Archive of Our Own

Thomas Kazansky was being an asshole. Naturally, Maverick made this everyone’s problem. 

“I just don’t get what his deal is,” Maverick moaned as they walked down the tarmac, Goose walked in stride next to him, carrying his helmet and fixing Maverick with a defeated look. A week into TOPGUN and the Iceman seemed to live up to his name, closing off any sign of humanity Maverick thought he had seen before. Aside from their initial “meeting” at the O Club, Iceman had been impenetrable, needling Maverick in a decidedly unsexy way. It was a shame, really. 

“He’s a stickler for the rules,” Goose sighed, kicking a pebble down the runway. The hop had been a mild disaster and Maverick could tell by the slump in his RIO’s shoulders that it was starting to weigh on him. It wasn’t as if they were doing poorly, they were still neck and neck with Ice for the title of Top Gun. Still, in the air, everything seemed a little off-kilter when Ice was his wingman. Something was just slightly not right, making Maverick feel like he was balancing on the edge of a cliff at all times, about to fall off. Ice was hesitant on his shots to the point where Maverick almost broke formation to take down Jester himself. Of course, the subsequent bickering over the comms that had Goose and Slider about ready to kill their pilots set up the perfect opportunity for Jester to sneak up behind them and take them both down. No points for Top Gun, the third shitty hop in three days. 

At least Ice had gotten shot down before he did. If nothing else, Maverick had that. 

Still, Goose moped beside him and the fierce adoration he had for his RIO outweighed any stupid rivalry he had with a man who liked to pretend that they had not fucked the day before they got to Miramar. Maverick slung an arm around Goose’s shoulders, pulling him in and rocking them as they walked. “I’m sorry, buddy. You did great up there, I’m the one being an idiot.”

“Well, you’ve got that one right,” Goose said. He smiled softly at Maverick’s hurt look. “I should’ve noticed Jester on the radar earlier. It’s also my fault.”

“Don’t say that,” Maverick scolded, pushing Goose away and swatting him lightly on the back of the head. Goose glared at him out of the corner of his eye before he launched himself at Maverick, tackling him in the middle of the tarmac. A loud laugh escaped him and he was glad to see Goose shining that bright smile, cackling as he fought Maverick for control. Maverick wasn’t going to give up that easily, though, and grabbed Goose’s arm, trying to pin him down--

“Mitchell! Bradshaw!” a stern voice barked, and Maverick froze. Looking down, Goose stared at him with wide eyes. Oh shit, he mouthed before both of them scrambled up, limbs tangled together as they rushed to stand at attention. 

Maverick flushed as he saw the air boss standing in front of them, exasperated  expression clear as he glared at them over his aviators. Maverick straightened his back and prepared for the chewing-out of a lifetime. He could see Goose glance at him through the corner of his eye, the oh shit evident even without saying the words. 

“You two are the biggest idiots I have ever had the displeasure of seeing on this base,” Johnson yelled, and Maverick had to bite his lip to keep from laughing. The man was red in the face and looked like he was about to pop a vein. “You’re lucky I have somewhere to be, you clowns, now scramble and never let me see you pulling that shit again. Jesus,” he snapped as he walked past them. 

“Yes sir!” Maverick yelled, still at attention, but that seemed to get Goose, who collapsed into uncontrollable laughter next to him. Maverick was soon to follow, cackling and doubling over on the tarmac. He could hear Johnson grumbling behind them and laughed even harder, Goose pulling at him to get their asses out of there before Johnson changed his mind and decided to strip their wings. Given all the shenanigans they had pulled, it was probably warranted. 

“Mav, we gotta,” Goose gasped in between giggles, “we gotta get our shit together.”

Maverick chucked. “Don’t worry, Goose. Johnson can’t catch us in the air. Worse comes to worse, we steal a Tomcat and fly it to New Mexico.”

“I’m not becoming a fugitive with you, Mav,” Goose warned, but the look he shot at his pilot was still playful. “Bradley can’t grow up without a father.”

“Don’t worry, man, I’m gonna keep you safe,” he said, and he meant it. Deep down, beneath all the teasing, that was something Maverick knew as a fact. Goose was his RIO, his responsibility, and Maverick would do everything in his power to protect him. It was something that rang as clear as a bell, that he could feel like a pressure in his chest, a vow that if nothing else, Goose would be safe with him. 

“I know, Mav,” he said, and when Maverick looked at him, he was smiling. “I know.”

As they walked to the locker room, though, the thoughts started to hang heavy at the forefront of Maverick’s brain. The worry and guilt that he thought he was far behind started to creep up, like tendrils invading what he considered otherwise as his very stable mind. When they finally got to the locker room, Maverick sat on the bench as Goose showered quickly, shooting his pilot a worried look before patting him on the shoulder and wandering out. Maverick took a deep breath to try to clear the thoughts and went to the showers. 

Standing under the hot, stinging spray, all he could do was relive the memories from the hop. Scenes from the cockpit played out like a movie scene, Maverick observing from afar. No matter how much he yelled at himself to just stay on Ice’s wing, stop doing risky shit, the man in the cockpit wouldn’t listen. He just kept barreling through the air, flying towards something that he was sure in the end would wreck him. 

The locker rooms were empty by the time Maverick got out of the shower. He sighed into the open air, pushing a hand through his wet mop of hair into what he hoped was something resembling order.

God, it had been a rough week and they still had one more day to go. Maverick had no illusions that he wasn’t a good pilot, no. He had gotten in here for a reason, even if it was by a technicality. But still. He was the best of the best, and some guy with a heart of ice wasn’t going to fuck this up for him. He’d sit down with Goose over the weekend, figure out a game plan, and in the meantime hopefully figure out how to deal with Ice and his stupid big hands and dumb cocky smile and…

“Fuck,” Maverick muttered, reaching his locker and slamming his forehead into it. The dull pain distracted him from the whirlwind in his head, a torrential downpour of stupidity that he had caused. As per usual. Taking a deep breath, he steadied himself, imagining riding his motorcycle down the highway, speeding through the warm California air. Half of him wanted to grab his motorcycle, hit the road and never look back at this shitshow.

Something snapped him out of his reverie, though, the sound of footsteps behind him. He turned to find Iceman, of course, the one person he didn’t want to see. Maverick just tilted his head in greeting, not even expecting acknowledgement from him.

“Maverick,” he said, snapping the last syllable like it was a threat. Maverick only had the energy to roll his eyes.

“Really? Now you’re talking to me?” Maverick gritted out. The stress from the week was starting to wear on him, his head pounding from a few too many risky stunts. Still, he stood strong under Iceman’s gaze.

Ice fixed him with that cold look, eyes hard and impenetrable. He had a way of looking at people, Maverick thought. Being on the end of Ice’s glare was like staring down the barrel of a gun, feeling that cold metal between your eyes— there was only one way this could end, and it wasn’t good. It never was. 

“I never stopped,” Ice said, and of course this fucker would get stuck on semantics. Maverick fixed him with a glare which— of course— Ice didn’t cower under. “You’re competition. No need for us to be friends.”

Maverick just about snorted at that because, Jesus Christ, could this guy be any more annoying? “Way to state the obvious, Kazansky. Doesn’t change the fact that you don’t talk to me, and when you do, you insult me.”

“I could say the same for you.” 

Maverick scoffed openly. He could feel something building up in his chest, that same electric, buzzing energy that made him do flybys and take admiral’s daughters on joy rides. The same unshakable urge to do something, the itch he just couldn’t scratch. It built up in his chest each time he saw Ice, each time he found Ice making his way under his skin before he had the chance to put up his defenses. Maverick gritted his teeth and desperately fought for control before he really did something stupid. “At least I’m not in complete denial over what happened.”

Ice cocked an eyebrow, leaning back on the bench, looking like the pinnacle of ease. “And what exactly happened, Maverick? You wanna go shouting that from the rooftops and land yourself in jail?” 

“I just wanna know what the fuck your problem is.”

Maverick didn’t have the chance to blink before Ice was in his space, towering over the other pilot. Maverick found himself against the lockers— not pinned there physically, but the sheer force of the Iceman standing over him was enough to make his fight or flight response start running. Maverick couldn’t help but think it was a bit reminiscent of only a few days before, of Iceman pinning him against that hotel wall, leveraging his stature to gain control. It took everything for Maverick not to blush, to meet those icy eyes that held no mercy.

“My problem,” he started, venom in his voice, “is you. You are dangerous and a goddamn liability in the sky and on the ground.” 

Maverick offered Ice a snarl of his own. “That’s right, I am dangerous. You could learn a thing or two. Maybe you can get rid of that stick up your ass.”

“I wasn’t finished,” Ice said, and Maverick had to force himself not to slink back under that hard stare, that voice that left absolutely no room for argument. “I don’t want to fly with someone dangerous, and I definitely don’t want to fuck them.”

He couldn’t help it then, Maverick actually laughed. The sound echoed off the lockers, the empty shower stalls, filling the room with a cacophony of disbelief. “Oh, so we’re talking about it now? Was this a tactical decision?”

“A tactical decision would be me ratting your ass out to Viper. But, unfortunately we’re both in this mess—“

“Don’t act like you’re all high and mighty here, Iceman,” Maverick said. He pushed Ice back— he didn’t seem to be expecting the blow and stumbled backwards, landing on the bench in the middle of the row of lockers. It was Maverick’s turn to have control and he did his best to tower over Ice, glare down the bridge of his nose. “You’re the one who made the first move. You’re the one who gave me the room key. You’re just as complicit in this as I am. So, I’ll ask you again,” he said, dropping his voice and taking another step forward, “what is your problem?” 

Ice looked up at him through blond eyelashes. Something flashed in those eyes that Maverick couldn’t quite catch, something that swam just below the surface, like a fish trapped under a thick layer of ice. But then, as quickly as it came, it was gone and Maverick may as well have been looking at a brick wall.

“My problem is you, asshole,” he growled and three things happened in very quick succession, fast enough to give Maverick whiplash.  

First, there was a hand on his wrist pulling him roughly into Ice’s lap. He found himself straddling Ice’s thighs which were fully clothed , knees digging into the wooden bench. One hand was wrapped tightly around his wrist, the other splayed possessively over his lower back.

Second, Ice’s lips on his. Harsh and wanting, Maverick gasped into Ice’s kiss, the latter staking his claim and licking into Maverick’s open mouth. As intense as it was, the sensation didn’t last long as Ice pulled back roughly and Maverick found himself on the bench in the spot where Ice had just been. 

Finally, Ice strutted out of the locker room, not a single wrinkle in his flight suit or hair out of place. He slammed the door behind him, leaving Maverick sitting in his towel wondering what the hell just happened. 

—-

Maverick was going to have to fit Goose for a pacemaker. He had a sneaking suspicion he was giving his RIO too many heart attacks in a short period of time. 

Friday night found Goose and Maverick in the Officer’s Club, dress whites pressed into sharp lines in preparation for the night’s activities. The first week of TOPGUN was over and their entire class had rallied around the bar with the express intent of celebrating a successful first week by getting wasted.

Well, successful was a strong word. While they weren’t last, the week’s hops hadn’t been too great. After deciding to buzz the tower and getting a thorough ass-whooping and points deduction, Goose had sat his pilot down to talk with him. The sincerity in his voice as he questioned Maverick, the pure and utter devotion to looking after him was too much for Maverick to stomach. Goose was trying his best, for Maverick of all people, someone who was constantly one step away from getting both of them a dishonorable discharge. Goose, who had a family to think about— beautiful Carole and little Bradley whom he called every night— was following him into all of this. And it was fucked up from the start.

“You’re the only family I’ve got,” he had said, and he couldn’t quite get himself to meet Goose’s eyes. Not when he knew he’d look into them and see every time he had failed him and still find loyalty he didn’t deserve. 

Goose had clapped him on the shoulder and said goodnight, leaving Maverick alone with his thoughts in that dark room. He was left with the ghost of a stranger, a man who took care of him, who now looked at him like he was the scum of the earth. Memories replayed like a faint projection and Maverick saw all the things he didn’t before— the scratchiness of the motel blankets but Ice’s soothing hands, the soft look and calming touches as he drifted into sleep. Where was that stranger now? No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t see that man in the one who hurled backhanded insults his way at every turn, the one who refused to let anything slip past his stone-cold demeanor. A man who didn’t even trust Maverick in the sky but pulled him down in a bruising kiss as if claiming him for his own. 

It was all Ice’s goddamn fault, Maverick thought. He was the reason that he felt all scattered, like someone had shaken up his insides and he had been left to sort them back out. His sharp focus was picked away by a constant wondering, waiting for the next what if. Ice was the reason he had failed Goose and that was something Maverick could not allow to happen again. 

Maverick meant to tell Goose all this— how he wouldn’t let Ice affect him anymore-- but his RIO seemed to get stuck on another fact.

“He kissed you?” Goose hissed, hidden away in their corner table. The rest of the team was around the pool table, making bets and taking shots like they needed them to survive. Wolfman looked in their direction and beckoned them over but Maverick just tipped his beer in his direction and looked over at a shell-shocked Goose.

“Yes, but that’s not really the point—“ he began, but Goose wasn’t done.

“That’s completely the point here, Maverick,” Goose said and the pilot felt the exasperation rolling off of him in waves. “He’s been ice cold all week. What the hell changed?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted, fumbling with his dog tags as if they would give him an answer. “He was fine that first night, in the bar. Then, you saw it, he completely closed off. The ‘Iceman’ to the fucking tee,” he grumbled and took a swig of his beer. 

“Evidently not,” he said and chuckled at Maverick’s surprised look. “Come on, Mav, there’s gotta be something going on in there to make him change demeanor twice like that in one week.”

“Yeah, right,” he said, then scowled at Goose. “Don’t roll your eyes at me!” He pointed a finger at him, narrowing his eyes in accusation. “You have as much intel as me. The man’s clearly insane.”

“Or he can’t handle the fact that he’s got a big, gay crush on you so he’s relying on his usual ice cold demeanor to go into denial.”

Goose looked far too smug for someone who was so completely wrong. Maverick chuckled into his beer, fully intent on forgetting all of this tonight. There was already a pleasant buzz in his head, one that made all the tumultuous thoughts a little more quiet. 

“Nice try, man. He’s just emotionless and this is the best way for him to get under my skin. This is his master plan, Goose, you just don’t see it.”

Goose just raised his eyebrows. “Yeah, sure Mav.”

“I’m serious!”

“Whatever you say, buddy.”

Maverick stuck his tongue out and Goose kicked him under the table. Just as he was about to retaliate, a voice called over the din of the bar.

“Mitchell! Bradshaw! Get your asses over here!” Hollywood called, a pool stick pointed threateningly towards them. Meeting Goose’s eye, they both silently came to the decision to join the game rather than get bruised and bloody by a pool cue and pushed away from the table. 

“Maverick, Maverick, Maverick,” Hollywood drawled once they got over to the pool table. He wrapped an arm heavily around Maverick’s shoulder and swayed, and Maverick could smell the sharp scent of cheap bourbon on his breath. “What were you doing, sitting all alone with Goose? You two married or somethin’?”

“He wishes,” Goose teased, mercifully rescuing his pilot from the increasingly grabby hands of Hollywood. “I think Carole would be mad, though.”

“He’d be one ugly wife,” Slider called from where he was examining the pool table. 

“Nah, man, Maverick’s a pretty boy. I’m sure there’s a lot of people who’d pay to get a piece of that ass, isn’t that right, Mav?” Hollywood asked with a sharp smile. Maverick tried his best to send back a weak smile while his stomach dropped into his shoes. He shot a worried look towards Goose who, by his expression, seemed to be thinking the same thing. Had Ice told them something? Where the hell had the gay jokes come from?

“You and I have different definitions of ‘pretty’, Hollywood,” Slider said as he sunk a ball into the pocket. “You’d need to be desperate to want to hit that.”

“Oh, lay off it, Slider,” Goose chimed in, rolling his eyes and covering for Maverick, who had suddenly lost the ability to speak. “Where’s your handler, anyway?”

“Piss off, Goose,” Slider replied. “The Iceman runs on no one’s schedule but his own.”

“That’s right,” a voice said behind him and Maverick whipped around. There, as if summoned by just the mention of his name, stood Ice. In his dress whites and perfectly combed bleach blond hair he looked like he was carved by a Roman sculptor, made out of the finest piece of marble. There was no damn reason a man should look that good, with striking cheekbones and eyes that made Maverick freeze in place. He could already feel his resolve slipping, the ribbons of his determination falling through his fingers. Fuck. 

“We all know Maverick’s too stubborn to ever get it up the ass,” Ice said as he circled the group like a vulture stalking its prey. He landed next to Slider, posture relaxed but eyes boring holes into Maverick. 

“And how would you know that, Iceman?” Wolfman chimed in. “Got some experience?”

To Ice’s credit, he didn’t falter a bit, only bared his teeth in a trademark snarl. “No, I think Maverick’s got his sights set on our instructor… Charlie, was it?”

Maverick had to hold in the sigh of relief as the men around him laughed. Even at his expense, the distraction was good, Ice setting up the perfect story to get any suspicion away from the two of them. He met Ice’s eye, just for a moment, but couldn’t find anything-- just the overwhelming knowledge that he was being sized up and judged. 

“Yeah, good luck with that one, Mav,” Hollywood jeered, clapping him so hard on the shoulder it sent him forward a few steps. “It’s gonna be fun to see that one crash and burn.”

“Yeah, I don’t think seeing a MiG is gonna get you past first base, buddy,” Wolfman teased, and Maverick had an odd feeling that he was being pitied. 

“Oh, ye of little faith,” Maverick chimed in for the first time that night. “Women happen to adore me.”

“They’re begging at his feet every night,” Goose said with a wink. 

“I’d like to see that one,” Slider chuckled. 

“You’re just too afraid to admit that you think I’m pretty,” Maverick said, collapsing into laughter with the rest of the team as Slider blanched, then blushed violently. “Women like pretty boys. I know you wouldn’t know that, Slider, seeing as you look like… that.”

“Cheers to that,” Goose said, raising his glass and earning a cheer from the rowdy group of men around them. As they all dissolved into playful teasing and increasingly drunken shenanigans, Maverick joined them. He laughed broadly at something Wolfman said, leaning heavily on Goose’s shoulder for support and thought, maybe, just maybe, everything would be alright. 

---

Everything was decidedly not alright. 

Everything was not and would never be alright because Maverick Mitchell was currently on his knees in an abandoned shower stall sucking down Ice’s cock like his life depended on it. With Ice’s hard dick pushing at the back of his throat, forcing it down as he fucked into his mouth, all Maverick could do was look up and wonder how the hell he had gotten himself into this situation. 

Three weeks into the competition, and things seemed to have mellowed out between Maverick and Ice. Of course, there was still a fierce rivalry, with Maverick and Goose trailing no more than two points behind Iceman and Slider. Ice, however, seemed to have gotten over whatever his deal was and started talking to Maverick again, though nowhere near as casually (or flirty) as he did that first night. Maverick accepted this at face value-- what was done was done, and there was no sense in pushing his luck. 

Ice, however, seemed to have other ideas. 

It started with the glances. Over his shoulder, out of the corner of his eye, Maverick had the distinct feeling that he was being watched. Once, in class, he had looked behind him to see Ice, lounging in his chair and spinning a pen between his fingers, looking not at Viper, but at Maverick. The looks only seemed to be fleeting, though— meaningless. When Maverick had met his eye, Ice offered no acknowledgement but didn’t glance away right away as if he had been caught. He just let his gaze linger purposefully for a moment before returning his attention back to Viper. 

“What’s up?” Goose had whispered, nudging Maverick with his elbow. 

He took a breath. “Nothing,” he muttered, and tried to listen to Viper talk about flight data. 

The touches came next. They were never lingering but also not necessary. Never overt either-- a hand on the lower back as he squeezed past in the locker room, a soft punch to the shoulder before a hop. It didn’t mean anything, he thought, and had told Goose as much. 

“Sure,” Goose had said, though something told Maverick that he didn’t believe it. It could have been the look that he was sending his way, the one and only Goose look that Maverick had learned to interpret as “you are being an idiot”. 

“It’s nothing, so I’m not going to let it get to me,” Maverick said, and he didn’t even have to look in Goose’s direction to know his expression. 

From there, Maverick thought it was nothing. Living in close contact with these men, seeing them every day of the week tended to bring people closer together. The homoeroticism was almost required, and Mav knew it was nothing. Hollywood and Wolfman were nearly inseparable, and he and Goose spent most of their free time together anyways. Plus, the pair had been known to act gay on occasion. Some more casual behaviors, even small intimacies were to be expected. Maverick chalked it up to maybe just even becoming something that resembled friends with Ice and left it at that. 

However, in the middle of the third week, Ice had crossed the invisible line they both seemed to be toeing. Once classes were over, Maverick went to the gym, working out to get rid of some of this pent up energy he had been carrying around. Afterwards he wandered down to the locker rooms, intent on taking a shower before riding to Goose’s place for dinner. 

Mostly everyone had gone home doing whatever people did on a Wednesday night. But when Maverick pushed open the door to the locker room, Iceman was standing in front of his locker. Maverick swallowed as he noticed that he was only wearing a towel. 

It wasn’t as if Maverick hadn’t seen Ice in varying degrees of nakedness since their first interaction. Locker rooms tended to cause that effect. Maverick had seen Hollywood’s ass far too many times from his habit of mooning people after he hit the showers. Still, it wasn’t as if Maverick had permission to just look. He stood in the doorway for a moment, letting his eyes trail along the long line of Ice’s spine, the golden skin that stretched down his back, the patch of freckles on his shoulder. 

Ice seemed to have sensed him, though, as he turned around and caught Maverick’s eye. Maverick tried not to blush as he pushed into the locker room, setting his stuff down in his cubby. Ice watched him the entire way, gaze never wavering. 

“Risky flying out there today,” Ice said conversationally, as if it wasn’t meant to rile Maverick up. 

“Yeah, well, I won the hop, didn’t I?” he countered. He slipped out of his clothes, and tied the towel around his waist. He could still feel Ice’s eyes on him, sizing him up. 

“Could’ve gotten you killed,” Ice said as Maverick walked by him. He paused in the middle of the row of lockers, back to Ice. “You won, but what if Hollywood hadn’t been expecting that dive? There’s no way he could’ve covered you, not to mention you nearly hit him on the way down.”

“If you have a complaint, take it up with Hollywood,” he said, then made his way to the refuge of the showers. 

Maverick quickly stripped then stood under the hot spray of the shower. He could hear Ice’s footsteps echoing from the locker room, into the showers, passing by every open stall before stopping in front of Maverick’s own. There was no pretext, no pretending like they didn’t know what they were doing anymore. 

Maverick took a deep breath to try and prepare for whatever was going to happen. These locker rooms were fucking cursed. 

Ice pushed back the shower curtain, and Maverick couldn’t help but notice he was fully naked, half hard. He swallowed roughly as Ice stepped into the small stall, pulling the curtain closed behind him. There wasn’t much room for two people— Ice was no more than a breath away, arm brushing against his own. Maverick’s eyes flicked down to his lips, his tongue peeking out and licking them just to tease him.  

“What do you want, Ice?” Maverick said, horrified to hear how desperate it had sounded. Ice tilted his head slightly, eyes dragging down Maverick’s body. The heat of that look made Maverick’s dick twitch in interest and he had to hold in a sigh. That thing was a goddamn traitor. 

“You need to learn your place, Maverick,” Ice drawled. He ran a finger down Maverick’s chest, his torso, curving around to grasp his ass firmly in one hand. “I don’t care if you want to go on a suicide mission every time you’re in the air, your life is not the only one that’s at risk up there.” He let go of his hand, letting it skim down the side of his thigh then fall. “Someone needs to put you in line.”

Maverick forced himself to meet Ice’s eye. He knew this game all too well by now, all those little things Ice had been doing the past three weeks just needling him on-- putting him on edge until they finally pitched off the side of the precipice they were standing at, looking down into the abyss. He was happy to hear that his voice was steady when he spoke. “And what are you gonna do about it?”

Ice smirked cruelly. “On your knees, soldier,” he commanded, and Maverick couldn’t do anything but obey. 

The tiles stung and scratched at his knees as he lowered himself to the floor. He couldn’t find it in himself to care, though, as he examined the length of Ice’s dick. He hadn’t gotten to see much in the dim lighting of that hotel room, but the near-clinical lighting of the fluorescents gave him a better idea of what he was working with. Ice was a good size, no doubt about it, perfectly flushed and curved as Maverick ran his tongue along the shaft. It fit perfectly in his hand as he stroked Ice to full hardness, the pink tip dripping precome as he thumbed at it. As much as Ice liked to act like he was in control, his body gave him away. He smirked and felt a hand in his hair, holding tightly. 

“You know what to do, Lieutenant,” Ice commanded, and, well. In another lifetime, Maverick could probably make some good money sucking dick. But if Ice was going to play this game, Maverick wasn’t going to give it to him right away. He continued to lick up the shaft, tonguing the head then repeating the whole cycle. He cupped Ice’s balls with his free hand, the other going down and palming his rapidly-hardening cock. When the hair pulling crossed just over the line of pleasure to painful, Maverick let Ice’s cock into his mouth. He slowly let it into his mouth, keeping his eyes locked on Ice’s the entire time. Maverick sucked down halfway, stroking the base of his cock with a loose fist. Soon enough, though, it seemed that Ice was done playing-- he pushed Maverick’s head forward slightly and Maverick allowed it, taking Ice’s entire dick into his mouth. 

Just when he was really getting going, the door to the locker room creaked open, footsteps echoing through the otherwise empty room. Maverick looked up at Ice in panic, but the pilot simply held a finger to his lips and pushed Maverick’s head forward. He had no choice but to continue sucking Ice down. He rolled his eyes and earned a swift swat on the back of the head for that, so he instead decided to return to his efforts with increased vigor. He let Ice down his throat as far as he could, swallowing around his length. Ice thrusted impossibly closer and Maverick nearly choked.

“Mav? You in here?” a voice called— Goose. His footsteps were getting closer to the shower stalls. This time, Maverick must have conveyed the sheer panic through his eyes because Ice let his dick slip out of his mouth, but kept a tight hold on the brunet’s hair. 

“Yeah,” Maverick called, hoping his voice was steadier than he felt, “just gimme a minute.”

Goose didn’t seem to be suspicious as Maverick heard the echoing of footsteps fading, walking towards his locker. He released a small sigh and looked back up at Ice. He grinned down at him, a little evilly, but Maverick liked to think that he looked a little breathless.

Taking him in one hand, Maverick licked around the tip of Ice’s cock, tonguing directly over the slit. Ice let out a little sound, barely audible over the spray of the shower and hopefully undetectable from a room over. He continued to stroke up and down the shaft, grateful for the easy slide that the water provided, still sucking on the tip. Ice came down his throat and Maverick followed not too long after, stroking himself as he kneeled on the filthy floor. Cum hit the tile in long ropes and Maverick couldn’t help but watch, slightly mesmerized and disgusted, as it was washed away with the water, down the drain. The proof of what they had just done gone, as if it had never even happened in the first place. Maverick wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh or cry.

Maverick couldn’t quite reach Ice’s eyes as he turned off the water and wrapped a towel around his waist, scared of what he might find. Or maybe, more accurately, what he wouldn’t find, the horrible fear that this was all just to mess with him taking hold. Maverick was fine with a quick fuck, sure, just something for fun, but now he wasn’t sure he could handle whatever this game really was. 

So, instead of dwelling, he pushed that thought deep, deep down. In the lockbox where things like the memory of his father’s death and the thought of letting down Goose went. Just focus. Focus on graduating, on winning, and not the clear blue eyes that he saw when he stared up at the ceiling at night, unable to sleep. This was two consenting adults having sex, two rivals with a lot of pent up energy finding a fun way to get it out. Nothing more, nothing less.

Maverick walked out of the shower to find Goose sitting on the bench between their lockers. He shook his head like a wet dog, sending water flying everywhere. Goose scowled and whipped a towel at him which Maverick used to dry off his hair.

“Get ready to go,” Goose said, and frowned at Maverick’s puzzled look. “Dinner at my place. Remember?”

Right, dinner. Maverick was a near-hopeless cook and Goose had said that a growing pilot needed a diet that didn’t just consist of takeout and PB&Js. Maverick suspected he just missed having someone to cook for. 

“Yeah, yeah, I remember,” Maverick said and Goose’s frown deepened. Maverick paused from squeegeeing the water out from his hair and furrowed his eyebrows. “What?”

“You’re losing your voice,” Goose said, and oh shit. His throat felt scratchy and raw, like it was punishing him for what he just did. But he didn’t realize his voice had already started going. Maverick wanted to curse Ice and his big dick but it somehow didn’t feel right. “Are you feeling alright?”

“I’m fine, Goose,” he said, and winced at his own voice. Goddamnit. 

Goose’s eyebrows just furrowed and Maverick could see Mother Goose coming out from miles away. The shift in his demeanor from friendly to comforting and protective was all-too familiar. He could read it in the way his face softened, eyes searching as if they could find some sort of thing to fix and make better. Maverick sighed inwardly. Goose got up from his seat and walked over, placing the back of his hand on Maverick’s forehead. Maverick just scowled and swatted his hand away. 

“Jesus Christ, Goose, I’m fine,” he muttered and turned around to put his clothes on. 

“You do feel kind of hot,” Goose said, and Maverick had to take a deep breath so as not to fall apart. 

“I just took a shower, Goose, of course I’m warm,” he countered. He pulled his pants on and slipped the shirt over his head, then walked over to the bench to put his shoes on. Goose watched from his locker, eyebrows still furrowed. In normal circumstances Maverick would do anything to get that worried look off of his RIO’s face, but something told him that telling Goose the truth would just make things infinitely worse. “Really, I feel fine. Probably just spent too much time bitching at Ice.”

Goose seemed to take that as an explanation, his shoulders slumping slightly as the tension drained out of them. Then, his gaze shifted behind Maverick, and he suddenly had a horrible idea of where this was going to go. “Speaking of, his stuff is here. Was Ice in the showers?”

“Yeah, he was,” Maverick said, eyes focused on his boots and purposefully not meeting Goose’s eye.

“Hm, I only heard one shower turn off.”

“We must’ve stopped at the same time, I don’t know what he’s doing now,” he tried, but he knew Goose wasn’t buying it. 

“Your knees are all scraped up.”

“Tripped on the tarmac.”

“Maverick.” 

He looked up to find Goose’s eyes narrowed, disappointment etched across every feature. “What?” he asked, laying on as much innocence as he could. 

“You didn’t.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Maverick said, pushing himself up from the bench. 

Goose sighed, looking up as if asking God for strength. “Please tell me you did not just suck Ice’s dick in the showers.”

“You’re delusional.” He walked over towards the door, turning around when he didn’t hear Goose in step behind him. His RIO simply stood there, arms crossed, fixing Maverick with a look that broadcasted very clearly that he wasn’t buying any of his pilot’s shit. 

“You wouldn’t lie to me, would you, Maverick?”

Maverick swallowed roughly, and made himself meet Goose’s eyes. “No, Goose. I promise.”

Goose softened slightly at that, oblivious to the pit in Maverick’s stomach. Racking through his memories, he wasn’t sure he had ever lied to Goose, not about something as important as this… whatever this was with Ice. Guilt built within him, making him sick to his stomach. 

“Alright,” he said, and passed Maverick through the door. “Come on, let’s go. I’m hungry.”

“Yeah, okay,” Maverick muttered, shooting one last look over his shoulder. 

In the middle of the locker room stood Ice with his gaze locked on Maverick-- impenetrable as always. 

---

It continued. 

To Maverick’s horror, it just kept going on. The locker rooms must have been cursed, he reasoned, because every time he entered them he’d get that look from Ice out of the corner of his eye, the slight head tilt in the direction of the showers and…  Maverick couldn’t remember a time in the past week where one of them didn’t end up on their knees, hands roaming, breathy moans swallowed by an insistent mouth. Maverick had nearly started running to the showers after hops, ignoring Goose’s puzzled look and that pang of guilt in his chest every time he remembered how he had lied to him. By the end of the fourth week, Maverick had finished showering by the time anyone else had gotten to the locker room. 

“Jesus, Maverick, you afraid someone’s gonna see you naked? I’m sure it ain’t anything special,” Wolfman teased. Maverick had just stepped out of the shower, hair dripping, while the rest of their class hadn’t even made it out of their flight suits yet. 

“My dick is magnificent, thank you very much,”  Maverick deadpanned as he made his way to his locker. 

“It is very beautiful,” Goose said, giving Maverick a cheeky grin. All Maverick could do was roll his eyes. Out of habit, it seemed, his gaze searched for Ice, almost as if wanting his stamp of approval. Ice, who would never dare show it on the outside, but called Maverick pretty, called him good. Taking care of him even as he stroked his dick at a brutal pace, overpowering him. When he met Ice’s eyes, all he did was flash that cocky smirk, self-assurance and indifference painted in that smile. 

That was the first day in nearly two weeks that he and Maverick hadn’t fooled around in the showers. And still, there was that little part in his chest, in the pit of his stomach that longed. Longed for Ice’s touch-- dominating but so gentle, making sure that Maverick would always be taken care of. As much as he tried to ignore it, push it down as deep as it would go, it always seemed to find its way to the top. It was as if he was being pulled to Ice by a tether, an invisible pulley that infallibly dragged him towards the person he wanted to be by the least.

The next day passed with similar results. But by the weekend, however, the cycle seemed to continue again, as was its wont. 

Maverick climbed out of Goose's car at the hangar. Goose, having been sick earlier that week, had skipped a day, meaning that the two of them had flight hours to make up. The RIO was cooking dinner again tonight so the plan was to do a hop, kick Viper’s ass, then go and eat. 

Flight suits on, the pilot and RIO walked to their plane. Expecting to see Viper, Maverick had to do a double take when he saw Slider and Ice leaning against the F-14. 

“What the hell are you doing here?” Goose called as they approached. 

“Heard you needed a little competition,” Slider said, stepping and clapping Goose on the shoulder. “Viper said you were doing an extra hop, and we want extra points. Simple as that.”

Well, there went Maverick’s plans for a relaxing night. He might as well lean into it. “What do you say we make this a bet, boys?”

Slider cocked an eyebrow at that, eyes sparkling with interest. “Oh? What’s the bet?”

“Twenty dollars each,” Maverick said, ignoring Goose’s muttering beside him. “Whoever takes down Viper first wins the pot.”

“You’re on,” Slider said, already pulling out his wallet. Maverick’s eyes shifted towards Ice, who was watching with mild interest. 

“What do you say, Iceman?” Maverick asked, stepping towards the pilot who was still leaning against his plane. “Twenty bucks?”

Ice seemed to consider that, then held out his hand. When Maverick grasped it, he pulled him in, lips ghosting the shell of his ear. “Classroom 2B afterwards. We’ll come up with a punishment for the loser,” he said, voice so low that Maverick could hardly hear it. He felt the blush rush up his neck, coloring his cheeks pink. 

Maverick pulled away and tried to give Ice an easy smile, though he suspected his red cheeks weren’t helping. “You’re on.”

Maverick had hardly started stepping away before Viper was on the tarmac, yelling at them to get ready. As Maverick climbed into the cockpit, Goose fixed him with a worried look. “Don’t do anything stupid, Mav.”

“Me? Stupid? Never,” Maverick drawled, shooting Goose a relaxed smile. “I won’t let him rile me up. Just some of that regular old pilot shit.”

Goose’s expression softened, the worry draining out of his face-- though Maverick could see the suspicion that lingered. “I like the regular old pilot shit. Saves me the gray hairs.”

“You worry too much, Mother Goose,” Maverick teased as he pulled on his air mask and started doing the pre-taxi checklist. 

“It’s in the name, Mav, I can’t escape it.”

“So, boys,” Slider said once they were in the sky, his voice fuzzy over the comms. “I’ll be having a bourbon on the rocks tonight, since you’ll be buying.” Though Maverick couldn’t see it, he could imagine the shit-eating grin that was no doubt plastered on Slider’s face. 

“Copy,” Goose called. “Tower, this is Eagles One-One-Four requesting assistance; our wigmen are delusional.” Maverick chuckled softly. 

“Let’s have some more distinguished comms here, gentlemen,” Ice chided. 

“Distinguished my ass,” Maverick started, but then saw a small blip beneath them-- Viper. “Tally, ten o’clock low,” he said, and could already hear Goose confirming on the radar. 

“Engaging,” Ice said, and wasn’t that a surprise, the Iceman deciding to get into the action without any sort of chiding. He soared past Maverick, going into a dive to meet Viper head on. 

“Jesus Christ,” Maverick muttered, and followed right behind him, guiding his aircraft into the dogfight.

“What the hell’s gotten into him?” Goose said and Maverick shrugged. 

“Hell if I know.”

Even as Maverick weaved in between Ice and Viper, pulling out all the pilot shit that he knew how to do, Ice remained vigilant as ever. Aggressive but not risky, stoic but not predictable. Maverick would get in position for missiles but Ice would beat him to the punch, acting annoying enough that Maverick wanted to punch out and walk to Los Angeles rather than deal with his asshole of a wingman. It wasn’t long before Slider was whooping over the comms, and Maverick could hear the smile in Ice’s voice. “Scratch one, Viper’s down.”

“Damn it,” Maverick said as he ripped off his mask. They still had to be in the air for a while, and while Maverick eventually took Viper down, the victory wasn’t sweet. 

“It’s alright, Mav, we still got some points,” Goose said as they were back on the ground and taxiing. “We took Viper down-- that’s still impressive.”

“Yeah, I guess,” he said, and was even surprised at the dejection he heard in his voice. “Wish I didn’t have to pay out those assholes, though.”

“I think these bets are just getting you into trouble,” Goose said, a little chuckle in his voice. Maverick craned his neck around to glare at his RIO who currently had a grin that was far too shit-eating for his tastes. 

“You’re an asshole, Goose.”

Goose just grinned wider. “That’s why you love me.”

Maverick groaned. “God help me, I do.”

Once on the ground, Maverick skipped the showers, giving some flat excuse to Goose and made his way to the empty classroom. True to his word, Ice was there. He sat on the desk at the front of the room, legs crossed, just observing Maverick as he made his way to the front. He was the pinnacle of ease, leaning backwards on his hands and considering the pilot in front of him. Maverick stopped a few steps in front of him and rocked on the balls of his feet. “So?”

Ice considered him for a moment more before speaking. “So what?”

Maverick had to repress a groan knowing that wherever this was going, insolence wasn’t going to serve him well. “What do you want me to do?”

Ice cocked his head as if in thought. “Hm. Well, you did say a punishment, didn’t you?” Maverick felt his mouth go dry. “So, I started thinking. What would be the worst thing for Maverick Mitchell?” Ice got up then, pushing himself off the desk to stalk around Maverick. “What would he hate?” Maverick gulped, and Ice traced the lump of his Adam’s apple with one finger. “And then as you, Goose, and Slider were bitching over the comms, I thought, ‘Jesus, this guy likes the sound of his own voice’. You like being in charge. Having command. Even more ironic considering that I’ve had you on your knees nearly every time this week.”

Though he had been standing still, a shiver ran down his spine, Ice’s low voice in his ear egging him on. A low heat had started to build low in his stomach, the thoughts that Ice had never gotten the chance to voice in the shower finding their way out. All he could do was stand under Ice’s hard eyes and wicked grin and accept what his punishment was. 

“So,” Ice continued, “I think I’d like to shut you up. I’m gonna sit here,” he said, motioning to the desk and plopping back onto it. When Maverick looked, his pants were already unzipped, hand softly palming at his half-hard dick. “I’m gonna sit here and jack off and I want you to stand at attention and watch. No touching, no speaking, just watch.”

“I--” Maverick started, desperate to complain and get something out of this arrangement, but cut himself off. He had gotten himself in this situation in the first place, hadn’t he? “Yes, sir,” he said instead, straightening his back and lifting his head, the perfect model of military compliance. 

Ice grinned. “Good, soldier,” he said as he lifted his hips, letting his pants and underwear drop down his thighs. His dick stood against his belly, flushed and hard-- because of him?-- Maverick wondered. It was oddly… intimate, the way that Ice’s gaze never left his, the way his hand slowly trailed down his body to grasp his dick in a loose fist. Putting on a show, just for Maverick, just to make him watch. It was almost as if Ice were his lover, allowing only one other to see such a secret part of himself. 

Maverick’s brain got stuck on that word, lover, repeating in his head over and over like the way Ice slowly slid his hand up and down. Is that what this was? Was this even close to what a lover would do? Sure, sometimes Ice would cup his cheek in the showers, give him a look that was almost soft-- Ice took care of him, that was true. But then what was this -- a private show just for Maverick, selfishly grasping himself, movements getting quicker, a muttered Mav under his breath. Ice licked his hand then returned to his movements, stroking quickly and breathy moans escaping him, deafening in the quiet of the room. 

Even as Maverick watched, fascinated and desperate to touch himself, he couldn’t stop his brain from circling. No, they weren’t lovers. They weren’t boyfriends, hell, Maverick wouldn’t even call them friends. Lovers didn’t whisper his name under his breath as he came over his fist and then insult him the moment they left the room. This, whatever this was, was a cruel and unusual torture-- but still a drug that Maverick needed another hit of. It didn’t matter as long as he could see Ice’s wrecked expression, the moment of vulnerability before he closed off once again. He looked, and he didn’t care how he got it, all he wanted was more.  

Ice cleaned himself up with a box of tissues on the desk, zipped himself up and hopped off the table. He stalked over to Maverick and, expecting some punishment, he braced himself, but all Ice did was kiss Maverick softly and stick one hand into his underwear. “Good job,” he whispered as he gave the other pilot a few strokes and Maverick came into his hand, his moan lost in Ice’s kiss. He gently cleaned Maverick up with a tissue and then stalked out of the classroom-- head held high, as if nothing had just happened. 

Maverick, on the other hand, sat down at a desk and buried his head in his arms. 

Goose found him no more than ten minutes later. He could hear the calls of Maverick? echoing down the hall as his RIO searched for him but couldn’t quite find the energy within him to get up. As if it wasn’t painfully, obviously clear before, his life had taken a swift dive off a cliff and broke into pieces upon landing. This something with Ice was going to lead him to disaster, and he didn’t even know what it was.

“Mav?” Goose said softly as he entered the classroom. It was getting late, the setting sun sending beams of orange light through the half-open blinds. Maverick lifted his head and rubbed at his eyes, horrified to find a wetness there. “What’s wrong?”

Maverick sniffed, turning his head towards the windows and wiping away the tear stains on his cheeks. The windows overlooked the runways, quiet as the weekend break took its pilots away to their own homes. Pilots who had families, like Goose, or relationships, or even a fucking cat, like Wolfman had. The runway, the sky was the only comfort that Maverick knew. It was the only place that had stayed the same, didn’t change, didn’t confuse him, didn’t kiss him and then leave him in a darkening classroom. It was the only home he’d ever known, Goose the only family he’d ever really had. 

Goose, who was staring at him as if he were about to break. Goose, who had been worried about him for weeks because of some stupid mistake Maverick had made. Goose, who didn’t even know why Maverick was upset because he had lied to him. It wasn’t as if he didn’t know that Goose had pulled Ice and Slider aside after class and asked about him, if they had noticed anything weird. Carole even had started sending him his own batch of cookies and drawings from Bradley addressed to Uncle Mav. Goose had never done anything but look after Maverick, and Maverick couldn’t even tell him this one little thing. 

“I--” he tried to speak, but the words didn’t come out. Goose’s face got blurry as tears slipped down his cheeks. A sob got caught in his throat, and maybe Goose was right to look at him like he was fragile, like he was one wrong move away from falling apart. All he could do was drop his head and let the tears fall. 

Goose didn’t ask any questions. He only pulled up a chair next to Maverick and held him as he cried. 

The drive back to Goose’s assignment was quiet. Goose had turned the radio on low, some hick country song filtering through the speakers. Maverick rested his head against the window and watched the asphalt fade into palm trees, identical little houses organized in rows. 

Back at the house, Maverick excused himself to the shower as Goose busied himself in the kitchen. Maverick stood under the spray and listened to Goose pattering about, singing a song to himself that Maverick didn’t recognize. The shower made him feel a little bit more put-together, so he dried off and made his way to the kitchen. Goose was waiting with a plate of spaghetti for him. 

Maverick plopped down into the open chair and took the offered food. “Thanks,” he muttered. 

“No problem, bud,” Goose said, but it was clipped-- he was holding something back. Goose wasn’t looking at him, just gazing out the open window above the sink. “You know, I miss Carole and Bradley,” he said after a moment. 

Maverick raised an eyebrow and tried to cover how his heart had just dropped. Here he was with his stupid issues, completely ignoring his RIO-- his best friend, his brother-- and how he felt. “I’m sorry,” Maverick said, and his voice was soft. “I--”

“You don’t have to apologize,” Goose cut off, voice gentle but firm. “There’s nothing you can do about it. It just is what it is, you know? I’m sad about them, and I miss them like hell-- I missed the majority of Bradley’s first few years. I’m never gonna get those back.”

Maverick couldn’t look at him. “Why are you telling me this?”

Goose sighed, then turned towards his pilot. “Because we all have our shit, Mav. I’m sad about it, sure, but I still get on because I know I’ll see them soon. I know it’ll be okay. And I’m telling you because that's what friends do. They help make each other feel better and don’t hide how they’re feeling for weeks at a time.” Maverick finally looked up, and Goose’s expression was very pointed, if not still gentle. 

“I just… I don’t know what to do anymore,” Maverick said, the backs of his eyes stinging. He closed them and rubbed at his temples. “I’m sorry for not telling you.”

“Don’t be,” Goose said. “We learned our lesson. You can tell me now. I don’t… I don’t know if something happened, or if you’re just stressed, or what. You’ve been acting weird, Maverick, and don’t give me that look,” he warned when Maverick frowned. “I wanna know what’s going on with you, that’s all. If there’s something that’s going on, you know you can tell me.”

Maverick sat at the table and picked at his spaghetti, feeling like an insolent child. “I know, Goose,” he sighed, then dropped his fork on the table and rubbed his hands over his face. A hand drifted down to hold his dog tags-- a nervous habit, and Goose knew it. His gaze shifted to Maverick’s hand and his eyebrows furrowed even further, worry evident across every feature. Maverick hated that look, he hated it, it made his stomach turn in worry and guilt. The fact that Goose was worried about him was one thing, but the fact that Maverick had lied to him? God, he couldn’t even look at the dinner Goose had made, the whirlwind of thoughts churning his gut. He squeezed around his dog tags tightly until he was sure there was an indent. “I know, just… I fucked up.”

“Whatever it is, Mav, I’m sure it’s not that bad. Come on,” Goose chided, leaning across the table and placing a hand on Maverick’s shoulder. “You can tell me. It’s alright.”

Maverick took a deep breath, wishing he could go back in time and stop himself from ever dragging Goose to that bar. “If I tell you, you have to promise not to be mad at me.”

Goose quirked an eyebrow, but raised his hand in a three-fingered pledge. “I promise. Scout’s honor.”

“You’re not a boy scout.”

“Former scout’s honor.”

Maverick rolled his eyes. He fixed his gaze on the worn wood of the dining room table, surely beaten up by all the previous residents of this base assignment. He traced his fingers over the grooves, unable to look up and meet Goose’s worried eyes. Taking a deep breath, he spoke. “Ice and I have been… together. Kind of. I don’t know.”

Maverick braced himself for the inevitable impact, the moment that Goose would surely get to when he finally realized that his pilot was a good-for-nothing liar. He waited for the explosion of anger, or even the soft, disappointed sigh, but none came. After a moment, he lifted his head. Instead of whatever mad expression Maverick had expected wasn’t there-- in fact, Goose was smiling. “Come on, Mav, that’s it?”

Maverick just stared at his RIO. “But I… Goose, I lied to you. Aren’t you mad about that?”

Goose just shrugged. “I figured you weren’t ready to tell me yet. Sure, I’m sad that you didn’t feel like you could tell me right away but, still,” he said, and leaned back easily, “it’s not like you ever owed me that information. I appreciate you telling me now, though.”

Maverick let out a breath that he didn’t know he was holding, the tension that was jumbled up like a big knot inside his chest finally undoing itself. “I still feel bad about it,” was all he could offer. 

All Goose did was offer him a warm smile in return. “It’s okay, Mav. I just wanted to  look out for you, but maybe this was something you had to do for yourself.” He looked wistfully out the kitchen window, the palm trees swaying gently in the breeze. “And I know you would never lie to me otherwise. Now,” he said, and his look had turned conspiratorial as he rested his elbows on the table and leaned in, “how long have you been dating?”

Maverick’s eyebrows knitted together, fixing Goose with a puzzled look. “What? No, Goose, it’s not like that.”

Goose scrunched up his face. “Then what the fuck is it like?”

“It’s just… I don’t know, we find each other every few nights and one of us usually ends up sucking dick.”

“And you’re not dating?”

“Fuck no, Goose, you think that the Iceman wants a relationship? We’re friends, I guess. But not really. Fuck, I don’t know.”

Goose rubbed his temples and muttered something under his breath that Maverick couldn’t quite catch. It sounded suspiciously like idiot, though. “So, let me get this straight. You’re not in a relationship, not even casual, not even friends, but you’re still sucking his dick?”

“That’s not all we do!” Maverick tried to defend himself, and he could feel his cheeks start to heat up. Goose looked like he was about to have an aneurysm. 

“Oh, please enlighten me, Mav, what do you do?”

“We’re just… making out in the showers when no one’s around. That’s a thing that buddies do.”

Goose just stared at Maverick, looking even more disappointed than the time Maverick had messed up a flyby and took out the radar of the control tower. “Your definition of ‘buddies’ is a lot different than mine.”

“We’re just—“

“If you say ‘we’re just friends’, Maverick, so help me god I will eject you in the middle of a hop. Friends do not make out naked in the showers, or give each other blow jobs every other night. Whether you want to admit or not, Mav, this is some real gay shit you’re pulling.”

Maverick stopped for a second, his mouth going dry. “…we’re just rivals,” he supplied, and Goose looked like he was going to throw his pilot out of the window.

“Maverick--” Goose started, and Maverick knew him well enough to dodge out of the way when his RIO lunged at him. 

“Jesus, Goose!” he yelled, catapulting out of his chair as Goose made a grab at him again. “What the hell has gotten into you?”

“Trying to knock some sense into you,” he called and flung a dish towel at Maverick, hitting him square in the face. Goose’s howls echoed throughout the kitchen as Maverick scowled at him. 

“Oh, you’re on, buddy,” Maverick growled and reached for a sponge in the sink. Goose made some sort of aborted sound of protest but it was too late, Maverick had already slung the sponge across the kitchen. It hit Goose in the cheek and he gasped in offense, finding another dish towel and swatting away the soapy rags and sponges-- and even a glob of dish soap-- that Maverick pelted at him. 

They eventually dissolved into giggles when their ammo ran out, soap streaked across the kitchen table and in Goose’s hair. He ran his fingers through it and blew a bubble at Maverick. “Do you feel better?”

Maverick grinned. “Yeah, I guess I do.”

Goose matched his pilot’s smile, settling back down at the table. “Good. Now, you are a complete idiot, and don’t you dare argue with me because you are,” he added when Maverick made a sound of complaint, “but you need to talk to Ice. Soon.”

Maverick groaned and buried his face in his hands. “I think I’d rather die.”

“Too bad,” Goose said, far too cheery for the situation. “You gotta talk to him and figure out what exactly this is so you don’t lose your mind and crash us into the desert.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Maverick muttered, but knew that Goose wasn’t going to budge on this issue. “Fine,” he conceded eventually. He looked down at his plate, intent on starting the meal he had essentially neglected, and frowned. “My spaghetti’s all soapy.”

Goose snorted into his drink. “That’s your own fault there, buddy.”

“You started it.”

“You deserved it.”

All Maverick could do was shrug. “Alright, you got me there.”

---

Monday afternoon, after their hop, Maverick didn’t rush to the showers. He walked in line with Goose, chatting about absolutely nothing. Spirits were high-- Maverick and Goose had shot down Viper and landed themselves back in first place for the Top Gun trophy. As much as he wanted to rub it in Ice and Slider’s faces he restrained himself-- but only barely. 

In the locker rooms, Maverick took his time stripping. The rest of the pilots filtered into the shower room but Ice lingered, giving Maverick that same look. Maverick met it and walked over. “Come over to my house tonight,” he said, leaving no room in his tone for argument. “Eight o’clock.”

Ice furrowed his eyebrows but didn’t argue. “Alright.” He then walked over to the showers and left Maverick not unlike the first time-- alone, in a towel, still searching for answers. 

That night, Maverick pulled on a pair of jeans and a Rush t-shirt, intent on making this as casual as possible. People who lured other people to their house to ask about the nature of their relationship didn’t dress up-- at least he hoped they didn’t. He spent an hour or two busying himself around his little assignment, tidying and making it look a little bit less like a tornado had gone through there. Maverick had a sneaking suspicion that Ice wouldn’t look kindly upon disorganization. He made sure to stock the fridge with beer and ordered from a Korean restaurant that he knew Ice liked. He laid everything out on the table, takeout containers replacing plates, then stepped back. 

Fuck, this looked like a date. Was it a date? Is that what he had accidentally invited Ice over for? Maverick swore under his breath and put the bulgogi back in the bag he got it in, rushing around to make everything look a little less planned when the doorbell rang. 

Maverick swore again but decided to leave everything as it was, haphazardly scrambled around his kitchen table, and figured that was more on-brand for him anyways. He walked over to the door and pulled it open. 

Ice stood in the doorway looking… not awkward, because Maverick highly doubted that he had the ability to be awkward, but… unsure. His hands were tucked into the back pockets of his jeans, plain t-shirt tucked into the front. Maverick blinked, mind transported back to the last time he had seen Ice in his civvies-- at the bar, before this disaster had happened. 

“Hey,” Maverick greeted, then moved aside to let Ice in. “Come in.”

“Thanks,” Ice said and wandered into the living room. “Jesus, Mav, did you clean up around here?”

Maverick choked down a noise of protest. “Not all of us can be as organized as you, Ice.”

Ice just blew a harsh breath out of his nose. “Evidently.” His gaze shifted into the kitchen and the smell of takeout there. “Did you get food?”

“Yeah,” Maverick said, and followed him into the kitchen. “From that Korean place off-base. Goose and I have been there a few times.”

Ice smiled softly. “I love their food,” he said, picking up each of the containers and examining them. “Thanks.”

“Yeah, no problem,” Mav said, rocking on the balls of his feet and trying to feel less like he was completely out of his element. “There are some, uh, beers in the fridge if you want any? We can take this all out to the living room and watch something,” he offered. Ice just nodded, taking his chosen food and following Maverick into the living room. 

They sat on the couch together-- close but not touching. Maverick looked through his VCR collection before popping one in. He returned to the couch as the opening credits started playing and Ice groaned beside him. 

“Footloose? Really, Mav?”

Maverick just shrugged. “It’s fun?”

“Jesus, you’re a stereotype,” he muttered, but Maverick couldn’t help but notice that his eyes never left the screen. Maverick found that the more the movie went on, the more he was watching Ice. 

“You really like Kevin Bacon, huh?” Maverick teased as, onscreen, Ren flirted with Ariel. 

Ice rolled his eyes, sending Maverick an exasperated look. “He’s an attractive man. Not my fault.”

Maverick couldn’t help the smile that started cracking onto his lips. “I think I like Lori Singer better.”

Maverick watched Ice’s face shift in confusion. He turned his body totally towards Maverick, his knees bumping against his thigh. “Lori Singer? She’s, well, a woman.”

Maverick felt his expression harden, the automatic reaction to become defensive taking hold. “And?”

Ice blinked at him but didn’t seem to have much to argue. “Alright,” he conceded, shrugging his shoulders. “Guess I never really saw the appeal,” he continued, a sly grin finding its way on his lips. 

“Really?” Maverick asked. “Not even when you were little?”

Ice tilted his head in thought. “Eh, maybe, but I think it was just to cover the fact that I was having these feelings towards boys. I’m not sure I really, consciously knew that I felt like that. I always knew I wanted to be a pilot, so showing those feelings wasn't an option if I wanted to get into the Naval Academy. Besides,” he said, and took a swig of his beer, “I don’t think my dad’s colleagues would take to kindly to the admiral’s son being gay.”

Maverick knew there were other important details in there, namely that Ice was divulging personal details that Maverick should have been coveting like gold, but the only thing his brain could latch onto was “admiral’s son” . He was fucking an admiral’s son. Oh god, he was actually going to put Goose in his grave with that one. 

“Earth to Mitchell,” a voice called, and Maverick noticed the hand waving in front of his face. He blinked and Ice was looking at him with an amused expression. “You good there?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Maverick said, waving him off. “So,” he said, taking a sip of his beer, “admiral’s son, huh?”

Ice just rolled his eyes. “That’s not important.”

It was very important, Maverick thought, but based on Ice’s expression it wasn’t something that was worth bugging him about. “When did you actually figure it out, then?” he asked instead. 

“Sophomore year of college,” Ice supplied. “Made out with a guy at a bar. Wasn’t my smartest move and almost got caught, but I figured that one out and I’ve just been careful ever since. What about you?”

Maverick groaned and leaned back against the couch, head resting on the top. “Well, I’ve always liked girls, you know? But when I was little, I didn’t really understand that people didn’t feel that way about boys. I remember my dad sitting down and telling me, ‘Pete, boys don’t feel that way about each other. If you feel like that, you gotta hide it, okay?’” He heard Ice snort beside him. 

“Hell of advice to a kid, huh?”

“Yeah,” he admitted, rubbing a hand over his eyes. “It’s not like it was his fault, though. He was just looking out for me, he didn’t really understand. I guess I kind of repressed it until high school, then started fooling around with guys and girls. I never really had much impulse-control.”

“Or self-preservation,” Ice added. 

“Jesus Christ, you sound like Goose,” Maverick groaned, and pushed at Ice. Ice just grinned and turned back to the movie. Some time passed, both of them watching the movie in silence. Maverick could feel himself slowly drifting towards Ice, arms brushing, just a breath away from holding his hand. Before he could make a move, though, Ice froze. 

“Maverick,” he said slowly, “is it just me, or does this feel an awful lot like a date?”

The back of his neck had gotten extremely hot, and Maverick couldn’t quite make himself look Ice in the eye. “Do you want it to be?”

“No,” Ice said with hardly any hesitation. A pang shot through Maverick’s heart and, god, why did that hurt? He knew they weren’t anything special, that Ice would never really look at him that way-- had he really gotten his hopes up? 

Maverick grit his teeth and continued to stare down at the carpet. “Then what are we?” He lifted his head to find Ice-- no, more accurately, the Iceman, cold and collected, showing absolutely nothing in his gaze. No matter how hard he searched, Maverick couldn’t find any sign of affection, any marker that maybe this could be more. It was wishful thinking, anyways, and Maverick knew it. 

Ice fixed him with a stare. “This isn’t a relationship, Maverick.”

Maverick glared back at him. “Trust me, I am well aware of that. What is this, then?”

Ice shrugged, leaning back into the couch. “This is casual. This is ‘I like being in charge and you’re a needy bastard’. This is having some fun until we graduate and then never see each other again.”

Maverick huffed. “You have a lot of confidence in your relationships, Ice.”

“But see, that’s the thing, Maverick. This is not a relationship. It’s not worth it. I’m sorry to say it, but you’re just not good enough.”

And that’s just it, wasn’t it? Maverick wasn’t good enough. He wasn’t worth a relationship, wasn’t worth letting him get underneath Ice’s armor. But he wasn’t nothing. Ice wanted casual, fine. A quick fuck, fine. Maverick could do that. He would build up his own walls, his own castle of ice that he could lock himself in. If the Iceman could do it, so could he. 

“I’ll show you good enough,” Maverick growled then launched himself at Ice. The other pilot expected it, though, catching Maverick as he fell on top of him. Hands immediately went to his hair, mouths opening and exploring. Before he could really stop his head from spinning with lust, Ice was hoisting him up by his thighs, carrying him blindly to the bedroom. He never broke the kiss the entire way there. 

Ice threw him down on the bed then covered him with his body, and, god, wasn’t that familiar. Maverick groaned for contact, thrusting his hips against Ice’s hard cock. Ice quickly divested them of their clothing, kissing Maverick roughly, pushing him into the mattress. “Lube,” he commanded between bruising kisses. 

“Nightstand,” Maverick said. Ice grabbed blindly in the drawer, finally finding the bottle and squirting some onto his fingers. He drew Maverick open with one finger, then two, entirely rougher and needier than it was the first time. He fucked him open with his fingers until Maverick was whimpering, high moans caught in his throat, landing on Ice’s tongue. Ice eventually pulled away and put on a condom, lining up and thrusting in. 

Ice fucked him hard, fast. All Maverick could do was hold onto the headboard and take it, let Ice run his hands up and down his torso, in his hair. Maverick arched his back and whispered Ice’s name and did all the things he had learned Ice liked, jerking his hips forward to meet him with every thrust. Ice kept muttering things, low and barely audible, though Maverick could catch the words so good. And that was right. Maverick could be good, would be good, as long as he could feel like this forever, give Ice whatever he wanted. Even if it wasn’t a relationship, even if they were hardly friends at least Ice hadn’t abandoned him. At least he could hold onto this… this casual thing, this thing that didn’t need labels. At least it was with Ice, he told himself as he spilled all over his stomach, coming untouched. At least Ice could look at him with those dark eyes, pupils blown, and whisper Maverick as the pilot clenched around him, begging him to come. 

With a few unmetered thrusts, Ice came, burying himself as deep as he could. He eventually removed himself and laid panting on the bed next to him, face down. Maverick, who had regained some of his limb functions, gently pulled the condom off of him and threw it in the trash. He went to the bathroom to clean himself off and when he came back, Ice was asleep, hair splayed wildly against the pillow. 

Maverick quietly leveraged himself into bed, careful not to disturb Ice. When his weight finally sunk into the mattress, Ice moaned quietly, hand searching out Maverick’s warmth. He slung an arm around his torso, laying half on top of him, but Maverick didn’t care. He just let him stay there, sleeping peacefully, and stared at the ceiling. 

Maverick laid there for god knows how long, feeling Ice’s chest rise and fall with steady breaths. He ran his fingers up and down Ice’s arm, a simple reminder that he was still there. He laid there and let himself think maybe, just maybe…

But when he woke up in the morning, his bed was cold. 

---

The next day, Ice acted the same. Nothing out of the usual, not like anything had changed. Maverick just accepted it, happy to know that at least they were both on the same page.  

Between classes, Maverick rode his motorcycle to the local grocery store. He spent a long time roaming the florist’s section, taking the advice of the nice elderly lady saying, oh, she’ll love these dear. He rode back slowly, careful not to ruin the blue and white carnations on his way back to base. 

When he walked into the locker room with the bouquet, the whole room got quiet. Ice watched from his locker, amused as Maverick strode over to Goose and thrust the bouquet at him. “For being an idiot,” he explained. 

Goose just smiled and put a hand over his heart. “Aw, you shouldn’t have, dear,” he teased, but took the flowers. 

“Of course, honey.”

“Just kiss already,” Hollywood jeered, and Maverick flipped him the bird. 

“At least Mav apologizes for being an asshole,” Goose called, and the entire locker room dissolved into chaos, teasing and playful insults being hurled like ammo. Maverick just smiled and got into his jumpsuit, walking in step as he and Goose walked to the hop. 

“So,” Goose said once they were out of range of the rest of their team. They walked a few steps behind him, continuing whatever shenanigans Hollywood had started. “What happened?”

“We decided it was casual,” Maverick said simply. He could tell by Goose’s huff that it wasn’t the answer he wanted, but it was the answer he was gonna get. 

“So, you did actually talk about it?” Goose said as he climbed into his seat. 

“Yeah we did.” Maverick climbed the ladder up, but paused before getting into his seat. “Oh, and Goose,” he said, and Goose perked his head up. “Admiral’s son,” Maverick muttered, and Goose’s jaw dropped. 

“This is even worse than Penny Benjamin. Oh, Jesus Christ, Mav, you’ve really outdone yourself this time,” he said and clapped him on the back. 

“I know, Goose,” he grinned, and climbed into the cockpit. “I know.”