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.
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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.
competition
â Under the impression Iceman cares for someone else, you wallow in your emotions. He can't seem to leave things alone.
w/c: 2.1k words
a/n: i've had this sitting in my drafts since january of 2023. thought maybe it deserved to be posted in case anyone wants a taste of tom kazansky. (i edited it some and what not, but i didn't change most of the content; jan 2023 me is here in full force guys)
You nursed the same drink you had been holding since you got there, eyes glued to the droplets of condensation racing to the hardwood below. A frown had etched itself into your skin, almost permanently. It was almost as if frowning had become your go-to action, although, at one point, it had been smiling.
Your mother always told you that it takes more muscle to frown than it does to smile, but dear God, when everything around you seemed to try and snuff out the light of your life, it only seemed fair. Maybe the frown lines you would get the older your body aged was warranted. Every time you thought of your mother, the inkling, nagging sound attacked you over and over again.
For good reason, you hoped.
Were you that dense to think that maybe, just maybe, he liked you back? God, but the way he looked at her! Adoration could be seen for miles.
It was as if the light from the heavens shone down on nothing but her, illuminating everything she ever did. A goddess walking amongst mortals, preparing for the harvest of those who worshipped her. A goddess who had stolen the attention of a man who didn't even know you liked him.
It was as if the universe wanted you to die in your very spot, as the infamous head of blonde hair popped up in your line of vision. You did your best not to look at him, frowning all the while.
It seemed to be one of the only things you could do recently.
Don't come over, don't come over, don't come over.
If anyone could read your mind, they'd hear the mantra repeated over and over again as you watched as the blonde spotted you, making his way towards you. But of course, this was reality, and the idea that anyone could read your mind was... well, elementary, at best.
You had a tendency to overthink. That much was obvious. A tendency to look far too deeply into a look that lasted more than a few seconds. A tendency to look far too deeply into how he existed as a whole.
"What's wrong?" Ice asked, arms crossed over his chest as he leaned against the bar.
His voice was just loud enough for you to hear over the chatter and music coming from around the bar. Mav had yet again found himself a new girl to torment, and Goose went along with it. It would only be a matter of time before he was either abandoned for the night or leaving Goose alone with him and Slider. He hoped it was the latter, as Ice really didn't want to have to deal with another one of Mav's sulking episodes. Last time was really bad.
Hadn't you gotten mad and snapped at him last time? It wouldn't surprise him.
Your fingertips gently tapped against your glass as you cleared your throat, sitting up straight in your seat. You'd been sitting here for a hot minute now, the backless stool making your back ache from the effort.
"Nothing," you answered. He didn't need to know.
He raised an eyebrow, watching you curiously. "Bullshit," he said, voice loud as he turned to completely face you, his hips pressed against the bar as his upper body stayed in your line of sight. His eyes hovered over your own for a moment, taking in your featuresâthe crease of your forehead as you furrowed your eyebrows, the evidence of a disgruntled frown still present on your pretty face. "Don't do that," he spoke, but this time, his voice was far quieter.
"Don't do what?"
"That. I know you better than that, Y/n, and you know it. What's wrong with you? You've been sitting here all night, and you haven't even touched the damn thing," he said. Ice snatched your glass away from you and took a sniff of it, nose crinkling in disgust. "Gin? What's got you drinking this shit?"
You took your drink back, frowning. "Like you said, I haven't touched it," you retorted, sitting it back down on the counter. "What's it even matter? Aren't you too far up someone's ass to even care?"
You winced at your words, knowing that wasn't fair. But they left you far quicker than you had anticipated, and even though you had thought of them, you didn't want to say them. Didn't need to. He didn't know. Ice didn't know how you felt. You couldn't be this wayânot when he was such a good friend. Not when everything would change if he found out. Not when the panic was so overwhelming, and you couldn't even think straight.
You turned to face him, his name dying on your lips when you saw his frown.
"Yeah, I guess so," he said. He shrugged, the act so uncharacteristic to him. The man was always so sure of himself, so headstrong. He clenched his jaw and pushed himself off of the bar. "You... get home safe."
Ice took one last look at you as regret coursed through your veins. He left your side to be with Slider, annoyance clearly evident on his features. You just watched, seeing as Slider asked him something. Ice just snapped in return, shutting Slider up. The tall man's eyes flickered to you, and you quickly looked away, downing the gin in your glass.
It burned on the way down and you squeezed your eyes to try and ease the sensation, but it did little to help.
You already fucked up, didn't you? You were a good pilot. You truly were. And you did well in your classes, but hell, your socialization skills were piss poorâespecially when it came to the very person you wanted to confess to so badly.
You stood from your stool, turning to leave the bar, when a woman bumped into you.
The cold contents of her mixed drink poured down the front of your top. The glass fell from her hands and collided with the floor with a splintering crash. Your eyes widened as you looked up, seeing the goddess of the hour.
The very person Ice had spent so much time focusing on.
"Iâ"
"âwatch where you're going!" she looked at you in disbelief, black honey lips pursing in disappointment. She clicked her tongue and shoved past you, saying something to the bartender.
"God, I hate stupid people," she said, leaning against the bar.
You peered over your shoulder at the woman, anger festering in the pit of your stomach. But you said nothing more, allowing your feet to lead you out of the stuffy bar. You couldn't take another minute of being in there.
I hate stupid people. You and me both, you thought bitterly.
The cooler night air did little to satisfy your need to calm down. The drink had undoubtedly ruined your favorite top, and you could see remnants of it on your jeans. Your shoes thankfully went unscathed, but the damage was done.
You were stupid, your clothes were ruined, and quite possibly, so was your relationshipâor at least, what you thought you may have had with Ice.
Your feet led you to the beach, and a part of you thought about going home, but the sand in your shoes and the crisp smell of evening ocean air only beckoned you further.
The tide was lower than usual, and you sat close to the wet sand, shoes in one hand while your feet rested in front of you. Water gently washed over your feet, stinging a cut you had gotten the day previously. Your pants remained stagnant against the water, but the salt most definitely clung to it. You dropped your shoes and buried your face in your hands, taking in a deep breath.
With the sound of the ocean and the cawing of a few hungry seagulls, you didn't hear the crunching sand until the noise was right behind you. You slowly looked over your shoulder, seeing Ice standing there, eyes filled with uncertainty.
You said nothing, averting your gaze, but your hand reached out and patted the spot beside you. In an instant, he sat down, savoring the calm before the storm that was your mind.
He sat his shoes down beside of him while he rolled up his pants, not wanting to get them wet. His eyes flickered to yours, frowning.
"Your pants..."
"My whole outfit," you said, finger poking a hole into the wet sand. Anything. Anything was better than looking at him. "What's it matter, Ice? Not gonna make a difference, now."
He cleared his throat, hands resting in the cooling sand beside of him. The sun was nearly setting, hiding behind pink and orange clouds as the night attempted to paint the sky, faint stars appearing with each passing minute.
"She left, you know."
"Who did?"
"Polly."
You snorted through your nose, glancing back at him. "What's it matter to me?"
"Y/n..."
"No, really," you quickly interjected. "You're allowed to see whoever you want. I shouldn't have been that way. I'm sorry for being a bitch."
"But you weren't," he began, clearing his throat. He looked out at the ocean, faint outlines of dolphins just beyond the sandbank. For a moment, he wished to be themâfree and unassuming, swimming with the current instead of against it. It seemed to be all he could do lately, fighting against what was meant to be. "She was rude to you. Didn't even apologize. I..."
You pulled your knees up, your arms wrapping around them as you peered at him. The setting sun cast soft shadows against his face, golden hour now upon the both of you. He was beautiful in this lightingâhe was always beautiful.
"I was gonna tell you something in the bar, you know," he said, eyes meeting yours.
"Oh yeah? What, before or after I chased you away?"
His eyes softened. "May be obvious, but before," he said. "I wanted... well, I wanted to tell you something, but I know it may be difficultâ"
"âthe only thing difficult is listening to you try and figure out a way to tell me," you said. "What's up with you? You're usually so straight forward."
He pursed his lips. You were right. He was straightforward. What was up with him? Why did he get choked up, now of all times? He didn't choke up in class. He didn't choke up when berating Maverick. But now, in front of youâhe couldn't even get out anything he wanted to say.
His tongue poked out to wet his lips as a curious seagull pecked the wet sand by your feet.
"Y/n..."
"I'm listening," you said, eyes averting to the bird.
"Go to dinner with me."
The seagull tilted it's head as it stepped closer to you. You flinched, scooting a bit closer to Ice in the process. You had nothing for the bird, and quite frankly, you couldn't handle the intrusion at the moment. Your eyebrows furrowed as you looked up at him, confusion becoming you.
"What?"
"Y/nâ"
"No, no, what did you just say to me?"
He sighed softly and shooed the seagull away. It made an angry noise before flying off, leaving the two of you in solitude once more.
"Go to dinner with me."
"Like... like as friends?"
He paused, looking down at you. "Do you want to go just as friends?"
At the slight shake of your head, he gained a soft smile.
"More than friends?"
"What are you, in high school?" you teased, although your heart raced a mile a minute and heat made it's home on your cheeks.
"No," he said, "but I guess I could ask you the same thing."
You quickly looked away from him, grabbing your shoes in the process. You forced yourself to your feet, brushing the sand from the seat of your pants.
"What are you doing?" Ice quickly asked, standing with you.
"You wanted dinner, right?"
"But your clothesâ"
"You mind if we stop by my place?" you asked, looking up at him as he stood to his full height.
His smile only grew. "Not at all."
"What about the girl?"
"Polly. And, well," he cleared his throat, holding his hand out to you. "I don't think you should worry about her. She wasn't any kind of competition, to begin with, Y/n."
"Competition?"
He chuckled softly, unable to keep a straight face when it came to you. "You've never had any, Y/n. Never in a million years."
The words ran through you, a shiver rushing down your spine as you looked up at him. You reached forward and took his hand in your own. Whether the gin spurred you forward or the admonition from your favorite fighter pilot, you would never know. However, you thanked whatever was out there listening to you as you leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek.
Ice practically beamed at you, tugging your arm. "Come on. I know a place you'd like. They have drinks that you'd actually enjoy."
Older!Iceman (healthy and single, thanks) x Female!Civilian!Reader
Warnings: slight insecure Reader? Idk
Not beta read â or alpha read
Enjoy
/////\\\\\
âHypothetically, if I needed you to go on a double date with me and Penny, how open would you be to that?â Maverick asked unceremoniously as he sunk down in the booth across from you.
You looked up from your lunch, looking around the small diner confusedly.
âMav? What are you doing here? ⌠How did you even find me?â
This diner was tucked away down a mostly residential street and youâd stumbled upon it by accident one day when youâd taken a wrong turn. Youâd only been here a few times- you hadnât even mentioned it to anyone.
Maverick waved a hand. âNot important.â
You rose a brow and just stared at him.
âYou do realize how creepy that sounds, right?â you asked slowly.
âWould it be any less creepy if I said Iâve been looking for you and so I rode around town until I saw your car?â the man asked dryly and you just blinked at him.
ââŚNot really.â
âWell, there you go then. Donât ask next time. Anyway,â he continued on as if he hadnât just admitted to stalking, âdouble date. Whaddya say?â
You just stared at him, still hung up on the fact that heâd found you by riding around and looking for your car.
âYou are aware itâs not the 80s anymore, right?â you asked, only half joking. âWe have cell phones now. You could have called.â
The man in front you groaned like you were the problem.
âY/N, I need you to focus.â
âOh, Iâm focusing,â you shot back, hiding your sudden grin behind your cup. âIâm focusing on the fact that you just stalked me like some horrible B movie from like 4 decades ago.â
Maverick groaned again, putting his head in his hands and you snickered, feeling pity for the guy.
âAlright, Mav, alright. Iâm sorry. Iâm focused. Whatâs this about a double date?â
His head shot up from his hands so fast you were surprised he didnât give himself whiplash.
âSo youâre in?â he asked excitedly.
You snorted. âNo, Iâm not in until I get some more details. You said double date, not blind date. Who is this incredibly fortunate man youâre wing-manning for?â
Your brows rose when Maverick hesitated and you leaned forward in the booth, suddenly paying much closer attention.
âPete?â you asked after a few moments of silence.
This time when Maverick scrubbed a hand over his face it was at the situation, not you.
âHe is probably not going to be thrilled Iâm doing this,â the man muttered finally, âbut it wouldnât be because of you! Heâs just the âsuffer in silenceâ type and heâs become a bit jaded. Too many women have tried to get with him for his name or position, that heâs kinda given up. But I think youâd get along really well and youâd be good for him and then he would actually come to dinner and not keep making excuses about being a third wheelââ
âMav,â you interrupted the manâs ramblings, âwho is it?â
âIce,â Maverick finally sighed. You werenât sure what face you were making, but it made Maverick snort in amusement, so there was that.
Ice? As in Tom âIcemanâ Kazansky? The Commander of the Pacific Fleet?
Maverick wanted you to double date his infamous wingman?
You werenât Navy -or military of any sort- so while you knew the name and history of âIce Cold, No Mistakesâ (you were friends with Pete after all) you werenât star struck by any means.
More justâŚstruck by the fact that Maverick thought youâd be a good fit for each other.
Ice, Tom, whatever, seemed like a good man and obviously was ambitious and dedicated. You were intelligent and had made a good name for yourself at your own work, but⌠really? What on Earth could you offer a man like that? You were no pedigreed socialite and you knew beans about military jargon, maneuvers or history. Just whatever Pete had told you. And judging by his disciplinary record, you probably shouldnât believe everything he told you in the first place.
You were normal. Average. With a regular job and regular hobbies and a regular life.
Ice was Ice. COMPACFLT. Admiral. One of the most famous pilots, people, in Naval history.
You must have been quiet a little too long because Maverick leaned forward and placed his hand on yours.
âI meant what I said, Y/N. I think youâd be good for him. You donât have him on a pedestal and you wouldnât be trying to further your career by being seen with him. Youâre down to earth, funny, smart and I think youâd be able to keep up with him easily. The fact that youâre a sarcastic schmuck is totally in your favor too. And heâd be good for you as well. Ice isâŚprotective of those he cares about and heâd provide for you and look out for you which yes,â Maverick rolled his eyes good-naturedly, âI know you donât need, that youâre perfectly capable of looking after yourself, but I think Ice would be a wonderful partner for you.â
You looked at Maverick -really looked at him.
His shoulders were tense, eyes pinched and he had the most earnest expression on his face youâd ever seen.
âThis really means a lot to you,â you observed quietly and he gave a short nod.
âYeah. Ice has been with me for decades. And I know we havenât known each near that long,â he grinned and you snorted, âbut youâve become important to me too. I just want two of the most important people in my life happy. And Ameliaâs too young to matchmake for,â he added cheekily.
You barked a laugh, shaking your head.
What the heck- why not?
âSure,â you agreed, watching as Maverick perked up like a spaniel.
âReally? Youâll do it?â he asked with a large grin and you rolled your eyes with a grin.
âYes, Mav. You make a surprisingly good case. Guess all those disciplinary hearings have come in handy.â
Maverick gave you a baleful look, though he couldnât quite hide his grin as he got up out of the booth.
âUh huh. Youâre such a charmer.â
You picked up your fork and started to dig back into your lunch.
âYou are the one who hand picked me for a date, remember,â you threw at his back as he headed for the exit and his answering laugh followed him out the door.
You shook your head.
 This was going to be interesting.
/////\\\\\
Maverick texted you the details later that afternoon -look at that; he did know how to use a phone!
(The emojis you got in response when you texted that very thing to him made your day.)
There was a restaurant in town that Penny had really wanted to try and a reservation for four had already been made. For that night.
You had to give it to Mav- he didnât waste any time.
Youâd been told the dress code and the time he and Penny would come pick you up.
According to Pete, normally Ice would be a proper date and pick you up from your house himself, but he had a meeting that afternoon that would probably run long. Admiralty meetings usually did.
You were pretty sure Maverick was half convinced his wingman would bail out on him last minute, but you were determined to enjoy the food and company either way.
You understood Iceâs hesitance and didnât take it personally; sounded like heâd come across some wonderful women. His reluctance was understandable.
But as you locked your house behind you and headed to Pennyâs car idling in the driveway you found yourself hoping heâd show up.
Youâd thought about Maverickâs spiel all day and you were looking forward to officially meeting this man that Mav spoke so highly of and who he thought would be a good partner for you.
âYou clean up nice,â Maverick greeted you from the driver's seat with a wide grin as you got in the backseat.
You and Penny shot each other equally fond eye rolls as you scooted into the middle.
âHow on earth you landed Penny with compliments like that, Iâll never understand,â you sighed dramatically. âIâve heard better from a five year old.â
Pennyâs laugh almost drowned out Maverickâs âHey!â and you watched them interact with a small smile.
They were too cute. Penny had such a grounding and settling effect on the Navyâs Craziest Pilot and Pete was able to give Penny the love and attention she more than deserved.
You found yourself idly imagining you and Tom in the same situation and mentally shook your head.
Donât get ahead of yourself. Letâs actually meet the man first.
The three of you laughed and teased the whole way to the restaurant and you gave a low whistle as Pete parked the car.
âDidnât this place just open? Howâd you get reservations here? And on such short notice?â you asked, looking out at the opulent building.
Maverick turned in his seat to shoot you a smirk.
âUsed Iceâs name- how else?â
You barked a laugh and shook you head as the three of you exited the car and headed towards the front doors.
Of course. Why didnât you think of that?
âReservation under Kazansky,â Pete said with a charming smile to the hostess and the woman seemed to stand a little straighter when she clocked the name on the reservation book. She looked between the three of you, obviously noting how close Pete and Penny stood to each other and your slight distance.
âWeâre short an Admiral,â Pete continued smoothly, âbut heâll be along shortly.â
âOf course, sir. Right this way.â
And then the three of you were led to a large private corner booth where Penny and Pete sat on one side and you sat on the other.
The hostess gave you another shrewd look, looking you over not very discreetly, but said nothing other than your waitressâ name and then she left you.
You looked across the table at Pete and Penny and saw Penny looking at you with an equally befuddled look while Maverickâs look was unreadable.
âI had to notate who exactly he was to get this reservation so quick ,â the Captain said lowly, âso heâs listed in their book as the Commander of the Pacific Fleet. This is not exactly a family friendly atmosphere, so Iâm sure theyâve already figured out youâre his date. Iâd expect some weird vibes from the majority of the female staff tonight. Ice has always been a catch.â
You looked at Maverick searchingly, mind recalling all the things heâd said that afternoon. Not putting Ice on a pedestal or using him to further yourself in society seemed to be pretty big points to both men.
You relaxed against the booth and shot Mav a grin.
âSounds fun. But someone is taste testing my food- just in case.â
/////\\\\\
Only twenty minutes had gone by before there was a murmuring that seemed to ripple through the front of the restaurant.
Maverick shot you a grin.
âIce is earlier than I thought heâd be.â
The nerves you had been so good at shoving down came back with a vengeance as you looked over towards the front of the restaurant and saw your hostess leading a ridiculously good looking man towards your table.
He was still in his uniform and whoever had said suits to women were like lingerie to men had obviously never seen this man fill out a Naval uniform.
Youâd seen pictures of him, of course. Maverick always had photos on his phone of the Daggers, Ice- even his Mustang.
But seeing the man in person?
Pictures did not do him justice.
âI think you may be drooling a bit there, Y/N,â Maverick stage whispered as Ice neared and you shot him a glare.
âYou could have warned me about the uniform, Mav! All the pictures you showed me were casual clothes!â you hissed back.
Which the man had filled out just fine but that was not the point.
No wonder practically the entire female population of Fighter Town was panting after him.
âGood evening,â Iceâs deep voice greeted as he arrived at the table and you inwardly (hopefully) swooned. Seriously.
A soft laugh sounded out from the other side of the booth, Penny was absolutely laughing at your expense, and then Maverick piped up, âHeya, Ice! Glad you could make it.â
You looked up, giving Ice a soft smile as he took a seat next to you.
âI apologize for my tardiness,â he said lowly, reaching out to grasp your hand, pressing a soft kiss to the back of it. âIt is wonderful to meet you, Y/N. You look beautiful.â
You blinked at him, surprised at the compliments and the warmth in his voice.
Based on the conversation youâd had with Mav earlier, you assumed Ice would have been more reserved, if he even showed up at all, and would be hesitant to engage so quickly with another woman.
Ice rose a brow in amusement at your silence and Maverick chuckled.
Mortifying.
âUh,â you cleared your throat, sending Mav a good kick under the table that had him muffling a yelp, âthank you. Itâs good to meet you too.â You paused for a moment before adding, âDo you prefer Ice or Tom? I feel as if my source,â you threw a glance at Mav, âmay be a bit biased.â
Tom gave a chuckle, thumb caressing your hand once before releasing it.
âEither will do. Just no âAdmiralâ if you donât mind. Iâve had quite enough of that.â
âHad a good time herding cats at the meeting then?â you asked with an impish grin and Iceâs eyes lit up in what looked like surprise before he laughed.
âSomething like that,â he agreed.
Your waitress appeared at your table and you all put in your drink orders, an unspoken unanimous decision that youâd wait for food until Tom had a chance to glance at the menu.
Your waitress was very attentive to both the Admiral and, to an extent, the Captain.
Penny rated higher on her scale for customer service but you had a hard time getting her to pay attention when it was your turn.
Eventually, your orders were written down and she disappeared.
You shared a glance with Penny and snickered.
Let the games begin, apparently.
âYeah,â Maverick said suddenly, grin wide, âsomeone is absolutely taste testing anything that woman drops off for you.â
You and Penny broke into laughter while Ice looked between you and then leveled a look at Maverick.
âThere been problems?â
You patted his arm, eyes twinkling. âWeâre just pretty sure the entire female staff is gunning for me. Weâll just make it obvious youâre eating off my plate so I donât die tonight.â
Ice hummed lowly, giving you a smirk that absolutely did not make your heart stutter, thank you very much, âWe will definitely have to make sure theyâre aware youâre off limits.â
Maverick whistled lowly and said something about âsmooth movesâ and âstill got itâ but you could hardly hear him over the blood rushing in your ears.
Oh Lanta. You were in so much trouble.
Luckily for you, Penny came to your rescue and steered the conversation to other things. It was refreshing to be able to laugh and joke with other adults without any competition or fighting to be heard.
All four of you got along amazingly well and you caught Maverick giving you a look you interpreted as a thank you when Ice laughed for the nth time that night.
You gave a subtle, mock salute.
It was absolutely your pleasure.
Placing your food order with the waitress went much smoother- probably because Ice ordered your dish for you, stating that you and he would be sharing your prospective meals so could she please bring a few extra plates?
You had to take a drink of water to hide your grin.
It feltâŚgood to have someone take care of you, even with something as simple as ordering your meal.
You met Maverickâs eyes across the table and he smirked. Yeah, he had been right. Darn it. Youâd be hearing about that for awhile.
But when your food came and Ice leaned over to share some of his food -and steal part of yours- you found that you didnât care.
Maverick definitely knew what he was talking about and you were glad heâd thought of you for this double date.
If you were lucky, itâd be more than a one off.
The check came and Ice slipped his card into the card holder before anyone else could say a word.
âThatâs not how that was supposed to go,â Maverick protested and Ice just smirked.
âYou can get the next time.â
âYou always say that,â Maverick shot back and after Ice responded with a flippant, âWell, be quicker then,â they delved into a back and forth that had you and Penny shaking your heads with twin grins.
Honestly, they were like children.
âGirls- girls!â you interrupted them and both men turned to you, âQuit arguing- youâre both pretty.â
Maverick barked a laugh, Penny gave you a salute with her drink and IceâŚIce one upped you, turning his body to you, placing his arm on the back of the booth behind you and leaning in.
âIâm prettier though, right?â he asked huskily and what should have been a ridiculous question made heat shoot through you.
Or maybe it was because of his leg pressed against yours. You didnât think you were this touch starved, but wherever Tom touched you, your nerves positively tingled.
The Admiral seemed to notice, eyes darkening and smirk widening as the hand behind you on the booth causally shifted so he could trail his fingers along your shoulder.
âYou are not playing fair,â you murmured, finding yourself a bit breathless. And over such innocent touches!
âNever claimed I would,â came the smug response and you huffed an incredulous laugh.
This was not the hesitant date you were expecting to show up tonight, but you were absolutely not complaining.
âIâd like to take you on a proper date,â Ice said lowly after a few moments of you two just staring at each other, âjust the two of us.â
You blinked once, twice, and then felt a somewhat loopy smile stretch across your face.
âYeah?â you asked giddily and Tomâs eyes softened.
âYeah,â he confirmed, shifting to lean just a little bit closer. âHow about tomorrow? Iâll come pick you up and weâll start with coffee.â
âIâd like that, Tom,â you said softly, with a smile and Ice grabbed your hand and pressed another kiss to it.
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Summary: Seeing Tom all sweaty after a volleyball match turns you on more than it should.
Tags: smut, blowjob
Words: 1,133
A/N: Big thanks to the person who requested this, that scene was an awakening for me
You waved at Tom from where you were standing by the fence while the boys were playing volleyball. He was beaming when he noticed you and added some tricks like spinning the ball on his finger to impress you.
Maverick leaving after this round seemed to be perfect for Tom as well, as he wasted no time in jogging over to you. âHi baby,â he said breathlessly and kissed your knuckles through the fence, looking up at you through his long eyelashes. âIâll be right with you.â
Tom went to have a brief chat with Slider while grabbing his bag and clothes from the bench. Then he rushed toward you and put his arm around your shoulder as you made your way to his room.
Since overnight visitors were generally not allowed, you had to find ways to spend time during the day when he was free, which was rare enough. If the rule had been âno sleeping at pilotsâ dormsâ, you could have at least said you werenât planning on sleeping.
Either way, you were finally alone and although you had arrived yesterday and were staying over the weekend, he kissed you as if you hadn't seen each other in months. After pulling away to catch his breath, he walked into the pantry and drank a glass of water while you admired how handsome he still was in jogging pants and sweating after a volleyball match he had very obviously been trying to win.
âHow was your day?â
âGood, but it just got better,â he answered and walked back to you with a smirk.
You gently tugged at the dog tag around his neck to close the gap between you, teasingly brushing your lips against his before slipping into a fervent kiss. He returned it, placing his hands on your hips, yet he didn't deepen it until you pressed your body into his, not caring about how he was drenching your shirt. In fact, he looked incredibly sexy all red and covered in sweat.
After a while, he hesitantly broke the kiss, chest heaving and green eyes dark with lust as he looked at you, a smile forming on his lips. âI should take a shower,â he whispered.
His muscles tensed as you traced the vein on his neck with your fingertip, following the drops of sweat that fell down his ear.
âWho says that?â you replied and leaned in for another kiss, though you soon paid more attention to his jaw and neck.
âMmh, I say that,â Tom hummed as you started sucking on the skin above his collarbone and ghosting your hands over his lower abdomen. He gently grabbed your wrists and placed them around his middle as he crashed his lips into yours once more, reaching up to cup your cheeks.
When he pulled away, you sprawled your fingers out over his bare back and moved to kneel down. âReally, darling?â he chuckled, playing with your hair as you tugged at the waistband of his pants. âI didn't know that turned you on so much.â
âDonât get too full of yourself, that doesn't mean I never want you to shower,â you retorted and pulled his briefs down, revealing his erection. You ran your fingers up and down his length, leaving him twitching and sucking in a breath.
âPleaseâŚâ he whispered, but his eyes told you it was more of a command than a plea.
You didnât break eye contact as you wrapped your lips around it, slowly swirling your tongue and moving forward just enough to give him a piece of what he wanted but not enough to let him get into it immediately. You wanted to worship him a little and you knew he would like it once he realized what your plan was.
In almost agonizingly slow motions, you fondled his balls and licked the tip to build up some anticipation before fully taking it into your mouth. Your mumbled words of praise he probably couldn't understand up there seemed to help that too. He groaned impatiently, but you could tell he was enjoying it.
When Tom knew it wasnât going to be a quick blowjob, he leaned back against the dresser. God knew he needed some kind of support if you were going to continue like this.
To his own surprise and especially yours, he didnât become dominating and let you take the lead completely, moving in whatever way and at whatever speed you wanted, no matter if he needed more. Of course, you took advantage of that. He regularly handed over the reins in bed, but when it came to blowjobs, he was often quite eager and helped you along to speed up the process for his own pleasure.
Eventually, you took him as far as you could, his natural scent emphasized by his salty sweat that was dripping down his chest and stomach. You figured he deserved to get closer to his orgasm by now.
âFuck,â he moaned and held on to the edge of the dresser behind him to steady himself, knocking over a framed photo in the process. Before it fell to the ground, he caught it and chuckled as he put it back, âGood reflexes.â
Simultaneously, he heard a mild gagging sound and felt your muscles tightening around his cock. Tom only realized when he was met with your teary eyes that he had accidentally thrusted into your mouth while grabbing the picture. âEven better reflexes.â He smiled sympathetically and reached down to stroke your hair, adding, âSorry, honey.â
You blinked as if to say it's okay and went right back to work. Especially now he owed you and it was time for him to return the favor. In faster motions, you bobbed your head up and down, Tomâs hand still in your hair but not guiding you and rather following your movements.
âGod, baby, gonna cum,â he sighed and earlier you would have read that as a sign to slow down again, but now you did the thing with your tongue that never failed to push him over the edge.
His grip on your hair tightened and the muscles in his thighs twitched as you rested your hands on them to steady yourself and him to some extent too. Your lips were still wet and your eyes glossy as you sat back on your heels, looking up at him with his cum dripping down your chin.
After he had come down from his high, he took your hands and helped you up, kissing you passionately. You called it the ultimate act of vanity, but actually you found it hot when he tasted himself on your tongue.
âRematch?â you asked, fluttering your eyelashes.
âYou bet.â He pushed you onto the bed and climbed on top of you to close the blinds.
A/N: With the upsetting news of Val Kilmer passing, Iâve been in my Iceman feels. A few more Iceman one shots to follow. Thank you for reading - C
When you first told your dad you wanted to be a pilot, you were nearly five. Your mom said he laughed it off, chalking it up to your obsession with Top Gun. A childish dream, he figuredâsomething youâd outgrow in a few years. Who could blame you? The planes were fast, the uniforms cool, and the base was your personal playground.
On your eleventh birthday, Uncle Mav took you up in one of his personal planes. Your dad was stuck in a meeting and had given Maverick one job: keep you out of trouble. Which, technically, he did. You two flew for hours, time slipping away like nothing. The note left behind for your dad simply read, Be back in a few. By the time you landed, your dad was livid.
He stood at the hangarâs edge, arms crossed, aviators on, watching the two of you walk up. Mav immediately knew he was in trouble, but how could he say no when his only niece asked to fly?
Your dad had a whole lecture ready about recklessness, responsibility, and needing permission. But the second you ran up to him, grinning ear to ear, animatedly retelling the flight, the fire in him faded. He glanced at Maverick, who smirked knowingly. And that cold Iceman exterior cracked just enough for a small smile. Your love for flying was pure. Still, your dad held onto the hope that you wouldnât follow in his footsteps.
Your senior year of high school was one of your best. Youâd been flying single-prop planes for years, occasionally sneaking into the cockpit of one of Mavâs when your dad wasnât around. You were a well-rounded student with one secret goal you hadnât told your dad at least, not until just before graduation.
You remember sitting at the dinner table, leg bouncing as your dad finished telling your mom how his day had been. Uncle Mav had just sat down with a plate of food, eyeing you suspiciously. While your dad was too occupied with settling down from a long day, Uncle Mav saw right through you. He nudged your leg under the table, catching your attention. The question was mouthed, âAre you okay?â
The shrug of your shoulder was what brought your dad into the silent conversation. âAnything the two of you want to share?â His eyes had bounced between the pair, now catching on to how nervous you looked.
You exhaled. âI got into the Naval Academy.â
Silence. You knew your parents had hoped flying was just a hobby. They had no idea youâd been quietly stressing over the application for months.
Maverick looked like he was trying not to grin. Your mom stared, wide-eyed, already understanding the path you were about to take. But your dad, he set his fork down, slowly processing.
Youâd always told him everything. Your hopes, fears, dreams. This, though this he had no idea about.
âAnd you kept this from me⌠why?â
You expected the question. He was your best friend. And this, well⌠this could either bring you closer or tear you apart.
âI didnât want to disappoint you,â you said. âEither by not getting in⌠or by getting in.â
He shook his head slightly. âGetting into the Academy is a huge accomplishment. Very few get the chance. Of course Iâm proud of you, kid. Why would you think I wouldnât be?â
You looked down. âBecause I want to be a Top Gun pilot. And you donât want that for me.â
You didnât see his hands clench. Didnât notice the glance he shot Maverick. All you heard was: âAnd if thatâs your dream, then Iâll support you however I can. Iâm proud of you.â
Which is why it felt like a betrayal, years later.
You graduated from the Academy. You earned your spot flying F-18s. You worked harder than anyone, your flying record spotless, your performance unmatched. You earned the call sign âFrostâ after someone asked if it was because of your dad.
âNo,â someone replied. âSheâs colder than he is and she earned it.â
You did everything right. Everything you could to be selected for Top Gun. But others kept getting picked over you, and you couldnât figure out why.
Until you met Bradley Bradshaw.
You didnât grow up with him. your dad hadnât been as close to the fallen RIO as Mav was. He was a few years older, always in a different class. But you were bound to cross paths eventually.
It just happened to be at the worst time.
You were at a bar, nursing a beer when the mustached pilot sat beside you and ordered a whiskey straight.
âWhat has the mighty Frost drinking alone on a Wednesday?â he asked.
You snorted. âReflecting. You?â
He chuckled. âQuestioning life.â Then paused. âHow well do you know Maverick?â
You tried to rack your brain for why he would ask that. In the little you knew about him, his dad was close with the pilot. Even when he passed, you knew Maverick continued to show up for him.
You hesitated. âGrew up with him. My dad considers him family. Why?â
He sighed. âI poured everything into getting into Top Gun. Found out he pulled my papers. No explanation.â
You froze. If Maverick could pull papers⌠your dad could, too. Your hands shook as you pulled out your phone and called Mav.
âDid my dad pull my papers?â you asked, voice barely steady.
He didnât need to hear the answer to know it was yes. Bradley flagged down more drinks.
You lost years over that. Years of silence. But eventually, you and Bradley made it. You graduated Top Gun together as the top two in your class. An honor you didnât share with your dad or Mav. Not yet. The hurt was still too raw.
A year later, your mom called.
She had always played Switzerland between you and your dad, but now she was urging you home.
What started as a sore throat had turned into throat cancer. Aggressive. Unforgiving.
Suddenly, those years of defiance felt small. Petty. Time you threw away because you didnât agree with a decision. Time he endured, silently, battling the pain of losing you and then battling cancer.
You let go of the past. Spent every possible moment with him. Told him everything about Top Gun, the dogfights, the friendships. About Bradley, and how you wished youâd known him sooner.
In turn, he told you how had had been following every deployment and every accomplishment you had in your career. Pictures were on his wall in the office of your graduation. A replica certificate of graduating number one in your class hung next to his. Tears were shed between the two of you as you both come to the acceptance that days like this were coming to an end, and your best friend was about to be taken from you.
Your dad pulled strings to keep you state side as long as he could, and you were grateful for it. Every visit you had with him seemed like it could be the last. No longer could he speak. His body was becoming frail from the chemo. He was starting to spend more time asleep rather awake. But you both promised each other to make the most of it.
Your 30th birthday brought an assignment from hell. But at least it was near home.
You reconnected with Maverick after years of standing in solidarity with Bradley, much to Mavâs dismay. The only positive you seemed to find in the beginning was that it wasnât far from home, allowing you to see your dad most nights.
By some miracle, you brought a boy home for the first time. You saw a new light in your dadsâ eyes when you told him to set out one extra plate for dinner. Was he surprised when it happened to be the one guy who drove you up the wall back at the academy? Possibly. But Jake Seresin has his way of charming himself into your heart.
It was almost like your dad was making sure you were going to have someone to care for you when he left. The very next day, Maverick pulled you into his office and broke the news to you.
You donât remember much after that, just that he held you while you broke.
Now, you stand at his grave.
As you stood there staring at his grave, you had to wonder why you were only given 30 years with your best friend. And in those mere 30, a few of them you spitefully kept from him. But you proved him wrong in the best ways. The love for flying was something the two of you shared. A bond that could never be broken.
As his casket lowered into the ground, you knew this wasnât just about your journey anymore. Flying for the Pacific Fleet wasnât just for you. It was to carry on the legacy of the man who gave you your wings.
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.
