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hackthis_archivePart I
Part II
Part III
Get Some
"Mom, I'm going to prom with Brad."
Barbara Fick looks up from the crossword puzzle she's working on, pushing black hair behind her ear as Nate drops his backpack on the kitchen table. "Okay, are you going to wear a suit or do we need to get you a tuxedo?"
Nate stares. There were two possible ways he was going to approach this: as a sort of 'I'm going to prom with Brad and Natalie and lots of other people. It's a group thing.' The other option was to be direct.
He was not planning on this direct option.
And he certainly wasn't planning on his mom's laissez-faire attitude. Nate can feel his forehead furrowing. "Mom, did you hear what I said?"
"Of course I did." His mom arches an eyebrow, green eyes bright. "And I asked you what you wanted to wear."
Nate stares at his mother a little more intently. He just – okay, he just said… whatever, and she just…
She puts her pencil down and gives him a sharp smile. "Do you think we're stupid, Nathaniel?"
Nate's fingers clutch at the back of a chair. Which 'we' is this? His mom and dad? His mom and Brad's mom? The collective family we? "Uh, no?" he tries as his mom pushes the puzzle away.
His mom just laughs, getting out of her chair. "Sweetheart, Brad Colbert's been climbing in your window since you two were 13," she says, coming around the table and pushing Nate's hair out of his face. "I assumed you two would figure it out eventually. God knows you put us through the ringer last winter, but you seem better now."
"So you're okay with this?" Nate says, looking down at his mom. "But I just –"
"I'm expecting him to make an honest man out of you before I die though."
"Mom!" Nate doesn't have to pretend to be scandalized.
His mom laughs. "Rachel and I have talked about this at length."
"You and Brad's mom?" Nate has to sit down.
"Well, you come to these conclusions when your children are inseparable, no girl seems to interest them for more than four seconds, and then one day they have a fight and act like the entire world has ended. Plus, we live in California; we're open-minded. But. If you want to tell me you're gay; if you need to say the words--"
"I'm not gay!" Nate says very loudly. His mother tilts her head to the side, watching him closely. "I just—" Nate waves his hand around. "It's Brad."
"Brad made you gay," his mom supplies.
Nate can't even verbalize an answer to this insanity
"I'm sure he'd say the same thing about you," his mom says, patting his head. "Now you didn't answer my question about the tux."
Nate's brain hurts.
"I'll, uh, ask Brad," he says trying to end the conversation before he turns into a mortified puddle on the floor.
Nate's going over his Latin homework that night, chewing on a pencil and declining verbs when there's a knock on the door. His dad opens the door at his greeting and gives him a nervous smile. He's holding a brown paper bag and looks a little pained.
Oh, shit.
"Dad," Nate begins, having no idea how to proceed with the next sentence of, "So, I'm not gay, but I think I'm dating Brad."
"Your mother wants me to talk to you about safe sex," his dad says in a huge rush of words.
Nate's lungs seize up. The pencil in his hand falls out of his grasp, stabs him in the thigh and lands on the carpet. He can feel the blood rushing to his face. "I -– she -- we had this conversation already," he protests. "When I was twelve."
His dad rubs behind his ear. "Your mother said we had to do it again."
"But we did it already," Nate pleads.
His dad shrugs, stepping inside Nate's room. "Same concept," he says, reaching inside the paper bag and pulling out a box of condoms and a bottle of KY Jelly and setting them on Nate's desk. "Different execution."
Nate 's official cause of death is going to be 'Embarrassment.'
"Dad," he hisses, "please don't say anything right now. Please."
His dad looks just as uncomfortable as Nate feels. His entire face is red, right to the roots of his sandy brown hair; it's a genetic trait that Nate's inherited. "You're a smart boy," his dad says. "You can figure out what you're supposed to do with this, right?"
Nate covers his eyes. "Yes," he says to the heels of his hands. "I can figure it out."
His dad pats his shoulder. "Glad we had this talk," he says, his footsteps creaking before the door closes with a snick of the lock.
Nate uncovers his eyes and bites his lip. All things considered, his parents are pretty fucking awesome.
Awesomely embarrassing, but still awesome.
Two days after Nate maybe, possibly, comes out and asks Brad to prom, several buildings are blown up in Oklahoma. The ensuing panic and the fact that half of OHS has a family member in the Marines takes a little bit of the shine off of the prom.
May is a blur of AP Exams, filling out financial aid forms for Dartmouth, buying a prom ticket, groping Brad in the back of his Volvo and listening to his friends bitch about the cost of renting a limo in hopes of getting laid later.
Nate doesn't have to worry about the laid part anymore, but both his mom and Brad's mom have suddenly become very vocally interested in reading from pamphlets about gay teens and the local PFLAG meetings every time Brad and Nate are in the same room.
Hence all the making out in the back of Nate's Volvo.
Nate has one exam the morning of prom. He shows up at school in his sweatpants to take his Humanities final and clean out his locker. After this he's done with high school forever and ever.
Thank god.
He stuffs a few errant dirty shirts that were living in his locker in his backpack and stares at the empty orange monstrosity that he's been living out of for the last nine months. Someone bangs on the locker next to him, and he looks into the eager faces of Mike Wynn and Poke Espera.
"You're ready for this to be over, aren't you?" Mike teases. "I can tell by that scent you're wearing. What is that? Eau d' Desperation?"
"I was ready for this to be over months ago," Nate says.
Poke clutches his chest. "What? You tryin' to leave? You know they love you here. I'm telling you all the freshman girls were crying in the bathroom this morning just thinking about the sadness of the great Nate Fick leaving forever."
"I heard them," another voice chimes in as Ray wedges himself between Poke and Mike. "I told 'em if they sucked my dick they'd feel better."
"And they said they couldn't find it, but thanks for the effort," Mike finishes.
"Shut the fuck up, Wynn," Ray replies, socking Mike in the arm. "Your ass is so pale, it'd be like fucking Casper the Friendly Ghost."
"They may not see it," Mike says, "but at least they'd feel it. More than I've heard about Little Ray-Ray."
"Yeah, I didn't hear your girl complaining what I was hitting that last week."
"I didn't know a mosquito bite on the arm could be called 'hitting it'," Mike says.
Nate is still laughing when an arm is slung over his shoulders and Brad gives him a huge noogie. "I love this guy," Brad announces as Nate struggles to get away. "Did I tell you all this? I do. I love him so much that I'm taking him to prom."
Nate stomps on Brad's foot and Brad finally lets him go. "Fuck! That actually hurt," Brad complains.
"That's why all those chicks were crying this morning," Ray says thoughtfully. "Now I get it. Take each other to the prom, avoid all the bullshit with just one chick and then you can have all the chicks. You are wise, Obi-Brad," Ray says. "I gotta learn your game."
Nate glares at Brad who just smiles at him beatifically.
And then Nate realizes what Brad just did.
Oh, he's good.
Nate looks at his reflection in the bathroom mirror for the eighth time and sighs. He looks pale, but he always looks pale. Especially for Southern California. His hair is kind of floppy – but his hair is always kind of floppy.
He cut his hair short last year for football and all he heard about for two months was how his ears stuck out like Dumbo.
He licks his lips, which are a little dry, and opens the bathroom mirror and uses the Chapstick Emily left behind.
"Nate! Brad's here!"
Nate drops the Chapstick in the sink and shakes his head.
He grabs the lip balm out of the drain and sticks it inside his jacket pocket next to his wallet. The line of his jacket still looks okay. He brushes away the lint he can't see, straightens his pale green tie and looks at his reflection.
His mom was right; the dark gray suit was definitely the way to go.
He jogs down the stairs, smiling at his mom, dad and Brad's mom milling around in the foyer, but he comes to a complete and utter halt on the last step when he sees Brad in the doorway wearing a tuxedo.
Nate opens his mouth, closes it and then tries again. "You said it was okay to wear a suit," he protests, trying to ignore his burgeoning erection. "What's all this?"
Brad's mom pats Nate on the arm. "I made him do it," she says. "It's so rare to get him out of surf shorts and those dingy shirts, I had to."
Nate looks at his mom, and she just smiles. "You knew," he says, knowing he's somewhere between petulance and accusation and not caring.
"You both look lovely," is her reply. Nate rubs at his face. "Aren't you going to tell your date that he looks handsome?" she prompts.
Nate can feel the color in his cheeks. Brad just grins. "You know you do," he huffs, taking that last step and then walking into the kitchen.
Nate shakes his head as he opens the refrigerator and removes a white linen box from on top of the Tupperware container full of lasagna. The cool air feels good on his heated face.
Brad. In a tuxedo.
He's never going to make it through the night without coming in his pants.
When he closes the refrigerator door Brad is right there, smile curling the corners of his mouth. His hair is brushed back off of his face, and he looks like some sort of Calvin Klein model.
"I like the tie," Brad says, reaching out and running his fingers along the green silk. "It matches your eyes."
Nate raises an eyebrow. "You sound like my mom."
Brad shrugs lightly and Nate bites his lip. "You know you look amazing, I don’t have to tell you that, right?" Brad ducks his head, and all Nate wants to do is kiss him.
"Stop doing whatever you're doing and come out here so we can take pictures," his mom calls.
"Still dressed, no orgies on the floor," Brad says, following Nate back into the foyer.
Nate winces even as their moms laugh. "Cute, Bradley," Mrs. Colbert says. "You think we don't know what boys do on Prom Night, but we know."
"Mom!" Nate says scandalized. It takes him a moment to realize that he just called Brad's mom 'Mom.'
"Did you just call her mom?" Brad snickers.
"I am his mom," Mrs. Colbert says. "And yours, too."
"And as your mothers," Nate's mom says, "we want you in the backyard so we can take pictures."
"Oh, not the pictures thing," they complain.
A warning look from Nate's mom has them backtracking. "Pictures, great," Brad says.
"We love pictures," Nate agrees, wondering briefly where this one is going to go on his wall.
They troop outside dutifully, standing where they're told, turning whichever way. "Where's dad?" he asks his mom.
"He'll be right back," she assures him. "Nate, don’t you have something for Brad?"
Nate looks down at the box in his hand and then looks up at Brad. "Hold this," he says placing the box in Brad's outstretched palm so he can pry it open. It takes a minute for Nate to get the lid unsealed, but then he's able to extract the white rose and the pin to hold it.
There's a camera flash as Nate takes hold of Brad's lapel and slides the boutonnière in place.
"You bought me flowers," Brad teases softly as Nate sticks himself with the pin.
Nate can't help the smile that crosses his face. "You're wearing a tuxedo. I hardly think it's the same thing."
"I don't know," Brad says. "I think I might be getting luckier than anybody else at prom tonight."
Nate smirks. "Probably."
Brad raises a very obvious eyebrow.
"Look at the camera and smile," someone orders and they both turn sharply. It's the sort of precision they have on the football field. It wouldn't necessarily be out of place in the military.
After another five minutes of pictures, Nate's unofficially blind. "Okay," Mrs. Colbert says, beckoning them over. "We're satisfied. We also trust you implicitly, so remember that when I let you take your father's Mustang out tonight, understood?"
Nate looks at Brad and then back at Brad's mom. Brad's father bought a 1966 GT Convertible when they first came out. A year before he met Brad's mom. Brad's parents only take the Vert out once a year on their anniversary. Nate's heard this story every year around their anniversary in March.
"Does Dad know about this?" Brad asks.
"This is his way of apologizing for getting stuck in San Jose and missing tonight," Brad's mom says. "It was his idea. We figured you'd be happy if we let you upgrade to Barbara's Acura to be honest."
"I was actually thinking about taking my motorcycle," Brad says.
"Not in that tuxedo you're not."
Nate looks up when his dad comes down the porch steps. "Car's in the driveway," he calls, holding out a key ring.
Nate looks at Brad and they grin at their parents. Jackpot.
They have dinner at a tiny French place that Nate's mom suggested. The waitress smiles at them when she seats them, but she doesn't flirt outrageously with Brad or even wink at Nate the way he's gotten used to in the last year or two. It doesn't happen as much when he's with Brad, but he's never lacked for attention.
The minute they're seated and have removed their jackets, Brad begins fiddling with his bowtie.
"What're you doing?" Nate says bemused.
"Taking this off, I'm choking to death."
"Oh."
"Why?"
"Nothing," Nate says, studying the menu in front of him. Absolutely no garlic. That's pretty much all he's decided on at this point
"You like the tie."
Nate glances up, Brad's stopped the fidgeting. He shrugs. "The James Bond look works for you."
Brad's pleased look says plenty.
Nate's halfway through his salad when he notices something peculiar about the restaurant: if you can call an overwhelming presence of same-sex couples peculiar. He doesn't think he'd have noticed at all if he hadn't just glimpsed two women holding hands in the corner.
He studies Brad for several seconds before Brad puts his fork down with mild exasperation. "If you keep staring at me like that we're going to get thrown out for indecent behavior in the bathroom."
Nate raises an eyebrow. "You notice anything about this place?" he asks.
Brad looks around. "Yes, people are eating. You should try it."
"Anything else?"
"Is this your subtle nod to the rainbow sticker on the window when we walked in?"
Nate blinks. "I didn't see that."
Brad picks through the bread basket. "So, if I leaned across the table and kissed you right now you'd have a heart attack for no reason. Good to know."
Nate opens his mouth to protest, but then Brad's leaning across the table, one hand braced on the table and the other wrapped around his tie. "Calm down," he says right before he brushes his mouth over Nate's.
When he pulls away, Nate's heart is somewhere in his throat.
"We need to work on your observational skills," Brad says, re-folding his napkin across his lap.
"I observe you just fine," Nate says.
"I wanted you for months, probably years, and then you ran away. Try again."
"You're never going to let me forget that, are you?"
Brad spears some of his spinach salad. "Not even remotely."
Brad puts the top down on the convertible after dinner and turns up the radio. The sun is setting, a wash of pink and purple in the distance as they head to prom, the Rolling Stones complaining about their lack of satisfaction.
They sing along, incredibly out of tune, as they take the freeway back to Oceanside, but instead of taking the turnoff for home Brad keeps going.
"You missed the exit," Nate says, glancing behind him as the wind sends his hair into his eyes.
"No, I didn't."
Nate turns back to Brad and tones down Mick Jagger's bitching. "Where are we going?"
Brad's eyes dart away from the road for a minute. "For a drive."
Nate frowns at Brad's profile. "I thought we were going to the prom."
"I don't want to go to prom," Brad says.
"I knew you didn't want to go!" Nate says triumphantly. And then it hits him. "Then why the hell did you make me ask you?"
"I just wanted – let's go to the beach."
"You just wanted what?"
Brad glances at him. "To see if you'd take me."
Nate rubs his forehead. "Brad, I'll take you anywhere if you ask. I'm not a fucking mind reader, though. If you wanted to go to the beach I could've kept the fifty bucks to spend on hookers and booze."
Brad snorts. "Since when does $50 buy hookers and booze?"
"I meant it theoretically."
"In theory, you couldn't even buy me for $50."
Nate laughs at this remark. "In theory, I bought you for a used tee shirt and some Rice Krispie treats."
Brad puts on his right turn signal to get off the freeway, stealing a look at Nate. "Those Rice Krispie treats needed more marshmallows. And I like them with chocolate chips, too. Remember that for next time."
"I gotta tell you, I'm hoping there's not a next time."
"Me too."
They park near the beach. They take off their shoes and socks and Brad marches around the sand in his tuxedo, while Nate sits on a blanket they brought from the car. His mom will kill him if he ruins this suit.
After a few passes back and forth, Brad drops down next to him and undoes his bowtie. "Sorry," he says. "I'm just not cut out for the Bond thing."
Nate grins at Brad as he loosens his own tie and stuffs it in his jacket pocket. "It was good while it lasted," he says, looking out at the tide coming in.
The sun has almost disappeared from the horizon. The stars are starting to show and the full moon is bright in the sky.
"I don't get the point of 'Under the Sea' when you can go to the ocean," Nate says.
Brad's finger traces along the top of Nate's bare foot and a muscle in Nate's calf twitches. "The brain-dead, trailer park, crack smoking nature of our classmates should never be underestimated," he says thoughtfully.
Nate laughs.
They're quiet for a while, just listening to the water and watching the stars. It gets increasingly cold though, and eventually, Nate's had enough. "So, you want to make out in the backseat of your dad's car?" he inquires, looking at Brad with a mischievous smile.
"Actually, I was thinking we could go back to that hotel room that I had my sister book for us."
Nate peers at Brad in the twilight. "I don't know what disturbs me more: that you asked your sister to book us a hotel room or that she did it."
"If you're worried about your sterling reputation, I can assure you I didn't tell her anything. Now if she theorized that something might happen tonight, I might not have disabused her of the notion."
Nate leans in very close, feeling the warmth when Brad exhales softly. "My mom has already informed me that we have to get married. Just so you know."
Brad blinks. "Then I better take you for a test drive now."
"Didn't you need to check in?" Nate asks on the elevator ride up to the fourth floor of the Oceanside Marriott.
"What do you think I was doing this afternoon when you were getting ready?"
"I wasn't getting ready this afternoon. I'm not a girl. I was watching Oprah with my mom," slips out before he realizes what he's done.
Brad howls with laughter as the elevator stops on their floor.
Nate marches out of the elevator, only to be pulled back by his jacket. "Wrong way, Oprah," Brad teases, tugging him down the hall in the opposite direction.
Brad's still chuckling as he opens the hotel door and ushers Nate inside. Nate takes two steps into the dark room and then the lights go on, and he's being pulled back hard.
An arm wraps around his waist and a hand turns his head in the direction of Brad's mouth. Nate parts his mouth as Brad licks at his lips. Brad's mouth is wet, hot. He tastes like the chocolate dessert he had earlier, and Nate sucks on his tongue like he might die without it.
Brad's erection pokes Nate in the ass as Nate grinds against him; Nate growls in the back of his throat as Brad's hand slides down his stomach and cups him through his pants. Just the feel of Brad against him makes him painfully hard, the tips of Brad's fingers brushing lightly against his balls through his clothes. He thrusts into the palm of Brad's hand as Brad nuzzles at his neck, bites him sharply.
"God, Nate," he exhales, the puff of air against Nate's neck going straight to his dick. "Wanted you all day."
Nate clamps his own hand down over Brad's and thrusts into the grip, a high-pitched noise escaping his throat as Brad sucks a kiss just behind his ear.
Brad's fingers scrabble for the fastenings of Nate's pants as Nate tries to take them off; they keep getting in each other's way until Nate slaps Brad's hands away. "Let me do it," he orders, earning him a kiss on the crown of his head.
"I like the bossy thing," Brad says.
Nate gets his pants undone and shoves them down his legs. This earns him another kiss, an arm back around his waist and fingers sliding inside the opening of his boxers. Nate's head snaps back hard when Brad pulls his cock out into the cool, recycled air.
"Look," Brad whispers into the shell of his ear. Nate whines in the back of his throat as Brad's thumb rubs the underside of his dick. "Look," Brad orders again and Nate can't do anything but that.
He watches as his cock disappears into the circle of Brad's fist, watches Brad's hand go slippery and shiny with his precome. Brad tightens his grip and Nate thrusts into his fist hard, faster. Brad's free hand slips under his shirt, his nails scratching Nate's bare stomach. Nate grunts.
"I know this sound," Brad says softly. "I know the noises you make you when come. You were jerking off on the phone when I called you about Great Expectations."
Nate's lungs go tight, he can't breathe. "I –- oh, fuck, Brad," he moans, turning his face into Brad's neck.
Brad's thumb swipes the head of Nate's cock. "I know you were. I thought about it for days. Weeks. You touching yourself just for me. Coming just to my voice. I want -–"
What Brad wants Nate never hears, because he comes all over Brad's hand and that's pretty much it for his higher brain function.
He turns into Brad, kissing him deep, messy, licking at Brad's fingers when he rubs them over Nate's mouth. He has to pull back to breathe when the spots appear. His eyelids are impossibly heavy, but he opens his eyes to see Brad's pupils have swallowed up the blue. His mouth is puffy and slick.
"Want your mouth," Nate says hazily, and then he's being shoved towards the bed. He trips over his pants, gets yanked upright, and manages to realize that Brad's still fully dressed.
"Why are you wearing all these clothes?" Nate says, yanking at Brad's jacket, his shirt, pulling, tugging and shoving until Brad's standing in the middle of their hotel room in his briefs. "Well?" he says, gesturing at the underwear Brad's still wearing.
"I like the suit," Brad says, stroking himself through his briefs and smiling toothily. "I'm not going to explain the come stains on it to your mom, though."
This is not a hard problem to solve.
In a matter of seconds clothes are removed and the bed is stripped of all its niceties, and then he's on Brad and Brad's on his back on the bed, hot in Nate's hand and panting into the side of his neck.
Brad's "Natenatenate," is just this litany in Nate's brain. His hands are scrabbling over Nate's ribs, his nails leaving scratches on Nate's back. Nate strokes Brad's cock, rolls his balls, and when Brad parts his legs, Nate's fingers slide back, teasing Brad's hole.
Brad arches up hard, almost knocking Nate off the bed. He's gasping for air and writhing so much Nate can't even kiss him. He's flushed and sweaty and Nate wants to taste him. "I want to suck your cock," he rasps out. "Want you to fuck my mouth. I don't know –"
Brad lets out this long moan, his cock jerking in Nate's hand, the warm spatters landing on Nate's fingers and forearm. Nate strokes Brad through it, watching his eyes flutter open.
Nate is the one who reduced Brad to this shameless, gorgeous mess. Or maybe he's the one who's made Nate this way. He gives Brad a satisfied grin and Brad shakes his head, pushing himself up on his elbows to kiss Nate wantonly.
Eventually, Nate pulls away, stretching out his muscles and rubbing against Brad leisurely, his cock twitching against the soft hairs on Brad's thigh. He's halfway to hard again; Brad's a pretty good enticement.
Brad's fingers comb through his hair. "I was thinking," Brad starts.
Nate snorts softly. "You were thinking? Really? Because I don’t have any thoughts left."
Brad tugs Nate's hair gently. "I was thinking about you fucking me."
Nate's mouth goes dry and he has to push himself onto his heels, because he can't breathe and it seems like a good idea to get where there's more air and less Brad. "You want –- you want me to -– I don't know how," Nate confesses.
"You know the concept?" Brad teases.
Nate rolls his eyes. "Yes."
Brad stretches across the bed and opens the only drawer on the maple wood nightstand. "I'll talk you through it," he says, pulling out an orange bottle that says Astroglide and a box of condoms.
Nate huffs out a laugh. "Feeling ambitious?" he jokes, gesturing toward the numerous condoms.
"If you bring your own, you don't have to worry about missing out," Brad says, but the smile doesn't reach his eyes. "You don’t have to," he begins. "I just thought—"
"I've been dreaming about fucking you for months," Nate confesses.
Something flares in Brad's eyes, and then Nate finds himself kneeling between Brad's outstretched legs, lube slathered all over his hands, shiny and running down the crease of Brad's ass. "Go on," Brad urges, as Nate studies his sticky hands.
Nate runs his hand up Brad's thigh, feeling the muscle trembling under his fingers. He strokes the curve of Brad's ass, his own cock twitching in excitement. His dreams weren't this tactile. He can smell their sweat, the sex, the fabric softener the hotel used for the sheets.
Nate's fingers slip in the crease, exploring gently, and he hesitates. Brad lifts his hips, strokes his cock. "I'm not going to break."
Nate worries his lower lip, circling Brad's asshole with a slippery finger, ghosting over the furl of muscle without actually pushing in. He's going to fuck Brad. He's going to have this. He's probably going to come right now.
Brad distracts him by pushing back at him and Nate's finger slides in to the second knuckle. Nate gasps at the same time Brad groans. Brad's hot and so fucking tight, Nate's mouth falls open at the ripple of Brad around him. He needs more, has to feel more of that heat.
"More," Brad demands and Nate stares at him, trying to come out of the daze. He pulls back slowly and then pushes back in just as slowly, transfixed.
Brad grips at the sheets and pushes back. "Nate, please," he begs, and Nate does it, watches his finger slide between the cheeks of Brad's ass again and again.
"It's not a pussy," Brad bitches. "You have to --"
Nate curls his fingers and Brad jerks around him. "Like that," he grits out. Nate stops in shock at how hard Brad's clamped down on his finger. "Now is not the time to take notes," Brad snaps.
So, Nate does it. Repeatedly. Watching, fucking, feeling, getting hopelessly lost in the cycle.
He pulls back, grabs the lube from where it's leaking all over the sheets, adds more, pushes in another finger. He listens to Brad's gasps, feeling Brad tighten around him as his fingers glance off something firm.
Brad curls upward again. His cock slaps against his stomach. "You've done research," Brad pants.
"You should give Dickens more credit."
Nate watches his fingers move, watches Brad's cock jerk against his stomach, smears of precome mixing with the sweat building on his chest. "Touch yourself," Nate says throatily. "I want to – to watch you come again."
Brad makes a needy sound, wrapping his hand around his cock and jerking himself off rapidly.
"No, slower," Nate says.
"Fuck me," Brad begs. "Just – just do it, Nate."
"You're too tight – I don't think --"
"Shut up and fuck me!" Brad snaps.
Nate can't really argue with that.
A few minutes later, he's got Brad's ankles on his shoulders and he's trying to push in. His cock slides away once, twice. The frustration starts.
"Okay, enough," Brad says after the third attempt. "We're doing this my way."
And then Nate's on his back, Brad kneeling over him, holding onto Nate's cock as he lowers himself down. "Jesus shit," Nate curses as Brad slowly, slowly sinks down. "Brad – Brad," he babbles, gripping at Brad's thighs.
"If you come now, I'm telling your mom," Brad warns.
Nate exhales a shaky laugh, and it's just enough to get Brad halfway down. Nate strokes Brad's thigh, watching him closely, squeezing hard when a flare of pain shoots across Brad's face. Nate doesn't want it to hurt -- Brad's had enough of that from him.
Brad licks his lips, takes a deep breath and slides the rest of the way down, until his ass is flush against Nate's balls. And then the white noise starts in Nate's ears. He can't hear anything, can't do anything beyond watch Brad rise back up and slide back down on his dick. He can feel it, the incredible heat, the condom, the lube slippery between them, the sticky way his balls slap against Brad's ass.
There's this heat unfurling Nate's stomach, radiating outwards, driven by the way Brad's watching him, touching him. Brad wants him. It's possible – probable – that Nate wants Brad even more. His heart is racing in his chest like he's going to pass out.
Brad's fingers ghost over his lips and Nate licks at them, sucks them into his mouth tasting Brad and lube and salt, stroking the pads with his tongue. Brad stops, his muscles tightening around Nate's cock. Nate moans around the fingers in his mouth, lets Brad fuck his mouth with his hand as long as he wants.
Brad groans and pulls his fingers out of Nate's mouth, wriggling down on Nate's cock before sliding up and starting to fuck Nate all over again. Nate may have his cock up Brad's ass, but he's pretty clear about who's in charge here.
Nate tries to curl up to kiss Brad, tries to do anything beyond thrash around, but Brad's hand is on his chest and his other hand is jerking his cock. Nate has to hold Brad's hips, keep pulling him down and thrusting up and then the heat in his stomach consumes him. He comes hard enough to pull a muscle in his neck. Hard enough to know that he's not going to find something better than this. He closes his eyes and seconds later feels wet heat land on his chest.
Brad collapses on top of him, chest heaving from exertion. Nate strokes Brad's back, his damp hair, feels the sweat and come spreading between them. He could do this for a while.
If 'forever' could be considered 'a while.'
Brad moans low in his throat as he climbs off of Nate, and the bed jiggles as Brad lies down next to him. Nate opens his eyes, getting rid of the condom before he rolls over. He curls up next to Brad, pushing the sweaty hair off his forehead and watching Brad take huge lungfuls of air.
Brad's entire body is sprawled out; Nate traces the line of his jaw with his fingers. "Best. Prom. Ever," he says.
Brad barks out a laugh, and Nate rolls onto his back and stares at the ceiling. His heart is beating in his ears, he's sticking to the flat sheet below him in all kinds of strange places, Brad's toes are touching his foot and he doesn't remember feeling this happy ever.
"I joined the Marines," Brad says quietly.
Nate blinks at the ceiling fan. "What?"
"I said I joined—"
"I heard you the first time!" Nate yells. His voice bounces off the cream colored walls, ringing in his ears. He doesn't think he was this loud when he was fucking Brad.
He turns his head and Brad's still lying there next to him, still looking up at the ceiling. Still naked and sweaty. "I go to Pendleton the week after graduation." Brad's jaw is tight, the words strained.
Nate's heart starts trying to climb out of his throat so it can strangle Brad. "You can't do that," he says. He watches Brad swallow.
"I already did."
"You're not 18."
"My mother signed a waiver."
"Your mother knows."
"Why do you think I wore the tuxedo?"
Nate should've known blackmail was involved. The word "no" barely forms on his lips. Brad turns his head and looks at him. "No." A pause. "No, Brad."
Nate flinches when Brad reaches out for him and a pained look crosses Brad's face. "It's not a debate," Brad says, a stubborn tint in his voice. A beat. "You're leaving anyway."
"No." Nate shakes his head, crawling away from Brad to sit on the edge of the bed. The mattress shakes and bounces as Brad sidles over next to him, sitting up, his thigh pressing against Nate's, their forearms aligned.
Brad's knees are a mess of healed scar tissue from being tackled in football. Nate stares hard trying to remember every fall, every scraped knee and every bag of ice that's been wrapped around those joints.
"You didn't think I was just going to sit at home and bake cookies and wait for you to come home on break did you?" Brad says.
Yes. "No."
Brad laughs softly and elbows him. "You so did. Sorry, I'm not cut out for the Betty Crocker life."
"What if – what if there's a war?"
"Look at the fascist, softass idiot in the White House -- do you really think his pot-smoking, womanizing, liberal ass would ever send us to war?"
"Brad." Nate's never quite understood the power of a name, but for a moment he recognizes everything that Brad symbolizes. Home. Football. Friend. Want. Safe. Mine.
Nate's leg twitches when Brad's fingers brush his thigh. "I'm not leaving you; I'm just doing something else."
Nate's almost choked by the laugh that escapes. He's terrified and in love and this is the worst thing ever.
"It's not the worst thing ever," Brad says. Nate really should be used to Brad reading his mind by now. "I'm not going to do it forever, but it'll help with college when I'm ready to go. My parents are already in the hole with Lisa and Kate."
Breathing is a shaky affair for Nate. "I don't – I can't –"
"I need your support on this."
Nate doesn't want to support this. He wants to lock Brad in the bathroom until he comes to his senses. He falls back on the bed, the mattress bouncing underneath him. "I don't suppose I could lock you in the bathroom until you change your mind?" he says, tracing his fingers along the back of Brad's arm.
Brad looks down at him. "I think we're past the locked in the bathroom stage."
Nate steels himself for negotiations. "You're coming back."
Brad nods. "Eventually, yes."
"And this isn't forever, right?"
"Right."
Nate forehead furrows. He doesn't like this at all. "The last time I checked the military wasn't big on two guys getting together."
Brad shifts on the bed, bracing an arm over Nate before leaning down and kissing him. "That's just because they haven't met you yet."
Nate tries to muster a smile when Brad pulls away. "We can do this," Brad promises. "If we survived high school, we can do anything."
Brad looks so certain; all Nate can do is have faith.
It's a shame that he hasn't believed in God in a while, but Brad's a religion all his own.
So maybe, maybe they'll be okay.
Epilogue
Dartmouth's great for Nate. He can hardly complain. Well, that's not true, he can complain that he only gets to see Brad a few times a year, that being faithful to somebody who's 3000 miles away is a fucking nightmare, even in a WASPish, quasi-liberal New England town. Especially in a WASPish, quasi-liberal New England town.
Neither of them is perfect, so it's good that they weren't expecting perfection. There've been girls, or in Brad's case whores, but no other men. That was the deal. They've stuck to it.
And then, in the fall of his senior year, Nate has a meeting with Tom Ricks from the Wall Street Journal, and his world does a little bit of a change mid-orbit.
He signs up for the Corps ten days before his college graduation, and as he's signing on the dotted line he can hear his mother in his head, hear Natalie and Mrs. Colbert and everybody else who exasperatedly told him that his place is with Brad.
His mother's reaction to this bit of news isn't quite as pleased as he hoped it would be. If the words, "Just because Brad does it, doesn't mean you supposed to do it, too, Nate!" could be construed as displeasure.
He wants to tell Brad in person, but it doesn't quite work out that way. Brad's leave for Nate's college graduation ends up being axed for some mission in Thailand, and then Nate's off to OCS and that's it. He has to write Brad a letter, because e-mail would just be all kinds of bad news. But instead of a Dear John letter it's more of a "Hey, Guess What I Did Today" note.
The Conversation finally happens at three-eighteen on a Tuesday morning. Nate's tired, his body aches and even though he's in dry clothes he can still feel the mud between his toes from his third day of PT hell. Godfather would've loved Basic Training.
It takes him forever to get Brad on the phone and their exchange is a short one.
But that's all water under the bridge now, because now, today, Nate's meeting his men. He's taken his courses, done his time. Snuck off base to have Brad try and drown him to get rid of his issues with drowning in the sea. Surfing is fine. Treading water for 20 minutes is something else altogether. And now he's being walked through the base with his Gunnery Sergeant Mark Wallace, a nice guy who seems suitably competent.
He talks to Nate about the water missions, about Recon's history, about his men who are like fucking seals in the water, and then they come upon a figure in camo, bent over a table full of air tanks and underwater breathing equipment.
Nate would know that perfectly erect back and long line of neck anywhere.
"Colbert, got a minute?" the Gunny asks.
"For you, Gunny, I might even have two," Brad says turning around, air pressure meter in his hand.
Nate waits for his money shot, waits for the moment that he's been working to for months and he knows it when he sees it. The shock flittering across Brad's face, the pleased ghost of a smile.
"Brad, this is the new LT, Nate Fick. Nate, Sergeant Brad Colbert."
Every fiber in Nate's being starts quivering, wanting. Little pieces of him that have been in hibernation and only get to come out once a year spring rapidly to life, and he licks his lips and offers Brad his hand. "Sergeant."
"Lieutenant."
"I hear you're from Oceanside," Nate says when Brad takes his hand.
Brad's grip tightens when Nate's fingers brush against his wrist. "Yeah," he says, the strain in his voice only noticeable to someone who's known him a very long time. "Oceanside High."
Nate nods and pulls his hand away slowly, regretfully. "Like it?"
Brad chuckles. "Depends on how you like football and pussy."
Gunny raises an eyebrow. "Seems like you two got plenty in common, so I'll leave you to it. You need me, LT, and I'll be over with 2-3 checking on their equipment for the mission tonight."
"Thanks, Gunny," Nate says, waving him off. Wallace is a good man. Nate's seen some incompetence in the last year or two, but he doesn't think he'll get that here.
When Gunny's gone, Nate turns back to Brad, a smile on his lips. His body wants to step forward, touch, smell, feel -- and then his brain reminds him he can't do that here. Not now.
"You're here," Brad's voice is quiet. Low. "I didn't swallow too much of Ray's dip and fucking hallucinate right? Although if I'm hallucinating, you'll probably have a tail or six arms or some shit."
Of course, Ray ended up here. Like he'd ever leave Brad on his own. That should go down well.
Nate turns around, shows Brad his ass. "No tail," he says regretfully
"No tail," Brad confirms.
"I'm here," Nate says. "Sorry it took so long."
Brad wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, smearing some oil on his chin, presumably from the pressure gauge. Nate could clean him up. Take him back to the officer's quarters, strip him down and show him how sorry he is that it took so long.
Brad leans in just that little bit, and Nate bites his lower lip. Fuck, he's missed him. "Ray's going to be disappointed," Brad chuckles. "He's not going to be able to tell my sob story anymore."
Nate cocks his head to the side, ghosting a hand over the place where he'd push his hair behind his ear if it hadn't all been shaved off. "I didn't know you had a sob story."
"Yeah, apparently my high school sweetheart broke my heart by running off to college when I joined up. She said she was going be faithful, but you never know when somebody's half way across the country and you only see them once or twice a year."
"That's the sob story? That she went away to school? I thought it'd at least be something good like she married your best friend and left you all alone. Maybe had a few kids and wanted you to be godfather. You should at least punch it up a little bit."
Brad looks around. "I could do that," he says, making something that could be mistaken for a noncommittal noise. To Nate it sounds like a noise of want. Of desperation.
The kind of noise you make when you want something so much and you'll do anything to get it. Like join the goddamn Marines. "You should think about it," is all he says, looking around too. He keeps forgetting they're not alone. Not at home. But Brad waited for him a long time and it took Nate a while to get here. A few more years isn't going to kill them as long as they're together.
"I can't believe you did this," Brad says quietly. His tone is designed to be bland and non-interesting to anyone else.
Nate waits a beat. "Of course I did," he adopts the same bland tone. "If I let anything happen to you, your mother would never forgive me."
"Please, your mom is going to kick your ass."
"She can't do that just yet or the Corps'll demand a refund."
Brad takes another step in; he's officially on the border of too close. Another step and he'll be breathing directly on Nate. Or Nate wishes he would.
"I missed you," Brad says evenly. He could be talking about the weather.
Nate looks up into wide blue eyes and ducks his head just that little bit before looking back up. "Yeah," he says. "I missed you, too."
-end-
So, it turns out I was gonna write that HS AU anyway. Who knew? Not me. But there is nobody more persistent than a Marine – or more precisely the fans of GK Marines. This would not have been possible without:
a)![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
thisisbone, who gave this story a title... five, six... last October months ago, when I swore I wasn't going to write it. Guess you were right, anyway
B)sparky77, who, as always, has enabled me and coaxed and whacked me repeatedly over the head to write this when I swore up and down and sideways I never ever would. Your powers are somewhere past formidable and in straight up scary.
C)trolleys, who when I mentioned the words 'HS AU' was all "Are you writing that? Are you writing that? Are you thinking about it? Because I was going to draw that, but if you're going to write it, too..." and then I was powerless to resist. POWERLESS I TELL YOU. Here's to you. And to me. Because look, we did it!
D)lazlet, who is all about the encouragement, even when I'm writing things we both agreed vehemently I would not write.
And last, but most definitely not least. This is foralethialia and romanticalgirl, who continually provide me with a welcome environment in which to nurture all my insane ideas, comment ad infinitum while working out the 'whats and whys', and at no time have said, "No, you probably shouldn't do that." Not only are these two ladies the pinnacle of the awesome that our fine fandom has to offer, but they also do some kick ass beta. Occasionally, they do windows too! Or so I've heard. Thank you both and thank you all.
Generation Kill, it has been an awesome first year. I look forward to our second.
Part II
Part III
"Mom, I'm going to prom with Brad."
Barbara Fick looks up from the crossword puzzle she's working on, pushing black hair behind her ear as Nate drops his backpack on the kitchen table. "Okay, are you going to wear a suit or do we need to get you a tuxedo?"
Nate stares. There were two possible ways he was going to approach this: as a sort of 'I'm going to prom with Brad and Natalie and lots of other people. It's a group thing.' The other option was to be direct.
He was not planning on this direct option.
And he certainly wasn't planning on his mom's laissez-faire attitude. Nate can feel his forehead furrowing. "Mom, did you hear what I said?"
"Of course I did." His mom arches an eyebrow, green eyes bright. "And I asked you what you wanted to wear."
Nate stares at his mother a little more intently. He just – okay, he just said… whatever, and she just…
She puts her pencil down and gives him a sharp smile. "Do you think we're stupid, Nathaniel?"
Nate's fingers clutch at the back of a chair. Which 'we' is this? His mom and dad? His mom and Brad's mom? The collective family we? "Uh, no?" he tries as his mom pushes the puzzle away.
His mom just laughs, getting out of her chair. "Sweetheart, Brad Colbert's been climbing in your window since you two were 13," she says, coming around the table and pushing Nate's hair out of his face. "I assumed you two would figure it out eventually. God knows you put us through the ringer last winter, but you seem better now."
"So you're okay with this?" Nate says, looking down at his mom. "But I just –"
"I'm expecting him to make an honest man out of you before I die though."
"Mom!" Nate doesn't have to pretend to be scandalized.
His mom laughs. "Rachel and I have talked about this at length."
"You and Brad's mom?" Nate has to sit down.
"Well, you come to these conclusions when your children are inseparable, no girl seems to interest them for more than four seconds, and then one day they have a fight and act like the entire world has ended. Plus, we live in California; we're open-minded. But. If you want to tell me you're gay; if you need to say the words--"
"I'm not gay!" Nate says very loudly. His mother tilts her head to the side, watching him closely. "I just—" Nate waves his hand around. "It's Brad."
"Brad made you gay," his mom supplies.
Nate can't even verbalize an answer to this insanity
"I'm sure he'd say the same thing about you," his mom says, patting his head. "Now you didn't answer my question about the tux."
Nate's brain hurts.
"I'll, uh, ask Brad," he says trying to end the conversation before he turns into a mortified puddle on the floor.
Nate's going over his Latin homework that night, chewing on a pencil and declining verbs when there's a knock on the door. His dad opens the door at his greeting and gives him a nervous smile. He's holding a brown paper bag and looks a little pained.
Oh, shit.
"Dad," Nate begins, having no idea how to proceed with the next sentence of, "So, I'm not gay, but I think I'm dating Brad."
"Your mother wants me to talk to you about safe sex," his dad says in a huge rush of words.
Nate's lungs seize up. The pencil in his hand falls out of his grasp, stabs him in the thigh and lands on the carpet. He can feel the blood rushing to his face. "I -– she -- we had this conversation already," he protests. "When I was twelve."
His dad rubs behind his ear. "Your mother said we had to do it again."
"But we did it already," Nate pleads.
His dad shrugs, stepping inside Nate's room. "Same concept," he says, reaching inside the paper bag and pulling out a box of condoms and a bottle of KY Jelly and setting them on Nate's desk. "Different execution."
Nate 's official cause of death is going to be 'Embarrassment.'
"Dad," he hisses, "please don't say anything right now. Please."
His dad looks just as uncomfortable as Nate feels. His entire face is red, right to the roots of his sandy brown hair; it's a genetic trait that Nate's inherited. "You're a smart boy," his dad says. "You can figure out what you're supposed to do with this, right?"
Nate covers his eyes. "Yes," he says to the heels of his hands. "I can figure it out."
His dad pats his shoulder. "Glad we had this talk," he says, his footsteps creaking before the door closes with a snick of the lock.
Nate uncovers his eyes and bites his lip. All things considered, his parents are pretty fucking awesome.
Awesomely embarrassing, but still awesome.
Two days after Nate maybe, possibly, comes out and asks Brad to prom, several buildings are blown up in Oklahoma. The ensuing panic and the fact that half of OHS has a family member in the Marines takes a little bit of the shine off of the prom.
May is a blur of AP Exams, filling out financial aid forms for Dartmouth, buying a prom ticket, groping Brad in the back of his Volvo and listening to his friends bitch about the cost of renting a limo in hopes of getting laid later.
Nate doesn't have to worry about the laid part anymore, but both his mom and Brad's mom have suddenly become very vocally interested in reading from pamphlets about gay teens and the local PFLAG meetings every time Brad and Nate are in the same room.
Hence all the making out in the back of Nate's Volvo.
Nate has one exam the morning of prom. He shows up at school in his sweatpants to take his Humanities final and clean out his locker. After this he's done with high school forever and ever.
Thank god.
He stuffs a few errant dirty shirts that were living in his locker in his backpack and stares at the empty orange monstrosity that he's been living out of for the last nine months. Someone bangs on the locker next to him, and he looks into the eager faces of Mike Wynn and Poke Espera.
"You're ready for this to be over, aren't you?" Mike teases. "I can tell by that scent you're wearing. What is that? Eau d' Desperation?"
"I was ready for this to be over months ago," Nate says.
Poke clutches his chest. "What? You tryin' to leave? You know they love you here. I'm telling you all the freshman girls were crying in the bathroom this morning just thinking about the sadness of the great Nate Fick leaving forever."
"I heard them," another voice chimes in as Ray wedges himself between Poke and Mike. "I told 'em if they sucked my dick they'd feel better."
"And they said they couldn't find it, but thanks for the effort," Mike finishes.
"Shut the fuck up, Wynn," Ray replies, socking Mike in the arm. "Your ass is so pale, it'd be like fucking Casper the Friendly Ghost."
"They may not see it," Mike says, "but at least they'd feel it. More than I've heard about Little Ray-Ray."
"Yeah, I didn't hear your girl complaining what I was hitting that last week."
"I didn't know a mosquito bite on the arm could be called 'hitting it'," Mike says.
Nate is still laughing when an arm is slung over his shoulders and Brad gives him a huge noogie. "I love this guy," Brad announces as Nate struggles to get away. "Did I tell you all this? I do. I love him so much that I'm taking him to prom."
Nate stomps on Brad's foot and Brad finally lets him go. "Fuck! That actually hurt," Brad complains.
"That's why all those chicks were crying this morning," Ray says thoughtfully. "Now I get it. Take each other to the prom, avoid all the bullshit with just one chick and then you can have all the chicks. You are wise, Obi-Brad," Ray says. "I gotta learn your game."
Nate glares at Brad who just smiles at him beatifically.
And then Nate realizes what Brad just did.
Oh, he's good.
Nate looks at his reflection in the bathroom mirror for the eighth time and sighs. He looks pale, but he always looks pale. Especially for Southern California. His hair is kind of floppy – but his hair is always kind of floppy.
He cut his hair short last year for football and all he heard about for two months was how his ears stuck out like Dumbo.
He licks his lips, which are a little dry, and opens the bathroom mirror and uses the Chapstick Emily left behind.
"Nate! Brad's here!"
Nate drops the Chapstick in the sink and shakes his head.
He grabs the lip balm out of the drain and sticks it inside his jacket pocket next to his wallet. The line of his jacket still looks okay. He brushes away the lint he can't see, straightens his pale green tie and looks at his reflection.
His mom was right; the dark gray suit was definitely the way to go.
He jogs down the stairs, smiling at his mom, dad and Brad's mom milling around in the foyer, but he comes to a complete and utter halt on the last step when he sees Brad in the doorway wearing a tuxedo.
Nate opens his mouth, closes it and then tries again. "You said it was okay to wear a suit," he protests, trying to ignore his burgeoning erection. "What's all this?"
Brad's mom pats Nate on the arm. "I made him do it," she says. "It's so rare to get him out of surf shorts and those dingy shirts, I had to."
Nate looks at his mom, and she just smiles. "You knew," he says, knowing he's somewhere between petulance and accusation and not caring.
"You both look lovely," is her reply. Nate rubs at his face. "Aren't you going to tell your date that he looks handsome?" she prompts.
Nate can feel the color in his cheeks. Brad just grins. "You know you do," he huffs, taking that last step and then walking into the kitchen.
Nate shakes his head as he opens the refrigerator and removes a white linen box from on top of the Tupperware container full of lasagna. The cool air feels good on his heated face.
Brad. In a tuxedo.
He's never going to make it through the night without coming in his pants.
When he closes the refrigerator door Brad is right there, smile curling the corners of his mouth. His hair is brushed back off of his face, and he looks like some sort of Calvin Klein model.
"I like the tie," Brad says, reaching out and running his fingers along the green silk. "It matches your eyes."
Nate raises an eyebrow. "You sound like my mom."
Brad shrugs lightly and Nate bites his lip. "You know you look amazing, I don’t have to tell you that, right?" Brad ducks his head, and all Nate wants to do is kiss him.
"Stop doing whatever you're doing and come out here so we can take pictures," his mom calls.
"Still dressed, no orgies on the floor," Brad says, following Nate back into the foyer.
Nate winces even as their moms laugh. "Cute, Bradley," Mrs. Colbert says. "You think we don't know what boys do on Prom Night, but we know."
"Mom!" Nate says scandalized. It takes him a moment to realize that he just called Brad's mom 'Mom.'
"Did you just call her mom?" Brad snickers.
"I am his mom," Mrs. Colbert says. "And yours, too."
"And as your mothers," Nate's mom says, "we want you in the backyard so we can take pictures."
"Oh, not the pictures thing," they complain.
A warning look from Nate's mom has them backtracking. "Pictures, great," Brad says.
"We love pictures," Nate agrees, wondering briefly where this one is going to go on his wall.
They troop outside dutifully, standing where they're told, turning whichever way. "Where's dad?" he asks his mom.
"He'll be right back," she assures him. "Nate, don’t you have something for Brad?"
Nate looks down at the box in his hand and then looks up at Brad. "Hold this," he says placing the box in Brad's outstretched palm so he can pry it open. It takes a minute for Nate to get the lid unsealed, but then he's able to extract the white rose and the pin to hold it.
There's a camera flash as Nate takes hold of Brad's lapel and slides the boutonnière in place.
"You bought me flowers," Brad teases softly as Nate sticks himself with the pin.
Nate can't help the smile that crosses his face. "You're wearing a tuxedo. I hardly think it's the same thing."
"I don't know," Brad says. "I think I might be getting luckier than anybody else at prom tonight."
Nate smirks. "Probably."
Brad raises a very obvious eyebrow.
"Look at the camera and smile," someone orders and they both turn sharply. It's the sort of precision they have on the football field. It wouldn't necessarily be out of place in the military.
After another five minutes of pictures, Nate's unofficially blind. "Okay," Mrs. Colbert says, beckoning them over. "We're satisfied. We also trust you implicitly, so remember that when I let you take your father's Mustang out tonight, understood?"
Nate looks at Brad and then back at Brad's mom. Brad's father bought a 1966 GT Convertible when they first came out. A year before he met Brad's mom. Brad's parents only take the Vert out once a year on their anniversary. Nate's heard this story every year around their anniversary in March.
"Does Dad know about this?" Brad asks.
"This is his way of apologizing for getting stuck in San Jose and missing tonight," Brad's mom says. "It was his idea. We figured you'd be happy if we let you upgrade to Barbara's Acura to be honest."
"I was actually thinking about taking my motorcycle," Brad says.
"Not in that tuxedo you're not."
Nate looks up when his dad comes down the porch steps. "Car's in the driveway," he calls, holding out a key ring.
Nate looks at Brad and they grin at their parents. Jackpot.
They have dinner at a tiny French place that Nate's mom suggested. The waitress smiles at them when she seats them, but she doesn't flirt outrageously with Brad or even wink at Nate the way he's gotten used to in the last year or two. It doesn't happen as much when he's with Brad, but he's never lacked for attention.
The minute they're seated and have removed their jackets, Brad begins fiddling with his bowtie.
"What're you doing?" Nate says bemused.
"Taking this off, I'm choking to death."
"Oh."
"Why?"
"Nothing," Nate says, studying the menu in front of him. Absolutely no garlic. That's pretty much all he's decided on at this point
"You like the tie."
Nate glances up, Brad's stopped the fidgeting. He shrugs. "The James Bond look works for you."
Brad's pleased look says plenty.
Nate's halfway through his salad when he notices something peculiar about the restaurant: if you can call an overwhelming presence of same-sex couples peculiar. He doesn't think he'd have noticed at all if he hadn't just glimpsed two women holding hands in the corner.
He studies Brad for several seconds before Brad puts his fork down with mild exasperation. "If you keep staring at me like that we're going to get thrown out for indecent behavior in the bathroom."
Nate raises an eyebrow. "You notice anything about this place?" he asks.
Brad looks around. "Yes, people are eating. You should try it."
"Anything else?"
"Is this your subtle nod to the rainbow sticker on the window when we walked in?"
Nate blinks. "I didn't see that."
Brad picks through the bread basket. "So, if I leaned across the table and kissed you right now you'd have a heart attack for no reason. Good to know."
Nate opens his mouth to protest, but then Brad's leaning across the table, one hand braced on the table and the other wrapped around his tie. "Calm down," he says right before he brushes his mouth over Nate's.
When he pulls away, Nate's heart is somewhere in his throat.
"We need to work on your observational skills," Brad says, re-folding his napkin across his lap.
"I observe you just fine," Nate says.
"I wanted you for months, probably years, and then you ran away. Try again."
"You're never going to let me forget that, are you?"
Brad spears some of his spinach salad. "Not even remotely."
Brad puts the top down on the convertible after dinner and turns up the radio. The sun is setting, a wash of pink and purple in the distance as they head to prom, the Rolling Stones complaining about their lack of satisfaction.
They sing along, incredibly out of tune, as they take the freeway back to Oceanside, but instead of taking the turnoff for home Brad keeps going.
"You missed the exit," Nate says, glancing behind him as the wind sends his hair into his eyes.
"No, I didn't."
Nate turns back to Brad and tones down Mick Jagger's bitching. "Where are we going?"
Brad's eyes dart away from the road for a minute. "For a drive."
Nate frowns at Brad's profile. "I thought we were going to the prom."
"I don't want to go to prom," Brad says.
"I knew you didn't want to go!" Nate says triumphantly. And then it hits him. "Then why the hell did you make me ask you?"
"I just wanted – let's go to the beach."
"You just wanted what?"
Brad glances at him. "To see if you'd take me."
Nate rubs his forehead. "Brad, I'll take you anywhere if you ask. I'm not a fucking mind reader, though. If you wanted to go to the beach I could've kept the fifty bucks to spend on hookers and booze."
Brad snorts. "Since when does $50 buy hookers and booze?"
"I meant it theoretically."
"In theory, you couldn't even buy me for $50."
Nate laughs at this remark. "In theory, I bought you for a used tee shirt and some Rice Krispie treats."
Brad puts on his right turn signal to get off the freeway, stealing a look at Nate. "Those Rice Krispie treats needed more marshmallows. And I like them with chocolate chips, too. Remember that for next time."
"I gotta tell you, I'm hoping there's not a next time."
"Me too."
They park near the beach. They take off their shoes and socks and Brad marches around the sand in his tuxedo, while Nate sits on a blanket they brought from the car. His mom will kill him if he ruins this suit.
After a few passes back and forth, Brad drops down next to him and undoes his bowtie. "Sorry," he says. "I'm just not cut out for the Bond thing."
Nate grins at Brad as he loosens his own tie and stuffs it in his jacket pocket. "It was good while it lasted," he says, looking out at the tide coming in.
The sun has almost disappeared from the horizon. The stars are starting to show and the full moon is bright in the sky.
"I don't get the point of 'Under the Sea' when you can go to the ocean," Nate says.
Brad's finger traces along the top of Nate's bare foot and a muscle in Nate's calf twitches. "The brain-dead, trailer park, crack smoking nature of our classmates should never be underestimated," he says thoughtfully.
Nate laughs.
They're quiet for a while, just listening to the water and watching the stars. It gets increasingly cold though, and eventually, Nate's had enough. "So, you want to make out in the backseat of your dad's car?" he inquires, looking at Brad with a mischievous smile.
"Actually, I was thinking we could go back to that hotel room that I had my sister book for us."
Nate peers at Brad in the twilight. "I don't know what disturbs me more: that you asked your sister to book us a hotel room or that she did it."
"If you're worried about your sterling reputation, I can assure you I didn't tell her anything. Now if she theorized that something might happen tonight, I might not have disabused her of the notion."
Nate leans in very close, feeling the warmth when Brad exhales softly. "My mom has already informed me that we have to get married. Just so you know."
Brad blinks. "Then I better take you for a test drive now."
"Didn't you need to check in?" Nate asks on the elevator ride up to the fourth floor of the Oceanside Marriott.
"What do you think I was doing this afternoon when you were getting ready?"
"I wasn't getting ready this afternoon. I'm not a girl. I was watching Oprah with my mom," slips out before he realizes what he's done.
Brad howls with laughter as the elevator stops on their floor.
Nate marches out of the elevator, only to be pulled back by his jacket. "Wrong way, Oprah," Brad teases, tugging him down the hall in the opposite direction.
Brad's still chuckling as he opens the hotel door and ushers Nate inside. Nate takes two steps into the dark room and then the lights go on, and he's being pulled back hard.
An arm wraps around his waist and a hand turns his head in the direction of Brad's mouth. Nate parts his mouth as Brad licks at his lips. Brad's mouth is wet, hot. He tastes like the chocolate dessert he had earlier, and Nate sucks on his tongue like he might die without it.
Brad's erection pokes Nate in the ass as Nate grinds against him; Nate growls in the back of his throat as Brad's hand slides down his stomach and cups him through his pants. Just the feel of Brad against him makes him painfully hard, the tips of Brad's fingers brushing lightly against his balls through his clothes. He thrusts into the palm of Brad's hand as Brad nuzzles at his neck, bites him sharply.
"God, Nate," he exhales, the puff of air against Nate's neck going straight to his dick. "Wanted you all day."
Nate clamps his own hand down over Brad's and thrusts into the grip, a high-pitched noise escaping his throat as Brad sucks a kiss just behind his ear.
Brad's fingers scrabble for the fastenings of Nate's pants as Nate tries to take them off; they keep getting in each other's way until Nate slaps Brad's hands away. "Let me do it," he orders, earning him a kiss on the crown of his head.
"I like the bossy thing," Brad says.
Nate gets his pants undone and shoves them down his legs. This earns him another kiss, an arm back around his waist and fingers sliding inside the opening of his boxers. Nate's head snaps back hard when Brad pulls his cock out into the cool, recycled air.
"Look," Brad whispers into the shell of his ear. Nate whines in the back of his throat as Brad's thumb rubs the underside of his dick. "Look," Brad orders again and Nate can't do anything but that.
He watches as his cock disappears into the circle of Brad's fist, watches Brad's hand go slippery and shiny with his precome. Brad tightens his grip and Nate thrusts into his fist hard, faster. Brad's free hand slips under his shirt, his nails scratching Nate's bare stomach. Nate grunts.
"I know this sound," Brad says softly. "I know the noises you make you when come. You were jerking off on the phone when I called you about Great Expectations."
Nate's lungs go tight, he can't breathe. "I –- oh, fuck, Brad," he moans, turning his face into Brad's neck.
Brad's thumb swipes the head of Nate's cock. "I know you were. I thought about it for days. Weeks. You touching yourself just for me. Coming just to my voice. I want -–"
What Brad wants Nate never hears, because he comes all over Brad's hand and that's pretty much it for his higher brain function.
He turns into Brad, kissing him deep, messy, licking at Brad's fingers when he rubs them over Nate's mouth. He has to pull back to breathe when the spots appear. His eyelids are impossibly heavy, but he opens his eyes to see Brad's pupils have swallowed up the blue. His mouth is puffy and slick.
"Want your mouth," Nate says hazily, and then he's being shoved towards the bed. He trips over his pants, gets yanked upright, and manages to realize that Brad's still fully dressed.
"Why are you wearing all these clothes?" Nate says, yanking at Brad's jacket, his shirt, pulling, tugging and shoving until Brad's standing in the middle of their hotel room in his briefs. "Well?" he says, gesturing at the underwear Brad's still wearing.
"I like the suit," Brad says, stroking himself through his briefs and smiling toothily. "I'm not going to explain the come stains on it to your mom, though."
This is not a hard problem to solve.
In a matter of seconds clothes are removed and the bed is stripped of all its niceties, and then he's on Brad and Brad's on his back on the bed, hot in Nate's hand and panting into the side of his neck.
Brad's "Natenatenate," is just this litany in Nate's brain. His hands are scrabbling over Nate's ribs, his nails leaving scratches on Nate's back. Nate strokes Brad's cock, rolls his balls, and when Brad parts his legs, Nate's fingers slide back, teasing Brad's hole.
Brad arches up hard, almost knocking Nate off the bed. He's gasping for air and writhing so much Nate can't even kiss him. He's flushed and sweaty and Nate wants to taste him. "I want to suck your cock," he rasps out. "Want you to fuck my mouth. I don't know –"
Brad lets out this long moan, his cock jerking in Nate's hand, the warm spatters landing on Nate's fingers and forearm. Nate strokes Brad through it, watching his eyes flutter open.
Nate is the one who reduced Brad to this shameless, gorgeous mess. Or maybe he's the one who's made Nate this way. He gives Brad a satisfied grin and Brad shakes his head, pushing himself up on his elbows to kiss Nate wantonly.
Eventually, Nate pulls away, stretching out his muscles and rubbing against Brad leisurely, his cock twitching against the soft hairs on Brad's thigh. He's halfway to hard again; Brad's a pretty good enticement.
Brad's fingers comb through his hair. "I was thinking," Brad starts.
Nate snorts softly. "You were thinking? Really? Because I don’t have any thoughts left."
Brad tugs Nate's hair gently. "I was thinking about you fucking me."
Nate's mouth goes dry and he has to push himself onto his heels, because he can't breathe and it seems like a good idea to get where there's more air and less Brad. "You want –- you want me to -– I don't know how," Nate confesses.
"You know the concept?" Brad teases.
Nate rolls his eyes. "Yes."
Brad stretches across the bed and opens the only drawer on the maple wood nightstand. "I'll talk you through it," he says, pulling out an orange bottle that says Astroglide and a box of condoms.
Nate huffs out a laugh. "Feeling ambitious?" he jokes, gesturing toward the numerous condoms.
"If you bring your own, you don't have to worry about missing out," Brad says, but the smile doesn't reach his eyes. "You don’t have to," he begins. "I just thought—"
"I've been dreaming about fucking you for months," Nate confesses.
Something flares in Brad's eyes, and then Nate finds himself kneeling between Brad's outstretched legs, lube slathered all over his hands, shiny and running down the crease of Brad's ass. "Go on," Brad urges, as Nate studies his sticky hands.
Nate runs his hand up Brad's thigh, feeling the muscle trembling under his fingers. He strokes the curve of Brad's ass, his own cock twitching in excitement. His dreams weren't this tactile. He can smell their sweat, the sex, the fabric softener the hotel used for the sheets.
Nate's fingers slip in the crease, exploring gently, and he hesitates. Brad lifts his hips, strokes his cock. "I'm not going to break."
Nate worries his lower lip, circling Brad's asshole with a slippery finger, ghosting over the furl of muscle without actually pushing in. He's going to fuck Brad. He's going to have this. He's probably going to come right now.
Brad distracts him by pushing back at him and Nate's finger slides in to the second knuckle. Nate gasps at the same time Brad groans. Brad's hot and so fucking tight, Nate's mouth falls open at the ripple of Brad around him. He needs more, has to feel more of that heat.
"More," Brad demands and Nate stares at him, trying to come out of the daze. He pulls back slowly and then pushes back in just as slowly, transfixed.
Brad grips at the sheets and pushes back. "Nate, please," he begs, and Nate does it, watches his finger slide between the cheeks of Brad's ass again and again.
"It's not a pussy," Brad bitches. "You have to --"
Nate curls his fingers and Brad jerks around him. "Like that," he grits out. Nate stops in shock at how hard Brad's clamped down on his finger. "Now is not the time to take notes," Brad snaps.
So, Nate does it. Repeatedly. Watching, fucking, feeling, getting hopelessly lost in the cycle.
He pulls back, grabs the lube from where it's leaking all over the sheets, adds more, pushes in another finger. He listens to Brad's gasps, feeling Brad tighten around him as his fingers glance off something firm.
Brad curls upward again. His cock slaps against his stomach. "You've done research," Brad pants.
"You should give Dickens more credit."
Nate watches his fingers move, watches Brad's cock jerk against his stomach, smears of precome mixing with the sweat building on his chest. "Touch yourself," Nate says throatily. "I want to – to watch you come again."
Brad makes a needy sound, wrapping his hand around his cock and jerking himself off rapidly.
"No, slower," Nate says.
"Fuck me," Brad begs. "Just – just do it, Nate."
"You're too tight – I don't think --"
"Shut up and fuck me!" Brad snaps.
Nate can't really argue with that.
A few minutes later, he's got Brad's ankles on his shoulders and he's trying to push in. His cock slides away once, twice. The frustration starts.
"Okay, enough," Brad says after the third attempt. "We're doing this my way."
And then Nate's on his back, Brad kneeling over him, holding onto Nate's cock as he lowers himself down. "Jesus shit," Nate curses as Brad slowly, slowly sinks down. "Brad – Brad," he babbles, gripping at Brad's thighs.
"If you come now, I'm telling your mom," Brad warns.
Nate exhales a shaky laugh, and it's just enough to get Brad halfway down. Nate strokes Brad's thigh, watching him closely, squeezing hard when a flare of pain shoots across Brad's face. Nate doesn't want it to hurt -- Brad's had enough of that from him.
Brad licks his lips, takes a deep breath and slides the rest of the way down, until his ass is flush against Nate's balls. And then the white noise starts in Nate's ears. He can't hear anything, can't do anything beyond watch Brad rise back up and slide back down on his dick. He can feel it, the incredible heat, the condom, the lube slippery between them, the sticky way his balls slap against Brad's ass.
There's this heat unfurling Nate's stomach, radiating outwards, driven by the way Brad's watching him, touching him. Brad wants him. It's possible – probable – that Nate wants Brad even more. His heart is racing in his chest like he's going to pass out.
Brad's fingers ghost over his lips and Nate licks at them, sucks them into his mouth tasting Brad and lube and salt, stroking the pads with his tongue. Brad stops, his muscles tightening around Nate's cock. Nate moans around the fingers in his mouth, lets Brad fuck his mouth with his hand as long as he wants.
Brad groans and pulls his fingers out of Nate's mouth, wriggling down on Nate's cock before sliding up and starting to fuck Nate all over again. Nate may have his cock up Brad's ass, but he's pretty clear about who's in charge here.
Nate tries to curl up to kiss Brad, tries to do anything beyond thrash around, but Brad's hand is on his chest and his other hand is jerking his cock. Nate has to hold Brad's hips, keep pulling him down and thrusting up and then the heat in his stomach consumes him. He comes hard enough to pull a muscle in his neck. Hard enough to know that he's not going to find something better than this. He closes his eyes and seconds later feels wet heat land on his chest.
Brad collapses on top of him, chest heaving from exertion. Nate strokes Brad's back, his damp hair, feels the sweat and come spreading between them. He could do this for a while.
If 'forever' could be considered 'a while.'
Brad moans low in his throat as he climbs off of Nate, and the bed jiggles as Brad lies down next to him. Nate opens his eyes, getting rid of the condom before he rolls over. He curls up next to Brad, pushing the sweaty hair off his forehead and watching Brad take huge lungfuls of air.
Brad's entire body is sprawled out; Nate traces the line of his jaw with his fingers. "Best. Prom. Ever," he says.
Brad barks out a laugh, and Nate rolls onto his back and stares at the ceiling. His heart is beating in his ears, he's sticking to the flat sheet below him in all kinds of strange places, Brad's toes are touching his foot and he doesn't remember feeling this happy ever.
"I joined the Marines," Brad says quietly.
Nate blinks at the ceiling fan. "What?"
"I said I joined—"
"I heard you the first time!" Nate yells. His voice bounces off the cream colored walls, ringing in his ears. He doesn't think he was this loud when he was fucking Brad.
He turns his head and Brad's still lying there next to him, still looking up at the ceiling. Still naked and sweaty. "I go to Pendleton the week after graduation." Brad's jaw is tight, the words strained.
Nate's heart starts trying to climb out of his throat so it can strangle Brad. "You can't do that," he says. He watches Brad swallow.
"I already did."
"You're not 18."
"My mother signed a waiver."
"Your mother knows."
"Why do you think I wore the tuxedo?"
Nate should've known blackmail was involved. The word "no" barely forms on his lips. Brad turns his head and looks at him. "No." A pause. "No, Brad."
Nate flinches when Brad reaches out for him and a pained look crosses Brad's face. "It's not a debate," Brad says, a stubborn tint in his voice. A beat. "You're leaving anyway."
"No." Nate shakes his head, crawling away from Brad to sit on the edge of the bed. The mattress shakes and bounces as Brad sidles over next to him, sitting up, his thigh pressing against Nate's, their forearms aligned.
Brad's knees are a mess of healed scar tissue from being tackled in football. Nate stares hard trying to remember every fall, every scraped knee and every bag of ice that's been wrapped around those joints.
"You didn't think I was just going to sit at home and bake cookies and wait for you to come home on break did you?" Brad says.
Yes. "No."
Brad laughs softly and elbows him. "You so did. Sorry, I'm not cut out for the Betty Crocker life."
"What if – what if there's a war?"
"Look at the fascist, softass idiot in the White House -- do you really think his pot-smoking, womanizing, liberal ass would ever send us to war?"
"Brad." Nate's never quite understood the power of a name, but for a moment he recognizes everything that Brad symbolizes. Home. Football. Friend. Want. Safe. Mine.
Nate's leg twitches when Brad's fingers brush his thigh. "I'm not leaving you; I'm just doing something else."
Nate's almost choked by the laugh that escapes. He's terrified and in love and this is the worst thing ever.
"It's not the worst thing ever," Brad says. Nate really should be used to Brad reading his mind by now. "I'm not going to do it forever, but it'll help with college when I'm ready to go. My parents are already in the hole with Lisa and Kate."
Breathing is a shaky affair for Nate. "I don't – I can't –"
"I need your support on this."
Nate doesn't want to support this. He wants to lock Brad in the bathroom until he comes to his senses. He falls back on the bed, the mattress bouncing underneath him. "I don't suppose I could lock you in the bathroom until you change your mind?" he says, tracing his fingers along the back of Brad's arm.
Brad looks down at him. "I think we're past the locked in the bathroom stage."
Nate steels himself for negotiations. "You're coming back."
Brad nods. "Eventually, yes."
"And this isn't forever, right?"
"Right."
Nate forehead furrows. He doesn't like this at all. "The last time I checked the military wasn't big on two guys getting together."
Brad shifts on the bed, bracing an arm over Nate before leaning down and kissing him. "That's just because they haven't met you yet."
Nate tries to muster a smile when Brad pulls away. "We can do this," Brad promises. "If we survived high school, we can do anything."
Brad looks so certain; all Nate can do is have faith.
It's a shame that he hasn't believed in God in a while, but Brad's a religion all his own.
So maybe, maybe they'll be okay.
Epilogue
Dartmouth's great for Nate. He can hardly complain. Well, that's not true, he can complain that he only gets to see Brad a few times a year, that being faithful to somebody who's 3000 miles away is a fucking nightmare, even in a WASPish, quasi-liberal New England town. Especially in a WASPish, quasi-liberal New England town.
Neither of them is perfect, so it's good that they weren't expecting perfection. There've been girls, or in Brad's case whores, but no other men. That was the deal. They've stuck to it.
And then, in the fall of his senior year, Nate has a meeting with Tom Ricks from the Wall Street Journal, and his world does a little bit of a change mid-orbit.
He signs up for the Corps ten days before his college graduation, and as he's signing on the dotted line he can hear his mother in his head, hear Natalie and Mrs. Colbert and everybody else who exasperatedly told him that his place is with Brad.
His mother's reaction to this bit of news isn't quite as pleased as he hoped it would be. If the words, "Just because Brad does it, doesn't mean you supposed to do it, too, Nate!" could be construed as displeasure.
He wants to tell Brad in person, but it doesn't quite work out that way. Brad's leave for Nate's college graduation ends up being axed for some mission in Thailand, and then Nate's off to OCS and that's it. He has to write Brad a letter, because e-mail would just be all kinds of bad news. But instead of a Dear John letter it's more of a "Hey, Guess What I Did Today" note.
The Conversation finally happens at three-eighteen on a Tuesday morning. Nate's tired, his body aches and even though he's in dry clothes he can still feel the mud between his toes from his third day of PT hell. Godfather would've loved Basic Training.
It takes him forever to get Brad on the phone and their exchange is a short one.
"Is there something you want to tell me, Nate?"
"That depends."
"On what exactly?"
"On what my mom told your mom and what you already know."
There's a sharp inhalation from Brad. "You joined up."
"Yeah."
"Were you going to talk this one over with me?"
"Why? It was my decision."
"No, this is not your decision."
"Really, like it wasn't your decision when you signed up?"
There's a silence.
"Nate."
"Brad."
"You are unbefuckinglievable."
"It's why you like me."
[dialtone]
But that's all water under the bridge now, because now, today, Nate's meeting his men. He's taken his courses, done his time. Snuck off base to have Brad try and drown him to get rid of his issues with drowning in the sea. Surfing is fine. Treading water for 20 minutes is something else altogether. And now he's being walked through the base with his Gunnery Sergeant Mark Wallace, a nice guy who seems suitably competent.
He talks to Nate about the water missions, about Recon's history, about his men who are like fucking seals in the water, and then they come upon a figure in camo, bent over a table full of air tanks and underwater breathing equipment.
Nate would know that perfectly erect back and long line of neck anywhere.
"Colbert, got a minute?" the Gunny asks.
"For you, Gunny, I might even have two," Brad says turning around, air pressure meter in his hand.
Nate waits for his money shot, waits for the moment that he's been working to for months and he knows it when he sees it. The shock flittering across Brad's face, the pleased ghost of a smile.
"Brad, this is the new LT, Nate Fick. Nate, Sergeant Brad Colbert."
Every fiber in Nate's being starts quivering, wanting. Little pieces of him that have been in hibernation and only get to come out once a year spring rapidly to life, and he licks his lips and offers Brad his hand. "Sergeant."
"Lieutenant."
"I hear you're from Oceanside," Nate says when Brad takes his hand.
Brad's grip tightens when Nate's fingers brush against his wrist. "Yeah," he says, the strain in his voice only noticeable to someone who's known him a very long time. "Oceanside High."
Nate nods and pulls his hand away slowly, regretfully. "Like it?"
Brad chuckles. "Depends on how you like football and pussy."
Gunny raises an eyebrow. "Seems like you two got plenty in common, so I'll leave you to it. You need me, LT, and I'll be over with 2-3 checking on their equipment for the mission tonight."
"Thanks, Gunny," Nate says, waving him off. Wallace is a good man. Nate's seen some incompetence in the last year or two, but he doesn't think he'll get that here.
When Gunny's gone, Nate turns back to Brad, a smile on his lips. His body wants to step forward, touch, smell, feel -- and then his brain reminds him he can't do that here. Not now.
"You're here," Brad's voice is quiet. Low. "I didn't swallow too much of Ray's dip and fucking hallucinate right? Although if I'm hallucinating, you'll probably have a tail or six arms or some shit."
Of course, Ray ended up here. Like he'd ever leave Brad on his own. That should go down well.
Nate turns around, shows Brad his ass. "No tail," he says regretfully
"No tail," Brad confirms.
"I'm here," Nate says. "Sorry it took so long."
Brad wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, smearing some oil on his chin, presumably from the pressure gauge. Nate could clean him up. Take him back to the officer's quarters, strip him down and show him how sorry he is that it took so long.
Brad leans in just that little bit, and Nate bites his lower lip. Fuck, he's missed him. "Ray's going to be disappointed," Brad chuckles. "He's not going to be able to tell my sob story anymore."
Nate cocks his head to the side, ghosting a hand over the place where he'd push his hair behind his ear if it hadn't all been shaved off. "I didn't know you had a sob story."
"Yeah, apparently my high school sweetheart broke my heart by running off to college when I joined up. She said she was going be faithful, but you never know when somebody's half way across the country and you only see them once or twice a year."
"That's the sob story? That she went away to school? I thought it'd at least be something good like she married your best friend and left you all alone. Maybe had a few kids and wanted you to be godfather. You should at least punch it up a little bit."
Brad looks around. "I could do that," he says, making something that could be mistaken for a noncommittal noise. To Nate it sounds like a noise of want. Of desperation.
The kind of noise you make when you want something so much and you'll do anything to get it. Like join the goddamn Marines. "You should think about it," is all he says, looking around too. He keeps forgetting they're not alone. Not at home. But Brad waited for him a long time and it took Nate a while to get here. A few more years isn't going to kill them as long as they're together.
"I can't believe you did this," Brad says quietly. His tone is designed to be bland and non-interesting to anyone else.
Nate waits a beat. "Of course I did," he adopts the same bland tone. "If I let anything happen to you, your mother would never forgive me."
"Please, your mom is going to kick your ass."
"She can't do that just yet or the Corps'll demand a refund."
Brad takes another step in; he's officially on the border of too close. Another step and he'll be breathing directly on Nate. Or Nate wishes he would.
"I missed you," Brad says evenly. He could be talking about the weather.
Nate looks up into wide blue eyes and ducks his head just that little bit before looking back up. "Yeah," he says. "I missed you, too."
-end-
So, it turns out I was gonna write that HS AU anyway. Who knew? Not me. But there is nobody more persistent than a Marine – or more precisely the fans of GK Marines. This would not have been possible without:
a)
thisisbone, who gave this story a title... five, six... B)
sparky77, who, as always, has enabled me and coaxed and whacked me repeatedly over the head to write this when I swore up and down and sideways I never ever would. Your powers are somewhere past formidable and in straight up scary. C)
trolleys, who when I mentioned the words 'HS AU' was all "Are you writing that? Are you writing that? Are you thinking about it? Because I was going to draw that, but if you're going to write it, too..." and then I was powerless to resist. POWERLESS I TELL YOU. Here's to you. And to me. Because look, we did it! D)
lazlet, who is all about the encouragement, even when I'm writing things we both agreed vehemently I would not write.And last, but most definitely not least. This is for
alethialia and romanticalgirl, who continually provide me with a welcome environment in which to nurture all my insane ideas, comment ad infinitum while working out the 'whats and whys', and at no time have said, "No, you probably shouldn't do that." Not only are these two ladies the pinnacle of the awesome that our fine fandom has to offer, but they also do some kick ass beta. Occasionally, they do windows too! Or so I've heard. Thank you both and thank you all. Generation Kill, it has been an awesome first year. I look forward to our second.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2009-07-07 03:02 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-07-12 12:31 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-07-07 03:34 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-07-12 12:31 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-07-07 04:25 pm (UTC)AWESOME. AND SO VERY FABULOUS.
no subject
Date: 2009-07-12 12:32 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-07-07 04:50 pm (UTC)Will read (again) tomorrow when I'm a little more awake and comment properly, but just let it be said that this was completely fucking awesome and epic and makes me love this fandom even more, if that's possible. Also, The Frames FTMFW ♥
no subject
Date: 2009-07-08 03:38 pm (UTC)(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2009-07-07 05:08 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-07-12 12:32 am (UTC)(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
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From:no subject
Date: 2009-07-07 05:41 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-07-12 12:33 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-07-07 06:06 pm (UTC)I may be more coherent after I re-read, but I'm offering no guarantees, you finally put Brad in a Tux.
no subject
Date: 2009-07-12 12:33 am (UTC)I had that moment too! Trust. And yeah, Brad in a tuxedo. Inorite!
no subject
Date: 2009-07-07 06:15 pm (UTC)I LOVE THAT YOU LIE ♥ ♥ ♥
WILL READ WHEN BRAIN IS CAPABLE OF MORE THAN JUST REPEATING GFHKSLKHJFDLHSDWGFSKLSKHWDFJKlHDSKD AND THINKING IN CAPS.
no subject
Date: 2009-07-07 10:14 pm (UTC)I really can't do with this what I usually feel constitutes worthy feedback by way of posting back the bits that I love, because that was all of it, and the bits that I really really loved were so mind-blowingly frequent (but I think you can safely expect me to give you the specifics when I do re-reads).
Overall, the impression I have been left with - and don't get me wrong, because your canon is more than passable and the ending is perfect, pure unadulterated genius and made of more win than is quite fair to have all in one place - is of a high quality original story, and of dare I say publishable quality. So much of what makes this story so good is the imagination, plotting and characterization you have put into it unsupported by Generation Kill canon, and while the canon and the characterizations are still there, you've taken scrapings of it and made it into something completely different and completely awesome. Don't get me wrong, I am totally in no position to be handing out the word 'publishable' like I know anything about it, but I know that I have read novels that entertained me less (I have not had to take a minute to laugh at fiction like that in ages - and not because it was harking back to GK, but because it was your writing) and it is the best praise I can think to give something that came off as this damn perfect: that it is of a quality that should be shared with the rest of the world. I realize that fanfiction is by nature demanded to be kept on quiet, and there's the whole copyright cockblocker - which is understandable - but damn if it isn't a tragedy when beautiful specimens like this come along.
To summarize: thank you so much, that was incredible ♥
And wow, I did not know that much obsequiousness could be crammed into such a small space. Apologies for that, the intention was admiration!
Also, the fanart is gorgeous and absolutely perfect.
(no subject)
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Date: 2009-07-07 06:16 pm (UTC)::stares:: Dude, of course Brad and Nate are all people talk about at school. If I had those boys at my school, I'd talk about 'em, too. And huh, Natalie looked different in my imagination (but she still rocks). As for Ray-Ray...the love! There is much of it in my heart.
Finally (for the moment), you make me blush! You iz awesomesauce! Thank you so much for such a mind-blowing sentiment (and the BEST STORY EVER)!
at no time have said. "No, you probably shouldn't do that.
Heh. It'll be something, the day I say that. Yes, I take my enabler duties seriously.
And now I must go rec! Not because it's needed (for I have faith in my fandom's ability to recognize pure awesome), but because it's DESERVED. Tremendous, m'dear. Really.
no subject
Date: 2009-07-12 12:37 am (UTC)I decided I didn't sufficiently emphasize which parts I liked
From:Re: I decided I didn't sufficiently emphasize which parts I liked
From:Re: I decided I didn't sufficiently emphasize which parts I liked
From:no subject
Date: 2009-07-07 06:16 pm (UTC)*goes back to reading and giggling*
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Date: 2009-07-07 06:39 pm (UTC)What? This story isn't about Ray?
You know I love you and you know I think this awesome, but it cannot be said enough. I LOVE YOU! AND THIS IS AWESOME! EVEN WHEN NATE IS BEING A BIG STUPID JERK IT IS STILL THE MOST AWESOME THING EVER! AND I LOVE YOU. IN CASE THAT WASN'T CLEAR.
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Date: 2009-07-07 08:15 pm (UTC)But he was right! And he got the awesome girl! And he had, ya know, whatever going on with Walt (which, I have theories)! He was sad there for a while, but then it was all better again. And then he followed Brad into the motherfucking Marines! ::dies a little::
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Date: 2009-07-07 07:52 pm (UTC)And art! Art! I loved the art. If I wasn't sold on anything you write anyway, that would have done it.
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Date: 2009-07-12 12:39 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-07-07 07:56 pm (UTC)So much love. You are the Goddess of GK, as far as I'm concerned, since I wouldn't have probably ever watched it if not for you. And boy do I owe you for it. I'm not planning on having kids, so the firstborn thing is out. What else do you want? I make killer muffins? Cookies? Something?
I grovel at your feet, O Goddess of GK.
(Hmm, I am lacking in GK icons...)
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Date: 2009-07-07 09:33 pm (UTC)Nate was such a pillock. And you gave them ANGST. Buckets of ANGST. And I confess that I actually squeaked when I saw the way it was heading in part 4. Seriously - I think I scared the cat.
I take back everything I said about HS AUs. Actually, no. I don't take it back, it's just that it's you and you can do whatever you bloody well like with Brad and Nate and I will love it regardless. So there.
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Date: 2009-07-12 12:41 am (UTC)*\o/*
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Date: 2009-07-07 09:59 pm (UTC)It was perfection, everything I'd expect at the prospect of High School AU and MORE! As usual, Brad kills me with his awesomeness and Nate kills me with his humanity and adorableness and yes, also awesomeness. And Ray! I want a Ray for myself!
Their meeting at the end was more amazing than all things amazing in the world. I love that Nate joins the Marines for Brad. That if they have to wait, they'll wait together.
Brilliant. *bows*
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Date: 2009-07-07 10:05 pm (UTC)That was brilliant. Absolutely brilliant.
And since I am in no state to properly convey how much I loved this, I'll just say "Thank you so very much" for writing this.
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Date: 2009-07-12 12:42 am (UTC)