I know the hows and whens

"This was a bad idea," Brad says pointedly. His fingers are itching, but his gun is still on the table and besides, he did promise Nate he wouldn't go in unless absolutely necessary.

He was just considering whether the commlinks failure was covered by the 'absolutely necessary' clause. Probably not, and Brad didn't like his chances in the argument that was bound to ensue after he tried to explain this to Nate.

"Wow, really?" Ray says, not looking away from his screen, his fingers moving with a speed usually reserved for his tongue when he's yapping on some bullshit. "I wasn't sure what you thought about it the first seven times you told us it was a bad idea, but now it's beginning to dawn on me you're not a hundred percent happy with it. Take a fucking chill pill, Brad, and let us do our job. You'll be hearing Nate's dulcet tones in no time. And move, you're standing in my light."

"How much light do you fucking need to type?"

"None, but you're also interrupting the flow of good energy. Walt, hang some fucking chimes and light a candle, maybe it'll drown Brad's bad-and-bordering-on-homicidal energy."

"He'll be fine," Walt tells Brad, ignoring Person's mummblings. "Nate knows what he's doing and he's been doing it for a long time."

"Yeah, when you were still getting buttfucked in Iraq and Walt here played only with guns made of sticks, Nate's been James-Bonding his way through Europe, leaving broken hearts and destroyed buildings in his trail," Ray supplies. "What, I've read the files! I've even read the files I supposedly shouldn't have, but fuck that, why would you write Top Secret over something you don't want people to read? Anyway, Brad, I'm telling you, Nate's good. There was this one time when he got himself involved with that Russian spy goddess, she had..."

"Ray, are you going to recount a plot of a Bond movie or are you going to fucking get the fucking communication back the fuck up?"

"Communication back up. Got it, homes, no need to get all riled up. Sheesh. All operatives are such fucking divas."

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.

No, scratch that, nothing slow about it.

"Hey, you think the concierge thought Nate was an expensive hooker?" Ray asks suddenly asks, gleeful, like the thought just occured to him and he can't wait to share it with the class. "I mean, a guy holes up in an expensive room, and then Nate appears, looking like he does, bet the concierge thought he was a hooker. Well, okay, I think the classy ones like Nate are called escorts or whatever the fuck."

"What do you mean looking like he does?" Brad says through gritted teeth at the same time when Walt shakes his head and asks if Ray has a death wish.

"Nope, I'm just trying to cheer Brad up. And homes, don't front, you don't have to ask. You've been jerking off to Fick's mouth for a very long time before you two finally got your fucking shit together. Or maybe you still jerk off to his mouth, only now he actually knows it? You can tell your Ray-Ray, I don't judge."

"Cheering him up by giving him an aneurysm?" Walt asks incredulously while Brad stands up and walks to the window, clenching his fists. He can't kill Ray just yet, not until the retard gets the audio back up.

He counts windows. They know the floor Nate's at, but they don't know the exact room. The audio fucked itself up when Nate entered the hotel, and they had the surveillance cameras until he took a turn into the corridor where one was malfunctioning. Convenient, Brad thinks, and fucking worrying. He's had a bad feeling about this for a while, but of course no one listened to him.

Well, fine, Nate listened. He calmly took Brad's fucking protest under his fucking advisement and decided it was an acceptable risk. Fuck that noise.

"I'm going out, need to stretch my legs," he offers and Ray and Walt look at him pointedly.

"Nate said..." Walt starts.

"I don't care what the fuck Nate said, he..." he stops when the window shakes, the sound of explosion reaching them. "Fuck!"

He takes off running, rushes down the staircase, few steps at a time. If... No. He doesn't know anything yet, he doesn't know, he doesn't...

It's chaos on the street, cars stopped in the middle of it, people gathering or rushing away or rushing towards the building. One police car, must have been close, others coming, the sirens already sounding out, the ambulances and the fire brigade along with them. They don't quite drown out the ringing in Brad's ears, the pounding of his heart.

And then Nate's there, in the middle of it all, crossing the street in his direction. His hair is gray from dust, his suit looks well and truly ruined, but he appears unharmed. "Weren't you supposed to stay in the room?" he asks Brad and Brad seriously considers punching him.

"You piece of shit," he says and kisses Nate instead, right in the middle of the fucking street.

His hand is on Nate's neck, feeling the steady beat of his pulse under his palm. He holds on to Nate's arm with his other hand, fingers clasped too tightly, digging in through the material of Nate's suit. He's probably leaving bruises but Nate doesn't seem to care, he moves closer into Brad's space, close enough there's no room for anything between them, not for worry or fear.

"I'm here," Nate says quietly, lips brushing Brad's, before leaning up for another kiss, messy and frantic and Brad can taste the dust on Nate's skin, can feel the ash on his tongue. "I'm here," Nate repeats, his hand on the nape of Brad's neck, a comfortable pressure, a reminder. "And I shouldn't be, so let's get out of here before the nice officers get around to questioning the witnesses. Ferrando would be furious if he had to deal with the local law enforcement."

They're also still standing in the middle of the fucking street, in the plain view of at least cameras, counting the ATM one, and there's a news van pulling over. Fuckers work fast. So, yeah, they need to get out of there, the CIA doesn't like their operatives caught on tape and is going to like it even less if the tape in questions shows their little make-out session.

Brad's going to have Ray erase the fucking thing and this is just going to earn him a lot more mocking than usual.

Somehow, though, he can't work up even a mild irritation at that, because Nate closes his fingers around Brad's wrist, like he understands Brad needs to keep touching him. Making sure.

"Nate, did you blow up the building?" Ray asks when they get back to where they temporarily set up shop. "Because it's totally fine if you did, everyone needs a hobby, but maybe next time warn the Iceman so he doesn't shit his pants, or break his fucking stupid neck on the stairs."

"Ray, out," Brad barks and gets a mildly offended look.

"I'm just looking out for you, homes. Because if Nate's going to..."

"Ray, let's go," Walt tugs at his sleeve, eyes fixed on Nate, who nods slowly. "I think they need a moment."

"Yeah, sure they fucking do. You know, if all the after-mission debriefings involved blowjobs I'd be much more satisfied with my workplace. I might even rethink the concept of showing up on time."

The door closes on Ray's rant but his words are audible for a few more seconds, before Walt guides him away.

"Was it Rhodes?" Brad asks and Nate shakes his head.

"Rhodes is dead. Didn't seem particularly suicidal to me when we talked, either. Someone else knew about the meeting, and we need to find out how. We might have a bigger problem on our hands..." he trails off and looks at Brad, his eyes flickering quickly, assessingly. "You okay?"

Brad laughs and it sounds broken to his own ears. "You could have died."

"I didn't."

"Don't give me this bullshit, Nate. I told you there was something fucking off about the whole thing, I knew it from the beginning and I knew it every step of the way, and you went in without backup anyway."

"What would any backup do against a fucking bomb?" Nate shoots back, a hint of annoyance in his voice telling Brad that he isn't quite as composed as he tries to act. Then his face softens and he relaxes, the tension instantly melting away from his stance, like someone flipped a switch. It's mostly an act, Brad knows, but Nate's scarily good at it. "But yeah, remind me to trust your gut next time," he offers with a wry smile.

"No, Nate. There's not going to be a fucking next time. You have a nice corner office, fucking stay in it."

Well, doesn't that one wipe the smile right off of Nate's face, replacing it with a quick flash of anger. It takes a step for Nate to stand close enough to touch him, his hand flat on Brad's chest. "Not your call," he says flatly, his voice strained like he's keeping other words from spilling out. There's something odd in his voice, and it probably should keep Brad from pushing further, but there's still dust in Nate's hair, on Brad's hands now, and the sirens can still be heard outside.

"Nate, you could have died," he repeats, the words leaving a bitter taste on his tongue, sharp like they could cut his lips. "You have no idea how it was when I thought..."

"Fuck you, Brad," Nate mutters, and he is angry now, not just a flash but a burning heat in his eyes, his fingers pressing harder against Brad's chest, enough that Brad has to steel himself not to be pushed away. "How do you think I feel every fucking time I send you into something like this? And it's my job and I do whatever's necessary, and I fucking calculate the odds and deem that sending you into harm's way is an acceptable risk, even though it really, really isn't at all acceptable to me," he says, his words coming fast, like he's been holding them back for a long while. "And then you go and do something brave and stupid and crazy and you are crawling out of a burning car again and joking with everyone like it's fucking okay," he finishes, his voice breaking finally.

"Nate."

"So don't fucking tell me I don't know how it feels," he all but whispers and Brad pulls him close, leans down and burries his face in Nate's neck, his whole body awkward and hesitant until Nate puts his hand on Brad's back and holds on. Brad runs his fingers through Nate's hair, feels the old and familiar scar on his scalp. There are marks like that all over Nate's body, ones he wasn't there for, didn't see heal, mementos of Nate's life before Brad.

There's an old mark on Nate's stomach, a bullet wound, entry no exit, long time healed now. Brad had asked about it once, trailing his fingertips over it and watching Nate's muscles flex under his touch.

Nate had laughed then and said that at least he knew what he did wrong and Brad looked up, a ghost of a smile over his lips as he could feel the punchline coming. "What?" he asked, playing into Nate's joke and Nate smiled wide, teeth showing.

"Didn't duck," he offered and Brad laughed. It wasn't even that funny.

"Sorry," Nate says now, after a long moment of stillness, whispers it right into Brad's ear, and Brad isn't sure what's that for, the outburst just now or the whole mission thing, or whatever else Brad doesn't blame him for.

"Don't," he mutters and groans when Nate's mouth move against his neck, like it's another form of apology. Brad thinks he's the one who should apologise, for a lot of things, except they both know better, know that he doesn't change easily, doesn't give in. Except maybe in this he should. "I won't..."

"Don't make promises you won't keep," Nate warns him, but there's no sting in his tone.

Brad nods, slowly. "I'll always come back to you," he says, and it's not quite a promise, it's the truth. It will have to do.

Nate's kiss tells him he understands. It starts slow and almost tentative but too much has happened too fast for it to stay that way and Brad bites at Nate's lip, soothes it with his tongue, and Nate moans into his mouth, holds on to Brad for balance when he feels like tumbling forwards.

It reminds Brad of the heat still in his veins, of the slow burning need to make sure Nate really is alright, that he's there, with Brad.

He starts on Nate's tie and Nate makes a small sound against his skin, then leans back a little. "Not the right place for this," he mutters.

"Fuck that," he says, resting his forehead against Nate's and breathing hard. "I actually let myself think you could be dead. For a second or two, I thought you might be. I need to... Nate, I need to," he repeats, willing Nate to understand. He knows he sounds like he's begging, but fuck it, he is.

Nate doesn't answer, just kisses him again, lets Brad discard his tie and push his jacket off his shoulders, his fingers fumbling over the material, suddenly clumsy and unsure, like he's doing it for the first time.

"I'm here," Nate says like he did before, warm and sure and comforting. Brad sneaks his hands under his shirt, tugged out of his pants and halfway undone, lets his hands move over the warm skin, needing to touch and to feel. "Brad."

"Need to feel you," he mutters and pushes Nate backward, follows closely, unable to let go even for a second. He doesn't stop until Nate's back hits the wall, until he reaches out to hold onto Brad.

"Still the worst timing in the world," Nate tells him fondly. "I hope Walt's smart enough to keep Ray away from here for a while."

"Don't care, they can come back," Brad says almost absently, busy with undoing Nate's belt, the sound of the leather swishing against the material as he pulls it off, drops it to the floor with a thunk. "Wouldn't change a thing, I need to know you're here. Alive."

"I'm here, and alive," Nate says softly, his voice wavering when Brad pulls out his cock. "And yours," he adds and Brad didn't even know he was waiting to hear that.

"Yours," he whispers back, places a kiss on Nate's temple before dropping to his knees. Nate groans and his hips buckle under Brad's steadying hand. "I need to feel you inside of me. In any way possible," Brad tells him. "Didn't exactly bring lube to work, so your cock in my mouth will have to be enough."

Nate makes a strangled sound deep in his throat, his fingers fisting Brad's hair. "When we get home," he promises roughly. Home's Nate's apartment, has been for a while, even if Brad still keeps his own place. Home is Nate's bedroom and his kitchen and the comfortable old couch with mismatched pillows in his living room.

"When we get home, what?" he prompts to keep Nate talking, then leans in and licks the tip of his cock, his fingers wrapped around the hilt, starting to stroke slowly.

"I'm going to fuck you for hours," Nate says, his voice just slightly distant. He's probably holding himself back from fucking Brad's mouth now, but it makes him sound strangely like when he discusses the mission objectives. Brad will probably be hard every time in the briefing room now. "Going to work you open, give you my fingers and my tongue and my cock. Slick you up with spit and lube, take my time before I push inside you."

He's starting to slur his words, his head bowed as he looks at Brad, his breath harsh and shallow when Brad takes him in as deep as he can, as Nate's dick is hitting the back of his throat. He's not relaxed enough for it to be easy, he chokes a little around it, his lips stretched almost uncomfortably, but he needs this, needs Nate as deep as possible.

"I'll take it slow, I'll stretch you wide, make you take everything I give you and beg for more, and you'll going to forget what it's like to not have some part of me inside of you."

Brad groans around Nate's dick, shifts closer and rises on his knees slightly, works his pants open and takes out his own cock, stroking hard. When he pulls back for a moment, Nate's fingers brush against his lips, his thumb stroking at the corner.

"Don't you want..." Nate starts and Brad nudges his thighs apart, grants himself a little better access, licks down the underside of Nate's cock.

"I want you to come in my mouth, so don't hold back," he offers and takes Nate in again, enjoying the strangled sounds Nate makes, the way he thrusts inside like he can't help himself any longer, like Brad's words was all he needed.

"Brad," he says, only to repeat it a few times more, before his jaw gets slack and his eyes flutter close and he spills into Brad's mouth, his fingers curling at the back of Brad's head. Brad strokes himself faster and comes as well, tilts his head back and bites at his lip, enjoying the taste of Nate's come still there.

Nate lowers himself onto the floor, his movements shaky and tumbling, and he grabs Brad's hand, licks his fingers clean, like he feels the same need, to taste, to have as much of Brad as he can. He places a kiss on the inside of Brad's wrist, shifts closer and they tumble awkwardly to the floor together, Brad already pulling Nate close and mouthing along the line of his neck. The edge is off but that doesn't mean they don't need the closeness anymore, that Brad doesn't need to keep on touching Nate.

"I'm sorry," Brad says, and he's not quite looking at Nate, he's looking at the shell of his ear instead, the way Nate's hair curls around it just slightly, long enough that Nate's going to need a haircut soon. Brad reaches out to touch it and it's soft, even under the dirt.

"Don't," Nate tells him pointedly and he's smiling. Familiar. Fond. "If there's next time, I'll take backup. And you'll try to be less reckless about pretty much everything."

Brad nods. "Not going to happen, either of them, eh?"

"No, I don't think so," Nate admits. "But it's nice to think for a moment that it might," he adds and Brad places a kiss on the nearest available patch of skin, which happens to be Nate's ear.

"I'm not reckless about everything," he says quietly and Nate pulls back to look at him questioningly, waits for Brad to continue. "Not reckless about my heart," he finishes, quiet enough that he's not sure he actually said it out loud until Nate's face changes, shifts into a look of wonder and almost too much love than Brad's prepared to deal with.

Nate seems to think as much, because he shifts again, buries his face in Brad's neck, his lips moving over Brad's pulse when he speaks. "Thank you," he says and Brad hears the other one. It's why he almost doesn't believe his ears when Nate actually says it. "Love you."

"Enough to stop trying to give me a heart attack?" Brad tries and Nate makes a disapproving sound and Brad holds back a smile. "Love you too."

"Good. Let's get off this floor, then," Nate says and doesn't move a muscle to put his plan in action. Brad's more than fine with this.