templemarker: generation kill: two soldiers watching artie rain on a city (when the world ends)
[personal profile] templemarker
the great attraction of insomnia
by templemarker

Notes: For the "sleepy/unconscious" square of my 2011 [community profile] kink_bingo card. Thank you to my awesome betas, [personal profile] samjohnsson and [livejournal.com profile] shoshannagold for their patience and thoughtfulness with this bit of somnophiliac porn. Above and beyond, guys. Above and beyond.

B I N G O
temperature play anonymity tentacles in public enemas
vanilla kink smacking / slapping medical kink piercings / needleplay body alteration / injury
voyeurism humiliation (situational) wildcard penance / punishment wrestling / grinding
pictures suspension spanking / paddling tickling bondage (other)
authority figures bondage (wrist / ankle restraints) danger mirrors and doubles sleepy / unconscious


***

Nate drew a careful hand along the slope of Brad's neck, watching the skin tremble lightly at the touch. It made his heart skip; in sleep, the lines and hard planes of Brad's face evened out into something resembling peace, and Nate savoured the few moments he witnessed it. Brad was a light sleeper--they all were, they'd been trained to be--and even at home, or especially at home, something in Brad couldn't switch off. That wasn't unusual. Nate, when he first separated, struggled to transition back to normality--whatever that ended up meaning. Brad, though--for all that Brad had his outlets for stress and burning off the steam that came from doing back to back tours, it was never quite enough to turn off the Marine and turn on the civilian. Nate guessed that Brad hadn't thought himself a civilian even before he badgered his parents into letting him attend a military academy.

That made it all the more rare that Brad remained asleep under Nate's gentle assault. He went shirtless in the summer, throwing on a thin A-shirt when some modesty was required. He slept naked but for his boxer-briefs, the windows open and the fan on to offset the still-warm air. The landlord hadn't fixed the air conditioner since the last time Brad was on leave, and Brad had never bothered to fix it. His argument, a ten minute soliloquy over the phone last week, was: what the point when anywhere Brad was likely to be deployed would be significantly hotter than southern California, anyway? There was no reason to adjust his internal body temperature to more comfortable climes Instead he'd set up fans that blew a constant cross-breeze, the comforting wash of white noise blanketing the house from cicadas and neighborhood chatter.

That meant that Nate felt he was always covered in a sheen of sweat, prickling at his temples and in the joins of his fingers no matter the time of day. Even now, with the thin cotton sheet barely covering Brad's lean frame, he shone a little in the muted light from the hallway, and Nate let his fingers run along the side of his body, collecting the sweat along his ribs.

Brad didn't shift, didn't move, and Nate smiled; maybe there was some kind of Nate-shaped hole in Brad's defense system, something that let Nate enter when all others were barred. He leaned over, pressed a kiss to Brad's shoulder. Even coming that close made the heat spike between their bodies. Being inland was unkind to even the most adapted Californians.

The house would've been on the beach if Brad could have afforded it, or if it had made the least sense to do so. But there was barely a point in keeping house rented that Brad saw only a few times a year. To pay exorbitant rent for a place within visible distance to the ocean was just a waste of resources, and both Brad and Nate agreed on efficiency. Hell, there was a decent argument for Brad ditching his place altogether and storing his stuff at Nate's apartment in Cambridge, except for the whole not-telling thing and the justifiably possessive view Brad had towards his house. It was his, and Brad needed things that were his to come back to after being away. Nate was part of that, but not the whole of it.

Placing another kiss to the bend of Brad's elbow, Nate paused to see if Brad's shudder at the touch meant he was on his way to waking or not. Brad didn't stir beyond that, only let out a soft wheezing sigh. Nate tugged the sheet down further, reaching out a steady hand to ghost a finger along the soft line of Brad's cock in his shorts. Smiling, he pressed another kiss to the sharp dip of Brad's hip where it met the rough hair of his belly, and froze when a heavy, warm hand landed on the back of his neck, clenching slightly.

"What part of sleeping," came Brad's night-time rasp, "do you not readily understand?"

"The part where we're not having sex," Nate said, knowing the smirk that crossed his face and not trying to hide it.

"I don't know about you, Nathaniel," and Nate loved him like this, softened around the edges, and quiet with it, quiet with him, "but that activity can just as easily be performed in the morning light. Perhaps with even greater efficacy, considering there would be two awake partners participating rather than just one."

"How are you this fucking eloquent when you've just woken up?" Nate wondered, letting his hand wander back to Brad's cock, giving it a light squeeze through the sheet.

"It's a gift," Brad said, eyes slitted in the half-light, his interest in Nate's touch growing evident beneath Nate's fingers. "I don't suppose you're going to let me get a restful night's sleep, are you?"

"Are rest and myself synonymous?" Nate wondered, moving his hand up and down in a smooth motion, rubbing Brad's shorts along with it for the added friction.

"No," Brad admitted, his breath skipping a beat, "really, sleeplessness is more apt."

"Do you want me to stop?" Nate asked, letting some seriousness lace through his voice. It was entirely possible Brad wasn't in the mood. Unlikely, but possible.

Brad dropped his head back to his pillow. "I suppose, since you're already here and you've already woken me up," he said, sounding long-suffering and teasing at the same time.

Nate grinned. "I guess we'll just soldier on," he said, teasing back, and laughed at Brad's groan protesting his pun.

He tugged at Brad's shorts, pulling them down long, lean legs and tossing them to the floor. Brad's cock was half-hard, his arousal beginning to well at the tip of his cock. Nate swiped his thumb through it and drew it to his mouth, admiring the shock of tension it sent through Nate's body. A blowjob, maybe. He didn't think he could convince Brad to let Nate fuck him; that usually took the equivalent of a date night, where motocross and Coronas substituted for roses and candles.

Brad was loose-limbed with sleep, recumbent in that deliberate way that meant he was awake whether he wanted to be or not. Brad hadn't been able to sleep through the Air Force dropping enough bombs to level a small city; there was no way he was going to sleep through Nate molesting him. The training went too deep. Nate figured he better make it worth Brad's while, and lightly skimmed his hands up Brad's legs, watching the hair stand up against the touch in the half-light from the neighbor's floodlight.

"Nate," Brad said, the sound of his voice like brushed steel, "are you going to suck my cock or tell it how pretty it looks until it puts out? We're burning moonlight here."

Nate's huffed laughter fell on the sensitive skin of Brad's balls, and he laughed some more at the twitches Brad couldn't suppress at the feeling. "As pretty as it is, I'm fairly certain you'll put out," he said. "You're kind of a sure thing, Brad."

Brad's knees came up around Nate's head, gentle pressure on either side of him, urging him towards Brad's cock. "Stop talking," he commanded, his sternness belied by the twitch of his cock where it rested against him. "Put your mouth to better use."

Nate started laughing again; Brad was so awful at dirty talk. He always ended up deadpan or earnest, and he clearly had no way of controlling which direction he took. But Nate was a giving man; he grasped Brad’s cock with one loose hand and fitted his mouth around the top, slowly pushing down to take more of him to the sound of Brad's low moan.

Nate had never been surprised that he liked sucking cock; he'd only been frustrated that it took him time to truly do it well. He put all of his hard-won skill to work, pulling his mouth up with the hot drag of his tongue beneath the shaft, then pushing back down until he kissed the ring of his own hand where his thumb met his first finger, swallowing just to feel Brad's restless motion beneath him.

Brad just said his name over and over again, straining with it when Nate used his teeth. Nate did like this, loved it when it took Brad to pieces in under a minute. Brad liked watching them, liked to see their hands work and their bodies crash against each other, but when Nate had him like this--splayed out, on the knife's-edge of wanton and looking nowhere but the ceiling--Brad lost it a little, lost himself in the sensation. Nate was pleased he only lost himself when they were together. Nate knew he was the only one to ever see this.

When Brad's back arched, Nate used his favorite trick: he went all the way down, moving his hand to place both of them on Brad's inner thighs, pushing them down and levering Brad's hips up in the process. When he'd fitted Brad nearly down his throat--something he only did when he didn't have to speak too much the next day--he swallowed, again and again, pushing his own cock against the bedclothes at the high whining sound that came, helplessly, from Brad.

It never took much, after that, to get what he wanted from Brad: just pulling off him a little, still holding most of him in his mouth, Nate breathing harshly through his nose. Nate placed his thumbs in the divots of Brad's groin, and pressed to what would be painful for him. Brad tensed, then arched, and became a long arc of pleasure beneath Nate's hands and mouth.

Nate never wanted for power when he had this beneath him.

When he pulled off, he did so slowly, memorizing the jerks and shudders of Brad's body for fantasy material later. Still holding Brad's hips in his hands, he admired his work: Brad was a sweaty, flushed sprawl on the bed, eyes closed and mouth open, cock shiny with Nate's spit. Nate loved him like this, panting and fucked out. It was what kept him going, sometimes, when the distance got to be too much. It was everything he'd wanted when he'd been too close to command to do anything but dream guiltily of having it. Having Brad.

There were distinct perquisites to his separation from the USMC, and Brad Colbert in his bed was certainly number one.

Nate rubbed his hands up and down Brad's thighs, smirking at the twitches Brad couldn't suppress. He could probably have anything he wanted right now, with Brad like this. But Brad did have a point--it was nearly one in the morning, and Nate could feel sleep creeping closer. He palmed his cock, rubbing his thumb against the head slowly, and considered his options.

Brad's eyes slitted open, and Nate made a decision. He moved his right hand down, clasping Brad's wrist and drawing it upwards. Meeting Brad's eyes, he opened his mouth and brought Brad's pointer and middle fingers inside, licking the pads and calluses and smiling at Brad's sharp intake of breath.

He got them as wet as he could manage, and pulled off, pushing his tongue at the corner of his mouth and grinning wickedly at Brad's shocked face. It was rare that Brad was ever truly caught unawares, and Nate had always had to work to tear him down into messy, shuddery pieces. But Nate had always suspected that sleep was a shortcut in the process, and he was pleased to have that confirmed. He moved Brad's hand behind him, putting those fingers at his hole and pushing slightly just to feel the pressure. He adjusted slightly in his crouch on the bed, and laughed lowly at Brad's high noise.

"I want to get off on your fingers," he said, liking the rough edge to his voice. "I want you in me when I come, I want to feel that stretch. Can you do that for me, Brad?"

Brad's tongue came out to wet his lips, and he pressed purposefully against Nate, the tip of his middle finger just barely pushing in. "Anything for you, sir," he said, lust and mockery and a smile lining his words.

Nate laughed, even as Brad maneuvered him down to the bed. Nate jerked his cock once, twice, running his foot up the side of Brad's thigh as Brad stretched, whipcord muscles extended to get the lube from the night table. Brad came back to crouch next to him, putting some lube on his fingers, rubbing them together.

"Wouldn't want you to be uncomfortable, Nate," Brad said, that Iceman grin ghosting his face, and Nate pulled him down for a kiss. Brad put his fingers back where they were wanted, and Nate punched out a breath into the kiss when Brad pushed in two at a time. He tensed, and relaxed; it felt fucking amazing even as it was almost too much.

"Like that," he gasped, voice thready even to his own ears. "Just, push, just a little more," and Brad did exactly what he was told, pushing so that the edge of his finger grazed Nate's prostate. Nate tensed, making some "ah, ah" noise Brad would tease him for later on. Nate's hand sped up on his cock, and his lips were never far from Brad's as he worked towards his pleasure. Brad was pushing in and out, brushing against Nate's prostate every time and making him jerk up into his own hand.

"That's it," Brad said, his other hand clenching and releasing on Nate's bicep as they worked together to get Nate there. "Just like that, I fucking love looking at you when you come, you have no idea, I love looking at you all the time..."

Brad kept up his steady stream of words and Nate wanted to revise his opinion of Brad's dirty talk. Painfully earnest; painfully hot, and it was that sincerity that pushed him over, hand tightening into a fist around the head of his cock and Brad's fingers shoved all the way inside. He clenched down on them, knowing Brad could take it. He was saying, "ah, ah, ah," again, everything bright and too-real as Brad nailed his prostate through it.

Nate came down from it slowly, taking in great gulps of air and clenching helplessly around Brad's fingers. Brad liked to keep it going until it was just a little painful. Nate kissed him again, just because he could and he wanted to, but pulled away for a moment to say, "Out. Now."

Brad laughed at him, but pulled out, wiping his fingers on the sheets despite the face Nate made at him.

They stayed like that for a long moment, both unwilling to move, and Nate pressed a kiss against the corner of Brad's mouth. "Wasn't that better than sleeping?" he said, a muted taunt in his voice. "Concede, Colbert."

He felt more than saw Brad's smile. "Concession is not capitulation, Nate," he said. "I suggest you work harder to convince me."

Nate pushed a hand between their bodies, and grasped Brad's soft cock, smirking at his sharp intake of breath. "Let me convince you, then."
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