stay home instead. He’s got a list of one night stands in his phone, and if none of those work, he’s more than willing to pay.
The goal is to move on and Brad is positive he is more than capable to do just that.
* * *
Nate leaves Brad alone. He doesn’t ignore him, because in a room full of Recon Marines, someone is bound to notice. He just takes his time getting around to introducing himself to Brad properly, singularly, like he has with most of the other men. Bravo 2 is a decent sized group of men, and between Nate’s actual job and Bravo 2’s, he’s only made it through a good chunk of the men by the end of the first day.
”He seems really nice,” Walt says conversationally. He stands with Brad and Ray under a set of steps, waiting for retreat to finish sounding before he makes his way to his truck. “He’s been deployed.”
”You got a crush there, Walter?” Ray asks. He grins when Walt scowls, and Walt is lucky Ray can’t see the way his wings bristle and flutter uselessly. Ray would never stop teasing Walt if he knew how responsive Walt’s wings were.
”Shut up,” Walt says. He glares at Ray, but it does absolutely nothing to sour Ray’s mood. “It’s called surveillance and research. Besides, we both know I’m not the cock sucking kiss ass here.”
”You’re absolutely right,” Ray says solemnly. “That would be Brad.”
Brad rolls his eyes and counts the seconds until the National Anthem is done sounding. He can see Walt’s wings shift out of the corner of his eyes, and he can feel Walt’s tired amusement in his Grace. Brad would snap at Ray, but he really just wants to go home and see if the weather is any good for surfing this weekend.
”You would be gay for Brad,” Walt says. His wings flutter as the music dies, and he all but skips out of the way of a punch from Ray. “You know it’s true.”
”Only because everyone is gay for Brad,” Ray replies. “He’s every twink and closeted Republican’s wet dream. Just look at him.”
”I will hit the both of you with my Jeep if you don’t shut the fuck up,” Brad tells them pleasantly.
”Don’t be ridiculous,” Walt says, laughing quietly. “You brought your bike to work today.”
Brad can’t deny it, not when his helmet is in his hand now and his bike is easily visible across the street. “Consider it a warning, then.”
”I’ll see you tomorrow,” Walt replies. He’s still smiling when he mock salutes, and he turns on his heels easily before disappearing in the sea of cars.
”He’s in a better mood today,” Ray notes. He follows Brad to his bike, and makes a contemplative noise once they get there. “You don’t think he actually has a crush on the LT, do you?”
”Ray,” Brad says in a warning tone.
”I know, I know, DADT,” Ray huffs. He waves his hand in a dismissive gesture. “I couldn’t care less who Walt has sucking his dick. I just think the LT’s lips were probably made to do just that.”
”You are such a fucking faggot,” Brad says, and somehow it comes out almost fond.
Ray grins up at Brad and elbows him in the ribs. “I’ll see you later, homes.”
Brad shakes his head and shoves his cover in his side pocket so he can pull on his helmet. He doesn’t say goodbye before straddling his bike and gunning it to life. He waits for Ray to step away before he rolls it out of the parking spot, and once he does, he doesn’t look back.
* * *
They get the news about a weekend exercise in the morning, and Brad is irrationally annoyed at the disturbance of his plans. He shouldn’t be, because this is the Marines and something always fucking happens when he makes plans to do anything, but it still stings. Brad had been hoping to get away this weekend.
”The good news is, it’s nothing you haven’t done before,” Nate says. He looks at the ring of sergeants around him and his gaze settles on Brad. “You’ll be back home before Monday if everything goes according to plan. You’re losing your weekend, but, well, Marines don’t need weekends, do they?”
There’s a bitter laughter at the comment, because it might as well be true. The Marine Corps always has a way of making it’s men and women as miserable as possible.
”I’ll let you guys break it to your teams,” Nate continues. He smiles, but it’s thin and forced and doesn’t reach his eyes. “Remember to pack appropriately. The Pacific Northwest is cold this time of year.”
Poke looks at Brad, a quiet are you fucking kidding me? on his pinched face, but he doesn’t say it allowed. The feeling is mutual, but Brad can do nothing to reassure him of it besides a roll of his eyes.
”You’re all dismissed,” Nate says. “Except, Sergeant Colbert.” Nate smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “We haven’t had a chance to talk properly, yet.”
There’s no way for Poke to see Brad’s discomfort - none of them can see the tightness of his wings that he can’t quite control - but he claps Brad’s back and sighs. “Don’t tear this one apart, Colbert. Fick ain’t half bad.”
There’s a wry smile on Nate’s lips, but he doesn’t say anything until he’s left alone with Brad. He sits on the edge of his desk and folds his arms over his chest. “I’ve read your file. It’s impressive.”
Brad quirks an eyebrow and bites back a quip about references to human anatomy. Not with his lieutenant, and certainly not with this one. “Sir.”
The smile doesn’t fade from Nate’s face, even as he brings a hand up to massage his temples slowly. There is a part of Brad that wants to cover Nate’s hand and do it himself, but he resists the urge. Nate’s voice drops, “are we going to have to talk about what happened?”
”Sir,” Brad says again. He means to say not here and no, but Nate’s cramped office isn’t the place to even consider having that particular conversation. “I’m squared away if you are.”
”Okay,” Nate says. He drops his hand and looks at Brad, his face carefully blank. For a moment, he doesn’t say anything, and Brad has to fight the urge to fidget. “May I ask you a personal question, if you don’t mind?”
Brad shrugs his shoulders and watches Nate warily. “It depends on what,” he says, and, “I can hardly stop you from asking.” There’s a part of him worried about DADT and losing his career, but he needs to believe Nate’s not the kind of person who would do that to anyone, lest of all Brad.
Brad’s Grace aches with all the things he wants and needs to believe about Nate and the feeling is disconcerting.
”Do any of the men here know you’re an angel?”
The question is not what Brad expected. He’s taken aback by it, and he can feel his wings flutter and his feathers prickle. Being an angel has never been important to Brad. He’s never had a Flock. It’s not something he advertises but it’s not something he’s ashamed of.
“Gunny does. Sergeant Espera. Rudy might.” Brad shrugs. The Marine Corps knows what Brad is and if they didn’t have any qualms about allowing him in, then Nate isn’t allowed to either. There are probably a half dozen in Recon alone, though Brad can’t say how many are on base.
Angel or not, Brad isn’t good at being friendly with people. He doesn’t want a Flock and he has never needed one. That Walt can be considered as such is only because Walt latched onto Brad the moment they met.
”It’s not important to me,” Brad says after a moment, when Nate’s silence drags on. “It doesn’t affect my job or my personal life. Knowing is no one’s business but my own.”
Nate frowns. “You’re worried the men you work with would care?”
It’s a loaded question and Nate knows it. Brad doesn’t give a fuck if anyone cares about what he is, whether they like it or not. There’s a bias in the world that no amount of fancy speeches or charitable organizations will ever fix. Most people are indifferent of angels, but Brad’s met people who hate them and people who flock to them like tag chasers and badge bunnies. Groupies.
”I’m a damn good Marine,” Brad tells Nate. That’s the only thing that should matter here.
”So I’m told,” Nate agrees. He smiles, faintly, and stands up to hold out one of his hands for Brad to shake. “I look forward to working with you, Sergeant Colbert.”
Brad doesn’t hesitate before taking Nate’s hand and shaking it, the action practically ingrained in him after so long in the service. He likes the way Nate’s hand feels in his own, warm and calloused, and there’s a strange thrill in Brad’s Grace he doesn’t let himself dwell on. “Sir.”
Nate’s smile turns wry after that, but he lets Brad leave without further comment.
Things might be awkward, for a while. Brad’s not entirely sure he’ll be able to make it through this without pining for Nate to be in his bed, but Brad has excellent self-control. He’ll learn to quash the urges and everything will be fine. Even the tingle in his Grace and the fluttering of his feathers when he’s around Nate are bound to fade eventually.
← | Index | →
Author: sephirothflame
Fandom: Generation Kill
Rating: R
Character(s)/Pairing(s): Brad Colbert x Nate Fick, Walt Hasser, Ray Person (unrequited Walt/Ray)
Warning(s): AU - angels, adult language, adult situations, homophobic slurs, one night stands, unrequited love
Spoiler(s): N/A
Prompt(s): N/A
Word Count: 7,967
Master List: fic | verse
Notes: Part the first
Summary: No one has ever made Brad's Grace respond the way Nate does.
Disclaimer: I do not own Generation Kill. This is a work of fiction inspired by the fictional portrayal of the actual events. No harm intended.
Brad knew inviting Julie and Mark over was a bad idea. Or, more accurately, his mother used to tell him bad things always happen in threes. Mark’s new vegan diet was only the tip of the iceberg.
”He is such a fucking faggot,” Brad tells Julie. He accepts the packet of tofu dogs that she passes him gingerly, gripping the plastic between his thumb and forefinger and eyeing it suspiciously. “People aren’t meant to eat like this.”
”You’re too negative,” Julie tells him. Her brow furrows, but he’s used to her looking at him with mild disappointment.
”Your husband is still a pussy,” Brad replies. He drops the hotdogs on the weathered table and wipes his hand on his shirt. “What kind of grown-ass man enjoys hotdogs, anyways?”
”I like hotdogs,” Julie says. There is a thin frown on her lips but Brad knows she’s fighting the urge to smile.
”I bet you do,” Brad says, and he knows he deserves the smack to his arm.
”Shut up and cook, Brad.” Julie eases herself down onto one of the deck chairs and stretches out leisurely. “I know your mother taught you better than that.”
”It’s hard to tell if his mother managed to teach him anything,” Mark says. He joins them on the back porch and has to juggle the bottles he brought out with him carefully in order to slide the glass door shut after him. “And fuck you, Brad, I have health issues.”
Brad means to tell him there is no cure for being an insufferable asshole, but Mark hands him one of the beers so Brad bites his tongue. He uses his shirt to help him twist it open and takes a long, slow drag. “How much do you hate work these days?” Brad asks, more out of polite interest than anything.
Brad doesn’t care, and Mark knows he doesn’t care, but he tells Brad about his students and starts rambling endlessly about new rules for faculty and how many school supplies he’s been buying out of his own pocket. The topic is boring, but safe, and it’s easy to get lost in the monotony of it while the grill heats up and Brad starts to cook.
It’s almost nice. The three of them, lounging around and drinking beer in the early afternoon and talking about nothing of consequence. It’s almost like the summers when they were still in school, before Brad joined the Marines and Julie left him for Mark. Brad feels his shoulders relaxing despite the fact it will always be awkward as hell to be with the two of them.
The feeling doesn’t last though. The burgers and tofu hotdogs are barely off the grill when Brad feels a tension in his core, causing the hair on his arms to stand up and his feathers to spread and prickle uselessly. He cocks his head in the direction of the house and shoves the plate in his hands in Mark’s direction. “Take this.”
Mark accepts the plate almost immediately but he’s still confused. “Brad?”
Brad doesn’t answer. He waves Mark and Julie’s confusion away with a vague gesture and slips through the sliding glass door to make his way to the front of the house. Brad jerks the door open before anyone gets the chance to knock, and he isn’t the least bit surprised to see Walt standing on the other side.
For his part, Walt looks more gloomy than surprised. He can feel Brad just as easily through their Bond, the thing that ties them together that Brad refuses to acknowledge as being Flock. “If I’d known you were gonna have guests, I wouldn’t have stopped by.”
”Don’t be stupid,” Brad says. He raises his hand slowly to touch Walt’s wing, smoothing his fingers through the feathers until they lay flat. When he’s satisfied, Brad steps away from the door and lets Walt in and Walt accepts the invitation with a small smile.
Walt fidgets with the tassels on his First Recon hoodie, tugging at them uselessly until they’re even. “Rumor has it we get our new lieutenant tomorrow,” Walt tells him. He looks around Brad’s living room, but he doesn’t seem to see anything. “And rumor is we’re officially deploying.”
”You knew all of this was happening,” Brad says. There is no way to have not known, or even suspected. It’s the only thing anyone on Camp Pendleton has been talking about for weeks. Brad’s not even a social creature and he’s heard all the gossip, but that could just be from the time he spends with Ray.
”I guess,” Walt says. His wings slump with his shoulders.
Brad doesn’t know what to do with Walt. He doesn’t know how to comfort people and he doesn’t want to push this thing, this Flock, because he’s not sure how the power lies and it’s not his fucking responsibility. It’s not Brad’s fault Walt flocked to the first angel he could after getting stationed here. It’s not Brad’s fault that he chose Brad.
Rubbing the back of his neck to avoid reaching out and tugging Walt’s feathers back into place, Brad asks, “and the other thing that’s bothering you?”
”Ray’s got a new girlfriend.” The words are quiet and Walt’s feathers bristle as he says the words, his cheeks reddening and fists clenching at his side.
Oh, Brad thinks. He sighs. “Do you want to stay for dinner?”
Walt looks at Brad, a little suspicious but mostly relieved. He nods. His mood deflates and he starts to run his fingers through his feathers idly. “I’m sorry about this.”
”Don’t worry about it,” Brad says. He turns on his heels to head into the kitchen and he mostly even means it.
* * *
Walt manages to politely swallow a tofudog, lips pressed together in a thin smile, but he doesn’t seem offended when Mark and Julie laugh at him. He devours the burgers Brad shares with him and by the time dinner is over, he’s managed to completely engross himself in a conversation with Mark about the second World War and how kids these days have no respect for history.
”He’s sweet,” Julie tells Brad when they abandon Walt and Mark to do dishes in the kitchen. She towel dries things after Brad washes them, but Brad can feel her eyes on him as she tries to figure him out and see how he’ll respond.
”Walt’s a good kid,” Brad says. Kid might be a stretch when Walt is only six years younger than Brad, but Walt is sweet and earnest and trusting. He is a child, in some ways. The little crush he’s got on Ray is further proof of his naiveté.
Julie hums and rests her hip against the counter, turning her body towards Brad and effectively drawing his attention. “You two are cute together.”
A cup slips through Brad’s fingers and splashes him as it falls into the sink. Brad barely registers it though, because - because no. No. There are a million reasons why Brad wants to tell Julie no but he can’t seem to find the words and he can feel the feathers on his wings bristle in annoyance at her and himself.
”Walt is like me,” Brad manages, after a moment. He stops glowering at Julie to search the soapy water for the cup he dropped, scraping a sponge over it with more force than strictly necessary. “He’s - “ Brad means to say not like me again, but he knows Julie’s first thoughts are on Walt’s sexuality and it isn’t true. Walt is. But that’s none of Julie’s business and it isn’t Brad’s place to even tell her. Instead, Brad gestures at wings she can’t see and says, “like this.”
Julie mouths oh and looks a little sheepish. Her fingers brush through the air for something she can’t see, and Brad can feel her in the core of his being, in what Walt calls his Grace. Julie can’t see Brad’s wings, she can’t touch them, but it doesn’t stop her hand from passing through where Brad knows them to be and he grabs her wrist to stop her.
It’s rude. Also, it tickles in a bad way that he’s never quite been able to explain to her. Julie blamed Brad for not being able to see his wings. The first time they fucked, eager and awkward, and he told her his secret. She blamed Brad for not loving her enough and Brad didn’t know enough back then to even try to deny it.
”Don’t,” Brad tells her. He lets go of her wrist. “It feels weird.”
”Right, the bad touch,” Julie says. She rubs her wrist gently with her other hand but she doesn’t seem angry. Mostly a little gloomy, like Walt did when he showed up.
Brad rinses off the cup Julie had used at dinner and shoves it at her to dry. There isn’t any silverware to wash and Brad’s fingers grope the bottom of the sink blindly just to find something to keep his hands busy and distract himself with. “So. Mark’s a vegan.”
”Brad, I’m pregnant.”
As soon as the words are out of her mouth, Julie looks embarrassed. She puts down the cup and wrings the dishtowel between her hands. Julie looks straight at Brad though, waiting for his reaction, and Brad chooses to pull the plug in the sink and stare out the back window at Walt and Mark instead.
Walt’s wings tense slightly and he turns back to look at Brad in concern. The thing that Brad is trying to do, to not feel at all, is strong enough that Walt can feel it.
Honestly, Brad has no idea what he’s supposed to feel. He drops his gaze to watch the water go down the drain and says, “mazel tov.”
”Brad,” Julie says, quieter.
Shaking his head, Brad sighs. He looks over at Julie and fights the urge to put his hand on the top of her head. She barely comes to the top of his shoulder, and when they were younger, all Brad wanted to do was see if he could bury her in his feathers. “I mean it.”
”I know,” Julie says. She tries to smile, but she’s still looking at Brad like she expects him to break. “I only found out today. We haven’t even told our parents. I just. Thought you should know.”
”So you asking if Walt was my boyfriend was you trying to feel less guilty?” Brad asks. He doesn’t mean to say it, certainly not with the coldness that he does, but Julie looks like he hit her and Brad almost wishes he could take it back. He shrugs a shoulder and feels the tightness in his wings, the desire to get on his bike and fly away.
”Brad.” Julie touches his bicep cautiously, her fingers sliding down to curl around his elbow and tug gently. Her hand is small and cold and Brad wants to do nothing more than to smack it. “Don’t be like this.”
Pinching the bridge of his nose, Brad makes an annoyed sound. He doesn’t know how to tell her what he means and everything he says seems to come out bitter. Brad isn’t bitter. He’d gotten over Julie leaving him for Mark not long after it happened. Being dragged to Tijuana for the weekend did a good job of that.
”Julie,” Brad says slowly. He drops his hand and looks at her. “I don’t care. Mazel tov. Whatever.” He eyes her belly and then meets her gaze. “That is not a bombshell you drop over fucking dishes.”
Julie opens her mouth to object, but the back door opens and she snaps it shut again. She’s got a forced smile on her face and when Brad turns to see Mark, he knows he’s just been caught out. “Another bottle?” She asks.
Brad declines when Julie pulls one out of the fridge to give him, and he marvels at his self-control for going out onto the back porch to spend the last few hours of sunlight listening to Mark and Julie talk before they call it a night.
Walt looks suspicious, but he’s too wobbly on his feet for Brad to feel comfortable evicting. “You’re probably right,” Walt says gloomily, and he lets Brad herd him to the couch. “Will you groom my feathers?”
”Some other time,” Brad says. It’s ridiculous the way he actually feels guilty when Walt looks up at him and flutters his wings uselessly, but Brad has a plan. One that involves taking a shower and not being here in an hour. “Don’t break anything.”
”You’re leaving me?” Walt asks, expression a little startled.
Brad has no reason not to. Yes, there are fraternization rules about NCOs and what not, but it’s Walt. Even if he did have some perverse plan to tattle and get them in trouble, Brad can always pull the Flock card. Even if Brad doesn’t want a Flock, Walt still came to him and he’s stuck around despite the way Brad’s been known to treat him. That’s more than most people in Brad’s life have done.
”Just. Watch TV and go to bed,” Brad tells Walt, and when Walt slumps back into the couch and turns on the TV, Brad tries not to feel guilty over his victory.
* * *
Brad gets on his bike and drives fast enough that the pressure on his wings becomes almost unbearable. He grits his teeth and suffers through it, and he races around on the backstreets before giving up and driving to the nearest bar. He’s got enough money for a motel room, he doesn’t care who he ends up dragging into bed as long as it happens.
It has nothing to do with Julie. Julie is past tense. The news of her pregnancy doesn’t change things. She’s moving on. That’s good for her. Brad’s actually kind of happy for her, except he hates children and there’s a gleeful sort of justice in the fact she’s going to be changing diapers and getting up at ass o’clock in the morning every day soon.
No. Brad doesn’t care about Julie. He doesn’t care. Brad’s wings ache and his Grace is kind of cold when his mother or Walt aren’t around to make him feel like a person again. Brad misses being young and irresponsible and drinking until he doesn’t know which way is up and fucking the first warm body that will let him.
Brad is just letting off steam. That’s why he took his bike and drove so far away from the base. He doesn’t want to get recognized and be dragged out of the mood he’s in now. Brad needs, and that’s enough to have him sliding onto a bar stool and ordering a White Russian because it’s the first thing that pops into his head.
It’s easy to relax into the drone of music and voices, sipping his drink and eyeing the bar carefully. Anyone in a booth tends to be off limits, and the boys - and Jesus, Brad thinks, they’re literally just boys tonight - dancing tend to be more effort than they’re worth. There’s definitely nothing remarkable about the boys that sidle up to his side and start flirting instantly and Brad only feels a little guilty in staring at them until they saunter off with their hurt pride.
Brad has standards. They might be low, most of the time, and they definitely vary given the situation, but he still has them. It means there isn’t much of a selection, but when Brad turns away to order another drink, someone leans against the bar at his side.
”Rum and Coke, please.”
There is nothing wrong with staring. Staring at a bar is perfectly normal and appropriate, and even if it wasn’t, the way the guy’s faded Dartmouth tee clings to his chest and the strip of pale skin over the hem of his jeans would have made it impossible not to. He smiles when he realizes Brad is staring, and his body twists slightly to face him. “Hi.”
Brad considers him. He drains the last of his drink and puts it on the bartop, letting his eyes drag down the stranger’s front before settling on his lips. Lips that are crooked in wry amusement, Brad notices, and not disgust. “Brad.”
A quirk of an eyebrow and the guy relaxes more against the bar while he waits for his drink. “Nate.”
When their drinks are in front of them, Brad pulls out a twenty and waves at the two drinks. “I’ve got it,” he says. He takes a sip of his own and turns the barstool to face Nate proper, taking the time to appreciate Nate’s body. He hasn’t left or upended his glass on Brad, and he looks more amused than anything. Brad takes that as a good sign.
”It’s going to take a lot more than one drink to get me into bed, Brad,” Nate tells him. He’s trying not to smile and Brad doesn’t miss it. He takes a sip of his drink and Brad is distracted by the bobbing of his throat.
Yes, Brad thinks. He knows who he wants to take home with him. “I like a challenge.”
Nate just laughs, amused and brilliant, before he picks up his glass and downs the entire thing in one go. He sputters when he’s done, wiping his mouth and chin with the back of his hand and gesturing at the glass. “Buy me another and we’ll talk.”
Brad’s pretty sure he’s already won Nate over, but he plays by Nate’s rules anyways. He’s positive it’ll be worth it.
* * *
As soon as they’re in the motel room, Nate is stripping out of his shirt and kicking off his shoes. “How do you want to do this?”
For a moment, Brad doesn’t understand. He’s distracted by the soft color of Nate’s nipples and the obscene way he seems to undoing the buttons on his jeans. For all that Brad wants to touch him, he wants to burn this in his memory for a little while. He’ll need something to think about during combat jacks when he deploys again.
”I mean,” Nate says, slowly pushing his jeans down his hips, exposing more of the dark ginger of his happy trail and the curve of his hips. “Do you want to fuck or be fucked?”
”Fuck,” Brad says. He strips off his shirt when Nate just quirks an eyebrow at him expectantly, and lets it fall onto the motel room floor. The keys join them, along with his shoes, though Brad tugs a strip of condoms and lube out of his jeans and tosses those to Nate before he starts to fight with his belt and the denim.
Nate sits down on the bed after he finishes stripping and it takes Brad a moment to notice Nate is staring at his dog tags. “You’re military,” he says, almost contemplative. “Marine?”
”Yes,” Brad says. He crowds into Nate’s space to keep him from talking, catching Nate’s jaw in one hand and tilting his head up. His thumb brushes against Nate’s chapped lips and he leaves it there. He doesn’t want to talk about that or anything else tonight.
Something about Nate’s parted lips, the way his green eyes are watching Brad half-lidded and amused, that makes Brad’s wings flutter and his Grace feel warm. This is the connection Brad was looking for tonight. This is what Brad needs.
Nate smiles and kisses Brad’s fingertip. “Come on, Brad. Fuck me like you mean it already.”
Brad pushes Nate back onto the bed and climbs on top of him, pinning him in place easily. Brad’s pretty sure it’s only because Nate lets him, but when Brad is brushing kisses along Nate’s jaw and down his throat, Nate seems more than content to be compliant in all of this.
There’s no reason to take his time, but Brad can’t bring himself to rush this. Not when Nate’s back arches so wonderfully when his nipples are bit and his breath hitches at the first touch of Brad’s fingers to his cock. If it wasn’t for Nate’s demands and his pushing back, Brad wouldn’t mind getting lost in the way Nate responds to each and every touch.
But Nate is a boy from a bar, and Brad is just trying to burn something out of his system, so he lets Nate push him up the bed and roll him onto his back. Instinctively, Brad’s wings spread across the bed, and the feathers tingle when Nate slips through them, but it isn’t bad. Not when Nate straddles Brad’s chest as and pushes his fingers into Brad’s mouth.
Brad feels connected in a way he hasn’t in a long time, and he sucks Nate’s fingers until Nate pulls them away. He pushes them inside of himself and moans softly and Brad has no idea what to do while he watches. He wants to touch Nate everywhere, but he settles for sliding his hips up Nate’s thighs and whispering soft praises.
By the time Nate rolls a condom on Brad’s cock and slides down his length, Brad’s almost forgotten how to breathe. Nate is tight and hot and perfect and he makes little breathless sounds the further he takes Brad into himself, and it takes everything in Brad not to roll him over and fuck him into the mattress.
It’ll be worth it, Brad tells himself. What he’s been telling himself all night since he first met Nate in the bar. Brad even believes it, without a shadow of a doubt.
Nate will be worth it.
* * *
Nate doesn’t move when Brad rolls out of bed, but he cracks one eye open tiredly. “Leaving already?”
”I’ve got work in the morning,” Brad says. It’s not exactly a lie, but it’s almost 0300 and Brad’s never been one for sticking around after a one night stand. Even a highly successful one night stand, the kind that leaves him pleasantly sore and sated for what Brad’s pretty sure could be an eternity. “I left a drunk Marine on my couch.”
”Brad.” Nate’s voice is soft, and he smiles when Brad meets his gaze. “Hand me my shirt?”
They dress quietly and Brad isn’t sure if he’s supposed to feel awkward about it or not. He’s done this dozens of times in the past and he’s never cared then. Some of the people he’s been with have been just as quiet and content as Nate, though debatably sore.
Brad’s decided he really likes the way Nate sounds when he moans, and it took a lot of effort to get him to drown out the sound of the motel room bed hitting the wall. Brad should be embarrassed or guilty, but he’s mostly just sort of gleeful that he managed to drag those noises out of Nate. There aren’t enough condoms in the world to cover all the things Brad would have liked to do to Nate tonight.
”Maybe I’ll see you around sometime,” Nate says quietly as he finishes buttoning his jeans. He leaves his shoes unlaced, and he shoves his hands in his pockets when he turns to look at Brad. “Be careful on your way home.”
Brad’s not sure what he’s supposed to say so he lifts a shoulder in a vague shrug and nods. He lets Nate step into his space, and Brad fights the urge to put his hands on Nate’s hip. He can feel Nate’s breath on his skin, his lips, and the hairs on Brad’s arms prickle and his feathers do the same.
Nate doesn’t kiss him, because he doesn’t want to or because he took the hint from Brad not kissing him all night, but he doesn’t move away. Eventually, he settles for squeezing Brad’s bicep and dragging his lips along Brad’s jaw slowly. “Goodbye, Brad.”
”Goodbye, Nate,” Brad says. He touches his hands to the small of Nate’s back to Nate’s amusement as they leave the room, and he misses the warmth as soon as he stops and Nate keeps walking to his car. He watches Nate go without another word, before turning on his heel and heading in the opposite direction. He has a key to drop off and he’d really rather not know which direction Nate is headed in.
As much fun as Nate was, there’s no reason to needlessly complicate things and ruin a perfectly good night by wanting more. Nate didn’t offer his number and Brad didn’t ask. If that wasn’t a sign, Brad doesn’t know what it is.
Brad has keys to return and Walt to check up on. He got what he wanted. It’s time to move on.
* * *
Walt isn’t on the couch by the time Brad makes it home, but his truck is outside. It doesn’t take long for Brad to track Walt down to the guest bedroom, sleeping on his belly soundly with his wings sprawled as far as they will stretch.
Brad watches him for a moment, but he doesn’t bother him. He thinks about draping the blanket over Walt, but he decides against it. He’s not Walt’s mother and he doesn’t want to risk waking up Walt and explaining where he’s been. Walt isn’t his mother, either, and Brad shouldn’t have to explain himself.
It’s bad enough Brad has to be up in two hours or so to shower and get ready for work. He doesn’t want to delay that any by being guilt tripped into confessing about the most awesome one night stand he’s had in as long as he can remember. Potentially ever. So Brad closes the door quietly behind him, turns off the lights in the hall, and heads for his own room.
Tomorrow, Brad might regret staying out so late and drinking so much, but he doubts he’ll regret the sex. He’s pretty sure he could never regret that. It makes a pleasant thought to strip to and fall back on his bed, but almost as soon as Brad’s head hits the pillow, he’s out like a light.
* * *
Ray finds Brad during their lunch break, but Ray would somehow manage to find Brad if he was half a world away and hiding under an assumed name and prepping for a gender reassignment surgery. Ray is like a little bloodhound, at least when it comes to Brad. Which would be endearing, maybe, if it wasn’t Ray.
Really, Brad wasn’t trying to hide though. The one quiet place he can escape to without leaving the base altogether is one of the abandoned picnic tables near the parade ground. It’s not uncommon for Brad to end up sitting on the tabletop and eating a sub, staring blankly at the grass and the housewives walking their tiny dogs.
Ray doesn’t say anything when he plops down onto the table at Brad’s side, but he tears open the chips that came with Brad’s lunch and eats one without a second thought. He chews quietly, and he doesn’t quite manage to swallow before asking, “is Walt mad at me?”
Brad crinkles his nose and stares pointedly out at the parade ground. “Why would Hasser be mad at you?”
”I don’t know,” Ray says. He sounds genuinely confused, and it’s the only reason Brad turns to look back at him. “We were going to hang out last night, but then my girlfriend showed up. Walt said he didn’t want to get in the way so he left and now he’s not talking to me but I think he’s trying to make my head blow up by staring at me.”
It’s kind of a tossup if Brad should be surprised if Ray was able to notice Walt’s discomfort at all, or if Brad’s just overly sensitive to the issue because he can feel Walt’s miserableness in his Grace. Ray’s not a bad person, not really, so Brad opts to give him the benefit of the doubt. “You’re probably reading too much into it.”
”Maybe,” Ray says. He eats another chip before offering the bag out to Brad. “He just didn’t seem happy today.”
Brad stares at the bag before taking a chip, but he doesn’t try to reclaim the food from Ray elsewise. He chews slowly and swallows before answering, “Walt’s just anxious about deploying again.” It’s not a lie, but it’s not the whole truth, either. “You have a chance to meet the new LT?”
”Nah.” Ray sighs and picks at the bag in his hands, but he doesn’t eat anything else. “Stafford said he saw Gunny showing someone around earlier. Didn’t get a chance to say hi, though.”
If their new lieutenant was on base, then they were probably going to meet him after lunch. Typically it should have happened first thing in the morning, but Brad was nursing a headache and his back and wings ached so he's glad it didn't, for whatever reason. He isn’t sure how much bullshit he could have tolerated without saying something that would get him in trouble. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time.
Brad finishes the rest of his sandwich and Ray takes his silence as a sign to pull a cigarette from the lining of his sleeve and light it up. The smoke doesn’t bother Brad, and Brad shakes his head when Ray pulls out another to offer to him. “I quit.”
Ray makes a soft snorting sound and tucks the cigarette back into its hidden spot in his uniform. “For now.”
”For now,” Brad agrees. He downs a Coke and the last of the chips before balling everything up to toss in the waste bin. “You staying out here until you’re finished?”
For a moment, Ray seems to consider it. He slides off the table to his feet though, and idly brushes off the back of his uniform of fallen leaves. “I’ll walk with you.”
It doesn’t take long to walk back to their building, and Ray’s cigarette is nearly completely burned out by the time they make it there. He drops it into the smoking urn as they pass it and asks, “did you really go out bar hopping on a Tuesday night?”
Brad resists the urge to hit his head on the wall. Of course Walt knew what Brad was up to last night. Brad had no reason to hide it and he’s certainly not ashamed. There’s just something about the way Ray says it and the way his lips curl into a smirk that makes Brad want to hurt Ray. “Are you my mother now?”
”Do you want me to be a tiny Jewish woman?” Ray asks, still smiling. “Because I can say mazel tov and rock a yarmulke with the best of them.”
Brad stares at Ray, but Ray’s grin doesn’t falter. “Get your ass back to work, Person.”
Ray sticks his tongue out, orange from eating Doritos, but he doesn’t leave Brad’s side. He stops talking though, and Brad considers it a win in his favor.
* * *
They fall into formation after lunch is officially over, but it’s cramped in their warehouse cum training area. Brad doesn’t understand why they didn’t do this outside, and judging by the look on Mike’s face, he’s thinking the same thing.
Brad knows something bad is about to happen before it does. He can feel it in his bones and the ache in his wings, but he steels himself for the introduction of their new lieutenant and whatever Gunny has planned. Brad’s gone through SERE training; he can handle anything.
Except, SERE didn’t exactly train Brad to expect to see one of his one night stands walk in through the door to Bravo 2’s makeshift classroom in uniform, lieutenant bars on his shoulders.
Well fuck, Brad thinks, and he grits his teeth and drags his wings in closer to his body. No one can see them but Walt, and Walt’s on the other side of the room. It’s the only outward sign Brad lets show for his discomfort and he waits patiently while Nate and Mike to finish their quiet conversation.
”At ease, gents,” Nate says. He smiles, a genuine little thing that makes Brad’s Grace flutter. He waits for the noise in the room to die down as they obey, before continuing. “I’m lieutenant Nate Fick, and we’ll be serving together.”
The words are succinct and clear. Brad doesn’t have to look around the room to know that Nate’s next few words are make it or break it, can feel the unease and distrust from the other men. Either Nate will talk their ear off or he’ll dismiss them to do their jobs. Brad’s pretty sure he knows which is going to happen.
”I’ve been informed there are rumors about an upcoming deployment, but I can neither confirm nor deny them. Rest assured, if the order comes down, you will know.” Nate pauses and shifts a stack of papers in his arms, mindful not to drop them. “I’ve got a lot of catching up to do here and I’d appreciate if you went easy on me. Gunny Wynn says you’re the best men he’s ever worked with. I’d like to believe that.”
Mike doesn’t quite smile, but he isn’t tense, either. Nate has passed his initial inspection, then, and that’s sign enough for most of the men in the room to relax. They might not trust Nate until they’ve been given reason to, but there’s no reason to treat him poorly. They know how to be on their best behavior.
”I’ll let you get back to work now,” Nate says at last. He straightens up and looks at Mike. “Gunny, they’re all yours.”
Nate doesn’t leave when Mike dismisses them. He watches the room scatter to desks or worktables, looking contemplative and talking with Mike quietly. He doesn’t look at Brad, but he doesn’t not look at him, either. There’s no connection.
Not until the room is mostly cleared and Brad is standing by a box of glow sticks and trying to remember what he was supposed to do with them. Nate looks at Brad, honestly looks at him, and his tongue peaks out to wet his lower lip.
Whatever hopes Brad had of hoping that Nate is just a lookalike of the Nate he fucked into the mattress last night are pretty much shattered. Brad just nods, hoping Nate understands what he means - that Brad knows it’s him, that Brad doesn’t care, that he isn’t going to tell anyone - before he drops his gaze and starts to sort through the items on the desk before him.
There’s no way for Nate to get Brad in trouble without incriminating himself. There’s a twisted comfort in that knowledge, but it’s enough. It’s all Brad needs. For now, his secret is safe.
* * *
Brad does not spend all of Wednesday night drunk on his living room floor, even though he’s sorely tempted to. He regrets now not getting Nate’s number before they went their separate ways at the motel, though he has no idea what he would say if he did call. Probably ask if Nate wanted to come around and repeat last night, if Brad’s honest. Relationships with anyone in any way are complicated. At least Brad and Nate both know the sex is fantastic.
There are no good outcomes, Brad is pretty sure. Either he leaves Nate alone completely or he’s going to end up inviting the lieutenant back into his bed and Brad can’t afford that. Not with his lieutenant. Not with another Marine, especially one he’s going to be serving with.
Idly, Brad thinks that it certainly explains the way Nate had looked at his dog tags last night. Nate hadn’t been wary of them, not exactly, but it could be why they parted ways without any hope for a rematch. It makes Nate’s maybe I’ll see you around sometime almost perverse in hindsight, a curse on both of them.
Nate couldn’t have known and neither could Brad. They’re both at fault for what happened and Brad isn’t going to be responsible for anything that happens in the future. He’s moving on. He’s not going to think about sex with Nate, no matter how awesome it is.
Once he’s made up his mind, Brad realizes he actually has to do something about it. Something that isn’t spending all night on the living room floor drunk off his ass. If Brad is going to forget about one night of sex, he might as well replace it with another. After what happened last night, Brad opts to stay home instead. He’s got a list of one night stands in his phone, and if none of those work, he’s more than willing to pay.
The goal is to move on and Brad is positive he is more than capable to do just that.
* * *
Nate leaves Brad alone. He doesn’t ignore him, because in a room full of Recon Marines, someone is bound to notice. He just takes his time getting around to introducing himself to Brad properly, singularly, like he has with most of the other men. Bravo 2 is a decent sized group of men, and between Nate’s actual job and Bravo 2’s, he’s only made it through a good chunk of the men by the end of the first day.
”He seems really nice,” Walt says conversationally. He stands with Brad and Ray under a set of steps, waiting for retreat to finish sounding before he makes his way to his truck. “He’s been deployed.”
”You got a crush there, Walter?” Ray asks. He grins when Walt scowls, and Walt is lucky Ray can’t see the way his wings bristle and flutter uselessly. Ray would never stop teasing Walt if he knew how responsive Walt’s wings were.
”Shut up,” Walt says. He glares at Ray, but it does absolutely nothing to sour Ray’s mood. “It’s called surveillance and research. Besides, we both know I’m not the cock sucking kiss ass here.”
”You’re absolutely right,” Ray says solemnly. “That would be Brad.”
Brad rolls his eyes and counts the seconds until the National Anthem is done sounding. He can see Walt’s wings shift out of the corner of his eyes, and he can feel Walt’s tired amusement in his Grace. Brad would snap at Ray, but he really just wants to go home and see if the weather is any good for surfing this weekend.
”You would be gay for Brad,” Walt says. His wings flutter as the music dies, and he all but skips out of the way of a punch from Ray. “You know it’s true.”
”Only because everyone is gay for Brad,” Ray replies. “He’s every twink and closeted Republican’s wet dream. Just look at him.”
”I will hit the both of you with my Jeep if you don’t shut the fuck up,” Brad tells them pleasantly.
”Don’t be ridiculous,” Walt says, laughing quietly. “You brought your bike to work today.”
Brad can’t deny it, not when his helmet is in his hand now and his bike is easily visible across the street. “Consider it a warning, then.”
”I’ll see you tomorrow,” Walt replies. He’s still smiling when he mock salutes, and he turns on his heels easily before disappearing in the sea of cars.
”He’s in a better mood today,” Ray notes. He follows Brad to his bike, and makes a contemplative noise once they get there. “You don’t think he actually has a crush on the LT, do you?”
”Ray,” Brad says in a warning tone.
”I know, I know, DADT,” Ray huffs. He waves his hand in a dismissive gesture. “I couldn’t care less who Walt has sucking his dick. I just think the LT’s lips were probably made to do just that.”
”You are such a fucking faggot,” Brad says, and somehow it comes out almost fond.
Ray grins up at Brad and elbows him in the ribs. “I’ll see you later, homes.”
Brad shakes his head and shoves his cover in his side pocket so he can pull on his helmet. He doesn’t say goodbye before straddling his bike and gunning it to life. He waits for Ray to step away before he rolls it out of the parking spot, and once he does, he doesn’t look back.
* * *
They get the news about a weekend exercise in the morning, and Brad is irrationally annoyed at the disturbance of his plans. He shouldn’t be, because this is the Marines and something always fucking happens when he makes plans to do anything, but it still stings. Brad had been hoping to get away this weekend.
”The good news is, it’s nothing you haven’t done before,” Nate says. He looks at the ring of sergeants around him and his gaze settles on Brad. “You’ll be back home before Monday if everything goes according to plan. You’re losing your weekend, but, well, Marines don’t need weekends, do they?”
There’s a bitter laughter at the comment, because it might as well be true. The Marine Corps always has a way of making it’s men and women as miserable as possible.
”I’ll let you guys break it to your teams,” Nate continues. He smiles, but it’s thin and forced and doesn’t reach his eyes. “Remember to pack appropriately. The Pacific Northwest is cold this time of year.”
Poke looks at Brad, a quiet are you fucking kidding me? on his pinched face, but he doesn’t say it allowed. The feeling is mutual, but Brad can do nothing to reassure him of it besides a roll of his eyes.
”You’re all dismissed,” Nate says. “Except, Sergeant Colbert.” Nate smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “We haven’t had a chance to talk properly, yet.”
There’s no way for Poke to see Brad’s discomfort - none of them can see the tightness of his wings that he can’t quite control - but he claps Brad’s back and sighs. “Don’t tear this one apart, Colbert. Fick ain’t half bad.”
There’s a wry smile on Nate’s lips, but he doesn’t say anything until he’s left alone with Brad. He sits on the edge of his desk and folds his arms over his chest. “I’ve read your file. It’s impressive.”
Brad quirks an eyebrow and bites back a quip about references to human anatomy. Not with his lieutenant, and certainly not with this one. “Sir.”
The smile doesn’t fade from Nate’s face, even as he brings a hand up to massage his temples slowly. There is a part of Brad that wants to cover Nate’s hand and do it himself, but he resists the urge. Nate’s voice drops, “are we going to have to talk about what happened?”
”Sir,” Brad says again. He means to say not here and no, but Nate’s cramped office isn’t the place to even consider having that particular conversation. “I’m squared away if you are.”
”Okay,” Nate says. He drops his hand and looks at Brad, his face carefully blank. For a moment, he doesn’t say anything, and Brad has to fight the urge to fidget. “May I ask you a personal question, if you don’t mind?”
Brad shrugs his shoulders and watches Nate warily. “It depends on what,” he says, and, “I can hardly stop you from asking.” There’s a part of him worried about DADT and losing his career, but he needs to believe Nate’s not the kind of person who would do that to anyone, lest of all Brad.
Brad’s Grace aches with all the things he wants and needs to believe about Nate and the feeling is disconcerting.
”Do any of the men here know you’re an angel?”
The question is not what Brad expected. He’s taken aback by it, and he can feel his wings flutter and his feathers prickle. Being an angel has never been important to Brad. He’s never had a Flock. It’s not something he advertises but it’s not something he’s ashamed of.
“Gunny does. Sergeant Espera. Rudy might.” Brad shrugs. The Marine Corps knows what Brad is and if they didn’t have any qualms about allowing him in, then Nate isn’t allowed to either. There are probably a half dozen in Recon alone, though Brad can’t say how many are on base.
Angel or not, Brad isn’t good at being friendly with people. He doesn’t want a Flock and he has never needed one. That Walt can be considered as such is only because Walt latched onto Brad the moment they met.
”It’s not important to me,” Brad says after a moment, when Nate’s silence drags on. “It doesn’t affect my job or my personal life. Knowing is no one’s business but my own.”
Nate frowns. “You’re worried the men you work with would care?”
It’s a loaded question and Nate knows it. Brad doesn’t give a fuck if anyone cares about what he is, whether they like it or not. There’s a bias in the world that no amount of fancy speeches or charitable organizations will ever fix. Most people are indifferent of angels, but Brad’s met people who hate them and people who flock to them like tag chasers and badge bunnies. Groupies.
”I’m a damn good Marine,” Brad tells Nate. That’s the only thing that should matter here.
”So I’m told,” Nate agrees. He smiles, faintly, and stands up to hold out one of his hands for Brad to shake. “I look forward to working with you, Sergeant Colbert.”
Brad doesn’t hesitate before taking Nate’s hand and shaking it, the action practically ingrained in him after so long in the service. He likes the way Nate’s hand feels in his own, warm and calloused, and there’s a strange thrill in Brad’s Grace he doesn’t let himself dwell on. “Sir.”
Nate’s smile turns wry after that, but he lets Brad leave without further comment.
Things might be awkward, for a while. Brad’s not entirely sure he’ll be able to make it through this without pining for Nate to be in his bed, but Brad has excellent self-control. He’ll learn to quash the urges and everything will be fine. Even the tingle in his Grace and the fluttering of his feathers when he’s around Nate are bound to fade eventually.
← | Index | →