[FIC] (Generation Kill) How Was I Supposed to Know (Baby One More Time)
Title: How Was I Supposed to Know (Baby One More Time)
Rating: R
Pairing/Characters: Ray Person/Walt Hasser (Generation Kill)
Word Count: 1,150
Summary: DJ RayRay doesn't even get to decide his own music.
Disclaimer: The following story is untrue and I am only borrowing the names and in no way does this story reflect the characters from the TV series or the book series, nor am I making any profit off of this.
Notes: Written for the Generation Kill Porn Skirmish with the prompt: Hasser/Person: debating (about today's pop music?). Thank you metatarsus for the beta! ♥ Songs used: Nelly - Hot In Here and Britney Spears - Baby One More Time (also where the title is taken from).
Bits & Pieces: I started writing another prompt, then got stuck, and went to write this. I promise one day I'll write something more... graphic.
It’s gettin’ hot in herr, so take off all your clothes. Yeeeeah!
“Person, no one wants to see you taking off your clothes!” Someone (sounding very much like Espera) called out as he walked by Team 1 Alpha humvee.
“Wasn’t talking to you, shithead! Don’t wanna bleach my eyes out after seeing your small dick,” Ray shot back. He expected no less than ten interruptions (not that he counted anymore, stopped counting after the first five minutes of this never-ending road trip) since he fully leaned back against his seat, popped his sunglasses on, put his feet up on the dashboard, and not before putting his hands behind his head and resting against the headrest. He could ignore the footsteps of men walking by (bare feet against the sand) and the clinks of machines being repaired (waves crashing or some shit).
A perfect day at the beach.
Other than the MOPP suit. The permanent fixture of sand seeping into his pores. Or the turret attached to the vehicle.
“Person,” a stomp came from above, “change the damn channel.”
“Are you insulting my choice of music, Hasser?”
“I’m merely asking you to change the station, Person.”
Interruptions, interruptions. He reluctantly reached up and banged on the ceiling. “Don’t you know that the driver has control over the fucking radio? If you want to change the damn channel, take over my spot of driving in the dark and fucking guess where you’re heading.”
“Not when the guy above you is trying to save your life by shooting shit in the dark,” Walt replied before sliding feet first into the humvee and settling into the backseats. “My choice, obviously. Hands down, no argument, done deal.”
Ray squeezed his eyes shut. “Fine,” he muttered, before letting his brain truly go over what Walt actually said (surprising himself). “DJ RayRay’s Open Request Hour, happy?” He could feel Walt grinning even if the kid’s sitting behind him and his eyes were shut.
Walt squeezed himself into the gap between the two front seats and had his head resting against Ray’s seat. “Any interesting renditions of Britney Spears, by any chance?”
(And hot breath against Ray’s ear.)
He turned his head to face Walt. “It’s request hour, you gotta pick a song. Not a fucking mind reader, Hasser. And really? I give you free rein to request a song from DJ RayRay and you pick Britney fucking Spears? You letting sand fill your tiny little brain? Just because she has nice tits and pretends to be a fucking virgin when the world knows she’s not shouldn’t cloud your judgment to request fucking Britney Spears,” Ray paused, eyes hot and glaring at Walt. He could see Walt clear as day, his pale blue eyes beaming in delight as he listened to another of Ray’s ‘fucked up dropped as a baby’ explanation of some bullshit and his face clearly focused on Ray’s every move.
Ray pushed his sunglasses up and rested them on his head. “You yanking my chains, Hasser?”
“Hit me baby one more time, Ray.”
“No.”
Walt grinned, then opened his mouth. “Oh baby, baby, how was I supposed to know... that something wasn’t right here.” It was off-key, no shit, but hearing a grown man sing this, fuck.
“No,” Ray repeated, but a smile tugging on his lips, and hands already moving to cover Walt’s mouth to keep that blasted song from being sung. He had one seen the video to this song, along with this horrible, horrible memory or something and something that happened while watching it - it had been buried deep in his mind so it was all a little fuzzy - until now.
Even muffled by Ray’s hand, Walt continued, “Oh baby, baby, I shouldn’t have let you go, and now you’re outta sight-” He managed to yank Ray’s hand away and yelled out a surprisingly earsplitting YEAH.
Ray’s hands shoved Walt back (shut up, shut up, he thought, smiling) against the seats and he forced himself through the tiny as shit gap, not worrying about his pimped out sunglasses at all, and awkwardly landing onto Walt, knocking the poor man’s air out of him. (Somehow he managed to pull his entire fucking body through, still a miracle to this day.)
Hello, awkward situation, as Ray barely keeping himself upright (and not crashing onto Walt) by digging his knees into the seats for balance and whatever purchase he could find with his hands on Walt’s shoulders.
Ray stared down onto Walt, feeling rather calm despite the mood suddenly doing a 360 on them. Even in the shade, Walt’s eyes were still so fucking pale and blue. He missed the ocean. “Are you going to keep on singing?”
Walt was still frozen with his eyes were holding onto dear life at Ray’s gaze. Ray finally noticed he had Walt pinned against the backseat of the humvee, arms splayed out. Walt stuck the tip of his tongue out to wet his lips. Ray couldn’t help but break the poor boy’s gaze, his own eyes trailing down the other man’s face until they reached the mouth.
(He could feel his own heart beating faster and faster, blood pumping everywhere and his breathing quickening at the same time. He knew what that meant.)
Shit. Shit. Shit. What the fuck.
“If you goddamn kids can stop singing that hobag’s song for a second, you’d be interested to know that we’re oscar mike in ten,” Brad commented, banged at the side of the humvee twice, and walked away.
“Yeah,” Ray muttered, but not moving. “Oscar mike in ten, Hasser.”
“Yeah, oscar mike in ten, Person,” Walt said, calmly in the same tone.
“Yeah.” Ray whispered, knowing fully well how close together their heads were. “Yeah,” he repeated once more. Walt was still staring at him with the same intensity (so blue), only this time his lips were gleaming. Ray bit down on his tongue to stop himself from swiping his tongue down on those lips. He could see himself relaxing against Walt, hand tucked under Walt’s chin as he sucked on Walt’s lips, gently biting down and garnering a quiet moan from Walt. Walt would have his eyes closed, face and body leaning upward, waiting for Ray to kiss him again. Fuck. Walt. Fuck. Fuck me. Fucking fuck fuck fuck. (Not here, not here.)
Ray pushed himself off and rolled over to the vacant seat next to Walt. He barely missed the look on Walt’s face. His mind was running a thousand times faster than when he’s on Ripped Fuel, and another thousand time clearer than on Ripped Fuel. (He’s not on a beach.)
All you could hear was two men breathing heavily.
“Hasser, oscar mike in ten,” Ray said, voice stronger this time.
“Probably down to five now, Person,” Walt replied, letting his knee gently touch Ray’s.
“Yeah, five now,” Ray said, a lazy smile plastered on his face.
Rating: R
Pairing/Characters: Ray Person/Walt Hasser (Generation Kill)
Word Count: 1,150
Summary: DJ RayRay doesn't even get to decide his own music.
Disclaimer: The following story is untrue and I am only borrowing the names and in no way does this story reflect the characters from the TV series or the book series, nor am I making any profit off of this.
Notes: Written for the Generation Kill Porn Skirmish with the prompt: Hasser/Person: debating (about today's pop music?). Thank you metatarsus for the beta! ♥ Songs used: Nelly - Hot In Here and Britney Spears - Baby One More Time (also where the title is taken from).
Bits & Pieces: I started writing another prompt, then got stuck, and went to write this. I promise one day I'll write something more... graphic.
It’s gettin’ hot in herr, so take off all your clothes. Yeeeeah!
“Person, no one wants to see you taking off your clothes!” Someone (sounding very much like Espera) called out as he walked by Team 1 Alpha humvee.
“Wasn’t talking to you, shithead! Don’t wanna bleach my eyes out after seeing your small dick,” Ray shot back. He expected no less than ten interruptions (not that he counted anymore, stopped counting after the first five minutes of this never-ending road trip) since he fully leaned back against his seat, popped his sunglasses on, put his feet up on the dashboard, and not before putting his hands behind his head and resting against the headrest. He could ignore the footsteps of men walking by (bare feet against the sand) and the clinks of machines being repaired (waves crashing or some shit).
A perfect day at the beach.
Other than the MOPP suit. The permanent fixture of sand seeping into his pores. Or the turret attached to the vehicle.
“Person,” a stomp came from above, “change the damn channel.”
“Are you insulting my choice of music, Hasser?”
“I’m merely asking you to change the station, Person.”
Interruptions, interruptions. He reluctantly reached up and banged on the ceiling. “Don’t you know that the driver has control over the fucking radio? If you want to change the damn channel, take over my spot of driving in the dark and fucking guess where you’re heading.”
“Not when the guy above you is trying to save your life by shooting shit in the dark,” Walt replied before sliding feet first into the humvee and settling into the backseats. “My choice, obviously. Hands down, no argument, done deal.”
Ray squeezed his eyes shut. “Fine,” he muttered, before letting his brain truly go over what Walt actually said (surprising himself). “DJ RayRay’s Open Request Hour, happy?” He could feel Walt grinning even if the kid’s sitting behind him and his eyes were shut.
Walt squeezed himself into the gap between the two front seats and had his head resting against Ray’s seat. “Any interesting renditions of Britney Spears, by any chance?”
(And hot breath against Ray’s ear.)
He turned his head to face Walt. “It’s request hour, you gotta pick a song. Not a fucking mind reader, Hasser. And really? I give you free rein to request a song from DJ RayRay and you pick Britney fucking Spears? You letting sand fill your tiny little brain? Just because she has nice tits and pretends to be a fucking virgin when the world knows she’s not shouldn’t cloud your judgment to request fucking Britney Spears,” Ray paused, eyes hot and glaring at Walt. He could see Walt clear as day, his pale blue eyes beaming in delight as he listened to another of Ray’s ‘fucked up dropped as a baby’ explanation of some bullshit and his face clearly focused on Ray’s every move.
Ray pushed his sunglasses up and rested them on his head. “You yanking my chains, Hasser?”
“Hit me baby one more time, Ray.”
“No.”
Walt grinned, then opened his mouth. “Oh baby, baby, how was I supposed to know... that something wasn’t right here.” It was off-key, no shit, but hearing a grown man sing this, fuck.
“No,” Ray repeated, but a smile tugging on his lips, and hands already moving to cover Walt’s mouth to keep that blasted song from being sung. He had one seen the video to this song, along with this horrible, horrible memory or something and something that happened while watching it - it had been buried deep in his mind so it was all a little fuzzy - until now.
Even muffled by Ray’s hand, Walt continued, “Oh baby, baby, I shouldn’t have let you go, and now you’re outta sight-” He managed to yank Ray’s hand away and yelled out a surprisingly earsplitting YEAH.
Ray’s hands shoved Walt back (shut up, shut up, he thought, smiling) against the seats and he forced himself through the tiny as shit gap, not worrying about his pimped out sunglasses at all, and awkwardly landing onto Walt, knocking the poor man’s air out of him. (Somehow he managed to pull his entire fucking body through, still a miracle to this day.)
Hello, awkward situation, as Ray barely keeping himself upright (and not crashing onto Walt) by digging his knees into the seats for balance and whatever purchase he could find with his hands on Walt’s shoulders.
Ray stared down onto Walt, feeling rather calm despite the mood suddenly doing a 360 on them. Even in the shade, Walt’s eyes were still so fucking pale and blue. He missed the ocean. “Are you going to keep on singing?”
Walt was still frozen with his eyes were holding onto dear life at Ray’s gaze. Ray finally noticed he had Walt pinned against the backseat of the humvee, arms splayed out. Walt stuck the tip of his tongue out to wet his lips. Ray couldn’t help but break the poor boy’s gaze, his own eyes trailing down the other man’s face until they reached the mouth.
(He could feel his own heart beating faster and faster, blood pumping everywhere and his breathing quickening at the same time. He knew what that meant.)
Shit. Shit. Shit. What the fuck.
“If you goddamn kids can stop singing that hobag’s song for a second, you’d be interested to know that we’re oscar mike in ten,” Brad commented, banged at the side of the humvee twice, and walked away.
“Yeah,” Ray muttered, but not moving. “Oscar mike in ten, Hasser.”
“Yeah, oscar mike in ten, Person,” Walt said, calmly in the same tone.
“Yeah.” Ray whispered, knowing fully well how close together their heads were. “Yeah,” he repeated once more. Walt was still staring at him with the same intensity (so blue), only this time his lips were gleaming. Ray bit down on his tongue to stop himself from swiping his tongue down on those lips. He could see himself relaxing against Walt, hand tucked under Walt’s chin as he sucked on Walt’s lips, gently biting down and garnering a quiet moan from Walt. Walt would have his eyes closed, face and body leaning upward, waiting for Ray to kiss him again. Fuck. Walt. Fuck. Fuck me. Fucking fuck fuck fuck. (Not here, not here.)
Ray pushed himself off and rolled over to the vacant seat next to Walt. He barely missed the look on Walt’s face. His mind was running a thousand times faster than when he’s on Ripped Fuel, and another thousand time clearer than on Ripped Fuel. (He’s not on a beach.)
All you could hear was two men breathing heavily.
“Hasser, oscar mike in ten,” Ray said, voice stronger this time.
“Probably down to five now, Person,” Walt replied, letting his knee gently touch Ray’s.
“Yeah, five now,” Ray said, a lazy smile plastered on his face.