Darkness Into Day for Kitsunejin
Recipient: kitsunejin
Author: derryderrydown
Title: Darkness Into Day
Pairing: Brad/Ray
Word Count: 6,600
Rating: R
Summary/Warnings: Ray visits Brad in Britain. Brad really should have known better than to introduce him to some Royal Marines.
I land at Heathrow at 18.32 next Friday, and I'm staying for two weeks. If you don't meet me, you can pick me up from the queen's bedroom Sat am. Think she wears the crown in bed?
Brad read over the email again, and hit reply.
What the fuck are you talking about, you retarded, buck-toothed, hick monkey?
The reply came almost immediately, even though it was gone 1am in Missouri.
Not talking. Typing. I'm coming to visit! I know you've missed your Ray-Ray, Brad, you can admit it.
Brad looked around his mostly-packed house, and sighed.
I'm moving to Glasgow next weekend, you fucknut. Change/cancel your flight.
But he was already figuring out whether he could get away in time to meet Ray when the reply came.
Can't, it was a cheap deal. But I'll help you move, homes! All I want in return is a place to crash.
Brad was smiling as he replied.
I'll let you use my floor in Exeter, as long as you disinfect it after. You're fucked in Glasgow - I'm in barracks.
He shut his laptop without waiting for the reply.
Ray's method of greeting Brad was to try for a headlock. The scuffle finally ended with them both on the floor, Ray on top of Brad, surrounded by a concerned crowd and with a policeman armed with an MP5 heading rapidly towards them.
Ray scrambled to his feet, and hauled Brad after him. "Sorry, officer," Ray said to the policeman. "Just haven't seen each other for a while."
"Odd way of saying hello," the policeman said.
"He's a very odd person," Brad interrupted, before Ray could say anything. "I'll get him out of your hair."
The policeman studied them for a moment, then nodded towards the door.
"Go on, then."
Brad picked up Ray's bag, took a tight grip on Ray's upper arm, and towed him towards the door. "You signaled that headlock from miles away," he said, as he steered Ray towards the parking lot. "Your combat skills have seriously atrophied."
"So have yours," Ray said. "I've been out of the Corps two months and I'm jetlagged, and I still got you on the fucking floor. Man, if you don't come back home soon, you're going to end up no better than a fucking limp-dicked POG."
Brad dropped Ray's bag without a word.
"Oh, fuck you," Ray said, and picked it up. "That was too petty for you, Brad. I'm disappointed. Is that what these Brits have been teaching you?"
"I've spent today shepherding recruits through a thirty-mile yomp across Dartmoor," Brad said. "Some of them make Delta look sane and competent. And then I had to explain why five of them took more than eight hours to finish, when, as far as I can tell, the only reason is that they're lazy fuckers who should never have made it this far in the first place."
"Ouch," Ray said, after a moment. Then, "They've got you training recruits? What a fucking waste."
Brad bleeped his SUV unlocked. "No, thank fuck, I'm teaching desert warfare. But I had a week to kill between my last course finishing and being posted to Glasgow, so I've been helping out." He opened the trunk and slung Ray's bag in. "And because you didn't give the slightest thought to the ramifications when you were booking your flight, we're going to have to drive through Friday evening traffic."
Ray grinned. "But you've got me with you. All we need is Trombley, Walt and Reporter in the back seat, and it'll be just like home."
Brad stared at him. "I'd forgotten just what a sick-minded, sister-cousin-fucking, retarded piece of shit you are."
Ray didn't stop grinning. "You always say the cutest things."
They were stuck on the M4, Brad counting the ways in which he could kill Ray, when Ray mercifully stopped humming to say, "So, is their training as brutal as they claim, or are they just a bunch of soft-assed pussies?"
Brad sighed. "I hate to admit it, but their Basic is tougher than ours."
"Fuck," Ray said, and sat up straight. "That is fucking wrong. That needs to be fixed."
"I know," Brad said, and shook his head. "I just keep telling myself that all their Marines are commandoes, so it's like they combine Basic and Infantry training."
"Commaaaahhhhndoes," Ray said, in something that Brad suspected was meant to be an English accent. "Do they all go commando?"
Brad floored the gas and slid them into a space in the next lane over. They were a good ten yards forward, well worth the raised finger from the driver behind. "I have no idea about the Royal Marines' attitude to underwear," he said. "And I'm happy for it to remain that way."
"And you a Recon Marine. That could be vital intel, Brad."
"In the event of what? A panty raid?" Brad could see the idea lighting up Ray's tiny mind. "No, Ray. Not unless you want to find yourself stripped and tied upside down from the top of a flagpole. And I'd be helping them."
"God, you've gotten so boring, Brad. Is it old age or responsibility?" Ray settled back in his seat and resumed humming.
Brad was now at the fifty-seventh possible way of murdering him.
When Brad got back from his morning run, Ray was still asleep, somehow managing to sprawl despite the cramped sofa, sleeping bag kicked down around his hips and face buried in a cushion.
Brad left him to it and went to get his breakfast. He took his Weetabix and coffee back into the living room, turned on the TV, and rested his feet on the coffee table while he read - again - the information he'd been given about Fleet Protection Group Royal Marines and HMNB Clyde.
He was only a few paragraphs in when Ray lifted his head and, without opening his eyes, croaked, "Coffee?"
"In the kitchen," Brad said, and went back to his reading.
"You're fucking cruel," Ray said, and rolled onto the floor with a thump and a groan. "I thought you upper-middle-class professional types were supposed to be kind to visitors."
Brad watched Ray crawl out of the sleeping bag, limbs seeming to operate completely independently of each other. "I'm not an upper-middle-class professional," he said. "I'm a Marine. And so are you, so stop pretending to be even more of a retard than you actually are."
"Haven't been a Marine for two months," Ray said. "Gimme coffee."
Brad handed his mug down to Ray. "Once a Marine, always a Marine."
Ray slurped eagerly from the mug. "I've got my brain back," he said, "which means I'm not a Marine."
"I hate to tell you this, but I think the Corps damaged it while they were storing it for you. Either that or they accidentally gave you the brain of a yellow-assed gibbon instead."
"You're just jealous because you don't get to have a brain yet," Ray said.
Brad looked at Ray, one leg still stuck inside the sleeping bag, briefs ridden down so far his ass was on the carpet, hair sticking out every which way, staring at his coffee like it held a naked picture of J.Lo. Brad cleared his throat as he realised he was staring. "Yes," he said. "I'm envious. Obviously, I want to be just like you. It's my life's ambition to live in a trailer park in Missouri with my sister-cousin-daughter and produce a football team of babies even more inbred than myself."
Ray patted Brad's thigh. "There," he said. "It didn't hurt so much to admit it, did it?"
Brad gave up fighting his smile. "We're heading up to Glasgow tomorrow," he said. "Have you found a hotel?"
"I'll ask around on base when we're there," Ray said. "Thought we'd be going today, though."
"Some of the guys are taking me out drinking tonight," Brad said. "Just bars, so they probably won't be able to stop you tagging along."
"I'm in," Ray said, and leaned back against the sofa. "What are we doing today?"
"Last bits of packing, and getting an inspection from the landlord," Brad said.
Ray pointed at Brad. "You are a lousy host," he said.
"And you are an inconsiderate shit of a guest."
Ray grinned. "But you won't kick me out."
Ray was, unfortunately, entirely correct.
On their way into the Impy, a sprawling, multi-floor Wetherspoons, Brad said, "I have every intention of getting completely shit-faced tonight. I won't be looking out for you, these guys could give Rudy a decent fight, and they don't like annoying little shits who haven't proved themselves. Behave."
"Sure," Ray said easily, but the first thing he said after he'd been introduced to the others was, "Royal Marines? Isn't that a bit fucking arrogant? I mean, there are other countries that are backwards enough to still have a monarchy."
"Sorry," Brad said. "I think he got hit on the head during the Iraq invasion. He came back even more of a fuckwit than he went."
"But seriously," Ray insisted, "shouldn't they be, like, the Royal British Marines, if they still want to wave their dicks around about being stuck in the Middle Ages?"
"I'm from County Tyrone," Jimmy said, not looking up from his pint of Tuborg.
"I'm from Missouri. What the fuck's that got to do with anything?"
"County Tyrone's in Northern Ireland," Jimmy said.
"Missouri's in the US." Ray turned to Brad. "What the fuck is he talking about?"
Brad sighed. "The country's the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland. Calling something British automatically excludes Northern Ireland. Jimmy doesn't like it."
Ray frowned. "Your country is way too fucking complicated, and you should do something about that," he said. "Also, you need to stop sweating the semantics, because it makes you sound like a petty-minded little bitch. I'm getting the next round."
A moment of silence passed before Jimmy said, "I'm not sure whether to punch him in the face or pat him on the back."
"Yeah," Brad said, "he has that effect."
"It's a natural gift," Ray said with a grin. "Honed by fucking years of practice."
By the time Brad started his second pint, Ray was near the bottom of his fourth. Brad could see his planned night out rapidly vanishing, so he wasn't in the mood to protect Ray when Ray leaned forward on the table and said, "So, is it true the Royals let faggots in?"
Everybody looked at Mike, taller than Brad and built like Rudy, but Mike was perfectly calm as he said, "Yep. There's quite a few of us."
"See, that is fucking awesome," Ray said. "I should have joined you guys. DADT is the most half-assed, cowardly piece of shit any limp-dicked politician has ever come up with." He raised his glass, announced, "To military faggots, wherever they may serve," and drained the last few inches of his pint. "Who wants another drink?"
After Ray had headed to the bar, Brad said, "Sorry. I don't know what's up with him," and followed.
At the bar, Ray was saying, "What's your girliest, froofiest cocktail? Something bright pink and covered in umbrellas and shit."
"Stop fucking pushing it," Brad said.
Ray grinned at him and reached up to pat Brad's face. "I'm just being friendly."
Brad pushed his hand away. "You're being an irritating little shit, and you know it."
Ray lost the grin. "Nobody else is complaining."
"Everybody else is too fucking polite to fuck your shit up like you deserve."
"Oh, fuck off and untwist your panties," Ray said, and turned back to the barman. "I want something you'd sell to a fucking bachelorette party."
Brad took a deep breath, carefully unclenched his fists, and went to take a piss.
When he got back, there was a pitcher of something bright purple on the table, and Ray and Mike were both drinking glasses of the contents.
Fuck Ray, Brad decided. If he wanted to see how far he could push it before Mike pounded him into the dirt, that was his decision. Brad had given him the sitrep. Instead, he turned his back on the two of them and joined the conversation Jimmy, Mick and Fozza were having about sheer ineptitude of the most recent batch of recruits.
He was another pint down when he looked up to see Ray and Mike heading in the direction of the bar. He watched as they walked straight past the bar, and then he lost them in the crowd. "Well," he heard Danny say, "you can't blame Mike. Ray's been fucking begging for it."
And maybe it was all on Ray, but Brad was still glad he wouldn't be seeing Mike for at least six months after this. Not when he'd have to see Ray's inevitably bruised, bloodied face for two weeks, watch Ray working around the pain. Because Ray was good, and he'd get in plenty of hurt of his own, but Mike was inter service cruiserweight boxing champion, fought MMA on the weekends, and Ray didn't stand a fucking chance.
Brad managed to stay in his seat for a couple of minutes, fingers tightening around his glass, but he finally shoved his chair back and stood up, just before Danny grabbed his arm.
"Leave it, mate," Danny said. "He won't thank you."
Brad glared until Danny let go of his arm, and then he followed Ray and Mike.
He was halfway to the door when the truth of Danny's statement sank in. Ray had known what he was getting into, could have defused the situation at any point. Mike had to be operating pretty rationally, or he would have thrown the first punch right there at the table.
Brad wasn't Ray's team leader any more. It wasn't up to him to keep Ray in line with the regulations. It was none of his business if Ray wasn't fit to work the next day.
"Fuck," Brad muttered, and stopped where he was. If he went outside, he ran the risk of finding them. If he went back to the others, he'd have to put up with them carefully not saying anything.
Then the door to the toilets swung open to let out a trio of girls, and he had a refuge.
The men's room was built in an L-shape, urinals and sinks on the long side as you came in, and three stalls in the short side, away from the door. Brad walked past the four guys pissing and headed for the disabled stall at the end. It wasn't until he had his hand on the door to push it open that he realized it was locked, and he diverted into the next stall, shut the door, and leaned back against it.
Fuck Ray. Seriously.
Brad was going to take some deep breaths, splash some water on his face, join the others, and suggest they move on to somewhere else, somewhere that wasn't full of students. Ray and Mike could either catch up with them or not. Ray knew Brad's address, could easily get a cab there and wait for Brad to get back.
Brad had no duty - no right - to look after Ray.
His thoughts were interrupted by a low groan from the next stall. Somebody needed to pay more attention to their diet, Brad thought. The groan was followed by a hissed, "Fuck," and Brad felt as though he'd been punched in the gut. He'd spent years with Ray talking at him; he'd recognise that voice anywhere.
But there hadn't been enough time for Ray to have his fight and get back to the toilets to patch himself up.
Then there was another voice, saying, "Shut up, you wazzock. Someone'll hear." Mike's voice.
And Ray's fucking snorting laugh.
Brad didn't let himself think.
He opened his stall door, wincing at the slight creak from the hinges, and moved silently to stand outside the other stall. One halfway solid kick and the door would be open, and he'd see-
Whatever the fuck was going on.
If he even wanted to fucking see it.
But then Ray gasped, and Brad had the door open before he even realized he was moving.
Ray was up against the wall, jeans and underwear round his thighs, both of Mike's hands on his cock, and Brad realised he was angry, the kind of fury that curled round his guts and his heart and isolated his brain.
He took a step forward, shoved Mike back and away, so Mike stumbled and wound up sitting on the toilet.
"Didn't have you down as a fucking stereotypical predator fag, Mike."
Mike lifted his hands - which didn't fucking help because that just reminded Brad where they'd been - and said, voice calm and steady, "Brad, I don't know wha-"
Brad ignored whatever he was going to say, spoke over the top of him. "He's not even fucking gay, Mike."
"Uh, Brad?" Brad turned to Ray, who had pulled up his jeans and was buttoning the fly. "I kind of am. Gay."
"No, you're not," Brad said, and he knew how fucking stupid that was even as he said it, didn't need Ray's half-nervous grin to tell him. But Ray wasn't gay; Brad had watched him for years, and he knew it.
"I really kind of am. And it was me pretty much jumped on Mike, so don't blame him."
Brad stared at the wall above Ray's shoulder, read the announcements that Anna was a slag and Man. Utd. were the champions, and took a deep breath. "Right," he finally said, voice calm and controlled. "We're leaving."
"Brad," Ray started, but Brad lifted a hand.
"Shut up, Ray," he said, and Ray did as he was told.
Ray stayed silent for the cab ride back to Brad's, leaning up against the window, streetlights painting his face with orange flashes. Whenever Brad glanced over, Ray's face was so empty of emotions that he barely looked like himself. It wasn't until they were standing at Brad's front door that Ray said, "Look, if you're going to keep having an issue with this, let me know and I'll find somewhere else to stay."
"Keep having an issue," Brad repeated blankly.
"Okay, it was more of a surprise to you than I expected, considering I pretty much announced it to the entire fucking table and they all got it. But, whatever, you're a retard at times, I know that. So I'll let you have your little homophobic bitchfit for now, but I am not fucking putting up with it lasting until I go home."
Brad unlocked his door and pushed it open. "You think this is a homophobia thing," he said, without stepping inside.
"Uh, yes?" Ray said, as though it was the only possible explanation.
"It isn't," Brad said, and stepped back for Ray to go in ahead of him. Ray gave him a sideways look, kept his distance from Brad as he went inside, and Brad followed him in.
"Where's the fucking light switch?" Ray said, as Brad shut the door behind them, and it told Brad where Ray was in the darkness, made it easy to grab him and slam him up against the door, fist twisted in his t-shirt and forearm holding him in place. Ray was tense against him, ready to fight, but giving Brad the benefit of the doubt for now.
"This is not a homophobic bitchfit," Brad said carefully, calmly, "This is jealousy. Extreme fucking jealousy."
It took a moment for it to sink in, and then Brad could feel Ray relaxing. "Jealousy," Ray said, tasting the word.
"I am so fucking jealous of Mike that I would like to stamp on his nuts until they burst and then force-feed them to him," Brad said, and he could feel some of his anger creeping into his voice.
"Uh, that? Not a sexy image, homes. If you're hitting on me - and I'm not absolutely certain that you are, so don't take that the wrong way - bursting nuts are not the way to go."
"I'm hitting on you," Brad said. "I am definitely hitting on you."
"Well, thank fuck for that," Ray said, and kissed him.
It took a long moment for Brad to process. Ray was kissing him. Ray's body was pressed against his, and it was nothing to do with work, nothing to do with training and fighting and sheltering from arty. He could just enjoy it, guilt-free, feeling like he'd had a Mk. 19 taken off his shoulders, and he smiled into the kiss, breathing easy for the first time all evening.
"What are you grinning about?" Ray asked, pulling back.
"I'm fucking happy, you fucknut," Brad said.
"Oh, is that all?" Ray said, and leaned back in, hand on the back of Brad's neck. This kiss was light, barely parting his lips, before Ray broke it to say, "Good. Although you're seriously fucking cute when you're angry, just so you know."
"Hmm," Brad said, and bent his head to get his mouth back on Ray's.
Ray went with it for several minutes but then pulled away again. "So," he said. "If all you want to do is make out against the door, y'know, I'm fine with that. But I was thinking, maybe - bedroom? Naked? Orgasms?"
"Bedroom works for me," Brad said, and kissed Ray again.
"Good," Ray said into the kiss. "But you have to move to get there."
Brad just hummed and rested his hands on Ray's hips as they kept on kissing, until Ray's hand on his chest pushed him back.
"Bed. Naked. Now. Move."
"Bossy little shit," Brad said, but he let Ray carry on pushing him back until he hit the stairs, let Ray turn him round and shove him up them.
They were in his bedroom and Ray paused with his t-shirt over his head and said, "Just so you know, I was planning on hitting on you halfway through my visit, so we'd have a week of fucking time if you said yes, and I'd only have to put up with a week of awkwardness if you said no." When he pulled the t-shirt off completely, he was blushing, and Brad paused in unbuttoning his shirt to rest his hand on Ray's face.
"Mike?" he asked.
"Mike was there and easy." Ray shrugged. "I needed a confidence boost."
"Hit on him again," Brad said, "and I'll forge the paperwork to get you back in the Corps."
"That is a truly terrifying threat," Ray agreed with a straight face, and kicked his jeans and underwear off with his sneakers. "So, how much of the gay stuff have you done?"
Brad blinked at the sudden change of subject. "Not a lot," he admitted, as Ray started unfastening Brad's jeans.
"How much do you want to do?"
Brad didn't say anything, because he'd spent years trying not to think about the possibilities, and Ray looked up at him.
"Because I'm up for pretty much anything," he said. "You name it, I've probably jerked off to fantasies of doing it with you."
"Fuck," Brad said, and leaned forward to kiss him, hands running down his shoulders and chest, tracing the tight, defined lines of his muscles. "How much have you done?" he asked.
Ray looked awkward. "Kind of a lot? I had a thing of celebrating being away from DADT. So, yeah, pretty much anything you come up with, I've already done."
Brad felt that punch of jealousy in his chest, and did his best to keep it off his face. "I want you to fuck me," he said, and watched Ray's eyes widen.
"Really? Because I was thinking, like, handjobs, blowjobs. Maybe you fucking me. Have you bottomed before?"
"No," Brad said. Maybe he couldn't be Ray's first at anything, but Ray could be his first. "And I want you to fuck me. You said you were up for pretty much anything."
"Yeah, I just wasn't expecting- Fuck." Ray slid his hands up under Brad's undershirt. "You sure about this? Because we've got two weeks before I go home, and we can work up to it."
"Jesus Christ, Ray, are you going to make me beg?"
Ray paused, tilted his head. "That could be kind of hot," he said thoughtfully, and patted Brad's chest. "Okay, I'll fuck you. I've got condoms and lube in my bag." He paused at the door. "I want you naked by the time I get back, or I'm not fucking you until the day I leave."
"Stop talking; start moving," Brad said, and Ray flipped him the bird before heading back downstairs.
Brad took a deep breath, shut his eyes, and ran his hands over his hair. This was moving fucking fast, and he was sure it should feel more wrong than it did, sure he should be more wary than he was. But it was Ray. If there was anybody he could trust, it was Ray.
So he pulled his button-down and undershirt over his head, kicked off the rest of his clothes, and turned on the bedside lamp before pulling back the blankets and sitting on the side of the bed. And then he decided he looked like an anxious virgin on her wedding night, so he lay back in the middle of the bed and lightly stroked his cock.
From downstairs, Ray called, "I'm coming back up now. If you're not naked when I get there, I'm going to jerk off on your face and laugh at you."
"I'm naked," Brad called back. "Get a fucking move on, you inbred cocktease."
Ray was at the door seconds later, and he paused, hands on the frame, staring at Brad with hungry eyes. "Fuck, yes," he said. "You should totally be doing gay porn. If I recorded this, I could make a fortune."
"You are not recording this," Brad said.
"I know," Ray said, with elaborate sadness. "I'll just have to rely on my memory."
"If you don't get over here, there won't be anything to remember."
"Yeah, yeah, keep whining," Ray said, but he took the few steps needed to reach the bed, crawled onto it to kneel between Brad's legs.
"Fuck, I want to suck your cock," he said, and reached out to push Brad's hand aside, stroke his own fingers crippingly softly over Brad's cock.
"That is seriously fucking pretty."
It took all Brad's self-control not to push up against Ray's touch.
"After you fuck me," he said, and Ray pulled his hand back with a sigh.
"Okay, okay." He slapped Brad's hip. "Roll over. All fours."
"No," Brad said, and pulled his legs up so his feet were resting flat on the bed. "Like this."
"All fours," Ray repeated. "I'm the expert here, so try taking the fucking orders for once."
Brad didn't move. "I want to see your face when you're fucking me."
Ray frowned.
"Maybe I'll fuck you on your back," he said. "But fingering you open, all fours or it's not happening."
With an exasperated sigh, Brad rolled onto his hands and knees. "This is fucking undignified," he said.
"It's anal sex," Ray said. "It's impossible for it to be dignified. You'll just have to temporarily shelve your sense of the respect due to your exalted position, staff."
The words almost covered the wet squelch of lube being squirted onto Ray's fingers. Ray paused, sighed.
"Look, Brad, bottoming is... an acquired taste. If you don't like it, tell me, and we can do any one of the five thousand other ideas I've had. Hell, any five or six if we time it right."
"How long did it take you to acquire the taste?" Brad asked.
"Yeah. Uh. I kind of took to it first time out, but turns out I'm a complete cockslut - say anything and I'll leave you with blue balls - so your experience'll probably be completely different."
Brad settled onto his elbows and said, "Get on with it."
The first touch of Ray's finger against his asshole was so weird that he almost jerked away. Instead, he bit down on his wrist and concentrated on staying exactly where he was.
"You need to relax a bit," Ray said, "or this is going to be too painful for both of us."
Brad took a deep breath and carefully relaxed. "Go on," he said and, after a moment, Ray did.
It was even weirder as Ray worked his finger deeper, and Brad frowned. Not painful, or at least, not worse than anything else he ignored on a daily basis. Just... weird.
"You okay?" Ray asked.
"I'll tell you if I'm not," Brad said, and Ray snorted.
"No, you fucking won't." But he slowly pulled his finger out, applied another squirt of lube, and when he pushed back in, he used two fingers.
Brad shifted his hips, tried to find a position where it didn't feel so fucking intrusive, but that wasn't possible. He shifted again, and this time there was a touch against something that lit him up like a danger-close firestrike, stiffened his softening cock, made his eyes open wide. "Oh," he said, fully aware of how stupid he sounded but temporarily incapable of coming up with anything more intelligent.
"That's it," Ray said, sounding unreasonably smug, considering it was Brad's movements responsible for what Brad's body felt. But Ray crooked his fingers, stroked deep inside, and Brad decided against criticising him because Ray was setting off heavy arty in his spine.
"Can you take another?"
"Yes," Brad said immediately, and widened his legs.
"Fuck, yeah," Ray breathed, but he didn't add a third finger, not yet, just stayed slowly playing with Brad until Brad made an impatient noise and shoved back, and when had he started enjoying the stretch and push and pressure?
"Yeah, now you're ready," Ray said, and the third finger was too much, made him breathless, but fuck it felt good.
"I want your cock," Brad said, and Ray made a noise as though he'd taken a knifehand strike to the throat.
"Fuck, you can't just say things like that."
Brad grinned. "I want your cock in my ass, Ray. I want you to fuck me, hard and steady, until I'm begging for it. I want to see your face when you come inside me." He meant it to be as much mocking as serious, but Brad could hear the need in his own voice and there was no way Ray could miss it.
He heard Ray swallow, and then Ray's fingers were sliding out of his ass. "Okay," Ray said. "On your back."
Brad rolled over and looked up at Ray. His eyes were all pupil, his lips were reddened where he'd been biting them, and there was sweat at his temples and collarbone. The dim light from the bedside lamp left him half in shadow, half painted gold, and Brad shifted so that Ray was kneeling between his thighs. "You're kind of pretty," he said.
Ray raised his eyebrows. "Pretty? Did you just call me pretty? I am a fucking Recon Marine, Brad. I am a cold-blooded, death-dealing warrior who will fuck your skull then use it as a fucking ashtray. I am not fucking pretty."
"Pretty," Brad insisted.
"Fuck that," Ray said, and started to push himself back from Brad. "Calling me pretty means you don't get laid."
Brad locked his legs round Ray's thighs, and used his greater reach and weight - and the fact that Ray wasn't fighting - to flip them over, ending with Ray on his back across the bed and Brad straddling his hips. "I am so getting laid," Brad said, and shifted until he could feel Ray's cock nudging between his asscheeks.
"Condom," Ray said, eyes wide.
Brad glanced to where the box had fallen onto the floor. It was a long way away. He frowned. "Are you clean?"
"Yeah," Ray said. "Tested just before I booked my flight."
"So'm I," Brad said. "Promise you won't knock me up?"
Ray grinned. "We'll get you Plan B tomorrow," he said, and patted Brad's thigh. "Come on. You've got me pinned. Have your wicked way. I swear, I'll still respect you in the morning."
Ray's hands stayed on Brad's thighs as Brad lifted himself up, and the warmth of the touch made Brad hyper-aware of the stretch of his own muscles, of the changing, adjusting angles of his body as he reached between them to position Ray's cock, and slowly, fucking carefully, sank down, embraced the burn and stretch of Ray inside him.
He kept his eyes fixed on Ray's, watched Ray's grin fade into something hotter, more primitive, and rested his hands on Ray's chest so he could feel every pounding beat of Ray's heart, a counterpoint to his own.
It was almost enough to distract him from the discomfort. Especially when Ray started running his hands up and down Brad's thighs, started muttering something under his breath, when Ray's hips started making twitching, aborted thrusts.
"Fuck me," Brad said. "C'mon, Ray. I know you want to. Let it go."
"Oh, fuck," Ray said, closed his hands on Brad's hips, and thrust up into him.
And, fuck, that hurt. That hurt good.
It was all Brad could do to keep his eyes open, keep watching Ray's face, watching the sweat beading his skin, sticking his hair to his temples, seeing Ray's gaze skittering up and down Brad's body as he thrust up again and again.
"Fuck, Brad, you have no fucking idea..." For a moment, Ray's eyes flickered shut, but he opened them again. "Fuck, not gonna last, you fucker. Stop fucking looking like that."
"C'mon, Ray," Brad said. "Give it up for me."
"Fuck. You," Ray gasped, and he stiffened, muscles tensing, and Brad could feel it, feel Ray coming inside him, and it was weird and invasive and wrong and so fucking good that Brad wanted to yell it to the sky.
Ray's hands dropped from Brad's hips and he took a deep breath. "In my defence," he said, "I've been hard since Mike stuck his hands down my pants, so I didn't actually just come in thirty seconds."
"New rule," Brad said. "You do not talk about other men when you've got your cock in my ass."
There was something slightly abashed in Ray's grin. "Yeah, okay," he said. "Most of your rules are bullshit, but I'll play along with that one." His gaze slid down Brad's body. "Now," he said, "I remember you saying I could suck your cock after I fucked you."
Brad shrugged. "I could be persuaded."
"Then get the fuck off me, you pointlessly huge bastard."
Leaning on Ray's abdomen, Brad eased himself up and off Ray's cock, then let himself drop back on the bed, thighs landing across Ray's as he settled himself into position in the center of the bed with his head on his pillows. "Hang on," he said, and sat up enough that he could double up the pillows, letting him get a better view of his own cock. "Now come here and suck it."
"You are such a bossy fucking shit," Ray grumbled, but he wriggled round until he was lying between Ray's thighs, his own legs draped off the end of the bed. "You're lucky I like sucking cock enough to put up with it."
"If you like it so much, stop talking and start sucking."
"You think I can't do both?" Ray licked up Brad's cock. "Frankly, I'm offended." A brief touch of warm, wet lips to the tip of Brad's cock.
"You should have more faith in my abilities."A longer touch, Brad's cock slipping inside Ray's mouth, and Ray's cheeks hollowing as he sucked hard before pulling back. "Because I'm fucking awesome."
Brad groaned. "Okay, you're awesome. Now get the fuck on with it."
"Ask nicely."
"Get the fuck on with it, please."
Ray propped his chin on his hands. "I think you can ask nicer than that."
"If you don't get on with it right the fuck now, I will phone Trombley and tell him that you're in love with him and you used his SAW as a fucking dildo."
"You are a sick bastard," Ray said admiringly, and closed his mouth over Brad's cock.
And, fuck, he was good. It was wet and hot and filthy, tongue in just the right places, the threat of a scrape of teeth, and Brad wrapped his fingers in Ray's hair, settled his palms on the sides of Ray's head, and showed him just when to go deeper and when to hold back, until Brad's hands were trembling and his breath was rasping in his throat.
And that was when Ray looked up at him, winked, and swallowed Brad's cock right down.
Brad came. No ceremony, no warning, just a white-hot spark up his spine, short-circuiting his brain and leaving him gasping and incapable of thought.
"Told you I was good," Ray said, smug despite the hoarseness of his voice. He crawled up Brad's body and casually dropped all his weight on top of him. "We're now going to cuddle for a minimum of five minutes, because I have kinks that must be catered to."
"Okay," Brad said, and managed to get one boneless arm draped over Ray's back. "Shut up."
Ray just hummed, buried his face in Brad's neck, and went to sleep.
Brad sighed and, after a few minutes, did the same.
Two weeks later, Brad checked his cellphone as he came off duty. A missed call and a voicemail from a London number he didn't recognize. He frowned as he dialed 121, but the frown cleared as soon as he heard Ray's voice.
"Yeah, okay, I'm being a coward," Ray said. "Calling when I know you won't answer. But, look, we're pretty fucking awesome together, and I think we should give this thing a real try. And notice that I'm saying 'thing', not 'relationship', because I know how much the R word terrifies you, you alpha male, you. If I don't hear from you, I'll assume it's a 'no', and then we'll just pretend that you never got this voicemail. Right?" There was a muffled announcement in the background, and then Ray said, "Fuck, got to go, my flight's boarding. See you."
As soon as Brad got back to his room, he opened up his laptop and fired off an email.
If you ever fuck anybody else - if you even fucking *hit* on anybody else - it's over. No second chances.
When Brad checked his email in the morning, Ray had already replied.
Why would I want to when I've got access to your fucking horsecock? Send me a picture of it for my wallet. Big sloppy kisses.
DADT was repealed while Brad was away on a four-week exercise.
When the bus pulled into Margarita, he could see Ray waiting with the rest of the families, frayed jeans and flip-flops a sharp contrast to the carefully-dressed wives, girlfriends, parents and kids around him.
Brad managed three strides off the bus before Ray was hanging from his neck, legs wrapped around his waist. "Hello, big boy," Ray said. "Me love you long time."
Brad kissed him, hands tight on his ass. "I wasn't actually planning on coming out," he finally said, and Ray snorted.
"You totally were."
Ray knew him too fucking well, Brad thought, and kissed him again.
Author: derryderrydown
Title: Darkness Into Day
Pairing: Brad/Ray
Word Count: 6,600
Rating: R
Summary/Warnings: Ray visits Brad in Britain. Brad really should have known better than to introduce him to some Royal Marines.
I land at Heathrow at 18.32 next Friday, and I'm staying for two weeks. If you don't meet me, you can pick me up from the queen's bedroom Sat am. Think she wears the crown in bed?
Brad read over the email again, and hit reply.
What the fuck are you talking about, you retarded, buck-toothed, hick monkey?
The reply came almost immediately, even though it was gone 1am in Missouri.
Not talking. Typing. I'm coming to visit! I know you've missed your Ray-Ray, Brad, you can admit it.
Brad looked around his mostly-packed house, and sighed.
I'm moving to Glasgow next weekend, you fucknut. Change/cancel your flight.
But he was already figuring out whether he could get away in time to meet Ray when the reply came.
Can't, it was a cheap deal. But I'll help you move, homes! All I want in return is a place to crash.
Brad was smiling as he replied.
I'll let you use my floor in Exeter, as long as you disinfect it after. You're fucked in Glasgow - I'm in barracks.
He shut his laptop without waiting for the reply.
Ray's method of greeting Brad was to try for a headlock. The scuffle finally ended with them both on the floor, Ray on top of Brad, surrounded by a concerned crowd and with a policeman armed with an MP5 heading rapidly towards them.
Ray scrambled to his feet, and hauled Brad after him. "Sorry, officer," Ray said to the policeman. "Just haven't seen each other for a while."
"Odd way of saying hello," the policeman said.
"He's a very odd person," Brad interrupted, before Ray could say anything. "I'll get him out of your hair."
The policeman studied them for a moment, then nodded towards the door.
"Go on, then."
Brad picked up Ray's bag, took a tight grip on Ray's upper arm, and towed him towards the door. "You signaled that headlock from miles away," he said, as he steered Ray towards the parking lot. "Your combat skills have seriously atrophied."
"So have yours," Ray said. "I've been out of the Corps two months and I'm jetlagged, and I still got you on the fucking floor. Man, if you don't come back home soon, you're going to end up no better than a fucking limp-dicked POG."
Brad dropped Ray's bag without a word.
"Oh, fuck you," Ray said, and picked it up. "That was too petty for you, Brad. I'm disappointed. Is that what these Brits have been teaching you?"
"I've spent today shepherding recruits through a thirty-mile yomp across Dartmoor," Brad said. "Some of them make Delta look sane and competent. And then I had to explain why five of them took more than eight hours to finish, when, as far as I can tell, the only reason is that they're lazy fuckers who should never have made it this far in the first place."
"Ouch," Ray said, after a moment. Then, "They've got you training recruits? What a fucking waste."
Brad bleeped his SUV unlocked. "No, thank fuck, I'm teaching desert warfare. But I had a week to kill between my last course finishing and being posted to Glasgow, so I've been helping out." He opened the trunk and slung Ray's bag in. "And because you didn't give the slightest thought to the ramifications when you were booking your flight, we're going to have to drive through Friday evening traffic."
Ray grinned. "But you've got me with you. All we need is Trombley, Walt and Reporter in the back seat, and it'll be just like home."
Brad stared at him. "I'd forgotten just what a sick-minded, sister-cousin-fucking, retarded piece of shit you are."
Ray didn't stop grinning. "You always say the cutest things."
They were stuck on the M4, Brad counting the ways in which he could kill Ray, when Ray mercifully stopped humming to say, "So, is their training as brutal as they claim, or are they just a bunch of soft-assed pussies?"
Brad sighed. "I hate to admit it, but their Basic is tougher than ours."
"Fuck," Ray said, and sat up straight. "That is fucking wrong. That needs to be fixed."
"I know," Brad said, and shook his head. "I just keep telling myself that all their Marines are commandoes, so it's like they combine Basic and Infantry training."
"Commaaaahhhhndoes," Ray said, in something that Brad suspected was meant to be an English accent. "Do they all go commando?"
Brad floored the gas and slid them into a space in the next lane over. They were a good ten yards forward, well worth the raised finger from the driver behind. "I have no idea about the Royal Marines' attitude to underwear," he said. "And I'm happy for it to remain that way."
"And you a Recon Marine. That could be vital intel, Brad."
"In the event of what? A panty raid?" Brad could see the idea lighting up Ray's tiny mind. "No, Ray. Not unless you want to find yourself stripped and tied upside down from the top of a flagpole. And I'd be helping them."
"God, you've gotten so boring, Brad. Is it old age or responsibility?" Ray settled back in his seat and resumed humming.
Brad was now at the fifty-seventh possible way of murdering him.
When Brad got back from his morning run, Ray was still asleep, somehow managing to sprawl despite the cramped sofa, sleeping bag kicked down around his hips and face buried in a cushion.
Brad left him to it and went to get his breakfast. He took his Weetabix and coffee back into the living room, turned on the TV, and rested his feet on the coffee table while he read - again - the information he'd been given about Fleet Protection Group Royal Marines and HMNB Clyde.
He was only a few paragraphs in when Ray lifted his head and, without opening his eyes, croaked, "Coffee?"
"In the kitchen," Brad said, and went back to his reading.
"You're fucking cruel," Ray said, and rolled onto the floor with a thump and a groan. "I thought you upper-middle-class professional types were supposed to be kind to visitors."
Brad watched Ray crawl out of the sleeping bag, limbs seeming to operate completely independently of each other. "I'm not an upper-middle-class professional," he said. "I'm a Marine. And so are you, so stop pretending to be even more of a retard than you actually are."
"Haven't been a Marine for two months," Ray said. "Gimme coffee."
Brad handed his mug down to Ray. "Once a Marine, always a Marine."
Ray slurped eagerly from the mug. "I've got my brain back," he said, "which means I'm not a Marine."
"I hate to tell you this, but I think the Corps damaged it while they were storing it for you. Either that or they accidentally gave you the brain of a yellow-assed gibbon instead."
"You're just jealous because you don't get to have a brain yet," Ray said.
Brad looked at Ray, one leg still stuck inside the sleeping bag, briefs ridden down so far his ass was on the carpet, hair sticking out every which way, staring at his coffee like it held a naked picture of J.Lo. Brad cleared his throat as he realised he was staring. "Yes," he said. "I'm envious. Obviously, I want to be just like you. It's my life's ambition to live in a trailer park in Missouri with my sister-cousin-daughter and produce a football team of babies even more inbred than myself."
Ray patted Brad's thigh. "There," he said. "It didn't hurt so much to admit it, did it?"
Brad gave up fighting his smile. "We're heading up to Glasgow tomorrow," he said. "Have you found a hotel?"
"I'll ask around on base when we're there," Ray said. "Thought we'd be going today, though."
"Some of the guys are taking me out drinking tonight," Brad said. "Just bars, so they probably won't be able to stop you tagging along."
"I'm in," Ray said, and leaned back against the sofa. "What are we doing today?"
"Last bits of packing, and getting an inspection from the landlord," Brad said.
Ray pointed at Brad. "You are a lousy host," he said.
"And you are an inconsiderate shit of a guest."
Ray grinned. "But you won't kick me out."
Ray was, unfortunately, entirely correct.
On their way into the Impy, a sprawling, multi-floor Wetherspoons, Brad said, "I have every intention of getting completely shit-faced tonight. I won't be looking out for you, these guys could give Rudy a decent fight, and they don't like annoying little shits who haven't proved themselves. Behave."
"Sure," Ray said easily, but the first thing he said after he'd been introduced to the others was, "Royal Marines? Isn't that a bit fucking arrogant? I mean, there are other countries that are backwards enough to still have a monarchy."
"Sorry," Brad said. "I think he got hit on the head during the Iraq invasion. He came back even more of a fuckwit than he went."
"But seriously," Ray insisted, "shouldn't they be, like, the Royal British Marines, if they still want to wave their dicks around about being stuck in the Middle Ages?"
"I'm from County Tyrone," Jimmy said, not looking up from his pint of Tuborg.
"I'm from Missouri. What the fuck's that got to do with anything?"
"County Tyrone's in Northern Ireland," Jimmy said.
"Missouri's in the US." Ray turned to Brad. "What the fuck is he talking about?"
Brad sighed. "The country's the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland. Calling something British automatically excludes Northern Ireland. Jimmy doesn't like it."
Ray frowned. "Your country is way too fucking complicated, and you should do something about that," he said. "Also, you need to stop sweating the semantics, because it makes you sound like a petty-minded little bitch. I'm getting the next round."
A moment of silence passed before Jimmy said, "I'm not sure whether to punch him in the face or pat him on the back."
"Yeah," Brad said, "he has that effect."
"It's a natural gift," Ray said with a grin. "Honed by fucking years of practice."
By the time Brad started his second pint, Ray was near the bottom of his fourth. Brad could see his planned night out rapidly vanishing, so he wasn't in the mood to protect Ray when Ray leaned forward on the table and said, "So, is it true the Royals let faggots in?"
Everybody looked at Mike, taller than Brad and built like Rudy, but Mike was perfectly calm as he said, "Yep. There's quite a few of us."
"See, that is fucking awesome," Ray said. "I should have joined you guys. DADT is the most half-assed, cowardly piece of shit any limp-dicked politician has ever come up with." He raised his glass, announced, "To military faggots, wherever they may serve," and drained the last few inches of his pint. "Who wants another drink?"
After Ray had headed to the bar, Brad said, "Sorry. I don't know what's up with him," and followed.
At the bar, Ray was saying, "What's your girliest, froofiest cocktail? Something bright pink and covered in umbrellas and shit."
"Stop fucking pushing it," Brad said.
Ray grinned at him and reached up to pat Brad's face. "I'm just being friendly."
Brad pushed his hand away. "You're being an irritating little shit, and you know it."
Ray lost the grin. "Nobody else is complaining."
"Everybody else is too fucking polite to fuck your shit up like you deserve."
"Oh, fuck off and untwist your panties," Ray said, and turned back to the barman. "I want something you'd sell to a fucking bachelorette party."
Brad took a deep breath, carefully unclenched his fists, and went to take a piss.
When he got back, there was a pitcher of something bright purple on the table, and Ray and Mike were both drinking glasses of the contents.
Fuck Ray, Brad decided. If he wanted to see how far he could push it before Mike pounded him into the dirt, that was his decision. Brad had given him the sitrep. Instead, he turned his back on the two of them and joined the conversation Jimmy, Mick and Fozza were having about sheer ineptitude of the most recent batch of recruits.
He was another pint down when he looked up to see Ray and Mike heading in the direction of the bar. He watched as they walked straight past the bar, and then he lost them in the crowd. "Well," he heard Danny say, "you can't blame Mike. Ray's been fucking begging for it."
And maybe it was all on Ray, but Brad was still glad he wouldn't be seeing Mike for at least six months after this. Not when he'd have to see Ray's inevitably bruised, bloodied face for two weeks, watch Ray working around the pain. Because Ray was good, and he'd get in plenty of hurt of his own, but Mike was inter service cruiserweight boxing champion, fought MMA on the weekends, and Ray didn't stand a fucking chance.
Brad managed to stay in his seat for a couple of minutes, fingers tightening around his glass, but he finally shoved his chair back and stood up, just before Danny grabbed his arm.
"Leave it, mate," Danny said. "He won't thank you."
Brad glared until Danny let go of his arm, and then he followed Ray and Mike.
He was halfway to the door when the truth of Danny's statement sank in. Ray had known what he was getting into, could have defused the situation at any point. Mike had to be operating pretty rationally, or he would have thrown the first punch right there at the table.
Brad wasn't Ray's team leader any more. It wasn't up to him to keep Ray in line with the regulations. It was none of his business if Ray wasn't fit to work the next day.
"Fuck," Brad muttered, and stopped where he was. If he went outside, he ran the risk of finding them. If he went back to the others, he'd have to put up with them carefully not saying anything.
Then the door to the toilets swung open to let out a trio of girls, and he had a refuge.
The men's room was built in an L-shape, urinals and sinks on the long side as you came in, and three stalls in the short side, away from the door. Brad walked past the four guys pissing and headed for the disabled stall at the end. It wasn't until he had his hand on the door to push it open that he realized it was locked, and he diverted into the next stall, shut the door, and leaned back against it.
Fuck Ray. Seriously.
Brad was going to take some deep breaths, splash some water on his face, join the others, and suggest they move on to somewhere else, somewhere that wasn't full of students. Ray and Mike could either catch up with them or not. Ray knew Brad's address, could easily get a cab there and wait for Brad to get back.
Brad had no duty - no right - to look after Ray.
His thoughts were interrupted by a low groan from the next stall. Somebody needed to pay more attention to their diet, Brad thought. The groan was followed by a hissed, "Fuck," and Brad felt as though he'd been punched in the gut. He'd spent years with Ray talking at him; he'd recognise that voice anywhere.
But there hadn't been enough time for Ray to have his fight and get back to the toilets to patch himself up.
Then there was another voice, saying, "Shut up, you wazzock. Someone'll hear." Mike's voice.
And Ray's fucking snorting laugh.
Brad didn't let himself think.
He opened his stall door, wincing at the slight creak from the hinges, and moved silently to stand outside the other stall. One halfway solid kick and the door would be open, and he'd see-
Whatever the fuck was going on.
If he even wanted to fucking see it.
But then Ray gasped, and Brad had the door open before he even realized he was moving.
Ray was up against the wall, jeans and underwear round his thighs, both of Mike's hands on his cock, and Brad realised he was angry, the kind of fury that curled round his guts and his heart and isolated his brain.
He took a step forward, shoved Mike back and away, so Mike stumbled and wound up sitting on the toilet.
"Didn't have you down as a fucking stereotypical predator fag, Mike."
Mike lifted his hands - which didn't fucking help because that just reminded Brad where they'd been - and said, voice calm and steady, "Brad, I don't know wha-"
Brad ignored whatever he was going to say, spoke over the top of him. "He's not even fucking gay, Mike."
"Uh, Brad?" Brad turned to Ray, who had pulled up his jeans and was buttoning the fly. "I kind of am. Gay."
"No, you're not," Brad said, and he knew how fucking stupid that was even as he said it, didn't need Ray's half-nervous grin to tell him. But Ray wasn't gay; Brad had watched him for years, and he knew it.
"I really kind of am. And it was me pretty much jumped on Mike, so don't blame him."
Brad stared at the wall above Ray's shoulder, read the announcements that Anna was a slag and Man. Utd. were the champions, and took a deep breath. "Right," he finally said, voice calm and controlled. "We're leaving."
"Brad," Ray started, but Brad lifted a hand.
"Shut up, Ray," he said, and Ray did as he was told.
Ray stayed silent for the cab ride back to Brad's, leaning up against the window, streetlights painting his face with orange flashes. Whenever Brad glanced over, Ray's face was so empty of emotions that he barely looked like himself. It wasn't until they were standing at Brad's front door that Ray said, "Look, if you're going to keep having an issue with this, let me know and I'll find somewhere else to stay."
"Keep having an issue," Brad repeated blankly.
"Okay, it was more of a surprise to you than I expected, considering I pretty much announced it to the entire fucking table and they all got it. But, whatever, you're a retard at times, I know that. So I'll let you have your little homophobic bitchfit for now, but I am not fucking putting up with it lasting until I go home."
Brad unlocked his door and pushed it open. "You think this is a homophobia thing," he said, without stepping inside.
"Uh, yes?" Ray said, as though it was the only possible explanation.
"It isn't," Brad said, and stepped back for Ray to go in ahead of him. Ray gave him a sideways look, kept his distance from Brad as he went inside, and Brad followed him in.
"Where's the fucking light switch?" Ray said, as Brad shut the door behind them, and it told Brad where Ray was in the darkness, made it easy to grab him and slam him up against the door, fist twisted in his t-shirt and forearm holding him in place. Ray was tense against him, ready to fight, but giving Brad the benefit of the doubt for now.
"This is not a homophobic bitchfit," Brad said carefully, calmly, "This is jealousy. Extreme fucking jealousy."
It took a moment for it to sink in, and then Brad could feel Ray relaxing. "Jealousy," Ray said, tasting the word.
"I am so fucking jealous of Mike that I would like to stamp on his nuts until they burst and then force-feed them to him," Brad said, and he could feel some of his anger creeping into his voice.
"Uh, that? Not a sexy image, homes. If you're hitting on me - and I'm not absolutely certain that you are, so don't take that the wrong way - bursting nuts are not the way to go."
"I'm hitting on you," Brad said. "I am definitely hitting on you."
"Well, thank fuck for that," Ray said, and kissed him.
It took a long moment for Brad to process. Ray was kissing him. Ray's body was pressed against his, and it was nothing to do with work, nothing to do with training and fighting and sheltering from arty. He could just enjoy it, guilt-free, feeling like he'd had a Mk. 19 taken off his shoulders, and he smiled into the kiss, breathing easy for the first time all evening.
"What are you grinning about?" Ray asked, pulling back.
"I'm fucking happy, you fucknut," Brad said.
"Oh, is that all?" Ray said, and leaned back in, hand on the back of Brad's neck. This kiss was light, barely parting his lips, before Ray broke it to say, "Good. Although you're seriously fucking cute when you're angry, just so you know."
"Hmm," Brad said, and bent his head to get his mouth back on Ray's.
Ray went with it for several minutes but then pulled away again. "So," he said. "If all you want to do is make out against the door, y'know, I'm fine with that. But I was thinking, maybe - bedroom? Naked? Orgasms?"
"Bedroom works for me," Brad said, and kissed Ray again.
"Good," Ray said into the kiss. "But you have to move to get there."
Brad just hummed and rested his hands on Ray's hips as they kept on kissing, until Ray's hand on his chest pushed him back.
"Bed. Naked. Now. Move."
"Bossy little shit," Brad said, but he let Ray carry on pushing him back until he hit the stairs, let Ray turn him round and shove him up them.
They were in his bedroom and Ray paused with his t-shirt over his head and said, "Just so you know, I was planning on hitting on you halfway through my visit, so we'd have a week of fucking time if you said yes, and I'd only have to put up with a week of awkwardness if you said no." When he pulled the t-shirt off completely, he was blushing, and Brad paused in unbuttoning his shirt to rest his hand on Ray's face.
"Mike?" he asked.
"Mike was there and easy." Ray shrugged. "I needed a confidence boost."
"Hit on him again," Brad said, "and I'll forge the paperwork to get you back in the Corps."
"That is a truly terrifying threat," Ray agreed with a straight face, and kicked his jeans and underwear off with his sneakers. "So, how much of the gay stuff have you done?"
Brad blinked at the sudden change of subject. "Not a lot," he admitted, as Ray started unfastening Brad's jeans.
"How much do you want to do?"
Brad didn't say anything, because he'd spent years trying not to think about the possibilities, and Ray looked up at him.
"Because I'm up for pretty much anything," he said. "You name it, I've probably jerked off to fantasies of doing it with you."
"Fuck," Brad said, and leaned forward to kiss him, hands running down his shoulders and chest, tracing the tight, defined lines of his muscles. "How much have you done?" he asked.
Ray looked awkward. "Kind of a lot? I had a thing of celebrating being away from DADT. So, yeah, pretty much anything you come up with, I've already done."
Brad felt that punch of jealousy in his chest, and did his best to keep it off his face. "I want you to fuck me," he said, and watched Ray's eyes widen.
"Really? Because I was thinking, like, handjobs, blowjobs. Maybe you fucking me. Have you bottomed before?"
"No," Brad said. Maybe he couldn't be Ray's first at anything, but Ray could be his first. "And I want you to fuck me. You said you were up for pretty much anything."
"Yeah, I just wasn't expecting- Fuck." Ray slid his hands up under Brad's undershirt. "You sure about this? Because we've got two weeks before I go home, and we can work up to it."
"Jesus Christ, Ray, are you going to make me beg?"
Ray paused, tilted his head. "That could be kind of hot," he said thoughtfully, and patted Brad's chest. "Okay, I'll fuck you. I've got condoms and lube in my bag." He paused at the door. "I want you naked by the time I get back, or I'm not fucking you until the day I leave."
"Stop talking; start moving," Brad said, and Ray flipped him the bird before heading back downstairs.
Brad took a deep breath, shut his eyes, and ran his hands over his hair. This was moving fucking fast, and he was sure it should feel more wrong than it did, sure he should be more wary than he was. But it was Ray. If there was anybody he could trust, it was Ray.
So he pulled his button-down and undershirt over his head, kicked off the rest of his clothes, and turned on the bedside lamp before pulling back the blankets and sitting on the side of the bed. And then he decided he looked like an anxious virgin on her wedding night, so he lay back in the middle of the bed and lightly stroked his cock.
From downstairs, Ray called, "I'm coming back up now. If you're not naked when I get there, I'm going to jerk off on your face and laugh at you."
"I'm naked," Brad called back. "Get a fucking move on, you inbred cocktease."
Ray was at the door seconds later, and he paused, hands on the frame, staring at Brad with hungry eyes. "Fuck, yes," he said. "You should totally be doing gay porn. If I recorded this, I could make a fortune."
"You are not recording this," Brad said.
"I know," Ray said, with elaborate sadness. "I'll just have to rely on my memory."
"If you don't get over here, there won't be anything to remember."
"Yeah, yeah, keep whining," Ray said, but he took the few steps needed to reach the bed, crawled onto it to kneel between Brad's legs.
"Fuck, I want to suck your cock," he said, and reached out to push Brad's hand aside, stroke his own fingers crippingly softly over Brad's cock.
"That is seriously fucking pretty."
It took all Brad's self-control not to push up against Ray's touch.
"After you fuck me," he said, and Ray pulled his hand back with a sigh.
"Okay, okay." He slapped Brad's hip. "Roll over. All fours."
"No," Brad said, and pulled his legs up so his feet were resting flat on the bed. "Like this."
"All fours," Ray repeated. "I'm the expert here, so try taking the fucking orders for once."
Brad didn't move. "I want to see your face when you're fucking me."
Ray frowned.
"Maybe I'll fuck you on your back," he said. "But fingering you open, all fours or it's not happening."
With an exasperated sigh, Brad rolled onto his hands and knees. "This is fucking undignified," he said.
"It's anal sex," Ray said. "It's impossible for it to be dignified. You'll just have to temporarily shelve your sense of the respect due to your exalted position, staff."
The words almost covered the wet squelch of lube being squirted onto Ray's fingers. Ray paused, sighed.
"Look, Brad, bottoming is... an acquired taste. If you don't like it, tell me, and we can do any one of the five thousand other ideas I've had. Hell, any five or six if we time it right."
"How long did it take you to acquire the taste?" Brad asked.
"Yeah. Uh. I kind of took to it first time out, but turns out I'm a complete cockslut - say anything and I'll leave you with blue balls - so your experience'll probably be completely different."
Brad settled onto his elbows and said, "Get on with it."
The first touch of Ray's finger against his asshole was so weird that he almost jerked away. Instead, he bit down on his wrist and concentrated on staying exactly where he was.
"You need to relax a bit," Ray said, "or this is going to be too painful for both of us."
Brad took a deep breath and carefully relaxed. "Go on," he said and, after a moment, Ray did.
It was even weirder as Ray worked his finger deeper, and Brad frowned. Not painful, or at least, not worse than anything else he ignored on a daily basis. Just... weird.
"You okay?" Ray asked.
"I'll tell you if I'm not," Brad said, and Ray snorted.
"No, you fucking won't." But he slowly pulled his finger out, applied another squirt of lube, and when he pushed back in, he used two fingers.
Brad shifted his hips, tried to find a position where it didn't feel so fucking intrusive, but that wasn't possible. He shifted again, and this time there was a touch against something that lit him up like a danger-close firestrike, stiffened his softening cock, made his eyes open wide. "Oh," he said, fully aware of how stupid he sounded but temporarily incapable of coming up with anything more intelligent.
"That's it," Ray said, sounding unreasonably smug, considering it was Brad's movements responsible for what Brad's body felt. But Ray crooked his fingers, stroked deep inside, and Brad decided against criticising him because Ray was setting off heavy arty in his spine.
"Can you take another?"
"Yes," Brad said immediately, and widened his legs.
"Fuck, yeah," Ray breathed, but he didn't add a third finger, not yet, just stayed slowly playing with Brad until Brad made an impatient noise and shoved back, and when had he started enjoying the stretch and push and pressure?
"Yeah, now you're ready," Ray said, and the third finger was too much, made him breathless, but fuck it felt good.
"I want your cock," Brad said, and Ray made a noise as though he'd taken a knifehand strike to the throat.
"Fuck, you can't just say things like that."
Brad grinned. "I want your cock in my ass, Ray. I want you to fuck me, hard and steady, until I'm begging for it. I want to see your face when you come inside me." He meant it to be as much mocking as serious, but Brad could hear the need in his own voice and there was no way Ray could miss it.
He heard Ray swallow, and then Ray's fingers were sliding out of his ass. "Okay," Ray said. "On your back."
Brad rolled over and looked up at Ray. His eyes were all pupil, his lips were reddened where he'd been biting them, and there was sweat at his temples and collarbone. The dim light from the bedside lamp left him half in shadow, half painted gold, and Brad shifted so that Ray was kneeling between his thighs. "You're kind of pretty," he said.
Ray raised his eyebrows. "Pretty? Did you just call me pretty? I am a fucking Recon Marine, Brad. I am a cold-blooded, death-dealing warrior who will fuck your skull then use it as a fucking ashtray. I am not fucking pretty."
"Pretty," Brad insisted.
"Fuck that," Ray said, and started to push himself back from Brad. "Calling me pretty means you don't get laid."
Brad locked his legs round Ray's thighs, and used his greater reach and weight - and the fact that Ray wasn't fighting - to flip them over, ending with Ray on his back across the bed and Brad straddling his hips. "I am so getting laid," Brad said, and shifted until he could feel Ray's cock nudging between his asscheeks.
"Condom," Ray said, eyes wide.
Brad glanced to where the box had fallen onto the floor. It was a long way away. He frowned. "Are you clean?"
"Yeah," Ray said. "Tested just before I booked my flight."
"So'm I," Brad said. "Promise you won't knock me up?"
Ray grinned. "We'll get you Plan B tomorrow," he said, and patted Brad's thigh. "Come on. You've got me pinned. Have your wicked way. I swear, I'll still respect you in the morning."
Ray's hands stayed on Brad's thighs as Brad lifted himself up, and the warmth of the touch made Brad hyper-aware of the stretch of his own muscles, of the changing, adjusting angles of his body as he reached between them to position Ray's cock, and slowly, fucking carefully, sank down, embraced the burn and stretch of Ray inside him.
He kept his eyes fixed on Ray's, watched Ray's grin fade into something hotter, more primitive, and rested his hands on Ray's chest so he could feel every pounding beat of Ray's heart, a counterpoint to his own.
It was almost enough to distract him from the discomfort. Especially when Ray started running his hands up and down Brad's thighs, started muttering something under his breath, when Ray's hips started making twitching, aborted thrusts.
"Fuck me," Brad said. "C'mon, Ray. I know you want to. Let it go."
"Oh, fuck," Ray said, closed his hands on Brad's hips, and thrust up into him.
And, fuck, that hurt. That hurt good.
It was all Brad could do to keep his eyes open, keep watching Ray's face, watching the sweat beading his skin, sticking his hair to his temples, seeing Ray's gaze skittering up and down Brad's body as he thrust up again and again.
"Fuck, Brad, you have no fucking idea..." For a moment, Ray's eyes flickered shut, but he opened them again. "Fuck, not gonna last, you fucker. Stop fucking looking like that."
"C'mon, Ray," Brad said. "Give it up for me."
"Fuck. You," Ray gasped, and he stiffened, muscles tensing, and Brad could feel it, feel Ray coming inside him, and it was weird and invasive and wrong and so fucking good that Brad wanted to yell it to the sky.
Ray's hands dropped from Brad's hips and he took a deep breath. "In my defence," he said, "I've been hard since Mike stuck his hands down my pants, so I didn't actually just come in thirty seconds."
"New rule," Brad said. "You do not talk about other men when you've got your cock in my ass."
There was something slightly abashed in Ray's grin. "Yeah, okay," he said. "Most of your rules are bullshit, but I'll play along with that one." His gaze slid down Brad's body. "Now," he said, "I remember you saying I could suck your cock after I fucked you."
Brad shrugged. "I could be persuaded."
"Then get the fuck off me, you pointlessly huge bastard."
Leaning on Ray's abdomen, Brad eased himself up and off Ray's cock, then let himself drop back on the bed, thighs landing across Ray's as he settled himself into position in the center of the bed with his head on his pillows. "Hang on," he said, and sat up enough that he could double up the pillows, letting him get a better view of his own cock. "Now come here and suck it."
"You are such a bossy fucking shit," Ray grumbled, but he wriggled round until he was lying between Ray's thighs, his own legs draped off the end of the bed. "You're lucky I like sucking cock enough to put up with it."
"If you like it so much, stop talking and start sucking."
"You think I can't do both?" Ray licked up Brad's cock. "Frankly, I'm offended." A brief touch of warm, wet lips to the tip of Brad's cock.
"You should have more faith in my abilities."A longer touch, Brad's cock slipping inside Ray's mouth, and Ray's cheeks hollowing as he sucked hard before pulling back. "Because I'm fucking awesome."
Brad groaned. "Okay, you're awesome. Now get the fuck on with it."
"Ask nicely."
"Get the fuck on with it, please."
Ray propped his chin on his hands. "I think you can ask nicer than that."
"If you don't get on with it right the fuck now, I will phone Trombley and tell him that you're in love with him and you used his SAW as a fucking dildo."
"You are a sick bastard," Ray said admiringly, and closed his mouth over Brad's cock.
And, fuck, he was good. It was wet and hot and filthy, tongue in just the right places, the threat of a scrape of teeth, and Brad wrapped his fingers in Ray's hair, settled his palms on the sides of Ray's head, and showed him just when to go deeper and when to hold back, until Brad's hands were trembling and his breath was rasping in his throat.
And that was when Ray looked up at him, winked, and swallowed Brad's cock right down.
Brad came. No ceremony, no warning, just a white-hot spark up his spine, short-circuiting his brain and leaving him gasping and incapable of thought.
"Told you I was good," Ray said, smug despite the hoarseness of his voice. He crawled up Brad's body and casually dropped all his weight on top of him. "We're now going to cuddle for a minimum of five minutes, because I have kinks that must be catered to."
"Okay," Brad said, and managed to get one boneless arm draped over Ray's back. "Shut up."
Ray just hummed, buried his face in Brad's neck, and went to sleep.
Brad sighed and, after a few minutes, did the same.
Two weeks later, Brad checked his cellphone as he came off duty. A missed call and a voicemail from a London number he didn't recognize. He frowned as he dialed 121, but the frown cleared as soon as he heard Ray's voice.
"Yeah, okay, I'm being a coward," Ray said. "Calling when I know you won't answer. But, look, we're pretty fucking awesome together, and I think we should give this thing a real try. And notice that I'm saying 'thing', not 'relationship', because I know how much the R word terrifies you, you alpha male, you. If I don't hear from you, I'll assume it's a 'no', and then we'll just pretend that you never got this voicemail. Right?" There was a muffled announcement in the background, and then Ray said, "Fuck, got to go, my flight's boarding. See you."
As soon as Brad got back to his room, he opened up his laptop and fired off an email.
If you ever fuck anybody else - if you even fucking *hit* on anybody else - it's over. No second chances.
When Brad checked his email in the morning, Ray had already replied.
Why would I want to when I've got access to your fucking horsecock? Send me a picture of it for my wallet. Big sloppy kisses.
DADT was repealed while Brad was away on a four-week exercise.
When the bus pulled into Margarita, he could see Ray waiting with the rest of the families, frayed jeans and flip-flops a sharp contrast to the carefully-dressed wives, girlfriends, parents and kids around him.
Brad managed three strides off the bus before Ray was hanging from his neck, legs wrapped around his waist. "Hello, big boy," Ray said. "Me love you long time."
Brad kissed him, hands tight on his ass. "I wasn't actually planning on coming out," he finally said, and Ray snorted.
"You totally were."
Ray knew him too fucking well, Brad thought, and kissed him again.