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The first time it happens it's an accident.
Genuinely.
Hangman's been a pain in the fucking ass for the entirety of their training briefing - smug, sarcastic, and kind of shiny, answering back to Maverick like he's the leader, like he knows he's going to fly the mission, like he's the one in control - and it's really gotten on Rooster's nerves.
Guys like Hangman; they want for nothing, they've never known anything real in their lives, and they're hot too, it's a bullshit combination that he hates, and that hate itches down his spine for most of the briefing, to the point where he's tapping on the table, leg jiggling against the floor before too long.
"Something wrong, Lieutenant Bradshaw?" Admiral Simpson barks, when he notices.
Rooster stops immediately. "No, Sir. Sorry, Sir."
The Admiral just looks displeased. He waves a hand at Maverick for him to continue talking.
Hangman, from two rows away, smirks.
Later, they're the last to leave the room. Rooster's annoyed at himself, and Hangman's clearly just waiting for everyone else to leave to - what- be more annoying? Throw a punch? Who knows, really.
"Just say it." Rooster glares, jaw set, as he ties up one of the laces on his boot and stands from his seat.
Hangman shrugs. There's a kind of smugness to him, a sense of accomplishment. It's really, really irritating. "You're not going to be much good for this mission if you can't sit still in a fighter."
And yeah, it's definitely a stupid idea, but he's been grinding his teeth all afternoon, and he's got a headache, and Maverick's being more oblivious than usual, so Rooster just-
Lunges at him.
Throws that punch.
Grapples and snarls and grabs, and then Hangman does too, and then they're truly fighting, scrapping on the floor like a couple of angsty teenagers, rolling and grasping and angry and stupid and-
Then Hangman pulls him in by the collar and they're kissing. Sharp, and kind of bloody, and there's nothing at all soft about it, but it feels good and it hurts just enough to burn off some of that anger, mellowing Rooster's mood and pulling them both down into something that's hot and more than a little bit interesting.
Huuuuuuuh.
God.
Fuck.
Okay?
The door clicks open.
Rooster and Hangman spring apart, at least as much as they can. It's not helpful, at all. Rooster's still a comfortable weight on top of Hangman, shirt rucked up, pants unzipped, face flushed. Looking down, he sees that Hangman's essentially the same; his eyes wide and lips very pink.
It's Maverick coming through the door, looking straight at them.
There's nothing plausibly deniable about any of this. A little curl of fear hangs in Rooster's stomach, his heart pounding in his ears. He's fucked.
They're both fucked.
Maverick - yeah, he looks shocked, but not angry. He walks across the room, picks up his pen from the teaching desk, and heads back towards the door. "Forgot my pen." He says, completely straight-forward, then the door clicks shut behind him as he leaves.
What the fuck?
Rooster doesn't even have time to think about it, cause Hangman's shoving at him. "Get off me!" He snarls, and then rolls him away, clattering Rooster back against one of the desks.
He tightens his pants, slips his jacket back on, and almost runs from the room, without a single look back.
Rooster sits back on his heels, thoughtfully. He's not that horny anymore - because, well, frankly it's a bit hard to keep it up after you've just been interrupted by your dead- dad's-best-friend-turned-suicide-mission-teacher - and mostly just confused.
Seriously. What the fuck.
He expects laughter the next day. He expects the Admiral to bring him into his office for a quiet word; 'cause despite the Navy plastering their newfound tolerance across the diversity pages of any recruiting brochure, and despite DADT being repealed when he was a kid - they're not that tolerant. He expects... something.
Nothing happens. Nothing at all.
There's something in it, though. He keeps on thinking about Hangman's stupid hands and stupid face, and the press of his stupid body under his. It's almost distracting.
Two days later, they're having some kind of bonding barbeque on the beach. The Admiral grumbles at Maverick for 'wasting time', but they can't train every minute of every day, and the barbeques are fun. It's a nice way to forget that they're probably all going to die doing this shit.
Hangman slides out of the darkness, beer in hand, nudges him in the ribs in a way that's not too subtle and says, under his breath, "Come with?"
And well-
He's a red-blooded American man, isn't he? He's not exactly going to pass whatever this is up.
'Whatever this is' turns out to be a blowjob, pressed up against the white cladding of one of the other beach buildings, deliciously slow and incredibly good. Rooster sighs, dropping his head back against the building, and drags his hands through Hangman's stupid, stupid short hair. Somewhere in the middle of the ohfuckyespleasemore of it all, a stray thought drifts through his mind - while most guys have the same bits down there, making BJs work take a bit of practice, so Hangman must...
Well.
Maybe Rooster's not the only one who's been around.
In his distraction - focus has never been his best trait; in flying, in life, even in moments like this - he locks eyes with Maverick, who's about 30 feet away, creeping past in a way that's probably supposed to be quiet. Rooster, in perhaps the worst moment of his life, locks eyes with him, sheer embarrassment shooting up his spine and into his cheeks.
It's very distracting. Y'know, from the blowjob.
Maverick rolls his eyes, mutters something that looks a lot like, "Jesus Christ," and dashes away, beer sloshing onto the ground from his pint glass.
Fuck's sake.
Well, Rooster's not going to get off now, and also potentially never again.
Hangman doesn't seem too upset by him offering to switch roles, though.
Worryingly, it keeps on happening.
The fucking.
Not the interruptions.
Worryingly still, Rooster's thoughts towards Hangman take a swift turn from 'this man is potentially the most annoying man I've ever met' to ''this man is potentially the most annoying man I've ever met, but also there's something in his smile, and his eyes, and his arms, and his ass that's nice under the right light'.
Hangman keeps on calling it 'just guys being dudes', but Rooster's fairly sure that that phrase doesn't really apply after he's learned the exact shape and size of the other pilot's cock.
Then, y'know, they're fucking basically every day, blowing through their couple weeks of training with... well, literal blowing.
Then they complete the mission.
And it's the best high he's ever felt.
He and Hangman hug, for the first time in front of everyone, and there's that certain kind of gleam in Hangman's eye that means...- well.
Two minutes later they're making out against a wall in one of the side rooms, pulling open jumpsuits and rutting together desperately, hot and fast and sweaty, anxious energy flowing through them, between them.
"That was so fucking good." Hangman gasps, pressing his lips to Rooster's jaw, forcing his hand down between their stupid, stupid jumpsuits. "So hot. When you blew the facility up blind I nearly came."
"That's weird as hell, dude." He's not even sure how he's still standing up. He could collapse, if he wanted, but Hangman feels so good, and he's so happy, that he just-
The door slides open and Maverick barks, "Cut it out and get your asses back outside, you two."
Fuck's saaaaake.
Really?
Rooster sags, pressing his head against Hangman's shoulder, and sighs. He's so sweaty. He could sleep for a week. This? This, he doesn't need.
"Outside!" Maverick snarls, again. "Now. Move."
Well, if he's using that tone of voice.
Hangman helps him zip up his jumpsuit, and then kisses him, gently, fully in front of his CO, then darts off, out of the room, incredibly smugly. He winks at Maverick as he passes and says, "Try not to ream him out too badly, eh Mav?"
Maverick just glares at him, completely stone-faced.
Ah. Not good.
Even after their victory.
Not good.
"Maverick..." Rooster starts, but in all honestly, he doesn't even know what he's going to say.
"Save it." Maverick barks. "Go. You and I will talk later."
Later, after he's had a doctor check him over, a couple of beers, and a chance to sit down and think wow, I actually did that, Maverick finds him.
Rooster's sitting on an isolated balcony, off the flight deck, halfway through his third beer, pleasantly drunk. The mood's died down a bit, but the carrier's still joyful. He just needs a little break from it all, a moment to think it over.
What a long fucking day.
"Hey." Maverick sits down next to him. "Good time?"
"You mean the situation or to talk?"
Maverick shrugs. He's holding a beer of his own. "Both."
"Then both." He sighs, biting the bullet for not the first time that day. "Mav, if you're going to tell the Admiral about fraternisation or whatever, I can't guarantee we'll stop doing it." That... when he thinks about it... is true.
Hangman drives him crazy, more than crazy, but he's weirdly easy to get along with after a while.
And phenomenal at sex.
And also, he saved their lives.
That bit kind of helps.
Maverick stares at his bottle for a second, turning it around and around in his hand. The ship wobbles a bit beneath them. "I'm not going to tell the Admiral. You're really looking at me like I'm crazy for the rules?"
Rooster snorts. He supposes that's true, at least. "Your own rules, maybe."
Maverick laughs as well, just a little. "My rules don't say anything about fraternisation."
"Good. You're not-" Actively a homophobe? Upset? Grossed out?
Cause yeah, the military's got a reputation, but it's... always ever been just fucking for the sake of. Everything else is everything else, but... by this point, he and Hangman are the longest relationship he's had in years.
"What you do in your own time is up to you." Maverick says. He thumbs at the label on his beer bottle, peeling the edge of it back, and stares out at the sea. "You just might want to... take it a little further outside of the workplace."
"In my defense, those were mostly accidents."
"I'm serious." Maverick snaps, and there's such an edge in his tone that it makes Rooster want to sit up and pay attention. "You're a top pilot, the person everyone loves now, but people want what you have, and they'll ruin your life to get it."
And now - that's irritating. It's annoying, and it really just sounds like everything he's heard from people for all of his life - from a guy who he thought knew better. "You better not be saying that I've got to keep something like this quiet, Mav."
"I'm telling you you need to be careful." Maverick sets his beer down against his knee and turns to him, and - wow, he's actually really committed to this train of thought. "You need to be careful 'cause there's people waiting for you to fail and they'll do anything to destroy what you've done. We say things are better, but... you know as well as I do that that's mostly bullshit. You really think Simpson would have been lenient if he'd caught you?"
Rooster doesn't even want to think about that. "No."
"Please, Rooster. Just be careful. That's all I'm asking." Maverick drains his beer, swallowing heavily, and stands up. He claps his hand on Rooster's shoulder. "I'm happy for you. If it's serious, hold onto it."
He turns to leave, buffeted gently by the waves, and that's when Rooster finds his voice. Something about Maverick's tone, and the look on his face...
It's the same one he sees every day when he looks in the mirror. "Mav, wait-"
"Yeah?" Maverick turns back to him, face a little drawn. "What's up?"
He doesn't really know how to say it. It takes a second to find the words. "You and my dad... was there anything in the rumors?"
He'd heard the whispering, taken it outright for the joke it mostly was, but...
Maverick smiles. It's a little sad, a little worn at the edges. For a moment, he looks really, really old. "Your dad? No. Not those rumors."
A few weeks later Rooster's in Maverick's hanger, scanning the pictures on his wall. Hangman's there, too, causing havoc and annoying him with stupid questions about Maverick's plane. He wanders over, leaning over Rooster's shoulder to look at the pictures too.
"Sweet." He says, jabbing at the picture of Rooster and Maverick, just after they'd landed from the suicide mission. It's nice, that one. He likes it a lot.
"It is."
"Hey. Who's that?" Hangman points at another picture, really just leaning his entire weight on Rooster's back. It's kind of annoying, but then again, that's Hangman's whole thing.
The picture is a younger Maverick, probably from the 80s, with a bleach blonde who looks... vaguely familiar. They're both grinning, and Maverick's got his hand on the blonde's shoulder.
Hang on...
Their expressions are familiar.
Look, Rooster's not blind.
It's far from platonic.
"Iceman." He breathes, the revelation hitting him right in the chest. No way.
No way.
No way.
"Huh." Hangman leans in a little closer, really just... really hurting Rooster's back now. "Quite the pic. Maverick's got the vibe of a repressed dude who's not getting enough. You reckon they were banging too? Or something?"
Or something. Rooster thinks.
Or something.