The Next Step

***

“My place,” Ice said. “Tonight.”

Maverick frowned and opened his mouth to say something – he wasn’t entirely sure what, exactly – but he nodded instead. Ice’s gaze lingered on him a moment then he stalked off down the corridor.

“Hey!” Maverick called after him. He stopped and turned, standing there side-on to him with his head turned to look back. “Aren’t you avoiding me?”

“I was.” He smirked. “And now I’m not.”

---

The day dragged on now that he had all day to think about it. He was wandering around the base, running the simulator, eating lunch, talking to Viper, and all the time thinking about what was going to happen later on. He could see the front door of Ice’s house when he closed his eyes, the brass seven bright in the moonlight. He could see Ice as he opened up to let him in. He could see his bed. He could feel his lips. It was torture.

According to Viper, who had the final say as program CO, Tex and Blue were pretty much neck and neck for the trophy. There wasn’t long left – just a few days – so they’d been devising a few little games to play to really push them. Suddenly Maverick was glad because well, he needed *something* else to concentrate on. They guys all filed out to their planes. There spent the afternoon in the air. The manoeuvrability that the F-5 had over the F-14 made it all much more fun that he really should be having the day after the funeral, even if Tex and Blue were riding him pretty hard.

Then it was over. Ice must’ve lost concentration, if just for a millisecond, because Text took him, Game Over. It was getting routine for Tex and Blue and occasionally BJ and Trapper to take out Jester, but Ice? Guy must be having a spectacularly off day. He didn’t *look* any different as they hopped out of their F-5’s and wandered inside the base – same damn cool look on his face, same icy blue eyes. He wanted to ask what was going on but hell, they weren’t friends and really, any less than stellar comment on his flying and Maverick had a feeling Ice probably wouldn’t open the door that night. He started to convince himself that the guys had just got incredibly, unbelievably lucky instead.

He did open the door. In just a pair of black sweats that made his skin look white like paper in the moonlight and hung down low on his hips, showing off a trail of light hair that led down beneath his waistband. No drink this time though he felt like he needed it. Ice just let him in and they went straight to bed. Maverick hadn’t realised until right then just how much he’d hoped to be back there, even if he wasn’t sure he should be there at all.

Ice led him up the stairs and sat him down on the edge of the bed; somehow like magic they’d lost their clothes on the way, scattered down the hallway and staircase so they were both stark naked. Ice’s cock was at a level just below Maverick’s chin as he stood there and for a second he thought he was going to ask him to suck him off, but then Ice was on his knees on the floor, pushing Maverick’s thighs apart. And suddenly, *suddenly*, before he could get any sort of handle on the situation, Ice was going down on him.

His mouth was hot and wet and hell, he hadn’t been blown for a long time, probably not since that dumbass dare back out somewhere in the Indian Ocean where there was a distinct lack of female company. Charlie had been depressingly vanilla when it came to sex, which meant roughly translated that her mouth had stayed firmly above his shoulders at all times. But Ice? Oh God, that was good.

Somehow he kept his eyes from rolling and he looked down; one glance at Ice’s perfect lips on his cock and he just couldn’t look anymore. He squeezed his eyes shut and leaned back, wingwing up the sheets in his hands as he just let himself feel. Ice sucked slowly, played with his balls, stroked his hands over his thighs, raked his nails over his stomach. He was so good… Maverick started to wonder where he’d learnt it all and the stab of jealousy hit him completely out of left field. Really he was surprised he had enough coherency left to think about it when he was so damn close, so soon.

He came and Ice just kept on sucking ‘til there was nothing left but dry spasms. He slipped Maverick’s cock from his mouth, wiped his lips on the back of his hand then popped in a breath mint from the top of the nightstand. Well wasn’t that just like the smug son of a bitch. Especially when he looked up with a smirk on his face.

He didn’t have time to dwell on it. Ice was pushing him back and he was letting him; he rolled him over and scrambled about in the bedside drawer. Maverick was still tingling, almost shuddering when Ice pressed to fingers inside him. He was too far gone to realise how loudly he was moaning or how wantonly he was pressing back against him and somehow he almost came again as Ice replaced his fingers with his hard cock. Maverick’s mind was swirling, his skin was flushes and damp with sweat. As Ice came he bit his shoulder. Maverick was too far gone to care.

They lay there side by side after, breathing hard. Ice pulled a sheet up over them and Maverick stared at the ceiling, hyper-aware of the line where Ice’s shoulder and arm were touching his. He didn’t move. In less than fifteen minutes he was dead to the world.

***

Eventually the light streaming through the open curtains woke him and he lay there for a moment, rubbing his eyes. It was different this time – he knew where he righright off the bat, for one, and for another… well, Ice wasn’t in the bed. Maverick wasn’t sure what he would’ve done if he had been, like before, but he really wanted to think he wouldn’t have bolted for the door. He had a sneaking suspicion he would have.

He wasn’t in the bathroom, either. But there was this sound downstairs, and a smell. Bacon. The fucker was cooking.

Maverick followed the trail of his discarded clothing down the stairs, dressing as he went along. He almost slipped out the door without saying a word but by the time he’d thought about it he’d already mysteriously made it to the open kitchen doorway. Ice was at the counter by the stove, serving out something that he grudgingly had to admit smelled delicious. There were two plates.

Then Ice looked up at him.

“I think I oughtta get going,” Maverick said quickly, not quite inside the room, leaning on the doorpost with his leather jacket in his hands. Ice didn’t really stop what he was doing; he picked up the two plates and walked barefoot across the kitchen’s linoleum floor to the table where he set the plates down by two glasses and a carton of juice, then took a seat.

“Maverick, it’s 6am,” he said, picking up a slice of toast and taking a bite. “We’re not due on base ‘til nine.” He gestured at the plate sitting opposite him. “Relax, have some breakfast. Have some toast at least.”

His argument was oddly persuasive; Maverick stepped into the room and walked up to the table, slung his jacket over the back of the chair and took a seat.

He’d thought it was going to be awkward but Ice produced his work files and they started reviewing pilot performance over bacon and eggs. Ice poured them both some juice and they talked. They kept going as Ice made them coffee; it seemed they both agreed that Tex Kellerman flew more like Maverick than the textbook but both still thought he should and would win. Maverick had an idea that their reasons for it were probably vastly dissimilar, but that really didn’t matter. He’d never thought they’d agree on anything.

He glanced at his watch and when he read 7:45 he frowned and made a fast exit; he needed to shower and change into his uniform and it never looked good when he turned up late for work. He started his bike, surprised that he found he didn’t want to leave.

---

It was Wednesday. Two days of training left after that, then graduation on Saturday, and still they didn’t have a clear winner. Viper was frustrated – you could tell by the extra snap in his step – and Jester was just plain pissed. Probably because he’d backed a losing horse, but still.

Charlie was taking a class that morning, out in hangar two by the simulator, and the maintenance guys kept the noise down just for her as they serviced the A4’s at the rear of the hangar. Maverick and Ice sat in, pulling up a couple of spare chairs at the back. Charlie pointedly ignored them.

He still thought she was pretty and he still liked the sound of her voice but he still thought her lectures were essentially only so much bullshit. Obviously so did Ice because the two of them spent most of the hour and a half that she spent going over tactical manoeuvres shuffling their chairs together and muttering about negative G dives and the manoeuvrability that the MiG had over the F-14. Charlie hadn’t seen combat – Maverick and Ice both had, at the same damn time – but obviously she was in no mood to have her class interrupted by corrections. After half an hour of whispering in back she started glaring, and she didn’t stop.

Jester came in for a review of the previous two days’ flight session and while Ice wandered off to God knows where, Maverick decided he’d better stay. After all, he’d missed Monday’s session and he should really get up to speed. It turned out Viper *had* gone out instead of him, which made him feel guilty and sort of gratified together, but really the session had been more about tactics than an actual simulated mission. BJ and Blue had scored well, whereas Tex and his rather unorthodox approach hadn’t really made the grade. Maverick wondered how much of that was down to Jester and his continually annoying by-the-book attitude.

They broke for lunch. Maverick ate with Hawk and Tex, Blue, Coop and a few of the other students and got caught up on the hockey scores, then they all headed out to the hangar to their planes for the afternoon session.

They put Maverick and Ice up in an F-14. Ice was the world’s worst backseat driver for the first twenty minutes but he settled down after that and they actually played well together. The idea was ostensibly that since no one ever seemed to get a target lock on anyone but Jester, Maverick and Ice would join the team and show them how it was done. At least that’s what Viper *said*, but Maverick suspected he just wanted the guys to have a little fun and mostly at their expense. After all, he’d promised Ice would get a go in the pilot’s seat the next morning.

It was a weird afternoon. Maverick and Text almost had Jester and Viper but then somehow they lost it and the next thing they knew Viper was laughing at them over the beeping that signalled a missile lock. So, they lost. But they’d always lost against Viper in the smaller, lighter A4, and somehow Maverick had impressed the hell out of the students.

Then they left. Well, the students left – Ice and Maverick joined Viper, Jester and Charlie in Viper’s office for a bit of discussion that amounted to a grand total of nothing, and *then* they left. It had been a good day. Maverick had a feeling he was going to sleep well.

***

Ice was a madman. There was no other explanation for it, except maybe that Maverick wasn’t exactly keen on flying when he wasn’t in control. And he wasn’t in control – Ice was.

But slowly, he started to calm down. He knew Ice knew what he was doing in an F-14 and even if he hadn’t been behind the wheel of one, metaphorically speaking, for about five weeks, it was obvious he was the best damn pilot out there.

The session ended just before lunch and he hopped out of the place with a new sort of respect for Ice’s skill; he wondered if the same had been true the day before. Then, after he’d changed out of his flight suit, he joined the guys for lunch.

“So you’re coming tonight?” Hawk was asking Cooper and a couple of the others, as Maverick slid into an empty seat with his tray. Cooper nodded; the general consensus seemed to be in the affirmative, whatever it was they were planning.

“Mav?”

“What?” he asked, between – and sort of during – a couple of bites of meatloaf.

“Tonight. You gonna be there?”

“Where?”

“Iceman’s place. He asked us all over, beer and pizza on him before we’re all packed off to our previous mundane existence. You in?”

Maverick shrugged. He hadn’t heard a word about it and it wasn’t as if Ice hadn’t had a chance to ask him. And he knew Ice was sitting down at the other end of the table, talking hockey with Jester and a couple of the guys, but he’d be damned before he’d look at him.

“I don’t think I’m invited,” he said at last.

“Bullshit, man – open invitation to the Top Gun students and faculty, from the lips of the Iceman himself, I swear to God.” Hawk had his best serious expression plastered to his face and his hand was on his heart. Maverick had seen that look too many times back in flight school to trust it completely, but he smiled anyway.

“Sure, I’ll see you there,” he said.

---

Beer and pizza indeed.

Maverick rang the doorbell just after nine and a mildly inebriated Coop Cooper greeted him with a ‘Maverick, where’ve you been, man? The party’s started without you!’ He had a slice of pepperoni pizza in one hand and a bottle of Bud in the other. Maverick followed him inside.

Coop headed into the lounge; Maverick put his head round the door and waved as a few calls and a few cans went up around the room. About half the class was watching reruns of Ultimate Fighting Championship in there, sprawled on Ice’s furniture or the floor. Coop was bitching because BJ had stolen the recliner. There was no sign of Ice. Maverick left the room.

Trapper Pierson came out of the bathroom, came down the stairs and headed into the kitchen, so Maverick followed him. There was Ice, and the other guys, gathered around the kitchen table where there weren’t really enough chairs so they’d borrowed next door’s patio furniture. They were playing poker.

“Hey Mav, glad you made it!” Hawk called; the guys mostly turned, nodded, waved, gave some sort of greeting, and Ice just looked at him for a second before going back to his cards. There was no money on the table. Maverick joined Vegas Wilder leaning against the counter who passed him a beer; soon he found out that Hawk and Coop had conveniently ‘forgotten’ their wallets so the whole damn table of Navy officers was playing for M&M’s.

It was a weird sort of night. He played (and lost) a few hands of poker-for-M&M’s, ate some pizza, drank some beer and caught half of X-Men 2 that the guys in the lounge had mysteriously produced and were geekishly dissecting. It was like a low budget frat party without the girls, but everyone seemed to be having a pretty good time. And he guessed fear of the Iceman and non-graduation by extension kept anyone from treading nacho chips into the carpets.

It was about 1am when people started to leave, which is actually pretty darn late when the guys had to be up, dressed and probably running laps, knowing Jester, by 7am. That was the advantage of being an instructor – starting at nine and being on the right side of Jester. Tex, Hawk and BJ were the last to trail out, about 1:45. Maverick was the only one left.

Ice turned off the TV in the lounge, stuffed the pizza boxes and the leftover M&M’s into the trash, then leaned against the kitchen counter with his arms across his chest and looked at him. Maverick realised he’d never really been there at night with the lights on. It was kinda strange that the place wasn’t all shadows.

“I’m going to bed,” Ice said, still looking right at him from the counter while he sat there at the table shuffling the cards almost like a dealer in Vegas but a little more edgy. Then he strode over to the door. Maverick frowned and guessed he’d be going now, but Ice turned in the doorway and looked back over his shoulder. “Are you coming?”

So he went.

---

He took him on his back.

It was odd doing it that way and Maverick wasn’t sure how he felt about it at first, a pillow under his hips and his knees pushed up, but then Ice was over him and in him, bracing his arms at either side of him and staring right down with those fucking intense blue eyes. His doubts melted away along with all the tension in his spine and what little was left of his mind.

It was slower and it lasted longer and by the end they were both shivering and covered with sweat. Maverick’s mind wouldn’t stop reeling; he could still see Ice’s face as he’d thrust inside him, could see his face as he’d come. He could still feel Ice’s hand on his cock and Ice’s cock inside him. He shivered again.

He was staring at the ceiling as Ice pulled the sheet up over them, just like usual. If, of course, there was such a thing as ‘usual’ between them. Maverick wasn’t sure. But then he felt Ice’s hand against his cheek, turning his head. Ice leant closer and pressed his lips quickly to Maverick’s, then he settled back down on his own side of the bed.

“Get some sleep,” Ice said.

Maverick touched his fingers to his lips. He’d try; he’d try.

***