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Brad couldn't believe he'd traveled to white-trash Hicksville (otherwise known as Nevada, Missouri)...yet here he was. He'd once told Wright that he would never socialize with these people outside of the Corps, and that was true, but whatever. He owed Ray something, maybe.
He owed Ray a lot, maybe.
So he'd made the trek to Ray's Weekend of Wedded Bliss, or whatever the fuck Ray was calling it, like Brad had read anything past the date on Ray's many, many emails. He'd made the trek, but he hadn't made a plan. Marines and making do and all that bullshit. Because he needed to hear that some more.
But, see, Hicksville. There was one hotel. Every room was booked. And no one was answering their fucking phone because the bonds of brotherhood were bullshit and they were all probably trashed already, at 6pm on a Friday, their weak constitutions surely to blame. Someone should shame them for that.
It was his duty, really. One had to maintain professional standards.
Brad hefted his bag and turned toward the couches in the lobby. He could hop onto the hotel's wi-fi, hack Ray's phone, and get his location. Once he figured out what hole they were drinking bathtub gin from he'd—
"...Brad?"
Brad froze, every muscle tense. The handle of his bag bit into his skin.
He'd met thousands of people in his time in the Corps, worked regularly with hundreds of them, but this one, the one officer who'd led him into a war and out again without losing his regard, goddamn Nate fucking Fick, he just couldn't shake.
Brad turned, wry little smile cemented in place. Iceman cool.
He blinked at Nate's appearance. "Soft" wasn't the right word. Nate was not a soft man, never would be. But he'd let his hair grow, he'd let the mantle of Command drain away, he smiled, so free and easy. Civilian, Brad's mind whispered, but he wasn't that either.
Brad never could categorize Nate. Other than, "Stop."
The irony of the stop sign Nate had given him outside Ba'quba, so they could maybe not kill civilians at roadblocks, had burned on so many levels.
"Captain," Brad greeted, realizing he'd been silent too long.
"Nate," he corrected, moving closer. Nate held out a hand, smile sliding into something wondrous, like looking at a gift you always wanted but never expected.
Brad took his hand, then found himself pulled into a hug. Bro hug, pats on the back, the whole nine.
Sure. He could do that.
Brad pulled away as soon as was proper. He was showing too much, he knew, but he always had been an abject fucking failure at policing himself around Nate. Some things never did change.
"Nate," he agreed, following his lead. Always following his lead.
"I'm glad you came," Nate said, eyes earnest and so fucking green. He'd forgotten.
That was a lie. He hadn't forgotten a goddamn thing. If only he could.
Brad tsked at him. "Come on, miss this barn burner of a good time? And I do mean that literally. It is Missouri, after all."
"Then that's our mission: dissuade the men from setting fire to any wayward structures."
"No missions for you anymore," Brad murmured, voice lowering, completely outside his control.
Nate tipped his head. "For old times' sake."
Brad hmmed, then looked around. Right. The world continued to spin, even if it felt like Brad was stuck in place.
"You staying in the hotel?" Nate asked, tinge of curiosity there. Why are you loitering in the lobby?
"They're booked." Off Nate's raised eyebrow, Brad elaborated: "I didn't know if I could get leave."
Nate nodded, once. Decisive. "You'll bunk with me then."
Brad swallowed, throat suddenly dry. "Thanks for the offer, sir, but it's hardly necessary. I'll figure it out."
Nate smirked a little, steel behind the amusement. And suddenly Brad had a motherfucking recon Marine officer standing in front of him, staring him down, unblinking. He resisted the urge to straighten to attention. "I don't believe I made an offer, Sergeant. With me."
Off Nate went, expecting him to follow, that same loping gait, the bearing that made other men get out of the damn way, your betters had arrived.
That casual certainty, the ease of command, the strength...all of it sparked a familiar heat in Brad's gut, the want he never could quell. Not even with distance. Or silence.
Dammit.
***
Nate's room, it turned out, had one bed.
Brad dropped his bag just inside the door, stretching like he wasn't bothered in the slightest.
"Dibs on the floor," Brad said, a half-smile to make it okay.
"I think we've both had enough of sleeping on the floor," Nate said, nodding to the bed. "It's big enough for two. Even two of us."
That idea was so terrible Brad could hardly take it in. And Nate wasn't leaving him room to protest. Captain Fick had decided how things should be and so they would.
Brad would be annoyed if he didn't find it so unbearably hot.
"Planned on company, did you? I wouldn't want to intrude." Brad was prying, he knew, but last he'd heard, Nate was shacking up with some Harvard Society princess.
"You could never intrude, Brad," Nate said, soft, sending traitorous warmth careening through him. "Now come on. Ray texted me the address of the bar."
***
The booze had helped, Brad decided. He floated on a healthy buzz, walking companionably beside Nate, heading back toward the hotel. If he had to room with Nate, having this soft cushion of inebriation was the only way to fly.
Nate stayed silent, wandering into Brad's path every so often, the only sign he was at all affected by the drinking. It was rather impressive, given the time Nate had been out of the Corps.
"You acquitted yourself admirably back there," Brad said, a traitorous hint of pride in his voice.
Nate snorted. "Dual masters programs at Harvard. Believe me, I can still put them away."
"What would the children say?"
"'Have another, Nate, you deserve it.'"
"You do," Brad said softly.
And shit, Brad needed to stop that. All night long he'd hung back and watched Nate navigate the crowd of Marines, free with his handshakes and hugs and smiles. One of the guys, but slightly elevated, able to frown at Chaffin and get him to shrug off the mental subdefective who tried to start something.
It was a shame so few people understood power anymore. That real power meant never having to say anything at all.
Brad had hung back and watched and admired. Ray had caught him at it. So had Poke. That didn't stop him, though. Neither did the bittersweet sting of want, never to be satisfied.
Masochism was terribly underrated.
And now they were here, walking back to the hotel together, sharing that silence again, the one he'd learned so well in Iraq: knowing and calm and sure. It held its own kind of ache.
As soon as they hit the hotel room, Nate started shedding clothes. His perfectly respectable button-down was undone and tossed aside with shockingly little care. Brad stared at Nate's back, at the satisfying stretch of muscle there, before he turned his eyes away.
No, Nate had not gone soft at all.
As Nate walked into the bathroom, Brad quickly changed into sleep pants. The bed taunted him; the worst kind of tease was getting just slightly less than exactly what you wanted.
But Brad should be used to that by now.
Nate emerged from the bathroom, taking Brad in, then tilting his head in question. Brad's heart thudded dully in his chest; it hurt how well they could still read each other.
"Which side?" Brad asked.
Nate shook his head. "The choices we get to make," he marveled. He went to the left side, pulling down the covers and crawling in.
Brad mirrored him, trying not to look too closely at Nate's bare chest, his unworried expression, the trust in his eyes. No use in any of that.
"'Night, sir," Brad murmured as he turned off the bedside light.
"Nate," he reminded, voice sleep-soft and open. He seemed determined to break Brad of the habit. To tear through the defenses Brad was so ruthlessly maintaining. Because of course.
"Nate," Brad agreed, drifting in the dark.
***
They'd started on opposite sides of the bed, of that Brad was sure. So how they had ended up facing, curled toward each other like parentheses, hands almost touching in the middle, he had no idea.
Nate breathed, even and deep, his face relaxed. The sheet had slipped down to his waist, warm skin and smooth muscle on display. Brad couldn't help but take it in.
Observe everything, admire nothing. Well, one out of two wasn't bad.
Unable to help himself, Brad shifted his hand toward Nate's, the barest hint of his pinky making contact. It was the most he could ever hope to get, he knew, this fleeting contact. Brad kept telling himself he was at peace with that.
At the touch, Nate's eyes snapped open, alert, analyzing the threat. Ready and willing to take it out, if need be. Just as quickly, he relaxed, sudden vigilance slipping away like it had never been.
Nate quirked his lips at Brad, acknowledging what just happened there. Not apologizing.
It had Brad instantly, blindingly hard. A vision of how this could go slammed into him: pushing Nate back until he was spread under Brad's hands, climbing on top of him, biting at all the skin on display. He could see if Nate's noises matched the ones in his dreams.
Brad didn't move. "How the fuck are you in civilian society?" he asked instead, voice gravelly.
"Most people see what they want to see," Nate said, voice equally low. It sent heat slithering up Brad's spine.
Nate was right, he knew. They probably saw the hair and the smile and the button-down and thought he was tamed. Safe.
Idiots.
"I see you," Brad said, no idea why. Taken without context it was asinine, the most obvious of declarations. Brad was looking at him; of course he saw him.
Nate didn't take it that way. His breath caught, eyes sharpening again.
"You always have," he said, like some kind of admission. The moment held, balanced on the edge of the knife. Brad stayed still, no idea what was happening, following Nate's lead. As always.
After a moment, Nate looked away, glancing to the clock. "We should get going. Pancakes," he said, like they were a necessity, right up there with breathing.
Brad could do pancakes.
***
Vaguely dirty vows stated, nuptials completed, and Brad had fulfilled his duty. Now he observed the reception from the sidelines, too many rowdy Marines in too small a space. Ray was in fine form, happiness looking good on him. Sarah made for a beautiful bride, handling the Marines' unseemly behavior with equanimity and grace.
Then again, she married Ray. She was probably used to unseemly behavior.
Brad smiled as Sarah shoved cake in Ray's face. Yeah, they'd be just fine.
A tickle at the base of his spine let Brad know Nate was watching again. They'd drifted apart once they got to the wedding. Or, rather, Brad had wandered off, trying to put some distance between them, between him and the memory of Nate licking syrup off his fingers.
But even apart, they'd been watching each other all night. It was exactly like being back in Iraq, complete with being surrounded by sleep-deprived reprobates. Every time Brad met Nate's gaze, he felt caught out, like he'd lost his M-4 and was about to blow the whole mission.
Except that there was no mission. And Brad had no idea what they were doing.
Brad was pulled out of it by Ray approaching with a fresh beer, handing it over. "I'm glad you're here, homes," he said, quiet, genuine. "Even if it's not for me."
"Please. Who else is gonna tell you to shut the fuck up," Brad said, knowing Ray would understand.
Ray smirked, getting it. Not that he would let it die there. "Come on, dude, I'm married now. No sexy talk."
"Don't worry, you still have the goats for that."
"Shit, son, you're in Missouri now. It's cows or go home."
Brad laughed, then shook his head. "I have no idea what Sarah sees in you...but I'm glad she sees it."
Ray flicked his eyes to Nate, then back again. "You deserve that, too."
Brad's smile widened, but he knew it was brittle now. Ray wouldn't miss it. "Well wishes rescinded. Let's stick with shut the fuck up."
Ray sailed off, the mocking salute of a beer his only response.
***
When Brad woke this time they weren't curved like parentheses. They were curled like spoons.
Brad had an arm flung over Nate's waist, fingers dangling. He could feel every breath Nate took, his back rising to meet Brad's chest, then falling again. His own breath puffed against the back of Nate's neck. He had no idea how either of them had slept like this. He'd never slept with anyone like this.
Brad pulled his hand back, going for a graceful exit—
Nate instantly grabbed his wrist. He held it fast, not saying anything, the two of them stuck in some kind of insane sleep limbo that Brad didn't know if he ever wanted to break.
Brad sucked in a breath to say something—no idea what—but then Nate tugged his wrist closer, resettling Brad against him. Nate's breathing had gone shallow. Nervous? Excited? He couldn't see him, so he was working blind.
"I didn't want you to be here," Brad said, finally. Nate tensed in his arms. "I didn't want the reminder."
Nate turned then, but looking into his eyes didn't offer any answers.
"I wanted to see if what I remembered was real...or some combat-induced fever dream," Nate replied and any outside observer would think they were having two completely different conversations.
Brad could barely let himself hope that they weren't. That they were, in fact, talking about the exact same thing.
"And what did you decide?"
Nate took a breath. He always was the brave one. "I missed you," he said, eyes steady on Brad's. "I missed this." A gesture between the two of them, to that ineffable connection that had lasted, despite years of silence.
Brad swallowed, matching Nate's courage. Following where he led. "I tried not to."
Nate's expression softened, that gentle look he got sometimes, like Brad was something fragile. He rolled closer, into Brad's space. Against his mouth: "I don't want to miss you anymore."
Even after that, Nate kissing him still came as a shock, dry press of lips. Confident. Sure.
Brad opened his mouth, catching Nate's bottom lip with his teeth, a sharp sting to wake him up—
Then Brad was on his back, Nate hovering over him as he dove down for more, mouth slick, open and wanting. His tongue teased, skating over Brad's palate, exploring. Completely assured.
But Nate still held himself over Brad, not pushing too far. Careful.
Well, fuck that.
Brad hooked an arm around Nate's shoulder and pulled him down. Skin against skin was a shock, even though they'd slept that way. Rubbing up against each other brought Brad back to his body, making him realize he was hard and wanting. Like he'd been that way for years.
Nate groaned against his mouth, grinding his erection into Brad's hip, and suddenly it wasn't enough, Brad wanted to see this.
He broke their kiss, panting, shoving at Nate's sleep pants. "Off," he grumbled.
Nate cooperated, shifting just far enough away to yank the pants down, letting Brad do the same. Then they crashed together again, rocking against each other, sweat beading along skin as they fell into a rhythm. It was easy, like they'd been doing this for ages, but still new, heat raging.
Brad found Nate's mouth again, sucking on his tongue. "Wanted you," he whispered into their kiss, like a confession.
"You had me," Nate said.
And that was it, that was enough, Brad coming against him, orgasm roaring through like a wave of bliss, white noise in his ears and warmth spreading between them.
Nate bit his jaw, then moaned, hips jerking against Brad helplessly as he came and came. Brad wanted to gather him up and hold him close, protect him so no one else could see his expression: blind-sided. Exposed.
They panted against each other. Nate leaned down to kiss him again, soft, maybe even exploratory. Brad returned it, running his fingers down Nate's cheek. He felt Nate's smile with the tips of his fingers.
"Ray's going to be insufferable, isn't he?" Nate asked.
"You have no idea."
Nate just smiled again, moving in for another kiss. "Worth it."
***
Fin. Comments are adored.