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autumntouched · 2 years ago

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Every Time It Comes Around Pt.II

Fic Summary: Hangman and Phoenix have a lot of growing up to do from the first time they meet. Four times Hangman and Phoenix could have realized there is more than insults and competition between them and one time they do.

aka Hangman and Phoenix are messyyyy. but then they grow up. kind of.

Pairings: Phoenix/Hangman, Phoenix/Rooster

Warnings: 18+, NSFW. Language, alcohol consumption, SMUT (Rooster)

A/N: Welp, this one went from a drabble to a saga real fast. Like got way way way out of control. Went from one shot to two chapter I definitely stretched some of the themes. All in good fun...hopefully. From my head to the page with few edits.

Did I try to read a fighter pilot manual to understand maneuvers? Yes. Is the part about flying accurate? NO. Also, I don’t snowboard so please forgive me.

Comments/reblogs appreciated xx

Playlist: Here’s the playlist for this chapter! Some of the themes have direct references to songs and for others, the songs served as inspiration.

The first time it happens, it’s an accident.

Natasha tears off her helmet in frustration. A whole week of working on a maneuver, and she’s still getting it wrong. Well, not wrong exactly but she’s watched several pilots in the class ahead do it without bleeding as much speed as she is. And by several, that really means Seresin.

Becker shoves past her on his way down the flight line. “What the hell is your problem, Trace? I told you we had it over an hour ago. Make me freaking late for my date with your little miss perfect show up there.”

She holds back a retort and once again wishes she’d been paired with Bradshaw for the week. No matter how long it took or what his plans were, he would have kept at it with her until they got it. Angrily, she tugs at the zipper of her flight suit to try to find some relief from the cloying, Mississippi humidity that’s swamped her undershirt and soaked her bra.

“Why helloooo Little Miss Perfect,” someone drawls, and the end of her day really couldn’t get worse because here comes Jake Seresin himself to rub in the fact that he’s watched her fly like shit. Only a few more weeks before he heads to his first duty station, and she can’t wait to get him out of her hair. He strolls out from behind one of the planes at the end of the row.

“Shove it,” she snaps, not at all in the mood after dealing with Becker’s snideness. Seresin’s already changed out of his Navy uniform and into his preppy one of a white t-shirt, pastel chino shorts, and boat shoes, which means he stuck around just to be a pain in her ass.

He smiles smugly and uses his tongue to flip the toothpick in his mouth. “Guess I can go shove the little secret I was going to share with you then too?”

“It’s not a secret you’re an asshole.”

“Well someone’s a little more Little Miss Cranky this evening. I thought you might want to know what you’re doing wrong up there.”

Her flight gear’s getting heavy and her patience even shorter, but her curiosity wins out. “And what’s in it for you, if you tell me?”

Seresin flips his toothpick again and smirks. “Knowing you’re the best because of me.”

Natasha scoffs and adjusts her things. “Your magnanimity is astounding. No. I’m good.” She stomps off.

“You know, you can be so condescending when you’re annoyed,” he says, keeping up with her.

“Too bad that’s a problem only you have to deal with,” she shrugs.

“So I guess you’re sleeping easy about those upcoming rankings then?”

Damn it. He has her there. If she wants to stay in at least the top three, she’s going to have to pull ahead of Hewitt and, for a buffer, Singh.

“I’ll manage,” she grits out. She’ll spend all weekend rereading the manual cover to cover if she has to to figure it out.

“Do you like barbecue?” he asks out of nowhere. She stops again and looks over at him. Seresin narrows his eyes. “Actually, remind me where you’re from again. You might not even be qualified to judge what barbecue is.”

“California, and I know–.”

“Oh no. No, you don’t.”

“Now who’s condescending?”

“Buy me dinner, and I’ll give you that secret. Fair exchange.” He slides his hands into his pockets while she considers what she has to lose. Or gain.

“Fine.” She showers quickly and meets him outside in his Jeep, feeling much cooler in a tank top, cutoff shorts, and Vans. He keeps the aux on low as they leave the base. It’s a country playlist, not something she listens to unless she’s hanging out with her cousins.

“So, do I get to know this secret before or after we eat?” she asks.

Hangman props his left elbow on the door. “It’s all business with you, isn’t it, Trace?”

“With you, yes,” she says, stretching out her legs. “I don’t need anything about me lobbed back in my face at some point.” He seems taken aback. She has no idea why when he’s made it his mission to antagonize the hell out of her every chance he gets. “But if you want to get personal, tell me what it takes to be a so-called qualified judge of barbecue.”

As much as she doesn’t want to be, she’s impressed to realize he wasn’t entirely being a dick when it comes to how much he knows. His enthusiasm cracks some of his cool exterior, and Natasha actually learns something about regional styles and methods. They seem to realize at the same moment that they might be enjoying the conversation, and Seresin trails off.

Fortunately, Natasha finally recognizes one of the songs on his playlist. She laughs. “Well, this is appropriate.” When he looks over with a question pinched between his brows, she points to her shirt. “Barbecue Stain!”

“It’s called ‘Something Like That,’ Trace,” he corrects her, but Seresin grins and turns the volume up as Tim McGraw sings:

“A sailor sky made a perfect sunset/And that’s the day I’ll never forget…”

He starts to sing along with the chorus. “I had a barbecue stain on my white t-shirt. She was killing me in that miniskirt.” He glances over at her with a smirk, and she rolls her eyes.

Harmonizing just to show off a little, she joins in. “Skippin’ rocks on the river by the railroad tracks. She had a suntan line and red lipstick. I worked so hard for that first kiss, and a heart don’t forget something like that.”

Natasha stops singing as soon as he drops off. He insists that she keep going though, nodding and tapping along on his steering wheel while she finishes the song.

When the smoky smell of barbecue hits her nose, she sits up to search the roadside for their destination. Seresin smiles. “You know it’s the real deal if you can smell it before you see it.”

Not too long after he pulls off into a gravel covered area beside what she can only describe as a nondescript shack with four picnic tables out front. Still, three of the tables are nearly full. A large, faded hand painted sign propped against the side of the building reads “Leroy’s BBQ.”

“Guess I should’ve checked to see if you had plans to murder me before I agreed to this,” she jokes, peering past him through the window.

He turns off his car and undoes his seatbelt. “If you want the good stuff, you have to go where people just go for the food. Looks like we’re catching the end of the dinner rush. You’re going to want to get the red velvet, but I guarantee you’ll need it to go. Oh, and this.” He reaches over and retrieves a can of bug spray from the glove compartment. Outside, they spray themselves down.

Natasha follows him up to the window.

“My man!” exclaims the elderly Black man behind the counter as soon as Seresin walks up. He wears a black baseball cap over his graying hair, frameless glasses, and an old red “Leroy’s BBQ” t-shirt that hangs off him as if even broader shoulders and chest once filled it. “How’s it goin’, Mr. Pilot?”

Seresin leans on the ledge that runs beneath the window like this is a regular ritual for them. “Not bad, Mr. Leroy.” There’s more respect in his voice than he gives even most senior officers. His Texas twang is also more pronounced, and she can’t tell if he’s dialing it up here or tones it down around everyone else. “How’s it going? Where’s Ma Lu?”

“Business good, so we good,” Mr. Leroy says, bowing his head slightly. “Don’t worry. She made me put your potato salad aside before we run out. Lu’s over helpin’ her sister tonight. She threw out her back, says she did it lifting somethin’ heavy, but I told Lu that woman probably wasn’t lifting nothing heavier than her skirt. If you know what I mean.”

Natasha covers her smile with her hand, appreciating that he’s found the politest way to say something so rude. Mr. Leroy cackles but noticing Seresin laugh somewhat half-heartedly, he leans forward. “Wait a minute now, Ensign, this beauty here with you? Hello there, Miss. Whowee, you must be somebody real special because–.”

Horrified, she backpedals away from Seresin so fast that she nearly topples into the couple in line behind them. “No, I–.”

“She works with me,” he jumps in, a tinge of pink in his cheeks when he has to grab her upper arm to reel her back from losing her footing. “Don’t get me in trouble, Mr. Leroy. She gives me enough of it already.” He drops her arm like it’s a hot engine and takes a step away. Then puts his hands in his pockets for good measure. “‘Scuse my bad manners for not introducing her sooner. This is Ensign Natasha Trace. We fly together.”

Mr. Leroy looks between them and decides very clearly to keep something to himself. But there’s a knowing lift to his shaggy eyebrows. Another protest rises to her lips, but she pushes it down. They’ve made their point. “Well, real pleasure to meet you, Ensign Trace. Imma have to tell my grandbaby I got to meet a girl Navy pilot today. Isn’t that something else! What can I get y’all?”

Natasha mentally resets and forces herself to push through the awkward moment. “A red velvet to go, and what would you recommend for someone who apparently knows nothing about barbecue?” she jabs at Seresin.

He smiles sheepishly when Mr. Leroy scowls. “He tell you that, Miss Ensign? Don’t pay him no mind. I’ll fix you something good so you know all about it.”

As soon as she’s paid, she suggests saving them seats and escapes before Seresin can answer. His flying tips better be worth it. The sun’s beginning to lower, tinting the sky with vibrant pink and purple, when she slides onto the bench at the end of one of the tables and swings her feet up to hold the seat across from it. Mosquitoes buzz loudly past her ear and around her arms. She slaps them away, grateful for a reason to be slightly annoyed by the time Seresin comes over with two plates sagging under the weight of their food.

Any chagrin melts away with her first bite of the brisket. Sweet, tangy, and tender it falls apart into a mouthful of flavor at the slightest touch of her teeth. A delightful kick of spice tails the first wave of flavors.

“Good, isn’t it?” he asks, lips already covered in barbecue sauce.

She nods, mouth too full to respond. He lets her try everything on her plate before he dives into the promised information. With the same enthusiasm he had in the car, he explains and demonstrates with his hand how to adjust her speed on entry to angle her plane to minimize air resistance as fast as possible and accelerate through the direction shift. When she asks, he also points out several other areas where she could make a few adjustments for better results.

Plenty of the guys have tried to tell her how to fly, even when she’s outflown them, but Seresin’s eye is impressively sharp. He can tell her exactly what she’s doing in the cockpit and how it’s impacting her outcome.

Dusk has fallen around them, the sunlight replaced by floodlights from the shack’s overhang. Insects rattle and whir loudly over the chatter of the other patrons and the occasional car passing along the two lane highway. She feels her shirt start to cling to the sweat on her lower back, but Seresin looks unfazed by the heat as he takes a deep pull from his beer. The front of his dirty blond hair lays flat across his forehead, and in the dimmer light, his normally taunting douchebagness softens into something almost resembling sweet and playful.

Natasha slams the breaks on those thoughts. “But the manual says–,” she starts, getting her mind back on track.

Seresin lowers a rib from his lips. “The manual tells you what your plane should do, not what it can do. It’s the lowest common denominator to keep every bozo who goes up in a jet alive.” He considers her with a long, thoughtful look. “But you’re not exactly the lowest common denominator, are you, Trace?”

She sees his point but also the compliment. “Thanks.” She tries not to sound surprised or too grateful, like she needs his approval to know she’s good at what she does. But, the compliment feels good.

Wanting to settle what happened at the counter, Natasha weighs her next words as she scrubs her fingers. His attention has turned to his cornbread, which he sops through the sauce on his plate before devouring it in three large bites. “You know, this whole time you’re the only guy who’s been single at some point and never made a pass at me. Well, except for the ones who wouldn’t be interested anyway.”

He goes still mid-bite. “Bradshaw?” he blurts then jerks his hand up to catch the crumbs that tumble out his mouth.

“To be fair, I don’t think he would’ve under different circumstances.” She normally ducks out before the guys get too drunk, but Bradshaw can get so wasted that she worries he’ll get himself into trouble if she leaves. And it hadn’t exactly been his finest moment. He’d vomited down the front of his shirt, and she was trying to help him get undressed without smearing it in his hair. Worried she’s given Seresin ammo he doesn’t need, she says sharply, “Don’t tell him I told you that. I was just trying to say that I appreciate it. Even if otherwise, you’re the biggest pain in my ass.”

He gulps down the rest of his cornbread and gives her a flirtatious smirk. “I’ll take that. Better than being a smaller one. And I figured you were just here for the same reason I am. To be the best pilot.”

Of course he always has to undermine anything thoughtful with something so immature. She rolls her eyes. Only a few more weeks until he leaves behind peace and quiet.

At home, Natasha stashes her leftovers in the fridge and sets the red velvet cake on the counter. It looks so tempting. And although she’s still full, she figures it can’t hurt to try a little bit. Breaking off a small piece with her fingers, she brings it to her lips and gives it a tentative nibble then shoves it in her mouth with a groan. She closes her eyes and leans into the counter, overcome by how good it is.

Sweeping the icing from her upper lip with her tongue, she’s suddenly caught up in the sensation of Jake Seresin teasing her lips apart. Tentatively she turns the cake over in her mouth, and he’s deepened the kiss so that his tongue brushes hers, as soft and lingering and smooth as the red velvet’s rich flavor. One hand skims between her shoulders to draw her close to his firm chest as the thumb of the other guides her head back so his mouth can taste all of hers, hungry, scorching, and possessive.

Wait.

Natasha’s eyes fly open. Where the hell did that come from? Her face burns like he’s right there to see her think about him that way. She shoves the cake away and retreats to her room for a night with her vibrator. Clearly she hasn’t blown off enough steam lately.

On Monday, she does as Seresin suggested and manages to throw her instructor. “Yes!” she whoops after making sure she’s changed the comms channel so no one can hear her celebrating.

She’s just scrambled out of her plane when MacGyver strolls up to her. “Good job up there today, Trace. Guess Seresin talked to you?”

“Sir?”

“You were close. Figured you’d nail it with a few pointers.” He claps her on the shoulder and walks away. Natasha stares after him, heart sinking. She’d thought…so Jake Seresin hadn’t wanted to be helpful. He was just following orders. Like he said, they’re both here to be the best pilots.

Bradshaw jogs up to high five her, but Natasha feels its sting more than its triumph.

The second time it happens, it’s not really her fault.

Natasha sinks the ping pong ball neatly into the last solo cup. “Yes!” shouts Rooster, lifting her off her feet and spinning her in his excitement. On the other side of the table, Coyote kisses his girlfriend, Vicky, for a game well played if lost.

Riptide has organized an extended weekend at her college friend’s family cabin in Whistler. Cabin is an understatement considering the breathtaking mountain views from the living and dining room’s floor to ceiling windows. The kitchen is large enough that they’ve set up a folding table for their pre-dinner beer pong game without getting in the way of the first night’s dinner crew. The Korean tacos Jumanji and his girlfriend Paloma are cooking up smell delicious.

Natasha is laughing and trying to wriggle out of Rooster’s grip when the doorbell rings. Riptide crams a guacamole laden tortilla chip in her mouth and hops off her boyfriend’s lap to get the door.

“You made it!” she exclaims.

It must be Hangman. His deployment kept getting extended, and they weren’t sure he would make it back in time. Everything in the kitchen goes quiet as they all register the raised voices.

“I know, okay! But we’re here so can we please try to enjoy the weekend?” Hangman argues.

“Why couldn’t we stay at a hotel?” a woman complains.

“I told you. Everything nearby is sold out. Besides, we’re staying here. This place is huge, Rip! Good to see you.”

“Oh Lord,” Vicky mutters under her breath. Coyote shoots her a warning look that she ignores. “You didn’t tell me he was bringing her.”

He reaches for his drink. “I didn’t know she was coming.” Vicky’s frown says she doesn’t believe that. “Until this morning,” he caves and ducks into his cup.

Great. It’s bad enough Hangman is here but with an annoying girlfriend to boot? Natasha turns to Rooster and motions for him to pass her beer. This weekend is going to be long in a way she hasn’t planned for.

Riptide tries to ease the situation by hyping the house’s hot tub and movie theater, but Hangman’s girlfriend is still pouting when she follows him and Riptide into the kitchen. Almost as tall as he is with chestnut waves, wide sapphire eyes and flawless skin, she would be stunning if she didn’t look like a toddler on the verge of a tantrum.

She turns on him before he has a chance to introduce her. “You didn’t tell them that I’m vegetarian? What am I going to eat?”

Vicky scowls like she has an answer to that, but Coyote wraps an arm around her neck and whispers something in her ear.

“Babe, I’m sure we’ll figure it out,” Hangman assures her, rubbing a hand over her back. “Just…hey, y’all! This is my girlfriend, Cally.” He smiles like they haven’t been arguing since they walked through the door.

Cally gives everyone a sullen wave while they go around and introduce themselves.

The upside of Cally being there is that she demands so much of Hangman’s attention that he doesn’t have time to annoy anyone. Even though Paloma makes a hearty salad to go along with the tacos, Cally insists that he get up from the table to make her a cheese quesadilla. Then she nearly storms off when she learns that all the bedrooms have been taken. By the end of dinner, Natasha seems to be the only one to have found anything to appreciate about her.

Under the guise of changing into their swimsuits for the hot tub, Paloma and Vicky make a quick exit upstairs to gossip. They text Natasha to join while she’s helping with dinner clean up, but Riptide pulls her aside into the bathroom. Her face is pinched with guilt, and she fidgets with the ends of her braids.

“I have a huge favor to ask you,” she says, glancing at the door and keeping her voice low. Natasha expects what’s coming.

“You want me to give them my room,” she sighs, letting her friend off the hook from having to ask.

Riptide grimaces and massages her forehead. “Essentially. If that’s okay? I didn’t think it would be a big deal to give them the air mattress since they confirmed so late, but I think that might be more of a headache than it’s worth. I was going to give them our room, but Drew’s about to lose it after dinner.”

Although Natasha has finally found a reason to be annoyed with Hangman, she feels bad that her friend is stressed during what’s supposed to be her vacation. “Yeah, it’s okay. I don’t mind the air mattress.”

“No, you can have the sofa bed. Rooster already volunteered to take the air mattress.”

Natasha tries to read in Riptide’s expression whether she’s picked up anything from Rooster’s offer, but she seems too caught up in hosting logistics to worry about his motives. “Don’t worry. I promise we’ll have a good time this weekend and laugh about this later.”

Riptide smiles appreciatively and goes to let Hangman know about the switch while Natasha packs up her things.

“Trace, you don’t have to do this.”

She looks up from stuffing her snow pants into her duffel bag. Hangman hovers in the doorway, and if she didn’t know him so well, she would say he looks embarrassed.

“It’s Phoenix now,” she reminds him. “So you think your girlfriend’s going to go from wanting a hotel to being okay with an air mattress?”

“I’ll talk to her,” he says lamely. He glances down the hall then steps into the room and closes the door. “This was her first deployment, and I think it was a lot harder than she expected. I’m trying to–.”

“I’ll let you know when I want to listen to your girl problems, Seresin,” she cuts him off. Natasha swings her bag onto her shoulder.

Some of his usual cockiness returns, and a slow, obnoxious grin breaks across his face. “It’s Hangman now,” he says, gleefully replaying her words to her. “Or Hungman, depending on who you ask.”

Natasha snuffs out the flicker of curiosity about the truth of that claim. “Whatever. I wasn’t asking. If you want to feel bad about evicting me, help me with my board.” She kicks her foot toward where her gear is propped against the wall.

“This is yours?” He hurries on from her exasperated look. “I mean, you must be pretty good if you have a board this nice.”

“I am. Watch out!” she warns just in time for him to sidestep the door from hitting his back as it flies open. He catches it before it can hit her gear.

“Jake?” Cally snaps. Her eyes land on Natasha and narrow. “I’ve been calling you. I needed help with our bags. What were you doing in here?”

“Driving me up the wall,” Natasha says, letting her irritation come through loud and clear. “Take him. He’s all yours. Bed’s changed by the way. I’ll be back in a sec to grab my board and stuff.”

“I got it,” Rooster offers from the hallway behind Cally. He and Coyote have what she assumes are Hangman and Cally’s bags.

“Perfect!” Natasha shoves past Hangman out of the room.

Later that night, she’s curled up under a wonderfully heavy and warm down comforter when the sofa bed dips around her with Rooster’s weight. His nose traces the edge of her ear, sending a shiver down her back. “You still awake?” he whispers.

Natasha rolls onto her back under him, her lower abdomen already curling with molten desire at his hovering heat and bare chest. “And if I weren’t?”

He kisses a sensitive spot behind her ear, silencing her warning that they could get caught before it makes it to her tongue. “Guess I’d have to rub another one out after seeing how cute you looked in your swimsuit.”

“I was more than cute,” she complains, but his appreciation for the red bikini she’d packed for him isn’t lost on her.

“Whatever the word is then for wanting to tear it off you.” Rooster moves his mouth to her neck and the brush of his mustache is doing wild things to her ability to think straight. She wraps her arms around his broad shoulders.

“Did you really…”

He exhales impatiently over her collarbone. “So I was a little desperate. D’you want to tease me about it or find out what I imagined doing to you?” Sliding off the strap of her tank top, he gives her a preview of what he had in mind.

“Not here,” she exhales needily.

“Bathroom?” he suggests. He moves out of the way while she throws off the covers, but then he lifts her off her feet so she can feel exactly how much he’s been enjoying thinking about her in her swimsuit. Her hand is down his pants before he fumbles the door closed behind them.

The next morning, the whole house can hear the full pitched fight between Hangman and Cally about whether or not they’re going to the slopes that day. Still in her pajamas, Vicky jams her finger into the coffee brew machine. “I have not had enough coffee for her to start this early,” she mutters under her breath. She glares over at Coyote. “If you don’t say something, Javy, I will.”

Riptide looks around in defeat. “Let’s just pack the car?”

They’re almost ready to go when Hangman comes downstairs by himself. Natasha finds herself stuck in a car alone with him because Riptide, Drew, Paloma, and Jumanji are in the other one with their ski equipment. He sends several texts then continues to check his phone. His brow furrows more and more each time.

“I think she’s ignoring me.” He tries calling, but it cuts off and goes to voicemail. “Definitely ignoring me.”

Whether she likes it or not, it seems like she’s going to be dragged into his mess one way or another. “Did I miss something or is she not coming because she’s mad she doesn’t have you to herself this weekend?” Natasha asks, keeping her eye out for black ice along the road.

“Please don’t ask me to explain that logic,” he groans, forehead propped in his hand. “But yes.”

She can’t resist being a little bit of a jerk. “You picked a real keeper, didn’t you?”

He makes a sad, non-committal noise and slumps in his seat. Natasha tells herself it’s for all their sakes that she decides to make him an offer. “Look, I can’t believe I’m saying this or even willing to do it, but I’m pretty sure I know how to get her to the mountain by lunch.” Hangman looks at her skeptically, and she gives him a sly smile. “A little FOMO never hurt anyone, right?”

“Are you suggesting what I think you’re suggesting,” he demands suspiciously. “You want to make my girlfriend jealous?”

Turning into the parking lot, she follows the other SUV to a pair of open spaces. “Who said anything about jealousy? I’m sure everyone wants to know how much fun we’re having up here.”

Hangman looks nonplussed. “Phoenix, of all people–.”

She pulls the parking brake with a shrug. “It seems like the situation might be dire enough. It’s up to you. Do you want my help or not?”

Paloma needs only the suggestion that they send a few pictures back to the house to go into photographer mode. She poses them with the Olympic rings and as a group in no time. Natasha is careful to always be beside Hangman. In one of them, she leans her head into his shoulder, which would have passed for platonic if Paloma hadn’t caught the moment he looked down at her in surprise.

It’s the first Paloma selects among the ones she sends to the group chat. “If this works,” she mutters, “you’re my hero.”

Natasha pats her shoulder. “Hopefully.” She turns to Hangman. “Now put your phone on do not disturb, and try to have some fun.”

By the time they’re on the chairlift, he has over ten missed texts. He frowns and tries to scroll through them, but she covers the screen with her mitten. “You’re on your own if you start moping and ruin this glorious morning for me. You can think about her when you see her at lunch.”

“You sound pretty confident about that,” he grumbles but reluctantly puts his phone away.

As soon as Natasha looks down the mountain with her boots strapped in, she couldn’t care less about Hangman’s girl problems. There’s a nearly fresh plane of powdery snow in front of her and the wind to their backs. She takes a steadying breath to get her bearings and shakes out her arms. For some reason, her first run of the season always comes with the fear that she’s somehow forgotten everything. It’ll pass as soon as she gets going.

“Gonna show me what you got?” Hangman challenges, watching her hesitation.

That’s all the push she needs. “If you can keep up,” she scoffs and launches herself forward.

Before flying planes, there was this, flying down a mountain with the tingling combination of cold air and warm sun on her exposed face as her board carves through the snow and the forces of gravity. She’ll get fancy later when her muscles have warmed up and their memory fully returns. For now she focuses on her speed, tightening her turns and sinking back into the rhythm of her tilts. Her mitten skims the snow, like the shadow of a plane over a still white ocean, and a thrill goes through her as she returns to the unchanging pocket of exhilaration snowboarding has always brought her.

It’s over too fast, just as she’s locking into her rhythm. As she approaches the bottom of the slope, Natasha straightens and lets the board’s friction slow her down while she looks out for Hangman. He’s not far behind her, and she’s a little smug to see that his confidence carries him as much as his skill. But she’s better. Rubbing it in, she unstraps her boot while she waits for him to catch up and pretends to check her watch.

“Are you kidding me, Phoenix! What was that?” His jaw is still slack when he reaches her.

She can’t help grinning. “A warm up. Sweating already, Hangman?”

“A little,” he admits without hesitation on their way back toward the chairlift. He may give her shit in the air, but apparently not here. “Show me how you go that fast?”

“Of course my young Padawan,” she teases. “But first you can tell the group chat that I kicked your ass on the run.”

Hangman takes a selfie of them helmet to helmet. Tongue tucked between his teeth, he types out a message then shows it to her for her approval before sending it off. He scrolls through his messages.

“She wants to know if it’s just you and me up here,” he reports. He scratches his jaw in thought and starts to respond.

Natasha assumed someone as hot–speaking as a completely objective third party observer–as Hangman would be better at this. “I can’t believe I’m helping you manipulate this girl but don’t reply to that just yet.”

He hesitates then slides his phone away. “Who knew Natasha Trace could be such a player,” he drawls, offering her a hand onto the lift that she ignores. “What poor guy is trying to play your games?”

That’s not a train of thought she wants him to follow to Bradshaw, so she says, “I’m single and very happy about it, dickhead. And I’m making an exception so your girlfriend doesn’t ruin everyone’s vacation. I hate games.” The words are barely out of her mouth before she regrets them. “Shit. Sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

He deflates. “Why? Everyone’s thinking it. I probably should’ve canceled when she asked me to, but it’s not like I get all that many chances to introduce her to my Navy friends.”

“That’s…sweet.” She’s surprised that she means it, to know that it matters to him that his girlfriend meets his friends. Trying to be more empathetic, Natasha says, “Look, she’s probably nervous about staying in a house with a bunch of people she doesn’t know and disappointed that she didn’t get time alone with you when you got back. Make a reservation for dinner tonight at one of the nice restaurants then surprise her with a couple’s spa date tomorrow afternoon. I’ll settle things down at the house while you’re gone.

They hop off the lift and skate out of the way of the oncoming chairs. “Also, you can tell her now it sucks that she’s not the one up here with you. Hope you’ll be able to ditch me for her after lunch.”

With his goggles covering half his face, it’s hard to read his expression but there’s an intensity around his mouth that makes her suddenly nervous. It dawns on her that this might be the longest stretch of conversation they’ve ever had where he’s spared her his sarcasm and baiting. It’s not her better half, but it’s been kind of nice to play the asshole in their relationship for once. “Phoenix?”

She crouches to set her straps and break the moment. “Yep, that’s what they call me now,” Natasha jokes to dispel the tension.

“I’ll think about her at lunch, okay? Let’s just enjoy the glorious morning.”

Hearing him repeat her words back to her makes her stomach do an odd swoop, like she hit a large drop in the road too fast. “Yeah, okay.” She recovers. “You go first so I can tell you what to do.”

He gives her a salute and a grin. “Aye aye, skipper.”

“Don’t,” she deadpans, but she doesn’t mind that he continues to call her that for the rest of their glorious morning.

“How’d I do that time?” he asks after their last run before lunch. “It felt good, but I–.”

It feels so strange for him to look for her approval that she wants to check under his goggles to make sure this is the same asshole who loves to remind her what an excellent pilot he is. “You’re getting there,” is all she says, ignoring the flutter in her stomach at the determined set of his mouth.

As Natasha promised, Cally is waiting for them. Her hair is beautifully blown out and her makeup perfectly airbrushed even though she’s dressed to ski. Now that she’s beaming, it’s obvious what Hangman sees in her. Natasha left for the day with no makeup and her hair in pigtail braids. Cally hurries over from the table that the house crew saved to kiss Hangman and apologize profusely for their fight that morning. He hooks an arm around her waist to whisper his plans for their candlelit dinner, and she giggles then rests her head on his shoulder.

Natasha buries her sudden disappointment that she’ll be on the slopes by herself later with a plan to try some tricks now that Hangman isn’t there to slow her down. She sits next to Rooster and by the time she orders her grilled cheese and tomato soup, she’s looking forward to the rest of the afternoon.

Vicky leans in when she’s sure everyone’s distracted by their food. “For some reason she thought you and Rooster were a thing,” she giggles to Natasha quietly. “You should’ve seen her face when she found out you’re single. Her attitude got fixed so fast it almost gave me whiplash.”

Natasha’s careful to laugh along but makes a note not to sit by Bradshaw at dinner. Not that anyone pays attention with the tension in the house now past and the fun turned up to full, drunk blast. Everyone, except Rooster that is. He doesn’t ask about Hangman, and he won’t with their arrangement. But that night, as she rides him in the nest of blankets they laid out in the bathroom’s oversized bathtub, he cups her face and draws her close.

Hazel eyes smoldering, he demands, “Say my name. My actual name.”

She blinks through her heady, alcohol blurred haze. “Bradley?” He pushes up deeper into her so that she gasps and falls forward over him, bracing herself on his shoulders and caressing his puckered scar under her thumb.

He kisses her mouth, hard and possessive. “Say it again,” he begs against her swollen lips.

“Bradley.” Her eyes trace his face. She’s struck by how much younger, more vulnerable he looks beneath his mustache. He swallows under her scrutiny, chin jutting out defiantly. She rocks her hips and buries her moan in his mouth. “I want you to fuck me, Bradley Bradshaw.” And he does, in a way he never has, driving away any inklings from that morning and holding his hand over her mouth to muffle the wail drawn from the obliterating force of her orgasm.

The third time it happens, it’s a slip of the tongue.

“I thought we put the do not disturb sign on the door last night,” Rooster complains when a knock interrupts the afternoon they’ve spent not getting out of bed after Turbo’s wedding. “Ignore it please,” he asks, holding onto her thighs when she tries to get off him to get it.

“Shhh,” Natasha teases, putting a finger to his pouting lips. “You’re not supposed to be here.” He captures and kisses the inside of her wrist. One final plea for her to ignore the second knock. She leans over him, deliberately letting her chest rest at his eye level. “The sooner you let me get it,” she whispers, “the sooner I can come back and give you a blow job.”

His eyes go wide and dark, and his hands spring off her. Laughing quietly, she drags on a sweatshirt and shorts.

Checking the peephole, she’s surprised to see Hangman’s date to the wedding, Jamie, standing nervously outside. Natasha leans into the bathroom to check the mirror, making sure it’s not entirely obvious what she’s been up to most of the day. Quickly, she runs a hand through her hair and opens the door.

“Natasha,” Jamie gasps, almost as if she’s surprised to see her. Although casually dressed, she’s as put together as she was at the reception. Before whatever happened with Hangman that left her crying and disheveled. She’d insisted she hadn’t been hurt, but it was clear she’d left him in a hurry.

“Hey, everything okay?” Natasha asks gently.

Jamie gathers herself and holds out a small shopping bag. “I washed your clothes. And got you something. As a thank you for last night.”

Natasha’s touched by the gesture. “You didn’t have to get me anything,” she says, taking the bag. “I just wanted to make sure you got home okay. I’m so glad you were at our table last night. It was so much fun.”

Suddenly, Jamie looks as if she’s going to cry again. “You did? I mean, I’m glad. Me too.”

Natasha sets the bag down inside the door. “Are you sure everything’s okay? Do you want to come in?” Behind her, Rooster stifles a yelp. She should have tossed him some clothes.

Jamie shakes her head. “I need to get going anyway. My friend’s waiting downstairs. But I–-I wanted to let you know that I promise I had no idea what was going on last night so I meant everything I said and did.” She twists her hands.

Bewildered, Natasha tries to figure out what she means. “I never thought you didn’t. What was going on?”

Jamie looks relieved and a little embarrassed. “As long as you’re not upset. I wasn’t sure. Maybe it was all in my head. I probably had too many of those amazing cocktails. I wish I’d thought to ask what’s in them.”

Natasha can tell she’s lying, or at least omitting something, but she doesn’t know her well enough to press. “Well, I think I can say there was nothing going on as far as I know, and I had a lot of fun.” She offers her arms, and Jamie steps in for the hug. “I can’t wait to see where you match!”

“Thanks!” Jamie tells her, sounding much happier. “And if we end up near one another, I’d love to hang out. Okay, I’d better go!”

“Anytime,” Natasha promises. “See you!” She waves and closes the door.

On her way back to the bed, she strips off her sweatshirt and pushes her shorts down her hips. “I kind of hoped it would work out between her and Hangman,” she muses, stepping out of her bottoms and tossing them into her suitcase. “Seems like she’d be good for him.”

When she turns back around, Rooster is sitting up in the bed staring at her incredulously. “You’re not mad?”

“Mad?” she laughs. “About what?”

“Are you serious, Phoenix? After what she just told you.” He draws his legs up under the sheets and rests his elbows on them. He’s close to needing a haircut and the way his mussed curls fall over his forehead makes her want to return to their previous activities.

Natasha puts her hands on her hips. “Are you okay?”

His expression hardens and his eyebrows knit together. “Are you fucking serious right now?”

The humor drops from her mouth. What the hell is Rooster getting angry about now? “Yeah, I’m fucking serious right now. What the hell is the problem?”

“Hangman tried using her to make you jealous and you don’t have a problem with that?”

It’s her turn to stare incredulously. “Were you even in the room? Who said anything about Hangman making me jealous?”

Rooster’s getting worked up, his face flushing. “What the hell do you think she was apologizing for? It doesn’t take a genius to put it together, Tash. She leaves Hangman crying in the middle of the night then comes and tells you something was going on that she didn’t know she was part of. He was using her!”

As much as she wants to believe it, she knows whatever Jamie felt was going on wasn’t only in her head. And Hangman trying to use Jamie to make her jealous makes the most sense. Especially if he has no idea about her and Rooster.

But then again, she hasn’t missed Rooster’s jealousy either. The way he put his hand on her back when he saw Hangman at their table. How he would check in if she was at the bar longer than five minutes.

“And so what if he was?” she argues.

Rooster flexes his fingers out of a fist. He speaks slowly, as if she’s stupid. “If he’s trying to make you jealous then that means he likes you.”

Natasha crosses her arms. “And so what if he does?”

“It’s Hangman!”

“If it’s Hangman,” she shoots back, “then what are you so worried about?”

He opens his mouth then realizes what he’s about to say. She dares him to ask, to accuse her of having feelings for Hangman. Because they both know that when he does that, it’s the end of their friends with benefits arrangement. Sullenly, he looks away.

Natasha’s mouth goes dry. It doesn’t matter that Rooster didn’t say it. Because it’s there, filling up the room and pushing them apart. She’s surprised at the knot in her throat.

“Natasha, please don’t,” he says with a tremor in his voice.

She tries to say them gently, but the words still come out like a stab. “It’ll just get harder.”

Rooster drops his head, chin trembling. “And you can’t.” He looks up at her with tears in his eyes. “We can’t make it work?”

“As friends? Of course,” she promises. “But, what I think you’re asking for? No. I’m sorry.” It probably won’t mean much to him right now, but she hopes that it can save a fragment of their friendship someday. “I knew before I got here this would be the last time. We just had a little less of it than I thought.”

He puts his head in his hands and clutches the curls she’d only recently been looking forward to winding around her finger. Somehow that was five minutes and a lifetime ago. Unable to watch his heart break any more, Natasha flees to the bathroom.

Every so often, she can hear Rooster’s sobs from the bedroom. Finally, she climbs into the shower and lets his scent wash off her. She wants to be angry at Hangman for the mess he started, but her gut tells her that he didn’t mean to do it. And she can’t help but wonder if there’s a kernel of truth beneath Rooster’s jealousy. Hangman couldn’t possibly have feelings for her, could he?

Rooster comes to check on her, and she opens the curtain for him to join her. While they stand naked under the water, she gingerly presses a cool washcloth to each side of his swollen face. He takes her elbows, and Natasha lets him pull her in for one last farewell to what they had.

The fourth time it happens, it’s an act of desperation.

“What the hell was that, Phoenix!” Hangman seethes once they can climb to their feet.

Two hundred push ups and her arms are killing her. She’s going to kill Payback and Fanboy as soon as she has the muscle strength to do so. Bob looks between the two of them.

“What the hell was what, Bagman?” she asks, slaking the sweat off her forehead and flicking it away.

“You got me shot down!”

“Your ego got you shot down, dickhead. You got us shot down.”

“Because I thought you could handle Maverick.”

She knows him well enough to see that he’s dead serious. Hangman watched every other team get their asses whooped today and still thought she had a chance. Of course he gives her a compliment in a moment of total assholery.

“Come on, Bob. I think we need to let someone cool off a little.” Her WSO gives Hangman one final look, as if afraid the daggers he’s glaring might actually stab them in the back, and follows her toward the hangar.

But it’s really her who needs to cool off. Hangman’s going to try to get inside all of their heads to cull the competition. It’s why he wanted to win so badly today. A day one winner is going to set everyone on edge. But then she beat him at his own game. All these years, and he still hasn’t figured out how to get inside her head. Although, their first night at The Hard Deck tells her he might be getting close.

“Is he always like this?” Bob asks, looking over his shoulder again.

“What, already bored?” she jokes.

“I wish,” he sighs. “How are we supposed to fly with him?”

Natasha sighs and looks back at Hangman. “We’re not. We’re flying with Rooster,” she says firmly. If Rooster can get his act together because he’s clearly not handling having to work with Maverick well. But she can crack that nut later. Men are so fucking emotional.

Although Bob invites her to head straight to The Hard Deck, she makes up an excuse to go back to the Navy Lodge and promises to meet him later.

The room’s door has barely closed behind her before she’s stripping off her flight suit and undershirt. Her bra and underwear go into the pile of sweaty clothing.

She’s in such a rush that the water is still warming up when she steps into the shower. But she can’t wait any longer remembering the bunch of Hangman’s muscles during their pushups, the trail of sweat glistening along his temple and down his neck. Her fingers work her clit while her other hand squeezes her breast, fingers pinching her hardening nipple. She’s already wet when she lifts her leg onto the ledge of the tub. Fingers tracing along her slit, Natasha gasps and presses her forehead to the tile.

She closes her eyes and imagines that it’s Hangman's fingers pushing into her, simultaneously gratifying and inflaming her need. On overdrive, her brain flickers through his self-satisfied smile watching her mouth fall open with a cry, eyebrows lifting in curiosity before he peels her thighs wider so he can see how deep his fingers fit her, and nostrils flaring when she thrusts her hips up to take him deeper. Green eyes darken and his breath shallows while the pads of his fingers drag and massage her slickness over the demanding bundle of nerves at her core. “What the hell, Phoenix?” he asks huskily, and she thinks about how much she’s always loved the inflection he puts on her call sign.

Fingers are not enough. Natasha clutches her lip in her teeth to soften the desperate moans rising from her throat. She wants him, wants to feel the stretch of him pushing into her, the friction of his thrusts, the frenetic subduction of their hips until he erupts long and deep inside her. And she wants to watch the look of determination on Jake Seresin’s face, track that deep furrow in his brow, the tuck of his lips, and the taut stretch of his cheeks as he forces her careening over the edge.

Abdomen muscles contracting, Natasha hunches and rocks forward winding everything in her tighter and tighter between her thumb on her clit and the fingers pumping inside her. Water splashes into her mouth through her parted lips. She’s abandoned all attempts to be quiet and comes crying out, “Fucking dickhead!”

The fifth time it happens, it’s a surrender.

Riptide lets Natasha’s final curl fall from the flat iron and sets it aside. Carefully, she runs her fingers through her beautiful work until the curls fall exactly the way she wants. Watching Natasha’s face in the handheld mirror, she tugs a few forward over her shoulders.

“Girl, why are you so nervous?” Riptide laughs. She takes a step back and rests a hand on her pregnant stomach. “You’ve known this man how long now?”

Natasha smoothes out the skirt of her sundress. “I know but dating him is different, Rip. Especially long distance.” They haven’t told the Navy yet about their relationship so it’s been nearly six months of trying to spend time together three thousand miles apart in between crazy work schedules.

Bob rolls his eyes, and it’s like watching a mirror version of her. They’re in her bedroom where Riptide has been doing Natasha’s hair and makeup for her date with Jake tonight. He managed to get enough time off to come for the weekend. Bob’s lounging on her bed watching RuPaul’s Drag Race and lending his moral support. “Why? You talk to him every day. At this point, probably more than you talk to me.”

“I love talking to you, Bob,” she reassures him.

“I know you do,” he smirks around a handful of popcorn. “But I’ve seen your texts and you’ve never told me–.”

She whips a pillow at him to shut him up before he can say what he saw. He gets caught between protecting his glasses and the popcorn and sacrifices the glasses to Natasha’s aim. Riptide laughs and unplugs the flat iron before it gets knocked over. “I’m the one walking around with a stomach that screams I had sex.”

“Is that what being pregnant really feels like?” Natasha asks curiously.

“Why? Are you thinking about it?”

Face burning, Natasha looks between Riptide and Bob eyeing her like she has something to tell them. Or Jake. “No! I’m not. We haven’t even…we’re nowhere near that.”

Bob fixes his glasses. “He hasn’t said I love you yet,” he says quietly. But he doesn’t complain that this is probably what she’s talked to him most about lately. Bob is a saint of a partner.

Understanding dawns on Riptide’s face, and she rubs Natasha’s shoulder. “You know that man can’t keep anything simple.” She has a point. Everything with him needs a touch of drama.

Natasha puts away her makeup while Riptide cleans up from doing her hair. Bob checks his phone. “I think I better head out,” he announces.

“I’ll leave with you,” Riptide decides.

“You can stay until Jake gets here,” Natasha offers. “I’m not doing anything.”

Riptide sets her bag on her shoulder. “It still throws me when you call him that. I’d love to stay but I’ve got some errands I need to run.”

“If you only heard what else they call one another,” Bob mutters under his breath, carefully folding up the blanket he was laying on to avoid getting crumbs on her covers. Natasha’s going to have to be more careful about what she says within his hearing.

She walks them out through the garage. After waving them off, she checks both ends of the street hoping Hangman might get there early but only her neighbor from three doors down drives by. Trying to figure out how to keep herself preoccupied for the next hour, she heads back inside.

Natasha stops in the hall at the sound of music. Dolly Parton sings sweetly and softly, “You waltz right in the door, just like you’ve done before and wrap my heart ‘round my little finger.”

Is that coming from inside her house? She goes toward the living room. Her heart jumps and her hands go to her mouth.

Jake waits in the middle of the room for her with a giant bouquet of her favorite flowers, dahlias in full perfect bloom. His face lights up when he sees her shock. “Surprised, Nat?”

Beyond him she can see that he’s set up a table, lights, and white balloons in her backyard. How long has he been here? “What did you do, Jake Seresin?” she blurts.

He sets the flowers down on the sofa and comes to take her in his arms, swaying her to the music. “Well, to start, I came to see you. ‘Cuz you’re looking better than a body has a right to.” Jake dips her, eyes locked on hers. There’s a simmering intensity in his face that she can’t look away from. “I had all these plans.” He brings her back up, his grip growing tighter to hold her closer. Natasha never wants to leave his arms because suddenly it feels as if he’s holding the whole world in them. Or maybe it’s the way he’s looking at her. “But when I really thought about it, I just wanted you to myself when I told you that we only have three more months of being apart.”

Natasha freezes, staring up at him in disbelief. It’s not what she is expecting or hoping he would say, but it is something she hasn’t considered possible. “How?”

Jake grins. “You know the Navy likes to hurry up and wait so it took a minute before I knew for sure. But one of my buddies from the Naval Academy, he’s the new detailer. A guy out here got deep selected for lieutenant commander so they needed someone to fill his role to which I offered yours truly.”

She throws her arms around him. Only three months! “I can’t wait,” she promises.

He strokes her hair. “Well, I think there’s something else you’ve been waiting long enough to hear,” Jake says softly. She draws back. His expression is unguarded, unusually serious and sincere. “I’ve been wanting to tell you for so long how much I love you, Natasha Trace, but when there was a chance I could show you that I actually mean it–.”

Natasha groans at his stupidity and pulls him into a kiss that nearly knocks both of them off balance. But he steadies them and tilts her face up to deepen the kiss. Eyes still closed when they come up for air, she scolds, “What part of flying twelve hours to see each other for thirty six every month doesn’t scream I love you dickhead?” His lips part to answer, and she pulls him back in. “Don’t answer that. I love you, too, Jake Seresin.”

“Here you come again, and here I go.”

Every Time It Comes Around

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