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Iceman sleeps with men.
Maverick knows this now, and they haven’t really spoken about it. The thing is, he is unbelievably curious. Pete still longs to know what a man’s lips feel like against his own, the press of different equipment, lines instead of curves.
However, he also finds himself thinking of Iceman sometimes. Not sexually, of course. Well… not always.
So, maybe Maverick has had a few fantasies about his wingman, but that is neither here nor there. Mostly, he sits with an open beer on the opposite end of the couch from Ice, watching whatever sport is on at the time, and holds questions on the tip of his tongue.
Have you…? How do you…? How does it feel…?
But the questions stay stuck on his pallet, unspoken and unanswered. When is the appropriate time to bring up your ongoing sexuality exploration to the man who is rapidly becoming your close friend and is also the only gay person you know?
Briefly, he debates asking Carole, but decides against bothering her. He knows she wouldn’t mind — she’d probably be too excited to give him advice, how to talk to boys and so on. But he doesn’t necessarily want to hear about sex with men from his dead best friend’s wife. Maverick heard enough about their sex life back in the day, thank you very much.
So the question returns to Iceman.
Ice, who has tentatively invited Maverick out for drinks with Slider. Slider, who is making a fool of himself at the bar with a woman who somehow seems charmed by his drunken flirtation, winks at the little table he’s abandoned Iceman and Maverick at.
The energy had been fun for a few moments, but it was clear that Slider was looking for an eventful night that did not include two pilots. Maverick hasn’t felt like letting loose since the whole wingman white knight scenario. He picks at the basket of fries Ice ordered ‘for the table,’ knowing Slider would devour half and stumble off. Salt and grease smudge against a napkin when he decides he’s had enough picking on Kerner and sipping cold drinks for the night. It was nice, better quit while he’s ahead.
Maverick throws back the last of his second beer and sighs, “I think I’m gonna go home.”
“You okay?” Ice raises an eyebrow at him, tilting his head slightly. The look is weirdly innocent.
“Yeah,” Maverick groans out, linking his fingers together and stretching his arms out in front of him, “I’m just getting a little tired.”
It’s not that Ice has been babysitting him, exactly. He’s just been…hovering. In all honesty, Maverick appreciates that Ice seems to care about him, but he’s truly fine. Maybe his experience at the bar set him back a few steps, but he’s still Maverick. And Maverick doesn’t need a babysitter. He doesn’t mind having a wingman, though.
“Mind if I join you?” Ice asks, running a finger along the edge of his empty glass, “It’s okay if not, but it’d be nice to, uh, not be alone for a little longer, especially if Sli ends up bringing that girl home. I’d rather not hear it.”
Maverick grimaces, “Yikes.”
Ice rests his chin on his palm, “You don’t want to know the things I know.”
With a small chuckle, Maverick agrees, “Come over. I’ll save you this time, and we’ll call it even.”
Actually, the few times they’ve shared drinks on the couch, Maverick has really enjoyed himself. And if he can provide a few beers and a place of refuge, he’ll feel a little less awkward for owing his dignity and potentially his life to Iceman on the ground, instead of the sky.
Ice taps his fingers against the table twice before standing and saying, rather unimpressed, “Really, Mav?”
“Shut up, let me have this.”
Maverick stands and flees to the exit before his wingman can argue further. That’s one line crossed - topic breached, mentioned, and moved past without trouble. He tries not to feel too giddy.
Swinging a leg over his bike, he sees Iceman approaching. They had parked next to each other, so Maverick can now pretend that Ice is going to his car and not following Maverick. Before Ice can say anything, Maverick loudly starts his engine.
“Try to keep up!” Maverick revs once, then twice, and peels out of the lot. He wants to ignore the amused smile painting Ice’s face so nicely in the new moonlight.
Next thing he knows, he’s crisply turned through town and made it home. Fresh wind in his hair and the adrenaline of speed rushing through his fingertips is more refreshing than any sleep. He parks off to the side to leave enough room for Ice’s car, and leaves the front door open, just slightly.
Leather jacket hung on the rack by the door. Two cheap beers pulled from the fridge. He’s a single man on a budget, so what if he doesn’t buy the nice stuff? He’s the one drinking it. Ice will have to suck it up.
Maverick sets them on the coffee table as the front door reopens. As if he’s been visiting for years, Iceman habitually takes his own jacket off, hangs it, and toes off his shoes.
“Do you think I’m a cheap date or something?” Iceman huffs as he settles into his side of the couch. Maverick’s head spins a little at the idea of Ice having a side on his couch.
He grins and thunks his bottle open against the edge of the coffee table, “Hey, we can’t all have rich and expensive imported Russian taste.”
Ice holds up a firm middle finger and opens his own beer. He takes a swig and promptly frowns.
Maverick reaches across the small sofa to smack his shoulder, “At least pretend to like it, jackass.”
“Sorry,” Ice chuckles out, “At least it’s not the shitty generic cans that just say beer in bold letters.”
Kicking his feet up onto the table, Maverick groans, “Ugh, that stuff tastes like piss. At least this has a little more flavor. Must be the glass bottles.”
“Classy.”
“Exactly,” Maverick holds his bottle out towards Ice, who clinks his own against it without a second thought.
Silence falls over them. For someone frequently labeled a ‘motormouth’, not a single conversation topic that doesn’t involve dicks manifests in Maverick’s mind. The silence, however, isn’t uncomfortable. Iceman rolls his shoulders and peacefully leans his head against the back of the couch. Maverick takes a sip. Now that he points it out, this beer is kinda shit.
“So,” Maverick draws out, tired of the silence already.
Ice doesn’t lift his head, but turns it to face Maverick, the long column of his throat on display, “So?”
Maverick tries for bravery, “How do you, uhm.”
He falls short. The back of his neck begins to prickle in embarrassment, and his fingers pick at the edge of the label on his beer, pilling from the light condensation. He stares down at the bottle in his lap and scolds himself for ruining a nice, quiet moment.
Somewhere off to his right, Ice softly asks, “Are we finally going to talk about men?”
“Can we?” Just like that, Maverick straightens up and swings his feet down, looking into the raised eyebrows of his wingman, “What do you mean ‘finally’?”
Iceman smiles, the corners of his mouth tugging up into the slight flush in his cheeks, “Maverick, you’re obviously curious. I told you I was here if you needed anything – I wasn’t going to rush you.”
His tone is sweet and understanding, which is both heartwarmingly kind and absolutely infuriating. Had Maverick really been so stressed over nothing? He could have opened his big mouth and asked with no hesitation?
“Can you go back to being an asshole?”
“Start asking questions, and I might,” Ice laughs and takes another minuscule sip of his beer.
Maverick snorts a small laugh and wonders, vaguely, where to start. He has a lot of questions, but not so many words for them. He’s always learned best through experience, not so much lectures.
He decides that a decent place to start is by feeling out Ice’s knowledge and the potential overlap with his own. “You ever been with a woman?”
Finally, Ice lifts his head fully and sets his beer down, pushing it halfway down the table. It leaves a little wet trail as it goes.
“Junior year, I had a girlfriend for five months. I fingered her once and knew I couldn’t make it work.”
“Yikes,” Maverick mumbles into the lip of his bottle, “Poor girl.”
“Oh, no,” Iceman’s grin turns shark-like, “She had a good time.”
Maverick barks a singular ha! and lightly backhands Ice’s shoulder, “Well, I sure as hell ain’t pitying you.”
Iceman shifts his whole body to face Maverick on the couch. His arm hooks over the backrest, one leg neatly bent in front of him. He looks so devilishly casual, yet put together. Light polo shirt accentuating sunkissed skin and light eyes, deft fingers toying with the inseam of his pants where they wrinkle in the bend of his knee. Never one to back down from confrontation, Maverick brings one of his own legs up onto the couch and turns his attention wholly to Ice.
“That all?” Ice asks with one eyebrow raised.
Maverick takes an angry sip of beer. He may be confrontational, but the topic might be a little sensitive. “I don’t know what to ask, alright?”
“How about this,” Ice calmly proposes, and if it weren’t so comforting, Maverick would be pissed at his composure, “You tell me what you’ve done and what questions it gave you.”
“I’ve only ever…thought about it,” Maverick mumbles, heat rising to his cheeks. Maybe this was a bad idea, too.
Iceman makes a face that says that’s only fair, a little pout and a head tilt, “Pretty good place to start. What do you think about?”
“I want to know how it feels. I want to feel it.”
The lack of hesitation surprises him. It’s true, though. Maverick longs for the touches, the feelings, the pleasure. Iceman doesn’t seem all that surprised.
“And by ‘it’ you mean…?”
Maverick scoffs, “Being with a man, Kazansky. That’s what we’re talking about, isn’t it?”
Iceman coolly tilts his head down and peers up through his lashes. It’s too sexy a look for the conversation they’re having, but it’s luckily fleeting. Ice looks up again, halfway between annoyed and amused, and Maverick feels lucky he doesn’t have the need to adjust his pants.
“I meant more specific action,” Ice says, “Blowjobs, fucking, et. cetera.”
“Only you would use ‘blowjobs’ and ‘et. cetera’ in the same sentence,” Maverick quips to avoid the arousal that threatens to stir in his stomach.
Iceman doesn’t take the bait, only tilts his head questioningly, “Well?”
Maverick stalls a moment, setting his own beer onto the coffee table. It was grossly room temperature from being nestled between his palms for too long.
“I’ve thought about both of those things, yes.”
“If you want answers, you’re really not doing yourself any favors right now,” Ice chuckles, warm and low.
“Oh, up yours!” Maverick groans, unable to fight the smile, “I’m not good with words, okay? I’m a hands-on learner.”
Ice’s smile drops, and a darker look veils his eyes. His voice is steady, smooth, and low. Suggestive. “Oh, yeah?”
It stops Maverick in his tracks. His heart catches in his chest, beating wildly. For a moment, he doesn’t move. He feels like he’s approaching a wild animal or climbing to thrilling speeds. Maybe Ice is joking around. Maybe this is all a bit to lighten the mood. Then, he’s smacking Ice’s shoulder again and laughing, “Jesus, Ice, warn a guy before you turn on a voice like that!”
Ice grabs his wrist, both firm and gentle, “Why? Did it get you hot, Maverick?”
Maybe Ice wasn’t joking. He snaps the last syllable of Maverick’s callsign in that uniquely Iceman way. The tone, though, is a new addition. Desiring instead of teasing or goading.
Maverick looks directly into his eyes, unable to ignore the heat rushing south and fervor filling his body, “What if it did?”
Ice leans forward, ever so slowly. Maverick mirrors the motion, skin tingling where Ice’s hand meets his wrist.
“I’m not an experiment,” Ice whispers, low and intense, as if the words were forced out of him.
Maverick grins and whispers in return, “Good thing I know what I want.”
He uses Ice’s grip on him to haul the other man forward and pull his face in for a kiss. They meet messily, at first. A clash of teeth and skin that’s almost on the wrong side of pain, but they quickly get their act together. Ice brings one hand to curl around Maverick’s right bicep, and the other presses into Maverick’s hip. Both of Maverick’s hands have found themselves twisted into Ice’s bleached tips.
Settling into the press of hot lips, Maverick notices the stubble first. Ice is always clean-shaven, but he must have missed the smallest spot on his chin that keeps rubbing up against Maverick’s skin. It’s itchy and irritating, and Maverick hates it, but he also kind of can’t get enough. He groans and tries to pull Ice closer, even though the other man has his tongue halfway into Maverick’s mouth.
He surprises himself once again by letting Ice control the kiss, guiding him along. Maverick is an enthusiastic man no matter what, but women typically let him take charge. He loves a little playful battle, sometimes, but something about Iceman slowly laying them horizontally and blanketing Maverick’s body with his own is intoxicating. Trusting his wingman to lead him safely, to take control, might be one of the sexiest thoughts he’s had.
Ice’s strong chest presses into Maverick’s own as he wraps one arm under Maverick’s back, where the broad expanse of his lats begins to slope into his trim waist. His other hand stays firmly planted on Maverick’s hip. Maverick runs his fingers down the long muscles of Ice’s shoulders, then back, and finally tugs his polo out from his jeans. He lets his fingers dance across the warm skin he finds just above Ice’s waistband.
Suddenly, there’s no longer a mouth on his. Instead, Ice travels to his neck, nipping around and leaving a trail of wet kisses that leave Maverick feeling squirmy as he desperately clings to Ice’s shirt. He starts to ruck it upwards, exposing more and more lightly freckled skin.
Ice breaks away from his mission of devouring Maverick’s neck to sit up onto his knees and pull his shirt over his head. The polo collar only gets stuck for half a second before revealing Ice’s flushed face, his darkened eyes, his ruffled hair. Maverick runs a hand up Ice’s toned stomach and through the soft chest hair he happily finds. Lord, he could drool at the sight.
Two hands lightly cup Maverick’s face, bringing his gaze up from Ice’s chest.
“You okay?” Ice asks, breathless.
The simple act of asking sends a fire burning down his spine. He wants. He’s getting, and it feels right. It finally feels right.
Maverick props himself up onto his elbows and rasps, “Take me to bed.”
Ice’s expression goes back to his signature cutthroat focus in an instant. He loops his arms tightly around Maverick, one forearm braced against his lower back and the other across the seat of his butt, and lifts. Maverick is a dense man - short, but dense. Ice softly grunts with an effort, but still easily lifts Maverick up and off the couch.
If he were to go completely limp, Maverick is certain Ice would still dutifully carry him to bed, but he refuses to take his hands off of Tom Kazansky now that he’s allowed. He clutches at anything he can reach, mostly the tensed shoulders, bare and freckled. He tries to press a few loose kisses to the little marks, but Ice maneuvers them to the bedroom quickly, slightly jostling Maverick’s attempts.
Maverick is deposited on the bed, falling into his mattress. He gets only a few moments to scooch himself upwards to get a pillow beneath his head before Ice is on him again, draping that lean, muscled body over Maverick. Moonlight outlines Ice, cool blue highlighting the planes of his body, the curves in his face, the softness of his ungelled hair. Maverick grabs the back of his neck and pulls him into a messy kiss.
Ice trails kisses from the corner of his mouth, to his cheekbone, before breathing hotly against the shell of Maverick’s ear.
“What do you want?”
Ice’s hands slowly drag up and down Maverick’s clothed body, bunching the fabric of his shirt and leaving his jeans tighter, suffocatingly so.
“You want my mouth?” Ice whispers, gritty and sultry, “Want me to open you up? You want me to take you?”
The words are directly in his ear. Maverick is fully surrounded with Ice, and he wants the other man in every way. He wants Ice right here for the rest of time. He scrapes his dull nails against the span of Ice’s back and tips his head so his nose brushes Ice’s ear, “Fuck me.”
Ice groans and shifts his hips. Ice’s arousal presses into the juncture of Maverick’s hip, and he’s suddenly very aware that Ice is enjoying this just as much as he is. The solid weight, the trusting push and pull, it all feels right.
A biting kiss is left below his ear, and Ice moves away to rummage in the drawer of the bedside table, “Clothes, off.”
Maverick scrambles to yank his shirt over his head and fumbles with getting his belt buckle undone. Luckily, he manages to kick his jeans off his ankles right as Ice finds what he was looking for. In his periphery, he sees his tube of KY and a condom land by his right hip before Ice takes over his senses again. Maverick’s eyes flutter shut as Ice places open-mouthed kisses along his collarbone.
Then, the bastard bites him.
Ice sinks his teeth into Maverick’s left pec and soothes the area with his tongue. And Maverick likes it. He lets out a little gasp at the sudden sting, not harsh enough to be painful, but just enough pressure to feel. Ice moves down to the nipple, presses his tongue flat against it in broad licks. Maverick arches his back into the feeling and brings a hand to the back of Ice’s neck, playing with the short hairs there. Ice gives his other nipple the same treatment before moving lower, and lower, and lower.
The waistband of Maverick’s briefs stops Ice’s pursuit, and Maverick says a quick thanks to whichever deity made sure he’s wearing a pair without any holes. He opens his eyes as Ice hooks his index fingers under the fabric and looks up at Maverick through his lashes, tugging lightly at the elastic, “Can I?”
What a sight. Iceman, flushed from his cheeks down to the balls of his shoulders. Shoulders that are bracketed by Maverick’s legs. He feels exposed, despite not yet being naked, with his legs spread and chest heaving, but he also feels more desperate than he’s ever been before.
“Please, Ice. Fuck, please,” Maverick huffs out, shifting his hips to try and relieve some of the pressure.
Ice grins and presses a final kiss to Maverick’s stomach. His abs flex and squirm at the feeling. Then, Ice is dragging the thin fabric down, over hips, thighs, to his feet, where he peels Maverick’s socks off, too. He leans back down to begin mouthing at Maverick’s hip bones, palms coming up underneath Maverick’s thighs. He pushes until Maverick’s legs are thoroughly bent, and Ice can bring his lips to the soft, inner skin of his thighs.
Maverick releases a breath and runs one hand over his forehead, back through his hair. It’s slightly damp, sweaty, warm. He gasps as Ice takes the head of his cock into his mouth, eyes fluttering shut and head falling back onto the pillow. He lets himself groan at the sensation of wet heat teasing his tip. The sound of a bottle cap clicking open floats up to his ears, and there’s suddenly a slick pressure tracing his asshole.
He tenses from head to toe, body locking up. Maverick has experimented before, enough to know that he wants this, but having another person calling the shots down there is new.
“Breathe, baby,” Ice removes his fingers to wrap them around the base of Maverick’s cock. He peppers light kisses across his thighs and stomach, kneading as he grabs hips and ass and calves.
Maverick makes himself take deeper breaths, relaxing his muscles slowly. The fingers return with the ghost of a touch. Ever so gently applying more pressure, inching closer to his opening. Ice licks along Maverick’s shaft, letting the pleasure shroud any discomfort as he pushes one finger past the tight ring of muscle. Maverick groans at the feeling, the sensitive nerves sending sparks up his spine.
Ice works the finger around, tugging and exploring, before adding a second one. It stings, burns for a few moments. Ice rotates between giving attention to Maverick’s flushed cock and biting at the insides of his thighs as he lets Maverick get used to the stretch. He’d never realized how much of an oral fixation Ice has.
Maverick twists a hand into the sheets, the other still mindlessly toying with Ice’s hair. He feels rather useless, slowly writhing about with few places to put his hands.
“Ice, c’mon,” he pants out, “C’mon.”
Pulling off of Maverick’s cockhead, Ice grins up at him with his bottom lip still resting against Maverick’s dick, “One more. Want you to be nice and ready.”
His response is cut off by a third finger breaching his entrance, slick and solid and wonderful. A small whine punches out of Maverick as he begins to rock himself back against the fingers. His eyes close as his face scrunches up in pleasure, mouth hanging open. He feels Ice shifting upwards, not breaking his steady rhythm of fingering in and out.
Ice drags his other palm up Maverick’s chest. He feels the callouses there from years of lifting weights and handling the yoke in the cockpit. The rough skin scratches pleasantly as it runs over Maverick’s smooth chest and up to cup his jaw.
A short breath against his chin. Ice kisses him soundly, firmly. It would be out of place if it weren’t so grounding.
“How do you want it?” Ice mumbles between kisses.
Maverick responds, shocked to hear his own wrecked and pleading voice, “Don’t you wanna pick?”
“I already get to fuck you, I’m not going to be picky,” Ice smiles into the next few kisses. He removes his fingers and rolls out his wrist from the odd angle. Maverick winces and sighs at the empty feeling. Ice continues, “Tell me, do you want it like this? Face to face, bent in half?”
Ice’s hands grasp under Maverick’s knees and press up, stretching his lower back and leaving his hole exposed.
“Or, do you want it on your front, from behind? Want me to see your pretty back arch for me?”
Maverick’s shoulders roll back instinctively at the thought. Fuck, he can picture himself so clearly bent over for Ice, the blonde man’s large hands yanking at his waist.
“Maybe you want to ride me? Fuck yourself on my cock, show me how badly you want it? Let your thighs ache as you set the pace, sitting on me all pretty, all full.”
Maverick pulls him in for a biting kiss, letting his teeth scrape against Ice’s lips and hands clamber for purchase on his shoulders. Ice groans roughly into the kiss, and the sound only spurs Maverick on. He drops a hand to pull Ice’s hips closer, only to feel rough denim. Shit, has Ice had his pants on this whole time?
“Take your fucking pants off,” Maverick spits as he pushes Ice off. Ice, in turn, scrambles to stand and quickly shucks his pants, boxer briefs, and socks off before Maverick can take the time to admire his various states of undress. However, the end result makes any disappointment vanish in an instant. Ice is tall and lean, and he’s seen most of it before, but Ice’s proud cock stands among a thatch of light brown hair, flushed red and dripping as Ice tears open a condom. He’s a little bigger than Maverick, impressive and beautiful.
Seemingly of its own volition, Maverick’s body rolls over onto his front. He presses his knees apart and into the sheets and lets his chest sink into the mattress. His hips sway where they’re raised up. Maverick folds his arms under the pillow beneath his cheek, head still turned to gaze at the long lines of Ice’s body illuminated by the moon.
Ice finally looks back up from his task and softly moans, “Fuck, Pete.”
He’s on Maverick in an instant, settling in the space Maverick left behind him. Ice lets his cock drag against the cleft of Maverick’s ass a few times, running his hands across every inch of exposed skin he can reach. He leans forward, pressing his front fully against Maverick’s back, body hot and skin sticky with sweat. Maverick groans at the feeling, the pulsing weight against his hole, the strong arms traveling to wrap around his ribcage, the light kisses being pressed carefully onto the back of his neck.
Ice leans into his ear, speaking soft and low, “Tell me to stop at any point and I will.”
Maverick brings one hand from under the pillow to reach back and cup the back of Ice’s head. He twists the best he can to give Ice a firm kiss, craning his neck back to meet their lips. He whispers, “I trust you.”
Straightening up, Ice smooths a hand down to the crease of Maverick’s hip as the other goes to line himself up. Extra lube is applied to both Ice and Maverick, an amount that Maverick thinks is excessive, but he’s not the expert here. Maverick lets himself melt back into the pillows, breathing evenly as the tip of Ice’s dick begins to press in, in, in. He groans as the length keeps going, slow and steady, pausing every now and then to let him adjust to the size.
Before he knows it, Ice’s pelvis meets the curve of his ass. He feels full and warm, a deep satisfaction trickling down his spine like a hot shower. Ice moves in closer, as much as he can, being fully seated in Maverick, and begins a subtle grind of his hips. Rolling and squeezing, lightly tugging Maverick’s hips in a smooth rhythm.
“Move,” Maverick mumbles out, muffled from where his face is half-smushed by the pillow.
Ice huffs amusedly and pulls out until only the tip stays, then languidly moves back in. He repeats the motion a few times until the slide is easier. Maverick’s knees slip an inch wider, and he tries to arch his lower back to compensate. It feels good, being spread out like this for Ice, who’s taking such care in taking him apart. Ice presses a line of kisses along his spine and peers into the bit of Maverick’s face visible to him, just to check for any signs of pain. He readjusts, and his cock brushes a burning spot inside Maverick.
Maverick cries out, unabashedly wanton, and pushes back to meet that delicious pressure again. Ice keeps him still by the bruising grip on his hips, but doesn’t withhold the pleasure. Instead, Ice picks his pace up, methodically rocking his hips in half-thrusts to continually hit Maverick’s prostate.
“Doing so good, Mav,” Ice grunts out, “Look so good like this, just for me.”
The praise makes him moan, loudly, and he’d be embarrassed if it didn’t prompt Ice to speed up. Maverick stretches his arms out in front of him, letting his body open from the stretch of his back to where his hole squeezes around Ice’s cock.
Ice starts to pull Maverick’s hips back desperately, the sound of skin against skin tangling with the lilting moans to create a symphony. There’s nothing but Tom, all around. It’s Ice’s voice rambling little praises and groans, Ice’s hands pulling him closer and reassuringly dancing across his skin, Ice’s lips tasting the expanse of his back, Ice’s cock, filling him and striking every chord in his body in just the right way. They move in tandem, synchronized as they are in all other aspects of life.
Maverick pushes himself onto his hands and twists his torso to get an arm around Ice’s shoulders, pulling him in close. Their mouths meet naturally as Ice keeps a relentless pace. Maverick braces his other arm against the headboard and groans into Ice’s mouth, “More.”
“Fuck, you’re so good, Maverick,” Ice growls out, strong arms holding the trembling body against him. He tucks his face into the crook of Maverick’s neck, dragging his teeth along the skin and whining, “So tight.”
A long string of yes, fuck, more, harder falls from Maverick’s lips, the tightening simmer in his lower stomach urging him to ram himself back against Ice. His cock hangs heavy between his legs, little drips of precum rolling down the length.
One of Ice’s arms crosses over his chest, hand grasping at Maverick’s left pec with hunger. He skates his other hand down across Maverick’s tense stomach to the coarse hair above his cock. Finally, he wraps his fist firmly around the shaft as Maverick cries out in relief, tossing his head back against Ice.
Ice mumbles into the skin of Maverick’s shoulder, “Come on, baby, come for me. Be good and come for me.”
Maverick’s hips twitch between fucking himself as deeply as he can manage on Ice’s thick cock, ceaseless pressure against his nerves, and fucking himself into Ice’s tight fist, precome easing the glide. It’s overwhelming, the pleasure he’s swimming in, but he wants more. He wants to be overcome with Ice all around, closer and deeper and–
“Fuck!” Ice whisper-shouts and digs his teeth into the firm muscle of Maverick’s shoulder, snapping his hips hard enough to rock the bed. Waves of pleasure crash into Maverick as he comes, dick pulsing and chest heaving. He desperately pushes against the pressure on his prostate to ride out the orgasm, writhing and shaking as his spine battles between arching back into the fullness and curling inwards in pleasure.
Slowly, the height of orgasm falls, leaving Maverick satisfied and boneless. He feels Ice pull out and grimaces at the wet and sticky feeling of emptiness, and lowers himself on shaking arms to the bed. He’s sure to avoid the patch of rapidly cooling come on his comforter. As Ice pads towards the open bathroom door, Maverick kicks the soiled comforter off the foot of the bed, mentally noting to throw it in the wash tomorrow.
Ice returns with a wet cloth and silently wipes Maverick down, gentle and thorough. Maverick gives him a kind smile and tugs him closer by the waist. Ice leans down for a kiss, but shrugs Maverick’s luring hands off, “I have to put the rag away, Mav. Where's your laundry?”
Maverick groans and tries to tug him closer again, “Toss it with the comforter, and I’ll deal with it tomorrow.”
“That’s disgusting.”
“Yeah, well, you were just inside of me, so I think I can deal with throwing a jizz rag in the wash tomorrow,” Maverick huffs, stretching his back to the left, then right.
Ice snorts a laugh with a cringe, but he tosses the rag wordlessly over the edge of the bed and climbs next to Maverick’s side. He lies on his back and herds Maverick in, letting the shorter man sprawl halfway on top of him, an arm and a leg slung over his body.
“Good first?”
Maverick lazily kisses the skin closest to his mouth - collarbone, “Hm, might have to go for seconds to really form my analysis.”
Fingertips trace along his shoulder as Ice smiles, “I’m happy to help.”
“You know,” Maverick tightens his hold on Ice, feeling pliant muscles and wispy hairs, “I am serious about this. About us.”
Sex with Ice is great, he now knows, but he also just likes the guy. Maverick likes being around him, bantering and flying, and the few times they’ve ventured into more heartfelt topics. Ice understands him, his fast pace and big heart, and he thinks he’s starting to understand Ice, too. Tom Kazansky is caring. He’s cool and he’s hot and he does everything the best he can. Maverick might be falling for him. Just a little.
“I’m in if you are,” Ice breathes out and turns to bury his nose in Maverick’s hair, lips against his forehead, “but remember how risky this is.”
Maverick runs a hand along Ice’s chest and leaves it over his heart, “Has risk ever stopped me from getting what I want?”
He feels Ice smile before his head is being tilted up for a light kiss, innocent and soft.
“Can I take you to dinner sometime, Pete?”
Maverick smiles against Ice’s mouth, “Only if I can take you out the next time, Tom.”
Ice’s breath is not great when he huffs a laugh, but Maverick can’t seem to care.
“Deal.”