#lcvesdeath ft. jake

[fyrewalks]

continued from here // @lcvesdeath

The smile should absolutely terrify him. He should register the way the air shifts, how the moment changes as Jake's cold smile settles into place. Maybe he does notice, but Bob can't find it in himself to care that he won't be able to take any of his words back - that he's toeing the edge of an impossibly fine line into unabashed recklessness and stupidity. He won't be scared off by whatever dickish remark Jake has to say in response.

He can handle it - tonight and tomorrow, when the inevitable hangover crashes and drags him under. He doesn't think he'll regret this.

And then he's pushed backwards, limbs too uncoordinated to put up any sort of fight. The world blurs, the movement too sharp for him to follow. His glasses crunching under Jake's heel doesn't help. An undignified sound leaves his lips as he's shoved against the wall. He wills the world back into focus. Bob breathes hard through his nose and wrenches his head to free himself from Jake's strong grasp. It connects with the brick behind him. Hard.

Dazed, he blinks away the stinging tears. He doesn't notice the blood welling at his lip, bitten during his harsh movement. Electricity buzzes just under his skin. It's not the same high he gets when he's flying, when blue sky blends together with ocean hues in an indecipherable mix. It's thrilling, addicting, and worth the chase all the same. "You're not Maverick, either."

"No one cares what happens to you," he continues, unshrinking. It's the first lie he's told tonight. They survived the impossible, that required trust. "No one's watching your back. Not up there and not when you step into a big chicken dinner." Bad conduct discharge. Rare as they were, it was a reminder that what they did on the ground mattered. Even with out it, brass could find any reason to keep them from flying. Their skills were unmatched, they had proven that, but Bob knows politicking and egos often took precedence. If the rumors were to be believed about the Dagger Squad being made permanent than they were all under increased scruntiny. Sometimes, all brass needed was an excuse to set something in motion - or halt it all together.

He pushes his hair, loose and wild, from his forehead, frowning. "Punch me, threaten me - I don't care, Seresin." It's reckless, akin to the bullshit he'd gotten himself into during college. As wizzo, he makes life or death decisions in a matter of seconds. He's supposed to have a good head on his shoulders, to stay calm as everything goes to shit around him, but the moment he has just a little bit too much to drink - it all evaporates. All the times he's expected to keep everything buttoned up and in check, leftover fear from the bird strike and the lingering unease from surviving something they shouldn't have, comes spilling out into something messy. He's stupid and foolish and begging for trouble. "One good deed doesn't make a good man." The words carry the same sentiment as before, but it's a reminder to himself to not fall for Seresin's act. A reminder he might not remember once he's sober.

[repentedsins]

" so, a call would've been nice. or a text, you know. but, i'm happy to see you. "

@lcvesdeath 

[fyrewalks]

kissing at a crowded party. // @lcvesdeath

He steps forward, narrowly avoiding Bradley rushing by with a precarious armful of drinks. It's the type of party Bob usually has no trouble skipping; too many people and drinks and if it were at a house on base, it would've been shut down an hour ago. Usually - Jake and the Dagger Squad have challenged what his typical habits look like, they make it harder to hide.

The step brings him closer to Jake and it's nothing at all to close the infinitesimal distance, to bring them nose to nose. Bob laughs - soft, gentle, and completely carefree. "Whoops," he breathes out before kissing Jake, soft and slow. Nothing at all like the frenetic energy of the party around them.

Fingers clumsily overlap with Jake's as Bob takes hold of the beer bottle grasped in his hands and sets it on the counter behind them. Maybe, it's the heavy beat of bass that makes him bold, or maybe it's just that Bob is no longer so careful and considerate. Whatever the reason, Bob doesn't care. He cups Jake's jaw with both hands and deepens the kiss.

[fyrewalks]

❝  oh yeah.  now you’re all quiet.  not so bold when you’re not the toughest guy in the room,  huh?  ❞ // @lcvesdeath

"Jake," Bob says, voice insistent, loud but made quiet from the din of the crowded bar. He doesn't like this. This isn't an unfamiliar scene, heated words borne out of a spiraling pool game or a round of darts. In a Navy bar, it rarely progresses farther than puffed chests, spilled drinks, and stupid comments. Either, they're aware enough that brass might be lurking close by or they have friends smart, and sober, enough to step in. A civilian bar doesn't offer the same protections.

Fingers gentle on Jake's elbow, Bob's eyes dart between Jake and the meathead who thought commenting unkindly on their relationship would go unnoticed while Jake swept away the money he won. Jake's right - once he stepped up, muscles on show and the talk to match, the meathead fell quiet, but judging by the thick head and the idiocy already displayed, Bob doesn't trust the stranger to be smart and stay that way. "Come on," he says, moving his hand from elbow to shoulder to steer Jake towards the exits. "He isn't worth it."

Outside, the silence is oppressive, asphalt crunching underneath their feet. Bob climbs into the driver's seat of Jake's truck. "Stop looking at me like that," he says, eyes front. "And give me your keys."

[fyrewalks]

∗ 85﹕ sender  grabs  receiver  roughly  by  the  hair . FROM JAKE BECAUSE I CAN 😌 LMAO

Bob grunts at the rough hand fisted in his hair, forcing his chin into the mat. He manages to get his hand free from beneath him and taps out. Breathing hard, he rolls onto his back once Jake releases him. "I think... that's considered cheating..." Bob complains between breaths.

Watching Jake sit back on his heels, relaxed but sweaty and clearly proud of himself, Bob considers surging up and knocking him over, catching him off guard. Wiping that pleased smile off his face - or kissing it off. Instead, he focuses his eyes on the ceiling and catches his breath. Jake will only knock him back on his ass for his troubles if he tries. Bob knows his strengths, his weaknesses. He doesn't have anything to prove, or to lose; wrestling with Jake was meant to be a bit of fun. They both knew Jake would be victorious every time. Still, as he sits up and uses the hem of his faded yellow eagles shirt to wipe sweat on his brow, Bob wants to beat Jake in something. "Next time, we're running."

[fyrewalks]

a kiss against the neck which feels more like a bite,  teeth bruising skin -- jake & bob!

The bar is nearly deserted; it's not unexpected given it's a Tuesday evening and Jake had picked something on the edge of town, more likely to be frequented by locals than servicemen. It suits Bob just fine, not that he minds either way, but he doesn't have to ask why Jake chose this over the squad's usual haunts. Those aren't hard dots to connect.

Lazily, he watches Jake sink another ball into the corner pocket, popping a few peanuts in his mouth. Yawning, he brushes a few crumbs from his jeans. It's also a change to not be in uniform at a bar after work, but it's not an unwelcome one. "What," he questions, eyes playfully wide - the picture of innocence. "You're kind of playing this game by yourself." It's true. Bob's decent at pool, you kind of have to be if you want to keep up with any aviator, but he can't hustle it the way he can darts. And Jake clearly has him beat.

Finally, Jake misses. Bob observes the spread and mentally curses whoever decided a game of pool was simply physics and math. While technically true, it had never connected for him. He's still debating the best angle when he feels Jake step up behind him, feels the solid line of heat and muscle. "Jake," Bob warns, but it quickly becomes something of a pleased yelp as teeth sink in where his shoulder meets his neck. He tilts his neck, inviting more.

His lax fingers drop the pool stick, the sudden clatter making him startle. With half a step forward, he spins to lean against the table and stare at Jake. "I think that's considered cheating," he says breathlessly, ignoring the flush to his skin.

[fyrewalks]

𝐉𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐃 𝐍𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐁𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐎𝐅𝐅𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐃 𝐈𝐍 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐆𝐎𝐃𝐃𝐀𝐌𝐍𝐄𝐃 𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐄. a little too dramatic? i think the fuck not. the gang was all here, stumbling around with their drinks at the karaoke bar, somehow having managed to get jake seresin to crawl out of self-imposed exile. after all, everyone knew that when a mission was on the line, seresin wanted nothing to do with all the others. his focus was impenetrable, cutthroat.

but someone within the dagger crew had suggested karaoke night, saying that they could out sing the rest of them and teasing that jake couldn't even hold a note. his urgency to join in on the fun was pretty much heavily solidified after that; it wasn't football ( and no, seresin couldn't hold a single fucking note, ) but he'd be damned if he didn't show up just to talk shit and stir up trouble. the daggers also seemed to have developed the right idea in knowing when the crew ought to be taking a much needed break---- usually around the time tensions EXPLODED and attitudes were getting to be unbearable.

not to mention, phoenix was there. jake sent 'the signal' out to bob/baby/squirtle specifically that tonight might be the night, no matter how many times he'd been advised that a certain lieutenant trace did not see any romantic potential in one jake seresin. fine, that was fine---- she simply hadn't gotten to know seresin's softer side, which did exist, no matter how aggressively buried. phoenix wasn't above being impressed, she was just tough to earn, a certified badass in her own right and jake loved that shit. so, it was NOW OR NEVER.  

javy was in the midst of softly serenading his date, which had jake on the verge of dying from laughter, and then he noticed baby on board swaying close by. "just the man i wanted to see," jake beamed, about to let floyd in on his whole scheme to sweep phoenix off her feet tonight. however, bob span around exactly when jake turned to whisper into his ear, bringing them a little too close for comfort. the tip of jake's nose was mere centimeters from brushing bob's, and every muscle within jake's physique seemed to stiffen before bob, in his tipsy glory, uttered those ridiculous fucking words.

                                      pucker up.

the fuck? "annnd that's what we call reaching one's limit," like the surly asshole that he was, jake put on a dazzling little smirk annnd... plucked the glass of alcohol right out of bob's feeble hand. he then immediately straightened his posture, wrenching his head away like nothing had even happened. "who the hell let the BABY drink too much!?" // @lcvesdeath

Bob isn’t one to drink a lot, certainly never one to get drunk in public, so he’s riding that silver line of tipsiness. Another drink and surely he’ll be on the other side of it, but he’s slowly nursing the one he has now, content to watch and laugh and cheer on whoever has the misfortune of making it onstage. He knows that his slight unwillingness to completely participate earns him whispers and rumors tied to being uncool, unfun. Bob rarely cares that much about them. Annoying, sure, but he’s dealt with worse and he cares about his job too much to let loose the way others might. Conduct unbecoming is a nasty, dangerous charge. While it shouldn’t apply to some silly drunk misdoings, Bob isn’t the type to risk it. 

He’s buzzed enough that Jake’s usual antics are no bother to him. Phoenix can handle herself and Jake has to be seriously stupid to risk trying anything tonight, Bob thinks. Javy, with a surprisingly nice voice, sings down to his date and Bob’s eyes slip close, the beat of the music swaying him.

Bob’s a little lost in the music, eyes opening wide in surprise at Jake’s sudden closeness. The way his lips are right there and then the words, stupid idiotic words he’ll forget if he’s fortunate, spill out of his clumsy mouth. Too stunned to say much else after Jake jerks away, he can only watch as his drink is plucked away from him. Distantly, he’s aware of a few scattered laughs. 

“Uh, no,” he says with surprising force, reaching back for his drink. He overestimates his reach, causing the drink to spill over them both. Bob wants to melt into the floor. He wants the Earth to swallow him whole. Screw conduct unbecoming, this is why he doesn’t drink, let loose like this - he can’t trust his traitorous mouth. “I would very much like to be actually drunk, thank youuuu.” And if not here then fine, Bob’s a big boy, he can drink himself into forgetting all of this in the privacy of his own apartment.

[fyrewalks]

❝ I’m not Santa, but do you want to sit on my lap and tell me what you want this Christmas ? ❞ from jake to bob! LMFAOOOOOO he’s such an asshole

"Shut up," Bob says, cheeks pink as he shoots an apologetic look at the few parents staring them down from their place in the queue for the mall Santa. He's not sure how Jake convinced him to come out to the mall. Between ordering gifts online and not having many people to buy for, besides his parents and a handful of friends, Bob had managed to avoid the over-bloated holiday crowds. Until now. "What the hell is wrong with you," he says once they're a safe distance away from little ears. "Do you want to be murdered by a mom with a minivan?" Bob pushes up his glasses, annoyed. "Why can't you just ask me what I want like a normal person," he mutters.

[fyrewalks]

“ it’s lonely and vicious at the top. i can handle that. but you… you wouldn’t survive five minutes of this life. ” // @lcvesdeath

bob snorts, amused by jake’s antics and the all too serious voice he uses with his declaration. it doesn’t phase him at first, he just continues shoveling popcorn into his mouth as he navigates his character across the screen. then he lingers on it a second longer and he’s laughing again. sitting up, bits of crumbs falling, bob looks at seresin, “do you not know how to have fun,” he questions. “it’s a game,” bob reminds him, except that’s not what surprises him here. seresin being uber competitive is par the course form everything he’s seen. what does shock him, is this, the scenario it’s self - willingly spending his free time with jake. “that we’re each playing separately.”

[fyrewalks]

                 𝐖𝐄 𝐃𝐎𝐍'𝐓 𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐘 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄.

he feels the longing in his chest. buried underneath the rough and unrelenting forces of focus, ambition---- always so greatly focused on what separated the great men from the average. the hunger behind his teeth, it was for more, more, more. more competition, more acclaim. he's set at a speed that no one else can handle, and jake seresin takes pride in that fact. try to catch him and you'll burn in; everyone in his life was forced to stare at his back as he shot ahead of them. if it's cruel or insensitive, jake never really slowed down enough to think about it. pitying those who could only ever measure up to second best---- not his thing.

                 however, the last mission wasn't like all the others.

whereas he's the least panicked about burning in, and the most capable at ensuring that doesn't happen, he somehow fell short. not enough, not enough, not enough. although, it had nothing to do with his flying that time, it was about his ability to trust and be trusted in return. and he's never understood that. remembers his very first kill, watching an allied jet go up in flames and smoke. they were too slow. and that wouldn't be jake's fatal flaw, as he's learned early on that slowing down means death, and caring? allowing the destruction of combat to weigh on one's thoughts and feelings? that was DONE.

there were so many fighter pilots who were just... lacking. but not jake. real world experience combined with emotional numbness; these were the inherit qualities of a man who could get a job done properly. so when he's not chosen for the suicide mission, when another kill gets racked up but he can't fucking sleep, think, or do anything to shake himself out of combat mode afterwards, there's a problem. a problem he can't verbalize, that makes him want to crawl out of his very own skin.

                 everything is just fire and smoke and scrambling at speeds that were beginning to suffocate him.

"yeah," he breaks his haunted gaze that had been staring off into the direction of another jet soaring above the base. in his abrupt turn into adri, his chin gently touches their shoulder, and then his forehead. when he speaks, it's low and unbelievably trusting in adri's words---- their confidence that they might actually be able to get away. "let's go. i wanna go---- WITH YOU." // @lcvesdeath

comfort - adri thinks it’s something she should be good at giving. as a nurse, as a daughter, as a sister. as a fiance, as a wife. kindness, caring, compassion, all qualities projected onto adri as soon as she could walk and run and talk with her older siblings. probably long before that. these were expectations that only needed an ultrasound. but adri never quite fit into that mold the way her parents wanted her to. too loud, too brash, too emotional. she doesn’t think herself as heartless, so stunted that she’s neither caring or kind or compassionate but she knows she falls short. she doesn’t measure up. they’re a nurse, not a daughter. raf’s engagement ring was mailed off months ago. to their parents, all adri has to show for her efforts are pieces of a heart she broke. no house, no perfect picket fence, no kids and no one to call home. 

the place is quiet. the sounds of jets hardly registers; it makes her skin itch. silence only amplifies the mess in her head. it makes her reckless, it makes her brave. before, it was the rumble of a car engine minutes before she left that disastrous voicemail that tore raf to pieces. now, it’s the loud roar of jets as she tells jake to leave. 

it’s all adri knows how to do. the cold shoulders and icy silence is a family trait, but adri’s perfected running away. Except - that’s not true. not to the extent that it’s her’s and her’s alone, as much as she might want it to be. their dad ran after a job that kept him away more often than it did at home. eddie ran away to war when chris was born, then to la after shannon left. and adri, for all she kicked and screamed and cursed her brother for leaving, for all she ignored him everytime he came back, adri did the same. she just didn’t call it running. she was too good for that. 

now, she’s doing the same thing. her breath catches in her lungs as jake’s forehead settles on her shoulder. “come on,” she whispers, terrified of jake’s eyes hardening and shutting them out completely. “pick a place.” it’s not hard to be brave when adri sees the end of her own deployment in sight. in a few short weeks, they’ll officially be transferred to the reserves. she’ll be navy in name only. “not the ocean,” adri decides. “somewhere earthy.” somewhere they can bury their toes in the ground and feel rooted, somewhere misty and thick and suffocating. somewhere where neither can float away.

[fyrewalks]

"sooo does she ever, like, talk about me...? you have to tell me, it's bro code." // @lcvesdeath

bob sets his beer on the top with a thunk that’s barely audible over the din of the bar. immediately, he wishes a fissure would open up and swallow them all whole. he’d let himself be dragged out; it’s not like he hated night outs or was a stranger to bars, bob wasn’t that socially inept, but he preferred being on the outskirts of nights like these. he liked watching, he liked the small talk and slipping under the radar. “phoenix would hate me for answering that,” he says, turning to scowl at jake. “and she’ll hate you even more for asking at all.”

[fyrewalks]

“ are you… smelling me? ” // @lcvesdeath

adri faux gags at the question. she covers her nose with her shirt. very real. “not intentionally,” she answers, voice muffled. “trust me,” adri adds, quieter to herself. “did you just spray yourself with a gallon of body spray to drown out that?” adri waves her hand in his general direction. the smell is an awful mix of body odor and something citrusy. normally not one so sensitive to smells, you can’t be as a nurse or someone who regularly spends time on ships and tight quarters, adri is struggling with this. 

[fyrewalks]

stop ,  stop !  i said stop! // @lcvesdeath

He scrambles backwards, hitting the opposite side of the couch, breathless and panicked. Bob pushes a hand through his hair as he tries to catch his breath, eyes wild and wide as he watches Jake.

"What's - I - Are you okay," he struggles to ask, genuine worry overtaking the initial burst of panic. Bob doesn't know what changed; how they went from lazily making out on the couch, to this.

[fyrewalks]

“   i’ll  give  you  a  massage .   ” FROM JAKE BC HE’S GOOD W HIS HANDS 😌 CAN BE A FOOT OR SHOULDER AND BACK MASSAGE IDC 💕

Bob mumbles his answer into the couch. It takes him a long moment to realize that, with his face pressed into the fabric, Jake can't hear his assent. He turns his head, cheek pressed into the couch instead, and then reaches up to tug off his glasses, dropping them in the vague direction of the coffee table. Normally, Bob would be more considerate - he'd fold them up properly and fuss over possibly scratching the lenses. Not today.

"Please," Bob tries again, blue eyes wide.

[fyrewalks]

@lcvesdeath jake asked: “ am i not good enough? ”

Lemoore's not all that different; it didn't change drastically during their extended detachment. Logically, Bob knows that, but it feels different all the same. Some of it is easy to account for; officially back with the Eagles and still stuck in limbo regarding the permanence of the Dagger Squad, Bob misses flying with Nat. He should have missed flying with his front-seater, Duck, during their detachment, but he hadn't. The stakes were too high to dwell on the differences between pilots and it wouldn't have done him any good to obsess over something so out of his control. Now, though, with only routine training and harmless bets on the line, he can't ignore it - Nat's the better pilot.

Some of it's harder to account for. Like any squad, the Eagles are a tight-knit group - Bob's increased willingness to hang out at the usual bar, still sober given his reluctance to repeat that night, and larger social circle, those of the Dagger Squad stationed at Lemoore at least, is instantly clocked. There's only so much he can explain. The intensity of Top Gun training and the hours it meant they spent together only goes so far. He can't explain, or defend, the rumors about having to eject due to the bird strike; he can't talk to them about the mission or almost losing Rooster. And Bob doesn't know how to explain things when Seresin includes him at the bar in a way that could be described as friendly; none of the Eagles buy that Hangman isn't a total dick.

Bob's pretty certain they'd have a heart attack if they saw him now, stretched out on the floor of Jake's place, controller and video game long forgotten. He sits up, squinting in the dim light to make out Jake's face. Turning over the sudden question in his head, Bob isn't sure if it stems from the few beers strewn about, all Jake's, or the melancholy that's been tainting the whole evening. "You're a damn good pilot," he starts but presses his lips together with a frown. It's true. Jake's Top Gun, the only active pilot with two confirmed air-to-air kills; Bob could easily list his accomplishments, but Jake doesn't need to hear it from him.

He brings his knees up to his chest, settles his chin on top of them. Bob chews his lips. A lot of people expect him to listen, but not all want his feedback or opinion. He's not sure what this is, though he has his suspicions on what, or rather who, has inspired the questioning. If he wants to be hold he's a good man, Bob's not sure if he should be the one saying. "What do you need," he asks instead deciding to ease into things, to suss out if this is a conversation Jake wants to have or if Bob's better off trying to convince him to go to bed and sleep off the beers.

[fyrewalks]

@lcvesdeath continued from x

Bob feels out of place.

It's not the atmosphere. It's not the growing rowdiness as the spiked eggnog goes around. It's not jealousy over the couples cozied up together. It's not even the constant stream of noise from off-key singing bouncing off the walls. The party is, simply, chaotic. There's no other word for it. And Bob loves it. He likes that he can slip under the radar in crowds like these. Here, he can blend in with everyone else. His quiet shyness isn't immediately the focus of attention or the butt of the joke.

Instead, it's simple gut-turning homesickness that leaves him feeling misplaced. He's no stranger to it; no one here is. One of the first things you lose with the Navy is control. It's why so many wash out in basic. You either accept it or adapt. The regulations and rules hadn't phased Bob - in one way or another, the Navy had always controlled his life. Hanukkah and Christmas without his dad had been the norm for most of his childhood. The holidays tended to be quieter affairs spent with his mom, who still insisted on the cheesy Christmas traditions Bob had never fallen for despite it being his dad who had initially wanted them to celebrate. Sometimes they lucked out - his grandparents would fly out to spend the holidays with them or they'd celebrate with a few other families on base. Privately, Bob had preferred the cozy holidays spent only with his mom, and with his dad too when he was around, but he knew she faced the forced separation better in the company of others. If only Bob had been graced with half of his mom's social skills.

Logically, tonight's holiday-induced homesickness shouldn't linger any worst than the other times, yet it does. Despite his handle on the influence the Navy exerts over their lives, his parents' choosing an extended cruise during the month, eliminating the need to take leave, has left him unmoored and strangely bitter. He doesn't know what to do with himself. At least habits die hard - as is typical in any sort of large gathering, Bob gravitates towards the food. With a mouth full of food, he's spared from navigating drunken small talk.

He has half a retort on his lips when his eyes catch on the mistletoe hanging above them and he involuntarily pauses. His thoughts turn to his parents - whenever his dad was home during the holidays, extra mistletoe dotted their base housing to 'make up for lost time'. Then his brain freezes. Fuck. He needs to get out of this. Joke or not, there is no way kissing Jake Seresin will end well. Bob should absolutely end this before it has the possibility of starting; he should laugh it off and keep moving, but Jake leans in and Bob's breath hitches. There's nowhere to move backed against the archway as he is. It doesn't matter. He absolutely does not want to move as the distance closes. Bob catches the softest smile on Jake's lips before they're kissing.

It's not at all what he was expecting - and Bob is honest with himself enough to admit that he's let his brain wander once or twice about what kissing Hangman might be like. It certainly wasn't this. As the kiss deepens, they move together, curious and exploring. It's fun. It's almost a little desperate. The party, all of its inescapable noise and rowdiness, fades to a dull roar in his ears. His mind empties as he chases the heady rush. And then it's over. Everything comes rushing back as Bob struggles to take a deep breath.

"Fuck," he squeaks out. Instinctually, he takes a step back. Right into someone. They've attracted a bit of a crowd. Bob pushes himself forward instead and starts moving. He spares a quick glance at Jake and manages to tangle their fingers together for a brief second as he moves past him. Phoenix tries to reach out, but Bob shakes his head and shrugs off her hand. He can't do this. Not here. The damage is already done.

People let him pass easily and he gulps down fresh air outside on the front lawn. He's sure people are staring through the window, but he pushes the thought away. Jake might be able to brush everything off on too much-spiked eggnog, some might even let them, but Bob's pretty sure this will linger anyway. Rumors have a way of snowballing. There's no coming back after this.