June 16, 1998. Miramar, California.
It was late, near midnight but not quite there, when the doorbell rang.
Maverick ignored it. He was lying on his couch, staring at the ceiling as the shadows crept in, fingers clutching an empty bottle of beer. His hair was messy and sweaty and sticking to his forehead slightly.
The doorbell was more insistent. Maverick sighed and got up.
"If this is - oh, hey," Maverick said. "Kazansky." He tugged his shirt down where it had ridden up over his abs.
Rain was pouring down around Iceman in turrets, but he didn't seem to notice. He was clutching a bouquet of flowers in his right hand and there was a look in his eyes that Maverick barely recognized.
"Hey," Iceman muttered. "Eagle, uh, from TOPGUN called me, said your kid was in the hospital -"
Maverick leaned on the doorway. He stared at Iceman's lips for a moment and then tilted his gaze upward. "Thanks." He took the flowers from Iceman. "Little late, isn't it?"
Iceman drummed his fingers. "Yeah, well... Special circumstances. So... you gonna invite me in or what, Mitchell?"
Maverick stepped back, but only a foot or so. "Maybe."
"Maybe." Iceman was grinning at him, now, infuriatingly. "Maybe?"
"It's late -"
Iceman fisted a handful of his shirt and pulled him up and in for a kiss. Maverick's chest tightened. Iceman's tongue was spilling, twisting, into his mouth, and his hands were needy and tugging at Maverick, groping and grabbing him.
Maverick seized Iceman by the collar and let out a long breath, holding his jaw in both hands, kissing him urgently.
The flowers fell to the floor, forgotten.
Iceman nuzzled Maverick, breath catching in his throat, hands everywhere, still, and murmured "upstairs" to him. Maverick nodded, head against Iceman's chest.
There was weak lightning as they came up the stairs, and then - Maverick counted the beats - a clap of thunder. Iceman twined his fingers in Maverick's and turned back, tilting his head like the Victrola dog. More lightning lit the windows.
Maverick's hand went to the crook of Iceman's elbow and he pushed him forward, kissing him. Iceman moaned against his lips and one hand went to the back of Maverick's neck, and the other went to his ass, and Maverick pushed him some more into the bedroom and onto the bed, which creaked under their sudden combined weight.
He straddled Iceman and started undoing his buttons, one by one, fingers fumbling. Iceman took his hands and pushed them away and dragged him down to the bed, wrestled him onto his back and pinned him there, sliding a leg between his thighs. Maverick snarled at him, bucked his hips up and buried his face in Iceman's clavicle, licking the underside of his jaw. He nudged at Iceman's hand, who seemed to remember why they were in bed in the first place, and he began to slide Maverick's jeans off his hips while laying soft kisses on the side of his face. Maverick shifted underneath him, pushing at Iceman's solid, broad shoulders and letting out a little gasp when he rubbed himself in the exact right place.
"Hurry up," Maverick whimpered. "Tom -"
Iceman spilled a little lube onto his fingers from the bottle he had hastily swiped off of the dresser and drove his fingers into Maverick, who clutched a fistful of bedsheets and rolled onto his stomach. He groaned as Iceman slid into him, pushing him down against the bed, and pulled a knee up to his chest, twisting and squirming in the sweaty sheets as he came, breathing out a few jumbled syllables. Maverick caught a glimpse of him in the mirror beside the bed as he arched his back. Iceman's eyes were wide and bright and dark in the moonlight, pupils large and cheeks flushed. He swore as he came and Maverick felt Ice's pulse rabbit when he wrapped a hand around Maverick's dick, though he was already long gone as far as orgasm was concerned.
Maverick slipped down and tugged Iceman to him, pulling his pants the rest of the way off and tossing them in a corner so that they were facing each other stark naked. He closed his eyes and Iceman drew a thumb over the fan of Maverick's eyelashes on his cheek.
"Hey," Maverick murmured. "Commander."
Iceman wrapped an arm around him and rested his chin on Maverick's shoulder, and that was how they fell asleep.
June 17, 1998. Miramar, California.
Maverick wasn't sure what woke him, the sirens or the scream. The sirens were distant and the scream was a foot away so if he was any kind of a betting man, he'd put his money on the latter - but he would never know for sure.
It wasn't the kind of screaming you hear when you go to a horror movie, not the self-conscious, high-pitched kind. It was low and guttural and pained.
Maverick sat straight up and already had his hand wrapped around the base of the bedside table lamp, preparing to bash in someone's head before he realized it was just Iceman, who was now up, wandering to the bathroom, looking almost abashed. Maverick watched him lean over the sink and douse his face with cold water.
"What the hell was that?"
"What was what?" Iceman said, strolling back into the room. There was a familiar swagger in his step, but his face was chalk-white, and he kept looking around like a spooked horse.
"That - are you okay?"
"Nightmare," Iceman grunted.
"What nightma -"
The sirens in the distance died off. Maverick stared at him.
"I..." Iceman looked at the ceiling. The fan was spinning idly. "When I hear ambulances, sometimes I -" he broke off again and ran a hand through his dark blond hair. "It brings up stuff. Bad stuff."
His tone was incredibly curt, like he and Maverick were strangers who had just bumped into each other on the bus.
"Bad stuff. Like what?"
"Oh, blow me, Mitchell."
"I'm just asking," Maverick snapped.
Iceman sat down on the edge of the bed. Maverick watched the muscles in his back ripple as he sighed.
"I was stationed somewhere off the coast of Turkey and our aircraft carrier got bombed. It was bad."
"How bad?"
"Bad," Iceman said. Maverick knew not to push it.
"Is that where you -"
Iceman turned and grazed the shrapnel scar across his chest. "This? No."
He didn't elaborate.
Maverick checked his watch. "It's two-thirty," he said. "You have a class tomorrow?"
Iceman shook his head.
"I'm going back to sleep, then," Maverick said, rubbing his temples and sinking back onto his pillow. He glanced at the nightstand. Next to the lamp, there was a photo of him, Nick, and Charlie. They were all smiling.
He slammed it face-down on the table and rolled over. A moment later, the bed creaked again and Iceman lay beside him.