gk, you who are my home, 1/9, nc17, brad/nate/ray, 9,734

[sephirothflame]

Brad

It starts with a phone call.

It’s three in the morning and Brad is stretched out on the couch, half empty beer can in one hand and the TV remote in the other. He can’t decide between the ridiculousness of Stonehenge Apocalypse or an episode of Mythbusters he’s seen time and time again.

Ray stopped complaining about his indecision a while ago, drifting off to sleep with his head in Brad’s lap. It’s an annoying sound, but it’s so much softer than Ray’s normal tirades and off-key, colorful lyrics, so Brad doesn’t wake him. If Ray starts drooling on Brad’s jeans again though, Brad won’t hesitate to change that. Ray isn’t nearly as charming as he thinks he is when he’s slobbering all over Brad’s thigh in his sleep.

Brad’s just starting to accept his fate of having nothing to watch and of being a pillow when his phone vibrates against his hip. He balances the remote on Ray’s side carefully, and tucks the can between his thighs. It’s hard to get at his phone without jostling Ray. Ray doesn’t wake though, just makes a face and nuzzles in closer.

It’s kind of distracting in a bad way, but Brad pushes those idle thoughts to the back of his mind and checks his caller ID. When he sees Godfather flashing at him in LED lights, he feels a creep of resignation that always sets in when Godfather calls.

”Godfather,” Brad says when he answers his phone. He rests his free hand on Ray’s neck, his thumb rubbing the soft spot behind Ray’s ear slowly.

”Iceman,” Godfather replies simply. The speaker on the phone makes Godfather’s raspy voice even worse than usual, and Brad turns down the TV to actively pay attention and catch his words. “There’s a job for you.”

”Sir,” Brad acknowledges. “What kind of job?”

”The kind where no one gets hurt just yet,” Godfather replies. “A friend needs to be reminded that Godfather was good to him. Christopher Fick.”

Brad closes his eyes for a second and tries to recall the face that goes with the name. It’s not hard. Brad would know the Senator even if he hadn’t taken a loan from the mob. “He borrowed money for his gambling debt.”

”Yes,” Godfather says. “Twenty-five thousand dollars. Fick needs to be reminded that this money was not a gift and that Godfather does not run a charity.”

”Does he have a timeline?” Brad asks. He stops stroking the spot behind Ray’s ear when Ray twitches, stirring.

”One week,” Godfather answers. “Sunday. Twenty-three hundred and fifty nine minutes. On Monday morning, Godfather expects his money.”

Godfather doesn’t actually have to say anything else for the message to be clear. Brad doesn’t know what Godfather plans to have done if the Senator falls through with the payment, but Brad wouldn’t want to be in that position. Ever.

”Understood, Sir,” Brad says.

Ray yawns and stretches. The remote falls behind him and disappears between the cushions of the couch. He blinks up at Brad slowly, rubbing his eyes like a tired child. If Brad were more of the affectionate type and didn’t actually know Joshua Ray Person, he’d almost call him adorable. “Brad?”

Brad covers Ray’s mouth with his hand, and Ray doesn’t fight it. “I’ll make sure your message is passed on before the end of the day.”

”Good,” Godfather says. “I’m trusting you and Rockstar to not fuck this up.” It’s almost a compliment. Godfather hangs up without saying goodbye.

”Sir,” Brad says sarcastically. He clicks off his phone and tucks it back into his pocket. As an afterthought, he removes his hand from over Ray’s mouth and wipes it on Ray’s shoulder just to be safe. “We’ve got a job.”

”Yeah?” Ray asks. He rolls onto his back, and he’s still staring up at Brad through half-lidded eyes. His shirt is hitched up his stomach, and Ray’s fingers fidget with them hem idly. The dark hair of his happy trail is distracting. “What’s Godfather doing up this late? Jesus. Fucking asshole.”

”The Senator,” Brad says, ignoring Ray. There’s no good place to rest his hand when Ray’s on his back, so Brad settles it over Ray’s chest and starts to drum his fingers lightly. “We need to pay him a visit to remind him where his money came from.” Brad sighs, tipping his head back against the couch cushions and stares up at the ceiling. “You still have the file on him?”

Brad doesn’t have to be looking at Ray to know Ray is looking at him like he’s an idiot. “Homes, I never get rid of files. Who the fuck knows when we can come back to somebody?”

It’s a fair point. One that Brad will concede easily, even.

”We’ve got work to do.”

- - -

Brad is awake before his alarm goes off. He stares at the red LED lights for a second, wiping at his eyes tiredly, before he reaches up and turns the alarm off. He rolls out of bed slowly, stretching as he stands. Sometimes Brad hates it when he is up before the crack of dawn. At least on the beach he could go surfing. But here? There’s no reason to be up this early unless he has a job to do.

A job that has him going out of his way to the other side of the city, but Brad knows better to complain. At least there won’t be traffic.

He gets dressed quietly, without bothering to turn the lights on. It’s easy, familiar. Practical. It has nothing to do with the fact that Ray is still sprawled fast asleep on the far side of Brad’s bed. He’s snoring again, and probably drooling, and there’s absolutely nothing charming about the way he’s slowly inching over to claim the warm spot where Brad had been.

Brad’s pretty sure he’s got a bruise or two from Ray’s bony ankles and elbows hitting him last night. He always forgets that Ray is a terrible person to share a bed with, but Ray always finds a way to worm his way under Brad’s covers despite Brad’s objections. Brad’s still not sure how that works out.

Either way, Brad is awake enough to feel no guilt when he yanks the covers down away from Ray and lets them fall to the floor. “Get up.”

Ray whines, loud and pathetically, curling up on his side. “Fuck you,” he groans, kicking a foot out in Brad’s direction. He misses by a mile, but it seems to make him feel better. “The alarm hasn’t even gone off.”

”I’ll turn on the lights,” Brad threatens. He grabs Ray’s ankle when he kicks out again and tugs Ray down the bed. “Get your lazy, whiskey tango ass out of my bed, Person. Put on some clothes. We’ve got a job to do.”

”I hate you,” Ray says bitterly. He tugs his ankle free from Brad’s grasp and sits up slowly. He yawns, wiping his eyes half-heartedly and glowers at Brad. “You know, just because the Senator likes to go jogging at ass o’clock in the morning doesn’t mean this is when we’ve gotta jump him.”

”It’s a Saturday,” Brad says blandly. “The Senator will be at his office for a short period of time, then home with his family. This early in the morning is the only time you can take out Wynn while I deliver the message.”

”Yeah, about that,” Ray says. He stretches his arms above him and his legs spread easily on either side of Brad’s hips. The muscles tense for a second, before Ray’s entire body goes slack and he flops back onto the bed. “Why can’t I kill Wynn? Won’t he just get in the way again later?”

”Ray,” Brad says tiredly, bringing a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “You know why we can’t kill Wynn. Godfather won’t be happy about a dead body floating around and I’ll be the one punished for you being a stubborn, inbred hick who can’t follow directions. Stop wasting time and get dressed.”

Ray hooks his ankles around the back of Brad’s knees and tugs lightly. “Chill, homes. We’ve got like half an hour before we have to go anywhere. Wouldn’t you rather get naked first?”

”No,” Brad scowls. He pinches the back of Ray’s shin roughly, and backs out of Ray’s reach before he can lash out with his legs. “I’m going to go double check the file.”

”Brad, seriously, you’ve already double and triple checked the file,” Ray huffs out. He pushes himself up onto his elbows and scowls. “It’s only been a few weeks since we’ve had to stalk the man, I doubt his routine has changed that much. It’s the same basic thing he’s been doing for years now.”

Brad knows Ray is right. Dealing with Senators is complicated though, especially when they’ve got smart men like Wynn on their security detail. It’s too risky to let any details slip by. If they fuck up, they can get hurt. If they piss Godfather off by fucking up, they will definitely be feeling the hurt one way or another and Brad isn’t looking forward to his body washing up along the Potomac somewhere.

Ray’s looking at Brad like he knows what Brad’s thinking, and maybe he does. They’ve been doing this job together for long enough to be able to read each other, to know what the other is thinking and feeling even without speaking. Sighing heavily, Ray pushes himself up into a sitting position, his legs hanging over the edge of the bed, and he runs a hand through his short, messy hair. “Okay, okay. But if you’re hitting that coffee house, bring me something back.”

”You’re an idiot,” Brad says, but it’s without any real inflection. He doesn’t say ‘no’ though, and it probably has something to do with the reason Ray is suddenly smiling up at him. Brad scowls at him, shaking his head and leaving the room. “Work, Ray.”

”I know, I know,” Ray bitches. He stumbles after Brad tiredly, rubbing at his eyes and yawning as he trails off to his own bedroom to find clothes.

Brad takes a moment to stop outside Ray’s door and watch him stumble around for clothes, before shaking his head and sighing. Ray is a complicated, pain in the ass, but Brad wouldn’t trust anyone else to have his six with a job like this. Or any job, really.

- - -

The sun is just barely over the horizon when Brad makes it to the little coffee shop where Christopher Fick likes to go after his morning runs. He leans against the brick wall at the front of the building with an unlit cigarette dangling between his lips. His Android is in his fingers as he pretends to check the weather and the news while he waits.

Here in this part of DC no one bothers him. No one could care less about one guy leaning against a building and keeping to himself, just waiting. Closer to the heart of the city, the fact he’s been leaning against a building and rolling the same cancer stick in his mouth for twenty minutes might draw attention to him, but not out here. No one cares. It’s perfect.

Brad doesn’t have to wait long. He’s just finished skimming the breaking news headlines from CNN when he catches his target out of the corner of his eyes. Brad keeps his gaze down, the bill of his baseball cap shadowing his face, and he hopes that the Senator is too focused on his feet hitting the cement and the music from his iPod to notice Brad.

And in a show of good luck for Brad, he is. It’s not until Fick is in front of Brad, Brad reaching out to curl his fingers around Fick’s elbows tightly, does the Senator even notice Brad’s there.

”We need to talk,” Brad says calmly.

Fick struggles lightly, startled. His face goes ashen when he looks at who’s holding his arm, and he stops struggling altogether. “Now really isn’t a good time - “

Brad tugs the Senator’s elbow lightly, leading him to the side of the building. It’s shadowed, but not terribly so, and Brad is careful to keep his grip just tight enough to keep Fick from fleeing and his expression light enough to detract attention. They’re just two guys getting out of the way of the city’s sleepy inhabitants as they stumble in for their morning addictions.

”You should count yourself lucky,” Brad says. He lets go of Fick’s elbow. He watches green eyes flick between Brad and the street, weighing his odds of getting out of here. Brad steps closer, draws up his height, and Fick melts back against the side of the building. “Godfather hasn’t tacked on any interest on the loan he gave you. Five months is a long time to go without paying him back.”

Fick holds up his hands in a placating, disarming gesture. When Brad doesn’t outright threaten him, or pull a gun, he relaxes. He stands to his full height, claiming the space. He was startled, he’s intimidated, and he hasn’t had his coffee yet, but it doesn’t change the fact he’s one hell of a politician. Even if he is corrupt.

“Godfather said I had six months,” the Senator says. “I’ve still got a month left to come up with the money.”

”Godfather changed his mind,” Brad replies coolly. “He’s given you one week to pay back the money you owe.”

”Son of a - “ Fick says. He pinches the bridge of his nose, before shooting Brad a pissed off look. “I don’t have that kind of money lying around. I need more time.”

”While we’ve been chatting here, my associate has taken it upon himself to take out the man in charge of your private security detail,” Brad says. “Wynn. Good man. Good record.”

”No!”

Brad ignores Fick’s interruption and keeps talking. “He’ll live,” Brad says coolly. “Next time, we won’t be so nice and we’ll grab one of your kids. Godfather wants his money.”

”You leave my kids out of this,” Fick says, his voice shaking. “They’ve got nothing to do with any of this.”

”This is your only warning,” Brad says. He stares at the Senator unblinkingly until Fick’s steely gaze breaks and he looks back out at the street. “You’ll hear from someone in a few days as a reminder.”

”Fuck you,” Fick says. “Tell Godfather I’ll get him his Goddamn money.”

”I certainly hope so,” Brad replies icily. “I’d hate to have to hurt one of your girls.”

Fick lashes out at Brad with a fist but despite the suddenness of it, Brad blocks the blow easily. He shoves Fick back against the wall, but doesn’t hit him.

”I’d be careful about who I throw punches at, and where,” Brad says. “You are still a Senator.”

Shoving his hands into the pockets of his coat, Brad turns on his heel and leaves Christopher Fick alone against the side of the building. He doesn’t have to look to know the Senator only takes a second to freak out before regaining his composure. Brad bets dollars to doughnuts the man is going to go inside and buy a coffee before he goes home and breaks down.

Brad’s already back on his bike and halfway across the city before he remembers Ray wanted coffee. There’s no way for Brad to carry it though, so he shakes his head and focuses on getting home without a tail. He doubts anyone was watching him with the Senator, but it never hurts to be careful.

- - -

Ray isn’t home when Brad gets back, but Brad isn’t worried. It’s actually kind of nice to have the house to himself. It’s quiet. It’ll give Brad time and chance to tidy up and wash dishes, to step in the shower and just think without Ray rambling and distracting him.

Before Brad can do any of that, though, he has to make a phone call. It doesn’t take long. Godfather picks up on the third ring and Brad simply says, “The message has been passed on.”

”Good,” Godfather says. “Don’t fuck this up.”

”Of course not,” Brad says, and it’s almost insulting. There’s a reason Brad is always chosen for ops. He’s not just good, he’s the best.

”Call if you have to resort to Stage Two,” Godfather replies, and before Brad can agree, Godfather hangs up and Brad is left listening to the dial tone.

He debates, briefly, calling Ray and checking in on him. He decides against it though because one) Ray can take care of himself, he is a grown-ass man and two) he doesn’t want to interrupt Ray if he’s failed to complete the job yet. Ray knows his stuff, knows what he’s doing. Brad isn’t worried about him. Not yet.

There’s nothing for Brad to do but wait.

- - -

”Do you ever think you’re in the wrong line of work?” Ray asks. He’s barely in the door and already stripping out of his clothes and his shoes, letting them fall to the floor and leaving them there.

Brad doesn’t know what spawned the question, but he doubts Ray is asking because of an existential crisis. “Where the fuck have you been?”

”Ran into Kocher, traded intel. Found Meesh. Fucker tried to rip me off,” Ray says, waving a hand dismissively. “Don’t worry, I took care of Wynn. He got carted off in an ambulance before he bled to death, didn’t see me. I know what I’m doing.”

There are moments, times like now, where Brad wishes he could swallow his gun. Banging his head on the wall just doesn’t cut it these days. He brings a hand up to rub at his temples, trying to quell the start of a headache. “Ray.”

”Anyways, back to my original question,” Ray says. He checks the safety on his gun before he tosses it onto the arm of the couch, the matte black surface of it only visible for a moment before it falls over the edge. Ray is totally indifferent to it, pulling his belt through the loops of his jeans before he tosses it aside as well and forces his way onto Brad’s lap.

Brad’s hands rise instinctively to hold Ray’s hips. He tries to push Ray away, but Ray’s thighs tighten on either side of Brad’s lap and he grabs onto Brad’s shoulders. “Ray - “

”I mean, think about it,” Ray continues. He pinches one of Brad’s nipples through his shirt and Brad squirms, backhanding Ray in the stomach roughly. “Ow, fucker!” He glowers at Brad, but doesn’t retaliate, tracing his thumbs along Brad’s jaw. “It’s not like we can go around advertising what we do to pick up chicks.”

”You dislike the job because it doesn’t get your dick wet?” Brad asks, quirking an eyebrow. He doesn’t ask if he’s not good enough, because there’s no way he’s letting the wiry motherfucker top him any time soon. Brad would say ever, but Ray has a way with words, when he wants to.

”And because the dental plan sucks,” Ray says, nodding. “Speaking of which, you should probably suck me off.”

”And why the fuck would I want to do that?” Brad asks. He isn’t opposed to the thought on principle and he’s used to Ray’s shitty segues, but Ray’s attitude could use some work. He can hardly reward negative behaviors. Still, it doesn’t stop him from dragging his thumbs along Ray’s hipbones slowly.

”Because I’ll return the favor?” Ray tries. He blinks at Brad slowly, but the innocent look only lasts for a second before a grin spreads across Ray’s face. “Wait, homes, did I tell you I ran into Eric?”

Scraping his nails across Ray’s skin slowly, Brad starts to undo the buttons on Ray’s jeans. “You may have mentioned it,” Brad comments. He takes his time, popping them one by one, and Ray arches his hips forward impatiently. “You traded intel.”

”What?” Ray asks, distracted. “Oh, yeah. He was doing some touch up work for Godfather’s files I guess, or something. Who the fuck knows what Godfather wants these days. Anyway - “ Ray’s breath stutters when Brad gets a hand on him, and he tightens his grip on Brad’s shoulders “ - he says the Fick boy is back in town for Spring Break.”

Brad pauses, looking up at Ray’s face. He pulls his hand out of the front of Ray’s jeans when Ray arches his hips forward again, and Brad grabs Ray’s hips to keep him still. “The son’s in town? How long?”

”You seriously want to talk about this now?” Ray asks incredulously. “Homes, we’re kind of in the middle of something here.” He squirms in Brad’s grip, making a frustrated sound when Brad just tightens his hold on Ray and keeps him tethered in place. “Fuck you, Brad.”

”Ray,” Brad says, annoyed. “Just answer the damn question.”

”I don’t know. Eric and I weren’t really in the kind of place where we can swap the dirty details,” Ray says, equally as frustrated. “Brad, if you don’t touch my dick right now, I swear to God I’m going to punch you in the face.”

For a moment, Brad is genuinely torn between obeying Ray and calling Kocher to get whatever details he has to offer. He hates being thrown for a curveball in the middle of an operation, but for once, this little piece of information might work to Brad’s advantage.

Part of Brad’s thought line must show on his face, because Ray makes an impatient sound and lets go of Brad’s shoulders. “Fuck you,” Ray scowls, and he shoves a hand down the front of his jeans. He moans, tipping his head back, and starts to stroke himself in earnest. “I’ll just do it - ah - myself.”

”You’re so impatient,” Brad says, shaking his head. He drags Ray forward by his hips, leaning closer to nip at Ray’s earlobe lightly, breathing hotly against his ear. “Stop.”

Ray makes an impatient sound, but he stops. He grabs both of Brad’s shoulders again and mouths at the curve of Brad’s jaw in impatience. “Come on, Brad, Jesus fuck. You can’t leave a guy hanging like this.”

And Brad knows he shouldn’t encourage Ray’s behavior, but it’s insane to think he could actually control any part of Ray in the first place. He heaves a put upon sigh before he tugs at Ray’s jeans. Ray arches his hips up, making it easier for Brad to pull them further down Ray’s thighs and out of the way before Ray settles in his lap again. Brad wraps his fingers around Ray loosely. “Tell me everything you know.”

”Right now?” Ray asks, his breath catching. When he tries to roll his hips up to meet Brad’s fist, Brad slackens his grip. “Fuck, I don’t know. Nathaniel Fick. Goes to Dartmouth. Used to do Track or something. Twenties.” He whines impatiently, reaching for himself again, but Brad catches his wrist. “Goddammit, Brad. Now is not the time for you to get kinky on me. Especially if you’re not going to blow me, you giant circumcised dick.”

Everything Ray has to offer is pretty much what Brad recalls their file on Christopher Fick as saying. They hadn’t done a ton of research on the Fick son since he didn’t seem to be majorly important to the grand scheme of things because he didn’t live at home most of the year. It means they don’t have much on his routine, but it might be easier to grab him then one of the girls should it come to phase two. People would be less likely to ask questions when Nate went missing.

”Brad,” Ray whines. He tugs his wrist away from Brad and fists his fingers into the front of Brad’s shirt, digging his nails into Brad’s shoulder with the other. He doesn’t roll his hips up for more, but Brad knows Ray well enough to know that it’s a bitch for Ray to fight the urge. “Goddammit.”

”Shh,” Brad whispers soothingly against Ray’s cheek. He waits until Ray stops fidgeting impatiently and relaxes his grip on Brad before Brad tightens his grip and starts to stroke Ray off proper.

- - -

Eric is already seated at the diner when Brad shows up, picking at some cheesy chili fries while he waits. He doesn’t look up when Brad joins him, but he doesn’t look surprised, either. He’s been surprisingly uninterested about everything since Brad called him for a meeting. “So, you know normally I couldn’t care less about finding out what your jobs are.”

”Then don’t ask,” Brad replies. He shakes his head when Eric nudges the plate towards him, resting his elbows on the table and leaning forward. “Don’t tell me you haven’t figured it out already.”

”Man, the minute you called I knew how this was going to go down,” Eric says. He continues to pick at his food for a minute before he gives up and wipes his hand on a napkin. “Just wait a second. Trust me.”

Brad is suspicious of the words, but he doesn’t let it show. He does trust Eric, because Eric is one of the few men Brad has actually seen do his job and he does it very well. He serves under Captain America though, so Brad’s not sure how far Eric’s sanity is stretched and, if it hasn’t snapped yet, how much longer it will last. Before Brad can say anything, Eric shoots Brad a pointed look before slowly trailing his eyes in the direction of their waiter.

It’s a boy. Or man, technically, but boy seems to fit the soft features much more appropriately. There’s a nametag sticker on his chest, but Brad just has to look at the dark gray ‘D’ on the faded green T-shirt to know why Eric said they should meet here. “Hi, I’m Nate,” he says, smiling brightly. He taps his pencil against the order pad in time with the music humming from the radio. “Can I get you anything?”

Brad shoots Eric a suspicious glance, before looking at Nate again. “Just water, thank you.”

Nate quirks an eyebrow, stilling the tapping of his pencil. He looks at Eric, but Eric shakes his head. Nate seems to shrug it off, tucking his order pad in his back pocket. “I’ll be right back with your water, then.”

”Does the kid always work when he’s on break?” Brad asks, watching Nate stop by to check up on another one of his tables. He’s pointedly not checking out Nate’s ass, because as easy as it is to admire pretty when he sees it, it’s dangerous to see it in a boy he might have to kidnap in a day or two. “Shouldn’t he be out partying with his friends?”

”Near as I can tell, he wasn’t supposed to work today. This is his summer job,” Eric replies. He sips at his Coke and leans back in his seat. Pulling a flash drive out of his pocket, Eric tosses it across the table and Brad catches it easily. “That’s got everything you’ll ever need to know about the kid. Feel free to double check the details, but I put that file together myself.”

Brad smiles, pocketing the flash drive. He likes that Eric isn’t the type of guy to get upset if Brad doesn’t completely trust the information presented to him. Brad’s met other guys in the job who get pissy when Brad runs the details again, or has Ray do it. Brad’s also seen good men die because they couldn’t bother to verify what they know.

The passing of the flash drive is as good sign as any to end the conversation and Brad picks at Eric’s cheesy chili fries half-heartedly. “So. Any news?”

”All is quiet on the Western front,” Eric replies, shrugging aimlessly. “City is quiet. Big things should be happening, people should be out causing mayhem if nothing else, but Godfather is keeping everything close to his chest right now. Ever since he lost that shipment a couple of weeks ago due to stupidity he’s been reevaluating some of the guys. So I’m told.”

”I remember that,” Brad says. He wasn’t involved, thankfully. Neither was Ray, which is even better, because Ray has been known to test the boundaries when it comes to Godfather’s favor. Not for fucking up, but for never shutting up. Not even about the job, just talking in general. “That was one of Patterson’s teams.”

”Sobel, yeah. I can’t imagine Godfather’s surprise when he heard some of Patterson’s guys fucked up,” Eric agrees. He bites his tongue for a moment when Nate approaches, and they both glance up at the waiter.

”Can I get you guys anything else?” Nate asks, carefully placing the glass in front of Brad so it doesn’t spill. Nate’s smiling, still, and it’d be distracting if Brad let it. He’s really too pretty for his own good.

”We’re good, thanks,” Eric says. He flashes Nate a thin smile and a thumbs up, but Nate doesn’t seem the least bit bothered by the sardonic nature of it. He waits until Nate leaves again before taking another drink from his Coke and continues. “I don’t think Patterson’s men have ever fucked up, not that badly.”

”Patterson’s good,” Brad says. He nibbles at the fries, more for something to do than anything else, before taking a drink from his water. It’s cold. Brad smiles, and he isn’t sure why. “Let’s just hope `reevaluating` means guys like Encino Man and Captain America are taken out of the picture.”

Eric laughs, a bitter sound. “I sincerely doubt it, but here’s hoping.”

- - -

Ray is exactly where Brad left him when Brad gets back to the house. He’s in nothing but a ratty wifebeater and Diesel smalls, but at least he isn’t lounging around on the couch naked. Brad can tolerate a lot, but there are some things that just go too far. “How was lunch with Kocher?” Ray asks, his eyes on flicking away from his game for a second to check out to make sure Brad is in one piece before he’s glancing away again.

Brad nudges Ray’s shoulder lightly, pushing him towards the center of the couch so he can claim Ray’s corner spot. He grabs his laptop off of the coffee table and fires it up. “There wasn’t much to be said. He pointed out the kid. He works in a shitty little diner.”

”Homes, what? The kid’s dad is a Senator, why the fuck would he be working in a diner? Why’s he working at all?” Ray asks, frowning. He slouches back on the couch and presses his cheek against Brad’s shoulder, watching his laptop load. “Fuckin’ rich kids. Was he hot at least? Nothing worse than a person you can’t objectify. Fucking Christ.”

”Yeah,” Brad replies without really thinking about it. There’s no point in denying it, even if he doesn’t exactly agree with Ray’s words. He shoots Ray an annoyed look for his hovering, but Ray has already melted against his side and turned his attentions back to the TV again. “Have you been playing Halo since I left?”

”Pretty much?” Ray spends a lot of time playing Halo, but so does Brad, so it’s hardly like he can complain. He pauses his game when Brad plugs the flash drive in, taking a moment to stretch and groan loudly. “Fuck, I’m tired.”

”You’ve barely done anything all day,” Brad says. He drums his fingers against the space bar as he waits for the flash drive to pop up, clicking the view files button without even thinking about it. It only takes a second, and Brad appreciates Eric’s ability to organize his files - unlike, say, Ray - before he clicks open an image file. “There’s our boy.”

”Huh,” Ray says, pressing his cheek to Brad’s shoulder again. He tries to steal the wireless mouse from Brad, but when that fails to work, he uses the track pad to scroll through the other images. “He is kind of hot.”

”You can’t debauch him, Ray,” Brad says, heaving a put upon sigh. “Sexual harassment is one thing, sexual assault is another.”

”Dude, he’s already going to be tied up,” Ray points out helpfully.

”Do I have to put a safety lock on the basement door to keep you from molesting him?” Brad asks. He shoots Ray a dark look, but Ray just squirms, nuzzling closer to Brad’s side and keeps clicking through the files. Brad could stop him, but he doesn’t. He continues to glare at Ray for a moment, before he glances back at his laptop screen. “If you want to get laid, go to a bar.”

”Dick,” Ray huffs, but he’s distracted. He tries again to nudge Brad’s fingers away from the mouse, and this time Brad lets him. He scrolls through all of the pictures one by one, but it’s less about objectifying now and more about getting a grip on Nate. Ray can be serious, when he wants to be.

At first, Brad’s startled by the lack of information in Nate’s file. The useable details are either old or sparse. Considering Nate spends a good portion of his time at Dartmouth, Brad probably shouldn’t be surprised. But still, Eric’s file on him is flimsy, even with a couple of days monitoring to get his routine down.

”Looks like we’re going to have to do some serious stalking if you really want to take the kid,” Ray says. He releases the mouse to Brad’s control, and turns his attentions back to his video game. “I can’t go a week without having to work, can I?”

”Just be glad you’re not working an honest job, nine to five,” Brad replies. He pauses, then shoots Ray a wary look. “Not that you’re weasely little inbred ass could hold a job like that for more than a week.”

”Fuck you, my ass is awesome,” Ray shoots back, grinning up at Brad. He elbows Brad in the side roughly, wiggling his eyebrows. “For a guy who likes to be buried inside of it all the time, you have no right to complain and say it’s less than stellar.”

”Ray?” Brad says, bringing a hand up to massage his temples.

”Yeah, Brad?” Ray asks, pausing his game againt to shoot Brad an almost-innocent, wide-eyed look. He might have pulled it off if the corners of his lips weren’t pulled up in a smirk.

”Shut up.”

”Fuck you, too, Bradley,” Ray says, laughing. He squirms, melting back into the couch cushions as he gets more comfortable, and unpauses his game. “Let me know when you’re done jerking off to the co-ed and we’ll get some serious work done.”

For a moment, Brad is sorely tempted to hit Ray. To push him over and pin him down. But, knowing Ray, the wiry little weasel would probably actually enjoy it. So Brad just sighs heavily, nudges Ray in the ribs until he scoots farther away, and turns his attentions back to his laptop. He doesn’t deign Ray’s bitching about being shoved around with a response.

- - -

Nate Fick, it turns out, might easily be the world’s most boring college student. Or the most normal, but Ray keeps saying boring and after two days of performing surveillance and research on him, Brad is inclined to agree. Nate is a good kid. He stays out of trouble, doesn’t fight with his sisters or parents. Those odd few hours he spends with another boy, blond, a little shorter than Nate, they spend inside or out walking the other boy’s dog.

”Walt,” Ray says when he skims through the files. Facebook has made it ridiculously easy to gather information on Nate and his friends. “Walt Hasser. They’re roommates at Dartmouth. They grew up attached at the hip. They’re so gay together I’m actually impressed they’re not fucking. Isn’t that what you do at college? Suck off your roommate and it’s not gay, ‘cause you’re experimenting? Fuck, I bet you’d have been popular, Iceman. Entire campus would line up to get a taste of you.”

Brad shoots Ray an annoyed look, but bites his tongue and doesn’t tell him to shut up like he wants to. He’s drawn out a list of things Nate does, his routine, but it’s shaky to pin point it down exactly when they’ve only got two days of information and Eric’s notes. Tapping his red pen against the tabletop, Brad bites the inside of his cheek. “What do you think the odds are of the Senator having twenty-five grand by tomorrow morning?”

Ray looks up from the pictures of Nate, glancing at Brad, Brad’s notes, then back to the pictures. He rests his chin in his palm, drumming his fingers against the table slowly. “Not very good. The dude has had five months.” He traces a finger over Nate’s face slowly, thoughtfully, before looking up at Brad again. “He’s got maybe, ten, twelve grand. Isn’t that how it always works?”

Making a soft sound in agreement, Brad drops his pen and leans back in his seat. It’s late, and his back protests as he stretches out. He can feel Ray’s eyes checking out the strip of his stomach where his shirt rides up and his skin is showing, but Brad doesn’t have it in him to act on it right now. “We’ll call in the morning,” he says, slumping back in his seat. “If he doesn’t have the money, we’ll grab the kid after he goes to the gym.”

”You sure he’s going to go?” Ray asks, but he sounds more resigned than curious. It’s late, and Brad cut him off from the coffee machine hours ago. He blinks slowly, his fingers tracing the lines of Nate’s face on the picture, and Brad isn’t sure if it’s out of actual interest or boredom. Ray has already spent most of the night describing in explicit detail exactly what he would like to do with the Fick boy’s mouth.

”It’s the one solid part of his routine we’ve got down,” Brad says easily. “We’ll trail him in the morning, before he leaves to be sure, but - “ he drums his fingers on the list, over the word gym, circled and underlined “ - this is where it’ll go down. Big parking lot. No security cameras. In the middle of the day, no one will even notice.”

Ray stares at Brad for a moment, thinking about it, before shrugging his shoulders weakly. “Do you want to double check the basement before bed or should I?”

”Go to bed, Ray,” Brad says. “And before you bitch it’s because I don’t trust you, I trust you more when you’ve had more than three hours of sleep and aren’t high off of who knows what just to stay awake.” He gives Ray a pointed look, but Ray just rolls his eyes in exasperation. Softer, Brad says, “Get some sleep. It’s going to be a long week.”

For a moment, Ray looks tempted to be petulant. He gives the clock on the microwave a bleary eyed glance though before apparently deciding against it. He stretches when he stands, groaning and grumbling under his breath. “We’re taking a fucking vacation to Rio de Janeiro when this is over with, you hear me?”

Brad opens his mouth to ask Why Rio?, but he’s cut off by the rough press of Ray’s lips to his forehead. Ray’s fingers are warm where they cup his face, holding him in place, and Brad just blinks at him. “Ray?”

”Rio, Brad,” Ray says, letting go and stepping back. “I’m holding you to this. I expect an honest Goddamn vacation for all the shit I put up with.” He turns on his heels and walks out of the kitchen, humming to himself sleepily as he makes his way through the house.

Brad’s not entirely sure why Ray is complaining, because this is the first job they’ve taken in a few weeks. He’s also not sure how he feels about how he feels going to Rio de Janeiro with Ray, but they can sort the details on that out later, after the job is done.

Shaking his head, Brad tells himself later and focuses on grabbing up all of their materials and putting them in a folder. He’ll tuck them away in a lockbox in the office, but first he wants to stop and triple check to check the locks on the room in the basement. The last minute reassurances won’t do any good, Brad’s already checked and checked again, but there’s nothing wrong with being prepared.

Even if Ray does insist this makes Brad an OCD asshole with too much time on his hands and not enough common sense to spend it doing something fun, like fucking. Ray’s words, almost exactly.

Still, Brad checks the locks and when he’s satisfied they’ll hold, he steps into the room to double and triple check there is absolutely nothing Nate could possibly use to escape or harm himself. The room is cleared, the cameras are in position and the green light is blinking at him slowly. Brad takes a moment to straighten the plain, dark comforter on the bed before he decides the room is as ready as it’ll ever be and calls it a night.

- - -

Brad dreams of the ocean, of endless blue waters and a bright, sandy beach. The water is salty and cold, the sun beating down on his back as he wades out into deeper waters on his board. He can see Ray on the beach still, half naked and chatting up two scantily clad girls. Ray’s got his sunglasses on, the stupid gold pimp shades that Brad loves more than he’ll ever admit, and when Ray catches Brad starting, he gets the two girls to wave.

He wakes up when he feels a sharp jab in his sides, just under his ribs. He exhales sharply, cursing under his breath, but Ray just elbows him again, less roughly, as he tries to roll over. His head is pillowed on Brad’s arm, and there’s a wet chill from what Brad can only assume was Ray drooling, and he’s too tired to be disgusted.

Pushing Ray away gently, Brad wipes his arm clean with the corner of a sheet. He lets Ray sleep for now, because the alarm hasn’t gone off and there is no point in waking him up quite yet. Brad has long since learned the more sleep Ray gets, the more tolerable he’ll be.

For a moment, he’s content to watch the gentle rise and fall of Ray’s chest, but he doesn’t stick around for long. He needs a shower, and he needs to check their supplies before they head out. Just because the alarm hasn’t gone off doesn’t mean they aren’t against the clock.

By the time Brad has showered and gotten dressed, made himself some toast for breakfast and put on the coffee, Ray is just only stumbling down the steps and wiping his eyes tiredly. He hasn’t showered and his hair is sticking up. When Ray collapse in a chair at the kitchen, he shoots Brad a pathetic look and makes a needy sound.

”Coffee will be done in a minute,” Brad says, shaking his head and sighing. He hands Ray a piece of his toast, watching Ray nibble at it slowly, the crumbs spilling all over the tabletop. Brad would be disgusted, but this is pretty on par course for Ray, so he settles for just sitting across from Ray and eating his own toast.

They sit in silence together, each of them munching on their toast and lost in their own thoughts. The coffee maker drips softly, and Brad doesn’t have to look over his shoulder to know that that’s what Ray’s staring at, waiting mostly patiently for once. Ray’s leg is swinging under the table though, his toes bumping against Brad’s shin every few swings, but he isn’t kicking out hard enough to hurt.

The pot’s barely done brewing before Ray is on his feet pouring himself a cup, and Brad smiles despite himself. There’s another quiet moment where Ray takes a drink from his cup, letting out a soft, pleased sound. Before Brad can turn around and get up, Ray is placing a cup in front of him as well. When Ray returns to his seat across from Brad, he’s already starting to look more alive.

Taking a sip from his cup, Brad finishes off the last of his toast and wipes his hand on a napkin. “Do you want to trail Nate this morning or do you want to stay here and finish prepping?” Brad asks. There isn’t any prep work to be done, because Brad can’t let something this important wait until the last minute. It’s just an offer to let Ray stay home, to relax before the show kicks off. If the show kicks off.

Ray just shrugs a thin shoulder and keeps sipping from his coffee. His expression is less distant, but it’ll still be a few minutes before he’s awake enough to vomit out diatribes about whatever comes to mind. “We’ll both be seeing enough of his pretty face soon enough.”

Brad stretches his leg out under the table, resting his foot on top of Ray’s. “You can stay home and play Halo for a few hours,” Brad says. “If Nate heads to the gym, I’ll call you. We should be fine. Everything’s laid out already.”

”This isn’t my first rodeo, you know,” Ray points out, smiling tiredly at Brad over the lip of his cup. He frees his foot from underneath of Brad’s, but doesn’t pull away, just presses their ankles together. “This isn’t exactly rocket science, homes.”

Ray’s easy assurances do nothing to ease the heavy feeling that always fills the pit of Brad’s stomach before a job, but he forces a smile at Ray anyways. Draining the last of his coffee in one go, Brad stands up and drops his cup off in the sink. “I’ll call you in a few hours,” he says, turning on the sink to rinse out his cup. He doesn’t tell Ray to not fuck this up, but he’s pretty sure it’s implied.

- - -

Brad takes the Escalade when he leaves, even though it’s hardly his favorite mode of transportation. He can’t kidnap anyone on his bike though and he doubts a tall guy like Nate would fit - comfortably or not - into the trunk of his Aston Martin. While Brad’s sure he could always try to get Nate to fit, they run the risk of getting caught and he doesn’t want to damage his car. Or Nate. More than they have to, anyway.

Ray can say what he wants about Brad being a whore for anything with wheels, but Brad paid good money for each and every one of his vehicles and he’s not going to let them get banged up if he can help it.

Nate is embarrassingly easy to trail. He doesn’t even notice Brad in the Escalade, just climbs into a Volvo that’s seen better days and leaves. He’s a good driver, patient, despite the pain in the ass that is the hornet’s nest of DC traffic. There are no stops between the house and gym, and Brad is lucky enough to get a spot just a row over from Nate.

As soon as Nate is inside the shiny building, Brad pulls out his cellphone and texts Ray, telling him to get his skinny ass down here in the off chance Brad will need the backup. He doesn’t wait for Ray to reply, just tosses the phone on the seat next to him and pulls out an untraceable phone. It’s got garish pink plastic, but for $15, Brad will take what he can get.

The number he dials he’s already learned by heart. It’s written down in a file back at the office, and Brad isn’t dumb enough to put it into the memory of his own phone. It only takes a moment for the phone to start ringing, and the Senator picks up after a minute.

”Hello?”

”Senator,” Brad says. He stretches his legs out as best he can, keeping his attention focused on the main doors in case Nate decides to leave early and fuck over their entire plan. “How are you doing on getting Godfather’s money?”

”Son of a - ” Fick starts. He sounds exhausted, even over the phone, and Brad idly wonders if his family has noticed, if they know anything about why. Probably not. “I’ll get Godfather’s money. I’ve got seventeen thousand right now. I can’t exactly start pulling out of my kids’ college savings.”

”You will if that’s what it takes,” Brad replies coolly. “Godfather doesn’t care how you get the money, just as long as he gets paid back in the end.”

”I still have five days,” Fick says with determination. “Tell Godfather he’ll get his Goddamn money.”

”Oh, I have no doubts about that,” Brad says agreeably. “This was just a friendly reminder.”

”Like I could possibly forget,” Fick says with a bitten off laugh. “I have to go. Godfather will get his money, don’t worry.” He hangs up.

Brad shoots the phone a dark glare, annoyed at being hung up on, before he tosses it into the seat next to him. He relaxes back into his seat, content to just watch the door to the gym in case Nate decides to leave early. When it gets closer to the hour mark, Brad’ll get out of the Escalade and stalk Nate proper, but for now, he waits.

- - -

Ray shows up eventually, knocking on the side of the Escalade until Brad unlocks the door and he can climb in. He has a key but Ray’s terrible at keeping track of what he does with them and Brad’s long since given up on expecting Ray to remember. He slides into the passenger seat easily though, grabbing both the phones in the seat with one fist. He takes a drink from his soda before he offers Brad the bottle of Mountain Dew.

Brad only stares at it for a second before he accepts it and takes a drink. “Did you bring your truck?” Brad asks, accepting the phones when Ray passes those back to him as well. He tucks his own phone into his pocket, and the pink one in the middle compartment. He hands the Mountain Dew back to Ray.

”Cab,” Ray says, drumming his fingers on his thighs. “To the subway stop a few blocks over. Snagged that from a vendor on my way. It’s fucking cold out.” He’s fidgeting, running his fingers over everything and smearing fingerprints onto the clean surfaces and Brad has to restrain from smacking Ray’s hand. Ray’s foot is tapping incessantly in a broken rhythm.

When Brad gives Ray a pointed look, narrowing his eyes, Ray just makes a face. “Dude, chill, I’m just on caffeine and no smokes,” he says, waving a hand dismissively. “How much longer are we going to have to wait? I hate this part of ops. I’m not suited for the hurry up and wait bullshit.”

There’s a no kidding on the tip of Brad’s tongue, but he bites it back. Instead, he grabs the soda bottle out of Ray’s hands to take another drink and turns his attention back to the front doors of the gym. “A few minutes. We’ll be on our way in less than an hour. You took your time getting here.”

”Jeez, I said I was sorry,” Ray scoffs, even though Brad thinks he would remember if Ray had apologized. “Traffic sucked on the way in. I should have just brought my truck or bummed along with you. Not that either of those would have been any better, but at least we could be listening to music right now.”

”Garth Brooks and Taylor Swift aren’t real music, Ray,” Brad says, exasperated.

”Yeah, well, neither is Air Supply,” Ray shoots back, grinning. “And fuck you, I don’t listen to Taylor Swift. I know how Romeo & Juliet ends. It’s not a fucking happy ending. What kind of story is that, anyway? Two teenagers killing themselves after knowing each other for three days? Fuck that. No pussy is worth death.”

Brad wishes he had no idea what Ray was talking about, but he won’t deign Ray with the glee of admitting it. He just grits his teeth and takes another sip from the soda. He’s content to sit silently, half-listening to Ray ramble about Taylor Swift and Shakespeare and porn. It’s an acceptable amount of background noise, not too much that Brad can’t focus.

When enough time passes, Brad glances over at Ray and tells him to “Shut up, Ray,” mid-tirade. He waits for Ray to shut his mouth, unhappy expression on his face, before Brad nods vaguely in direction of the gym. “Ask him for a light or the time so I can get behind him.” He passes Ray the keys to the Escalade slowly. “We’ll get him in the trunk and go.”

”I know the plan, Brad,” Ray points out, but he doesn’t offer any stubborn rebuttals. Just opens the door and slides out of the Escalade again. He’s stretching lazily when Brad climbs out, and Ray flashes Brad a brilliant grin, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Easy as pie, homes. I’m adorable and irresistible.”

Brad scoffs, shaking his head. He’s got a dishrag and chloroform in the pocket of his leather jacket, and he shoves his hands in after them, just to make sure they’re out of sight and safe. “Focus, Ray,” he says, before meandering away from the Escalade. He moves away from Ray, from Nate’s car, but he loiters close enough to keep an eye on Ray.

They don’t have to wait long for Nate. He’s not paying attention to anything but the cellphone in his hand, fingers skimming over the keys as he texts. His gym bag is bright red, and he constantly has to adjust it to keep it from slipping off of his shoulder as he walks. He couldn’t have painted himself an easier target if he tried.

Ray popping up startles Nate, obviously. There’s a cigarette dangling between Ray’s lips and he’s gesturing vaguely and miming a light. Ray’s words don’t carry, not over the wind and the hum of the city, but he’s the perfect distraction. He manages to hold Nate’s attention, making a triumphant sound when Nate actually starts to pat down his pockets.

It’s easy enough to slip behind Nate without him noticing. Brad’s a professional, moving quietly comes as easily to him as breathing does. There’s no one in the parking lot to see them when Brad brings the rag up to Nate’s face, and grabbing him from behind.

Nate lashes out immediately. He gets his elbow into Brad’s ribs in a solid smack, but Brad grunts and bears through it. He struggles, squirming, but the chloroform wins out. The few heartbeats it takes for the chemical to kick in and for Nate to go slack in Brad’s arms drag out, impossibly long. Sometime during the struggle his phone and bag fell, but Ray’s already snatched them up and moved to unlock the trunk of the Escalade.

Nate is heavier than he looks, all deadweight, but Brad scoops him and carries him to the Escalade easily. The trunk isn’t exactly roomy, not for someone of Nate’s height, but Brad tucks him into the back as carefully as he can. Nate only bangs his head once, but Brad can’t be bothered to feel guilty about it.

By the time he makes sure Nate is secure and shuts the trunk, Ray has already climbed into the driver’s seat and turned over the engine. Brad climbs into the passenger’s seat easily, clicking on his seatbelt and glancing in the rearview mirror. They should probably do something about Nate’s car, but no one will notice one lonely Volvo in the middle of the day. Not before they make the call anyway.

“Let’s go, Ray,” Brad says, turning his attention back out the front window. There’s a little bit of Mountain Dew left in the bottle, and Brad snags it off the floor in front of him to drain the last of it in a long swallow.

”Like I’d want to stick around,” Ray snorts, shaking his head. He drums his fingers along the steering wheel, humming under his breath as he puts the Escalade in reverse and pulls out of the parking lot. “You going to call Godfather?”

Brad makes an exasperated sound, but he pulls out his phone anyway. The call to Godfather is short, and Brad doesn’t have to wait long for Godfather to answer. “We’ve moved onto Phase Two,” Brad says, skipping the pleasantries entirely. “We grabbed the son.”

”Good,” Godfather says. His raspy voice is hard to hear over the hum of the Escalade, and Brad presses the phone closer to his ear. “Don’t kill the boy if you don’t have to. If you have to hurt him to make a point…”

Brad glances up into the rearview mirror, even though Nate isn’t visible in it. “Understood, sir.”

”Keep me updated on the situation, Iceman,” Godfather says, and it serves the purpose of a goodbye. Godfather hangs up, and Brad slips his phone back into his pocket.

Everything is quiet for a moment while Ray weaves through traffic, for once obeying the law. It wouldn’t do for them to get pulled over with an unconscious son of a Senator in their trunk now. After a while though, Ray starts fidgeting in his seat and shoots Brad a look. “Hey, homes?”

Brad blinks slowly, before glancing over at Ray tiredly. “What?”

There’s a grin on Ray’s face, and Brad knows what ever Ray is about to say he’s probably not going to like. He isn’t disappointed when Ray asks, “Do you think Nate likes pizza?”

Really, there isn’t anything for Brad to do but let his head bang back against the top of his seat and make an annoyed sound. “Just shut up, Ray,” Brad says, closing his eyes when Ray just laughs in response.

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