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notroosterbradshaw · 1 year

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the Relationship Experience - seven

part of: The Boyfriend Experience universe

six.

It was so early – well, not early by his standards, but Rooster knew it would be way too early to expect you to be awake. He squinted over his shoulder as the sun was starting to rise on the horizon, a scorcher on the cards if the burn of its climb held any credence.

He wasn’t due back for another few days, but please the right people, know the right ass to kiss to potentially get him on a plane to bring him home sooner? He'd try it if it could get him back to you quicker. It probably wouldn’t happen again, so he’d take the reprieve this time.

Hitching the flowers in the crease of his elbow from that florist you loved to drag him to when he wasn’t due on base with the sparrows, he knew walking in on the morning of Valentine’s Day was going to be tough. But he also knew most people didn’t say no to a man in uniform just wanting to buy a beautiful bunch of roses for the girl - no, woman. The woman he hadn’t seen in three months and to surprise her that morning.

Three hellishly long months.

He’d missed Christmas and New Year and he’d expected to miss today, too. But sometimes good things happen to reasonably good people, he figured. Or painfully brownnose to your superiors until you get your way. Look, he wasn’t proud of it, but hey.

He was home.

He quietly unlocked the front door and let himself in, dropping his duffle by his feet, and wandering into the familiar surroundings of your apartment. The linger of your perfume, the photo wall. He went over and said hi to his mom, tenderly tracing the frame before moving to the kitchenette for a hard-earned glass of water. He sculled it before going for seconds and tossing his gaze over his shoulder for your bedroom, quietly placing the glass in the sink. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and unbuttoned the collar of his shirt and subsequent buttons of his NWU, energised.

Placing his hat on the bench with his phone silenced, keys and sunglasses within it, the pull to your bedroom was purely magnetic.

Pushing into the bedroom soundlessly, Rooster’s gaze softened, seeing your sleepy form on your side of the California King, his pillow snuggling tight against your cheek and your sinful body draped in a lone white sheet. The sexiest of sights and it took everything in his power not to rush you. Choosing to take his time, he sat at the desk seat of your bay window and unlaced his boots, placing his socks in them and tidily putting them out of the way, before removing his shirt altogether, laying it carefully over the back of the chair. He loosened his slacks, but resistance was futile. He was half-hard and wholeheartedly unabashed about it.

He had to wake you.

Moving across the room, he sat on your side of the bed and smiled to himself, allowing his fingertips to graze your supple, warm skin and he was awestruck. “My sweet girl, I’m home,” he dared whisper, his tender rasp rougher in his exhaustion.

But if he knew and boy, did he know how well you slept… it was going to take more than some sweet coos to wake you. He lowered himself to sweep the lowly sheet away from you, letting it slink down your back and the curve of your hip, prompting him to leave a wet kiss against it. He grasped a handful of your ass, massaging it in his palm and smiled when he heard you whimper and roll closer to his side, looking for his warmth even in his apparent absence.

He chuckled quietly to himself, pleased you still searched for him.

He tried whispering your name, his mantra and reached for your hand, his lips grazing your knuckles and your fingers flexing before he placed it back on the bed and changed tack.

Hearing your gentle whimper and contorting your body into a light wriggle, Rooster bit back a smile as his tongue traced from the base of your spine towards the back of your ribs. He’d forgotten how smooth your skin was as he nuzzled some pressure into his kiss, a trail of saliva leeching between your shoulder blades.

Your murmur made him weak, but it was surely this if there was ever a right way to come home. Waking you up under his touch, his eager kiss. He was being so patient, in a way that only the last decade could teach him. But fuck, regiment be damned, all he wanted to do was wake you with his lips dipping urgently into your core, tasting you on his tongue and watching his lover, you, lose all control.

Already half undressed to his loosened slacks to ease pressure on his raging cock, he contemplated doing just that, tossing you onto your back and trapping you with your glorious thighs constricted around his ears while he devoured you, pinning you down with his strength as you pleaded for him, pleaded for his hard cock, pleaded to cum.

Three months of utter frustration pulsated in his ears, all the blood in his body located below the belt so much so that he felt like two different people:

The first who wished to wake you affectionately, kiss, caress, and fall into a slow morning of making love, showing you how much he’d missed you and how in love he was as the sun rose before falling asleep together and starting again but the second was powerful and almost feral. The second wanted to do all the things he thought about frenziedly when he found a moment of privacy, dreaming of slamming into your fervent pussy while you called for more and riding him to the rough rhythm he commanded; the head he craved so sloppy that he knew he would blow hard and fast, taking the brunt of his frustration on your body part of his choosing.

You were intoxicating, the remains of yesterday’s perfume on your skin. The tender curve of your ass that his large palm swept across elicited another subtle squirm from you. He bit back a smile; you would be writhing under him soon.

He prided himself on introducing you to the benefits of sleeping nude, something you didn’t do before him. While Rooster generally slept naked when he was at home, it was obviously not something he’d toil with while away, for obvious reasons, but he was a creature of habit and when the sleepovers started, it didn’t take long to convince you, his sweet girl, that sleep just came easier when you shared skin. Point, Bradshaw.

He would never tire of rolling over, his muscular arms searching for you, dragging you back to him and feeling your perfect ass roll with purpose against his cock, showing him you needed him during the early hours before his alarm. He’d grip your hips as he gently ground himself into you, growing harder in next to no time, and fucking you so deep while loving on you slow. Your breathy moans coaxing gentle rumbles from his chest, his voice telling you how good you were together and his mind telling him this was the real thing, and he couldn’t imagine being with someone else like this anymore.

You were his living, breathing fantasy.

“Sweet girl, wake up for me…” he whispered with a low chuckle, pushing up the bed and laying beside you to rest his head on the pillow. He brushed your messy hair from your face. Your beautiful face. He kissed the apple of your cheek, calling your name again a little louder now, his voice raw with exhaustion and desire. “I’m home.”

Watching your body twist into the mattress, he licked his lips anticipating your reaction. You’d both survived the first deployment since your lives had changed, and he needed to touch and feel you.

You rose unhurriedly, every movement fluid as you mumbled a confused “Bradley?” and dragged your head off his pillow. Blinking a few times, he tried not to laugh as you rubbed the sleep from your pretty albeit disbelieving eyes.

“Hi, baby. I’m home,” he said again, tenderly tactile as his fingertips padded your bicep to your wrist and you smiled, groggily. “I’m so happy to see you,” he said as it seemed to dawn on you that he was right before you.

“Oh, Bradley,” you scampered urgently into his arms, skin to skin just as God had intended. He missed your warmth against his and pressed a series of kisses into your jaw and clavicle as he held you close, reassuring you he was home, he was safe. “I thought I was dreaming,” you looked at him wide awake now, incredulous and still searching for signs of injury or harm, your tears reflecting in your eyes.

You didn’t know what to say, about a million questions bubbling on your lips, but you could only scramble towards his mouth and kiss him as if your life depended on it. Kiss him for getting home safely, kiss him for the days you didn’t get to kiss him at all, kiss him because you needed to remember how he tasted. And kiss him because you missed how fucking thoroughly he could kiss you. Rolling his body above yours, you laced your calves around him, hoping that if you didn’t let him go, he couldn’t disappear again.

“I’m home, sweet girl. Fuck, I missed you so goddamn much,” he found your wrists and cupped them tightly above your head, as you chased his kiss without the slightest hint of shame, and he devotedly delivered, helping relax your body back down on the mattress, his body weighing you down and fuck, how you’d missed being trapped under his remarkable, powerful body.

Without hesitation, you opened your thighs to him and although he was still dressed, he wholly let his weight release on you. He adjusted slightly to get where he needed, his hips rolled against you, the friction of his uniform eliciting a gasp from you his mind hadn’t been able to replicate when he thought about you on those cold lonely nights in the middle of the ocean.

“Fuck, I missed that sound,” he confessed, his lips leaving yours and cascading low. His breath was hot against your skin and he nuzzled your neck, burying his face into your warmth. You’d missed the tickle of his moustache as he ghosted kisses across your pulse.

“Jesus Christ,” you tenderly let your fingers lace into his soft curls and scratch at the nape of his neck. He needed a trim, and he had a rarely seen five o’clock shadow but you were lying to say you would love to see your man bearded up and a bit of length to his curls. “Why didn’t you tell me you were getting in early, Bradley?”

“Where would the surprise be in that?” he asked lovingly, drizzling kisses between your breasts before resting his cheek on his favourite place to lay.

He made a good point. This wouldn’t be happening if you met him as expected. Friends, families, sailors, chaos. Not slow and delicate like this. He nudged you with his pelvis, particularly fond of that grunt you responded with. “Tell me,” he laughed quietly. “What were you dreaming about? Whatever it was had you in a bit of a state,” his big hands drifted across your forearms, biceps, and the smoothness of your breast and you leaned into it, urging him for more.

“That you were kissing me, my back, my shoulders,” you managed, bashfully covering your face with your palms. “Was getting good too…” you admitted, a small groan escaping your mouth as he swirled his tongue around a pleading nipple.

“Oh, it was one of those kinds of dreams. My dirty, dirty girl. So sexy,” he grunted but thrilled your dreams were being fulfilled by him too. “But you weren’t dreaming,” he confided in his sexy rasp. “I wanted to give you a pleasant wake-up. It’s the least I can do with the plans I have for you today.”

“You need time to rest,” you told him, remembering how your father and grandfather would be lost to sleep the first few days upon their return from deployment but also you needed him to be turning you inside out sooner rather than later. Your knuckles caressed his rosy cheeks, turning your fingers to follow his faint scars but he was never self-conscious with you, not the way you treasured them. You’d missed the feel of the wiry-raised skin under your touch and reached up to kiss each and every one.

“Oh, baby, that is so good,” he murmured, sinking further into you. You kissed the biggest scar on his shoulder, and your hands drifted down his strong side, the thick muscles contracting as you touched him.

“You sure you’re not too sleepy, big boy?” your voice was like liquid gold to his ears as your silken tongue followed your favourite scar across his throat, his Adam’s Apple bobbing under the strain.

“I’ll sleep when I’m dead. Hold that thought, love,” he promised you. He pulled away and you immediately missed the feel of his skin against yours, knowing your eyes were watching his every move. He moved to stand, and loosened his zip down, knowing full well that a little show to remove his slacks could turn you a little wild. Just how he loved you with that look from doe-eyed that you were home, to dark and carnal for him. He carefully shimmied the waist down, already so hard and wanting and he let his last remaining item of clothing fall, dropping his boxer briefs with his slacks. “Miss me just a little?” he asked, licking his lips as he carefully stroked himself, languid and delicate. It felt so good to know how close he was to claiming you. He heard your sweet little gasp, giving you another few moments to watch him.

You were overwhelmed by your own body heat, every nerve ending on fire. “Just a little. Your body is perfect,” you breathed, licking the side of your lip like a woman parched. You loved watching him touch himself and, on those rare occasions, when you’d shared a little mutual masturbation, you could cry out louder than if he were inside you merely from the sight alone, but that wouldn’t cut it now. You loved watching Bradley Bradshaw touch himself. He groaned a little, watching the pad of your finger circling your belly button.

You needed him. You needed to feel him drive all his strength into you, have him find the places only he knew and fuck you so good, you’d weep.

“God, you look good. Do they just lock you in the gym when you’re on the carrier to come home looking more amazing than you did the last time I saw you?” you asked before you could stop yourself. “Is this what I get from the Navy as a welcome home gift after all the years of pain and disappointment?”

He hummed but couldn’t resist a giggle at your anti-Navy sentiment. “Gym relieves the tension on multiple fronts,” he admitted, a small sneer on his full lips, as he collected the pre-cum on the tip of his cock and his finger moved to your mouth, gratefully accepting it between your lips and he breathed, scared he was far too hot, too turned on, too close to ruining all this. You missed his taste, so distinctly him.

Crawling to cover you on the bed, his knees worked with his palms, holding your knees to thrust your thighs wide, cunt glistening and on display for him. “Gotta bury my cock in you. Feel how warm and soft you are again,” he professed wildly.

“What are you waiting for?”

“Gonna get you a little riled up for me first,” he chewed his lower lip, his deep tone decisive. “Eat you out as you deserve. Fuck you so deep your eyes roll back, and you’re just fuckin’ drunk on me,” he lowered his body to yours, his slippery tongue gleefully swirling around your straining nipple and he stared up at you as if you were his last meal. His gleaming sharp teeth sank into the soft flesh of your breast, your body contorting in bliss and utter defeat beneath him.

His words made you shamefully needy.

Your noises of pleasure and encouragement were just exquisite.

You pushed your chest closer to his mouth, forcing him to pay deliberate attention to your breasts, your fingers lacing behind his thick neck, your nails raking into his scorching skin to keep him there. He’d learned early on that you adored having your tits played with. He was an ass man by nature but he was easily swayed when held you from behind and cupped your breasts as he covered you, his thumb and index finger toying with your nipples until you begged for his cock, got yourself off on his fingers… or watched as you got off on your own while he fucked into you ruthlessly. “God, I’ve missed you,” you told him, voice dripping with want.

He palmed your other breast as he looked up and smiled lazily at you. “Nowhere near as close as I’ve missed you,” he nuzzled the soft skin, pressing in open-mouth kisses, his skilled tongue swirling your nipple, his honeyed eyes dark with their longing. He breathed into your skin as you almost begged. He loved nothing more than having you melting for him.

“Oh, God,” you mewled.

“Lemme take care of you for a bit, love, but tell me… did you touch yourself when I was away?” he pleaded to know the answer.

“I thought about you so much,” you admitted. “Obsessed with you,” your back curving your breast into his greedy mouth. “Couldn’t get you out of my brain.”

He hummed, pleased. What man didn’t want to hear those words? “But did you touch yourself?” Rooster kissed between your breasts, his tongue tracing to your belly button, he stared up at you with a curious gaze, eyes dancing in a way that you knew he was taunting you, awaiting your answer.

“Every night. Most mornings,” you confided. “It is hard to let you go, Bradshaw.”

He laughed into your skin. “Good girl. I hope you came hard. But I also hope it doesn't compare to the real thing.”

“Never,” you admitted. “Nothing compares to how you get me off on your perfect cock,” you traced the shell of his ear and he shuddered.

“Fuck. Tell me more…”

You took his hand tenderly. “How good these beautiful hands are, when they’re inside of me,” you patiently sucked on his index finger again, and he realised maybe… just maybe you were the one doing the taunting in the early hours of the morning. “How your slick tongue loops around my nipple and those perfect teeth bruise the flesh,” you moaned as he took note of your subtle hint, blowing his breath against the sensitive bud and watching it pucker for him as he kissed and boldly circled it with his thick tongue at your whim before giving the other the same devotion, if not more. “Jesus Christ. I could cum like this,” you accused lightly, knotting your fingers in his curls to keep him doing what he was doing with his mouth.

“Don’t you want my cock?”

“So bad,” you told him. “I’m so turned on.”

He hummed, his long finger sweeping through your slick folds and you told no lies. “Jesus Christ. But you don’t get to cum yet,” he moved his lips away from your nipple and you flopped back into the pillow, a little deflated.

He huffed a laugh, his tongue tracing your ribs. “I know you’re not working this morning. So, I’m gonna fuck you for hours. And then hours after that.”

The sound that escaped you was almost inhuman. “But shouldn’t I be taking care of you?” you asked incredulously as he moved to his belly on the bed, roughly spreading your legs wide for him and nuzzling at your clit, reacquainting himself with you.

“Sweet girl, this isn’t about me… yet,” he muttered, his long fingers stroking the soft skin of your labia. “I love goin’ down on you so fuckin’ much,” he said more to himself. He was showing the restraint of a saint, but for all his faults, he knew this guaranteed him going straight to heaven.

Rooster’s sex drive was notorious, and his cock was above average, how the fuck else did he get his call sign? Well, it wasn’t that straightforward but the mix of wanton needs and fucking hating early mornings despite the requirement, it was interchangeable. He let people make their own assumptions, but only a few knew. Like you. “Lay back and do as you're told.”

“You’ve been at sea for months,” you tried, breath hitching as his lips nipped against the soft skin on your inner thighs. “Roost – Bradley,” your tone is a mixture of warning and lascivious need.

His eyes changed as he stared up at you, a mix of want and desire laced within the gold and honey of his colour. “You’ll make it up to me, but you just looked so pretty, love, sprawled out under the sheets, naked, soft. Those sounds you were making while I kissed you made me so fuckin’ hard,” he confided, his kiss wet as he directed his attention to your clit. “Nothing compares to being here with you.”

Your hips vaulted off the mattress almost immediately, and he used his strong hands to keep you pinned down to take everything he was offering you. His tongue traced the slick already formed, at home with a taste he knew so well.

“Bradley,” you almost chastised as your head lolled back and your nails raked into his brawny shoulders. “I want to feel you in me, I want you to feel me cum.”

“Plenty of time for that,” he shushed you, his tongue swirling at your clit, lapping up the juices that were making the most obscene sounds with his tongue. He had never been so turned on and declining to fuck you immediately was one of the hardest things he’d ever said no to, and he never ever said no to you. He smiled wickedly, feeling that familiar tremble in your thighs as he knew you were closing in on what he hoped was a really fuckin’ good orgasm, gagging to explode. Your moans, the way you squirmed beneath him, thrusting towards his mouth desperate to take all he had to offer.

“Bradley…” you drawled, the bliss in your tone turning him to jelly.

“Love,” he acknowledged, sliding his fingers in and adding to the ruthless assault.

“I missed this,” your breathing hitched as his talented fingers crooked inside you, finding that magical spot and you cursed, the pressure building in your stomach, tensing, flexing, forcing him to use his strength to keep you on your back.

“You ready to cum for me?” he asked in that rasp, thicker and dire with longing. “God, you’re a sight,” he murmured, his tongue darting out and circling your clit, dark eyes not leaving your form. He groaned, your fingers tugging at his now mussed curls. No longer a gentleman, just a man waiting for his woman to fall apart for him.

“Bradley,” you managed.

“Come on,” he growled. “Let your fuckin’ neighbours know your man is home.”

You managed a grin as he released your thighs and let your pussy grind into his eager mouth. Holy shit, he was incredible. A God of a man… and all yours. All fucking yours. It was enough to make you crack, the pressure on your senses overtaking you as you threatened to cum messily.

Your voice didn’t call to him as feral as you felt, but you breathed his name out as you gripped his strong, muscular shoulders and let go, your orgasm ripping through your body like an earthquake. Your body was on high alert as he greedily lapped up all you gave him.

“Thatta girl, just like that. Fuck, you look so good,” he murmured, banking the memory of you coming undone and all under his power. The way your body moved and quaked, Jesus Christ, he would bottle it if he could. “That’s my sweet girl,” he mumbled, awed, as you fell back against the pillows, blissed out… just how he liked it. He pressed against your tummy, his lips leaving your dripping core and travelling back up your torso, sweeping a path of your slick and his saliva against your blistering skin. He revelled in the explosions and goose pimples splaying across your skin as his lips moved over it. “Yes, love, I know,” he said as you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, needing him close, and he gazed at you with soft eyes as his tongue skimmed your throat. Wet kisses continued as he devoured between your breasts, the sensations on your skin too much as you writhed with sensitivity. “You did so good, love.”

Love. There it was again. He hadn’t really called you that before; you’d heard it thrice, maybe more, in quick succession. To say you were fond of it was an understatement. You were so used to being his Sweet Girl… but you craved to be his Love. The rumble of it off his tongue was unimaginable.

“Tell me what you need,” you begged him. “I’ll do anything,” you gingerly pulled yourself off the bed and rolled him over, really seeing him for the first time since he got home. Sweet, kind, funny Bradley Bradshaw. You raffled off those positions he adored most, which brought you as much pleasure as him. “Be selfish, Bradley. Tell me what you want,” you pleaded with him.

He breathed deeply. “Be selfish…” he repeated. He was never asked to be selfish, your divine voice clouding his judgement as he pulled you to his waist, exhaustion be damned.

“Want me to ride you, big boy?” you offered, moving to straddle his powerful quads, taking his leaking cock in your earnest palms, your thumb circling around the tip. He hissed, eyes fluttering closed as you lightly worked him. He let you disarm him for a minute or two, your skilled hands knowing exactly how he needed to be touched. The right pressure, the right speed. His murmurs quiet and abs clenched as he tried to hold it together. He didn’t want to cum like this. He shook his head slowly and sat up, you were face to face. “Blow you?”

He said a quiet no as you continued to palm his thick, long cock melodiously. “Fuck,” he breathed through his nose. “That feels good. Three months… too damn long.”

“I know, baby,” you agreed. “Doggy?” you offered, and he shook his head, trying not to laugh. “Plain, old missionary?” you goaded when you didn’t get a response. You felt his cock twitch and knew he would cum if you kept up your ministrations.

He bit back a smile. “Baby… just sit where you are and be with me,” he ordered quietly, releasing your hands and guiding himself into you, fully sheathed as you both preened to the new feeling. It had been too long for you both. He sat up and lengthened his long, strong legs before him. You were face to face and you crept to your knees.

It was an unbreakable moment and you’d never felt more adored as he tenderly grasped your chin and brought you closer to kiss your forehead. “Just still, you and me.”

You held his face softly in your hands and searched his handsome features. “Just still,” you repeated, a gasp escaping your lips as you resisted moving and keeping your promise to him. “Tell me… you’re okay, baby?”

While the impression of a grin didn’t spread wide across his handsome features, the affection in his eyes didn’t lie. “I’m fan-fucking-tastic, sweet girl. Safe and sound,” he replied with a quiet quiver in his voice as he strained to remain within you, cool and calm.

And it had been so long that he’d felt like someone genuinely missed him. Your adoration for him was palpable and almost overwhelmed him. “I’m so happy you’re home. While you were gone, everything was just so…” your voice trailed off.

“Just so, huh?” his lip quivered as he licked back a smirk.

“Just so,” you established, unable to consider the words. You combed your fingers through his unkempt curls and laced your hands behind his neck, massaging his solid traps. He smiled, his face nearing yours.

“I don’t apologise,” he laughed wholly against your lips before kissing you. “I’ll never apologise for that.”

“I’d never want you to,” you replied as he adjusted his posture and found a spot deep inside that spoke deeply to you. “Fuck, this feels so good. You feel bigger than I remember.”

“Compliments like that will get you far, kid. Just go with it. I know it’s a lot,” he talked you through it. “Gonna make everything better, I promise.”

“You’re holding out on me,” you gave a watery sigh.

“Stamina,” he shrugged, arrogantly. Rooster rarely reminded you about the threshold of his physical limits. You knew, but Jesus, there was no keeping a good man down. “Behave, and you might get what you deserve.”

“I dread to think,” your eyes closing of their own volition. “Fuck, I don’t think I can do this.”

“You can do this,” he whispered, brushing away a single tear from your sweltering cheek.

“No, I need to move or something, Bradley. Anything,” you whined.

Rooster chuckled, a deep grumble rising from his belly, and you could feel it exponentially. His laughter into your skin as you relaxed your weight on him, exactly what he wanted as you rested for forehead on his brawny shoulder, but it didn’t soothe any desire for you. “That’s my girl,” he said, swallowing hard. “You feel so fuckin’ good.”

“I’m trying so hard not to cum and you’re not even moving,” you blinked through tears that threatened as he felt your pussy flutter around him. He sighed, his heart racing. “Everything is in hyper colour.”

“I know, baby,” he grasped your chin and moved to kiss you again. “You’re doing beautifully.”

“Please fuck me, Bradley. I need you,” you begged. “I can’t do this.”

“Just a little while longer, baby. I’m not hurting you?”

“No,” you kissed him, you wanted to devour him. “Definitely not hurting me, just feels too damn good.”

Without responding, his body kicked into gear, his pelvis pressing up and his cock burying itself deeply as you cried out, leaning back and resting a palm on the bed to move to an angle that made him just that more godly. “That’s good,” he instructed, raising your hips to rest against his powerful thighs as his hips rolled sinfully slow. “I want you to touch yourself.”

And who were you to argue? You knew his eyes were glued to your body as he continued thrusting into you methodically, you needed the respite. But if he wanted to be teased, that’s what you’d give him, your free palm gripping your at your breasts, pressing and pulling against your nipples as you met his thrusts. You could cum as you were and sucked in a sharp breath, hoping to hold out a little longer for him. His eyes were keenly on where your bodies met and he groaned as your fingers followed down your belly, opening yourself to him and swirling at your clit.

“You’re fuckin’ perfect, you know that?” he asked, his hips speeding and pushing up into you. “Get yourself there, love. I wanna see you cum again. You’re so wet, can’t last,” he chewed his lip, watching your hand play with your pretty pussy. “So close, you’re so tight. Little more, love,” he cursed as you started to crumble, your cunt pulsating around him like a vice grip, the tremours bringing out the raw side of him and he fucked you madly, harder, rougher, wanting to take as much of you for himself.

“Bradley,” you panted, his name falling from your lips like a song as he licked his fingers and reached to furiously rub your clit with your own, sending you over the edge, your body shuddering uncontrollably and coating his cock with your slick juices. He cursed and his hips stuttered, pounding into you roughly as came viciously, milking his cock with all you had. He didn’t think he’s cum so hard, your body dragging out his orgasm until you were both spent.

“Oh, fuck,” he breathed a litany of curses as he pulled you to sit up and collapse against him, exhausted. He smoothed your hair back and tried to collect himself although the way you were licking and caressing his clavicle and that vein that ran down his neck, he almost forgot his goddamn name, his body sensitive in the afterglow. “I love you; I love you so fuckin’ much it makes me crazy,” he admitted as you clasped his face demanding, your tongue sweeping against his lips to kiss him roughly.

“I love you so much, Bradley. I could cum for you all day,” you swore as he giggled quietly against your lips.

“I’m holding you to that today, sweet girl,” he eased you back and his tongue darted out to swirl around your nipple. Jolts of pleasure shot through your body as you crudely raked his messy hair.

“Stop teasing,” you pleaded with him as he started to regulate his breathing.

“Can’t. It’ll be merciless all day, and tomorrow and every day after that. Want your body in every position we can conjure up.”

“Have I got you for a few days before you’re back on base?” you asked nervously, wrapping your arms around his shoulders like he could slip away at any moment. You needed him close and weren’t going to let him go easily.

“Few days,” he said softly, kissing your lips tenderly. “Happy Valentine’s Day, sweet girl.”

“Oh,” you said, staggered. Like it had even occurred to you what day it was when he wasn’t around. Christmas and New Year passed in a haze; you flat-out refused a single thought of Valentine's Day without him… and here he was before you. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Bradley Bradshaw. This is all I could ever want or need,” you said affectionately. He was exquisite as his cheeks flushed.

“Hold that thought,” he said, reaching for his boxers and going to catch the mess of your lovemaking. He tidied you up like always, without hesitation.

“Such a gentleman,” you baited as he winked.

“Least I can do. Be right back,” he figured before he popped up and left the room. You sighed and moved up the bed, snuggling into the pillows, pulling the lone sheet back up your body and trying to avoid the morning chill in the room. He reappeared a moment later, water in hand, a bouquet of multicoloured roses in the other and you could feel your grin spread across your face. “Where - how did you get them?” you asked suspiciously as he offered you the glass first and you took an enthusiastic gulp. He laughed, as he wiped away the dribble that escaped your lips.

“The florist you like,” he admitted. “But don’t ask how I managed to wrangle roses on Valentine’s Day.”

“You wore your uniform,” you didn’t even have to think about it. “Who says no to a man in uniform?”

He shrugged, handing them to you. “Not many,” he rubbed the back of his neck, bashfully before moving to his side of the bed. “I’m so glad to be home.”

You put the glass and flowers on the bedside table and wrapped your arms around his neck to kiss him as if your lives depended on it. “You’re the love of my life, Rooster Bradshaw.”

He hummed. “Same, sweet girl,” he kissed you again; before you knew it, it was round two.

…that fucking 1 per cent.

A while later, finally mobile after hours in bed, you watched Bradley put together the best he could with the fruit and soft cheese you were going to spoil yourself with later that night (it wasn’t grocery day and you weren’t expecting to have to feed him too, you protested and he cackled).

But he was ravenous, and while sexy, a hangry Bradley Bradshaw wasn’t pleasant. So after a shared shower, you tossed on a tee while he was left with a pair of his boxer briefs he must have left accidentally and you’d found a few months back that you’d washed so they were ready for exceptions just like this.

A mix of 60’s Motown played quietly and while you’d always loved it, he’d helped you appreciate it so much more.

You muttered the lyrics to Smokey Robinson’s ‘Tracks of My Tears’ quietly while playing with a hole in the threadbare NAVY tank you wore, Bradley’s toe-tapping with the beat, muscles in his back and shoulders like poetry in motion as he pottered.

He looked stronger, broader, and tanner, you noted as you sat on the bench, watching him work intently. You didn’t reckon you’d ever felt like this. So drawn to someone, it scared you. And rightfully so. Rooster was everything you didn’t want to fall for. High-risk job, away so often, the Navy. But you’d never felt so confident in love either. You were so in love with Bradley Bradshaw. He had changed you; and for the better.

You smiled as he approached with a strawberry in his fingertips. “Open…”

You did as he instructed, chewing gently on his finger teasing, the sweetness of the berry a sudden craving. His eyebrow quirked. “Good?”

You nodded, completely transfixed over him. You pulled a knee to your chest, resting your heel on the bench. Eyes watching him, doting. “Delicious.”

“More?”

“Yes, please,” you replied softly and he brought the plate over to share, standing between your legs, holding a strawberry between his gleaming teeth. It was so fucking cheesy, but it was an excuse to kiss him. You managed to keep your hands to yourself as you stretched for his lips, teeth darting for the fruit and took a careful bite and his lips tenderly caught yours. You sighed into the kiss as he dragged you to him, his strong palm wide and flat against your lower back.

“I’m so glad to be home,” he confided. Of course you knew, but his tone was different. “I was away longer than we’ve been together.”

You knew, dear God, you knew. You’d always been impatient by nature, a direct causation from your father and grandpa doing this too… and it never got easier. You’d learned to know days, hours, minutes and seconds intimately. It made you appreciate the time to yourself, but in the past, you’d find ways to amuse yourself, like packing your bags and just getting out of the confines of your four walls. These days, like you’d told Bradley earlier, everything was just so. Just morning, just afternoon, just time for bed. And you shrugged gently, mostly for his benefit. “Nature of the beast,” you hummed.

He nodded faintly. “Baby, I’m being recalled to Top Gun next week. There are about 12 grads being brought in. High stakes but no one are really talkin’ much. I’m going to probably ship out in a month or so.”

You nodded again. Fuck... “Okay, sweetheart,” you answered, just like you were trained to make it easier on the men in your life. But your palms were suddenly clammy, your heart was pounding, blood pulsating in your ears and your anxiety was bubbling roughly under the surface. You knew what this meant, you knew it all too well. Grandpa used to put these highly specialised operational teams together when you were growing up. You’d never forget his guilt when parts of the detachment didn’t come home. It still lived deeply with him.

He sighed, his palm running down the side of your face and forcing your gaze to his. “But I’m taking some extended time off after that, okay? I’d really like us to go somewhere. Escape San Diego. Drive to Mexico, get on a fucking plane to Hawaii, fuckin’ Alaska, I don’t care. Just you and me. No one else.”

He’d spat out a lot in a space of ten seconds. Top Gun, high stakes. A vacation. His train of consciousness confused you but you nodded because you figured it was what he needed. “Okay, whatever you want. That sounds amazing. Beach.”

He gave a faint grin, not really surprised by your vote. “Take you anywhere you wanna go. But just us.”

His stipulation was easy to agree to. “Okay,” you cupped his flushed cheek as he burrowed into your touch. You pulled him to you and held him close. You’d learnt this in the short time you’d known him that he craved being held and you would pull him into your arms anytime he needed it... and those times you did too. “Us.”

“Anywhere you want, okay?” He rested his forehead against yours as the song changed and a small smile that didn’t meet his eyes. He helped you from the bench top and pulled you into his strong, protective arms. “I love this song.”

Otis Redding, These Arms of Mine.

“Me, too,” you said like a secret as he lowered you to the floor. You watched him expectedly and took your hand in his, pressing it against his rapidly beating heart. His hand on your back guided you that one step further so that your bodies were flush against each other. He moved so fluidly, it only made you appreciate his body more.

He rested his chin on your hair, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. “The absolute goddamn desire. I think I know exactly how it feels,” he said quietly. “I definitely get the loneliness part. You know,” he paused, waiting for the line. “These arms of mine, they are burning, burning from wanting you. These arms of mine, they are wanting, wanting to hold you,” he sang lowly and you’d be lying to say you didn’t feel like you were falling just a little deeper. And you didn’t know how much deeper you could get.

“I dreamed of you every night I was away, I couldn’t get you out of my brain,” he confided, loosening his arms from his hold you around the waist, skilfully dipping you. You wrapped your leg around him, keeping him there. He’d make sure you didn’t fall.

You were familiar. “It’s going to be so hard,” you blinked back tears although you were in his arms, already fearing the next deployment and the distance it brought.

“I love you, I love you so much,” he tenderly kissed you, tightening his hold just that little more. “I will always come back to you.”

“It scares me what you do, Bradley. It’s a different scary than Grandpa and Dad…” you buried your face in his chest, not daring to meet his eyes. He hummed to the affirmatory. It was palpable how terrified you were for him. He didn’t know how to reassure you that he would be fine, he’d done this for years. “I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you.”

He sighed heavily and guided your eyes to his. “You’ll never have to wonder, okay? Oh, baby,” he said, thumbing away a stray tear. He kissed you tenderly, putting all his reassurance and devotion into it. “Don’t cry. I’m here now, let’s make the best of this time,” with that, he stood you up and started to sway you again, nuzzling his nose from the curve of your ear to your jaw. He gently tipped your chin, allowing him access to drop hot, wet kisses against your flushed skin and he knew he heard you moan quietly. “Just play out the rest of the song with me, okay?” he instructed, his large palms caressing down your side, pressing your waist into his.

For a moment, you forgot everything, your brain short-circuiting on his strength, scent and tone. “I love you,” you breathed as he slipped his palm under your thighs and hitched you without warning or effort into his powerful arms. He eased you back against the bench and god, you’d forgotten how good it was to just kiss him. The tickle of his moustache and rub of his stubble against your cheeks, something devilishly sexy, so used to his baby-soft skin and the occasional rupture of scars, his tongue smooth against yours, laced in desperation. Your hands followed the ridges and peaks of his torso and back, making him smile against your lips as you tickled him. “Take me to bed, big boy,” you whispered.

“Yes, ma’am, thank you, ma’am,” he murmured against your lips and carried you away.

You were so carried away.

“Love, you here?” The front door slammed and you jumped, grasping at your cold, old heart. A very unlike Bradley Bradshaw entrance.

“Jesus Christ,” you muttered to yourself. “Couch,” you called to him, his heavy boots clunking down the hallway before he appeared, face hard, flight suit to his waist, dark undershirt saturated, curls dripping, biceps defined. He didn’t shower at work, you noted. He never came home in his flight suit if he could help it, choosing to leave work at work. He tossed his keys, phone and glasses on the bench and crossed his arms, not daring to approach you. “Bradley, you gave me a fucking heart attack,” you exclaimed with a nervous laugh, standing to greet him and break the tension with some comedy. “Dinner is staying warm in the oven. I didn’t expect you to be so late, baby.”

“Me either, I’m sorry,” he stood before you, stoic, hard. Angry. No, apoplectic. A silent white rage you’d never seen from him before, you could feel it radiate, just pouring off his skin. You should have been concerned he was wearing a face of stone, and truthfully, you’d never seen him so upset. But also? It was simply divine. He was very sexy when he was gruff. All muscles and sweat and muscles. Was he angry at you? Fuck, back up a minute.

“Are you okay?” You asked, confused and maybe a little fearful of his answer. You took his calloused hands in yours, clutching them tightly and forced his dark eyes to yours. “Talk to me, Bradley. Did something happen?”

He’d left this morning upbeat and excited, looking forward to whatever the day promised him with his new detachment. But your blood ran cold with his answer. “Yeah,” he nodded, staring down at you, jaw tight, voice chillingly even. “Mav is back.”

epilogue.

masterlist.

A/N: the tag list no longer exists. To keep up to date, give @notroosterbradshaw-library a follow x

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