Free Falling Through The Nighttime Sky by Luna Sky (NC-17)

[http://users.livejournal.com/_steelphoenix_/]

Fandom: GENERATION KILL
Pairing: Nate Fick/Brad Colbert
Length: 13529
Author on LJ: lunasky
Author Website: Unknown
Why this must be read:

Yuletide Treasures (site, AO3) brings some amazing fic into all fandoms, but especially those smaller fandoms that typically don't get as much love - and it's produced some stunningly good GenKill fic across the years.

This in-theatre fic simmers with tension and the slow build of the relationship - and when it finally gets there, it's fantastically hot. The pacing is snappy, and hits all the right notes. The guys are very subtly portrayed and fantastically three-dimensional. It also features Brad being a complete smartass, Nate just being smart, and moments of honesty and humour that round this out into one of the best in-theatre relationship stories I've read.

The corners of Brad's mouth curl up in what Nate is beginning to recognize as Brad's version of a wartime smile. "You look like shit, sir," Brad says finally.

Nate's still reeling from the odd reaction he's had to Brad's closeness. Thankfully it's dark and he's filthy—it's unlikely Brad noticed anything.

"I was trying to sleep," Nate says, gesturing around them.

Brad gradually sits back. "Trying being the operative word. You look more wired than Ray on a pound of Ripped Fuel, sir. If you don't mind me saying, I think you need a little help relaxing. Want me to get you a magazine? I have access to a few good ones. I doubt you pansy-ass officers carry around your own moto-material."

There's a sudden bubble of hysterical laughter sitting in Nate's throat, waiting to come out. He's not sure when they went from talking about Brad's obsessive guilt about the shepherd to finding porn for him to jerk off to.

"Excuse me?" Nate can barely get the words out.

"Not to discount the effectiveness of counting sheep, sir, but I think you need something a little more effective to help you relax. Especially if you're so wired, that you'd rather listen to my psycho-babble than get some shut eye. I've got the May issue of Hustler that's not bad. Erika on page forty-five is fucking hot and so is Nina on sixty-three. If you'd rather something different, there's Tony on page hundred and five—"

Nate chokes on his own spit and starts hacking up a lung. Brad gives him a few hard whacks on the back before Nate can assure him that he's fine, in all respects. Brad shrugs and eventually goes back to his truck, leaving Nate alone in his grave, contemplating the finer points of the Don't Ask, Don't Tell policy. His guilt is all but forgotten.

He doesn't notice it until the next morning that he actually managed to fall asleep without an hour of tossing and turning.

Free Falling Through The Nighttime Sky