Work Text:
1.
When Ray has his fifth birthday, complete with a pile of yellow squeaky ducks, a family moves in next door. Momma says it was only polite to greet their new neighbors. Ray throws a tantrum and bites the clown because it’s his birthday and he doesn’t want to meet any stupid new neighbors.
Momma takes away two ducks and makes Ray brush his teeth.
Then they go over with a good quarter of the birthday cake and meet the neighbors. Ray eyes the two girls dubiously and only just manages not to bite them when they giggle and mess up his hair.
The boy just stares at him. Ray’s never seen anyone with grey eyes before.
2.
"I want it back!" the boy roars at him like the dinosaurs on TV. Ray’s so shocked that he drops the little helicopter and sits down hard on the grass.
"S’not my fault," Ray says, trying not to cry, because the boy has gone all red and looked as if he’s about to climb over the fence. Besides, the boy’s ten. Ray isn’t going to reach double-digits for another two years, and that’s going to take forever. “You flew the stupid thing over.”
Later, the boy’s mom makes him apologize, while Ray hides behind Momma, biting his nails. And Ray says he’s sorry too, which makes the boy scratch his head and scuff his shoes. They are very nice Batman shoes. Ray shows him his own NASCAR ones, the special outdoors pair in the cupboard, and learns that the boy’s name is Brad.
3.
Ray can’t get algebra, but he has Momma’s pride for being precocious in his reading, so it becomes natural for Brad to come over for study dates, even though he’s a good two grades above Ray. Brad tutors him in what the xs and ys means, using the faded yellow ducks left on the shelf, and Ray reads stories to Brad, using Brad’s toy soldiers to tell the tales of Shakespeare.
"I’m scared for high school," Brad says one rainy afternoon. Ray can’t understand why. Brad is tall and still growing, and he is in track, and there had been girls who’d asked Brad out on dates. Ray doesn’t think much of girls, even though he does like Brad’s two older sisters. Too much lipgloss and frilly dresses and glitter pens. "I’ve heard horror stories from Pappy."
Pappy’s the wise eleventh grader who deigns to talk to the kids from junior high. He always travels with his best friend Rudy, a health nut who swears that the apocalypse is coming and that everyone needs to be prepared. Ray still can’t see how being a gymnast will help.
"You won’t be stuffed into lockers, I will," Ray says grumpily, lifting his skinny arms.
"I’ll pull you out, promise." Brad smiles, and squeezes the only working yellow duck right in Ray’s ear.
4.
Ray is in heaven with his team winning yet another debate. They’re on their way to the finals of the state competition, and he’s pretty sure they’re going to kick ass again. Nate, their captain, lifts him up, their youngest member, and everyone cheers.
"You are such a freak," Brad says, grinning, when Ray finally makes it to the car.
Ray snorts. “Says the guy in AP Calc. How are those curves coming, baby?” he leers, or tries to. It’s hard with confetti in his hair.
"Try harder, you little shit."
"I’ll miss you when you go to college." He lets out a fake sniff. "Don’t forget your pal while you’re sucking up booze from a chick’s cleavage."
Brad just shakes his head and starts the car.
5.
The oh fuck moment comes when Ray graduates from high school with the second-highest GPA in his cohort. He’s taking photos with Walt when he spies Brad standing next to Momma in the crowd, and it hits him in the gut so hard that he can’t fucking breathe.
"Hey hey," he says, trying for casual when he gets near them. Momma kisses him and chatters excitedly to Walt about graduation and college. Brad looks at him funny, like he’s assessing Ray, before pulling him into an awkward hug.
Fuck, Brad’s hot.
The next week is spent catching up with this newly-hot Brad and trying to bury these new feelings deep under the mattress of his bed. When Ray has his first dirty dream about Brad, he wakes up cold and horny. It’s not like the ones he had with the girls, all soft skin and lips and breasts. It’s Brad holding him down and murmuring into his ear and telling Ray all these fucking things he wants to do to Ray—and it makes Ray come in his boxers in two minutes flat, still groggy from sleep. He’s guilty afterwards and can’t look at Brad for at least an hour.
6.
Ray does a double major in Psychology and Literature because he’s always been a little crazy and fond of words. He ends up in the same college as Brad because applications had been sent out months ago and UCLA was his best choice.
He rooms with Walt, who’s doing Music, and goes out with girls and tries his hardest not to think about Brad when he’s fucking them.
Then he walks into Brad’s room, in the house he’s sharing with his frat brothers, and there’s Brad with a guy. And Ray sees red, which is stupid, so he leaves and drives around campus until Walt calls him to make sure he’s okay.
"Are you mad because he’s sleepin’ with some guy, or because he’s sleepin’ with some guy?" Walt asks over a late breakfast with too many burnt pancakes, and Ray just stares right back.
"The fuck does that mean?"
A fork nearly pokes his eye out. “Are you mad because he’s gay, or because he ain’t gay with you?”
7.
Ray’s not gay. He’s—whatever. He’s attracted to dick, trim, ass, whatever. Brad’s—Brad’s whatever too. It’s not like they talk that often anymore. Brad’s got a job after he finishes his degree at some hotshot company doing something in technobabble. Ray’s got two more years and then he’s probably going to become a teacher or counselor or go to grad school.
He puts his head down and studies and fucks whoever. (He even tries to fuck Walt, once, while drunk off his ass, and gets rightfully slapped across the face and balls for it.) And ignores the look on Walt’s face that’s the same as the naggy one on Momma’s face when she gets all determined and shit.
It’s just that Ray has to find out via fucking Facebook that Brad’s got a boyfriend with the horribly bland name of John.
8.
"Yo. What’s it this time?" Stafford greets him as he walks through Bravo Mathilda’s doors. Ray grins, and explains his latest tattoo, already itching for the burn.
Walt shakes his head in disapproval, as usual, which amuses the fuck out of Stafford. As usual. He’s still bitter over the time Ray got him drunk during spring break. He has a tramp stamp of a butterfly on his ass.
The sketch goes quick, given that it’s only a couple of words and swirls across his chest. Ray’s lying down, Stafford prepping him, when Walt points at the little yellow dot on his inner wrist and asks why the fuck did Ray tattoo a duck on his body.
Ray shrugs.
9.
"Hello," Brad says quietly at the bar as Ray sits down. He doesn’t need any prompting, immediately spilling out the story of bland John and how he fucked Brad over while Brad was at work in New York over Christmas.
"Jesus Christ," Ray manages, and clinks his beer bottle against Brad’s. He’s going to track down John and kill him. It goes quiet after that, but it’s a different sort of quiet compared to the ones they shared in college when they drifted apart.
Ray knows he smells of cigarettes when Brad leans in to examine the tattoos on his arms. Brad smells of beer and Sharpies. He’s been labeling boxes, Brad says, and rubs the pads of his fingers gently against the faded yellow duck on Ray’s left wrist.
"Can I kiss you?" Brad’s grey eyes are clearly sober.
“May I, you illiterate motherfucker,” Ray says, because it’s all he can.
Brad laughs. “You’re still a freak.”
10.
Ray ignores his phone, even though it makes Walt crazy, and goes out to the library every chance he can. He varies his routine, of course, because he doesn’t trust Walt to spill the beans.
Then Momma calls, and she yells a lot. “Why are you torturing the poor boy?” she says, rattling her saucepans about in her kitchen. “I didn’t bring you up like this, Josh Ray. You call him back right now. And I’ll hear from Walter if you don’t.” She hangs up.
Ray glares at Walt, who smirks back.
It goes to voicemail, and Ray ends up inviting Brad to his birthday party back home, which appeases everyone in his fucking life except himself.
He hides in his bedroom. He’s twenty-five and in his NASCAR boxers and he’s hiding in his bedroom with his old algebra textbooks and he can’t solve any of the problems, which is bullshit and a metaphor for his current life.
"You’re an asshole," Brad says grumpily, then scuffs his socked feet on the floor like he’s ten all over again. Ray’s irrationally pissed off that he finds Brad adorable and fuckable all at once. He tells Brad so, and gets a lapful of tall blond Jewish math-obsessed techologist. "Happy birthday."
Ray examines the duck-shaped package with a grave air. “I hope the real present is your dick,” he says, and Brad kisses him.