Fandom: Generation Kill.
Disclaimer: based on fictionalised characters as seen on a tv show. All fiction.
A/N: Technically a sequel to one of my first AUs in this fandom, It's not a slow dance, but really, no reading of that required, all you need to know is that Brad is a cop and Nate is a lawyer. Or you don't even need to know that, as this is mostly shmoopy and fluffy porn.
There are three things in Brad’s life that he can honestly says he loves.
His bike (ever since he laid eyes on it), his job (more of a love-hate relationship), and Nate Fick (he doesn’t say it often enough, probably, or say it at all sometimes, but Nate knows, and that’s the important thing.)
The list is chronological, not in the order of importance.
Ray calls them Brad’s wife, girlfriend, and mistress, and refuses to say which is which. It's probably for the better.
Ray’s little analogy is fucked, but there is one good point under the bullshit: it is really difficult to work out a schedule, between the wife, the girlfriend, and the mistress.
(“I kind of hope I’m not the mistress, at least,” Nate says at some point, after an evening spent at a bar with Brad’s friends.
“You could be. The sex is that good.”
“Yes, but how would Ray know that?”)
The thing is, Nate is even more married to his job than Brad is, and that takes skills. It’s Nate who brings work home, after all.
Well, fine, Brad might happen to do so as well, if the case he’s working on is really important, but he doesn’t bring it to the bedroom. Well, not the crime scene photos. Well, not any more, not since Nate threatened to never suck him off in that bed again.
(It’s their bed for all intents and purposes, even though Brad technically still has his own apartment. Nate’s place is closer to the precinct. And he has the most fantastic coffee maker. And, well, Nate, and the fact that even if sometimes they spend ten minutes together before Nate conks out with his head on Brad’s stomach while they’re watching the evening news, or Brad has to leave in the middle of the night to get to a crime scene...
He’s considering not prolonging his lease next month.
And by considering he means he already started to put things in boxes. Just in case Nate actually wants him around.)
Nate has an unfortunate tendency of getting too involved in his cases (this is not the case of pot and kettle, no matter what some lawyers he might know say) and an even more unfortunate tendency to spend hours bent over his desk and not in the entertaining way.
Brad has, according to some people, an unfortunate tendency to not let go of certain things, like the criminal douchebags who insist on making his life difficult.
So, yeah, scheduling problems.
Still there are mornings like the one last Saturday, when Nate turns off his cellphone for a grand total of four hours (almost a record), and makes coffee first thing in the morning before coming back to bed with steaming cups. The effort is a little wasted, since the coffee cools on the night table, untouched.
And there are afternoons like this, when Brad’s court appearance gets postponed due to some new evidence surfacing and the DA needing some time to regroup (or, if you asked Brad, find a map to look for his ass to get his head out of it, but he makes sure not to voice his opinions on Shwetje out loud).
“Tell me you don’t really need to be anywhere else, Detective,” Nate says, standing up from his seat on the bench outside the courtroom. Brad raises his eyebrows at that.
“What are you even doing here?”
“Little birdie told me about the recess.”
“Let me guess, the court reporter. I know she has a soft spot for you.”
“Which one?” Nate asks, smiling winningly as they fall into a comfortable step, heading out. Brad gives him a look.
“There’s more than one court reporter who has a soft spot for you?” Fine, he should know better. “Let me guess, all of them.”
“You know, Detective, you can continue with the interrogation, or we can make a better use of an unexpectedly free afternoon?” It’s actually kind of sad, the way Nate can wield the ‘detective’ like a weapon, going straight through Brad’s defences and destroying his self-control.
It’s his damn job, the word shouldn’t even sound attractive. Or like a come on.
“How about both?” Brad shrugs. “Because if you’re breaking out the dirty talk, I’m breaking out the handcuffs.”
“Now this sounds like a fun afternoon,” Nate nods, just a hint of an arousal in his voice. Brad might have missed it if he wasn’t listening for it. “You’re driving.”
“You want me to put the siren on,” Brad accuses him.
“Well, we’d get home faster,” Nate shrugs.
“You make an excellent point, counselor,” Brad says, bowing his head a little.
He doesn’t actually put the siren on, though he considers it when they get stuck in the traffic on the lower fifth and Nate’s chosen manner of passing time consists on running his hand up the inner seam of Brad’s jeans, slowly, almost absently, like he doesn’t even realise what he’s doing.
There really are moments when Nate is an absolute asshole and Brad knows why so many of his opponents in court actively hate him.
He doesn’t complain, though. That would be giving in.
At least, he holds on on complaining for a while, the traffic moving at a glacial pace, only a little slower than Nate’s hand travelling up. Brad can’t quite help the way his legs spread obligingly, instinctively. Nate shifts in his own seat, perfectly comfortable and smug, eyes half closed as he stares out of the window at the cars around them.
He almost looks bored, even as his hand reaches its destination and he palms Brad’s cock through the pants that are rapidly becoming too tight, stretched over Brad’s hard dick.
“Do you really want me to cause an accident?” Brad asks him, making sure his voice stays level.
“Now that would be interesting to explain at the precinct,” Nate offers pleasantly. “Better not. Please, drive carefully,” he adds, hand not moving an inch.
Brad closes his eyes for a second and breathes out, reminding himself why pulling over would be a bad idea right now. He doesn’t need to deal with Poke and Ray after he gets arrested for public indecency.
“You do realise there’s no fucking way we’re making it as far as the bedroom?” he says, figuring that if you can’t fight them, you might as well join them. Nate looks at him with and expression mild curiosity, but his eyes are dark green, pupils dilated, so everything’s going the right way. “You’d be lucky if we made it to the living room.”
“The hallways has its advantages,” Nate supplies helpfully.
“Convenient walls to press you against,” Brad agrees. “But that’s overly optimistic, you assume I won’t just fuck you in the garage, the second we get out of the car.”
That earns him a slow grin, the corner of Nate’s mouth rising. “And you assume I would mind.”
Fuck it, Brad’s putting on the siren.
Or, he fully intends to, but for once the universe is actually working in his favor and they get through the worse traffic without any incidents. Nate obligingly draws his hand back and Brad can’t really say he misses it.
He does, but he can’t say it, that would be an invitation for Nate to gloat.
They do get out of the garage, because Nate pulls at Brad’s shirt and drags him inside and Brad goes willingly. The carpet in the hallway is preferable to the concrete of the garage floor, after all. Nate stumbles in the corridor, almost tripping over the gym bag (his own, Brad doesn’t leave his lying around like that), and the momentum allows Brad to press him against the wall next to the kitchen’s entrance, allow him to hold on to the edge of the doorway as Brad uses his knee to spread Nate’s legs wide open.
Nate’s head thumps softly against the wall and his eyes close for a brief moment, breathing getting heavy as he shamelessly starts rubbing himself against Brad’s thigh. If Brad wasn’t hard for the last half an hour or so, this sight would get him there, stat.
“You seem impatient, Nathaniel,” he mutters. Nate bites his lip before he visibly forces himself to respond calmly, at the same time reaching to undo Brad’s pants, tips of his fingers caressing Brad’s dick through the strained material of his boxers.
“That sounded like a complaint, Brad. Why don’t you get on your knees and occupy your mouth in a more useful manner?”
He sounds way too coherent for Brad’s liking, to be honest. Still, the suggestion has some merit. He sinks to his knees easily and pulls Nate’s pants down for better access, kisses his stomach before he makes his way down.
Nate’s fingers curl around the shell of Brad’s ear, an incredibly gentle caress compared to the way his hips buckle and his other hand is tightly grasping the doorframe, knuckles white. Brad takes his time, licking the tip of Nate’s cock before he takes it into his mouth, slowly, enjoying the way Nate gasps and holds on to Brad’s hair, trying to keep his balance.
He’s keeping his eyes open, looking down at Brad, his face flushed and his breathing harsh. Brad can’t help it, he needs to stick his own hand down his pants, palm his cock as Nate’s coming in his mouth. Neither of them lasts long.
Nate lowers himself to the floor, hand on Brad’s neck as he licks at the corner of Brad’s mouth, tasting himself. “You should have waited for me,” he mutters, fingers skirting across Brad’s thigh.
“Technically, I did. It was pretty much over when you were coming in my mouth,” he offers with a shrug and Nate groans.
“Fuck, come on. Bedroom,” he says, making it sound like a command, short and clipped.
“What, the corridor is good for the fucking but not for the afterglow?”
“Technically, the in-between glow, we’re not done,” Nate tells him. Brad’s dick offers the slightest hint of interest and well, Brad’s not going to argue with it.
“The in-between glow?” he inquires, as he pokes his head into the bathroom and looks for a towel. “Really? You come up with those in your spare time?”
“Every time I’m forced to listen to Shwetje’s closing arguments, yes. Bed,” he adds, and Brad glares at him.
“Shwetje and bed should not be mentioned in the same conversation, less alone so close together.”
Nate grimaces. “You have a point,” he admits and pulls at the covers. “Move your ass, glowing time.”
Brad tries to snort and roll his eyes simultaneously, but what comes out is more of a warm chuckle at Nate’s resolve. “You could just say you want to cuddle, it’s fine.”
Nate sits on the bed, leaning back against the headboard, and crosses his arms pointedly. Brad offers him a wide grin, 90 percent theatrics and ten percent genuine fondness, and gets under the covers, laying down his head on Nate’s stomach.
He has a few lines he could offer at the moment, but Nate’s fingers card through his hair, and Brad doesn’t quite give a fuck about one liners right now. It’s nice. And he hasn’t quite realised how tired he really was until now.
Speaking of, the strangeness of the situation dawns on him few moments later. Could be half an hour later, too, he’s on the verge of dozing off. “Did you break your cellphone or something?” he asks.
It’s been really quiet. Uncannily so.
Nate snorts. “I turned it off. You knew one could do that? Amazing.”
“You live and learn. Still, it doesn’t explain why the landline...” he stops, because, with impeccable timing and right on cue, the phone in the living room rings shrilly. “Fine, my fault,” Brad admits.
Nate gently pokes his shoulder and shifts, like he’s about to move. “Could be important.”
“Then they’d know to call your office,” Brad points out but moves obligingly. Or at least pretends to be obliging and uses the moment to locate one of Nate’s many blue ties, hanging over the back of a chair.
“What-” Nate starts, bemused, as Brad expertly ties a knot around his wrists and then proceeds to secure Nate’s hands to the headboard. “No handcuffs, detective?”
“They’re in the drawer,” Brad shrugs. “This was more convenient.”
The phone has stopped ringing and doesn’t perk up again. Brad was right, nothing important and probably a telemarketer. Still, he’s not letting go.
Nate looks up and curiously tests the bonds before nodding, an acknowledgment or a permission, Brad’s not sure. “Do they meet with your approval, counselor?” Brad asks flatly.
“Fuck you,” Nate says pleasantly.
“Really, Nathaniel? You’re going with that one right now?”
“That wasn’t a line, that was a suggestion.”
Brad gives it some thought. His dick does the same thing, and apparently comes up with a conclusion that it’s a wonderful idea.
Pun not intended, for god’s sake.
“Fine. But we’re doing this my way,” he says matter-of-factly and leans to the side of the bed, rummaging through the drawer.
Nate gives a put-upon sigh. “Aren’t we always?” he says, as if it wasn’t a well established and widely known fact that one well-aimed look from Nate has a tendency of turning Brad’s usually well functioning brain into jelly, sloshing around in his skull.
Brad leaves that one without an answer, it really doesn’t deserve another response but a pointed look. He takes a moment instead, to discard the rest of his clothes and deal with the few things Nate still has on.
He coats his fingers in lube and slowly works on preparing himself, past the first initial discomfort and resistance, into the moment the lube is warm and two of his fingers go in easily, his breathing rough and uneven. He’s straddling Nate’s thighs and he watches Nate watching him, and that’s something that contributes to his arousal more than the fingers he works up his ass, the way Nate’s flushed, his eyes darkened and shining, biting at his lip to keep the sound in, working his hips unconsciously, trying to get closer to Brad.
Brad briefly considers just getting himself off like this, shooting all over Nate’s stomach, mostly because there is something quite beautiful about the look of frustration on Nate’s face, and he wouldn’t mind sucking Nate off again later, but... it’s been a long while since they had time to actually take time with this, and it’s been a while since he felt Nate’s dick inside.
He sinks down on Nate’s cock slowly, placing one hand on Nate’s chest for balance. Nate groans, visibly calming himself down, deep breaths, in and out, as he tries not to thrust into Brad too hard or too fast. He’s pulling on the bind hard now, there’ll be marks on his wrists later, and Brad revels in that. He’d mark Nate all over, especially when it would be visible, if he thought he could get away with it.
As it is, he leans down, bites at Nate’s collarbone, low enough that the mark will be hidden under the collar of his shirt. He soothes it with his tongue, trails a slow line of kisses up Nate’s neck, ending with his chin, then lips, pulling at the lower one with his teeth.
Nate’s hips start moving now, fucking into Brad, meeting him halfway as he rises and falls. He stays bent forward, hands on the sides of Nate’s face now, so he can watch Nate’s face from up close, kissing him whenever he wants, whenever he wants to swallow a groan.
It takes him a moment to realise the ringing in his ears isn’t just from the daze he’s in, but is the phone perking up again. Nate’s groan is a little different at that.
“I could answer it for you. Tell them you’re a little tied up,” he says, and Nate laughs, the chuckle turning into a low moan as Brad moves in just the right way. “In a bit of a bind?” Brad supplies the alternative.
Nate gives him a look, too heated to be a proper glare, and shrugs slowly. “In a tight spot?” he offers, accentuating it with a harder thrust, eliciting a loud groan from Brad as it comes at just the right angle. “I want to see you come, Brad.”
It’s difficult to disobey such an order, especially as it’s muttered against Brad’s neck, before Nate leans back against the headboard, bracing himself, letting Brad set the pace for the last few seconds.
Everything goes bright under Brad’s eyelids and he’s vaguely aware that, moments later, Nate’s still watching him intently, close to the brink himself, looking a right mess just before he comes inside Brad.
“Fuck,” Nate breathes out as Brad slumps against him, chuckling.
“Not again, you’re going to kill me.”
“Would prefer not to,” Nate shrugs. “For one, I’d like to keep you around. And for another, it’d probably be investigated by Poke and he’s entirely too competent for my comfort.”
“I’ll give him your regards,” Brad nods. “Later. Now,” he gestures at the tie, “as much as I’d like to keep you to myself forever...”
“Don’t bother yourself,” Nate says, raising his hands a little to stop pulling at the bind. It takes him all of a three seconds to get himself out of the knot.
“Let me guess. You were a boyscout.”
“Not quite,” Nate says, offering up his best guileless smile, the one that charms all the jurors every damn time. It would possibly work on Brad as well, if he didn’t know how devious Nate could be. Or if Nate didn’t have Brad’s drying come all over his stomach.
“You know, I’m not going to give you the satisfaction of asking.”
“Probably for the better,” Nate agrees, looking around for the towel Brad discarded either, and then making a halfhearted attempt at cleaning them up again. Brad moves to help him, taking the towel from Nate and cleaning up the mess on his stomach. He then takes Nate’s hands into his, examining his wrists, the red marks on them.
“Long sleeves tomorrow, then,” he mutters, with no small amount of satisfaction.
Nate nods. “I love you,” he offers, something that could be a non sequitur if Brad didn’t know better. If Nate didn’t know Brad so well, didn’t know that sometimes Brad needed the assurances even though he wouldn’t admit it, or even realise it most of the time. The warm feeling in his stomach and the way a smile pushes its way into his lips is a clear hint that yeah, he wanted and needed it just now.
He bends his head to kiss the insides of Nate’s wrists and nods, then leans down to bring their foreheads together. “Hey,” he says, and it’s an admission of his own.
“And yourself,” Nate nods, breathing out against Brad’s lips. “Now,” he starts.
“You call the office and make sure there’s no apocalypse and I order us some pizza in the meantime?” Brad suggests.
“See, this is why I’m keeping you around,” Nate agrees with a smile, but he doesn’t let go off Brad’s hand for a long moment after he says it, not at all eager to move. Brad understands the sentiment.