Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

’It’s far too fucking hot in here to breathe properly. I feel as though I’m suffocating just from sitting here alone. Jesus.’

Maverick removes the breathing apparatus attached to his helmet, leaves it to dangle at the side of his face and takes a deep breath of the stuffy air inside the cockpit. “Talk to me, Goose.” His RIO is quick to respond, “Roger, I got him. Contact, twenty left at thirty miles. Nine-hundred knots closure,” he tells him whilst engrossed in the navigation system in front of him. Maverick switches on the UHF comms, “Cougar, you hear that?” He asks, as Goose talks over him. The pilot listens in as Cougar questions his own RIO, “I’ll get a visual ID. Cougar, you hook him,” he commands. “Roger, and I’ll clean and fry him,” Goose puts in, which causes the brunette to laugh in unison with him at his comment. Mav then banks left, following along beside his wingman. For a short while they fly in silence as he ignores the feedback over comms, but he regains focus when Merlin directs a question towards Goose. “Negative, Merlin. Looks like he’s a single,” Goose answers hastily, yet calmly, ever the collected one. The brunette glances in Cougar’s direction, “ah…Cougar, I’m gonna need to go head-to-head with him,” Pete announces, and he notices the edge of panic to the other pilot’s voice, as he fires back, “take it easy, Maverick. I don’t like this shit. I’m going to break high and right, see if he’s really alone,” Cougar states before he pulls away.

Maverick replaces his breathing apparatus, as does Goose. “We’ve got a thousand knots closure, Mav. He’s coming right at us,” Goose puts in, to which Maverick nods, “okay, buddy. What’s on your mind?” He half mumbles to himself as he banks sharply left. “Holy shit, there’s two of them!” He shouts just as Goose whips his head around to watch them pass by. “Whoo! MiG-28’s. No one’s been this close before,” his RIO announces. He banks right and pulls up, “Cougar, you’ve got MiG one, I’m going after MiG two.” With that Mav pulls away to deal with his end of the deal. Behind, Goose is busy reading the displays in front of him, “air speed, three hundred. Go get him, Mav!”. “I’m going for missile lock, let’s see if we can scare this guy out of here,” Maverick comments to his RIO as he makes well-planned movements of the control column, which causes them to invert as they apprehend the MiG. “Come on, lock up, baby. Lock up, baby, lock up,” he wills the equipment over its incessant beeps, “I’ve got him locked, bingo!” He declares aloud, proudly. He has the urge to puff his chest out like an alpha when Goose announces, “we got him, Mav. He’s bugging out and going home.” Mav talks over the comms, “Mustang, this is Maverick. MiG two is headed home.” He is quick to circle back round to re-join Cougar. “Goose, there they are, right below us.”

“The MiG’s in the perfect firing position. He’s right on Cougar’s tail.”

The aviator shakes his head as he watches the pair of aircraft below them, “no way, Goose. He’d have fired by now. He’s just trying to piss us off,” he huffs. “Maverick, get down here and get this asshole off me,” the beta’s shaky voice reaches them over the comms. Maverick loses some altitude, “easy, Cougar,” he reassures the slightly older man, “bring it back, hard right. Help me engage. I’m on my way.” He blinks the sweat away from his eyes as it drips down from his forehead. “I can’t shoot this son of a bitch. Let’s see if we can have a little fun with him,” Maverick declares as he pulls the control column to one side in order to fully invert them, and make a move towards the MiG. “Is this your idea of fun, Mav?” His RIO deadpans. The pilot of the MiG looks up at Maverick as the brunette offers him a middle finger with a chuckle, gaze hard, undeterred, “greetings,” he purrs amusedly — he hasn’t had this much fun in ages. Goose pulls out a camera behind, and utters, “watch the birdie,” whilst he takes a photograph, which only adds to the comedic value of the situation. “Geez, I crack myself up,” he comments as they roll away, edges of his mouth curled up into a smile. As Maverick’s gaze moves between the control panel and the airspace in front of them, he hears Goose tell him, “this is a great shot, Mav. I should be a photographer.” Mav throws a quick look back over his shoulder at his best friend, and giggles. “Cougar, your tail is clear. MiG one’s bugged out,” he notifies the other aviator over comms once they’re situated just overhead. When he receives no immediate response, Mav speaks again, “Cougar, this is Maverick, we’ve had enough fun for one day don’t you think?” He jests lightly, “I’m getting a little low on fuel, so we’re heading home,” he puts in with a bit more seriousness, “we’ll see you on deck.”

’How peculiar…Cougar always answers me, it’s like there’s something off about him today.’

Control pulls him from his thoughts. “Maverick, you’re at three-quarters of a mile. Call the ball.” “Roger. Maverick has the ball,” he answers. Just as he is nearing the flight deck, he overhears the commotion over comms in relation to Cougar. “Goose, Cougar’s in trouble,” he tries to plead as calmly as he can muster, but Goose cuts in with, “come on, Mav. We’re getting low on gas. Let’s land this sucker.” The tailhook comes down the meet the arresting cables. Maverick hears Merlin shout over the comms and that about does it — as soon as they land, he pushes the throttle forwards firmly, pulls the control column back, and takes off from the flight deck once again with afterburners blazing. “What’re you doing, Mav? We’ve got no fuel for this,” Goose presses him in that worried tone of his. “We’re going after Cougar,” he confirms. He purposefully ignores the request for him to land, and makes a beeline straight for Cougar and Merlin. “Any of you boys, seen an aircraft carrier around here?” He jokes halfheartedly with the pair, but deflates when he notices Cougar’s mile-long stare. Merlin, Cougar’s RIO, speaks to him directly, “Mav, we’ve got a little problem up here. That MiG really screwed him up. I don’t think he can make it back,” the RIO reports back honestly. Maverick’s voice is soft as he can make it as he reassures the beta, “you’re okay, Cougar. Just stay on my wing, I’ll take you all the way in. Just stay with me.” Omegas are pretty good at resolving tension in most situations, they’re sort of biologically equipped to do so, though, they’re far more effective at calming pups and alphas than they are betas, due to being able to manipulate the two aforementioned groups with their pheromones, vocal range, and use their ‘omega voice’ — which Maverick has rarely ever utilised, though in terms of vocal range, he been known to purr for his godson, Bradley, on the odd occasion. He just prays that it’ll at least calm the other aviator down enough to get him back on deck. As they move off, the brunette knows that Cougar is still distracted if his flying is anything to go by — which, yeah, it most certainly is. The other aviator just can’t seem to hold his aircraft steady. “Easy, Cougar. Just a walk in the park, buddy.” Goose and Merlin both remain eerily silent. He tries not to let the panic reflect with his next comment, “you’re a little low. You’re a little low, Coug. C’mon, buddy, pull up. Pull up, Cougar. That’s it. Almost there.”

ATC cuts in, and Mav bites his tongue until he can taste the iron tang of blood in his mouth. “Cougar, you’re well below glide path, three-quarters of a mile. Call the ball.” The brunette feels completely sick to his stomach as he watches the aircraft sway from side to side. Merlin’s desperate plea comes to them over comms, “we’re too low, Cougar. We’re too low, Cougar! Increase power. Some more power! Power! Power! Power, damn it!”.

Maverick is most definitely going to puke.

As soon as he is able to do so, he lands his own aircraft, and clears the flight deck alongside his RIO, Goose.

The pair make their way to Stinger’s office, and are forced to wait outside whilst he holds a conversation with Couger. Goose stands ram-rod straight, whilst Maverick slumps slightly against the wall beside him. When the door to Stinger’s office opens, Cougar exits — minus his wings — and stops to look Maverick dead in the eye, “thanks, Maverick,” is all he offers before he continues on his way. “Maverick, Goose, come in here,” Stinger’s stern voice calls from inside his office. He eyes the area where Cougar had just been stood, gulps, “what the hell’s going on?” He questions Goose, who knows no more than him. “I don’t know.” “Shit…” the brunette mumbles under his breath.

’Holy shit. It’s all over. Everything we’ve worked for. I’ve gone and blown it all like a fool, Goose is gonna kill me. Carole is gonna kill me.’

He and Goose enter the office and Goose closes the door behind them, before he takes his place beside Mav. “Maverick, you just did an incredibly brave thing. What you should have done was land your plane. You don’t own that plane, the taxpayers do. Son, your ego is writing checks your little omegean body can’t cash,” Stinger scolds him with a gruff voice. He decides not to take the statement too personally, he has grown used to people looking down on him for his status over time. Although, he hears Goose’s low growl beside him.

“You lost your qualifications as section leader three times. Put in hack, twice by me. With a history of high-speed passes over five air-control towers and one admirals daughter.” Goose turns to him then, “Penny Benjamin?” He questions, which causes Maverick to shrug, although he does roughly remember there being a beta woman of that name. “And you, asshole.” Stinger turns to Goose this time. “You’re lucky to be here.” Goose snaps his head back ahead, with a quick, “thank you, sir.” “And let’s not bullshit, Maverick, your family name ain’t the best in the Navy. You need to be doing it better and cleaner than the other guy. Now, what is it with you?” The short alpha snaps and despite the issued scent patches, Maverick thinks he can almost taste the man’s anger. He glances off to the side. “Just want to serve my country. Be the best fighter pilot in the Navy, sir!” He says back. “Don’t screw around with me, Maverick. You’re a hell of an instinctive pilot. Maybe too good. I’d like to bust your butt, but I can’t. I’ve got another problem here.” The brunette tips his head slightly in confusion, as he runs though other possible issues in his mind and there are many. “I’ve got to send somebody from this squadron to Miramar,” Singer adds in annoyance. He notices Goose side eye him at the the statement. “I gotta do something here, I…I st-…I still can’t believe it. I gotta give you your dream shot, I’m gonna send you up against the best. You two characters, are going to Top Gun.”

Stinger looks away as he finishes his statement.

’Top Gun. We’ve finally gone and done it — albeit at Cougar’s expense — but we’ve got our dream shot. The big one. Miramar, prepare to meet Maverick and Goose!’.

Maverick struggles not to vibrate with excitement, he’s practically beaming, can’t believe their luck. A smirk comes across his face. “For five weeks you’re going to fly against the best fighter pilots in the world. You were number two, Cougar was number one. Cougar lost it, turned in his wings. Now, you guys are number one. But, you remember one thing, you screw up just this much—“ Stinger gestures with his cigar held firmly in his fist, “you’ll be flying a cargo plane full of rubber dog shit out of Hong Kong!”. Maverick winces at the overwhelmed scent of tobacco on the alpha’s breath, “yes, sir!”. Stinger turns away, “that is all. Tell me about the MiG some other time.” Mav and Goose turn to leave abruptly, with Goose opening the door for him to exit first. They both stop at Stinger’s command, and look back in his direction, “good luck, gentleman.” The pair both give their thanks in conjunction with each other.

The pair emerge into the hallway.

’I thought for sure, I was going to get grounded this time. Perhaps have my wings revoked, but we got rewarded. My idiocy has finally paid off. Though, Goose won’t agree with me on that.’

Pete revs the engine of his Kawasaki GPz900R. He glances over his shoulder at the F-14 taking off right alongside him and raises his fist to pump it in the air. If Goose were with him, he’d scold the omega for his recklessness, especially considering the fact that he refuses to wear a helmet. With a wide grin he tries to keep pace with the Tomcat above him, as he rides into the desert in chase of it.

The next morning, he immediately decides to jump into the shower and wash the sweat from his body that had formed during his outing the previous evening. The brunette tears the annoying patch off his scent gland and tosses it away carelessly, he’ll bin it later. Pete exits the shower, makes quick work of drying himself with one of the scratchy towels that the Navy issues and begins to dress himself in his khakis. He’s got to meet Goose in fifteen minutes according to his watch. He perches himself on the edge of the couch whilst he awaits the arrival of his best friend and fusses with his hair to entertain himself for the time being.

”During Korea, the Navy kill ratio was twelve-to-one. We shot down twelve of their jets for every one of ours. During Vietnam, that ration fell to three-to-one. Our pilots became dependent upon missiles. They had lost some of their dogfighting skills. Now, Top Gun was created to teach A.C.M. Air Combat Manoeuvring. Dogfighting.” Maverick listens intently to the man in front of them, but he is distracted by the men beside him. One of them comments, “this gives me a hard on,” to which the other replies, “don’t tease me,” flirtatiously, which causes Maverick to lose concentration on what he should be listening to.

’Fucking alphas, always thinking with their dick’s.’

He rejoins Jester at, “the very first man to win the Top Gun trophy. You will not find a finer fighter pilot anywhere in the world. Commander Mike Metcalf. Callsign, Viper.” Mav turns in his seat to watch the man stroll down the aisle, his eyes follow him closely. “Gentlemen. You are the top one percent of all Naval aviators. The elite.” Pete’s eyes scan his face, he notices the moustache and fully styled hair, but for the life of him, he can’t pinpoint where he remembers him from.

“The best of the best. We’ll make you better. You’ll fly at least two combat missions a day, attend classes in between and evaluations of your performance. Now on each combat sequence, you’re gonna meet a different challenge.” Maverick has the odd feeling that someone is boring holes into the back of his head with the intensity of their stare, one glance over his shoulder confirms that he is being watched, very intensely, in fact. The blond behind him spins his pen around his fingers, all showy, as he continues to watch him. Viper’s words currently fall on Maverick’s deaf ears. When he is pleased that he’s stared the other man out enough in return, he faces the front once again. “…faster than you’ve ever flown before and more dangerous. Now we don’t make the policy here, Gentlemen. Elected officials, civilians, do that.” The omega watches Viper make his way back down the aisle once again and purposely tries to ignore the blond, until his toothy grin catches his attention, the corners of Maverick’s mouth curl up. “We are the instruments of that policy-“ Goose presses his knee against Maverick’s, he regards it and turns to face him. Goose leans in close, “what are you doing?” He questions him quietly. The brunette shrugs, “I’m just wondering…who’s the best.” Almost as if Viper overhears them, he puts in, “in case some of you wonder who the best is, they’re up here on this plaque on the wall. The best driver and his RIO from each class has his name on it. And they have the option to come back here and be Top Gun instructors.” He follows Viper the entire time, until the man turns on him, “you think your name’s gonna be on that plaque?” The commander asks him directly. Maverick clicks his pen, as he chews his gum. “Yes, sir,” he replies confidently, then tries not to wince at the laughter from behind. Viper considers him for a moment, “that’s pretty arrogant considering the company you’re in.” Mav tilts his head, he thinks for a few seconds, before he puts in another, “yes, sir.”

The commander seems pleased with his answer, as he smiles, “I like that in a pilot. Just remember, when it’s all over out there, we’re all on the same team.” Viper paces in a small circle, “gentleman, this school is about combat. There are no points for second place. Dismissed.” The omega doesn’t notice the eyes of the blond still watching him closely, as Viper talks and even as he turns to Goose.

”Nice going,” Goose tells him sarcastically, with a pat on the back, as they both get to their feet to leave. Everyone, bar the blond has cleared their seats, as he and Goose near the door. Finally, the man speaks. “The, uh, plaque for the alternates is down in the ladies’ room.” Mav freezes up at his voice. His RIO grips on tightly to his shoulder, laughs hysterically, then responds, ”oh, Jesus! You kill me, you really do.” Goose points to the plaque, “no, no, no, no. There’s two O’s in “Goose”, boys,” he teases, holding his fingers up to better his joke. He then rejoins Maverick and they both head to Goose’s to get ready for the evening, as Mav has left his dress whites there for some reason or another.

’Ever the joker. That’s Goose.’

The pair enter the bar. Pete nudges Nick with his shoulder and comments, “this is what I call a target-rich environment.” Nick rolls his eyes in amusement, “you live your life between your legs, Mav,” he counters, as he snakes his way though the crowd and towards the bar. “Goose, even you could get laid in a place like this.” “I’m telling you, I’d be happy to find a nice beta who’d talk dirty to me.” At the bar, Goose beckons him with a finger, “Mav, you wanna know who the best is? That’s him. Iceman.” The brunette follows the same line of sight as his RIO and finds himself looking at the same man who had been staring at him earlier on today. “That’s the way he flies; ice-cold, no mistakes,” Goose adds, but Pete is already too busy staring him down to fully listen to Nick’s words. “— do something stupid and he’s got you.” He shakes his head to clear his mind, looks to Goose instead, as the RIO reaches to tap a man on the shoulder. “Hey. Hey, Slider. Thought you wanted to be a pilot, man. What happened?” Goose asks him genuinely, but the other man doesn’t take it that way. “Goose, you’re such a dickhead. Whose butt did you kiss to get in here, huh?”. ”Well, the list is long but distinguished.” “Yeah, well, so is my johnson,” Slider says, before he knocks back the shot that he holds in his hand.

’That solves that one, then. Another fucking whiny alpha, posing for attention.’

”So you’re flying with Iceman, huh?” Nick asks, seemingly uncaring of his off-handed comment. Slider squares up to Goose, Maverick presses himself into the bar top, “it’s Mr. Iceman to you,” he snarls at the other RIO. The other alpha backs down as the blond approaches, hand outstretched to Goose, “hey, Mother Goose. How’s it going?” Maverick almost slumps into the bar top at the tone of his voice. It hits all the right spots with his inner omega — which is odd, he usually can’t stand these posturing assholes at the best of times, the only exception to his ‘no alpha’ rule, is Goose. His best friend he can deal with, because he adores the man. Nick takes his hand, shakes it firmly, “doing good, Tom. This is Pete Mitchell. Tom Kazansky.” Goose moves closer to him, almost defensively, as he introduces them. Iceman extends his hand, and Pete tries his hardest not to go into cardiac arrest — as he catches a hint of the alpha’s scent — as he shakes the offered hand. Tom peers down at him, “congratulations on Top Gun,” he praises, and suddenly Maverick’s legs feel like jelly. “Thank you.” He barely manages to keep composure as he utters the two words. “Sorry to hear about Cougar. He and I were like brothers in flight school. He was a good man.” Mav is quick to jump to Cougar’s defence, “still is a good man,” he emphasises the ‘still’ part of his sentence. “Yeah, that’s what I meant.” “Thought so.” Iceman places a peanut from a dish on the bar top into his mouth, and Maverick watches the other man intently as he chews it, then focuses on the bob of the blond’s adam’s apple when he swallows. The alpha gets right into his personal space to pry at him some more, “so, you need any help?”. Pete nearly chokes on his own spit at the question, his mind begins to wander with an array of thoughts.

”With what?”.

Iceman grins, flashes his teeth at Maverick, “you figured it out yet?” He pokes, and by this point it’s completely lost Mav. The omega has absolutely no idea what’s going on. He breaks eye contact with the blond, glances off to the side and gulps. “What’s that?” The brunette asks carefully, still entirely unsure where their conversation may be headed. “Who’s the best pilot, sweetheart.” Maverick’s amazed that he doesn’t grimace at the statement. No. Instead— instead a fucking full-body shiver runs down his spine at the term of endearment spoken oh-so seductively by the gorgeous man in front of him. “No. I think I can figure that one out on my own,” he replies flatly, wholly uninterested, in an attempt to seem impartial — to appear as though the man’s voice has no effect on him. “I heard that about you. You like to go at it alone.” That comment alone is enough to send him over the edge. All alphas are the same. The omega bristles, poised to attack, but luckily for him, Goose shoulders between them, effectively creates a barrier between the pair and lets out a low warning growl directed at Iceman. Seemingly undeterred, Ice tries his luck as he leaves with Slider, drops a quick, “see you later,” in a low voice, which once again nearly causes Mav’s knees to buckle beneath him. It’s a little soul-destroying to be honest.

’What the actual fuck is going on here? Fucking dick, with his shitty attitude.’

The omega looks Goose up and down, waits for the tenseness in the alpha’s shoulders to loosen, and for his best friend to face him. “Jesus, Mav. Do you have to pick a fight with someone everywhere we go?” Nick questions tiredly, rests his forehead in his hand as he does so, then runs his fingers through his hair in one clean sweep. Maverick huffs in disbelief, indignant. “I didn’t start it, you heard that asshole! I’m fucking sick of alphas thinking they can make sexual remarks about me just because of my designation!” He argues with his RIO. His best friend quickly draws his upper lip back in a snarl at that remark, “he probably didn’t even know your status, Mav— I certainly can’t pinpoint an individual scent in this bar! Did you take a second to consider that maybe it was just an offhanded comment, a little competitive rivalry?!”. The pilot goes to reply, only to wince and double over due to a sudden unexplainable stabbing pain in his abdomen, and insistent dull throbbing behind his eyes. Goose notices almost immediately, any momentary anger dissipates, and concern crosses the alpha’s features, “you feeling okay?”. “I feel like…crap,” Pete admits with some reluctance, massages his temples with his thumb and middle finger, then continues, “why do I feel like crap, Goose?”. Nick doesn’t answer his question — which is a little concerning — “let me take you home, Mav,” is all he offers in response.

Goose places his hand on Pete’s lower back to steer him away from the counter. A sheen of sweat forms along his brow and he feels hot flushes along the expanses of bare skin. The bar is too hot, too crowded, and the mix of scents is enough to turn his stomach. It’s nauseating. His RIO walks a couple steps ahead of him, leads the way towards the exit, and Maverick doesn’t even have the chance to tell him that he feels light-headed before he stumbles, and by then it’s too late. He braces himself for contact with the hard flooring beneath him, but strong arms catch his fall and hold his slighter figure steady. Maverick slowly lifts his head, and his green eyes blink a few times in quick succession as he takes in the man of the hour. Kazansky. ”Careful there, darling. Wouldn’t want to ruin that pretty face of yours,” he teases. The blond takes a moment to study Pete, scans his features and seemingly takes note of his unfit state. His grin drops instantly, and he takes on a far more serious demeanour. Tom glances around them, “where’s Goose?” He asks Maverick, but the brunette remains silent and unmoving, excluding the shivers that torment his lithe body — a result of his oncoming fever. Ice removes his Ray-Ban’s, places them on the collar of his dress white shirt.

Pete’s RIO seems to have lost him amongst the crowd and is yet to realise he isn’t still closely following behind. The blond removes a hand from Mav’s shoulder to prod the man beside him, all Mav catches is, ‘Slider’ and ‘Goose.’ All surrounding noise is all a big blur.

’Goose…where did Goose go? I want Goose…’.

Pete’s still staring at Ice, he blinks a few times, but his eyes remain fixated on the taller man in front of him. The other pilot turns his attention back to the brunette, “let’s get you to the restroom, sweetheart.” He guides Maverick through the crowd with a firm grip on his shoulder, arm wrapped around him to do so. They enter the mens restroom and come to a halt at the sink area. Ice leaves him for a moment to retrieve a small wad of toilet paper, which he then runs under a cold tap and uses to wipe the sweat from Mav’s cheeks and forehead. It’s refreshing, cool, it helps to keep him grounded. He’s at a complete loss for words. Here Ice is treating him nicely, the exact opposite of what any normal alpha would do were they to find an omega in this state, they’d normally use it to their advantage. He doesn’t ever give an alpha the benefit of the doubt, nor the time of day — only Goose — yet, still, he finds himself transfixed by this alpha as he finishes wiping down Mav’s face. Beyond the smell of industrial bleach, Maverick thinks he can catch the alpha’s scent again, and he finds it oddly soothing. Finds himself so focused on it that he doesn’t even register the pain in his abdomen lessen substantially — along with the throb behind his eyes — to the point where he can barely even feel it anymore. His breathing is slightly laboured and his chest heaves in the small space left between them. Tom steps back, and the brunette swears that he can see the alpha’s nostrils flare, but he ignores it. Maverick takes a step forward — back into the blond’s personal space — eyes glassy, lust blown, “what is it about you that makes you so…delectable?” Is the word that he settles upon as he scents the air, catches the barest hint of the alpha’s captivating scent once more. The omega looks the blond up and down, his gaze fixates on the juncture of his neck, on the left-hand side. On the older man’s mating gland. His breath hitches as he takes one final step forward, closes the distance between them, before he buries his nose into gland. Ice goes rigid at the initial contact, but soon relaxes, places a hand on Mav’s own mating gland in return, and caresses the sacred area with the pad of his thumb. “So, you are the omegan aviator they’ve been discussing,” the blond whispers under his breath, mostly to himself, completely in awe of the smaller man in front of him.

Pete hums, doesn’t take much notice. He nuzzles at the gland, rubs his cheek against it as a throaty purr resonates in his chest.

’Huh, they’ve been talking about me. Wonder if he’s been talking about me too?’.

The door opens roughly, then slams shut, though it does little to disturb the brunette, who remains firmly in place. Ice acknowledges the newcomer by looking up and giving a curt nod. “Hey.” The voice is calm, familiar. “Goose?” He mumbles into the juncture of Ice’s neck, his words come out all muffled. Goose nears them, and Maverick senses it, presses himself closer to the blond instinctively. His RIO taps him lightly on the shoulder, “c’mon, Mav. Let’s get you home,” he offers softly, tone gentle. Maverick feels Ice shake his head in response, and he groans in frustration at the movement, wraps his arms around the blond tightly in what can only be described as a bear-hug. Ice tuts at the omega, then redirects his attention back to Nick, “I think he’s— I think we’ve got a scent drunk omega here, Bradshaw. I’m not too sure he’s gonna want to let go anytime soon. He seems pretty insistent on staying close,” he explains to the RIO, as a hand rubs up and down Mav’s lower back absentmindedly.

Footsteps echo throughout the restroom which the brunette distantly recognises as his best friend pacing — he only does so when he’s particularly restless or anxious. “I-I’m not too sure what to make of this, Tom,” Goose comments, more than a little frantic if the shake in his voice is anything to go by. “Calm down, Mother Goose. I’ll help you take him back, you just lead the way,” Tom reassures the RIO kindly as he continues to gently caress Pete’s mating gland using the back of his index finger. The other man seems extremely reluctant to agree to the offer at first, but eventually he caves and leads the way, through the crowd, and out the front door to the O-club. Maverick and Ice have to separate, but they hold hands as they pass through the people gathered in the open space. He relishes the touch, squeezes the hand in his own with a pleased smile. Once they’re outside, Mav hurries to return to his earlier position, he shoves his nose up into Ice’s mating gland once again as soon as they come to a stand, fist holding onto the older man’s dress shirt firmly. The blond oh so carefully loosens the grip on his shirt, and gently moves Mav’s head away from his neck. Maverick instantly gives him a death-glare, gaze completely murderous. The alpha is quick to offer him an alternative, his wrist, instead, which is far more convenient seeing as they’re about to be on the move. The brunette jumps on the offer almost immediately.

It takes a quarter of an hour for them to reach the young pilot’s current assigned residence, and the trio walks in silence the entire time — if you exclude the mumbling of his RIO up ahead.

’I’ve never had the drive to scent any alpha besides Goose before, but Kazansky’s scent is downright delightful. Ocean, mahogany… espresso.’

He gets lost in it — mulls over how compatible it is with his own, it’s his inner omega that does that — and pays little attention as Nick digs through his pockets to find the key to the front door in order to let them all inside. The blond beside him leads them straight through to Mav’s bedroom — which is an easy task, the layouts of the housing are all practically identical — and flicks the light switch on with his free hand as he enters. Goose slips into the room right behind them, makes a move to pull the covers back on the expertly-made bed that Pete had prepared earlier that same morning.

Ice studies him for a short while before he pulls his wrist out of Maverick’s tight grasp, “enough of that now, sweetheart. Get some rest in preparation for tomorrow,” Tom advises softly. So kindly, in fact, that Pete very nearly melts against him at the tone of his voice — the brunette wants it to always be directed at him, and only him, nobody else. Ever. The omega whines and goes to reach for it again, but the alpha flashes his teeth, gives a low warning growl, and the omega quickly lowers his head and submits. Without another word, he begins the process of removing his dress whites. His best friend turns away to give him some semblance of privacy, but the blond stands there and watches him strip down to his boxers before, finally, Mav slides under the covers with a huff and gazes somewhat longingly at the blond alpha. “Goodnight, Mav,” his RIO tells him as he gives Tom a sideways glare, and both exit the bedroom. Goose flicks the light off as they leave. Maverick catches a muffled snippet of their conversation from the other side of the door. “— only ever been observed between true mates.” “You’re batshit crazy, Kazansky!”. Not too long after that outburst, the front door slams shut, and Pete’s left all alone. So very alone. His mind begins to wander as the fog in his brain clears a little and he comes back to himself.

’True mates…? Huh. Isn’t that a myth made up to tell pups, like Santa Claus or the Tooth Fairy? I’m with Goose on this one. Even if it is true, it won’t change anything, no matter how hard ‘The Iceman’ wants to try. I’m not gonna let myself get grounded. Especially not for some knot-headed jerk that doesn’t understand what that’d mean to me.’

He falls asleep relatively easily after that little bit of self-reassurance.

In fact, it’s the best sleep he’s had in months — since his last extended shore leave. So what, if Iceman’s scent managed to soothe him, and not just him, but his baser instincts, his inner omega? Big fucking deal. Only, that’s just it. It could be a big deal, an out of proportionate one at that, if he allows it go too far. So…fuck Iceman — not in the literal sense, of course, haha — who needs him? Certainly not Maverick. Nope. He’s all set, with Goose, Carole, and little Bradley. Nothing else whatsoever is necessary.

But, if that’s truly the case, why does the void inside his heart feel larger than ever?