Noelia (noelia_g) wrote,

Fic: The peace the evening brings (Brad/Nate)

Title: The peace the evening brings
Fandom: Generation Kill
Characters/Pairings: Nate/Brad
Wordcount: 1929
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Based on fictionalised portrayals as seen on the HBO miniseries.
A/N: Princess Diaries AU treequel. I can't even promise there won't be more, but I'm running out of Can You Feel the Love Tonight related titles, so that's a small mercy. First part is here and the sequel is here. I need help, but we knew that.

Brad is trying out technique number seven hundred and eight of trying to fall asleep (all previous attempts had been spectacular failures) when the door to his bedroom opens and someone is quietly making their way towards the bed.

“I’m awake,” he offers, his voice a little groggy, not from sleep but from counting sheep and the ugly flowers on the wallpaper and possible ways to get out of tomorrow’s ceremony while still getting to go through with the wedding thing.

“I’ve figured,” Nate says, sliding under the covers. Brad shifts obligingly, then rolls back towards the centre of the bed, his body pressed close against Nate’s.

“How did you get here anyway?”

“There’s a secret passage.”

“Really?” Brad asks with suspicion, because he’s pretty sure he’d be informed.

“Well, no. Mostly, I bribed your guard.”

“My guards are above bribery.”

“Not Poke. He likes me and he also likes donuts.”

“It occurs to me that you’re dangerously well posed for an assassination attempt.”

Nate nods. It’s hard to make out his features in the darkness, but he seems to be smiling. “That is the thought that offers some comfort in the dark hours. When I’m in the meetings with my future chief of staff, for example.”

“I still can’t get over the part where you get your own chief of staff,” Brad mutters, bowing his head a little, resting his forehead against Nate’s shoulder.

“It’s like being the First Lady only without the added benefits of possible Oval Office sex.”

“Ah, but I see your Oval Office and I raise you the throne room,” Brad tells him.

Nate pauses before answering. “I could be persuaded,” he says, clearly holding back laughter now. He reaches out, fingers curling around the shell of Brad’s ear. “So we’re doing this, then,” he offers, his voice a little breathless, like he can’t quite believe getting to this point.

“It would be some hassle to cancel,” Brad mutters. “Though say one word and I’ll have a chopper waiting on the roof to get us to Vegas instead.”

“Like you could pull that off.”

“One, prince. Second, I have it on a good authority that my guards are easily bribed, and with the resources at my disposal I could totally pull that off.”

Nate falls silent for a moment, like he’s considering it. Brad wasn’t being serious, but that doesn’t mean he wouldn’t try. Poke would probably actually help him and Ray would be more than willing to provide diversion. The idea is not without merit.

“Your mother would kill us,” Nate points out. “Not to mention my mother. And your grandfather.”

“I like that he’s the third on your list of concerns.”

“He wouldn’t be able to get to us. Not after our mothers are done.”

“Fair point,” Brad concedes. “Then yes, I think we’re doing this.”

“Good,” Nate mutters, shifting as he burrows himself a little more under the covers and moves a little closer to Brad. “I’d hate for all the long discussions on the colour schemes to go to waste.”

“Now that would be a tragedy,” Brad agrees. “Speaking of, isn’t it bad luck if we see each other before tomorrow?”

“I can’t really see you all that well in this darkness anyway,” Nate shrugs. “And besides, I think it’s for the bride.”

“Haven’t we established you’re technically the bride? I mean, I can’t be, with the whole crown prince bit, so...”

“Funny you should say that. I think at least one lawyer was suggesting your title was changed to crown princess, that way you could be crowned the queen and I’d be your prince consort and no one would have to change the constitution.”

“Yes, but was that lawyer my sister?”

This time Nate clearly can’t hold back the grin. “Could be.”

Brad waves his hand to indicate exactly what he thinks of his sister’s ideas. He might owe her for some things, but that doesn’t mean he’d start listening to the shit she says. Nate brings his hand to his mouth to keep himself from laughing at Brad’s mock indignation.

They’re silent for a long moment after that, Nate’s breathing evening out. He’s not yet asleep, but getting there. Apparently he has none of the troubles Brad has with the whole falling asleep part.

And it’s not that he’s freaking out. He might be, about the whole three ring circus of tomorrow, because he’s going to have to be dignified and serious, and wave to people, and hold his tongue during the reception. He’s had practice, sure, but it’s supposed to be their day and he’s not quite in the mood to humor everyone else like he’s going to have to.

But he’s not freaking out about the things he thought he would. His feet are toasty warm, thank you for asking. And judging from Nate being, well, here, he doesn’t suffer from a case of cold feet either.

Except very literally, Brad amends when he stretches his legs and encounters Nate’s actually ice cold feet.

“Fuck, did you walk here barefoot?”

“Shut up, I was almost asleep and you ruined it.”

“It’s kind of offensive that you snuck into my bedroom the night before our wedding to just fall asleep like that. I’m afraid the romance is gone,” Brad mutters mournfully.

“I need my beauty sleep.”


“And so do you, honestly.”

“Fuck you.”

Nate laughs and reaches out, fingers tangling in Brad’s shirt as he pulls him closer and into a kiss. It starts slowly, teasing and soft, and Brad would honestly be content with leaving it at that. He’s been joking, mostly. But then Nate makes a soft, throaty sound, like he’s giving in, or like he’s just getting started, and Brad is pretty much gone, trying to get as close as possible.

At some point he loses his shirt and can’t quite tell when it happened because Nate is half draped over him, his hand sneaking into Brad’s pants.

“Not saving anything for the wedding night?”

“I’d be surprised if there’s anything we could save for the wedding night that we hadn’t done already,” Nate mutters against Brad’s collarbone.

He might have a point. “There’s always the throne room.”

“Right. Let’s save it for the first anniversary,” he offers, pulling back just to get a better angle for his hand palming Brad’s dick.

And it might be Nate’s excellent skill and his familiarity with Brad’s dick (and seriously, after all the years he really has no trouble in getting Brad where he wants and fast), but it also might be the fact that yes, they are getting married tomorrow and yes, they are at the stage of planning fucking anniversaries and all... it might be that thing that has Brad coming extremely, almost embarrassingly fast and hard into Nate’s hand.

“That better way of spending the night before your wedding?” Nate asks, breathing harshly. It’s kind of impressive that he can talk almost calmly. “Is it because you didn’t get a proper bachelor’s party?”

“I could have had that, Ray was ready to organise the whole thing.”

“Why didn’t you, then?”

“Ray was ready to organise the whole thing,” Brad explains flatly.

“That actually makes sense. And fills me with dread as to what he could have planned. Do you...”

“How about you shut up and we get to the part of the evening where I suck your dick?”

Nate laughs again, the sound a little strangled now. His hips buckle a little when Brad is pulling at the waistband of his pants. “See, this is why you get to run a country. You have splendid ideas.”

“Not quite the thing I’d share on my resume. Or mention in front of the parliament.”

“Now why wouldn’t you?”

“My grandfather attends the sessions,” Brad says, the last thing he’ll say for a while, as his mouth becomes otherwise occupied. Nate is shaking, both from the fact that he’s laughing and trying not to, and because he’s trying to get closer to Brad, hands fisting the covers. Brad has to steady Nate’s hips but he can’t help humming around Nate’s dick, knowing quite well it’s going to make him groan and his hips buckle even harder.

Nate mutters something incomprehensible and reaches out blindly, trying to pull Brad up. Brad obliges and crawls up the length of Nate’s body, letting himself be pulled into a sloppy kiss. Nate starts stroking himself, as if he actually prefers to come while kissing Brad instead of Brad sucking him off. Brad moves to help him, their hands moving together until Nate comes, mouthing something against Brad’s chin, the words lost in a groan.

After a while, Nate shifts slightly, opening his eyes to look at Brad. “You get points for mentioning your grandfather right in the middle of this. And by points I mean do this again and I’ll create a scandal divorcing you.”

“This could be fun. Provided you’d marry me again afterwards.”

“Of course.”

“And this time no one would demand a parade.”

“I see only good sides.”

“That’s settled, then. It’s good to have plans,” Brad mutters, then frowns. “Fuck, I have to get up and get a towel.”

“Well, you could ring for a servant to do so for you, but I wouldn’t advise that.”

“Speaking of splendid ideas, advice such as this is why my grandfather consults you on foreign policy now.”

“And here you go mentioning him again while your come hasn’t dried out yet.”

Brad almost chokes on the snort he can’t hold back. “You know I’m not going to be able to not think about this tomorrow when I see him?”

Nate nods and moves to get up, getting out of his pants. He’s pretty much ruined them, that for sure. “Kind of my point.”

“I love you,” Brad tells him, because there’s really nothing else to say to that.

“You’re strange and twisted,” Nate informs him. “And I love you too. Give me that towel.”

“It’s a good thing they didn’t let you write your own vows.”

“They would have, if I argued a little longer,” Nate says. He could be right, it got to the point where almost everyone, including Brad’s grandfather, just let Nate do what he wants. He’s proved to be right a good few times and that was before he went for the PhD shtick. “But I’ve figured I’d better pick my battles.”

“That’s probably wise,” Brad says and surveys the bed once he throws the towel into the waste bin in the bathroom. “So, what now? Back to getting your beauty sleep?”

“That joke is so fifteen minutes ago. But your choices are sleep or watching late night tv. Though I think they’re re-running our movie on the Genovian first channel.”

“The Disney one or the documentary one?”

“Disney,” Nate says, a smile playing at the corner of his mouth. Damn him. He knows damn well Brad can’t resist the Disney one, they’ve made Ray into a girl and gave Grandfather a Russian accent. It’s fantastic.

“I’ll get the remote.”

“You know,” Nate says, settling against the pillows. “If nothing else, we’re the reason Disney made a gay movie.”

“All Disney movies are quite gay,” Brad points out.

“An actual gay movie, with a big final gay kiss. If we never achieve anything else of substance, this is the reason to be proud, right there.”

Brad tries to hold back a smile and punches Nate’s shoulder before shifting closer to Nate’s side. “Shut up, that’s my favourite part.”
Tags: au, brad/nate, fanfic, generation kill

  • true story.

    In case you guys are wondering what I did for the entire day. (and will do again tomorrow.) This is actually pretty accurate.

  • I aten't dead

    Figured I might owe everyone an update... 1. Terrible writer's block. I have a dozen or more fics started and can't bring myself to actually…

  • Joe Manganiello

    So, as I said, after after meeting Alexander Skarsgard last year and not making a total idiot of myself, fainting on sight, or saying anything…

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  • true story.

    In case you guys are wondering what I did for the entire day. (and will do again tomorrow.) This is actually pretty accurate.

  • I aten't dead

    Figured I might owe everyone an update... 1. Terrible writer's block. I have a dozen or more fics started and can't bring myself to actually…

  • Joe Manganiello

    So, as I said, after after meeting Alexander Skarsgard last year and not making a total idiot of myself, fainting on sight, or saying anything…