Knot/Unknot
Title: Knot/Unknot
Summary: AU. Nate as a time-traveler, Ray as his anchor.
Fandom: Generation Kill
Characters/Pairings: Nate/Ray
Genre: Gen
Rating: PG
Warnings: N/A
Word Count: 662
Author's Notes: Inspired by 'Meanwhile' by Richard Siken.
Disclaimer: Based on the fictionalized characters as played by PJ Ransone and Stark Sands in the HBO miniseries, not the real people.
If things were different, Nate wouldn't have known Ray as well as he does, and vice versa. He knows how Ray takes his coffee, how he kicks in his sleep and steals the blankets, how he bitches about the cold when the heater is down and threatens to slit the landlord's throat.
If things were different, Nate doesn't think he'll understand how Ray can be noisy and quiet all at once. Like now; Ray's mouth is zipped shut with a dirty smirk, pantomime lock and key and all, but the way he's straddling Nate's thighs with lean legs and a grinding heat speaks nothing of silence.
*
This is Ray's life. An apartment shared by two people, with one fridge, one bed, one bathroom, and one kitchen. A sofa covered with patches. A coffee table with a stack of magazines and newspapers beside a pile of CDs. Cold beer with coasters, although sometimes Ray forgets. Then again, Nate always forgives.
He sips his drink and listens to the hush of the shower. It's punctuated by the staccato barks from the yappy Yorkshire terrier from across the street, the one that likes to nip at Ray's ankles every time they walk by to get to Nate's favorite bakery.
The clock ticks its way to seven-thirty, and the shower is still going, so Ray sets down the mug quietly and walks to the bathroom in their bedroom. There is no additional splash of water on body on floor, which means there's something wrong, but Ray doesn't panic. It's not their first time. He just steps into the cold shower and turns the water off, sits on the toilet seat with a towel in his hands and waits.
Nate comes back in fifteen minutes, quicker this time. He stumbles, but Ray is there to catch him, so Nate lands with a soft 'oof' and a muttered thanks.
"You were a horny little shit at sixteen," he says, grinning as he wraps the towel around his waist.
Ray smirks back and quirks his eyebrow. He is kind of jealous of his sixteen-year-old self, because he remembers a naked, wet Nate sitting on his bed in Missouri, perspiring in the summer heat, but then he remembers that he has a half-naked, wet Nate in front of him now, and he much prefers this.
*
If things were different, Nate would have met Ray at a bar, and then slowly gotten to know him and a lot of the other things he knows now, but not all of them. He wouldn't know about the times that Ray felt so frustrated that he yelled into his pillow, and, worse, he wouldn't have been there to let Ray punch him and cry into his shoulder.
There are a number of reasons why Nate hates the way things are with his non-linearity, but he wouldn't change a thing, because he has Ray who makes sure the clocks in the apartment are always working, who makes sure Nate knows where and what time he's in, who is always there to catch and kiss him, and that's sickly sweet sometimes, but Nate's happy.
*
When they are done, Nate's half-asleep next to him, mouth still swollen and red and sinful, and Ray's lighting up a cigarette, making sure to direct the smoke out of the window. A small wind blows in, and Nate curls up deeper into the blankets, back deliciously pale against the sheets. Ray thinks about the day as the high drawls into his lung like a good song inhaled backwards, and plans for tomorrow.
Ray stubs out the cigarette, brushes his teeth, and heads back to bed. He curves himself against Nate's cool skin and snakes his arm around Nate's stomach and holds on.
This is Ray's life, and it's not ideal, but there's Nate, and there's the apartment, and there's time. As long as there are green eyes to meet his every so often, it's good.
Summary: AU. Nate as a time-traveler, Ray as his anchor.
Fandom: Generation Kill
Characters/Pairings: Nate/Ray
Genre: Gen
Rating: PG
Warnings: N/A
Word Count: 662
Author's Notes: Inspired by 'Meanwhile' by Richard Siken.
Disclaimer: Based on the fictionalized characters as played by PJ Ransone and Stark Sands in the HBO miniseries, not the real people.
If things were different, Nate wouldn't have known Ray as well as he does, and vice versa. He knows how Ray takes his coffee, how he kicks in his sleep and steals the blankets, how he bitches about the cold when the heater is down and threatens to slit the landlord's throat.
If things were different, Nate doesn't think he'll understand how Ray can be noisy and quiet all at once. Like now; Ray's mouth is zipped shut with a dirty smirk, pantomime lock and key and all, but the way he's straddling Nate's thighs with lean legs and a grinding heat speaks nothing of silence.
*
This is Ray's life. An apartment shared by two people, with one fridge, one bed, one bathroom, and one kitchen. A sofa covered with patches. A coffee table with a stack of magazines and newspapers beside a pile of CDs. Cold beer with coasters, although sometimes Ray forgets. Then again, Nate always forgives.
He sips his drink and listens to the hush of the shower. It's punctuated by the staccato barks from the yappy Yorkshire terrier from across the street, the one that likes to nip at Ray's ankles every time they walk by to get to Nate's favorite bakery.
The clock ticks its way to seven-thirty, and the shower is still going, so Ray sets down the mug quietly and walks to the bathroom in their bedroom. There is no additional splash of water on body on floor, which means there's something wrong, but Ray doesn't panic. It's not their first time. He just steps into the cold shower and turns the water off, sits on the toilet seat with a towel in his hands and waits.
Nate comes back in fifteen minutes, quicker this time. He stumbles, but Ray is there to catch him, so Nate lands with a soft 'oof' and a muttered thanks.
"You were a horny little shit at sixteen," he says, grinning as he wraps the towel around his waist.
Ray smirks back and quirks his eyebrow. He is kind of jealous of his sixteen-year-old self, because he remembers a naked, wet Nate sitting on his bed in Missouri, perspiring in the summer heat, but then he remembers that he has a half-naked, wet Nate in front of him now, and he much prefers this.
*
If things were different, Nate would have met Ray at a bar, and then slowly gotten to know him and a lot of the other things he knows now, but not all of them. He wouldn't know about the times that Ray felt so frustrated that he yelled into his pillow, and, worse, he wouldn't have been there to let Ray punch him and cry into his shoulder.
There are a number of reasons why Nate hates the way things are with his non-linearity, but he wouldn't change a thing, because he has Ray who makes sure the clocks in the apartment are always working, who makes sure Nate knows where and what time he's in, who is always there to catch and kiss him, and that's sickly sweet sometimes, but Nate's happy.
*
When they are done, Nate's half-asleep next to him, mouth still swollen and red and sinful, and Ray's lighting up a cigarette, making sure to direct the smoke out of the window. A small wind blows in, and Nate curls up deeper into the blankets, back deliciously pale against the sheets. Ray thinks about the day as the high drawls into his lung like a good song inhaled backwards, and plans for tomorrow.
Ray stubs out the cigarette, brushes his teeth, and heads back to bed. He curves himself against Nate's cool skin and snakes his arm around Nate's stomach and holds on.
This is Ray's life, and it's not ideal, but there's Nate, and there's the apartment, and there's time. As long as there are green eyes to meet his every so often, it's good.