It's Strange to Miss Someone You Don't Remember | Part 2/?
Title: It's Strange to Miss Someone You Don't Remember
Part: 2/??
Fandoms: Generation Kill
Pairings/Characters: Brad/Ray, Walt, Doc Bryan cameo
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 2,170 (4,293 WIP)
Warnings: Adult language, themes, and sexual content
Disclaimer: I do not own the show, or the fictional interpretations from which this is based. I'm just exercising my fangirl fantasies for a bit.
Summary: There's a man in every picture that Brad doesn't recognize. He sends letters, and Brad knows it's his boyfriend, but he can't connect. For some odd reason, Brad misses him, but he can't love him. Not anymore. Not since the accident.Author's Notes: Exams are coming soon, so there may be some delays in future parts. Sorry about that, but it cannot be helped. There will definitely be some bittersweet smut in the next one. I made sure to leave it open for that.
Part One
Part Two point Five
Ray stood, unmoving, with his hands around Brad’s neck for several minutes. This was the thing he had wanted most. More than sex (though that was next on the list), more than a kiss, more than the sight, even more than a rack of ribs. Ray just wanted to hold his lover in his arms once more. If the world were to end that moment, he wouldn’t care. At least it would be a moment without regret.
“I fuckin’ love you,” he murmured into the blonde’s chest.
Brad refused to respond.
The longer Ray hung there, the more uncomfortable Brad became. He found it odd that Ray couldn`t sense their differing spirits. Ray was so affectionate and needing. After such a long time, he needed the touch of the blonde`s skin, the intimacy that came with that. Brad, on the other hand, just stood there with little emotion. The feelings he did have were mostly made of pity and cowardice. And it was all brought on by Ray’s love. He didn’t have the heart to tell the marine that pieces of his memory were missing, specifically the parts that involved his boyfriend. And he’d had plenty of time to do so.
Brad had only been in the hospital for three weeks, with minimal physiotherapy. He had an iron will, and was determined to get out of the prison the hospital became. Of course, he broke out of that one, only to return home to another. That was nearly six months ago. Ray had been in correspondence ever since, sending a letter once a week or, sometimes, once every two weeks. Whenever he had the time. He could have been honest right from the first letter. He should have been. But there was always an excuse not to do it, just like there was now. He found it amusing that it all started with an small, brown envelope.
- - - - -
Brad was still a little shaky on his feet, but that couldn’t measure up to his resolve to get home. To be independent. Well, semi-independent. Dr. Bryan had only agreed to let him leave if he was taken back with someone from the nursing staff. Someone to help him get home safe, and settle in. Walt Hasser, a student currently doing his placement, volunteered. He was young, and naturally pleasing to be around. Kind, like Brad couldn’t remember anyone ever being. But he barely remembered anything. Brad was only just realising that the couple who claimed to be his parents, were in fact his parents.
Sometimes, while Brad was forced to stay in his tiny hospital bed, he and Walt would talk. Or rather Walt would listen. Brad would have liked to listen to his voice more. It was almost soothing, with a hint of a twang to it. He liked to tease his nurse about it, but always remained within the boundaries of acceptable behaviour. Even though he mind came up with some pretty good zings.
The first conversation they ever had was Brad complaining about how his feet hung off the edge of the bed. To which Walt smiled.
“I’m sorry about that, but you can’t blame the bed. They just aren’t made for the freakishly tall.”
Brad fell in love for that sense of humour instantly. He wished there was more of it, but Walt seemed pretty reserved, and his joking only appeared every so often. But it was a nice change from the usual silence of the room. Brad found himself switching on the television just to hear the voices. He really didn’t care what he put, until one afternoon when Walt walked in with a coffee to find the patient watching - or in this case not watching - Dr Phill. Even his nurse was embarrassed for him. He stopped watching television after that.
He found it weird that he could remember some things, like Dr. Phill, but completely forget other things like his boyfriend of over three years. Or his little sister, Elizabeth. She was seven years old, and when his parents brought her over to visit him he just stared at her with a blank face and asked “who’s the kid?” (He still felt guilty about that, though she returned to his memory shortly after.)
Brad was excited to be taken home by Walt.
Brad knees rested against the glove box. It was a bit of a tight fit, but he wasn’t going to complain. Luckily, he didn’t have to. His minder spotted it as soon as he sat himself down in the driver’s seat.
“There’s a lever under the seat,” Walt declared, leaning over Brad. Before the giant could do anything, Walt reached his hand between his passenger’s legs and was searching for the lever, his face right in Brad’s crotch.
The tall blonde went hot, and it took every bit of restraint he had not to imagine what other, more productive, things the country boy could be doing down there. A moment later there was a jolt as Brad was sliding back in his seat. Even when he was as far back as it could go, there just wasn’t adequate room for his legs. But he’d just have to make due.
Walt sat up with a bright smile, and started the engine.
Their trip was, for the most part, silent. It bothered Brad immensely. It seemed that it was taking much longer to get home than it should. Their only exchange was short, and all began with Brad singing softly to himself.
“Her name is Noel, I had a dream about her, she rings my bell-“
“I can turn the radio on if you’d like,” the young driver offered gently.
“No thanks,” Brad responded quickly. He had always found the radio to be strangely annoying. He could perfectly tolerate - and often participated with - people singing in the car, but the radio itself… it was just really irritating for some reason. People generally chalked it up to media censorship and the information that gets filtered through corporations and turned into bullshit by the time it got to your speakers.
Walt only pursed his lips together and nodded.
That was the only real conversation they had until Brad went to check his mail. There was quite a pile stacking up in the mailbox. Apparently no one had been over to check for him. He rummaged through them on the front step. There were a number of bills, some in duplicate - he made a mental note to call them up and explain why he was late paying them - a few flyers, which were casually tossed to the ground, two magazines (one for motorcycles, and one for NASCAR) and a small brown envelope with his name and address scribbled on the front. He turned the envelope over. He found a few dark stamps, and a return address.
Cpl. Josh Ray Person
xxxxxxxxxxxx, xxx xxxxx xxxxx
FPO, AE 09390
It was the same name that was on the NASCAR magazine, though the address was for Brad’s home. Perhaps he had a roommate he didn’t remember. He just stared at the name, trying to jog his memory. Anything. His focus was interrupted by Walt’s voice behind him.
“Maybe we should get inside now.”
Brad snapped back to reality and carefully unlocked the door. He stepped into the living room with a strong sense of comfort, of familiarity. It didn’t matter that he hadn’t remembered what it looked like, it felt like his. Black, white, stainless steel, all accented with bold red. Modern and sleek. As if by habit, he dropped most of the mail onto the kitchen counter, and then proceeded to the living, brown envelope still clutched in his hand, and plopped down on the couch. He then pulled off his boots, and put his feet up on the coffee table. He wiggled his toes.
“Well aren’t you getting’ all comfy there,” Walt teased with a bright smile. He was staring at a picture set on the kitchen counter. He picked it up, and showed it to Brad. “Who’s this?”
The man in the picture was young, wiry and had short brown hair. The Viking shrugged. “I’m not sure, but I think I have a roommate. I think that’s him. And I think he sent me this,” he said lifting the letter. “The return address says his name is Josh. And he likes NASCAR.”
“It really says that he likes NASCAR on the return address.”
“Hardy har har,” Brad responded, opening the envelope. “Come here, and read it with me.”
Walt shook his head. He then walked over and dropped down next to his patient. “Yes, dear. But I’m pretty sure you haven’t forgotten how to read-“
Brad cleared his throat loudly with a grin. He read the letter aloud.
Brad,
I just wanted to make sure I sent this before we left camp. I can’t tell you exactly where I am, but I can tell you that it’s hot and we’re in a desert. So, if you happen to be wandering said desert and you see a bunch of men walking around in dark green, that’s probably us. The higher-ups are fucking retarded or something. They’re sending us into war with shitty equipment. They’re sending us to invade a desert country with woodland camo, but that’s the least of our worries right now. We don’t have enough batteries to use all of our equipment, they’ve already lost a supply truck, and we’re stepping off before another can arrive, so our ammunition and food will be restricted, and our CO has his head so far up his ass he doesn’t know which way is up. And then, of course, I have a psychopath in the backseat, and there aren’t enough maps to go around. So, I am stuck listening to infinite wisdom of the CO.
You don’t have to worry about me though. We have a competent LT and my team leader’s probably the best soldier in the whole goddamn battalion. They’ll look out for me.
During the nights, while the other guys are reading their titty magazines, or sitting by the radio trying to find out anything about the world outside of the Marine Corps, my mind drifts to you. Sometimes I picture your smile, your happiness when you have the time to work on your bike. It always gives me confidence.
Sometimes I imagine other things, like what you are going to do to me when I get home. I jerk off to the thought of having your hard cock in my-
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Brad commentated, stopping midsentence. He wasn’t entirely sure what was happening, and he was sure that something Walt didn’t need to hear. “Apparently a little more than a roommate,” he announced with a confused look.
“- tight little ass,” Walt read.
“I figured I would avoid saying that stuff out loud.”
The adorable country boy shrugged with a grin. “I’m a big boy, I can take it. Besides, you’re the one who insisted on reading the letter with me. Don’t half-ass it Colbert.”
Brad blinked and returned to the letter.
And then I imagine you down on your knees, your lips pink, and swollen, as you go on down my shaft. Inch by inch. Until I come in your mouth. And you love it. You always do. This give me reserve motivation. I’m resolved to have many, many more blowjobs before I die. I don’t know when I’ll be coming home, but now you have fair warning. You’re going to be impressed with how you shape I am not. I’m going to wear you out. And I plan to do that as often as possible.
I look forward to the afterglow most. Of just lying in bed, talking. I’ll want to hear everything. Every though, and every feeling. I’ll shower you with sweet, gentle kisses, and then, after you’ve recharged, you can go back to ramming me until I pass out.
I can’t wait to be in your arms again, if you’ll still have me.
Love Always,
Ray
xoxoxo
“Awww, he sent you hugs and kisses,” Walt smiled even brighter. Brad loved his smile. It was just the right mix of innocent and quirky, a real ray of sunshine.
“Really, that’s what you got out of the letter,” the amnesiac wondered. He stared at the letter for several moments. He wasn’t entirely sure who to react. He wasn’t sure if he should. He just didn’t have the heart to tell the truth. Besides, it should really be something that he told Ray in person.
“How do I even respond to this?”
------
“You must be tired,” Brad suggested.
“No,” Ray murmured, nuzzling his face into his boyfriend’s chest. “I’m hungry.”
“I can make you something.”
Ray just shook his head. “What I want to eat can’t be made in the kitchen.”
The marine looked up with a coy smile. He pushed himself on the tip of his toes, and pulled Brad’s head down towards him. Then their lips met.
Part: 2/??
Fandoms: Generation Kill
Pairings/Characters: Brad/Ray, Walt, Doc Bryan cameo
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 2,170 (4,293 WIP)
Warnings: Adult language, themes, and sexual content
Disclaimer: I do not own the show, or the fictional interpretations from which this is based. I'm just exercising my fangirl fantasies for a bit.
Summary: There's a man in every picture that Brad doesn't recognize. He sends letters, and Brad knows it's his boyfriend, but he can't connect. For some odd reason, Brad misses him, but he can't love him. Not anymore. Not since the accident.Author's Notes: Exams are coming soon, so there may be some delays in future parts. Sorry about that, but it cannot be helped. There will definitely be some bittersweet smut in the next one. I made sure to leave it open for that.
Part One
Part Two point Five
Ray stood, unmoving, with his hands around Brad’s neck for several minutes. This was the thing he had wanted most. More than sex (though that was next on the list), more than a kiss, more than the sight, even more than a rack of ribs. Ray just wanted to hold his lover in his arms once more. If the world were to end that moment, he wouldn’t care. At least it would be a moment without regret.
“I fuckin’ love you,” he murmured into the blonde’s chest.
Brad refused to respond.
The longer Ray hung there, the more uncomfortable Brad became. He found it odd that Ray couldn`t sense their differing spirits. Ray was so affectionate and needing. After such a long time, he needed the touch of the blonde`s skin, the intimacy that came with that. Brad, on the other hand, just stood there with little emotion. The feelings he did have were mostly made of pity and cowardice. And it was all brought on by Ray’s love. He didn’t have the heart to tell the marine that pieces of his memory were missing, specifically the parts that involved his boyfriend. And he’d had plenty of time to do so.
Brad had only been in the hospital for three weeks, with minimal physiotherapy. He had an iron will, and was determined to get out of the prison the hospital became. Of course, he broke out of that one, only to return home to another. That was nearly six months ago. Ray had been in correspondence ever since, sending a letter once a week or, sometimes, once every two weeks. Whenever he had the time. He could have been honest right from the first letter. He should have been. But there was always an excuse not to do it, just like there was now. He found it amusing that it all started with an small, brown envelope.
- - - - -
Brad was still a little shaky on his feet, but that couldn’t measure up to his resolve to get home. To be independent. Well, semi-independent. Dr. Bryan had only agreed to let him leave if he was taken back with someone from the nursing staff. Someone to help him get home safe, and settle in. Walt Hasser, a student currently doing his placement, volunteered. He was young, and naturally pleasing to be around. Kind, like Brad couldn’t remember anyone ever being. But he barely remembered anything. Brad was only just realising that the couple who claimed to be his parents, were in fact his parents.
Sometimes, while Brad was forced to stay in his tiny hospital bed, he and Walt would talk. Or rather Walt would listen. Brad would have liked to listen to his voice more. It was almost soothing, with a hint of a twang to it. He liked to tease his nurse about it, but always remained within the boundaries of acceptable behaviour. Even though he mind came up with some pretty good zings.
The first conversation they ever had was Brad complaining about how his feet hung off the edge of the bed. To which Walt smiled.
“I’m sorry about that, but you can’t blame the bed. They just aren’t made for the freakishly tall.”
Brad fell in love for that sense of humour instantly. He wished there was more of it, but Walt seemed pretty reserved, and his joking only appeared every so often. But it was a nice change from the usual silence of the room. Brad found himself switching on the television just to hear the voices. He really didn’t care what he put, until one afternoon when Walt walked in with a coffee to find the patient watching - or in this case not watching - Dr Phill. Even his nurse was embarrassed for him. He stopped watching television after that.
He found it weird that he could remember some things, like Dr. Phill, but completely forget other things like his boyfriend of over three years. Or his little sister, Elizabeth. She was seven years old, and when his parents brought her over to visit him he just stared at her with a blank face and asked “who’s the kid?” (He still felt guilty about that, though she returned to his memory shortly after.)
Brad was excited to be taken home by Walt.
Brad knees rested against the glove box. It was a bit of a tight fit, but he wasn’t going to complain. Luckily, he didn’t have to. His minder spotted it as soon as he sat himself down in the driver’s seat.
“There’s a lever under the seat,” Walt declared, leaning over Brad. Before the giant could do anything, Walt reached his hand between his passenger’s legs and was searching for the lever, his face right in Brad’s crotch.
The tall blonde went hot, and it took every bit of restraint he had not to imagine what other, more productive, things the country boy could be doing down there. A moment later there was a jolt as Brad was sliding back in his seat. Even when he was as far back as it could go, there just wasn’t adequate room for his legs. But he’d just have to make due.
Walt sat up with a bright smile, and started the engine.
Their trip was, for the most part, silent. It bothered Brad immensely. It seemed that it was taking much longer to get home than it should. Their only exchange was short, and all began with Brad singing softly to himself.
“Her name is Noel, I had a dream about her, she rings my bell-“
“I can turn the radio on if you’d like,” the young driver offered gently.
“No thanks,” Brad responded quickly. He had always found the radio to be strangely annoying. He could perfectly tolerate - and often participated with - people singing in the car, but the radio itself… it was just really irritating for some reason. People generally chalked it up to media censorship and the information that gets filtered through corporations and turned into bullshit by the time it got to your speakers.
Walt only pursed his lips together and nodded.
That was the only real conversation they had until Brad went to check his mail. There was quite a pile stacking up in the mailbox. Apparently no one had been over to check for him. He rummaged through them on the front step. There were a number of bills, some in duplicate - he made a mental note to call them up and explain why he was late paying them - a few flyers, which were casually tossed to the ground, two magazines (one for motorcycles, and one for NASCAR) and a small brown envelope with his name and address scribbled on the front. He turned the envelope over. He found a few dark stamps, and a return address.
Cpl. Josh Ray Person
xxxxxxxxxxxx, xxx xxxxx xxxxx
FPO, AE 09390
It was the same name that was on the NASCAR magazine, though the address was for Brad’s home. Perhaps he had a roommate he didn’t remember. He just stared at the name, trying to jog his memory. Anything. His focus was interrupted by Walt’s voice behind him.
“Maybe we should get inside now.”
Brad snapped back to reality and carefully unlocked the door. He stepped into the living room with a strong sense of comfort, of familiarity. It didn’t matter that he hadn’t remembered what it looked like, it felt like his. Black, white, stainless steel, all accented with bold red. Modern and sleek. As if by habit, he dropped most of the mail onto the kitchen counter, and then proceeded to the living, brown envelope still clutched in his hand, and plopped down on the couch. He then pulled off his boots, and put his feet up on the coffee table. He wiggled his toes.
“Well aren’t you getting’ all comfy there,” Walt teased with a bright smile. He was staring at a picture set on the kitchen counter. He picked it up, and showed it to Brad. “Who’s this?”
The man in the picture was young, wiry and had short brown hair. The Viking shrugged. “I’m not sure, but I think I have a roommate. I think that’s him. And I think he sent me this,” he said lifting the letter. “The return address says his name is Josh. And he likes NASCAR.”
“It really says that he likes NASCAR on the return address.”
“Hardy har har,” Brad responded, opening the envelope. “Come here, and read it with me.”
Walt shook his head. He then walked over and dropped down next to his patient. “Yes, dear. But I’m pretty sure you haven’t forgotten how to read-“
Brad cleared his throat loudly with a grin. He read the letter aloud.
Brad,
I just wanted to make sure I sent this before we left camp. I can’t tell you exactly where I am, but I can tell you that it’s hot and we’re in a desert. So, if you happen to be wandering said desert and you see a bunch of men walking around in dark green, that’s probably us. The higher-ups are fucking retarded or something. They’re sending us into war with shitty equipment. They’re sending us to invade a desert country with woodland camo, but that’s the least of our worries right now. We don’t have enough batteries to use all of our equipment, they’ve already lost a supply truck, and we’re stepping off before another can arrive, so our ammunition and food will be restricted, and our CO has his head so far up his ass he doesn’t know which way is up. And then, of course, I have a psychopath in the backseat, and there aren’t enough maps to go around. So, I am stuck listening to infinite wisdom of the CO.
You don’t have to worry about me though. We have a competent LT and my team leader’s probably the best soldier in the whole goddamn battalion. They’ll look out for me.
During the nights, while the other guys are reading their titty magazines, or sitting by the radio trying to find out anything about the world outside of the Marine Corps, my mind drifts to you. Sometimes I picture your smile, your happiness when you have the time to work on your bike. It always gives me confidence.
Sometimes I imagine other things, like what you are going to do to me when I get home. I jerk off to the thought of having your hard cock in my-
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Brad commentated, stopping midsentence. He wasn’t entirely sure what was happening, and he was sure that something Walt didn’t need to hear. “Apparently a little more than a roommate,” he announced with a confused look.
“- tight little ass,” Walt read.
“I figured I would avoid saying that stuff out loud.”
The adorable country boy shrugged with a grin. “I’m a big boy, I can take it. Besides, you’re the one who insisted on reading the letter with me. Don’t half-ass it Colbert.”
Brad blinked and returned to the letter.
And then I imagine you down on your knees, your lips pink, and swollen, as you go on down my shaft. Inch by inch. Until I come in your mouth. And you love it. You always do. This give me reserve motivation. I’m resolved to have many, many more blowjobs before I die. I don’t know when I’ll be coming home, but now you have fair warning. You’re going to be impressed with how you shape I am not. I’m going to wear you out. And I plan to do that as often as possible.
I look forward to the afterglow most. Of just lying in bed, talking. I’ll want to hear everything. Every though, and every feeling. I’ll shower you with sweet, gentle kisses, and then, after you’ve recharged, you can go back to ramming me until I pass out.
I can’t wait to be in your arms again, if you’ll still have me.
Love Always,
Ray
xoxoxo
“Awww, he sent you hugs and kisses,” Walt smiled even brighter. Brad loved his smile. It was just the right mix of innocent and quirky, a real ray of sunshine.
“Really, that’s what you got out of the letter,” the amnesiac wondered. He stared at the letter for several moments. He wasn’t entirely sure who to react. He wasn’t sure if he should. He just didn’t have the heart to tell the truth. Besides, it should really be something that he told Ray in person.
“How do I even respond to this?”
------
“You must be tired,” Brad suggested.
“No,” Ray murmured, nuzzling his face into his boyfriend’s chest. “I’m hungry.”
“I can make you something.”
Ray just shook his head. “What I want to eat can’t be made in the kitchen.”
The marine looked up with a coy smile. He pushed himself on the tip of his toes, and pulled Brad’s head down towards him. Then their lips met.