Work Text:
Phoenix thought there couldn’t be any more posturing or dumbassery between some of the guys from the squad than when they were playing dogfight football, but their new daily meet ups in the gym on base were testing her.
Testing her resolve not to laugh at them all.
Fanboy was winking at and flirting with Payback whilst he ran on the treadmill; his taller boyfriend shaking his head in fond amusement as he lifted weights. Coyote was acting as a spotter for Fritz as he did stomach crunches, counting 97, 98, 99 etc, and occasionally tickling him on his inner thigh to try and throw him off his stride; Fritz’s leg spasming in response making him flip him off without ruining his streak.
She could only thank the deities above for Bob and Callie. Her bespectacled WSO more interested in picking a decent workout playlist than getting bulging muscles, and Callie liked to join her, fake gagging at the clouds of testosterone that threatened to choke the air conditioning, that was working overtime in the San Diego heat, to death.
The worst offenders though, were her own best friend and Mr Texas 2022, himself. And both of them were acting dickstruck because of two men old enough to be her father.
Not to mention they were her boss and her boss’ boss.
She sighed in long-used-to-it despair as she watched Bradley tug his sweat-soaked vest off over his head and subtly (though not that subtly) check to see if Mav was looking in his direction—at his tits specifically. Moustache twitching in victory when the Captain’s green eyes trailed down over his flushed face to snag on the swell of his chest and his hard nipples, and not move. Not until Cyclone elbowed him in the side with his own sigh, anyway.
Mav reluctantly dragged his eyes away from Bradley’s body to look at Cyclone who was saying something to him that she couldn’t hear, and Phoenix’s best friend honest-to-god pouted at no longer being the centre of Mav’s attention. The adorable dumbass.
And Jake? Jesus Christ, Phoenix had seen less hungry lions on wildlife documentaries, when faced with a gazelle buffet. The way Jake was staring at Cyclone, Phoenix was surprised the Air Boss hadn’t set aflame from the heat Jake was sending his way.
And sure, Phoenix will admit that Admiral Beau Simpson was a handsome man, but she also knew (because she had eyes) that Jake wasn’t looking at Cyclone’s face. He obviously started there and raked his eyes downwards taking in the soft-looking chest hair that peeked out of his t-shirts and his solid frame, but once it reached that area between Cyclone’s thighs, it stayed there.
The grey sweatpants Cyclone wore, did absolutely nothing to hide the escaped snake masquerading as his dick. And it was clear from the flushed cheeks, tightly clenched hands, and the way Jake bit his lip in want, that Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin was a size queen, and wanted Cyclone to destroy his meticulously sculpted ass.
And Phoenix could see from the quirk of Cyclone’s mouth that the Admiral knew all of this too, and was just waiting for Jake to put on his big boy pants and ask for a private viewing. She also had no idea why Bradley wasn’t currently worshipping Mav with his mouth like he clearly wanted to, but she hoped he would sort himself out soon.
She’s losing braincells just looking at his horny and pained face.
Enough was enough.
She wandered over to Bradley and Jake and shucked the blond under the chin. “Stop pouting, dickface.”
Jake chuffed and then looked at Cyclone again; practically beaming his horny desires across the room. “But I want him to ruin me, Tasha.”
“I know, Sweetie.” She cooed, a little bit condescendingly. “And so does everyone else. Your face and boner is pretty obvious.”
Jake had no shame and just shrugged at his being hard in the gym. “I can’t help it. I want him so bad.”
She sighed and shoved him in Cyclone’s direction. “Then go and get him. Jesus fuck. For my sake at least. I can’t spend another gym session watching you drool over him.”
The blond’s feet moved of their own accord, and he stumbled forward; catching Cyclone’s eye. The older man quirked an eyebrow in challenge; like he was silently saying, come to Daddy, baby. Jake walked towards him one step at a time and Phoenix internally cheered.
One down, one to go.
Mav moved out of the way for Jake’s incoming presence, and moved to fill up his water bottle. Phoenix elbowed Bradley in the side.
“What?” He asked, gaze never leaving Mav’s ass where his shorts practically moulded to the curve of it.
“You and him have something in common.”
“What’s that?”
“You’re both thirsty.” She chuckled.
Bradley huffed and crossed his arms. “Don’t tease me, Phee.”
“I’m not. Mav wants you. You want him. Go get him. Please.”
Bradley looked at her with vulnerable, wide eyes. “But what if he doesn’t? What if he doesn’t want me?”
She scoffed and shook her head. “You’re an idiot if you think that, Bradley Bradshaw. Mav loves you…and wants you carnally. Trust me.” She pulled him into a side hug and pressed a kiss to his scarred cheek. “And at least this way, if you go after him, you can get an extra workout in outside of the gym.”
He snorted, but looked over at Mav in consideration. Mav looked back hopeful, and then Bradley was surging forward; picking Mav up and carrying him out of the gym over his shoulder like he was the most coveted sack of rice.
A few minutes later, Cyclone walked out of the gym, Jake close on his heels; turning back to look at her with a thumbs up.
Fucking finally.
Callie and Bob sidled up to her a moment later.
“Did you just make it so you won both bets?” Bob snickered, because there was always a bet.
“Maybe.”
“Share the winnings with us, babe?” Callie asked, hooking her arm through Phoenix’s own.
“Of course.” She smirked.
The groans she got in response to her claiming her winnings from the remaining guys in the squad was sweet, sweet music to her ears.
And better than the grunts of them exercising, any day.