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"I'm surprised you came," Nate said, sliding into the chair next to Brad's.
"Well, Ray doesn't get married every day." The ice clinked in Brad's glass as he raised it towards Nate's own glass of beer, and the dark gray material of his suit jacket pulled across his shoulders. "Cheers?"
"Cheers." He tapped their glasses together, then took a long drink. "How's life?"
"Same fucking shit, every goddamned day," Brad replied, but he smiled as he said it. "Hold on, I'm gonna get a refill."
"Okay."
Nate looked around the banquet hall as Brad walked to the bar. Familiar faces were clustered around the long tables, talking and laughing, everyone's ties loosened at this point, jackets shed around the room. At the head table, Ray's bowtie was lopsided as he carried on an animated conversation with his wife and Jacks. From the hand gestures that were happening, Nate figured Ray was relating the story of Jacks bringing down a few buildings in Ambush Alley.
Brad came back with a new glass of whatever he was drinking, and a new Amstel for Nate. "Looked like you could use a fresh glass."
"Thanks." They toasted again, because it was a wedding, and that was what you did at weddings. "Planning on hitting the dance floor?"
"Definitely not my style. But you go ahead, if you're into that. I'm sure at least one of the guys will try to cop a feel, just because they can."
Nate grinned. "I'll pass."
"So how come you're here alone?"
"Nobody worth bringing," Nate said with a shrug. "You?"
"As if I'd subject any woman to this hellhole of a state, just to watch her get hit on by two dozen drunk Marines and those random people Ray tried to make me think were his actual friends." Brad's tone belied the sharp words, and Nate knew Brad meant he didn't have anyone to bring, either.
They drank in silence for a while, watching Ray and his wife sway to a slow country song that caused a muscle in Brad's jaw to twitch uncontrollably. Not that Nate was staring.
"I hope Person knows the bar tab is going to be at least a couple grand," Nate said, as he returned with yet another round. Brad was drinking scotch, neat, and the bar had several top-shelf choices. Their hands brushed as he passed the glass over, and Brad's fingers were warm and dry.
"Clearly the words 'open bar' were a selling point for half the platoon at minimum." Brad leaned back in his chair, cradling the glass. "You don't have to sit here with me, you know. Nate."
He made a goofy face as he said Nate's name, and Nate laughed. It was the same face his Marines had been making all night as they thought about calling him 'Sir' and decided against it. "What else am I going to do, Sgt.?"
Brad tilted his drink in response, grinning. "How's the desk job?"
Nate shrugged again. "I fucking hate it," he confessed. "I know there's only so many combat commands, and they want everyone to get their turn getting shot at, but I'd be lying to you if combat wasn't the most transformative time in my life."
He knew the alcohol was loosening his tongue, but he also figured he wasn't really saying much that Brad couldn't infer for himself.
"What about you?" he asked. "Jumpmaster instructor, is that a fulfilling vocation?"
"In a way, yeah, it is," Brad replied. He spun the glass on the tabletop, chuckling. Then he glanced up at Nate, something unreadable in his gaze. "You know how they used to warn us we'd get too old for Recon?"
Nate nodded, remembering.
"I got too old for Recon."
He could read the wistfulness in Brad's expression. "I'm sorry."
"It is what it is." Brad reached up and pulled on his plum-colored tie, loosening it further. He unbuttoned the collar of his shirt. "How much longer do you think until this party reaches critical mass?"
Nate looked at his watch. Eleven-thirty. "One, at least."
"You want to get out of here before that?"
"There a bar in your hotel?" Nate asked, carefully, keeping his gaze on Brad's face. This seemed like it was moving towards something - a direction Nate hadn't consciously thought about going, not until this moment, but also wasn't something he'd turn down. If Brad wanted to.
"Of course."
He looked toward the crowd on the dance floor. "You think we should say goodbye?"
Brad seemed to consider it for a moment. Then he said, "No. I think sneaking out is to our advantage," and Nate could think of no compelling reason to disagree.
"Did you rent a car?" Brad asked, when they'd walked out into the now-cool night air.
Nate looked up at the sky, marvelling as he always did at the clearness of the stars in places like this. He was spoiled by it, really. He was going to miss the real view when he finally made the move. Light pollution - it even sounded fucking ridiculous.
"Yeah, that Corolla there," he answered Brad, pointing.
"Then you're driving. I rode over with Wright."
"Are there only two hotels in this town?"
Brad laughed, sliding into the passenger seat. "Wouldn't be surprising, would it?"
Nate shook his head, grinning as he started the car. For all the shit Brad had always given Ray about being from Missouri, Nevada wasn't really as small a town as Nate had been picturing. There were at least four hotels, for one thing. "You know, I always thought he might have been exaggerating some of the more outrageous whiskey tango stories."
"Person, exaggerate? Never." Brad leaned forward, squinting into the night. "Fuck, I'm not sure how to get there in the dark."
"That's fucking awful, Colbert. And the car has GPS."
He drove carefully while Brad figured out the nav system. He was probably too drunk to really be driving, and really didn't want to make friends with the Nevada police tonight.
Turn left in 100 feet, the GPS announced.
They made it to Brad's Holiday Inn without incident, and if Nate did breathe a sigh of relief when he'd parked, Brad was his only witness.
"Shots," Brad intoned, holding the lobby door open.
"I haven't done shots in years."
"All the more reason to do several now."
With a start, Nate realized he'd never seen Brad quite this drunk. A few beers down on libo, yes, but never smashed. Brad had always kept too tight a grip on his control for that.
"There's no way in hell I'm making it back to my own hotel tonight," he answered, following Brad into the bar.
"I thought that was the point. Tequila?"
"Fuck no."
"Two shots of Jack," Brad told the bartender.
The tender poured and Nate tossed it back before he could question it more. Brad raised a brow. Nate shook his head quickly. "No way."
Brad downed his own and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "I swear that shit gets more disgusting the older I get," he said with a grimace.
"You, old?"
"Shut up."
Nate realized with a start that he was now older than Brad had been when they'd deployed together. And while neither of them were all that old, he felt old. Or maybe he was just tired. Maybe it was the same thing.
Maybe he was just drunk.
"You look contemplative," Brad said, but not in a way that sounded like he was looking for Nate to line up all his woes. "You want a beer?"
Nate shrugged. "I'm already going to be hungover tomorrow, so what's one more?"
"That's the spirit," Brad laughed. He gestured to the bartender. "Good stuff, or that light shit?"
"Whatever you want."
They drank in relative silence. Brad kept a distance between them, but after he'd thrown a few bills on the surface of the bar, he leaned in closer. "So?"
Nate wasn't so drunk that he couldn't look Brad directly in the face. "Yeah."
"Then come on."
The inside of the elevator was mirrored, flashing their reflections back at them. Two drunk guys in suits with loose ties and unbuttoned collars, skin flushed with alcohol and the fact that it was one in the morning and Nate was setting himself up to fuck someone he used to command.
"Fuck, we should have taken the stairs," Brad said, reaching out to smear his own reflection with damp fingers.
"I think I'm too drunk for the stairs."
The elevator clanged and discharged them on the fourth floor.
Brad kissed him before the room door had fully closed behind them, his hands pushing Nate's jacket from his shoulders. Nate let himself be kissed for a few seconds, then his body kicked into gear and he responded, learning Brad's mouth and taste and the flex of his biceps under his shirt, under Nate's grip.
Then Brad dropped to his knees. "I'm going to blow you," he announced. He unbuckled Nate's belt and worked the zipper down, then looked up. "Yeah?"
"Yeah."
"Sit the fuck down on the bed."
Nate did. His head was swimming, equal parts alcohol and Jesus fucking Christ, Brad's going to do this. He slid his hands over Brad's head and felt Brad exhale over his cock.
Nate was drunk enough that he couldn't tell how long it lasted; the hot and wet suction of Brad's mouth, Brad's hands pressing down on his still-clothed thighs. He was drunk enough that he couldn't stop himself from slumping backwards, barely holding himself up on his elbows, while his hips moved unevenly.
Brad threw a heavy arm over his waist, stopping him from moving. Someone groaned, and Nate realized it was him. He tried to work a hand towards Brad, intending to unbutton his shirt or unzip his slacks or something, but all he succeeded in doing was unbalancing himself enough to fall flat onto his back.
Brad pulled off, said "Ha," very clearly, and climbed on top of him.
"You're such a fuck," Nate panted. At least this way he could reach Brad's clothes. But Brad smacked his hands away. Nate said, "What?" and then, "You're really fucking pushy when you're drunk."
"And you're sort of a mess when you're drunk," Brad replied. He unbuttoned Nate's shirt with semi-swift fingers.
Nate gave up on moving and let Brad do what he wanted. Which was apparently to strip off Nate's clothes piece by piece and drop everything in a pile on the floor. "Wait, what do you mean I'm a mess when I'm drunk?" he asked, pushing on Brad's shoulder.
"First, I said you were only sort of a mess. Second, you never would have told me you hate your command if you were sober. Third, you're flat on your back in my bed." The last one was said as if it needs no explanation.
The room tilted and spun. Nate swallowed hard. He looked down at his dick, then up at Brad. "Are we doing this, or what? You're still dressed. That's so wrong."
Brad laughed and said, "That depends on what we're doing."
He was giving Nate the decision again to make, or maybe even an out. But Nate had no desire to leave with blue balls. Maybe that was really the alcohol talking; he didn't care. "Anything, come on."
Brad started taking his clothes off, finally. Nate watched. Brad had more tattoos now, an elaborately done Recon insignia on his deltoid and an octopus on the opposite arm, on the soft skin just above the crook of his elbow. Nate rubbed the octopus with his thumb. "Really?"
"My niece's design," Brad replied with a grin. He straddled Nate again in just his shorts and ground down, and Nate couldn't stop his moan as he pressed up in reply. He reached to slide his hand around the back of Brad's neck, feeling the heat in Brad's skin and letting it soak into his palm for a moment before he yanked Brad down to kiss him.
"You could just keep doing that," he muttered, as Brad continued to rub against him. "But only if you take your boxers off, because I do want to see your dick eventually."
Brad groaned something unintelligible. Nate looked down between them again, watched his cock rub against the crease of Brad's thigh and pelvis. He felt almost outside of himself, like he was watching what they were doing from across the room. Everything seemed hazy, filtered through something he wasn't coherent enough to figure out.
Then Brad freed his erection, and Nate started jerking him off without a second thought. Brad's fingers dug harsh into his shoulder. Nate made it rougher, knowing there were callouses on his hand and pressing with them.
Brad moved up; Nate's cock slipped back, sliding behind Brad's balls and against his ass. Brad jerked, his whole body stiffening, and then Nate's entire reality went white, and then gray, and then black as he came.
"You could have waited," Brad said sharply, allowing him no moment of afterglow, and Nate growled at him and pumped his cock until Brad shuddered and came all over his hand.
What a fucking mess, Nate thought.
Brad climbed off of him and went into the bathroom. Nate contemplated wiping his hand on the sheets, but then he'd probably have to sleep on it, since he was probably still too drunk to drive back to his own hotel. He tried to picture driving a car, and got distracted by the ceiling. Yeah, still drunk.
"You want to clean up?" Brad asked, yanking Nate from his thoughts.
"Yeah."
He made it into the bathroom and rinsed off quickly in the shower, then used Brad's mouthwash. When he went back into the room, Brad was sitting on the edge of the bed, flipping channels on the television.
"I guess I don't need to order porn tonight," he said over his shoulder.
Nate stumbled slightly and had to catch himself against the wall. He looked at Brad, but Brad was looking at the television again. "Are - are we okay?" he forced himself to ask, cursing the hoarseness in his voice.
"Of course. Lay down before you fucking pass out on the floor."
Nate did. The pillow was cool against his face. After a few seconds, the television turned off and he felt Brad get under the blankets next to him, not touching.
*
His head was pounding when he woke up in the morning, jerking awake against the sunlight now shining directly into his face. Brad was still asleep on the other side of the bed; he didn't stir as Nate got up.
He found aspirin in Brad's toiletry bag, and chased a double dose with two glasses of water. He did not vomit. He did not think about the awkward, drunken sex they'd had. He washed his face and used Brad's antiperspirant. Then he put his suit back on, silently.
Brad did not wake. Nate wondered briefly if he should leave a note, then dismissed the idea. He shoved his feet into his shoes, picked up the car key from the dresser, and left the room.
The elevator stopped on the third floor for someone, and Nate felt cold sweat prickle his palms when he saw it was Tim Bryan. "Thought you were at the other hotel," Bryan said, jabbing the button for the lobby.
"I am. Passed out here, though."
Bryan looked like he wanted to ask, but didn't. Instead he said, "I'll see you around," when the elevator stopped.
Nate nodded. "Take care, Tim."
Bryan went into the hotel restaurant. Nate went out to the car.
*
California felt hotter.
He had only been gone three days, and it wasn't like there was a heat wave - August was already as hot as it was going to get. But Nate felt like he was being suffocated by it; the heat crouched on his chest like some sleek wild animal. He could barely draw a full breath through the weight of it.
*
"Sir, are you all right?" Reyes asked, when they met up the next weekend to work out in the base gym. "You look like you're not getting enough sleep."
Nate wasn't getting enough sleep. The first night back from Missouri, he hadn't slept at all. And he hadn't been able to make up for it since.
"Yeah, I'm not," he confessed now. Reyes made his concerned face and Nate waved a hand at him. "Don't look at me like that, Rudy, come on."
"Your chi is unbalanced."
"Tell me something I don't know," Nate huffed, setting the program on the treadmill.
"You gotta do something about that, Sir."
Nate had no idea what to do about his off-kilter chi. He didn't think this was a problem that could be solved by Rudy's normal remedy of pushing Nate through a series of innocent-seeming yoga poses until he was so exhausted he couldn't formulate a coherent thought.
"I'm going to run until I can't run any more. None of your downward-facing dog shit," he told Reyes, who grinned in response.
"You love it, Sir."
Nate ran until he thought he might collapse. When he staggered off the treadmill, Rudy passed him a bottle of water with a knowing look. "Did it help?"
Nate grumbled, "No."
He slept better that night, but probably only because he'd exhausted himself, and it was either sleep or hallucinate.
It wasn't the fact that he'd slept with Brad that bothered him. It was the fact that while completely shitfaced, he'd finally confessed that the Corps might not be the place for him any longer, in a way that had nothing to do with Don't Ask, Don't Tell.
*
He called his mother a week later. "How long should it take a normal person to make a decision about changing careers?"
She was silent for a moment. Then she said, "What would you do instead?"
Nate didn't know what he'd do. Graduate school, probably. He wouldn't be the only person there in his thirties.
"Maybe you should make a list of things you could do," his mom suggested gently.
"I'm still stuck on how you figured this out immediately," Nate replied, chuckling. "But yeah, I should make a list."
*
He was home on a Saturday night, researching programs online, when his email chimed with a new message. It was from Brad. I'll be in town in a few weeks - training. Let me know if you want to get a beer.
Nate stared at his computer screen and wondered if that was code for let's have sex again. He was doing pretty well at compartmentalizing that whole thing, really only thinking about it when he wanted to get off but was too tired to fantasize. He'd be close and the memory of Brad's mouth on his cock would crowd into his head and obliterate everything else.
Sure, he wrote back. Call me when you get in. He added his cell number, in case Brad didn't have it anymore. Nate had passed it out when he'd left First Recon. Calls were rare, though, mostly things like Person calling to ask where he should send Nate's invitation to the wedding.
He lingered at the computer a while longer, but he couldn't concentrate on his research, and Brad didn't email again, so he went to watch the Pro Cycling Challenge that he'd recorded earlier in the week. And run on the treadmill, because he had to tire himself out somehow.
*
"How drunk were you, at Ray's wedding?" Brad asked, his eyes narrowed and a sharp expression on his face. He looked like a hawk. Nate felt a little like he was being judged.
"I drove, didn't I?"
"You only drove to my hotel."
It was late on a Saturday night, and they were sitting in a back corner of a mostly-deserted restaurant, empty plates in front of them. Their server was nowhere to be seen, but Nate kept his voice down all the same. "If this is all a roundabout way of asking if I remember having sex with you, then the answer is yes."
Brad's expression relaxed slightly in the dim light. "Are you interested in maybe repeating that encounter?"
Nate shrugged, because it was all he trusted himself to do. Then he took a swallow of his drink and said, "Well, we could - change a few things."
Brad's mouth twitched in a smile, and he leaned back in his chair. "If our waitress ever brings the bill," he muttered, tapping his fork on the tabletop.
*
It felt strange, having Brad in his bedroom. The hotel had seemed a thousand times less personal, a standard stark room with a foreign bed. Here, his sheets were three days old and his laundry was piled up in the corner.
Brad glanced around, but said nothing. He pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it over a chair Nate had tucked next to the closet. Then he sat down on the bed with his knees spread wide. The invitation was clear.
Nate wasn't planning on turning it down, but when he opened his mouth to give Brad shit about his seduction technique, what came out was, "Are you sure this is a good idea?"
Brad cocked an eyebrow at him, but otherwise didn't move. "Why not? It's not like we're ruining our friendship by fucking."
Nate didn't miss the unspoken because we're not actually friends in that, and he'd heard enough about Brad's experiences while in Recon to get his point. Fucking was like rooming with someone: if you did it with your friends, something ultimately got ruined.
He yanked his shirt off and unbuckled his belt, and stepped into the space between Brad's knees. Then he put his hands hard on Brad's shoulders and pushed him flat onto the bed.
Brad grinned at him. Nate wondered if maybe he should turn off the light, but when he tried to move backwards, Brad's hand clamped tight on his hip. "No."
No? Nate thought, but said nothing. He gave Brad a querying look instead.
Brad's hand tightened. Nate rolled his hips. The buckle of his belt scraped over Brad's stomach and he felt Brad's shudder.
He wanted to ask, but didn't. He just made the same move again, and the hand on his hip let go and slid up his spine to the back of his neck, and Brad pulled him into a bruising kiss. Nate was hazy on how much they'd kissed the first time, but the feel of Brad's mouth was familiar. He answered the kiss just as hard, all teeth and tongue, and lost track of time as they warred like that with Brad's fingers still curled around the base of his skull.
When Brad's hand dropped away, Nate stopped kissing him.
Brad hummed something, questioning, but not real words. Nate reached between them and thumbed open Brad's worn khaki shorts, then slid his hand in to grip Brad's cock. "Yeah?" he asked, stroking, and Brad moved with him and muttered, "Yeah, come on."
"I'm going to jerk you off, and then I'm going to fuck you," Nate said, enunciating each word carefully. He felt like he should at least give Brad the chance to argue with him, to negotiate what they were doing here.
Brad didn't. He groaned as Nate rubbed a thumb over the head of his cock, and breathed, "Yes, okay, fine."
Nate wasn't shocked at the acquiescence, although he'd expected Brad to at least make him work for it. He got Brad off fast and hard, stayed pressed against him as his hips bucked up off the bed as he came, all over Nate's hand and their clothes. Nate wiped his fingers off on Brad's stomach and decided he liked the way Brad looked.
"You're a fucking mess," he told Brad, as he kicked out of his jeans and got rid of Brad's gross shorts.
"You like it."
"So do you."
Brad shrugged. He looked relaxed, slumped against Nate's pillows. Nate dug in the nightstand, finding lube and a condom.
"I think the look on your face right now means you want to call me a slut," Brad said. He spread his legs as Nate rolled on the condom. "You can call me a slut, Sir."
Dismissively, Nate said, "Maybe later," and filed the information away. Then he loosened Brad up with his fingers, and Brad reached down to help. Nate felt like the top of his head was on fire, not to mention his dick, as he watched two of Brad's fingers join two of his.
"Jesus, Brad, do you do this often?" He had to ask.
"Finger my own ass?" Brad's breath was shaky, but his smile wasn't. "Gotta keep it interesting."
"You are sort of a slut," Nate replied, and his own voice as sort of shaky as well as he thought about Brad alone, balanced on his knees and one hand, while he fucked himself with the other.
Everything about this was turning out way dirtier than Nate had anticipated.
"C'mon, do it now," Brad groaned, and Nate wasn't going to say no. He replaced their fingers with his cock, sliding in smoothly, and Brad hooked his stupid long legs around his knees, yanking Nate in deeper.
Nate kissed him as they fucked, swallowing all of Brad's moans and huffy noises, reveling in the ones that came in time with his thrusts. Sweat dripped down from his face onto Brad's. He put his hands on Brad's hips first, then his shoulders, then his wrists. Brad could take it. He wouldn't break. He moved to meet Nate's thrusts, even as Nate fucked him harder and started to lose what rhythm he'd established.
"Nate, fuck," Brad groaned, and apparently that was all Nate needed to go over the edge, pressing his open mouth to the salty skin of Brad's shoulder as he came.
He slumped down onto Brad and didn't move until Brad pushed at him, saying, "You should pull out now, because this is gross."
Nate laughed and disentangled himself, rolling away.
"Not that I mind you laying on me," Brad added, and Nate pinched his hip and got up to deal with the condom.
He pissed it off in the bathroom and cleaned himself up, but avoided looking at his reflection in the mirror. Then he leaned in the doorway and looked at Brad, who hadn't moved. "If you're spending the night, you should shower. I'm going to change the sheets."
"Roger that."
He tossed a towel from the closet over to Brad, who got up and cleaned up while Nate stripped the bed, still naked. He was done before Nate had found the spare set of sheets, so together they made quick work of redressing the mattress.
"You haven't heard from Tim Bryan since the wedding, have you?" Nate asked. He handed Brad a pair of worn basketball shorts.
"No, why?"
"He saw me leaving your room. In the hotel."
Brad shrugged. "Haven't heard from him. Honestly, I doubt he cared."
Nate looked at him, skeptical about that.
"Seriously, Nate. I'm sure he figured you'd just gotten too drunk to drive back. It's not like you were wearing a fucking sign or something that announced we'd fucked."
"Unlike you are right now," Nate replied dryly, reaching to dig his thumb into the obvious bite mark on Brad's shoulder.
Brad caught his wrist but didn't say anything. After a moment, he let go. Nate turned off the light and they got into bed.
*
He woke up first again in the morning, the room dim with the bare sunlight that managed to force its way through the gaps in the blinds. There was a click as the air conditioning came on, and Nate shivered in the sudden chill that poured from the vent next to the bed. He didn't usually sleep on this side.
He turned over. Brad's face was slack, his mouth open slightly. His chest rose and fell beneath the thin top sheet, gentle shallow breaths. His arms stuck out, and Nate imagined he could see the smudgy bruises around Brad's wrists, Nate's fault for pressing so hard.
That had been the best sex he'd had in months, if not longer. It also hadn't been anything like Nate had expected. Not what he'd thought Brad would get off on. He wasn't as surprised about himself; Nate had figured out long ago that he'd rather be in charge of a situation than just follow along with it.
I should probably get up, he thought as the sunlight grew a little hotter, and slid out from under the sheet with a yawn. Then he looked at Brad still stretched out in sleep, and thought, I have to get out of the Corps.
*
He gave the Marines another six months. In that time, he applied and was accepted to four graduate programs - conditionally, since they were all East coast schools and he still needed to do in-person interviews. His list of reasons to leave grew longer as the time passed, but being an institution fond of paperwork, it took what felt like forever to put in for retirement.
Nate wasn't sure that was a word he felt comfortable applying to his life at thirty-two, but you didn't just quit the Corps.
"I hate to lose you, Fick," his C.O. said, when the papers finally hit his desk. "I'm truly sorry I couldn't finesse a command that's more your style."
"That's all right, Sir," Nate assured him, hoping he sounded more confident than he felt. "Time for a new challenge."
The LtCol shook his hand and wished him all the best.
That night, Nate walked to the bar down the street from his apartment and drank several beers in memory of his old life. Then he walked back and spent the night packing, staying up to watch the sun rise before passing out for a few hours.
He spent the weekend hauling stuff he didn't want to take with him to Goodwill and giving away furniture to various friends. Reyes came to help him move the couch out and down to the curb. They didn't talk much. Nate bought him a case of the imported beer Rudy liked, and Rudy hugged him, slapping him on the back. "Who am I gonna work out with now, Sir?"
Nate laughed, even as he knew he'd miss Reyes. "I'll send English your way, he needs it."
In the end, what he wanted to take with him all fit into the Tahoe. On Monday morning, still dark, he locked the apartment door behind him, left the keys in the manager's dropbox, and started driving.
*
In Tennessee, after spending another night in another nondescript motel at the side of the highway (the sheets were clean and the shower worked, which was all Nate had wanted from the place), he reprogrammed the GPS to take him to Jacksonville instead.
*
"I'm out," he said, when Brad opened the door.
Brad made a noise that seemed like a laugh. "I figured this was coming sooner rather than later," he replied, letting Nate into the house. "So - what are you doing instead?"
"Going to Baltimore first, for a while. Spend some time with my family."
"Yet you're here."
"I could go."
Brad shook his head. "No. You should at least stay the night." It was past ten and Nate had been driving all day. "You want some coffee?" Brad asked.
Nate shook his head. "I think I drank at least two gallons already today. What I really want is a hot shower, wash off all the driving."
"Mi casa es su casa," Brad replied, making a sweeping gesture.
"Thanks." He bent to unlace his shoes, and when he looked up again, Brad was holding a stack of towels out towards him. "Thanks," Nate said again. "Sorry if I fucked up your night by coming here. I'm sure it wasn't my brightest decision."
Brad just rolled his eyes and pointed down the hallway. "Go take a fucking shower."
Nate was leaning against the cool tiled wall, yawning as he rubbed his jaw and thought idly about shaving, when the glass door to the shower opened and Brad stepped in.
Nate blinked at him and Brad gave him a lopsided sort of smile. Then Brad ducked in and kissed him, pressing Nate against the water-slick wall, and wedged his knee between Nate's thighs. "Jesus, be careful of my junk," Nate said, loudly over the sound of the spray, and Brad laughed against his mouth and reached to gently squeeze Nate's balls.
Nate dug his fingers into Brad's shoulders and kissed him hard in reply. Then he wondered if it would be at all smart of him to even contemplate what they were doing.
Probably not.
"Are you done in here?" Brad asked, his mouth pressed to Nate's ear. "Fucking in the shower is fucking dangerous, and I have a perfectly good bed."
Nate slammed the water off in response.
Brad tugged all the towels off the rack where Nate had hung them, and flung several at Nate's chest. Nate wrapped one quickly around his waist, and draped the other around his neck.
Brad then used it to pull him - carefully - from the wet shower into the bedroom.
"Seriously, why'd we bother with the damn things at all?" Nate asked, as all the towels then ended up on the bed.
"Didn't want you dripping all over my carpets," Brad answered, perfectly deadpan, before he pushed Nate down onto the sheets.
Nate palmed his cock, eyes on Brad looming over him. "I'm not keeping you awake, am I?"
"Shut up."
Nate moved so he could hook his heel around the back of Brad's thigh, then pulled sharply, bringing Brad down onto the bed.
"Dirty move," Brad muttered, and Nate smirked.
"I telegraphed. You could have dodged."
"Well, I was going to end up here anyway." Brad mouthed at his neck, with the sharp nip of teeth. He slid a hand between them, knocking Nate's hand away from his dick, and replacing it with his own.
Nate looked down and watched, because it was really fucking hot, watching Brad work his cock. Slowly at first, dragging it out, calloused fingers mapping out Nate's skin.
"Nate," Brad said, and Nate looked up. Brad kissed him, wet and harsh, and quickened his hand.
Nate panted into Brad's open mouth, putting his hands all the places he could reach. This was good, but it wasn't - "I don't want to come like this," he ground out, but Brad just leaned into him harder, putting more weight on him.
"Too bad."
"You're such a fuck."
Brad laughed against his neck. Nate could feel Brad's dick rubbing against his thigh, dragging wetly over damp skin. "You don't need to drag this out," Brad murmured, breath hot. "Just come, Nate."
Then he let go of Nate's cock and moved his hand back, rubbed his fingertips over Nate's asshole. Nate couldn't stop his whine of surprise, all the air rushing out of his lungs, and Brad took the advantage, working a finger into him. Nate tried to move, but Brad had him pinned.
Brad pinched his nipple, once, hard, and Nate came with a shout. Then he lay there, feeling boneless, as Brad jacked himself off and came all over Nate's chest.
"I should have waited to take that fucking shower," Nate said, when he felt like he could speak again.
Brad nipped at his earlobe in response, then rolled away, sending the clear message that Nate could get up now if he wanted to.
Nate didn't move. He stared at the ceiling a while longer. Then he said, "I feel really fucking debauched right now."
Brad laughed hard enough that the bed shook. "You're welcome."
"Maybe you should warn a person before you put your finger in their ass."
"Well, if I'd warned you, you probably wouldn't have let me," Brad mumbled, shifting closer.
Nate shrugged. He didn't really want to think about it right now. Brad kissed his neck, then sat up. "Are you leaving in the morning?"
"Yeah, I've got a few more hours to drive." Nate tried to muffle his yawn. Brad rolled his eyes, then climbed out of the bed and went into the bathroom. He came back with a wet washcloth and wiped them both off.
"You can fuck me in the morning before I go to work," he said to Nate, flinging the washrag into the hamper. "Now shove over. I like that pillow."
Nate moved over. Brad switched off the lamp. The bed dipped again, then Nate felt Brad's arm drape across his hip, not really spooning, but just - there.
"Are you okay?" Nate couldn't help but ask.
"Shut up," Brad mumbled, squeezing his hip. Nate figured that was enough of an answer.
In the morning (pre-dawn, really), Brad woke him up with a lazy blowjob, then rolled onto his back and muttered filthy things as Nate fucked him slowly, both of them still drowsy with sleep.
He dozed again while Brad showered and dressed, then took his own turn in the bathroom while Brad made coffee.
"Here," Brad said, pressing a travel mug into his hands. "Extra strong."
"Thanks." As he looked at Brad, Nate realized this was the first time he hadn't tried to slip out before Brad woke up. "Um, should I just - mail it back?"
Brad scoffed. "Keep it. Or bring it next time."
Nate hadn't thought about there being a next time. "Okay."
"You should go, before traffic picks up."
"Yeah."
Brad walked him out to his truck and stood in the driveway, watching as Nate backed out. The beams of the headlights swept over his tall form, crisp in his BDUs, the muddy color blending into the barely-morning light.
As the Tahoe's wheels bumped down onto the street, Nate let out a deep breath. It felt like he'd been holding it since California. Maybe longer. As he shifted into drive, he lifted his hand in a wave. It seemed like Brad held his gaze for a second before lifting his own in answer.
Nate turned the wheel straight and put his foot on the gas.