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When they first meet, Jake presumes the callsign has to do with the size of Rooster’s dick. He certainly swaggers around like he thinks he has a big one, that’s for sure.
Next, he thinks it’s a callout about Rooster’s sleeping habits. Jake has frequently seen him turn up for a morning hop looking like he’s just tumbled out of bed. Well, as much as one can look like they’ve just tumbled out of bed while still adhering to the confines of the grooming standard.
Javy, his usual source of pedestrian intel, doesn’t know the reason behind the name either. He draws the line at outright asking anyone else in their squadron. It’d divulge far too much. In the same way that Bradshaw is known to be notoriously difficult to wake up, Jake as Hangman is notorious for his frank disinterest in nearly everyone save for a select few. Javy is a known exception, having wormed his way into Jake’s life during adolescence and since refusing to leave.
It continues to niggle at him. Jake excels at knowing. Not knowing this about Rooster, who appears excruciatingly transparent otherwise, is an itch that needs to be scratched. It’s a puzzle that needs to be solved.
He considers simply asking Rooster. They do talk here and there, brief acknowledgements on the tarmac or noncommittal exchanges in the ready room. The problem is whenever they’re in the same vicinity, attempts at casual conversation often disintegrate within a matter of minutes. Jake has never been shy about running his mouth, occasionally to his own detriment. The way Rooster reacts in irritation each time Jake goads him, entertainingly predictable, makes Jake want to push his buttons all the more.
Jake doesn’t actually dislike Rooster, but he’s fairly convinced Rooster must dislike him. Some people do, interpreting his forthrightness as impertinence and his indifference toward ineptitude as arrogance.
So when Rooster is the one to make the first move, Jake finds himself genuinely surprised by that.
He’d been attracted to Bradshaw from the start, much to his internal exasperation. Rooster hadn’t really been Jake’s type at first glance. However, by virtue of the fact that Jake had stopped in his tracks to sneak a second and a third glance, he hadn’t been able to bullshit himself into believing he wasn’t interested.
Rooster’s preferences had been harder to gauge. He flirts back with the men and women that inevitably approach him when he’s leaning against the bar counter or seated at that damn piano, drawn by the same undiluted magnetism Jake had perceived. And yet, as far as Jake has been able to tell, Rooster never leaves with anyone.
“Is this a proposition?” Jake asks coolly, setting aside the pool cue. He’s alone at the bar tonight which is uncharacteristic for him. He wonders if Rooster had made note of Javy’s absence, and if that’s why he’s decided to approach Jake at all.
Rooster swallows the dregs of his drink, and Jake can’t help but stare at the line of his throat. He seems nervous which is a quality Jake hasn’t observed in him when they’re on the ground. It’s fascinating, another knot in the puzzle that needs to be unraveled.
“If you’d like it to be.”
“And if not?”
Rooster smiles, self-deprecating. “I’ll probably pretend this conversation never happened.”
Candor is a good look on Rooster; he should practice it more often.
Jake smirks, seeing an opening and taking it as always. “I don't mean to criticize, but I thought you’d be more old-fashioned than this, Bradshaw. Conservative, even.”
“Didn’t think you’d give me the time of day to be old-fashioned,” Rooster says evenly. It’s a touch unkind in its implication, but Rooster has a tendency to be unkind when pushed. Jake isn’t rattled by it. He quite likes seeing how far Rooster can be pushed.
“Why’s that?” His smirk doesn’t diminish.
“Figured you don’t have much time for people who can’t keep up.”
It’s a barbed throwback to something Jake had said to him a few days ago at the close of a particularly frustrating training run. Rooster had flushed angrily at the time, silently stalking away with his spine held rigid in rage, denying Jake the fun of a belligerent answer. It amuses Jake to know that he hasn’t forgotten the words.
“Guess I see the potential in you,” Jake drawls. He’s being entirely truthful. It’s why he had made the comment in the first place, irritated by Rooster’s propensity to hold back during the more daring hops. He allows his tone to lilt toward sarcasm to avoid giving himself away.
“Going to make me into a personal project, are you?”
“We’ll see,” Jake says, wrinkling his nose reflexively. “Not sure I have the goodwill to spare on such a defective product.”
“You’re such an ass,” Rooster replies after a beat, a complicated slant to his face. He sounds almost fond which is utterly absurd. The only people permitted to be fond of Jake are his family and Javy. Rooster hasn’t earned the privilege.
Yet.
The thought emerges almost independently of him, but as Jake mulls it over, mindful to keep his features neutral, he finds that he isn’t averse to the idea.
“Going to take back that proposition?”
He means it to be tongue-in-cheek because Jake is well aware that he can be an ass, but the words seem to spur Rooster on. He has been facing Jake the whole time, but there’s something about him, a subtle shift in the nuance of his expression, which makes Jake realize Rooster hadn’t really been seeing him until now.
“No,” Rooster says softly, considered. His words are laced with intent, as rich and as smoky as a fine whiskey. “No, I don’t think I will.”
They end up leaving the bar, cutting across the shore toward the illuminated boardwalk.
By mutual understanding they stay away from talking shop or anything too personal, and that seems to help keep the flow of conversation going. Jake has never had much patience for small talk but with Rooster, it doesn't really feel that tiresome. It’s also the longest period of time they’ve managed to carry a conversation without pissing each other off.
Jake figures they’re walking back to Rooster’s off-base housing as he knows it’s somewhere around this area, but Rooster comes to a stop along the boardwalk.
“Have you eaten?” he asks blandly, gazing at the row of storefronts.
“I haven’t,” Jake concedes, too caught off guard to sidestep the question. Now that he’s been reminded of its existence, his stomach promptly twists with hunger.
“There’s a decent burger place around the corner,” Rooster says, still pretending to be bland. He’s not doing a very good job at it; his eyes are far too expectant.
There’s another opening here, staring straight at Jake. This time around, he doesn’t take it.
“Lead the way,” he says instead, fidgeting to distract from his self betrayal.
The curl of Rooster’s mouth as he turns away is small and secretive, but Jake notices it anyway.
They get their food to go and, again in unspoken understanding, return to strolling along the shoreline away from the bright lights and ambling tourists. They settle on a stretch of beach with hardly anyone else around, especially now that the sun has set. They sit down cross-legged on the cooling sand, wolfing down their burgers and sharing fries.
“Kinda feels like we’re playacting at being on a date,” Jake observes eventually. A fraction too late, he realizes how that must come across—like he wants this weird prelude to what is undoubtedly going to be a casual fuck to be a date. He doesn’t backtrack, knowing that any attempt at correction will only make it look even worse.
“Well, you did ask me to wine and dine you,” Rooster says between chews, finishing the last of his burger, apparently unfazed.
“I said no such thing,” Jake says in mild protest, crunching on a fry. Rather than ignoring his slip-up, he decides to treat it as a running joke. “And if this is your idea of wining and dining, I feel sorry for all your other dates.”
“I think all my other dates would be feeling sorry for me right now.”
Jake huffs, stuffing a few more fries into his mouth to refrain from retaliating. It’s not bad, this temporary lull in their everyday routine of animosity. He’s licking the salt from his fingertips when he catches Rooster watching him.
“Something on my face?” he asks wryly. Jake has always been a neat eater, childhood lessons about table manners embedded into his being. He already knows he hasn’t made a mess.
Of course, his mother would have never approved of him licking his fingers but Jake had long ago come to the understanding that what she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.
After an overlong pause, Rooster says, “You look good. That’s all.”
Jake snorts. As far as compliments go, it’s a poor attempt at one. Rooster is also clearly deflecting; whatever he had been thinking about, it hadn’t been to do with Jake’s appearance.
He had already known Rooster’s earlier candor would be fleeting, a once in a blue moon event. Rooster is inherently standoffish, tightly held in check around others. Despite his occasional abrasiveness, usually by design, Jake has at least one or two friends and several tolerable acquaintances within their squadron and on base. He couldn’t say the same for Rooster.
“You don’t need to flatter me, Bradshaw.”
“Are you saying you’re a sure thing, then?”
“I’m saying this date hasn’t been as much of a washout as I’d been expecting.”
Rooster laughs on his next exhale, abrupt and throaty, like the sound has been unwittingly forced out of him. It’s a nice laugh regardless, amiable and low. It makes the underneath of his eyes crinkle, the sometimes-sullen downturn of his mouth softening.
Then, he leans in with deliberate intent.
Finally, Jake thinks, bright and exhilarated, sensing how close he is to getting what and whom he has wanted from the very beginning. Rooster smells decadent, warm and spiced. Jake can’t quite tell if it's a cologne or the underlying scent of his skin.
Their mouths meet.
Jake anticipates it to be lust filled and scorching, perhaps vicious or biting in the same way they fall into acting around one another.
Instead, their first kiss is slow and searching. Their mouths meander together in likeness of how they had walked across the sand not too long ago, bodies curving into each other, the points at where their elbows or hands had accidentally touched burning white-hot.
Jake tastes the salt from his lips on the tip of Rooster’s tongue and chases after it. When he licks into Rooster’s mouth and Rooster moans, unreservedly sensual, the pleasure pathways of Jake’s brain light up like they do when he’s supersonic in the sky.
It feels momentous, verging on ruinous, the epicenter of a new and intense shift in the bedrock of their dynamic. It’s also strangely grounding, somehow innately comfortable even though they’ve never done this with one another before.
As they continue to kiss, he quickly runs his hands up Rooster’s arms to above his elbows. His fingers find what they’re looking for: the thin rod inserted under the skin of his bicep, exactly like the one Jake has himself. He had already known it would be there. It’s not strictly mandatory given the fallout that would arise from attempting to enforce such a thing, but it’s a tacit requirement nonetheless.
“Suspicious,” Rooster says, pulling away slightly. His lips return to brush Jake’s, as if he can’t stand to remain too far apart. His words are lighthearted, teasing.
“Careful,” Jake clarifies, short nails biting into the firm muscle of Rooster’s arms in disapproval even as he leans in for another dizzying kiss. “Thought you’d know all about that.”
Rooster simply smiles against his mouth, unruffled. Jake is somewhat disappointed that he doesn’t bristle, rising to the bait as he no doubt would have done were they at work.
“Seems like you’ve decided where this date is going,” Rooster says when they part to steal breath.
“Yeah, I have.” He had made his decision back in the bar, but he needn’t say so.
Getting to his feet, Jake brushes the sand from his clothes. He’s a little hard, cock thickening beneath his pants. Thankfully, it isn’t visible externally. He suppresses the urge to adjust himself, refusing to give Rooster the satisfaction of seeing how affected he is.
After a moment of deliberation he extends a hand to Rooster, still seated.
He should be barely perceptible in the dark, but Rooster’s smile is dazzling as he slides his palm into Jake’s.
“Holy shit,” Jake mutters in genuine awe when Rooster unselfconsciously pulls down his briefs. He had already made an educated guess based on the rather evident bulge in Rooster’s pants as he’d started undressing, but actually seeing what he’s packing firsthand is a completely revelatory experience.
“You don’t need to flatter me, Seresin,” Rooster says without missing a beat, his voice as dry as tinder in the height of a Texan summer.
Jake feels like he’s in the midst of a Texan summer himself, parched and overheated. Still, Rooster’s words manage to trigger an automatic response even with most of his brain offline.
“Looks like you’re the sure thing here.” His words come out remarkably calm considering Jake currently feels anything but.
He can’t stop fucking staring. Even halfway to hard, Rooster’s cock is sizable. He’s long and uncut, thick enough to choke on. A frisson of want snakes through Jake, coiling at the base of his own dick. He feels lightheaded with the sheer force of it.
“Speak for yourself,” Rooster murmurs, stepping right into Jake’s space. Their gazes are almost level, but that doesn’t detract from the overpowering effect of him. Heat and desire emanate from Rooster in cloying waves, as heady and potent as the musk of his skin. Jake is fully dressed, but it feels like he’s the one who has been peeled back and uncovered.
“Like I said,” he says, ever unwilling to back down, blatantly looking Rooster up and down, “this has been less of a washout than expected.”
The rest of him is equally gorgeous, all tanned skin and corded muscle, generously proportioned. Jake might sink slowly to his knees right here and now, running his mouth from the straight line of Rooster’s neck along his torso right down to envelop his cock.
“You say the most romantic things.”
“Only for you.”
Then Jake kisses him fiercely, partly in urgency and partly in diversion, hoping Rooster won’t recognize the undercurrent of truth buried within the sarcasm.
Jake is pleasantly drowsy, cataloging the slight ache in his muscles and wondering if Rooster is the type of guy to be sweet or curt the morning after the fact, when he’s rudely interrupted by incessant beeping from the other side of the bed.
Rolling over with a groan he resolves to ignore it, but the noise just doesn’t fucking let up, drilling into his skull like the tone of a missile lock. He tries to prod Rooster awake but ends up leaning over to silence the damn phone himself when Rooster blearily grumbles nonsense at him, completely useless. It’s a day off today; Rooster must have forgotten to turn off his regular alarms.
They had been rather distracted last night. Jake figures he can afford to be magnanimous.
Once he finally wakes up, the way Rooster kisses him good morning while jerking them both off together, the friction from his palm rough and exacting, more than makes up for it anyway.
Sweet, then, Jake concludes dazedly, kiss drunk and come spattered, a little taken aback by the revelation.
When Rooster continues jerking him off in steady strokes even after Jake’s orgasm, ignoring his own potential release, Jake revises his initial assessment. There’s nothing sweet about that tongue of his, those hands of his, that cock of his.
It turns out Rooster is a fucking menace when it comes to sex.
He’s unrelenting with his mouth like he is with his hands, scattering kisses hard enough to bruise into the skin below the dip of Jake’s collarbones. Instinctively, Jake understands it means the marks Rooster leaves behind will be hidden beneath his flight suit.
“Mighty considerate of you,” he says in wry acknowledgement, carding his fingers through Rooster’s hair. The gesture feels excessively affectionate, but Jake is too malleable in the aftermath of his orgasm to really care.
“Thought you’d prefer to be private about this type of thing,” Rooster mumbles into his chest. It’s the most coherent sentence he’s strung together since waking up.
“You’re not wrong,” Jake allows. With his next words, he tugs a fraction too severely on Rooster’s curls. “Still don’t explain why you seem like you’re tryin’ to stake a claim.”
Predictably, Rooster doesn’t reply. When he grazes his teeth lightly around Jake’s nipple and sucks it into his mouth, flicking the tip of his tongue against the point of it, Jake is too busy writhing and shaking to call him out on his silence. That had probably been the idea.
His nipples are hardwired right to his dick. Jake is certain Rooster must feel it pulse and jump under his fingers in tune to the motion of his mouth. He feels overly sensitized, a mass of taut and feverish nerves.
He garbles out an entreaty when pain starts overtaking pleasure, thighs spasming and cock throbbing all over. Rooster’s palm and mouth gentle instantly, letting go. The absence of his touch is worse somehow, and Jake swallows back a whine, burying his nose into the side of Rooster’s neck.
“Do you want to?” Rooster asks nonsensically, low and hoarse in Jake’s ear. He sounds wrecked at the very suggestion despite it coming from his own mouth, restless hands skimming along the contours of Jake’s chest.
“Hell yes,” Jake mutters without hesitation, licking along the seam of Rooster’s lips until he yields, indulging in the muffled noises he seems helpless to hold back.
In hindsight it had been shortsighted of him, but he hadn’t foreseen that they’d go again in the morning. Jake had picked Rooster to be a one-and-done kind of guy, maybe even somewhat cold or brusque, after. Not like this: warm, and sweet, and seemingly endlessly eager for more of Jake.
The assumption had been mean and perhaps without basis, he admits to himself with brisk efficiency but without shame. It’s just that Rooster often seems as disinterested in those around him as Jake is.
“Wanna suck you off first,” Jake says pointedly, tracing a finger down Rooster’s abs to the jut of his hips. It’s mainly because he wants to, but also because Rooster hasn’t come yet and that strikes him as unbalanced. “Hardly seems fair otherwise.”
“It’s not a competition,” Rooster says mildly as Jake wriggles further down the bed.
“It’s always a competition,” Jake corrects, running the same finger from Rooster’s hips down along the length of his dick. He’s flushed and full, foreskin pulled back, pre-come collecting at the exposed head. “Will you be able to go again though, after I make you come?”
“After, huh?” Rooster’s smile is close-mouthed, smug like he’s keeping a secret. “Yeah, shouldn’t be a problem.”
Rather than interrogating that remark like he wants to, Jake gets to work. He makes a show of it, knowing precisely how to play to his advantage. He wraps his mouth around Rooster’s cock, taking as much in as will comfortably fit, allowing the head of it to bulge against his inner cheek. The sight must appeal because Rooster groans fervently, winding his fingers into Jake’s hair and clearly trying to refrain from fucking up into his mouth.
“Oh shit,” he babbles as Jake bobs up and down, hips bucking. “Your mouth, fuck. Knew it’d be so fucking good around my dick from the moment I saw you.”
Jake pulls off with an obnoxious pop, raking his nails into the muscle of Rooster’s thigh. Of course he’s fucking talkative in bed, at odds to his usual clammed up self. “You haven’t seen anything yet.”
“Why don’t you show me?” Rooster says audaciously, courting danger. “Since this is apparently a competition and all.”
So Jake does show him, with enough vengeful determination and unforgiving enthusiasm that Rooster doesn’t have time to give him warning when he comes forcefully with a bitten-off yell. Jake doesn’t flinch, swallowing as much as he can greedily, calculatingly letting some of the warmth overflow from his mouth to trickle down his chin and chest.
“You conniving little shit.” Despite the words, Rooster sounds delighted.
He hauls Jake back up the bed to crush their lips together. The kiss is frantic and messy, Rooster unabashedly licking into his mouth and along his chin, cleaning him up. Evidently he has no issue with tasting himself on Jake’s tongue or skin which is really fucking hot.
“Think I deserve a reward for my win,” Jake says loftily between kisses, curling a proprietary hand around the shaft of Rooster’s softening cock in emphasis. He wouldn’t put it past Rooster to miss an obvious hint.
“Is it a reward if you were always going to get given it anyway?”
“Well, why don’t you prove it? Because right now, all I’m hearing is a whole lot of talk.”
“Good things come to those who wait,” Rooster says slyly while rolling them over, tangling their limbs together and kissing Jake soundly.
Jake groans in disgust but decides to occupy his mouth by kissing Rooster back rather than antagonizing him. His face and neck tingle from the bristles of Rooster’s mustache and the burn of his days-old scruff. Jake is going to be chafed pink tomorrow from jaw to thighs.
He could get used to that.
Eventually Rooster rearranges their bodies so they’re slotted together on their sides, fitting himself close along the line of Jake’s back. Jake can feel his cock rubbing against the cheeks of his ass, thick with fervor. He hadn’t been misrepresenting being able to go again soon, at least.
He wants it, hole fluttering in anticipation. He can still feel how Rooster’s dick had pushed into him last night, slow but inevitable, making space for himself within Jake. He remembers: how full he had been, the way Rooster had placed a broad hand against his belly to anchor him as he had fucked in deep and unhurried, the uninhibited filth he’d whispered in Jake’s ear.
“Wonder if I can feel myself here,” he had rasped, pressing the flat of his palm into Jake’s abdomen.
Even more blood rushes to his dick at the memory, at the concept of repeating that now, of being fulfilled so perfectly. Rooster’s cock is right there, hot and heavy against his skin. It’d be so easy for Jake to reach behind with a hand and guide the head of it back into him.
“Condom,” he grits out, mind sharpening into lucidity. His heart beats louder, agitated. Jake had nearly been swept away by the intensity of his desire. That’s never happened to him before.
“Fuck,” Rooster hisses, so vehemently that Jake realizes he too must have been almost carried away by his own eagerness and lust. The thought shouldn’t be so arousing—that Rooster wants him so desperately that he’d neglect his usual caution, that Jake has incited this recklessness in him—but it is.
Rooster kisses the nape of Jake’s neck as if in apology, the heat of his body briefly abating. When he returns, Jake helps him roll the condom over his straining and stupidly big cock, partly out of impatience and partly because he can be as wary as Rooster in his own way.
“Suspicious,” Rooster says with an air of wounded grievance, but he’s smiling. Jake can feel the shape of it against his sweat-damp shoulder.
“Careful,” he retorts, grinning with far too many teeth.
Suddenly Jake imagines letting Rooster fuck into him raw, welcoming the glide of his bare cock inside of him. He imagines being filled up with Rooster’s come, warm and abundant. He imagines—
He stops with effort, shuddering. He must be absolutely insane.
“Thinking about something good?” He hears the snick of a familiar bottle being opened.
Jake is incredibly hard now, still sore and sensitive but more than willing. Rooster’s hands perfunctorily brush his cock and then his balls, letting out a rumble of approval at finding him so stirred up, but don’t linger.
“Thinking about how you’re taking your damn time,” Jake replies irritably.
Rooster hums, unrepentant. His hands roam upward, finding the mess on Jake’s belly from his earlier orgasm. He rubs the come into Jake’s skin, skirting his fingers around his navel and the trail of darker hair leading back to his dick.
Then, as Jake is seriously considering flipping them over and near forcibly riding him, Rooster reaches down and circles his rim, massaging around his hole in prolonged torment before pressing in. His finger is wet with lube and presumably come. The increasingly unhinged part of his brain imagines how he’d feel if it was Rooster’s come and not his own.
Jake squirms, swearing under his breath at the slight give, feeling the tight ring of muscle gradually ease as he grinds back against Rooster. He doesn’t always enjoy the sensation but today, body relaxed from being dicked down the night before and brain half-melted from having come once already, it’s unbelievably good. Rooster’s finger feels infinitely better than his own.
“You’re so fucking soft inside,” Rooster groans, rough, ruined. The sound of his breathing is harsh and noisy in the quiet of the room, mingling with Jake’s.
Rooster fingers him thoroughly, frustratingly slow. He doesn’t alter his glacial pace, stubborn and inflexible, even when Jake snarls and needles. When he finally adds a second then a third finger, the stretch causes Jake’s toes to curl and his mouth to fall open.
He can’t even form words.
The pads of Rooster’s fingers drag against Jake’s prostate repeatedly every time he crooks them. It feels fucking amazing. Jake’s balls are full, drawn up tight. He reaches down to palm his own cock, intending to get himself off, but only manages to stroke himself once before Rooster bats his hand away, twining their fingers together and preventing Jake from extricating his hand.
“What the hell—”
“Have you ever come without your dick being touched?” Rooster asks contemplatively, chin digging into Jake’s shoulder, pecking a placating kiss to his cheek as if that will be enough to soothe the impact of his words.
“Oh, fuck that,” Jake hisses in disbelief even as his neglected cock, flushed and heavy between his tense thighs, leaks a spurt of pre-come at the notion.
He’s never even considered it before, doesn’t know that he believes it to be possible.
“Is this why you haven’t been touching my dick this whole time?” Jake asks, both disgruntled and impressed at Rooster’s underhandedness. It had stuck out to him as odd given that Rooster hadn’t been able to keep his hands off Jake’s cock last night.
“I touched your dick after I woke up,” Rooster says primly. He curls those beautifully thick fingers, sinking knuckle-deep into him. Jake is unable to hold back, a loud moan wrenched from his throat. His cock won’t stop fucking dripping. “You’re so sensitive. You’d be able to do it.”
“If it means you’ll stop fucking around and fuck me, then sure,” Jake growls. He feels feral, rubbed raw inside and out, reduced to taking what he is given and aching for more.
It feels like he’d do anything Rooster asked of him right now.
The need in his gut grows exponentially, burning hotter and brighter, but Jake bites his tongue this time, knowing that he can be patient. Knowing that he can wait for it. Occasionally, he can appreciate the benefits of delayed gratification. It feels like a prolonged exercise in being edged, like being on the cusp of a mindblowing orgasm and being cruelly denied again and again. While he bites his tongue, he can’t exactly stay quiet—too far gone to heed the small sounds escaping unchecked from his mouth.
When Rooster withdraws his fingers, Jake hates the sensation of emptiness he leaves behind. He needs Rooster’s cock in him, right now.
“Sweetheart,” Rooster finally says, voice slurred, his entire body shaking with restraint. His cockhead stutters against Jake’s hole, begging for permission.
Sweetheart.
It’s a meaningless mental slip, a lust-fueled endearment in the heat of the moment. It still sends a shard of satisfaction lancing through him, sharp edged like he might cut himself were he to examine it too closely.
“Yeah,” Jake murmurs, craning his neck to seek out Rooster’s lips. “Come here, darlin’.”
Rooster obeys, fucking into him in several slow but smooth strokes, kissing him sweetly, filling him up so well. The length and girth of his cock is as overwhelming as it had been the night before. He picks up the pace without having to be told, hips working, alternating deep and breath-taking thrusts with short shallower ones. It doesn’t take long, Jake has already been teetering at the precipice for what feels like hours.
Jake comes so hard that his vision whites out for a second. The pooled heat in his balls explodes through his dick, stripes of come pulsing out onto his skin and staining the sheets.
While they will be able to be washed clean again, Jake fuzzily thinks that the marks Rooster have left on him will be everlasting, indelible and unforgettable.
Since Jake has directly verified both the size of Rooster’s dick and the fact that he isn’t an early riser, he decides to take the opportunity to ask about it.
“Is it because of your dick?” Jake begins conversationally, trudging around the bedroom while attempting to locate his hastily discarded clothes. He’s almost ashamed of his past self; he’s not generally so disorganized in his thoughts and actions. “Or a joke since you have to set a thousand alarms to wake up?”
“What?” Rooster sounds exceedingly innocent, as if he hasn’t understood the question. Jake isn’t fooled by the act.
“Your callsign,” he says impatiently, pulling on his briefs and failing in his attempt not to steal glances at Rooster.
He’s lounging against the headboard, hands behind his head, watching Jake get dressed. The thin sheets are pulled up to his hips to preserve some shred of modesty, irrelevant given how much they’ve done and seen of each other. His biceps are flexed, his abs on show. It’s distracting. He’s clearly doing it on fucking purpose too, showboating for Jake’s benefit, his scheme rather obvious.
Jake doesn’t mind it, not at all. They’re far more compatible in bed than he’d anticipated, given how grating their general interactions have been so far. Maybe they should be spending all their time fucking instead of fighting. The ridiculousness of the thought makes him smirk.
It also makes his cock fill again, which is somewhat unexpected but definitely not unwelcome. Jake had wondered if finally sleeping with Bradshaw would have been enough to scratch the itch he’d felt from the moment Jake had laid eyes on him, to stamp out the flickering flame of interest within him.
He now has his answer. Seems like Jake isn’t one-and-done when it comes to Rooster either.
“It’s not because of those reasons,” Rooster is saying, running a hand through his curls in what has to be faux bashfulness. There’s no way someone who fucks the way Bradshaw does—assertive and proficient, a glimpse of what he could be like in the air if he just fucking allowed it—can be embarrassed over something like this.
The sight of him, pink cheeked and sex rumpled, makes Jake’s heart constrict.
He ruthlessly quashes the fledgling sentiment. Jake isn’t some wide-eyed ingénue that sleeps with a guy once, or rather twice, and then can’t stop thinking about him. The very idea should be laughable.
It should be, but Jake suddenly doesn’t feel all that amused.
“So, are you gonna tell me?” he says in an effort to avoid going down that rabbithole, rolling his eyes exaggeratedly. “Or is it a secret?”
“It’s not a secret,” Rooster replies, warm and pleased. He smiles then, the shift in his persona subtle but unmistakable, half-lidded gaze turning utterly dirty even as the blush steals further down his neck. Jake wants to map the meandering journey of it with his mouth, trailing his tongue from Rooster’s red ears to his flushed pecs. “Not from you, anyway.”
Jake bites his lip, stifling a grin. Not only a menace but a consummate sweet-talker, it seems.
Apparently having decided he hasn't done enough damage, Rooster reaches down and wraps a hand around his dick, still covered by the bedsheet. Jake’s throat instantly runs dry. Rooster is already hard, his upright cock tenting the flimsy material. It’s lewd, downright indecent. It pushes all of his buttons simultaneously.
Rooster is watching him from beneath his eyelashes, gaze dark and assessing.
“Was thinking of showing you.”
Fucking hell, Jake thinks, his own cock jerking almost painfully against the seam of his underwear in Pavlovian response.
He’s going to be the ruin of me.