GK fic: I'm a liar and a fighter
May. 2nd, 2010 09:05 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kubisI should be writing my thesis. Or packing. Yeah, well.
I'm a liar and a fighter
fandom: Generation Kill
pairing: Brad/Nate
rating: PG
disclaimer: This story is based on the fictionalized characters from the miniseries Generation Kill. It's fiction, that's all.
a/n: thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
noelia_g for beta and cheerleading. The title is from a song that is playing in my head, but I can't remember what it is and google isn't helping.
summary: Sometimes Brad is an idiot.
Despite the stories that would be going around among the guys later on thanks to Ray, they didn’t actually fall into bed the minute their plane touched American soil and they hadn’t been spending all their time fucking ever since.
Yes, they did fuck soon after they came back. But then came the morning after and nothing looked easy.
*
His sexuality was never in question, because there had never been any guy.
And then Nathaniel Fick showed up.
Not that there was any sign, a faster beating heart, a boner, something. No. Their new platoon commander came to say hello and all that Brad was thinking was “For fuck’s sake, he’s a little kid. We are going to war with a fucking twelve years old leading us.”
Well, it turned out he wasn’t twelve and he wasn’t a kid. He was a jaded idealist (“jaded” came later, and now Brad wasn’t sure how long “idealist” would last), a damn good officer and the only semi steady good thing in that fucking clusterfuck of all clusterfucks.
*
He had never done a walk of shame actually feeling ashamed. Now he was fucking feeling it alright, but he’d be damned if somebody saw him leaving this apartment at four in the morning.
He almost made it. Almost fucking made it.
“Brad?”
He wasn’t stupid (except for the half-naked proof in front of him), he didn’t really believe that he could sneak out unnoticed. There were two Recon Marines in this house, after all.
But he had foolishly assumed that even if the LT woke up, he wouldn’t stop him from leaving. That he would just ignored it.
Fucking foolish assumption, that’s what it was. Fucking lieutenant Nathaniel fucking Fick, never backing out from a confrontation. Never fucking giving up.
Brad could feel his anger waking up. Not a good sign.
“Sir?,” and yes, he knew it probably wasn’t the right thing to say, he could see how the man in front of him tensed his shoulders, but there wasn’t any SOP for this. There wasn’t, because it shouldn’t have happened at all.
“Why are you leaving?”
Somebody maybe should explain some things to his LT, but Brad, frustrated and angry all of sudden, didn’t feel like it. Or maybe didn’t feel like doing it delicately. Whatever worked out there, in the theater, sure as fuck wasn’t gonna work here.
“Why am I leaving your apartment at four in the morning, sir? I’m sure you’re aware of the regulations. This kind of thing? Is against it. Sir.”
The LT’s eyes flashed. He had the respect of his men, nobody spoke to him like that. Somewhere in Brad’s head, there was a riot, a fucking rebellion.
“I’m aware of the regulations, Brad. But I also think that leaving my apartment during the day, not in the middle of the night, would be much more easily explained, if somebody were to notice it.”
“Thought about it, sir?”
He really was a fucking stupid piece of shit. And a hypocrite, too.
*
Not that he would ever admit it to anybody, but the first time he caught himself thinking about his LT’s hands (followed up quickly by an unwelcomed thought about his lips), he freaked out and didn’t touch himself for five and a half days. Ray was probably one step from kicking him out of the humvee, team leader or not.
The LT was male, so these kinds of thoughts surprised Brad a fucking lot, but it was probably something that he could deal with. Maybe. Possibly. Who the fuck knew.
But he was also his fucking commanding officer and strange, life-fucking-changing feelings aside, male or female, Nate Fick or no Nate Fick, Brad could follow orders anywhere but in the bedroom.
He did, however, could picture Nate on his knees before him. And that wasn't a great thought to have when you were standing next to the guy in the middle of the team leaders meeting in the middle of the fucking desert.
*
One thing for sure, Nathaniel Fick was not a coward.
“Have I thought about having sex with you? Yes.”
Unlike Brad, apparently, because the next fucking thing he said was:
“You’re my commanding officer, sir.”
Something shut down in the man standing in front of him, Brad could see that, but he just couldn’t stop doing whatever it was he was doing.
“I’m aware of that,” Nate said.
“So why...”
“Because I was under the impression that you wanted it, too.”
Like it was that fucking simple. Like there wasn’t... Like they weren’t...
“You’re my commanding officer, sir,” was the first thought that came out of his mouth.
He saw the blue eyes open wide, the same expression like that day in Baghdad, when they had seen a child jumping on the bomb lying on the street.
A second later, Nate closed the bedroom door and Brad was alone.
It wasn’t until later, in the shower, that the last words he'd said registered fully for what they could have been taken for. Goosebumps rose on his skin.
“Oh fuck.”
*
“I think the Reporter has the hots for our LT.”
“Ray.”
“I’m serious! You don’t think I’m serious? I’m fucking serious! Look,” Ray waved his free hand towards the command. They were sitting beside their humvee, eating and resting. Ray was throwing his food around and he couldn’t shut up. “We are here, minding our own bussiness and relaxing, and where is the Reporter? With the LT. I bet they’re eating lunch or whatever and the Reporter can’t take his eyes off our fearless and fair-haired, but in this case fairly clueless leader...”
Walt choked on his food. Brad was chewing slowly, eyes locked on his MRE, and not looking anywhere else, especially not in the direction of the LT’s vehicle.
“It could be our own little tragic romance, homes,” Ray continued, getting more and more excited. “Unrequited love, in this dangerous place and dangerous times, amongst bullets...”
“Ray, shut up,” mumbled Walt, looking a little upset for some reason other than the stupidity of his fellow marine.
“...from the foreign enemies and the enemies within our troops, because our tragic Reporter-lover has to be afraid of...”
“Ray, shut the fuck up, you little inbred moron. Right now,” Brad stood up, suddenly annoyed. The Ray Person effect, ladies and gentlemen.
When the Reporter came back a few minutes later, all smiles and shit, Brad wanted to shoot someone.
*
“Can I have a moment, sir?”
It was two long fucking weeks. Between the training, the news about LT leaving the Corps and about Brad’s incoming trip overseas, there was no time for getting it squared away. That, and the fact that Nate was never alone. Gunny Wynn was his shadow even more than usual and if he wasn’t there, someone else appeared and blocked Brad from talking to the LT.
He wasn’t a paranoid person, but this was getting riddiculous.
“I’m busy, Brad,” lieutenant Fick barely lifted his head from the papers he was filling out.
“It won’t take long,” he said quickly. No way he was backing out now. Nate needed to listen to what he had to say. “It’s important.”
“Come on in, then.”
Brad sat down in front of the desk and for a moment he missed the theater and meetings and talks that didn’t involve... all this.
“Sir, I wanted to apologize...”
“There’s no need,” Nate interrupted him. “I should be the one apologizing. It wasn’t my intention to give you the impression I apparently did.”
“You didn’t. Sir. I wanted to clear that out. Whatever I meant by saying what I said, I wasn’t suggesting that.” His LT looked him in the eyes and Brad realized he didn’t even know that he missed that, too. “I’m sorry I gave you the impression I most certainly did.”
There it was, the almost smile. Stupid little thing that always made Brad feel better.
“I see,” Nate said, his posture a lot more at ease than a minute ago. “What did you mean, then?”
“That I’m a coward, apparently.”
Well, that surprised them both. But Brad went on.
“Look, it’s definitely not the right place and probably not the right time, and I would really appreciate it if we could forget about more embarrasing parts of this conversation later on, but I have to say it. I was scared and I behaved like a coward. I’m sorry. I’m not scared anymore.”
That was the smile he’d never seen. He would remember that one, he remembered them all.
“I’m glad to hear that. But I’d suggest that we should be a little scared.”
He was leaving in four weeks and two years was a long fucking time. Nate was leaving the Corps and moving somewhere. Brad could do “a little scared” without even trying.
“Okay. A little scared, then.”
But only a little.
______
I'm a liar and a fighter
fandom: Generation Kill
pairing: Brad/Nate
rating: PG
disclaimer: This story is based on the fictionalized characters from the miniseries Generation Kill. It's fiction, that's all.
a/n: thanks to
noelia_g for beta and cheerleading. The title is from a song that is playing in my head, but I can't remember what it is and google isn't helping.summary: Sometimes Brad is an idiot.
Despite the stories that would be going around among the guys later on thanks to Ray, they didn’t actually fall into bed the minute their plane touched American soil and they hadn’t been spending all their time fucking ever since.
Yes, they did fuck soon after they came back. But then came the morning after and nothing looked easy.
*
His sexuality was never in question, because there had never been any guy.
And then Nathaniel Fick showed up.
Not that there was any sign, a faster beating heart, a boner, something. No. Their new platoon commander came to say hello and all that Brad was thinking was “For fuck’s sake, he’s a little kid. We are going to war with a fucking twelve years old leading us.”
Well, it turned out he wasn’t twelve and he wasn’t a kid. He was a jaded idealist (“jaded” came later, and now Brad wasn’t sure how long “idealist” would last), a damn good officer and the only semi steady good thing in that fucking clusterfuck of all clusterfucks.
*
He had never done a walk of shame actually feeling ashamed. Now he was fucking feeling it alright, but he’d be damned if somebody saw him leaving this apartment at four in the morning.
He almost made it. Almost fucking made it.
“Brad?”
He wasn’t stupid (except for the half-naked proof in front of him), he didn’t really believe that he could sneak out unnoticed. There were two Recon Marines in this house, after all.
But he had foolishly assumed that even if the LT woke up, he wouldn’t stop him from leaving. That he would just ignored it.
Fucking foolish assumption, that’s what it was. Fucking lieutenant Nathaniel fucking Fick, never backing out from a confrontation. Never fucking giving up.
Brad could feel his anger waking up. Not a good sign.
“Sir?,” and yes, he knew it probably wasn’t the right thing to say, he could see how the man in front of him tensed his shoulders, but there wasn’t any SOP for this. There wasn’t, because it shouldn’t have happened at all.
“Why are you leaving?”
Somebody maybe should explain some things to his LT, but Brad, frustrated and angry all of sudden, didn’t feel like it. Or maybe didn’t feel like doing it delicately. Whatever worked out there, in the theater, sure as fuck wasn’t gonna work here.
“Why am I leaving your apartment at four in the morning, sir? I’m sure you’re aware of the regulations. This kind of thing? Is against it. Sir.”
The LT’s eyes flashed. He had the respect of his men, nobody spoke to him like that. Somewhere in Brad’s head, there was a riot, a fucking rebellion.
“I’m aware of the regulations, Brad. But I also think that leaving my apartment during the day, not in the middle of the night, would be much more easily explained, if somebody were to notice it.”
“Thought about it, sir?”
He really was a fucking stupid piece of shit. And a hypocrite, too.
*
Not that he would ever admit it to anybody, but the first time he caught himself thinking about his LT’s hands (followed up quickly by an unwelcomed thought about his lips), he freaked out and didn’t touch himself for five and a half days. Ray was probably one step from kicking him out of the humvee, team leader or not.
The LT was male, so these kinds of thoughts surprised Brad a fucking lot, but it was probably something that he could deal with. Maybe. Possibly. Who the fuck knew.
But he was also his fucking commanding officer and strange, life-fucking-changing feelings aside, male or female, Nate Fick or no Nate Fick, Brad could follow orders anywhere but in the bedroom.
He did, however, could picture Nate on his knees before him. And that wasn't a great thought to have when you were standing next to the guy in the middle of the team leaders meeting in the middle of the fucking desert.
*
One thing for sure, Nathaniel Fick was not a coward.
“Have I thought about having sex with you? Yes.”
Unlike Brad, apparently, because the next fucking thing he said was:
“You’re my commanding officer, sir.”
Something shut down in the man standing in front of him, Brad could see that, but he just couldn’t stop doing whatever it was he was doing.
“I’m aware of that,” Nate said.
“So why...”
“Because I was under the impression that you wanted it, too.”
Like it was that fucking simple. Like there wasn’t... Like they weren’t...
“You’re my commanding officer, sir,” was the first thought that came out of his mouth.
He saw the blue eyes open wide, the same expression like that day in Baghdad, when they had seen a child jumping on the bomb lying on the street.
A second later, Nate closed the bedroom door and Brad was alone.
It wasn’t until later, in the shower, that the last words he'd said registered fully for what they could have been taken for. Goosebumps rose on his skin.
“Oh fuck.”
*
“I think the Reporter has the hots for our LT.”
“Ray.”
“I’m serious! You don’t think I’m serious? I’m fucking serious! Look,” Ray waved his free hand towards the command. They were sitting beside their humvee, eating and resting. Ray was throwing his food around and he couldn’t shut up. “We are here, minding our own bussiness and relaxing, and where is the Reporter? With the LT. I bet they’re eating lunch or whatever and the Reporter can’t take his eyes off our fearless and fair-haired, but in this case fairly clueless leader...”
Walt choked on his food. Brad was chewing slowly, eyes locked on his MRE, and not looking anywhere else, especially not in the direction of the LT’s vehicle.
“It could be our own little tragic romance, homes,” Ray continued, getting more and more excited. “Unrequited love, in this dangerous place and dangerous times, amongst bullets...”
“Ray, shut up,” mumbled Walt, looking a little upset for some reason other than the stupidity of his fellow marine.
“...from the foreign enemies and the enemies within our troops, because our tragic Reporter-lover has to be afraid of...”
“Ray, shut the fuck up, you little inbred moron. Right now,” Brad stood up, suddenly annoyed. The Ray Person effect, ladies and gentlemen.
When the Reporter came back a few minutes later, all smiles and shit, Brad wanted to shoot someone.
*
“Can I have a moment, sir?”
It was two long fucking weeks. Between the training, the news about LT leaving the Corps and about Brad’s incoming trip overseas, there was no time for getting it squared away. That, and the fact that Nate was never alone. Gunny Wynn was his shadow even more than usual and if he wasn’t there, someone else appeared and blocked Brad from talking to the LT.
He wasn’t a paranoid person, but this was getting riddiculous.
“I’m busy, Brad,” lieutenant Fick barely lifted his head from the papers he was filling out.
“It won’t take long,” he said quickly. No way he was backing out now. Nate needed to listen to what he had to say. “It’s important.”
“Come on in, then.”
Brad sat down in front of the desk and for a moment he missed the theater and meetings and talks that didn’t involve... all this.
“Sir, I wanted to apologize...”
“There’s no need,” Nate interrupted him. “I should be the one apologizing. It wasn’t my intention to give you the impression I apparently did.”
“You didn’t. Sir. I wanted to clear that out. Whatever I meant by saying what I said, I wasn’t suggesting that.” His LT looked him in the eyes and Brad realized he didn’t even know that he missed that, too. “I’m sorry I gave you the impression I most certainly did.”
There it was, the almost smile. Stupid little thing that always made Brad feel better.
“I see,” Nate said, his posture a lot more at ease than a minute ago. “What did you mean, then?”
“That I’m a coward, apparently.”
Well, that surprised them both. But Brad went on.
“Look, it’s definitely not the right place and probably not the right time, and I would really appreciate it if we could forget about more embarrasing parts of this conversation later on, but I have to say it. I was scared and I behaved like a coward. I’m sorry. I’m not scared anymore.”
That was the smile he’d never seen. He would remember that one, he remembered them all.
“I’m glad to hear that. But I’d suggest that we should be a little scared.”
He was leaving in four weeks and two years was a long fucking time. Nate was leaving the Corps and moving somewhere. Brad could do “a little scared” without even trying.
“Okay. A little scared, then.”
But only a little.
______
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Date: 2010-05-03 12:29 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-05-12 11:19 am (UTC)