gk fic

Mar. 1st, 2012 11:05 pm
faketales: (gk - ray (pimpin))
[personal profile] faketales
minor penalty
Generation Kill; Brad/Ray; R
1,475 words

Hockey AU. With blowjobs.

Disclaimer: not mine.

The first time Brad slams Person into the boards he goes for the name.

“Josh Ray Person. Now there’s a trailer park name if I ever heard one.”

Person’s supposed to get flustered, because he’s facing the Iceman for the first time and even though his teammates would have warned him and he would have psyched himself up for it, no one is ever actually prepared for the remarks. Except Person just laughs and says, “And damn proud of it,” before skating away.

Brad’s eyes narrow as he watches Person scramble after the puck. That was... unexpected. Cocky rookies drive him crazy, but they’re not unbreakable. It just means that it’s a little more fun. Brad grins as he moves to the bench for the line change. If he can’t get some brat from Podunk, Middle America into the penalty box by the end of the game that he’s not worth his reputation.

He doesn’t run into Person again until late in the second period. As much as wants to do this he’s not going to let it rule everything he does. He’ll play the game and let the chance come to him.

But he’s definitely ready when he’s facing Person for the puck drop.

“You ever stare at passing trucks and wonder if the driver’s the one who knocked up your mother?”

Person snorts. “You ever wonder if the girl who gave you up was the smart one?”

Brad stares at him, waiting for Person’s face to register fear or regret, but nothing happens. He just keeps staring back, a smirk spreading over his face, not hesitating to meet Brad’s eyes.

Finally Person shakes his head and looks away. “Guess you’ll have to keep trying, Iceman.”

Brad’s not looking forward to the post-game interviews when he’s asked to explain how Person got past him to set up a Hurricanes goal.

Godfather leaves him on the bench for the rest of the period and then for the first half of the third. He doesn’t seem happy about letting Brad on even then but they’re down 1-0 and nothing else is working so he’ll get a chance.

When he approaches Person during a timeout he’s barely opened his mouth when Person grins wide and says, “Is it going to be a white trash joke now? I know it seems a little obvious, but it’d be such a waste to miss it.”

Brad closes his mouth and keeps on skating, like he hadn’t even noticed Person there at all. Maybe Rudy’s running classes on staying zen for the whole league.

The game ends 1-0 and Godfather doesn’t even bother to chew him out for his play. The reporters hover nearby while he gets dressed but apparently some people are still scared of him after all because none of them actually try to ask him anything. Unfortunately Poke’s not afraid of anything and he can sense him preparing to open his mouth, so Brad quickly gathers his stuff and heads for the door.

He doesn’t get far, though, bypassing the players’ lot in favor of waiting outside the visitors’ entrance. He knows the Hurricanes have a game in New Jersey in two days and won’t be in any hurry to leave tonight, and that’s proven when the players start trickling out in small groups and wandering off into the city. He’s half-hidden in shadow, not obvious enough for anyone to notice, and even if they did most of them won’t comment. It looks like Trombley spots him but his eyes are just blank, and Brad thinks of the rumors about him.

Finally Person walks out by himself and he somehow sees Brad immediately. His face lights up and he practically skips over. “Food?” he asks, like they’re old friends and they do this all the time, like the insults had been codes for how to meet.

Brad momentarily thinks of pretending he’s here for something else, for someone else, but he’s pretty sure that Person would see through that so he just shrugs. “Sure.”

“I want an amazing burger. And fries. Lots of fries. Fuck this diet.”

Brad eyes Person’s skinny frame. It’s hard to imagine any grease actually hurting him, but he’s not going to pass on any chance he has to defy his opponent’s restrictions. “This way.”

Person falls into step next to him, and whether he’s bouncing a bit is because he’s excited or just because it’s the only way he can keep up with Brad’s stride is unclear.

“Your nickname is lame,” Person announces after they’ve walked about five steps.

Brad’s somehow not surprised that he couldn’t stay silent for long. “Is that so?”

“Yeah. Iceman? You might not know this but we all play hockey on the ice.”

“You don’t say.”

“It’s generic and boring. Anyone could have that nickname.”

“But they don’t.”

“That doesn’t make it any less lame.”

Brad’s too busy fighting a grin to do anything but nod.

For the rest of the walk Person regales Brad with how wars start (pussy), how to end them (pussy), and the benefits of being in a band (pussy). He talks while they order their burgers, he talks while they find a table in the corner, and he talks while he eats. Brad listens in amusement and laughs when he can’t himself, which might be more often than he’d like to admit.

One of those times is when Person’s got one french fry hanging out of his mouth and another smeared along his upper lip.

“Jesus, Person, didn’t your mother teach you any manners?”

“Hey, at least my mom took me to NASCAR.”

Brad laughs. Again. “Of course she did.”

And then Ray’s off and running again, and Brad just relaxes into his seat, wondering about the name change in his head. He’s got no qualms about walking out as soon as Ray gets too annoying and leaving him to fend for himself, but he surprisingly doesn’t want to. Instead he throws napkins at Ray’s face until he finally cleans himself up.

As soon as the plates are clear Brad throws their trash out and heads for the door. Ray follows without being asked and is babbling about opening a gay bar in his hometown when they get to Brad’s building.

Ray starts to giggle. “Hey! I was totally right about you, wasn’t I?”

Brad quirks an eyebrow. “Right about what?”

“All that macho bullshit on the ice is like, your mating call. You’re not trying to draw penalties, you’re looking to get some.”

“An interesting theory,” Brad muses as he unlocks his door. “Or maybe you were dropped on your head as a baby.”

“Nah. You couldn’t intimidate me so now you want to bone me.”

Brad shakes his head at the ceiling. “Do you ever shut up?”

Ray’s smirk deepens as he kicks the door shut behind him. “Well...” And from there it’s not much of a surprise when he drops to his knees and starts undoing Brad’s pants. “You won’t be insulting me after this.”

“Wanna bet?” Brad grumbles, sucking in a breath as Ray pulls his underwear down to reveal his cock. Ray opens his mouth and just in case it’s to make another retort instead of working on the more important task at hand Brad shoves his hips forward and slides his cock past Ray’s lips. Ray makes no attempt to get away and actually just moves to take Brad deeper, using his hands to cover what doesn’t fit in his mouth.

Brad watches him closely for a minute, assuming that if anyone could deep-throat and still talk at the same time it’d be Ray, but nothing like that happens. Ray was right; he is good at this. Constant pressure, no teeth, and varying movements that keep it from being predictable. But just the same Brad can’t help holding Ray’s face in place while he says, “Good job, Person. I bet you were a big hit in the trailer park.”

And now Ray’s going to pass out as he tries to laugh with his mouth full of cock. Brad pulls him off but doesn’t give him a chance to breathe as he slams Ray into the wall and kisses him. They’re back where they started, slamming each other around, and Brad feels the bruises from earlier loud and clear, but he doesn’t care.

Ray yanks his head away and pouts at Brad. “I wasn’t finished.” He nips his teeth along Brad’s chin. “And that move would have totally gotten you into the box for boarding.”

“Now who’s being lame? And I’d rather take you down the hall and fuck you, if that’s okay with you.”

“I’m up for that.” Ray follows Brad down the hall. “Maybe I can even teach you a thing or two about insults.”

“I’m counting on it.”

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