the reluctant lobotomist (fourfreedoms) wrote,
the reluctant lobotomist

Fic: That's What She Said

Title: That's What She Said
Author: fourfreedoms
Fandom: Generation Kill
Pairing: Brad/Nate
Word Count: 5,114
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Nate gets turned into a girl. Brad just can't help himself.
Notes: rosekay was kind enough to beta and let me bounce ideas off of her until the wee hours of the morning. It takes place some nebulous time in the miniseries.

Nate groaned weakly and blinked open unfocused eyes. He shoved away the hand Doc offered to help him up and struggled to his feet, blowing out a breath. Brad felt relief rush up his throat and settle in stomach when he stayed steady. Nate seemed fine on the surface. Yet something was clearly not right. They’d all come running when they’d heard the explosion, thinking the field was mined. Instead they found their lieutenant lying in an unconscious sprawl.

“Sir, are you—” Doc started, reaching out with gloved hands.

Nate pushed his helmet off his head, and started furiously peeling off his layers, flak jacket and MOPP suit giving way to reveal skin at his collarbones. They stood in shock, watching him fight with his gear. Brad stared at him, silent, unsure of what to say. They were out in the open, just out of sight of the HumVees and Nate was throwing his clothes off.

“LT, you good?” Stafford asked, shooting a quick worried glance at Christeson.

Nate cursed and pushed his pants down. Doc started forward with a, “Sir, please—”

Nate pulled the band of his boxers away from his waist and looked down. “FUCK!”

Doc grabbed his wrist and tugged, peering down his pants. “Oh, Jesus, sir,” he said, covering his mouth with one latexed hand. He backed away, shaking his head. Brad blinked back and forth between the two of them. He caught Nate’s startled eyes and wondered if he’d managed to get his nuts shot off.

“I must be crazy. I must be,” Nate said and reached out to tow Brad in by his sleeve. He pressed Brad’s palms to his chest.

“Sir, I—” Brad started, blindsided, and then he noticed something strange under his hands. He paused, eyes flying up to meet Nate’s.

“Are those breasts?!”

“Yes, Brad, I do believe they are,” Nate said softly, voice strangely wondering like he was marveling at some exhibit in a museum instead of his own situation. The fabric of Nate’s t-shirt was drawn tight from Brad’s hands, molded around the soft flesh. “I—” he took a hitching breath, “I believe I’ve been turned into a girl.”

Brad couldn’t look away. His mouth hung open slightly. They were perky handfuls, and he wasn’t sure how he missed them at first glance. He could feel Nate’s every breath through his fingertips. It was arresting.

“Hah, you hear that, Rolling Stone?” Ray shouted somewhere behind Brad, “I told you Saddam had chemical weapons.”

Brad dropped his hands, startled, suddenly aware of their audience.


Nate was probably never terribly aware of his physical beauty. He likely had no clue that when he was introduced as their platoon commander, they’d called him Marine Barbie for a week and made jokes about sticking it to him. Then the wide-eyes and the soft-spoken behavior had been peeled back to reveal a core of solid steel and nobody had joked, because the concept was a little frightening. Nate gave everybody the impression he was calm and collected, perhaps a little bit malleable, and then he went for the throat. But now, transformed into an actual XX-chromosomed female, Nate was a huge problem.

They made camp that night and Nate refused to put his gear back on. It was for practical reasons, Brad could recognize that. Nate said, “It’s a lia-fucking-bility,” when he’d pulled his pants up and tried to tug everything else back on. He couldn’t walk in them anymore. Five seconds later they were treated to another striptease.

Nate strode around the whole time in his boots, boxers, and shirt. He looked like a 90s wet dream. If they ever made a calendar of Marine babes, they’d ask Nate to be in it. It was terrifying.

Brad really did not like the way Encino Man straightened up when Nate walked past, Stafford following behind him, gear in his arms.

Nate had really long legs. They were pale and smooth, and Brad was sure every marine in the camp was imagining Nate tightening his thighs around their waists. Then there were the breasts, which thank god it wasn’t cold. Brad would have to start beating them off with the butt of his M4. Worst of all was definitely Nate’s ass. At least for Brad, who had to walk behind him.

Nate still had the closely cropped hair, and his arms were visibly corded with muscle, but he made it look like he’d been their number one fantasy all along. Command had been notified, but there wasn’t a whole lot that they could do. There was no protocol on in-the-field sex reassignment. The only thing anybody could think of was to Casevac him, but he wasn’t having it.

“I’m not combat ineffective, Doc,” Nate had said dangerously. “If even the suggestion comes out of your mouth, I will accuse you of sex-discrimination before a full military tribunal.”

Doc had sighed and raised his hands, ensuring a fate of unresolved hard-ons for the entire company.

“Do you think the LT would be flattered if I said I wanted to do him?” Ray said, watching Nate conference with Gunny Wynn at his HumVee, Doc still hovering close.

Before Brad could reprimand him, Rudy flipped up his sunglasses and answered, “Are you high? The LT would not appreciate that.”

“Sweet Jesus, I can’t help it,” Ray said plaintively as Nate bent close to the car to inspect a map. It seemed like the entire camp stopped dead, craning to watch his hips sway. Walt rapped a harsh fist against Ray’s tac helmet.

“Just what do yuz think yer doin? Starin’ at yer platoon commander’s gently rounded behind?” Sixta shouted, marching out from behind a tent and startling them all. “Get yerselves ta work! They’s graves to be dug!”

Everybody sprung into action, leaping away from the Sergeant Major as he shouted after them. Brad caught Nate looking over his shoulder questioningly and hid a smile. Sixta was his new best friend.


They found Nate a new MOPP suit the next day. Brad thanked the heavens when he saw Nate walking purposefully around, mercifully covered, brooking no argument as he tossed out orders. Nate’s voice was deep for a woman, throaty they’d call it. It was distracting, but not enough to be a hindrance. Brad thought he wasn’t going to have to worry anymore and he’d be able to focus his whole attention on the road ahead.

And then Nate squatted down to inspect something. Goddamn MOPP suit. It was made for a woman slightly shorter than him and stretched tight over the curves of his ass until it looked like it had been painted on. Four different marines stopped what they were doing to stare. It wasn’t until they caught Brad’s menacing expression that they hurried on.

If this was Saddam’s chemical weapons arsenal, what was the point? To sorely test the Republican Guard’s morals? In the land of the Burqa this made no sense. In the mean time Nate was going to drive him absolutely insane.


That night as the sun went down and the heat finally left the air, Brad sat with his team trying not to think about what a colossal fuck-up everything was. Nate walked over, and Brad’s gut tightened.

“How was your first full day as a woman?” Rolling Stone asked, smiling. Brad took a steadying sip out of his canteen.

Nate shook his head and said speculatively, “Not much different from being a man. Don’t seem to think about fucking quite so often though.”

Brad choked and spit out his water. The word replayed over and over in his head. Fucking. Jesus, how many times a day did people say that around him. He was sure it had never sounded like that before. Ray laughed at the expression on his face.

“Brad is appalled at you, sir,” Ray said with a shit-eating grin, “Just because you’ve misplaced your balls—” Walt reached over and smothered him with his hand. Ray tried to talk behind it, but Walt thumped him hard in the side. Brad was glad Walt was taking care of things, because at this point, he’d doubtless overreact and then he’d have to explain himself.

“I’ll ignore that, Person,” Nate said and smiled slightly. “I will say, this MOPP suit is riding so far up my ass—” he broke off to make a sound in the back of his throat, shifting his hips pornographically like that would solve the problem. They all stared at him round-eyed. Walt’s hand dropped limply from Ray’s mouth, and Nate shrugged.

“What can you do? Night, boys,” he said, moving off into the darkness.

There was strained silence for a moment. None of them could meet each other’s eyes and then Ray whistled. “Holy hell, the LT is sex on legs.”

Walt huffed out a sigh and said, “You only think that because you’ll screw anything.” But he continued to stare off into the distance where Nate had disappeared for a long time. Rolling Stone furiously scribbled in his notebook, like he was doing some sort of anthropological survey on the interaction of sex-deprived marines and the unfortunate women who came across them. Brad thunked his head back against his HumVee and prayed for mercy.


Men always made this big show of wanting to take women in power down a peg. But as Brad started to see, that was a complete falsehood. The men of Nate’s platoon were halfway to rolling over and saying ‘fuck me harder’ when he looked at them with that unwavering green gaze. Or when he said, “Get to work,” to get them all going in the morning. Ridiculous. There was nothing erotic about “get to work.” Brad felt the strain in his face from constantly keeping it free of emotion.

That day in his HumVee, with Nate’s voice filtering down over the comms, Brad thought he actually might snap. Watching Nate swan around like his breasts and his voice and his cheekbones weren’t anything began to make him angry.

“Say ‘interrogative’ one more time for me, baby,” Ray cackled as Nate addressed Encino Man.

Brad cut him a look. “Shut the fuck up, Ray.”

Ray ignored him, as he tended to do, and said, “You know, maybe the LT could use that phone sex voice on the insurgents, tell ‘em all to go home and sit the fuck down.”

“Ray,” Brad said firmly. Trombley snickered in the backseat.

Ray banged his palm on the steering wheel and said, “That is if those haji motherfuckers wouldn’t try to rape him while we all watched.”

“RAY!” Brad barked, taking his eyes off the terrain to glower at him.



Screw Nate’s MOPP suit, Encino Man was the ‘lia-fucking-bility.’ In new and creative ways, too. He listened to Nate even less now. They all lived on the edge, waiting for the moment he did something insane and dangerous when there would be no way to stop him. “I don’t take orders from women,” always seemed to be hovering on the tip of his tongue. At the same time, he looked like he wouldn’t mind throwing Nate on the ground and violating him. Brad was going to get an ulcer.

He was going to die young and not in the cool blaze-of-glory way; he was going to expire from stress in his clearly futile attempt to protect Nate’s virtue. That or Nate was going to kill him with his smile and loose stance that seemed to give everybody but Rudy ideas. Which had to be proof positive of what they’d been saying about him all along.

Rudy seemed to be far more into dressing Nate up like a doll and giving him tips on how not to develop unsightly figure-ruining muscle. “Reyez, not that I don’t appreciate your efforts,” Nate said, one afternoon while they sat around, wasting time, acting like there wasn’t a war on. “But I’m not actually a woman.”

Rudy gave one last tug on his sleeve like it would suddenly make Nate’s uniform into a sparkly princess ball gown. “Everybody should try to look their best,” he said with a smile.

Brad very much would’ve loved to speak up at that point and disagree. Nate should not try to look his best. At this rate he was going to get gangbanged by his men.


Brad didn’t even realize how bad it was until that night when he came across Chaffin having a harried combat jack braced against the side of a parked Humvee, staring out across the hood. His first thought was to turn the other way as they all did, and then he realized what was in Chaffin’s line of sight.

“You cannot jerk off to your Platoon Commander, marine,” he growled in his best ‘drop down and give me twenty’ voice. Fifteen feet away, Nate continued to go over his map with Poke, oblivious to what was happening on the other side of the vehicle.

Chaffin jumped, dropping his dick in the process. “Ah, Colbert, Jesus,” he said, furiously trying to button himself up. He turned around and gave Brad a sheepish look. Brad raised an eyebrow. “Right, leaving,” Chaffin said, cleared his throat, and ran off like Brad had set his ass on fire.

Brad grit his teeth.


The next morning while the camp was still sluggish from sleep deprived marines who hadn’t worked their energy up yet, Brad returned from his watch to find Nate pouring water down his face. He blinked darkened lashes at Brad and smiled. “Morning,” he said and wiped his face with his palms.

“Morning,” Brad replied, staring at the translucent neckline of Nate’s shirt. It was quiet and still and it felt like they were the only two people in the world.

“Not worrying about shaving is definite plus,” Nate told him.

Brad swallowed and had to give himself a moment to regain his composure. He finally said, “Did you ever have to shave, sir?”

Nate pursed his lips, but there was humor in his eyes. “Get moving, sergeant.”

“Yessir,” Brad said, fighting a smile of his own.

He thought about Nate’s neckline for the rest of the day, the way he could see the long curve of Nate’s collarbone, the hollow at his throat, and the peachy swell of his breasts pushing at the water-logged fabric. It was a long hard day of sitting in a HumVee with not a whole lot to do. He was so screwed.

“Fuck,” he said, softly.

“Random expletives, Brad?” Ray said, grinning. “Are we having a bad day?”

“Shut up, Ray.”


It all went to hell a few nights later, when Nate’s MOPP suit somehow split. Brad suspected marine interference. One minute Nate was wearing his uniform, the next the pants just seemed to fall right off him. Thank god he wasn’t going commando. Casey Kasem chose that exact moment to walk by and accuse Nate of being inappropriate with his subordinates.

Nate had Casey Kasem’s own KA-bar laid across his throat before they’d even blinked. Probably what they should’ve done was start shouting at Nate, somewhere along the lines of “Whoa, whoa, whoa, LT! What are you doing?” Instead they watched in bald-faced surprise as Casey Kasem squeaked and fell back, tumbling to the ground.

Nate snarled, “Do you even know the severity of that allegation?”

Nate made a sound of disgust when Casey Kasem didn’t reply. He dropped the knife point down in the dirt beside his head. None of them moved forward to help Griega up. Nate took a few breaths, casting his eyes around at the rest of them. When they only stared back, he furiously shucked the rest of his uniform off and stepped out of the useless pants, and stomped off, muttering.

Gunny Wynn slowly picked up his discarded useless uniform. “Okay, boys, nothing to see here,” he said waving them on.

He gathered them up later when Griega had scurried back to Encino Man like the weasel he was and said, “If any of you fuck with the LTs gear again at any time for the duration of this crisis, you can forget a court martial, because I will personally kill you.”

Brad kept his face blank. If it happened again, Gunny would have to get in line.


“Yo, dogs, It’s been an hour, and the LT still ain’t back,” Stafford said, walking over to them with Christeson in tow. Rolling Stone, Ray, Walt, and Garza turned to stare at him pointedly.

“What?” Brad said, putting down the M4 he was cleaning.

“Brad, you’re to go after him,” Ray said, shaking his head. “That’s what Q-tip has in mind.”

Stafford raised his eyebrows and nodded. Alone with the LT, whose figure had been softened into mouth-watering curves that Brad just wanted to put his mouth on. Lovely. Brad sighed and picked up the rifle.

He found Nate in a circle of scrubby trees, pacing back and forth. “Come to play my nursemaid?” Nate said, back still turned to him. Brad didn’t say anything.

“I’ve seen the way you look at me, Brad,” Nate said, looking over his shoulder. It seemed coy even though Brad knew that nothing about Nate was coy.

“We all look at you, sir,” Brad replied, shifting on his feet.

Nate turned around and waved his hand. “Not the way you do.”

“Sir, I—” He broke off. Nate stared at him, waiting for him to finish what he was going to say. Brad made an anguished sound and dragged Nate in for a feverish kiss. Nate’s mouth was as lush and tender as it looked. He breathed hard through his nose and gripped Brad’s shoulders tight. Brad hadn’t realized how small Nate actually was now. One spread-fingered palm seemed to span the entire width of Nate’s back. He stroked it down Nate’s spine, a sweet thrill rushing through him as Nate shuddered.

Brad tore himself away with a soft expletive and turned away. He heard Nate’s harsh breaths echoing his own. His legs wouldn’t seem to hold him anymore, and he slumped to the ground. “I don’t think—I just want—this isn’t…” he struggled with his words. Nothing seemed to come out right or make any sense.

Nate stared at him, hand at his mouth. A strange expression crossed his face that Brad couldn’t decode, and then he was stepping over to Brad.

“I thought you only did whores,” Nate whispered, straddling his hips, palms resting on Brad’s shoulders. Brad didn’t know what he did anymore. Nate kissed him, his long-fingered and newly delicate hand cupping Brad’s jaw. He shifted his weight against Brad, lining him up so that if Brad wanted, he could tug the thigh of Nate’s shorts aside and thrust right inside. He contemplated it, fingertips skimming the hem where it met Nate’s thigh. Nate blew out a breath and rolled his hips down.

“Oh man, I could totally work myself off on the seam,” Nate said, rocking back and forth, riding pressure and friction hard on Brad’s cock. Even though he couldn’t tell in the dim light, Brad knew that Nate’s cheeks were flushed a deep red. That it extended under the collar of his shirt down to the swell of his breasts.

“Fuck,” he said and flipped them over, tugging Nate’s t-shirt up around his ears and using it to pin Nate’s arms to the ground. He drew a line with his tongue down Nate’s chest, before curving back up to suck Nate’s nipple into his mouth. Nate’s hips jolted under his and he let out a soft mmm. Brad smiled and shoved at the taut flesh with his tongue, reveling in Nate’s quiet noises and hitching gasps.

He’d been imagining this forty different ways a day since Nate first tugged him in and cupped his hands around his breasts. Nate slid his bare thigh down the outside of Brad’s leg and hooked it around Brad’s middle, pressing them together. Brad felt smug satisfaction well up in him and worked lower, lips skimming down over Nate’s belly. Nate finally worked himself free of his t-shirt just as Brad trailed his tongue along the line where the elastic of Nate’s shorts met his skin.

Nate took a deep breath as Brad jerked his shorts down his thighs. He slowly slid Nate free of them, using the time to draw his hands down Nate’s endless legs. Nate lay there boneless as he unlaced his boots and tossed them aside. The thatch of curls at the juncture of Nate’s thighs was the same color as his eyebrows. Brad leaned down, breathing hot against his flesh. Nate’s hips twisted upwards, seeking contact. He was completely naked in the dusty scrub brush, spread out for Brad who was still wearing all his clothes. Brad ran his thumb down over Nate’s clitoris and Nate’s legs tightened together around him like Nate was trying to force them closed.

“You don’t have to,” Nate said, softly, arm thrown over his eyes.

“I’m perfectly aware that I don’t have to, sir,” Brad replied. But he wanted to. He wanted to do this for hours. In a bed, in private, where he could yell all the obscene things he wanted to do to Nate and nobody would care.


“What?” Brad said, completely derailed. He stroked Nate’s clit a second time. He was slick, and Brad’s fingers easily slipped over him.

Nate wriggled and took a breath, before panting, “Call me…Nate.”

Brad thought of something suddenly. “Have you touched yourself here?” His head was full of images of Nate writhing from the press of his own fingers.

Nate’s hands scrabbled over the dusty ground, chest heaving. “No,” he murmured, throaty sex voice they’d all been creaming themselves over for days sounding like he’d already had an orgasm.

Brad didn’t respond, he simply ducked his head, pressing an open-mouthed kiss over his swollen clitoris with just the barest flicker of tongue. Nate’s back pushed off the ground, arched up into a perfect bow, his breasts to the sky. He was too wonderful, Brad thought, and something about that hurt. Brad’s perfect woman was a man and his superior officer. They were breaking half the uniform code out here. He squeezed his eyes shut and pushed it from his mind, licking the path he’d marked out with his thumb down between Nate’s lips. Brad did it again, sensing Nate’s thigh muscles tensing and untensing as he did. Nate barely made a sound, just soft inhalations, as Brad flexed his tongue against him.

Nate tasted tangy, like clean sweat, but it soon gave way to the taste of Brad’s own mouth. Nate’s hand came down to his shoulder, gripping tight, and using it as leverage to push himself into Brad. His thumb slipped down Brad’s neck to press lightly against his throat. “Brad, I want you to fuck me.”

Brad’s entire body froze. He raised his head, wiping off his mouth, knowing his cheeks and chin were pink and shiny.

“I know you want to,” Nate said, index finger running over Brad’s inflamed lower lip. “I know what that expression on your face meant, every time I bent over, every time I said anything you could associate with sex. I’m still a guy.”

Brad held his gaze, Nate’s didn’t waver. Brad moved without thinking, hoisting himself up Nate’s body and scrabbling at his pants at the same time. He pulled himself out, barely bothering to push his pants down his thighs. “It’s gonna…it’s gonna…” he kept trying to warn him it was going to hurt, but Nate interrupted him with deep open-mouthed kisses, grinding shamelessly against him until Brad fit himself at Nate’s entrance.

“Do it,” Nate said. Brad dropped his head to Nate’s shoulder and thrust inside and through the tissue barrier in one quick heave. The rest of the way was a punishing glide home. He groaned, muffled against Nate’s throat and tried not to shake. Nate didn’t make a sound, just a breath caught in his throat. His thighs quivered and clenched around Brad, taking the pain as a soldier.

He let out a measured exhale as Brad pulled out, heels digging into Brad’s buttocks. The next thrust was slower, longer, letting Nate feel every inch of him. Brad ordinarily would’ve found his silence unnerving, but Nate still managed to communicate. He dug his fingers into Brad’s back and pressed their chests tight together. He swallowed all of Brad’s grunts and moans with messy mind-blowing kisses. Nate liked it best slow and hard, he held Brad in check with his legs, until Brad felt like he’d been waiting for the last couple of days for an orgasm on the horizon.

Brad could lose himself in this. He could forget everything else, all the fucked up shit. Nate was like an empty stretch of highway on a 1078 cc bike. He was so sweet and tight around him. Brad could only imagine what they looked like. He wished he could see everything.

He rolled them over again so Nate was on top and he slid even deeper inside, Nate taking that last bare inch of him. Nate’s head bobbed drunkenly on his neck, palms on Brad’s chest the only thing keeping him up.

“Oh shit, Brad, oh shit,” he said, ragged, eyes shut tight. He swayed slightly, rocking hips. When Brad lifted him up and then slammed back into him, he dug his nails into Brad’s chest and trembled. Brad was completely drunk on the sensation.

Nate thrust down against him, rolling his hips, like he remembered how it felt with old girlfriends. Brad couldn’t help reaching up and thumbing one rosy nipple. Nate caught and held the hand to his breast, still riding him hard. Brad wasn’t going to last, but he was bound and determined that Nate shouldn’t know that, that Nate come first.

Nate’s eyes flew open when Brad dragged the fingers of one hand down the crease of Nate’s ass until it met the sensitive flesh stretched around Brad’s dick. With a broken gasp he came, still holding Brad’s hand to his chest. His muscles constricted and he stilled as spasms shot through him. His breath spilled out of his mouth in harsh pants.

Brad rolled them over again, thrusting in hard just the way he wanted. Nate smiled secretively and never broke his gaze. The dark flush that had suffused his skin was already starting to dissipate and a dreamy expression had overtaken his face. Brad came thinking about seeing that head on his pillow, the graceful bare slope of his shoulder naked in his kitchen. It was almost painful.

He rolled off of Nate as soon as he had his breath back. Nate luxuriated for a moment in his nakedness and Brad couldn’t help but follow him with his eyes. Come dripped down Nate’s thighs and Brad realized with sudden horror that they hadn’t used a condom.

“It’s all right. It was stupid, but it’s all right,” Nate said sluggishly, realizing what he was looking at and reaching for his shorts. “Doc says I don’t have ovaries.”

“Fuck,” Brad said, sick with relief, dropping his head back in the dirt. Nate huffed out a laugh and stepped into his shorts. It took him a few moments of searching to find his shirt and Brad eagerly watched him, naked form mostly hidden in the darkness. He made a sound of displeasure when Nate pulled his shirt on.

“We have to get back,” Nate said, sheepish grin on his face as he hooked his boots off the ground. Brad nodded and looked away, doing up his pants and fastening his belt. The insides of Nate’s thighs were reddened and raw from the friction. He gave himself a moment before he got up, not thinking about what he’d done exactly. How Nate had been accused of fraternizing with his enlisted men and in retaliation he actually went and did it. Instead he wondered how he was possibly going to be able to think when Nate was around, when the entire time he’d be able to remember what this had been like.

Nate waited for him at the edge of the clearing, the expression on his face that of a warrior. Brad gave into sudden impulse, and belted his arm around Nate’s middle and hoisted him up, drawing him in for a kiss. Nate laughed, arms thrown around his shoulders for balance and kissed him back, his thighs winding around Brad’s hips.

“If we don’t stop—” Nate said, between nipping at Brad’s jaw and licking the inside of his lip. We probably never will, Brad completed for him in his head. It was addictive, uncompromising, this feeling that vibrated through him every time he touched Nate. Unexpectedly, Nate seemed to expand, gaining mass and bulk. He had to let go of him before they overbalanced.

He stared at Nate, realizing that he was back to his old self, broad shoulders, muscled abs, strong jaw. The whole shebang. “Oh, yes,” Nate said, rapturous, hand brushing down over his groin. “That’s more like it.”

“Well,” Brad said and cleared his throat. He dropped his eyes away from Nate’s.

“Is this going to be awkward?” Nate said quietly.

Brad looked at him, the whole picture. Nate raised his eyebrows, waiting for him to make a move. He brushed his lips over Nate’s quickly, just a chaste brush. It felt oddly regular. “No, sir.”

Then he walked ahead.

It was too bad. He would’ve liked to have done it again. He would’ve liked to have done it a thousand times. But it was for the best. Brad’s mental health could use the rest. The uniform code existed for a reason; they could get someone killed out here. Brad cared too much about this way of life to even think about compromising it.


When they walked back into camp, Brad’s team and a few others were sitting together over a stove, trying their best to make coffee like Rudy did. Nate had put his boots back on for the walk back and somehow he made it look like he was properly attired.

“Oh my god, the LT’s got his dick back!” Poke called good-naturedly. Nate rolled his eyes and walked away with a small nod of acknowledgement at Brad.

Brad sat down to resume cleaning his M4. Ray tossed a shit-eating grin his way and sang, “And when I get that feeling, I want sexual healing!”

Walt smacked him on the back of the head.

“Ow, hey!” Ray protested.

Walt crossed his arms. “You’re not allowed to ruin Marvin Gaye.”



This started as a conversation between me and aboutademongirl and then haitchem promised me the internal organ of my choice if I wrote it. I've always wanted a shiny gall bladder. There are probably about a million factual errors, but it's genderswap, SO!

ETA: It appears that nobody understood the oddly uncharged comment in the way that I meant it, which is obviously a failing on my part. It's been changed.

Now With Handy-Dandy Sequel
Tags: brad/nate, fic, genderswap, generation kill
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