"You're going to give yourself a heart attack or something if you keep that up, sir."

Nate raises his head, fighting a smile as he looks Brad over, taking in his deceptively easy posture, slouched against the door frame, his duffel bag at his feet, leaving a shadow of dust on Nate's expensive carpet. "You're late."

"I was detained."

"You took your K-bar on the plane, didn't you?"

"Not that kind of detained." Brad smirks. "Though thank you for just assuming I have a complete disregard for the laws of our country."

"Well, there's a goddamned pussy liberal in the White House. Who knows what you'd do?"

Brad reaches down and grabs his bag, slinging it into the room. The hot small of familiar dust assaults Nate's senses before the air conditioning takes over, replacing it with stale, cool air. With his foot, Brad pushes the heavy oak door closed, letting it shut behind him with a soft, expensive sigh. "I vowed to serve a democratically elected leader, sir. Even if he is a pansy ass." He walks toward Nate, his stride predatory. "So, are you actually going to say hello?"

"What, cursing Virgin Airlines didn't count?" Nate moves out from behind his desk, leaning against the side of it, meeting Brad halfway. "Hi."

"Oh, fuck that, sir." Brad's hand slides to the back of Nate's neck, hauling him against him. Brad's mouth is as precise and dangerous as the rest of him, devouring Nate's kiss. Nate groans, his hands fisting in Brad's leather jacket, trying to get closer still. "Nate," Brad growls low, his tongue sliding against Nate's, tangling with it.

Nate shoves Brad's jacket back off his shoulders, pushing it down his arms to the floor. He grabs Brad's t-shirt next, tugging the faded cotton free of his jeans. "Shut up." He kisses Brad hard, stripping his shirt up, breaking away just long enough to get it over Brad's head.

"Are we going to fuck on your desk, Nate?"

Nate's fingers jerk at Brad's belt. "Unless you want me to ride you into the carpet."

"Does it have to be an either/or scenario, sir?" Brad's fingers lace into the knot of Nate's loosened tie, tugging the silk apart until it falls against his shit. "Because I have to say, both have a certain level of appeal." His long fingers trace the row of buttons on Nate's shirt, flicking each one free of its moorings as he slides his hands down.

"If we're on the carpet, you're on your back, Colbert. I don't need any more rug burns."

"Going soft on me, sir?" He finishes with Nate's shirt and lets his hand move down even more, curving over Nate's crotch, cupping his erection.

"Does it feel like it, Sergeant?"

"First Sergeant."

Nate stops, his hand stilling from their efforts to get Brad's shirt off of him. "You're shitting me."

"I'll try not to take the complete disbelief in your voice as a sign that you doubt my skills and abilities, sir."

"I'm more disbelieving that the Corps actually recognizes your skills." Nate tugs Brad's shirt over his head, tossing it aside. "So we should celebrate."

"Does that mean I'm definitely getting the desk and the carpet?"

Nate runs his hands up Brad's chest, palms rubbing against the dusting of hair on his chest down to the darker triangle of it leading into his desert camo pants. "What do you want?"

"Well," Brad drawls as he pushes Nate's shirt off is shoulders, letting the bright white fabric bunch up at Nate's elbows, "I've never actually fucked a Senator on his desk before."

"That's because last time you were too intent on giving me rug burns."

Brad catches Nate's hands at the wrists and pulls them away from where they'd curled under his waistband. He lets go of one at a time, tugging Nate's shirt off of him. "I don't remember you complaining. Unless, and correct me if I'm wrong here, 'Fuck, yes, Brad, harder' is Sentator lingo for 'don't do that'? You politicians and your double-talk."

"Brad?"

"Yes, sir?" He smiles, slow and hot and hungry, looking at Nate like he forgot to buy the meal on his trans-Atlantic flight.

"Shut up." He frees himself from Brad's grip and undoes his belt, pushing Brad's pants down, thumbs catching his underwear and sending them down with them. Brad's legs are darkly tan and muscled, firm and strong beneath Nate's palms. He strokes Brad's thighs slowly as he nuzzles his cock, breathing against the hot smell of flesh and sweat.

"Rug burns, sir."

Nate takes Brad in his mouth, sucking him deep. Brad's muscles tighten beneath Nate's hands, but he doesn't move, just letting Nate take him, adjust to the length of him. It doesn't take long before Nate starts moving, tongue and mouth and the faintest hint of teeth as he sucks Brad deep, his lips sliding from the base of his dick before pulling off, only the tip inside the circle of his mouth.

"Fuck." Nate sees Brad's head fall back, though his body remains perfectly still. There's enough of a hitch in his breath that Nate knows Brad's feeling everything, reading his lack of body language as if the words were written on his skin. Nate slides his hands up to Brad's hips, holding him as he takes him in again, feeling Brad lengthen and thicken against his tongue. "Fuck, Nate." His voice is a low growl that sends a shiver through Nate, and he fights briefly against Brad's hands as he pushes him back. "I want to fuck you, Nate. Can't quite do that if you suck me off."

Nate glances up at him, knowing from the look on Brad's face that his own mouth is red and wet and swollen. Nate puts his hand on the edge of the desk and gets to his feet, unbuckling his belt with his free hand. His slacks rustle as they slide to the ground and he can't help smiling as Brad shivers, knowing the sound of quality fabric rumpled at his feet is one of Brad's favorites. He turns slowly, eyes not leaving Brad's until he has to look away, bracing himself on the edge of his desk. "So fuck me."

Brad groans hotly and grabs Nate's hips, leaning in and planting a hot kiss on the small of his back. "So impatient." He slides his hands over to Nate's ass, rubbing the smooth skin before he nips at it, teeth sharp and unexpected. Nate gasps and his hips jerk forward, his cock seeking friction. "I didn't think anything got done quickly in Washington." Nate can feel Brad's hands spread across his ass, his thumbs stroking lightly. He can hear the shift of Brad's clothing, feel his weight balance and unbalance, and then there's the slight tug of his pants around his ankles as Brad sinks to his knees behind him. "In fact, I was kind of counting on it."

"B-Brad." Nate's hands curl into fists as Brad's hands move, his thumbs inching closer together then apart, opening Nate up. "Fuck…"

"I hope that's not more political doubletalk, sir." Brad breathes against Nate's opening then brushes it lightly with his tongue. Nate's body jerks hard and he rolls his hips back, seeking out more contact with the wet tip of Brad's tongue. "You want it, Nate?"

"Yes." He pounds a fist against his desk, biting back his groan. "Fuck. Yes."

Brad doesn't do half-measures, so Nate doesn't have to wait long before the teasing swipe and brush of Brad's tongue is the insistent push of it inside him. Nate's hands slip against the edge of the desk and Brad shifts his momentum, thrusting deeper as his hands slide up to Nate's back, urging him down against the desk. Nate's vision is filled with the random scratch of his doodling on the blotter, dates bolded with ink and highlighters, including the simple, dark "B" etched deeply into today's date. It blurs and swims in his vision until he closes his eyes, body tight and slack all at once, opened to Brad's thrusting tongue and the slow, inexorable fingers that tease over Nate's skin.

Nate's not sure when he starts making noises, but they're low and throaty, gasping Brad's name as his mouth moves down, taking Nate's balls into his mouth and sucking steadily, his fingers sliding into the wet warmth of Nate's ass. Nate's hand jerks as two fingers fill him, thrusting deeper and spreading as they move, opening Nate up. A cupful of pencils falls to the floor, skittering across the golden wood until they roll to a stop against the carpet.

"So fucking hot, Nate." Brad breathes against Nate's balls before tilting his head and nipping at the curve of Nate's ass. "Tell me you used the four hours I was delayed to stock up on the necessary supplies."

"There's beer and Beef-A-Roni at the house."

Another finger presses at Nate's opening, half tease and half threat. "Nathaniel."

"Yes. Fuck, yes." His other hand scrambles at his desk drawer, the force of his desperate grab nearly sends it crashing to the floor. He manages to catch it and palm the lube and condoms, thrusting them back toward Brad. "Please."

"Should I tell your constituents that this is what they have to do?" Brad eases the condom on, hissing as his fingers stroke it along his cock. Nate groans at the noise, unable to hold it back. "Get you to fucking beg for their fucked up policies."

"Which…which part?" Nate swallows hard, looking over his shoulder to watch Brad, stroking lube onto his cock.

"Does it matter?" Brad's fingers graze Nate's opening again and then his cock brushes against him. "I mean, really, Nate? Does it matter at all?" He pushes past the tight ring of muscle and a breath shudders out of Nate. His cock flags slightly until the tension eases and Brad starts thrusting slowly, filling him deeper with every stroke. Sweat beads on the back of Nate's neck and along his spine, and he shifts his grip, finding leverage on the desk so he can push back, needing more of Brad inside him.

Brad's fingers curl around Nate's hips and Nate grabs the edges of the desk, holding himself steady as Brad fucks him in earnest, the force of every thrust driving him forward. He's splayed across his desk, Brad buried inside him, his own cock burning with need as it brushes against the polished wood. He wants to let go so he can stroke himself off, but there's no way he can relinquish his grip on the desk. He rests his head on the blotter, breathing roughly, close to begging again when Brad finally releases his hip and slides his hand down, wrapping it tight around Nate's dick.

"Jesus, Colbert. About fucking time."

"You're such a whiny little bitch since you came to Washington, sir." Brad's hand is rough, jerking Nate hard in time with the equally hard thrust of his hips. "Fucking demanding politician."

"Fuck," Nate laughs desperately, right on the edge. "Shut up, Brad." He barely finishes Brad's name before he's coming, not caring about his desk or the mess they're going to have to clean up. All Nate cares about is the last powerful thrusts of Brad's hips and the heat that floods him, the pulse of Brad's cock deep in his ass. They lay there, Nate on the desk and Brad on Nate, breathing roughly for several minutes before Brad eases away.

"Your cleaning crew is going to be very suspicious, Senator."

"My cleaning crew is not." Nate straightens then sinks to the floor, digging in his bottom drawer for the towel he'd put there earlier. "My cleaning crew will find nothing amiss."

"Shit. You're up for re-election, aren't you?" Brad ties the condom off and tosses it in Nate's wastebasket with a smirk. "You got a beard to placate the masses?" He sits next to Nate, taking the towel from him and cleaning himself up before tending to the desk.

"No. It just means that we're not leaving a condom in my wastebasket." Nate reaches out, his fingers tracing along Brad's neck before curving around the back of it, tugging him in. "Congratulations on your new rank, First Sergeant."

"Just promise me you'll shoot me if I adopt a southern accent and start talking like a backwoods hick who could have fathered Person, okay?" Brad's forehead rests against Nate's, sweat warm on their skin.

Nate nods, not moving away. "How keen are you on actually having sex on this carpet?"

"Pretty keen. Why?"

"Well, my house is quieter, more private, has the really good booze, the porn and an honest to God Persian rug."

Brad smiles and kisses him slowly, exploring Nate's mouth until he seems to find what he's looking for. "Persian, huh?"