GK, Balance, 1/1, R, Brad x Nate x Ray, 703
Title: Balance
Author: sephirothflame
Fandom: Generation Kill
Rating: R
Character(s)/Pairing(s): Brad Colbert x Nate Fick x Ray Person
Warning(s): PWP, threesome
Spoiler(s): None
Prompt(s): For kari_hermione
Word Count: 703
Rants: Brad/Ray/Nate that isn’t AU. \o/
Summary: Brad comes home to find Ray and Nate fucking on his bike.
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.
Brad finds them in the garage, following the sound of breathless laughter and moans. He walks in to find Ray on his bike and Nate straddling it backwards, his thighs thrown over Ray’s and his arms twisted to hold himself up on the grips without toppling over. Ray’s not helping Nate’s balance any, the fingers of one hand clutching at Nate’s knee, the other in a fist around Nate’s cock.
A number of things occur to Brad. One, that Nate can’t be comfortable at all. Two, that Nate moans so prettily when the slick head of his cock disappears into the circle of Ray’s fist and he struggles to get his toes under him on the cement floor of the garage so he can arch up for more. Three, that they’re on his bike. They’re on his bike and Ray is jerking Nate off and kissing Nate’s bare chest. They’re fucking on his bike without him.
Brad should yell at them. They know how he feels about his bike, about them being anywhere near it. His Yamaha R-1 is precious. It’s sacred to him. He catches Nate’s eyes though, bright green and half lidded, his cheeks flushed and lips parted in a delicate ‘o’ as he moans Ray’s name. There’s no way Brad can yell at Nate, not when he’s like this.
And Brad knows what he has to do, what he wants to do. There isn’t any room on the bike behind Ray, but Brad’s tall enough that as long as he stays standing he can straddle the tail end. They’re Marines. They make do.
“Jesus fuck,” Ray curses, startling when Brad touches his shoulders, presses behind him. He tips his head back, eyes wide and expression nowhere near innocent. Before Ray can say anything else, Brad catches Ray’s chin with one hand and presses their lips together in a kiss. It starts with a clack of teeth and bubbling laughter from Ray, hysterical, but he parts his lips easily under the first press of Brad’s tongue, and it’s wet and obscene after that. Ray sucks at Brad’s tongue like there’s nothing else he could possibly want to be doing right now.
Nate makes a sound, something contemplative, followed by a needier one when it becomes clear they’re ignoring him. He arches his hips up, trembling as he struggles to maintain his balance without toppling them all over. Brad doesn’t know which one of them started this handjobs on his bike business, but Brad is going to end them both when it’s over. If his bike gets hurt, no one is ever going to find their bodies.
Ray moans into the kiss, and Brad covers Ray’s hand with his own when he starts to jerk Nate off in earnest again. His fingers are sticky and small and Ray spreads them wide enough to let Brad’s slip between them. It’s an odd angle, an odd grip, but Nate tips his head back and exposes the delicate line of his throat, moaning unabashedly. When Brad swipes his thumb over the head of Nate’s cock, Nate stops trying to arch up and the muscles in his thighs and stomach clench.
It doesn’t take a lot for the two of them to bring Nate off, their fingers tight around him as they stroke and twist. His come is hot and wet, smearing over their fingers as they work Nate through his orgasm, another chain binding the three of them together. They don’t stop stroking until Nate whimpers, press their hands to his thighs messily to keep from breaking contact all together.
Nate’s shoulders and arms are straining, have to be killing him, but he doesn’t complain. Just struggles to catch his breath with shaky inhales, watching Brad place soft kisses to Ray’s jaw and cheek and the corner of his brow. Ray lets him, petting Nate’s thigh soothingly and letting out a happy sigh. For a moment, they’re just existing, together.
Brad still has every intention of yelling at them for debasing his bike, but it can wait a minute for them to catch their breaths. Or, after however long it takes to get Ray bent over the worktable and screaming his name. Whichever comes first.
Author: sephirothflame
Fandom: Generation Kill
Rating: R
Character(s)/Pairing(s): Brad Colbert x Nate Fick x Ray Person
Warning(s): PWP, threesome
Spoiler(s): None
Prompt(s): For kari_hermione
Word Count: 703
Rants: Brad/Ray/Nate that isn’t AU. \o/
Summary: Brad comes home to find Ray and Nate fucking on his bike.
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.
Brad finds them in the garage, following the sound of breathless laughter and moans. He walks in to find Ray on his bike and Nate straddling it backwards, his thighs thrown over Ray’s and his arms twisted to hold himself up on the grips without toppling over. Ray’s not helping Nate’s balance any, the fingers of one hand clutching at Nate’s knee, the other in a fist around Nate’s cock.
A number of things occur to Brad. One, that Nate can’t be comfortable at all. Two, that Nate moans so prettily when the slick head of his cock disappears into the circle of Ray’s fist and he struggles to get his toes under him on the cement floor of the garage so he can arch up for more. Three, that they’re on his bike. They’re on his bike and Ray is jerking Nate off and kissing Nate’s bare chest. They’re fucking on his bike without him.
Brad should yell at them. They know how he feels about his bike, about them being anywhere near it. His Yamaha R-1 is precious. It’s sacred to him. He catches Nate’s eyes though, bright green and half lidded, his cheeks flushed and lips parted in a delicate ‘o’ as he moans Ray’s name. There’s no way Brad can yell at Nate, not when he’s like this.
And Brad knows what he has to do, what he wants to do. There isn’t any room on the bike behind Ray, but Brad’s tall enough that as long as he stays standing he can straddle the tail end. They’re Marines. They make do.
“Jesus fuck,” Ray curses, startling when Brad touches his shoulders, presses behind him. He tips his head back, eyes wide and expression nowhere near innocent. Before Ray can say anything else, Brad catches Ray’s chin with one hand and presses their lips together in a kiss. It starts with a clack of teeth and bubbling laughter from Ray, hysterical, but he parts his lips easily under the first press of Brad’s tongue, and it’s wet and obscene after that. Ray sucks at Brad’s tongue like there’s nothing else he could possibly want to be doing right now.
Nate makes a sound, something contemplative, followed by a needier one when it becomes clear they’re ignoring him. He arches his hips up, trembling as he struggles to maintain his balance without toppling them all over. Brad doesn’t know which one of them started this handjobs on his bike business, but Brad is going to end them both when it’s over. If his bike gets hurt, no one is ever going to find their bodies.
Ray moans into the kiss, and Brad covers Ray’s hand with his own when he starts to jerk Nate off in earnest again. His fingers are sticky and small and Ray spreads them wide enough to let Brad’s slip between them. It’s an odd angle, an odd grip, but Nate tips his head back and exposes the delicate line of his throat, moaning unabashedly. When Brad swipes his thumb over the head of Nate’s cock, Nate stops trying to arch up and the muscles in his thighs and stomach clench.
It doesn’t take a lot for the two of them to bring Nate off, their fingers tight around him as they stroke and twist. His come is hot and wet, smearing over their fingers as they work Nate through his orgasm, another chain binding the three of them together. They don’t stop stroking until Nate whimpers, press their hands to his thighs messily to keep from breaking contact all together.
Nate’s shoulders and arms are straining, have to be killing him, but he doesn’t complain. Just struggles to catch his breath with shaky inhales, watching Brad place soft kisses to Ray’s jaw and cheek and the corner of his brow. Ray lets him, petting Nate’s thigh soothingly and letting out a happy sigh. For a moment, they’re just existing, together.
Brad still has every intention of yelling at them for debasing his bike, but it can wait a minute for them to catch their breaths. Or, after however long it takes to get Ray bent over the worktable and screaming his name. Whichever comes first.