Generation Kill Fanfiction: Release the Dogs Part 2
Title: Release the Dogs (The Second Thing That Happened)
Author: someonesgrlbomb
Rating: NC-17 (though this part is PG-13, really)
Length: Part 1+2+3 ~18,000 words
Warnings: elements of dubcon, rimming
Pairings: Brad/Ray, Brad/Nate, Brad/Nate/Ray
Summary: A threesome-bound fanfic, in three parts.
Release the Dogs Master Post
The Second Thing That Happened
Brad sat in his position in the Humvee with his eyes trained on the LT, who was standing outside his truck and studying a map with Wynn and talking on his radio. The convoy was making its way back south to Baghdad, but had stopped for whichever of a hundred routine possible reasons. The stop had been 40 minutes already. Might be ten minutes more, might be two hours more. Good time to snag some sleep. Reporter had hopped out and was canvassing around. Walt slept in Trombley’s place, and Trombley was up on the Mk19. Brad glanced to his left at Ray, asleep behind the wheel, and took relief in Ray’s momentary peace. Ray started snoring and Brad thought he was almost sweet-looking as he dozed, head tilted back, mouth open a little, twitching every minute from the stimulants - some weird battle playing out in his body between exhaustion and artificial arousal. So endearing, in its way.
Brad marked it as an accomplishment to have trained Ray so well. He’d unlocked so much underlying potential. It took effort - tough love really - but it had been worthwhile. Ray was now skilled in the principles of how to care for his homo TL in the context of this fucked up invasion they were leading.
Even at Camp Matilda right up until they rolled into Iraq, Brad hadn’t planned on what happened with Ray. Brad had plenty of outlets to keep himself squared away. But the invasion of Iraq created the right conditions to allow this other approach to bubble up and demand testing. Turned out it was satisfying, of course. Even Brad's deep down, ignored, weird ideas had highly accurate precision in terms of outcome. No different than anything else he applied himself to, like rifle, navigation, observation, and assorted other skills.
The subordination idea that Brad was right about and was able to get Ray onboard with had built up in his head in parallel with his rise upward in the Corps, both as an elite Recon Marine of whom a great deal was expected, and especially as an NCO with actual war going on. This meant he was shouldering real combat leadership responsibilities. Brad embraced these roles, but it was most likely true that without the pressures of them, he might not have developed his ideas about what might be a nice release from it. It started as seeing it in porn now and then and noticing it in ways he didn't before. His mind paused on certain images when they occurred, flickering in recognition, in empathy. But that was it, really.
It became a self-generated idea, not just an agreement with something he might see, shortly after operations went a bit off plan back in Afghanistan. It was rare for operations to go off plan, but still, there were times when normal fear was tinged with too much unknown. Fear of known danger is so different from unknown. Brad had to operate with unrelenting alarmed concern pulsing under his skin as men he was responsible for faced those unknown dangers. But since it never lasted for all that long and he got used to it little by little, he never really dealt full-on with these thoughts all that thoroughly. They were just flashes of ideas that came to him when he sought his usual solitude, and especially in conjunction with the combat jack following any of those particularly stressful experiences. The notions floated in the ether around him, not well specified in terms of who he was thinking about. Just an idea of what he might like to be engaged in for a moment's respite.
It might have remained vague and formless if Brad only ever saw action in Afghanistan, because it wasn't just due to being a leader or just being in a war. It took being a leader in a mess of a war - this invasion of Iraq, inducing stress relentlessly. For starters, in Iraq, Brad was weighed down by a cadre of POGs and a fat command unit on his tail. For another thing, he had to outfit a shitty Humvee (at times via mail order from his own pocket, for fuck’s sake) and learn to work in it for the first time with his unit. They were highly trained to do just about anything else expertly and did their best, but time to perfect their maneuvers before the invasion was too short. They did not get as far as would have been ideal before heading over the border. Yet another thing was that he and his men had too much nonfunctioning gear due to lack of basics like gun lube and batteries. And god damn, not only was that a diminishment of their lifesaving superior firepower and technological advantages, but it also that made having the POG parade behind them even more obnoxious since they couldn’t even be helpful with those simple supports, the things they were supposed to be there for.
Those were just the logistic and operational aspects eating at Brad. The broader view of the invasion, as it went on, was that it was really a level of chaos that was not OK. Not just the usual collection of bungled unit coordination, unlinked comms, and collateral damage. That stuff is part of all wars. It was those things, but it was just the scale and the continuous nature of it; it was just way, way worse than it should have been. And command was so close to it all, but didn’t seem to be correcting themselves.
Iraq was also an intensely exhausting war. Again, not that it was odd to have to go days with a few hours’ sleep during operations, but this was a killer and most importantly a stupid pace. They were not just moving so fast it prevented sleep to a reasonable degree. It was that they were moving fast and blind, not doing foot patrols, not doing their recon jobs, not moving with proper ass. It was riskier than it needed to be day after day.
And then, on the flip side, Brad’s ideas were made very real due to the interesting happenstance of who was in his unit: Ray and Nate. Ray AND Nate. Not one, but two guys who, each in their own way, sparked Brad’s interest. When Brad thought about them, maybe innocently enough at first (relatively speaking) as combat jack inspiration, they ended up embodying the ideas for Brad, like literally giving shape and form to Brad’s imagination as his body worked to square itself away.
And then things just got so ridiculous with the invasion, and Brad thought he knew Ray well enough by then, he just went for it. Now, as Brad thought about his situation with Ray - the easier one to have attempted - his labeling it an accomplishment was just selfish. He knew that. So he would also immediately admit to himself that more than that, it was really close to totally awesome with Ray. Brad did not use the phrase "totally awesome" outside his own head, except when it was genuinely the optimal phrase, such as to describe a large arty display, or for any other situation where amazement was duly earned and appropriate.
He might say it aloud if he could pull off...
He smiled quietly to himself as he thought about it from his seat in the Humvee, returning his gaze to Nate. Brad knew only that it might be good, or totally awesome, with the LT, but Nate would never cross the well-fortified institutional line between them. No, Nate would not, even though it was true that the invasion was having strong, similar effects on Nate as it was on Brad, where unexpected behavior was bubbling up. In fact, it seemed it was worse for Nate in that way. Everyone could see the effects on Nate, whereas for Brad, no one knew (except Ray, kind of).
Well, yes, there had been that one time Brad spent the day under his Humvee after Trombley shot those kids (to say nothing of how Brad had shown emotion upon seeing the kids). Brad had spent the day ignoring his team, the people relying on him, sending them all off worrying. Everyone knew how he felt that day, that he was being affected. But it was just that one time, in contrast to the ongoing troubles Nate was having. Nate wasn’t succeeding at locking it back down.
The other contrast was that Brad carried out his bullshit in relation to the men on the team he was leading. He directed it downward, made his guys feel uncomfortable, ignored, worried, whatever. It wasn’t necessarily what Brad meant to do, but it was what he had to do that day. On the other hand, in that same whole shot-kids circumstance, Brad had relied on Nate (and other officers) to lead the charge to get the higher-ups to agree to CASEVAC the kid. That was the contrast - Nate’s bullshit was directed upwards to his superiors. Nate and Brad had different authority relations.
So, Brad knew if it was going to happen, he would have to be the one to drag Nate over the line between them. A big risk. Brad's certainty that Nate was interested was bolstered by Ray’s concurrent assessment, but it still didn't add up to being actionable, not clearly over the 50% certainty mark. While no one becomes a Recon Marine because they always wisely take actions in accordance with statistics, they do receive training in likelihoods of outcomes across a variety of challenging situations and combine that with instinct. They learn to persuade luck in their favor. Brad wanted just a little more intel before acting to take control of luck. He just kept watching. He didn’t know what he needed to know, what it would take. He just kept watching Nate and waiting.
As he kept watching for days, nothing about the invasion improved. It just piled deeper. As they rolled into Baghdad and eventually set up at the cigarette factory, Brad’s internal metaphor that the invasion of Iraq was a mile-high tire fire - polluting, shameful, and onerous - was confirmed practically as physical reality, and worse. The urban dystopia of Baghdad, bombed and under occupation by the U.S., was like something from a comic book, complete with Valium zombies. Disorder was everywhere; it was so grating to Brad. His personal efforts at order were so core to his being, but one can only be surrounded by so much disorder before being affected by it. The local population was really suffering. Criminals ruled the streets while Brad and the US forces, the mighty liberators, hid at night. On top of that, there were unending civilian casualties that they, the good guys, directly caused due to clumsiness, laziness, or more usually, poor leadership. There would be some civilian casualties, of course - it was war. But this seemed beyond acceptable, like they were learning nothing as they went.
And then, rather than all that grand scale bullshit, it was something pretty personal that pushed Brad into needing to uncharacteristically act out again. It was when Eric, a fellow TL of high caliber, was busted down to Motor T due on his own CO’s inability to unfuck himself. This symbolized the dissonance between the warrior elegance of the enlisted Recon Marines and the heads-up-ass-ery of much of their leadership, a prime root cause of the problems with the invasion. Eric’s taking an undeserved fall made Brad want to take public action. Complain through official channels. Brad would go up the chain of command in the safest, regulation-appropriate way possible. But his men would be in for a real sulkfest while it would be going on.
But just as soon as Brad expressed his plan to Eric, Eric directed Brad not to pursue it on his behalf. Brad deferred out of his deep respect for Eric. But it left him with an uncomfortable, ill-fitting, rebellious energy.
Brad sought solitude to let the dangerous feeling pass. He was itching for a Humvee to get under to bang away at. Well, really, Brad was itching for a new idea that would serve the same purpose. Banging the tar off the underside of his Humvee had lost its efficacy as a bullshit burn-off because 1) he'd have to go to Motor T to work on his Victor, where Eric was likely to be per his infuriating current assignment, and 2) the last time Brad was banging on his Humvee’s underside, it was that whole mortally-wounded-children-on-his-watch thing. Fuck. He paused in the hallway he was in and leaned on one gray wall and stared at the other.
Brad breathed and willed the frustrations to roll off his back, to jump into the deep file drawer labeled "goatfucked bullshit in Iraq." It was getting pretty full, harder and harder to re-lock. He hung his head and sighed, thinking he was still alone, but a sound coming down the hall made him glance. There, like divine inspiration, appeared the LT.
“Brad,” he nodded, speaking with a mild friendliness as he approached, hands resting on the gear around his waist.
Brad glanced sideways but then back to the wall quickly before he might catch a clear view of the LT’s penetrating unearthly eyes, and just his luck, cherried out lips, like the LT had just been chewing on them or sucking a god damned red lollipop. Brad remained still and started having a near out of body experience since he hadn't managed to fix how upset he was, and now, here was Nate.
Brad didn’t even utter “Sir,” in acknowledgement as Nate stopped at his side. He just stared at the wall. He knew with his brain that he wanted to support his immensely competent, completely desirable CO however he could, not drag him down. But his brain wasn't in control of his actions just yet. He didn't know what to do with himself, didn't have his shit quite back together yet after wanting to do something for Eric and being shut down.
After waiting the appropriate amount of time for Brad to talk, Nate sniffed and spoke, "While I agree the status of the mission isn’t exactly clear, ‘defeated,' as your demeanor indicates, is far from the general consensus. Hold your head up, Brad, and shake it off, whatever it is. Box it up and get some sleep.” Nate's tone was business friendly, and was softening by the syllable, like it often did when it was just Brad there.
Nate was standing there with Brad, but his eyes darted down the hallway, like he had other places he needed to be. Brad knew Nate’s mind was swimming in so many problems lying ahead, so much to learn and manage as they shifted from invading to occupying. But Brad also knew Nate genuinely wanted to help, so the longer they stood together with Brad not talking, the more Nate gave into being present and empathizing. He eventually quit darting his eyes away and winced more, narrowing his eyes at Brad. Brad could see Nate actively working to compartmentalize - widening his eyes, not blinking for too long, frequently swallowing.
Yet even as he could observe all of this, Brad was undeniably in a genuine fog of misery at that moment, and it was influencing his actions. He turned to be face to face with Nate, and close. Ostensibly their closeness facilitated quieter conversation, preserving Brad's dignity and preventing anyone from overhearing this decidedly unfrosty moment. In Brad’s state, his desire to connect with Nate came out in an intense, longing stare, attempting to burn through and consume the small space between them. Brad knew he was fucking up with respect to Nate's instruction to “box it up.” This was definitely more of a “bleed it all over you” strategy. But Brad hoped that deep down, this advance would be what Nate wanted but could never ask for. Brad was off balance just enough to give it a shot.
Nate didn’t indicate that he minded the closeness. He cleared his throat, sighed, and spoke in a low tone to honor the close physical space, but also with a single raised eyebrow, as if what he was saying was a little dirty, a little not OK, “We love being tested in this unit, don’t we Brad? Physically and mentally. Isn’t this what we signed up for?”
Brad leaned forward even more and did not turn off his intensity, satisfied to see Nate looking a touch pained. "Not this,” Brad said quietly. “Not this. Sir, how can you stand it? You can't stand it anymore than I can."
"We both must. We simply must." Nate said shortly, pulling back into himself, just out of a stronger will, Brad guessed. A greater magnificence. "Tests may come from anywhere, and of course, the most challenging ones, on some levels, will come from within, including within the family boundaries of the Marines."
Nate was rescuing himself from the pain in trying to lead Brad out of his. Brad wanted to reach out and grab Nate from pulling away so easily. How could Nate acknowledge that this was a clusterfucked circumstance beyond anything they should tolerate and then go right on back to tolerating it? A little more pathetically than he liked, Brad confessed, "How? How do you do it?"
Nate seemed a little surprised by Brad’s questions, but didn’t flinch, ever open to address questions asked of him. "Like I said, I remind myself I love being tested. For me, it’s sadly really that simple. I know how this sounds, but you asked so, I’m telling you. All our training - I loved it. Scared the shit out of me a lot of the time, but really, I have to acknowledge to you," and here Brad saw guilty dark clouds in the LT's otherwise angelic eyes in a way that stirred Brad's tingly spots, "how much I fucking love being pinned down and tested."
Nate held Brad's gaze for a moment as his words penetrated, and then he wrapped up the moment with a weak, closed-lip smile, eyes deflected downward.
It registered with Brad how that all unfolded then folded again.
Jesus.
It helped him to ice up again, to get back to himself, to realize what a goddamned genius Recon Marine he really was, even in his moment of weakness. He straightened up.
Nate looked Brad over from head to toe, looking a little relieved, as if he saw Brad's improvement. Nate nodded and made to walk away, but Brad grabbed him by a handful of shirt on his chest and placidly held on without explanation for what should have been an uncomfortable length of time. Nate didn't tense up or fight. He did appear to be waiting for Brad’s explanation in a battle of calmness they were having. Finally, Brad said without relaxing his grip, "Just testing, sir."
Nate placed his hand over Brad's, loosening the grip and sending Brad’s heart rate up and his skin burning. Nate nodded again, something desperate in his eyes, in that way he kept giving away his troubles to anyone looking, and then Brad let go of Nate's shirt. Nate again smiled weakly, then diverted his eyes forward and continued on in the direction he had been going.
Brad was dizzy with his new intel.
Go on to The Third Thing That Happened