Don't

Maverick came in to the rehearsal studio over an hour early, hoping to get the space to himself for a while.  No such luck.  Ice was already there, on the floor stretching.  Maverick was determined to ignore him, but he hadn’t even gotten to the barre when Ice spoke.

“Hey, Mitchell,” he said.  “Come give me a hand.”

Maverick looked at him a moment too long, and Ice raised his brow.

“Can you help me, or not?” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Maverick said, making his way over to him.  “What do you need?”

“I can’t get this hamstring loose.  I just need you to give me some pressure.”

Maverick sighed, dropping into a crouch between Ice’s legs.  Ice scooted forward a little, then lay on his back.

“Don’t you have a trainer for this?” Maverick grumbled, but when Ice lifted his leg, he took it, supporting Ice at the ankle and below his knee.  He helped direct Ice into position, Ice’s calf on his shoulder.

“Keep your hips down,” Maverick said.

Ice rolled his eyes.  “Yes, Mother.”

Maverick applied gentle pressure, stretching Ice’s leg up toward his head.  The further Ice stretched, the closer Maverick got to him.  Ice laid out beneath him, Maverick slotted between his legs, Ice’s leg up on his shoulder like if they were …

Maverick felt himself flushing, felt his pulse throbbing in his throat.  He chanced a look at Ice’s face, worried Ice could see right through him.  Ice’s pale eyes met his for a moment, and Ice panted out a breath.

“Am I hurting you?” Maverick asked gently.