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It was easy to forget how beautiful the desert can be when there was death all around you. On rare silent nights, with only a 25% watch, on the 'wait' part of the 'hurry up and wait' part of the war, it was easy to remember how the inky black of the darkness, the crystalline tint of the sand and the salt-like scatter of stars in the sky could combine into a scene that you would be content to see before you died. Provided of course the death wasn't painful, that it was honorable. A rarity, even in the best of times, especially at this time.
Nate looked over at Brad and hid a grin. The desert was a flat expanse before them, and the sand beneath them was as comfortable as it was going to get. Brad had his legs stretched out, but had raised an eloquent eyebrow at Nate's yoga-like posture before sitting down. He wondered what Brad was thinking. While he knew Brad could see beauty, he also knew Brad had stripped any romance out of this war, which was the smart way to go. Nate couldn't help it though – he still saw salvageable potential here in the desert, despite the incompetent machinations of Schwetje.
"What are you smirking at?" Brad cast a sidelong glance at him.
Busted. "Does anything actually ever get by you, Sergeant?"
"I thought we were off duty, Lieutenant. Or at least pretending."
"My men aren't too far behind us, Sergeant. It would be advisable to take the necessary precautions, despite the appearance of safety."
"Duly noted, Lieutenant."
Enough time had passed – maybe Brad would see the humour in it, and Nate took the chance. "However, I'm not seeing the aggression that I'd like, Sergeant."
Brad let out a brief huff of amusement while Nate tried not to exhale too obviously.
"Sir, it is my recommendation that I take command of any potential drilling operation once we take the city." Nate cast a glance at Brad, confused. Brad turned to him fully and raised that expressive eyebrow. "I believe I'm the most qualified team leader to take over that mission, and sir, I will be direct in saying that if you were to hand off any potential drilling missions to another TL that I would be very disappointed."
Nate turned back to stare at the horizon, trying to stop the grin. "Drilling for oil requires special materials and equipment, Sergeant, materials that might not be easily obtainable once we take the city. It requires special suits, as well as glycerin, hydroxyethyl cellulose, probably some sorbitol. Rare ingredients in our current mission, especially with the proven inability of command to obtain the necessary materials."
Nate turned to look at Brad, who was staring incredulously at him. After a few seconds, Brad shook his head and looked at his legs stretched out before him. "I surrender, sir."
"So quickly?"
"Permission to speak freely, sir?"
"Granted."
"What are those ingredients for?"
"KY Jelly."
Brad let out a short bark of laughter. "I should have paid more attention in chemistry," he said.
"I was inspired that year in high school."
"Why?"
Nate cast a look at Brad, who was still studiously looking at his legs, his hand on the gritty sand close to Nate's knee. Nate put his hand down on the sand as well, close enough for contact. He raised his pinky finger to go on top of Brad's hand, which made Brad look sharply up at Nate.
"Had this classmate who was named after a character in To Kill a Mockingbird. Radley. Hot as hell." Nate felt his face flush, heard Brad's breath hitch. He saw things flit like quicksilver in Brad's face, none of them saying no, and kept talking. "Tall girl, probably more than six feet, definitely more in heels. Not usually into girls that tall, you know? Icy blue eyes, but they would glow when she looked at someone she liked. Like a Nordic valkyrie goddess from mythology, like Freya."
"Your Ivy League's showing, LT." Brad's voice was husky and low, like the slide of leather on heated skin.
"Look it up. Anyway, she was in my chemistry class, and she was hot. She had an ass so tight I dreamt about it at night, near fucking tears because my balls were that blue. Blonde all over too – her arm hair was wispy and light. Legs that went on and on, would imagine them wrapped around me tight and squeezing, and I'd think, I could die happy that way, her wrapped around me like, like..."
"An erotic anaconda," Brad said.
Nate didn't even have a chance of holding the laugh in. "That's Corporal Person's bullshit, Sergeant."
Brad's grin gleamed, feral and somehow too appealing. "Don't talk about Corporal Person when you're in the middle of talking about the Nordic goddess, LT. Besides, way you were talking there, I wasn't sure if Corporal Person hadn't somehow taken over your personality."
"It's freeing to be filthy, what can I say?" Nate looked down and tried to tamp down the smile, tried to refocus his train of thought. He made sure to keep rubbing his finger on Brad's hand, roughened by sand and hard work.
"There's not a day I don't think about it, Lieutenant." When Nate looked up, Brad was looking at the horizon, appearing unruffled and calm as always. "About pink lips around my cock, or strong hands with blunt nails stroking it. Reddish blond hair when I look down. Green eyes when we make eye contact. Pale skin with freckles everywhere. The smell of sweat. A voice that makes me look for it when I hear it."
Nate closed his eyes and tried to breathe calmly. When he opened them, Brad was still looking at the clear expanse of the desert around them.
"Do you ever wish you could tell the future, Sergeant?"
"Not even once."
"How come?"
"What would be the point? You'd just be going through the motions of your life."
"But you could change what could happen."
"Playing God. Don't see the appeal in it." Brad looked at him, his face devoid of expression.
"So you're saying it's just us who should be responsible for our lives."
"Thought you knew that much about me at least, LT," Brad said with a faint air of disappointment.
Nate let that spin in his head for a little bit then asked, "You believe in plans though, right?"
Brad nodded his head, his gaze turning questioning. "As long as it's a plan by someone with a fucking clue, yeah."
"Do I qualify, Sergeant?"
"Sir, why are you asking stupid questions?"
"First rule of recon, Sergeant: You can never be too sure."
"Sir, you qualify as someone with a fucking clue."
"Good," Nate said, "good." Nate felt like he was back in training for air deployment – the lack of air pressure as the cabin door opened on the plane, the dizzying rush of air, the great leap into unknown, uncharted waters.
"I was planning on staying in California after all this," Nate said quickly. He looked at Brad, whose impassive face was really impressive. Until it cracked, and Nate would forever remember how the cool expression was sloughed away like dead skin, how the faint bit of hope, of affection that leaked through transformed Brad's face into something new, with something softer limning his sharp angles. Nate held his breath and thanked millions and millions of dollars worth of Marine training.
"I have room," Brad finally said, an oddly shy quirk curving his lips up. Nate let the breath go.
END