GK, BFF, 1/1, PG13, Ray, Brad/Walt, 476
Title: BFF
Author: sephirothflame
Fandom: Generation Kill
Rating: PG13
Character(s)/Pairing(s): Ray Person, Brad Colbert x Walt Hasser
Warning(s): language, implied daddy!kink and rough sex
Spoiler(s): None
Prompt(s): Valentine's Day fic. ♥
Word Count: 476
Notes: Because writing fic was more important than deciding what goes to Goodwill today...
Summary: Brad and Walt should be grateful.
Disclaimer: I do not own Generation Kill. This is a work of fiction inspired by the fictional portrayal of the actual events. No harm intended.
Brad and Walt are Ray’s babies. Sometimes he wants to hit them both upside the head, but he wants them to be happy and in love and shit, too. He wants them to not look so broken every time they come back from a deployment and if that means finding comfort or whatever in each other, then so be it.
Ray doesn’t care who they’re fucking as long as it means they don’t look at him with pathetic little drunk faces whenever Ray’s buying shots. Ray's learned to stomach a lot over the years, but seeing his best friends looking like kicked puppies is the ultimate mood killer in any situation.
Honestly, as far as Ray is concerned, Brad and Walt hooking up is the greatest thing ever. Sure, he could live without the visuals of them rubbing off together and he’s pretty sure Walt calls Brad daddy in bed, because they’re kinky little shits like that, but in the grand scheme of things, it’s perfect.
Because, not counting the band mates that Ray is only friends with on the best of days, Ray doesn’t really like anybody else. Walt and Brad simultaneously fill the spot of BFF and hanging out with the both of them is a helluva lot better when they’re not quietly pining after each other and think the rest of the world is oblivious. (Then again, the rest of the world might be oblivious, and they’re fucking stupid if they are.)
Ray doesn’t have to worry about things as much anymore. If he shows up drunk on Brad’s doorstep, he knows Brad will let him crash on the couch and fetch him a glass of water (but only one, because I’m not your fucking mother) and Walt is always nearby if Ray needs someone to sniffle and bitch at. They don’t cuddle, because Brad would probably rip Ray’s arms off, but Walt doesn’t object to the closer-than-probably-appropriate-sitting and sharing a bottle of Jack with Ray when Ray really needs it.
And maybe sometimes, when Ray crashing on their couch is a frequent thing, he has to listen to Brad fuck Walt into the mattress just down the hall, but at least Walt has the common courtesy to look embarrassed about it in the mornings. Brad just looks smug and likes to finger bites and bruises on Walt’s skin and Ray just steals booze from the fridge and tries to forget anything ever happened.
Also, Ray’s pretty sure he deserves a thank you card the size of their bed and a million consecutive nights of one of them being his wingman, but he’s in no rush to push that one. As long as he still gets to crash on their couch for pizza and wings and Halo every weekend, Ray figures things are pretty alright in his books.
For now, that’s good enough.
Author: sephirothflame
Fandom: Generation Kill
Rating: PG13
Character(s)/Pairing(s): Ray Person, Brad Colbert x Walt Hasser
Warning(s): language, implied daddy!kink and rough sex
Spoiler(s): None
Prompt(s): Valentine's Day fic. ♥
Word Count: 476
Notes: Because writing fic was more important than deciding what goes to Goodwill today...
Summary: Brad and Walt should be grateful.
Disclaimer: I do not own Generation Kill. This is a work of fiction inspired by the fictional portrayal of the actual events. No harm intended.
Brad and Walt are Ray’s babies. Sometimes he wants to hit them both upside the head, but he wants them to be happy and in love and shit, too. He wants them to not look so broken every time they come back from a deployment and if that means finding comfort or whatever in each other, then so be it.
Ray doesn’t care who they’re fucking as long as it means they don’t look at him with pathetic little drunk faces whenever Ray’s buying shots. Ray's learned to stomach a lot over the years, but seeing his best friends looking like kicked puppies is the ultimate mood killer in any situation.
Honestly, as far as Ray is concerned, Brad and Walt hooking up is the greatest thing ever. Sure, he could live without the visuals of them rubbing off together and he’s pretty sure Walt calls Brad daddy in bed, because they’re kinky little shits like that, but in the grand scheme of things, it’s perfect.
Because, not counting the band mates that Ray is only friends with on the best of days, Ray doesn’t really like anybody else. Walt and Brad simultaneously fill the spot of BFF and hanging out with the both of them is a helluva lot better when they’re not quietly pining after each other and think the rest of the world is oblivious. (Then again, the rest of the world might be oblivious, and they’re fucking stupid if they are.)
Ray doesn’t have to worry about things as much anymore. If he shows up drunk on Brad’s doorstep, he knows Brad will let him crash on the couch and fetch him a glass of water (but only one, because I’m not your fucking mother) and Walt is always nearby if Ray needs someone to sniffle and bitch at. They don’t cuddle, because Brad would probably rip Ray’s arms off, but Walt doesn’t object to the closer-than-probably-appropriate-sitting and sharing a bottle of Jack with Ray when Ray really needs it.
And maybe sometimes, when Ray crashing on their couch is a frequent thing, he has to listen to Brad fuck Walt into the mattress just down the hall, but at least Walt has the common courtesy to look embarrassed about it in the mornings. Brad just looks smug and likes to finger bites and bruises on Walt’s skin and Ray just steals booze from the fridge and tries to forget anything ever happened.
Also, Ray’s pretty sure he deserves a thank you card the size of their bed and a million consecutive nights of one of them being his wingman, but he’s in no rush to push that one. As long as he still gets to crash on their couch for pizza and wings and Halo every weekend, Ray figures things are pretty alright in his books.
For now, that’s good enough.