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Mav: can u dance
Rooster: Yes?
Mav: i want u to 2step wtih me at the wedding
Rooster: ???
Mav: ur dad and I did it at his. I thought it would be fun but nvm if thats too much. Dont worry I can make slider do it with me
Maverick had finally worn Iceman down enough to marry him. Or maybe it was the other way around. Either way, they were getting married in a week. Rooster had been invited recently. He was desperately trying to repair his relationship with the older couple.
Rooster: no i can two step. Ofc i’ll dance with you mav
Mav: ofc?
Rooster: of course
Mav: :) great! Thanks kid
The only person Rooster knew who could possibly two-step would be Hangman’s Texas ass. He groaned, but he texted the other pilot anyway. The reply came a few minutes later. Hangman would teach him for a six pack. Rooster could come by tomorrow afternoon.
Rooster rolled up to Hangman’s five minutes early with a rack of cheap beer. 24 more than what Hangman asked for.
“Bradshaw!” Hangman greeted him as he opened the door, “As I live and breathe.”
“Hangman,” Rooster nodded and presented the beer.
“I asked for a six pack of something nice, and you got me a rack of Coors,” Hangman laughed.
Rooster shrugged, “I figured we’d share it.”
Hangman led him into the living room. He had rearranged things, presumably, so there was more room to dance. Country music was coming from a Bluetooth speaker by the TV. Rooster recognized the song; it was Darius Rucker. Hangman cracked open two beers and handed one to Rooster.
“No Coyote?” Rooster asked, looking around for the other pilot.
“Didn’t think you’d want an audience,” Hangman said.
“Why is this gonna be embarrassing?”
“Only if you’re bad at dancing.”
They stood side by side while Hangman went over the steps. Literally just step-step, step-step; 1, 2, 3-4, 5-6. The first two steps were on hits one and two. The third step on three four then fourth step on five six. It turned into a drinking game. Every time Rooster stepped with the wrong foot, they had to take a drink.
Then they faced each other. Hangman showed Rooster how to hold his partner. His left held Rooster’s right. Hangman’s right went under Rooster’s left arm and rested on his shoulder blade. Rooster’s left arm went to his shoulder.
“I’m gonna guess you’re leading since you’re probably taller than your girl,” Hangman drawled.
“I mean, I am taller than Maverick,” Rooster commented dryly, “But it’s his wedding.”
“You’re two-stepping with Pops for his wedding?”
“Yeah, his idea. Him and my dad did it at my parents’ wedding.”
“Cute. Why didn’t you just ask him to teach you then?”
Rooster blushed, “Because I told him I already knew how.”
“Well, it’s easy. We got the steps down. Let’s swap so you can lead.”
As it turned out, Rooster was bad at dancing. And it wasn't from the beer. The steps weren’t complicated; it was just like marching at the end of the day. But for some reason, it didn’t translate in Rooster’s brain. He stepped or bumped against Hangman’s toes with almost every step. And if it wasn’t his feet, it was his arms. Rooster kept trying to pull Hangman closer. Fortunately, the other pilot was patient. Kenny Chesney started up. Rooster liked this song. American Kids.
“You gotta keep the gap between us, Rooster,” Hangman chided again.
“I thought you wanted to be up on your partner,” Rooster groaned.
“Maybe at the club!”
To emphasize his point, Hangman dropped his hands to Rooster’s hips and pulled him close.
“Not when you’re two stepping,” Hangman mumbled.
His breath was hot on Rooster’s face.
We were teenage dreamin', front seat leanin'/Baby, come give me a kiss/Put me on the cover of the Rollin' Stone/Uptown down home American kids
“Got, uh, got it,” Rooster whispered.
Rooster grabbed at one of the hands on his hips and Hangman’s shoulder, locking them in place. Hangman’s eyebrow went up, but his grip on Rooster tightened.
Growin' up in little pink houses/Makin' out on living room couches/Blowin' that smoke on a Saturday night/A little messed up, but we're all alright
“Wrong genre for this kind of dancing,” Hangman quipped with a grin.
Rooster surged forward, aching to kiss that stupid grin off Hangman’s face. Their teeth clacked. Rooster’s tongue snaked into Hangman’s mouth to start mapping out the new territory. After his cursory exploration, Hangman did the same. They pressed their bodies closer together but stopped to breathe.
“Probably don’t do this with Maverick,” Hangman chuckled.
Rooster wrinkled his nose, “This isn’t part of two-stepping?”
“No, this can be the lead up to some horizontal tango.”
They both laughed.
“Okay, okay,” Hangman tapped Rooster’s hip, “Hands back up.”
Toby Keith came on next. Rooster hummed along while Hangman counted out the steps. It was getting easier; Rooster stepped on Hangman less and less.
“Should I find out what song we're dancing to?” Rooster asked eventually.
“My money's on Boot Scootin Boogie,” Hangman shrugged, “Might help you remember easier, but the steps don't change.”
Rooster: what song
Mav: what song what
Rooster: are we dancing to
Mav: Oh your mom picked out some conway twitty for goose and i but it's romantic so I was thinking just boot scoot boogie
Rooster: ok
“You were right,” he said, tossing his phone back on the couch.
“I know my two-step songs, Bradshaw,” Hangman grinned, “You wanna keep going or take a break?”
They had been practicing for a few hours already. Hangman grabbed another beer and flopped down on his couch. Rooster decided he'd come back the next day to keep practicing. And they'd actually do it to Boot Scootin Boogie.
“You should practice with Pops,” Hangman said.
“He thinks I can already dance though,” Rooster shook his head.
“Yeah, so? You still need to practice with the right partner. Figure out who's leading so the day of isn't a mess. When is the wedding?”
“Next Saturday,” Rooster told him.
“Lord, you're gonna need to come over like every day next week, aren't you?” Hangman teased.
Rooster grinned, “I just might.”
He lightly kicked Hangman's legs apart to stand between them. Hangman watched him drop down with an amused look in his eyes. Rooster caught himself on the back of the couch; Hangman tipped his head up for a kiss. He ran a couple of fingers up Rooster’s side, pulling his shirt with. Rooster sighed and leaned further down. He traced Hangman's jaw and ran his fingers through the dirty blonde locks.
There was a sudden cold sensation against his ribs. Hangman let out a low chuckle.
“Fuck!” Rooster hissed and jumped back.
“I'm sorry,” Hangman howled, “I had to!”
“Asshole,” Rooster huffed, “I'll see you tomorrow.”
They danced to Boot Scootin Boogie the next day. Hangman got sick of the song, so they took a lot of breaks. On the couch. Against the wall. Rooster got Hangman back for the day before with an ice cube down the back of his shirt.
They were back to making out on the couch. Hangman was laying on his back with Rooster in between his legs. His jeans had been discarded a few dances ago. Hangman hadn't even bothered with denim, opting for a pair of sweats that Rooster had a hand down.
They broke apart. Hangman was panting, loudly against Rooster's neck. The hand slowed down. Hangman tried bucking his hips up for more, but Rooster had him trapped.
“Relax,” Rooster cooed, “Just take what I give you.”
“Sadist,” Hangman mumbled.
Rooster squeezed a little, earning a moan in response. Hangman pulled him back in for another kiss. He licked into Rooster's mouth and coaxed the other tongue back into his own. Rooster's hands sped up; he swiped his thumb over the slit, smearing the precum there.
Hangman's own hands tugged at Rooster’s briefs enough to free his dick. He palmed it; Rooster moaned. Hangman made a satisfactory noise and started stroking Rooster. Their foreheads rested against each other. Both men were gasping, taking in the same air.
Rooster had a head start; Hangman swore as he finished. Cum covered the inside of his pants.
“Aw, made a mess of yourself,” Rooster teased.
“Ah, ha… Eat a dick, Bradshaw,” Hangman panted.
He tugged up his shirt a bit, exposing his abs. Rooster furrowed his brow.
“What?” Hangman grinned, “You don't wanna cover my stomach with your cum?”
“Fuck,” Rooster hissed.
“Please,” Hangman moaned.
“Jesus… Christ, Jake,” Rooster whined.
Hangman licked at Rooster's lips and kept begging and pumping. Who was Rooster to deny him when he sounded like that? He finished; warm cum splattered down on Hangman.
“Fuck,” they both gasped.
Hangman took off his shirt and wiped himself off with it.
“I need a shower,” he lamented.
“I think you looked good like that,” Rooster smirked.
“I always look good.”
Rooster stood up, allowing Hangman to get up. The pilot grabbed Rooster’s hand and dragged him into the shower too. Rooster groaned as Hangman started shampooing his hair.
“You wanna be my plus-one?” Rooster offered.
The guest list for the ceremony was small. Maverick already tried putting the Daggers on there, but Iceman wouldn't let him invite everyone. There wasn't a lot of room wherever they had decided to have the ceremony. Ironically, the courthouse had more space. But Maverick had convinced Ice they should have the ceremony at an aviation museum.
The Hard Deck was provided for their reception. The Daggers would be attending that. It was a cash bar though. Maverick and Ice had been in the Navy long enough to know to never provide free alcohol to pilots.
“You only inviting me ‘cause I'm washing your hair?” Hangman joked.
“No, I'm inviting you so I can take you home later,” Rooster sighed, content.
“Mmm, tempting offer. Gonna make it worth my while?”
“Anything you want.”
Hangman let out a low whistle, “Anything I want? I think you got yourself a date, Bradshaw.”