Michael | Any prns idc

That grin. That swagger. That filthy little glint in his eyes like he already knows what you’re going to do with him—and he’s begging for it.

You narrow your eyes. “You’re not here to flirt.”

His boots scuff as he pushes the chair back a few inches, tilting his chin like he wants you to come closer. “No? Then what am I here for?”

You slowly circle the desk.

Click. Click. Click. Your heels echo off the tile.

Maverick watches you like a hawk, that pretty pink tongue darting out to wet his lower lip. His hands twitch against the backrest, like he’s thinking about touching you. But he won’t. Not yet. He knows better.

“I told you not to perform that maneuver. I told every single pilot it was restricted during practical. But you did it anyway.” You reach the front of his chair, lean in slightly. “Why?”

He shrugs. “Felt good.”

God, he’s such a brat.

You grip the chair behind his shoulder, lean in just enough so he is face-to-face with the low-cut of your shirt and he can smell the faint hint of perfume you rarely indulge in—only today, because something in your gut knew you’d be dealing with him.

“And if I say you’re not allowed to feel good without permission?” you murmur.

That gets him. He blinks. Licks his lips. Then smiles again, wider this time. “Then I guess I’ve been very, very bad.”

Before he can reply, you grab him by the collar of his flight suit and yank. He stumbles up to his feet, unbalanced by how quickly the control shifts. And you don’t wait, you shove him hard, back into the wall, the solid thump echoing like a warning shot.

Your body presses into his, chest to chest, breath to breath.

“You like disobeying me, Lieutenant?”

His mouth opens. “Yes, ma’a—”

You slap him.

Not hard. Just enough.

Just enough to wipe the smirk off his face.

Just enough to see his pupils dilate, his mouth fall open in shock—and arousal.

You take a step back, arms crossed. “On your knees.”

He blinks.

You tilt your head. “I said, on. Your. Knees.”

He sinks so fast it makes your stomach flutter.

Now he’s looking up at you, eyes wide and dark, hands on his thighs like he knows not to reach. His mouth is slightly parted. Breathing quick. Waiting.

“Open,” you whisper.

He does.

God, that tongue—soft pink, greedy, trembling.

You push two fingers into his mouth. Not slow this time.

He chokes, just once, and moans around you. And stays there.

You work your fingers against his tongue, deeper, slower, hitting his gag reflex just for fun until he’s drooling down his chin and his eyes are fluttering, glassy with heat.

“Maybe I should make you gag every time you disobey,” you murmur, thrusting your fingers deeper, feeling his throath close around your digits with a small spasm. “Until that smug little mouth is too sore to flirt with me in class.”

He hums.

You withdraw slowly, wet and gleaming, and smack his cheek with your slick hand.

“Strip.”

He stares up at you.

You raise your brows. “You need me to help you? are you a puppy?”

He fumbles with the flight suit. Scrambles out of it. That lean, hard body revealed inch by inch—golden skin, toned abs, a cock that’s already hard and twitching against his briefs just from your fingers in his mouth.

“Look at you,” you laugh softly. “Desperate.”

You sink into the chair behind your desk, legs spread, watching him kneel—naked, panting, flushed.

“I’m going to remind you exactly who gives permission to act out, Lieutenant.”

The use of your first name snaps you out of your trance. You focus back to the present, back to the person in front of you.

Maverick.

“Hey, hey, look at me,” he says, placing his hands on your shoulders.

You blink slowly. “I shouldn’t… I didn’t…”

“Listen to me. You did everything right. You’re alive.”

“The plane is wrecked.”

“Planes are replaceable. You are not.”

You close your eyes, trying to ground yourself.

“Let’s go back inside, get you out of this flight suit and get you home, okay?”

You nod and let Maverick guide you back.

He stops outside the women’s locker room.

“You okay?”

You nod again. “I think so.”

“I’ll be right here,” he says, taking one last look at you before sitting on the bench in the hall.

You go into the locker room. As you reach for the lock, you stop. The scene plays out in your head.

You still don’t know how it happened. You lost control of your plane, but managed to crash land on the runway. You remember the smoke billowing out, and Maverick pulling you out of the cockpit.

The door creaks open.

“Lieutenant?”

Maverick’s voice echoes through the locker room.

“Yeah, I’m… I’m fine,” you say, putting the combination into your lock, opening your locker.

You unzip your flight suit and quickly change into your service khakis.

When you walk back out into the hall, Maverick immediately stands.

“Let me drive you home.”

You nod. You don’t want to fight with him. Not today, not after your crash. You just want to go home and lay in bed.

It’s a quiet ride back to your housing.

Maverick pulls into a parking spot and turns the truck off.

“You shouldn’t be alone tonight,” he says.

“I’ll be fine, Mav.”

“I know what it’s like to have a training accident. I isolated myself, and… and it’s not a good idea. Trust me.”

You bite your lip, thinking about what he said.

“Don’t you think it’s inappropriate?”

“No.”

“You answered too quickly,” you laugh awkwardly.

“Come on,” he says, getting out of the truck.

You stay seated, trying to comprehend the day’s events. You’re brought back to the present when Maverick opens the passenger door.

He offers you a hand. You pause.

“Trust me.”

You take his hand and get out of the truck. But neither one of you lets go of the other’s hand as you walk back to your apartment.

You open the door, and Maverick carefully follows you inside.

“Listen, I’m just here for some company. I don’t want to intrude. I’ll be on the couch if that’s okay.”

You nod.

“Go change into something more comfortable, okay?”

You walk into your bedroom, closing the door behind you. You slide down the door and sit on the floor.

You start to cry.

“Y/n,” Maverick says through the door.

You don’t answer.

He turns the doorknob and tries to come in. With you blocking the door, he only opens it a few inches.

“Y/n,” he repeats, softer. “Let me in… Please.”

You stand up and let him in. When he steps in, you move closer to him. He instinctively wraps you in his arms.

“Shh,” he coos, kissing your head.

You close your eyes, your head in the crook of his neck. Breathing him in, letting it ground you.

“I was scared,” you mumble into his neck.

“I know.”

“Mav?”

“Yes?”

“Can you… come to bed with me?”

“If that’s what you want.”

“It is.”

Maverick leads you to the bed, helping you in. He gets in beside you.

You immediately find him, curling up beside him. You kiss his chest.

“Mav…”

“What is it?”

“I want you.”

Pause. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, Mav, I am. I want you and I want to forget what happened in practice.”

“Y/n, I… I’ve wanted you too,” he murmurs.

That’s all the invitation you need.

You crawl up on him, straddling his torso. He runs his hands up your sides.

“You’re so beautiful,” he says, taking a hand and gently stroking your cheek.

You smile and lean down to kiss him. The kiss is slow and sure, his hands cradling your face. You instinctively roll your hips against him. A moan escapes him. You roll your hips again, the friction adding something nice for both of you.

“Sweetheart,” Maverick whispers, slightly strained.

“I told you I wanted you.”

He closes his eyes, trying to refocus.

You pull your shirt off and tug at his, making him open his eyes. He helps you take his shirt off.

“We’ll need more than this off,” he mutters, gently tossing you onto the bed and crawling over you.

His hands fumble with your pants, but get them off in one movement. You help with his, and soon you both are just in your underwear.

Maverick kisses every inch of your body, trying to memorize each curve and dip.

“Easy Mav,” you say, tangling a hand in his hair.

“Please, I want to,” he begs.

“Is that Pete Mitchell begging?”

He presses himself between your legs. “Don’t make me grovel any longer, please.”

You smile and reach down between your bodies, finding his hardening length. He gasps when you finally make contact.

“Come on, Mav, make your move.”

And sure enough, he does. Maverick pushes your underwear aside and starts to push in.

The two of you sigh with pleasure as he works you open. Soon enough, he is thrusting into you with everything he has.

All those days wanting you finally paying off.

“Mav, please,” you plead. “I’m… I’m gonna come.”

“Come for me, baby,” he growls.

His growl really pushes you over the edge and your vision blurs as your orgasm washes over you.

Maverick thrusts just a few more times and he finds his own release, his warm cum filling you.

You run your fingers through his hair, happily sighing.

“Did that help?” Maverick leans down and lazily kisses your jawline.

“Hm?”

“Did that help you forget what happened at practice?”

“Let’s just say, I want to do that more often after practice.”

Maverick smiles and kisses you.

(y/n) (l/n) was dangerous when drunk. All loose limbs and lingering touches, flirty smirks hiding sharp, knowing eyes. He wore a snug white shirt tucked halfway into black jeans, curls wild and falling into his face. (y/n) had that look again, trouble wrapped in sweet-talking sin.

And he was currently wrapped around Slider, arms hanging lazily around the taller man’s shoulders, whispering something into his ear that made the guy laugh, blush, touch his waist in return.

Pete’s jaw clenched.

“I’ll get him,” He muttered to Goose, who raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

He crossed the bar in a few short strides, ignoring the flutter of anticipation in his chest. He touched (y/n)’s shoulder with a possessive grip that made Slider immediately step back.

“Time to go,” Pete said, voice low.

(y/n) turned his head slowly, eyes glassy from drink, smile too smug. “You tryna be my knight in sweaty flight gear, Pete?”

“I’m trying to get your drunk ass home before you do something stupid,” Pete snapped.

“Too late,” (y/n) purred, and let himself be led out.

The walk to their apartment was a blur. Pete kept one hand curled around (y/n)’s wrist like he was afraid the man might float away again. (y/n) didn’t protest, he just leaned closer, breath hot near Pete’s ear, laughing softly every time the pilot twitched.

“You jealous of Slider?” (y/n) asked, fingers brushing up under the back of Pete’s shirt. “You don’t have to be.”

Pete stopped walking. “(y/n), you’re drunk.”

“Mmm. Not that drunk.”

His hand slid lower, to Pete’s waist, slipping under the waistband of his jeans in a slow, suggestive tease.

Pete cursed under his breath.

Back inside the apartment, the door slammed behind them and the silence felt charged.

“You mad at me, Mav?” (y/n) asked, all false innocence and flushed cheeks. He backed him up until Pete’s spine met the wall, and his body reacted. To the voice, the smell of sweat and whiskey on (y/n)’s breath, the hand gripping his belt.

“You’re a fucking menace when you drink,” Pete growled.

“And you love it,” (y/n) murmured. “You like it when I act out, gets you all worked up.”

Pete didn’t answer, but his breath hitched.

(y/n) leaned in, lips brushing his ear. “You didn’t drag me home to play babysitter, did you?”

“I, fuck..-” Pete choked, trying to think, trying to resist.

“You could’ve let me go home with Slider.”

Pete grabbed him by the shirt. “Don’t say his name.”

(y/n) grinned, tilting his head. “That’s what I thought.”

Then he kissed him and it was nothing like he’d expected. (y/n) kissed like he flew: reckless, unapologetic, in control. Tongue sliding past Pete’s lips, hand slipping into his jeans like he had every right to be there.

Pete groaned, trying to push him back, but (y/n) pinned his wrists to the wall instead.

“Let me,” (y/n) whispered, kissing down his jaw. “Let me fuck you, Pete.”

That shouldn’t have made his knees weak. But it did.

“You don’t know what you’re asking for,” Pete warned, voice shaking.

“Oh, I do,” (y/n) said, dragging him toward the bedroom with frightening ease. “And you’re gonna give it to me.”

The bedroom door slammed behind them, Pete stumbling backward with (y/n) pushing into his space like gravity itself. His back hit the wall, but his heart was already pounding from something deeper than impact.

“(y/n), you're drunk.” Pete muttered.

“I’m not that drunk,” (y/n) whispered again, voice low and dangerous, and god, Pete believed him now.

Because (y/n) was threading his fingers through Pete’s belt loops, tugging, grinding just enough to feel the outline of their cocks press together. (y/n)’s lips brushed his jaw.

“You came to the bar lookin’ at me like you were gonna fuckin’ lose it. And then you did. Dragged me home like a jealous boyfriend.”

“I wasn’t..-”

(y/n) bit his earlobe. “You were. And now you’re gonna deal with it.”

Pete’s hands came up in defense, but (y/n) pinned them effortlessly against the wall, hips rolling in slow, deliberate friction against his front. “You gonna stop me?”

Pete breathed, “No.”

(y/n) didn’t waste time. He stripped him like he’d done this before. Shirt yanked over his head, pants dropped with one pull of the fly, briefs shoved down until Pete was bare and flushed, chest rising with each shaky breath.

(y/n) stepped back just long enough to undress himself, slow, teasing, showing off the lean muscle beneath his tight clothes, a trail of hair dipping down into his boxers.

Pete watched with blown pupils, lips parted. “You’re fucking unreal.”

(y/n) stepped between his knees on the bed, grinning. “Wait until I ruin you.”

And then he was on him.

Pete’s back hit the mattress with a soft thud. (y/n) climbed over him, grabbing his wrists again and pinning them above his head, holding them there with one hand while the other trailed down his chest, fingers grazing a nipple before sliding lower.

Pete arched into the touch, grinding up against (y/n)’s thigh helplessly.

“Desperate already?” (y/n) teased, voice like silk over steel.

“Shut up and, ahh..-”

(y/n)’s fingers wrapped around his cock, slow, teasing strokes while his other hand, having let go of his wrists, worked between Pete’s legs. Two fingers pushed against his rim, circling until he slid one in. Then two.

“God, you’re tight,” (y/n) groaned, pressing kisses down Pete’s chest. “Loosen up, Pete. Let me in.”

Pete moaned, face flushed, thighs twitching around (y/n)’s hand.

(y/n) leaned down, voice warm against his lips. “I wanna hear you. I want the neighbors to know who’s fucking you.”

The stretch was sudden and deep when (y/n) finally pushed in.

Pete gasped, fingers clawing at the sheets now that his hands were free. “Fuck, (y/n), too much..-"

“You can take it,” (y/n) whispered, kissing the corner of his mouth as he began to thrust, slow at first, but hard. Each stroke knocked the air from Pete’s lungs.

“You feel me?” (y/n) growled, hips snapping forward again. “Right there, fuck, you’re squeezing me so good.”

Pete was shaking, sweat slicking his skin, back arched and lips red from biting back moans.

(y/n) didn’t let up.

He grabbed Pete’s thighs, shoved them up and held them there, driving deeper, until the other was panting, whimpering.

“That’s it,” (y/n) groaned, “let me fuck you dumb.”

He angled his hips and hit that sweet spot, making Pete cry out, a wreck beneath him.

“Right there..- fuck, do it again!”

“Oh, baby,” (y/n) rasped, picking up the pace. “You’re mine now. You belong under me like this.”

He leaned down and bit Pete’s shoulder, hips slamming in, the sound of skin on skin filling the room, mixed with the desperate gasps and filthy moans Pete couldn’t hold back anymore.

“Come for me,” (y/n) commanded, hand wrapping around Maverick’s cock.

Pete’s eyes rolled back. “Fuck..- fuck, I’m gonna..-”

Hot release painted both their stomachs, and (y/n) didn’t stop, he thrust through it, chasing his own orgasm with a rough, deep growl.

When he came, he came hard, spilling inside, riding it out in deep, possessive thrusts until Pete was wrung out and trembling.

words: 1279

He looked the same. All lean muscle under a plain shirt and leather jacket that had faded over the years but never lost its authority. There were new lines at the corners of his eyes, a stiffness to the way he stood, ever since the crash. He hadn’t flown since. Not once.

But today, Pete had convinced him.

“Come on, one last ride,” he’d said earlier that morning, soft enough to give (y/n) an out, firm enough to let him know it wasn’t just about flying.

It was about them.

Now, the sun was setting as they taxied down the runway, the cockpit close and quiet. (y/n) didn’t speak much, he never did, but Pete kept stealing glances, cataloguing the way his fingers twitched at the controls, like his body still remembered.

They flew until the sun dipped low and golden, carving the sky into ribbons of orange and lavender. Pete didn’t say a word. He just let (y/n) feel it again. The speed, the freedom, the thing he’d once loved more than anything.

And when they landed, not at base, but a little private airstrip hidden near the cliffs, Pete could see the shimmer in (y/n)’s eyes. Not quite tears. Just memory.

“I can’t believe you still remembered this place,” (y/n) said quietly.

“How could I forget?” Pete replied. “You showed it to me, remember?”

They hiked down in silence, boots crunching on dry grass and pebbles, until the flower field came into view, wild, golden, endless.

(y/n) stopped just at the edge, blinking. “I thought it’d be gone by now.”

Pete stepped behind him, voice low. “It’s still here. Like you.”

(y/n) turned to look at him, and there was something raw in his expression. All those years of longing, restraint, shame from the crash and the guilt that came with it.

“I’m not who I used to be.”

Pete’s voice dropped an octave. “You’re still mine.”

(y/n) opened his mouth, maybe to protest, maybe to speak his heart, but Pete silenced him with a kiss. Deep. Anchored. Years of tension exploding in the press of lips, the way Pete pushed him back gently into the tall grass.

Their jackets were shed quickly. Shirts tugged off. Pete hovered over (y/n), breathless.

“You remember how to take orders, Captain?” Pete murmured, grinning as he slid a hand over (y/n)’s chest.

“From you?” (y/n) rasped, voice tight with anticipation. “Always.”

Pete kissed down his stomach, slow and reverent, dragging his tongue along the soft trail of hair that led to (y/n)’s waistband. He undid his pants without ceremony, freeing (y/n)’s cock and wrapping a hand around it, just to feel the way (y/n)’s breath hitched.

“Fuck, Pete…” (y/n)’s hips arched, legs parting in offering.

Pete shushed him, sucking a bruise into his inner thigh. “You’ve been haunting me,” he said. “Every damn time I fly, I think of you. How you looked in the cockpit. How you taught me everything. How I wanted you even then.”

(y/n) moaned, fingers threading into Pete’s hair as he was taken into Pete’s mouth. Heat rolled through him, shivers climbing up his spine, every inch of him alight. Pete’s mouth was greedy, practiced, tongue swirling, jaw flexing as he took him deeper.

But Pete didn’t let him come. Not yet.

He pulled off with a slick pop, licking his lips as he fumbled for the small tube of lube he’d kept in his jacket pocket. He looked sheepish for exactly one second.

“You planned this,” (y/n) said, breathless.

“I hoped for it.”

He slicked his fingers and pressed one in slowly, watching the way (y/n)’s expression twisted into something desperate and sweet. Then another. Scissoring gently, curling until (y/n) gasped, grabbing fistfuls of grass.

“God, I missed the way you fall apart,” Pete whispered. “Let me fuck you, (y/n). Let me take care of you.”

(y/n) nodded, breath shaky. “Do it.”

Pete lined up and pressed in slowly, inch by inch, and they both groaned when he bottomed out.

The field around them swayed in the wind, petals brushing against bare skin, but all Pete could see was him. The flush on (y/n)’s cheeks, the way his eyes fluttered, his lips parted in wordless pleasure.

He moved slowly at first, rocking into him with care. Worshipful. Each thrust punctuated with breathy gasps and Pete’s low growl of “So tight…” “So good…” “I’ve wanted this for so fucking long.”

And then faster. Rougher.

Pete gripped (y/n)’s hips, fucking him into the earth, the sound of skin against skin rising in the twilight air. He bent down to kiss him, still thrusting deep, swallowing (y/n)’s moans as his cock rubbed perfectly inside him.

(y/n) reached between them, stroking himself fast, desperate.

“Pete..-”

“Come for me, baby.”

(y/n) came with a gasp, body shuddering beneath him, and Pete followed not long after, thrusting deep and staying there, filling him to the brim.

For a long moment, neither of them moved. Just the sound of wind in the grass, the last light of day stretching over their spent bodies.

Pete pressed a kiss to (y/n)’s temple. “Let me take you flying again. Every damn day, if you’ll let me.”

(y/n) smiled, exhausted but full of something warm. “Only if you land me like that again.”

words: 964

The California sun, warm and honey-thick, streamed through the blinds of your small, shared home, painting stripes of gold across the wooden floor. It was a perfect, lazy Sunday. The kind of day that felt made for soft pajamas, endless cups of coffee, and the gentle, shared silence of two people completely at ease with one another.

But Pete "Maverick" Mitchell was not at ease.

From the moment he’d woken up, nuzzling into the space between your shoulder blades with a sleep-rough murmur of, "G'mornin', sweetheart," there had been a different kind of energy buzzing under his skin. It was a quiet, persistent hum, a current of pure, unadulterated need that seemed to have him in a constant state of motion towards you.

You felt it first as you stood at the coffee maker, waiting for the blessed brew to finish dripping. His arms slid around your waist from behind, his chest, warm and solid, pressing against your back. He didn't just hold you; he molded himself to you, burying his face in your hair with a deep, inhaling sigh.

"You smell so good," he mumbled against your neck, his voice still gravelly with sleep. "Better than jet fuel in the morning." He placed a single, soft kiss just below your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. It was a familiar ritual, but today, the kiss lingered, his lips warm and insistent.

"Someone's affectionate this morning," you teased, leaning back into his embrace.

"Always am for you," he replied, his tone simple, as if stating an undeniable fact of physics. He gave you one last squeeze before releasing you to pour the coffee, but his eyes never left you.

That was how the entire morning went. He was your shadow, a warm, tactile presence attached to your hip. While you folded laundry on the couch, he sat so close his thigh was flush against yours. He’d pluck a shirt from the basket, fold it clumsily, and then, as if drawn by a magnet, his head would dip, and he’d press a quick, biting kiss to your bare shoulder.

"Pete!" you’d laugh, swatting at him playfully.

"Just a little one," he'd argue, a boyish grin spreading across his face, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Couldn't help it."

When you got up to put the folded clothes away, he followed you into the bedroom, his hands finding your hips as you placed stacks in the dresser. He’d rest his chin on your shoulder, watching your hands work, then turn his head to pepper the side of your neck with a series of light, rapid-fire kisses that made you giggle and squirm.

"You're like a puppy today," you said, turning in his arms to face him. You smoothed a hand over his sleep-mussed hair. "What's gotten into you?"

He just looked at you, his gaze so intensely fond it nearly stole your breath. "Just you," he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "It's always you." He leaned in and captured your lips in a soft, fleeting kiss. It was over before it really began, leaving you wanting more. He pulled back with a satisfied sigh, his thumb stroking your cheek. "Just one more," he whispered, and dipped in for another peck.

It continued through lunch. As you made sandwiches, he came up behind you, his arms a secure cage around you as he nibbled on the shell of your ear. When you tried to shoo him away so you could slice the tomato, he just chuckled, a low, warm sound against your back, and reluctantly released you, only to lean against the counter and watch you with a simmering heat in his eyes that promised this wasn't over.

By early afternoon, the constant, gentle assault was driving you wonderfully, delightfully mad. Every touch, every stolen kiss, was a spark on kindling, building a slow, warm fire in your belly. He was a man possessed, not by demons, but by a desperate, puppy-like love for his own wife.

The breaking point came in the kitchen. You were washing the few lunch dishes, your hands submerged in the warm, soapy water. You heard his soft footfalls on the tile behind you, but this time, there was no preamble of arms around your waist. He came right up against you, his body firm and unyielding, caging you against the cool countertop. His hands settled on your hips, his grip firm but not rough.

You turned off the faucet, the sudden silence loud in the room. You could feel the heat of him through your thin pajamas.

"Pete?" you asked, your voice barely a whisper.

He didn't answer with words. Instead, he bent his head and pressed his lips to the junction of your neck and shoulder. It wasn't a quick peck. It was a long, slow, open-mouthed kiss that had you gripping the edge of the sink. He sighed, a sound of pure contentment and yearning, and then trailed a line of softer kisses up the column of your throat.

"You taste like home," he murmured, his breath hot against your damp skin.

He turned you slowly in his arms until you were facing him. His eyes were dark, the green almost swallowed by black, his expression one of raw, unguarded need. He framed your face with his hands, his thumbs stroking your cheekbones.

"Just one more kiss, baby," he breathed, his voice a low, pleading rasp. "Please?"

He didn't wait for an answer. He dipped his head and captured your lips.

It started as another one of his soft, fleeting pecks. But as he went to pull away, something shifted. A whimper, small and involuntary, escaped your throat. You reached up, one hand sliding into his soft, thick hair, your fingers tangling at the nape of his neck.

It was as if you’d flipped a switch.

A shudder ran through him, a full-body tremor of surrender. The last vestige of his playful control shattered. The soft pecks were gone.

With a low, guttural sound from deep in his chest, he melted into you, his mouth slanting over yours in a kiss that was no longer a request, but a claiming. This was not the playful husband of this morning. This was Maverick, desperate and hungry.

His arms banded around you, crushing you to his chest as he pinned you more firmly against the counter. The kiss deepened, becoming hot, wet, and searching. His tongue swept into your mouth, and you met it with your own, a silent permission that had him groaning. One of his hands slid from your face, down your back, pressing you into him until you could feel every hard plane of his body. The other hand fisted in the fabric of your shirt at your waist, holding on as if he were adrift and you were his only anchor.

He kissed you like he was starved for it, like he’d been holding his breath all day and only your air could sustain him. It was all-consuming, a little reckless, filled with the same intensity he poured into flying. He was flying dangerously close to the sun now, and he was taking you with him.

When you finally broke apart, gasping for air, you were both breathless. He didn't go far, resting his forehead against yours, his eyes closed. His chest heaved against yours.

"See?" he panted, a ghost of his earlier smirk playing on his swollen lips. "Told you I just needed one more."

You laughed, a breathless, happy sound, and stroked his hair. "You're a liar, Mitchell."

His eyes opened, and the look in them was so full of smitten, desperate love it made your heart ache. "For you? Always." He leaned in again, but this time it was softer, a slow, tender kiss that sealed the promise of the long, lazy Sunday afternoon melting into an even slower, more intimate evening. He sighed against your mouth, the word a prayer, a promise, a completion.

"My wife."

You couldn’t stop the heat that flushed your skin.

“I was gonna make you coffee,” you teased, breath hitching as his hand slid under your skirt.

He grinned—but it was feral. Dangerous.

“Yeah? You know what I want to drink instead?” His voice dropped as his fingers slid over your panties, groaning when they came back soaked. “This. Fucking this. Wet for me already, baby?”

“I was excited to see you,” you whispered, gasping when his teeth grazed your jaw.

He growled, licking into your neck. “God, I fucking missed you. Missed this smell. Missed how you taste.”

Your breath hitched as he dropped to his knees in front of you, both hands under your skirt, rucking it up over your hips.

“Mav- wait, wait, the floor’s-”

“Don’t care. Let me see what I’ve been starving for.”

Your back hit the door hard. He pushed your leg higher, lips pressing kisses up your inner thigh, slow and reverent—but his breathing was wild. Like a man coming apart before he even touched you.

“You have those lacy white panties on,” he whispered, voice hoarse as he mouthed over the soaked fabric. “You wore these just for me, didn’t you?”

“I didn’t think you’d—oh god—”

His tongue pressed against you through the lace, licking a hot, heavy stripe up your center.

“Fuck,” he growled into you. “You don’t know how bad I’ve needed this. I swear to God, I almost came in my seat just thinking about getting your thighs around my face again.”

Your fingers tangled in his hair as he mouthed you like he was trying to get drunk on you, licking you through the lace, groaning like a man possessed.

“You’re fucking insane,” you gasped, head thudding back. “You just got home—”

“Exactly,” he cut you off, voice rough. “Three months in that sterile, bunk-ass barracks, thinking about your pussy. I’ve had my hand around my cock almost every goddamn night, and it was never enough.”

His hands slid up your thighs, forcing them apart wider. “This pussy’s mine. Say it.”

“It’s yours,” you moaned, hips bucking into his face.

He chuckled darkly, the sound vibrating against your core. “Damn right it is.”

He pressed his face between your thighs like a man starved, inhaling deep against the heat soaked fabric. “Fuck—these are ruined already.” He huffed a laugh, mouthing you through the lace with slow, wet strokes of his tongue. “Jesus, you smell so fuckin’ good.”

Your head thudded against the wall, eyes squeezed shut, the sound of his hungry growls and the slurping wet heat between your legs making your thighs shake already.

You could barely breathe before he shoved his nose against your clit, humping into your high heel like some filthy animal in heat.

His teeth caught the waistband of your panties, dragging them down just far enough to bare you, and then his mouth was on you—really on you.

Tongue flat and wide, dragging from your dripping entrance up to your clit in long, feral strokes, like he couldn’t decide whether to worship or devour you. You could hear him moaning against you, grinding his cock through his pants into your leg, using your shoe as leverage like he couldn’t stop himself.

“Soaked. So fucking wet. Just for me. You’re gonna come, baby. Right on my face. M'not moving until you flood my mouth.”he rasped, tongue licking into your folds as you squirmed against the door.

His mouth latched onto your clit, his fingers joined his mouth without warning, sliding inside you with a wet, obscene sound that made both of you groan.

"You're clenching already? Shit, girl—who’s this tight for, huh? You saving it for me like a good little whore?"

Your answer was a strangled cry, fingers buried in his hair, yanking, holding, pleading. He didn’t stop. Didn’t pause. Just kept fucking you with his mouth like a man who hadn’t eaten in weeks.

Your heel dug into the floor as he rutted harder against your leg, fucking his hips against the contact like he couldn’t wait another second to be inside you.

You whimpered, trying to close your legs as the pressure built.

“Uh-uh,” he growled, grabbing your thighs. “Keep them open for me. Be my good girl. Let me wreck this pretty cunt.”

Your voice broke. “Pete, I—I’m gonna—fuck—”

“You’re gonna come in my mouth before we even get to the fucking bed.”

He growled into your pussy like a man deranged, dragging his tongue up your slit, two fingers still pumping and curling inside you while his thumb replaced his mouth on your clit, rubbing fast, tight circles that made your knees give.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he rasped, face soaked with you, lips wet and swollen from the relentless worship. “Give it to me. Give me the first one right here, where I fuckin’ belong.”

Your orgasm slammed into you like a crash landing, your whole body locking up as you cried out, hips bucking wildly into his face. Maverick groaned against your clit like a man finally home, tongue working you through every last spasm, licking until your thighs trembled and your breath hitched into broken whines.

He only stopped when your legs gave out.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” you gasped, clinging to his shoulders as he stood, his face soaked, lips red and swollen, beard damp with you.

He looked wrecked. Like eating you had taken something from him.

But he smiled.

And it was feral.

“First one down,” he whispered into your ear, arms locking around your waist.

“Y-You’re insane.”

“Only for you, sweetheart.”

He grinded his cock into your stomach, still fully hard. Still desperate.

“I’m not even halfway done with you. Now I’m gonna bend you over the couch,” he hissed against your jaw, “pull that skirt up again, and fuck you until you forget your own name.”

You smirked, breathless. “You think you’ve earned that?”

Maverick stepped back, eyes gleaming.

“Oh, baby,” he growled, licking your taste off his lips. “I’ve served for that.”

Y/N POV

Pete has been acting strange lately and I don’t know what’s going on with him, he just scaring me.

One day I got a call from the Navy base saying that Pete got in a fight with one of the men and I get concerned, Pete isn’t like this.

When Pete came home with his stuff, I needed to talk to him.

“Hey, um, Mav? I got a call from the Navy base saying that you got in a fight today, can you explain why?” I ask, leaning against the wall near the front door.

“These questions, god, why do you need to know about everything!” He talked yelled.

“Because I’m your girlfriend and I should know what’s going on.” I spoke, crossing my arms.

“You’re such a fucking bitch!” He throws his bag on the ground and goes to the kitchen.

“What’s going on with you?” I ask, following him to the kitchen.

"You don't know what's going on, huh?" He grabs a beer from the refrigerator.

"I know that you're being an asshole," I confess.

Pete looks at me with the most pissed-off face I've ever seen in our relationship.

He slams the refrigerator and says, "Excuse me? What did you just say?" He gets closer to me, opening his beer bottle, I walk backward, getting scared.

"You're scaring me, Mav." I say, kinda shaking.

He backs me to a wall and whispers, "You have no idea what I've been going through. You only care about yourself, and you're just a fucking slut."

I slap his face. He looks surprised but pissed at the same time, and he grabs my arms to pin them to the wall. I start to whimper.

"Pete, stop! This isn't you." I struggle to get away from him.

"Don't slap me again, you hear me?" He growls.

"Then don't call me a slut again." I get angry.

He scoffs and lets go of me to drink his beer and goes sit down on the couch to watch TV and probably get drunk.

I breathe heavily and try to comprehend what just happened. I walk in front of the TV to face Pete and say, "You didn't answer my fucking question, why did you get in a fucking fight today?"

"What are you? My mother?" He drinks his beer.

"Why did you get in a fight today?" I repeat the question.

He gets up to try to leave the living room, but I stop him, and he grabs my left wrist to stop me.

"Just answer the damn question!" I yell at him.

"I don't owe you anything." He growls.

"Then why did I get a call today?" I yell.

"They're just full of shit!" He yells at me.

I scoff. "Okay, you think that the fucking Navy is full of shit! Then why did you get in a fight today? That's all I'm asking!" I look in his eyes.

"You don't understand, alright." He lets go of me. "I'm just so fucking pissed about Goose, okay."

"So, you get in a fight, which means that you miss Goose?" I get confused.

"No! It's just, it's been a hard week for me." He confesses.

"I understand that you've been having a hard week, but why would you get in a fight?" I ask again.

"Everyone has been pissing me off, alright!" He yells again.

"I'm sorry, Mav, I know that you're heartbroken, but why would you fight and then hurt your girlfriend next?" I begin to cry.

"Don't cry, babe, I'm sorry that I'm hurting you. You know that I don't mean it." He gets closer to me.

"I don't trust you." I try to walk away but he grabs me to the nearst wall and blocks me to get away from him.

"Y/N, I'm sorry, you should trust me," He touches my clothed leg, and I quietly gasp.

"I didn't mean to hurt you, please forgive me?" He makes us be nose to nose and starts to kiss my neck.

He drops the beer bottle, and I flinch, he picks me up, and I wrap my legs around his waist. He takes us to our bedroom and lays me on the bed softly.

He lays on top of me and starts to kiss me, but I stop him, "Can you lock the door?" I point to the door. "But no one else lives here." He lays his hands next to me.

"I know, but just in case?" He smirks and goes to the door, and locks it. I take my shirt off, and Mav notices that I'm not wearing a bar.

"Oh, baby." He comes up to me, and I giggle. I kiss him, and I wrap my arms around his neck to drag him down with me. He takes my pants off, including my underwear.

I help him get his clothes off, and he takes us to the end of the bed where our pillows are and starts to touch me and kiss me. I gasp. When he got down to my legs, I almost lost it, him kissing my inner thighs, him eating me out, I almost screamed his name.

"Mav! God right there!" I scream.

He smirks at my skin, and I can feel him giving me hickeys. I arched my back and grabbed his hair to keep him where he was at.

He stops, I whimper.

"Let's do something different, eh?" He smirks.

He picks me up and takes us to the nearest wall. I scream again. He begins to fuck me, I start to scratch his back to see how good he can be, he goes faster and makes me arch my back again. He starts sucking my right nipple to make me moan again.

"Oh my god! Pete, I need to cum." I say.

He chuckles and takes us down on the carpet. He pins me down and fucks me again. I scream once more. I feel myself cumming, and he goes down and eats me out again.

He lays down on the floor next to me.

"Needed to do that." He looks at me with heavy breaths.

"It felt good." I answer heavy breaths as well.

"Baby, I'm sorry I yelled at you and called you those things." He says to me.

"It's okay, just don't do that again okay? And I'm sorry for slapping you." I say getting closer to him.

"It's okay, Y/N/N. I kinda deserved it." He makes us nose to nose.

I chuckle, I give him a kiss.

"I'm sorry about Goose." I caresses his cheek.

"I know, he really loved you." He smiles at me.

I know he loved me, he always thought that Pete and I would end up getting married one day.

"I love you." I whisper to Pete.

This was never supposed to happen. You were just the civilian who worked logistics in North Island—clean hours, good salary, too smart to get wrapped up in cocky pilots with too much adrenaline and not enough impulse control. You weren’t supposed to fall for one.

But then again, Jake Seresin wasn’t supposed to fall for you either.

He drags a knuckle across your jaw, watching you like you’re a dream he hasn’t figured out how to wake up from. The tension in the room is thick, low and warm like the bassline of that damn song that’s been stuck in your head all week.

“Don’t say a word, no—girl, don’t you talk…”

“You know I’ve been thinking about you all day,” he murmurs. “Couldn’t even focus on pre-flight. Rooster had to smack me upside the helmet.”

You laugh. “You deserved it.”

“Probably. But I had a reason. You wore that little black sundress yesterday and expected me to act normal?”

You give him a look. “Jake—”

“No, don’t do that. Don’t play dumb, baby. You knew what you were doing.”

He leans in. His mouth is just barely brushing yours. It’s not a kiss yet. Just a promise. One you can feel down to your toes.

“I wanted to touch you so bad it made me stupid,” he whispers.

Your breath catches. You hate how much you love when he gets like this—unfiltered, needy, like you’re the only thing on his radar.

“And now?” you ask.

Jake smirks. “Now I’m trying real hard to be respectful.”

You let your fingers drift up his chest, feel the way his heart hammers beneath your touch. He’s hot under your hands. Hotter when he groans your name like it’s something sacred.

“Jake.”

“I know, darlin’. I know.” He presses his forehead to yours. “Tell me to stop.”

You don’t.

You reach for the hem of his shirt instead.

“You’re killing me, you know that?” he groaned, his voice thick with frustration and longing.

You smiled, a small, secretive smile that you knew drove him wild. “Am I?”

Jake’s hands found your hips, pulling you closer until there was no space between you. You could feel the hard planes of his body against yours, his warmth seeping into your skin. He dipped his head, his lips brushing your ear as he whispered, “You’re playing with fire, darlin’.”

“And you’re the one who lit the match,” you retorted, your voice steady despite the storm of emotions raging inside you.

He chuckled, a deep, satisfied sound that vibrated against your neck. “Fair enough.”

His lips trailed down your jawline, sending shivers cascading down your spine. You tilted your head back, giving him better access, your hands tangling in his hair as he kissed his way down your neck. His touch was both gentle and demanding, a perfect balance that left you breathless and wanting more.

“Jake,” you whispered, your voice laced with desperation. “Please.”

He pulled back slightly, his eyes searching yours, as if seeking permission. You nodded, unable to form words, your body screaming for his touch.

With a growl, he spun you around, pressing you against the counter. His hands roamed over your body, his touch firm and possessive. He unbuttoned your shirt slowly, each movement deliberate, as if savoring the anticipation. The fabric slid off your shoulders, pooling at your feet, leaving you bare before him.

You felt vulnerable yet empowered, his gaze devouring you like you were the most precious thing in the world. His fingers traced the curve of your waist, the swell of your breasts, his touch sending sparks of pleasure through your body.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, his voice hoarse with desire.

You bit your lip, trying to hold back a moan as his hands cupped your breasts, his thumbs brushing over your nipples. He teased and tormented, his touch light and fleeting, driving you to the edge of sanity.

“Jake, please,” you begged, your voice shaking. “I need you.”

He smirked, his eyes glinting with mischief. “Need me, huh? And what exactly do you need, darlin’?”

You reached behind you, grasping his wrist and pulling his hand down to your core. You were wet, so wet, and the contact sent a jolt of pleasure through you. “This,” you gasped, pressing his hand against you. “I need this.”

Jake’s eyes darkened, his control slipping as he groaned your name. He dipped his head, his lips capturing yours in a fierce kiss. His tongue invaded your mouth, tasting and teasing, mirroring the rhythm of his fingers as they slipped beneath your pants.

You moaned into his mouth, your hands clutching at his shoulders as he explored your body with a hunger that matched your own. His fingers slid inside you, his touch sure and confident, finding your most sensitive spots with ease.

“Fuck, you’re so wet,” he growled against your lips, his voice a mix of awe and satisfaction. “So ready for me.”

You nodded, unable to speak, your body arching into his touch as he added a second finger, stretching you, filling you. He thrust into you with a steady rhythm, his thumb pressing against your clit, driving you closer and closer to the edge.

“Jake, I—”

“Not yet, darlin’,” he whispered, his voice a command. “Not until I’m inside you.”

You whimpered, your body trembling on the brink of release, but he pulled his fingers away, leaving you gasping and needy. He stepped back, his eyes raking over your body with a hunger that made you feel both exposed and desired.

“Turn around,” he ordered, his voice low and commanding.

You did as he asked, your heart pounding in anticipation. You felt his hands on your hips, guiding you, as he unzipped your pants and slid them down your legs. You stepped out of them, standing before him in nothing but your underwear, your breath coming in short, shallow gasps.

Jake’s eyes never left yours as he unbuckled his belt, his movements slow and deliberate. He pushed his pants down, revealing the hard length of his erection, straining against his boxers. Your mouth went dry at the sight, your body aching for him.

He stepped closer, his hands sliding around your waist as he pulled you back against him. You could feel the heat of his body, the hardness of his cock pressing against your ass, and you shivered with anticipation.

“Ready for me, darlin’?” he whispered, his breath hot against your ear.

You nodded, your voice failing you as he reached around, his fingers tracing the elastic of your underwear before slipping inside. He teased you, his touch light and torturous, driving you wild with need.

“Please, Jake,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “I need you now.”

He smirked, his lips brushing your ear as he whispered, “As you wish.”

With a swift motion, he slid your underwear down your legs, leaving you completely bare. You felt exposed, vulnerable, yet the look in his eyes, the raw desire and hunger, made you feel powerful, wanted.

He positioned himself behind you, his hands gripping your hips as he lined himself up. You held your breath, your body tense with anticipation, as he pressed the tip of his cock against your entrance.

“Relax for me, darlin’,” he murmured, his voice a soothing contrast to the raw need in his eyes.

You took a deep breath, letting your body relax as he pushed inside you, slowly, steadily, filling you completely. You gasped at the sensation, your body stretching to accommodate him, the pleasure overwhelming.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he groaned, his voice thick with satisfaction.

He held still for a moment, giving you time to adjust, his forehead resting against your shoulder. You could feel his heart racing, his breath coming in short gasps, mirroring your own.

“Move,” you whispered, your voice a plea.

Jake pulled out slowly before thrusting back in, setting a steady rhythm that had you moaning with each stroke. He moved with purpose, his hands gripping your hips tightly as he filled you again and again, his cock sliding deep inside you.

You met his thrusts, your body moving in sync with his, the pleasure building with each stroke. The kitchen was filled with the sounds of your labored breaths, the soft slap of skin against skin, and the occasional groan of pleasure.

“Harder, Jake,” you gasped, your voice desperate. “I need it harder.”

He growled in response, his thrusts becoming more urgent, more demanding. He lifted you onto the counter, your legs wrapping around his waist as he drove into you with a ferocity that left you breathless.

You cried out, your head falling back as the pleasure spiraled out of control. Your nails dug into his shoulders, your body arching into his as he pounded into you relentlessly.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he groaned, his voice hoarse. “So perfect.”

You were close, so close, your body teetering on the edge of release. “Jake, I’m—”

“Come for me, darlin’,” he commanded, his voice a rough whisper. “Let go.”

His words were all it took. Your body shattered, waves of pleasure crashing over you as you cried out his name. Your walls clenched around him, milking him, driving him over the edge.

“Fuck, yes,” he growled, his thrusts becoming erratic as he followed you over the edge. He buried himself deep inside you, his release hot and intense, his name a ragged whisper on your lips.

You both collapsed in a heap, your bodies still trembling from the force of your orgasms. Jake pulled out slowly, his arms wrapping around you as he held you close, his breath hot against your neck.

“That was—” you started, but he cut you off with a soft kiss.

“I know,” he murmured, his voice tender. “I know.”

ROOSTER:

He’s already waiting outside your apartment when you get home. Parked half on the curb, legs stretched out of the Bronco like he owns the whole damn world.

That’s the thing about Bradley Bradshaw. He doesn’t try. He just is.

And he always looks at you like you’re the only reason his blood stays warm.

“You’re late,” he says, chin tilted toward you, sunglasses pushed up into his hair. He doesn’t smile yet, but there’s a softness in his voice that tells you he’s not mad.

You shrug out of your jacket as you reach him. “Traffic.”

“Mm-hm.” Rooster glances at his watch. “Or were you stalling?”

You raise a brow. “Why would I stall?”

He stands, slow and tall and a little dangerous in that easy Southern way of his, like he might kiss you or make a promise he’ll break on accident. Then he leans close, just enough to speak by your ear.

“Because you know exactly what happens when we’re alone.”

You swallow. Your pulse skips.

He’s right. You do know.

It happens every time you see him after days apart. The gravity between you gets too heavy, too heated, until one of you gives in—and it’s always both of you.

Bradley follows you upstairs like he’s done it a hundred times, like he knows the weight of every floorboard, the rhythm of your breath when you’re nervous. You let him in, kick the door shut behind you.

“You look tired,” he says, dropping his keys on your counter. “Long day?”

“Yeah. You?”

He shrugs off his jacket. “Not too bad. Just missed you.”

It’s not the words. It’s how he says them—low, serious, like they matter.

You move without thinking. Just one step, two, until your fingers hook in the collar of his shirt and your lips brush his like a question.

He answers with a kiss that’s anything but gentle.

Hands on your waist, mouth moving like he’s waited too long for this. He presses you back until your spine meets the wall and everything else melts—your stress, the day, the line between good idea and bad.

“I kept dreaming about you,” he mutters against your lips. “Last night… the night before.”

You blink up at him, dazed. “What kind of dreams?”

Rooster smiles, slow and devastating. “The kind that had me waking up with your name in my mouth.”

You tug him closer. “Bradley—”

He groans. “Don’t say it unless you mean it.”

“I do.”

His hand slips under your shirt. You gasp.

“And you know,” he murmurs, “you could’ve told me to go home anytime. You opened the door.”

You don’t have a single defense left.

“I wanted you to walk through it.”

His response was a growl, low and primal, as he lifted you, pressing you against the wall with a force that stole your breath. 

The cool surface of the plaster met your back, a stark contrast to the heat that radiated from Bradley's body. You wrapped your legs around his waist, your fingers tangling in his hair, holding him close as his mouth ravaged yours.

The kiss was fierce, desperate, as if he were trying to claim you, to brand you as his own. You moaned, your head tilting back, exposing the sensitive skin of your neck to his exploration. 

Bradley's lips trailed down, his teeth grazing your skin, sending shivers of pleasure cascading through your body.

"You have no idea what you do to me," he rasped, his breath hot against your ear. "The way you move, the way you look at me... it's like you're under my skin, in my blood."

You gasped as his hand slid down, cupping your ass, lifting you higher against him. The evidence of his desire pressed against your core, a thick, insistent presence that made your eyes roll back in pleasure. "Bradley,"you panted, your nails digging into his shoulders, "I need you."

He chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound that vibrated through your body. "You always know just what to say," he murmured, his lips brushing yours once more. "But actions speak louder than words, darlin'."

With a swift motion, he swept you into his arms, carrying you toward the bedroom, his lips never leaving yours. You clung to him, your heart racing, your body alive with anticipation. The familiar surroundings of your bedroom blurred as Bradley laid you down on the bed, his eyes burning with an intensity that made your breath catch.

"You're so beautiful," he whispered, his gaze raking over you, taking in every inch of exposed skin. "I could spend hours just looking at you."

You smiled, a flush creeping up your cheeks as you reached for him, pulling his shirt over his head. His body was a work of art, lean muscles honed by years of physical training, and you couldn't resist the urge to explore every inch. Your fingers traced the contours of his chest, the ridges of his abs, and the defined lines of his arms.

Bradley groaned, his head falling back as your touch sent sparks of pleasure through his body. "Tease," he muttered, his eyes hooded with desire.

You grinned, a mischievous glint in your eye as you leaned in, your lips brushing his ear. "You love it," you whispered, your tongue darting out to trace the shell of his ear.

He shuddered, his hands gripping your hips, pulling you against him. "Fuck, I do," he admitted, his voice rough with need.

The air crackled with tension as you both shed the remaining layers of clothing, baring your bodies to each other. Bradley's eyes darkened as he took in your form, his gaze hungry, possessive. You felt exposed, vulnerable, yet the desire burning in his eyes made you feel powerful, desired.

Bradley's lips crashed down onto yours, his tongue dueling with yours in a passionate dance. His hands roamed, exploring, claiming, as he kissed you with a fierceness that left you breathless. You clung to him, your nails digging into his back, your legs tangling with his as the heat between you built to a fever pitch.

He broke the kiss, his breath coming in short gasps as he trailed kisses along your jaw, your neck, his teeth grazing your skin, sending shivers of pleasure through your body. "I want to make you feel good," he murmured, his lips brushing your ear. "Want to hear you scream my name."

You shivered, your body tightening with anticipation. "Then show me," you whispered, your fingers threading into his hair, holding him close.

Bradley's response was a growl, low and primal, as he shifted, positioning himself between your legs. His eyes locked onto yours, a silent promise passing between you as he entered you with one slow, deliberate thrust.

You gasped, your head tilting back as he filled you, stretching you, the sensation overwhelming in its intensity. Bradley's lips curved into a satisfied smile as he began to move, his hips snapping, his body driving into yours with a force that made the bed creak.

"Fuck, you feel so good," he groaned, his eyes fluttering closed as he lost himself in the sensation. "So tight, so wet..."

You moaned, your hands gripping the sheets as he set a relentless pace, his body pounding into yours with a ferocity that left you breathless. The pleasure built, a coil tightening in your core, as Bradley's name fell from your lips, a mantra of desire.

"Bradley... oh God, Bradley..."

He chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound that vibrated through your body. "That's it, darlin',"he rasped, his lips brushing yours. "Say it again."

You cried out, your body arching off the bed as the pleasure became almost too much to bear. "Bradley... I'm close..."

His response was a fierce kiss, his tongue dueling with yours as he drove into you with renewed urgency. The world narrowed to this moment, this connection, as the pleasure spiraled out of control, threatening to consume you.

"Together," he gasped, his eyes locking onto yours. "Come with me, baby."

You nodded, your eyes fluttering closed as you surrendered to the sensation, your body tightening around him as you shattered, your release washing over you in waves of ecstasy. Bradley followed, his body stiffening as he cried out, his release spilling into you, binding you together in a moment of pure, unadulterated bliss.

BOB: 

You’re on top of him.

Not in the way you thought you’d be. Just straddling his lap, his hands barely resting on your waist, and his face flushed pink like he’s been holding his breath since you walked through the door.

“You sure you’re okay?” you murmur, brushing a finger under his jaw.

Bob nods. His glasses are off. His eyes are wide. “Y-Yeah. I’m just… nervous.”

“Why?” you whisper, leaning in close.

“Because you’re you,” he says, voice barely audible. “And I’ve wanted this for so long.”

You smile. Soft. Reassuring. “I’ve wanted you too.”

He swallows hard when your hands start to slip beneath his shirt. You take your time, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth, ready to lead this like you always do—

But then he catches your wrist. Gently. Carefully. Like he’s scared he’ll break the moment if he’s too firm.

“Wait,” he breathes out. “Can—um… can I take control?”

You pause.

Not because you’re surprised. But because of the way he asks it—so polite, so earnest, like he’s been rehearsing the question and almost didn’t say it.

Your breath hitches. “You want to?”

His cheeks are on fire, but he nods. “Yeah. I just… I think about it. Taking care of you. All the time. If that’s okay.”

You lean down, brush your nose against his. “It’s more than okay.”

Bob exhales like he’s been holding it in for years. And when he kisses you this time, it’s deeper. More confident. A little unsteady still, but hungry and sure and full of every quiet thing he never let himself say out loud.

He flips you with a whispered, “Tell me if it’s too much.”

He hesitated for just a moment, his eyes flicking down to your chest, before he leaned down, his lips brushing yours again. This time, the kiss was slower, more deliberate, his hands moving down your sides, his touch firm but gentle. 

You moaned softly into his mouth, your hands sliding down his back, your fingers digging into the muscles there.

Bob pulled back slightly, his lips trailing down your jawline, his breath hot against your skin. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, his voice hoarse with desire.

You shivered at his words, your hands coming up to tangle in his hair, pulling him closer. “You’re not so bad yourself,” you teased, your voice breathless.

He chuckled, a low, rumbling sound, before his lips found your neck, his kisses trailing down, slow and deliberate. His hands moved to the hem of your shirt, his fingers tracing the edge before he pulled it up and over your head, tossing it aside. You were left in just your bra, the cool air of the room sending goosebumps over your skin.

“God, you’re perfect,” he whispered, his eyes raking over your body, his gaze intense, hungry. 

You blushed, but the heat in his eyes sent a flush of desire through you. You reached for the waistband of his pants, your fingers trembling slightly as you undid the button and pulled down the zipper. He lifted his hips, allowing you to slide his pants down his legs, leaving him in just his boxers.

Bob’s hands moved to the clasp of your bra, his fingers fumbling slightly before he managed to unhook it. He pulled it away, his eyes never leaving yours, his breath coming in short gasps. You were bare before him, and the way he looked at you—like you were the most precious thing in the world—sent a jolt of desire straight to your core.

He leaned down, his lips brushing your collarbone, his hands moving to your waist, pulling you closer. His kisses trailed down, his tongue flicking over your skin, his touch sending shivers down your spine. You moaned softly, your hands tangling in his hair, pulling him closer, urging him on.

“Bob,” you whispered, your voice trembling with need.

He looked up at you, his eyes dark with desire, his lips swollen from kissing. “Yeah?” he asked, his voice rough.

“Don’t stop,” you pleaded, your hands moving to the waistband of his boxers.

He nodded, his hands moving to your thighs, spreading them slightly as he settled between them. 

You could feel the heat of his body against yours, the hardness of his erection pressing against your thigh. You reached down, your fingers brushing the elastic of his boxers, pulling them down his legs.

He was hard, his cock thick and heavy, the head already glistening with pre-cum. You reached out, your fingers wrapping around him, stroking slowly, your touch sending a shudder through him.

 “Fuck,” he groaned, his head falling back as he closed his eyes, his breath coming in short gasps.

You smiled, your thumb brushing the head of his cock, spreading the pre-cum over the tip. “Like that?” you teased, your voice low and sultry.

He opened his eyes, his gaze locking on yours, his expression intense. “Yeah,” he rasped, his hands moving to your hips, pulling you closer. “But I want to make you feel good first.”

You nodded, your hands moving to his shoulders, pulling him down to you. His lips found yours again, the kiss deep and hungry, his hands moving down your body, his touch sending sparks of desire through you. 

He broke the kiss, his lips trailing down your neck, his hands moving to your breasts, his thumbs brushing your nipples.

You arched into his touch, a soft moan escaping your lips. “Bob,” you whispered, your hands tangling in his hair, pulling him closer.

He smiled against your skin, his lips moving down, his kisses trailing over your chest, his tongue flicking over your nipples. 

You gasped, your hands gripping his shoulders, your body arching into his touch. He took one nipple into his mouth, his tongue swirling around it, his hands moving to your other breast, his fingers squeezing and teasing.

“Fuck, that feels good,” you moaned, your head falling back as you closed your eyes, the sensations overwhelming.

Bob hummed against your skin, his hands moving down your body, his fingers tracing the curve of your waist before moving lower. He kissed his way down your stomach, his breath hot against your skin, his hands spreading your thighs wider. 

You could feel the anticipation building, your core throbbing with need, your breath coming in short gasps.

He looked up at you, his eyes dark with desire, his lips swollen and red. “Ready?” he asked, his voice low and rough.

You nodded, your hands reaching down to tangle in his hair, pulling him closer. “Yeah,”you whispered, your voice trembling with anticipation.

Bob leaned down, his lips brushing your core, his breath ghosting over your clit. You gasped, your hands tightening in his hair, your body arching off the couch. He kissed his way down, his tongue flicking over your folds, his hands spreading you wider, his touch sending shivers of pleasure through you.

MAVERICK:

You didn’t do anything wrong.

Your dress fell to your knees. You wore flats. Your badge was clipped in place. No makeup, hair up, polite, focused. Not a single reason anyone should’ve looked at you twice.

But Maverick saw you the moment he walked through the door that morning.

Saw the way your cardigan slipped off your shoulder. Saw the way you tucked your pen behind your ear when you were typing. Saw the way you bit your lip while double-checking Rooster’s paperwork. He saw everything.

And now he can’t stop.

It’s late now. You’re the last one in the admin wing. He’s standing in your doorway with his jaw tight and his hands shoved in his pockets like that’ll keep them from shaking.

“Hey, Captain.” You look up from your screen, sweet and calm. “Did you need something?”

He steps inside. Quiet. Closes the door behind him.

You arch a brow. “Mav?”

“I’m losing it.”

“…What?”

“You didn’t even do anything,” he says, almost helpless. “And I’ve been going out of my mind all day.”

You blink, surprised. “Because of me?”

“Because of everything about you,” he says, taking a step closer. “You were just sitting there—working—and I wanted to drag you into my office and—”

He breaks off, runs a hand through his hair. His voice is hoarse now. “I couldn’t focus. I couldn’t breathe. I—I need to touch you.”

You slowly stand. Eyes locked on his.

“You could’ve said something earlier,” you whisper, crossing the distance. “You know I’d come with you.”

His hands finally find your waist. Gripping. Needy.

“You drive me insane,” he murmurs.

You smile, brushing your nose against his. “Then lose your mind, Mav.”

He kisses you like he’s starved. Like he can’t help it anymore. Like he’s been thinking about this since the moment you walked in that morning, and now that he has you? He’s not letting go.

His mouth trailed kisses along your jawline, your neck, his breath warm against your skin, his hands moving to your hips, pulling you closer, his body pressing against yours with a hunger that left no doubt about his intentions. 

You could feel the hardness of his desire pressing against your thigh, and a thrill shot through you at the realization of how much you affected him.

“Mav,” you breathed, your voice shaky, your body trembling with anticipation.

“Shh,” he whispered, his lips brushing against yours, softer this time, almost reverent. “Let me take care of you.”

And he did.

His fingers moved with a purpose now, his touch confident yet tender, as he slid them inside you, filling you, stretching you, his thumb brushing against your clit, sending sparks of electricity through your body. You moaned softly, your head falling back as pleasure washed over you, his name a mantra on your lips.

“Mav,” you gasped, your hands clutching at his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin as pleasure built, coiling tight in your core.

“That’s it,” he whispered, his voice a rough encouragement, his fingers moving faster now, his touch sending shivers down your spine. “Let go for me.”

And you did.

Your body arched against his hand, your breath coming in short, shallow gasps as pleasure exploded, rippling through you, wave after wave of ecstasy washing over you. 

Your cries filled the quiet office, your name a ragged whisper on his lips as he held you, his touch gentle, his body pressing against yours with a tenderness that left no doubt about his feelings.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he murmured, his voice thick with wonder, his fingers slowing, his touch gentle as you came down from your high.

You smiled, a soft, satisfied curve of your lips, your breath evening out as you leaned into him, your forehead resting against his. “You’re not so bad yourself, Captain.”

He chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that vibrated against your skin, before capturing your lips in a soft, tender kiss. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

You pulled back slightly, your eyes locking with his, a playful smile on your lips. “You should.”

His gaze was warm, his expression soft as he brushed a stray hair from your face, his touch gentle, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “You okay?”

You nodded, your smile widening. “More than okay.”

He smirked, a hint of his usual confidence returning, before pulling you into his arms, his hold tight, his body pressing against yours with a protectiveness that left no doubt about his intentions. “Good.”

You leaned into him, your arms wrapping around his waist, your head resting against his chest as you listened to the steady beat of his heart, the sound a comforting rhythm that soothed your soul.