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Maverick, in general, wasn’t overly familiar with physical affection. He had blurry memories of his father hugging him or roughhousing with him when he was a small child but after his death, his mother was so distant that he could barely get her to eat, let alone earn any affection. And his fosters were certainly not the loving and doting types, for the most part. Even the kind ones, like Ms. Stevens or Mr. Gerard, weren’t very hands-on in their brand of care (likely because they were cautious about overstepping any boundaries for the traumatized children they took under their wing).
It wasn’t until he joined the Navy that he had to learn to adapt to the physicality of casual affection. Back slaps and high fives were things he had to quickly learn to stop flinching at, but it wasn’t until Goose came in that anything beyond that came into play. Because Goose was a very touchy-feely person and that was a real shock to the system for poor little nineteen-year-old, touch-starved Pete Mitchell.
Even years into their friendship, Mav had to remind himself from time to time that it was just Goose and that his friend meant well. As much of a hugger as Carole was, she’d learned that he wasn’t very comfortable with that so she respected his boundaries. Bradley was the exception to his rule because the day his godson was placed in his arms, Mav could never imagine denying the boy a thing. But adults? There were still many bridges to cross in that regard.
And then Goose died and Mav slowly began to learn how to content himself on no longer having someone whose arms he felt at ease in. He didn’t cuddle after sex, he didn’t tuck into anyone’s side like he used to with Goose, and he flinched away from forehead pecks and high fives. The most he ever allowed himself was life-affirming hugs after dangerous missions like the Layton rescue.
And the worst part was that he still yearned for the feeling, he just didn’t feel at ease with anybody in order to be comfortable being that vulnerable. To him, allowing someone’s hands to get that close was a risk he couldn’t take. Not when he still carried new bruises every day from people who couldn’t stand the fact that his last name was Mitchell.
At least, he didn’t until Slider came along.
And they’d been friends for a while when the shift finally settled in. Mav was beginning to let Ice and Slider, as well as Hollywood and Wolfman to some degree, through his walls but they were still only on the first few stepping stones. It was a day while they were working together at TOPGUN that broke the seal on the barrier. Because Mav was sick and he refused to admit it to himself. So he kept coming to work despite the fever and the sniffles and the body aches and the shivering. He popped an ibuprofen every few hours, tried to stay hydrated, and kept tissues nearby, trying to coast through. And it worked! Right up until he had to fly for a training hop.
The air pressure shift in the cockpit sent his mild headache skyrocketing and suddenly, his sinus cavity felt like it was going to explode. He knew something was wrong and when his vision started going, he told the tower he had to come down for an emergency landing. He was dazed as he landed and when he hopped down onto the tarmac, he saw that Viper, Ice, Slider, and Jester had all come running out of concern from where they’d been attuned to the radio. He took a step and his knees began to buckle. All four men took off towards him but Slider and his long ass legs managed to beat them all to the punch, catching Mav just before he could face plant.
“Easy, kid, easy,” he said soothingly, in the same tone that one might soothe a spooked horse, “Damn, you’re burning up.”
“ ‘M cold,” Mav spoke through shuttered teeth, shivers beginning to wrack his body.
“Fuck,” Slider cursed, pulling Mav into his chest. Mav grunted and then sighed, melting into the warmth of Slider’s much larger body, pressing his forehead into his collarbone. “Viper!”
Mav winced at the volume of Slider’s voice and he noticed, apologizing under his breath before pressing his palms against Mav’s ears to muffle the sound as he shouted over his shoulder, “He’s got a fever, it’s gotta be high, he’s shaking like a newborn foal, and he’s getting tongue-tied.”
“Rick, go get a medic,” Viper instructed Jester, who took off immediately, “Did he say he was sick?”
“No but he’s been popping meds like candy,” Slider admitted.
“Hasn’t ventured far from that box of tissues either,” Ice pointed out, “Sinus infection, maybe?”
“Maybe,” Viper nodded, “At least it’s not the chest, he could’ve passed out in the air with low oxygen levels.”
“I’m shocked he didn’t with the way he’s breathing,” Slider said, rubbing his hand up and down Mav’s back. Mav whimpered, shielding his eyes against the midday sun with Slider’s shoulder. “I know, buddy, I know,” Slider soothed, pecking his forehead.
“He’s having trouble breathing?” Viper asked, alarm in his tone.
“His chest is, like, hitching,” Slider explained.
“How long has he been sick?” Viper questioned.
“Few days,” Ice gestured vaguely.
“I hope it’s not pneumonia,” Viper said gravely. Both Ice and Slider winced while Mav gave another soft whimper, burrowing his head further into Slider’s chest.
“He’s gotta be hurting bad,” Ice wagered, “He’s rarely very good with being held like that.”
“He let me kiss his forehead,” Slider said worriedly, “He never does that.”
“Whatever it is, he’s certainly not feeling too hot right now,” Viper sighed, “Come on, pick him up, we need to get him outta the sun.”
“You need help?” Ice asked but Slider just grunted, lifting Mav into a bridal carry.
Mav whined, burying his head further into Slider’s neck, “Sli.”
“I know, Mav, it’s okay,” Slider pressed his lips to Mav’s temple soothingly as he walked along the tarmac, “We’ve got you, it’s gonna be alright.”
As it would turn out, Mav had a sinus infection that was on the verge of developing into pneumonia and he’d nearly burst an eardrum in the air. After that, he received an interrogation from both Slider and Ice every single time he so much as sniffled in their presence. Which was fun when summer came around because Mav was allergic to freshly cut grass.
But Mav’s main takeaway from the situation at large was that Slider was actually really good at giving hugs.
You might assume that this was a given or an obvious assumption to make but Mav, unfamiliar with experiencing kind and casual displays of grandiose affection, hadn’t even considered it prior to that incident. In hindsight, it made sense considering Slider’s size, the bulk of his muscles that were actually quite soft and pillowy when he wasn’t flexing or tensing them, the height difference that allowed Mav to feel like a little kid being cradled to his chest, the warmth his entire body just exudes so it felt like being draped in a blanket. But Slider was also just good at it, his grip tight and grounding but not bruising or suffocating, drying Mav’s body to his own with practiced ease, stroking a comforting hand over his back, occasionally pecking his forehead or temple gently, the RIO just knew how to give a good hug.
And it came easy to him. Natural. Unlike the way Mav had to remind himself of every detail when hugging Bradley, all the ways he’d watched Goose do it for years and trying his best to emulate that feeling. Maybe one day, it’d come easy to him in the same way, but he just wasn’t there yet.
Regardless, after the fact, Mav found himself craving that same feeling again. Layered blankets at night just weren’t doing it anymore, he needed the weight of somebody else’s body against his own, of their body heat seeping through together. He needed the comfort of someone holding him.
So rather than ask for what he wanted, because far be it for Mav to be straightforward about anything ever, Mav went out and found a girl in a bar to hook up with. Just like any other night, he flirted his socks off until she was smiling like she’d been charmed, then he asked her back to his and she agreed, he drove them back with her riding as his backpack on the bike, and when they got to his housing, they got down to it. The sex was good, sexy, and just on the edge of desperation. He gave as good as he got and they both came away panting.
Normally, at the point where he’d typically do the awkward shuffle of politely telling her to get out, he instead curled around her. Slowly, in case she wasn’t comfortable with it. But she sank into him with ease and Mav burrowed his head into her neck, spooning her from behind.
And it was good. It was a warm body, pressed against his own, just like he’d been craving.
But it was nowhere near the magnitude that a hug from Slider had achieved. And honestly, it had just left him wanting. He hoped he was holding her as well as Slider had held him but he craved the way Slider had made him feel small and safe and that wasn’t what holding her had felt like.
And honestly, waking up to find her presence entirely vanished was almost worse than if he’d just told her to go when he normally would have because it evoked the sense of abandonment deep in his chest with a sharp ache. Part of him wondered if he’d dreamed it and it had never happened. He didn’t like that feeling at all.
But Mav was still never going to be the type to outright voice his needs or wants. Nine years of being passed from foster home to foster home had tamped that instinct down a very long time ago. Goose had learned that the hard way but his best friend had always been good at reading people so he could tell when Mav needed something from a mile away and he would poke and prod at it until Mav either caved or snapped, depending on the day. With no Goose to read his mind from across the room, Maverick was left wanting.
At least, until their consistent posting in Miramar spurred Slider and Ice to include Mav in their tradition. One that had apparently been established since the Academy, one that Goose was a part of at the very beginning way back when he and Slider were just Nick and Ron and they shared a room. Weekly movie night. Obviously, while deployed, this tradition was nearly impossible, but onshore, Slider and Ice made a point of continuing the ritual of renting something from West Coast Video, popping a batch of popcorn, and settling in on the couch of their shared housing.
After one too many inquiries as to what Mav’s plans were after work being answered with ‘nothing much’, they invited him to join them for the night.
It also just so happened to be October, however, and Slider was a slasher fan, as it would be. Mav, on the other hand, hated horror movies with a deep and vehement passion because of the time two of his foster brothers had forced him, at only age eleven, to sit through the entirety of The Exorcist and had laughed in his face every time he jumped.
But Mav also was not the type to turn down a friendly offer, and he also didn’t realize what he was in for until Ice slid the tape into the VCR and the screen lit up with blue writing over a forested landscape, the same title as a Stephen King novel he’d once heard Carole talking about with her sister over the phone. ‘The Shining.’
Still, Mav was not about to back out. Not when he was already halfway through the bowl of popcorn in his lap and nursing his second beer of the night. Not with the pilot/RIO team sat on either side of him. He would not be deemed a coward for not being able to stomach a scary movie like a little kid all over again. So he settled in.
Slowly, as the film progressed, he found himself inching closer and closer to where Slider was seated beside him unconsciously. Sue him, the guy was a space heater and Mav was almost always cold. There wasn’t a throw blanket in sight and if pressed, that would’ve been his explanation. Which would’ve been true, if omitting the detail that he was scared.
Slider glanced at him a few times when he suppressed a jump by sliding closer but he nor Ice said a word. In the scene where Jack Torrence breaks the door down with an ask, Wendy’s frantic crying brought a few old memories out of a certain box that Maverick had stuffed them into, labeled ‘childhood trauma’ and he couldn’t suppress the slight flinches anymore. Slider casually slid his arm over the back of the sofa, and coincidentally, over Mav’s shoulders. Mav leaned into the warmth and it wasn’t long after that Mav curled into Slider’s side.
The warm pressure brought him some steadying comfort and he calmed. Slider stroked a hand over his opposite shoulder, gently soothing without ever once speaking. Mav slumped into the touch and then Slider’s hand found its way to his hair, petting like you might pet a cat. By the time the film ended, Mav was half asleep, leaning his head against Slider’s broad chest.
Slider just kept stroking his hair, whispering for Ice to put something else on. Mav never found out what it was, lulled into the caress of slumber soon afterward.
By morning, Mav expected to be alone on the couch when he awoke, but he was shocked to find that not only was he in a bed, but Slider was spooned to his back, his warmth all around the pair of them, still softly snoring in his ear.
He sunk back into his embrace easily and only woke once again, hours later, when Slider was carefully attempting to extract his arm from beneath Mav’s head. Mav sat up, letting him go, and that was that.
After that, Mav kept coming to movie nights and finding excuses to cuddle up with Slider. He expected to be teased for it at some point, for Slider to get tired of his neediness or Ice to mock him, but he got little more than a mildly amused smile for the way he melted when Slider got a hand in his hair, and that was all. Slider never complained, and if he fell asleep amidst the movie, he carted him off to bed.
Suffice it to say, Mav finally learned how to be content with physical affection after that. He liked to think that cuddling with Slider made him better at cuddling Bradley or hugging Carole when they needed it. And for that, he’d always be thankful to his friend. For showing him that it didn’t need to be an event, a special occasion, or an issue.
Sometimes, you just need to be hugged. This, Mav was sure of. Though, it helped when they were as good at giving hugs as Slider was.