Work Text:
There are parts of Ice’s body that Maverick only ever sees from up close.
The smattering of freckles across his shoulder blades, the scar on his elbow that he’s had since he was a kid. (From learning to ride a bike, he’d told Maverick once, and Maverick always smiles when he sees it now just because the thought of Iceman Kazansky ever not being perfect at something even as a literal child fills him with delightfully irrational glee.)
The faint band that’s formed around his left wrist, Maverick notices for the first time now, right where Ice’s watch is always resting during the day, just barely visible in the low lamplight.
“You’re lighter here,” he remarks idly, thinking out loud as his fingertips stroke over Ice’s skin.
It’s enough to stir Ice from the haze of early sleep he’d just settled into. He rolls his head over on the pillow to meet Maverick’s eyes. “What?”
“You’ve got a tan line.”
Ice’s gaze flickers down to where Maverick is cradling his wrist like it’s something precious, then back up at his face. “So what?”
Maverick shakes his head, grins slightly and leans down to kiss him right there, just because he can. “Nothing,” he says.