Carrying Dangerous Goods by novembersmith (NC-17)

[http://users.livejournal.com/_steelphoenix_/]

Fandom: GENERATION KILL / TEMERAIRE
Pairing: Brad Colbert/Ray Person, Brad Colbert/OFC, Ray Person/John Granby, Ray Person/OMC
Length: ~46000
Author on LJ: novembersmith

Author Website: novembersmith, AO3

Why this must be read:

It's the 15th - Crack Van Collision Day! From hereon in, we're going to be heading into AU territory. We're going to kick off with one of the best crossovers this fandom has - with Naomi Novik's Temeraire series.

A brief explanation of the Temeraire universe: the premise is that humanity has always co-existed with an intelligent species of dragons, who form strong bonds with individuals, their captains, and were an instrumental part of the British military during the Napoleonic Wars. There are some spoilers for Black Powder War, the third book in the series, in this fic. You don't have to know the universe - the fic is remarkably self-explanatory - but I'd be very surprised if you don't come out wanting to read the series.

The premise of this fic is that Brad and Ray grew up together as young aviators, aboard a dragon called Laetificat (yes, Temeraire fans should recognise her). Naturally, there is also a dragon - but I'm not going to spoil the surprise there! The characterisation of both the Generation Kill and Temeraire characters is fantastic: the GK boys are quite noticably themselves - despite being shoved into 19th Century Britain.The language is that of the 19th Century, but sufficiently well-handled to be easily accessible (a trait from the Temeraire series), but the voices still sound like the guys we know from Generation Kill. The entire ensemble is there, too; Nate, Rudy, Pappy, Poke, Walt, and the whole gang all make appearances of varying importance; Lawrence, Temeraire, Granby, Roland, and a whole host of other characters (both human and dragon) from the Temeraire universe are there too. They're all fantastically well-characterised, and everything is seamlessly integrated.

Another thing: the porn is fantastic. You may have already guessed this from my earlier novembersmith rec.

Also: I wanted a smaller excerpt, but further on would spoil things and this section really can't be broken up without taking away at least a little of its charm.


Dover, September 1797

Ray meets the new boy at the worst possible time. He's gotten himself completely tangled in Laetificat's harness and is hanging upside down, cursing and laughing at himself as the blood rushes to his head, and then he hears someone clear their throat.

"Oh, no you don’t, Rudy," Ray calls, wagging a finger in the air warningly. "Time's not up yet, I've almost got this. Your pudding will be mine." He just needs another three minutes and he'll totally have won the bet, he knows it.

There's a short silence filled with the low rumbling conversation of dragons and the hiss of steam, and then a voice speaks up, and it isn't Rudy:

"I was told to ask Ensign Person where to stow my belongings."

Ray doesn't recognize the voice, which isn't unusual; dragons come and go in the Dover covert fairly regularly, and there's always a flurry of new officers and ensigns when they do. But it's a young voice, dripping an upper class accent all over the stone ground, and Ray is abruptly curious. He maneuvers so he can swing himself around and there's the kid, twenty feet below him. He looks about Ray's age--okay, maybe a bit older, closer to thirteen--the guy's definitely taller than Ray is, anyway, and he's got blue eyes, wow. Blue blue blue, and bright pale hair like frost.

"Hi," Ray says dizzily.

The boy blinks up at him, looking suddenly uncertain. Even upside down, Ray can see he's upset, tight mouth and white knuckles on his bag. They don't usually get lads his age turning up in the Corps—the nobles don't send their sons to join up as officers until they're sixteen or more, and the poor families like Ray’s that can't afford to feed extra mouths, they all ship their kids off by the time they’re eight years old.

Ray tilts his head, takes in the bright glint of brass on the kid's boots, the finely enameled trunk. There's a story here, a story behind this boy with the sharp blue eyes, and Ray is curious. He only has another four or five minutes to undo this crazy knot of hellfire and harness that McGraw had created that morning or he loses tonight's pudding to Pappy and Rudy. But... what the hell. Ray will just wheedle an extra share out of the kitchens later. He's still pretty scrawny and the cooks always fold if he widens his eyes pleadingly at them.

"So you're joining up?" he calls down, and begins fighting to get his left arm free. "Hey, they didn't tell me we were getting anyone new." Typical, Ray's always the last to know, even if he's apparently been assigned welcoming duty. Such is his lot in life. "Well, anyway, yes. I'm Ensign Raymond Person, but you can call me Ray, and I'll get you squared away in two jiffs. Three jiffs." He smiles winningly. He's pretty sure his face is tomato-red by now. "I'm almost done up here."

"Bradley Colbert," the boy says stiffly, nodding. He forebears to comment on how many jiffs it will actually take Ray to get down, or what a jiff is, even, so Ray likes him already. "I just got in from London."

"Huh, London. Wow." Ray remembers what it was like when he'd first got to Dover, seven years old, a sniveling little runt. Miserable, that's what it'd been. He's never been to London, but he figures leaving has to be hard no matter where you're leaving from. Maybe it's even harder when you're older, getting dumped out of a life of luxury into a pack of bumblers like McGraw and Sixta, everybody knowing each other and no one knowing you. Plus, Ray barely remembers a life without dragons in it, and this Bradley kid's probably never even seen them before, not in London.

Ray imagines London’s a lot like Dover, only grayer, stretched and pulled like taffy, the steeples and chimneys scraping the sky and leaving no space for color and wings. But it's not like he knows for sure. Maybe London's got lots of color, lots of dragons. Maybe Brad can tell him about it, about the tall buildings and streets and people. Maybe Brad's met the Queen.

Ray's pondering this and not paying attention, and his hand slips. Suddenly he's chewing a faceful of harness and it tastes horrible. He spits out a scrap of burnt leather and grimaces. "Ugh, tastes like a boot that went up Satan's arse."

There's the slightest hint of a smile on the boy's face, now. Ray's never needed very much encouragement, so he hams it up, rubs at his face with the back of his hand and swoons like he's dying.

"Wow," Brad observes dryly, cocking an eyebrow. "So, to whom does this boot belong? Or is there just an ownerless boot lodged in the Devil's backside?"

Ray feels his heart do something weird, like it's flopped over sideways or something and now he can't breathe right. Sometimes he kind of thinks maybe Pappy and Espera and the others get tired of him, is all. Ray can't stop talking, or moving, or thinking, he just can't, and then the others snap and throw things at him or make a bet that gets him out of their hair for a while. Ray goes with it. But maybe this new kid won't mind all the talking so much. He's smiling up at Ray, a strange, tiny smile that Ray likes immensely.

"I'll tell you who the boot belongs to," Ray says, and positions himself so his head no longer points directly at the ground. "One of our lieutenants tied this bloody harness into his own belt this morning, and then fell off the side and took two of our riflemen with him, and he actually fired off a damned shot! Can you believe it? He could have hit anybody, he's just lucky it backfired and set flame to his coat instead. So he starts flapping around and everyone gets tangled together in a giant fiery mess, it was hilarious! You should have seen it; you picked the wrong time of day to join up. Anyway, now the whole left side of the harness is, as you can see, snarled to hell and back, but I might be able to salvage some of it. Then the groundsmen can patch it up and use it on one of the lightweights. If it's done before dinner, Pappy and Rudy owe me their puddings," he finishes in a rush. He'd waved around an arm to illustrate McGraw's flapping, and now he's swinging back and forth gently in the breeze. It's fun, in a nauseating kind of way, so he kicks his legs to get a bit more momentum.

Brad's staring at him, blinking. "How do you get air when you do talk?" he inquires finally. "Do you have an extra set of lungs?"

"I just get more words out of one breath than other people, I suppose." He shrugs cheerfully, and then yelps as a knot unexpectedly slips loose and he faceplants amongst the coils again. His curses are muffled, and Brad laughs. Even as Ray flails uncomfortably, he feels a rush of triumph.

"Well," Brad says, setting down his bag and rolling up his sleeves. "I have to say, Raymond, chewing the knot loose doesn't seem like the best tactic. I'll be down here waiting for you all night, and neither of us will get pudding."

"Hey," Ray says, beaming. Brad is surprisingly quick-handed, swarming up the unmangled parts of the harness with ease, and then he's hanging next to Ray, cocking his head and regarding the mess of knots coolly. "I'll have you know this crap was way worse an hour ago, wasn't it, Laet?"

The giant scarlet head cranes around and inspects the cocoon of boy and knotted leather. Next to him, Brad has gone perfectly still. Maybe he's never talked to a dragon before, Ray thinks. And even if he has, it probably wasn't a Regal Copper like Laetificat. Laetificat's enormous, bigger than houses—probably bigger than that castle in London, even. And her teeth are fantastic, most of them the size of Ray himself. Which, okay, isn't saying much for a thirteen year old, but it's pretty big for a tooth.

"It was a much larger knot before," Laetificat says, and Ray grins and punches the air victoriously with his free arm. "You've done quite well, Ray. Though I do think Captain Portland would disapprove of your language."

"Aww," Ray says, and manages to extricate his arm and thread another of the harness loops free. "Hey, Laet, have you met Brad yet? He's our new cadet, isn't he great? He's going to help me with this mess."

"Pleasure to meet you, my lady," Brad says politely, and Laet huffs out a rumbling laugh.

"My lady," Ray chortles, and nearly asphyxiates himself before Brad rolls his eyes and hauls him free of the make-shift noose he'd created himself. "You'll fit in great."

"I can't tell you how much it heartens me to have your esteem, Raymond," Brad replies, making a face at him, and oh man, Ray is totally going to make sure Brad gets the bunk next to his.

The two of them actually do make quick work of the knot, and when they go in to dinner, Ray splits his honorably won extra helping of custard with Brad and manfully resists the urge to stick his tongue out at Rudy and Pappy.


Carrying Dangerous Goods