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Summary
His mind oh-so-helpfully tacks on an overlay, like he did to that other memory - small, neat studs in Mav’s ears, the same silver as the barest hint of whitening hair threading his temples. Bringing them out. Pretty little pieces of jewellery to match the glinting dog tags lying flat to his bare chest between tight, dusk-pink -
Mav rolls his neck, groaning when it clicks, and Rooster yanks himself out of the fantasy like he’s ripping down on ejection handles.
“They’re probably closed up,” Mav says, slow and drowsy. “Last time I had something in them - I don’t know. Ages ago.”
Or; Five times Rooster had burning questions regarding the piercings Maverick may or may not have had in the past, one time Maverick got a piercing re-opened, and the one extra time Mav got him by surprise.