Smart Mouth, PG-13 for
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myhappyfaceTop Gun, Iceman/Slider,
Iceman being sassyWhat everyone knows about Ice is that he’s so smart and competent and generally on the ball, no matter what it is. He’s on all the balls. It’s right there in his call name: Iceman, stone cold fucking perfect. And it’s not like that isn’t true. Ice is really good, part natural skill and part the work ethic of, like, a Chinese immigrant sending money back home to the whole village. And he’s super smart, like scary smart; sometimes these engineers and physicists and shit come in and when they talk it’s like a foreign language, but when Slider says something about it, Ice’ll just shrug and explain it easy, like it’s no big deal.
Slider has flown with Ice for a long time, and he’s grateful, because the pilot is the main event, and Ice is a
rock star, a star Slider is happy to hitch to. And he’s a good guy, besides; he never talks down to Slider when he’s explaining the math, and he’d give the shirt off his back to anybody.
Still. Everybody knows how perfect Ice is, but there’s stuff only Slider knows, stuff you can only pick up on spending so much time with him, unstarched. Like his fucking mouth. It’s not like Ice hides it, but most people just see the polish and precision, and miss that Ice has got a quick, smart mouth. One thing about Ice is that he never misses anything, and maybe it’s just avoiding boredom when you’re so much smarter than everyone else, but he’s always got something clever to say. And most the time Slider’s glad to be in the joke, but when the joke’s on him, he just wants to smack that smart, pretty mouth.
They get back from a run—Slider’s been in the best shape of his life since being partnered with Ice; Ice is driven everywhere, and Slider has a chance to beat him on the ground—and take a shower. Public locker rooms are a fact of Navy life, and mostly Slider doesn’t think about it, but he beat Ice in the race back to the barracks, which means Ice is riled. And Slider’s trying to mind his own business, just rinse off and get out, but Ice keeps catching his eye and curving that Cupid’s bow mouth up into a grin. Never mind those dead competent hands trailing extra slow over Ice’s fine, lean body. To the casual observer, it’s nothing, but Slider knows better: it’s obscene, and he can’t take it more than a minute, and he runs out, soap still in his hair. Ice follows at a leisurely pace, toweling off his hair, which means that his towel is in his hand and not covering his trim, dripping body, or—you know, parts. His other parts.
Ice feigns surprise. “What’s up with you, buddy?”
Slider hides his face, and dresses as quickly as possible. “Shut up.”
“Is it a water pressure thing? Maybe we should tell the brass.”
Slider can never think up something clever to say back, so he just works on ignoring Ice. Ice doesn’t seem to care; he just carries on.
“Or maybe it’s a control problem,” Ice says. “Self restraint.”
Slider’s eyes flicker up, despite himself, to catch Ice’s expression. His eyes are on Slider’s tented towel, and he’s grinning that fucking smart-ass grin that no one seems to see but Slider.
They’re alone, or Ice wouldn’t be saying this—he can be a pain in the ass, sure, but Slider’s never seen him be mean—but Slider looks around anywhere, just to make sure, as his cheeks heat.
Ice is grinning that secret grin, and Slider wants to smack it off his face. And he’s not good at thinking up smart retorts, but he doesn’t mean this to be clever and he’s been thinking it a long time.
“You need to be spanked in the worst way,” he says.
And Ice’s jaw drops; Slider can tell he’s really surprised this time. And now it’s Ice’s turn to blush.
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