"So," Slider says, in a falsely cloying voice, as he and Iceman drift away from Maverick and Goose.

Ice half-turns for one more glance at Maverick, who glances back and smirks. Goose makes some off-handed comment to Maverick that Ice doesn't catch, but his ears prick up at Maverick's voice:

"We're going to have a good time here."

"Damn straight," Ice replies quietly, his lips twitching.

"If you have any say in it," Slider replies playfully, his arm brushing Ice's shoulders. The gesture is smooth, but the meaning is clear. I own this.

"Something like that," Ice says, his teeth grinding against the piece of gum in his mouth. He allows himself a small smile.

"Maverick."

Maverick pauses somewhere above the stairwell. No one says his name like that but Ice, with too many k's on the end.

"Who was taking care of Cougar while you were off... showboating with the MiG?" Ice says as he approaches Maverick, re-clasping his watch. His fingers creep along the railing toward Maverick, making silent propositions.

Maverick grins mirthlessly. "Cougar was just fine."

Ice cocks his head to the side and studies Maverick, his lips parting slightly. Maverick watches his tongue where it dwells, considers it earnestly like a stock option.

Maverick turns and leaves, sure to sway his ass the way he learned from many nights at many bars. He wishes he could see Ice's face.

Am I fucking with your head yet?

Iceman takes copious notes in his mind on the way Maverick fills out those tight jeans as his finger circles the underside of the volleyball ostentatiously, keeping it aloft with barely any effort.

Slider glances at him out of the corner of his eye, and Ice ignores it.

He makes sure Maverick is looking when he flexes his pecs, a tiny little thrust from somewhere above his ribcage.

Maverick takes his sunglasses off and trails the end of one leg against his lips, a silent invitation.

Ice dives in the sand like a golden retriever, his gleaming sweaty abs sparkling with grains of it like miniature diamonds.

Maverick gets distracted, forgets about the volleyball, forgets about Goose, forgets about Charlie; almost.

Ice's stomach turns over with a growl like a shitty car engine when Maverick looks at his watch, makes as if to leave.

Maverick leaves early.

He wants to take a shower, a cold one, and Charlie's not going to sleep with him tonight. He can see it on her face.

So he leaves and drives around aimlessly.

And he passes Iceman.

Ice is strolling down the street. He didn't bother to put a shirt on; he gleams like gold in the San Diego sun.

Maverick pulls his motorcycle over, calls to him.

Ice turns and rolls his eyes, crooking one finger at him. Come over here, douche.

Maverick gets up and approaches Ice, grinning the entire way.

"You busy tonight?"