#he passes as a normal dude but you put him in a room with Maverick for an hour and he loses all ability to act like a normal guy

[jiangwanyinsimp]

Tom Iceman Kazansky did not snap his teeth at another man in that locker room to be seen as the normal one in IceMav

[stargazing15]

Can you save me - Chapter eight

Pairing: Bradley Bradshaw x you

Summary: A hero arrived at North island to support Maverick on the Uranium plant mission preparation, underneath the though facade was a girl in desperate need of love, but can she love?

Warnings: TGM plot!, the mission, behind enemy lines, guns

A/N: this is pure fictional, I have no knowledge of the military and I know this is all not possible in real life, it’s all for the sake of the story.

Enjoy!

Series Masterlist - Previous chapter - Next Chapter

The day was finally there. Deployment. The mission. The day of mixed feelings. The soldier in everyone looked forward to this day, the person in everyone didn’t want to leave. The pilot in them wanted to fly the mission, the person in them wanted to be spare.

The days before deployment were intense, the pilots training it to the fullest, post-flight evaluations, you meeting your search and rescue team and in between Rooster learning you every inch of the carrier so could enter it comfortably. And of course sneaking around with Rooster on every single free minute you had, not minding if it was the examination room, a janitor closet, a storage locker in on the hangars or somewhere else.

Due to the confidentiality of the mission your team was small, extremely small. There was the pilot, who was very capable of defending his chopper and there was Tank, who’d be your partner in crime. He definitely hadn’t stolen his nickname, the man did look like a tank, he was broad. Broad as in stick Hangman and Coyote together. He was a scary dude, until he started talking about his pets. If you thought Bradly was cute when falling asleep on your lap when you were running your fingers through his hair, well this man looked like a teddybear with hearteyes when talking about his pets and showing pictures of them. 

The first days on the carrier were okay, after some adjusting you found your routine, keeping yourself busy not to think about mission-day. But it was time. The last debrief, Maverick finally pointing out who would fly and who not.

The tension was icy, yet there’s droplet of sweat on everyone’s forehead, including yours. Every second that passed felt like an hour. And then Maverick said it, you heard his name loud and clear, your heart skipped a couple of beats, your throat suddenly went dry and time seemed to have stopped. Rooster deserved the place, he had proven his worth the last couple of days, but something inside you had hoped he wouldn’t be chosen.

The rest of the briefing was a blur, you got back to reality when most pilots had left and Maverick was standing next to you and putting his hand on your shoulder. It calmed you, but you felt his nervousness.

“I know about you and Rooster, I see it in both your eyes. Thank you for loving him.”

“I, I, I think I do.” You stammered. It wasn’t just you liking him anymore, the realisation is hitting you that you’re truly loving him. The fact that you secretly didn’t want him to fly, the fact that you were afraid to loose him, that you grew used to having him around, waking up next to him and now being sure you want to stay here after this mission, all those feelings are now making sense to you. You had tell him before he leaves, just in case. You were lucky he wasn’t on the deck yet, so you could pull him apart for a moment.

“Be safe, I love you.” You gave him a small loving kiss before someone would pass by.

After your little moment with Rooster, which was way too short, you joined everyone on the deck to wish the daggers good luck.

“Phoenix, Bob, come here you two,” hugging them tightly, “Good luck, get back safe and bring him home too.”

“You really love him, I’m happy you realised. You deserve happiness.”

“Bob, you’re going to make me cry.”

“Have you told him?” You nodded to Phoenix.

“And it looks like those ain’t fighting anymore.” Bob said pointing to Rooster and Hangman talking to each other, normally.

“Thank god, but uh, I have to get back, make me proud.”

“Hey Ricochet!” Fanboy and Payback came running up to you.

“Hey guys, for you two the same, good luck, make me proud.”

“We, uhm,” Payback started.

“Want to say thank you, without you we wouldn’t be standing here.”

“You guys too, does everyone wants to see me cry, come here you dorks. Get back home safely okay?”

You were following the mission in the control room with Hondo and admirals Simpson and Bates when you heard Rooster’s and Maverick’s whisper in the comms “Come on Bradley, you can do it”. You believed in them, but you were nervous because you were not used being on the sidelines. This made you realise how Nate had felt when he sent you on a mission, this must have been awful, knowing all the crazy stunts you have pulled off. Your friend must have aged ten years with each mission you went on, or at least that was how you were feeling at the moment.

“We’ll do our best Ma’am.”

“They’re not there yet.” You mumbled after first Maverick and soon Rooster too successfully hitting the plant. You were holding your breath until the first SAM’s were activated, from that moment on you didn’t dare to open your eyes.Their agonising screaming going straight through your spine as they were under attack, it was a mess, but reminding yourself you needed to stay focused for them.

“Is the chopper ready?” you radioed your pilot quietly.

“Fuelled and ready to go when needed.”

“Dagger one is hit!”

Despite the other pilot’s asks to go after Maverick, Cyclone denied them all.

“Launch search and rescue” Bates tried to order.

“Negative, not with Bandits in the air.” Cyclone sternly answered.

“But sir, Maverick is still out there.” Hondo interrupted, wanting to do everything to save his friend.

“We are not losing anyone else today. Get em home now.”

“Cyclone, sir, with all due respect, you know my team can do this. You know.” You had to try too, but as you were negotiating with Cyclone “Dagger two is hit.” You felt a knife stabbing your heart, you couldn’t breath for a second. You recollected yourself as you saw the chaos in front of you and felt something inside you. Like someone from above needed you to get to action,

“Send me NOW” at this moment you didn’t care anymore if you would get dishonourably discharged, you needed to go.

“Approval, go.”

“Meet you guys in 10 hours.” Your pilot waved you and Tank off.

“Let’s hope that that’s enough to find them and get back.”

This is why they send you and Tank, you were the search team, on foot. It was too dangerous to search with a chopper with the possibility that there were still one or two bandits out there. With your training and knowing the boys, it wasn’t really hard to find idiot number 1 and idiot number 2. The problem was they too close to the blown up base.

“You two okay?” Tank asked when he started to check up on Maverick, you did the same with Rooster, but not before smacking him on the back of his head.

“You two shitheads scared the crap out all of us.”

“Wait, search and rescue are just two people?”

“And our pilot, but yeah two, one babysitter for each of you. And with you being here and not trying to get to the designated location, it is making things a lot more difficult.” You were so mad at him for not listening to you, but also so relieved to see him again after all the uncertainty. 

“Ricochet, girl, just kiss your boyfriend already, relax for one second. This might be the last chance before we’re going to start our journey back. I’m 15 years older, I know when you tried to hold everything back. Might have fooled the rest, not me.” You didn’t need to be told twice by your fellow operator to start kissing Bradley.

“I thought I’d lost you, I was so scared.” You whispered to Rooster.

“I’m so sorry Y/N, I don’t know what I was thinking, I-”

“Tell me when we get back, we still have a long way to go to the pick-up location.” You interrupted him.

“Here,” while you handed over vests and a gun to both idiots, “you two still know how to shoot?”

“Should be no problem” Maverick answered, “you look, different, fully suited.” He was looking at you and your gear, resulting in you grinning at him.

“Okay, the rules, you two listen to us, when you see a bad guy, shoot. Understood?” Both men nodded. The moment you got out of the hiding spot, all of you were on full focus. The first 20 minutes went well, the four of you had made it around the base to the other side. But then yeah, the inevitable happened.

“Fuck, we’ve been discovered!” noticing the shouting and some gunshots further away, but closing in too quickly for your liking. Seeing the direction where they were approaching from, there was no other choice than to split up, otherwise you would all be one big easy target to aim at.

“You take them,” pointing at Rooster and Maverick, “I provide distraction.” Tank gave you a look. “What? They both can hide behind you.” You winked at him, also knowing you had better sharp shooting skills.

“No way in hell we’re leaving you behind. Don’t, please.” Rooster tried to protest.

“This is not up for debate, GO! I’ll see you at the pick-up point.” You split up from them, positioning yourself in a way you see the enemies coming and the rest leaving. You were able to distract the upcoming enemies long enough so they could get away, out of everyone’s sight and on the way to the pick-up point. After taking out a couple of enemies, you moved around not to compromise your exact location.

“Ric, are y.. okay? Can you hear …?” You heard Tank in your earpiece, but his voice was becoming more scrambled by the second, meaning they were about to get out of range for radio contact.

“Busy.” You mumbled out in between trying to defend yourself and escape the crazy zone. But as you were running, you felt a familiar feeling hitting your leg, and one scraping your arm. It felt warm, wet and started to sting.

“Oh shit.” You muttered while starting to feel dizzy.

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[sunlightmurdock]

Sub Rosa | Chapter 6: Target Practice | Bradley Bradshaw x Kazansky!Reader

…

Upon returning home, you were blindsided by borderline incoherent screaming. Your eyes widened at the chain in your mother’s hand. The front door hadn’t even closed yet — you considered just turning around and leaving before she could kill you.

Some stupid part of you hoped that she hadn’t read the name.

“Lieutenant Bradshaw?” Of course she had. “Are you serious, Y/N?”

You closed the door behind you, putting your hands up defensively, “Mommy. Please. I can explain.”

“Oh no you don’t, not this time, young lady.” She grabbed your wrist, tugging you into the sitting room. You sat down on the couch, swallowing as you watched her sit opposite you. You swore you just saw her eye twitch.

This was a true code red situation.

“How long has this been going on?”

You groaned gently, pressing your eyes shut. You have absolutely zero excuses currently prepared. “How long has what been going on?”

Your mother growled in frustration.

“I already told your father. He’s on his way.”

You pressed your lower lip between your teeth, staring her down. You slipped your phone out of your pocket and began to text as quickly as you could. You dodged your mother as she went for your phone the first time. The second, she grabbed it with the hand you weren’t watching and snatched it away.

On base, things were as normal as ever. Rooster was perched beside Phoenix, Bob and Maverick sitting at the desk in front of them, facing the wrong way as the four of them caught up.

"Rooster, you're dismissed for the day."

Rooster turned away from his conversation with his colleagues, confused. Hondo was the one who had made the announcement, standing in the doorway to the class room. He was wearing sunglasses, Rooster couldn't really read the look on his face.

He checked his watch, then looked back at Hondo, twice as confused as he had been. "Huh? It's not even noon yet."

They were due to have a debrief about the events of their deployment in twenty minutes for the next two hours - if Rooster was to leave now, he would miss the most important part of their schedule for the day.

"I don't know, man - I'm just passing on a message. Cyclone said he wants you off base." Hondo shrugged his shoulders, pushing his hands into his pockets. The other pilots now turned to Rooster, intrigued.

"What? - Why?" Rooster frowned, trying his hardest to ignore the eight sets of eyes that were on him.

Hondo looked just as baffled. He shrugged once more, "No idea. Ice called him and then Cyclone told me to send you home for the day."

Maverick dropped the medicine ball he had been holding, wincing as Bob yelped in pain.

"Oh, you're fucked, dude." Hangman breathed, sitting back in his seat. All eyes returned to Rooster. Rooster swallowed, pushing himself up out of his seat silently.

"Rooster, what did you do?" Phoenix asked gently.

Rooster shook his head, tucking his chair back in, he opened his mouth to make an excuse.

"Who." Hangman pretended to cough into his fist. Maverick glared at him. Rooster decided that it was better to just keep his mouth shut at this point in time. He let Hondo lead the way out into the hall.

"I don't know what you did, Rooster," Hondo shook his head in disbelief, "But Cyclone seems worried for you."

Rooster pressed his tongue to the inside of his cheek, digging his car keys from his pocket, "Did he say when he wants me back?"

Hondo gave Rooster a sympathetic look but shook his head. "Sorry. I guess we'll call you after things ease up?"

You watched your phone light up on the coffee table with the third consecutive missed call from Rooster, still saved as Nick in your phone. You couldn't even hear it ringing. Not over your mother's furious ranting.

"Say something!"

You rolled your eyes, resting your temple against your fist on the arm of the couch.

"I have no idea what you're talking about." You decided. You didn't have any excuses fresh in your mind, so you went with the stupid route. Your mother shrieked in frustration. Forty minutes of interrogation and still no progress - she thought to herself that maybe you should've been the one working for the government instead of your father.

"You just wait until your father gets home, young lady!"

You pinched the bridge of your nose. Your mother turned and readjusted her 'evidence', also on the coffee table. You wanted the ground to swallow you whole. Rooster's dog tag, your bra, and your phone were all lined up neatly on the coffee table.

You watched your phone light up with a fourth call from Rooster. You can only assume that the news had somehow reached him already.

You winced as the front door slammed with enough force to rattle the windows in the living room, leaving your eyes shut as heavy boots stomped through the house. Your brows furrowed slightly, hearing the boots pass right by you. You peeked one eye open.

"Tom? - Tom?" Your mother followed after him. "Tom, are you not going to say anything to her?"

You remained where you were, lips pursed and your hands in your lap as you waited for them to return. You listened out for what was happening. Your father was in his office, rummaging around. You froze as your heard his heavy boots crossing the house in your direction.

"Tom, where the hell are you going?"

"To base." Your father announced, turning toward your mother briefly before crossing the room in your direction, back toward the front door. Your mother's method of interrogation may not have worked, but you knew that your father wasn't the type to bluff. He stopped in front of you, seething as he snatched Rooster's tags from the coffee table.

"Dad." You stood up to protest.

"Don't say anything, Y/N." Iceman hadn't gotten to where he was by being friendly, and that had never been more evident. "I'll deal with you when I'm back."

You looked to your mother for help. She may have been disgusted by you at this moment in time, but she hated your father's temper maybe more. She wouldn't look at you.

"What? So-" You were panicking. Your father's eyes narrowed, he had taught you better than this. He didn't even recognise you. "You can't just assault him on government property."

"I'm not going to hit him." Ice answered, turning away from you and heading from the door. He had been planning on it, but he was no use to anyone in prison. "I'm going to fire him."

"What? - He didn't do anything wrong! - You can't just-"

"I can do whatever I want." Ice interrupted, his blue eyes especially cold as he looked at you finally. "Apparently we all do whatever the fuck we please in this house now!"

You winced. You hated it when he raised his voice at you. Being his youngest daughter, he had always been especially soft on you. Your mother had taken care of most of your disciplining growing up because Ice never could say no to you.

Your older siblings constantly whispered among each other about you being his favourite. Ice would never admit it, but they were right.

"Mom, come on - you can't just let him-"

"I think you should stop talking." Your mother folded her arms over her chest. The front door slammed once more, the windows rattling.

Cyclone had only bought Rooster some time. After Ice had called him in a fit of fury, driving home after receiving a particularly distressing call from his wife - Cyclone hadn't gotten most of the story, but from what he understood, he had known what he needed to do.

Now, with Admiral Kazansky positively seething in his office, he knew he had made the correct decision.

"Sir, with all due respect, I think that you should think this through." Hondo glanced over at Cyclone with wide eyes. To him, you would have to be insane to disagree with the Admiral when he was this angry.

Ice glared at Cyclone, silent as he swung open the top drawer of the filing cabinet. Maverick practically burst into the room, slamming the door behind him and half scaring the life out of Hondo.

"Ice-"

"Did you know?"

Maverick took an instinctive step back. He didn't like that look, it had always sent chills right through him. Hondo and Cyclone looked to Maverick expectantly.

"Well, I-"

"Pete. Did you know?"

"Yes, but-"

Maverick dodged as a hardbacked file slammed into the wall right beside his head, both he and Hondo sharing bewildered glances.

"Get out!"

"Ice, listen, Bradley isn't a bad-" Maverick attempted, having to duck as the next file hit the wall directly behind his head, clattering messily to the ground.

"Don't pull that shit with me, Pete." Ice warned, furious as he searched through the files. "The whole navy knows about you and Penny Benjamin. You think I want the same thing for my daughter?"

Pete shut up. It was a low blow to bring Penny into things.

"They didn't tell me. I just overheard-"

"He's been telling people about her?" Hondo flinched as Ice slammed his fist into the side of the filing cabinet.

"No! Just - I think Hangman might've figured it out - I overheard them-" Maverick tripped over his words.

Ice plucked a file from the cabinet, opening it and flicking through its pages. Cyclone furrowed his eyebrows, craning his neck to read the name on the spine.

"He's dead." Ice answered simply, dropping the file and grabbing his car keys from the desk. Maverick stepped into his path, only to be immediately tugged out of danger by Hondo. Hondo shot him a look, shaking his head quickly.

All three eyes looked to the file on the ground, reading the name as Ice left the office. Rooster's file. Containing his home address.

Ice made eye contact with the seven pilots all poking their heads out of the classroom doorway. All seven of them shrunk in different levels of fear, caught in their eavesdropping attempt.

Ice stormed past them.

"D'you think we should call someone?" Cyclone asked quietly, into the suddenly very silent room. Maverick and Hondo looked at him together. "I mean - you don't think he's actually going to kill him, do you?"

"Which one of his daughters was it?" Hondo whispered, knowing only half of a story at this point.

"Y/N." Maverick breathed, leaning his head back against the wall.

"Yeah, he might kill him." Hondo looked down the hall after Ice, catching all seven pilots still staring into the office. All of them ducked back into the classroom at the same time, like they hadn't already been spotted.

You, in the mean time, had been banished to your room. You had stolen back the phone whilst your mother was complaining to your sister. Rooster picked up before the phone second ring.

"Where the hell have you been?"

You clicked the lock on your door, pressing your back against the wood, "Roos, this is so bad."

"How the hell did he even find out?"

"My mom found your dog tags under my bed."

Silence on his end. You listened to him sigh gently. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," You felt tears brimming in your eyes. You refused to cry over the phone to him. "He's really mad."

"Yeah, I just got a text from Hangman." Rooster agreed.

"I'm really sorry." Your voiced cracked slightly.

"Hey, I'm the one who started all of this. I came onto you." There was an ounce of amusement in his voice, trying to lighten the gravity of the situation.

"We should've told him last night." You wiped at your eyes quickly.

"I think he would've freaked out either way."

Rooster closed his eyes, hearing you sniffle on the other end of the line.

"Hey, listen to me," He breathed, "He was always going to freak out. He'll be mad for a while, he'll get over it. This will all blow over."

You didn't really believe him. Your dad was good at holding grudges. Rooster furrowed his eyebrows at the sound of pounding at his front door. His eyes glanced up at your polaroid stuck to his mirror. He knew exactly who was at the door.

"Hey, I'll call you back in a second." Rooster explained as he pushed himself up from his bed, taking the picture down from his mirror and burying it at the bottom of the sock drawer.

He didn't really give you a chance to respond before he ended the call, leaving the phone on the dresser and closing his bedroom door behind him as he crossed the living room to the front door.

Maybe he should have been scared. Hangman's text definitely implied that there was reason to be afraid. Yet, Rooster was stone-faced as he opened the front door, stepping immediately to the side and making room for Ice to come in.

"Admiral Kazansky." He greeted calmly.

…

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[theentiregdtime]

mac buys a motorcycle.

PHILADELPHIA, PA 11:15 ON A MONDAY

"Come on, it's badass, dude! I thought you'd be excited! It's like I'm Ghost Rider and you're- Wait, no, it's like I'm Michael Carrington and you're Stephanie Zinoni!"

"... I'm Stephanie Zinoni."

"Yeah, man, but not like, because of the romance and stuff, because of the motorcycle!"

"That's not even the original, Mac, why is that your first thought-"

"Because I am no ordinary boy, Dennis. I am now a rider... that's cool."

Dennis pinches the bridge of his nose.

Mac assumes it must be because of the mid-morning sun or a hangover or a migraine, not that he's annoyed- because there's no way he could possibly be annoyed with this. It's basically the best thing that's ever happened to them.

One Mac Mcdonald is now the proud owner of an actual, working, not-stolen, bought-with-real-life-money motorcycle. Sure, it's a little... antique and... rustic... and some of those other words people on fixer-upper shows use to describe garbage. But it was cheap and it runs and Mac kinda sorta mostly knows how to ride it- and that's enough for him.

"This is why we never have money for the goddamn groceries, Mac-"

"Dennis, Dennis..." Mac holds out his palms like he's trying to steady a spooked horse, "I didn't take it out of our account."

"Then how- You know what?" Dennis flits a dismissive hand through the air. "I don't care, I don't want to know."

This isn't exactly playing out how Mac had pictured it in his head. He'd tossed in bed for hours last night fantasizing about rolling up on his bike, leaving a trail of gravel and skid marks in his dust. Then Dennis sees him and his jaw drops just before his mouth curves into that big, disbelieving smile, and he thinks Mac's just as cool as Country Mac was (God rest his soul) and he hops on and they speed off and Dee and Frank and Charlie are so jealous and-

It's not going like that at all.

But he could fix this!

Mac curves his eyebrows up into a knot and pouts his lips, staring Dennis down without so much as blinking. Dude could act frustrated all he wanted, but he never said no the puppy dog eyes.

Dennis folds his arms across his chest, lowers his shoulders, and visibly softens. This is working...

"So you want me to ride it with you?" he asks quietly and matter-of-factly, all of the sting gone from his voice.

"Uh-huh."

"And you expect me to sit on the... the bitch seat of this Mad-Maxian death trap?"

"Oh," Mac chirps. "Well, if you're scared, then you don't have to-"

"I am not-!" Dennis steels himself, glaring at the triumphant grin on Mac's lips. His tone is calm when he speaks again. "I am not scared. That's absurd. I am a very impetuous man when I want to be."

Mac simply shrugs. He has no idea what that means, but it sounds like a yes, so he'll take it.

"Then prove it," he teases, turning back to the motorcycle.

Mac knocks the kickstand off the ground with his boot and throws his leg over the seat. He grips the handlebars, just clenching them in his hands, squeezing until his knuckles turn white. Taking a deep, full breath, he revels in this moment. Sure, he was already badass before, but on this thing, he's like fucking Maverick in Top Gun. It's an incredible feeling-

Until Dennis' damn reptilian monster claws dig into his shoulder blades.

"You're supposed to put your arms around me, dude," -Mac clicks his tongue in chastising disapproval- "so you don't fall off and get, like, shredded."

"I am not a goddamn wedge of parmesan cheese, Mac, I will not be shredded by anything," -he slackens his already loose grip- "and it's humiliating enough I have to sit behind you like I'm an aging Harrison Ford, I'm not going to wrap my arms around you."

Mac sighs through his nose in quiet annoyance, like he's dealing with a bratty child (because he essentially is), and revs the engine just once. "Fine, but I'm not paying your hospital bills when you get, and I repeat, shredded."

"I'm skeptical that you could."

Eh, that's fair. He'll let him have that one.

"And aren't you going to put on a helmet?" Dennis keeps rambling. "You do remember how this ended for your cousin, right? And he was certainly better at this than you."

Mac suppresses a grumble in his throat.

"Oh, sure, Dennis," he scoffs, "and while I'm at it, why don't I just slap a sticker on my head that says pussy?"

There are- finally- no more protests after that.

Good.

The motorcycle gets going with a bit of a struggle, sputtering like a kinked hose, but once it's off, it's off. The streets are uncharacteristically empty, giving the bike a lot of room to swerve and move around- not that Mac needs to, he knows how to work it! After a couple of twists and turns through Philly, once he really gets a feel for the thing, Mac starts gunning it and blatantly disobeying all posted road signs. He's not sure how far over the limit he's going, but it's hard not to speed when there's no one on the road. The few cars he does pass, he weaves in and out of and drifts around, earning himself a few frustrated honks in the process. They're just jealous of how cool he looks with his boy-

His boy. His guy. His dude. Bro. Buddy. Den. Dennis. Dennis Reynolds. His friend.

"You're going to get me killed, you know!" Dennis, think of the devil, shouts over the sickly cough of the struggling engine.

Mac can't figure out why the hell Dennis is so stressed out. It's not as if they're going to take a wrong turn and careen off the edge of the Grand Canyon, they're in fucking Philadelphia. Worst case scenario, they'll ram into some bozo's car, tip over, and walk away with a couple of scrapes and road rashes.

Not that that's going to happen.

He's definitely holding on now, though. Each time they pick up a little speed or take a sudden corner, Dennis curls against his back like an agitated cat, hands clutching fistfuls of Mac's tee shirt and grinding into his sides. Den is all knobby bones and sharp knees and jagged edges, but Mac doesn't mind- he's gotten used to it over the course of... basically their entire lives. He's never minded. Not in high school when they crashed together under the bleachers, not during movie nights at their apartment, not getting brownout drunk in the same side of a booth at the bar, and definitely not now. He figures some people would probably find being prodded in the backside like this unpleasant, but it's just... just Dennis. It's familiar.

"It's not- not that I'm scared or anything! I just think everyone would be a lot happier if you slowed down a little!"

"I don't know, that sounds pretty scared to me, man!" Mac yells back as sharp fingernails burrow into his ribcage. He likes the way it feels, like God himself cracking the rib of Adam in his hands to set the world in motion.

"It's not about that, it's about obeying the goddamn traffic laws so you don't end up with a ticket that I have to pay out of our- my bank account!"

Mac pretends not to hear him. Maybe if Dennis would just shut up and enjoy the wind in his hair, he wouldn't be so testy. He can't figure out what the big deal is. Dennis hadn't been upset last night. He was sober (not totally sober, that would be dangerous, but mostly), took a long shower before bed, did his nightly skincare routine, sat across the sofa from Mac while they watched Food Network, complained about every single dish even though he himself almost never cooked or ate, fell asleep with his head flush against a throw pillow and his balmed lips slightly parted as he breathed softly-

Stoplight! They're at a stoplight!

Mac hits the brake hard to avoid rear-ending the car in front of him, which sends him lurching forward. As he sways, two ridgid hands clamp onto either side of his head and a sharp, anxious breath is drawn behind him.

What...?

He glances back at Dennis over his shoulder, brow tense with confusion. Before he can ask him what's up, he's struck by the gentle look of concern on his face, by the teeth rolling over his lip as he tentatively lowers his hands back down, by the way all of his edges go soft...

Oh.

Oh.

Oh!

"Oh my God, Den, are you worried about me?" Mac slaps a hand on the bike in surprise. "Dennis, that is so sweet, dude!"

"Well..." Dennis swallows a lump, avoiding direct eye contact. His hands are pulled back now, resting on his own thighs instead of around Mac. "If you die, we both die, so... I simply have my best interest in mind."

A long moment passes between them, neither moving back into position or saying anything more. Mac watches a bead of sweat roll down Dennis' forehead, watches him lick his chapped lips, watches him like he's the only fucking person in the whole entire world because, to Mac, he-

Some dick is honking at him. Asshole. He could just go around or whatever!

"You want to head back to the bar, man?" Mac asks sympathetically, like he's asking him if he needs medicine for a headache or a warm blanket.

Dennis doesn't answer immediately.

Then the jerk behind them honks again.

"Would you-" Dennis does a one-eighty, then whirls back to Mac. "Yes, I would like to go home and get away from," -he waves a hand in the car's direction- "this rude man who honks!"

And just like that they're back to normal... which is kind of a relief. Totally normal. Just hanging out. That's a good thing.

Mac repositions himself and starts back towards the bar, slower this time, at what he guesses is a reasonable speed. He has no idea, honestly, but he's pretty sure he's supposed to go faster than the cars because the bike is smaller. That makes sense to him.

Dennis' hands are no longer jabbing into him like a couple of Swiss army knives with all of the tools loose. They aren't exactly around him, either, but they're definitely on him. They're trained at either side of his torso, not hesitant in any way, just there. One of Dennis' fingers is drumming against his rib, presumably to some song he's got stuck in his head. His breath is steady on the back of Mac's tousled hair and, every once in a while, at a stop, he adjusts and Dennis' chest and thighs brush up against his back- just for a second.

Mac will never admit that he takes the long way back to the bar.

By the time they return, he figures it must be about half past noon. The middle of the day on a Monday isn't exactly a busy time for them. No one is really drinking (themselves excluded, of course), so hopefully Dee and Charlie won't nag about where they've been and how they haven't worked all morning. Then Dennis would get annoyed and probably never do this again.

They'll probably never do it again, anyways. He is not Michael Carrington and Dennis is not Stephanie Zinoni.

Mac hangs back for a minute after Dennis hops off and heads into the bar, muttering something about how he has to go fix his hair and reminding Mac to pick the bugs out of his teeth- the ones that weren't already there before.

They're back to normal. That's a good thing. It's definitely a good thing.

He drifts off thinking about that scene where Michelle Pfeiffer somehow climbs around onto the front of the motorcycle and flips her hair and blocks the view, but it doesn't matter because the road is empty and they're together and they're in love, and Dennis is kissing him and he doesn't even complain about the metal prodding into his back and bruising his pale skin because he just wants to kiss Mac that badly and-

He's going to have to say some Hail Marys later for that one.

Mac isn't sure how many he has to say to repent for how badly he wants Dennis' hands in his hair again. If he asks a priest, he'll have to confess to it out loud, so he'll just guess. Maybe there aren't enough breaths in him to make up for the things that he feels. Maybe he'll have to pay in the afterlife instead.

The bike is still worth every Hail Mary, and every penny.

[junker-town]

Our 9 favorite left-handed players to ever play in the NBA

Who’s your all-time favorite player who shot the ball left-handed?

Sunday was International Left-handers Day, because it just being Sunday would have been entirely too predictable. It made us wonder: who are the best left-handed players in NBA history?

Left-handedness in the NBA hits a happy medium for professional sports. On one extreme, there’s baseball, a sport where decisions and lineups are made based on a player’s handedness. On the other is football, where you’ll never know which hand is the dominant one for any position but quarterback. In basketball, left-handedness has a meaningful effect on the game itself, but it also mostly manifests itself aesthetically. Something about a left-handed jump shot seems beautiful, perhaps just because we don’t see it as often.

We went through and identified about nine players who are the best left-handers through the league’s history, albeit with some important qualifications.

The best left-hander, straight up: Bill Russell

The undisputed top left-handed has to be the 11-time champion and iconic Hall of Famer. Russell rarely, if ever, took jump shots.

The best left-hander for 90’s nostalgia: Toni Kukoc

That is 3x NBA Champion Toni Kukoc to you. Member of the 72-10 Chicago Bulls. A Croatian basketball star who was one of the first European players to really establish themselves in the NBA. A guy who could play any position, really. May we never forget the impact of this lefty in basketball history.

Best left-hander who wasn’t really a lefty: Larry Bird

Hello. We don’t talk enough about how Larry Bird had perhaps the most savage, ruthless, I-don’t-give-an-eff sports performance in history. One game, bored by his normal right-handed shooting, Bird decided to go an entire game shooting only with his left-hand.

He scored 47 points.

That’s just dumb.

The best left-handed Sixth Man ever: Lamar Odom

Lamar Odom was one of the most exciting part of the Lakers back-to-back title runs in 2009 and 2010. The year he finally won actual 6th Man of the Year, he averaged 14.4 points, 8.7 rebounds and three assists per game. He also shot 53 percent from the floor while being a 6’10 big man that could pass like a point guard. One of the original point forwards of the game before it became commonplace today. He was such a joy to watch on the court.

Best Left-Hander under six feet tall - Isaiah Thomas

No one can scare the 5’9 Isaiah Thomas on the basketball court. After being drafted 60th in the 2011 NBA draft, and doubted by the Suns and Kings, he finally found a home in Boston and it’s the perfect spot for him. He is constantly embarrassing players that are taller than him and that isn’t going to end anytime soon. He’s the King of the Fourth Quarter in the most unconventional way. Left handed and 5’9.

The best left-hander that I (Whitney Medworth) love: CJ Miles

I am the leader of the C.J. Miles fan club and it’s the most excited I get about anything in the NBA these days. CJ is one of those players that gets traded onto your team in a random summer and you don’t give him much thought until he’s suddenly your favorite player in the league. On the court, he’s a sharp shooter who is money from the three-point line if a team ever would ever him proper minutes or put him in the right situations. Off the court, he and his wife have two dogs named Shaq and Penny. He’s also easily one of the best locker room interviews in the league today. 3J forever.

#NationalDogDay #ShaqAndPennyGotBackTogether

A post shared by Cj Miles (@masfresco) on Aug 26, 2015 at 5:13pm PDT

Sorry, I can’t stop showing off how good Shaq and Penny are.

Merry Christmas ya filthy animals from my family to yours ❤ . . . : @thesinersphotography

A post shared by Lauren Miles (@iamlaurenmiles) on Dec 25, 2016 at 8:28am PST

The best left-hander that I (Tim Cato) hate: Manu Ginobili

I actually love Manu. More than maybe anyone else on this list, he embodies left-handedness. Everything about his game centered around his shooting arm — his blink-and-you-miss-it release and his downward tilts towards the rim that always, inevitably ended up going left, even when everyone in the building knew that’s where Ginobili wanted to go. But as a Mavericks fan in the past decade, it’s a mandate that I hate — “hate” — Ginobili for all the times he buried Dallas with clutch jumpers and unbelievable shots.

The best left-hander whose career was cut way too short: Michael Redd

We might talk about Michael Redd the same way we talk about Ray Allen if it wasn’t for the injuries. The sweet-shootin’ left-hander was on the same career path for a while, only to see a twice-torn ACL and MCL end his career prematurely. But while Redd did hit more than 1,000 threes in his abruptly shortened career, the dude was gifted in so many other ways. Here he was at his peak.

Honorable mention: Chris Bosh, who probably won’t ever play in the NBA again even though he’s only 33. Still, he had a Hall of Fame career and will be honored for that.

The most fun left-hander ever: Nick Van Exel

I will not accept arguments for anyone else. Nick The Quick was a Swaggy P and J.R Smith combination for the early 2000s, and he was wonderful.

Other notable left-handers in NBA history, if that’s what you’re looking for

David Robinson, Chris Mullin, Bob Lanier, Tiny Archibald, Artis Gilmore, James Harden, Lenny Wilkens, Willis Reed, Tayshaun Prince, Zach Randolph, Jalen Rose, Mike Conley, David Lee, Gail Goodrich, Brandon Jennings, Anthony Mason, Derek Fisher