Archive of Our Own ^beta

Eight years should have changed everything, but catching a glimpse of Brad made Nate feel like time itself was unmoored. It was a moment of déjà vu, instantly transporting Nate back to his deployment in Iraq; Brad’s familiar figure cut out and glued onto a present-day background. Brad may be dressed in a pale blue collared shirt rather than a desert BDU, but the way he carried himself was exactly the same.

Nate didn’t even have to double check that it really was him when he made his way to the bar. Brad looked good, casually leaning on one elbow on the bar. Brad spared him a brief glance, assessing the stranger taking the seat beside him before his gaze returned and stuck.

Brad had the same smile. It still started in the corner of his mouth, slowly exposing teeth, giving off the same predatory undertones that Nate remembered.

“It’s been too long,” Nate said, an answering smile spreading across his own face.

“If you were going to start with clichés, sir, why not comment on a man like me in a place like this?” Brad raised his eyebrows, effortlessly indicating the conference hotel and overpriced bar.

Nate paused, not sure how to respond. It felt strange to be off his game. It wasn’t supposed to be like this with Brad. The words had been a remnant of schmoozing politicians, and a flicker of embarrassment brought heat to his cheeks, but only for a moment. Brad’s gentle mockery felt like returning home, even as his assessing glance raked down Nate’s body. Nate hoped he measured up in the eyes of his former marine.

Brad put him out of his misery, finally standing upright and pulling Nate into a hug. One arm slung around his shoulders, two manly thumps on the back. Nate only had the time to be blindsided with the realization that Brad smelled different these days and then he was released.

Nate gave a weak smile as he pulled back, emotionally off balance. The details were off. The hug was more physical contact than he could ever remember passing between them, but the gesture was somehow less intimate. There had been a period of his life where they could read each other’s thoughts in a glance.

He offered a half-smile. “It’s been too long.”

The contempt in Brad’s expression came through, a cold look over a half-hearted smirk. Just who’s fault is that?

They both knew the answer.

Nate swallowed.

Nate hadn’t felt at ease with the men he commanded, especially not after he left the corps. It wasn’t guilt exactly. He’d had to keep a divide between him and his men when he had been commanding his platoons. That divide didn’t lend itself to friendship. He’d have been sorely out of place if he accepted any of Wynn’s invitations over the years to the reunions or Birthday Balls or backyard get-togethers.

His place wasn’t with them. There had been times though, when he’d felt like it could have been at Brad’s side. They’d always had an easy chemistry. Out of everything, that was the one thing he regretted abandoning.

“Do you have any free time now?” It was as close to an admission of guilt as Nate’d allow himself.

Brad’s smile widened slightly, a movement so slight that Nate realized he’d been watching Brad’s lips too closely to catch it. The cool facade thawed a little.

“I can make the time,” he said, casually.

Nate stoically accepted the rebuke underneath Brad’s words. He could have made the time as well, at any point over the last eight years.

It wasn’t that easy. He offered Brad a look of regret, a sort of sadness for the situation rather than his part in it. It wasn’t that he hadn’t cared.

Nate leaned across the bar and signaled the bartender.

Brad had his drink in hand, and turned to scan the dimly lit room. A booth had opened up. Brad nodded in its direction, and Nate nodded in return: message received and understood.

When he got his own drink, Nate settled into the comforting shadows of the booth with his former team leader.

There was still that pull of tension between them. He was always a little unsteady, his responses just a little bit wrong when it came to Brad Colbert.

Nate reminded himself to breathe and lapsed back into familiar, bland territory. “So are you still with the corps?”

Brad tilted his head, just a little, enough to say that he knew Nate knew full well what he was up to these days. He let Nate sit there a moment or two longer. “Yes.” But you knew that.

“I wasn’t sure if they were going to participate in the conference,” Nate said, trying to keep his words casual.

Brad looked at him. “They do occasionally trot us out for a dog and pony show in support of the types of policies that are being discussed here. The policies that you know intimately, I’m assured.” His tone was bone dry, almost reproachful, despite his innocent expression.

Nate still had enough of his training that he didn’t shift or squirm or look away, as pinned down and uncomfortable as he felt. So Brad knew his job with the policy think tank and wasn’t interested in playing along with social expectations. The latter wasn’t anything particularly unexpected.

“You’ve been following my career.” The words came out flat, like he was trying to convince Brad that they could both drop this act.

“You may remember that I occasionally get to do reconnaissance,” Brad said, still in that tone that balanced somewhere between gentle teasing and mockery.

It was the same knife edge as back then, the excitement and confusion that Brad generated by his simple presence.

Nate reminded himself that if Brad hadn’t wanted to speak to him, he wouldn’t have. Even this meeting could have been carefully planned. Brad was nothing if not analytical. Tactical.

Brad rolled his tumbler between his fingers, idly, then went completely still. Nate should have seen an attack coming.

“I still dream of you,” Brad said, shattering the small talk abruptly.

It was only years of long practice that allowed Nate to keep his face blank. He didn’t trust that he’d heard that right. Nate drew himself up straighter, pulling out of his comfortable slouch.

“Excuse me?” Nate asked, ever cautious.

Brad met his eyes. There was a challenge in his gaze.

“I still dream of you.” Brad repeated his words clearly. There was no hesitation, no hedging. He was obviously watching Nate’s reaction.

Nate had to remind himself to breathe. In. Out. Slivers of fear splintered against his skin, prickling and cold. This wasn’t happening.

His secret should have been safe — there wasn’t anyway that Brad could know that Nate had used his small thread of magic to touch Brad’s dreams.

Over the last handful of years he’d caught glimpses of distant, rainy shores and rocky beaches; sunny California afternoons; and the explosions and devastation and anxiety after Brad had been back on tour in Iraq.

It wasn’t supposed to be something that was noticed. It was observation only. He could get a brief glimmer of Brad’s dreams, getting an idea of his surroundings and what was on his mind. It had only been a reassurance that Brad was still alive, still okay.

Nate swallowed and tried to quell his rising heart rate. There was no proof that his intrusion was at fault. There were other explanations.

“We were the spear-tip of an invasion,” Nate finally said, “events like that have a way of lingering.” He hoped that was it. He prayed desperately that that was the entire rationale for Brad’s comment.

Nate drained the rest of his whiskey. That deployment had been a significant year for him, at least. He’d kept an eye on Brad’s career though, through Mike’s grapevine and the dribbles of news the USMC allowed the public to access. Brad had been involved in so many battles after OIF. So many tours and exchanges and promotions. It had been nearly a decade since they’d seen each other. The one short deployment that they’d served together was likely just an eye-blink.

Brad just looked at him. They definitely hadn’t lost all of their ability to silently communicate; Nate easily read the disappointment in the subtle shifts of Brad’s expression.

Nate swallowed hard. He didn’t want to face this right now. Brad always saw too much. He didn’t ask Brad to elaborate on what he meant. He wasn’t ready to hear it. The topic was closed.

“I need a refill.” Nate pushed his empty glass closer to the edge of the table and slid over to stand up. “Same again for you?”

Brad reached across the booth to grab Nate’s wrist, holding him in place.

Nate stared at the hand on his wrist, then looked back to Brad.

“Wait,” Brad said, as close to an order as he’d ever given Nate.

Nate leaned back in the booth again, not quite relaxed but not about to jump up and run.

Brad’s fingers slowly unwrapped from his wrist.

Brad’s eyes searched Nate’s face, pinning Nate in place without physical force. In this bar, his eyes looked pale, almost gray. Nate wondered if he’d amped up their color in his mind, matching Brad’s eyes to the blue of the cloudless skies in Iraq, or if that had been just a momentary, poorly-remembered contrast with the charcoal dust and powdery sand baked into wind-burned skin.

“Do you dream of me too?” On Brad’s lips, the words become pointed, sharp, a tool — or a weapon — rather than a query.

Nate rolled his head to the side. He rubbed at his neck, as if the muscles were tight. He glanced out over the hotel bar; growing less crowded now that the after-work specials had petered out.

Nate’s eyes flicked back to Brad. There really wasn’t any point in lying. Not about this. Even if what he feared wasn’t true. “Yes.”

“What sort of dreams?”

This... this wasn’t really the ‘so, what’s new with you’ conversation that Nate had expected after eight years.

Nate tried to brush off the question, evading the intent behind it. They’d served together long enough ago that the danger didn’t feel as immediate. DADT had been repealed. But this still wasn’t the time or place. Maybe in this he was the coward that he’d been accused of being back then, back when they’d served together. He gave Brad a partial, evasive truth.

“They vary.”

Even that was too close to emotions he’d rather keep buried, though he supposed it could still cover all sorts of things. PTSD. Trauma. Nightmares. But his dreams were rarely violent anymore. He immediately looked away again, staring pleadingly at the bar, wondering if the ground would open up and swallow him.

Unfortunately, that sort of magic was well beyond his means.

“Let me ask another question, sir.”

Nate wasn’t sure how he was going to stop Brad.

Nate took hold of his glass again, tilting it, letting the remnants of the ice cubes slide from side to side.

“When you were at school, did you rent a duplex? With your bedroom upstairs, facing the backyard? A double bed shoved against the wall and a poster of a mountain massif by the window?”

Nate could feel the blood draining from his face. He hoped it would kill his blush. “K2,” he said softly, naming the deadly peak that had captured his attention briefly. It was a detail that maybe his housemates had known, but Nate doubted that even they’d remember. That had been the second year of his masters. He’d been busy, almost reclusive as he’d worked on his thesis.

Brad’s half-smile pulled to the side. He’d gotten confirmation of something, like he was going to close in for the kill.

Nate kept his own smile was tight. If Brad was asking about dreams and details like that… “I’m going to guess that you weren’t casing out my student housing in your spare time.”

Somehow, it seemed like Brad had put things together that he shouldn’t have been able to. Brad shook his head.

“Usually people don’t remember their dreams.” Nate tried to keep the words conversational rather than defensive.

“Therapy does wonders on all fronts, sir,” Brad said, hints of sarcasm dropping into the words while he stared at Nate, at odds with his guileless expression. He looked like he was trying to hold a complicated puzzle in his mind. “Can you tell me why I sink into your dreams when I fall asleep?”

Nate shifted uncomfortably. He ran a hand along the back of his neck, armoring himself against the deserved rebuke. There was no graceful retreat from this. He figured he owed Brad an explanation. This was going to be embarrassing. “Dreamwalking runs in my family.”

Brad waited.

Nate offered a half-smile apologetically. “I sometimes make a connection with someone else’s dreams.”

There were enough small remnants of magic in the world that it shouldn’t be too uncommon. Foresight. Finding. Firestarting. Dreamwalking hadn’t seemed like a useful magic, until Nate had realized that he could use it to get a small snapshot of someone’s mental state, their worries and thoughts and hopes.

“Are you in control?”

“Not of what happens.” At least not all the time. “Usually I just get a glimpse of the dream.” Nate could feel the blush creep up his chest. He hoped his collar would cover it. Despite the air conditioning, he could feel sweat start to prickle at the back of his neck. What he could control was the initial connection. He could set his target.

What he’d done was improper. His grandfather had taught him better than that, had taught him to control the magic and keep it leashed. His grandfather had impressed on him the importance of not invading others’ privacy and Nate had selfishly disregarded that when it suited him.

It had just been a wandering curiosity at times, especially after Iraq. Putting that hint of intention behind ‘I wonder what Brad’s doing?’ as he was falling asleep. It was a familiar, comforting tether when the rest of his world was in upheaval.

“Does it happen with everyone?”

At least that had a simple answer: “No.”

It was a lot to take in, but Brad seemed surprisingly level with it.

“How deep does the connection go?”

“What do you mean?”

“Do you see what I see? Or are you dreaming at the same time, from your own point of view?”

“If a connection formed, I’d only be able to see glimpses of what you were dreaming about. It shouldn’t have been obvious to you at all.”

There should never have been two points of view, not in one dream. That went beyond dreamwalking as Nate knew it. That would be something else entirely. But if Brad had seen Nate’s own surroundings… or… a sinking feeling dragged at Nate. Had Brad been subjected to flashes of his own dreams over the last decade? Had anything… improper… leaked from his mind before he’d eased from the corps?

“Hmm.” Brad’s eyes narrowed in consideration.

Nate hoped that was all it had been, just glimpses of his own thoughts or surroundings. Because second year, that room in the duplex… it had been another significant year for him. Therapy had helped with the PTSD, he’d managed to stop pushing his friends and family away so much — and he’d came out. It had been one of the first times he’d actually felt like himself rather than an impostor playing a part.

That was when the other dreams had become more intense, when he had allowed himself that release. But those had just been normal dreams, he hadn’t been dreamwalking in them. There’d been no intention. Those had just been his brain spinning fantasies, inflicting his touch-starved, standoffish horniness on a dream of someone he trusted. Someone he knew intimately, safe in the utter impossibility of anything ever coming of it.

Nate shook his melting ice again, deciding against the second drink. This was awkward enough. “I should get going.”

Brad narrowed his eyes. “Is that all you’re willing to give this? After all this time?” There’s a sharp rebuke in his gaze. Coward, Nate inflicted the word on himself.

Nate licked his lower lip. His mouth was suddenly dry. “I apologize for any… inconvenience or… embarrassment…”

Brad had toed at boundaries when they had served together, but he’d always been deferential when push came to shove. The warning in his glance told Nate that that era was well behind them now.

“Stay here,” Brad said. There was a break in his expression as he watched Nate — assessing, maybe — that made Nate wonder if it was more a plea than an order, despite the tone it had been spoken in.

In the empty booth, Nate was left thinking about his other dreams. Nate was good at compartmentalizing. There was Brad, and there were his dreams. His fantasies. One was real. The other was decidedly not.

Brad took the glasses away, came back with two tumblers of whiskey. Neat.

“I was introduced to this one when I was with the Royal Marines,” he said, placing one down in front of Nate. “No need to fuck it up with ice.”

“Bribing me to stay put?” Nate raised an eyebrow. He meant it as a joke, an attempt to shift the topic.

Brad shrugged. It was as much a yes as anything. He picked up his glass, then set it down without taking a drink. “…Nate,” he said, as if testing it out. Brad’s expression had something pleading in it, but it was the use of his first name that froze Nate in place. Brad had never broken rank like that, not even after Nate had eased.

“It’s been eight years. The dreams I’ve had of you…” Brad sighed. “I kept thinking that as time went on, after you so pointedly avoided every chance of a reunion, that they’d fade eventually, but…” he trailed off, shaking his head. He glanced out the window, at the slushy sidewalks of Washington. He carefully didn’t look at Nate. “Are you seeing anyone?”

The question almost stunned him with its directness. Nate shook his head. His heart was starting to pick up speed. “Been single a while now. You?” He should mention that he was out, too, but from the look that Brad was avoiding giving him, that wasn’t in doubt.

He hid his nervousness by taking a sip of the drink. The whiskey had more peat than his usual choices; it was complex, but smooth. The smokiness gave it the undertone of a campfire, something rough that fit perfectly with his impression of Brad.

Time seemed to stretch indeterminably before Brad shook his head as well. “Never felt the need.”

Nate gave a small smile and tried to reset his expectations. Surely Brad couldn’t be hinting what Nate thought he might be hinting. Maybe this was just them catching up, the casual chat he had expected before Brad brought up the damned dreams.

“Do you want to see where this goes?” Brad asked, leaving no room for doubt.

Maybe it shouldn’t have shocked Nate.

That was the question, though. It had been a fantasy of his for so long, maybe just because of how forbidden the thought of it had been. Whatever tension had run between between them, it had never been meant to be anything real.

Brad reached across the table, brushing his fingertips along Nate’s wrist lightly, trailing lines of heat across the thin skin before drawing them back along Nate’s palm. His dreams… even thinking of them briefly charged Brad’s touch with something more.

A shiver of excitement raised the hair on the back of Nate’s neck, and he let his eyes drop to Brad’s smirk.

“I think I’d like that,” Nate said. “Let me get the bill.” It was the least he could do. If they did go forward with this… well, he’d have a lot of lost time and evasive choices to make up for.

Nate was waiting at the bar, impatient, as his cell phone buzzed in his pocked. He glanced at his watch. It was late, too late to be anything social. Concerned, he answered it, relieved when the screen didn’t show the number of anyone in his family.

“Hello?”

“Nate!” He recognized the frantic voice of one of his interns. Leigh launched into a quick, panicked ramble.

“Woah, woah, woah,” Nate raised his hand to his temple, sobering up rapidly from the buzz of the alcohol and the shock of Brad’s revelations. “Hold on.” For one selfish moment, he regretted answering his phone. “Slow down, say that again?”

The bartender brought the bill in a folded leather holder, and Nate tucked his credit card inside, listening to the frantic explanation — a laptop that was giving a blue screen, a presentation that Leigh needed to make last minute changes to. It was painfully predictable.

He cut Leigh off. “Do you have a backup?”

“No.” The intern sounded close to tears. Nate sighed, but he couldn’t just abandon Leigh.

“Look, I really can’t do anything from here…” Nate looked longingly over at the door, where Brad waited. This wasn’t happening. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Just, I don’t know, turn it back off and on again. I’m sure it’s just sensing your panic.”

He signed the receipt and nodded a thanks to the bartender.

Brad glanced at the phone in Nate’s hand. Everything okay? Brad asked it silently, with a simple raised eyebrow.

Nate gave a tight smile. “Hold on, Leigh.” He put his phone on mute.

“Intern’s computer might have corrupted a presentation,” Nate repeated under his breath. “I might have to bring Leigh my laptop and make sure the thumb drive is alright. The presentation’s scheduled for an early session tomorrow.”

Brad nodded, his smile wry rather than promising. “No one left behind,” he said ironically. Their plans had been abruptly altered.

Nate huffed a laugh, then raised his phone again, unmuting it swiftly. “Okay, okay, this is what you’re going to do…”

Brad trailed after Nate.

Nate sighed and hung up as they got into the elevator.

“Always something,” he said, regretfully.

Brad gave his half-grin. “We’ve waited this long, what’s another night?” he asked, philosophic in his easy patience.

Nate on barely restrained himself from making a face. He wasn’t feeling nearly as generous.

At the door to his hotel room, Brad stared at him intently, then leaned closer. He pressed his lips to Nate’s. It wasn’t a shock, exactly, but it still momentarily destroyed Nate’s ability to think of anything but the brush of Brad’s lips against his.

Nate returned the pressure, leaning in with an escalating force until Brad guided him back, softening the kiss, teasing at Nate’s lips with small presses of his tongue. Putting his hands anywhere felt presumptuous, his thoughts were still reeling with the understanding that this was actually happening.

When Nate opened his mouth, heart set on deepening the kiss, Brad drew away, small smile in place again.

“Goodnight, sir,” he said. “I hope I see you tomorrow.”

There was a hint of something playful in Brad’s eyes, like he was drawing this out on purpose.

Nate nodded reluctantly accepting the situation. There was nothing else to do. He followed Brad’s movements, watching with longing, as Brad walked away, disappearing back into the elevator.

Nate sighed, and scrubbed his wishes for the evening from his face with his weary palms. He fortified himself, then opened the door to his hotel room and got what he needed to rescue Leigh.

When he returned to his room, crisis averted, it was edging beyond late and towards painfully early.

Nate set his bag down and contemplated the expanse of neatly turned down sheets. When company hadn’t been a possibility, the bed had seemed perfectly fine. Now it was a little too large, a little too empty. A little too anticlimactic. He poured himself a glass of water.

The buzz had faded long ago. He’d wake up ready for the morning sessions of the conference, at least.

He went through his evening routine and fell into the bed with the TV on low, trying not to feel Brad’s absence so acutely. It hadn’t even been a possibility a handful of hours ago, after all. It shouldn’t feel like something was missing.

Maybe because he’d ran into Brad, Nate dreamed he was back in Iraq.

Brad was watching the distant horizon, but as Nate approached him, he turned from the berm, looked down at Nate. He was wearing his full BDU, the details soft at first. Out here, his eyes were the bright blue that Nate remembered, bracketed by the soft crow’s feet that aged him slightly, more like the man he’d met in the bar than the team leader of his memories.

Nate slowly came to the realization that it wasn’t one of his dreams. His dreams of Iraq were often stress-related, searching for misplaced weapons, chasing targets that weren’t there. There was a stillness to the air around them that had almost never been the case when they were actually in Iraq.

“So how does this work, sir?” Brad asked him.

Nate shrugged. “I wish I had an answer for you, Brad.”

“Is this my dream or yours, sir?”

Nate looked around. “It should be yours. If I’ve dreamwalked, that’s how it works.” He hesitated, remembering their earlier conversation. “But if you’ve seen my dreams too, we must have a different sort of connection.”

“Is that right?” Brad moved closer, his voice growing quieter. He hooked his fingers into the vest Nate was wearing and tugged. The details flickered and shifted as Brad’s attention landed on them. Nate looked down to see the vague imprint of netting on his vest come into sharp resolve, along with two pens, red and blue, his grease pencils tucked behind them. Details Nate hadn’t thought about for years. “What kind of a connection is that, exactly?”

“I don’t know,” Nate said honestly. “You shouldn’t even be able to see me.”

“Should I be able to touch you?”

Nate shook his head.

Brad looked around, then pushed Nate behind a nearby Humvee. Nate’s old Humvee, with the broad, sheltering canvas that could hide them from view. Brad pinned Nate against the vehicle and kissed him with more passion than he had in the hotel hallway.

Nate returned the kiss, a wild sense of urgency encroaching. They needed to do this now.

Brad shifted, trailing teeth and lips across Nate’s cheek, his words hot in Nate’s ear. “Will you remember this?”

“Maybe.” Nate hoped so. “Hard to know with dreams…”

Brad pushed his leg between Nate’s, pinning him to the Humvee’s side. Nate thrust against him, instinctively demanding more from the contact. It was similar to any number of other private dreams — filthy hopes and imaginings. This was different though. This meant something more now that Brad knew. If this wasn’t just their conversation twisting a normal dream to something else…

Brad’s hand ghosted lightly over the soft cotton of the material. Nate breathed a sigh of relief that it wasn’t the damned MOPP suits, Brad worked his fly open, neither of them had to deal with suspenders or—

Brad’s hand was hot around him. There was the edge of fear, fuzzy and half-remembered, the worries about his thoughts being found out, the fear that had kept him from even a combat jack when he’d been there for real…

“Did you want this? Back then?” Brad asked, following Nate’s thoughts even now.

“I didn’t have time to want anything.” It was the only truth Nate allowed himself. He couldn’t bring himself to ask Brad the same question.

The thought that this could actually be Brad brought him to the edge quicker than he expected. The details were fuzzy but the sensations were so real; the fear-lined pleasure too close to his reality.

Brad kissed him again as Nate’s breathing quickened. The kiss felt purposefully similar to their first kiss in the hallway; a reminder that though this was a dream, the intentions were real.

Nate gasped and arched his back away from the truck, thrusting into Brad’s fist.

He woke with a jerk as the radio on his travel alarm clock clicked on, the voice of a local anchor in the middle of a news report.

Nate pressed his head back into the pillow and stared up at the ceiling, wondering how far away Brad’s room was. He was in the same hotel, Nate assumed, based on where they’d met and Brad’s lack of a jacket last night. But it wasn’t really an option.

He dragged his tired body to the side of the bed and sat up. He was still achingly hard. It was unfair.

But dreams were like that, he reminded himself.

He’d been so sure that these kinds of dreams were his alone. His own ‘what ifs’, the forbidden thoughts that had followed him from Iraq and had never quite left.

The thought that he might not have been the only author of those dreams shook the foundations of what he thought he knew. And even if that dream he’d been jolted awake from had just been his dream, just his own thoughts on ‘what if’ Brad could get into his dreams too, then… well.

The kiss last night? That had been real.

Breakfast networking events were all planned by cheap sadists who shared a hivemind, Nate decided as he took another small, sugary pastry and filled a paper cup with lukewarm coffee. He’d be starving all morning if he didn’t find something more substantial in the few minutes he had between the seminars and the roundtable.

The rest of the day didn’t get much better than the start. Nate sat dutifully through the talks and discussions, taking notes and making his points with half a mind and trying to keep the other half from wandering anywhere inappropriate during work hours.

It was a losing battle.

Nate got back to the hotel and briefly stopped by his room to shower and change and get rid of the collection of junk that had materialized over the day, pushed by vendors and speakers. He must have a dozen phone numbers on various pens and keychains and bottle openers and none were the digits that he actually wanted. He’d realized too late that there was no contact information for the Marines listed in the conference handbook.

Cara Wynn would probably know Brad’s number, and a quick mental calculation of timezones suggested that it wouldn’t be too late to call her, but that would be letting another person know that this — whatever this was — existed in some form.

Nate decided against it. He headed down to the common areas, looking briefly through the bar, the meager weight and cardio offerings, the narrow, glass-encased pool area with the overpowering smell of chlorine. No Brad.

Nate ended up bringing his laptop down and setting up in one of the armchairs in the lobby.

Nate could feel Brad’s presence before he consciously registered it. He looked up, entirely unsurprised to see Brad striding towards him, cutting through the crowd with ease.

Nate smiled and shut his laptop.

“Consider giving me your phone number?” Nate asked.

Brad looked around, his lopsided smile slowly stitching into place. “Don’t tell me you were waiting for me.”

Nate made no effort to deny it.

Brad reached out towards Nate. Nate passed over his phone, watching as Brad typed something in. “Trust an officer to take the fun out of everything.”

“Former officer. Do you have plans for dinner?”

Brad looked at him regretfully. “I have to sweet talk a few major donors. They needed someone who could play nice.” He gave Nate a shark-like smile and Nate was vividly reminded of the inappropriate metaphors that Brad had been so fond of in the field. “After that I’m free.”

Nate smiled back, trying to restrain the expression to something that didn’t make him look as manic as he felt. “Alright then.” It’s a date. He took his phone back, trying not to seem startled at the warmth of Brad’s fingers. He was pretty sure that Brad would have made a note of where he was staying when he’d kissed him the other night, but it wasn’t worth it to take the risk. “I’m in room 1407 if you want to come find me when you’re done.”

Brad smiled. “Solid copy, sir.”

Nate held back a laugh and managed to refrain from rolling his eyes at the phrase. “Is that how it’s going to be?” He raised an eyebrow.

Brad didn’t even have the grace to pretend to be ashamed for his use of military language for this. “If you want.”

The words were a promise that brought a heat to Nate’s cheeks, and he turned slightly away to hide his response.

The evening couldn’t come soon enough.

Nate showered again when he got back to his room, and started typing in the important notes from the day, trying not to just watch the clock. The time seemed to drag, growing slower and slower.

His mind kept circling back to the dream they’d shared. Might have shared. Probably shared. He wondered if Brad’s version had continued.

In comparison, digitizing his notes felt rather insignificant.

Nate shut down his laptop and started preparing his bag for the next day.

He thought he imagined the knock at first. It wouldn’t be the first time that evening that he got up hoping that a random sound from beyond the walls of his hotel room was Brad arriving. He half expected to see an empty hallway again, but this time Brad was at the door when Nate got there.

The excitement settled around his chest, his heartbeat thrumming more rapidly in his chest than he could remember. It was fast enough, powerful enough to threaten to block his words.

“Hey,” he managed as he opened the door, hoping that he looked more confident than he felt.

Brad’s quick smile spoke for him. Hey.

There wasn’t any hesitation as Brad stepped forward, assertively moving the ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign to the outer handle. Nate shifted back a little to give Brad the space to enter. His old, half-forgotten fears just amplified his anticipation. He didn’t have to ask if anyone saw Brad, but the worry was there, even if it didn’t mean anything now.

The significance of it all was heavy. His heart raced and the expectation of what would happen made his hands tingle and feel distant.

The sound of the door clicking shut seemed unexpectedly loud, highlighting the sudden division between them and the rest of the world.

Nate met Brad’s eyes.

It had never been just a simple thing with Brad. It wasn’t just a physical desire. That, Nate was comfortable with. What he and Brad shared was more. They had shared something deeper. The weight of that pressed into Nate’s shoulders, made him hesitate with the magnitude of what they were about to do.

Did Brad feel the same?

Caught up in his own thoughts, Nate expected Brad to take the lead, to shake him from his thoughts. But this didn’t have the desperate feeling of a dream. Brad surprised him, just taking Nate’s hand and running his thumb lightly along the ridges of Nate’s knuckles. It wasn’t what Nate had expected, not after waiting so long, but even that simple, chaste touch was brimming with promise. The texture of Brad’s fingertips against him made the hair on the back of his arms rise, pebbling his skin.

Nate closed his hand around Brad’s, holding it still as if he could hold Brad there with him, as if there was a chance that Brad would change his mind and leave. He told himself he wasn’t shaking.

Nate moved forward, into Brad’s space. They were nearly chest-to-chest. Brad leaned back, let himself be pinned against the wall without any resistance, pulling Nate along with him with their entwined fingers. Heart beating wildly, Nate took that final step himself. He tilted his head up and kissed Brad.

It was easy enough to get lost in the simple pleasure of the touch of Brad’s lips to his own. Brad was wonderfully responsive, following easily as Nate deepened the kiss.

Nate’s hand trailed over Brad’s chest. The texture of Brad’s shirt, the firm solidity of his body were a promise that he was there. This time, it wasn’t a dream.

Brad untangled their fingers and then both of Brad’s hands skimmed under Nate’s shirt, warm against his skin, the touch light enough to be ticklish until Nate squirmed, and then his fingers dug into Nate’s hips. Steadying. Demanding.

Nate let his teeth drag slightly against Brad’s lower lip as he pulled away to catch his breath. Brad spread his legs and pulled Nate back in against him, a little closer, a little more insistent. His hands dropped to the curve of Nate’s ass and Nate shivered.

It was hard to think. Brad bit lightly at his earlobe, pulling the flesh into his mouth.

Nate let his hands drag lower in retaliation, letting his fingertips catch on the top edge of Brad’s belt. He was rewarded by Brad’s sharp inhale.

“C’mon,” Nate said, his voice noticeably rougher. He put some space between them before he could give into the impulse to rut against Brad, fully clothed, like a desperate teenager.

Nate took a step back and peeled off his shirt. “We spent long enough without beds…” he hinted. The hotel room was warm enough, but he could still feel his skin tighten underneath Brad’s intense gaze.

“Fuck, Nate—” Brad caught his breath. His eyes spoke volumes as they trailed over Nate’s body.

“Never thought…” Brad tried again, following him into the room.

Nate smiled and sat back on the bed. He raised a hand, not even attempting words.

The bed dipped a little as Brad made his way towards him, finding space beside him.

Brad trailed a hand lightly down Nate’s chest. His heartbeat seeming to leap to press into Brad’s fingertips. Brad’s hands trailed lines of heat across his skin and Nate lost himself for a moment in just feeling.

Maybe it was the worry that it was too good. Too close to a dream. A shiver of circumspection finally broke through the haze of desire. Nate paused as he reached for Brad’s belt again.

Brad quickly caught onto the shift in the mood, his hands shifting from exploration to soothing stroke along Nate’s side, and finally stilling. “What are you thinking?” He didn’t push further, content to just touch.

“I don’t know if reality will match what we may have dreamed,” Nate cautioned.

For a quiet moment, it was just Brad’s raised eyebrows that derided the idea. The expression dropped quickly though, revealing a look that Nate thought of as quintessentially Brad, that open, raw look of confidence and loyalty. The surety in that one look was enough to erase Nate’s momentary, flickering doubt. And then Brad smiled.

“There’s only one way to test that.” More teeth were revealed as Brad’s grin broadened, turning the reassuring expression into one with more of an edge, something more dangerous. Exciting.

Promising.

Nate huffed a quiet laugh, finally reaching out to experience something he’d wanted for so long.

-Fin-