Heavy Artillery

Ray isn’t really going anywhere so much as stalking aimlessly from supply tent to supply tent in the vain hope that next time he checks, the parts he needs to make Poke’s Humvee run will have magically appeared—like loot spawning in a video game if you perform the right combination of tasks in the right order—when he plows headfirst into another body as he’s coming around a corner. He barely has the time to recognize the startled green of Lieutenant Fick’s eyes before he nearly goes ass over teakettle into the sand.

“Fuck!” he yelps, and is spared further embarrassment only by the grace of Nate’s hand, wrapped tight around his elbow. He sways perilously but manages to get his feet under him before any real damage is done. One of his knees is twinging a little bit and his pride stings like somebody just went after it with a wire brush and some extreme prejudice, but Ray has survived worse. Nate is clearly surprised to find Ray skulking around officer country, and fresh off a debrief to boot, if the presence of Gunny Wynn at his shoulder and the milling crowd of upper echelon Marines in the background are any indication.

Ray flashes a sheepish grin and nods to each of the men in front of him in turn. “LT, Gunny,” he greets with his usual breezy laissez-faire. “Fancy running into you here.”

“Corporal Person,” Nate replies, with that gleam to his gaze that suggests he might be laughing if he weren’t so committed to maintaining decorum in public. His fingers are still curled around Ray’s arm, warm and possessive even in the sun-baked heat of the afternoon. “May I ask what undoubtedly pressing business has you moving with such haste?”

Ray glances at Gunny Wynn and then leans in, cupping his hand against his cheek, and stage-whispers, “I’m on the hunt for a guy who can give me some hose.”

Nate’s eyebrows quirk, just a little, and the shadows at the corners of his mouth twitch. Beside him, Gunny Wynn rolls his eyes and takes a pull off the ridiculously oversized, slightly crumpled bottle of water he’s carting around.

“Big hose,” Ray continues, holding his hands out in the air in front of him with a considerable distance between them. “I mean, honking. Like at least twelve inches. Maybe fourteen, and as big around as my fist. You know, the kind of shit you only see in really good gay pornos.” He smirks and narrows his gaze, thoughtful, then wags his eyebrows in high, conspicuous arcs at Nate. “You don’t happen to know where I could find one of those, do you?”

“Alright,” Gunny Wynn interrupts. He claps a hand to Nate’s shoulder and drawls, “Nate, we can reconvene after you’ve helped the Corporal with his...hosiery problem.” He nods in Ray’s direction and excuses himself with a brisk, “Person. Pleasure as always.”