FIC: Serenade (Top Gun, Iceman/Maverick, PG-13)

[carlyinrome]

TITLE: Serenade
RATING: R
FANDOMS: Top Gun
PAIRINGS: Pete "Maverick" Mitchell/Tom "Iceman" Kazansky
SUMMARY: Ice was in a mood, and Maverick decided it was his job to cheer him up. Takes place between The Eye of the Storm and Hurricane Blues if you're really paying attention.

Ice was in a mood, which he sharply denied any time Maverick asked. Since Ice denied having an issue at all, he certainly wasn’t going to admit the cause of his funk, but Maverick was pretty sure it wasn’t his fault this time. They’d just gotten a new class of cocky idiots at TOPGUN, and the before they learn to toe the line portion of each new session tended to annoy Ice the most. And he was doing a lot of work with his therapist to get him off the crutches, which meant a lot of frustration and a lot of pain.

Maverick had tried all his usual tricks to cheer Ice up, but if he was honest with himself, his entire feel better toolkit was sex-related.

Except… Well, there was one other thing he could try.

Ice had gotten home from rehab and gone straight for the shower. Maverick snuck into the bathroom while he was in there, leaning against the sink and waiting for Ice to turn the water off. Maverick didn’t wait until he’d left the shower; the second the water went off, he put his plan into action.

“I don’t like youuuuuu,” he crooned, beginning, as he began anything, with the accelerator on the floor, “but I love youuuuuuuu. Seems that I’m alwaaaaaaays thinking of you.”

Ice pulled back the shower curtain just enough to glare at him.

“Maverick,” he said, “what the fuck?”

Maverick ignored him. “Oh, oh, ohhhhh, you treat me badly, but I love you maaaaaaaadly, you really got a hooooooold on me.”

Ice was looking at him like he had a head injury. Maverick swanned over to him, snatching his towel off the hook before Ice could grab it, and then leaning in and hitting Ice with his best bedroom eyes as he continued to serenade him.

“You really got a hoooooooold on me,” he belted out, with his characteristic bravado and shaky hold on pitch, “you really got a hold on meeeeeeeeee, you really got a hold, baby.”

Ice was smiling, though, so the mission was a success. “I give you an A for enthusiasm, Mitchell. This is actually a perfect microcosm of who you are as a person: full points for confidence, regardless of the quality of the performance.”

Maverick raised his brow. “Oh? You think you can do better?”

“Give me my towel, please.”

Maverick held it away from him. “Sing something first. Come on, Iceman. Show me how ice cold, no mistakes handles a little soul.”

Ice narrowed his eyes. Maverick fully expected him to wrestle him for the towel without opening his mouth, but Ice surprised him. Dripping and gloriously naked, Ice stood up a little straighter, opening up his diaphragm, and he sang.

“I’ve got sunshiiiiiine on a cloudy day. When it’s cold outside, I’ve got the month of May.”

Ice’s voice was rich, strong, and on key. Maverick gaped at him. He’d always liked Ice’s voice, and there were times when a breathy purr of it had been enough to send Maverick’s dick straight into orbit, but who knew it could do that?

“I guess you’d say: what can make me feel this waaaaaaaaaay?” Ice paused. “Maverick,” he said, speaking now, and held out his hand, “towel.”

Maverick was shocked enough to just hand it over. Ice rubbed it through his hair and then wrapped it around his waist and went into the bedroom to get dressed, Maverick trailing behind him.

“Ice,” he said, “how did you—? I didn’t know you could do that.”

Ice regarded him coolly. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Mitchell.”

“Yeah, but—”

“If you’re ever in Japan,” Ice said lightly, “you can pick up one of my albums.”

Maverick blinked. “Really?”

Ice’s eyes rolled heavenward. “No, Maverick, that was a joke.”

Maverick frowned, but it was only for a moment. He crowded Ice at the dresser, his palms tracing the shape of Ice’s waist and hips. He was still pleasantly slick from the shower.

“It’s pretty hot,” Maverick admitted.

Ice turned around to look at him. “Oh yeah?”

Maverick grinned, and backed him up until Ice was pinned between Maverick and the dresser.

“Yeah,” he said. “You need any groupies?”

Before Ice could respond, Maverick had tugged open his towel, baring him. The towel fell, and Maverick pressed Ice up against the dresser, his mouth on Ice’s neck, his hand on his dick. Ice moaned, thrust against him. Maverick waited until Ice was close to orgasm, panting and desperate, and then he leaned in close, whispered, “How’s this performance, you sanctimonious fuck?”

Ice didn’t miss a beat. “B-plus,” he said, straightfaced, looking Maverick in the eye.

And, despite himself, Maverick laughed, and he finished Ice off.