July 18, 1998. Miramar, California.
Iceman came over that evening, saying he wanted to talk. Maverick wasn't stupid, nor had he never used that line himself, but he let him in anyway.
"Someone's been skimming from our funds," he said, uncapping a beer and taking a sip. "Internal affairs is launching an investigation."
"Perfect timing," Maverick said, pulling his shirt off over his head and tossing it onto the counter.
Iceman raised an eyebrow.
"It's hot," he said.
Iceman walked over and slid his hands over Maverick's waist. Maverick dropped his head against Iceman's chest.
"Did you get a haircut?" Iceman asked, his hand undoing Maverick's fly as he buried his lips in his brow.
Maverick laughed huskily. "Yeah."
Iceman's hand crept lower.
"I, uh, I've got a headache," Maverick said, pulling away and clearing his throat.
There was a long pause. He hoped Iceman would take that for what it was, just nerves and guilt, and push past it.
But Iceman just nodded slowly.
/
"Who do you peg?" Maverick said, picking up a football, fumbling it, and tossing it directly into a bush. Iceman was sitting on an iron-wrought patio bench that Charlie had picked out, arms folded.
"Hm?"
"The embezzler," called Maverick, who was on his hands and knees looking for the ball.
The sky was fading to a dark orange in the distance. It was the kind of sunset to ride off into, but Maverick had sold his motorcycle on eBay years ago. He got to his feet and lobbed a pass at Iceman, who sent it back with a perfect spiral.
"Nice hands," Maverick said. "You want to play?"
"What, football?" Iceman stood up, snorting derisively.
"Yeah, come on," Maverick said. "What, afraid of me?"
Iceman gave him that withering you-must-be-kidding look.
"Ooh, the Iceman is scared," goaded Maverick. "You know I'm gonna kick your ass."
"Fine," Iceman snapped. "Let's go."
Maverick grinned. "Okay, my end zone's over here," he said, gesturing vaguely at the rosebushes lining the side of the house, "and you're over there."
"It's no one we know," Iceman said.
"Huh?"
"The embezzler. It's not going to be anyone we know. It'll be some little troll in an office out East."
"How do you know?"
"I know."
"You know, I played in high school," said Maverick, changing the subject.
"You could see over the linemen?"
Maverick shot him the middle finger in response and charged forward with the ball. Iceman tackled him easily, without any real malice behind it, and they stayed down maybe a second longer than necessary before Maverick turned the ball over. He was still shirtless, and there was a grass stain on his shoulder.
They went on like that for another ten minutes or so, until Maverick managed to feint his way into a touchdown. Iceman rolled his eyes as Maverick spiked the ball and started dancing around, then called "showboating" and took him down at the waist.
They laid there tangled up in each other's limbs, panting and smudged with dirt. Maverick was laughing so hard - dimples out in full force - that he gave himself the hiccups. Iceman groaned as he rolled over, his boner pressing up against Maverick's thigh. Maverick tensed.
"It's an erection, Mitchell, not a binding contract," Iceman sighed.
"I want to," Maverick murmured into his chest, taking fistfuls of his shirt. "Don't - Jesus, I'm just -"
"Two days. I know."
They fell into silence. Iceman's thumb traced the curve of Maverick's lips. Maverick swallowed a moan and slid his hand between Iceman's legs. Iceman rolled over so he was on top, sliding Maverick's jeans off his ass, licking a strip from his neck where his pulse was hammering at a jackrabbit speed down to his hipbone. His hands worked quickly, and soon Maverick had his underwear around his ankles like a character in a lesbian pulp fiction novel as Iceman's tongue moved to the tattoo on his thigh. The air rushed out of Maverick's lungs.
"Shut up," Iceman panted, breath unbearably warm on his skin, "neighbors -"
Maverick's fingernails sank into Iceman's ass and he made a choked hissing noise, grabbing Maverick by the wrist and twisting him away. Maverick kissed him again, a needy haze settling over his eyes, their tongues twining and teeth clicking together. His hips came up to meet Iceman's and he drew his mouth away and let out a few sharp syllables, a whiny groan in the depths of his throat.
"Ice, Ice," Maverick panted unintelligibly, "neck - don't... no hickeys, court -"
Iceman moved his lips to Maverick's chest and went lower, teasing a nipple on his way down. He was noiseless, working over Maverick like a cobra while the latter did his best impression of a porn star, whimpering and keening to beat the band. His eyes rolled up in his head as he came into Iceman's palm, shifting onto his stomach, elbows against the dirt. Iceman followed a moment later with a soft, dog-like sigh and rolled off of Maverick.
They lay there, slick with sweat, chests heaving in the hot July evening, lit with dwindling sunlight and citronella candles.
"So," Iceman drawled, "about that headache..."
Maverick's whole body shook with laughter.
/
A/N: As y'all have probably surmised, the climax of May will be the custody hearing, and its aftermath. I'll do an epilogue, though, because I think this fic needs one... anyvey, I have another idea in the works - it's a Top Gun genderswap fic set in the present day and within the movie timeline, and it will be a whole lot of delicious, delirious crack with parodical references out the ass and femslash, plain slash, etc. If you are one of those rare and precious people that appreciates my sense of humor, you'll probably like it, so keep an eye out (:
