** This one goes out to fandom! Hope you all had a great YAGKYAS! **
"You, sir, have an exceptional ass."
Brad had a handful of said ass and gave it a squeeze. Nate gently elbowed him in the ribs. He was digging through the drawer of kitchen implements in search of the corkscrew. A bottle of red was on the counter.
Brad was undeterred. ”Not only is it an exceptional ass, but I’m sure two resourceful Marines like ourselves could jury rig a way to use it to open that bottle.” He pressed his groin against Nate’s ass, reminding him of the dessert options.
"Tempting, but I think I’ll pass."
"Vanilla," Brad nuzzled under Nate’s ear.
"Sanitary," Nate replied. "And I have a better idea that involves champagne instead." Nate gave him The Eyebrow and stowed the wine back in the depths of their pantry. He reemerged with a faint smile that Brad recognized as Nate’s man-with-a-clever-plan expression. Nate held the neck of the champagne bottle with white-knuckled intent.
"That sounds dangerous," Brad smirked. "Let me get you the cup I wear for softball."
"Leave the cup. Get your sword."
Brad raised both of his eyebrows. ”I assume that is a metaphor.”
"Nope." Nate popped the ‘p’ and loosened his tie on the way to the living room. Faint cheers came from the New Year’s Eve feed on the tv. He glanced back at Brad over his shoulder and left his tie on the floor like a trail of strangely kinky breadcrumbs.
Brad followed Nate into the next room and watched him settle into the armchair. His knees were wide, bottle of champagne nestled there. His long fingers loosened the buttons on his shirt.
"I trust that we both make it out of this in one piece."
Nate chuckled and pulled his opened shirt from the waistband of his trousers. Brad turned for the hallway closet and his sword.
By the time Brad got back, Nate’s shirt was forgotten on the floor. He stood — bottle of champagne in one fist, and the end of his loosening belt in the other — and leveled Brad with a look that said this New Year’s was about to be a memorable one.
"Open it," Nate said, stepping out of the last of his clothes and proffering the bottle to Brad. "With your sword."
Nate overhanded himself, never breaking eye contact. The tv’s cheering crowd was all for Nate’s show.
"Yes sir.”
The countdown began as Brad unsheathed his blade. It hit five when the cork flew across the room. New Year’s came as they drank champagne from each other’s mouths, trickles of the bubbling liquid trailing down Nate’s bare chest. Brad chased every one of them into the new year.
