Fic - Generation Kill, Take my heart (but please don't break it), 2/2, PG13, Ray x Walt, Brad x Nate
Title: Take my heart (but please don’t break it), 2/?, part of the Angel ‘verse
Author: sephirothflame
Fandom: Generation Kill
Rating: PG13
Character(s)/Pairing(s): Ray Person x Walt Hasser, Brad Colbert x Nate Fick
Warning(s): AU, language, implied adult situations
Word Count: 7,437
Master List: Here
Rants: This took forever to update for so many reasons. I really don’t have a valid excuse though. Click here for The List (which is mostly just a reference for myself). Thank you to everyone who asked when I was going to get off my ass and do this and kari_hermione, as always. :)
Summary: Last night, Ray and Walt got drunk and decided to have a one night stand. This morning, it turns out that could just be the biggest mistake they’ve ever made because not only is Walt an angel - an honest to God angel with wings and everything - he and Ray are apparently now Soul Mates.
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.
Part One
Ray wonders what it says about his life that riding shotgun in Nate’s dark green Volvo is probably still not the worst Walk of Shame Ray’s ever had. The car is in better condition than Walt’s truck, but Ray’s kind of amazed Brad lets Nate drive the thing.
Nate might not whisper praises to his car when he turns over the ignition, but Ray gets the feeling it’s the same miracle holding both vehicles together.
Ray has no issues with telling Nate this.
Nate’s answering glare isn’t nearly as intimidating as the one he uses when he’s in LT mode, but it’s still pretty impressive.
’Mom’ mode, Ray corrects himself. Nate is now his mother-in-law, for all intents and purposes. And isn’t that just fucked up.
Ray keeps these thoughts to himself though. It’s harder to resist the urge not to put his feet on the dash in Nate’s car and the only reason he doesn’t is because the car is too cramped. He’d have to jackknife himself up and it wouldn’t be comfortable.
Instead, Ray just flips his sunglasses back on and stares out of the window. “I read A Tale of Two Cities when I was in the seventh grade,” he says idly, resting his forehead against the cool glass. “Fuck, I mean, I’ve got these huge fucking bookcases full of books at my place.”
”Uh?” Nate starts, glancing over at Ray in confusion. “Good for you?”
”I’m just saying, I know how to read more than the back of a cereal box,” Ray comments idly.
Ray can practically hear Nate’s confusion as he tries to figure out what the Hell Ray is on about, and Ray has to give Nate credit. Most people don’t bother to keep up with Ray’s train of thought, let him ramble himself silly. There’s a long silence from Nate though, before he makes a soft ‘oh’ sound.
”Seriously, LT, Brad is an asshole,” Ray continues. “Fuck if he isn’t the best in this job, but still. I would have figured you’d to have better taste than that.”
The wry smile on Nate’s face is evident in his tone, if not his words. “I never would have figured you were the kind to read a lot. You live off of Madison, don’t you?”
”On Harvel, yeah. It’ll be a left turn going north on Madison. I got bored a lot when I was a kid,” Ray answers, shrugging his shoulder weakly. “I mean, I grew up in a small town. There wasn’t a lot to do to keep myself out of trouble. I broke my leg when I was like, eleven or something, so I was kind of screwed. I can read like a million words per minute now. Well not literally, but still. I spent all summer at the library the year I broke my leg ‘cause they had A/C.”
”That sounds nice,” Nate replies idly. “I didn’t really start reading until high school and in college I practically lived at the library.”
”You fucking would,” Ray snorts, glancing over at Nate and smirking.
Nate rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling as he drums his fingers against the steering wheel in time with the low hum from the radio.
Nate drops Ray off with the promise he’ll send him an e-mail later with The List.
There’s an offhand comment on the tip of Ray’s tongue about where Nate can take his List and shove it, but for once he thinks better of it. There’s an almost full bottle of Jack with his name on it in the house and he doesn’t want to make his mood any worse by having Nate ream him about being immature or not taking this angel thing serious again.
Nate opens his mouth to say something, his expression hesitant and worried, but Ray climbs out of the car and slams the door behind him before Nate can get the words out. Nate takes the hint for what it’s worth, and his car is down the street and out of sight by the time Ray makes it to his front door.
Ray probably is being immature, but he can’t be bothered to care right now. He kicks off his shoes when he gets inside, tossing his sunglasses onto coffee table. He’s already got the bottle of Jack opened by the time he melts into his couch cushions and drinks straight from the bottle.
Walt would yell at Ray, if he were here. He yelled at Ray for drinking Jose Cuervo out of the bottle last night after his glass rolled under the couch and Ray couldn’t be bothered to find it or get a new one.
Despite this, Walt had also joined Ray in drinking Jose Cuervo straight out of the bottle though, which is probably why he ended up sticking his tongue down Ray’s throat and his hand down Ray’s pants.
Ray probably shouldn’t be thinking about last night right now. The situation with Walt is complicated enough without Ray spending the afternoon half drunk on his couch and jerking off to what was supposed to be a one night stand. Not that Ray doesn’t have any intentions of forgetting what happened, memories of Walt’s mouth are more than enough to keep Ray fueled for moths, but he has more pressing matters to attend to.
Like the fact he really fucking wishes Walt was getting drunk with him right now. Not so they could fuck again, not that Ray would try to stop Walt if that’s how things were going to play out, but because there’s a small part of him that almost aches for Walt.
Nate said this would happen, in not so many words.
The next time Ray sees Nate he’s going to hit him with his truck. Well, maybe not literally, but Ray is definitely going to think about doing it.
It definitely beats lounging around in his living room and focusing on the fact that he really fucked up this time. That they, Walt included, seriously fucked up. They haven’t even been back on American soil for a week before it hit the fan again. Ray can almost see how last night might have been more of a cluster-fuck than the entirety of OIF was. And that’s saying something.
Ray lets his head thump against the back of the couch, capping the bottle of Jack and letting it rest on the cushion next to him. He’s exhausted, physically and emotionally, and half way to drunk. Ray’s barely been awake for two hours, but he figures at this point it’s safe enough to assume he isn’t going to accomplish anything.
Sleeping beats moping, any day, even if Ray doubts he’ll manage to pass out.
His bedroom feels impossibly far away, just like it had last night when he and Walt were stumbling through the halls. Ray strips as he goes, because it’s his house and he can wander around it naked if he wants to, and tries not to think about how different this feels from the last time Ray walked down this hall.
How different, and how impossibly the same.
Ray’s head is just as fuzzy, though for different reasons. His bed might as well be in another time zone. He’s wearing way too many clothes and he’d like nothing more than to pass out on top of his covers, naked.
Covers that are still spread out on the floor from when Ray and Walt tumbled off the bed last night and couldn’t be bothered to get back in it.
Pausing long enough to toe off his socks and kick off his jeans, Ray grabs his blankets and pillows and tosses them back onto the bed into a haphazard mess. He doesn’t smooth them out or try to put them in any semblance of order, just crawls right on top of them, kicking and wiggling until he’s nestled under the dark comforter.
It’s a lot harder than he thought it would be to ignore the smell of sex and Walt.
The alcohol helps though, keeping him warm while his exhaustion kicks in and takes care of the rest. He’s not so much hiding from his problems as avoiding them, but it’s hard to ignore the fact he feels impossibly lonely curled up and surrounded by the scent and memories of Walt.
Ray doesn’t know how long it takes for him to fall asleep, just knows that Walt’s the only thing he dreams of when he does.
It’s dark out when Ray wakes up, and he’s managed to kick the blankets off of himself and onto the floor. He takes a minute to appreciate the fact he can sleep naked whenever he damn well pleases before rolling over and searching the floor for the jeans he kicked off earlier. It’s easy enough to find them, and he pulls them on before making his way to the kitchen in search of food.
It occurs to him that he hasn’t had anything to eat today, that the only thing he had to drink was some warm Jack Daniel’s. It certainly explains why his head is killing him and his stomach feels like it’s ready to cave in upon itself.
Ray doesn’t bother with formalities, opting to eat Doritos straight from the bag and mystery dated takeout from his fridge. He clears enough counter space to pull himself up and sit down, staring blankly at his fridge while he eats.
There’s a nagging thought in the back of his brain saying that maybe Ray should call Walt to see if he’s okay, to make sure that they’re going to be okay. Ray should check his e-mail to see if Nate really did write him a huge novel on the care and feeding of angels, specifically the one known as Walt. Ray wouldn’t put it past him.
It also occurs to Ray he has a cellphone that he’s been ignoring all day. It’s not in his pocket, so he puts off bothering to find in until he’s downed the last of his Chinese food - General Tso’s, if he has to guess, but at this point Ray’s not sure and it doesn’t stop him from enjoying it.
Ray has eaten a lot worse than mystery Chinese food before in his life, and as long as he’s in the Marines he’ll probably still eat worse at a later date. This is something Ray has no doubts of.
Ray finds his phone is in the living room, and he only has three missed texts and a single phone call. The call is from Walt, but he didn’t leave a voicemail. He did leave a text though, along with two from Nate and Ray clicks them open while he flops back onto his couch lazily.
From: sunshine puppy
I’m sorry about earlier. Call me when you get the chance.
June 7, 1:52PM
Ray glances at a clock long enough to discern Walt sent that message hours ago, ten minutes after he tried calling. It can’t be that urgent if Walt didn’t call back, so Ray just makes a mental note to call Walt later.
Even if every part of him wants to call Walt now.
From: lt
Sent you an e-mail with the list I was telling you about earlier. Brad and Walt make fun of it, but trust me when I say it’ll be your new best friend.
June 7, 2:13PM
From: lt
Also, don’t do anything stupid. I am not explaining this to anyone if you end up in jail or something for being an idiot. I’m not posting bail, either.
June 7, 2:34PM
A part of Ray feels like he should be indignant about Nate’s (lack of) trust and faith in him. Yes, Ray has maybe drank a little more than he should have today, but it’s not like he’s anywhere near wasted. Yet.
Another more vengeful part of him thinks he should definitely tell Nate where he can shove his List, fuck you very much. Ray can take care of himself just fine. The curiosity as to the list’s actual contents wins out though, and Ray finds himself pushing up off the couch and roaming around his house until he can find where he left his laptop.
In the end, he finds it in his bedroom, buried under a pile of clean clothes he couldn’t be bothered to put away. It’s not the weirdest place its ever ended up, but Ray pats the plastic casing and apologizes to the battered Dell anyways.
Sitting back against the headboard of his bed while he waits for his laptop to boot up, Ray drums his fingers against the keyboard before figuring what the Hell. He pulls his phone back out and dials Walt’s number, memorized by heart, listening to the tinny sound of ringing when the call clicks over.
Ray doesn’t have to answer long; Walt answers his phone on the third ring. “I was wondering if you were ever going to fucking call me,” Walt says, but he doesn’t sound worried or exasperated. He doesn’t sound anything but tired.
”I was sleeping,” Ray replies, because there’s no point in lying. “I know your gay, feathery ass probably wishes I was moping and pining over our Big Gay Feelings or whatever, but I was fucking exhausted.”
”Mhmmm,” Walt hums tiredly. “I’m tired, too. It’s been a long day.”
Walt’s never been one to state the obvious, and the ridiculousness of the statement makes Ray wish he could punch Walt in the face. Way to be the understatement of the year, Ray thinks.
”So,” Ray says, shifting his phone to cradle it between his ear and his shoulder. It only takes a second for him to log on to his laptop, but it’ll take a moment to load enough that he can actually do anything afterwards. Maybe he should have let Brad tinker with it the last time Brad mentioned it.
Ray gets the feeling Brad will be less generous in modding his laptop now. Brad wasn’t exactly a bed of sunshine to deal with before, but Ray’s ninety-nine percent sure this angel thing is going to complicate matters between them. Ray isn’t dumb enough to have missed the poorly closeted hostility.
”Did you have anything in particular you wanted to talk about, or did you just miss me?” Ray asks, “Because I hate to break it to you, I ain’t nobody’s booty call, homes. I don’t care how good you are in bed.”
”I’ll keep that in mind,” Walt says wryly. There’s a shuffling sound on his end of the line, and Ray can hear a bed creak and Walt sighs heavily. “You know why I wanted you to call me.”
It’s not a question and there’s nothing in Walt’s tone to suggest he’s doing anything other than stating a fact.
Ray really hates it when Walt goes all blasé on him.
Biting his tongue, Ray clicks open Internet Explorer. “I figured as much,” he sighs. “How was your walk with Brad?” The question comes out more bitter than Ray means for it to, but he can’t be bothered to apologize.
”I dunno,” Walt replies. He shuffles around on his bed, the sounds carrying over the tinny speakers. “Have you heard from Nate? He said he e-mailed you.”
”I’m getting to it,” Ray huffs out indignantly. “Are you still over at Brad’s place? Dude, why would you willingly spend time there? He’s even more of an Alpha asshole today than usual. See if I hook him up with the good porn anymore. And Nate was fucking trying to pity me. The fucking limp wristed cocksucker. Fuck knows he’s got the lips for it. I don’t need anyone’s pity.”
Walt’s quiet for a moment and Ray can practically hear his exasperation. “I’m not at Brad’s anymore. Though if I was, I’m sure he’d love to know what you thought about Nate’s mouth.”
”No way, homes. Don’t tell me you’ve never thought about it. Everyone feels that way about LT’s mouth,” Ray grins. “Just because I’m the only one willing to voice it...”
”No one in the universe is dumb enough to say they think Nate has cocksucking lips in front of Brad,” Walt replies. He hesitates for a moment, and Ray can almost hear his secretive smile when he adds, “Even if it is true.”
”I knew there was a reason I liked you.” Ray grins, tapping his fingers against the space bar on his laptop while it continues to load Internet Explorer. He makes a victorious sound when it finishes, quickly loading up his e-mail client and settling more comfortably against his pillows and headboard. “So, homes, tell me. Because I can’t believe Brad neglected to bring it up in any of our tragic heart-to-heart moments. Exactly how long has he been boning the LT?”
Walt shifts, his bed squeaking again, and Walt sighs heavily. “Do we really have to talk about this?”
”Yes,” Ray says.
Ray’s e-mail client pops open, and Ray isn’t surprised to find that he has thirty-two unread messages. It’s been a day or two since he last bothered to check his e-mail. He ignores most of them in favor of finding the one from Nate. It has an attachment. Ray isn’t surprised, and he clicks it open.
”I think - the first time Brad and Nate slept together was in January,” Walt says, sighing heavily. “It was a few days before we shipped out. It was - Brad had been doing ‘Surveillance and Research’ on Nate, trying to check him out as an Officer. I’m not sure how it went from that to Brad and Nate fucking, but, it did. Brad swears he made Nate dinner first though.”
”I still can’t believe Brad never told his dear pal Ray-Ray he got that piece of tail,” Ray says, affronted. “I mean, here everyone else was, chaffing our dicks from jerking it in the desert, and Brad had a pretty pair of lips to suck his down.”
”I don’t think they actually did anything in Iraq,” Walt counters. “It’s too risky. Brad and Nate are smarter than that.”
”Bullshit. They were eye-fucking all the time. I can’t believe I never put two and two together before. Oh my God, Walt. Brad was cheating on me with the LT! Everyone knows we were supposed to be like, married or something.”
There’s a moment of absolute silence on Walt’s end of the line, and Ray thinks he might have been hung up on. Then, exasperated, Walt says, ”Why are we friends again?”
”Because you have Big Gay Feelings for me,” Ray shoots back. “Now shut up for a minute so I can read Nate’s e-mail.”
Walt huffs irritably on the other end of the line, but beyond the creaking of his bed once more - and Ray has to bite his tongue to keep from asking if Walt is fucking or something, because his bed has no right to creak that much and Ray is maybe kind of jealous - and the soft sound of his breathing, Walt is quiet.
From: Nate C Fick [ficknc@gmail.com]
To: Ray Person [personjr@gmail.com]
Date: Sat, Jun 7, 2003 at 2:03 PM
Subject: Cliff Notes
Attachment: 1 File (27.0KB) | Download
Ray,
I apologize if I sounded patronizing earlier. It wasn’t my intent. I really can’t stress how important this entire situation is though. There really isn’t an easy way to explain the gravity of this but I won’t apologize for my tone. You needed to hear it. This is information you need to know.
I’ve included a .doc file with The List, as Walt and Brad have so helpfully dubbed it. It’s essentially the Cliff Notes version of everything I tried to tell you earlier. It’s more in-depth than our earlier discussion and I advise you take it very seriously.
If you have any questions or comments, you have my e-mail and my phone number.
Brad suggests just yelling at you until you have it memorized, because something like this is over your head. Walt suggests otherwise, and I’m inclined to believe him. I can’t imagine a guy who read A Tale of Two Cities in the seventh grade would be anything less than intelligent.
Don’t fuck this up.
Nate
Ray reads the e-mail twice, three times, before he opens his mouth. “Did you really tell Nate I’m not an idiot? Better yet, who the fuck ends and e-mail with don’t fuck this up? Nate’s such a cunt.”
”What the fuck are you on about now?” Walt asks, and he sounds so impossibly tired.
”E-mail, Walt. From Nate. The one you wanted me to check, remember?” Ray resists the urge to roll his eyes, since the effect would be lost without Walt here to see it.
He debates not downloading the file Nate sent, but in the end curiosity wins out. That, and Ray’s starting to get the feeling Nate might call him and yell at him if Ray doesn’t.
”I didn’t tell Nate you weren’t an idiot,” Walt replies easily, sighing heavily. “I told him it was possible that you were slightly more intelligent than anyone had ever given you credit for.”
”You’re an asshole,” Ray says, scowling. “I thought we were supposed to have something special here, Walter.”
”Don’t call me that,” Walt grumbles, and Ray can see the pout on Walt’s face in his head. “And you’re so gay.”
”You know, if you keep that up, I won’t suck your dick the next time we get drunk,” Ray says, tsk-tsking at Walt. “I am disappointed in you.”
”Who said I was ever letting you near my dick again? Look what it got me last time.”
Ray will concede that Walt might have a point, but he’s not going to tell Walt that. He double clicks the file after it’s done downloading to his desktop - and makes a mental note to clean off his desktop, because everything is starting to blur together.
”Jesus H Christ on a fucking crutch,” Ray says.
The file Nate sent isn’t even two full pages, but there is a truly intimidating number of bullet points. Everything is divided into sections and some have sub-sections. Ray’s kind of scared of what Nate considers the not Cliff Notes version. Though he’s starting to not doubt Nate on being able to write a book on it.
”What?” Walt asks, and he almost sounds concerned. “What are you doing, Ray?”
”Have you fucking seen this List?” Ray demands. “There’s a General Knowledge section. Fucking, Flocks or some shit. Soul Mates. Oh hey, this one is about Wings. According to this list, what, when I touch your wings I might as well be touching your dick?”
”There’s a copy of The List on the fridge at Brad’s place,” Walt replies. “Nate e-mailed it to me not long after he made it. Wanted my opinion. Fact checking or something, I guess. He spent ages at the library and on the internet looking this stuff up. And no, it’s not like touching my dick, you pervert. It’s like - I don’t know - if I started to pet your hair or something.”
”I’d let you pet my hair if you wanted to,” Ray replies. “It’d be pretty fucking gay, but kind of soothing or some shit, you know? My momma used to do that when I was a kid.”
”You’re so fucking special, man, I don’t even know what to say to you right now,” Walt says. His smile is practically audible though, so Ray counts this as a win.
There’s something off about what Walt just said, something that’s been bugging him since Brad’s place, really. Ray finds himself saying ”Hey, Walt?” before he thinks to stop himself.
”Yeah?”
”Why does Nate need you to fact check things? Shouldn’t he know this shit already? I mean - “ Ray hesitates, suddenly unsure of himself. “Nate’s not an angel, is he?”
”Uh, no?” Walt says. The bed creaks as he shifts around, and Ray can make out the muffled sound of a headboard hitting a wall. “Nate’s not an angel. It’s - I mean, did you seriously not know this?”
No, Ray did not know this. How the fuck could Ray not know this? Brad was supposed to be Ray’s best friend - they were practically married. It hurts more than it probably should that Brad wouldn’t share this little tidbit of him having fucking wings and eternal life or some bullshit with Ray.
”In my defense, I didn’t even know you were an angel until this morning,” Ray shoots back bitterly. “I can’t believe Brad would lie to me like this!”
”Brad doesn’t tell anyone -” Walt starts.
”A lie of omission is still a lie,” Ray counters. He’s not pouting. He’s not. He’s fuming silently and glaring at his laptop screen and reading The List.
Angels live longer. Angels have nesting seasons which involves a lot of cuddling. Angels can’t have babies with humans. Angels are territorial and over-protective.
Well, that certainly explains why Brad tried to break Ray’s wrist this morning, that jackass. Like Ray would honestly feel Nate up. He’s too tall and is a Goddamn Officer.
Co-dependency issues. Touchy-feely. Hierarchy of dominance.
Ray bets dollars to doughnuts Brad’s at the top of that list.
When Ray reaches the Soul Mates bullet, he freezes. Not because he has anything against being the most important person in Walt’s life, but because -
”What the fuck does Nate mean by ‘by being mated with a human, an angel’s lifespan will be reduced drastically’?”
There’s a long moment of silence on the other end of the line, and Ray can feel something clenching in his stomach.
Walt isn’t allowed to die in twenty years just because he got drunk and fucked Ray last night. Walt’s life isn’t allowed to be dependent on Ray’s. It’s just too fucked up for Ray to even think of the appropriate words to describe exactly how fucked up it is. Walt is the precious sunshine child of the great tongue and the tight ass from the golden fields of Taylorstown, Virginia. Ray is just some fuck up hick from Buttfuck, Nowhere. Walt deserves so much better than that.
Not that Ray is going to admit any of those things aloud anytime soon.
”I knew something like this was possible last night,” Walt says softly, his voice so painfully distant over the phone line. He swallows, the bed creaking as he shifts again. “It was a calculated risk. I didn’t think - I just thought it would be okay.”
”You knew that this could happen and you still did it anyway?” Ray asks. “You knew that you were putting the rest of your life at risk for what - a drunk fuck?”
”You’re my best friend, and I -” Walt’s voice drops, muttering something Ray can’t quite hear before he coughs loudly, awkwardly. “It wasn’t just for a drunk fuck.”
Ray wants to say that Brad is his best friend, but after OIF, Walt is pretty much his other best friend. They’re both his brothers. Ray loves them both.
”Ray?” Walt asks, his voice small and almost timid.
Ray never wants to hear Walt sound like that again. He keeps reading, to distract himself from the gut wrenching guilt boiling through him.
It’s the wrong decision to make.
”Wait. Wait. The fuck does Nate mean ‘angels who have not been accepted by their Soul Mates tend to wither away and die’?” Ray demands. “So what, if we don’t snuggle and have fucking awesome buttsex for the rest of my life, you’re just going to keel the fuck over? What kind of bullshit is that?”
”That’s not exactly how it works,” Walt says slowly.
”Then how?” Ray asks. He’s impatient and angry and this is just bull fucking shit and Walt’s calm acceptance isn’t making matters any easier.
Ray kind of wants to punch Walt in his bright and shiny face right now.
”We don’t need to fuck for the rest of our lives,” Walt says. “We probably don’t even have to cuddle, if it freaks you out that much. We just need to touch. A lot. It - it’ll ache if we don’t. Soul Mates are supposed to be close. We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”
”But what do you want out of this?” Ray asks, rubbing a hand over his face tiredly. “I’m not the only one that fucking matters.”
Walt’s quiet for a long moment, the only sound from his end of the line the tinny sound of his breathing. “I just want you. You’re basically my best friend and - fuck - I don’t know. I don’t want to lose that. Beyond that? I don’t know. We’re both going into this blind.”
Truer words, Ray thinks idly. Pinching the bridge of his nose, and tries to think, tries to calm down. “Okay,” he says slowly. “Okay. I got this.”
”You got this?” Walt asks incredulously.
”Shut up,” Ray huffs. “I don’t exactly hear you trying to brainstorm this to figure out what they fuck we’re supposed to do.”
”You don’t have to do anything, Ray,” Walt says tiredly. “You don’t have to do this.”
”Yes, I do,” Ray barks. “Like fuck I’m just going to let you die when I’m as much to blame as you are. It’s a totally bullshit situation but that doesn’t mean I’m just going to tuck tail and run because now we’re like homosexual-heterosexual life mates or what the fuck ever. Besides, Nate would give me those Goddamn disappointed looks and never forgive me - “
”If you’re doing this just because of Nate - “ Walt starts.
”Were you fucking listening to me?” Ray snaps. “I just said we’re going to fucking snuggle for eternity if that’s what it takes to keep you from dropping dead!”
Walt is quiet again, probably stunned. “You didn’t mention snuggling at all.”
”Well, I was going to,” Ray grumbles peevishly. “You and me? We’re going to work this out. We are going to be okay, whether you like it or not. So get your feathery ass over here so we can fucking cuddle already. I feel like my brains are going to explode out of my eye sockets right now.”
The other end of the line is quiet except for the creaking of Walt’s bed as he shifts again, and a small sound that Ray doesn’t even want to know how to describe. “Ray. You don’t have to - .”
”I fucking do and we both know it,” Ray replies, and suddenly he’s exhausted. He doesn’t want to be having this fight with Walt. Not now. Not ever. They shouldn’t be fighting about this at all. They should be cuddling on the couch and - and watching bad movies or something.
”Ray,” Walt says again, softer.
”Look, I’m hungry and tired and my head aches and I’m probably a little hungover still,” Ray says, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Can we just order some more takeout and kick back on my couch with Die Hard or something?”
”We’ll figure this out, Ray,” Walt offers quietly. “You won’t have to be stuck with me for forever.”
”Does that mean you’ll come over?” Ray asks.
”Yeah,” Walt says, sighing heavily. “Give me half an hour to grab a shower first. I’ll see you soon.”
”Cool,” Ray says. “I’ll order a shit ton of Chinese food.”
”Sounds like a plan,” Walt says, laughing tiredly. He hangs up without saying goodbye.
Ray doesn’t know why he doesn’t feel any better at all. He feels like he ran a marathon, completely fucked over and dizzy and ready to kick back his covers and crawl under them until the start of next year.
He should probably take a shower, but he should probably do a lot of things. Tidy his house, for one, or at least pick up all the dirty dishes and clothes strewn across the place.
Sighing heavily, Ray skims the rest of the List and resists the urge to bang his head on the wall or hide under his covers or cry manfully. Or some mixture of all three.
Instead, Ray fires Nate an e-mail back informing him that he is a homosexual cock sucking devil, that Ray hates him very much right now, and that he doesn’t have a printer but he thinks he needs a solid copy or ten for reference for when Walt is PMSing again. He doesn’t bother to stick around to see if he’ll get a reply, waiting for the ‘Message Sent Successfully’ notice to pop up before Ray powers his laptop down.
There are a million things for Ray to do right now, but he settles for snagging a ratty wifebeater off of his bedroom floor and pulling it on before he goes to the kitchen to search for the takeout menu.
Anything more complicated than that can wait until later.
Walt shows up on Ray’s doorstep with two two-liters of Mountain Dew, barbeque flavor chips and Skittles. To round out the meal, he says, brushing past Ray and inside Ray’s house. He drops the bag on the coffee table next to the Chinese food that showed up a few minutes before Walt.
For a moment, Walt just stares at the coffee table, before he turns to look at Ray with a sheepish smile. He looks uncomfortable, the sleeves of his Henley top rolled up to his elbows, and he fiddles with them. His wings are curled in close to his body, but they keep twitching.
Ray kind of thinks his heart might be breaking.
Instead of commenting on it, Ray rubs the back of his neck and glances at his TV. “So I couldn’t find my copy of Die Hard. But. I’ve got Halo and Brad hooked me up with free HBO. So. I’m sure we’ll think of something.”
”That’s fine by me,” Walt replies. He looks around awkwardly, before sitting on the edge of the couch, hands clasped in his lap. “Whatever works.”
”Way to be decisive, asshole,” Ray says. He tosses Walt the remote before wandering into the kitchen to grab two plastic cups, one of which is pink with flamingos and Ray still isn’t sure how he got. He stares at it a second, before walking back into the living room to hand to Walt.
Walt accepts the glass, pausing in channel surfing to accept it. He knows Ray well enough not to ask about plates, cracking open one of the two-liter bottles to pour himself some Mountain Dew.
When Ray holds out his cup, Walt fills it, too.
”CSI?” Ray asks. “Really?”
”I like Greg,” Walt counters, scowling. “If you have a problem, change the channel. Stop complaining all the time and do something about it.”
”Fuck you,” Ray says good naturedly. He snags a takeout container off of the coffee table and plops onto the couch, melting back into the cushion easily. He spreads his legs, knocking his knee into Walt’s lightly.
Walt looks over his shoulder at Ray, his face expressionless. He stares, but whatever he sees, he’s okay with. He stretches his wings out carefully before he grabs some takeout as well and relaxes back into the cushions with Ray. He bumps his knee into Ray’s, patting Ray’s thigh clumsily in reassurance. “No thanks. Last time didn’t work out so well.”
”Dude, I’m awesome,” Ray huffs out, poking at his sweet and sour chicken with a plastic fork. “You’re going to realize just how much you miss my dick before the night is through.”
”The way I remember it, you were the one begging for more of my dick,” Walt replies innocently, taking a bite of his food. “I’m surprised your neighbors didn’t call the cops with how loud you were screaming."
”Are you complaining?” Ray asks, quirking an eyebrow.
Walt looks away quickly, his wings fluttering in embarrassment. He’s not blushing, but he might as well be.
”Walter Sunshine Puppy Hasser,” Ray says, wolf whistling. “You are a seriously kinky fucker.”
”Don’t call me that!” Walt huffs, glowering at Ray. “And shut up and eat your food, you dumbass, inbred hick.”
”You say the sweetest things,” Ray grins, bumping his knee against Walt’s.
Walt knocks his knee against Ray’s in retaliation, before pressing them together and leaving his there. He shifts enough to curl his other leg underneath him, humming contently as he settles in comfortably. “You know what fucking sucks?”
”The fact Brad and Nate have been boning for months and I only just found out about it?” Ray tries.
Walt shoots Ray a look, incredulous and amused. “They are doing a lot of sucking,” Walt grants, “but that’s not what I was going to say.”
”Oh?”
”We spent what, six months away from home?” Walt asks, waiting for Ray to nod his head. “Yeah. And I’ve already fucking seen this episode.”
Ray laughs into his takeout, shaking his head. “Is this seriously what you do when you’re not hanging out with me? Being a feathery faggot and watching CSI?”
”Hey, I like CSI,” Walt says, elbowing Ray roughly in the ribs. “And fuck you, we’ve been over this. You weren’t complaining last night.”
”Abusive asshole,” Ray says, rubbing at his ribs idly.
For a while, Ray is content to just eat and watch Walt watch the show, offering inane and perverted commentaries when he sees fit. It almost feels normal, like how things were before. There’s an elephant in the room though and neither of them seems eager to address it.
We’re going to be okay, Ray tries to reassure himself, lifting a hand to touch one of Walt’s wings, marveling at the feel of the feathers. They’re rough to the touch, but the edges are soft when Ray strokes the length of one with the grain.
If Walt’s wings were groomed proper, Ray thinks they’d look pretty and soft.
Ray doesn’t think about it, just sets his takeout aside and starts to card his fingers through Walt’s feathers, sorting the rumpled mess. Some of them unclump easily enough, but the first time he tugs at a knot roughly, Walt squirms uncomfortably and makes a pained sound.
”Don’t tug so rough,” Walt mutters, watching Ray out of the corners of his eyes. “Start at the top. It’s easier.”
Blinking in confusion, Ray meets Walt’s gaze. “You’re a giant pussy,” he says, but when he tugs at the clump of feathers again, he’s gentler. It takes a while to work the mess out with just his fingers, but he does, and Walt sighs happily. “So this really isn’t doing anything for your dick right now?”
”Not really?” Walt says, sounding apologetic. “It’s different for everyone. I mean, I’ve seen Brad sport wood after a few minutes from this. It normally doesn’t really do anything for me, though. Or it takes a long time.”
”Do I even want to know why you were giving Brad - “ Ray stops, shaking his head. “Dude. And this is normal?”
”No,” Walt scowls. “Before Nate - Brad and I only had each other. We can’t groom our own wings so we used to do this. And it wasn’t normal, it was awkward. It was Brad. He’s my Alpha and he was getting hard from me straightening his feathers. Jesus. We couldn’t even look at each other, sometimes.”
”That is so gay, I don’t even have words for you,” Ray says, laughing. He tugs at another clump of feathers, smoothing them out easily. “You two are so fucking gay. How come you aren’t like, gay angel married to him?”
”Are you kidding me?” Walt asks. He laughs, but there’s something off about it. “It’s Brad. Can you even imagine that? He’s so - so - “ Walt gives up on trying to think of a word and gestures vaguely with one hand. “It’d be weird. Besides. He pretty much had his sights on Nate. They’ve got the whole Soul Mate thing down to a T. Brad didn’t Bond with the girl he lost his virginity to. That’s pretty rare. It’s like he was waiting for Nate.”
”What about you?” Ray asks. He rakes his fingers through Walt’s feathers slowly, admiring the way they feel sliding between his fingers. It’s pretty awesome, if he’s honest with himself.
”What about me?” Walt sighs happily, stretching his wing out in front of Ray for more.
”How come you aren’t Soul Mates with the girl who stole your V-Card?” Ray finds another clump of feathers, and tugs at them rougher than he means to.
Walt makes another pained sound, and shoots Ray an accusatory look. “I’ve never had sex with a girl before, Ray.”
”Fine, boy then,” Ray says. He tugs at the feathers again.
”I did become Soul Mates with him,” Walt snaps. “Stop doing that! It hurts!”
Ray tugs roughly again, pulling the feather clean out. It causes Walt to make a sharp, pained sound, and Ray freezes. “Wait.”
”You did that on purpose,” Walt accuses, curling his wing in close to himself and out of Ray’s grasp. “How would you like if I started pulling your hair at one follicle at a time?”
”You watch way too much CSI,” Ray shoots back instinctively. He doesn’t meet Walt’s gaze in favor of staring at the golden feather in his fingers. “What did you mean when you said you became Soul Mates with the boy you lost your virginity to?”
”If you have to ask, then you’re dumber than I thought,” Walt snaps, tugging his knees up to his chest and scowling at the television screen.
In any other situation, Ray thinks he should be pretty fucking ecstatic about stealing someone’s virginity. Walt’s especially. He should be making fun of Walt for being twenty three and only just losing his virginity.
But this. This is different.
And for some reason Ray can’t even begin to explain, he feels kind of bad for Walt.
Walt looks at Ray then, his expression troubled, like maybe he knows what Ray is thinking. “Ray. I made my own choices.” He hesitates, then relaxes back into the cushions at Ray’s side again, throwing one of his legs over Ray’s to ground him. When Ray doesn’t shove him away, Walt melts into Ray’s side. “We’re okay.”
”Are we?” Ray asks, rubbing at his face tiredly. “Because this. This is fucking intense. I’m still not entirely sure I’m not dreaming, homes, I gotta be honest.”
Walt touches the fingers Ray is holding the feather with, stroking his finger along the golden feather softly. “We will be.” He takes the feather from Ray carefully, leaning forward to set it on the coffee table. “Soon enough.”
When Walt leans back, Ray spreads his arms and lets Walt curl into his side proper. The angles are weird, not what Ray is used to at all - actually, Ray’s not really used to snuggling with anyone - but it feels right to have Walt here. His head doesn’t hurt as much as it did earlier, for whatever reason.
Nate basically said this feeling better because of cuddling thing would happen.
Maybe Ray won’t hit Nate with his truck after all.
Sighing heavily, Ray rests his cheek against the top of Walt’s head, nuzzling into his hair lightly. It’s soft, softer than Walt’s feathers, and smells good. “Yeah,” Ray says, resting one of his hands on Walt’s thigh, the one thrown over Ray’s lap. He traces small circles into the fabric of Walt’s jeans, watching him squirm slightly. “We’ll be okay.”
”’course we will,” Walt hums happily. “Now shut up. I can’t hear the TV.”
Ray rolls his eyes, but is actually kind of content to obey.
Well, until a stray thought occurs to him. “Hey, Walt?”
”Hm?” Walt hums, not turning his attention away from CSI. He rests his hand on his own thigh, and after a moment, turns it palm up.
”If I was your first, how the fuck did you get so good at head?”
Walt looks up at Ray, blinking slowly. After a moment he smiles deviously, nuzzling against Ray’s shoulder and looking away again. “I used to practice on beer bottles when I was in high school.”
Ray stares at Walt, trying to imagine how this golden Sunshine Child could acquire beer and why he’d practice swallowing the neck in the first place. But, then Ray realizes he doesn’t really care, and that he’s kind of glad Walt did.
”You are something else,” Ray says fondly.
Walt just hums in agreement, and when he squirms to get closer, Ray rests his hand over Walt’s and tangles their fingers together.
They’re going to be okay.
Author: sephirothflame
Fandom: Generation Kill
Rating: PG13
Character(s)/Pairing(s): Ray Person x Walt Hasser, Brad Colbert x Nate Fick
Warning(s): AU, language, implied adult situations
Word Count: 7,437
Master List: Here
Rants: This took forever to update for so many reasons. I really don’t have a valid excuse though. Click here for The List (which is mostly just a reference for myself). Thank you to everyone who asked when I was going to get off my ass and do this and kari_hermione, as always. :)
Summary: Last night, Ray and Walt got drunk and decided to have a one night stand. This morning, it turns out that could just be the biggest mistake they’ve ever made because not only is Walt an angel - an honest to God angel with wings and everything - he and Ray are apparently now Soul Mates.
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.
Part One
Ray wonders what it says about his life that riding shotgun in Nate’s dark green Volvo is probably still not the worst Walk of Shame Ray’s ever had. The car is in better condition than Walt’s truck, but Ray’s kind of amazed Brad lets Nate drive the thing.
Nate might not whisper praises to his car when he turns over the ignition, but Ray gets the feeling it’s the same miracle holding both vehicles together.
Ray has no issues with telling Nate this.
Nate’s answering glare isn’t nearly as intimidating as the one he uses when he’s in LT mode, but it’s still pretty impressive.
’Mom’ mode, Ray corrects himself. Nate is now his mother-in-law, for all intents and purposes. And isn’t that just fucked up.
Ray keeps these thoughts to himself though. It’s harder to resist the urge not to put his feet on the dash in Nate’s car and the only reason he doesn’t is because the car is too cramped. He’d have to jackknife himself up and it wouldn’t be comfortable.
Instead, Ray just flips his sunglasses back on and stares out of the window. “I read A Tale of Two Cities when I was in the seventh grade,” he says idly, resting his forehead against the cool glass. “Fuck, I mean, I’ve got these huge fucking bookcases full of books at my place.”
”Uh?” Nate starts, glancing over at Ray in confusion. “Good for you?”
”I’m just saying, I know how to read more than the back of a cereal box,” Ray comments idly.
Ray can practically hear Nate’s confusion as he tries to figure out what the Hell Ray is on about, and Ray has to give Nate credit. Most people don’t bother to keep up with Ray’s train of thought, let him ramble himself silly. There’s a long silence from Nate though, before he makes a soft ‘oh’ sound.
”Seriously, LT, Brad is an asshole,” Ray continues. “Fuck if he isn’t the best in this job, but still. I would have figured you’d to have better taste than that.”
The wry smile on Nate’s face is evident in his tone, if not his words. “I never would have figured you were the kind to read a lot. You live off of Madison, don’t you?”
”On Harvel, yeah. It’ll be a left turn going north on Madison. I got bored a lot when I was a kid,” Ray answers, shrugging his shoulder weakly. “I mean, I grew up in a small town. There wasn’t a lot to do to keep myself out of trouble. I broke my leg when I was like, eleven or something, so I was kind of screwed. I can read like a million words per minute now. Well not literally, but still. I spent all summer at the library the year I broke my leg ‘cause they had A/C.”
”That sounds nice,” Nate replies idly. “I didn’t really start reading until high school and in college I practically lived at the library.”
”You fucking would,” Ray snorts, glancing over at Nate and smirking.
Nate rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling as he drums his fingers against the steering wheel in time with the low hum from the radio.
Nate drops Ray off with the promise he’ll send him an e-mail later with The List.
There’s an offhand comment on the tip of Ray’s tongue about where Nate can take his List and shove it, but for once he thinks better of it. There’s an almost full bottle of Jack with his name on it in the house and he doesn’t want to make his mood any worse by having Nate ream him about being immature or not taking this angel thing serious again.
Nate opens his mouth to say something, his expression hesitant and worried, but Ray climbs out of the car and slams the door behind him before Nate can get the words out. Nate takes the hint for what it’s worth, and his car is down the street and out of sight by the time Ray makes it to his front door.
Ray probably is being immature, but he can’t be bothered to care right now. He kicks off his shoes when he gets inside, tossing his sunglasses onto coffee table. He’s already got the bottle of Jack opened by the time he melts into his couch cushions and drinks straight from the bottle.
Walt would yell at Ray, if he were here. He yelled at Ray for drinking Jose Cuervo out of the bottle last night after his glass rolled under the couch and Ray couldn’t be bothered to find it or get a new one.
Despite this, Walt had also joined Ray in drinking Jose Cuervo straight out of the bottle though, which is probably why he ended up sticking his tongue down Ray’s throat and his hand down Ray’s pants.
Ray probably shouldn’t be thinking about last night right now. The situation with Walt is complicated enough without Ray spending the afternoon half drunk on his couch and jerking off to what was supposed to be a one night stand. Not that Ray doesn’t have any intentions of forgetting what happened, memories of Walt’s mouth are more than enough to keep Ray fueled for moths, but he has more pressing matters to attend to.
Like the fact he really fucking wishes Walt was getting drunk with him right now. Not so they could fuck again, not that Ray would try to stop Walt if that’s how things were going to play out, but because there’s a small part of him that almost aches for Walt.
Nate said this would happen, in not so many words.
The next time Ray sees Nate he’s going to hit him with his truck. Well, maybe not literally, but Ray is definitely going to think about doing it.
It definitely beats lounging around in his living room and focusing on the fact that he really fucked up this time. That they, Walt included, seriously fucked up. They haven’t even been back on American soil for a week before it hit the fan again. Ray can almost see how last night might have been more of a cluster-fuck than the entirety of OIF was. And that’s saying something.
Ray lets his head thump against the back of the couch, capping the bottle of Jack and letting it rest on the cushion next to him. He’s exhausted, physically and emotionally, and half way to drunk. Ray’s barely been awake for two hours, but he figures at this point it’s safe enough to assume he isn’t going to accomplish anything.
Sleeping beats moping, any day, even if Ray doubts he’ll manage to pass out.
His bedroom feels impossibly far away, just like it had last night when he and Walt were stumbling through the halls. Ray strips as he goes, because it’s his house and he can wander around it naked if he wants to, and tries not to think about how different this feels from the last time Ray walked down this hall.
How different, and how impossibly the same.
Ray’s head is just as fuzzy, though for different reasons. His bed might as well be in another time zone. He’s wearing way too many clothes and he’d like nothing more than to pass out on top of his covers, naked.
Covers that are still spread out on the floor from when Ray and Walt tumbled off the bed last night and couldn’t be bothered to get back in it.
Pausing long enough to toe off his socks and kick off his jeans, Ray grabs his blankets and pillows and tosses them back onto the bed into a haphazard mess. He doesn’t smooth them out or try to put them in any semblance of order, just crawls right on top of them, kicking and wiggling until he’s nestled under the dark comforter.
It’s a lot harder than he thought it would be to ignore the smell of sex and Walt.
The alcohol helps though, keeping him warm while his exhaustion kicks in and takes care of the rest. He’s not so much hiding from his problems as avoiding them, but it’s hard to ignore the fact he feels impossibly lonely curled up and surrounded by the scent and memories of Walt.
Ray doesn’t know how long it takes for him to fall asleep, just knows that Walt’s the only thing he dreams of when he does.
It’s dark out when Ray wakes up, and he’s managed to kick the blankets off of himself and onto the floor. He takes a minute to appreciate the fact he can sleep naked whenever he damn well pleases before rolling over and searching the floor for the jeans he kicked off earlier. It’s easy enough to find them, and he pulls them on before making his way to the kitchen in search of food.
It occurs to him that he hasn’t had anything to eat today, that the only thing he had to drink was some warm Jack Daniel’s. It certainly explains why his head is killing him and his stomach feels like it’s ready to cave in upon itself.
Ray doesn’t bother with formalities, opting to eat Doritos straight from the bag and mystery dated takeout from his fridge. He clears enough counter space to pull himself up and sit down, staring blankly at his fridge while he eats.
There’s a nagging thought in the back of his brain saying that maybe Ray should call Walt to see if he’s okay, to make sure that they’re going to be okay. Ray should check his e-mail to see if Nate really did write him a huge novel on the care and feeding of angels, specifically the one known as Walt. Ray wouldn’t put it past him.
It also occurs to Ray he has a cellphone that he’s been ignoring all day. It’s not in his pocket, so he puts off bothering to find in until he’s downed the last of his Chinese food - General Tso’s, if he has to guess, but at this point Ray’s not sure and it doesn’t stop him from enjoying it.
Ray has eaten a lot worse than mystery Chinese food before in his life, and as long as he’s in the Marines he’ll probably still eat worse at a later date. This is something Ray has no doubts of.
Ray finds his phone is in the living room, and he only has three missed texts and a single phone call. The call is from Walt, but he didn’t leave a voicemail. He did leave a text though, along with two from Nate and Ray clicks them open while he flops back onto his couch lazily.
From: sunshine puppy
I’m sorry about earlier. Call me when you get the chance.
June 7, 1:52PM
Ray glances at a clock long enough to discern Walt sent that message hours ago, ten minutes after he tried calling. It can’t be that urgent if Walt didn’t call back, so Ray just makes a mental note to call Walt later.
Even if every part of him wants to call Walt now.
From: lt
Sent you an e-mail with the list I was telling you about earlier. Brad and Walt make fun of it, but trust me when I say it’ll be your new best friend.
June 7, 2:13PM
From: lt
Also, don’t do anything stupid. I am not explaining this to anyone if you end up in jail or something for being an idiot. I’m not posting bail, either.
June 7, 2:34PM
A part of Ray feels like he should be indignant about Nate’s (lack of) trust and faith in him. Yes, Ray has maybe drank a little more than he should have today, but it’s not like he’s anywhere near wasted. Yet.
Another more vengeful part of him thinks he should definitely tell Nate where he can shove his List, fuck you very much. Ray can take care of himself just fine. The curiosity as to the list’s actual contents wins out though, and Ray finds himself pushing up off the couch and roaming around his house until he can find where he left his laptop.
In the end, he finds it in his bedroom, buried under a pile of clean clothes he couldn’t be bothered to put away. It’s not the weirdest place its ever ended up, but Ray pats the plastic casing and apologizes to the battered Dell anyways.
Sitting back against the headboard of his bed while he waits for his laptop to boot up, Ray drums his fingers against the keyboard before figuring what the Hell. He pulls his phone back out and dials Walt’s number, memorized by heart, listening to the tinny sound of ringing when the call clicks over.
Ray doesn’t have to answer long; Walt answers his phone on the third ring. “I was wondering if you were ever going to fucking call me,” Walt says, but he doesn’t sound worried or exasperated. He doesn’t sound anything but tired.
”I was sleeping,” Ray replies, because there’s no point in lying. “I know your gay, feathery ass probably wishes I was moping and pining over our Big Gay Feelings or whatever, but I was fucking exhausted.”
”Mhmmm,” Walt hums tiredly. “I’m tired, too. It’s been a long day.”
Walt’s never been one to state the obvious, and the ridiculousness of the statement makes Ray wish he could punch Walt in the face. Way to be the understatement of the year, Ray thinks.
”So,” Ray says, shifting his phone to cradle it between his ear and his shoulder. It only takes a second for him to log on to his laptop, but it’ll take a moment to load enough that he can actually do anything afterwards. Maybe he should have let Brad tinker with it the last time Brad mentioned it.
Ray gets the feeling Brad will be less generous in modding his laptop now. Brad wasn’t exactly a bed of sunshine to deal with before, but Ray’s ninety-nine percent sure this angel thing is going to complicate matters between them. Ray isn’t dumb enough to have missed the poorly closeted hostility.
”Did you have anything in particular you wanted to talk about, or did you just miss me?” Ray asks, “Because I hate to break it to you, I ain’t nobody’s booty call, homes. I don’t care how good you are in bed.”
”I’ll keep that in mind,” Walt says wryly. There’s a shuffling sound on his end of the line, and Ray can hear a bed creak and Walt sighs heavily. “You know why I wanted you to call me.”
It’s not a question and there’s nothing in Walt’s tone to suggest he’s doing anything other than stating a fact.
Ray really hates it when Walt goes all blasé on him.
Biting his tongue, Ray clicks open Internet Explorer. “I figured as much,” he sighs. “How was your walk with Brad?” The question comes out more bitter than Ray means for it to, but he can’t be bothered to apologize.
”I dunno,” Walt replies. He shuffles around on his bed, the sounds carrying over the tinny speakers. “Have you heard from Nate? He said he e-mailed you.”
”I’m getting to it,” Ray huffs out indignantly. “Are you still over at Brad’s place? Dude, why would you willingly spend time there? He’s even more of an Alpha asshole today than usual. See if I hook him up with the good porn anymore. And Nate was fucking trying to pity me. The fucking limp wristed cocksucker. Fuck knows he’s got the lips for it. I don’t need anyone’s pity.”
Walt’s quiet for a moment and Ray can practically hear his exasperation. “I’m not at Brad’s anymore. Though if I was, I’m sure he’d love to know what you thought about Nate’s mouth.”
”No way, homes. Don’t tell me you’ve never thought about it. Everyone feels that way about LT’s mouth,” Ray grins. “Just because I’m the only one willing to voice it...”
”No one in the universe is dumb enough to say they think Nate has cocksucking lips in front of Brad,” Walt replies. He hesitates for a moment, and Ray can almost hear his secretive smile when he adds, “Even if it is true.”
”I knew there was a reason I liked you.” Ray grins, tapping his fingers against the space bar on his laptop while it continues to load Internet Explorer. He makes a victorious sound when it finishes, quickly loading up his e-mail client and settling more comfortably against his pillows and headboard. “So, homes, tell me. Because I can’t believe Brad neglected to bring it up in any of our tragic heart-to-heart moments. Exactly how long has he been boning the LT?”
Walt shifts, his bed squeaking again, and Walt sighs heavily. “Do we really have to talk about this?”
”Yes,” Ray says.
Ray’s e-mail client pops open, and Ray isn’t surprised to find that he has thirty-two unread messages. It’s been a day or two since he last bothered to check his e-mail. He ignores most of them in favor of finding the one from Nate. It has an attachment. Ray isn’t surprised, and he clicks it open.
”I think - the first time Brad and Nate slept together was in January,” Walt says, sighing heavily. “It was a few days before we shipped out. It was - Brad had been doing ‘Surveillance and Research’ on Nate, trying to check him out as an Officer. I’m not sure how it went from that to Brad and Nate fucking, but, it did. Brad swears he made Nate dinner first though.”
”I still can’t believe Brad never told his dear pal Ray-Ray he got that piece of tail,” Ray says, affronted. “I mean, here everyone else was, chaffing our dicks from jerking it in the desert, and Brad had a pretty pair of lips to suck his down.”
”I don’t think they actually did anything in Iraq,” Walt counters. “It’s too risky. Brad and Nate are smarter than that.”
”Bullshit. They were eye-fucking all the time. I can’t believe I never put two and two together before. Oh my God, Walt. Brad was cheating on me with the LT! Everyone knows we were supposed to be like, married or something.”
There’s a moment of absolute silence on Walt’s end of the line, and Ray thinks he might have been hung up on. Then, exasperated, Walt says, ”Why are we friends again?”
”Because you have Big Gay Feelings for me,” Ray shoots back. “Now shut up for a minute so I can read Nate’s e-mail.”
Walt huffs irritably on the other end of the line, but beyond the creaking of his bed once more - and Ray has to bite his tongue to keep from asking if Walt is fucking or something, because his bed has no right to creak that much and Ray is maybe kind of jealous - and the soft sound of his breathing, Walt is quiet.
From: Nate C Fick [ficknc@gmail.com]
To: Ray Person [personjr@gmail.com]
Date: Sat, Jun 7, 2003 at 2:03 PM
Subject: Cliff Notes
Attachment: 1 File (27.0KB) | Download
Ray,
I apologize if I sounded patronizing earlier. It wasn’t my intent. I really can’t stress how important this entire situation is though. There really isn’t an easy way to explain the gravity of this but I won’t apologize for my tone. You needed to hear it. This is information you need to know.
I’ve included a .doc file with The List, as Walt and Brad have so helpfully dubbed it. It’s essentially the Cliff Notes version of everything I tried to tell you earlier. It’s more in-depth than our earlier discussion and I advise you take it very seriously.
If you have any questions or comments, you have my e-mail and my phone number.
Brad suggests just yelling at you until you have it memorized, because something like this is over your head. Walt suggests otherwise, and I’m inclined to believe him. I can’t imagine a guy who read A Tale of Two Cities in the seventh grade would be anything less than intelligent.
Don’t fuck this up.
Nate
Ray reads the e-mail twice, three times, before he opens his mouth. “Did you really tell Nate I’m not an idiot? Better yet, who the fuck ends and e-mail with don’t fuck this up? Nate’s such a cunt.”
”What the fuck are you on about now?” Walt asks, and he sounds so impossibly tired.
”E-mail, Walt. From Nate. The one you wanted me to check, remember?” Ray resists the urge to roll his eyes, since the effect would be lost without Walt here to see it.
He debates not downloading the file Nate sent, but in the end curiosity wins out. That, and Ray’s starting to get the feeling Nate might call him and yell at him if Ray doesn’t.
”I didn’t tell Nate you weren’t an idiot,” Walt replies easily, sighing heavily. “I told him it was possible that you were slightly more intelligent than anyone had ever given you credit for.”
”You’re an asshole,” Ray says, scowling. “I thought we were supposed to have something special here, Walter.”
”Don’t call me that,” Walt grumbles, and Ray can see the pout on Walt’s face in his head. “And you’re so gay.”
”You know, if you keep that up, I won’t suck your dick the next time we get drunk,” Ray says, tsk-tsking at Walt. “I am disappointed in you.”
”Who said I was ever letting you near my dick again? Look what it got me last time.”
Ray will concede that Walt might have a point, but he’s not going to tell Walt that. He double clicks the file after it’s done downloading to his desktop - and makes a mental note to clean off his desktop, because everything is starting to blur together.
”Jesus H Christ on a fucking crutch,” Ray says.
The file Nate sent isn’t even two full pages, but there is a truly intimidating number of bullet points. Everything is divided into sections and some have sub-sections. Ray’s kind of scared of what Nate considers the not Cliff Notes version. Though he’s starting to not doubt Nate on being able to write a book on it.
”What?” Walt asks, and he almost sounds concerned. “What are you doing, Ray?”
”Have you fucking seen this List?” Ray demands. “There’s a General Knowledge section. Fucking, Flocks or some shit. Soul Mates. Oh hey, this one is about Wings. According to this list, what, when I touch your wings I might as well be touching your dick?”
”There’s a copy of The List on the fridge at Brad’s place,” Walt replies. “Nate e-mailed it to me not long after he made it. Wanted my opinion. Fact checking or something, I guess. He spent ages at the library and on the internet looking this stuff up. And no, it’s not like touching my dick, you pervert. It’s like - I don’t know - if I started to pet your hair or something.”
”I’d let you pet my hair if you wanted to,” Ray replies. “It’d be pretty fucking gay, but kind of soothing or some shit, you know? My momma used to do that when I was a kid.”
”You’re so fucking special, man, I don’t even know what to say to you right now,” Walt says. His smile is practically audible though, so Ray counts this as a win.
There’s something off about what Walt just said, something that’s been bugging him since Brad’s place, really. Ray finds himself saying ”Hey, Walt?” before he thinks to stop himself.
”Yeah?”
”Why does Nate need you to fact check things? Shouldn’t he know this shit already? I mean - “ Ray hesitates, suddenly unsure of himself. “Nate’s not an angel, is he?”
”Uh, no?” Walt says. The bed creaks as he shifts around, and Ray can make out the muffled sound of a headboard hitting a wall. “Nate’s not an angel. It’s - I mean, did you seriously not know this?”
No, Ray did not know this. How the fuck could Ray not know this? Brad was supposed to be Ray’s best friend - they were practically married. It hurts more than it probably should that Brad wouldn’t share this little tidbit of him having fucking wings and eternal life or some bullshit with Ray.
”In my defense, I didn’t even know you were an angel until this morning,” Ray shoots back bitterly. “I can’t believe Brad would lie to me like this!”
”Brad doesn’t tell anyone -” Walt starts.
”A lie of omission is still a lie,” Ray counters. He’s not pouting. He’s not. He’s fuming silently and glaring at his laptop screen and reading The List.
Angels live longer. Angels have nesting seasons which involves a lot of cuddling. Angels can’t have babies with humans. Angels are territorial and over-protective.
Well, that certainly explains why Brad tried to break Ray’s wrist this morning, that jackass. Like Ray would honestly feel Nate up. He’s too tall and is a Goddamn Officer.
Co-dependency issues. Touchy-feely. Hierarchy of dominance.
Ray bets dollars to doughnuts Brad’s at the top of that list.
When Ray reaches the Soul Mates bullet, he freezes. Not because he has anything against being the most important person in Walt’s life, but because -
”What the fuck does Nate mean by ‘by being mated with a human, an angel’s lifespan will be reduced drastically’?”
There’s a long moment of silence on the other end of the line, and Ray can feel something clenching in his stomach.
Walt isn’t allowed to die in twenty years just because he got drunk and fucked Ray last night. Walt’s life isn’t allowed to be dependent on Ray’s. It’s just too fucked up for Ray to even think of the appropriate words to describe exactly how fucked up it is. Walt is the precious sunshine child of the great tongue and the tight ass from the golden fields of Taylorstown, Virginia. Ray is just some fuck up hick from Buttfuck, Nowhere. Walt deserves so much better than that.
Not that Ray is going to admit any of those things aloud anytime soon.
”I knew something like this was possible last night,” Walt says softly, his voice so painfully distant over the phone line. He swallows, the bed creaking as he shifts again. “It was a calculated risk. I didn’t think - I just thought it would be okay.”
”You knew that this could happen and you still did it anyway?” Ray asks. “You knew that you were putting the rest of your life at risk for what - a drunk fuck?”
”You’re my best friend, and I -” Walt’s voice drops, muttering something Ray can’t quite hear before he coughs loudly, awkwardly. “It wasn’t just for a drunk fuck.”
Ray wants to say that Brad is his best friend, but after OIF, Walt is pretty much his other best friend. They’re both his brothers. Ray loves them both.
”Ray?” Walt asks, his voice small and almost timid.
Ray never wants to hear Walt sound like that again. He keeps reading, to distract himself from the gut wrenching guilt boiling through him.
It’s the wrong decision to make.
”Wait. Wait. The fuck does Nate mean ‘angels who have not been accepted by their Soul Mates tend to wither away and die’?” Ray demands. “So what, if we don’t snuggle and have fucking awesome buttsex for the rest of my life, you’re just going to keel the fuck over? What kind of bullshit is that?”
”That’s not exactly how it works,” Walt says slowly.
”Then how?” Ray asks. He’s impatient and angry and this is just bull fucking shit and Walt’s calm acceptance isn’t making matters any easier.
Ray kind of wants to punch Walt in his bright and shiny face right now.
”We don’t need to fuck for the rest of our lives,” Walt says. “We probably don’t even have to cuddle, if it freaks you out that much. We just need to touch. A lot. It - it’ll ache if we don’t. Soul Mates are supposed to be close. We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”
”But what do you want out of this?” Ray asks, rubbing a hand over his face tiredly. “I’m not the only one that fucking matters.”
Walt’s quiet for a long moment, the only sound from his end of the line the tinny sound of his breathing. “I just want you. You’re basically my best friend and - fuck - I don’t know. I don’t want to lose that. Beyond that? I don’t know. We’re both going into this blind.”
Truer words, Ray thinks idly. Pinching the bridge of his nose, and tries to think, tries to calm down. “Okay,” he says slowly. “Okay. I got this.”
”You got this?” Walt asks incredulously.
”Shut up,” Ray huffs. “I don’t exactly hear you trying to brainstorm this to figure out what they fuck we’re supposed to do.”
”You don’t have to do anything, Ray,” Walt says tiredly. “You don’t have to do this.”
”Yes, I do,” Ray barks. “Like fuck I’m just going to let you die when I’m as much to blame as you are. It’s a totally bullshit situation but that doesn’t mean I’m just going to tuck tail and run because now we’re like homosexual-heterosexual life mates or what the fuck ever. Besides, Nate would give me those Goddamn disappointed looks and never forgive me - “
”If you’re doing this just because of Nate - “ Walt starts.
”Were you fucking listening to me?” Ray snaps. “I just said we’re going to fucking snuggle for eternity if that’s what it takes to keep you from dropping dead!”
Walt is quiet again, probably stunned. “You didn’t mention snuggling at all.”
”Well, I was going to,” Ray grumbles peevishly. “You and me? We’re going to work this out. We are going to be okay, whether you like it or not. So get your feathery ass over here so we can fucking cuddle already. I feel like my brains are going to explode out of my eye sockets right now.”
The other end of the line is quiet except for the creaking of Walt’s bed as he shifts again, and a small sound that Ray doesn’t even want to know how to describe. “Ray. You don’t have to - .”
”I fucking do and we both know it,” Ray replies, and suddenly he’s exhausted. He doesn’t want to be having this fight with Walt. Not now. Not ever. They shouldn’t be fighting about this at all. They should be cuddling on the couch and - and watching bad movies or something.
”Ray,” Walt says again, softer.
”Look, I’m hungry and tired and my head aches and I’m probably a little hungover still,” Ray says, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Can we just order some more takeout and kick back on my couch with Die Hard or something?”
”We’ll figure this out, Ray,” Walt offers quietly. “You won’t have to be stuck with me for forever.”
”Does that mean you’ll come over?” Ray asks.
”Yeah,” Walt says, sighing heavily. “Give me half an hour to grab a shower first. I’ll see you soon.”
”Cool,” Ray says. “I’ll order a shit ton of Chinese food.”
”Sounds like a plan,” Walt says, laughing tiredly. He hangs up without saying goodbye.
Ray doesn’t know why he doesn’t feel any better at all. He feels like he ran a marathon, completely fucked over and dizzy and ready to kick back his covers and crawl under them until the start of next year.
He should probably take a shower, but he should probably do a lot of things. Tidy his house, for one, or at least pick up all the dirty dishes and clothes strewn across the place.
Sighing heavily, Ray skims the rest of the List and resists the urge to bang his head on the wall or hide under his covers or cry manfully. Or some mixture of all three.
Instead, Ray fires Nate an e-mail back informing him that he is a homosexual cock sucking devil, that Ray hates him very much right now, and that he doesn’t have a printer but he thinks he needs a solid copy or ten for reference for when Walt is PMSing again. He doesn’t bother to stick around to see if he’ll get a reply, waiting for the ‘Message Sent Successfully’ notice to pop up before Ray powers his laptop down.
There are a million things for Ray to do right now, but he settles for snagging a ratty wifebeater off of his bedroom floor and pulling it on before he goes to the kitchen to search for the takeout menu.
Anything more complicated than that can wait until later.
Walt shows up on Ray’s doorstep with two two-liters of Mountain Dew, barbeque flavor chips and Skittles. To round out the meal, he says, brushing past Ray and inside Ray’s house. He drops the bag on the coffee table next to the Chinese food that showed up a few minutes before Walt.
For a moment, Walt just stares at the coffee table, before he turns to look at Ray with a sheepish smile. He looks uncomfortable, the sleeves of his Henley top rolled up to his elbows, and he fiddles with them. His wings are curled in close to his body, but they keep twitching.
Ray kind of thinks his heart might be breaking.
Instead of commenting on it, Ray rubs the back of his neck and glances at his TV. “So I couldn’t find my copy of Die Hard. But. I’ve got Halo and Brad hooked me up with free HBO. So. I’m sure we’ll think of something.”
”That’s fine by me,” Walt replies. He looks around awkwardly, before sitting on the edge of the couch, hands clasped in his lap. “Whatever works.”
”Way to be decisive, asshole,” Ray says. He tosses Walt the remote before wandering into the kitchen to grab two plastic cups, one of which is pink with flamingos and Ray still isn’t sure how he got. He stares at it a second, before walking back into the living room to hand to Walt.
Walt accepts the glass, pausing in channel surfing to accept it. He knows Ray well enough not to ask about plates, cracking open one of the two-liter bottles to pour himself some Mountain Dew.
When Ray holds out his cup, Walt fills it, too.
”CSI?” Ray asks. “Really?”
”I like Greg,” Walt counters, scowling. “If you have a problem, change the channel. Stop complaining all the time and do something about it.”
”Fuck you,” Ray says good naturedly. He snags a takeout container off of the coffee table and plops onto the couch, melting back into the cushion easily. He spreads his legs, knocking his knee into Walt’s lightly.
Walt looks over his shoulder at Ray, his face expressionless. He stares, but whatever he sees, he’s okay with. He stretches his wings out carefully before he grabs some takeout as well and relaxes back into the cushions with Ray. He bumps his knee into Ray’s, patting Ray’s thigh clumsily in reassurance. “No thanks. Last time didn’t work out so well.”
”Dude, I’m awesome,” Ray huffs out, poking at his sweet and sour chicken with a plastic fork. “You’re going to realize just how much you miss my dick before the night is through.”
”The way I remember it, you were the one begging for more of my dick,” Walt replies innocently, taking a bite of his food. “I’m surprised your neighbors didn’t call the cops with how loud you were screaming."
”Are you complaining?” Ray asks, quirking an eyebrow.
Walt looks away quickly, his wings fluttering in embarrassment. He’s not blushing, but he might as well be.
”Walter Sunshine Puppy Hasser,” Ray says, wolf whistling. “You are a seriously kinky fucker.”
”Don’t call me that!” Walt huffs, glowering at Ray. “And shut up and eat your food, you dumbass, inbred hick.”
”You say the sweetest things,” Ray grins, bumping his knee against Walt’s.
Walt knocks his knee against Ray’s in retaliation, before pressing them together and leaving his there. He shifts enough to curl his other leg underneath him, humming contently as he settles in comfortably. “You know what fucking sucks?”
”The fact Brad and Nate have been boning for months and I only just found out about it?” Ray tries.
Walt shoots Ray a look, incredulous and amused. “They are doing a lot of sucking,” Walt grants, “but that’s not what I was going to say.”
”Oh?”
”We spent what, six months away from home?” Walt asks, waiting for Ray to nod his head. “Yeah. And I’ve already fucking seen this episode.”
Ray laughs into his takeout, shaking his head. “Is this seriously what you do when you’re not hanging out with me? Being a feathery faggot and watching CSI?”
”Hey, I like CSI,” Walt says, elbowing Ray roughly in the ribs. “And fuck you, we’ve been over this. You weren’t complaining last night.”
”Abusive asshole,” Ray says, rubbing at his ribs idly.
For a while, Ray is content to just eat and watch Walt watch the show, offering inane and perverted commentaries when he sees fit. It almost feels normal, like how things were before. There’s an elephant in the room though and neither of them seems eager to address it.
We’re going to be okay, Ray tries to reassure himself, lifting a hand to touch one of Walt’s wings, marveling at the feel of the feathers. They’re rough to the touch, but the edges are soft when Ray strokes the length of one with the grain.
If Walt’s wings were groomed proper, Ray thinks they’d look pretty and soft.
Ray doesn’t think about it, just sets his takeout aside and starts to card his fingers through Walt’s feathers, sorting the rumpled mess. Some of them unclump easily enough, but the first time he tugs at a knot roughly, Walt squirms uncomfortably and makes a pained sound.
”Don’t tug so rough,” Walt mutters, watching Ray out of the corners of his eyes. “Start at the top. It’s easier.”
Blinking in confusion, Ray meets Walt’s gaze. “You’re a giant pussy,” he says, but when he tugs at the clump of feathers again, he’s gentler. It takes a while to work the mess out with just his fingers, but he does, and Walt sighs happily. “So this really isn’t doing anything for your dick right now?”
”Not really?” Walt says, sounding apologetic. “It’s different for everyone. I mean, I’ve seen Brad sport wood after a few minutes from this. It normally doesn’t really do anything for me, though. Or it takes a long time.”
”Do I even want to know why you were giving Brad - “ Ray stops, shaking his head. “Dude. And this is normal?”
”No,” Walt scowls. “Before Nate - Brad and I only had each other. We can’t groom our own wings so we used to do this. And it wasn’t normal, it was awkward. It was Brad. He’s my Alpha and he was getting hard from me straightening his feathers. Jesus. We couldn’t even look at each other, sometimes.”
”That is so gay, I don’t even have words for you,” Ray says, laughing. He tugs at another clump of feathers, smoothing them out easily. “You two are so fucking gay. How come you aren’t like, gay angel married to him?”
”Are you kidding me?” Walt asks. He laughs, but there’s something off about it. “It’s Brad. Can you even imagine that? He’s so - so - “ Walt gives up on trying to think of a word and gestures vaguely with one hand. “It’d be weird. Besides. He pretty much had his sights on Nate. They’ve got the whole Soul Mate thing down to a T. Brad didn’t Bond with the girl he lost his virginity to. That’s pretty rare. It’s like he was waiting for Nate.”
”What about you?” Ray asks. He rakes his fingers through Walt’s feathers slowly, admiring the way they feel sliding between his fingers. It’s pretty awesome, if he’s honest with himself.
”What about me?” Walt sighs happily, stretching his wing out in front of Ray for more.
”How come you aren’t Soul Mates with the girl who stole your V-Card?” Ray finds another clump of feathers, and tugs at them rougher than he means to.
Walt makes another pained sound, and shoots Ray an accusatory look. “I’ve never had sex with a girl before, Ray.”
”Fine, boy then,” Ray says. He tugs at the feathers again.
”I did become Soul Mates with him,” Walt snaps. “Stop doing that! It hurts!”
Ray tugs roughly again, pulling the feather clean out. It causes Walt to make a sharp, pained sound, and Ray freezes. “Wait.”
”You did that on purpose,” Walt accuses, curling his wing in close to himself and out of Ray’s grasp. “How would you like if I started pulling your hair at one follicle at a time?”
”You watch way too much CSI,” Ray shoots back instinctively. He doesn’t meet Walt’s gaze in favor of staring at the golden feather in his fingers. “What did you mean when you said you became Soul Mates with the boy you lost your virginity to?”
”If you have to ask, then you’re dumber than I thought,” Walt snaps, tugging his knees up to his chest and scowling at the television screen.
In any other situation, Ray thinks he should be pretty fucking ecstatic about stealing someone’s virginity. Walt’s especially. He should be making fun of Walt for being twenty three and only just losing his virginity.
But this. This is different.
And for some reason Ray can’t even begin to explain, he feels kind of bad for Walt.
Walt looks at Ray then, his expression troubled, like maybe he knows what Ray is thinking. “Ray. I made my own choices.” He hesitates, then relaxes back into the cushions at Ray’s side again, throwing one of his legs over Ray’s to ground him. When Ray doesn’t shove him away, Walt melts into Ray’s side. “We’re okay.”
”Are we?” Ray asks, rubbing at his face tiredly. “Because this. This is fucking intense. I’m still not entirely sure I’m not dreaming, homes, I gotta be honest.”
Walt touches the fingers Ray is holding the feather with, stroking his finger along the golden feather softly. “We will be.” He takes the feather from Ray carefully, leaning forward to set it on the coffee table. “Soon enough.”
When Walt leans back, Ray spreads his arms and lets Walt curl into his side proper. The angles are weird, not what Ray is used to at all - actually, Ray’s not really used to snuggling with anyone - but it feels right to have Walt here. His head doesn’t hurt as much as it did earlier, for whatever reason.
Nate basically said this feeling better because of cuddling thing would happen.
Maybe Ray won’t hit Nate with his truck after all.
Sighing heavily, Ray rests his cheek against the top of Walt’s head, nuzzling into his hair lightly. It’s soft, softer than Walt’s feathers, and smells good. “Yeah,” Ray says, resting one of his hands on Walt’s thigh, the one thrown over Ray’s lap. He traces small circles into the fabric of Walt’s jeans, watching him squirm slightly. “We’ll be okay.”
”’course we will,” Walt hums happily. “Now shut up. I can’t hear the TV.”
Ray rolls his eyes, but is actually kind of content to obey.
Well, until a stray thought occurs to him. “Hey, Walt?”
”Hm?” Walt hums, not turning his attention away from CSI. He rests his hand on his own thigh, and after a moment, turns it palm up.
”If I was your first, how the fuck did you get so good at head?”
Walt looks up at Ray, blinking slowly. After a moment he smiles deviously, nuzzling against Ray’s shoulder and looking away again. “I used to practice on beer bottles when I was in high school.”
Ray stares at Walt, trying to imagine how this golden Sunshine Child could acquire beer and why he’d practice swallowing the neck in the first place. But, then Ray realizes he doesn’t really care, and that he’s kind of glad Walt did.
”You are something else,” Ray says fondly.
Walt just hums in agreement, and when he squirms to get closer, Ray rests his hand over Walt’s and tangles their fingers together.
They’re going to be okay.