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The game was over.
It'd been great but Rooster hadn't been giving a damn for a while. Behind him, Hangman strutted like a peacock, shouting and cheering with the team; the level of happiness that radiated from this beach could almost put the sun to shame.
And yet, the heat that roared under Rooster's skin, those sparks that light up and died in the pit of his stomach and at the tip of his tongue, none emanated from the day-star, nor from the exuberance of the pilots.
While everyone was feverish with pride and laughing louder than the waves, Rooster stood farther away, leaning on a barrier, and was content with a completely different show.
Beyond the overlie of sand, in the shade of the bar, Maverick was working on his Kawasaki, packing his things in a bag. Earlier he had smiled at Penny on the terrace and Penny had returned it.
Rooster swallowed as he looked down and remembered the sweaty and wet palm of the man holding onto his forearm when he'd helped him up earlier, during the game. And fuck, wasn't that a solid man – not a woven canvas made of cotton and dreams; not even close to a hazy myth.
Simply a man.
Oh, but what a man.
The loudmouth echoes of Hangman's voice tore a smile out of him; parade all you want, Seresin, you'll never become that man.
Rooster had acted all nonchalant once Maverick had been standing on his feet again, but truth be told: the feel of the older man's skin still lingered on his and the grin that Maverick had given him after that still hanged in the air. He had not imagined it; Rooster knew he didn't have the talent to create such beauty from scratch, but Maverick had forged it for him only. Because now that he'd seen the way the older man had smiled at Penny, there was no denying that an entire world stood between those two kinds of smile the man delivered thoughtlessly, and tirelessly.
And it wasn't necessarily in the sense that anyone might believe.
No – for Penny there was no more tenderness than politeness; for Rooster though, there was a ghost roaming there. It could be a bad omen, saying it like that, but it wasn't. It was the ghost of a warmth, of a secret; and Rooster hoped, of a longing.
Rooster simply couldn't have the strength to imagine such a subtle and authentic thing.
It had to be real. It had to be all Maverick, right? And Rooster had to do something about it: ignoring it was not even an option.
Quietly slipping away from everyone, not that anyone would have noticed, he headed for the shadow and the man nestled in it.
The pounding in his chest began to both accelerate and stutter, drowning him in some sort of euphoric anticipation. Strangely, every little detail surrounding him came to his attention: the direction of the wind and its sweet caress at the back of his neck, the ocean taste on his lips and the texture of wet, warm sand under his feet. The brilliance of the sun and all its reflections on the beach, licking the water, the windows, the metal, the sunglasses - the skins and Rooster's own.
Maverick on the other hand was clothed in soft darkness, which consisted in loneliness, shadows from the sunset and a thin black t-shirt. Yet, a glow enswathed him.
Since their paths had crossed again, Rooster had always had the feeling that they were never walking in the same direction although their destination was the same geographical point; that they listened each other but struggled to understand what the other meant, as if their voices were trapped in two electromagnetic seas of opposed waves; that they each stood in a world imperceptibly out of alignment with the other's and that they never, ever could really reach out.
But it was just a lie. Rooster and Maverick's worlds had collided minutes ago, skin on skin. They were not alien to each other, they could speak and be heard, they could reach out and be touched.
And oh, Rooster craved to feel it all again.
Would Maverick reject him? He couldn't decipher.
That was why, when he stepped into the small night in which Maverick was hiding, he moved carefully, pushing his sunglasses on top of his head.
Maverick was finishing closing his backpack when he noticed Rooster's arrival, and that same fucking promising smile settled on the man's lips. He frowned a little, slightly bemused to see Rooster come to him.
"Bradley? Is everything okay?"
Rooster felt warm all over. Was it the way his name sounded delicate, rolling on the man's tongue and falling into his ears? Or the sudden proximity, yearned for so long and now almost inescapable? Also, just to end him a little more, Maverick's green gaze poured a honey-like liquid everywhere it laid on Rooster. Thick drops rolled on his face, then ran along his torso and further south. He blinked away the sensation of cuddly stickiness and stared at the older man.
Was he a parasite getting stuck in sugar, or a bee getting drunk on it?
"I'm not sure," he rasped before gulping, ashamed at how raw his voice rang between them - weak.
Come on, Bradshaw. Get a grip.
Well, he shouldn't have thought that because his brain took it way too literally. In a couple of seconds, he had stepped up towards Maverick, feeling light-headed yet so hungry for one precise thing. Maverick took a step back with a puzzled look - not afraid, not even close to repelled, but simply bewildered in the most magnificent way - and he gasped as his back hit the wall of the building, eyes wide and locked on Rooster's lips, his jaw falling open as the younger man's fist clutched his shirt right over his heart.
Rooster vaguely towered over him, taller but leaning down and knees faintly bent. Fuck, he was all over the man.
"What are you doing-" Maverick wondered about in a whisper, eyes still transfixed on Rooster's mouth. Rooster watched him breathe raggedly and tear his eyes away to look up at him.
Rooster's other hand had settled on the man's hip, fingertips shyly sneaking under the hem to feel the soft skin there. Maverick's abdomen tensed at that.
"Is this okay?" Rooster breathed quietly, now so very terrified of the answer.
Rightfully so, for a shade of sorrow appeared in the man's eyes.
"You know it's not," Maverick choked on an emotion that immediately pushed Rooster away. Burned him, even. What- What was he even thinking? Maverick was never going to throw himself at his neck-
It must have been the sun. And the beer. It had knocked any sense of reason out of his mind. Horrified at the way he had projected it all on his captain, Rooster felt numb - and sick. He was about to run away, he truly was, like the coward that he was, but Maverick quickly reached out and hooked two fingers in Rooster's belt, drawing him back in.
Hard.
His hands hit the wall above Maverick's head, flat against the wood, and his lower abdomen met the man's. Goodness gracious, what the-
"But I couldn't care less," Maverick confessed softly, a timid smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
The shadows didn't need anything more to fade away. Rooster huffed out a small, disbelieving laugh that, he knew it, landed on the man's lips like a kiss of Aeolus. Maverick brought his free hand up, cupping Rooster's jaw. Did they even know what they were doing?
Rooster smiled, nuzzling the warm hand and leaving a gentle yet bold kiss in its palm. Just because he could do it. Anyone could see them, they were risking a certain amount of things, but as Maverick had said it: Rooster couldn't care less either.
"It feels like sunbathing," he said with reverence, pressing his body against the man's and barely brushing his lips over Maverick's. "Being close to you."
At these words, Maverick looked up. The green of his eyes sparkled with mischief, but it was all unbearably soft.
"Do you... want to be sun-kissed?"
He grinned at his own antics and Rooster chuckled, leaning his head down on the man's shoulder. It was a good question, though. Did he want it? Of course, he wanted it. He wanted everything, ached for it. But right now? He wanted to rejoice in this simple moment.
"I wanna earn it," he expressed lowly, teeth nibbling at the material of the shirt.
"I think I'm in no state to refuse you anything, Bradley," Maverick admitted quietly. "Not anymore."
Rooster moaned against his neck. Fuck. Could he really do everything he wanted to Pete Mitchell? No, clearly not. Especially not right now in public. So. Control. What he needed to do was to keep control. Though... That was easier said than done.
He let his hands fall and work faster than his brain, for they took off the man's very annoying shirt in no time. The exposed tanned skin made his mouth water, but as soon as his eyes zeroed in on the appealing shape of the muscles bending right under it in anticipation, an all new kind of hunger
A shiny layer of sweat and dried salt covered the man's chest like golden glittery dust, and a line of sand was nestled in the small, elegant hollow right above his collarbone, like a secret. Rooster let his hands wander up, feeling the lines and the hard contours as Maverick sighed, letting his head fall against the wall in a muted thump.
"When was the last time someone touched you?" Rooster wondered, brushing over hard nipples. "Really touched you, like they meant it?"
Maverick closed his eyes.
"I don't know," he admitted softly.
"That's too long to my taste," Rooster said, his thumb gently wiping away the sand from the man's skin. "You deserve to be taken care of-"
Maverick smiled in a depreciating way that Rooster wouldn't have. So once all the sand had been swept away, he leaned down. He happily dropped an open-mouthed kiss on the slender bone there, wetly sucking at the salty skin as his left hand settled on the man's jaw and his right arm snaked around his waist, drawing him closer.
Maverick moaned, and Rooster sucked harder, his teeth gently scrapping over the sensitive area.
Having Maverick in his arms made Rooster feel all-powerful. Not particularly because this was Maverick, but mostly for the thrilling sensation of it all feeling so right. Rooster had spent years loathing this man for pulling his papers - yet, a sense of wrongness had always bothered him since day one of that hateful journey.
In fact, thinking back on these years, Rooster had never hated the man, he merely didn't understand him at all. Rooster, truly, had only ever admired Maverick, tracking press articles and rapports, ears perking up whenever his name was mentioned.
Rooster had always been fascinated by the pilot, but he'd always sensed that Pete Mitchell was a man worth knowing for the littlest of things.
"I want to learn everything," he breathed, his forehead against the man's. "Everything you can't teach me."
A wide-eyed Maverick stared at him, confused.
"Wha-"
"I want to learn about you. It's all I've ever wanted," Rooster smiled softly, his thumb tracing the man's lower lip.
Oh dear. And wasn't that an awestruck, breathless old man.
"Will you refuse me that?"
Maverick stared a little longer, thousands of thoughts swirling in his irises. Rooster was aware that he was playing a dangerous game, one that could go sideways oh so easily. The two of them were colleagues, fighter-pilots for Top Gun at that. They didn't share the same rank, and definitely not the same age. And they had history, as much as they had none, in a way.
Maverick's eyes fluttered closed as the man seemed to relax all of a sudden.
"No," he answered. "I won't."
Rooster grinned, utter bliss thundering at the back of his mind. He wouldn't ruin this. Never in a million years.
He bit his lip, marveling one last time at the man in his arms, then leaned down again, placing a lingering kiss on his cheekbone. Then a quick one after that, pulling away to turn on himself in a ridiculous victory dance that made Maverick laugh joyously though he was clearly still a little stunned.
"I'll see you tonight?" Rooster asked walking backwards from where he had come earlier. "I'll pick you up, after the meeting?"
Maverick looked way too stunned for his own good, it truly was unfair.
"Uh, yeah? Yes. Sure."
"Sure?"
Maverick's mouth worked without saying anything for a few seconds, then he nodded softly, licking his lips. Something new shined in his eyes.
"Yeah," he smiled, running his fingers in his hair. "I'm sure."
Rooster grinned even wider, a spring in his step.
"Alright then. See ya later, gorgeous!"
Maverick simply stood there for while, wordlessly. When Rooster got back to the beach, Hangman's and Phoenix's jaws were on the floor; he merely winked at them and kept going, way too ecstatic to worry about anything.
Now, the most beautiful, serious game of them all was about to start, and Rooster sincerely hoped Maverick and he would win together.