Stuck in the Middle

Slider

Co-written with my friend (who doesn't have an account here) on Discord.
This story contains explicit sexual content.

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You'd been looking forward to a low-key evening with your brother and Goose. That, however, wasn't in the cards. Not because chaos followed Pete "Maverick" Mitchell like a shadow — though god knew it did.

But because all Mitchells had a bad habit of making a mess of things.

It started innocently enough: Goose reaching the door first and holding it open for Pete with a teasing "After you, honey."

"Thanks, dear." Your night began as most nights in Miramar had: the three of you out for a drink and a good laugh.

But this night isn't most nights. Unfortunately, you don't realize this until it's too late.

Pete has already led your small group to the bar when you hear it — or, rather, them — across the way. Pete and Goose aren't the only pilots at the bar, and while they've been known to get rowdy and start a sing-along or two, they're far from the loudest tonight. No, that pleasure goes to Hollywood and Wolfman, who seemingly have tone on Iceman and Slider. In and of itself, this isn't a bad thing until you hear them over the crowd while Goose flags down the bartender.

"Hey Tom," Hollywood greets Ice with a shit-eating grin. Eyes sparkling mischievously in the low light.

"What're you on about, 'Wood?" Ice doesn't skip a beat at the use of his given name.

Hollywood guffaws as if it should be obvious, but Ice's expression doesn't change.

"Oh, come on, man," Wolfman says, leaning in to slap a hand on Ice's shoulder. "The screamer." Slider nearly sprays his drink across the bar's lacquered wood, but Ice has gone completely still. The blood drains from your face as Hollywood and Wolfman's giggles increase in intensity until they're flat-out laughing, Hollywood wiping tears from the corner of his eyes. "Oh man, Slider," Wolfman gasps. "You're lucky you were out on that date, 'cause man...."

Hollywood closes his eyes, free hand petting his own chest. "Oh, Tom!"

"Ah! Ah!" Wolfman tosses his head back and moans alongside his friend, and you're pretty sure that this is how you die. Of mortification. Cheeks cherry red and hot with the shame of not just being caught but watching as Hollywood and Wolfman loudly and clearly reenact what you'd thought had been a private moment just feet from you.

It doesn't stop there, though. Beside you, Pete scoffs. "Who the fuck would want to sleep with him?"

"Good one, Mav," Goose chuckles.

And you could've lived with just that: an awful imitation of your moans acted out before you, but it had to be worse. Ice's eyes find yours, holding your gaze for a second too long from across the bar as Hollywood let out another oblivious "Tom, oh god! Fuck me!"

And your brother, only ever paying attention when you wish he wouldn't, catches the exchange alongside your flushed cheeks.

"Ooooh! Yeah!"

Pete's smile falls. Shoulders rigid. Goose is stuck looking between you, Ice, and Pete at the sudden shift. "Oh shit."

Pete's the first one to move, and you're the next, catching his sleeve as he moves to abandon his drink. "Pete, don't."

"I'm just going to talk with him."

Of course, he isn't, but he manages to shake free from your tenuous grasp. "Pete!" you call after him, but it's no use.