Work Text:
Maverick wakes to the feeling of fingers brushing through his hair, and he smiles before he even opens his eyes. He lets out a jaw-cracking yawn, then peels his eyes open to see Ice crouched on the floor by the couch, smiling back at him.
“Hey, sleepyhead. You feel like some dinner?”
Maverick hums and does a little nod.
“What sounds good? Leftovers, takeout. Or I could cook you something?”
“Like what?”
Ice looks thoughtful. “I think we have stuff for stir fry.”
Maverick makes an excited little gasp. “Yes, that sounds so good.”
“Sure, baby,” Ice says, then kisses Maverick on the forehead before helping him to his feet.
He follows Ice to the kitchen, hovering while Ice starts pulling stuff out of the fridge. Ice catches his eye after a moment and says, “You don’t have to help, Mav, I got it. Just go relax.”
“You’re too good to me, Ice. At least let me open a bottle of wine or something?”
“Oh, yeah, good idea. There should be a white in the fridge somewhere.”
Maverick finds an unopened bottle of riesling towards the back of their little wine fridge—which actually has more beer in it than wine—and sets about opening it on the counter. Just as he’s yanking the cork out, his ears twitch at the sound of the dryer buzzer down the hall. He looks at Ice, who’s chopping vegetables by the stove like a goddamn professional chef, and figures if he can’t be of too much help here, maybe he could make himself busy elsewhere.
“Ice? I’m gonna go put the laundry away, okay?”
“Sure, Mav,” Ice says, focused now on retrieving the wok from a high shelf in their pantry. Maverick smiles and heads down the hall.
He grabs an empty laundry basket and piles their warm and staticy clothes into it before hauling it up the stairs and setting it on the bed. He starts folding—it’s mostly just t-shirts, jeans, and pajamas, since they’re both on leave currently and haven’t had the need to wash any uniforms. He hangs Ice’s jeans in the closet how he likes, but folds and stuffs his own into a drawer. Maverick could never be bothered with hangers. Unless it’s for his service uniforms, they’re too much work.
By the time he’s made it to the bottom of the basket, he can already smell dinner. Maverick folds one of Ice’s t-shirts, but then pauses after he grabs the next item. It doesn’t feel or look familiar at all. Maverick frowns and holds it out in front of him to inspect it.
It’s a skirt. It’s red with little daisies all over it, flowy, and—Maverick rubs the fabric between his fingertips—so fucking soft .
It’s gotta be Carole’s, Maverick thinks. She and Bradley stayed with them a couple days ago while they were in town visiting him and Ice during their time off, and her skirt must have gotten stuck in the shuffle of their laundry somehow.
Maverick stares down at it. He never gets to see or hold women’s clothes like this. It’s weird to see an item of clothing that doesn’t have an inseam. It’s interesting. He takes a deep breath. Why is he suddenly so fascinated by this thing?
He takes a step towards the floor length mirror on the back of their closet door, standing in front of it. Without thinking, Maverick holds the skirt up to his hips, just to see. Totally harmless.
It looks…nice, he thinks. The pop of color is pleasing to the eye, especially since he’s usually dressed as an ugly blob of khaki. Something about it makes his stomach swoop, and it’s like an itch somewhere he couldn’t reach has finally been scratched. He feels the corner of his mouth curve up, just slightly.
Then Ice appears in the mirror behind him, and he feels all the blood drain from his face. Maverick drops the skirt quickly, nudging it a couple feet into the closet with his foot and turning back to the bed, as if he could go back to nonchalantly folding clothes like he isn’t the most embarrassed he’s ever been.
“Mav? What are you doing?”
Maverick doesn’t look at him, but he can hear the frown in his voice. “Folding clothes,” Maverick mutters.
He grimaces when Ice walks past him towards the closet, and he hears the crack of Ice’s knees as he bends down to pick up the damn skirt.
“Who’s is this?”
Maverick clears his throat. “What?”
“This skirt,” Ice says.
Maverick finally turns to look at him, tries hard not to scowl as he says, annoyed, “I don’t know, Ice.”
Ice searches his face for a moment. He doesn’t look mad, or shocked, or horrified. He just looks confused, along with something else Maverick can’t quite figure out. Something open, and perceptive.
“What?” Maverick demands again, after Ice has been quiet too long for comfort. He’s still holding the stupid skirt.
“You should try it on, Mav.”
Maverick flushes, managing a weak little, “What?”
“Try it on. C’mon.”
Ice steps closer, pulls the pair of socks from Maverick’s hand and sets them on the bed before grabbing his hand and guiding him back in front of the mirror. He holds the skirt out and, after a moment of hesitation, Maverick takes it with numb fingers, letting it hang in the air in front of him.
Maverick feels frozen in place. He looks over at Ice and croaks, “Ice, I—”
Ice’s eyes are heartbreakingly soft, and he’s got a hopeful little smile on his face. “It’s okay, Mav,” he whispers. “It’ll look so nice on you.”
Maverick closes his eyes briefly. Why does he suddenly feel like bursting into tears?
Somehow he gets himself to untie the string of his sweatpants—which are actually Ice’s sweatpants—and lets them fall to the floor. He kicks them off and away, then wills his hands to quit shaking as he steps into the skirt and pulls it up over his hips.
Maverick chances a look in the mirror. His cheeks are embarrassingly red, flushed from his hairline to his collarbones, but as he takes in the rest of his appearance, his stomach does that excited little swoop again. His legs look so good like this, he thinks, soothing a hand down the front of the skirt.
“Mav,” Ice says softly, “that looks absolutely gorgeous on you.”
Maverick lifts his hands and covers his face. He can’t decide if he wants to sink into the floor or twirl around happily in front of the mirror. His skin feels hot under his fingertips, but then there’s strong hands around each of his wrists, and Ice gently pulls his hands away from his face. He stands behind Maverick, resting his chin on Maverick’s shoulder and his hands on Maverick’s sides.
“I mean it,” Ice says. “Look at you. You can totally pull it off, baby.”
“Yeah?” Maverick breathes, voice a little shaky.
“Absolutely. I love it on you.”
Maverick closes his eyes, grips one of Ice’s hands where it rests on his waist. “Thank you,” he says, just under his breath.
Ice kisses his cheek. “Anytime.”
“I think it’s Carole’s,” he says after a moment.
“I figured. I’ll have to get you one like it sometime.”
Holy shit. “Seriously?”
“Yeah—”
Maverick turns around and interrupts Ice with a kiss. Ice kisses back immediately, cupping Maverick’s jaw with his hands.
When Maverick pulls away, he asks, “Will you get me a blue one?”
Ice grins. “Of course, baby. Anything you want.”
Maverick kisses him again, grinning into it, and Ice winds his arms tightly around Maverick’s waist.
“Wanna wear it while we eat dinner? It’s ready, by the way.”
Maverick’s jaw drops in surprise. “Already? Jesus, Kazansky, is there anything you’re not good at?”
“I don’t think I could look as good in a skirt as you do.”
Maverick blushes again, and Ice rubs a thumb along his jaw. He closes his eyes and drops his head to Ice’s chest, sighing. “You’re the best boyfriend in the world.”
“I try,” Ice says, muffled into Maverick’s hair.
Maverick glances down at the skirt again. “I think I’m gonna take it off, just ‘cause…it’s Carole’s, and…I don’t know. I feel weird wearing something that belongs to her.”
Ice nods and says, “Okay. Yeah, I get that.”
Maverick steps away and tugs it off, folding it neatly on the bed before tugging his sweats back on. His normal clothes seem so boring now.
“I’m hungry,” Maverick tells him.
Ice laughs softly. “That’s why I cooked for you. Come on.”
Maverick grins and starts to follow Ice out of the room, but only after he lets himself smooth a hand appreciatively over the folded skirt one more time.
———
A couple weeks later, Maverick gets home from work a little late on a Friday night, and finds Ice in the kitchen on the phone ordering what he assumes to be Chinese takeout. Ice grins when he sees him, and Maverick kisses Ice briefly on the cheek before heading upstairs to take a shower.
Once he’s finished, Maverick wraps a towel around his waist and heads into the bedroom to get dressed, but something’s different. There’s a small blue gift bag sitting on Maverick’s pillow that he definitely didn’t notice before. Maverick frowns, and goes to examine it. The tag reads to Mav, from Ice . He pulls the wrapping tissue out, then reaches in to grab something soft with that brand new fabric feeling. Maverick holds it up, letting it drape over his hands.
It’s a skirt.
It’s baby blue, pleated, and a little shorter compared to Carole’s. Maverick smiles, feeling happy tears prick his eyes.
Suddenly he hears a small noise from somewhere across the room, and he looks over to see Ice standing in the doorway, hands in his pockets and an adorable grin on his face.
“You like it?” Ice asks, and there’s a hint of insecurity behind it, something only Maverick could pick up on.
“Ice…I love it,” Maverick assures him. “Thank you.”
“Anytime,” he says. “You, uh. You wanna try it on?”
Maverick nods, moving to stand in front of the mirror. He drops his towel, and Ice stands next to him as he slides the skirt on, warm fingers brushing Maverick’s hip as he helps him with the zipper.
It fits perfectly. Maverick looks in the mirror, and his chest feels light with joy, butterflies flying around in his stomach. It’s so satisfying to see himself like this. Almost euphoric. He loves the way it makes him feel—free, unreserved, desirable in a way he’s never felt before. He feels pretty . Maverick’s never felt pretty before. And his heart throbs pleasantly at the thought that Ice bought the skirt for him to wear. Because Ice wants him to wear it. Because Ice loves the way it looks. Maverick feels a bubble of emotion rise up in his throat.
“I love it so much, Ice,” he says, voice only cracking a little. “It's perfect.”
Ice smiles fondly, resting a hand on Maverick’s lower back. “I’m glad, baby. It looks so pretty on you.”
Maverick blushes, and turns to face Ice fully, leaning up on his tiptoes and wrapping his arms around Ice’s neck. “Kiss me.”
Ice does, and Maverick sighs into it. Ice kisses him in that perfect way he always does: starting out slow before growing eager and hungry, like he tries to control himself at the beginning but just can’t when it comes to Maverick. Ice’s hands drop to his hips, running a thumb along the waistband of his skirt.
“Want you to fuck me, Ice,” he murmurs into Ice’s mouth, then slides his tongue across Ice’s bottom lip.
Ice pulls back to look at Maverick, eyes gone a little wide. “In…um,” he stutters, “with the…”
“Yes, Ice. In the skirt,” Maverick supplies, smirking.
Ice’s ears turn pink. “Really?” he asks, sounding genuinely surprised, oddly.
Maverick can’t help but laugh a little incredulously. “Um, yeah. Isn’t that the whole reason you bought it for me?”
“Well, no, I…I mean, I think you look so sexy, but I really just wanted you to have it, Mav.” He lifts a hand up to cup Maverick’s cheek. “I just want you to wear it because I know it makes you happy. That’s all.”
Maverick’s throat constricts, and his tear ducts betray him for the second time in ten minutes. “Damn,” Maverick says, laughing wetly, “you’re really trying to make me cry tonight, Kazansky.”
Ice smiles, brushing Maverick’s hair back from his forehead. “Sorry.”
“S’okay.” Maverick trails his fingers down Ice’s chest to rest against his abs, blinking back his tears, and refocusing on the task at hand. Ice is always so kind and considerate of Maverick’s feelings, and he never expects a single thing from Maverick. It’s why Maverick’s in love with him. But it also means that more often than not, Maverick has to ask Ice to cut the lovey dovey shit and just take what he wants.
“So, um. If I asked you to—”
“Yes,” Ice says, firm and immediate. “Yes, I want to.” He takes a slow, deep breath, his gaze flickering down to Maverick’s body, then back up to look Maverick right in the eyes. “More than anything.”
“Fuck,” Maverick breathes.
The doorbell rings.
Maverick wears his skirt and one of Ice’s hoodies—because he gets cold—during their Chinese dinner date on the couch watching Dateline . It’s impossibly comfortable, and Maverick keeps sneaking glances down at his legs just because he likes how it looks on him so much. He can’t believe he used to think he looked best when he wore his favorite pair of jeans. Seems ridiculous now.
The sexual tension shot through the roof just before dinner arrived, but Ice seems relaxed, digging into his rice like he hasn’t eaten in days, just like always. Maverick finishes before him, so he leans an elbow against the cushions and watches Ice staring at the TV for a few moments, thinking about all the ways he wants to reward Ice for his gift, plotting his next move.
“Ice?”
“Hm?” Ice is still looking at the TV, the tip of his chopsticks in his mouth.
“I’m gonna head up to bed,” he says, putting just the right amount of meaning behind the words, knowing Ice will catch on.
Ice looks over at him, chopsticks sliding from between his teeth. He blinks a couple times before saying, “Sure, Mav.”
Maverick stands from the couch, kisses Ice on the temple before gathering up his leftovers and going to shove them in the fridge.
Upstairs, Maverick brushes his teeth, fixes his hair a little in the mirror, then gets their room ready for bed, shutting off all the lights except for one lamp. Then he strips off his hoodie so he’s wearing nothing but his skirt and his dog tags, and sits on the foot of the bed.
Ice comes in a little bit later, wearing nothing but a towel, a few droplets of water still dripping down his chest. He freezes like a deer in headlights when he sees Maverick, legs crossed, leaning back on his palms, waiting patiently for Ice in his skirt. Ice licks his lips, then slowly makes his way to Maverick, taking in his appearance like Maverick is a meal and Ice is starving. It sends a shiver down Maverick’s spine.
“Oh, baby,” Ice says, sounding like he’s lost his breath, the words full of incredulity, like he’s seeing the ocean for the first time. Maverick uncrosses his legs, letting them fall open so Ice can step in between them, looking up at Ice through his lashes. “You look so pretty, Mav.”
Maverick closes his eyes, feeling all warm, and suddenly he thinks he could float away, like a hot air balloon. Then Ice slides his large, calloused hands up Maverick thighs, slipping them under his skirt, and every nerve in Maverick’s body lights up. Just the sight of Ice’s hands disappearing under his skirt alone is enough to get Maverick fully hard. He makes a needy little noise, undoes Ice’s towel with one hand, and curls the other around the back of Ice’s neck, pulling him down for a kiss, open-mouthed and greedy. Ice’s hands stay up and under his skirt, warm where they grip Maverick’s hips.
“Gonna keep your pretty skirt on for me, yeah?” Ice whispers, and Maverick nods desperately, dragging his lips over Ice’s. Ice takes Maverick’s bottom lip between his perfect teeth, nibbling on it because he knows it always turns Maverick on—he can never get enough of Ice’s teeth on him—and then he trails his mouth down Maverick’s neck, his chest, his belly, lower and lower until Ice is on his knees.
He places a lingering kiss to the waistband of Maverick’s skirt, then his mouth finds Maverick’s cock through the fabric, dragging his tongue along it and then mouthing at the head. Then his hands slide up Maverick’s torso, lifting his skirt with them. Maverick exhales a shaky breath when Ice’s mouth latches onto his thigh, his skin prickling with goosebumps, burning from the heat of Ice’s mouth. Ice, ever possessive, starts biting and sucking bruises into the supple skin of Maverick’s inner thighs, and Maverick begins to pant and squirm, his cock already dribbling precome where it’s pressed against the underside of his skirt.
Once Maverick’s thighs have been marked up to Ice’s satisfaction, he kisses the head of Maverick’s cock, and says, “Want you to come in my mouth, Mav.” Maverick purses his lips to contain a whine. “Got it?”
“Y-yeah,” he breathes, then tips his head back and moans as Ice takes his cock in his mouth, swallowing him down easily. “Fuck.”
It doesn’t take long for Ice to get him there. He’s felt riled up with need since before dinner, and then waiting in his spot on the bed thinking about all the things he wants Ice to do to him didn’t help. But Ice knows Maverick can easily go twice in a row. Even three times, if Maverick’s been extra good, or if Ice is feeling extra evil.
Maverick gives Ice a tug on his hair as a warning, and Ice hums with approval as Maverick comes down his throat, swallowing every drop, sucking him just past the point of overstimulation. All of Maverick’s muscles go lax after that, his limbs buzzing, his brain muddled, and he drops back onto the comforter like he’d been shoved, splaying his arms out and panting. He realizes distantly that Ice is standing somewhere to his right now, rummaging through his bedside table. Maverick’s skirt is pushed up around his torso now, just below his ribs, and he runs a hand over it, smoothing it down, still reveling in the sight and feeling of it on his body. He catches Ice looking over at him with a soft smile on his face.
“You okay?”
Maverick hums. “Yeah,” he says, but it comes out more like a croak, and Ice’s smile grows. Maverick scoots up towards the pillows, then holds an arm out towards Ice, and Ice takes his hand, climbing back onto the bed and on top of Maverick.
“Hi,” Maverick says.
“Hi, baby.” Ice leans down to kiss him for a long moment, gliding his hands over Maverick’s chest, teasing his thumbs over his nipples, gently palming Maverick’s pectorals. Maverick wraps his legs up around Ice, pulling him closer, rocking up to grind his cock against Ice’s. “You want it, Mav?”
“Mm. Please.”
Something dark and hungry flashes in Ice’s eyes, and the pad of his thumb comes up to rest on Maverick’s bottom lip. “Please what?”
“Please fuck me, Ice,” he whispers, batting his eyelashes for good measure.
Ice gazes down at Maverick’s mouth. “That’s good, Mav. Good boy.”
Maverick hums happily, and takes Ice’s thumb in his mouth, teasing his tongue over the tip. Ice calling him a good boy in bed is a more recent thing, and Maverick loves it so much, but there’s something about hearing it while he’s wearing his skirt that just lights him on fire, flooding him with warmth from the inside out.
Ice works Maverick open with his tongue, then his fingers, and with the way Ice elects not to drag it out as long as he’s done in the past—teasing Maverick until he feels like he could cry—he can tell Ice is just as desperate for it all as Maverick is. He nudges Maverick gently onto his side, thighs together, knees bent, skirt wrinkled and splayed out over the sheets.
“This okay?”
“Yeah, s’perfect,” Maverick breathes, trying not to whine and beg for Ice to hurry the hell up. He slides a knee upwards, putting himself on display, and just because he can’t resist, Maverick reaches down and easily slips two fingers into his hole, looking up at Ice as he drags them languidly in and out.
“Jesus Christ,” Ice mumbles, pupils blown as he watches Maverick’s movements. Ice curls a hand around his own cock, stroking himself a couple times as his eyes roam Maverick’s body. Then he pauses, reaching out to right Maverick’s skirt for him, straightening it and smoothing it down where it belongs. That, of all things, makes Maverick blush hard, the tenderness of it almost overwhelming.
His skirt doesn’t stay straight for long, though, because Maverick slips his fingers out and curls his hand around Ice’s cock instead, and Ice grips at the plush skin where hip meets thigh meets ass, finally pushes into him. Maverick turns his head into the pillows, groaning with relief, with that satisfaction he gets every time Ice bottoms out. He feels soft kisses being pressed to his shoulder, and a moan slips from his throat as Ice starts up a steady pace. Maverick writhes, desperate for something to grab onto that isn’t the sheets beneath him, and that’s when Ice’s hand is there, like it always is, taking Maverick’s own and interlocking their fingers. Maverick places his free hand over Ice’s other hand, the one grabbing greedily at Maverick’s ass as he fucks him.
“Taking me so well like this, baby,” Ice pants. “Fuck, you’re so pretty in your skirt. I could look at you forever.”
“Oh, fuck , oh—”
“Do you feel pretty, Mav?”
“Y-yeah,” Maverick says, but it comes out more like a throaty moan.
“Good boy,” Ice praises, “so good for me.”
Maverick makes a desperate noise, squeezing Ice’s hand. “Ice, harder —”
Ice drops down to the sheets behind Maverick, his chest against Maverick’s back, then hooks his arm under Maverick’s knee and starts pounding into him. Maverick turns to catch Ice’s mouth in a messy, perfect kiss, arching his back to meet Ice’s thrusts. That’s when Ice’s cock hits him at just the right angle, and Maverick has to break the kiss to gasp, closing his eyes as his vision starts to swim.
Ice takes Maverick’s reaction and runs with it, fucking him at the same angle again and again, harder and harder. He finally wraps a hand around Maverick’s cock, stroking him as he presses sloppy kisses to the nape of Maverick’s neck. Then he drags his teeth over the skin behind Maverick’s ear, murmuring, “Want you to come for me, Mav.”
“Mm—”
“Wanna see you make a mess of your pretty skirt, baby. C’mon.”
With that, and one more sharp thrust, Maverick comes so hard his vision whites out. His brain melts into an incoherent little puddle. The only thing he feels is the crackle of endorphins through his veins and Ice’s arms around him.
When he comes to, Ice is kissing his cheek and his jaw with silky soft lips, and Maverick turns his head to kiss him on the mouth before even opening his eyes. He kisses Ice for a long moment, tasting him lazily, until his muscles come back online and he cracks his eyes open.
“Hey,” Ice whispers, grinning softly. “You good?”
“Mm. Yeah,” Maverick says, then he yawns. “Wait, did you…?”
“Yeah. You didn’t notice?”
Maverick blinks. “I guess not.”
Ice snorts. “You’re so cute when you’re like this.”
“Shut up. I’m going to bed,” Maverick mutters, but even as he says it, he rolls over and wraps all his limbs around Ice like an octopus.
He can hear Ice’s smile in his next words. “Sure, Mav. You wanna leave your skirt on?”
“Oh.” Maverick pulls back and looks down at his skirt with a little pout, and Ice, the bastard, has the audacity to laugh. When Maverick looks at him with a scowl, Ice smiles sheepishly.
“Sorry, baby. I’ll get it dry cleaned for you.”
“You are not taking it to our dry cleaners like this, Ice,” Maverick says, scandalized.
Ice laughs again. “Okay, okay. I’ll wash it. And I’ll even iron it for you. How’s that?”
“Better,” Maverick says. He moves to take his skirt off, but Ice nudges his hand away from the zipper and pulls it down for him, helping slide the skirt down and off Maverick’s body. Then Ice folds it neatly, and tosses it carefully onto the floor. Maverick grins, full to the brim with love for the man in front of him. “Thanks, Ice.”
Ice pulls the comforter over them, then folds his arms around Maverick with a sigh. “Anytime.”
“No, really, I’m…” He looks Ice in the eye. “Thank you. For the skirt, and for…everything you do for me.”
Ice smiles. “Always, Mav.”
Maverick presses his face into Ice’s neck, mumbling, “Love you.”
“Love you, too.”