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Nate's cell burst into "Copacabana" and he didn't even need to check the screen—who else would approve of such an undignified ringtone?
"Impatient, Brad?"
"Finally, you answer your fucking phone."
Nate smiled. "Those pesky airlines with ridiculous rules like turning off your phone and no killing the pilots."
"Stop trying to distract me. There's been a change of plan. Your new mission is to find the nearest grocery store and buy more tortilla chips." He lowered his voice so that Nate had to strain to hear. "And tequila, for Christ's sake." Back to his normal voice. "I'll get you directions to your new destination."
"I'm not going to your place?"
"Wow, civilian life has made you slow. Change of mission, oh fearless leader. Your objective is now a friendly barbeque to which you will bring the aforementioned items forthwith."
"Okay, it's never a good sign when you lapse into old English."
"Your powers of perception never cease to amaze. But no dawdling. Mission: grocery store. I'll text you where you're going." Brad clicked off.
"Yes, sir," Nate muttered.
***
Nate rang the bell and shifted the grocery bag to his left hand. It was the kind of neighborhood too perfect to exist in the real world: southern California sun shining down onto the well-manicured lawns of mostly mission-inspired homes, the sounds of kids playing in the background, a dog barking here or there (but never too much, what would the neighbors think?). A brochure for suburbia come to life, California-style.
Odd that it felt so alien to Nate. He hadn't been away that long.
The door was yanked open so violently he'd have been concerned at any other time. As it was, his brain processed the impression of a ridiculously tall, way-too-tan Brad before he was unceremoniously pulled into a crushing hug. He figured that meant all was well.
"About fucking time. Christ, a mercy killing would be too kind," Brad muttered into his ear. Then he pulled back, both hands on Nate's shoulders, and said for the benefit of the guy that stepped up to the door behind him: "Look who showed up. And he's not even wearing a sport coat. For shame. What would Harvard think?"
"Not much, since it's an institution and all. And like you should talk. What, did Barney barf on you or did you choose this of your own free will?" Nate plucked at his garish purple shirt and winced.
"Nah. Slit his throat and used the blood for dye. Complements my complexion, don't you think?" He struck a pose.
The man just inside the doorway kind of shifted nervously, so Nate sent Brad a look ('Little far there?') and Brad sent one right back ('There is no torture painful enough for what I've put up with'...possibly) and then Brad's sidekick was stepping up to insert himself into what he probably thought was an awkward pause.
Civilians.
He stuck out his hand and said, "Hi, I'm Chris," all friendly, no edges in sight.
Nate gripped his hand and smiled, polite. "Nate." Chris was a little taller than Nate, clean-cut, clean-shaven, thus it was no surprise to see the wedding ring on his left hand. His Hawaiian shirt managed to accent his tan rather than make him look ridiculous, which was a feat; those damn shirts had always made Nate look downright sickly.
Brad half-turned and pulled Nate to his side, an arm draped over his shoulder. Nate wondered if he was aware how much his positioning screamed 'Mine!'
Chris didn't seem to notice. "Glad you didn't get lost, especially with the last-minute invite."
Nate nudged Brad. "This guy's an old hand at guiding me. No problem at all."
Brad perked up. "Good thing, too, because if this liberal Ivy dick-suck didn't have me he'd end up doing something unfortunate like invading Iran and then where would he be?"
"Well, Iran for starters..." Nate pointed out.
Brad sent him a dirty look, then focused on the bag that nudged his leg. "Oh, look, tortilla chips." He plucked the grocery bag from Nate's grasp and unceremoniously walked into the house. Chris looked a little helpless, a little apologetic, but Nate just shook his head, grinned, and followed them inside.
It was all good.
They were met just inside the door by a striking blonde who'd obviously been trying to catch them. Her green sundress gently hugged her curves and the pattern matched the dress of the baby she held in her arms. She smiled, wide and welcoming. "You must be Nate. I'm Jennifer. We're so happy you could join us." At that moment the baby let out an enthusiastic squeal and all attention got diverted to her. She was watching Brad happily. Or more likely, Brad's hideous, bright purple shirt.
Jennifer simply laughed. "See, even Maddy agrees. Isn't that right, my sweet?" she asked the infant.
Maddy reached her hands out for Brad. A quick glance showed Nate something conflicted and pained in Brad's eyes, so Nate quickly shoved his finger into one of Maddy's fists and caught her attention. "She's adorable. About six months?" he asked, injecting interest into his voice.
Chris dropped a hand on wife's shoulder and both glowed at the praise. They looked like they belonged on the cover of some glossy magazine: Parenting Today, maybe. "Just last week," Jennifer said. "You have kids?"
Brad snorted and caught Nate's attention for a second. Then he remembered he should actually answer the question.
"Ahh, no. A niece. She's just a little bit older than Maddy, actually."
"Brad hasn't quite gotten past the shock yet," Chris said, then sent Brad a knowing look. That, more than anything, convinced Nate that Chris knew Brad. For a while, it seemed. Not casual friends at all.
His mind started winding back through all their conversations to see if Brad had ever mentioned any old friends...
Brad held the tequila in the crook of his arm and scoffed. "The shock of being forgotten. You see, Nathaniel, while I was off playing clay pigeon to half the world's terrorists and you were taking classes with the other half, these two were spawning and never bothered to mention it. I return home to nothing but pastel pink pacifiers, baby talk, and cooing. It's unseemly."
"You want a pastel pink pacifier to call your own, don't you?" Nate asked solemnly. Both Jennifer and Chris laughed.
Brad appeared to consider this. "It might have helped shut Ray up," he conceded.
Jennifer rocked Maddy and the girl cooed. Her little fist still held onto Nate's finger. "She'll win you over, you just wait."
Brad merely patted the tequila he still held. "You keep that thing. I've got my baby right here."
Chris laughed again and released his wife. "Come on in, Nate. I'll get you a beer."
***
Chris got waylaid by another guest and he and Brad promptly disappeared. Nate was left with Jennifer, who meandered with him, close by.
"It's so good to meet you. Brad talks about you with such affection," Jennifer said brightly.
"Really?" Nate asked, honestly surprised.
She half-shrugged. "Affection for Brad, which is usually something like, 'He's not a useless waste of oxygen more suited to target practice than wearing the uniform of the mightiest fighting force the world has ever known.'" She hefted Maddy on her hip unconsciously. Maddy promptly shoved a fistful of Jennifer's hair into her mouth.
Nate grinned. "Ah. Affection, indeed."
"I figured you must be some kind of saint." Then she got distracted by the hair situation and started trying to untangle herself.
"Well, maybe an altar boy," Brad said, reappearing and handing him a bottle of Fat Tire.
Nate nodded his thanks and they clinked bottles. "That was a long time ago." He took a swig.
Maddy also noted Brad's arrival and reached out for his shirt again, though unfortunately Jennifer's hair was still in her fist. "Ow, sweetie, Mommy needs her hair back," she said, head tilting to the side. "Brad, can you—"
"I got her," Nate said. He leaned in as she handed Maddy over and it wasn't anything even close to instinct or muscle memory, but Nate thought he did pretty well getting her settled against his shoulder.
And Maddy was closer to Brad's purple shirt, so she seemed pleased by the arrangement. Jennifer untwisted her hair from the enthusiastic grasp, a couple strands at a time.
Brad eyed them all like they were a particularly bizarre species, come straight from Jupiter's third moon and dropped right in front of him without warning. "I do believe this proves my point: spawn are bad for one's health."
Jennifer finally stepped free and swept her hair back. She shook her head at Brad. "Are you ever going to stop calling her 'spawn?'"
"Doubtful. You can also forget about babysitting, diaper changes, or watching any ambiguously gay men dance around and sing fairy-boy songs. I am not Mr. Mom."
Maddy seemed to like his voice, too, because at that pronouncement she tried to twist around Nate's shoulder—or go over it?—and Nate had to grab her and hold her tighter. Brad relieved him of his beer and Nate shifted her to get a better grip.
Who knew that babies would be so...squirmy?
"I do believe you'll eat those words, Brad Colbert, because she obviously likes you," Jennifer proclaimed.
"On the contrary, she's just trying to get away from Nate. It's a common female response to his presence."
Nate nodded grimly and Jennifer grinned at both of them and clapped her hands. "Oh, it must have been so nice for you to spend all that time together overseas." Then she seemed to realize what she said. "Not that war is nice, obviously."
"Stunning insight, Jen." Brad took another long swig of his beer. She made a face at him.
Chris hurried back in, then, beer in hand. "Sorry, guys, had a bit of a pesto emergency."
"A pesto emergency?" Brad put everything he thought about that into his tone.
Chris waved a hand. "John didn't realize he'd eaten pesto and he's allergic to parsley, so he had a bit of a spaz. He's fine, though." Reassuring, as if they were about to start worrying.
He and Brad might have been staring a little, actually.
"It's arugula pesto," Jennifer explained...like that explained all.
Brad brought a hand to his forehead. "Too many possibilities for mockery. I can't pick just one."
Chris smiled and shrugged. He took in Maddy—now sucking on Nate's shirt—and made a 'duh' hand gesture. "Oh, Nate, I'll get you a refill."
"I haven't finished my—" He turned just in time to see Brad sucking down the remains of his purloined first beer. "Never mind. Refill it is," Nate said dryly.
Brad finished the bottle and sighed, triumphant. Chris shook his head and clapped Brad on the shoulder. "Never mind. I'll make Brad get you a refill," he said with humor, pushing Brad toward the kitchen. Nate smiled at their antics and turned to the nearby wall of photos, curious.
The wall was completely filled with photos. Jennifer might as well make her own wallpaper; it'd save her money on frames.
"This—is a lot of pictures," Nate said diplomatically.
"Oh, I know. It's ridiculous. But every time I get a new one I just can't bear to put one of the others away. I guess that makes me indecisive." Jennifer nibbled on a fingernail, totally at odds with the rest of her well-put-together package.
Nate half-smiled, but said nothing. Instead he opted to study the pictures—the display, really—trying to glean what they meant. There was no reason to have a display like this unless you were trying to say something...but Nate couldn't really figure out the message.
"Come on," Jennifer said. "I'll show you the ones you're actually interested in."
It was on the tip of his tongue to ask what that meant but she'd already skirted out of the room and into the hall. Nate followed, looking around with interest at all the blond wood and tasteful accents. Professional decorator, probably. Unless Jennifer herself was a professional decorator. It wasn't out of the realm of possibility.
She led him into a smaller room—the den, maybe—and a set of older pictures. Nate blinked and leaned in, mindful of Maddy against his shoulder. His eyes didn't fail him: yes, that was Brad, a head taller than everyone else. Young, cocky. Smiling.
And holding Jennifer's hand.
Things clicked into place. Nate's gut lurched.
He'd never gotten it from Brad directly, but then, Brad's RTO had a filter between his brain and his mouth that was, well, nonexistent. Everyone knew that Brad got dumped, Brad didn't date, women only betrayed you, hadn't you heard?
"Brad was always such a gangly thing," she mused. A glance over told Nate that it was indeed a smile he heard in her voice. "It never stopped surprising me that he went and became a recon Marine. From what I've read it's insanely physical, something for the sports devotees. And Brad always seemed more interested in gadgets, anyway." She huffed out a laugh. "My gangly geek."
Nate looked over at her again and this time the smile was wistful, if affectionate.
"He's somewhat of a legend," Nate offered.
"It makes sense in a way; he never was one for half-measures." She shook her head. "God, I was so worried that he'd cut all ties when we broke up. Thankfully he didn't, but—I never understood that." Now she frowned at the pictures, an old issue, Nate could tell.
She gestured at another picture. "He was best man at our wedding. The best man." Well, certainly the better one.
Nate didn't voice that opinion.
She seemed to remember who she was talking to because she shook herself and turned to him then. "Brad told you we broke up, right?" Like she honestly didn't expect anything other than an affirmative.
Brad hadn't...but he'd invited Nate here so he wasn't exactly trying to hide it. So Nate nodded, but didn't offer anything more.
"Yeah, I figured." She folded her arms around herself, looked back at the wedding portrait—Brad highly visible, still a head above everyone else. In several ways. "I guess the military tested both of us. He went off to climb mountains with a broken ankle and I stayed here. Alone." In sun-drenched California with all her friends and family at hand.
"It can be hard on relationships, loved ones being so far away for so long." Nate offered the platitude in place of anything more pointed he could have said.
"You probably don't know the half of it." She forced a smile. "Turns out he had what it took for the recon Marines and I...didn't. I wanted him to be here. I wanted him to want to be with me."
No. She needed him to be here, with her. Nate could see how it had gone—turning to the best friend, troubled, a deepening trust there as the emotional distance with Brad grew by the day. It wasn't fair, but neither was it unique.
As she looked at the old pictures, still conflicted after all this time...Nate suddenly felt pity. For the first time he actually felt bad for that unnamed fiancée Ray had talked about—Jennifer.
It wasn't entirely her fault, he realized. Some people just weren't strong enough.
Brad wouldn't have been happy with her; he deserved someone better. It was just a shame she'd broken him for everyone else.
Maddy started fussing then. It interrupted the tense silence and Nate happily handed over the child. He should probably see what Brad was up to anyway.
***
Brad and Chris were still in the kitchen. Chris seemed to be doing most of the talking and gestured expansively at whatever he was saying. Brad smiled, slight, and held two beers. Nate saw him first take a swig from one, then the other.
Brad zeroed in on him as soon as he spotted him. "Nathaniel, there you are. I see Jen has finally released you from her clutches."
"What happened to my refill?" Nate asked lightly.
Brad looked at the two beers in hand. "You're a couple rounds behind, my friend. You're gonna need to catch up." He took a couple swigs again.
Chris snickered and shoved some tortilla chips in his mouth. Brad smiled and puffed ou this chest. Nate just shook his head and grinned back.
"Such boys," Jennifer said as she walked by Nate, Maddy happily ensconced in her mother's arms. She picked up a margarita and took a healthy sip.
"I'd hope so otherwise I'd really be wondering where that came from," Brad said, gesturing to Maddy with one of the beers.
Jennifer set the glass down and then swatted at him with her freed hand. Brad was not discouraged in the slightest.
"Come on. We'll introduce you to the rest of the guests," Chris said to Nate, gesturing out through the glass doors to the smattering of people in the backyard.
"Joy," Brad said.
"Don't pay any attention to him. He spent too much time mocking and tormenting his peers in his youth, forget getting to know them," Chris said, leading the way out the doors.
"I'll have you know I was a pleasure. I was pursued."
"Dude, the cops don't count."
Even Brad cracked a grin at that.
***
"Oh, the pain," Brad said, dry, as he unlocked his front door.
"They seemed nice enough." Nate dropped his bag just inside and peered into the darkness.
Brad shut the door on a disgusted sigh and started flipping on lights. "Small talk. With those...people." Like he couldn't even express the depth of his agony.
"Or, since it's you, with any people," Nate shot back.
"Are you insulting your host three steps into his home? Is this what is happening?"
"And you called me slow." Nate shook his head sadly.
Then ducked as Brad tried to take a swipe at him. He danced back out of Brad's range and laughed at him.
Brad tsked. "Careful. You don't have the refuge of your rank to hide behind anymore."
"Because I hid behind it so often before."
"But there was the presumption that you were off-limits. That's no longer true."
"Try to resist the urge to stick a KA-BAR in my ribs. I'm out of practice."
"Slow and soft. Tragic," Brad said mournfully. He led Nate into the kitchen and flipped on more lights, contrasting with the darkness outside the windows.
And this was what anyone would think of as a bachelor pad: black couches, envy-inducing entertainment system, all metal and glass tables, heavy black bookcases packed with books that actually looked thumbed-through. Everything neat and orderly, yet Nate still spied no less than three computers—or parts of computers?—in sight. There were plants, too, and what was probably an authentic, hand-woven Persian carpet hung on the wall.
Nate grinned and leaned against a counter in the kitchen. "You know, I now understand why you'd want to stay with the men. It's...good not to have everyone calling me 'sir' anymore. Freeing."
Brad grabbed a couple beers out of the fridge and popped the caps. He handed one over with a reluctant headshake. "I go away for a single tour and come back to find people are spawning, you're decrying rank. One more and you'll be a hippie vegan fuck, singing 'kumbaya' and professing we should all just love one another."
"'Kumbaya' is a good song."
"Christ, get out of my house."
Nate grinned and waggled his eyebrows. He tipped his beer at Brad, then took a long pull.
Brad's eyes were kind of...fixed on his neck.
"Did they really neglect to tell you they'd had a baby?" Nate asked.
Brad finally looked up and met his eyes. He shrugged, pushed off the counter and led Nate to the living room. "Surprise," he mocked. "Jen opens the door with a little person on her hip. I'm sure my announcement will show up any day now." He collapsed onto the couch.
"Well...at least you didn't have to buy them a baby gift?" Nate suggested. He sank back on the opposite side of the couch. Contrary to looks, it was actually comfortable.
Brad inclined his head. "That's why you're the leader; you always find the silver lining."
"Usually. Maybe not so much toward the end there," he admitted, rueful.
Brad waved a hand at him. "You seem...better." An oblique way of saying he'd seemed less than his best back then. Which Nate would fully admit, but they were guys. They didn't talk about that kind of stuff.
"Harvard's good. Challenging. Well, no, business school is kind of like one prolonged frat party, but I'm thinking of applying to the Kennedy School of Government, too."
Brad dropped his chin and closed his eyes in pain. "Oh, Christ, you're gonna end up a politician. There are gonna be bumper stickers." His head snapped up as a particularly dangerous glint appeared in his gaze. "I might need to get Ray to come up with some choice slogans."
"Oh, no. No, you don't."
"They'll be memorable. Just think of all the delicious ways to rhyme your name with 'prick.' Or 'dick.' Or 'lick.'"
"Got those in high school, thanks."
"Or 'flick.'" The word rolled off his tongue, inflection making it practically pornographic. Nate couldn't say why. It just...was.
"Obviously you won't be getting an offer to be my imaginary campaign manager."
Brad rested his beer on his knee and scoffed. "I wouldn't even vote for you. Kowtowing to the liberal establishment, strewing puppies and flowers throughout the land? You're practically a communist."
Nate grinned. "Strewing tequila anyway."
Brad relaxed his head back. "There aren't enough words of praise. You can't imagine how painful that was without hard liquor. All they had was beer and frou frou chick drinks."
Nate hesitated, but hell, he had to ask. "Jennifer was your fiancée? Chris was your best friend?"
Brad was quiet for a beat, but it was just a slight pause. "I'd wondered if you'd heard," he murmured, then sipped his beer, meditative.
"Kind of hard not to over there. All the guys do is talk."
Brad looked at him, frank. "Corporal Ray Person was my RTO. Well do I know."
Nate grinned, half-shrugged. He looked down at his own sweating beer, took a sip. He was hesitating again...
"You spent some time with Jen," Brad prompted, his voice full of something.
"Noticed that, did you?"
"I did. I have some basic reconnaissance skills. You might have heard."
"No kidding," he said, dry. Brad's lips twitched and they lapsed into silence again. Nate tried to imagine himself in Brad's place—the guy who'd gotten dumped, best man at their wedding, still their friend, finding out about their daughter when he showed up for a barbeque, having to face it head-on.
On the other hand, it was a choice Brad made, every time he went to see them. Was it some kind of masochism? A way to punish himself for whatever imaginary wrongs he thought he'd committed?
But he didn't want to hold their child, called her 'spawn' and 'that.' He distanced himself. From the baby he'd once thought would be his?
Nate hadn't answered Brad's implied question, hadn't even gone near it.
Oh, fuck it. Brad had faced that, had only flinched in the subtlest of ways, ways the couple could laugh off. Nate could give him something.
"She's not good enough for you."
Brad's eyes glittered when Nate met his gaze; that was the look that got him called Iceman, Nate was sure. He felt the chill somewhere deep inside.
"Does that make it better?" Brad asked, unblinking.
"Not in the slightest."
And then it turned into some kind of...moment and Nate found he couldn't look away, it wasn't humanly possible. Brad seemed to agree because he held the look for longer than Nate could say, something suspended in the air between them.
Brad finally broke the connection by draining the last of his beer.
"It's nice having friends," he finally murmured.
"Those aren't your friends," Nate said. "Maybe they think they are, but they're two people without any perspective on the situation. You never let on how deep a betrayal it was, did you? You let them think they were off the hook when that was never the case." Brad simply looked at him, face a mask. Nate continued on: "You don't deserve the punishment, Brad."
He shrugged, nonchalant. Only to Nate's eye it appeared...stiff. "I wanted the reminder."
"To remind yourself that what? Everyone abandons you? Everyone betrays you? Don't trust anyone; it'll only end in pain?"
"Maybe you should go get a Masters in head-shrinking."
Nate ignored him and instead turned on the couch so he faced Brad. He studied his profile, coolly composed. "It's crap, Brad. It's a punishment, a way for you to maintain your distance. You hurt yourself over and over again," he said and it was like half-formed thoughts spewed from his mouth, beyond his control. He was pushing, he knew...but today had been awful to watch, nice and polite and milquetoast as all those people were. "But, hey, you've got ice in your veins. Nothing can touch you."
Brad was silent for a moment. Then a wry smile settled into place. "Got me all figured out, Nate?"
"Getting there."
Brad purposefully set his empty bottle on the coffee table. "Then it's high-time I proved you wrong."
Nate tilted his head, tried to unscramble what that meant, but Brad had already moved, closed the space between them on the couch. He hit personal space and kept going. The first touch snapped Nate out of his stupor—with a blink and a sharp breath in—but by then Brad had pressed their mouths together.
Nate was on a couch, an empty beer bottle limp in hand, being carefully kissed by Brad and the world suddenly made no sense at all.
Just about the only thing he could grasp onto was the instinctive yes that flooded through him, the race of want and heat that made him drop the bottle, open his mouth, and kiss Brad back.
His instincts rarely let him down, after all.
Brad slipped his tongue in Nate's mouth, tentative, like he wasn't sure of his welcome. Nate met the kiss, fell into it, and that was it for hesitance. They took a shared breath and their mouths met again, this time brutal, battling for dominance, with teeth and biting and God, such heat.
Nate didn't realize he'd been moved until his back arched painfully over the arm of the couch. He hissed in a breath and Brad immediately moved off, stopped trying to crawl on top of him. Instead he pushed himself back, grabbed Nate's thighs, and hauled him to the center of the couch.
The cushions gave under their weight, Brad half on top of him and heavy. Not that it mattered, not with the way his mouth was intent on ruling Nate's utterly. And Nate was letting him.
Jesus, and this particular scene hadn't ever occurred to him. He'd admired Brad, sure, but it was totally philosophical, an appreciation of a kindred warrior spirit.
Brad's tongue skated along his palate; Nate moaned and bucked against him. Perhaps he needed to rethink that whole philosophical bit.
Brad shifted, got their bodies lined up, something, because suddenly Nate had a nice hard hip to thrust against and he could feel Brad returning the favor. At which point it went from hot to molten, the two of them dry humping on the couch like fucking teenagers except—except this had intent.
Nate found skin first and Brad made this sound, a little whimper straight into Nate's mouth, and it shot heat all through him. His hands clutched at Brad, simultaneously trying to explore, undress, and simply hang on. Fingers on his chest told him that Brad had had more success with his own button-down than he was now having with the goddamn purple monstrosity.
"Off," Nate muttered into Brad's mouth, tugging at the shirt.
Brad growled, but pulled away enough to strip the shirt off and toss it aside. Then it was all of Brad's skin against Nate's chest and it was so fucking good—heat and skin and Brad's mouth back on his. He could come from this, just thrust up against Brad, suck on his tongue, and ride this perfect ecstasy straight into oblivion.
That plan got derailed when Brad suddenly pushed himself up and off the couch. Nate had a hazy moment where he had to remember how to breathe. Then his stomach hollowed out at the thought that it was too much for Brad, that he didn't want—after he'd started it—
But Brad merely grabbed the edges of Nate's shirt and pulled him to standing, right into another kiss. Nate happily abandoned his concern.
He made an interrogative sound into Brad's mouth. Brad pulled back enough to mutter "bedroom" before kissing him again, still not moving, like thought and deed were too difficult to connect, the weight of inertia too much for him.
Nate nudged him on, giving them some momentum to build off of.
It worked. They stumbled, staggered, and crashed their way toward Brad's bedroom. Nate was pretty sure he heard a lamp shatter. The hallway wall might never be the same. And trying to kiss, undress, and maneuver in the dark, all while their brains were fogged over with lust...not the easiest thing. Especially not with his hands shaking.
He was sure they looked patently ridiculous: running into things, each other, stopping to get lost in scent and feel and taste, only to have to push themselves forward again. He was also sure he didn't much give a damn, so long as he got more of Brad's mouth and skin.
It was not a big house. It took forever and a day to find Brad's bedroom already, mostly because Brad kept pushing him up against things and holding him there, like it was all he'd ever wanted and he needed it right the fuck now.
Nate...didn't have masculinity issues like a lot of guys had—or seemed to have had—when he was in the Marines. He had no real qualms about being submissive beyond a tiny shred of trepidation at not being in control. But it was a feeling he well-knew and besides, this was Brad, who definitely had the capacity to hurt him, but never would.
Submission was just another form of control, anyway.
Still, he couldn't help a little visceral reaction when Brad slammed them into his room and summarily pushed Nate down on the bed. He watched Brad climb over him, naked, eyes dark, and all the breath left his lungs—he was at the mercy of a motherfucking Marine Corps killer.
The thought hit and Nate blew out a breath, laughed at himself.
...which possibly wasn't what Brad had expected out of this, to be laughed at. He immediately froze.
"What's funny?" Brad asked, wary.
"I just thought to myself that I'm in bed with a Marine Corps killer." Brad looked at him like whatever he'd been smoking might have been laced with a hallucinogen. "Then I remembered you have to plug your watch into your computer and oh, by the way, I'm a Marine Corps killer, too."
Brad hovered over him, unblinking, and didn't respond. It was all about momentum and Nate had just brought them to a full-stop.
"C'mere," Nate said, soft. He tugged Brad down, licked back into his mouth, and that seemed to spur him on. He suddenly covered Nate's body and kissed him back like he was laying siege: calculating, controlled, intense.
Nate let his hands wander over flat planes and bunched muscle. They had such a different bodies; Brad was long and muscular, with a sense of overwhelming power when he moved and tensed. Nothing like Nate's rangy, lean frame.
Plus, he didn't look anywhere near this ripped and frankly looming when he was in his clothes...but that was probably because he wasn't on top of Nate then.
Nate let his hands wander down the little knobs of his spine, traced fingers over where he knew Brad's tattoo was, then moved around to his abs and stroked a random pattern up his chest. Brad shivered and arched into the touch, all while plumbing Nate's mouth like it needed all his focus.
Brad shifted his hips to settle in between Nate's legs and made a low, pleased—almost pained—sound when his cock pressed up against bare skin.
He broke their kiss. "I want to fuck you," Brad rasped against his jaw. He said it like a challenge, thrust against Nate's hip to make the point.
Nate looked down at the cock pressing against him and God, that inside him—
But then Brad moved again, restless, and he remembered who they both were. He met Brad's eyes. "Condoms and lube."
And he'd—he'd surprised Brad, could see it when it impacted in his eyes, little blink of shock, moment of stillness before he readjusted. Brad had thought he'd refuse...so then why would he—
Nate dragged him into another burning, intense kiss and they lost themselves in it. Brad took one hand away, reaching over to the nightstand. Nate just curled around him and kept kissing. Everything else would take care of itself.
He could feel the brush of plastic when Brad's hands gripped at Nate's arms, condom and lube crushed to Nate's skin in a fit of want. But Brad didn't push them beyond that or make any move to actually get to the fucking.
Nate pulled his mouth from Brad's and plucked at the hand holding the lube. He looked straight into Brad's eyes. "I'm not afraid of you."
Brad didn't even blink. "Maybe you should be."
Nate shook his head, pulled him into a kiss again, all tongues and teeth, and tried to tell him that way. His ardor hadn't flagged—nor had the cock pressing hard against him—but apparently it would be up to Nate to get things going here.
Rolling over and spreading his legs was actually far less humiliating than he'd thought it would be, helped quite a bit by Brad's sharp inhalation at the sight. Nate looked over his shoulder and met Brad's eyes and the banked heat there was—mind-blowing and semi-unreal.
That seemed to do the trick.
Brad leaned forward to kiss him and his skin burned along Nate's and every superlative dropped out of Nate's mind in favor of turning his head so far it strained and kissing back. Brad kept his weight off Nate, but Nate could still feel him everywhere they touched, huge and hot and hard. He tried to imagine what it would feel like to have Brad pounding into him and his cock jerked and he half-humped the mattress and right, they should really get to this.
Nate broke the kiss and turned his head to give it a rest—only to catch sight of the closet. The mirrored closet which showed a perfect picture of just what they looked like. He could see Brad's face as he lowered his lips to Nate's shoulder, see the contrast of their skin tones, and yeah, Brad really did look that much bigger with their clothes off, skin to skin.
God, he'd be able to watch Brad as he fucked into him, see what they looked like to an outsider's eyes, see—
"You need to stretch me," Nate said abruptly, breaking that train of thought and replacing it with logistics. Hot as the idea of watching Brad Colbert fuck his ass was, it wasn't gonna be very pleasant if they didn't prep him more than a little.
Brad dug his teeth into the skin of his shoulder. The scrape of pain shouldn't have been hot; his cock jerked anyway.
He was gonna get a complex from this, he just knew it.
Nate turned his head and watched Brad in the mirror. Brad's hands didn't shake at all as he opened the lube and warmed some in his hand.
The first press of a finger wasn't exactly new—Nate had had some more forward girlfriends, after all—but the second was, tiny twinges of pain he didn't quite expect. Brad twisted his fingers and Nate grunted at the sear. Brad's fingers stopped instantly.
Nate shook his head. "Keep going. It's not too bad."
"That's a good standard for sex: not too bad," Brad said. His fingers didn't move.
"It's gonna hurt; I've accepted that. Now move," Nate ordered in his officer voice.
Brad did, fingers scissoring and making Nate hiss. But Brad did it little by little and soon it got easier if not better. Brad paused and hovered a third finger just at his entrance.
Nate nodded. And tried not to groan at the intrusion. Jesus, he felt impossibly tight, though intellectually he knew his body could handle this. Most likely.
Brad continued to stretch him, added more lube, so very careful. When he finally got used to three fingers, Nate made a negative noise. "Enough," he said.
Nate watched in the mirror as Brad tore open the condom with his teeth, applied it left-handed. Slicking himself was less elegant, but he got the job done, all while the fingers of his right hand continued to subtly shift and twist inside Nate.
Then he was ready and Nate was as ready as he'd ever be and it was probably a good sign that Brad pulling his fingers out left him feeling somewhat empty.
Not that that feeling lasted, what with the head of Brad's cock pressing bluntly at his entrance, waiting.
Nate nodded again—no consent issues here, God—and then Brad pushed forward and pain flared, burning, and he sucked in a breath. Brad stopped.
"Gimme a sec," Nate gasped. He inhaled deeply, twice, more aware of his ass than he'd been since he had to climb up a mountain carrying his own weight in gear. On the third breath he finally mastered it. It became a dull throb, not particularly pleasant, but not like his insides were splitting apart either.
Brad held perfectly still throughout.
"Fine. I'm fine," he said.
Brad didn't move.
"Brad?" Nate asked, opening his eyes to look in the mirror and—oh.
All Brad's muscles were flexed, forehead creased in concentration, his breathing short and ragged. Ruthlessly controlling himself, Nate realized. The thought sent life back to his flagging erection.
Nate braced himself on one arm and sent his hand back, pressed careful fingers to Brad's hip.
Brad met his eyes in the mirror. Nate nodded and something in Brad's face flickered, only Nate didn't see what and then Brad was moving so he had a few other things to focus on.
A slow press in, just a fraction of an inch, and when Nate didn't protest he did it again. And again. Weird feeling, being opened like this. He felt oddly exposed, but it was Brad—in whose hands he'd placed his life more times than he could count—so it was a ridiculous thought to have. Nate pushed it away.
The flex of a cock torturously fucking into him took up most of his attention, frankly.
Brad circled his hips, slowly advancing deeper into Nate's body. Nate made himself keep his eyes open and watch—see the look on Brad's face just before he dropped his forehead to Nate's back—and it helped distract him from the discomfort.
And then Brad was fully inside and they were both gasping, muscles shaking, and Nate couldn't—"Hang on," he managed to get out, hand finding the back of Brad's thigh and stilling any movement.
Brad's breath puffed against the skin between his shoulder blades and God, this had to be killing him, the stop and start, holding himself wholly in check when all he had to want was to push as deep as he could as fast as he could, fuck Nate's comfort.
Nate controlled his breathing and finally felt his body accept it, this invasion, adjust to it. He nodded...and then realized he probably needed to verbalize something here. "Okay," he said, shaky. "I'm—you can—"
Brad needed no further invitation. He pulled out a bare inch and thrust back in. It wasn't painful, exactly, but neither was it making him melt into a puddle of ecstasy.
Brad did it again, a little further out this time, a little harder in. Nate felt the shift of weight in his arms and knew that was one more place he'd be feeling this come morning.
Right, be logical. People did this for a reason, liked it, so what was missing here?
"Angle down a little," Nate rasped on Brad's next thrust in. It screwed up the rhythm Brad had worked himself into, but it was just a short stutter, and on the next thrust he angled down.
"More," Nate said.
Brad shifted back and then forward again and—
"—fucking Christ, do that again," Nate haltingly demanded, taken so off-guard by the sudden burst of pleasure that he was nearly shaking. It sent fire along his nerves, but in a good way, where every part of his body felt too much, too good to last.
Brad did it again. And again. And settled into a rhythm that brushed that spot every time and Nate thrust back against him, tried to get more, all instinct, until Brad chuckled and held his hips steady as he pounded into Nate just as Nate had imagined.
Nate could feel it and see it in the mirror—a hard, desperate look on Brad's face, momentary bliss every time he thrust in—hear the slap of skin on skin, their panted breaths, smell the two of them and detergent and sex. It was a kind of sensual overload, all jumbled up with a wash of pleasure so intense he felt like he was coming apart at the seams. In the best kind of way.
His cock was fully hard again and demanding. Nate tried to brace his weight on one arm and stroke himself, but Brad brushed his hand away and leaned over him again, chest to Nate's back and heat bleeding between them. His hand was tight around Nate. He used precome to slick his way, then stroked up Nate's cock right as he thrust in his ass. Fire ignited in Nate's veins and he couldn't help the low, impassioned groan.
Brad chuckled against his ear and did it again. He kept going until Nate was out-and-out moaning at every turn.
"Open your eyes," Brad growled in his ear.
Nate did. He saw himself—rapturous expression on his face—and Brad behind him, smooth flex of muscle as he thrust in, hand working Nate's cock. But it was Brad's expression that got to him, a kind of focused, intense pleasure that had Nate coming before he even realized.
Not that the realization mattered, not when every muscle pulled tight and shivers wracked his frame and the world became a rush of heat and light until he could no longer see Brad, only feel the tremendous, rhythmic pleasure he inspired in Nate's body.
Nate was sure he made noise; felt it in his throat even if he couldn't hear it. It was pleasure with a tinge of violence to it, like freefall before your parachute opened and jolted you back to reality, only there was no sharp jolt at the end, only soft mattress and Brad surrounding him, still inside him, panting against the back of his neck like there wasn't enough air in the universe.
No kidding.
"Fuck," Brad muttered, low. He was still half-sprawled over Nate, heavy and sweaty and slightly overwhelming, not that Nate could find the words to tell him to move.
"Fuck," Brad said again, for good measure.
Nate huffed out a laugh. "Yeah, pretty much."
"That was—fuck."
"I fucked you out of coherence," Nate said, tiredly proud.
Brad's laugh tickled his ear. Nate turned his head—even that seemed to take more energy than he could stand—and Brad was there, eyes fuzzy and really blue, face slack.
And he was really fucking heavy.
"And now you're crushing me in retaliation," Nate said.
It seemed to rouse Brad from some of his stupor. He raised his head and looked at their positions, then nodded and pushed himself back. Pulling out felt weird and wrong somehow. Then he heard the snap of the condom and Brad collapsed back next to him, totally spent.
"Totally fucked your brains out," Nate said, then made a pleased sound.
"Think I fucked your brains out," Brad shot back, halfway to unconsciousness.
Ugh, if he slept like this he'd hate himself when he woke. Focusing on that, Nate forced himself to standing.
Oh, wow, weird feeling in his ass. It was a really good thing he didn't have PT in the morning these days.
He stumbled to the bathroom and ran the water until it got warm, cleaned himself up as best he could in his fucked-out state, then wet a towel for Brad and made his way back to bed.
Brad moaned when Nate wiped him off, his eyes barely opening before they closed again. Nate could feel his own brain shutting down, but damned if he was gonna sleep in the wet spot when he didn't have to.
He pulled at Brad's shoulder, relentless, until he finally roused enough for Nate to pull the covers out from under him. Then he crawled into the bed next to him and everything went dark.
***
When he woke he had no idea where he was. His heart thudded hard at the thought that he'd gone home with someone and would have to deal with the morning-after, a momentary sliver of dread and panic and he'd-gotten-laid excitement...and then he shifted.
His ass protested and did it vociferously.
With that everything came rushing back—Brad and the barbeque and Christ, the full-on fucking they'd done. That wasn't a hand job you could wave away as combat stress or being just-that-drunk.
Not that they'd ever done that, either.
He shifted again and yeah, sore, moving wasn't a great plan. So he stilled and took in the grey light of a California dawn filtering in through the shades. Brad's room looked muted and Nate studied it with interest; he'd never been here before. The consummate bachelor pad, military precise, but even so Brad's personality shined through: a random laptop sat on a shelf, next to it a ruthlessly organized pile of remote controls, a family portrait—doubtless his mother's insistence but Brad still kept it in his room. Books here, too, including...was that Dante's Inferno on the nightstand?
Nate shifted over to see better and only then did he realize that yes, that was a hand slung over his hip and someone else's body heat right behind him.
Brad Colbert was a snuggler; who woulda thought?
Nate ignored his ass and turned over, wanted to see this, only when he settled again he realized he needn't have been so careful about it; Brad was looking right at him.
Typical.
"You snuggle," Nate said before he could think.
Brad shrugged, nonchalant. He didn't move his hand away. "Wouldn't know. Haven't slept in a bed with anyone for a while."
And that was—Jesus, that brought the whole discussion from last night right to the fore.
Nate's head suddenly hurt.
"What the fuck was that, Brad?" His tone may have come out a bit harsh, but Jesus. How could he—"You thought I'd say 'no,' get all offended? What, leave in a huff like some precious, prissy bitch?"
"I didn't think you'd say 'yes,'" Brad murmured. He watched Nate with careful, sleepy eyes, like he honestly didn't know what to expect out of this situation.
"You wanted me to flip out. To prove your point, fall right in line. Well, I hate to break it to you, Brad, but I'm a little tougher than that. Not everyone leaves. Some people do stay."
Brad stayed quiet, still studying him. He propped himself up on his arm. "You realize I have no idea what you're going on about, right?"
Nate laughed once, harsh, and dropped his head back to look at the ceiling. "God, you're such a piece of work." No wonder everyone was fucking terrified of him. Nate was kind of awed at the completely fucked logic that had gotten them here.
But. Brad was warm beside him, all tan skin contrasted against white sheets. And Nate didn't regret the how now that he had Brad like this. It was probably too much to ask that he get over all his abandonment issues after his defense mechanism failed so spectacularly.
They'd have to work on that.
Brad pressed careful fingers to his jaw, enough to reclaim his attention. Nate looked a question at him.
Then Brad leaned down and pressed their mouths together, a chaste touch of closed lips for all the fucking they'd done last night. After a brief moment, which hit Nate low and forceful, he pulled back. "Morning," he said, soft.
Huh. The morning-after, Brad Colbert style.
"Morning," Nate returned, letting it go. They had time, after all. "What time is it?"
"You don't care," Brad dismissed. He watched Nate like he was waiting for the next explosion. Nate just raised an eyebrow.
Brad half-smiled, eyes suddenly lit with a spark of mischief. "How sore is your ass this morning?"
"Fuck you," Nate grumbled.
"Don't you wish." He traced one of Nate's nipples, idle, and Nate's cock jerked. Damn.
Brad's eyes turned serious, though. Waiting.
"I'm fine," Nate said. Brad blinked and the seriousness was gone and was that—concern?
Only Brad pulled the sheet away and it didn't even occur to Nate to disguise the fact that he was half-hard. Brad's reaction was nothing less than predatory.
"Tell me: how did you know all that 'angle down' shit, anyway?" Brad asked. He gripped Nate's cock and stroked once; it sent a jolt of want clear through him. "Something I should know?"
Nate smiled and let himself relax into Brad's hands. The man had some brilliant ideas...on occasion. Nate had every intention of exploring them to their fullest.
***
Fin. Comments are adored.
