Fic: In This White Wave I Am Sinking - Part Two
Part Two - Honesty
When the night starts fading and the mornin' arrives
I wanna still feel you around
Will you creep into my head again and pick me up off the ground
Drinking For 11, The Mad Caddies
Brad could cook the fuck out of a steak.
He had dinner on by the time Ray got out of the shower and handed over a beer as soon as he stepped into the kitchen. He smelled like orange blossom and vanilla, like Brad’s new shower gel. Brad had to turn away and poke at the steaks for a bit before he could deal with that.
And that made him have to deal with it.
He got through dinner fine, great even. It was easy, natural as breathing to have Ray at his table, munching away at his food, drinking his beer. Without Ripped Fuel Ray wasn’t nearly as hyperactive, but he still had a lot to say and between gulps he filled the table with words that Brad kind of wanted to bottle and store up, to take out again when he was alone.
Another thing he had to deal with.
“So what’s with you?” Ray eventually asked after they’d eaten, as he magnanimously loaded the dishwasher.
“I’m all good,” Brad said, leaning back in his chair “Regretting my decision to invite your hillbilly ass around to mess with my quiet, but I’m making peace with it.”
Ray grinned at him, scraping his plate. “You fuckin’ missed me. Don’t even front, Brad. You think you’re happy to see the back of me, sure, but as soon as I’m gone you come out in hives.” He nodded sagely. “It’s all on account of how awesome I am. You shouldn’t feel bad about it.”
Brad rolled his eyes. “Gee, Ray, you got me. I’ve just spent the last few weeks moping around the house wishing you were here to complete me. You’re so right.” He got up and started tying up the trash, fussing around, trying to cover up the most honest thing he’d said all night.
Ray just smirked at him. “Yeah, I just have that effect on people. Fuckin’ awesome.”
~
Brad was a little surprised by how easy a houseguest Ray was, at how well they got on when there weren’t bullets flying towards them at all hours, when they weren’t trapped together in a humvee for days on end. If it wasn’t for that thing inside Brad - that intrusive, unwelcome gush of feelings that flooded him at odd moments when he looked at Ray - it would have been perfect.
Ray liked to read, stretched out on Brad’s couch or on the swing on his back porch or down on the beach or sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee. Half of his luggage had been books, a miniature library that Brad couldn’t help but study, trying to get a read on a side of Ray he was only just realising he didn’t know. Henry Rollins and Mark Z. Danielewski battled for space with Henry James and a random collection of old Penguin classics tumbled out on the dresser of the spare room. Brad sifted through them, read the notes scribbled in the margins, and aligned this new Ray with the Ray that had sat beside him for hours on end ranting about pussy and colour perception and being high all of the time. The pictures were a perfect match; it was Brad who didn’t line up.
He had to be honest. He wasn’t even lining up with his perception of himself any more.
Brad had been in love, with a girl who had broken his heart and left him for dead, but it was love. He knew what love was. And he knew the difference between loving someone and being in love with someone. He loved Nate. He loved Tony. He loved Walt.
Ray was the wildcard.
He didn’t think he was in love with Ray. Those words sounded wrong and strange to him. They belonged to something he didn’t identify with, something he couldn’t hold in his thoughts without it slipping away. But he knew that he loved Walt, and yet didn’t want to spend all his time with Walt, didn’t want to look at Walt drinking his coffee, smell Walt fresh from his shower, listen to Walt sleepily rant about Washington Square and why all the characters in it deserved each other at best. He knew he loved Nate, but Nate didn’t make him feel fierce and undone and lost at sea and off-balance, like he was trying to walk across a grumbling earthquake. He knew he loved Tony, but had never wanted to trace his fingers along Tony’s tattoos or press his thumbs into the bones of his wrists.
He’d catch himself staring, listening quietly as Ray chattered away about whatever he was reading, watching, doing. It was peaceful, it was good. Cooking potato salad with Ray for Tony’s BBQ was good. Sitting on the beach with a cooler of beer and the football on the radio was good.
If he lied to himself and pushed everything else away, it was good.
He wanted to believe, though, that maybe when he stopped lying to himself it could be good, too.
~
“Have you read Homer?”
Brad looked up at what Ray was reading, an old, battered copy of The Iliad. Ray had taken up residence on the love seat, and Brad was on the floor with his laptop, leaning against the love seat with his legs stretched out before him.
“Yeah,” he said. “The Iliad and The Odyssey.” He snatched the book from Ray’s hands and flicked through it. It was one of those editions with the English translation down the right page and the original Ancient Greek down the left. Both sides of almost every page were covered in scrawling notes. Brad looked at Ray in amazement.
“Please don’t tell me you speak Ancient Greek,” he said. He remembered every time he’d called Ray an uncultured hick and cringed. Although he was sticking by anything he’d ever said about NASCAR.
Ray grinned. “Why? You want me to lie to you?” He took the book back and shrugged. “But no, I’m not completely fluent. I mean, I’m probably fluent in The Iliad by now, but gimme some Aeschylus and I’d spend all day translating.”
“Oh, of course,” Brad said, rolling his eyes. “Where’ve you been hiding this?”
“Who’s hiding?” Ray asked. “I was on the debate team, Brad. I’ve been an accredited nerd since high school.”
Brad didn’t know what to say. He’d spent three minutes of his life reading all the Greek masters and a few books on classical culture and considered himself an expert. And here was fucking Ray speaking the damned language like some skinny, demented Indiana Jones.
“You and the LT would have a lot to talk about,” he said, letting his eyes slide towards the window.
Ray laughed. “Brad, Captain Nate thinks all I do is sing Avril Lavigne and watch WWE. I don’t think he wants to discuss the Fall of Troy with me over lattes.”
Brad frowned. “Ray, you’re a fucking genius, I’ll give you that, but what have you got against Nate?”
Ray looked shocked. “I’ve got nothing against Nate! I love Nate.” Brad looked at him, and Ray nodded. “I do, in a totally non-gay way, I love Nate. We all love Nate. But he’s, you know… Nate’s not like the rest of us. Nate’s one of these guys I’m reading about.”
“You think Nate’s better than you?” Brad’s frown deepened, like it was etching itself into his face.
Ray snorted. “Duh, Brad. But it’s not that, he’s just - I’m a grunt, not a hero. Nate’s different. Nate’s Nate.” He paused. “Same way you’re you.”
Brad flinched like Ray’d drawn a weapon on him. “No I’m not,” he protested. “I’m one of you. I’m the same as you.”
“That’s bullshit, Brad. You’re in a different class. You’re the Iceman, you’re our leader.” Ray waved the book. “You and Nate are like Achilles and Patrokles. I’m just, you know, Random Heroic Greek who gets killed on page twelve.”
Brad felt like his stomach was trying to drop through the floor. “You’re so fucking stupid sometimes,” he said. “I take back everything I ever said about you being a genius. You’re a moron.”
“Yeah, OK.” Ray stretched out on the couch and flicked through his book, trying to find his place. Brad watched him, watched bravado and bullshit and insecurity and brilliance etched all over him like his tattoos.
“Weren’t Achilles and Patrokles fucking?” he eventually asked, for something to say.
Ray looked up and nodded. “Probably. Something you wanna tell me, Bradley?”
Yes, Brad thought, I kind of imagined you were my Patrokles. “No,” he said. “Nate and I are not fucking.”
Ray smiled. “Well, good to know.”
~
The morning of Poke’s BBQ, like most mornings since Ray had been there, was spent down on the beach, Ray with the paper and a thermos of coffee, Brad with his board, surfing until he collapsed on the sand, exhausted and content with Ray beside him. He was dozing in the warm morning sun, drifting off to the sound of the waves and Ray’s paper rustling, when Ray let out an annoyed sigh.
“Man, fuck DADT.”
Brad opened his eyes and squinted against the bright sky. “What?”
Ray slapped the paper with the back of his hand. “Fuck DADT. It is such a load of bullshit.”
“Elaborate,” Brad demanded, holding his hand in front of his eyes and trying to adjust to the brightness around him. “Speak English, not hillbilly.”
“Well think about it. Imagine if they got rid of that crap, motherfuckers would be getting laid all over the place, reducing the amount of blue-balls and nervous tension, and it’d be a much fucking happier and combat effective Marine Corps. Pity the fucking retards who run this country are too goddamn stupid to see it that way. When are they fucking going to put me in charge already, Brad, that’s what I’d like to know.”
Brad sat up and looked at him in amazement, making a small landslide out of the sand and shells Ray had apparently piled on his chest while he was sleeping. “Are you serious?”
“Fuck yeah I’m serious! Just think if you could walk up to someone and say ‘homes, I’m fucking horny, wanna suck my dick?’ without having to do all the fucked up dancing around the issue shit we all do like a bunch of repressed Catholic schoolgirls. Make everyone’s life a hell of a lot easier.”
Brad couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing, wasn’t sure if Ray was just spouting crap for the hell of it, like he always did, or if he was trying to get at something else, something real. “Who the fuck was dancing around the issue in my humvee?” he asked, and scowled. “Were you and Walt dancing around any issues in my humvee, Ray?”
Ray laughed, shaking his head. “Walt? I’ve never met anyone straighter than that corn-fed hick in my life. Do you even realise the amount of pussy that pretty boy gets? I mean, before he decided to throw it all away and get married. It was extreme.”
Brad’s mouth had gone dry, there was a roaring in his ears like the ocean had invaded his head, sending all his thoughts spinning and tossing in the waves.
“So Walt’s the straight one,” he said through the din. “What does that make you?”
Ray grinned big, waggled his eyebrows over his sunglasses. “Brad, I’m a rock star and a Marine. I will fuck anything.” He rolled onto his back, stretched out in the sun. He’d tanned up quickly, and beads of sweat were pooling on his brown skin, over his chest and stomach, dripping down his side. “But I’m not fucking telling.”
“Ray.” Brad didn’t know what to say. He thought, I knew, I had to, and, how could I have known him for so long without realising, and why does this feel like he’s just hit me with a fucking hammer? and, fuck, oh fuck does this mean - No.
He blinked, rubbed his forehead, tried to formulate words. “Ray, you uh, you know that I-”
“Yeah, shut up, Brad,” Ray said comfortably. “I don’t wanna have a big homo talk about feelings. I know you’re totally gay for all that shit, but I couldn’t be less interested. You wanna be useful and caring? Go get me more coffee.”
“Fuck you,” Brad said automatically and stood up, brushing sand off himself and onto Ray’s face. “Get the fuck up, you indolent little nancy-boy, we need to get over to Poke’s and help him set up.”
Ray swatted at Brad’s legs ineffectually, trying to wave him off. “You motherfuckers are putting me to work? Brad, I am a guest.”
“No, you are a punishment.” Brad gathered up their towels, feeling like he was moving through water, and concentrated on keeping his voice normal, level, sane. “Here’s what’s gonna happen. I’m gonna go have a nice, long, hot shower and you, my little libertine friend, are going to pack up the potato salad and beer in the cooler and have it by the front door waiting for me when I get out. Copy?”
“Oh is that what’s happening, Brad?” Ray said casually as he followed Brad back up to the house. “Because what this Marine thought was happening is that I was gonna jerk off in your fucking potato salad. How do you like that?”
Brad raised an eyebrow. “Men, women, potato salad? I think that counts as telling, you filthy fucking degenerate.”
“I love our little chats, Brad. I feel like we’re really bonding, here.” Ray brushed the sand off his feet before entering the house, had scowled at Brad the first time he saw he didn’t - My momma would tan your ass / yeah I hear she’s nice and kinky like that - and stomped off towards his room. “Are we bonding, Brad? Bradley?”
Brad didn’t bother answering, just walked straight into the shower, turning it on as hot as he could stand.
Ray fucked men.
Or at least - wait, had he actually said that? I’m a rock star, Brad. What the fuck did that even mean? I will fuck anything.
“Oh, Jesus,” he muttered, and noticed to his absolute dismay that he was hard. And he was about to cross a line.
He could love Ray, he loved all his Marines. He could be in love with the idea of Ray, he was stressed and lonely and just back from a war. He could be struck dumb by the sight of Ray - OK, getting a little gay.
But jerking off to the thought of Ray…
He closed his eyes and pressed his forehead to the cool tiles of the shower, hoping the contrast would help snap him out of whatever insanity he was sinking into. It didn’t. All he could think about was that one drop of sweat that had rolled down Ray’s side. All he could hear was I will fuck anything.
I will fuck you, Brad.
I will let you fuck me.
I will let you shut me up.
I will, I will, I will…
“Fuck, fuck,” he whispered, and grabbed his cock, jerking off like he was punishing himself, too hard, too rough, and that drop of fucking sweat was still sliding down Ray’s brown skin. Brad pumped his cock and thought about licking it up, following the trail of it over Ray’s abs, up his chest, and then Ray was looking at him and licking his lips and saying it, I will fuck anything, and…
He came with Ray’s name on his lips, silent, lost in the steady stream of the shower, with his face lifted to the water and his whole body shaking, his cock sore and hot. He came thinking about his best friend, and it was the best orgasm he’d had in weeks.
“I am,” he whispered into the water, “so fucked.”
~
All the women at Tony’s BBQ loved Ray on sight.
Brad stood with Tony, Nate and Rudy, watching in amazement as they flocked to him, bringing him food and drinks, squawking over how skinny he was, wanting to know if Brad was feeding him properly. Even little Daniela got in on the act, following him around with big eyes until he bent down and picked her up, settling her on his shoulders with his giant glasses perched on her tiny nose.
“Hot damn, Poke,” Brad said, watching Tony’s wife run to get the camera. “Ray is straight up stealing all your women.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time the white man’s come onto my land and stolen my people’s women and children,” Tony said darkly. Nate smirked, reaching into the cooler for more beer.
“First time the shining example of white superiority looked like Ray Person, though,” he said. Brad frowned to himself, and immediately felt like a little bitch for feeling offended on Ray’s behalf.
Poke raised an eyebrow. “Hey, Captain, isn’t that your girl giving him your number?”
“What?”
They all watched as Alice, Nate’s girlfriend, tapped away at Ray’s phone before handing it back with a warm smile. Ray looked kind of smug, like, he would never actually snake someone’s girl, but he liked people thinking he could.
“I don’t get it,” Nate sighed. “I seriously don’t.”
Brad did. He understood completely, and it suddenly pissed him off that no one else did, that no one else bothered to look.
“Ray’s alright,” he said absently. “Get him away from Ripped Fuel and other Marines and he - did you know he can read Ancient Greek?”
He looked around at the others. Nate looked surprised and interested, Tony was laughing at him, Rudy just gave him a knowing look.
“If anyone’s gonna see the best in Ray, brother, it’ll be you,” he said approvingly, and Tony snorted.
“Brad’s got a man-crush is what’s going on here.”
Brad willed himself not to go red, willed himself not to think back to the shower.
“Only because you won’t put out, you giant fucking cocktease,” he shot back, just as Ray walked up, still sans sunglasses.
“Who’s a cocktease? You bastards hitting on my man?” He made to put his arms around Brad’s waist, cackling as Brad shoved him off.
“You done sowing your vile seed all over my backyard, Person?” Tony asked, handing over a beer.
Ray looked wounded. “As if I could ever be unfaithful to my sugar-daddy here,” he said, nodding at Brad. “Sorry, Poke, but none of your ladies can give me what I need like the Iceman can.”
“Ray, shut up,” Brad muttered, too mortified to join in on the usual banter. Tony was crowing, but Rudy gave Ray a little smile.
“Aww, you too, brother? That’s a beautiful thing.”
Ray looked at them quizzically, and Tony elaborated. “Brad’s got a big gay crush on you,” he said, and Brad sighed and stalked off in search of the tequila. Behind him he heard a lot of evil laughter, and in the midst of it all, Nate’s voice - “Ray, why do you know Ancient Greek?”
Brad was sitting alone on the back step twenty minutes later when Rudy dropped down beside him and knocked their shoulders together.
“You all good, my man?”
“I’m good, Rudy,” Brad said, and picked at a fraying hole in his jeans. “It’s all good.”
Rudy nodded, gazing out over the backyard. Ray and Nate were involved in some sort of complex discussion about Greek verbs while Daniela climbed up and down them like they were a set of monkey-bars. Every now and then Ray interrupted his conversation to reach down and tickle her, making her shriek in delight, almost exploding with excitement.
Rudy chuckled. “Children often see things us adults miss,” he said musingly. “Daniela knows Ray’s good people.”
“I know Ray’s good people,” Brad said. “He’s got - there’s more to him than everyone gives him credit for.”
Rudy smiled. “This is what I love about being out of the AO, Brad,” he said. He was wearing a pink polo-shirt with the collar popped, and he managed to make it stylish. Brad watched him steadily, preparing himself for a load of Rudy-Zen wisdom. God knows he could fucking use it.
“Oh yeah?”
“We don’t have to be so macho all the time. We’ve proven ourselves, we’re superheroes, we’re warriors, but like all heroes, we’re people first. It’s good to get back and be human, you know?”
Brad smiled a little, to himself. “Yeah, right now I’m feeling too human, Rude,” he said, the tequila battering down his guard, just a little.
Rudy patted his back. “That’s a good thing, brother. Melt that Iceman down until the next time you need him. Do what you have to now to warm back up.”
“It’s never that easy.”
Rudy looked him in the eye. It was like being gazed at by a beautiful, benevolent god. “Why not, Brad?” he asked reasonably. “You know, whenever I think something’s too hard, I break it down into little bricks, and I figure out what I need to do to smash each one of those bricks to smithereens. It normally turns out that what I thought was a giant wall wasn’t so tough to defeat after all.”
Brad had to laugh, shaking his head. “You’re like a fucking walking motivational poster, Rudy. I should keep you tacked up in my locker.”
Rudy’s grin was like a ray of sunlight. Brad thought it would have made a lot more sense to fall in love with him - beautiful, open, carefree Rudy. But that would have been a total gay cop-out. Everyone was in love with Rudy.
“I’m just here to help, Brad,” he said, and got to his feet. “Whatever’s getting you down, show it your teeth.”
“Yeah?” For half a second, Brad wanted to believe that it could be that easy. With Rudy looking at him, pink shirt and all, he thought it might be.
“Oo-rah, brother.”
“Ooh-rah.” They bumped fists, and with one more grin, Rudy was off, ready to sprinkle his fairy dust over some other corner of the yard. Brad watched him go, sipping at his drink, trying not to think too hard about what he’d said. There were some problems that couldn’t be solved by a cheery fucking motto and some positive thinking.
And his was coming up on his eleven right now.
“Hey, Brad, the rug rat’s been put to bed. Time for the heavy drinking to start!” Ray looked down at him, noted the bottle of tequila. “So I guess you’re getting in early, huh? That’s cool. There’s more of you to marinate.”
The sun was setting right behind Ray. Brad couldn’t look at him without being a little blinded. He held out the tequila. “Sit the fuck down, Person.”
Ray did, taking up a lot less space than Rudy had, looking small and hard and scrawny next to Brad. He took the bottle and poured out two shots, handing one back to Brad.
“Cheers,” he said, and smiled sideways at Brad before throwing it back. “You know what I think? I think we need to get fucking drunk.”
Brad tossed back his own shot, concentrated on the burn as it slid into his system.
“Oh really?”
Ray nodded, and they stared out over the backyard, at the clusters of happy couples, Nate and his girl, the way he looked at her proving more than anything else that he was right to leave the Marines. Tony with his wife on his lap, reveling in being a family man with a barbecue and a baby girl. Rudy deep in conversation with Sheree, his soul-mate or some shit, something perfect and wholesome. They were realising that they were practically the only two singles left, and they were stuck with each other. Ray sighed.
“Yeah. It seems like that kind of night.”
Brad nodded slowly. “Ray,” he said, already pouring out another shot, “When you’re right, you’re right.”
~
They kept drinking when they got home from the BBQ later that night after waving goodbye to the last, straggling guests and piling into a cab. Ray had snaked the tequila, and they just kept tossing shots back, sitting together on the couch with MTV on mute, talking shit, free and easy, like it should be. Brad felt loose-limbed and too big for his own body, like whatever was inside him was expanding to fill up the whole room, the whole house, everywhere that Ray had touched.
And fuck, Ray wasn’t helping, drunk and open, invading Brad’s personal space, making his presence felt, as always, with his mouth and his body, loud and grabby.
And there were times… Maybe Brad was crazy - definitely he was crazy - but there were times, yeah, where he caught Ray looking at him, when he thought Brad wouldn’t notice, just…watching him. It kind of made his mouth go dry. He kind of hated himself for even thinking of it.
He didn’t know if it was because Ray was drunk or because Brad was, but he was sure of one thing - something seemed different. Something between them seemed brighter, more intense. He felt like they were on the edge of something huge, and one or two more steps would send them hurtling into…
“Oh my god, Iceman, if you’re gonna kiss me stop staring at me like a fuckin’ psycho and just fuckin’ do it.”
Brad blinked, Ray’s voice abruptly startling him out of his own head. “What?”
Ray rolled his eyes and took a drink - they’d given up on glasses by now and were just passing the bottle back and forth. “Jesus Christ, I’ve never seen you this drunk,” he said, smiling around the mouth of the bottle. “I was joking, Brad.”
Brad took the bottle from him and set it down on the floor, twisting on the seat so he was facing Ray. He was at that level of smashed where he could think clearly, or thought he could, but the entire world was moving just a beat out of time. He watched Ray swim into focus, concentrated on his smile. He thought he could do this. Probably.
“Were you?”
Ray cocked his head. “Was I what?”
Brad licked his lips. His head was swimming, he figured they were both drunk enough to have forgotten this by morning, or at least feasibly pretend they had.
“Were you really joking?”
Ray’s eyes were huge, pupils blown wide in the dim light. He licked his own lips, unconsciously mimicking Brad as he stared up at him.
“I wasn’t joking about you being drunk,” he said, raising his eyebrows.
Brad shook his head, feeling like the world was realigning around them, shifting in prisms of different possibilities. “Ray.”
“Brad.” Ray closed his eyes for a second. “Brad, what?”
Brad reached across and cupped Ray’s chin in his trembling hand, stroked his thumb over the corner of his lips. He couldn’t really believe what he was doing, like he was watching it from the other side of a TV screen or something, watching someone else jump off the fucking cliff.
But…but Ray went with it, leaning into the touch the tiniest bit. And yeah, there was a part of Brad that was screaming at him to stop, to just go pass out in bed and forget it all, screaming at him to abort, abort, save his pride, save everything. There was a much bigger part, though, that was only listening to the pounding in his chest, only remembering the stupid, irrational want, only seeing Ray’s lips so fucking close, only wanting to find out what they tasted like, and fuck everything else.
Fuck it.
“I want to,” he whispered, almost to himself.
Ray was frozen, still staring. “Brad, don’t do anything you’re gonna regret,” he warned, but his voice wasn’t as strong as it could be. He hadn’t moved away from Brad’s hand.
Brad took a deep breath. “You’re supposed to be a Recon Marine,” he said. “How can you be so fucking oblivious?”
Ray smiled, just a tiny twist of his lips. Brad could feel it against his thumb and it sent shivers right through him.
“Guess I’m just exhausted from fucking your mom.”
Brad laughed softly, and Ray’s smile grew a little. They sat there, still, the moment drawing out until the world seemed to be spinning out around Brad, around the contact of his hand on Ray’s face, and Ray’s eyes on his.
After a while, though, it got too much, Brad had to break the silence before everything caved in on him and he couldn’t make another move. He coughed a little, clearing his throat, fighting through the drunk haze that was closing in. “So have you - have you ever?” he asked, and fuck, he was so drunk, his voice slurring all over the words.
“Have I ever what?” Ray asked, like he didn’t goddamn know.
Brad gave him a look, tried to keep his voice steady. “Have you ever fucked a man?”
Ray pulled back, and Brad dropped his hand to his lap.
Ray sighed and rubbed his forehead. “Is that what this is about? What I said today?”
Brad shrugged. “Maybe. It depends on whether you were being honest or just spouting shit like usual.”
Ray studied his hands, picked at his nails. Brad could only look at him, wait for him to say something, wait for confirmation that he’d fucked everything up well beyond repair - or not.
Eventually, Ray looked back up at him. “No,” he said, and watched Brad’s face carefully while Brad tried not to give anything - anything more - away. “No, not - not really.” He dipped his head, looking up through his lashes. “But I would.”
“Ray.” Brad’s voice was soft; indistinct and broken. He touched Ray’s cheek again, felt that soft push against his hand like Ray was pressing into it. “I want to.”
"I don't... I don't understand why you're doing this," Ray said, frowning. "You’re being stupid, Iceman. You don’t even - you're so fucking straight. You're straighter than Walt. You're straighter than the LT."
"I didn't realise there were so many different levels of straight," Brad said. "Is there some kind of points system?"
Ray rolled his eyes. "Yeah, homes, and you're winning. You're the opposite of gay, OK?"
Brad felt reckless, wanted to be out of control for once in his life. He remembered what Rudy had said to him - let the Iceman melt. Be human. Be stupid. "What's that got to do with anything?"
"It's got a lot to do with you hating yourself in the morning. Hating me in the morning."
There was a look on Ray's face that hurt Brad to see, sadness and helplessness. Like he was already expecting the ramifications of this, already anticipating the bullshit coming down on him.
"I want to," Brad insisted. "And look, if you're gonna punch me in the face, just do it. At least then I'll know."
Ray dropped his head against the couch cushions. "I wouldn't punch you in the face, Brad," he said with a quick sideways glance, and Brad thought maybe he meant more than what he was saying. "I just... Fuck. You're my best friend."
Brad shook his head. "I thought Walt was your best friend."
"You turn into a fucking moron when you're drunk. It's not middle school, Brad, Walt doesn't have his name tattooed on my ass."
Brad snorted and reached down for the tequila, but maybe Ray was right about how drunk he was, because he knocked the bottle over, sent it rolling across the floor, spilling the last shot or two all over his rug.
“Uh…”
Ray laughed at him, breaking the tension, and hauled himself up to his feet. “Yeah, you’re a fuckin’ wreck, my friend. You need to go to bed.”
Brad dropped his head to the back of the couch, running his eyes over Ray’s body, over his face. He was definitely drunk enough to admit, at least to himself, that the little prick was attractive, in a scrawny, scrappy, whiskey-tango hick kind of way. He’d thought it before - when he was fucking jerking off, for example - but never so clearly, never so pushed up to the top of his mind.
“You’re kinda sexy,” he said out loud, and Ray laughed some more.
“I know,” he said. “Come on, Brad, get up. Bedtime.”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah, homes. Let’s nip this in the bud, huh?” He reached down and hauled Brad up, almost buckling under the weight as he got Brad’s arm around his shoulders. Brad went with it, relying on Ray’s wiry strength as they stumbled off towards Brad’s bedroom.
“Jesus fucking Christ, you been eating your Wheaties,” Ray bitched as he dumped Brad on his bed. Brad bounced, and then sighed in relief as his head hit the pillow.
“You love me, don’t try to deny it,” he said, stretching out. When he glanced up, Ray was looking at him with the same expression that he’d thought he’d caught earlier, the one that told him he maybe wasn’t barking up the wrong tree at all, that maybe there could be something in this, however fucked up.
“You know I do,” Ray sighed, and tugged at Brad’s shoes, letting them thump to the floor. “Why else would I put up with your heavy, wasted ass?” He wrangled the covers up over him and stepped back to admire his handiwork. “You’re not gonna choke on your fucking tongue in your sleep, are you?”
“I’m not that drunk,” Brad said, despite all evidence to the contrary. He sat up, pulling his shirt off and tossing it over the side of the bed, before leaning back on his elbows. And fuck, yes, Ray was watching him.
“You can - I’m drunk enough to be taken advantage of,” he said, heart in his mouth. “If that was something you were interested in.” He was in it now. This could only go one of two ways - he was either gonna pass out in disgrace, or Ray was gonna do this thing. Fuck.
Fuck.
Ray moved forward, hesitantly resting one knee on the bed, and Brad’s heart skipped a beat. He stayed very still, like Ray was a wild animal that could be spooked into running if he made any sudden movements.
“I still don’t get where this is coming from,” Ray was saying, “Not once, Brad, have I ever thought you might -”
“I don’t know where it’s come from either,” Brad admitted. “But I can’t stop fucking thinking about it.”
“I don’t want you to be experimenting with me like some pussy faggot with a liberal arts degree and a pair of skinny jeans,” Ray informed him, but he had one hand planted on the bed by Brad’s hip, and he was so close Brad could feel the heat coming off him in waves.
He concentrated hard on finding the right words. “Look, tonight Rudy basically told me to stop being such a pansy and go after what I want,” he said quietly. He studied Ray’s face, his wide eyes, that fucking mouth. “And I might be wasted, but I know what I want.”
Ray hesitated, but he must have seen something on Brad’s face to convince him - Brad thought his whole heart was probably pasted over his forehead in neon - because after a long, breathless moment he gave a crooked smile. “Well alright then,” he muttered, playing up his hick accent to the hilt, and slowly, inch by painful inch, he moved in and brushed his lips over Brad’s.
Brad was more terrified than he’d been driving through Muwaffaqiyah. At that moment he would have almost preferred the bullets flying at him to the press of Ray’s lips. He couldn’t react for a moment, petrified by the enormity of what was happening. And then Ray stopped.
“Brad?”
It was like he’d flicked a switch.
“Yeah.” He surged forward and kissed Ray properly, putting everything into it, the loneliness, the need, everything he couldn’t admit when he was sober and himself, everything the Iceman wasn’t. It was messy - they’d drunk too much for it to be romance-movie-perfect - and he felt weird and exposed, shocked at the feel of Ray’s stubble scratching him, but it was…everything he’d wanted. Everything he’d expected, everything he hadn’t let himself hope for.
After a few perfect, brainless, heart-stopping moments, Ray pulled away, licking his lips. Brad couldn’t take his eyes off his mouth, at the red slickness of it. He didn’t care how much he’d had to drink. He knew he was never going to forget that, never going to forget how good those lips had felt on his.
“I’m only doing this because I’m not in my right mind,” Ray said in a shaky voice. It wasn’t very convincing, his eyes were dark and he was panting, just a little, just enough for it to show. Brad felt a slow rush of arousal at the sight, at the thought that Ray wanted him, too.
“What, I’m not hot enough for you?” he asked, grinning stupidly and sweeping his hand up Ray’s arm, over his bicep. “What do you normally look for in big gay boyfriends?”
“Uh, not being one of my closest friends is one criteria,” Ray said, and Brad smirked as he noticed him shivering at his touch. He palmed the back of Ray’s neck, trying to bring him in for another kiss.
“You know, I used to think you and Nate were part of this big repressed, heroic Greek love story,” Ray said out of the blue, resisting Brad’s efforts to get him closer. “It was totally gay. The two of you in theatre? All that bullshit nobility, giving each other these long, fraught looks all the fuckin’ time, like a pair of Greek homosexuals in skirts-”
“Ok, you have an unhealthy obsession with both homosexuality and our CO,” Brad said. He brushed his thumb over Ray’s cheek. “I don’t want to have sex with Nate, you fucking freak.”
“Are you sure? Because if you’re turning gay, Brad - and I still can’t freaking believe that - then Nate is kind of more on your level than a whiskey-tango dumbshit fuckup like me.”
Brad shook his head. "I don't know why I put up with your shit," he said helplessly. He hauled Ray in. "I'm not gonna stroke your ego and tell you how much I - how completely wrong you are about all that," he said. "Fuck, Ray, all I wanna do is this." He kissed him again, long and slow, tugging him down until he fell onto the bed next to him, laid out on top of the covers. "Why do you have to make everything so damn difficult?" he muttered.
Ray didn't answer, just kissed him back, bracing himself with his elbows on either side of Brad's head. It seemed to last for hours, Brad lost himself in it until there was nothing but the hot, wet slide of Ray's lips and tongue and the boozy, smoky scent of him. Brad touched him, his hair, rubbing the back of his neck, sweeping his palms down over his shoulders and arms. He noticed distantly that he was hard, turned on in a sort of low-key, throbbing way, but he was too drunk and tired to do anything about it. Time for that later. For now he was content to just make out, make it soft and lazy and sweet, fall asleep with Ray at his three, maybe wake up and do it all over in the morning.
When Ray broke the kiss again and dropped his head to Brad's chest, Brad let him, running his hands in long strokes up and down his back.
"You're getting soft, Brad," Ray said, sleepily, mumbling it into Brad's skin. Brad could feel his eyes drifting shut, the battle with the tequila being slowly lost.
"You falling asleep on me like a little bitch?" he asked, throwing his arm around Ray's shoulders. Ray didn't answer in words, just pressed his face into Brad's chest and half-heartedly punched him in the thigh. "Yeah, I figured," Brad said, and let his eyes close, his nose in Ray’s hair. He was asleep in minutes, the taste of Ray still in his mouth.
~
When Brad opened his eyes the next morning, Ray was gone and in his place was the ball-sucking hangover from hell.
He groaned and tried to burrow under his pillow. He hadn’t thought to close the blinds last night and the sunlight was streaming into his head like a swarm of angry killer bees, angry killer bees with fucking sledgehammers, and maybe tiny pneumatic drills.
“Jesus,” he whispered, kind of in awe at the epic-ness of the situation. “Jesus, fuck.”
He was seriously considering suicide when Ray walked in and leaned against the door frame, watching him with an unreadable expression. Brad wanted to feel something other than pain, but it was gonna have to wait because, fuck. He had not been expecting this hangover.
“Morning, sunshine,” Ray said, the little shit. “How’s the head?”
“Fuck you forever,” Brad growled, squinting up at him. “Why the fuck aren’t you suffering?”
Ray shrugged. “I have excellent metabolism,” he said. “The alcohol just kind of burns up and I don’t get hung-over. Same reason I can never put on any weight no matter how much fried chicken I eat. I’m pretty much the next step up from you on the evolutionary scale, Brad.”
That sounded suspiciously like bullshit to Brad, but he was way too miserable to even attempt to parse Ray-ese. “I need you to go away now,” he said wretchedly, pulling his pillow back over his face. “Go away and don’t make any noise.”
He closed his eyes and concentrated on holding the throbbing fragments of his skull together.
Ray wasn’t leaving.
“So, Brad, are we going to talk about-”
“No.”
“-about the two of us getting wasted and, you know, exploring each other’s bodies like a pair of fourteen-year-old girls playing Dare at a slumber party?”
Fuck, fuck, fuck. He couldn’t deal with this. He couldn’t. He could barely even deal with breathing right now.
“No. No, Ray, we’re not talking about it. Oh my god. Please. Go away.”
Silence for ten blessed seconds, and then Ray’s voice, subdued now. “Right, well, that’s the thing. I got a call from Walt a minute ago.”
Brad emerged from under his pillow and blinked at Ray, fighting through the pain. “Fuck, what? Is everything ok?”
Ray smiled grimly, wouldn’t meet Brad’s eyes. “Not really. He knocked his girl up and now they need to get married as soon as fucking possible so she doesn’t show in her dress and disgrace her nice Southern Baptist family. He’s feeling a little screwed up the ass right now, so I’m flying out.”
Brad sat up, and fuck the bees with sledgehammers, he felt like Ray had just walked over and kicked him in the head with his steel-toed boots. “You’re leaving?”
Ray was studying the floor, his feet, whatever. He still wouldn’t look at Brad. “Yeah, I need to help him deal with this shit. He’s fucking useless without me there, homes.”
So am I, Brad thought, and immediately buried it way, way down. He was starting to realise he might be doing that a lot over the next little while.
“You’re leaving,” he repeated flatly. He didn’t know what to think, didn’t even know how to think about something like that. It seemed too harsh, too obvious - he makes an idiot out of himself drooling all over his RTO and the next morning his RTO skips town. He didn’t need to be a fucking Recon Marine to figure that shit out. “OK.”
“Yeah.” Ray sighed. Brad leaned back on his pillows and tried not to feel anything, tried to live up to his damned name. “So Brad, I know you’re hung-over as fuck and feeling pretty shitty right now, but we should probably talk about it.”
“Fuck off, Ray,” Brad said, rubbing his eyes. “We don’t need to talk about shit. You said it yourself, we were just fucking drunk.” He didn’t want to hear it, didn’t want Ray to look at him and tell him it had been a mistake, didn’t want to deal with the awkwardness and the knowledge that he’d fucked everything to hell.
“That’s what I thought,” Ray said quietly. “Ok, then. So I need to pack.”
“You’re going today?”
Ray nodded. “I guess if I’m gonna be the best man, I gotta do it right. He needs me, I’m there.”
“I thought he didn’t have his name tattooed on your ass,” Brad said without thinking, the words coming out of his mouth in a rush of bitterness and immediately making him want to shoot himself in the head. Ray just looked at him.
“Fuck. Ray. I didn’t mean that.”
“I know,” Ray said. “Look, Brad, its fine, OK? We don’t have to make a big fucking deal out of it. We’re not kids. Shit happens.”
“I guess so.” Brad closed his eyes. He felt like crying. It was so pathetic, he was completely disgusted with himself, but there had been a split second, between waking up and the hangover assaulting him, where he’d been looking forward to Ray still being there, to maybe picking up where they’d left off. And now it was all shit happens, see you later.
Fuck if he was ever taking advice from Rudy again in his life.
“You booked your flight?”
“Earliest I could get was late this afternoon. I’ll stay out for my last week of leave, then fly straight back over to Pendleton. They’re gonna get hitched in like two months, so keep a few weekends free, I guess.” Ray’s eyes kept sliding away, over to the window, down at the floor, like he couldn’t really look at Brad for any length of time. “So I can call a cab.”
“Fuck that.” Brad steeled himself, made himself look Ray in the face and smile. It was harder than kissing him had been. “I’ll drive you. Just let me sleep first, ok?”
Ray smiled back, small and tentative. “You fucking pussy,” he said, and backed out of the room. “Sweet dreams, sleeping beauty.”
Yeah. Somehow, Brad doubted it.
Part Three
When the night starts fading and the mornin' arrives
I wanna still feel you around
Will you creep into my head again and pick me up off the ground
Drinking For 11, The Mad Caddies
Brad could cook the fuck out of a steak.
He had dinner on by the time Ray got out of the shower and handed over a beer as soon as he stepped into the kitchen. He smelled like orange blossom and vanilla, like Brad’s new shower gel. Brad had to turn away and poke at the steaks for a bit before he could deal with that.
And that made him have to deal with it.
He got through dinner fine, great even. It was easy, natural as breathing to have Ray at his table, munching away at his food, drinking his beer. Without Ripped Fuel Ray wasn’t nearly as hyperactive, but he still had a lot to say and between gulps he filled the table with words that Brad kind of wanted to bottle and store up, to take out again when he was alone.
Another thing he had to deal with.
“So what’s with you?” Ray eventually asked after they’d eaten, as he magnanimously loaded the dishwasher.
“I’m all good,” Brad said, leaning back in his chair “Regretting my decision to invite your hillbilly ass around to mess with my quiet, but I’m making peace with it.”
Ray grinned at him, scraping his plate. “You fuckin’ missed me. Don’t even front, Brad. You think you’re happy to see the back of me, sure, but as soon as I’m gone you come out in hives.” He nodded sagely. “It’s all on account of how awesome I am. You shouldn’t feel bad about it.”
Brad rolled his eyes. “Gee, Ray, you got me. I’ve just spent the last few weeks moping around the house wishing you were here to complete me. You’re so right.” He got up and started tying up the trash, fussing around, trying to cover up the most honest thing he’d said all night.
Ray just smirked at him. “Yeah, I just have that effect on people. Fuckin’ awesome.”
~
Brad was a little surprised by how easy a houseguest Ray was, at how well they got on when there weren’t bullets flying towards them at all hours, when they weren’t trapped together in a humvee for days on end. If it wasn’t for that thing inside Brad - that intrusive, unwelcome gush of feelings that flooded him at odd moments when he looked at Ray - it would have been perfect.
Ray liked to read, stretched out on Brad’s couch or on the swing on his back porch or down on the beach or sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee. Half of his luggage had been books, a miniature library that Brad couldn’t help but study, trying to get a read on a side of Ray he was only just realising he didn’t know. Henry Rollins and Mark Z. Danielewski battled for space with Henry James and a random collection of old Penguin classics tumbled out on the dresser of the spare room. Brad sifted through them, read the notes scribbled in the margins, and aligned this new Ray with the Ray that had sat beside him for hours on end ranting about pussy and colour perception and being high all of the time. The pictures were a perfect match; it was Brad who didn’t line up.
He had to be honest. He wasn’t even lining up with his perception of himself any more.
Brad had been in love, with a girl who had broken his heart and left him for dead, but it was love. He knew what love was. And he knew the difference between loving someone and being in love with someone. He loved Nate. He loved Tony. He loved Walt.
Ray was the wildcard.
He didn’t think he was in love with Ray. Those words sounded wrong and strange to him. They belonged to something he didn’t identify with, something he couldn’t hold in his thoughts without it slipping away. But he knew that he loved Walt, and yet didn’t want to spend all his time with Walt, didn’t want to look at Walt drinking his coffee, smell Walt fresh from his shower, listen to Walt sleepily rant about Washington Square and why all the characters in it deserved each other at best. He knew he loved Nate, but Nate didn’t make him feel fierce and undone and lost at sea and off-balance, like he was trying to walk across a grumbling earthquake. He knew he loved Tony, but had never wanted to trace his fingers along Tony’s tattoos or press his thumbs into the bones of his wrists.
He’d catch himself staring, listening quietly as Ray chattered away about whatever he was reading, watching, doing. It was peaceful, it was good. Cooking potato salad with Ray for Tony’s BBQ was good. Sitting on the beach with a cooler of beer and the football on the radio was good.
If he lied to himself and pushed everything else away, it was good.
He wanted to believe, though, that maybe when he stopped lying to himself it could be good, too.
~
“Have you read Homer?”
Brad looked up at what Ray was reading, an old, battered copy of The Iliad. Ray had taken up residence on the love seat, and Brad was on the floor with his laptop, leaning against the love seat with his legs stretched out before him.
“Yeah,” he said. “The Iliad and The Odyssey.” He snatched the book from Ray’s hands and flicked through it. It was one of those editions with the English translation down the right page and the original Ancient Greek down the left. Both sides of almost every page were covered in scrawling notes. Brad looked at Ray in amazement.
“Please don’t tell me you speak Ancient Greek,” he said. He remembered every time he’d called Ray an uncultured hick and cringed. Although he was sticking by anything he’d ever said about NASCAR.
Ray grinned. “Why? You want me to lie to you?” He took the book back and shrugged. “But no, I’m not completely fluent. I mean, I’m probably fluent in The Iliad by now, but gimme some Aeschylus and I’d spend all day translating.”
“Oh, of course,” Brad said, rolling his eyes. “Where’ve you been hiding this?”
“Who’s hiding?” Ray asked. “I was on the debate team, Brad. I’ve been an accredited nerd since high school.”
Brad didn’t know what to say. He’d spent three minutes of his life reading all the Greek masters and a few books on classical culture and considered himself an expert. And here was fucking Ray speaking the damned language like some skinny, demented Indiana Jones.
“You and the LT would have a lot to talk about,” he said, letting his eyes slide towards the window.
Ray laughed. “Brad, Captain Nate thinks all I do is sing Avril Lavigne and watch WWE. I don’t think he wants to discuss the Fall of Troy with me over lattes.”
Brad frowned. “Ray, you’re a fucking genius, I’ll give you that, but what have you got against Nate?”
Ray looked shocked. “I’ve got nothing against Nate! I love Nate.” Brad looked at him, and Ray nodded. “I do, in a totally non-gay way, I love Nate. We all love Nate. But he’s, you know… Nate’s not like the rest of us. Nate’s one of these guys I’m reading about.”
“You think Nate’s better than you?” Brad’s frown deepened, like it was etching itself into his face.
Ray snorted. “Duh, Brad. But it’s not that, he’s just - I’m a grunt, not a hero. Nate’s different. Nate’s Nate.” He paused. “Same way you’re you.”
Brad flinched like Ray’d drawn a weapon on him. “No I’m not,” he protested. “I’m one of you. I’m the same as you.”
“That’s bullshit, Brad. You’re in a different class. You’re the Iceman, you’re our leader.” Ray waved the book. “You and Nate are like Achilles and Patrokles. I’m just, you know, Random Heroic Greek who gets killed on page twelve.”
Brad felt like his stomach was trying to drop through the floor. “You’re so fucking stupid sometimes,” he said. “I take back everything I ever said about you being a genius. You’re a moron.”
“Yeah, OK.” Ray stretched out on the couch and flicked through his book, trying to find his place. Brad watched him, watched bravado and bullshit and insecurity and brilliance etched all over him like his tattoos.
“Weren’t Achilles and Patrokles fucking?” he eventually asked, for something to say.
Ray looked up and nodded. “Probably. Something you wanna tell me, Bradley?”
Yes, Brad thought, I kind of imagined you were my Patrokles. “No,” he said. “Nate and I are not fucking.”
Ray smiled. “Well, good to know.”
~
The morning of Poke’s BBQ, like most mornings since Ray had been there, was spent down on the beach, Ray with the paper and a thermos of coffee, Brad with his board, surfing until he collapsed on the sand, exhausted and content with Ray beside him. He was dozing in the warm morning sun, drifting off to the sound of the waves and Ray’s paper rustling, when Ray let out an annoyed sigh.
“Man, fuck DADT.”
Brad opened his eyes and squinted against the bright sky. “What?”
Ray slapped the paper with the back of his hand. “Fuck DADT. It is such a load of bullshit.”
“Elaborate,” Brad demanded, holding his hand in front of his eyes and trying to adjust to the brightness around him. “Speak English, not hillbilly.”
“Well think about it. Imagine if they got rid of that crap, motherfuckers would be getting laid all over the place, reducing the amount of blue-balls and nervous tension, and it’d be a much fucking happier and combat effective Marine Corps. Pity the fucking retards who run this country are too goddamn stupid to see it that way. When are they fucking going to put me in charge already, Brad, that’s what I’d like to know.”
Brad sat up and looked at him in amazement, making a small landslide out of the sand and shells Ray had apparently piled on his chest while he was sleeping. “Are you serious?”
“Fuck yeah I’m serious! Just think if you could walk up to someone and say ‘homes, I’m fucking horny, wanna suck my dick?’ without having to do all the fucked up dancing around the issue shit we all do like a bunch of repressed Catholic schoolgirls. Make everyone’s life a hell of a lot easier.”
Brad couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing, wasn’t sure if Ray was just spouting crap for the hell of it, like he always did, or if he was trying to get at something else, something real. “Who the fuck was dancing around the issue in my humvee?” he asked, and scowled. “Were you and Walt dancing around any issues in my humvee, Ray?”
Ray laughed, shaking his head. “Walt? I’ve never met anyone straighter than that corn-fed hick in my life. Do you even realise the amount of pussy that pretty boy gets? I mean, before he decided to throw it all away and get married. It was extreme.”
Brad’s mouth had gone dry, there was a roaring in his ears like the ocean had invaded his head, sending all his thoughts spinning and tossing in the waves.
“So Walt’s the straight one,” he said through the din. “What does that make you?”
Ray grinned big, waggled his eyebrows over his sunglasses. “Brad, I’m a rock star and a Marine. I will fuck anything.” He rolled onto his back, stretched out in the sun. He’d tanned up quickly, and beads of sweat were pooling on his brown skin, over his chest and stomach, dripping down his side. “But I’m not fucking telling.”
“Ray.” Brad didn’t know what to say. He thought, I knew, I had to, and, how could I have known him for so long without realising, and why does this feel like he’s just hit me with a fucking hammer? and, fuck, oh fuck does this mean - No.
He blinked, rubbed his forehead, tried to formulate words. “Ray, you uh, you know that I-”
“Yeah, shut up, Brad,” Ray said comfortably. “I don’t wanna have a big homo talk about feelings. I know you’re totally gay for all that shit, but I couldn’t be less interested. You wanna be useful and caring? Go get me more coffee.”
“Fuck you,” Brad said automatically and stood up, brushing sand off himself and onto Ray’s face. “Get the fuck up, you indolent little nancy-boy, we need to get over to Poke’s and help him set up.”
Ray swatted at Brad’s legs ineffectually, trying to wave him off. “You motherfuckers are putting me to work? Brad, I am a guest.”
“No, you are a punishment.” Brad gathered up their towels, feeling like he was moving through water, and concentrated on keeping his voice normal, level, sane. “Here’s what’s gonna happen. I’m gonna go have a nice, long, hot shower and you, my little libertine friend, are going to pack up the potato salad and beer in the cooler and have it by the front door waiting for me when I get out. Copy?”
“Oh is that what’s happening, Brad?” Ray said casually as he followed Brad back up to the house. “Because what this Marine thought was happening is that I was gonna jerk off in your fucking potato salad. How do you like that?”
Brad raised an eyebrow. “Men, women, potato salad? I think that counts as telling, you filthy fucking degenerate.”
“I love our little chats, Brad. I feel like we’re really bonding, here.” Ray brushed the sand off his feet before entering the house, had scowled at Brad the first time he saw he didn’t - My momma would tan your ass / yeah I hear she’s nice and kinky like that - and stomped off towards his room. “Are we bonding, Brad? Bradley?”
Brad didn’t bother answering, just walked straight into the shower, turning it on as hot as he could stand.
Ray fucked men.
Or at least - wait, had he actually said that? I’m a rock star, Brad. What the fuck did that even mean? I will fuck anything.
“Oh, Jesus,” he muttered, and noticed to his absolute dismay that he was hard. And he was about to cross a line.
He could love Ray, he loved all his Marines. He could be in love with the idea of Ray, he was stressed and lonely and just back from a war. He could be struck dumb by the sight of Ray - OK, getting a little gay.
But jerking off to the thought of Ray…
He closed his eyes and pressed his forehead to the cool tiles of the shower, hoping the contrast would help snap him out of whatever insanity he was sinking into. It didn’t. All he could think about was that one drop of sweat that had rolled down Ray’s side. All he could hear was I will fuck anything.
I will fuck you, Brad.
I will let you fuck me.
I will let you shut me up.
I will, I will, I will…
“Fuck, fuck,” he whispered, and grabbed his cock, jerking off like he was punishing himself, too hard, too rough, and that drop of fucking sweat was still sliding down Ray’s brown skin. Brad pumped his cock and thought about licking it up, following the trail of it over Ray’s abs, up his chest, and then Ray was looking at him and licking his lips and saying it, I will fuck anything, and…
He came with Ray’s name on his lips, silent, lost in the steady stream of the shower, with his face lifted to the water and his whole body shaking, his cock sore and hot. He came thinking about his best friend, and it was the best orgasm he’d had in weeks.
“I am,” he whispered into the water, “so fucked.”
~
All the women at Tony’s BBQ loved Ray on sight.
Brad stood with Tony, Nate and Rudy, watching in amazement as they flocked to him, bringing him food and drinks, squawking over how skinny he was, wanting to know if Brad was feeding him properly. Even little Daniela got in on the act, following him around with big eyes until he bent down and picked her up, settling her on his shoulders with his giant glasses perched on her tiny nose.
“Hot damn, Poke,” Brad said, watching Tony’s wife run to get the camera. “Ray is straight up stealing all your women.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time the white man’s come onto my land and stolen my people’s women and children,” Tony said darkly. Nate smirked, reaching into the cooler for more beer.
“First time the shining example of white superiority looked like Ray Person, though,” he said. Brad frowned to himself, and immediately felt like a little bitch for feeling offended on Ray’s behalf.
Poke raised an eyebrow. “Hey, Captain, isn’t that your girl giving him your number?”
“What?”
They all watched as Alice, Nate’s girlfriend, tapped away at Ray’s phone before handing it back with a warm smile. Ray looked kind of smug, like, he would never actually snake someone’s girl, but he liked people thinking he could.
“I don’t get it,” Nate sighed. “I seriously don’t.”
Brad did. He understood completely, and it suddenly pissed him off that no one else did, that no one else bothered to look.
“Ray’s alright,” he said absently. “Get him away from Ripped Fuel and other Marines and he - did you know he can read Ancient Greek?”
He looked around at the others. Nate looked surprised and interested, Tony was laughing at him, Rudy just gave him a knowing look.
“If anyone’s gonna see the best in Ray, brother, it’ll be you,” he said approvingly, and Tony snorted.
“Brad’s got a man-crush is what’s going on here.”
Brad willed himself not to go red, willed himself not to think back to the shower.
“Only because you won’t put out, you giant fucking cocktease,” he shot back, just as Ray walked up, still sans sunglasses.
“Who’s a cocktease? You bastards hitting on my man?” He made to put his arms around Brad’s waist, cackling as Brad shoved him off.
“You done sowing your vile seed all over my backyard, Person?” Tony asked, handing over a beer.
Ray looked wounded. “As if I could ever be unfaithful to my sugar-daddy here,” he said, nodding at Brad. “Sorry, Poke, but none of your ladies can give me what I need like the Iceman can.”
“Ray, shut up,” Brad muttered, too mortified to join in on the usual banter. Tony was crowing, but Rudy gave Ray a little smile.
“Aww, you too, brother? That’s a beautiful thing.”
Ray looked at them quizzically, and Tony elaborated. “Brad’s got a big gay crush on you,” he said, and Brad sighed and stalked off in search of the tequila. Behind him he heard a lot of evil laughter, and in the midst of it all, Nate’s voice - “Ray, why do you know Ancient Greek?”
Brad was sitting alone on the back step twenty minutes later when Rudy dropped down beside him and knocked their shoulders together.
“You all good, my man?”
“I’m good, Rudy,” Brad said, and picked at a fraying hole in his jeans. “It’s all good.”
Rudy nodded, gazing out over the backyard. Ray and Nate were involved in some sort of complex discussion about Greek verbs while Daniela climbed up and down them like they were a set of monkey-bars. Every now and then Ray interrupted his conversation to reach down and tickle her, making her shriek in delight, almost exploding with excitement.
Rudy chuckled. “Children often see things us adults miss,” he said musingly. “Daniela knows Ray’s good people.”
“I know Ray’s good people,” Brad said. “He’s got - there’s more to him than everyone gives him credit for.”
Rudy smiled. “This is what I love about being out of the AO, Brad,” he said. He was wearing a pink polo-shirt with the collar popped, and he managed to make it stylish. Brad watched him steadily, preparing himself for a load of Rudy-Zen wisdom. God knows he could fucking use it.
“Oh yeah?”
“We don’t have to be so macho all the time. We’ve proven ourselves, we’re superheroes, we’re warriors, but like all heroes, we’re people first. It’s good to get back and be human, you know?”
Brad smiled a little, to himself. “Yeah, right now I’m feeling too human, Rude,” he said, the tequila battering down his guard, just a little.
Rudy patted his back. “That’s a good thing, brother. Melt that Iceman down until the next time you need him. Do what you have to now to warm back up.”
“It’s never that easy.”
Rudy looked him in the eye. It was like being gazed at by a beautiful, benevolent god. “Why not, Brad?” he asked reasonably. “You know, whenever I think something’s too hard, I break it down into little bricks, and I figure out what I need to do to smash each one of those bricks to smithereens. It normally turns out that what I thought was a giant wall wasn’t so tough to defeat after all.”
Brad had to laugh, shaking his head. “You’re like a fucking walking motivational poster, Rudy. I should keep you tacked up in my locker.”
Rudy’s grin was like a ray of sunlight. Brad thought it would have made a lot more sense to fall in love with him - beautiful, open, carefree Rudy. But that would have been a total gay cop-out. Everyone was in love with Rudy.
“I’m just here to help, Brad,” he said, and got to his feet. “Whatever’s getting you down, show it your teeth.”
“Yeah?” For half a second, Brad wanted to believe that it could be that easy. With Rudy looking at him, pink shirt and all, he thought it might be.
“Oo-rah, brother.”
“Ooh-rah.” They bumped fists, and with one more grin, Rudy was off, ready to sprinkle his fairy dust over some other corner of the yard. Brad watched him go, sipping at his drink, trying not to think too hard about what he’d said. There were some problems that couldn’t be solved by a cheery fucking motto and some positive thinking.
And his was coming up on his eleven right now.
“Hey, Brad, the rug rat’s been put to bed. Time for the heavy drinking to start!” Ray looked down at him, noted the bottle of tequila. “So I guess you’re getting in early, huh? That’s cool. There’s more of you to marinate.”
The sun was setting right behind Ray. Brad couldn’t look at him without being a little blinded. He held out the tequila. “Sit the fuck down, Person.”
Ray did, taking up a lot less space than Rudy had, looking small and hard and scrawny next to Brad. He took the bottle and poured out two shots, handing one back to Brad.
“Cheers,” he said, and smiled sideways at Brad before throwing it back. “You know what I think? I think we need to get fucking drunk.”
Brad tossed back his own shot, concentrated on the burn as it slid into his system.
“Oh really?”
Ray nodded, and they stared out over the backyard, at the clusters of happy couples, Nate and his girl, the way he looked at her proving more than anything else that he was right to leave the Marines. Tony with his wife on his lap, reveling in being a family man with a barbecue and a baby girl. Rudy deep in conversation with Sheree, his soul-mate or some shit, something perfect and wholesome. They were realising that they were practically the only two singles left, and they were stuck with each other. Ray sighed.
“Yeah. It seems like that kind of night.”
Brad nodded slowly. “Ray,” he said, already pouring out another shot, “When you’re right, you’re right.”
~
They kept drinking when they got home from the BBQ later that night after waving goodbye to the last, straggling guests and piling into a cab. Ray had snaked the tequila, and they just kept tossing shots back, sitting together on the couch with MTV on mute, talking shit, free and easy, like it should be. Brad felt loose-limbed and too big for his own body, like whatever was inside him was expanding to fill up the whole room, the whole house, everywhere that Ray had touched.
And fuck, Ray wasn’t helping, drunk and open, invading Brad’s personal space, making his presence felt, as always, with his mouth and his body, loud and grabby.
And there were times… Maybe Brad was crazy - definitely he was crazy - but there were times, yeah, where he caught Ray looking at him, when he thought Brad wouldn’t notice, just…watching him. It kind of made his mouth go dry. He kind of hated himself for even thinking of it.
He didn’t know if it was because Ray was drunk or because Brad was, but he was sure of one thing - something seemed different. Something between them seemed brighter, more intense. He felt like they were on the edge of something huge, and one or two more steps would send them hurtling into…
“Oh my god, Iceman, if you’re gonna kiss me stop staring at me like a fuckin’ psycho and just fuckin’ do it.”
Brad blinked, Ray’s voice abruptly startling him out of his own head. “What?”
Ray rolled his eyes and took a drink - they’d given up on glasses by now and were just passing the bottle back and forth. “Jesus Christ, I’ve never seen you this drunk,” he said, smiling around the mouth of the bottle. “I was joking, Brad.”
Brad took the bottle from him and set it down on the floor, twisting on the seat so he was facing Ray. He was at that level of smashed where he could think clearly, or thought he could, but the entire world was moving just a beat out of time. He watched Ray swim into focus, concentrated on his smile. He thought he could do this. Probably.
“Were you?”
Ray cocked his head. “Was I what?”
Brad licked his lips. His head was swimming, he figured they were both drunk enough to have forgotten this by morning, or at least feasibly pretend they had.
“Were you really joking?”
Ray’s eyes were huge, pupils blown wide in the dim light. He licked his own lips, unconsciously mimicking Brad as he stared up at him.
“I wasn’t joking about you being drunk,” he said, raising his eyebrows.
Brad shook his head, feeling like the world was realigning around them, shifting in prisms of different possibilities. “Ray.”
“Brad.” Ray closed his eyes for a second. “Brad, what?”
Brad reached across and cupped Ray’s chin in his trembling hand, stroked his thumb over the corner of his lips. He couldn’t really believe what he was doing, like he was watching it from the other side of a TV screen or something, watching someone else jump off the fucking cliff.
But…but Ray went with it, leaning into the touch the tiniest bit. And yeah, there was a part of Brad that was screaming at him to stop, to just go pass out in bed and forget it all, screaming at him to abort, abort, save his pride, save everything. There was a much bigger part, though, that was only listening to the pounding in his chest, only remembering the stupid, irrational want, only seeing Ray’s lips so fucking close, only wanting to find out what they tasted like, and fuck everything else.
Fuck it.
“I want to,” he whispered, almost to himself.
Ray was frozen, still staring. “Brad, don’t do anything you’re gonna regret,” he warned, but his voice wasn’t as strong as it could be. He hadn’t moved away from Brad’s hand.
Brad took a deep breath. “You’re supposed to be a Recon Marine,” he said. “How can you be so fucking oblivious?”
Ray smiled, just a tiny twist of his lips. Brad could feel it against his thumb and it sent shivers right through him.
“Guess I’m just exhausted from fucking your mom.”
Brad laughed softly, and Ray’s smile grew a little. They sat there, still, the moment drawing out until the world seemed to be spinning out around Brad, around the contact of his hand on Ray’s face, and Ray’s eyes on his.
After a while, though, it got too much, Brad had to break the silence before everything caved in on him and he couldn’t make another move. He coughed a little, clearing his throat, fighting through the drunk haze that was closing in. “So have you - have you ever?” he asked, and fuck, he was so drunk, his voice slurring all over the words.
“Have I ever what?” Ray asked, like he didn’t goddamn know.
Brad gave him a look, tried to keep his voice steady. “Have you ever fucked a man?”
Ray pulled back, and Brad dropped his hand to his lap.
Ray sighed and rubbed his forehead. “Is that what this is about? What I said today?”
Brad shrugged. “Maybe. It depends on whether you were being honest or just spouting shit like usual.”
Ray studied his hands, picked at his nails. Brad could only look at him, wait for him to say something, wait for confirmation that he’d fucked everything up well beyond repair - or not.
Eventually, Ray looked back up at him. “No,” he said, and watched Brad’s face carefully while Brad tried not to give anything - anything more - away. “No, not - not really.” He dipped his head, looking up through his lashes. “But I would.”
“Ray.” Brad’s voice was soft; indistinct and broken. He touched Ray’s cheek again, felt that soft push against his hand like Ray was pressing into it. “I want to.”
"I don't... I don't understand why you're doing this," Ray said, frowning. "You’re being stupid, Iceman. You don’t even - you're so fucking straight. You're straighter than Walt. You're straighter than the LT."
"I didn't realise there were so many different levels of straight," Brad said. "Is there some kind of points system?"
Ray rolled his eyes. "Yeah, homes, and you're winning. You're the opposite of gay, OK?"
Brad felt reckless, wanted to be out of control for once in his life. He remembered what Rudy had said to him - let the Iceman melt. Be human. Be stupid. "What's that got to do with anything?"
"It's got a lot to do with you hating yourself in the morning. Hating me in the morning."
There was a look on Ray's face that hurt Brad to see, sadness and helplessness. Like he was already expecting the ramifications of this, already anticipating the bullshit coming down on him.
"I want to," Brad insisted. "And look, if you're gonna punch me in the face, just do it. At least then I'll know."
Ray dropped his head against the couch cushions. "I wouldn't punch you in the face, Brad," he said with a quick sideways glance, and Brad thought maybe he meant more than what he was saying. "I just... Fuck. You're my best friend."
Brad shook his head. "I thought Walt was your best friend."
"You turn into a fucking moron when you're drunk. It's not middle school, Brad, Walt doesn't have his name tattooed on my ass."
Brad snorted and reached down for the tequila, but maybe Ray was right about how drunk he was, because he knocked the bottle over, sent it rolling across the floor, spilling the last shot or two all over his rug.
“Uh…”
Ray laughed at him, breaking the tension, and hauled himself up to his feet. “Yeah, you’re a fuckin’ wreck, my friend. You need to go to bed.”
Brad dropped his head to the back of the couch, running his eyes over Ray’s body, over his face. He was definitely drunk enough to admit, at least to himself, that the little prick was attractive, in a scrawny, scrappy, whiskey-tango hick kind of way. He’d thought it before - when he was fucking jerking off, for example - but never so clearly, never so pushed up to the top of his mind.
“You’re kinda sexy,” he said out loud, and Ray laughed some more.
“I know,” he said. “Come on, Brad, get up. Bedtime.”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah, homes. Let’s nip this in the bud, huh?” He reached down and hauled Brad up, almost buckling under the weight as he got Brad’s arm around his shoulders. Brad went with it, relying on Ray’s wiry strength as they stumbled off towards Brad’s bedroom.
“Jesus fucking Christ, you been eating your Wheaties,” Ray bitched as he dumped Brad on his bed. Brad bounced, and then sighed in relief as his head hit the pillow.
“You love me, don’t try to deny it,” he said, stretching out. When he glanced up, Ray was looking at him with the same expression that he’d thought he’d caught earlier, the one that told him he maybe wasn’t barking up the wrong tree at all, that maybe there could be something in this, however fucked up.
“You know I do,” Ray sighed, and tugged at Brad’s shoes, letting them thump to the floor. “Why else would I put up with your heavy, wasted ass?” He wrangled the covers up over him and stepped back to admire his handiwork. “You’re not gonna choke on your fucking tongue in your sleep, are you?”
“I’m not that drunk,” Brad said, despite all evidence to the contrary. He sat up, pulling his shirt off and tossing it over the side of the bed, before leaning back on his elbows. And fuck, yes, Ray was watching him.
“You can - I’m drunk enough to be taken advantage of,” he said, heart in his mouth. “If that was something you were interested in.” He was in it now. This could only go one of two ways - he was either gonna pass out in disgrace, or Ray was gonna do this thing. Fuck.
Fuck.
Ray moved forward, hesitantly resting one knee on the bed, and Brad’s heart skipped a beat. He stayed very still, like Ray was a wild animal that could be spooked into running if he made any sudden movements.
“I still don’t get where this is coming from,” Ray was saying, “Not once, Brad, have I ever thought you might -”
“I don’t know where it’s come from either,” Brad admitted. “But I can’t stop fucking thinking about it.”
“I don’t want you to be experimenting with me like some pussy faggot with a liberal arts degree and a pair of skinny jeans,” Ray informed him, but he had one hand planted on the bed by Brad’s hip, and he was so close Brad could feel the heat coming off him in waves.
He concentrated hard on finding the right words. “Look, tonight Rudy basically told me to stop being such a pansy and go after what I want,” he said quietly. He studied Ray’s face, his wide eyes, that fucking mouth. “And I might be wasted, but I know what I want.”
Ray hesitated, but he must have seen something on Brad’s face to convince him - Brad thought his whole heart was probably pasted over his forehead in neon - because after a long, breathless moment he gave a crooked smile. “Well alright then,” he muttered, playing up his hick accent to the hilt, and slowly, inch by painful inch, he moved in and brushed his lips over Brad’s.
Brad was more terrified than he’d been driving through Muwaffaqiyah. At that moment he would have almost preferred the bullets flying at him to the press of Ray’s lips. He couldn’t react for a moment, petrified by the enormity of what was happening. And then Ray stopped.
“Brad?”
It was like he’d flicked a switch.
“Yeah.” He surged forward and kissed Ray properly, putting everything into it, the loneliness, the need, everything he couldn’t admit when he was sober and himself, everything the Iceman wasn’t. It was messy - they’d drunk too much for it to be romance-movie-perfect - and he felt weird and exposed, shocked at the feel of Ray’s stubble scratching him, but it was…everything he’d wanted. Everything he’d expected, everything he hadn’t let himself hope for.
After a few perfect, brainless, heart-stopping moments, Ray pulled away, licking his lips. Brad couldn’t take his eyes off his mouth, at the red slickness of it. He didn’t care how much he’d had to drink. He knew he was never going to forget that, never going to forget how good those lips had felt on his.
“I’m only doing this because I’m not in my right mind,” Ray said in a shaky voice. It wasn’t very convincing, his eyes were dark and he was panting, just a little, just enough for it to show. Brad felt a slow rush of arousal at the sight, at the thought that Ray wanted him, too.
“What, I’m not hot enough for you?” he asked, grinning stupidly and sweeping his hand up Ray’s arm, over his bicep. “What do you normally look for in big gay boyfriends?”
“Uh, not being one of my closest friends is one criteria,” Ray said, and Brad smirked as he noticed him shivering at his touch. He palmed the back of Ray’s neck, trying to bring him in for another kiss.
“You know, I used to think you and Nate were part of this big repressed, heroic Greek love story,” Ray said out of the blue, resisting Brad’s efforts to get him closer. “It was totally gay. The two of you in theatre? All that bullshit nobility, giving each other these long, fraught looks all the fuckin’ time, like a pair of Greek homosexuals in skirts-”
“Ok, you have an unhealthy obsession with both homosexuality and our CO,” Brad said. He brushed his thumb over Ray’s cheek. “I don’t want to have sex with Nate, you fucking freak.”
“Are you sure? Because if you’re turning gay, Brad - and I still can’t freaking believe that - then Nate is kind of more on your level than a whiskey-tango dumbshit fuckup like me.”
Brad shook his head. "I don't know why I put up with your shit," he said helplessly. He hauled Ray in. "I'm not gonna stroke your ego and tell you how much I - how completely wrong you are about all that," he said. "Fuck, Ray, all I wanna do is this." He kissed him again, long and slow, tugging him down until he fell onto the bed next to him, laid out on top of the covers. "Why do you have to make everything so damn difficult?" he muttered.
Ray didn't answer, just kissed him back, bracing himself with his elbows on either side of Brad's head. It seemed to last for hours, Brad lost himself in it until there was nothing but the hot, wet slide of Ray's lips and tongue and the boozy, smoky scent of him. Brad touched him, his hair, rubbing the back of his neck, sweeping his palms down over his shoulders and arms. He noticed distantly that he was hard, turned on in a sort of low-key, throbbing way, but he was too drunk and tired to do anything about it. Time for that later. For now he was content to just make out, make it soft and lazy and sweet, fall asleep with Ray at his three, maybe wake up and do it all over in the morning.
When Ray broke the kiss again and dropped his head to Brad's chest, Brad let him, running his hands in long strokes up and down his back.
"You're getting soft, Brad," Ray said, sleepily, mumbling it into Brad's skin. Brad could feel his eyes drifting shut, the battle with the tequila being slowly lost.
"You falling asleep on me like a little bitch?" he asked, throwing his arm around Ray's shoulders. Ray didn't answer in words, just pressed his face into Brad's chest and half-heartedly punched him in the thigh. "Yeah, I figured," Brad said, and let his eyes close, his nose in Ray’s hair. He was asleep in minutes, the taste of Ray still in his mouth.
~
When Brad opened his eyes the next morning, Ray was gone and in his place was the ball-sucking hangover from hell.
He groaned and tried to burrow under his pillow. He hadn’t thought to close the blinds last night and the sunlight was streaming into his head like a swarm of angry killer bees, angry killer bees with fucking sledgehammers, and maybe tiny pneumatic drills.
“Jesus,” he whispered, kind of in awe at the epic-ness of the situation. “Jesus, fuck.”
He was seriously considering suicide when Ray walked in and leaned against the door frame, watching him with an unreadable expression. Brad wanted to feel something other than pain, but it was gonna have to wait because, fuck. He had not been expecting this hangover.
“Morning, sunshine,” Ray said, the little shit. “How’s the head?”
“Fuck you forever,” Brad growled, squinting up at him. “Why the fuck aren’t you suffering?”
Ray shrugged. “I have excellent metabolism,” he said. “The alcohol just kind of burns up and I don’t get hung-over. Same reason I can never put on any weight no matter how much fried chicken I eat. I’m pretty much the next step up from you on the evolutionary scale, Brad.”
That sounded suspiciously like bullshit to Brad, but he was way too miserable to even attempt to parse Ray-ese. “I need you to go away now,” he said wretchedly, pulling his pillow back over his face. “Go away and don’t make any noise.”
He closed his eyes and concentrated on holding the throbbing fragments of his skull together.
Ray wasn’t leaving.
“So, Brad, are we going to talk about-”
“No.”
“-about the two of us getting wasted and, you know, exploring each other’s bodies like a pair of fourteen-year-old girls playing Dare at a slumber party?”
Fuck, fuck, fuck. He couldn’t deal with this. He couldn’t. He could barely even deal with breathing right now.
“No. No, Ray, we’re not talking about it. Oh my god. Please. Go away.”
Silence for ten blessed seconds, and then Ray’s voice, subdued now. “Right, well, that’s the thing. I got a call from Walt a minute ago.”
Brad emerged from under his pillow and blinked at Ray, fighting through the pain. “Fuck, what? Is everything ok?”
Ray smiled grimly, wouldn’t meet Brad’s eyes. “Not really. He knocked his girl up and now they need to get married as soon as fucking possible so she doesn’t show in her dress and disgrace her nice Southern Baptist family. He’s feeling a little screwed up the ass right now, so I’m flying out.”
Brad sat up, and fuck the bees with sledgehammers, he felt like Ray had just walked over and kicked him in the head with his steel-toed boots. “You’re leaving?”
Ray was studying the floor, his feet, whatever. He still wouldn’t look at Brad. “Yeah, I need to help him deal with this shit. He’s fucking useless without me there, homes.”
So am I, Brad thought, and immediately buried it way, way down. He was starting to realise he might be doing that a lot over the next little while.
“You’re leaving,” he repeated flatly. He didn’t know what to think, didn’t even know how to think about something like that. It seemed too harsh, too obvious - he makes an idiot out of himself drooling all over his RTO and the next morning his RTO skips town. He didn’t need to be a fucking Recon Marine to figure that shit out. “OK.”
“Yeah.” Ray sighed. Brad leaned back on his pillows and tried not to feel anything, tried to live up to his damned name. “So Brad, I know you’re hung-over as fuck and feeling pretty shitty right now, but we should probably talk about it.”
“Fuck off, Ray,” Brad said, rubbing his eyes. “We don’t need to talk about shit. You said it yourself, we were just fucking drunk.” He didn’t want to hear it, didn’t want Ray to look at him and tell him it had been a mistake, didn’t want to deal with the awkwardness and the knowledge that he’d fucked everything to hell.
“That’s what I thought,” Ray said quietly. “Ok, then. So I need to pack.”
“You’re going today?”
Ray nodded. “I guess if I’m gonna be the best man, I gotta do it right. He needs me, I’m there.”
“I thought he didn’t have his name tattooed on your ass,” Brad said without thinking, the words coming out of his mouth in a rush of bitterness and immediately making him want to shoot himself in the head. Ray just looked at him.
“Fuck. Ray. I didn’t mean that.”
“I know,” Ray said. “Look, Brad, its fine, OK? We don’t have to make a big fucking deal out of it. We’re not kids. Shit happens.”
“I guess so.” Brad closed his eyes. He felt like crying. It was so pathetic, he was completely disgusted with himself, but there had been a split second, between waking up and the hangover assaulting him, where he’d been looking forward to Ray still being there, to maybe picking up where they’d left off. And now it was all shit happens, see you later.
Fuck if he was ever taking advice from Rudy again in his life.
“You booked your flight?”
“Earliest I could get was late this afternoon. I’ll stay out for my last week of leave, then fly straight back over to Pendleton. They’re gonna get hitched in like two months, so keep a few weekends free, I guess.” Ray’s eyes kept sliding away, over to the window, down at the floor, like he couldn’t really look at Brad for any length of time. “So I can call a cab.”
“Fuck that.” Brad steeled himself, made himself look Ray in the face and smile. It was harder than kissing him had been. “I’ll drive you. Just let me sleep first, ok?”
Ray smiled back, small and tentative. “You fucking pussy,” he said, and backed out of the room. “Sweet dreams, sleeping beauty.”
Yeah. Somehow, Brad doubted it.
Part Three