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“Hey, Ice, want to play a game?”
Ice groans when he hears Maverick in his ear, trying to block it out. “Go away, Mav.” He focuses on the dart in his hand, taking the shot and smirking and lining up for the next shot. “I’m already playing a game, and winning.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know. Always winning, whatever. I mean, if you’re chicken.”
Slider looks over with a smirk. “Come on, Ice, let’s put him in his place. Someone’s gotta.”
Ice looks between them thoughtfully, considering their options before raising his chin with a smirk, chewing his gum. “Alright, Mav. Let’s hear it. What did you have in mind?”
“A little… contest, if you will. We can finally settle who the better pilot is, down here and up there.”
Slider grins. “We all know it’s Iceman.”
Mav rolls his eyes, grinning wolfishly. “I thought that was Mr Iceman to us.”
“It is, you little shit.”
“Twice the pilot you’ll ever be, Slider.”
Ice steps between them, eyebrows cocked in amusement. “Now, now, gentleman. Let’s keep it family friendly. What’s the game?”
“We’re gonna look at speed, balls and creativity.” Mav looks him in the eye, getting into his personal space. The chemistry crackles into them, electric and magnetic. Ice barely resists the urge to grab his chin and kiss him deeply, the urge to nip at those perfect, arrogantly curved lips overwhelming. He forces the thoughts from his head and nods.
“Alright, you’re on. Still got that bike of yours?”
“You bet.”
“My Suzuki against your Kawasaki along the beach tonight. We do a full lap and back, first onto base wins.” Ice decides. “Unless your bike can’t take it.”
“Fuck off, of course I can. Hope you’re ready for me to kick your ass, Ice.”
"Kiss it, more like..." Iceman quips with a smirk.
Slider looks between them, narrowing his eyes. “I’m coming, making sure neither of you cheat.”
For all he can be a bit of an ass sometimes, he’s a steady guy and they both know he’ll be fair. He’s more of a stickler for the rules than either of them are and he’s the best RIO Ice has had in his career, but he’ll take the game as it should be. Besides, Ice is pretty sure Slider is also seizing the fact Maverick is actually engaging with them. He’s been withdrawn since losing Goose, lost in his head and doubting himself until the mission that had seen them become friends. Ice wants to see more of the Maverick that Goose adored, even if it means pushing the rules a little more. He nods. “I’ll pay.”
When he’s paid their tab they head for the door of the bar they’re in and he thinks it’s probably a good thing they hadn’t started drinking yet. He leads the way through the parking lot and they collectively set off for the beach. It’s dark out, the stars a bold canvas out here where the light from the base can’t reach them. The tide’s in, a relaxing backdrop soon drowned out by the rev of their engines as they spur each other on. Slider counts them down and they take off at their highest relative accelerations, wheels spinning and sand spreading everywhere. Ice can hear Mav laughing madly beside him and grins to himself, thinking it might be the best sound in the world.
He makes it up the beach and twists sharply, leading his bike back towards the road and gunning it back to base. He’s so focused on the road that he doesn’t have a clue where Maverick is, though he can hear the growl of the Kawasaki somewhere nearby. It dawns on him that he can’t hear a third bike and he drags his bike to a more sane speed, frowning when he twists and realises Slider isn’t with them. A dot appears in the distance and he grins, saluting his friend before cursing as he realizes Mav’s taken the lead. The next five minutes are a blur as he pushes the Suzuki to its limits, worrying the tires might burn up before he makes it back.
He’s breathing hard as he stores his bike behind the base, figuring he’ll retrieve it tomorrow. He can hear Maverick just ahead of him, clearly having had the same idea. They abandon them and scramble along the fencing, through the one area where the curved string of barbed wire at the top of the fence is missing and there’s a narrow gap they can slip through. He’s not entirely sure who had managed to hollow it out, but he figures plausible deniability is better anyway.
They bend over, side by side, their hands on their knees as they laugh like idiots. The adrenaline courses through him and his heart pounds in his chest. It’s not until he hears the roar of Slider’s bike that he frowns, realizing something doesn’t sound right. He twists, looking into the darkness for the tunnel of light from the bike and realizes there isn’t one. “Hey, Maverick, something’s wrong. I think something happened to Slider.”
Mav frowns beside him. “What do you mean, something happened? He couldn’t keep up.”
“No, not that.” Ice shakes his head. “Something’s wrong.” He pushes his way back out through the fencing, relieved when he sees Slider. His relief is short lived when he takes in the sight of the graze across the man’s forearms when Slider stumbles off his Honda, grimacing and cursing. “What happened?”
“A rock got spit up in the sand and it was caught in the frame… Shit, Ice, I think it’s broken…” Ice watches him cradle his arm and groans, guilt settling heavily. Come on, let’s get you to Medical.”
“They’ll kill us.”
Maverick appears in the fencing, holding it open. “They don’t have to know. I have an idea.”
Usually Mav having an idea makes Ice nervous, but tonight he’s relieved. They take Ron along to Medical, explaining what happened and Ice wonders why he feels uneasy. He forces himself to set his guilt aside when he goes to bed, reassuring himself it could have happened to anyone.
- - - - -
They lay low for a few days and by some miracle nobody confronts them over their behavior. Ice gets assigned a junior officer as his RIO while Slider recovers. It’s a hairline fracture in his wrist so not as bad as they’d feared but his shoulder is also bruised and the doctor won’t clear him to fly yet. They go out on a training flight and as he runs through his pre-flight checks, Maverick materialises beside him. “Ready for round two?”
Ice rolls his eyes. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Mav.”
“Look, if you’re too chicken you just gotta tell me. No one’ll be surprised that I’m the best pilot.”
It gets under Ice’s skin, just like he knows Maverick wants it to, and he narrows his eyes. “The hell you are. Bring it on.” His smirk reaches his eyes, which flash with both determination and attraction. He can see Mav’s reaction as he catches a glimpse of the fire in Ice’s eyes and enjoys the way the younger man swallows instinctively, eyes widening a fraction before it’s gone and Mav’s trademark grin slides into place. “What am I beating you at today?”
“I’ll let you know when I figure it out but I have an idea. Just don’t give us away, okay?”
“Maverick, I’m not the problem here. You’re the unpredictable one.”
“Guess we’ll see.” He smirks, reaching out to give Mav’s ass a playful swat as the shorter pilot walks past him. He’s surprised when Mav jerks and blushes, absently thinking it’s because Viper has paddled them both before, but he also sees a mischievous twinkle in Maverick’s eyes that he files away to reflect on later.
He sets off after his temporary RIO, Camelot, which is a fucking stupid call sign if you ask him, wondering what the hell he’s just agreed to. Something tells him neither of their RIOs are in for a good time, given that Mav is also flying with a temp RIO while Merlin is home on leave.
It doesn’t take long to find out.
“Hey, Ice? You see the wall over there?”
Ice glances in Maverick’s direction, following his gaze to a low walled enclosure in the fields they’re flying over grimaces. “I see it.” Then his need to be the best takes over and speaks again with a failed attempt at being casual. “Who do you think can get closest without pulling up?”
Maverick snorts. “Neither of us, it’s below the hard deck, remember?”
“You’re right. We should find something else that’s safer.”
“Come on, Ice, don’t you want to win?”
Ice grits his teeth. He can hear Maverick’s smirk and the knowledge of how cocky he is crackles over Ice’s skin. He started this line of thought, he refuses to be the one to back out. “I’ll go first.” He decides in a moment of sheer impulse. He nudges the nose down into a sharp dive, calculating his angle to get as low as he can before he reaches the wall.
Maverick swears in his headset and Ice spares a few seconds to grin. “Wait! Hang on, Ice, Jesus!”
He turns his lazer focus on the maneuver, vaguely aware of Camelot protesting in a panic behind him. Mav’s F-14 registers in his peripheral but he tunes it out. “Come on, just a little more…” he mutters to himself, almost jumping out of his skin when Viper’s voice sounds over their comms’ unit, voice sharp and unyielding.
“Gentleman,” he growls, appearing overhead. “Get your butts back up here. I’m taking you home.”
Ice is pretty sure his stomach keeps dropping, even as he shifts the jet out of the dive and ascends back above the hard deck. He avoids Mav’s eye as they settle into an easy glide on either side of Viper’s jet. He turns his comms off and speaks to Camelot. “You okay, Smith?”
“What the fuck was that? Jesus, Kazansky, are you trying to kill us?” The younger pilot sounds panicked and Ice winces, launching into a soft but sincere apology. When he does glance over, he sees Mav’s RIO bent over in his seat and guesses the kid is still throwing up. Ice had a head start so it tracks that Mav must have gone into a sharper dive than he did.
He drops his head back against his seat in dread as he hears Viper speak again. “Kasansky. Mitchell. When we get back you get your butts straight to my office. You will have five minutes to be standing at attention before my desk or you will be sorry. Is that clear?”
They’re both subdued as they give their agreement, equally aware of the shit they’ve put themselves into today. Ice mentally curses himself the whole way back to base; he wasn’t this guy, he didn’t do this impulsive shit. He isn’t the guy that made mistakes. He has his head together and he’s dependable. Mav just brings out a side of him he doesn’t let loose, driven by his need to impress his father, not that that has ever really happened. These days he works hard to impress his senior officers at Top Gun, something he’s truly fucked up today. He hasn’t been paddled in a while, but it was Viper last time too, over another stupid dare of Maverick’s. He grimaces, determined to be a better example to his friend.
- - - - -
When they land, Ice makes sure Camelot gets onto the ground first before joining him, feeling like an ass. He feels a responsibility to help the younger pilot recover but Viper’s warning plays on a loop in his head. With a groan he apologizes again and turns, seeking Mav in the crowd. “Maverick. Come on.”
Mav’s looking stubborn and Ice sighs, shaking his head. “Your funeral, Mitchell. Good luck.”
He sets off with long legged strides, wishing he had time to shower and change but wants to risk it less. His helmet hands loosely in his hand as he makes his way inside. It’s both a surprise and a relief when Mav appears to his right, scrambling to keep up. “Ice, wait…” he hisses, but Ice doesn’t slow.
“We’ve got two minutes to get to his office, Mav. Unlike you, cowboy, I don’t actually have a death wish. He’ll kill us.”
Maverick snorts, shoving his Aviators on. “Nah he won’t, his bark’s worse than his bite.”
Ice twists his head enough to offer Maverick a hard Look. “You never learn, do you?”
“You love it. I’m the best thing about this place.”
“Get your head out your ass, Mitchell,” Ice snaps, but his lips quirk up despite the situation they find themselves in. Mav’s a dumbass, but he’s a dumbass Ice has a real soft spot for.
They scramble inside, pushing to get through the doorway first and to the desk. Viper steps into the room behind them. “Kasansky, that corner. Mitchell, that corner. Get those flight suits down and out of my way.”
“Sir, wait…” Maverick protests.
“Oh, I’ll wait. And so will you two. Get your butts in the corner unless you want a preview first.”
Mav’s mouth opens again and Ice elbows him sharply, giving him a Look. “Shut up for once in your life, Maverick. You’re not helping.”
Viper looks between them, brows raised and lips twitching ever so slightly. “Not a word from either of you. You’d be wise to do some thinking before we talk because I have questions. You do not want to know what happens if you can’t answer them, lieutenants. Your ability to sit in the next week, and go out on a hop in the next forty eight hours depends on it.” With that he looks down at some paperwork on his desk, dismissing them by pretending they don’t exist. Ice feels his face heat up on the way to the corner, embarrassment increasing as he unzips his flight suit and shoves it down to pool around his thighs.
It feels as though he’s in the corner forever. Trained to be the best he can be, he stands at attention throughout but he can hear Maverick fighting on the other side of the room and muttering to himself. He tries to turn it out, until he hears a handful of sharp smacks and a corresponding yelped, “sir!” and fights the urge to roll his eyes. The man just never learns.
Viper’s voice cuts through his thoughts. “Maverick, I’ll give you one more chance to stand there quietly and think about your actions. Don’t make me regret giving you another change, boy.”
There’s a soft groan but Maverick quiets and Ice vaguely registers Viper returning to his desk. The room’s silent for a while and Ice finds himself shifting on the balls of his feet as his anticipation builds. It’s a while before they’re called over.
As he arrives at the desk he starts to fix his flight suit. “Oh no,” Viper orders, shaking his head. “Those stay down until I’ve roasted your butts thoroughly.”
Maverick’s opening his mouth to make a rousing statement when Viper’s phone goes. His eyes convey a warning as he scoops the receiver off the cradle and answers. They watch as his eyes narrow before he speaks. “Hold on, I have them in my office right now.”
He clicks the button to put the phone on speaker and lets security explain what they’ve found at the northern corner of the base fence. Viper grits his teeth and thanks the security guard, before hanging up and dialing the number for Medical. Maverick holds up a placating hand; it’s almost as if he plans to grab the receiver until Viper growls low in his throat, warning the other pilot to stop. They listen in horror as he discusses this latest development, waiting while the physician asks Slider something presumably.
When Viper asks to speak to him directly and starts chewing him out, Ice wonders if he’ll survive the rest of today. This is singularly horrifying. He doesn’t think he ever did anything this dumb in the Academy, let alone any of the posts he’s had since. When the call ends and silence descends, it takes all his self control not to try and explain himself or make excuses.
The commander considers them for a long minute before sighing. “You two are very lucky your dumb choices didn’t get Slider more hurt.”
“Slider invited himself, not our fault he couldn’t keep up,” Maverick quips, trying to lighten the mood. Ice breaks position for a minute, eyes flashing and cooling as he turns to the younger pilot to make a scathing comment. Viper beats him to it.
“Maverick, do you think it’s funny that your teammate, one of our best pilots here, cannot fly because you three decided to act like idiots?”
“Uh, no sir. I… I didn’t mean it that way, sir.”
“Don’t bullshit me, Mitchell. You think being the best means leaving men behind? You’re wrong. Your team is only as successful as the weakest link in the chain. Leaving men behind isn’t brave or impressive. You’re better than that, so act like it.”
Ice watches as Maverick’s ears go pink and he ducks his head, shuffling his feet guiltily. “Sorry, sir, I’ll do better. Is… is Slider alright?”
Viper softens a little at the sincerity ringing through the question. “He’ll be fine. He’s out of action till the doctor clears him and then he’s going to get a dose of what you two will feel on your butts today.”
Ice’e own ears heat up at that. Well, shit he thinks; he’s known this will be the likely outcome since their rivalry was kindled the previous weekend but the reality of knowing he’s about to be disciplined? Well, that lands differently. When he came to Top Gun his reputation as the best of the best preceded him. He doesn’t make mistakes when it counts, but he seems to be letting off too much steam on a regular basis and it seems he’s come up short on luck today. He steps forward but Viper shakes his head. “Not yet. Mitchell’s first this time. Come here, kid.”
“Sir!” Mav protests hotly.
“Move your butt, Mitchell. Don’t make me ask again.” Viper crooks a finger at him meaningfully, ignoring Maverick balking.
The younger lieutenant squares his shoulders and strides over, clearly deciding to fall back on arrogance. Metcalfe waits until he gets closer before nudging him down over the desk, a steady hang on his back. “Lose the attitude or I can help you.”
“No sir, that’s okay…” Mav backpedals so fast Ice is surprised he doesn’t give himself whiplash.
Viper nods briskly, reaching across the desk for a paddle hanging down. It’s a little thicker and bigger than the one he used last time, with holes drilled into it. It looks sore. Ice grimaces and tries not to comment. He stands there looking a little lost, unsure why he’s not been sent to wait outside. Viper meets his gaze levelly. “You stand right there, Lieutenant Kazansky and think about whether it was worth it.”
At Ice’s brisk nod, Viper turns his focus to Maverick, apparently trusting Ice to do as he’s told. The paddle lands with a thud muted by Maverick’s briefs but his yelp more than makes up for it. Ice wants to roll his eyes at the theatrics but mostly he’s focused on how unphased their commander is as he gives Maverick a solid dozen. By the end Maverick’s breathing is ragged, his nails digging into his forearms with the effort of staying put and keeping his mouth shut for a change. His ass is red, marks from the holes in the paddle overlapping on his usually pale skin.
Viper speaks, low and firm. “Gonna start and more of these idiotic dares on my base, kid?”
“No, sir…” Maverick insists in a small voice. Ice doesn’t think anyone in the room believes that but Commander Metcalfe accepts it for the optimistic promise it is.
“Alright then. Four more and we’re finished here.”
Mav opens his mouth to protest but the paddle lands against his undercurve and only a strangled yelp escapes. It’s over quickly and Ice sees the sharp exhale of breath, the tension pushed from Mav’s shoulders. Viper lets him up and gives his shoulder a squeeze. “Let’s try and avoid that again, Mitchell.”
At Maverick’s shaky nod, Viper tilts his own head.
He turns his attention to Ice then, and the lieutenant feels his stomach drop uncomfortably at his expression. “You know, I’m not surprised when Maverick pulls these kinds of stunts… I am surprised that our little talk last month didn‘t have a greater impact on you. I expect better from you Kazansky.”
Ice grimaces, dropping his gaze to the desk, focusing on the grain of the wood as if it can save him.
Viper forges on. “Worse, this isn’t the first time you’ve been caught up in Mitchell’s bullshit lately. Perhaps I need to start keeping a closer eye on you.”
Maverick snorts somewhere to Ice’s right and he tries to ignore it, fist clenching a little in embarrassment.
Viper’s gaze whips across to Maverick, raising his eyebrows. “You got something to share with the class, Lieutenant Mitchell?”
Mav’s still smirking but he shakes his head, even as he gives ass a tentative rub, seeming to sense that he’s in dangerous territory. Viper’s hand goes to his belt buckle thoughtfully. “You know, it seems I’ve been too lenient with you at our weekly meetings, Maverick. Perhaps I should fix that.”
Ice can only stare as he watches Mav instinctively step back, swallowing nervously. “No, sir, that won’t be necessary.”
Viper holds his eye for a moment that feels like a lifetime before speaking. “You can go and shower, Mitchell. Straight to your quarters for the evening after.”
The dismissal shocks Mav who gestures in Ice’s direction indignantly. “He got to watch my ass get handed to me!”
“He’s about to watch it happen again. Careful, Mitchell, you’re flying awful close to the sun. Two weeks without any paddling when I was gone didn’t do you any favors.”
Colour floods Mav’s face at the implication. “That’s not true, sir…”
“Your actions show me otherwise. We’ll fix that on Wednesday. You can come by at 1800 and we’ll talk.”
Ice is intrigued when Mav’s shoulders drop in defeat and he looks down, fidgeting nervously. “Do we have to, sir?” He asks without his earlier bravado.
Viper surprises Ice further when he reaches out to squeeze the back of Mav’s neck. “Yes we do. You need it, and I’m not going to let you down. A sore butt works wonders for you, Lieutenant, more than any official consequences seem to.”
Mav squirms, darting a glance at Ice nervously, but settles down at the light squeeze to his neck. He glances back at Commander Metcalfe, swallowing. “Yes sir. I’m sorry…”
“For now,” Viper says but he seems accepting of Maverick being who he is. “Get out of here and shower, then go to your quarters. I mean it, Mitchell, any nonsense and I’ll make sure you can’t sit in your Tomcat tomorrow.”
The threat makes Mav wince, reaching back to rub his well paddled ass on instinct. “Copy that, sir.” He looked at Ice. “Uh, good luck…” His trademark smirk reappears for a moment as he offers Ice a playful salute, and then he’s gone like the whirlwind he is. Ice watches him go and rolls his eyes, grinning to himself for a moment before remembering where he is.
When he looks to the commander, Viper’s looking at him curiously. “Something going on with you two?”
“What? No sir,” Ice insists quickly. He’s embarrassed to recognise it was too quick. The realization makes him groan and he drops his head, wishing the ground would swallow him up. He doesn’t want to unpick his feelings towards Maverick. The man spells trouble and Ice knows it, yet he can’t seem to resist his magnetic pull.
“For the record, I don’t give a damn if it is. Ain’t common for that around here but if that’s what you’re into…” he waves a hand dismissively. “Long as it doesn’t get in the way of your job, you do what you have to.”
Ice manages a quick nod, swallowing down nerves. “Uh, thank you, sir.”
“I wouldn’t thank me just yet, Lieutenant. I’m not finished chewing you out. You are a leader amongst the pilots here, Kazansky. They look up to you. I looked at your file. Your reputation has been immaculate since joining the Academy. From a Navy family, responsible, dependable. Maverick shows up and you’re turning into a fly guy.” Metcalfe pauses, offering him a knowing look. “I get you wanting to impress someone, especially someone with the resume Maverick has. You don’t do it by acting like a fool with him. You do it by setting an example.”
“Yes, sir. I’m sorry. I was reckless.”
“Yeah, you were. You’re damn lucky Slider didn’t end up hurt worse with your actions at the beach last night. Hell, we’re lucky you and Maverick didn’t get busted up. These men, they follow you where you go, Iceman. That can either be towards an early grave, or to success. Promotions are around the corner if you keep your head down. You have a real shot of going places and it’d be a real shame if you threw it all away to look cool.” The pause in the lecture let’s Viper’s words register and Ice feels his stomach clench guiltily. He’s sure an inch has disintegrated from his shoulders in the past five minutes alone.
Viper leans against his desk and watches him quietly for a while, considering. “Alright, unlike your partner in crime I think you understand where you went wrong. Let’s get on with it.”
He stands, moving from the desk, and picks up the paddle with a tilt of his head. “You know what to do, Lieutenant.”
Ice’s cheeks burn as he steps up to the desk and bends over, aware he’s in naught but his white wife beater and his briefs, his flight suit bunched around his flight boots. He grits his teeth and forces himself to reach for the edge and suck in a fortifying breath.
He feels the paddle tap against his ass and grits his teeth, horrified to hear a grunt escape his lips as the first smack lands. The lieutenant commander’s aim is streaky, each strike landing crisply until every inch of his rear end feels like it’s blazing. He’s never going to let Maverick talk him into these dumbass ideas ever again. Well, until he does. Ice curses himself for wanting to impress the cocky younger pilot, his grip on the desk turning his knuckles white.
Three licks land against his thighs and he hisses a breath out through his teeth, muscles straining with the effort of staying in position. Viper speaks. “Alright, you’re done. Good job.”
Ice takes a moment before he pushes himself upright and fixes his flight suit with as much dignity as he can muster. He can feel the burn in his face that matches the ache in his butt and wants nothing more than to lay on his bunk and lick his wounds.
Metcalfe looks at him. “You have a lot of potential, Kazansky. You’re going places. Don’t throw away all your hard work. Be the better man and show him how to act. I know you can do that.”
“Yes, sir.” Ice swallows past the lump in his throat when his own shoulder is squeezed, risking a glance at Viper and taking in the sight of his cool disapproval replaced by reassurance. “Um, sir? I was thinking… well, you mentioned weekly meetings to help Maverick. I want to help him. Perhaps, when you’re away… I can step up, sir.”
Viper snorts. “Ask me again when you’ve not been paddled for going along with him, Iceman.”
Ice feels his face get impossibly hotter. He drops his gaze. “Sorry, sir...”
Viper smiles at him. “You show me you can resist his bad ideas for the next few weeks and we’ll talk,” he decides before sighing. “Alright, I think I’ve dressed you two down enough. Why don’t you head on back to your bunk and rest before dinner?”
Ice knows it’s not really a suggestion. He nods and takes his leave, glad to be alone. Except when he opens the door he spots Mav leaning against the wall across the corridor, arms folded over his chest and his trademark grin plastered over his face. His Avistors are perched on the bridge of his nose, hiding the lingering traces of redness.
“This doesn’t look like your quarters.” Ice raises an eyebrow at him, amused and a little surprised the younger man is so unsquashable. He shouldn’t be, Mav spends enough time over desks.
“Figured you might want company walking back.” He shrugs, his smirk mischievous, and Ice shakes his head in amusement. “Gonna survive?”
“Course I will, Mitchell. I’m number one for a reason.”
Mav rolls his eyes but he laughs, pushing away from the wall and bumping shoulders with his wingman. “So… ready for round three?”
Ice groans, shoving Mav towards their quarters and shaking his head in disbelief. Does the idiot never learn? “How about you wait until you can sit again before pissing him off?”
“Come on, Ice.” Mav grins. “Don’t think, just do.”