"Desert Nick"
Jan. 5th, 2007 03:47 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kristen999Title:"Desert Nick"
By: Kristen999
Notes: This is crack. Just a little drabble based on a conversation with Rendz about Nick in a military uniform. No plot, just a visual. Totally silly, AU. Add in many screw drivers, ten minutes to write and you get the idea.
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His aviator glasses reflected white, hot air. Steam evaporated from his sweat drenched skin, rivets pooled under his arms, stained his back and dripped off his face. He adjusted the strap to his semi-automatic, the leather rubbed over his shoulder, the muzzle still warm from recent fire. The smell of gun oil clung to his skin, he swore he felt the slickness seep into his short hair. Even though it was only an inch thick, it felt gritty from dust and grime.
Nick had shed his heavy camo jacket once his heavy boots hit the base. A streak of black powder and dirt ran from his right cheek bone, over his heated neck, and dusted his wife beater under shirt, still soaked with perspiration. He probably smelled a bit too ripe, the white cotton shredded in a few places from when he took cover from enemy fire.
Despite how grimy and worn to the bone he ached, there was still enough anger in him to let a few of his fellow officers know he felt about bad field reports. Nick's pants swished, as he strode with purpose to his supposed commander. He'd give him an ear full about army intelligence or the lack there of.
“Lt. Stokes, reporting,” he saluted his balding superior.
“At ease,” Captain Ecklie ordered.
“Sir, with all due respect, we nearly cut our asses blown off by your air cover. Sir.”
His chest heaved, the hairs of his five o'clock itched.
“Duly, noted. Stokes.”
Nick felt the bile and brimstone rise in his throat, jaw clamping together to stall an outburst. A dark skinned hand on his shoulder kept him from a few too many kitchen duties as his ire calmed by the coolness of the touch. Nick blew out a breath, knowing his buddy Warrick was only saving his ass. Without so much as a word, he grabbed his gear and marched over to the showers.
He took a good look at himself in the mirror, a cut still bled from a gash from his left bicep, the skin now golden brown from many months of the sun's rays. Frustrated at almost seeing one of his buds killed, he pulled/ripped the sodden shirt from his body. With a sigh he noted that the desert had kissed the side of his abs, even his chest stained from hostile air.
“You know if you stripped the rest of the way down, I wouldn't mind at all.”
Embarrassed that Captain Willows had stuck up on him, in the shower stalls no less, made him blush despite the fact it was covered by a rough appearance.
He saw her eye his bare chest, dog tags glued from sweat just left of one of his pecs. Catherine's gaze ran a hot trail done his flat board stomach, eyebrow raised at the soft hair disappearing into his pants.
“Not up for company right now,” he drawled, voice sultry. He'd have her later if he choose.
“Too bad,” and the hot babe of a CO winked before she left.
Nick shook his head, some of the tension ebbed out of his shoulders. He allowed his tired body to slide down the wall of the stall, too exhausted to remove his boots, or his cargo pants. He had enough energy to flip on the hot water, the stream of blessed cleanliness to remove the horror of the day's events.
By: Kristen999
Notes: This is crack. Just a little drabble based on a conversation with Rendz about Nick in a military uniform. No plot, just a visual. Totally silly, AU. Add in many screw drivers, ten minutes to write and you get the idea.
--------
His aviator glasses reflected white, hot air. Steam evaporated from his sweat drenched skin, rivets pooled under his arms, stained his back and dripped off his face. He adjusted the strap to his semi-automatic, the leather rubbed over his shoulder, the muzzle still warm from recent fire. The smell of gun oil clung to his skin, he swore he felt the slickness seep into his short hair. Even though it was only an inch thick, it felt gritty from dust and grime.
Nick had shed his heavy camo jacket once his heavy boots hit the base. A streak of black powder and dirt ran from his right cheek bone, over his heated neck, and dusted his wife beater under shirt, still soaked with perspiration. He probably smelled a bit too ripe, the white cotton shredded in a few places from when he took cover from enemy fire.
Despite how grimy and worn to the bone he ached, there was still enough anger in him to let a few of his fellow officers know he felt about bad field reports. Nick's pants swished, as he strode with purpose to his supposed commander. He'd give him an ear full about army intelligence or the lack there of.
“Lt. Stokes, reporting,” he saluted his balding superior.
“At ease,” Captain Ecklie ordered.
“Sir, with all due respect, we nearly cut our asses blown off by your air cover. Sir.”
His chest heaved, the hairs of his five o'clock itched.
“Duly, noted. Stokes.”
Nick felt the bile and brimstone rise in his throat, jaw clamping together to stall an outburst. A dark skinned hand on his shoulder kept him from a few too many kitchen duties as his ire calmed by the coolness of the touch. Nick blew out a breath, knowing his buddy Warrick was only saving his ass. Without so much as a word, he grabbed his gear and marched over to the showers.
He took a good look at himself in the mirror, a cut still bled from a gash from his left bicep, the skin now golden brown from many months of the sun's rays. Frustrated at almost seeing one of his buds killed, he pulled/ripped the sodden shirt from his body. With a sigh he noted that the desert had kissed the side of his abs, even his chest stained from hostile air.
“You know if you stripped the rest of the way down, I wouldn't mind at all.”
Embarrassed that Captain Willows had stuck up on him, in the shower stalls no less, made him blush despite the fact it was covered by a rough appearance.
He saw her eye his bare chest, dog tags glued from sweat just left of one of his pecs. Catherine's gaze ran a hot trail done his flat board stomach, eyebrow raised at the soft hair disappearing into his pants.
“Not up for company right now,” he drawled, voice sultry. He'd have her later if he choose.
“Too bad,” and the hot babe of a CO winked before she left.
Nick shook his head, some of the tension ebbed out of his shoulders. He allowed his tired body to slide down the wall of the stall, too exhausted to remove his boots, or his cargo pants. He had enough energy to flip on the hot water, the stream of blessed cleanliness to remove the horror of the day's events.
