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summary after some last minute policy changes, you find yourself in miramar - you weren't sure that you expected the famous iceman to be as good-looking as he was cws implied/referenced smut, crude jokes, historical inaccuracies, alcohol wc 2.7k
so one.) i'm aware that there is no possible way that the restriction on women in combat would have been lifted during the reagan administration, let me pretend. and two.) i just rewatched top gun in dolby and i can't stop thinking about him... i'm filled with intense melancholy.
It had been three consistent years of your Commander trying to get you into Top Gun, each year being a bust.
Women werenât allowed in combat; there was nothing that they could do. They understood that he saw some value in you, but that value could be replicated in a man. It just wasnât possible. It was the same statements, the same reasons, over and over and over again. It didnât matter how good a pilot you were or how good you were under pressure. What mattered was that you werenât allowed in combat, and until there was a lift on women in combat, nothing was going to change.
But something did change.
The lift came as a last-minute announcement a few weeks before the next Top Gun class was set to take place. It was mid-June when you found out that you were going to Miramar, but you figured that plenty of people were given last-minute notice.
Still, you knew to be wary.
It made front-page news that there was a woman in Top Gun. You would be the first, and it came so soon after the announcement was made that most people figured that you were just waiting in the wings for your moment to be there. It was nerve-wracking to know that you would be the first woman, and only woman, at Top Gun. You were grateful and excited - there was no world in which you wouldnât be - but you were still a bit scared to face all of the other men who were going to look at you, knowing that you werenât exactly like them.
As of now, it was like a boyâs club. Even if they had advance warning that you were going to be there, that didnât make it any less daunting to face a room of men whom you knew you would need to prove yourself to. But that had been something you were used to by now. You were one of the best pilots that your Commander had come across, but you hadnât really had the opportunity to shine.
Maybe that skill came from the fact that you had to work twice as hard to be considered and respected. It wasnât that the other aviators werenât skilled or even that they were lazy or handed their positions. You wouldnât say something like that about any of the men whom you had gotten to know. But you knew that you had to work twice as hard as would be asked of them if you wanted people to see you as an equal and a peer rather than just a woman trying to be within their midsts.
Fear aside, there was no way you were going to back down from the challenge.
The San Diego heat was blazing when you arrived and were given your assignments. To the best of your knowledge, you were placed beside Lieutenant Bradshaw.
The first day came quicker than you anticipated. You were seated at the top of the room, keeping your attention on the front. But you could feel the eyes on you. You were a bit surprised, though. There was some scrutiny; you could feel that, but you didnât feel like anyone was snickering about a woman being in the same room as them right now. Maybe that would come, but people just seemed curious.
Maybe a bit too curious.
âSay, is that Sunshine?â
Your head turned as you noted someone speaking. âHey, Hollywood.â You knew him; youâd met him before. He was the one who gave you your callsign way back when.
âStill full of life? Youâre looking a little bit drained over there.â
âNot drained, a little-ah-feeling the pressure, thatâs all.â
âDonât be too nervous, none of these boys bite unless you ask.â
You snorted in response, a little smile forming on your lips. Your attention quickly shifted away from conversations to the man being introduced to the room. Viper, your instructor. He was an older man with a mustache above his upper lip. Youâd heard of Viper before, but you had never seen him in person. Youâd heard of a few of these guys, anyway.
You could spot Maverick pretty easily, especially since he drew attention to himself with just about everything that he did. With Maverick came his best friend, Goose. Across from him, you could recognize Iceman. Youâd heard stories about Iceman. He was one of the most well-respected, talented pilots that you had ever heard of. What you hadnât expected, however, was to be a bit baffled by how beautiful he was.
He had high cheekbones and soft-looking lips. He was chewing on a piece of gum, but that didnât make his cocky little smile any less alluring. His hair was blond, and it looked like it would probably be soft if you touched it; his eyes were a piercing blue. You knew he got his callsign from his cool demeanor. There was ice in his veins when he was in the sky; he was difficult to crack under pressure.
His callsign was the opposite of yours.
Sunshine came from your personality more than anything. It was difficult to exhaust you. You were always bubbly and ready for a new day because you genuinely liked what you did. People were hard-pressed to find you glaring at someone or irritated about an early morning. Sunshine had come from an early morning training. Everyone else was exhausted, like there were grey clouds over their heads, but there you were, ready to go with a smile on your face. You were tired, but you were still happy to be there.
But why were you thinking about Iceman? He was good-looking, but that needed to be where that line of thinking ended.
Your focus turned back to Viper, listening intently as he spoke. He made one last comment before dismissing everyone, though, one that pertained directly to you.
âYou boys may have noticed that we have a female aviator in our class for the first time. Make sure you give a warm welcome to Sunshine. She hasnât been assigned an RiO since sheâs never flown or trained for a combat mission before, so some of you may need to fill in. Understood?â
âYes, sir.â
âDismissed.â
Others may have gotten nervous being here for the first time, being surrounded by all of these men for the first time. But you were excited to catch up with some old friends and to introduce yourself. So you did. You talked to everyone whom youâd either met before or never had the chance to, and you were quickly invited out to a club that everyone was going to that night. Surely, this was more for the guys. Finding some nice girl to hook up with before class really started, relaxing before training took precedence. But it felt nice to be included, so you made sure that you were dressed and ready to go that evening.
You werenât really sure what you were expecting when you showed up. Mainly, you just expected to have a drink or two and talk to the people with whom you were going to be in class. But you were a bit surprised to have someone approach you while you were still ordering, moving past you to pay for your drink without you having to say anything.
âSunshine, is it?â
âHi, Iceman.â You turned to face him, taking the seabreeze that you had purchased from the bar and taking a sip from it. âThank you for this.â
âOh, no problem. Hollywood says Iâll like you, so Iâm testing that theory.â He spoke in a way that was calculated, like every single word that came out of his mouth needed to be measured in his brain before he could utter it. âIâm curious, though. You were picked pretty fast. Were you the reason they lifted the restrictions on women in combat?â
âThe reason? I wouldnât say that, necessarily.â To be fair, though, you didnât know what went on behind the scenes. You knew that something had to have changed someoneâs mind, but there was probably some political pressure to do it, too. âMy Commander had been trying to get them to make an exception for me for a bit, but there was no way for that to be possible with the restrictions. The second he found out he had me on the first flight out to Miramar that he could find.â
âAnd why would he go through such an effort?â
âIâm a really good pilot.â
âI can imagine.â He reached past you to take the whiskey that he had been given from the bar. You knew he noticed the hitch in your breath when he got a bit too close, but your eyes followed his face regardless. âIâve read up on some reports. Youâre one of the best; you fit in easily at Top Gun because youâre just like the rest of us. Just⌠a little different.â
âA little, yeah. Just one small difference.â
There it was again. He had a really nice smile; it was distracting. You watched him while he took a sip of his drink, but you couldnât get a read on him.
âSunglasses inside is a choice.â
âIâll take them off when I feel like it, probably once I finish this drink.â
Even with the glasses on, you could sense that there was something that he was picking up on. You smiled, though. Maybe it was just the alcohol, but you couldnât help the laugh that bubbled out of your lips. âSorry, I just-the glasses are really cool, itâs just-you wanna see mine? We can both do it.â
âWhat? Wear sunglasses inside?â
âYeah.â
âSounds great.â
âYay!â Your voice was quiet as you took another sip of your drink before setting it down. You reached into your pocket to pull out your own sunglasses. Everyone here seemed keen on Ray-Bans, and you were no exception. âThere, now weâre both wearing sunglasses at night.â
It was⌠relatively unpleasant to wear sunglasses inside the club. But something about the way that you actually got him to laugh made it worth it.
âHollywood was right, I do like you.â
âAw, thanks. I like you too, man!â
The look on his face should have told you pretty quickly that you were in trouble. He was being friendly, but there was more to it than that. Even through the sunglasses, you should have known from that killer smile on his lips that he was flirting. Maybe you did know that he was flirting. Yet, you were pretty sure that you were flirting with him, too.
Youâd spend most of the rest of the night with Iceman and, later, Slider. There were moments when other people were involved, just as there were moments when women were trying to shoot their shot with one of the aforementioned men. Youâd come to realize that most of the people who came here were women looking to get with a military man or men in the military, and some of the men your age had, seemingly, considered coming up to you but got a bit intimidated by the company you were keeping.
Really, it should have been just that.
You were making friends, going out with the people you would be flying with for the next five weeks. You needed to know them and trust them, and that was all that it ever should have been. But it wasnât.
The sun was bright in the morning, coming through the shades that had clearly not been closed the night before. You groaned and tried to cover your eyes with your arm as your body refused to adjust to the light. But your arm didnât entirely belong to you. It seemed to be trapped by something. Or, more adequately, someone.
Your head jerked to the side the moment that you realized that there was someone beside you in bed. Your eyes were wide for a moment, despite how it hurt to be exposed to that much sun first thing in the morning. But you werenât all too shocked to realize that it was Iceman. The memories of last night came back to you a bit slowly once you calmed down enough to actually think them through. Youâd been around him for most of it, talking to him and his friends. Youâd only had one drink each, so you werenât really drunk at all when you decided that you were going to go back to his assignment instead of yours.
The memory of his lips on your neck made your stomach flutter in a way that was far too humiliating. But you remembered getting in bed with him. You remembered that he took his time. That youâd been grateful that you ended up in bed with him at all, considering the people you had to dodge and ditch just to get away with leaving without anyone noticing that youâd left together. You werenât sure if the other guys would talk, but it was a risk that wasnât worth taking.
Youâd been too busy thinking to realize that heâd woken up, so you were a bit surprised when you felt his arm tighten around you rather than pulling away.
He should be pulling away, shouldnât he?
âRegretting your decision yet?â He asked, his voice a bit raspier now than it was yesterday. You couldnât stop the train of thought that filled your mind when you noticed that, though. You liked his morning voice, you liked waking up in his arms.
âI should be,â you responded, and perhaps you were being far too honest. But he had asked, hadnât he? âBut no, even though I should be.â
âWhy should you be regretting it? Did I suck?â
âPretty sure I sucked, if weâre going to be technical.â
He laughed at that, a sound that you remembered liking very much the night before. You werenât shocked to realize that you liked it just as much when you woke up beside him in the morning. So you turned to face him, still within his arms but a bit closer than you had been before.
âI should definitely regret it. Thereâs⌠rules, you know? And, for sure, Iâm gonna be under a microscope. My Commander sent me here because he believes in me, but Iâm like a lab rat. Itâs gonna look really bad if the first woman in Top Gun was sleeping her way through the ranks.â
âAnd she happened to choose the best pilot here, too.â
âExactly.â
Despite your words, you let your body do what it pleased. That was how you ended up with your fingers brushing through his hair. You were right, it was soft when you touched it. But you didnât mind that he kissed your wrist when you touched him, even if there was some part of you that kept telling you that you absolutely should mind something like that - it was soft, somewhat personal. That sort of thing probably shouldnât be allowed in something that canât last, or, more realistically, something that shouldnât last.
âSo you do regret it?â
âHm⌠can you keep a secret?â
âObviously.â
âThen no, I donât regret it.â
âKnew it.â
You groaned when he rolled you over just to get on top of you. But then he was kissing you again, and then he was dragging you into the shower and telling you a story about something that had happened to him a bit before he left. It felt normal, like you hadnât met the day before and like you should be doing something like this right now, even though you knew that you absolutely shouldnât be if you knew what was best for you.
But it did feel normal. It really did. Even when he flicked soap at you for making a joke about how your callsigns being polar opposites meant that this was definitely supposed to happen. Maybe you would need to keep a secret, and maybe it was a terrible, awful idea to be doing this when so much was on the line for the future of women in naval aviation. But it didnât feel like a terrible idea; for now, thatâs all that matters.
Even, Over Dinner - Tom "Iceman" Kazansky x Reader One-Shot
â Youâve flown combat missions, Kazansky. You can handle a date. â
[tom kazansky x reader]
~12k words | rated: E
tw: 18+, explicit sexual content, soft vulnerability, emotionally tense intimacy, language
quiet tension. practiced restraint. one dinner date, and everything that follows.
notes: i proofread this on an 8 hour long plane ride so i'm sorry if its iffy lol. this was a request for my dear @valkilmher. hope you enjoy bestie <3
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Tom Kazansky adjusted his tie for the fourth time, watching himself in the bathroom mirror with a practiced eye. The knot was flawless. Sleek, symmetrical. The kind of tie you could hang your name on.
Still, he loosened it again. Smoothed the fabric. Started over.
He told himself it was just habit. Muscle memory. Precision was part of the jobâit bled into everything. But even he knew that was only half true tonight.
Behind him, the apartment was quiet and still, its surfaces immaculate, every line sharp. A study in control. But there were tells. The tie heâd rejected first was slung across the arm of the couch. A second cologne bottle sat on the dresser, uncapped, like it had been considered and dismissed mid-thought. His bed was made, but one corner of the sheet had come untucked where heâd sat down too fast, stood up too soon.
Not chaos. Just⌠noise. Interference.
This couldnât be nerves. He didnât do nerves.
Except now, apparently, he did.
He checked the time. Early, but not so early he could afford another wardrobe change.
His reflection was still watching himâexpression composed, jaw steady, eyes bright. On paper, he looked perfect. But there was something just beneath the surface. A charge in the air. A quiet tension in his spine. Not fear, exactly. Just a sharp kind of awareness.
Tonight meant something. And that was the problem.
It wasnât about impressing you. You werenât the kind of person who needed dazzling. You werenât expecting some show. Youâd said yes easily, casually, like it hadnât even been a question. Like dinner with him was just a nice idea, not something to read into.
And somehow, that made it worse. Or perhapsâbetter.
He wasnât used to this kind of feeling. This quiet, persistent pressure to get it right not because you expected perfectionâbut because he wanted to be good for you. Because the idea of making you smile and keeping you comfortable mattered more than he was ready to admit.
You were easy to talk to, a respite in his workday. Easy to laugh with. He liked the way you lit up at your own stories. The way you looked at him when he said something a little dry, a little offhanded, like you were still waiting to see if he was really kidding. You made everything feel lighterâmore tolerable.
But tonight felt heavy in the best possible way. Like it could turn into something, if he didnât screw it up.
He took a breath. One of those long, grounding breaths that started in his stomach and worked all the way to his chest. The kind of breath he took on the tarmac before stepping into the cockpit.
The kind that meant something was about to happen.
One last glance in the mirror.
Hair sharp. Tie straight. Posture exact.
Still, something in his chest flutteredâsomething he hadnât felt in years.
Youâve flown combat missions, Kazansky. You can handle a date.
Right?
Your room was quiet except for the soft crackle of the record spinning in the corner. A mellow track hummed low from the speakersâsomething slow and steady, the kind of song you didnât need to think about to feel. Late sunlight filtered through gauzy curtains, painting the walls in warm amber and pooling across the carpet like warm honey.
You werenât ready. Or maybe you were, and it just didnât feel like it quite yet.
Your dress was already on. Simple, soft, something you didnât have to tug or adjust. It felt like youâjust a little dressed up, just a little more thoughtful than usual. Your hair was done the way you liked it, and your makeup was light, just enough to make your reflection smile back a little easier.
You werenât going for impressive. You just wanted to feel⌠worth looking at.
Tom wasnât flashy. He didnât flirt like he needed to win. He didnât fill the silence, didnât chase the room, didnât try to own it. He simply existed in a way that made you want to lean in. And when he asked you to dinner, it wasnât bold or dramatic. Just direct. Quiet. Like he didnât need to sell it. Like he hoped youâd say yesâbut would survive if you didnât.
Youâd said yes before you even thought about it.
And now you were pacing slowly in your room, your fingertips tracing the edge of your vanity while the record kept spinning. It almost felt like something was about to begin. Not a fairytale. Not a firework show. Something real.
You sat at the edge of the bed and reached for your perfume. A small bottle with a fading label and a scent youâd loved since high school. You dabbed it at the base of your throat, then your wrist. Let it settle into your skin.
Then you just sat there a moment, your hands resting in your lap, watching the light crawl across the opposite wall.
You werenât nervous. Not exactly. Youâd been on dates. Youâd worn this dress before. But tonight, you found yourself hoping heâd notice. Hoping heâd see you and that soft, unreadable look would flicker in his eyesâthe one he got when he was really looking at something.
You werenât used to wanting like this.
Not urgently. Not achingly.
Just⌠gently.
You checked the clock on your nightstand. Almost time.
You stood, pulled your cardigan off the chair, and stepped into your shoesâlow heels, nothing loud. You glanced in the mirror, then back again. Not to fix anything. Just to see yourself.
There was a knock at your apartment door.
Your breath caughtânot in panic, but in anticipation.
You reached for your bag. Smoothed your dress once more. And smiled.
Just dinner. Just him.
And maybe something more.
You opened the door.
Tom Kazansky was standing before you in the apartmentâs outer hallway like heâd stepped out of a photographâpressed and polished, almost impossibly still. His suit was sharp, classic, worn like second skin. His tie lay flat and perfect, no sign of adjustment. Jacket crisp. Collar clean. Shoulders squared like he belonged in a portrait.
But his eyesâhis eyes gave him away.
They werenât cold, or detached. They were focusedâdrawn to you in a way that wasnât practiced. Not the kind of look he gave to charm. This was something else. Something searching. Like he was taking inventory, not of what you were wearing or how you looked, but of the way you smiled when you saw him. The way you stepped forward.
He blinked once. His jaw shifted slightly. A muscle in his cheek tickedâalmost imperceptible.
And for half a second, you saw it: the hesitation behind all that polish.
âYou lookâŚâ he started, then paused. Just a second too long.
It was barely noticeable. A hiccup in the rhythm. But from him, it meant everything.
ââŚperfect.â
The word landed softly. No punch of flirtation, no clever smirk behind it. Just a truth that had pushed itself to the surface.
You laughed gently, stepping out onto your doormat and locking the door behind you.
âDo you always start dates with flattery, or am I just special?â
That earned you something. Not a grinâhe wasnât grinning tonight. Not yet. But his lips tugged at the edges, like a smile was thinking about forming. Like it was waiting for permission.
âDepends whoâs at the door,â he recovered, voice smooth, but softer than usual.
You walked with him to the car, your heels clicking lightly down the hallway, down the stairs, and against the sidewalk. The silence that settled between you wasnât awkwardâbut it wasnât comfortable yet either. It felt full. Too full. Pressurized. Like neither of you wanted to say the wrong thing, or worseâtoo much.
He moved to open the passenger door before you could reach for it.
You gave him a look.
âReally?â you teased. âYouâre that kind of guy?â
âEvery time,â he said, straight facedâbut the gleam in his eye gave him away. âSorry if thatâs a dealbreaker.â
You slid into the car, smoothing your skirt and trying not to smile too much. When he shut the door, you watched him through the windshield as he rounded the hood. His pace was steady. Not rushed. But there was something deliberate about it. Like he was walking through a checklist in his head.
Open door. Say the right thing. Donât blow this.
He slid into the driverâs seat beside you. The key turned in the ignition with a clean click, and the engine hummed to life beneath you both. His hands found the wheel naturally, fingers wrapping around the leather like they knew exactly where to settle.
But his right handâhis dominant oneâhovered near the gearshift a second too long before resting on it.
You noticed.
So did he.
âYou nervous?â you asked quietly, looking at him sideways.
He didnât answer right away.
âI look nervous?â he asked, still facing the windshield.
âYou donât,â you admitted. âBut youâre holding the gearshift like itâs going to punch back.â
He glanced down, flexed his fingers once, then let them relax.
Another beat of silence. Thenâ
âYou make it hard to pretend Iâm not,â he said.
His voice was lower this time. Not in volumeâjust in tone. Less polished. Less performative.
Honest.
You looked at him for a long moment. âNervous, you mean? Thatâs good.â
That made him smile. A small one. But it reached his eyesâthat rare, flickering kind of smile that didnât come easy to a man like him. A smile that cost something. Or meant something.
You let your hand rest lightly on the edge of the center consoleâclose enough to touch. Close enough to feel the warmth of him, even if there was still space between you.
He noticed, but didnât move.
Instead, his voice came againâlow, dry, maybe even a little vulnerable, âYou act like youâre not grading me.â
You raised your eyebrows, amused. âShould I be?â
âI donât know,â he said, eyes still on the road. âFeels like I already handed in the assignment. Just waiting to see if you liked it.â
That made you laughâsoft, surprised.
He turned the wheel with practiced ease, merging onto the main road. But his posture was still a little too straight, his jaw still a little too tense.
And underneath all of it, you could feel itânot nerves like stammering or sweating or cracking jokes.
This was Iceâs version. Controlled. Contained. But unmistakable.
He cared. He wanted this to go well.
And that tensionâthe effort he wasnât used to feelingâsat in the air between you. Alive. Unspoken. Ready.
The restaurant sat tucked behind a row of hedges and dark wooden fencing, soft lighting glowing from inside like it was trying to keep its secrets warm. From the street, it barely announced itself. No neon. No music leaking through the doors. Just one gold-lettered name on the glass and a bell that chimed softly when Tom opened the door for you.
Inside, it was quietâintimate in a way that didnât feel staged. No loud clatter of dishes, no crowd noise bleeding into your space. Just low conversation, flickering candlelight, and the soft scrape of cutlery against china.
The hostess greeted them with a soft smile and a leather-bound reservation book perched neatly in front of her. She looked up from it as you approached, her eyes flicking once over Tomâs tailored jacket, then to you in your dress and heels.
âReservation for two?â she asked.
âYeah,â Tom replied, âKazansky.â
She checked the book with a quick nod, then motioned with her hand. âRight this way.â
The dining room was dim, the overhead lights low and golden, made warmer by the tea candles flickering on each table. Everything was hushedâthe quiet murmur of conversation, the distant clink of silverware, the gentle hum of a saxophone-heavy jazz record playing somewhere near the bar.
You walked side by side behind the hostess, your heels muted against the carpet. Tomâs hand hovered behind your lower backâhe never touched you, but it was close. Protective. Present.
You were seated at a two-top booth tucked near the back. Not isolated, but private enough to feel like your own little pocket of the evening. The table was already set: two wine glasses, polished silverware, a single flickering candle in a short glass holder. A folded linen napkin sat across each plate.
âYour server will be right with you,â the hostess said, placed the menus on the table, then disappeared.
Tom waited until you sat, then slid into the seat across from you.
His jacket shifted as he leaned back. He didnât remove it. The tie remained perfectly in place. But his shoulders seemed⌠less locked now. Like heâd passed the first checkpoint of the night.
âI like this,â you said, glancing around. âItâs quiet. Feels like a secret.â
Tom looked around, then back at you. âThatâs why I picked it.â
âNot trying to impress me with a steakhouse and a bottle of overpriced Bordeaux?â you teased, unfolding your napkin.
He raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching just slightly. âYouâd prefer that?â
âNo,â you said easily. âIâd wonder what you were compensating for.â
That earned you somethingâanother flash of real amusement across his face. There and gone again. A glimpse of the man beneath the polish.
The waitress arrived moments laterâmid-30s, red lipstick, a notepad already in hand and a half-practiced smile that softened when she saw Tom.
âGood evening,â she said. âCan I get you two started with drinks?â
Tom glanced at you first. Let you go ahead.
âIâll do a gin and tonic,â you said.
âTanqueray okay?â the waitress asked, already scribbling.
âPerfect.â
Tom looked at the drink menu onceânot really reading it. Then he folded it and set it down. âJust a bourbon. Neat.â
âAny brand?â
âWhatever doesnât come in a plastic bottle,â he said, deadpan.
The waitress grinned. âGot it. Iâll give you two a minute with the menus.â
As she walked away, you glanced at him. âBourbon? I pegged you for more a whiskey sour guy. Something mildly more interesting.â
He gave you a look. âI donât drink anything that comes with a garnish.â
âOf course not,â you said, smiling. âGod forbid someone mistake you for approachable.â
That earned a soft chuckle, the kind he didnât give away often.
The candlelight flickered between you. The mood had shiftedâslightly, almost imperceptiblyâbut something had eased.
The waitress returned a few minutes later with the drinks. Your gin and tonic sparkled, beads of condensation already forming on the highball glass. His bourbon was poured into a low, square glass with thick sides.Â
He nodded his thanks, and she left again.
You picked up your drink. He picked up his.
âTo?â you offered.
Tom looked at you for a long second, then lifted his glass. âTo being off base and out of uniform.â
You tapped your glass against his, the soft clink sounding far louder in the cozy hush of the booth.
You sipped. So did he.
It hit warm, slow. Yours was crisp and botanical, cool against the back of your throat. Hisâhe took it like he was testing it. Just enough to taste. And nodded like it passed.
When it came time to decide what to have for dinner you both looked, but it didnât take long. You ordered grilled sea bass with rosemary potatoes and sautĂŠed spinach. He ordered the steakâmedium rareâno sides.
When the waitress left, the conversation started to breathe. A little lighter. A little more playful.
âYou eat like a caveman,â you teased.
âYou drink like someone who wants to forget something,â he countered, eyes warm now.
âDo I?â
He shrugged one shoulder. âGinâs a heavy choice. All that juniper.â
âAnd bourbonâs subtle?â
âNo,â he admitted. âBut it does the job.â
You leaned in slightly, your fingers tracing the stem of your glass. âAnd what job is that tonight?â
His gaze flicked up to meet yours. Still steady. Still calm. But under itâsomething real. Something felt.
âTrying not to screw this up.â
That silenced you for a momentânot because it was shocking, but because it was honest. Not dressed up. Not deflected.
âYouâre doing fine,â you said, softer now.
âFine doesnât cut it,â he replied.
You blinked. His tone wasnât sharp. Just simple. Matter of fact.
And before you could think too much about it, he followed it up:
âYou make me nervous,â he said, voice low and certain. âThatâs never happened before.â
You let the words settle. Felt them sink into the space between you.
And then you smiled.
âGood,â you said. âThen weâre even.â
The plates arrived like punctuation. Your sea bass was fragrant and perfect, the skin seared golden and crisp. His steak was a clean, unapologetic cutâperfectly pink, with no sides, just a little garnish of a mixed salad and a small dish of coarse salt, both on the side.
Tom picked up his knife and fork, cut into the steak like heâd done it a hundred times with the same quiet efficiency he used for everything. Still, his eyes lifted as you took your first bite, like he needed to see your reaction before he could fully relax.
You hummed softly through your smile. âOkay. This place is officially a good call.â
He didnât quite grin. Just nodded once, like the approval mattered more than heâd let on.
Conversation trickled back in with each bite. The nerves that had bracketed the evening began to fadeâreplaced by a warm, easy rhythm that surprised you both.
He asked about your job, and listened like he meant it. You told him about the hellish day last week, about the coworker who kept using the wrong file format and made you restart a project from scratch.
âYou donât strike me as someone who loses patience easily,â he said.
âThatâs because youâve never seen me swear at a printer.â
He laughed under his breath. âYou ever throw anything?â
âOnce. At a wall.â
âWhat was it?â
You looked at him across the candlelight, smiling. âA stapler.â
Tom raised his glass in mock salute. âRespect.â
You took another sip, feeling the gin buzz warm through your veins.
And then he started talking.
Not all at once. Not in some monologue. But slowly, in pieces. Droplets of himself placed carefully between bites and long glances across the table.
He told you about growing up near a naval baseâhow his house always smelled like his momâs old perfume and a hint of jet fuel. How the first time he got in the cockpit, he didnât speak for three hours afterward. How flying wasnât about speed or powerâit was about the special kind of quiet that came with it. The kind he couldnât find anywhere else.
You listened.
He didnât embellish. Didnât show off. Just told you the truth in his voiceâdeep and steady, with the occasional pause like he wasnât quite sure how much of it to give away.
âI used to think,â he said, pausing for a drink, âthat the way people talked about love sounded a lot like what it feels like to fly.â
You blinked. Caught off-guard by how gently it landed.
He looked down at his plate then, cutting another piece of steak. âBut flying doesnât make you vulnerable.â
He looked back up after a momentâand you were already watching him.
And thenâcarefully, deliberatelyâyou shifted, and your leg brushed against his under the table.
Neither of you moved.
If anything, he leaned into it.
It wasnât overt. Wasnât an invitation. JustâŚa confirmation. That you were both here, in this moment, no longer circling.
Your foot nudged his lightly. He didnât flinch. Just let it happen.
He looked down at his glass, ran a thumb along the rim.
âThis is going better than I thought,â he said quietly.
You tilted your head. âThat a good thing?â
âIt is,â he said. Then, with the faintest edge of humor: âI just donât know what to do with it.â
You laughed, and it broke something open between youâeased the last of the tension, let the warmth rise in its place.
When the waitress returned to ask about dessert, Tom didnât even glance at the menu sheâd set on the table. Just looked to you.
âSplit something?â he asked.
âChocolate mousse,â you said immediately after glancing briefly at the dessert menu.
He raised an eyebrow. âDidnât hesitate.â
âI know what I want.â
Those five words seemed to hold more weight than just desserts.Â
She returned a few minutes later with two spoons and a single glass bowlâwhipped mousse with a dusting of cocoa and a small curl of dark chocolate on top.
You scooped a spoonful and took the first bite. Closed your eyes for effect. âPerfect.â
Tom didnât say anything. Just watched you for a moment before taking his own bite.
It wasnât quite sensual and it wasnât flirty either.
But it was intimate.
The air had shifted. Grown heavier in a pleasant way. The kind of heaviness that meant everything was headed somewhere else now. Slowly. Inevitably.
His hand brushed yours as you reached for your spoons at the same time, and this time, he didnât pull back.
You looked up.
He was already looking at you.
Not smiling. Not speaking.
Just⌠there.
The check came not long after. He paid for it without asking. And when you reached for your purseâmore out of formality than anything elseâhe gave you a look that shut it down instantly.
You followed him out into the night. The air was cooler now, soft wind trailing across your shoulders. Tom stepped ahead and held the door open for you. When you passed him, your hand grazed his.
This time, he did reach for it.
Just for a moment.
But long enough to make it clearâthis wasnât ending yet.
The sky had deepened to a thick, velvet blue by the time you stepped out of the restaurant. The sidewalk gleamed faintly beneath the glow of streetlamps, still damp from the morningâs forgotten rain. You could hear the dull hum of passing traffic, but it felt far awayâlike the world had narrowed to the few feet between you and Tom.
He opened the door for you again. Still effortless. Still instinct.
When you stepped past him this time, his hand brushed the small of your back. Just a whisper of contact. Not clearly intentional, but not necessarily accidental either. You didnât flinch. Neither did he.
He shut the door behind you, rounding the hood of the car at a slower pace than earlier. When he slid into the driverâs seat, he didnât say anything. Just settled in. Buckled his seatbelt. Hands resting lightly on the wheel.
But he didnât start the car.
Not right away.
Instead, he stared straight ahead, his body still, his breath shallow. The keys sat idle in his hand, silver catching the light of the nearest streetlamp.
You watched him.
The sharp crease between his brows. The tension ghosting through his shoulders. He was thinking too hard. Holding something back. You recognized it nowârestraint worn thin.
âAre you okay?â you asked gently.
He nodded once. âYeah.â
Still, the keys didnât move.
âTom,â you said.
He turned his head toward you. The name pulled him like a magnet; you didnât usually call him that. His eyes met yours, and in that flicker, something unspoken cracked just a little.
âYouâre doing that thing again.â
He didnât pretend not to understand.
âWhat thing?â
âBeing too careful.â
He looked down at the key in his hand, then back out the windshield. A beat passed. Then another.
âI really donât want to rush anything,â he said.
âYouâre not. Not at all.â
He let out a breathâa deep, low exhale that seemed to loosen something under the surface.
âI donât want to screw it up.â
You leaned in slightly, elbow brushing the console. âYou havenât. And you wonât.â
For a long second, that sat between you. No rush. No pressure.
Then he finally turned the key.
The engine rumbled softly to life. The dashboard glowed in amber and red, casting light across his features. He adjusted the mirrors, turned on the headlights, and pulled out with practiced easeâhands steady, movements clean.
The tension hadnât vanished. It had just shifted. Narrowed. Focused, maybe.
You settled back into your seat, letting your leg shift toward him.Â
He didnât move away.
His right hand dropped from the wheel to rest palm-up on the center console, close to yoursâbut not touching.
An invitation.
You looked at it for a moment.
Then slid your fingers slowly into his.
His thumb twitched against yours. His fingers closed. Not tightâjust firm enough to feel like a choice.
The road passed under you in smooth rhythmâstreetlamps flaring and fading like breath. The inside of the car smelled faintly like him: clean cologne, a trace of bourbon now, and something sharper you couldnât place.
Neither of you spoke for a moment.
Then, without warning, his voice cut into the hush.
âThis doesnât have to mean anything.â
It wasnât cold. It wasnât defensive.
Just quiet. Like a man trying not to fall too hard into something he couldnât unfeel.
You turned to him. Watched the way the passing lights painted golden stripes across his jaw, the faint pulse of tension in his neck.
And you didnât hesitate.
âBut it does,â you said.
He didnât look at you. But his grip on your hand tightenedânot by much, just enough to say everything he wasnât putting into words.
He didnât let go.
And he didnât say anything else.
Just kept drivingâwith one hand on the wheel, and the other in yours.
When he pulled up in front of your building, he let the car idle for a moment. His hand slipped away only so he could put it in park. Then the silence settled againâdifferent now, deeper.
You undid your seatbelt slowly, the click impossibly loud.
Then turned to face him.
âCome upstairs.â
He didnât ask if you were sure.
He didnât offer some half-hearted joke to deflect the weight of it.
He just turned his head. Met your eyes.
And nodded.
Then he killed the engine.
The headlights clicked off. The cabin fell into stillness. And when you opened the door, stepping into the quiet night, you didnât have to look back to know he was already following.
Not because he had to.
Because he wanted to.
Your key slid into the lock with a soft metallic click, and the door swung open into the hush of your apartment. No lights yet. Just the spill of a streetlamp through a window, casting long shadows over the floorboards.
Tom stepped in behind you without a word, letting the door shut softly at his back. He didnât move fast. Didnât reach for you. He just stood there, looking at you in the dark like he was giving you every second to change your mind.
You turned slowly to face him, your back to the door. The air was thick between youâwarm from everything unsaid, everything barely touched.
âI donât usuallyâŚâ you started, then trailed off.
He didnât fill the silence. He waited.
You wet your lips. âI donât bring people up like this.â
Tom nodded once. Quiet. Not surprised. Just⌠listening.
âYou donât owe me an explanation,â he said.
You looked down. Smoothed your fingers along the side seams of your dress.
âI just didnât want you to think this was casual.â
âI donât,â he said. Instantly. Without hesitation.
You looked up at him.
âIt doesnât feel casual,â he added, voice lower now. âIt feels⌠like you.â
You took in a shaky breath.
Then, quietly: âYou can touch me.â
That was all it took.
He raised his handâslowly, like you were made of glassâand cupped your face, his thumb brushing just under your cheekbone. His palm was warm. Steady. His other hand came to your waist, anchoring there like it had always belonged.
You leaned into his touch, and he kissed you.
It wasnât hungry. It wasnât rushed.
It was deliberate.
The kind of kiss that unfolded like a sentence. Word by word. Breath by breath.
Your lips parted on instinct, and his deepened the kiss slowly, tongue tasting yours with the same care he used to test the wind before flying. Every movement deliberate. Intentional. He was learning youâand letting you learn him back.
You moved together, step by unsteady step, until your back hit the inside of the door with a soft thud. His body followedâclose, but not crushing. One arm braced beside your head, the other still at your waist.
You fumbled lightly with the lapel of his jacket, fingers tracing the seam as you slid your hands up to his shoulders. The fabric was smooth. Starched. Still holding the warmth of his body.
His lips moved to your jawâslow, almost reverentâand then down to your throat, where he paused.
He didnât rush. He let you feel the press of his mouth against your skin, the soft scrape of his breath, the care in every motion.
You gaspedâquiet, involuntaryâand your hands clutched at his lapel.
He pulled back instantly.
His eyes were wide. Alert. Reading you.
âToo much?â
âNo,â you said, breathless. âNo. Itâs justââ
You swallowed, laughed a little, eyes dropping for a second.
âI swear, I donât usually go this far on the first date.â
He didnât smile. He didnât mock.
He just looked at you like heâd heard that confession in his bones.
âIâm notââ You shook your head, eyes flicking back to his. âIâm not this easy.â
His hand moved from your waist to the side of your neckâfingertips brushing along the edge of your jaw.
âI donât think you are,â he said. Quiet. Certain.
And something in you melted at that.
Because he meant it.
Because he wasnât here because it was easy. He was here because it was you.
He kissed you againâsofter this time, lips just barely brushing yours before he deepened it slowly, carefully. Your arms slipped around his waist beneath the jacket, fingers finding the hem of his shirt tucked neatly into his slacks.
You whispered against his mouth, âDo you want to stay?â
He didnât answer out loud.
He didnât need to.
His lips were still on yours when your hands slipped beneath the lapels of his jacket. He stilled, just slightlyânot because he was resisting, but because he was checking in. Even now, even with your mouth on his and your body angled toward him, he was waiting for your signal.
You tugged gently.
âCan I take this off?â you asked against his jaw.
His answer was breath, not wordsâbut he nodded.
You slid the jacket back over his shoulders. It came off smoothly, the fabric cool beneath your palms. He caught it before it hit the floor and folded it over the back of a nearby chair without looking away from you.
âI donât want to push,â he said quietly.
âYouâre not.â
He nodded, but his eyes stayed on you like he needed to hear it again.
âI want to,â you said, softer now. âBut only if you do too.â
He let out a breath through his nose and stepped closer, hands framing your face with an almost unbearable gentleness.
âIâve wanted to since the second you opened the door.â
You kissed him nowâslower, deeperâand your hands found the knot of his tie. He let you pull it loose. One slow tug. The silk slid through his collar with a soft whisper, and he didnât break the kiss as you laid it aside.
When your fingers moved to the first button of his shirt, he caught your wrists gently.
âIâm okay,â you whispered, barely audible. âI promise.â
He held your gaze for a long second, then let go.
You undid the buttons one by one, his chest slowly revealed in narrow glimpsesâsmooth skin, lean muscle, the curve of his collarbone. Your fingers hesitated at his belt, but he didnât press.
Instead, his hands moved to your back, finding the zipper of your dress. He waited again.
You nodded.
He pulled it down slowly. The fabric loosened against your frame, the air kissing your skin as it slipped from your shoulders and down your arms. You let it fall, stepped out of it.
Tom took a slow breath. He didnât look down. He kept his eyes on your face like that was the part of you he wanted to remember first.
âYouâre beautiful,â he said simply.
You took his hand and started backing down the hallwayâtoward your bedroom, bare feet quiet against the floor.
He followed, letting you lead, his shirt still hanging open, the sleeves loose at his elbows.
Halfway down the hall, you stopped and kissed him again. This time, you pressed into him fully, your fingers sinking into his hair, and he responded with a low, muffled sound that lit something in your core.
âThis is okay?â you asked. You already knew the answer. But it felt right to ask again.
âThis is more than okay.â
But still waiting for your next move.
You crossed into your bedroom first, the floor cool against your bare feet. The bedroom was dim, lit only by the ambient spill of light from the hallway. The curtains were drawn halfway, letting in a thin silver ribbon of moonlight across the bed.
Tom followed behind, quieter than ever.
He stopped in the doorway for a moment. Like he was taking it inânot the room, but the fact of it. The shift. The invitation.
You turned toward him slowly. You were in nothing but your underwear: simple, matching, a soft fabric that still clung in all the places that counted. You didnât cross your arms. You didnât cover up. But your breath was a little shallow.
He noticed.
His hands, still resting lightly at his sides, flexed.
But he didnât move until you stepped closer and reached for his shirt.
It was already unbuttoned, the fabric hanging open over his chest. You laid your palms flat against the skin thereâwarm, smooth, solid. He exhaled, the muscles under your hands tightening slightly.
âYouâre still wearing too much,â you whispered.
His voice was low, roughened by restraint. âYou want to fix that?â
You nodded.
You pushed the shirt from his shoulders slowly, letting your fingertips trace the dip of his collarbone, the slope of his arms. The fabric slid down and fell to the floor. You moved to his belt next. Your fingers hesitated just slightly.
He stilled.
Not because he didnât want itâGod, no. But because he was waiting again. Always waiting.
âIâve got you,â he said, voice soft now. âOnly if you want this.â
âI do.â
He watched your hands as you unbuckled the belt, your knuckles brushing the flat of his stomach. You undid the button of his slacks next, then the zipperâslow, careful, deliberate.
He helpedâjust a littleâby easing them down, stepping out of them once they pooled at his feet. His shoes were gone by nowâsomewhere between the hallway and here. Socks too. He stood in nothing but black boxer briefs, and the tension between you spiked in the best way.
You reached out, fingertips ghosting across the waistband.
His voice came again, low and serious: âLet me take my time with you.â
You nodded, breath catching.
Then he leaned down and kissed you againâthis time with more pressure, more heat. His hands cupped the back of your thighs as he walked you back, step by slow step, until the backs of your knees hit the edge of the bed.
He sat you down gently.
Then knelt.
Right there.
Both hands slid up your legs, from your calves to your knees, thumbs stroking slow circles against your skin. He kissed the inside of your thigh, just once, through the fabric of your underwear. Then looked up at you.
âStill good?â
You nodded. âYes.â
He hooked his fingers under the waistband and pulled them down slowly, like it mattered to him not to miss a second of it. He helped you lift your hips, never breaking eye contact as he eased them all the way off.
You were half-naked now. Fully exposed. But you didnât feel bare.
You felt wanted.
When he stood again, you reached for the clasp of your bra. Fumbled.
âHere,â he said, brushing your hands away gently. âLet me.â
He undid it with one hand. You didnât ask how. And then you were fully undressedânothing between you but breath and skin and everything you hadnât said out loud yet.
His briefs were the last thing left.
You looked up at him, your voice a whisper. âTake them off.â
He did. Slowly. With the same reverence heâd shown you. And when he stood fully bare in front of you, you reached for himânot because he needed the invitation, but because you wanted the contact.
Your palms met his skin, warm and solid. His arms circled your waist, and he drew you up, against him, chest to chest.
You felt everything.
And for a moment, you just stood like that.
Breathing. Pressed close. Choosing.
The sheets were cool against your back as he finally laid you downâslowly, gently, like he was worried the moment might break if he moved too fast.
He hovered over you for a second. Just looked at you.
Not just your bodyâat you. Eyes searching, breath already uneven, jaw tight with the effort of holding himself together.
You reached up and slid your fingers through his hair, tugging just enough to pull him down for another kiss.
This one was messier. Warmer. His mouth opened against yours with more heat than before, his tongue sweeping slow and sure, like he was memorizing you from the inside out.
When he kissed down your throat, you felt his breath stutter against your skin. Like it was costing him something not to give in completely.
He pressed a kiss just below your jaw. Another on the hollow of your throat. Then a third, lower, near the curve of your shoulder.
And then he paused.
His lips barely touching your skin. His breath warm.
âYou donât mind if IâŚ?â he murmured, voice thick with want.
Your hand found the nape of his neck. Fingers curled in his hair.
âPlease.â
That single word cracked something open in him.
He groaned, low and quiet, and kissed your shoulderâreally kissed itâthen opened his mouth slightly and bit down. Not hard. Just enough to sting. Just enough to claim.
Your back arched.
He soothed the bite with his tongue, then moved lower.
Your collarbone. The top of your breast. The swell of it.
He took his time.
âYouâre so fucking beautiful,â he said softly, in between kisses.
Each one deeper. Slower. Leaving a faint markâsomething youâd find in the mirror later and remember exactly how it felt.
His mouth moved over your chest, worshipful. When he circled your nipple with his tongue, you gasped. When he closed his lips around it and sucked, you moaned.
He didnât stop.
He kissed down your ribs, your stomach, the dip of your hip.
Your fingers trembled in his hair. He looked up once, made eye contactâand the look in his eyes devastated you.
Hunger. Restraint. Awe.
As if he couldnât believe he had you like this.
He came back up your body, mouth hot and damp, his skin brushing yours as he climbed.
When he reached your face again, you kissed him like you needed to anchor yourselfâarms around his neck, your body pressing up into his like you couldnât get close enough.
âTell me what you want,â he whispered against your mouth.
You kissed him againâslow, deep, anchoring yourself in the heat of him, in the steadiness of his hands, in the way his body trembled ever so slightly above yours.
âYou,â you breathed. âI want you.â
That made him exhale hard through his nose, his forehead dropping to yours. For a moment, he didnât moveâjust held you there, close, like he was afraid the whole night might vanish if he let go.
âSay it again,â he said quietly.
âI want you.â
âFuck.â
He kissed you againâharder this time, more need than control nowâand you felt him press against you, thick and hot and aching. You moaned softly against his lips, shifting your hips into his, and he nearly choked on the sound it pulled from him.
âI need toââ he said, already pulling back just slightly, reaching over the edge of the bed where his pants lay tangled on the floor. He dug into the pocket, pulled out his wallet, and flipped it open with a practiced flick of his thumb.
Foil glint. Soft rip. Controlled breath.
You watched his handsâsteady, carefulâas he slid the condom on. And you could feel it in your chest, that thick ache of want building even harder now. This wasnât rushed. This wasnât careless.
This was him choosing you.
When he looked up again, the tension in his face was tighterâjaw clenched, brow drawn, lips parted like he couldnât quite catch his breath.
He came back to you slowly, crawling over your body, bracing himself above you.
âThis still okay?â he asked, eyes locked on yours.
âPlease,â you whispered. âI want to feel all of you.â
His breath hitched.
That wordâpleaseâwrecked something in him.
He pressed his forehead to yours, lips brushing your cheek, his voice rough and reverent.
âGod, baby⌠you have no idea what that does to me.â
And then he shiftedâjust slightly. You felt it in the way his weight settled between your thighs, the way his body aligned against yours with more intent now.
Still careful.
Still gentle.
But no longer tentative.
âThis still okay?â he murmured, even as his cock slid through your slick folds, nudging at your entrance.
You nodded, breathless. âYes. I want you.â
He groanedâlow and unfilteredâand kissed you once, slow and deep, before lining himself up and starting to push in.
The sudden stretch made you gasp.
He caught your jaw gently with one hand, his thumb stroking along your cheek as he moved deeperâinch by slow inch.
âThatâs it,â he whispered. âYouâre doing so good. So damn tightâfuck. You feel unreal.â
You clutched at his arms, nails digging in, and he stilled once he was fully seated inside you. His breath caught at the base of his throat.
âJesus Christ,â he said, almost laughingâbut breathless. Shaken. âI donât deserve this. Donât deserve you.â
Your heart thudded at thatâat the way it sounded not like a compliment but a truth he believed too deeply.
âYou do,â you whispered. âYou do, Ice.â
He looked down at you like he didnât know what to do with thatâlike it mattered more than anything else tonight. Part of him knew that nickname would never be the same.
Thenâfinallyâhe started to move.
Slow. Deep. Measured.
He kissed your neck as his hips rolled, then murmured against your skin: âEvery inch, baby. Youâre taking all of me. Just like that.â
You moaned, and thatâs when it happenedâthat flicker of a grin, the shift in his tone, that unmistakable hint of Ice in his element.
âYeah,â he murmured, voice dropping. âYou like that. Thought you might.â
He thrust againâdeeper this time, slowerâand when your mouth dropped open, he caught your lip between his teeth and growled softly, âKnew youâd feel this good. Knew youâd be perfect.â
His praise didnât stop.
âSo goddamn warm. So wet for me. I could stay inside you all night.â
Another roll of his hips. Another moan from your throat.
âLook at you,â he whispered. âShaking already. And Iâve barely even started.â
But even as the swagger crept in, the care never left.
His eyes were still on yours.
His hand still cradled your cheek.
He kissed you again, and this time it was slower, sweeterâlike a promise beneath all the filth.
âYou still okay?â he asked softly, brushing your hair back.
You nodded, breathless. âYouâre perfect.â
That did him in.
He smiledâwrecked and awedâand muttered, âlucky bastard,â to himself before sinking back into you with a low groan that felt like it came from the deepest part of him.
His rhythm deepened, hips rolling in long, slow strokes that dragged a low sound from your throat every time he bottomed out. He grunted softly with each push forward, his jaw tight, his breath hot against your ear.
âGod, baby⌠You feel so fucking good,â he murmured, voice breaking on the words. âYou donât even know.â
You couldnât speakânot when he was moving like that, filling you completely, your body trembling with every deep, deliberate thrust. You could only hold onâarms locked around his shoulders, fingers curled into the muscle at the top of his back.
But he was still watching. Still reading every sound you made.
âLook at you,â he whispered, his lips brushing your cheek. âMaking me work for it.â
You arched into him, your body chasing the next thrust before he gave it.
And he laughedâlow and rough, the sound laced with disbelief and heat.
âYouâre dangerous, you know that?â
Your breath caught. âWhat?â
He thrust hard and fastâjust onceâand you gasped, body shuddering beneath him.
âYou heard me.â His mouth was at your ear now, his voice a teasing growl. âDangerous. Shouldâve known the second you opened that door.â
You laughed through a moan, barely able to keep up with the way he moved nowâdeeper, harder, faster, but still controlled. Still holding you like you were precious.
He kissed the underside of your jaw, then your mouth. âWrecking me and youâre not even trying.â
âIceââ
âYou gonna come for me, baby?â he asked, voice full of heat and reverence. âLet me feel you lose it all over me?â
You could feel it building alreadyâfast and hot, curling low in your stomach, every thrust dragging you closer to the edge.
He felt it, too.
âCâmon,â he whispered, his thumb finding your clit, stroking in tight, perfect circles. âGive it to me. Want you to fall apart for me, just like that.â
You gaspedâone hand fisting at the sheets, the other clutching at his shoulder as your body started to shake.
âThatâs it,â he groaned, burying his face in your neck. âThatâs my girl.â
The orgasm hit fast, your whole body locking around him, back arching off the bed. You cried out, breath caught on his name, and he kept movingâkept whispering to you, grounding you through it.
Your walls pulsed around him, and he cursed under his breath, his rhythm faltering for the first time.
âShitâgonna comeââ
You pulled him down to you, wrapped him in your arms, your legs tight around his waist.
âDo it,â you whispered against his skin. âCome inside me. I want it.â
That broke him.
With a low, raw groan, he buried himself deep and came hard, body locked above you, chest heaving, hands trembling where they gripped the sheets. You felt every pulse of him, every shudder, every breathless whisper of your name as he gave himself to you completely.
He stayed like that for a long momentâhis body heavy, his breath ragged, his forehead pressed to yours.
âYou okay?â he finally asked, voice worn thin with emotion.
You smiled. âMore than okay.â
He exhaled a quiet laugh and kissed you againâthis time soft, slow, reverent.
âDangerous,â he murmured against your lips. âCompletely fucking dangerous.â
He hadnât moved.
Not really.
His chest was still pressed to yours, his arms wrapped around you like he wasnât ready to let you go. His face was tucked into the curve of your neck, breath warm against your skin, steady but ragged.
Your fingers stroked through the short hair at the base of his neck, slow and soothing. You could feel the aftershocks still humming through him.
Eventually, he shifted just enough to kiss your jaw. Then your cheek.
Then your mouthâsoft and slow, not asking for anything. Just being with you.
He pulled back slightly to look at you. His hair was a mess. His lips were swollen. His eyes were still glassy, pupils blown wide.
âYou okay?â he asked, voice low, like he didnât want to break the quiet between you.
You nodded. Smiled, even.
âIâm kind of wrecked.â
He huffed a soft, half-laugh and dropped his forehead to your shoulder.
âYeah,â he muttered. âSame.â
You stayed like that for a momentâwarm skin against warm skin, your legs still loosely tangled, the air still carrying the smell of sweat and sex and something sweeter underneath.
Eventually, he pulled out with slow care, kissed your shoulder again, and got up just long enough to take care of the condom, grabbing a towel from your bathroom without asking where it was. He moved quietly. Efficiently. Still himself.
He returned a moment later, sliding back into bed beside you like it was the most natural thing in the world.
You both lay there for a few seconds, eyes on the ceiling.
Thenâ
âI canât believe we just did that,â you said.
He turned his head toward you.
âYou regretting it already?â he asked, quiet. Not joking. Just honest.
You looked at himâhair mussed, still flushed from what youâd just shared, those damn eyes fixed on you like you were still the only thing in the room.
âNo,â you said. âNot even a little.â
That landed. You could see it in the way he exhaled. The way his arm moved to pull you in, tucking you against his side like you belonged there.
âI donât usually do this,â you murmured into his chest. âNot like this. Not the first night.â
His fingers moved through your hair, slow and steady. âYeah. I kinda figured.â
You smiled against his skin. âWhyâs that?â
âBecause if you did⌠no one would ever shut up about you.â
You laughedâsoft and surprisedâand he pressed a kiss to the top of your head.
You both went quiet again.
But this time, it was heavier.
Not bad. Just⌠honest.
You shifted slightly, looked up at him.
âSo⌠what now?â
He looked down at you. Met your eyes without flinching.
Older!Tom âIcemanâ Kazansky (healthy and single, thanks) x Female!Civilian!Reader
Warnings: age gap, Insecure!Reader, some crude humor (apparently Iâm also a 12 year old boy)
Not beta read
GIF not mine (obvs)
Enjoy
/////\\\\\
âI canât believe Iâm saying this, but Uncle Ice needs to get a woman,â Rooster said as he plopped down across from you in the booth by the pool tables.
You barked a laugh as Phoenix smacked Rooster on the arm from where he had sat next to her.
âRooster,â she hissed, âyou donât just say that about the Commander of the Pacific Fleetâ â
âIâm not,â Rooster argued, interrupting her. âIâm saying it about Uncle Ice. The man is lonely and needs someone to take care of!â
âSo, get him a cat,â you deadpanned and saluted Roosterâs halfhearted glare with your drink.
âI expected more sympathy from you,â Rooster sighed dramatically and you gave a cheeky grin, even as your stomach rolled.
You were stupidly attracted to the Admiral and had been from the moment you met him. He was incredibly good looking, but your attraction was more than superficial. He was kind, caring, assertive, protective. How could you not fall for someone like that? Someone who gave you the time of day, who listened to you and actively engaged you in conversation. Who made you feel special.
And that was the problem. He was high up in the admiralty (his position as COMPACFLT was as high as one could go). You were normal- a civilian. Average job, average life. Younger. You were not in that manâs league. And you knew it.
But that didnât mean you wanted to talk about finding him someone else. You werenât that strong.
Flippant jokes and sarcasm to guard your heart- that was the only way you were going to get through this (hopefully short) conversation.
âI mean it,â Rooster said, already leaning away from Natashaâs next smack.
You just watched the two as you took another sip of your drink.
âRooster, I think that Admiral Kazansky can find a woman himself,â Phoenix lightly scolded but the man was already shaking his head.
âThatâs just it, Phoe. Heâs been on a few dates but recently he doesnât seem interested in finding anyone. But heâs lonely. Especially with Mav and Penny getting together, I think heâs getting more and moreâŚdepressed about it.â
You felt your stomach clench. You didnât think you were strong enough to see him with someone else but you didnât want him to be miserable either.
âHave you ever thought about inviting him to join in your pool games?â you asked after a moment. You were not going to start suggesting women, but you could suggest Dagger camaraderie.
Rooster sighed, shaking his head. âHe wonât join in- he says that he doesnât want to âruin the vibeâ or whatever. He doesnât want everyone to stand on ceremony.â
You threw a glance at Phoenix who raised her hands in defense. âAlright, I admit that I refer to him as the Commander of the Pacific Fleet but thatâs what he is.â
âHeâs also a man named Tom,â you said gently, understanding where she was coming from -she was military after all- but also needing her to understand that he was more than his rank. Especially off duty.
You glanced over at Rooster and inwardly blanched at his scrutinizing look. You needed to reign it in or your feelings for the man would be found out.
âSo,â you continued after a moment, clearing your throat and trying to put as much nonchalance as possible into your tone, âI think you guys should lay off the COMPACFLT avenue for awhile and treat him like Ice: Maverickâs equally crazy, infamous wingman. You guys treat Maverick with respect but also like a friend. Surely you can do the same for Tom? At least while youâre at the Hard Deck?â
Phoenix and Rooster exchanged a look and then Phoenix nodded while Rooster just leaned back in the booth and looked at you.
âYeah, alright, Y/N,â Nat said in agreement, raising her glass towards you. âWeâll give it a shot.â
You grinned, raising your drink in return. âGlad to hear it. Get Hangman on board; heâs got the most issue with authority and should be thrilled to treat Ice like an old pal.â
Natasha barked a laugh and then made Rooster get up so she could go and tell the cocky blonde aviator that all his dreams were about to come true.
Rooster let her up and then sat back down across from you, face unreadable.
You rose a brow, taking a sip of your drink to hide your sudden nerves. You really didnât like his sudden silence or his suddenly piercing gaze. This is what you got for being nice.
âThere something you want to tell me regarding my Uncle?â Rooster asked lowly.
You swallowed your drink and answered with a firm, âNope.â There was absolutely nothing you wanted to tell anyone about anything, thank you very much. You very much planned to take these feelings to the grave.
âReally,â Rooster deadpanned and you rolled your eyes to mask how uncomfortable this was making you. Please donât push it, Roo.
âYes, really. If Tom isnât interested in dating right now but is lonely, I just think it makes sense to have him included in Maverickâs adopted family.â You threw a wide grin at the man. âHe can be Uncle Ice to everyone.â
Rooster opened his mouth to say something else but you were saved by Hangman. And wasnât that a thought.
âSo,â the blonde menace said with a cheeky grin as he approached, leaning against the table and leveling a shark-like grin at both you and Rooster, âI hear that our little family is growing by one. That weâre getting a new Uncle.â
You threw Rooster an amused grin as Hangman unknowingly repeated what you just said.
For his part, Rooster just tilted his head back and groaned. âI hate you both,â he muttered and you and Jake shared a conspiratorial grin. This was going to be fun- in more ways than one.
âNow, now, Roo,â Hangman drawled, âdonât be stingy. Youâre going to have to share; thatâs what siblings do.â
Rooster groaned again and you stifled a laugh as best you could when Jake gave you a wink. He really did the âannoying brotherâ well.
âSo when do we start the hazing of our new Uncle?â Hangman asked and you threw a look at the bar where Tom and Pete were sitting, idly chatting between themselves and Penny when she had moments between patrons.
âNo time like the present,â you shrugged, ignoring Roosterâs sudden gaze.
Hangman straightened, looking at the bar as well.
âAlright, Y/N,â he drawled, âyou get him here and weâll welcome him with open arms.â
It took you a second but then you snapped your head to Hangman.
âWhat? Why me?â you demanded, trying to keep your voice from going up an octave or ten.
Hangman rose a brow. âUh, this was your idea. And besides, heâs already said no to mingling with the lower class. But if you think you can get him to come shoot a few rounds, weâll lay off the respect for awhile.â
You gave him a half-hearted glare; what a schmuck. But you knew that if anyone could get the rest of the Daggers to treat Tom like a normal person, itâd be Hangman. And Rooster wouldnât hurt either.
Fine. Youâd do your part.
âAlright,â you sighed as you got up, ignoring the look that passed between the two pilots at the table, âIâll see what I can do.â
âWe got faith in ya,â Hangman winked and you rolled your eyes. If you couldnât get Ice to come shoot some pool, you could at least get a refill.
You steeled your nerves as you approached the bar. Here goes nothing.
Hopefully he wouldnât turn you down too harshly.
âHeya, Penn,â you greeted as you leaned against the bar on the other side of Ice from Maverick. âCan I grab another?â
âSure thing, Y/N,â she grinned and you turned to the two pilots as she went about getting your drink.
âYou guys going to guard the bar all night?â you asked with a cheeky grin. âOr do you think you can leave Penny long enough to teach Hangman a lesson in pool?â
Maverick chuckled while Ice just gave a smile, shaking his head.
âThose pilots donât want two of their superior officers breathing down their necks,â he said firmly and your grin turned feral.
âPretty sure only one of you is supposed to lean over the pool table at a time there, Ice. You had a different way to play in the 80s?â
Iceâs eyes went wide and Maverick choked- for a moment you thought youâd overstepped, but then both he and Maverick were laughing heartily.
Score one for you. Getting Ice to laugh, really laugh, was always a feather in your cap. It didnât happen often except for around Pete.
You were working on changing that.
âNoted,â Tom said, eyes dancing. Then he turned a bit more serious. âBut I still donât think having their superior officer and the COMPACFLT is something theyâre going to want.â
You gave a sigh, taking your drink from a smirking Penny and turning to head back towards the pool tables.
âTom,â you said with a dramatic pause as you put your hand on his shoulder, watching as both he and Pete zeroed in on you, and desperately trying to ignore the butterflies in your stomach at touching him so casually, âI mean this with all due respect. But youâre an idiot.â
Maverick barked a laugh and Iceman looked at you incredulously.
âThe kids are all excited to meet their new Uncle,â you grinned, giving his shoulder a squeeze because you could, while you gave Maverick an exaggerated wink over Iceâs head, âand Hangman could be taken down a peg or five at pool.â
You gave his shoulder a final pat. âThe kids have been instructed to call you nothing but Ice, though Iâm sure Hangman will find some other nickname for you. Offerâs open, Tom. Itâs up to you.â
Throwing the men one last smile and thanking Penny for the drink over your shoulder, you headed back to the pool tables, feeling two sets of eyes following you.
Ball was in his court now.
/////\\\\\
It took less than five minutes before both Pete and Tom sauntered over towards the pool tables.
You tried really hard not to preen at the incredulous looks you got from the Squad.
Score two for you.
The Daggers quieted down as the two legendary pilots reached the ongoing game near your booth and then Hangman shot you a grin and loudly proclaimed, âPapa Bear! Glad you could make it!â
You face palmed, though you were grinning. Trust Hangman to find another variation of âPopsâ.
âPapa Bear?â Tom inquired, though you could hear the amusement in his voice.
A few of the Daggers shifted in unease but Jake, to his credit, just shrugged.
âFigured âDaddyâ wouldnât sit right,â he drawled and you laughed -of course heâd say something like that- and felt your heart melt at Tomâs amused agreement. Maverick for his part was laughing loudly.
Oh, Hangman might be competition for getting Tom to laugh if he kept this up. But you found that you were thrilled to have a partner in crime.
The Admiral really needed to relax and be able to be himself around more people- hopefully the Dagger Squad would be those people. You would gladly be one of those people too, if heâd let you.
âAfter I beat Javy here,â Hangman grinned at Coyoteâs squawk, âhows about a game, Papa Bear? See how good you really are.â
Tom gave a feral grin, and you snickered at Jakeâs suddenly worried look. Ice shot you a look, âI see what you mean about taking him down a peg or five.â
Hangman gave you an exaggerated wounded look and you waved a hand at him with a laugh. You knew getting Hangman on board was going to be a good idea.
Score three.
âYou got yourself a game, Hangman,â Ice said with a grin and then Hangman gave him a very flippant salute thatâd surely get him reprimanded at work, but one that made Ice shake his head in amusement and Maverick chuckle.
Both the older pilots beelined for your table and you tried to hide your amused smile behind your drink.
Judging by the looks on their faces, you failed on that one.
âFancy seeing you here,â you said innocently, and Mav chuckled while Ice gave you a look.
âHmm, well, when I get challenged, I tend to show up, Sweetheart,â came the reply (and smirk) and you batted your eyes at him.
âIâll keep that in mind, dear.â You had no idea where thisâŚbravery was coming from. Maybe you just didnât care since Rooster seemed set on finding a woman for his Uncle Ice. When another woman came into his life, youâd have to make peace as his friend (if you even got that far)- may as well start trying to get rid of your feelings now. As long as he quit with the pet names.
âDad, Uncle Ice,â Rooster greeted from behind your shoulder and you scooted over as Rooster started to sink into the booth next to you.
âBaby Goose.â
âBradley.â
âGoing to teach Hangman a thing or two, Uncle Ice?â Rooster grinned, âCanât wait to see that.â
âI think they had different pool rules in the 80s â we may have to keep an eye on him,â you stage whispered to Rooster with a smirk, laughing as Tom flicked a peanut at you from the bowl on the table with his own huff of amusement.
Rooster and Maverick shared a look across the table and you sobered. Right. No tilting your hand; these feelings were coming with you to the grave. You werenât the one meant for Ice.
Groans and cheers suddenly erupted from around the pool table and Hangman was mockingly bowing to the watching Daggers.
Tom sent you a grin and a wink, then stood and headed towards the table.
Hate to see him leave, love to watch him go.
Jake and Tom jokingly shook hands and then squared off, racking up the pool balls and starting what you hoped was the first of many games.
Tom deserved to have this.
âSo, Y/N,â Rooster said casually after each pilot had taken a few shots, âare you dating anyone right now?â
You choked on your drink.
âWhat?â you gasped out as you coughed and tried to breathe through a lungful of liquid. You really hoped Rooster wasnât going with this where you thought he might be. Not in front of Maverick. You didnât need the infamous pilot telling you (politely because thatâs just how Mav was) that you werenât good enough for his wingman.
âBreathe, Y/N,â Maverick said lowly and you threw him a look what exactly did he think you were trying to do that made him grin and hold his hands up in surrender. âAt least throw Ice a wave so he doesnât scrap his game with Jake to come over here and check on you.â
Startled, you looked over at the pool table and sure enough, Iceâs eyes were locked on you and Hangman had the biggest smirk on his face behind him. You waved him off as convincingly as you could as you drew a deep breath and when it didnât start of another round of coughing, you sucker punched Rooster in the arm. Hard.
His yelp seemed to reassure Ice more than your wave and he turned back around to continue the game.
âOw,â Rooster whined and you rolled your eyes.
âThatâs what you get,â you grumbled, a little hoarsely.
âCareful, Baby Goose,â Maverick said, his eyes dancing over the rim of his glass. âNot sure Iâll be able to save you from Ice next time.â
You threw Maverick a look as well that had him chuckling.
At least if they were teasing you about Ice, they werenât taking it seriously and wouldnât tell you how wrong you were for him.
The three of you watched the pool game in silence for a few minutes, listening to Jake and Tom good naturedly trash talk each other and to your delight, the other Daggers were slowly joining in. You really needed to get Hangman a gift basket or something â he was doing wonders for morale and getting the Squad to accept just âIceâ instead of âAdmiral Kazanskyâ.
âIâm impressed Uncle Ice actually came over here to play,â Rooster spoke up suddenly and Maverick snorted into his drink.
âIâm not,â the man said with a grin and a significant look at you. You looked at him in confusion but Rooster, for his part, just gave a soft laugh.
âSeriously?â he questioned Maverick and you looked between the two of them with a furrowed brow as Maverick nodded with a pleased hum. âThatâŚfits, actually. Wait, is that why he suddenly got so disinterested in dating?â Rooster asked and Maverick barked a laugh, nodding again.
âYeah. Tonight worked out well, I think. It looks promising at least.â
Rooster threw a look your way and grinned, before turning his attention back to Maverick.
âYeah, I think itâs gonna work out great, Mav.â
Now it was Maverickâs turn to look searchingly at you and you finally huffed, leaning back against the booth and crossing your arms.
âAre you guys done having an irritatingly cryptic conversation right in front of me?â you asked, though there wasnât really any heat to it. They were entitled to talk however they wanted â but you did feel like you were missing something and it wasnât necessarily a feeling you liked.
âProbably not,â Maverick shrugged unrepentantly and you rolled your eyes with a fond grin. At least the man was honest. âBut you never did answer Roosterâs question, Y/N,â he continued. âAre you dating anyone right now?â
You looked from Maverick to Rooster and back to Maverick again, now on full alert. Alright, you werenât dumb. Something was going on. And you were trying really hard not to get your hopes up.
âNo?â you answered finally, though it came out more as a question.
Maverick gave you a soft smile that put you immediately at ease and boy if that man didnât know how to work a room.
âSure about that?â he asked. âYou seem a little unsure on that one.â
You rolled your eyes. âYes, Mav. Iâm sure Iâm not dating anyone. What Iâm unsure of is why you two suddenly are asking.â
There was silence at the table for a moment before Maverick asked gently, âYou really donât know why weâd be asking? Youâre a smart woman, Y/N. I think you have a good idea.â
There went that hope you were desperately trying to smother, growing to epic proportions.
âPete,â you said quietly, voice a little raw, âplease.â You werenât really sure what you were asking for â maybe for them to not mess with you? To not get your hopes up any further because when you crashed, it was going to hurt. Or maybe to just come out and say it? Because you didnât trust yourself with this â didnât trust that you werenât reading it all wrong. And you couldnât take it if you were wrong.
The two men exchanged another glance and then both turned to you fully, bodies angling towards you and Maverick even reached for your hand that wasnât wrapped around your glass.
âY/N,â he said quietly, earnestly, âIce has been in my life for decades. Heâs the only one who ever stuck it out with me, whoâs been there through everything. Believe me when I say that meddling is not something I take lightly with him. Not with something like this.â
You swallowed against the sudden lump in your throat.
âIâm not asking for a declaration of love or a marriage commitment on his behalf,â the Ace said with a small smile. âJust want to see if youâd be open to getting to know him. On a personal level.â
Would you be open to getting to knowâ was he dumb? In what universe would the answer be no???
Pete mustâve read all that on your face because he chuckled, giving your hand a squeeze before letting go and leaning back against the booth, a self-satisfied air around him that you really didnât begrudge him for.
âGood,â he grinned, flicking his eyes over to the pool table and back to you. âThatâs going to make my life a lot easier.â
You felt almost dizzy with the sudden 180 your life -your dating life too?- just did, but you still didnât trust it. If something sounded too good to be trueâŚ
You opened your mouth but then clicked it shut a moment after. You werenât exactly sure how to articulate what you were feeling. Telling two fighter jet pilot, Top Gun graduates, âHey, I appreciate the thought but Iâm pretty sure the highest man in charge of the Navy outside of the Secretary of Defense could do better than my average, uneventful selfâ, didnât seem like it would go over well. You honestly werenât looking for praise or accolades of how amazing you were. You just wanted to understand what they saw in you that you couldnât see in yourself. Why would Tom be interested in you when he had the entire world to chose from?
âBaby Goose,â Maverick said suddenly, âgrab me another drink, would you?â
Rooster looked like he wanted to protest but then looked between you and his dad and just nodded, giving your shoulder a squeeze and then standing up and heading towards the bar.
That left you and Maverick. You looked at the pilot and then promptly back down at your drink.
His gaze was far too understanding and you felt like he was able to see everything you didnât want anyone to know. Youâd planned to take these feelings for Tom to the grave; you werenât sure what to do now that it seemed they were out in the open.
âHeâs been waiting for a sign, you know,â Maverick suddenly said, voice low and warm.
You jerked your head up to meet his gaze in confusion.
âIce,â he clarified. âHeâs been waiting. Watching. Trying to determine if you were talking to him as a friend or as an interested party. Youâre close to all the Daggers and you and I talk a lot too; he was trying to judge where you stood in regard to him.â
You stared at Maverick, the doubt within you warring with the sincerity you could see on Peteâs face.
Sudden shouts from around the pool table made you jump and you and Pete both looked over to see Hangman looking suitably defeated and Ice shaking his head with a grin.
âJustâŚgive him a chance, Y/N,â Maverick said quietly with a gentle smile as Ice made his way over to the table. âI think youâll be pleasantly surprised.â
You gave a jerky nod to show you heard, butterflies erupting in your stomach as, instead of sitting back down by Pete, Ice sat down by you. Close enough that you could feel his body heat.
You took a gulp of your drink.
âIâm assuming Hangman has already told you he wants a rematch?â Maverick asked his wingman with a grin and Ice rolled his eyes good-naturedly.
âHe has,â he confirmed. âSounds like this may become a standing thing.â Iceâs blue eyes turned to you and you felt your face heat. âAnd I think I have you to thank for that, Sweetheart.â
Maverick muttered something about finding Bradley and his drink and left the table, leaving you and Ice staring at each other.
Your mind was racing with the possibilities- that maybe Tom liked you as much as you liked him, that he had been waiting for you, that he wasnât interested in dating unless it was with youâ but it also seemed so outlandish and you werenât sure what to think.
A warm, calloused hand was suddenly on your jaw, thumb stroking your cheek.
âI assume my wingman has beenâŚbeing a wingman in every sense of the word?â Tom asked and it startled a laugh out of you.
Tom hummed in approval at your laugh, seeming to relax himself as you did.
âYeah,â you said after a moment, voice quiet. âHe has been.â You hesitated, not really sure how to ask if Pete had been right.
But Tom didnât let you hesitate for long.
âWhat is it you want to know, Sweetheart? Ask me anything.â
You blinked up at him, Peteâs words coming back to you. If you gave him a chance, youâd be pleasantly surprised.
âWhy?â you asked simply, still not brave enough to ask âWhy me?â since you still werenât even sure it was you and wouldnât that be embarrassing.
The look Tom have you was soft and open, and it made your heart beat even faster.
âWhy not you, Y/N?â Tom said gently, leaning in closer. âYou areâŚwonderful,â he breathed. âSo caring, funny, gentle, beautiful- you are the highlight of my day and our conversations are what I most look forward to. I have beenâŚwaiting, trying to see if I was someone you were interested in.â
You found your eyes tearing up, reaching up to grasp the hand still on your cheek.
âTom,â you murmured and then he was leaving even closer.
âAm I?â he asked quietly, with a gentle smile. âSomeone youâre interested in?â
You huffed a laugh, feeling breathless all of the sudden. âIs that actually a question you need an answer to?â Because you were pretty sure it was obvious if Maverick and Rooster were to be believed.
âIâd like to hear it from you,â Ice said, thumb continuing to caress your cheek and you found yourself getting lost in warm, blue eyes.
âOf course, Tom,â you whispered, and then his mouth was meeting yours in a chaste, gentle kiss that had your eyes fluttering shut.
And then the cheers registered.
âLooks like weâre getting an Auntie too!â Hangman crowed from somewhere over by the pool tables and you felt Ice laugh against your lips.
Summary: Worried he would make fun of your southern accent, you don't respond to Icemanâs advances, but he doesn't quit that easily.
Tags: fluff
Words: 1,546
A/N: Iceman chasing someone against his usual approach yay! Hope you like it!
Being sent to Top Gun was very much something to be proud ofâunlike your accent, you thought. Once you spoke a couple of words to someone, they could tell immediately you were from the south. Back at home, nobody was bothered by it, but when you moved to California, that was vastly different.
Suddenly everyone seemed to be put off by your thick accent that wouldn't go away, no matter how hard you tried to adopt Californian speech. In your case, it only merged into some weird mix of both. The only solution was to stick to your own accent and not speak more than necessary around unfamiliar people.
You continued living by that in Miramar as well. Among all those aviators withâin a way rightfullyâbig egos you would work with for the next three months, you didnât want to embarrass yourself. Of course you werenât here to make friends and there could only be one whose picture would be on the wall while not everyone even graduated. Still, you would have liked not to be held back from having conversations outside of instruction. You werenât necessarily a shy person, but you didn't want to be laughed at for your way of talking. What mattered was that you were deemed good enough at what you were doing to be accepted into this program.
From the first day, you noticed one man staring at you the whole time from the row behind you. You didnât let yourself be bothered by it, despite admitting that there were less attractive men in this class. He had short blonde hair with bleached tips and green eyes that could stare into your soul if you looked into them for more than a second. The constant twirling of the pen between his fingers both annoyed you and subconsciously drew your eyes to his hands, a slip you quickly fixed by turning back around in your chair to look at the blackboard.
When you packed up after the last lesson and stood up, he blocked your way, standing almost too close to you. âHey,â he said and you just nodded with a tight-lipped smile. âIâm Ice, whatâs your name?â
You pointed at the embroidered name tag on your shirt and he smiled. âYou donât talk much, do you?â he asked, sitting on the edge of your desk.
âNo,â you simply replied and took the chance of a free aisle to leave the room.
The worst thing was you would have liked to talk with him, but based on his tough guy behavior he had proudly shown off this week, you couldnât be sure he wanted a serious friendly conversation and neither could you be sure he wouldnât make fun of your accent if he heard it. Better be safe than sorry, even if safe possibly meant passing up on a date with the self-proclaimed best pilot of the class.
To your surprise, Iceman didnât give up in the following days, attempting to catch you in the hallway for a quick chat prompted by things as trivial as him liking your pen and asking for the brand name. Also to your surprise, you persisted and always found a way out of the situation without speaking or only giving very short answers.
Maybe he was consoled by the fact that he was not the only one you avoided talking to as you only spoke during practice flights and when you had to answer a questionâor had a question yourselfâduring instruction. You didnât pay much attention to the other guysâ reaction except for low murmuring in some corners that might have just been regarding the topic, but you couldnât play the mute pilot forever in situations when you had to talk. That didnât mean you would start being more communicative privately, though.
After actually hearing your voice for the first time, Iceman brought the big guns in. Secretly, he found your accent kind of cute and not at all as big of a deal as you made it out to be. He had to get you to talk to him somehow. The next level was straight-up flirting with you. Professionalism was out the window all of a sudden, even if he kept it subtle in the classroom. On the volleyball court or in the corridors, however, he was more direct.
âI was wondering if you wanted to go to the club with me tonight?â he asked, sounding genuine and smiling with his arms crossed. âMost of the others are coming too and I like going with someone to these things.â
Frankly, you felt bad for rejecting him as you would have loved to accept the invitation, but you still didnât know if it was a trophy chase like you had heard about Maverick betting with Goose that he would hook up with a woman he saw at the bar. So you resorted to shaking your head with a sympathetic smile. âSorry,â you said and walked around him to go to your apartment.
You were the first person who left Iceman seriously frustrated and who didn't engage in his flirting at all. Sure, there had been people who already had a boyfriend or were not into men, but they had at least responded properly and it didn't affect him much. However, there was something intriguing about you that wouldn't let you get out of his head.
He couldn't need any distractions right now while working to get that certificate and have his photo hung up on the wall. The training was tough, everyone knew that by now, and there was no time or reason for him to come up with a new tactic to get a date when he wasn't sure if you would ever give in. Yet he often found himself sitting behind you during instruction and trying to figure you to no avail.
Normally, he didn't chase after people over an extended period of time. For one night maybe, but never over days or weeks like it was the case with you. It was always vice versa, so there was no need for him to come begging on his knees.
There's always a first time.
He was embarrassed to stoop so low as to visit someone at their place without knowing if they even wanted something from him. It made him feel like a desperate ex-boyfriend in a Doris Day movie. Still, he was on his way to your apartment. He only hoped nobody he knew would see him, especially if the walk of shame came after a couple of minutes when he would be turned down rather than an hour later, which would obviously be better for his reputation.
Standing in front of your door, he repeated in his head what he wanted to say. It would be extra humiliating if you rejected him now when it wasn't spontaneous flirting out of boredom in between classes but a planned evening walk to your apartment just to talk to you and hopefully ask you out.
When he was completely sure what he wanted to tell you, he raised his hand to knock on the door. As cool and nonchalant as he usually was, he was a little nervous now. He was leaning against the doorframe because standing still felt too much like a sales representative to him. He waited for a few minutes and just when he almost lost hope that you would come out at all, the door opened. Almost as if he was more surprised to see you than you were to see him, he turned to look at you with wide eyes before grinning.
A smile formed on your face and you crossed your arms, curious to know why he was here. âHello, Iâm sorry to bother you, but I really wanted to talk to you and I figured this would be a place where you couldnât run away from me,â he explained with a light chuckle. âAnd I like your accent, if thatâs why you never reply when I try to chat you up.â
This addition turned your skeptical frown into a relieved smile. âYâknow I could slam the door even if I canât run away from you?â you joked.
Icemanâs eyes lit up at this longer answer than he was used to from you. It felt like he found a bucket of water in the desert. âThat is true, but I was hoping you wouldnât.â
You tilted your head, taking a small step forward. âShouldnât you be at the club?â
âI told you I prefer going with someone to parties over going alone,â he reminded you. âBut if youâve changed your mind, we can gladly go to the club.â
âYeah?â You were surprised that he hadnât gone with somebody else instead and that he still offered to let you come with him if you did want to now.
He nodded excitedly and your smile mirrored his. âJust let me change into something else, Iâll be right back.â
Before he could leave a cocky remark, you closed the door as he stood with his hands in his pockets, patiently waiting for you to return. It had taken a while, but now he was finally about to go out with you and he felt like a schoolboy before seeing his prom date.
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tom kazansky says his favorite drink is vodka on the rocks, but in reality itâs a dirty root-beer float. With extra cream and never without the cherry.
pov: going through flight school while hiding your marriage with thomas 'iceman' kazansky
you're high school sweethearts, getting together at sixteen and eighteen, bonding over a love of flying, and dreams of being a pilot
it had been hard to make the long distance work when tom went off to flight school while you were in your senior year, but it all became worth it when you got your acceptance letter
you had a shotgun wedding after you graduate, and everyone assumed it was because you were pregnant - actually, you just knew you were going into a dangerous line of work, and wanted to be married
he's never once tried to talk you out of your dream, though he does worry
and initially, you had to tell him off for going too easy on you in drills
with tom being two years ahead, you agreed to keep the marriage quiet - it wouldn't do for anyone to think you weren't here entirely of your own merit
so, the two of you buy a tiny little cottage on the outskirts of town, and make various excuses to not hang out with the rest of the pilots
everyone assumes ice is lowkey a little bit of a manwhore, given all the attention he gets when you're all out (you'd be lying if you said it didn't bother you a little. but ice's hand sneaking onto your thigh under the table makes you feel a little better)
much to his dismay, maverick is the first one to figure it out - he spots the glances and touches that everyone else misses
by the time everyone else figures it out, you and ice are already near-legendary for your partnership, and no one's brave enough to try and split you up
Words: 578
Summary: When Tom comes back to his off base housing, he's met with an unusually quiet house and only his girlfriend inside.
Note(s)/Warning(s): Death of a pet (a cat) is what this fic is about, so please be warned. Takes place either during Top Gun (1986) or in the yearish after. I had to go with my grandma today to the vet to put down her cat and it really never gets easier losing a pet and made me wish I could just have someone to hold me and not let go until I said so. So really this fic is wish fulfillment and self indulgent to the max.
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Tom's brows furrow as he reaches the front door, turning the knob, expecting it to be locked as it usually is, only for it to swing open.
Stepping inside, his worry grows when he's hear how quiet it is. His fingers quickly moving to shut and lock the door before bending at the waist to untie and take his boots off. It's only habits and routine that has him putting his keys, wallet, and sunglasses away.
His feet leading him to the living room and his heart stops when he sees his girlfriend, arms crossed over her chest, breath hitching and eyes swollen from crying.
"What happened? Are you okay?"
"Tom."
The sound of his name in near sob has him flying over to her, hands hovering around her. "What's going on?"
Her bottom lip trembles, "It's uh, I had to take Lav to the vet."
His eyes move to the couch, where Lav should be curled up, soaking in the sun, if she doesn't get up to curl around his legs as he tries to take his boots off, but she isn't there and she wasn't there to greet him at the door.
His arms wrap around her, pulling her into him, lips pressing against her head as she buries her face into him. "She wouldn't get up this morning so I took her and," she sobs. "She's gone, Tom, she's gone."
"Oh, baby." He breathes, his eyes squeezing shut, trying not to cry with her. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
She's shaking in his arms and he holds her tighter, unable to imagine what she's going through. They've only been together two years, he's only known Lav for a little bit less, only living with them for a year now. But she's had Lav for seventeen years, since she was six years old. Lav saw her through the death of her grandma, her cheating high school boyfriend, high school graduation, came with her when she moved to go to college. She also saw her through meeting Tom, graduating college, moving in with Tom, and then moving again with Tom.
Tom and her had both been holding onto hope that she'd be there for when Tom proposed, when they got married, and maybe if they were really lucky their first child. His heart aches as he thinks about what Lav hadn't been able to see her through and it makes him wish he was there for Lav's last moments.
He wants to tell her she should've called the base, called his office number, and pleaded a family emergency. He would've left immediately and rushed to the vet's office, to be there for her, to hold her. He hates to think of her having to gather up Lav to take her to the vet's all on her own and then sitting by herself and holding Lav alone as Lav was put down. But he knows if he said any of that she'd remind him that she promised to only bother him on base if it was truly an emergency and that this wasn't an emergency, just a painful moment.
He takes a deep breath at his own thoughts, at her words echoing in his mind, 'it's not an emergency Tom, just a painful moment'.
"What can I do to help you right now?"
"Hold me and don't let go." She murmurs.
His arms tighten more around her. "Never. I won't let you go until you tell me to."
