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Really, Brad blames Nate’s spectacular ass...no, it might have been Nate’s obscene grunts and groans...wait..., fuck, the pornographic way his hips rolled as he rode Brad into the mattress.
Fuck.
Yeah, Brad blames all of those things for his current predicament.
He’d been lying there, come and sweat drying on his skin, his breath slowly returning to normal when Nate had rolled onto his side, looked at him with those fucked out green eyes and asked him.
He’d said yes instantly.
And now he’s riding shotgun in Nate’s pussy Lexus hybrid fucking wannabe four wheeled drive heading out of DC towards fucking Dallas for Nate’s Grandmother’s birthday.
A good hard fuck will do that to you.
He looks across at Nate on the driver’s side – he’s practically bouncing in his seat.
How Nate’s ass isn’t as sore as fuck is beyond Brad; he’s still feeling strung out from coming three times in an eight hour period.
Not that he’d admit that to Nate.
Nate catches him looking and smiles that wide, teeth baring smile of his that usually indicates he’s fucking overjoyed. It’s full on and elicits a tired smile from Brad.
“Everything ok, Gunny?” Nate asks with mocking sincerity and concern, “you’re looking a bit tired over there.”
Fucker.
“I’m fine, Sir,” he responds through a gritted smile.
Nate has the cheesey temerity to wiggle his eyebrows and leer goofily at him.
“Yes, yes you are,” he says huskily.
From anyone else it would be unbearably retarded, but Brad fines himself charmed and that there is a measure on how fucking gay this whole thing is.
He can’t bring himself to care that much.
He covers his reaction by taking over the music selection and launching a verbal assault on Nate’s love of rap. He can tell by the half smirk on Nate’s face that he’s not fooled.
He is so fucked.
They spend the first half of the day talking about a report Nate’s work is presenting at an upcoming conference – Brad both amusing and impressing Nate with his own take on American foreign policy. It all feels familiar and safe.
They stop for lunch just outside Wytheville and then Brad takes over the driving.
He can’t believe he agreed to this; he’s spoken to Nate’s mother once on the phone and briefly met his sister, Gillian, at a pub on his last visit. Now he’s about to meet a fuck load more of Nate’s family and that isn’t a prospect he’d thought about.
It’s not that he’s scared – fuck no – it’s just he’s...unsure...of expectations; hasn’t got solid intel and can’t make informed decisions.
Nate must sense his unease because he reaches slowly across the handbrake consol and runs a hand up Brad’s thigh. When Brad risks a glance across at him he sees a ghost of a smile before Nate’s leaning across and undoing Brad’s jean shorts.
Oh fuck.
The fact that he doesn’t crash Nate’s expensive, environmentally friendly, tree loving hippy car is a testament to his fucking awesome iceman powers – or just extreme luck because having Nathaniel Fick’s lush mouth wrapped around your dick, his sandy blonde head bouncing up and down in your lap and that tongue asserting just a tad too much pressure is a fucking force of nature.
Brad may or may not have seen stars as he came – you’ll never get it out of him.
He doesn’t think about meeting Nate’s family...or anything really...until they stop for the night.
Brad follows Nate’s directions to a decidedly upmarket and ritzy looking hotel. He hadn’t given much thought to where they’d stay – but he didn’t think it would be at what was clearly a five star kind of place.
“Bi-partisan think tanks have tapped some serious lobby money, Sir,” he says as he pulls up outside the entrance.
Nate gives him an unreadable look and Brad’s not sure, but he thinks Nate is blushing.
“Be assured, Brad, that this is not on the work account,” is all Nate says as he gets out and retrieves their bags from the back.
Brad is still thinking about that when a porter opens the driver’s door and motions for Brad to get out and hand over the keys.
Right.
Brad’s a motherfucking recon marine and nothing intimidates him – but he’s feeling a little out of his depth amongst the cool grey lines of the lobby, with its marble flooring and long, elegant drapes. The overt, yet classy, display of wealth makes him rethink his cut off jean shorts and sandals.
“No, really, just a superior room will be fine,” Nate is saying – his tone alerting Brad. There’s an undercurrent of frustration in Nate’s voice.
“I’m sorry, Mr Fick, but your ...,” the immaculately presented Receptionist was saying.
“Thank you, Connie,” Nate’s interruption is almost rude, “I appreciate that – but it’s only one night and that hardly merits the Urban Suite, let alone the Metropolitan. Are you sure you don’t have a superior available?”
He smiles to take the sting out of his words and Connie seems to melt before Brad’s eyes.
If he were totally gay, Brad would say that being on the receiving end of one of Nate’s smiles can be pretty fucking awesome. But he’s not, so he won’t plus he’s kind of busy working through some coded intel at the moment.
Before he can formulate a sentence, Connie is handing over a door card, giving Nate directions to their room and flashing them both a blinding Miss Nashville smile. Nate sets off without a backwards glance and Brad does what he does best – he follows Nate to the lift.
The room – suite Nate informs him – is a big as the barracks Bravo shared with Alpha in Kuwait. There’s a dining room table, a lounge area and a huge kickass TV on the wall.
Nate throws himself face down on the huge king sized bed and Brad doesn’t bother policing himself – he stretches out along Nate’s back, his legs either side of Nate’s. They lie like that for awhile, Brad alternating between being blissfully content and realising how fucking gay that is.
“Stop thinking,” Nate’s muffled voice breaks him out of his reverie, “Shower and then food, Gunny.”
This is how Brad ends up on his knees in the huge glass shower with Nate making those desperate half moans and hisses as his dick hits the back of Brad’s throat.
It isn’t long before Nate’s litany of ‘Bradbradbradbrad’ becomes hard groans and he’s spilling hot and salty into Brad’s mouth. Brad can’t stop a moan of his own as he swallows each thick spurt.
Nate’s trembling as he pulls Brad up and kisses him lazily under the warm shower, chasing his taste around Brad’s mouth. He wraps his long fingers around Brad’s hard dick and stokes him to completion, Brad tearing his mouth away from Nate’s long enough to grasp much needed air and jerk through his orgasm.
They wash each other slowly, Brad’s skin is tingling and over sensitive by the time he gets out. Nate’s pale chest is flushed pink, his hair in wild, wet spikes and his green eyes smiling comfortably back at him.
Fuck.
Nate orders room service while Brad flicks idly through the TV channels. They’ve both got on old USMC sweats and black Recon tees. Seeing Nate in his gear reminds Brad of the first time his saw the new LT and the slow roll of his stomach that had nothing to do with the ten mile run they had just been on.
He reaches out to grab Nate as he passes by and drags him onto the bed. Nate’s amused smirk disappears under Brad’s lips and Brad reminds himself why he’s so gay for Nate.
Their make out session is interrupted by a knock on the door announcing the arrival of their food. One look at Nate’s puffy red lips, the high flush across his cheekbones, his messy hair where Brad had run his fingers through it and the slightly dazed expression on his face and Brad’s stomach does that slow roll again.
He’s awake the second he feels Nate leave the bed. The fancy looking clock on the bedside table announces the time is 4:45.
Run, shower, breakfast and go. At least that was the plan before Brad shifted to get up and found that his thighs weren’t functioning at capacity.
Fuck Nate’s perfect ass...and his filthy mouth – both of which he did last night – they were going to be the death of him, Brad was assured.
By the time Nate got out of the bathroom, Brad was dressed in his PT gear and nonchalantly lounging on the sofa. Nate raised one eyebrow at him then bent to retrieve his running shorts from his bag. Brad didn’t miss the twinge of pain that flashed across Nate’s face.
“Everything ok, Sir?” he asked, not really hiding the sarcasm behind his concern, “you seem a little stiff this morning.”
Nate rolled his eyes but smiled.
“It’s a miracle I’m even standing after being folded in half while you pounded away last night,” Brad could hear the teasing in Nate’s grumbling. He gingerly stood up and crossed the room to stand behind Nate who was pulling on his tee.
Brad ran his hands down the lean muscles of Nate’s chest and abdomen, curving out to rest on his hips, his lips at Nate’s left ear.
“You loved it,” he whispered.
He felt Nate shiver and watched the goose pimples appear along a pale arm. Nate turned his head and slid his lips along Brad’s. Nate hmmm’s as they break apart.
“Come on,” he motions for Brad to follow him.
They run, shower – separately - have breakfast and head out in the car.
There’s far too much fucking country music on the radio, so they’ve been listening to Beastie Boys for the last 3 hours. Brad thinks they scream like little bitches too much but by the time they stop for lunch in Little Rock he’s singing along to ‘Sabotage’. Nate’s wide smile makes the compromise of his principles worth it.
They don’t linger, Nate seems anxious to get to Dallas.
“I trust that you’ve got some sort of SOP,” Brad says as he pulls out into the afternoon traffic.
Nate makes a non committal noise; he’s busy rummaging around in his bag.
Brad drives.
It’s well past 23:00 before Nate’s directions lead them into a wide tree lined street and up a slate cobbled driveway beside what looks like a stone mansion. The lights along the path come on automatically as Brad stopped the car outside a four car garage.
Brad raises his eyebrow at Nate who ducks his head and opens his door.
“Nathaniel,” a distinctive southern voice floats out from an open door, “I was about to send a search party out for you, child.”
Brad can hear Nate’s chuckle.
“Such dramatics already, Grandma?” Nate says in a fond voice as he moves towards the house.
“Now, don’t you sass me so late in the evening,” Nate’s Grandmother says gruffly but Brad’s already cottoned on to who her favourite grandchild is.
He watches through the windshield as Nate bends to hug an immaculately dressed elderly woman with coiffured silver hair.
“I know you know how to use a phone,” Nate’s grandmother says as she wraps her arms around Nate’s waist and peers up at him, “You’d think you’d have the decency to call an old worried woman.”
“Well, I don’t know any old women so who would I call...ouch!” Nate laughs as his Grandmother punches his side.
“Just remember, child, you are not as charming as you think you are,” even from the car Brad can see the sparkle in her eyes as her gaze shifts from Nate to him.
“Nathaniel is your Gunnery Sergeant going to be joining us this evening, or have you got him at 50% watch?” Brad raises his eyebrows at Nate’s smirk.
Brad gets out of the car and walks over to stand in front of Nate and his grandmother. Brad notices two things immediately – one, she doesn’t look almost 90 and two, Nate has her green eyes.
“Brad, this is my grandmother Millicent Rose Walton. Grandma, Brad Colbert USMC,” Brad pretends not to hear the pride in Nate’s voice.
“Ma’am,” he says as he extends his hand to shake hers.
“You Marines, so formal,” she says as she takes his hand and pulls him down into a hug, “you just call me Millie, honeychild.”
She’s all of 5’ 5’’, so he has a long way to bend. He can hear Nate’s amusement.
“Don’t break him, Grandma, the US Government doesn’t take too kindly to their elite warriors being damaged by over excited nonagenarians,” Nate deadpans.
“Listen to him using all those educated words,” Nate’s Grandmother – Millie – teases as she lets Brad go, “I’d say a good use of his Harvard education – but he’d be insufferable then and you’re probably at your wits end having been cooped up in a car with him for the last two days.” She’s walking him into the house as she speaks.
“It wasn’t all that bad,” Brad finds himself saying, “apart from his shocking taste in music, I found the experience quite pleasant.” What the fuck? He shouldn’t be that surprised, his bubbe has the same effect on him.
Millie cranes her neck to look up at him, her green eyes searching. Brad’s not sure what it is in his expression she’s looking for, but she suddenly breaks out Nate’s wide smile and he feels his cheeks redden. Damn Grandmothers.
“Still listening to that West Coast rap music?” she asks sympathetically.
“Worse – East Coast old school hip hop,” he says mournfully.
“Nathaniel, tell me you didn’t subject your Gunnery Sergeant to those Beastie Boys,” Millie chides Nate; they’ve stopped just inside what looks like the kitchen – gleaming white and chrome surfaces with a huge island in the middle. There are three other people in the kitchen busy packing small things into tidy, white boxes.
“Beastie Boys are classic and he only complained for about a hundred klicks,” Nate replies as he smiles the others.
“Insolent child; Brad, give the keys to Charles so he can bring your bags in and park the car,” Millie, with one hand on Brad’s forearm, starts issuing orders like Godfather, “Tilda’s made up the Attic for you both and you are to see Lupe if you need anything.”
Millie’s walking Brad out of the kitchen as he hands Charles the keys. He looks back at Nate nodding his hello’s to Tilda and Lupe – both smile shyly back – and greeting Charles with a friendly handshake and a question about his family. It’s clear Nate has known the older man for many years.
“Come, Brad, you must be hungry,” Millie says as they enter a long hallway, “Nate we’re in the breakfast nook.”
The room turned out to be less ‘nook’ and more a huge glass conservatory just off the kitchen. Millie directs Brad to a smaller round table set with three places. He holds out her chair.
His mother taught him how to be civilised, damn it.
Lupe appears at Millie’s side with a silver platter of sandwiches, cold meats and accompaniments. Brad is suddenly ravenous, but waits until Millie’s poured herself a cup of tea.
“So Nathaniel tells me you’re quite the Marine,” Millie smiles up at him over the rim of her china cup, “he didn’t tell me you were so handsome though.”
Millie’s statement surprises him.
“What surprised you more, the handsome comment or the fact that Nate talks about you?” green eyes and smile aren’t the only traits Nate’s inherited from his maternal grandmother.
When he hesitates, Millie proceeds.
“Some of the family thought Nate’s decision to join the Marines foolhardy,” she says offering Brad the plate of sandwiches, “so, you can imagine how the news of you shook the family tree.”
It’s not something Brad’s given a lot of thought to – this thing between them – they aren’t teenage girls who talk about their relationship, for fucks sake. But he’s not ashamed of what Nate is to him, even if he can’t admit it – he return’s Millie’s measured gaze.
“If my being here is going to cause a problem...” Brad starts.
“Oh, honeychild, no!” Millie counters quickly, “I’ve waited a long time to see my Grandson as happy as he is now and having met you I can see why.”
She smiles and Brad feels himself blush. WTF?
“Grandma,” Nate’s tone has a hint of warning in it as he enters the room.
“Yes, child?” comes the haughty reply.
“Stop embarrassing your guests – it’s not your birthday yet,” Nate says as he swipes a sandwich off Brad’s plate.
“I should imagine it would take a lot more to embarrass your Gunnery Sergeant than idle gossip and chit chat,” Millie says as she finishes her tea.
“You don’t do idle gossip or chit chat,” Nate says pointedly.
“You may have a point,” Millie says as she gets up, tea cup in hand, “make sure you eat all these sandwiches before you turn in. Lupe will get you anything you need.”
She embraces both Nate and Brad, kissing them good night and leaves them alone in the nook.
Nate smiles at Brad. They eat sandwiches in compatible silence.
Their room really is in the attic – in fact it’s the entire length of one wing. Brad surveys the OA, taking in the directional lighting, polished wooden floors and neutral colour scheme. It looks like something straight out of InStyle or some other magazine his mother subscribes to – it doesn’t look like your regular spare room.
Nate’s on his hands and knees pushing back onto Brad’s three fingers, his moans of pleasure driving Brad crazy with want and need. There’s lube drying on the 800 count sheets, smudged along the back of Nate’s right leg and smeared on Brad’s hand.
Brad trembles as he sinks into Nate’s heat; the tight channel clutching around him with Nate’s low grunts.
He rocks back on his knees, pulling Nate up and flush with his chest. The change of angle has Nate panting and twitching.
“Oh, fuck,” Nate groans out in a hoarse whisper as Brad continues his lazy pace – savouring this feeling of rightness, hording it for later when he’s really going to need it.
Nate comes with Brad’s name falling breathlessly from his red, chewed lips. Brad follows a stroke or two behind and tries not to think about how far into this he really is.
It would be funny if it weren’t so fucked up. Nate hasn’t said anything, directly, but as the morning wears on it’s almost as if he’s ashamed of, well, Brad thinks it’s him, but then he remembers last night; Nate’s arms around him and the happy smile that greeted him when he opened his eyes – so he second guesses that it isn’t him.
As a hardcore recon marine, Brad has been trained to notice the things that others don’t – for example, during breakfast (again in the ‘nook’) Nate looked distinctly uncomfortable when Lupe served breakfast and ended up jumping up to help. Or the way Lupe looked at Nate when he carried their plates out to the kitchen.
But the biggest clue – the one that even Captain America would have got – came with the hurried and perfunctory tour of the house Nate was guilted into giving Brad by Millie. Nate rushed Brad through room after elegant room; the formal entrance, sitting and dining room. He hustled him onwards through the tastefully decorated entertainment room, the family sitting and dining room and kitchen.
“What did your Grandfather do?” Brad starts his line of inquiry as they wander around the pool area.
“Sold watches,” comes the flat reply.
“He must have sold a lot of watches.”
Nate smiles ruefully at this and Brad swears they could go on like this forever – but he’s been gathering all this information and he’s willing to man the fuck up.
“You worried I’m a gold digger, sir?” he knows Nate didn’t miss the deliberate ‘sir’.
“Pardon?” Nate asks as he frowns. Brad shakes his head.
“Not sure which is worse,” Brad continues, “you trying to apologise for your family’s wealth or the not telling in the first place.”
He’s not sure why it matters, but Nate obviously has an issue with it.
“Would it have made a difference?” he tries for levity, but Brad can hear the slight waver in his voice. Nate really has an issue about his family’s wealth.
Brad can’t even.
“Hell no,” he says firmly as he moves into Nate’s space. He’s close enough to feel the shiver of relief run down Nate’s arms.
He resists rolling his eyes.
Officers are so fucking useless.
He smiles down at Nate as he gathers the smaller man into his arms.
“For the record – that level of retardation better not be reached again this weekend,” he mummers into Nate’s ear, “in fact – if I didn’t know we’d never hear the end of it – I’d tell Ray; he’d be so proud.”
“Asshole,” Nate says without any heat.
Brad can feel him smiling into his shoulder.
He’s kinda given up on worrying about it all being so gay – a man has to know when to surrender.
They stay tangled up for a few minutes, just enjoying each other in those quiet moments.
Brad feels the need to break the silence – before he grows ovaries.
“How about you show me the pool house and I’ll show you what I learnt the summer I was a lifeguard?”
Nate looks up at Brad and laughs, his green eyes shining with mischief. He pulls back, spins on his heal and takes off towards the nearest door.
“Race you!” the fucker yells as he bolts through the door and out onto the lawn.
Brad smiles and does what he does best – follows Nate through the open door.