The beginnings of a GK fic that were compromised by ridiculous Lonely Island fuckery
Title: It'll come later, ok, guys?
Fandom: Generation Kill
Pairing: Brad/Nate
Rating: G as of right now (lol wut), but that'll more than likely change
Warnings: Unbetaed, just need to get it out there and get opinions. It's not exactly real fic yet.
Nate Fick has known Brad Colbert for longer than he can remember. They didn't see each other all the time growing up, with Brad being at a different school, but they were close. His mom and Brad's mom worked together years ago, before either of them were born, and the families still get together for barbeques before and after local festivals and parades, and on the Fourth of July, even now that he and Brad are well into their twenties. It also hadn't been uncommon to get together for sporting events, or to go out on the Colberts' boat, or to simply be thrown together when their moms wanted "girl time," or to get in a round of golf, something neither Brad nor Nate ever understood the fascination with. Nate never minded. In fact, he always looked forward to it.
In their formative years, Nate always felt like he was just a kid following Brad around, even though Brad never said or did anything to make him feel that way. He knew that those three years separating them wouldn't matter later, but then, it had felt like they were worlds apart. Brad was older, bigger, wiser. He showed Nate how to play video games when he was still in preschool. When Nate was in elementary school, Brad taught him how to play cards, shoot pool, and throw darts. In junior high, Brad demonstrated how to light fireworks without starting a wildfire, and he had tried to teach him to wakeboard, although that hadn't been entirely successful. The surfing lessons during high school were disastrous and better forgotten, and no one dared mention the first time Nate rode on Brad's bike.
Brad had given Nate his first cigarette when he was fifteen and his first beer when he was seventeen.
Brad had always been his enabler, but he was like that to most of the younger kids in their families.
Nate would never forget the moment he realized that Brad was beautiful, although he didn't recognize it at the time. He was six years old, and he was leaning against Brad sleepily on the Fourth of July, watching the fireworks. The loud noises hurt his ears, and he buried his head in Brad's shoulder. He could hear Brad's heartbeat get faster as he watched the display. Curiousity got the better of him, and he looked up at the sky to watch the colors explode and fizzle out. He turned his gaze to Brad, and he felt something that he wouldn't be able to identify until years later. A golden-red glow washed over Brad's face, reflecting in his eyes, and Nate couldn't look away. The sheer joy on Brad's face caught his attention and refused to let go until he drifted off to sleep, pressed to Brad's side.
When Nate was ten, their mothers dragged the two of them to some LPGA tournament that was nearby. They didn't really mind, because there were a few pretty younger girls among the ladies, but with Brad there, Nate wasn't exactly focusing on them anyway. He remembers walking around the course in the blazing July sun, the air thick with the promise of rain.
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Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaand, that's as far as I got when my brother came into my room and made me watch the video to Jack Sparrow by The Lonely Island.
Click to viewWhat fresh hell? Michael Bolton is a reputable fucking musician, is he not? With like, legit music and shit. And the sad part is, he was probably just sitting at home, counting his money and jacking his style, and Andy Samberg came up with this premise. What manner of fuckery is this? I can no longer write fic tonight.
Tell me what you think of what I've got so far, k? Please please please? I'm kind of attached to this one. And no, this isn't the small town best friends one, that'll come later. Just...go with it.