Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"Alright, now that Fanboy's finally showed up —"

"I was ten minutes late, Coyote, give it a rest already."

Natasha and Bob (sitting closer together than normal, which piques Jake's curiosity) — along with Reuben and Mickey and Javy — are all squished together, along with Jake, into a corner booth at Jo's Diner. The place hadn't been Jake's first — or even second or third — choice for brunch, but he'd been outvoted by the rest of the sorry-ass group or people he calls friends. So here he is, stuck with the promise of rubbery eggs and over-cooked hash browns on the way, and the reality of the even more mediocre coffee he's trying to choke down his throat.

Not the best way to start his morning by a long-shot.

(Of course, Mav has already managed to screw up his entire weekend. Not that Jake is thinking about it.)

Javy waves off Mickey's protest. "The point is, now that we're all here, it's time to get down to business."

Jake looks at Javy in confusion. Most of the time, he can read his brother like a navigation chart, but right now, he's flying completely blind. "Business?" he prompts, hoping someone will tell him what's going on.

"Yeah, man, what's your next move?" Javy asks, nudging Jake's arm like that'll shake an answer out of him.

"It's not like you to play coy, Hangman," Natasha adds, giving Jake a level look over her coffee mug.

"Not playing anything," he replies, picking up his own cup. The contents are still bitter and burnt, even with all the sugar he's poured into it. "I have no idea what the fuck you guys are talking about."

Reuben waggles his eyebrows. "You, the Captain, making out last night? Ringing any bells?"

Jake shifts against the worn vinyl. Unbidden, his thoughts drift yet again to that damn bet Rooster had roped them all into. To the way Mav had honed right in on Jake like a heat-seeking missile, not even bothering to chat up Jake's date like Jake had expected. To that heartfelt declaration — you gotta believe me, I've wanted you for a long time now — one that had shaken Jake to his core.

He remembers the surprising softness of Mav’s lips on his, the assertive authority in the kiss as Mav had captured Jake’s mouth. The slick feel of Mav's tongue against Jake’s own. The self-satisfied little noise Mav had made when he'd gotten Jake to open up for him.

Not exactly a memory he's dying to relive with all of his way-too-perceptive friends watching him like enemy aircraft scenting smoke in the air.

"What about it?" he asks, as coolly as he can.

"You've been sporting a chub for the man since the second you caught sight of him at The Hard Deck," Javy says, staring Jake down with an unimpressed look. "So, what's your play now that you know he's interested?"

Like those kisses had been anything other than a means to an end. Bad enough he'd humiliated himself by melting into Mav like a bowl of ice cream on a hot sidewalk. Jake's not about to compound the mistake by acting like Mav had been serious about them.

He waits until their server drops off their food before speaking up. "That kiss was to win the bet, in case you've all forgotten."

"Still sad I didn't get one," Mickey mourns, pouring a fuckton of syrup on his pancakes in a futile attempt to make them more edible. Jake wishes him all the luck.

"Next time, my man," Reuben says, knocking his shoulder against Mickey's.

"I will say it was an honor watching the Captain work the room," Natasha states.

Bob nods in agreement. "A masterclass of surgical precision."

"Swooping in and stealing our dates before we even had a chance to catch our breath?" Reuben shakes his head. "That was some next level sorcery, even I can admit it."

"Smooth as hell, no doubt," Javy adds, then elbows Jake. "And you haven't answered the question, brother."

"Yeah, I did. He ain't interested," Jake says, picking at his hash browns. He's lost his appetite.

Javy rolls his eyes. "Dude, I heard what the Captain told you before he left. After he'd already won the bet, I might add."

The invite's open to join us, whenever you're ready.

Jake summons his best bland smile. "What about it?"

"You seriously trying to tell me you haven't thought about it?" Javy asks, with a perfect raised eyebrow.

Jake hasn't been able to stop thinking about it.

"I'm still surprised you didn't go home with him and Rooster last night," Natasha adds, with a friendly leer.

They hadn't given Jake the chance. Too busy making cow eyes at each other, like no one else even existed. Just remembering it makes Jake's blood curdle in his veins.

"What, and watch the two of them fuck while I jerk off on the sidelines?" he scoffs, shoving his plate away from himself. "No, thank you."

"I dunno, the Captain certainly didn't kiss you like he wanted you on the sidelines," Mickey says, with a shrug.

Bob tilts his head, studying Jake out from behind his glasses. "Not being the center of attention really does kill you, doesn't it."

"It's not that," he says, meeting Bob's look with a calm he's far from feeling. "I'm just not the sharing type."

"Now, I know that's not true."

Jake scowls. That's the problem with having a best friend who's also family. Javy knows way too much. "Fine, I'm not the sharing type when it comes to sharing with Rooster, how's that?"

Javy breaks his bacon pieces over his eggs. "Look, I know you and Rooster aren't exactly close —"

"Understatement of the decade —"

"— but the Captain doesn't strike me as a person who'd make an offer like that without Rooster green-lighting it."

Natasha hums, then nods. "I agree."

"It doesn't matter." Jake wishes like hell he'd just stayed home this morning. He can think of about a million different things he'd rather be doing than having this conversation, including attending one of Cyclone's innumerable lectures about the importance of following all safety regulations.

Natasha takes another sip of her coffee. "I think it does. God knows you're a selfish, self-centered asshole —"

Jake clutches his chest. "Now, Phoenix, you really shouldn't flatter me like that —"

"Shut up, dickhead, like I don't know you think those are positive traits." She gives him an unimpressed look. "The point is, in spite of you being you, Maverick clearly wants you anyway."

"I still think the Captain should have better taste," Bob comments, biting into his grits.

Reuben points his fork Bob's way. "You ain't wrong, but if the man's made up his mind, then we should respect it."

"Way I see it, the Captain should have whatever — and whoever — he wants," Mickey says.

"No argument here," Javy adds. "Not after everything he's done for us."

Natasha shrugs. "And maybe it'll be a good thing for you and Rooster to learn to share."

"Maverick's not a chew toy," Jake reminds all of them. "And Rooster and I aren't dogs fighting over a T-bone steak."

Yes, Mav is a prize, no two ways about it, and someone Jake would normally go to the mat for, especially if it meant getting one over on Rooster — but that ship had sailed out to sea before Jake had even known to hop onboard. He's also got a great instinct for self-preservation, and he knows — as sure as he knows his name — that Mav might be into the idea of a threesome or taking Jake out for a spin, but there is no way on God's green earth that Rooster wants Jake anywhere near him.

And, honestly, same. Jake's not interested in anything Rooster has to offer; never has been. Rooster might be a fine-looking man, and Jake's seen him in the showers enough over the years to know his dick looks as nice as his abs, but they've rubbed each other the wrong way since flight school, and the decade-plus they've known each other since then has only deepened their antipathy.

Maverick, on the other hand, is Rooster's opposite in every way that matters. And what Jake wants from him would make a demon blush. But he's not interested in sloppy seconds or a one-time fuck.

"Heads up, we've got incoming," Reuben mutters, and Jake turns his head to see Rooster and Mav heading towards their booth, holding hands and looking pretty pleased with the world and life in general.

Jake ignores the pang in his chest. Probably indigestion, even though he hasn't touched his food.

"Hey guys," Rooster greets, with a wide smile. "Sorry we're so late."

"My fault," Mav says, squeezing in beside Jake as Rooster slides in on Mav's other side.

Jake's not normally one for claustrophobia — he flies fighter jets with tiny cockpits and lives in cramped quarters on a carrier — but the way Mav's pressed in so close Jake can smell his shampoo is making him want to slide under the table and crawl his way out of the damn restaurant. Instead, he pastes a blank look on his face and keeps himself utterly still, counting each breath.

He is Jacob Benjamin Seresin, callsign Hangman, the greatest weapon the Navy has ever produced, and he will be damned if he runs like a coward just because another man's thigh is rubbing against his own. Even if that man is the hottest person on the planet, and the only pilot capable of giving Jake a run for his money.

"What'd we miss?" Rooster asks, after their server has dropped off coffee for him and Mav.

Natasha's gaze flickers to Jake as her lips turn up. He doesn't trust that smile. "Actually, we were just talking about the Captain's proposition."

"What the fuck, Phoenix?" Jake stares at her, horrified. He can feel his t-shirt collar getting too tight around his neck.

"Is he blushing?" Mickey mock-whispers to Bob, a little too gleefully.

"You know what, I think he is."

"My proposition?" Mav asks, looking around the table.

"What you told Jake last night about joining you and Rooster in bed," Javy — the traitor — chimes in.

Bob pushes his glasses up. "Hangman didn't think you were serious," he adds, because apparently everyone wants to humiliate the shit out of Jake today.

He should have fucking stayed at home. He clearly needs better friends.

"You know I'm getting all of you back for this, right," he warns, because fuck everyone in this goddamn booth.

"You can try," Natasha breezily replies.

Mav, for his part, twists to face Jake. "Why would you think I wasn't serious?"

"Well, gee, sir, maybe it's because your boyfriend and I don't like each other much," Jake points out, gesturing at Rooster, who's just watching both of them with a speculative expression. "And I'm not down with being some third wheel or fluffer or side piece."

Mav frowns at him. "Who said you'd be any of that?"

Fuck this — if the captain thinks Jake doesn't know how to do the goddamn math, Jake will be happy to disabuse him of that notion. "You trying to tell me I'm wrong?"

Mav exchanges a brief, but telling, glance with Rooster. Which tells Jake all he needs to know. He tamps down ruthlessly on the feeling of disappointment — he should have known better than to think Mav would be any different than any of the men in his past who had only wanted him for one thing.

Just once, he'd like someone to look past his admittedly fantastic body and try to get to know the person underneath.

"You know what, it's fine," he says, tilting his chin up so he's looking down his nose at Mav. "You thought I was an easy target. Not your fault; you just didn't know any better. We can put it behind us."

"Put it behind us? Jake, I think you've got the wrong idea," Mav says, staring at Jake like he can't quite figure him out.

Jake leans back against his seat with a nonchalance he is far from feeling. "Look, I'll give it to you. You caught me off-guard last night. But today is a new day, and I promise you, I am not falling for your tricks again."

"Wanna bet?" Rooster pipes up, because of course he'd try to insinuate himself into this like the know-it-all asshole he's always been.

"Alright, sure," Jake responds, his grin all teeth and malice, because he wasn't raised a quitter, and he's ready for anything Rooster has to throw at him. "Let's fucking bet."

"Here we go," Javy mutters, shaking his head. Jake ignores him, and the rest of the peanut gallery hanging onto their every word. He's got a point to make.

Mav frowns. "Bradley, this isn't a good —"

"It's alright. I want to hear what Rooster's got in mind," Jake says, gesturing Rooster's way like a king granting an audience to a beggar. "Lay it out for me, son."

Rooster fixes Jake with a decidedly un-Rooster-like placid look. "Let's make it simple. I bet Mav won't even need to touch you to get you into our bed."

"Jesus, Bradley," Mav sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"That doesn't sound to me like you think you're up to the task, Captain," Jake says, putting every ounce of insolence he can into Mav's rank.

"Does this mean you're in?" Rooster asks.

"Hold on, now, we're not done negotiating," Jake tsks. "Him not touching me is just the start. He can't send me any dick pics either." Not that he's against dick pics — far from it — but that's an easy loophole for a guy like Mav to exploit.

Rooster chuckles, low and very amused. "You're missing out there, but okay, no dick pics."

Natasha raises her hand. "If you felt like sharing them with the rest of the class —"

"Bradley does not feel like sharing them," Mav says, but belies it by giving Natasha a cheeky smirk.

"And if I were to ask you for them directly, sir?" she replies, matching the smile with her own.

Mav's chuckle is seductive and knowing. "In that case, I'm open to negotiation."

Fuck, the two of them flirt as effortlessly as they breathe. Like maybe there's something between them already — and shit, maybe Mav's extended the same invitation he made to Jake last night Natasha's way. Could be Mav and Rooster have a revolving door of people bouncing on their bed, and Jake's just the latest one on the list. Invite to join isn't the same as an invite to stay, after all.

Not that he wants or expects to be asked to stay. This is clearly Mav looking to scratch a particular itch.

"Anything else?" Rooster prods.

Jake shrugs, giving it a little more thought. "No dirty talk, no seduction, no tricks."

"Damn, Hangman," Reuben whistles. "What are you leaving him with?"

"A challenge." Jake twists to face Mav, his lips twisting into a fuck-you grin. "Heard tale you like those."

"They do make life interesting," Mav affably agrees, like he's not the biggest adrenaline junkie on the planet.

"Okay, no seduction, no tricks." Rooster nudges Mav's shoulder. "How long do you need?"

"I didn't agree to this."

"Mav, come on," Rooster sighs, sounding deeply put upon. "Stop fucking around and give me a time frame."

"Fine." Mav eyes Jake for a long, drawn-out moment. "End of the weekend."

Javy straightens in his seat. "This weekend?"

"Sir, it's Saturday morning," Mickey points out.

"Oh, this should be spectacular," Natasha states, putting her elbows on the table and her chin in her hands.

"You're telling me you can get me to crack by tomorrow without touching me or using any seduction tricks?" There's confident, Jake thinks, there's cocky, and then there's the massive brass set Mav's apparently got on him.

He could almost admire it. Almost.

"By midnight tomorrow night, you'll be in our bed, yes."

And Jesus, the conviction with which Mav says it is something else. Jake isn't sure if he should be turned on or pissed off. Maybe a bit of both.

"Alright, then. By midnight tomorrow, you'll be in our bed without Mav touching or seducing you, or you win," Rooster says.

Easiest bet Jake's ever made in his life. "And what is it I get if I do win?"

Rooster just looks at Mav, who shrugs. "This was your idea," Mav says. "I'll let you two set the terms."

"What do you want?" Rooster asks Jake.

"A favor from Maverick. A professional favor of my choosing, no questions asked," Jake clarifies. Having a captain on speed dial could be a help on down the line, and Mav may piss off a certain flavor of uptight admiral left and right, but everyone who's ever worked with him has raved about his standards and ethics, so he has a ton of connections in all kinds of places.

Mav purses his lips, but nods. "I think I can swing that."

"Nicely done," Javy comments, fistbumping Jake.

"But if you lose, you're coming here," Rooster cuts in.

Jake frowns. "Coming here?" he repeats, lost.

Rooster's smirk is all mustache and arrogance. "As in, you give up your posting on the Vinson and your position as squad leader, and take the invite as TOPGUN champ to teach with me and Mav for the next three rotations."

Which means for the next year.

"Ooooh, shit, this just got real real," Mickey exclaims, with wide eyes.

"Seriously?" He's worked his ass off to be named squad leader, and Rooster thinks he's just going to give that up on a goddamn bet?

Rooster gives him a level look. "Think of it this way — taking a posting at TOPGUN would look great on your jacket and you'd get to fly with Mav for a year and pick his brain."

"Yeah, alright, that's a fair point." Most fighter pilots would give their left nut to have an actual ace as their mentor. Besides, he can always make squad leader again once he's back on another carrier. "One more condition."

"I'm all ears."

Yeah, no shit, he uncharitably thinks, looking at Rooster. He's practically Dumbo with those things.

He waves his finger between Mav and Rooster. "Mav can't touch you either until after midnight tomorrow. It's only fair."

Bob chuckles. "I'm sure fairness is all you're concerned about."

"I'm a very fair person, Bob."

"Done," Rooster says promptly. "Do we have a deal?"

Jake ignores the question for the moment. He has one of his own. "What are you getting out of this?" he asks Rooster. "Because I don't think you want me any more than I want you."

"You're right, I don't." Rooster leans back against the booth. "You're a good-looking guy, but I doubt even a California king could fit you and your ego, let alone another person."

"You say the sweetest things," Jake replies, putting his hands over his heart. "It's making me blush."

"Hangman, you wouldn't know how to be bashful if someone paid you." Then Rooster smiles again, like he's got a secret he's just dying to share. "Tell you what. Ask me that question again at the end of the weekend."

"Fair enough." It's none of his nevermind what's going on in Rooster's brain — not like it matters anyway. Rooster isn't Jake's priority, never has been, never will be.

He turns to Mav. "How about it, Pops? You in?"

"One second," Mav says, holding up a finger.

"For?"

Mav doesn't answer. Instead, he yanks Rooster down by the lapels of his ridiculous Hawaiian shirt and gives him the filthiest open-mouthed kiss Jake's ever witnessed in real life. It's blatantly sexual, Mav in full control, with Rooster moaning like a porn-star and melting against Mav like butter on a hot skillet. By the time Mav lets Rooster go, Rooster's panting and red-faced and sporting a semi, and Jake's not sure he's much better off himself. Hell, he's pretty sure everyone at the table is sporting wood or (in Natasha's case) dripping wet.

Goddamn.

"To tide you over," Mav murmurs, then nudges Rooster's side. "We can't touch now, Bradley. I need you to move."

"Oh. Yeah. Right, you're, uh...shit, Mav." Rooster shakes his head as if to clear it. And it still takes him a second to slide out of the booth and grab a chair.

Natasha mimes fanning herself. "Is it hot in here or just me?"

Mickey lets out a lusty sigh. "You sure you don't have a brother or cousin or something, Captain?"

"Sorry," Mav tells him, smiling his apology, then turns and leans into Jake's space. His lips are still spit-shiny and plump.

"You planning on kissing me like that?" Jake asks, surprised at how husky his voice sounds. By how much he wants the answer to be yes, in spite of everything. Christ, he needs to get laid, if he's this hard up.

"No," Mav answers, then slides his hand around Jake's nape, urging him down to meet the press of Mav's lips against his own.

The kiss is worlds away from the one Mav had just given Rooster. Worlds away from the kisses Mav had exchanged with Jake last night. It's slow and aching and so soft that it's a good thing Jake's sitting, because he can't feel his legs from the knees down. Mav kisses him like he'd be content to map out Jake's mouth with his tongue all day and all night. Like there's nothing he'd rather taste than Jake.

Like Jake is a delicacy to be savored.

Jake floats along on an endless now of sensation: the fullness of Mav's lips, the firm grip Mav has on his neck; Mav's tiny, contented noises, like he's enjoying the hell out of himself and doesn't care who knows it. Jake wants to bottle every single one of those sounds and hoard them like a dragon with a pile of jewels.

But far too soon, Mav backs off, ending the kiss degree by slow degree. When he pulls back, his eyes are heavy-lidded, his breathing ragged, a flush spreading across those lovely cheeks. He's so fucking beautiful in that moment that Jake's heart jolts in his chest.

Then Mav smiles at him, a tiny, quiet, private thing, and clasps Jake's lifeless fingers to his own. "You have yourself a deal."

"Wow," Mickey breathes — which just about sums it up.

"Do you have plans?" Mav asks, as he slides out of the booth.

"Huh?" There's a curious buzzing in Jake's ears. His lips are tingling and he still can't feel his toes.

Mav gives him another one of those gentle, private smiles. "What are you doing this weekend?"

"What?" Jake flicks a confused gaze to Rooster, who's just grinning at him as if to say yeah, Mav does that. And the sight of that grin jolts him back into the present. Back into himself.

He's got a goddamn bet to win, and no way is he letting Mav get one over on him a second time. Especially over a single kiss — even if it is the best kiss he's ever had in his life.

Mav pulls up his own chair and sits down. "I'm heading out to China Lake later today for an overnighter — you want to come with?"

"You want to show Jake the hangar already?" Rooster asks, sounding surprised.

"Unless you have some objection?"

Rooster shakes his head. "No, I just didn't realize you were — it's fine, Mav. I promise," he says, and the two of them share another sappy, romantic smile.

"What hangar?" Natasha wants to know.

"It's a decommissioned Naval hangar I bought a few years back as a home base," Mav explains.

"An actual airplane hangar?" Mickey cuts in, looking awed. "Holy shit, Captain."

"You really do bleed jet fuel, don't you, sir?" Reuben asks, with a grin.

"Let's just say buying it was convenient for a lot of my hobbies," Mav answers, then looks at Jake. "You interested?"

One million percent, especially since it's a place Rooster clearly doesn't want him to visit, but Mav doesn't need to know that. It's good to keep a few cards close to his chest.

"It's a 5-hour road trip to the desert," is what he says instead. "Don't you have a class to teach on Monday morning?"

Mav's brows furrow. "I'm not driving out there."

"What he means is, we fly out most weekends," Rooster explains.

"Of course you do. What was I thinking?" Jake should have known Mav would have a private plane at his disposal. Although it's got to fuck with his max flying hours — but hell, who knows, maybe those sort of rules don't apply to Mav. It's not like he pays much attention to them anyway.

Which is one of the reasons Jake's so attracted to him. Not that Mav needs to know that, either.

"Is that a yes?" Mav prompts.

"Yeah, why not," Jake agrees, magnanimously. "Only fair to give you as much chance as possible to win this bet."

"I admire your sense of fair play," Mav replies, deadpan. "I've got a couple of stops to make first, if that's alright."

"I could just meet you somewhere, if that's easier."

"I want to spend time with you, Jake. That's the whole point of this." Mav actually sounds like he means it. Then again, Jake already knows what a good actor Mav is — shit, he should have gotten an award for how convincing he'd been last night.

"Besides, if you avoid him to try to run out the clock, that's just cheating," Rooster adds.

"Unlike your man, I don't need to cheat to win a bet."

"I wasn't cheating," Mav argues. "The bet was —"

"A steal, not who you'd steal, yeah yeah, you said." It still stings, knowing just how easily he'd been played. Jake should have thought of every angle.

"Sounds to me like sour grapes," Mickey says, with a grin. "You don't see me complaining about the rules, and I got fucking annihilated last night."

"No offense, Fanboy, but you're not me."

Mickey just flips him off. It's a small victory, but Jake will take it.

"Alright, that's enough," Mav chides, mildly. "Jake, I'm sorry you're unhappy with how I won last night."

"But not that you did it." Jake shakes his head, amazed at Mav's nerve. Brass fucking balls, indeed. "And you guys say I have an ego."

"Takes one to know one," Natasha replies, with a wink.

"I gotta say, y'all are the most entertaining squad I've ever been with," Reuben states.

Jake raises his coffee mug in a mock salute. "Just call me Maximus."

"You know he dies at the end of the movie, right?" Bob says.

"Yeah, but he takes down the emperor first," Jake replies, "and that's the most important thing."

Because Mav may be good — hell, he may be the best Jake's ever seen — but Jake is not only going to win this bet, he's going to make sure Mav is the one crawling to him when all is said and done.

***

Chapter Text

Jake spends the rest of breakfast nursing his rapidly cooling cup of terrible coffee and studying Mav like he would a mission debrief. It's both annoying and impressive how genial and relaxed Mav is acting, like butter wouldn't melt in his mouth. Like he hadn't just kissed Jake within an inch of his life, giving Jake another tantalizing glimpse of what could have been if Jake had gotten there first, then kicking back and digging into his plate of waffles like nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Like he's already won the whole damn bet, and the next 40-odd hours are just a formality.

Jake also catalogs the way Mav jokes around with the rest of the group, seamlessly acting as both their leader and just like one of the crew: gently teasing Mickey and making him laugh, idly flirting with Natasha and matching her beat for beat, all while chatting with Reuben and Javy and Bob about flight maneuvers like he hasn't got a care in the world.

But mostly, Jake spends most of the time trying to suss out just how Mav is planning on winning without using any of his admittedly brilliant arsenal of tricks. Jake hadn't left Mav with much to use — he can't kiss Jake again or crowd in close like he'd done earlier or use a flimsy excuse to touch Jake or even make any suggestive comments designed to plant ideas in Jake's head. There's no way for Mav to win without cheating; at least, not that Jake can see.

And the fact that Mav had agreed to do it anyway, all because Rooster urged him into it, doesn't make much sense. Seems like a lot of work just to try to get Jake into his bed, especially when Mav has someone warming it already — but Mav does seem the type to thrive on doing the impossible. Maybe six months of domestic bliss with Rooster and blowing the minds of impressionable students every twelve weeks at TOPGUN have started to bore him; who knows.

What Jake does know is, he's not about to underestimate Mav again. He's going to be steady, cool, and calm, no matter what Mav (or his annoyingly smug boyfriend) throws his way.

"You know you don't have to do this, right?" Javy murmurs, when they're all standing in line at the register to pay. "You can tell them no."

Jake hands the cashier his card with a polite smile. "Why would I want to do that?"

Javy leans against the counter and sighs. "You sure you want to go head-to-head with the Captain again after what happened last night?" he asks. "Seems like he's got your number pretty good."

Jake takes his card back and signs the slip. Then he turns to Javy. "Look, I appreciate the concern," he says. "But this isn't about anything other than teaching Rooster a lesson in shutting the fuck up, and maybe knocking a bit of that shine off the Captain's crown."

"Maybe that's what worries me."

"I'll be on my guard." He gives Javy a fraternal pat on the cheek. "Don't worry that pretty head of yours about it."

Besides, what could Mav possibly accomplish in such a short amount of time? All Jake's got to do is stay focused and stay distant, and boom, easy money.

"If you say so," Javy says, and slaps him on the shoulder. "Good luck, brother."

Jake grabs a toothpick and pops it into the corner of his mouth. "Save your luck for someone who needs it," he says, and leaves Javy to the rest of the group, walking outside and pulling his sunglasses down to shield his eyes from the sun.

Mav is leaning against the side of his bike, aviators on and dark hair rustling oh-so-enticingly in the breeze, looking like some sort of model. The epitome of untouchable cool. Rooster is standing beside him, almost (but not quite) within touching distance, his helmet hanging loosely from his grip. Jake looks between both of them, and once again wonders when the hell they'd (literally, it seems) kissed and made up. Yeah, six months is a fair chunk of change, but Jake vividly remembers the way Rooster had shot daggers from his eyes every time he'd so much as glanced at Mav back when the Captain had been their instructor. A reconciliation like that takes more than time — it takes self-awareness and a willingness to forgive and ability to admit one's own faults — qualities Jake has never seen Rooster display in over ten years of knowing the man.

"You know," he says aloud, "I never did get the story of how you two got squared up."

Not that there had been much time after the mission — things had been chaotic as all hell for a few days, and then after they'd all been granted leave, everyone had scattered to the four winds to regroup and recharge. And right after that, most of them had been sent right back to their previous deployments, like nothing earth-shattering had happened. Like they hadn't just saved the world together. Or, at least a portion of it.

He watches as they exchange a glance, then Mav tips his head Rooster's way. "It's okay," he says quietly. "He should know."

"Know what?"

Rooster pushes his sunglasses up his nose. His tone is matter-of-fact. "Why I was fighting with Mav in the first place."

"Well, I won't deny I've been curious," Jake drawls, rolling his toothpick from one side of his mouth to the other. (It doesn't escape his notice that Mav's gaze tracks the movement, either.)

"Long story short, Mav pulled my application to Annapolis."

"He did what now?" Jake frowns. Rooster's old man had been a USNA graduate (Jake remembers Rooster used to wear his dad's class ring for formal occasions), which means Rooster would have been a legacy candidate. Which means Mav would have had to call in one hell of a lot of favors to make his application disappear.

"He did it at my mom's request," Rooster explains. "She didn't want me anywhere near the Navy or a fighter jet after...what happened to my dad."

Jake whistles under his breath, feeling an odd sort of sympathy for both Mav and Rooster. Didn't take a genius to figure out that Mav would have hated squashing anyone's dreams of flying jets, or that Rooster would have (to put it mildly) hated being told he couldn't follow in his old man's footsteps.

"Well, I can see where that would cause some tension," he says, dryly.

Rooster snorts. "That's one way of putting it."

"Would you prefer I have said that you holding a grudge about it for however long it was doesn't surprise me in the slightest?" Jake asks, with a sunny smile.

"Fuck you."

Jake rocks back on his heels. "Not if you were the last man on the planet, Bradshaw."

Rooster gestures meaningfully at Mav. "You really want to do this? With him?"

"Yes," Mav replies. The tone leaves no room for argument.

Jake allows his grin to get even wider. Suck it, Rooster. Even if Mav's interest is purely physical, it feels good to know he's homing in on Rooster's territory.

"Fine, have it your way." Rooster sighs, sounding about eight shades of put-upon, but Jake can still hear the affectionate indulgence underneath it. (Which is something else worth exploring, once Jake's got his bearings.)

"So, you just let Rooster get away with ghosting you all those years?" Jake asks Mav, because that doesn't square with what he's seen of how the Captain operates. "You don't strike me as the type to let a thing like that lie."

"I tried to reach out to him a couple of times at the start of it," Mav explains. "Never heard back. And after a while, it was easier to stop trying."

Yeah, Jake knows a little something about that. It's all well and good to be stubborn and preach not taking no for an answer, but there comes a time when you're all bloody from beating your head against the same brick wall and not getting anywhere. Sometimes cutting your losses is a win.

Rooster shoots Mav an apologetic look. "Seeing him in person all those years later didn't make me any more inclined to listen to him, either."

"I remember," Jake says, with a sardonic twist of his lips. Everyone on base had felt the tension between the two of them, and there'd been many a night at The Hard Deck with the squad trying to figure out what the hell their deal was. "And yet, you went after him anyway when he got shot down."

"I went after him anyway," Rooster affirms, quiet and solemn. "But we didn't really start to make up until we were behind enemy lines together."

"Nothing like a near-death experience to bring two people closer together, I guess," Jake muses.

Rooster chuckles. "Man, you have no idea."

The two of them taking turns saving each other's asses also had to count for a lot, Jake thinks. Hard to carry a grudge for a person willing to lay down their life for yours.

"And the, uh..." He waves his finger between them. "You mentioned last night this — you two being a thing — also started the day of the mission?"

"In the infirmary right after we'd gotten the all-clear by the medic," Mav says, with a smile that says it's clearly a fond memory.

"Still the hottest hand job I've ever gotten," Rooster adds, with a mischievous grin.

Mav chuckles, shaking his head. "Pretty sure I've done a lot better since then."

"Better, yes," Rooster says, with the sort of besotted expression that makes him look like a totally different person. "Hotter, no."

Jake can see that — how all of that adrenaline and relief and that feeling of holy shit, we made it out alive could lead to some pretty spectacular sex. Too bad he hadn't gotten to Mav first — they could have fucked on the carrier that day and gotten all this out of their systems.

"Well, good for you," he says out loud, and even kind of means it. "You both look happy."

Look at him being all magnanimous. Mama Machado would be proud.

"We are," Mav says, with so much love in his voice Jake feels like a voyeur at hearing it. The flip reply he'd been about to make dies on his lips as Mav pushes his aviators up and looks at Jake, his gaze as steady as his finger on the trigger before taking out his target. "But that doesn't mean we can't be happier."

Rooster makes a rude noise. "You can't be happier, you mean. I'm plenty happy with how things are."

Jake crosses his arms over his chest to cover the way his heart skips a beat. "Careful now, Captain. That almost sounds like you trying to tip the scales in your favor."

"Just stating a fact."

"Uh huh," Jake says, skeptical. He has no doubts Mav is going to skate as close to the edge of the rules as he can. And honestly, he expects nothing less. All the more reason to keep his head on a swivel. "You mentioned some errands before you wanted to head out?"

"I did." Mav straightens as he tosses Rooster the keys to the bike. "Take good care of her until Monday."

"Roger that." Rooster takes an aborted step Mav's way, then stops and shakes his head ruefully. "Right," he mutters to himself, chuckling.

"Nice save," Jake comments, patting himself on the back for insisting on that particular condition. Watching Rooster squirm is one of his life's little joys.

Rooster, as predictable as the sunrise, just flips him off. "I am so looking forward to you falling on your dick."

Mav watches as Rooster jams his helmet on his head before swinging his leg over the bike and taking off, his expression so soft and devoted that Jake's lungs contract. He doesn't think anyone's ever looked at him like that. Like he's the center of someone's universe.

Not that he needs some mythical romance. All the soulmate this, true love that — it's all bullshit, as far as he's concerned. Other people may need that sort of validation or acceptance or some assurance that they're not alone, but being alone has never bothered Jake.

"I take it I'm driving?" he prompts, when Mav doesn't say anything.

Mav turns his head, his smile rueful. "Sorry, yeah. I would have offered the bike, but..."

"No touching," Jake finishes, smiling back. Letting Mav off the hook, just this once. "It's okay, Pops, we can take it out for a spin after the weekend's over."

"Looking forward to it." Mav motions towards Jake's Grand Cherokee. "Shall we?"

***

"So where to?" he asks, once they're both buckled in and have pulled out of the parking lot.

"Cycle Salvage," Mav directs. "Just get on the 8 heading east — I'll tell you what exit to get off on."

"Why are we going to a salvage yard?" Jake asks, glancing over at Mav.

"Because they have a part for a bike I'm restoring."

"You restore bikes?"

It strikes him then that there's a metric shit-ton he doesn't know about Mav. Maybe this weekend together, just the two of them, will be good for another reason. Could be that familiarity will breed contempt and his hard-on for Mav will die a natural death if they're around each other for any length of time. (Yeah, and pigs might fly, he thinks, but there's no harm in positive thinking.)

"Bikes and planes, the older the better. You'll see everything when we get to the hangar." Mav slides his window down to let in some of the late spring breeze outside. "What about you? What do you like to do in your spare time?"

Jake taps on the steering wheel as he merges onto the freeway. Traffic's pretty light this early on a Saturday. "Anything outdoors. Hiking, running, sailing, fishing —"

"What kind of fishing?" Mav interrupts.

"Bass, mostly. Grew up near Lake Buchanan. That's in Austin," he supplies, when Mav gives him a blank look.

"Is that where you learned to sail?"

"No, that was..." Jake clears his throat, wondering how he should phrase it. "Uh, Penny taught me. Back when we were...together."

Mav nods, but doesn't say anything. He doesn't look upset, but Jake knows from personal experience that doesn't mean much. They probably should have had this talk months ago, back when Jake had still thought Mav and Penny were trying to make another go at it. Although, bringing up the fact that you used to bang your commanding officer's kinda-ex-but-kinda-maybe-trying-to-work-it-out girlfriend is a weird conversation, even at the best of times.

"Does it bother you that she and I had a thing once?" he finally asks, when Mav stays silent. If they've got a problem, now's the time to get it out in the open.

Mav lets out a very amused laugh. "No. Does it bother you that she and I had a thing for years?"

"Touché." Jake stares out the front windshield. He wonders what Penny would think of this whole situation. Hell, she'd probably just laugh at both of them and tell them they're being idiots — and she'd be right. As she normally is.

"She deserves better than us anyway," he says, because if any woman deserves the world, it's Penny Benjamin. Shame neither he nor Mav could have been that person for her. But he and Penny'd had a good time, and Jake likes to think they still have some fondness between them.

"No argument there," Mav agrees, smiling. "So, what else are you into?"

"Oh." Jake racks his brain. He's not used to people showing this much of an interest in him. "I like to go cycling when I can, I play soccer —"

"Yeah?" Mav twists in his seat now, leaning against the door so he can look at Jake. "You any good?"

"Of course," Jake says, furrowing his brows. "Isn't the point of doing anything competitive to be the best at it?"

"That's certainly one way of looking at it," Mav says, with a tilt of his head. "What about hobbies you're not good at? Any of those?"

What a weird question. "Uh...I mean, yeah, of course. Everyone's got something, right?"

"What's yours?" There's no judgment, only curiosity, so it makes it easier to give an honest answer.

"I am a very mediocre cook." No matter how hard he's tried, he can't make food he's made himself taste the way he thinks it should. It's an endless source of frustration, and not something he's admitted to anyone else (other than Javy, who's been his guinea pig on more than on occasion, much to his dismay.)

"Do you have anything you make well?" Mav asks him.

"Other than barbequed ribs?"

"You're Texan — isn't it part of the state bylaws that you have to be good at barbeque?" Mav teases, his eyes dancing with mirth.

Jake chuckles, charmed by both Mav's wit and those laugh lines around his mouth. "Got me again," he admits, admitting defeat. "Alright, I make a pretty damn good red beans and rice for a white guy from Texas."

Mav smiles again, softer now. "Then that's what I want you to make for me for dinner next Friday."

Dinner next Friday. Like there's something real between them, instead of just a whole lot of lust and, in Jake's case, a deep-seated need to fuck with Rooster's world. Like whatever this is between himself and Mav has legs and isn't just Mav trying to fluff him up so he'll fold like a house of cards.

"Getting a little ahead of yourself there, aren't you?" Jake asks, deliberately making his voice light. "You've got to get through this weekend first — it's way too early to ask me out on a date."

Mav hums noncommittally. "This exit, then turn right at the light," he says, pointing at the sign. "And I wasn't asking you on a date. I'm calling in my favor."

"Your favor?" Jake repeats, risking another glance at Mav.

"The one I won from each of you last night," Mav explains, with a cocky grin that has no right being as attractive as it is. "And what I want from you is an evening, just us, over a nice meal. No expectations, nothing has to happen."

"You know there are easier ways to find a third for whatever threesome scenario you've got in mind," Jake states. "Hell, you'd have no issue finding someone who wants you and Rooster. Why're you putting all your money down on a guy who doesn't even want your boyfriend?"

It's been sticking like a burr under his saddle since Mav had made the offer last night. Jake may not think too much of Rooster personally (and he knows Rooster feels the same about him), but Rooster's a decent enough man, has enough charm and personality and looks to catch someone's attention and keep it there. And Mav strikes Jake as the loyal sort — the type to stake his claim and mean it, and not stray once he's with someone.

So, if these two have each other already — and have all of this history and clearly a lot of love between them — what's Jake adding to the mix? What the fuck could Mav possibly want with Jake that he's not getting at home? (Other than his own superior self, of course.)

"We're here," Mav says, nodding to the sprawling building on the side of the road. Jake pulls into the parking lot, and shuts off the engine, but doesn't make a move to get out of the Jeep, and neither does Mav.

"Mav?" he prods, when he doesn't get a response.

It seems to break Mav out of his thoughts. "Permission to speak freely?"

Jake chuckles at the irony of a friggin' Navy captain asking him permission for anything, and waves a negligent hand in Mav's direction. "Yeah, alright, go ahead."

Mav fixes him once again with that steady, unwavering gaze of his. The sea-green of his eyes slams into Jake like a tidal wave. "I wasn't lying when I said I clocked you that first night at The Hard Deck. Your flirting wasn't as subtle as you thought."

"So you said," Jake says, wondering where Mav is going with this.

The edges of that stupidly kissable mouth curve up. "What you didn't notice was I was also looking."

Jake's self-aware enough to know that he's not immune to flattery. And having a man like Mav admit to seeing him? He doesn't think anyone would blame him for a bit of well-deserved preening. "Was it my skill at darts or the way I filled out my uniform?" he asks, pushing just a little. Trying to find some cracks in Mav's armor.

"Both," Mav admits, with a look Jake can't quite read. "But mostly what I noticed was your arrogance. You knew you were good, and you also knew you were the best-looking guy in the room. And all I kept thinking was, I wanted to bend you over that pool table, eat your ass until you cried, and then fuck you until you couldn't see straight."

Jake punches out a shaky breath. Well, he had given Mav permission. "You paint quite the picture."

Mav's gaze keeps boring into him, drilling down through every one of Jake's defenses with all of the force of a jackhammer on high blast. "I still want that." His voice is quiet but no less authoritative. "But the more I've gotten to know you, the more I want."

Jake licks dry lips. He couldn't look away if he tried. "You've got Rooster," he reminds them both, and fuck if it doesn't come out a lot more bitter than he'd intended. "If this is about scratching an itch —"

"Bradley is the most important person in my life," Mav affirms, then leans across the console, so close Jake can make out tiny flecks of gold in his irises. "But that doesn't mean there isn't room in my heart for someone else."

"Meaning what?" Jake whispers; he's too afraid to raise his voice. If he leans in one more inch, their mouths would touch. He can already taste their kiss.

In response, Mav simply moves so his lips are right over Jake's ear. So goddamn close, and yet, not nearly close enough. "You're a clever boy, Jake. I'm sure you can figure it out," he murmurs, low and deep, striking an aching chord somewhere down in Jake's gut.

Then Mav pulls back out of weapons range and gifts Jake with the sight of those damn dimples on either side of his mouth. "Ready to head in?"

Jake's head is spinning. Possibilities race through his mind, each one more fantastical than the last. If Mav's offering what Jake thinks he is, if he wants what Jake thinks he wants...

He stops himself right there.

Mav doesn't want anything other than to win. He's not offering jack shit. The only reason he's saying any of this is because there's a bet on the line, and Mav is a goddamn master at manipulation. He's just telling Jake what he wants to hear; hell, he'd probably promise the moon if it got Jake where he needed Jake to be.

Well, Mav might be used to Rooster hanging on his every word like a chump, but he's met his match. No way Jake is falling for a pretty face or a seductive voice whispering sweet nothings in his ear. Whatever Mav's game is, Jake is onto it.

"Ready for whatever you've got," Jake replies, and hops out of the Jeep before Mav can lie to him some more.

***

Chapter Text

Come into my parlor, said the spider to the fly. The phrase keeps repeating in Jake's head. He's not sure if it's a warning or a prophecy.

But it doesn't stop him from following Mav into the small lobby at Montgomery-Gibbs Airport. He's in this to win it now. No backing down, no turning back.

He hefts his backpack higher on his shoulder, adjusts the groceries bags in his grip as Mav chats quietly with one of the girls at the counter for a few minutes. After Mav had finished up at the salvage place, they'd swung by Trader Joe's to pick up some food for the trip, then made a detour to Jake's apartment so he could pack a change of clothes and his toiletry kit.

Mav turns to Jake with a boyish grin. "C'mon," he urges, and they head through the automatic doors that lead to the airstrip.

"Are we clear?" Jake asks, looking around in appreciation at the various prop planes and other aircraft sitting on the tarmac. It's an aviator's paradise. He could see Mav spending all of his spare time here, easy.

"Yep. No rain or wind, no turbulence, flight plan's been approved — we're third up, as soon as we clear pre-flight checks," Mav says, and leads him into a hangar where a gorgeous Piper M350 is sitting, gleaming silver and black in the sun shining through the open bay doors.

Jake runs a reverent hand along one of the wings. "Is she one of your restoration projects?" She's a beauty, clearly well-maintained, and the pilot in Jake is already wondering how he can finagle a turn at the wheel. He knows he could get her to purr for him in no time flat.

Mav gazes at him with a soft smile. "No, she belongs to a friend of mine. He doesn't get to fly as much as he'd like these days, so he lets me take her up sometimes to keep her in good condition."

"Quite the friend," Jake comments. Skippers are a notoriously possessive bunch, especially when it comes to their aircraft. He certainly wouldn't share access to his plane with just anyone.

"Cougar and I go way back," Mav says, fondly. "It's a shame he's not here today; he could give you all kinds of dirt on me."

Jake chuckles, curious now about this Cougar person and where he and Mav served together, and what stories he could tell about Mav. "Then I look forward to meeting him."

"I'll arrange an intro, then," Mav says, then gestures at the steps leading into the plane. "After you."

They stow their bags in the luggage compartments and step into the small, but surprisingly comfortable, cockpit. Mav quickly goes through pre-flight while the ground crew moves the wheel blocks, and then he rolls the plane out towards the runway, chatting amiably with tower control the whole way. It's clear Mav's a constant presence in this airfield — it seems like he knows everyone by name, and quite a bit about what they've all got going on in their lives. No way Jake could keep it all straight in his head.

But that's part of Mav's charm. He makes everyone he meets feel like they're the most important person in the world. Even if he doesn't mean it.

Which is another reason for Jake to keep his guard up.

It feels like no time at all until they're taxiing down the runway then taking off, as smooth as silk. Mav expertly navigates the plane, as at home behind the wheel of the Piper as he is behind the stick of his Hornet. Jake's never been much for flying when he's not the one in the pilot's seat, but it's easy enough to relax and watch Mav do what he does best.

"How's the TOPGUN posting going for you?" Jake asks, once they've reached cruising altitude. The flight's not that long, but he may as well go ahead and start getting to know Mav a little better. "Any of the new pilots giving you a run for your money?"

"They certainly try," Mav remarks, those blunt-tipped, clever fingers easy and light on the controls. "But the posting is good. I'm having a lot more fun with it than I did the last time I taught there."

"I bet." Jake doesn't know the particulars, just that Mav hadn't lasted long the first time around he'd been an instructor. Knowing what he does about Mav, Jake's sure there had been some higher up getting his panties in a twist about Mav's teaching methods and they'd tossed his ass right back onto a carrier. And yeah, Mav might be unorthodox, but he'd taught everyone how to survive a near impossible mission, and had shot down two fifth-gen fighters in a goddamn F-14, so in Jake's not-so-humble opinion, TOPGUN is damn lucky to have Mav.

He watches the delicate line of Mav's wrists, leading up to muscled, tanned forearms. It's easy to forget, looking at him, that he's got a good twenty years on Jake. Man doesn't look a day over 40. But then, when you live as fast as Mav does, maybe you start to outrun Father Time himself. Jake certainly wouldn't put it past him.

"Where were you stationed before this, if you don't mind me asking?"

Mav adjusts the mic on his headset. "I've mostly been a test pilot the last few years, with the odd mission thrown in from time to time."

"A test pilot, huh?" That's one of Jake's goals for later in his career, once he's reached Mav's rank. "You flown anything you can talk about?"

Mav grins, showing off those stupidly sexy laugh lines around his mouth. "Mostly stealth jets."

Jake knows he's not going to get more out of him, but he's got a pretty good imagination. And honestly, getting paid to push experimental aircraft to their limits and beyond sounds like a dream job for a guy like Mav. Someone who lives to fly, with that sharp, analytical mind of his racing through dozens of complex calculations at warp speed.

"What about you?" Mav asks. "What's life like on the Vinson these days? Is Captain Miller taking good care of her for me?"

"Good care of her?" Jake blinks, eyes going wide behind his sunglasses. "You used to command the Vinson?"

Mav inclines his head. "For about a year, yes. This was before her last overhaul."

"Well, I'll be damned." Jake knows he shouldn't be surprised — Mav's got the rank and the experience, and certainly knows how to command enough respect from a crew to helm a carrier — but the idea of Mav being relegated to the control tower, and not up in the air where he belongs, is a hard one to fathom. Mav might be a Navy man, but he's meant to be up in the sky.

"The Vinson's good, sir," Jake finally says. "Captain Miller and the crew have been taking care of her just fine."

"And your flight squad? What are they like?"

"They're fine pilots," he offers, and it's not even a lie. They are fine pilots. It's just that he outshines them with one hand tied behind his back, and every single one of them knows it.

Sunlight glints off of Mav's aviators. "You friendly with any of them?"

"I didn't join the Navy to make friends." He's got all the friends he needs in Javy and his family. Everyone else has just — inevitably — disappointed him. Hell, he's still waiting for the other shoe to drop with the Daggers. God knows Natasha's bound to get sick of him sooner rather than later.

Mav lets out a laugh. "Neither did I," he offers. "But it still doesn't hurt to have them. I owe my career to the friends I've made over the years."

"Admiral Kazansky?" Jake guesses, although it's not really a guess as much as confirming what the entire fleet already knows. Their exploits had been legendary long before Jake had even enlisted. And, having seen Mav in action, he's certain those exploits have been under-exaggerated, if anything.

"Among others." Mav glances quickly at Jake, then looks back out the window. "I'm not saying you need to change who you are, but given your ambitions, you're going to need people in your corner."

Jake shifts in his seat so he can study Mav better. There's an angle here, he's just not seeing it. And it pisses him off that he can't.

"What would you know about ambition?" he asks; it comes out harsher than he'd intended Mav to hear. "How long've you been stuck with a captain's bars again?"

"Just because I never wanted to make Admiral doesn't mean I didn't have a career plan."

It's mild, as far as chastisements go, but Jake flinches as if Mav had actually shouted at him.

Stupid, to let the other man get under his skin, but he's also not in the habit of lying to himself. He may not give a good goddamn what most of his fellow pilots — hell, what most of the world — thinks about him, but for whatever reason, Mav's approval means something. What Mav thinks about him as a pilot and a person means something, and has from that first hop when Mav had led him on a merry chase and gotten tone on him before he'd even realized he'd been played. And it may grind his gears that Mav is an exception to his carefully crafted rules, but there's no use trying to deny it.

And no use trying to rile Mav up just because he's mad at himself about it.

"Sorry," he mumbles, soft but sincere.

Mav waves off the apology. "Look, I'm not anyone's first choice when it comes to giving or getting advice, but you're one of the most brilliant pilots I've ever seen. And you deserve a career that puts that talent to best use."

Jake swallows, undone by the quiet, simple praise. Mav says it like it's nothing, like the compliment he'd just thrown out isn't a big fucking deal coming from an ace, an aviator who's been at the top of the food chain for thirty years and still has the crown to prove it.

"Thank you, sir."

Mav gestures out the window as he starts to tip the nose of the plane down. "Dead ahead," he says, and Jake is dumbfounded as the hangar comes into view, getting larger as the plane descends.

"All this is yours?" he asks, awed in spite of himself. He's not sure what he'd been expecting, but the sheer size of the hangar and the surrounding fenced-in land takes him by surprise.

"All mine," Mav responds, and drops the landing gear, touching wheels to the tarmac as light as a damn feather. He slows the plane to a stop; they hop out and both make quick work of securing the blocks around the wheels, then they go back in for their bags. Jake catalogues their surroundings as they walk towards the hangar — nothing but scrub brush and trees and flat, open desert as far as the eye could see.

He squints up at the faded whites and rust of the exterior walls as Mav unlocks the padlock and pushes the door open on its track in a groan of metal, but the momentary urge to tease Mav about a new paint job dies in his throat as he steps inside the cavernous space.

"Holy shit," he murmurs to himself, turning around in a big circle. He feels like the proverbial kid in a candy store.

Mav has an actual Airstream — and a damn Jeep — parked on the floor. He's also got himself a nice-looking lounge area, with a couple of repurposed cockpit seats and a big-ass sofa, and a pretty sweet coffee table, everything clearly good quality, solid wood and warm browns. And then there are all of the bikes and bike parts and bits of planes lined up on hooks and sitting in neat rows — a wing here, an engine turbine there, a propeller resting on the ground — and a massive workstation taking up an entire wall, with a loft space above it.

But the real prize is the vintage two-seater plane resting in a place of honor right smack in the middle of the floor.

Jake's heart stumbles in his chest. "Is that a P-51?" he asks, dropping his backpack, unnoticed, as he walks over to the aircraft. His hands itch with the need to explore every gorgeous smooth inch of her lines. She's the most beautiful thing Jake's ever seen in his life.

"Yeah, it is." Pride is clear in Mav's voice, and with good reason.

"Goddamn, Pops," Jake murmurs, reaching out to run his fingers along one of the wing flaps. He can feel her history in the touch, humming electric under his skin.

"She was my first restoration job," Mav says, looking up at the plane with a reverence most men reserve for hot women in tiny bikinis. "Took me a long time to find all the original parts."

Jake has no doubt. "You taken her up yet?"

"A few times. She's airworthy, but she needs a delicate touch." Mav hooks his sunglasses over the collar of his shirt, and pats the side of the plane affectionately, like another person would pet a dog or cat. "Classic ladies like this are worth the TLC, though."

Jake glances at him out of the corner of his eye. "You and Rooster fucked in it?"

Mav chuckles, those attractive crinkles around his eyes standing in sharp relief to tan skin. "I think you already know the answer to that."

"I do." And Jake's not gonna lie to himself, the thought is hot as hell. He hopes Rooster knows just how lucky he is. And if he doesn't, Jake would be happy to remind him.

"You can stow your gear in here if you want," Mav says, grabbing the grocery bags and walking up the steps to the Airstream. Jake follows him inside the RV, whistling anew as he takes in the leather sofa lining the entire width of the back wall, the sleek, modern kitchen area, the sweet-looking dinette set-up, and the hallway leading the bedroom at the other end. It's a helluva lot more spacious than it looks on the outside.

He drops to the sofa, watching as Mav quickly unloads the groceries, then pulls two bottles of water from the fridge. He offers one to Jake, then takes a seat at the dinette table.

"All this must've set you back a pretty penny," Jake observes. The Airstream alone had to have cost over 200k, let alone all the bikes and the Jeep in the corner and the damn P-51. And that's not even going into what the hangar and the land around it had cost. He knows captains make bank, but this is next level.

"No wife, no kids," Mav murmurs, his expression pensive for a moment before he shakes it off. "Not much else to spend my money on. And no expenses to speak of, so I was able to invest a fair bit over the years."

Jake spins his bottle cap between his thumb and forefinger. "That, and I imagine being a test pilot must come with a hell of a hazard pay bonus," he guesses.

"You really want to talk salary?" Mav asks, smiling as he takes a sip of his water. "Didn't peg you for the type to want a sugar daddy."

Jake bristles at the thought. He doesn't need anyone taking care of him. "I'm doing just fine on my own."

"No one's arguing that," Mav replies, agreeably. "But having someone in your corner — someone who cares about you and sees you, sees into you and all of those broken, dark corners, and still chooses you? There's nothing better than that."

"Why are you telling me this?" Once again, there's an angle here, and Jake is missing it.

"Because that's what I'd like to be for you. If you let me."

Jake jerks his gaze back up to Mav, who's staring back at him, patient and serious, as calm as a lake on a cloudless summer day. If this is Mav acting, then he'd picked the wrong profession, because he should have been on the screen. He looks so sincere. And the shameful, needy part of Jake's soul, the part that he tries to keep buried under a metric ton of competence and even more arrogance, can't help but wonder —

What if Mav really does mean what he's saying? What if this isn't just a ploy to get Jake to crack so Mav can win the bet?

"You're good," he admits, swallowing a mouthful of water to get rid of the frog in his throat. "You keep skating right to that seduction line, and backing off just in time."

That steady gaze doesn't waver. "I'm not trying to seduce you. Well," Mav amends, "not in the way you think. I just want you to know your options."

Jake leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. The air around them seems to close in, enfolding them in this small bubble. "And what are these options? I told you already, I'm not interested in being some sort of third wheel to the Maverick-and-Rooster show. You are hot as fuck, but no one is that hot, and I've got way too much self-respect to accept your scraps."

Mav sets down his bottle and folds his hands on the table. He looks as solemn and serious as Jake's ever seen him, every bit of hard-won wisdom and regret and knowledge as clear as glass on that too-handsome face.

"Jake, I don't know how much plainer I can be. I want you. Not part-time, not to watch on the sidelines, not as a side piece when Bradley's not in the mood or out on deployment or whatever scenario you're thinking of. I'm not asking for anything more than what you want to give me, but nothing's off the table on my end."

He paints a real nice picture. If only Jake could trust that Mav wouldn't dump his ass and go right back to Rooster for good, the second Jake bores him or pisses him off or the shine of new sex has dulled.

"And where does the boyfriend fit in?" he presses, because he may be interested in getting his hands all over Mav, and there's no use denying it — but that six-foot-odd string attached to him is another matter entirely.

Mav's shoulders lift as he spreads his hands out. "Whether anything happens between you two is for you and Bradley to decide, not me. It doesn't affect my offer."

"As long as that's clear —" Jake stops, startled, when his phone starts buzzing in his pocket.

"I'll let you get that," Mav says, and stands. "Come find me when you're done."

He walks out of the Airstream, the door banging shut behind him. Jake watches the space where he'd just stood for a second, trying to put all the pieces together into a pattern that makes any sort of sense, when his phone buzzes again. When he fishes it out of his jeans and looks at the screen, he sees Coyote's name.

He swipes answer, and puts the phone to his ear, irritated at the interruption. "What's so important you're calling instead of texting?"

"Just checking in, brother," Javy replies, not remotely bothered by Jake's tone. "How's the bet going?"

Jake forces himself to relax against the cushions. "Liking my chances so far," he says, infusing his voice with every bit of cockiness and bluster he can. Hoping Javy can't hear the cracks underneath the surface.

"Uh huh," Javy replies, unimpressed. "So what's this super secret Mav-cave of his like?"

Jake chuckles. "It's fucking insane, man. He's got an Airstream and a goddamn P-51 Mustang parked in here."

"For real?"

"For real."

"Damn," Javy swears. "He's got all that going on, and looks as good as he does, and flies like he does, and still wants what you've got? You've hit the jackpot yet again, my man."

"He's got a boyfriend, too," Jake says, because someone needs to keep bringing up the elephant in the room. Feels like he's the only person who remembers Mav's not single.

"A boyfriend who's apparently copacetic with you two flying off to spend a weekend together," Javy reminds him.

"Yeah, maybe." Jake still has his doubts, especially where Rooster is concerned. It's one thing to watch one's partner get their flirt on or put on a bit of a show — it's a whole different ball game if said partner wants to add a third into the relationship. And Mav can say what he wants about how cool things are, but there is no way making Jake some sort of permanent part of things is the endgame Rooster has in mind. (Or what Mav truly has in mind, either.)

"And, hey, if you do need to tap out, there's a base nearby where you can hunker down for the night."

"I'm not tapping out, Javy." No fucking way. He's got a point to prove, although he's having a hard time remembering just what that is. But he'll be damned if he gives Rooster the satisfaction of beating him again.

Bad enough Rooster's already beaten him in the only competition that matters.

"Figured you'd say that. Just text me when you two are on your way back to North Island."

"Will do," Jake promises, although he's trying to figure out why Javy's checking in on him like they're back in high school again. Jake doesn't need Javy protecting him, not anymore. Not for a long time. He's a grown-ass man, and he's got everything under control.

But he doesn't feel like starting a fight (at least, not over the phone), so he says his goodbyes and steps out of the Airstream. Mav is on the other side of the hangar, washing his hands in the utility sink. Jake's greeting dies in his throat as Mav dries his hands, then casually strips out of his shirt and walks over to a free-standing locker.

His traps and lats are insane, a literal wet dream of perfection. Jake could write a poem or two — alright, a dirty limerick — about the way Mav's ribs hug a trim waistline and lead into the dip in the small of his back. Not to mention Mav's pecs, highlighted by the perkiest nipples Jake's ever had the pleasure of seeing in real life. And yeah, it's not the first time, or even the second, that Jake's seen Mav's body, but watching without Mav being aware of it feels...different. Like Jake's witnessing something private. Forbidden.

He stands, rooted in place, as Mav grabs a dark blue t-shirt from a shelf and tugs it on, hiding all of that tanned, firm skin from view. It feels tragic, in a weird way, to cover up something that beautiful. Like hiding a Rodin sculpture or a painting by Monet in a basement.

Mav slams the locker door shut and turns, tensing when he sees Jake standing on the top step. "Sorry, I thought you were still on the phone."

Jake forces his feet to move. They feel as wobbly as a newborn colt's. "Relax, no one said you couldn't go shirtless," he says, his voice thankfully a lot steadier than the rest of him. He stops only when he is right in front of Mav. Close enough to see the mole on his left cheek. Close enough to count the crow's feet around those pretty, pretty eyes.

Mav stands his ground, stays still and silent, and lets Jake take his time with his perusal. Not that Jake has any idea what he's looking for or why, but that doesn't stop him from cataloging every one of Mav's features like he'll be tested on it later. From the thickness of his eyelashes to the lines creasing his forehead, the sharp cut of his jaw and the slope of his nose — Jake drinks him all in, parched and aching, and hating himself for the weakness.

Mav is the one who, mercifully, breaks the spell. "You want to help me change the engine in this Supersport I'm restoring?"

Jake nods as he takes that crucial, small step away from Mav and back into himself. "Yeah," he says, tamping down on the lust and need until they're in a tiny ball, and then burying it for good measure. "Sounds fun."

***

Chapter Text

Music pumps in from a pretty nice stereo speaker system, and Jake idly hums along to The Rolling Stones as he and Mav lock the back wheel of the Supersport in place, and position the bike up on its stand so they can get started. They work in tandem: Jake disconnects the seat and the battery while Mav drains the oil and radiator fluid — and it's almost eerie how well he and Mav mesh. Jake barely has to think about needing a flathead and Mav's already slapping it in his hand, while Jake passes Mav the WD40 to unstick a few recalcitrant screws before Mav has to ask. It's kinda nice, being this in sync with another person who isn't Javy, even though Jake doesn't want to read too much into it. That way lies madness.

He wonders if this is how Mav and Rooster spend their weekends — working on old bikes, or tinkering with the P-51 to get it in perfect flying condition, or doing other restoration work — or if Rooster leaves Mav to his toys and stays on North Island to do his own thing. Rooster doesn't seem the type to spend his free time elbow-deep in engine grease, but maybe he's learned to suck it up because it means spending time with Mav.

As for Jake, hell, he's so in his element he thinks Mav will have to drag him kicking and screaming from the hangar. He's got his pick of just about every tool under the sun, and he and Mav could build a whole motorcycle or plane from scratch just using what's in the hangar already. And Jake totally plans on talking him into doing just that at some point in the future.

Provided the two of them come out on the other side of this still friends, that is.

Jake peers at the other man over the frame. Mav's forearms and hands are dotted with oil, and there's a streak of dirt on his forehead. He's humming Sympathy For The Devil under his breath as he wrestles with the radiator to get it loose from its bearings. A blind man could see he's as at home here as he is up in the air, clearly as happy with an Allen wrench between his fingers as he is curling them around the control stick of a fighter jet.

He also looks sexy as fuck. Like every hot mechanic porn fantasy Jake has ever had come to life. All quiet self-assurance and skill as he patiently walks Jake through how to unbolt and remove the headers and exhaust from the frame. Jake's always had a competency kink, but he's never realized just how much of one until he met Mav. Which is a problem, and one Jake doesn't know how to solve.

And Rooster had willingly made himself scarce this weekend — knowing exactly what Mav would be doing and what Mav would look like while doing it — and had done it without even bitching about it too much, letting Jake take his place.

Which also isn't adding up, no matter how Jake tries to make the math work.

Rooster has always been so cautious, an absolute control freak afraid to trust his instincts or fellow pilots, or do anything even the slightest bit risky. So the fact that he's not here right now, trying to horn in and insinuate himself into the conversation and make sure Mav isn't straying too far outside the lines is, frankly, out of character for the man Jake knows. The idea that Rooster's morphed into some sort of back-seater who's willing to let go and trust someone — especially someone like Jake — with something this important is akin to asking the Pope to do a barrel roll.

And Jake hasn't so much as seen Mav reach for his phone to answer a text or call or anything, so Rooster hasn't even gotten in touch with Mav to check in, which is weird enough to make the hairs on Jake's arms stand on end.

"Hey, you mind if I ask you a question?" he asks, after a few minutes of mulling it over and going nowhere.

"You can ask me anything you want," Mav says, without lifting his head.

"Alright, so, if I've got this right, you flew with Rooster's old man —"

"Goose."

"Goose, okay, got it. And you two were clearly close if his widow was coming to you for help later on with pulling Rooster's papers, correct?"

Mav's lips twist as he glances up, an ocean of grief washing over his face. "He was my best friend. And Carole was like my sister."

Was. Shit, that's right, Rooster's mom has also passed on. That explains a lot about him and all his issues. Losing both parents so young would do a number on anyone.

"I'm sorry." Jake tries to infuse the condolences with every ounce of sincerity and sympathy he has.

Mav waves it off. "I appreciate it, but you were saying?"

"Okay, so you knew Rooster when he was growing up, then, right?"

"Is there a point to this?" Mav's eyes narrow, and his voice cools. "Didn't peg you as the judgmental type."

Jake holds his hands up in a gesture of peace. "Woah, what? No, I'm not."

Belatedly, he realizes how his question must have sounded. And yeah, maybe the optics of dating someone you knew when they were a kid are a bit weird, but no more so than anything else. Jake's the last person to judge on appearances, anyway.

"You're both consenting adults and it's none of my nevermind what's in your past. Besides," he adds, "if Rooster's wrong for digging older men, then so am I. And I don't think it's wrong. Obviously." He gestures at Mav to make his point clear. "And I sure as shit don't think it's wrong that you like your men younger. Obviously."

Mav exhales, his shoulders dropping. "Sorry," he offers, with a wry smile. "Shouldn't have jumped the gun like that. What was your question?"

Jake accepts the apology with a nod. "I guess what I was getting at was, if Rooster was always so scared of his own shadow or if it's something new."

"How do you mean?" Mav asks, sounding thoughtful.

"Alright, it's like this. Technically, he's got the skills to be a great pilot. I mean, not as good as me, of course —"

Mav chuckles. "Of course."

"— but he's by the book, smart as hell, knows his plane inside and out. But until you came along — until the uranium mission — he had never flown like we all knew he could. Which leads me to wonder if there's something in his past I'm missing that used to make him fly and live his life like he had the emergency brake on at all times."

Mav unscrews another bolt, and drops it into the bucket by his feet. "He was always an over-thinker." The admission is soft, like it's something Mav's never said out loud. "He used to get so deep in his head when he was younger — he'd get all deer in the headlights when he had to make a choice. Like it paralyzed him or he was afraid of making the wrong one. It's one of the reasons I agreed to pull his application to Annapolis."

"You set him back to give him time to grow up," Jake surmises. Which makes sense — part of being an aviator is making a ton of split-second decisions, and trusting yourself and your training to know they're the right ones. Sounds to Jake like Mav had done Rooster a favor back in the day, and he maybe should have realized that instead of holding a grudge for as long as he did.

Mav gives Jake an approving nod. "We both know it's one thing to learn the manual inside and out and follow the Navy guidelines to a tee. But trusting all of that training and your skills on a mission is...well. You know."

"It's the difference between life and death," Jake finishes, nodding solemnly.

"Exactly." Mav flashes him another smile. "High-altitude missile drops are one thing. Whether Bradley could have survived a dogfight was a different story, and not one I was willing to trust. Not with his life on the line."

Which brings Jake to the real heart of the matter. "Alright, so riddle me this. If he's always been in his own head and that far up his own ass, how in the hell did you get him to sign off on the idea of you sliding in my DMs, so to speak?"

Sure, on the surface, Rooster's always acted like butter wouldn't melt in his mouth, but Jake's witnessed that temper of his more than once. He's had a front row seat to that undercurrent of insecurity, and how hard Rooster had fought to overcompensate for it and act like he didn't give a damn. In Jake's not inconsiderable experience, men like that are possessive and jealous and not remotely inclined to open a relationship up for another person.

Then again, Mav's a pretty persuasive guy, so maybe Mav had caught Rooster at the right moment and gotten him to say yes. Rooster seems the type to agree to anything after he's gotten his dick sucked.

"I didn't." Another screw pings into the bucket. "He was the one who brought you up."

Jake rears back, jolted. "What?"

"Watch your fingers," Mav advises, and Jake shifts, putting himself in place to help Mav push the engine out of the frame and set it on the floor dolly so they can wheel it out of the way. Then Mav straightens, putting his fist to his back as he stretches, twisting his torso to work out the kinks.

Jake takes a moment to appreciate the view. He doesn't think anyone would blame him.

"It was early on after we'd started sleeping together," Mav continues, wiping some of the grease from his hands with a shop rag. "We were talking fantasies one night, and he asked about you. Said he'd noticed the sparks between us and wondered if I'd ever thought about doing anything about it."

Jake swallows. He's oddly breathless. "And what did you say?"

"I promised him no more secrets when we reconciled, so I told him the truth." Mav peers at Jake from under his lashes. "And the truth is that I'm happier with him than I can ever remember being, and I love him more than anything. But the other truth is, my side of the bed and my life are emptier without you in it."

Jake digs his nails into his palms to keep from making a move. Damn, Mav's got a way with words. "And he was okay with the idea of me, just like that?"

"No, not even close," Mav laughs, the sound bright and highly amused. "It took a lot of talking and a lot of brutally honest conversations to get us to a place where exploring this felt comfortable. But those talks were needed. I think we're closer now than we ever would have been otherwise." Mav drops the towel, and they place the new engine on the lift and wheel it to the bike, jacking it up into place so they can get back to work. "I imagine the three of us will do a lot more talking once we get a better understanding of the new dynamics and how everything's going to fit."

Mav says it like it's inevitable. Like he and Jake and Rooster are already a thing or have committed to each other — once again, acting like Jake being part of this is a done deal. Like this is something permanent, when Jake damn well knows it's not. And it won't be, because arrangements like this never work.

"You barely know me," Jake points out, because someone has to be logical, and it's clearly not going to be Mav. And judging from Rooster's weirdly indulgent words to Mav earlier and the way he'd jumped to make the bet in the first place, Jake can't count on help from that direction either.

"I mean, fuck," he continues, "I barely know you and here you are, talking about upending the apple cart you and Rooster have just set to rights."

Mav drops to his haunches, and picks up his screwdriver. "My life's an open book." He glances up with a playful smirk. "You can pretend this is a Reddit AMA, if you want."

Jake snorts as he crouches back down on his side of the bike. "What do you know about Reddit?"

"I'm 54, not dead."

"Okay, Boomer," Jake teases, and grins outright at Mav's very attractive scowl. "Alright, let's play. Favorite band?"

"The Beach Boys," Mav answers, which promptly proves Jake's point about his old-timer tastes. (Although, Jake can't fault him for this choice — they're a great band. All-American, simple on the surface, but teeming with complexities underneath. Much like Mav himself, come to think on it.)

"Of course you'd go with a California band," Jake laments, fondly.

"It was either them or The Eagles," Mav concurs. "What about you? Who's your favorite band?"

Jake squints as he twists one of the tiny starter screws back in place. "The answer I tell everyone is Metallica — and they're top tier, don't get me wrong. But the truth is it's probably Jason Isbell."

"He's one hell of a songwriter," Mav agrees. "Southeastern is a classic album."

Jake's estimation of Mav shoots up a few notches. "I didn't peg you as a country fan."

"You're right, I'm not — at least, not modern country — but I like good storytelling," Mav replies. "And he's a very good storyteller."

"No argument from me." Jake starts rewiring the starter, hoping like hell he's doing it right. He'd hate to disappoint Mav right out of the gate by screwing up his bike. "Favorite movie?"

"The Right Stuff. And you?"

"Unforgiven."

Mav hums, sounding pleased. "A classic."

"Best film Clint Eastwood's ever done," Jake states. "Um...beach or mountains?"

Mav gives him a be serious look. "Take a wild guess."

"Yeah, that was a gimme," Jake admits, laughing to himself. "Same. I mean, I'm also a beach guy."

The once-over Mav gives him is just this side of heated. "If this were any other time, I'd make a comment, but rules are rules."

"Uh huh." Jake knows Mav just wants him to think about what he might have said, and he refuses to give Mav that kind of satisfaction. "Best advice you ever got."

The megawatt smile dims for a second. "Learn to let go," Mav says softly, then sighs, dropping his shoulders. "Still working on that one. What about you?"

"Mine's not so much advice as it's something someone did." When Mav gives him a confused look, Jake surrenders to the inevitable. To handing Mav a loaded weapon and trusting he won't shoot.

"You went back for Javy," he says, throat working as he recalls how close he'd come to losing his best friend. His brother in all but blood. And the feeling of deep relief and gratefulness that Mav had found a way to save him. That Mav, unlike Jake, hadn't abandoned his wingman. "Don't think I've ever thanked you for that."

"You don't need to." Mav shakes his head, a muscle ticking in his jaw. "You came after me and Bradley. We're more than even."

They weren't, but Jake's not going to argue the point. They'd be here all night. "Last time you cried."

Mav blows out a quick breath. "Honestly? A few weeks ago." He's got that pensive look on his face again. Oddly, it does nothing to detract from his attractiveness. "Had a fucked-up dream and I guess a few things just hit me wrong."

Jake shudders in sympathy. He's had more than a few long nights and nightmares that have clung to him like leeches, draining him dry. "Mine was right after the mission. Holed myself up in a supply closet and bawled like a fucking baby for a good twenty minutes."

Mav offers a tiny, empathetic smile. "Adrenaline crash, relief, or guilt?"

"All fucking three." He doesn't regret the two kills he's got under his belt — the first had been him or the other pilot, and the second had been to save Mav and Rooster — but taking a life isn't something he tries to downplay either. "I'd've shot that fucker out of the sky a million more times to keep you and Rooster safe, but that doesn't mean I didn't feel the weight of it."

"I know," Mav softly says, those green eyes filled with a terrible sort of compassion.

And Jake knows he does, too. It's a fucked up thing to have in common — the fact that they've both killed in the line of duty — but they've got it. Which means they know each other on a level that goes well beyond the superficial. Jake's not sure how he feels about that, either.

"Best place you've ever been stationed," he says instead, trying to lighten the mood.

"Greece," Mav replies, shooting Jake a thankful smile. "And you?"

"Yokosuka, no question."

"You know," Mav drawls, with a speculative glance, "Bradley told me a story about when you two were stationed there."

Jake chuckles as he starts tightening the engine bolts on his side of the frame. "If it's the one I'm thinking of, I'm sure he left out a few, uh, more prurient details."

"I have no doubt." Mav grins at him, as bright as the sun outside. "Will you tell me a few stories about you two?"

"Who, me and Rooster?" Jake asks, confused. "What could I tell you that Rooster hasn't told you?"

Sure, he and Rooster have had their moments of détente and camaraderie, but they've been few and far between. Most days, they're like cats and dogs, barely tolerating the other's presence. Which is another mark against...whatever this is that Mav's after. Jake and Rooster are bound to rub each other the wrong way eventually, and Jake's under no illusions about where Mav's ultimate loyalties lie.

Mav can say what he wants, but that history between him and Rooster has a weight to it that Jake is never going to be able to compete with, no matter how hard he tries. And he has enough pride to know he'd never settle for second best. Especially when it comes to Mav.

"You'd be surprised what I don't know." Mav looks out at a point past Jake's shoulder, his expression wistful. "Up until seven months ago, I had no idea what he was like as an adult. Before I showed up to teach you guys, the last time I'd even spoken to him, he was still a teenager."

Okay, Mav's request makes more sense. That is one hell of a gap. "Not sure how much help I could be. Phoenix is the one who knows him best."

"I don't want to know her history with him. I want to know yours," Mav says, patient, but pointed. "Your interest in each other might not be sexual, but it's obvious you two have spent a long time studying each other. I bet you two know each other better than you know just about anyone else."

Yeah, Jake thinks, and most of what he's noticed is negative as hell. Which isn't something he thinks Mav is interested in — who wants to hear another man, especially one with skin in the game, bashing your boyfriend? But Mav had asked, and Jake's just enough of a sucker to not want to let him down.

"What do you want to know?" he sighs.

"Tell me how you two met."

"First day of flight school."

"And your rivalry? When did that start?"

"First day of flight school," Jake repeats, with a toothy, ironic grin. "He strolls into the room all casual, like this was some remedial course he needed to take. Acting like he was miles ahead of the rest of us already, and it pissed me off from jump."

"To be fair to him, he'd had his pilot's license since he was 16, so he did have a leg up," Mav says, grunting as he works to get a particularly tricky bolt locked back in place.

Jake frowns at the crown of Mav's head. "I thought Rooster said his mom didn't want him flying."

"Flying a fighter jet," Mav corrects, with a quick glance up at Jake. "I think she knew from the start keeping him completely out of the skies was a lost cause. She would have been fine if he'd gone the commercial route."

"Yeah, I get it."

Clichéd as it is, there's nothing safer than flying a commercial jet. It's also the most boring career Jake can imagine. Hell, he'd rather quit flying altogether than be forced to take the wheel of one of those clunky jumbo airbuses. It'd be like racing purebred stallions, then being forced to drive a moped.

"I should have known he'd figure out another way to get into the aviation program," Mav sighs. "He's as stubborn as Goose ever was."

Jake doesn't doubt it, but he doesn't think that's all there is to it, either. Not if Mav had known kid-Rooster as well as he'd said. "Maybe some part of you wanted him to join you in the air, so you didn't try as hard as you could to keep him out of the Navy."

Mav looks at him sharply, something like approval gleaming in his eyes. "You sound just like Ice."

Jake holds a hand to his heart. "Well, now I'm flattered."

"He would have loved you." Mav gives him another slow perusal. "Of course, he would have also tried to fight me for you, but that's another story."

Jake's not even going to pretend that he's anything other than thrilled that the Iceman himself would have found him worth pursuing. And he's curious as all hell about Mav and Iceman's personal history, and if Mav's implying what Jake thinks he is. But now's most assuredly not the time to head down that road. Not if they're sticking to their own rules about no flirting or seduction.

He points his wrench at Mav. "We're revisiting this topic after the weekend."

"Understood."

Jake lines up the next bolt and slides it in. "So, tell me about him. Iceman, I mean," he says. "Or any of your TOPGUN class or, hell, anyone else you've worked with. We can trade off. I'll tell you about all the ways your boyfriend has pissed me off over the years and you can tell me about your pilot buddies and all the trouble you've gotten yourself into."

Mav laughs, sharp and surprised, the sound oddly beautiful. "You sure you know what you're asking?"

"Yeah." Jake flashes what he knows is his most charming, dimpled smile. "Come on, Pops. Dazzle me with your back in my day tales."

Mav's shoulders shake with mirth, but his hands are steady enough. "Yeah yeah, alright, kid, but just remember, you asked for it," he says, then launches into one of the raunchiest and most unbelievable — and yet completely believable — stories Jake's ever heard in his life.

The afternoon is the most fun Jake's had in years.

***

Chapter Text

Mav smacks at the back of Jake's hand with his spatula. "Stop that."

Jake just pops the cherry tomato into his mouth with a triumphant grin. Immediately, bold, bright flavors burst on his tongue. "Holy shit, this is amazing," he groans. "What the hell did you put on it?"

"Serrano-and-basil-infused olive oil, sea salt, and lime zest." Mav keeps spearing their kebab components — chicken, cherry tomatoes, onions, yellow bell peppers, and zucchini — onto their sticks while Jake's busy whipping together a light pasta salad recipe he'd pulled up from Pinterest.

"Fuck, no wonder Rooster trails after you like a lost puppy hoping for a meal," Jake says, licking his lips to get at the last of the taste. "How the hell is it fair that you can cook as good as you can fly?"

Mav chuckles, a small blush creeping attractively across the tops of his cheeks. "I learned to cook out of necessity, but it was an ex-girlfriend who got me into the art and science of it."

"Science?"

"How different flavors mix together and why, and when to add salt or lemon or a spice to a dish to punch it up," Mav explains. "Once you get that basic formula — salt, fat, acid, heat — it's pretty easy to understand how to bring out all the nuances in whatever it is you're cooking."

"And, of course, you managed to master it like the overachiever you are," Jake replies, wryly as he turns back to his own dish and eyes all the ingredients. Maybe that understanding is what's been missing from his own culinary endeavors.

"I think mastering is a bit of an oversell," Mav demurs, which is a humblebrag if Jake's ever heard one. Like Mav doesn't know how good he is.

He peers over, watches as Mav continues to work in quick, easy, smooth movements. "Is there anything you can't do well?"

He's teasing, but he also isn't.

"I have one very mediocre dance move, I'm terrible at keeping plants alive, and Penny will be happy to tell anyone who asks that I am the Navy's worst sailor," Mav replies, with a quick wink Jake's way.

Jake chuckles. "Boats are probably the only thing with an engine you haven't mastered."

"I'm also hopeless when it comes to laundry."

"Let me guess, you wash those white shirts you like so much with your jeans."

Mav lines up the kabobs on a half-sheet, his grin rueful. "Guilty as charged," he admits. "Bradley's taken over laundry since we've been together."

"Sounds very domestic," Jake comments, ignoring the tiny pang in his chest.

"I know what you're thinking, but I don't mind settling down a little bit." Mav throws him another small smile. "Especially with the right people."

People. Not person. Still angling, still trying to dig under Jake's skin and find a weakness. But he's fucking teflon, he's got this.

"As tempting as the thought of making your boyfriend wash my clothes is, it's gonna take a lot more than that for me to cave," Jake replies, keeping his voice light. "Besides, I don't mind doing my own laundry."

Mav turns his attention to slicing the French bread loaf and brushing the pieces with olive oil. "What else don't you mind?" he asks. "Chore-wise, I mean."

"I don't mind most things," Jake says. "I like my place neat and tidy —"

Mav laughs. "Good, you can help me rein Bradley in."

Jake points a finger at Mav as he shakes his head. "You're on your own there. I already know he's a slob away from his plane."

It's always driven Jake nuts, too. He's got no idea how Mav puts up with Rooster's tendency to leave his shit lying around everywhere. Especially now that Jake's had a glimpse of how Mav lives, and how organized he is.

"He's been that way all his life," Mav admits ruefully. "He does keep the bathroom pristine, however."

"A point in his favor," Jake says, glancing at the recipe again to make sure he hasn't missed anything.

"What about you? Any chores you hate?"

Jake shrugs. "Never liked dusting much."

"That one doesn't bother me."

"You can have it," Jake replies. He finishes mixing the the ingredients together, tastes it, and makes a face. He holds the spoon out to Mav. "It's missing something."

Mav dutifully takes a bite. "Try a splash of lemon juice and a pinch of cayenne," he suggests, then heads to the sink to wash his hands.

Jake does and tries it again. It's already miles better. "Huh," he marvels. Maybe there is something to this science in cooking method.

"We'll make a chef out of you yet," Mav says, with a grin.

"That really would be a miracle."

Mav grabs the half-sheet with the kebabs and the bread, and heads for the grill outside. "Lucky for me, I'm a big believer in creating miracles," he calls, his voice carrying in the breeze.

Jake just shakes his head and chuckles. "Way to get in the last word, Pops."

***

"So what made you choose aviation as a career?"

Jake blows out a breath at Mav's question. After dinner, they'd settled in the Adirondack chairs around the firepit with a small cooler of beer to do some star-gazing. "Well, now, that right there is a story," he drawls, cradling his bottle of Coors Light in both hands.

Mav shrugs and sinks deeper in his chair. His hair's a little damp with sweat, dark strands sticking enticingly to his forehead. "I've got nothing but time."

Jake thinks he means it, too. That he really would be content to wait as long as it took for Jake to start talking. He's never had anyone act this patient with him, and has no idea how to feel about it.

He takes another sip of his beer to buy himself some time. Wishes it was something stronger. This isn't a story he particularly likes telling. "I guess you've read my file, so you know I grew up in the system."

He tries not to dwell on the past. Tries not to think about the parents that had rejected him — the dad that had run off, the mom who'd dumped him at the local fire station and had never come back — but it's easier some days than others. He wouldn't change the family he has now for anything, but starting off his life unwanted had fucked him up in ways he's still learning to deal with. In ways he thinks he'll be dealing with for the rest of his life.

"Me too." Mav's reply is soft.

"Seriously?" Jake asks, surprised. Most foster kids he knows — himself included, not that he'd ever say so out loud — are a teeming mass of insecurities and bravado and attachment issues. Mav seems way too poised and settled to be a foster brat. He's got a great sense of who he is, and also seems to have a pretty good handle on his temperament and an honest appreciation for, well, life. Then again, he's had a lot more years of practice at dealing with his shit, and hell, maybe he's had therapy or something.

Mav makes a low, affirming noise. "My dad died in 'Nam and my mom of grief not too long after we lost him. Didn't have any other family willing to take me on, so..." He trails off and shrugs. "You know the drill."

Jake's heart clenches in sympathy and solidarity. Yet another fucked up thing they have in common. "How old were you?"

"Four when my mom died." Mav brings his bottle to his lips, and pauses. "Same age Bradley was when Goose was killed."

So young. Both of them. Jake wants to reach across the space between them and grab Mav's hand, offer the comfort of touch. It's an effort to keep still. "That's fucked up," he offers, hating the inadequacy of it. "I'm sorry."

He's gifted with a smile. "Things weren't too bad. I kept my head down, kept my grades up, and bounced around a few homes until I hit 18 and was able to enlist." Mav gestures at Jake with his bottle. "What about you?"

"I never knew my folks," he discloses, quiet and honest, giving Mav the same gift Mav had given him. "Lost track of how many foster homes I wound up in before I landed with the Machados."

Mav's brows furrow. "Javy's family?"

"Yeah." Jake smiles to himself, thinking of Maria and Sergio Machado and the way they'd welcomed him into their home and their lives. The way they'd saved him when he hadn't even realized he'd needed to be saved. "I was 14, getting ready to start high school and mad at the world. All piss and vinegar and hormones — I'm sure you know what that's like."

Mav chuckles, the sound carrying sweetly in the night breeze. "Oh, yeah."

"But all my bullshit didn't faze them a lick," Jake continues, warmly. "They were so patient. God, I still don't know how they put up with me. And Javy took me under his wing right away, became the brother I never had."

"I'm glad you found them." Mav lolls his head in Jake's direction, those sharp cheekbones and angular jaw standing in stark contrast to the gentleness of his voice. "But they were also lucky to find you."

Christ, what is it about Mav that this small bit of sincerity makes Jake weak at the knees? Although maybe that's just it. That goddamn sincerity. That feeling that Mav truly means every word he's saying. That he honestly believes Jake's company is a gift.

"How did being in the system all that time not break you?" he asks instead, curious. Bouncing around from place to place, never having a feeling of permanence — fuck, it had almost wrecked him, and he'd at least eventually found a place to land. He'd found his home and his safe space.

"It almost did," Mav admits. "But I met Carole — Bradley's mother — when I was a senior in high school, and then Goose came into our lives, and suddenly I had people who gave a shit about me and what I did. I couldn't let them down."

A feeling Jake knows well. Something else he and Mav have in common. The similarities keep piling up, and he's not sure what to do with it.

"That's me and Coyote. I'd take a bullet for him, no questions asked, and I know he'd do the same for me." A loyalty Jake has never taken for granted, because he knows how hard he'd made it for Javy to stick by his side. "Anyway, to answer your question, Javy wanted to be an aviator, and the idea of it seemed cool, and I was always top of my class, had all the extracurriculars under my belt, so I was able to get into Annapolis on a nomination, same as him. But I didn't think much about what being a pilot meant until I got into flight school."

"And when you got in the air the first time?" Mav asks him, smiling that dazzling smile of his, as if he already knows the answer.

"It felt like freedom." Jake's still never known anything like it. The endless horizon just waiting for him to chase after it, the power from controlling all those Gs, the humility of looking down on the Earth and seeing its beauty and majesty so clearly. The rush from the speed. His whole world had cracked wide open that day, and he's been riding that high ever since.

"First time I got up in the air, I felt reborn," Mav confesses, like he's imparting a secret just for Jake to hear. "As soon as I got that taste of power and that sense of control, I knew I'd do anything it took to keep it. Being among the clouds, looking down at the Earth..."

"It's humbling," Jake finishes. "But awe-inspiring at the same time."

"Exactly," Mav says, and fuck, he looks beautiful like this, framed by the glow of the moon and outshining the stars themselves. The perfect temptation, beckoning Jake to close the distance, to drape himself over Mav's lap and give in to the attraction that's been there from the very start. One that's grown all day to almost unbearable levels.

But the other, larger, saner part of him knows — knows — he'd be giving up a fundamental part of himself if he did give in.

"You know, you are going through a lot of trouble just to win a bet." Jake wonders if he sounds as breathless as he feels.

"I don't care about the bet, Jake. I never did." Mav scrubs a hand over his face, and shakes his head. "I care about you."

"I wish I could believe that," Jake whispers, hating himself for admitting a weakness. For handing Mav even more ammunition to use against him. He's already given Mav too much.

"I wish you could, too." Then Mav makes a noncommittal noise, and rises smoothly to his feet. "It's late," he says. "Think I'm gonna turn in."

"Okay." Jake hates ending the night on a sour note, but he's not going to lie, either. Mav talks the prettiest game Jake's ever seen, but Jake's already been burned by him once. So he just lifts a hand, and nods. "Goodnight, Mav."

"Goodnight, Jake." Mav looks like he's about to say something else, but he just shakes his head and walks away, disappearing into the hangar on silent feet.

Jake watches him go, and can't help but think maybe he should have said something else. Made a joke, maybe, done something to ease the tension. Ah well, too late for it now. And Mav's a big boy; he can handle a little disappointment.

Still, the longer he sits, the more he gets the feeling he's let something precious slip through his fingers. He finishes his beer, then pops open another, his thoughts bouncing around like a pinball. All day and night, he'd waited, expecting Mav to really push the rules, to find some loophole to exploit, just like he had last night at the bar.

(Christ, had it only been last night?)

And all day, Mav had surprised him by...doing nothing. He'd just been his usual self, effervescent and curious and full of life. Asking Jake a ton of questions. Acting like he was serious about getting to know Jake as a person. Treating Jake like a friend, like someone he truly wanted to get to know better. It had been easy — too easy, in spite of Jake's best efforts — to relax around him, and just be himself. Which hasn't happened to Jake in a long time. Normally, the only person he could truly let his guard down around is Javy; but once again, Mav has managed to subvert all of his expectations.

Still, Jake knows he's swimming in some dangerous waters. He's been down this road before, trusted the wrong people, and had paid dearly for that mistake. He can't afford to let his defenses lapse just because Mav smiles at him all pretty or says all the right things about how happy they could be, if Jake would just give them a chance.

But fuck, who wouldn't start to crumble, just a little bit? Who wouldn't wonder, if he got up and knocked on Mav's bedroom door right now, if Mav would welcome him in and hold him all night in those strong arms? And what does that even say about him, that the thought of just snuggling all night with Mav gets him more revved up than the thought of getting his lips around Mav's no-doubt-very-nice cock?

Although he wants that, too. Wants Mav with a hunger that scares the shit out of him. He's restless and aching, yearning for something he can't even name, and isn't sure he even wants to, because naming it would make it real. Naming it would flay him open and grind him down and he can't afford to lose himself again.

Because part of him knows — he knows — Mav could soothe that deep ache inside him. If only he could trust it.

But he can't.

He takes another long pull from his beer. Looks up at the stars, at all those tiny dots up in the sky just waiting to be explored. Waiting for the right person to dare enough to chase them down. He itches with the need to be up there among them. It's hard not to feel small and insignificant down on the ground. But up in the air, Jake's in control, a god looking down on everyone with benevolence, sure of his place in the universe. All of his problems look so much clearer at ten thousand feet.

Fuck, he could use some of that clarity right about now.

It's just another 26 or so hours. He's got this. And when he wins this stupid bet, he's going to lord it over Rooster's head forever, and still take his damn boyfriend to bed, just because he can. Because Jake may as well get something out of this, even if it's not everything he's just now starting to realize he wants.

Everything Rooster already has.

Rooster, who's happy and healthy, moisturized and thriving, no longer haunted by his ghosts or angry at the world. He's already won — hell, the game's been rigged in his favor right from the start. Even if Jake gets up right now and walks inside the Airstream and plants himself on Mav's dick and satisfies every sexual fantasy in his head, Rooster's still got the big prize.

So why on earth isn't he here, lording his victory over Jake like the annoyingly pompous asshole he is? Why isn't plastered at Mav's side, flaunting what he's got and taunting Jake with what he'll never have, no matter what pretty — empty — promises Mav makes. God knows Jake would have done it, if their roles had been reversed.

But Rooster's been silent and absent all day, and it just doesn't make any sense.

"Fuck it." He fishes his cell out of his hoodie, determined to get some actual answers from someone.

"I need you to be honest with me," he says, the second Rooster answers his phone.

"And hello to you, too, Hangman," Roosters answers genially. "How's your day with Mav been?"

"Screw you, like you care," Jake snaps, then takes a breath and a step back into himself. Be cool, be cool. Don't let him get to you. "But it's been fine, if you must know."

"Glad to hear it."

Jake snorts under his breath. "Uh huh, I'm sure you are."

"Believe what you want." Jake can hear the amusement in Rooster's voice, and it just pisses him off all over again. Smug dickhead.

He curls his toes in his boots, trying to center his thoughts. "Did you set this whole thing up just because you get off on watching Mav flirt with other people?"

Rooster lets out a low chuckle. "I mean, it is kinda hot." He pauses. "Okay, it's the hottest thing on the fucking planet. But no, that's not why I made the bet with you."

"So what is it about? Really," Jake adds, scrubbing at his face. "Because I'm having a damn hard time wrapping my head around you being okay with this. You've already got him, man, what's the point of rubbing my nose in it by dangling him on some sort of string, then yanking him away once I make a move? That's low, even for you."

"I'm not...I wouldn't do that to you," Rooster states, and he's got that low, quiet tone to his voice that Jake knows means business. "And Mav sure as shit wouldn't. Me and him, we're solid, okay, so it's not — you wouldn't be there if I wasn't good with what Mav was offering you."

"You're both trying to win a bet against me," Jake reminds him. Reminds both of them. He still can't forget how skillfully Mav had played him at the bar last night — how effortlessly he'd managed to seduce Jake without it even meaning anything. The way Mav had kissed him so sweet and told Jake exactly what Jake had been dying to hear, all for the sake of a win. All to show off in front of Rooster.

"I don't trust a goddamn word either of you say," he adds.

"Then trust your instincts," Rooster tells him, still sounding as serious as Jake's ever heard him. "And also trust that I really am okay with everything Mav is telling you, because I know where I stand."

Which was more or less what Mav had told him earlier, but nothing is that easy. If a thing looks too good to be true, there is always a catch. Always some condition or caveat waiting in the wings to spring its trap.

"And if everything means me being in the picture full-time?" he asks, which is the million dollar question, isn't it. "Because that is what it sounds like Mav's been offering me, and...just. Be honest, alright. You cannot want any of this."

He hears Rooster sigh. "Are you my first choice for Mav? Hell no, of course not. But that's not the point."

"Then what is?"

"Look, why do you think I bet you to teach at TOPGUN with us if you lost? You'd be with us for a year. With Mav. With me. Think about that."

Oh.

Jake tightens his hold on the phone. He feels like he's been stabbed or shot or something, with parts of himself bleeding on the ground, and all of his secret desires and wishes seeping right out in the open. Where anyone could see them and know exactly how much he wants everything Mav has been dangling in front of him. Everything Rooster is hinting he could have.

Rooster keeps talking. "I think you're a self-centered asshole, and that'll probably never change. But you're a brilliant pilot and you're loyal as hell to the people in your corner and you wouldn't take no for an answer during the mission, and that's the only reason me and Mav are even alive... So, I need you to hear me, alright, Jake, because this is fucking important. You may not even know it yet, but you feel the same way about Mav that I do." His voice drops even lower. "You'll keep him safe and you make him happy. That is all I need to know to be cool with you in the picture."

"You..." Jake licks dry lips. His eyes burn. "If you're fucking with me, Bradshaw —"

"I swear on Mav's life this is as real as it gets," Rooster vows, and goddamn, he sounds like he means it.

"Okay." He forces one breath out, then another. His knees are still shaky. "Okay."

Rooster's voice gentles. "You don't have to decide anything tonight. Sleep on it, give it some thought, mull everything over."

"I can do that," Jake says, suddenly too tired to argue or think or even continue the conversation. "Goodnight, Rooster."

"Yeah, alright. Sleep well."

Jake hangs up, tilting his head up to the stars. And stares up at them until they all start to blur together in one big bright smear of white.

***

Chapter Text

When Jake wakes up the next morning, he knows, without even lifting his head, that he's alone in the Airstream. No clue how Mav had managed to slip out the door without waking him — especially with the way he'd tossed and turned on the sofa bed most of the night — but clearly Mav has just as much stealth on the ground as he does up in the air. Then again, it shouldn't be that surprising. Mav's already managed to sneak in under Jake's considerable defenses, and Jake has no idea how to shore them back up.

"Fuck," he groans, dragging his hands over his face to clear the cobwebs. It doesn't help.

He's still groggy and hungover and way too deep in the goddamn weeds that are his thoughts. From the way Mav had been acting last night, all open and trusting, so fucking earnest with those pretty green eyes of his looking at Jake like he didn't want to look anywhere else. (Even though Jake knows better — he remembers how Mav had gazed at Rooster yesterday. And Jake is never going to get that, not where Mav means it.)

Fuck, Rooster. The fly in his ointment, the grind in his gears, most of the reason Jake hadn't been able to sleep. The things Rooster'd told him during their call keep circling in his head, picking at his brain like buzzards going after roadkill. All but giving his blessing for Mav and Jake to really get together. Hinting that maybe Mav hasn't been blowing smoke up Jake's skirt this whole time, that this whole thing could be — that they could be —

HIs phone buzzes beside him on the small side table. He swipes at it, sees a text from Javy.

You good? How're you holding up?

Jake frowns at the screen. How is he. That's a loaded question. He wants to text back that he's fine, five by five, nothing to report. But he's never lied to Javy, not once in all the years they've known each other, and he's not about to let anyone — not even Mav — break that streak.

Hanging in there, he finally types. It's technically not even a lie. Jake is hanging in and hanging on as tight as he can, even though it feels like someone or something keeps greasing the pole just as he reaches the top.

You need out?

Jake rolls his eyes. No and stop asking

You know where I am if you need anything

I do but I don't

He knows Javy will understand exactly what he means. Javy may have protective older brother syndrome, for all that they're the same age, but Javy also knows when to back off and let Jake be. And Javy, bless him, just replies with a thumbs up emoji.

There's coffee in the pot when Jake finally hauls his sorry ass out of bed, and Jake drinks the first cup leaning against the small counter, looking around the Airstream again, taking in all the little details he hadn't yesterday. For all that everything's neat and squared away, the place has a lived-in quality to it that feels homey. Familiar. Safe.

He thinks back to their talk from last night, about Mav's background and upbringing, how he'd never had the chance Jake'd had to settle down, and call anything his own. He thinks about how transient the life of a fighter pilot is, bouncing from carrier to carrier, post to post, always in the air or on the move. And yet, somehow, in the chaos that has been Pete Maverick Mitchell's entire existence, he'd managed to build himself a home. A quiet space to just be, without any outside expectations demanding attention or compliance or that he sacrifice another piece of himself for the greater good. After decades of pushing himself to the limits in the sky, Mav had created a soft place to land.

He'd managed to do for himself what the Machados had done for Jake.

Shit, no wonder Rooster had been so surprised that Mav would want to bring Jake here. Mav's just as good as shown his soft underbelly, and trusted Jake — of all fucking people — not to slice him open. But then, Mav's got that reckless streak for a reason.

No, Jake thinks, not reckless. Calculated. Mav's too smart not to have assessed every possible outcome. He'd known exactly what he was doing, bringing Jake here, giving him a glimpse of what could be. Dangling a possible future on a string, and knowing Jake well enough to know he'd be tempted to take the bait.

This whole time, Mav's been treating this weekend like he would a hop or a mission — and damned if the slick bastard hasn't gotten tone on Jake just like he had during maneuvers.

Jake scowls at the dregs of his coffee, then resolutely pours himself another cup, and heads out in search of Mav. There's no sign of him in the hangar, but the doors are wide open, so Jake steps outside and takes a deep, cleansing breath.

Only to lose it a second later when he sees Mav.

Mav, who has a yoga mat laid out on the tarmac and is going through the warrior poses, moving through them so smoothly it looks like poetry in motion. Mav, who is once again shirtless, sweat glistening over his tightly muscled chest and trailing along the cut of his abs down to the wiry, dark hairs disappearing under the waistband of very short running shorts. Mav, who is — Jesus, Mary, and Joseph — now in downward dog and showcasing a peach of an ass and thighs that should be immortalized in song.

Jake bites back the moan gurgling in his throat. He's so hard he's light-headed. And he can't even call Mav out for it (not that he could form words right now if he tried) — there's nothing inherently seductive about working out or yoga. Except, apparently, when it's Mav doing it. Except for Jake's greedy imagination, wondering how flexible Mav is, and what kind of stamina he might have.

He watches, coffee mug forgotten in his hands, as he fights to keep from swallowing his tongue. Watches Mav go through his vinyasa, his breathing deep and even, so at ease in his body and his space. The sight is a thing of beauty, one Jake wouldn't mind seeing a lot more often.

You could have this.

The small voice in his head — and fuck, it sounds like Mav (it sounds like Rooster) — taunts him with possibility. With that glimmering version of a future that includes him being welcome here whenever he wants. Getting to sleep in that soft-looking bed in the Airstream, Mav curled between him and Rooster. Mav as their fulcrum, keeping both of them balanced. And Rooster and Jake acting as a fixed point for Mav, to give him a reason to touch ground. All three of them keeping each other in check, looking out for each other, flying together and testing their limits up in the skies during the day, and then Rooster and Jake taking turns testing Mav's limits between the sheets at night.

Jake and Mav coming out here on the weekends to work on Mav's projects, Mav teaching Jake more about how to cook. Both of them making fun of Rooster's terrible singing. All three of them playing rock-paper-scissors the way he and Javy used to do over whose turn it is to take out the trash...

That would be quite the life.

If only Jake could trust it.

Mav finishes in cobbler's pose, and blinks his eyes open slowly, like he's just waking up. He squints against the sun, his lips curving up when he catches sight of Jake. "Good morning. How'd you sleep?"

He sounds like sex and sin, and also like security and home. Like everything Jake's never even allowed himself to want. Everything he's convinced himself he never even needed.

Jake ruthlessly tamps down the longing and the ache, conjures some of that iron will (stubborn bullheadedness, as Javy would call it) and takes a slow, deliberate sip of coffee to give himself a minute to come back online. "Uh, fine," he lies. "You?"

"I always sleep great when I'm out here." Mav rises to his feet, grabbing the bottle of water by the mat on the way. "Something about the fresh air, I guess."

Jake jerks his gaze away from the sweat droplets clinging to Mav's shoulders and collarbones. "Uh..." He searches for a safe topic. "Thanks for saving me some coffee."

Mav takes a big gulp of water and rakes a hand through his hair. "Can't say I do as good a job with it as Bradley does, but it's decent enough."

Jake laughs, relaxing at the safe topic. "Yeah, he is a bit of a princess about it. Did you know he takes his French press with him on deployment?"

"No, I did not," Mav chuckles. "But I can't say I'm surprised." He rolls up the mat, and hefts it under his arm. "You mind waiting for breakfast? I'd like to shower first."

"I'll make it," Jake offers, with a shrug. "Even I can't fuck up eggs and bacon."

"Okay." A soft look comes over Mav's face. "I'd like that."

"Cool." Jake pastes on a smile. "I'll be right in. Wanna enjoy the breeze before it gets too hot."

Mav nods and heads inside, leaving Jake mercifully alone. He stands right where he is, sipping on his lukewarm coffee, and tries not to think about Mav under the showerhead, water sluicing over his body. About how easy it would be to follow Mav inside, to crowd him up against the tiles and —

"Get your fucking shit together, Seresin," he admonishes himself, shaking his head to clear his thoughts.

But it's a long few minutes before he can trust himself to move.

***

"So, what's on your agenda for today?" Jake asks, after they'd eaten and Mav had taken him on a tour around the property. All morning, his hands have itched for something to do, for some task, anything at all to keep his mind and body occupied. Anything to keep from reaching out to touch Mav, to twine their fingers together the way Mav and Rooster had, and pretend that it would mean the same thing.

Right now, he'd be willing to do whatever it took to keep from thinking about the hours slipping by, every minute taking him closer to victory, but also signaling the end to his time here with Mav.

Never has winning felt so much like losing.

Mav takes in the hangar, looking like the best sort of temptation in his worn blue jeans and a form-fitting white t-shirt, his strong profile etched in the light from the open doors. "Well, the original plan for the day was for me and Bradley to work on cleaning the fuel lines for the Mustang," he comments. "Is that something you're interested in helping with?"

Jake wants to get his mitts on the plane more than anything. He's dying to open her up and see what makes her tick, see all the hard work Mav's poured into her, and ask all the questions that have been in the back of his head since yesterday. But working on the Mustang is something Mav had wanted to do with Rooster, not Jake. And Jake's not interested in being the runner-up.

Which is, he knows, the entire goddamn problem.

"I think I'll leave that for the two of you," he drawls, intentionally keeping his voice light. Everything copacetic, no need to dig any deeper. "But you can tell me about her, if you want. How'd she fall into your lap?"

"Oh, well." Mav strolls over to the P-51's wing, trailing light fingers along one of the flaps. "Slider was the one who found her."

"Iceman's RIO?" Jake asks, recalling Mav's stories from yesterday.

"The one and only," Mav confirms. "I'd been talking for years about wanting to restore an old fighter bomber, preferably with the Packard V-1650-7 engine. Which, I think we all agree, is the standard." He turns to Jake, all enthusiasm and energy, his eyes shining bright, laugh lines standing in sharp relief against his skin. "Anyway, Slider saw her in a junkyard out near Tucson, and kept an eye on her for me until I was able to come stateside and see her myself. And, man, she was in rough shape. But I could tell she wanted to fly again. I could feel it. So I needed to find a place to store her where I could take my time working on her."

"You bought this entire hangar for a single plane?" Jake grins, charmed once again in spite of himself. Somehow, it doesn't surprise him in the slightest. Hell, he can't think of a more Mav-like move.

Mav nods, sheepish. "I guess I did."

"You really are something else," Jake marvels, watching every animated gesture, the way Mav's face just lights up. The way Mav lights Jake up inside, how being around Mav makes Jake feel more alive than he can ever remember feeling. Jake wants to stop the clock right now, just to bask in that smile and Mav's attention and the way Mav is still looking at him, like Jake is all he wants to see.

"I'm hoping that's not an insult," Mav replies, with a wealth of affection in his voice.

"You know it's not."

Mav gives him a quick wink. "Nothing in the rules says I can't fish for the odd compliment."

And just like that, Jake crashes back to earth. The goddamn bet again. The entire reason he can't trust Mav, even with every particle of his body desperate to do just that. No matter what Mav says or what Rooster says, none of this is real. It's a goddamn mirage, smoke and mirrors, and no amount of wishful thinking will fix the fundamental problem that's been there from the start. Mav is never going to choose Jake, and that is all she wrote.

"...Jake, are you okay?"

"Hmm?" Jake belatedly realizes that he hasn't heard a single word Mav's said. "Uh, yeah, I'm fine." He even forces a smile to sell it.

Mav presses his lips together, his brows drawn and tight. "No, I don't think you are."

"What, you think you know me better than I know me now?" Jake bristles, frowning when Mav just keeps standing there, not moving.

"I know you enough to know you're lying to me," Mav replies, and Jake's not sure what the hell is happening, but he knows — with that gut instinct that's carried him through so many missions — that this, whatever this is, isn't something he can't deflect with a quip or a smarmy grin.

"Just tell me what you want. Tell me what I need to do." Mav is speaking so slowly, like he's explaining a math equation to a child. His gaze bores into Jake's with all the force of an F-18 catapulting off a carrier.

"For...what?"

"To get you to believe me," Mav clarifies, which doesn't do shit to clear anything up. "The only way this is going to work is if you trust me enough to let me in the way I'm letting you in."

"Jesus Christ, you can't just keep saying shit like that, alright, it's..." Jake stops and exhales, quick and sharp. His entire body is as taut as a bowstring, ready to let fly. He's going to stroke out right here in this stupid hangar that he doesn't want to leave, because it'll mean leaving Mav, and it's right then — with the desert breeze carrying in the scent of baked earth and the sun bouncing off the metal walls like a disco ball — that Jake finally realizes he's been fucked from the start.

Forget tornadoes, hurricanes, earthquakes, floods — that's all amateur hour compared to the storm brewing inside of him. It feels like every part of his soul has been stripped down to base parts, every molecule of his being exposed like live wires in a thunderstorm. The hairs on his arms stand on end, his limbs are shaking, and he's just...he is —

Fuck it. If Mav wants the goddamn truth, Jake will give him the truth.

"Okay, fine, you know what I need from you?" he asks, his voice hard. "I need to know that this —" He flaps his hand between them. "— this goddamn distance has been fucking you up as much as it is me. I need to know that you...that this is...that we're —"

He stops. Forces the next breath out before it can choke him. His thoughts are as twisted as a weather vane in high winds.

All of his bravado, all of his swagger, that cockiness that has carried him through life, none of it means shit right now. Every line of defense, every shield, every barrier he'd built around himself is crumbling at his feet, the ground shifting under him without warning, and he hates it, he hates it, he fucking hates it, and Mav, for making him feel so goddamn much.

"Hey." Mav steps closer, their feet almost touching. "It's okay. I wasn't trying to start a fight. I'm sorry."

"You're sorry," Jake repeats, searching Mav's gaze for...for a sign. For anything.

Mav lifts a hand, cups the air around Jake's jaw, so close Jake can feel the heat of his palm. So goddamn close, yet still keeping that crucial bit of space between them. Still honoring the terms of the stupid, stupid bet. "Why don't I start?" Mav says, lowering his hand back to his side. "Can I tell you what I've been thinking since yesterday morning when I saw you at the diner?"

Jake's afraid to move. He wets his lips, clears his throat. "Yes," he whispers, his heart — his soul — at the top of a roller coaster. Just waiting for the drop.

"I think you're amazing," Mav says, smiling that deep-creased, dimpled smile that makes Jake weak at the knees. The one Jake had fallen for the first time he'd seen it months ago, back at The Hard Deck. "You don't suffer fools or mediocrity, and you fly like the wind, like you're daring anyone to keep up with you. And I love that chase. I love knowing I've got to stay on my toes, that you give me a challenge every time we're up in the air. I love knowing that I have to bring my A-game and that you expect it of me. Keeping up with you is a privilege."

His gaze roams over Jake's face, drops to Jake's lips and then his throat, before he meets Jake's eyes again, so much sincerity shining from those green depths that Jake thinks he might drown in them. "I think you're brilliant and funny as hell. You make me laugh and you make me think and every time I talk to you, I don't want the conversation to end. I think you're resilient and tough as nails —"

"Mav, please, please don't —" Jake blurts out, the words torn from deep inside him. He's not ready, he can't do this, he's let Mav in too far already, any more and he'll be lost —

"I think you're beautiful, Jake. All of you, inside and out," Mav continues, relentless, Jake's personal Jericho, tearing down every remaining wall with nothing more than his voice. "That day we played dogfight football on the beach, it was a miracle I could even keep my head in the game. I couldn't stop stealing glances at you. At how luminous you were, how the sun seemed to follow you around. I couldn't stop thinking how gorgeous you looked. I wanted to tackle you to the sand and get my hands all over you."

Which sounds romantic as all shit, except for one not-so-tiny detail that fractures the fantasy into a thousand shards.

"Be honest, you were looking at Rooster, too," Jake says, lifting his chin and daring Mav to contradict him. "You can't tell me you saw me, Mav, not if you have — you made your choice already. And it wasn't me. It was never going to be me."

At the end of the day, Jake's already lost. And they both know it.

"Of course I saw him," Mav replies, so quiet the words barely stir the air between them. "But it's never been about choosing between you two. I saw you from the start. And I still see you. All of you. And I want every part that I see, even the arrogant and angry and hurting parts. Maybe even especially those. And I want you to see me the same way. I want to show you all of my broken parts — my guilt, my regret, my need to push things further — because I think our parts fit together."

Mav's words from yesterday come back to him, echoing throughout his mind: But having someone in your corner — someone who cares about you and sees you, sees into you, and still chooses you?...That's what I think I can be for you. If you let me.

If Jake lets him. Like he's ever had a choice.

Jake's eyes start to prickle. He blinks back the tears, shoring up his control as best he can. "If you're gonna break my heart, Mav, do it now, okay," he pleads, voice cracking. "I've been burned before and I don't...I really don't think I could take it if you strung me along."

"I can't promise I won't," Mav murmurs, and the look in his eyes is unguarded, so open Jake can read every emotion, can see right into Mav's center. And what Jake sees rocks him to his core.

"I might break your heart and you might break mine," Mav says, and he sounds so serious, like he's got a Bible under one hand and reciting an oath. "But I swear to you right now, I will cherish every moment you give me, every part of yourself you want to share. Even if it's just friendship, even if it's one night. I want you, however you choose to share yourself with me. And I will never take the gift that is you for granted."

With a wounded, desperate noise, Jake closes the distance between them.

***

Chapter Text

He stumbles forward, drawn towards Mav's light like a moth to a flame — damning himself to burn, but unable to make himself stop. But when Mav reaches out to catch him, Jake abruptly recoils like he's been shot. He can't, he can't, he —

"Don't touch me. Don't —" He jerks back, tripping over his feet in an effort to put some distance between them.

"Okay." Mav lifts his hands up in a placating gesture. "It's okay. You're okay."

"Don't." He swipes at his eyes, furious at the weakness. Furious at himself, for letting Mav see just how broken he is. "Don't you fucking say that." Every word is brittle and sharp, cuts through the air like shards of broken glass. "Don't you dare tell me this is okay."

"It's the truth," Mav tells him, gentle and patient. A still point in the storm that's raging all around Jake, a bright beacon calling him to shore. "It's okay, Jake. You're safe."

"Safe?" Jake repeats. "What does that even mean?"

"It means just that." Mav doesn't move, but somehow, he feels a lot closer. "You're safe. I promise. I know you feel cornered, I know you feel trapped, but I swear to you, you're safe here."

"Mav," he gasps, shaking and shaken, not even sure what he needs or even why he's crying, but just as certain that Mav means what he's saying. "Mav, I —"

He pitches forward again and this time, Mav catches him easily, those strong arms finally closing around him, promising comfort and security — and the sob that has been building up all morning — hell, since Friday night when Mav had left Jake alone at the table after his bait-and-switch — finally breaks free.

He can't breathe. He's suffocating, his vision a blur, tears falling thick and fast, soaking through Mav's shirt as he presses his face into the crook of Mav's neck. Inhales Mav's scent, woodsy and clean and sharp, as he clings to Mav's shoulders and tries to make himself smaller. Tries to get even closer. If he could crawl inside Mav, he'd do it in a heartbeat.

"Shh, it's okay, sweetheart, I've got you, I'm here," Mav croons, repeats himself over and over, the words a balm, a lighthouse in the crashing tumult of Jake's thoughts.

There's a small, horrified voice in his head begging him to move. Begging him to leave, to shore himself back up, to brick that wall up around himself and protect himself from the inevitable heartbreak. He wants to be angry or resentful, wants to lash out and hurt Mav just to watch him bleed. But he can't summon the energy. Maybe Mav really is a siren calling him to his doom, but fuck, the song he's singing is so sweet Jake can't seem to care that he's going to smash himself to pieces on the rocks.

If this is his end, fine. He'll meet it with his eyes wide open.

He loses track of time, has no idea how long they stand fused together with Mav rocking Jake in place, murmuring in his ear, as Jake falls the fuck apart. He can't stop crying, the valve damming up all of his feelings, every pent-up emotion he'd tried so hard to ignore, bursting wide open and flooding his entire system. It's like the tears are lancing an infected wound, drawing out the poison that had filled his veins for as long as he could remember.

Through it all, Mav presses kisses to Jake's hair and forehead, sweeps his hands across Jake's back. Each touch, each caress, a reassurance and a promise, soothing all of Jake's raw and exposed nerves, gluing together his broken pieces into something new. Still damaged, but somehow stronger than before.

He shudders, hiccuping, as the tears slow to a trickle. His head feels clogged, his limbs heavy, every breath thick and wet. Vaguely, he's aware that Mav is shuffling them across the floor, but it doesn't seem important. Mav is still holding him close and Jake concentrates on that, on Mav's arms around him, until Mav lowers himself to the sofa and pulls Jake down with him.

"C'mon, get comfortable," Mav urges, and Jake obeys on autopilot, curling against Mav's side, dropping his head to Mav's chest so he can hear the steady beating of Mav's heart.

They sit in silence as Mav gently strokes Jake's hair. Jake feels a little like a cat being petted, but it doesn't stop him from arching into the touch, savoring the feeling of warmth and clear affection. Gradually, his breathing slows, his body relaxing into the cushions.

"Better?" Mav quietly asks, after a long stretch of quiet.

Jake takes stock of himself, and nods. Shaky, but he means it. "Yeah," he rasps, wincing at how hoarse he sounds. He wants to apologize, even though he has no idea why, or even what he'd say if he tried.

"Can you look at me?"

Jake squeezes his eyes shut; the urge to shake his head no like he's a child is a strong one. He's never been a coward, but somehow, facing Mav feels like a bridge too far. What if he sees...what if he doesn't see —? What if this is just Mav taking pity on him?

(But what if it's not?)

He bites the bullet and glances up, meeting the warm green of Mav's gaze. Mav rewards him by placing a kiss to his forehead, his lips dry but soothing. Then he brushes the last few tears from Jake's eyes, and smiles.

"You don't owe me anything, but that felt like it was a long time coming."

Jake snorts, the laugh watery. "Y'think?"

"If you'd like to talk about it, I'm here," Mav offers.

He doesn't, but he does. He wants to shield himself, but he's dying to talk. "It's a long story," he finally says, then huffs out a breath. "It's not even a good story. Shit, it's the most derivative story in the books — boy meets the wrong boy, boy falls hard for the wrong boy and the wrong boy...well, let's just say it didn't end well and leave it there."

"Okay," Mav says, hugging him close. "Thank you for trusting me."

"I barely told you anything," Jake points out. "Fuck, people get their hearts ripped open every day, and they don't let it —" He furiously wipes his eyes. "You've got to think I'm the biggest —"

"All of you, remember. Especially the broken parts." Mav's gaze feels like it holds all of the compassion and empathy in the whole fucking world.

"How are you so okay with this?" What the hell was his secret?

"Do you mind if I tell you a story?"

Jake shakes his head. It feels only fair.

Mav settles back on the sofa, bringing Jake with him. "Mine's not particularly pretty, either. I sabotaged — or tried to — every good thing I had. The second someone got too close, dug too deep, started to get to know the real me, I sped away as fast as I could," Mav says, speaking quietly into Jake's hair. "And it took me years — a lot of fucking years — to break that cycle."

Jake lifts his head. "What did?"

"It wasn't any one thing in particular," Mav replies, with a small shrug. "But Ice never let me push him away, and Penny kept coming back, and after Carole died and Bradley kicked me out of his life...I just got tired of running."

"Me too," Jake admits, throat working. Spilling out his last jealously guarded secret.

Mav rewards him with a smile that seems to light all of the corners of the hanger with its brilliance. "I meant everything I told you earlier, you know. Every word. The only lie I ever told you was that Bradley was the most important person in my life when I already knew that you were just as important."

Jake shakes his head. "You can't mean that."

"I can and I do." The kiss Mav places between Jake's brows feels like an affirmation. "I knew from the moment we met that you were going to change my life for the better, and I was right."

Jake swallows down the butterflies in his throat. Gives himself permission to imagine, just for a moment, that this can work. "Walk me through it."

Mav laces their fingers together and squeezes, his other arm still wrapped firm around Jake's shoulders. Still holding him close, keeping him safe. "I was honest with you the other night in the bar when I told you I've been wanting this. Wanting you. Wanting us," he says, softly. "I used that bet on Friday night as an excuse to see if you were still interested in me the way I was in you."

Jake groans. He's not sure if he should be charmed by Mav's honesty, annoyed at his actions, or some mix of both. He has a feeling that's a normal reaction where Mav is concerned. "You couldn't just let me know you were into me like a normal person?"

"Would you have believed me if I had?" Mav asks.

"Probably not," Jake confesses, because Mav has a point. "Especially if you told me about you and Rooster being together."

Mav brushes a light kiss to each of Jake's eyelids. "It's not a competition, you know."

Jake's heart flutters even as he gives Mav a knowing look. "I hate to tell you this, but it's always going to be a competition where me and him are concerned."

Mav lets out a laugh that rumbles through Jake like a promise. "You know what I mean."

"I do," Jake replies, rubbing his thumb along the thin skin of Mav's wrist. Marveling at the fact that he gets to touch now. "So, your end goal is what? Me and Rooster taking turns, he's got you odd days, I've got you even, we trade off every other Sunday?"

Hell, he may be as proud as it gets, but that pride hasn't gotten him anywhere. And he wants the warmth of Mav's touch a hell of a lot more than he wants the cold comfort of being right. They'll figure it out.

"I was kind of hoping it would be all three of us together," Mav says, shrugging. "Of course, we'd have time alone with each other, but...I want both of you. Equally."

Equally. Huh. Mav makes it sound so easy, when Jake knows it's anything but.

"I don't know that we'll ever be equal, Mav," Jake replies, and he tries to say it gently, but it's more wistful than anything else. He knows where he stands, and it's on the outside of their little bubble looking in. Always has been. "You two have a lot of history together."

"Most of my history with him isn't great," Mav reminds him, with a wry smile.

"Yeah, well, welcome to the club," Jake replies, rolling his eyes.

"The point is, you and me, what we have is different." Mav's gaze is so gentle, so filled with affection and that endless, freely offered warmth that Jake finds himself ensnared all over again. "But it's no less important in my eyes. You see me in a way he never will, and we understand each other in ways that he'll never get. And that has a weight to it that means just as much. We can build our own foundation."

Their own foundation. Jake won't lie, that's got a nice ring to it. "Sounds real nice, but I wouldn't even know where to start," he confesses.

Mav chuckles, but it's an indulgent sound. Fond. "Sweetheart, we've already started. What did you think this weekend was about?"

Jake frowns. "Winning the bet?"

"I've told you more than once that I didn't care about who won or lost this bet." Mav squeezes their fingers. "I brought you here to share me — and I wanted you to share you. And our time together has been everything I wanted."

"I believe you." It's impossible not to. If this is Mav stringing Jake along, then he's doing a masterful job of it. But Jake doesn't think that's what this is.

Trust your instincts, Rooster had told him. Maybe it's time he listens.

"I'd like to take you out this week, just the two of us," Mav says, giving him a sort of open, fond look that makes Jake want to crawl out of his skin. It's the exact way Mav had looked at Rooster yesterday. The way, Jake realizes, Mav's been looking at him the entire time they've known each other. Like Jake — impossibly — is the center of Mav's universe.

(Is it possible for a person to have two centers? If it's Mav, the answer is probably yes. He does thrive on doing the unexpected and making it work.)

"You mean like a date?" Jake asks. "Not me cooking for you on Friday to settle up my favor?"

"No, I want that, too. I want to try your pretty damn good red beans and rice for a white guy from Texas." Mav smiles as he repeats Jake's words from yesterday back to him. Subtly proving his point that he'd listened to Jake. "But yes, I'd also like to take you on a date. Many dates. As many as you let me."

Jake laughs, nosing in to place a kiss to the steadily beating pulse at Mav's neck. "You know you don't have to — you've already got me."

Hell, if Jake's being honest, Mav'd had him back at the start, from the moment Jake had seen him sitting at The Hard Deck seven months ago, looking eighty shades of fine and fit in his leather jacket and those tight jeans. All he'd been doing since that day had been delaying the inevitable.

"You deserve more," Mav tells him, soft and serious. "And maybe I want to show you off. Maybe I want the whole world to see how lucky I am that you chose me."

A blush creeps across Jake's cheeks. How could anyone resist this guy? How had Jake deluded himself into thinking he could be the exception? Fuck, no wonder Rooster had sounded so cocky and confident yesterday.

"You always been this much of a smooth talker?" he asks, certain he's staring at Mav like some dumbstruck idiot, but unable to bring himself to care. If Mav still wants him after he's cried all over the man's shirt and shown what a broken, bleeding mess of a person he is, then who the hell is Jake to tell him he's making a mistake.

"Far from it." Mav shakes his head, ruefully. "I've crashed and burned a lot in my lifetime."

"If you say so," Jake replies, skeptical. "The answer's yes, by the way. To the date, to you, to this...whatever the hell it is."

He may regret it tomorrow or the next day, but saying it right now — taking that leap — feels right. Like this is where he was always meant to be.

Because letting someone in is chaos; people are cruel and capricious, mean and petty and jealous, and they'll cut you down just to watch you bleed. And God knows Jake's met more than his fair share of that kind of person in his life. Hell, he's been that sort of asshole, just to watch things around him burn. Just to feel some sort of control about the world.

But there are also people who bring you joy and beauty and light, who offer safety and comfort and true companionship. And when you find that person who can rip you open and strip you down while also building you back up and making you better, what does it matter if there's someone else already in the picture?

Maybe Mav truly can be Rooster's and Jake's. And maybe, for the first time, Jake is ready to believe that Mav means what he's saying.

Mav smiles that gorgeous dimpled smile, like he's reading Jake's thoughts, and frames Jake's face in his hands. "I've already told you. What I want is us," he says. "Whatever you want to give me, however I can have you. But I should warn you now, I'm probably going to keep testing the limits."

Jake swallows against the heat in Mav's gaze. He wants, the jolt of it shocking his body into full awareness. He didn't think the swelling in his chest could get larger, but it seems to spread to his fingers and toes and all parts between, his joy a palpable rhythm. "You wouldn't be you if you didn't."

They lean in as one, and this kiss feels like the first time Jake had strapped himself into a cockpit and catapulted into the air, flinging himself into space and laughing at the sheer joy of it. It feels like the world, for the first time, makes perfect sense.

His lips part, meet the slide of Mav's tongue with his own, and they're clinging together so close Jake can't tell where he ends and where Mav begins. He's soaring, weightless, flying so high he's above the clouds. He clutches Mav's arms, runs them along his back, desperate for more, yearning for skin on skin.

"Can I take you to bed?" Mav's question is breathless as they keep coming back together over and over, neither one wanting to spend even a second apart.

"Yes," Jake answers, then dives back in for another kiss. Breathes Mav in like oxygen. "Anything you want."

***

Chapter Text

They lurch to their feet, mouths fused together, hands racing over every inch of skin they can find. Mav pushes Jake backwards, and Jake rolls with it, trusting Mav to get them where they need to go. They trip over the bottom step leading into the Airstream, and Jake bangs his elbow against the door before they can get it wrenched open, but they finally manage to make it down the narrow hallway and — hallelujah — into the bedroom.

Mav pauses with his hands on the hem of Jake's shirt. "You sure about this?" he asks. "It's okay if you want to take it slow."

The concern would be sweet if Jake wasn't about two seconds from nutting in his shorts like a virgin seeing a pair of tits for the first time.

Jake yanks Mav to him to get right back at that addictive mouth. Suckles on that clever tongue until Mav all but melts in his arms. "The answer is fuck and yes, in that order," he states, and tears his shirt off himself just to drive the point home.

"Christ, look at you," Mav murmurs; he sounds dumbstruck. His hands trace Jake's shoulders, meander down his chest, draw feather-light lines across the ridges of his abs, and part the hairs of his treasure trail, leaving tiny goosebumps in his wake.

Jake shivers into the contact, basking in the sheer want in Mav's gaze. In knowing he's the one putting that look on Mav's face. "Your turn," he says, and drags Mav's shirt up and over his head, tossing it out of sight.

"Fuck." The word is punched out of him, all of his breath leaving his lungs in one sharp exhale. "How are you real?"

It feels like he's truly seeing Mav for the first time — and maybe he is, in a way. Maybe they both are.

Every inch of Mav's frame is honed for optimal function — not perfect, but something far sexier. He's compact, but solid, muscled but not inhumanly chiseled. Japanese steel surrounded by soft flesh. It's a body built for a purpose, for being able to sustain all the Gs required to pilot a fighter jet and wrestle over sixteen tons of metal into submission.

Jake's mouth waters, eager to start feasting. Eager to push Mav to the horizon, then beyond.

Mav nudges Jake onto the bed, then crawls over him, dropping his elbows on either side of Jake's head. Their chests brush together, heat on heat, skin on skin, and Jake wants to weep anew at how goddamn good it feels. He lifts his head, fits their mouths together, wanting more, wanting everything.

Lightning skitters along his spine, races through his veins. Everywhere they touch burns electric, a current of energy passing between them in a never-ending feedback loop of pleasure. Then Mav moves lower, leaving a trail of fire as his lips traverse the hollow of Jake's throat, down his sternum and stomach, nuzzling at the hairs just above the waistline of his shorts. It's more than passion, more than mere desire — Jake feels worshipped. Adored. Like his pleasure is the most important thing in Mav's world.

It's a heady sensation, more powerful than a thousand sweet words or promises. This is Mav in action, doing what he does best.

He lifts his hips when Mav drags his shorts and underwear down his legs, and kicks them off impatiently. Mav closes clever fingers around Jake's length, stroking upward, the grip firm and possessive. "Knew your dick would be as pretty as the rest of you," Mav states, bending his head to lick at the head, tongue lapping at the precome leaking from the slit.

Jake's entire body bows off the bed, flailing hands grasping Mav's shoulders and hanging on for dear life. Mav smiles up at him, wicked now, so gorgeous he's incandescent. A sun shining his light for Jake alone. Then Mav skims his lips across Jake's groin to his iliac crest, mouthing at the groove. "I could build an altar to your hip bones, I swear," he murmurs, sucking a reddened bruise onto needy skin, a brand Jake knows he'll cherish long after the mark has faded.

The first, he hopes, of many.

He arches into the stroke of Mav's fist, into the mouth driving him wild. "You're welcome to...um...worship them whenever..." He trails off, gasping again when Mav's teeth rake down the inside of his thigh. They've barely gotten started and already he's about ready to go off like a rocket.

Mav peppers kisses all along his calves and ankles, then stands, making quick work of stripping out of his jeans and boxer-briefs — and Jesus fuck, Jake is the luckiest person alive.

"Goddamn, Pops, you've been packing that the entire time?" he breathes, blinking in awe. How did Rooster ever let Mav out of bed? Because Jake will not be making that mistake.

Mav curls a loose fist around his very impressive width. Jake wants it down his throat or in his ass as soon as humanly possible. Forget foreplay — they've had months of it.

"How do you want me?" Mav asks, smiling down at Jake, seduction manifesting itself into human form.

"In every way I can, and a few more ways we'll invent," Jake tells him, then beckons Mav to him. "Get the fuck down here already."

"Yessir, anything you say, sir." Mav salutes, grinning that cocky grin of his (and, honestly, no wonder he's got arrogance in spades with a dick that big) as he drapes himself over Jake. Their mouths meet again, carnal and filthy-hot, tongues rubbing together and mirroring the way the rest of their bodies are touching, straining towards each other like they'll never get close enough.

Jake slides his hands down the wide expanse of Mav's back, cupping two handfuls of that perfect peach of an ass, grinding their dicks together. "Wanna fuck you so bad..." he moans, so desperate he's shaking.

Mav reaches towards the bedside table, opens a drawer, and drops a small bottle of lube and a condom packet on Jake's chest. His spine rolls like liquid as he straightens, once again reminding Jake of a siren rising from the waves.

"Then fuck me." His eyes glitter, dangerous and beguiling. All but daring Jake to take what's his.

Jake lets his gaze linger, slowly trailing down Mav's incredible body, stopping at the proud curve of his cock. "As long as you return the favor later."

Mav picks up the bottle, drizzling a generous amount of lube on his fingers. "Whenever you want, as much as you want. I'm all yours." His eyelashes flutter as he reaches behind himself, pushes two fingers in at once, moaning as he breaches the first ring of muscle.

"Damn," Jake breathes, wishing there was a mirror or something so he could watch Mav prep himself for Jake's cock. But the view he's got is just as alluring, Mav's skin blushing a pretty pink across his cheeks that's spreading down past his clavicle to his chest, his nipples pebble-hard and begging for Jake's mouth.

He sits up, taking one nub between his teeth, tugging gently as Mav gasps above him, his motions faltering. "Keep going," Jake encourages, before he starts suckling, alternating between both nipples, laving each one with all of the attention and care they so richly deserve.

Mav rips open the condom and makes quick work of rolling it down Jake's cock. Then slick fingers close around him, stroking up, smearing lube along his length, before guiding Jake to his entrance and sinking down. They both groan as one, Jake panting harsh breaths against Mav's neck to keep himself in check and still as Mav slowly, slowly lowers himself until he's fully seated.

Jake's heart hammers, then stops. He stares up at Mav in breathless wonder, into that bright gaze, both of them looking at each other, into each other, no barriers, no walls.

"Fuck, you feel so...how are you..." He falters, speech failing him, as Mav tips his head back, exposing the long column of his throat. Gives up on words as a lost cause entirely when Mav rotates his hips, somehow, impossibly, taking Jake even deeper.

"C'mon, love, move with me," Mav instructs, rising then lowering, as sleek and powerful as a missile, homing in on every one of Jake's nerve endings as tiny pulses of pleasure spread out from his center to his fingers and toes and all points between.

They move in unison, Jake clinging to Mav's back, matching Mav stroke for stroke. Both of them giving in and taking control at the same time, as Mav rides him, taking Jake apart at the seams and stitching him back together in Mav's image. Fucking him until there's nothing in Jake's world except Mav and more and yes.

"That's it, there you go," Mav murmurs, lips parting on a sigh as he circles his hips and starts moving faster. "Knew you'd be good for me, knew you'd be perfect. Knew once I had you like this I'd never want to let you go." The praise falls so easily from his lips and Jake drinks it in like ambrosia, like a man in the desert finally reaching an oasis. He drives up, drives in, tipping them both from bliss and right into greed. Mav feels like a furnace around him, so hot Jake's skin sizzles at every point of contact.

"That's it, keep moving." Mav bites Jake's lower lip, breathes the next words into Jake's mouth. "You feel so good inside me, baby. Wanna keep you just like this."

Jake just groans in answer and picks up the pace. They crash together, their kisses hard now, demanding more, demanding everything. Sweat-slick arms wrap around Jake's neck as Mav drops down and rises up, barely giving Jake time to gasp a breath before taking him higher, then higher still.

And yet, his orgasm still takes him by surprise.

One second, he's riding the crest, and the next, his vision whites out, his entire body going taut, then splintering as wave after wave washes over him. He slumps to the sheets, panting like he's run a goddamn marathon, arms falling uselessly to his sides. "Holy shit."

His bones feel like liquid metal. Even lifting his head feels like a herculean task. He gestures uselessly at Mav, who's still sitting on his lap, rock hard and probably waiting for Jake to get with the program and return the favor. Which he's happy to do — the second he can move again. "Gimme two — maybe five — minutes," he promises, "and I'll take care of you."

Mav brushes their lips together before he slides off of Jake's softening cock, and kneels between his thighs. He ties off Jake's condom, then reaches into the drawer for another one. Jake watches, bleary and wobbly, as Mav rolls the new condom over his own cock, then re-coats his fingers with the lube.

"Stay right where you are," Mav says, then blunt-tipped fingers are sliding smoothly inside Jake's ass, igniting new flames out of the ashes.

His legs, almost like Mav's the one controlling them, spread even wider in invitation. He offers his body to Mav on a platter as Mav gets him ready, twisting and moving just so. "Fuck," Jake pants, tilting his hips up, another offering.

"That's the idea," Mav replies, and captures Jake's mouth, muffling his next heartfelt groan as he replaces his fingers with his cock and pushes in, claiming Jake completely and entirely.

Tears prick the corners of his eyes. "Mav..." he whispers, staring up into a small, soft smile that bathes him in light, like the first rays of a dawning sun.

"I've got you," Mav promises, kissing Jake deep over and over as he starts to move — and true to his promise, doesn't let go.

***

One summer, after Jake had started living with the Machados, the whole family had taken a summer vacation at this dude ranch in Montana, the first actual vacation Jake had ever been on in his life. He and Javy had taken to the cowboy life like ducks to water, riding every day and caring for the horses, helping herd and brand cattle, sleeping out in the open every night, and hanging with real men. Ones who lived off the land and treated it with both respect and reverence.

It had been, hands down, the best time of Jake's young life.

But there had been one morning — when Jake's horse had spooked at something, a rabbit or snake or maybe just the way the wind had been blowing — and Jake had been thrown clean off his saddle. He'd landed on the ground, stunned and still, the wind and breath knocked out of him, unable to move or speak or do anything other than stare up at the sun and blink.

Right now, lying on sticky sheets with Mav's body draped over his own as he comes down from yet another earth-shattering orgasm, Jake feels just like he did in that moment, staring up at the sun, blinded by its brilliance, every thought in his head jarred into complete and utter stillness.

"I don't think I have any feeling left in my toes," he says, blinking the last of the stars out of his eyes. He may never move again. Not that he wants to. Not when all he needs is right here in his arms. His body feels sore and well-used, but it's a damn good ache. The kind he could get used to.

"Hmm?" Mav lifts his head from Jake's neck; his cheeks are flushed and splotchy-red, his hair a wild mess. He's easily the most beautiful thing Jake's ever seen in his life. "What was that?"

"My toes." Jake wiggles them for good measure, and nope, no feeling whatsoever. "I think you broke me."

Mav huffs out a laugh as he slips out of Jake's body, ties off the condom and tosses it in the trashcan, and slides to his side. "You look perfect to me."

Jake snuggles closer, sighing in contentment when Mav starts stroking his hair. "I'm an idiot."

Mav pauses for a second. "Why do you think that?"

"We could have been doing this the whole weekend, but noooooo, I had to be all stubborn."

Mav gentles his hold, nails scraping along Jake's scalp. Jake resists the urge to start purring. "This weekend was about us getting to know each other," Mav argues, lightly.

"Yeah, I know," Jake admits, smiling up at him. "But admit it, you're kind of disappointed we didn't spent the weekend fucking like bunnies."

"Maybe a little bit," Mav admits, leaning down for a soft, sweet kiss. "But we can make up for lost time."

Jake couldn't agree more. "Mav, if you think I'm letting you out of this bed anytime soon, you're as insane as the Navy brass thinks you are."

"You know..." Mav peers down at him, a little shy. "The other night you mentioned you liked the way Pete sounded."

"Yeah?" Jake can't help the smile that spreads across his face. Hell, at this point, it might be a permanent condition. "Does Rooster ever call you Pete?"

Mav chuckles. "Pretty sure Bradley's forgotten I even have a first name."

"Yeah, that sounds like him." But Jake does like that Pete can be something just for him. For Jake. "You'd really let me call you that sometimes?" he asks, just to be sure.

Not all the time — Mav's still Mav, still a maverick in every sense of the word, still unorthodox and unpredictable. But Jake's seen enough glimpses of Pete Mitchell to know that side of him is just as important as the daredevil pilot.

"I'd let you do anything you want to me, Jake." Mav's gaze is soft, lips curving like a sunrise. "I told you already, I'm yours."

Jake surges up, and crushes their mouths together, pouring everything he can't say into it. Thankfully, it seems to be answer enough.

***

Chapter Text

They're still curled together on the bed, basking in their — if Jake says so himself — very well-deserved afterglow and chatting quietly about everything and nothing, when Jake hears the unmistakable sound of an engine getting closer, then shutting off. He glances at Mav in confusion.

"You expecting anyone?"

Mav shakes his head in answer, then they hear a voice calling out.

"Mav? Jake? Helloooo? Anyone home?"

"Is that...Rooster?" Jake asks, not sure if he's hearing things.

"Sure sounds like him," Mav replies, then calls out: "We'll be out in a second."

They quickly scramble off the bed, and it's a mad dash to find their discarded clothing so they can get redressed and head out of the bedroom. When Mav opens the front door of the Airstream, Rooster is, indeed, waiting in the middle of the hangar, wearing board shorts, a tank top, and flip-flops, his aviators pushed up high on his head. Jake can see the Bronco parked just outside the open bay doors.

Rooster takes one look at both of them — fuck knows what they both must look like (although Jake is sure he looks freshly fucked and every shade of blissed out) and tilts his face up to the ceiling. "Fucking finally," he mutters, as if he's praying to himself.

Mav rakes a hand through his wildly unkempt hair and walks down the steps. "Bradley, what are you doing here?"

Rooster gestures at Jake, who still can't figure out if this is actually happening or if he's asleep and having a weirdly lucid dream. "Well, I was originally coming out to let Hangman off the hook on the bet, but since you two solved that problem for me all on your own, which, thank you for that —" He takes three long strides forward and wraps his arms around Mav like an overly large, gangly octopus, breathing a deep sigh of contentment " — it means I get to do this instead."

Jake watches the whole thing with no small amount of befuddlement. What the hell is even happening right now? "You're telling me you drove five hours to end the bet so you could get cuddles?"

"Not the only reason, no, but yeah, a little bit," Rooster mumbles, sighing again when Mav strokes a hand along his back, even and slow and methodical, like he's calming an excitable dog or something. Which, honestly, Jake thinks that's a pretty good description for Rooster. Maybe he should see about changing his callsign.

"Unreal." He shakes his head. He's not sure if he wants to laugh at the ridiculousness of the entire situation or sympathize with Rooster for driving all the way out to the desert just for one of Mav's hugs. Because he gets it now, he really does. Mav's arms are addictive as hell.

"Shut it, sleeping alone last night was the worst, alright," Rooster complains, like the big baby he is. (Jake doesn't point out that he and Mav had also slept alone last night, and while it had, in fact, been the worst, neither of them are complaining about it.)

"A grateful nation thanks you for your sacrifice," Mav deadpans, echoing Jake's thoughts as he nuzzles a kiss to Rooster's temple.

"That sounds suspiciously like sarcasm there, Mav." Rooster peers at Jake from over Mav's shoulder, his look curious and a little wary. "We good?"

Jake takes a second to think about it, then nods. He'd thought he'd have a lot more complicated feelings at seeing Mav and Rooster cuddled up together all lovey-dovey, but, for all that he's still standing in the doorway of the Airstream, he doesn't feel excluded the way he'd been afraid of. Sure, there's still that odd twinge of jealousy (and maybe that'll never go away), but it's mostly been buried under the fresher memory of the way Mav had felt over him, surrounding him, and moving with him in perfect harmony.

"Yeah," he finally says, "we're good."

He's having more of an issue wrapping his brain around the fact that Rooster is here. That he'd driven out all this way just to release Jake from the bet, presumably because of their call last night. Who the hell is this guy, and what had happened to the annoyingly grating Rooster he'd known and locked horns with for over a decade?

"Sorry if I, uh..." Rooster clears his throat. His shrug is oddly sheepish. "Y'know, if I...interrupted anything."

Mav lets out a low, warm chuckle as he untangles himself from Rooster's embrace. "You didn't."

"Uh huh," Rooster says, gesturing between Jake and Mav with an expression that practically screams out bullshit. "Jake's shirt is inside out and you have epic sex hair, babe. Tell me another one."

Jake glances down at his shirt, and sure enough, Rooster is correct. Oops. He strips it off and sets it to rights over Rooster's low chuckle, but hearing it doesn't elicit the usual feeling of annoyance. It helps that it sounds like Rooster's letting Jake in on the joke, rather than trying to make him the butt of it.

Mav holds out a hand to Jake, his smile inviting, his gaze as warm as the breeze blowing in from outside the hangar doors. "Why are you all the way over there, anyway?"

"Didn't want to interrupt." He fights the urge to squirm under the look. It's one thing to have it directed at him in private, but having Rooster witness it feels too much like being seen.

"You're not interrupting anything," Mav replies, and takes a step closer to Jake, his arm still stretched out. Patient, still so goddamn patient, even when any other person on the planet would have run to the fucking hills. It's no wonder Jake's so gone on him.

Jake flicks his gaze to Rooster, who just shrugs. "What Mav said."

"Yeah, alright," Jake concedes, surrendering to the inevitable, and finally walks down the steps, clasping Mav's palm when he gets close enough. Mav squeezes his fingers and leans in for a kiss that's as gentle as a summer rainfall, and just as cleansing.

"So, tell me something," Rooster says, after Jake and Mav pull apart, both of them staring besottedly at each other.

"Go on," Jake replies, magnanimous. It helps that Mav's still holding his hand.

The grin Rooster levels at him is all smarm and mustache, but somehow, seeing it doesn't make Jake want to punch him. Probably because he's still too mellow from all the orgasms Mav had given him earlier. "How much longer did you two hold out after our call last night?"

Jake frowns. "You know, I'd normally tell you it's none of your business —"

"But since it is my business —"

Jake had hoped he'd have a little more time to shore together the remnants of his pride before having to concede the bet to Rooster, but they're here now, so he may as well get it over with. "What time would you say it was when we got together, Mav?"

Mav shrugs, face scrunching delightfully as he thinks it over. "I wasn't looking at a clock. 10 or 11, maybe?"

"Yeah, that sounds right," Jake replies, then he does the math in his head and groans. "Shit, I can't believe I only lasted 24 hours."

The rest of the group can never hear about how thoroughly he'd lost. His reputation would be in even more shambles than it already is.

"Eh, don't feel bad," Rooster tells him. "From the time Mav and I landed the F-14 until I had my hand down his pants was probably 24 minutes. You lasted way longer than I did."

"Alright, that does make me feel better," Jake replies, slightly mollified. "But I still think Mav cheated a little bit with the yoga he busted out this morning."

Rooster gives Mav a very scandalized look. "You did yoga in front of him? Really?"

Mav lifts both hands in surrender. "In my defense, I thought he was still asleep when I started."

Rooster makes a thoughtful noise. "Skating by on a technicality."

"He's done that to me twice now," Jake observes. Honestly, he should probably be madder about it, but mostly he just admires Mav's skills. Besides, he's still riding the post-sex high, and his brain's a little fried. It's hard to be mad about anything, especially since he'd gotten exactly what he'd wanted in the end.

Mav, for his part, doesn't look particularly repentant. "Rules are made to be skirted around," he says, then turns that soft, private smile Jake loves so much his way. "Although, if we're talking technicalities, you do know you actually won your bet with Rooster, right?"

Jake blinks, flummoxed. "I...what?"

The kiss Mav gives him sizzles through what few brain cells he has left. "Your bet with him was I wouldn't have to touch you to get you into bed. And I was definitely touching you the entire way down the hall," Mav finishes, with a flirty leer that truly should not be charming, and yet, somehow works. Christ, Jake's got it bad.

"Huh." He lets out a small laugh. "You know I never would have caught that, right?"

"You and your sense of fair play." Rooster shakes his head fondly. "Alright, Jake, you won. Congratulations, don't let your ego get even bigger."

"But I didn't win," Jake says, thinking back to yesterday morning and all the terms they'd set. "Because all Mav said was I'd be in your bed by midnight tonight, and he was the one I shook hands with, not you."

"This is way too confusing," Rooster states, throwing his hands up. "Just tell us what your next play is."

"He doesn't have to decide anything right now," Mav says, giving Jake an out — which he appreciates, if only because it means Mav can take his side sometimes — but it isn't one he wants.

He gives Mav a be serious look. "You know damn well I'm still taking the posting at TOPGUN, if that offer is still on the table."

"Of course it is. But you shouldn't feel you have to for my sake," Mav demurs, like getting Jake to join him on a full-time basis hadn't been his goal the entire time. Man's out there playing chess while the rest of the world, Jake and Rooster included, are playing checkers.

"Oh, fuck off with your fake humble bullshit," Jake chides, gently shoving Mav's shoulder. "You knew the second I had a taste of you I'd happily crawl over glass to have more."

And he doesn't mind, not really. But just because he's cool with Mav's endgame doesn't mean he gets to let Mav off the hook for it.

"Ain't that the fucking truth," Rooster happily agrees, like the love-dumb idiot he is. (Not that Jake blames him. Not now.)

"Bradley, you hungry?" Mav asks, cocking his head towards the Airstream. "I was getting ready to suggest I whip something up for me and Jake when you showed up."

Rooster looks at Jake, a question in his eyes. Jake just nods; it probably wouldn't hurt for the three of them to have a meal and figure out a few details since they're all together. May as well get it all out of the way.

"Yeah, I could eat," Rooster finally says. "Especially if you're cooking."

"You could have warned me about that, by the way," Jake mutters, as he and Rooster follow Mav into the Airstream.

"About Mav being the best cook you've ever met?" Rooster scoffs. "Not a chance in hell, dude, why would I deprive you the pleasure of learning it on your own?" He grabs two water bottles and gives one to Jake. "Wait, was that what got you to crack? A homemade meal?"

"Who said I was the one that cracked?" Jake asks, deliberately making his voice mild as they both take seats at the table-side booth. "It might have been Mav who caved."

Rooster glances between Jake and Mav with a speculative look. "Was it?"

"I'm not answering that, and neither is Jake," Mav states, rummaging through the fridge and cabinets and setting out what looks like the makings for pancakes or waffles.

"Spoilsport," Rooster grouses, sticking his tongue out at Mav's back.

"Real mature," Jake comments.

Mav starts expertly mixing the wet and dry ingredients together in a bowl. "Jake's not you, love," he tells Rooster, gently. "There's going to be a lot about my relationship with him that we keep private."

And, fuck, Jake falls for Mav all over again at how easily he's keeping Jake's humiliating breakdown a secret. He's never had anyone put his wants and needs first like this.

"Oh." A weirdly sympathetic look crosses Rooster's face. "Like that, was it?"

Jake looks helplessly at Mav, who turns to smile at him as if to say I've got you, then flicks a dish towel Rooster's way. "What did I just tell you?" he scolds.

"Alright, fine, message received." Rooster sighs in mock disappointment, then almost immediately elbows Jake. His voice drops. "Hey, I am cool with not knowing anything, I promise."

Jake nods his thanks, throat still a little tight. The easy acceptance of his boundaries is still making his head spin.

"Good boy," Mav says, and turns his attention back to the batter. Rooster perks up like a toddler being offered a cookie, and Jake's brain starts working overtime as the puzzle pieces of Mav and Rooster's dynamic start falling into place. Huh.

Well, clearly, it's working for them, so who is Jake to judge.

"You know, I am really going to need you two to tell me how you got so comfortable with this." Jake rests his chin on his hand as he looks at both of them. It's still blowing his mind how calm and cool and collected Rooster's acting, like he really is fine with the fact that his boyfriend had spent most of the afternoon in bed with another man having seriously athletic (and mind-blowing) sex.

"Like I said, there was a lot of talking," Mav replies, as he browns the butter in the skillet and starts pouring in spoonfuls of batter. Pancakes, then. Jake's mouth starts watering in anticipation.

"So much talking," Rooster groans, thumping his forehead on the table like the dramatic bitch he is. "For a guy whose entire motto is don't think, just do, he's got a ton of thoughts."

"And this really doesn't bother you." Jake means for it to be a question, but comes out as more amazement at how emotionally mature Rooster's acting about the whole thing. If anyone had asked him even two months ago if it was a possibility that Rooster would be willing to share a pen with Jake, let alone a whole person, he'd have laughed until he cried.

"I mean, yeah, it bothered the shit out of me at first," Rooster says, shrugging. "I'd just gotten Mav back, right. We'd just admitted how we felt about each other and that we wanted to give this whole thing between us a shot, and the next thing I know, we're having this super serious talk about how he feels about you and — look, I won't lie, I was pretty threatened by it."

Jake toys with his water bottle cap, spinning it in place. "Welcome to the club," he admits, softly.

Rooster laughs under his breath. "Yeah, I guess we both know the feeling."

Mav twists to give them a smile. "Both of you," he states, a promise and a declaration at once. "Equally."

"Yeah, we know," Jake says, smiling back, and he almost — almost — believes it himself.

"Anyway, it's exactly what Mav said," Rooster continues. "After I asked about it, he sat me down and we talked it all out — about what it meant and what it would look like if we ever got here, and then we went to couple's therapy and talked about it some more —"

"I fucking knew you'd been to therapy," Jake says, smacking the table.

"You should try it yourself," Rooster says. "Might do you some good."

"Maybe." He's not willing to admit anything more.

Rooster hums noncommittally and shrugs again. "Anyway, the point is, at the end of the day, relationships are about trust, and I trust Mav." The smile he gives Mav is so enamored it catches Jake's breath. "And, as much as I hate admitting it where you can hear me, I trust you."

Jake meets Rooster's gaze and nods. "For what it's worth, I trust you, too."

"And I trust both of you, always," Mav says. He drops a kiss on Jake's hair, then Rooster's curls, and sets the plate of pancakes on the table, along with a bottle of syrup. "And, with that, lunch is served."

"Thank you, Pete," Jake says, snagging one of Mav's hands and pressing a kiss to the back of it.

"Who the hell is Pete?" Rooster asks, looking around in confusion.

Mav and Jake exchange an amused look. "Told you," Mav says, and fuck, Jake wants to live in that smile.

"Yeah, you did."

***

The pancakes are, of course, amazing, and Jake's surprised at how easy the conversation is. How well they all slot in together, like they've been doing this for years. If this is a glimpse of what the future holds, Jake can't say he'll mind too much.

"Thanks for lunch, Mav." Rooster pats his stomach, then bats his lashes in what's probably supposed to be a seductive gesture, but just looks utterly ridiculous. How does Mav even find that attractive?

Truly a mystery for the ages.

Mav lets out a knowing chuckle. "I take it you're angling for dessert now?"

It doesn't take a genius to figure out exactly what Mav means by dessert.

"I mean, I wouldn't say no if you were offering," Rooster says, drawing out each word as slow as molasses.

"Of course you wouldn't," Mav replies, dryly.

"Uh." Jake starts to slide out of the booth. "Maybe I should give you two some time alone," he says, diplomatically. He owes Rooster that much, he thinks. There's got to be something he can do to keep himself occupied for...well, however long it is they'll take.

Rooster squints up at him. "You don't have to go on my account."

Mav grabs Jake's hand, lacing their fingers together. "Stay," he says, then adds: "Only if you're comfortable with it."

"You sure you don't mind?" Jake asks Rooster.

Rooster glances at Mav, then shrugs. His cheeks are pink, the flush spreading down to his neck. "Look, in the interest of full disclosure, I've got a bit of an exhibitionist kink. And Mav's been trying to figure out a way to indulge me in a way that's...I dunno, safe, I guess. So, yeah, I'm fine with it."

"Oh." Jake rocks back on his heels. "Okay, then."

Because, he won't lie, he's been a little curious to see how different Mav is with him than he is with Rooster. And maybe watching them will help settle the last of his nerves over this whole arrangement, who knows.

But he's not sure he'd ever be able to return the favor. What he and Mav have feels far too private, too personal, to share, even if that person is Rooster. "Just as long as you both know that I'm not...that I don't..."

"Hey, it's okay." Mav tugs Jake down to him and rests their foreheads together. "I would never ask you to."

"Okay." He lets out a shuddering breath, then nods. Goes with his gut, trusting that Mav will be there to catch him if he starts to stumble. "Yeah, alright, I'd like to...stay."

Mav gives Jake a light kiss. "You want to hold his wrists down for me?"

Jake blinks. "That's...an image," he manages, over Rooster's sharply indrawn breath.

"Too much?" Mav asks, wincing a little as he watches Jake's reaction.

"No, it's just..." He pauses. Takes stock. Thinks about how Rooster and Mav have been acting all afternoon. How they'd acted yesterday morning at breakfast, and even back to the way they'd been on Friday night when Mav had been putting on his clinic in seduction. Thinks about how Rooster pushes just far enough, but always keeps an eye on Mav for his approval and blessing. Thinks to how easily Rooster gives Mav the reins and trusts him to keep them on a steady course.

He bites his lower lip and flicks his gaze to Rooster. Who simply inclines his head, the motion small, but unmistakable.

"Sure," he replies, because why the hell not. If it involves Mav, the answer is always going to be yes. Yes to Mav, yes to this crazy agreement or arrangement, yes to Rooster hanging around like a bad penny Jake can't spend. He's in too deep now. And if he's going to commit, he may as well do it properly.

They head towards the bedroom, and Rooster wastes no time in shedding his clothes. Mav takes his own shirt off — which, Jake's not ever going to complain about that view — while Jake pointedly stays fully dressed, and then they shuffle around until Jake's kneeling against the headboard, Rooster laid out in the middle of the bed, arms obediently stretched above his head. At Mav's nod, Jake grabs Rooster's wrists and presses down. Rooster gives an experimental tug, smirking up at Jake when he can't break free.

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" he asks, genially. He looks even more ridiculous upside-down, but Jake just smiles at him, too content with the world for his usual smirk.

"Rooster, I am enjoying the hell out of this."

"You know, I still think you're a dick," Rooster comments, but the way he says it could almost be — if Jake squinted — something that could pass for friendliness.

"Feeling's mutual," Jake replies, and grins. They're never going to be best friends, but they don't need to be in order for this to work.

"Okay." Rooster nods, like that settles the matter (and who knows, it just might), then lifts his head and stares down at Mav. "You gonna get on with it, old man, or what?"

Mav, in his typical fashion, doesn't bother to rise to the bait. Instead, he takes his time getting back on the bed, arranging Rooster's legs until they're spread wide enough to suit him. Then he kneels between Rooster's thighs, running his hands over sun-warmed skin. "As you can see," he says conversationally to Jake, "Bradley is still learning patience."

"I could tell you right now that is a losing proposition," Jake replies, laughing at Rooster's glare.

"Patience is overrated —" Rooster starts, then lets out a desperate, keening whine as Mav picks that exact moment to wrap his lips around Rooster's cock and go all of the way down.

Damn.

Jake watches, greedy and covetous, as Mav meticulously takes Rooster apart, varying rhythm and speed, lips a tight suction as he slides up to the head, then all the way back to the wiry hairs at Rooster's groin. And Jake would deny it if asked, but getting to watch Mav in action like this, fully in control, yet letting Rooster use him for his own pleasure? Getting to see the way Rooster chases the heat of Mav's mouth, a litany of moans falling from his lips, both of them so in tune with each other in a dance they've clearly perfected? He won't lie, it's beautiful in its own way. And yeah, seeing them so intimate like this stings, but it's oddly sweet. Like honey mixed with cayenne.

And the care Mav lavishes on Rooster is almost — almost, mind — as hot as the way Mav had fucked him.

Rooster's clearly way too worked up to last, and it's just a few minutes until his eyes are rolling in the back of his head and he's spilling down Mav's throat. Mav swallows every drop easily (which is also hotter than the surface of the sun, and something Jake is very much looking forward to experiencing himself), then slides back up Rooster's body and presses a light kiss to slack lips.

"Happy now?" Mav teases.

"Uh huh," Rooster eloquently replies.

"I'm grabbing some water," Mav says and gets to his feet. "You two want anything?"

"I'm good," Jake says, and Rooster just shakes his head no. He looks positively euphoric, as high as a kite. Jake can sympathize.

Mav leaves the room, hips swaying ever-so-slightly and showcasing his best assets in those tight jeans of his, pun intended. Jake lets out a lusty sigh, already envisioning the ways he wants to mark Mav up and make him scream now that he's got permission to do so — then jumps when he hears Rooster chuckling at him. He'd forgotten all about Rooster for a minute.

"Shit, sorry," he mumbles, lifting his hands so Rooster can pull away from his hold and scoot to the other side of the bed. They stare at each other for a moment — Jake's not sure what he's looking for, and he's willing to bet Rooster doesn't know either.

"You know," Rooster finally says, plucking at a stray thread on one of the sheets, "the first time Mav talked about how much he wanted you, I went along with it because it was something he wanted. But I didn't think there was a snowball's chance in hell that you'd return his feelings."

"If me and him had fucked the night we first met, you would have been right," Jake admits, shrugging.

Rooster scoots down on the mattress until he's got his head propped up on his elbow. Those warm brown eyes stare thoughtfully at Jake. "And now?"

Jake shrugs again. The urge to deflect — to make a joke or snipe back — is as reflexive as breathing, but he tamps it down. It probably wouldn't kill him to be sincere every now and then. Especially since Rooster had given him the same gift last night and earlier today.

"Now, the only way I'm walking out that door is if Mav asks." And Jake genuinely hopes that won't be for a long, long time.

(Forever would do for a start, although he's keeping that to himself for a spell. No need to give Mav or Rooster more ammunition. They have enough as it is.)

Rooster nods, like he's pleased with Jake's answer. "I told you yesterday I'd tell you what I was getting out of this bet, and this is it right here," he says, gesturing between the two of them, and jerking his head towards the door, where they can hear Mav rummaging through the fridge. "It's knowing that Mav is living his best life. Because I genuinely like seeing him happy. He deserves it more than anyone else I know. And, for whatever reason I still do not see —"

"Hey, I can think of plenty of reasons, thank you —"

"— you make him happy." Rooster shakes his head like he still can't believe it himself. "And since you have the excellent taste to be as into him as I am, then it's...it's like I told you last night, alright. As long as you keep loving him the way I do, we can work on the...I don't know, particulars or logistics."

Love. The million dollar word, the one Jake can barely admit to himself, and Rooster's just said it out loud, like it's a fact as simple as gravity. Like he knows the weight of what he's saying and is telling Jake it's okay. He says it like he's well and truly fine with knowing that Mav's not just his, and won't be for the rest of his life.

Shit, whoever this therapist is that Rooster's been seeing deserves a raise or a Nobel Prize or something.

Maybe Jake really does need to get their number.

"You make him happy too, you know," Jake states, and holds his hand out. Rooster takes it with a solemn nod and, for the first time ever, they don't need to utter a word to understand what the other is saying.

Mav walks back into the bedroom, water bottle in hand, and pauses at the foot of the bed. "Did I miss something?" he asks, looking between them.

They smile at each other, conspiratorial now, drop hands, and turn to Mav. "You did, but it's nothing you need to worry about," Rooster says, then crooks his finger. "You're too far away, babe."

Mav drains the rest of the bottle, then lobs it in the nearby trash can. "I am, huh?"

"Yep," Jake agrees, patting the space between him and Rooster. "So get your ass on the bed already."

"What the other boyfriend said," Rooster adds, waggling his dumb eyebrows and making Mav laugh.

"Glad to see you two getting along," Mav says, crawling between them. Once he gets settled, he curls an arm around each of them, and sighs happily, taking turns kissing them both.

"I'm sure we'll piss each other off soon enough," Jake says, grinning. "So enjoy the truce."

"How do you feel?" Mav asks him, those beautiful sea-green eyes of his soft and searching.

Jake shrugs. "It's not the weirdest deal ever."

"That wasn't my question."

"I know it's not." But he does them all a favor and really thinks about it. Is he okay? What choice does he have, really? Yeah, maybe he'll always be a little envious of Rooster and Rooster's long history with Mav, but that's not Rooster's fault, and maybe that's okay. Maybe Phoenix had been right the other day when she'd said that Jake and Rooster learning to share Mav would be a good thing for both of them.

"I think I'm good," he finally says. He lays his head against Mav's shoulder and reaches across Mav's lap to grab Rooster's hand. Rooster squeezes, the circuit between them now complete, and they stay just like that, quiet and content, until Rooster glances at Jake, his look sly and playful.

"You want a few pointers on how to make Mav lose his mind?"

Mav's lips twist into a small frown. "That feels like cheating."

"You don't get to talk to me about cheating," Jake points out, then gestures at Rooster. "I'm listening."

"His neck is super sensitive," Rooster continues, leering gleefully at Mav. "Nipples, too. You could probably get him to come just by playing with them."

"That I figured out on my own," Jake chuckles, thinking back to earlier, and the delicious moans Mav had let out when he'd gotten his mouth on them.

"Good man." Rooster reaches across Mav to offer his fist for Jake to bump. "Oh, and if you get your tongue anywhere near his balls, be prepared, because Mav just loses it —"

"Alright, I think you've given him enough to go on," Mav interrupts, dragging Rooster to him by the scruff of the neck and giving him a sharp, biting kiss. Rooster melts into it, making happy little noises like there's nowhere else he'd rather be. Jake just watches and wonders if this is what his life is going to be like from now on. He has a feeling the answer is yes.

"And, on that note, I'll leave you two to it," Rooster says, when they break apart.

"You're leaving?" Mav asks, frowning.

"I didn't even mean to stay this long, to be honest," Rooster tells them. "It's your weekend together, remember."

"That's very magnanimous of you, Rooster," Jake comments, mildly. Still pushing, just a little bit.

But Rooster just flips him off with an eye roll that they all know is more for show than anything else. "That's me, magnanimous personified," he says, then gives Mav another long, lingering kiss before standing and grabbing his clothes. "Have fun, I'll see you guys tomorrow, don't do anything I wouldn't do."

"See you tomorrow, Bradley," Mav says, and then waits until Rooster's out of the Airstream and they hear the Bronco's engine starting before turning back to Jake. His look is heated and so thorough Jake can feel it all the way into his bones. "So, where were we?"

Well, that's an invitation if Jake's ever heard one.

"You know, yesterday you mentioned wanting to eat my ass until I cried, then fuck me until I couldn't see straight..." Jake replies, with his own sly grin, so light he feels like he could float above the clouds.

"So I did," Mav says, and pulls Jake to him with a glint in his eyes.

And much later that night, after Mav's made good on all his promises, and they've taken the world's most cramped shower together, they put fresh sheets on the bed, and snuggle in close, Mav's strong arms wrapped tight around him.

It's the best night of sleep Jake's ever had in his life.

***

Chapter Text

Jake slowly wakes up to the rich smell of sizzling butter and fresh-brewed coffee, and wonders for half a groggy second where the hell he is. The bed doesn't feel familiar, the room doesn't look familiar, the sun's not peeking in through the curtains to blind him the way it usually does — and then his gaze snags on a familiar leather jacket folded over a chair and the nasally twang of Johnny Cash filters into his ears — and the last 24 hours slam back into his fuzzy brain with all the force of a mack truck.

Waking up yesterday aching and alone. Trying so hard to keep some distance between himself and Mav. The fight that wasn't. Breaking down in Mav's arms. The best sex Jake's ever had in his life. Rooster paying a surprise visit. Agreeing to stay at North Island. More of the best sex Jake's ever had in his life.

Losing — and winning — the bet.

Shit, no wonder his thoughts are bouncing around like he's inside a pinball machine.

He throws back the comforter and top sheet and slowly takes stock of his body — a few twinges in well-used muscles, a few bruises in the shape of Mav's fingers, a scrape on his hip that looks a lot like stubble burn — then he climbs out of the bed and heads to the bathroom for a much-needed piss and to brush his teeth and wash his face. When he gets a glimpse of himself in the mirror, it's almost a surprise to find that he doesn't look any different than he did the morning before. Same handsome mug, same green eyes, same sharp jawline, same epic bedhead. Nothing on the surface to show how much he's changed.

He finally follows the scents down the hallway into the kitchen/dining/living area, and is greeted with the sight of Mav standing over a cast iron skillet and wearing only a pair of low-slung shorts that show off the sharp cut of his hipbones and the taut muscles of his belly. His hair is sticking up all over the place, his cheeks are pink from the heat of the stove, and he's humming along with the song (still Johnny Cash) piping in through the speakers like he doesn't have a care in the world.

Jake's heart pounds so hard against his ribs that he thinks it might burst right out of his chest and fall to the floor at Mav's feet. Affection swells up inside him, so big it sticks in his throat. If I could wake up to this for the rest —

He cuts the thought off before he can complete it. There will be plenty of time for all that later, when he's alone and not blinded by Mav's charisma and charm and sincere, freely given affection.

He takes a deep breath to center himself, then lets all of the early-morning doubts go. He's here now. The future can wait.

He leans against the door frame, and smiles. "Well, now that is quite the sight," he drawls.

"Hey, baby," Mav says, all sunlit warmth, as he gives Jake a slow perusal that makes Jake wish they had at least one more day alone together. "There's coffee, if you wanted."

"I do, but there's something I'm craving a lot more than coffee," he says, and steps into the room, sidling up to Mav and splaying a possessive hand across a warm lower back.

"Yeah?" Mav gives Jake a teasing look from under his lashes. "And what's that?"

"You know what," Jake replies, and ducks in to steal a kiss from those beautifully full lips. Mav leans into him easily, making a small noise of contentment that settles right into Jake's bones. He drinks Mav in like nourishment, reveling in the easy familiarity of the way Mav kisses him back, like they've been doing this for years instead of a day.

"You're right, I'm convinced," Mav murmurs, as he ducks in for another honeyed kiss. "You're way more addictive than coffee."

"I should hope so," Jake jokes, even as he grabs a mug from the cabinet to pour himself a cup. He gestures at the stove. "So tell me what smells so amazing."

Mav turns back to the skillet. "It's nothing much. Just an egg, spinach, and red pepper scramble. Oh, and those," he adds, pointing to the basket on the counter piled high with flaky, mouth-watering-looking drop biscuits. He says it all so lightly — like it's no big deal that he's making Jake breakfast, when no one else Jake's been with has ever bothered to let him stay the night, let alone make him a meal the morning after.

That small, insistent voice in Jake's head — the one that has guarded his heart and kept him safe for so long — keeps begging him to retreat back into his protected and secure corner before Mav inevitably disappoints him. Before this whole charade folds in on him like a house of cards and buries him under the rubble. Because no one's perfect. (Not that Jake is looking for perfection.) And there's no way Mav can keep this up.

But, with every word and gesture so far, he's making it all feel so natural. Like there's nowhere else he'd rather be and no one else he'd rather be with. Jake's not sure he'll ever get square with the way Mav genuinely seems to want to take care of him. Doesn't think he'll ever get square with feeling like he deserves it.

(But he'll try — he owes Mav that much, at least.)

"Sounds delicious," Jake replies, his voice choking on the last word, the tears prickling his eyes taking him by surprise. Mav shoots him a questioning glance, but Jake waves it off with a small, watery smile, and breathes easy when Mav just nods in acceptance, and turns his attention back to the stove.

Once again, Jake is floored by how easily Mav respects his boundaries.

When Jake thinks he's got himself back under control, he takes a seat at the little dinette table and enjoys his first sip of coffee. It's perfectly brewed, hot and strong and slightly bitter, just the way he likes it.

"What are your plans for the day after we get back to North Island?" Mav asks, stealing another glance Jake's way.

Jake shrugs. "Hadn't thought too much about it. Got a few errands to run. And I guess I'll need to see about my Special Program chit at some point."

"There's no rush," Mav tells him, turning off the stove. He quickly plates their food and hands one off to Jake. "You've still got two more weeks of leave."

Two weeks before Jake would normally be shipping back off to the carrier. Two weeks to actually decide if he can do this. If he can upend his entire life and career, just to be with a man who will never be completely his. Two more weeks to figure out if he really can handle sharing Mav with Rooster on a full-time basis.

"You should come by tonight for dinner," Mav continues, taking the seat across from him. "I think the three of us could stand to have a longer conversation about what our expectations are."

Jake wonders if Mav can read his mind now. Hell, he wouldn't be surprised. "Didn't we have that talk yesterday?"

Mav places his hand over Jake's. "Sweetheart, we're going to need to have more than one talk about everything. This is a big step for all of us."

"It's downright eerie how good you are at this," Jake grouses, even though he's inwardly pleased that Mav is taking the situation so seriously. That he also understands, no matter how much Jake might want a relationship with Mav, whatever that means, getting square with the whole Rooster-shaped side in the equation is going to take some time for Jake to come to terms with.

He takes the first bite of the scramble, and audibly moans as the silky texture of the eggs mixes with the sharper bite of red pepper and the rich earthiness of the spinach — Mav is a goddamn culinary wizard, no two ways about it. "How is this so good?" he asks, staring down at his plate in wonder. "What the hell is in here that's tying it all together so well?"

Mav offers a one-shouldered shrug. "That's the olive oil and garlic, most likely. And a dash of dried cilantro flakes."

Cilantro flakes. Jake shakes his head, awed yet again by Mav's mastery. "I truly owe that ex-girlfriend of yours a thank you card or a gift or something." Hell, he'd like to shake her hand, and then ask her what the hell she'd been thinking by cutting him loose, even though Jake is grateful as hell she had. Her loss, his (and Rooster's) gain.

"You know," he continues, grinning, "you keep feeding me like this and you're never getting rid of me."

Mav smiles, bright and fulsome and delighted. "That is the plan," he replies. "I mean to keep you as long as you let me."

Jake ducks his head so Mav won't see the blush. From the small chuckle across the table, he doesn't think he succeeded.

***

Jake takes one last look around the hangar, trying to memorize the look of it in this moment. Hard to believe he's only been here for less than two days. Feels like a lifetime.

"You okay?" Mav asks quietly, sneaking an arm around Jake's waist and squeezing.

Jake nods once, then just as quickly shakes his head. And lets out a small laugh. "To tell you the truth, I'm a bit all over the place," he admits, leaning back into Mav's sure embrace. "But mostly, I guess I just don't want to leave."

Outside the hangar walls is reality, just waiting to tear at this fragile base he and Mav had just started to create. And while Jake knows Mav believes they can make this all work, he's still not quite ready to trust it. It had been easier yesterday, when everything had felt shiny and new and Monday had seemed a million miles away. He's got no idea how the hell they're going to navigate everything in the real world, with all of its complications and distractions and worries.

"We'll come back next weekend," Mav promises, and presses a soft kiss to Jake's jaw. "Fix up the fuel line in the P-51 and take it up for a spin, then break it in properly once we're on the ground," he adds, with a flirty wink.

Jake laughs, his good humor restored. Hard to keep thinking dark thoughts when the sunshine of Mav's smile breaks right through the clouds. "Yeah, alright, it's a date," he says. "Provided it's not gonna piss your boyfriend off."

Mav thumbs at the lines bracketing Jake's mouth. "You are also my boyfriend," he states, sure and strong. "Besides, working on engines isn't really Bradley's thing. He likes coming out here with me, but he'd rather be riding a dirt bike around the area or tinkering with his guitar than with a torque wrench."

"You know, that doesn't surprise me a bit," Jake replies. Rooster has never struck Jake as the type to like getting his hands dirty.

Mav grins at him, bright, but also sly. "See — you two know each other better than you think."

"Maybe," Jake reluctantly concedes, "but the only thing we've ever agreed about is you." He really hopes it's enough to build on, although he's still not sure how.

Mav leans in for a slow, soft kiss, and then they make quick work of locking up the hangar and stowing their bags into the luggage compartment of the plane. Then Mav turns to Jake and gestures at the cockpit. "You want to take the wheel on the way home?"

Fuck yeah, he does, but he makes no move to take the pilot's chair. "Your friend's not gonna be mad that someone else is flying her?" he asks, not wanting to step on any toes.

Mav shakes his head, his smile gentle. "Texted him this morning to ask if it was okay. I can show you our texts to each other, if that eases your mind."

"No, I trust you, it's just...did you..." Jake wracks his brain for a way to ask the question, but finally decides the direct route is probably the best one. "Did you tell him why you were asking?"

Mav pulls Jake close and brushes a few strands of hair off of Jake's forehead. "I did," he says, and cups Jake's cheek in a callused palm. "I'm not planning on keeping you under wraps, Jake. I want the world to know you're mine."

Jake's heart melts even as he feels that vicious little pang under his ribcage again. Because Jake could be Mav's, utterly and completely (hell, he's more than halfway there already), but Mav would never be all Jake's. And he knows — knows to his core — that he's got to find some way of truly learning to let that go if he has any hope of being happy, but it's a hell of a lot harder in practice than it is in theory.

"Cougar really wants to meet you now," Mav adds, with a mischievous grin. One Jake doesn't think he'll ever be able to resist, and he's pretty sure Mav knows it.

"I'm for it, as long as I can ask him if everything you told me yesterday was true." There's no way Mav hadn't embellished some of the stories.

"Oh, I'm sure he'll be happy to fill you in on all the details I glossed over," Mav chuckles. "Hell, you get him and Slider together, and they'll give you all kinds of dirt about me, too."

"Then I am all in," Jake says, with his own wicked grin. "I need all the ammunition I can lay my hands on if I'm expected to keep up with what Rooster already knows about you."

The space between Mav's brows furrows together. "Not sure what you mean. I doubt Bradley knows most of them beyond a couple that had involved Goose."

It's Jake's turn to frown. "Thought you said you watched him grow up. Wouldn't he have heard all of them a million times by now?"

"Sure, I tried to visit him and Carole whenever I could," Mav replies, with a shrug, "but the other '86ers weren't really around. They had their own families and lives, you know. Ice was the only one who knew Bradley at all, and even then, they maybe saw each other a handful of times — and we were always careful to not talk shop too much around him. By the time Bradley was old enough to hear all the old stories, he'd cut me out of his life."

The more Mav talks, the more Jake's frown grows. It strikes him then that he's been making an awful lot of assumptions where Rooster's childhood is concerned. Mav must read something of it on Jake's face, because his gaze softens.

"I did tell you most of my history with Bradley wasn't great," he says and touches his lips to Jake's in a delicate kiss before stepping back. "You go through pre-check and I'll get the blocks out of the way, alright?"

Jake wordlessly nods, and climbs into the cockpit, going through the list on instinct. But his mind keeps snagging on all of the things he's beginning to realize he doesn't know about Mav or Rooster.

***

Chapter Text

Rooster is loitering in the airport lobby — flight suit on, aviators pushing his curls out of his face, and sporting a wide, welcoming grin — when Jake and Mav walk in through the doors.

"Good morning, welcome back to civilization," he greets, lifting a hand in a wave. "How'd the rest of the day go after I left?"

"It was good," Mav says, and steps forward to give Rooster a soft kiss. Jake already misses the warmth at his side.

Rooster narrows his eyes down at Mav. "That's all you're going to say?"

Mav pats his cheek. "Still not giving you details, remember."

"I wasn't even asking for any," Rooster laments with a long-suffering sigh. "But fine, have it your way, keep me in the dark."

"You'll live," Jake deadpans, but inwardly he's pleased that Mav is still standing firm on respecting Jake's need for privacy.

"Well sure, but I'm still gonna complain about it," Rooster answers, and nods Jake's way. "So, how'd the Piper handle? Mav texted earlier that Cougar was cool with you taking the controls for the flight back."

"She was perfect. Handled like a dream," Jake says, happy, as always, to talk about flying and aircraft. "But I'm sure you already know how well she flies."

Rooster rocks back on his heels with a look of remorse on his face. "Yeah, not so much. I doubt Cougar will ever let that happen. Pretty sure Hell will freeze over before any of the '86ers are cool with me."

Mav busses a kiss to Rooster's jaw. "They'll come around, Bradley," he says softly.

"Sure, maybe once we've been together for a decade," Rooster replies, with a casual shrug that fools exactly no one.

Jake makes a time-out motion with his hands. "I'm sorry, hold on, are you telling me Mav's old TOPGUN buddies don't like you?"

Sure, that just proves they have taste, but it also doesn't jibe with any of the stories Mav's told him over the weekend about his friends. Especially the ones who knew Rooster's old man. Wouldn't that same sort of affection and loyalty have extended to Rooster himself?

"Oh, they liked me just fine growing up," Rooster explains. "It's just how I acted after Mav pulled my papers that they're not cool with. And believe me, they've all let me know over the years whose side they're on. And it ain't mine."

"Ah, right," Jake says, nodding as all the pieces fall into place. That does make way more sense. (And, again, it just proves Mav's friends are good 'uns in his book.)

"They'll come around, I promise," Mav quietly insists, like if he keeps saying it, his friends will somehow forgive Rooster, and everything will be cool. (And hell, it just might — Mav's got that way about him. Once he turns on the charm, he's impossible to resist.)

Jake, on the other hand, is firmly with Mav's buddies on this one, because Rooster kicking Mav out of his life for 15 years just because he didn't get to go to Annapolis is just bullshit. Yeah, it's a great school and he's happy he went himself, but it's not the end-all-be-all of higher education, either. And Rooster's done pretty well for himself in his career, just like Mav had also done extremely well for himself despite going to college elsewhere.

But Jake's already said his piece about the whole situation, so he keeps his mouth shut. Discretion, valor, and all that. See, already he's learning to be diplomatic where Rooster is concerned. Someone should give him a medal.

"What're you doing here, anyway?" he asks Rooster, instead.

"Oh, I thought I'd give Mav a lift to the base. That way you can just head home and unpack or do whatever it is you need to do today."

"Sure, that's, uh, that's good." He'd wanted just a few more minutes alone with Mav before reality reared its head, but it's probably better to do the goodbyes here than at the base, anyway. Weird optics to be seen kissing a whole other dude and all that.

(Jake still doesn't know how Mav is planning on crossing that particular bridge where he's concerned.)

"You're still coming over tonight, right?" Mav asks, peering at him through half-lowered lashes.

Jake nods. "Yeah, of course. Just tell me what time you want me there."

"What's tonight?" Rooster asks, gaze bouncing back and forth between them.

"I'm making dinner for the three of us," Mav says. "Figured we could use the time to talk."

Rooster gives a thoughtful nod. "Wouldn't hurt, I guess," he says, then checks his watch. "Shit, we need to get a move on."

Mav steps into Jake's space and toys with the hairs on Jake's nape. "You good?"

"Yeah." Jake summons a smile from somewhere — and sure, it's a little wobbly, but it's genuine. "I'm good. I promise."

"Okay." Then he tugs Jake down into a sweet, lingering kiss that have Jake's toes curling by the end of it. "Have a good day today, baby," he murmurs, with a small smile that Jake wants to live in for the rest of the week or month or, hell, the rest of his life.

"You too," Jake murmurs back, then waves goodbye as they walk out the door and into the parking lot, hand in hand; he feels a little bit like a divorced parent handing their kid off in some joint custody arrangement.

After a minute of staring at the empty space where Mav had just stood, he finally heads out towards his Jeep. He's got a stop to make first before he heads home.

***

Javy greets Jake with a hard, back-slapping hug that manages to melt a little bit of the tension brewing behind his eyes. "You look good, brother," Javy tells him. "Well rested. Guess the desert agreed with you."

Jake lets out a wry, ironic laugh. "Man, you got no idea."

"Alright, come on in, let me hear all about it."

Javy leads Jake into the kitchen, and they each pour themselves a cup of coffee before sitting across from each other at the little breakfast nook by the window. Then Javy gestures at him, all business. "The floor's all yours. Tell me what happened."

Jake drags a hand across his face and lets out a deep breath. "To tell you the truth, I don't even know where to start."

"Okay." Javy slouches back in his chair, bringing his mug with him. "Can you tell me if you won the bet?"

The bet. Jesus, it feels like a lifetime ago that he and Rooster and Mav had even made it, but it hasn't even been 48 hours. Jesus.

"You know what, I don't know at this point," he finally admits. "Things are...complicated."

Javy nods, his brows furrowed together in thought. "Complicated good or complicated bad?"

"Complicated complicated." Jake pinches the bridge of his nose and tries to shore up his thoughts. "I guess the simplest way to put it is Mav says I won the actual bet, but I wound up in his bed yesterday anyway."

"I figured," Javy gently responds. "No shade to you, but I'm impressed you lasted as long as you did."

Jake frowns. "Thanks."

"I'm just saying, I know how long you've wanted in his pants." Javy gives him an expectant look.  "And I'm just going to take a wild stab and say it met expectations."

Jake takes a sip of his coffee to hide the blush, even though he knows Javy will see right through it. "You could say that."

"I knew it." Javy smacks a hand on the table. "After that clinic he put on for us Friday night, I would have been disappointed if he hadn't blown your mind, among other things," he adds with a wink.

"Nope, gonna stop you right there," Jake protests, with a grimace. "I do not need you thinking about my dick."

Javy just cackles. "Alright, so you two hooked up. Anything else?"

Jake nods. Rubs his hands on his jeans. "He, uh...Mav told me... He says he wants to be with me, Javy. Like, with me. On a full-time basis."

Even saying the words out loud feels unreal. Like some fever dream he'd concocted in his head to take the sting out of finding out about Mav and Rooster.

"That's great." Javy smiles, dazzling and dimpled and so pleased Jake involuntarily responds to it with his own.

"You think so?"

"Hell yeah, I do." Javy salutes him with his mug. "I told you he didn't kiss you like a man who wanted you on the sidelines."

Jake waves him off. "Fanboy said that, not you."

"Semantics." Javy just beams at him even harder. "Nina is going to be thrilled. Hell, Mama's going to be over the moon. You know she's been worried that you would never settle down."

"Hey now, hold on, I'm not settled anywhere," Jake says, before Javy can get too far ahead of himself and call Mama Machado before there's anything actionable to report. "I'm just telling you what Mav is offering."

"And you took him up on it, right?" Javy peers at him. "Right?"

"I want to — fuck, I want to more than anything in the world," Jake confesses, to the one person he knows who will get both his desire and his reticence. He stares down at his hands, now clasped tight in his lap. "And if Rooster wasn't involved, it would be a whole different story."

"You really are bad at sharing," Javy says, chuckling fondly.

Jake glances up into Javy's eyes. "Can you blame me after everything?"

"You know I don't," Javy quietly tells him. "You've been fucked over harder than most. But I can't see the Captain treating you the way Tre—the way your ex did. And it's not like he's trying to keep Rooster a secret, either. That's a big point in his favor."

"Mav keeps saying he wants both of us equally. I just don't know how to get right with what that looks like," Jake admits. It feels like such a major bridge to cross. Two people trying to navigate a relationship is hard enough, especially in their chosen field, let alone adding in a third. And no matter what Mav says, there's bound to be some jealousy or hurt feelings or a fight at some point.

Javy gives a thoughtful nod. "Isn't that the point of Mav wanting you to come to TOPGUN to teach? To see if what you have has legs?"

"Sure, in theory."

"Look, I'm just saying if you think he's worth it, why not take the shot?" Javy asks. "The worst that could happen is you leave North Island after flying with an ace for a year. Hell, that alone should net you a ton of cred with the review board when you're up for LCDR."

It's just like Javy to put the most positive spin on things. Jake wishes he was a little more like that — always wanting to see the best in people or situations — but life has taught him a much different lesson.

He stares into the dregs of his coffee, but there aren't any answers to be found there. Fuck. Everything had been so much simpler back at the hangar. "And what if Mav changes his mind three months into things and decides he doesn't want to be with me?" he asks, looking back up. "Then I'm stuck with watching him be all lovey-dovey with Rooster — and I'll be honest, Javy, I don't know if I can do that. Not now."

Not after the last two days and getting the full force of Mav's attention and focus and all of that freely given affection — not to mention his skills in bed.

"And what if Mav doesn't change his mind?" Javy's eyes are far too kind and see far too much. "What if you change yours?"

"Yeah, that's not happening." He'd meant what he'd told Rooster — the only way he's walking out the door is if Mav kicks him out. He's not proud of himself for it, but there is no way he can go back to the way things used to be between him and Mav. For better or worse, he's in this now.

"I'm sure Mav feels the same way," Javy says. "And hell, who's to say it won't be him and Rooster breaking up."

"I don't think there's much danger of that happening, either." If anything, Rooster's even more committed to Mav than Jake is.

"Exactly my point," Javy says. "Look, I know you. And up in the air, you're the definition of cool under pressure. You never second-guess yourself, and you always hit your target."

Yeah, Jake's a little lost. "What's your point?"

"I think you need to bring a bit of that Hangman attitude on the ground in this whole situation with the Captain."

"Meaning...?" Jake trails off, expectant.

Javy smacks his palm on the table again. "Stop second-guessing yourself and trust your instincts."

Fuck, he sounds like Rooster.

"Okay, let me ask you this." Jake leans both elbows on the table. "Would you be okay sharing Nina with someone else?"

Javy is silent for a bit, clearly giving the matter some thought. "I don't know," he finally says. "Probably not, but if it was the only way I could have her? Maybe?"

"Not so easy to dole out advice when it's you, is it."

Javy shrugs. "Look, I get that it's a big ask," he says. "But Rooster got square with the idea of sharing Mav with you, right? So maybe you can get square with it, too."

If only it was that simple.

"Maybe." Jake's not willing to commit to more. Not until he's had a lot more time to think about it.

***

Jake pulls up to Mav and Rooster's place precisely at 7pm, turns off the engine, and just sits in the driveway. The house is nothing much to look at from the outside — it's a basic one-story ranch, with a big front patio and a neatly mowed yard. The neighborhood is nice and quiet, too; lots of families are taking evening strolls, and more than a few people are taking their dogs out for a walk. He wonders if Mav and Rooster have talked about getting one of their own someday.

Hell, maybe that's the biggest reason to bite the bullet and accept Mav's offer to teach at TOPGUN. To make sure that Rooster and Mav don't get even more domestic. He's already starting at a severe disadvantage. Is he willing to give Rooster more room to pace him?

But, at the same time, can he do this? Can he walk into their home and be cool with the truth of it slapping him in the face? The hangar had been different — it's unmistakably Mav's, a place where Jake had felt at home right away. But this house will never be Jake's, not in any way that matters.

"Goddammit," he mutters, knocking his head against the car seat. If he can't even get past them living together, there's no way he can get past anything else.

And God help him, but he wants Mav enough to try.

He climbs out of the Jeep and strolls up the walkway to the patio, breathing in deep with each step. He's got this, he's got this. He raps sharply on the door, schools his features into his usual arrogant smirk, and promptly forgets all about it when Mav opens the door wearing a soft-looking pair of sweats, a paper-thin tee, and a bright, welcoming smile.

"Hey you," Mav says and grabs a fistful of Jake's shirt to pull him in for a mind-meltingly hot kiss that makes Jake wish they were someplace a lot more private.

He flicks his tongue out to chase the taste of Mav on his lips. "That's quite the hello."

"What can I say? I missed you." Mav holds the door open wider. "Come in, take off your shoes, get comfortable."

He does, toeing off his Vans while he takes a look around the living room. The decor reminds him of the hangar — lots of warm woods and leather, with the sofa taking up most of the space in the middle, and several bookcases along the walls jammed full of technical manuals and biographies and more vinyl on the shelves than Jake's ever seen in his life. Like the hangar, there are several framed photos on the walls, most featuring Mav on various carriers or posts with some people Jake recognizes and a lot he doesn't. Jake wants to study each one, eager to know more about Mav and his past, but he focuses on the man himself. "Where's Rooster?"

"Probably trying to steal more pepperoni off the pizza before I get it in the oven," Mav says, leaning up to give Jake another kiss. "He's just as bad as you."

"Can't say that I blame him," Jake replies. "You're making pizza?"

"One meat and one veggie." Mav grabs his hand and leads him into the open, airy kitchen where Rooster is, indeed, standing at the counter and popping pieces of pepperoni into his mouth.

"You need to save some for the pizza," Mav admonishes, letting go of Jake's hand to hip-check Rooster. "Now offer Jake something to drink and let me finish."

Rooster backs up with a laugh and gives Jake a greasy grin that manages to make him look like a little kid, even with the mustache. "Hey, man."

Jake offers a smile in return. "You haven't changed a bit."

"Nope," Rooster agrees genially. "What's your poison? There's water, tea, beer, and Coke, unless you want something harder."

"Tea's fine."

Mav gestures to the 4-seater table opposite the stove. "Have a seat," he offers. "Make yourself at home."

Home. Such a small word to hold so much weight to it. But Jake does as asked, nodding in thanks when Rooster sets a glass of tea in front of him and settles into the chair on his right. "How was class?" he asks.

"Pretty sure this entire batch isn't old enough to drive, let alone fly planes," Rooster laments. "They all look like children."

Mav chuckles. "Welcome to the rest of your life, kid."

Rooster grimaces. "I'm just saying Hangman and I did not look that young when we were that age."

"I don't even need to see them to know that's not true," Jake replies, amused. The tea is slightly sweetened and tart and goes down as smooth as silk. Mama Machado would be in heaven. He'll have to pry the recipe out of Mav later.

"Look, my point is, they've got no business making me feel this old when I'm not even 40."

Mav finishes topping off both pizzas and puts them into the oven. He walks over to the table and presses a kiss to Rooster's curls. "Like I said, sweetheart, welcome to the rest of your life," he chuckles, then heads to the sink to wash his hands.

Jake watches their interactions — their clear ease and familiarity and affection for each other — and feels the same hollow ache that had haunted him most of the weekend start to creep back under his skin. He knows Mav wants him — and he trusts that Mav had meant everything he'd said about them building their own foundation — but Rooster's got so much of a head start. Forget all of Mav's talk about how he and Rooster have this complicated history between them; they've been a couple for six months. They live together, for fuck's sake. They're committed in every sense of the word. How the hell is Jake supposed to compete with that?

He starts when callused fingers brush his cheek. "You okay?" Mav asks, a frown tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Jake clasps his tea glass between his hands. "I'm fine."

"No offense, but you don't look so fine," Rooster comments.

"Well, forgive me if I'm freaking out a little bit," Jake snaps.

Mav takes the seat on Jake's other side and scoots closer. "Did something happen today? Are you alright?"

Jake swallows. Mav's gaze is unwavering and guileless and beautifully sympathetic, and Jake has never stood a chance against it. "No, I've just had some time to think, that's all."

"Okay." Mav puts a warm hand on Jake's knee. "You want to talk about it?"

Jake peers at Rooster, who's just watching them both with a hooded gaze. "It's just that..." He licks dry lips. "This is reality, okay, not some golden weekend in the desert. You're asking me to change my whole life for you."

"I'm not asking you for anything I'm not doing in return."

"It's not the same thing," Jake argues. "You already — you're already settled here. You have a life." He sweeps a hand out to gesture at the homey kitchen. "I'm the odd one out."

"If you're not ready, you don't have to come to TOPGUN." Mav squeezes Jake's knee. "It's your decision."

Jake growls under his breath, furious at himself for even bringing this up in Rooster's vicinity. It's one thing to bare himself emotionally around Mav; it's another thing entirely to be vulnerable around the other man in Mav's life. "Not exactly what I was looking to hear," he sighs.

"Hey, look at me." Mav waits until Jake lifts his head, the look in those beautiful green eyes serious and solemn. "Of course I want you to stay," Mav says. "I want nothing more than to work with you and fly with you and be with you, as much as you'll let me. But this is your choice."

"I know it is," Jake says, but he won't lie. Hearing Mav state so clearly that he still wants this — want them — is a balm to his nerves. Of course, it also helps that Mav's still holding tight to his knee. "Just bear with me, alright. Hard not to feel some kind of way when I'll be sleeping alone tonight while you've got Rooster in your bed."

"I'm going home after dinner, same as you," Rooster pipes up, with a shrug.

Jake blinks. "What do you mean, you're going home?"

Rooster jerks a thumb towards the back door. "I live three blocks over."

Jake slowly straightens in his seat. "I thought you lived here. With Mav," he tacks on, like it's not blindingly obvious what he means.

"I fucking wish, but no," Rooster answers.

"We don't live together, Jake," Mav tells him.

That doesn't make any sense. "Are you fucking with me?"

"I wouldn't lie to you about something like that."

Jake stares at Mav, searching for any signs that he's joking, but Mav's expression never changes. Which means he's telling the truth. All this time Jake's been tying himself in knots over something that's not even real.

And yeah, sure, now that he's actually thinking about it, the art on the walls and the sturdy furniture and the magazines on the coffee table and the military neatness scream Mav all over, but Jake had thought that had just been Mav's influence, not that it's his space entirely.

Rooster rolls his eyes fondly in Mav's direction. "Something blah blah we both need our own space blah blah."

"We do need our own space," Mav insists, mildly.

"I know, I get it, I promise, but it still sucks. You know how much I hate sleeping alone."

"But you do his laundry," Jake weakly protests, trying to make it all make sense. "You two act like you live in each other's pockets. You're both so...domestic."

"We work together and spend a lot of free time together," Mav replies, with a wry tilt of his head. "Hard not to form certain habits."

"As far as the laundry, I'm kind of like a college student in reverse," Rooster says, with a laugh. "Instead of bringing my laundry to Mom and Dad's so I don't have to use the dorm machines, I bring my laundry to Mav's to keep him from doing his own."

Mav's smile to Jake is rueful, but unashamed. "I did warn you I wasn't good at it."

Jake sags back in his chair, relieved to his core that he's not on the outside looking in — at least, not where this is concerned. "I guess you did."

"So if you're worried that Bradley has some unfair advantage over you, don't be." Mav places his hand over Jake's and squeezes. "You're both equal, remember."

Jake nods, too choked up to speak. It feels like a heavy weight's been lifted off his chest. For the first time since they'd left the hangar that morning, Jake feels like he's back on solid ground.

"And we're gonna have plenty of time now to wear Mav down on the whole living arrangement," Rooster says, with a big grin.

And, just like that, Jake's jaw is back on the floor. What the hell is Rooster even talking about? "Are you...you're not suggesting all three of us live together, are you?"

He gets a shrug in reply. "Don't see why not."

Jake has been transported into a parallel universe. That's the only explanation. "We barely like each other, for a start."

"I like you more now than I did on Friday," Rooster says, and okay, that's a fair point. But it's still a long way from sharing a home, even with Mav there as a buffer.

"Why don't we just take things slow for right now," Mav gently suggests. "We're not in any hurry."

"For a man whose motto is don't think just do, you are annoyingly patient," Rooster grumbles. He looks like a pouty child.

"Sometimes patience is good," Jake murmurs, with a quick glance Mav's way.

Mav just smiles back, quick and private. "Agreed," he says, just as the timer goes off. He stands, gazing down at both of them with so much naked adoration that Jake feels a blush start to creep up his neck. Every time he's the recipient of that look, he feels seen in ways that make him want to both crawl out of his skin and also bask in that warmth like a cat sunning itself.

"Rooster, can you grab the plates? And Jake, do you mind getting the salad out of the fridge?"

"Sure," Jake says, grateful that Mav isn't treating him like a guest. Sure, it's a small thing, but it fills a tiny bit of that still-nagging void inside him.

"And trust me when I tell you that you are going to be ruined for all other pizza," Rooster says, with a happy sigh.

"Let's not get too ahead of ourselves," Mav demurs, like Jake and Rooster are both new.

"Yeah, Mav, the thing is, I've tasted your cooking. So stop being so modest about it already," Jake says and holds out a fist for Rooster to bump. It feels a little like a weird sort of victory when Mav just shakes his head fondly at both of them.

***

Chapter Text

Jake gets the text from Rooster early the next morning while he's blearily scrolling through Instagram and waiting for the caffeine from his first cup of coffee to kick in so he can get on with his day.

U free 4 lunch?
Thinking 12pm at the food court on base
Just the 2 of us

Jake frowns down at his phone. He's not nearly awake enough yet to try to make sense of whatever the hell it is Rooster is trying to accomplish with this invite. Why would he think the two of them would need to meet? What would they even have to talk about without someone else to keep them in check? They have exactly two things in common — flying and Mav — and a key component in their long history of animosity towards each other is their differing attitudes in how they approach the first thing.

Why? he texts, cautious.

The reply is almost immediate. Just come pls. Easier 2 chat IRL

He wracks his still muddled brain for an ulterior motive, but nothing comes to mind. And, dammit, now he's curious. Fine, he types back and tosses the phone onto the table so he can finish his coffee in peace.

***

When Jake strolls into the food court at noon sharp, he sees Rooster, flight suit halfway unzipped, hair matted to his head, mustache still, unfortunately, affixed below his nose, hanging out by the entrance and clearly waiting for him.

"Hey, glad you made it," Rooster says, offering Jake a quick, one-armed bro hug. Which is...weird.

"Is everything okay?" he asks, concerned. He didn't think anything had happened to Mav — Rooster's acting far too calm for that — but maybe something else is going on.

Rooster's brows furrow in a frown. "Yeah, everything's fine."

Jake gestures between them. "Then what's up with the hug, man?"

Hell, they hadn't even hugged on the carrier after Jake had saved Rooster and Mav's lives.

"I dunno, I wasn't thinking about it," Rooster answers, both eyes squinting as he gives Jake a thoughtful look. "Too much?"

"Nah, we're good, it was just...surprising," Jake says, although that's not quite the right word. He's not sure what the right one is — unexpected, maybe. It's just not who they are.

"Yeah, I get it," Rooster says, nodding sagely like he really does get what Jake means, when Jake himself doesn't. "Anyway, come on, let's grab some food and sit down."

Jake opts for noodles from Panda Express because it's quick and relatively filling, and Rooster, because he's Rooster, goes with his good-old standby of a Subway roast beef sandwich and a bag of kettle chips.

(Although someone really needs to tell him that his metabolism won't always be this great and he should maybe eat a vegetable every now and then. And by someone, Jake means someone else. He and Rooster are definitely not at the point where he can steer him towards better food choices. And hell, that's more Mav's job anyway.)

"So, where is Mav?" Jake asks, once they've found an out of the way table and have spent a few minutes digging into their meals.

"Warlock wanted to have a working lunch with him to go over training updates," Rooster tells him, around a mouthful of bread.

"This a regular thing?"

"Kinda? They're always having meetings about one thing or another. Readiness requirements, fleet squad instructing, coordinating pieces with other commands — you know, all of that fun bureaucratic shit that Mav claims to hate, but really likes," Rooster adds, with an impish grin that makes him look a good ten years younger.

"Yeah, I had a feeling he'd cotton onto running TOPGUN more than he let on when Cyclone first offered to him," Jake says, then flashes his gaudiest smirk Rooster's way. "Is that why I'm here? You that hard up for company if the boyfriend's not around?"

Rooster rolls his eyes. "No, dumbass, I actually do have friends. I just thought we needed to talk without Mav around."

"Didn't we say everything we needed to say on Sunday at the hangar?" He's not sure what else there is to discuss — Mav wants them both and they both want Mav and they'll figure everything out one way or another. At least, that seems to be the plan.

Rooster makes a seesawing motion with one hand. "We did, but here's the thing. You and me, we've got a lot of bad blood between us."

"We do," Jake slowly agrees, wondering where Rooster is going with this.

"And one conversation when I'm all orgasm-stupid isn't going to get us square. We're...look, we're gonna need to check in with each other a lot, okay. Especially while we're all figuring our shit out and where we all fit together," Rooster continues. "And we need to do it without Mav around playing referee."

Jake wonders if Rooster has any idea just how much he sounds like Mav. Then he figures Rooster would probably take it as a compliment. (And he still really wants to meet Rooster's therapist, just to buy them a drink or something.)

He takes a sip of his water, wetting dry lips. And decides, what the hell. If Rooster's going to put himself out there, Jake could probably meet him halfway. "I guess it probably would mean a lot to Mav if we tried to be friendlier with each other," he says, offering his own olive branch.

Rooster gives him a solemn nod. "I'm up for the challenge if you are."

Jake munches on his noodles, contemplating the man across from him. And thinks about all of the things he's learned about Rooster over the years, and all of the things he's learned over the weekend that have forced him to look at Rooster with new eyes. "Alright," he finally says, "if we're going to do this — like, really do this — I've got a question for you."

Rooster makes a gimme gesture. "Shoot."

"Tell me how you went from hating Mav's guts to being head over heels in love with him in less than three weeks."

It's been bugging the hell out of him since he found out about the two of them. Because he remembers Rooster's animosity. Hell, more than that — Jake remembers Rooster's outright insubordination every time Mav had so much as opened his mouth. The way he'd vibrated with all of that over-the-top anger whenever Mav was at the podium or up in the air. And sure, Jake gets the whole, we survived a harrowing experience together, let's fuck about it vibe, but that doesn't explain everything else that had come after the sex. It doesn't explain Rooster's about-face on building a relationship with the guy he'd been blaming for screwing up his whole career trajectory.

"Oh, I've had a crush on Mav since I was, I dunno, 14," Rooster states, with a rueful grin. "He came to visit me and my mom one summer when he was on leave and he was running around in these cut-offs and these tight t-shirts the whole two weeks he was there — and trust me, if you think he's hot now, you should have seen him 20 years ago." Rooster pats a hand to his heart. "He was hotter than the Gobi desert at high noon."

"I've seen a few pictures of his younger self up at the hangar," Jake says. And there is no doubt that Mav in his early 30s had been a metric fuckton of pretty. (Although, Jake won't lie, he prefers his Mav more — the one with the crow's feet around his eyes and the laugh lines around his mouth and a way of moving that speaks of hard-won experience and a deep-seated comfortableness in his own skin.)

"He was even hotter in person." Rooster offers a long, lusty sigh. "So, yeah, I've been chubbing for him for a long, long time — and even during the years when I thought I hated his guts, I never got over wanting him to rail me like a train."

That explains a few things about Rooster's choice of bed partners over the years, Jake thinks. He always used to go for dark-haired and pretty, no matter the sex.

"Anyway," Rooster continues, "once we landed on the carrier and I wasn't so pissed off, it was like this switch went off in my head and all I wanted was for him to push me against the nearest flat surface and fuck me until I cried."

Jake certainly can't fault him for that one. (And, once again, this explains so much about Mav and Rooster's dynamic.) "And how did you know it wasn't just the adrenaline talking? How did you know you wanted to...you know?" Jake frowns, trying to think of the right words. "Date him or be with him or... How did you know he was the one?"

Rooster smooths his fingers over his mustache. His cheeks are blotchy pink. "No idea, really. I just knew the second I kissed him that I was never going to kiss anyone else in my life. Simple as that."

"That's almost romantic of you, Rooster," Jake says, smiling to soften the joke. "But yeah, I get you. He is one hell of a kisser."

And Jake knows firsthand how a single kiss from Mav could rewire a person's entire brain.

"But, here's the other thing I realized, right from the start," Rooster says, leaning his elbows on the table, those big brown eyes as serious as church. "Mav's the kind of guy who has so much of himself to give that there is no way he could — I dunno, spend it all on one person, if that makes sense. It was never going to be just me and him. Not if the relationship was going to last."

Jake twirls his chopsticks around his noodles as he sits for a minute with what Rooster's just told him. Because, as much as Jake hates even admitting it, Rooster's right. Mav was never going to be all Jake's, even if Rooster hadn't gotten there first. Mav burns so bright and has so much love inside him bursting at the seams that it would — and probably has — overwhelmed all of his previous relationships. He needs more than one person.

Hell, Mav had even said as much himself more than once. Both of them. Equally.

"You're right," he finally admits, with a sigh.

"I know." But Rooster doesn't sound triumphant about it — just matter-of-fact — and the level tone eases the pang of regret rattling in Jake's chest.

"He's real lucky you got to him first." Because Jake's not sure he ever would have been as generous about sharing, not without a lot more time and probably a lot more heartache.

Rooster smiles his thanks. "Well, I'm just grateful it's me and you, okay. If you were anyone else, maybe there'd be some danger of us falling for each other —"

Jake shudders. "Fuck forbid —"

"Exactly," Rooster says, pointing at him with a potato chip. "But because it's me and it's you and we don't see each other like that, we can make sure that everything where you and me are concerned centers around Mav."

Jake's fully on board with that plan. Mav deserves two people dedicated solely to him — people who will keep Mav from giving away too much of himself and who will, instead, force him into accepting the support and commitment he so desperately needs. And Jake and Rooster have already proven they're willing to make that part of the equation work.

(It's everything else that's making him wobbly. But he's getting his bearings more and more each day.)

"You know," he says, giving Rooster a thoughtful look, "if this really does work out and you get your way about certain living arrangements, I am stating for the record that there is no way I'm cleaning up after your slobby ass."

Rooster's mustache twitches as he grins. "I'm willing to spring for a cleaning service."

"Good man." Jake takes a big bite of his noodles to hide his smile. Maybe he and Rooster can work together after all.

***

The next evening, Jake busies himself for his date night with Mav with the anticipatory butterflies in his stomach warring with the jitters spiking through his system. Mav hadn't really told him what he'd planned beyond telling him to dress nice, but Jake trusts that it's nothing too wild. No, his problem is that it's been so long since he's even been out on a real, honest-to-God date that he can't remember how to act  — and even though he knows Mav has seen him at his worst and at his lowest and still wants to be with him, he doesn't want to make himself look bad by saying or doing the wrong thing.

When the doorbell rings, he smooths his shaking hands across his slacks and glances at himself in the mirror one last time to reassure himself that he looks okay before opening the door. Mav — standing on the threshold and looking like a treat in a pair of form-fitting black slacks and matching black button-down — smiles at him all wide and slow.

"Damn, sweetheart, look at you," he murmurs, sounding awed and hungry in equal measure. Oddly, it does a lot to settle his nerves.

"Hi," Jake answers, battling the blush he can feel crawling across his cheeks. He feels like a schoolgirl on prom night, and wonders if he'll ever get used to the way Mav looks at him, like he can see all the way down into Jake's soul. "Did you want to come in for a —  oh!"

Jake's back hits the wall as Mav pushes him into the foyer and kicks the door shut before sinking to his knees on the hardwood floor.

"What're you doing?" he asks, dumbly, even though it's pretty fucking obvious, what with the way Mav's unzipping and dragging his pants and briefs down to his hips.

Mav just winks up at him before wrapping his lips around Jake's cock, holding the thickening length in the warmth of his mouth until Jake gets fully hard — which, somewhat embarrassingly, takes no time at all. Then Mav starts to move, licking along the vein on the underside of Jake's cock, before taking him deep and swallowing every inch with ease until Jake hits the back of his throat.

He clutches Mav's shoulders to keep his knees from buckling. A muffled groan escapes his lips as Mav starts bobbing his head, starting a perfect rhythm with tight suction and a wet tongue. And the sounds Mav keep making — low moans that reverberate all along his dick and his balls and up his spine — are almost hotter than the actual blowjob. Jake buries his hands in Mav's hair, his eyes glued to the obscene beauty of Mav, eyes closed, a blissed-out look on his face, full lips sliding up and down like his sole purpose in life is sucking Jake's dick. It's the hottest thing Jake's seen in his life.

He coughs out a confused whimper when Mav pulls off his cock right as his balls start to tighten, but the objection gets lost when Mav slithers up his body and crushes their mouths together, pressing against him so close that Jake's pretty sure a sheet of paper couldn't fit between them.

"You are such a goddamn tease," he rasps out against Mav's lips. His legs are jelly. His dick is going to be hard the entire night. All he can think about is pushing Mav back to his knees to finish what he'd started.

"Just giving you a reason to invite me to spend the night when we get back from dinner," Mav rasps, pulling back far enough to gift him with one of his stupidly sexy grins.

Jake hates how much he loves seeing it. "I'm not going to be able to concentrate on dinner," he laments, as he pulls his briefs and slacks back up over his hips and zips them over his aching cock. Food is the last thing on his mind right now.

Mav leans up for another quick kiss. "Does that mean no on staying the night?"

"Please, like no is a word you ever hear," Jake scoffs. "You know, I've got half a mind to tie you down and make you finish."

"Sounds fun," Mav replies, with a wink. "But anticipation is a good thing." Then he laces their fingers together. "You ready to go?"

Jake thinks longingly of his bed just down the hallway, and how they could just skip their date and get right into the promised sex part of the night (he still feels like he's making up for so much lost time in that department) — but, as much as he wants Mav's mouth on him again, he wants to go out with Mav more. Wants to see how Mav acts with him in public, and how different it might be from how he acts with Rooster. Wants to see if what they have will still thrive with other eyes upon them.

"Yeah, I'm ready," he says. He locks the door and follows Mav out to where the Kawasaki is parked in the driveway, anticipation warming his blood just as much as the earlier blowjob. "I'm finally getting a ride?"

Mav swings a leg over the seat and smiles at him. "Well, I did promise you."

"That you did." And Jake won't deny that he's pleased as punch Mav had remembered.

He wastes no time climbing onto the seat behind Mav and wrapping his arms around Mav's hips, pressing close to the solid line of Mav's back. The drive to the restaurant isn't nearly as long as Jake would have liked, but he still has time to appreciate the warmth of the early evening breeze in his hair, and the confidence and skill with which Mav drives. (One day soon, he wants to go on a proper ride with Mav. Maybe up the coast along the PCH.)

Mav takes his hand as they head inside and keeps holding it as they're led to a corner table in front of a wall of windows that overlooks the beach. The sun has just started to set over the ocean, painting the horizon a pinkish-orange glow. It's beautiful. But not nearly as beautiful as the man sitting next to him, his profile etched in soft light as he chats with their waiter and orders a bottle of Pinot Noir for the table.

"This is a nice place," Jake observes. Real linen napkins, real crystal glasses, real silver forks and spoons, and a beautiful orchid in a vase as the centerpiece. He's glad he'd taken Mav's words to heart and had dressed up.

Mav places his hand over Jake's and smiles at him. "It's our first real date. It's a big deal," he says, and leans in for a kiss that feels a little like a declaration.

Jake steadfastly ignores the way his heart just melts like summer ice cream at Mav's sincerity. "Are you always this affectionate in public, or are you trying to prove something?"

Mav shrugs, the light catching the glints of silver in his hair. "I told you I wanted to show you off. But if you're uncomfortable, I can stop."

Jake flips his hand over to lace their fingers together. "I didn't say that. I just...it's a little hard for me," he quietly admits, marveling a little at how far he's come in the last few days. This time last week, he never would have admitted such a weakness. "How can you be so sure this is going to work?"

"I'm not." Mav squeezes his fingers, his gaze soft and serious. "I'm taking a leap of faith, the same way you are. The same way Bradley is. But something tells me we'll be alright."

A leap of faith. Mav makes it sound as easy as flying. And maybe it is easy for Mav, but Jake reminds himself the reason flying feels easy to him is all of the hours of training it took for him to master it. Maybe all they really need is time.

"And as far as the PDA goes, I like touching you," Mav continues, still smiling that gentle smile that brings out his sexy little laugh lines. "And I love that blush you get every time I lean in for a kiss." Mav strokes the backs of his fingers across Jake's pink cheeks, the touch light, but burning white-hot. "I like seeing you happy and I like knowing it's because of me."

Mav really should give lessons in how to sweet talk, Jake thinks. "You know you don't have to keep wooing me," he protests, even though it's more rote than anything else at this point. "I'm a sure thing, remember. You've got me."

Mav's had his number from the start, and they know it. And even a few days ago, Jake would have bristled at the implications of being so known, but now he finds he doesn't mind so much. Mostly because — for the first time in a long long time — he trusts that the person he's with won't misuse him.

Those pretty green eyes go almost liquid. "You deserve to be wooed every day. I'm not taking you for granted, Jake. Not now, not ever."

He can feel his shoulders hunching around his ears, squirming on the inside at being the focus of so much unadulterated attention. "Alright, let's change the subject before I crawl under the table."

Mav raises a pointed eyebrow, but mercifully doesn't make the dirty joke Jake can tell is on the tip of his tongue. "Okay," he says, agreeably. "What would you like to talk about?"

Anything else. He casts about for a subject as the waiter returns with their wine and she and Mav go through the whole ritual of the pouring and the tasting and of Mav approving the bottle — and part of their conversation on Saturday pops into his head. "You told me after the weekend was over that you'd tell me about you and Iceman," he says, once he and Mav are alone again.

"I did," Mav affirms. "What do you want to know?"

Jake takes a sip of his wine, the taste bold and peppery on his tongue. "You implied a few things about your relationship with him."

Mav nods once, but stays quiet, waiting for Jake to ask his question.

"How long were you together?"

"Almost ten years."

Damn. Practically a lifetime in their line of work and all of the separations and the risks involved — especially before DADT had even been a thing, let alone repealed. They must have really loved each other. "And the...the thing you said about Ice fighting you for me?"

Mav lets out a low, easy laugh. "Ah, that. Well, sometimes we made a game of going out to seduce someone while the other was watching, and then bringing that person home with us."

It's more or less what Jake had suspected, but hearing it so baldly stated still sends a shiver up his spine. He points to himself. "And you think Iceman would have wanted me?"

"Definitely," Mav states, with a heated look. "You are exactly his type. That's...it's actually how he met his wife. When the two of us were out...looking for company."

"Is that when you two broke it off?"

"More or less." Mav toys with the stem of his glass. "He and Sarah got serious pretty quick and Penny and I decided to give things another shot right around the same time."

Jake leans in, fascinated. "No hard feelings between you two when it ended?"

"Not a one." Mav gets a faraway, fond look on his face. "He was my best friend right up until the end."

"That's really rare. That you two were able to stay close." Jake's heart aches for him and all he's lost, but he knows Mav is still tight with Iceman's widow and his kids. Hopefully they've all been able to give each other some comfort over the last few months.

Then he sits back, savoring his wine as he thinks about what a younger Mav and a younger Iceman must have looked like on the prowl. What having both of them in bed must have felt like — all of that focus and intensity and the inherent competition of two pilots going after the same targets. "Shit, now I know what Rooster's talking about," he mutters, laughing under his breath.

"About what?" Mav asks, cocking his head.

"The idea of you and Iceman working someone over is pretty fucking hot." Then Jake laces their fingers together again. "But just so we're clear, I'm not interested in sharing you with anyone other than Rooster."

Call Jake old-fashioned, but he's a one-man man, always has been, always will be.

"I promise, those days are long behind me." Mav rubs his thumb across the back of Jake's hand. "I am happy to commit myself to just the two of you."

He says it all so earnestly. It's hard not to get swept up by it, and Jake allows himself to roll with it. Allows himself to lean into the romance of the setting and the great wine and the promise of a nice dinner and the night to come afterwards. To Mav sitting across from him and staring at him like he's the only thing on earth worth seeing.

"You really are making it impossible to resist you."

"I told you already, that's the idea," Mav replies, and kisses each one of Jake's knuckles before releasing his hand. "Have you decided what to order yet?"

Jake just closes the menu and hands it to Mav. "Why don't you order for me," he says, and trusts that Mav will understand what he's really trying to say.

Mav's smile goes soft around the edges. "I'd be honored."

***