Fanfic: Release the Dogs (part 1)
Title: Release the Dogs (the first thing that happened)
Author: someonesgrlbomb
Rating: NC-17
Length: Part 1+2+3 ~18,000 words
Warnings: elements of dubcon, rimming
Pairings: Brad/Ray, Brad/Nate, Brad/Nate/Ray
A/N: This is my first GK fic. Thanks to amoama for initial help and huge giant appreciation for accol who gave this a thorough beta-ing multiple times. I made plenty of changes since she saw it last and I bear full responsibility for all remaining errors and annoyances. It may be worth pointing out that my Brad is probably more influenced by the GK text than is usual ‘round here, maybe. It’s also possible that is a convenient excuse for getting these boys to play how I wanted them to. This is all pretend anyway.
Summary: A threesome-bound fanfic, in three parts. Brad keeps himself mostly squared away in Iraq. With a little help from Ray, and Nate, and Ray/Nate
“Having watched him cry a few days ago after the shooting of the shepherd, I suspect it’s not always easy being the Iceman.” -Evan Wright, Generation Kill
The First Thing That Happened
Artillery was illuminating portions of the otherwise dark horizon, softening up a town Ray figured they’d hit tomorrow or whenever. He knew better than to believe anything he’d been told would be happening in anything other than the next two minutes. They would probably hit it sometime, as it would be in the path of the trail they were blazing northward, west of the main invasion line that was heading straight for Baghdad. Hopefully they would plow through it unscathed, as they had all the other places. Somehow. Miraculously.
'Cause they're mutherfucking badasses. And…whatever.
Brad was watching the show, too, leaning over the Humvee hood right next to Ray, who was more toward the front of the hood leaning sideways, one boot up on the bumper. Brad was in his trancelike observation mode and spoke as if unaware he was verbalizing his thoughts. But only as if. "Nothing subtle about the message we are sending out there."
Ray barely registered what Brad said, buzzing between the ears from the Ripped Fuel/caffeine concoction he’d been digesting for days to keep going. He just kept staring at the distant flashes of light and mildly wondering if he would end up there and how it might fit with the general journey they’d been on, the mission, the whole weird….
"Reminds me of you, Ray," Brad added. Ray's ears pricked up to tune in better, hearing his name from Brad’s lips. "Almost nothing you do is subtle."
Ray chuckled a bit, shrugged shoulders. So fun to be with Brad in war, to be with a competent TL, to be with someone who knows Ray well. Brad is so great to be around and to work with when he’s not pissy, which isn’t too often, but, really, forgiveable. Cause Brad? Pretty great.
Brad added quietly but deliberately, “Except."
Everything fucking Brad does is fucking deliberate so Ray bit. "Except?" he parroted. “Except what? Dude, I am all kinds of motherfucking subtle. Ask any Hajji I've shot at. Bullets coming at 'em like all, oh, what? What was that? And they think maybe it was just like a fly buzzing around their head, and next thing they know, they see their brains spilling out on the ground, and they're like, damn, this mortal wound I just received was really subtly delivered. You might even say smooth. You might even say..."
"Shut the fuck up, Ray. It's your actual homosexuality that's subtle."
Ray knew Brad. Ray knew jokes about being gay. This was Brad not joking.
Brad continued in his quiet monotone. "It oozes from your eyes as much as it dribbles off your chin when you eat, like, it makes me think you like having your mouth so full of jizz you can't contain it. And Jesus, when you hand me the comms, you’re so fucking touchy-feely. But above all, Ray, here’s the thing. You're really tuned into me. I do appreciate that, don't get me wrong. An RTO should do that, should strive to tune into his TL like he tunes frequencies. But what you do?” Brad shook his head. “So beyond that."
Ray should have panicked at this threat, but true to his gift of calmness under fire, he just shook his head dismissively, razzing his lips. He then rolled his eyes and added, "Whatever."
"Listen, much as it pains me to say, you're good. Very subtle. But as with all things, you're not as good as me." Brad broke out an ambiguously evil grin.
In his silent stun, Ray considered whether Brad was sharing useful intel or was just fucking with him. Ray was a motherfucking brilliant RTO and yes, his talents included organically built-in gaydar, for Christsakes. But it was possible the Iceman could fly under that. He might be The One in that regard. Not the LT, for example. But maybe Brad.
Brad went on. "So you know, if I felt any reciprocal desire to get myself off with any of a variety of man-on-man acts of combat relief that may be circulating in your mind, and may be increasingly tempting as this war advances into some absurdist plane, the reality is that those temptations have to remain on lock down. I remind you that designs on being active duty Marine fuckbuddies with anyone, Ray, just have to wait."
"Well yeah," Ray quipped, now shifting easily into the homoerotic banter, because that was just too much to be possibly real, and now Brad was just launching into the theoreticals of DADT they all tossed at each other all the time. Sure, whatever. Still. "But, I mean, how long of a wait? The absurdity you're talking about is, like, really worth considering. Cause so much about the Marine Corps is such utter retard bullshit, and it's really apparent now that we're in this war. It really has me questioning what rules are really the ones we have to follow. ROEs are clear as mud, grooming standards are waaaaay overvalued. Shit doesn't make sense, yo. So, I'm asking, do Marine fuckbuddies living this retarded invasion really have to wait till just the end of the invasion? Till they're out of the Marines?"
"Nah." Brad was now whisper quiet, turning his eyes from the horizon and his whole body hunching down and directing its energies into Ray's space. "It has to wait till hell freezes over." Ray grinned. This was consistent with reality. But then, reality cracked a little when Brad added, "Because Ray, there is no way you have it in you to be what I would need, now, or in the future." Brad held Ray's confused gaze a moment, then walked off toward Espera's Humvee.
Ray checked. Walt and Reporter seemed still asleep in their graves and Trombley was away on a detail. Ray didn't know what to think, so gave in to the floatation of the Ripped Fuel and wondered if he’d now ingested enough of it to have hallucinated that whole thing. He proceeded to lose himself in the beauty of the glowing destruction raining down a few kilometers ahead. Never mind his stomach was unsettled and his skin was crawling to be touched because of so much deprivation - limited food, limited sleep, limited mobility in the MOPP suit, limited capacity to control his fate...If asked to drive into a death trap, well, that was the job and his fate was tied to that. He understood and accepted this. But there were ways of driving into death traps that they’d learned, and not bothering to apply those lessons was annoying and frustrating and…hell it really sucked. It was his life, after all. Usually Ray lived with a pretty good portion of frustration under his skin, but the invasion was managing to spread it to his viscera. He really didn't need this layer of confusing shit from Brad, hallucination or not.
Goddammit he would actually love to need all kinds of shit from Brad. But he wasn't letting that happen. Was he? Fuck. Fucking Brad.
For the next few days, Ray had to deal with the fact it had been real because Brad hissed more taunts in Ray's ear from time to time, mercilessly not touching when he did so. Just getting right into his ear with his words and breath, leaning in.
Example #1, against the away-side of the Humvee when parked in a herringbone formation:
"If you're wondering, I'm not really thinking any more about it. I know your whisky tango perverted mind is fixed on my ass or my hands, but my assessment is complete. You have some good skills, but I don’t think you would be strong enough. You know, mentally, mostly. Then again, can you imagine who would be? I'd be a celibate homo, no one able to manage me. No one is able to get behind me, for fuck’s sake. I ask you, Ray, who could get behind me? Who?"
It was so much classic Brad verbiage and no action that it remained plausible Brad was just fucking with Ray. The Iceman so would amuse himself with seeing how far he could carry something loaded to a target such as Ray. This uncertainty was made possible by the general homo-obsessions pervading every other conversation all the guys were having.
Example #2, in the Humvee when it was just them:
"Four minutes. Four minutes, Ray. It takes you a consistent four minutes to accomplish your combat jacks. Doesn't speak well to your creativity, or ability for some dominance and assertion. Its poor control, no awareness of pace, some routine you’re stuck in. Too bad. Drawn out and denied - now that, that eventually causes a worthy orgasm.”
Though it was maddening, it was at least something else to think about rather than all that other invasion-related bullshit, like what an increasingly tragi-comical parade it was of confusing orders and pointless missions and wrong turns and busting forward without having all the intel in hoopty Humvees while Iraqi tanks might be waiting for them. Maybe it was Brad’s combat stress reaction. Maybe it was true. Maybe it wasn’t true, but a good response anyway would be to take Brad up on his challenges to get him to knock it the fuck off. Maybe.
Example #3, and Ray could not fucking remember where they were for this one:
“There are some, Ray, who only engage if someone else initiates, because then, someone else is taking responsibility. It’s kind of bullshit - two consenting adults are equally responsible for fucking. But the role of letting someone else take some god damned control and make shit happen and make it happen well - it has its appeal. I can’t see the person taking control ever being your country-loving retard ass. Country is for pussies.” Brad seemed to be dissociating a bit, talking aloud again as if unaware of it, maybe really unaware this time for real. "Five minutes not in charge. How can I expect you to understand that?"
Despite mulling it all over pretty constantly in every available crack in his brain, generally Ray did not respond much when Brad dug at him with these thoughts. Just kept looking ahead and waiting for the moment to pass. Maybe Ray mustered an eye roll. But Ray knew whatever he was doing, he was probably giving everything away to a curve wrecking Recon Marine like Brad. But at least Ray kept the objective evidence of his response tucked away.
An upside to this new torturous existence was that Ray’s combat jacks now went better, but probably this advantage was not worth it given the frustration it was to be the Iceman's bitch in every way except. And now Ray was never sure whether Brad was watching...and timing. Ray didn’t care who watched him jack off in passing or heard or whatever, but, seriously, being timed? So, he worked to vary things, visualizing what he thought Brad might be talking about. That part helped. Fucking Brad. Yeah, and now he really meant that phrase that way AND that way.
Ray hung in under these circumstances as long as he could. It was fucking admirable really. But then, one day, one time, exactly because it was what Brad was after all along, probably, god dammit, Ray's Other Brain took over his body and led it to a bold, potentially stupid advance, an instinctive impulse that might have been wrong but it was just time.
Brad was again invading Ray’s space to shower him with hot breath and further remind he probably couldn’t begin to envision the discipline needed for true satisfaction. Instead of standing still, desperately trying to continue his charade of denial as his brain screamed really really really yes oh fuck yes, Ray pressed his body into Brad’s in their face to face, interlaced-leg stance against the back of a supply truck. It was barely any actual effort but Ray was amply rewarded when he felt Brad’s erection leading the contact.
Ha! So he wasn’t just fucking with Ray!
And also, holy fucking shit! He wasn’t just fucking with Ray!
Brad seemed mildly surprised but allowed it, did not defend his space. Ray didn't really know how to move anymore, but at least he got his answers. Brad seemed to be waiting, one eyebrow ever so slightly raised. After one breath, which was among the longest of Ray's life, Brad, the lumbering motherfucker, backed away, like his erection meant nothing, like Ray was the only sorry sap for whom this parting would be difficult and seemingly a crazy choice. And off he walked.
That inch Ray took, though, was freaking retard genius, because after that, Brad next came at Ray with a different set of assumptions. Brad now expressed his consideration of whether, when the time came, Ray would be able to be strong and ready to do what Brad needed him to do. When the time came.
So the day after that (probably - who the fuck knew - days and nights blurred), as Brad delivered another diatribe on Ray’s dim potential to be satisfying in a future that was certainly coming, Ray responded, “Yeah, Brad?” and grabbed Brad's ass hard with one hand. He pulled Brad in so they were beyond danger close for grinding action. A smirk crept across Brad's mouth and he closed his eyes in a relaxed and trusting kind of way. Pouncing on that reflexively, Ray pulled Brad's head down into a hard kiss and spun them around, pressing Brad to the wall. Ray lapped into Brad, who was passive, like he was in his own personal slow motion as he reacted to Ray’s more manic advances. Ray thought he'd double time it just to make up for not balls'ing up sooner and doing this, and just in case Brad would back out. Ray scrambled to get all he could, while he could. Brad’s face was firm and clean feeling to press into, and his mouth was hot as they passed a few grains of sand back and forth between tongues and teeth.
Soon after some general making out and unleashing of weapons-grade hormones stiffening his cock to yet another Marine example of a donkey dick, Ray needed to move on. Ray pulled back from Brad's mouth, saying, "Yeah, you wanted me. Of fucking course." Then he spun them so his own back was to the wall and he pushed Brad downward. Brad was pliant but protested a smidge by looking right and left. "I've got your six," Ray reassured, trying to shift into a growl and convey total annoyance he had to tell that to Brad. "It’s time I show you how wrong you've been about me. You can't wait to find out anyway, can you?" Ray’s brain almost exploded over handily succeeding in guiding Brad down to his knees.
The brain explosion disabled the alarms that were trying to go off after detecting how far in over his head he probably was. Somewhere they were whining out warnings, but they weren't needed. His brain wasn't needed. It turned out to be amazingly true that an aching dick can take over and make things happen. A lifetime of power deprivation stored up in him now served as a resource to draw upon, and weeks in the desert, and days and days so close to Brad and then especially after Brad started the taunts...Ray had plenty of ways to move forward.
In a voice Ray could not believe managed to be so smooth, he said, "I know you really want this sweet candy stick. Go on and unwrap it. You know you want to."
Brad was squatting and opening Ray’s fly before Ray finished speaking. Ray placed both hands on Brad's head, and then teasingly moved his now freed dick toward and away from the Iceman a centimeter or two, unable to stop himself from some thrusting action, but aware he couldn’t just let Brad get what he wanted. He was supposed to tease, right? Right. "Ok, go on, Brad, take a lick. Just a little lick."
Ray gasped a little when Brad made contact. "I must taste sweet after all the candy I've put away since the invasion started. I probably fucking sweat sugar. Probably shoot it too. Tell me, how did it taste?"
So help him, Ray saw Brad lick his lips but shrug.
"I asked you a question," Ray asked, feigning annoyance and gripping Brad's chin.
"Good," Brad said quietly, looking up with gratitude, relaxation. He looked at Ray's dick again, mesmerized, curious. "Really good."
"You might get some more if you just do what your Ray-Ray...Oh fuck," Ray steadied himself at the decent push against his slit Brad had suddenly and overly-eagerly delivered with his tongue, but honestly? It was insanely hot to look down and see Brad there, so beautiful, peaceful, bobbing at his dick and looking hungry and like he liked it there. Recovering, Ray pushed at Brad’s forehead and manufactured some disappointment to say, "Brad."
"Sorry," Brad shrugged like it was so obvious why anyone would transgress in his position.
“Now, when I say go, you will lick a solid, and I mean, solid, unbroken sloppy stripe down the bottom of my dick, and then do not stop - do NOT stop - till you get to the other side of my balls. Comprende? Ready? Go. Oh my God!" Ray rose up to his tippy toes and held his dick up for Brad as he laid some precision, wet hot tongue along the underside of his rock hard cock and then continued surprisingly thoroughly across Ray's balls, eliciting a squeak from Ray. Bringing his eyeballs back to center, Ray sputtered, "Pretty good. Now lick your way back.” Ray tried to command this with a steady voice. Tried like fuck.
At least during the lick back, Ray managed to swallow his vocalizations and just send his lips outward into a giant open mouth o-shape while his eyes squinted shut. When it was over, Ray cleared his throat and commanded, "Again."
Brad complied with vigor.
"More," Brad requested quietly when he'd finished the salty circuit, eyes on Ray's cock and its rightward bend in front of his face.
Ray found that an excellent idea and was drawn in. "You want more? Awww. Go ahead, Brad," and Ray pushed gently as Brad opened his mouth around Ray’s cock. Ray let Brad move forward from there at his own pace. Ray pressed his fingertips into Brad's head and tried to steady himself, waiting, savoring. Christ! both feeling and seeing Brad's lips around his dick, feeling the warmth....it was bizarre and fucking awesome and Ray almost just relaxed into it when Brad started humming, and he cupped Ray's ass to gain some leverage and control. Brad exhaled.
Then Ray remembered what he was supposed to do.
"Noooo!” Ray admonished, then added sharply, “Hey! Hands behind your back, Brad. Are you kidding me? I didn't authorize ass grabbing."
Brad shook his head “no” in agreement as he locked the fingers of one hand around the wrist of the other at the small of his back, still humming as he let the slick of his spit spread around Ray’s cock, still working to take more and more in smoothly.
"Yeah, you are not authorized to grab this fine trophy of a Marine ass specimen. You," Ray cupped Brad's chin and stilled them both, "Well, now you just have to hold still. Right there. Stop moving. Stop moving your tongue, god dammit, and shut the fuck up with the humming. No shortcuts to getting me off, Brad."
Brad obeyed, holding still with Ray's throbbing cock in his mouth.
"Now, you want me to fuck your mouth?" Ray tried.
Brad looked up at Ray and shrugged slightly.
Ray scrambled mentally a bit and came up with: "Of course you do. Hold the fuck still.” Ray shifted to a patronizing tone. “I’m gonna fuck your face, Brad." Ray saw Brad was just waiting for him to start, and his dick had been in Brad’s mouth for some time now so Ray was just about all out of willpower. He started pumping his hips toward Brad at about half maximum force. Brad seemed pleased. It was so weird and awesome. “You beautiful... Swedish.... Hebrew… dirty... closeted…." Ray jabbed a bit deeper with each of his words. Brad moaned in muffled tones and appeared to be smiling, indicating zero difficulties taking anything Ray sent. Ray had little time before he was gonna absolutely explode at the sensation and sight and sound of Brad taking his cock in his mouth, along with this whole fucked up hotness of Brad’s subordination.
"Take it," Ray advised in his best growl while starting to gasp. "Fuck, Brad, oh my God, I am gonna come right down your throat and listen: you're gonna swallow some, but also…let some...let some spill down your chin. Cause then... “ Ray observed Brad seemingly pelted by each phrase he sputtered out, and was encouraged to continue, “Then I'm gonna pin you down and...lick it all off your god damned pretty face before I...."
Brad was suddenly wincing and fighting himself from doubling over, but keeping Ray's dick safely in his mouth. He appeared to be…holy shit…no way…he was having an orgasm right then and there where he knelt, not touching himself at all. He moaned urgently around Ray’s cock, helplessly jerked his hips, still holding his hands behind his back. Brad’s eyebrows tilted in pleasure and gratitude and something like being lost.
"Jesus, Brad," Ray whined, wincing and locking his hips and otherwise doing all he could to hold back his own orgasm so Brad could cope with his and then be ready to take Ray's effectively. Ray could not hold back for long. Each passing millisecond of watching Brad climax without even touching himself took superhuman restraint. After Brad’s reaction seemed to be waning, Ray reminded him, "Swallow some, dribble some," and then was struck by the white-light blinding awesome of his orgasm. Then, Ray found his voice again as he kept shooting into Brad's mouth, panting but still managing to talk, "And Brad, don’t think I’m not aware you didn't...have permission...to let it fly...you’ll have to make up for this..."
"Understood," Brad said, letting the dribble happen as he spoke and emitting the warmest smile Ray had ever seen light up Brad's face. The best part was Brad said it all muffled because he still had Ray's dick in his mouth. God, he looked so contented and happy and a mess. Beautiful fucking Brad.
Once he was all done with his orgasm and aftershocks and had all he could take viewing Brad from above and how badly it seemed Brad probably wanted to lay down, Ray pushed Brad to his back, pinned his arms over his head as he straddled him, and kissed and licked all over his mouth and chin, cleaning him as promised and enjoying the face to face intimacy, the trust. Brad tried to return kisses but when he did, Ray said, “Relax, Brad, you earned this. For now.” Ray then stood, leaving Brad still flat on his back, eyes closed. "We'll work on this. You'll figure it out."
"Thank you, Ray," Brad said quietly.
Ray walked away saying, "Ready to drive whenever." Brad didn't see how wide Ray's eyes were in his self-amazed daze.
It got easier to believe the more they repeated this kind of thing in the subsequent days.
Go on to The Second Thing That Happened