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Maverick spends every minute of the hop wishing desperately he was on the ground. It’s a weird, sort of out-of-body experience, cause Maverick has never, for a second, wished to be on the ground when being in the air is an option, but right now he’d give anything to be home. It’s sorta like the plane is moving through syrup, or he is, the control stick keeps getting caught and juddering, and it takes all he’s got to keep his hands firmly in control and not send him and Goose in a flat spin out to sea, to stay firm behind Ice’s wing and wait ‘til someone else tells him what to do. His mind’s hazy, body too big, the sun beating down on him and making him feel like he’s little and back in Texas counting down the days ‘til Daddy’s home. He doesn’t even figure Viper’s in the air before the weapons system is wailing that there’s a lock and a cacophony of noise comes into focus—
“—Mav, what the hell, didn’t you hear—?“
“—Snooze you lose, fellas—“
“—Is that really all you’ve got, Maverick—?“
“That’ll be all gentlemen. Maverick, see me in my office for a debrief once you’ve landed.”
And.
It's over? It must be. And. He lost. More than the hop, he realizes, sort of sick. Maybe the whole damn trophy. His dignity, certainly. And the right to—to—
He can’t think about that right now. Can’t think about what’ll be waiting for him on base, after the guys get their ribbing out of the way and Goose starts in on asking him if he’s lost his damn mind, or worse, if he’s feeling alright, can’t think about stripping the flight gear off and—and—
He can’t tell if he’s crying when he’s landing, it’s just another sensation barely there as he’s sat in the cockpit with his hands still clenched around the stick like it’s the only thing tethering him to earth, which might be the case, cause his head still feels like it’s a mile up in the air lookin’ down on him and Goose, who’s stopped halfway through his own personal unloading procedure just to stare at him. He can’t tell if he’s crying or not, but it must not be obvious either way cause Goose just leans forward and knocks on his helmet and tells him to shift it or risk Viper’s wrath, which gets Mav to loosen his fingers just enough to let go.
Fuck it. If he is crying, what for? ‘Cause his landing wasn’t smooth enough? ‘Cause Viper caught him in a minute, and he hasn’t flown this fucking bad since he tried to go up with a hundred-degree fever and a migraine a year into his flight career and Goose had to call in an emergency landing and tore him a new one something fierce the second Mav could sit up without puking? Whatever. They’ve all got off days. Off weeks. Off entire fucking lifetimes, if Maverick’s life is evidence enough. What’s a little more?
He skips the locker room, though. Doesn’t wanna think about what’s underneath his flight suit, yet. Doesn’t wanna face any of the guys, either, but more cause he can’t face the jokes. It’s not like they’re laughing with him, he knows how much hate they’ve got just under their skin waiting to lash out at him. He knows that Viper’s still in the air, or going through his landing procedure, so if he goes now, he’ll have nothing but an empty office and his own shame to look forward to, but it’s better than Goose and his all-knowing mother-henning eyes staring down at him. Maybe it’ll be a point in his favor if he looks willing and eager for his punishment.
But it hardly matters. Viper makes him wait a full twenty minutes before showing up to his own damn office. He’s dressed plain, only in his khakis, and doesn’t say a word to Mav, just opens his door and gestures him inside, an echo of earlier this morning, before hops. Mav’s had twenty minutes to think about it and the sense of déjà vu knocks him off-balance and leaves him feeling vaguely sick, so he’s glad to flee into the relative privacy of Viper’s office.
“Lock the door, lieutenant.”
Mav shuffled anxiously, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, glancing at Viper and the door in turn.
“No thanks, sir. I’d rather not, if that’s alright with you.”
Viper stared at him, hard, and even sitting at his desk, it felt like he’s looking down on Mav. He’s frowning, Mav knows, ‘cause he can’t bear to lift his eyes from Viper’s mouth to make eye contact, so he’s expecting it when Viper opens his mouth and again says:
“Lock the door, lieutenant.”
Maverick doesn’t hesitate this time.
He realizes, belatedly, that he’s still got his helmet in his hands. It’s heavy, feels like it’s holding him down to the earth, though even still he’s a little floaty. Any sense of reality he’d scraped together waiting for Viper disappeared the second the lock clicked. He’s eighteen, waiting behind his CO’s desk while he tears him a new one for buzzing a tower. Twelve and waiting for his newest principal to call home and realize no one’s gonna pick up just cause the newest foster was causing problems at school. Six and staring through the crack in the door while Mama goes through every last document in what used to be Daddy’s desk, not knowing yet that when she catches him, she’s going to hit him.
“Are you drunk?”
“No sir.”
“High?”
“No, sir.”
Mav would be insulted, since it’s a workday and he’s got a plane to fly, but he knows it’s Viper’s checklist for anytime their relationship gets… a little less than professional. It makes him feel better. But. Maverick doesn’t think it’d actually stop him, is the thing. Doesn’t know if the bottle he can spy in the trash is from last night or this morning. He can only hope Viper’s the responsible type, but it doesn’t bode well that he isn’t even bothering to hide.
“Do you remember what we discussed last time, lieutenant?”
Maverick couldn’t remember Tuesday, let alone their last rendezvous, but he nodded anyway. Better to have the benefit of the doubt. As a rule, he doesn’t have a great memory; ask him about an F-14, and he’ll recite the NATOPs to you forwards and back. Ask him what he had for lunch an hour ago and he couldn’t even guess. It’s not that big of a deal—Goose is happy enough to remember for both of them; details of deployments, important dates, whether Mav has eaten in the last 72 hours or not. He doesn’t think it’d always been this bad, but he’d given up keeping track of his flaws the second he’d got into the Navy. Everyone else was more than ready to make sure he knew everything that was wrong with him. The only thing he could ever get right was the planes.
“Lieutenant, I’m starting to think our program just isn’t challenging enough for you. You and I both know there’s nothing any of us here can teach you about technique. The only thing standing between you and that trophy is your damn ego. I think I can do something about that. Since you didn’t crash that death trap of yours last time, it looks like we can continue our little experiment. See if it fixes that attitude problem.”
Mm. Right. Looks like the answer was ‘this morning’.
“Do you have anything to say for yourself?”
Not what he was expecting. Maverick pauses, for the first time in his life, to think.
He probably does. Actually. Yeah, he definitely does.
This wasn’t fair. This wasn’t right. He’s pissed—not just at Viper, but himself, for laying there and taking it just ‘cause someone older and meaner pushed him down and told him to stay. It’s almost un-fucking-believable that Mav would risk not only his career, his life, but Goose’s life as well because—why? He can’t even come up with a lie good enough for himself. He’s got no fucking excuse. He knew better. He knew better than to let someone push him around and get between him and a jet, get between him and Goose, ‘cause those were the only two good fucking things he’s got going on in his life and he’s a fool to let his dick take first pick. I mean, Jesus, it’s not like he’d even wanted it this time—
“No sir, not really. I’ve got no excuse for my performance today.”
A mean grin takes over Viper’s face. Mav still can’t lift his gaze to Viper’s eyes, so all he’s got is those teeth, primed and ready to bite into the delicate parts of his throat. Pinned down. There’s nowhere for him to go. His heart is already picking up the threat, going double-time and making him more nervous than angry. He’s still kind of floaty, full of general upset and sick, and Viper’s really living up to his callsign right now, cause Mav’s really feeling like prey, like a fucking—
“Rabbit. C’mere, bend over. Elbows on the desk.”
Maverick hears the name and knows better than to object, so he lets his feet drag him between Viper’s legs and the desk, situating himself, position familiar, and he’s regretting keeping the door unlocked now, so he stares at the lock as hard as he can, hoping some latent telekinesis or maybe Jedi powers will kick in now. He hopes something will come up or someone will come in and stop what’s about to happen. He bites his lip as hands slither up his thighs, lingering on his hips and ass, fingers curling in and pressing bruises into already tender flesh. They trace over his skin slower than ever, reaching around to his front, closing in on him and constricting, undoing his belt with ease and dragging his pants and underwear down in one smooth motion.
The hands slide almost reverently up his flank, nails scratching along pale and delicate skin, coming to rest at his hips again, the pawing sending shivers down Mav’s spine, making him choke down a humiliating noise. He’s barely been touched, but some pathetic part of him already feels desperate, dick half-swollen and aching, showing off just how easy he is no matter how much he just wants this to be over. The lock still hasn’t clicked and no one appears to save him from his own bad decisions, so Mav shifts his legs to widen his stance, tells himself this is what he deserves, and leans harder into the desk, presenting himself for Viper’s approval.
But the hands disappear. Mav has to bite down on his forearm to hold back a whine at the sudden absence, tears springing to his eyes without permission from the aching loss. He feels sick for how much he suddenly wants, ashamed for proving himself to be the desperate slut Viper always claims him to be.
He hears Viper chuckle, somewhere above and behind him, barely loud enough to be heard over whatever the hell Viper’s doing back there, and Mav can’t help but moan at the terrible notion that anything could happen to him in the next few minutes, and he won’t do a thing to stop it. Anyone could walk in and see him bent over his CO’s desk, teary-eyed and begging for it, because he was too proud to lock the fucking door. They could join in. He wouldn’t even say no. He’s never been so completely at another person’s mercy.
Except, of course, for the last time he’d given himself to Viper.
He’s on the verge of tears from his spiral, body disconnecting once and for all from his head and in the next breath the hands are back, cold and slick, prodding at his defenseless hole. Mav can’t stop the involuntary clench, breath catching, hips squirming away from the attempted intrusion, nor the gasp he lets out as Viper smacks his ass, hard, and pins him down with his other hand.
“Be good for me, Rabbit. I’m not going to stop because you’re uncomfortable, and you know it. You can handle a little discomfort, can’t you? Or would you rather I don’t prepare you first?”
Maverick shakes his head, unable to find his voice, and steadies himself on the desk again, burying his face back in his arms. He doesn’t jolt this time when the hand returns, slick and pressing in, in, his body helpless to stop it and yielding easily. It’s not the first nor last time he’s been fingered, so he keeps being good and stays quiet when Viper slips another finger in soon after the first. The hand starts pumping in and out, slowly stretching him, forcing his body to give. Mav breathes shakily, trying not to hyperventilate. They’re trained on how to breathe in the air to keep from passing out from the force, and he wonders if Viper recognizes the pattern. Tries not to think about anything else. Reminds himself that he sold his body to the Navy long ago, and this is just one more part.
It's not the biggest he’s ever had, but it’s all he can think about. His awareness has shrunk down to the smooth glide of Viper’s fingers against delicate flesh, the slow and inexorable stretch of the most private part of himself. Viper only stops to apply more lube, drenching his hand and therefore Mav’s insides, an absolutely ridiculous amount of it flooding his hole and dripping steadily out around the flexing of Viper’s fingers, now up to three, still working Maverick open, and he can’t help but wonder deliriously if it’s going to stain his clothes, since he won’t have time to clean up between now and the next hop. It’s humiliating, disgusting, and Mav spreads his legs just an inch further to take in more.
“Good, Rabbit. You’re opening up just right, nice and easy for me. This is just where you’re supposed to be, isn’t it?”
Mav whines in response, breath hitching on what might be a sob and pressing back into Viper’s hand, a mindless response to the praise. Yes, he is so nice and easy and opening up so prettily, please keep going or maybe stop or do anything to him just as long as you keep talking nice.
“There. I think you’re wet enough, kid. I don’t want you to be too uncomfortable during the hop.”
He doesn’t quite have the wherewithal to grasp what Viper means before the fingers are gone and the cold air from Viper’s fan takes their place, making Mav wail, thankfully muffled into his forearm. Viper’s moving behind him, opening his drawer and squirting more lube over—something. Mav refuses to turn around and look, scared it’ll be like last time and Viper’s about to tuck something from their shared past up his ass again. He can’t be thrown off like that before going up in a jet, though he can’t imagine he won’t be compromised no matter what Viper puts in him.
The time between Viper’s hands leaving him and something new and frightening pressing against his lax hole is either an eternity or a millisecond, Mav jumps at the touch and bites down again as Viper starts to push whatever he’s got in, and it just. Keeps going.
It’s infinitely long. Bigger than he’s ever taken before. Heavier than God. Immediately too much.
Or.
It’s not enough. Not long enough. Not wide enough. Barely noticeable between the lube and the firm stretching his hole had taken, maybe even liable to fall out the minute Viper takes his hand away.
“I want you to take care of that plug for me, Rabbit. Show me that you’re really the best.”
If this is what it takes to be the best, Ice can have that goddamn trophy.
Viper’s still talking, ripping into Maverick’s performance, but Mav’s given up and gone away. He’s watching Viper’s mouth, still picturing those teeth in the soft parts of his throat, but he hasn’t heard a word. All these power-drunk types are the same, they just wanna hear themselves talk and only feel good when they’re hurting someone else, and Mav has known since he was little how to shut up and let them rant. He couldn’t always keep his mouth shut, usually didn’t, but sometimes that instinct kicks back in full force and leaves him disoriented, body feeling too big and mind feeling too small, too scared to really be him.
“-but I don’t think you’ve learned your lesson. I think you could do with some more reinforcement.”
Pause. What? More? How?
“I don’t want you taking that out until you’re home. I think you need a little more time to really let it sink in.”
“Sir?”
He can’t be serious. Viper can’t think he can really control Mav this much, and Mav’s certainly not going to let him. Right?
“You heard me, Lieutenant. You’re dismissed.”
Okay then. Sure, why not. It’s already the worst day of his life. Mav salutes him and then he’s out the door, walking through the halls to the locker room in a daze, not taking in his surroundings and not thinking anything at all, no sir. He doesn’t have the time to think. It’s none of his business.
Opening the door to the locker room feels like falling into a dream. He hadn’t read much as a kid, but he’d had a nice older foster sister once who had been obsessed with Alice in Wonderland. She’d tell the story to all the littler ones when they couldn’t sleep, and nine-year-old Pete Mitchell had been a repeat offender. She couldn’t have been more than twelve, he thinks, but still play-acting at being a grownup since no one else was filling the roll.
The chaos of a dozen hyper pilots laughing and shoving and saying a million things all at once must be worse than even Alice falling into Wonderland. Everyone knows the rules of the twisted little world Mav has never been a part of, not really. Reaching up to his locker, his hand looks bigger than it’s supposed to, reaches further than it should, doesn’t really seem like his. He’s stuck staring at it long enough, he doesn’t notice when Goose sidles up to him and opens his locker for him.
“You doin’ alright Mav?”
He can’t do anything but nod, unzipping his flight suit. He hears someone, Slider maybe, say something he can’t quite parse out but that’s directed at him. He doesn’t bother to even turn his head, too busy staring, confused, into the depths of his locker. Is that really his stuff? He doesn’t remember ever owning so much. Goose is unmoving at his side, barking something over his shoulder that gets a dozen laughs from the men on the other side of the room, but Mav’s still locked in his own little world, using all his focus to get changed when it feels like his body is still somehow not the right size. It takes him a couple of tries to even get a leg into his pants.
“Hey. Pete, seriously. What happened in there, man? What’s wrong?”
Goose’s voice is low and it feels like he’s whispering it straight into Maverick’s brain. It makes his skin crawl. He slams his locker shut and pushes past Goose, just wanting to get home. He’ll be okay if he can just get home. Goose won’t back up though, follows Mav as someone calls out asking if there’s trouble in paradise, as he stalks through the building out to the parking lot.
Mav’s barely two steps towards his bike when Goose’s hand wraps around his arm and hauls him back.
“Peter Mitchell, talk to me. What is your problem? What happened in there?”
He’s moving before his brain catches up. His hands are on Goose’s chest, shoving him back, heart beating rabbit-quick in his chest, eyes wide. Goose stumbles back, face twisting up, before he’s right back where he was before, looming over Mav and making him feel smaller than ever.
“Don’t do that shit Mav, you know that won’t work on me. I don’t know the hell is up with you but you’d better figure it the fuck out. Go for a ride, get your head on straight, do whatever, but come home after, you got it? I don’t wanna see you ‘til you’re acting normal.”
It’s all Mav can do to hold back a whine. He wants to go home. He didn’t mean to hit Goose at all, his body wasn’t doing anything he wanted it to. He just didn’t wanna be touched like that, is that so wrong? It’s not fair, none of this is fair, and now Goose is looking at him all weird and upset and he doesn’t want Goose to be mad at him so he nods and gets on his bike and peels out of the parking lot, no destination in mind.
It's easy to get lost going fast, though. Mav’s body disappears for good and his mind clears and it’s almost dark when he’s pulling onto the street where their quarters are. His head hurts and he’s thirsty, he wants to go to bed but it’s like just seeing his housing has him clenching up and he remembers suddenly oh, yeah, Viper’s little gift.
He’s glad no one’s out to watch the way he has to shuffle to the door, breath shallow and a strange sense of upset growing in his chest. He wants to open the door and climb in the bathtub and cry, go to bed before every other bad feeling that’s been swirling around all day catches up. He’s on borrowed time, he knows, ‘til he’s breaking down and making an absolute fool of himself, but he doesn’t feel good. Mav thinks he’s granted a little breakdown, just enough to take the edge off and help him fall asleep. He grabs his key to open the door, goes to slot it inside, then it opens by itself.
A flood of warm light. The scent of some kind of pasta. Goose. Goose, opening the door, hauling Mav inside and shoving him down on one of his uncomfortable kitchen chairs. Goose making him a plate and slamming it down in front of him before sitting down across the table and just staring.
It’s fine. Mav’s on borrowed time, but he’s been on borrowed time since the day he was born. He can handle a little more.
Goose doesn’t move, doesn’t speak, until Mav’s robotically picking up the fork Goose had left for him and takes a tiny bite. It’s warm, tastes like one of Carole’s recipes, and Mav has to choke it down cause he’s feeling nauseous, worse than he ever has before.
“Are you feeling any better?”
Mav nods, takes another bite so he won’t have to talk.
“I’m glad. Do you wanna tell me what’s going on, Mav? I don’t wanna fight you, kid, I just wanna know what’s going on in that head of yours.”
Mav shakes his head. Shoves more food in his mouth. Goose sighs. Takes a deep breath, then starts in on a lecture.
Maverick can’t bring himself to meet Goose’s eyes, can’t hear a word Goose is saying. He’s staring down at the plate trying to count his breaths but the longer it goes on the harder it gets until his breath is hitching, stumbling, getting choked up and then his vision gets all blurry which doesn’t make any sense, what’s happening, he can’t get his brain to make sense of anything going on around him and he just feels scared.
Then Goose is there, concerned, crouching down so Mav doesn’t have to move his head any to look at him. He blinks and there’s a hand on his face, brushing against his cheek and Mav hiccups, a pathetic little sob falling from his lips as Goose frowns even more, standing up to pull Mav’s face into his stomach and letting him cry into Goose’s shirt like he’s down a million times before for Bradley. Mav goes to pieces instantly, sobbing hard enough he can’t breathe, as Goose shushes him and runs his hands through Mav’s hair, letting him fall apart.
He's saying something, but Mav is so worn out and pathetic and terrified that he doesn’t hear a word of it, even when an eternity has passed and his crying has mostly petered out, a few pathetic whimpers as opposed to the cascading systems failure that had overtaken him a second ago.
In Goose’s arms is the first time he’d felt safe all day, but he’s still exhausted and it’s only now he registers the pain he’s in, the bone deep exhaustion, like he's been clenching every muscle in his body for hours. Mav’s tired, his brain’s fuzzy and he can’t string a thought together, so when Goose gently sweeps Mav’s bangs off his forehead and tilts his head up to make eye contact, asking him yet another question, Mav’s only response is to whimper.
Goose nods, readjusts, then tries again, speaking soft and slow:
“Mav, hey, kiddo, can you stand up for me? Let’s go to your room and get comfy.”
At that, Mav shakes his head and shoves his face back in Goose’s stomach. He can’t explain what’s overtaken him, can’t get the words out because he doesn’t even know what’s wrong. He just knows that all of a sudden, the world is very big and terrifying and he is so much smaller and needs to just sit here in Goose’s arms as long as he can. As long as he doesn’t move, he doesn’t hurt, and nothing bad happens.
“Come on, we can lay down together. Doesn’t that sound nice? We can go put on something comfy, I know you’ve got one of my shirts in there, and how about those shorts Carole bought you? We can just lay there and be lazy as long as you want sweetheart, and I’ll pet you the whole time. Let’s just stand up first, then go get cleaned up. I think a bath would help you feel better.”
Mav shakes his head viciously and Goose laughs, probably thinking about all the tearful fights he’s had trying to get Bradley into a bath, before he takes a step or two back, reaching for Maverick’s hands as he does and trying to urge Mav out of the chair. It’s only because he’s so far away that Mav moves, he doesn’t want Goose to walk away and leave him alone. It’s scary alone, and Mav feels icky deep in his chest at the thought, no words to describe it better than a sense of upset that makes him dizzy and sick. It’s upon standing up, walking halfway to the bathroom with Goose leading him by the hand that Mav remembers Viper’s punishment and a new wave of tears rises unbidden.
They make it to the bathroom, barely, Goose sets him down on the closed toilet lid as he begins to run a bath, frowning as he rubs up and down Mav’s back, helping him get undressed as Maverick continues to weep. His head hurts and he feels exhausted, but he can’t get it together enough to string together the words to explain so he just lists into Goose and cries. He wants Nick to make it better.
“Aw, I know bud, but you’re okay. It’s just a little bath.” Nick is still standing and rubbing warm hands up and down Mav’s arms and spine, then helps settle Mav in the tub, still sniffling, not talking. His movements are slow and gentle as he works soap into Maverick’s hair, rinsing carefully to make sure none of it runs into his eyes, then continues on the rest of his body. He hums under his breath as he works, some old country song that they both grew up listening to. Mav tries his best to help, going slack in Goose’s arms and resting as still as he can, but sitting against the hard porcelain is starting to wear against him and he can’t help but squirm, the stimulation on his prostate too painful to do anything but make him give a little pitiful moan. Goose pauses, the noise unfamiliar, before continuing in the bath, more cautious than before.
Mav shakes his head and tries to be good, sit still for Goose, but he’s so tired of hurting and he moves just wrong enough that he can’t help but yelp and pitch forward over the lip of the bathtub and into Goose’s neck, the change in position helping and hurting in one, forcing another weak and agonized moan out of him. This time, Goose freezes and holds Mav steady against him.
“Those are some unhappy noises,” he says, cautious, “What’s wrong, kiddo? Use your words, please.”
It’s only because Nicky asked him that Mav hums pathetically, searching for words that seem so far beyond his scope of existence right now, everything whittled down to Nick’s warm body against his and the pain. It’s a new kind of agonizing to speak, words unfamiliar and so hard, and the best he can get is an unintelligible mumble straight into Nicky’s skin, small and slurred.
“Somethin….. in me. In… there.” He gives a halfhearted gesture towards his body, sloshing water around and making Nick tense up.
“Can… Can you repeat that, Pete? Please?”
Mav whines, shakes his head. That was already so hard, doesn’t Nick know that? Nick’s not supposed to make him do things that are hard when he doesn’t feel good, he’s supposed to be soft and nice and let Mav lay down and sleep ‘til all the bad feelings go away and they can go back up into the sky, and fly far away from all the scary things down on earth, but he tries anyways, to explain more.
Nick hasn’t moved, except to start rubbing circles on the spur of Mav’s neck, his breathing fast. Mav whines at him again, squeezing his eyes shut tight against another flood of hot tears.
“Viiiper. Somethin’… he… somethin’ in me, I don’t knowww, Nicky,” Mav manages, stumbling and getting tripped up over the words, thoughts too complex for a newly clumsy tongue, just wanting Nick to fix what’s wrong and also maybe to never talk again. The bath is getting cold around him, and he shivers, whimpering when he leans further into Goose and feels how tense and stiff he’s gotten in the last minute. Why won’t Nick just be normal?
At least his tragic little display spurs Nicky into action, draining the tub and pulling Mav up and wrapping him in a big fluffy towel in what seems like seconds. Nick smiles at him but it seems somehow fake, but then Nick’s busy toweling Mav off before he can get any more upset about it. The towel is warm against his skin and Nick makes sure to let his fingers linger enough to be ticklish, making Mav giggle the same way Bradley does when his daddy’s home for bathtime. Nick’s thorough, making sure no part of Mav goes untouched, so Mav doesn’t think any of it when Nick lingers and inspects the base of the plug still tormenting his hole. There’s maybe a whisper, a harsh breath or Nick telling himself to keep it together but Nick’s sweeping him into his bedroom and sitting him on the bed like glass, rummaging through Mav’s drawers, searching hard like he isn’t the one who puts their clothes away.
Mav tries to watch him, curious, but he ends up yawning and laying back instead. It’s been a long, hard day; he thinks of Carole petting Bradley’s hair after a tantrum and telling him that it’s no wonder he’s sleepy when he’s been having such big emotions. It’s weird, maybe, that he’s thinking of her, but he loves Carole, loves watching her flutter around Nick and Bradley and sometimes him, fixing the hurts and always making everything better. He doesn’t have enough memories of his own mom to know for sure, but he hopes she was like Carole. Mav still feels a little fuzzy, like his body isn’t real or the room around him isn’t, and he’s definitely still feeling strangely little and still a bit anxious, but more than anything, he’s sleepy. He turns his face into the mattress and wishes Carole was here too, so maybe the day wouldn’t have been such a waste. It’d be nice just to lay back and let Nick and Carole take care of things, the way they always have.
“Hey, don’t fall asleep yet kid,” Nick’s voice, soft and all-encompassing, comes from… somewhere. Mav whines when Nick sits him up and pokes at his face until he can force his eyes open enough to glare. Nick gives him another one of those weird smiles, where it seems like he’s just putting on a show for him, but there’s real tenderness to this one.
“Aw, I know, I’m so mean for keeping you up, but it’s important, Pete.”
Mav huffs. That’s no fair. And it sounds wrong, too. No one ever calls him Pete, they call him—
“Bunny.”
Nick’s face does something weird again. He looks confused, which doesn’t make sense, because that’s what all the grownups call him. He must’ve told Nick, right? Why wouldn’t he know that? Nicky knows everything. He’s smart like that. Way smarter than Mav. Like now, he’s working a shirt over Mav’s head, big and soft and oh! One of Nick’s, one that still kinda smells like him, and that makes Mav happy. He didn’t realize how cold he was ‘til he was covered up. It’s nice, and it’s nicer when Nick returns to his field of vision and hands him his stuffed rabbit, a gift from Carole when he told her he usedta have like, a million stuffed animals until his mama died and most of them went missing and he only kinda-sorta misses the comfort they brought him. He’s not—okay, he’s a little embarrassed—to admit that Carole’s rabbit keeps him in very nice company when he’s stateside. He didn’t even realize he missed his rabbit ‘til Nicky handed him over but that really goes to show that Nick’s so smart and Mav’s a little dumb. He used to argue with the teachers and whoever else called him slow but, maybe they were onto something, which kinda explains why whatever Goose is saying right now doesn’t make any sense.
“There you go, there’s your bunny, can you tell him what’s been going on today?” Nick’s voice is far away now, off on the other side of Mav’s room and a little distracted. Mav falls back onto the bed and scrunches his face up, squeezing his rabbit to his chest and making a confused noise. Why would he do that? And, okay, maybe Nick’s not that smart because his rabbit is clearly a rabbit and not a bunny. More importantly:
“No, I’m Bunny! Remember? ‘S what everyone calls me!” Mav’s head lulls until he spots Nick, who’s looking through Mav’s bedside drawer now, and Mav gets a full view of Nick’s face going all confused and worried before he catches sight of Mav looking at him and finds whatever he’s looking for and shoots him a grin. Still weird, but maybe that’s how Nick always smiles? That makes more sense.
“Alright… Bunny. Can you tell me and your friend everything you did today? It’s okay if you can’t honey, but I’m super curious. Like… what did you have for breakfast?”
Nick’s back on the bed now and rubbing Mav’s ankles and calves, running his finger up Mav’s foot and making him laugh, His hands are a little cold now, but it still feels nice, and Mav feels some of the icky gross feelings from before lift a little bit as he giggles more at the question.
“You made me breakfast! It was… um… toast andddd…” Mav pouts, trying his best to think back. It’s silly that Nicky’s asking him when he’s the one that made it. But it’s also kinda weird that he can’t remember. He should be able to remember that, right? He’s got a good memory; he can remember all the states and their capitals and everything. But it’s just a big fuzzy spot in his mind and the more he thinks about it the more the bad feeling starts to return so he flails his leg and nearly catches Nick in the chin instead.
“Sorry… Um. Don’t remember. Sorry. I liked it, I promise, I like it when you make me stuff! I ‘preciate it, promise! Please don’t stop Nicky, please, I’ll be good ‘n’ ‘member next time!”
Nick’s hand is around his ankle now, holding his leg in the air from where he’d kicked out, and his face is kinda serious, kinda soft. He presses a kiss to the joint then lays his foot back down, massaging gently at his knees when Mav’s settled down again. Mav buries his face in his rabbit, suddenly shy.
“Sorry…” Mav mumbles, squeezing his eyes shut, stinging from a new flood of hot tears. It doesn’t make any sense; he doesn’t feel upset, really, and he’s already cried so much, he oughta be out of tears by now, but he can’t help it. He feels stuck and pitiful and like he couldn’t do anything for himself if he tried. Nick could do anything to him and Mav couldn’t do a thing to stop him. He wouldn’t even try.
“Don’t apologize, Bunny. You didn’t do anything wrong,” Nick’s still rubbing his legs, spreading them apart gently and sitting between them. “It was toast and some fruit, remember? We got those new peaches on sale ‘cause they were all bruised, and we were almost late ‘cause you made such a mess you had to change your shirt.” Nick leans in and tickles him, trying to make him laugh, but his hands find something sensitive and painful and Mav whines at him instead.
Nick frowns then, pushing up Mav’s shirt and pressing his fingers against dark little indents running up Mav’s thighs and hips. Mav squirms when Nick digs in and forces out a little whimper; he didn’t know he was all bruised up down there, but Viper tended to leave marks on him; bites, bruises, scratches… anything to help him remember where he’d been and what he’d done. He’d never complained about it, even when the other pilots and RIOs had caught sight and mocked him for it; if anything, it just taught him to hide it better. Apparently, he’d gotten so good that Nick didn’t even know these days. He almost felt bad about it, but he was no stranger to hiding bruises from the people he loved. It was second nature by now.
Mav snuck a peek at Nick’s face, still screwed up and upset since he didn’t know Mav was looking. It made his stomach twist and feel bad, kinda sick even. He didn’t mean to make Nick sad. He never wanted to make anyone upset, never wanted to be a bother, but he messed up and now Nick is sad and Viper’s mad at him, still, and none of the other pilots wanna be friends with him and it’s all his fault. It always has been. His mama had told him once, a couple months after Daddy went missing, that he didn’t make it easy to love him and he sure wasn’t worth the effort.
Neither of them speak for a while. When he finally does, Nick’s voice is upset, devastated enough that Mav flinches and shoves his face back into his rabbit and holds his breath. Maybe if he stays really still and doesn’t make a sound Nick will forget about him and won’t look and see that Mav is bad and always has been and always will be and maybe he deserves everything that happens to him.
“What… happened to you, Pete?”
Another question. Questions were hard. Doesn’t Nick know that? And… Mav really, really didn’t want to answer that one. Didn’t think he could. Nick’s still sitting between Mav’s legs and he feels cold and achy and suddenly shy that Nick is fully dressed and Mav doesn’t even have any underwear on. He tries to twist and squeeze his legs shut and escape this conversation but Nick’s there and Nick grabs his thighs and shushes him and makes him lay back down straight and still and good. There are more hot tears suddenly, another sad little noise from the back of his throat that he tries to muffle by squeezing his rabbit even closer to his face. It works well enough when it's late and he’s trying not to let Mama know he’s crying ‘cause he doesn’t wanna bother her and not ‘cause she’ll yell at him again but because he doesn’t wanna be hard to love anymore.
“Pete—Bunny, please. Can you please, please tell me what you did today? We had breakfast, we went to the base, and then Viper called you into his office, right? And—”
Nick froze when Mav let out a reedy little whine at Viper’s name. The air in the room felt ice-cold now, Nick’s hands tensing and grabbing harder at his thighs, where they’d been resting since Mav tried to get away.
“And then we had a hop, but I’ve never seen you so upset to be flying. It was like you just wanted to be back on the ground. And then Viper…”
His voice trailed off, putting things together and not liking the picture it was making.
“Then Viper called you back into his office. And you were spacey as hell in the locker room, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you like that before. You were scaring the hell outta me kid, that’s why I—aw, hell, you just wanted to go home, didn’t you bud? And I was all mean to you and made you go for a drive. I’m sorry Pete, that wasn’t right of me.”
Mav peeks out at him from behind the safety of his rabbit. Nick was… apologizing? But… he didn’t do anything wrong. Nick never does anything wrong. Not like Pete does. Pete can’t ever do anything right. He probably deserved it, anyway.
Nick’s face is all sad. He doesn’t try to hide it when he notices big green eyes staring up at him. His hands are hot on Mav’s thighs, big, unyielding. Mav kinda wants to squirm away cause he’s a little ticklish and sensitive and just wants this night to be done but Nick’s never done anything bad to him so he stays for now. And then it’s like Nick can read his mind cause he moves his hands, ‘cept he moves them up and down first and then under Mav’s shirt until he’s tenderly gripping Mav’s aching hips. He didn’t even notice how much they hurt ‘til Nick’s hands bled their warmth into him and made it feel a little better, but he still doesn’t really want Nick touching him there.
“And I’m sorry, Pete,” Nick starts, then stops. Mav makes a soft noise in the back of his throat, confused. He inches his rabbit down ‘til he can see Nick all the way.
“I’m sorry, cause I’m gonna have to hurt you, sweetheart, and I really don’t want to. I promise, I don’t want to, but we can’t leave that in you. It’s not good for you, and I’m sure it doesn’t feel any good, right?”
Nick’s voice sounds… desperate, maybe? More like he’s convincing himself than he’s convincing Mav, but he’s right. It hurts. He wants it out. But…
“I’ll be so gentle, honey, I promise. I’ll make sure you’re nice and wet and I’ll go so, so slow. Is that okay, Pete? Can I do that for you?”
Mav shakes his head, hiccuping a little. No, he doesn’t want Nick to see and touch him down there anymore. He doesn’t want anyone down there, or anything, but Nick’s offering to fix it and Mav’s refusing him because Mav is dumb and worthless and bad and it hurts and he wants to go to bed.
“Pete– Bunny, please, please don’t say no. Please don’t make this harder than it has to be. I know it hurts, I know it’s bad and gross and you’re so tired but we have to.”
Mav’s eyes are burning and Nick’s hand is moving ‘til he’s got Mav’s chin held fast and he’s forcing Mav to make eye contact even though he really doesn’t wanna. Nick looks so sad that Mav just feels awful, cause he’s ruining Nick’s night and his life and it’s not Nick’s fault bad things always seem to follow Mav around.
“Bunny Rabbit,” Nick says, soft and sad and his voice wavering a little, “Can you just be brave for me? Can we try?”
And what’s he supposed to do? Say no? Mav’s kinda a baby but he’s not scared—or. Maybe he is. He doesn’t feel very brave at all right now. But Nick’s asking, and Nick never asks him to do things he doesn’t think Mav can do, so Mav nods and hopes it’ll all be over soon.
It takes a little maneuvering and more time than Mav really notices; it feels like he blinks and his hips are propped up on a pillow, and Nick’s opening up a funny little bottle he’d pulled from nowhere that Mav remembers maybe having in one of his drawers, but the memory’s weird and feels like somebody else’s. He’s not feeling all that sleepy anymore, his heart fluttering in his chest and his throat and he keeps making tiny little noises without really meaning to, nervous. Scared. But Nick told him to be brave and made sure Mav had a firm grip on his rabbit before leaning back and investigating all the icky parts of himself Mav’s tired of thinking about.
He’s starting to think that, maybe, he could just close his eyes and go to sleep and wake up and things will be okay. Nick will come in a little after the sun wakes him up and tell him that he’s made breakfast and he’ll coax Mav out of bed, laughing the whole time at how Mav’s hair sticks up every direction and he can’t really keep his eyes open. Maybe he’ll wake up and Carole will be there too, and Bradley, and they can just spend the day laying in the living room, Nick and Carole dancing to whatever comes on the radio while Mav and Bradley play with the set of Fraggle Rock characters he’d gotten for his last birthday. Bradley thinks Mav sucks at doing the voices but he lets him play anyways. Mav’s just happy to be included, to experience just a little bit the family he always wished he could have as a kid.
He’s so lost in his thoughts, worn out and over-tired that Mav doesn’t notice his free hand slipping towards his mouth ‘til he’s already sucking on his thumb. He squirms a little and throws a glance at Nick, cause he’s not a baby but it feels nice and he doesn’t wanna stop, but Nick doesn’t seem to notice at all. He’s too busy with something Mav can’t totally see and doesn’t care to. His eyelids are heavy, impossible to hold up and maybe he really be able to sleep through this, except.
Nick’s fingers are prodding, gentle and wet and bad instantly. He’s rubbing insistently around what little skin he can reach of Mav’s hole and it just hurts. No, this is bad, this isn’t gonna happen, Mav’s not brave, he's little and this is scary and it feels bad and no.
But Nick asked him to. Nick asked him and Nick doesn’t wanna hurt him.
Mav knows he makes a hurt little sound cause Nick slows, then apologizes and wraps his other hand around Mav’s thigh to calm him down. His fingers haven’t let up yet, pushing at Mav but not inside still, just sensitive and raw so Mav bites down on his thumb and hopes it’ll keep him quiet. He doesn’t wanna be bad. He won’t make this hard. Nick’s just trying to help.
It’s not… too bad, right now. If Mav focuses hard enough, maybe it’s almost nice. Familiar, even if the circumstances and the hands are different and new. It’s a familiar enough feeling his body knows to be good and relax, allowing Nick more room and better leverage to work just one finger alongside the neck of the plug and no.
Before he can stop it, Mav’s leg kicks out again and nails Nick in the side. He doesn’t have the strength to make it hurt but it’s unexpected and Nick startles, hand slipping from its position just at the entrance to further inside, fast and all of a sudden and Mav bites and breaks the skin on his thumb before he wails.
He needs Nick out, now, to back off now, but Nick just tightens his grip on Mav's leg so he can’t wriggle away and pushes further, a second finger slipping in easier than it should with how much Mav’s body is trying to rebel. He’s sobbing around the hand he’s got in his mouth, tears and spit and just a little blood mixing on his face and making him feel grosser than he already does as Nick presses his fingers more firmly against Mav’s hole, trying his best to work in just a little more lube and stretch just a little more where Mav is already overstretched and tired and burning hot. Nick’s other hand has too good of a grasp on his legs to really let him flail but he wants to get away and curl up with his rabbit and be done and Nicky stop stop stopstopstop–
Nick’s shushing him even while he’s crying, too, firm fingers still squeezing their way, slick and agonizing, into Mav enough that the awful awful friction of the plug is lessened even as Mav howls, striking out with his free hand and catching Nick in the temple with his rabbit which just makes him feel worse cause he doesn’t want to hurt either of them he just wants to stop feeling like this right now.
He can’t even hear what Nick is saying over the sound of his own heart slamming against the walls of his chest, the desperate tears and screams he can’t stop while Nick grasps the plug and starts to pull. It’s slow and awful, Mav’s walls refusing to let go and his rim refusing to take any more abuse, but Nick doesn’t stop.
An eternity passes in the moments it takes for Nick to win against Mav’s clenching; he doesn’t let up for a moment, dragging the plug out because as hard as Mav’s body is trying it’s just too tired and fucked out to win. Nick’s fingers slipping out happens in a second, Mav’s breath hiccuping and stuttering as Nick tries, for once and for all, to pop out the widest part of the plug. It feels like he’s trying to turn Mav inside out, yanking at some soft swollen part of him and dragging it out into the harsh light of his stupid Navy housing. It feels like, for a moment, when Nick pauses and the pressure ceases, that maybe Mav’s body will win and keep safe all the horrible secrets of himself deep inside, but he doubles down and the plug pops out with a gush of lube and one final, horrible noise from Mav.
He’s in Nick’s arms before he can catch his breath, face buried in his neck spilling tears and snot and blood and drool down Nick’s collarbone, stuffed rabbit between them as Nick cradles his neck and head and all the rest of him and cries. He’s apologizing too, breathless nonsense rushing out cause Nick’s always thought better outloud, words escaping him before his brain even knows he’s talking. Mav’s too tired to listen to any of it.
They sit there, curled into each other, for as long as it takes Nick to catch his breath and realize Mav's limp in his arms, a sad little puppet with his strings cut and his head hurting. Nick presses a wet kiss to Mav’s head, then keeps going, kissing him all over his face ‘til Mav manages to revive enough to give a breathless giggle and try to push Nick’s face off of his.
The look on Nick’s face when he gets Mav to laugh makes the rest of the night feel worth it. He loves when Nick gets happy like that, looking at Mav, like Mav’s the most special, precious thing on the earth.
Nick lays him down, before pulling off his own socks and balling them up so he can chuck them at the light switch and leave them in just the dark of the night. It’s a trick he’s been practicing almost as long as they’ve known each other, and it feels familiar and safe after the horror of the day. Mav’s room doesn’t have a window in it, but some previous tenant had left up a night sky of glow-in-the-dark star stickers that the Navy movers had missed or ignored. He has a few precious memories of helping Nick put them up in his parents house, then in the more permanent housing in Virginia where Carole and Bradley spent most of their time since Nick and Mav were almost always out at sea.
He yawns. Nick’s arm is warm and tight around him, covering Mav and his rabbit in a protective grip that is going nowhere soon. The warmth of him is all Mav can feel now, their legs tangled together and Mav’s spine firm against Nick’s chest, somehow contorted enough to have his other hand stroking Mav’s head, petting him like he promised he would what feels like forever ago. It’s impossible to keep his eyes open in the face of so many big emotions and so much casual affection and love.
“It’s okay kiddo, I got you, I promise. I’ll never let anything bad happen to you again,” Nick’s whispering, pressing another soft kiss to the nape of Mav’s neck. It’s sweet enough Mav believes it. Nick’s his big brother, the closest thing he’s ever really had to a father. Nothing bad ever happens when Nick’s there.
“I wan’...” Mav mumbles, mostly asleep, tongue clumsy, “pancakes. In the mornin’. Chooooocolate chip. Mhm. With… whip cream… andddddd juice. Please?”
Nick laughs. Just enough of an exhale to ruffle Mav’s hair a little from how close they’re pressed and to shake Mav and make him whine at Nick. He just got comfy and he’s so sleepy, it’s not fair. Nick’s a good listener though, cause he stills and pets Mav again, like he’s sorry, and kisses him one more time for good measure.
“Of course. Anything for you, bunny."