Celebrate Prompt Times, Come On!

[sweetprince]

Last week's Flashforward totally paid homage to Generation Kill (I'm choosing to view it that way anyway). A woman driving in a HumVee in Iraq radioed in to Godfather as Hitman 2. And in the same episode that Callum Keith Rennie was gallivanting about. When I was watching it last night I had to immediately inform amberlynne.

Also, I spent like the last ten days of my life writing a really shitty story for my writing class that made me want to tear my hair out. THEREFORE, I think it's time for another prompt (snippet, time stamp, what have have you) party so I can enjoy writing again. You know the drill, any fandom I've written for in the past is fair game. Do not feel pushy. Dear SPN people, I would kill for some good prompts, I have not abandoned you!

Have a song for your trouble: Easy by Dragonette. It's the most romantic unromantic song I've ever heard. And I kinda hope to feel this way about someone one day.

Model!AU: Brad's first time bottoming for Nate for amberlynne
Brad/Sam for nomelon
Lucifer!Sam and Michael!Dean for killer_fiend
Ray signs Brad up for a dating site for setissma
Cop!AU: Walt goes to fetch Brad to give his report for jujubinha
Jared/Jensen, Riding a bicycle for ignited
Brad/Nate in SPN universe for oxoniensis
More ASkars/Batman for memphis86
SPN/Chuck Crossover, threesome between Sam, Ellie, and Awesome for rosekay
Professor!Alex and Fratboy!Stark for miss_saigon
Cop!AU: The first time Brad and Nate have sex for alethialia
Brad makes Nate slow down after being injured for irishdf
Brad/Nate, Sixteen Candles AU for amberlynne
Brad/Nate, Skinny-dipping, sort of for trolleys
Brad/Nate, MotoGP AU for katenotkit
Outside!Pov at the beach for aboutademongirl
Brad/Nate, grocery shopping for godofwine
Brad/Nate, in a motorcycle gang for kasiowy

Comments

pushy bitch is pushy

[amberlynne.livejournal.com]

Model!Brad wanted me to tell you that he is, indeed, ready to be fucked. No, seriously. He totally totally is.

Re: pushy bitch is pushy

[dark-reaction.livejournal.com]

Nate never asks. They have sex everywhere—in the shower, slip sliding, Brad dumping half the items on the porcelain counter on the floor as he reaches out the shower door in the quest for lube; on the floor after Nate’s come back from a run, sweat leaving an outline of their bodies on the hardwood; across the desk in Nate’s room, Brad pinning his wrists to the surface.

He learns that when Nate thumbs Brad’s pulse he’s imagining Brad naked, and when Nate fiddles with the hem of his shirt so that Brad’s eyes are inevitably drawn to his dick, he wants Brad to suck his dick. But he never tries to top. And Brad doesn’t know what that means. Sometimes he feels in the moments before coming, Nate straining on his dick, flush extending down to his sternum, darkening even his nipples, that he would like to know what it’s like.

Nate’s expression is a revelation. He must want it, who wouldn’t want that tight heat clenching around his dick, pushed in so deep he feels at the center of everything Nate is. But he doesn’t ask and Brad starts wondering if he fucked this up, if they missed some important step, and now Nate feels like he can’t ask because Brad’s been straight up until now and still doesn’t know what he’d call himself if somebody asked his sexuality point blank.

At the end of NY fashion week Brad is going a bit out of his mind. He hasn’t seen Nate much, he keeps ducking Calvin Klein who wants him for some short-step away from pornographic spread with Eva Mendes, Nate’s been invited to about 2 billion afterparties and openings and private get-togethers because everybody actually wants to suck his dick and listen to him talk about world politics while they do it. Nate walked for Elie Tahari and Brad did Dior Homme with Stafford, and they all got to laugh at Ray in his crazy hairdo for Lanvin. Pretty much every time he sees Nate it comes up in his head. And when they get back to their little apartment in NoLiTa after the whole thing is over, scrubbed down and subdued, he just out and says it.

He sets his keys down with a heavy clunk and says, “Do you want to fuck me?”

Nate’s standing in front of the open fridge in soft ratty La Coste sweater he’s had for as long Brad’s known him, gulping down a Moroccan Mint Honest Tea. He turns towards Brad, shutting the door with an absent hand. His eyes crinkle in a grin and he sets down the bottle and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “Sure.” He leans back against the kitchen counter. “Right here?”

Brad blows out a breath. “I..no, I thought you would…uh…” He can’t say this without completely ruining the atmosphere.

But Nate gets it. He steps into Brad’s space. “Ah, you want me to fuck you.”

“Is that okay?”

Nate brushes his lips over Brad’s jaw and says, “Yeah, that’s okay.”

He’s slow about it. He gets Brad laid out on his bed, kisses him slow and sweet as he slides the first two fingers inside. Brad makes a sound in the back of his throat, pushes down into the mattress. The sensation is unpleasant, and the unease of that knowledge settles in tight over him. Nate slows down, presses his thumb just under Brad’s balls. He tips Brad’s chin back further, hand at his throat, and fucks into Brad’s mouth with his tongue.

Nate doesn’t use any of the platitudes guys have for virgins and girls who are unsure, that Brad has used himself. He doesn’t say anything. He just smoothes a palm down Brad’s side, tightens his fingers around Brad’s hip, so that Brad remembers there’s more to his body than the uncomfortable stretch in his ass. His dick spurts out pre-come when Nate scissors his fingers and tongues at Brad’s nipple. Brad slides his fingers over Nate’s scalp, not wanting to stop that tenuous grasp he has on good.

When Nate finally slides his cock in, he hits Brad’s prostate on the first stroke and pauses. Brad chokes, head bobbing drunkenly on his neck, stretched wide round Nate’s dick, and Nate drops a kiss in the hollow of his throat.

“Was saving that,” he says simply, flush running down his body.

[nomelon.livejournal.com]

I just got through watching Generation Kill. How about some Brad/Ray (which I think I am feeling rather OTPish about). Prompt: adrenaline, mouth, bruise.

[dark-reaction.livejournal.com]

I don't...ship Brad/Ray.

ETA: Sorry, that seems really kind of final. But yeah, I am OTPish about Brad/Nate. I thought you knew! You can ask for something else altogether?

[killer-fiend.livejournal.com]

Lucifer!Sam and Michael!Dean together, and not in a "I hate you" way, but "let's get together and rule the world" way.

I also noticed the Generation Kill reference. I smiled so wide when I heard that. My sister was like "Do you see that show in everything?" and I responded "OF COURSE IT IS AN AMAZING SHOW/STORY/LIFE!!!"

Part 1

[dark-reaction.livejournal.com]

So er, this is not what you asked for, but this seized me halfway through and I couldn't stop myself!

*

“Do you ever wonder if we start to take on our vessel’s characteristics?” Lucifer asks, blowing his bangs up out of his eyes. He’s glad he doesn’t seem to have to cut it here.

“No,” Michael says shortly. He doesn’t look up from the bookshelf he’s building for books they don’t have. The only sound in this place beyond that of their voices is the steady pound of his hammer. Lucifer snorts and doesn’t take him seriously. Michael doesn’t like Dean, is maybe even embarrassed by him. He was probably hoping for a protestant schoolteacher or somebody who ran soup kitchens. But it doesn’t matter how he feels. Ever since Michael thrust them outside time and sealed the door behind them, he’s been softening and developing all sorts of idiosyncrasies.

“What’s that song you’re humming?” Lucifer asks, lying on his back, staring up at gray nothingness. He’s been peering at it for days, trying to make the heavens form above him. The stars or maybe the sunset sky would be a welcome change.

“Excuse me?” Michael says, finally looking up from his carpentry. He’s got a nail in the corner of his mouth and another one in his hand.

Lucifer rolls onto his side to face him and props his head on his hand. “Black Sabbath,” he says and smiles.

“You would know,” Michael replies grumpily and viciously hammers the nail into cheap pine. He’d wanted oak, but it took too long to imagine it back into existence here in this place so he gave up and dealt with the pine instead.

Lucifer sighs and shakes his head. “That was really pathetic.”

Michael looks up, green eyes flashing. He points at Lucifer with his hammer. “You want to talk about pathetic? Nothing is as pathetic as your whole ‘I loved him too much’ crap!”

Lucifer flops back onto the ground. “Oh, not this again.” He fists his fingers in the velvety gray something that is really nothing at all. He doesn’t know how long they’ve been here. He doesn’t count like Michael does. They’re eternal so it hardly matters how long. They’ll be here forever. He regrets not knowing what’s going to happen outside. Even in hell he at least had that knowledge. He closes his fists tighter and grunts in surprise when he feels wet earth underneath his borrowed fingernails. When he sits up there is grass growing as far as the eye can see. Against the gray horizons it looks like a vibrantly emerald shag rug.

Michael makes a disgusted noise in the back of his throat and pretends he doesn’t notice. He built himself a bed and a little sink to wash at. He has a light to hang above them both even though it never gets dark here. Every day he folds and refolds the clothes Dean was wearing when they went through the portal, but he always wears the things he imagined for himself instead. Lucifer figures he just needs to be doing something after watching Lucifer scream and pound at the walls of their endless gray cage for days. Michael had hardly moved, mouth drawn into a thin line, until Lucifer realized it was futile and he’d spent millennia imprisoned in hell for nothing, only to end it here, under Michael’s disapproving gaze. It was a strangely calming realization.

He renews his staring at the sky. It stays gray and boring, but now it looks like a fog has rolled in. “Would you stop that?” Michael says, setting his hammer down on top of the unfinished bookshelf with a loud thunk. He glares at Lucifer over his shoulder.

[setissma.livejournal.com]

NOW THAT LIVEJOURNAL IS FUNCTIONING.

I would just like to preface that I am totally basing this on about thirty bad romantic comedies and I apologize in advance for my total lack of prompt skill, but I think that Brad and Nate totally need to meet on Match.com or OkCupid or your terrible online dating site of choice. (You know Ray would totally create a fake profile for Brad just to watch hilarious responses roll in.)

Possible hilarious hijinks involving this, sort of like a choose your own adventure:

1. Since Ray was behind Brad's profile, Nate is slightly under the impression Brad is a hot girl.
2. Neither of them are using accurate pictures.
3. Brad isn't going to respond to any of the emails, seriously, but the guy likes the single worst football team on the planet, and he kind of has to point it out, and then they spend like a month accidentally falling for each other over google chat.
4. Phone sex.
5. ...um, Ray. Ray is his own number.

[prysmicdork.livejournal.com]

I must voice support for this prompt of AWESOME. Ray knows Brad is all brokenhearted and shit and dating some hot chicks will totally fix him.

[jujubinha.livejournal.com]

Maybe a deleted scene from Cheap Charades? I love that AU too much.

[dark-reaction.livejournal.com]

What would you like specifically? Somebody else asked for their first time, but your welcome to ask for anything else.

[ignited.livejournal.com]

J2, bicycle. A magic bicycle. IN A MAGIC AU! OR STEAMPUNK! (Or not, whatever, I just like sparkles to spice things up.)

...I would say Sam/Dean, tandem bike, but those shits freak me out, they are in danger of FALLING OVER. WHAT.

Part 1

[dark-reaction.livejournal.com]

The day after Jensen makes an ass of himself at Lady Treadle’s teaparty, in front of her pig-tailed daughter and half the society mamas, including the mother of the girl he’s courting, Jared shows up. He’s on a brand new bicycle in a brand new cream morning suit, cap perched jauntily on his head—it makes his already darkening complexion look golden brown. The sun beats down and his collar is already loosened.

He calls from the street, “Come on, Ackles, it’s a beautiful day, you can’t hide your face forever!”

“It’s hardly been a day!” he replies, standing reluctantly at the door. He doesn’t want to see anybody right now.

Jared shakes his head. “Come try my new bicycle, lunkhead. I’m sure it’ll all be fine.”

Jensen takes his time—getting a cold pork sandwich, pretending that his tweed coat and hat aren’t hanging in Tibb’s arms, secreting a book in his pocket if Jared gets distracted and dumps him off. When he heads back outside, Jared’s leaning the bicycle up against his hip and half-smiling at him. “Thought I’d leave, did you?”

“One can only hope,” Jensen replies darkly, eying the contraption. He’s never been on a bicycle. He’s always found it silly. His own two feet do perfectly well for him, but if Jared hasn’t gotten tired and left him already, he’s not going to. He sighs and goes down the stairs.

Apparently what Jared means by ‘trying it’ is Jensen wobbling back and forth while Jared walks along side him and hangs onto the back. He pedals, but his feet keep slipping off and everybody is staring at them. They barely get down the street before he’s had enough. “Ugh, I feel my dignity has been done a sufficient blow. You can take me back now.”

“You didn’t really ride it,” Jared replies, stopping.

Jensen is suddenly aware of his strong hand at the back of his seat and how close they are. Jared smells like bergamot and sandalwood and if Jensen turns his head, his nose will brush right across Jared’s throat. Jensen drops his eyes and tightens his lips, hoping he isn’t blushing. “I don’t need to ride it. There are books to read, things to take care of.”

[oxoniensis.livejournal.com]

I was trying to think of some sort of Dean and Sam are stuck in Generation Kill prompt, but I couldn't think of anything that'd work. So then I realised it'd be much more fun if it were Brad and Nate stuck in Supernatural (I have no idea why, but they're stuck there). And of course they're bemused at demons/vampires/etc being real, but super competent at destroying them too, and later there's lots of alpha male posturing between Dean and Brad, while Sam and Nate look on amused.

I sort of fucked around with dates and SPN's canon, OH WELL.

[dark-reaction.livejournal.com]

Brad’s bike breaks down on the 273rd day after the event according to the calendar Nate stenciled onto the wall of a shed. There’s nothing Dean can do for it without spare parts. Brad just nods and walks off into the scrubby hills surrounding their improvised compound. His shoulders are a deliberately relaxed line that tells Nate just how upset he is.

Dean sighs and looks at his baby, the gleaming Chevy Impala that has come through hellfire and damnation looking like the day it was first driven off the lot. It’s a guilty look. He tucks a dirty red rag into his back pocket, and wipes sweat off his brow with the back of his hand. A grease stain is left behind.

“Tell him I’m sorry,” Dean says, already turning towards the ramshackle cabin he shares with Sam.

“He knows,” Nate replies softly.

Before they came across the Winchester brothers and their little ragtag band of misfits, they were losing a person every day. Since then they haven’t had a single casualty. Nate knows that Brad figures the bike is worth it, even if he would never have had to ride it so far if it weren’t for Sam’s missions. Realizing that is not the same as blithely accepting though. He blows out a breath, looks at the orange sky, and doesn’t know what to do next.

“You should go after him,” Sam says, suddenly behind him in that mysterious way he has.

Nate doesn’t jump, like most of the ragged remains of Bravo platoon, he’s gotten used to it. But it still freaks Ray out when Sam turns up out of thin air.

“I’m not sure that would be a good idea,” Nate replies, turning to look at Sam.

Sam shrugs. “It’s what you want, it’s what he needs. Sometimes being there to let someone rage at you…” Sam shrugs and trails off, eyes going distant, reminding Nate that there is a lot of history to Sam and Dean and Castiel and Chuck that none of them know.

Nate bites at his lip and then nods. “Okay.”

He follows the direction Brad went, boots scuffing over dry dirt. It takes him awhile to find him. Brad has always been better at locating him than the other way around. Brad lies spread-eagled in a ditch, staring up at the sky. Nate slides down the side to sit next to him. He doesn’t say anything because he doesn’t know where to start.

Brad turns to look at him. “What up?” he says, like it’s the old days and they’re just shooting the shit.

Nate rolls his shoulders. “We can…maybe find the parts to put it back together,” he offers weakly.

“It’s okay,” Brad replies, lip tilting sardonically at one corner. He still looks beautiful amid the broken detritus of their former lives.

Nate struggles to say something that’ll sum up the entire situation and make it better, but he’s never been good at this sort of thing, just stumbling by on earnestness and candor. “I just know it was the only thing you had left.”

Brad’s chin lifts. “Is that what you think?” He reaches up with dusty fingers to trace a line down the side of Nate’s face. Nate’s eyelids flutter and Brad’s fervid gaze makes him flush. Brad thumbs across his cracked and chapped lower lip. “It’s not what I think,” he says slowly and leans up to kiss him.

[memphis86.livejournal.com]

ASKARS/BATMAN. GO NUTS.

Actually if you want a prompt, Bruce needs help tying his bowtie for a gala because Alfred burned his hands the week prior after Batman had a nasty run-in with Firefly. :D

OR HEY MAYBE WRITE SAM AND DEAN BEING VERY UPSET THAT EASTWICK WAS CANCELED! Because you know Dean watched for Rebecca Romijn.

P.S. I still want my very own pepsi icon. Or maybe I just want a pepsi. Either way.

[dark-reaction.livejournal.com]

When Bruce finds Alex standing in the Batcave, staring at the Batsuit, his first thoughts are that he’s never felt such complete and utter despair in a long time. He’s been keeping this secret for so long and so well, his anger comes more from shock than anything else. He knew better than to take Alex back the manor after he saved him from the thugs, and yet some perverse instinct had lead him astray.

“Nice car,” Alex says simply and Bruce shakes his head. He can’t kill him, but he doesn’t trust him.

“You’re angry,” Alex says.

Bruce snorts. “Oh yes.”

Alex lounges back on the hood of the tumbler, long legs spread apart in obscene invitation. He looks like a very expensive slut. He eyes Bruce, face expressionless and tells him, “I’ve jerked off thinking about you.”

“I’m currently wondering how I’m going to dispose of you and you think that’s appropriate?” Bruce asks, incredulous.

Alex grins, resting back on his elbows. “Good time to be honest, I thought.” He’s wearing one of Bruce’s cashmere sweaters and it hangs loose in the shoulders, but ends several inches above his waistband, showcasing a tanned strip of skin. Bruce flexes his hands and breathes deep. He wants to punch something. Preferably Alex. In the head.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“No,” Bruce replies shortly. He yanks Alex by his knee, dragging him down the Tumbler until he’s flush between his thighs. “You cannot.” He bends down, placing his palm down hard on the car next to Alex’s head. Alex turns his head to look at it, eyes expressionless, and Bruce guides his chin back with a forceful hand. Alex stares up at him unblinking and he bites at Alex’s lower lip. Alex jerks against him and Bruce notes that he didn’t break the skin. He soothes the abused flesh with a swipe of his tongue, reveling Alex’s forever grinning lips flood with blood and swell under his touch.

“I knew you liked me,” Alex breathes when Bruce pulls up, never losing his dignity even as tugs his head back to expose his throat.

“I knew you liked it rough,” Bruce shoots back, reaching between them to tear Alex’s zipper apart. He jams his hand inside, fisting Alex’s hardened cock and chuckling as Alex’s mouth opens on a soundless moan.

Alex’s swan neck, the muscle that runs up into his jaw, has been taunting Bruce and he nips it, feels his throat work as he sucks dark bruises into Alex’s skin. Alex moans, hand fisted tight in Bruce’s hair. “When was the last time you got laid?” he asks, voice roughened. When Bruce tightens a knuckle under the head of his dick, he clamps his legs tight around Bruce’s hips.

Bruce doesn’t answer. He covers Alex’s mouth with another kiss to shut him up and continues to work him with his hand. Alex likes it when Bruce presses his thumb into the slit, he likes it when Bruce sucks on his tongue before biting at him again. When Bruce pulls away again to stare down at him, he curses, hips bucking up into Bruce’s grip. He shudders when he comes, one arm over his eyes as his mouth opens and closes. Bruce watches the entire thing, fascinated, mouth still wet from Alex’s spit.

When it’s over, the last aftershocks still making Alex tremble, Bruce extricates himself, wipes his hand off with a spare rag. When he looks back at Alex, he’s zipping himself up. Bruce swallows, as far as countermoves go, messing around with Alex on top of the Tumbler is pretty weak. Alex smirks at him, fingers at his buttons. “Should I not bother? I could go again.”

“Jesus, be quiet,” Bruce says, irritated by his lack of options.

Alex comes up behind him and runs his lips in a line just behind Bruce’s ear. “I won’t tell anyone if you let me fuck you.”

“And then what?” Bruce asks, leaning into the touch.

He hears Alex’s grin in his words. “We can play cops and robbers.”

[rosekay.livejournal.com]

Speaking of Callum Keith Rennie, I think that Skeet Ulrich is a in fact the CKR/Johnny Depp extra weird looking lovechild, thus explaining my embarrassing attraction to him (excuses excuses!) Watch Scream again and see! Or Jericho, so someone can write me awesome fic. It's a very natural crossover with GK - I think Skeet's character was supposed to have been in Iraq at some point in five years prior to the show. CRASS UNSUBTLE HINT

Actual prompt: Sam/Ellie/Awesome! Ellawesam? Sell Awesome? Awesammie?

Had to edit a bit

[dark-reaction.livejournal.com]

Sam doesn’t know how he got from the emergency room to a cute little first floor apartment in Burbank. He doesn’t know how he ends up on a California king bed, naked, pressed back against the hard and still completely clothed body of Dr. Woodcombe or Call-me-Devon. He’s out of his mind with exhaustion, two of his fingers are probably broken, and Dean’s still in the hospital. He breathes shallowly, mostly confused.

The other Dr. Woodcombe or Call-me-Ellie, gets up on the bed, sliding between his legs. She brushes her long curtain of chestnut hair out of her face and grins at him cheekily. Sam shuts his eyes, feels guilt settle in to his stomach.

“Shh, let us take care of you,” Ellie says, hair trailing over the inside of his thigh.

Devon strokes down Sam’s chest, past the ripples of his abs, to wrap tight around his dick. “Nice, how much do you lift?” Devon asks, thumb pushing hard just under Sam’s balls. Sam looks down his body, staring at his own muscles straining in sharp relief. Ellie smiles again and ducks her head to suck the tip of his dick into her mouth.

“I…don’t…” Sam tries to say as her tongue curls around the crown and then pushes against the slit.

“You don’t…lift,” Devon says in his ear, voice softly incredulous. He scrapes his teeth over Sam’s jugular and then bites down. “I don’t believe you,” he says against Sam’s throat. Ellie closes her hand around Devon’s, stroking his fist up and down Sam’s dick while she sucks hard at the head.

“Is she doing the tongue thing?” Devon asks, amused. He doesn’t let Sam answer. “That thing always gets me.”

Ellie looks up past Sam’s shoulder to meet Devon’s eyes and then sinks her mouth down to meet their clasped fists. Sam makes a helpless noise, dick hitting the back of her throat. He tries desperately not to move.

Devon turns his head, stroking a thumb over his adam’s apple and meets his mouth with a crushing kiss. Devon’s lips taste like chapstick. He's so achingly normal, even as he and his pretty wife sit here debauching Sam.

Devon kisses like it could make him forget the last twenty-four hours of his life, large palm cupped over Sam’s chin. When Sam moans, Devon smiles against his mouth and traces a finger down the shell of his ear and nips again at Sam's lower lip. Ellie’s still stroking his dick, but it’s turned into lazy uneven pulls. Sam figures she must be watching them intently. He shudders in Devon’s arms and doesn’t know why that turns him on so much.

Devon pulls back slowly. He says something to Ellie that Sam doesn’t catch, but then Ellie’s pulling off her shirt and pants, and Devon’s sliding a condom on Sam’s dick, while Sam breathes harshly through his nose. Ellie meets his eyes as she straddles his hips, checking to make sure he’s okay. Sam nods and she slides down on dick, one hand braced on his shoulder. She takes her time, flush spreading over her chest, and Sam has to struggle not to come right there. Ellie starts bobbing experimentally on his dick, she ducks her head to her chest and moans as he shifts and scrapes over her g-spot.

He can feel Devon’s erection against the small of his back, but Devon makes no move to do anything about it. He brushes a loving hand over Ellie’s thigh and keeps another one pressed to Sam’s chest, holding him back against him. Ellie’s started up a smooth rhythm and she rolls the nipple of one breast between her fingers, taking her own pleasure. Sam still feels drunk and out of control, he doesn’t even realize he’s crying, until Devon whispers softly into his ear and turns his head for another kiss.

He keeps it lazy and slow. It might be the sweetest kiss Sam’s had in a while, Devon’s tongue sliding in and out of his mouth, their lips catching together. Ellie comes first, contracting around his dick and trembling. She holds herself up with a palm in the center of Sam’s chest, pressing hard into his sternum. She continues to move languorously, up and down until Sam comes, groaning into Devon’s mouth.

“God,” Ellie says in a low voice, pulling off him. She rolls up the condom and ties the end off, pitching it at the wastebasket. Sam’s skin feels tight and too sensitized. His head rolls on Devon’s shoulder, and Ellie leans in and kisses him with a sweet flicker of tongue. “Thank you,” she says.

*

[miss-saigon.livejournal.com]

Here via amberlynne hope it's okay to crash but how about a couple of pictures? These awesome manips from trolleys have me craving some sort of Professor!Brad/fratboy!Nate AU.
(http://smg.photobucket.com/albums/v177/msaigon/?action=view&current=alexnerdt.jpg)
(http://smg.photobucket.com/albums/v177/msaigon/?action=view&current=starkglasses.jpg)

Part 1

[dark-reaction.livejournal.com]

So I changed it to Alex/Stark, because I couldn't imagine Brad in that outfit in a million years. I hope that's okay!

*

Stark’s bio anthro professor is a total fox. He wears about fifty layers that he doesn’t need, in colors that don’t match, and maybe nobody else knows it, but Stark does. He’s always chewing on the end of a pencil and looking up over the edges of his coke bottles in this way that Stark feels in his heartbeat. If Professor Skarsgard weren’t teaching bio anthro, Stark never would’ve taken it. He’d finished up all of his science requirements ages ago, he’s graduating in four months, he’s got lacrosse practice every day of the week, and duties to Kappa Alpha Epsilon, but Stark needed a challenge.

He tells Hugh about it in the KAE kitchen one morning over breakfast. “He’s Swedish and like 6’4 and wears these really terrible clothes, but sometimes, just sometimes, you’ll catch a moment of him, and you know, underneath all that crap, he’s totally effing gorgeous.”

Hugh eyes him blearily over his coffee and says, “You are so gay.”

“Yes, thank you,” Stark replies straddling the back of a chair, fresh from his morning run. “I just have to figure out what my hook’s going to be.”

“Suck his dick? I heard from an annoying little freshman that you’re good at that. Which, I thought we agreed no more pledges!”

Stark laughs. “You agreed, I never said anything.”

“Ugh, get out of my site, you cad,” Hugh bites out and rests his head on the table. Stark decides right then and there that there’s no time like the present.

“Excuse me Professor, I wanted to talk to you some more about the metabolic load hypothesis,” he says after class while Professor Skarsgard is zipping up his laptop into its case and pulling his coat on. “Are you free for office hours or should I make an appointment?”

“Stark, right?” Professor Skarsgard asks, waiting for his nod before continuing. “I have office hours tomorrow from 2 to 5. Can you make that?”

Stark nods.

He shows up at four on the dot and listens to Professor Skarsgard talk about lactational amenorrhea for fifteen minutes before interrupting him. “Yeah, because of luteotropic hormone, I know all that. I did the reading.”

Professor Skarsgard leans back in his chair. “So what seems to be the problem?”

Stark blows out a breath, shoots Professor Skarsgard an up and down look, and then gets to his feet and walks around the desk. It’s crazy, but he’s just going to go for it. If Professor Skarsgard tells him to fuck off, he’ll just say he read the signals wrong. Which you know, not a total lie, since there are no signals at all. Professor Skarsgard stares at him, bemused, as he steps closer.

[alethialia.livejournal.com]

Omg, YAY!!! ::twirls::

Um, more of the wine AU! Or Cheap Charades!boys finally have sex!

Part 1

[dark-reaction.livejournal.com]

After the most hellish day at work Brad thinks he’s ever had, he goes to Nate’s place. Nate isn’t expecting him and he answers the door in a pair of ratty jeans and a heathered FBI t-shirt, glasses perched on the end of his nose. He takes one look at Brad’s face and tugs him through the open door. Brad sets his helmet down on the keystand and then collapses on Nate’s couch. It’s just big enough so that his legs don’t hang over the edge. There are papers and files all over the coffee table, and half-drunk glass of red wine sits on the corner.

“Just trying to get my taxes together,” Nate says softly and presses a cold bottle of Amstel into his hand. He sits down on the sliver of cushions left next to Brad’s hip and doesn’t ask him to talk about it. Brad takes a swallow of beer and sighs in relief. He feels like the knot in his stomach has loosened a little and he runs a hand down Nate’s thigh in silent thank you. Nate nods and pulls his glasses off, squinching his eyes and rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“So what’d you do on your day off?” Brad asks.

“Slept late, made pancakes, taxes, you know.”

“Mm,” Brad says and sets the beer bottle down on the coffee table. He leans up and kisses Nate, focusing on the sweet curve of Nate’s lower lip rather than all the bad stuff running through his head. Nate tastes like expensive Zinfandel and Brad smiles inwardly at the image of Nate uncorking a good bottle to sit down and do his taxes.

Nate pulls back and runs a thumb down Brad’s jaw. His irises are dark, swallowed by pupil, and Brad feels it in his gut that Nate represents everything that’s good in his life. It’s a bit frightening. Nate shifts so that he’s straddling Brad, knees tight around Brad’s hips.

His smile is closed-mouthed, Brad’s hint that he’s up to something, and then he’s bending to brush his lips over the shell of Brad’s ear. He blows softly and says, “Want to come to bed?”

Brad closes his eyes, takes a minute to just enjoy Nate’s touch, his smell, the way his weight feels right on top of Brad’s awakening erection. “Yeah.”

Brad’s spent the night before, rubbed off on Nate on top of his six-hundred thread count sheets, kissed him until his mouth was sore and swollen, jerked Nate off and imagined sliding his dick between Nate’s lips. Something about this feels different. Nate gets up off of him and drains the last of his wine. He shoots Brad a come-hither look over his shoulder and disappears into the bedroom. Brad follows at a more sedate pace, shrugging off his shirt and stepping out of his jeans. He’s careful to fold them over his arm because Nate will freak out if he leaves them in a pile on the floor.

Nate’s pulled the covers down and piled up all the pillows when Brad gets to the bed. He pushes Brad back onto the sheets and nips at his mouth before Brad tugs Nate down on top of him. Nate cards his fingers through Brad’s short hair and then pulls, directing Brad’s mouth where he wants it. He strokes over Brad’s lower lip with his tongue and then slides it over the roof of Brad’s mouth. Brad moans and shifts so that their dicks are lined up. He feels warm and comfortable and being turned on seems minor compared to just touching Nate.

“Why are you still wearing clothes?” he breathes and pushes Nate’s shirt up his spine, fingertips dragging in the groove so that Nate arches, catlike. Nate pulls his clothes off between kisses. He drags Brad’s boxers down his thighs to get to his dick. Brad thinks for a second with Nate’s head bent over his dick, about asking him to suck it, but then Nate slides up his body to lick over his collarbone and the hollow of his throat and he forgets all about it.

Nate makes these soft breathy noises when he’s turned on, like he’s savoring it, and he’s making them now as his swollen red lips close over Brad’s left nipple. Brad’s hips lift and Nate chuckles softly. His eyelashes flutter, brushing over the skin of Brad’s shoulder.

[irishdf]

I don't know if you're still accepting prompts or not, but I'd like to play.
Just a couple of ideas I thought that I'd toss out there.

1) When Brad brings Nate home to meet the family for the first time. If he's described him ahead of time, or just here he is.

Or ...

2) Nate's returned from a diplomatic mission gone bad, somewhat banged up from a hostage situation or what-have-you. Brad tells him he's grounded.

If you feel like it. If not, thanks for all of the delightful prompt responses you've posted in the last little while. They're super fun. And a nice quick read before work. *g* Much appreciated. :)

Hope this is good!

[dark-reaction.livejournal.com]

Three of Nate’s fingers are broken, his arms in a sling, and his eye looks like the sun is rising in the skin with blood darkening his cornea. He answers the door his damn self, phone wedged between his shoulder and his ear, smiles when he sees Brad and gestures him inside. His hair is freshly washed and he’s wearing ratty sweats.

Brad hasn’t seen Nate for months, but the last time he did, Nate was in fine shape, fingers unsplinted. Brad had kept staring at his mouth and wondering if he had the guts to ruin their friendship by kissing it. Now Nate’s lip is split and he’s talking about fundraising for non-profits and damage control for some upstart congressman’s fuck-up on the hill. Nate extricates himself from the conversation politely and sets the phone back in its cradle.

“Brad,” he says, sitting down heavily on the couch. “You look great! I thought you were supposed to be in Oceanside beating new recruits up. ” He shakes his head. “I don’t even know why I’m surprised at you showing up.”

Brad stares at him. He says sternly, “You should be in bed.”

Nate waves him aside and says dryly, “Can’t stop progress. Sit down, can I get you anything?”

Brad opens his mouth to say no, he’s fine, but the phone rings and Nate holds up a finger on the undamaged hand and picks it up. “Steve, hi! I was waiting to hear from you…we should be set with the July figures…no, not off the top of my head. Let me check.” Brad watches Nate wrestle his laptop open. He pages through an excel spread sheet. “Yeah…46.5…no, no, it’s not great, but it’s not completely embarrassing either….you heard…thank you…I’m recovering fine…all right…well thank you…yes. I’ll let you know when we know more…Goodbye, Steve.”

Nate sighs and sets the phone down again. There are dark circles under his eyes, but he’s lit by a sort of manic energy. “Right, did you say if you wanted anything?” he asks, shutting his laptop again.

The phone rings again and Nate shakes his head. “I’m so sorry. Help yourself to whatever’s in the fridge, my sister stocked an entire grocery store in there when I got back.” He pushes the talk button on the phone and says in a falsely jocular voice, “Hello, Ian…yes, I just spoke to Steve…not exactly, but we’re optimistic.”

Brad shakes his head. He can’t believe this. Nate has actually lost his mind.

Nate brushes hair out of his eyes and reopens the laptop, typing away one-handed. Brad says, “Put the phone down, sir.”

Nate mouths ‘I can’t’ back at him and then nods like whoever’s on the other end can see him. He writes something down on a post-it and tacks it to the table next to piles of accordion file.

“Sir, I’m going to count to three, and by then you better have put the phone down.”

Nate shakes his head and smiles apologetically, going through more statistics with this Ian who is clearly taking advantage of Nate in his weakened state, making Nate calm him down from a snit after his car was T-boned and attacked by hired thugs in Pakistan.

Brad raises his brows and says, “1…2…I’m not kidding, sir,” he shoots Nate a dark look,“…3.” Nate ignores him entirely and Brad has to wrest the phone from him. He plays dirty and pokes him in the bad arm to get him to drop it. Nate lets go with a sound of pain that makes Brad feel only momentarily guilty and Brad brings the phone up to his ear and says, “Nate will have to call you back, right now he’s being sent to bed.”

“Brad!” Nate says, eyebrows drawn down over his eyes. “That was an extremely important phone call.” He reaches for the phone and Brad holds it up out of his reach.

Brad blows out a disgusted breath. “Not more important than you and your health,” he replies.

“Brad, give me the phone back or so help me—”

“Will you give up and go to bed, if I offer to suck your dick?” Brad asks, arms crossed.

Nate stops protesting and gapes at him. “I…er...” He blinks owlishly at Brad and blushes a deep red.

Brad grins and shakes the phone at Nate. “Let me just put this away then.”

[amberlynne.livejournal.com]

Doooooooooooooooooooooooooo iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit!

[dark-reaction.livejournal.com]

Brad’s sixteenth birthday sucked. His entire family forgot, Poke was unsympathetic because he was pretty much knee deep in his girlfriend. He took a quiz in study hall with some really embarrassing answers about his sex life that Poke then lost. His quite possibly actually mentally defective sister was getting married to a most definitely mentally defective and possibly disease ridden idiot with mob ties, and she laughed at him for having a crush on Nate Fick, a senior dating the homecoming queen and the most gorgeous guy to attend John Hughes High, who Brad had never even spoken to. Brad had then proceeded to strike out at the dance, get cornered about eight different times by Ray Person and once possibly might’ve felt Ray’s erection against his leg. And if that wasn’t enough he had to watch Pupi Kaka, the extremely strange exchange student from Greece staying with his Grandparents hook up with the captain of the track team while Brad went home alone. And then got laughed at by his younger brother because he was relegated to the sofa for the night, only to then have an extremely embarrassing conversation with his dad who thought his poor gay son had his first crush on none other than his sister’s definitely mentally defective and possibly disease ridden idiot fiancé.

But the day after Brad’s sixteenth birthday was probably the best day of his life up ‘til then. The cars were just pulling away from the curb, everybody was waving his sister (who was hilariously whacked out of her mind on Quaaludes) and mentally defective off, and Brad was thinking to himself how much he hated his life and then a funny thing happened. The road cleared revealing none other than Nate Fick leaning against his classic hot rod, dressed in loosened combat boots, a mint-colored v-neck, and grey stovepipe jeans. It killed Brad a little how perfectly dressed he was. Nate tossed his bangs out of his eyes and smiled the heart stopping smile that had been driving Brad nuts in study hall for three months and then waved at Brad.

Brad loosened his wedding-issue bowtie and looked around himself. He was the only one standing directly across from Nate at the church steps. “Me?” he mouthed at Nate and Nate nodded back, mouthing “Of course, you.”

Brad swallowed and walked down the stairs. “Hi,” he said tentatively. “What are you doing here?”

“I heard you were here,” Nate replied and the corner of his mouth lifted in a smile. He shoved his hands in his pockets and looked up at Brad from underneath his eyelashes. “Do you have to go to the reception?”

“Yeah,” Brad answered. He swallowed.

“Can I call you later?” Nate asked, head cocked.

“Yeah…no,” Brad replied.

“No, I can’t call you later?”

“What?” Brad replied. “No, I mean…I’m not going to the reception.”
Nate smiled up at him and gestured to his car with his head. Brad nodded, following a step or two behind Nate, enjoying the view of Nate in his jeans without having to worry for once about being caught. He couldn’t believe his good luck. Unless Nate just wanted to be friends or shoot the shit about girls. Because he was…you know, straight.

But today, the day after Brad’s sixteenth birthday, really was the best day of his life. Because when they got to Nate’s house, Nate had a cake waiting for him and a birthday kiss, which was really more of Nate pushing Brad up against the wall, nibbling at his lower lip, and then fucking Brad’s mouth with his tongue until Brad thought he was leaving marks in the wallpaper with his nails.

“First kiss, huh?” Nate said, sliding his mouth over Brad’s jaw. Brad nodded weakly and Nate kissed him again. And technically Brad’s first kiss was in the front seat of a dummy car in autoshop with Ray Person’s erection on his leg, he was refusing to count it. He liked this one with Nate smiling against his mouth and his hand firm on Brad’s hip much better.

“What brought this on?” Brad breathed when Nate backed away. Nate dug in his back jean-pocket and pulled out folded set of papers. Brad recognized it instantly—the incredibly detailed sex test—and blushed bright red.

Nate smiled at him. “I rather like the answer to number 5, but something tells me you’re not quite ready for that one.”

[trolleys.livejournal.com]

Whee, prompts! ♥ Brad/Nate from any one of these would be awesome:

1) Nightswimming

2) Brad owns a bakery (or restaurant) and Nate is the customer

3)
Brad's hidden talent with origami :P

[dark-reaction.livejournal.com]

I had to show this to my entire science fiction and fantasy writing class. It was HILARIOUS.

[katenotkit.livejournal.com]

Ok, so this is what happens when I have time to kill waiting for a delivery guy at work. Courtesy of the Random Romance Title Generator:
The Assyrian NASCAR Driver's Tasty Personal Trainer
The Viking Baby Daddy's Conniving Bride
The Nordic Merchant's Depraved Secretary
The Nordic Deputy Undersecretary for Homeland Security's Bodacious Housekeeper
The Greek History Professor's Insatiable Personal Trainer
The Greek History Professor's Tasty Secretary

These were just some of the MANY that it spat out.

So this is only sort of MILDLY like the NASCAR one

[dark-reaction.livejournal.com]

There’s sweat running down his back and prickling into his eyes under his helmet. Rain’s coming down hard and it seeps down the back of his collar.

“C’mon, c’mon,” he says, revving his engine and waiting for his crew to realign the wheels.

Nate, his crew chief, claps him on the shoulder. “Calm down, you’re in good shape,” he says and Brad has the odd experience of hearing him through his communications helmet as well as directly before him. He nods his head and tries to smile. The last bolt is tightened and Nate grins at him, hair flattened to his forehead by water.

The crew all steps obediently back and out of the way as Brad roars up out of the pit, practically flying onto the track. He rejoins the other riders just as they hit the corner, accelerating hard going into the turn and decelerating as they come out. Brad loves this track because its longest straight is 1,068 meters and though it has almost more right turns than any other track, Brad would happily take them.

He weaves past two riders for the Honda team when they hit the straight out of the 7th turn. He still can’t believe it’s raining in April in Qatar. His helmet keeps beading up with water. Only two more laps to go. He can hear Ray shouting inside his helmet—“watch out for Pramac! Niccolo Canepa’s going to fuck you up the butt!”—and Nate’s quiet exhortations for Ray to be quiet.

Brad breathes deep, hits the next corner smoothly, and feels like his bike is setting sail. Last lap. Brad gets this tingly feeling. He just knows he’s got it locked. When he hits the last straight, he floors the engine, zooming past Valentino Rossi and over the finish. Inside his helmet his crew erupts into cheers.

Brad grins, raising his both arms in victory as the track announcer shouts first in Arabic, then in French, and finally in English, “Win for Ducati Marlboro! Debut racer Bradley Colbert roars over the finish line!”

It’s his first race of the season, of the whole fuckin’ class, and he won it!

*

That night after all the festivities have died down he lies with Nate and Ray next to the hotel pool, staring at the sky. It stopped raining hours ago, and now the air is heavy with humidity. Brad’s known Ray forever, since he was first coming up the circuit. When he signed with Ducati, Ray was part of the package. But Nate’s knew. A recent graduate of Stanford’s engineering program, he was hired right out of college by Ducati as a grease-monkey. He’s constantly tooling with Brad’s engine.

Brad’s still in his suit—tie hanging loose around his neck and cuffs unbuttoned—from the celebratory party where Ducati trotted him out in front of everybody who mattered in the racing world. Ray and Nate hit the Qatari night scene, but Nate hauled Ray back after Brad’s cocktail party ended.

[godofwine.livejournal.com]

Even though I've been insanely slow about working out my prompts, I am still going to be a dirty whore and request something anyway! ♥

Can we get either more model!AU or cop!AU??

Or, if you're looking for something new, Brad/Nate shopping for groceries. (Hi, I am corny and domestic.)

Whew, took me forever to get here!

[dark-reaction.livejournal.com]

A fact of Nate and Brad’s cohabitation is that they have to go on separate grocery runs to separate stores. Nate likes Whole Foods and Trader Joes. Once when they were in San Mateo to visit a friend of Brad’s, he dragged Brad into the Draegers before they got back on the 101 South, lamenting that there weren’t any in Southern California and how that was probably in violation of Nate’s amendment rights. Admittedly this resulted in an awesome passion fruit mousse cake that Brad thought about for weeks after, but it still meant he had to trundle along after Nate as he oohed and aahed over gourmet olive oil and imported hard salami.

Brad likes white bread, Oscar Meyer bacon, ground chuck beef, Horizon skim milk, romaine hearts, string beans, a little garlic, and De Cecco pasta. He’s a fairly simple guy. All he needs is a Safeway to find these things. And he doesn’t feel like he’s made a dent in his wallet after going grocery shopping. Nate’s a different story. Brad never realized, but he’s kind of fiendish in the kitchen. He trawls recipe blogs and goes to the farmer’s market. He has The Joy of Cooking and Harold McGee is hero and when he’s on the treadmill he watches Top Chef and Bobby Flay.

If he has time to cook, it’s peering over Mark Bitman or the complete guide to cooking with Buffalo Mozzarella. So Brad kind of hates going grocery shopping with him. He takes forever and doesn’t bring a list, so Brad can’t even try to hurry him along by picking up items while Nate’s contemplating tomatoes. There is no hurrying him. Usually when Nate hits the grocery store it’s coming home from work so Brad doesn’t even have to involve himself in the process. He’s realized Nate doesn’t want him there anymore than he wants to be there.

But sometimes they’ll wake up and realize they’ve run out of toilet paper and eggs, and Brad realizes he wants more cereal and he just feels douchey ordering Nate to go by himself like he’s his mom or something. On those days, he has great fun sneaking things into the cart that’ll give Nate a heart attack as they’re laying them out on the belt at the checkout line. Hohos, Kraft macaroni and cheese, ‘Nilla Wafers, Gushers, and HiC juice boxes all make it into the cart after clever espionage. He used to think of it with a little bit of triumph, but one Saturday morning shattered all that.

When the checkout girl rang the Gushers up, Nate gave him a look. “And you wonder why we don’t go to the grocery store with the toy aisle,” he said impishly. He laughed at Brad’s raised eyebrow and kissed him right there in front of the checkout girl, despite the fact that Nate hated PDA more than he hated Velveeta.

“I was thinking of making bacon cheeseburgers tonight,” he said against Brad’s mouth.

“With blue cheese?” Brad asked.

Nate handed his credit card over to the blushing cashier and said, “I hear you like American.”

And while Brad’s spy games may have been for nothing, and shopping for groceries with Nate is and always will be a pain in the ass, he’s got to admit, the fringe benefits make it all worth it.

[kasiowy.livejournal.com]

I'd die for another one of GK AUs... *dreams* How about, I dunno, some motorcycle-gang!AU? :D (Brad/Nate, of course.)

[oxoniensis.livejournal.com]

In case you're still taking prompts: Brad/Nate, Brad takes Rudy's conditioning workout class on the Dubuque because of the hot young second lieutenant who's also taking the class.

[dark-reaction.livejournal.com]

You'll have to tell me more about this, because I'm afraid I'm a bad fangirl and know nothing!

[idrilfinial.livejournal.com]

This was amazing. I actually love the fact that you took Nate's voice away. It provides an entirely new spin on the whole idea of the silent communication between him and Brad. I love how Nate looks to Brad to sort of be his "voice" in the gang during certain times. These two manage to be so badass yet still so cute with one another.

The door of Rudy and Pappy’s hotel bangs open. Brad is laughing and chasing Nate. Wright smiles and doesn’t bother to announce himself, they’ll see him in time. Finally Brad grabs Nate around the waist, and turns him around to kiss Nate’s still smiling mouth.

Biker!Brad and Nate are just...GUH! I wish we could have more of this AU, it's perfect! Thank you for this! :)

[idrilfinial.livejournal.com]

Sorry, this was supposed to go under the Biker!Brad/Nate prompt! Whoopsie! ^^*

[bitterlotus.livejournal.com]

Wahh, this was incredible! I love this AU! :D

[dark-aura016.livejournal.com]

whaaaaaaaaaa...I'm tottaly kinda really bummed I can't see this post! What does screened mean?