It's Strange to Miss Someone You Don't Remember | Part 6
Title: It’s Strange to Miss Someone You Don’t Remember
Part: 6/??
Fandoms: Generation Kill
Pairings/Characters: Brad/Ray, (Walt)
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 1,439 (Total : 9,974)
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: There are a couple more chapters where I want to go back in the past, but they won't be next. I can't leave you with that cliffhanger and then toss you around by going back into the past again. Don't worry. Our Ray Ray isn't going down without a fight.
It should have come to no surprise to Brad when he saw Ray walk into the kitchen, eyes closed, led by his nose. His hair was still sopping wet, beads of water ran freely against his skin, and a white, fluffy towel was loosely wrapped around his waist.
“Mmmm,” he hummed joyfully. “What are you cooking me?” He would usually guess, but being away from western civilization caused him to forget what real food smelled like.
“Whatever I found in the fridge,” Brad shrugged. “Some eggs, bacon, ham and I cut up some broccoli so that I can pretend I’m a good role model.” He flipped the eggs over in the pan, before turning around and shooting Ray a quick smile.
Like any sexually repressed marine, Ray took that as a hint. In an over exaggerated motion, that could almost be described at the love child of a jog and a jig, he ran around the counter and gripped onto Brad’s shoulders. In one quick motion, Ray pulled Brad down while pushing himself up so that their lips could meet in the most comfortable alternative. It would have been so much easier if it hadn't been for the 8 inch height difference. It started out innocent enough, until Ray decided he wanted to go deeper and rougher. His tongue played against Brad's lips, begging for entry which Brad wasn't quite willing to allow.
He pulled away. "Ray, not right now. I'm cooking."
"So? Turn off the oven, you can finish after."
Ray went in to continue but Brad leaned away again.
"Ray, we just did that. I'm sorry that I lack the same libido as you. Later. After you eat," he argued, forcing himself not to sound worried.
It was easier said than done. Ray gave him a quizzical look. He knew.
"Come on Brad, just tell me what the fucking problem is-"
"No, it's nothing. I don't want to upset you after having just come home," Brad pleaded. He was afraid of what would happen if Ray found out. Yesterday, Ray was just a face in pictures, but no there was some kind of attraction. More than just the fascination he held for so long.
"Don't worry about it," Brad continued. "We can talk about it later if you like. Just let me finish these goddamn eggs."
Ray smirked. "I was especially worried there for a second. You were talking like some fucking teenage girl or something. Trying not to hurt my feelings. It was almost nauseating."
Brad raised his eye brows. "Really? You're one to talk. What was that when you came in the door and refused to let me go? You know what, I think I like that guy better? Where did he go? At least I wouldn't have to deal with this inbred babbling."
"Please," Ray said going to take a seat behind the island. "That was a completely different circumstance. This is the first time I've been on this fucking continent in so long. I get a pass. You don't."
Brad flipped the bacon.
"Why is that Ray? Is it because you suffer some kind of inferiority complex, and the only way you could ever possibly rival me is by forcing me not to evolve?"
"Fuck you, fucking tree loving, dick sucking hippie. While you were here showing off your abs on your goddamn surf board. I was in Iraq. With a gun. Shooting shit, and defending my country. If anyone has an inferiority complex it's you. Good luck trying to catch up to me."
Brad chuckled. "Well, it will take some time before my ego catches up with your white trash -"
"Whisky Tango," Brad corrected him. He had grown surprisingly fond of the military phonetic alphabet version. Perhaps it was because he heard it every day in the Humvee. He blamed Trombley, and on occasion, Nate.
"I'm not in the army," Brad argued playfully.
"Fuck that shit, I'm not either."
"Well, whatever I'm going to use the way we common folk do it."
Ray snorted. "Since when have you ever been part of 'common folk'?"
Brad's family wasn't abnormally wealthy, but they never really worried about money either. Not like Ray who had been working hard ever since high school, and even then he needed the small mercies granted by Brad's uncle, Stephen, who overpaid him during the summer.
Brad turned back to the food. He wanted to focus every bit of energy he could possibly afford on the sizzling pans in front him. Anything would suffice. Anything but Ray. Bringing up the past like that; a past that he couldn't be entirely positive about, even if it was meant as sarcasm, it made his stomach turn. In all this time, everything he had done, this was the first time he felt truly and undoubtedly guilty about it. Brad knew he had planned to wait to break the bad news, but he didn't think he'd be able to survive holding it in any longer.
"Actually Ray," he said slowly, and quietly, hoping that the other man wouldn't be able to hear. "I don't remember if I could have ever called myself that."
Unfortunately for him, Ray's senses were much more attuned than Brad assumed. It was a by-product of recon training. And he heard every word.
"What are talking about Brad," Ray asked, sincerely confused. "Just because you're college boy, and I'm just a lowly marine doesn't mean you have the right to fucking confuse me with your riddles."
Brad focused back on the food.
"Fucking asshole! Don't fucking play me like that Brad," Ray scolded impatiently, when Brad didn't clarify. "What the fuck are you talking about? You can't just give a stupid riddle like that and leave me hanging."
Brad took the pans off the stove, and began sorting the food onto two plates. In complete silence.
Ray slammed his palms down on the counter and jumped to his feet. "Maybe if I leave you alone with your thoughts for a moment, you'll actually know what the fuck you were saying."
Brad watched as, with an excessive amount of noise and dramatics, Ray stormed off back to the bathroom.
Brad stared at the granite counter tops. He wasn't even sure how long he was staring for. Any sense of time was wiped blank from his mind. The only thing that was active in his mind was his conscience. He needed to figure out what to do. He didn't want to ruin the Marine's homecoming, but Ray deserved to know. Besides if he waited too long, it would only make the situation worse. He knew he had to explain now, before anything got too out of hand, but he was afraid. He really didn't want to hurt anyone if he didn't have to. The feelings he was having towards Ray was a good sign, right? Why would he ruin a good thing if he loved the man? He kept trying to tell himself that, but at the same time, he couldn't pretend it was love.
It was sexual attraction, fascination and a little bit of chemistry. There were other people he felt more strongly for. Other people that he just couldn't bring himself to name, even in his own mind.
Brad snatched his cell phone off the counter, and slid it open. Even if he couldn't bring himself to say, or think the person's name, Brad really needed his support. The kind of compassionate, southern comfort support that only Walt could provide.
He quickly typed a message:
To: Walt
From : Brad
04-06-06
Ray here. Going to tell him. Need your help.
Brad took a deep breath before hitting send. He just had to remember to listen to the advice that he had been given this whole time. Be honest.
The phone fell to the counter as Ray re-entered that room. He didn’t look pleased, and Brad was more afraid than ever. But he knew that if he didn’t say something now, he might never. And that could only make things worse.
Ray cleared his throat. “So, motherfucker, what exactly are you trying to say to me?”
Brad’s phone hummed against the dark countertop, but he made no move to answer it. It would just be a response from Walt, telling Brad to be straight forward and not to worry because he would be there soon. Brad swallowed, and opened his mouth.
No words came.
He tried again with the same result. It was even harder than Brad thought.
He took a deep breath, and on his third attempt, Brad got his voice to work.
“I don’t remember who you are.”
Part: 6/??
Fandoms: Generation Kill
Pairings/Characters: Brad/Ray, (Walt)
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 1,439 (Total : 9,974)
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: There are a couple more chapters where I want to go back in the past, but they won't be next. I can't leave you with that cliffhanger and then toss you around by going back into the past again. Don't worry. Our Ray Ray isn't going down without a fight.
It should have come to no surprise to Brad when he saw Ray walk into the kitchen, eyes closed, led by his nose. His hair was still sopping wet, beads of water ran freely against his skin, and a white, fluffy towel was loosely wrapped around his waist.
“Mmmm,” he hummed joyfully. “What are you cooking me?” He would usually guess, but being away from western civilization caused him to forget what real food smelled like.
“Whatever I found in the fridge,” Brad shrugged. “Some eggs, bacon, ham and I cut up some broccoli so that I can pretend I’m a good role model.” He flipped the eggs over in the pan, before turning around and shooting Ray a quick smile.
Like any sexually repressed marine, Ray took that as a hint. In an over exaggerated motion, that could almost be described at the love child of a jog and a jig, he ran around the counter and gripped onto Brad’s shoulders. In one quick motion, Ray pulled Brad down while pushing himself up so that their lips could meet in the most comfortable alternative. It would have been so much easier if it hadn't been for the 8 inch height difference. It started out innocent enough, until Ray decided he wanted to go deeper and rougher. His tongue played against Brad's lips, begging for entry which Brad wasn't quite willing to allow.
He pulled away. "Ray, not right now. I'm cooking."
"So? Turn off the oven, you can finish after."
Ray went in to continue but Brad leaned away again.
"Ray, we just did that. I'm sorry that I lack the same libido as you. Later. After you eat," he argued, forcing himself not to sound worried.
It was easier said than done. Ray gave him a quizzical look. He knew.
"Come on Brad, just tell me what the fucking problem is-"
"No, it's nothing. I don't want to upset you after having just come home," Brad pleaded. He was afraid of what would happen if Ray found out. Yesterday, Ray was just a face in pictures, but no there was some kind of attraction. More than just the fascination he held for so long.
"Don't worry about it," Brad continued. "We can talk about it later if you like. Just let me finish these goddamn eggs."
Ray smirked. "I was especially worried there for a second. You were talking like some fucking teenage girl or something. Trying not to hurt my feelings. It was almost nauseating."
Brad raised his eye brows. "Really? You're one to talk. What was that when you came in the door and refused to let me go? You know what, I think I like that guy better? Where did he go? At least I wouldn't have to deal with this inbred babbling."
"Please," Ray said going to take a seat behind the island. "That was a completely different circumstance. This is the first time I've been on this fucking continent in so long. I get a pass. You don't."
Brad flipped the bacon.
"Why is that Ray? Is it because you suffer some kind of inferiority complex, and the only way you could ever possibly rival me is by forcing me not to evolve?"
"Fuck you, fucking tree loving, dick sucking hippie. While you were here showing off your abs on your goddamn surf board. I was in Iraq. With a gun. Shooting shit, and defending my country. If anyone has an inferiority complex it's you. Good luck trying to catch up to me."
Brad chuckled. "Well, it will take some time before my ego catches up with your white trash -"
"Whisky Tango," Brad corrected him. He had grown surprisingly fond of the military phonetic alphabet version. Perhaps it was because he heard it every day in the Humvee. He blamed Trombley, and on occasion, Nate.
"I'm not in the army," Brad argued playfully.
"Fuck that shit, I'm not either."
"Well, whatever I'm going to use the way we common folk do it."
Ray snorted. "Since when have you ever been part of 'common folk'?"
Brad's family wasn't abnormally wealthy, but they never really worried about money either. Not like Ray who had been working hard ever since high school, and even then he needed the small mercies granted by Brad's uncle, Stephen, who overpaid him during the summer.
Brad turned back to the food. He wanted to focus every bit of energy he could possibly afford on the sizzling pans in front him. Anything would suffice. Anything but Ray. Bringing up the past like that; a past that he couldn't be entirely positive about, even if it was meant as sarcasm, it made his stomach turn. In all this time, everything he had done, this was the first time he felt truly and undoubtedly guilty about it. Brad knew he had planned to wait to break the bad news, but he didn't think he'd be able to survive holding it in any longer.
"Actually Ray," he said slowly, and quietly, hoping that the other man wouldn't be able to hear. "I don't remember if I could have ever called myself that."
Unfortunately for him, Ray's senses were much more attuned than Brad assumed. It was a by-product of recon training. And he heard every word.
"What are talking about Brad," Ray asked, sincerely confused. "Just because you're college boy, and I'm just a lowly marine doesn't mean you have the right to fucking confuse me with your riddles."
Brad focused back on the food.
"Fucking asshole! Don't fucking play me like that Brad," Ray scolded impatiently, when Brad didn't clarify. "What the fuck are you talking about? You can't just give a stupid riddle like that and leave me hanging."
Brad took the pans off the stove, and began sorting the food onto two plates. In complete silence.
Ray slammed his palms down on the counter and jumped to his feet. "Maybe if I leave you alone with your thoughts for a moment, you'll actually know what the fuck you were saying."
Brad watched as, with an excessive amount of noise and dramatics, Ray stormed off back to the bathroom.
Brad stared at the granite counter tops. He wasn't even sure how long he was staring for. Any sense of time was wiped blank from his mind. The only thing that was active in his mind was his conscience. He needed to figure out what to do. He didn't want to ruin the Marine's homecoming, but Ray deserved to know. Besides if he waited too long, it would only make the situation worse. He knew he had to explain now, before anything got too out of hand, but he was afraid. He really didn't want to hurt anyone if he didn't have to. The feelings he was having towards Ray was a good sign, right? Why would he ruin a good thing if he loved the man? He kept trying to tell himself that, but at the same time, he couldn't pretend it was love.
It was sexual attraction, fascination and a little bit of chemistry. There were other people he felt more strongly for. Other people that he just couldn't bring himself to name, even in his own mind.
Brad snatched his cell phone off the counter, and slid it open. Even if he couldn't bring himself to say, or think the person's name, Brad really needed his support. The kind of compassionate, southern comfort support that only Walt could provide.
He quickly typed a message:
To: Walt
From : Brad
04-06-06
Ray here. Going to tell him. Need your help.
Brad took a deep breath before hitting send. He just had to remember to listen to the advice that he had been given this whole time. Be honest.
The phone fell to the counter as Ray re-entered that room. He didn’t look pleased, and Brad was more afraid than ever. But he knew that if he didn’t say something now, he might never. And that could only make things worse.
Ray cleared his throat. “So, motherfucker, what exactly are you trying to say to me?”
Brad’s phone hummed against the dark countertop, but he made no move to answer it. It would just be a response from Walt, telling Brad to be straight forward and not to worry because he would be there soon. Brad swallowed, and opened his mouth.
No words came.
He tried again with the same result. It was even harder than Brad thought.
He took a deep breath, and on his third attempt, Brad got his voice to work.
“I don’t remember who you are.”