Fic | GK | predators (the best are the ones who don't look like they're hunting), 2/3
part 1
"Well, fuck me. I think my eyes must be deceiving me."
Nate straightens up from where he's rummaging around the flat's fridge for something-anything-to drink. The temperature just keeps on climbing back up to the fucking 90s like that didn't get old weeks ago. Nate's been forced to miss one too many morning runs to feel like enjoying the season anymore.
"Hey, Rob," he says, nodding at his flatmate. Rob raises his arms to brace against the kitchen doorway, looking at Nate incredulously.
"'Hey, Rob'? Seriously? That's what you give me? Where the fuck have you been, man? I was ready to go file a missing person report."
Nate chuckles. "Don't be melodramatic, you just saw me a few of days ago."
"Not the point, man. You only stop by and then disappear again. I don't remember when you last slept the night here. What are you up to? More importantly, who are you up to?"
"Don't worry, sweetheart. I promise you're still the one," Nate winks, finally sighting a bottle of Gatorade hiding behind a carton of eggs that are definitely pushing the best before date. He lets the fridge door swing closed and makes for his room, shouldering Rob lightly out of his way.
"Liar," Rob sniffs. Then, "The least you could do to make up for holding out on me is to come to the pub tonight."
Nate glances back, lifts his chin in a sign of acknowledgement. "I'll think about it," he promises. Rob doesn't look convinced. "I will," he repeats, pushing open the door and saluting Rob with the bottle.
"See that you do, asshole," follows him through the door, muted, as he closes it. Nate grins, marching up to the desk and booting up his laptop. He hasn't checked his email in at least a week.
What the-
His fingers still on the keyboard, body going on high alert as his mind registers something only his subconscious picked up in the 180 degree periphery of his vision.
His heart suddenly pounding triple time, Nate whirls around.
"Nice, homes," Ray comments, eyebrows raised, slouching against the far wall. "Three and a half seconds. Dude, I'm impressed. Of course, you didn't have a stake at hand and that's a big fucking minus, so no top marks for the Ivy Leaguer on this one. Seeing them coming is of no fucking use if they still end up draining you."
Nate closes his eyes and draws in a deep, calming breath. "Ray. I wasn't expecting a visit. I realize it's been a long time since you had to concern yourself with the social conduct of us lowly humans, but you almost gave me a heart attack."
"Nah, homes, you're made of sterner stuff than that," Ray grins. "Also, I know CPR. Want to test out my mouth-to-mouth skills?"
An involuntary laugh escapes Nate at the comment, his pulse finally slowing down. He schools his face and pretends to think about it. "I don't know, Ray. Doesn't that require you to actually-breathe?"
Ray mock-gasps. "Nathaniel, you wound me! Just because a guy happens to be undead doesn't mean they don't have feelings. I have feelings, homes. My feelings, they're-wounded."
"I'm sure they are." Nate's dry tone is completely wasted on Ray. "What ever can I do to make it up to you?"
"Are we talking a universe with or without Brad in it?"
Nate pauses, missing his turn in the back-and-forth. Judging by the gleeful expression Ray's wearing, he knows that the thought which immediately crosses Nate's mind is something utterly whipped like there's no universe for me without Brad in it.
Nate might be blushing. Again. Goddamnit.
"That's okay, baby, our love remains star-crossed and unattainable," Ray says, winking at Nate and making him laugh again. The tension diffuses.
"That reminds me, though," Ray finally pushes off the wall, and Nate's amazed he was able to stay in one place for three whole minutes, "I goddamn well gave you the Vamp Territory Lecture, didn't I?"
Nate blinks. "Yes?"
"Then what the hell are you doing, flirting with your flatmate?"
Nate opens his mouth immediately, but Ray doesn't give him a chance to protest. "If it had been Brad here, listening to you call him fucking sweetheart, the local police would be collecting bits and pieces of Mr. Nag there off of your lawn for weeks."
"Ray, you're exaggerating. After all, you are still all in one piece," Nate points out.
"Yeah, because Brad knows I'm not actually stupid. Or suicidal."
Nate stares. Ray stares back. Nate lifts an eyebrow.
Ray throws up his hands, rolling his eyes. "Fine! Honestly, homes. Don't say I didn't warn you."
"Duly noted." Nate remembers the bottle he brought into the room and snags it from the table, screwing open the top. After taking a swig, he frowns. "What was that you said, before?"
The atmosphere turns much less light suddenly. Nate perches to half sit on the edge of his desk. "About stakes and-is there new intel?"
Ray turns back from studying Nate's bookshelf.
"Well," he starts, rubbing the back of his neck in a very human gesture, "me and Walt were tailed last week."
Nate looks at him sharply. "You didn't let Brad know?"
"Yeah, I did."
"What? But I-" Nate falls silent. "Oh, that fucker."
Ray's grin is crooked, ironic. "Damn, homes, don't tell me you didn't get the memo?"
There's mixture of indignation and disappointment and worry gnawing at Nate. "That fucker," he repeats, softer.
"Nate. In Brad's defense-it really isn't your problem. You don't need to get involved with this shit."
"Fuck that." Nate's mouth is pinched tight. "Someone fucks with him, with you, they fuck with me. End of story."
Ray's eyes are wide. After a long frozen moment, he forces out a chuckle, features relaxing. "Dude. You've got to stop doing that. Don't you know that promises of violence do to vampires what catnip does to pussies?"
He shakes himself, crosses the room and throws an arm around Nate‘s shoulders. "So, homes. I heard you promising a night of debauchery to your boring Yenta roomie with the separation anxiety. "
Nate can already guess where this is going. "Wait, Ray-"
"Brad would lock me in a freezer for a week if he heard I'd let you go be drunk and irresponsible without supervision, so here's what will happen. I'm going to just happen to run into you in a bar, and then you can introduce me to your pussy friends as your dear old pal, in town for a visit, and invite me to join you."
Nate's sigh is resigned. "I don't suppose I have a choice in the matter?"
Ray's gleaming grin is answer enough.
+
"Yes?"
"Homes, you'll never guess where I am right now!"
"If the correct answer is in the brig, you've just wasted your one phone call."
"Dude, don't you know me at all? As if I wouldn't just glamour the shit out of everyone and break out. Although, if I wanted some entertainment out of the deal, I'd put in a call for the fucking White House first, hang around to watch the Secret fucking Service trace it to the desk of some over-weight red-neck detective-"
"Ray."
"Right, right. Since you asked, Brad, I'm just outside a pub in Dartmouth, waiting for Nate and his little friends to settle down before I go inside and accidentally trip on them or something. Nate will be surprised but ecstatically happy at running into his old buddy unexpectedly."
"Let me guess. You ambushed him with your brilliant idea and he was too polite to tell you to fuck off."
"Christ, homes, you could show a little gratitude."
"Gratitude?"
"Yeah, man, as in thankful-Ray-is-doing-this. Not only will I keep an eye on him, in case our young Nathaniel ends up in a vulnerable, inebriated state-"
"He can take care of himself."
"-but I can also act as the substitute Iceman for the night and break some fingers if the guy who was checking out his ass earlier tries to get any closer."
"…"
"Brad? Brad, I was just kidding. Mostly."
"…"
"Brad, seriously, man. Put the car keys back down. I can safeguard his virtue for one night, Scout's honor."
"Ray, the Scouts took one look at you and immediately relocated to the opposite side of the state. Maybe the whole country."
"I'll overlook the slight on my character this once, because I'm awesome like that. Don't worry about anything, homes, Ray-Ray's got this."
"Jesus. What are you doing in Dartmouth in the first place?"
"Uh, dude. Visiting Nate?"
"You aren't planning to bother him about the goddamn Marines, are you?"
"Fuck, yeah, I am! I'll get him wasted and make him sign a fucking contract disallowing him to entertain a single thought about joining any goddamn branch of the US military. Wait, no, any military. Or special forces or some other fucking government black ops team. He also can't become a firefighter."
"We can't-it's his life, Person."
"The fuck it is! What are you going to do if he gets shipped off to some third world Haji desert and then he-"
"Shut up."
Pause.
"You know, Brad, we wouldn't have to think about any of this if you'd just-"
"No."
"Let me fucking finish, would you? He'd make a gorgeous fucking vampire. Shit, I mean, the boy is special now, okay, and after the transformation-he'd be powerful as hell, it's so fucking obvious. Fuck, the breathers wouldn't be able to drop to their knees fast enough!"
"No, Ray."
"What if he's got something to say about that?"
"He hasn't even lived yet."
"Oh, fucking-fuck you, Brad, and your profound insights."
"I can't help it if I'm smarter than you."
"Yeah, yeah. Go suck on a blood bag, Iceman. I'll go in and sit thigh-to-thigh with Nate and get high on his scent. You remember how fucking hot these crowded pubs tend to get, and how much the smell of a human's blood increases when they're over-heated?"
Heavy pause.
"You'll pay for that, Ray. Be assured."
"Nothing I haven't heard before. Have fun, now. Enjoy those blood bags!"
+
It's close to one in the morning when they stumble out of the pub. Rob is off his face, as per usual, and the rest of their friends aren't far behind. All of them are half-haphazardly queuing to shake Ray's hand or slap his back. Nate thinks he sees Tommy go in for a hug that's just on the far side of bromantic. Huh.
"Yo, great meeting you."
"Dude, the next time I'm in Boston you better take me to that strip club."
"You're the man, Ray," someone else slurs, and Nate has to bite his lip hard. Ray glances over at him like he can sense the silent insult. When the guys have finally gone, probably heading off to someone's flat for an overly boisterous after-party that will manage to piss off every resident in the near floors, Nate bursts out laughing.
"Finally found an appreciative audience, huh?"
"I don't know what you mean, homes, I'm a joy to everyone around me," Ray declares promptly. "You want me to give you a lift to Brad's?"
Nate feels pleasantly buzzed, a little horny. He would like nothing more than to surprise Brad, use the key carelessly pressed into his palm one morning as he was leaving for class; let himself inside and walk over to Brad where he's sitting down on the low sofa, pretending he didn't hear and smell Nate from hundreds of yards away, like he's not just humoring Nate waiting inside the house instead of meeting him at the door.
The picture causes a heavy, drugging heat to coil in Nate's stomach, imagining the obvious next step, stepping between Brad's long legs and dropping to his knees on the carpet in front of him, fingers already reaching out to Brad's belt.
"Jesus Christ, Nate," Ray's voice breaks into his thoughts, and when Nate turns to look at him, startled, Ray actually looks flushed. Nate's face colors in a matching blush. He's half-hard just from the brief half-assed fantasy, and he can't even imagine what he smells like, with the smoky pub's heat on his sticky skin and the dark rum he's drunk, and the slow, easy arousal.
Nate's opening his mouth, not completely sure what he's going to say.
And that's when the vampires are on them.
+
"Nate! Nate! Fuck-" But then Ray's face is smothered by stuffy black velvet-and seriously, how fucking tacky could you get, it was a wonder the losers weren't wearing motherfucking capes-as the snarling fashion fucking victim takes him down with a flying tackle, cutting off Ray's line of sight to Nate.
The vampire stinks like new death, four months, tops, and the pair of them is fucking special-education stupid to attack with nothing but surprise on their side. Then again, it's also totally possible they just haven't been debriefed on who, exactly, they've been sent after. Because, you know, the Iceman doesn't let just anyone hang around for a good 150 years.
Ray wasn't kidding earlier when he told Walt he kind of enjoyed the previous vampire war.
Right now, though, trying to get rid of the reeking sorry piece of shit as fast as possible, Ray's sort of really fucking scared. He doesn't like the feeling, at all. The shit-for-brains newbie vamp goes down in less than a minute, the place between neck and shoulder a colorful torn-open mess, but even that could be too fucking long, and what if, what if he gets up and sees-
Ray scrambles to his feet and stops short. His jaw drops open, oily-tasting blood dripping off his chin into the ground. Vampiric astonishment-record the moment, homes, because it doesn't fucking happen, ever.
"Alright, Ray, you won. You can take me to a stake gift shop. Do you think I could get one with my initials carved on it?"
Ray is still reeling and Nate is fucking baiting him, grinning like they're debating gag presents. The second vampire is lying on its back in the dirt, twisting in agony under the heavy silver bracelet, almost a chain, draped over its melting face, screeching in pain every time it tries to get the grip to fling the thing off.
"Fucking A, homes. You might have mentioned you weren't totally without security measures." Ray is torn between pride and irritation and over-whelming relief that he doesn't have to tell Brad that-
Jesus, he can't finish the thought.
Nate snorts in reply. "I've been telling all of you I can take care of myself, haven't I?"
Ray remembers Brad echoing the words, only meaning something pretty fucking far away from attacks by hired vampire thugs, and just barely represses a shudder. Shit, and obviously he's turning into a fucking breather, full of twitches and reactions and other weak-ass emotional shit. He scowls. "Yeah? And what if there had been three of them? Four?"
At that, Nate sobers up. "Luckily there wasn't." He looks down. "You'd better finish them off so that we can get the hell out of here."
Ray couldn't agree more. The one with its jugular gaping open is still twitching and gurgling, too drained for fast regeneration but getting there. Ray fishes the stake out of the modified ankle holster and crouches to run the vampire through. When he turns toward the second one, still restrained by the silver, Nate says, "Wait."
He holds open a palm.
The thrust is strong and sure and unwavering, straight into the heart. Afterwards Nate picks up the bracelet from the pile of dust on the ground, puts it in his pocket.
Someone fucks with him, with you, they fuck with me. End of story.
Damn, homes.
+
Ray sees the exact moment Brad clocks on to the fact that something's off. One moment the Iceman's standing at the porch, calmly watching and waiting, and then he's a blur and tearing at the front passenger side door to get to Nate before the car has finished rolling into a stop. Ray is passingly worried about gouge marks left on his baby.
It takes about two seconds for Brad to have Nate out of the car, and the door of the GTO is probably only a little dented. Ray sighs and kills the ignition, gets up to follow.
It's-possibly worse than Ray expected. The stench of unknown vampires and fresh dusty death is heavy on them both, unmistakable. Brad's eyes are nearly all whites and he's sort of vibrating, kept in place only by the meticulous check he's giving Nate, both still standing right beside the car, Brad's fingers following something like the half hidden paths of veins, stopping at pulse points with their cover of unbroken skin.
"Brad. Brad-" Nate's voice doesn't seem to be really registering.
"Dude," Ray starts and takes a step closer. Brad comes out of the haze and whirls around, fangs shooting out.
"What the fuck happened?"
Ray will deny for the rest of his undead life taking the same step back. Because, best friends and all, Brad wouldn't accidentally kill him just because he's enraged and temporarily slightly insane, right? Right?
"Hey," Nate says, quieter. Ray watches him reach out a hand to Brad's face, tries to get him to turn back to look at him. When Brad resists, Nate splays his fingers against his cheek and pushes a thumb in Brad's mouth, slowly stroking up and down one of his fangs.
Brad's eyes slip halfway shut. Prodded once more with another soft hey, Brad, he faces Nate again. After a moment, his fangs retract.
All of that is-sort of disturbingly hot. Not adorable or anything, because Ray would totally never use a pussy word like that, but just really fucking hot. Not having a camcorder on hand will be one of Ray's greatest regrets ever. He's pretty sure Walt would've fucking given his '77 Thunderbird to see that.
Walt.
"Shit," he hears his own voice say suddenly, kind of weird-sounding, "Walt, shit," and then he's diving back into the car for his phone.
"We didn't think to check with anyone," Nate says, slowly, like he's talking to himself, and sounding shocked and embarrassed like it's a personal failure. "They could've attacked in multiple locations at the same time, that's what we would've done. They could've already been here."
Ray punches in the number and leans against the side of the car and waits, and waits, and waits, listening to the fucking dial tone while Walt doesn't pick up, and watches Brad and Nate exchange disgustingly intense looks with each other. Two more fucking beeps and he'll take off for Boston, and if-
"Yeah?"
The relief rolls in a shudder up his spine. "Walt. Everything okay back there?"
"Business as usual. Something happen?"
"You could say so, homes."
+
It could have been someone trailing Ray from Boston, which Brad doesn't really believe, because whatever his numerous other faults, you don't tail Ray Person-you get taken for a ride and fucked over and laughed at after you find yourself in some completely useless location, with no information and your target long gone.
It could have been Brad's new supplier selling out, which is unlikely as well but not impossible. Brad will visit him to make sure, and if Meesh turns out to be the one responsible he'll end up lingering painfully just on the cusp of existence, carefully almost bled out and left in the sun somewhere secluded, to take days or weeks to die.
It could have been a stroke of luck to McGraw's guys, nothing more. And that gets him more than anything. Because he should have taken care of it before it came to his, before there was even a real fucking possibility-
Brad can't quite stop touching Nate, has forced himself to minimize the contact to a palm cupping the back of Nate's neck instead of running his hands all over him. Nate's steady pulse beats against Brad's fingertips while he tells Brad what happened, concise and probably cleaned up for his benefit. It still makes Brad feel cold, numb-thinking about coincidences and likelihoods and dumb fucking luck and close, too close.
"Walt will stay put the rest of the night," Ray says, coming in from finishing the call. A little earlier, Nate had nudged Brad meaningfully, eyes cutting towards Ray's crushing grip on the cell phone, and steered them inside. "Q-Tip and Christeson are closest, they'll get down there early evening tomorrow, if the little fuckers don't get distracted by karaoke or the local wildlife on the way."
Brad exchanges a look with Ray, knows they're both thinking of the same thing. Who can they trust, how many of them can be in Boston in less than 24 hours, and how badly outnumbered will they be in the end in any case.
Ray grins suddenly. "Dude, just like old times, huh?"
Brad says, "Not quite," and doesn't look at Nate.
Ray does. Brad hears Nate sigh. Ray, for once in his fucking life, exhibits good strategic understanding of a situation and starts edging toward the empty room off the hallway. "So, homes, I'll just start making the calls, while you two-catch up."
They watch Ray scurry off. "Subtle," Nate says, faintly amused.
"That's Ray," Brad responds, automatic, feeling a bit too raw to smile while still hearing a soundtrack of too fucking close in his head.
Abruptly it's very clear what needs to happen.
"You should go visit your parents. Stay in Baltimore until the semester starts."
Nate doesn't move a muscle, doesn't say anything for a moment. When he does, it's a single word, very calm and very firm.
Brad doesn't let himself tense, to get angry. He didn't really think it would be that easy. "We can't be sure they won't have time to send in a replacement when they realize where their latest lookouts dropped off the map. They could have someone in Dartmouth observing." Looking for leverage.
"That might be, but it doesn't really matter since I'll be going with you and Ray."
Fuck, fuck, fuck. Brad can do this, he has to-he can lie and hurt Nate because he can't bear the alternative.
He turns to face Nate for the first time in the conversation, making sure to look straight into his eyes.
"You'd be nothing but a liability."
Nate swallows, but doesn't back down. "That's not true."
"You got lucky with an incompetent, undisciplined fledgling and a piece of silver. That's all."
"Brad, you don't seriously think I'll agree to sit somewhere safe, not knowing what's happening with you."
"Maybe you'd better start getting used to that. Tonight was obviously a sign that this was a-bad idea, from the start. A mistake."
Nate draws in an uneven breath. Brad has never seen his eyes look so green.
"I know what you're trying to do, Brad," he says, mouth tight.
Brad shrugs. He can't get any more words out. His entire body feels chilled and dead.
Nate swallows again. "It's not the timeline I would have preferred, but if you turned me-"
"Jesus fucking Christ, Nate!" He's standing up before he knows it, furious and out of control. "I failed in my estimate of how close they'd got. I let you go off alone when I knew there was a legitimate threat. I kept pushing off dealing with this because I didn't want to leave when I didn't know how or when I'd be coming back. You were attacked because of me, and you could have fucking died tonight, and you think I'll let you anywhere near any of this ever again?"
Nate is silent for a long time. Then, slowly, impossibly, he starts to smile. A relieved, happy smile, like something's resolved, when nothing is.
"You don't have a choice, Brad," he says, voice gentle, sure. "Just like I don't."
Brad wants to argue. Wants to say something to make Nate walk away, permanently, back to his old life, except-
Except imagining it makes him think it doesn't really matter what happens after the thing with McGraw. Whether he even survives it.
The yell carries clearly through the doors and walls from the front of the house. "Brad, you fucking ass! Just give in to your big homo feelings and stop playing the fucking martyr! We'll keep him safer than his own mama could, so would you please stop it with the fucking bullshit gay-ass drama and go fuck already? We've got a war to start tomorrow."
Nate is biting his lip, almost managing to hide his smile.
Brad closes his eyes, feeling ridiculously, pathetically lighter. He resists another second or two but- "Come here," he rasps.
Nate fits against his body, warm and painfully familiar. We'll keep him safe. Yeah. Yeah, they will. Because there's no choice.
When they start moving towards the bedroom, Nate's wrist ends up encircled in Brad's grip. His quickening pulse is strong and calms and grounds Brad like a talisman, something sacred and unique.
+
He starts at the naked shoulder blades and moves down Nate's sides and back, rubbing his face and lips against Nate's skin until every inch is painstakingly covered and Brad can only smell himself on Nate again, him and Nate's own scent. He's hard, just from this, from laying Nate out and claiming him again. If that makes him an animal then, fuck it, he really couldn't give a shit.
His fangs are out, he doesn't have the energy or even the presence of mind to fight it right then. Besides, he can do this, now, easily; even when his fingers twitch and tighten almost into leaving behind bruises on various parts of Nate's body, he can skate just the tips of his canines over Nate's back, lighter than a barest scratch, just proving the reality of Nate's body under his, Nate's willing surrender of its care to Brad.
Nate is shivering, his hips in constant restless motion against the bed. "You know that's worse than any fucking foreplay, right," he complains huskily, and Brad thinks he means to say better because he smells so good, suffers it so well.
Brad pushes his nose closer to skin, trailing the sweaty, turned on blaze of Nate's scent. His mouth opens wide, the inside of it bursting with saliva and the imagined tint of blood. The rough of his tongue dipping flat down the path of Nate's spine gathers up the flavor of Nate's want, warm on him. Brad's arms, keeping him braced over Nate, give a little as he shudders.
"God, Brad," Nate's voice is hoarse, and Brad would smirk and tell him not to confuse him with the wrong crowd if he could form a single whole sentence.
"Lift up," he forces out roughly instead, drawing back, and when Nate gets shakily to his knees in front him doesn't wait before stretching Nate open to his gaze and then gripping tight and licking him slow, from balls up to the end of his spine.
Nate jerks hard, breathing out jesus or something like it, and Brad's dick jumps in a sort of fucked up echo, wired to Nate's pleasure. Brad does it again, just licks Nate good and slow, and then again, and Nate's muscles are trembling and the back of his neck is a mottled red, infused with blood.
It doesn't take long for Nate to completely lose the control over what he's saying, biting his lip as long as he can against the pleas for more, but Brad could do this a damn sight longer than Nate's pride or embarrassment can hold out, and when Nate's pretty hole is shiny with spit and pulsing in need under his mouth Nate starts talking, begging, and Brad can't even concentrate on feeling smug because the way Nate sounds makes his dick ache and leak more than he thought possible without actually coming.
He'd like to take even longer with this, but when Nate hangs his head and asks for it, so soft and strained, thighs shaking under Brad's palms-please, Brad, please-a wave of heat runs through him and in the end he can't do anything but obey because, let's fucking face it, all he wants to do is give Nate everything, anything.
He jacks Nate hard and fast and deliberate, and when Nate comes he's silent, just shaking and mute until he collapses onto the bed, flushed and boneless. Brad follows him down, flush against the length of his body, dick pressed tight into the back of Nate's thigh, hips moving almost not at all, rubbing just enough to alleviate the painfulness of his sky-high arousal.
Nate twists his head back from where it's smothered into the pillow and says, "You won't be able to get rid of me, because my life is already yours," and that's when Brad loses it, grinds down hard as his body tenses all over, shooting on Nate's skin, adding to the their smells mixed together.
part 3