genderfuck FTW!

[passionofmind]

In honor of <user name= nightanddaze site= livejournal.com>&nbsp;being my life partner TEAM BRAIN GOO + SPARKLES has been producing all sorts of fun fic (YAY&nbsp;GENDERFUCK) over at K's journal. I felt compelled to share the <strike>het</strike> love.

<lj-cut text="the one where brad is the big spoon">

He hears it distantly. A litany of consonants and vowels warm against the shell of his ear. Familiar rumblings not quite coherent enough for Nate to make out, barely enough to nudge him to full consciousness.

It’s the kisses that do it. Moist presses against his shoulder blade, bicep and back.

“You’re such a girl, Brad.” Nate mumbles into the cotton pillowcase.

He hears the rumble of Brad’s laughter against his skin. Brad doesn’t tell him to fuck off or try and defend himself, just continues pressing kisses to Nate’s skin.

They've fucked, aggressive and tactile, scratches and teeth marks across the terrain of smooth perfect skin. Nate panting and loose limbed as Brad presses a kiss against his lips. It's the same as always, soft and sweet and completely incongruous with the icy exterior Brad wears like an armour.

When Brad sidles up behind him, Nate can feel strong arms around his stomach and Brad's flagging hardon pressed against the small of his back. Brad stays there, night after night, unashamed and unapologetic, skin pressed close and so tangled up in Nate they interlock, perfectly shaped pieces that don’t appear to fit together but are ultimately cut from the same cloth.
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<lj-cut text="the one where brad is a girl">

It’s a little after three o’clock on Sunday when Nate breaks his second pencil in frustration. He stares at the splintered wood a bit remorsefully before letting the pieces slip from his fingers into the trash. It was a perfectly sharpened Ticonderoga, eraser barely smudged with use.

He’s been politely chased out of the kitchen, Mom has to prepare Sunday dinner and he can’t think over the sound of his Dad’s not so gentle chiding of the Redskins. He thought his bedroom would be a refuge but his sister has been giggling at annoyingly frequent intervals that bleed through the walls and make Nate’s skin crawl. She’s on the phone with her new boyfriend and it’s making Nate want to throw things.

He finally decides to pack up his books in his beat up Jansport and admit defeat. His attempts to avoid the sudden cold front have been in vain. It’s clear he won’t get anything done here.

As he bounds down the stairs Nate calls out, <i>I’m going out, Mom</i>, before shuffling as fast as he can to the Volvo his dad has passed on to him. He can see his breath against the air, feel the dull ache in his chest with each breath. He rubs his palms together briskly as the engine starts, friction hot against his palms before cursing the shitty heater and the worn sweatshirt, washed too many times to be of any use against the temperature.

He debates going to the library and ducking himself in a dark damp corner, with old sniffling librarians pinching his cheeks and middle school girls leering at him moonily. He makes a quick right on Oak and pulls in the lot of The Coffee Beanery instead. Caffeine and temperature regulation couldn’t hurt.

The place is pretty much deserted except for a couple of workers horsing around behind the coffee bar, and a married couple talking about some movie they’ve just seen. Nate orders a coffee, black, from a short guy dressed in black. The barista has a cigarette tucked behind his ear and his name tag announces him as RAY in huge black sharpie letters.

“That all, dude?”

“Yeah.” Nate says paying and dropping his change in the tip bin. Ray gives him a goofy smile before sliding over his cup of coffee. There’s a sharpie smiley drawn on the cardboard.

Nate picks a table with a checked pattern. He imagines the first move in a game of chess and picnic tablecloths. Anything but idioms and applications. The bell above the door tinkles and Nate’s happy for the distraction. Even more when he sees it.

She’s tall. Legs like a model and hair so blonde and bright she looks like she belongs on the beach in a Victoria’s Secret catalogue rather than in a Baltimore coffee house in the dead of winter. She tosses her worn army green parka on the chair of the table next to Nate’s, setting a comic down and taking a swallow of a gigantic Slurpee. The red ice sticks to her lips briefly before she licks it away. Nate doesn’t know how’s she’s not freezing, sucking down cherry ice when it’s zero fucking degrees outside.

Nate becomes acutely aware of the fact that he’s staring quite obviously and his coffee must be cooling quickly. But the way her leg is propped on the chair, knee bent, long fingers idly flipping through the glossy comic pages is far more engaging than anything he has in his knapsack.
 
“Hey Brad, you still reading about that pussy bird dude?” Ray calls loudly as soon as the married couple exits through the glass doors at the entrance.

“Yup.”

Nate’s surprised when he hears the girl answer. He can’t say he was expecting <i>that</i>.

“He admit his undying love for his boyfriend yet?”

The blonde looks over her shoulder with a smirk.

“You’d be lucky to be half the man Nightwing is and he’s barely legal.” Blue eyes flit to Nate’s own before she turns back to her comic.

“I just don’t get it, Brad. What’s the appeal? I mean the dude wears tights.”

“Yeah and I’m sure you read Power Girl for the storyline.”

“I don’t read Power Girl. I use if for jackoff material when I feel like motorboating some titties.”

Nate looks curiously up at the girl who seems nonplussed by Ray’s off color comment.

“I’m shocked to find that no actual human girls are offering themselves up what with your charming personality and grooming standards.”

Ray shakes his hand like he’s been burned, but he’s smiling, completely at ease in the middle of the verbal banter.

Nate’s not expecting it when the girl swivels in her chair till she’s straddling it, staring right at Nate.

“So what do you think?”

“I must admit to being more of a Marvel fan.”

Brad seems to consider this, working her mouth as she mulls it over.

“Well, I suppose Elektra is fairly redeemable.”

“I was thinking more X-Men.” Nate admits.

The smirk is back on Brad’s face. It’s a hell of a smirk.

“Well, at least you’re honest.” She gets to her feet in one smooth moment, hair like a halo around her shoulders. “Can I get you a new coffee? Unless you’re some sort of masochist who prefers it tepid.”

“You don’t have to- “ Brad grabs the cup before hopping over the low counter behind the bar.

Nate watches with his mouth open.

“Relax, dude. She works here.”

It’s not surprising that Beanery becomes his new favorite study spot.

#

Sometimes he watches Brad when she’s making orders. The precise way she measures and steams and always gets the orders right the first time. She never wears an apron and glares at the business men and husbands who try to hit on her, answers laced with terse politeness.

When she straddles a chair in front of him on her break, Nate stares at how her skin glows with exertion and the unselfconscious way she talks about the argument on alien versus human weapons in Halo. She knows her shit and she sticks with it unflinchingly and fuck if Nate doesn’t find that sexy.

Her eyes are this clear blue he’s never seen before that reminds him of foamy waves crashing hard on the shore. They’re framed by lush dark lashes, and Nate would bet she doesn’t own mascara.

When Nate finally packs up and leaves a half an hour before closing each night, Brad shoots him a small smile that he’s never seen her give to anyone else. Nate thinks it’s safe to say she doesn’t feel he’s a complete waste of space.

#

He comes in on a Friday when things are finally thawing out and Brad’s behind the bar, biting her lip in concentration, ponytail flapping wildly.

When he gets up to the counter she looks relieved and sidesteps Ray to take the order.

“Rough day?” Nate asks gently.

“I almost threw a four hundred dollar French Press through the window, debated scalding a woman surgically attached to her Blackberry and I’m wearing an apron. I think that about sums up the finer points.”

“Can I make it better?”

Brad appears to consider this briefly before reaching for the strings on her apron.

“Actually, yes.”

She tosses the balled up apron at Ray before heading for the back of the store.

“I’m on my break.”

Nate hesitates for a moment before following her back to the breakroom, where Brad’s leaned up against the bathroom wall, hips canted.

“What can I do for you?” Nate asks.

“You can close that door and help me work off some stress.” The smile she shoots at him is dirty and full of intent. “That is if you know how.”

Nate’s half way to hard with so much as a look.

“I know how.” He says locking the door with a soft click.

Brad’s got her jeans unbuttoned and zipper down, when he’s turned back around,a hand braced on the sink.

He steps into her space. One hand braced on the wall next to her body.

“You gonna kiss me?” She asks, teasing tone back in full force.

“Nope.” He says sliding a hand into her jeans till he meets soft cotton. She’s shifts a bit underneath him. In arousal or surprise, he’s not sure. She’s not wet yet, but she will be.

Nate strokes her softly through her underwear, warm palm cupping her sex as his thumb glides over her clit. She pants slightly, controlled, so he rubs a little harder. He pays attention to her sharp intakes of breath or the strokes that make her worry her lip with her teeth. He shifts his focus to where her clit is throbbing, pressed against the fabric till he can feel dampness soak the cotton.

He licks two fingers damp, and pushes away her hands when she tries to reach for where his dick is straining against his jeans.

“Nuh uh. This is for you.”

His fingers slide down the flat plane above her mound, through downy sparseness that makes his tongue heavy in his mouth. He wants to taste her. Feel her come against his tongue, and lap at her till her thighs are shaking, but that’s for another time.

When he glides across her bare clit with wet fingers she arches her hips forward.

“It’s Nate. In case you forgot.” She grips his tshirt in response, apparently too distracted to formulate a clever response.

Nate flips his hand over, slides his knuckles across her sex, rubbing at her opening slick and sensitive before sliding a finger inside.

“Nate.”

“Mmm.” He says pleasantly, shifting the angle of his fingers till he finds the one that rips a moan from her throat.

He works the spot, feeling her muscles clenching around him, watching her hips arch to get more. She’s surprisingly quiet when she comes. A high pitched sound and then wetness dripping down his hand, he can feel her stomach muscles fluttering under his palm.

He strokes her through the aftershocks, till she’s arching forward on one stroke and pulling back on the next. She places her fingertips around Nate’s wrist and he looks up at her. She looks gorgeous, pieces of hair that have fallen out of her ponytail framing her face, and cherry bitten lips.

“It’s Colbie.” She says, “My name.”

“Why does everyone call you Brad?”

“Colbie Bradley. It’s a long story.”

“Does it involve Ray not being able to pronounce your first name?”

“Something like that.”

“God, you’re so wet.” Nate says staring at the slickness of his fingers. His cock throbs with life.

“Yeah, and I have two more hours left in my shift.” The smirk is back. She reaches down to zip and button her jeans. “Twenty-dollars richer, though.”

“You made a bet with Ray?”

“He didn’t think you had it in you.”
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<lj-cut text="the one where brad is nate's teenage dream">

Nate’s a little late to The Coffee Beanery, student government ran longer than expected. Thankfully, no one has scooped up his regular table, although a group of middle schoolers in matching Uggs and North Face fleeces are certainly encroaching on his space by the minute. He doesn’t see the familiar blonde ponytail whipping around, so he figures Brad must be in the breakroom.

“She’s not here yet.” Ray offers as explanation before Nate even has the chance to order. Ray slides a black coffee across the countertop wordlessly.

“Actually, I’ll have a hot chocolate. Extra marshmallows.” Nate doesn’t even like hot chocolate, it’s way too sweet for his tastes, but he’ll drink every drop to needle Ray.

Ray snorts before dumping out the contents of the cup and setting to work on Nate’s order.

“Don’t you want to ask me why she’s not here?” Ray taunts while steaming the milk. Nate watches the white liquid splash messily on the countertop. He fixes his face with a bored expression even though curiosity it buzzing around in his skull.

<i>Yes. YES</i>. “Not really.” Is what he answers.

Before Ray shifts to hot pokers under Nate’s fingernails as his next round of torture, the door opens loudly, bells sounding hard against the glass. Brad walks in looking like something straight out of Nate’s jerkoff rotation, Catholic school uniform and all.

His eyes scan up the laced military boots to the plaid skirt, cut off scant inches above her knee. Brad’s legs so long the hem flirts scandalously with her thighs. There are knee high stocking and an honest to God men’s <i>tie</i>. Nate’s pretty sure he had a working brain before Brad came along.

At some point he realizes he’s gawking, shameless in fact, forces his eyes up to Brad’s face, she only looks mildly put out.

“So, Catholic school? And you were withholding this important piece of information because?”

“What is it with you Catholic boys and your repressed sexuality?”

“Protestant actually, and I wouldn’t say repressed.”

“Deviant then. Actually, I’m Jewish. My parents sent me for the good old corporal punishment and a side order of Catholic guilt."

“You’re kidding?”

She gives him a small smile before slinging her messenger bag on a chair and digging out the work clothes Nate’s become familiar with. “If I was, it wouldn’t be nearly as funny.”

Brad turns with a twist of her hips, skirt flaring out so Nate gets a glimpse of white cotton underwear as she saunters toward the breakroom. He doesn’t even pretend like he’s not watching her ass, he’s got a strong suspicion he’s not the only one enjoying the view.

His cock pushes against the seam of his jeans uncomfortably and Nate shifts his weight in the chair. Lately it seems like all his fantasies have a direct link to Brad. He never figured a person could be a kink, but fiery, non conformist Brad neatly pressed and buttoned into a uniform is doing things to his brain. Dirty, nonredeemable things. He tries to focus on something else, to shift his mind to something more redeemable, like his calculus homework.

He settles on the image of Brad at school. Staring down from her perch at the top of the bleachers, taking stock of her classmates with a bored expression. He images what it would be like to slide next to her. Slip searching fingers beneath the tartan of her skirt till he meets the warmth of her inner thighs, sensitive muscles shifting tenuously as he gets closer to the apex of her legs.

He thinks about fingering her steadily while the teacher calls role, feeling her thighs tense as they get closer to her name, as Brad gets closer to the edge. Nate wonders if she’d be able to respond or if all that escapes her lips is a distracted gasp. He imagines how hot it would be to watch as she creams on his hand, panting out staggering breaths as her unsuspecting classmates chatter on. Nate thinks about licking her juices off his finger tips as soon as he’s finished.

His dick gives a particularly painful jerk and Nate has to dig his nails into his jean clad thigh to shift his focus and keep from ruining his jeans.

Nate smells Brad before she approaches the table, crisp and fresh like green apples. She tosses her bag on the table, tie flopping out of the top. He stares at the piece of fabric and thinks about binding her hands to his headboard with orange and navy striped silk. About her taste on his lips.

She cocks her head at him with amusement.

“Something on your mind?”

“You. <i>Always</i>. It’s incredibly distracting.”

“Hmm.” Brad doesn’t look particularly concerned. “Why don’t you go get some work done and I’ll see you later.”

Nate swallows. It’s hard to tear his eyes away from her. It’s hard just to <i>think</i>.

“Okay.” He finally gets out, but if feels dry on his lips. He knows she’s right. That he’s going to end up locked in the bathroom with an embarrassing hard-on and rough paper towels.

“Brad! Say goodbye to your boyfriend and start marking some cups.” Ray calls from the bar. The lineup of patrons has doubled since Nate last glanced in his direction.

“Yeah. Yeah. Lattes not going to make themselves.” Brad says straightening. Nate starts to collect his books, hands pausing when Brad’s fingers pull him in for a kiss. He’s a bit shocked, for a few seconds he doesn’t kiss back but when he does she’s soft and wet and tasting faintly of cherry.

“Later.” She offers like a promise over her shoulder.
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<lj-cut text="the one where brad makes good on a promise">

It’s a crisp, cool September night with brittle leaves rustling quietly like burnt paper on the wind. Nate props the window open with a paperback copy of <i>Paradise Lost</i> by Milton with secret hopes it will blow away never to be seen again.

Nate hates trying to sleep when he’s too hot and is thankful for the deadly quiet that comes with high taxes and no crime. He settles in with the covers cool against his skin, pushing thoughts of school and obligations from his mind in favour of ones about Brad. The smell of her hair and the straight white teeth of her smile. The colour of her lips after a cherry Slush Puppy.

He hears it belatedly, just the faintest mechanical sound and then a whisper. When his eyes first focus in the dark he can only make out her face, tinted blue in the moonlight, highlighted shadows on her cheekbones. Brad is crouched next to his bed with a smile.

“Hey, sleeping beauty.” She whispers and it rids him of any notions that this is a dream. Brad is here, kneeling at the foot of his bed.

This is better than a dream.

Nate props himself on his elbows and Brad gets to her feet. He sees her long bare legs and the plaid of her skirt. He swallows thickly.

“I didn’t think you knew where I lived.”

“The Fick on the mailbox is kind of a giveaway.”

“So you broke into my house to seduce me?”

Brad tugs her oversize LA Choppers sweatshirt over her head to reveal the familiar crisp white button up and tie combo, except it seems this time she’s neglected more than a few buttons. Nate can see her breasts, spilling invitingly out of the cups of her balconette.

“I didn’t think you’d mind.” Brad offers, kneeling on the end of the bed so the mattress dips as she crawls toward Nate.

“Yeah. I really <i>really</i> don’t.”

When Brad gets to him, it feels like minutes have passed not mere seconds. His fingers are inching to touch her. To be everywhere at once. He settles on sliding them into her hair and kissing her lips.

She smiles against his lips, laughing softly into his mouth. When she tries to pull back he holds her with firm fingers and kisses her till her laughter dissolves into wet sounds.

She leans back, ass on her heels and challenge twinkling in her eyes.

“Well come on then.”

Nate doesn’t need much more encouragement than that. He pushes back the sheets and tugs her towards him by her shirt, fingers tugging the fabric from the confines of her skirt. He slides his hands over her breasts, dips his head to kiss the flat plane between before starting in on the buttons.

Nate learned how to unbutton with one hand at sleep away camp the summer before eighth grade. Becky Marcowski said if he could undo all the buttons of her shirt, she’d show Nate her bra. He was fourteen and it was purple.

When he’s got Brad wearing one article less, and his lips kissing the swell of Brad’s breasts, he flips Brad onto her back, blonde hair haloed on the pillow below.

She looks gorgeous, staring up at him with something akin to wonder and he has to take a breath and just steady himself. He goes for the tie next.

He loosens the silk efficiently, trailing the silk triangle down across her skin, through the valley of her breasts and across her stomach. She shivers into the palm he has braced on her hip.

When he slides his fingers around her back in search of the clasp on her bra, he comes up empty and frowns down at her. She’s hiding a smile.

“Front clasp.” She explains.

“I’m not even going to attempt that.” Nate says truthfully. He slides back so that Brad can get to her knees, unclasping her bra with a flick of her fingers and tossing the fabric so her breasts spring free.

Nate palms them gratefully, thumbs moving across sensitive nipples as Brad arches into the touch. He licks across the pointed pink tips, nips the flesh with his teeth till she lets out a short gasp.

He realizes absently that he’s well past the point of his erection tenting his shorts. Brad reaches back to work the zipper of her skirt but Nate stops her with his hands.

“No, leave it on.”

The smile she gives him in response is brilliant.

“I thought you were such a nice boy.”

“You’re gonna think I’m even nicer in a few minutes.”

Nate’s fingers slide the hem of her skirt up until the white cotton of her boyshorts are revealed in the moonlight. His mouth practically waters at the sight. He wonders what her ass must look like, brilliant probably, but he has more important things to think about.

With the fabric of her skirt in clenched hands, Nate dips his head to mouth at the fabric covering her mound. She smells clean like fabric softener and soap. He can feel her heat through the cotton, uses fingertips to rub where she’s dampening the cloth, imagines how she’s going to taste.

When he settles in to lap at her folds, he finds Brad to be responsive to his ministrations, little gasps and cut short moans and so very very wet. She tastes clean with just that slightest tang that speaks of familiarity, that sweet smack that says pussy.

He alternates between flicking his tongue over her clit and sliding over the swollen flesh with a slick thumb, dipping down every so often to trace the wetness around her entrance.

She pants out “Nate, please.” Broken and stripped bare of that hampered down control he’s so used to and he laps once more at her sex.

They have the conversation. “<i>Are you sure</i>?” “<i>Yes, yes</i>.” And that’s all it takes for Nate to rifle through a box of Earl Grey tea for a strategically placed condom.

Brad drops the bomb when she’s hovered over his hips, Nate flush against her entrance.

“Just go slow okay? This is kind of my first.”

The hard throb his cock gives is entirely the least appropriate response, but frankly it's the last thing Nate was expecting.

“This is your first time?” Nate tries to keep his voice from sounding as shocked as he feels.

Brad’s a knockout, Brad’s a <i>virgin</i>. Huh. He didn’t know the two were interrelated.

“It’s kind of hard to find the time when you’ve been stuck in all girl’s catholic schools since you were six. And forget those cretins at the inter-preparatory dances. I sooner change my sexual orientation than lose it to one of those cretins.”

“You’re sure this is what you want?” Nate never thought he’d be asking Brad if she were sure of anything.

When she smiles there’s a flicker of uncertainty around the edges but she says, “Yeah, I want you to.”

He slides in slowly, immediately overwhelmed by her, tight and so hot around him. He has to shift his focus to keep from shooting off before he even gets all the way inside. He wants to mentally slap himself for not having the slightest inkling when he had his fingers inside of her just a few days before.

When he settles slowly she places a palm flat on his abdomen, and Nate soothes his fingers on her thighs for a few moments waiting for her to adjust. She bites her lip, waiting out the discomfort before nodding her resolve.

Nate takes his time, eyes searching Brad’s face for every gasp and telltale sign of pleasure, determined to make Brad’s first time a good one.

He can feel the exact moment when Brad lets herself go, meeting his hips a little more with each thrust and arching her spine when he angles just right.

He slips his fingers between her legs, thumbing friction over her clit with each pass and Brad tips foreword to balance her palms on his chest.

“Think I’m gonna…” She warns and Nate focuses all his attention on this.

“Do it Brad, <i>c’mon</i>.”

Brad’s thighs shake through her orgasm, he can feel the shocks against his palms. She hisses out “Fuck. Yes,” and Nate’s shooting so hard his eyes roll back in his head. He hadn’t even realized how close he was.

In the morning, Nate goes to rub the sleep from his eyes but only one hand comes. The other, he notices belatedly, has been fastened to his bedpost with Brad’s silk tie. There is a post-it stuck to the fabric.

It’s not hard to free himself from the knot, but he has to applaud her creativity. The note reads <i>You definitely owe me pancakes</i> in Brad’s neat script.

Nate stands and starts toward the shower before thinking better of it and shrugging on a sweatshirt.

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