stop. look. listen.
And I can't let go (Brad/Nate, Superheroes AU, PG-13)
Ray thinks he actually preferred the retarded clusterfuck that was Operation Iraqi Freedom. Sure, food was strangely reminiscent of shit mixed with dog meat (and Ray should know, he had eaten both, both on a dare, and neither while sober), but at least there was more privacy.

Can't Climb Till You're Ready To Fall
(Brad/Nate, Superheroes AU, PG-13. Sequel to And I can't let go)
Not that Poke’s complaining, but he’s never, ever again playing a motherfucking yenta to anyone on his team. Or anyone ever again. Sure, the mental soap opera was driving him nuts, but this is worse, this time the stray sexual thoughts coming from certain retards are real, and it’s a hell lot more than he had ever wanted to know.

It's not a slow dance (Brad/Nate, AU, PG-13)
Fick made McGraw look like an idiot in front of the jury. Granted, it wasn’t that difficult, McGraw had a real natural talent for moronic spiels and losing his shit, but Fick did that with sweetness and unstudied politeness, and even Hasser as their expert witness couldn’t sway the jury their way. Brad kind of wanted to stand up and applaud as Fick methodically destroyed every piece of good evidence they had, but mostly he just wanted to punch Fick.

Bare Your Fangs and Burn My Wings (Brad/Nate, Vampire AU, R)
Something's pressing against his lips and he obediently laps at the liquid filling his mouth. It's lukewarm and sweet and strange, but at the same time it's familiar and hot against his tongue, burning his throat like a shot of good booze does, warming him up from the inside.

Without Speaking Confess (Brad/Nate, h/c, R)
"You're lucky I've become quite proficient at handling pussy officers," Brad says and steals Nate's phone, calling Lindsay, Nate's assistant, and cancelling all of Nate's appointments for the next three days. Lindsay, to her credit, just sighs heavily at the thought of unraveling the complicated mess that is Nate's daily schedule, and advises Brad that he might need to invest in restraints if he actually wants to keep Nate out of the office.

I'd like to have the time I lost (give it back to you) (Brad/Nate, AU, PG-13)
Brad stares at the ceiling for a very long while before he gets up. His watch maintains it’s yesterday. Or the day before yesterday, actually. Still, or again, or whatever the fuck.
He doesn’t think he’s insane, but then again, how can a person tell? He calls up Ray, because insanity likes company, and there’s no insane company like Ray. “I think I’m stuck in a Bill Murray movie,” he says.

Feeling better since I've surrendered (Brad/Nate, College AU, NC-17)
Nate spends his every free moment in the library and believe Brad, Nate doesn’t have all that many free moments as it is. And the library means the study group, and the study group means Eveline and Trish and Rosa. (And Mike and Evan, but they at least never tried to get into Nate’s pants. Or Brad doesn’t know about that and they’re very lucky.)

A Riot on my Radio (Brad/Nate, High School AU, PG-13)
Brad's favourite activity during calculus, after he's done with all his tasks and after he draws stick figures fighting giant spiders on the edges of his notebook, is stealing shit from Nate's backpack.

Such Great Heights (Brad/Nate, Star Wars fusion AU, PG-13)
“Have you fucking seen this? We’ve all known Iceman has rocket fuel for blood, but I’m beginning to question what the fuck is he using for actual fuel. This maneuver should be fucking impossible. There’s something like the rules of physics,” Ray complains, his voice easily discernible amongst the chatter on comms.

He's a Saturday Night and Sunday Morning Rolled Into One
(Brad/Nate, AU, PG-13)
"I think we should go out," Nate says without preamble, like it's a conversation they're continuing. In a way, maybe it is. He leans back in his chair, looking at Brad, his head tilted expectantly.
"Are you asking me on a date?"
"Asking would be opening myself to a flat out refusal. I know better than that," Nate smirks. "Think of it as a topic for a discussion."

Looking for a rhythm like you (Brad/Nate, college AU, R)
It's the same thing every day, or well, every Monday, Wednesday and Friday at least. The program starts decently, with music that doesn't make Brad want to fucking kill himself with the nearest available motherboard, and then it slowly descends into the motherfucking orgy of cacophony and bad taste. And fucking country music.

The trick of love is to never let it find you
(Brad/Nate, Ray/Walt, CIA AU, PG-13)
First week into this job Ray has heard the same thing over and over, for just about a couple hundred times: "New communications guy on Fick's team? I am so sorry."

Easy to say but harder to feel this way (Brad/Nate, FBI AU, PG-13)
"Thanks," Nate says and turns his head, his lips brushing against Brad's. It's all for show, but nothing's stopping Brad from making it a good one, from letting his hand rest on the small of Nate's back, underneath his jacket, feeling the warmth of Nate's body through his shirt. Nate tilts his head and lets Brad nibble at his lower lip. They've done this before and it doesn't mean anything.

Tests on my heart (Brad/Nate, high school AU, R)
It's stupid, he tells himself, there's no guarantee Brad is even home, and if he is, no certainty that Nate will get to see him. Doesn't stop his stomach from doing sommersaults when he knocks.
Seconds later he feels entirely justified in all the panic and the way he drove around the block before pulling over, because Brad Colbert opens the door, clad in jeans and a white tank top, and Nate's brain short-circuits for just a second.

Don't look away (Brad/Nate, NC-17, pwp)
The first time Brad notices it's just a moment, nothing important, just the way Nate turns his head, staring at something. Brad catches their reflection in the window glass, Nate's ass up in the air, thrusting back to meet Brad's cock.

What you need the most (Brad/Nate, NC-17, pwp)
There are days when Brad gets restless. When the bike doesn't help, no matter how far he takes it, when the fight or flight response tangles in itself and he's not sure which is which, when even fucking doesn't take his mind off of... everything.

I know the hows and whens (Brad/Nate, CIA AU, R, sequel to The trick of love is to never let it find you)
Brad hates this mission, from the beginning. The intel was lousy from the start, they've been plagued by incompetent idiots, and then the only source that would talk to them would also only talk to Nate. Who was now meeting the guy in a hotel room, without any fucking backup, and Brad was grounded and going slowly insane.

Slowest Burn (Brad/Nate, Demons AU, PG-13)
Brad can't quite remember when they met. Probably somewhere in the thirteenth century, but fuck, wasn't that a right mess. Brad hated the Dark Ages with vengeance. He was never so glad in his life, well, existence, as when the Renaissance rolled around.

Breathe Deep and Hold on Tight (Brad/Nate, high school AU, R)
Everyone wants to get in Nate Fick's pants.
If there was a fucking poll done that'd be the one thing that would get a hundred percent approval rate. There are some retards who think the food in school cafeteria is decent and there are some who'd tell you they like listening to Ray's Insane Radio Hour (that's not how his show is called but it might as well be), but everyone will agree on the fact they wouldn't kick Nate Fick out of bed. And even if they did, it'd be just so they could fuck him on the floor.

Set Out on a Narrow Way (Brad/Nate, AU, pg-13)
When Mom comes to pick him up he makes her invite Nate over for Friday pizza and she looks at him strangely, ruffles his hair and keeps smiling all the way home. "I'm glad you made a friend," she tells him.
In Brad's last school she kept on asking if there really wasn't anyone Brad could be friends with. He told her all the kids there were retarded, but that didn't go over well. Now, he just shrugs, it's not that he made a friend, it's just that Nate's not an idiot. Even though he doesn't appreciate cool things, like math and Ironhide.

A hundred different things (within the measure of a day). (Brad/Nate, Notting Hill AU, PG-13)
Brad's pretty sure it would have gone diferently if he had actually seen Nate's movies.
Well, he did see the first one, everyone did. Judging by the numbers it pulled, at least a few times - the box office numbers, both domestic and abroad, were truly impressive. This is what Ray tells him.
But he's been deployed while the next three or four premiered, and you don't really get to enjoy Netflix in Afghanistan or Iraq. So, sure, he heard the name, but not like he had seen Nate Fick's face up close on the big screen at least twice a year, or bought dvds and studied the fucking gloss rags like everyone else in the fucking country.

Your eyes close as I fall asleep (Brad/Nate, AU, PG-13)
"Listen, it's not like I want to spend a lovely Sunday afternoon talking to you," Colbert says, leaning back in his chair. His legs are braced against the table, like he's trying to flip the chair back, but both the chair and the table are nailed to the floor, so no luck.
"And yet here we are. Again."
This is the seventh case since Nate took the job with the DC office that involves Brad Colbert in one capacity or another. Can't be a coincidence, no one's that unlucky.

Like Northern Stars (Brad/Nate, AU, kidfic, PG-13, sequel to Set Out on a Narrow Way)
"That's not how you do it," Katie says pointedly.
Brad raises his eyebrows at her. It's not rocket science, they're making peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. He's not sure there can be a wrong way to make PB&J sandwiches.

May be the mirror of my dreams (Brad/Nate, AU, PG-13, sequel to A hundred different things)
"Sandra. It's seven a.m. Have mercy and just come out and tell me whatever you wish to tell me."
"TMZ has announced you proposed to Colbert.
He doesn't spit the coffee all over the newspaper, but it's a close thing. "Why would they think that?"
"You'd know if you checked your fucking e-mail and google alerts first thing in the morning like my every other client."
"Don't you always say all your other clients are narcissistic douchebags with a penchant for getting injured while humping their own reflections?"

Make a list of things you need, leave it empty (Brad/Nate, PG-13)
"Your recon community needs a solid kick in the ass, then," she offers flatly. "Nate's been in an accident two weeks ago."
The words ring in his ears, alien and unreal.
Last time Brad saw Nate he was in DC, in their... in Nate's appartment, in the puddle of warm light from the yellow lamp on the side table. He wouldn't look at Brad then, but he was safe and sound. Brad still carries that image, that's how he thinks of Nate before his mind works backwards, before he remembers the days and weeks before, in DC, in Cambridge, in Iraq.

Miles to Go (Brad/Nate, PG-13)
There’s nothing spontaneous about the whole thing, not really. It’s not a spur of the moment decision if you give your assistant adequate notice to reschedule your appointments and make arrangements and have time to ask the neighbour to water the plants and pick up the mail.
It still feels like a giant fucking leap.

The Unexpected Tale of Combat Jack (Ray/Walt, PG-13)
The dogs never look as if they wanted to kill Walt and then bury his bones in the garden. Oh, no, the fucking dogs fucking love Walt, think he's made of sunshine and daisies and tasty dog treats, or what the fuck ever.
One of those conversations ends up with Walt getting a puppy.
No, Ray can't get over it either.