fic: GK western!AU (12/14)
Jun. 13th, 2010 07:24 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
aeroport_artI should reaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaally be working :P Got a deadline tomorrow. And then I'm off to Columbus, OH for a couple days for work. Oh weekend, never end!
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11
When the two of them reach Brad's Spartan, single floor flat, Nate starts acting cagey.
"Look, Sheriff. I'm serious when I say this ain't necessary. You can't hold me here like one of your prisoners—"
Brad sighs loudly and sets Nate down on the edge of his single bed so he can reach over into his nightstand to pull out a pair of handcuffs.
"—and I ain’t some helpless girl who needs to be coddled, I can—" Nate pauses to look down at his wrist, which is now cuffed to the metal rack of the bed's headboard. "What the fuck?" he asks blankly.
"You sound like one of my belly achin' officers," Brad replies. "Least this way, you ain't got any say, so just sit yer ass down and let me clean this up in peace."
Nate opens his mouth as if to argue, but when Brad raises an eyebrow he shuts his trap and pinks a little. The sight brings Brad no small degree of pleasure.
Now that he’s sure Nate won’t make a (limping) run for it, Brad ambles into the kitchen, calling out behind him, "Make yourself useful, get your trousers off." He rummages through the cupboards for his emergency kit to the sound of Nate’s rustling, the handcuff jangling loudly from the bedroom.
When Brad comes back with supplies in hand, Nate’s kicking his trousers to the ground. Brad’s mouth goes dry… as it turns out, not-so-innocent Nate's been free-balling this whole time.
Nate stops fussing and looks up at him with baleful eyes while Brad's gaze wanders south. He takes in the sight of loose shirttails that give way to Nate’s slim hips, which taper into indents that point like a fucking arrow to the thatch of hair between Nate’s legs—hair a shade darker than the sun-bleached bristles on his head—and finally stops at the sight of Nate’s cock, which is mostly soft between pale, parted thighs. On his right leg, the bullet wound is a messy smear of red.
Brad looks back up to meet Nate’s embarrassed gaze. Even in the sparse candlelight, he can see Nate’s flush extend from his face down to the open collar of his button-down shirt.
"Jesus, Brad,” Nate eventually says. “Would you just get on with it? Maybe 'fore I bleed out on your bed?"
"Yeah, yeah. Just appreciating the fact that, underneath all that righteousness, you're just a kinky little fucker like the rest of us."
Nate pauses. "It's hot in Nevada," he explains simply, leaning back on his hands so that his legs fall open a bit wider.
Fuck, Brad's not in the right mindset for this. He needs to clean Nate up and put him the fuck to bed before he does something they'll both regret. That, then maybe lock himself in the outhouse to pull off once or twice before trying to fall asleep with the worst case of blue balls he's had in years, while a gorgeous—what? He's got eyes—piece of ass sits handcuffed to his bed not two feet away.
“Sheriff?”
Brad steels himself and crouches down in front of Nate, saying, "Stay still," though it might as well be to himself for Brad’s hands are jittery as they dunk a washcloth into a bucket of water with a little splash.
Brad puts a hand on Nate’s inner knee and slowly pushes it aside to settle between Nate’s legs. He draws the cloth out of the water, squeezing some excess liquid out before gently patting at the bloodied area with it until the small wound’s revealed.
The bullet didn’t hit anything too important, no busted arteries or anything more precious that that. On the other hand, there’s no sign of an exit wound so the lead’s probably still buried inside.
Nate seems to sense what’s coming as Brad reaches into his kit for a pair of tweezers. He tenses up like he’s expecting a punch, and Brad automatically rubs his hand where it’s still on Nate’s knee, gentling him like he’s Hum-vee, antsy and unhappy before a brewing thunderstorm.
Brad pulls out the metal tool and steadies his grip on it, then gets the tips of it into the wound without delay. Above him, Nate bites back a grunt.
Shit, that shouldn't be as hot as it is, but it is, and Brad needs to pull his shit together because he's got a job to do with or without Nate panting above him like he's two seconds from coming his brains out.
Hoping some small talk will calm the both of ‘em down, Brad says shakily, "So you wanna tell me why you got a pack of escaped Cheyennes on your ass, Nate?"
Nate seems to welcome the diversion as he huffs back, “Ha fucking no, I ain’t telling you shit, Sheriff.”
“You know, you’d do well not to piss me off right now. I got this handy thing inside you, Nate, might not be my fault if it takes me awhile to pull out.”
At the lack of any reply, Brad glances up in time to catch Nate biting his lip in pain and fuck, that sure ain’t helping matters any. Brad continues, “Seriously, don’t you think I’m plenty involved by now? Might save my ass to know what’s goin’ on instead of just getting shot at willy-nilly.”
“Far as I’m concerned,” Nate grits out, “Ain’t none of those Indians caught your scent yet.”
“Need I remind you of our little friends tonight?” Brad asks, pleased when he finally latches onto the bullet with the tips of his tongs.
“Need I remind you ain’t none of ‘em still alive?” Nate sasses back.
Brad grins, comfortable in their banter. “You do realize, Meesh is still out there, and he’ll probably sell us over the water as soon as he finds a higher asking price.” Never mind Deputy Person took care of that little liability, throwing Meesh hog-tied and bundled into the back of an eastbound freight. But Nate doesn’t need to know that.
“All the more reason to keep the Washoe police at a distance,” Nate gasps as Brad finally works out the bullet from his thigh.
Triumphant, Brad holds the .31 caliber round up to the light for Nate to see. Nate dazedly gives it his attention before moving on to Brad, smiling weakly but genuinely at him.
Brad feels something tug in his chest. Shit, it ain’t fair how pretty Nate is for a guy—he’s beginning to understand why everyone complains about Sergeant Reyes so much.
Brad tosses the bullet into a nearby bin with a clatter and sets about threading the curved needle he’s got. “You don't have to worry yourself over my hide,” Brad eventually says, pleased when Nate snorts in realization that he’s having his own words parroted back at him.
“This is different,” Nate says. “You thought I’d have trouble taking care of my own ass just wandering around Reno. That’s hardly the same as a group of wanted criminals trying to get you dead.”
“You honestly think something piddling like a ragtag tribe of Injuns, lead by a woman no less, is enough to scare us? Come on Nate, you seen my boys in action. Give us a little credit.”
“You don’t know what—“ Nate’s leg twitches as Brad inserts the needle into his flesh—“what she’s capable of.”
“Tigress, you mean?” Brad asks, remembering Ray’s quick debriefing from earlier.
Saying the name aloud—Tigress—triggers a sudden dawning of realization, slow but complete like a rag soaking up water. Brad says incredulously, “You’re after her, aren’t you?”
Nate freezes. It could be from Brad stitching him up like he’s a torn hole in someone’s shirt, but Brad knows better. Jackpot, he thinks. With gaining confidence he continues, “You’re after Tigress, that squaw from the photographs I found in your friend’s bag.
“Hell—“ Brad says, on a roll now even as his eyes are glued to his hands, making sure he’s sewing Nate up nice and neat, “That guy’s your partner, ain’t he? Shit, that sure explains how you don’t punch like a fucking civilian. You guys with the Army? Or just looking to bag a bounty.”
Nate doesn’t say anything for a long while, and Brad feels his eyes on him as he works diligently. Brad doesn’t try to push him though—knows Nate’ll come around now that he’s got nothing hide, and sure enough, Nate heaves a deep sigh and relents.
“Marshal,” Nate corrects. “And yeah, Gunny’s my partner. We’re tracking Tigress River and her gang. They been leaving a whole lotta trouble in their wake ever since breaking out of the Oklahoma reservation. A lot of dead bystanders, too.”
Nate sounds regretful about the casualties and as Brad finishes up the last stitch, tying off a knot at the base of it, he jokes conversationally, “What kinda ass-backwards, confused little Injun princess calls herself Tigress, anyhow? Ain’t no tigers in the United States.”
Nate chuckles softly and Brad chalks it up as a win. “She’s been to the Orient,” Nate explains. “Funds herself by trading in opium, both legal and illegal. ‘Cause of all that money, she’s got some Americans on her side. Makes her all the more dangerous.”
“Americans like Bob Raleigh?” Brad snips the thread off and leans back on his haunches to observe his work. It’ll do. He reaches behind him for the ball of gauze he’s got in his kit.
“Yeah, guys like Bob.”
“So you killed him,” Brad states, glancing up to meet Nate’s level gaze.
Nate watches him for a moment, but senses no accusation in the words and so he nods in response.
However, the memory of that mystery leads Brad back to the events at Sydney’s—him with Missy, Nate with Marla next door—and so Brad adds, less objectively, “And then you fucked his mistress.”
Nate doesn’t smile, but his eyes crinkle up a bit at the corners. “You gonna patch me up with that gauze, Sheriff, or just crush it to death?”
Nate smiles for real this time, a little shy one that shows his upper teeth and he looks down abashedly. Brad feels that strange tug return, the one he usually gets when Nate smiles like he’s real pleased with something, but this time it’s harder—nah, it’s impossible to ignore since now, Nate’s pleased with something Brad did. Brad put that smile on his face.
Jesus Christ on a cracker, he’s got no clue when he went and grew a pussy, but there it is. Brad swallows grimly and sets about wrapping Nate’s leg up. The sooner he finishes, the sooner he can leave the room and recon some fucking scraps of sanity. Lord knows he needs 'em.
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11
When the two of them reach Brad's Spartan, single floor flat, Nate starts acting cagey.
"Look, Sheriff. I'm serious when I say this ain't necessary. You can't hold me here like one of your prisoners—"
Brad sighs loudly and sets Nate down on the edge of his single bed so he can reach over into his nightstand to pull out a pair of handcuffs.
"—and I ain’t some helpless girl who needs to be coddled, I can—" Nate pauses to look down at his wrist, which is now cuffed to the metal rack of the bed's headboard. "What the fuck?" he asks blankly.
"You sound like one of my belly achin' officers," Brad replies. "Least this way, you ain't got any say, so just sit yer ass down and let me clean this up in peace."
Nate opens his mouth as if to argue, but when Brad raises an eyebrow he shuts his trap and pinks a little. The sight brings Brad no small degree of pleasure.
Now that he’s sure Nate won’t make a (limping) run for it, Brad ambles into the kitchen, calling out behind him, "Make yourself useful, get your trousers off." He rummages through the cupboards for his emergency kit to the sound of Nate’s rustling, the handcuff jangling loudly from the bedroom.
When Brad comes back with supplies in hand, Nate’s kicking his trousers to the ground. Brad’s mouth goes dry… as it turns out, not-so-innocent Nate's been free-balling this whole time.
Nate stops fussing and looks up at him with baleful eyes while Brad's gaze wanders south. He takes in the sight of loose shirttails that give way to Nate’s slim hips, which taper into indents that point like a fucking arrow to the thatch of hair between Nate’s legs—hair a shade darker than the sun-bleached bristles on his head—and finally stops at the sight of Nate’s cock, which is mostly soft between pale, parted thighs. On his right leg, the bullet wound is a messy smear of red.
Brad looks back up to meet Nate’s embarrassed gaze. Even in the sparse candlelight, he can see Nate’s flush extend from his face down to the open collar of his button-down shirt.
"Jesus, Brad,” Nate eventually says. “Would you just get on with it? Maybe 'fore I bleed out on your bed?"
"Yeah, yeah. Just appreciating the fact that, underneath all that righteousness, you're just a kinky little fucker like the rest of us."
Nate pauses. "It's hot in Nevada," he explains simply, leaning back on his hands so that his legs fall open a bit wider.
Fuck, Brad's not in the right mindset for this. He needs to clean Nate up and put him the fuck to bed before he does something they'll both regret. That, then maybe lock himself in the outhouse to pull off once or twice before trying to fall asleep with the worst case of blue balls he's had in years, while a gorgeous—what? He's got eyes—piece of ass sits handcuffed to his bed not two feet away.
“Sheriff?”
Brad steels himself and crouches down in front of Nate, saying, "Stay still," though it might as well be to himself for Brad’s hands are jittery as they dunk a washcloth into a bucket of water with a little splash.
Brad puts a hand on Nate’s inner knee and slowly pushes it aside to settle between Nate’s legs. He draws the cloth out of the water, squeezing some excess liquid out before gently patting at the bloodied area with it until the small wound’s revealed.
The bullet didn’t hit anything too important, no busted arteries or anything more precious that that. On the other hand, there’s no sign of an exit wound so the lead’s probably still buried inside.
Nate seems to sense what’s coming as Brad reaches into his kit for a pair of tweezers. He tenses up like he’s expecting a punch, and Brad automatically rubs his hand where it’s still on Nate’s knee, gentling him like he’s Hum-vee, antsy and unhappy before a brewing thunderstorm.
Brad pulls out the metal tool and steadies his grip on it, then gets the tips of it into the wound without delay. Above him, Nate bites back a grunt.
Shit, that shouldn't be as hot as it is, but it is, and Brad needs to pull his shit together because he's got a job to do with or without Nate panting above him like he's two seconds from coming his brains out.
Hoping some small talk will calm the both of ‘em down, Brad says shakily, "So you wanna tell me why you got a pack of escaped Cheyennes on your ass, Nate?"
Nate seems to welcome the diversion as he huffs back, “Ha fucking no, I ain’t telling you shit, Sheriff.”
“You know, you’d do well not to piss me off right now. I got this handy thing inside you, Nate, might not be my fault if it takes me awhile to pull out.”
At the lack of any reply, Brad glances up in time to catch Nate biting his lip in pain and fuck, that sure ain’t helping matters any. Brad continues, “Seriously, don’t you think I’m plenty involved by now? Might save my ass to know what’s goin’ on instead of just getting shot at willy-nilly.”
“Far as I’m concerned,” Nate grits out, “Ain’t none of those Indians caught your scent yet.”
“Need I remind you of our little friends tonight?” Brad asks, pleased when he finally latches onto the bullet with the tips of his tongs.
“Need I remind you ain’t none of ‘em still alive?” Nate sasses back.
Brad grins, comfortable in their banter. “You do realize, Meesh is still out there, and he’ll probably sell us over the water as soon as he finds a higher asking price.” Never mind Deputy Person took care of that little liability, throwing Meesh hog-tied and bundled into the back of an eastbound freight. But Nate doesn’t need to know that.
“All the more reason to keep the Washoe police at a distance,” Nate gasps as Brad finally works out the bullet from his thigh.
Triumphant, Brad holds the .31 caliber round up to the light for Nate to see. Nate dazedly gives it his attention before moving on to Brad, smiling weakly but genuinely at him.
Brad feels something tug in his chest. Shit, it ain’t fair how pretty Nate is for a guy—he’s beginning to understand why everyone complains about Sergeant Reyes so much.
Brad tosses the bullet into a nearby bin with a clatter and sets about threading the curved needle he’s got. “You don't have to worry yourself over my hide,” Brad eventually says, pleased when Nate snorts in realization that he’s having his own words parroted back at him.
“This is different,” Nate says. “You thought I’d have trouble taking care of my own ass just wandering around Reno. That’s hardly the same as a group of wanted criminals trying to get you dead.”
“You honestly think something piddling like a ragtag tribe of Injuns, lead by a woman no less, is enough to scare us? Come on Nate, you seen my boys in action. Give us a little credit.”
“You don’t know what—“ Nate’s leg twitches as Brad inserts the needle into his flesh—“what she’s capable of.”
“Tigress, you mean?” Brad asks, remembering Ray’s quick debriefing from earlier.
Saying the name aloud—Tigress—triggers a sudden dawning of realization, slow but complete like a rag soaking up water. Brad says incredulously, “You’re after her, aren’t you?”
Nate freezes. It could be from Brad stitching him up like he’s a torn hole in someone’s shirt, but Brad knows better. Jackpot, he thinks. With gaining confidence he continues, “You’re after Tigress, that squaw from the photographs I found in your friend’s bag.
“Hell—“ Brad says, on a roll now even as his eyes are glued to his hands, making sure he’s sewing Nate up nice and neat, “That guy’s your partner, ain’t he? Shit, that sure explains how you don’t punch like a fucking civilian. You guys with the Army? Or just looking to bag a bounty.”
Nate doesn’t say anything for a long while, and Brad feels his eyes on him as he works diligently. Brad doesn’t try to push him though—knows Nate’ll come around now that he’s got nothing hide, and sure enough, Nate heaves a deep sigh and relents.
“Marshal,” Nate corrects. “And yeah, Gunny’s my partner. We’re tracking Tigress River and her gang. They been leaving a whole lotta trouble in their wake ever since breaking out of the Oklahoma reservation. A lot of dead bystanders, too.”
Nate sounds regretful about the casualties and as Brad finishes up the last stitch, tying off a knot at the base of it, he jokes conversationally, “What kinda ass-backwards, confused little Injun princess calls herself Tigress, anyhow? Ain’t no tigers in the United States.”
Nate chuckles softly and Brad chalks it up as a win. “She’s been to the Orient,” Nate explains. “Funds herself by trading in opium, both legal and illegal. ‘Cause of all that money, she’s got some Americans on her side. Makes her all the more dangerous.”
“Americans like Bob Raleigh?” Brad snips the thread off and leans back on his haunches to observe his work. It’ll do. He reaches behind him for the ball of gauze he’s got in his kit.
“Yeah, guys like Bob.”
“So you killed him,” Brad states, glancing up to meet Nate’s level gaze.
Nate watches him for a moment, but senses no accusation in the words and so he nods in response.
However, the memory of that mystery leads Brad back to the events at Sydney’s—him with Missy, Nate with Marla next door—and so Brad adds, less objectively, “And then you fucked his mistress.”
Nate doesn’t smile, but his eyes crinkle up a bit at the corners. “You gonna patch me up with that gauze, Sheriff, or just crush it to death?”
Nate smiles for real this time, a little shy one that shows his upper teeth and he looks down abashedly. Brad feels that strange tug return, the one he usually gets when Nate smiles like he’s real pleased with something, but this time it’s harder—nah, it’s impossible to ignore since now, Nate’s pleased with something Brad did. Brad put that smile on his face.
Jesus Christ on a cracker, he’s got no clue when he went and grew a pussy, but there it is. Brad swallows grimly and sets about wrapping Nate’s leg up. The sooner he finishes, the sooner he can leave the room and recon some fucking scraps of sanity. Lord knows he needs 'em.
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no subject
Date: 2010-06-14 02:41 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-06-14 02:45 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-06-14 02:53 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-06-14 03:39 am (UTC)Jesus Christ on a cracker, he’s got no clue when he went and grew a pussy, but there it is. ==> cracked me up!
nn, Nate handcuffed.
no subject
Date: 2010-06-15 03:32 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-06-14 04:46 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-06-15 03:33 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-06-14 06:53 pm (UTC)I can't wait to read more. Thanks for sharing!
no subject
Date: 2010-06-15 03:34 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-06-14 07:07 pm (UTC)You're a very cruel woman... I heartily approve. (although Brad hopes you're planning to reward him for being such a good boy. Soon.)
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Date: 2010-06-15 03:37 am (UTC)Hahaha omg, I totally lulzed at your comment. and don't worry, he is SO getting rewarded XD next chapter, in fact ;)
no subject
Date: 2010-06-14 08:58 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-06-15 03:40 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-06-16 08:43 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-06-15 12:30 am (UTC)Unf, unf, unf.
Look, I'm single minded, alright?
no subject
Date: 2010-06-15 03:41 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-06-16 10:10 am (UTC)(Also: friended you to keep up with installments, I hope you don't mind. I'm mostly well-behaved and flailing quietly in my corner)
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Date: 2010-06-20 09:53 pm (UTC)Of course I don't mind you friending me!! More the merrier :D
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Date: 2010-06-19 05:22 pm (UTC)at least, when I ignore the copious amount of things I have to do and read in spite of them
no subject
Date: 2010-06-20 09:54 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-06-21 04:44 am (UTC)"—and I ain’t some helpless girl who needs to be coddled, I can—" Nate pauses to look down at his wrist, which is now cuffed to the metal rack of the bed's headboard. "What the fuck?" he asks blankly.
AHAHAHA! I love the juxtaposition of this - Nate whining about being treated like a girl as Brad isn't at all treating him like a girl...at least not in a delicate one, anyway.
as it turns out, not-so-innocent Nate's been free-balling this whole time.
Because he's a badass! Yes. I approve.
He tenses up like he’s expecting a punch, and Brad automatically rubs his hand where it’s still on Nate’s knee, gentling him like he’s Hum-vee, antsy and unhappy before a brewing thunderstorm.
SUCH great description. And I also love that Brad's mentally connecting Nate and his horse - two things he's slightly attached to.
“Marshal,” Nate corrects. “And yeah, Gunny’s my partner.
OMG, Nate's a Marshal! YAYYYY!
Brad feels that strange tug return, the one he usually gets when Nate smiles like he’s real pleased with something, but this time it’s harder—nah, it’s impossible to ignore since now, Nate’s pleased with something Brad did. Brad put that smile on his face.
AWWWWW! My adoration of their cuteness cannot be textually-rendered. LOVE!
no subject
Date: 2010-07-02 10:14 pm (UTC)Haha yeah, I totally like the idea of both Brad and Nate being really prickly about people coddling them, but the upside is they both respect each other enough not to. HOT!
Brad's mentally connecting Nate and his horse - two things he's slightly attached to
Totally!! Brad's such a mushy woobie, he doesn't even know.
no subject
Date: 2010-06-22 10:11 pm (UTC)dirtyfranche to me ;)Nate starts acting cagey
Hehe, typical Nate, always over-thinking things the proud bastard and Brad reacting in his usual silent, efficient manner, they get each other so well <3
Nate free-balling, oh yessss, it's *always* the quiet ones! I love how you keep on playing on their UST, it's probably my favorite thing EVER in fics.
"Yeah, yeah. Just appreciating the fact that, underneath all that righteousness, you're just a kinky little fucker like the rest of us."
Bwahaha, you tell him Brad!
Nate pauses. "It's hot in Nevada," he explains simply, leaning back on his hands so that his legs fall open a bit wider. And then Nate counter attacks by striking a slutty pose, I'm not really convinced here Nate bb! :D
Also, banter is love and ha ha! Revelations! And badass!Nate is confirmed to be... a badass. Yay 8)
Nate watches him for a moment, but senses no accusation in the words and so he nods in response. NGH worldless communication! One of my fav B/N aspects (though yeah, pretty much ALL of their aspects are my fav, but w/e)
And that unbearable ADORABLENESS there at the end. Killed me. KILLED ME. &hearts _____ &hearts
no subject
Date: 2010-07-02 10:18 pm (UTC)Ahahah, you know it. Nate is totally slutty all the time, and it's fun playing with his actions because he doesn't even REALIZE how hot he is sometimes, and other times...like this instance, you don't really know if he's aware of it or not ;)
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Date: 2010-07-03 01:36 pm (UTC)Slutty!BAMF!Nate FTW!!!