FIC: Three Times Lilley Videotaped Ray (And One Time Ray Taped Himself for Lilley) (Ray/Lilley, NC17
Title: Three Times Lilley Videotaped Ray (And One Time Ray Taped Himself for Lilley)
Author: Kali
Pairing: Ray Person/Jason Lilley
Rating: NC17
Summary: Like the title says, this is three snapshots of when Lilley caught Ray on camera. Plus the one time Ray caught himself on camera when Lilley gets re-deployed.
Notes: Written for the One-Two-Three Challenge over at we_pimpin. Comments and con crit are loved.
Disclaimer: This is based on the ficionalised HBO series, not the actual people portrayed in the book.
THREE TIMES LILLEY VIDEOTAPED RAY (AND ONE TIME RAY TAPED HIMSELF FOR LILLEY)
ONE (Ray's Theory on Bert and Ernie)
One thing Lilley learns quickly is that if there's never anything interesting happening at Camp Mathilda, he just has to find Ray and that's usually good for some entertainment. He's pretty sure he could film and entire fucking feature-length movie just based on Ray Person's Theories of the World. Right now, Ray's going on about the homo-eroticism of children's television-Lilley has no clue what started this rant, but he really doesn't care, he just grins and focuses the camera on Ray's pacing, carefully tracking him around the tent. Ray absolutely can't stay still unless it's required for a mission, and even when walking, he's throwing his arms around, bobbing his head all over the place. It makes people a little sea-sick sometimes, watching Ray in one of his more worked-up rants, but Lilley kind of likes it. He kind of reminds Lilley of a six-year-old hopped up on coffee and a little bit of hard liquor. Of course, this six-year-old can kill you in about twenty seconds flat and is one of the best marksmen in the entire platoon, but still.
“And I mean it seriously, homes, 'cause check it out, you got these two guys, right, that live together and fucking socialise together and even take fucking baths together, and we're supposed to believe they're straight? It's a fucking insult to my intelligence! Bert and Erine were gayer than fucking Fruity Rudy and you've got all these kids growing up watching their fucking show thinking that this is the way best buds are supposed to act. With all the homosexual subtext to the majority of children's shows and everything, I'm just fucking grateful that Colbert never tried to shower with me.”
“Ray, keep your perverted fantasies about my body to yourself and come help me with this.”
Ray rolls his eyes, but obediently trudges over to Brad. Rant over, entertainment finished, Lilley turns off his camera
TWO (Just a Little Late Night Porn)
Lilley knows he should be sleeping, should be grabbing the opportunity with both fucking hands because who knows when he'll next get a chance, but he can't. He's too wired, too on edge, keeps mentally preparing for an enemy attack that never comes. He knows he's not alone in his fears, knows that no one likes being here when they don't know what's surrounding them, but there's not much anyone can do about it. They've got a 50% watch, which should be enough, and it's not like they don't know what to do if an enemy attacks. Lilley knows he should trust in his brothers on watch and shut his eyes, but he can't make himself.
So instead, he gets up and grabs his camera, thinking vaguely of getting some generic, sweeping shots of the camp at night, something quiet to splice in between all the action scenes. The night vision on his camera is kind of shit, but it's enough to make things out, washing everything in green light. He keeps his footsteps quiet, even though any noise would be drowned out by the arty going off in the distance, and walks around for a bit, sweeping his camera over sleeping Marines, Marines on watch with their faces obscured by NVG's, Marines sitting up next to Humvees, not on watch but unable to sleep anyway. Those few guys watch him as he passes, faces serious and worn. Lilley can read a thousand words in their expressions, and he wonders if it'll get picked up on the camera, if any civilians who end up watching this will see it and understand.
He ends up near Two One's Humvee, can see Walt manning the Mark-19, a still, silent presence guarding his team. He's facing away from Lilley, looking out at the wasteland around the airfield, so Lilley only grazes him with the camera before checking out the rest of the Humvee. He pans in from Colbert's empty seat and then skids to a halt when he sees Ray sitting at the wheel. He's obviously not asleep, face scrunched up with his mouth hanging open, and it takes Lilley a second to see the quick motions of his arm. Combat jack, he thinks with a smile, and is about to turn the camera off because some shit really doesn't need to be immortalised on film, but then Ray opens his eyes and the fucker is staring straight at Lilley.
Things freeze for a second, neither of them moving, but then Ray's lips quirk in a grin and he starts jerking off again, leaning his head back and biting his lip. Lilley's breath punches out of his lungs and he moves the camera little, gets a better angle. He toys with the idea of looking away from the screen, of watching Ray without the camera between them, but thinks that might be somehow against the rules, so he just focuses on the green, grainy images of Ray on the little screen and doesn't breathe until Ray pitches forward, spare hand grabbing at the wheel. He stays hunched over for a minute, back heaving, before looking up and winking at Lilley.
Lilley shakes his head, turns off his camera, and goes back to his grave.
THREE (When the Fighting Stops)
Leaving Baghdad feels strange for everyone. Ever since they left Mathilda, Baghdad has been at the back of everyone's mind, the place they were driving through Hell itself to get to. Then they got there and things didn't end, Iraq wasn't suddenly some safe and happy place, liberated by the heroic US Marines. It was just another shithole, half-destroyed and on the edge of anarchy. Lilley knows that a lot of guys, from the LT down, were hoping to stay, to try and fix the destruction they'd caused, but they hadn't, and now they were holed up in some other shithole away from the city and everyone was realising that things really were over for them. They'd done their jobs, walked through ambush after ambush and lead the way to the fucking city, and now... now what? Lilley didn't know and he wasn't sure anyone else did either, not even fucking Command.
His movie's mostly finished, and he's kind of proud of it even if it was hard to watch it all again, look at it with a critical eye and try to form something cohesive out of the chaos and madness. But he still wants more, wants to show that just because they're not fighting anymore, they don't just turn off like robots. They're still here, still hurting, and he wants to capture that. He wants to show that when the external fighting stops, a lot of guys can no longer hide from the fighting in their heads, have to try and reconcile themselves with the things they've done. He wants to show that Marines aren't cold-blooded killing machines, even though almost all of them say they are. He wants to show that they're people.
He wanders around aimlessly, panning over everyone and everything, not giving detail to anything. For every two Marines that are joking and laughing, maybe calling out to him, he finds one sitting quietly, eyes distant, who doesn't even look up when he passes. He finds Marines sparring, or lifting weights, inventorying bullets and supplies, sunbathing on the hoods of Humvees, drinking maybe-gin that gets hidden when an officer is nearby.
And then he finds Ray, holed up in a corner where no one can see him. He's got his knees drawn up to his chest, arms wrapped tight around his legs, and head bowed. Lilley hesitates, camera dipping a little. He'd never thought Ray would be one of the hurting ones, one of the ones fighting in his own head. Ray had always been so... unaffected, just snapping off jokes and laughs like nothing ever touched him. To see him like this, quiet and withdrawn and still...
Ray looks up, and his eyes are dark and serious, mouth a tight line. Lilley can't remember seeing him like this, not laughing or shouting or screwing up his face in some comical expression. He looks like a different person, and Lilley wonders who the real Ray Person is-the joker who makes everyone around him laugh or the guy haunted by the shit he's seen.
Ray's eyes flick to Lilley's camera, now dropped so low it's filming Ray's shins, and then back to Lilley's face. He shakes his head, once, and Lilley jerks into motion, bringing the camera up so he can turn it off. Ray lowers his eyes again, and Lilley wonders what he should do-should he go and leave Ray in peace to try and deal with everything, or stay and try and support him. He doesn't know which would be the right move, and he doesn't want to make the wrong one.
Ray looks up again, blinking slowly, and Lilley tries to find some clue in his expression, some point of reference he could use to make a decision. He thinks that if this were anyone else, he'd know what to do. He realises that for all the time and effort Ray puts into cheering everyone else up, no one's ever had to cheer him up, so possible no one knows how. Except maybe Colbert, but he isn't here right now, Lilley is, and he's fucking clueless. He can't imagine humping Ray's head or mocking him incessantly is going to help.
Lilley's always thought that if you can't do something right, you shouldn't fucking do it wrong, so he ducks his head and leaves, camera a useless lump in his hand.
FOUR (The Best Susie Rottencrotch in the World)
The letter arrives a couple of weeks after Lilley's got settled at the camp. He recognises Ray's handwriting immediately and grins when he tears it open. The letter itself is short-a brief update on Ray's status and the civilian world, reassurances that certain celebs are not yet dead, shit like that. But the other things in the envelope... Lilley grabs the small bundle of photos first, glances at the first one and bursts out laughing.
It's Ray, standing in front of a door, in the tackiest set of red lingerie Lilley's ever seen. He's got his hips cocked to one side, head tilted back with his hands behind it, pouting obscenely at the camera. The red lace of the badly-stuffed bra runs over the inky blots of his tattoos, drawing more contrast to his pale skin. It's the stupidest thing Lilley's ever seen and he continues to laugh as he flicks through them, Ray in a half-dozen faux-sexy poses. In one he's leaning forward, hands on his bra as if to show of the cleavage he doesn't have, and some of the toilet paper is spilling out of the cups.
“Yo, Lilley, what's got you so happy, bro? Good letter from your Susie Rottencrotch?”
“Not exactly, bruh. Check it out.” He hands around the photos and soon the whole tent is filled with shocked laughter and the lewd comments typical of Recon Marines. Lilley leaves them to it, because there was also a memory stick in the envelope, and on it Ray's put a sticker that says 'really fucking private'. He grabs his laptop, finds a secluded corner, and plugs it in. There's only one video file on it, and Lilley opens it a little cautiously.
He already had the sound down low, which he's thankful for because the second the video starts, Ray's almost pornographic breathing and moaning starts to filter out of the speakers. Lilley quickly hits the mute button, eyes fixed hungrily on the screen. Ray's in bed, the camera off to the side, probably on a chair or something. He's got one hand wrapped around his cock and the other fisted in his hair. Lilley knows he's pulling on it slightly, that sharp, stinging tug he always likes Lilley to do. He's stripping his cock hard and fast, eyes squeezed shut and mouth gaping open. Lilley can see the sweat on his chest, wonders how long he's been going, if it feels even better knowing that he's being taped, that Lilley's going to be watching. Knowing the mile-wide exhibitionist streak Ray has, it's very likely.
Lilley licks his lips, hitches the laptop a little closer on his knees to hide his growing erection. He could probably come just like this, but that would be kind of hard to explain to the rest of the platoon, so he forces himself to breath slow and deep. It's not easy, not with Ray writhing on the bed and biting his lip and even with the sound off, Lilley can hear the way he's panting and moaning, can see him shape the broken syllables of Lilley's name. He's fucked Ray enough times to know his tells, and when his stomach muscles tighten and his hips flex a little off the bed, Lilley can't stop himself from reaching out and running his fingers over the screen when Ray jerks violently and comes all over his stomach.
Ray sprawls bonelessly on the bed for a minute, chest heaving, staring blankly at the ceiling. Lilley wants to lick the sweat and come off his skin, wants to press sloppy kisses to his mouth, and he only just stops himself from reaching down and getting himself off right there and then. When Ray rolls his head to the side so that he can look at the camera, eyes dark and hooded and filled with all kinds of fucking promises, Lilley decides that he needs to go to the latrine right fucking now and take care of some business.
Author: Kali
Pairing: Ray Person/Jason Lilley
Rating: NC17
Summary: Like the title says, this is three snapshots of when Lilley caught Ray on camera. Plus the one time Ray caught himself on camera when Lilley gets re-deployed.
Notes: Written for the One-Two-Three Challenge over at we_pimpin. Comments and con crit are loved.
Disclaimer: This is based on the ficionalised HBO series, not the actual people portrayed in the book.
THREE TIMES LILLEY VIDEOTAPED RAY (AND ONE TIME RAY TAPED HIMSELF FOR LILLEY)
ONE (Ray's Theory on Bert and Ernie)
One thing Lilley learns quickly is that if there's never anything interesting happening at Camp Mathilda, he just has to find Ray and that's usually good for some entertainment. He's pretty sure he could film and entire fucking feature-length movie just based on Ray Person's Theories of the World. Right now, Ray's going on about the homo-eroticism of children's television-Lilley has no clue what started this rant, but he really doesn't care, he just grins and focuses the camera on Ray's pacing, carefully tracking him around the tent. Ray absolutely can't stay still unless it's required for a mission, and even when walking, he's throwing his arms around, bobbing his head all over the place. It makes people a little sea-sick sometimes, watching Ray in one of his more worked-up rants, but Lilley kind of likes it. He kind of reminds Lilley of a six-year-old hopped up on coffee and a little bit of hard liquor. Of course, this six-year-old can kill you in about twenty seconds flat and is one of the best marksmen in the entire platoon, but still.
“And I mean it seriously, homes, 'cause check it out, you got these two guys, right, that live together and fucking socialise together and even take fucking baths together, and we're supposed to believe they're straight? It's a fucking insult to my intelligence! Bert and Erine were gayer than fucking Fruity Rudy and you've got all these kids growing up watching their fucking show thinking that this is the way best buds are supposed to act. With all the homosexual subtext to the majority of children's shows and everything, I'm just fucking grateful that Colbert never tried to shower with me.”
“Ray, keep your perverted fantasies about my body to yourself and come help me with this.”
Ray rolls his eyes, but obediently trudges over to Brad. Rant over, entertainment finished, Lilley turns off his camera
TWO (Just a Little Late Night Porn)
Lilley knows he should be sleeping, should be grabbing the opportunity with both fucking hands because who knows when he'll next get a chance, but he can't. He's too wired, too on edge, keeps mentally preparing for an enemy attack that never comes. He knows he's not alone in his fears, knows that no one likes being here when they don't know what's surrounding them, but there's not much anyone can do about it. They've got a 50% watch, which should be enough, and it's not like they don't know what to do if an enemy attacks. Lilley knows he should trust in his brothers on watch and shut his eyes, but he can't make himself.
So instead, he gets up and grabs his camera, thinking vaguely of getting some generic, sweeping shots of the camp at night, something quiet to splice in between all the action scenes. The night vision on his camera is kind of shit, but it's enough to make things out, washing everything in green light. He keeps his footsteps quiet, even though any noise would be drowned out by the arty going off in the distance, and walks around for a bit, sweeping his camera over sleeping Marines, Marines on watch with their faces obscured by NVG's, Marines sitting up next to Humvees, not on watch but unable to sleep anyway. Those few guys watch him as he passes, faces serious and worn. Lilley can read a thousand words in their expressions, and he wonders if it'll get picked up on the camera, if any civilians who end up watching this will see it and understand.
He ends up near Two One's Humvee, can see Walt manning the Mark-19, a still, silent presence guarding his team. He's facing away from Lilley, looking out at the wasteland around the airfield, so Lilley only grazes him with the camera before checking out the rest of the Humvee. He pans in from Colbert's empty seat and then skids to a halt when he sees Ray sitting at the wheel. He's obviously not asleep, face scrunched up with his mouth hanging open, and it takes Lilley a second to see the quick motions of his arm. Combat jack, he thinks with a smile, and is about to turn the camera off because some shit really doesn't need to be immortalised on film, but then Ray opens his eyes and the fucker is staring straight at Lilley.
Things freeze for a second, neither of them moving, but then Ray's lips quirk in a grin and he starts jerking off again, leaning his head back and biting his lip. Lilley's breath punches out of his lungs and he moves the camera little, gets a better angle. He toys with the idea of looking away from the screen, of watching Ray without the camera between them, but thinks that might be somehow against the rules, so he just focuses on the green, grainy images of Ray on the little screen and doesn't breathe until Ray pitches forward, spare hand grabbing at the wheel. He stays hunched over for a minute, back heaving, before looking up and winking at Lilley.
Lilley shakes his head, turns off his camera, and goes back to his grave.
THREE (When the Fighting Stops)
Leaving Baghdad feels strange for everyone. Ever since they left Mathilda, Baghdad has been at the back of everyone's mind, the place they were driving through Hell itself to get to. Then they got there and things didn't end, Iraq wasn't suddenly some safe and happy place, liberated by the heroic US Marines. It was just another shithole, half-destroyed and on the edge of anarchy. Lilley knows that a lot of guys, from the LT down, were hoping to stay, to try and fix the destruction they'd caused, but they hadn't, and now they were holed up in some other shithole away from the city and everyone was realising that things really were over for them. They'd done their jobs, walked through ambush after ambush and lead the way to the fucking city, and now... now what? Lilley didn't know and he wasn't sure anyone else did either, not even fucking Command.
His movie's mostly finished, and he's kind of proud of it even if it was hard to watch it all again, look at it with a critical eye and try to form something cohesive out of the chaos and madness. But he still wants more, wants to show that just because they're not fighting anymore, they don't just turn off like robots. They're still here, still hurting, and he wants to capture that. He wants to show that when the external fighting stops, a lot of guys can no longer hide from the fighting in their heads, have to try and reconcile themselves with the things they've done. He wants to show that Marines aren't cold-blooded killing machines, even though almost all of them say they are. He wants to show that they're people.
He wanders around aimlessly, panning over everyone and everything, not giving detail to anything. For every two Marines that are joking and laughing, maybe calling out to him, he finds one sitting quietly, eyes distant, who doesn't even look up when he passes. He finds Marines sparring, or lifting weights, inventorying bullets and supplies, sunbathing on the hoods of Humvees, drinking maybe-gin that gets hidden when an officer is nearby.
And then he finds Ray, holed up in a corner where no one can see him. He's got his knees drawn up to his chest, arms wrapped tight around his legs, and head bowed. Lilley hesitates, camera dipping a little. He'd never thought Ray would be one of the hurting ones, one of the ones fighting in his own head. Ray had always been so... unaffected, just snapping off jokes and laughs like nothing ever touched him. To see him like this, quiet and withdrawn and still...
Ray looks up, and his eyes are dark and serious, mouth a tight line. Lilley can't remember seeing him like this, not laughing or shouting or screwing up his face in some comical expression. He looks like a different person, and Lilley wonders who the real Ray Person is-the joker who makes everyone around him laugh or the guy haunted by the shit he's seen.
Ray's eyes flick to Lilley's camera, now dropped so low it's filming Ray's shins, and then back to Lilley's face. He shakes his head, once, and Lilley jerks into motion, bringing the camera up so he can turn it off. Ray lowers his eyes again, and Lilley wonders what he should do-should he go and leave Ray in peace to try and deal with everything, or stay and try and support him. He doesn't know which would be the right move, and he doesn't want to make the wrong one.
Ray looks up again, blinking slowly, and Lilley tries to find some clue in his expression, some point of reference he could use to make a decision. He thinks that if this were anyone else, he'd know what to do. He realises that for all the time and effort Ray puts into cheering everyone else up, no one's ever had to cheer him up, so possible no one knows how. Except maybe Colbert, but he isn't here right now, Lilley is, and he's fucking clueless. He can't imagine humping Ray's head or mocking him incessantly is going to help.
Lilley's always thought that if you can't do something right, you shouldn't fucking do it wrong, so he ducks his head and leaves, camera a useless lump in his hand.
FOUR (The Best Susie Rottencrotch in the World)
The letter arrives a couple of weeks after Lilley's got settled at the camp. He recognises Ray's handwriting immediately and grins when he tears it open. The letter itself is short-a brief update on Ray's status and the civilian world, reassurances that certain celebs are not yet dead, shit like that. But the other things in the envelope... Lilley grabs the small bundle of photos first, glances at the first one and bursts out laughing.
It's Ray, standing in front of a door, in the tackiest set of red lingerie Lilley's ever seen. He's got his hips cocked to one side, head tilted back with his hands behind it, pouting obscenely at the camera. The red lace of the badly-stuffed bra runs over the inky blots of his tattoos, drawing more contrast to his pale skin. It's the stupidest thing Lilley's ever seen and he continues to laugh as he flicks through them, Ray in a half-dozen faux-sexy poses. In one he's leaning forward, hands on his bra as if to show of the cleavage he doesn't have, and some of the toilet paper is spilling out of the cups.
“Yo, Lilley, what's got you so happy, bro? Good letter from your Susie Rottencrotch?”
“Not exactly, bruh. Check it out.” He hands around the photos and soon the whole tent is filled with shocked laughter and the lewd comments typical of Recon Marines. Lilley leaves them to it, because there was also a memory stick in the envelope, and on it Ray's put a sticker that says 'really fucking private'. He grabs his laptop, finds a secluded corner, and plugs it in. There's only one video file on it, and Lilley opens it a little cautiously.
He already had the sound down low, which he's thankful for because the second the video starts, Ray's almost pornographic breathing and moaning starts to filter out of the speakers. Lilley quickly hits the mute button, eyes fixed hungrily on the screen. Ray's in bed, the camera off to the side, probably on a chair or something. He's got one hand wrapped around his cock and the other fisted in his hair. Lilley knows he's pulling on it slightly, that sharp, stinging tug he always likes Lilley to do. He's stripping his cock hard and fast, eyes squeezed shut and mouth gaping open. Lilley can see the sweat on his chest, wonders how long he's been going, if it feels even better knowing that he's being taped, that Lilley's going to be watching. Knowing the mile-wide exhibitionist streak Ray has, it's very likely.
Lilley licks his lips, hitches the laptop a little closer on his knees to hide his growing erection. He could probably come just like this, but that would be kind of hard to explain to the rest of the platoon, so he forces himself to breath slow and deep. It's not easy, not with Ray writhing on the bed and biting his lip and even with the sound off, Lilley can hear the way he's panting and moaning, can see him shape the broken syllables of Lilley's name. He's fucked Ray enough times to know his tells, and when his stomach muscles tighten and his hips flex a little off the bed, Lilley can't stop himself from reaching out and running his fingers over the screen when Ray jerks violently and comes all over his stomach.
Ray sprawls bonelessly on the bed for a minute, chest heaving, staring blankly at the ceiling. Lilley wants to lick the sweat and come off his skin, wants to press sloppy kisses to his mouth, and he only just stops himself from reaching down and getting himself off right there and then. When Ray rolls his head to the side so that he can look at the camera, eyes dark and hooded and filled with all kinds of fucking promises, Lilley decides that he needs to go to the latrine right fucking now and take care of some business.