Knock, Knock, who's there?

                “Wha – How?”

                “Not only did I wake up in his bed, but I just dropped him off to have lunch with Phoenix and I drove his shitty Honda Civic here… I’m seeing him again later.”

                Hmm. He and Bradshaw hadn’t actually talked about that, but he assumes that they are. He has Bradshaw’s car and keys after all. Actually, Jake has his keys to his housing too, which means Bradshaw is effectively locked out until Jake turns up to let him in, or simply goes and lets himself in. Hmm. There’s a thought.

                “That still doesn’t answer the how of it all…” Javy mutters and he looks stunned. Jake shrugs, because to be honest he doesn’t really understand or remember the how of it either, but he doesn’t need to to appreciate the outcome. “What the fuck happened? Did you fuck him?”

                “No. We didn’t, like, do anal. Hell… he’s still recovering Javy, and I don’t know if I would have even been able to get it up with how much I drank last night. But… I woke up in his bed, wearing his underwear, and only his underwear, and my lips felt like they’d been making out with a grater. So. Most we did was maybe hand jobs.”

                “You know, I love how open you are about your sex life. But sometimes I wish you really really weren’t.”

                “You love it.”

                “Correction, I used to encourage you to talk about it so you’d get over your hang ups. You’ve kind of over corrected.”

                “Eh. You know me. I’m going to do everything the best I can.” Javy rolls his eyes and Jake laughs. “But my money is just on making out. We made out plenty this morning, and I made a joke about calling him babe in front of Phoenix and he didn’t even do a double take…”

                “Were you trying to make him react, push the boundaries?”

                “He called me Jake.”

                “What the fuck?”

                “Eh. I called him Bradley. We’re both going to take some getting used to that. But I was bossing him around and rather than snap my head off he just… let me.”

                “Uh…”

                “Not in bed you pervert…” Jake laughs, but then he thinks about it, bossing Bradley around in bed and he feels a flash of arousal at the thought. “Although…”

                “I don’t want to hear it!”

                “I’m going to go to the store, grab some food. Make him dinner.”

                “You’re going to cook for him?”

                “You know I can cook.”

                “Yeah. I also know you don’t particularly like it very much.”

                “Eh. I like it when it’s an appreciative audience. Or serving a purpose.”

                “Hey! I’m always willing to be your audience when you cook! And feeding me is a purpose!”

                “You already love me. Not trying to impress you.”

                Javy sighs then, like he knows he’s beat.

                “Save me the leftovers?”

                “Sure. I’ll make double. You know what other perk this new thing with Rooster has?”

                “What?” Javy asks carefully, like he fully expects Jake to drop lore about Rooster’s dick or something else he’d claim would scar him mentally.

                “Phoenix is so weirded out by us being together. I think I saw the vein on her forehead throbbing.”

                “If you want to keep Rooster happy you’re going to want to stop antagonizing his best friend.”

                “Ugh, you spoil all my fun. You may have a point though.”

                “I definitely have a point, but if you managed to stop bothering Rooster long enough to somehow start a relationship with him then hell probably has frozen over… Guess Phoenix’ll be easy after that.”

                “Nah, I can’t give her orgasms when she agrees with me. However, I’m hoping the fact I was forcing Rooster to use his crutches makes her tolerate me a little bit more.”

                “You were telling Rooster to use his crutches?”

                “Yep. He sulked about it, but he did it. Knew I was right,” Jake says with a smug grin.

                “Wow. Hell has frozen over.”

                “Fuck off. You coming to the store or not?”

                “Yeah yeah, fine.”

…            …            …

                Javy continues to give him a running commentary of his innermost thoughts as they walk through the aisles, reminding Jake how long he’s had a low-grade crush on Rooster. Jake doesn’t need to be reminded, he still has a crush, it’s just morphed into something more than a low grade now, fed by the fact that he’s kissed Rooster, slept beside him, woken up beside him, showered with him… most importantly Bradshaw has done exactly the same. Jake really wishes he remembered what they must have said last night. After dropping Javy back he swings by his place and grabs a couple of critical items, including a change of clothes.

                Jake sends Bradley a heads up, just to let him know Jake is using his keys to put away groceries. Gets a reply saying Phoenix is going to drop him off later, Jake presses for a time, just a rough ETA. He gets one and he decides to do Bradshaw’s washing and change his sheets. Only fair considering Jake slept there last night as well. Would maybe like to sleep there again, soon. Ensuring Bradshaw is in a good mood will make that much more likely to happen.

                After putting away the groceries he does a couple loads of washing, followed by some basic cleaning. He hopes that Bradshaw’s current level of cleanliness is because he’s been resting and not because he lives in an unacceptable level of squalor. Then again, maybe he just relaxes when he’s at home. It’s not something Jake would kick him out of bed over. He does the prep for dinner, mentally plans future meals because Bradshaw has been living off takeout if the contents of his fridge are any indication. Jake finds himself kind of glad, because it means Rooster hasn’t been standing around cooking.

                He remakes the bed with clean sheets, shaves and showers and dresses in completely fresh clothes, then settles in to wait for Rooster, no, Bradley, to get back.

                Seeing the bruises blooming across Rooster’s skin, barely hidden by the almost see-through tank, makes him realize that they probably didn’t do anything more than make out last night. If he remembers rightly Bradshaw has a sprained ankle and wrist, along with bruised ribs and a minor concussion. How he didn’t actually break anything is nothing short of a miracle, but those were apparently numerous during the uranium mission. He’s grateful that everyone lived, can’t imagine how bad his nightmares would be if someone had actually died. Again.

                As he makes them both coffee he licks over his lips, they still feel a little warm and swollen, wonders if he and Bradley actually managed any talking last night. About anything. Or if they just made out a lot. And he needs to try and remember to call him Bradley when they’re like this. At home. He knows he’s going to slip up, call him Rooster or Bradshaw, but the fact he’s standing barefoot in his kitchen, wearing his stupid jorts and threadbare tank, staring at the toaster likes he’s willing it to go faster. Jake is pretty sure Bradshaw is blushing.

                “I’m having lunch with Natasha. Did you, uh, want to come?” Bradley asks, and it’s like he’s not sure if he even wants Jake there himself. However, a lunch date with Phoenix as a third wheel is not the way to go, especially not for what is probably, technically, their first date.

                “Are you meant to be driving with your ankle like it is?” Jake asks shrewdly.

                “It’s fine,” Bradley mumbles and Jake shakes his head, eyes darting around until he spies the crutches shoved in the corner.

                “You’re definitely not meant to be driving,” he guesses. “Or even walking on it I bet. Stubborn ass,” Jake says, but he smiles as he says it, brushes a kiss to Rooster’s bare shoulder as he slips past to put their mugs on the table. He turns to find Bradley staring at him and he raises an eyebrow. “What?”

                “Uh. So…”

                “Sit the fuck down Rooster. Put your foot up. You’re doing a shit job of resting it.” Rooster blinks at him, but then he’s smiling ever so slightly and inclining his head, shuffling over and sitting down, putting his foot up on one of the chairs. “What time are you meant to be meeting Phoenix?”

                “Uh, in about an hour. Kind of slept in a bit.”

                Jake smirks at him, can imagine exactly why they both slept in. Damn it feels good to actually have had some decent sleep.

                “Good to know we can easily sleep in the same bed and get a good night’s rest.” The toaster has popped up two pieces and he finds a plate, notices the bottle of what look like prescription pain killers. He frowns, Rooster should definitely not be walking or driving. Dumbass. “You need to eat this toast so you can take your meds?” Jake asks, although he suspects he’s asking a fairly rhetorical question all things considered.

                “Uh, yeah. There’s some peanut butter in –”

                “I got you Bradley,” Jake says, and the name feels unfamiliar in his mouth and sounds strange to his ears, judging from the look on Bradley’s face he feels the same but he’s nothing if not just as stubborn. They’ll get used to it. He finds the peanut butter and covers the two pieces, steps over to the table and slides the plate to Bradley along with the bottle of pills. He gets them both large glasses of water before settling down in the chair opposite, taking a sip of his coffee and grateful that it’s cooled enough he can take large sips.

                “Uh. Thanks Jake.” It sounds just as stilted and he’s glad he’s not the only one struggling a little, smiles at him and nods his head.

                “You’re welcome.”

                They sit there in silence, just kind of staring at each other and it would feel awkward but instead it just kind of feels amusing, they just keep staring and smiling at each other like neither of them can believe where they are, quietly just drinking their coffee. He doesn’t want to say anything that might break the peace, is enjoying this in all its weirdness and newness. Being allowed to just openly look. Admire. Maybe he can finally ask Bradshaw about how he got his scars. The beeping of what sounds like a washing machine goes off.

                “I, uh, did your washing. It’s probably dry now.”

                Irritation flares through him, surprising him with its intensity.

                “Bradshaw! What the fuck. Why?”

                “What did you expect me to do?”

                “Leave me to do it! You need to stay off your fucking ankle. Bet you didn’t use your damn crutches!”

                “Oh my god, you’re worse than Penny!”

                “Penny is a very smart woman. And I’m a very smart man. You ain’t going to heal if you don’t take it easy.”

                “Fine,” Rooster huffs and Jake feels a thrill go through him, surprised at the easy acquiescence. He could get used to this. He leans over the tiny table to capture Bradley’s mouth with his own, licks over lips that taste of peanut and coffee, hums happily as his cock twitches with interest and he pulls back with reluctance.

                “You wanna be on time you better get a wriggle on. I’ll drive, and you are going to use your fucking crutches. Also you better change into something otherwise Phoenix won’t be seen in public with you…” Jake states, although he’s already become quite fond of the tank, is wondering if he sucked on Bradshaw’s nipples through the fabric it would go even more see-through. An activity for later, once Bradshaw is all healed up. He goes and gets said crutches and shoves them in Bradshaw’s direction, staring at him pointedly until he takes them from Jake will ill grace. He laughs and throws him a wink, heads for the laundry to get his own clothes out.

                His jeans are still a little damp, but his briefs and t-shirt are dry enough, as are his socks and he realizes a little belatedly that he must have been sleeping in Bradley’s underwear. Well then. That’s pretty damning evidence. He unhooks the keys off the wall, knows Bradshaw doesn’t have hangups about people driving his shitty second-hand Honda civic that he brought to shuttle himself around base in something that doesn’t cost a kidney each time he needs to fill it up.

                Bradshaw is standing at the door, not much changed except he’s pulled on a floral short-sleeve button-down on, along with a moonboot and Jake gives him the stink-eye pointedly. Such a dumbass. The drive is quick and painless and it’s smack between the peak breakfast and lunch times, and there’s an empty space right outside the café-diner Bradley is meeting Phoenix.

                “Here, give me your phone.”

                “Uh. Why?”

                “I’m going to put my number in.”

                Bradley unlocks it before handing it over like he half expects Jake to toss it out the window, and he quickly types in his number and calls himself, before adding himself as a contact with a grin, adding a few emojis for good measure. Hopes they’ll make Bradley smile later when he sees them. Then there’s a knock on the window and he turns to find Phoenix staring at him. Glaring even. He grins back, gives her his best shit-eating grin he can because he knows it’ll annoy her to no end. He undoes his seatbelt and quickly goes around to help Bradley out, even though he doubts Bradley needs it he can hold the crutches at least.

                “Bagman.”

                “Phoenix.”

                “What are you doing here?”

                “Just dropping Bradley of for your lunch date. He shouldn’t be driving on his ankle you know.”

                She frowns at him, looks over to where Bradshaw is watching them with wide, slightly worried looking, eyes. Jake gives him a wink and hands him the crutches, hopes his expression conveys to Bradshaw that he expects him to fucking use them.

                “Since when do you call him Bradley?”

                “Would you prefer me to call him babe?”

                “What the fuck?” she hisses. “You’re serious right now?”

                “Deadly. I’ll leave you two to it. Let me know if Phoenix can’t drop you back and I’ll come pick you up.”

                “What the fuck?” she repeats, and Jake quite likes this whole shock factor thing they have going on. Supposes he better bite the bullet and let Javy know what’s up before he hears it through the grapevine.

…            …            …

                “I left you alone for twenty-four hours and you’ve somehow shacked up with Bagman?”

                “Uh. Yes?” Bradley offers, because it definitely feels and looks that way, even if he’s not quite sure how they got to this point. Several vital steps feel like they’ve been jumped, skipped or simply obliterated completely. But it’s also been weirdly nice, and sweet; Hangman is still himself, but he’s only calling Bradley out on stuff Bradley knows he’s being a bit stupid about. Like not using his crutches. He seems to care, and for some sudden reason doesn’t seem to mind Bradley knowing or seeing that he cares. As weird as it’s been, he doesn’t want to rock the boat.

                “Yes? That’s all you have to say for yourself? Yes?”

                “Uh. I don’t know what else to tell you? We just…” he scratches his head, crutch banging his side as it dangles from his arm. “We’re together I think?”

                “You think? You… don’t know?”

                “Uh. All signs point to yes?” Bradley offers and she stares at him like he’s lost his mind. Maybe he has. Kind of feels like it, a little.

                “Yes you’re together, or yes you don’t know?” Natasha demands and he grimaces.

                “Uh. Yeah. I’m… yeah. I think so. Yes.”

                “Oh my god. I have to hear this.”

                Did he… did he say something to Rooster to make him want to come home with Jake? He sucks in a deep breath, stomach churning as he considers the possibilities. Okay. It could be Payback. Unlikely, given how much he can’t shut up about his wife and kids. Still. Small chance. Rooster. Unfortunately high chance if he was around and Jake was past the point of no return with regards to alcohol consumption and his brain to mouth filter with his inconvenient crush that he has sworn Javy to secrecy about. There’s also a chance Jake brought home a complete stranger, but he hasn’t done that in years.

                He lies there and moves parts of his body ever so slightly, trying to gather clues as to what he maybe got up to last night. His feet aren’t sore, so he hasn’t walked on broken glass, which is something he’d rather do than deal with the fact Rooster is in his bed. His legs feel fine, normal, maybe a little tired from the run yesterday morning, which he’s glad he can clearly remember, but it’s not anything out of the ordinary. His stomach is not great, but he’s putting that down to the fact he’s the most hungover he’s ever felt.

                He hasn’t been fucked, his ass isn’t even tender, and he’s pretty sure he hasn’t fucked Rooster. Or whoever it is lying beside him. Part of him, a large part, wants it to be Rooster because at least that would make him feel a tiny bit more okay, because he hasn’t ever really been okay with sex with no feelings. And there are definitely feelings between him and Rooster, even if they aren’t always particularly pretty ones.

                His lips feel raw. Like he rubbed them with sandpaper before he went to bed. He pauses his train of thought. Sandpaper? Or stubble? He’s spent enough time with Rooster now to know the other man sports a five o’clock shadow by lunch, and he’s never kissed him before, only imagined it, but… maybe?

                “Mmm. No. Stay…” the body mumbles, and it definitely sounds like Rooster and Jake throws himself out of the bed, toward the door to the bathroom, ignores the displeased grunt of the man he leaves behind him and pushes down the roiling in his stomach. He shuts the bathroom door and peers around, more light courtesy of the small, frosted window letting in early dawn light. He uses the toilet, washes his hands and looks into the mirror, sees his hair sticking up every which way and pulls a face. The clothes he was wearing last night are sitting in a pile on the floor by the washing basket and his brain stalls.

                Because that isn’t his washing basket. His is black, while this one is grey. It looks exactly the same, but it isn’t. He glances to the shower and blinks. None of his toiletries are sitting on the little shelf and he takes a deep breath, looks and sees a bright green toothbrush sitting in a cup. Jake’s current toothbrush is red.

                Oh fuck.

                It’s even worse than he thought.

                He was in Rooster’s bed.

                He’s in Rooster’s place.

                It’s familiar because they’re both in base housing.

                He reaches for the clothes on the floor, wondering if he can slip them on, discards the thought immediately when he realizes the clothes are wet and smell faintly of vomit. Okay then, that’s a little mortifying. He wonders if he can find some Tylenol or something to deal with the pounding behind his eyes. He needs to take the path of least resistance, and if his drunk self somehow talked its way into Rooster’s bed and Rooster let him then he’s not going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

                He steps closer to the mirror, pulls it open and sure enough finds a bottle of Tylenol, takes a couple using the cup with Rooster’s toothbrush to swallow them back. He looks in the mirror than and studies himself, his lips are red and raw looking, definitely look like they’ve been chewed on and maybe rubbed all over Rooster’s face and neck. He just doesn’t remember any of it and he’s a little pissed at himself.

                If he’d known Rooster would be… receptive to Jake making moves on him he would have done so long ago, rather than dragging out whatever the fuck weird tension-laden banter they’ve had going for years. He’d always thought it was all ego, but now… now he isn’t so sure. That said he’s not going to shy away from it now that he does know. Decision made he quickly brushes his teeth, uses Rooster’s toothbrush because their mouths have clearly been very well acquainted recently. Then he heads back to the bedroom, closing the door to the bathroom quietly and easing himself back into the bed, nestling closer to the warmth of Bradshaw’s body.

                “Wha?” Rooster mumbles in his sleep and Jake feels his heart squeeze and stutter as Bradshaw’s arm goes around him again, drawing Jake close so he can wrap himself around him better. Jake lets himself be manhandled, presses a kiss to the skin of Rooster’s neck and feels the rub of stubble against his sensitive lips, finds himself smiling against his neck.

                “Shh, go back to sleep baby…”

                “Mmm. Okay.”

…            …            …

                Hangman is asleep in his bed.

                Correction.

                Hangman is still asleep in his bed.

                Hangman who had turned up drunk off his face at nearly one o’clock this morning, making no fucking sense and rambling about needing a place to sleep and it needing to be in Bradley’s bed. He hadn’t managed to get more of an explanation, but he figured he kind of owed it to him, had let him inside and instantly regretted it when Hangman had then rushed for the bathroom and vomited. Bradley had forced some Gatorade into him, made him shower and then given him a clean pair of underwear to sleep in.

                He’d planned to put Hangman on the sofa, but he’d targeted Bradley’s bed with unerring accuracy and made himself immediately comfortable. Bradley sure as hell hadn’t been willing to sleep on the lumpy sofa which is probably older than him in his own damned assignment. Decided Hangman could deal with the uncomfortable realization he’d spent the night in Bradley’s bed. The night and most of the morning, given that it’s almost midday and he’s meant to be meeting Natasha for lunch at one.

                He grabs the dirty clothes and puts a load of washing on, knows the chance of Hangman leaving wearing anything but his own clothes are slim to zero. He stops briefly to take in the sight of Hangman’s fluffy hair sticking out everywhere and looking weirdly soft, not how Bradley has ever seen him before, even when they were sharing living spaces in the past. He turns the shower, hears a grumble from the direction of the bed but ignores it. Stepping into the shower he begins washing himself perfunctorily while his mind races through the potential reactions Hangman might have when he wakes up properly.

                Then he feels a hand on his hip and he jumps, then feels lips pressing kisses over his shoulders and he opens his mouth to say… what? Something? Anything? What the fuck? His brain is fixating on the fact that not only is Hangman in his shower, naked, but he’s lathered up his hands is washing Bradey’s back. What the fuck? He really wants to ask that out loud but he also doesn’t want to piss him off or for Hangman to stop washing his back, which has been difficult to reach with his ribs bruised as they are.

                “Uh. How did you sleep?”

                “Mmm. Better than I have in a long time. Thanks.”

                He doesn’t know what to say or do with that information, or the easy gratitude. He turns, needs to see that it is definitely Hangman in his shower with him. The kiss is a surprise, and he is still for a second before he’s kissing him back, brain now racing with a whole list of other scenarios. This was not in his list of potential reactions of Hangman waking up. Never in a million years. Hangman’s mouth feels hot and slick under the spray of water, his heart feels like it’s racing as he feels Hangman’s naked body press against his own.

                His cock is half hard and it feels incredibly intimate to be showering with each other, making out, but also feel like it’s not leading to sex. Instead it feels like simply an excuse to be close and since fucking when? He wonders if he's maybe dreaming or fallen into a coma, maybe an alternate timeline. He feels like he's missing a chunk of time, or an explanation. Both really. Anything that might explain what the fuck is happening right now.

                Maybe Hangman hit his head and thinks Bradley is his… boyfriend? They finish showering and Bradley pats himself dry carefully, vigorous rubbing making the scabs bleed a little still. Then Hangman is giving him shit about his lack of hair products and he's grateful because that at least feels normal. He makes an excuse about making coffee and flees to his kitchen, leaving Hangman fixing his hair in the mirror.

                His reprieve doesn't last long, not even five minutes later Hangman playfully bullies past him in his own fucking kitchen, pressing him against the kitchen counter, his hands finding purchase on Bradley's hips, fingertips seeking bare skin under his loose tank, stroking over the thin skin of his hips and making all the hair on his arms prickle with awareness.

                Bradley has no idea what the fuck is going on. He’d thought maybe Hangman was fucking with him, that's the only logical answer his tired brain can offer. But as minutes tick by Hangman continues to be weirdly soft and domestic, asking Bradley how he takes his coffee like it’s something he wants to know, it seems like an odd prank. Still, it's incredibly fucking strange.

                Whatever the hell is happening he's more than okay to go along with it.