From the outset, Slider was uneasy about the very idea, and there was only so much plying Iceman could do.
He pitched it as "something we both want" and "not that big a deal", which were both flat lies, because they didn't want the same things and they never had. Slider wanted Iceman; Iceman wanted to have his cake and eat it, too. Iceman wanted Maverick. Iceman wanted to be Top Gun. Iceman wanted a whole hell of a lot of things and Slider was tired of helping him get them, but he'd made his bed - dug his grave - years ago.
It was that childish affection he had for Iceman, one part lust and possessive objectification, one part dogged loyalty, that made him finally give in. To be exact, he said, "Fine, you fucking whackjob, let's do it," and then walked away across the tarmac with his bag slung over his shoulder wondering exactly when their relationship had gotten this weird.
It was a Tuesday when he drove over to Iceman's, already having laid out the ground rules in the locker room forty-eight hours previously: "No weird shit, no two dicks in one hole or anything like that, and Maverick shuts his face."
Iceman had nodded and smirked at the last one. "Sure," he'd said. "Lighten up."
There was a lot of irony in him telling anyone to lighten up, but Slider had decided not to point that out.
Now he was standing on Iceman's porch, raising his fist to knock. Before he could, the door opened, and there Iceman stood with a shot glass of whiskey in his hand and his lips curved upward mischievously.
Slider took in a lungful of air. "Hey."
"Want a drink?"
"If you're offering," he replied, walking inside, taking his jacket off. Iceman moved smoothly, like he was afraid of spooking Slider, who stood with his weight set forward onto the balls of his feet until Iceman returned, cracking a beer. He handed it over and beckoned Slider down the hall that led to the bedroom. Slider was familiar with his surroundings, which he appreciated - there was nothing quite like walking into enemy territory when you were fuzzy on the mission.
Maverick was stripped to his underwear and sitting on the bed with a pillow over his crotch. Slider had expected him to come out with his guns blazing, so he just sagged against the doorway and made eye contact with Iceman, who sat next to Maverick.
The mattress gave a small creak under their combined weight. Iceman began to unbutton his shirt.
Slider sipped his beer.
Maverick looked between them. His face was very easy to read.
Iceman slid out of his pants and tossed them on the floor. His belt buckle hit the hardwood roughly. The sound seemed amplified in the silence. He pressed his palms to the mattress, listing to port, and drew his tongue up the side of Maverick's neck. Maverick made a soft noise and leaned away hesitantly, watching Slider.
Slider pulled his shirt off over his head and dropped his pants. After a moment of deliberation he let his boxers fall as well. Iceman tipped his head back and his eyes fell over Slider's body.
Slider knelt onto the bed.
"Well?"
Maverick slid a hand behind Slider's head and pulled him close, pressing his lips to his Adam's apple and then sucking at his neck, making obscene noises that came from low in his throat. Slider raised his eyes to Iceman, who was stroking Maverick's thigh and gazing at the two of them with smug, lazy satisfaction.
Slider rolled over, tangled in a mess of tanned limbs, and Iceman eased himself into a sitting position, muscles rippling. He was hard against his own thigh and Slider's eyes traveled over his dick slowly, longingly. He looked up, asking for permission. Iceman nodded and Slider bent over him, tugging his underwear off, rubbing gently at the sensitive skin near the base of his cock, just to be a tease. Iceman slid his hand into Slider's hair and grabbed hold the best he could, then tipped his head back and let out a moan.
Maverick moved closer and gazed at Slider warily. Slider grabbed him roughly by the thigh and dragged him into the phalanx, then slid his index finger into Maverick's mouth while grabbing Iceman by the cock with his other hand. He was getting into this, now, high on the power trip.
Maverick gagged on the sudden intrusion for a moment, and then his face flushed and he took Slider's ring and middle fingers into his mouth as well, sucking hard, bringing blood to the surface of his skin - God, the mouth on this kid - and giving him a look out of the corner of his eye. That was fine, because now Slider was getting play from all directions, and Iceman had just started to palm Maverick through his underwear, which was hot in and of itself.
Iceman met Slider's eyes. His pupils had doubled in size.
"Let me fuck him," he murmured.
An moan of pleasure escaped from Maverick, the sound of it muffled by Slider's fingers. Iceman licked his lips.
"Okay," Slider said.
He sat back onto his haunches, relieving Iceman from the pressure of his hand, and Maverick wedged himself between them, falling to the bed. Iceman rubbed at Maverick's back and rolled him over onto his side, pulling his underwear down and off of him. The elastic snapped and Slider sucked in a breath.
Iceman met Slider's eyes. They gazed at each other for a long moment.
Iceman slipped his Navy ring off, quickly pumped some lube into his palm and then took Slider by the wrist, pressing his hand to the curve of Maverick's ass.
Maverick squirmed beneath them.
Slider slid a finger into Maverick, and Iceman quickly followed suit, linking his finger around Slider's. Maverick sank his nails into a pillow.
Iceman leaned forward and bit Slider's lip, then pulled away, smirking. Slider muttered something unsavory under his breath and pulled Iceman toward himself, shoving his tongue into Iceman's mouth, and Iceman ran his free hand through Slider's hair and parted his lips further, welcoming Slider in.
Slider slipped another finger in and bent it. Maverick's mouth fell open and he choked out, "Fuck me, please, someone, fuck me, god -"
Iceman slid out and Slider did the same, resting his hand on Maverick's inner thigh. There was the familiar sound of ripping foil and Iceman rolled a condom onto himself, groaning as he pushed into Maverick, groping Slider with his free hand. Maverick clenched his jaw and reached out, tightening his hand around the base of Slider's dick as Iceman thrusted into him, slow but powerful.
Iceman glanced up, his eyes bright and his full lips swollen and red. Slider stared directly at him as he knelt at Maverick's knees, getting a hand job from the pair of them, hot flesh pressed to his skin as blood thudded beneath the surface. Slider's entire body was trembling with need. He felt stripped down in front of these two pilots, diminished, humiliated, and that was turning him on even more.
Maverick let out a long, protracted moan. Slider's hand slipped between the covers and the heat of Maverick's body and ran a hand down his side, watching his eyelashes flutter, and began to stroke him in return, since Iceman wasn't giving him the courtesy of a reacharound.
This proved too much for Iceman and he was barely able to grunt "I'm coming" before Maverick was twisting in the sweaty sheets, crying "oh god, oh god, Tom, Jesus -" and hitting orgasm himself. Slider moved solidly forward onto his hands, panting, and came all over Maverick's stomach as Iceman pulled out.
His chest heaved as he lay there, the pulse of his wrist pressed to Iceman's thigh.
Iceman sat up and moved Slider bodily to the left, then fell with obvious comfort between the two of them.
Slider wiped Maverick's semen off of his arm and onto a nearby pillow with some measure of disgust. Iceman slipped an arm around Maverick and kissed him with obvious affection. Slider watched with vague jealousy and fought the urge to shove Maverick off the bed.
Iceman glanced over at Slider and afforded him a smug, lopsided grin. "Hey," he murmured, and wrapped his hand around Slider's muscular arm, pulling him close. Maverick rested his hand on Iceman's chest, toying with his nipple, and looked up at Slider, doe-eyed. "He's done with us," he said, with a reticent little smirk.
"Shut up, Mitchell," Slider grunted, and kissed Iceman on the jaw, running a hand through his hair. Maverick watched them.
Slider ran his tongue over Iceman's swollen bottom lip, teasing him, and then rolled over onto his back, resting his hands on his own stomach. Maverick's eyelids tipped drowsily.
The three of them laid there in silence for a few minutes. Slider stared at the ceiling and wallowed in the afterglow.
Iceman cleared his throat. Slider looked over. Maverick was fast asleep, snoring softly. Iceman ran a hand through his dark hair.
"Pass me a marker," Slider said.
Iceman snorted.
"Come on, I think he'd look cute with a couple dicks on his face."
Iceman broke Maverick's grip gently and patted Slider on the back. "I'm gonna go take a shower," he said, yawning. "Coming?"
Slider got up maybe a little too eagerly and followed him to the bathroom.
Iceman sat on the edge of the tub and turned the water on, waving his hand through it gingerly.
"Wimp," Slider said.
Iceman's lips tilted and he nodded.
Slider wouldn't admit it, but he appreciated having Iceman alone like this. It was probably a consolation prize, but it didn't feel like one.
Iceman stood and ran a hand through his hair, beckoning Slider over. Slider took him by the shoulders and pushed him against the shower wall, nuzzling his neck, their bodies brushing pleasantly. Iceman sighed and moved so that he was under the spray, then took Slider's hand and slid it along the length of his own side.
Slider rested his hand on Iceman's golden-brown hip and tilted his face so that the water hit where he had accidentally rubbed come in his hair. "You're so hot," he muttered.
Iceman grinned lazily and leaned an elbow against the wall, stretching out like a cat. "You're so pathetic," he said, as if it were an endearing quality. "Rub me here," he added, moving Slider's hand to his lower back. Slider obliged.
After a few moments Iceman turned and cupped Slider's jaw in his hands, kissing the edges of his lips and running his tongue along the fine stubble coating his cheeks. Slider pushed a knee between Iceman's legs and Iceman laughed quietly, pulling back and looking at him with a dark expression.
"What?"
Iceman shook his head, pulled a washcloth from the curtain rod, and began to wipe Maverick's come off of Slider. "You should go."
"Now?"
It hung in the air.
He pulled Iceman close and their tongues met, running roughshod over each other. Their bodies seemed to eclipse each other, never meeting, awkwardly maneuvering around the elephant in the other room.
Iceman shut the water off and looked away. Slider wiped himself off with a towel and walked out, pulling his pants on, not even bothering with his boxers. Iceman stood guiltily in the doorway of the bathroom. His dog tags glinted from the bedside table as Slider dimmed the lights.
Maverick stirred.
"See you, Kazansky," Slider said, doing his shirt up. Iceman nodded.
The sun had grown brighter since his arrival and it struck Slider as physically painful as he sat in his car, cursing himself, wanting to go back in and smack either of them - both of them.
He did neither and instead drove off into the soft Miramar afternoon, his stomach full of lead.