"What's wrong, you think?"

"I have no idea," Iceman grumbled. He was hunched over the open hood of his Cadillac with a very sour expression.

"Want me to take a look?" Maverick asked, already knowing what the answer would be.

"No."

"Why not?"

"With all due respect, Maverick -" there were at least five Ks in there "- what do you know about cars? You fly a plane and own a motorcycle."

Maverick shrugged and continued adjusting his hair in the reflection off of the Caddy's incredibly shiny hubcap. Shit. No matter how much he fiddled and shellacked, it definitely looked like sex hair.

He glanced over at Iceman. Iceman didn't have sex hair. Iceman had his same old helmet of frosted tips. How did he do that?

There was a long silence, and then a quiet "shit" from the front of the car.

"What?"

Pause.

"There's a giant hole in my engine block."

Maverick started laughing.

"That's not funny, Mitchell."

The hood slammed and Iceman's head jerked up. There was a pronounced furrow between his eyebrows.

"You probably threw a rod," Maverick said helpfully.

The furrow deepened.

"Want me to call -"

"No."

"I know a guy in Sa -"

"No."

Another pause.

"You need a welder."

"I need to be able to drive home, is what I need," Iceman snapped. "It's suspicious enough that I'm over here at -" he checked his watch "- ten thirty at night -"

"I could give you a ride home."

"On w - oh, no."

Maverick shrugged again.

"I'll call a cab." Iceman thrust his hands in his pockets.

The look on his face told Maverick that his wallet was not in evidence.

"This isn't your day, is it?"

"I left it on the counter," Iceman said, gesturing at Maverick accusingly, as if to say, "this is your fault".

It was kind of Maverick's fault. He had given Iceman a salacious call earlier in the afternoon and although Iceman had sounded calm over the phone, all of the blood had probably been presently rushing away from his brain and to a more southern area as he was leaving for Maverick's place.

"Why won't you let me give you a ride?"

Iceman sighed. "I appreciate the offer, but I think you know why."

"You don't want to ride bitch?"

Iceman tilted his head.

"Ha, you don't."

"I don't want anyone to see me -"

"You can wear a helmet. No one's gonna recognize you."

"You have a helmet?"

"Somewhere around here, yeah... Or I could call you a cab, but then you'd owe me money."

Maverick smirked proudly to himself. A catch-22 of Iceman's wounded pride. It was like Christmas came early.

Iceman rolled his eyes. Maverick went to fetch the helmet.

/

He settled in and waited for Iceman to join him.

"Kazansky?"

He felt a light pressure on the back of the bike and turned around. Iceman was pushing down on the pillion cautiously.

Maverick fought the urge to laugh. "What are you doing?"

"Is this going to support two people?"

"It fits Charlie fine."

"I like to think I outweigh Charlie."

"Yeah, by like, twenty pounds," Maverick snorted, and then off Iceman's look, assumed a more contrite expression and patted the space behind him. Iceman shook his head but settled in.

"You don't have to be such a grump," Maverick said.

"I really like that car, you know."

"You just need a welder, it'll be fine."

There was a pause as Maverick waited for Iceman to grab on.

"Ice... you know, you have to grab my waist."

"Are you serious?"

"Yeah."

"That's incredibly gay, Maverick."

In response, he grabbed Iceman's arms and slid them around his own waist. A pleasant tingle shot up his stomach. He held on maybe a second too long, then seized the handlebars again.

"There... now we're incredibly gay. Secure? Wait, can you slide forward a little?"

Iceman heaved an enormous sigh and slid up on the seat so his pelvis was flush with Maverick's ass. In light of what they had been up to about an hour ago, all of his protestations were kind of ironic.

"Secure?"

"Are you really Mr. Safety Joe right now?" Iceman drawled.

"I don't want to kill anybody. If I kill myself it's not as big a deal." Pregnant pause. "I don't mean that like it sounds."

"Secure," Iceman said, and slid the helmet on.

The engine purred to life.

/

At the first red light they hit, Maverick made sure to take a look around. There was hardly anyone on the road, but he didn't want anyone from TOPGUN to see him and then ask the next day, "who were you with?" because he wasn't sure he would be able to a) lie convincingly on the spot or b) keep a straight face.

As he scanned the cars to their left he felt a slight pressure against the cleft where his lower back ended and his ass began. He leaned back into it and realized Iceman had a boner.

Maverick chuckled. Iceman tilted the helmet up slightly and murmured, "Sorry," not sounding sorry at all.

He shook his head, took a hand off of the bike and reached behind himself to grope Iceman's crotch. Iceman smacked his hand away and he started laughing even harder.

"We're in broad daylight," Iceman hissed.

"It's nighttime."

Iceman shook his head. His helmet bumped Maverick's shoulder. "You're a little asshole."

"I am."

He had to admit, he was enjoying having Iceman back there, in this weird position of both intimacy and submission. He likes having Iceman's hands on him in public.

Maverick has always been the kind of guy who chafes against this kind of cloak-and-dagger bullshit. He's a peacock, he likes to fly his flag, etc etc. Which might translate, slightly, into an exhibitionist streak.

Oh well.

/

He had barely pulled to a stop before Iceman leapt off the bike like he was on fire, staggering a little in the grass and righting himself immediately.

As Maverick turned the bike off and stood up himself, Iceman pulled the helmet off and handed it to him. He held it awkwardly, turning it in his hands.

"Can I walk you to the door?"

Iceman looked at him like he was crazy, but said "fine," so they went up together, Iceman twirling his keys in his fingers

They stood on the porch for a moment, staring each other down. Iceman's chest was rising and falling erratically. Maverick wanted very badly for Ice to drag him inside and throw him down on some solid surface for an encore performance.

"You can come in, I guess," Iceman allowed, finally.

"You guess," Maverick said, closing the space between them. "Wow, so much enthusiasm," he whispered, with as much sarcasm as he could manage, distracted as he was by the arousal churning his blood.

He slipped a hand down to Iceman's crotch, half-expecting to have it batted away again, but instead Iceman opened his front door, leaned over and flipped the light switch for the porch so they were in the dark.

Maverick grinned. Iceman turned back and slid an arm around him, then into his jeans, grabbing his ass.

Maverick's breath hitched in his throat and his hands went to Iceman's crotch once again, one holding onto his belt and the other undoing his fly, stroking him with two fingers. Iceman responded in kind, running his index finger along the inside of Maverick's thighs. Maverick let out a slutty little moan.

That proved to be too much for Iceman, who pulled him inside, and they somehow managed to get to the couch while Ice sucked at Maverick's neck like a horny teenager.

"People are going to wonder why there's a motorcycle parked in the st - ah - in the street -" Iceman said in a rush of air as Maverick pushed him down into the couch and began to pull his pants off.

"Fuck 'em. Fuck me."

Iceman's jaw clenched. His erection pulsed against Maverick's thigh. "Again?"

"Yeah, again." He ran his hands over Iceman's chest.

"I'm starting to think the Russians sent you to sabotage me."

Maverick gave a surprised laugh. Iceman was not often whimsical. That was the kind of joke he'd expect Goose to make. As that thought was crossing his mind, Iceman was grabbing his ass again, which was not something Goose often did.

"Upstairs," Iceman said.

He didn't have to say it twice.