The Next Step

***

He spent most of Saturday between lying in bed trying not to think about Ice’s lips (how had he not noticed them before? Was he fucking blind?) and taking a little emergency trip to the grocery store. He realised just how bad things had gotten when he went to the refrigerator and came up with half a pint of green milk and a slice of pizza that was about one step away from qualifying as a sentient life form. In fact, he searched through all his cupboards and came to the conclusion that unless he could live on a shaker of oregano and a bulb of garlic, he was going to have to bite the bullet and hit the store.

Two hours later – he was a slow shopper and carrying groceries on a motorcycle from halfway across town wasn’t an easy feat even for a fighter pilot – he was unpacking his frozen pizzas and ready meals for one when Charlie called. It was a short conversation as it always was with her where the phone was concerned; Maverick had a theory that she liked to look her prey in the eye. She asked him to lunch the next day and he couldn’t believe he’d forgotten to phone her and invite himself over. So. Fucked. Up. He said yes, and settled back down in bed with a couple of beers and a bowl of nacho chips to watch some serious TV.

He woke up the next morning in a damp patch he suspected was beer with the buttons of the TV remote imprinted on his forehead. It had obviously been a good night.

Charlie had made lunch. She wasn’t a great cook but she did at least try hard, even if her best meal to date was still a green salad. Maverick just sat there at the table in her kitchen in a house that looked exactly like his except his had still-packed boxes from the move and hers didn’t smell of boot polish and nacho cheese. He’d spent long enough at her place now that he knew where the cutlery went and where she kept her spare towels. He had a seat at the table and a side of the bed and if he didn’t watch what he was doing then pretty soon she was going to ask him to move in. Up until a couple of nights before, the thought had terrified him significantly less that it did now.

She was smiling at him, in that cute-lascivious way that only she could really pull off. If things went much further then they’d be in bed together and he knew that had been the plan but oh God he just couldn’t do it. Not when he knew she’d want him to hold her after and all he’d want to do was bolt for the door.

“Is something wrong?” she asked, frowning, a concerned look on her face as she leant forward over the table. She really did love him. Christ, this was so messed up. Really.

“I think I… I’ve got to go,” he said, not even looking at her. It wasn’t that he couldn’t look her in the eye because he knew he could have if he’d wanted to, but that was the point right there: he didn’t want to.

“What? Did you leave the gas on? Forget to feed the cat? Was the chicken really that bad?”

“No I, just. Look, I can’t do this. I think I love you but I can’t be with you. It’s too…” He frowned and glanced, gestured around the room. “It’s complicated.”

She was quiet. She was so quiet that he just had to look up, and he half expected her to be crying or to have her head in her hands. Neither was true and he realised he really should’ve known better. Much better. She was just looking at him, her expression somewhere between quizzical and concerned.

“Is this about Goose?” she asked. “If it is I understand. It’s too early. You saw what Goose’s death did to Carole and if you had an accident…”

He frowned. Oh, she was way off base. He just didn’t think he could give her the commitment she wanted. Or something like that, anyway.

“Yeah, maybe that’s it,” he said. “I just--"

“Is there someone else?”

For a second he just couldn’t say anything; he stared at her, almost agape, and couldn’t say a word. She was starting to get a little teary-eyed but he suspected it had more to do with anger than any real sadness.

“No,” he said, and he did mean it. Really he did.

Charlie shook her head, tears spilling down over her cheeks now. “I don’t believe you, Maverick,” she said. And to be honest he didn’t blame her. “Just get out. I don’t want to see you here again.” He opened his mouth but her glare made him close it again. “Just go.”

So he left. He picked up his leather jacket and he left through the back door while she sat there at the table. She did have her head in her hands then. He wanted to tell her he’d never meant to hurt her. He wanted to tell her that there was no one else. He knew he should’ve fought harder, made her listen to him… But as his bike roared into life, he had to admit that it sounded like a lie to him, too.

***

They spent Monday morning in the air, which suited Maverick just fine.

Not a one of the eight crews had managed to get either Ice or himself in a firm missile lock yet and gratifying as that was, he was starting to wonder if his teaching was at fault. Either that or the two of them were even better at the stick of an F-5 than they were of an F-14, and since both alternatives seemed entirely plausible to him, he had no idea which one was true.

Still, Viper hadn’t complained, so he was working on the assumption that he was just too damn good. And, grudgingly, that Ice was too.

After a lunch spent discussing what he was going to do with his leave – he thought maybe he’d take a trip - he spent the afternoon running the simulator. First off Tex and Blue had decided that since they weren’t allowed to fly against each other for real, they’d play a little game of time trial with the simulator. Maverick was in a seemingly inexplicable mood and felt strangely inclined to aid and abet.

After that, trying to keep the ruckus of the other flight crews who were watching down to a dull roar, they had drills with Tom ‘I eat, drink and breathe the textbook’ Kazansky and one-on-one simulator time with Maverick. The afternoon passed quickly. The guys asked him out for a drink at the end of the day but he declined; they took off and he hit the gym. He had a little extra energy that he needed to work – read: punch, kick and possibly row – off.

The sun was setting as he hit the faculty showers; the setting sun shone through the high, frosted windows and turned the room a blinding burnt gold. He knew Ice was still there, or he had been as he’d left the gym, because he’d seen his newly-purchased vintage Aston Martin as he’d peered out of the window. All he had to do was wait.

That first night he waited almost a full hour, getting crinkly under the hot shower. He thought Ice must’ve been detained – he’d probably be in Viper’s office going over lesson plans or he’d had a phone call to make or he’d left his car keys on the desk over in hangar two. But he didn’t come, and his car wasn’t in the lot when Maverick finally left.

The second night he waited again. Not as long – just over half an hour this time – but he waited. Ice didn’t show. He felt like a fool when he walked out into the parking lot and saw the car was gone already. After what had happened Friday he’d felt sure Ice would meet him back in the showers, but he’d left. The bastard had left. He went home and told himself he wasn’t jerking off to the memory of Ice’s mouth.

Wednesday was tough. Blue of all people almost had him out somewhere over the Pacific and he came back to Miramar slightly rattled. He’d thought if anyone was going to get him it’d be that big lug of a flight-genius Tex, but Blue? Maybe the Top Gun trophy race wasn’t quite the foregone conclusion he’d been convincing himself it was, even after Blue had won Monday’s simulator time trial. He’d told himself that was a simulator, just a machine, and it really didn’t mean anything. Maybe it did. It was a horrible doubt to have.

And then he hit the showers. It had been a long day and his back was aching and he told himself he was absolutely not going to hang about in there on the off chance that Ice might wander in. He *did* hang about, like he should’ve known he would. And Ice didn’t wander in. He should’ve known he wouldn’t.

He started his bike with a kick slightly harder than was absolutely necessary, slipped on his ved ved aviator glasses and let the wind dry his hair as he made his way home at a totally excessive speed. He nuked an individual mini microwave pizza and ate it, and half a bag of ready-to-serve popcorn, in front of some Star Trek reruns. Later it felt kind of odd jerking off in his armchair with Captain Kirk still on TV.

He watched some old Simpsons and chuckled along without much conviction. He tried to read – not exactly his favourite occupation but Charlie had recommended this book by some guy called Michael Moore… But he’d broken up with Charlie so he figured he didn’t have to read. If he hadn’t decided that he had to break up with her *right that instant* then he would’ve had someone to massage his sore shoulders and his bad back. Way to go, Mav. Score one for the dumbass vegging out in front of Will and Grace.

It was barely 9:30 when he finally turned off the TV and mooched into the bedroom. He’d left the curtains closed all day so he just had to strip off his clothes and fall into bed. He was so completely unenthused that he couldn’t even jerk off, so he just lay there staring at the ceiling and hoping to God that he’d fall asleep soon.

And just as he was dozing off, the phone rang.

***

Thursday morning came and he showed up on the base looking like he’d been up all night. He’d cut himself shaving and half way through pre-flight he realised he still had a piece of tissue paper stuck to his jaw. Jr war was frowning at him. Ice was giving him weird looks, when he wasn’t talking to Charlie.

It was the second hard day in a row, back out over the desert this time. Usually he’d say that he didn’t think up there, but today? He was thinking, and he wasn’t even thinking straight. He knew he should’ve called in sick, but could he have been alone all day rattling around in that house, watching Mexican soaps and pretending that everything was fine? Work had seemed like the best option at the time. He was starting to have a change of heart.

And to top it all off, he heard the beeping of a missile lock just before they were due to head in. Blue – Blue of all people – had got him. Killed him dead in a symbolic manner. Fuck, what a perfect end to the day.

He took a shower and only thought about Ice for a second as he left it. He congratulated himself with a wry smile as he dried himself; he got halfway through dressing before he slumped down on the bench in front of the lockers.

Then the door opened. Someone walked in with a rush of air that was chilling against his bare chest. There were footsteps, loud, coming his way. He pulled on his t-shirt and ran his hand through his hair. He glanced up. Oh, perfect - it was Ice.

“What’s wrong with you today?” he asked. “They should *never* have got you.”

Maverick didn’t look up this time. He started to tie his bootlaces. “Carole called last night,” he said. “Carole Goose’s wife. Goose’s widow. One of the kids… it was a hit and run.” He paused, pulling his laces tight. “He didn’t make it.”

“Christ.” He heard the sound the lockers opposite him made as Ice leant back against them. “Christ.” He sighed. Maverick sighed. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, so am I.”

Then they both went quiet, the only sounds their breath and the creak of the water pipes.

They just stayed there like that, in silence for maybe a couple of minutes, and then Ice started to walk away. As he got to the door, turned the handle, he stopped. His boots squeaked on the tiles as he turned.

“My place,” he said, and it wasn’t a question. “Tonight. Midnight.”

Maverick didn’t ask why or even how he knew he knew where his place was. He just nodded, and Ice left.

---

He was already half hard by the time he got to Ice’s place and only barely keeping himself from humping his bike seat out of sheer desperation. He lowered the kickstand, adjusted his crotch and walked up to the door wondering if this made him a bad person or a pervert. He didn’t decide. He rang the doorbell instead and the door swung open maybe three seconds later.

“You’re late,” Ice said, standing aside to let him in.

“I know.” He didn’t even bother with an excuse, despite the fact that the one he had was pretty damn legitimate. All the houses for three blocks looked exactly the same in the dark and the numbers were hard to see through a visor, from the back of a motorcycle.

The house was almost as dark inside as out; there was a light on in the lounge, maybe a table lamp, but that was it. Still, the moon was almost full outside and it looked like all the curtains were open. Ice looked almost… icy, in the moonlight. He closed the door behind them and turned to Maverick, offering him a glass of what looked rather like scotch.

“Drink this,” he said, so Maverick took it and he drank it. It *was* scotch, and it actually made him feel a little better, not that he’d admit it.

“Trying to get me drunk?” he asked, only half joking.

“No.”

And then Ice kissed him, hard, his hand suddenly clutching at the back of his neck as he pushed him back against the wall. Maverick dropped the glass and it shattered loudly on the floor.

“I’m--" Maverick started, pulling away. But Ice’s grasp was firm.

“It’s only a glass,” he said, and pulled him back in.

They kissed. Maverick had his eyes closed and one hand on the back of Ice’s neck; he almost didn’t realise that they were moving, that Ice had tucked his thumbs into the belt loops of his jeans and was pulling him away from the door and the broken glass, up the stairs. He pushed open the bedroom door and pulled him inside.

Ice pulled back and in the moonlight Maverick realised that all he was wearing was a pair of sweatpants and a tank top. Ice pulled off the top and tossed it to the floor; Maverick shrugged off his jacket and dropped it on top of Ice’s shirt. The pile of clothes began to grow and grow until they were both standing there undeniably naked and Maverick was blushing like a schoolgirl. Not that you’d be able to see it in the poor light, but his cheeks were red. He was surprised there was any spare blood left to rush to them, considering other parts.

He stared at Ice. He was just as hard as he was but he didn’t seem anywhere near as awkward. He should’ve been awkward, damnit, then Maverick would’ve felt like less of an ass standing there naked in the guy’s bedroom. It was an awkward situation for Christ’s sake, the two of them standing there like that, knowing they were going to screw, knowing they’d be using the bed that Ice slept in every night and not a shower back on base or a bathroom stall at the O Club. Such a mess. *Such* a mess. And this really wasn’t the best way to deal with grief, either, no matter what his body was telling him.

But then Ice touched him. He slid his hand up over Maverick’s shoulder and stepped in as he cupped the back of his neck. Their cocks brushed together and Maverick flinched; Ice leaned in, put his free hand on his shoulder and just… kissed his neck, right over his jugular.

Maverick shivered. Ice pulled back and gestured to the bed.

Maverick took the hint; he climbed on, facing the headboard, and knelt there sitting back on his heels feeling mildly disconcerted. “Lube?” he asked, glancing back very briefly over his shoulder.

“Nightstand,” Ice replied.

He reached over and pulled open the drawer; on top of an address book and a half-used blister pack of Advil was some sort of generic tube of lube, so he took it out and screwed off the cap.

He was getting to be an expert at preparing himself, and knowing Ice was there, leaning against the wall and watching, just waiting for him to finish, made it *so* fucking hot. He squeezed the lube onto his hand as he knelt there, on his knees and one hand; he squeezed his balls and rubbed his cock and then reached back, breathing hard already. He pressed two fingers in. He thought he heard Ice gasp, but he couldn’t be sure.

It only took maybe thirty seconds. He didn’t need long and besides, he wanted it a little rough. Maybe a lot rough. Maybe he wanted it to hurt.

“Ready,” he said, willing his voice not to catch.

He felt the mattress dip as Ice crawled up behind him. He held the lube back over his shoulder and Ice took it, their hands touching for a second. He listened as Ice slicked himself, felt Ice’s hand against his hip and then… fuck.

He pushed straight in with one quick stroke and he hit Maverick’s prostate at the same Goddamn time. He almost came right then and there, gasping at the pain and the fucking pleasure.

Ice stayed still behind him, in him, his breathing heavy but ultimately controlled. The bastard was even ice cold during sex. Maverick refused to be; he pushed back, pushing Ice deeper inside. He got the hint.

It was hot. It hurt, but it was fucking hot. Ice’s hands dug into his hips almost hard enough to bruise, his cock filled him and hit that spot inside him over and over… Then he reached down andk Mak Maverick’s cock in his lube-slick hand and he jerked him hard. It was too much. He came over Ice’s hands in hot, sticky bursts and just collapsed forward on the bed, his cry strangled in his throat and then muffled by the pillows.

Ice followed him down. Just a couple more thrusts and he came too, with a long, low moan. For a long moment he just lay there on top of him and inside him before he rolled off to the side and fumbled down the side of the bed for a second. Then he looked at him. Maverick half expected him to throw him out right then and there but he smirked instead – or maybe he smiled, he couldn’t tell in that light – and tossed a bed sheet over both of them, up to the waist.

“Go to sleep,” he said. “We’ve got an early start in the morning.”

***

Maverick went into his CO’s office the next morning and asked for a day’s leave for his godson’s funeral. Then he went down to the hangar, got strapped into his plane and flew his ass off against the best of the best that the United States Navy had to offer.

He’d woken up sticky that morning, and as he’d opened his eyes he hadn’t had a clue where in the blue hell he was. Then he realised. He was in Ice’s house. He was in Ice’s bed. The body sleeping there next to him was Ice.

He didn’t really know what to do and Ice was still asleep, face down on the mattress and completely, distractingly naked, so that did nothing to limit his options. He could wake him up – a prospect which, quite frankly, scared him shitless. He could go to the john and let the flush wake him, see where they stood when he got back in… Or he d led leave. If he was honest, he liked the sound of option number three.

Their clothes were all jumbled up on the floor by the bed but he extracted his stuff with a minimum of fuss and dressed in the hallway at the top of the stairs so he wouldn’t wake him. He put his boots on at the door and then hightailed it home to shower and change before work. He felt like a fucking coward. Ice would probably think he was when he woke up and found he wasn’t there. He hadn’t even left a note. He might have, but he hadn’t got a clue what to say; ‘thanks for the fuck, Ice, meloveyoulongtime’ just didn’t seem appropriate somehow. And they were by the beach in California, not in the Vietnam War.

Ice was avoiding him. Real, honest-to-God avoiding him. Even when things had been screwed up before he hadn’t avoided him, but now he was definitely avoiding him. When they got out of the F-5’s he just disappeared and only turned up sometime after lunch for their joint class. Then he disappeared again and when Maverick got to the parking lot, and he practically *ran*, Ice was already gone. Then guy had just vanished. Yup, he’d screwed up big time. He hadn’t even gotten the cold shoulder – he’d been completely blocked out. It was really weird behaviour for a guy like Ice, all things considered.

When Viper showed up out of the blue as he was about to start his bike and asked what was with Ice, that was when things seemed really weird. After he’d fought down the urge to ask what made him think he had any idea what went on in Ice’s head – they weren’t even friend for crying out loud! – he just told him he didn’t know. He was a lousy liar, but Viper didn’t press, thank God.

He went home, spent some quality time with his dress uniform and the ironing board, then watched some bike racing. After twenty laps he was thinking of calling Ice, despite the pesky little fact he didn’t know his number. Forty-five and he was ready to go over. By the time they crossed the finish line he’d chickened out and who the hell did Ice think he was ignoring him anyway? Stupid immature jerk. Damn him, it wasn’t like they were friends. He’d done the right thing, leaving.

Except by the time he’d reached the kitchen and was reaching for his fifth or sixth beer, he’d started to wonder what might’ve happened if he’d stayed.

He had the whole weekend to brood on it.

***

God, he hated funerals. He remembered his father’s back when he’d been just a kid and remembered Goose’s much more recently. And it wasn’t often that the best uniform came out of mothballs, let alone twice in as many months. Technically he could’ve gone in civilian clothes but it felt right somehow when he turned up at the cemetery in San Diego in his best. A couple of other officers were there, blue uniforms, white gloves, and it seemed sort of solemn enough, sombre enough for the eight-year-old’s funeral.

The priest was excellent as far as priests go. The casket was just what poor dead Sean would’ve wanted, had he had the choice – black and thoroughly depressing though lacking in Pokemon, which was exactly as it should be. Carole and her girls cried *so* much. Goose’s parents and in-laws were almost worryingly stoic. God, Maverick hated funerals.

They all went back to Carole’s place after though really all he wanted to do was get back into his rental car and drive back down to Miramar at a speed that should land him in the county lock-up if the traffic cops were out. There was just something about Goose and Carole’s two girls swarming around his legs in their frilly dresses he knew had been bought for their father’s funeral calling him Unkie Pete and probably not really understanding that their big brother was never coming home from school.

He slipped away and hid out in the kitchen with a tray of finger food and a glass of too-dry white wine. He could hear the people milling around outside and he wished he hadn’t come. He checked his watch. He could’ve been in his F-5 at 10,000 feet with an F-14 screaming down behind him. He could’ve been flying formation with Ice and Jester and maybe even Viper – had the CO had to go up because he’d bugged out? He sighed and took another sup of the wine, grimacing briefly.

“Sucks, doesn’t it.” He looked up; Carole was standing in the kitchen doorway, red-eyed, in a long black dress. She was holding a half-empty glass of wine in her hand. “The wine. It sucks.”

He nodded. “Yeah, it sucks.” He put his glass down on the table and got to the door just as Carole burst into tears. He wrapped her up in his arms and held her tightly, feeling his throat go tight. She rested her head on his shoulder. God, he loved her. Like a sister, or maybe a sister-in-law.

“I’m sorry,” she said after a few minutes, wiping her eyes as she pulled back. “Your shoulder’s all wet.” She flicked at it with a handkerchief then leant back against the table. Maverick propped himself up against the counter in front of the sink.

“You know, I called Charlie,” Carole said. Maverick frowned. Now *there* was an interesting non sequitur – wet shoulders to his ex-girlfriend, in one easy step.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, Maverick.” Carole’s red eyes were scrutinising him even as she dabbed at them with her hankie. “She told me you left her. In fact, she told me you’d been seeing someone else and she hated the sight of you.”

Maverick rubbed at his eyes with the heels of his hands. “That’s not actually true,” he said, but she didn’t seem to be listening.

“I told her you’d never cheat on her. I mean, you’re crazy about her, why would you cheat on her? But she said you’d practically admitted it.” She cocked her head to one side. “Tell me you didn’t screw up another relationship, Mav. Tell me you didn’t go behind her back.”

“I didn’t.” But he didn’t sound at all convincing.

Carole popped a vol-au-vent into her mouth and carried on. “I know I can be a bit of a mother hen,ericerick, but it’s only because I love you like I do. You’re like my kid brother, y’know? I want to see you happy. And Charlie did make you happy, right?”

He frowned. “Yeah, she did. Carole, it’s… it’s just that… It’s complicated, okay?”

“Don’t get me wrong, if she wasn’t making you happy and you found someone who does… I’m not saying I agree with it but if…”

“I didn’t.”

“No, no, I’m happy for you.”

“Carole, you’re not listening to me.”

“I’m glad you’re here.”

And she practically flung herself at him, bursting into another gale of tears. So he just hugged her and tried to forget what she’d said, waiting for the crying to be over. None of this should’ve happened to her. Of all the people he knew, she deserved it the least. She felt so fragile. She’d always been the strong one.

“Thanks for being here,” she said, drying her eyes as she stepped away. He just gave her a small lopsided smile. “I’d better get back. I’ll call you. Maybe we could go out sometime, the zoo maybe, take the kids.” She paused, squeezing her eyes shut. He knew she was thinking about Sean, about Goose. “They’d like that.”

“Sure,” he said. “Me too.”

“Be happy, Mav.” And she left the room.

He didn’t stay long after that. He shook a few hands and said goodbye to the girls on the way to the way to the door and then he broke down crying in the car. Sometimes life could be so fucked up.

He dried his eyes and headed home.

***