"Hollywood."

Hollywood paused while shoving things in his bag, but didn't look up or turn around. "What?"

The two of them were alone in the locker room -- Maverick had purposefully lingered in order to talk to him.

"Can I ask you something? Mano a mano?"

"If you insist, man," Hollywood said, sitting down on the bench and raising an eyebrow at Maverick.

"How much do you..." Maverick paused and considered his phrasing. "How much do you know about Iceman?"

Hollywood bit his lip and let out a puff of air. "A little. Why?"

"Just curious," Maverick lied. "Keep your friends close and your rivals closer, some shit like that." He touched his eyebrow unconsciously.

Hollywood looked at his watch. "Okay, I've got a minute, I'll play along. We went to flight school together. He was always a diligent student, didn't step out of line, got a lot of pussy, never had a steady girlfriend."

"Really?" Maverick said immediately. "Why not?"

"Hell, I don't know, man, he's just not the type, you know?"

"Yeah, I guess," Maverick muttered. "He never said anything about it? Or, uh..."

Hollywood smirked at him. "What are you really asking me, Maverick? 'Cause I don't have time for this."

"Just..."

"What?"

"Did he ever, you know," Maverick said, exasperated, "fall off the pussy wagon? You know what I mean."

"Ah," Hollywood said. Then, after a beat: "Why?"

"Just curious," Maverick repeated, and touched his eyebrow again.

"Well, I wouldn't know from experience --"

"No, of course not --"

"You'd probably have to ask Slider," Hollywood said, smirking again, "and I doubt he would tell you anything. I mean, he'd kick your ass, and that would probably be telling in and of itself, but... I really gotta go, man. Good luck with your, uh, research."

Maverick saw him leave out of the corner of his eye, but was too absorbed in thought to turn.

He went without Goose this time.

For one, he was kind of embarrassed to be following Iceman, and had only been able to convince himself that what he was doing wasn't gay, gay, gay, the fucking gayest thing he had ever done -- and that was saying something -- by figuring if he didn't find anything out by his, uh, surveillance, that he would find a girl to take home with him and thoroughly redeem himself.

It was the bar they had come to that first night, and he knew they had good beer, so Maverick sat down at the bar. Slider had accidentally confirmed they were both going to be there, him and Ice, and it only took a moment for him to find them.

Ice was flirting with some girl, sort of. He seemed distinctly disinterested and kept giving glances to Slider a few feet away.

Maverick shifted on the barstool, fiddled with his watch. Iceman seemed to be glowing fuzzily under the lights of the bar in his stark summer whites. His fingers were lazily around a shot glass, the ice cube in it occasionally clinking against the side.

Maverick had hardly felt creepier in his life.

And then Iceman spotted him.

He had expected that, of course, Iceman could probably sniff him out a hundred meters away in a torrential rainstorm, but the way Iceman looked at him... initially with hackles raised, and then his face softened into mild curiousity, hazel eyes roving Maverick's body briefly before turning back to the girl, detached scowl firmly back in place. Maverick thought Ice had even, for a tiny moment, flashed his teeth at him.

"You're alone tonight," the bartender commented.

"Uh," Maverick said after a moment, redirecting his attention, "yeah."

"What happened to the blonde one?"

"He's over th -- oh, you mean, Charlie?"

The bartender gave him a slightly puzzled look and then nodded.

"She, uh," Maverick said. "I don't know. I don't even know anymore. Hey, listen, I don't have anyone else to talk to about this, you're a bartender, you probably know about this stuff... Can I ask you something?"

"Shoot."

"Is sexuality flexible?" Maverick said, dropping his voice a decibel.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, like," Maverick said, leaning forward, "straying from the path once or twice doesn't make you gay, right?"

The bartender stared at him in horror. "Son, aren't you in the Navy?"

Maverick shook his head. "I just like the uniforms," he said, getting up quickly. "Thanks for the beer," he said, racing off.

Shit, he thought, when you can't even discuss your life with an anonymous bartender... what the hell is the world coming to?

"Maverick."

Maverick leapt into the air and then ducked like he was about to get clobbered over the head with something. He'd recognize that low, drawling voice anywhere.

He turned around and found himself looking into the eyes of none other but Iceman.

"Funny seeing you here," Iceman said.

"Same to you."

"Let's take a walk," Iceman said, and poked Maverick in the back. The way Maverick let Iceman guide him to the door, you'd think it was the barrel of a gun in his back and not a finger.

"Where's Slider?" Maverick said once they were out in the cold San Diego night, the tropical plants in front of the bar swaying in the breeze.

"Does it matter? Listen, Maverick, any particular reason you're following me?"

"What, I'm not allowed to go to the same bar as you?" Maverick snapped. "God, man, you're anal."

"It's not just the bar," Iceman said slowly and clearly, as if Maverick were speaking a different language. "You've barely had me out of your sight all week."

Maverick began to laugh. "You're a fine one to talk, Iceman."

Iceman sighed through his nose. Then he grabbed a fistful of Maverick's uniform and shoved him up against the wall of the bar.

"Stop it," Iceman said. "I don't like prying. You get one warning."

Maverick's face was incredibly, disquietingly close to Iceman's. He could smell the cologne wafting off of Ice's throat with every heartbeat.

"Okay," Maverick said, because there was nothing else to say when someone's knee was that close to your family jewels.

Iceman let him go and strolled back into the bar, and Maverick was left with a very uncomfortably pulsing boner.

"You look bad," Goose commented.

"Thanks," Maverick muttered, not raising his head from where it was buried in his arms.

"What's up?"

"My blood pressure," Maverick told him.

"Girl problems?"

"Not exactly."

"Well, you might want to snap out of it," Goose replied. "We're only two points behind Iceman, we can do it, Mav. We're ace. We're the best."

"Of course we are."

"All right, gentlemen, we're about to take our hop," Jester called out, "so get your asses to preflight."

As they walked out, Maverick caught Iceman looking at him. He held the gaze for a second, and then Ice looked away.

Maverick smirked to himself.

"Hey, Wolfman, when you gonna be done in there?"

"When I'm damn good and ready, feel free to come in if you can't wait, you fag."

Maverick tapped his fingers on the bench. There was a white towel loosely around his waist and his dark hair was still wet.

Iceman still hadn't come out of the shower yet. There had been a few comments about him whacking off, but no one seemed perturbed by it, except for Maverick. It felt too much like Ice knew what he was about to do and was playing along.

Finally, the last pilot ambled out of the showers and Maverick and Iceman were completely alone.

Maverick let out a breath and stood up. At the same moment, he heard the water shut off.

He walked over to Iceman's shower, pulled the curtain back gently and stepped in.

The two of them stood there in the steam, surrounded by blue. Iceman was the first to speak.

"I thought I told you to stop following me, Mitchell."

"I've never been good at following orders, Kazansky."

Maverick stepped forward. It was deathly quiet.

"That's gonna get you in trouble someday, Maverick," Iceman said, his gaze blazing.

"It already has," Maverick said, and went for Iceman's mouth at the same time Iceman leaned down and caught Maverick around the waist, pulling him up to his lips.

Maverick threaded his fingers through Iceman's wet, dark gold hair, grinding his hip against Iceman's naked thigh.

Iceman's hand slipped beneath the towel, against Maverick's ass, and with a gentle finger motion the towel fluttered to the floor.

Maverick grabbed Iceman's jaw and forced his tongue in harder, pushing Iceman up against the wall of the shower, his foot slipping on the drain.

"HOLY --"

"Shit," Iceman said.

"MOTHER OF GOD --"

Maverick pulled himself away from Ice to see Hollywood standing in front of them, his arm over his eyes.

"Sorry," he mumbled, "uh, I'll... shit shit shit..."

Hollywood stumbled away from the shower, shell-shocked.

"We should probably take this somewhere else," Iceman stated, in that way he had of pointing out things that were patently obvious.

Maverick kissed Ice quickly on the lips. "Probably."