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“Can I help you with that?”
Nate turned around, half-empty moving box and all, to look at the man calling out to him. Tall, blonde and bronzed, he’d look like a stereotypical Californian surfer boy even if he weren’t carrying a board under his arm, his swimming shorts riding a little low on his hips.
Nate swallowed.
“I’m Brad,” Brad called loudly, as he was still in the middle of the street, but slowly closing in, “I live just across the street.”
“Nate,” Nate answered as if on autopilot. He shifted his box so he could hold it with one arm against his hip, holding his hand out to Brad, who sped up his pace a little to take it. His hand felt warm in Nate’s, squeezing tightly.
“So?” Brad prompted him again once they let go. “You need any help?”
“Sure,” Nate said, looking at the pile of boxes sitting at the bottom of the stairs leading up to his beach house.
“You know,” Brad drawled once all the boxes were carried in, standing in the middle of Nate’s living room, “mine is bigger than yours.”
Nate slammed his front door shut, if only so Brad wouldn’t see him blush at his stupid little joke. It wasn’t Nate’s fault - he hadn’t gotten laid in months and Brad was gorgeous, so it was understandable Nate was a little… excitable at the moment.
“You little prick,” he swore, turning around to look at Brad’s shit-eating grin. “Anyway, let’s get down to business.”
Malibu: a beautiful strip of exclusive beaches, overlooked by beautiful mansions and cozy beach houses, where the rich and famous spend their summer holidays, and where Jonathan Smith was running his smuggling ring, just like his father and grandfather before him.
The FBI has had its eyes on the Smiths for ages, but had so far always been unable to pin anything on them. And so it was decided to run an elaborate sting operation, increasing surveillance, infiltrating the business, cracking down on business partners, until they’d eventually gather enough evidence to put Smith and his accomplices away for life.
Brad, one of the Bureau’s finest technical analysts, got planted in the beach house next to Smith’s two months ago, posing as someone who’d got moderately rich by inventing some app that everyone had long forgotten. He’d even programmed himself a fake website and had way too much fun writing his own, very fake Wikipedia page. His job was to oversee communications and surveillance from up close, to try and hack his way into their target’s networks and find out as much about their dirty business as possible.
Years of work were supposed to come to a head at a party the Smiths were throwing at the end of the month. Nate had been sent in ahead of time as reinforcement. They would need as many bodies there to prepare the arrest as possible. Until then he essentially had to lay low, get an invitation to the party, and help Brad draw up plans of the Smiths’ house and its surroundings.
Brad introduced Nate to Smith’s wife, Linda, two days after Nate had moved in. Linda spent time on the beach every morning, doing yoga before reading a book under her bright yellow parasol.
They were pretending that Brad was giving him surfing lessons - or at least Nate had thought they were pretending. Brad was taking it very seriously, schooling Nate on technique, making him stand on his board on dry sand for an entire morning, ordering him into wave after wave until Nate, who had never much been a fan of the water, felt nauseous.
It was entirely possible that Nate looked a little green around the gills when he shook Linda’s hand for the first time, explaining where he lived and who he was - essentially a rich someone’s son from the East Coast - as Linda was looking at him with something between pity and fondness, as if he were a puppy who’d gotten himself into a bit of a pinch.
Nate figured it worked rather well to establish himself as a non-threatening presence in the neighborhood, and so they kept at the lessons the following mornings. Nate’s progress during those days was minimal, and he grew more frustrated at his own ineptitude to ride a wave with each passing morning.
About a week after first contact with Linda, he managed to get hit in the head by his own board and almost drown only ten minutes into the lesson. Brad had to practically fish him out of the water and drag him onto the beach, over to where Linda sat in her customary spot.
“He needs a timeout. Can I leave him here with you?” Brad asked Linda, who nodded benevolently. Nate sat down in the sand next to her, and together they watched Brad jog back into the sea.
“You know,” Linda said after a few minutes of sullen silence on Nate's part, “he likes you.”
“What?” Nate asked, aghast, head whipping around to stare at Linda before he could even think about schooling in his reaction. “Have you hit your head as well?”
Linda looked at him over the edge of her sunglasses.
“He likes you. Before you came here, he was always surfing - alone - or holed up in his little house. He did stop by for some of the parties, but truly he always kept to himself. I even tried setting him up with April from down the street, and he didn’t even look at her. But he looks at you. He takes you surfing. And you look at him, too.”
“I don’t… I don’t look at him!” Nate protested, with a bit too much fervor.
Linda just kept staring at him, until she had Nate squirming under her gaze.
“Sure,” she said eventually and looked back at the sea, that Brad was just then jogging out of like he was some guy out of a Coca-Cola ad. “You know, you should come to our party on Saturday.”
At the sudden change of topic, Nate looked away from Brad and turned towards her.
“I’d love to.”
His smile was genuinely bright, relieved as he was that he’d gotten his invitation and didn’t have to find an excuse to crash the party. “What’s the occasion?” he asked as if he didn’t already know.
Before Linda could answer, Brad had reached them, dripping seawater all over Nate’s toes.
“You’re awfully red,” Brad frowned at Nate. “Did you forget to put on sunscreen again?”
“I did not!” Nate huffed, although he totally did.
“He thinks he can get a tan,” Brad commented in Linda’s direction, “but actually he just turns into a burnt pretzel.”
“Okay, that’s enough!” Nate cried over Linda’s chuckles and mocking gaze, pushing himself onto his own two feet, ignoring the hand Brad was offering him to help him up.
“See you on Sunday, Linda,” he said as politely as he could, turned around and stalked his way up the beach.
Brad caught up with him a few seconds later, as Nate knew he would, and Nate shot him an exasperated glare.
“What was that?”, he scolded Brad once he was sure they were out of Linda’s earshot.
“What was what?” Brad retorted, all innocent, though Nate wasn’t buying it for a second.
“Uuh, Linda, he thinks he can get a tan but he just turns into a burnt pretzel,” Nate mimicked, though he pitched his voice much higher than Brad’s usual cadence. “You know she thinks something’s going on between us?”
“Well, that's-” Brad started, but Nate didn’t let him finish.
“We’re supposed to be strangers, Brad! Casual acquaintances! If you keep going like this, you’ll jeopardize this entire mission! What if Ferrando hears about this, he’ll -”
“Okay, okay,” Brad sighed with a dramatic roll of his eyes. “I’ll behave. Casual acquaintances it is.”
Brad’s tongue was down his throat, his hands under Nate’s jacket, roaming up and down his back. Nate was listening to the click click of the footsteps drawing ever closer, eyes sweeping through the room, mentally preparing for the fight that might break out in a couple of seconds. If they lived long enough to fight at all.
Nate felt like he was burning up with adrenaline, his heart pounding away in his chest, making the blood rush in his ears, through his entire body. God, but the way Brad was kissing him, covering him with his whole body, just felt so, so, good. If these were the last moments of their lives, he might as well make the most of it.
Nate ran his fingers into Brad’s hair, tugging not so gently, making Brad moan into his mouth and press Nate against the wall a little harder. Nate hooked one of his legs around Brad’s middle, making their hips slot together deliciously, and putting the knife he’d strapped to his ankle in grabbing distance for both Brad and himself. It seemed that Brad had caught on, because he was running one hand over Nate’s ass and down his leg, just as the door slammed open.
“Whatever brings you here, boys?”
Peering over Brad’s shoulder, Nate could see Linda standing in the doorway, eyebrows raised, arms crossed, and looking more than a little delighted.
Nate noted the lack of weapons in her hands with some relief, while trying to do his best to look as if he’d just been caught in flagrante delicto making out with Brad, and not trying to disable the compound’s security systems by tampering with the wiring six feet to their left.
“Oh god, I’m so sorry Linda,” he professed. “We were just looking for a quiet place to… to…”
“I think I got a pretty good idea of what you wanted to do,” Linda snickered, sweeping her gaze over their still interlocked bodies.
With one final evaluation of Linda’s non-threatening form, Nate let his leg drop and his hand slide from Brad’s shoulder to his chest to gently push him away. For a moment, Brad didn’t move, his eyes searching for Nate’s, for confirmation that they were safe.
Only now did Nate understand that Brad had been deliberately shielding him with his body, even if it meant turning his back to the enemy, and he had to bat down the adoration rising up inside himself. They were on the job, for god’s sake.
With a slight nod and another push against Brad’s chest, Nate gave the confirmation Brad wanted and Brad turned away from Nate to face the elated Linda.
“Sorry,” Brad mumbled sheepishly, running his hand through his disheveled hair.
“Don’t worry about it,” Linda chirped graciously, “I’m happy for you two! Honestly, I’d leave you to it, but I could use some help carrying a few more bottles of wine upstairs, if you wouldn’t mind, Brad?”
Nate felt immediately queasy at the thought of being separated. “I can help you too,” he offered with a smile, while tugging nervously at his jacket.
“Oh no, one’s more than enough. Why don’t you go upstairs already? They’ve just brought out the salmon canapés and they’re absolutely delicious!”
Nate had a bad feeling, but he couldn’t really insist any further, and so with another look at Brad, who wordlessly communicated his assent, he pushed past Linda, out of the room and up the stairs, not daring to look back.
—
Ten minutes later, Nate was seriously freaking out. He’d given the signal that they’d taken down the surveillance cameras; the raid would start any second now, and Brad still hadn’t resurfaced. There was no trace of him at the bar, at the buffet or elsewhere. Nate had even gone as far as peering into the kitchen and going to the men’s room, but there was no Brad to be found. Neither was Linda.
Screw it, Nate thought, and put his plate of salmon canapés, that tasted like someone had puked a whole ton of dill all over them, down with a slam. He hurried back down the stairs, making sure to keep his footsteps light.
The door to the room Linda had found them in was still open, but it was empty now. According to the plan they had of the place, the wine cellar was further down the corridor, and it was as good a place to start as any.
As he crept along the hallway, he thought he heard something like a slam coming from the room at the end of the corridor. Pulse speeding up, he bent down and pulled his knife out of his holster, throwing caution to the wind and jogging towards the door, which had been left ajar.
Peering through, he could only see Linda’s back.
“Have it your way, then,” she was saying, as he carefully pushed the door open wider, just in time to see her aim her gun at Brad’s head. “I’m sure I’ll get your boyfriend to tell me everything I want to know as soon as I show him what I’ve done to you…”
Nate acted entirely on impulse. With the rage and terror coursing through him, he didn’t bother to check the rest of the room or throw another look over his shoulder to make sure there weren’t more assailants coming. In one heartbeat, he cleared the door, crossed the room and had his knife at Linda’s throat.
“He’s not my boyfriend,” he snarled into her ear, ignoring her surprised scream. “He’s my husband. So you better drop it.”
Linda hesitated, clearly trying to calculate her chances, and Nate mercilessly increased the pressure of his blade against her throat until her gun clattered to the ground.
Brad immediately jumped forward to secure her weapon, pointing it at its former owner. There was a cut on his forehead, sluggishly bleeding down his temple, and another one to match high on his cheekbone. Other than that, Nate noted with relief, he looked fine.
“Nice save, babe,” Brad grinned, just as an enormous commotion started upstairs. “Looks like the rest of the party’s arrived, too.”
—-
“... and then he stormed in there with his little knife, going all ‘that’s my husband, bitch’ and threatening to slit her throat if she didn’t let me go immediately -”
“Brad!” Nate admonished him, coming to a stop in front of Brad, Person and Hasser. The latter two made quick excuses as soon as they saw the look on Nate’s face, mumbling something about helping along with the arrests of the Smiths and their many accomplices.
“Nate,” Brad parroted. “They already know about us, no harm done.”
“Yeah, but the others don’t, and I’d like to keep it that way.”
Brad frowned.
“You know, I’m starting to think this whole secrecy thing’s losing its charm.”
“Losing its charm? You know what wouldn’t be charming? One of us getting transferred to another unit when Ferrando finds out we’re involved!” Nate hissed looking over his shoulder to make sure nobody was in earshot. “And who will save your dumb ass then?”
“I don’t need my ass saved!” Brad started indignantly but quickly shut up when he saw the look on Nate’s face.
“The least you could do is say thank you,” Nate snapped, crossing his arms like a petulant child.
“Oh,” Brad drawled, closing in on him, “I’m planning on thanking you profusely as soon as we get somewhere more private. Your place or mine?”
Nate rolled his eyes.
“Brad, your place’s my place. We’ve been living together for three years.”
Brad’s hand landed on his elbow, which Nate only allowed because they were standing far enough from their colleagues to be protected somewhat by the cover of darkness. The mischievous spark in Brad’s eyes was still very much visible to Nate though.
“Well, I was thinking more… staying here for a little longer? We could make up for the honeymoon we missed out on, remember?”
Nate batted his hand away, but placed his own against Brad’s sternum, tracing the buttons of his shirt.
“Yes, I remember we missed out on it because of your big cyber fraud case. And you’re not getting away with it this cheaply.”
“Well then,” Brad concluded, trying to sound put-upon. “Let’s go home.”
Nate could tell from the way Brad’s gaze was wandering over his shoulder that someone was approaching them, and knew it was his perfect chance to get the final word in.
“Yeah, let’s go home,” he whispered, leaning in very shortly before pushing away, “and we can talk about how our mark instantly knew how much you were into me.”
Ignoring Brad’s protesting sounds, he turned around to face whatever the Bureau wanted to throw at him next.