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“F-fuck, Mav. So good. Take it, take it, yes.”
So maybe it was a little fucked up that Rooster got off on fantasies of fucking his godfather.
“Love that sweet ass. Can’t get enough.”
Okay, maybe it was really fucked up. But in his defense, it had started when he was seventeen and had been going through the world’s shittiest year.
Mom had been dying, and it had happened so fucking fast—from first diagnosis to the funeral service in nine goddamn months—but at the same time, Christ, it had been so slow. Watching her in pain every day. Seeing the fear grow in her eyes when she realized that she wasn’t going to be able to beat it—wouldn’t be around to see the kind of man that he’d become—and watching all that beautiful optimism and hope that she used to shine with drip-drip-drip away until there was none left. Not to mention moving from California to motherfucking Texas, to the childhood home his mom had gotten out of as fast as she damn well could, because Mom couldn’t work, which meant Mom couldn’t pay rent, which meant Mom had done what she’d sworn she’d never do and had called Memaw and Papaw to ask if she and Bradley could come home.
“So goddamn gorgeous. Make me so hot—like I’m losing my mind.”
Like hell was that home—but at least it was a roof over their heads, even if they had to share it with Memaw, who was a judgmental bitch, and Papaw, who was a loudmouthed, bigoted piece of shit. But Dad’s parents had been long since gone by then, and Maverick had already squeezed his savings account bone dry helping them with medical bills and other expenses. Plus, Mav hadn’t had his own place off base back then, so there hadn’t been much choice. To their credit, Bradley’s grandparents taken care of Mom until her death three months after they moved in. And they’d kept Bradley housed, clothed, and fed even after she was gone. (Right up until he’d turned eighteen and gotten a free ride to UT—starting in the summer semester because he needed the fuck out of that house.) But Buttfuck Nowhere, Texas, was a shitty place to be, and Memaw and Papaw were shittiest of all people to be living with when he finally figured out that he liked boys—not exclusively, but hotter and deeper and harder than he usually liked girls. If Papaw, the homophobic dickbag, had had any idea that Bradley jerked it to guys, he’d have belted Bradley’s ass till he bled…which had added a certain nasty thrill to jerking it as often as he could, sneaking porn whenever he could get his hands on it to make the fantasies as dirty and detailed as possible, just as an extra “fuck you” to that miserable prick of an old man.
And then he found out about Mav pulling his papers from the Naval Academy, and…well…
“That’s it—milk me with that tight little hole. Look so pretty when you’re taking it.”
Maverick was the hottest guy he’d ever seen—hotter than any movie star, hotter than any porn star, and way the hell hotter than anyone Bradley was likely to find in a tiny town in the back of beyond, even if he was willing to risk the belt by fooling around and maybe getting caught. Besides, Bradley had felt so furious, so betrayed by Mav—by the last person he’d thought would ever let him down—that it had felt like a filthy kind of justice, fantasizing about fucking him, using him, treating him like a slut in a skin film. Imagining holding him down and not letting him go. Making him take it, making him moan for it, beg for it—come from it.
“Tell me you love my cock. Tell me you need it, need me. Tell me you love m—tell me you…tell me you… Fuck.”
So yeah, it was fucked up to fantasize about his godfather, but he was thirty-four years old and had been getting off hard to every filthy scenario he could imagine that involved Maverick stuffed full of his cock since he was seventeen. Thirty-four years old, and he’d spent half of his life with Maverick as his bulletproof kink, the thought that got him hotter faster than anything else.
It wasn’t like he thought of Maverick every time he got off. Nearly all of the time he spent with lovers, he was truly, genuinely focused on them. And even when he was jerking off, other pretty faces or bodies would show up in the rotation. He could watch porn and sometimes see the actors on the screen without imagining him and Mav in their places. But when he needed quick release—when he was tense or frustrated and needed to take the edge off more than he needed his next breath—he knew what fantasy to reach for.
If things had stayed good between them, if Mav had been a positive part of his life in Bradley’s late teens and twenties, someone he loved and trusted who still reminded him of good times and the safety of home, then who knows what would have happened? Maybe Bradley never would have thought of Maverick in a sexual way at all. Maybe he’d have formed a fierce, hopeless crush on him and never had the courage to act on it, not wanting to ruin what they had. Actually getting involved probably wouldn’t have seemed like a real possibility to either of them if they’d had that kind of father/son—or at least uncle/nephew—relationship carry through as Bradley became an adult.
But Maverick hadn’t been around, and he had shattered the foundation of what they used to share, so once fate had brought them back together as adults, Rooster sure as hell hadn’t seen Maverick in any kind of familial way. No…what he saw was the guy he’d been jerking off to for seventeen years. The guy who was still so fucking hot that he raised the temperature just by walking into a room. The guy Rooster couldn’t look at without getting half hard.
Which was a problem when they were finally starting to build a real friendship. After the fucked-up mess of the mission and all that he and Maverick had risked to save each other, holding on to anger had been a lost cause, and they’d finally started to work toward something real. Something that wasn’t based on Bradley being a child Mav needed to protect, or a symbol of his parents rather than a representation of himself, alone. Mav seemed to genuinely like Rooster—enjoy his company, appreciate his jokes, respect his opinions. He’d hit Rooster up for recommendations on books, podcasts, restaurants, music—and then would talk to him about them, laying out his own ideas and perspectives, building a whole networking of things for them to discuss and share. It was amazing—like finding a new best friend. They worked together at TOPGUN, putting together a new curriculum to teach dogfighting—apparently not an obsolete skill after all—and they seemed to fit together like hand in glove.
But it was becoming an issue that Rooster couldn’t keep his hand out of his pants when Maverick was around. And since he was around all the time, this was one hell of an ongoing issue.
Whenever he spent a day with Mav, it was like every single thing the man did made another well-worn fantasy pop into his mind, playing out like a reel of a straight-up smut. Maverick bent over his bike to make a repair? The logistics of actually fucking someone over a motorcycle were probably more complicated than his teenage self had ever considered, but his cock was enthusiastically on board with finding out firsthand. Mav’s lips wrapped around the neck of a bottle of beer as he took a swig? Rooster’s cock jumped up in its eagerness to take the bottle’s place. Maverick laughing, stretching, dirty with engine grease, soaked with sweat, fresh from the shower in nothing but a towel, strolling around just out of bed with messy hair and nothing on but boxers. Just about every move he made had Rooster thinking I remember this porno—and once that thought was in his head, it was off to the races and no going back. The man was a walking pheromone and Rooster hadn’t jerked off this much on a daily basis since he actually was a teenager.
“Maverick, god…drive me so fucking crazy. Want you all the goddamn time. Can’t think about anything but fucking you.”
Rooster sighed and shifted on the bed, forcing his hand to loosen its grip on his cock. He wanted to take this slow, wanted it to last. He had an afternoon entirely to himself while Maverick ran some errands, and he wanted to make the most of it, be indulgent, work up to the kind of slow, bone-melting climax that would leave him tingling afterward. He could get off fast when he needed to—as recent events had proven over and over and over again—but those rushed sessions never brought any genuine feeling of satisfaction. He had time now, and he fully intended to enjoy it to the fullest.
The Maverick in his head was riding him, hips circling slow and steady, gorgeous green eyes filled with wicked heat while he teased Rooster, putting on a show for him as he played with his nipples, scraped his nails down his abs, swiped a finger against the tip of his heavy, leaking cock and fed the sticky, delicious residue to Rooster. He was winking at Rooster as he clenched down on his cock. He was smirking at him while sliding his tongue out to wet his lips. He was throwing his head back and moaning at a particularly deep thrust.
He was…standing in the doorway, watching with open-mouthed shock.
I remember this porno.
And that was just about the worst thought Rooster could have had at the moment, because fuck, did he remember this porno. Just the thought of it had his cock gushing pre-come, hot and sticky all over his hand as he let out a little moan that he couldn’t have held back for all the money in the world.
He’d always been shit at keeping quiet when he was turned on. Back in his grandparents’ house, he would actually, literally bite a pillow to muffle the noise. In the years since he’d left that hell house behind, he’d gotten more comfortable with letting his mouth run in bed. To his relief, most partners liked it—appreciated how responsive he was, how quickly he’d let his partner know that he liked what they were doing. Groans, sighs, praise, commands, and a steady stream of dirty talk flowed right out of him without any conscious thought. He maintained only enough control over himself to keep a certain name behind his teeth. (He couldn’t pretend he’d been trying to say something else, some other term of endearment, because “Mav” didn’t sound a damn thing like “baby” or “honey” or “sweetheart.” And it sure as hell didn’t sound like “Dennis,” who had thrown such a fit that Rooster had learned to be extra-extra careful ever since.) But when he was alone, in a house all to himself, all the floodgates opened.
Which meant that if Maverick had been there for even a few seconds before Rooster had spotted him, he’d probably heard Rooster basically shouting to the world that he’d give anything to plow Maverick’s ass.
Maverick’s eyes, impossibly, went a little wider at Rooster’s groan, and he started to turn back to the door, spouting some apology that Rooster only half heard. All Rooster could process was that Maverick was going to leave…and if he did, Rooster didn’t know how things would ever be the same between them again. They’d finally—finally, finally—gotten to a good place, and it made his stomach swoop with a terror unlike anything he’d ever felt, even when facing down an enemy plane, to think of losing Maverick for good this time. He could not allow the man to leave. Their whole future together seemed to be hanging on a thread, and Rooster wasn’t about to allow it to stretch further than his bedroom door for fear that it would snap.
“Please don’t go,” he begged. He wanted to get out of bed and grab Maverick’s arm, but he worried that getting closer would just make the man back away. And grabbing hold of him with hands tacky from…fluids…probably wouldn’t help, either.
But stream-of-consciousness word vomit was what had gotten him into this situation in the first place, so maybe it could help him get back out of it?
“Please, Mav—I need you to stay. I need for us to talk about this. Because if we don’t, it’s going to ruin it all over again, won’t it? And I couldn’t stand it if that happened. I don’t want to be without you again, please don’t make me be without you again, I—”
“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Mav said, hands held out in surrender, actually taking a step closer to the bed. “I’m not going anywhere, not if you don’t want me to.” The shock in his eyes had died down a bit, replaced by warm concern that was utterly familiar and comforting and embarrassing and frustrating all at once. Mav had always wanted to take care of him, protect him, make things better for him. And it was sweet, yes. But Rooster wasn’t a child who needed to be cosseted or consoled. He was every inch a man, and he wanted Maverick to see him as an equal. As someone who could match him and challenge him and maybe take care of him for a change.
And someone who could dom the shit out of him in bed, please. If at all possible, please.
“I just…” Maverick said, running a nervous hand through his hair. “My errands took me past that bakery you like.” He held up a paper bag sheepishly. “I knocked, but when you didn’t answer, I thought I’d let myself in and just leave the bag on the counter, but then I heard…”
“Me moaning in general, or me moaning your name?” Rooster asked because there was no point in beating around the bush or pretending this was anything other than what it was.
“…Both,” Maverick admitted.
“What do you need me to say for you to be okay with this?” Rooster asked, working hard to keep his voice calm and direct, matter-of-fact. The best way to keep Maverick on an even keel was to not give him any other option. Allow him get worked up, and a conversation could spiral out of control—but Rooster wasn’t going to let that happen. “Tell me what you need to hear. Because I’m not going to let this be the thing that breaks us. Tell me where it hurts, and I’ll fix it.”
“It doesn’t hurt,” Mav replied, taking another step closer, keeping his eyes firmly fixed on Rooster’s. “I get it, I swear, and I’m not upset. Adrenaline can cross your wires like nothing else, and we went through one hell of an adrenaline rush together. If that left you with some thoughts, some…feelings,” Mav’s eyes flick down involuntarily over the length of Rooster’s body, still splayed uncovered across his rumpled sheets, “that you’re still working out of your system, then I’m not going to judge. I’ve been there, too.”
Rooster wanted to demand names of who Mav had “been there” with, but he also really, really didn’t want to know. (Probably Ice. Yeah, almost definitely Ice.)
“If that’s the explanation you need to believe, then I can roll with that,” Rooster said with a shrug. “It’s not what I’d prefer, but what we have matters more to me than what I want. If keeping you in my life means letting you think I’m not actually attracted to you, then so be it.”
It was taking absolutely everything he had to keep his tone flat and straightforward. Because he hated this option. He really, really hated it—because it meant taking the deepest, most important emotion Rooster had ever felt in his life and tucking it away, pretending it had been nothing more than a blip on the radar—a hormonal surge that came and went and didn’t mean much of anything. “Wires crossed,” and all that until they uncrossed themselves and life went back to normal. This option was a rejection, packed up in a pretty bow as if Maverick actually thought he was giving him a gift.
“I just think you need a little more time to figure out—” Maverick started, and Rooster truly couldn’t help rolling his eyes. No, it didn’t fit with the “calm rational adult” front he was clinging to with his fingernails, but…damn, Mav. Seriously?
“The first time I jerked off thinking about you was seventeen years ago,” he said. “Believe me, I’ve had time to think it through.”
“…What?”
Rooster mustered a wry grin. “I started right after I found out that you’d pulled my papers. And yeah, back then, I really did have some shit I needed to work through. Not adrenaline but anger, frustration. Betrayal.” Maverick flinched a little harder at each word, and Rooster consciously softened his tone when he continued.
“I’d had a rough year, and you were an easy target. It wasn’t fair and it wasn’t right, but getting off while I thought about you made me feel like I was taking a little bit of power back, and I liked that. Plus, I was a seventeen year old mass of raging hormones who’d just figured out he mostly preferred boys to girls, and you were the sexiest person—male, female, or other—that I’d ever seen. It wasn’t just about power. A lot of it was plain, old-fashioned lust. And love, even if I didn’t want to admit it.”
“Bradley…” Mav whispered, looking gutted.
“I still loved you, still thought of you as…as a part of me, just like you’d been my whole life,” Rooster admitted. “The love changed shape over the years as the things that I wanted from you changed, but no matter how angry I got, I never stopped holding you close, in one way or another. I didn’t move on. I didn’t let go. You stayed wrapped up in ninety percent of my fantasies the whole time. I don’t think I’ve gone a week without touching myself and thinking of you in my entire adult life. Even when I was in relationships. Even when the mission training started, and I had to face you again. And then I saw you get shot out of the sky, and I finally caught on to what I actually felt for you. How much I felt for you—feel for you. And how completely impossible it would be for me to let you die if there was anything I could do to prevent it. After that, coming back for you was a foregone conclusion. I didn’t think about obeying orders. I didn’t think about anything at all other than finding you and keeping you safe.”
Rooster finally gathered himself together enough to get to his feet and take his own slow steps closer to Maverick. “I love you. I’m in love with you, and I want you so badly that just thinking about you lights me on fire. I fantasize about you constantly. Every single thing you do reminds me of a dirty movie I’ve played in my head. The whole reason I refused to come with you on your errands today was so I could spend the whole afternoon getting off on thoughts about you, screaming your name for as long as my voice would hold out to make up for all the times I had to bite those screams back when I was stuck under my grandfather’s roof, or in someone else’s arms, or hiding in your bathroom, leaving teethmarks on my knuckles as I tried to stay quiet enough so you’d think I really was taking a piss for the fifth time in one night.”
“I was going to suggest talking to a doctor about that,” Maverick murmured, looking a little dazed. “I couldn’t imagine why anyone would need to pee that much.”
“I thought it was the better option compared to walking around your place between half and fully hard all the time. I figured if you knew how much you turned me on, you’d turn me away.” Rooster took another step forward, until he was directly in front of Maverick, close enough that the man had to look up to meet his eyes. “Was I right?”
The bakery bag was dropped on Rooster’s dresser and all ten of Maverick’s deliciously calloused fingers were buried in his hair a moment later, cradling his face as Mav stared directly into Rooster’s eyes.
“Never,” he said, as fiercely determined as Rooster had ever heard him. “Listen to me—there is nothing you could say or do that would make me turn you away. Do you understand?”
Rooster nodded, his throat too tight for words. Mav just kept staring intently into his eyes as if he was trying to read his soul, so close that Rooster could feel the warm brush of breath on his face and it was nearly enough to make him shudder. I remember this por—
But his thought was cut off in its tracks when, between one breath and the next, Mav’s fingers tightened, yanking Rooster’s head down toward his until their mouths met.
Kissing Mav. Mav. Kissing. Tongue. Mav’s tongue. Kissing. Tasting Mav, tongues tangling, and Oh god, oh god, don’t come, don’t come, don’t come—you’ve been winding yourself up for ages and he’s still fully dressed, if you come like a firehose all over his jacket, the humiliation might actually kill you, and Phoenix would have Hangman give the eulogy just to punish you…but god, can he kiss, and god, those fingers in your hair feel just right, and maybe you won’t die of humiliation but of happiness because your heart literally feels like it might burst, and you might not be physically capable of holding this much joy.
He’d spent years crafting every filthy, depraved fantasy his mind could invent about this man, but no pleasure he’d found in those imaginings could match what he felt at their first kiss.
He immediately forgot absolutely everything he knew about how to breathe while kissing, and he was gasping like a beached whale by the time Maverick pulled away to nip at his throat and let one hand slide down over Rooster’s throat, trailing past his chest and abs to circle—ever so gently—his straining cock.
“How many times have you come today, sweetheart?” Mav murmured.
Between the pet name and that hand on his cock, Rooster actually felt his brain expire and fly away from his head on little angels wings so there wasn’t a chance in hell of him actually answering the question.
“Hmm?” he managed.
“Because I definitely want a ride on this,” his hand slid up and down along the length of Rooster’s erection, “as soon as possible—but if you’ve been edging, maybe we should start with my mouth, go ahead and knock the first one out to take off some pressure, yeah?”
Maybe he had died and this was heaven? Did heaven look like California and smell like lube and Mav’s aftershave? (Heaven definitely smells like Mav’s aftershave.) Were his mom and dad about to walk in? (Please don’t let my mom and dad walk in.)
“Tell me what you want, baby,” Mav whispered, hand still sliding up and down, gentle but not at all tentative, a little smile playing on those gorgeous lips as if he liked what he felt.
Rooster let out a groan that felt like it had been pulled up from somewhere around his knees and stumbled back a step, out of Maverick’s grasp in a last-ditch, desperate attempt to avoid painting the man’s clothes with come.
“If your mouth gets within six inches of my dick, I’ll come all over your face,” he gasped out. “And your shirt, and your jacket, and maybe some on the walls and ceiling, too.”
Maverick just laughed, the sound licking down Rooster’s spine and making him shiver. “You can come anywhere you want on me—but we should probably try to spare my outfit. I’d never fit in your clothes.”
And the thought of Maverick wearing his clothes—which wouldn’t fit, of course, but which would look absolutely delicious on him—might have made him moan if he hadn’t started literally choking on his tongue when Maverick began to strip. Shoes kicked off, over to the side. Jacket pulled away and tossed to land on the floor, followed quickly by the aviators that he’d hooked in the neckline of his T-shirt. Then the T-shirt itself was pulled off, and Christ, no one had the right to look that good. It should be illegal. He should be punished—handcuffed, restrained, not allowed to leave the bed until he’d learned his lesson.
But no, wait, why was he tagging in to his imagination when he was actualfax in a porno right at that moment? He didn’t need to fantasize. Reality was giving him everything he could even imagine wanting.
He managed to stop choking by the time the jeans and boxers came off, pulled off together with his socks discarded along the way. And then Pete “Maverick” Mitchell was fully naked. Naked, smiling, arm’s length away…and Bradley had a second where he had no fucking clue what to do. He’d imagined this, dreamed this, longed for this so many times, for so many years.
But this time, it was real. He’d never actually thought it would be, could be, real.
He reached out blindly, eyes blurring with tears, and his heart leaped when his hand was immediately caught and held, Maverick’s fingers twining between his. With his free hand, Maverick cupped Bradley’s jaw and gently guided his face down so that Maverick could kiss his newly sprung tears away.
And that was it. The soft press of Maverick’s lips on his eyelashes, the gentle squeeze of his captured hand, the muscled warmth of that body tucking itself up against him was the last push he needed to come. And come. And come.
Forget “tingling” afterward—he very nearly blacked out. Things went a little dim and swimmy around the edges, and he wasn’t entirely aware of what was happening as everything around him melted and reformed, the bed somehow ending up under his back and the pillow under his head while Mav manifested a damp washcloth from somewhere and wiped away lots and lots of come. Some of it had landed on Mav’s collarbone and Rooster was really hoping he wouldn’t notice—he wanted to lick that bit away himself. Stupid washcloth, getting to have all the fun. He’d lean up and start licking right away, but someone seemed to have swapped his bones for silly putty, so he just lay there, feeling his blood spark and fizz like carbonated soda.
“Coming back around, Roo?” Mav said after a minute, giving him the smile Rooster liked best—the impossibly warm, fond one that make the corners of his eyes crinkle.
“Mmm, yeah,” Rooster agreed. “Inna minute. Wanna stay like this…li’l while longer, ’kay?”
“Whatever you say, sweetheart,” Mav replied, leaning down to brush a quick kiss against his lips. He must have finished his cleaning because he put the washcloth aside and lay down next to Rooster, propping himself up on his side and running his free hand in soothing strokes up and down Rooster’s chest. It felt amazing—and grounding. The pleasure buzzing through his body didn’t go away, but it did settle a little more under his skin, letting the fog clear from his brain.
“I came from you holding my hand,” he mused. “I don’t remember ever seeing a porno like that.”
Mav laughed. “True enough—I don’t think I have, either. You’re one of a kind, that’s for sure.”
Rooster took hold of the hand rubbing his chest and pulled it up to his face, wanting to feel it against his lips. It was a good hand: strong, steady, tough in all the right places. It had felt amazing on his cock earlier, but somehow, it had felt even better with those fingers twined around his. He didn’t think he’d ever get tired of holding Maverick’s hand…though hopefully he wouldn’t have such an explosive reaction to it every time.
“I’m probably going to be really embarrassed about that tomorrow, but right now, I can’t feel anything but good.”
That earned him another quick kiss on the corner of his mouth while Maverick’s thumb traced over Rooster’s bottom lip.
“I’m glad,” Mav said simply. “All I want is to be good to you. Good for you.”
“You already are,” Rooster promised. “You have been all along. I just didn’t let myself see it. I was too busy being angry. And lonely. And horny. And blaming you for being the cause of all three.”
Mav laughed again. “Well, I’ll apologize for the angry and lonely parts—I never wanted to make you feel either of those. But I can’t say I’m sorry that I made you horny. God knows, you did the same to me.”
“Since when?” Rooster asked, genuinely curious about the answer. “Honest to God, I’m thrilled that you’re on board with this, but I never had any idea that you wanted me at all. Not to mention, I was pretty convinced that even if I managed to talk you into it, it would take weeks to get you past the age thing or the idea that it would make my parents mad, or something.”
“I did have a pretty big freak-out when I first realized I was attracted to you,” Mav admitted. “Lucky for you, it happened a while ago. I’ve had plenty of time to work through my issues.”
“When?” Rooster asked again. “How’d it happen? Was it at the start of the mission?”
“No, thank god,” Mav chuckled. “I’d have been way more of a mess if I’d figured out I wanted you right when I was meant to be training you. Tensions were already so high between us that half of your team thought I was your ex.”
“Wait, they did? No one said anything to me!” He stopped and considered it for a second. “…Or did they?” Come to think of it, some of the stuff the others had said made a little more sense, if that was what they were thinking.
“Hangman was sure of it, right up until he found the photo with my TOPGUN class and put the pieces together about your dad. He was so convinced that he tried to get me into bed—he figured that was the only way to level the playing field against you and get himself chosen as team lead.”
“He what?” He hadn’t succeeded, had he? Rooster was positive that Maverick wouldn’t sleep with anyone he held authority over—that was a line he was far too honorable to cross—but even the possibility that Hangman might have gotten his hands on Maverick’s body before Rooster was enough to make him want to hunt down the blond, strap him to his jet, and cut him loose over an active volcano.
“Retract your claws, tiger,” Maverick teased. “I shot him down. The only hotshot pilot I wanted in my bed, then and now, was you.”
“Since when?” Rooster pressed. “Come on, tell me.”
“It was when you came to TOPGUN for the first time,” Maverick finally explained. “One of your instructors was a buddy of mine, and he owed me a favor. He let me know when you’d be flying and snuck me in position to watch. You were amazing, by the way. As natural in the air as anyone I’ve ever seen.”
“That’s what did it for you? My flying?”
“That’s what started it,” Maverick agreed. “But the real kicker was once you landed and got out of the cockpit. I knew that it had been years since I’d seen you, knew that you were an adult, but seeing it was still a shock. You’d filled out, grown a moustache, and the way you moved…you looked so good. Strong, confident, pleased with yourself because the hop had gone well. You were chatting with another pilot and I could hear you laughing, see your smile. You were gorgeous—I don’t think I’ve ever wanted to touch someone so badly in my life. But I couldn’t. Because you hated me. There was no way that me walking out and coming close to you would have ended in anything other than a fight. And that started me thinking about why you hated me…which is when the guilt kicked in.
“You were my godson, you were twenty years younger than me, your dad had been my best friend and would never approve… All I could think of were all the reasons why I had no right to ever touch you. I was a mess for a solid month after that—which is actually how I finally worked through it. I was distracted in the air, which nearly led to a crash during a test run of the project I was on, and Ice ended up having to smooth things over. He called to ask me what the hell was going on, and I told him. I thought he’d rake me over the coals the way I deserved. Instead, he just coolly dismantled all my arguments one by one. You weren’t a child anymore, so the fact that you were my godson wasn’t relevant. Age differences matter when the older partner is trying to take advantage of the younger one’s innocence or inexperience as a power play, or when there’s a real gap in understanding or life experience that would make the two people incompatible—and neither issue applied to us. And as for Goose…I know what he wanted for you in a relationship, which was the same thing he had—a partner he loved who loved him back, who made him happy, who made his life better. Ice pointed out, none too gently, that it was what Goose wanted for me, too. Ice was convinced that if you and I could be happy together and good for each other, we’d have Goose’s approval. And Carole’s, too.”
“I agree,” Rooster said firmly. He didn’t have a ton of memories of his dad, but he would never forget how much he’d been loved, by both of his parents. The idea that they’d ever disapprove of him falling in love, and being loved in return, was inconceivable.
“But wait,” he added a moment later. “You mean to say you’ve been attracted to me since I was in TOPGUN? Mav, I was twenty-five when I came to TOPGUN. You’ve been into me for nine years? We could have been fucking for the past nine years?”
“I’ve been into you for nine years,” Maverick agreed. “And there’s not a chance I would have slept with you back then. You weren’t ready to forgive me, and hate fucking isn’t something I do anymore. I only wanted to be with you if I could make you happy and be good for you, remember? That wouldn’t have been possible before you realized you were in love with me.”
Rooster let out a sigh, feeling oddly relieved. Maverick was right. It wouldn’t have worked between them in the past. This was their time.
And he absolutely intended to make the most of it, starting with the reburgeoning erection that was very interested in the gorgeous man lying next to him.
Strength had, thankfully, returned to his limbs that no longer felt like they’d been replaced with silly putty. And that meant he was able to pull Maverick into his arms, rolling them so that Maverick was on top of him and their mouths could meet in a heated kiss.
“No more waiting,” he gasped out when he finally managed to pull his mouth away. His hands slid down his lover’s back to cup and squeeze his absurdly perfect ass. “Need you so bad, honey. Can I fuck you? God, please let me fuck you.”
Maverick’s response was a wicked grin straight out of one of Rooster’s fantasies as he ground down against Rooster’s erection, making it that much harder. “Thought you’d never ask, sweetheart.”
Rooster fumbled for the bottle of lube that had gotten tangled up in the sheets. It wasn’t until he tried to squeeze some out on his fingers that he realized his hands were shaking. Maverick took it in stride. “Let me show you what I like,” he suggested, taking the bottle away and squeezing some onto his own fingers before taking Rooster’s hand and guiding it back. Sharing the lube between them, they worked together to open him up. His eyes got darker with every press deep inside him, and the way he ground down on those fingers, moaning with pleasure, made about a dozen fantasies pop into Rooster’s head all at once. (Opening Mav up with his tongue and feeling his tight channel flutter around it. Tying him up spreadeagled and fingering him for hours until he was flushed and sweat-soaked and begging for it. Using an app-linked toy that could stay in while they left the house and seeing those eyes darken every time Rooster adjusted the device’s settings on his phone. Or…)
He brushed those thoughts aside. There’d be time for them later. This moment right now deserved every bit of his attention.
Rooster now had three fingers pressing deep into Maverick’s ass. Mav had let his own fingers slip out, arms bracing himself over Rooster’s chest so he could explore it with his tongue and his teeth. He could feel how hard Maverick was, pressing against his thigh, and his own aching cock was getting a little too into the way it felt pressed between their bodies. As hot as Maverick looked with Rooster’s come all over his chest, Rooster thought he might die if he didn’t get inside that ass.
He grabbed a condom out of the bedside table’s drawer—then hesitated. “I’m on board with whatever you’re comfortable with,” he stated. “But I want you to know that I’m clean. Fully cleared in all my latest tests, and I haven’t been with anyone since months before then. And we…” He swallowed, then forced himself to speak, feeling uncomfortably shy. “We’re exclusive, right? It’ll just be us from now on?”
Maverick smiled and leaned down to plant a kiss right over Rooster’s heart. “Yes, we’re exclusive. I’m all yours, sweetheart. And I’m clean, too.” He plucked the condom out of Rooster’s fingers and tossed it back in the drawer. “We don’t need it. I want to feel you come inside me.”
If that was what he wanted, then he should stop saying things like that or he was going to make Rooster shoot off again. Tomorrow’s embarrassment over the hand-holding-hosing was already looming in the back of his mind. He didn’t need to add to the tally.
Thankfully, Maverick seemed more than happy to get the show on the road. As Rooster held his erection steady, Mav lowered himself down on top of it, breathing out slow and steady as he accepted Rooster inside him. Hottightwetperfect. So fucking perfect. Love him so much.
It only took a moment for Maverick to adjust to him, and then he started rocking on him, slowly building up a rhythm.
“Talk to me, baby,” he murmured, his voice warm and breathy. “Tell me how I’m making you feel.”
“So good, oh my god,” Rooster babbled. “So amazing, Mav, can’t get enough of you.”
“You like the way I take it? Like my sweet ass? Am I making you hot?” His grin was playful and his tone was…familiar? A little too familiar. Wait, was he mimicking Rooster’s accent? And why did those words trigger a burst of déjà vu?
“Jesus, how long were you standing there listening to me?” Rooster asked as the penny finally dropped. Maverick laughed helplessly, his shoulders shaking with it.
“Awhile,” he admitted. “You looked so hot, sweetheart—I couldn’t have looked away if I’d tried. And when I realized you were fantasizing about me?” He reached down and traced his thumb over Rooster’s lips again, his breath catching a bit when Rooster slid those fingers into his mouth, suckling them. “You were a dream come true. I almost couldn’t believe you were real.”
“This is real,” Rooster panted out, words punching out of him as the pace of their fucking got faster and more frantic. “It has to be—it feels too good to be anything else. You’re better than any fantasy. Hotter than anything I could imagine, and I’ve imagined a lot. No fantasy has ever made me this happy. This complete. I love you, Mav.”
“Love you, too,” Mav replied, his whole heart shining in his eyes—all for Rooster, making him feel like the luckiest man in the world.
And when he came hard inside the man he loved, stroking his cock and bringing him over the edge as well, it didn’t feel one bit like a dirty movie. It felt like so much more.
It felt like happily ever after.
THE END