FIC: Mutual Orbit (Top Gun, Ice/Maverick, R)

[carlyinrome]

TITLE: Mutual Orbit
RATING: R
FANDOMS: Top Gun, MCU
PAIRINGS: Pete "Maverick" Mitchell/Tom "Iceman" Kazansky
SUMMARY: Going Home.

They've already been talking a while when Ice says it.

"So, I've got some shore leave coming up."

Maverick listens to him breathe. His tone is cool as ever, except for a lilt at the end of the sentence, like maybe it's a question. Maverick is sitting on the cool tile floor of his kitchen in Miramar, the phone cord twisted around his fingers, his neck stiff from holding the phone between his ear and his shoulder. It's afternoon where Ice is, and coming up on morning where Maverick is, and they're almost on the opposite ends of the earth, but in that moment, Maverick has a clear, vivid image of Ice on the phone on his boat in the Gulf, standing in his fatigues with his spine straight, one hand holding the phone to his ear and the other clenched, his whole body clenched, waiting for an answer.

"You got plans?" Maverick asks. He twists the phone cord around his finger enough that it hurts.

"No."

Maverick takes a breath. Releases it. Shakes the damn cord off his finger, the pain receding, the blood coming back.

"Would you like to?" he asks.

Ice is quiet for a moment. "Is that an invitation?" he asks finally.

Maverick tries to think of something clever to say. Can't. Goes for honest instead. "I want you here."

There's a soft noise, Ice exhaling, maybe.

"Okay," he says.

***

There's no reason for Maverick to meet Ice at the airport. He has to leave work, he doesn't have a car, and Ice hates the bike and he can't carry any luggage on it, anyway, so they'll have to take a cab no matter what Maverick does.

He wants to, is the reason. He's waited almost nine months to see Ice this time, and he can't stand another second of it.

Maverick gets to the airport too early, stands waiting and watching people get off their planes forever. He's getting antsy, and he hates himself for it. He watches couples reunite, hugging and kissing, and knows with an angry certainty that he and Ice can never have that. It would be better to get his heart out of this. Safer.

Maverick did not get where he is today by playing it safe.

Finally, he finds Ice in the crowd. He is wearing his fatigues and carrying a small duffel. His expression is neutral, tired even, until he sees Maverick, and then he smiles, teeth and everything, open and unguarded, and Maverick loses his breath for a second.

They weave through the crush of people until they come together.

"Hey, Pete," Ice says softly. "Good to see you."

"Yeah," Maverick says. "You too."

They are careful not to stand too close, but Ice squeezes his eyes closed as Maverick's fingers brush his neck as he takes his duffel, and it's not enough, but it's not nothing.

***

Things move fast when they get to the house. The door is barely closed behind them and Ice is pressed up against it, Maverick's mouth crushed against his, his hands in his uniform. Ice ruts up on Maverick's leg, pulls Maverick against him, his hands in his hair, on his waist. They fuck up against the door, quick and dirty. It's over too soon, but before Maverick can say anything, Ice is walking down the hall to the bedroom, shedding clothes along the way.

Usually Ice is on top, but something has shifted, and by the time Maverick gets to the bedroom, Ice is naked on the bed, lying on his belly, a clear invitation. Maverick strips, joins him on the bed, leans over him. Presses kisses to the back of his neck, the freckles on his shoulders. He lubes up his fingers and starts working Ice open. He exhales harshly, whines a little, squirms on Maverick's hand. For a moment, Maverick gentles, thinking maybe he's hurting him, but it's not that. Ice wants it too much. He's feeling desperate and needy, and he doesn't know how to deal with it.

Maverick knows the feeling.

That's why he cuts off the foreplay, slips on a condom, and pushes his dick into Ice probably before he should. It's too early, and it hurts, but Ice doesn't say anything, just buries his face in the pillows as Maverick starts moving inside him, long, forceful strokes. He's so tight and warm and it feels like going home in a way actually going home never did. It feels like going home was always supposed to, the way it does in songs and movies. And Ice is almost silent during sex, and if Maverick thinks too much about why that is it hurts like a knife in the ribs, but Maverick can see him writhing beneath him, the big muscles in his back moving as his breathing goes shallow and he tries to deal with everything he's feeling, and that's hotter than any admiral's daughter screaming his name. Ice is biting into his own forearm to deal with the pain and the pleasure, everything Maverick is making him feel, and that it's Ice doing it, Ice who is so big and strong and unshakable--Ice, who never flinches, never wavers, completely undone by Maverick, is too much. It's the greatest high in the world, it's Mach 2 with nothing but open sky ahead.

Maverick comes, pushing in deep, and the unbidden, reflexive thought crystallizes in his mind: I'm never gonna let you go.

And it doesn't even scare him, because he recognizes it as true. Whatever they have is complicated and sometimes infuriating, but it's lasting. This is a lifelong thing, and maybe it always has been, from the first time Maverick turned around and found those pale eyes watching him, the first day at TOPGUN. That was a long time ago, and they're not the same, but they've kept pace with each other, stayed locked in a mutual orbit, like binary stars. Even when they're halfway across the world from each other, sometimes Maverick can lay in bed and feel Ice's pulse beating in time with his.

Maverick draws out. He lays his body out against the length of Ice's, rests his forehead against Ice's neck. Ice is still breathing heavy, and Maverick can feel his heart pounding. He runs his fingers through Ice's hair, and waits for them both to come down.