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aeroport_artBrad takes his shirt off. That's all you really need to know for this part.
Chapter 1
Nate, Gunny, and Patterson arrange some time just before the end of the day for their teams to meet in a capacity more formal than jostling elbows while they eavesdrop on their superiors. Patterson’s promised a report, too—an overview concerning wholesale and retail operations of the illegal, but flourishing business of San Francisco’s opium trade.
Brad and the others are waiting just outside the department, lounging by the gaslights. As Nate and Gunny jog down the short staircase and onto the street, Brad instantly falls in step.
The air outside is thick with dust, an unfortunate byproduct of being downtown where the roads are choked with horse buggies and pedestrians, mustachioed men accompanying fashionable women. Decorative parasols bob up and down in the air like the rifles of an army procession, but the feminine voices and laughter beneath them kill the illusion.
“Sir,” Brad says over the din of traffic, “may I ask if we’ve yet to secure an optimal location from which we can station ourselves for the duration of this mission?”
Nate looks at him, taking in the profile of the county Sheriff he’d unwittingly acquired during his sojourn in Reno, Nevada. Brad’s face is blank, but his blue eyes sparkle with mischief as he meets Nate’s gaze and says matter-of-factly, “A bath would be advantageous prior to our official contact with the SFPD later this afternoon. In case you hadn’t noticed, sir—I fucking reek.”
“You’ll be glad to hear,” Nate grins, “We booked a hotel already. Marla’s got a friend in the business—“ Nate rolls his eyes when he sees Brad smirk at the word friend. Apparently, it doesn’t escapes him that a prostitute like Marla makes a lot of “friends” who double as clients in her line of work. He continues, “She knows someone who owns a handful of hotels and boarding houses in California. We’re staying at one nearby, at a pretty steep discount too. Place isn’t too shabby, from what I hear.”
Brad grins with surprising enthusiasm, revealing straight, white teeth as he adds, “Hell, none of this town’s particularly shabby.”
Nate smiles at that, humbled by the reminder that not everyone’s had the luxury of an upbringing like his. Back in Maryland, an afternoon’s ride gets you to any number of developed cities, whether you’re in the mood for the grimy, but thrilling might of New York City or the beautiful, elegant resort town of Virginia Beach to the south.
Even though it's everyone’s first time in San Francisco, the deputies are particularly animated. Christeson, Ray, and Walt have been failing to hide their saucer-sized eyes at every gilded or arcaded building, and Brad’s got an extra bounce in his step as he studies each bit of advanced machinery they come across. The automated cable cars floating up and down Powell, in particular, have Brad so enraptured that Nate’s had to save him twice from stepping in horseshit.
Stafford, Ray, and Walt eventually split off, the former choosing to kill time at a nearby saloon while Ray and Walt explore the seedier side of town, hunting for a housing bargain among the multitude of tenements south of Market. That leaves Nate, Gunny, Brad, and Christeson to check into their temporary homes before returning that evening to meet with the local police.
Nate checks the scrap of paper he’s got in his pocket, directions penned in Marla’s confident hand. Their destination’s on the northern edge of the city, butted up against the multitude of piers that crowd the bay. As for the best way there…
“Looks like we’ll have to take a cable car,” Nate says nonchalantly. The look on Brad’s face is priceless.
-----
Nate could kill Gunny.
There are two possible explanations for his partner’s decision to stick Nate and Brad into one room together:
1. Marshal Wynn is oblivious
or
2. Marshal Wynn is entirely too perceptive
Nate’s certain that Gunny’s unaware of his previous indiscretion with Brad, which had been a fluke anyway, plain and simple. Preceding the incident, Nate’d been in the sun all day, then shooting natives in the dark, and he’d wound up plugged in the thigh with a stinging round himself. He doesn’t feel particularly guilty for the headiness of that candle-warm night, of Brad cleaning Nate’s wound with skilled hands. Of Brad extending his care to Nate’s arousal with an eager mouth.
Nate swears under his breath.
Doesn’t mean it’s going to happen again. They’re working together now; Brad’s his deputy and no matter how much Brad’s heated looks might set Nate’s skin on fire, Nate could never respect himself if he took advantage of his position for a little carnal release.
As if sensing Nate’s wayward train of thought, Brad peers at him and moves close enough so that their arms brush. Nate digs his fingernails into his palms and edges away.
So sure, while Gunny has no idea that shit’s happened between him and Brad…they’ve been partners long enough that he’s probably noticed something’s off. Which begs the question: why not stick the deputies in one room, leaving Nate and Gunny to share the other as they’ve done countless times in the past? Is Gunny trying to set them up like nervous newlyweds, or is he testing Nate’s willpower with the disapproving vigilance of a Catholic nun?
Gunny takes that moment to stride out of the boarding house. Nate watches him approach without comment, Brad pointedly strolling away just as Gunny stops short in front of Nate.
He hands over matching keys—one for Nate, one for Brad. Nate folds them into his palm and lifts his eyes.
Gunny sighs. “Don’t give me that look, Nate. I just figured it’d be good for us to split up, keep an eye on the boys.”
“Gunny—“
“Look,” Gunny says not unkindly. “I don’t think there’s going to be a problem here. But if you do, just say so and we’ll switch rooms.”
It’s then that Nate realizes, his partner isn’t trying to be an asshole. On the contrary; Gunny’s offering him a chance to do this mission right. He isn’t letting an illogical hunch interfere with their mission and he’s trusting Nate to do the same.
Nate sighs, feeling his partner’s trust settle around his neck like an albatross. Still, he’s not going to fuck this up for himself and he’s especially not going to fuck this up for Gunny. After the scandal back home that lingers around Nate like the smell of gunpowder after a firefight…Gunny’s a saint for believing in Nate and the thought of betraying him makes his stomach roil.
“I don’t have a problem,” Nate finally replies. He adds quietly, “Thanks, Gunny.”
Looking satisfied, Gunny pulls back and reaches into his breast pocket for the box of toothpicks he keeps there. He’s trying to quit chaw; his wife hates it. “We’ll meet you here at sunset,” Gunny says, shaking out a toothpick and feeding it in with practiced ease.
Nate gives a mock salute before gathering his travel pack and walking past Gunny, aiming for the entrance to the boarding house. Behind him, he hears Brad wind down his conversation with Christeson and retrieve his own things, following Nate inside.
-----
“Well, at least there are two this time,” Nate says, scratching his ear thoughtfully. He plunks his bag down on the nearest bed, which is opulent compared to his usual digs (flea-bitten mattresses, hay-strewn barns, packed soil). The sheets actually smell laundered and best of all, the beds are fucking huge. His feet won’t even have to hang off the end.
“I don’t like windows,” Brad argues, putting his bag next to Nate’s. Nate knows what he’s doing—Jesus Christ, he didn’t hire Brad to be his fucking bodyguard. He can handle himself if anyone breaks into their room.
“Well, neither do I,” Nate counters, feeling childishly victorious when Brad rolls his eyes and relocates his kit to the bed against the far wall. Unfortunately, any sense of upper hand he has quickly evaporates when Brad flicks his hat off and starts to unbutton his shirt.
Nate frowns. “What are you—“
“Bath, remember?” Brad tosses back over his shoulder. At least he has the decency to put his back to Nate.
“Right. I think they even have running water here.”
Brad flips back the top half of his shirt, revealing a black, circular tattoo at the knob of his spine. There’s a matching one above his left shoulder blade.
Nate’s mouth goes dry.
“Hm?” Brad hums as he sets to peeling off his sweat-dampened shirt, tugging at sleeves while the drooped collar at his back dances around a tantalizing peek at a third tattoo—something red and angry, brewing like thunderclouds.
Eventually, Brad frees one of his arms and the shirt falls aside, unveiling the full breadth of his back like a curtain drawing away at the start of a play. Only, instead of actors in costume, it’s Brad’s skin on display. Nate drinks in the sight, feeling his throat work as he lets his eyes wander.
The tattoo is daring—indecent, really. Gaudy, colored inks spread across Brad’s lower back like a living, breathing painting. On his left, a black, sandy landscape thrusts into a craggy mountain, leading Nate’s eye up and across the shifting grooves of Brad’s spine as the scene launches into a totem-like arrangement of two female faces with long, flowing hair. They remind Nate of illustrations he’s seen from his books in school, about pagan figures such as Artemis, goddess of the hunt. Or Athena, goddess of war. He wonders if they’re meant to represent anyone real.
“Sir?”
Nate snaps his eyes up. Brad’s tone clearly indicates he’s been trying to get Nate’s attention for some time now. Fuck, the knowledge that Nate was caught staring like a schoolboy with his first penny weekly makes his ears burn.
Brad searches his face. The scrutiny feels like a touch, like Nate’s being picked apart on the grounds of his stance, his expression…nothing Nate can even control. He wants to wrap his arms around himself like he’s the one half naked, but even that gesture would give everything away.
When the beginnings of a mischievous smile tweak the corners of Brad’s mouth, Nate mentally slaps himself. This is no behavior for a superior officer.
“Special Deputy,” Nate says, hardening his tone, “if you would move along? I’d like a bath myself before we head back to the department.”
Brad’s thinly-veiled amusement turns off like faucet and he turns back around with a murmured yes, sir.
With Brad’s shrewd look thankfully averted, Nate silently grinds the heels of his palms into his eyes.
This is going to be a long assignment.
Chapter 1
Nate, Gunny, and Patterson arrange some time just before the end of the day for their teams to meet in a capacity more formal than jostling elbows while they eavesdrop on their superiors. Patterson’s promised a report, too—an overview concerning wholesale and retail operations of the illegal, but flourishing business of San Francisco’s opium trade.
Brad and the others are waiting just outside the department, lounging by the gaslights. As Nate and Gunny jog down the short staircase and onto the street, Brad instantly falls in step.
The air outside is thick with dust, an unfortunate byproduct of being downtown where the roads are choked with horse buggies and pedestrians, mustachioed men accompanying fashionable women. Decorative parasols bob up and down in the air like the rifles of an army procession, but the feminine voices and laughter beneath them kill the illusion.
“Sir,” Brad says over the din of traffic, “may I ask if we’ve yet to secure an optimal location from which we can station ourselves for the duration of this mission?”
Nate looks at him, taking in the profile of the county Sheriff he’d unwittingly acquired during his sojourn in Reno, Nevada. Brad’s face is blank, but his blue eyes sparkle with mischief as he meets Nate’s gaze and says matter-of-factly, “A bath would be advantageous prior to our official contact with the SFPD later this afternoon. In case you hadn’t noticed, sir—I fucking reek.”
“You’ll be glad to hear,” Nate grins, “We booked a hotel already. Marla’s got a friend in the business—“ Nate rolls his eyes when he sees Brad smirk at the word friend. Apparently, it doesn’t escapes him that a prostitute like Marla makes a lot of “friends” who double as clients in her line of work. He continues, “She knows someone who owns a handful of hotels and boarding houses in California. We’re staying at one nearby, at a pretty steep discount too. Place isn’t too shabby, from what I hear.”
Brad grins with surprising enthusiasm, revealing straight, white teeth as he adds, “Hell, none of this town’s particularly shabby.”
Nate smiles at that, humbled by the reminder that not everyone’s had the luxury of an upbringing like his. Back in Maryland, an afternoon’s ride gets you to any number of developed cities, whether you’re in the mood for the grimy, but thrilling might of New York City or the beautiful, elegant resort town of Virginia Beach to the south.
Even though it's everyone’s first time in San Francisco, the deputies are particularly animated. Christeson, Ray, and Walt have been failing to hide their saucer-sized eyes at every gilded or arcaded building, and Brad’s got an extra bounce in his step as he studies each bit of advanced machinery they come across. The automated cable cars floating up and down Powell, in particular, have Brad so enraptured that Nate’s had to save him twice from stepping in horseshit.
Stafford, Ray, and Walt eventually split off, the former choosing to kill time at a nearby saloon while Ray and Walt explore the seedier side of town, hunting for a housing bargain among the multitude of tenements south of Market. That leaves Nate, Gunny, Brad, and Christeson to check into their temporary homes before returning that evening to meet with the local police.
Nate checks the scrap of paper he’s got in his pocket, directions penned in Marla’s confident hand. Their destination’s on the northern edge of the city, butted up against the multitude of piers that crowd the bay. As for the best way there…
“Looks like we’ll have to take a cable car,” Nate says nonchalantly. The look on Brad’s face is priceless.
-----
Nate could kill Gunny.
There are two possible explanations for his partner’s decision to stick Nate and Brad into one room together:
1. Marshal Wynn is oblivious
or
2. Marshal Wynn is entirely too perceptive
Nate’s certain that Gunny’s unaware of his previous indiscretion with Brad, which had been a fluke anyway, plain and simple. Preceding the incident, Nate’d been in the sun all day, then shooting natives in the dark, and he’d wound up plugged in the thigh with a stinging round himself. He doesn’t feel particularly guilty for the headiness of that candle-warm night, of Brad cleaning Nate’s wound with skilled hands. Of Brad extending his care to Nate’s arousal with an eager mouth.
Nate swears under his breath.
Doesn’t mean it’s going to happen again. They’re working together now; Brad’s his deputy and no matter how much Brad’s heated looks might set Nate’s skin on fire, Nate could never respect himself if he took advantage of his position for a little carnal release.
As if sensing Nate’s wayward train of thought, Brad peers at him and moves close enough so that their arms brush. Nate digs his fingernails into his palms and edges away.
So sure, while Gunny has no idea that shit’s happened between him and Brad…they’ve been partners long enough that he’s probably noticed something’s off. Which begs the question: why not stick the deputies in one room, leaving Nate and Gunny to share the other as they’ve done countless times in the past? Is Gunny trying to set them up like nervous newlyweds, or is he testing Nate’s willpower with the disapproving vigilance of a Catholic nun?
Gunny takes that moment to stride out of the boarding house. Nate watches him approach without comment, Brad pointedly strolling away just as Gunny stops short in front of Nate.
He hands over matching keys—one for Nate, one for Brad. Nate folds them into his palm and lifts his eyes.
Gunny sighs. “Don’t give me that look, Nate. I just figured it’d be good for us to split up, keep an eye on the boys.”
“Gunny—“
“Look,” Gunny says not unkindly. “I don’t think there’s going to be a problem here. But if you do, just say so and we’ll switch rooms.”
It’s then that Nate realizes, his partner isn’t trying to be an asshole. On the contrary; Gunny’s offering him a chance to do this mission right. He isn’t letting an illogical hunch interfere with their mission and he’s trusting Nate to do the same.
Nate sighs, feeling his partner’s trust settle around his neck like an albatross. Still, he’s not going to fuck this up for himself and he’s especially not going to fuck this up for Gunny. After the scandal back home that lingers around Nate like the smell of gunpowder after a firefight…Gunny’s a saint for believing in Nate and the thought of betraying him makes his stomach roil.
“I don’t have a problem,” Nate finally replies. He adds quietly, “Thanks, Gunny.”
Looking satisfied, Gunny pulls back and reaches into his breast pocket for the box of toothpicks he keeps there. He’s trying to quit chaw; his wife hates it. “We’ll meet you here at sunset,” Gunny says, shaking out a toothpick and feeding it in with practiced ease.
Nate gives a mock salute before gathering his travel pack and walking past Gunny, aiming for the entrance to the boarding house. Behind him, he hears Brad wind down his conversation with Christeson and retrieve his own things, following Nate inside.
-----
“Well, at least there are two this time,” Nate says, scratching his ear thoughtfully. He plunks his bag down on the nearest bed, which is opulent compared to his usual digs (flea-bitten mattresses, hay-strewn barns, packed soil). The sheets actually smell laundered and best of all, the beds are fucking huge. His feet won’t even have to hang off the end.
“I don’t like windows,” Brad argues, putting his bag next to Nate’s. Nate knows what he’s doing—Jesus Christ, he didn’t hire Brad to be his fucking bodyguard. He can handle himself if anyone breaks into their room.
“Well, neither do I,” Nate counters, feeling childishly victorious when Brad rolls his eyes and relocates his kit to the bed against the far wall. Unfortunately, any sense of upper hand he has quickly evaporates when Brad flicks his hat off and starts to unbutton his shirt.
Nate frowns. “What are you—“
“Bath, remember?” Brad tosses back over his shoulder. At least he has the decency to put his back to Nate.
“Right. I think they even have running water here.”
Brad flips back the top half of his shirt, revealing a black, circular tattoo at the knob of his spine. There’s a matching one above his left shoulder blade.
Nate’s mouth goes dry.
“Hm?” Brad hums as he sets to peeling off his sweat-dampened shirt, tugging at sleeves while the drooped collar at his back dances around a tantalizing peek at a third tattoo—something red and angry, brewing like thunderclouds.
Eventually, Brad frees one of his arms and the shirt falls aside, unveiling the full breadth of his back like a curtain drawing away at the start of a play. Only, instead of actors in costume, it’s Brad’s skin on display. Nate drinks in the sight, feeling his throat work as he lets his eyes wander.
The tattoo is daring—indecent, really. Gaudy, colored inks spread across Brad’s lower back like a living, breathing painting. On his left, a black, sandy landscape thrusts into a craggy mountain, leading Nate’s eye up and across the shifting grooves of Brad’s spine as the scene launches into a totem-like arrangement of two female faces with long, flowing hair. They remind Nate of illustrations he’s seen from his books in school, about pagan figures such as Artemis, goddess of the hunt. Or Athena, goddess of war. He wonders if they’re meant to represent anyone real.
“Sir?”
Nate snaps his eyes up. Brad’s tone clearly indicates he’s been trying to get Nate’s attention for some time now. Fuck, the knowledge that Nate was caught staring like a schoolboy with his first penny weekly makes his ears burn.
Brad searches his face. The scrutiny feels like a touch, like Nate’s being picked apart on the grounds of his stance, his expression…nothing Nate can even control. He wants to wrap his arms around himself like he’s the one half naked, but even that gesture would give everything away.
When the beginnings of a mischievous smile tweak the corners of Brad’s mouth, Nate mentally slaps himself. This is no behavior for a superior officer.
“Special Deputy,” Nate says, hardening his tone, “if you would move along? I’d like a bath myself before we head back to the department.”
Brad’s thinly-veiled amusement turns off like faucet and he turns back around with a murmured yes, sir.
With Brad’s shrewd look thankfully averted, Nate silently grinds the heels of his palms into his eyes.
This is going to be a long assignment.
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no subject
Date: 2010-09-20 08:26 am (UTC)Oh, Nate. I'm impressed by the repression, I really am, but honestly. (also, <3) And I really approve of shirtless Brad. *thumbs up*
no subject
Date: 2010-09-20 10:59 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-09-20 03:53 pm (UTC)and gunny for the win :p
no subject
Date: 2010-09-20 11:01 pm (UTC)Hee. What's a good romance without friends to enable you with?
no subject
Date: 2010-09-20 10:18 pm (UTC)Doesn’t mean it’s going to happen again. They’re working together now; Brad’s his deputy and no matter how much Brad’s heated looks might set Nate’s skin on fire, Nate could never respect himself if he took advantage of his position for a little carnal release.
Oh Nate, all this self denial, whilst very noble, certainly can't be good for you!
no subject
Date: 2010-09-20 11:01 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-09-21 11:12 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-09-27 02:18 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-09-22 11:52 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-09-27 02:19 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-09-23 05:53 am (UTC)I love happy!Brad!
his previous indiscretion with Brad, which had been a fluke anyway, plain and simple.
Oh, Nate. You poor, self-denying soul.
After the scandal back home that lingers around Nate like the smell of gunpowder after a firefight…Gunny’s a saint for believing in Nate
...what?! That is...really not nice of you.
The tattoo is daring—indecent, really.
LOVELOVELOVE! Of course Nate would be transfixed. Long assigment, indeed! The lucky bastard.
no subject
Date: 2010-09-27 02:20 am (UTC)