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This isn’t how it usually goes.
The messy, frantic reunion sex was yesterday, and Maverick’s plan for tonight was keeping Ice on edge with fingers and tongue. Everything was going to plan. Then, somewhere between Maverick turning down the vibrator and a messy blow job, Ice asked for the cuffs.
Good thing Maverick’s a pro at thinking on the fly.
It usually takes at least a week for their fervent, restraint-free fucking to subside before Ice asks for Maverick to get the cuffs out from under their bed. They finally upgraded after the movers broke the frame of their old bed.
But Maverick will never say no. Not when Ice is begging with his half-open, lust-drunk eyes and a cock straining against his stomach.
The moment he finishes tightening the cuffs around his partner’s wrists and ankles, the mood in the room shifts. The playful banter disappears, and the anticipation descends throughout the room, hot and honey-thick. When the cuffs come on, Maverick’s in charge.
“Relax,” he says, touching the skin before him. Not as sun-kissed as before. Years spent riding a desk does that.
But one thing hasn’t changed. Maverick still loves watching Ice’s abs contract under his fingers—a ripple in the other man’s tightly coiled persona. A crack in the facade. He needs these moments just as much as Ice.
Pressing a kiss to the angle of Ice’s still-sharp jaw, he scrapes his teeth over the mark he left earlier. Maverick’s teeth find Ice’s neck, even though he’s supposed to be checking the restraints. Who could blame him for getting distracted by the man underneath him? No sane person would, especially with Ice’s shuddering, breathy noises. No one alive wouldn’t give him a pass.
He takes a moment to admire the expanse of skin exposed to him. Years might have passed, and their bodies love to remind them they’re not as young anymore, but Maverick’s never been more attracted to his partner. Some men he serves with complain about not finding their wives attractive anymore, but Maverick can’t relate. In fact, he gets annoyed at how much hotter Ice becomes as they get older. How is he supposed to get anything done when Ice looks like that? Silver threads through Ice’s hair now, and there are permanent wrinkles around the corners of his eyes. Eyes now hidden behind glasses most days. Ice hated that development, but Maverick loved it. Still loves it.
“Baby…” Maverick runs a hand down Ice’s chest. “Have you been taking care of yourself while I’ve been gone?”
“Yes,” Ice chokes out the word, and Maverick’s blunt nails scrape against his skin. Ice jerks from the sensation, but the cuffs keep him in place. Nothing quite like knowing Ice trusts him enough to bind him to the bed and get him out of his head, even if it’s temporary.
God , Maverick thinks. I love this man.
Ice will never admit it, but anxiety constantly thrums underneath his skin, and he’s said loving Maverick is like having a heart outside his body—one he’s constantly afraid of losing.
“Yes, what?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Are you going to behave?” Maverick lowers his voice. “Don’t make me punish you.”
“I’m going to behave, sir.”
Again, Maverick scrapes his nails down Ice’s chest. “That’s a good boy.”
At Maverick’s words, Ice’s breath stutters, and his eyes flutter closed.
Which just won’t do, so Maverick’s hand moves in a flash to grab his jaw and turn Ice’s head to look at him. The action causes another shaky noise to exit Ice’s lungs.
“Eyes on me, baby. That’s why you’re on your back and not with your ass up.” He brushes his thumb over Ice’s full, pink lips and pushes down to see the bottom row of Ice’s teeth. “Are you going to be my good boy? Or should I remind you who’s in charge?”
Before Ice can answer, Maverick slides his thumb between those plush, sinful lips, and without being told, Ice sucks. God, Ice has always been eager to please, and Maverick thinks there’s never been a prettier sight than Ice with the black padded cuffs around his wrists and ankles keeping him in place on the bed. There's no slack. Or at least enough to ensure Ice won’t mess up his wrists and ankles. They’re not as young as they used to be—a fact that hangs between them some days when their bodies feel every injury they’ve pushed themselves through. Apart from that, he’ll stay flat on the bed. No way to move unless Maverick allows it.
“You know you’re so beautiful like this?” Maverick asks, running his eyes over the black leather before turning his gaze back to Ice, who still stares at him.
“Good boy,” Maverick praises.
By god, he wants to turn Ice’s thoughts off so thoroughly that the man can’t think.
When he tires of the way Ice’s dutiful tongue curls around his thumb, Maverick removes it so he can run the slick digit down Ice’s chin to his throat all the way to his nipples. He scratches his thumb over one, and Ice responds the same way he has since the 80s: shivering violently. It thrills Maverick just as much as it did when he first discovered this.
Before he can get distracted, Maverick runs his hand back up to cup the side of Ice’s neck, and then he leans his head down to nip at the skin where the expanse of skin meets his shoulder. Another moan escapes, and his face flushes even deeper. He always gets so red. Even at his physical peace, Ice’s skin always turned from golden to a ruddy pink.
“That’s right, baby.” Maverick punctuates his words with another nip. “Let me hear you.”
Ice strains against his restraints, and Maverick considers tightening them or adjusting Ice’s position. But the desperation he saw in Ice’s eyes upon his arrival convinced him to keep Ice with his back on the bed. Sleepless nights look like dark thumbprints under his eyes. Special ops missions always do that to him.
“Do you know what you do to me, baby? Remember when I first held you down and fucked you? When you let me tie you up? Made it so you couldn’t move an inch? Kept you from thinking?”
Ice’s breath catches in his throat, and Maverick can see his arms tense from where he’s straining against the cuffs holding him to the bed. Almost like he wants to get away from Maverick’s stream of praise. While Ice is cocky––anyone who’s ever flown a plane like them is a cocky piece of shit––but he’s allergic to praise that isn’t from the United States Navy and all its associated authority figures.
Maybe that’s why Maverick loves these moments.
“Do you remember the first time we fucked? In that bathroom on shore leave? Or that time after the wedding when I ate your ass for hours? You were so good. You’re always so good.”
He drops an arm under the bed to fumble around for the wedge pillow. The absence is apparently too much for Ice to bear, and he lets out a stuttering breath from between his clenched teeth. As he returns to the bed, Maverick chuckles before he eases the pillow under Ice’s hips. It makes the restraints around his wrist pull the tiniest bit, and it looks like it might be too much. They’re not young anymore.
“Are y–”
“Green.”
“Copy.”
As much as he likes the hard and fast sex that punctuated so much of their early relationship, he loves to take his time with Ice. To brush his lips and run his tongue over every inch of the man. A simple enough task. He gives Ice’s throat a squeeze before he makes his way down Ice’s chest, where he sucks multiple angry marks right above his heart. Then he works his way to Ice’s hips, which gets the same treatment.
When Maverick mouths at the pale strip of skin of his inner thigh, Ice tries to tilt his hips up and he slaps the outside of his thigh in warning. Ice shivers.
“Stay still, baby. You do nothing I don’t tell you to do,” Maverick warns before biting an angry purple mark on the pale skin there. Later, when he soaps Ice up in the shower, he’ll press down on the teeth-shaped indent.
Moving so he’s resting on his knees between Ice’s restrained legs, Maverick searches among the sheets for the silicone prostate massager. Ever since it arrived in discrete, tasteful packaging, the toy has been a regular part of their sex life. He lubes it up before pressing it against Ice’s entrance and waits for Ice to nod before he slides it inside his waiting hole. It takes all of his self-control not to throw it across the room so he can take its place, but this night isn’t about Maverick. When Ice gets cuffed to the bed, everything revolves around him.
Ice moans and Maverick doesn’t wait before setting it on the lowest. Ice thrashes, but the wedge and cuffs mean he barely moves.
“Remember when you got your first star, and I tied your hands behind your back and fucked you with my fingers in your mouth? Remember that, baby? Should I do that again tonight?”
“Pete… Mav…Sir…”
“Shh, let me take care of you, baby,” Maverick responds as he uses the remote to turn the setting up.
A sob-slash-moan escapes from the man under him, and Maverick can see tears forming at the corners of his eyes. He’s already been teasing him for over an hour, and Maverick runs his hands up and down Ice’s legs in a soothing motion meant to tease. Ice’s cock is almost purple at the tip, and Maverick considers leaning forward to take it in his mouth.
Which is, of course, when the idea comes to mind.
“Eyes on the ceiling,” Maverick says, and Ice immediately complies, though he squeezes his eyes shut and breathes out shakily. He’s close. “You’re not allowed to come until I say you can.”
With the help of the lube leaking onto their sheets, he reaches back and inserts a finger inside of himself. After he adjusts, he inserts a second finger, and scissors himself open until he’s good. It’s not the most elegant prep, but he likes the burn, and it’s not like he hasn’t gone to work with his ass burning.
He coats his hand with the lube and then grabs Ice’s dick, pumping his hand three times. Then he crawls from between Ice’s legs to over his middle, and positions Ice’s cock at his entrance.
“Mav–” Ice starts, but Maverick shuts him up by inserting two fingers into his mouth.
“Don’t come until I say so.”
Then, he takes Ice into his body. There are still tears at the corner of Ice’s body, and Maverick almost pities him. He has a vibrator on his prostate, and, now, Maverick’s body surrounding him. A lesser man would have lost it by now. Good thing Ice is better than most men.
Still resting on his knees, Maverick moves. Slow at first, but as he adjusts, he picks up the pace.
Christ, it’s good, he thinks.
But he doesn’t let himself bask in the pleasure for too long, doesn’t let his head tilt back the way he usually would. No, he looks down to see Ice with his arms in a perfect V and Maverick's fingers in his mouth. He bounces on the cock inside him, and Ice moans around the fingers. A bead of sweat rolls down Maverick’s spine, and he can see dampness at Ice’s hairline.
“Oh, you like that?” Maverick accentuates the statement with a roll of his hips. “Are you always this desperate? Always this much of a slut?”
Rolling his hips again, Ice swirls his tongue around Maverick’s fingers, and he makes an encouraging noise. “That’s right, baby. Get them wet.”
“Imagine if they knew how much you like being used.”
Warmth builds low in his stomach. There’s a familiar tingle under his skin. He’s getting close.
“Everyone thinks you’re untouchable, but I know the truth.” He stresses his words by pressing down on Ice’s tongue again. “I know just how bad you’re gagging for it.”
He pulls his fingers out of Ice’s mouth and uses the same hand to jerk himself off, hard and fast. Every roll of his hips causes punched-out little noises to escape from the lips Ice is biting. There might be a trace of blood from where Ice has ripped off a piece of skin.
The closer they get, the more Maverick loses control of his mouth.
“Gonna come all over you. You want me to come all over you? Tell me how much you want it,” Maverick says, still jerking himself off. He’s getting close. Neither will last much longer. “C’mon, baby. Be good and tell me how much.” He rolls his hips again.
“Please.”
Ice’s shoulders rise off the bed, and it’s obvious they’re shaking with not only the tension from the restraints but also with the man’s sheer determination not to come until he’s been told to.
Maverick tuts as faux disappointment colors his words. Ice knows better than this. “Please what?”
Even after decades of this, Ice struggles to let go. Somewhere deep in his psyche, there’s a voice reminding him of the rules and what’s proper and other bullshit Maverick doesn’t want in his bed. When he’s fucking Ice like this, the only rules are the ones Maverick comes up with.
Ice’s mouth opens and closes a few times before he swallows. Maverick watches his throat bob and regrets not fucking his mouth earlier.
“Please come on me, sir.”
A shudder runs through Maverick because there’s nothing hotter than seeing Ice’s last walls break down. Nothing hotter than seeing him laid out, unable to move an inch, and taking everything Maverick gives him.
“So good at taking orders,” Maverick coos. It takes one downward stroke and a twist of his wrist before the orgasm hits him. All his muscles tighten, and his vision whites out for a moment as he comes messily all down Ice’s chest. It’s obscene, seeing his come glistening on his stomach. Some nights it’s enough to get him hard enough, especially when he opens his eyes and sees Ice staring through unfocused eyes. Now, Ice’s fingers curl over and over into his palms in a desperate need to touch.
“So good,” Maverick repeats, reaching a hand forward to scoop a bit of his come off Ice’s chest. He brings it to the man’s bright red mouth and doesn’t even have to ask before Ice lifts his head to comply, moaning deep around the digit as he ensures there’s nothing left. He repeats the action and lets himself bask in Ice doing precisely what he should. Maverick trained him well. "Like that?" He asks before he cradles Ice’s jaw as he tells him so, watching his face for any signs of discomfort. There’s still wetness at the corners of his eyes, and Maverick brushes the tears away.
“I know you want to come, baby. I know you do, and you’ve been so good, so I’m going to let you come, but I need you to hold on. For just one more minute. Can you do that for me?”
Ice nods, and Maverick trails his hand to Ice’s throat, giving it a warning squeeze.
“Use your words.”
“Yes, sir. I won’t come until you tell me I can.”
Maverick can’t help the satisfaction he feels when he sees Ice so beautifully submissive underneath him–a man who will one day be one of the most powerful men in the Navy–and he runs his eyes up and down Ice’s body.
He tentatively rolls his hips, but he’s hitting the level between pleasure and overstimulation. Definitely not as young as he used to be, he thinks as he searches for the remote in the sheets. When he finds it, he doesn’t even warn Ice before he hits the button to increase it, and he practically screams. Military resolve keeps him from coming, and Maverick leans down to press their lips together. Ice’s thighs shake underneath him, and he clenches his fingers against his palm. His knuckles are bone white. If Ice weren’t bound down, he’d have a hand threaded in Maverick’s hair, while his other hand would cup his ass.
“Come now,” he whispers, and Ice obeys without hesitation, allowing himself to orgasm with a heaving, gasping moan. His cock twitches inside Maverick, who peppers kisses to his jaw and lips between praises. When he switches the vibrator off, Ice almost sobs in relief. “You did so good,” Maverick says. “So good, Tom.”
At the sound of his legal name, Ice goes limp with relief. As soon as his head hits the pillow, Maverick undoes the cuffs and eases the vibrator out before heading to the adjoining bathroom to grab a wet rag. When he returns, Ice has an arm draped over his eyes as his chest heaves with the need to regulate his breath.
“Still got it, huh?” Maverick teases as he runs the soft cloth over both of them and takes off the ankle cuffs before he digs around the bedside table for the massage oil he uses after this.
“Should I be offended, Mitchell?”
There’s a familiar thump on the ground, and Maverick guesses Ice has kicked the wedge off the bed. If he closes his eyes, he can picture the crinkle of his eyes and the tilt of his lips.
He uncaps the massage oil and pours it into his hand before tossing the bottle on the sheets. Maverick kisses Ice’s left wrist and basks in the warmth before working on Ice's strained muscles.
“Don’t Mitchell me after I just rocked your world.” Maverick rolls his eyes, but he can’t wipe the smile from his face. “Fine, we never lost it. Happy, baby? Better yet: we’ve learned not to use rope lying around.”
“That was a shitty idea on your part.”
“My part? You were the one begging for it.”
“I have never begged once in my life,” he says straight-faced. He holds it for a heartbeat before they laugh with their foreheads resting against each other. Ice threads his fingers through Mav’s own, and Mav brushes the callus on his ring finger. The one from Ice refusing to correct his fucked up grip on pens.
“You’re supposed to be letting me take care of you,” Maverick says, and Ice nods.
“That’s right. Get back to it,” he says, holding his other wrist out.
Oh, how the tables turn, Mavericks thinks as he massages Ice’s other arm. Without being told, the man rolls onto his stomach, and Maverick makes sure he doesn't miss a single muscle from Ice’s arms to ankles, easing any tension that might have seeped in as the orgasm wore off while placing a fair amount of kisses to the skin.
Maverick flops down on the bed and pulls Ice into his arms. “Once you’re up for it, I’ll get the arnica gel.”
Before he can say anything else, Ice looks at Maverick, and Ice's rumpled, still-hazy-from-sex face makes him melt. If there’s ever a day when Ice doesn’t make him soft, then that’s when he doesn’t want to live anymore.
There’s nothing quite like the under-the-bed restraints that leave Ice spread eagle on the bed. More specifically, in their bed. A bed with the light blue flannel sheets Maverick picked out ages ago on a separate leave. A bed that smells of Ice’s cologne and the fabric softener he’s used for the past ten years because he thinks it cleans better than the other detergents. A bed they’ve done everything in: from fucking to reading to curling up against each other while the world ends.
“Feeling okay? Anything I can get you?” He asks, pressing a kiss to the corner of his jaw.
“Doing great, even if I’m sore tomorrow.”
“That's getting old.”
“Says the man who dyes his hair.”
Pretending to be offended, Maverick gently shoves at Ice before pulling him halfway on top of him. He wraps his arms around him in a different restraint.
“Thank god for the Internet,” Maverick says. “Remember when we had to drive fifty or sixty miles out of town and choose whatever was in stock at the first dingy strip mall sex shop?”
“Sex shops are nice these days.” Ice’s voice comes out muffled, face buried against Maverick’s neck. “Everything’s better than when the stripper at Slider’s bachelor party dropped a pair of handcuffs.”
“You ever miss back then?” Maverick asks. Next to him, the long line of Ice’s body stills, and he wonders if he’s said something wrong when Ice props himself up on one arm.
“What would I miss?”
He shrugs. “Being young. Not being in a long-distance relationship ninety percent of the time.”
Rolling his lip between his bottom teeth, Ice looks thoughtful before he shakes his head. “Nah, I like it now.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“For one, we can't get kicked out of the Navy anymore. You’ll get kicked out for destroying millions of government property.”
“Your commentary isn’t necessary right now,” Maverick says as Ice pulls him into a long kiss.
When they part, they stare into each other’s eyes for a long moment before Ice rolls off his chest.
“Now get me some water, will you?”
Maverick groans, but he does.