fic: Generation Kill
Oct. 7th, 2008 04:53 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
withimpunityTitle: Don’t Ask
Pairing: Brad/Nate (Brad/Ray with magnifying slash goggles on)
Rating: PG-13 or quite possibly R because well, Marines are talking in this. ;D
Words: 632
Prompt: “Questions” @![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
slashthedrabble but I kinda went over and didn’t feel like shortening it.
“Where the hell have you been, homes?”
Brad doesn’t jump, lost the luxury of being startled the day his boots touched desert sand, but his eyes might widen a bit when Ray sits up all of a sudden and starts questioning him.
“Why aren’t you asleep?”
“Fucking Captain America, man. Won’t stop spreading his paranoid bullshit over comms. I swear, you’d think he was the one jacked up on Ripped Fuel, dude. And I asked you first.”
“What?” Brad asks as he slides back into the front seat of the Humvee, nestling his M-4 between his thigh and the door. There’s sweat pooled at the nape of his neck in a little puddle and the dark circles under his eyes aren’t quite as dark as they were before.
Ray raises his eyebrows, but in the darkness Brad doesn’t notice. “I just asked where you got off to. Thought I was going to have to send a search party after yours ass, like all the other fucking retard officers we have to go fetch.”
“I was talking with the Lieutenant, if you must know, Ray.” Brad deadpans, allowing his eyelids to close as his head falls back against the seat.
“Yeah, about what?”
Brad sighs through his nose, his eyes stay shut. “What the fuck does it matter, Ray? Stop asking so many goddamn questions and go the fuck to sleep.”
“Well, I’ll be damned.” Ray grins, patting Brad on the arm. Brad smells like dirt and sweat and underneath that, there‘s the faintest trace of sex. Beautiful. “Good for you, buddy. Good for you.”
Brad cracks open one eye and glares. “Ray, what in the name of all that’s holy are you fucking babbling about now? When was the last time you slept longer than ten minutes at a time, anyway?”
“The el tee, huh?” Ray asks, ignoring Brad’s lame attempt at subject changing, and laughs. “Can’t say I didn’t see that one coming a click away, though. Good choice. I myself have even been known to entertain thoughts of one, Nate Fick’s pretty, virgin mouth during a quick combat jack.”
“Ray.”
“Yeah, Brad?”
“Shut the fuck up or I will make it so you will never have the need for a combat jack ever again. Are we clear?”
Ray grins. He‘d be lying if he said he hadn‘t pegged Brad as the possessive type. “Roger that, Brad.”
Then a few minutes later, “Ray?”
“Yeah, Brad?”
“Does anyone else…” Brad clears his throat.
“Oh.” That’s all it takes for Ray to piece together the rest of his question. “No, dude. No worries. I got your back on this one, homes.”
Ray thinks he might hear a sigh of relief pass through Brad’s lips. “I am loathe to ask this, but how exactly then did you know about…”
Ray snorts. “Dude, we’ve been riding in this same piece of crap Humvee together for how long now? We annoy the shit out of each other, share dip, trade MRE’s, and rag on each other for every fucking thing we can think of just to pass the mother fucking time. We’re like married, dude. You think I don’t know when my man’s cheatin’ on me?”
Ray can barely make out the pale curve of Brad’s face when he grins, but he doesn’t miss the brightness of his teeth or the soft chuckling in his throat as he laughs. It only last a split-second, then Brad’s pulling his Kevlar down over his eyes and sliding down in his seat, still a faint trace of a smile softening his face.
“Goodnight, honey.”
Ray shakes his head and grins as he scooches down in the driver’s seat to get comfortable. “Night, sugar.”
“Ray?”
“Yeah, Brad?”
“Thank you.”
Before Ray can reply, they’re both already asleep.
Pairing: Brad/Nate (Brad/Ray with magnifying slash goggles on)
Rating: PG-13 or quite possibly R because well, Marines are talking in this. ;D
Words: 632
Prompt: “Questions” @
slashthedrabble but I kinda went over and didn’t feel like shortening it.“Where the hell have you been, homes?”
Brad doesn’t jump, lost the luxury of being startled the day his boots touched desert sand, but his eyes might widen a bit when Ray sits up all of a sudden and starts questioning him.
“Why aren’t you asleep?”
“Fucking Captain America, man. Won’t stop spreading his paranoid bullshit over comms. I swear, you’d think he was the one jacked up on Ripped Fuel, dude. And I asked you first.”
“What?” Brad asks as he slides back into the front seat of the Humvee, nestling his M-4 between his thigh and the door. There’s sweat pooled at the nape of his neck in a little puddle and the dark circles under his eyes aren’t quite as dark as they were before.
Ray raises his eyebrows, but in the darkness Brad doesn’t notice. “I just asked where you got off to. Thought I was going to have to send a search party after yours ass, like all the other fucking retard officers we have to go fetch.”
“I was talking with the Lieutenant, if you must know, Ray.” Brad deadpans, allowing his eyelids to close as his head falls back against the seat.
“Yeah, about what?”
Brad sighs through his nose, his eyes stay shut. “What the fuck does it matter, Ray? Stop asking so many goddamn questions and go the fuck to sleep.”
“Well, I’ll be damned.” Ray grins, patting Brad on the arm. Brad smells like dirt and sweat and underneath that, there‘s the faintest trace of sex. Beautiful. “Good for you, buddy. Good for you.”
Brad cracks open one eye and glares. “Ray, what in the name of all that’s holy are you fucking babbling about now? When was the last time you slept longer than ten minutes at a time, anyway?”
“The el tee, huh?” Ray asks, ignoring Brad’s lame attempt at subject changing, and laughs. “Can’t say I didn’t see that one coming a click away, though. Good choice. I myself have even been known to entertain thoughts of one, Nate Fick’s pretty, virgin mouth during a quick combat jack.”
“Ray.”
“Yeah, Brad?”
“Shut the fuck up or I will make it so you will never have the need for a combat jack ever again. Are we clear?”
Ray grins. He‘d be lying if he said he hadn‘t pegged Brad as the possessive type. “Roger that, Brad.”
Then a few minutes later, “Ray?”
“Yeah, Brad?”
“Does anyone else…” Brad clears his throat.
“Oh.” That’s all it takes for Ray to piece together the rest of his question. “No, dude. No worries. I got your back on this one, homes.”
Ray thinks he might hear a sigh of relief pass through Brad’s lips. “I am loathe to ask this, but how exactly then did you know about…”
Ray snorts. “Dude, we’ve been riding in this same piece of crap Humvee together for how long now? We annoy the shit out of each other, share dip, trade MRE’s, and rag on each other for every fucking thing we can think of just to pass the mother fucking time. We’re like married, dude. You think I don’t know when my man’s cheatin’ on me?”
Ray can barely make out the pale curve of Brad’s face when he grins, but he doesn’t miss the brightness of his teeth or the soft chuckling in his throat as he laughs. It only last a split-second, then Brad’s pulling his Kevlar down over his eyes and sliding down in his seat, still a faint trace of a smile softening his face.
“Goodnight, honey.”
Ray shakes his head and grins as he scooches down in the driver’s seat to get comfortable. “Night, sugar.”
“Ray?”
“Yeah, Brad?”
“Thank you.”
Before Ray can reply, they’re both already asleep.
