Can I Tell You A Secret?

Maverick grins and glances up from where he’s bent over the open hood of Carole’s car. Bradley is standing to his right on the driveway, five years old and jittering with excitement about whatever he wants to tell Maverick.

“What is it, sweetheart?”

“I have to whisper it to you,” he says earnestly waving his hand to gesture that Maverick should come closer.

Maverick steps away from the car and crouches in front of Bradley. Leaning forward, Bradley cups his hands around Maverick’s ear.

“I love you,” he whispers.

Maverick laughs. The kid’s too sweet for his own good. Wrapping his arms around Bradley, he pulls him into a hug.

“I love you too, kiddo.”

And that becomes their thing, whenever Maverick visits, and Bradley follows him around like a duckling.

When he jumps onto Maverick’s back, small enough to be carried and demanding a piggy-back ride. “Can I tell you a secret?”

When Maverick comes down with the flu on his visit and spends the weekend on their couch, and Bradley wiggles his way into Maverick’s arms so he can bring him his stuffed goose. “Can I tell you a secret?”

When he’s a teenager in the midst of his growth spurt, suddenly taller than Maverick but still the same sweet kid who runs to the driveway every time he hears Maverick’s motorcycle. “Can I tell you a secret?”

And then months before Bradley graduates high school, Carole dies, and the biggest secret between them is the phone call Maverick had made to Iceman, carefully explaining her last wish.

He doesn’t know how to tell Bradley “she doesn’t think you’re ready.” And he especially doesn’t know how to say “I don’t think you’re ready.” So he keeps the secret held to his chest, holding his breath every time Bradley talks about flying. Waiting for the inevitable moment when it will all come to a head.

And come to a head, it does. When Bradley finds out, there are no more secrets to share between the two of them because there isn’t the two of them anymore. Bradley puts up a hard wall and the only glimpses Maverick has of his life are brief updates from Iceman.

Fast forward twenty years, and the first time Maverick sees Bradley again is at the Hard Deck, watching him swagger over to the pool table looking so much like Goose. Despite the long separation, he feels his chest seize with just as much love for Bradley as he’d had when he was small enough to fit in Maverick’s arms.

There’s a chasm between them, though. One that’s too wide to cross. Not after too much hurt. That is, until the mission. Having Bradley on his wing feels as natural as breathing. Saving each other’s lives starts a bridge that’s finished after a number of long silences, stilted conversations, and apologies. They slowly fall into the ease of being around each other and having Bradley back in his life is a missing piece clicking into place.

But Bradley’s his own man now, and the love Maverick feels for him shifts into something much more than familial affection. There’s an attraction that swims through his veins. It surges through his body every time Bradley gives him a soft smile, his eyes crinkled with happiness. Every time Bradley settles into place next to him when they’re cleaning up at the sink after dinner, his heat leeching over to Maverick’s skin. Every time he nudges his way into Maverick’s day-to-day routine.

And through some miracle (miracle #3, Maverick thinks), he isn’t left alone to stew long. After enough charged and heated moments, he finds himself pushed into his bedroom, Bradley’s lips hot on his, both of their hands grasping to remove every piece of clothing they can find. It’s desperate, it’s sweet. There’s laughter and Bradley’s admirably filthy mouth. Maverick falls asleep that night sore, sated, and sweaty, Bradley cuddled in his arms like an over-sized bear.

When Maverick wakes up the next morning, his muscles are stiff, he’s alone in bed, and he can hear whistling in the kitchen. He slips on a pair of shorts that he’s pretty sure are Bradley’s and leaves the bedroom. He finds Bradley in the kitchen, half dressed with messy hair, and filling the coffee pot with water while he bobs his head to the morning radio.

He looks up when Maverick walks in, and they share a grin.

“Morning,” Bradley greets. His voice is rough from sleep.

“Morning,” Maverick replies. As Bradley dumps coffee grounds into the hopper, Maverick rummages through the cabinet for a pair of mugs.

“So…last night was…” Bradley trails off, and Maverick glances his way, raising an eyebrow.

“Good?”

Nodding, Bradley smiles, starting the coffee maker. “Really good.”

Maverick hums in agreement. It’s an understatement. There’s a happy feeling swelling in his chest, as bright as the sun.

When he sets the mugs on the counter, Bradley moves in behind him, setting a hand on either side of the counter and pinning Maverick in place. Maverick shivers at the warm breath ghosting across his neck.