Work Text:
The Daggers are three rounds of cheap beer deep when someone, probably Mickey judging by his shit eating grin, suggests playing Dare or Dare.
“Thought the game was Truth or Dare,” Jake says, taking a long pull from his bottle of beer. Bradley, in his tipsy state, watches the way his throat works with interest.
“Yeah, but where’s the fun in that?” Javy replies, nudging his shoulder into the blonde. “You scared, Seresin?”
“Fuck no.”
They’re seated around a bonfire that crackles and pops, sending sparks into the air that float on the sea breeze. The cooler of beer has been steadily picked at, a trash bag nearby beginning to fill. The sun has set but the evening chill is warded off by the fire and laughter and drinks.
“Alright, who’s first?” Reuben asks.
The game starts. Bradley watches on, sides hurting from laughter, as his teammates put each other through the ringer. Mickey is dared to call Maverick and pretend to be an old fling. Natasha is made to go down the beach to another bonfire set up a few yards away and pretend she belongs there.
She comes back with a pizza that gets passed around and a smug smile on her face.
Bob posts his last selfie — surprisingly, a shirtless post-gym mirror pic that seems wildly out of character for the quiet WSO — to Instagram. His cheeks start to burn red when comments start flooding in.
Javy is dared to give someone a lap dance. He picks Jake — unsurprisingly, they’re best friends — and Bradley white knuckles the arm of the adirondack chair the whole time, jealousy clawing up his throat as Jake laughs. Natasha plays Pony by Ginuwine for the experience and Javy rolls his hips over Jake’s lap for a solid thirty seconds before falling into the sand and remaining there.
“Don’t quit your day job, buddy,” Jake says, patting Javy’s back good naturedly when he sits up and leans against Jake’s legs.
“Your turn, Hangman,” Javy slurs. For such a big guy, he sure is a lightweight. “I dare you to call the last person you had sex with and ask them if they’ll come over tonight.”
Jake reaches into his pocket for his phone and swipes his thumb across the screen before lifting it to his ear. Mickey is shushing everyone and Javy is leaning into Jake to try to hear but Jake puts a hand out, shoving his face away.
Bradley’s back pocket vibrates and he chokes on his beer, coughing into his fist. Natasha shoots him a confused look and Jake — fucking Jake — is smiling like this is just the funniest goddamn thing he’s ever seen.
“Hey, sweet cheeks,” Jake says, loud and bright. Bradley’s voicemail must have picked up. “I miss you, baby. Why don’t you come over tonight and I can make you feel real good?”
Bradley feels like he might combust. He’s grateful for the heat of the fire and the rush of alcohol in his body because at least they’re valid excuses for the flush blooming across his cheeks and down his neck. Jake’s gaze is locked on him the whole time and Bradley tries to keep it cool, but his laughter when Jake hangs up the phone is tight.
“Rooster!” Jake shouts, pointing at him with the hand still holding his beer. “I dare you—“
Don’t do anything stupid, Bradley thinks.
“—to finally admit that I’m the better pilot,” he continues. He holds up his phone. “On camera.”
“Oh, fuck you,” Bradley laughs. “Not happening.”
“You have to do it,” Jake needles. “Thems the rules!”
“Do it, do it,” Mickey starts chanting. Javy and Reuben join him while Natasha laughs and Bob watches with an amused little smile.
Jake stands up, coming over to Bradley’s chair and plopping down on the arm of it, phone held up in front of his face.
“C’mon, Rooster, say it,” he demands. Bradley rolls his eyes. Jake drops his voice lower, a deep rumble only Bradley can hear that has a shiver running down his spine. “Say it.”
“You’re a better pilot than me,” he says through gritted teeth. The smile Jake gives him is incandescent.
“Was that so hard, Roo?” He teases, patting Bradley’s cheek. It’s meant to be condescending in that special Jake way of his but all it does is stoke the fire burning Bradley up from the inside out.
Jake returns to his own chair, smug as hell. Bradley catches his eye and the bastard has the nerve to wink at him because it’s Jake and Jake knows exactly what he’s doing, even if everyone around them is none the wiser.
The night wears on. Those that are driving sober up by switching to water and soda. When the fire starts to burn itself out, everyone begins to pack up and go their separate ways. Reuben offers to drive a very drunk Javy back to his place. Mickey rides with Bob and Nat.
And Jake, well—
Bradley slams Jake up against the passenger door of his truck, kissing him hard enough to hurt. Jake hisses, digs his teeth into Bradley’s lip in retaliation, but all it does is drag out a ragged moan.
“You’re such an asshole,” Bradley says, mouth descending on Jake’s neck with a vengeance. He feels the other man’s laughter against his lips, vibrating through his chest.
“Tell me somethin’ I don’t know,” Jake replies, all cocksure but breathless. Bradley sucks hard at his pulse point and is rewarded with the ache of Jake’s fingers digging into his hips.
“You’re lucky my phone was on vibrate,” Bradley continues. He slips a hand beneath Jake’s shirt, traces the warm crests and valleys of his abs, relishing the way it makes him shiver. “How the hell were you going to explain that, huh?”
“Didn’t think that far.” Jake reaches up, tugs on Bradley’s hair to get him to look at him. “As much fun as this is, I’d really appreciate it if we took this party elsewhere.”
“Oh yeah?” Bradley palms Jake through his jeans. Jake’s head falls back against the truck with a thump. “You gonna make good on that promise?”
“What promise?”
Bradley fishes his phone from his back pocket and opens his notifications. A missed text from Maverick sits at the top, a series of emojis that Bradley can’t decipher in his current state of mind, but below that is the new voicemail and missed call from Jake. He presses play and hits the speaker button.
I miss you, baby, Jake’s voice says, Javy’s giggles echoing in the background. Why don’t you come over tonight and I can make you feel real good?
Bradley raises his eyebrows as the voicemail ends and Jake runs his hands up his chest.
“Well, I ain’t ever been the type of guy to go back on a promise,” he murmurs close to Bradley’s ear, nipping the lobe.
“Get in the truck,” Bradley commands, stealing a quick kiss. “I’ll follow you.”
Jake, for once, doesn’t argue. Just gives Bradley another smile, green eyes filled with heat, and unlocks his truck, pulling himself into the driver’s seat. Bradley heads for his Bronco a few spots away and does the same, pulling out of the parking lot after Jake.
Jake still lives on base in the temporary accommodation he got assigned when he was recalled to TOP GUN for the uranium mission detachment but, blessedly, he at least lives alone. The single apartment is outdated and in desperate need of repair but it works for him. He doesn’t have much in the way of personal affects — just a blanket his mom made him draped over the couch and a few pictures that he travels with on the fridge.
He gets to his apartment first and sets his keys into the bowl on the kitchen counter. He removes the hoodie that smells like smoke, throwing it into his hamper before returning to the living room and pacing across the worn down carpet, waiting for Bradley.
This thing with them is new, born of post-mission adrenaline and a tension that snapped under the weight of their shared history and what should have been certain death for Bradley and Maverick, had it not been for Jake making it just in time.
Just in time, he thinks. It still makes his chest tighten painfully, the what ifs and what might have beens.
There’s a sharp knock on his door and he opens it quickly, hardly getting a chance to look at Bradley before he’s being shoved backwards into the apartment by the man. He’s turned around and pressed against the door, a hot mouth on his jaw and big hands on his hips.
“Fuck,” Jake says, dizzy with the sudden sensations. Bradley smells like sweat and fire and that woodsy soap he uses, a heady combination. “Warn a guy, will you?”
“The knock was the warning,” Bradley replies, flashing him a grin that makes Jake’s breath stutter. “Come on, bedroom.”
Jake doesn’t get a chance to respond, dragged across the room and down the hall by a hand linked with him. His palm sweats a little at the intimacy of it, which is silly given what they have done in the couple weeks of leave they’ve been granted, but still. He’s a sap, he’ll admit it.
His room is much like the rest of the apartment, bare and beige, but that hardly matters when Bradley’s dropping one of those god awful Hawaiian shirts to his floor, revealing the tank top beneath that stretches across his thick chest. Jake reaches for the hem, drawing it up over his head and tossing it aside.
Jake gets his mouth on Bradley’s pec, sinking his teeth into the muscle and circling his tongue around one of his nipples. Bradley hisses at the sharp sting but doesn’t pull away, instead cradling the back of Jake’s head in his hand.
Jake’s other hand trails down Bradley’s abs, fingers teasing just beneath the waist of his jeans. He feels the muscles jump beneath his touch and he smiles, moving his hand lower to palm the thick bulge pressing against the denim. Bradley hisses, hips jolting into the touch. He drops his head to the space between Jake’s neck and shoulder, mouthing at the skin he can reach, licking at his pulse.
Jake flicks the button on his fly and drags the zipper down slowly. He wiggles a hand into his boxers and rubs his thumb over the head of Bradley’s cock, smearing the precum already gathered around the tip.
“Christ,” Jake says. “Already leakin’.”
“Mmph,” Bradley hums. “Need you.”
Those words hit Jake like a missile, burning him up inside. Bradley needs him.
Bradley needs him.
He starts to shove Bradley’s jeans and boxers down, dropping to his knees on the floor along with them in a move not meant for his thirty-two year old joints, but he’ll worry about that later.
Right now, Bradley’s impressive cock is in his face and he wants it in his mouth. But because he’s still a little shit, Jake takes his time. He licks from base to tip, circling the head, dipping the tip of his tongue into his slit, then leaves sloppy down the length of him.
Bradley’s already got one hand tangled in Jake’s hair, not quite pulling but holding tight enough that his scalp prickles with sensation. Jake opens his mouth and takes Bradley as far as he can on the first pass, warming up.
“Fuck,” Bradley groans. Jake opens his eyes and looks up to find Bradley looking right back, all the sweet amber gone and swallowed by pupils blown wide with desire. It makes his own cock twitch in his jeans but he ignores it, all his attention focused on the weight of Bradley against his tongue.
“You look so good like this,” Bradley says, hand slipping from his hair to cradle his jaw, thumb pressing against the corner of his mouth where it’s stretched wide around his cock. “Can’t be a smart ass with your mouth fucking stuffed full, can you?”
Jake pinches Bradley’s thigh at that but the man just laughs, looking down at him fondly. He pulls off of Bradley with a lewd pop, replacing his mouth with slow strokes of his fist.
“Here I was goin’ to let you fuck my mouth,” Jake says, sighing dramatically. “But you had to ruin my plans by opening yours.”
“‘M sorry, baby,” Bradley replies. “Please let me fuck your mouth?”
Jake might be the one on his knees but Bradley is the one wrapped around his finger. Jake pretends to think about it but ultimately says, “Since you asked so nicely.”
He settles on his heels. Bradley takes himself in hand and lightly taps the head of his cock on Jake’s lips. Jake opens his mouth and Bradley presses in, starting a rhythm of shallow thrusts that grow deeper until he’s hitting the back of Jake’s throat.
Jake loves this, loves the way his jaw aches around Bradley’s cock and the bitter, salty taste on his tongue. He loves the sounds Bradley makes, low moans of pleasure and filthy praise that make him groan and press a palm to his own neglected cock, desperate for friction. He loves how messy it gets, spit pooling at the corners of his mouth and dripping down his chin, tears sticking his lashes together until they slip free and carve wet paths down his cheeks.
Bradley’s got a hand in his hair again, using the leverage to drag Jake’s mouth over him, pausing when he’s deep and Jake’s throat tightens around him. Jake lets him do whatever he pleases, losing himself to the rhythm of Bradley’s thrusts and focusing on keeping his breathing even.
Eventually, Bradley pulls away and Jake whines at the loss, gazing up at him with wet green eyes, his swollen lips pursed in a pout. Bradley pulls him up by the arm and quickly removes his shirt and jeans in quick succession.
“On the bed,” he demands. Jake is quick to comply, crawling up the mattress with a little wiggle in his hips that makes Bradley feel a little insane.
Jake flops onto his back and Bradley joins him on the bed, fitting himself between Jake’s spread legs and taking a moment to appreciate the picture he makes, all golden skin and tight muscle. His cock curves up toward his stomach, long but not quite as thick as Bradley’s own. It twitches beneath Bradley’s stare, smearing precum against his belly.
“Not gettin’ any younger here,” Jake complains, though the breathless way he says it takes away some of the sting. Bradley raises an eyebrow at him.
“What, I can’t admire you?” He asks. A muscle in Jake’s jaw jumps, a pretty pink spreading across his cheeks. “Pretty thing like you is meant to be looked at.”
Jake’s head drops back with a loud moan and Bradley smirks, smoothing his palms up his sides. He leans forward to kiss Jake, hot and hungry, tongues fighting for dominance and Jake’s nails digging into his back when he bites his plush lower lip and pulls.
He moves on to his jaw, the faint stubble scratching his lips, then his neck, kissing over the mark he left earlier. Down to his collar bone, tip of his tongue dipping into the divot there. Jake arches into him when he reaches his chest, sucking the tight buds of his nipples into his mouth.
Jake squirms beneath him, hips flexing to chase some sort of friction but finding none, not with the way Bradley holds himself above his body, just out of reach. Bradley’s mouth has reached his abs and he leaves sloppy kisses across the plane of his stomach, the spit cooling when he moves on.
He licks the deep V of his adonis belt, his large hands pinning Jake’s hips to the mattress to hold him still. Jake whines, high pitched and desperate, but Bradley continues to take his time.
Bradley gets Jake’s legs over his shoulders, hands on his ass, opening him up enough to get a glimpse between his cheeks. Jake lifts his head, eyes a little wide.
“This okay?” Bradley asks, kissing the inside of Jake’s thigh.
Jake nods eagerly. “Yeah, yes, please.”
Permission granted, Bradley leans forward and licks a broad stripe across Jake’s hole. He focuses first on getting him soft and sloppy, spit dripping from his chin and clinging to his mustache. He kisses and licks and sucks, following the sounds Jake makes for cues to what he likes best.
Jake, for his part, thinks he’s died and gone to heaven. Bradley’s tongue is skilled and sinful, dipping into him and tugging at his rim, but it’s the sensation of his fucking mustache against his sensitive skin that has him seeing starts.
Bradley presses the tip of his index finger to Jake’s hole, breaching him slightly. He slips in fairly easily and thrusts the one finger experimentally, searching for—
“Bradley!” Jake shouts, bearing down. His hands are twisted in the sheets and his eyes are wide and wild. “Fuck, do that again.”
Bradley does, stroking along Jake’s prostate with each thrust of his finger, keeping the pressure light.
“More,” Jake demands.
“Ask me nicely,” Bradley replies. He half expects to be called an asshole but Jake’s eyes are heavy lidded and his next words are a low murmur.
“Please, Bradley,” he says. “Need more of you. Need you to get me ready for your cock.”
And fuck if that doesn’t spur Bradley into action.
He leans over to the nightstand, tugging the drawer open and blindly rummaging inside for the half empty bottle of lube he knows that Jake keeps in there. His fingers close around the familiar bottle and he lifts it free, popping the cap and drizzling some on his fingers.
He warms the liquid a bit, because he’s nothing if not a gentleman, before returning his attention to Jake. He slides the same index finger into him, giving a few cursory thrusts before adding his middle finger.
Jake stretches around him beautifully, tight and hot and perfect. Bradley is careful to only graze his prostate, keeping the man beneath him moaning and desperate as he works him open.
“‘M ready,” Jake says. “Come on.”
“Need a third,” Bradley insists, pressing his ring finger to Jake’s hole. “You know that, baby.”
Jake whines. He’s not sure if it’s from the stretch or the endearment — maybe both. But the sting subsides quickly and his desperation returns tenfold.
“Fuck, please,” he begs. Bradley pulls his fingers free and slicks up his cock with more lube and Jake watches, enraptured by the sight of Bradley between his legs.
Bradley presses Jake’s legs up toward his chest, hands on his thighs. He gives a few teasing thrusts, his length dragging over Jake’s hole, before using one hand to position himself properly.
He sinks into Jake’s warmth with one smooth thrust, holding steady for a moment while Jake adjusts to his size and yeah, Jake is suddenly grateful for Bradley insisting on a third finger because somehow he somehow always forgets just how big he is.
Bradley starts to move when he feels Jake’s muscles relax beneath him, a slow drag of his hips back and a sharp thrust forward that makes Jake cry out and grab his bicep with bruising force.
“Again,” Jake demands and Bradley has always been good at following orders so he does it again. And again. And again.
The speed of his hips picks up in perfect correlation to Jake’s moans. Jake’s cock is steadily leaking against his belly, smearing the golden skin with sticky fluid and Bradley suddenly wants to see him absolutely painted in the evidence of their time together.
He wraps a hand around Jake’s cock and pumps his fist in time with his thrusts. Jake doesn’t last much longer like that, crying out Bradley’s name as he comes hard, cum painting his chest and abs.
“Mark me,” Jake moans, “Make me yours.”
That does Bradley in and he’s pulling out with just enough time to add to the mess. Jake moans, chest heaving with desperate breaths and skin glistening with sweat and come.
Bradley’s never seen anything more beautiful.
Jake swipes his fingers through the mess and brings it to his lips. Bradley’s cock gives a valiant twitch in response to Jake’s filthy moan.
“Are you trying to kill me?” Bradley asks. Jake's only response is a breathless laugh.
Bradley climbs off the bed and heads for the bathroom, finding a wash cloth beneath the sink that he dampens with warm water. He returns to Jake and wipes him clean, studiously ignoring the way Jake watches him with a soft expression.
“You could stay,” Jake says, voice quiet. Uncertain. Bradley’s hand pauses.
They don’t stay. Not since the first time, when Jake promptly got dressed and gave Bradley that cocky smile as he said goodbye. Jake made the call and Bradley followed.
But god, does Bradley want to stay.
“Do you want me to?” Bradley asks, just as quiet. Just as uncertain.
Jake reaches for him, pulling him to lay down beside him on the bed. He kicks at the messy sheets until he can pull the quilt over them both. He nestles into Bradley’s side, his head on his chest.
Bradley holds him close, fingers ghosting over his skin, like he’s making sure he’s real. Jake wraps an arm around his middle, squeezing tight.
Tomorrow, they’ll need to talk.
But tonight, Bradley stays.