Fic - Generation Kill, Sunday Mornings, 1/1, R, Brad x Ray, 1,480
Title: Sunday Mornings
Author: sephirothflame
Fandom: Generation Kill
Rating: R
Character(s)/Pairing(s): Brad Colbert x Ray Person
Warning(s): Adult language, adult situations (PWP~)
Spoiler(s): None
Prompt(s): witchling was feeling less-than-awesome. She wanted Brad/Ray, established relationship, lazy Sunday morning porn?
Word Count: 1,480
Rants: This took me all day to write because I kept getting distracted by this other fic I was reading. Fuck my ADD in the ear, y’all.
Summary: No one in their right mind wakes up before noon on a Sunday. Except for maybe Brad, but Ray’s pretty sure that’s debatable.
Disclaimer: I do not own Generation Kill. This was written purely for fun, based off of the fictionalized portrayal of the actual people. No disrespect or harm was intended.
Crossposted to: generation_kill
Ray wakes up to the feeling of warm breath on the back of his neck and a pair of dry lips pressing soft kisses to his skin. He doesn’t open his eyes, because he knows he doesn’t have to look at a clock to know it’s no doubt oh-fucking-early-thirty. Really, Ray has every intention of just rolling over and going back to sleep because no one in their right mind should be up before noon on a Sunday. He punches the arm his head is pillowed on lightly, just for good measure, before starting to roll away.
Brad’s hand catches Ray’s hip though, drawing him back towards Brad’s chest. His fingers dig into Ray’s skin just hard enough to keep him in place, his thumb sweeping out in a soothing circle against the bone. “I’ve got you,” Brad murmurs, pressing his lips to the soft spot behind Ray’s ear. His lips leave a trail of hot kisses down the side of Ray’s neck and to his shoulder, his tongue flicking out to wet the skin before he bites down and sucks a red mark into it.
“Goddammit, Brad,” Ray groans. It doesn’t stop Ray from arching back into Brad’s touch or moaning softly, both of which he will deny later to his dying breath if he has to. He doesn’t have the energy to put up a fight when Brad rolls him onto his back and nudges Ray’s thighs apart so he can settle between them, and Ray just stares up at him warily through half-lidded eyes. “The fuck are you smiling at?” He asks with a yawn.
It takes Brad a second to school his features, but as soon as he says “nothing” the small smile is back, curling at the corners of his lips. He’s looking down at Ray with something akin to exasperated fondness, and Ray can’t resist the urge to trace his fingers along Brad’s lips. Brad just lets him do it for a moment, before he catches Ray’s wrist with one hand and starts pressing a soft kiss to the pad of each finger. When he’s finished, he lays Ray’s hand down on his stomach before leaning forward to press his lips to Ray’s.
The kiss is lazy, slow. Nothing more than an almost chaste drag of lips and languid strokes from a tongue. Still, Brad cups Ray’s face with one hand, balancing himself with the other over Ray’s head, and they’re pressed close together. It makes Ray feel warm and safe and grounded and a million other words he could never admit, not to Brad.
There’s something stirring under Ray’s skin with every soft nip of Brad’s teeth to Ray’s lower lip, something that makes Ray’s chest and neck and cheeks flush warm and pink when Brad starts to suck at his tongue. Ray can feel it in the curl of his toes and in a heart that’s beating too fast, parting his lips and panting heavily against Brad’s mouth in an attempt to catch his breath.
“Brad?” Ray asks, letting his fingers skim up Brad’s stomach and chest, over soft skin and hard muscles, until Brad is shuddering at the light touch. “If you’re going to fuck me, you better hurry the fuck and up and do it before I have to hurt you. I know you’re kind of retarded but I know you know what to do with this.” He slips one hand back down Brad’s body until he can curl his fingers around Brad’s cock, jacking him from the base to the tip once, twice, three times. “Come on,” Rays adds, almost as an afterthought and with a little smirk, says, “Daddy.”
Brad groans softly, his hips rolling forward into Ray’s fist and he drops his forehead to Ray’s. “You’re awfully demanding for someone who just woke up,” Brad mutters, huffing out a soft breath against Ray’s face. The hand resting on Ray’s face slides down Ray’s body, tweaking nipples and scratching across ribs, slow, grazing touches until he can curl his fingers around Ray’s dick. His fingers glide up the shaft, still teasing-soft, and he palms at the head roughly. “You’re lucky I love you.”
“Fuck that,” Ray groans. He arches his hips up to feel more of Brad on his cock, but Brad pulls his hand away and Ray makes an indignant sound. “And you fucking better, bitch. I put up with all your anti-social, better than you bullshit and I put out all the fucking time and - “ A small sound escapes Ray when Brad pushes a finger inside of Ray’s hole, still stretched and loose from the night before “- and I’m way too good for you.”
“Right,” Brad drawls, a soft laugh escaping him as he presses his finger into Ray, before pulling it back out in a slow drag. “Hand me the slick.” He watches as Ray obeys without question, fumbling towards the nightstand blindly until he can find the bottle and Brad catches it easily when Ray throws it at him. “I don’t know what I did to deserve your retarded, whiskey tango, hick ass or how I earned the pleasure of seeing you so downright adorable when you sleep.”
“That’s pretty fucking gay,” Ray says, even as he spreads his thighs wider and plants his heels on the bad.
Brad gives Ray a pointed look, before shaking his head. He pulls his finger free of Ray long enough to pool slick in his hand and coat his fingers in it, pressing back into Ray with two fingers. When Ray groans, pushing back, Brad grins. “That seems a little hypocritical considering you have two fingers in your ass,” he says softly. He crooks his fingers until Ray gasps, stroking in and out slowly, over and over again in the same slow, lazy motions. “There’s a good boy.”
“Brad,” Ray whines, arching his hips up off the bed. When it only serves to get Brad to curl a hand around his hip, pushing his body back down on the bed, Ray makes a soft sound of protest. “What the actual fuck,” he huffs out, propping himself up on his elbows. “Brad,” Ray says again, but Brad just stares at him intently with a quirked eyebrow. Two can play at that game, Ray figures, and quirks an eyebrow of his own. “Please,” Ray says, “Daddy.”
It does the trick. Brad pulls his fingers out of Ray and reaches for the bottle of slick again, applying a generous coat to his cock. His hands are slick when he presses them to Ray’s shoulders, guiding him back down onto the bed before he leans forward and covers Ray’s mouth with his own again.
It’s just as languid as before, Brad bracing himself on his forearm over Ray’s head, but his other hand is petting at Ray’s hip. It’s nothing more than a slick-slide of tongues until Ray makes an impatient noise, the final straw before Brad lines himself up with Ray’s entrance and pushes in, keeps pushing until he’s buried deep and Ray is gasping and clenching beneath him, around him.
“Fuck,” Ray breathes out. He digs his heels into the mattress hard, bowing his back and arching upwards. He needs to feel Brad against him completely, covering him, needs to feel the heavy warmth that comes from being completely smothered by Brad. “Daddy,” he says again, pleading and earnest this time, and he has to resist the urge to whine when Brad pushes him back into the mattress.
“I’ve got you, baby,” Brad mutters, nosing Ray’s cheek. He pulls out slowly until only the head of his cock is still in, before shoving back with a smooth thrust. His hand roams across Ray’s body, petting and stroking and teasing randomly, wherever it happens to be at the time, and it’s a delirious slow burn through Ray’s system.
The contact isn’t enough, not nearly enough, but they’ve got time. The rolling of Brad’s hips is slow and steady, an easy rhythm for Ray to match rolling his own hips and pressing back. Somehow, their fingers end up tangled on the sheets, Brad squeezing slightly on every inward thrust and his breath is hot against Ray’s cheek as he mutters obscenities and praises.
And really, it’s not what Ray wants at all, but they’ve been doing this long enough for him to know this is what Brad needs. So Ray lets Brad take, offering soft moans of his own and letting his eyes slip shut as the pleasure hums just under the surface of his skin, intensifying on every point of contact with Brad. He loses himself in the rocking of Brad’s hips and the drag of his lips against Ray’s cheek until Ray can forget that he’s tired and sore and the only thing that matters is this, here and now, being tangled together in sheets with Brad.
Author: sephirothflame
Fandom: Generation Kill
Rating: R
Character(s)/Pairing(s): Brad Colbert x Ray Person
Warning(s): Adult language, adult situations (PWP~)
Spoiler(s): None
Prompt(s): witchling was feeling less-than-awesome. She wanted Brad/Ray, established relationship, lazy Sunday morning porn?
Word Count: 1,480
Rants: This took me all day to write because I kept getting distracted by this other fic I was reading. Fuck my ADD in the ear, y’all.
Summary: No one in their right mind wakes up before noon on a Sunday. Except for maybe Brad, but Ray’s pretty sure that’s debatable.
Disclaimer: I do not own Generation Kill. This was written purely for fun, based off of the fictionalized portrayal of the actual people. No disrespect or harm was intended.
Crossposted to: generation_kill
Ray wakes up to the feeling of warm breath on the back of his neck and a pair of dry lips pressing soft kisses to his skin. He doesn’t open his eyes, because he knows he doesn’t have to look at a clock to know it’s no doubt oh-fucking-early-thirty. Really, Ray has every intention of just rolling over and going back to sleep because no one in their right mind should be up before noon on a Sunday. He punches the arm his head is pillowed on lightly, just for good measure, before starting to roll away.
Brad’s hand catches Ray’s hip though, drawing him back towards Brad’s chest. His fingers dig into Ray’s skin just hard enough to keep him in place, his thumb sweeping out in a soothing circle against the bone. “I’ve got you,” Brad murmurs, pressing his lips to the soft spot behind Ray’s ear. His lips leave a trail of hot kisses down the side of Ray’s neck and to his shoulder, his tongue flicking out to wet the skin before he bites down and sucks a red mark into it.
“Goddammit, Brad,” Ray groans. It doesn’t stop Ray from arching back into Brad’s touch or moaning softly, both of which he will deny later to his dying breath if he has to. He doesn’t have the energy to put up a fight when Brad rolls him onto his back and nudges Ray’s thighs apart so he can settle between them, and Ray just stares up at him warily through half-lidded eyes. “The fuck are you smiling at?” He asks with a yawn.
It takes Brad a second to school his features, but as soon as he says “nothing” the small smile is back, curling at the corners of his lips. He’s looking down at Ray with something akin to exasperated fondness, and Ray can’t resist the urge to trace his fingers along Brad’s lips. Brad just lets him do it for a moment, before he catches Ray’s wrist with one hand and starts pressing a soft kiss to the pad of each finger. When he’s finished, he lays Ray’s hand down on his stomach before leaning forward to press his lips to Ray’s.
The kiss is lazy, slow. Nothing more than an almost chaste drag of lips and languid strokes from a tongue. Still, Brad cups Ray’s face with one hand, balancing himself with the other over Ray’s head, and they’re pressed close together. It makes Ray feel warm and safe and grounded and a million other words he could never admit, not to Brad.
There’s something stirring under Ray’s skin with every soft nip of Brad’s teeth to Ray’s lower lip, something that makes Ray’s chest and neck and cheeks flush warm and pink when Brad starts to suck at his tongue. Ray can feel it in the curl of his toes and in a heart that’s beating too fast, parting his lips and panting heavily against Brad’s mouth in an attempt to catch his breath.
“Brad?” Ray asks, letting his fingers skim up Brad’s stomach and chest, over soft skin and hard muscles, until Brad is shuddering at the light touch. “If you’re going to fuck me, you better hurry the fuck and up and do it before I have to hurt you. I know you’re kind of retarded but I know you know what to do with this.” He slips one hand back down Brad’s body until he can curl his fingers around Brad’s cock, jacking him from the base to the tip once, twice, three times. “Come on,” Rays adds, almost as an afterthought and with a little smirk, says, “Daddy.”
Brad groans softly, his hips rolling forward into Ray’s fist and he drops his forehead to Ray’s. “You’re awfully demanding for someone who just woke up,” Brad mutters, huffing out a soft breath against Ray’s face. The hand resting on Ray’s face slides down Ray’s body, tweaking nipples and scratching across ribs, slow, grazing touches until he can curl his fingers around Ray’s dick. His fingers glide up the shaft, still teasing-soft, and he palms at the head roughly. “You’re lucky I love you.”
“Fuck that,” Ray groans. He arches his hips up to feel more of Brad on his cock, but Brad pulls his hand away and Ray makes an indignant sound. “And you fucking better, bitch. I put up with all your anti-social, better than you bullshit and I put out all the fucking time and - “ A small sound escapes Ray when Brad pushes a finger inside of Ray’s hole, still stretched and loose from the night before “- and I’m way too good for you.”
“Right,” Brad drawls, a soft laugh escaping him as he presses his finger into Ray, before pulling it back out in a slow drag. “Hand me the slick.” He watches as Ray obeys without question, fumbling towards the nightstand blindly until he can find the bottle and Brad catches it easily when Ray throws it at him. “I don’t know what I did to deserve your retarded, whiskey tango, hick ass or how I earned the pleasure of seeing you so downright adorable when you sleep.”
“That’s pretty fucking gay,” Ray says, even as he spreads his thighs wider and plants his heels on the bad.
Brad gives Ray a pointed look, before shaking his head. He pulls his finger free of Ray long enough to pool slick in his hand and coat his fingers in it, pressing back into Ray with two fingers. When Ray groans, pushing back, Brad grins. “That seems a little hypocritical considering you have two fingers in your ass,” he says softly. He crooks his fingers until Ray gasps, stroking in and out slowly, over and over again in the same slow, lazy motions. “There’s a good boy.”
“Brad,” Ray whines, arching his hips up off the bed. When it only serves to get Brad to curl a hand around his hip, pushing his body back down on the bed, Ray makes a soft sound of protest. “What the actual fuck,” he huffs out, propping himself up on his elbows. “Brad,” Ray says again, but Brad just stares at him intently with a quirked eyebrow. Two can play at that game, Ray figures, and quirks an eyebrow of his own. “Please,” Ray says, “Daddy.”
It does the trick. Brad pulls his fingers out of Ray and reaches for the bottle of slick again, applying a generous coat to his cock. His hands are slick when he presses them to Ray’s shoulders, guiding him back down onto the bed before he leans forward and covers Ray’s mouth with his own again.
It’s just as languid as before, Brad bracing himself on his forearm over Ray’s head, but his other hand is petting at Ray’s hip. It’s nothing more than a slick-slide of tongues until Ray makes an impatient noise, the final straw before Brad lines himself up with Ray’s entrance and pushes in, keeps pushing until he’s buried deep and Ray is gasping and clenching beneath him, around him.
“Fuck,” Ray breathes out. He digs his heels into the mattress hard, bowing his back and arching upwards. He needs to feel Brad against him completely, covering him, needs to feel the heavy warmth that comes from being completely smothered by Brad. “Daddy,” he says again, pleading and earnest this time, and he has to resist the urge to whine when Brad pushes him back into the mattress.
“I’ve got you, baby,” Brad mutters, nosing Ray’s cheek. He pulls out slowly until only the head of his cock is still in, before shoving back with a smooth thrust. His hand roams across Ray’s body, petting and stroking and teasing randomly, wherever it happens to be at the time, and it’s a delirious slow burn through Ray’s system.
The contact isn’t enough, not nearly enough, but they’ve got time. The rolling of Brad’s hips is slow and steady, an easy rhythm for Ray to match rolling his own hips and pressing back. Somehow, their fingers end up tangled on the sheets, Brad squeezing slightly on every inward thrust and his breath is hot against Ray’s cheek as he mutters obscenities and praises.
And really, it’s not what Ray wants at all, but they’ve been doing this long enough for him to know this is what Brad needs. So Ray lets Brad take, offering soft moans of his own and letting his eyes slip shut as the pleasure hums just under the surface of his skin, intensifying on every point of contact with Brad. He loses himself in the rocking of Brad’s hips and the drag of his lips against Ray’s cheek until Ray can forget that he’s tired and sore and the only thing that matters is this, here and now, being tangled together in sheets with Brad.