Chapter Text
Maverick was overwhelmed with nostalgia. That wasn’t to say Top Gun hadn’t changed, of course it had, but beneath the shiny new layer of paint it still felt like home. Reflecting on his past at Top Gun, however, was liable to take a dark turn. He couldn’t escape Goose’s memory here, which left a lingering chill on his spine.
More than that, if the chill ever departed, Rooster was there to bring it back. He was the spitting image of his father, and still carried that chip on his shoulder. He’d taken to provoking Maverick, trying to draw out some confession and interrupting training in the process. It was a never ending headache, trying to keep track of all the pieces on the board, working against an impossible clock and trying to repair his relationship with his best friend’s son.
Still, it wasn’t all bad. There were times, like today, where he’d stand back and watch the recruits mingle before class began. They were more alike than the kids would like to believe. Today, he saw himself mirrored in Rooster, hopelessly pining after a pretty girl.
You were ignorant of Bradley’s efforts to “land” you, continually pulling the conversation back to the mission and your strategy for the day’s test-flight. When Rooster mentioned the idea of dinner, you assumed he’d meant the whole group, and promised to help him arrange the reservation.
Maverick watched Rooster deflate in real time, and kissed his teeth. He could feel the sting from here, and stepped in to soothe the damage. “Alright, let’s get started.” He sent the group out to get suited up and prepared to take to the skies, but held Rooster back with a crook of his finger. “Can I offer some unsolicited advice?”
Rooster rippled with indignation, his jaw set in a tight line. “Yeah?”
“Vamp,” he referenced your call-sign, gesturing at your retreating back, “you need to be straight with her.” He kept his voice low, and offered what he hoped was a disarming smile. “She won’t respond to subtlety. Just tell her you want to take her out.”
Rooster was silent for a second, stunned. “You’re offering me dating advice?” His expression twisted with incredulity. “I think I know a little bit more about Y/N–”
“Then why do you think you’re striking out?” It was cruel, but he needed to make the point. “You need to make a move before someone else does.” He felt a pang of regret as he saw the anger in Rooster’s eyes crystallize, and he withdrew. “Think about it, at least.” He walked towards the airfield, pushing his shades up his nose.
When his back was turned, Rooster finally mustered up a real response. “Fucking unbelievable.”
///
“Good morning, aviators!”
The sound of Maverick’s voice sent a brush of warmth down your spine. There was something about him you just couldn’t shake. The effortless swagger and authority he carried was one thing, but more than that, he genuinely seemed to care about your success. He took the time to instruct you individually, and explain the areas you could improve.
If your fellow pilots could forget their egos for a minute, they might learn something.
You tried to clear your head of desire, and searched the skies around you. “You seeing him, Phoenix?”
The pilot in the other plane surveyed and chimed in: “Negative. He might be outside of radar range.” She was clear, strong, confident– but wrong.
You kept a firm hand on the throttle, and caught a glimpse of something in your peripheral. Maverick’s jet was just below the two of you, invisible to anything but the naked eye and the more advanced radars at the base. “He’s under us! Go left, I’ll try to get behind him.”
Maverick felt a flicker of a smile as you spotted him and began evasive maneuvers. You were starting to catch on, and he could see real improvement in your flying. Still, he had to put up a fight. He stayed with you, letting Phoenix slip away.
You pulled back on the accelerator at just the right second, left behind as Maverick maintained speed. “Got you now,” you murmured under your breath, brow creased in sweat. You engaged your weapons system, and tried to get a lock on his location.
Maverick was surprised by your slick maneuver, and dove to get out of your strike range.
The exercise continued like this, with a half-dozen near misses before Maverick finally got the drop on you. Seeing you fly had been a shock to his system, bringing his instincts back into focus. It was exhilarating, and he suspected you felt the same way.
///
From the second you stepped out of the plane, Rooster was waiting. He swept you up in his arms and overwhelmed you with praise, shortly followed by a few of the other recruits.
Maverick looked on with a small, satisfied smile. You were good, real good. He waited until the fawning crowd had dispersed before he approached, laying a hand on your shoulder. “Keep up the good work, Vamp,” his eyes flicked up to Rooster for a second, before refocusing on you. “I’ll see you both tomorrow.”
You noticeably perked up at the praise, smiling graciously. “Mav, are you heading out for the night?” You trailed away from Bradley, waving off his concern. “I wanted to discuss today’s exercise, if you have a minute?”
Rooster’s expression, completely out of your view, was filled with pure malice. Maverick couldn’t seem to stay out of his way, especially where you were concerned.
That same electric feeling returned when you approached, and Mav hesitated. He was torn between his role as your teacher and his personal emotion. “We can talk it over,” he answered finally, brushing the sweat-slicked hair out of his eyes. “My office in 20?”
You smiled brilliantly. “Great. Thank you!”
///
Maverick’s office lacked any substantial decoration beyond a few haphazardly arranged photographs, but was cluttered with stacks of official looking paperwork and notices. When you entered, he was making an effort to tidy up, placing several thick manila folders into the massive filing cabinet. He looked up at you, and gestured to the chair on the other side of his desk. “Sorry, it’s a nightmare.”
You laughed, closing the door behind you, and taking the offered seat. “Still haven’t settled in?”
Maverick felt a brush of warmth in his chest. You were so good at falling into a rapport, picking up a conversation exactly where you left off. “It still feels a little surreal, if I’m being honest.” The vulnerability was refreshing, intoxicating.
You nodded, and smiled at your lap. “Imagine how we feel.”
The reminder of your role as a student pulled him back into line. He cleared his throat, and straightened a stack of papers on his desk. “Your flight today, you did a great job. What did you want to talk about?”
A bundle of nerves built in your stomach, and you forced yourself to take slow, deep breaths. “I don’t think I’m doing my best work, Mav,” you admitted, a look of concern crossing your face.
“You’re one of the strongest pilots on the team,” he countered, brow creasing with disbelief. “And today was the best flight of your career. What makes you say that?”
You swallowed past the lump in your throat. “I feel like I’ve been distracted. My instincts feel foggy and it's making me slower in the sky.”
Maverick knew he was entering uncomfortable territory, and chose his words carefully. “I haven’t noticed,” his gaze bore into yours, dark and intense, “what do you think is distracting you?”
This was it. Make or break time. “Another pilot, sir,” you couldn’t break eye-contact, feeling a pool of heat building in your stomach. “I think my feelings are clouding my judgment.”
Feelings. There it was. Maybe Rooster had been right about going slow and steady. He relaxed in his chair, nursing a secret feeling of disappointment. “You’re more than a pilot, Y/N,” his voice was tender now, “you should act on your feelings. It could be a good thing.” His smile was smaller now, but still comforting.
A look of brief confusion crossed your features. “Well, I can’t act on my feelings, Mav.”
“Oh,” he waved a hand, dismissively, “I’m not going to say anything about it. As far as I’m concerned, Cyclone doesn’t need to know. If you’re careful, I don’t even think your fellow pilots will notice–”
“Maverick,” your voice was tight now, “I can’t act on it because he’s my teacher.”
Realization dawned on him. “Me?” His voice was a little lower than he’d intended, soaked in something heady. “Y/N–” he was lost for words, thoughts spinning uselessly in his mind. It was one thing to think about, fantasize about, but this was real. No matter how he responded, your relationship would be forever changed.
Your face was flushed now, but you doubled down. “I can’t stop thinking about you, Mav. Your voice, your hands, I need you.”
He centered his thoughts. He’d given the kid a fair warning, and you were more than capable of making your own choices. Who knows when you’d have another moment alone? Still, he gave you one last out: “Are you sure? This isn’t something you can do halfway. You’re either in or you’re out.”
There wasn’t a beat of hesitation. “Yes,” your voice was breathier now, still grappling with the fact that he was taking you seriously. “I want you.”
Mav stood and shrugged off his shirt, tossing it aside. “Get up,” he took on a more authoritative presence, “lock the door and sit on the desk.”
In love and in battle, you took his commands beautifully. You crossed to the door in three quick strides, securing the lock and testing the doorknob as a precaution.
In the meantime, Maverick set about clearing a space for you on his desk. He took two armfuls of classified military reports, and sloughed them onto the floor in disorderly stacks. Satisfied, he stepped back from the desk, allowing you to move past him and get into position. Once you were, he grasped your chin, angling your face so you met his eyes. “Let’s go over the ground rules,” he was stern, serious now. “Nod if you understand.”
You did so, eyes shining with awakened fire.
“Firstly, you breathe not a word of this to any living soul. Not the recruits, not your friends, and absolutely not any of the admin. Understood?”
You nodded, shifting to sit on the very edge of the desk. Your miniscule athletic shorts didn’t provide much coverage, and the cool surface of the wood was biting into your skin. The new sensation added to the hailstorm of sensory input in Maverick’s office, putting your brain into overdrive.
“Good. This is the most important rule: you need to communicate with me. If you ever want to stop, tell me and we will. If you want me to speed up, touch you, anything, I need to hear you ask.” He waited for your nod, and then continued. “This is the first and final time we do this in my office. I’m too old to be sneaking around with my pants around my ankles. You tell me when, and I’ll tell you where. Sounds good?”
You finally found your voice. “I understand, Mav.” Your pulse was fluttering like a hummingbird in your chest. This was beyond your wildest dreams.
His smile was crooked, but genuine. “Good girl.” He tilted your chin up and pressed his lips to yours, rewarding your careful attention.
The kiss sent a surge of sparks through your nervous system. Maverick was a confident kisser, taking control of the embrace. He tasted faintly like the hazelnut creamer in his coffee, and at this distance, you could smell hints of his pine-scented body wash. He was one hell of a man, and each brush of his skin against yours set off atom bombs in your chest.
His hands crept over the swell of your hips, positioning himself between your thighs. From this angle, he could press his weight directly into your sex– letting you feel exactly how your little rendezvous affected him. He rolled his hips into yours, and deepened the kiss.
Your breath was starting to come in pants, and it stuttered with each movement of his hips. You used one hand to support yourself on the desk, and lifted the other to trail along the center of his chest. He was defined, tan, and still dewy with the evidence of his hurried shower. You moaned against his lips, and ground your hips against his.
Maverick pulled back to catch his breath, burying his face into the side of your throat, kissing and nipping at the skin there. He then reached for the hem of your shirt, pulling it over your head and tossing it towards the door. The bra shortly followed, leaving both of you bare from the waist up. He took one breast into each hand, and thumbed the nipples with expert dexterity. “You’re beautiful, baby,” he murmured, biting his lower lip and admiring the view. He punctuated the statement with another round of grinding, holding your hips tight to his.
You could feel the rough texture of his jeans through the thin polyester of your shorts, providing delicious but indirect friction. You moved your hand down to the elastic waistband of your shorts, drawing Maverick’s attention there.
“Tell me what you want,” his voice cut like a blade through the building haze.
You blinked. “Help me take my shorts off,” you forced the tremble out of your voice. “I want to feel you.”
Maverick obliged, sliding the material down your legs, shortly followed by your final article of clothing. He took one appreciative scan of your exposed body, and ran a hand down your side. “Lay back against the desk,” he instructed. He moved a hand to swipe past your sex, plunging a finger past your entrance. “You’re ready for me,” he told you, pride seeping into his voice. “But I want to touch you a little more before I split you open on my cock.”
The vulgarity of his words in combination with the slow movements of his probing finger produced another moan, and you gripped the edge of the desk for support.
He added a second finger, working to gradually stretch you open for him. His thumb found your clit, and he added small circular motions to the routine. “So good for me,” he praised, “is this what you wanted when you asked me to fuck you?”
You nodded, mouth falling open as his fingers plunged deeper into you. There was something so unexpectedly attractive about his dirty talk, a filthiness otherwise unseen in his interactions with you. If the skies were his home, he was just as comfortable here.
When you’d comfortably accommodated a third finger, Maverick finally slowed down. He laid a kiss on your stomach, just above your navel and withdrew his fingers. He finally removed his belt and shrugged his jeans and boxers down his legs. He took his length in hand, giving himself a few cursory strokes to coat his cock with your wetness.
You finally got a good look at his dick, and something throbbed deep in your chest. He was thick, intimidatingly so, and had a good length. When he’d said he was going to “split you open,” you now realized he wasn’t joking.
He must have seen something in your expression, because he ran a comforting hand along the outside of your thigh. “If it hurts, tell me and I’ll slow down. Are you ready?”
“I’m ready.” You took a deep breath, and leaned back against the desk. “Could you–” a flush of mild embarrassment rose to your cheeks again, “could you talk me through it?”
His smile was wide and easygoing. “Of course.” He ran the tip of his member along your slit, coating the head with your arousal. He positioned himself at your entrance, and slowly began to sink inside. “Relax,” he cooed, “I’ve got you.”
All the air left your lungs. It was an intense, almost painful sensation. You could feel your muscles locking up, responding to the overwhelming tide of stimulation.
You weren’t the only one struggling to keep your composure. Maverick felt like he was going weak at the knees from the intense grip of your cunt, and moved at an agonizingly slow pace to give you time to adjust. “Jesus Christ,” he choked out, remembering your request. “You’re going to kill me, sweetheart.” He couldn’t look away, watching as inch by inch disappeared into you.
You devolved into a combination of short huffs of breath and unintelligible speech, most of which was some version of “ohmygod” and “holyshitmaverick.” Even despite the initial discomfort, you didn’t ask him to stop. You wanted to feel him fully seated inside you, see the look on his face when he started thrusting– and that anticipation kept the pain at the back of your mind.
He finally reached the apex of his thrust, and slumped forward against you. He brushed the hair out of your face, still feeling a little light-headed. Mach 10 hadn’t been this all-consuming. A bubble of pure pleasure was filling him now, puffing out his chest and spurring him into action. “Are you okay if I start moving?” His voice was strangled now, raspier than it had been before.
“Yes!” The word came out with more force than intended, tears building at the corners of your eyes. “Please, Mav, fuck me.”
He leaned forward to capture your lips in another kiss, just as gentle as the first.
You realized immediately that this was the sugar before the medicine as he took on a punishing pace, as fast as your body would allow him to move. Your cunt was milking him, holding him deep inside of you, and it took substantial effort on his part to keep this up.
Obscene sounds of skin on skin filled the office. Maverick grabbed hold of whatever he could reach, massaging hips, thighs and ass with strong and calloused hands. When he felt his climax approaching, he frantically began to rub at your clit. “Come on,” he mumbled, sweat dripping down his forehead. “Come for me, sweetheart.”
Your body began to shudder, and you grabbed hold of his shoulders, digging your nails into his tanned skin and crying out. Your eyes squeezed closed and every muscle in your body contracted again, clenching down around him.
This was enough to push him over the edge. He had enough sense to pull out just milliseconds before he came, leaving white, ropey strands of semen across your chest and stomach. He slumped back into his office chair, panting like he’d just run a marathon.
There was a few minutes of heavy, exhausted silence before either of you could muster the energy to speak. You spoke first, completely slack against the desk. “Yeah, I think this will really help me focus,” you teased, too breathless to put much effort into your delivery. “Thanks, Mav.”
He smiled wryly from his chair. “I do what I can,” he replied, compelling himself to stand in spite of his aching body. “I’m going to get you a towel to clean up.” He pressed a kiss to your forehead. “And then I’m going to need another shower.” He pulled his pants up, not bothering with his shirt. There were no cameras in this part of the base anyways, and it was way after hours. The odds of even encountering someone were–
Slim but never none.
Maverick was barely one step outside his office when he locked eyes with Rooster. The other man was shaking with barely contained anger, his hate-blackened eyes examining the damning evidence of your nails on Maverick’s shoulders. “You fucking bastard.” His fists curled at his sides, a promise of violence to come.