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amoamaTitle: Undertow
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
amoama
Fandom (pairing/characters): Generation Kill, Doc Tim Bryan/Eric Kocher
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1900
Summary: Doc and Kocher are two of the most frustrated marines in IOF. They help each other deal.
Disclaimer: Not mine, not real, never happened.
Author's Note: I know this is a rare pairing in the extreme and it's probably more matchmaking/wishful-thinking rather than your average slashing but when you have Doc's "Well sir it’s just that you’re incompetent sir" BAMF-ness followed immediately by Kocher's "You fire an AK one more time, I'll fuck you up" BAMF-ness... I just think it had to happen sometime. Someone tell me they agree, lol!
Tim Bryan
It wasn’t like he was ever going to fucking say anything. About anything. Of all the things to be raging about here in the desert, his gay-ass homosexual hormones weren’t fucking one of them. Hell he respected the guy. Of all the blood thirsty devil dogs out here Eric Kocher was one of those it would be a fucking honor to die with. They got on in the rarely-need-to-speak, understand-the-meaning-of-professionalism kind of way that Tim really valued.
Sure there was that time on libo last year - and Tim would be a fucking corpse if he didn’t think about it every now and then – how the twitch of Eric’s eyebrow had told him all he needed to know, how the sex that followed was some of the hottest, most flawless fucking he’s ever experienced. But First Recon was still a thing of the future for Tim then and he didn’t know they would be driving round Iraq together any time soon.
It was just a fuck. So he’s here to do his job and to try not to get too irate more than once an hour.
Except, now they know each other and it’s more like a fucking meeting of the minds and that’s far more likely to throw Tim off course than any bodily fluids they may or may not have swapped one night twelve months ago.
Eric Kocher
The frustrations are unbelievable. Eric’s almost forgotten what it’s like to function as an actual recon marine. So has everyone else it seems. Captain America is going to kill them all. Eric feels the anger coil inside him, settling in his stomach like a grenade. He doesn’t know when he’s going to blow but it’s going to take his career with it he can tell.
And then there’s the Doc – Tim – in fucking Bravo for shite’s sake. They circle each other like they’re in a boxing ring or something. They don’t talk much, and it’s not like they need to talk about it – keeping it close to the chest – you don’t fuck guys and function in the marines if you can’t do that, but he can tell they’re on the same page. One fuck doesn’t mean anything and they’ve both got a job to do and enough nightmares to deal with without causing each other anymore stress. There’s a trick to this and it’s as elemental as the separation of church and state, except Eric hasn’t quite decided - out of being a marine and having gay sex - which is church and which is state?
So Eric stands back, deflects the guys with gleeful rants about chicks and butt plugs, allowing himself only to observe, and swears not to let it fuck him up.
He sees Bryan, seething, wound up like a hot wire. And he gets it. Waits to see how he deals with it.
Then he hears about the talkback to Encino Man; the Doc, giving it to his superior straight, no pussying around. And Kocher wouldn’t say it out loud but he’s fucking inspired and not five minutes later he pulls Captain America aside and threatens the shit out of him and feels better for it. At least this thing with the AK he can put a stop to. He can’t stop McGraw being a twat but he can at least stop him being a twat waving around an AK. Fuck the consequences. It feels like he’s unleashing himself for a few seconds.
And something switches in Eric then because this isn’t a real mission and there is no SOP for this shit and because he already knows the Doc will read him like an illustrated kids book because they match up like fucking sniper pairs. So when he sees him behind the humvee - its ass facing the desert which is as private as there is out here – he marches over and squares up to Bryan, stares him right in the eyes and telepathizes the hell out of “I wanna fuck your brains out.” Which it seems like the good doctor is receiving loud and clear because Tim’s breathing becomes embarrassingly heavy for a recon marine and he smiles widely at Eric and actually manages to verbalise, “Yeah, me too,” before ducking his head and walking away.
Eric thinks Doc might actually be chuckling to himself as he goes. Eric smiles in response. Fuck whatever else is going on in this messed up AO, if there’s also this he might just make it through with his sanity still intact.
&*(^^)(*&%$£_*&*
Doc looks through him as he comes into the compound. Eric’s heard from Person about the way the men had over run Doc’s makeshift children’s hospital looking for Valium. Just one more fucked up thing in this shit storm of a city. The shellshocked look on Bryan’s face feels like the manifestation of his own confusion and disgust.
Doc stops in front of him though and looks up at him, almost in surprise. He jolts out of his reverie immediately. “You got suspended.”
Kocher shrugs. It’s not like it’s a question.
Doc shakes his head and the outrage in that small movement, the purse of lips and flare of nostrils unravels Eric a little. Just to see his own feelings of injustice reflected here makes him feel calmer.
Tim’s hand comes up, without any conscious thought, and his palm presses into Eric’s chest at the bottom of his rib cage. The Doc seems to lean into it. Eric isn’t sure what Tim’s trying to do but he appreciates the connection, the weight of it, the acknowledgment that there’s nothing to be done, not really. The frustration of being men of action trapped in untenable situations seems present in this one odd gesture.
Eric takes Tim’s arm – near the wrist. It seems to make Tim aware that he has been touching him. He looks down at Eric’s hand gripping his arm. There’s nothing in their touching that alters but the air turns expectant. Eric wonders if Tim will ever look up again. Slowly he moves Tim’s arm off his chest. He feels lighter but Tim looks even more tired. There’s a sigh on both their lips. A sigh that’s both, “We fought retarded,” and “This place was fucked before we got here and it’s fucked now.”
A sigh that’s also “I want this” and “Now isn’t the time.”
Tim Bryan
Tim sees how Eric stares out at him, watching. He’s recon through and through this one. Tim’s mouth twitches in the shadow of a smile at the thought. He doesn’t know if that’s good or bad anymore. He just knows that wrestling this marine to the floor and attempting to dominate the hell out of him would be the best stress reliever ever conceived of. Fighting, and fucking. That’s what he wants now, from Kocher. No more sticky plasters over rabies and malaria tablets for diarrhoea and pretending that its medicine he’s practicing. Even the simple ideology of being a Marine Corps medic gets distorted out here. He’s weary with rage because the fight is pointless and Kocher being suspended for being competent is the microcosm of all that’s wrong here if you ask Tim. Which no one does.
He thumps his fist into Kocher’s chest, a low right swing, up and under. He does it because he needs contact and this seems simplest. Kocher seems to get it. It could be the everyday sparing between marines. It could be.
Eric hits back into Tim’s ribs. Tim takes the smarting blow with a bounce and moves back and then forward again. He punches left and then right, watching Eric’s frown of concentration and marvels at the lack of aggression in his face. Tim knows he’s being humored – toyed with. He’s so pissed and he rains in more blows until Eric surges forward, throwing Tim down, landing on top and gripping his neck in a lock.
Tim stops flailing. He can fight better than this he thinks. But he doesn’t need to right now. He doesn’t want to move. Eric has him secured, a solid victory. Tim feels more contained than he has for weeks, protected by the wall of Eric’s body, anger safely in.
Eric looks at him. “You done?”
Tim reclaims the advantage by lifting one eyebrow. A suggestion.
Eric huffs out a breath. “You bastard.”
Tim pumps his hips up once and then rolls out from Eric’s relaxed grip. Tim’s smiling again as he walks away. Whatever this is it helps and it feels dangerously like fun as well as relief.
*£%&”*%((*%££$(*%£**
It becomes addictive.
Tim always wants to hit something. That’s his life now. The wasteful maiming of his marines. The endless line of silent children. His eyes start to reflect theirs, dead at the corners. He lets it all get to him and then he winds up in front of Kocher throwing punches and grappling furiously.
There is a way that Eric has of letting Tim’s rage rip open while he holds him down. Tim hates to admit that he needs it. Or that he likes it.
And he lets Eric control him, contain him. He sees Eric needs it too. To have one place where he can win in this war he’s fighting where all the odds are stacked against him.
Tim likes that it looks just like what all the other marines do all the time. Sometimes it even feels like that. It’s a tried and tested coping mechanism. No one can question what they’re doing. They all do it. It’s just that they all stop before they get a hard-on.
Tim does too.
Doesn’t mean he wouldn’t kill for a cold shower.
“*&%&$£(£)%*%*$
Eric Kocher
It’s pretty late when they land stateside. The air is different. Familiar and fresher, like home should be. Eric feels both tired and very alert. The texture of everything is too powerful.
He hasn’t told anyone to come. He’ll call his friends in a few days. See his dad. He’s got time now. He searches through the faces in the crowd. It’s so strange these moments, everyone walking back into their own lives, being swallowed by their loved ones. The excitement for that means that their last moments as a team, a platoon, a battalion, usually get lost somehow. You turn round and everyone’s their own separate person again. This is where they start drifting apart. It makes Eric maudlin, as relieved as he is to be back – and that they all made it back this time.
There’s a quick pat on his back and a voice at his ear. “Got anywhere to be?”
Tim’s got that look on his face again. The one Eric knows mirrors his expression the first time they met, one eyebrow raised as invitation. Eric puts his head down, smiling and shaking his head.
“Follow me in the car.” Tim slaps his shoulder as he moves past him. This isn’t how it should be – they shouldn’t need these low tones, and generalized gestures, but it does feel good. It feels like it’s not going to be over.
He bear hugs Colbert quickly as he moves out after Doc. He waves at his team members and that’s it. He’s off.
He realizes he doesn’t even know where Doc’s place is. Or how far it is.
Author:
amoamaFandom (pairing/characters): Generation Kill, Doc Tim Bryan/Eric Kocher
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1900
Summary: Doc and Kocher are two of the most frustrated marines in IOF. They help each other deal.
Disclaimer: Not mine, not real, never happened.
Author's Note: I know this is a rare pairing in the extreme and it's probably more matchmaking/wishful-thinking rather than your average slashing but when you have Doc's "Well sir it’s just that you’re incompetent sir" BAMF-ness followed immediately by Kocher's "You fire an AK one more time, I'll fuck you up" BAMF-ness... I just think it had to happen sometime. Someone tell me they agree, lol!
Tim Bryan
It wasn’t like he was ever going to fucking say anything. About anything. Of all the things to be raging about here in the desert, his gay-ass homosexual hormones weren’t fucking one of them. Hell he respected the guy. Of all the blood thirsty devil dogs out here Eric Kocher was one of those it would be a fucking honor to die with. They got on in the rarely-need-to-speak, understand-the-meaning-of-professionalism kind of way that Tim really valued.
Sure there was that time on libo last year - and Tim would be a fucking corpse if he didn’t think about it every now and then – how the twitch of Eric’s eyebrow had told him all he needed to know, how the sex that followed was some of the hottest, most flawless fucking he’s ever experienced. But First Recon was still a thing of the future for Tim then and he didn’t know they would be driving round Iraq together any time soon.
It was just a fuck. So he’s here to do his job and to try not to get too irate more than once an hour.
Except, now they know each other and it’s more like a fucking meeting of the minds and that’s far more likely to throw Tim off course than any bodily fluids they may or may not have swapped one night twelve months ago.
Eric Kocher
The frustrations are unbelievable. Eric’s almost forgotten what it’s like to function as an actual recon marine. So has everyone else it seems. Captain America is going to kill them all. Eric feels the anger coil inside him, settling in his stomach like a grenade. He doesn’t know when he’s going to blow but it’s going to take his career with it he can tell.
And then there’s the Doc – Tim – in fucking Bravo for shite’s sake. They circle each other like they’re in a boxing ring or something. They don’t talk much, and it’s not like they need to talk about it – keeping it close to the chest – you don’t fuck guys and function in the marines if you can’t do that, but he can tell they’re on the same page. One fuck doesn’t mean anything and they’ve both got a job to do and enough nightmares to deal with without causing each other anymore stress. There’s a trick to this and it’s as elemental as the separation of church and state, except Eric hasn’t quite decided - out of being a marine and having gay sex - which is church and which is state?
So Eric stands back, deflects the guys with gleeful rants about chicks and butt plugs, allowing himself only to observe, and swears not to let it fuck him up.
He sees Bryan, seething, wound up like a hot wire. And he gets it. Waits to see how he deals with it.
Then he hears about the talkback to Encino Man; the Doc, giving it to his superior straight, no pussying around. And Kocher wouldn’t say it out loud but he’s fucking inspired and not five minutes later he pulls Captain America aside and threatens the shit out of him and feels better for it. At least this thing with the AK he can put a stop to. He can’t stop McGraw being a twat but he can at least stop him being a twat waving around an AK. Fuck the consequences. It feels like he’s unleashing himself for a few seconds.
And something switches in Eric then because this isn’t a real mission and there is no SOP for this shit and because he already knows the Doc will read him like an illustrated kids book because they match up like fucking sniper pairs. So when he sees him behind the humvee - its ass facing the desert which is as private as there is out here – he marches over and squares up to Bryan, stares him right in the eyes and telepathizes the hell out of “I wanna fuck your brains out.” Which it seems like the good doctor is receiving loud and clear because Tim’s breathing becomes embarrassingly heavy for a recon marine and he smiles widely at Eric and actually manages to verbalise, “Yeah, me too,” before ducking his head and walking away.
Eric thinks Doc might actually be chuckling to himself as he goes. Eric smiles in response. Fuck whatever else is going on in this messed up AO, if there’s also this he might just make it through with his sanity still intact.
&*(^^)(*&%$£_*&*
Doc looks through him as he comes into the compound. Eric’s heard from Person about the way the men had over run Doc’s makeshift children’s hospital looking for Valium. Just one more fucked up thing in this shit storm of a city. The shellshocked look on Bryan’s face feels like the manifestation of his own confusion and disgust.
Doc stops in front of him though and looks up at him, almost in surprise. He jolts out of his reverie immediately. “You got suspended.”
Kocher shrugs. It’s not like it’s a question.
Doc shakes his head and the outrage in that small movement, the purse of lips and flare of nostrils unravels Eric a little. Just to see his own feelings of injustice reflected here makes him feel calmer.
Tim’s hand comes up, without any conscious thought, and his palm presses into Eric’s chest at the bottom of his rib cage. The Doc seems to lean into it. Eric isn’t sure what Tim’s trying to do but he appreciates the connection, the weight of it, the acknowledgment that there’s nothing to be done, not really. The frustration of being men of action trapped in untenable situations seems present in this one odd gesture.
Eric takes Tim’s arm – near the wrist. It seems to make Tim aware that he has been touching him. He looks down at Eric’s hand gripping his arm. There’s nothing in their touching that alters but the air turns expectant. Eric wonders if Tim will ever look up again. Slowly he moves Tim’s arm off his chest. He feels lighter but Tim looks even more tired. There’s a sigh on both their lips. A sigh that’s both, “We fought retarded,” and “This place was fucked before we got here and it’s fucked now.”
A sigh that’s also “I want this” and “Now isn’t the time.”
Tim Bryan
Tim sees how Eric stares out at him, watching. He’s recon through and through this one. Tim’s mouth twitches in the shadow of a smile at the thought. He doesn’t know if that’s good or bad anymore. He just knows that wrestling this marine to the floor and attempting to dominate the hell out of him would be the best stress reliever ever conceived of. Fighting, and fucking. That’s what he wants now, from Kocher. No more sticky plasters over rabies and malaria tablets for diarrhoea and pretending that its medicine he’s practicing. Even the simple ideology of being a Marine Corps medic gets distorted out here. He’s weary with rage because the fight is pointless and Kocher being suspended for being competent is the microcosm of all that’s wrong here if you ask Tim. Which no one does.
He thumps his fist into Kocher’s chest, a low right swing, up and under. He does it because he needs contact and this seems simplest. Kocher seems to get it. It could be the everyday sparing between marines. It could be.
Eric hits back into Tim’s ribs. Tim takes the smarting blow with a bounce and moves back and then forward again. He punches left and then right, watching Eric’s frown of concentration and marvels at the lack of aggression in his face. Tim knows he’s being humored – toyed with. He’s so pissed and he rains in more blows until Eric surges forward, throwing Tim down, landing on top and gripping his neck in a lock.
Tim stops flailing. He can fight better than this he thinks. But he doesn’t need to right now. He doesn’t want to move. Eric has him secured, a solid victory. Tim feels more contained than he has for weeks, protected by the wall of Eric’s body, anger safely in.
Eric looks at him. “You done?”
Tim reclaims the advantage by lifting one eyebrow. A suggestion.
Eric huffs out a breath. “You bastard.”
Tim pumps his hips up once and then rolls out from Eric’s relaxed grip. Tim’s smiling again as he walks away. Whatever this is it helps and it feels dangerously like fun as well as relief.
*£%&”*%((*%££$(*%£**
It becomes addictive.
Tim always wants to hit something. That’s his life now. The wasteful maiming of his marines. The endless line of silent children. His eyes start to reflect theirs, dead at the corners. He lets it all get to him and then he winds up in front of Kocher throwing punches and grappling furiously.
There is a way that Eric has of letting Tim’s rage rip open while he holds him down. Tim hates to admit that he needs it. Or that he likes it.
And he lets Eric control him, contain him. He sees Eric needs it too. To have one place where he can win in this war he’s fighting where all the odds are stacked against him.
Tim likes that it looks just like what all the other marines do all the time. Sometimes it even feels like that. It’s a tried and tested coping mechanism. No one can question what they’re doing. They all do it. It’s just that they all stop before they get a hard-on.
Tim does too.
Doesn’t mean he wouldn’t kill for a cold shower.
“*&%&$£(£)%*%*$
Eric Kocher
It’s pretty late when they land stateside. The air is different. Familiar and fresher, like home should be. Eric feels both tired and very alert. The texture of everything is too powerful.
He hasn’t told anyone to come. He’ll call his friends in a few days. See his dad. He’s got time now. He searches through the faces in the crowd. It’s so strange these moments, everyone walking back into their own lives, being swallowed by their loved ones. The excitement for that means that their last moments as a team, a platoon, a battalion, usually get lost somehow. You turn round and everyone’s their own separate person again. This is where they start drifting apart. It makes Eric maudlin, as relieved as he is to be back – and that they all made it back this time.
There’s a quick pat on his back and a voice at his ear. “Got anywhere to be?”
Tim’s got that look on his face again. The one Eric knows mirrors his expression the first time they met, one eyebrow raised as invitation. Eric puts his head down, smiling and shaking his head.
“Follow me in the car.” Tim slaps his shoulder as he moves past him. This isn’t how it should be – they shouldn’t need these low tones, and generalized gestures, but it does feel good. It feels like it’s not going to be over.
He bear hugs Colbert quickly as he moves out after Doc. He waves at his team members and that’s it. He’s off.
He realizes he doesn’t even know where Doc’s place is. Or how far it is.
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