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crack_van2012-02-29 09:07 pm
http://users.livejournal.com/_steelphoenix_/) wrote in crack_van2012-02-29 09:07 pm
Entry tags:
Pleasure Over Propriety by Alethia (NC-17)
It's been great driving the Humvee for you guys over the month - thanks for riding along! Don't forget to give feedback after-actions to the authors! Oorah!
Fandom: GENERATION KILL
Pairing: Nate Fick/Brad Colbert
Length: 6107
Author on LJ:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
alethialia
Author Website:alethialia
Why this fic must be read:
I discovered (yesterday morning) that I had an extra day to rec something for. Hm, says I, what to rec? I decided tp go for something that would end the month on a good note - and of coursealethialia's fic came immediately to mind - humourous, hot, and very well-written.
This fic's premise is hilariously meta. It's about what might happen if Brad and Nate discovered that people on the internet are writing porn about them. It's hilarious fun - not just situational, but because of how the guys react. The characterisation is excellent, and the voices are just perfectly done. The tension and anticipation are absolutely excellent - and of course, porn ensues. It's hot, and real, and full of feeling.
It took Nate a moment to realize that no, the high-pitched strain of "Copacabana" was not in his imagination; he really was hearing it in the middle of his Economic Analysis of Public Policy class.
He'd turned the ringer off.
Nate frantically rustled through his bag, but in his periphery he could already see Professor Wilborn watching him. No doubt with an irate, you-will-die expression firmly in place.
Nate had seen the professor's reaction to others' phones. He was assured of this.
He finally found the damn thing and thumbed off the sound, but not before the unmistakable triple-beep of an incoming text message rang out, just to add that last touch of perfection.
The world hated him. Or, more specifically, Brad did.
"Something urgent to which you must attend, Mr. Fick?" Wilborn asked haughtily.
"No, sir. I apologize. I turned that off."
"And yet, still we were graced with the strains of such timeless music. I think since you've already interrupted us you should at least indulge our curiosity about what takes precedence over this class."
Nate blinked at him.
"Would you care to read it to us? Come now, you wouldn't leave us to wonder for all eternity. Doubtless it will be illuminating. Why, I'm sure it will even ease your mind. It must be something of singular importance." Wilborn gesticulated as he made his points, delivered in an indulgent tone, just to dig that much deeper.
Nate didn't respond. This wasn't about him, after all.
Or possibly his participation was required, given Wilborn's expectant look. "No? Nothing to say? Perhaps you'd like a classmate to read it for you? I'm sure Mr. Darby would be perfectly willing." He gestured to the student to Nate's right, as if in an offer of aid.
Nate grudgingly opened his phone and clicked on the text message. Or, rather, text messages, plural. Four of them.
Fuck.
He cleared his throat. Brad's texts tended to be brilliant, profane, and hilarious. Nate very much enjoyed them, but they weren't exactly fit for general consumption, most especially not for innocent civilian ears.
Of course Brad couldn't call him at a convenient time, when he might be able to talk.
Nate immediately banished that thought. This wasn't Brad's doing. Brad—who was currently assigned to the Royal Navy in England and who'd invariably get sent to fight in Iraq again while Nate sat safe in classrooms all day—Brad could call him whenever the fuck he wanted. Nate preferred the calls to the silence, even if the silence might be easier in some ways.
Nate never was one for taking the easy way.
"People on the Internet are writing porn about us..."
Pleasure Over Propriety
Fandom: GENERATION KILL
Pairing: Nate Fick/Brad Colbert
Length: 6107
Author on LJ:
alethialiaAuthor Website:
alethialiaWhy this fic must be read:
I discovered (yesterday morning) that I had an extra day to rec something for. Hm, says I, what to rec? I decided tp go for something that would end the month on a good note - and of course
alethialia's fic came immediately to mind - humourous, hot, and very well-written.This fic's premise is hilariously meta. It's about what might happen if Brad and Nate discovered that people on the internet are writing porn about them. It's hilarious fun - not just situational, but because of how the guys react. The characterisation is excellent, and the voices are just perfectly done. The tension and anticipation are absolutely excellent - and of course, porn ensues. It's hot, and real, and full of feeling.
It took Nate a moment to realize that no, the high-pitched strain of "Copacabana" was not in his imagination; he really was hearing it in the middle of his Economic Analysis of Public Policy class.
He'd turned the ringer off.
Nate frantically rustled through his bag, but in his periphery he could already see Professor Wilborn watching him. No doubt with an irate, you-will-die expression firmly in place.
Nate had seen the professor's reaction to others' phones. He was assured of this.
He finally found the damn thing and thumbed off the sound, but not before the unmistakable triple-beep of an incoming text message rang out, just to add that last touch of perfection.
The world hated him. Or, more specifically, Brad did.
"Something urgent to which you must attend, Mr. Fick?" Wilborn asked haughtily.
"No, sir. I apologize. I turned that off."
"And yet, still we were graced with the strains of such timeless music. I think since you've already interrupted us you should at least indulge our curiosity about what takes precedence over this class."
Nate blinked at him.
"Would you care to read it to us? Come now, you wouldn't leave us to wonder for all eternity. Doubtless it will be illuminating. Why, I'm sure it will even ease your mind. It must be something of singular importance." Wilborn gesticulated as he made his points, delivered in an indulgent tone, just to dig that much deeper.
Nate didn't respond. This wasn't about him, after all.
Or possibly his participation was required, given Wilborn's expectant look. "No? Nothing to say? Perhaps you'd like a classmate to read it for you? I'm sure Mr. Darby would be perfectly willing." He gestured to the student to Nate's right, as if in an offer of aid.
Nate grudgingly opened his phone and clicked on the text message. Or, rather, text messages, plural. Four of them.
Fuck.
He cleared his throat. Brad's texts tended to be brilliant, profane, and hilarious. Nate very much enjoyed them, but they weren't exactly fit for general consumption, most especially not for innocent civilian ears.
Of course Brad couldn't call him at a convenient time, when he might be able to talk.
Nate immediately banished that thought. This wasn't Brad's doing. Brad—who was currently assigned to the Royal Navy in England and who'd invariably get sent to fight in Iraq again while Nate sat safe in classrooms all day—Brad could call him whenever the fuck he wanted. Nate preferred the calls to the silence, even if the silence might be easier in some ways.
Nate never was one for taking the easy way.
"People on the Internet are writing porn about us..."
Pleasure Over Propriety