fic: The places we've never been (but were always bound to end up) [Part 2/3]
recipient: witchling
author: sephirothflame
title: The places we've never been (but were always bound to end up)
pairing: Ray Person X Brad Colbert
rating: R
word count: 24,500
summary/warnings: adult language, adult situations, domesticity
Wednesday
Ray is woken up by his alarm yet again, and he rolls over and turns it off with nothing more than a few lazy grumbles. He pushes himself out of bed, fumbling around in the dark until he can find something clean to wear - or, mostly clean, since he pulls on the same ratty jeans from yesterday - and yawning widely.
Brad is asleep on the couch, yet again, when Ray finally meanders that way after a quick stop to the bathroom and he has the same quilt Ray draped over him yesterday covering him again. Gidget is curled up on top of him for the second night in a row, and Ray finds he doesn’t feel as irrationally betrayed today as he did yesterday. He clucks at her though, just low enough to get her to blink big brown eyes up at him sleepily, and she follows him into the kitchen when he goes to make coffee.
Ray lets Gidget out back, watching her tromp around in the too long grass and smiling as she wags her tail happily. He only lets himself watch for a minute though before he starts opening cabinets and investigating exactly what the Hell Brad thinks Ray owes him a hundred dollars for. There’s Chef Boyardee and cereal and what Ray can only assume are ingredients for meals Brad probably plans on cooking while he’s here because Ray sure as Hell doesn’t know what to do with.
”There are cherry Pop Tarts on top of the fridge." Brad says softly, wiping at one of his eyes tiredly. He waits long enough for Ray to make a vaguely affirmative, positive sound, before Brad asks, “Coffee?”
”What the fuck else would I be making in a coffee maker?” Ray asks, standing on his tippy-toes to grab the box from the top of the fridge. He opens a pack and shoves them in his toaster, taking a moment to marvel at the fact he has counter space. He really should clean up after himself more often, but it’s a lot of effort to clean all the things.
”You work again today?” Brad asks. He sits down at Ray’s tiny table, dropping his elbows on it and resting his cheek against his forearm. He’s still watching Ray through half-lidded eyes, and it’s a little unnerving.
”Yeah, until five again." Ray replies and he leans back against the counter. He watches Brad watch him, and Ray has to resist the urge to blurt out the strangest things. Like Ray has jerked off to him twice in two days, but it isn’t that impressive because he’s had more than one combat jack a day to Brad’s hands when they were still in OIF. He wants to say thank you for Brad cleaning his house. He wants to tell Brad it’s okay that his dad made up stories about the constellations because Ray always liked his dad’s stories better.
For once though, Ray bites his tongue.
There’s a look on Brad’s face, like maybe he knows Ray wants to say something but has no idea where to start. Instead of saying anything though, Brad just says, “I think Gidget wants back in” right as the Jack Russell starts whining at the back door and for that, Ray is grateful.
Ray ends up getting shoved a clipboard and told to do inventory the moment he walks into Henrickson’s garage, and Ray just knows his day is going to fucking suck. He’s stuck in the backroom all morning, the AC down and only a crappy little fan that’s been sputtering on its dying breath since probably before Ray was born.
The work is mind-numbing, but not in a good way. Not in a way that lets Ray pass the time at work and know it’s only a matter of time before he gets a break, or lunch, or to get to go home already. Ray ends up checking his watch every ten minutes, because there’s absolutely no way to make counting lug nuts and alternators fun.
To say Ray is relieved when his phone buzzes with a text from Brad, simply asking Lunch? is an understatement. He’s so relived for a break in the monotony, to almost be finished with the mundane task of inventorying because God forbid Henrickson stop smoking pot long enough to do anything himself.
Ray’s reply might be a little overly enthusiastic, even if it doesn’t exactly translate so into fuck yeah diner in 30. The next twenty minutes of work pass by quickly enough, Ray singing along to the old boom box in the main office. When it’s time for his lunch break, he doesn’t wait long enough to hear an affirmative from Henrickson before he’s jumping into his truck and taking off.
It’s not that Ray’s hungry or eager to see Brad - it’s just such a relief to be in building with mostly working Air Conditioning. And maybe Ray does want to see Brad, but it has nothing to do with Brad’s shark like grin when he spots Ray sitting in the same table they were at yesterday.
”Here I was thinking you would be late again." Brad says, sliding into the booth across from Ray and bumping their knees together. He doesn’t pull his leg away, and against his better judgment, Ray doesn’t make him. It’s not like there is anyone to call them out on it, probably isn’t even visible unless you’re pointedly looking under the table. “Did you finally learn how to read a clock?”
”Fuck you." Ray says good-naturedly. “I was stuck doing inventory in the hot as Hell storage room and I thought I was going to sweat my fucking balls off.”
Brad makes a face, wrinkling his face in annoyance or disgust, before he picks at his own shirt idly. It’s just starting to stick to his skin from sweat and humidity, and Ray finds himself idly wondering if Brad wasn’t wearing it at home, or if he changed before he left the house. “Why you would choose to live in such a disgusting, deplorable climate willingly is beyond me.”
”Better than limp-wristed, liberal California." Ray counters. “Besides, you get used to the mosquitos and gnats.”
”It’s depressing to hear a former member of the Corps think so lowly of himself." Brad replies almost mournfully, but he’s smiling.
”Fuck you." Ray says, kicking at Brad under the table. “And that shit is fucking weak, even for you, Iceman. Your momma’s told me a lot worse when she was riding my cock like the cumslut she is.”
Brad kicks Ray back, harder than Ray kicked him, because it’s Brad and Ray doesn’t expect any less. “Fuck you, you sister-fucking inbred.”
They quickly dissolve into a squabble of kicking each other under the table, laughing roughly and bruising each other. It’s only awkward when their waitress finally makes her way over to the table, greeting them with a stern frown and a “don’t make me tell your mother on you, Joshua Ray Person” that leaves Brad temporarily confused because no one calls Ray Josh.
Their knees bump under the table again when the waitress takes their order, and Ray finds himself flashing Brad a small, secret grin before he even realizes he’s doing it. And when Brad shoots him an answering grin, Ray knows with a shadow of a doubt he is completely fucking screwed, because there is absolutely no way he can’t love Brad right now - or ever.
And for some insane reason, Ray can’t bring himself to care, because he can’t remember the last time he was this happy, or if he even has been since he left the Corps and left Brad behind.
When Ray gets back to the shop, he gets assigned to work on Pastor Jim’s car, a rusting Cavalier that’s seen better days. “Give her the works." Henrickson says, waving vaguely at it. Ray doesn’t have to ask to know that Henrickson wants the job over as soon as possible, because this is Pastor Jim and Ray’s pretty sure there isn’t anyone who dislikes him. Except for Ray, but Ray’s been biased against the good Pastor ever since he got kicked out of church for putting gum in the offering plate and then blatantly saying the God was nothing but make believe.
Ray’s ass still hurts when he remembers the beating his momma gave him over that one. Which just isn’t fucking fair, because it’s not exactly like Ray was wrong. Different strokes for different folks though, and Ray loses himself easily in the monotony of gauging and tightening and cleaning and testing anything and everything.
It’s the good kind of dull, familiar and comfortable enough that Ray can ignore the heat and the humidity and loses track of time easily. This, Ray can do. Ray understands cars, how they work. If only people were this easy, Ray thinks sometimes, but he spends more time on his back changing oil than he does interacting with other human beings, so it isn’t like he actually has much room to complain.
Still, by the time Ray has finished, it’s an hour and a half after he was supposed to clock out and he bets dollars to doughnuts he isn’t going to get paid over time. Working on the Pastor’s car will be his penance for something or other, and it was an honor to do. It isn’t the first time Ray’s been scammed by the shitty Cavalier and Henrickson and Ray doubts it’ll be the last.
Ray doesn’t bother to call Brad to apologize for being late, doesn’t think it matters. After all, Brad’s only crashing at his place for an untold amount of time and he doesn’t actually mean anything to Ray. Ray doesn’t owe him anything. Ray has to keep thinking thoughts like this, because he can’t afford to make the mistake of actually thinking there’s something deeper than Brad just wanting to take a break, a vacation.
Ray isn’t going to let himself think that there’s anything deeper than blood and brotherhood between them. Ray’s already made that mistake once, and he lost one of the best friend’s he’s ever had and had his heart broken in the same night. Or, he would have had his heart broken if he was a twelve year old girl who was in love with her sexy and brilliant Sergeant. Which, Ray most definitely isn’t.
He isn’t. Any statements that Ray may have made previously that state otherwise are false, one hundred percent.
There’s something eerie about coming home to find his house completely empty. Gidget doesn’t rush to greet him at the door, and Brad’s nowhere to be found. Ray actually has to do a double check to make sure Brad’s rented car is still in fact parked in Ray’s drive just to be sure that Brad has not left and kidnapped Gidget. Ray really wouldn’t put it past Brad. Gidget does seem to like him better.
But assuming the sticky note on the microwave telling Ray to just push two minutes to heat up and eat, that he took for Gidget for a run and he’s be back soon really was left by Brad, then Ray has nothing to worry about. There’s something incessantly amusing and domestic about cooking him dinner and putting it in the microwave for Ray to reheat later, and Ray finds that he actually kind of likes it.
Also, he’s really fucking starving, so he appreciates the effort on Brad’s behalf and finds himself nuking the plate of enchiladas without a second thought. Like last night, the food is almost impossibly delicious, and Ray finds himself snooping around for leftovers and makes a triumphant sound when he finds more tucked in the fridge in Tupperware containers Ray wasn’t even aware he owned.
It occurs to Ray as an idle thought that Brad might have been saving them for lunch tomorrow or for breakfast or something, but Ray also finds that he doesn’t care and he microwaves another two before he can convince himself otherwise. It’s only after Ray has devoured these as well and is chasing them down with a beer does the front door open, Gidget barking excitedly and scampering to the kitchen. She visits Ray long enough to lick the dirty knee of his jeans, before she goes to her water bowl and starts to drink.
”Sup, homes?” Ray asks, when Brad makes his way into the kitchen. He offers Brad a sip of his beer, which Brad turns down with a dark glare and Ray is left to stare at him in confusion. “Okay, what the fuck has got your panties in a twist?”
”Nothing." Brad says icily, and Ray isn’t nearly dumb enough to believe it. If looks could kill, Ray should be dead though, and he finds himself stepping to the side to let Brad grab a bottle of water from the fridge without a complaint. “Put your goddamn dishes in the sink." Brad says, before he twists the cap from his bottle and proceeds to chug the entire thing.
Ray watches the bobbing of Brad’s throat for a moment, before he picks up his dishes and dutifully puts them in the sink. He’s not going to wash them, because he doesn’t have or want to, but Ray is smart enough to realize that arguing with Brad right now not might be the best idea ever. “So, what did you do today?” Ray asks, leaning back against the counter.
Brad sends Ray another dark look. He looks away long enough to throw his water bottle in the trash, but the next thing Ray knows Brad is in his space, his hands on either side of Ray’s hips on the counter and he’s doubled over so that their foreheads are almost touching. His expression is unreadable, and Brad licks his lips slowly when Ray swallows nervously.
”Uh, Brad?” Ray asks. He tries to ignore the fact Brad is definitely close enough that if he tilted his head back just the slightest bit, their lips would be touching, tries to ignore the fact that Brad is a solid wall of heat corning Ray back into the counter and that it’s sending a low spike of heat straight to Ray’s groin. “Do you mind backing the fuck up?”
Brad narrows his eyes again, searching Ray’s face for something - Ray just isn’t sure what. He must not find it though, because he’s pushing away from Ray and turning on his heels. “I’m going to take a shower." Brad says noncommittally, and he’s peeling off his shirt before he even leaves the kitchen.
Ray take a moment to admire the sweat slicked skin of Brad’s back, the tense and pull of his muscles and the shine of his tattoo as Brad walks away. As soon as Brad as out of the room though, Ray can’t help but stare in blank confusion and wonder what the fuck just happened. He isn’t sure how long he stays leaning against the counter and just staring after Brad, but it takes the shower turning on for Ray to snap out of it.
Grabbing another beer out of the fridge, Ray makes his way to the living room and collapses back onto his couch. He turns the TV on, channel surfing until he finds a Mythbusters marathon. Explosions are something he can definitely get behind, and Ray kicks his feet up on the coffee table and gets comfortable.
It’s only a matter of time before Gidget wanders into the living room and curls up on Ray’s lap with a stuffing-less duck toy, gnawing at the patchy shape happily. If Ray ignores the fact his shower is running in the background, he can almost pretend everything is back to normal. It’s not as nice as he thinks it should be.
He only manages to get through half an episode before the shower clicks off and Brad makes his way into the living room, khaki shorts slung low on his hips and the black of his skivvies peeking through. Ray pointedly doesn’t look at Brad when Brad plops onto the couch next to him, a mostly comfortable and appropriate distance of space between them.
”You done PMSing?” Ray asks, taking a sip of his beer and casting a glance over at Brad warily. “’cause unless you bought tampons when you were restocking my cabinets, I’m fresh out and I’m not going to fucking go buy you some. I’m not whipped or your boyfriend.”
”Shut the fuck up, Ray." Brad says, sending Ray an annoyed look. He reaches over to snag Ray’s beer right out of Ray’s hands, and Ray lets him. “You still owe me that money.”
”Bitch, bitch, bitch." Ray grumbles. “It’s not like I’m making you pay room and board for showing up at my place randomly and taking over my couch with your giant ass.”
”No." Brad drawls out, “I only cleaned your house, bought you groceries, and made you dinner.”
There’s something about the way Brad says dinner, more than a little bitterly, that clicks in Ray’s head. “Oh my God." Ray says, turning to look at Brad and stare in disbelief. “You’re totally being a pissy little bitch because I didn’t call to tell you I was going to be late, aren’t you?” When Brad only glares harder, Ray has to resist the urge to laugh. “I can’t fucking believe it, you are totally my Suzy Homemaker. What the fuck, Brad?”
”Ray, shut your goddamn mouth before I shut it for you, you retarded, whiskey tango, goat-blowing, fuck up." Brad snaps irritably, his fist tightening around the beer. His ears are turning pink though, and Ray knows he was right. “I don’t care what the fuck you do.”
”Right." Ray says slowly, running a hand through his hair and tugging at the too long strands as he ducks his head to hide his smile. “Well, then I guess that you don’t care I have no intention of doing my dishes or laundry anytime soon and that I’m going to go for a run now.”
”Good for you." Brad replies, staring pointedly at the TV screen and taking another sip of Ray’s beer.
”I promise I’ll try and call the next time I’m running late." Ray says, mock sweetly. He isn’t surprised when Brad reaches out to punch him in the arm, but it startles Gidget enough to have her jumping to her feet and barking excitedly. “Now look what you’ve done." Ray scowls.
Brad just glowers at Ray, and Ray takes this as a sign to push himself off of the couch and to go find his running clothes. It’s not that he feels a need to run, more that he needs to move, and it’s surprisingly easy for him to fall out of habit of doing it if he doesn’t make himself do it at least four or five times a week.
So Ray changes, and Ray runs, putting his headphones in and letting the sound of music drown out any thoughts he may or may not have. Brad would bitch about the music being a drastic detriment to awareness, but Ray’s been running the same stretch of road for years now, and nothing bad ever happens in his sleepy little town.
Ray takes his time, runs longer and harder than he normally would since he doesn’t have to worry about over exerting Gidget. By the time he makes it back home, the stars are out and the sun has set, and the lights are off in the house. The only thought he remembers having had the entire time he was out was that it’s probably time he bought new sneakers, and he’s proud at his ability to compartmentalize.
Everyone tells Ray he talks too much. The problem is more like he thinks too much, he just never bothers to filter his words. When he’s by himself though, it’s harder to control either of the urges. Not that it matters, in the long run, since most of the time there isn’t anyone to listen to Ray rant in the first place.
Brad and Gidget have both passed out on the couch when Ray pushes open the front door. He debates banging around, being loud on purpose just to be an asshole, but for some reason he can’t name he decides against it. He closes and locks the door behind himself quietly before making his way through the house to his room, stripping quickly before he steps into the shower.
He wastes no time in cleaning himself, spends more time trying to decide if it’s fucked up enough to jerk off with Brad a thin wall away three nights in a row before he just gives in and does it than he does washing his skin, his hair. He rinses off, brushes his teeth, and crawls between the sheets of his bed and rolls onto his back.
For the first time in a long time, Ray’s bed feels too big and cold, despite the humidity already making sweat start to stick to his skin in the low heat of the night. It feels hard to breathe, and Ray closes his eyes, desperately trying to ignore all of these thoughts just long enough so he can go to sleep. He doesn’t know how long it takes, but he knows by the time that it arrives, the mindless oblivion hasn’t arrived soon enough.
Thursday
At first, Ray isn’t sure what wakes him up. It can’t have been his alarm, because the LED lights read it’s only just after 0200. He closes his eyes, sucking in a sharp breath and fighting back yawn, and Ray has every intention of just rolling over and going back to sleep when he hears it: a soft moan.
Ray freezes, glancing in the direction of the door. There’s a soft whine and a whimper, and before Ray even registers that he’s moved, he’s out of bed and pulling on the jeans he left abandoned on the floor last night. He doesn’t bother to be quiet when he makes his way to the living room, rubbing sleep out of his eyes and trying to fight back sleep heavy nausea in the back of his throat.
Brad’s still asleep on the couch, but his body is tense and tight, face screwed up in an imitation of pain or fear when another small sound escapes him. Gidget follows the sound with a whine of her own, pawing at Brad’s chest frantically, before she sends Ray a pathetic look. It takes Ray a moment to realize Brad is - is having a nightmare or something - and Ray has no idea what he’s supposed to do about that.
So Ray sits on the coffee table, reaching out for Brad’s shoulder and shaking him gently. “Hey, Brad." he says softly. “Come on, wake up, homes.” Ray is, for all intents and purposes, completely ignored by Brad. Ray watches helplessly as Brad honest to God whimpers, his back arching and his arm flailing out to push away something.
The motions and sounds are enough to scare Gidget, and she’s off the couch and ducking under the coffee table to make pathetic sounds of her own. Ray can’t handle the two of them whimper-whining at the same time, so Ray grabs shoulder and shakes him harder. “Brad." Ray says again, digging his fingers into the sweaty cotton of Brad’s shirt. “Come on, man, wake the fuck up.”
Ray shakes Brad’s shoulder again, and there’s a tense moment when Brad’s eyes snap open and he stares straight at Ray. It’s unnerving, because Ray doesn’t think Brad is seeing him, and his blue eyes are unfocused and blinking.
Then, before Ray can react, Brad has grabbed Ray’s wrist, yanking and twisting it sharply until Ray feels the delicate bones threatening to snap under the angle Brad has it. Ray is dragged off of the coffee table, a startled, pained sound escaping him and Brad’s fingers wrap around his neck tightly. The only thing for Ray to do is flail awkwardly, digging his nails into Brad’s wrist as he feels his windpipe being crushed.
And then suddenly, Gidget is out from beneath the coffee table with a vicious snarl and her teeth are sinking into the hard flesh of Brad’s bicep. The action startles Brad to let go of Ray, grabbing frantically at Gidget and swearing up a storm as she bites him again, a high pitched sound emitting the back of her throat.
”Jesus fucking Christ." Brad says, pain and exhaustion hidden just under the words. Gidget lets go immediately, before going to Ray and climbing into his lap, nosing his neck and jaw and whining. “Ray, what the fuck?”
Ray doesn’t know whether to rub at his throat or his wrist, because they both really fucking hurt right now. Ray swallows thickly before shooting Brad a weary look. “You had a nightmare and you just fucking tried to kill me, you PTSD mother fucker.” His throat burns as he speaks, his voice croaking. “Are you going to tell me what the fuck that was about?”
When Brad sits up and reaches for Ray, Ray flinches. Brad hesitates, his hands a few inches from Ray, but the low warning growl coming from Gidget stops him from reaching out and touching Ray. “I - “ he says, swallowing thickly. “Ray.” He sounds wrecked, and even in the dark Ray can make out the look of absolute horror on his face. “It was nothing." Brad says, and his voice sounds so small.
Ray shakes his head, ignores the flare and burn of pain. If he has bruises on his neck, there is absolutely no way he can explain this to anybody without them thinking he’s a deranged sex freak. He has to go to work today, so isn’t this just fucking perfect. Ray pushes Gidget off of his lap before standing up, rubbing his bruising wrist with a thumb slowly. “I’m grabbing an ice pack and going back to bed. It’s way too early for this shit.”
”Ray, I’m sorry - “ Brad starts, but Ray cuts him off with a shake of his head.
”Listen, Brad, I don’t care." Ray says. “I’d appreciate if you didn’t try and kill me in my own house as long as you’re here. And if you don’t want to talk about it, fine, wallow in your post-traumatic stress all you want, see if I fucking care.”
”Ray - “
”Why are you even here, Brad?” Ray asks, cutting him off again.
Brad just stares at Ray, his expression unreadable. He opens his mouth to say something, but the words die on his lips. Brad drops his hands to his lap before he rolls over onto his back and kicks his legs back up over the arm of the sofa. “Just go to sleep, Ray." Brad says softly, staring up at the ceiling.
Ray stares at Brad, annoyance flaring just under the surface of his skin, but he knows when he’s being dismissed. There’s a petulant part of him that wants to demand answers, but there’s another part of him that hurts and is dead tired, and he’s known Brad long enough to know Brad won’t tell him anything he doesn’t want to.
So Ray makes himself an icepack, dumping the ice from the freezer into a Ziplock baggie and wrapping a dishtowel around it before he makes his way back to his room. He doesn’t bother to kick his jeans off before he crawls back into bed, laying on top of the covers with the icepack pressed to his throat.
Gidget noses along Ray’s spine, having followed him into the room, before she finds a comfortable spot behind his knees to curl up and sleep. Ray listens to the even sounds of her breathing and eventually, he lets it lull him back to sleep.
Ray wakes up to the feeling of a cold nose snuffling in his ear and a quick tongue covering his face with short, swift licks. He pushes Gidget away tiredly with a groan, before rolling over to look at his alarm clock. It’s not yet 0630, but it’s close enough that Ray doesn’t mind turning his alarm off and rolling out of bed anyway. Gidget bounces excitedly at his heels when Ray strips out of his jeans and finds clean clothes to wear, following him into the bathroom and laying down on the cool tile floor while he brushes his teeth and shaves.
The bruises around Ray’s neck aren’t as bad as he thought they might be, considering the iron grip Brad tried to strangle him with. They’re noticeable from a mile away, but they aren’t in the abundance or size Ray was worried they would be. He brushes his fingers over them slowly, just skimming the surface and sucking in shaky breath.
Ray doesn’t know what happened to Brad that could be so bad he feels the need to kill Ray for waking him up in the middle of the night, but it puts something cold and heavy in the pit of his stomach and Ray hates it.
There’s nothing to be done now though, so Ray shoes Gidget out of the bathroom long enough to piss before decides to suck it up and just go see if Brad is awake already. Only, as soon as Ray steps out of his bedroom, he knows Brad isn’t here. His rental is still in the drive, and it’s the first thing Ray checks, but Brad himself isn’t anywhere to be found. Ray takes a moment to stare at the couch blankly before he shakes his head and goes to make coffee and heat some Pop Tarts.
Gidget is already waiting by the back door when Ray gets to the kitchen and he lets her out without a second thought. Ray takes his time in getting ready that morning, because he wants to see Brad, even if he doesn’t know what to say to him. The minutes click by slowly, and Brad doesn’t return, so eventually Ray gives up. He drops his dishes in the sink, makes sure Gidget has enough water to last the day, and gets ready for work.
Work sucks and is decidedly work like. Ray’s back out in the yard changing oil and break lines, the summer sun beating down on his back and giving him decidedly unattractive tan lines. He’s pretty sure he’s more than a little sunburnt, too.
Ray keeps throwing his watch and cellphone expectant looks, but as the minutes roll past slowly, Ray starts to get anxious. He knows Brad is a big boy and can take care of himself just fine, in theory, and that he’s allowed to have all the space he wants and needs. Nevada, Missouri is a good place to come for space, if you don’t mind the heat and the humidity and the fact it’s Hicksville. It’s home though, so Ray doesn’t. Most of the time.
The thing that worries Ray the most is that Brad hasn’t called or texted asking if he wants to meet up for lunch. Which, fine, whatever. Ray’s a big boy, too, he doesn’t need Brad to ask him if he wants to eat together. There’s no obligation on either end for them. Brad’s just Ray’s unwanted guest. Ray can deal.
Only, Ray is really fucking hungry and he doesn’t want to go to the diner by himself. He ends up eating beef jerky and a cold Gatorade from the gas station across the seat and sitting in the shade of a Ford Tahoe while he eats. He doesn’t mope though, because he’s not a twelve year old girl.
It’s really hot outside though, and Ray finds himself missing the stuttering AC and the warm way Brad’s knee pressed against his from underneath the table despite the fact Ray tries to think of anything else.
Ray leaves work right as his shift is ending, but he’s not rushing. He just wants to be home early enough that Brad doesn’t throw another hissy fit for him not calling about missing dinner again. Mostly, Ray really wants Brad to cook dinner for him forever, so it’s for the best that Ray rolls into his driveway half an hour.
The front door is pushed open to coax a breeze through the house, and Ray can see Brad curled up on the couch with a book in his lap. Gidget is laying dutifully on the floor by the couch, chewing on what Ray guesses is a rawhide bone. It’s so strangely and insanely domestic that Ray almost doesn’t want to push open the door and go inside, even though they have to have head his car approaching.
It’s exactly the kind of thing Ray kind of wishes he got to come home to everyday.
Shaking his head to get rid of the thoughts, Ray pulls open the screen door and lets it slap shut behind him. “Sup, homes." he says, grinning when Gidget drops her bone to rush to greet him, easily bouncing waist height. Ray drops down to catch her, grabbing her around the middle and tucking her under his arm.
Brad glances up at Ray from over the top of his book, lip pinched between his teeth and brow furrowed. “You fucking stink." he says noncommittally, wrinkling his nose before he turns his attention back to his book.
”Yeah, well, shit like this happens when you spend all day working for a living instead of just crashing out on someone’s couch." Ray counters. He nuzzles his cheek against the top of Gidget’s head, before he crosses the room to deposit her on top of Brad’s stomach. “What’s for dinner? I’m fucking starved.”
Brad sends a glare in Ray’s direction, but he pets Gidget and scratches her behind the ears. She doesn’t stay on top of him long though, opting to follow Ray into the kitchen and nipping at his heels. “You can cook your own damn food." Brad replies, turning a page in his book slowly. “You’re not my fucking responsibility anymore.”
Ray turns around to stare at Brad and quirk a questioning eyebrow. “Okay, seriously, the prissy little bitch thing is start to get old, Brad." Ray says, folding his arms over his chest. When Brad just ignores him, Ray rolls his eyes. “I’m going to order in some pizza, do you want anything in particular?”
”Jalapeños and pepperonis." Brad replies without looking up from his pages, and Ray really isn’t all that surprised.
”Feels like rain." Ray says, when they step outside to go on a run. Gidget has already trotted ahead of them, her tail waggling happily in anticipation. Ray looks over at Brad, and finds him looking up at the sky. “You’re not going to melt if it starts to rain before we get back, will you?”
Brad shoves Ray forward, causing him to stumble down the steps and flail wildly to keep from falling over. “Shut up and run, Ray." Brad says. He jumps down the steps and hits the ground running. He brushes past Ray, bumping their shoulders, and offers Ray a small smile.
Ray isn’t entirely sure, but he thinks this might mean that they’re going to be okay. It’s easy enough to catch up with Brad and fall into a steady pace, familiar even after years apart. They don’t talk, and Ray doesn’t mind letting the muted sounds of crickets and cicadas and the pounding of their feet on concrete wash over them. It’s easy enough to lose himself like this, to just focus on keeping his feet moving and making sure Gidget doesn’t get too far ahead.
It doesn’t start to rain until after they’ve hit the halfway mark, they sky just opening up with a crack of thunder and pouring down on them. Ray just squares his shoulders and perseveres. Gidget is going to be a miserable bitch when they get back to the house, but Ray really doesn’t blame her. He would hate weighing twelve pounds and being pelted by raindrops the size of quarters, too.
There’s a look of something less than amusement on Brad’s face. “Even the rain is warm." he tells Ray accusingly, shooting him a dark look.
Ray just laughs and slaps a hand to Brad’s back. They keep running in silence, and Ray’s sneakers squelch every time they hit the pavement. He’s got an anecdote on the tip of his tongue about a girl he used to know who used to get super fucking wet and made the least sexy squelching sounds whenever he fucked her ever, but he lets the words die on his lips. He doesn’t think Brad would hear him over the downpour, and his lungs are starting to burn from the extra effort of being weighed down by his drenched clothes.
As soon as the house is in sight, Ray feels a rush of relief. He doesn’t even wait to get through the front door before he starts stripping, tugging the faded olive green PT shirt over his head and tossing it onto the banister of his porch. Ray’s just reaching to open the door when he finds himself with his back shoved against the rough brick siding of his house. “What the fuck - “ Ray starts, but stops when Brad’s fingers brush against his neck.
It’s the first time Brad - or anyone today, really - has shown any signs of acknowledging the dark ring of bruises around Ray’s neck. He can feel his pulse quickening under Brad’s fingertips, under the palm Brad has pressed to his chest and holding him back against the wall. When Brad looks up from the bruises to meet Ray’s gaze, there’s an unreadable look in his eyes.
Ray’s opening his mouth to ask Brad, “Seriously, what the Hell?” at the same time Brad ducks down to kiss him. Their mouths miss, Brad managing to catch the corner of Ray’s upper lip. He doesn’t pull away though, just noses along Ray’s cheek before ducking his head further until he can press their lips together properly.
Brad is a solid wall of heat at Ray’s front, and it’s like Ray isn’t half naked and soaking wet and freezing cold. One of Brad’s large palms catches Ray’s face, moving from Ray’s neck, until Brad can tip Ray’s head back. He licks at the seam of Ray’s lips, nips at the lower one, and before Ray even realizes he’s done it, he’s opening his mouth wide enough for Brad to slick his tongue inside and against Ray’s own.
Ray wants to ask exactly what Brad is doing, but Ray thinks he might have this part figured out exactly. He fists his hands in the front of Brad’s shirt, dragging him closer as he flicks his tongue out to touch the upper palate of Brad’s mouth, swallowing the needy sound Brad makes. The hand on his chest drops to his hip, and suddenly Brad is pressing Ray back into the wall, pressing chest to chest, the brick scraping against his back but Ray doesn’t care.
Ray doesn’t care because Brad kisses like he’s dying, like this is the only chance he’s going to get to explore Ray’s mouth with his tongue, to trace the crooked lines of Ray’s teeth and see exactly how far down Ray’s throat he can go. It’s frantic and desperate, the both of them making needy little sounds, and it’s over far too soon. Ray’s head is finally catching up with the rest of his body, his lungs screaming for air even as he spreads his legs and rolling his hips up against Brad when Brad pulls away.
Brad sucks in a sharp breath, dropping his forehead to Ray’s and closing his eyes. His fingers trail over Ray’s lips, slick and bruised, but he doesn’t let Ray suck them into his mouth. “I’m going to take a shower." Brad says softly. “Don’t forget your shirt.”
And just like that, Brad is gone, leaving Ray standing half-hard in the rain by himself. Ray has no idea what he’s supposed to be feeling right now, but the minute Brad moves away, taking the heat of his body with him, the only thing Ray feels is impossibly numb.
Brad doesn’t acknowledge the kiss, or Ray for that matter, when he gets out of the shower. He just sidesteps Ray and goes to the kitchen to throw his wet clothes in the washing machine, muttering under his breath about mold and something else Ray can’t quite comprehend. He looks up when he realizes Ray is staring, blinking his blue eyes in confusion.
Ray doesn’t wait for Brad to say anything before he turns on his heels and goes to take a shower himself. The house has chilled, almost impossibly so, from the rain still pouring outside. Tonight and tomorrow are going to be humid as Hell, but for now, the cool relief is welcome. He lets his wet clothes fall to the bathroom floor with a wet thud, stumbling into the shower stall and turning it on.
The water has only just spluttered to life when Ray rubs a hand over his face with one hand, bracing his forearm against the wall and resting his cheek against it. Rubbing a thumb over his lower lip, Ray can feel his cock twitch in interest between his legs. There’s no point in denying himself this, because if he doesn’t do it now with the sound of the shower to drown him out, Ray’s just going to toss and turn in bed for a few hours until he gives in and strokes himself off then.
He thinks about Brad’s fingers on his neck, brushing over the bruises he left this morning. He thinks about the way Brad’s lips felt against his own, warm and wet, and the way Brad’s tongue slipped into Ray’s mouth and touched every part of Ray that he could reach. He thinks about Brad’s hand hot against his face, his hip, holding Ray in place exactly where he wanted him.
It doesn’t take long for Ray to come all over the tile wall of his shower, a strangled groan escaping his lips as he clenches his eyes shut and fucks his fist. He doesn’t bother to wait for the water to wash the thick white strings from his fingers before he brings them up to touch his lips again. If Ray lets his mind blank enough, he can almost still feel Brad’s mouth over his.
But if Brad is pretending the kiss didn’t happen, then Ray can do that to. Maybe. There’s something seriously fucked up about Brad kissing him after five years, but whatever. Ray is pretty damn irresistible. Or something.
Ray isn’t entirely sure what he’s trying to reassure himself of, only that it isn’t actually working.
Brad has already curled up on the couch when Ray steps out of the shower, a towel slung low around his hips, and Ray thinks he might honestly be asleep. Gidget is pillowed on his chest, her tail thumping when she sees Ray, but she doesn’t give up her spot. Ray finds he doesn’t feel as betrayed as he did a few days ago.
He stops in the kitchen long enough to drop his clothes in the washing machine, but he doesn’t turn it on. There’s no way he’d be able to sleep with the thing humming angrily, and Gidget tends to spend the entire hour it runs growling at it. Ray grabs a bottle of water from the fridge before heading back to his room, and he lets his towel fall to his bedroom floor before he crawls under his covers.
Sipping from his water idly, Ray stares up at the ceiling and tries to fall asleep. After today, it should be easy. He didn’t get much sleep last night because of Brad’s nightmare or PTSD or what the fuck ever. Thinking about it makes Ray’s wrist and throat hurt, and he rubs at them both tiredly in the dark, sighing heavily.
There is a part of Ray that is very much terrified and worried Brad’s going to freak out again, but he was fine the first two nights, so Ray is hoping it’s a one off thing. Somewhere down the line, while Ray is trying to reassure himself off this fact, he manages to drift off to sleep.
-Part One- -Part Three-
author: sephirothflame
title: The places we've never been (but were always bound to end up)
pairing: Ray Person X Brad Colbert
rating: R
word count: 24,500
summary/warnings: adult language, adult situations, domesticity
Wednesday
Ray is woken up by his alarm yet again, and he rolls over and turns it off with nothing more than a few lazy grumbles. He pushes himself out of bed, fumbling around in the dark until he can find something clean to wear - or, mostly clean, since he pulls on the same ratty jeans from yesterday - and yawning widely.
Brad is asleep on the couch, yet again, when Ray finally meanders that way after a quick stop to the bathroom and he has the same quilt Ray draped over him yesterday covering him again. Gidget is curled up on top of him for the second night in a row, and Ray finds he doesn’t feel as irrationally betrayed today as he did yesterday. He clucks at her though, just low enough to get her to blink big brown eyes up at him sleepily, and she follows him into the kitchen when he goes to make coffee.
Ray lets Gidget out back, watching her tromp around in the too long grass and smiling as she wags her tail happily. He only lets himself watch for a minute though before he starts opening cabinets and investigating exactly what the Hell Brad thinks Ray owes him a hundred dollars for. There’s Chef Boyardee and cereal and what Ray can only assume are ingredients for meals Brad probably plans on cooking while he’s here because Ray sure as Hell doesn’t know what to do with.
”There are cherry Pop Tarts on top of the fridge." Brad says softly, wiping at one of his eyes tiredly. He waits long enough for Ray to make a vaguely affirmative, positive sound, before Brad asks, “Coffee?”
”What the fuck else would I be making in a coffee maker?” Ray asks, standing on his tippy-toes to grab the box from the top of the fridge. He opens a pack and shoves them in his toaster, taking a moment to marvel at the fact he has counter space. He really should clean up after himself more often, but it’s a lot of effort to clean all the things.
”You work again today?” Brad asks. He sits down at Ray’s tiny table, dropping his elbows on it and resting his cheek against his forearm. He’s still watching Ray through half-lidded eyes, and it’s a little unnerving.
”Yeah, until five again." Ray replies and he leans back against the counter. He watches Brad watch him, and Ray has to resist the urge to blurt out the strangest things. Like Ray has jerked off to him twice in two days, but it isn’t that impressive because he’s had more than one combat jack a day to Brad’s hands when they were still in OIF. He wants to say thank you for Brad cleaning his house. He wants to tell Brad it’s okay that his dad made up stories about the constellations because Ray always liked his dad’s stories better.
For once though, Ray bites his tongue.
There’s a look on Brad’s face, like maybe he knows Ray wants to say something but has no idea where to start. Instead of saying anything though, Brad just says, “I think Gidget wants back in” right as the Jack Russell starts whining at the back door and for that, Ray is grateful.
Ray ends up getting shoved a clipboard and told to do inventory the moment he walks into Henrickson’s garage, and Ray just knows his day is going to fucking suck. He’s stuck in the backroom all morning, the AC down and only a crappy little fan that’s been sputtering on its dying breath since probably before Ray was born.
The work is mind-numbing, but not in a good way. Not in a way that lets Ray pass the time at work and know it’s only a matter of time before he gets a break, or lunch, or to get to go home already. Ray ends up checking his watch every ten minutes, because there’s absolutely no way to make counting lug nuts and alternators fun.
To say Ray is relieved when his phone buzzes with a text from Brad, simply asking Lunch? is an understatement. He’s so relived for a break in the monotony, to almost be finished with the mundane task of inventorying because God forbid Henrickson stop smoking pot long enough to do anything himself.
Ray’s reply might be a little overly enthusiastic, even if it doesn’t exactly translate so into fuck yeah diner in 30. The next twenty minutes of work pass by quickly enough, Ray singing along to the old boom box in the main office. When it’s time for his lunch break, he doesn’t wait long enough to hear an affirmative from Henrickson before he’s jumping into his truck and taking off.
It’s not that Ray’s hungry or eager to see Brad - it’s just such a relief to be in building with mostly working Air Conditioning. And maybe Ray does want to see Brad, but it has nothing to do with Brad’s shark like grin when he spots Ray sitting in the same table they were at yesterday.
”Here I was thinking you would be late again." Brad says, sliding into the booth across from Ray and bumping their knees together. He doesn’t pull his leg away, and against his better judgment, Ray doesn’t make him. It’s not like there is anyone to call them out on it, probably isn’t even visible unless you’re pointedly looking under the table. “Did you finally learn how to read a clock?”
”Fuck you." Ray says good-naturedly. “I was stuck doing inventory in the hot as Hell storage room and I thought I was going to sweat my fucking balls off.”
Brad makes a face, wrinkling his face in annoyance or disgust, before he picks at his own shirt idly. It’s just starting to stick to his skin from sweat and humidity, and Ray finds himself idly wondering if Brad wasn’t wearing it at home, or if he changed before he left the house. “Why you would choose to live in such a disgusting, deplorable climate willingly is beyond me.”
”Better than limp-wristed, liberal California." Ray counters. “Besides, you get used to the mosquitos and gnats.”
”It’s depressing to hear a former member of the Corps think so lowly of himself." Brad replies almost mournfully, but he’s smiling.
”Fuck you." Ray says, kicking at Brad under the table. “And that shit is fucking weak, even for you, Iceman. Your momma’s told me a lot worse when she was riding my cock like the cumslut she is.”
Brad kicks Ray back, harder than Ray kicked him, because it’s Brad and Ray doesn’t expect any less. “Fuck you, you sister-fucking inbred.”
They quickly dissolve into a squabble of kicking each other under the table, laughing roughly and bruising each other. It’s only awkward when their waitress finally makes her way over to the table, greeting them with a stern frown and a “don’t make me tell your mother on you, Joshua Ray Person” that leaves Brad temporarily confused because no one calls Ray Josh.
Their knees bump under the table again when the waitress takes their order, and Ray finds himself flashing Brad a small, secret grin before he even realizes he’s doing it. And when Brad shoots him an answering grin, Ray knows with a shadow of a doubt he is completely fucking screwed, because there is absolutely no way he can’t love Brad right now - or ever.
And for some insane reason, Ray can’t bring himself to care, because he can’t remember the last time he was this happy, or if he even has been since he left the Corps and left Brad behind.
When Ray gets back to the shop, he gets assigned to work on Pastor Jim’s car, a rusting Cavalier that’s seen better days. “Give her the works." Henrickson says, waving vaguely at it. Ray doesn’t have to ask to know that Henrickson wants the job over as soon as possible, because this is Pastor Jim and Ray’s pretty sure there isn’t anyone who dislikes him. Except for Ray, but Ray’s been biased against the good Pastor ever since he got kicked out of church for putting gum in the offering plate and then blatantly saying the God was nothing but make believe.
Ray’s ass still hurts when he remembers the beating his momma gave him over that one. Which just isn’t fucking fair, because it’s not exactly like Ray was wrong. Different strokes for different folks though, and Ray loses himself easily in the monotony of gauging and tightening and cleaning and testing anything and everything.
It’s the good kind of dull, familiar and comfortable enough that Ray can ignore the heat and the humidity and loses track of time easily. This, Ray can do. Ray understands cars, how they work. If only people were this easy, Ray thinks sometimes, but he spends more time on his back changing oil than he does interacting with other human beings, so it isn’t like he actually has much room to complain.
Still, by the time Ray has finished, it’s an hour and a half after he was supposed to clock out and he bets dollars to doughnuts he isn’t going to get paid over time. Working on the Pastor’s car will be his penance for something or other, and it was an honor to do. It isn’t the first time Ray’s been scammed by the shitty Cavalier and Henrickson and Ray doubts it’ll be the last.
Ray doesn’t bother to call Brad to apologize for being late, doesn’t think it matters. After all, Brad’s only crashing at his place for an untold amount of time and he doesn’t actually mean anything to Ray. Ray doesn’t owe him anything. Ray has to keep thinking thoughts like this, because he can’t afford to make the mistake of actually thinking there’s something deeper than Brad just wanting to take a break, a vacation.
Ray isn’t going to let himself think that there’s anything deeper than blood and brotherhood between them. Ray’s already made that mistake once, and he lost one of the best friend’s he’s ever had and had his heart broken in the same night. Or, he would have had his heart broken if he was a twelve year old girl who was in love with her sexy and brilliant Sergeant. Which, Ray most definitely isn’t.
He isn’t. Any statements that Ray may have made previously that state otherwise are false, one hundred percent.
There’s something eerie about coming home to find his house completely empty. Gidget doesn’t rush to greet him at the door, and Brad’s nowhere to be found. Ray actually has to do a double check to make sure Brad’s rented car is still in fact parked in Ray’s drive just to be sure that Brad has not left and kidnapped Gidget. Ray really wouldn’t put it past Brad. Gidget does seem to like him better.
But assuming the sticky note on the microwave telling Ray to just push two minutes to heat up and eat, that he took for Gidget for a run and he’s be back soon really was left by Brad, then Ray has nothing to worry about. There’s something incessantly amusing and domestic about cooking him dinner and putting it in the microwave for Ray to reheat later, and Ray finds that he actually kind of likes it.
Also, he’s really fucking starving, so he appreciates the effort on Brad’s behalf and finds himself nuking the plate of enchiladas without a second thought. Like last night, the food is almost impossibly delicious, and Ray finds himself snooping around for leftovers and makes a triumphant sound when he finds more tucked in the fridge in Tupperware containers Ray wasn’t even aware he owned.
It occurs to Ray as an idle thought that Brad might have been saving them for lunch tomorrow or for breakfast or something, but Ray also finds that he doesn’t care and he microwaves another two before he can convince himself otherwise. It’s only after Ray has devoured these as well and is chasing them down with a beer does the front door open, Gidget barking excitedly and scampering to the kitchen. She visits Ray long enough to lick the dirty knee of his jeans, before she goes to her water bowl and starts to drink.
”Sup, homes?” Ray asks, when Brad makes his way into the kitchen. He offers Brad a sip of his beer, which Brad turns down with a dark glare and Ray is left to stare at him in confusion. “Okay, what the fuck has got your panties in a twist?”
”Nothing." Brad says icily, and Ray isn’t nearly dumb enough to believe it. If looks could kill, Ray should be dead though, and he finds himself stepping to the side to let Brad grab a bottle of water from the fridge without a complaint. “Put your goddamn dishes in the sink." Brad says, before he twists the cap from his bottle and proceeds to chug the entire thing.
Ray watches the bobbing of Brad’s throat for a moment, before he picks up his dishes and dutifully puts them in the sink. He’s not going to wash them, because he doesn’t have or want to, but Ray is smart enough to realize that arguing with Brad right now not might be the best idea ever. “So, what did you do today?” Ray asks, leaning back against the counter.
Brad sends Ray another dark look. He looks away long enough to throw his water bottle in the trash, but the next thing Ray knows Brad is in his space, his hands on either side of Ray’s hips on the counter and he’s doubled over so that their foreheads are almost touching. His expression is unreadable, and Brad licks his lips slowly when Ray swallows nervously.
”Uh, Brad?” Ray asks. He tries to ignore the fact Brad is definitely close enough that if he tilted his head back just the slightest bit, their lips would be touching, tries to ignore the fact that Brad is a solid wall of heat corning Ray back into the counter and that it’s sending a low spike of heat straight to Ray’s groin. “Do you mind backing the fuck up?”
Brad narrows his eyes again, searching Ray’s face for something - Ray just isn’t sure what. He must not find it though, because he’s pushing away from Ray and turning on his heels. “I’m going to take a shower." Brad says noncommittally, and he’s peeling off his shirt before he even leaves the kitchen.
Ray take a moment to admire the sweat slicked skin of Brad’s back, the tense and pull of his muscles and the shine of his tattoo as Brad walks away. As soon as Brad as out of the room though, Ray can’t help but stare in blank confusion and wonder what the fuck just happened. He isn’t sure how long he stays leaning against the counter and just staring after Brad, but it takes the shower turning on for Ray to snap out of it.
Grabbing another beer out of the fridge, Ray makes his way to the living room and collapses back onto his couch. He turns the TV on, channel surfing until he finds a Mythbusters marathon. Explosions are something he can definitely get behind, and Ray kicks his feet up on the coffee table and gets comfortable.
It’s only a matter of time before Gidget wanders into the living room and curls up on Ray’s lap with a stuffing-less duck toy, gnawing at the patchy shape happily. If Ray ignores the fact his shower is running in the background, he can almost pretend everything is back to normal. It’s not as nice as he thinks it should be.
He only manages to get through half an episode before the shower clicks off and Brad makes his way into the living room, khaki shorts slung low on his hips and the black of his skivvies peeking through. Ray pointedly doesn’t look at Brad when Brad plops onto the couch next to him, a mostly comfortable and appropriate distance of space between them.
”You done PMSing?” Ray asks, taking a sip of his beer and casting a glance over at Brad warily. “’cause unless you bought tampons when you were restocking my cabinets, I’m fresh out and I’m not going to fucking go buy you some. I’m not whipped or your boyfriend.”
”Shut the fuck up, Ray." Brad says, sending Ray an annoyed look. He reaches over to snag Ray’s beer right out of Ray’s hands, and Ray lets him. “You still owe me that money.”
”Bitch, bitch, bitch." Ray grumbles. “It’s not like I’m making you pay room and board for showing up at my place randomly and taking over my couch with your giant ass.”
”No." Brad drawls out, “I only cleaned your house, bought you groceries, and made you dinner.”
There’s something about the way Brad says dinner, more than a little bitterly, that clicks in Ray’s head. “Oh my God." Ray says, turning to look at Brad and stare in disbelief. “You’re totally being a pissy little bitch because I didn’t call to tell you I was going to be late, aren’t you?” When Brad only glares harder, Ray has to resist the urge to laugh. “I can’t fucking believe it, you are totally my Suzy Homemaker. What the fuck, Brad?”
”Ray, shut your goddamn mouth before I shut it for you, you retarded, whiskey tango, goat-blowing, fuck up." Brad snaps irritably, his fist tightening around the beer. His ears are turning pink though, and Ray knows he was right. “I don’t care what the fuck you do.”
”Right." Ray says slowly, running a hand through his hair and tugging at the too long strands as he ducks his head to hide his smile. “Well, then I guess that you don’t care I have no intention of doing my dishes or laundry anytime soon and that I’m going to go for a run now.”
”Good for you." Brad replies, staring pointedly at the TV screen and taking another sip of Ray’s beer.
”I promise I’ll try and call the next time I’m running late." Ray says, mock sweetly. He isn’t surprised when Brad reaches out to punch him in the arm, but it startles Gidget enough to have her jumping to her feet and barking excitedly. “Now look what you’ve done." Ray scowls.
Brad just glowers at Ray, and Ray takes this as a sign to push himself off of the couch and to go find his running clothes. It’s not that he feels a need to run, more that he needs to move, and it’s surprisingly easy for him to fall out of habit of doing it if he doesn’t make himself do it at least four or five times a week.
So Ray changes, and Ray runs, putting his headphones in and letting the sound of music drown out any thoughts he may or may not have. Brad would bitch about the music being a drastic detriment to awareness, but Ray’s been running the same stretch of road for years now, and nothing bad ever happens in his sleepy little town.
Ray takes his time, runs longer and harder than he normally would since he doesn’t have to worry about over exerting Gidget. By the time he makes it back home, the stars are out and the sun has set, and the lights are off in the house. The only thought he remembers having had the entire time he was out was that it’s probably time he bought new sneakers, and he’s proud at his ability to compartmentalize.
Everyone tells Ray he talks too much. The problem is more like he thinks too much, he just never bothers to filter his words. When he’s by himself though, it’s harder to control either of the urges. Not that it matters, in the long run, since most of the time there isn’t anyone to listen to Ray rant in the first place.
Brad and Gidget have both passed out on the couch when Ray pushes open the front door. He debates banging around, being loud on purpose just to be an asshole, but for some reason he can’t name he decides against it. He closes and locks the door behind himself quietly before making his way through the house to his room, stripping quickly before he steps into the shower.
He wastes no time in cleaning himself, spends more time trying to decide if it’s fucked up enough to jerk off with Brad a thin wall away three nights in a row before he just gives in and does it than he does washing his skin, his hair. He rinses off, brushes his teeth, and crawls between the sheets of his bed and rolls onto his back.
For the first time in a long time, Ray’s bed feels too big and cold, despite the humidity already making sweat start to stick to his skin in the low heat of the night. It feels hard to breathe, and Ray closes his eyes, desperately trying to ignore all of these thoughts just long enough so he can go to sleep. He doesn’t know how long it takes, but he knows by the time that it arrives, the mindless oblivion hasn’t arrived soon enough.
Thursday
At first, Ray isn’t sure what wakes him up. It can’t have been his alarm, because the LED lights read it’s only just after 0200. He closes his eyes, sucking in a sharp breath and fighting back yawn, and Ray has every intention of just rolling over and going back to sleep when he hears it: a soft moan.
Ray freezes, glancing in the direction of the door. There’s a soft whine and a whimper, and before Ray even registers that he’s moved, he’s out of bed and pulling on the jeans he left abandoned on the floor last night. He doesn’t bother to be quiet when he makes his way to the living room, rubbing sleep out of his eyes and trying to fight back sleep heavy nausea in the back of his throat.
Brad’s still asleep on the couch, but his body is tense and tight, face screwed up in an imitation of pain or fear when another small sound escapes him. Gidget follows the sound with a whine of her own, pawing at Brad’s chest frantically, before she sends Ray a pathetic look. It takes Ray a moment to realize Brad is - is having a nightmare or something - and Ray has no idea what he’s supposed to do about that.
So Ray sits on the coffee table, reaching out for Brad’s shoulder and shaking him gently. “Hey, Brad." he says softly. “Come on, wake up, homes.” Ray is, for all intents and purposes, completely ignored by Brad. Ray watches helplessly as Brad honest to God whimpers, his back arching and his arm flailing out to push away something.
The motions and sounds are enough to scare Gidget, and she’s off the couch and ducking under the coffee table to make pathetic sounds of her own. Ray can’t handle the two of them whimper-whining at the same time, so Ray grabs shoulder and shakes him harder. “Brad." Ray says again, digging his fingers into the sweaty cotton of Brad’s shirt. “Come on, man, wake the fuck up.”
Ray shakes Brad’s shoulder again, and there’s a tense moment when Brad’s eyes snap open and he stares straight at Ray. It’s unnerving, because Ray doesn’t think Brad is seeing him, and his blue eyes are unfocused and blinking.
Then, before Ray can react, Brad has grabbed Ray’s wrist, yanking and twisting it sharply until Ray feels the delicate bones threatening to snap under the angle Brad has it. Ray is dragged off of the coffee table, a startled, pained sound escaping him and Brad’s fingers wrap around his neck tightly. The only thing for Ray to do is flail awkwardly, digging his nails into Brad’s wrist as he feels his windpipe being crushed.
And then suddenly, Gidget is out from beneath the coffee table with a vicious snarl and her teeth are sinking into the hard flesh of Brad’s bicep. The action startles Brad to let go of Ray, grabbing frantically at Gidget and swearing up a storm as she bites him again, a high pitched sound emitting the back of her throat.
”Jesus fucking Christ." Brad says, pain and exhaustion hidden just under the words. Gidget lets go immediately, before going to Ray and climbing into his lap, nosing his neck and jaw and whining. “Ray, what the fuck?”
Ray doesn’t know whether to rub at his throat or his wrist, because they both really fucking hurt right now. Ray swallows thickly before shooting Brad a weary look. “You had a nightmare and you just fucking tried to kill me, you PTSD mother fucker.” His throat burns as he speaks, his voice croaking. “Are you going to tell me what the fuck that was about?”
When Brad sits up and reaches for Ray, Ray flinches. Brad hesitates, his hands a few inches from Ray, but the low warning growl coming from Gidget stops him from reaching out and touching Ray. “I - “ he says, swallowing thickly. “Ray.” He sounds wrecked, and even in the dark Ray can make out the look of absolute horror on his face. “It was nothing." Brad says, and his voice sounds so small.
Ray shakes his head, ignores the flare and burn of pain. If he has bruises on his neck, there is absolutely no way he can explain this to anybody without them thinking he’s a deranged sex freak. He has to go to work today, so isn’t this just fucking perfect. Ray pushes Gidget off of his lap before standing up, rubbing his bruising wrist with a thumb slowly. “I’m grabbing an ice pack and going back to bed. It’s way too early for this shit.”
”Ray, I’m sorry - “ Brad starts, but Ray cuts him off with a shake of his head.
”Listen, Brad, I don’t care." Ray says. “I’d appreciate if you didn’t try and kill me in my own house as long as you’re here. And if you don’t want to talk about it, fine, wallow in your post-traumatic stress all you want, see if I fucking care.”
”Ray - “
”Why are you even here, Brad?” Ray asks, cutting him off again.
Brad just stares at Ray, his expression unreadable. He opens his mouth to say something, but the words die on his lips. Brad drops his hands to his lap before he rolls over onto his back and kicks his legs back up over the arm of the sofa. “Just go to sleep, Ray." Brad says softly, staring up at the ceiling.
Ray stares at Brad, annoyance flaring just under the surface of his skin, but he knows when he’s being dismissed. There’s a petulant part of him that wants to demand answers, but there’s another part of him that hurts and is dead tired, and he’s known Brad long enough to know Brad won’t tell him anything he doesn’t want to.
So Ray makes himself an icepack, dumping the ice from the freezer into a Ziplock baggie and wrapping a dishtowel around it before he makes his way back to his room. He doesn’t bother to kick his jeans off before he crawls back into bed, laying on top of the covers with the icepack pressed to his throat.
Gidget noses along Ray’s spine, having followed him into the room, before she finds a comfortable spot behind his knees to curl up and sleep. Ray listens to the even sounds of her breathing and eventually, he lets it lull him back to sleep.
Ray wakes up to the feeling of a cold nose snuffling in his ear and a quick tongue covering his face with short, swift licks. He pushes Gidget away tiredly with a groan, before rolling over to look at his alarm clock. It’s not yet 0630, but it’s close enough that Ray doesn’t mind turning his alarm off and rolling out of bed anyway. Gidget bounces excitedly at his heels when Ray strips out of his jeans and finds clean clothes to wear, following him into the bathroom and laying down on the cool tile floor while he brushes his teeth and shaves.
The bruises around Ray’s neck aren’t as bad as he thought they might be, considering the iron grip Brad tried to strangle him with. They’re noticeable from a mile away, but they aren’t in the abundance or size Ray was worried they would be. He brushes his fingers over them slowly, just skimming the surface and sucking in shaky breath.
Ray doesn’t know what happened to Brad that could be so bad he feels the need to kill Ray for waking him up in the middle of the night, but it puts something cold and heavy in the pit of his stomach and Ray hates it.
There’s nothing to be done now though, so Ray shoes Gidget out of the bathroom long enough to piss before decides to suck it up and just go see if Brad is awake already. Only, as soon as Ray steps out of his bedroom, he knows Brad isn’t here. His rental is still in the drive, and it’s the first thing Ray checks, but Brad himself isn’t anywhere to be found. Ray takes a moment to stare at the couch blankly before he shakes his head and goes to make coffee and heat some Pop Tarts.
Gidget is already waiting by the back door when Ray gets to the kitchen and he lets her out without a second thought. Ray takes his time in getting ready that morning, because he wants to see Brad, even if he doesn’t know what to say to him. The minutes click by slowly, and Brad doesn’t return, so eventually Ray gives up. He drops his dishes in the sink, makes sure Gidget has enough water to last the day, and gets ready for work.
Work sucks and is decidedly work like. Ray’s back out in the yard changing oil and break lines, the summer sun beating down on his back and giving him decidedly unattractive tan lines. He’s pretty sure he’s more than a little sunburnt, too.
Ray keeps throwing his watch and cellphone expectant looks, but as the minutes roll past slowly, Ray starts to get anxious. He knows Brad is a big boy and can take care of himself just fine, in theory, and that he’s allowed to have all the space he wants and needs. Nevada, Missouri is a good place to come for space, if you don’t mind the heat and the humidity and the fact it’s Hicksville. It’s home though, so Ray doesn’t. Most of the time.
The thing that worries Ray the most is that Brad hasn’t called or texted asking if he wants to meet up for lunch. Which, fine, whatever. Ray’s a big boy, too, he doesn’t need Brad to ask him if he wants to eat together. There’s no obligation on either end for them. Brad’s just Ray’s unwanted guest. Ray can deal.
Only, Ray is really fucking hungry and he doesn’t want to go to the diner by himself. He ends up eating beef jerky and a cold Gatorade from the gas station across the seat and sitting in the shade of a Ford Tahoe while he eats. He doesn’t mope though, because he’s not a twelve year old girl.
It’s really hot outside though, and Ray finds himself missing the stuttering AC and the warm way Brad’s knee pressed against his from underneath the table despite the fact Ray tries to think of anything else.
Ray leaves work right as his shift is ending, but he’s not rushing. He just wants to be home early enough that Brad doesn’t throw another hissy fit for him not calling about missing dinner again. Mostly, Ray really wants Brad to cook dinner for him forever, so it’s for the best that Ray rolls into his driveway half an hour.
The front door is pushed open to coax a breeze through the house, and Ray can see Brad curled up on the couch with a book in his lap. Gidget is laying dutifully on the floor by the couch, chewing on what Ray guesses is a rawhide bone. It’s so strangely and insanely domestic that Ray almost doesn’t want to push open the door and go inside, even though they have to have head his car approaching.
It’s exactly the kind of thing Ray kind of wishes he got to come home to everyday.
Shaking his head to get rid of the thoughts, Ray pulls open the screen door and lets it slap shut behind him. “Sup, homes." he says, grinning when Gidget drops her bone to rush to greet him, easily bouncing waist height. Ray drops down to catch her, grabbing her around the middle and tucking her under his arm.
Brad glances up at Ray from over the top of his book, lip pinched between his teeth and brow furrowed. “You fucking stink." he says noncommittally, wrinkling his nose before he turns his attention back to his book.
”Yeah, well, shit like this happens when you spend all day working for a living instead of just crashing out on someone’s couch." Ray counters. He nuzzles his cheek against the top of Gidget’s head, before he crosses the room to deposit her on top of Brad’s stomach. “What’s for dinner? I’m fucking starved.”
Brad sends a glare in Ray’s direction, but he pets Gidget and scratches her behind the ears. She doesn’t stay on top of him long though, opting to follow Ray into the kitchen and nipping at his heels. “You can cook your own damn food." Brad replies, turning a page in his book slowly. “You’re not my fucking responsibility anymore.”
Ray turns around to stare at Brad and quirk a questioning eyebrow. “Okay, seriously, the prissy little bitch thing is start to get old, Brad." Ray says, folding his arms over his chest. When Brad just ignores him, Ray rolls his eyes. “I’m going to order in some pizza, do you want anything in particular?”
”Jalapeños and pepperonis." Brad replies without looking up from his pages, and Ray really isn’t all that surprised.
”Feels like rain." Ray says, when they step outside to go on a run. Gidget has already trotted ahead of them, her tail waggling happily in anticipation. Ray looks over at Brad, and finds him looking up at the sky. “You’re not going to melt if it starts to rain before we get back, will you?”
Brad shoves Ray forward, causing him to stumble down the steps and flail wildly to keep from falling over. “Shut up and run, Ray." Brad says. He jumps down the steps and hits the ground running. He brushes past Ray, bumping their shoulders, and offers Ray a small smile.
Ray isn’t entirely sure, but he thinks this might mean that they’re going to be okay. It’s easy enough to catch up with Brad and fall into a steady pace, familiar even after years apart. They don’t talk, and Ray doesn’t mind letting the muted sounds of crickets and cicadas and the pounding of their feet on concrete wash over them. It’s easy enough to lose himself like this, to just focus on keeping his feet moving and making sure Gidget doesn’t get too far ahead.
It doesn’t start to rain until after they’ve hit the halfway mark, they sky just opening up with a crack of thunder and pouring down on them. Ray just squares his shoulders and perseveres. Gidget is going to be a miserable bitch when they get back to the house, but Ray really doesn’t blame her. He would hate weighing twelve pounds and being pelted by raindrops the size of quarters, too.
There’s a look of something less than amusement on Brad’s face. “Even the rain is warm." he tells Ray accusingly, shooting him a dark look.
Ray just laughs and slaps a hand to Brad’s back. They keep running in silence, and Ray’s sneakers squelch every time they hit the pavement. He’s got an anecdote on the tip of his tongue about a girl he used to know who used to get super fucking wet and made the least sexy squelching sounds whenever he fucked her ever, but he lets the words die on his lips. He doesn’t think Brad would hear him over the downpour, and his lungs are starting to burn from the extra effort of being weighed down by his drenched clothes.
As soon as the house is in sight, Ray feels a rush of relief. He doesn’t even wait to get through the front door before he starts stripping, tugging the faded olive green PT shirt over his head and tossing it onto the banister of his porch. Ray’s just reaching to open the door when he finds himself with his back shoved against the rough brick siding of his house. “What the fuck - “ Ray starts, but stops when Brad’s fingers brush against his neck.
It’s the first time Brad - or anyone today, really - has shown any signs of acknowledging the dark ring of bruises around Ray’s neck. He can feel his pulse quickening under Brad’s fingertips, under the palm Brad has pressed to his chest and holding him back against the wall. When Brad looks up from the bruises to meet Ray’s gaze, there’s an unreadable look in his eyes.
Ray’s opening his mouth to ask Brad, “Seriously, what the Hell?” at the same time Brad ducks down to kiss him. Their mouths miss, Brad managing to catch the corner of Ray’s upper lip. He doesn’t pull away though, just noses along Ray’s cheek before ducking his head further until he can press their lips together properly.
Brad is a solid wall of heat at Ray’s front, and it’s like Ray isn’t half naked and soaking wet and freezing cold. One of Brad’s large palms catches Ray’s face, moving from Ray’s neck, until Brad can tip Ray’s head back. He licks at the seam of Ray’s lips, nips at the lower one, and before Ray even realizes he’s done it, he’s opening his mouth wide enough for Brad to slick his tongue inside and against Ray’s own.
Ray wants to ask exactly what Brad is doing, but Ray thinks he might have this part figured out exactly. He fists his hands in the front of Brad’s shirt, dragging him closer as he flicks his tongue out to touch the upper palate of Brad’s mouth, swallowing the needy sound Brad makes. The hand on his chest drops to his hip, and suddenly Brad is pressing Ray back into the wall, pressing chest to chest, the brick scraping against his back but Ray doesn’t care.
Ray doesn’t care because Brad kisses like he’s dying, like this is the only chance he’s going to get to explore Ray’s mouth with his tongue, to trace the crooked lines of Ray’s teeth and see exactly how far down Ray’s throat he can go. It’s frantic and desperate, the both of them making needy little sounds, and it’s over far too soon. Ray’s head is finally catching up with the rest of his body, his lungs screaming for air even as he spreads his legs and rolling his hips up against Brad when Brad pulls away.
Brad sucks in a sharp breath, dropping his forehead to Ray’s and closing his eyes. His fingers trail over Ray’s lips, slick and bruised, but he doesn’t let Ray suck them into his mouth. “I’m going to take a shower." Brad says softly. “Don’t forget your shirt.”
And just like that, Brad is gone, leaving Ray standing half-hard in the rain by himself. Ray has no idea what he’s supposed to be feeling right now, but the minute Brad moves away, taking the heat of his body with him, the only thing Ray feels is impossibly numb.
Brad doesn’t acknowledge the kiss, or Ray for that matter, when he gets out of the shower. He just sidesteps Ray and goes to the kitchen to throw his wet clothes in the washing machine, muttering under his breath about mold and something else Ray can’t quite comprehend. He looks up when he realizes Ray is staring, blinking his blue eyes in confusion.
Ray doesn’t wait for Brad to say anything before he turns on his heels and goes to take a shower himself. The house has chilled, almost impossibly so, from the rain still pouring outside. Tonight and tomorrow are going to be humid as Hell, but for now, the cool relief is welcome. He lets his wet clothes fall to the bathroom floor with a wet thud, stumbling into the shower stall and turning it on.
The water has only just spluttered to life when Ray rubs a hand over his face with one hand, bracing his forearm against the wall and resting his cheek against it. Rubbing a thumb over his lower lip, Ray can feel his cock twitch in interest between his legs. There’s no point in denying himself this, because if he doesn’t do it now with the sound of the shower to drown him out, Ray’s just going to toss and turn in bed for a few hours until he gives in and strokes himself off then.
He thinks about Brad’s fingers on his neck, brushing over the bruises he left this morning. He thinks about the way Brad’s lips felt against his own, warm and wet, and the way Brad’s tongue slipped into Ray’s mouth and touched every part of Ray that he could reach. He thinks about Brad’s hand hot against his face, his hip, holding Ray in place exactly where he wanted him.
It doesn’t take long for Ray to come all over the tile wall of his shower, a strangled groan escaping his lips as he clenches his eyes shut and fucks his fist. He doesn’t bother to wait for the water to wash the thick white strings from his fingers before he brings them up to touch his lips again. If Ray lets his mind blank enough, he can almost still feel Brad’s mouth over his.
But if Brad is pretending the kiss didn’t happen, then Ray can do that to. Maybe. There’s something seriously fucked up about Brad kissing him after five years, but whatever. Ray is pretty damn irresistible. Or something.
Ray isn’t entirely sure what he’s trying to reassure himself of, only that it isn’t actually working.
Brad has already curled up on the couch when Ray steps out of the shower, a towel slung low around his hips, and Ray thinks he might honestly be asleep. Gidget is pillowed on his chest, her tail thumping when she sees Ray, but she doesn’t give up her spot. Ray finds he doesn’t feel as betrayed as he did a few days ago.
He stops in the kitchen long enough to drop his clothes in the washing machine, but he doesn’t turn it on. There’s no way he’d be able to sleep with the thing humming angrily, and Gidget tends to spend the entire hour it runs growling at it. Ray grabs a bottle of water from the fridge before heading back to his room, and he lets his towel fall to his bedroom floor before he crawls under his covers.
Sipping from his water idly, Ray stares up at the ceiling and tries to fall asleep. After today, it should be easy. He didn’t get much sleep last night because of Brad’s nightmare or PTSD or what the fuck ever. Thinking about it makes Ray’s wrist and throat hurt, and he rubs at them both tiredly in the dark, sighing heavily.
There is a part of Ray that is very much terrified and worried Brad’s going to freak out again, but he was fine the first two nights, so Ray is hoping it’s a one off thing. Somewhere down the line, while Ray is trying to reassure himself off this fact, he manages to drift off to sleep.
-Part One- -Part Three-