"I'm thinking of getting a bike." Ray says, barging into the house with a six pack and a produce bag from the farmers market. Its torn on one side, spinach about to spill out.
"Schwinn or Huffy?" Brad asks and catches the bag of spinach as it falls, stows it in the crisper with the cucumbers.
"Oh that reminds me, I got you something on the way over." Ray says and when Brad turns around to look at him, Ray smiles wryly and offers him his middle finger. "Fuck you. No, I'm serious. I think I'm going to go today and pick one out."
"The fuck you are."
"Oh Brad,” Ray grins, twisting open one of the beers he brought in. “Jealous much? Afraid I'm going to look hotter on one of those faggy little crotch rockets than you? Seriously dude, those things are twelve kinds of gay. You can't get more phallic imagery than that, homes."
"Your not getting a bike, Ray." Brad says dryly, with a tone of permanance. He looks Ray in the eyes once and walks off, like the conversation’s over.
Ray snorts, amused, leans against the counter and takes a pull from the beer in his hand. "Yeah, Brad. I am."
Brad sits down at his computer desk and looks up at Ray, arms crossed over his chest. His jaw is tight and set. Ray knows this face. Its the "don't fucking argue with me" face. Its also the face that he ignores ninety percent of the time and the face that gets him really, really good sex if he pushes just enough, but not too far.
"What the fuck do you know about bikes, Ray?" Brad cuts Ray off as soon as he sees him open his mouth to speak. "Jack shit, that's what. I'd be endangering the citizens of California by letting your whiskey speed-addled. whiskey tango ass on something with that much power."
"Oh Brad," Ray says smiling, pretending to clutch his pearls, giving his best southern belle accent to go along with it. "I didn't know you cared."
"What the fuck are you talking about?"
"You," Ray grins. "You're worried about me."
"I'm worried about you destroying something beautiful by doing something colossally retarded."
"You're worried I'd hurt myself."
"I'm not worried."
"You're totally freaking out that I'd get in a fiery crash or something."
He doesn't miss the way Brad's eye flinch on the word crash.
"Ray."
"Would you sit by my bedside with tears in your eyes, Brad? Hold my hand when no one was looking?"
"Goddammit, Ray."
“You would, wouldn't you! You big gay homo, you love me!"
Brad sighs. "If I let you drive mine, will you shut the fuck up?"
"Nah," Ray says, slipping his belt loose, tugging his shirt off over his head. Reaching behind him, Brad twists the mini blinds shut. "What do you say we stay here and you tell me how much you looooove me?"
"I'm going to throw you out on your ass, I swear to God."
"You don't believe in God. And you won't. Because you loooove me."
Brad sighs, reaches out to rest his hands on Ray's hips, stroking back and forth across the ink tattooed there. He presses his forehead to Ray's abdomen.
"If I acknowledge this, will you never speak of it again?" He says against Ray’s skin that tastes like sweat and soap from their shower that morning.
He feels Ray's fingers curl around the back of his head, stroking slowly at the nape of his neck. "Acknowledge what?"
Brad mouths at Ray's skin, leaving wet trails across his abdominal. "You're not going to make this easy for me, are you?"
"Nope," Ray grins and Brad tugs on his hips hard enough to pull Ray down into his lap. The chair isn't really big enough for the two of them, Ray's thighs squished up against the arms of the chair, but they make do.
"The corps obviously killed every last one of my fucking brain cells," Brad grumbles into Ray's collarbone.
"I love you," He murmurs next to Ray's ear, sliding his hand down the back of Ray's loose, open jeans to curl his hand around his ass. "I wanna get gay married and buy a house and have fourteen ass babies with you. Is that good enough for you, you demanding little motherfucker?"
Ray chuckles. "Sorry Brad, I don't do the whole barefoot and pregnant thing. I'm my own woman."
"How about we stick to mind-blowing, life altering pornographic sex and...this," Brad says, mumbling the words against Ray's lips before coaxing his mouth open and kissing him.
Ray gives in to Brad for a moment, letting Brad’s tongue slide across his bottom lip, grabbing Ray's hips to rock up against him.
“So okay,” Ray pulls away, slightly breathless. He hates that Brad can do that to him with just a kiss, make him feel like he’s fourteen again, fucking butterflies and sweaty palms. Dear god, he is so very, very gay. "What is this?" He asks, breathing against Brad's mouth.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Wow, this is kind of disgusting.
Date: 2010-09-10 02:45 pm (UTC)"Schwinn or Huffy?" Brad asks and catches the bag of spinach as it falls, stows it in the crisper with the cucumbers.
"Oh that reminds me, I got you something on the way over." Ray says and when Brad turns around to look at him, Ray smiles wryly and offers him his middle finger. "Fuck you. No, I'm serious. I think I'm going to go today and pick one out."
"The fuck you are."
"Oh Brad,” Ray grins, twisting open one of the beers he brought in. “Jealous much? Afraid I'm going to look hotter on one of those faggy little crotch rockets than you? Seriously dude, those things are twelve kinds of gay. You can't get more phallic imagery than that, homes."
"Your not getting a bike, Ray." Brad says dryly, with a tone of permanance. He looks Ray in the eyes once and walks off, like the conversation’s over.
Ray snorts, amused, leans against the counter and takes a pull from the beer in his hand. "Yeah, Brad. I am."
Brad sits down at his computer desk and looks up at Ray, arms crossed over his chest. His jaw is tight and set. Ray knows this face. Its the "don't fucking argue with me" face. Its also the face that he ignores ninety percent of the time and the face that gets him really, really good sex if he pushes just enough, but not too far.
"What the fuck do you know about bikes, Ray?" Brad cuts Ray off as soon as he sees him open his mouth to speak. "Jack shit, that's what. I'd be endangering the citizens of California by letting your whiskey speed-addled. whiskey tango ass on something with that much power."
"Oh Brad," Ray says smiling, pretending to clutch his pearls, giving his best southern belle accent to go along with it. "I didn't know you cared."
"What the fuck are you talking about?"
"You," Ray grins. "You're worried about me."
"I'm worried about you destroying something beautiful by doing something colossally retarded."
"You're worried I'd hurt myself."
"I'm not worried."
"You're totally freaking out that I'd get in a fiery crash or something."
He doesn't miss the way Brad's eye flinch on the word crash.
"Ray."
"Would you sit by my bedside with tears in your eyes, Brad? Hold my hand when no one was looking?"
"Goddammit, Ray."
“You would, wouldn't you! You big gay homo, you love me!"
Brad sighs. "If I let you drive mine, will you shut the fuck up?"
"Nah," Ray says, slipping his belt loose, tugging his shirt off over his head. Reaching behind him, Brad twists the mini blinds shut. "What do you say we stay here and you tell me how much you looooove me?"
"I'm going to throw you out on your ass, I swear to God."
"You don't believe in God. And you won't. Because you loooove me."
Brad sighs, reaches out to rest his hands on Ray's hips, stroking back and forth across the ink tattooed there. He presses his forehead to Ray's abdomen.
"If I acknowledge this, will you never speak of it again?" He says against Ray’s skin that tastes like sweat and soap from their shower that morning.
He feels Ray's fingers curl around the back of his head, stroking slowly at the nape of his neck. "Acknowledge what?"
Brad mouths at Ray's skin, leaving wet trails across his abdominal. "You're not going to make this easy for me, are you?"
"Nope," Ray grins and Brad tugs on his hips hard enough to pull Ray down into his lap. The chair isn't really big enough for the two of them, Ray's thighs squished up against the arms of the chair, but they make do.
"The corps obviously killed every last one of my fucking brain cells," Brad grumbles into Ray's collarbone.
"I love you," He murmurs next to Ray's ear, sliding his hand down the back of Ray's loose, open jeans to curl his hand around his ass. "I wanna get gay married and buy a house and have fourteen ass babies with you. Is that good enough for you, you demanding little motherfucker?"
Ray chuckles. "Sorry Brad, I don't do the whole barefoot and pregnant thing. I'm my own woman."
"How about we stick to mind-blowing, life altering pornographic sex and...this," Brad says, mumbling the words against Ray's lips before coaxing his mouth open and kissing him.
Ray gives in to Brad for a moment, letting Brad’s tongue slide across his bottom lip, grabbing Ray's hips to rock up against him.
“So okay,” Ray pulls away, slightly breathless. He hates that Brad can do that to him with just a kiss, make him feel like he’s fourteen again, fucking butterflies and sweaty palms. Dear god, he is so very, very gay. "What is this?" He asks, breathing against Brad's mouth.
Brad cups his jaw, kisses it; grins. "Its us."