"So, did you sleep with her?"

"Huh?"

"I said, did you sleep with her," Goose repeated, shifting his helmet from one arm to another.

"Who, Charlie?"

"No, Madonna," Goose replied as they made their way past the control tower.

"No, I didn't sleep with her," Maverick snapped.

"Touchy, touchy."

"Yeah, well," Maverick said sourly. "I dunno, man --"

"Hey, did you hear about Iceman?" Wolfman called out as he passed them. Hollywood smirked at Maverick and made an obscene hand gesture when Wolfman said "Iceman". Maverick ignored him.

"No, what?" Maverick said, rubbing his middle finger against his pointer finger.

"He won another one."

"That's just great," Goose said. "Truly. Fuck..."

"Well, Goose," Maverick said, grinning. "I don't know about you, but I feel the need..."

Goose joined in. "The need for speed!"

They high-fived and Maverick shot a brief look at Hollywood, whose smirk only grew broader.

"Iceman," Hollywood called from where he was lying on the bench in the locker room as the other pilots near him bustled around, opening and slamming closed their lockers and pulling off flightsuits.

Maverick snuck a glance at Hollywood, who was gazing at Ice with rapt attention.

"Yeah," Slider answered for Ice, who was absorbed in combing his hair.

"What happened to that chick from the bar a few nights ago?"

"What about her?" Ice responded vaguely, facing Hollywood and folding his arms.

Maverick closed his locker and casually turned his attention to the two of them.

"Well," Hollywood said, drawing out the word.

"Yeah, she was... whoo," Wolfman said, raising his eyebrows and laughing as he slid his boots off. "Sort of a bimbo, but whoo, man."

"Do you two ever make sense?" Ice said, rolling his eyes as he closed his locker.

"Don't change the subject, did you score or not?" Hollywood pressed on.

"What did she look like?" Maverick said suddenly.

Everyone turned to look at him as the locker room was plunged into an uncomfortable silence. Hollywood looked between Ice and Maverick, checking if it was okay to answer.

"Small, brunette," Wolfman said as he pumped some hair gel into his hand. "Fantastic ass. Nice eyes, too, kinda green --"

"Shut up, Wolf," Ice snapped, not making eye contact with anyone. He jerked his head at the exit and Slider stood up and followed him out.

Maverick grinned at Ice's back as he disappeared from view.

"-- so if you'll note, the MiG is coming from underneath, which in this case would be --"

Maverick found himself tuning out Charlie more and more often lately. He knew that was probably a bad idea, considering she reported to the Pentagon -- but Maverick had never exactly been subtle, and hell hath no fury like a man being strung along.

His eyes wandered over to Iceman, who was sitting in front of him for once. Ice had a pen between his fingers and was idly twirling it; occasionally, Slider would whisper something in his ear and Maverick would see the corner of Ice's lips turn up. Slider's arm was slung casually across the back of Ice's chair, and he occasionally played with the fabric of his flight suit. Maverick's stomach twisted every time he did.

Maverick's mind played through various fantasies -- stopping Ice after class, leading him out of the hangar and straight to a nice hotel. Ice wasn't alone -- occasionally Charlie joined them, or a good-looking colonel he had passed in the hallway a week before, even Goose.

He had run through these so many times they had become entirely stale. Maverick sighed and tapped his fingers on his desk. Goose was taking sporadic notes, writing maybe twice every fifteen minutes, then zoning into space the rest of the time.

Maverick began to play with his pen, tapping a quiet beat on the desk with it. He watched Ice the entire time, waiting for him to turn around and glare at him, say "shut the fuck up," anything. Ever since the minor slip-up in the locker room, Ice had been decidedly more guarded -- which for him was really saying something -- and Maverick was sick to death of it.

The pen tapped faster.

"Lieutenant, do you mind?" Charlie said, giving him a reproachful look. He ignored her and instead met Iceman's eyes.

Iceman raised one blond eyebrow at him, tilting his head forward slightly.

Maverick took that as more of an invitation than a brush-off and sat back in his seat, entirely too pleased with himself.

"Kazanksy, I'm curious," Maverick said as he sidled up to Iceman.

He had looked for Ice casually all day, and had finally spotted him in one of the more secluded hallways in the back of the Top Gun academy.

"What?" Ice snapped, but he stopped short, his eyes moving to Maverick's ass briefly before he met his eyes.

"I was wondering," Maverick said, "exactly what you meant by dangerous?"

Iceman's forehead creased.

"Just curious," Maverick breathed, stepping closer to Ice.

Ice took a quick look up and down the hallway. "Dangerous. Likely to cause bodily harm, put lives in peril -- we're alone, right?"

"Damn," Maverick muttered, playing with the zipper of Iceman's flight suit. "Yeah."

Ice grabbed Maverick by the elbows, steered him over to the nearby custodian's closet, and pulled him inside.

He flipped on the light with one smooth motion and crashed his lips into Maverick's, his hands full of Maverick's ass.

Maverick wrapped his arms around Ice's neck, one hand grabbing a fistful of blond hair, his elbow forming a perfect angle against Ice.

Together they staggered into a shelf, yellow paint crashing to the floor beside them, leaking a sunny color on the floor. Ice pulled Maverick away from it like a perfect gentleman, groping his half-hard dick with the other.

"Took you long enough, Mitchell," Ice said when they finally came up for air, wiping his mouth with his sleeve.

"I got tired of waiting," Maverick replied with a smirk.