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withimpunityTitle: Made From Scratch
Pairing: Fick/Colbert
Rating: R - NC-17
Words: 1604
Summary: a little AU moment between Brad and Nate. Ray helped.
It’s not much. A pound cake, couple of packets of creamer, sugar, and a little cocoa that Ray’s been saving for a rainy day, and there it is: your very own MRE birthday cake. Took less than zero effort to prepare, looks like absolute, genuine shit served up in a tray, and Brad’s certain it can’t taste better than some of the shit he’s seen come off of Ray’s feet, so the ridiculous grin spreading across the Lieutenants face like some kind of infectious disease makes no sense to him whatsoever.
“Make a wish, Lieutenant.” Brad flicks the flint on his lighter and for a moment the LT’s face is bathed in soft, amber light; for once, its not from danger close arti.
Nate gives an undignified snort. “A wish,” he mutters, and blows out the matches stuck in the pound cake. “I wouldn’t be able to choose one even if it mattered.”
“Sir, I cannot allow you to taint our festive celebration with your bitter, albeit accurate, cynicism. Have some cake. I slaved, you know.”
Nate looks up at him with curious eyes. Brad always feels like he‘s being studied when Nate looks at him like that, taken apart layer by layer until he‘s all exposed, naked and bare. He thinks that should make him feel more uncomfortable than it does. “You made this? I assumed it was Ray’s doings.”
“Ray contributed.” Brad murmurs, dipping his finger into the make-shift icing spread over the top of the cake and tasting. “Well. That’s…interesting.”
Nate chuckles softly, scooping the square of cake between his fingers and taking a small bite from one of the corners. He smiles as he chews. Crumbs cling to his lips (full, chapped, pouty) and icing sticks to the corner of his mouth.
Brad takes a swig from his canteen and looks up at the place where the stars should be. “What would you be doing if you were home right now?”
Nate shrugs and allows himself to relax against the Humvee’s tire, holding the tray of cake in his lap. “Not a big party person, if you can believe it.” Brad catches a crooked smile out of the corner of his eye. “Usually I just stay in.”
“Tell me you at least spring for a birthday lay.”
“I don’t pay for sex, unlike some Marines I know.”
Brad smirks around the mouth of his canteen, then slowly turns his head toward Nate. He pinches another corner from the pound cake and pops it into his mouth. “How’s your cake?”
“Very good. I see you having your own show on the food channel after your time as a Marine.” Nate licks frosting from his lips and the light sheen of saliva turns them from dusty pink to red. “So. Where’s my present?”
“You greedy little fucker,” Brad shakes his head, smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Not satisfied with my gourmet cooking, no, he expects more.”
“Gimme.” Nate holds out his hands. Brad imagines if he weren’t weighted down with twenty pounds of MOPP suit and other equipment, he’d be bouncing in his spot.
“Oh, fine.” Brad rolls his eyes and pulls a folded picture out of his vest.
“Is this-”
“Rolling Stones’ girlfriend? It certainly is, sir.”
Nate practically chokes on his cake he’s laughing so hard. “You’re giving me a picture of a reporter’s girlfriend that the whole fucking platoon has probably come all over multiple times for my birthday?”
Brad stiffens, his mouth thinning out. This is his serious business face. “I assure you, Lieutnant, it was not easy to secure that photograph. I had to barter and trade in ways that would turn the tip of those floppy ears of yours pink to be able to get my hands on this photograph. I believe the words you are looking for are thank you, Brad.”
Nate straightens his spine, mimicking Brad’s actions, still fighting the crooked grin on his face. “Thank you, Brad.” He repeats Brad’s words verbatim, tucking the picture into his own vest. “Your effort is much appreciated.”
Brad nods and turns face forward, watching the city in the distance being lit up by fire. Its like constant fireworks, only with more casualties.
“Thank you,” Nate says again, softer this time, and Brad’s sure he felt a hand on his thigh, but when he looks down its gone.
“Can’t have you joining the ranks of Captain America and Encino Man, sir.” Brad makes excuses for this, whatever they’re doing, tries to find a logical reason why he constructed a make-shift birthday cake for Nate after hearing Gunny Wynn wish him happy birthday that morning. Its not right and they both know it. Brad can feel the crackle of tension between them, like static electricity. He’s just waiting for one of them to get shocked.
Brad tears his focus away from the orange skyline for a moment to stare at Nate. He’s just shoved the last piece of pound cake into his mouth, and he’s making the most indecent smacking sounds as he licks the remaining frosting from his fingers. Brad’s adam’s apple feels three sizes too big when he swallows.
“Sir, it would be in your best interest if you stopped doing that.” His voice is strained as he watches Nate’s fingers slip and slide out of his mouth, the tips wet with his own saliva.
Nate turns wide, curious eyes up at him. “What?”
Brad clears his throat, though there’s nothing to clear. “Licking yourself, sir. It’s…distracting.”
Nate blinks. He looks down at the tray and scoops his finger along the side, gathering extra frosting on the tip of his finger before sucking it into his mouth. Even in the dark Brad can make out the fullness of his lips, the wetness clinging to them from dragging his tongue over them a minute ago, catching stray crumbs.
“And why would that be distracting you exactly, Brad?” His eyes, his face, everything about him is so innocent; everything except that mouth.
“Honestly, sir?”
Nate nods, poking his tongue at the corner of his mouth, insuring he got the rest of the icing. Brad’s not even sure he’s aware of what he’s doing.
“Because when you do that, sir, it causes me think about your mouth.”
Nate’s ears perk up, like a happy puppy.
“What about my mouth, sergeant?”
“Specifically, sir? The part where I’d like to push my dick inside of it and fuck it until its red and raw and bruised to the touch.” Brad swallows. His mouth feels like he just poured a handful of desert inside of it, and all the blood rushing from his brain to his dick so fast has left him lightheaded. “Sir.”
Nate’s fists tangle in his vest, catching on Brad’s mag-lite as he shoves Brad back against the Humvee and straddles his thigh, crushing their mouths together. Nate’s tongue tastes like powdery cocoa and vanilla pound cake, and Brad sucks it into his mouth, doesn’t give a fuck if that’s all he ever tastes for the rest of his life. Nate’s hard, he can feel it digging into his thigh even through layers and layers of fucking unnecessary clothing. He gets his hand between them and shoves the heel of his hand down against Nate’s dick through his MOPP suit. Nate makes this noise in the back of his throat, a sort of strangled moan, and his teeth dig into Brad’s bottom lip.
Brad jerks forward, knocking Nate onto his back and straddles his legs, biting and sucking at Nate’s throat as he ruts against him. Its hardly any contact through all those layers of clothing, but there’s this sweet friction going on, and it’s enough. Its enough because Nate’s hands are on his ass and he’s bucking up against him, meeting him thrust for thrust, and Nate’s mouth is so sweet he could fucking die.
Explosions thunder in the distance and there’s the smell of gunpowder in the air and Nate bites down on Brad’s shoulder when he comes to muffle the sounds that threaten to bubble out.
“Jesus,” is all Brad says, coming a few ragged jerks of his hips later, sinking his fingers into the sand as he goes stiff, burying his face in the crook of Nate’s neck as he tries to remember where they are and who the fuck he is.
After a moment, Nate says, “Fuck, Brad. I didn‘t know-.”
“Well, now you do.” Brad composes himself and stands up, grabbing his M-4 from where he left it. Everything‘s different now. He won‘t be able to listen to Nate speak without thinking about that mouth, about all the little sounds he makes when he‘s humping Brad‘s thigh. “I should probably-”
“Yes, you should.” Nate’s all officer now, straight-backed and straight-faced and straight in every way that counts, except for one.
Brad turns on his heels and Nate looks out at the city burning across the dessert. There’s no protocol on how to unfuck this situation. He’s nearly knocked off his feet when Brad pushes him back, holding him against the Humvee with his hand flat against his chest, claiming Nate’s mouth in this searing, passionate, possessive kiss that leaves no room for interpretation. You’re mine now.
“Happy Birthday, Lieutenant Fick.” He whispers, smiling predatorily before walking away, humming the birthday song to himself quietly.
The next morning, Nate calls a Team Leader meeting and Mike jokingly asks him how his birthday was.
Nate just smiles as he unrolls the map, daring a quick glance at Brad across the hood of the Humvee. “Best one I’ve ever had, Mike.”
It’s not a lie.
Pairing: Fick/Colbert
Rating: R - NC-17
Words: 1604
Summary: a little AU moment between Brad and Nate. Ray helped.
It’s not much. A pound cake, couple of packets of creamer, sugar, and a little cocoa that Ray’s been saving for a rainy day, and there it is: your very own MRE birthday cake. Took less than zero effort to prepare, looks like absolute, genuine shit served up in a tray, and Brad’s certain it can’t taste better than some of the shit he’s seen come off of Ray’s feet, so the ridiculous grin spreading across the Lieutenants face like some kind of infectious disease makes no sense to him whatsoever.
“Make a wish, Lieutenant.” Brad flicks the flint on his lighter and for a moment the LT’s face is bathed in soft, amber light; for once, its not from danger close arti.
Nate gives an undignified snort. “A wish,” he mutters, and blows out the matches stuck in the pound cake. “I wouldn’t be able to choose one even if it mattered.”
“Sir, I cannot allow you to taint our festive celebration with your bitter, albeit accurate, cynicism. Have some cake. I slaved, you know.”
Nate looks up at him with curious eyes. Brad always feels like he‘s being studied when Nate looks at him like that, taken apart layer by layer until he‘s all exposed, naked and bare. He thinks that should make him feel more uncomfortable than it does. “You made this? I assumed it was Ray’s doings.”
“Ray contributed.” Brad murmurs, dipping his finger into the make-shift icing spread over the top of the cake and tasting. “Well. That’s…interesting.”
Nate chuckles softly, scooping the square of cake between his fingers and taking a small bite from one of the corners. He smiles as he chews. Crumbs cling to his lips (full, chapped, pouty) and icing sticks to the corner of his mouth.
Brad takes a swig from his canteen and looks up at the place where the stars should be. “What would you be doing if you were home right now?”
Nate shrugs and allows himself to relax against the Humvee’s tire, holding the tray of cake in his lap. “Not a big party person, if you can believe it.” Brad catches a crooked smile out of the corner of his eye. “Usually I just stay in.”
“Tell me you at least spring for a birthday lay.”
“I don’t pay for sex, unlike some Marines I know.”
Brad smirks around the mouth of his canteen, then slowly turns his head toward Nate. He pinches another corner from the pound cake and pops it into his mouth. “How’s your cake?”
“Very good. I see you having your own show on the food channel after your time as a Marine.” Nate licks frosting from his lips and the light sheen of saliva turns them from dusty pink to red. “So. Where’s my present?”
“You greedy little fucker,” Brad shakes his head, smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Not satisfied with my gourmet cooking, no, he expects more.”
“Gimme.” Nate holds out his hands. Brad imagines if he weren’t weighted down with twenty pounds of MOPP suit and other equipment, he’d be bouncing in his spot.
“Oh, fine.” Brad rolls his eyes and pulls a folded picture out of his vest.
“Is this-”
“Rolling Stones’ girlfriend? It certainly is, sir.”
Nate practically chokes on his cake he’s laughing so hard. “You’re giving me a picture of a reporter’s girlfriend that the whole fucking platoon has probably come all over multiple times for my birthday?”
Brad stiffens, his mouth thinning out. This is his serious business face. “I assure you, Lieutnant, it was not easy to secure that photograph. I had to barter and trade in ways that would turn the tip of those floppy ears of yours pink to be able to get my hands on this photograph. I believe the words you are looking for are thank you, Brad.”
Nate straightens his spine, mimicking Brad’s actions, still fighting the crooked grin on his face. “Thank you, Brad.” He repeats Brad’s words verbatim, tucking the picture into his own vest. “Your effort is much appreciated.”
Brad nods and turns face forward, watching the city in the distance being lit up by fire. Its like constant fireworks, only with more casualties.
“Thank you,” Nate says again, softer this time, and Brad’s sure he felt a hand on his thigh, but when he looks down its gone.
“Can’t have you joining the ranks of Captain America and Encino Man, sir.” Brad makes excuses for this, whatever they’re doing, tries to find a logical reason why he constructed a make-shift birthday cake for Nate after hearing Gunny Wynn wish him happy birthday that morning. Its not right and they both know it. Brad can feel the crackle of tension between them, like static electricity. He’s just waiting for one of them to get shocked.
Brad tears his focus away from the orange skyline for a moment to stare at Nate. He’s just shoved the last piece of pound cake into his mouth, and he’s making the most indecent smacking sounds as he licks the remaining frosting from his fingers. Brad’s adam’s apple feels three sizes too big when he swallows.
“Sir, it would be in your best interest if you stopped doing that.” His voice is strained as he watches Nate’s fingers slip and slide out of his mouth, the tips wet with his own saliva.
Nate turns wide, curious eyes up at him. “What?”
Brad clears his throat, though there’s nothing to clear. “Licking yourself, sir. It’s…distracting.”
Nate blinks. He looks down at the tray and scoops his finger along the side, gathering extra frosting on the tip of his finger before sucking it into his mouth. Even in the dark Brad can make out the fullness of his lips, the wetness clinging to them from dragging his tongue over them a minute ago, catching stray crumbs.
“And why would that be distracting you exactly, Brad?” His eyes, his face, everything about him is so innocent; everything except that mouth.
“Honestly, sir?”
Nate nods, poking his tongue at the corner of his mouth, insuring he got the rest of the icing. Brad’s not even sure he’s aware of what he’s doing.
“Because when you do that, sir, it causes me think about your mouth.”
Nate’s ears perk up, like a happy puppy.
“What about my mouth, sergeant?”
“Specifically, sir? The part where I’d like to push my dick inside of it and fuck it until its red and raw and bruised to the touch.” Brad swallows. His mouth feels like he just poured a handful of desert inside of it, and all the blood rushing from his brain to his dick so fast has left him lightheaded. “Sir.”
Nate’s fists tangle in his vest, catching on Brad’s mag-lite as he shoves Brad back against the Humvee and straddles his thigh, crushing their mouths together. Nate’s tongue tastes like powdery cocoa and vanilla pound cake, and Brad sucks it into his mouth, doesn’t give a fuck if that’s all he ever tastes for the rest of his life. Nate’s hard, he can feel it digging into his thigh even through layers and layers of fucking unnecessary clothing. He gets his hand between them and shoves the heel of his hand down against Nate’s dick through his MOPP suit. Nate makes this noise in the back of his throat, a sort of strangled moan, and his teeth dig into Brad’s bottom lip.
Brad jerks forward, knocking Nate onto his back and straddles his legs, biting and sucking at Nate’s throat as he ruts against him. Its hardly any contact through all those layers of clothing, but there’s this sweet friction going on, and it’s enough. Its enough because Nate’s hands are on his ass and he’s bucking up against him, meeting him thrust for thrust, and Nate’s mouth is so sweet he could fucking die.
Explosions thunder in the distance and there’s the smell of gunpowder in the air and Nate bites down on Brad’s shoulder when he comes to muffle the sounds that threaten to bubble out.
“Jesus,” is all Brad says, coming a few ragged jerks of his hips later, sinking his fingers into the sand as he goes stiff, burying his face in the crook of Nate’s neck as he tries to remember where they are and who the fuck he is.
After a moment, Nate says, “Fuck, Brad. I didn‘t know-.”
“Well, now you do.” Brad composes himself and stands up, grabbing his M-4 from where he left it. Everything‘s different now. He won‘t be able to listen to Nate speak without thinking about that mouth, about all the little sounds he makes when he‘s humping Brad‘s thigh. “I should probably-”
“Yes, you should.” Nate’s all officer now, straight-backed and straight-faced and straight in every way that counts, except for one.
Brad turns on his heels and Nate looks out at the city burning across the dessert. There’s no protocol on how to unfuck this situation. He’s nearly knocked off his feet when Brad pushes him back, holding him against the Humvee with his hand flat against his chest, claiming Nate’s mouth in this searing, passionate, possessive kiss that leaves no room for interpretation. You’re mine now.
“Happy Birthday, Lieutenant Fick.” He whispers, smiling predatorily before walking away, humming the birthday song to himself quietly.
The next morning, Nate calls a Team Leader meeting and Mike jokingly asks him how his birthday was.
Nate just smiles as he unrolls the map, daring a quick glance at Brad across the hood of the Humvee. “Best one I’ve ever had, Mike.”
It’s not a lie.
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Date: 2008-10-13 10:38 am (UTC)I want cake, now. Preferably served by Brad. Please?
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Date: 2008-10-13 07:14 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-10-13 01:03 pm (UTC)Very nice! I love how you described the "crackle of tension between them, like static electricity" I love that line. You rock!
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Date: 2008-10-13 07:17 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-10-13 07:28 pm (UTC)And there are so many things that you can do with MREs to make better edible meals. I'm still craving some jalapeno cheese spread. Have been for like 6 months... its bad. But it is so yummy. And the crackers and bread and stuff... yum. And a million calories.
I wrote a book. lol
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Date: 2008-10-14 05:17 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-10-13 02:44 pm (UTC)i love watching them come at it from two different angles, and the explosion when they get to where we all knew they were going. i love that fick didn't specifically know what he was getting himself into be encouraging colbert, but he was going to push until he found out anyway, and it ended up being exactly what he wanted. best birthday ever!
Nate’s all officer now, straight-backed and straight-faced and straight in every way that counts, except for one.
this was awesome
there are other lovely little descriptions peppered throughout, artillery as fireworks, fick as a greedy five year old.... again, very nicely done.
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Date: 2008-10-13 07:20 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-10-13 06:23 pm (UTC)Love the banter between them, you've got the sarcasm and the teasing thing down.
"Sir, I cannot allow you to taint our festive celebration with your bitter, albeit accurate, cynicism. Have some cake. I slaved, you know.”
Can just hear Brad saying this. Fab.
"I assure you, Lieutnant, it was not easy to secure that photograph. I had to barter and trade in ways that would turn the tip of those floppy ears of yours pink to be able to get my hands on this photograph. I believe the words you are looking for are thank you, Brad.”
Again, this is just perfect Iceman deadpan. Nate's floppy ears! Lol!
As is in the show, here Nate is being his usual contradiction of innocent predator that Brad clearly doesn't know how to handle. (if that makes any sense). Love that.
Nate just smiles as he unrolls the map, daring a quick glance at Brad across the hood of the Humvee. “Best one I’ve ever had, Mike.”
It’s not a lie.
*grins manically" Bless them!
Ok, i'm going to stop now before i quote the whole thing back at you 'cause there are so many lines i love. Thanks for sharing!!
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Date: 2008-10-13 07:25 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-10-13 06:40 pm (UTC)“You made this? I assumed it was Ray’s doings."
He lurves you, Nate. See, this is proof.
"Gimme.” Nate holds out his hands. Brad imagines if he weren’t weighted down with twenty pounds of MOPP suit and other equipment, he’d be bouncing in his spot.
!!!!! It's the little things, I swear it.
I had to barter and trade in ways that would turn the tip of those floppy ears of yours pink to be able to get my hands on this photograph.
"I had to suck an officer's cock to get these."
Nate turns wide, curious eyes up at him. “What?”
This is what I love about Nate. He has no idea how sexy he is.
Nate just smiles as he unrolls the map, daring a quick glance at Brad across the hood of the Humvee. “Best one I’ve ever had, Mike.”
:D Just wait until next year, Nate, when you and Brad are having all sorts of silly sex in your Laguna Beach apartment.
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Date: 2008-10-13 07:27 pm (UTC)"I had to suck an officer's cock to get these."
*snort* Or do some sort of favor for Ray. ;D
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Date: 2008-10-13 10:34 pm (UTC)No, he DIDN'T just say that!
...oh, wait, yeah. He did.
That is awesome. Ha! Happy birthday, sir, here's a little bit of truth for ya. And then there's porn.
Hey, at least he got that birthday lay.
Great idea, adorable, hot. Nice. Thank you for sharing!
ETA: Do you have an animated mood theme of my boy Alec? That's...really kind of awesome.
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Date: 2008-10-14 05:13 pm (UTC)Do you have an animated mood theme of my boy Alec?
As a matter of fact I do! I just finished up the series recently (ok, so I skipped most of season 1) and I love that kid. ;D
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Date: 2008-10-14 12:09 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-10-14 05:14 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-10-14 01:00 am (UTC)So what's the first thing I read? awesome. :D I love it!
straight-backed and straight-faced and straight in every way that counts, except for one.
LOL.
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Date: 2008-10-14 05:15 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-10-14 02:37 am (UTC)“Sir, I cannot allow you to taint our festive celebration with your bitter, albeit accurate, cynicism. Have some cake. I slaved, you know.”
made me snort juice through my nose. I loved their whole exchange. Sweet and sexy!
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