gk, you who are my home, 3/9, nc17, brad/nate/ray, 10,258

[sephirothflame]

The day drags on and Brad’s exhausted in a way he shouldn’t be. He’s been trained to stay awake for days on end with little to no sleep but he can barely keep his eyes open, can feel the weariness down to the core of his being. He wants to crawl back in bed and sleep, but he knows it wouldn’t do any good, not while they still have Nate.

Ray is unusually quiet throughout the day, only really talking to Brad when he asks if he wants cereal or Eggos, and what should they feed Nate? He makes a breakfast that Brad doesn’t eat and Ray bites his tongue for once. When Ray goes to take a plate of food down to Nate, he squeezes the back of Brad’s neck lightly, disappearing deeper into the house.

As the sound of Ray’s footsteps fade, Brad pushes his plate away from him and slumps against the table. He thinks he should eat, but he’s too tired to really feel hungry. There are things he should be doing today, important things like double and triple checking there is a place to dispose of Nate’s body if it comes to it and he needs to get with Ack Ack or Hillbilly to see if he can get a sawed off that’s not a piece of shit.

Knowing all of these things though doesn’t exactly inspire Brad to get up off the table and go do them though. Not when they all seem like so much effort when he has a laptop and an office and he can spend his time doing nothing in. There’s no real work that needs to be done, but it beats sitting at the table and waiting around for Ray to entertain him, so Brad takes one last bite of his waffles before pushing away from the table.

It’s when Brad’s been staring at his screen for an hour, trying to think of something to look up that he realizes any sort of focus today is basically a lost cause. He should just go ahead and get real work done, since idle time is wasted. Brad trusts Ray to keep an eye on Nate without molesting him any.

Nate isn’t the only one Brad is worried about, even though he shouldn’t be. It should be easy to banish Nate to the back of his mind and work, but it isn’t. Even with the window with the basement footage minimized, Brad has a hard time looking away from the video of Nate curled up in his corner, thumbing through his borrowed copy of Good Omens for the umpteenth time. Brad steadfastly refuses to turn on the volume or maximize the screen, but it doesn’t stop him from wondering if Nate is bruised from yesterday.

The sudden ringing of Brad’s phone is a welcome distraction.

There’s one moment, a long, tense set of heartbeats where Brad thinks finally, because he’s ready for this to be over. It’s not his work phone though, it’s his personal one, but Brad still pulls it out to check who’s calling him anyway. Slumping back in his computer chair and wiping a hand over his face, Brad tosses his phone onto the desk and lets it ring.

It only takes a few seconds after his phone stops ringing for it to ping again, signaling a text message. Brad lets it sit for a minute before leaning forward to grab it.

From: Snafu
meet me @ mathilda. 1330.
Mar 27, 12:14 pm

Brad briefly considers ignoring it. Things are shit enough right now without adding Snafu’s issues to the mix, but it’s either help Snafu out or mope - not that Brad is moping, that’s just what Ray will say - and the former does sound better than the latter.

Ray isn’t to be found when Brad makes his way downstairs, and his truck is absent from the garage. It’s not that uncommon for Ray to take off without telling Brad where he’s going and Brad would bet his Aston Martin that he’s with Hoosier (and more than likely pissing Leckie off) right now. It’s none of Brad’s business what Ray chooses to do most of the time. It does explain why the house has been so quiet though.

Rubbing a hand over his face slowly, Brad makes a small, exhausted sound before he grabs the keys to his shiny black Ducati. He stops long enough to tug the zipper up on his jacket and fire Snafu a omw text before he pulls on his helmet and peels out of the garage.

For the first time in what feels like an eternity, Brad can forget about Nate and the Senator and everything else and lose himself in the familiar, comforting hum from his Ducati and the rush of speeding through traffic.

- - -

Mathilda’s is one of those places that doesn’t look like much on the outside, but it’s nice enough. It’s got clean windows and the brick front isn’t as out of sorts as some of the places in town. The inside is pretty clean cut too, thanks to the touch of Wright’s fiancé. Really, if it wasn’t for the fact the place is almost always crawling with Godfather’s men, it would almost be a respectful bar and grill.

It isn’t though, but the food is more than passable and thanks to Godfather’s helping hand Wright can get his hands on the kinds of liquor that aren’t exactly legal stateside. Wright is clean though, as far as a bar owner who works with Godfather can be, and Mathilda’s is nice.

Brad finds Snafu huddled in a corner booth with Sledge, leaning in in what would be considered awkwardly close if it was anyone else. He’s got one hand covering Sledge’s on the checkered tablecloth, and their heads are ducked together as they talk. It’s not exactly an uncommon scene for the two of them, but it takes a minute for the wrong feeling to go away and Brad to realize what was bothering him about it in the first place.

Biting back a comment about Snafu finally brainwashing Sledge, Brad raps his knuckles against the table lightly before sliding onto the bench across from them. It’s no surprise when Snafu doesn’t even blink, but Sledge’s eyes snap up, wide, before he flashes Brad a tired smile. “Is it even vaguely important for me to be here?”

A lazy smirk crosses Snafu’s face - because he isn’t the type of guy to just smile, like everyone else - and he lifts Sledge’s hand to kiss the back of his fingers. “Word is you’ve got a rough job and can use a break,” he says, shrugging easily. “Thought I’d invite you to the celebration.”

”You mean, you wanted an excuse to make me pay for your food again,” Brad says, narrowing his eyes. He ignores Snafu’s smirk and looks at Sledge. “I thought you had more sense than this. Clearly, Pappy and Rudy have failed you. The fact they haven’t killed him - “ Brad cocks his head in Snafu’s direction “ - yet astounds me.”

”They don’t know yet,” Sledge says, looking sheepish. He tugs his fingers free from Snafu’s to grab his iced tea, sipping at it slowly. “We heard from Hoosier you guys have a rough job. Says Ray’s not thinking so much of it right now.”

Clearly, Brad was in the right to assume Ray had run off with Hoosier then. He waves down one of the pretty blonde waitresses working Mathilda’s, asks for a Coke without even looking at her. He watches Sledge smile at her sweetly before she turns around to fetch Brad’s drink, sipping from his own iced tea again. “The job is nothing.”

”Which is why you’re here and Ray is off with Hoosier pissin’ off Leckie again,” Snafu says, nodding his head solemnly. “Makes perfect sense.”

”Fuck you, too,” Brad says tiredly. He leans back against the red vinyl back of the bench, folding his arms over his chest. He thinks about picking up the menu and flipping through it, but he already has it memorized and he’s not really that hungry. “So.” Brad doesn’t even have to finish his sentence, just looks pointedly between the two of them. “Not that I care.”

”You said my plans weren’t ever going to work,” Snafu says, and there is a smug little grin on his face. “It took a while, but I got my cher eventually.”

The tips of Sledge’s ears go a pretty shade of pink and he ducks his head to hide the smile on his face. “Eventually,” Sledge agrees. He leans into Snafu’s body slightly, sharing a shy smile with him before he looks at Brad. “But in my defense I didn’t even know what he was trying to do.”

”You were the only person in the entire universe who didn’t know,” Brad says, scoffing. He shakes his head, biting his tongue as the waitress reappears and places his Coke in front of him.

”Can I get you anything to eat?” She asks, pulling a notepad out of the apron wrapped through her belt loops. The pen she has is purple and sparkly and Brad wants to kill himself with it.

”I’ll have the brisket,” Sledge says, smiling sweetly again. “With corn on the cob and baked beans.”

Snafu’s eyes narrow when the waitress smiles back at Sledge, canting her hip to the side slightly as she jots down Sledge’s order on her notepad. “Ribs. Corn. Coleslaw.”

”Same,” Brad says when she looks at him, and she purses her lips. She leaves after jotting her notes down and Brad smiles wryly at Snafu. “You do know you can’t actually kill anyone by just looking at them, right? I know you’ve been trying for years but - “

”If her jeans hung any lower she’d need a hairnet,” Snafu shoots back bitterly - and it’s at this moment Sledge chooses to take a sip of his iced tea and ends up sputtering it all over himself and the table. “And she’s been making eyes at my cher all day.”

”Snafu!” Sledge says, mortified. He snags a handful of napkins and wipes himself off, ignoring the concerned look Snafu is giving him before he starts to pat the table dry as well. Exasperated, Sledge continues, “We don’t need to have the appropriate eating time conversations talk again, do we?”

”But I - “ Snafu starts, but he’s silenced by the look Sledge gives him. Snafu blinks, confused, before looking over at Brad. There’s something petulant about his expression, something that makes Brad smile wryly, but Snafu leans into Sledge again and kisses the spot just under his ear. “Shh,” he says and he’s still smiling when Sledge pushes him away and blushes.

”I think I’m going to be sick,” Brad deadpans.

Snafu’s leg kicks Brad under the table, but it’s a light touch, hardly enough to even really be more than a low thud of pain. He doesn’t move away from where he’s half turned into Sledge, but he does straighten up to look over at Brad. “You can’t fight true love.”

”Once again,” Brad says, “I think I’m going to throw up and I haven’t even eaten anything yet.”

”Just ignore him,” Sledge says. He keeps his hands in his lap and shoots Snafu a suspicious look when Snafu’s hands disappear under the table, too. When Snafu starts to look a little heartbroken, Sledge rolls his eyes. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just.” Sledge shakes his head. “How’s Ray?”

Brad quirks an eyebrow, but Sledge isn’t the least bit intimidated by Brad’s blank expression. Clearly, he’s been spending too much time around Snafu if the intimidation tactics aren’t working on him. “He’s Ray,” Brad says, like that’s any sort of an answer.

”Fair enough,” Sledge says, a small grin on his face. He reaches for his iced tea, fidgeting with his straw and smiling brighter when Brad narrows his eyes in suspicion. “This job, though. Hoosier didn’t really say much other than Ray said it was making you a bitch.”

”I will never fail to be amazed by everyone’s ability and need to gossip,” Brad says. He reaches for his own Coke, shaking his head. “A bunch of grown ass men and we all gather together like school girls at the first hint of news.”

”That ain’t fair,” Snafu says, shaking his head. “You know damn well that Godfather’s had us all on hold since that incident on the docks. He’s trying to regroup and sort out this clusterfuck. You’re one of the only teams with a job right now. It ain’t nice to not share the details when everyone else is hung out right now.”

Brad gives Snafu an exasperated look and try as he might, even Sledge can’t hide the slightly eager expression on his face, either. “Twelve year old girls. The lot of you.”

”Brad,” Snafu says, narrowing his eyes slightly before he just stares.

The effect is lost on Brad, has never really worked on him since the very beginning of their friendship and even before that, but Brad sighs and rolls his eyes. He glances around surreptitiously before leaning forward and dropping his voice. “It’s none of your business.”

”Dick,” Snafu says, lashing his leg out to kick Brad again. It’s harder this time, the toe of his boot smacking Brad’s shin roughly, and Brad kicks Snafu right back. “Fucker!”

”Guys,” Sledge says, exasperated. He looks at them both with a look of mild indignation before he shakes his head and takes another sip from his drink. “All we wanted was the bare bones. You don’t have to be an asshole about it.”

”The subject matter isn’t really appropriate eating time conversation,” Brad says, using Sledge’s words slowly. If Sledge is insulted, it doesn’t show on his face, and he nods his head at Brad’s words. “It’s just a job.”

Snafu nods his head. “Later, then,” he says, and Brad would object, but he’s long since learned to just let Snafu think he has these small victories.

- - -

Brad waits with Snafu outside of Mathilda’s while Sledge disappears into the back to have a quick word with Wright - about what, Brad isn’t sure, but Sledge smiles brightly and tells them he’ll only be a second. Brad leans back against the brick wall of the bar and grill and accepts a cigarette when Snafu passes him one. “You take him back to your place and make him a man yet?”

There’s a lazy grin on Snafu’s face as he lights up his own smoke before he passes Brad the lighter. “N’ah.” He doesn’t explain right away, wrapping his lips lazily around his cigarette before he leans against the wall at Brad’s side, their elbows knocking. “He ain’t too fond of the neighborhood I was livin’ in. Made me pack my bags and move in with him. It’s not so bad. Won’t spread his legs, though.”

”You two moved in together?” Brad asks, glancing down at Snafu and frowning. He lights his smoke before passing the purple Bic back, but he doesn’t bring the cigarette to his lips. “You made out once, less than twenty four hours ago and you’ve already moved in together?”

”You can’t fight true love,” Snafu drawls. He stares out at the street through half-lidded eyes, the corners of his lips tilted up in a smirk. “Don’t you worry, I’ll take good care of him.”

”If that’s how you’re going to explain it to his parents, you might want to work on your sincerity,” Brad says. He rolls his eyes when Snafu just gives him a confused look and takes a drag from his smoke. “I’m just saying.”

”You need to have more faith,” Snafu says. He bumps his elbow against Brad’s, catching his attention, before he looks back out over the busy street. “You gonna tell me what’s bothering you about this job, now?”

Brad takes a minute to consider it, toying with the end of his cigarette before flicking away the ashes. “It was a snatch and grab. We’re holding a kid while his father scrambles to put together money to pay Godfather back.” He takes another drag of his cigarette, closing his eyes and letting his head thump against the brick wall. “Money he doesn’t have.”

”Shouldn’t have borrowed money from Godfather,” Snafu says, like it’s that simple. Then again, to him, it might just be.

”He’s twenty three,” Brad adds, though he isn’t entirely sure why the detail seems so important. “He’s smart enough to have figured out that he’s probably going to die in a day or two. He’s scared, but he - “ Brad pauses, because he doesn’t know how to explain Nate’s unwavering, steely determination “ - doesn’t want to die.”

Snafu just looks at Brad, his brow furrowing slightly. “I can’t help you if you don’t tell me the entire story.”

”Why do you think I want your help in the first place?” Brad shoots back, scowling.

”You bought lunch, I think I’m obligated to help,” Snafu replies, shrugging weakly. He flicks the ashes from the end of his smoke, taking one last drag from it before he drops it to the cement and crushes it under his heel. “So stop being a pussy and talk already.”

”Yes, because your overwhelming kindness inspires me to share,” Brad says wryly. He watches the slow burn of his cigarette instead of looking at Snafu and he has to resist the urge to press it into his skin. Anything would be a welcome distraction right now. “What’s taking your boyfriend so damn long?”

”Sledge lied about needing to talk to Wright,” Snafu replies and Brad has to bite back a bitter remark. “He’s only inside so you’ll stop avoiding the subject and talk.”

Brad glances over at Snafu and scowls at him. ”I hate you both,” Brad tells Snafu, but it’s without any real heat. He takes one last puff of his cigarette and lets it fall to the cement. “The kid offered up an alternative. Wanted to spread his legs to pay back the money his father owes Godfather.”

”Is he pretty enough to be worth the money his father owes Godfather?” Snafu asks.

Brad snorts softly, because even fuck yes doesn’t begin to cover it. He wipes a hand over his face and slumps back against the brick. “Yeah,” he says tiredly when Snafu just continues to look at him. “He’s more than pretty enough to make up for what Godfather is owed.”

”So fuck him,” Snafu replies.

”It’s not that simple,” Brad says, shaking his head and sighing.

”And why isn’t it?” Snafu asks, pursing his lips and frowning at Brad.

”I’m not a rapist, for starters,” Brad mutters bitterly. He ignores the look Snafu is giving him and holds a hand up to shut him up when Snafu opens his mouth. “I’ve been over this with Ray already. I’m not going over it again.”

”Okay,” Snafu says slowly. “Does Ray want to fuck him?”

”If by fuck you mean hold him down and do absolutely deplorable things to him, then yes,” Brad replies. He knows Ray well enough by now to know exactly how Ray likes to get his rocks off. Brad won’t let Ray use him in the same way Ray uses the boys and girls he brings home but Brad has watched and participated often enough to know what does it for Ray.

”So let Ray fuck him,” Snafu says, shrugging slightly. “You don’t even have to watch and you still get to be morally superior to the rest of us and the kid lives.”

”What?” Brad says, blinking slowly and looking at Snafu.

Snafu just stares right back at him. “You’re only lookin’ at me like that because you know my plan is flawless.”

”Snafu, none of your plans are or ever will be flawless,” Brad scowls. “The fact that any of them worked well enough for you to ensnare Sledge into your corrupt little life will always be a miracle, an outlier to the grand scheme of things.”

”You’re just being negative because you’re too much of a pussy to get your dick wet,” Snafu says. “At least this way you don’t have to be hung up over killing some kid.”

Brad absolutely hates when Snafu’s plans ever have any merit. He can’t take advice from a guy who watched Jerry Springer and Lifetime original movies to woo Sledge into his bed - or maybe not his bed, if Sledge isn’t spreading his legs for Snafu just yet, but the point is the same.

”Or you could just kill him and pretend like everything is a-okay again,” Snafu continues, nodding. “Ray will run away to go mope and watch porn with Hoosier and piss Leckie the fuck off, and you and I get kicked out of Mathilda’s every other night drunk off our asses on vodka. I don’t know how Sledge’ll feel about that plan, but I got your six.”

A thin smile crosses Brad’s face when Snafu elbows him lightly and he thumps his head back against the brick lightly. He thinks about Ray’s almost innocent question of Do you ever think you’re in the wrong line of work? and wonders what could have possibly changed in the past week to make him not want to do this job so badly. He will, if he has to, but Brad doesn’t get off on killing people, not like some of the men he’s worked with do.

”So you’re saying I should just let Ray fuck him,” Brad says slowly, thinking it over. “I should let Ray use the damn kid until he’s spent and then consider the debt paid.” It still sits heavy in Brad’s gut, something to file under things he never wants to do, but Ray doesn’t have the same issues Brad does with this. Maybe it could work.

Maybe everything will be okay and in a few days Brad can go back to being the Iceman and everything will go back to how it was before.

”Just a suggestion,” Snafu replies easily, shrugging again. His fingers fidget with his Bic, clicking it on again and again and he watches the flame with a lazy smirk on his face. “No one gets hurt this way.”

”No one but Nate,” Brad says, shaking his head slightly.

Snafu pauses in clicking his lighter on, glancing at Brad and frowning slightly. He’s smart enough to keep up with the conversation, to make the Nate equals boy Brad and Ray have locked in their basement connection, of that Brad has no doubts. “It’s better for him than the alternative.”

”Maybe,” Brad sighs, but it doesn’t really feel like an agreement. Wiping at his face tiredly, Brad makes a frustrated sound. Glancing at Snafu, Brad asks, “do you think Sledge will be okay with getting drunk off our asses barely after two or should we sneak off to a bar?”

”We’ll have to buy vodka,” Snafu says slowly, thoughtfully, “But surely mental health counts as a good enough reason to drink before happy hour.”

Brad doesn’t see how that argument could hold any water at all, but he sure as fuck isn’t going to turn it down. “You fetch Sledge, I fetch vodka?” Brad asks.

”After you, Iceman,” Snafu replies, a lazy grin filtering onto his face, and Brad knew he liked Snafu the most for a reason.

- - -

Sledge, it turns out, does mind that Brad and Snafu plan to spend the afternoon getting drunk and watching gory movies on his couch. He bites his tongue though, shaking his head and tells them he’s going to go out with Rudy and he’ll call in a few hours to check in on them and make sure they aren’t dead.

Brad is kind of insulted at the implication he would drink himself to death, or that Snafu could kill him, but he’d rather be in Sledge’s neat little apartment than at home, so he bites his tongue. Even though it does occur to him that leaving Nate alone at the house for long periods of time might not actually be a good idea. In Brad’s defense though, it’s not like he’s going to kill Nate anymore so if Nate kills himself, it’s his own damn fault.

Snafu agrees readily enough when Brad mentions it, making grabby hands for the bottle of vodka. He makes a triumphant sound when Brad passes it to him, filling the small, stripy blue cup he’d pilfered from Sledge’s cabinet almost to the rim before he passes the bottle back to Brad.

Really, there is nothing Brad would love more than to spend the entire afternoon splayed across the overstuffed couch with Snafu watching people be graphically dismembered on Sledge’s shitty little TV. After the first movie, Brad stops filling his own stripy cup and just kicks back and watches the movie instead, though. He has to be able to drive his Ducati home without wrecking it or killing himself, after all.

Ray would be seriously unhappy with Brad if Brad accidentally killed himself. Almost as unhappy as Brad would be if he wrecked his Ducati. Brad’s sure this says something about their relationship, or his love for his bike, but his brain is too fuzzy and warm for him to make the connection right now.

Time passes easily enough like this, Brad and Snafu doing absolutely nothing and beyond mocking bad special effects and the fake looks to the blood and unrealistic blood splatters. It’s easy between them and Brad is glad he has Snafu to do this with, even if Snafu is kind of a psycho sometimes. What they have is good, free from the bullshit Brad would get if he tried to turn to anyone else.

Not that Brad needs or needed help. He just needed a sounding board, if he needed anything at all, and Snafu is good at that. Even if sometimes his plans do tend to be a little less than flawless in theory or practice.

It isn’t until Sledge calls, asking if they want take out before he comes home that Brad puts forth the effort to push himself off of the couch and stretch. He ignores the way Snafu is watching him, phone clutched in his hand against his ear. “Thanks,” he says, stretching his arms up lazily, “but I’ve got shit to do.”

”Brad says he’s going,” Snafu says into the phone. He toys with the hem of his shirt idly, teasing his finger through a hole in the seam. “I don’t care what you get, just bring me back food. Lots of food.” Snafu pauses, then looks up at Brad. “You gonna take the last of your vodka?”

”Keep it,” Brad says, shaking his head. “I’ve got more at home. Consider it the last nice thing I’ve ever going to do for you, though.”

Snafu snorts softly and he looks at Brad like he’s delusional. Whatever he’s about to say is cut off by the tinny sound of Sledge over his cellphone’s speakers, and he makes a soft hmming sound as he listens to Sledge talk. He waves vaguely at Brad and it’s as good a goodbye as any, so Brad has no qualms in just taking his leave.

- - -

It doesn’t take nearly as long for Brad to get home as he wishes it would. Night is falling and the wind that buffets his body is cold. It wakes Brad up, chases the last of the vodka haze away. He knows this city’s streets like he knows the back of his hand, and no matter how hard he tries to focus on that, to lose himself in the details, that kind of relief won’t come to him.

Ray’s pickup truck is in its usual spot in the garage when Brad finally rolls back in, parked haphazardly. He’s home then, somewhere, and Brad’s only hope is that he’s alone and that Hoosier didn’t tag along with him.

It was hard enough to come to this decision as is. Brad doesn’t want time convince him it’s a very bad idea and forget all about it. They can’t afford for Brad to back out now - Nate can’t afford for Brad to change his mind on this.

He’s lucky then, that Ray is sitting alone at the kitchen table eating Chinese takeout. He doesn’t look up from his laptop when Brad comes into the kitchen, but he pushes a carton in Brad’s direction and says, “I was wondering if you were ever going to come home.”

”Had to think,” Brad says, shrugging off his leather coat and draping it over the back of one of the chairs. He grabs the sweet and sour chicken Ray pushed towards him and sits down at Ray’s side, stabbing at the chicken with a fork. It doesn’t make him feel better and yet somehow, it does.

Ray makes a thoughtful sound, tapping at his keyboard quickly before shutting the lid to his laptop. He looks at Brad, his expression guarded. “And what exactly did you need to spend all day thinking about?”

”It wasn’t all day,” Brad huffs, but it’s kind of a lie. He takes a bite of his food, more to give himself a chance to breathe, to think, before he answers than anything else. “I needed to think about Nate’s… deal.”

”Really?” Ray asks, blinking in surprise. He pauses with his fork halfway to his mouth and just stares at Brad for a second. He narrows his eyes. “And what exactly did you decide to do? Are you going to take him up on his offer to spread his legs?”

Brad shakes his head, “No.” He holds up his fork to silence Ray when Ray opens his mouth. Brad takes another bite from his food before putting the takeout container on the table and stabbing his fork back inside of it. “No,” Brad says again, looking at Ray. “I’m not. But you are.”

Ray’s eyes narrow again, his mouth forming a hard line, even through his confusion. “Okay,” he says slowly, watching Brad suspiciously. He puts his own food down and leans toward Brad. “And you can’t because…?”

”We’ve been over this, Ray,” Brad says. He sighs, leaning back in his seat. He doesn’t take his eyes off of Ray’s face and waits for the flicker of understanding to cross it. “I can’t,” Brad continues, and he has to bite his tongue to fight back the relief when Ray nods, face softening.

”I’ll take care of him,” Ray says, leaning back again. He grabs his food, stabbing his fork back into the chicken and takes a bite. He swallows and grins, winking at Brad. “Don’t worry about it. Nate’ll be fine in my expert hands and everyone gets to go home in one, lovely piece.”

Brad snorts his disbelief, and Ray just grins wider. He grabs his own food again to take another bite, only pausing for a second when he feels Ray’s bare toes poke up under the leg of his jeans, searching for skin. Brad rolls his eyes at Ray, but he doesn’t shove him away.

“This will all be over soon,” Brad says, because the silence is stretching on and he can only tolerate so much of Ray’s quiet understanding. “Do you still want to go to Rio?”

Ray’s face brightens up almost immediately. “Seriously? Has this case worked you up this badly that you’re willing to take me to Rio to work out your frustrations? Or do you just want to make an honest man out of me, Brad? I always figured we’d end up drunk in Las Vegas when you popped the question, so I gotta be honest - “

”Ray,” Brad says, cutting him off mid-tirade. He has to resist the urge to rub at his temples in irritation. “Just shut up and eat your goddamn dinner.” Brad doesn’t choke when Ray bats his eyelashes and responds with a mock-sultry anything you want, Pookie, but it’s kind of a close thing.

- - -

Nate is laying on the floor when Brad finally makes his way down to the basement, pillow under his head and hands resting on his stomach. His eyes are closed and his knees are drawn up, and he looks impossibly peaceful given the situation he’s in. Nate doesn’t get up when he hears the door open, but he turns his head to look over at Brad all the same.

There are pale bruises along Nate’s jaw, and Brad tries not to stare at them. He wipes a hand over his face slowly, trying to think of how to word himself. “Nate,” Brad starts, waiting for the younger boy to sit up and look at him proper before he continues. “You made an offer.”

”You’re going to take me up on it, then?” Nate asks. His fingers toy with the hem of his shirt, but he doesn’t tug it up and off like he did the last time Brad was down here. He watches Brad warily, biting at his lower lip.

”No,” Brad says, “I’m not.”

Nate doesn’t give Brad time to elaborate before he closes his eyes and lets out a shaky breath. His jaw trembles before he manages to clench it and his fingers tighten in his shirt. “So you’re going to kill me, then.”

”I didn’t say that,” Brad says. He ignores the disbelieving look on Nate’s face, watching with wry amusement as Nate inches back towards his corner as Brad crosses the room to sit on the bed. He lets his head hang for a second while he sucks in a breath, before looking at Nate again. “This is only going to happen if you’re absolutely sure. If you say yes now, there’s no coming back.”

It’s a lie, but Nate doesn’t need to know that. If Nate begged them to stop, begged for Ray to stop, Ray would. Just because Ray’s morals are looser than Brad’s, doesn’t mean they don’t exist. Brad doesn’t doubt any of this. He’s known and trusted Ray far too long to believe otherwise.

”I don’t understand,” Nate says slowly. He doesn’t relax, not really. His eyes shine, wet, but he doesn’t look away from Brad’s face and his expression is determined. “If you’re not going to - “ A pause, a soft inhale. Nate blinks slowly as realization kicks in, and he looks at the door. “Ray.”

”Ray,” Brad confirms. He isn’t sure what he expects to see on Nate’s face, but the calm understanding doesn’t surprise him. He looks away when Nate wipes at his eyes and nose, staring up at the security camera. “If you’re sure - “

”I’m sure,” Nate says, determined. He stops fidgeting, resting his hands on his lap when he looks up at Brad again. “Are you going to - “ A pause again and Nate swallows, “ - watch?”

Brad shakes his head, “I’ll go,” he says.

”Stay,” Nate says firmly. He’s clenching his jaw again, a determined look on his face. “Unless you don’t like - “

Brad snorts derisively and bites his tongue. “You want me to stay and watch Ray use you?” He asks, looking over at Nate again, really looking at him. The bruises on his face are dull and Brad can’t even pretend to deny he doesn’t want to watch Ray press more into Nate’s skin. As much as Brad hates to admit it, even to himself, he wants to know what Nate looks like when he finally breaks.

”I’ll make it good for you,” Nate says, and maybe he’s going for sultry and encouraging but really, he just sounds tired. Not that Brad can blame him. He stretches his arms over his head slowly, groaning, and Brad doesn’t bother to hide the fact he’s starting at the smooth skin on Nate’s stomach where his shirt hitches up.

Brad’s about to open his mouth to tell Nate to knock it off, it isn’t going to work, when the door the small room opens and Ray rests his hip against the jamb. He doesn’t say anything at first, just looks at Brad, and when Brad nods his head lightly a lazy smirk crosses Ray’s face. “Awesome.”

Nate looks between the two of them, his expression guarded. He shifts his weight until he’s sitting on his heels, palms resting flat against his thighs. “If I do this, I get to go home,” Nate says, glancing over at Brad. “You aren’t just going to change your mind.”

”To be fair, you really have no way to know that for sure,” Ray says, and Brad has to resist the urge to snap at him. “But yeah, hey. As far as guys in our line of work, we’re basically the most honest men you’re ever going to meet.”

”I’m absolutely charmed,” Nate says wryly, and Ray laughs at him. He brings his hands up to toy with the end of his shirt, torn between tugging it up and smoothing it down. “Should I - ?”

Ray makes a small sound before looking over at Brad again. He doesn’t ask Are you sure? but it’s obvious on his face. He waits for Brad to nod lightly before he smiles again and turns toward Nate. “Take off your shirt and get over here,” Ray says, stepping into the room proper and letting the door click locked behind him.

Nate obeys almost instantly, tugging his shirt up and off slowly before letting it fall to the floor. He shoots one last look in Brad’s direction before he pushes himself up to his feet in one smooth, graceful motion. It’s impossible to ignore the long lines of his body when he makes his way to Ray and slides to his knees just as easily as he stood.

Ray huffs out a breath, brushing his fingers along Nate’s face, the curve of his jaw. He smiles faintly when Nate tips his head into the touch and his eyes flicker shut. “So pretty,” Ray mutters. He runs his fingers through Nate’s hair slowly before he pulls away and tugs his own ratty T-shirt off. It falls to the floor and Ray kicks it out of the way.

It’s the end of the softness from Ray then, and Brad releases a breath he didn’t even realize he was holding. He doesn’t know what to do with himself while he watches Ray undo the buckle of his jeans, snapping it through the loops roughly. It’s not the first time Brad and Ray have been in a situation like this involving a third person. Brad shouldn’t feel so distant and awkward, but he does.

”Hold onto this for me,” Ray says, draping his belt around Nate’s shoulders carefully. He smirks when Nate adjusts it, making sure it doesn’t slide off of his shoulders, and Ray shoots a small triumphant smirk in Brad’s direction. “You smart enough to figure out what to do next?”

Nate doesn’t answer, not verbally. He brings his hands up to undo the button on Ray’s jeans, tugging the zipper down slowly. He shifts his weight, leaning closer towards Ray and presses a kiss along the line of Ray’s cock through his briefs. His face isn’t visible from where Brad’s sitting, but whatever Nate’s expression is, combined with his touch, it’s doing things to Ray.

Leaning back against the door, Ray pushes his jeans and briefs down his thighs slowly. He drags Nate forward by the belt draped around his neck and he doesn’t have to say anything for Nate to take the hint and suck Ray’s cock into his mouth. “Fuck,” Ray sighs, fisting a hand in Nate’s hair and tugging him closer.

Brad watches. He couldn’t look away, even if he wanted to. Not when Ray’s chest is starting to get flushed and sweaty as Nate sucks, obscenely loud and wet and his hand jacks off what doesn’t fit in his mouth. Brad ignores Ray’s curses and Jesus H Christ on a motherfucking crutch, Brad, fuck, you have no fucking idea what he can do with his tongue - and focuses on the way Nate’s fingers skim up Ray’s thighs slowly, tugging his jeans further down Ray’s legs until he can grab Ray’s ass and drag him forward, forcing him to fuck deeper into Nate’s mouth.

Ray gives Nate what he wants, as best as he can, spreading his legs as far apart as possible with his jeans tangled around his knees. His fingers tighten in Nate’s hair, holding him in place while he rocks his hips forward and fucks his cock deeper into Nate’s mouth. Ray doesn’t stop talking, either. The words spilling from his lips are as obscene as the quiet choking sounds Nate is making and the soft grunts and whines that escape Nate when Ray thrusts in deeper. Ray makes Nate take him as deep as he can before he sputters, but he doesn’t stop, and Nate doesn’t make him.

”Wait,” Ray breathes, his voice keening. He’s close, Brad knows Ray, would know it even if he didn’t just from the sounds he’s making and the way he’s biting at his lips. Ray tugs Nate’s hair, pulling him off of his cock. He tugs until Nate’s up on his knees, but stops him with a hand to his shoulder when Nate tries to stand. “Wait,” he says again.

Nate takes the hint well enough, pressing his fingers into Ray’s hips and makes small, encouraging sounds while Ray strokes his cock in rough, fast jerks. “Ray,” Nate moans, his voice rough, “Please.”

Ray makes a startled sound, letting out a haggard fuck as he comes. He works his cock through it, stroking himself and cursing. Ray’s got his free hand fisted in Nate’s hair, angling him where he wants him, and Ray doesn’t let go until his dick’s done pulsing and he has to catch Nate’s wrists to stop him from wiping his face.

Nate makes an inquisitive sound and Ray tightens his grip on Nate’s wrists.

”Don’t,” Ray tells Nate, his breathing ragged. He squeezes Nate’s wrists until Nate makes another sound, pained, before he lets them drop. “I want you to look at Brad. Fuck. Let him see you all marked up like that. Then, if you’re a good boy, I’ll fuck you so hard you scream ‘til you’re hoarse.”

There’s a long moment of silence where Brad and Ray wait for Nate to move, but he goes stock still. It’s not until Ray brings a hand up to touch Nate’s face, guiding his chin until he’s looking over his shoulder at Brad that he looks. His cheeks are flushed in embarrassment, his lips swollen and red even as he purses them together. Brad’s more focused on the way Ray’s come looks on his skin though, across his cheeks and sliding down the curve of his jaw. When it drips from his nose to Nate’s mouth, his tongue peaks out instinctively to wipe it away.

”Jesus fucking Christ,” Brad says, because it’s the only thing he can think to say. He presses a hand to the front of his jeans, against his dick straining up against the fabric, because he can’t even pretend this isn’t doing it for him anymore.

”I know, right?” Ray asks, a lopsided grin on his face. “Isn’t he just the prettiest fucking thing ever? You have no idea what you’re missing out on not letting him put those lips on you.”

Brad bites the inside of his cheek to keep from snapping at Ray or worse - changing his mind. He scoots back on the bed slowly until his back is against the metal frame of the headboard and gives Ray a pointed look. He stops pressing against his dick to pull a tube of lube out of his pocket and the grin on Ray’s face goes manic.

”Get naked and get on the bed,” Ray says, running his fingers through Nate’s hair slowly. “Don’t lose my belt or I’ll have to beat you with it.”

Nate shudders softly, his eyes closing and he looks forward again. He pushes himself to his feet shakily and starts to fumble with his jeans, pushing them down his legs slowly, thumbs hooking into the elastic of his boxers to drag them down, too. It’s an awkward action, watching Nate hesitate as he kicks off the last of his clothes before standing naked, his head tipped down and his flush extending to his ears.

”Bed,” Ray reminds Nate, pressing against his chest lightly. “Face Brad.” He cocks his head to the side as he watches Nate obey, before he meets Brad gaze. It’s impossible to tell what Ray’s thinking right now, even with the years of experience Brad has, but whatever is making his expression so unreadable is gone when he shakes his head and pushes off his own jeans the rest of the way. “I hope you have condoms because I sure as fuck am not stopping to fetch them.”

”I’ve got you covered,” Brad says, but he doesn’t look at Ray. Doesn’t see why he would want to when Nate is sitting on his heels across from Brad, staring at his own lap. Brad watches Nate curl his fingers into his thighs, fighting to resist the urge to wipe his face and it must be driving him crazy - though because the come is there in the first place or because it’s Ray’s, Brad isn’t sure.

The bed groans under Ray’s weight when he climbs onto the mattress behind Nate, urging him forward a few inches until Nate’s knees are brushing Brad’s own. “You sure you don’t want this?” Ray asks. He presses a kiss against the back of Nate’s neck before looking at Brad over a pale, sloped shoulder and quirks an eyebrow. “When’s the last time you saw something this pretty? I’d even let you go first.”

Nate’s fingers go tense against his thighs before he smooths them out, like he isn’t quite sure what to do about Ray peppering his skin with soft kisses. He glances up to meet Brad’s gaze, finally, his green eyes impossibly bright. “It’s okay,” Nate says, and his voice is rough around the edges.

”Just do it already,” Brad says, tossing the container of slick. He smiles when Nate catches it easily and pushes himself forward. He leans in close enough to wipe a hand over Nate’s face, cleaning away some of the mess Ray made, and the look Nate sends him is grateful. Brad ignores it and wipes his hand on the blanket at his side. “Ray.”

”Right,” Ray says, nodding his head in agreement. He nips at Nate’s shoulder roughly, causing Nate to startle slightly. He reaches around Nate for the slick, which Nate hands him without comment, and he bites Nate again. His teeth worry the skin where Nate’s neck meets his shoulder and Ray watches Brad out of half lidded eyes.

The snap of the lube being opened has Nate’s eyes snapping open, and he spreads his legs wider instinctively. Nate wipes at his face with one hand, clumsily smearing Ray’s come across his skin, before he bites down on the knuckle of a finger to fight back the small sound that escapes the back of his throat. His eyes are wide, bright, but he doesn’t look scared, not like he should.

It’s impossible for Brad to see just what Ray’s doing, but judging by the small sounds Nate is making, it’s pretty easy to guess. His fingers are curled around one bony hip, holding Nate in place while he works him open.

Nate’s eyes are glassy and locked on Brad’s, the flush in his cheeks high and bright and he looks so impossibly pretty right now. He lets Ray tug his hand away from his mouth so he has no choice but to let them hear his moans.

”Move,” Ray says, eventually. His fingers trace circles on Nate’s hipbones slowly. His forehead is pressed against Nate’s shoulder, hiding his face and muffling his voice. “Fuck yourself on my fingers. Jesus, you’re so fucking tight. Can’t wait to feel you on my fucking cock. You ever done this before, Nate? Ever let someone else shove their fingers up your ass? Ever used your own?”

There’s no answer from Nate. He shifts his weight, clumsily balancing his palms on the blanket between his spread thighs. He splays his fingers out, head dropping and cutting the contact between his and Brad’s gaze. It’s hesitant when he starts to move, awkward, and Brad thinks that’s answer enough for Ray’s question. Nate doesn’t know what he’s doing, not really, but he’s trying and he’s not complaining.

Really, it’s kind of a shame that this is how Nate has come into their lives and their bed - relatively speaking, anyway. His silent obedience is doing things to the both of them, Brad and Ray, Brad is sure, even if the consent of it all is dubious at best. Still, Nate is moaning softly and rocking his hips back onto Ray’s fingers.

The slew of obscenities spilling from Ray’s lips doesn’t stop, but his voice does drop until he’s barely a rumble over the blood pounding in Brad’s ears, through his veins. Ray’s nails are biting into Nate’s hip, and he doesn’t relax them even when he tells Nate to stop. He wipes his slick fingers on Nate’s hips as almost an idle action, before he snaps and opens his palm. “Belt and condom, now.”

A shudder runs through Nate at Ray’s words, and he cocks his head up to look at Brad again from under his lashes. He licks his lips slowly when Brad arches his hips up to get a hand in his pocket to pull out the strip of condoms, holding them out for Ray. Nate takes them carefully and slowly tugs the leather belt from around his neck, pushing both items into Ray’s fist.

”Good boy,” Ray says, smirking. He drops the condoms into his lap but bites the belt between his teeth. Ray’s fingers skim over Nate’s shoulders slowly, down his biceps, and he guides Nate’s arms behind his back slowly. “It kind of sucks that we can’t keep you,” Ray says around the leather in his mouth and when Nate goes tense at the words, Ray runs a hand over his back soothingly. “Relax, or this is really going to fucking hurt.”

Nate hangs his head again, trembling slightly, but he lets Ray make a loop with his belt and bind Nate’s wrists together behind his back. His jaw clenches when Ray drags the leather together tight, exhaling sharply.

Brad watches him carefully for any sign of discomfort, but if it bothers Nate that much, he doesn’t say anything. His chest is heaving slightly, manic, and he’s trembling in anticipation. When Ray pulls away to crawl off the bed, and unlatch the footboard, letting it fold over onto itself and giving Ray more room to work with, Nate’s eyes snap open again and he looks over his shoulder. “What - “

”Shut up,” Ray says idly. He gets a knee on the bed and reaches for Nate’s arm, tugging him back on the bed. “Trust me,” he adds, more so to himself, but he’s already let go of Nate and ripped open a condom. With a hand to the top of Nate’s spine, Ray guides Nate down until his shoulders touch the mattress and his ass in the air. Ray flashes a smirk at Brad before he drops his gaze, running his fingers over the curve of Nate’s ass. “Jesus fuck.”

Nate makes a small sound, wiggling his hips slightly. It’s hard to tell if he’s doing it out of nervousness and anticipation, or if he’s trying to be enticing. It gets Ray to bring the back of his hand down on Nate’s ass, the smack more loud than rough, and Nate jumps and cries out at the touch, startled.

Ray blinks up at Brad, lips slightly parted. “Hold onto that train of thought,” he says, rubbing his knuckles along where he smacked Nate. “We’ll come back to that.” He rolls on a condom slowly and tugs Nate’s hips, urging him down the bed a little bit more. He presses his fingers back into Nate, checking to make sure he’s okay, before he’s pulling them out and replacing them with his cock without warning.

The sound Nate makes is somewhere between a gasp and a groan, like he can’t quite make up his mind. It goes straight to Brad’s groin, and he gives up on pretending this isn’t doing things to him, that rubbing the heel of his palm along the line of his dick is going to be enough. He’ll come in his pants if he keeps this up, and that’s the last thing Brad needs right now.

Ray rocks his hips forward slowly, pushing into Nate a pinch before pulling out and pressing forward again, sliding a little bit deeper each time. The motions are steady, almost gentle, and he doesn’t stop until his hips are pressed flush against Nate’s ass and he’s buried deep. ”Fuck,” Ray groans, digging his fingers into Nate’s hips tightly. “So fucking tight, Brad. He’s so fucking good. Oh, Jesus fucking Christ - “

Brad ignores Ray’s words in favor of focusing on the way Nate’s fingers clench into the blanket, the glassy look in his eyes in such pretty contrast to the flush that’s burning brightly over his face and the soft pants coming from Nate’s parted lips. Popping the button on his jeans shouldn’t be as much of a relief as it is, but his cock is throbbing and he needs to get a hand on himself now or he’s going to lose his mind.

Nate’s eyes blink blearily up at Brad before he drops his gaze to Brad’s hands, licking his lips when Brad tugs down his zipper and cants his hips up to ease his jeans and shorts down his hips slightly to free his cock and give him more room to work with. He moans softly, and it’s impossible to tell if it’s from Ray pulling out and thrusting back in or the sight of Brad fisting his cock in front of Nate’s face.

”Nate,” Ray moans brokenly. He digs his fingers into Nate’s skin until they’re sure to leave bruises, his knuckles going white from his grip, but Nate doesn’t complain about it. Ray fucks into him harder, faster, his hips snapping forward and the sound of skin on skin joins the sound of Ray’s rough breaths and filthy promises and the groans being torn from Nate’s lips with every sharp snap of Ray’s hips into him.

At first, Nate just takes it. He keeps sliding forward every time Ray’s hips meet his ass, pushed forward by every thrust. He grunts when Ray bottoms out and tries to push back for more, tries to stop sliding forward. Nate manages to twist his body enough to dig a shoulder into the mattress, and it helps keep him in place, but not much.

It means his face is hidden from Brad, and that shouldn’t suck as much as it does. Brad ignores it though, watches the sweat slick down Nate’s skin along his spine and listens to the needy sounds escaping from the back of Nate’s throat. He has to force himself to relax his grip on his cock, to slow down the long strokes or he’s going to come long before this over. He can’t help it though, not when Ray is forcing the most obscene sounds out of Nate’s pretty lips ever.

Ray makes a sound, something small and almost pained, and it’s a sure a sign as any that he’s getting close to the edge, ready to topple over. He lets go of one of Nate’s sweaty hips with one hand, nudging Nate’s thighs further apart and then presses down on the back of Nate’s neck, forcing him further into the mattress and holding him in place. It changes the angle Ray’s cock is sliding into Nate and Nate cries out sharply in surprise.

”Ray,” Nate gasps out and he presses his knees into the mattress, pushing back for more. “Ray, please,” Nate begs, and even though he isn’t asking for anything specific, can’t seem to make any noises beyond desperate whines and moans, Ray gets the hint. Nate cries out every time Ray slams into him, struggling so hard to hold himself in place and push back to meet every snap of Ray’s hips.

Brad doesn’t know where to look, isn’t sure what’s more important; the way Nate’s muscles are trembling under his flushed and sweaty skin or the way Ray is white knuckling Nate’s hip, his own lip pinched between his teeth as he tries to hold back. It’s difficult not to lose himself in the sound of Nate begging, even over the pounding of blood in his ears. Brad’s biting his own lip to keep himself back, digging his nails in his thighs because he can’t stop stroking himself, thankful for the smear of precome even if it is still too dry, too rough, because Brad really fucking needs this.

Nate howls when Ray thrusts into him again he topples over, his knees giving out underneath him. Ray struggles to hold himself up over Nate, to hold onto his hip, but he sinks his teeth into Nate’s shoulder and the sound he makes is nigh on pathetic. They both tremble through the aftershocks, Ray’s body pinning Nate’s to the mattress, and they’re so close Brad could touch them, if he wanted.

Ray doesn’t pull out, not right away, and his chest is heaving as he tries to catch his breath. He pushes himself up on wobbly arms, looking at Brad through blown out pupils, glancing from his face to his cock and licking his lips. “Nate,” Ray says, sitting back on his heels over the back of Nate’s thighs. “Look at Brad.”

Nate obeys instantly, resting his chin on the mattress and peering up at Brad from under his lashes, eyes bright and cheeks flushed, and it’s enough. Brad comes with a bitten off groan all over his fist and the mattress and his jeans. “Fuck,” Brad groans, slumping back against the headboard.

Ray laughs, high and pained sounding. “No fucking kidding,” he says, his voice shaky. He tugs off his condom and knots it, letting it fall over the edge of the mattress and onto the floor. Brad should complain, should be disgusted, but he doesn’t have it in him to do any more than shoot Ray a reproachful look. “I don’t think I can feel my legs.”

A small sound rumbles from Nate’s chest, but he presses his cheek back against the mattress and closes his eyes. He doesn’t flinch when Ray starts to untie him, easing Nate’s arms back down onto the mattress at his sides. He looks small and tired and used and Brad has no doubts if it wasn’t for human biology, Ray would be asking for another round.

”What next?” Ray asks. He drags his knuckles along Nate’s spine slowly, probably subconsciously, and Nate makes a pleased, humming sound. Ray stops, and there’s a wry little smile on his face.

Brad doesn’t answer right away, trying to catch his breath. He makes a face, smearing his come on his fingers, before he wipes his hand on the blanket at his side. He’s going to have to wash the damn thing, anyways. “Did you come?” Brad asks, waiting for Nate to make a small sound and nod weakly. “Call his dad. Tell him Godfather is trading in the cash for a favor instead. Let him think it’s over, for now.”

”Okay,” Ray says softly. He ducks down to kiss a bite mark on Nate’s shoulder, nipping at it lightly. He pushes himself up off the bed, wobbling on his knees slightly before he makes his way over to his jeans and he pulls them on. He whistles, punching in the code and slipping out of the small room, leaving the rest of his clothes where they lay.

Shaking his head, Brad tucks himself back in and pulls his jeans up. He zips and buttons them, but he doesn’t bother with his belt. He’s going to be kicking them off for something clean shortly anyways. “If you tell anyone what happened here, we’ll have to kill you,” Brad says softly, pushing himself off of the bed carefully to avoid jostling Nate any. He stops at the foot of the bed to look at Nate, letting his eyes roam over the long lines of his body slowly, memorizing how he looks like this. “Not even your daddy will be able to protect you.”

Nate makes a small sound, turning his head to look at Brad out of half-lidded eyes. “’m not stupid,” he mutters, and there’s a hint of annoyance under his exhaustion. It makes Brad snort and Nate furrows his brows slightly. “Family would think I was crazy, anyways.”

”Yeah, well,” Brad starts. He shakes his head and bites his tongue, doesn’t mention that he wouldn’t be surprised if Nate ended up in therapy after this chain of events in the least. “Go to sleep, kid. You’ll be home soon.”

”’m not a kid,” Nate says blearily, but he doesn’t bother to fight Brad’s words. It’ll make it easier this way, if he drifts off. He won’t resist when Brad presses a rag drenched in chloroform to his face, covering his airways with it. Nate’s exit, his freedom, will be quick and painless. He’ll still be alive for it, even.

Brad’s just glad that this is finally over.

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