withimpunity (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
withimpunity) wrote2008-12-09 05:22 pm
withimpunity) wrote2008-12-09 05:22 pm
Entry tags:
fic: a viable plan (generation kill AU, brad/ray)
Title: A Viable Plan
Pairing: Brad/Ray (AU College Roomates)
Rating: R
Words: 1641
A/n: for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
bigfiction because its finals week!
Brad clearly remembers being very specific on his roommate application form: a quiet, mentally stable, non-smoker. Ray Person meets none of those qualifications. He's loud, (he was a boy, I was a girl, could I make it any more obvious) he smokes like a fat chick on a crash diet, and Brad's pretty certain he has A.D.D. or A.D.H.D. or O.C.D or very possibly D.) all of the above. No sane person can talk about twenty-seven different topics in a three minutes period without pause for oxygen or hydration. Ray Person is an enigma. Also, he's a pain in Brad's ass.
Brad looks up when Ray finally turns off the stereo and grabs his jacket, some worn, green thing with half the buttons missing. Brad thinks his Dad used to be in the Marines or something. "I'm going to grab a frappa-cracka-chino from Starbucks. The chick with the lip ring wants my cock, I can feel it. In my cock."
"That's nice, Ray." Brad mumbles and has to re-read the same sentence three times.
"Come on, dude. You've been sitting there reading that same fucking book for three days. I'm starting to think you've got a stash of adult diapers hidden so you don't even have to get up to piss."
"Its finals week, Ray." Brad says through his teeth because Ray, he's smart and all, passes his classes and everything, but he just doesn't get it. Brad has to do the best, be the best, go to the best college and make his parents proud. Ray's mother lives in a trailer park; she was proud when Ray turned sixteen and hadn't knocked up his fucking cousin.
"Colbert," Ray sighs, shaking his head. "You solve for Y and rattle off theorems and equations in your sleep. You're going to ace it like a motherfucker, dude! So get your shit and come with me. I'll even let you jerk off to lip-ring girl tonight if you want."
"Ray."
"Get your shit, homes. I'll drag your white, lanky ass out of here if I have to." Ray lowers the huge, gawdy Elvis glasses he insists on wearing, inside, when its dark, down the bridge of his nose. "You know I will."
Brad sighs because Ray's right, he's been studying for twelve hours. If he doesn't take at least a small break, everything will start to bleed together and it won't do him any good. Also, because he knows Ray will literally drag him out the door if he doesn't; Brad still hasn't forgotten midterms.
"What'd I tell you," Ray mumbles around the cigarette stuck between his lips as they walk back to the campus. "She wants me to tap that ass so bad she can barely look me in the eye, dude."
"Or, she doesn't want to be blinded by your butt-fuck ugliness." Brad grins around the tip of his straw; the air is crisp, like a freshly starched shirt from the cleaners, and the leaves on the sidewalk crunch underneath his shoes like cornflakes when he walks. The campus is really kind of pretty this time of year, everything covered in burgundy and gold. He's kind of glad Ray made him leave the dorm for a little while, even if he did have to threaten him.
"Fuck you, Colbert," Ray says, but he's still got a smile tugging the corners of his mouth up, flicking cigarette ashes behind them. "You're just jealous she wouldn't stop staring."
Brad processes this for a moment; Ray seems to be insinuating that Brad would be jealous not of Ray, but of the girl. Interesting.
"That's exactly it, Ray," He says, sipping on his iced caramel latte, smirk playing across his mouth. "You've found me out. I've only been staying in the dorm so much so I can catch a glimpse of your manly chest when you come back from the shower." The image of Ray walking through the door, stark white towel wrapped around his slender hips, curl of black ink peeking out over the top, flashes in Brad's head briefly, and he coughs. He blames it on the cool night air and ignores the warmth pooling in his belly, because that shit just ain't happening. Its finals week, for Christ's sake. He doesn't have time for this.
Ray just smiles like its all good, stomps the cigarette out on the concrete under his boot. He snatches Brad's coffee out of his hands since he already finished his, and they walk quietly back to the dorm; when Brad gets it back, the tip of the straw is chewed to fuck and it tastes like cheap cigarettes.
"Want me to quiz you?" Ray asks, stretched out on his bed with one arm behind his head, t-shirt riding up his belly, giving Brad another teasing glimpse of that curious tattoo on his hip.
"Sure, Ray, thanks. Page two-oh-eight to two-eighteen." This cannot happening.
"I hate anthropology. Anthropology was made by the devil and hippies and communists." Brad's head thunks against the wall behind him. Ray's sitting at the foot of his bed now with the book in his lap; his toes brush Brad's elbows occasionally. "I'm not ready for this test. Why didn't I start studying earlier? Fuck fuck fuck."
"Dude," Ray laughs and Brad winces when the book slaps closed. They can't stop now, he's nowhere near ready for the exam. Probably, he won't sleep tonight, just stay up with the book light his mom bought him last Christmas, reading and reading and memorizing until he eventually goes blind. "It's cool. I know exactly what you need, homes."
Brad scrubs his eyes with the heels of his hands as Ray gets up and rummages through his side of the room. Brad's bounces on the mattress when Ray plops back down, crossing his legs Indian-style in front of him, holding a baggie in his lap.
"Oh no," Brad shakes his head. "I don't have time for that shit, Ray. I don't have half of the definitions memorized, or the tribes, and-"
"You're too wound up, Brad." Ray says and Brad stares as he starts rolling a joint, right there at the foot of his bed. "You're too tense, brother. You can't study like that. This'll loosen you up and you'll have no problem remembering all that shit, trust me."
Brad raises an eyebrow skeptically. "So what you're telling me is that getting high is conducive to the learning process."
Ray finishes rolling the joint, pinching the paper together, and lights the end. "I'm telling you," He says, taking the first hit, and Brad thinks its interesting the way his face goes lax and his eyelashes kind of flutter against his skin. "That you need to fucking relax. Here."
Brad holds the joint between his fingers and Ray scooches down on the bed, lazy smile on his face, his feet resting on Brad's pillow. "If this doesn't work, I will fuck you up."
"Disclaimer?"
"Promise."
"Solid copy," Ray says, grinning, and nudges Brad's shoulder with his foot. "Less talk, more weed."
"What the hell," Brad mutters, putting it between his lips and inhaling.
"Get some," Ray grins; Brad's starting not to mind the military lingo so much.
"I'm not gay."
"Good to know."
"I'm not gay, but Jesus, you're sort of gorgeous. Has anyone ever told you how fucking gorgeous you are, Colbert?"
"Not so much, no. You sure about not being gay, Ray?"
"I dunno. Maybe a little bit."
Brad giggles.
"You just giggled," Ray says, then he giggles. "That was a little gay."
"Fuck you."
"Mm, buy me dinner first."
Brad giggles again, then Ray kisses him. He tastes like pot and Red Bull and Cheetohs. Its not exactly pleasant, but his tongue is, soft and wet and licking inside Brad's mouth, and Brad's not gay either, but he's breathing kind of funny and his dick's hard, and now he's kissing Ray back and touching that spot where his t-shirt always rides up, fingers brushing over the warm skin there.
"Think we're just doing this cause we're high?" He asks, scooting down Ray's body, pushing his t-shirt up and licking at his skin, watching goosebumps pop up everywhere.
"Probably," Ray says. "Do you really stare at me when I come back from the shower?"
Brad thinks for a moment; its more difficult than usual to make sense of everything in his head. "Yes," he finally decides, popping the button Ray's jeans.
"Then probably not," Ray grins, leaning up on his elbows. "Its a dragon."
Brad grins and traces the black outline with his tongue, pulling Ray's boxers down to follow it.
"This is the best idea I've ever had," Ray mumbles, but Brad doesn't hear him, he's too busy sucking his dick.
"Well?"
"Well, what?"
"Don't be a cock, Brad. You fucking know what I'm talking about."
Brad grins, tossing his messenger bag aside, and collapses onto his bed, crossing his arms behind his head. "A. I got a motherfucking A plus."
"Fuck yeah!" Ray gives a fist pump and jumps on top of him, crushing Brad's ribs and fuck, his nuts. "I knew my master plan would work."
"Your plan to get high and suck each other off?"
"What? Like that's not a viable plan?"
Brad grins and pushes his hands up the back of Ray's shirt. "What's your plan for celebrating?" He asks, licking the hollow of Ray's throat.
Ray shifts on top of him, reaching over into the nightstand between their bed, pulls out something Brad can't see and pushes it into his hand. Brad looks down at the bottle of lube and grins; he does not blush like a virgin school girl. That would be gay. "How's that for planning?"
Brad's hands fall around Ray's hips, pulling their bodies flush together, and bites down on Ray's shoulder when Ray grinds against him. "You get an A."
Pairing: Brad/Ray (AU College Roomates)
Rating: R
Words: 1641
A/n: for
bigfiction because its finals week! Brad clearly remembers being very specific on his roommate application form: a quiet, mentally stable, non-smoker. Ray Person meets none of those qualifications. He's loud, (he was a boy, I was a girl, could I make it any more obvious) he smokes like a fat chick on a crash diet, and Brad's pretty certain he has A.D.D. or A.D.H.D. or O.C.D or very possibly D.) all of the above. No sane person can talk about twenty-seven different topics in a three minutes period without pause for oxygen or hydration. Ray Person is an enigma. Also, he's a pain in Brad's ass.
Brad looks up when Ray finally turns off the stereo and grabs his jacket, some worn, green thing with half the buttons missing. Brad thinks his Dad used to be in the Marines or something. "I'm going to grab a frappa-cracka-chino from Starbucks. The chick with the lip ring wants my cock, I can feel it. In my cock."
"That's nice, Ray." Brad mumbles and has to re-read the same sentence three times.
"Come on, dude. You've been sitting there reading that same fucking book for three days. I'm starting to think you've got a stash of adult diapers hidden so you don't even have to get up to piss."
"Its finals week, Ray." Brad says through his teeth because Ray, he's smart and all, passes his classes and everything, but he just doesn't get it. Brad has to do the best, be the best, go to the best college and make his parents proud. Ray's mother lives in a trailer park; she was proud when Ray turned sixteen and hadn't knocked up his fucking cousin.
"Colbert," Ray sighs, shaking his head. "You solve for Y and rattle off theorems and equations in your sleep. You're going to ace it like a motherfucker, dude! So get your shit and come with me. I'll even let you jerk off to lip-ring girl tonight if you want."
"Ray."
"Get your shit, homes. I'll drag your white, lanky ass out of here if I have to." Ray lowers the huge, gawdy Elvis glasses he insists on wearing, inside, when its dark, down the bridge of his nose. "You know I will."
Brad sighs because Ray's right, he's been studying for twelve hours. If he doesn't take at least a small break, everything will start to bleed together and it won't do him any good. Also, because he knows Ray will literally drag him out the door if he doesn't; Brad still hasn't forgotten midterms.
"What'd I tell you," Ray mumbles around the cigarette stuck between his lips as they walk back to the campus. "She wants me to tap that ass so bad she can barely look me in the eye, dude."
"Or, she doesn't want to be blinded by your butt-fuck ugliness." Brad grins around the tip of his straw; the air is crisp, like a freshly starched shirt from the cleaners, and the leaves on the sidewalk crunch underneath his shoes like cornflakes when he walks. The campus is really kind of pretty this time of year, everything covered in burgundy and gold. He's kind of glad Ray made him leave the dorm for a little while, even if he did have to threaten him.
"Fuck you, Colbert," Ray says, but he's still got a smile tugging the corners of his mouth up, flicking cigarette ashes behind them. "You're just jealous she wouldn't stop staring."
Brad processes this for a moment; Ray seems to be insinuating that Brad would be jealous not of Ray, but of the girl. Interesting.
"That's exactly it, Ray," He says, sipping on his iced caramel latte, smirk playing across his mouth. "You've found me out. I've only been staying in the dorm so much so I can catch a glimpse of your manly chest when you come back from the shower." The image of Ray walking through the door, stark white towel wrapped around his slender hips, curl of black ink peeking out over the top, flashes in Brad's head briefly, and he coughs. He blames it on the cool night air and ignores the warmth pooling in his belly, because that shit just ain't happening. Its finals week, for Christ's sake. He doesn't have time for this.
Ray just smiles like its all good, stomps the cigarette out on the concrete under his boot. He snatches Brad's coffee out of his hands since he already finished his, and they walk quietly back to the dorm; when Brad gets it back, the tip of the straw is chewed to fuck and it tastes like cheap cigarettes.
"Want me to quiz you?" Ray asks, stretched out on his bed with one arm behind his head, t-shirt riding up his belly, giving Brad another teasing glimpse of that curious tattoo on his hip.
"Sure, Ray, thanks. Page two-oh-eight to two-eighteen." This cannot happening.
"I hate anthropology. Anthropology was made by the devil and hippies and communists." Brad's head thunks against the wall behind him. Ray's sitting at the foot of his bed now with the book in his lap; his toes brush Brad's elbows occasionally. "I'm not ready for this test. Why didn't I start studying earlier? Fuck fuck fuck."
"Dude," Ray laughs and Brad winces when the book slaps closed. They can't stop now, he's nowhere near ready for the exam. Probably, he won't sleep tonight, just stay up with the book light his mom bought him last Christmas, reading and reading and memorizing until he eventually goes blind. "It's cool. I know exactly what you need, homes."
Brad scrubs his eyes with the heels of his hands as Ray gets up and rummages through his side of the room. Brad's bounces on the mattress when Ray plops back down, crossing his legs Indian-style in front of him, holding a baggie in his lap.
"Oh no," Brad shakes his head. "I don't have time for that shit, Ray. I don't have half of the definitions memorized, or the tribes, and-"
"You're too wound up, Brad." Ray says and Brad stares as he starts rolling a joint, right there at the foot of his bed. "You're too tense, brother. You can't study like that. This'll loosen you up and you'll have no problem remembering all that shit, trust me."
Brad raises an eyebrow skeptically. "So what you're telling me is that getting high is conducive to the learning process."
Ray finishes rolling the joint, pinching the paper together, and lights the end. "I'm telling you," He says, taking the first hit, and Brad thinks its interesting the way his face goes lax and his eyelashes kind of flutter against his skin. "That you need to fucking relax. Here."
Brad holds the joint between his fingers and Ray scooches down on the bed, lazy smile on his face, his feet resting on Brad's pillow. "If this doesn't work, I will fuck you up."
"Disclaimer?"
"Promise."
"Solid copy," Ray says, grinning, and nudges Brad's shoulder with his foot. "Less talk, more weed."
"What the hell," Brad mutters, putting it between his lips and inhaling.
"Get some," Ray grins; Brad's starting not to mind the military lingo so much.
"I'm not gay."
"Good to know."
"I'm not gay, but Jesus, you're sort of gorgeous. Has anyone ever told you how fucking gorgeous you are, Colbert?"
"Not so much, no. You sure about not being gay, Ray?"
"I dunno. Maybe a little bit."
Brad giggles.
"You just giggled," Ray says, then he giggles. "That was a little gay."
"Fuck you."
"Mm, buy me dinner first."
Brad giggles again, then Ray kisses him. He tastes like pot and Red Bull and Cheetohs. Its not exactly pleasant, but his tongue is, soft and wet and licking inside Brad's mouth, and Brad's not gay either, but he's breathing kind of funny and his dick's hard, and now he's kissing Ray back and touching that spot where his t-shirt always rides up, fingers brushing over the warm skin there.
"Think we're just doing this cause we're high?" He asks, scooting down Ray's body, pushing his t-shirt up and licking at his skin, watching goosebumps pop up everywhere.
"Probably," Ray says. "Do you really stare at me when I come back from the shower?"
Brad thinks for a moment; its more difficult than usual to make sense of everything in his head. "Yes," he finally decides, popping the button Ray's jeans.
"Then probably not," Ray grins, leaning up on his elbows. "Its a dragon."
Brad grins and traces the black outline with his tongue, pulling Ray's boxers down to follow it.
"This is the best idea I've ever had," Ray mumbles, but Brad doesn't hear him, he's too busy sucking his dick.
"Well?"
"Well, what?"
"Don't be a cock, Brad. You fucking know what I'm talking about."
Brad grins, tossing his messenger bag aside, and collapses onto his bed, crossing his arms behind his head. "A. I got a motherfucking A plus."
"Fuck yeah!" Ray gives a fist pump and jumps on top of him, crushing Brad's ribs and fuck, his nuts. "I knew my master plan would work."
"Your plan to get high and suck each other off?"
"What? Like that's not a viable plan?"
Brad grins and pushes his hands up the back of Ray's shirt. "What's your plan for celebrating?" He asks, licking the hollow of Ray's throat.
Ray shifts on top of him, reaching over into the nightstand between their bed, pulls out something Brad can't see and pushes it into his hand. Brad looks down at the bottle of lube and grins; he does not blush like a virgin school girl. That would be gay. "How's that for planning?"
Brad's hands fall around Ray's hips, pulling their bodies flush together, and bites down on Ray's shoulder when Ray grinds against him. "You get an A."
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YOU, MY DEAR, ARE WIN.
OH OH OH AND, SO I DON'T FLOOD YOUR INBOX, I READ THE REST OF THEM UNDER THIS TAG AND THEY ARE ALSO AMAZING. ESPECIALLY 'YOU EVER NOTICED HOW HOMOEROTIC THIS WHOLE THING IS?' BECAUSE UNFFFFFFFFFFFFFFF BRB COLD SHOWER.
if you have any recs? plz? i am like, dying here, and everyone writes frikkin nate/brad which is ok but brad/ray = ♥
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Sadly, I don't have like ANY Brad/Ray recs, but
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