Fic: Changes in Attitudes (NC-17)
Oct. 17th, 2010 08:07 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
neevebrody.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
brendan_vincentThis grew a bit big for comment fic to last week's discussion. Hope its lateness doesn't dilute the relevance.
Title: Changes in Attitudes
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
neevebrody
Rating: NC-17
Words: ~2,300
Legal: they really don't belong to me, darn it.
Beta: the awesomemischief5 - but I tinker, so remaining mistakes = mine
Notes: Written as part of the discussion for last week's Steamy Sunday, it grew into a prelude of sorts to the fic I wanted to post last Christmas. Unfortunately, I didn't finish that one, but now I have to, right?
Summary: What might they learn from each other? What might they teach each other?
Brendan pulled into the crush of traffic at Broadway on the wrong side of annoyed. That was unusual. Not that every day at the NSA was a stellar one, and some days with Freya were downright challenging; it was difficult to keep from blushing or to keep certain thoughts from his mind. Actually, Brendan loved his job. Everything from running down a lead to boring hours hunched over data; digesting surveillance tapes to the tight, crackling few moments before a takedown.
He loved it even more now because there was someone waiting at home who knew how to make even the shittiest day fade into a bad memory. As he loosened his tie, the cold door of reality slammed shut on his half-formed grin. He’d likely need more than Vince to smooth out the kinks, set deep from a day beset with family overload. He loved his family – dearly – but not as a tag team.
He’d spoken to his dad first – well, his dad had talked and Brendan had listened: a trip to the lumberyard, projects for Christmas, Brendan should really call more often – it would make his mother happy. Now, he called his mother once a week; that was like a tenet of the Good Son Manual, wasn't it? That alone should have given him that hinky feeling that something was up.
His mom had called during some evidence analysis – nothing like breaking up the day with a little passive-aggressive guilt fest, especially if it was moldy old recycled guilt. He’d finally put his foot down when she’d started babbling about biological clocks and babies – obviously forgetting for a moment that Linnie was the one with the clock and that alarm had gone off twice already. His brother and sister-in-law just kept hitting the snooze bar – the twins had made it four already. But his foot hadn't been fast enough to miss his mother's invitation to come for Thanksgiving. He'd left it up in the air but knew he wouldn’t accept.
It wasn’t like he didn't spend every year with the same aunts and uncles, the same dry turkey and that stuffing he hated, listening to the same family gossip, and the same tired pitch from his brother-in-law offering him a “real job.” No, this year Brendan had other plans, but telling his mom at this point would be like reprising a session with his old therapist; there’d be a daily phone call soaked in obligation aimed at making him relent and reconsider, especially if she knew he wouldn't be alone. He and Vince had rented a cabin for the long holiday weekend, their first real time away since Vincent had begun law school. Second year was breaking hard and Brendan wanted to give Vince a nice long weekend away – no books, no computers and rationed cell phone use. Absolutely no relenting.
Later, serendipity had shoved any thought of leaving in a good mood out the window by saving the best for last. Brendan’s head began to pound again thinking how his sister had caught him right at the end of the day and how she'd gone on and on about how she understood and why hadn’t he just been honest with their mother. A mutual friend had given his sister the skinny that Brendan had met someone “interesting” after running into the two of them the previous summer, and Linnie had been on Brendan’s ass ever since to man up and bring his boyfriend to meet the family. You’ll string her along, wait ‘til the last minute, and then something will come up, Linnie had said, adding that she knew the real reason for his hedging, yet not acknowledging she had any part in it.
Quick to change the subject and hope she’d catch a clue and butt out, Brendan had asked about Mr. Wonderful and if he would be there, mentally ticking that off as one more reason not to go. He’d gotten the same tired, big-sister sigh, her usual response to most of his inquiries. “Of course,” she’d said, then launched into her litany of why-my-husband-is-so-awesome and her obligatory “I don’t know why you let Rich intimidate you” before he’d blurted out that he had to say goodbye.
With one eye on the rear view, Brendan maneuvered in and out of lanes when he could, thinking the one family member that might have made the day bearable was probably on some island or in the middle of a jungle. As a foreign aid worker, Brendan’s brother and family had recently been re-assigned and were rarely anywhere with reliable communication resources. Michael was the only one he really wouldn’t have minded interrupting his day. The last time they’d talked had been when the twins were born and they were all back home. His big brother had always reminded Brendan of an earlier version of their dad and perhaps that’s what made him miss Michael so. Strong, capable, and just as opinionated, but less likely to let fly with those opinions at inopportune times. Thinking of a first meeting between his dad and Vincent caused Brendan to shudder and loosen his tie even more.
The nut of it all was that his mother had proposed Christmas as a compromise. If she could have her pick, then he had to come home then. She'd invited several members of the extended family and wanted to “show him off.” Which probably meant that she thought they might know of some nice girl who just hadn’t yet met her Mr. Right. Brendan groaned as he pulled into the apartment building's garage and parked the car.
On the way upstairs, Linnie’s defense of her husband stirred up his headache again to the point he wished he’d gone straight to the practice range. Venting at a target was better than venting at Vince. Poor Vince, it wasn’t fair… but he was so good at making it all go away. And that was just what Brendan wanted – for it all to go away. Out of sight, out of mind, hands free, stall ‘dealing’ as long as he could.
Key in the lock, Brendan had built up quite a head of steam, all set to really lay it out. How they were not changing their plans for their weekend (because Vince would say maybe they should). How his family had executed a flawless trifecta of love-laced manipulation. How his dad could be so non-committal and his mother so stubborn. (It didn’t help matters that he’d never told Vince his mother still hoped Brendan would meet “the right woman” and settle down like Linnie). And Linnie… claiming to understand all the way through lauding her perfect marriage as the only way to be truly happy.
Keys and briefcase hit the foyer table with a clatter and a thump. Brendan secured his weapon and abandoned his tie altogether, his whole body tingling with the anticipation of a real bitch session. The need for it like the lingering taste of licorice on his tongue. But as he crossed the threshold into the den, the sight of Vincent slouched in the recliner, a large book about torts spread-eagled across his chest, caught him up short. The TV volume was low and Vincent’s eyes were closed; a legal pad filled with bold script clung valiantly to one thigh but the pen and yellow highlighter had already fallen to the floor.
A single thought, like soda bubbles, rose above everything else as he gazed at the man who shared his life and his bed. Vincent never complained about his family. Hell, Vince rarely complained about anything. He didn’t talk about his mother much but Brendan knew that Vince’s father had left them when Vince was barely six years old. Not long after that, Vince had been sent away to live with his mother’s sister. Always full of fond words for his aunt and uncle, that closeness made Brendan truly sorry he’d never gotten the opportunity to know them.
Meeting Vince for the first time, anyone would think of him as laid back, not a care in the world, just thinking forward to the next time he’d get laid or have a job. Brendan knew that because he was guilty of having made the same mistaken assumptions. Vince could go dark sometimes but he seemed to hold it all inside himself. Sure, it happened to everyone, but it was such a bad fit for Vince. Even Brendan was still learning when he could pull Vince out of it and when to just let things go.
He stood there looking down at his hands, the ball of fire that would have been one hell of a rant burning itself out alone in the middle of his chest. Christ, if anyone had a reason to rant about family, it was Vince. Swallowing the lump in his throat, Brendan bent down to brush the hair away from Vince’s forehead, fingers grazing the brow ridge and falling away over his cheek. That got him a half-opened eye and the start of a lazy grin. But Brendan’s super-agent reflexes were lightning fast, his kiss forcing Vince’s lip apart with a soft sigh.
Vince tugged playfully at Brendan’s bottom lip as he drew back. The look in Vince’s eyes said glad you’re home and the way he left his lips parted, a slick shimmer highlighting the fullness, said really, really glad you’re home.
Standing, Brendan righted the recliner with his foot and began to unbutton his shirt. Eager hands pushed his own away and the unspoken let me from Vince wasn’t something Brendan had a mind to argue. Not today anyway. “You hungry?” he asked, dropping his hands.
“Starving,” Vince replied, pushing the tee shirt out of the way, his mouth like a brand against Brendan’s skin.
Shrugging the shirt from his shoulders, Brendan toed off his shoes and stripped off the undershirt. Without a word, he pushed Vince back against the chair and, in one move, scooped up the textbook and let it drop to the floor before straddling Vincent’s lap. “Tough shit…” he began, breath catching at all that fire and want staring back at him, that look like Vince could take just about anything as long as Brendan came home at the end of the day. “Dinner’s gonna be a little late tonight.” He stroked his thumb across full, open lips before pulling Vince close for another kiss. A sweet kiss turned hot as Vince worked Brendan’s belt loose and opened the tab front of his pants.
This. This was everything and all that mattered and Brendan wanted to stay this way until his kisses had convinced Vincent, if they ever could. He wasn’t going anywhere… he’d always come home.
A single jolt of heat lit him up as Vince ground against him, their mouths and tongues still tangled together. It was a jolt that said they’d better take it somewhere else while there was still time, before they were all knees and elbows and sweaty skin skidding on fake leather, and a hot, sticky mess all over at least one of them.
Shrouded in their shared need, Brendan thought about his day – the day that now barely seemed to exist. He ended the kiss, wanting to get one last thing out of the way. “Oh, and we’re going to my parents’ house for Christmas… for the weekend,” he mumbled, trying to keep their lips together or at least touching.
But maybe he’d said something wrong because Vince was pulling away, sitting back, rubbing his hands over Brendan’s hips, not meeting Brendan’s eyes. “You’re sure that's a good idea?”
He thumped Vince on the head to make him look. “I'm ready; I want them to meet you,” he said, then he stood up, pushed his pants down, and kicked them aside. The recliner it was going to be then. “You still want to, right?”
Those darkened eyes followed as Brendan knelt there and began undoing Vince’s fly, seductively popping the buttons one by one.
“You know I do,” Vince answered, his voice trying but failing to hide its breathlessness, lifting his hips so Brendan could pull the jeans over them. He only managed to get one leg free before burying his face in Vince’s lap; the soft weight of Vince’s cock, the heady scent of dark places warm and comforting. Nibbling at the foreskin – working it slowly, carefully between his teeth in that way that made Vince crazy – Brendan devised his own compromise.
He’d see his parents first and try to talk to them. Try to make them see that he was happy; that for the first time in a very long time, he no longer felt lost in a tangle of confusion and false starts, awkward conversations and even more awkward actions. Really happy.
Listening to Vincent moan, feeling him grow hard in his mouth, Brendan wouldn’t think of the arguments, wouldn’t think of those tight lines around his father’s eyes or his mother’s pinched smile or the platitudes they were sure to dish out. Right now, he had a horny man to satisfy. He'd suffer all those things for Vince and more – not a bad trade off for hearing his name whispered in the middle of the night, thinly veiled in heart-crushing longing, or the promise of tagging a part of that gypsy soul for his own, or the magic of making hellish days disappear. And Vince gave it all away to Brendan freely – keeping the dark someplace where it couldn't touch them.
Taking Vincent fully into his mouth, his heart racing with another of Vince's moans, Brendan looked up into half-lidded eyes; he was so ready to be whatever this man needed. Whatever it was that Vincent lacked, Brendan would be that thing.
He smiled into those eyes. Dinner was going to be so fucking late.
Title: Changes in Attitudes
Author:
neevebrodyRating: NC-17
Words: ~2,300
Legal: they really don't belong to me, darn it.
Beta: the awesome
mischief5 - but I tinker, so remaining mistakes = mineNotes: Written as part of the discussion for last week's Steamy Sunday, it grew into a prelude of sorts to the fic I wanted to post last Christmas. Unfortunately, I didn't finish that one, but now I have to, right?
Summary: What might they learn from each other? What might they teach each other?
Brendan pulled into the crush of traffic at Broadway on the wrong side of annoyed. That was unusual. Not that every day at the NSA was a stellar one, and some days with Freya were downright challenging; it was difficult to keep from blushing or to keep certain thoughts from his mind. Actually, Brendan loved his job. Everything from running down a lead to boring hours hunched over data; digesting surveillance tapes to the tight, crackling few moments before a takedown.
He loved it even more now because there was someone waiting at home who knew how to make even the shittiest day fade into a bad memory. As he loosened his tie, the cold door of reality slammed shut on his half-formed grin. He’d likely need more than Vince to smooth out the kinks, set deep from a day beset with family overload. He loved his family – dearly – but not as a tag team.
He’d spoken to his dad first – well, his dad had talked and Brendan had listened: a trip to the lumberyard, projects for Christmas, Brendan should really call more often – it would make his mother happy. Now, he called his mother once a week; that was like a tenet of the Good Son Manual, wasn't it? That alone should have given him that hinky feeling that something was up.
His mom had called during some evidence analysis – nothing like breaking up the day with a little passive-aggressive guilt fest, especially if it was moldy old recycled guilt. He’d finally put his foot down when she’d started babbling about biological clocks and babies – obviously forgetting for a moment that Linnie was the one with the clock and that alarm had gone off twice already. His brother and sister-in-law just kept hitting the snooze bar – the twins had made it four already. But his foot hadn't been fast enough to miss his mother's invitation to come for Thanksgiving. He'd left it up in the air but knew he wouldn’t accept.
It wasn’t like he didn't spend every year with the same aunts and uncles, the same dry turkey and that stuffing he hated, listening to the same family gossip, and the same tired pitch from his brother-in-law offering him a “real job.” No, this year Brendan had other plans, but telling his mom at this point would be like reprising a session with his old therapist; there’d be a daily phone call soaked in obligation aimed at making him relent and reconsider, especially if she knew he wouldn't be alone. He and Vince had rented a cabin for the long holiday weekend, their first real time away since Vincent had begun law school. Second year was breaking hard and Brendan wanted to give Vince a nice long weekend away – no books, no computers and rationed cell phone use. Absolutely no relenting.
Later, serendipity had shoved any thought of leaving in a good mood out the window by saving the best for last. Brendan’s head began to pound again thinking how his sister had caught him right at the end of the day and how she'd gone on and on about how she understood and why hadn’t he just been honest with their mother. A mutual friend had given his sister the skinny that Brendan had met someone “interesting” after running into the two of them the previous summer, and Linnie had been on Brendan’s ass ever since to man up and bring his boyfriend to meet the family. You’ll string her along, wait ‘til the last minute, and then something will come up, Linnie had said, adding that she knew the real reason for his hedging, yet not acknowledging she had any part in it.
Quick to change the subject and hope she’d catch a clue and butt out, Brendan had asked about Mr. Wonderful and if he would be there, mentally ticking that off as one more reason not to go. He’d gotten the same tired, big-sister sigh, her usual response to most of his inquiries. “Of course,” she’d said, then launched into her litany of why-my-husband-is-so-awesome and her obligatory “I don’t know why you let Rich intimidate you” before he’d blurted out that he had to say goodbye.
With one eye on the rear view, Brendan maneuvered in and out of lanes when he could, thinking the one family member that might have made the day bearable was probably on some island or in the middle of a jungle. As a foreign aid worker, Brendan’s brother and family had recently been re-assigned and were rarely anywhere with reliable communication resources. Michael was the only one he really wouldn’t have minded interrupting his day. The last time they’d talked had been when the twins were born and they were all back home. His big brother had always reminded Brendan of an earlier version of their dad and perhaps that’s what made him miss Michael so. Strong, capable, and just as opinionated, but less likely to let fly with those opinions at inopportune times. Thinking of a first meeting between his dad and Vincent caused Brendan to shudder and loosen his tie even more.
The nut of it all was that his mother had proposed Christmas as a compromise. If she could have her pick, then he had to come home then. She'd invited several members of the extended family and wanted to “show him off.” Which probably meant that she thought they might know of some nice girl who just hadn’t yet met her Mr. Right. Brendan groaned as he pulled into the apartment building's garage and parked the car.
On the way upstairs, Linnie’s defense of her husband stirred up his headache again to the point he wished he’d gone straight to the practice range. Venting at a target was better than venting at Vince. Poor Vince, it wasn’t fair… but he was so good at making it all go away. And that was just what Brendan wanted – for it all to go away. Out of sight, out of mind, hands free, stall ‘dealing’ as long as he could.
Key in the lock, Brendan had built up quite a head of steam, all set to really lay it out. How they were not changing their plans for their weekend (because Vince would say maybe they should). How his family had executed a flawless trifecta of love-laced manipulation. How his dad could be so non-committal and his mother so stubborn. (It didn’t help matters that he’d never told Vince his mother still hoped Brendan would meet “the right woman” and settle down like Linnie). And Linnie… claiming to understand all the way through lauding her perfect marriage as the only way to be truly happy.
Keys and briefcase hit the foyer table with a clatter and a thump. Brendan secured his weapon and abandoned his tie altogether, his whole body tingling with the anticipation of a real bitch session. The need for it like the lingering taste of licorice on his tongue. But as he crossed the threshold into the den, the sight of Vincent slouched in the recliner, a large book about torts spread-eagled across his chest, caught him up short. The TV volume was low and Vincent’s eyes were closed; a legal pad filled with bold script clung valiantly to one thigh but the pen and yellow highlighter had already fallen to the floor.
A single thought, like soda bubbles, rose above everything else as he gazed at the man who shared his life and his bed. Vincent never complained about his family. Hell, Vince rarely complained about anything. He didn’t talk about his mother much but Brendan knew that Vince’s father had left them when Vince was barely six years old. Not long after that, Vince had been sent away to live with his mother’s sister. Always full of fond words for his aunt and uncle, that closeness made Brendan truly sorry he’d never gotten the opportunity to know them.
Meeting Vince for the first time, anyone would think of him as laid back, not a care in the world, just thinking forward to the next time he’d get laid or have a job. Brendan knew that because he was guilty of having made the same mistaken assumptions. Vince could go dark sometimes but he seemed to hold it all inside himself. Sure, it happened to everyone, but it was such a bad fit for Vince. Even Brendan was still learning when he could pull Vince out of it and when to just let things go.
He stood there looking down at his hands, the ball of fire that would have been one hell of a rant burning itself out alone in the middle of his chest. Christ, if anyone had a reason to rant about family, it was Vince. Swallowing the lump in his throat, Brendan bent down to brush the hair away from Vince’s forehead, fingers grazing the brow ridge and falling away over his cheek. That got him a half-opened eye and the start of a lazy grin. But Brendan’s super-agent reflexes were lightning fast, his kiss forcing Vince’s lip apart with a soft sigh.
Vince tugged playfully at Brendan’s bottom lip as he drew back. The look in Vince’s eyes said glad you’re home and the way he left his lips parted, a slick shimmer highlighting the fullness, said really, really glad you’re home.
Standing, Brendan righted the recliner with his foot and began to unbutton his shirt. Eager hands pushed his own away and the unspoken let me from Vince wasn’t something Brendan had a mind to argue. Not today anyway. “You hungry?” he asked, dropping his hands.
“Starving,” Vince replied, pushing the tee shirt out of the way, his mouth like a brand against Brendan’s skin.
Shrugging the shirt from his shoulders, Brendan toed off his shoes and stripped off the undershirt. Without a word, he pushed Vince back against the chair and, in one move, scooped up the textbook and let it drop to the floor before straddling Vincent’s lap. “Tough shit…” he began, breath catching at all that fire and want staring back at him, that look like Vince could take just about anything as long as Brendan came home at the end of the day. “Dinner’s gonna be a little late tonight.” He stroked his thumb across full, open lips before pulling Vince close for another kiss. A sweet kiss turned hot as Vince worked Brendan’s belt loose and opened the tab front of his pants.
This. This was everything and all that mattered and Brendan wanted to stay this way until his kisses had convinced Vincent, if they ever could. He wasn’t going anywhere… he’d always come home.
A single jolt of heat lit him up as Vince ground against him, their mouths and tongues still tangled together. It was a jolt that said they’d better take it somewhere else while there was still time, before they were all knees and elbows and sweaty skin skidding on fake leather, and a hot, sticky mess all over at least one of them.
Shrouded in their shared need, Brendan thought about his day – the day that now barely seemed to exist. He ended the kiss, wanting to get one last thing out of the way. “Oh, and we’re going to my parents’ house for Christmas… for the weekend,” he mumbled, trying to keep their lips together or at least touching.
But maybe he’d said something wrong because Vince was pulling away, sitting back, rubbing his hands over Brendan’s hips, not meeting Brendan’s eyes. “You’re sure that's a good idea?”
He thumped Vince on the head to make him look. “I'm ready; I want them to meet you,” he said, then he stood up, pushed his pants down, and kicked them aside. The recliner it was going to be then. “You still want to, right?”
Those darkened eyes followed as Brendan knelt there and began undoing Vince’s fly, seductively popping the buttons one by one.
“You know I do,” Vince answered, his voice trying but failing to hide its breathlessness, lifting his hips so Brendan could pull the jeans over them. He only managed to get one leg free before burying his face in Vince’s lap; the soft weight of Vince’s cock, the heady scent of dark places warm and comforting. Nibbling at the foreskin – working it slowly, carefully between his teeth in that way that made Vince crazy – Brendan devised his own compromise.
He’d see his parents first and try to talk to them. Try to make them see that he was happy; that for the first time in a very long time, he no longer felt lost in a tangle of confusion and false starts, awkward conversations and even more awkward actions. Really happy.
Listening to Vincent moan, feeling him grow hard in his mouth, Brendan wouldn’t think of the arguments, wouldn’t think of those tight lines around his father’s eyes or his mother’s pinched smile or the platitudes they were sure to dish out. Right now, he had a horny man to satisfy. He'd suffer all those things for Vince and more – not a bad trade off for hearing his name whispered in the middle of the night, thinly veiled in heart-crushing longing, or the promise of tagging a part of that gypsy soul for his own, or the magic of making hellish days disappear. And Vince gave it all away to Brendan freely – keeping the dark someplace where it couldn't touch them.
Taking Vincent fully into his mouth, his heart racing with another of Vince's moans, Brendan looked up into half-lidded eyes; he was so ready to be whatever this man needed. Whatever it was that Vincent lacked, Brendan would be that thing.
He smiled into those eyes. Dinner was going to be so fucking late.
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