"Bullshit," Maverick said, a grin teasing at his lips, "you can be mine."
He leaned in, chest pressed against Ice's, and whispered in his ear.
"Meet me in my bunk, twenty-three hundred hours. Don't be late."
Ice jerked away involuntarily, tilting his head at Maverick in silent questioning.
Maverick answered only with a self-assured quirk of his eyebrows and disappeared into the crowd, shouting and high-fiving the other Top Gun students with open enthusiasm.
Ice just stood there, showing no outward signs of surprise, but inside he felt like a twelve-year-old girl, breathless and beside himself.
"What the fuck does that mean?" he muttered to himself, earning an odd look from Hollywood as he passed. As soon as Hollywood had turned around, Ice made a rude gesture at his back.
He returned to the bunk he shared with Slider on the aircraft carrier. Unable to sit down and think properly, he paced back and forth in the tiny room, mulling over his dog tags, refusing to dwell on Maverick.
Ice caught a glimpse of himself in a mirror hanging on the chipped and grungy wall. His hazel eyes were unfocused and dreamy, and his cheeks were flushed.
"Damnit," he hissed. That was rule number one of being Iceman -- don't show your emotions on your face.
His hair looked damn good, though. He ruffled it a little, thinking about how Maverick's hair always looked I-just-got-off-my-motorcycle wind-tousled, and decided it wasn't his look.
Maybe he should go up on the flight deck and be nervous and unsettled there, Ice thought, glancing at his watch. Shit. Was it eleven yet?
At the same time, Maverick was dancing around his bunk in anxious anticipation.
This isn't a date, right? he thought, biting his bottom lip and playing with the zipper on his flight suit. He began to laugh. Was he actually thinking about Tom Kazanky in romantic parameters?
Maverick dropped to the floor and did a few quick push-ups, then rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling, his dog tags sliding to the side of his neck.
"Talk to me, Goose," he said out loud for the second time that day.
Maverick imagined Goose would have a funny, mildly alarmed response. Something like "Well, I guess it's better than Penny Benjamin." Goose had known Maverick better than anyone else on Earth, and he knew Maverick liked to toy around his sex life. He had said nothing when he had picked Maverick up from some random guy's apartment at two-thirty in the morning, and had kept his amusement to himself when Maverick had barely been able to pilot for sitting down that day after a particularly drunken night of debauchery. "A literal pain in the ass, huh, Mav?" he had noted with a completely straight face.
Maverick grinned to himself and began to hum P.Y.T., the song that he had whisked Penny Benjamin away to. At that moment, Ice opened the door to the bunk and looked down at Maverick in surprise.
A few beats passed awkwardly, then Ice said with a slight grin, "Is this what you do in your spare time, Mitchell?"
"Bite me," Maverick said, standing up.
"Is that why I'm here?" Ice said a little too quickly, like he had rehearsed it. He cleared his throat. "Why am I here?"
"No idea, it's nowhere near eleven," Maverick said, folding his arms across his chest.
"Yeah, well," Ice said, and paused. "Maybe if you had told me, Mitchell, I wouldn't be here asking."
"Okay, let's cut the bullshit," Maverick said. "If you didn't know why I told you to be here, you wouldn't have come."
Ice seemed to consider this for a moment. He pursed his lips and slowly took his sunglasses off, sliding them into his breast pocket. His eyes wandered around the room, looking for something to land on, like someone who knew he was fucked but refused to admit it.
To be honest, neither of them really wanted to admit they thought about the other while they got off, while they were wrapped around their respective women (not that Maverick often saw Ice wrapped around women...)
Maverick slowly began pulling down the zipper of his flight suit, revealing the tight white shirt underneath. He stepped out of it, clad only in the shirt and white briefs.
Ice's eyes flickered over Maverick and his jaw clenched painfully, like he was holding in a whimper.
Maverick stepped forward, looking up at Iceman, who eclipsed him by a little less than four inches.
"C'mon, Ice," Maverick coaxed, closing the distance between the two of them until he was bordering on pressing himself against Ice. "I see the way you look at me, man... Hell, even Sundown sees how you look at me."
Ice let out a small little bark of a laugh, then swore under his breath.
There was something incredibly intoxicating about Ice, Maverick noted as he really studied him for the first time. Statuesque, teutonic, a borderline asshole... no wonder the ladies liked him so much.
"You're smaller up close," Maverick blurted out.
Ice's forehead creased in confusion.
"You have your fucking chest pushed out all the time," Maverick said, laughing, "and you look bigger. You're actually kind of, I dunno, lithe?"
"Well, you're a midget and you're one up close, too," Ice said, and met Maverick's lips.
Maverick's heart sped up and his sex god instincts kicked in; he spread Ice's teeth with his tongue and forced it into his mouth, at the same time shoving Ice backward against the wall for better leverage.
Ice's hands went almost instantly to Maverick's ass, while Maverick grabbed fistfuls of Iceman's flight suit, pulling him in tighter and closer, lifting one hand to Ice's frosted tips to clench in his fist as he forced a knee between Ice's legs.
Ice's tongue hit the roof of his own mouth reflexively and he raised his hands to Maverick's short, dark hair, tugging at it like there was no tomorrow. Maverick let out a little growl of pain, forcing his knee higher, and they stumbled toward the bed, Ice pulling off his own flight suit with near-hysterical urgency.
"God, godgodgod," Maverick snarled, thrusting his compact, toned body against Ice's, "Tom--"
Ice spluttered something unintelligible and pulled Maverick's shirt off, over his head, both of them utterly slick with sweat like tussling sea lions. Ice curled his body and his tongue met Maverick's rock-hard abs, sliding upward until it was desperately probing Maverick's neck, sucking and dragging his teeth along the length of Maverick's jaw, leaving angry red abrasions and hickeys wherever he went. Maverick didn't give a damn, all he wanted was more, and now, his sweat-soaked hands melting the gel in Ice's hair. Everything tasted like salt, air included; Ice was groping at Maverick's briefs, tugging at them and sliding his hand under Maverick's ass and wildly clawing at his equipment. Maverick's teeth crashed together and he grabbed Ice by the jaw and shoved his tongue back into his mouth, whining like a dog, thrusting his pelvis harder against Ice's, delirious with pleasure.
Ice gave a sharp gasp and a loud exhale, and Maverick felt the body opposite his rock with orgasm. He felt around for Iceman's boxers and pulled them off, flinging them to the floor, and licked off the come that had transferred from them to his fingers. Maverick met Ice's lips again and Ice slid his hand around in Maverick's briefs, grasping Maverick's dick in his strong, male hand. Chills rolled down Maverick's spine and he moaned, coming as he thrust one final time against Ice, who moaned back to him and rolled over on the bed.
They lay there, panting wildly for a few moments, lingering in the pleasure that stretched between them.
"Damn, Mitchell," Ice said finally, around eight minutes later, when Maverick was wiping the sweat from his brow and staggering back into his clothing. "You are good."
"You're not too bad yourself, Kazansky," Maverick muttered, sitting back down on the edge of the bed. Ice stood up and began to pull his flight suit back on. Maverick watched as the zipper went up, covering all but a tiny sliver of honey-gold chest.
"By the way," Ice said, as the door was closing behind him, "If you ever want to take me up on the wingman offer..."
The door clicked shut and Maverick began to laugh, sliding his thumb along his dog tags.
Maybe he would.