[Generation Kill/True Blood] Eric/Ray | Crave
Title: Crave
Summary: Post-extension (idgaf; it is a thing okay) of the one-sentence fic: "Eric has Ray pinned to the wall in three seconds flat, fangs dragging across his neck, whispering are you sure and getting a fuck yes motherfucker in reply before he bites down into the warm flesh."
Fandom: Generation Kill/True Blood
Characters/Pairings: Eric/Ray
Genre: Gen, crossover
Rating: R; swearing, sexual themes
Warnings: N/A
Word Count: 410
Author's Notes: For the 30 days writing challenge. Prompt #16: the morning after. Inspired by my birthday present from etacanis <3 LOOK AT ME NOT WRITING ANGST.
Disclaimer: Based on the fictionalized characters as played by PJ Ransone and Alexander Skarsgard in their respective HBO miniseries, not the real people.
Ray decides, when the sun hits his face at an ungodly angle, that he's a masochist.
First, there was that whole thing with joining the Marine Corps and subjecting his body to BRC and SERE and then Iraq. Drive, Ray. Work the radios, Ray. Shut up, Ray. Stay awake, but don't take Ripped Fuel or caffeine because then you'll keep talking bullshit, Ray. Thank you for your service, now get the fuck out, Ray.
Jesus.
Then, there was the whole leaving the Marine Corps shit. Taking shot after shot after shot and nearly drowning his liver in tequila. Waking up to the worst hangover ever-not fun; there weren't any Thai whores around, boo-and then realising that he'd left his car at Brad's.
And then, because he'd been sexually deprived and had gotten utterly wasted for his country's freedom, he'd decided to hit up Fangtasia. Because, homes, sex with a vampire? Totally on Ray-Ray's list of things to do before the world gets eaten by zombies. (Seriously though, dude, everyone needs to have a fucking good time with a vamp before they die and/or become one themselves.)
How Ray had attracted Eric Northman, he can't remember. It might have been Ray's hips. Ray has nice hips. They sway and charm like snakes, except they ain't laced with venomous fangs, and Ray might have lost the analogy, but what the fuck ever. It might have been Ray's tattoos. His momma still gives him grief about them, but shit they're part of Ray for now and for ever, so again, what the fuck ever, momma, they help him get laid and that's all there needs to be said. It might have been the way Ray walked up (no prostrating or simpering; Ray doesn't beg unless you blow him nicely) to Eric and propositioned him to his face.
Buy Ray a drink, fuck Ray, maybe bite Ray, and everyone wins. Especially Ray.
Ray does feel like a motherfucking winner right now, he thinks, grinning as he rolls around in the motel sheets. His fingers trail down the line of bruises on his arms and thighs. Press down, feel the pain, remember Eric and his eyes and teeth and cock, moan into the pillow, repeat. He has one hand curled around his dick, one hand running along his skin and finding the bite on his back where his shoulder meets his neck. He jacks his fist upwards as his fingers sink down. A hiss, a whimper, and again.
Summary: Post-extension (idgaf; it is a thing okay) of the one-sentence fic: "Eric has Ray pinned to the wall in three seconds flat, fangs dragging across his neck, whispering are you sure and getting a fuck yes motherfucker in reply before he bites down into the warm flesh."
Fandom: Generation Kill/True Blood
Characters/Pairings: Eric/Ray
Genre: Gen, crossover
Rating: R; swearing, sexual themes
Warnings: N/A
Word Count: 410
Author's Notes: For the 30 days writing challenge. Prompt #16: the morning after. Inspired by my birthday present from etacanis <3 LOOK AT ME NOT WRITING ANGST.
Disclaimer: Based on the fictionalized characters as played by PJ Ransone and Alexander Skarsgard in their respective HBO miniseries, not the real people.
Ray decides, when the sun hits his face at an ungodly angle, that he's a masochist.
First, there was that whole thing with joining the Marine Corps and subjecting his body to BRC and SERE and then Iraq. Drive, Ray. Work the radios, Ray. Shut up, Ray. Stay awake, but don't take Ripped Fuel or caffeine because then you'll keep talking bullshit, Ray. Thank you for your service, now get the fuck out, Ray.
Jesus.
Then, there was the whole leaving the Marine Corps shit. Taking shot after shot after shot and nearly drowning his liver in tequila. Waking up to the worst hangover ever-not fun; there weren't any Thai whores around, boo-and then realising that he'd left his car at Brad's.
And then, because he'd been sexually deprived and had gotten utterly wasted for his country's freedom, he'd decided to hit up Fangtasia. Because, homes, sex with a vampire? Totally on Ray-Ray's list of things to do before the world gets eaten by zombies. (Seriously though, dude, everyone needs to have a fucking good time with a vamp before they die and/or become one themselves.)
How Ray had attracted Eric Northman, he can't remember. It might have been Ray's hips. Ray has nice hips. They sway and charm like snakes, except they ain't laced with venomous fangs, and Ray might have lost the analogy, but what the fuck ever. It might have been Ray's tattoos. His momma still gives him grief about them, but shit they're part of Ray for now and for ever, so again, what the fuck ever, momma, they help him get laid and that's all there needs to be said. It might have been the way Ray walked up (no prostrating or simpering; Ray doesn't beg unless you blow him nicely) to Eric and propositioned him to his face.
Buy Ray a drink, fuck Ray, maybe bite Ray, and everyone wins. Especially Ray.
Ray does feel like a motherfucking winner right now, he thinks, grinning as he rolls around in the motel sheets. His fingers trail down the line of bruises on his arms and thighs. Press down, feel the pain, remember Eric and his eyes and teeth and cock, moan into the pillow, repeat. He has one hand curled around his dick, one hand running along his skin and finding the bite on his back where his shoulder meets his neck. He jacks his fist upwards as his fingers sink down. A hiss, a whimper, and again.