Fandom: Generation Kill
Word Count: 1,025
Summary: This is from that Steam Punk universe I will one day finish writing where Brad is king of the thieves and Nate is the disappointing heir to a dukedom who likes to fiddle about in the lab he built against his parents wishes. One day Brad saves Nate from being pickpocketed and left for dead and Nate joins him in the underworld.
Notes: A christmas present for tikiaceae who wanted a snowball fight.
The snow had fallen so thick that night that the roof on the old crofter’s building across the way had sagged in under the weight. Nate woke up in his little room under the eaves to fogged up window panes and an unending sense of quiet. He hadn’t meant to fall asleep here, but he’d been up late, tinkering. When he looked in the tiny shard of mirror he had over the little wash basin, he could see the ink of his own blue prints smeared across his cheek.
After a breakfast of tea and toast Meg made him in the back kitchen of the tavern while trying to get him to accept “at least a rasher of bacon, or a soft-boiled egg, oh love, you don’t eat near enough, even a wee bit of cheese would do,” he got back to work on his ‘contraption’ as Brad called it. He discovered early he was missing a few parts.
He didn’t want to bother Brad about it. Brad offered him a space here, whenever he chose to use it, and he was there rather more often, he suspected, than Brad had envisioned. He couldn't leave again without letting Brad know. Brad knew everything that happened under his roof and to a good bit of the acreage that wasn't. He passed Brad reading the paper in the front room of the tavern on his way to the door. The few patrons who managed to get a room in the perennially filled Devilish Hound were clustered about the tables giving him a slight berth, comfortable breathing room, Brad would've called it.
“Leaving already?” Brad drawled, not looking up from the paper.
Nate paused in putting on his coat and hat. “No, I’ve got to pick up a few parts again. I forgot a few.”
Brad folded the paper down, blue eyes boring into Nate as he ducked his head and pulled his gloves on. Like he was very much aware Nate was trying to hide the fact that Brad’s boys had again tampered with his experiments.
“Let me accompany you,” Brad said, rolling to his feet and throwing the paper down onto a nearby table.
Nate sighed. “This is hardly necessary.”
“Yes,” Brad replied, “it is.” Nate chewed his lip as Molly was sent running for Brad's coat and gloves. Brad didn't say anything else.
They cut through the park, wading nearly knee-deep in snow. It soaked through his trousers, and he knew when he got back to the manor, Ashton would ask him about his sodden hems, but Ashton was a good fellow, and didn’t tell Nate’s parents whenever he left via the right window of his bedroom.
Nate nearly had a heart attack in surprise when something soft exploded against his back. He turned around to find Brad grinning and hefting another nearly perfect snowball.
Nate had to dive behind a tree to avoid the projectile. He poked his head around the trunk, and had to pull back almost instantly to avoid another snow ball hitting him in the face.
“That’s rather unfair, Colbert, taking a man by surprise like that,” he shouted over his shoulder as he began packing snowballs.
“Thief,” Brad reminded him.
“Indeed,” Nate said under his breath, and then darted back around the tree to hit Brad in the face with a snowball of his own. Brad wiped snow off his face, leaving his cheeks and mouth shiny and red before firing back with a projectile that caught Nate’s arm. Brad wasn’t content with a defensive position and he forced Nate out from behind his tree. Nate ran blindly, laughing until he couldn’t breathe, trying to throw over his shoulder and watch where he was putting his feet at the same time. Brad chased him around the snow-covered green until they'd both completely given up on making snowballs and were merely hurling slush at each other.
Nate slipped and Brad fell down on top of him, chest still heaving with laughter. “Oh, I’m soaked.” Nate said, not even bothering to try and dislodge Brad. It was no use getting Brad to do anything he didn't want to. If Brad decided he liked resting on top of Nate that’s where he’d stay. Brad smeared more snow across his face until he cried out, “Mercy, mercy! Good Lord! Mercy!”
Brad chuckled. “Wellington send word from the front! Victory at last.”
“It should be a sin to gloat,” Nate replied.
Brad looked down at him, eyelashes sparkling where snow had melted on them. “I believe it is,” he said softly and then bent and pressed cold lips that Nate barely felt against his own. Nate gasped and pulled his mouth away. He struggled against Brad's weight."
"What are you doing? I'm a man, Colbert."
"I know," Brad replied with a chuckle, seizing his chin and pressing another kiss to his mouth. He caught Nate's lower lip between his teeth and tugged, giving Nate pause in his squirming and sending heat straight to his middle.
"We shouldn't--" Nate managed.
Brad made a hmming noise in his throat, "Yes, we certainly should." He kissed Nate breathless, until he was hanging on to Brad's front, hands fisted in the wool of his coat, to make sure he didn't up and leave. Brad finally pulled back with one last lingering lick over Nate's lip and got to his feet. Nate lay in the snow, his eyes closed, waiting for the world to stop spinning so wildly beneath him.
"Come on, my lord, we should get to the haberdashery before the temperature drops any further," he said. "There'll be more kissing in a warm place."
"I don't think there should be more of that," Nate said softly, but let Brad help him to his feet. He was all over wet and Brad was too. How was he ever going to explain to the haberdasher, let alone Ashton. The way Brad was looking at him made him blush and he had to turn his face away.
Brad chuckled. "You're not a very convincing liar."