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They're hanging out in Bradley's rental, like the friends that they are now, on a random Friday when Bradley finally takes the step off the cliff they've been dangling over.
To both of their surprise, it had been rather easy to grow a strong friendship between them. After the Mission, of course, because it turns out several near-death experiences and saving someone's life in such a definite manner can cause an outlook change on a lot of things in life, even a bitter petty rivalry. It took time to truly bury the hatchet, and there are still some lines that neither of them touch. But all in all, Jake would honestly consider Bradley as one of his closest friends. (And doesn't that just scare him, just a little.)
It turns out, Bradley has a dry sense of humour which pairs perfectly with Jake's, and Jake enjoys his quick wit a lot more when it's not being used to shoot barbs at him. And he's pretty sure Bradley feels the same about Jake's own assholery - nowadays when he makes some cocky comment Bradley just rolls his eyes instead of glaring at him. They find Bradley's generally easy-going nature balances out Jake's brimming confidence, and now that they can actually be in the same space for more than a few minutes, they make a scarily good team.
And spending time together is nice, casual and uncomplicated; which is how Jake finds himself sprawled on Bradley's couch for the umpteenth time, some college football game on the TV that neither of them have been watching. They've been talking over the turned-down sound of yelling and whistles - about work, about jets, about Mav and the Spitfire he'd recently bought to accompany his now almost fully restored P51.
Right now, though, Bradley's in the kitchen putting away leftovers of Chinese takeout and getting them both a beer. They've been arguing playfully about how badly Jake thrashed Bradley at pool at the Hard Deck last week, and it feels good to be able to tease and banter without angling to cut too deep.
"You know, I don't think you've ever beaten me at anything," Jake observes, like an ass. "Even dogfight football. Or volleyball. Or darts. Or-"
"Okay, okay," Bradley cuts in, muffled where he's halfway inside the fridge.
Jake grins at the TV. "I guess some people just aren't built for the athletic arts."
"Y'know, I'd probably beat you at golf," Bradley says mock thoughtfully. "It's all technique. Speed and confidence won't help you there. Gotta be slow, steady, wait until everything feels just right and you feel good about the shot. Wouldn't that be a shame, Hangman, your only strengths becoming useless."
Jake doesn’t know if any of that’s actually true. Bradley would probably beat him at golf, but that belief has more to do with the fact that Jake has never touched a golf club in his life, rather than any tendency to go too fast into things.
Whatever. This is a stupid argument anyway.
Jake tips the top half of his body over the back of the couch to lazily flip him off. "Suck my dick, Bradshaw."
Bradley hums and straightens, his grin going a bit lopsided as his eyes flick down what he can see of Jake's body. "Yeah, okay."
Jake freezes, a strangled, "what?" making its way out of his mouth without his permission.
Bradley's eyebrow arches as he rounds the couch to stand in front of Jake. "What, Seresin? I'm getting off my perch, like you always wanted. Can't keep up?"
Jake still feels like he's on suddenly unstable ground, but he's never yet passed on a challenge from Bradley and he's not about to start now.
So he plasters a confident smirk on his face, meets Bradley's gaze squarely, letting his legs fall open a little in invitation and acceptance. "Well, c'mon then, Bradshaw," he drawls. "Put your mouth where your money is."
Bradley smiles, nods once and drops smoothly to his knees in front of the couch.
Jake swallows. Things just got very real very quickly. But he's not about to say no, not when he's got Bradley Bradshaw on his knees for him, not when they've finally arrived at a destination they've been hurtling towards for a while. Definitely ever since they'd become friends almost a year ago, and truly ever since flight school if Jake's being honest. This is unexpected, but not uninevitable, and so Jake lets his smirk morph into a real smile as he looks down at Bradley.
The crowd cheers on TV, and as an afterthought, he fumbles for the remote and shuts it off. He doesn't want to risk giving himself some kind of Pavlovian response where he gets hard if he ever sees or hears a football game being played. It's probably unlikely, but still. He's not taking the chance. That would be highly embarrassing.
Bradley huffs out a chuckle as he follows Jake's train of thought before shuffling forward a little more until his knees bump against the front of the couch, shouldering Jake's legs apart. He searches Jake's face for a moment and, apparently finding whatever permission he was looking for, leans in to mouth along his fly, tonguing idly at the teeth of the zipper.
Jake has just a few seconds to wonder a little hysterically if Bradley plans to try to undo his jeans with his teeth before Bradley does just that. Slides one flat palm up Jake's denim-clothed thigh, pops the button of his jeans with his thumb, then snags the zipper between his teeth and drags it down. Jake watches in awe, then Bradley's gaze flicks up to meet his, and he swears quietly, head tipping back to thunk against the couch behind him.
"Look at me," Bradley says, lowly, and Jake would love to deny him, take back some of the control he feels like he had at the start of this, though he's quickly realising he doesn't think he ever did actually have any. Resist him long enough to dial back the intensity a little, maybe, make this back into a teasing challenge they've taken further than usual.
But he can't, and it isn't, so he tips his head forward to meet Bradley's warm brown eyes again.
"Good," Bradley coos, nosing the flaps of denim further apart and licking broadly along where Jake's tenting his briefs, laving his tongue over anywhere he can reach without actually removing any pieces of clothing.
"We're overdressed, Bradley," Jake grumbles, voice breathier than he means it to be after a minute or two of watching Bradley steadily turn the dark blue fabric decidedly black from saliva and precum.
Bradley pulls back, taking the heat of his mouth with him, which is not what Jake wanted, but okay. "You're right," he says, hooking his fingers under the hem of Jake's shirt and pushing it up his torso. "Here, hold this. Or take it off, I don't mind."
Before he can second guess himself Jake stuffs the hem of the shirt into his mouth, watching Bradley with sharp-edged innocence.
A groan seems to tear its way out of Bradley's chest. "Fuck, Jake, you're unbelievable," he murmurs, going for Jake's waistband with renewed vigour.
Obligingly Jake lifts his hips to help and together they get his jeans and briefs off in one go, freeing his cock to slap up against his toned stomach. Bradley has to move out from between his legs to get the pants completely out of the way, and takes a second to just look, pupils blown wide and dark.
Jake preens under the attention, knowing he looks good. He must look obscene, really, hard and almost naked on Bradley's couch, white t-shirt clamped between his teeth. He splays his arms over the back of the couch, pushing his chest forward a little, feeling the way the white fabric pulls taut over his shoulders - and Bradley surges back in, falling back to his knees and licking a long stripe up the underside of Jake's dick. A shocked moan catches in Jake's throat at the contact no longer muted by fabric, before releasing as Bradley traces a bead of precum up the side and fits his lips around the head, lapping at the slit.
"Shit-" Jake hisses, muffled through the shirt still in his mouth. Unable to help himself, he reaches one hand down to sink into Bradley's curls, more for the sensation and reassurance than any desire to guide or demand. As if in reward, Bradley pushes forward a little more, enveloping more and more of Jake into the warm, wet heat of his mouth.
Jake groans, rocking forward just the tiniest bit. He almost expects Bradley to pull back, or use the weight of his hands on Jake's hips to hold him still. Bradley does the opposite - takes a breath in through his nose before opening his throat and encouraging Jake even deeper, no gag reflex in sight.
If Jake had any more brain power, he'd be a little surprised by that. Not that he's thought about it - he totally has - but Bradley doesn't seem like someone to deep throat so easily, not straight away. Right now, though, all he can muster is holy. fuck. Anything left over is going into keeping his hips steady so he doesn't actually choke Bradley by thrusting too much forward unexpectedly.
Bradley hums invitingly and starts bobbing his head expertly. One of his hands comes up to rest over Jake's in his own hair, encouraging Jake to guide his rhythm gently. Jake curls his hand in the strands a little tighter and takes the invitation, finding an easy pace and pulling Bradley off to breathe every now and then, praises and moans falling from his lips. His eyes fall closed, but Bradley is too focused on his task to mention it.
He almost finds it in himself to be embarrassed by how quickly he feels that familiar heat start to tighten in his gut, but he's been waiting a long time for this, okay, and Bradley clearly knows what to do with his mouth, and Jake's just a man, so sue him.
"Bradley, fuck- that's so good, you're so good, doing so well for me-" he babbles, shirt finally falling out of his mouth as he looks down at Bradley again. "Baby- oh god- I'm gonna-"
Bradley just meets his gaze, sinks down to the hilt and stays there, throat spasming around the head as he swallows - and Jake's coming down his throat with a hoarse cry.
He practically melts into the cushions when he's done, shuddering through the aftershocks and oversensitivity as Bradley sucks a little harder than necessary as he pulls off. As he becomes more aware of his surroundings, blinking his eyes open, he finds Bradley panting against his thigh, catches the movement of his arm and realises he's working himself over.
Jake can't believe Bradley wasn't gonna let him touch him. It seems suddenly incredibly unfair. "Hey, hey, c'mere," he says, reaching out clumsily.
Once he realises Jake's back with him and eager for more, Bradley wastes no time, clambering up into Jake's lap, thighs bracketing Jake's and his clean hand coming up to curl around behind Jake's ear as he pulls him in for a long overdue kiss.
They're doing this all backwards, Jake realises as Bradley licks into his mouth and lets him taste himself, which is so hot he almost loses his train of thought again. A blow job before their first kiss, and their first kiss before any kind of official first date, if that's even something Bradley wants. Still. They've never really done most of their relationship the proper way, so they can probably make it work.
Distracted again by Bradley rocking down into his lap in search of friction, Jake's suddenly grateful that Bradley's a good kisser and he can just let himself be taken along for the ride, because he's still a little clumsy from his orgasm, and besides, it lets him put a bit more focus into tucking his own hand inside Bradley's shorts and wrapping his hand around him.
It doesn't take much. Just a few long strokes, somewhat restricted within the fabric of the shorts he for some reason still has on, and Jake breaking away regrettably from Bradley's mouth to instead nip at his jawline and press a, "come on, darlin'," into the skin below his ear. Then Bradley lets out a shuddering gasp and shakes apart, curling into Jake.
"There you go," Jake says, sliding his hand out of Bradley's shorts and instead up under his shirt to wipe the mess off on his - frankly, gorgeous - abs. Bradley wrinkles his nose and shoves at him gently, but it's undercut by the way he nestles into Jake's chest, somehow managing it even with the extra few inches he has over him.
Feeling sappy and sated, Jake presses a kiss to his temple before stroking his now relatively clean hand up his back. They'll have to move, soon, Bradley is sure to get uncomfortable with cum drying in his underwear, and Jake wonders idly if he can convince him to shower together. From the way Bradley was eyeing his chest earlier, he'll hazard a guess that it wouldn't be a hard bargain to deal. And they'll have to talk, sometime, about where they're going, because while friendship had flowed naturally, if they're doing this, becoming more than, he wants to do it properly.
But for now, for just a little longer, he sinks into the feeling of Bradley's weight on his lap and his soft breathing against his front.