Chapter Text
The first time Maverick cuddles with Iceman, they still both hate each other.
After another grueling series of training exercises, the Top Gun class is back at the O Club. Iceman is laughing with a tipsy Slider, watching the rest of the pilots from a booth in the corner.
“Ice, we’re outta beer! I’ll pay if you go grab more.” Slider wiggles a couple bills in front of Ice’s nose.
Iceman rolls his eyes but hauls himself out of the booth, swiping Slider’s money on the way to the bar. It’s busy as hell up there, so he grabs the nearest seat and waits until he can flag the bartender down.
“You know, Ice, you’re really annoying.” Ice turns to see a very drunk Maverick on the seat next to him. “You keep beating me! And everyone knows… everyone knows I’m the best pilot.”
Ice scoffs, but he’s unable to take Maverick seriously when he’s slurring his words this badly. “You’re going to have quite the hangover tomorrow.”
“HAH! I don’t get hangovers. I’m too cool for them.”
Ice sincerely doubts this.
“Woah! It’s sooooo late.”
It’s only 2300, but Ice doesn’t see a point in interrupting him.
“I think it’s time for bed! Yeah… yeah… bedtime.” Maverick is swaying back and forth pretty violently now, and Ice instinctively raises one arm to keep him from falling backwards. They may be rivals, but that’s no reason for Iceman to let Maverick get a concussion falling off a fucking bar stool.
Maverick sees Ice’s side, and his face lights up. Without a word, he falls directly onto Iceman, his head on Ice’s shoulder, and starts snoring softly.
Ice inhales sharply as Maverick presses against him. His spine is suddenly ramrod straight, his eyes wide and staring intently at nothing at all.
Maverick is sleeping on him.
Maverick is sleeping on him and Ice cannot stop feeling the points of contact like little fires on his skin. He’s hyper-aware of Maverick, instinctively tracking his breaths in and out, the way he shifts against Ice slightly, trying to get comfortable.
Part of him wants to bring his arm down around Maverick’s shoulders and hold him tighter.
The other part of him doesn’t know if he can bear any more contact.
So Ice stays frozen where he is, his senses narrowed to Maverick’s breaths and the way Maverick’s hair smells and how Maverick is pressed up against his side and how he is setting Iceman on fire.
“Woah! Mav! You got shitfaced ! Here, Iceman, lemme take him off of you.” Ice barely registers someone else is speaking until Maverick is dragged from his side. The fires on his skin fade as Ice snaps out of his trance. Goose is standing behind him, supporting Maverick as he blearily looks around the bar. “My bad Ice—I should’ve been watching him closer. They don’t call me Mother Goose for nothin’!”
The world starts coming back into focus. Goose’s words dimly register in the back of his mind. He responds on autopilot. “No problem, Goose. Just make sure he doesn’t fall asleep like that in the cockpit.”
Goose chuckles. “I think I can do that. Well, I gotta get this idiot home,” he says, playfully cuffing Maverick on the head. Maverick blinks and scowls at nothing in particular. “See you ‘round.”
Ice nods in acknowledgement, turning back to the bar.
He’s Iceman , for crying out loud. Ice cold in the sky and on the ground. No mistakes. No messy feelings—especially not for fucking Maverick Mitchell of all people. Push it down, lock it away. Push it down, lock it away.
Ice gets the urge to turn to see Maverick leave.
He continues staring forward.
The warmth on his skin has faded entirely.
Iceman is burning up—from a fever this time, not Maverick, thanks for asking. He tries to sit up in bed, but his head feels like his brain is doing barrel rolls. Oh, that sucks . Deep breath in, deep breath out, stand up, fall flat on your face.
Shit .
The door creaks open. Iceman rolls over, covering his eyes with his forearm and groaning.
“Iceman? We’re supposed to be in the air right now, not on the damn ground."
Of course its fucking Maverick. Ice presses his forearm further into his eyes, hoping that he’ll disappear.
“You’re late for class, dipshit!” Ice can hear the grin on his face. Getting no response, Maverick continues. “Wow, first time for everything I guess. Iceman breaking a rule and not caring, who would’ve thought?”
The tighter Ice squeezes his eyes shut, the louder the ringing in his ears is and the less he can hear Maverick.
“Ice, look, I’ll be straight with you.”
I wish you’d be gay with me—SHUT UP DUMB SICK BRAIN SHUT UP.
“The others sent me to find you because they think it’s funny to make your rival come tell you you’re late. I don’t wanna be here any more than you do. So get your sorry ass up off the floor and get to fucking class.”
Maybe if he counts to 10, Maverick will leave. 1…2…3456—
His arm is torn away from his face. Ice blinks, half-lidded eyes slowly adjusting to the light. Maverick’s face comes into focus right above him.
“What’s wrong with you? You haven’t said something assholeish this whole conversation. Actually, you haven’t said anything this whole conversation! Is that how it is? The silent treatment? Real mature, Ice.” Maverick rolls his eyes.
Ice lolls his head back and closes his eyes again. He can’t do this today. Maverick’s face is too close and Ice’s brain is too muddled and all he can think about is kissing him. Push it down, lock it away—
Maverick reaches out and tilts Ice’s head back towards him. Wow, he’s adorable. Ice barely notices as Maverick’s expression becomes more worried. A hand brushes Ice’s forehead, then jumps back.
“Jesus fuck , Ice! You’re burning up!”
Maverick’s looking at him like Ice is supposed to say something.
“...no shit,” he croaks out.
“That’s it? Get up. We’re going to medical.” Maverick offers a hand to Ice, who takes a deep breath before grabbing it and pulling himself up.
Or, trying to at least. Maverick appears to have forgotten the significant height and weight difference between them. Instead of Ice standing up, Maverick is pulled down. His arms are suddenly braced on either side of Ice’s face, their chests pressed together, their legs tangled. They both still for a second. Ice’s breath catches involuntarily. If they could just stay like this…
They keep eye contact for a second more before Maverick appears to snap out of it and quickly stands up. “Uh, let’s try that again.”
Get it together, Iceman. You’re acting pathetic.
Maverick remembers to brace himself this time, and Iceman is hauled onto his feet. Almost instantly, his vision swims and darkens at the edges. He’s about to fall when he feels an arm around his shoulder, holding him up.
“Woah, Ice. I just got you off the floor. Don’t undo all of my hard work.”
Ice instinctively leans into Maverick and his warmth, scrunching up his eyes as he remembers how much everything hurts . Maverick stumbles for a moment at the extra weight.
“You know, you could stand to lose a few pounds.”
Ice chuckles dimly. “Pure muscle.”
“Lose a few inches then, fucking skyscraper.”
Ice would never. If he got shorter, then Maverick wouldn’t be the perfect size for him anymore. “Maybe you’re just… fun-sized.”
A sharp laugh from Maverick cuts through the haze of Ice’s brain. “Well, at least you haven’t lost all your snark. Now get moving, you big lump.”
And so Iceman and Maverick stumble through the hallways, Maverick supporting a considerable amount of Ice’s weight. Ice really really would like to stop noticing the way he’s pressed into Maverick’s side, how Maverick is holding him there tightly like he won’t ever let go. Ice cold. No mistakes. No messy feelings. Push it down…
But Ice is sick and tired and so he has no choice but to just let Maverick hold him as they continue to make their way to the medical area. As soon as they get there, a well-meaning nurse comes over and supports him instead. Ice definitely does not miss Maverick’s side against his, not at all.
“Thank you for bringing him,” says the nurse. “This could’ve been bad if he’d been left alone in his room."
Maverick just grins. “No problem.” The nurse lays Ice down on a nearby cot, then goes to grab some medicine. Seemingly out of nowhere, an exasperated look crosses Maverick’s face. “Goddamnit, Ice, you couldn’t have stumbled a little slower through the damn hallways? They’re reviewing the fucking F-14 manual in class, like we don’t all have it memorized cover to cover.”
“I thought… you didn’t want to be here. You told me to get… to get to fucking class.” The words come slower than usual, fighting through the fog in his head.
“Yeah, well, I thought you were going to be a little shit like you normally are.”
“Too sick. Maybe tomorrow.”
Maverick snorts and considers him for a moment. “Well, if you’re so sick… maybe someone should keep an eye on you.”
“The nurses?”
“For being the one pilot that’s beating me and Goose, you are so fucking dense.” Maverick glances around the room, then drags over a chair and sits next to Ice, propping his legs up on the edge of the cot. “Afraid you’re stuck with me and my charming ways now.” He winks, and Ice will never admit how cute that is. “No way you’re making me go read that goddamn manual.”
Ice almost protests. Maverick is going to miss something important if he skips, or he could get in trouble. Tell him to leave. But the words die on his tongue. As much as Ice doesn’t want to admit it, he likes Maverick’s company. So Maverick stays.
The nurse comes back a few minutes later and gives Ice some pills to take. And still Maverick stays. He talks and talks about this motorcycle and that pilot and these girls and those planes and anything and everything that he can seemingly think of. Between the pills and the fever, Ice slowly starts to fall asleep to the sound of Maverick’s voice.
Just as he’s drifting on the edge of sleep, Ice feels something at the edge of his senses. Maverick’s voice falls away, leaving empty quiet behind him. Ice dimly wonders if he’s left. About time . But there’s disappointment curling in his gut.
And then, faintly, he feels someone take his hand.
The talking starts up again, but now Ice cannot only hear it, he can feel it too, vibrating up his arm and into his chest, warming him from the inside out, emanating from the hand that’s now holding his.
And, finally, Ice falls asleep.
It’s been two weeks and three days since Goose’s death. Ice knows people die in the Navy, and that it’s part of the job. But he can’t shake this dull sadness that coils around his chest, weighing him down. He’s had friends die before, but the lingering sadness never gets easier to deal with. Goose had been such a good guy, always knowing just what to say to get everyone to laugh. Ice hadn’t known Goose very well, but he really misses him.
Maverick doesn’t appear that torn up about it though. It only took a few days for his cocky smile and teasing to make a full comeback. It turns Ice’s stomach. Can Maverick not be serious for once ? His best friend just died, for fuck’s sake! You’d think he’d care.
Which is why it’s so surprising when Ice turns the corner and finds Maverick curled on the hallway floor, crying.
“Shit. Hey, Maverick, you okay?” Stupid question, Ice. He rushes over and kneels next to Maverick, trying to get his attention.
Maverick doesn’t seem to notice him. His legs are scrunched up near his face, his arms around his knees, trembling like he’s trying to hold himself together through sheer will alone.
Silent sobs rack his entire body.
Shit, shit, shit. Ice doesn’t know what to do with this. Seeing Maverick like this shatters something inside of him. Push it down, lock— no. Maverick is the priority here. Ice wrenches his mind out of the familiar thought pattern, now occupied with dealing with Maverick. He debates for a moment before reaching out and placing a hand on Maverick’s shoulder. “Maverick. Pete.” No response. “ Mav. ”
Maverick tenses. He seems to hold his whole body carefully still, as if he’s trying to not scare a wild animal. The name escapes him, breathy and hopeful.
“...Goose?”
Fucking hell fuck— “It’s Iceman.”
Maverick’s head snaps up, the tear tracks on his face glistening. He’s been crying for a while. Maverick futilely wipes at them, turning his head away so Ice can’t see.
“Oh. Yeah. Duh,” he says, “you can- you can leave.” Maverick shrugs Ice’s hand off his shoulder.
Ice isn’t leaving Maverick in this state. Clearly he’s a lot more torn up about Goose than Ice thought. “Why’d you call me Goose?”
“I said you can leave. I’m fine.” But his voice is still choked and he’s wiping the remaining tears from his face with shaking hands.
“You didn’t leave when I was sick. Now it’s my turn.”
Maverick stills. There’s a beat of silence, then another.
“Goose called me that. And I was just— just thinking of him. And, you’ve never called me that and so I just wasn’t expecting it.”
“Why were you thinking of Goose?” Ice’s voice is low and quiet, trying not to scare Maverick.
Maverick fake-laughs quietly, an attempt to relieve the tension. “It’s stupid, really. I should go.” His fingernail absentmindedly scratches at his arm. He makes no move to leave.
Neither does Ice.
This is possibly the most silence Ice has ever heard from Maverick. It’s unnerving. How did Ice not notice Maverick was hurting this badly? He’s supposed to be there for Ma— his teammates.
Ice hesitates for a moment before reaching out and placing his hand back on Maverick’s shoulder. Maverick whips around to stare at Ice’s hand, then at Ice himself. Ice has never seen him so vulnerable. His blazing confidence is just… gone.
Ice wants to help Maverick so badly . “Talk to me,”
Maverick holds his gaze for a second, before dropping his eyes to the dirty tile. “There’s a crossbeam over there.” Ice glances over. The crossbeam is painted white, with smudgy greyish fingerprints scattered across it.
“Goose always used to jump up and hit it every time we walked by.” His voice chokes up. “Those are— those are his fingerprints. And— and I was just thinking that— that someday they’re going to— they’re— they’re going to wash it and then— and then— and then—” His voice drops to less than a whisper, as if by saying it quieter, it won’t be true. “Then he’ll be gone.”
A single tear drips down Maverick’s chin, catching the light of the setting sun as it falls.
Almost without thinking, Iceman pulls Maverick into a hug. His hands scrunch in the back of Maverick’s shirt, holding Maverick against him as if maybe—just maybe—he can keep him from falling apart if he holds him tight enough.
“Maverick, he’s not gone. He won’t be gone. That’s not how it works. We’re gonna remember him. We’re gonna remember him.” Ice feels some of his own sadness lift as he says the words, truly believing them.
Maverick hugs Ice back, squeezing as tightly as he’s squeezing his eyes shut. His chin slots perfectly over Ice’s shoulder, keeping the two of them locked together. “You promise?”
“Yes.”
Ice can feel the cool paths of Maverick’s tears on the back of his neck. The two of them stay like that for a while. Ice can feel Maverick’s breathing gradually become deeper and slower as the tension melts away from both of them. And, maybe Ice is imagining it, but he swears their heartbeats are in sync for a minute.
Finally, Maverick loosens his hold, gripping Ice’s shoulders instead and moving him so they can see each other’s faces. “I wasn’t sure you had it in you, Ice.”
Ice smirks but it has none of its usual bite. “Had it in me to what, care about my teammate?”
“I mean… yeah.” Maverick drops Ice’s shoulders, shifting back to lean against the wall.
Ice leans back too, looking over at Maverick. Have I been that awful? “That’s my job. That’s our job. We’re there for each other.”
“Huh, didn’t know hugging was in the handbook.”
“Shut your trap, Mav.” Ice’s smirk drops suddenly. “Sorry, Maverick.” Shit. Iceman that was stupid-
“No, you can call me Mav.”
Ice turns. Maverick is looking at him with a vulnerable, hopeful expression on his face. The last rays of the sun reach out and kiss his hair, making it glow. His eyes are the softest green - how has Ice never noticed that before? Just sitting there, Maver— Mav is the most beautiful thing Ice has ever seen. What is he supposed to say? You’re amazing. You’re beautiful. I want to kiss you.
I might be in love with you.
Instead, Ice laughs at the ridiculousness of it all. “Look at us, sitting on the grimy tile of a back hallway like a couple of schoolboys skipping class.”
“There’s not even class right now, Mr. No-Mistakes. Bet you never voluntarily skipped class a day in your life,” Mav teases.
Ice smirks. “You’d be wrong.”
“No way! What’d you skip for? A pretty girl?”
There’s an involuntary lurch in Ice’s gut, like his stomach just went into a flat spin. This could end his career. The next words that came out of Tom Iceman Kazansky’s mouth could crash and burn everything he’s worked so hard for.
Ice inhales to say— something. He doesn’t know what, just that whatever words fall out of his mouth next will be out in the open with nothing to hide them. He tries to make a sound, but the words stick in his throat, building up until they’re ready to explode, to vomit Ice’s deepest secret all over the dirty tile at Maverick’s feet.
“Woah, Ice! Relax. I’m not gonna make you kiss and tell. I was just asking.” But there’s an undercurrent to Maverick’s words, an edge of seriousness that doesn’t match the banter. Ice chances a glance at him. Maverick’s eyes narrow almost imperceptibly and his head tilts ever so slightly to the left, asking a silent question. There’s an understanding in his gaze that Ice hasn’t seen from anyone, ever. Almost like… he recognizes some of himself in Ice. Ice blinks slowly and gives the barest of nods, barely an incline of his head toward the floor. Maverick inhales softly. His lips part ever so slightly before he quickly looks back at the wall across from them.
They sit in silence for a minute before Maverick starts talking again. “Should probably get back. The others’ll be wondering where we are.” Something in his shoulder audibly pops as he stands up and reaches one hand out to Ice.
Ice raises one eyebrow. “Brace yourself this time, fun-sized.”
"Oh, come on, you actually remember that? I figured you were delusional the whole time” With a bit of effort, Mav hauls Ice onto his feet. He opens his mouth as if to say something, then gives up and pulls Ice into a tight hug. “Thank you, Ice.”
Ice rubs his hand rhythmically up and down Mav’s back for a few seconds, basking in the warmth emanating from Mav. “I could say the same to you.”
Mav lets go, grinning. “Kinda egotistical to call me by your callsign, don’t you think?”
Ice just rolls his eyes and thumps Mav on the shoulder as they start walking. “Come on. Let’s get back.”
Maverick’s steps slow to a stop as they come to the crossbeam. The fingerprints dappled across it create a strangely beautiful pattern. One man’s effort to put his mark on the world.
Mav’s voice sounds soft but sure as he looks up at the fingerprints. “See you around, buddy.” His jaw clenches as he tears his gaze away and keeps walking.
Ice doesn’t have the words to comfort Mav. But he can walk alongside him, wordlessly there for him.
And he promises himself then and there that he’ll be there for Mav. Always.
A few nights after the dogfight with the MiGs, Ice is playing poker in a circle on the floor of the lounge when Mav shows up.
“Hey guys!” He nods at each of them in turn. “Hollywood, Slider, Merlin. Ice. Mind if I join?”
Ice finds himself scooting over, making space in the circle for Mav. “No problem. We’ll deal you in.” He lets himself feel a little thrill as Mav sits next to him, his knee just an inch from Ice’s. If he’d just scoot a tiny bit closer…
They finish the round and Slider deals Mav in, and throws him a few of the paper clips they’re using as replacement chips. Ice watches as Mav considers his cards. He’s got a damn good poker face, Ice’ll give him that. He can’t tell the first thing about what Mav is holding. They each put a paper clip in the middle of the circle, and the round begins.
They go in a circle, starting with Slider to Ice’s left. Slider doesn’t put in any clips, Hollywood puts one. Merlin stares Hollywood dead in the eye as he matches by putting one in. Mav considers the pot for a moment before smirking and putting two clips in.
Ice can’t tell what that fucking smirk means. He looks at his cards—two kings, not bad—and puts two clips in to match. Slider’s jaw clenches and he folds, cutting his losses and putting his cards down. Both Hollywood and Merlin put in a clip to match. Mav doesn’t have to put anything in and neither does Ice.
Now comes the fun part, when Ice really starts figuring out what the rest of them have. Being logical and good at reading people makes Ice scarily good at poker, to the point where he had to convince everyone else to play with him because they’re so tired of losing. Hollywood discards three cards, meaning he probably had a pair. Chances are it wasn’t aces though, so Ice will still have him beat. Merlin discards only one, but Ice knows Merlin and he would’ve been betting much harder if he had four of a kind. Likely he’s trying for a straight or a flush. Little chance of that, though, so Ice is safe there.
But Mav… he discarded two, but also raised earlier. It’s possible he has three of a kind, but again he could just be bluffing. What did that fucking smirk mean?
Ice discards three, and ends up with three kings. Normally, he’d be completely confident in his win at this point, but he still can’t figure out Mav. Story of my goddamn life.
Last round of betting—Hollywood raises by a clip, Merlin folds, grimacing (good to know he didn’t get what he wanted), Mav raises by two clips. Ice cannot for the life of him tell if Mav is bluffing, but he has a decent hand so he cautiously matches.
And now for the reveal. Hollywood throws his cards into the circle, sighing. “I already know you’ve got me beat, Ice.”
Ice grins at Hollywood’s pair, throwing down his three of a kind. “You already know it.” He reaches for the pile of clips, but Mav grabs his wrist. Shit shit holy shit.
“Nuh-uh, Ice. Watch and learn.” Mav drops Ice’s wrist— finally —and throws down his hand, leaning back confidently.
Damn. Mav must’ve gotten a flush or a straight, something really lucky on his draw. But as Ice peers at the cards, they don’t make sense at all.
“Read ‘em and weep, Iceman. Three, three, niner, four, two. Twenty-one .”
Ice looks blankly between the cards and Mav’s triumphant expression. Finally, Merlin interjects. “Maverick, we’re playing poker.”
Mav’s grin loses its razor-sharp edge. “...yeah? Duh.”
“You know how to play poker,” Slider says, testing the water. “Right, Maverick?”
“Yeah, of course.” But now Mav just looks confused.
Suddenly Hollywood bursts out laughing. “We’re playing different fucking games! We’re all playing poker and Maverick over here is playing fucking blackjack !” He rolls over onto his side, howling.
The rest of them all join in at once, Merlin banging his fist against the floor, Slider doing his weird snort. Ice throws his head back and lets himself laugh for the first time in a long while. Out of the corner of his eye, he watches Mav grow gradually more red as he realizes what’s just happened.
“Hey, I—look, I just forgot the rules and, and now I remember them! So it’s fine now! I—” Mav cuts himself off as he glances at Ice. A sheepish smile spreads across his face and he finally starts sniggering with the rest of them. “Okay so maybe it’s a little bit funny.”
Ice gasps for breath, wiping—is that a tear in his eye? He can’t remember the last time he laughed until he cried. In fact, he can’t remember if he’s ever done that. The thought sobers him quickly. No messy feelings. “Let’s play a different game. One everyone knows this time.”
Merlin suddenly sits bolt upright, mischief in his eyes. “Have you guys ever played spoons?”
Mav snaps his fingers. “Yes!” Ice dimly remembers playing something involving spoons with his younger cousins. Slider and Hollywood shake their heads.
“That’s fine!” Merlin stands up. “It’s super easy to learn. Lemme go grab the spoons.”
Slider’s brow furrows. “Does it use actual spoons?”
Mav grins. “Duh, Slider. Now, the way that you play…”
Ice is only half-listening to Mav, more entranced by how much his hands are moving while he talks. He hasn’t noticed that before. Maybe it’s because they’re in a more relaxed setting than normal, but Mav is gesticulating wildly as he explains exactly how spoons works. It’s kind of cute.
He’s snapped out of this train of thought by Merlin rejoining them, brandishing four spoons he’s swiped from somewhere. Get it together, Ice . They line the spoons up in the middle of the circle and start the game.
From what Ice understands, you rapidly pass cards around the circle and each player can keep any card as long as they pass on another in their hand. The point is to match all four of your cards and once you do you grab a spoon. As soon as someone grabs a spoon, every other spoon is fair game and the person without a spoon at the end loses.
The first round, Ice is absorbed in his cards. Should he pass on the four? He has one of those, but three twos. But maybe someone else has the other two and they’re not discarding it. So he should just go for fours instead. He swaps out one of his twos for the four, only to look up and see everyone grinning at him. Every spoon is gone from the center of the circle.
Mav bops him on the head with the spoon. “Can’t freeze up like that, Ice!” Ice scoffs and throws his cards at Merlin to redeal. He’s used to slow and logical games. Spoons is frantic, chaotic, and—now that Ice thinks about it—exactly Mav’s type of game. “ If you think up there, you’re dead.” Of course Mav would love a game like this, all multitasking and split-second reactions.
Next round Hollywood and Slider are left wrestling for the final spoon. The round after that, Merlin manages to pocket a spoon without anyone noticing for several minutes. When Ice finally gets to grab a spoon first, he almost falls over trying to make sure no one steals it from him. One round, Mav spends none of the game focusing on his cards and just shuffles the spoons around in the center (which is probably against the rules, but nobody cares) until Slider finally snatches one. Merlin chases Slider around half of the lounge trying to get the spoon from him. Ice tries not looking at his cards for a few rounds and just focusing on the spoons, but quickly realizes he can’t deal with not at least trying for the four of a kind. For at least two rounds, Hollywood manages to hide a spoon in his sleeve (which earns him another tackle from Slider). After a round where Mav passes Ice the entire deck at once, completely throwing Ice off his rhythm, Hollywood cracks his back and stands up.
“Alright fellas, I should turn in for the night. Let’s play again sometime.” Merlin stops him as he turns to leave.
“Hey, drop off one of the spoons on your way back.” He offers Hollywood a spoon. Hollywood just grins. He straightens his arm and a spoon drops out of his sleeve into his waiting hand.
“Goddamnit. I knew he still had one!” Slider groans as Hollywood saunters away. A few rounds later, Slider packs up too, complaining about an early morning workout routine and grabbing a spoon on his way out.
Now it’s just Merlin, Ice, and Mav. Ice can feel sleep gently pressing at the backs of his eyes, but he’s not missing out on this time with Mav. The third round in a row Merlin loses, he throws his cards down. “See you guys in the morning. Don’t stay up too late.” He gives them both a knowing glance as he grabs his spoon on his way out. Ice doesn’t even want to begin to imagine what that means.
“Just you and me, Ice. Ready to get crushed by your wingman?”
“You’re pretty cocky for someone who never looks at their cards. That strategy won’t work anymore, there’s only two of us.” This kind of banter is easy, safe.
Maverick’s grin doesn’t falter for a second. “I’m sure I can figure it out.”
They deal cards and begin the game. Ice’s attention is equally focused between passing the cards, trying to get four of a kind, and watching Mav for any sort of movement toward the spoon. Oh, and returning Maverick’s challenging gaze, almost daring him to reach for the spoon first. Everyone else has cleared out of the lounge by this point—it’s just him and Mav in their showdown.
Mav twitches towards the spoon. Ice doesn’t take the bait. The cards fly by—four, jack, king, three, three, seven, eight. Ice grabs the eight, adds it to his hand. He has three now. Mav glances back up at him, the ghost of a smirk on his face. Queen, king, ace, six, nine, nine, nine, shit should’ve grabbed nines , jack, ace, three, eight . Ice triumphantly grabs his fourth eight, lunging for the spoon. Mav dives for it in the same instant. Ice’s hand closes around it first, but Mav’s not done fighting. He closes his own hand over Ice’s and yanks on the spoon with all his might, pulling Ice toward him. Ice ignores the spark that courses through him at Mav’s touch and suddenly relaxes his arm to throw Mav off. Mav’s momentum sends him crashing backwards into the floor, pulling Ice along with him until he’s lying almost on top of Mav. Adrenaline pumping through his body, Ice prepares to win with one final tug until Mav surges upwards, flipping Ice over so their positions are switched. Suddenly Mav is straddling Ice’s torso and Ice finds himself completely frozen from the intense physical contact. Mav grins as he pries Ice’s fingers off the spoon one by one.
“Like I said, can’t freeze up like that, Ice.” Mav grins and clicks his tongue. Ice still can’t make himself move, heat racing up and down his body. Mav is right there . Ice could lean up and be kissing him. He’s right there holy shit.
Mav seems to hesitate for a second before he rolls off of Ice to lay on the ground next to him. Ice blinks rapidly, trying to clear his brain. Holy shit. Get it together. Holy shit.
They lay there in silence for a few minutes, breathing heavily from the exertion. Holy shit.
Finally, Mav starts talking. “Where are you going after this, Ice? Japan? Mediterranean? Middle of the Pacific?”
The conversation grounds Ice, finally bringing him back to the present. “Slider and I are going back to be instructors at Top Gun.”
“Cool.”
“You?” Ice turns his head to look at Mav lying next to him.
Mav looks over and smiles. “Can’t abandon my wingman, now, can I?”
Ice feels a slow smile spread across his own face. “I guess not.”
Maverick looks as if he’s about to respond then yawns instead, his whole face scrunching up. Ice won’t admit it, but it’s adorable. The next words fall out of his mouth before he can think. “I would’ve missed you.”
Mav freezes, like he’s not sure what to do with this side of Ice. Ice mentally berates himself. Whatever happened to “ice cold, no mistakes?” Keep your mouth shut before you dig this hole any deeper.
“I would’ve missed you too.” Now it’s Ice who’s frozen. Suddenly, he can’t imagine a future apart from Mav: some incomprehensible universe where they are no longer wingmen, no longer there for each other. All he knows is he wants to spend the rest of his life flying at Mav’s side.
He chances a glance over at Mav, who is staring at the ceiling, contemplating something of his own. The silhouette of his face somehow still manages to look beautiful in the shitty lighting of the lounge. Ice quickly looks back at the ceiling before Mav catches him staring.
They lie next to each other like that for a while longer, just staring at the ceiling. The thoughts race in the back of Ice’s mind; no messy feelings, push it down, he can’t know, lock it away. He does his best to listen to Mav’s breathing and match his own to it, feeling it get deeper and slower over time, slowly fading the poisonous thoughts away.
Finally, Ice breaks the silence. It’s barely a whisper. “Mav?” He doesn’t know what he’s going to say, just that he has to know whether Mav sees the same future or not. The future where they’re always there for each other: when they’re sick, when they’re sad, when they go out to bars and when they play games, and when they just need someone to sit in silence with.
No response. Ice turns to see Mav fast asleep, his head tilted to the side and his eyes closed. A tiny trickle of drool crawls down the side of his face. Ice allows himself a smile. Even sleeping, he’s gorgeous. Damn, I’m really gone for him. Ice sits up slowly, discarding that last thought and weighing his options. He could leave Mav here, but as soon as the thought crosses his mind, he discards it. He’s not leaving Mav to sleep in the lounge. Waking him up is also out of the question; Mav looks more peaceful than Ice has ever seen him. That leaves carrying him to bed.
Ice quietly creeps over to the cards and puts them back in the box. They’ve scattered all over the floor from their scuffle. Sliding them in his pocket, he goes back over and gently slots one arm under Mav’s knees and another under his shoulders, easily lifting him up. Mav makes a small noise in the back of his throat, nuzzling into Ice’s shoulder. Ice’s heart stops. He just stands there for a minute, losing himself in the warmth that seems to be constantly pouring from Mav. He almost wishes he could just stay like this forever.
When he finally snaps himself out of it and the world starts turning again, Ice cradles Mav a little closer to his chest and makes his way to the door. There’s not many people wandering around at this time of night, but an aircraft carrier never truly sleeps. And it wouldn’t be great for someone to see them like this, to put it lightly. He cautiously opens the door and glances up and down the hallway: someone leaving to the right, no one to the left.
Perfect. Ice heads left, repeating this strategy at every junction he comes across. He has to wait for a hallway to clear only a couple of times, but they finally make it to Mav’s room.
Ice cautiously opens the door to see Merlin sleeping soundly in one of the beds. The other must be Mav’s. Leaving the door open a crack so he can see, Ice crouches down and gently lays Mav on his bed, adjusting the blankets so they cover him better. Ignoring how cold and empty he suddenly feels without Mav in his arms, Ice moves to leave. He freezes as Mav’s face scrunches and he whimpers in his sleep, reaching towards where Ice had been.
“...stay?” It’s barely a whisper, and Ice thinks he imagined it at first. But Mav keeps reaching towards Ice. Something inside Ice’s chest clenches. He goes back and kneels at the side of Mav’s bed. As soon as he takes Mav’s hand, Mav’s entire body relaxes.
“Hey, Mav,” Ice whispers. “I can’t stay.” He knows Mav is sleeping and can’t hear him, but he can’t help himself. Ice brushes the back of Mav’s hand rhythmically with his thumb as he talks. “I can’t stay, Mav. Someone’ll catch us.” Mav definitely can’t be seen like this. Ice isn’t going to be the reason Mav ends up with slurs following him around all day, sticking to his thoughts like poison. He knows firsthand how much that hurts. He tries extricating his hand from Mav’s grip, but Mav just holds Ice’s hand closer, curling his sleeping form around it. Something blossoms inside of Ice, a fragile warm feeling that spreads through his body. He finds himself smiling at Maverick, wondering at how he managed to get such an amazing person as his wingman. Someone so kind and funny and beautiful and confident who’s always there for him. All Ice wants to do is be there for Mav in return.
He can’t stay, though. Ice brushes his hand fondly through Mav’s dark hair, enjoying the moment while it lasts. Finally, Mav falls into a deeper sleep and loosens his grip. Almost disappointedly, Ice slowly removes his hand. Mav’s hand twitches for a few moments, then falls still.
Slowly, Ice stands up. He wants to stay. He wants to stay so badly that it hurts. But Ice forces himself to stand up, to walk to the door, to ignore the cold that spreads through his body in the absence of Mav’s warmth. As he grabs the side of the door, he hesitates.
“Goodnight, Mav.”
Ice isn’t sure what he’s waiting for, exactly. Maybe for Mav to say something. Maybe for himself to say something. But all he can hear is the faraway crash of the waves.
He waits a second more before he quietly closes the door behind him and walks back to his own room.
Both Iceman and Maverick have been instructors at Top Gun for a few months now. Despite Maverick’s complaints that being an instructor doesn’t give him a chance to go “Mach 2 with his hair on fire,” the job gives them more freedom (and stability) than most deployments ever would. And getting to humble up-and-coming hotshot pilots in the air and on the ground is its special kind of fun.
“Ice! Did you see the look on Sparky’s face when I missile-locked him!?” Mav grins.
“No, Mav. And you didn’t see it either. You were flying behind him.”
Maverick scoffs and drops himself into the chair in the corner of Ice’s office. “Yeah, but once he landed . He was so pissed.”
“If he keeps flying like that, Riot’s gonna snag the trophy.” Ice says absentmindedly, filling out a few more boxes on his latest paperwork.
“My money’s on Dice. Some of those maneuvers he’s been pulling off are next level.”
“He leaves his wingman behind on every hop.”
“He can learn! I seem to remember a certain other hotshot young pilot who learned to not leave his wingman behind.” Ice can practically hear Mav’s grin, but he doesn’t look up from his paperwork.
“I seem to remember he finished second.”
“Low blow!"
Ice finally looks over at Mav, who is trying—and failing—to spin a pen on his fingers. He allows himself a small smile at just how far his friendship with Maverick has come. They’re no longer rivals, spitting petty insults at each other in the hallways. Over the few months that Ice and Mav have been instructing, they’ve been spending a lot of time together. Now, it’s more common to find Maverick in Ice’s office rather than his own, and Ice has prepared accordingly.
“Mav. I have your paperwork for the day here.”
Mav groans. “Ice, you know I come here to escape the fucking paperwork. And now you do this to me?”
“It’s an important part of being an instructor. Now pull the chair up and do your damn work.”
Mav sighs dramatically, dragging the chair up to the desk like it weighs a thousand pounds. He considers for a moment, then hauls it over to the side Ice is on. “Move over, skyscraper. There’s no legroom on the other side.”
Rolling his eyes, Ice scoots his chair over, leaving room for Mav to sit next to him. He slides Mav’s pile of paperwork to him with one finger. Groaning, Mav uncaps the pen and gets to work.
Ice allows himself to relax completely as he works next to Mav, the tension of the past few days melting off his shoulders. The scritch-scratching of their pens and the shhhh of shuffling papers make him feel grounded and in control. This box, then this box, then cross-reference here, then this section—
“Psssst. Ice.”
Ice pretends he doesn’t hear Maverick. Flip the page, fold the corner at exactly 45 degrees around the staple, this section next—
“I know you hear me,” Mav whispers. “You have a shitty poker face.”
“My poker face is excellent!”
“Not after I insult it!”
Ice sighs, exasperated. “What do you want?”
Mav scoots closer to Ice and everything else is lost because now Maverick’s arm is touching Ice’s arm and heat is sparking up and down every little point of contact between them and Ice cannot focus on what Mav is saying what he is he saying what is he saying.
“Hello? Ice? Ice? Iceman?”
Ice inhales deeply, snapping himself out of the spell. How can Mav still render him insensible with just a touch? They’ve been friends for months now. You’d think Ice would get over it. “Yeah?”
“Well, what am I supposed to put here?” Mav gestures vaguely at the whole paper.
Ice absentmindedly walks him through what information goes where, most of his mind still occupied by Mav’s arm pressing up against his. His inability to touch Mav without short-circuiting is becoming a problem for many reasons. Someone is sure to notice eventually; Mav touches Ice casually all the time as they teach and Ice sure as hell isn’t subtle. It also makes it difficult to focus, which could be deadly in their line of work .
But, most importantly, it jeopardizes Mav. These feelings Ice has for Mav are certainly not reciprocated. And, if they were, it would be even more dangerous. Mav’s safety has to come first, before anything Ice feels. Mav will find a nice girl and settle down and never have to deal with all the awful kinds of people Ice has been running from for years.
Push it down, lock it away.
He finishes explaining the paper to Mav and turns back to his own paper, but he can’t quite bring himself to move his arm away.
It takes approximately thirty-two seconds for Mav to interrupt him again. He bumps his shoulder against Ice’s, groaning.
“Ice this is so boring . Do we have to fill these out?”
Ice turns, about to scold him, when Mav rests his head on Ice’s shoulder and looks up at him, pouting. Ice’s annoyed expression immediately melts.
It doesn’t escape Mav’s notice. A grin that Ice would call The “Oh, That’s How I Get What I Want” Grin stretches across Mav’s face. He suddenly presses his whole body up against Ice’s.
Ice’s brain just shuts down. Mav’s leg is pressed against his leg, Mav’s hip against his hip, his torso against his, his arm against his, his head on his shoulder— It’s just like the bar so many months ago except Maverick is completely sober this time. Maverick is completely sober and he is cuddling with Ice. Ice feels the bright blaze of Maverick’s touch burning his skin, making him want to pull away, making him want to get closer . He leans into Mav for one beautiful second, two, and then—
Ice cannot do this. He cannot hurt their friendship. He cannot let them hurt Maverick . Maverick does not deserve the looks and the slurs, Maverick is bright and beautiful and warm and Ice will not will not will not drag Maverick down with him he cannot he cannot let them hurt Maverick so Maverick must not get close you can’t let anyone get any ideas you cannot let them get to him you cannot let them hurt him you cannot you cannot you CANNOT HURT MAVERICK.
Suddenly Ice’s face shutters, going eerily calm as he stares at the wall in front of him. He abruptly stands up, shoving Maverick off of him. He briefly envisions Maverick’s hurt expression, before locking it out of his mind.
“You should leave.”
“Ice, I— what?” Maverick sounds utterly confused.
“I said, ‘you should leave.’”
“Woah, woah, woah, Ice, what— what’s going on?”
Ice stays silent.
“Ice!”
“I think I’ve made myself perfectly clear.”
“What the hell? What’s wrong with you?”
Ice finally turns to face Maverick. “Get out. Of my. Sight.” Each word freezes the air between them with cold, detached hatred.
Maverick’s eyes search Ice’s face for any hint of warmth. “Ice, what—” He cracks a nervous smile. “I’m your wingman, Ice! You can’t—”
“I can. Leave.”
And now Maverick is growing more desperate. “Ice, Ice, I’m not leaving you! Just—tell me what this is about and it’ll be fine. We can talk about it, Ice.”
“There isn’t anything to talk about.” He advances on Maverick with every word, forcing him backwards, step by step. “Get. Out.”
“Well, clearly there is something to talk about! What the fuck is this, Ice?” Maverick’s voice rises. He stops retreating backward, standing on his toes to come eye-to-eye with Ice.
“You can’t just pull this shit on me and expect me to just take it!”
“I can and I will! You need to stay away from me.”
“Oh, I need to now, huh? You ever think that maybe I could ever make my own damn decisions about what I do!?” They’re face-to-face now, glaring daggers at each other.
“You don’t get it, do you? I’m trying to help you, Maverick!”
“How is this fucking helping me!?” Maverick roars.
Ice's voice goes deathly quiet.
“Someone finds out, someone always finds out. They know about me, they will find out about you—” His voice rises as he advances on Maverick again. “You’re not cautious enough, it’s like you don’t care, and maybe you don’t but they do ! They will find out about you and once they do I can’t protect you. I will stand between you and a thousand Russian airplanes but I can’t stand between you and the dirty looks and the slurs and the hatred ! So, no, Maverick, you don’t fucking get it!” Maverick is backed up against the wall now, Ice towering over him. “You don’t understand— you can’t understand—you need to stay away from me! It’s the only way I can fucking protect you! ”
Ice’s fist slams into the wall next to Maverick’s head.
Silence.
The pain in his knuckles vaguely registers in the back of Ice’s head. He’s trembling uncontrollably. He can taste the tears on his lips.
He slowly, slowly, retracts his fist from the wall.
And Ice just… stands there. Staring at the floor, trembling violently, tears coursing down his cheeks. Iceman Kazansky just stands there.
Maverick slowly, gently reaches out to touch his shoulder.
Ice is unresponsive.
“...Ice?” Maverick’s voice is small, lost in the vast silence stretching between them.
“His name was Henry.”
Maverick slows his breathing, hanging onto every word Ice says.
“He had the most beautiful red hair. His teeth were crooked. He slept with a letter from his mom underneath his pillow.” There’s the ghost of a smile on Ice’s face, memories of past joys flitting behind his eyes.
“They caught us in a back hallway. He’s… not in the navy anymore. They drove him out. The only reason I’m here today is because I became someone nobody could question, nobody could doubt. A monster.”
“Ice, you’re not a monster,” Maverick says softly.
Ice’s jaw clenches “I can’t watch you end up like Henry. Or like me.”
Maverick opens his mouth, then closes it again.
“Why does it have to end like that?” he finally tries.
“Because someone finds out. Someone always finds out. And then we move bases and start all over and it's fine until someone finds out .”
“Then we won’t let them!” Maverick’s hopeful grin cracks something inside of Ice. “Look, I’ve hidden a relationship before. We can do it again.”
Ice shakes his head. Protect Maverick keep him safe— “You don’t understand. Maybe you can hide, but it’s different with me. People suspect. People know. I’m sure there’s already rumors about you and me we shouldn’t make it worse—” Ice abruptly steps back, heading for the door. “We can’t make it worse I have to go they can’t see us—”
Maverick grabs his wrist, freezing Ice dead in his tracks.
“Ice.”
How does Maverick make his voice so gentle? Ice finds himself instinctually turning back around to face Maverick.
“Ice. If you want this. If you want this as badly as I do, I promise we can make it work.”
Ice wants to believe him so badly . He wants to capture that little spark of hope in Maverick’s eye and hold it forever. He wants to believe in himself, believe in Maverick, believe they can make it work.
He starts crying again.
“Hey, hey, Ice. It’s okay. It’s okay.” Maverick puts his hand on Ice’s shoulder for a moment before giving up and pulling Ice completely into a tight hug. His hand rubs up and down Ice’s back. Up and down. Up and down. Up and down.
Ice hugs Maverick back and chokes out, “Mav— I’m so scared.”
“Me too. But we can do this.” Maverick lets go, holding Ice’s shoulders. “Is this what you want?”
Out of nowhere, Ice starts laughing, because what else could he want other than this? And now he’s crying and laughing at the same time, and this is probably the most emotions Tom Iceman Kazansky has truly felt in years. “Yes. Yes, Mav. This is what I want.”
Mav smiles like he trusted Ice all along and suddenly they’re both laughing and maybe they’re both crying too, but that’s nobody’s business but their own. And the paperwork and the pens and the half-filled-in boxes are completely forgotten as they stand in Ice’s office together, laughing. And then Ice kisses Maverick.
And Maverick kisses back.
And Iceman Kazansky is set on fire.
One year later...
The morning sunlight slices through the curtains. Ice manages to squeeze his eyes shut for a few seconds more before the light pries them open for good. As he slowly yawns and stretches awake, the person next to him shifts.
Stirred from his deep sleep by Ice’s movement, Maverick tightens his hold on the front of Ice’s shirt. He makes an unintelligible noise in the back of his throat as he snuggles closer.
Ice laughs quietly to himself, brushing one hand rhythmically through Mav’s hair, feeling Mav’s warmth spread through his chest. He takes a second to wonder at the life he has now—the life he has with Maverick . It’s a dream he didn’t even know he could have.
But as beautiful as this moment is, it’s time to get up.
“Mav. Mav. Maverick. ” Ice gently shakes Mav.
“Fiiivrrminss.”
“No, Maverick. Now.”
“Nnnnnnnnnnnno.”
“You’re adorable when you’re sleepy.”
Mav clearly takes this as him winning, burrowing deeper into the blankets.
Ice chuckles under his breath, letting Mav have his win for about four seconds before he grabs him and picks him up bridal-style, carrying him out of their bedroom.
Mav groans, nuzzling into Ice’s shoulder. “You’re a bitch .”
Ice holds him closer, laughing.
“Fuck you,” Maverick laughs, trying and failing to stay serious.
Ice drops Mav unceremoniously onto their couch. “What do you want for breakfast?”
“Sleep.”
“Hmm, we’re all out of that, I think. Toast? Eggs?”
“Fuckin’—I can make my own breakfast, Ice.”
“Toast it is.”
While Mav focuses on the apparently impossible task of waking up, Ice makes toast and coffee for the both of them. Ice could’ve sworn he’d finally figured out where everything in their kitchen was, but he seems to be having extra trouble today. Why are there butter knives in the bowl cabinet? When did they decide this was the place for jam? They have a blender?
By the time he turns back around, Mav has dragged himself to their little dining table and Ice slides the coffee and toast in front of him, the unorganized kitchen quickly forgotten. Mav visibly perks up at the sight of the coffee, gulping down half the mug before Ice kicks him in the leg.
Mav puts the mug down. “How do you always make it exactly the way I like it?”
Ice takes a bite of his toast. “Because we live together.”
“Not because I’m your boyfriend?”
He pretends to consider. “Maybe some of that too.”
Suddenly, Mav shoots fully awake. “Shit! Wait here!” He runs off to the other room.
Ice raises an eyebrow, but he’s learned it’s best not to question Mav and just let him do what he wants.
There’s a crash from the other room.
Maybe it’s not best to let him do what he wants.
“Mav?” Ice yells.
“Oh, no, fine! Everything’s fine! Stay there!”
Mav comes back around the corner, carrying a plate with a lopsided, half-frosted cake sitting on it.
“Okay, so, I kind of dropped it so it's not really fine—I swear it was less crooked before! And there was more frosting—”
Ice holds up a finger to stop Mav’s rambling as Mav clumsily places the cake on the table. The cake is chocolate with patchy vanilla frosting. There’s bits and pieces of multicolored frosting letters scattered over the top. Mav looks on nervously, the soft sunlight through the curtains playing with his hair.
Unable to stay silent any longer, Mav bursts out, “So it said ‘Happy One Year Anniversary’ but I’m not sure if it does anymore. But there! There’s, uh, ‘Hap.’ And the red stuff there is ‘ersary.’ ‘Ear’ was here somewhere, give me a moment…”
“It’s beautiful, Maverick.”
Mav freezes. “It is? I mean, it is! Made it myself last night. After you went to bed.” An unmistakably proud grin stretched across his face.
Suddenly Mav’s exhaustion and the mess in the kitchen both make perfect sense. Ice reaches out and presses Mav’s forehead to his, smiling. “You stayed up to make this for me?”
“I, well, yeah—”
Ice kisses him.
“Mav, you’re amazing, you know that?”
Mav instantly turns bright red. He opens his mouth to say something, then closes it again. His eyes dart to Ice’s, apprehensive at first, then filled with determination.
“I love you, Ice.”
Ice never imagined it like this.
He always thought he’d be the one to say it first, but of course, of course it would be Mav because Mav is impulsive and beautiful and fantastic and Mav loves you he loves you he loves you he loves you
Ice laughs with joy, sweeping Mav up into a hug that lifts him clean off the ground. They slot together like they were made for each other, Ice squeezing so tight they almost become one person.
Breathlessly, Ice whispers in Mav’s ear, “I love you too, Mav. I love you too.”
Ice stumbles backward onto the couch, letting Mav’s warmth envelop him. Mav is practically glowing as he laughs along with Ice, and suddenly Ice knows that that future he imagined all those months ago in the dimly lit lounge of the aircraft carrier can be real— is real. He and Mav will always be there for each other: when they need to cry, when they need to laugh, when they need to talk and fly and play games and see friends and make breakfast and look at the clouds and enjoy life . They will be there for each other.
Something melts in Ice’s chest, warming him from head to toe.
They sit there, curled together on the couch, content to just let the world pass by around them.
The cake is delicious.