Fandom: Generation Kill
Summary: Yet another high school AU.
Disclaimer: Based on fictionalised portrayals as seen on the HBO miniseries.
A/N: kubis likes high school AUs. She also wanted a pining!Nate. And the kink meme wanted high school and sex in the back seat.
Nate doesn't do nervous very often. He does panicked well, especially before tests, but he's been repeatedly told to shut it and fuck off after people realised his panic translates into straight As.
What he doesn't do, is get nervous about certain social interractions with the members of the opposite sex, or well, the members of the same sex but there hadn't been many interractions of that kind. Yet.
But as it is, his palms are sweating and it takes him a good two minutes to realise that no one's going to open the door after he rung the bell simply because the dorbell isn't working.
It's stupid, he tells himself, there's no guarantee Brad is even home, and if he is, no certainty that Nate will get to see him. Doesn't stop his stomach from doing sommersaults when he knocks.
Seconds later he feels entirely justified in all the panic and the way he drove around the block before pulling over, because Brad Colbert opens the door, clad in jeans and a white tank top, and Nate's brain short-circuits for just a second.
"Yes?" Brad prompts, after a rather awkward pause. Nate hopes fervently he didn't notice the staring.
Nate swears, on normal days he's not socially retarded and, according to some sources, considered one of the cooler guys in school. You'd never know it now.
"I'm Nate," he says. "Fick?"
"Are you asking me?" Brad asks, the corner of his mouth rising slightly in the patented Colbert smirk. He takes a step back to let Nate in. "Kate, your cavarly is here," he yells and looks back at Nate. "She'll be right down."
"Thanks," Nate nods. "Your doorbell is broken," he adds after a moment, when they're still standing in the hall, Brad hasn't moved a muscle, and Nate has the unparalleled desire to at least stick his hands in his pockets but he's holding the bag with his books, so, well.
Brad shrugs. "It's not broken. It's just missing the crucial part that ensures its functioning."
"The sound was fucking annoying," Brad supplies with a quick grin, a fleeting blink-and-you'll-miss-it smile that has Nate smiling back before he can think better of it.
"Hey, Nate," Kate says, bouncing down the stairs. "We can set up on the dining room. I hope you're patient, because I have a serious problem with my essay. As in, with actually writing it."
"I told mom we should have actually taught her the alphabet," Brad says mournfully and turns on his heel before Kate's punch can reach his shoulder.
"Don't mind the retard. He gets hit in his head a lot," Kate scenic-whispers. "Come on, this way."
"Hey, Fick," someone calls out and Nate turns, shutting his locker. Brad fucking Colbert is leaning against the locker next to his, an inscrutable look on his face. "You forgot this," he says, holding up one of Nate's books. He must have left it in their dining room, amongst the piles of Kate's notes.
"I'm going to be at your place tomorrow, I could have just picked it up then."
"You could," Brad agrees. "But how do I know it's not something you desperately need?" he shrugs and Nate can't help watching his mouth when he speaks, the way his lips form the last words.
"Thanks, then," he offers and takes the book, opens his locker again and stuffs it inside. Brad watches him as if he wants to say something but he never does. Nate isn't quite sure what to do with it, Brad Colbert doesn't strike him as someone to get hesitant about anything.
"I guess I'll see you tomorrow," Brad says finally and Nate tilts his head.
"Or today," he mutters. At Brad look he shrugs. "We have English together," he supplies.
He's not really surprised Brad didn't notice, he spends most of the classes not paying any attention at all, distracted by a book or whatever it is he's writing down, doodling on the margins. The teachers have mostly given up and just let him be, considering the grades he pulls seemingly effortlessly.
"That we do," Brad says after a moment and walks away with nary a nod.
"So, you and Iceman best friends now?" Mike asks from behind him and Nate carefully doesn't react at all.
"Looked like a full conversation to me. With complete sentences and shit. Coming from that guy it seems to be the equivalent of a love confession," Mike muses, watching Nate carefully.
"Sometimes I really hate you."
Mike just smiles at him.
"Mom and Dad are out for the weekend, we're ordering pizza for dinner," Kate tells him after they're both sick of the Catcher in the Rye and Nate calls it a day. "Want to stay?"
"I don't know..." Nate starts, shaking his head.
"I've already ordered, so you might as well stay," Brad says, coming into the room and shutting his cellphone with a snap. "Pepperoni and cheese, right?" he asks and Nate's eyes widen, probably in a cartoon-like fashion, he can feel it.
"Yeah," he says and tries to search his memory for any moment in which Brad might have learned his pizza preferences, coming up blank.
"Oh my god," Kate says suddenly and when they look at her, she shakes her head. "I forgot something, I need to call... someone," she says, shrugging. It doesn't sound very convincing but a moment later she's already upstairs and Brad is pursing his lips with annoyance.
"I wanted a brother. Or a dog," he tells Nate. "And I get two sisters who refuse to play fetch."
"Try two sisters who treat you like their personal walking doll," Nate says darkly and Brad laughs. It's startling, warm and new, and Nate holds his breath for a moment.
"Did they braid your hair?"
Brad nods. "Sam tried that with me, too. Once."
"I bit her," Brad shrugs. "I was five," he adds defensively, then goes to open the door after someone knocks forcefully.
Nate shakes his head and doesn't even bother to pretend to himself that he's not watching Brad's ass when he walks away.
"Your doorbell is broken," he can hear the pizza delivery guy inform helpfully.
"I have been blackmailed into going bowling," Brad says without preamble, sitting across Nate at the lunch table. Mike raises his eyebrows but doesn't say anything, the rest of the guys peers curiously and some of the girls sit up straighter and toss their hair in an almost synchronised movement.
Nate would laugh except he's afraid he'd choke on his fries.
"I am very sorry for you?" he tries instead.
Brad nods magnanimously. "So, you want to come?"
Jesus fuck, just someone warns him next time if Brad's going to be going around saying that. "Sure," he says flatly. "Why not."
"We meet at six," Brad informs him, almost business-like, and steals a couple of fries off of Nate's plate before he stands up. He doesn't need to say where, there's only one decent place where you can go bowling in this town. "You better be good," he adds with a nod and walks away. Nate shakes his head.
"Didn't know you knew Brad," Mae says, leaning forward to look at Nate from her side of the table.
"Looks like," Nate shrugs.
"So, is he seeing anyone?"
Nate can't even.
Socialising with Brad Colbert means, of course, spending a significant amount of time in the company of Ray Person. Nate alternates between stunned disbelief, complete mortification, and trying not to burst out laughing. It's certainly interesting.
"No, seriously, homes, you've never wondered why all the meat in the school cafeteria tastes the same? It might sound like some fuck-ass weak conspiracy theory but this shit is real," Ray assures him. "Would I lie to you?"
"Yes," Nate guesses flatly and Ray beams.
"Your lack of faith wounds me, but at least you have a functioning brain. Hey, Brad, he can stay."
"Your approval warms my heart and gives my life meaning. Also, fucking move, Person, it's your turn."
Nate likes watching Brad like this, as relaxed as Brad gets, trading insults that don't sting and leaning back in his chair, long legs stretched out carelessly. Most people would tell you that Brad's always at ease, that it's everyone else who feels nervous around him, but that's because they hadn't seen him like this.
And Nate thinks there's still some way to go. The desire to see it, to make it happen doesn't exactly surprise him but is still unsettling, warm and cold in his chest.
"Beat that, Fick!" Ray yells and Nate tears his eyes away from Brad, stands up and flips Ray off goodnaturedly.
He feels something warm on the back of his neck and wonders if Brad's watching him. It doesn't seem quite as impossible as it used to.
"You know what I don't get?" Nate says when they're shooting hoops on Brad's driveway. Brad's freakish height should give him an advantage but Nate has a few seasons of practices and games under his belt so he likes his chances.
Brad doesn't answer for a moment, just hmms quietly. When Nate looks at him, he shrugs. "I have a good answer to that, but it's not fit for polite company."
Nate rolls his eyes. "Why do your parents even need me to tutor Kate. I've seen your grades, you could write argumentative essays in your sleep."
"Yes, but that would require Kate to actually listen to my advice," Brad says and lands the next toss perfectly. Nate catches the ball and stays in place, dribbling it absently. "Last time I tried to tell her what to do, she bit me."
"Seems like biting is a big hit with the Colberts," Nate offers and Brad gives him a puzzled look and then laughs, remembering.
"Is that a curiosity I hear?" he asks and Nate chokes on the inhale. Brad looks surprised by his own words, by his tone. Like he meant to say something else but his words spilled unbidden.
Nate throws the ball at him and Brad catches it easily, in front of his chest. "Maybe," Nate tells him, feels the flush in his cheeks.
"Boys, when you're done there's lemon cake," Mrs Colbert calls from the inside of the house.
"Come on, Fick, there's lemon cake," Brad says flatly and Nate rolls his eyes and follows him.
"So, a question," Kate says and Nate nods, his hand stilling on the page with her essay. "Are you trying to get into my brother's pants?"
It's... not what he expected.
And that's an understatement.
"I don't..." he starts and stops, catching her eyes. She looks nothing like Brad, but the challenging look is similar, the way Nate knows she'll call his bullshit easily and be disappointed in him even trying. "Maybe. Yeah."
Kate nods, like she's not surprised at all and looks back at the page Nate's holding. "So, what do you think? And I swear, one comment about split infinitives and I will damn well be splitting something."
"Kate," Nate says and she looks up again, serious.
"I don't know, Nate," she shrugs. "He's been pretty fucked over that thing with Jess and recently he's in a much better mood. But the asshole never tells me anything so I don't know."
Brad's been dating Jess for three years, which at this point in their lives might have just as well been eternity. Their break-up had been the most talked about thing in the fall, when she left Brad for Jeff over the summer. They were still friends.
Except that Brad's mouth tightened every time he was around them and his hands went completely still. Nate didn't like that at all.
"Hey, Nate?" Kate drawls to get his attention, a small smile playing in the corner of her mouth. "If you go together to the prom, can I pick your dress?"
"You can pick his dress," Nate promises her and she smiles brilliantly.
"You going to the game?" Nate asks and doesn't hold his breath, because it's not a date, and he's not asking Brad out. At all.
"Probably," Brad says, and in Brad Colbert's world that usually means fuck yes. But Nate can't stop himself from pressing the topic.
"It's just, you never go," he points out and in hindsight, it's a flashing neon sign, it's admitting he is looking for Brad in the crowd.
Brad gives him a long look, absently playing with a strap from his backpack. "Check your sources," he says finally, quietly. Nate leans forward instinctively, to hear better. "Never missed a game."
It feels like a sort of admission and Nate isn't quite sure he's not reading too much into it, but hell, he wants it to mean what he thinks it means. "Want to go somewhere afterwards? Everyone will probably be going to Craig's party, win or lose, but I seriously get enough of him at practices pretty much every day, so..."
"I am flattered that you'd take my company over that of Craig fucking Shwetje."
Nate shrugs. "I'd take your company over anyone else's," he says simply and picks up his books and notes, stuffs them into his bag randomly, not sure he wants to look up and see the look on Brad's face.
"Okay," Brad says finally, his voice rougher than usual. "We can go somewhere after the game. But I'm taking my car. You drive like an old lady," he adds and Nate fails completely at hiding his smile.
"Your music taste?" Nate says, browsing the CDs Brad keeps in the glove compartment and shaking his head at each one. "Fucking sucks."
"Says the guy whose iTunes library is filled with fucking rap music," Brad mutters.
Nate peers at him. "How would you even know that?"
"You need better passwords. Birth dates are not passwords, they're invitations. It doesn't matter if you mix them up, they're still the first thing any idiot will try."
"Well, clearly," Nate shots back and he's grinning, and Brad is smiling back at him, and Nate doesn't quite mind the Air Supply anymore. "Turn here," he says and watches as Brad raises his eyebrows but does what he's told.
"The local make-out spot? Nathaniel, I'm appalled."
"Are you?" Nate asks and doesn't care he's taking a giant fucking leap here. This is worth it. Brad's worth it.
Brad waits with the response until he pulls over and turns the engine off, until everything falls quiet and expectant around them. "Honestly? No. I'm impressed. And maybe slightly hopeful," he says, his voice softer as he ducks his head.
Nate thinks he's entirely justified in kissing him.
There's a spot on Brad Colbert's neck that, when you lick it, makes him fucking moan and arch into you shamelessly, like he doesn't care about anything but your tongue and your mouth and you.
Safe to say, Nate's not going to be sharing this piece of information with anyone, ever.
Brad reaches out, his fingers fisting Nate's hair, pulling him closer. He hits his elbow on the wheel (again) and swears into Nate's mouth.
"Whose great idea was this?" he asks hoarsely and Nate smiles, licks at the corner of Brad's mouth.
"Move to the backseat," he says, the words sharp like an order and Brad just looks at him for a long moment and nods.
Brad's car isn't a small thing, can't be if Brad's supposed to drive it comfortably, but with both of them in the backseat it's still just a little bit uncomfortable.
And then Brad sticks his hand down the front of Nate's pants and Nate doesn't mind at all.
"I've been wondering," Brad mutters, mouthing along Nate's jaw, his lips wet and slick. "I've been wondering how you'd taste," he says, his fingers closing on Nate's cock, stroking him almost painfully slowly.
Nate makes a noise into Brad's mouth, strangled and pleading. He'd be embarrassed about how desperate he sounds, how needy, except he doesn't fucking mind at all and he's trying to get Brad's pants undone with his fumbling fingers. "Come on," he tells Brad and Brad's fingers join his, freeing his hard dick.
Nate stops for a moment, considering, his hand closed around Brad's cock. He must have been still for a long moment, because Brad pulls away, his eyes wide open and worried and so vulnerable Nate's heart stops for what seems like forever. "Figuring out the logistics," he tells Brad, trying to call up his best serious look and Brad's tension seems to disappear and he leans in, kisses Nate on the nose.
"Of course you are," he says fondly.
"Okay," Nate says, calling up a wide and cheerful smile he reserves for people being idiots. "I'm gonna take my pants off now."
Brad's laugh is strangled and broken, like it wants to be a moan instead, and he lets go of Nate. "Don't let me stop you," he says roughly.
Nate does as promised, tosses his pants over the back of the driver's seat and then reaches to roll down Brad's own pants, leaving them fumbled around his thighs. It's enough for what he's planning. "Next time, we're finding a fucking bed," he tells Brad who nods eagerly, reaches out to run his hand down Nate's chest, his fingertips trailing down slowly, his thumb brushing over Nate's nipple, too briefly. "Fuck," Nate says and shifts closer, crawling over Brad, straddling him.
When he leans forward to kiss his way into Brad's mouth their dicks align and Brad groans loudly, his breath hot on Nate's lips. "You're a fucking brilliant strategist," he tells Nate and Nate smiles.
"I like to think so," he offers and swallows Brad's laugh, kisses Brad lazily, like they have all the time in the world, like he's not painfully hard and already moving his hips shamelessly, trying to get more friction on his cock.
Brad's hand moves to close around Nate's dick and he returns the favour, stroking faster now. They don't stop kissing, Brad's tongue mapping out his mouth like he's claiming a new land for himself, like he wants to make sure his taste will stay on Nate's lips. His left hand is on Nate's back, a consistent pressure bringing him closer.
Nate's close enough to coming he can't even tell who makes which sounds, whose groans are filling his ears, louder than even his own pounding heart. He bites Brad's lip to keep himself from screaming, the rest of his senses telling him they might be at a secluded spot but better not tempt fate. He tastes the faint coppery tang and wonders if it's his lip bleeding or Brad's, but then he's coming and he doesn't care.
"Nate," Brad says, and then he repeats it over and over, quiet and half-broken as he spills into Nate's hand.
Nate sags against him, boneless and fucked out, licking his lips, meeting Brad's tongue as Brad's doing the same, sucking Nate's lower lip in, gently, carefully. "Hey," he whispers when he pulls back, just slightly, enough that he can rest his forehead against Brad's.
"Hey," Brad mutters back, breathing in and out like he wants to say something else, something more. His fingers curl on Nate's hip and Nate thinks he knows what it is. "The Air Supply is still playing," Brad says after a moment, his lips moving against Nate's chin as he ducks his head, trails his mouth down Nate's neck next, licks at the hollow behind his ear.
"And?" Nate prompts, tilting his head back, granting Brad all the access he wants.
"I think it's going to be our song," Brad tells him cheerfully and Nate laughs, reaches out to cup the side of Brad's face, his thumb brushing the corner of Brad's mouth.
"Can't bring myself to care," he mutters. "But it's a fucking shitty song."