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You Know I'm Just Your Type

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This is how they flirt.

Brad insults Ray’s family tree with five dollar words, with a smirk and an eyebrow perfectly arched. He insults Ray’s mother, his physical appearance, his education; he never says anything about Ray’s status as a Marine. There are some lines you don’t cross.

Ray flirts back with exaggerated forwardness: waggles his eyebrows, purses his lips, promises of blow jobs and kinks that perk Brad’s interests, among other things. He pouts when Brad won’t let him sing cowboy songs, knows what Brad’s looking for before Brad knows himself, gives him space when he can tell Brad’s working shit out in his head. Brad’s an internalizing motherfucker.



& This is how they kiss.

Brad wants, Ray takes. Brad won’t make the first move, not at first. Feels like he’s betraying some code, like he’s less of a marine, or a man. Ray assures him that its bullshit with the sweep of his tongue, fingers curling and digging around Brad’s neck. Then he let’s Brad take, flip their positions and bruise Ray’s wrists with his thumbs, pressing deep into the tender spot where his veins intersect.

Brad feels one-hundred percent Iceman as he feels Ray’s cock digging into his thigh, pulling Ray’s bottom lip between his teeth. Ray likes to bleed, likes to watch Brad lick it off his skin and taste. Brad’s mouth is harsh and bruising, all hunger and no regret. He wants so much. Wants to press his mouth to Ray’s throat, mark him up. He wants to be able to see himself all over Ray’s skin. He wants them all to know Ray is his.



This is What They Call Foreplay


Ray fingers himself open on Brad’s bed because what the fuck, Brad’s just standing there and he’s been waiting for this for like, three months at least and if Brad’s not going to fuck him already then he’ll just fuck himself, Jesus.

“Holy shit,” Brad says quietly, eyes fixed on Ray’s fingers, the tight ring of muscle they keep disappearing into. “Does that feel good?”

Ray rolls his eyes, but the sweat glistening across his brow can’t lie. “Fuck yeah,” he pants a little, mostly for show. “You’ll see.”

Brad’s eyebrows reach for the sky.

“What? You think I haven’t thought about how tight your type-a, OCD asshole is, Brad? I’m being a fucking saint by letting you fuck me first, let’s be clear on that.”

Brad laughs and some of the tension, sexual and otherwise, seems to melt off of him in layers. “Ray, all I was expecting tonight was your mouth on my dick.”

“Oh we’ll get there,” Ray grins. “We’ve got this room for the next three days and I’ve got twelve weeks of very creative combat jacks to get out of my system.”


“I mean fuck, Brad. You know insulting my mom makes me hard as hell. And you slutting around that field fucking shirtless for all to see, LT’s dirty eyes all over you like--”


“Yeah, Brad?

“Shut the fuck up.”


& This is How They Fuck


Brad fucks Ray so he can see his face, touch his plush, parted lips while he shoves his cock completely inside of him. Rakes his nails down Ray’s pale chest as Ray lifts his hips, fucking himself on Brad’s cock, moaning and cursing and telling Brad how hot he is, how big he is, how much he loves his fucking cock.

Brad reaches down and covers Ray’s mouth with his hand, lifts Ray’s hips and goes deeper. Ray bites his hand, so Brad let’s go of his mouth and grabs his wrists instead, pinning them over Ray’s head. This angle gets his cock hitting right on Ray’s prostate and suddenly, Ray’s at a loss for words, eyes wide and mouth slack as Brad’s cock rams into it with each thrust.

“Talk,” Brad murmurs, biting along Ray’s jaw. Ray just looks at him. “Talk or I’ll stop.”

“Don’t,” Ray splutters. “Don’t you dare fucking - christ - stop.”

Brad grins. “I want to see you come all over yourself, messy little bitch you are.”

“Jesus, Brad.” Ray pants. His chest is painted in sweat and red streaks from Brad’s blunt nails.

“Come on, Ray. Come for me.”

“Oh, you think its like that?” Ray laughs. “Think I’m some slut’s going to come just because you say the words?”

Brad gets even deeper, pulls Ray so that the back of his thighs are resting on the top of Brad’s. “I do,” Brad grins. “I think you’re a dirty little cockslut and you want to come so bad its driving you crazy, but you want me to come first so you can brag about it later.”

Ray grins. Then with a hooked leg and a twist and a roll, Brad finds himself on his back on the mattress with Ray straddling him. Brad’s fucking mesmerized for a second. He’s reminded of the first time he thought about Ray in this way, stripping out of his hoodie at Matilda, cammies slung low on his hips, that little trail of fine hairs and all those goddamn tattoos. Now he’s all marked up with Brad’s teeth and fingernails, chest flushed with arousal, cock bouncing as he rides him, and Brad can’t hold back any longer.

“Fuck, Ray.” Brad growls, rolling them over again so he can bruise Ray’s mouth in kisses as he comes, spilling into Ray, feeling it hot and sticky between them, making his last mark. “Mine,” he growls into Ray’s sweat-dampened hair, nipping at the skin below his ear.

“Possessive motherfucker,” Ray laughs, breathless. Brad pulls up, gives him a serious look and Ray just shakes his head, rolling his eyes. “You’re going to make me say it, aren’t you?”

Brad stares.

Ray sighs.

“You had me at ‘I need my RTO,’ okay?”

Brad lets out a loud laugh and flops over onto the bed next to him. “I can’t believe you just made a Jerry McGuire reference. You are entirely too gay, Person.”

“I’d say coming from a guy whose come is still dripping from my asshole, that holds almost no weight.”

Brad shrugs lazily, turns on his side and touches one of the bruises on Ray’s collarbone.

“I’m not going to fuck you over, Brad.” Ray tells him. “This is different.”

“I know,” Brad smiles faintly. “Go to sleep.”

“Mmmhmm,” Ray says sleepily and closes his eyes, knowing that when he wakes up Brad will be right there next to him, fingers still pressed into the darkening bruise like a promise. Mine.