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Brad discovers it by accident.
It’s during one of those too-short nights before Nate leaves California, when they’re both painfully aware of the minutes ticking by, of the limited time they have together before Nate will move across the country and Brad will leave for England.
The late autumn heatwave is oppressive. The window in Brad’s bedroom is open in the distant hope of attracting a breeze from the ocean. It’s rather futile. The rattle and hum of the old fan barely brings any relief.
They should be asleep. It was really too hot to consider anything else.
But one of them had shifted. Just a chance touch of hand to hip, a murmured comment, and one thing had led to another…
The bedsprings creak as Nate rides Brad, a counterpoint to the cicadas droning outside the window. The desperation of earlier in the evening had faded to a gentle laziness and, at this hour, Brad’s content to just watch Nate move above him. Nate’s eyes are closed, and Brad takes advantage of the chance to unselfconsciously stare up at him.
Nate’s hair is starting to grow out, Brad realizes. The soft light from Brad’s bedside lamp catches the tips of the fine blond strands, giving Nate a slight halo. Nate’s hair is darker where it sticks to the sheen of sweat at his temples. It’s an awkward post-tour length; not quite long enough to style, although Brad thinks it looks good enough on Nate — just about anything would — but when Brad is caught up in memories sometimes it can still be jarring to see the growth when he expects it to still be buzzed. Time stops for no one. Certainly not them.
Brad reaches up to push the short fringe of hair back from Nate’s forehead, maybe trying to get a glimpse of the old Fick in this new Nate, maybe just to touch him. The rough edges of the callouses on Brad’s fingers catch, and Nate bends backwards with the little tug.
Nate’s mouth falls slightly open as his head tilts. His eyes are still closed, but he grinds down against Brad with a little more urgency.
“You like that?” Brad asks, eyes drinking in the long line of exposed throat Nate is showing him. Nate ruts lazily against Brad, not opening his eyes.
Brad could take that as an answer or… Brad tightens his grip. There’s just barely enough length to Nate’s hair to let him. If he moves too fast, Nate will pull free.
The slight increase in pain seems to do things for Nate, and Brad files that knowledge away.
“Just-like-that,” Nate whispers, the words tumbling over each other, almost too faint to hear, his little movements telling Brad more than his shaky words.
“Think you could get off just like this?” Brad asks, fascinated.
Nate huffs a small laugh instead of answering. Brad guesses that Nate’s self-conscious from the way he’s not opening his eyes.
Brad shifts his grip. Nate’s shallow, rapid breaths guide the pressure Brad uses. Brad frees one hand, brings it down to stroke Nate.
Nate’s cock throbs under his fingers. It’s still so damned hot to feel him this hard.
Nate’s fingertips dig into Brad’s arms. Brad doesn’t mind that, either. It distracts him from how amazing Nate feels. He wants to focus on Nate — his own pleasure in this is an afterthought.
“God. Grow your hair out for me. I’ll make it worth your while,” Brad promises. There’s a twisting sensation in his gut as he realizes what he’s asking. The clock’s already running out on the time they have left to spend together, there’s not enough time for it to actually happen. Not this visit.
“Alright,” Nate agrees easily, like Brad’s not breaking his own superstition about not talking about the future.
“Alright,” Brad echoes. Like many of their conversations, the words are a shorthand, not touching the depth of the underlying assumptions.
They can figure everything else out later.
Nate laughs again, like he’s prone to when he’s happy. He shifts his head, pulling gently against Brad’s hand and the short hair slips through Brad’s grip. There’s no way Brad is letting this discovery fade away. Brad repeats his initial movement, stroking his hand through Nate’s hair again until he can catch the barest edge of a hold, watching Nate sink his teeth into his lower lip and squeeze his eyes shut more tightly.
Brad stares up at Nate and tries to burn the image into his memories.
Eight months later
Brad doesn’t rent the little cottage to be romantic. The description of the place itself hadn’t mattered. Hell, he and Nate had both slept in holes in the ground. No, it’s just the location that sells Brad: a distant little cove just over the border of Scotland in Pease Bay, ten minutes away from the next tiny little town but a short walk from surfing.
It’s as good a cover story as any.
He glances at the description of the place, eyes latching onto ‘private’ and ‘isolated’ (and if he’s honest ‘super king bed’ because fuck he’s tired of houses and racks that seem to be built for people that average five foot nothing) and skimming over long-winded, flowery descriptions of gardens and seascapes and wood fires.
All he needs is a place to sleep, a place to hide Nate, and a place to surf. Not necessarily in any sort of order. And if Nate was going to be flying over, well, he’d make sure it was at least a step up from a ranger grave. Since Nate had been promoted to a civilian and all.
Brad parks the car at the Leeds International Airport and waits for the connection from Dublin. He stands in the arrivals area, conspicuously still as the people around him slouch and fidget and pace and peer at the doors.
He’d arrived in Leeds earlier in the day and he had the rental car prepped with food, groceries, clothing, and extra gear. Usually he’d travel much lighter, but the fact that Nate was joining him made Brad put extra thought into everything.
He watches the doors as they slide open and shut, offering brief glimpses into the luggage collection area, as small bunches of people walk out. None are the man he’s looking for.
Brad waits for Nate, uncomfortable with how much excitement feels like nerves.
Finally, the doors open and Brad catches sight of Nate in the group of people. He can’t stop the stupid smile from spreading across his face. It’s strange to be on this side of the airport; he’s usually the one traveling. He shifts free from the crowd and moves to meet Nate.
“Hey,” Nate calls with a wide smile as he heads towards Brad. Brad pulls him into a hug, dragging Nate off-balance to force him against him, a tighter hug than he’d usually allow in public.
“Hey,” Brad whispers back into the hair just above Nate’s ear. Nate feels so solid and real in his arms. It’s a reminder of a hundred other moments, and just like that the distance between them disappears into the past.
Nate gets his balance but obligingly stays wrapped tightly around Brad for as long as it takes Brad to gather his thoughts.
Outside, Brad touches Nate lightly to guide him towards the rental. Nate’s expression changes.
“I thought you said surfing was just an excuse for the location,” Nate says, amusement colouring his voice as he realizes they are heading towards the one car in the parking lot that has an actual surfboard strapped to the roof.
Brad grins. He affects a wounded tone. “Are you doubting my ability to multitask? After everything we’ve been through?”
Nate huffs a laugh and doesn’t bother to hide his grin.
Brad keeps glancing over to the other side of the car. He can’t stop himself. There’s no amount of scenery that could compete with having Nate back at his side.
They catch up on the little things during a dinner in a dark pub in Newcastle. Brad tolerates the delay because he’s pretty sure he won’t be focused on cooking when he manages to get Nate alone.
It’s dark when Brad pulls up to the address of the rental, the car’s wheels crunching on the gravel. Nate’s napping in the passenger seat, having missed the last half hour or so of the drive after the sun had set. For all his bold talk on his expertise in combating jet lag, even Brad could be sentimental.
Brad shuts off the engine and reaches over to shake Nate’s shoulder, finally waking him up. “We’re here.”
Nate blinks a few times, and Brad watches the disorientation clear.
Nate stretches while Brad gets out of the car. The seaside air is cold and wet, cutting through Brad’s outer layers in a way that had become depressingly familiar. He can’t see much outside in the dark, wet night, but the air smells like the ocean and he can hear the distant pounding of the surf from the cove below the cliffs.
True to the description, the cottage is a good distance from any neighbors. One outside light had been left on, providing a buttery yellow glow near the door, warmly highlighting the weathered wood panels.
“Need me to get anything else?” Nate asks as he rifles through the backseat and slings his pack over his shoulder.
“You can grab some of the groceries if you have a free hand.” Brad takes his own backpack and heads to the lock box at the door, carefully matching the numbers on the code he’d been given to get the key.
Nate stocks the fridge with the groceries as Brad unloads the rest of his things from the car, sparing Nate a prolonged introduction to the misty drizzle. Nate moves slowly around the house, turning on the little radiators that stand in each room to drive the lingering dampness from the air.
“Nice choice,” Nate says, the flick of his eyes indicating the cozy little cottage, and Brad feels a little flush of pride that’s completely disproportionate to the words.
Brad nudges him. “You haven’t even seen the best part.”
Nate makes an agreeable sound, but he’s rummaging through his bag and doesn’t quite catch Brad’s intention. “I brought a taste of home.” Nate pulls out a boxed set of wine bottles encased in duty-free plastic.
Brad doesn’t spare the gift more than a glance. Instead, Brad pulls Nate in closer. He kisses Nate deeply, until he feels the shift in Nate’s body as Nate relaxes, catching Brad’s mood.
“Yeah,” Brad agrees, pulling back after a long moment. Brad’s hand on the back of Nate’s head had left Nate ever-so-slightly disheveled. “Been missing that…” Brad teases lightly.
He’s sure the wine will be a perfectly fine Napa Valley red and he’ll absolutely mock Nate’s taste in beverages later but right now it’s not a priority.
Nate grins, still trying valiantly to hold a conversation while Brad slips a hand under the edge of his shirt to touch Nate’s bare skin. “I thought it would make sense to wait until I got here to buy a bottle of whiskey…” His words trail off as Brad’s hand grazes over his side.
Brad nods, just as distracted. “We can do a tasting in Dunbar if you want.” He’s not sure he wants to think about leaving the cottage just yet, but the sight of Nate’s smile is enough to make it seem like it’ll be worth it. Eventually.
Nate kisses him, and Brad’s thoughts derail completely. When Nate breaks the kiss, Brad walks backward, tugging Nate towards the bedroom he hasn’t seen yet.
The staircase to get up to the master bedroom is alarmingly narrow and steep, and they both have to duck as they climb it.
Nate laughs when he sees the huge bed. “Perfect.”
Brad’s already stripping off his sweater. “It will be.”
Nate hesitates. “Let me wash the plane off of me…” he says. Brad catches his hips before Nate can slink back down the stairs to the bathroom.
“After,” Brad demands, already unzipping Nate’s fleece. It’s chilly in the room so Brad wastes no time in pressing himself against Nate, skimming off his shirt and setting them skin-to-skin.
He knows that as soon as Nate gets his hand on him it’s going to be over. This is the equivalent of a quick jack before the main event, there’s just no point in doing it alone. He needs to be reacquainted with Nate, wants the touch of his hand and the sight of his body, wants to match the memories he keeps treasured, tucked away in his mind.
“Shower with me?” Nate tugs at the waist of Brad’s pants.
“If that’s what it’ll take to get off…” Brad relents. Brad casts a longing glance back at the bed. There was no way the shower will be half as comfortable but Nate would at least be naked. He gently pushes Nate back towards the stairs.
“Towels should be down there already.”
There’s a glass-walled shower in the corner of the bathroom. The rest of the room is white and gray, minimalist luxuries. Brad doesn’t notice any of it, not even as he adds accents to the various surfaces with the rest of their clothing.
Brad grinds against Nate, kisses him. Somehow he manages to get the hot water on and them both into the shower.
Even if it is quick and demanding, they know that this is just a prelude, just to take the edge off, because despite Nate’s initial demurring, neither of them are actually willing — or able — to wait.
It’s as good as he remembers. Better maybe, even if it’s over just as quickly as he had expected. Being able to actually touch Nate, dig fingers into the slight give of his thighs, makes him feel half-drunk on nothing more than the steaming water. Nate’s fist around him is perfect, and Brad could lose himself in that alone, but seeing Nate react to his own touch is what sends Brad spilling over Nate’s hand. Brad pins Nate against the warmed tiles, bracing part of his weight as he pulls Nate to completion too.
There’s a comfortable sort of quiet in the aftermath, the steady hiss of the water, the way their unsteady breaths slowly synchronize.
Brad shifts them so that Nate’s completely underneath the showerhead. The shower’s definitely not quite big enough for the both of them, and Brad got what he’d wanted.
“Enjoy,” Brad says, kissing Nate thoroughly, ignoring the water.
Nate makes a pleased sound and Brad laughs as he leaves Nate to the actual business of getting clean.
Brad dresses only because there’s still a chill in the air. There’s kindling and logs provided, so he crouches by the fireplace to set it up. The wood reluctantly catches, and the smell of woodsmoke wreaths the building by the time the shower shuts off.
Brad swallows his pride and pours two glasses of the wine. He likes the sight of his and Nate’s things mingled, the books from Nate’s carry-on already set out on the table, his surfboard in the doorway. Even if this’ll only be for a short time, there’s a certain amount of triumph in that defiance of expectations, the work that goes into something that other couples might find so easy.
Nate’s half-dressed when he sits next to Brad, tucking his bare feet up on the couch and making himself at home. Brad stretches over to the side table and hands Nate the other glass of wine. They sip in friendly silence, listening to the crackle of the fire.
Brad runs his hand through Nate’s hair. It’s long enough to have a slight wave to it as it dries. It’s longer than Brad had expected; the video chats they’d managed to do were few and far between, and the video quality had been atrocious.
“You grew your hair out,” Brad allows himself to state the obvious.
Nate’s smile gains a hint of embarrassment and he glances away from Brad. “Couldn’t really keep it much shorter,” he says, his attempt at humor falling flat. Brad studies the rise and fall of Nate’s chest, seeing the way Nate’s breathing quickens.
Brad smiles, convinced in that moment that Nate remembers exactly why he brought that up. He doesn’t change his soothing touch. Not at first. He enjoys watching Nate’s reactions. Nate had never been good at being subtle, his face was too expressive. His thoughts are written on his skin for anyone to see.
Nate’s blush starts low on his chest, just a hint of pink spreading up from the v-neck of his t-shirt. His tongue touches his lip. Nate takes the wineglasses and sets them aside. All his intense attention abruptly focuses on Brad alone. Nate grabs a fistful of Brad’s shirt and pulls him roughly into a kiss.
Brad keeps his own responses gentle, knowing it’ll just urge Nate on.
He’s not disappointed. Nate makes a small noise against Brad’s mouth, frustration and want all rolled into one. He smells like shampoo and soap and Brad’s ready to change that, ready to make Nate absolutely filthy.
Brad had thought the first round would have been enough to take the edge off, but Nate’s neediness belies that idea, proving him delightfully wrong. Brad wants to take his time with Nate, to take him apart slowly, but Nate always found ways to make that a challenge.
Brad keeps his kisses chaste, and Nate licks at the seam of his mouth, biting lightly into the flesh of his lower lip.
“Something you want?” Brad teases.
Nate pulls back enough to flash Brad a Look, but his hands are slipping underneath Brad’s clothing and Brad just smiles.
“You know what I want,” Nate murmurs against Brad’s lips, a heartbeat before his tongue is there.
Nate could probably coax Brad to do almost anything. He certainly doesn’t need much urging to get up and follow when Nate tilts his head at the staircase, a silent question on his face. Nate takes a small bottle from his bag on the way.
Upstairs, Brad strips his shirt off, encouraging Nate to deal with his own clothing with little tugs and caresses until they’re finally both naked.
“It’s been too long,” Nate whispers, pushing Brad backwards onto the bed and crawling over him.
Brad feels the same, but he’s not about to say so.
“Didn’t we just—” Brad protests mildly, eyebrows raised in a mockery of innocence until Nate silences him with a warning look.
Brad smirks, considering it a win. Brad runs his fingers down Nate’s back, digging in slightly as his hands get lower, making Nate rock closer against him. Nate asks for what he wants silently, shifting back to meet the pressure of Brad’s hands, the lithe stretch of his body across Brad’s a tease in and of itself.
Brad slowly starts to run his fingers over Nate’s hole, rubbing small circles into the skin. Unexpectedly, his fingertip sinks in easily, and Brad makes a noise of his own, feeling that heat around his fingertip, the all-encompassing pressure. He’s suddenly met with the realization of exactly what Nate had been doing in the shower. “Nate…”
“I didn’t want to wait,” Nate whispers, trailing kisses down the side of Brad’s face.
Nate grabs the lube from up near the pillows where he’d tossed it. Brad hears the click of the cap as something distant. He’s focused entirely on Nate’s face, until Nate’s fingers are there against Brad’s. Brad stills his movements and lets Nate take over since he has the lube, feeling Nate work into himself with steady determination.
“I wouldn’t have minded a show,” Brad says, watching the bared column of Nate’s neck as Nate tilts his head back, leaning over Brad and keeping their bodies close.
“Could arrange for one later,” Nate says, his voice breathy and light, his mind not entirely focused on the banter.
Brad rises up to mouth wetly along the cartilage of Nate’s throat, licking into the skin. Nate tastes almost too clean, like Brad will need to work to find something more familiar. Brad drags his tongue along the hinge of Nate’s jaw, biting lightly. He can feel the way the threat of pain makes Nate’s rhythm stutter.
Nate slips his fingers free, and catches Brad’s wrist when Brad tries to replace them with his own. Nate shakes his head and shifts backwards onto his knees, reaching between them.
Even now, Nate’s fingers on him are almost too much.
“Missed you,” Brad says, voice gone slightly higher, softer, quieter in the intimate space between them. Nate indulges him, lets him say things like that in moments like this, and never presses at other times.
Nate’s reply is a tightening of fingers, a stroke along Brad’s length, and then he’s pumping more lube into his hands and coating Brad with it. It’s cool but the touch of Nate’s fingers and anticipation is enough to counter the slight uncomfortable edge.
Brad can feel the heat of Nate’s body skim against his cock, and he tries to hold himself still.
He tries. He fails.
Brad thrusts slowly upwards until there’s a soft give, and Nate’s heat suddenly surrounds him, tight and overwhelming. Brad sucks in a quick breath of air. “Fuck, Nate,” he whispers.
Nate stops moving. Brad knows Nate though, can feel how ready Nate is, and the way Nate freezes is a deliberate torture. Maybe later in the vacation he’ll let Nate edge them both for as long as the sadist wants, but Brad can’t handle it just yet. They’ve been apart for too long. He needs to be closer, needs Nate as close as he can physically get.
And then he can’t hold back. Brad rocks up into Nate, watching the shiver of his eyelashes as Nate alternates between trying to close his eyes and trying to watch Brad.
“Fuck.” Brad can’t stop himself from swearing again. Nate lets himself sink ever-so-slightly lower, drawing Brad further into his body.
Brad grits his teeth and tries waits for Nate, who takes his damn sweet time. Brad knows that it’s not exactly needed because he can see the little cheeky smile Nate has only half hidden, his face turned away. As certain as Brad is, it’s reassuring. For the moment, he manages to hold himself in careful control under Nate. But everyone has limits.
Brad grabs Nate’s hips, pulls Nate home and spurring a quiet gasp. Nate shifts and rocks slightly as he gets his knees underneath him, and Brad forces himself to pause his movements, as much as he wants to take and take and take…
Nate tilts his head back. The only movement he makes is the slight rise and fall of his chest.
“I know it’s been a while, do you need a reminder of the SOPs?” Brad can’t hide the ragged edges of the words. He rolls his hips slightly, hoping to encourage Nate.
Nate tries not to — the quiver at the corner of his mouth gives his struggle away — but eventually he smiles.
“Be assured, I remember.” Nate shifts slightly, making Brad hiss. “Give me a moment.”
The familiarity of the request makes Brad’s chest warm with emotion. It settles in his throat, choking his intended reply. Brad deals with the feeling by continuing to thrust, slowly and gently, not really moving much at all.
Nate pinches Brad’s nipple sharply. “Brat,” he murmurs. Brad laughs but finally goes still, ceding control.
His grudging obedience is rewarded. Nate braces himself on Brad’s chest and starts to move. There’s nothing tentative about it. He rocks his hips, his knees slipping wider against the sheets.
Nate’s movements are slow but deliberate, and have Brad’s eyes almost rolling back with how damned good it feels. Brad lets his hands smooth up Nate’s thighs. He needs Nate to feel as good as he does.
Brad slowly starts to jerk Nate off, matching his speed. He’s rewarded by the flutter of muscles that he can feel around his cock, the tension of Nate’s abs against his knuckles.
Brad lets his gaze trace over Nate, watching him with a now-familiar mixture of emotions he’s not quite willing to name before he locks his fingers in that grown-out hair and pulls Nate down towards him. At first it’s just a kiss that he demands, the rhythm choppy as Nate moves over him. Brad grabs a better fistful of hair and draws Nate’s head back, arcing his body into a gentle curve.
It works as well as Brad remembers. Nate’s eyes close. His little gasps take on the trappings of words, faint cut-off syllables only a little louder than his breathing had been.
It never fails to stun Brad when he watches Nate move over him. He drinks in the sight, knowing that it’ll keep him going through the long months alone that he has ahead of him.
Nate slowly shifts lower against Brad’s holds, until he’s almost draped over Brad’s body, his forearms on the pillow around Brad’s head. In Nate’s movements, Brad can read the quiet transfer of control. Brad gets his feet underneath him and starts driving up, holding Nate steady with a grip on his hair and his hip, not allowing him to move much at all. Nate’s so hard his cock is drooling over Brad’s stomach, even after Brad runs out of hands to stroke him with. The friction of their bodies trapping his cock is the only direct contact he can get, but it seems to be enough for him.
Nate squirms against Brad’s body, and Brad holds on tighter. The way Nate breathes lets Brad know that he’s close, and Brad focuses on that, trying to keep his mind on something other than the utter pleasure of being buried in Nate’s silken heat.
Nate’s back arches. Brad can hear it in the way that Nate suddenly holds his breath, can feel it in the way Nate’s thighs tighten and shake against Brad’s hips.
Brad uses his grip on Nate’s hair to pull his head back into the bend. Nate’s eyes are shut but his mouth is half open, as as Brad watches, he bites the swell of his lower lip and tries to duck his head.
Nate comes with a muffled sound. His body goes rigid and clamps down where Brad is buried inside him. It’s too familiar for Brad, like double vision, almost like he can feel what Nate’s feeling and that thought is too much, no matter how much he’d like to hold off, make this last longer. He can feel it building, that coiling tension inside him. Brad gives into the urge to drive himself forward. Nate’s fingers dig sharply and suddenly into Brad’s shoulders, holding on as he shudders, a blunt sort of pain that just adds to the moment.
Brad softens his fist, splaying his fingers against the back of Nate’s head and just holding him close. Brad turns his head to the side as Nate’s weight presses into him, cradling him close even as Brad curls up, chasing his own end. Brad comes, hot and wet and slick, reduced to a pleasure so good it almost aches.
In the moment, his teeth had found Nate’s shoulder. He smooths his tongue over the area he bit. There’s a few slow moments before Nate gives any indication that he’s still able to move.
Nate slowly peels free from Brad’s chest and collapses to the side. Brad steadies his breathing as his ability to think returns, and tries to slow his racing heart. Nate’s hand finds Brad’s thigh, a point of connection keeping them tethered, stroking Brad’s leg absently.
Brad reaches out, smoothing Nate’s hair back into place. Nate’s smile doesn’t waver. The amount of fondness he projects is hard for Brad to accept. It heats his face to see Nate watching him like that. He’s felt that expression on his own face more than once but it’s hard to grow comfortable with it.
“Don’t get too comfy there,” Brad manages to say through the post-coital haze. “I’m taking my side of the bed back before you fall asleep.”
Nate laughs, not threatened in the least.
The bed is huge and comfortable and Brad’s ready to just sink into it and not wake up for a long, long time.
Nate shifts onto his side. He seems disturbingly awake.
“I knew it was a mistake to let you sleep in the car,” Brad murmurs. He traces his fingers up and down Nate’s ribcage, not wanting to break that little contact, even with Nate finally here beside him again.
“I was just resting my eyes.”
Brad smirks. “Of course.”
Nate’s finger is light against his lips, quieting him. Brad keeps smiling. It’s impossible to stop.
“It’s going to be so good to wake up next to you,” Nate says softly.
“You’ll actually have to go to sleep to manage that.”
Nate’s laugh is soft. “I’m aware.”
Brad gives up on fighting the tiredness.
He reaches out and grabs Nate’s wrist, pulling Nate close against his back as he turns over. Nate tucks in tightly against him, and Brad can feel the comforting press of the length of Nate’s body, their feet tangling together. Nate shifts as he tucks his other arm under the pillows.
Brad’s already half asleep, but he can feel the press of a kiss at the base of his neck.
“Love you.” The words are soft, barely more than an exhalation against Brad’s skin. Brad smiles, and pulls Nate’s hand to his lips, kissing the back of it gently, secure in the knowledge that Nate would understand.