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Becoming friends with Bradley Bradshaw was never on the list of things Jake Seresin had in mind when he was sent on the assignment. Their relationship had never been easy, seeing as they were always thirty seconds away from ripping each other’s throats out. But ever since he’d swooped out of the sky saving half the Dagger Squad, he’d started spending a lot of time with Bradley.
It had been Jake’s fault, really, telling Rooster he’d expected his bar tab to be fully paid until the end of the year as repayment. So when they’re not deployed or working - they’re together. It starts out small, beers at the Hard Deck, dinner at the Thai place near Rooster’s - but then they’re spending time at Jake’s place, or stargazing at the beach after a long work day, just the two of them. One time their server at the Thai place had assumed they were together together, asking Bradley how long they’d been dating when Jake excused himself to go to the bathroom. (Rooster paid the bill with a smirk, telling Jake not to worry about it).
So it’s not unusual that Bradley’s coming to pick him up for a surfing lesson. Bradley had suggested it one night when Jake had lamented about not having been to the beach once since being stationed in Fightertown. Most of the lesson is Bradley making fun of Jake and Jake falling off the board, struggling to find his sealegs. Jake swears Bradley suggested this particular sport only to watch his Texas ass struggle to stay afloat.
Jake hears the Bronco before he gets the text from Bradley, letting him know he’s outside.
“Hey” Jake greets, throwing his backpack through the open backseat window.
Bradley smiles at him, reaching over and opening the passenger-side door for him. “Hey,” Bradley greets back. “Ready to get your ass kicked again?”
Jake rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling. “Maybe I wouldn’t get my ass kicked if I had an instructor who wasn’t hellbent on watching me get destroyed on the surf.”
Bradley laughs at him and they fall into a comfortable silence as he pulls onto the highway.
That’s when Jake notices the music coming through the speakers. At first, it’s Single Ladies (his favourite Beyonce song, Bradley’s agreed to take the secret to the grave) and then it’s no longer Beyonce - far from it. Jake’s not entirely sure but it sounds exceedingly like Bradley’s been listening to Troye Sivan, Lady A, and Trisha Yearwood. It’s all music Jake would listen to. Very unlike Bradley who usually only plays 80s music or the radio while driving.
“What the hell are you listening to, man?” Jake questions, partway through the second Lady A song. He’s reaching for Bradley’s phone, seconds away from tapping the screen. But Bradley gets there first and pockets his phone before Jake can get to it. There’s something in Bradley’s eyes that Jake can’t read. Fear? Embarrassment?
“Nothing.” Bradley cuts through abruptly, tapping a button on the stereo, the radio blaring through instead. “It’s just some random playlist - my algorithm is fucked.”
Jake is about to question him further about his algorithm (which has somehow decided on Lady A and Troye Sivan) when they’re turning into the beach parking lot, Bradley’s interesting new taste in music quickly forgotten.
-
The radio stays on for the drive back, Bradley’s phone tucked into his pocket. Jake contemplates pressing the music discussion further but decides not to. Besides, Bradley is too busy loudly singing along to the newest Top 40 hits and Jake is too busy laughing along. Too busy that he doesn’t notice Bradley pulling into his driveway, signaling an end to their evening together . Bradley finishes his rendition of Driver’s License and turns the radio off.
He looks directly at Jake, face serious. “You up for another lesson this weekend?”
“Do you ever relax at the beach, Bradshaw?”
Bradley laughs. “You had enough this afternoon?”
“Enough for a lifetime. I can fly a plane at thirty thousand feet, but I can’t stand up on a surfboard - apparently. I grew up in Texas, remember?”
“Fine, you win. This weekend. Me and you, beach day. No surfing required.”
Bradley regrets his words almost immediately. Me and you .
If he’s said anything too obvious, Jake doesn’t notice. “Looking forward to showing you how to spend a real day on the beach.”
-
Rooster’s right on time, as promised. They’d fought over who should drive but Bradley won out when he’d pointed out that the Bronco had more space for beach chairs than Jake’s Audi A5. The drive there is uneventful, their weird moment earlier in the week completely forgotten. The weather is perfect for a lazy day on the beach and Jake’s grateful that it’s not too busy, which is surprising for a nice Saturday afternoon. They set up their beach towels near the middle of the beach, just far enough away to avoid the lick of the incoming tide. Jake’s hesitant when Bradley proposes they go swimming.
Jake looks at Bradley over the top of his sunglasses, “Aren’t there sharks out there?”
“We’ve been surfing for weeks and have yet to encounter Jaws.” Bradley smirks at him, pulling Jake to his feet. “Besides, I’ll protect you.”
“How?”
Bradley shrugs, tugging Jake by the hand towards the water. “I’ll punch it in the nose - I saw it on the Discovery Channel once.”
Jake scoffs but follows him anyway, relishing at the way Bradley’s hand feels in his.
They only get out of the water when the sun starts to set. Once they’ve dried off, Jake helps Bradley pack the last of the beach chairs and towels into the Bronco. They lapse into silence as Bradley pulls onto the highway, the sun finally disappearing in the rearview mirror. The silence only lasts a few minutes, however, as Bradley’s phone reconnects to the car Bluetooth and Harry Styles comes blaring through the speakers.
“Want to DJ this time?” Bradley says, handing Jake his phone, “Since you didn’t like my choices on the way here.”
Jake smirks as he grabs the phone, Spotify already open to the search tab. He pauses the music, stopping Harry Styles mid-chorus. “If I have to listen to Watermelon Sugar one more time…”
Bradley shakes his head. Jake taps onto the app’s home screen, intending to find a daily mix that has more than just Harry Styles' latest hits. His heart stops when he sees the playlist in the recently played section.
Holy shit.
It’s simply titled “jake.” The cover photo is one Bradley must have taken of him at sunset, during one of their so-called surfing lessons. Jake’s looking back at the camera, puffing out his chest a little bit, hands held up in a crooked heart shape.
And he knows that he shouldn’t be snooping in Bradley’s phone like this but he opens the playlist anyway, careful not to click on anything, lest it start playing. Jake scrolls through the playlist. It’s three hours long and has several dozen songs. Several dozen love songs. He almost barks out a laugh when he spots the third one, Jake’s favourite Beyonce song - Single Ladies. That fucker. Surveying the playlist quickly he realises these aren’t Bradley’s usual choices - Strawberries & Cigarettes, Single Ladies, 2/14, and Best Friend. He’s heard the first two but the others he hasn’t. Ingrid Michaelson is certainly not someone Jake expected Bradley to listen to. Taking out his own phone, he adds them to his queue to listen when he gets home.
Buried near the end of the list is Save a Horse Ride a Cowboy and damn if his heart doesn’t race a little faster at the thought. The playlist’s a whole mix of songs and they all seem to be about him . Being in love with cowboys, your best friend, and goddamnit, Harry Styles songs about boyfriends.
“Are you gonna play music or what?”
Jake nearly jumps out of his skin. Right. He’s forgotten that Bradley’s beside him as he’s snooping through his phone. “I’m just trying to find something that isn’t as old as Mav.”
He can practically hear Bradley rolling his eyes at him. Navigating back to Bradley’s liked songs he picks the first one, making sure the shuffle option is on. Beyoncé’s newest hit blasts through the car and Bradley snatches his phone back.
“Didn’t take you for a Beyoncé guy, Bradshaw.”
Bradley flushes a deep red, refusing to meet Jake’s gaze. “There’s a lot of things you don’t know about me, Hangman.”
-
The minute Jake gets through his front door, he’s opening his own Spotify. He’d never have admitted it before but he’s got his own playlist - created three weeks ago when he thought it might be worth keeping track of all the music Bradley’s recommended, played in the car or on the piano. He quickly adds several Lady A songs and the few other country songs that Bradley tolerates. Once he’s satisfied with the start of his playlist, he clicks play on the songs in his queue.
The song isn’t Bradley’s usual style, it’s slow and pop-y. Jake’s breath catches for the second time that day when the lyrics drift through the speaker next to his couch. I can’t be just friends, you're messing with my head. And I know what I said. But, these feelings they keep running the red. He exhales when the next part comes through: I got your heart on my mind. And you said, that I could come by anytime. But I can’t fall in love tonight.
Jake said that to Bradley once, come by anytime , when Bradley stopped by after surfing for beer and burgers. Jake’s suddenly aware of why Bradley had been especially cagey around his phone lately. He’d nearly knocked over the kitchen table two nights ago at dinner to get to his vibrating phone before Jake could see it.
Jake barely has time to compose himself when the next queued song comes on. He taps his phone screen to read the name. Best Friend by Ingrid Michaelson. Thank god he's on the couch because he feels a little bit like he’s going to pass out and throw up at the same time. Heart thundering in his ears he turns up the volume to get a better sense of the lyrics. Here I go again, falling in love with my best friend. I keep my mouth shut tight ‘cause I don’t wanna lose what’s not even.
The logical step would be to call Bradley and tell him that he feels the exact same way. That the feeling is mutual. Has felt the exact same way for weeks. But calling Bradley would involve admitting that he was snooping through his phone when he shouldn’t have been. Besides, it’s just a playlist, Jake tells himself. A playlist that means absolutely nothing. Friends make secret playlists about each other all the time. Friends also definitely listen to songs about falling in love with each other at 3 am.
Right?
Right.
-
The next time he sees Bradley at The Hard Deck a few days later, he can’t ignore the warm feeling in his chest when Bradley smiles or laughs at him from across the bar. The feeling moves into his stomach when Rooster suggests they play pool together, just the two of them. And if he leans in a little close, let's their hands brush while passing Rooster a beer, well, nobody has to know. Maybe, just maybe, the feeling is mutual because Bradley seems flushed, distracted, every time they get a little too close. (And yeah, maybe Jake catches Bradley looking at him with those big sparkly heart eyes and crooked smile. And yeah, maybe his heart stutters in his chest a little bit).
“Looks like I win again, Seresin.” Bradley smirks, attempting to wrestle the pool cue away from Jake.
“So you do.” Jake concedes. He lets him get a handle on the pool cue, but keeps his grip firm. Bradley pulls the cue towards himself and Jake allows himself to be pulled with it. They fumble towards each other, their chests pressing together, the pool cue the only barrier. “Up for another round?” Jake smirks, his eyelashes nearly brushing against Bradley’s cheek.
Bradley releases the pool cue, Jake falling back slightly but still close enough to smell the other man’s aftershave. “Only if you stop cheating.”
There’s a moment, a pause. Jake’s mouth falls open, like he has some sort of response but Phoenix cuts in, reaching between them to grab the pool cue. “You boys just gonna stand here and stare longingly into each other’s eyes or are you gonna play?”
Bradley blushes, their moment broken. He shakes his head. “I’m gonna get another beer. Besides, I don’t like cheats.”
Jake laughs and Bradley pats him on the chest, his hand lingering for a moment. Them touching is not new, especially since Bradley’s spent the past few weeks helping Jake adjust his surfing technique, but it’s different this time. The warm weight of his hand against his chest - Jake wants to lean into it, let him keep his hand there. But they’ve got a crowd now - Bradley realizes it before Jake does, moving his hand to Jake’s shoulder. He turns away, heading towards the bar.
“You finally figured it out then,” Natasha says as soon as Bradley’s disappeared into the crowd.
“Huh?” Jake plays it off, rounding up the remaining pool balls from the sockets. He fumbles and one of them falls to the floor, his eyes trained on Rooster’s back across the bar.
Natasha leans over the table, rolling the balls away from him. He scoffs as he tries to gather them back together. “Don’t ‘huh’ me, Bagman. You know exactly what I’m talking about - the thing between you and Rooster.”
“There’s no ‘thing.’” He grabs the cue from her, preparing to line up for the first shot, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
She rolls her eyes, opens her mouth to question him further, but Bradley returns with two beers in hand. Shaking her head she takes the cue back from Jake, bumping him out of the way to take the first turn. “I think you know exactly what I mean.”
Jake’s glad she drops the subject for the rest of the evening. Until it’s time to say goodbye, that is. “Maybe it’s not just Rooster who’s stuck on that perch,” she whispers, hugging him goodbye. He flips her off as he leaves, her laugh ringing in his ears the whole way home.
-
Javy finds Jake’s playlist next at their usual weekly pizza and football night. The tradition had started in college and followed them into the Navy. Over the last few years their weekly tradition had been less and less common due to their deployments and work schedules but ever since the mission they’d been more committed, especially since they’d mysteriously been given a generous amount of time off (they all know it was Cyclone’s doing).
“What the hell’s this?” Javy shoves Jake’s phone into his face, the screen open to Jake’s Spotify playlists.
Snatching his phone away from Javy his heart clenches, immediately recognizing the dark interface. “Are you snooping through my shit? I went to the bathroom for five minutes.”
“It’s not snooping since your phone is unlocked, idiot. Text your mum back, say hi from me.” Javy laughs around his slice of pizza. “You gotta tell him, man.”
Jake opens his settings, creating a passcode - and Javy totally does not see him type 1234. “No idea what you’re talking about.”
“Listen.” Javy leans over the table, taking the phone back from Jake, “The first song on this playlist - which is his last name - is Kiss Me by Ed fucking Sheeran.”
Jake’s silent as he watches Javy scroll through his phone. With every swipe, Javy goes deeper and deeper into the playlist. Jake feels a little bit like his heart’s been pulled out of his chest, put on his dinner plate for inspection. He wishes Javy would stop shaking his head at every song choice.
“Looks like Rooster’s not the only one on his perch anymore.” Javy slides the phone back towards Jake and he throws it on the couch, hoping to drop the conversation.
Jake shakes his head, swiping the last slice of pizza from the box. “Nat said the same thing to me.”
“I know. Because you and him are the only ones who haven’t talked about this yet.”
“What?” Jake drops the pizza, his eyes snapping open to meet Javy’s for the first time they’ve started this conversation.
“Dude. You’ve got to be joking. Everybody knows. You spend all your time with him if we’re not in training or in class. Also the staring - my god - you’re gonna go cross-eyed if you don’t get that shit under control.”
Jake huffs. “What happened to pizza and football? If I wanted to gossip I would have bought nail polish and hair curlers.”
Now it’s Javy’s turn to shake his head. “For all of our sanities, please do something about it. I can’t take any more of Bradley’s puppy dog eyes. Even my mom knows you like him.”
“Mrs. Machado? You’ve told her?” Jake groans, sinking into his chair.
“It’s not my fault you’ve been blowing me off to hang out with Rooster. She keeps asking when you’ll come visit one of these days - she wants to meet the guy who’s replaced me.”
Oh Christ. It’s gotta be obvious, especially if Mrs. Machado knows. He silently cleans up the empty pizza box and plates as Javy settles on the couch, flipping through the channels before the game starts.
Jake almost thinks they’ve dropped the subject when Javy pauses the game for a moment, “Look - if you’re having problems finding the right words, just tell him you’d like to take him for a slow ride.”
Javy’s not surprised by the thwack of the pillow against his face.
-
He’s working up the courage to tell him. He really is. He’s a grown man, after all. And it’s not like he hasn’t done this before. But there’s an ugly gnawing feeling growing in his stomach - doubt? - that he’s misread their growing friendship or whatever the hell’s been going on for the past few months.
Tonight’s the night, though. They’re at The Hard Deck for a barbeque that Penny’s agreed to host no thanks to Bradley’s insistence. Jake’s been tasked with bringing the dessert - homemade peach cobbler with vanilla ice cream, his mom’s recipe. Getting Bradley alone should be easy. Except every time Jake goes to find Bradley, he’s involved in some animated conversation with someone else.
Finally when he works up the courage for real - Bradley’s talking to Phoenix near the back of the bar, their heads lowered. She seems to be listening intently to Bradley, hand pressed into the table beside them. Clearly, they’re having a moment. Rooster seems frustrated, shaking his head vigorously as she speaks. They break apart the moment Rooster realizes Jake’s looking at them. He makes his way to the bar, pouring himself a glass of water and downing it in one go.
“What was that about?” Jake can’t help himself as he sidles up to Bradley against the bar.
“Nothing. Just - just work stuff.” Bradley says, drinking from his empty water glass.
Bullshit. Jake knows it (and Bradley does too) but he doesn’t push the issue. “Oh?”
Bradley opens his mouth, like he’s going to continue this conversation but closes it quickly when Bob approaches them, Fanboy and Payback in tow, holding pool cues.
“Think you can beat me again?” Bob says, offering the cue to Jake.
“It’s on, Bobby.” Jake smiles, Rooster visibly relaxing as their previous conversation is forgotten, Jake’s attention moving towards the ongoing pool tournament.
The summer heat wave seems to be taking a toll because the party slowly begins to wind down, especially since The Hard Deck doesn’t have AC and Penny mysteriously ran out of tequila a few days ago. Gathered in the parking lot, it’s everyone for themselves to try and find a ride home.
Bradley finds Jake in the corner of the parking lot, frowning at the price of Uber surge pricing. “You want a ride? The Bronco’s a block away.”
“It’s the least you could do. Since I did save your life.” Jake answers right back, pocketing his phone.
Bradley just huffs at him, leading the way to the Bronco a few metres away. Their conversation on the way to the vehicle is mindless. Jake almost brings up the playlist but then the Bronco’s appeared and Jake knows he’s missed his opportunity.
Target missed. Mission failed.
Bringing it up on the ride home is a bad move too, especially if Bradley reacts badly. There’s no way out and nowhere to hide if the conversation goes south. So Jake keeps his mouth shut, listening to Bradley complain about the state of the beer selection at The Hard Deck over the past few months.
When they pull into the parking lot, Jake can’t help himself. “Wanna come up? I have lots of beer on tap.”
Bradley laughs. “Let me guess - by beer on tap you mean that weird fruity expensive shit from the brewery down the street?”
Frowning, Jake flicks Rooster in the arm. “Don’t hate on my sours, man. But don’t worry I got lots of that IPA shit you like.”
“You drink IPA’s now?” Bradley questions, putting the car Bronco into park.
“No, uh. I bought them for you,” Jake admits, getting out of the car before he can see Bradley’s reaction.
Once they get up to the apartment, Bradley toes his shoes off, putting them in the empty spot next to Jake’s. And nobody has to know if Jake’s heart clenches at the thought of their shoes together at the door becoming a more permanent fixture.
“Beer is in the fridge.” Jake says, disappearing into the bathroom. He splashes some cool water on his face, catching a look at himself in the mirror.
Jesus Christ, Seresin. Get a fucking hold of yourself man. He thinks, seeing his stressed expression in the mirror.
When he returns to the kitchen, Bradley’s already out on the deck. Jake finds Bradley settled into one of the two deck chairs, two beers on the small table between them.
Jake settles in the chair next to him. His heart is pounding in his chest because he can’t fucking believe what he’s about to do. He slightly turns the volume up on the speaker on the corner of the deck. (The speaker was Bradley’s idea - apparently listening to Slow Ride from the tinny Bluetooth speaker from the kitchen wasn’t cutting it anymore).
With shaking hands, Jake opens his phone and finds the playlist he’s been working on for the last few weeks. Then, he checks the queue to make sure the right songs are there and clicks play. Christ. This is probably the most high school shit he’s ever done but technically Bradley started it.
When Troye starts playing, Jake pretends like absolutely nothing is happening. He’s calm, cool, collected, leaning back in his chair. He sips at his beer quietly, staring out at the horizon.
But Rooster? Rooster lets out a choked noise which he covers up with a cough. Because what the hell? Jake never listens to Troye Sivan. Never in his life. He grips his beer bottle tightly, desperately waiting for the song to change to something else - anything else.
And then it does. To Single Ladies. It’s not entirely out of place since it is Jake’s favourite song but Rooster doesn’t let go of the anxiety rising in his chest. He’s frozen in his chair, dreading the next song.
Willing himself not to look at Jake, he grips his bottle so tightly he thinks he hears it crack. He lets it slip down to the ground, hitting the deck with a loud thunk.
When the Beyoncé song finishes, there’s a brief pause as the speaker stutters. Bradley thinks he’s in the clear but then the third song in the playlist starts. It’s the one Bradley had found one night at 3am after spending the entire evening drinking with Jake at the bar.
These feelings, they keep running the red. And Bradley wishes he’d fucking run the red and crashed his car into the ocean because oh my god. It’s his playlist. It’s definitely his fucking playlist. About Jake. And it’s being played back to him now. With Jake right next to him.
What the fuck. What in the fuck is happening. Leaning forward in his chair Bradley hopes that Jake can’t see the blush creeping up his neck, onto his cheeks. He’s mentally going through the playlist in his head because the next one is that stupid Ingrid Michaelson song he’d found. Steeling himself, the third song finishes but the next one isn’t from his playlist. It’s You’re Still the One by Shania Twain.
He’s absolutely fucked now. He knows it. Jake’s making fun of him and he can practically see the asshole smiling beside him, that big fucking toothy grin and the crinkles in the corner of his eyes. Leaning back in his chair he sees Jake in his peripheral vision. And that fucker looks totally cool leaning his head against the top of the chair, like absolutely nothing at all is happening.
Shania finishes her song and Bradley can’t help himself anymore because it’s switched back to Bradley’s songs now, that goddamn Ingrid Michaelson song blaring through the speakers.
Jake looks right at Bradley, but Bradley refuses to meet his gaze. “I love this song.” Jake says. And he knows his words have registered, watching the way Bradley leans forward in his chair again, rubbing at his forehead.
“Fuck man. You weren’t supposed to know. I don’t wanna make things weird between us. I’m sor-” Jake doesn’t let him finish his sentence. He puts his hand on Bradley’s arm, drawing careful circles on the inside of his wrist. Testing the waters Jake runs his thumb up in Bradley’s open palm, and Jake resists the urge to laugh when he notices the hair on Bradley’s arm standing up on end. Out of all the reactions he was expecting from his teammate, it wasn’t this one.
“I found it a few weeks ago,” Jake admits. “When you gave me your phone to pick the music on the way home from the beach.”
They lapse into silence again and the music seems to get louder with each song - some of them are Bradley’s choices but some of them are not. It’s Bradley who breaks their silence, laughing when the chorus of You Belong With Me by Taylor Swift comes through the speakers. Because what the fuck is Jake doing listening to Taylor Swift and what the fuck is he doing mixing Taylor Swift in with his “jake” playlist.
“Bradley, you idiot,” Jake says, cutting through Taylor’s singing. He hands Bradley his phone, pausing the song. They both flush red when Bradley lets out a choked noise at the open playlist, not trying to hide his reaction this time.
bradshaw . There’s no description in the playlist but the first song is enough for Bradley to get it. Kiss Me by Ed Sheeran. Jake hums as Bradley taps the phone, Ed playing over the speakers.
Holy shit.
Bradley can’t even turn to look at Jake or even begin to acknowledge what’s happening here. Because it’s insane that Jake’s found the playlist, fucking listened to it and made his own playlist about him too. He should make fun of him for having Taylor Swift and Ed Sheeran songs as his top choices but the words are stuck in his throat, like they have been for the past few months around Jake.
Ignoring the panic rising in his chest, Jake shifts forward and clears his throat. He taps Bradley’s discarded beer bottle with his foot and it thuds against the deck. A reminder that he’s still sitting right beside Bradley and he hasn’t said a fucking word.
Bradley bites his bottom lip, refusing to look at Jake just yet. Ed’s still singing in the background. Ball is in his court now, they both know it. The song ends and Bradley pauses the music. Unsure if it’s the beer or the anticipation making him dizzy he tries to steady his breathing. Bradley doesn’t know if he should just get up, leave. Spare them both the embarrassment because there’s part of him that still can’t believe this is happening right now. But Jake still has his hand on Bradley’s arm, hot against his skin. So it is still happening, he’s not dreaming this.
Jake can’t help himself. Because he knows he has him now. “Bradley. You made a three hour playlist about me and you’re just gonna sit there and stare at me?”
It’s now or never.
Bradley reaches down and moves Jake’s hand to cup his face. Jake breathes in sharply, his heart pounding in his chest. He traces Bradley’s lip with his thumb, memorizing the way his skin feels against his hand. Bradley’s still frozen in the chair, staring directly into Jake’s eyes. It’s a little intimidating if Jake’s being honest. They haven’t been this physically close, at least not like this, Bradley’s lips inches from his.
But then Bradley shivers and it’s everything Jake needs to know.
He leans in towards Bradley but Bradley’s doing the same. Their noses bump and they fumble awkwardly against each other, Jake’s nose pressing awkwardly into Bradley’s cheek. It’s a miss, target disengaged. Relief washes through Bradley when he hears Jake chuckling against him, the feeling reverberating through his whole body. Christ. Two TOP GUN Navy pilots who can’t find the target. Hopeless, really.
Jake shifts, adjusting them both so they’re facing each other. Bradley moves his other hand to Jake’s face and leans in towards him again. This should be awkward, their first fumbled attempt only minutes behind them, but it’s not.
Bradley’s kissing his teammate like a man starved, like he’s been waiting for years for this. Jake lets his hands trail down Bradley’s neck, grabbing the collar of his ugly Hawaiian shirt to pull them closer. It’s dizzying, the way their chests are touching and Jake has to stop himself from laughing when he can feel Bradley’s heart beating hard against his own.
Don’t think, just do.
Jake snakes his hand up Bradley’s shirt and rests it in the middle of his chest. They both pull away and Bradley looks rumpled - hair sticking up, his collar flush against his neck.
“Nice to know I have that effect on you, Bradley.” Jake whispers in his ear, still feeling Bradley’s racing heart against his palm. But the teasing is meaningless because Jake is breathing hard too, his cheeks flushed, trying to settle his shaking hand against Bradley’s chest.
“Oh fuck right off.” Bradley replies right back, nuzzling his face into Jake’s neck.
They sit there together in silence, listening to the sound of traffic in the distance.
It’s Jake who breaks the silence, finally. “How long have you had the playlist?”
He feels Bradley swallow against his neck, still buried against his neck. “Six months.” Bradley breathes, the words barely registering in Jake’s brain.
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
They pull apart and Jake watches as Bradley settles back into the chair. They watch the last of the sun finally dipping over the horizon in silence, the sound of the cars going by the only noise once Jake pauses the music.
Finally, Bradley looks over at Jake, eyes trained on the dimple in the corner of his smile. “So, Jake .” (Jake grins even wider at this - it’s new, Bradley using his name like this). “Where do we go from here?”
Jake smiles and Bradley can see his dimples even though the sun’s gone and there’s no lights on the deck. “Anywhere you want, Bradley .”
Later when Jake walks Bradley out to the Bronco he can’t help himself, leaning in towards Bradley again. Kissing him the second time isn’t the same as the first, it’s less rushed, more practiced. Jake starts to think he could get used to this. A long term, a forever thing.
“Was this what you were talking about with Phoenix, at the bar?” Jake says, pulling away. “Getting off your perch?”
Bradley laughs, pulling Jake in back towards him. “You’re a bold man, Jake. Assuming that I’m thinking about your ugly mug?”
“Hm, seems like you got a whole playlist for that.” Jake laughs right back at him, smirking as Bradley rolls his eyes.
Jake doesn’t leave the parking lot until he sees Bradley’s car disappear around the corner lot.
-
Jake knows the minute Bradley gets home because his phone goes off twice in succession.
bradley: jake
bradley: whatcha doing tomorrow
Jake replies immediately with the shrug emoji and Bradley can practically hear Jake laughing about the response. When Jake sees the instantaneous response from Bradley his heart soars right out of his chest.
bradley: pick you up at 7?
Holy shit. Is he going on a date with Bradley fucking Bradshaw?
Jake thinks for a moment before typing out his response, knowing that Bradley is waiting on the other end for his yes or no response.
jake: wouldn’t miss it for the world, bradley bradshaw
jake: ps troye sivan??? really???
bradley: you love it