“Shut up,” Walt said, throwing Ray onto the couch hard enough for it to squeak a foot across the wood floor.
“I like the enthusiasm, Walter,” Ray said, smiling broadly in the face of Walt’s scowling intensity and rocking his hips up to rub his dick against Walt’s through their shorts.
“I said: shut. the. fuck. up,” Walt growled, slamming his hand across Ray’s giggling mouth; he ground down hard on Ray, using his other hand to push aside their clothes just enough to get skin on skin.
Friction made everything feel a stroke away from incineration and Ray thrashed under Walt’s white-knuckled grip. He convulsed when Walt pushed the slick head of his dick against Ray’s, blue eyes flaring with angry intensity, saying, “Take it, fucker.”
Ray dragged his nose along the line of Walt’s neck, breathing him in and Walt almost had the guts to ask him for what he really wanted. He needed Ray’s teeth on him, right there on the side of his neck, leaving marks on him like they were in the back of his mom’s station wagon and 16 years old, late for curfew and that much more turned on because they were gonna get in trouble for it. It was hard to fog up a windowless Humvee in the desert, but they were fucking trying their goddamndest, rubbing their dicks together through two layers of woodland camo and praying that Sixta wasn’t gonna ground them for necking.
Walt held the back of Ray’s head where he wanted it, fingers pushing through Ray’s greasy, dusty hair… and then the wet touch of Ray’s tongue was finally there, tasting Walt through the Iraqi grit. The couldn’t hold back his whole, choked noise when Ray’s bite came, and Walt’s palm left a sweaty handprint on Ray’s dash when he came in his smalls.
“Just hit me. I want you to,” Walt said from his position laying across Ray’s bony lap; Ray had to be feeling his erection digging into his leg, because Walt really fucking wanted a spanking. He knew it was kind of not the usual thing for a Marine to want his ass reddened, especially not by one of his brothers, but Walt just did not give a flying fuck; he wanted to feel the sting of it and the heat, and he wanted it to be Ray that did it.
“Yeah, but no. I’ll fuck you or suck you off or pinch your tits. Whatever else you want,” Ray replied.
Walt squirmed, rubbing his dick against Ray’s leg restlessly. “Come on, dude. Please?” Walt raised his eyebrows and made the sappiest begging face he could muster.
“Jesus Christ. Fine,” Ray said, and slapped Walt’s bare skin five times in rapid succession like he thought he’d just get it over with and Walt would change his mind… he didn’t and as the tingling warmth ran from his ass to his dick, Ray quietly said, “Fuck, you look good like this.”
Ray threw a leg over him and breathed stale beer breath along Walt’s scruffy cheek; he was mostly asleep, and his morning wood was jabbing Walt in the hip.
“It’s like 11:00, Ray, and it’s getting too fucking hot in here,” he rasped, seriously needing a glass of water and some lunch — and probably a good, long piss — to take down the edge of his hangover; he mostly remembered last night, and he was fairly sure that he and Ray had kept this thing under wraps.
“Not getting out of bed yet,” Ray mumbled, throwing his arm over Walt too and slowly, sleepily stroking his circled fingers along Walt’s dick. “Pretty sure people crashed out there. Gotta stay here ‘til they all leave. Otherwise NJP’d.”
“Shit.” The vague ache of Walt’s bladder could (probably) wait, especially when he was pretty sure that, yeah, there were people out in the kitchen; he shifted his hips, pushing into Ray’s fist, hoping they could keep quiet for at least one more time.
Ray froze with his beer at his lips, almost unaware that his mouth had overflowed and beer was spilling down onto his shirt.
He sputtered, “Walt, I’m gonna have to ask you to either always look like that or never, ever, ever look like that again. Ever. Because, dude.”
Walt pulled a rag from the back pocket of his jeans and wiped across his sweaty forehead with it; it left behind a dark streak of grease and Ray gulped before leaping up from the couch and pinning Walt against the wall.
“You have a fucked up sense of what is attractive,” Walt said, groaning gutturally as Ray’s hand slid down into his smalls and tugged at his cock impatiently.
Ray rolled his eyes as he sank to his knees, dragging in a huge lungful of Walt’s funk, tasting it as he went with an eager tongue. “What about me isn’t fucked up though?” he asked right before sucking Walt to the back of his throat and forcing Walt’s dirty hands into his hair.
“I’m fine, Ray,” Walt said, blowing his nose into the ten millionth Kleenex; his nose felt like he’d just snorted a truckload of C4, but otherwise he was fine.
Ray was hovering around, pacing and biting all of his fingernails off. “Dude, though. But… what if, I mean, just… whatifwenevergettofuckagain,” Ray said all in one breath, looking at Walt with huge, watery, brown eyes.
“I have a frickin’ cold, not the plague or some shit.” Walt rolled his eyes. “I can’t believe I’m laying here sick, and I’m trying to make you feel better,” he mumbled. “FINE. Suck me off, and then I’m sure we’ll both feel awesome.”
“Are you… Brad’s gonna be fucking pissed if you nut on his laptop,” Walt said, leaning closer like it somehow would make it so he could reach to England and get his own fist around Ray’s dick.
“Homes,” Ray panted, shifting the camera down so Walt could get a real good look, “All I want is three minutes imagining you’re here, and you want to talk about Brad Colbert? I know he’s Jehovah’s gift and all, but—”
“Whatever. I don’t see your dick backing down,” Walt said, taking his own out and matching Ray’s rhythm.
“Fuck,” Ray hissed. “I can’t wait ‘til I get there and I can wake you up like this.” His hips jerked up as he fucked into his hand.
This was the football game that was supposed to redeem the sport for all of them after the shitstorm the other one devolved into.
Ain’t nobody complained when this one devolved too, ‘cause this time it was more about beer and gettin’ head. Probably it was Q-Tip that started it, getting John in a headlock and spanking his ass after a touchdown; but it wasn’t like John was exactly complaining about having his face shoved in Q-Tip’s crotch. After a couple ‘a seconds of silence and then a couple of hootin’ and hollerin’, Christeson wasn’t the only one with a mouthful of dick. The sun had the good sense to set right about then, so at least they had the cover of darkness when Walt tackled Ray in the most gentle manner possible; just happened to be practically onto Q-Tip’s already occupied lap.
Gunny took a long drag on his beer and bumped his shoulder against Kocher’s, raisin’ an eyebrow at the action. Mighta even been an invitation.
Walt was exhaustedly panting little huffs of air over Ray’s stomach when it growled noisily; Walt sat up enough to give Ray a face, and his fucking sex-hair looked edible.
“What?” Ray asked. “It’s your fault I’m this way.” He pushed off the bed and walked to the kitchen, giving an ass shake on his way out that caused Walt to throw a spare sock at him. He rifled through the fridge, nothing looking appealing save a bottle of Heineken (fuck Fick and this European shit) and a jar of salsa. “Where are your chips, homes?”
“Ain’t got any. Lilley ate ‘em.”
Ray came back into the room with the beer, a lime, and the salt shaker… and a woody. “Fuck food,” he smiled hungrily.
“Homes, you gotta be fucking joking here,” Ray said, interrupting a perfectly good piece of sex — finally they were getting a chance to do more than unzip and jerk off — to poke at Walt’s ass cheek. “This is very fucking literal, Walt.”
“I was 16. What do you want?” Walt knew it was kind of dumb for a Devil Dog to have a sunshine tattooed on his ass, but a tattoo is basically a tattoo, right?
And then Ray bit him… RAY BIT HIM. On the motherfucking ASS.
“Hey! Just try to ignore it then,” Walt said, and he wiggled his naked ass toward Ray’s mouth.
Ray’s tongue went to work, and his thumb kept stroking over the faded ink and teeth marks.