the reluctant lobotomist (fourfreedoms) wrote,
the reluctant lobotomist

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Fic: Have Your Cake (And Eat It Too)

Title: Have Your Cake (And Eat It Too)
Author: fourfreedoms
Fandom: Generation Kill
Pairing: Brad/Nate
Word Count: 2,151
Rating: Hard R
Summary: Brad can't get Nate out of his head. Sequel to That's What She Said.
Notes: Clearly I'm this fandom's bitch. I was like, no I have calculus, I don't have time for this. And then I wrote it anyway.

Nate didn’t ever relax. It was never so clear until Nate had regained his manhood and Brad realized that sprawl Nate had laid in, post-orgasmic and blissed out, was the only time he’d ever seen him so much as slump. If Brad was honest with himself, and he tried to be, Brad thought about it a lot.

Unexpected. He’d walked away from it thinking, too bad, that was fun, like a good whore he’d finally found just before shipping out. Then days passed and his desperate attraction to Nate hadn’t gone away.

Nate would look over his shoulder and the long exposed column of his neck reminded Brad of how he’d kissed it. When Nate pointed something out with one long finger Brad thought of the marks he’d carried on his shoulders for days. When Nate wiped his mouth Brad saw him, arm over his face, trembling steps away from climax. A steadying hand on Brad’s elbow put Brad right back in the moment with Nate’s fingers curved around his throat, begging him for more.

And it wasn’t just a problem that Brad remembered the things that turned him on about Nate the way he had been. Brad was good at setting things aside that were too difficult and too complicated to deal with. The problem lay in the fact that every moment he found new things, real things, about Nate that got under his skin. Watching Nate’s shoulder blades move the rare times he was shirtless or the casual strength of his forearms caused the same heat low in his stomach as all the best plush breasts in Juggs.

Brad couldn’t fool himself. He wanted the LT just as much as he did in that brief period of delicate wrists and swaying hips. It weighed heavy in his belly, sick with something like guilt.

“What you thinkin’ about?” Ray said, thrusting his head in the driver’s side window.

Brad didn’t answer for a moment. “Home,” he said, flatly.

“Yeah, you miss it now, huh.”

Brad ignored him and got out of the HumVee.

Nate stood a few feet away, listening to Encino Man. He moved under Brad’s gaze, turning around like he felt a tap on the shoulder. When their eyes connected, the corner of his lip quirked, that soft smile none of them could help returning. Nate turned back to the captain. He seemed so unperturbed. Brad blew out a breath. It was like flirting in high school when wanting felt like torture and asking seemed like building a tower to heaven.

He wondered if he’d still feel this way if he wasn’t trapped in the desert surrounded by men and heavy machinery. If these desires would still stand up in a world of cable and fast food restaurants, Victoria Secret Catalogues, and pickup basketball. It was not a line of reasoning he pursued very far. There was too much empty space out here, too much time for tripping over memories. He sent a swift nod at Ray and then started walking to the edge of their perimeter, wishing he could go further without worrying someone. Wishing he had something to fix to keep his mind off of himself.

Brad internalized very well. Too well, his high school guidance counselor had said with a sad look. Part of what he was was wrapped up in that fact. He couldn’t change it. It resulted in a broken engagement and a Best Man’s toast that had burned his mouth on the way out. He knew if he forced this down long enough, it would go away. Nate just made it very hard.

“What planet are you on, dawg?” Poke said, coming up behind him.

Brad sighed. He said, “The planet of tired, horny, and hungry.”

“No, dawg,” Poke replied, pulling his tac helmet off. “That’s the planet all of us are on. You, you’re somewhere else.”

Brad huffed and smiled. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Poke lifted his brows. “Mmhm,” he said. Brad felt him watching the entire trek back to his vehicle.

Ray was uncharacteristically quiet when they pulled out onto the road again. “Ray, did someone put downers in the asswater?” he asked, ignoring Trombley’s snicker.

Ray sighed mournfully and then started in on the difference between Wendy’s, McDonalds, and Burger King. “See, McDonalds has the fries and the apple pie, but they’ve also got that motherfucking red-haired serial-killer clown offering you toys and big macs. That shit ain’t right.”

Brad snorted and swept his eyes over the harsh land. For a few hours he didn’t think about Nate or the ache in his belly.

If Brad thought Ray was going to let it go, he was wrong. Ray knew something wasn’t right. He was like a pedophile after junior high cheerleaders. He stuck to Brad like chewing gum on the heel of his shoe. Every breath he took, every combat jack he tried to make, Ray interrupted with manic cheer and rapid fire treatises on everything from softball to crown molding.

“Ray? What the fuck?” Brad said, after hours of this deluge in the HumVee. “Do they even let polluted motor home kids like yourself see crown molding? No! Now fucking silence yourself.”

“Oh shut up, Mr. Shag Rug.”

Brad rolled his eyes at the weak comeback. He was going stir-crazy out of his mind, hadn’t had an instant to himself to let off some high quality steam. Every time Nate spoke on the comms was like a sock to the jaw. Brad saw imminent war crimes in his future.

“Fuck this carebear shit, Ray,” Brad said, eyes straight ahead. Trombley and the reporter were hanging on to every word in the backseat. “I’m just peachy, but if you don’t stop babysitting me, I’m going to borrow Trombley’s SAW, shove it down your throat, and hand you over to Doc to deal with.”

Ray snorted. “Well that’s obviously sublimation for what you really want—”


Ray sighed and concentrated on the road, only giving a few diatribes for reporter’s benefit. Brad felt a tension headache tightening up all along his skull. His jaw twinged dully. Sublimation. Jesus. It was like being a fourteen-year-old all over again where every word in the English language actually meant sex. Although back then a pretty-boy Dartmouth graduate who worried his lower lip too much hadn’t been on the other side of it.

They made camp for the night, camouflage nets coming out and marines spreading out almost carelessly. Brad sighed. This was his moment. Probably the only one he was going to get. He walked off into the high grass with barely a backwards glance. He’d hardly gone fifty feet before Nate intercepted him.

“What’s going on, Brad,” he said, voice hard. Dust was streaked across his face, but his mouth still seemed so red.

“Respectfully, I don’t know what you mean, sir,” Brad said, dropping his eyes.

“You’re walking around like a fucking zombie,” Nate said, mouth tightening.

“Did Poke say something?” Brad replied, voice steely.

“No,” Nate said, shortly, “I have two eyes of my own, thank you.”

Brad bit his lip. “I don’t know what to tell you.” He couldn’t look at Nate for very long. It was like turning the lights on after too long in the dark.

Nate stepped in so close he was forced to meet his gaze or be awkwardly staring at his MOPP suit-covered dick. Nate didn’t touch, but the whisper of space between them felt like one.

“Do you still want me?” he said softly, waiting for an answer. Brad was silent. He didn’t want to put it to the air. Nate huffed out a bitter laugh. “Because I’ve always wanted you.”

Brad felt the knot in his stomach unclench, even as trepidation welled up in him. “Don’t say that, sir, we can’t—”

Nate turned away. “Believe me, I know.” He took a step, pushing off into the grass.

“You’re all I think about, sir,” Brad called quietly after him. Nate stopped. “Every goddamn second is filled with you.”

Nate turned back, practically dropping his M16. He hooked two fingers under the chinstrap of Brad’s tac helmet, yanking his head down. “You shouldn’t say that,” he parroted, centimeters away from Brad’s mouth, and then his lips crashed down over Brad’s. Brad made an agonized sound in the back of his throat before his arms went up around Nate. He palmed his ass, pulling Nate up and against his dick.

“You’re already hard,” Nate whispered, voice wondering, after he tore his mouth away to snatch a few fevered breaths. Brad groaned and dropped his mouth to Nate’s lower lip, sucking on the pink swell of it. He hadn’t thought about kissing anybody as much as he did Nate. Nate’s fingers dug into his vest like he was using it to hold himself upright.

It was like Brad remembered it being and different at the same time. Nate had only been three inches shorter as a woman, but he’d had considerably less bulk. His hands were bigger and he used them to his advantage, slender fingers curling around the back of Brad’s neck, pushing at the tension he carried there. It was a double assault, and Brad crumbled beneath it.

They fell back into the grass and somehow, minutes later, his pants shoved down his thighs, Nate was braced above him, jerking him off. Nate smiled at his curses, a teasing grin Brad didn’t remember ever seeing before. He couldn’t breathe. He had to wrench his mouth away and suck down a much-needed lungful of air. Nate chuckled, thumb curling over the crown of Brad’s cock. He pressed at the slit, dragging the pad of his finger down over it before resuming a fast punishing stroke. Brad thrust up hard into his hand, hips rising off the ground, and Nate sank some of his weight down on top of him to keep him still.

“I’d suck your cock, Brad, given enough time,” Nate told him, smiling at Brad’s choked-off moan. His fingers skated over Brad’s balls. “Lay you bare, the way you did with me, fuck straight through those iron-clad walls you have up.”

Brad tightened a hand around the elbow Nate was using to prop himself up, his thighs tensing and untensing as he got close. Nate wasn’t going for slow or teasing, just effective, almost utilitarian pulls on his dick that left Brad shaking. It could’ve been his own hand Nate seemed to know what he wanted so well, but Brad knew it was as much about Nate’s body looming over his, his sex voice that hadn’t just been a feature of being a woman, and those deep green eyes. Nate was his pornography.

“Given enough a time,” Nate said, at his ear, “I would worship you.”

Brad spilled all over Nate’s palm, mouth muffled in his own shoulder to keep from crying out. It was silent and still. Brad remembered that sensation from last time, of feeling like the only two people on earth. Nate stared down at him, an expression on his face Brad wasn’t sure he understood. Brad blinked and it was gone. Nate wiped his hand on the grass and began carefully straightening Brad up while Brad lay boneless and pliant. When he’d been fitted back into his MOPP suit, Nate patted his chest firmly.

“Next time you need this? You ask for it,” Nate said, and brushed an open-mouthed kiss over Brad’s lips. He chuckled again when Brad’s eyes slid closed. When Brad opened his eyes again, Nate had rolled to his feet. It was dark enough now that Brad had trouble making him out as he disappeared.

He waited a few minutes. His head was curiously empty for the first time in days. He breathed deep, and took a moment to assess the situation. It made him wonder if it had really happened. If he thought about it too much he’d probably be ready to go again in another fifteen minutes. So he didn’t think about it. He couldn’t afford it. He gathered himself together and made his way back to camp. He felt shaky, like he’d had too much caffeine, and his skin was tender and over sensitized. If he was lucky, nobody would notice.

Ray and Walt were talking, spread out under a camo net. They noticed him when he was fifteen feet away.

Ray smiled at him. “Did you deal with your headache?”

“As you seem to still be alive, I suppose not,” Brad replied dryly.

“Fine, fine, avoid the issue,” Ray groused, “But you’re in a much better mood.”

“Am not.”

“Are so.”

“I was never in a mood.”

“Bullshit, it was like you were menstruating!”

Walt sighed. “This is the stupidest argument I have ever heard.”



I think I’ve made it a rule to end every fic with Walt. Hopefully you thought it lived up to the first part.
Tags: brad/nate, fic, generation kill
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