Need
TITLE: Need
GENRE: Slash, hurt!comfort
RATING: PG-13
CHARACTERS/PAIRING: Colbert/Person
WORD COUNT: 543
SPOILERS: Set immediately after the espresso maker disaster in "Get Some." Not really a spoiler, as it's the very first episode.
SUMMARY:
“Jesus, Ray.”
The tent is quiet now that the others have dispersed. Fled, really, from the potent mix of Brad’s quiet wrath, and Ray’s uncharacteristic silence. Brad regrets their absence, if only because the natural noise of daily life of over a dozen trained, Marine Corps killers just might be enough to drown out the dull hammering of Brad’s heart against his ribs.
Brad knows that Ray can hear it: the steady thump-thump, thump-THUMP of Brad’s terror, but he doesn’t offer up any smart-ass remarks as Brad slides his hand over the back of Ray’s. Brad waits, but there are no wise cracks, no opinions, to fill the void where Ray’s voice should be. If anything, that makes it worse.
Brad peels back the towel that seems permanently affixed to Ray’s cheek. His fingers dance assessingly across the ruin of Ray’s face, and Ray flinches at the contact.
“An espresso maker!” Brad says, again. He hears a last, leftover surge of adrenaline through his words, as his fingers graze pink, mottled flesh. First degree, he thinks. Maybe second. Enough to get Ray an appointment with Doc Bryan, but the angry splotches on Ray’s face probably won’t scar him permanently.
It’s close enough.
Ray’s good eye - the other’s still twitching from pained, surprise, but seems to be otherwise unharmed - never leaves Brad’s face as Brad lightly traces the burn pattern with his thumb, then moves lower to map the unharmed flesh of Ray’s lower lip. It’s mostly fear that makes Brad close the distance between them. Makes his lips find Ray’s forehead, first - then his mouth.
Ray huffs a quick, surprised breath as Brad presses their lips together in a savage kiss.
“I need my RTO,” he says, when he draws away, placing his hands at Ray’s temple to emphasize the point. Ray’s eyes widen in shock as Brad dips back down again, wanting more of the warm, unfamiliar taste of Person against his lips. Brad’s hands ghost softly over Ray’s shoulders. It's when he licks his way gently into Ray’s mouth that Ray finally makes a noise: a small, startled cry in the back of his throat. It’s enough to make Brad wonder whether anyone’s ever bothered to be careful with Ray before, and the thought makes something clench, painfully, in his gut.
It takes a moment, maybe two, before Ray responds. And then, he sucks on Brad’s tongue like he’s thought about it before. Brad hears himself gasp, and makes a mental more attention to the shit Ray doesn’t say. Then, just like that, it’s over. Ray breaks the contact with a shaky smile and a quick press of fingertips against Brad’s skull.
“Iceman,” is all Ray says, but it’s the way he says it that makes goose bumps break out across Brad’s skin: like maybe Brad’s not real. As though, if Ray doesn’t label Brad, define him - say something, Brad will simply vanish, like so many grains of sand into the vast whirlwind of a late-night shamal.
Brad sees the uncertainty written on Ray’s face, and he shakes his shoulders, hard. Hard enough to make Ray’s teeth rattle, until he sees Ray’s eyes light up with the understanding that this is real.
“I need you, Ray,” Brad says.
GENRE: Slash, hurt!comfort
RATING: PG-13
CHARACTERS/PAIRING: Colbert/Person
WORD COUNT: 543
SPOILERS: Set immediately after the espresso maker disaster in "Get Some." Not really a spoiler, as it's the very first episode.
SUMMARY:
“Jesus, Ray.”
The tent is quiet now that the others have dispersed. Fled, really, from the potent mix of Brad’s quiet wrath, and Ray’s uncharacteristic silence. Brad regrets their absence, if only because the natural noise of daily life of over a dozen trained, Marine Corps killers just might be enough to drown out the dull hammering of Brad’s heart against his ribs.
Brad knows that Ray can hear it: the steady thump-thump, thump-THUMP of Brad’s terror, but he doesn’t offer up any smart-ass remarks as Brad slides his hand over the back of Ray’s. Brad waits, but there are no wise cracks, no opinions, to fill the void where Ray’s voice should be. If anything, that makes it worse.
Brad peels back the towel that seems permanently affixed to Ray’s cheek. His fingers dance assessingly across the ruin of Ray’s face, and Ray flinches at the contact.
“An espresso maker!” Brad says, again. He hears a last, leftover surge of adrenaline through his words, as his fingers graze pink, mottled flesh. First degree, he thinks. Maybe second. Enough to get Ray an appointment with Doc Bryan, but the angry splotches on Ray’s face probably won’t scar him permanently.
It’s close enough.
Ray’s good eye - the other’s still twitching from pained, surprise, but seems to be otherwise unharmed - never leaves Brad’s face as Brad lightly traces the burn pattern with his thumb, then moves lower to map the unharmed flesh of Ray’s lower lip. It’s mostly fear that makes Brad close the distance between them. Makes his lips find Ray’s forehead, first - then his mouth.
Ray huffs a quick, surprised breath as Brad presses their lips together in a savage kiss.
“I need my RTO,” he says, when he draws away, placing his hands at Ray’s temple to emphasize the point. Ray’s eyes widen in shock as Brad dips back down again, wanting more of the warm, unfamiliar taste of Person against his lips. Brad’s hands ghost softly over Ray’s shoulders. It's when he licks his way gently into Ray’s mouth that Ray finally makes a noise: a small, startled cry in the back of his throat. It’s enough to make Brad wonder whether anyone’s ever bothered to be careful with Ray before, and the thought makes something clench, painfully, in his gut.
It takes a moment, maybe two, before Ray responds. And then, he sucks on Brad’s tongue like he’s thought about it before. Brad hears himself gasp, and makes a mental more attention to the shit Ray doesn’t say. Then, just like that, it’s over. Ray breaks the contact with a shaky smile and a quick press of fingertips against Brad’s skull.
“Iceman,” is all Ray says, but it’s the way he says it that makes goose bumps break out across Brad’s skin: like maybe Brad’s not real. As though, if Ray doesn’t label Brad, define him - say something, Brad will simply vanish, like so many grains of sand into the vast whirlwind of a late-night shamal.
Brad sees the uncertainty written on Ray’s face, and he shakes his shoulders, hard. Hard enough to make Ray’s teeth rattle, until he sees Ray’s eyes light up with the understanding that this is real.
“I need you, Ray,” Brad says.