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Maverick is slogging through routine paperwork when he gets the call from the hospital, the voice on the other end of the line serious enough that he puts down the paper airplane he’s folding and stills in his chair.
Through the rushing in his head, Maverick hears the voice calling his name, “Mr. Mitchell? Are you there?”
“Uh, yeah. Yes. Sorry,” he says, trying to calm his racing heart through sheer will. “But can you say that again?”
“Thomas Kazanky was brought in by ambulance. He listed you as his emergency contact. We expect he’ll be released shortly and he’ll need someone to drive him home.”
Maverick bows his head and presses a thumb and forefinger to the corners of his eyes to stave off the moisture suddenly gathering. “So…he’s okay then?”
“Sprained wrist, some cracked ribs, and a mild concussion, but it sounds like he got lucky. Can we expect you, Mr. Mitchell?”
“Commander,” Maverick responds absently. “I’ll be there.”
***
Maverick leaves his bike on base and takes a cab to the hospital. It’s a practical decision—he suspects Ice isn’t riding home with him on the back of the Kawasaki—but he is especially glad for the choice when he settles in the back of the car and shuts the door with shaking hands.
Ice is okay. He repeats the phrase again and again in his head as they drive, a mantra to try to calm himself.
Rushing into the hospital, Maverick follows the directions the nurse had given him over the phone and heads straight to Ice’s room on the third floor. He opens the door slowly and is met with a sight that makes his gut clench—Ice, asleep in the hospital bed, arm wrapped, and bruises on his face that look like they’re just starting to make themselves known. From the doorway, Maverick focuses on the steady rise and fall of Ice’s breath, reminding himself again that Ice is okay, Ice is here, alive.
Not wanting to wake his sleeping friend, Maverick sits in a chair at Ice’s bedside and settles in to wait until Ice wakes.
He must doze off at some point because he’s startled awake by Ice’s voice. “Maverick. Mav,” Ice slurs. “You came.” He’s holding himself stiffly but looks genuinely pleased to see Maverick. He also sounds high as a kite.
“Of course I did,” Maverick reassures. “Just because my wingman can’t ride his bike straight doesn’t mean I’ll leave him hanging,” Maverick jokes, the tension he’s been carrying easing with each passing second.
“C’mere,” Ice says, lifting his bandaged arm and studying it before beckoning Maverick with a finger. Maverick scoots his chair closer, scraping loudly against the hospital floor, and raises his eyebrows at Ice.
“Closer,” Ice whispers conspiratorially, his eyes full of a mischief that is a far cry from his usual stoic demeanor. “It’s a secret.”
Laughing, Maverick leans over the bed, weight resting on his palms, and tilts his head so Ice can speak into his ear.
“I love you.” Ice speaks low, just for Maverick, and in any other situation, those words would be the answer to a question Maverick would never dare ask, but he considers Ice’s state and pushes that possibility aside before anything like hope can bloom. Instead, he flashes his signature grin at Ice.
“They must have given you the good stuff.” Even to Maverick’s own ears, his voice sounds tight, but Ice is in no condition to realize that. Maverick shifts to move away, but Ice uses his uninjured hand to grab Maverick’s wrist and hold him in place.
“No. No. I love you. Your face and your hands and the stupid way you fly and I try so hard not to look at you in the showers but you have a perfect ass and I have to look at it. I have to look at your ass, Mav. Okay?”
Maverick’s heart is thundering in his chest and he can’t look away from Ice, who’s staring up at him earnestly, eyes pleading for Maverick to tell him that, yes, it’s okay for Ice to look at Mav’s ass because, apparently, Ice is in love—
Maverick is jarred from his growing panic by the sound of the door opening and quickly wrests his wrist from Ice’s hand, sitting back in his chair as if Ice hasn’t just tipped his world on its axis.
The doctor entering the room nods at Maverick before directing his attention to Ice. “Mr. Kazansky, you’ve been cleared to leave. I have some prescriptions for painkillers that you can pick up tomorrow, and you’ll need a few days’ rest before resuming work, but it shouldn’t take long for a full recovery.” He turns to Maverick before continuing, “We don’t see any risk sending him home, but if Mr. Kazansky lives alone, it would be ideal if someone stays the night tonight.”
Maverick shakes himself out of his haze to confirm Ice can stay at his place for the night, and the next thing he knows, he’s helping Ice out of the bed and into the wheelchair that signals Ice’s release.
***
Ice dozes on the cab ride home and leans heavily on Maverick as they make their way into Maverick’s house. Thinking ahead to arrangements for the night, Maverick gets Ice settled in his bed—Maverick can take the couch. He thinks he hears Ice murmur, “Thank you, Mav,” before drifting back to sleep, head nestled on Maverick’s pillow.
With Ice asleep and nothing to do until the concussion check in an hour, Maverick’s left alone with his thoughts. He grabs a beer from the fridge and puts on the TV to distract himself from the overwhelming swirl of emotions surrounding Ice’s confession. Everything he’s felt for Ice since they started teaching together—-the desire and the longing he’s fought to ignore—is at the forefront of his mind. Is it possible Ice feels the same way, that he’s been doing the same as Maverick—pretending friendship was enough when it was all he thought he could have?
Warmth settles in Maverick’s belly at the thought, and he feels emboldened. Maybe everything he thought was out of reach is within his grasp.
***
Maverick is pouring himself a second coffee when Ice materializes. He must have rummaged through Maverick’s drawers because he’s wearing a too-short pair of Maverick’s sweats and a t-shirt that clings to his frame. It had been an uneventful night—Maverick waking to check on Ice a few times before deciding the other man would be just fine until morning—and Maverick is glad Ice managed to sleep in. He looks like he’s seen better days, though.
“Feeling it today, huh?” Maverick asks, despite the answer written across Ice’s face and in the way he’s holding himself.
Ice winces as he sits down at the table. “I don’t recommend taking a car to the side of your bike, that’s for sure.”
“I told you that thing was dangerous,” Maverick smirks. It’s a long-standing but good-natured argument, and Ice’s responding eye-roll is evidence he knows exactly what Maverick is playing at.
“Yeah, says the man with a motorcycle and a reckless disregard for speed limits.”
“I don’t know, Ice,” Maverick retorts as he hands Ice a cup of coffee. “I’m not the one who looks like a semi mowed him over.”
“Kick a man while he’s down, why don’t you?”
Maverick laughs and hands Ice the plate of eggs he’d put aside. “Don’t worry. You’ll be back to trailing me in the air in no time, Kazansky.”
“Ugh, don’t remind me,” Ice shoots back with genuine dismay. “No idea how long they’ll ground me. At least until my ribs and wrist heal.”
“That’s okay. I’ll save all of my paperwork for you. Help you keep busy.”
Maverick isn’t surprised when a balled-up napkin comes flying at his face.
Ice eats while Maverick sips his coffee, a companionable silence except for the creeping sense of expectation building under Maverick’s skin. His well-laid plans, formulated in the dark of night, feel wrong in the light of day. “So we love each other, huh?” no longer seems like the right way to broach the topic. Maverick is so lost in his thoughts that he almost misses Ice’s question, spoken softly over his mug.
“I was pretty messed up last night, huh?”
It’s impossible to miss the discomfort on Ice’s face, his pinched expression as he waits for the verdict from Maverick. Maverick decides to buck his nature and tread cautiously, see where Ice leads them.
“Those meds were pretty strong, yeah. Seem better now, though.”
“A lot of the day is fuzzy. I didn’t–” Ice cuts himself off, shakes his head as if trying to let go of whatever he was going to say before gritting out, “I didn’t say anything embarrassing?”
To Maverick, it appears that Ice is using every emotional reserve available to get through this conversation. It’s equally apparent the last thing Ice wants is for Maverick to say that Ice did, in fact, confess his love for Maverick and Maverick’s ass, and is it possible to confirm that he meant it, please and thank you? So Maverick does what feels right at the moment. He grins wide and lies.
“Don’t I wish, Kazansky. Unfortunately, you were your usual boring self.” Maverick’s heart tugs at the relief on Ice’s face, but it solidifies his choice. If Ice doesn’t want Maverick to know—or didn’t mean it in the first place—then the only thing to do is put his burgeoning hope back in the box it came from and return to the easy friendship that was almost enough.
***
Ice is off work for a week, during which time Maverick swings by daily to give Ice a report on the day’s hops, grub food from his fridge (which, Maverick reminds him when Ice grumbles, Maverick stocked in the first place), and generally give Ice shit about being stuck at home and out of the air. It’s good, normal enough, except for the unfortunate reality that sometimes, once a box is open, it doesn’t want to close so easily.
Without trying, Maverick finds himself watching Ice, looking for clues, for some indication that Ice’s confession was born of truth. Does his gaze linger on Maverick? Is Ice’s pat on the back when they say goodbye a little more than friendly? When Maverick visits, does Ice also get a flutter in his belly when they see each other, as if the long day was worth it if it led to this time together?
At home, alone, it’s worse. Maverick was well practiced at thinking about anyone but his wingman when he got a hand on himself, but now it’s only Ice’s chiseled face, his strong hands, his plump mouth, that Maverick sees in his mind’s eye when he strokes his cock at night, coming over his belly with Ice’s name on his lips. The dam has broken, and there’s no repair crew in sight.
Maverick wishes Ice never said anything at all, wishes it had been someone else in that hospital room bearing witness to the truths Ice never meant to tell.
***
The evening of Ice’s return to work, they hit the O Club for celebratory drinks. Maverick had worried that it was too soon, that Ice would wear himself out, but Ice was insistent, claiming he was tired of being stuck at home, and now that he was off the meds, he was ready for a drink. It’s a busy night at the club, officers and civilians alike are crowded at the bar, and Maverick quickly loses sight of Ice in the throng of people.
He downs his beer and orders a second while he scans the room for Ice, finally spotting him in a corner talking to a leggy blonde. The sight is nothing new—Maverick has been watching Ice leave the O Club with a string of gorgeous women for as long as Mav’s known him—but tonight, anger curls through Maverick’s veins, settling like lead in his gut. It feels like watching a lie, worse, like a betrayal, as Ice delivers a megawatt smile and slides closer to his target.
Without thinking it through, almost as if his legs are carrying him toward Ice of their own volition, Maverick makes his way across the bar, not stopping until he’s face to face with Ice and his new friend.
“Right back at it, huh, Ice?” Maverick asks, aware of the derision in his voice.
“What the hell, Maverick?” Ice sounds genuinely confused, and Maverick has a brief moment of good conscience when he realizes he has an out, can make an excuse and leave Ice be; unfortunately, resentment and jealousy win out.
“She’s not even your type, is she?” Maverick asks cruelly. A brief flash of fear on Ice’s face quickly morphs into shock. As Ice makes a quiet apology to the woman by his side, Maverick has to look away from his friend, shame at his behavior suddenly overtaking anything else Maverick has been feeling.
“You know what, never mind. Have whatever kind of fun you want,” he says bitterly before turning around and leaving a stunned Ice in his wake.
***
The next day is painfully tense and Maverick knows he should apologize for his behavior—Ice hasn’t done anything wrong, at least not that Ice is aware—but Maverick can’t bring himself to do it. He was up all night thinking about Ice, wondering if he’d taken the blonde home, if he had his hands and mouth on her body, if she was drawing out sounds from Ice that Maverick was forced to only imagine. So instead of apologizing, Maverick takes the easier route and avoids Ice as much as their job allows, keeping his interactions entirely professional and nothing more.
Maverick can sense Ice’s confusion and frustration, perhaps even budding anger at the cold shoulder and odd behavior, but Maverick has no choice. If he’s alone with Ice right now, he will say something he’ll regret, something that will force Ice’s hand, and Ice has made his desires perfectly clear.
He makes it through the day, distracted enough that the kids get a lock on him during their late afternoon hop, and he’s ready to get home and get drunk by the time he hits the showers. Maverick’s just getting comfortable under the warm spray of the shower when Ice’s voice cuts through the sound of the spray.
“I think you owe me an explanation.”
Maverick looks over his shoulder just long enough to see Ice standing at the entrance to the showers, uniform on, arms crossed stiffly across his chest. Turning back into the spray, Maverick closes his eyes and wishes for the control he’ll need to make it through this conversation. His delay must be perceived as a rebuff because Ice doesn’t wait for Maverick to acknowledge him further.
“Mav, turn around. Look at me. Please.” It’s a plea if Maverick’s ever heard one, and it makes his heart clench painfully. The longing he’s trying to ignore rears its head, twists into something ugly and biting.
“Oh, I’m sorry, is my ass distracting you.” The words leave Maverick’s mouth before he can stop himself, and he flinches at Ice’s responding gasp. Swallowing heavily, Maverick forces himself to turn and look at Ice, who’s frozen in place.
Silence fills the space between them, and Maverick studies Ice—sees the fine tremor in his hand, the look of fear on his face. It’s enough to remind Maverick why he was never going to say anything in the first place.
“Never mind. Forget it,” Maverick says, resigned, willing to give Ice the out.
Ice still looks panicked, though, eyes wide and a deep tension in his jaw. “Whatever I said. I wasn’t in my right mind,” Ice says, a warning in his voice. “It doesn’t mean anything. Even if you report—”
“You fucking think I’m going to report you?” Maverick asks, cutting him off. That’s what this is about? Ice thinks Maverick is the kind of asshole who’d report him for some shit he says while medicated? That Mav would report him under any circumstance?
“That’s how little you think of me?” Maverick asks with a sneer. “Wow, Ice. Don’t worry. You made it quite clear it didn’t mean anything.”
Maverick crosses his arms across his chest, a mirror of Ice’s posture, painfully aware of his nudity. His chest is heaving, and he glares at Ice, challenge in his eyes.
“No, that’s not—-Mav,” Ice says, raising his hands to placate, his face softening. “Look, can we put this behind us? Forget about it and go back to how things were?”
“Trust me, Ice. I’m trying.” Maverick sees the instant his words register and wants to claw them back, return to a moment in time when Ice couldn’t see through to Maverick’s truth.
“I— wait. Did you…did you want it to mean something?”
Maverick bites his lip to keep his traitorous mouth from running off again. “I said forget it,” he says, deflating, unwilling to suffer further humiliation. “I’m sorry I was an asshole to your date. Won’t happen again.”
He expects Ice to accept the apology and leave but instead, Ice steps closer. “What if—what if I did mean it?” Ice asks softly, his face a reflection of the fear and hope that Maverick is feeling. Ice walks toward Maverick until they’re close enough to touch, the spray from the shower darkening Ice’s uniform. Maverick’s not even sure Ice is aware, with how intently he’s looking at Maverick.
“Your uniform,” Maverick says weakly, reaching out to run his fingers down the fabric of Ice’s shirtsleeve, heart pounding in his chest.
“That’s not an answer.” Ice sounds serious, enough so that Maverick meets his eyes and is surprised at the caution he sees there, as if Maverick’s rapidly filling cock isn’t answer enough. “I need–I need to hear you say it, Mav.”
“What if I did this instead?” Maverick asks, wrapping a hand around the back of Ice’s neck and pulling the other man down into a tentative kiss. Ice’s lips are as full and inviting as Maverick imagined, and Maverick feels Ice smile just before he deepens the kiss, licks at the seam of Maverick’s mouth.
At the first touch of Ice’s tongue to his, Maverick groans into Ice’s mouth and pulls Ice toward him until they’re flush, the fabric of Ice’s uniform rough against his bare skin. They kiss until Maverick has to pull back to catch his breath. His cock is hard and insistent between his legs; this needs to slow down if it’s not going any further, and he says as much to Ice, trying not to sound as desperate for relief as he feels.
“Wanted this for too long,” Ice murmurs and presses a hard kiss to Maverick’s mouth before sinking to his knees.
There’s fire in Ice’s eyes when he meets Maverick’s. Ice’s uniform is soaked through, and Maverick knows Ice’s ribs are still wrapped, but Ice looks singularly focused when he takes Maverick’s cock in hand and strokes from root to tip. The shock of pleasure that shoots through Maverick’s spine has him gripping Ice’s shoulder for purchase, which is fortunate because the second Ice wraps his lips around the head of Maverick’s cock, Maverick has to fight to keep his knees from buckling.
“Fuck. Oh, fuck,” Maverick pants, working to keep his eyes open and trained on the sight of Ice’s lips wrapped around him. Ice’s mouth is hot and wet, better than any of Maverick’s fantasies, and he groans as he tries to resist thrusting his hips. With a hand wrapped around the base of Maverick’s cock, Ice swallows down the rest of Maverick’s length, using his tongue to tease out desperate, needy sounds.
Maverick moves a hand to the back of Ice’s head—guiding, not demanding—and Ice responds to Maverick’s touch as intuitively as he responds to Maverick in the air, taking Maverick’s cues and using them to draw Maverick toward his undoing. The water is still beating down on Maverick’s back, lukewarm now, and it drowns out the noises they're making—Ice’s moans as he takes Maverick deep, Maverick’s harsh pants, unbidden, as arousal builds in his gut.
When he sees Ice shift to unbuckle his belt and free his cock, hard and flushed, Maverick thinks he could come on the spot.
“Oh, my god. You’re—fuck, look at you,” he rasps, transfixed by Ice’s hand moving furiously over his own erection, mouth still sinfully working over Maverick’s cock. “Goddamn perfect.”
It’s too much—the scorching heat surrounding him, the sight of Ice’s cock—and Maverick has to close his eyes, give himself over to the pleasure. He scratches his nails down the back of Ice’s scalp and is rewarded with a groan that shoots straight through him. Maverick’s close, his release imminent, and he tries to warn Ice, to pull back, but Ice uses his free hand to grip the back of Maverick’s thigh and hold him in place.
His orgasm crashes over him, through him, and Maverick shakes from the force of it as he comes in Ice’s mouth. His body trembles with aftershocks, and he’s too far gone for more than a distant awareness of Ice stilling, letting out a low moan—a sign of Ice’s own release.
Chest heaving, Maverick opens his eyes and is confronted with a disheveled, sated Ice, still on his knees, panting just as hard as Maverick. Maverick reaches blindly for Ice’s hand, which is still gripping Maverick’s thigh, and tangles their fingers together so he can pull Ice to stand, tug him close. Returning to where this started, Maverick draws Ice down for a kiss, shivering at the taste of his come lingering in Ice’s mouth.
The frantic energy from earlier has dissipated, but Maverick's desire is as fierce as ever, perhaps more so now that he knows reality is even better than his longest-standing fantasy.
They’re wet, Maverick’s naked, and a million things are left unsaid, but the air between Maverick and Ice feels light and easy.
“I had no idea, Mav.” Ice laughs into Maverick’s ear. “I never let myself think this was a possibility.”
Maverick nudges Ice’s shoulder with his own. “Me, either. Turns out it’s a good thing you don’t know how to ride a bike.”
Ice swats Maverick’s side playfully before pulling him into another kiss, deep and full of promise.