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Of course, Bradley thinks when he spots that leather jacket with all its patches. Of course Maverick is at this fucking bar in fucking Charlottesville. It’s not as if Bradley chose UVA specifically because it was on the other side of the country from China Lake. It’s not as if he told Maverick to stay the hell away from him a year ago or like he responded to Maverick’s last attempted call six months ago by telling him he’d file a restraining order if he didn’t quit. Why the hell wouldn’t Maverick be here?
Bradley isn’t even drunk yet. He and his friends did a celebratory shot when their fake IDs got them into the bar - bullshit that they could die for their country at 19 but not drink, by the way - and then half the other guys got distracted by a group of senior girls they recognized from a frat party. Bradley’s been banned from flirting with senior girls on account of him allegedly having too much game. He’s by far the most confident of his friends, funny when he needs to be, polite when he ought to be, and he’s a musician. “You make it unfair for the rest of us,” his friends always say.
Which is fine with Bradley, generally, because generally he’s not as interested in women as he is in his guy friends. Not that any of them know - he’s subtle in the way of a young man who was raised knowing far too much about Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell. Subtle in the way of a young man who’s getting into the Navy as soon as he graduates with his bachelor’s, fuck you very much, Maverick.
But that means he’s alone at the bar right now, too sober, and when Maverick turns away from the blonde he’s been chatting up, he looks directly into Bradley’s face.
Bradley catches the wonder in Maverick’s eyes. The blaze of hope, as if he just stumbled into Bradley’s territory with no expectation of running into him.
Bradley’d gotten glimpses of that look when he was a kid - usually when Maverick came back after a year away and Bradley had grown four inches, or when Bradley proved himself better at playing piano than Goose had ever been. It had always made his stomach squirm in a way that made Bradley want to either hide from Maverick or clamber into his arms.
God, Bradley hates him.
Maverick’s face drops. Now Bradley can see the new faint lines around his eyes - just a few, but they’re there. Maverick’s mouth is a tight line. He jerks his head toward the exit, a wordless order.
“Fuck you,” Bradley says lowly.
Maverick stands and heads for the door. Why does Bradley follow?
Well. When has Bradley not followed Maverick? That’s the whole point. All he’s ever wanted to do was to be Maverick, to be with Maverick - they’re one and the same. Maverick proved he didn’t want that when he pulled Bradley’s papers.
But Bradley follows him out of the bar anyway.
“Where’s the Bronco?” Maverick asks.
“We took a cab here,” Bradley says. “I’m not stupid, I’m not gonna drive drunk.” Hopping a barbed-wire fence drunk had been bad enough; the stitched-together gashes on his cheek have only recently started scarring.
Maverick nods. He straddles his Ninja - he rode his bike from California to Charlottesville? What the hell is his problem? - and jerks his head at Bradley. Bradley crosses his arms over his chest.
“That bartender could get in a lot of trouble for serving alcohol to underage kids,” Maverick says.
“I’m not a kid.”
“You’re not of legal drinking age either. All it takes is one phone call from a concerned citizen….”
Bradley grits his teeth and gets on the back of the bike. “You son of a bitch,” he says.
“Hold on,” Maverick says.
“No.”
“A TBI from flying off the back of a motorcycle will ground you more permanently than anything I’ve ever done. Hold on. ”
Maverick’s right. That’s what Bradley hates about him the most. Maverick’s nearly always right, he’s impossibly smart, which is why, when he yanked Bradley’s application, Bradley thought well maybe - maybe he’s right, maybe I’m not enough. For all of two seconds, anyway, and then he’d realized that Maverick is just a piece of shit who looks at Bradley and sees a pale imitation of Goose.
Bradley nearly gets off the bike. He grabs onto Maverick’s jacket, not his body, just his jacket, and leans as far away from him as he can without falling off the bike. Maverick used to always drive so cautiously when Bradley was with him (well, “so cautiously” for Maverick, anyway). Bradley would have to beg for him to go faster, do a trick, do something. Now, Maverick’s whipping down the highway, weaving between cars like he’s being pursued in some action flick.
Maverick still smells the same: leather and motor oil. Bradley can’t help what that does to him. He can’t even blame it on being drunk - that one shot’s out of his system by now. No, that boner is all him and his long-standing infatuation with Maverick.
At least Maverick isn’t looking at him, Bradley thinks darkly. Even when he parks the bike outside a motel and leads Bradley into a crummy little room, he’s not really looking at Bradley. Looking through him, maybe.
“I was there when you were born,” Maverick says.
“Congratulations,” Bradley says.
“I know you’re not 21 yet.”
“Did you ride your stupid bike cross-country just to catch me drinking?”
“I’m meeting Ice in Norfolk tomorrow. Thought I could make it all the way there tonight, but it made more sense to stop here overnight.”
“Right. In Charlottesville, where I’m sure you had no idea I lived.”
Maverick levels him an unimpressed look. “I toured UVA’s campus with you, Bradley.”
“And you stopped in at a bar just off campus because….”
“I’ve been on that bike for three days. I wanted to blow off steam. I certainly didn’t expect to find you there.”
Bradley balls his hands into fists. “I meant it about the restraining order.”
Maverick sighs. He rubs his forehead. Bradley notices those little lines around his eyes again. There are some on his forehead, too, as if he’s been frowning more. Bradley’s skin prickles. Maverick’s not supposed to get old.
“You’re a grown man,” Maverick says wearily. “ Not old enough to drink, don’t try that with me. But old enough to choose who you have in your life.”
“Then why am I here?”
“I don’t know,” Maverick says. His gaze is piercing when he looks at Bradley. “You’re the one who got on my bike.”
Bradley wets his lips. The truth is, he doesn’t know why. The only half-formed answer he has is that when Maverick says jump, Bradley says how high. But like hell will he give Maverick that satisfaction.
“Maybe I want to hit you,” he says instead.
Maverick shakes his head. “You would have done that at the bar.”
Bradley grimaces. “Then maybe I want to see if you’re ready to apologize for tanking my career.”
Maverick scoffs. He has the audacity to roll his eyes as if Bradley’s a kid throwing a tantrum. “I know you’re in the NROTC. You’ll be in the air,” he says.
“Years behind - ”
“When you have a functioning brain between your ears,” Maverick snaps. “I didn’t ruin your life. I slowed you down. I always knew you’d still end up in the sky. Just older and hopefully wiser.”
“Ha,” Bradley says. “You’re living proof some people get old without having a functioning brain.”
Maverick takes a deliberate breath. “Okay,” he says. “So you’re still angry with me. Fine. I deserve it. But you’re here, so let’s try to talk - ”
Bradley’s phone rings, saving him from whatever bullshit Maverick wants to spew. Bradley flips open his phone. “Hey,” he says.
“Hey man,” one of his friends says, “you good? Do you need us to wait around for you?”
“Bartender said you went home with some hot chick,” another friend yells in the background.
Bradley grins the big cocky fake smile he’s perfected over the past year. “Yeah, it wasn’t that great.”
“No, don’t tell us that, ” his friend complains.
“No, yeah, mediocre at best.”
“Still, you’ve got game,” his friend says, a little awestruck. “Her rack was insane. Hey, you’re good to get back to the dorm? ‘Cause we’re going to be out for a while, but I was gonna stay sober if you needed a rescue or something.”
Bradley’s friend doesn’t sound the least bit sober now, but Bradley still appreciates the thought. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says, and hangs up.
“Who’s that?” Maverick demands.
“None of your business,” Bradley says. Then he reconsiders. Not disclosing his every move to Maverick after 18 years of being attached like a barnacle might hurt Maverick a little. Bradley can think of a way to hit him harder. “My friends wanted to know how good the sex was.”
“What?”
“Apparently when they asked the bartender if he’d seen me, he said I went home with someone. He didn’t specify who, so I’m letting them believe you’re that blonde chick you were talking to at the bar.” Bradley shrugs. “You heard me. It was mediocre at best. Sometimes people are just disappointments.”
“Mediocre,” Maverick echoes.
Bradley shrugs again. “You would be, right? You always talked a big game when I was a kid, brought home all those girls Mom called airheads. But none of them stuck around. I’ve known plenty of guys like that: have a big dick, don’t know how to sling it.”
Maverick gives him a wary look. “You must be drunker than I realized.”
“Sober as a judge,” Bradley says. He steps closer to Maverick, then closer. He wonders how close he would have to get to make Maverick back up. As it is, he looms over him.
“Bradley,” Maverick warns. “Don’t do something you’ll regret.”
Bradley lets out a mean laugh. “What, like you?” Let Maverick take it however he wants.
“I used to know this kid,” Maverick says. “Sweetest little boy you’d ever met. Always the first one to help a friend. So respectful. Do you happen to know where he went?”
“Shut up,” Bradley says. “Shut the fuck up. What do you know about respect? You’re a fucking pussy,” Bradley says.
Maverick goes still. “Care to repeat yourself?” he says. Maverick never drew a hard line about swearing when Bradley was a kid - aside from the few words he described as words your mother would have washed out of your mouth. “Bitch” when said about a woman was never allowed; same with “slut,” “whore,” and “pussy.”
“You’re a fucking pussy,” Bradley says. “And I bet you fuck like one, too.”
Maverick shoves Bradley onto the bed. Bradley bounces back up when he lands. Maverick pushes him down again. Bradley yells wordlessly and wraps his legs around Maverick’s hips, intent on flipping him over. Maverick throws an arm over Bradley’s chest and pins him. His elbow digs into Bradley’s ribs.
“You sound like an idiot and act like a spoiled brat,” Maverick snarls. Bradley’s taken aback by the venom in his voice. “Your mother raised you better than this. I raised you better than this.”
Bradley spits in Maverick’s face. He watches, fascinated, as it slides down Maverick’s crooked nose before dripping onto his own chin.
Maverick holds entirely still aside from his heaving breaths.
Bradley ruts upward, crashing their hips together. Maverick’s rock-hard in his jeans.
Maverick shoves Bradley down. He climbs off the bed and whips off his shirt. “Get undressed,” he says shortly. Bradley’s so mesmerized by Maverick’s abs that it takes him a second to get on board. Then he’s scrambling to get naked. He beats Maverick by a couple seconds. He grabs Maverick by his arm and drags him down.
Bradley thinks it’ll be easy to flip Maverick, to pin him. Maybe he’ll blow Maverick and leave him hanging before he comes. Bradley’s given a couple blow jobs over the past year. He’s pretty okay at them, if he says so himself. And he’s strong, too, from all his hours in the gym and at ROTC. Surely he can get Maverick splayed on his back.
No. He fucking can’t. Bradley might be bigger than him, but he’d forgotten how smart Maverick was. He’s downright wily in bed, avoiding each of Bradley’s attempts to turn him over. Bradley’s the one pinned on his back. It makes him so angry he tries to headbutt Maverick. Maverick jerks back just in time.
The world lurches. Suddenly Bradley’s on his belly. Maverick yanks his hips until Bradley gets his knees under him. Bradley still feels like the world’s spinning. He can’t catch his breath.
Maverick’s here. Bradley’s on his hands and knees for Maverick. It’s five years’ worth of wet dreams come to life. Bradley’s nearly sick from it.
Maverick spits on Bradley’s crack. It slides slowly down to his hole. Maverick does it again, and this time his aim is true. Maverick shoves his blunt thumb into Bradley. Bradley shouts.
“Be quiet,” Maverick orders. He hooks his thumb and tugs at Bradley’s rim. There’s the click of a lube cap, and he’s squirting cold lube directly into Bradley’s hole. Bradley moans like a whore.
Maverick drops the bottle of lube on the bed and gets off the bed entirely. His belt buckle jangles. Bradley flips onto his back and finds Maverick shimmying back into his jeans. He grabs Maverick by his unbuckled belt and yanks him down on top of him. “Where the hell do you think you’re going?”
Maverick pushes out of Bradley’s hold. “I told you,” he says in a deliberately calm voice, “to be quiet. You have to listen to me.”
“Like hell I have to listen to you.”
“You’ll listen if you want my dick in you.”
Bradley’s stomach does a flip at Maverick’s frankness. The lube in his ass squishes when he rubs his legs together. Maverick’s jaw twitches, the only sign of anger on his otherwise impassive face.
Sweat trickles down Bradley’s temple. His hard cock curves up toward his belly.
He rolls onto his face again. He goes up on his hands and knees. There’s a rustle of denim as Maverick kicks off his jeans, and then Maverick’s hand cracks across Bradley’s asscheek. Bradley bites his tongue so hard he tastes blood. Maverick hits his other asscheek. He pushes Bradley’s knees further apart.
Another squirt of cold lube hits Bradley’s ass. He grinds his teeth so he doesn’t make a sound. There’s the sound of Maverick slicking up his cock and then the filthiest squelch Bradley has ever heard as Maverick pushes his thick cock into him.
Bradley can’t breathe. He’s never had anything thicker than a couple of his fingers inside him, never anything deeper than maybe the first two knuckles because he’s only fingered himself a couple times in the shower to see what it’s like, and now Maverick’s pressing forward until he’s balls-deep in Bradley. It’s everything Bradley’s wanted since he was 14. It’s nothing like what he wanted.
Maverick rests his sweaty forehead between Bradley’s shoulder blades. His ragged breaths burst hot across Bradley’s slick skin. Maverick stutters out the quietest groan.
He hauls himself upright. He pulls all the way out of Bradley. Bradley’s ears ring.
Maverick slams back into him.
Bradley’s whole body feels like it’s burning. His hole clenches around Maverick every time he thrusts in, like Bradley’s trying to keep him there. Bradley’s not even trying to tighten up, he just is. His cock’s leaking like a fucking faucet.
He hadn’t realized Maverick was this strong. Bradley’s big now, filling out in a way his dad never did by all accounts, but he could be a slab of muscle and he thinks Maverick would still be fucking him hard enough to slam the headboard into the wall. Bradley chokes on air.
“You wanted it,” Maverick snarls in his ear. “So fucking take it.”
A jagged sob carves its way out of Bradley. He tries to grab handfuls of the sheets, but Maverick’s railing him so hard that it doesn’t matter that Bradley’s had another growth spurt and is building muscle. Maverick shoves him up the bed with each thrust. Bradley collapses under him. His sobs overtake him.
“Brad - Brad,” Maverick says. Bradley’s startled by the sudden frantic note in Maverick’s voice. Maverick starts to pull out.
Bradley grabs Maverick’s thigh and holds him still. “No, no, don’t,” he begs. He’s not sure Maverick can understand him with how hard he’s crying.
Maverick croons a wordless noise that conjures fuzzy memories of Bradley’s childhood. He rolls them both onto their sides without pulling out. He reaches up and strokes Bradley’s wet cheek. “Baby,” he says.
Bradley nods. He doesn’t know if Maverick will say it again. Surely Maverick doesn’t want to, not after everything. Bradley didn’t want Maverick to say it until five seconds ago. Now he feels like he’ll be hollowed out forever if he doesn’t hear it again.
Maverick thrusts slowly, so slowly. The angle’s different like this; it sets Bradley groaning. Maverick grips Bradley’s cock - not stroking, just holding possessively, as if Bradley belongs to him. As if Maverick has any right to him.
“Baby,” Maverick says roughly, and Bradley wonders -
“Did you want me before?” Bradley slurs. “Were you driving me home from baseball and thinking - thinking about fucking me?” Maverick’s tightening grip on his cock gives him his answer. “I was thinking about you,” Bradley says. What does he have to lose? “Could have had me that whole time.”
“No, I couldn’t have,” Maverick says. He slowly strokes Bradley, root to tip. He presses his thumb against the slit. Bradley keens. “I would have ruined you.”
“You did that anyway.”
Maverick lets go of Bradley’s cock. He grips his hip hard enough to bruise. “I wanted you to be mine.”
“I was,” Bradley grits out. “Touch me again, c’mon.”
“No. Just like this.” Maverick smears a line of kisses across Bradley’s shoulder blades. He adjusts his grip on Bradley, shifts his angle just slightly, and suddenly each pass of his cock through Bradley makes Bradley’s cock twitch like a live wire. “Just like this, baby,” Maverick says.
“What if I can’t?” Bradley gasps. He’s ashamed of how his voice shakes.
“I know you can. I’m right here,” Maverick says. Bradley’s even more ashamed of how the reassurance makes him slump bonelessly in Maverick’s arms. Maverick’s thumb strokes the newly-healed scars on Bradley’s cheek. Bradley turns into the touch and lets his mouth drop open. Maverick traces his lips. Bradley licks the tip of his thumb. A filthy moan rips out of him when Maverick nails him just right.
“Sweetheart,” Maverick croons in the same loving way he speaks to his bikes and planes.
Bradley shakes his head frantically. “I’m not,” he pleads. “I’m not.” If he were Mav’s sweetheart, then Mav never would have fucked him over. He has to believe that. Otherwise - otherwise -
“Baby,” Maverick tries. Bradley sobs. He nods. Maverick adjusts his grip on Bradley’s sweaty body. His arm comes across Bradley’s hairy chest like a bar. Christ, the old man’s so strong. All Bradley can do is lie there and take it. His cock blurts precome with every one of Maverick’s thrusts.
“You’ve got it,” Maverick encourages the way he used to at Bradley’s games. “I know you can do it, baby. Just let yourself feel it. You feel me, baby? You feel me right here?” He grinds against a spot inside Bradley that makes Bradley’s eyes roll back. A wordless noise explodes from Bradley. Drool leaks from the corner of his mouth. “Come on, baby. Just a little bit more. I’ll get both of us there.”
Bradley believes him.
He loses himself in the filthy grind and the constant murmured praise. Maverick thinks he’s good. It’s impossible. Bradley doesn’t care. Let Maverick lie to him. He’s being split open, and it’s the best he’s felt in over a year. He wants Maverick to carve a space in him and live there.
Maverick sweeps a hand over Bradley’s chest. Bradley comes hard. It never fucking ends; each pulse of come pulls him tight around Maverick’s cock. Maverick groans. His teeth scrape Bradley’s shoulder. His cock twitches in Bradley as he comes.
They collapse together, Maverick on top of Bradley. Bradley’s pretty sure his limbs don’t work. His extremities are tingling. He can barely feel that he’s in the wet spot.
Gently, without pulling out, Maverick rolls them onto their sides. He cradles Bradley in his arms like Bradley’s someone special.
“I love you,” Maverick says.
“No,” Bradley says. He can’t handle hearing it.
“Yes.”
“If you loved me, you wouldn’t have screwed me over.”
“It wasn’t about you,” Maverick says. “It was about me. ”
“Fuck you.”
“I know,” Maverick says, low and soothing the way he would have sounded when Bradley was young and upset. “I know.”
“I’m not some kid.”
“But you’re my kid,” Maverick says. His softening cock slips out of Bradley. Some of his come slips down the inside of Bradley’s thigh.
Bradley’s face burns. His head spins. “You fucked me,” he says.
“I wanted to,” Maverick says. “More than one thing can be true, alright? Maybe you’re too young to get that, I don’t know. But more than one thing can be true. I love you because you’re my baby, and I’m attracted to you because you’re a beautiful man. I want you as my wingman, and - ”
“You ruined my life to keep me on the ground.” Even as Bradley says it, it feels less true than it did a few hours ago.
Bradley rolls over to get a better look at Maverick. He’s stunned by the silent tears tracking down his cheeks.
“Please, baby,” Maverick says when he catches Bradley looking at him. “Stay. At least tonight. Let me have this. Please.”
Maverick reaches for him. Bradley allows Maverick to pull him into his arms. With his head pillowed on Maverick’s chest, he can hear the one whine Maverick lets out before going quiet. He listens to the predictable rhythm of Maverick’s heart.
Maverick kisses the crown of Bradley’s head. “Baby,” he whispers as if he thinks Bradley won’t hear him. “My baby.”