riptide_asylum (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
riptide_asylum) wrote2013-02-18 01:27 pm
riptide_asylum) wrote2013-02-18 01:27 pm
Entry tags:
"Counting Down the Thunder" (Sunfish, 1997)
Title: Counting Down the Thunder
Rating: R
Summary: Each year, leaving Cody to go to Reserves gets harder and harder. There has to be a solution.
Nick drove home in a dark, dark mood.
Two weeks at Reserves was one thing, but being loaned out to the Navy for amphibious maneuvers was another. For one thing, the glare of sun off the water gave him a stabbing headache, making his right eyeball throb and clench, and for another, being stationed at Santa Clara Naval Air Reserve was too fucking far away from Cody.
The base was too far inland for one thing, (Whoever heard of a naval base stuck in the mountains? Nick shook his head) and the closest commercial mooring was just south of Oakland. South of Oakland, in turn was a) a drug-infested shithole Nick would never let Cody spend the night alone in, and b) way too expensive. The two of them had looked at the slip rental fee and docking fee and gas in comparison with their bank account and decided this year they’d have to just suck it up and cope.
Well, Nick thought, I coped. I didn’t knock anyone’s teeth down their throat and I didn’t eat my gun.
Cody emailed every day and texted five times as often, having recently discovered how to use the phone to send pictures. Seagulls and sunsets mostly. A couple pictures of Cody himself, usually accompanied by a painstakingly cheery message about how well he was doing in Nick’s absence. Cody cooking, using a metal fork to turn eggs in Nick’s non-stick pan. Cody grinning brightly, a whale mug full of what Nick knew would be full-caff coffee at his elbow, blood pressure be-damned.
When the buttons got away from him Cody sent Nick pictures of his feet, or a gunwale. Nick was never sure if it was on purpose.
None of the kind of photos Nick really wanted to see, but he figured Cody couldn’t exactly send those to a guy on a military base. Besides, Nick had had the real thing so often that having a picture instead might’ve just made him crazier.
It might not have. Nick could admit he was willing to find out.
And if he could just get through this traffic, he wouldn’t have to.
I-280 used to bottleneck right before you got to San Francisco, but sometime in the last ten years it had given up and decided to opt for full-on parking lot mode. So now Nick was stuck idling in a forty-year-old Vette while four lanes of traffic crept along one side of a barbed metal divider, jealously eyeing the progress being made by the four lanes creeping along in the opposite direction. Stucco walls painted a dirty cream ran along both sides, with the tops of easter-egg-colored box houses peering over the edge. Every so often a red-flowered bush was making a valiant an attempt to live off exhaust fumes.
Nick hated every square inch of it, and if the Vette’s transmission didn’t stop making that grinding sound, he was prepared to hate it too.
***
“I should’ve just flown home,” he told Cody. “It would’ve taken half the time.”
He’d made it back to the boat just after dark, and bounded aboard to find Cody safe and sound and excessively pleased with himself. He’d made something that might’ve been chicken, potatoes and gravy. It was hard to tell, what with it sticking to the plates like that, but hell, it was still better than Army chow and Nick appreciated the effort.
Cody nipped at Nick’s jaw-line. “You probably still would’ve run out of gas. Don’t they teach you to check the tank before you leave anymore?”
“You’re no fun, Cody. Did anyone ever tell you that?” Nick fished another dish out of the hot water.
They talked about everything and nothing, in the way of longtime roommates: Quinn had left Cody half a mouse next to the bed one morning, the new guys a couple slips over liked late-night jam sessions, the marina’s owner had decided to retire and move to Florida, Cody had tried the new burger joint over by the highway. Small, vital things that wove them back together.
But Nick couldn’t shake a persistent and undeniable dread, even in the confines of their sanctuary. It had started two weeks ago when he’d forced himself to get in the Vette and drive away, to the naval base in the arid scrublands. They weren’t getting any younger. Anything could happen.
Cody laid the dishtowel on the counter. He brushed a hand lightly down Nick’s back. “I’m gonna hit the showers, coach. If you don’t mind batting clean-up.”
When’ve I ever? Nick wanted to ask, but the words stuck in his throat. Instead he nodded and fumbled for another dirty dish, scrubbing at it madly.
After a moment, Cody turned and padded away. His footsteps were quick and light on the stairs as he descended to their stateroom.
Fuck. Nick blinked back tears.
One time, back in Nam, Nick had gotten sent out on an evening patrol without Cody. He hadn’t thought much about it at the time, mostly because there was a lot to do just staying alive. But when he’d returned, it turned out the camp had been ambushed; sustained long-range fire from the jungle and a couple grenades. Nothing serious. Not for Nam, anyway.
People were bleeding and shouting, and when Nick had managed to push past them he found Cody sitting quiet and composed, spine resolutely upright. Lying across his lap was half of Third Lieutenant Jefferson. A quiet kid from some hick town in Louisiana blown to bits in Cody’s lap.
He hadn’t said a word. Just sat there quiet and glassy-eyed while Jefferson was bagged and tagged. Until finally Nick had pulled him to his feet and taken him over to the showers, stripping off Cody’s blood-soaked uniform, joining him under the trickle of warm water, washing him clean. Drying him with the hard-tack towel and re-dressing him in Nick’s uniform which, if rank as hell, had managed that day to escape any body parts.
Nick came back to himself with a start.
The floor thrummed under his feet, the hot water tank pressed into action. Dumbly, Nick turned and stumbled down to the stateroom.
The door to the head was open, steam already slinking out.
Breathing hard, Nick pulled off his camos and dropped them on the floor, then made for the open doorway.
In the shower, Cody was luxuriating under the spray. Nick slipped into the small cubicle beside him and held him close, breathing deep. His hands roamed over the slight pooch of Cody’s stomach before slipping down to his hips and squeezing. Cody smelled like shampoo and... Cody. Nick breathed in deep.
Cody turned in Nick’s arms and began soaping him up.
***
Later they lay agreeably together in their ridiculously big bed with the tv on mute, flickering like a hearth-fire.
Nick was drowsing comfortably when he felt the familiar nudge of Cody at his back. He turned his head and was rewarded with a wolfish smile.
That was all it took.
Nick relaxed as Cody took him from behind, slow and sweet. They barely moved under the comforter, but the heat of them put back together felt nearly too much. His partner, inside him and around him, setting things to rights. With Cody buried deep inside him, Nick arched into the tidal wave of sensation, shaking and quivering.
Then finally, washed and fucked and content, Cody still curled along his back, Nick understood how to let go. He understood what needed to happen next.
“Babe,” he whispered.
“Mm.”
“Babe,” he tried again. “There was something, earlier.”
“Mm?”
“You said McGonigle’s leaving? He’s retiring and heading for Florida?”
“Mm-hm,” Cody answered sleepily.
“Hell, we’ve spent half our damn lives living on this boat, King Harbor and up here. And there isn’t even a merchant’s association here to give us shit. How’d you feel about going back into business together?”
Cody didn’t answer. Nick plunged ahead into the silence. “I think maybe... if we’re good, and we watch our pennies, maybe pick up a little security work from Boz... We could make it work, man. It’s just, I think it might be time...” To leave Reserves was left unsaid.
Cody turned in Nick’s arms. In the blue television light, Nick could see the lines starting around Cody’s eyes, creases around his mouth. Creases Jefferson will never have.
Cody grinned and rolled on top of Nick and stole a kiss, then several more. Nick had no complaints. Not anymore.
He and Cody had weathered twenty-five years together. Twenty-five years had brought them this; their boat, their bed, Cody’s cat, and a nice big flat-screen tv for watching the ball-game. No one shooting at them anymore.
Nick thought back over the previous two weeks, cadets throwing up in the hold of his chopper, freaking out and refusing to go near the damn door, some punk with a couple hours flight time telling him to take a different angle into the shore. And he could still hear the blanks the Navy used to simulate enemy fire popping off as he squinted against the Pacific’s glare.
“I thought you’d never ask,” Cody whispered. There was more kissing, leisurely rather than enthusiastic. Sealing the deal.
Quinn trotted down the stairs and leapt up onto the end of the bed with a soft thump. He settled down and regarded them balefully with one yellow eye, tail wrapped around him. The tip of it twitched slightly, as if he was waiting for them to announce their decision.
Cody rubbed him with one foot. Nick knew better than to go anywhere near the damn thing.
“Think we could give ourselves a discount on the rent?” Cody asked.
Nick grinned, settling Cody more comfortably against him. “You got it, boss.”
Rating: R
Summary: Each year, leaving Cody to go to Reserves gets harder and harder. There has to be a solution.
Nick drove home in a dark, dark mood.
Two weeks at Reserves was one thing, but being loaned out to the Navy for amphibious maneuvers was another. For one thing, the glare of sun off the water gave him a stabbing headache, making his right eyeball throb and clench, and for another, being stationed at Santa Clara Naval Air Reserve was too fucking far away from Cody.
The base was too far inland for one thing, (Whoever heard of a naval base stuck in the mountains? Nick shook his head) and the closest commercial mooring was just south of Oakland. South of Oakland, in turn was a) a drug-infested shithole Nick would never let Cody spend the night alone in, and b) way too expensive. The two of them had looked at the slip rental fee and docking fee and gas in comparison with their bank account and decided this year they’d have to just suck it up and cope.
Well, Nick thought, I coped. I didn’t knock anyone’s teeth down their throat and I didn’t eat my gun.
Cody emailed every day and texted five times as often, having recently discovered how to use the phone to send pictures. Seagulls and sunsets mostly. A couple pictures of Cody himself, usually accompanied by a painstakingly cheery message about how well he was doing in Nick’s absence. Cody cooking, using a metal fork to turn eggs in Nick’s non-stick pan. Cody grinning brightly, a whale mug full of what Nick knew would be full-caff coffee at his elbow, blood pressure be-damned.
When the buttons got away from him Cody sent Nick pictures of his feet, or a gunwale. Nick was never sure if it was on purpose.
None of the kind of photos Nick really wanted to see, but he figured Cody couldn’t exactly send those to a guy on a military base. Besides, Nick had had the real thing so often that having a picture instead might’ve just made him crazier.
It might not have. Nick could admit he was willing to find out.
And if he could just get through this traffic, he wouldn’t have to.
I-280 used to bottleneck right before you got to San Francisco, but sometime in the last ten years it had given up and decided to opt for full-on parking lot mode. So now Nick was stuck idling in a forty-year-old Vette while four lanes of traffic crept along one side of a barbed metal divider, jealously eyeing the progress being made by the four lanes creeping along in the opposite direction. Stucco walls painted a dirty cream ran along both sides, with the tops of easter-egg-colored box houses peering over the edge. Every so often a red-flowered bush was making a valiant an attempt to live off exhaust fumes.
Nick hated every square inch of it, and if the Vette’s transmission didn’t stop making that grinding sound, he was prepared to hate it too.
***
“I should’ve just flown home,” he told Cody. “It would’ve taken half the time.”
He’d made it back to the boat just after dark, and bounded aboard to find Cody safe and sound and excessively pleased with himself. He’d made something that might’ve been chicken, potatoes and gravy. It was hard to tell, what with it sticking to the plates like that, but hell, it was still better than Army chow and Nick appreciated the effort.
Cody nipped at Nick’s jaw-line. “You probably still would’ve run out of gas. Don’t they teach you to check the tank before you leave anymore?”
“You’re no fun, Cody. Did anyone ever tell you that?” Nick fished another dish out of the hot water.
They talked about everything and nothing, in the way of longtime roommates: Quinn had left Cody half a mouse next to the bed one morning, the new guys a couple slips over liked late-night jam sessions, the marina’s owner had decided to retire and move to Florida, Cody had tried the new burger joint over by the highway. Small, vital things that wove them back together.
But Nick couldn’t shake a persistent and undeniable dread, even in the confines of their sanctuary. It had started two weeks ago when he’d forced himself to get in the Vette and drive away, to the naval base in the arid scrublands. They weren’t getting any younger. Anything could happen.
Cody laid the dishtowel on the counter. He brushed a hand lightly down Nick’s back. “I’m gonna hit the showers, coach. If you don’t mind batting clean-up.”
When’ve I ever? Nick wanted to ask, but the words stuck in his throat. Instead he nodded and fumbled for another dirty dish, scrubbing at it madly.
After a moment, Cody turned and padded away. His footsteps were quick and light on the stairs as he descended to their stateroom.
Fuck. Nick blinked back tears.
One time, back in Nam, Nick had gotten sent out on an evening patrol without Cody. He hadn’t thought much about it at the time, mostly because there was a lot to do just staying alive. But when he’d returned, it turned out the camp had been ambushed; sustained long-range fire from the jungle and a couple grenades. Nothing serious. Not for Nam, anyway.
People were bleeding and shouting, and when Nick had managed to push past them he found Cody sitting quiet and composed, spine resolutely upright. Lying across his lap was half of Third Lieutenant Jefferson. A quiet kid from some hick town in Louisiana blown to bits in Cody’s lap.
He hadn’t said a word. Just sat there quiet and glassy-eyed while Jefferson was bagged and tagged. Until finally Nick had pulled him to his feet and taken him over to the showers, stripping off Cody’s blood-soaked uniform, joining him under the trickle of warm water, washing him clean. Drying him with the hard-tack towel and re-dressing him in Nick’s uniform which, if rank as hell, had managed that day to escape any body parts.
Nick came back to himself with a start.
The floor thrummed under his feet, the hot water tank pressed into action. Dumbly, Nick turned and stumbled down to the stateroom.
The door to the head was open, steam already slinking out.
Breathing hard, Nick pulled off his camos and dropped them on the floor, then made for the open doorway.
In the shower, Cody was luxuriating under the spray. Nick slipped into the small cubicle beside him and held him close, breathing deep. His hands roamed over the slight pooch of Cody’s stomach before slipping down to his hips and squeezing. Cody smelled like shampoo and... Cody. Nick breathed in deep.
Cody turned in Nick’s arms and began soaping him up.
***
Later they lay agreeably together in their ridiculously big bed with the tv on mute, flickering like a hearth-fire.
Nick was drowsing comfortably when he felt the familiar nudge of Cody at his back. He turned his head and was rewarded with a wolfish smile.
That was all it took.
Nick relaxed as Cody took him from behind, slow and sweet. They barely moved under the comforter, but the heat of them put back together felt nearly too much. His partner, inside him and around him, setting things to rights. With Cody buried deep inside him, Nick arched into the tidal wave of sensation, shaking and quivering.
Then finally, washed and fucked and content, Cody still curled along his back, Nick understood how to let go. He understood what needed to happen next.
“Babe,” he whispered.
“Mm.”
“Babe,” he tried again. “There was something, earlier.”
“Mm?”
“You said McGonigle’s leaving? He’s retiring and heading for Florida?”
“Mm-hm,” Cody answered sleepily.
“Hell, we’ve spent half our damn lives living on this boat, King Harbor and up here. And there isn’t even a merchant’s association here to give us shit. How’d you feel about going back into business together?”
Cody didn’t answer. Nick plunged ahead into the silence. “I think maybe... if we’re good, and we watch our pennies, maybe pick up a little security work from Boz... We could make it work, man. It’s just, I think it might be time...” To leave Reserves was left unsaid.
Cody turned in Nick’s arms. In the blue television light, Nick could see the lines starting around Cody’s eyes, creases around his mouth. Creases Jefferson will never have.
Cody grinned and rolled on top of Nick and stole a kiss, then several more. Nick had no complaints. Not anymore.
He and Cody had weathered twenty-five years together. Twenty-five years had brought them this; their boat, their bed, Cody’s cat, and a nice big flat-screen tv for watching the ball-game. No one shooting at them anymore.
Nick thought back over the previous two weeks, cadets throwing up in the hold of his chopper, freaking out and refusing to go near the damn door, some punk with a couple hours flight time telling him to take a different angle into the shore. And he could still hear the blanks the Navy used to simulate enemy fire popping off as he squinted against the Pacific’s glare.
“I thought you’d never ask,” Cody whispered. There was more kissing, leisurely rather than enthusiastic. Sealing the deal.
Quinn trotted down the stairs and leapt up onto the end of the bed with a soft thump. He settled down and regarded them balefully with one yellow eye, tail wrapped around him. The tip of it twitched slightly, as if he was waiting for them to announce their decision.
Cody rubbed him with one foot. Nick knew better than to go anywhere near the damn thing.
“Think we could give ourselves a discount on the rent?” Cody asked.
Nick grinned, settling Cody more comfortably against him. “You got it, boss.”
no subject
I love them and this is beautiful, and having them taking over the marina is a BEAUTIFUL idea for their sort of almost retirement. A nice non-gun job that they'll be really good at.
(no subject)