He knew it was a bit odd, but he liked to see Maverick sleep.

It was the only time when he shut up, after all.

Iceman liked to see Maverick's lips gently part and his eyes flutter under his eyelids as he dreamed. Iceman didn't know what he dreamed about, had never asked and Maverick had never told him. Sometimes Maverick's brow furrowed and his muscles tensed and Iceman would put a hand on his chest, the other threaded in Maverick's dark hair, stroking the line of his jaw with the pad of his thumb.

Sometimes Maverick woke up right then, and as his eyes unfogged, he looked straight up at Iceman, eyelashes fluttering above hazel eyes.

"Hey," was all Iceman could think to say, his jaw twitching slightly.

Maverick just rolled over to Iceman, patting the bed. Iceman dropped down next to him, propped up on his elbows.

"Just c'mere," Maverick muttered. "I'm cold."

"You're always cold," Iceman said gruffly, but he wrapped his arms around Maverick anyway. "Probably have some neurological disorder."

Maverick was quiet for a minute. "I've been cold since my father left for his last mission. It's been a long time."

Iceman said nothing, but tightened his grip on Maverick, one muscular arm snaking its way around so his hand was pressed against Maverick's heart, which was thumping wildly.

"Nice job today," Iceman breathed into Maverick's ear. "Gave Viper a run for his money."

Maverick moved his hips back so his taut ass was pressed against Iceman's crotch, a silent invitation. "Yeah," he murmured. "Yeah, I did."

Iceman groaned. "Why do you do that to me? You know I can't stay."

"So don't," Maverick said, drawing away from Iceman, who caught him around the waist and pulled him back. His hands traveled up Maverick's sides, catching on the cotton of his white t-shirt and exposing soft, lightly tanned skin. Iceman worked his fingers against Maverick's hipbone, his fingers finding themselves under denim and then up against flesh.

Maverick rolled over up against Iceman, sliding his thumb into the belt loop of his jeans and pulling them down. Friction pooled in the small space between them.

"You think you're going to win?" Iceman breathed, looking into Maverick's eyes unwaveringly.

"Yeah," Maverick replied, tracing one finger against Iceman's lips, "you know I fucking do."

Iceman smiled a little, pushing his pelvis up against Maverick's, his dick straining at the confines of fabric.

"I don't."

That set Maverick off, his teeth and tongue on Iceman's neck. Usually Iceman brushed him away, knowing the risks of showing up to pre-flight with another pilot's rosy love bites along your neck, but this time he couldn't bring himself to give a shit.

"God," Iceman muttered, thrusting up against Maverick, sliding one leg between his thighs. He felt that strange recurring feeling rising in his throat -- the feeling of wanting to protect Maverick and treat him delicately, and at the same time completely destroy him, rip him from seam to seam and fuck every last thought out of his head. His knee jerked up against Maverick's crotch hard, like it had a score to settle, and Maverick's hand tightened around Iceman's neck, his teeth coming down roughly.

"I do have to go," Iceman muttered, thrusting again, but gently.

"Don't," Maverick said sharply, his fingers entwining themselves in Iceman's blonde hair.

"I didn't say I would," Iceman grunted. "Was merely stating a fact -- oh, yeah," he said as Maverick turned onto his stomach and leaned up against Iceman, so he was pressed against Maverick's ass.

Iceman took in a deep breath and wrapped his arms around Maverick, pressing his chin onto his shoulder. "Why do you make everything so difficult for me?"

"It's my job," Maverick said, laughing.