GK fic: If There's Nothing Left to Say
Title: If There’s Nothing Left to Say
Author: nightanddaze
Rating: R
Pairing: Brad/Nate, Ray
Word Count: 897
Summary: He could have seen it, or he could have not
Notes: Written for the Get Some Porn Skirmish, prompt of: kissing in the dark. Title from "Threesome" by Fenix TX. For romanticalgirl, because of kissing. And y'know, birthday, too. <3
It’s the middle of the night, they’ve been in Iraq for seventeen long-ass days, and now Ray’s seeing shit. Or thinks he is. Maybe he’s started hallucinating.
He hasn’t seen any six-foot bunnies telling him to fuck shit up yet, but he’s pretty sure he just saw Brad lay a nice wet one on the LT in the last crash of arty light. Unfortunately, the light sizzled out in the time it took for Ray’s eyes to damn near fall out of his face and for him to blink his vision right again.
Now it’s too dark to see anything, except for the vague smoothness of their outlines against the sky. Ray wants to get closer, investigate the place where there aren’t any stars, but he’s six steps away from cresting the berm, and Brad is one-half of the shadow down there, so instead he drops to a crouch and then his stomach.
He digs his elbows into the sand and tries to peer down at them. He can see them, but from this distance it’s impossible to tell if they’re shifting or if his eyes have crapped out. He’d murder Trombley to have his thermals right now.
The message he was supposed to deliver to the LT gets left behind him on the berm as he creeps up higher, his mind racing yards ahead of him. Down below, someone drops their weapon with a subdued clatter, and the low mix of amused voices drifts up to him.
“What the fuck,” he breathes, squinting hard. There has to be something. Ray’s almost run out of shit to think of while he jerks off. His last jerk was half about how nice it’ll be to have clean underwear again and half about fucking the shit out of the girl on the Sun-Maid raisin box, and that just won’t do.
For long minutes, there’s nothing at all to see, just two dark spots joined in the middle, not even people. Ray starts to have trouble telling if they’re even there anymore. Maybe they walked away while he was in the middle of staring at empty sand.
Maybe there wasn’t anything to see at all.
Ray drops his face into the sand, suddenly pissed-off, feeling crazy for having cockblocked himself. He could have been sleeping instead of doing this shit.
His first instinct is to get up, drag himself back to the Humvee, pass off the message to Trombley for him to deliver, and collapse into his grave.
Instead, Ray takes one last look at the spot where he thought he saw something he shouldn’t have seen, and then he flips onto his back and closes his eyes.
Fuck reality, Ray knows what he wants to see.
How it starts doesn’t matter. Ray doesn’t care if it’s an accident or if Brad and the LT are working on acting out some kind of fucking gay fairytale. His mind fast-forwards through all the bullshit to the moment Brad leans in, all his focus on LT’s mouth.
Brad’s polite, Ray’ll give him that, but he wouldn’t be here. He’s too full up on wanting to dick around, so he just goes for it, head tilted to the right, mouth already open, pushing for dirty-hot right from the start.
And LT lets him, holds still so Brad can shove right into his space and cup his long hands over the side of LT’s head. He wraps his fingers around Brad’s wrists and keeps his mouth soft for Brad’s tongue. When they shift to line up better, there’s a smooth pink flash of tongues, all knotted up in the air, right before LT guides Brad’s mouth tight against his again.
Neither of them is hard yet, not like Ray’s starting to get, but they’re pressing together, rubbing a little. It must be torture, trying to get some through a MOPP suit. Getting to your own dick is hard enough, but finding someone else’s? Ray prefers his imagination.
The LT’s aim is impeccable though, or maybe he’s done this enough times that he just knows, but he cups Brad’s crotch on the first try. The heel of his hand slides up and down a few times, testing the head of Brad’s cock, before he slips his hand further down, clearly reaching for balls.
Brad makes a noise, a kind of gasping grunt. It’s the kind of sound you make when someone really hits a spot, one you can’t get yourself. He pulls away only to drop his face against LT’s neck, his pelvis surging up into LT’s hand hard, because the LT can take the force.
Laughing quietly, LT works Brad harder for a bit, before tilting his mouth down to catch Brad’s again. This time, there’s no doubt who’s in charge. LT eats Brad’s mouth like it’s the love of his life’s pussy, licking the rim of Brad’s lips, nibbling and sucking on his tongue, swallowing down spit and moans.
Ray inhales shakily, imagining wet mouths and hungry hands. His cock is hard, scrubbing against the inside of his suit, sending pricks of friction up his spine. Grunting, Ray shifts along the sand, restlessly, his hand pressing against his stomach. He’s thinking about two pairs of hands peeling him out of his MOPP suit, but that’s not going to happen, so in the end it’s only his hand going down, scrambling for skin.
Author: nightanddaze
Rating: R
Pairing: Brad/Nate, Ray
Word Count: 897
Summary: He could have seen it, or he could have not
Notes: Written for the Get Some Porn Skirmish, prompt of: kissing in the dark. Title from "Threesome" by Fenix TX. For romanticalgirl, because of kissing. And y'know, birthday, too. <3
It’s the middle of the night, they’ve been in Iraq for seventeen long-ass days, and now Ray’s seeing shit. Or thinks he is. Maybe he’s started hallucinating.
He hasn’t seen any six-foot bunnies telling him to fuck shit up yet, but he’s pretty sure he just saw Brad lay a nice wet one on the LT in the last crash of arty light. Unfortunately, the light sizzled out in the time it took for Ray’s eyes to damn near fall out of his face and for him to blink his vision right again.
Now it’s too dark to see anything, except for the vague smoothness of their outlines against the sky. Ray wants to get closer, investigate the place where there aren’t any stars, but he’s six steps away from cresting the berm, and Brad is one-half of the shadow down there, so instead he drops to a crouch and then his stomach.
He digs his elbows into the sand and tries to peer down at them. He can see them, but from this distance it’s impossible to tell if they’re shifting or if his eyes have crapped out. He’d murder Trombley to have his thermals right now.
The message he was supposed to deliver to the LT gets left behind him on the berm as he creeps up higher, his mind racing yards ahead of him. Down below, someone drops their weapon with a subdued clatter, and the low mix of amused voices drifts up to him.
“What the fuck,” he breathes, squinting hard. There has to be something. Ray’s almost run out of shit to think of while he jerks off. His last jerk was half about how nice it’ll be to have clean underwear again and half about fucking the shit out of the girl on the Sun-Maid raisin box, and that just won’t do.
For long minutes, there’s nothing at all to see, just two dark spots joined in the middle, not even people. Ray starts to have trouble telling if they’re even there anymore. Maybe they walked away while he was in the middle of staring at empty sand.
Maybe there wasn’t anything to see at all.
Ray drops his face into the sand, suddenly pissed-off, feeling crazy for having cockblocked himself. He could have been sleeping instead of doing this shit.
His first instinct is to get up, drag himself back to the Humvee, pass off the message to Trombley for him to deliver, and collapse into his grave.
Instead, Ray takes one last look at the spot where he thought he saw something he shouldn’t have seen, and then he flips onto his back and closes his eyes.
Fuck reality, Ray knows what he wants to see.
How it starts doesn’t matter. Ray doesn’t care if it’s an accident or if Brad and the LT are working on acting out some kind of fucking gay fairytale. His mind fast-forwards through all the bullshit to the moment Brad leans in, all his focus on LT’s mouth.
Brad’s polite, Ray’ll give him that, but he wouldn’t be here. He’s too full up on wanting to dick around, so he just goes for it, head tilted to the right, mouth already open, pushing for dirty-hot right from the start.
And LT lets him, holds still so Brad can shove right into his space and cup his long hands over the side of LT’s head. He wraps his fingers around Brad’s wrists and keeps his mouth soft for Brad’s tongue. When they shift to line up better, there’s a smooth pink flash of tongues, all knotted up in the air, right before LT guides Brad’s mouth tight against his again.
Neither of them is hard yet, not like Ray’s starting to get, but they’re pressing together, rubbing a little. It must be torture, trying to get some through a MOPP suit. Getting to your own dick is hard enough, but finding someone else’s? Ray prefers his imagination.
The LT’s aim is impeccable though, or maybe he’s done this enough times that he just knows, but he cups Brad’s crotch on the first try. The heel of his hand slides up and down a few times, testing the head of Brad’s cock, before he slips his hand further down, clearly reaching for balls.
Brad makes a noise, a kind of gasping grunt. It’s the kind of sound you make when someone really hits a spot, one you can’t get yourself. He pulls away only to drop his face against LT’s neck, his pelvis surging up into LT’s hand hard, because the LT can take the force.
Laughing quietly, LT works Brad harder for a bit, before tilting his mouth down to catch Brad’s again. This time, there’s no doubt who’s in charge. LT eats Brad’s mouth like it’s the love of his life’s pussy, licking the rim of Brad’s lips, nibbling and sucking on his tongue, swallowing down spit and moans.
Ray inhales shakily, imagining wet mouths and hungry hands. His cock is hard, scrubbing against the inside of his suit, sending pricks of friction up his spine. Grunting, Ray shifts along the sand, restlessly, his hand pressing against his stomach. He’s thinking about two pairs of hands peeling him out of his MOPP suit, but that’s not going to happen, so in the end it’s only his hand going down, scrambling for skin.