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Rooster doesn’t stop to think. He isn’t drunk, definitely not, but he’d had a couple at the bar and now he’s at Maverick’s house, pulled up to the curb. It’s late and Rooster really shouldn’t have been driving but what the hell ever. He’s been bubbling over with this since their confrontation in the wait room. In front of the picture of their flight class, Maverick’s and his dad’s, the ghost of him hanging in the air between them.
Rooster was young when he died, too young to remember much about him other than what he’s been told. And his Ma used to tell him so many stories that he isn’t sure what memories are real anymore, and which of them he remembers because of the stories.
But he does remember sitting on the piano, Maverick, his dad, his mother, and someone else, Maverick’s girlfriend at the time maybe? Singing that goddamn song, just before—
Rooster slams a hand into the steering wheel. Where the fuck does Maverick get off, telling him to take more risks, when the risk he took cost Rooster’s dad his life? And now back again with the trainees, who the hell let him back in charge of TOP GUN. He couldn’t hack it as an instructor before, let alone now, with so much on the line, with a near-impossible mission to run. Probably fucking impossible, Rooster thinks bitterly, staring up at the darkened windows of Maverick’s little bungalow. God knows who’d be able to fly the course Maverick set them, let alone any of the rest of it.
Who does he think he is, letting Phoenix and Bob get hurt like that. If anything had happened to them under Maverick’s watch, Rooster doesn’t know what he’d do. Something worse than what he’s planning on doing now, if that’s possible.
He doesn’t have a plan except for giving Maverick a piece of his mind when he knocks on the door, then bangs his fist against the wood harder, more insistently when Maverick doesn’t open up immediately. He can’t think through the anger clouding his vision enough to realize that if he doesn’t shut up someone’s going to call the military police and he’s going to be in deep shit. An unbonded alpha lurking around the house of an unbonded omega in the middle of the night… there aren’t many ways to spin that where Rooster gets out ahead.
But so what, all he’s going to do is yell at Maverick for a while then stagger on home. Nevermind that he’s half-hard in his pants. It’s dark. Maverick won’t notice. The man’s so obsessed with himself that he won’t notice anything outside of his own little bubble, just like he hadn’t noticed Rooster growing up, growing up without a real father, without the kind of guidance he needed from—
The door opens finally, and there’s Maverick, blurry-eyed and tousel-haired, and, fuck. He’s shirtless, in only the little pair of boxers appropriate for the summer weather. It’s hot out, sweltering even, and Rooster can see the sweat drying on Maverick’s temple, a drop dripping down his neck, down—
Rooster’s on him before he can even speak, shoving him back into the entryway and kicking the door shut behind him.
Maverick’s mouth opens to frame words, face twisting in sleepy confusion, but Rooster can’t stand that. He thought he was here to talk to Maverick, finally confront him about him pulling Rooster’s papers at the Academy, but now that he’s here, Maverick’s compact body all laid out like a buffet in front of him, he’s got other things on his mind.
“Bradley?” Maverick says, and the way he says Rooster’s given name makes him shiver. He covers it by shoving him back up against the wall and kissing him, hard.
He didn’t come here for this, would never, has never even thought about it before, but. But.
Maverick’s mouth doesn’t move against his, eyes open in surprise when Rooster looks at him. He doesn’t move, just stands there frozen while Rooster feels him up. It takes Rooster getting his hand in Maverick’s hair, tugging hard enough for him to open his mouth on a whine, for Rooster to get inside.
And once he’s inside there’s no way he’s stopping. Maverick tastes incredible, mouth a little sour from sleep and his scent soft, curling around Rooster and getting him hard so quickly he feels lightheaded.
“Bradley, hey, Bradley,” Maverick mumbles into Rooster’s mouth, and he sounds gentle still, not even mad or disgusted like Rooster half expected him to sound, if he’d thought about it at all. If he’d thought about shoving Maverick into some dark secluded corner and having his way with him, pressing biting kisses down his neck, nipping hard but not hard enough to break the skin, like he’s doing now.
“Bradley, you’ve gotta stop,” Maverick says. “You can’t, you’re confused, are you drunk? Do you know where you are?”
Rooster can’t stop, and he isn’t confused. He knows exactly where he is, what he’s doing.
Maverick shivers in his arms, shaking like he doesn’t understand what’s happening, but his body does. And maybe that’s true because Rooster can smell him opening up, his scent deepening and lengthening, spreading out around them with the pheromones characteristic of an aroused omega.
Rooster groans into Maverick’s neck, says, “I’ve wanted to do this for years,” hands unable to quit moving where they’re flying all over Maverick’s body, restless, like he doesn’t know where to put them. On his waist? His back? The flesh of his hips, just a little fatter than Rooster’d expect from an aviator, but that’s Maverick’s omega nature, probably. Hips built for breeding.
Rooster shivers, hands kneading greedily at Maverick’s hips, pulling him in tighter so he’s grinding right up against Maverick’s lower belly.
Maverick inhales sharply. If he’d somehow missed how fucking hard Rooster is, he’s noticing it now for sure, because it’s poking him right in the belly button.
“Bradley, stop, please stop,” Maverick says, like he’s trying to talk his way out of this, like if he says the right things to Rooster he’ll back down, tuck this desire he’s been carrying back into the tightly guarded little trunk in his heart, and they’ll go back to being at odds. Back to being Rooster’s dead father’s best friend, back to being the sorry excuse for the father Maverick hadn’t saved.
Back to seeing each other every few years, encounters filled with stilted anger and frustration leaking out the edges, stony silences and hard looks.
Maverick always tries to play it like he’d taken the high road, like he pulled Rooster’s papers for some unselfish reason, and not because he can’t stand the idea of Rooster living his own life. He isn’t a little boy anymore. He can make his own decisions.
And what clearer way to demonstrate that than this, a dark little voice whispers at the back of his brain. He’d never treat you like a child again, if you fucked him like the man you are.
The alpha you are.
It’s fucked up, but every time Maverick says no, Rooster gets hotter and hotter for it.
“Bradley, let’s talk about this. I know you’re upset about the training, and about—” Maverick says, but Rooster’s had just about enough of that. Enough of talking, of Maverick’s weasel words trying to smooth things over.
So he bites down on Maverick’s trap, harder than the other bites, hard enough that Maverick breaks off in the middle of what he was saying. Breaks off on a moan, loud enough that it startles them both. Rooster can smell how wet he is.
“Like it rough, huh?” Rooster says, cockiness coloring his voice as he tilts his head so he can see Maverick’s face without having to move too far away. It’s hard to tell in the dark, but it looks like Maverick’s blushing.
That’s hot.
He won’t meet Rooster’s eye for sure, won’t look at him, but he shuts up at least. Doesn’t seem to be trying to play this off like it’s anything except what it is. An alpha fucking an omega, fucking him because he wants him, wants to take him whichever way he can, just—
“We aren’t doing this,” Maverick says, firmly, and he’s tensing like he’s about to move, about to shove Rooster off of him, push him away like he pushed him away before, when all Rooster had wanted was some guidance, some help, some love and kindness and—
Rooster bears him to the ground, right there on the rug in the entryway.
At first Maverick’s too stunned to move, and then he comes alive all at once, twisting around like he’s trying to throw Rooster off, but Rooster’s got thirty pounds and half a foot on him and gets him wrestled around, on his belly with his wrists tight behind his back in Rooster’s hand. He pins Maverick’s legs with his knees, forces them wider so he can see the growing spot where Maverick’s gotten so wet he’s dripping through his boxers.
It’s like a punch to the gut. Of course Rooster has scented him, but the concrete evidence that Maverick wants it, that he’s turned on by Rooster doing this to him, being at Rooster’s mercy—
Rooster runs the thumb of his free hand over the damp patch, cautiously at first and then more firmly when Maverick tries to buck him off again.
He spends a few minutes like that, just rubbing, feeling Maverick get wetter and wetter through the fabric, watching his hips move even though Rooster can tell he’s trying to stay still, trying not to cant his hips into the touch. He’s panting, trying so hard that he’s gone stiff all over, rigid like it’ll help him pretend he doesn’t want it.
But he does, and that’s made crystal fucking clear when his hips move all of a sudden, back and up against Rooster’s hand like he needs more than the faint touch through the fabric.
So Rooster gives it to him. He slips two fingers under the cotton, slides them up and along the seam of Maverick’s ass, and that makes him crazy too, jerking like no one’s ever touched him there. Rooster’s momentarily distracted by that thought, of getting in Maverick’s tight little ass, until he gets to Maverick’s pussy and everything else is wiped from his brain.
Maverick’s tight, and so sloppy wet it coats Rooster’s fingers immediately. So wet that Rooster can’t get a firm touch on his clit, keeps slipping off, and the fabric is getting in the way and Maverick’s making these high whiny noises, noises that Rooster would never have expected out of him, noises that are so clearly omega—
Rooster rips the boxers off, tears them clean away from Maverick, making him yelp in surprise again before his scent goes liquid, hornier than before at the show of strength.
Rooster’d preen, puff out his chest, but Maverick’s pussy is right in front of him all of a sudden and god it’s pretty, pink and puffy and covered in dark hair, the curls matted together because he’s so wet. As Rooster watches, a line of slick collects on Maverick’s clit, drips off towards the floor, a string of wetness connecting it to Maverick’s pussy still.
Rooster’s face first in it before he can think, before he can process more than the smell, the taste, the overwhelming way it feels to have Maverick’s pussy contract on the tip of his tongue.
Maverick swears, slams a fist down on the hardwood. It’s loud, but not loud enough to distract Rooster from the pussy right in front of him. It tastes amazing, feels hot and so good in his mouth, and maybe he blacks out a little because when he finally pulls back he’s more lightheaded than ever and Maverick’s making these noises that sound like sobs, even though Rooster can see his cheeks are dry.
Rooster moves back a little, abruptly reminded that his dick is so hard it’s trying to bend him in half, and without Maverick’s pussy in his face it’s harder to ignore it. He’s gotta get in that or he’s going to go insane.
And why should he hold back? He shoves at Maverick’s shoulders until he gets the message and flops over onto his back, legs limp enough that Rooster has plenty of space to get between them. Maverick’s naked, covered in sweat, panting, and he looks fucking phenomenal in the dim light of the hallway, stretched out with his legs spread and it’s hard for Rooster to drag his eyes away from Maverick’s perfect pussy, but he manages it. He’s got better things to do than look at him.
He lays down on top of Maverick, blanketing him with his body even though it’s sweltering in Maverick’s house. Rooster’s still in jeans and one of his open shirts, the tank top underneath sticking to his back with sweat, more of it beading on his forehead.
He jerks his belt loose, undoes the top button on his jeans, and with every button it’s more of a relief, until his cock juts out of his underwear, obscene through the gray fabric.
He grinds down into the slick curve of Maverick’s body, and he jerks a little. It must feel rough on Maverick’s bare skin.
That thought gets him hot too, and he rubs himself more thoroughly over Maverick’s body, making Maverick shake again. But he’s too hot to tease, to drag it out more than he already has, and anyway, Maverick’s eyes are getting big, especially when Rooster shoves his underwear down and out of the way, and they’re skin on skin, the leaking head of Rooster’s cock fitting snugly against Maverick’s treasure trail.
“You aren’t actually gonna fuck me,” Maverick says, but it comes out breathy, like he doesn’t believe what he’s saying. “C’mon. If you let me up now we don’t even have to mention it again, don’t—”
Rooster can’t hear the rest of what he says, because he’s fitting the head of his cock up against Maverick’s pussy and shoving inside.
Bare, no condom. He hadn’t been planning this when he’d driven over, doesn’t have a rubber on him. He always fucks safe, but something in him’s breaking, feeling Maverick opening up on his cock like this. He’s fucking Maverick raw, fucking him hard and sudden, and Maverick’s eyes are wide and surprised, mouth open, and Rooster can’t help himself. He gets two fingers in Maverick’s mouth, splayed across his tongue. Then he drags Maverick’s jaw down further, and spits in his mouth. Holds Maverick’s jaw shut until he swallows, convulsively, and comes, still looking shocked about it.
Rooster stops to enjoy that feeling, watches Maverick’s eyes roll back in his head, and manages to jag in a couple inches deeper. He’s fucking tight, and Rooster knows he’s big. Call sign didn’t come out of thin fucking air.
Once he’s got in him as much as he can, Maverick doesn’t react the way Rooster expects him to. He makes a little hurt noise when Rooster goes deep, but he doesn’t fight back, doesn’t tense up or make any moves to push him away. He doesn’t even seem angry, apart from the surprise of Rooster’s cock forcing him open wide.
Rooster’s taking these little gasping breaths in, because he’s never been more overwhelmed, not the first time he got in a cockpit, not in training, not even when he lost his virginity to one of his flight instructors. He isn’t panicking, but he’s panicking a little. Has he just ruined everything with Maverick? What if he never wants to see him again, and Rooster’s just lost the closest thing he still has to a parent by his own selfish and disgusting actions? What if he never gets to spend Christmas with Maverick ever again, or birthdays, or introduce him to his kids someday, or—
He isn’t hyperventilating, but he isn’t exactly calm either, suspended above Maverick, frozen, balls deep inside him still because even through all this he can’t bring himself to pull out. He doesn’t know what to do. What if—
Maverick’s face softens. He says, “It’s okay, son. It’s going to be okay,” and he actually opens his legs wider around Rooster’s hips, hooks them around behind him so he’s pulling Rooster in even closer, even though a look of pain crosses his face again.
Maverick just pulls him down so Rooster’s face is in Maverick’s neck and keeps his hand there, tight in the hair at the nape of his neck, and says, “Take what you need,” low and tender.
And that isn’t the worst part. The worst part is that he also says, “My boy,” soft and fond, like this is, like this isn’t—
“Daddy,” Rooster whispers, and it’s like a dam breaking. “Mav, daddy, daddy, please—”
Once it’s out he can’t stop it, can’t stop the way it streams out of him like a flood, taking the anger with it. Even when he tries to hang onto it, tries to keep fucking Maverick with the same forceful, deep strokes, he can’t help it. He slows to a grind, as deep now in Maverick as he can get, and it’s the most embarrassing thing in the world but he can feel the tears prickling in his eyes.
He hides his face in Maverick’s neck, repeating, “Daddy, daddy,” over and over, and hoping he won’t notice. Because apparently he can get lower than this, lower than forcing himself on the man he thinks of as a father figure, as someone to model himself after. Because he’s crying for real now, into Maverick’s neck, tears streaming down his face and he can’t hide it.
What’s worse is that he’s still hard, can’t stop his hips moving inside Maverick, inside his perfect fucking pussy because the world is a joke and Maverick’s the best fuck of his life, hands down. Most of the other omegas Rooster’s been with can take him, after a fashion. But it takes work to get in them, takes some dedicated time and effort.
Rooster hadn’t even tried with Maverick, had just gone from eating him out straight to being balls deep without much of a pause. And it’s bad, he isn’t sure he’ll be able to go back to fucking other omegas after this. Doesn’t know how he’ll be able to be inside someone else and not think about Maverick.
Especially because Maverick’s shushing him, like a, like a parent , holding him close while he cries and fucks him, and, god damn him to hell because he’s saying, “You’re good, baby, you’re fine. You’re doing perfect, just let it out,” softly, like he’s the one who’s comforting Rooster. Like Rooster deserves that kind of comfort after how he’s treated him.
But he is. It’s sick how good the words make Rooster feel, like he’s been waiting for this catharsis his whole life, this acknowledgement from Maverick.
But still, he tries to get a handle on some of the anger from before, because this is supposed to be something angry, something rough and animalistic, not the most pathetic fuck in the world.
Rooster’s fucking him good now, balls slapping against Maverick’s ass, pushing in as far as he can get. He levers himself up on one arm and uses the other one to grope Maverick’s tits a little, play with one nipple and then the other, too rough maybe, but his coordination’s shot to shit right now.
Maverick must like it anyway because he comes again, rippling around his cock in a way that makes Rooster groan.
He’s still crying. Can’t help himself.
“Am I good enough now, old man?” Rooster asks, through clenched teeth, voice thick, because he can feel his knot want to inflate, and he isn’t sure that’s what he wants. Isn’t sure he could handle the vulnerability of a tie, the hormones coursing through him, the forced proximity afterwards.
“Yes,” Maverick says, startling the hell out of Rooster, because what, there’s no way he—
Rooster’s shaking now, his knot just on the verge of inflating, but he can’t, he won’t do that to Maverick without asking. Yeah he’s got a big dick but knotting someone without preparation, when the omega isn’t in heat? Not something he, or any alpha, makes a habit of. He doesn’t actually want to make Maverick bleed. And he’s still fucking reeling from what Maverick had just said. He’s never been good enough for Maverick, not when he pulled his papers or before that, when he’d gone out for the Naval Academy in the first place. There’s no way that now, when he’s at the lowest point he’s ever been, when he’s doing something so vile to Maverick, that he’d tell him he’s good . No way—
“You’re good enough. You weren’t ready before, but you are now.” He pulls Rooster’s face down more firmly into his neck, then turns his head sideways and kisses him on the temple, gentle and close-mouthed. “Don’t think, baby. Let it out.”
So Rooster doesn’t think. He comes so hard he thinks he sees the face of god, knot growing so quickly that it forces an exclamation out of Maverick.
“You knotting me, baby?” Maverick says, a trace of humor in his voice, but he’s panting, a little strained as he struggles to take Rooster’s knot. He knows it’s big, takes pride in that, and now he watches hungrily as Maverick breaks open on it.
“Oh, jesus christ,” Maverick says, as it grows all the way, sealing them together, and comes again when Rooster reaches down and rubs his clit a little, just to get the knotting muscles to engage properly.
Once he’s recovered, he reaches down and drags his fingers over his pussy, around where they’re joined, and it feels so good Rooster’s eyes want to cross. The base of his knot’s fucking sensitive. They’re both panting, coming down from it. Rooster can feel his balls twitch every so often, dumping more come into Maverick. When he reaches down he can cup the little bulge of it in the palm of his hand, low on Maverick’s belly, so full he can feel it through the skin.
Maybe he will breed him. They didn’t use protection, after all.
Rooster knows it isn’t likely, with an omega outside of heat, but just the thought of it makes his eyes roll back in his head. Of Maverick, pregnant with Rooster’s kid—
He can feel his hips moving a little, jerkily, like he’s trying to get in even deeper, and unbelievably it feels like he’s about to come again.
He can’t be. He normally only comes multiple times in a row during rut, and he isn’t in rut. Right?
But he’s coming again anyway, and Maverick whines, low, through his teeth, because Rooster’s coming inside of him, and he’s so full there's nowhere for it to go, cramping up tight inside him. His stomach bulges even more.
Maverick’s visibly struggling with it. There isn’t enough room inside him.
Rooster takes pity on him. He kisses him again, deep and slow, and rubs his clit some more until Maverick’s thrashing and whining into Rooster’s mouth, eyes screwed up like he can’t take it, like he’s too overstimulated.
Well, too bad. Rooster’s gonna make him come anyway, and he does. Maverick comes easy for him. It’s gratifying. Maverick’s mouth opens in a silent scream and his whole body contracts, pussy clenching down on Rooster’s cock and forcing a grunt out of him, too.
Maverick’s body goes limp and he lays there for a while, panting. Rooster’s propped up so his full weight doesn’t come down on him. Maverick’s small enough that he feels like he’d crush him.
“Haven’t been knotted in a while, twice in a row like that,” Maverick says, sounding dazed. “Not since—”
He cuts himself off, and when Rooster looks, his face has closed off a little.
“It was good though, right? You liked it?” Rooster asks, dropping down so his face is pressed into the skin of Maverick’s throat. He tries not to let any of the anxiety he feels about that leak into his voice. Like, yes. He’d more or less forced himself on Maverick, but he’s holding him tight in his arms now, stroking a hand through Rooster’s hair, and it feels so good he wants to purr.
“I liked it,” Maverick says, and it sounds reluctant, but fond. Rooster’s clinging on to the fond part with both hands. “You were kind of rough though, you can’t just put it in omegas like that. I hope you aren’t just putting it in omegas like that,” he repeats, looking a little stern, like he’s trying to teach Rooster a lesson, even now. Even about this. “You’re too big to be putting it in omegas without fingering them first. You’re lucky I didn’t tear.”
“Okay, mom,” Rooster says, automatic, rolling his eyes, and they both freeze, blush. Neither of them can look at each other. Neither of them want to acknowledge how into it they were, but Rooster grunts a little when Maverick’s pussy contracts around his dick, involuntary.
“We aren’t talking about that,” Maverick says, firmly, and Rooster’s so fine with that. He rolls, resettling them so Maverick’s spread across his chest, cradled in his arms.
“You are big, though. Made me come like crazy. I’m going to have beard burn from your mustache, too,” Maverick bitches, but he doesn’t sound mad, just disgruntled, which is fair. And it’s nice hearing him talk about coming on his cock.
“You can’t just knot, either. You gotta talk about it, first,” Maverick says. “I could take it, but most of the omegas your age wouldn’t be able to.”
Rooster can’t imagine putting his knot in anybody his age when he can put it in Maverick, but he’s too busy feeling pleased that Maverick let him knot. When so many people wouldn’t have. It doesn’t have to be something to do with him, necessarily. Some omegas don’t like it, are too small to take it, but he wouldn’t have thought Maverick would have been one of them. And he’s glad to be right.
“You were fucking me like you were trying to knock me up,” Maverick says, and unbelievably there’s a trace of humour in his voice. Even now, even through this. “Your—”
Maverick breaks off, and he jerks a little like he startled himself. Rooster can feel it where they’re touching.
“No one ever managed it, and it’s not like I get heats anymore,” he says, and he sounds sad about it, actually. That’s understandable. Maverick’s a grown omega without children. He’s got to regret that, on some level. He loves kids, is always covered in them whenever families come visit.
“So you aren’t on birth control?” Rooster asks, feigning casual so hard he feels like he’s going to strain something. Even if there’s a very low chance of getting a pup on Maverick, low isn’t nothing, and he feels his cock twitch where it’s still buried inside him.
“No,” he answers, shortly. “Not much point anymore.”
He doesn’t seem to want to talk about it, so Rooster changes the subject. “Ever taken one as big as this?” he asks, and grinds in a little, getting another groan out of Maverick. He’s trying for nonchalance and thinks he hits pretty close to the mark. And anyway, it’s an easy topic. He just made Maverick come around his cock and he's proud of it, proud of the way it makes omegas feel, and doesn’t hate to hear it praised.
It just makes Maverick’s face close off further though, and he says, “Yes,” again, and doesn’t elaborate.
Rooster doesn’t know what to say. The booze is wearing off and he feels even more gobsmacked in the rush of sobriety. He can’t really believe he did what he just did, the subject of his deepest and longest-enduring fantasies. He popped his first knot thinking about Maverick. And now he’s forced himself on him, even if Maverick didn’t seem to hate it. What the fuck can he say after that?
So he doesn’t say anything. He just turns them around so he’s spooning Maverick from behind. It pulls at the tie a little but not egregiously, not enough to get more than a wince out of either of them.
He doesn’t fall asleep. The floor’s kind of hard, even with the rug covering it, and anyway Rooster doesn’t know how he’s going to spend the night. No way he could drift off here, still on the entryway rug.
Neither of them do, but he does press a kiss to Maverick’s shoulder, where they’re tucked together. Tightens his arms around Maverick a little more, so they’re really pressed tight.
Maverick shivers, and doesn’t say anything either.