Noelia (noelia_g) wrote,

Fic: And I call it home (Brad/Nate)

Title: And I call it home
Fandom: Generation Kill
Characters/Pairings: Nate/Brad
Wordcount: 1378
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Based on fictionalised portrayals as seen on the HBO miniseries.
A/N: Okay, so, Actors!AU. Following the big bang, the Oscars fic and the time stamp thing. Written for kubis for Galentine's. It's so fluffy I want to die.

Brad knows he’s in deep shit when he gets back home from taping his appearance on the Late Late Show and Nate offers a slow clap standing ovation, pointedly getting off the couch.

“How the hell did you even watch it this fast?”

“Ray called me and gave me the highlights. I know you had lunch with Lizzy beforehand, how drunk did you get?”

Brad hesitates for the briefest of moments. He’s known Nate for long enough to know this is the moment to lie. “Very, as you could tell.”

Unfortunately, Nate’s known him for long enough not to buy it. He frowns and closes the distance between them, looking at Brad quizzically. “Last time you’ve publicly declared your love was the last year’s Oscars and I think we’ve agreed not to have a repeat of that,” he muses.

“The last time was the wedding,” Brad corrects him.

“Doesn’t count.”

“How comforting,” Brad says and doesn’t flinch away when Nate touches the back of his hand to Brad’s forehead. Damn. The hand is cool to the touch, even though Nate has just been holding a cup of coffee in both hands when Brad came in. Double damn and fuck.

“Have you been self-medicating?” Nate asks suspiciously and then punches his shoulder before Brad gets a chance to answer. “Don’t just stand here, get to bed.”

“Now’s not the best moment, Nathaniel.”

Nate doesn’t look impressed, even though his mouth quirks a little, obviously against his better judgement as he tries to purse it right after. “Bed, Brad. I’ll make you some tea.”

“I know you’re regrettably method at times, but you’re taking this whole British thing to worrying levels,” Brad tells him mournfully. Or tries for mournful anyway, it comes out mostly as fond, especially since he can’t stop himself from leaning into Nate’s hand as it slides over his cheek.

This is the whole problem, really. And why he’s going to have to burn all the copies of the Late Late Show and somehow get them off youtube and...

When Nate is sick, he becomes insufferable, sullen and sarcastic, and always forgets to wear shoes and doesn’t want to eat anything.

You might suspect Brad would be right at home with the sullen and sarcastic routine, but he doesn’t have such luck. No, instead he gets increasingly maudlin the higher his fever gets. Bordering on sappy at times. And his fever had been pretty high for the entire day.

It’s better to cut your losses and give in early. “Alright then, tea. Join me when you’re done.”

“I thought it wasn’t the best moment,” Nate quips and then stands there like the asshole he is, watching Brad hold his tongue. “It’s okay to say you want to cuddle.”

“Fuck you.”

“Later,” Nate promises and heads for the kitchen, humming under his breath. Brad shakes his head and tries his best not to find it endearing. Fuck.

It gets even worse once he gets into bed. He’s been holding up while he was up, but the moment his head hits the pillow the dizziness kicks in. Colours under his eyelids and the room spinning, the whole works, including the pressing pain in his temples. “It would help if you didn’t wait until it gets to this point,” Nate tells him, the bed dipping as he sits down.

“It’s just a cold. Didn’t seem serious.”

“Never does,” Nate points out, gently tugging at the pillow. “Sit up.”

Brad obliges, taking a moment before he opens his eyes. It’s better than he expected, Nate has dimmed the lights and is now pressing a warm mug into Brad’s hand before holding up a bottle with painkillers. “One or two?”

“Two,” Brad admits. He obligingly takes them and then throws his head back for a few seconds. It helps the room to stop spinning. Well, maybe not stop, but slow down. “Thanks.”

“Not a problem. In sickness and in health, as I recall,” Nate says smoothly, because he is a sappy asshole and because he is taking this whole method thing to ridiculous levels, really. Or not, considering this sounds just as much the British gentleman he’s playing in that Oscar bait shit as it sounds like normal Nate.

“Read the fine print next time,” Brad tells him. “Also, I think I need to change. Getting straight to bed seemed like a good idea, but I forgot about the monkey suit.”

“Especially since I like that shirt, it would be a tragedy to have it ruined. I’ll get your pajamas,” Nate offers and moves to stand up, stopping only when Brad’s fingers close around his wrist. He waits patiently as Brad tries to work out a way to say thanks that wouldn’t sound maudlin and ridiculous.

He settles on “hey.”

“Hey yourself,” Nate nods. He looks like he’s holding back a smile, the asshole.

“I meant it, you know,” Brad says and almost grimaces when he hears himself. Here we go.

“Which part?”

“Which parts did Ray already tell you about?”

“Most of them, I’d imagine,” Nate shrugs, his voice dropping a little, gaining a thoughtful quality. “You know, it’s natural they’ve started asking. The wedding was a good few months ago, and well...”

“You’d be great,” Brad says, interrupting him. He takes the sip of the tea to do something but stare at Nate and grimaces, because of course it’s fucking camomile. “Seriously, you’d be...”

“You know the rules, no life altering decisions during the awards season,” Nate tells him.

He doesn’t quite sound like he means it. “But you’re thinking about it.”

“I have been asked a few times if we’re thinking about it, you know. Apparently everyone agrees it’s the next logical step. And... yes, okay, I’ve been thinking about this even before they started asking.”

“How much before?” Brad asks suspiciously.

“Something around the time of your non-proposal.”

Oh. Well. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“All in good time,” Nate smiles. “And seriously, we’re not having this discussion right now, because you’re feverish and because we have a rule about the award season. We’ll revisit the subject at a later date and discuss it together, alright?”

“You just want time to do proper research,” Brad mutters, as if his own browser history wasn’t damning. Well, it’s not, but only because he cleans the browser history on the daily basis. You never know, and Ray has taken to borrowing Brad’s laptop without asking whenever he comes around. And also, once Brad has found Joseph using the thing to check his e-mail and that’s even worse than Ray.

“This would imply I hadn’t already.”

Brad can’t help the grin. “You’re bringing the method to adoption now?”

“Don’t knock it or I won’t include you in the process of preparing for the sex scene I’m shooting next month.”

“Considering it would be as much of a disappointment to you as it would be for me, I’m not really worried.”

“You might be right,” Nate admits and stands up. “I’ll get you the pajamas, start undressing.”

There’s a comeback right there on the tip of Brad’s tongue, but what comes out when he opens his mouth is “I love you” instead.

Nate’s smile is immediate and warm. “I have been assured of this already,” he nods. “And so will be others, once that talk show is broadcast.”

Brad groans. “I’m never doing late night tv again,” he swears. He’s lying, of course, with the movie getting the awards buzz he’s booked solid for the next month or two, and then soon enough the fucking Avengers circus will start. Not to mention the whole extravaganza bound to happen once they decide to go with the adoption.

Nate will make him go on Ellen’s. And he’ll have to promise not to punch the guy in an oversized scary costume again.

“Of course, dear,” Nate says now, eyes shining even as he’s holding back a smile. “I love you too. Now start fucking undressing before you fall asleep in that suit.”

“Sure, that’s the reason you want me out of my clothes,” Brad grumbles but complies.

All in all, he’s quite happy with how his evening is going. If only the room stopped spinning.
Tags: au, brad/nate, fanfic, generation kill

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