Fic: When I Hit the Ground - Brad/Ray
Sep. 16th, 2010 11:36 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
withimpunityTitle: When I Hit The Ground
Pairing: Ray/Brad
Rating: Mature
Words: 1371
A/n: Written for thewe_pimpin challenge “Ray Tops the World!”
They must think he’s stupid. He’s not. He’s a sleeper, an observer. Ray’s probably the smartest motherfucker out here because he knows when to talk and when to keep his mouth shut, when to look real hard at something and when to look away.
He doesn’t like the way the LT gives Brad a smile that’s only for him.
He doesn’t like the way Brad’s face softens, the way his shoulders loosen up. Only he’s supposed to make Brad relax. Only he’s supposed to make Brad feel good about this clusterfuck, not some green, cherry ass dicksmoker from Harvard or Princeton or whatever fucking Ivy League faggoty college his mommy and daddy paid for him to go to before he decided he wanted to be one of the cool guys and invade a country.
“What the fuck’s your deal?” Brad asks, leaning in Ray’s window to snatch the Copenhagen off the dash. He pauses, his face an inch away from Ray’s. Ray smiles and rolls his eyes and watches the tension melt out of Brad’s face. Brad’s mouth quirks into a secret smile, the kind he only ever gives to Ray, and then he’s tucking dip under his lip and tossing the empty can into Ray’s lap.
****
Brad disappears sometimes without Ray knowing where he is. This time it appears that the LT has gone missing as well.
“You seen Lieutenant Hotlips?” Ray asks Garza, because its easier to mock the situation than it is to face the thoughts that led him here. Gabe just shakes his head.
“Hey Budweiser, you know where the LT fucked off to?”
“Nah man,” Budweiser mumbles and rolls over in his grave.
Ray finds them, both leaning against the front of Fick’s victor, Brad’s hand curled around the base of his weapon, Fick holding his loosely by his side. They’re just talking.
Well, Brad’s talking. The LT is staring at him with that fucking doe-eyed, have ten of my upper-class, white privileged babies look that makes Ray want to run his K-Bar through the LT’s gut like a hot knife through butter.
Ray’s in the humvee, humming along to a Willie Nelson song with Walt when Brad finally makes it back.
“Have a nice kumbaya with the LT?” There’s a sharp edge of hostility to his voice that Brad can’t miss. He gives Ray a sideways look and sets his weapon down in the seat beside him.
“Yes. Have a nice time singing your goat fucking, ear raping music that I’ve strictly forbidden?”
“You weren’t here,” Ray says. It comes out harsher than he means it to.
Brad’s forehead wrinkles. “Get some fucking sleep.”
****
Brad keeps looking at him, all the way through Bagdad. He keeps asking him if he’s “squared away” and making him get sleep, like that’s even remotely fucking possible. And then he tries to go and blow himself up, just to impress Nate.
Maybe not. Probably not.
Ray doesn’t really know the difference anyway, the difference between hours and days, sleep and awake, happy/sad. It kind of all feels the same, except for Brad who still feels the same as he always felt.
“No more Ripped Fuel.”
****
He doesn’t mean to go after Rudy. Jesus, who in their right fucking mind would go after that fucking Kung Fu master son of a bitch? There’s just a lot of shit and Ray feels like a bottle of soda that’s been shaken up; eventually the cap is going to bust off, then everything’s going to spew out and everyone’s going to get sticky. Maybe not that last part.
Probably.
Brad follows him, even though Ray tells him to go fuck off. He shoves Brad back, tells him to go suck a dick, probably the LT’s seeing as how they’ve been eyefucking each other since Matilda, and that’s when Brad shoves him in a tiny, square room filled with boxes of ammo and MRE’s and pushes him against the wall, holding him there with an arm across his chest.
“What do you want, Ray?” Brad almost whispers and Ray turns his head, rolling his eyes dramatically. He grunts when Brad insinuates his thigh between Ray’s legs.
“Its my job to ensure the safety and well being of my men, Corporal Person.” Brad explains, then leans in closer. “I’m not fucking Lieutenant Fick, Ray.”
Ray grabs Brad’s face and kisses him. Its mostly teeth, scraping and tugging and biting, bloody and vicious. They’re both out of breath when he lets go of Brad’s face forcefully.
Brad tries again. “What do you want, Ray?” He licks the blood from his bottom lip; Ray’s or his, doesn’t matter.
Ray’s pupils are blown, his chest heaving. He knows he shouldn’t - but the words spill out of his mouth, involuntary. “I want you on your knees, Sergeant.”
He’s expecting his jaw to shatter. He’s expecting to taste the rush of blood in his mouth, to choke on it. He’s not expecting Brad’s raised eyebrow, half-amused, half...something else.
He definitely doesn’t expect to see Brad, three seconds later, weapon by his side, on his knees in front of him. “The fuck are you waiting for?” He raises both eyebrows and Ray’s brain finally gets the message. He can’t undo his camis fast enough. He can’t get his dick out fast enough. Then Brad’s hands are on his hips, helping him, sliding his camis down past his cock, thumbing the sharp just of his bone.
Ray swipes his thumb over Brad’s bottom lip and Brad’s mouth opens, pliant, then he curls his tongue around the head and slides his mouth around Ray’s cock, just like that. Easy peasy. No muss, no fuss, just a Sergeant sucking a Corporal’s dick. Oh shit.
“Jesus Christ,” Ray says softly and jerks his hips against Brad’s mouth. He feels Brad choke a little around his cock and something ignites inside of him, making him push even farther. Brad groans audibly around Ray’s dick, maybe as a warning, maybe because he enjoys choking on Ray’s cock.
“Yeah, fuck Brad, fucking choke on it,” Ray’s babbling, forcing Brad’s mouth on his cock with both hands, fucking into his mouth. Brad’s eyes are watering and Ray catches one of his tears with his fingers, moans as he brings it to his mouth and sucks off the warm saltiness.
“I knew you wanted this,” Ray rambles on, digging his nails into Brad’s skull. “Fucking Fick can’t do this for you. Wouldn’t either, perfect fucking golden boy. He doesn’t know you like I do, Brad. He doesn’t know how bad you need to have your face fucked, does he?”
Ray keens, shoving his fist into his mouth as Brad gets a finger behind his balls to finish him off, swallowing around Ray’s cock as it twitches and spurts in his mouth, Ray’s knees wobbling and shaking.
Brad stands up and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “Your turn. Knees.” Brad’s look is pure hunger, predatory, Ice Man.
Ray follows his orders, drops to his knees with his camis still wide open, dick hanging out, and watches as Brad pulls his dick out and starts beating it, hard and fast, two inches from Ray’s face. Ray goes back and forth between staring at Brad’s cock and watching his face, nearly expressionless except for the teeth digging into his bottom lip.
When he comes, Brad grunts and throws his head back and Ray closes his eyes, feeling Brad’s come splash on his cheek and across his mouth. He licks his lips and tastes it, salty and bitter. Brad drags his fingers across Ray’s bottom lip, pushing more of it into his mouth and Ray’s eyes flutter as he sucks Brad’s fingers into his mouth.
He uses his shirt to wipe the rest of it off as Brad stares down at him, flushed and sated. Its a good look for him.
Brad holds his hand out for Ray to take and pulls him off the ground. They stand there for a few seconds, the air thick with awkward silence, and then Ray just rolls his eyes, gives Brad the smile that’s only his, goofy and crooked and just a little sarcastic.
He guesses they’re even now.
Pairing: Ray/Brad
Rating: Mature
Words: 1371
A/n: Written for the
we_pimpin challenge “Ray Tops the World!”They must think he’s stupid. He’s not. He’s a sleeper, an observer. Ray’s probably the smartest motherfucker out here because he knows when to talk and when to keep his mouth shut, when to look real hard at something and when to look away.
He doesn’t like the way the LT gives Brad a smile that’s only for him.
He doesn’t like the way Brad’s face softens, the way his shoulders loosen up. Only he’s supposed to make Brad relax. Only he’s supposed to make Brad feel good about this clusterfuck, not some green, cherry ass dicksmoker from Harvard or Princeton or whatever fucking Ivy League faggoty college his mommy and daddy paid for him to go to before he decided he wanted to be one of the cool guys and invade a country.
“What the fuck’s your deal?” Brad asks, leaning in Ray’s window to snatch the Copenhagen off the dash. He pauses, his face an inch away from Ray’s. Ray smiles and rolls his eyes and watches the tension melt out of Brad’s face. Brad’s mouth quirks into a secret smile, the kind he only ever gives to Ray, and then he’s tucking dip under his lip and tossing the empty can into Ray’s lap.
****
Brad disappears sometimes without Ray knowing where he is. This time it appears that the LT has gone missing as well.
“You seen Lieutenant Hotlips?” Ray asks Garza, because its easier to mock the situation than it is to face the thoughts that led him here. Gabe just shakes his head.
“Hey Budweiser, you know where the LT fucked off to?”
“Nah man,” Budweiser mumbles and rolls over in his grave.
Ray finds them, both leaning against the front of Fick’s victor, Brad’s hand curled around the base of his weapon, Fick holding his loosely by his side. They’re just talking.
Well, Brad’s talking. The LT is staring at him with that fucking doe-eyed, have ten of my upper-class, white privileged babies look that makes Ray want to run his K-Bar through the LT’s gut like a hot knife through butter.
Ray’s in the humvee, humming along to a Willie Nelson song with Walt when Brad finally makes it back.
“Have a nice kumbaya with the LT?” There’s a sharp edge of hostility to his voice that Brad can’t miss. He gives Ray a sideways look and sets his weapon down in the seat beside him.
“Yes. Have a nice time singing your goat fucking, ear raping music that I’ve strictly forbidden?”
“You weren’t here,” Ray says. It comes out harsher than he means it to.
Brad’s forehead wrinkles. “Get some fucking sleep.”
****
Brad keeps looking at him, all the way through Bagdad. He keeps asking him if he’s “squared away” and making him get sleep, like that’s even remotely fucking possible. And then he tries to go and blow himself up, just to impress Nate.
Maybe not. Probably not.
Ray doesn’t really know the difference anyway, the difference between hours and days, sleep and awake, happy/sad. It kind of all feels the same, except for Brad who still feels the same as he always felt.
“No more Ripped Fuel.”
He doesn’t mean to go after Rudy. Jesus, who in their right fucking mind would go after that fucking Kung Fu master son of a bitch? There’s just a lot of shit and Ray feels like a bottle of soda that’s been shaken up; eventually the cap is going to bust off, then everything’s going to spew out and everyone’s going to get sticky. Maybe not that last part.
Probably.
Brad follows him, even though Ray tells him to go fuck off. He shoves Brad back, tells him to go suck a dick, probably the LT’s seeing as how they’ve been eyefucking each other since Matilda, and that’s when Brad shoves him in a tiny, square room filled with boxes of ammo and MRE’s and pushes him against the wall, holding him there with an arm across his chest.
“What do you want, Ray?” Brad almost whispers and Ray turns his head, rolling his eyes dramatically. He grunts when Brad insinuates his thigh between Ray’s legs.
“Its my job to ensure the safety and well being of my men, Corporal Person.” Brad explains, then leans in closer. “I’m not fucking Lieutenant Fick, Ray.”
Ray grabs Brad’s face and kisses him. Its mostly teeth, scraping and tugging and biting, bloody and vicious. They’re both out of breath when he lets go of Brad’s face forcefully.
Brad tries again. “What do you want, Ray?” He licks the blood from his bottom lip; Ray’s or his, doesn’t matter.
Ray’s pupils are blown, his chest heaving. He knows he shouldn’t - but the words spill out of his mouth, involuntary. “I want you on your knees, Sergeant.”
He’s expecting his jaw to shatter. He’s expecting to taste the rush of blood in his mouth, to choke on it. He’s not expecting Brad’s raised eyebrow, half-amused, half...something else.
He definitely doesn’t expect to see Brad, three seconds later, weapon by his side, on his knees in front of him. “The fuck are you waiting for?” He raises both eyebrows and Ray’s brain finally gets the message. He can’t undo his camis fast enough. He can’t get his dick out fast enough. Then Brad’s hands are on his hips, helping him, sliding his camis down past his cock, thumbing the sharp just of his bone.
Ray swipes his thumb over Brad’s bottom lip and Brad’s mouth opens, pliant, then he curls his tongue around the head and slides his mouth around Ray’s cock, just like that. Easy peasy. No muss, no fuss, just a Sergeant sucking a Corporal’s dick. Oh shit.
“Jesus Christ,” Ray says softly and jerks his hips against Brad’s mouth. He feels Brad choke a little around his cock and something ignites inside of him, making him push even farther. Brad groans audibly around Ray’s dick, maybe as a warning, maybe because he enjoys choking on Ray’s cock.
“Yeah, fuck Brad, fucking choke on it,” Ray’s babbling, forcing Brad’s mouth on his cock with both hands, fucking into his mouth. Brad’s eyes are watering and Ray catches one of his tears with his fingers, moans as he brings it to his mouth and sucks off the warm saltiness.
“I knew you wanted this,” Ray rambles on, digging his nails into Brad’s skull. “Fucking Fick can’t do this for you. Wouldn’t either, perfect fucking golden boy. He doesn’t know you like I do, Brad. He doesn’t know how bad you need to have your face fucked, does he?”
Ray keens, shoving his fist into his mouth as Brad gets a finger behind his balls to finish him off, swallowing around Ray’s cock as it twitches and spurts in his mouth, Ray’s knees wobbling and shaking.
Brad stands up and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “Your turn. Knees.” Brad’s look is pure hunger, predatory, Ice Man.
Ray follows his orders, drops to his knees with his camis still wide open, dick hanging out, and watches as Brad pulls his dick out and starts beating it, hard and fast, two inches from Ray’s face. Ray goes back and forth between staring at Brad’s cock and watching his face, nearly expressionless except for the teeth digging into his bottom lip.
When he comes, Brad grunts and throws his head back and Ray closes his eyes, feeling Brad’s come splash on his cheek and across his mouth. He licks his lips and tastes it, salty and bitter. Brad drags his fingers across Ray’s bottom lip, pushing more of it into his mouth and Ray’s eyes flutter as he sucks Brad’s fingers into his mouth.
He uses his shirt to wipe the rest of it off as Brad stares down at him, flushed and sated. Its a good look for him.
Brad holds his hand out for Ray to take and pulls him off the ground. They stand there for a few seconds, the air thick with awkward silence, and then Ray just rolls his eyes, gives Brad the smile that’s only his, goofy and crooked and just a little sarcastic.
He guesses they’re even now.
no subject
Date: 2010-09-16 05:46 pm (UTC)I ♥ M*A*S*H. My husband bought me the first season last Mother's Day lol.
no subject
Date: 2010-09-16 06:05 pm (UTC)YEAH, this icon = what happens when I try to make myself a Ray icon. APPARENTLY.
no subject
Date: 2010-09-16 06:14 pm (UTC)SOLIDARITY. *fistbump* I think Trapper/Hawkeye was my very first slash pairing.