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Maverick should be focusing on the lecture, really, he should be. He knows this and yet, he can’t seem to stop his eyes from straying to other side of the room, where a certain ice cold, no mistakes pilot is dutifully taking notes.
Which, okay, is completely normal. However, Maverick can’t help but notice, that in between notes, Ice likes to chew on his pen cap.
It shouldn’t be as distracting as it is, but Maverick can’t help but stare as his perfect cupid-bow lips wrap around the tip of the pen cap, the flash of perfectly white teeth as they nibble of the cheap plastic. He’s without his favorite gold pen today and Maverick wonders where it’s at. Watching Ice twirl it effortlessly over his knuckles with nimble fingers is almost as distracting as watching his plush lips wrap around the tip of the pen.
He watches the muscles in Ice’s chiseled jaw jump and twitch and Maverick swallows heavily, shifting in his seat, as his mind drifts to what else would make his jaw work that much.
As if he can feel Maverick thinking about him, Ice turns and catches Maverick with his pants down (figuratively, at least). He smirks, those perfectly pink lips pulling back and showing his pearly white teeth that actually glimmer, like he’s in some goddamn Colgate commercial. The grin isn’t nice, it’s almost shark like in it’s arrogance and Maverick wishes that wasn't as hot as it is.
The look in Iceman’s eyes is challenging and like the coward he is, Maverick looks away and begins sketching the crude angles Jester has drawn on the board in his notebook that’s been open on a blank page the entire lecture.
The pretense of doing his work lasts all of ten seconds—a new record for him and he feels a little bit of pride in that, he won’t deny it—before his eyes flicker back to Ice and that damn pen.
His tanned cheeks are hollowed and his lips are pronounced around the tip of the pen and Maverick fights back a groan, when he replaces the pen with other things his mind is only so eager to supply.
He imagines brushing those lips with the tips of his fingers, marveling at their softness before a warm, wet tongue wraps around them, sucking delivering the most delicious suction. A nibble of teeth, just to be a tease. Maverick bets he’d make a show of it, just to get under his skin. He’d be thorough in his prep, because if Ice is anything, he’s a stickler for rules and there’d be rules to follow before Maverick could slip those fingers into his body, to prep him for his cock. And to tease, because Maverick has a thing for getting under Ice’s skin, too.
Maverick imagines that mouth wrapping around his cock—those soft lips, the warm tongue flicking the underside vein, feeling the tantalizing brush of teeth over the sensitive head, just the barest hint of danger to get Maverick’s blood heating. The way his jaw would twitch and strain with the effort, his tanned cheeks hollowing out as he took Maverick all the way down.
Ice meets his gaze and the knowing glint in those ice blue eyes makes Maverick flush—in both arousal and annoyance.
The fucker is teasing him.
And the smug grin that stretches across his lips only confirms Maverick’s thoughts.
Bastard
The sound of chairs pushing across linoleum startles Maverick out of his day dreams and he feels Goose clap him on the shoulder as he stands. Maverick feels the heat in his cheeks and the tightness in his pants and he’s embarrassed and he can still feel that heavy gaze on him and Maverick just wants to die.
He shoots Ice a glare when he walks past him and Ice just smiles, trying for innocent and it only annoys Maverick further.
*
The O Club is packed since it’s a Friday night and they don’t have any classes until Monday. The music is loud and Maverick has to fight to keep his spot next to Goose at the overcrowded bar, where he’s nursing a beer and watching Hollywood unsuccessfully try and hit on a woman.
Goose is talking to Wolfman about the MiG and Maverick isglad Goose hadn't asked for his input, because Maverick hasn’t even been paying attention to the conversation at all. His focus is across the bar, where Ice is sitting, sipping a vodka on the rocks and eating peanuts out of the bowl resting on the bar.
He watches as Ice’s dexterous fingers pick them out of the bowl and bring them to his parted lips and pop them into his mouth. One after another, fingers to bowl, bowl to lips, where those calloused fingertips brush against his lips briefly before he places the peanut in his mouth. Maverick watches as the muscles in his jaw twitch as he chews them slowly, like he was savoring them.
After five peanuts, he’ll wash them down with a sip of vodka from his sweat glass and Maverick’s mind flashes to the taste of those lips as he watches them wrap around the rim of the glass.
They’ll be salty from the peanuts, the flavor smoothed with the sharpness from the vodka, which was no doubt top shelf. His lips would feel cold from the ice resting in his glass, but the initial coolness would eventually give way to warmth. Like ice melting. He’d ask for entrance by nipping Maverick’s bottom lip with those perfect teeth, brushing his cheeks with those fingers and stroking the inside of Maverick’s mouth with that talented tongue.
Maverick is yanked out of his daze when someone bumps into him from behind, making his beer slip from his precarious grip and he manages to spill it all over himself and the bar.
Muttering a curse, he ignores the slightly drunken apology and pushes his way through the crowd towards the bathrooms.
It’s empty when he walks through the door and Maverick is thankful for a moment to himself. He grabs paper towels and tries to mop up the mess on his t-shirt and gives up after a few minutes, tossing the soiled paper towels in the trash, moving to the sink to wash his hands.
The cool water feels good on his heated skin and he bends down, slapping the cold water over his heated cheeks, closing his eyes, enjoying the sensation. He takes a few deep breaths and reaches for a paper towel to dry his face and pauses when he looks down to see someone already offering him one.
The blue stone of the Navy ring glints in the low lighting of the bathroom and Maverick feels the hairs on the back of his neck stand up and he knows who it is without having to take his gaze off the hand.
He takes it, careful to not let his wet hands brush dry skin and he wipes his face off carefully before he tosses the paper towel away, meeting cool blue eyes in the mirror hanging above the sink.
Maverick clears his suddenly dry throat and says, “Uh, thanks.”
“No problem, Mave-rick,” Ice says and Maverick ignores the shiver that goes down his spine at the teasing lilt that Ice always adds to the syllable of his callsign. It’s usually mocking or annoyed, but Maverick finds it sexy every single time.
The silence that settles over them isn't awkward, per say, but its charged with…something, that Maverick isn't sure he’s ready to put a name to just yet. So he turns and makes a move to leave when his eyes zero in like a missile lock on Ice’s lips, which are wrapped around a tooth pick.
It’s resting innocently in between his lips, leaving a small indent on his bottom lip—that, Maverick notes, is slightly fuller than his top—and Maverick swallows heavily, adams apple bobbing harshly.
Ice just stands there, watching him with a cool disinterest that’s just so Ice, it drives Maverick up a wall, but there’s a glimmer in his eyes and it sets Maverick teeth on edge and arouses him at the same time, which only adds to his frustration.
“Something wrong, Maverick?” Ice says, voice level and calm, breaking the silence between them like glass shattering.
Maverick licks his suddenly dry lips and notes, with a small sense of satisfaction, that Ice’s eyes flicker down, tracking the movement. “Not at all, Kazansky. Just taking a moment to cool down, it’s getting a little hot out there.”
Ice doesn't reply and Maverick takes a chance, stepping closer and the fact that Ice doesn't take a step back gives Maverick courage to continue, adding, voice low. “In fact, I think I’m gonna head home, maybe take an ice cold shower to help cool me off.”
Ice just watches him with that same cold, indifferent look, but Maverick is close enough to see the muscles in his jaw twitch, hear the slight hitch in his breath and he gives Ice a smirk, feeling brave enough to reach up and pluck the toothpick from Ice’s lips—and if he takes a second to marvel at the softness of those lips, that’s his own business—and puts it between his own, making a show of gripping it between his teeth before letting his lips close around it.
Again, Ice doesn't react visibly react, but Maverick sees the way his pupils dilate, hears his breathing pick up, watches his lips part and he knows, he’s under Ice’s skin.
Victory sings in Maverick’s veins and he steps an inch closer, feeling Ice’s body heat against his own, smells the sharp pine of his cologne and looks up at him through his lashes. “Thanks for the paper towel,” He says, innocently.
He turns on his heel and walks out of the bathroom, grinning around the toothpick and heads out of the bar, towards his bike, not even bothering to tell Goose goodbye.
*
Iceman—Mr. cool and calculating, ice cold and no mistakes—Kazansky, is sucking on a lollipop.
A lollipop.
It’s red and small and honestly something Maverick could finish in a bite, but Ice is taking his time with it, twirling it in his fingers, licking it with the tip of his pale pink tongue, before wrapping his lips around it and sucking, once, twice, popping it back out and repeating the process all over again.
The candy has stained his lips red, like he’s been kissing someone wearing red lipstick, darkening the already deep pink color of those pornstar lips. They’re a little swollen from sucking on the candy for so long—thirty-four minutes, by Maverick’s count—and it’s conjuring up a lot of dirty things in Maverick’s mind.
He’s sitting in the far side of the cafeteria with Slider and Sundown, leaning back casually in his chair and sucking on that damn piece of candy like it’s the most delicious thing he’s ever had. Which, by Navy cafeteria food standards, that’s not exactly a close competition.
Maverick is curious to where, exactly, someone could even find candy on a Navy base. The image of a 6’2, frosted tip, muscular, cold and calculating Navy pilot walking into a candy store to peruse the aisles to find mini lollipops just doesn't seem like a likely scenario. Although the sight of it does bring an amused smile to Maverick’s lips.
But then Maverick watches as Ice’s eyes flutter shut as he brings the lollipop between his lips and sucks, hollowing his cheeks and everything, and all the amusement fades from his body.
He looks so into it, is the thing. The flavor, the taste, the texture of it, all of it and it makes Maverick groan into his watery mashed potatoes at the unfairness of it all.
Ever since the incident in the bathroom Friday night, Ice has made a conscious effort to not have anything phallic looking near his mouth and Maverick wondered if maybe he’d pushed it too far, misinterpreted their…whatever that was in the bathroom, as flirting and made Ice too uncomfortable to continue the obvious habits in order to save himself from a repeat of the other night.
That lasted until today, Wednesday, when Maverick walked into the cafeteria to see Iceman sucking on what should be an innocent piece of candy, but the way Ice is going to town on the thing makes it look anything but.
Goose brings him out of his thoughts by picking up his tray and reminding Maverick they have to be at the hangar in fifteen minutes for their afternoon hop with Viper.
Maverick follows Goose to the trash, dumping his tray and as he makes his way to the exit, he chances a glance over his shoulder to see Ice smirking at him around his little treat, shooting him a wink before he turns back to his conversation.
This was hell and Tom “Iceman” Kazansky was the actual devil himself, Maverick thinks to himself, shaking his head as he makes his way to the locker-room and tries to get his mind focused on the hop ahead of them.
But even when they get into the sky, Goose’s voice chattering in his ear over the comms, it’s all he can think about—Ice’s mouth wrapped around that lollipop stick, the cherry red stain of his lips, that devilish little smirk— and Viper has them in a missile lock in under ten minutes. Goose knows something is wrong, but seeing the stormy look in Maverick’s eyes when he rips his flight gear off leaves him silent at Maverick’s side as they head into the locker room.
He tosses his stuff in his locker and slams the door shut, heading into the showers. He isn’t sure how long he stays under the warm spray, but by the time he turns the water off, no one is left in the locker-room and he wraps the towel around his waist, shaking the water out of his wet hair.
When he rounds the corner, he comes face to face with Ice, who’s still in his flight gear and his lips are wrapped around another lollipop. Maverick wonders if it’s the same one from earlier or if he has an endless stash somewhere and his sole purpose is to slowly send Maverick over the edge his sanity is so desperately clinging to.
“Mave-rick,” Ice says, giving him a slow grin, teeth glimmering, lips still stained red. “Heard you didn’t do so hot today, what happened?”
He stands there, rolling that damn lollipop around in his mouth and Maverick, with a high level of annoyance, wonders how someone can still look so self-assured and…cool with a piece of candy reserved for children dangling from their mouth. The task should've been impossible, but Ice manages to pull it off.
Smug asshole
Anger curls hot and tight under Maverick’s rib cage and he can feel his cheeks flush with it and he resists the urge to punch the smug look right off of Ice’s face.
Instead, he just shrugs and aims for nonchalance when he answers, “Rough day,” but judging by the look of knowing on Ice’s face, he misses the mark by a few inches.
“Be careful, Maverick,” Ice says, voice low, ice blue eyes dancing with mirth. “Any more rough days and you’re basically going to hand me that plaque on a silver platter.”
He’d so close Maverick can smell the cherry from the lollipop on his breath and it makes arousal pool low in his belly, but he pushes it aside, giving Ice a smirk.
“Be careful, Iceman,” Maverick replies, tone a mockery of Ice’s. “Keep saying things like that and people might think you care about me.”
Ice grins down at him, twirling his lollipop stick in his hands, gaze trailing down Maverick’s wet skin on display and Maverick feels it like a caress.
“And we wouldn't want that, now would we?” Ice murmurs, his gaze lingering on Maverick’s lips before he flicks those sharp blues eyes, now a few shades darker, back to Maverick’s.
“To let the rest of the world know that the Iceman actually has a heart?” Maverick replies. “We wouldn't that kind of classified information getting out.”
Ice chuckles, the sound low and throaty and it makes Maverick’s head spin in the best way. “No,” Ice agrees, licking his lips slowly, thoughtfully. “We can’t give away all my secrets.”
He pulls the lollipop from his mouth and Maverick swallows heavily at the sheen it leaves behind on his cherry red lips. Iceman notices, of course, and his shark like grin only widens
“What about you, Mave-rick?” Ice murmurs, his voice a pleasant sounding rumble through his chest. “Do you have any secrets you want to share?”
Maverick can feel the flush blooming across his cheeks bones as Ice gazes at him rather intently, the urge to fidget and squirm away strong. He wonders what Ice sees, because whatever it is, it makes his lips go from a cocky grin to a salacious smirk, blue eyes glinting in a way that makes Maverick feel exposed, like Ice can see every secret, every dirty thought that’s ever crossed his mind. His question is loaded and it’s the closest they’ve ever gotten to acknowledging this…tension between them and Maverick isn’t surprised that Ice is the first to bring it up.
He knows he has two choices and if Maverick didn’t know better, he would've thought Ice is giving him an easy out. A chance to laugh it off and pretend like the last week hasn't happened and blame it on too much testosterone and no outlet for it. Or he can continue with this game they have going and up the ante.
But he knows Ice and Ice knows him, he’s had Maverick’s number since they first laid eyes on each other almost two weeks ago.
Ice isn’t giving him a way out. No, he’s challenging Maverick, because goddammit, he knows that Maverick is never going to back down from a challenge.
Well, two can play that game, Maverick thinks to himself with a smirk.
Not only does he choose to rise to the challenge, he also decides he’s going to up the ante by taking a step closer, dipping his head down and, making sure Ice is still watching him, wraps his lips around the lollipop still being held in Ice’s grasp. He hums in appreciation when the flavor—cherry that’s almost too sweet and Ice, cool, crisp, like winter—meets his tongue. His lips brush against the skin of Ice’s fingers and he looks up at him from underneath his lashes as he swirls his tongue around the sucker and has to refrain from smirking in satisfaction at the look of pure want in Ice’s gaze.
There’s a a heat simmering in those sapphire depths and Maverick finds some irony in the fact that Iceman is all cool and calm on the outside, but made of heat and fire on the inside.
He tugs gently on the lollipop and Ice let’s him have it, dropping his hand and Maverick pulls away, rolling it around in his mouth before he takes it out with an over exaggerated pop, that has Ice’s jaw twitching in a way that makes Maverick want to tease it with his teeth.
He levels Ice with a heated stare of his own, letting a sexy smile tease at his lips and replies, “I guess we’ll just have to see what kind of…secrets I may have up my sleeve.” He pops the lollipop back in his mouth with a pleased hum and, leaving Ice with that, heads to his locker and tugs his clothes on, putting on a bit of show as he feels Ice’s heavy gaze on him.
He doesn't bother looking back as he makes his way out of the locker-room to the parking lot where his bike is waiting for him. It’s not until he’s safely on his bike and speeding down the highway that he realizes any lingering anger he had going into the locker-room over his failures today during the hop left him the minute his eyes landed on Ice.
He’s just still not sure what that means.
*
Somehow, Goose manages to rope him into playing a game of volleyball the next day with some of the other guys in their class. Maverick only agrees because a part of him feels guilty for the way he’s been acting the last few days.
And Goose, being Goose, plays this up by giving him a ridiculous pout, “C’mon, Mav, we haven’t spent much time together the last week or so and I miss my best friend.”
Maverick caves after not even five minutes and he follows Goose’s truck on his bike to the far side of the base, where a bunch of the other guys have already congregated on the bleachers that surrounds a wide patch of sand where a volleyball net is located, right in the center.
A game is already going on and by the look of it, Hollywood and Wolfman are getting their asses handed to them by Slider and Ice, the latter looking up when hears the revving of the bike engine. He shoots Maverick a sly, slow smirk that goes straight to Maverick’s cock.
With a small groan, he parks his bike next to Goose and takes a moment to center himself, jumping when Goose slaps him on the back.
“Let’s go show ‘em how it’s done.” Goose says with a grin full of childish glee.
Forcing an answering grin to his lips, Maverick follows Goose to the bleachers, sitting down on an empty row to wait out the end of the game. He nods to some of the guys before his gaze wanders back to Ice, who’s twirling the volleyball on his fingers while he waits for Hollywood and Wolf to get reset before he serves the ball.
Maverick feels his mouth go dry as he watches the muscles ripple underneath the taught, tan skin as Ice jumps up and smacks the ball over the net, landing gracefully on his feet and getting into position for the return.
Maverick’s never been more thankful for the mirrored lenses of his aviators, because his gaze never leaves Ice and his ridiculous muscles and tan skin.
Ice is good, is the thing. Like everything else, he attacks the game with a technical prowess and control that spoke of years of practice—his eyes were focused and assessing as he watches Hollywood and Wolf work the ball back over the net, angling his body wherever the ball went and never letting his eyes stray from it. He and Slider move with practice ease and silent communication, their bodies always aware of the other and Maverick found himself wondering if that was just a pilot and RIO thing or…something else.
Maverick swallows back the jealousy that rises, unbidden, in his gut at the thought. He tries to reassure himself that they’ve been flying together for years and that kind of thing often easily translates on the ground, too. Hell, he and Goose often find themselves finishing each other sentences and sometimes, they were able to hold a silent conversation with just looks and nods. Carole always jokes that Maverick is more married to Goose than she is. But when you spent so much time with each other, it was bound to happen. He and Goose learned to rely on each other, because if they didn’t, they would never make it back to the ground.
And Maverick wonders, not for the first time, if he and Ice will ever be able to be anything other than…whatever they are. If they were to…progress outside of flirting and actually attempt…something, will they ever be able to trust each other with the same ease as their flying partners?
Ice has already told Maverick on the second day of their meeting that he doesn’t trust him because he’s dangerous. It’s not the first time he’s ever been called that in his career and it’s hardly going to be the last. But Maverick suddenly finds himself wondering if he could ever trust Ice that way, if maybe they weren’t too different for things to work.
Ice plays by the rules and to Maverick, that means playing it too safe. Ice would never take unnecessary risks or challenges and on paper, that makes him a good pilot, a better pilot, especially to the Navy. Ice goes in, does his job well within the standards he’d been taught, gets out and doesn’t push the envelop with unorthodox tricks and maneuvers that make other people nervous.
And it makes Maverick wonder, as he watches Ice take a particularly sharp dive to save the ball, if he and Ice will ever be able to find common ground. They’re both so different from each other—Ice, always cool and calm and collected, never a hair out of place or a wrinkle in his uniform, the picture perfect pilot who flies by the rules and ‘regs that make the bars on his uniform shine. And then there’s Maverick—wild and hotheaded, always flying by the seat of his pants with a few tricks up his sleeve, running off his emotions, a penchant for breaking the rules and always wanting to see how far he can push it.
But then his mind drifts to those glances, the flirting and the knowing looks and Maverick considers if, maybe, he wasn’t the exception to carefully constructed world Ice lived in. Maverick is a loose cannon, unpredictable, and Ice doesn’t trust him in the air, but at the same time, he wonders if this…thing isn’t Ice taking a chance for a change.
The thought makes Maverick smile involuntarily to himself.
Someone snapping their gum next to him makes Maverick jump and he glances to his left and finds Ice standing there, twirling the ball on his finger—which does not bring Maverick’s attention to just how long and capable those fingers look, it doesn’t—and watching Maverick with a small smirk on his face.
“You up for a game, Mave-rick?” Ice asks, his voice smooth and not at all innocent in his query. He blows a bubble with his gum, popping it with his teeth and licking the stray strands it leaves behind on his lips.
Maverick swallows and blames the dryness of his throat on the heat. “What kind of game, Kazansky?” He asks in return, once again thankful for the mirrored lenses hiding his eyes, because he can’t seem to stop hyper fixating on the way the muscles in Ice’s jaw flexes and jumps as he chews his gum.
Ice shrugs, his gaze flickering back to the ball, where it’s still spinning on his pointer finger and he lets it dance—still spinning—across his other fingers and Maverick rolls his eyes behind his glasses.
Show off
“That depends,” Ice says turning his eyes back to Maverick, his blue eyes dancing like the ball over his knuckles. “We can play two on two—Slider and I against you and Goose or,” he lets his voice drop to a low rumble, taking a step closer, “we can play one on one, if you’re feeling brave.”
There’s a challenge in his eyes, his voice dripping with innuendo and Maverick feels his heart rate pick up in his chest, thundering against his rib cage in a way that’s probably a threat to his health. Ice is taking the shot and Maverick is more than ready to be the target.
He opens his mouth to reply when a tanned arm wraps around Ice’s shoulder, Slider shooting Maverick a cocky grin when he asks, all cocksure arrogance, “Ready to see if your luck has run out, Maverick?”
Maverick can see Ice slipping back into his ice cold, no mistakes persona, his eyes going back to the impassive and cool stare he always wears like a shield and with it, Maverick’s window of opportunity is quickly closing.
Throwing caution to the wind, as he tends to do—he didn’t get this far in life by overanalyzing or overthinking—he says, keeping his voice cool and his mirrored gaze on Ice, “I don’t know, I have a feeling I’m gonna get pretty lucky today.”
Slider rolls his eyes and takes his arm from Ice’s shoulder, he walks over their side of the net, but Ice lingers, chewing his gum and giving Maverick an appraising, calculated look that he usually saves for the trickier technical questions Charlie asked in class. “You sound confident.”
Maverick just smirks, kicking his boots off, sliding his jacket off his shoulders. He stands up from his spot, whipping his shirt off as he goes and tosses it unceremoniously on his jacket, feeling heat curl in his lower belly as he feels Ice’s heavy gaze on him the whole time.
His bare shoulder brushes against Ice’s as he steps off the bleachers and he barely suppresses a shiver at the sensation. His eyes meet Ice’s to find
Ice already watching him, an odd look on his face.
“If you’re still up for that one on one game later,” Maverick begins, licking his lower lip suggestively and he grins when he saw Ice’s Adams apple bob heavily at the motion, jaw twitching. “Goose will be gone tonight—his wife is coming to visit and he’s staying off base, so I’ll be home alone and I might be up for a game or two.”
Maverick grins, slipping his sunglasses down his nose to shoot Ice a wink before takes the ball out Ice’s hands and starts over towards Goose, who’s watching him with an all too knowing look on his face. It just makes Maverick’s grin widen.
When he doesn’t hear footsteps behind him, he looks over his shoulder to see Ice still watching him or more specifically, Maverick notices with a tiny thrill up his spine, his ass.
“You coming, Kazansky?” Maverick asks with a smirk.
And Maverick isn’t sure if it was the sun or a trick of the light, but he’d pretty sure Iceman is blushing. He shoots Maverick a glare as he walks past him to huddle with an impatient Slider, who’s oblivious to the entire situation, too focused on the upcoming game.
Goose quirks an eyebrow, dark eyes glinting. “Iceman, huh?” he asks, but they both know its rhetorical.
Some of Maverick’s bravado slips and he just offers Goose a shrug, his cheeks heating with a blush he wishes he could blame on the late afternoon sun.
Goose just slaps his shoulder with a laugh, but his eyes are kind when he says, “Don’t worry man, I’m not asking.”
Maverick gives him a small, thankful smile and says, “Then I’m definitely not telling.”
*
Maverick isn’t nervous.
He isn’t.
He’s just…anxious, but in the best way possible, like the night before a mission or the moments leading up to it. His stomach is in knots, his heart is racing, his blood rushing through his veins and maybe it’s crazy, but Maverick loves that feeling of the unknown and unpredictable. It’s like a shot of adrenalin to his system, making him almost dizzy with it and it’s what he chases every time he’s in the air—the feeling of pushing himself and his plane to the absolute threshold, relying on pure instinct and skill to toe the line between danger and death and having all the confidence in the world and in himself that it’ll work out. And not that he’s bragging or anything, but his instincts have gotten him this far in life and that’s what he chooses to focus on as he rides home on his bike.
He knows he has a few hours, at the least, until he finds out if Ice is going to take him up on his offer, but that doesn’t stop him from running around the tiny house assignment he and Goose share, cleaning up the empty beer bottles that are scattered around the living room, throwing away the empty take out boxes and chip bags. He also makes sure to do a quick scan of his room, deciding it’s as clean as it should be—after all, he doesn’t want to be too obvious and he also doesn’t want all of this to be for nothing if Ice doesn’t show up.
Maverick decides to take a shower, hoping that will take some of the edge off and soothe some of the anxiousness that’s battling with the arousal in his lower belly. When he hops under the warm spray, he immediately feels his muscles relax and he tilts his head back, letting the water soak his hair, rinsing out the sweat and the sand and he just takes a moment to breathe.
His thoughts, unsurprisingly, drift to Ice and he immediately feels himself flush as he remembers how he looked on the volleyball court—muscles rippling, skin tan and gleaming with a thin sheen of sweat. The look of pure concentration on his face as his eyes tracked the ball, the way he licked the tips of his fingers before every serve, the smirk that lit up his chiseled face every time he managed to get Maverick and Goose dive for it, only to come up empty.
He’s getting hard at the thought and with a groan, he slides his wet and soapy hands down his body, gripping his cock loosely in his grip as his mind flits through the last week and a half of flirting and teasing. The red stained lips from that fucking lollipop, those lips wrapped around the pen cap, his cheeks hollowed out around the tip, the flash of teeth against the plastic.
He begins to stroke himself as he pictures Ice, fresh from a hop, his blonde hair darkened a few shades from sweat, the flush high in his cheek bones, blue eyes sparkling with triumph.
Those are his favorite moments—seeing him in the locker room as he regaled the other’s with their hop stories, the arrogant smirk dancing on his lips, the way his eyes still held that dazed look from a long day of flying, like he was still up there, in the cockpit, gliding through the clouds.The way the pitch of his voice lowers when he’s teasing Maverick, the way he looks him like he's got him all figured out, but there’s a burning curiosity there to understand. He looks at Maverick sometimes like he’s a difficult flight plan and he’s trying to figure out the best way to break it down so he can understand it.
Wanna play a game, Mav-erick?
Maverick groans, imagining that lilting voice whispering that in his ear, replacing his hand with Ice’s strong calloused ones in his mind, those blue eyes, dark with arousal, locked on his like he’s an enemy MiG and he has Maverick locked in his sights. The concentration, the heat and the smirk that lights up his face when he feels the way Maverick’s cock leaks into his hand.
Is this your secret, Mav-erick? He’d whisper to him, brushing his lips against the shell of his ear, biting it gently, you want me to touch your cock? Hmm? Maybe get down on my knees and take you into my mouth? Would you like that?
Fuck yes, Maverick would pant, bucking into his firm grasp and Ice would chuckle, a low rumbling sound in his chest that would send shivers down Maverick’s spine.
Mmmm, greedy, Ice would murmur back, you just want everything, don’t you?
Maverick would nod hastily, feeling himself getting closer with each stroke, every dirty whisper, Everything you want to give me, I want it.
Ice would smile, a genuine smile and it’s so beautiful that it makes Maverick’s chest ache in the best way and say, Such a good answer, baby, I think I’ll let you come just because of that.
He’d swipe the head of his cock with the tip of his thumb and stroke the underside vein with his forefinger and groan, Come for me, Mav-erick.
With a loud shout, Maverick comes all over his stomach and shower wall, body quaking with the force of it and he leans his head against the wall for support, chest heaving with pants.
His body is on fire, his mind racing and it takes him a minute to get back to himself and when he does, he washes his body thoroughly and cleans up the shower. He gives himself a few more minutes in the shower before he turns the water off, wrapping a towel around his waist and padding into his small bedroom to dig through the dressers for something to wear.
He settles on a pair of sweats and nothing else, feeling the heat of the late afternoon sun through his windows and he’s still warm from his shower and…other things.
Maverick walks into the living room and digs through his records to find one he wants to listen to, not used to the silence in the house without Goose around to talk to. When finally decides on one, he puts it on the record player and drops the needle, turning the volume up and he heads into the kitchen to find something to eat making a conscious effort to ignore the clock on the wall. He digs through the fridge to see what they have, which isn't much, but he manages to scrounge together meat and vegetables and checking the cabinet, he finds a lone box of rice and decides to attempt a stir-fry.
He decides to make extra, in case he happens to get a visitor and he immerses himself in the music and cooking, singing along to the familiar words of Otis Redding and he feels himself settle into something that resembled a calm, all his pent up energy he had when he burst through door melting away the more he sways to the music as he cooks.
He’s so lost in the music, he doesn’t hear the knock on the door or the footsteps on the linoleum floors of the kitchen, but he feels the hairs stand up on the back of his neck, the way his his body heats and he knows who it was without having turn. It crosses his mind that it probably shouldn’t be like this, his body being so attuned, so aware of Ice after only knowing him Ice for two weeks. It can’t be normal, is the thing, but all that goes out the window when he chances a glance over his shoulder to see Ice, dressed down in jeans and a plain white t-shirt, bare feet, leaning against the archway into the kitchen, watching him with a softness that makes Maverick’s belly flip.
His eyes meet Mavericks and he gives him a slow, sensual smile, “Mav-erick,” He murmurs in greeting, eyes sliding down Maverick’s shirtless form, lingering on the lowriding sweatpants.
Maverick swallows, belly heating with arousal. “Kazansky.” He murmurs back, before he turns back to the simmering stir-fry on the stove.
These arms of mine
They are lonely and feelin’ blue
Otis croons from the record player and Maverick barely refrains from jumping when hands rests gently, but firmly on his bare hips. Warm breath brush the back of his neck and he shivers.
“Are you cooking for me, Mav?” Ice whispers, his tone a mixture of amusement and disbelief and it makes Maverick’s cheeks flush.
“I wasn’t sure if you’d be hungry, so I made extra.” He responds, but the breathiness of his voice betrays any illusion of nonchalance.
He feels Ice’s lips pull into a smirk in response. “Mmm, how sweet of you.” Ice murmurs, brushing a kiss against the back of Maverick’s neck.
Maverick’s heart is racing, beating so loud he wonders if Ice could hear it, too.
These arms of mine,
They are yearning,
Yearning from wanting you,
Ice’s lips slide down his neck, warm and soft, until they reach the shell of his ear. “Too bad I’m hungry for something else.” He adds lowly.
And before Maverick can event think about opening his mouth to retort, those hands—those strong, capable and calloused hands— slide to the front of Maverick’s sweats, dipping teasingly below the waistband, his fingers brushing the skin just above his cock, just as his teeth bite into the soft skin of his earlobe.
Maverick groans, but has just enough sense to push the pan of the burner and switch it off before he gives into his desire, turning in Ice’s arms, pushing him against the counter and attacking his lips hungrily. Ice kisses him back just as forcefully, his hands sliding into Maverick’s hair and gripping it tightly in his grasp, pulling a moan from Maverick’s throat.
These arms of mine,
They are burning,
Burning from wanting you,
It’s all teeth and tongue and heat and fire and nothing what Maverick thought it would be like to kiss the Iceman. His lips are soft and warm and demanding against Maverick’s and he fights for control with every nip of his teeth, every stroke of his tongue and Maverick finds himself surrendering to it. He lets Ice angle his head the way he wants it, moans when his teeth tug gently on his lower lip, soothing it with a brush of his tongue and Maverick opens his mouth, letting Ice in and their tongues tangle and dance and Maverick loses himself in the sensation.
These arms of mine,
They are wanting,
Wanting to hold you,
His chest burns with arousal and lack of oxygen, his head is spinning, but he pulls Ice closer, wanting more more more. He presses his body to Ice’s and he shouldn't find it as hot as he does when Ice flips their positions and picks Maverick up smoothly and sets him on the counter top, so they were eye level with each other.
He wraps his legs around Ice’s waist and tugs him closer, lips parting on a moan when he feels Ice’s erection brush against his.
Ice’s gaze on Maverick is pure heat and want, his pupils blown wide and almost eclipsed the blue of his irises, lips swollen and bruised from the intensity of their kisses and it makes Maverick’s cock twitch in his sweats. Maverick’s sure he looks just as crazed as Ice does and he finds that he doesn’t care. He wants this and Maverick always gets what he wants.
C’mon, c’mon baby,
Just be my lover,
He pulls Ice back to him and he meets him half way, their lips meeting again, but this time it’s gentler, more explorative and Maverick tangles his hands into Ice’s blonde locks, scratching his fingers against his scalp and that pulls a groan from Ice’s mouth and Maverick shivers and Ice pulls him closer in response.
Ice’s hands slid down Maverick’s glistening skin, brushing across his shoulders, down his sides, slipping his thumbs into the back of Maverick’s sweats and Maverick whimpers when those hands grip his ass. Ice pulles him off the counter and his lips never leaving Maverick’s, he walks them into the living room and lays him out on the floor, blanketing Maverick’s body with his own.
I need somebody,
Somebody to treat me right
Their clothed cocks brush and they both pull away at the same time to groan. Maverick bucks his hips up, chasing the friction and Ice pushes away from him with a gentle hand resting on his chest.
Ice sits back on his heels to yank his shirt over his head, dog-tags clinking together before the rest between his pecs and Maverick licks his lips at the bare skin on display.
Ice’s gaze never leaves Maverick’s as his hands go to his belt, but Maverick bats his hands away.
“Let me,” Maverick breathes, placing a kiss to Ice’s chest, as his hands tangle with the buckle of his belt, letting his fingers tease the outline of his cock, grinning when he hears the sharp intake of air above him.
I need your tender lips,
To hold, hold me,
When he gets the belt out of the way, he snaps the button loose with a flick of his wrist and immediately slides his hand down the front, feeling the hot skin against his fingertips and he grips Ice through his briefs. Ice mutters a curse, bucking into his hand and Maverick meets his eyes with a smirk dancing on his lips and Ice stares right back, blue eyes wide and wanting.
With a growl, Ice pushes him back down onto the soft carpet, lips going to Maverick’s neck and his hand sliding down Maverick’s sweats, shoving them down his hips and Maverick raises them, letting Ice rip them off his body, leaving him bare and exposed to his hungry gaze.
Ice’s eyes slide down his chest, to his cock laying hard and leaking against his taught stomach, before they wandered down his thighs, to his shins, to his feet and back again, just as slowly.
Maverick shifts restlessly underneath his heated stare, feeling himself flush all over from the intensity of his gaze.
“You are so fucking beautiful,” Ice murmurs reverently, his voice low and dripping with lust, sliding his hands up Maverick’s thighs, leaning down and kissing at Maverick’s throat. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to lay you out like this, Maverick.”
Maverick cants his hips up in response. “Ice, please.” He pleads, borderline desperate.
Ice only smirks at him, brushing his fingers teasingly against the sensitive skin of his thighs. “What do you want, Mav? Hmm?”
He teases his lips against Maverick’s pulse point, biting down with his teeth, dragging his fingers sensually over his balls. “Do you want my hands?” he demonstrates by gripping Maverick in his hand loosely, stroking from root to tip and Maverick closes his eyes and moans at the pleasure that sings in his veins.
“Or do you want my mouth?” Ice continues, breath warm, biting his earlobe and Maverick whimpers at the thought. “That’s what you really want, isn't it? My lips wrapped around your cock, sucking you until you come down my throat,” Ice says, his voice dripping with promise and Maverick squirms under him. “That’s what you thought about all this week, isn't it? Me on my knees for you, my mouth on your cock.”
“I thought about it, too, you know,” Ice admits, eyes drifting to Maverick’s dick that was still in his loose grip. “What you’d taste like, the sounds you’d make, mmm.” He meets Maverick’s gaze with a grin that wasn't nice and full of danger and Maverick feels his blood heat in response. “I want you to ask me nicely, Maverick.”
Maverick swallows heavily, Adams apple bobbing and he chokes on a moan when Ice squeezes him, calloused thumb brushing over the pool of precut at the sensitive tip.
“Please, Ice I want—“ he cuts himself off with a flush, bucking his hips and Ice tuts.
“What do you want, Maverick? C’mon, baby,” Ice whispers, eyes heavy lidded and dark with want.
Maverick takes a breath and looks him directly in the eyes and whispers, “I want you to suck my cock, Lieutenant.”
Ice’s eyes are molten sapphire when he responds with a hungry smirk, “As you wish.”
He slides down Mavericks body, sucking bruises into his skin, leaving behind a trail of want as he goes and Maverick can’t keep his gaze off of him if he tries, anticipation and arousal growing the closer Ice gets to his intended destination
Ice tightens his grip around Maverick’s leaking cock and keeping his gaze on Maverick’s, he lowers his mouth, flicking his tongue against the tip before he swallows him down in one go and Maverick throws his head back and curses, tangling his fingers into Ice’s hair.
Ice hollows his cheeks and sucks, his tongue flicking against the underside vein and Maverick sees stars, bucking into his mouth and Ice’s arm braced against his hips to hold him down. He builds up a quick rhythm that has Maverick moaning with every breath and his head spinning like he’s in a flat spin going over eight hundred knots. He grips Ice’s hair and grunts in pleasure when Ice kitten licks the head on the upstroke before he sinks back down.
“Fuck yes,” Maverick mutters, opening his eyes to meet Ice’s molten ones and Maverick thinks he might burn with their heat. “Ice, so good, fuck—“
Ice smirks around his cock, quickening his speed, his other hand snaking between his thighs to fondle his balls and Maverick can feel the muscles in his belly tighten and he tugs Ice’s hair to warn him, but the stubborn fucker stays right where he is, that intense stare Maverick has seen so many times burning in his eyes and the gentle scrape of his teeth against the tip of Maverick’s cock has his vision whiting out as he comes, a breathless pant of Ice’s name leaving his lips as his body shakes through his orgasm.
Ice sucks down every drop, letting Maverick ride out the waves of his orgasm until he feels the shocking sensitivity take it’s place. Maverick pulls his hair gently and Ice gets the message, pulling away and wiping his mouth, his eyes never leaving Maverick.
He slithers up his body, kissing Maverick’s damp skin, brushing his tongue over pebbled nipples, chuckling low in his throat when Maverick impatiently pulls him up to his lips. Their tongues tangle and something possessive curls around Maverick’s heart at the taste of himself on Ice’s tongue, moaning in satisfaction at the thought of him leaving here with Maverick on his lips, like some twisted form of a souvenir.
Ice grinds his cock into Maverick’s hip and Maverick widens his legs, allowing Ice to slide right into the cradle of his hips and rut up against his spent cock.
Ice pulls away with a gasp, pushing away from Maverick to kick his jeans and briefs down the rest of the way and Maverick feels his mouth go dry at the sight of Ice’s cock slapping obscenely against his stomach, leaving a smear of precum behind on his abs.
Maverick pulls Ice right back to him, his head spinning when he feels the easy glide of Ice’s cock against his and Ice closes his eyes, jaw clenched, muscles twitching and jumping and this time, Maverick doesn't even think, he traces them with his tongue, tasting the salt on his skin from sweat and Ice groans, tilting his head back to give Maverick more access.
“I’m not gonna last,” Ice whispers into his ear. “I want it just like this, want to come all over you,” Ice continues, voice low and dirty and it makes arousal shoot right through Maverick. “Fuck Mav, you feel so fucking good against me, shit.”
Maverick reaches between them and grips Ice roughly in hand, squeezing him, brushing his thumb against the head and Ice throws his head back and a guttural sound leaves his lips and his hips rut into Maverick’s hand, fucking his fist and the sight has Maverick getting hard again.
“That’s it, Ice,” Maverick mutters breathlessly. “Come for me, want to see it, feel it on my skin—“
“Fuck, Mav,” Ice breathes, hips stuttering and Maverick brushes his lips against his jaw, biting the twitching muscles and Ice comes, hot and wet, all over Maverick’s stomach, his cock twitching a few times before Ice collapses on top of Maverick in a breathless heap.
They lay there, panting and gasping for a few minutes, trying to pull themselves back together and Maverick finds himself running his hands over the contours of Ice’s back and Ice relaxes, brushing a kiss against Maverick’s neck, before he settles with a hum.
The record had stopped playing long ago and they lay there in the silence and for the first time in a long time, Maverick feels content and satiated. It settles in his skin and wraps around him like a blanket.
Ice stirs first, leaning up on his elbow and glances down at Maverick with a smile, a genuine one, eyes soft and relaxed, all the hard and cool edges smoothed out and it’s just as beautiful as Maverick thought it would be.
He runs a finger down Maverick’s sternum, toying with his dog-tags and Maverick shivers at the sensation, watching him with curious eyes, a question on tip of his tongue, but Ice beats him to it.
“When did you know?” He asks, voice soft, probing and he looks at Maverick, curiosity shining in those clear blue depths and Maverick knows what he’s asking without needing any sort of elaboration.
Maverick feels a smile dance on his lips, a breathless laugh leaving his throat and he wonders if Ice can hear the fondness in it like he can. “I don't know if you’ve noticed, Kazansky.” Maverick murmurs, brushing a hand under his jaw, thumb brushing over his soft and swollen lips. “But you’ve got a bit of an oral fixation that’s very distracting.”
Ice blushes and it’s the prettiest thing Maverick has ever seen.
*
They eat cold stir fry and shower together, which leads to round two and then round three when they attempt to dry each other off and Ice takes him on his back, blue eyes dark and full of heat and desire and they fall asleep like that, bodies intertwined.
Ice wakes Maverick when he leaves in the morning, which almost leads to round four if Maverick didn’t see the time and rush to head into the shower, Ice’s warm laughter following him into the bathroom.
And in class that day, Maverick can’t help but watch Ice twirl his pen over his knuckles as he listens to Jester’s lecture. And when he brings that pen to his lips, he shoots Maverick a knowing grin, white teeth gleaming around the gold of the pen and it takes Maverick back to the week prior and he grins to himself, because now he doesn't have to wonder what those lips would feel like when they wrap around him.
He already knows.
And if he pushes Ice against the shower wall when everyone leaves the locker-room and takes him into his mouth and edges him until Ice is practically on his knees and begging as punishment, well.
No one’s asking and Maverick is definitely not telling.