Summary: In avoiding unwanted attention, you bump into better than you could’ve imagined (based on this request)
Genre: fluff?
Warnings: suggestive jokes
Pairing: Iceman x fem!reader
Word count: 1422
I fear I did not do this request justice, so apologies. Requests are open and I am slowly making my way through them! Also thinking of writing for House M.D! Please leave any feedback (just don't be mean), I always want to get better at writing.
As it was the night before the first day at Top Gun, the bar was bustling. There was not an inch of free space as naval officers packed in tightly enjoying one of their last nights of freedom for the upcoming future. This coupled with the fact you were one of the only females in the room, including the bar staff, made the environment incredibly overwhelming. Men were constantly coming up to you and treating you as wait staff, despite the fact you were due to start in Top Gun with them the following day. You had attended the open day a few week previous, but clearly most of the fellow attendees had not noticed you enough.
While you nursed a drink near the end of the bar, you began to regret coming to the bar, and you really regretted not wearing your uniform like the rest of the pilots had. Assuming the dress code was more casual, you had worn a short dress. You briefly spoke to the bar staff, who had looked sympathetically towards you as men (pilots and not pilots) came up to you and began leching while you tried to drink and socialise.
Most of the attempts you had made to mix with the other pilots led to being shut down as they didn’t believe that you could be a pilot and thought you were lying.
The only pilot you knew was Goose, he was the only one you had met before that had spoken to you as if you were an equal. Thankfully, Goose had promised he would be arriving tonight so you tried to stay out longer so you could see him before you went home.
It wasn’t too much longer that your conversation with the bartender was interrupted by Goose clapping his hand on your shoulder.
“Y/N, sorry I was late, I had to wrestle my pal here out of the house,” he pointed behind him to the shorter man who was dressed in his pilot uniform “This here is my partner, Pete ‘Maverick’ Mitchell, he is not as cool as I,” Goose laughed.
“Hi Pete!” you smiled as you reached to shake his hand. Maverick however took your hand, and brought to his mouth and brushed his lips to your knuckles. You grimaced slightly, as it was an odd first impression.
“Call me Mav, please,” he replied.
“Okay, Mav.” you smiled “Are you two ready for the morning?” you asked, looking between the two.
“We are ready, but first, we drink,” Goose cheered. At this the three of you clinked your glasses together in a cheer, and downed your drinks. Finally, the night was looking up as you were no longer alone and managed to enjoy your time.
The night passed with singing, drinking and chatting.You were finally enjoying your time, although it was getting hot inside so you decided to take a step outside for fresh air. As you stood sipping on what should be your last drink of the night, you looked around amazed at the opportunity you were having. Your thoughtful moment was interrupted by Maverick who silently appeared, startling you.
“Hi Mav,” you stuttered, surprised that he had appeared.
“Hi y/n,” he smiled. You looked ahead, intending for Maverick to get the hint that you were enjoying a peaceful moment to yourself.
He didn’t get the message.
“You look really good tonight,” he smiled.
“Thanks,” you nodded. You were sure he was really lovely, but he was a bit intense and you had come outside for a bit of space.
“I was wondering, if at the end of the first week, maybe you wanted to go for dinner?” He asked, scratching the back of his neck as he looked around.
“Like a date?” you questioned?
“Ye-yeah, like a date!” he smiled, thinking you were accepting.
“Oh oh” you smiled awkwardly “no.”
“Oh” he stopped awkwardly, unsure how to respond.
“I’m just gonna head back in,” you awkwardly said as you sidestepped around him.
You quickly snuck back, walking around the edge of the room to grab your jacket so you could head home. It had been a long evening and the awkward encounters with Pete made you just want to go home and have a soak in the bath.
Even though the night had gone on, and it was close to early hours of the morning and the bar had not emptied out at all. It was like human bumper cars as you slalomed through the crowds trying to find your jacket, which you were now regretting not bringing out with you in the first place.
Despite being aware of all the crowds of people you still managed to bump into people.
“Woah, are you okay?” a tall man asked.
“Uh yeah, just trying to find my jacket,” you smiled awkwardly.
“Let me help,” he said as he turned to face the direction you had been headed in “Do I know you?” he asks.
“Um, kind of? We’re in Top Gun together, my name’s y/n,” you answered, slightly calmer than you were when you initially bumped into him.
“Oh shit, I knew I recognised you. My name’s Iceman, people usually call me Ice.” he stopped to shake your hand.
“Nice to meet you Ice,” you smiled as you returned the shake. The handshake went on a bit long, and you were unsure when to end it. Your hands continued shaking as you smiled at each other. It wasn’t until someone bumped into Ice’s back that the two of you stopped shaking hands.
Slowly, you meandered towards your chair that you had left your jacket and Ice trailed behind you.
“It was nice to meet you y/n,” Ice says as you picked up your jacket.
“Likewise Ice” you felt your heart flutter as you looked up at him. This was the first time you could properly see his face due to the poor lighting in the bar. You smiled up at him, your eyes meeting as you noticed he had also been analysing your face.
The moment was quickly ruined as you noticed Mav come back into the bar, wanting to avoid an awkward situation you looked for a place to hide.
“Woah, are you okay?” Ice asked, his face searching for yours.
“Uh yeah, Maverick just came in, and I would like to avoid him as I’ve just rejected him,” you laughed.
“Oh,” he smiled “Want me to hide you?” Ice asked
“Hide me?” you had absolutely no idea what he meant.
“Yeah hide you,” Ice enthused.
“Uh, sure,” you giggled.
“Right, let me sit on this chair and, you get under the bar, and I’ll make sure you stay hidden,” he says as he pulls out the stool.
“Under the bar?” you smirked as you got onto your knees and squished under the bar.
“I did not think I would have you on your knees this quick,” he smirked in return, causing you to swat his thigh as he shuffled the stool in to hide you.
You were about to say something inappropriate in return but you noticed the legs of an approaching pilot and you decided to stay quiet.
“Yo, Ice, have you seen y/n? She was sitting here earlier,” Mav asked.
“Uh, n-no. I saw her get her jacket a while ago,” he stuttered. You had almost slipped and grabbed onto his thigh to avoid falling onto the floor at Maverick’s feet, but by grabbing Ice’s leg you caused him to gasp out loud.
“You good, Ice?” Pete asked, assessing the man who was unusually skittish. What Pete was unaware of, is that you were still holding onto his knee under the bar, partly to not fall over, but it was also entertaining as Ice became flustered.
“Y-yeah,” he stuttered. Unsure how to respond, Pete just awkwardly looked around and walked back towards the exit.
The two of you remained in the precarious position, waiting for the coast to be clear. It felt like hours before Ice scooted his chair back and looked down at you.
“You are mean,” he laughed.
“What’s life without a bit of fun?” you laughed as you stood and draped your jacket over your shoulders.
“Thank you for hiding me, I enjoyed being on my knees for you,” you winked as you slowly walked away watching him.
Summary: At the base Christmas party, Tom and his wife realize that there are more important things than themselves, and rope the others in on it.
Consider Donating: Here
The North Island Officers’ Club had gone all out.
White lights wrapped the beams. Garlands hung from every doorway. A plastic Santa guarded the punch bowl like it was classified information. Someone had put Bing Crosby on the speakers, and the base wives had taken over the dessert table with militant efficiency.
Tom Kazansky stood near the edge of the room, hands loosely clasped behind his back, posture straight even off duty.
He hated standing still at parties. He hated not having a mission. But he did not hate this. Because his wife was laughing.
She stood across the room, talking with a few of the other spouses, her hand occasionally brushing the small of his back as she passed him. Even in a crowded room, she found him. Touched him. Grounded him.
Tom’s gaze softened every time.
“Man,” Pete said from beside him, sipping something that definitely was not just eggnog, “you look like you’re guarding the perimeter.”
Tom did not look at him. “Someone has to.”
Slider appeared on Tom’s other side, grinning. “You’re at a Christmas party, Ice. Not Miramar airspace.”
Tom’s mouth twitched. “Same rules apply.”
Maverick followed Tom’s line of sight and caught on immediately.
“Oh,” he drawled. “You’re not guarding the room. You’re guarding her.”
Tom’s jaw flexed slightly.
“I don’t need to,” he said evenly. “She handles herself.”
“Sure,” Maverick said. “But you like to.”
Tom did not deny it. Across the room, she glanced over and caught him watching. She smiled. Not the polite social smile. The one just for him. He felt it like a direct hit.
It was later— after the gift exchange, after Slider had made a terrible attempt at leading a carol, after Maverick had somehow convinced two lieutenants to spike the punch— that things shifted.
It started small. A young enlisted couple near the buffet. Quiet. Off to the side. Tom noticed because he noticed everything.
The woman was pregnant. Barely showing, but enough. The man looked tired in a way Tom recognized; too much responsibility, not enough pay.
They were not eating much. Tom’s wife noticed too. Of course she did.
Coming up beside her husband, the woman leaned into him slightly. “Have you seen them?”
“Yes.”
“They haven’t touched the dessert table.”
“They’re being polite.”
She looked at him sideways. “Or they’re worried.”
Tom studied them again. The enlisted man was calculating something in his head. Rent. Leave days. Travel costs. Gifts. Tom knew that look.
Maverick appeared again, now holding two cookies and absolutely no shame.
“Why do you two look like you’re about to brief the Secretary of Defense?” he asked.
Tom did not answer. His wife did.
“Mav,” she said gently, “how many guys in your squadron are staying on base for Christmas?”
Maverick blinked. “Uh… a few. Why?”
“Because they can’t afford to go home,” she said quietly, nodding to the couple.
Slider had drifted close enough to hear. He followed their gazes and immediately sobered.
“Oh,” he murmured. The room suddenly felt different.
The lights still glowed. The music still played. But now Tom could not unsee it.
Goodwill.
The word was printed in gold above the doorway, part of some decorative banner. Goodwill toward men. Tom exhaled slowly.
“There’s a discretionary fund,” he said after a moment. “For morale.”
Maverick looked at him. “Ice.”
“It’s underused,” Tom continued, already thinking. “We can supplement it.”
“With what?” Slider asked. Tom’s wife squeezed his arm.
“With effort,” she said.
Tom turned to her fully now. She had that look— the one that meant she had already decided something and was simply waiting for him to catch up.
“I was thinking,” she said carefully, “instead of us doing the usual gift exchange next year… what if we organize something bigger? For the junior families. Travel stipends. Groceries. Childcare for those on duty rotation.”
Maverick blinked. “You want to turn the Christmas party into a charity operation?”
Tom’s wife smiled. “I want to turn it into what it’s supposed to be.”
Slider nodded slowly. “That’s actually… not a bad idea.”
Tom did not speak right away. He watched the enlisted couple again. He remembered being young and ambitious and afraid to admit you couldn’t carry everything yourself.
He remembered pride.
He remembered how cold the holidays could feel when you were far from home.
His wife touched his hand lightly.
“We’re okay,” she said softly, reading him. “We have enough.”
He looked down at her. He did not smile often in public. But he did now. Ice just simply said, “yeah.”
Maverick grinned. “Well hell. If Ice is in, I guess we’re doing it.”
Slider clapped his hands once. “Alright. Operation Christmas.”
Tom rolled his eyes. “We are not calling it that.”
“We absolutely are.”
The next hour was subtle. Tom moved through the room with purpose, but without spectacle. Conversations were had. Quiet ones.
The commanding officer was approached. The morale fund was discussed. Donations were suggested— anonymously, of course.
Maverick worked the room like a social missile, charming checks out of officers who hadn’t realized they were about to write one.
Slider handled logistics, already drafting lists.
Tom’s wife moved between the spouses, speaking softly, gathering names discreetly.
By the time the music shifted to something softer, there was a plan. Not flashy. Not self-congratulatory. Just solid. Real.
Tom found the young enlisted man near the coat rack later that night.
“Captain Kazansky, sir,” the man straightened immediately.
“At ease,” Tom said. “You flying Christmas Eve?”
“Yes, sir.” Tom nodded once.
“Report to Admin Monday morning. There’ll be paperwork regarding leave adjustment.”
The man frowned slightly. “Sir?”
“Consider it handled,” Tom said evenly. “That’s all.”
Confusion flickered. Then something else. Relief.
“Thank you, sir.”
Tom gave a single nod and walked away. He did not need gratitude, just needed it done.
Outside, the air was crisp and quiet. His wife joined him on the steps, slipping her hands into his coat pockets to hold his.
“You didn’t tell him,” she observed gently.
“It’s not about me,” Tom replied. She leaned her head against his shoulder.
“You know,” she said, “we could’ve just gone home tonight. Pretended we didn’t notice.”
“Yes.”
“But you didn’t.” Tom looked down at her.
“Neither did you.”
She smiled softly. “Merry Christmas, Mr. Kazansky.”
He pressed a kiss to her forehead; restrained, but full of something deeper than public affection.
“Merry Christmas, Mrs. Kazansky,” he returned.
Inside, Maverick was laughing too loudly. Slider was arguing about spreadsheets. The party continued. But something had shifted. The lights felt warmer. The music felt truer. And above the doorway, the word goodwill no longer felt decorative.
(Next chapter will probably be smut, so tread carefully.)
You had been spending the day scrubbing the dirt off of the floor in the living room. How they managed to track it inside nearly every day was beyond you. You had half a mind to make them take care of it when they came home, but you knew they both trained hard, and so here you were, cleaning their mess.
Normally, you would only have to worry about Tom tracking his filthy shoes inside, but lately, Maverick was over more so than usual. You didn't really mind. In fact, you enjoyed his company and his silly attempts to court you under the watchful eye of your boyfriend. The two of them seemed to be getting along swimmingly. Ice had taken Mav out a couple of times, just the two of them. Sometimes, you'd catch them both snuggling on the couch and watching a movie. You'd smile wide, and your heart would jump when you saw Maverick asleep in Ice's arms as you would bring them both a blanket from yours and Ice's bedroom.
"I'm home!" Ice called, stepping through the door, letting his bag fall from his shoulder and onto the hardwood. You lept up excitedly, dropping the scrub brush into the bucket of suds and practically skipping over to Tom.
"Welcome home," you squealed, hugging him tight and burying your face in his chest inhaling his scent. He chuckled at your reaction as he wrapped his arms around you and placed a firm kiss on the top of your head.
"Why are you cleaning so late in the day, sweets?" He questioned, eyeing the bucket of soapy water in the middle of the living room floor.
"Because somebody doesn't take their boots off by the front door like they're supposed to... well, two somebodies," you laughed, tapping his chest with your index and middle finger. "...I meant to clean it yesterday, but I honestly didn't realize how bad it had gotten," you admitted sheepishly. Ice absentmindedly played with the end of a piece of your hair while looking around the room.
"Mav not home yet?" He inquired simply, twisting the strand around his finger. You shook your head.
"No... he said something about grabbing dinner and bringing it over..." Your face got hot as you spoke, "... Ice d-do you think he's starting to like me?" You asked nervously. Ice laughed as he stroked your cheek tenderly.
"Baby, he's been head over heels for you ever since the night I kissed him for the first time," he confessed.
So there the three of you were. Mav on your left, Ice on your right, and you in the middle. You had to admit, it was awful comfy in between them as you sat on the couch while the TV played.
"Here, have some pizza," Pete offered, shoving a slice up to your mouth. You froze, studying the sausage pizza with hesitation.
"Mav, cut it out. You know she doesn't like sausage on pizza," Ice pointed out, forcing Maverick to lower his arm. You gave Pete an apologetic look.
"No. I didn't know that," he argued back at Ice.
"Yes, you did. Our first date was literally at a pizza place, Maverick. We both wanted sausage, and she was adamant about hating it, so we got half sausage, half jalapeño," Ice explained, slightly irritated. Maverick pondered for a moment before responding.
"Nope... doesn't ring a bell," he stated flatly.
"You're an idiot," Ice hissed. "You can't even remember something so simple about Y/N, and you wanna be a part of this relationship?" Your heart stopped in your chest as you looked at the both of them worriedly. Maverick practically lept off of the couch as he gave Ice a cold stare.
"Are you serious right now? I'm an idiot because I couldn't remember she didn't like sausage on her pizza?" He all but yelled.
"Stop. Stop. Stop," you begged, placing a hand on Ice's chest. "Please... we were having such a nice night. Ice... he's fine, okay? He just forgot. It happens." Ice slumped backward on the couch with a huff. You placed a chaste but loving kiss on his lips, causing him to relax slightly. Maverick slipped in between the two of you, taking Ice's face in his hands.
"Ice, I'm sorry. I know... you're right. I really wanna make this work, babe," he murmured, bringing his lips to Ice's in a slow, meaningful kiss. Ice snaked his arms around Maverick's waist, pulling him closer and deepening the kiss. You sighed inwardly with relief. The last thing you wanted was drama, especially since this was brand new to all three of you. He pulled away after a few seconds and smiled.
"No... I'm sorry. I got a little crazy. I just love her and you so much. I want you to see her the way I do. You have to be attentive," Ice said softly. Pete nodded understandingly while Ice rubbed his hips. You came up behind him and grabbed at his arms gently. Ice released his waist, allowing him to turn and face you. You looked up at him sweetly, the light from the TV making his eyes sparkle in the darkness of the living room as they stared down at you.
"Attentive, you say..." Mav whispered back, continuing to look down at you. You brought both of your hands up to his shirt, clutching onto the fabric in an attempt to gain even more of his attention. "What is it, sweetheart?" He asked quietly.
"Kiss me," you commanded softly, your plump lips puckering upward at him suggestively. He took a second to peek over at Tom, who gave him a firm nod, letting him know he was okay to continue. Mav leaned down, capturing your lips with his as he wrapped one arm around your middle, pulling you flush with his body. Your hands roamed his chest needily, and he took it as a sign to go a little further, hooking his arms under your legs and hoisting you up and over into Ice's lap. Ice grabbed onto you, holding you securely as Mav moved his lips from yours to Ice's in one swift motion. They kissed for a bit while Ice's hands moved from your stomach to your breasts, earning a sharp gasp from you. Before you had time to think, Ice's mouth was nipping behind your ear, causing you to yelp. You maneuvered yourself out of the way, offering Mav to take your spot in Ice's lap. He happily obliged, hooking his legs around Ice, tangling his fingers in his platinum hair as Ice took his lips greedily. You were happy to watch, as Ice made short work of slipping Maverick's clothes off. Excitement made your body quiver as you knew the three of you were in for a long night.
The light from the windows danced down onto the bed and drifted onto the lids of your eyes, stirring you from your deep slumber. A small groan escaped your lips as you rolled over and sat upright. You looked over to you right, seeing Mav and Ice snuggled up together, the cover thrown lazily over the both of them as gentle snores erupted from their chests. A warmth spread through your heart as you slipped out of bed and made your way into the kitchen to put on a pot of coffee. You hummed to yourself as you danced around the kitchen, making breakfast. You weren't very savvy when it came to cooking, so you toasted up some eggos and cut up some fruit to accompany the frozen waffles. You remembered that neither of the men had to go anywhere that day, and the prospect of getting to spend the whole twenty-four hours with the both of them had you reeling with excitement.
The supermarket was bustling with people eager to procure their groceries for the week, and you were no exception.
"Tom, we need chicken breasts for that recipe, not thighs," you argued. He put back the pack of thighs while Maverick slipped by to grab the correct pack before placing it in the cart.
"Says the woman who can't cook for shit," he quippied with a smirk. You shook your head with a grumble, going over to the ground beef, looking for a pack that would feed the three of you.
"Damn. That was pretty harsh," Mav pointed out, coming up behind you.
"Yeah? Well, you haven't tasted her food," Ice responded, grabbing more chicken. "That's why I do all the cooking around here. So we don't end up in the hospital." Ice pushed the cart over towards the frozen section while Mav hung back with you.
"That bad, huh?" He inquired, looking down at you with a goofy smile. You chuckled at his question, taking his hand, fiddling with his fingers as you spoke.
"It's not great," you confessed, looking down at your feet. "Unless you want charcoal stir fry, I'd listen to Tom." He laughed, kissing the top of your head gently as he guided you back towards Ice. As you all continued your shopping, you studied the pair of them. It made you smile when they both shared a longing look and laugh when they would bicker over which snacks to get. Everything felt right. You never would imagine yourself being here, with two wonderful men, both of whom cared for you in ways you would have never dreamed possible. Ice continued on his rant about your tortuous cooking, even offering up the story of the shepard's pie that he maintains would, in fact, kill the shepard it was so named after.
"I never knew carrots could turn that color," he stated with a hearty laugh. Maverick laughed along with him as he began placing the groceries up on the belt for the cashier. You pushed Ice playfully as you grumbled softly at his insults to your culinary ventures. He patted your arms gently. You shook your head with a small smile as you began placing the bagged groceries into the cart. You knew it had to be a bit rough for the both of them being out together and not being able to show PDA the same way they do with you. It probably already looked odd to the people around when the both of them doted on you or shared a kiss or hug with you. This thought made you anxious to get back home, where you knew you three could just be together anyway you wanted. Mav noticed you were on edge as you all headed towards the car, and he came up behind you, lifting you up in the air and swinging you around. You let out a surprised squeak, flailing your legs.
"Maverick!! What are you doing!?" You shrieked, wiggling around in his hold. Ice parked the cart by the trunk of the car and made his way over to the both of you.
"Hey, quit fooling around and help with the groceries!" He instructed, causing Pete to place your feet on the ground gently.
"Oh, you're no fun," he replied in a huff, following Ice to the trunk. Ice smirked at him, giving him a quick wink.
"That's not true, and you know it," his deep voice reminded. Maverick shivered involuntarily as he remembered last night, heat rising to his cheeks. The memory of what took place in your bedroom came flooding back into your mind as well. You swallowed the lump in your throat and concentrated on loading everything in the car. You felt Ice's chest press against your back and his hot breath against your ear as he whispered. "Don't you dare think that was all there was either sweets. It was just the beginning," his rough voice nearly growled, making you shudder against him. Now you were anxious to get home for a completely different reason.
Part 2:
💬 0 🔁 0 ❤️ 16 · Odd Man In (part 2) · Maverick x Iceman x Reader
🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵
💜💙💜💙💜💙💜💙💜💙💜💙💜💙💜💙💜💙
A whole month passed by, and you
Part 4:
💬 3 🔁 1 ❤️ 10 · Part 4 · ⚠️Warnings: Very suggestive content! (Not smut, sorry!) MINORS DNI ⚠️
Im so sorry for any typos! (Hopefully, I d
hi! can i request iceman x fem!reader where they’re on their first date and reader can’t get enough of how fine he looks and how good he smells, pls?
Dancing is the last thing you thought you'd be doing on your first date with Tom. Drinking, sure. Kissing, you could dare to dream. Sitting down at a fancy restaurant, maybe. And to his credit, you did enjoy a nice dining experience, but he'd led you into a little club afterwards. It isn't a bar, there's no reeling drunkards passed out on the dance floor. No, it's more sophisticated than that, a live band playing in the corner while couples dance together.
The music that's playing now is reminiscent of swing, and Tom is surprisingly good at the style of dance to go with it. You're taking his lead, letting him step and push and pull and twirl, all with that dazzling smile on his face.
"You're wonderful at dancing!" You marvel as he hooks a hand around your waist, pulling it flush to his own. It means you get a nose-full of his cologne, sharp and musky and something you want on your bedsheets.
"It's hard not to be when you're so wonderful to dance with," He croons, practically purring inches away from your face. His smile is almost more intoxicating than his scent, and you're lucky your knees don't give out. What your face does isn't much help, though, as it blooms into a grin so bashful that you have to duck your head to hide it from him.
"Hey," He chuckles, using his grip on your waist to maneuver you towards the side of the room, dancing coming to a halt, "That's not fair, I want to see your face."
He hooks a finger under your chin and lifts it so that his nose nearly brushes yours. You're even more sheepish now as he hums, "What is it, angel?"
"I don't know," You shrug, biting your bottom lip, "it's just- Well," You gush, "I'm having a really great time. And you're- you must be the most handsome man I've ever gone out with."
He laughs at the admission, a deep, sweet sound from his chest. You should probably feel embarrassed admitting it, but not enough to deny him the compliment, and you press on in case his grin will get any wider.
"And you smell amazing," You laugh, "letting him pull your waist closer to his, "I'm just impressed, that's all."
"Yeah? Well that's good," He muses, "'Cause you know I used this cologne to impress you. I was hoping," He bows his own head now, laughing towards his chest, "That maybe you'd put your head on my shoulder."
Your cheeks get hotter, if possible, as he continues, "Like this."
He smooths his hand up from your chin to your cheek, guiding your head to lay against his chest. It puts your nose in his collarbones and he feels your breath over his shirt. The music works with you, transitioning into a slower paced song that the dancers mirror. All of a sudden you're back on the floor, swaying in time with your head on his chest and his arms around your waist.
"So it worked?" He murmurs, carefully avoiding standing on your toes even though you're only inches apart.
"It worked," You press a quick kiss to the collar of his shirt and he feels it beneath the fabric, "I think I want to stay here forever, Tom."
summary: sometimes all it takes is a RIO who likes to gossip and some friendly competition to help you understand what you feel for Ice.
readers callsign is ‘foxglove’ (a beautiful, but deadly flower 😉)
WC: 5k
a/n: i wrote this fic like a woman possessed yesterday … my bets are on the ghost of val kilmer (even though he’s very much alive).
warnings: alcohol consumption, mentions of sex, swearing
This has to be wrong. Someone, whoever’s in charge of keeping score and writing it on the board, has made an error. Ice can’t fathom how hard it could be to get right, it’s simple addition. Yet somehow, your callsign is listed above his. You and your RIOs point total has accumulated to above his and Sliders.
Yeah, this has to be some kind of mistake.
He bites at the inside of his cheek as he stares at it, the word ‘Foxglove’ scrawled in chalk. It’s mocking him. You’re mocking him - in more ways than one. You’re similar to Maverick in that right, a little loud and reckless, not a fan of playing by the rules. And God, does it get under his skin.
You know it gets under his skin, that’s half of the reason you continue to do it. Riling up Tom Kazansky, the man given a callsign based on his unfazeable nature, is a game you’re always willing to participate in. The reward, the faint red hue that spreads across his cheeks and the amused smirk you earn, is worth it every time.
When you see him planted firmly in front of the standings, staring at that board like its an enemy MiG-28, you can’t help yourself. You saunter up next to him and put your hands on the hips, humming a curious tone.
“Huh,” you mutter before glancing at Ice “looks like they’ve made a mistake.”
“Yeah, your name is above mine.” He replies, not meeting your eye.
“No, that’s not it.” You shake your head and bite your lip to fight off the grin that’s eager to spread across your face. “I was talking about the fact that they messed up your callsign.” Ice furrows his eyebrows and for a split second, he forgets. His eyes roam over the letters that make up his callsign ‘Iceman’ right next to ‘Slider’ and thinks, what the hell is she talking about?
Then as fast as a split second can pass, he remembers and rolls his eyes.
“They spelt ‘Snowflake’ wrong.” You add, no longer holding any smile back on his account.
Ice should know better by now. He should know not to engage, not to poke the bear, but as eager as you are to tease him, he’s as eager to receive it. At least that means you’re paying attention to him in some way. You’re a total smart ass, an impulsive flyer, and refuse to call Ice by his actual callsign simply because it amuses infuriates him. Despite all of that, you’re also beautiful, intelligent, and determined. And Tom might be a teeny, tiny bit in love with you.
“Very funny, Fox.” He pulls his gaze from the board and finally meets yours. He tilts his head to the side and lets a small grin show. When you’re beaming like that at your own joke and at there fact that you are truly ahead of him in points, he can’t help but smile too.
“Well, at least they got something right.” You take a step closer, slightly invading his personal space before reaching a finger up to point at your score. Ice doesn’t look, he doesn’t need to, he’s already memorized the number he has to beat. Instead, he roots himself in his spot and holds your eyes to his. He soaks in the moment of your close proximity, the feeling of your warmth and lets his grin grow wider.
You try to act cool and collected but inside, your stomach drops and flips like it’s on a rollercoaster, forcing the rest of your body along for the ride. You don’t want to step away, you don’t want to break this tension no matter how much you ache to. These moments that you share with Ice and the time you spend thousands of feet in the air within your box, that’s when you feel the most alive.
His eyes flicker down to your lips and you tilt your head up slightly and he -
“Do we need to clear the room or something?” Goose breaks you and Ice from your trance on each other. You snap your eyes toward him and scowl at his playful, suggestive smirk and raised eyebrows. You love him to death but did he have to choose now, of all times, to be his quirky self?
“As if we’d give you guys a free show.” Ice chuckles as you take a step back, feeling a thousand degrees warmer inside your flight suit.
“Name your price then.” Hollywood leans against the lockers and grins, his words send a chorus of laughs echoing around the locker room. You take that as your cue to leave. Sometimes you forget, for a blissful moment, that you’re the only woman in your class at Top Gun. The group of men you work with are great, really, but sometimes for a moment, they forget too.
“You wouldn’t be able to afford it.” You wink at Hollywood before turning on your heels and leaving. You feel Ice’s eyes burning a hole in the back of your head up until the second you’re out of his field of vision.
——
You and your RIO, Playboy, were on a cold streak. As quick as you rose on the leader board, you fell. When the dogfighting exercises grew more intense, you suddenly struggled to keep up. One loss turned into two. Two turned into three. And by then, you felt officially stuck in a rut and felt equally as shitty for trapping Playboy down there with you. He was a very talented RIO and you were failing him as his pilot. You were failing, period.
There was no reason to believe you weren’t as capable as your male counters. You had earned the right to be in that Top Gun class among the other one percent, you are one of the best. But right now, stomping your way through the base after another loss, you feel nothing more than the uncomfortable jab that is rock bottom.
The last thing you want to do is ‘go at it’ with Ice over the rankings yet, somehow that’s what you end up doing.
“Hey, Fox!” Ice calls after you but, you don’t stop. You’re too determined to peel off this second layer of skin that once was a flight suit, too constricting and tight all of the sudden. “Hey, wait-“
He clasps his hand over your shoulder and pulls you to a stop before rounding on you. Suddenly he’s standing in front of you with his hand still lingering on your shoulder. Normally, you’d let it rest there, normally you’d let the warmth of his touch sink its way through your skin and settle in your marrow. But, right now you do not want to be touched or comforted. Just because you’re a woman does not mean you need to be rocked or coddled when things go wrong.
“What do you want, Jack Frost?” You shake his hand off you and fight the urge to smile when he does at the sound of your new daily nickname for him. You don’t want to smile. You want to sulk and wallow until all the self-pity has seeped out of your pores and you’re ready to get back out there and kick ass.
“Just wanted to remind you to check the leaderboard when you go in there. I’ve heard some mistakes have been corrected.” His smile transforms into a smirk, one that you know it’s harmless. This is the dance you two do, back and forth jabs with nothing but lighthearted intensions. Except now his words feel like a vacuum sucking all the air from your lungs. Despite what he actually says, all you hear is ‘you’re a failure, you’re a failure, you’re a failure, you’re-‘
“Unless I go in and see the words ‘Abominable Snowman’ written on that board, I’m going to assume nothing on there is correct.” Your normal warmth and frisky tone has turned cold and stony. Ice takes a step closer with more drawn in, maybe even slightly concerned, features and reaches out to rest his hand back on your shoulder. You side step him and shake your head before inhaling a pathetic attempt at a deep breath, all the air you manage to take in is short and jagged.
“Look, I do not need you to remind me how much I’m failing right now. I do not need a reminder of what I, of all people, have to prove and how terrible of a job I’m doing at that. I just-“ You pause and blink away glossiness suddenly coating and stinging your eyes. “I want to be left alone.”
A muscle in Ice’s jaw strains before he nods and replies, “Okay.”
You take a step to move around him when his hand wraps around your forearm, freezing you in place. You glance up at him, now directly at his side, pressing up against him. His eyes flicker over you, they bounce between your eyes, your cheeks, your lips. You wish he’d get on with it, the longer he holds you there with your faces so close, the weaker your will to not smash your lips against his becomes.
“For what it’s worth,” his voice comes out husky “I don’t think you’re a failure. I think you’re pretty goddamn great.” His warm breath against the skin of your neck mixed with his words pulls a deep shudder out from inside you. He must notice the way what he’s said affects you, it’d be hard not to.
But if he does notice, he doesn’t act on it. Instead, he releases your arm and takes a step back to give you your space.
——
You mope and you brood and you pout and you do it all over again until the sun has long set and Playboy is dragging you by your collar to the bar. He says it’s better to be sad and tipsy than to just be sad and you think there’s a lot to unpack there and make a mental note to sit down and talk to him about it later.
Right now though, you sort of agree with him.
“Can I ask you a question?” You’re three shots of bottom shelf vodka in and you should not be asking this question but, alcohol gets you more loose lipped and daring than normal and that’s saying something.
“Sure thing.” Playboy leans back in his barstool and grins.
“Why have you never tried to pull a move on me? I mean, I appreciate it. Being a woman doesn’t automatically mean I should be hit on. Everyone should treat me as their equal and in this case all your other equals are males and I’m pretty sure you don’t play for both teams, but if you do I totally supp-“
“Holy shit, Fox!”
“What I mean is, your callsign is Playboy for cryin’ out loud.” You laugh, a bit too hard, but Playboy laughs too so it’s okay. “I guess I just expected it from you. Am I like ... unattractive?”
“Oh my god, Fox.” Playboy groans and puts his face in his hands but, you can tell he’s laughing by the way his shoulders shake. When he pulls his hands away, he continues. “I’m going to regret telling you this and I’m hoping you’ll get too drunk to remember I even said anything.”
You narrow your eyes before taking another shot that was slid in front of you. If he tells you that you’re not all that pretty and you don’t actually smell like the honey lavender lotion you slather on everyday, you’d prefer to not remember that tomorrow too.
“You’re a bombshell.” You flush, mostly from the alcohol that courses through you but, the compliment doesn’t hurt. “But, you’re Ice’s girl.”
You blanch. You were not expecting him to say that. If there was a numbered list of most likely responses to get from him based on your question, his actual response would rank around number 46.
“I .. I am not!”
“Aw, Fox.” Playboy coos at you. “You are.”
“I do not belong to anyone.” You poke a finger into his chest playfully.
“Okay.” He holds his hands up in defense. “You’re right, you’re technically not his. But, come on. The guy’s like completely in love with you.”
Suddenly, you’re dizzy. Both because you’re four shots passed your baseline alcohol intake and because Ice is in love with you?
No way. Ice only loves himself. And maybe his F-14.
“Bullshit.” You murmur, suddenly finding the chipped lacquer of the bar top very interesting.
“Why don’t you ask him yourself?” Playboys words have you dragging your eyes up to him, only then to follow his gaze to the entrance of the bar that Slider and Iceman have just strolled through.
It should be illegal for someone to look as good as Tom Kazansky does in his summer whites. It’s a government issued uniform for Christ’s sake. Yet, he makes it impossible to decide whether you’d rather stare at him while he wears them or rip them off his body.
You snap your gaze away from him and back to your RIO who’s smirking and wiggling his eyebrows while you frown. You let your forehead connect with the bar top as you groan and feel a pat on your back accompanied by Playboy saying, “We’re going to need another round.”
You should go home. You should kiss your annoyingly sweet RIO on the cheek and call it a night. But, you don’t. You stay and drink with him, happy to make him happy after still feeling slightly guilty about dragging him down in the ranks with you. After inhaling a dirty shirley and thirty minutes passing with your liver drowning in all the drinks you’ve consumed, you’re effectively trashed.
You’re in the middle of trying to follow the complicated backstory to Playboys even more complicated dating history when you feel a firm hand placed on your back. Just as quickly as it rests on you, it’s being pulled away and you look up to see Ice, grinning per usual.
“Well if it isn’t my favorite water globe!” You beam at him as his eyebrows draw together.
“She means snow globe.” Your RIO cuts in.
You snap and point in Playboys direction, “He gets me!” Ice chuckles and shakes his head. He tries to hold your gaze to his but you can’t stop looking around, swaying slightly to the music flowing from the jukebox.
“How much have you had to drink?” He catches your eye and notices the way they’re unfocused and slightly glazed over. He doesn’t need hear your response to know the answer is probably too much.
“Not enough.” You grin lazily as Ice scoffs.
“Do you need to go home?” Normally, he’d try to conjure up a witty comeback but, not this time. Ice finds himself slightly worried, he knows you’ve had a rough past couple of days at Top Gun. He’s also never seen you drunk. He has no idea how to act or what to do, all he knows is he’d prefer to ensure you make it home safe. Not every guy at this bar is as respectful as him or your RIO.
“Are you trying to get me to go home with you, Sleetguy?” He can’t believe you’re three sheets to the wind but still manage to call him everything but Iceman.
‘Seriously, Y/N? That one was just bad.” Playboy snickers from beside you.
“So it’s true then?” Your eyes don’t travel to your RIO after his comment, they stay locked on Ice. “You are in love with me.”
Ice’s entire body jerks as if your words hit him with physical force. You don’t notice his involuntary reaction because the song changes to one you’re particularly fond of. Taking the opportunity with your concentration pulled elsewhere, Ice looks over to Playboy who is hiding his wide smirk behind the rim of his beer bottle.
‘You’re dead.’ Ice mouths.
Playboy winks.
“I’m not trying to take you home in that way, Fox.” He puts a hand on your shoulder to draw you back to him and prays to whatever God will listen that your drunk attention span is short. “I’d like to bring you home, make sure you pass out behind a locked door, then leave.”
You all but moan at the thought of your big, comfy bed and eagerly agree to let Ice help you home. Playboy offers to pay for your drinks, calls you a ‘foxy mama’, then sends you on your way, trusting Tom with you completely.
Part of you is too drunk to walk straight, the other part uses that fact as an excuse to let Ice wrap an arm around your shoulders and for you to wrap an arm around his waist in response. They’ve got his callsign all wrong, you think to yourself, he can’t be Iceman when he’s this freaking warm. He’s like a furnace and you burrow yourself deeper into his side, his heat providing a kind of comfort you never knew you needed.
By the time you make it home, the fun part of being drunk, that small window of time when you feel like you’re numb and floating, has closed. All you feel is woozy and like the room is on an axis, tilting to the left one minute and to the right the next. You cling to Ice’s side shamelessly as he helps you inside and into your room.
Ice has never been in your place before. Maybe if you were less in need of his assistance, he’d take more time to notice how every detail, big and small, about your home encompasses you. He’d see you in every place he’d look and it would be comforting in a way, to know you were all around him. For now, he settles on making sure you don’t topple over out of fear that if you do, you will not be getting back up.
He sits you on the edge of you bed and kneels in front of you, keeping his eyes pealed on your boots which he starts to untie. He can’t look up at you, he knows what he’ll feel in his chest if he does and now is not the time to feel that way, not while you’re in this state.
You squeeze his shoulders a few times tightly while he works on getting your shoes off as if you’re trying to draw his attention to you. After the third squeeze, he gives in and glances up. You smile at him softly and yup, there’s that feeling right where he predicted it would be, deep inside his chest.
“Will you stay?” You ask, your voice just above a whisper.
You’re going to be the death of him.
“I can’t, honey.” He wraps a hand around your calf and lets his fingers stroke it gently, giving in to this overwhelming desire just the smallest bit. Your smile turns downwards at his words and he aches to find a way to flip it back upward. “You’re drunk. When you wake up tomorrow and see me here, you’ll call me a big Yeti and throw pillows at me until I leave.”
He sees the way you fight (weakly) against a smile before it bursts through with a laugh to accompany it. His heart swells.
“Please,” you’re still smiling. “You can sleep on the couch. I just-“ He remembers the way you paused at those very words earlier today, like you were physically forcing what you really wanted to say out. “I don’t want to be alone.”
He sighs and thinks sleeping on the couch probably wouldn’t be too bad. It did look comfy based on the small glimpse he got of it earlier.
“It’ll be my own funeral in the morning.” He gives your leg one last squeeze before letting go.
“I’ll pay for the service myself.” You still have your hands clasped to his shoulders.
“I want Madonna to sing as they lower me into the ground.” He smirks as you let out a bark of a laugh, so loud and pure he may burst if he doesn’t hear it again.
“How rich do you think I am? And how important do you think you are that Madonna would sing at your funeral?” You’re still laughing and holding him onto him, your bodies moving closer and closer like there’s a gravitational pull between you.
“I’m very important, thank you very much. I’m going to be a number one graduate from Top Gun.” The second he speaks the words, he wants to rip them out of the air. But, you seem unaffected by them, still smiling at him fondly.
“Whatever propels your jet, you big Yeti.” You two could go back and forth like this all night, it’s what you do. But, Ice knows he should get you to sleep and hope you don’t wake up with a raging hangover that’ll fuel your distaste in finding him crashed on your couch tomorrow.
“Come on, Dandelion, you should go to bed.” You gasp dramatically as he stands up and press a hand to your heart, faking being hurt.
“I’ll let you get away with that just this once, Kazansky.” You lay back in your bed and melt into the pillows. “Count your blessings.”
He chuckles as he throws the blanket over you and replies, “Oh, I certainly am. Goodnight, Y/N.” Your eyes flutter closed at the sound of your name rolling off his lips, sweet and smooth.
“Iceman.” Tom comes to a halt in the threshold of your bedroom. After a beat of silence, he thinks he may have imagined it, you whispering his callsign. But then, “Ice.” He turns around, looking back at you. Your eyes are barely open and the sleepy smile you have spread across your lips looks so inviting, like you’re begging him with that smile alone to kiss you.
“For what it’s worth, I think I’m in love with you too.” Your eyes drift closed so easily, as if the words you’ve just spoken don’t leave him reeling.
——
The sun is pain. Once, you appreciated the golden light that coats your bedroom every morning in a welcoming, warm glow. Now, you despite it. You are never drinking again, you’re certain of this fact. You’ve had hangovers before, you’ve even muttered those same exact words before but, this time is different, you swear.
After you’re able to open your eyes without them burning so bad that they tear up, you notice a tall glass of water and two Advil capsules sitting pretty on your bedside table. You know you didn’t leave them there, which means ...
Oh.
Oh, no.
You screw your eyes shut again as the whole night comes rushing back like a tsunami, pummeling you in its wake. You doing shots with Playboy. Playboy telling you Ice was in love with you. You needing Ice to take you home. You begging Ice to stay.
You telling Ice that you love him too.
You are most definitely, absolutely, with no uncertainly, never, ever drinking again.
After chugging the water, popping the pain pills and seeing the time, you're grateful for your military trained internal clock waking you up so early. You were hoping Ice had already woken up too and dodged a bullet by leaving before you came out of your room. But, no dice.
You see him there, sleeping soundly on your couch, when you crack the door to your room open. What’s even worse is that he looks so peaceful, not a worry line or wrinkle on his face. You don’t have the heart to wake him up, he deserves that tranquility, even for just a little bit.
And your desperate need for coffee outweighs your desperate need to get the awkward interaction you know is coming the minute he gets up over with.
By the time you do notice his eyes blinking away any remnants of the dreams he was clinging to, you’ve showered, a pot of coffee has been brewed, the eggs are done, and the bacon is cooking. You’re shocked at this ability to sleep for so long but, also you’re not because being in the Navy is exhausting. You know that first hand.
“Good morning, sleeping beauty.” You try to keep your voice light and airy despite the absolute pounding of your heart against your ribcage.
Ice rubs his eyes then pushes his hair back before furrowing his brows at you and asking, “Did you just call me something non-snow related?”
“Anything’s better than big Yeti.”
You can tell the second he registers the true meaning behind your words when every muscle in his body tenses. He comes to the realization that you remember the events of the previous night on his own and you let him. During the time he was sleeping and you were milling around on your tip toes trying not to wake him up, you realized something.
You truly do love him.
And what’s the point of hiding that? If what Playboy told you wasn’t true, if he didn’t love you back, Top Gun would still come to an end and then you’d part ways. If it was true, if he did love you back, then maybe you could stick together.
Loving a person like Tom meant having someone to push you but, also having someone there to catch you when you fall. You wanted that.
When he doesn’t say anything, you start to panic and do what you do best in these situations, you ramble.
“I made some food. If you’re hungry, you’re welcome to eat. But if you don’t like eggs and bacon, I can probably find something else to make. And there’s coffee so, if you’re tired you can drink that. You like coffee, right? I’m pretty sure you do. Or you can take a shower, I think I have some spare clothes that may fit you. Or you could-“
“Fox.” You dart your eyes up to meet his. “A shower sounds great.” He smirks. You try ignore the heat pooling in between your legs (although it’s very hard when he looks at you like that) because at least he didn’t choose to leave.
“Okay, yeah, sure.” You clear your throat. You show him the bathroom and how to use the shower and grab him a towel. The last thing you tell him before you leave is that you’ll search for something clean for him to wear. After rummaging around for some of your dads old sweats, you knock on the door.
“Found some clothes!” You call out from behind the wooden barrier.
“Just bring them in here!” He calls back, his voice slightly muffled. You swallow thickly at the thought of going in there while he’s showering. Your shower has a curtain so, you wouldn’t directly see anything but, the idea of knowing what’s on the other side has more searing heat shooting through you.
The bathrooms slightly steamy when you open the door and place the clothes on the sink for him. You utter a strained “All set!” before turning to leave.
“Fox.” His voice is no longer muffled from the water or the door, in fact its crystal clear. You look over you shoulder and your eyes meet Ice’s, he’s pushed the curtain aside enough that you can see his face and the top of his chest and where hot water pools in his collarbones.
Small droplets travel down the muscles of his shoulders, they dip below the valley of his pecs and curve over the peaks of his abs. When the particular droplet your eyes were shameless following falls off of his body, you shoot your eyes back up to look at this face, feeling heat gather in the cheeks of your own.
You want to touch him, you want to kiss him, you have to know.
“Is it true?” He doesn’t have to ask you what you mean, he knows. How could he not? You hold your breath as he clenches his jaw. His eyes stay locked on yours, they burn through you, see right into you. You hope he can see the way you silently plead for him to say yes.
“Yeah, it’s true.” Your heart is a jack hammer in your chest when he adds, “Did you mean it?”
“Yeah,” you don’t hesitate “I did.” Simultaneous smiles break out across your faces, filled with equal parts relief and bliss. He reaches out, grabs a fistful of your t-shirt and yanks you closer to him.
“Easy, Iceman, you’re going to get me wet.” You laugh as he wraps his arms around you and pulls your chest flush against his. He brushes a drenched hand through your hair before it settles against your cheek, rubbing small circles along your skin.
“Do not call me by my callsign right now.” He groans as his other hand pushes its way beneath the material of your shirt and up your bare back. Had you purposefully chosen not to put on a bra after your shower hoping a moment like this would occur? Yes. Are you so glad you did when you feel his palm drag across your naked shoulder blades? Absolutely.
“I thought you’d be happy to hear me call you that!” You squeal as he digs his fingers into your hip.
“When we’re in those uniforms, you call me Ice. When we’re out of them, I want you to call me by my name. In fact, I want you to moan it so loud that the neighbors never forget the name Tom Kazansky.”
“Whatever you say, Tom.” With that, he connects your lips slowly. It’s a kiss dripping with passion and greed and holds a promise that it will certainly not be the last time he kisses you that way. Your lips move together rhythmically, effortlessly, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. He coaxes a moan from you by way of nipping and sucking at your bottom lip, like he’s desperate to taste more of you.
When he pulls away from the kiss, only to move his hungry lips to your neck, you take the opportunity and say, “For what it’s worth, regardless of what we’re wearing, I’ll always love you.”
“Trust me baby, that’s worth a whole hell of a lot.” He grins against your skin before pushing the curtain aside and pulling you with him under the hot water.
——
^ me when a hot, blonde, cocky pilot does literally anything
tw: sleeping??
a/n: hi. here's some short iceman fluff. also, happy new year! i hope this year treats you well <3
Well into the night, you found yourself sneaking into your shared bed. The blue comforter had bunched around your husband, pillows resting just beneath his head.
Ice had been lying there for hours at this point, and although he was asleep now, he hadn't been asleep for very long.
As you lay down beside him, stretching out your legs, your feet brushed against his thigh. You stole some of the covers in the process, absentmindedly shifting closer to him.
His eyes shot open, heart hammering in his chest as he felt you.
"You are freezing," he immediately said.
Your eyes widened. Had you woken him?
"Tom? I thought you were asleep. I'm so sorry."
He turned around to face you, sleep evident in his eyes. Exhaustion riddled his bones, and after a long day, he wanted nothing more than to sleep. Sighing through his nose, he said nothing more and wrapped his arms around you. He pulled you into his chest. You cuddled into him, resting your head on his chest.
"I didn't mean to wake you," you said.
He just hummed, resting his chin on the top of your head. Sleep quickly overtook him, and you were soon to follow, comforted by the warmth of your husband.
Summary: The long-suffering RIOs play matchmaker, ft: idiots pining, forced proximity, and my personal headcanon that Maverick hates thunderstorms.
Pairing: Iceman x Maverick
Word Count: 3.2k
Warnings: Cussing, minor suggestive content, mostly fluff with a tiny bit of angst, Goose lives (yay), no beta reading, and possible misspellings (words are hard ok?)
None of the Flyboys could remember the last time they’d had leave, much less gone on a proper vacation. As a consequence, Viper and Jester had more or less forced the aviators out the door with assurances that yes, they would survive a week without flying, and not to worry, their instructors wouldn’t miss them that much.
Of course, Viper and Jester had their own reasons for wanting the Flyboys out of their hair for the week and it had something to do with the obvious, pining looks Iceman and Maverick were giving each other. Obvious, that is, to everyone but them.
Which was possibly why neither of them noticed Goose and Slider being pulled into a private meeting with the instructors just before leaving for the trip.
“I don’t care how you do it. Just make sure by the time you come back, the issue is fixed,” Jester told them as he paced around the small office.
Viper stood gazing out the window, nodding along with what Jester was saying. The dawn light dusted over his uniform. He seemed distracted, letting Jester do all the talking.
“And by issue, you mean…” Goose prompted, shifting in his seat.
“Maverick and Iceman.”
Slider let out a barking laugh. “Sir, no offense, but I don’t think we can fix their little rivalry problem in a week. Hell, I don’t even think we could do it in a year.”
At this, Viper turned and looked at the two RIOs. His eyebrows furrowed.
“We’re not talking about the rivalry here. Although,” Viper tilted his head, considering something. “That might work itself out too.”
Goose and Slider looked at each other, understanding and horror dawning on their faces.
“You want us to…set them up?” Goose’s voice rose an octave.
Jester abruptly stopped pacing and snapped his fingers. “Exactly.”
Slider groaned, sinking down in his seat. “Are they really that obvious?”
Goose sighed and exchanged a long-suffering look with Slider. They thought the knowledge was limited to the Flyboys. Apparently not.
“Well, we’ve been trying to do something about that.” Goose admitted. “But so far, no luck.”
Slider feverishly nodded in agreement.
“A change of scenery might do everyone some good then,” Jester muttered, resuming his pacing.
“Speaking off.” Viper made a halfhearted shooing motion, causing Slider and Goose to jump to their feet. “You should get going. I think Maverick is getting antsy.”
He jabbed a finger over his shoulder at the window he’d been gazing out. The window that looked out over the parking lot.
The RIOs were dismissed.
“Great,” Goose groaned the second they were out of earshot of Viper’s office. “Just great. How’d we get stuck on matchmaking duty?”
Slider glanced at the other man as they walked through the halls. “Don’t act like we weren’t going to try it on our own.”
Goose sighed and was silent for a moment before relenting. “Yeah ok. You got any ideas we haven’t tried yet?”
The door to the parking lot loomed ahead. It was propped open, letting the early spring sun seep into the hallway. Outside, the other Top Gun students had gathered and were arguing about seating arrangements for the trip. Maverick’s rose above the others, directed at Ice for some reason or another. It always was.
“I’ve got a few,” Slider said as the two RIOs marched towards their waiting pilots and the looming car ride. “I just hope they work.”
~~~
Goose would like to say he was a patient person. But even the most patient person would feel their nerves fraying by the ninth hour stuck in a car with Ice and Maverick.
You’re paying for my therapy was written on the back of a gas station receipt and dropped into Slider’s lap. Goose glared at him while Slider read the note and rolled his eyes.
“It was a stupid maneuver and you know it,” Ice barked from the driver’s seat.
“You’re just mad that I beat you,” Maverick countered, his feet propped up against the dashboard.
He knew Ice hated him doing that. Just as much as he hated arguing with Maverick over what he called “brain-dead stunts”. Sure enough, Ice leaned over and slapped Maverick’s cowboy boots off the dashboard without taking his eyes off the road. Goose swallowed a sigh and leaned to rest his forehead against the car window.
They’d driven through San Francisco almost an hour ago, stopping only to eat, and were currently winding their way along the coast of Northern California. The light was fading fast and Goose watched the last golden rays of sunshine dance on the wave crests. The roadside was covered in wild grasses and every color of wildflower imaginable. Goose couldn’t help thinking that Carole would love it here. Maybe he’d have to surprise her and Bradley with a trip for her birthday.
His thoughts were interrupted by Ice abruptly pulling the car onto a side road. Tail lights bounced ahead of them in the dusk and headlights shone through the back windshield. For better or worse, the Flyboys had all made it to their destination in one piece.
Ice pulled the car in front of a small bed and breakfast tucked away in the trees and Maverick was out the door before the engine shut off. Ice quickly followed, as did the RIOs, stretching every sore muscle.
Somehow, Hollywood and Wolfman still had energy left and were messing around by their car. The rest of the aviators showed signs of fatigue commonly associated with road trips and were taking a long time to unpack the cars.
Ice, ever the responsible one, disappeared into the quaint, two-story building. It was painted a cream color that glowed in the darkness of the woods and seemed to be made of more windows than walls. Flower boxes, perched on windowsills, overflowed with every kind of flower imaginable and their scent filled the air. Somewhere in the distance, a bird trilled and a stillness unlike anything the aviators were used to, hung over them.
Ice returned before long and passed out room keys. Previously, they had agreed that pilots would room with their RIOs. But as Goose went to follow Maverick up to their room, he felt Slider pull him aside.
“Give me your key,” the taller man whispered.
“What, why?” Goose hissed back, confused, but he didn’t fight as Slider slipped the key from his grasp.
Slider threw a wink over his shoulder as he quickly made his way to Ice. While the other man was distracted, Slider snatched his room key.
“Slider, what the hell?” Ice shouted as the other man danced out of his reach. “Give that back.”
“Change of plans Ice. You’re rooming with Mitchell this week.” The glee was obvious in Slider’s voice.
“Like hell I am,” Ice bit out.
“Don’t think you can handle it, Kazansky?” Maverick teased, leaning against the railing of the porch.
Ice’s mouth opened, then closed again, having heard the challenge in Maverick’s voice. Everyone else took note of the unfolding drama. Wolfman whispered something to Hollywood, who nodded and the two discreetly shook hands.
“Fine,” Ice eventually ground out.
Slider tossed Ice the key to his and Maverick’s room before returning to help Goose with their stuff.
“He’s gonna give you so much shit for that,” Goose muttered, watching over his shoulder as Maverick and Ice stomped off to find their room.
Slider shrugged. “If my plan works, he’ll be thanking me pretty soon.”
~~~
Ice was going to kill Slider. He knew this with the same certainty that he knew the sun rose in the morning and that Maverick was going to be a pain in his ass all week, especially now they were sharing a room. Hadn’t he suggested pilots and RIOs room together to avoid this exact outcome?
Everyone assumed that Ice didn’t want to be around Maverick because he hated him, hated his flying, and hated the antics the shorter man got up to both in the air and on the ground. The reality, however, was the complete opposite. Ice liked Maverick. He liked him a lot but in an occupation like the Navy, one didn’t just have feelings for your coworkers. And one certainly didn’t act on it. Besides, Maverick spent every weekend at the O Club flirting with a new girl, never sparing Ice a second glance outside of training.
So it boiled down to this. Ice had feelings for Maverick. Maverick didn’t have feelings for Ice (not that he would ever ask). And Slider knew Ice liked Maverick and spent a lot of time trying to get them together. Time Ice would rather his RIO have spent studying but everyone had to have their hobbies he supposed. And this room-sharing ploy was just the latest in an increasingly embarrassing and obvious attempt to get the two of them together, and then what? The whole thing was ridiculous enough to make Ice laugh.
“Something funny I should know about?” Maverick asked as they stepped off the stairs, onto the second story, and down a hallway covered in cream wallpaper.
“Nope.”
Maverick looked back at Ice over the collar of his leather jacket. The patches covering it shifted under the soft light of the hall. Maverick’s eyebrows drew together in question but he didn’t push it, probably not wanting to push Ice’s thinly veiled annoyance over the edge.
“Well, I guess this is us.” Maverick stopped by a door at the end of the hall, letting his bag thump against his leg.
Ice made an unintelligible noise while Maverick unlocked the door and disappeared past it.
The inside of the room matched the rest of the house. Cream wallpaper, soft lighting, and more flowers than were probably necessary. In fact, every surface seemed to be covered in vases filled with a riot of color. Ice found it oddly charming but…
“Chipper’s not gonna be able to breathe all week,” Maverick said, almost as if he had read Ice’s thoughts.
Ice glanced at Maverick, already perched on one of the two small beds, a hesitant smile on his lips. An olive branch if ever there was one. Despite his anger at Slider and the forced proximity to Maverick, Ice felt his own answering smile rise to the surface.
“I was thinking the same thing.”
Ice kept his gaze fixed on Maverick for a second longer before the shorter pilot coughed and started rummaging through his bag. Ice could swear there was a flush creeping the back of Maverick’s neck. The back of his neck that Ice so desperately wanted to kiss, to see what sounds Maverick would make when he did.
Nope, absolutely not. Ice could not be thinking about things like that. Not now, not here, not ever.
“Kazansky!” Maverick’s voice pulled him out of the beginnings of a downward spiral. “You ok? You look like you’re gonna hurl.”
Ice forced what he believed was a reassuring smile onto his face but judging by Maverick’s concerned look, it wasn’t that convincing. “I’m just tired from the car ride, that’s all. I'm going to take a shower and then call it a night.”
Maverick slowly nodded but Ice didn’t see, as he unceremoniously dumped his stuff on the remaining available bed and all but fled to the bathroom.
Ice took forever to shower and get ready for bed, hoping that by the time he went back into the room, Maverick would be asleep. Sure enough, the lights were out and Maverick had been reduced to a lump under the blankets when Ice went hunting for an old shirt and boxers to sleep in. The only light in the room came from the moon, just peeking over the treetops outside.
As quietly as possible, Ice slid into his own bed. He lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling and the shadows that danced across it. Maverick’s even breathing filled the room and before long, Ice was drifting off to sleep as well.
~~~
At some point in the early morning, a storm rolled in off the ocean. Ice cracked his eyes open, not sure what woke him. He lay facing the window and watched as thick, heavy fog obscured everything outside. The only thing he could still see were the flowers just outside the window but they had turned gray in the dim light, like the fog had leached all the color out of them. Thunder grumbled in the distance and the first pitter-patters of rain hit the window.
Something shifted behind Ice and he quickly turned his head, all traces of tiredness disappearing from his body. He was greeted by the sight of Maverick climbing under the blanket and huddling up next to him.
“What’re you doing?” Ice asked, the early hour making his thoughts sluggish.
Maverick’s eyes flicked to the window before settling on Ice’s face. His hair, normally semi-under control, was now messed up and wild. Ice briefly wondered what it would feel like to run his hands through it.
“I don’t like thunderstorms,” Maverick whispered. “Goose usually lets me sleep in his bed but that’s not really an option now, so I thought…”
Huddled under the blankets, Maverick looked younger, more vulnerable. Something broke in Ice’s heart to see him like this. To him, Maverick was fearless, constantly pushing the boundaries and damning the consequences. Ice couldn’t speak.
Taking his silence for something else, Maverick started to get up. Ice’s heart skipped a beat and he quickly reached out and grabbed Maverick’s hand.
“Wait.” His voice was rough with sleep and he couldn’t ignore the way Maverick’s eyes widened. “Stay.”
Slowly, Maverick sank back into bed and let Ice draw the blanket up over him. Ice had never let go of Maverick’s hand and when he noticed and started to draw away, Maverick intertwined their fingers. There was a question in his eyes as he gazed at Ice but a quick squeeze made it disappear.
Ice knew he was crossing the line into a place he would likely never return from but that didn’t seem to matter in the early morning when time stood still. Besides, he told himself, you’re just helping a friend out, nothing else.
Thunder roared again, closer this time, and Ice noticed the way Maverick’s shoulders were hunched. Without a word, he eased closer to Maverick and gently pulled the other pilot against his chest. Automatically, Maverick draped his arms around Ice’s waist and hugged him closer. He sighed gently, his breath tickling the side of Ice’s neck. Ice’s heart beat double time and he desperately hoped Maverick wouldn’t notice.
Outside, the rain had started to dump in earnest. Flashes of light accompanied the thunder that increased both in intensity and frequency. With every crack and boom, Maverick’s body tensed against Ice. He took to running his hands up and down Maverick’s back to calm him, whispering mindless reassurances in his ear. Maverick’s hands clung to Ice’s shirt and somehow, his legs became tangled with Ice’s.
Then, it felt like the heavens opened above them and a crack of thunder shook the house, rattling the windows, and startling the two of them beyond anything else that night. In the flash of light that accompanied it, Ice saw Maverick’s face twist. He needed a distraction and quickly.
Without thinking, Ice reached out a hand to cup Maverick’s cheek and closed the distance between them. His lips brushed against Maverick’s, lighting a fire under his skin. How often had he thought of doing this? How many times had he dreamed of tasting Maverick’s lips? A lot, but never like this.
Ice’s eyes flew open and he drew back quickly, coming to his senses a second too late and realizing how big of a mistake he had just made. An apology sprung to his lips but never left them when he saw Maverick’s expression.
Ice had come to recognize the guarded look Maverick wore every day in front of everyone. But as the two of them lay together, their faces inches apart, he no longer looked so distant. His eyes were dark, half-lidded, and his lips parted ever so slightly. Even in the dim light, Ice could see the blush that tinged his cheeks. There was something so open, so vulnerable about seeing him like this.
“Why’d you stop?” Maverick whispered, his voice nearly drowned out by the rain.
Ice shook his head. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-”
The ghost of a smile graced Maverick’s lips. “Kiss me again.”
Ice starred at Maverick. Maverick rolled his eyes and tugged Ice towards him. When their lips brushed again, it was feverish. After a few seconds, Ice kissed him back. He felt Maverick’s hands move to grip his waist.
Maverick shifted his weight and Ice helped him so that he could sit up and straddle Ice’s hips. Their dog tags tangled as Maverick leaned down to kiss Ice again. His hands ghosted up Maverick’s thighs, earning a moan. Maverick retaliated by dropping his head to kiss along Ice’s neck. As gently as he could, Ice threaded his fingers into Maverick’s hair and tugged his head up so they were face to face.
“What are we doing?” Ice breathed, already missing the feeling of Maverick’s lips.
Something sparked in Maverick’s eyes. “I thought that was obvious. Or do you need me to spell it out for you, Kazansky?”
Ice tightened his grip on Maverick’s hair. The pilot flinched as the thunder roared again. The silence between them stretched on for a moment too long, breaking whatever spell they seemed to be under.
“Just tell me to go and I’ll leave. We’ll never talk about it again,” Maverick finally whispered, his eyes no longer meeting Ice’s.
“Mitchell, what’re you talking about?”
But Maverick was already pulling away. His weight disappeared from Ice’s lap. He stumbled off the bed and hurriedly grabbed his jacket from where he’d thrown it hours earlier.
“Mav.” Ice pulled himself out of bed. “Pete, please.”
Maverick froze at the use of his given name. Ice had never called him that before. Slowly he turned to face the taller man. Ice ran a hand through his hair as he tried to organize his thoughts with little success. Finally, he decided to state the obvious.
“I kissed you first, remember? If anyone has the right to want to stop this, it’s you,” Ice spoke softly, like he might spook Maverick into running.
Another boom of thunder sounded, further away this time. The storm was leaving but Maverick’s shoulders still tensed. Ice risked a step towards him.
“Maybe I don’t want to stop it,” Maverick finally said, his voice strained.
Ice took step after step until he was right in front of Maverick. He gently put a finger under Maverick’s chin and forced his gaze up. Ice was surprised to see unshed tears in his eyes. Maverick shivered at Ice’s touch.
“Maybe I don’t want you to either,” he whispered.
Maverick blinked and hope flickered in his eyes. Something released in Ice’s chest and the tension that he’d been holding onto since the day he met Maverick melted away. It wasn’t a complete confession, but it would have to do for now.
“Please come back to bed,” Ice murmured, running his fingers over Maverick’s jawline. “With me?”
Maverick nodded and wordlessly followed Ice to the small bed that had slowly become theirs. They had scarcely laid down again when Ice caught Maverick’s lips in a searing kiss and they didn’t talk for quite sometime after as they rode out the rest of the storm, together.
