Work Text:
Having to share a room with Rooster was really the nail in Jake’s coffin. He’d been excited to go back to Top Gun, but was gutted to find that the accommodations were as terrible as the last time around, and the allotment of roommates—well. Anyone would have been better than Rooster.
In addition to everything else, the annoying man snored. Jake wanted to strangle him.
Their rhythm was completely different and Rooster had apparently never caught on to the military way of going to bed early if you had to get up early (such a child) and Jake mostly went to bed alone (sinking into a quiet, relaxing sleep) just to wake up one to two hours later to a bumbling idiot making noise, falling over things, turning the bright lights on, cursing under his breath, and then snoring for the rest of the night.
Jake could not be held accountable for his actions if this continued.
Unfortunately, Rooster was utterly resistant to suggestions and just went out anyway day after day and got halfway to drunk just to be extra loud and annoying when he got back.
Well, this time appeared to be no different at first glance. The old lock on the door made a loud click, the door handle banged on the wall, heavy footsteps fell and Jake was wide awake, dumb-brained and bleary-eyed, in a minute he’d probably notice that his bladder was full and his nose was stuffy and he’d have to get up and take care of it and another night would be ruined.
The door was slammed closed and Jake wanted to murder him. A body fell on the bed next to his with a distinct thump. There was just a small corridor between the beds in their tiny room so he could hear every noise as clearly as if it was right in bed with him. Please let him be drunk and fall asleep quickly, please...
Then came the shuffling. Insane shuffling that wouldn’t stop. Just get your clothes off and go to sleep, I’m begging you...
Then there was a moan. If Jake’s ears could have perked, they would have. It fit the image of Rooster being drunk, but it also alerted, ahem, some parts of Jake’s anatomy to the proximity of a living breathing specimen of a human male.
He wasn’t attracted to Rooster, but he also wasn’t not attracted to Rooster. It was nearly too much for his dignity to bear, but if Rooster was moaning just about two yards away from him, he was a slave to his baser instincts. He would have liked to risk a glance to see what was going on, but he was facing the other way, the way he always slept when he was forced to share a room with someone.
More shuffling, and more heavy breathing and more little moans. Was Rooster jerking off? Then: A clear-as-day grunt that sounded very unlike Rooster.
Wait. Had Rooster brought someone back with him, a man? Jake’s cock was standing at attention in his boxers under the covers. He hadn’t known Rooster was into men. Did he know that Jake was into men? He hoped not. If he did, he might have noticed the eye Jake had on their teacher, Maverick, who had caught his attention from the moment he first saw him in the bar that first night. As pilots, they were probably all gone for Maverick’s flying, but Jake had to be careful not to look at the man with too much obvious lust—the man was gorgeous, despite his age, or maybe because of it. Yes, Jake would like a piece of that ass, if Maverick was so inclined.
There were definitely two voices now, panting and sighing, and now that he was paying close attention, it sounded like two bodies were moving together. It was all too tantalizing, too illicit, too late at night for him to stop himself—he slowly, careful not to make a sound, moved his hand down and under the waistband of his boxers. It was probably ill-advised to jerk off to this, but he was reasonably certain he could be quiet. And reasonably certain that Rooster would be more embarrassed to be caught having sex with a man than he would be jerking off to it.
He had to move his hand agonizingly slowly to avoid shifting the duvet, and he didn’t have any lube, altogether it was a desperate affair. He’d done this last as a teenager, getting himself off with other people in the room because he just couldn’t hold back.
There was a creak from the other bed and the movement became rhythmic, and he realized oh god they are actually fucking, and there was no holding back now. He bit into the pillow in a desperate attempt to quieten himself as he intensified his efforts.
“Bradley—” the man moaned, “yeah, just like that.” Jake’s movements ground to a halt. That was—if he wasn’t completely mistaken, that was Maverick. Holy shit. Maverick let himself get fucked by Rooster. Nobody would believe him.
The thought that those two were jilted lovers had crossed his mind before, but he’d put it down to his respective feelings for Rooster (hatred) and Maverick (attraction) and hadn't seriously believed it, until now.
With mental images of Maverick, best combat pilot in the Navy, with his small tight body, getting fucked into the mattress, and the soundtrack to accompany it, there was no holding back and Jake stroked himself off harder, nearing his release quickly.
“Shh, be quiet,” he heard Rooster say, but Maverick continued to moan. “You really have to be quiet.”
“Why?” Maverick panted with effort between his moans.
“Because we’re not alone,” Rooster hissed so quietly that Jake could only just make it out because he’d followed the conversation.
The conversation continued in whispers, and Jake’s straining ears couldn’t make out any more words. That is, until Mav spoke up, at almost normal volume, surprise getting the better of him. “Hangm—” he said, clearly, and Jake felt his name in his bones, and he had to bite his lips so as not to react in some way. His heart was pounding in his ears and he was getting hot under the covers, but he didn’t dare to move.
As Maverick’s voice was cut off, the up and down of the bed started up again—fucking, Maverick was getting fucked, and what, Rooster had shut Maverick up somehow? There was no sound from the man although the fucking was increasingly vigorous.
His mind was reeling with the possibilities, perhaps Rooster was holding Maverick down, possibly with a hand over his mouth? Or shoving him face first into the pillow? Rooster’s muscles straining, hips coming down to drive into—
Did Maverick want this, to be held down and made to take it? Or was Rooster taking advantage? The thought did cross Jake’s mind that Maverick might need help, but then, Maverick of all people could take care of himself. He just wished he could see him, as he continued to—slowly, carefully—work himself up.
When his orgasm found him, it wasn’t very satisfying, having to hold his muscles rigid and his mouth closed, breathing deliberately slowly through his nose so as not to make a sound, as he soiled his boxers like a damn teenager.
Rooster was still panting hard over in the next bed, and in his post-orgasmic state, Jake decided to hell with it—he was sweating under the duvet anyway and had to move, so he slowly turned himself over in what he thought might be an imitation of shifting in his sleep, and made sure to end up with an arm and a leg exposed to the cooling air.
He opened his eyes and looked right into Maverick’s. It was of course too dark to make out too many details, but Maverick was on his hands and knees, and Rooster was going to town on him, rough and grunting, and he had one big hand over Maverick’s mouth. His other hand was around Maverick’s cock that he could barely make out in the low light.
“Come for me, Mav,” Rooster murmured into his ear as he stroked him off and Maverick shuddered, his eyes leaving Jake's and going unfocused as he came on command. Jake was sure this image would stay in his fantasies for a long time and he wondered if he’d ever be able to look the man in the eye again without being reminded of how beautifully he came on a cock.
Rooster followed with a long groan and they collapsed in a heap in the bed. Jake closed his eyes, not wanting to be found out by Rooster—somehow he had a hunch that Maverick wouldn’t bring this up although he’d seen him looking.
“I have to go,” Maverick said after a time, when Jake had just thought they might have fallen asleep together.
“Yeah, he can’t see you here,” Rooster agreed and Jake grimaced a little, having seen quite a lot, thank you very much.
“I can’t believe I let you pull this shit,” Maverick continued.
“You have to be quiet,” Rooster reminded him again.
“See you tomorrow,” Maverick said and got up from the bed. The door made a click as he left. Shortly after, Rooster’s well-known snoring started up and Jake drifted off to sleep as well.
(Imagine Jake’s surprise when he figured out who was standing next to Maverick in the photograph of the Top Gun class from 1986.)