hackthis_archive | Ah, people. Failing since evolution began.

Current Mood: irate
Current Music: The Beatles 'Getting Better'

Entry tags:

Ah, people. Failing since evolution began.

1. The word of the day is clusterfuckiest. Trufax.

2. I'm a big fan of the part where a summer camp that rented a pool in north PhillY for $1900 were told they weren't welcome, because they changed the complextion of the pool. Keep it classy, racist assholes!

3. If I think too hard about the confirmation hearings, I might stroke out, so...

4. YAY, Leverage premieres tonight!

5. And Matt Damon is going to be on Entourage! So, that means that Matt and Ari are going to be hanging out. And I didn't even have to write it! Yeah, I know, who's the man? All they need now is RDJ... you know since I write it and it happens. Excuse me, I have to go write myself winning ten million dollars. BRB.

6. Ryan Gosling is releasing his album in October. I WANT IT NOW.

6a. Anybody got the new Regina Spektor album (Far) that they wanna share with the class.

7. An Offer: Anybody who wants to come over here and give me a photo prompt that maybe might result in some drabble porn to make the masses happy is more than welcome.

If you just want to picspam the pretty to you know, help the general mood, that's awesome too. In fact, feel free to come and post photos and write your own porn too! But it's gotta be a photo. And SFW. It can be a party!

Mostly I'm just trying to make

romanticalgirl smile, so help a sister do a good deed.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Nate's completely filthy, covered in dirt and sweat and who knows what else, but Brad can't seem to see any of that. All he can see is the hint of Nate's tongue sliding over his bottom lip. Nate does that when he concentrates - bites his lip, captures his tongue between his lips. It's distracting as fuck and one of these days, someone's going to have to school Nate on that shit. Combat effectiveness should not be compromised by how fucking much Brad wants to fuck his LT's mouth.

"Ought to be a petition." Mike Wynn's Texas drawl is accompanied by a thick spit onto the ground. "Send us through training on every fucking thing in this world except for the situations they decide to send us into and the ones on how to deal with a fucking LT that looks like an angel and has the mouth of a Saturday night whore."

"You...need to not say things like that, Gunny." It could be construed as simply talk amongst the men, schooling anyone who might be insubordinate or disrespectful. But from the grin on Gunny's face and the raise of his eyebrows, it's obvious he's not construing it that way.

"I mean every single commander I've had has been some grizzled old fuck like Sixta or some numb-brained fuckwad like Schwetje. Nowhere in BRC was there something about how not to jack off to the thought of your LT sinking on his knees and wrapping his lips around your dick."

"No. Seriously, Gunny."

"You telling me you ain't thought about it?" Mike's smile is somewhere between wicked and laviscious, not quite teasing. "You haven't though about the LT on his knees, that tongue moving over the head of your dick the way he licks his lips?" He grunts a soft sound of surprise. "Huh. Well, guess that makes you about the only one."

Brad blinks as Gunny walks away, no longer wondering about what he could do to Nate's mouth, what Nate's mouth could do to him. He's more concerned with how he's going to beat the shit out of the rest of Bravo Two and make it look like an accident.

He's more concerned with how he's going to beat the shit out of the rest of Bravo Two and make it look like an accident.

YES! I COULD SMELL WHAT ~~THE ROCK~~ WHAT YOU WERE COOKIN'! I'm a little stuck back on Nate's hands as it were. And then I was trying to explain to

amberlynne how this thread was gold and began talking about somebody getting reamed with a gold dildo. IDEK. Maybe it's that dildo Brad got in Australia. Seems might ostentatious though. I think he'd be more of a black rubber kind of guy, Or one of those so-called diamond dildos. Do you think he'd tie Nate to the bed while he washed it. Talked over the sound of running water, because it'd been packed away for a long while and Brad wanted to get it all ready. Maybe warm it up just a little bit. And he can hear Nate rattling on the bed. Hear the handcuffs, because the thing about zip ties is getting those fuckers undone in a hurry doesn't really happen (Brad could find the fucking nail clippers). So, Brad kind of had to cut them free and then no more zip-ties.

Wow, I used to be such a nice girl.

Edited 2009-07-16 18:26 (UTC)

You're still nice. Just nice and diiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiirty.

Like Nate. *smiles beatifically* Angelic, just very slutty.

Come talk to me and tell me what you'd like me to write for you. I am thinking I need to talk more about Nate's hands, about the way Brad observes every little cut, every smudge, every stain. How sometimes he'll find the LT on his own and one hand'll be very dirty while the other is clean, like he wiped it off deliberately for some reason, Like a combat jack. And the only thing Brad wants more than to come upon Nate during a combat jack is to feel the LT's hands on his own cock. trufax.

This whole thread is such a plethora of guh, I'm not sure if I have anything left I want. Well, that's a lie, but, you know. You could always do that Nate getting pissed off at Brad during "Bomb in the Garden" for risking his life and being an idiot. There could be hands involved in that. Angry pointing and gesturing and stabbing Brad in the chest with them. Yes.

::uses Ioan icon, because he also has nice fingers::

You could always do that Nate getting pissed off at Brad during "Bomb in the Garden" for risking his life and being an idiot. There could be hands involved in that. Angry pointing and gesturing and stabbing Brad in the chest with them. Yes.

I wrote that! But you want more.

Fine. I will ponder.

*pokes Brad* C'mon, come talk to me. Shut about your chafing dick. You're the one who said I was ignoring him. That I never let him play like the other kids. And now you're complaining. Whatever, at least you don't have Nate's nipples -- it could be worse.

Did you? I thought you wrote Brad getting pissed at Nate. All the porn! She blends together in my tiny brain!

Or, you know, I'm pretty easy to please. Maybe "Get Some"'s Brad watching Nate play with the football, tossing it, cradling it, all those sorts of things. The first time he jerks off thinking about Nate? Mmmmmmmmmmmm.

Did so. Right here (). But I see you want something more. I will ponder. I like the Get Some idea. Like a lot.

Like maybe Brad's lying there on the grass, watching Nate play with the ball and maybe they're in a group, and Nate's with Natalie and stuff and they're all just talking and having a good time, but Brad's eyes keep going back to Nate's hands on the ball. And then that night when he's trying to go to sleep and he's just going to jack off to ease this tension that's all coiled inside him, and the first thing that comes to mind is Nate's hands, his long fingers, the way they curled around the football, around his soda can, around the hot dog.

Mmmmmmm. Yes to this. Because, see, Get Some? All from Nate's POV. And poor Brad is pining and jerking off to his bff for YEARS.

Well, actually, no. That's way too angsty. But it's pretty in bits and pieces.

Brad gets a ride home from the picnic with one of the seniors, knowing better than to ask Nate for a ride. Getting a ride with Nate is getting a ride with Natalie, and Brad's already had more than enough of that than he can stand. It's not even deliberate anymore, not like it was when they first started going out. Back then, Natalie made sure that Brad saw every touch, every kiss. Now she doesn't seem to care - she's claimed her territory, planted her flag - and Brad doesn't matter. She's won.

Brad closes the door to his room and shoves the chair under the knob. His parents and sisters always mean well, but sometimes he's a little lost in the midst of them. Just enough of an outsider that he needs this private time, this space. He falls back on his bed, kicking his flip flops off, and lies there, arm over his forehead, staring at his ceiling. There are glow-in-the-dark stars up there, arranged in precise constellations. He and Nate had spent hours in seventh grade with Brad's protractor and graph paper and Nate's telescope getting them just right. Only Virgo was wrong, since that was when they'd gotten in the argument over whether or not Missy was a virgin and Nate had tackled Brad to the floor and they'd lost three stars somewhere and couldn't ever find them.

Pretty much every memory Brad has is connected to Nate, and everything before Nate doesn't seem to matter. The problem is that his "before Nate" and "after Nate" has been subdivided into "before Natalie" and "after Natalie". Even today - what should have been an awesome day of throwing the ball and seeing who could do the stupidest frisbee tricks was marred by Nate's half-assed tosses because he was too busy kissing Natalie to throw the fucking ball.

"Shit." Brad kicks at the end of his bed and collapses back onto the pillow. "Stupid fucking..." He bites off the words and closes his eyes. This is his own fault, as far as having...feelings for someone can be his fault. But Nate is his and it bothers the hell out of him that Nate doesn't know it, doesn't get it. Hell, even Natalie gets it otherwise she wouldn't give a shit about rubbing it in.

He grabs the pillow from beneath his head and starts to toss it, wanting to vent at something, to rail at the universe, but instead he just clutches it tight to his chest. Something wells up in his throat and he shakes his head, closing his eyes tightly. He's not going to do this bullshit. He's not going to give in to this. Nate will figure it out - whatever it is - and everything will go back to normal.

Normal. Where it's just Brad and Nate, like two musketeers, doing everything together. Brad turns on his side, the pillow pressed against him and slips his hand down inside his shorts. More and more the everything he wants to do with Nate ends like this, with his hand on his cock and imagining Nate there beside him, imagining it's Nate's body instead of the pillow that he's grinding against. This part isn't normal, it's new, but it's good. It takes Brad's breath away to picture Nate against him, his dick hard against Brad's. To turn all the times he's seen Nate's dick into the reality of it wrapped in his hand.

He closes his eyes, breath catching, as he rocks into his fist. He can see Nate from the afternoon - hair catching the sun and shining, green eyes flashing with humor, his mouth curved in a smile right before he leaned in to... Brad cuts off the thought, going back to Nate's hands around his soda can, around the football. Long, tapered fingers that would wrap all the way around Brad's dick, would stroke him with the same smooth pumping motion that sends passes flying down the field.

Brad ducks his head, breathing hard into the pillowcase as his thumb slides across the head, and the drop of precome reminds him of Nate's tongue darting out to lick the drop of ketchup off his wrist. Biting the pillow, Brad concentrates on the ridge, rubbing it until it feels nearly raw from his grip, desperate and too tight. He wants to come, wants to feel himself spurt in his palm and then jack himself again with it, think about stroking Nate's spunk over his cock. He comes then, his whole body jerking and leaving him spent, still too close to the edge to let go and introduce a whole new set of sensations.

Instead Brad closes his eyes and curls in on the pillow, cock still in his fist. He needs to move, needs to clean himself up, but for right now he just wants to lie here and think about Nate, get it out of his system before he risks sneaking over to the Fick house and crawling through Nate's window, hoping that Nate's alone, hoping Nate's waiting for him.