fic: 72 Hours Libo
recipient: spirited_lizard
author: jmc_bks
title: 72 Hours Libo
pairing: Brad/Ray
rating: NC-17
word count: ~4,800
summary/warnings: A weekend away from base doesn’t go quite as Brad and Ray expect.
author notes: Standard disclaimer - I don't own the characters, don't know the real people. This fix is based on the actors' portrayals in the GK miniseries. Kindly beta'd by why_me_why_not and irisgirl12000.
~~~~~~
It’s after 23:00 when Ray's phone rings. It's the Avril "Girlfriend" ring, meaning Brad's calling him. After 23:00 on a Sunday night? It could be a booty call, or a complete disaster.
"Put your sunscreen and your pimp shades on, Ray, and grab your hiking boots and swim trunks. We're Oscar Mike in ten."
Before Ray can interrogate him, Brad has ended the call. Rude, peremptory motherfucker. Ray stomps around his quarters, mumbling about unreasonable demands made at ridiculous hours of the night, even as he tosses stuff into a backpack.
In less than ten minutes, Brad pulls up in front of the building. He climbs out to unlock the back of the Jeep, so Ray can put his bag next to the cooler, and then circles around to the passenger side as Ray climbs into the driver's seat. Old habits.
"Where to, princess?"
"Take the Five out of town and stay on it until I say otherwise."
"It'd help if I knew where I was driving."
"Need to know. We have 72 hours libo, don't have to report on base until 07:00 Thursday. We're going to enjoy the rustic comforts of my family's summer cabin. Hiking, boating, swimming, and all the outdoor entertainment we can fit into three days." He gives Ray a small half-smile, then reaches into the console between the seats, pulling out a bag of Skittles. Dumping a handful in his mouth, he passes it over to Ray. "If we drive all night, we'll be there by dawn."
"How'd you work this? Is it safe to leave Hasser with Trombley?"
"Don't ask, don't tell, Corporal. But all Bravo 2-1 has a 72 hour pass. Walt'll be holed up with his new girlfriend. Trombley -- who the fuck knows? But Poke'll keep an eye on things and make sure nothing comes up."
After debating about what to play on the radio -- they decide radio silence is best, or singing -- they settle in for the drive. It's just like Iraq: Ray's driving; Brad's navigating; they've got all the Skittles and dip they need. Except the Jeep isn't a tin-plated piece of crap that's about to fall apart, and no one's shooting at them, and Brad knows exactly where they're going, and fucking Trombley isn't sneaking Charms in the backseat. So, not like Iraq at all, really.
For the final hour of the drive, the roads have narrowed, becoming twisty and winding, sign-less, with fewer and fewer houses visible. As the sun creeps over the horizon, Brad says turn here, and Ray maneuvers the truck onto a narrow, unpaved track. Following the lane to its end, they wind up in front of an old bungalow. Ray can see Adirondack chairs and a glider on the covered porch, and further on there's the glitter of dawn light reflecting off water.
With a whoop, Ray cuts the engine and is out of the Jeep, scrambling toward the water. He tosses over his shoulder, "Last one in is the pathetic loser who'll have to unload whatever's in the cooler you packed, Colbert!" Brad's out and following in a flash. Ray sheds clothes and boots on his way to the small pier in front of the house, then he’s naked and diving off the end. A moment later, Brad's in the water with him and they're wrestling and playing like kids.
Eventually Brad boosts himself onto the dock, where he watches Ray paddle around and explore as the sunlight turns from pink to gold. Ray swims over, leaning up for a quick kiss that turns into a second glancing kiss and then a longer third kiss. When he nearly bobs away in the gentle current, Brad grips Ray's arms and pulls him onto the dock and then over him.
If the dock is used that morning for more than mooring boats, well, no one but the forest and the river know, and they’ll never tell.
~~~~~
Later, they stagger back to the Jeep, smelling of river water and each other, bickering like the old married couple their platoon teases them about being.
"Jesus fucking christ, Brad, my knees are never gonna be the same."
"Shut the fuck up, Ray. Aching knees are nothing. How am I going to explain splinters in my ass?" Which makes Ray snicker, then promise to kiss Brad's ass to make it all better.
Despite the challenge issued earlier, Ray helps Brad unpack the cooler; it's full of "camping" supplies: beer, hot dogs, hamburgers, rolls, marshmallows, graham crackers, chocolate bars, potato salad, and chips. They decide to take a nap during the warm part of the day, and then take a hike in the afternoon. After a quick rinse in the outside shower, they pull on their shorts - no sunburn in awkward places! - and doze off in the hammock strung up between two trees beside the porch.
Hours later, the slamming of car doors jolts them awake. Ray nearly flips them out of the hammock as he tries to escape it. Brad just wraps himself around Ray for a minute to make him calm down, and then braces the hammock so Ray can clamber out. Brad untangles himself from the macramé thing as Ray gives him a what-the-fuck look.
Then there are three kids racing around the corner, screaming for their Uncle Brad, followed at a slower pace by a thirty-ish couple. "Brad, we didn't realize you'd be here this weekend. It's great to see-- " The woman stops short when she sees Ray hovering behind Brad, who's being climbed like a jungle gym by the three kids. "Ah, sorry to interrupt."
"Sarah, Daniel, meet my friend, Ray. Ray, this is my sister, Sarah, and her husband, Daniel. And the creatures currently hanging on me are David, Anna, and Robert."
After awkward handshakes and nods, Sarah and Daniel unload their minivan. Ray's kind of amazed by the sheer volume of stuff required for two adults and three children for a week's vacation. It's more shit than all Bravo needed for six weeks in the desert. Once everything's hauled inside, Sarah unpacks while Daniel (and Brad and Ray, by extension) is ordered to keep the miniature humans entertained for the afternoon as she gets things in order. By the end of the afternoon, Ray realizes that Sarah gets the better end of that deal. Who the hell knew kids took so much energy? They hike forever, carrying the kids for the last couple of miles of the trail. (Ray's a Recon Marine, and no stranger to hiking while carrying a heavy load, but normally his pack doesn't squirm and ask questions constantly and nag are we there yet.) And swim. And get the little sunfish out of the garage and ready for sailing tomorrow. And mediate two minor skirmishes and one all out water war.
By sunset, Ray's exhausted. He's slumped in one of the Adirondacks, nearly asleep, when he realizes he's being watched. Three pairs of eyes are fixed on him, peering up from the edge of the porch.
"Uncle Brad says to tell you to put your noisemaker to work, Person, that you'll be fine since we're all on the same level of emotional maturity and development." Anna stumbles over the last few words, but the gist is clear, and Ray can hear Brad in them. Shooting a glare over toward the fire pit, where Brad's setting up the flames so they'll have a camp fire later, he gets an arched eyebrow in response.
"Have y'all heard the story of Max and the monsters? No? I am shocked to hear that. What kind of childhood are you having? Settle in, up here on the porch, you take the glider and I'll sit here and tell you about it."
The three of them pile onto the glider, poking at each other and squirming, until they're captivated by Ray's voice. (It must be something in the Colbert make up, some flaw or deficiency of nurture rather than nature, leaving them susceptible, that they are so swayed and intrigued and riveted by one whiskey tango deviant and his silver tongue.) Ray doesn't stay seated very long. As he becomes engrossed in the tale, he becomes Max, making mischief, sailing across the ocean that the porch becomes with his words and motions. Suddenly the shadows aren't just shadows but the encroaching forest of Max's adventure. The kids can see the wild things captivated by Max/Ray's magic as they caper and cavort about the forest/porch in the wild rumpus. By the time Max/Ray sails away home, Brad is sitting on the porch steps, rapt, and Sarah and Daniel are watching from the benches of the fire pit.
"...and that is the story of Max's magical adventures. Are y'all as hungry as he was? I am! Time for s'mores!"
The magic word, s'mores, breaks the spell woven by Ray, and the kids bolt out of the glider toward their parents and the promised treat. Brad remains seated on the porch steps, standing only when Ray reaches him. Standing one step below Ray, their eyes are level. He stares for a moment, as if he's re-evaluating or processing new information. Ray's not sure what he could've seen new or different -- Brad's seen him at his worst, coming off Ripped Fuel, filthy, exhausted, a hung over mess, and at his best, being the kickass Recon Marine that he is, and everything in between.
"Josh Ray Person."
When Ray looks at him questioningly, Brad just shakes his head and smiles, and then nudges Ray toward the fire where everyone is waiting for them.
~~~~~
By the time the kidlets are in bed -- they get the room with the two sets of bunk beds -- and Sarah and Daniel have retired, Ray can feel Brad practically vibrating with tension. So he's not entirely surprised to be dragged off to their bedroom, a sort of sleeping porch that's been closed in. After being manhandled into the room, Ray lands on the double bed with a bounce, followed by Brad. And the bed lets out perhaps the most obscene squeal Ray's ever heard. They both freeze, then start to laugh. Even as they roll together to the center of the mattress, snickering and trying to muffle their laughter, the bed continues to broadcast their movements to anyone in hearing distance. The clichéd squeak of rusty coils that movie soundtracks use to signal off-screen sex? Has nothing on the noises their mattress emits with each small movement they make.
"Brad, I think your family and the furniture are conspiring to cockblock us," Ray whines, banging his head against Brad's shoulder.
"Marines make do, corporal. On your feet, grab the mattress."
After attempting first to drag the mattress off the bed (not enough space), and then rolling around on the floor (not good for already aching knees and splintered buttocks), Ray and Brad wind up braced against the second-hand bureau in the corner. It's actually almost the perfect height, if a little rickety for their weight. The sex ends up rushed and urgent and maybe even hotter than usual since Ray has to work hard to remember to be quiet, even if it isn't the marathon they'd both had in mind to wrap up their first evening on libo when they dozed off in the hammock that morning.
~~~~~
Ray’s awakened the next morning by scuffling noises coming from outside their bedroom door.
“Shhhh!”
“You shush!”
“You’re poking me. And I was here first. Shut up, both of you. If we wake Uncle Brad and Mr. Ray up, they’ll be grouchy and won’t want to play.”
Ray snorts and starts to roll over, only to find that Brad’s already awake, watching him. With his own whispered shh, Brad climbs out of the bed as quietly as the mattress will permit, tugging on his shorts along the way. After making sure Ray’s modestly covered, he flings open the door, and all three kids stumble into the room as if they were pressed up against it. Which they probably were. Brad picks up David, propping him on his hip, while Anna and Robert scramble up and launch themselves onto the bed, which issues even more ridiculous squeaks as they bounce around and vie for Ray’s attention.
“Are you up? Are you awake? Can we go sailing now?”
After an appropriate vacation breakfast -- pop tarts and chocolate milk -- they all tromp out to the driveway, where the sunfish is waiting for launch. The launch only takes twice as long as it ought to with the kids helping. Sarah and Daniel try to keep the kids distracted and to alternate sailing lessons and trips along the shoreline with each of the kids, but they seem to be fascinated by Ray, and by Ray together with Brad; either they want to sail with him, or they want to sit on his shoulders to play water tag and Marco Polo. When he’s not getting all prune fingered (which he tells David is contagious and means his fingers are going to fall off), Ray’s playing with Anna on the tiny patch of shore in front of the house, building castles that topple almost instantly because of defective construction materials - inferior sand is the only possible explanation for the load bearing walls to collapse like that.
At some point, he stops being Mr. Ray and becomes Uncle Ray-Ray. Brad's spit-take when he hears them call him that the first time is magnificent.
After roasting hot dogs on sticks, an easy dinner Sarah approves of and the kids think is gourmet heaven, Ray is prevailed upon to share more adventures. Well, really, badgered and guilted into it via the use of an out-thrust, pouty lower lip and puppy dog eyes from Anna. This time, he tells the tale of Sir Toby Jingle the Brave Knight, who jabs giants and trounces trolls. Once again, Ray acts out the parts, at one point galloping around the porch like a knight’s fiery steed with Robert (Sir Robert the Gallant) perched on his shoulders.
They collapse into bed that night slightly sunburned and completely exhausted. After a single quick grope, Ray’s out like a blown bulb. When he wakes at dawn, Brad’s still asleep. He runs a curious fingertip across Brad’s lips and down to his belly button and beyond, which normally would result in Brad’s instant wakefulness and attention. Today it just earns Ray a grouchy mumble as Brad swats at him and rolls over; not even the creak of the mattress springs wakes Brad.
“Oh, the magic is gone.” Heaving a sigh, Ray eases out of bed. The house is utterly silent. The heathens must still be asleep. It seems later than the hour they’d woken yesterday; maybe Sarah and Daniel have drugged them? Or they are chained up in the basement? Ray doesn’t know, but he’s (for once) relishing the stillness. After brewing a pot of coffee, he wraps himself in a throw and shuffles out to the glider, where he watches the sun come up over the water and then dozes off again. When he wakes a second time, Brad is tucked up next to him on the glider.
They sit quietly for a while in a comfortable silence, until noises begin to come from inside, signaling the waking of the barbarian horde.
“How did Sarah and Daniel manage to have three kids? How did they manage to have sex in order to make two more? It’s like they become exponentially more work, rather than just doubling or tripling. What the hell happened to economies of scale?” Pausing to sip some coffee, Ray resumes, “Homes, I really like your family, but they are causing a serious case of blue balls here. When you said we had 72 hours of libo, I expected to spend at least 36 of them having wild monkey sex, indoors and out. Splinter sex and furniture sex does not count…much.”
Ray delivers that last with a nudge, since he knows that Brad knows there’s nothing wrong with their sex life.
“Any chance of us leaving a little early?”
“Ray, Ray, Ray. I’m shocked that you don’t want to take this opportunity to get to know my family better. Is an orgasm more important than familial acceptance? Even a whiskey tango backward retard like you ought to recognize the importance of being introduced to the family, however accidentally.” Brad’s words are mocking but his tone isn’t, and his words are delivered directly into Ray’s ear, along with a rush of warm air that makes Ray shiver.
“Bradley, you may have the self control of a saint and an appreciation for the proper etiquette of significant other introductions, but I had to watch you parade around yesterday in nothing but wet, clinging swim trunks. And then you practically fellated that hotdog on a stick last night. A boy has needs, you know, and I’m beginning to think you are as big a cocktease as I’ve ever met.”
Brad just snorts, and steals Ray’s coffee mug.
~~~~~
Daniel and the kids make breakfast, and while everyone consumes stacks of pancakes drowning in maple syrup and butter, the kids plot out their day. The wish list includes more swimming and boating. The sailing is vetoed - yesterday was enough. How could one human being weighing less than 75 pounds cause a boat to capsize? According to the laws of physics, it shouldn’t be possible, but it happened. Twice. So no more sailing. And somehow, in the plotting and planning, Ray’s request for an early departure to facilitate a mid-trip booty stop is abandoned.
Instead, they go for a hike, during which Ray gives Anna beginning lessons in how to be a Recon Marine: swift and silent (not deadly yet, she’s too young for that still). It’s kind of a kick to show her how to walk in the woods nearly noiselessly, and which plants are edible and which might make her brothers itch if rubbed against their skin or on the insides of their clothes. (Ray may live to regret that lesson, especially if Sarah finds out about it. She’s old enough to grasp the “deadly” part of “Swift Silent Deadly”.)
By the time they get back to the cabin, the wind has picked up, which makes for great kite flying. All three kids run around like battery-operated toys. Ray harbors some hope that they’ll be tired enough to need naps. He would appreciate a siesta shared with Brad.
Even as he thinks the word siesta, the wind picks up even more and the clouds on the horizon draw closer. The sky darkens and there’s just enough time to hustle the kids onto the porch before rain begins to fall. It falls for hours, not heavily, but steadily enough that the kids can’t play outside. It’s the first time they’ve all been in the house and awake for an extended period of time. The cabin has an older television and a DVD/VHS combination player, but no PlayStation, Wii or Xbox. Instead, they spend hours playing cards and board games. Eventually the kids get cranky and abandon the games to color and play with puzzles, squabbling with each other over the puzzle pieces and crayons. Brad and Ray pack away Monopoly and set up Battleship on the coffee table, settling on opposite sides with their legs stretched underneath. Every so often, Ray’s fingers stroke from Brad’s ankle to his calf, and he plays with Brad’s toes. Nothing inappropriate for little people to witness, but it still gives Brad goose bumps.
“Are you cold? Need a sweatshirt, Brad?”
Brad just grunts in response, followed by “G-6, Ray.”
Daniel, who has been playing Go Fish with Anna in an effort to keep her from killing her brothers, suddenly announces, “Okay, time for a ride into town. Kids, put your shoes on.”
It’s only when the kids are buckled into their seats and the door is sliding closed that they realize Brad and Ray aren’t coming with them.
“Wait! Want Uncle Brad and Ray!”
“We’re going to town to see if they have the new Toy Story movie.” Sarah speaks in her soothing, calm-the-crying-baby voice, which seems to work. Or maybe it’s the mention of Toy Story, or the fact that they are out of the house and doing something, even if they’ve just traded the confinement of the house for the minivan. As Daniel does a three point turn to head out the lane he rolls his window down and gives Brad and Ray a wink, then pulls off.
“Abandoned for a bunch of toy character cartoons…I think my feelings have b -“ Before Ray can finish the sentence, he is thrown over Brad’s shoulder in a fireman carry. He has barely oriented himself before he’s being tossed ever so casually onto their talkative bed, and then Brad lands next to him with a bounce and more squeaks of the mattress.
“Do I need a sweatshirt, Ray? No, as a matter of fact, I don’t. And you, you irritating little pygmy runt, you’re overdressed. Off. All of it. Now.”
As they wrestle each others’ clothes off, the creaking of the bed is constant.
“Homes, this bed probably served your parents’ purpose when you all were teenagers, announcing any attempted underage sex, but it has got. To. Go.” As he says the last, he’s yanking his t-shirt off, struggling to get the collar over his head. Brad laughs, and leans over to kiss Ray. It’s Ray’s favorite kind of kiss (really, they’re all his favorite; there’s no such thing as a bad kiss), the kind where he can feel Brad’s breath and laughter on his lips, his happiness made tangible.
When Brad settles against Ray fully, all warm skin and gold-toned flesh, Ray feels something inside both loosen and tighten; it isn't just the blood rushing to his dick, but something more, a tension that both unwinds and ramps up with the skin-to-skin contact. They are careful about touching in public -- who knows who is watching -- but accustomed to more physical contact, not necessarily sexual, than they've indulged in the last couple of days. Being circumspect about physical contact for the intro to family, and also because you never know what kids are going to see or remark on is all well and good but Ray has missed Brad in the most visceral way, even though he has been right next to him for the last 48 hours.
Brad leaves a string of biting kisses along Ray's jaw, pausing to nose at the spot just below his ear that, when bitten with just the right amount of pressure, makes Ray's knees wobbly and his dick hard instantly. He hesitates, as if debating how this interlude is going to go, then moves toward Ray's collar bones and his ink.
"Ink slut," Ray murmurs, even as his own fingers trace the patterns drawn on Brad's back from memory.
As Brad pushes up a little in order to move downward, Ray takes advantage of his motion, flipping them so Brad is sprawled beneath him. Ray pins Brad's hands near the headboard, and after leaning into them for a moment and locking eyes with Brad, he turns his head and bites Brad’s right bicep hard then pulls back to kiss the mark he’s left. Ray knows that Brad loves his strength, cloaked in his smaller size, and that being manhandled is a novelty Brad has grown to enjoy. For all that he is smaller than Brad - dude, everyone is smaller than Brad - he’s not fragile, something else that Brad didn’t know he needed until Ray gave it to him.
As Ray moves down Brad’s body, alternately biting and then soothing, he releases Brad’s hands, which stay where they were pressed. It’s only when Ray has bitten his way down to Brad’s groin that his hands move to grasp the headboard and the edge of the mattress, to keep from laying his hands on Ray’s head to direct it where he wants it to go.
“Good boy,” Ray croons, then lowers his head to suck a mark into the crease between hip and thigh.
He nuzzles Brad’s dick and gives it a tentative lick, then moves toward the nightstand. Brad stops him, sliding his hand from the headboard to the pillow and under it, pulling out the lube.
“Bradley Colbert, that’s not where we left it…did you plan this?” But he doesn’t wait for an answer, instead leaning back down to mouth at Brad’s balls. Opening the bottle, Ray squirts out the contents, making a lewd noise. He eases a finger into Brad as he tilts his head just so and swallows as much of Brad’s dick as he can, using his other hand to circle and stroke what he can’t take, stroking fingers in tandem with mouth.
When he pauses to breathe, he listens to what is coming out of Brad’s mouth: a litany of curses and prayers, promises and threats. He’ll do anything if Ray will just not stop, he’ll kill Ray if he stops, he’s a fucking god, he’s a miserable bastard for teasing like this. After deciding he’s tortured Brad enough, Ray gives him another finger, and licks him like an ice cream cone from base to head. With a last teasing flick of fingers and tongue, he withdraws.
“Brad, look at me. Look at me.” When Brad’s eyes flutter open, Ray moves up, bracing himself over Brad, and pushes into him. Both their eyes flutter closed, and they are still for a moment. And then the moment is gone, and Ray is rocking into Brad, fucking into him as if he can only get just a little bit closer they’ll be sharing the same skin. Brad’s legs are bent, heels digging into the mattress so he can give as good as he gets, with one hand still pressed against the headboard and the other digging into Ray’s ass as if he can pull Ray deeper into his body. But it’s not enough.
Brad’s earlier threats and promises have dwindled as he’s lost himself, but his gasped “harder, Ray, more, I need more” echoes in Ray’s ears, until he stops abruptly, flipping Brad over, pulling him onto his knees.
“Better?” It’s a grunt, really, as he grasps Brad’s hips and pushes home again. Definitely better, since Brad has more leverage now and can push back with more force, up on his knees with his hands braced against the headboard again. Ray leans over to bite Brad’s shoulder, close, so close. Sliding one hand around to pull at Brad’s dick in counter point to his thrusts, Ray orders Brad, “Now. Now, come now.”
He can feel Brad let go, and keeps moving through Brad’s orgasm, like Brad needs him to. And when Brad’s still at last, he lets himself go, lost in the feel and smell and sound of Brad beneath him.
For a moment, he just lays where he is, still on top of Brad, still in him, sucking a bruise over the moon on his upper back. And then he eases off, rolling to Brad’s side and flopping an arm over his back. After they’ve both caught their breath, he rolls his head on the pillow to ask, “Did you plan that?”
Brad lets out a satisfied sigh and grins at him. “Not that exactly. But this morning Daniel promised some alone time, since he got lucky yesterday while we were giving swimming and sailing lessons.”
“You conniving bastard. I like that about you. And Daniel.”
~~~~~
By the time Sarah, Daniel and the kids return home, the rain has tapered off and it’s after dark. Brad and Ray have loaded their stuff into the Jeep, and set their bedroom to rights. They help unload the kids and get them settled, getting handshakes, hugs and kisses as they wish the kids good night.
With his pimp shades propped on top of his head and a bottle of Mountain Dew open, Ray starts the Jeep and negotiates the narrow lane that takes them back to the road. He and Brad are both quiet for a while.
“I didn’t get to do The Story of Ferdinand, Bradley, or The Very Hungry Caterpillar. They missed some of the very best stories. Who knows what kind of storytelling your sister does - I mean, they didn’t know about Max and the monsters! Does she just stick to Golden Books and Dr. Seuss? Not that there’s anything wrong with those, but children need variety in their reading habits!”
“I’m pretty sure Sarah and Daniel have a wide variety of classic children’s books for them at home, Ray, a collection that even a faux intellectual, debate club reject like you could appreciate. Even so, you can harass them about it next time.”
And Ray smiles, keeping his eyes on the road in front of him.
author: jmc_bks
title: 72 Hours Libo
pairing: Brad/Ray
rating: NC-17
word count: ~4,800
summary/warnings: A weekend away from base doesn’t go quite as Brad and Ray expect.
author notes: Standard disclaimer - I don't own the characters, don't know the real people. This fix is based on the actors' portrayals in the GK miniseries. Kindly beta'd by why_me_why_not and irisgirl12000.
~~~~~~
It’s after 23:00 when Ray's phone rings. It's the Avril "Girlfriend" ring, meaning Brad's calling him. After 23:00 on a Sunday night? It could be a booty call, or a complete disaster.
"Put your sunscreen and your pimp shades on, Ray, and grab your hiking boots and swim trunks. We're Oscar Mike in ten."
Before Ray can interrogate him, Brad has ended the call. Rude, peremptory motherfucker. Ray stomps around his quarters, mumbling about unreasonable demands made at ridiculous hours of the night, even as he tosses stuff into a backpack.
In less than ten minutes, Brad pulls up in front of the building. He climbs out to unlock the back of the Jeep, so Ray can put his bag next to the cooler, and then circles around to the passenger side as Ray climbs into the driver's seat. Old habits.
"Where to, princess?"
"Take the Five out of town and stay on it until I say otherwise."
"It'd help if I knew where I was driving."
"Need to know. We have 72 hours libo, don't have to report on base until 07:00 Thursday. We're going to enjoy the rustic comforts of my family's summer cabin. Hiking, boating, swimming, and all the outdoor entertainment we can fit into three days." He gives Ray a small half-smile, then reaches into the console between the seats, pulling out a bag of Skittles. Dumping a handful in his mouth, he passes it over to Ray. "If we drive all night, we'll be there by dawn."
"How'd you work this? Is it safe to leave Hasser with Trombley?"
"Don't ask, don't tell, Corporal. But all Bravo 2-1 has a 72 hour pass. Walt'll be holed up with his new girlfriend. Trombley -- who the fuck knows? But Poke'll keep an eye on things and make sure nothing comes up."
After debating about what to play on the radio -- they decide radio silence is best, or singing -- they settle in for the drive. It's just like Iraq: Ray's driving; Brad's navigating; they've got all the Skittles and dip they need. Except the Jeep isn't a tin-plated piece of crap that's about to fall apart, and no one's shooting at them, and Brad knows exactly where they're going, and fucking Trombley isn't sneaking Charms in the backseat. So, not like Iraq at all, really.
For the final hour of the drive, the roads have narrowed, becoming twisty and winding, sign-less, with fewer and fewer houses visible. As the sun creeps over the horizon, Brad says turn here, and Ray maneuvers the truck onto a narrow, unpaved track. Following the lane to its end, they wind up in front of an old bungalow. Ray can see Adirondack chairs and a glider on the covered porch, and further on there's the glitter of dawn light reflecting off water.
With a whoop, Ray cuts the engine and is out of the Jeep, scrambling toward the water. He tosses over his shoulder, "Last one in is the pathetic loser who'll have to unload whatever's in the cooler you packed, Colbert!" Brad's out and following in a flash. Ray sheds clothes and boots on his way to the small pier in front of the house, then he’s naked and diving off the end. A moment later, Brad's in the water with him and they're wrestling and playing like kids.
Eventually Brad boosts himself onto the dock, where he watches Ray paddle around and explore as the sunlight turns from pink to gold. Ray swims over, leaning up for a quick kiss that turns into a second glancing kiss and then a longer third kiss. When he nearly bobs away in the gentle current, Brad grips Ray's arms and pulls him onto the dock and then over him.
If the dock is used that morning for more than mooring boats, well, no one but the forest and the river know, and they’ll never tell.
~~~~~
Later, they stagger back to the Jeep, smelling of river water and each other, bickering like the old married couple their platoon teases them about being.
"Jesus fucking christ, Brad, my knees are never gonna be the same."
"Shut the fuck up, Ray. Aching knees are nothing. How am I going to explain splinters in my ass?" Which makes Ray snicker, then promise to kiss Brad's ass to make it all better.
Despite the challenge issued earlier, Ray helps Brad unpack the cooler; it's full of "camping" supplies: beer, hot dogs, hamburgers, rolls, marshmallows, graham crackers, chocolate bars, potato salad, and chips. They decide to take a nap during the warm part of the day, and then take a hike in the afternoon. After a quick rinse in the outside shower, they pull on their shorts - no sunburn in awkward places! - and doze off in the hammock strung up between two trees beside the porch.
Hours later, the slamming of car doors jolts them awake. Ray nearly flips them out of the hammock as he tries to escape it. Brad just wraps himself around Ray for a minute to make him calm down, and then braces the hammock so Ray can clamber out. Brad untangles himself from the macramé thing as Ray gives him a what-the-fuck look.
Then there are three kids racing around the corner, screaming for their Uncle Brad, followed at a slower pace by a thirty-ish couple. "Brad, we didn't realize you'd be here this weekend. It's great to see-- " The woman stops short when she sees Ray hovering behind Brad, who's being climbed like a jungle gym by the three kids. "Ah, sorry to interrupt."
"Sarah, Daniel, meet my friend, Ray. Ray, this is my sister, Sarah, and her husband, Daniel. And the creatures currently hanging on me are David, Anna, and Robert."
After awkward handshakes and nods, Sarah and Daniel unload their minivan. Ray's kind of amazed by the sheer volume of stuff required for two adults and three children for a week's vacation. It's more shit than all Bravo needed for six weeks in the desert. Once everything's hauled inside, Sarah unpacks while Daniel (and Brad and Ray, by extension) is ordered to keep the miniature humans entertained for the afternoon as she gets things in order. By the end of the afternoon, Ray realizes that Sarah gets the better end of that deal. Who the hell knew kids took so much energy? They hike forever, carrying the kids for the last couple of miles of the trail. (Ray's a Recon Marine, and no stranger to hiking while carrying a heavy load, but normally his pack doesn't squirm and ask questions constantly and nag are we there yet.) And swim. And get the little sunfish out of the garage and ready for sailing tomorrow. And mediate two minor skirmishes and one all out water war.
By sunset, Ray's exhausted. He's slumped in one of the Adirondacks, nearly asleep, when he realizes he's being watched. Three pairs of eyes are fixed on him, peering up from the edge of the porch.
"Uncle Brad says to tell you to put your noisemaker to work, Person, that you'll be fine since we're all on the same level of emotional maturity and development." Anna stumbles over the last few words, but the gist is clear, and Ray can hear Brad in them. Shooting a glare over toward the fire pit, where Brad's setting up the flames so they'll have a camp fire later, he gets an arched eyebrow in response.
"Have y'all heard the story of Max and the monsters? No? I am shocked to hear that. What kind of childhood are you having? Settle in, up here on the porch, you take the glider and I'll sit here and tell you about it."
The three of them pile onto the glider, poking at each other and squirming, until they're captivated by Ray's voice. (It must be something in the Colbert make up, some flaw or deficiency of nurture rather than nature, leaving them susceptible, that they are so swayed and intrigued and riveted by one whiskey tango deviant and his silver tongue.) Ray doesn't stay seated very long. As he becomes engrossed in the tale, he becomes Max, making mischief, sailing across the ocean that the porch becomes with his words and motions. Suddenly the shadows aren't just shadows but the encroaching forest of Max's adventure. The kids can see the wild things captivated by Max/Ray's magic as they caper and cavort about the forest/porch in the wild rumpus. By the time Max/Ray sails away home, Brad is sitting on the porch steps, rapt, and Sarah and Daniel are watching from the benches of the fire pit.
"...and that is the story of Max's magical adventures. Are y'all as hungry as he was? I am! Time for s'mores!"
The magic word, s'mores, breaks the spell woven by Ray, and the kids bolt out of the glider toward their parents and the promised treat. Brad remains seated on the porch steps, standing only when Ray reaches him. Standing one step below Ray, their eyes are level. He stares for a moment, as if he's re-evaluating or processing new information. Ray's not sure what he could've seen new or different -- Brad's seen him at his worst, coming off Ripped Fuel, filthy, exhausted, a hung over mess, and at his best, being the kickass Recon Marine that he is, and everything in between.
"Josh Ray Person."
When Ray looks at him questioningly, Brad just shakes his head and smiles, and then nudges Ray toward the fire where everyone is waiting for them.
~~~~~
By the time the kidlets are in bed -- they get the room with the two sets of bunk beds -- and Sarah and Daniel have retired, Ray can feel Brad practically vibrating with tension. So he's not entirely surprised to be dragged off to their bedroom, a sort of sleeping porch that's been closed in. After being manhandled into the room, Ray lands on the double bed with a bounce, followed by Brad. And the bed lets out perhaps the most obscene squeal Ray's ever heard. They both freeze, then start to laugh. Even as they roll together to the center of the mattress, snickering and trying to muffle their laughter, the bed continues to broadcast their movements to anyone in hearing distance. The clichéd squeak of rusty coils that movie soundtracks use to signal off-screen sex? Has nothing on the noises their mattress emits with each small movement they make.
"Brad, I think your family and the furniture are conspiring to cockblock us," Ray whines, banging his head against Brad's shoulder.
"Marines make do, corporal. On your feet, grab the mattress."
After attempting first to drag the mattress off the bed (not enough space), and then rolling around on the floor (not good for already aching knees and splintered buttocks), Ray and Brad wind up braced against the second-hand bureau in the corner. It's actually almost the perfect height, if a little rickety for their weight. The sex ends up rushed and urgent and maybe even hotter than usual since Ray has to work hard to remember to be quiet, even if it isn't the marathon they'd both had in mind to wrap up their first evening on libo when they dozed off in the hammock that morning.
~~~~~
Ray’s awakened the next morning by scuffling noises coming from outside their bedroom door.
“Shhhh!”
“You shush!”
“You’re poking me. And I was here first. Shut up, both of you. If we wake Uncle Brad and Mr. Ray up, they’ll be grouchy and won’t want to play.”
Ray snorts and starts to roll over, only to find that Brad’s already awake, watching him. With his own whispered shh, Brad climbs out of the bed as quietly as the mattress will permit, tugging on his shorts along the way. After making sure Ray’s modestly covered, he flings open the door, and all three kids stumble into the room as if they were pressed up against it. Which they probably were. Brad picks up David, propping him on his hip, while Anna and Robert scramble up and launch themselves onto the bed, which issues even more ridiculous squeaks as they bounce around and vie for Ray’s attention.
“Are you up? Are you awake? Can we go sailing now?”
After an appropriate vacation breakfast -- pop tarts and chocolate milk -- they all tromp out to the driveway, where the sunfish is waiting for launch. The launch only takes twice as long as it ought to with the kids helping. Sarah and Daniel try to keep the kids distracted and to alternate sailing lessons and trips along the shoreline with each of the kids, but they seem to be fascinated by Ray, and by Ray together with Brad; either they want to sail with him, or they want to sit on his shoulders to play water tag and Marco Polo. When he’s not getting all prune fingered (which he tells David is contagious and means his fingers are going to fall off), Ray’s playing with Anna on the tiny patch of shore in front of the house, building castles that topple almost instantly because of defective construction materials - inferior sand is the only possible explanation for the load bearing walls to collapse like that.
At some point, he stops being Mr. Ray and becomes Uncle Ray-Ray. Brad's spit-take when he hears them call him that the first time is magnificent.
After roasting hot dogs on sticks, an easy dinner Sarah approves of and the kids think is gourmet heaven, Ray is prevailed upon to share more adventures. Well, really, badgered and guilted into it via the use of an out-thrust, pouty lower lip and puppy dog eyes from Anna. This time, he tells the tale of Sir Toby Jingle the Brave Knight, who jabs giants and trounces trolls. Once again, Ray acts out the parts, at one point galloping around the porch like a knight’s fiery steed with Robert (Sir Robert the Gallant) perched on his shoulders.
They collapse into bed that night slightly sunburned and completely exhausted. After a single quick grope, Ray’s out like a blown bulb. When he wakes at dawn, Brad’s still asleep. He runs a curious fingertip across Brad’s lips and down to his belly button and beyond, which normally would result in Brad’s instant wakefulness and attention. Today it just earns Ray a grouchy mumble as Brad swats at him and rolls over; not even the creak of the mattress springs wakes Brad.
“Oh, the magic is gone.” Heaving a sigh, Ray eases out of bed. The house is utterly silent. The heathens must still be asleep. It seems later than the hour they’d woken yesterday; maybe Sarah and Daniel have drugged them? Or they are chained up in the basement? Ray doesn’t know, but he’s (for once) relishing the stillness. After brewing a pot of coffee, he wraps himself in a throw and shuffles out to the glider, where he watches the sun come up over the water and then dozes off again. When he wakes a second time, Brad is tucked up next to him on the glider.
They sit quietly for a while in a comfortable silence, until noises begin to come from inside, signaling the waking of the barbarian horde.
“How did Sarah and Daniel manage to have three kids? How did they manage to have sex in order to make two more? It’s like they become exponentially more work, rather than just doubling or tripling. What the hell happened to economies of scale?” Pausing to sip some coffee, Ray resumes, “Homes, I really like your family, but they are causing a serious case of blue balls here. When you said we had 72 hours of libo, I expected to spend at least 36 of them having wild monkey sex, indoors and out. Splinter sex and furniture sex does not count…much.”
Ray delivers that last with a nudge, since he knows that Brad knows there’s nothing wrong with their sex life.
“Any chance of us leaving a little early?”
“Ray, Ray, Ray. I’m shocked that you don’t want to take this opportunity to get to know my family better. Is an orgasm more important than familial acceptance? Even a whiskey tango backward retard like you ought to recognize the importance of being introduced to the family, however accidentally.” Brad’s words are mocking but his tone isn’t, and his words are delivered directly into Ray’s ear, along with a rush of warm air that makes Ray shiver.
“Bradley, you may have the self control of a saint and an appreciation for the proper etiquette of significant other introductions, but I had to watch you parade around yesterday in nothing but wet, clinging swim trunks. And then you practically fellated that hotdog on a stick last night. A boy has needs, you know, and I’m beginning to think you are as big a cocktease as I’ve ever met.”
Brad just snorts, and steals Ray’s coffee mug.
~~~~~
Daniel and the kids make breakfast, and while everyone consumes stacks of pancakes drowning in maple syrup and butter, the kids plot out their day. The wish list includes more swimming and boating. The sailing is vetoed - yesterday was enough. How could one human being weighing less than 75 pounds cause a boat to capsize? According to the laws of physics, it shouldn’t be possible, but it happened. Twice. So no more sailing. And somehow, in the plotting and planning, Ray’s request for an early departure to facilitate a mid-trip booty stop is abandoned.
Instead, they go for a hike, during which Ray gives Anna beginning lessons in how to be a Recon Marine: swift and silent (not deadly yet, she’s too young for that still). It’s kind of a kick to show her how to walk in the woods nearly noiselessly, and which plants are edible and which might make her brothers itch if rubbed against their skin or on the insides of their clothes. (Ray may live to regret that lesson, especially if Sarah finds out about it. She’s old enough to grasp the “deadly” part of “Swift Silent Deadly”.)
By the time they get back to the cabin, the wind has picked up, which makes for great kite flying. All three kids run around like battery-operated toys. Ray harbors some hope that they’ll be tired enough to need naps. He would appreciate a siesta shared with Brad.
Even as he thinks the word siesta, the wind picks up even more and the clouds on the horizon draw closer. The sky darkens and there’s just enough time to hustle the kids onto the porch before rain begins to fall. It falls for hours, not heavily, but steadily enough that the kids can’t play outside. It’s the first time they’ve all been in the house and awake for an extended period of time. The cabin has an older television and a DVD/VHS combination player, but no PlayStation, Wii or Xbox. Instead, they spend hours playing cards and board games. Eventually the kids get cranky and abandon the games to color and play with puzzles, squabbling with each other over the puzzle pieces and crayons. Brad and Ray pack away Monopoly and set up Battleship on the coffee table, settling on opposite sides with their legs stretched underneath. Every so often, Ray’s fingers stroke from Brad’s ankle to his calf, and he plays with Brad’s toes. Nothing inappropriate for little people to witness, but it still gives Brad goose bumps.
“Are you cold? Need a sweatshirt, Brad?”
Brad just grunts in response, followed by “G-6, Ray.”
Daniel, who has been playing Go Fish with Anna in an effort to keep her from killing her brothers, suddenly announces, “Okay, time for a ride into town. Kids, put your shoes on.”
It’s only when the kids are buckled into their seats and the door is sliding closed that they realize Brad and Ray aren’t coming with them.
“Wait! Want Uncle Brad and Ray!”
“We’re going to town to see if they have the new Toy Story movie.” Sarah speaks in her soothing, calm-the-crying-baby voice, which seems to work. Or maybe it’s the mention of Toy Story, or the fact that they are out of the house and doing something, even if they’ve just traded the confinement of the house for the minivan. As Daniel does a three point turn to head out the lane he rolls his window down and gives Brad and Ray a wink, then pulls off.
“Abandoned for a bunch of toy character cartoons…I think my feelings have b -“ Before Ray can finish the sentence, he is thrown over Brad’s shoulder in a fireman carry. He has barely oriented himself before he’s being tossed ever so casually onto their talkative bed, and then Brad lands next to him with a bounce and more squeaks of the mattress.
“Do I need a sweatshirt, Ray? No, as a matter of fact, I don’t. And you, you irritating little pygmy runt, you’re overdressed. Off. All of it. Now.”
As they wrestle each others’ clothes off, the creaking of the bed is constant.
“Homes, this bed probably served your parents’ purpose when you all were teenagers, announcing any attempted underage sex, but it has got. To. Go.” As he says the last, he’s yanking his t-shirt off, struggling to get the collar over his head. Brad laughs, and leans over to kiss Ray. It’s Ray’s favorite kind of kiss (really, they’re all his favorite; there’s no such thing as a bad kiss), the kind where he can feel Brad’s breath and laughter on his lips, his happiness made tangible.
When Brad settles against Ray fully, all warm skin and gold-toned flesh, Ray feels something inside both loosen and tighten; it isn't just the blood rushing to his dick, but something more, a tension that both unwinds and ramps up with the skin-to-skin contact. They are careful about touching in public -- who knows who is watching -- but accustomed to more physical contact, not necessarily sexual, than they've indulged in the last couple of days. Being circumspect about physical contact for the intro to family, and also because you never know what kids are going to see or remark on is all well and good but Ray has missed Brad in the most visceral way, even though he has been right next to him for the last 48 hours.
Brad leaves a string of biting kisses along Ray's jaw, pausing to nose at the spot just below his ear that, when bitten with just the right amount of pressure, makes Ray's knees wobbly and his dick hard instantly. He hesitates, as if debating how this interlude is going to go, then moves toward Ray's collar bones and his ink.
"Ink slut," Ray murmurs, even as his own fingers trace the patterns drawn on Brad's back from memory.
As Brad pushes up a little in order to move downward, Ray takes advantage of his motion, flipping them so Brad is sprawled beneath him. Ray pins Brad's hands near the headboard, and after leaning into them for a moment and locking eyes with Brad, he turns his head and bites Brad’s right bicep hard then pulls back to kiss the mark he’s left. Ray knows that Brad loves his strength, cloaked in his smaller size, and that being manhandled is a novelty Brad has grown to enjoy. For all that he is smaller than Brad - dude, everyone is smaller than Brad - he’s not fragile, something else that Brad didn’t know he needed until Ray gave it to him.
As Ray moves down Brad’s body, alternately biting and then soothing, he releases Brad’s hands, which stay where they were pressed. It’s only when Ray has bitten his way down to Brad’s groin that his hands move to grasp the headboard and the edge of the mattress, to keep from laying his hands on Ray’s head to direct it where he wants it to go.
“Good boy,” Ray croons, then lowers his head to suck a mark into the crease between hip and thigh.
He nuzzles Brad’s dick and gives it a tentative lick, then moves toward the nightstand. Brad stops him, sliding his hand from the headboard to the pillow and under it, pulling out the lube.
“Bradley Colbert, that’s not where we left it…did you plan this?” But he doesn’t wait for an answer, instead leaning back down to mouth at Brad’s balls. Opening the bottle, Ray squirts out the contents, making a lewd noise. He eases a finger into Brad as he tilts his head just so and swallows as much of Brad’s dick as he can, using his other hand to circle and stroke what he can’t take, stroking fingers in tandem with mouth.
When he pauses to breathe, he listens to what is coming out of Brad’s mouth: a litany of curses and prayers, promises and threats. He’ll do anything if Ray will just not stop, he’ll kill Ray if he stops, he’s a fucking god, he’s a miserable bastard for teasing like this. After deciding he’s tortured Brad enough, Ray gives him another finger, and licks him like an ice cream cone from base to head. With a last teasing flick of fingers and tongue, he withdraws.
“Brad, look at me. Look at me.” When Brad’s eyes flutter open, Ray moves up, bracing himself over Brad, and pushes into him. Both their eyes flutter closed, and they are still for a moment. And then the moment is gone, and Ray is rocking into Brad, fucking into him as if he can only get just a little bit closer they’ll be sharing the same skin. Brad’s legs are bent, heels digging into the mattress so he can give as good as he gets, with one hand still pressed against the headboard and the other digging into Ray’s ass as if he can pull Ray deeper into his body. But it’s not enough.
Brad’s earlier threats and promises have dwindled as he’s lost himself, but his gasped “harder, Ray, more, I need more” echoes in Ray’s ears, until he stops abruptly, flipping Brad over, pulling him onto his knees.
“Better?” It’s a grunt, really, as he grasps Brad’s hips and pushes home again. Definitely better, since Brad has more leverage now and can push back with more force, up on his knees with his hands braced against the headboard again. Ray leans over to bite Brad’s shoulder, close, so close. Sliding one hand around to pull at Brad’s dick in counter point to his thrusts, Ray orders Brad, “Now. Now, come now.”
He can feel Brad let go, and keeps moving through Brad’s orgasm, like Brad needs him to. And when Brad’s still at last, he lets himself go, lost in the feel and smell and sound of Brad beneath him.
For a moment, he just lays where he is, still on top of Brad, still in him, sucking a bruise over the moon on his upper back. And then he eases off, rolling to Brad’s side and flopping an arm over his back. After they’ve both caught their breath, he rolls his head on the pillow to ask, “Did you plan that?”
Brad lets out a satisfied sigh and grins at him. “Not that exactly. But this morning Daniel promised some alone time, since he got lucky yesterday while we were giving swimming and sailing lessons.”
“You conniving bastard. I like that about you. And Daniel.”
~~~~~
By the time Sarah, Daniel and the kids return home, the rain has tapered off and it’s after dark. Brad and Ray have loaded their stuff into the Jeep, and set their bedroom to rights. They help unload the kids and get them settled, getting handshakes, hugs and kisses as they wish the kids good night.
With his pimp shades propped on top of his head and a bottle of Mountain Dew open, Ray starts the Jeep and negotiates the narrow lane that takes them back to the road. He and Brad are both quiet for a while.
“I didn’t get to do The Story of Ferdinand, Bradley, or The Very Hungry Caterpillar. They missed some of the very best stories. Who knows what kind of storytelling your sister does - I mean, they didn’t know about Max and the monsters! Does she just stick to Golden Books and Dr. Seuss? Not that there’s anything wrong with those, but children need variety in their reading habits!”
“I’m pretty sure Sarah and Daniel have a wide variety of classic children’s books for them at home, Ray, a collection that even a faux intellectual, debate club reject like you could appreciate. Even so, you can harass them about it next time.”
And Ray smiles, keeping his eyes on the road in front of him.