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Tom Kazansky was going to hell.
Not that he very much believed in hell or heaven, but here in this overcrowded bar somewhere in Nashville, he could believe that Satan himself was waiting for him just outside the doors.
Because Pete Mitchell was less than two inches away from him, reaching up to grab the Stetson his friends had goaded him into bringing to this honky-tonk.
"Let me borrow this, okay honey?" Maverick says with a cocky grin that sent daggers through Ice's chest. Without another word, he places it on his own head and jumps the fence separating everyone from the mechanic bull.
Whoops and cheers rise up around them, he can hear Slider hollering next to him as Wolf throws an arm over Ice's shoulder.
"That should be me up there!" Wolf yells over the noise, laughing and pointing at his own hat. "Boy's showing me up!"
Even though they were in Nashville to celebrate Wolf, somehow it was always Maverick who drew attention. But Ice couldn't blame anyone for being drawn in the same way he was, his eyes stuck firmly on Mav as he throws one leg over the bull.
Taunts and challenges are thrown out to him, mostly from their own group, but the rest of the bar soon join in.
"He's not lasting more than 30 seconds," Slider laughs, downing a finger of whiskey. "He's never ridden before!"
Not a bull at least, Ice almost says but bites down hard to keep the words in. They're in Nashville for Christ's sake, the last city he wants to be found out in.
But when the bull ride starts up, he knows it's very very possible that his cover is more than blown.
A song comes over the speakers, and Tom's eyes are glued to Maverick's hips rolling in time with the bull, one hand on the handle and the other on Ice's Stetson. It's graceful, almost a dance, and soon everyone in the bar is cheering for him. That cocky grin makes a reappearance and the bastard winks at him while he holds on.
Chipper and Sundown are screaming like there's no tomorrow, even Wolf and Slider are graciously applauding Maverick's efforts. Hollywood, having taken over the role of group photographer, quickly snaps a shot of Maverick with the Stetson high in the air, grinning like a madman. Ice very badly wants to ask for that Polaroid.
Even though the bull is whirling him around and bucking to run Maverick off, he stays put. Ice's eyes never leave those hips, those thighs, and when the bull rotates, Maverick's ass in those jeans.
His mind is instantly supplied with images, helped by the glimpses he got in passing in the locker room at Miramar. He should feel wrong about that, but those locker room glimpses seem juvenile compared to the almost vulgar show in front of him. Those strong thighs on either side of Ice, those hips rolling in time with their movements, and worst of all, that fucking Stetson still on his head. In his mind, that hat and his dogtags are the only clothing Maverick's wearing as he rides Ice's--
"He don't know the hat rule does he?!" Wolf yells drunkenly in Ice's ear, and Ice's blood runs cold.
Ice himself was born in Hawaii, but the Stetson was his grandfather's, a Montana man through and through.The closest he got to cowboy culture on Oahu were Bonanza reruns on Saturdays but when he had gotten a bit older, he had spent summers in Montana and learned the etiquette. Learned to take it off when entering a home, learned that felt was worn in the winter, but mostly, had learned that boys liked it when a girl asked for his hat.
He looks back around to where Mav is still hanging out to that bull, still rolling his hips like-- like- like he was purposely putting on a show.
Mav had grabbed his hat in front of everyone, in a city where cowboy culture was almost law. Had the rest of the bar seen it, wondered if it meant anything? They were all drunk, but maybe that wouldn't work in their favor. Maybe it would just make things worse.
Just as that horrible thought hits, the bull is shut off and Maverick lets out a triumphant whoop that has the bar clapping and stomping their feet. Beside him, Sundown and Wolf are jumping up and down while Slider reluctantly hands over a $20 to Hollywood.
"Not bad for a city boy!" Chipper laughs, helping Maverick over the tiny fence.
"That was fucking fun!" Maverick laughs, accepting the claps on his back for his trouble. "You should try it!"
Ice has to cough to keep himself from saying something very inappropriate, only able to shake his head. Luckily, Mav doesn't press.
Maverick's about to go to the bar when he snaps his fingers as if forgetting something. His fingers go to the brim of the Stetson, making Ice cringe because that's not how you take off your hat, but he cuts him off before Maverick goes any further.
"It's fine," he rushes out, not wanting to make it obvious. "It's fine, Mav." Ice didn't want to risk anyone seeing the fact that he had been wearing another man's hat while riding like sin.
Ice doesn't ask for it back for the rest of the night. But his gaze never leaves it either.
It's well past three in the morning when a knock on his motel suite wakes him up. It’s not exactly uncommon, Slider has a habit of going home with people and slumming back before dawn. At least he’s gracious enough to not try knocking the door down. But when Ice makes it to the door, not even stopping to pull on a shirt, it’s not Slider he’s greeted with.
“Woah,” Mav says, looking right at Ice’s bare chest. The Stetson is still on Maverick’s head and Ice can’t help thinking how much better it looks on him. Ice wants to jolt away for a minute, but doesn’t move. Iceman is cool, collected, refined. Tom, whoever, is close to slamming the door in Maverick’s face and pretending this is a very realistic dream.
“Can I help you?” Ice asks, voice much deeper. He still isn't completely awake.
“Sorry,” Maverick replies, not looking it in the slightest as he finally takes his gaze off of his pecs. “Needed to see you.”
The words render him a little speechless, not putting up much of a resistance when Maverick walks past him into the motel room. He expects for him to walk in, put the hat somewhere on a table and leave, but Mav doesn’t. He stands there in the middle of Ice’s motel room, looking around as if the cheap paintings on the wall are the most interesting things he’s ever seen. With little other choice, he closes the door behind them.
Before he can start rummaging in his luggage for a shirt to pull on, Mav points up at the Stetson.
“Where did you even get one of these, Ice?”
Honestly, it’s a fair question. It's not one of the cheap cowboy hats that could be found at road stops for $20, it had obvious wear and use on it. It’s an obviously loved and cherished hat, something more suited to Wolf than to himself.
"It was my grandfather's," he shrugs, not able to say much else in his sleep addled mind.
Maverick tilted his head at him. "I thought you were Polish?"
Ice snorted. "Can't there be cowboys in Poland?" At Mav's slightly chagrined look, he relents. "My maternal grandfather. Born and raised in Montana, same as my mother."
Maverick nodded as he took the information in, his eyes once again finding his bare chest. It takes all the composure he has to not comment, because he's fairly certain Mav's not even aware he's doing it. It wasn't like he had ever done it at Top Gun.
"So you, like, know how to treat one?"
Ice's eyebrow raises, and before he can filter himself he asks, "A cowboy?"
Maverick jolts, eyes widening a bit before a deep flush settles on his face. "A cowboy hat, asshole," but there's a nervous tinge to his voice. Ice very much chooses to ignore it.
He nods and immediately shakes his head when Mav once again reaches for the brim.
"You take it off like that, you bend the shape. Grab it by the crown."
Maverick does, and such a simple gesture shouldn't be so attractive. The women of Montana wouldn't be able to survive the sight of Pete Mitchell in a Stetson.
But neither can Tom Kazansky.
"You're supposed to take it off with your left so you can shake with your right," Ice says, but it's more out of reflex than genuine conversation.
It had been one of the first rules Grandpa Ames had taught him.
Remember, Thomas. You always take your hat off for a lady or a man of the cloth. With your left so you can shake if you need'ta. That's the sign of being a man, Tommyboy, always treating folks with respect.
Maverick does as instructed, raising his eyebrows as if to ask 'am I doing okay?' Ice nods and Maverick grins so brightly it hurts to look at. He needs to deflect and he needs to do it now before Ice does something.
"What, are you thinking of getting a Stetson while you're here?" He asks, remembering that they're in Nashville so it really would be convenient.
"No, just thought you'd know what this damn rule everyone keeps talking about is."
For the second time in the evening, Ice's blood runs cold.
Maverick either doesn't notice or doesn't care that he's been stricken dumb. "Wolf and Sunny keep telling me I broke a rule, something about taking the hat."
Ice opens his mouth but not a word makes it out. Maverick does notice this, and he hates that it makes his face fall.
"I, uh, should've asked you before I grabbed it. That's probably it, right? Don't touch another man's hat and all that."
That was one of the rules and Ice had gotten himself into some fights over it before. Drunken assholes who had thrown his Stetson to the ground quickly joined it because that was a level of disrespect he didn't put up with.
"That's one of them," is all he can reply.
"One?!" Mav barks out, almost looking nervous now. "You're telling me I broke more than one of your unspoken cowboy rules?" At Ice's nod, he throws his head back in a groan.
"What's the other rule?"
That at least gets Ice out of his own head. It's leading them into dangerous territory.
"It's nothing, just a joke."
A raised eyebrow lets him know he's not being very convincing.
"You and Wolf take this pretty seriously, Ice. I really don't wanna disrespect."
He sighs, some of that Iceman demeanor creeping back in. It's a comfort almost, leaning into this personna he has. "It's better not to worry about it, Mitchell."
"...I must have fucked up pretty badly," he says, and Ice realizes he's messed up. By the look in his eye and the nervous tremble of his left hand, Maverick thinks he's genuinely offended him. That he must have found a way to insult him and the men who came before him, etc. etc.
There's really no way around it, not without making Mav think that he's committed some heinous crime; he's going to have to tell him. He pinches the bridge of his nose, already reeling from this conversation.
"It's a saying back home, Mav. When a woman takes a man's hat…?"
An oblivious look, that same tilt of the head. Jesus. Is he really going to have to spell it out for him?
"You wear the hat, you ride the cowboy."
For a second neither one of them speaks. He expects Mav to all but throw the hat back at him and leave, who wouldn't? He'd go back to sleep and hope nothing would change between them before morning.
Blessed be the fool who'd ever think Maverick would do what's expected.
Instead, he strides towards him. He doesn't stop until he's right in front of him, almost mirroring their positions after that hop.
" I don't like you because you're dangerous."
"That's right, Iceman. I am dangerous."
"What are you doing?" He breathes out, almost scared to let his voice carry.
"I don't know yet," he replies in an almost lazy tone. "But this is kind of an opportunity I don't want to let by."
He doesn't know what Maverick is playing at, doesn't know what to think. =
"You want me to leave, I will. But I think we both know that's not what you want."
He places a hand over Ice's, holding it tightly. He jolts back, but Maverick doesn't let him get very far.
"How would you know what I want?" Ice snarls, his anger rearing its head. This little game Maverick is playing is cruel, taunting him as if this is really an option. He’s wanted this for far too long and it’s painful that Maverick is the one hurting him. He could handle the scrutiny and mockery from anyone else; not from him.
Ice tries to grab his hand back, either to push Maverick out of his room or maybe punch him, whichever gets him out of this situation faster. He's about to settle on punching him when his hand is dropped; instead, Maverick cups Ice's face, his thumb sweeping across Ice's cheekbone.
"Because I want this too."
All the air leaves the room at the casual declaration. It's too much, it's too loud, and Ice can't breathe.
“Mav, please,” he says, all anger leaving him immediately. He can’t stand how weak he sounds. Iceman doesn’t have any weaknesses but Tom is just a man about to get his heart broken. The fear is overcoming any shock that his feelings are being reciprocated. “Don’t do this. It - it won’t end well for either of us.”
Too many things could happen if he lets this play out. Someone could catch them. Someone could rat them out, kicking them both out of the Navy. They… they could get sick. Really sick. Too many things can and could happen to them, and Ice can’t justify risking Mav’s life like that.
But there’s that other part of himself that wants this so badly, wants to take what is being offered to him.
“I know how this could end, Tom,” Mav says, and Ice sees it. The pain and suffering that he’s been carrying since Goose’s accident, maybe since before. “But that doesn’t change how I feel. We’re… we’re good together, aren’t we?”
He leans in, so close to kissing him, but Ice’s hands shoot up to grab at his forearms, stopping him. He’s breathing hard, almost panting, and he could double over from the pain in his chest.
"You're drunk," he punches out, one last ditch effort. Ice has seen it before, the men who could only find him attractive with half a bottle of bourbon in their system, only deigned desirable when he could be written off as a drunk mishap.
"I drank one beer," Maverick replies in an even voice, and Ice tries to find the lie. But he can't, can only remember the one bottle Mav had taken at the beginning of the night. Less than what Ice had. "But I won't -- if you don't want me--"
“Of course I want you,” he says before he can stop himself, and the words have opposite effects on both of them. They terrify Ice, make him feel small and vulnerable. It exhilarates Maverick, who seems to thrive in that space between fear and euphoria, and he smiles so openly.
“Good to know,” Mav laughs, tension leaving his shoulders. “I wouldn’t ride a bull like that for anyone else.”
His words fade out as his eyes once again look down at his bare chest, this time with open adoration and want. He’s never felt so bare, so seen by anyone. His skin isn’t flawless, there are scars and birthmarks and some bruises, but Maverick looks at him like a work of art.
"You're beautiful, " he says on a exhale, and it's that word that breaks down the dam.
He’s imagined kissing Maverick before, of course he has. Rough kisses on the tarmac, secret and heavy kisses in the locker room, soft kisses over mugs of coffee and the morning newspaper.
None of those compare to the actual feeling of Maverick’s lips on his own when he finally lets himself pull the man forward. He couldn’t have imagined how soft they are, how pliant Mav would be in his arms, the sound he makes when Ice drops his hands to his waist.
It’s soft, exploratory, and Ice thinks he’d be happy to stay this way until the end of time.
Mav’s hands eventually move, when he pulls Ice in a little closer and runs his hands through his hair. Ice sighs into the sensation, legs not holding him up in the slightest, but it’s okay because Maverick is steady. He always has been, Ice realizes, even when their rivalry was just that. An intense rivalry bordering on hatred. Even then, Maverick pushed but never went far enough to hurt anyone.
The kiss is still soft, but there’s an underlying sense of urgency that Ice would have to be dead to ignore. He can recognize, though, that Maverick is holding back; he’s letting Ice take the lead, decide how far and fast they go.
He toys with the belt loops of Maverick’s jeans, pulling him in a little closer and groaning when the denim brushes against his bare skin. His fingers play with the skin just inside Mav’s waistline, making him whine against Ice’s lips. He wants to know how many sounds he can get out of Maverick.
He pulls back ever so slightly, speaking against kiss-swollen lips.
“Mind losing a few things?” He says, and Maverick’s eyes nearly roll back to the back of his head. The first thing to go is the Stetson and Ice has to dive when Mav tries to place it on the nearby bed.
An involuntary yelp comes out when he just manages to grab the crown before it can land on the bed, and Mav looks slightly alarmed.
“Another rule?” He asks with a breathless laugh, and Ice nods. He won’t say it outloud, doesn’t want to ruin this tentative thing they have: placing a Stetson on your bed is asking for trouble. At best, an argument, but at it’s worst, death.
Instead he places it on the bedside table by the crown.
“You place a hat down on it’s brim,” he explains, “you dump out all your good luck.” He pushes Mav back when he tries to look into it. “You’re also not supposed to show anyone the inside of your hat.”
“There are way too many rules,” Mav says with a pout, and Ice grins, once again taking him in by his belt loops. “How was I supposed to know to not put in on the bed?”
“It doesn’t matter," he responds truthfully. "The only thing I want on my bed right now is you.”
It's bold, almost too bold, but it works. The moment the words are out of his mouth, Maverick drags him down for a kiss, so different from what they had shared earlier. It’s hot, it’s messy, and it’s everything Ice wants. He’s always been good at goading Maverick in the sky, it’s no surprise that he’s just as good at it on the ground.
He gets his hands under Maverick's thighs and pulls him up into him, grunting with the effort because he's surprisingly built for a man his stature. Mav lets out a low gasp at being lifted, but wraps his legs around Ice's legs regardless, now grasping onto Ice's hair as they make out with a vicious fervor.
Despite Ice's earlier comment, he disregards the bed entirely in favor of slamming Maverick into the nearest wall. He's able to crowd into his space then, not leaving a single inch between them, needing to be pressed up to this infuriatingly charming man.
He kisses Mav hard and good, almost bruising with the force he puts behind it. Ice makes his way to kiss across his jawline, staying away from any skin that will tempt him to leave marks. He rolls his earlobe in between his teeth, and Maverick melts under him.
"Ice," he laughs, pushing him back slightly, a glint of mischief in those beautiful eyes. "Take me to bed or lose me forever."
What kind of man would he be to refuse?
Maverick is dropped unceremoniously onto the bed, grinning as he bounces back into the air for a second. He looks good, Ice thinks as he crawls over him. There's a mirror that he can see just out of the corner of his eye, and Ice is almost surprised with how predatory he looks. Like Maverick is something he's finally caught between his teeth.
The feeling is gone in an instant when Mav hooks his ankle behind Ice's leg and flips the pair over, leaving Maverick on top of a very flustered Ice. He does not let out a whine as his back hits the mattress.
The smaller man places his knees on either side of Ice’s hips, straddling him and sending Ice’s mind reeling. The loss of Maverick’s lips on his own makes Ice pout, but he quickly relents when Maverick winks at him as he starts removing his clothes.
The jacket is first to go, thrown somewhere behind him and gifting Ice with a view of those fucking toned arms. The next are his shirts, two that almost get ripped in their hurry to have them on the floor.
His mouth goes dry with the sight in front of him.
Its far from the first time he's seen Maverick shirtless, one could only avoid so much conversation in the locker rooms, but he had never allowed himself to really look before. He takes his time now, taking in the golden skin and every mark on that beautiful abdomen. He wants to map out every inch of it with his fingers, with his tongue.
Ice can’t help bucking his hips up in search of friction against his erection. His sleep pants are so thin, the denim of Maverick’s jeans feel rough on his cock and he lets out a groan. Mav does too, and Ice wonders if it’s the sensation or a response to his own.
As if realizing that he can, Maverick places his own hand on Ice’s abdomen, the other trailing gently over his stomach and chest, grazing over his nipple and staying there when he realizes how sensitive it is for Ice.
“God, look at you,” Mav breathes out. He’s had partners appreciate his body before of course, he’s kept in good shape for a reason, but Maverick does more than that. He worships the body under him, wanting to commit it all to his memory. He rolls Ice’s nipple in between his fingers, making him throw his head back onto the soft pillow at the sensation.
Ice’s resolve isn’t helped when Mav covers Ice’s body with his own, mouth attaching to Ice’s neck. He bares open wet kisses, lightly grazing with his teeth. He grabs Maverick’s hair, pulling him back just enough to tell him, “no marks.”
It had been a miracle that their scheduled leave and furlough requests had been approved for them all to get away for Wolf’s birthday. Ice, though, was expected back on base in three days. It wouldn’t be nearly enough time for a bruise or mark to heal.
With a two finger salute, Maverick complies, trailing down his chest instead and continuing down. He spends a minute lavishing both nipples with his tongue until Ice is a squirming mess under him, almost gone from overstimulation alone.
He’s near the waistband of his pants when he looks up at Ice through narrowed eyes, a question clear in them. Ice nods, and suddenly his pants and boxers are pulled down and Maverick’s gaping up at him.
“Jesus Christ, Tom,” Mav says, and Ice has to bite back a grimace. He’s big, big enough to be a concern. It wouldn't be the first time a partner backed out due to his size.
Ice is about to tell him he doesn’t need to do anything, is fine with whatever Mav is able (and willing) to give, when Maverick grins up at him.
“I always did love a challenge,” he laughs and wastes no time in getting his lips around the head.
At the sudden warmth, Ice’s head slams back down onto the pillow so hard that the headboard bangs against the wall, and he pities whoever he shares a wall with. He almost tells Maverick they should be more careful, but the words leave his mind when Mav’s tongue rolls around his tip.
It shouldn't be a surprise that Maverick puts the same amount of effort and energy into sucking him off as he does piloting, his tongue and hand working in tandem to get Ice off. He's taking so much of him, gagging some against the length but relaxing his throat to let him in even deeper. It’s so good, better than what he could have imagined.
It’s intoxicating, trying to keep up with Mav as he learns what Ice likes and what sounds he can make. He’s unable to do anything other than grab at his hair or his shoulder to ground himself, trying to keep his voice down. It doesn’t work, crying out when Mav swipes his tongue over his slit and jerks his wrist just right, and it’s as much warning he’s able to give as he hits the back of Maverick’s throat and comes. Hard.
Everything is a little foggy, it usually is after a mind-blowingly good orgasm, and he only comes down when he feels Maverick tapping his hip.
“Ice? You alright?”
Maverick’s voice is raspy, sounding absolutely fucked-out and Ice’s cock gives a valiant twitch at the sound. He huffs a little, unable to get his tongue working.
“That good, huh?” Mav asks with a cocky grin, and Ice nearly rolls his eyes at him.
“Don’t let it get to your head,” he manages to say dryly, but he doesn’t deny it. He can’t, not when he still can’t feel his legs. He does manage to kick off his boxers and pants, hissing a bit at the sensitivity between his legs.
He hears a laugh, hears the creaking of the bed before he feels Mav lay beside him.
It’s surprisingly domestic, laying in bed next to Pete Mitchell, smiling as if they have no care in the world. As if they’re any other people in the world falling into bed together, as if they’ve done it a million times before.
Mav scooches in closer, laying his head on Ice’s chest and he has to stop himself from letting out a sigh of relief. For a moment, he can imagine Maverick will stay in his bed past this night. Can imagine waking up next to Mav for years to come, laying just like this.
“Can I tell you something?” Mav asks, quiet but earnest. At his nod, Mav sobers a bit. “Goose told me to get my head out of my ass and make a move ages ago.”
For a second, there’s a pang of fear that hits Ice’s chest.
How had Goose known about Maverick? Had Goose known about him? Did anyone else know?
But with Maverick in his arms, he knows he can’t ask any of that. Talking about Goose was hard for Mav, hard for all of them. It had been months since Mav had even said the word ‘Goose’ outside of updates on Carole and Bradley. If Mav trusted him enough to open up about his friend, he didn’t need to push for any answer.
“Mother Goose was smarter than he let on,” is what he says instead, going for playful ribbing rather than the deep cut of loss. It works, gaining a chuckle from the man in his arms. He doesn’t think too much into the words ‘ages ago’, thinking that Mav will tell him if he wants to.
They stay like that for a while, not speaking but not uncomfortable with it. There’s a serenity over them, over this shitty motel room. Ice knows moments of peace are hard to come by, and he’s not about to let this one go.
When Maverick starts shifting, Ice thinks he’s about to tell him that he should go back to his own room and he has to push down a wave of disappointment. It’s only when Mav’s hip start moving more purposely that Ice realizes it.
“Shit, Mav, are you still hard?”
The embarrassed grin on his face shouldn’t be attractive, it really shouldn’t.
“Had other things on my mind,” is all he says, and Ice can’t believe he makes chagrined a good look.
He presses a kiss to his lips, hands going to Maverick’s waist.
“Let me?” he asks, not going any lower until he gets some form of response. It comes in the way of a crooked grin and a nod, and he kisses Mav again as he shoves his hand inside his jeans and into his boxers.
It's only Ice kissing him that keeps Maverick from speaking, but the noises he lets out are almost worse than any lewd comment he could make. He's almost lazy in his ministrations, wanting to take Maverick apart slowly. He's waited long enough, he can afford to be patient.
"You're being so good," he says against Mav's lips, grinning when the words force a full body shiver out of him. Ice will have to remember that for later. "So fucking beautiful like this."
More words tumble out, things like "so good for me" and "feels fucking incredible" and words that Ice isn't even going to remember come morning. But Maverick will, if the keeling and whining coming out are any indication. Mav is hungry for it, and Ice is all but eager to please.
It's some minutes later that Maverick is a slumped mess on the bed. "Ice," he says, the word coming out strained. "Ice, wait- stop--"
He's pulled out of it immediately. He draws his hand back, rearing back from Maverick and putting distance between them.
Ice is about to ask if he's okay, if he's hurt, if he did something wrong. His line of worry is stopped by Maverick leaning over and dragging him in for a bruising kiss, one that leaves both men panting as he pulls away.
"I'm fine , sweetheart," Maverick says, a saccharine look in his eyes. He looks up at him, a lazy grin on his face. "I just- I really wanna come on your cock."
The words strike him straight in the chest.
Maverick kisses him one more time before rolling off the bed, standing on wobbly legs as he looks around the room. Ice realizes what he's looking for and feels his cock twitch.
"Outer pocket," he says, wheezing while pointing to the luggage that's still left on the other bed. It's not his, but he knows the owner well enough to guess where everything is. Maverick goes to it, grinning triumphantly as he finds what he's looking for.
"Thank God for Slider," he says as he returns with a strip of condoms and a small jar of lube.
It's a rush after that to get Maverick's jeans and boxers off, trying to keep his hands off the cock that is now jutting up against Mav's stomach. Ice so badly wants to touch, to lick, to make him feel good, but Maverick doesn't let him. He climbs over Ice once again, grabbing his hands and placing them on his waist. He’s trembling somewhat, but he still throws a wink down at Ice.
"Think you can keep them there, sweetheart?"
Ice should have known that cockiness would shine through during sex, but he’s still dizzy with the confidence Mav exudes. He’s a whirlwind he can’t ever dream of taming. With a groan, he nods.
“Gotta take my time,” Mav says through gritted teeth, slick fingers finding his hole and placing a stabilizing hand on Ice’s hip. “Know you’ll make me feel so fucking good.”
Once Maverick starts, Ice can’t look away. He’s absolutely stunning to watch, stretching himself to take what Ice will give. Every movement is met with a whimper or sigh or grimace or look of utter bliss. He can’t look away because he knows this is Maverick at his most vulnerable. He’s placed complete and utter trust in him and Ice doesn’t want to take it for granted.
The hands at Maverick’s waist rub soothing circles into the skin, so hot and feverish under his fingers. Ice has never felt this kind of pull to another person before, never wanted to prove himself so badly. But a selfish part of him wants to be the best lay Maverick’s ever had, the person that he’ll think about when he’s alone at night. If this is the first and last time he gets to have him, he wants to make it count.
When Mav works himself up to four fingers, mouth agape with a litany of curses, Ice feels a strong pull of desire in his chest. The man on top of him could have chosen any person to spend the night with, no one would be able to say no to those fucking green eyes, but he chose Ice. Of all people. It's an endearing thought, one that he can't get enough.
"Can't wait to feel you around me," he groans, reaching for the condom laid out on the bed. He rips it open with his teeth, sees the bob of Maverick’s throat at the motion.
The sound he makes is primal, almost feral as he places Mav on his cock. He has to dig his heels into the bed to keep himself from thrusting up into the smaller man before he's ready, but it does jostle Maverick slightly, the man letting out a groan at the feeling.
“Holy shit,” Maverick keens, high and needy as his thighs tremble, struggling to fully seat Ice into him. He holds himself completely still, as still as he’s able, murmuring sweet nothings in the space between them, telling Mav earnestly how sweet and pretty he looks on his cock. He means it. He’d thought before that Maverick looked best in the cockpit, but he’d been wrong. Here, with him in this shitty motel in Nashville, he’s never looked more beautiful.
By the time Mav’s ass meets Ice’s thighs, they’re both covered in a layer of sweat and there are tears leaking out of Mav’s eyes. Another silent string of curses fall from those lips, or maybe a prayer.
"You're so fucking beautiful, baby," Ice moans out when Mav experimentally rolls his hips, the petname slipping out without reason. He doesn't expect the word to affect Mav so much, who lets out a full body shudder.
"Should have known you'd like that," he says, not bothering to hide his laugh at Maverick's withering look. It was hard to take Mav seriously when he was a good head shorter and trembling on his cock.
"That all it takes to get you to behave, baby? Tell you how pretty you look on my lap?"
He trails a hand up from Maverick's waist to his chest, feeling the taut muscle under his palm when Mav grabs at his wrist.
"Didn't tell you you could move them, Kazansky."
He quirks an eyebrow up at him, are you serious? But considering the steely look in his eye and the stalling of his movements, he is. Fine. Ice can play too.
He pistons his hips up, punching a high pitched moan out of his wingman at the movement. He gives back a shark-like grin as he places his hand back on Maverick’s waist, leaning up to place a kiss in the crook of his neck.
"Whatever you want, Mitchell," he says, punctuating the words with a nip at the tender skin. It's with a laugh that he's shoved back, the grin never leaving his face as Maverick glares at him but Ice can see a smile threatening to break through.
"You're taking me so well, baby," he says, but it's no longer a taunt. It's adoration, it's awe, it's open praise that he gives willingly. Part of it is to make Mav feel good, but mostly it's for him. He wants, he needs , Maverick to know the effect he has on him.
The minutes it takes for him to get used to the stretch, Ice talks. A steady stream of praise just for Maverick to hear, his head lolling onto Ice's shoulder as he slowly and methodically rolls his hips.
"Fuck you're big," Maverick breathes out, making Ice chuckle. He shakes his head when Ice tries to start up a steady rhythm. "Broke a rule, remember?" he answers the unspoken question, running his tongue over his teeth with a smile. "I owe my cowboy a ride."
The wind is knocked out of him at that. My cowboy. As if Maverick intends to keep him, or at least keep him around. He lets out a deep groan, physically unable to do anything other than tug Maverick forward and kiss the daylights out of him.
It's an intense sense of deje vu again watching those hips roll, but this time Ice can properly appreciate and enjoy the spectacle that is Maverick fucking himself on Ice’s lap. He can take in the beautiful moans escaping him, can watch the beads of sweat dripping off the body on top of his, can feel the warmth of him.
Maverick gives as good as he gets, soon letting go of Ice’s shoulders, fully grinding down with his hips and eliciting moans from him. Striking green eyes meet his, that grin somehow never leaving his face.
“ I’m a cowboy,” He sings under his breath, laughing at Ice’s incredulous glare. “ On a steel horse I ride…”
In retaliation, and partially because he can’t stop himself, he thrusts upwards into Maverick. That damn song cuts off with a whine, but Mav doesn’t tell him to stop. So he doesn’t. His hand’s still dutifully on that trim waist, he works up into a steady rhythm of thrusting his hips up and pulling Maverick down. It’s even better than the fantasy he had created… except for one detail. He glances over to the Stetson on the bedside table, trying to remind himself that it was his grandfather’s for God’s sake.
But Maverick is tilting his head, a quirk of his eyebrow asking if he’s sure. Without a second thought, Ice reaches out and grabs the hat. He can repent later. Suddenly, Mav is yanking him up by his dog tags, their mouths less than an inch apart as he takes it from Ice’s hands, placing it on his own head.
“Show me what you got, Kazansky.”
Minutes later, Ice’s thighs are burning with the exertion, but he can’t stop his wild thrusts into Maverick’s body. He’d worry about it being too much if not for Mav’s constant fall of the words “ Yes!” and “ Harder, Ice, holy fuck.” He never wants to forget the sight of Pete Mitchell being fucked into, mouth agape with the constant battering of his prostate, holding onto the Stetson as he’s taken apart. Neither man is going to last much longer, but Ice wants, needs, to watch Mav fall apart first. He starts moving with more purpose and thinks “ fuck it” when he moves his hand from his waist to Maverick’s cock. It’s a testament to how close his wingman is that he doesn’t even tell Ice off, just moans as he begins fucking into Ice’s fist as Ice fucks into him.
“Tom,” Maverick whines, eyes screwed shut at the overstimulation. “ I’m --”
It’s less than a second later that Maverick throws his head back. He comes with Ice’s name on his lip, and then he's gone. He wants Mav like this again, for as long as he’s able to. He’s so in love it’s --
He feels his stomach drop dangerously, a tidal wave of emotion hitting at the realization.
He’s in love with Maverick.
Oh shit.
Before he can even begin to panic, a weight drops on his chest and his arms are full of Pete Mitchell, their abdomens covered in come but neither caring. The man is panting on top of him, grinning into his shoulder.
"Fucking loved that," Mav mumbles out, which even in his semi-panicked state has Ice chuckling. "Was it good for you, Cowboy?"
He rubs his clean hand over Maverick’s back, comforting and soothing all in one. His panic can wait. Right now, he has Maverick to take care of. Anything else can wait.
"Too good to be true."
"Holy shit," Bradley laughs out, looking at the photo that's now more than 30 years old, Phoenix openly gaping at it.
"You looked good, Captain," Mickey says, which gains him a smack upside the head, but the rest of the Daggers affirm the statement.
Ice stands back in the kitchen with his Maverick at his side, the two smiling at the eager pilots crowding their hallway. The least Ice could do to thank them all for saving his husband and son was have them over for a barbecue. It had taken some time for them to call him anything other than “sir” or “Admiral Kazansky” but they were getting there.
As everyone clamors over how hot a 26-year-old Pete Mitchell had been, Ice has to agree with Fanboy. It's one of his favorite photos of his husband.
"That was actually taken the day we got together," Ice supplies, the Daggers awe-ing at the new information. Only Bradley grimaces, probably because he realizes that "day we got together" was a polite way to say "the first night we fucked so hard we saw stars."
Ice had never gotten up the courage to ask Hollywood for that photo of Mav, but the man was smarter than he let on. 25 years later, when they had gotten married, a framed and enlarged restoration was the man's bachelor’s party present. Ice still laughs when he remembers the note attached.
I hope you remember me and Wolf shared the room next to you on that trip. Thank you (and the thin walls) for the nightmares.
"You ride much, Mav?" A southern drawl calls, and both glance at Jake. This time Ice lets himself answer.
"Not horses."
Jake grimaces at them smiling like the cats who got the canary. Ice won't admit it, but he likes shocking the kids with the differences between Admiral Kazansky and regular person Tom Kazansky-Mitchell. His husband was still gorgeous even after this time, who could blame him?
"Hey Jake," Bob asks, thankfully pulling the man's attention away. "Didn't you used to ride bulls?"
"I did, Bobby," Jake confirms for the group, and Ice notices Bradley's eyes widen at the words.
"What, actual bulls?" Phoenix asks. "You really are a Texan stereotype, Seresin."
Luckily the pair laugh, and the rest of the Daggers join as they make their way down the hall to see even more photos. They were soon distracted when Bob pointed out there was a baby Bradley in most of them.
"Maybe I should take up bull-riding," Mav says, that glint in his eyes that already has Ice's pulse rising.
"You're pushing sixty," he says with no room for discussion.
“True,” Maverick concedes, leaning up to place a kiss on his cheek. “Looks like I’ll just have to ride you instead.”
Ice can’t deny the blush that settles when the Daggers let out sounds of disgust at their C.O.’s words, most of them rushing out to the lanai to avoid any more mention of the Kazansky-Mitchell sex life. Soon it’s only Jake and Bradley left in the hallway, and it’s surprising how quickly their conversation turns into banter.
“Do they remind you of anyone?” Ice asks with a knowing grin, and Maverick lets out a sigh of immense suffering.
“History repeats itself,” he says, shaking his head at the two. “Do you think they need a push like we did? We can reverse Parent Trap them.”
Ice starts to wonder if they could, or better yet if they should , when he catches the tail-end of their conversation. He doesn’t need to look over at his husband to know that Pete heard it too; without another word, they grin as they pick up the food to take out to the lanai. The lovebirds will be fine, they both know. If they were anything like them, they’d figure it out. Eventually. It’s with that end of the conversation in mind that Ice walks out to meet the Daggers.
“ So, bullriding. Were you any good?”
“I was good, Bradshaw. Too good to be true.”
History did always repeat itself.