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Ray decides, looking back, that this whole outing via canoe trip is absolutely Walt’s fault. It doesn’t matter that Brad shouted during sex and that the noise sent Walt and Poke to their tent to investigate, only to find Ray riding Brad’s dick in the great outdoors. Walt had set up the canoe trip that led to Brad not keeping his pretty goddamn mouth shut, and that makes the whole thing Walt’s fault.
"Oh, get over yourself," Walt tells him a week later. "Nobody cares."
"Really?" Because I’m pretty sure Poke is gonna burn his eyes out."
"Because he had to see you naked and doesn’t want to fuck you," Walt says. "That is a perfectly acceptable reaction."
"DADT, dude."
"Like any of us give a shit," Walt says, and that’s a fair point, but Ray doesn’t want to let him off the hook that easy.
"This is your fault."
"I’m not the one fucking a guy in a tent on a gravel bar four feet wide. You could have kept it in your pants."
"You could have planned your fucking bonding experience further into Brad’s leave, so I wouldn’t be getting over six months of no sex."
"And if you’d told me you two were together, I would have."
Game. Set. Match. Motherfucker. Ray sighs and thumps his head on the wall and says, "Okay, fine. Whatever. Fuck you. You need to come get a beer with me because Brad’s out talking to Poke and trying to convince him to blank the whole thing from his memory."
"I can meet you in an hour," Walt offers.
"Someplace away from base," Ray says. "I may need to have feelings and shit."
"Hour and a half," Walt amends.
"Where?"
"Banner’s?"
"Yeah. That’ll work."
"Hey," Walt says, "we’re good, all right?"
Ray hates that he needs to hear it. He thumps his head against the wall again. "Yeah, all right."
*
Walt gets to Banner’s before Ray, sits in the back and orders a beer. As he’s getting his jacket off, Ray comes in, spots him, and slides across from him. "Hey," Walt says.
"Hey," Ray says. He taps his fingers on the table, orders a beer when the server comes by, and goes back to tapping his fingers on the table.
"How much coffee you had today?" Walt asks.
"Fuck you," Ray says. He spreads his hands over the table and swears under his breath for a solid fifteen seconds.
"We’re good," Walt says. "I meant it when I said it, Ray."
"Yeah. I know. Just." Ray drops his head into his hands and growls before saying, "What if Poke gets mad? What if he tells Brad to fuck off?"
"Dude, he caught you having sex with Brad and didn’t flip out."
"He was screaming for kerosene to burn out his eyes."
"You really think anything he and Brad say to each other is gonna make him more weirded out?" Walt continues over him. Ray doesn’t answer the question. The server drops off their beers, and Walt leans forward when Ray doesn’t immediately pour his. "Ray, man, it happened, and it was awkward as fuck, but we can all handle this, okay?"
Ray still doesn’t pour his beer. Walt sighs and reaches across the table, pouring for Ray. "Did you do anything before you came here that wasn’t sit and worry what Poke might be saying?"
"I jerked off," Ray says.
"Really?"
"No."
Walt snorts. "You ass." He kicks Ray under the table and lifts his legs before Ray can kick him back. "You know, you could call Brad and see if things are good with him and Poke."
"What if they’re not?"
"Then you offer emotional support to your boyfriend, dumbass."
Ray looks pained. "I’m going to pretend you didn’t just say that sentence. And I’m also going to pretend it’s not super creepy you’re doing the Oprah thing for me on this whole thing. Like, scarily fucking supportive, homes."
"Your life is so hard," Walt says as Ray reaches for his phone and flips him off.
Walt takes a long drink of his beer and watches Ray’s shoulders relax as he tucks into himself to talk to Brad. It’s odd to see Ray so worried, so folded into himself rather than yelling and swearing about what he needs. But it’s the nature of DADT, Walt supposes. He’s never thought much about it before, but looking at Ray now, uncurling from his defensive position, Walt hates DADT and what it does to good guys like Ray and like Brad, who are so scared they might get caught out that being busted mid-sex is possibly friendship-ending..and career-ending.
"Hey," Walt says when Ray has closed his phone and finally taken a drink of his beer. "Were you really worried about Poke?" Because Walt will fucking choke Poke if Ray says yes, and fuck all the hate crime legislation Poke will quote at him while he does it.
"No. Maybe. Fuck it; I don’t know. I--My mom loves Brad, you know? And I…" Ray rolls his jaw in a circle a few times before saying, "And I love Brad, and I know he’s got feelings and shit for me, but it’s--" Ray takes a very long drink of his beer.
"You’re not gonna lose Brad his career, Ray," Walt says on a half-guess, but the way Ray deflates tells Walt he’s dead on. "Even if Poke was pissed off about it, it’s not in him to fuck things up for other people who are...what’s that word he uses?"
"Other," Ray says.
"Yeah. Other. It’s just not in him, and it’s not in him to fuck up his friends. And it’s not in me to fuck up my friends."
"Yeah," Ray agrees, and he looks at Walt and gives him a shaky smile. "It’s weird, you know, to have this bullshit secret?"
"No, I don’t know," Walt says because it’s true. "But I figure it probably sucks."
"Yeah," Ray says. "Yeah, it does."