![[personal profile]](http://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Work Text:
They'd decided to move the study group from the suddenly-boisterous coffee shop to Nate's apartment. It wasn't far and they still had a ways to go with the material.
Travis was repeating his pitch for centralized planning—for the fifth time—as Nate turned the key in his lock, which gave Nate the perfect excuse not to pay attention.
Nate took one step into his apartment and tensed. The lights were on and somebody was home.
They shouldn't be.
Nate clocked the well-worn black boots neatly lined up just inside the door, unfamiliar lived-in leather jacket hung on the pegs just above, and someone was rustling around in his bathroom, no stealth at all.
Brad appeared, wearing sleep pants that clung and toweling himself dry. "Sir, your security is appalling."
"Brad," he greeted, relaxing minutely. "You think Fort Knox's security is appalling." Nate pushed past the pulse of surprise; he dropped his keys on the side table and shrugged out of his own jacket, carefully not thinking about all the skin on display. Wet skin.
"I didn't know you had guests—" Trevor said from behind him, uncertain.
"Neither did I." Nate moved aside so the others could shuffle in, the awkwardness of not knowing what to say heavy in the air.
Brad scanned the group and promptly dismissed them. Nate wondered if that meant they posed no threat or if they were merely too inconsequential for Brad to care. Probably both.
Brad swiped the towel down his chest and turned back to the bathroom, voice calling behind him: "You'll be glad to know Iraq is familiar—it's just as fucked as when we left. I found myself nostalgic for 2003 levels of fucked, so I thought I'd visit."
"I'm honored."
Brad returned, still in nothing but those damn sleep pants. Nate could actually feel the women's stunned staring from where they stood behind him. Hell, probably Travis,' too.
"As well you should be. And I brought you a present."
"Iraqi slave boy?"
"I'll put it on the list for next time," Brad offered without missing a beat.
Nate narrowed his eyes. "Next time?"
Rachel weakly protested, "Slave boy? You're talking—"
Brad cut her off imperiously: "And this, Harvard-goers, is why Nate will rule the world and you will not." Shifting his gaze from Nate's to the group behind him, he continued: "Ladies, you might want to get in good now."
Now Nate could feel Tricia look at him. Not for the first time he deeply regretted getting drunk enough to sleep with her at orientation.
Brad raised an eyebrow. "Nathaniel, really? I'm shocked."
Nate turned to the still-staring group, watching like it was the world's most fascinating tennis match. "Guys, can we reschedule?"
***
Nate didn't understand why Brad was here. He could be home in California, surfing all day and picking up women. Or riding his beloved bike all day and picking up women. Or, hell, just spending all day in bed with the women who'd invariably jump at the chance.
But instead he showed up on Nate's doorstep, like this was nothing unusual. It didn't quite track.
Apparently Brad disagreed. He simply went about his business, simultaneously getting dressed and poking through Nate's place. He passed along news of the guys like he and Nate were catching up after a long day, not a year and change at Harvard, a rotation through the Royal Marines, another Iraq tour. Like Nate hadn't gotten all news about Brad secondhand, from Mike or Evan or even Kocher, who emailed him once in a blue moon despite not having been in Nate's platoon. Like Brad's radio silence of more than a year hadn't said enough.
But no no, here he was, slipping into Nate's life, easy as anything. On the surface, at least.
"Kocher's arm got turned into fucking hamburger. His wife says hello. Rudy got suspended for hazing the new guys—he's pretty much turning into a basket case. His wife left him. Oh, and Poke. The new battalion commander called him a coward and transferred him out of the unit. Haven't talked to his wife in a while, but if I were the battalion commander I'd sleep with one eye open."
"Things are going well then," Nate said, still studying him, taking in the constant movement, the thinness of his wrists.
Brad made a hmming noise of agreement and peered out the industrial blinds that Nate hadn't bothered to replace. "This place has good sightlines."
"I didn't pick it for the ease with which I could assault the next building, Brad."
"Not consciously, anyway." When Brad finally looked back at him, Nate could see the hollowness lurking underneath, like he just needed someone who understood.
Nate didn't understand shit, but he knew that feeling. Wouldn't turn Brad away regardless.
Decision made, he nodded toward the door. "Well, Sergeant, looks like we've got ourselves a new mission: let's get drunk."
***
Instead of rescheduling, Nate emailed the group and told them to reconvene without him; he was spending a few days with his friend from out of town. He should probably feel guilty about dropping everything.
He didn't give a shit. Missing group didn't matter. Harvard wasn't the Corps. Nate knew he'd graduate.
And Brad was more important.
***
This bar was one of the less pretentious—a neighborhood kind of place, nothing too good for its patrons or pretending to be a dive. Brad's chin had dipped in approval, but he didn't comment, instead ordering them a round.
That was two rounds ago and Brad was taking far too long with their fourth.
Nate looked up, found him immediately, and was not at all surprised to see a brunette chatting him up at the bar. In fact, it was so monumentally unsurprising that Nate was surprised he hadn't considered the possibility before taking him out tonight. Of course Brad would attract attention; he was magnetic and stood a head above most everyone else. Figuratively and literally.
So why hadn't Nate anticipated that? More importantly, why couldn't he get past it? This shouldn't bother him. It was inevitable, after all, in theory if not in flesh.
Incongruously Brad appeared beside him, his mouth a line of pleased mischief, hollowness pushed aside now that he had something to distract him.
Nate checked: the brunette still lounged at the bar and watched both of them, smile a victory and invitation, both.
He decided to make it easy. "No need to check in with me, Brad. I'm not your commanding officer anymore." Nate watched the dregs of his beer as he swirled them.
"On the contrary. Checking in with you is of paramount importance." He said it with hidden humor, a secret he'd be happy to share if only Nate asked.
Nate wouldn't deign to ask, but then, Brad could read the question easily enough. Exactly how easily was its own issue.
Brad continued on: "The lady would like the pleasure of our combined company."
Nate's focus narrowed to Brad. "I don't copy."
"Gotta spell everything out for you officers," Brad said, shaking his head mournfully.
"She wants—"
"Yes."
How were they even having this conversation? "And you're—"
Brad looked at him like this was a question whose answer was painfully self-evident.
Nate downed his drink.
***
Which landed him naked in his bed, cock in hand, watching Eve ride Brad like a pro.
Eve paused and shot a look at him over her shoulder. "Well?" she asked expectantly.
"Well," he parroted right back, raising an unimpressed eyebrow.
"Any time you want to join on in," she invited, turning back to Brad.
Brad's voice betrayed slight strain: "Nate, get the fuck over here and stick your dick up her ass. Jesus, do you need an engraved invitation?"
Ever direct was Brad.
Nate crawled in close behind her, palms skimming over smooth skin. "I was being chivalrous, waiting my turn," he said as he nipped at her shoulder.
Eve settled herself all the way down on Brad with a hot little groan. She spread her knees even more and tilted her ass back, making Brad groan. "Chivalry's overrated. I much prefer 'more better faster' as a lifestyle choice." She tossed him a tube of lube, then leaned down to lick at Brad's mouth.
For that, she got un-warmed lube.
Eve shivered as his finger pushed into her, but didn't comment. Brad grinned, though, something shark-like, covetous in it.
Nate was just beginning to see how this could be a problem, even as he opened her up. He could see Brad—fuck, Eve was facing away from him, but Brad was right there. Looking directly at Nate.
And Brad had always been way too good at reading him.
Brad raised an eyebrow in challenge. Nate added another finger.
Eve squirmed between them, impatient. "You're good. Come on, come on," she panted.
Nate rolled on a condom, lined himself up, looked up from Eve's ass—
And caught Brad watching him. Nate caught his look and didn't look away while he pushed into the hot confines of Eve's ass—Christ—because Nate didn't back down. But. This could have been thought through a little more. By him.
Who the fuck knew what Brad was thinking.
Nate worked himself into Eve in increments, holding her hips still and listening to her breathing, pausing any time it hitched. It took for-fucking-ever to press all the way inside, but he finally got there and stilled.
Sweat glistened at Brad's temples and his skin was flushed, the only signs of strain that Nate could see. Brad tested their weight and grunted. "Up to you, sir. My leverage is for shit." His voice was a wreck.
Nate flexed his hips in response, making both Brad and Eve groan. He turned it into a rhythm, could feel the slide of Brad's dick through thin membranes separating them, watched Brad's mouth open in pleasure, his muscles standing out as he gripped Eve's hips.
Things got a little frantic after that.
Eve came first, shook her way through it as her body gripped him perilously tight. Nate's hand worked her clit, brushing against Brad at irregular intervals, maybe more purposefully than not. On one such occasion Nate held Brad's look and smirked.
Heat flared in Brad's look. "Fucking—" he cursed to himself even as his hips jerked up into Eve, coming unexpectedly, a whole roil of emotions passing over his face.
Nate stopped moving and just watched, wanted to see it. Maybe get some insight.
But that would be too fucking easy. Instead he was left bereft, clutching his own control with the blank-faced determination he hadn't had to call up since Iraq.
Eve nudged back at him. "That's impressive," she said, squeezing her ass around his still-hard cock.
Nate snorted and pulled out of her, already reaching for another condom. "How do you feel about another ride?"
***
Just fine, it seemed, which she was happy to demonstrate by bouncing up and down on his cock in search of her next orgasm.
Nate watched the show, resolutely ignoring Brad, who still lay next to him, eyes tracking over his skin in a way Nate could feel...but wasn't about to dignify.
Even Nate had his limits, though. Apparently it was a hot girl milking his dick as Brad rolled to kneeling behind her, getting a condom on his cock, narrowed gaze focused on Nate. It tore straight through him, obliterated his control.
Fucking Brad.
Coming after too long—so hard it almost hurt—Nate had no idea what noise he was making, knew nothing beyond the ice of Brad's eyes and riding the wave of Eve's grind.
Eve was just pulling off him when Brad took hold of her hips and tugged her back. He thrust into her, eyes fluttering shut for a moment, even as Eve made a surprised noise.
She braced her hands on the bed, just below Nate's shoulders, and shoved herself back on Brad.
Brad fucked her hard, hips snapping precisely against hers as she moaned and Nate watched.
Brad moved one hand from her hip to the back of her neck—more leverage, Nate's mind supplied.
"Fuck, yes," Eve hissed, rearing up against the hold and then settling back down when it proved firm.
Brad's eyes didn't leave Nate's.
Well, if he was going to be like that.
Nate trailed light fingers all over her sweaty skin, a teasing touch in counterpoint to Brad's manhandling. He brushed the pads of his thumbs over her peaked nipples, down to circle her bellybutton. She shivered and looked at him through hooded eyes.
Brad's hand moved from the back of her neck to the front.
At the sight of Brad's fingers on her throat, something prickled down Nate's spine. He slid one hand lower, teasing Eve's clit, while he lifted the other to the hand Brad had at her throat. Nate traced the line of Brad's fingers with his thumb, just light, but it was enough to make the rhythm of Brad's thrusts falter.
Nate tensed his fingers over Brad's, careful not to put pressure on Eve, but making sure Brad felt it.
Brad released her throat like he'd been burned. He let Nate take his hand and move it back to her hip, eyes unreadable.
Nate left his hand there, with Brad's. He continued working her clit with his other thumb as Brad fucked her so hard the bed shook.
Her orgasm collapsed her onto Nate.
Brad grunted and pulled out of her. He got rid of the condom and stroked himself off, holding Nate's look. He jerked his cock with his non-dominant hand, Nate realized. Because his right hand was still on Eve's hip. Under Nate's.
Brad's eyes burned when he came, all over Eve's ass and back, a statement Nate had no idea how to read.
***
Nate brought Scotch back to bed, where Brad was laid out on his stomach, naked and still, saying nothing. He poured himself two fingers, set the bottle down, and relaxed into the other side of the bed.
If Brad wanted it to be like that, he could wait him out. He knew how to use silence as a weapon, too.
***
The next night, Brad brought another girl home—a blonde with an intent look in her eyes.
Nate merely nodded politely and went back to his studying.
Brad fucked her until her affected porn moans turned into real ones, choked and halting.
***
The night after that it was a brunette. She hesitated when she saw Nate, flicker of unease at being in an unknown apartment with two strange men.
Nate softened his smile and put in his earbuds.
The music didn't drown out the sound of the bedframe thumping against the wall.
***
The night after that Brad brought Tricia home and that was quite enough.
Nate snapped his book shut. "I think I'll go to the library," he said, watching Tricia's wary look morph into something relieved. Nate stood, grabbed his bag, and headed for the door.
Brad's words halted his plan of action: "Not necessary, sir. Tricia, it's time for you to go."
"Really," she said evenly.
"Really," Brad agreed, tone leaving no opening.
Tricia shot a look at Nate, eyes glittering, saying they'd be talking about this later. Then she turned and walked out without a word.
Brad closed the door behind her. "What's the matter, sir, don't like seeing your sloppy seconds?"
Nate dropped his bag. "Yeah, Brad, I'm the one with the problem here."
Brad got in his face, close and aggressive, and Nate very clearly thought Oh, really? before he shoved Brad back a step, grabbed his wrist and twisted it behind his back into a hammerlock. Nate put Brad into the door, using his own weight against him.
He held him there, pressing once to make his point.
"Testing me, Brad? I can assure you I'll rise to the challenge."
Brad huffed out a short, bitter laugh. "I am assured of this," he drawled, soft but still mocking, bringing Nate right back to desert heat and endless disappointment.
And Brad's latest deployment had made him nostalgic for that one.
Brad suddenly deflated, entire body relaxing, putting up no kind of resistance.
Nate swayed closer. Brad turned his head and arched back. It had to fucking hurt, which was nowhere near what Nate wanted, especially not with what he was getting from Brad right now.
He released Brad's wrist and pulled himself back. Brad quickly spun and closed the distance between them, grabbed Nate's wrist in turn. "Don't."
Nate froze. Brad's hold stayed loose, enough that Nate could turn his wrist, touch his fingers to the back of Brad's hand, light.
Brad studied their hands for a moment, unmoving, but in so doing still asking.
And, well—Brad was asking. Nate had a noble streak; he knew it, used it, even. But he wasn't that noble.
If Brad wanted someone in control, someone who would make this better? Nate could do that.
***
Nate pushed him back on the bed, too many thoughts at once now that he had Brad naked and willing and here.
"How long have you wanted me to suck your cock?" he demanded.
"How long have you wanted to suck my cock?"
"That's not an answer," Nate said, short. He pushed a slick finger into Brad—no warning—and kept his eyes on Brad's, not even looking at Brad's dick, hard and leaking already.
The skin around Brad's eyes tightened, but otherwise he remained impassive.
Until Nate found his prostate. Then he couldn't help his hiss, the awkward, pleading lift of his hips, reacting from instinct not experience.
"Since Mike came around to introduce us to our cherry LT," Brad gritted out.
"Between the two of us, I wasn't the cherry one." Nate licked the tip of Brad's cock, then opened his mouth and went all the way down, twisting his finger and skimming over Brad's prostate just so.
Brad nearly came off the bed.
Two fingers made him groan, move restlessly. At three he was silent.
Nate kept his mouth too loose for any kind of satisfaction, but present enough to still feel good. Once Brad got used to the three fingers in his ass, he started moving into it again. But that pause was telling.
Nate added more lube to his fingers, checked his assumptions and made sure Brad was ready. Then he pulled off, lips feeling stretched and tight.
Brad stared at his mouth, which Nate knew must be red and puffy. But that was fine—let Brad have his fun while Nate grabbed a pillow and shoved it under him, sat up, and moved in close.
That visual seemed to spark something in Brad's brain, like he suddenly realized he was naked and spread out with another man between his legs. His eyes darted from Nate's hands on his thighs to Nate's condom-covered dick, shiny with lube, and back to Nate's eyes.
Nate didn't bother with any touchy-feely 'are you ready?' type questions. Brad was fucking ready. If he wanted to tap out, he could tell Nate at any time.
He didn't. Brad simply watched as Nate lined himself up and pushed in, all forced stillness and tight heat.
Brad's eyelashes fluttered. His throat worked. His dick subsided a little.
Nate kept one hand on his thigh and used the other to stroke it back to full hardness, watching Brad's face as he did so.
Nate made a final push and his balls slapped Brad's ass as he seated himself. Brad's eyebrows rose at the feeling, at which Nate smirked. Oh, he'd get familiar with that.
Then he was moving, pulling back only to thrust in again, never giving Brad a moment. Nate got a hand under Brad's other thigh and fucked him like he meant it, angling just past his prostate.
Brad braced a hand on the headboard, muscles standing out. His dick lay hard and red on his belly. And he didn't say a fucking thing.
Nate clenched his jaw and shifted his angle minutely, just enough to brush Brad's prostate.
"Fuck," Brad hissed, whole body trying to follow that motion, get more.
Nate grinned and he knew it was sharp, but didn't care. He ignored Brad's cock and pounded into him, let himself sink into the tight heat gripping him, the way he made Brad shift and twist underneath him.
Brad reached for his own cock, but Nate smacked his hand away, pinning it down to the bed.
"Uh-uh," he panted, still fucking Brad, skewering him with a look.
He grabbed Brad's thigh again, hitching him up to fuck him deeper, and Brad left his hand gripping the sheets.
Good boy.
It was enough to set Nate off, orgasm powering through him as he continued to rut into Brad's ass, as Brad clutched at white sheets and panted and watched. Nate shook and lost the rhythm, eyes closing with the force of it.
When he opened them again, Brad was still watching, something wildly desperate in the look.
Nate sucked in a breath, licked his lips, and nodded.
Brad's hand immediately went to his cock, jerking himself hard and fast, still staring at Nate. Two strokes and he was coming, body clamping down on Nate's as he shot all over his chest, face a picture of pained bliss.
***
Post clean-up, post-nap, Nate studied Brad, awake but with eyes closed. And still saying nothing.
The parallel was not lost on him.
"Well?" Nate demanded.
Brad opened one eye, took in Nate, then relented and fully met his gaze. "The sheer scale of the epic clusterfuck inspired me to properly acknowledge the glimmer of competence in my midst."
Nate leveled a disbelieving look at him. "Which you did by fucking other people? You couldn't have sent a card?"
"Hallmark's death and despair line is totally inadequate. And you weren't going to ask, so I took it upon myself. I have to say, sir, your lack of initiative is shocking."
"I wasn't going to ask," he said, not quite believing it. "As if I had the right—"
"Of course you did." Brad watched him, stone-still and eyes glowing. "Do."
Nate took him in, what he said and what he meant and above all, that he was here.
"...okay," Nate said.
"Okay." Brad nodded, then closed his eyes again. His muscles relaxed minutely, a subtle release of tension that Nate might've missed if he hadn't been studying him so closely.
He didn't miss it.
Nate shifted closer and closed his eyes. He quieted his lingering worry. He'd deal with the rest as it came. For now, he had this.
***
Fin. Feedback is adored.
