GK, You and Me, 1/1, R, Brad/Ray, 4,000
Title: You and Me
Author: sephirothflame
Fandom: Generation Kill
Rating: R
Character(s)/Pairing(s): Ray Person x Brad Colbert, Walt Hasser, Nate Fick, James Trombley, OFC(s)
Warning(s): AU, language, frottage
Spoiler(s): N/A
Word Count: 4,000
Master List: here
Notes: Because it's been a million years since I've written in this 'verse. Takes place before Another Day and It's a love story (baby just say 'yes').
Summary: Brad and Ray have a habit of making each other jealous, even when they don't mean to or know it. Ray's not good with hiding his emotions, either.
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.
It all starts on a Tuesday. Ray’s just minding his own business, drawing penises and dragons around the edge of the day planner with Bravo-2’s schedule when it happens. In walks one of the tallest, most attractive motherfucker’s Ray’s ever seen grace this city. Which is saying a lot since, hello, Los Angeles.
As soon as the door shuts behind him, the guy is pushing a pair of designer sunglasses to the top of his head and a pair of bright green eyes meet Ray’s own. “Hi,” he says, offering his hand. “I’m Nate.” There’s a dark red tattoo on the inside of his wrist, and he only seems mildly amused when Ray opts to get a closer look instead of shaking. “I have an appointment.”
“You’re Brad’s one o’clock consultation?” Ray asks, thumb brushing the dark red ink gently. It’s a phoenix, and Ray would judge the Hell out of him for it, but the line art is clean and the design simple. Ray’s seen a lot worse. “This the one you trying to get covered up?”
“No,” Nate says almost immediately. He just quirks an eyebrow when Ray looks at him, and Ray lets go of his wrist. “I like that one,” Nate continues, his voice softening. “Is there somewhere I could wait, or - ?”
Ray points his pen towards the leather couches on the far side of the parlor’s foyer. If Nate doesn’t want to talk to him, then that’s Nate’s loss. Ray is a fucking awesome conversationalist. “Brad’s just supervising something, but they’ll be done in a few minutes.”
Nate smiles kindly before going to the couches. He seems perfectly at ease there, leaning back on the couch and toying with his smart phone, and Ray lets him be. Brad is always complaining about Ray harassing away customers, and it’s easier just to go back to doodling in the no longer meticulous day planner.
By the time a pink haired girl and Walt come over to the counter, Ray has almost forgotten Nate was quietly sitting on the other side of the room. He stops doodling - a black phoenix, maybe not an exact replica but close enough, he’s sure - in favor of letting Walt take over the counter space to finish up.
“Brad,” Ray says, meandering over to Walt’s temporary studio and pushing the curtain all the way aside. “Your one o’clock is here.”
“And you didn’t think to tell me when he showed up, because?” Brad asks, frowning. He looks up from where he’s wiping down the chairs and doesn’t say anything when Ray’s fingertips brush against the ink on his bicep.
“He was kind of pretty,” Ray says, shrugging a shoulder vaguely. “And he didn’t annoy me enough to pass onto you. Plus, you know how Walt gets when you’re not in arms’ reach.”
Brad rolls his eyes, bumping his shoulder into Ray’s on purpose when he bumps past him. “Walt is getting better about that.”
Even Ray can’t deny it. Walt might not be the most self-confident of the apprentices that threw themselves at Brad’s feet, but he’s definitely the most talented. Even if he does have a stupid smiley face tattooed on the pad of his thumb. Plus, he’s way better with potential clients than Ray could ever dream to be.
“When Walt’s done, get him to help you clean the lobby,” Brad says, glancing over his shoulder to make sure Ray’s listening. “And if Stafford calls, tell him I’ll get back to him. Poke’s fine with him picking up a few jobs here since they don’t get enough over there.”
Ray frowns and narrows his eyes at Brad. “Are you trying to get rid of me already? And replace me with Stafford? You traitorous bastard.”
“You’re an idiot,” Brad says, but he neither confirms nor denies trying to get rid of Ray. “Get back to fucking work before I fire you for real.”
Sticking his tongue out at Brad’s back, Ray follows him back out into the lobby. He smacks Walt’s ass when he squeezes behind Walt to get to his seat and ignores the dark look Walt sends him. “Hi,” he says to the pink haired girl, and it’s as easy as that to ignore Brad and Nate and blatantly disregard direct orders.
Brad loves Ray too much to fire him and they both know it. He needs someone to be miserable and snarky with.
&
Walt hums along to the radio while he mops. He always hums when he cleans, whether it’s the lobby of Bravo-2 or his own workspace, and it’s kind of endearing. He knows how to carry a tune, and that’s probably the only reason Brad never snaps at him for it.
It’s not until Walt stops suddenly, the room going quiet, that Ray realizes something is amiss. Walt looks at Ray quizzically and asks, “do you hear that?”
And sure enough, Ray can pinpoint the problem. There is laughter. And not just any kind of laughter. This isn’t Brad’s I’m mocking the Hell out of you and judging your fucked up choices laugh, it’s the one that’s usually reserved for beer and pizza nights between close friends. Ray can count on one hand the number of people that can make Brad honestly laugh.
“Do you think they know each other already?” Walt asks, tipping his head to the side.
“Do you think Brad wants to sleep with him?” Ray counters. He knows for a fact that Brad isn’t necessarily nice to the people he wants to sleep with, but Ray saw Nate. He bets Nate’s the kind of guy who needs to be courted and shit. Brad bought Ray a beer and let Ray blow him in the bathroom of a dive bar. If Brad’s ever had real class, Ray’s yet to see it, but that doesn’t mean it’s too late to start now.
“You need to stop watching daytime TV,” Walt says, the corner of his lip quirking up into a smile. He pulls the stereo remote out of his pocket and turns the volume up, humming easily along with Boys of Summer. The Don Henley version, because Brad threatened them over about The Atari’s and Walt actually has class.
Ray thinks Walt’s no fun, but he doesn’t say it. He just slouches further on the leather couch and stares at the flat screen with vague despondence. By the time Walt has dragged out the vacuum, the song has changed, and he just nudges Ray’s knees until he picks his feet up so Walt can vacuum between the couch and coffee table.
“Do you want to get beer after work?” Ray asks over the noise.
“Can’t,” Walt says simply. “First Tuesday of the month.” Which translates into mandatory date night. Ray would object, but Walt’s girlfriend is pretty cool and he’s more than a little worried she’d hit him with her Jeep.
Ray slumps further in his seat, but Walt doesn’t pity him even a little bit. “I hate you.”
“You love me,” Walt counters. He smiles, self-satisfied, because even when Ray glowers at him, he knows he’s right. Sometimes Ray really does hate Walt, only, not really.
&
Ray gets a walk in a little after two. He’s got his own workspace next to Brad’s, though his walls are covered in magnetic paint and he’s got pictures of piercings he’s done stuck to them. It catches his client’s eyes, a girl he made Walt double check her ID to make sure she’s legal, and Ray lets her look while he prepares.
She clucks her tongue to get his attention and taps a photo. “Wouldn’t this hurt?”
“You’re getting your nipples pierced and you want to know if a dick piercing hurts?” Ray asks incredulously. He doesn’t miss the girl’s blank stare and he gestures for her to come closer and sit down. “They’re not that bad.”
Sitting down gracefully, the girl starts to unbutton her blouse slowly. She lets it fall down her shoulders, and when she realizes Ray’s watching, she looks up at him from under his lashes. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”
That throws Ray off, but only because she looks like she should still be in high school. He’s been fucked by men with bigger tits than hers, and he hasn’t even pierced her yet. Before Ray can say anything though, Brad clears his throat and says, “he’d get fired in a heartbeat and you’d have to take your ass somewhere else to get work done.”
The girl looks almost as startled as Ray feels. “I see.”
“Can I help you with something?” Ray asks. He quirks an eyebrow and has to fight the urge to put his hands on his hips. He’s not a girl. He’s not Brad’s. He can show his dick to anyone he wants. Just because he doesn’t care for this one girl to see it doesn’t mean anything.
Brad stares at Ray with a blank expression, before tipping his head to the side. “I need to run to the store. I’m leaving you in charge. If my next appointment shows up and I’m not back, call me.”
That gives Ray pause. “You’re next appointment isn’t until three,” he says, and Brad gives him a look like he knows that shit. Which, to be fair, he probably does. “Okay, okay. Piss off and let me do my fucking job.”
The corner of Brad’s lips twitch up into a smirk. He doesn’t tell Ray to stay out of trouble, and Ray can hear him talking to Walt in the lobby. He can’t make out the words, not exactly, but Ray has a job to do and he might as well do it.
Besides, Brad’s probably off to buy groceries from the pussy organic store down the block. Ray gets to look at a perfect pair of tits. It’s obvious who is winning in this situation.
&
Emily’s nipples haven’t stopped bleeding yet when she asks him out for a drink. “I assure you, I am old enough.” There’s something coy about the way she says it, and it’s tempting.
“I’m not supposed to hook up with people I’ve worked on,” Ray replies easily. He doesn’t mention that he feels skeevy going out with anyone he’s met at Bravo-2, because he isn’t sure he knows how to explain it. This place is Brad’s baby, and Ray might sleep around, but he isn’t going to do it because of something that started here. Ray likes to think Brad’s the same way.
“Even if I knew where to score?” Emily asks, quirking an eyebrow. She lets Ray take care of her without batting her lashes, and she makes no move to put her clothes back on. Her fingers touch the dark ink on Ray’s bicep. “I’m sure I could make it worth your while.”
Joy, Ray thinks. A barely-legal looking girl with drugs. Brad would have a conniption if he could see Ray now. “I’m kind of seeing someone,” Ray says without thinking about it. The best lies have some basis in truth, right?
Emily seems to deflate at that, reaching for her clothes, but she looks thoughtful. “Maybe some other time, then,” she says. She writes her number carefully on a receipt she pulls from her pocket, and Ray lets her tuck it into his own. “I should probably pay you now, huh?”
“Bravo-2 as a whole would greatly appreciate it,” Ray agrees, nodding. He feels almost guilty about the number in his pocket, obtained without even trying, but it doesn’t stop him from watching Emily’s ass as she leads the way to the front desk. There’s a special level of Hell with Ray’s name all over it.
&
When Brad comes back, Trombley is close at his heel and he has coffee. He barks orders as he hands them out, at Trombley to clean the stockroom and do his fucking algebra and for Walt to help him. It leaves Ray to man the desk, which Ray never minds, but he enjoys being obstinate about it.
Brad’s three o’clock is already waiting in the lobby and Brad gestures vaguely for the guy to come over. He pauses when he realizes Ray’s as his side, and quirks an eyebrow. “Can I help you with something?”
“You want to get drinks after work?” Ray asks. He catches his reflection in a mirror and tries to smooth down his hair, ignoring the curious look Brad gives him.
“The usual bar or your place?” Brad asks. He means, for fun or for sex and they both know it.
Ray licks his lips and quirks a smile up at Brad. “Either or,” he replies. He means it, too. It could go either way anyways; it wouldn’t be the first time Ray blew Brad at the bar and they can lounge just as easily as fuck at his place.
“I’ll think about it,” Brad says. His fingers brush against Ray’s shoulder, pressing gently to urge him towards the desk, but Ray doesn’t miss the way they trail down his arm. They’re both pretty sure where this is going tonight, then. “Get back to work.”
For once, Ray obeys without complaint.
&
Walt takes Trombley home when Bravo-2 closes, because it’s after ten. As much as he tries to hide it, they all know how Brad feels about Trombley walking home alone this late out, but Walt is going in the same direction so he never objects. It leaves Ray and Brad alone to close up the parlor and Ray doesn’t mind that either.
Ray definitely doesn’t mind much when Brad’s fingers slip up under his shirt and along the hem of his jeans, his lips pressing a dry kiss to the soft spot behind Ray’s ear. Ray can feel his breath hitching instinctively as he tips his head to the side. “I thought the plan was to go somewhere else?”
“I changed my mind,” Brad says. His fingers dip under Ray’s jeans, tracing along Ray’s hipbones. “Besides, nothing says we can’t get a drink after.”
He brings up a very good point and Ray has no qualms with accepting it. Besides, he’s pretty sure he can wrangle a second round of sex out of it if he plays his cards right. Brad’s kind of easy some nights.
“Couch?” Ray asks, relaxing back against Brad. It’s warm and smothering and he loves the way Brad’s breath feels on his skin more than Ray will ever admit. “Desk. Floor. I don’t fucking care, just pick a place and fuck me already.”
Brad huffs a laugh against Ray’s skin. He trails his fingers along Ray’s skin until he can grope Ray through his shorts, dragging the heel of his palm over Ray’s cock slowly. “You’re so fucking easy,” Brad says, amused. “Couch, move.”
Ray has every intention to object, but Brad pulls his hands out of Ray’s pants and nudges his hips forward slowly. Ray twists on his heels, grabbing Brad’s wrists and tugging him along. He wants to make sure Brad is following, wants to watch the way Brad is looking at him in amusement and lust. This is why Ray loves Brad, amongst other reasons.
The couch bumps the back of Ray’s knees, and he goes down easily. He has to let go of Brad to twist around on it, bringing his legs up and trying to pull off his shirts and kick off his shoes at the same time. Ray’s surprised Brad doesn’t laugh, but by the time Ray’s managed to tug his shirt off Brad’s done the same. The cushion dips when Brad gets a knee on it, and he doesn’t hesitate in reaching for Ray’s jeans and popping the button.
Ray arches his hips when Brad tugs at his jeans, lets himself be stripped of his pants and boxers in one rough jerk. Ray’s got no issues being naked in front of Brad, even here, and he smirks up at him and strokes his own cock. He can feel Brad’s eyes on him, hear his heavy breathing in the quiet lobby. He’s the center of Brad’s attention and that turns Ray on more than the slow drag of his fingers along the underside of his cock and the way his thumb pushes against his piercing.
Brad sits back on his heels to unlace his boots, pushing them off of his feet slowly. He toes off his socks as he undoes his jeans, but his eyes never leave Ray’s face. He licks his lower lip slowly, pushing his jeans down, and Ray’s mouth waters at the sight of Brad’s swollen cock.
“Brad,” Ray whines, but he won’t admit it and he doesn’t know for what. He wants to lick and suck Brad’s cock, choke on it, wishes Brad would shove his legs apart and just fuck him like he means it. Ray would give up all the sleeping around in the world if it meant he was the only one who got to see Brad like this, feel him.
“Shut up, Ray,” Brad says. He grips the back or Ray’s thighs, dragging him down the couch with a rough tug. He takes the time to kick off the last of his clothes before he leans in close and covers Ray’s body with his own, his lips brushing against Ray’s cheekbone. “Just shhh.”
With Brad’s fingers in his hair, his breath on Ray’s cheek and his cock pressed against Ray’s own, it’s hard to object. Ray’s sure he could, if he wanted to, but he doesn’t even try. Instead, Brad digs his knees into the couch cushions and arches his hips up and the only thing Ray can think to do is dig his nails into Brad’s back and hold on.
It’s slow and easy, and Ray is going to stick to the damn leather couch when they’re done but he doesn’t give a fuck. This is just him and Brad, holding on and grinding against each other with a lazy familiarity that makes something warm settle low in Ray’s stomach. The dry friction is good, even with a smear of precum covering both their bellies, and every time Ray’s piercing presses against the head of Brad’s cock, they both groan.
They take their time, despite the fact they sort of have plans and they’re in the Bravo-2 lobby. Ray’s nails drag down Brad’s back, not quite leaving marks, and he arches his hips up to meet every roll of Brad’s hips. It’s easy to get lost in the motions and the rough sound of Brad’s breathing and his low murmured praises.
Brad might not be the loudest person Ray’s ever fucked, but Ray knows how to read him. He knows the sounds Brad makes when he’s impatient to come even before Brad finally works a hand between their bellies to wrap around them both and jerk them off. It doesn’t take long after that, Ray’s piercing rubbing along the underside of Brad’s cock and Brad’s calloused fingers teasing along the head. Ray comes with a stuttered sigh and Brad presses a kiss to the corner of his jaw.
“Ray,” Brad moans, his lips dragging against Ray’s skin in a dry kiss. “Ray.” He lets Ray’s cock slip from his fingers as soon as he’s done coming, using the slickness to jerk himself off. He groans when Ray’s lips press against the corner of his jaw, breath hitching, and Ray holds him tight when he finally comes.
It’s suffocating to be trapped under the dead weight of Brad’s body, but Ray doesn’t mind. He can live with it, and he can live with the come sticking their bellies together and the sweat sticking him to the couch. It doesn’t matter because Ray’s got what he wants.
Dragging his fingers along Brad’s hairline, Ray waits for the soft content sigh to escape Brad’s lips before he presses his nails down. “I never wanted to show her my dick.”
For a moment, Brad is quiet. He goes tense though, not in a defensive way, just enough for Ray to feel the tension of his muscles as he starts to pull away. Brad stops himself even before Ray can object, settling for shifting his weight and pressing a slow kiss to Ray’s lips. “I know.”
Ray drags his fingers down Brad’s neck and sighs. He can feel himself smiling, even as Brad presses another kiss to his lips, and he tugs at one of Brad’s earlobes gently. “Still want to go out for a drink?”
Brad hums thoughtfully and pushes his weight up onto his elbows. He skims his fingers along Ray’s jaw before tapping his nose. “Your place. And takeout.” He pushes himself up until he’s sitting on his heels and makes a face. “Wait here for a moment.”
Arching his hips up slowly, Ray understands and sympathizes with Brad’s disgust. His skin feels tacky where he’s pulling away from the couch but he doesn’t otherwise move while Brad tugs on his jeans and finds something to clean them up with. If Brad wants him to stay put, Ray will stay put. If Brad wants him to follow, Ray won’t hesitate. That doesn’t mean he has to be quiet though.
”Hey, Brad?” Ray asks, craning his neck to watch Brad search for a hand towel in the storage closet. He’s not surprised when Brad doesn’t stop what he’s doing, but he takes the vaguely interrogative sound as a sign to continue. “The guy that came in earlier, he a friend of yours?”
That does make Brad stop. That, or he’s already found the towel he needs. “And you’re curious about that now, why exactly?” He doesn’t sound defensive, but he’s not exactly amused either. It’s an interesting response.
Ray doesn’t have an answer to it though. He’s making conversation or maybe he’s a little bit jealous, even in his post orgasm haze. He just likes to know things, especially things relating to Brad. “Just killing the silence.”
For a moment, Brad doesn’t respond. The creaky sink in the closet sputters on, the sound of water filling the lobby, but it turns off shortly and Brad makes his way back over to Ray to drop the towel on his stomach. “I met Nate in a bar. He liked my ink.”
”Right,” Ray says. He pushes himself up onto his elbows and wipes the stickiness from his stomach slowly. He wonders if the fucking in Bravo-2 was because Brad couldn’t wait to get Nate out of his system or if he hates the idea of Ray with a client. There’s too many variables. “What did he want covered up?”
Brad snorts derisively and it’s a familiar sound. “He has a shitty Gaelic knot, heart shaped tattoo on his back.” His judging is obvious in his tone and the slight sneer on his lips. “Cliché and poorly executed.”
Ray runs the rag between his thighs and makes a contemplative noise. “So you’re not fucking him?”
”Jesus Christ, Ray,” Brad says. There, that’s his defensive tone. It makes Ray want to push harder and pull back at the same time. Leave it to Ray to fuck up their evening plans by asking about Brad’s sexual history. “I’ve known him for a week. And he’s.” Brad gestures vaguely with one hand. “Are we going to go to your place or not, Ray?”
Biting the inside of his cheek, Ray offers the rag back to Brad and shrugs a shoulder vaguely. “Give me a minute to get dressed, asshole.” He ignores the guilty feeling in his gut and the way Brad watches him in exasperation.
It’s easy getting dressed, and Brad leaves him to it to wipe down the couch before rinsing the rag off in the sink. By the time he’s back, Ray’s lacing up his sneakers and waiting for him. “Shall we?” Ray asks, forcing himself to smile and grin cheekily.
Rolling his eyes, Brad slaps Ray’s ass before leading the way towards the front door, turning lights off as he goes. Ray doesn’t hesitate to follow.
Author: sephirothflame
Fandom: Generation Kill
Rating: R
Character(s)/Pairing(s): Ray Person x Brad Colbert, Walt Hasser, Nate Fick, James Trombley, OFC(s)
Warning(s): AU, language, frottage
Spoiler(s): N/A
Word Count: 4,000
Master List: here
Notes: Because it's been a million years since I've written in this 'verse. Takes place before Another Day and It's a love story (baby just say 'yes').
Summary: Brad and Ray have a habit of making each other jealous, even when they don't mean to or know it. Ray's not good with hiding his emotions, either.
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.
It all starts on a Tuesday. Ray’s just minding his own business, drawing penises and dragons around the edge of the day planner with Bravo-2’s schedule when it happens. In walks one of the tallest, most attractive motherfucker’s Ray’s ever seen grace this city. Which is saying a lot since, hello, Los Angeles.
As soon as the door shuts behind him, the guy is pushing a pair of designer sunglasses to the top of his head and a pair of bright green eyes meet Ray’s own. “Hi,” he says, offering his hand. “I’m Nate.” There’s a dark red tattoo on the inside of his wrist, and he only seems mildly amused when Ray opts to get a closer look instead of shaking. “I have an appointment.”
“You’re Brad’s one o’clock consultation?” Ray asks, thumb brushing the dark red ink gently. It’s a phoenix, and Ray would judge the Hell out of him for it, but the line art is clean and the design simple. Ray’s seen a lot worse. “This the one you trying to get covered up?”
“No,” Nate says almost immediately. He just quirks an eyebrow when Ray looks at him, and Ray lets go of his wrist. “I like that one,” Nate continues, his voice softening. “Is there somewhere I could wait, or - ?”
Ray points his pen towards the leather couches on the far side of the parlor’s foyer. If Nate doesn’t want to talk to him, then that’s Nate’s loss. Ray is a fucking awesome conversationalist. “Brad’s just supervising something, but they’ll be done in a few minutes.”
Nate smiles kindly before going to the couches. He seems perfectly at ease there, leaning back on the couch and toying with his smart phone, and Ray lets him be. Brad is always complaining about Ray harassing away customers, and it’s easier just to go back to doodling in the no longer meticulous day planner.
By the time a pink haired girl and Walt come over to the counter, Ray has almost forgotten Nate was quietly sitting on the other side of the room. He stops doodling - a black phoenix, maybe not an exact replica but close enough, he’s sure - in favor of letting Walt take over the counter space to finish up.
“Brad,” Ray says, meandering over to Walt’s temporary studio and pushing the curtain all the way aside. “Your one o’clock is here.”
“And you didn’t think to tell me when he showed up, because?” Brad asks, frowning. He looks up from where he’s wiping down the chairs and doesn’t say anything when Ray’s fingertips brush against the ink on his bicep.
“He was kind of pretty,” Ray says, shrugging a shoulder vaguely. “And he didn’t annoy me enough to pass onto you. Plus, you know how Walt gets when you’re not in arms’ reach.”
Brad rolls his eyes, bumping his shoulder into Ray’s on purpose when he bumps past him. “Walt is getting better about that.”
Even Ray can’t deny it. Walt might not be the most self-confident of the apprentices that threw themselves at Brad’s feet, but he’s definitely the most talented. Even if he does have a stupid smiley face tattooed on the pad of his thumb. Plus, he’s way better with potential clients than Ray could ever dream to be.
“When Walt’s done, get him to help you clean the lobby,” Brad says, glancing over his shoulder to make sure Ray’s listening. “And if Stafford calls, tell him I’ll get back to him. Poke’s fine with him picking up a few jobs here since they don’t get enough over there.”
Ray frowns and narrows his eyes at Brad. “Are you trying to get rid of me already? And replace me with Stafford? You traitorous bastard.”
“You’re an idiot,” Brad says, but he neither confirms nor denies trying to get rid of Ray. “Get back to fucking work before I fire you for real.”
Sticking his tongue out at Brad’s back, Ray follows him back out into the lobby. He smacks Walt’s ass when he squeezes behind Walt to get to his seat and ignores the dark look Walt sends him. “Hi,” he says to the pink haired girl, and it’s as easy as that to ignore Brad and Nate and blatantly disregard direct orders.
Brad loves Ray too much to fire him and they both know it. He needs someone to be miserable and snarky with.
&
Walt hums along to the radio while he mops. He always hums when he cleans, whether it’s the lobby of Bravo-2 or his own workspace, and it’s kind of endearing. He knows how to carry a tune, and that’s probably the only reason Brad never snaps at him for it.
It’s not until Walt stops suddenly, the room going quiet, that Ray realizes something is amiss. Walt looks at Ray quizzically and asks, “do you hear that?”
And sure enough, Ray can pinpoint the problem. There is laughter. And not just any kind of laughter. This isn’t Brad’s I’m mocking the Hell out of you and judging your fucked up choices laugh, it’s the one that’s usually reserved for beer and pizza nights between close friends. Ray can count on one hand the number of people that can make Brad honestly laugh.
“Do you think they know each other already?” Walt asks, tipping his head to the side.
“Do you think Brad wants to sleep with him?” Ray counters. He knows for a fact that Brad isn’t necessarily nice to the people he wants to sleep with, but Ray saw Nate. He bets Nate’s the kind of guy who needs to be courted and shit. Brad bought Ray a beer and let Ray blow him in the bathroom of a dive bar. If Brad’s ever had real class, Ray’s yet to see it, but that doesn’t mean it’s too late to start now.
“You need to stop watching daytime TV,” Walt says, the corner of his lip quirking up into a smile. He pulls the stereo remote out of his pocket and turns the volume up, humming easily along with Boys of Summer. The Don Henley version, because Brad threatened them over about The Atari’s and Walt actually has class.
Ray thinks Walt’s no fun, but he doesn’t say it. He just slouches further on the leather couch and stares at the flat screen with vague despondence. By the time Walt has dragged out the vacuum, the song has changed, and he just nudges Ray’s knees until he picks his feet up so Walt can vacuum between the couch and coffee table.
“Do you want to get beer after work?” Ray asks over the noise.
“Can’t,” Walt says simply. “First Tuesday of the month.” Which translates into mandatory date night. Ray would object, but Walt’s girlfriend is pretty cool and he’s more than a little worried she’d hit him with her Jeep.
Ray slumps further in his seat, but Walt doesn’t pity him even a little bit. “I hate you.”
“You love me,” Walt counters. He smiles, self-satisfied, because even when Ray glowers at him, he knows he’s right. Sometimes Ray really does hate Walt, only, not really.
&
Ray gets a walk in a little after two. He’s got his own workspace next to Brad’s, though his walls are covered in magnetic paint and he’s got pictures of piercings he’s done stuck to them. It catches his client’s eyes, a girl he made Walt double check her ID to make sure she’s legal, and Ray lets her look while he prepares.
She clucks her tongue to get his attention and taps a photo. “Wouldn’t this hurt?”
“You’re getting your nipples pierced and you want to know if a dick piercing hurts?” Ray asks incredulously. He doesn’t miss the girl’s blank stare and he gestures for her to come closer and sit down. “They’re not that bad.”
Sitting down gracefully, the girl starts to unbutton her blouse slowly. She lets it fall down her shoulders, and when she realizes Ray’s watching, she looks up at him from under his lashes. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”
That throws Ray off, but only because she looks like she should still be in high school. He’s been fucked by men with bigger tits than hers, and he hasn’t even pierced her yet. Before Ray can say anything though, Brad clears his throat and says, “he’d get fired in a heartbeat and you’d have to take your ass somewhere else to get work done.”
The girl looks almost as startled as Ray feels. “I see.”
“Can I help you with something?” Ray asks. He quirks an eyebrow and has to fight the urge to put his hands on his hips. He’s not a girl. He’s not Brad’s. He can show his dick to anyone he wants. Just because he doesn’t care for this one girl to see it doesn’t mean anything.
Brad stares at Ray with a blank expression, before tipping his head to the side. “I need to run to the store. I’m leaving you in charge. If my next appointment shows up and I’m not back, call me.”
That gives Ray pause. “You’re next appointment isn’t until three,” he says, and Brad gives him a look like he knows that shit. Which, to be fair, he probably does. “Okay, okay. Piss off and let me do my fucking job.”
The corner of Brad’s lips twitch up into a smirk. He doesn’t tell Ray to stay out of trouble, and Ray can hear him talking to Walt in the lobby. He can’t make out the words, not exactly, but Ray has a job to do and he might as well do it.
Besides, Brad’s probably off to buy groceries from the pussy organic store down the block. Ray gets to look at a perfect pair of tits. It’s obvious who is winning in this situation.
&
Emily’s nipples haven’t stopped bleeding yet when she asks him out for a drink. “I assure you, I am old enough.” There’s something coy about the way she says it, and it’s tempting.
“I’m not supposed to hook up with people I’ve worked on,” Ray replies easily. He doesn’t mention that he feels skeevy going out with anyone he’s met at Bravo-2, because he isn’t sure he knows how to explain it. This place is Brad’s baby, and Ray might sleep around, but he isn’t going to do it because of something that started here. Ray likes to think Brad’s the same way.
“Even if I knew where to score?” Emily asks, quirking an eyebrow. She lets Ray take care of her without batting her lashes, and she makes no move to put her clothes back on. Her fingers touch the dark ink on Ray’s bicep. “I’m sure I could make it worth your while.”
Joy, Ray thinks. A barely-legal looking girl with drugs. Brad would have a conniption if he could see Ray now. “I’m kind of seeing someone,” Ray says without thinking about it. The best lies have some basis in truth, right?
Emily seems to deflate at that, reaching for her clothes, but she looks thoughtful. “Maybe some other time, then,” she says. She writes her number carefully on a receipt she pulls from her pocket, and Ray lets her tuck it into his own. “I should probably pay you now, huh?”
“Bravo-2 as a whole would greatly appreciate it,” Ray agrees, nodding. He feels almost guilty about the number in his pocket, obtained without even trying, but it doesn’t stop him from watching Emily’s ass as she leads the way to the front desk. There’s a special level of Hell with Ray’s name all over it.
&
When Brad comes back, Trombley is close at his heel and he has coffee. He barks orders as he hands them out, at Trombley to clean the stockroom and do his fucking algebra and for Walt to help him. It leaves Ray to man the desk, which Ray never minds, but he enjoys being obstinate about it.
Brad’s three o’clock is already waiting in the lobby and Brad gestures vaguely for the guy to come over. He pauses when he realizes Ray’s as his side, and quirks an eyebrow. “Can I help you with something?”
“You want to get drinks after work?” Ray asks. He catches his reflection in a mirror and tries to smooth down his hair, ignoring the curious look Brad gives him.
“The usual bar or your place?” Brad asks. He means, for fun or for sex and they both know it.
Ray licks his lips and quirks a smile up at Brad. “Either or,” he replies. He means it, too. It could go either way anyways; it wouldn’t be the first time Ray blew Brad at the bar and they can lounge just as easily as fuck at his place.
“I’ll think about it,” Brad says. His fingers brush against Ray’s shoulder, pressing gently to urge him towards the desk, but Ray doesn’t miss the way they trail down his arm. They’re both pretty sure where this is going tonight, then. “Get back to work.”
For once, Ray obeys without complaint.
&
Walt takes Trombley home when Bravo-2 closes, because it’s after ten. As much as he tries to hide it, they all know how Brad feels about Trombley walking home alone this late out, but Walt is going in the same direction so he never objects. It leaves Ray and Brad alone to close up the parlor and Ray doesn’t mind that either.
Ray definitely doesn’t mind much when Brad’s fingers slip up under his shirt and along the hem of his jeans, his lips pressing a dry kiss to the soft spot behind Ray’s ear. Ray can feel his breath hitching instinctively as he tips his head to the side. “I thought the plan was to go somewhere else?”
“I changed my mind,” Brad says. His fingers dip under Ray’s jeans, tracing along Ray’s hipbones. “Besides, nothing says we can’t get a drink after.”
He brings up a very good point and Ray has no qualms with accepting it. Besides, he’s pretty sure he can wrangle a second round of sex out of it if he plays his cards right. Brad’s kind of easy some nights.
“Couch?” Ray asks, relaxing back against Brad. It’s warm and smothering and he loves the way Brad’s breath feels on his skin more than Ray will ever admit. “Desk. Floor. I don’t fucking care, just pick a place and fuck me already.”
Brad huffs a laugh against Ray’s skin. He trails his fingers along Ray’s skin until he can grope Ray through his shorts, dragging the heel of his palm over Ray’s cock slowly. “You’re so fucking easy,” Brad says, amused. “Couch, move.”
Ray has every intention to object, but Brad pulls his hands out of Ray’s pants and nudges his hips forward slowly. Ray twists on his heels, grabbing Brad’s wrists and tugging him along. He wants to make sure Brad is following, wants to watch the way Brad is looking at him in amusement and lust. This is why Ray loves Brad, amongst other reasons.
The couch bumps the back of Ray’s knees, and he goes down easily. He has to let go of Brad to twist around on it, bringing his legs up and trying to pull off his shirts and kick off his shoes at the same time. Ray’s surprised Brad doesn’t laugh, but by the time Ray’s managed to tug his shirt off Brad’s done the same. The cushion dips when Brad gets a knee on it, and he doesn’t hesitate in reaching for Ray’s jeans and popping the button.
Ray arches his hips when Brad tugs at his jeans, lets himself be stripped of his pants and boxers in one rough jerk. Ray’s got no issues being naked in front of Brad, even here, and he smirks up at him and strokes his own cock. He can feel Brad’s eyes on him, hear his heavy breathing in the quiet lobby. He’s the center of Brad’s attention and that turns Ray on more than the slow drag of his fingers along the underside of his cock and the way his thumb pushes against his piercing.
Brad sits back on his heels to unlace his boots, pushing them off of his feet slowly. He toes off his socks as he undoes his jeans, but his eyes never leave Ray’s face. He licks his lower lip slowly, pushing his jeans down, and Ray’s mouth waters at the sight of Brad’s swollen cock.
“Brad,” Ray whines, but he won’t admit it and he doesn’t know for what. He wants to lick and suck Brad’s cock, choke on it, wishes Brad would shove his legs apart and just fuck him like he means it. Ray would give up all the sleeping around in the world if it meant he was the only one who got to see Brad like this, feel him.
“Shut up, Ray,” Brad says. He grips the back or Ray’s thighs, dragging him down the couch with a rough tug. He takes the time to kick off the last of his clothes before he leans in close and covers Ray’s body with his own, his lips brushing against Ray’s cheekbone. “Just shhh.”
With Brad’s fingers in his hair, his breath on Ray’s cheek and his cock pressed against Ray’s own, it’s hard to object. Ray’s sure he could, if he wanted to, but he doesn’t even try. Instead, Brad digs his knees into the couch cushions and arches his hips up and the only thing Ray can think to do is dig his nails into Brad’s back and hold on.
It’s slow and easy, and Ray is going to stick to the damn leather couch when they’re done but he doesn’t give a fuck. This is just him and Brad, holding on and grinding against each other with a lazy familiarity that makes something warm settle low in Ray’s stomach. The dry friction is good, even with a smear of precum covering both their bellies, and every time Ray’s piercing presses against the head of Brad’s cock, they both groan.
They take their time, despite the fact they sort of have plans and they’re in the Bravo-2 lobby. Ray’s nails drag down Brad’s back, not quite leaving marks, and he arches his hips up to meet every roll of Brad’s hips. It’s easy to get lost in the motions and the rough sound of Brad’s breathing and his low murmured praises.
Brad might not be the loudest person Ray’s ever fucked, but Ray knows how to read him. He knows the sounds Brad makes when he’s impatient to come even before Brad finally works a hand between their bellies to wrap around them both and jerk them off. It doesn’t take long after that, Ray’s piercing rubbing along the underside of Brad’s cock and Brad’s calloused fingers teasing along the head. Ray comes with a stuttered sigh and Brad presses a kiss to the corner of his jaw.
“Ray,” Brad moans, his lips dragging against Ray’s skin in a dry kiss. “Ray.” He lets Ray’s cock slip from his fingers as soon as he’s done coming, using the slickness to jerk himself off. He groans when Ray’s lips press against the corner of his jaw, breath hitching, and Ray holds him tight when he finally comes.
It’s suffocating to be trapped under the dead weight of Brad’s body, but Ray doesn’t mind. He can live with it, and he can live with the come sticking their bellies together and the sweat sticking him to the couch. It doesn’t matter because Ray’s got what he wants.
Dragging his fingers along Brad’s hairline, Ray waits for the soft content sigh to escape Brad’s lips before he presses his nails down. “I never wanted to show her my dick.”
For a moment, Brad is quiet. He goes tense though, not in a defensive way, just enough for Ray to feel the tension of his muscles as he starts to pull away. Brad stops himself even before Ray can object, settling for shifting his weight and pressing a slow kiss to Ray’s lips. “I know.”
Ray drags his fingers down Brad’s neck and sighs. He can feel himself smiling, even as Brad presses another kiss to his lips, and he tugs at one of Brad’s earlobes gently. “Still want to go out for a drink?”
Brad hums thoughtfully and pushes his weight up onto his elbows. He skims his fingers along Ray’s jaw before tapping his nose. “Your place. And takeout.” He pushes himself up until he’s sitting on his heels and makes a face. “Wait here for a moment.”
Arching his hips up slowly, Ray understands and sympathizes with Brad’s disgust. His skin feels tacky where he’s pulling away from the couch but he doesn’t otherwise move while Brad tugs on his jeans and finds something to clean them up with. If Brad wants him to stay put, Ray will stay put. If Brad wants him to follow, Ray won’t hesitate. That doesn’t mean he has to be quiet though.
”Hey, Brad?” Ray asks, craning his neck to watch Brad search for a hand towel in the storage closet. He’s not surprised when Brad doesn’t stop what he’s doing, but he takes the vaguely interrogative sound as a sign to continue. “The guy that came in earlier, he a friend of yours?”
That does make Brad stop. That, or he’s already found the towel he needs. “And you’re curious about that now, why exactly?” He doesn’t sound defensive, but he’s not exactly amused either. It’s an interesting response.
Ray doesn’t have an answer to it though. He’s making conversation or maybe he’s a little bit jealous, even in his post orgasm haze. He just likes to know things, especially things relating to Brad. “Just killing the silence.”
For a moment, Brad doesn’t respond. The creaky sink in the closet sputters on, the sound of water filling the lobby, but it turns off shortly and Brad makes his way back over to Ray to drop the towel on his stomach. “I met Nate in a bar. He liked my ink.”
”Right,” Ray says. He pushes himself up onto his elbows and wipes the stickiness from his stomach slowly. He wonders if the fucking in Bravo-2 was because Brad couldn’t wait to get Nate out of his system or if he hates the idea of Ray with a client. There’s too many variables. “What did he want covered up?”
Brad snorts derisively and it’s a familiar sound. “He has a shitty Gaelic knot, heart shaped tattoo on his back.” His judging is obvious in his tone and the slight sneer on his lips. “Cliché and poorly executed.”
Ray runs the rag between his thighs and makes a contemplative noise. “So you’re not fucking him?”
”Jesus Christ, Ray,” Brad says. There, that’s his defensive tone. It makes Ray want to push harder and pull back at the same time. Leave it to Ray to fuck up their evening plans by asking about Brad’s sexual history. “I’ve known him for a week. And he’s.” Brad gestures vaguely with one hand. “Are we going to go to your place or not, Ray?”
Biting the inside of his cheek, Ray offers the rag back to Brad and shrugs a shoulder vaguely. “Give me a minute to get dressed, asshole.” He ignores the guilty feeling in his gut and the way Brad watches him in exasperation.
It’s easy getting dressed, and Brad leaves him to it to wipe down the couch before rinsing the rag off in the sink. By the time he’s back, Ray’s lacing up his sneakers and waiting for him. “Shall we?” Ray asks, forcing himself to smile and grin cheekily.
Rolling his eyes, Brad slaps Ray’s ass before leading the way towards the front door, turning lights off as he goes. Ray doesn’t hesitate to follow.