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.”
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Hope this is good!
Date: 2009-11-15 09:36 pm (UTC)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.”