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Mav stumbles out of his bedroom in just his boxers, sporting an epic case of bedhead, and feeling like death warmed over. His mouth feels like it's stuffed with cotton, he's got to have the worst headache in the long history of hangovers, he's craving for the crispiest, greasiest hash browns money can buy, and he's pretty sure he would cheerfully murder the grandmother he doesn't even have for a cup of coffee.
"Remind me to kill Cougar when he gets back from his honeymoon," he pronounces to the world at large before collapsing onto the nearest chair with a low, pathetic whine. His fingernails hurt. What the hell kind of sadist authorized that torture?
Goose cracks open one bloodshot eye from where he's sprawled out on the sofa, still wearing his tux from last night — slacks and shoes, jacket and bowtie and all. "Why's that?" he mumbles; it sounds like he's talking around a mouthful of marbles.
It takes Mav a second to remember the thread of the conversation. "The open bar."
Out of all of their friends, Cougar's the only one dumb enough — and loaded enough — to have sprung for an open bar at his wedding. Everyone knows Navy boys and free booze don't mix. Ergo, Mav's hangover is all Cougar's fault. It's just sound logic.
Goose makes an affirming noise and closes his eyes again before he gestures vaguely in the direction of the table on the other side of the hotel suite. "There's water and Advil. Carole made a Walgreens run earlier."
"Your wife is a hero and a scholar," Mav states, with the fervent devotion of a man who has wandered alone and lost in the desert for forty days and found God. "You don't deserve her."
"I tell myself that every day."
Mav hums, satisfied Goose knows his place in the hierarchy of things. "Where is she anyway?"
"Down at the pool," Goose replies. "Where we should be."
"Don't think the sun's a good idea for either of us right now," Mav counters, debating the merits of staying put and praying for a swift demise, or getting up and potentially getting some relief.
In the end, he decides to bite the bullet, and pushes himself on wobbly legs to shuffle to the table. He swallows four tablets of Advil, chugging them down with one of the water bottles, then grabs another and retakes his seat. Already, he feels a little more human and a little less like roadkill.
"Bodies are fucking dumb," he claims, after another minute.
Goose's forehead creases in a frown, but he doesn't open his eyes. "How's that?"
"Drinking water should not make a person feel instantly better," Mav explains, aggrieved. "I mean, what are we, plants or people?"
"Good point," Goose mumbles, clearly not paying attention.
Mav sips the next bottle in irritated silence, but he can't deny that rehydrating really fucking works. Gradually, his head stops throbbing as much and his mouth no longer feels like the Sahara at high noon. Of course, his lips still feel a bit bruised and his throat is all scratchy-rough — which could mean nothing.
But it could also mean he'd had a much wilder time than he remembers.
"So, hey, did I hook up with anyone last night?"
Goose rouses from his mini-nap and squints at him, the look on his face puzzled. "Not to my knowledge, why?"
Mav drops his shoulders in relief. At least he hadn't been that drunk. "No reason, just...my lips are, like, super puffy."
"That's probably 'cause all the dudes you kissed," Goose replies on a yawn, and settles right back into his prone position.
"Right," Mav says, drawing out the word. "That was a thing I did. Kissed a bunch of straight boys."
"Sure was, buddy," Goose confirms.
Bits and pieces of the reception are starting to filter in through the haze still fogging up Mav's brain — a few mezcal shots with Holly and Wolf to get the party started, another one of his dumb bets with Goose, a bunch of very confused but game-to-try-anything guys and their patiently indulgent ladies, a few very nice kisses, and...
One very, very hot blond guy with perfect posture and beautiful blue eyes and pouty lips that had tasted like spun sugar.
One very, very, very hot blond who had kissed him back more than once.
"Hey, Goose?"
"Yeah, honey?"
"Did you take any video from last night?"
Goose lifts his head and stares at him out of bleary eyes. "In what context specifically?"
Mav leans forward in his chair, his hangover and lingering headache forgotten as the thrill of the chase — and the mystery of Hot Blond's identity — takes their place. "The guys you dared me to kiss," he clarifies. "Did you film any of the actual kissing?"
Goose pats at his jacket and pants for a second, then makes a sound of triumph as he fishes his phone out of one of the pockets. "I did indeed."
"There was a blond guy," Mav says, letting his eyes fall shut as he tries to recall everything he can about the man. "A little taller than me, but leaner. Square jaw, and piercing blue eyes a man could drown in. Wide, grabbable shoulders, this cute little tiny waist, and these plush, cocksucking lips that tasted even better than they felt. And he had this cute dimpled smile that might be the prettiest thing I've ever seen with my own eyes."
A man could get happily lost in a smile like that.
"Damn, Mav, I don't even go for dudes and I want to fuck this guy," Goose laughs, and shimmies up so he's in a slouchy-sitting position. "Alright, let me pull up the video."
"Just tell me if you know him." Mav had never met him before, but Cougar had gone to Annapolis along with Goose, and a ton of their classmates had flown in for the wedding.
Goose is quiet for a couple of minutes, then his face brightens. "Oh, that's Ice."
"Who?"
Goose turns his phone Mav's way. On the screen is an image of Mav and Hot Blond locking lips. "Tom Kazansky," he says. "Callsign's Iceman. He went to the Academy with me and Cougar — and he is the best damn fighter pilot in the Navy, except you, of course," he adds, diplomatically.
"Iceman," Mav repeats to himself. Tom Kazansky. That is one helluva name, but then, those lips and that waist and those shoulders deserve a memorable name.
And he's a fellow aviator. Mav's day just keeps getting better and better.
Goose goes back to the video. "Huh, Ice was really into you," he comments, sounding more than a little impressed. "He kissed you four times."
Mav remembers each one of them. And each kiss had lasted just a little bit longer, too, with Iceman smiling between them like he was having the time of his life. What the hell had Mav been thinking just walking away from a man that hot and that interested without getting a name or number?
Drunk him was a fucking moron.
"Do you know if he's dating anyone?" It's too bad if he is, because Mav is one thousand percent going to steal Iceman away from said person, but he'll try to be somewhat polite about it.
Goose shakes his head. "Not that he mentioned, but things got real fuzzy real quick."
Fuck. "You know if he's staying here at the resort this weekend?" he asks. "Or how to get in touch with him?"
Goose's face scrunches in thought, but he eventually offers an apologetic shrug. "We talked about exchanging new numbers, but then the drinks started flowing. You know how it goes."
Mav does, but that's not helpful or relevant to his cause. "Do you know if he came with anyone or if he rolled up stag?"
He remembers all of the other guys he'd kissed had had girlfriends or wives with them, but Iceman had been standing by himself when Mav had approached him.
"Nope." Goose looks at his phone again. "Don't see anyone with him in the video, either. Just the two of you making out and, I must say, looking like a very cute couple. I ship it."
So does Mav. He just needs to find Iceman and stake his claim before they all fly back out to their respective assignments. Sure, it's primitive, but a man like that is worth going a little Neanderthal over.
He gestures at Goose's phone. "I need you to call Cougar."
Goose gapes at him, his jaw on the floor. "He's on his way to his honeymoon right now!"
Mav checks his watch. "They're probably still at the airport," he decides. "Just call him. He's got to have Iceman's number, right?"
"You're lucky I believe in love at first sight," Goose grouses, but does as asked, putting the phone on speaker and setting it down on the coffee table as Mav takes a seat next to him on the sofa.
It rings twice before Cougar's cheerful voice comes over the line. "Goose, my man, this better be important. I am literally in line to board my flight."
Mav scoots to the edge of his cushion. "Hey, Coug, it's Mav, I need a favor."
"If it takes ten seconds or less, sure."
"I need you to give me Tom Kazansky's number."
"Ice?" Cougar exclaims. "What the fuck for?"
Mav picks up Goose's phone and sends Cougar the screenshot of him and Iceman mid-kiss. "Check your WhatsApp."
"Hold on... Oh, Jesus fucking Christ, Maverick.”
"You can see why it's important that I get in touch with him," Mav presses. "It's a matter of life and death."
"Life and death?" Goose mouths; Mav ignores him. It's life and death to him, alright.
"Mav, I love you, man, but I am not texting Ice for the go-ahead to send you his number so you get laid. I am literally boarding a plane so I can get laid." There's a shuffling sound then, lower: "Sorry, babe, you know I didn't mean it like that." There's more movement, then Cougar comes back on the line. "And I'm getting off the phone now before my brand-new wife stops speaking to me."
"Wait, wait," Mav cuts in, before Cougar can hang up. "Can you just tell me if he came with anyone?"
Cougar lets out a deep sigh. "You're not gonna like it," he says.
"Come on, man," Mav pleads. "I'm begging here."
Cougar sighs again. "Alright, don't say I didn't warn you. His date was Penny Benjamin."
"Oh shit," Goose swears, turning wide eyes Mav's way.
Oh shit just about covers it, Mav thinks. Along with fuckity fuck and FUCK.
"Sorry, man," Cougar says, not sounding sorry at all. "But good luck getting any info out of her after the way you dumped her."
"Hey, it was a mutual dumping," Goose protests, like a decent best friend.
Mav just lets out a low, guttural growl. "Cougar, you are a terrible person and I hope you get food poisoning and sunburn on your dick."
Goose winces, but nods. "Harsh, but fair."
"Enjoy your treasure hunt, guys," Cougar tells them, then Goose's phone goes dark.
"Sonofabitch hung up on us," Goose marvels.
"Fuck." Mav punches the decorative pillow next to him. "There's no way Penny's going to give me Iceman's number." They'd barely managed the requisite 'hi how are yous' when they'd run into each other at the dessert table last night.
"Hey, she might, you never know." Goose puts a lanky arm around Mav's shoulders and squeezes. "And if she doesn't, we'll just start going through the rest of the guest list and see if any of them knows how to in touch with Ice."
"Thanks, Goose," Mav replies, then lets out a deep breath. "You probably think I'm nuts, huh."
"No more than usual," Goose says. "And hey, you don't have to call Penny. There are plenty of other men out there."
Mav thinks about Iceman's blue eyes and pink lips and tight waist. About the way he'd smiled at Mav like he couldn't help himself, and never wanted to stop. "No," he slowly replies, "there really aren't."
"Yeah, I get it." Goose squeezes his shoulders again. "I felt the same way when I first laid eyes on Carole."
Mav climbs to his feet. "You think you could order some coffee and hash browns while I hop in the shower?" He's going to need to be as sharp as possible for this conversation.
"Sure thing, buddy."
***
He feels ten times better once he's washed his hair, brushed his teeth, and put on a clean pair of shorts and a t-shirt; when he strolls back out into the main room, he's ready to take on the world and, more importantly, his ex-girlfriend.
"I should call, rather than text, right?" he asks, as he sits back down and starts scrolling through the contacts on his phone until he gets to Penny's name.
"You should definitely call," Goose affirms, and hands Mav a piping hot mug of black coffee. He's finally lost the tie and jacket and shoes. "Still waiting on room service, so this is just the K-pod dreck from the mini-bar, but it can't be worse than the coffee on the Layton."
"It's got caffeine, it's perfect. Thanks, Goose — you're a good friend," Mav says, and takes a long, life-affirming sip. It tastes burnt, but not too terrible; Mav's had a lot worse over the years.
"You ready?" Goose asks, those puppy brown eyes of his scrunching in concern.
"As I'll ever be," Mav sighs. He locks on to the memory of Iceman's pretty face and the sweet taste of his lips to keep himself fixed and focused on the real target, and hits dial on his phone.
Penny answers before the phone even has a chance to ring. "I was wondering when I'd hear from you, Pete," she says, forgoing any greeting.
Mav looks down at his screen in surprise. "You were?"
Her laughter is musical and more than a little ironic. "I was standing five feet away when you accosted my date."
"I didn't know he was your date when I approached him!" Mav protests, his heart plummeting right back to his toes. Of all the goddamn people Iceman could have hooked up with, it had to be her. "Are you two, uh, serious?"
The silence stretches out so long that Mav checks to make sure the call is still connected. Beside him, Goose is holding up his own phone and pointing at Hollywood's number. Mav shakes his head and keeps sweating it out. He owes Penny this much retribution.
Finally, she lets out a long, drawn-out groan. "Fine, you win," she says. "It was our first date."
Mav fist pumps the air, but keeps his voice carefully neutral. "And?"
"And it's your turn. Tell me why you called."
Somehow, he's not surprised she's making him say it out loud. "Because I'd like you to give me Iceman's number."
"And why would I do that?" she asks.
Mav's too desperate to pretend like this isn't a matter of international importance. Or, at the very least, his own personal happiness. "Penny, come on, don't do this," he begs. "We had a connection. You saw it."
"And?"
"And I want to..." He trails off. Okay, he can't say that, no matter how true it is. So, he settles for the other — but no less important — truth. "I want to ask him out. On a date. An actual real date."
She lets out an inelegant snort. "It must be serious if you're not pretending a picnic of cold cuts and beer in your bedroom is a real date."
He bites back the retort that his usual play had worked on her numerous times. It's not the time, and that ship had sailed a long time ago. "Will you pretty-please give me his number," he tries again. "I'll owe you."
"Oh, I know you will," she says, then sighs again. "But yes, I'll give you Tom's number. But only because he couldn't stop talking about you afterward and how soft your lips were and how pretty you looked."
Mav brightens. "Really?"
"Yes, really," she replies, exasperated. "Now write this down, because I'm only saying it once."
"Yes ma'am." Goose hands him a pad of paper and a pen; he mouths a silent thank you. He's got the best friends.
Penny quickly rattles off Iceman's number, then adds, quiet, but no less forceful: "Do not fuck this up, Pete. I mean it. He's a good man."
"I'll try my best, I promise," Mav tells her, hoping she can sense just how honest and sincere he is.
"I'll know if you don't," she says, and hangs up without another word.
"No one believes in saying goodbye anymore," Goose laments, mournfully. "We used to be a society."
Mav just stares down at the number on the notepad as he sips his coffee. "That's Iceman's number."
"It sure is."
"The number I should use to text him."
"That was the plan."
"What should I text him?" Mav turns beseeching eyes to Goose. "Hi, I super enjoyed drunkenly kissing you, can we do it again sober?"
Goose frowns. "Maybe let's work on the messaging a bit," he says, just as the front door opens and Carole waltzes in, wearing a floppy sun hat, a lime-green bikini top and matching sarong, and rhinestone-studded flip-flops on her feet.
"Oh hey, you're up!" She beams at both of them as she crosses the room to kiss Goose hello. "You two boys still nursing your hangovers?" she asks, pressing the back of her hand to Goose's forehead, then Mav's.
"Not really," Mav replies, smiling up at her. "Thanks for the water and the Advil."
"Our Mav here has more important things to think about than a hangover," Goose says, and drags a giggling Carole down into his lap.
She tosses her hat onto the table and runs her fingers through damp curls. "Oh, what's that?"
Goose nuzzles her neck. "He's trying to figure out how to text a cute boy."
"Oooh, was it the very handsome blond from last night?" Carole asks, perking up. "Tom Kazansky?"
"That's the one," Mav agrees, dreamily. He's pretty sure little hearts are circling above his head like some cartoon.
"He sure did seem into you," Carole comments. "In fact, he even asked about you when I saw him at the pool earlier."
Mav spine straightens. "You saw Iceman? This morning?"
Carole wiggles in closer to Goose's chest and nods. "We had a nice little chat about you — oh, don't look at me like that, mister, you know I only told him the good stuff."
"Must've been a short conversation," Goose jokes.
Carole laughs and noses in for a kiss. "You are too funny, Mr. Bradshaw."
"I aim to please, Mrs. Bradshaw."
"Okay, I'm gonna leave you two lovebirds alone and see if Iceman is still at the pool," Mav says, and stands. Catching him in person is much better than trying to think of a witty text. The written word isn't Mav's strong suit — he's more of a man of action.
"Oh, that reminds me, he told me to tell you that you took something of his last night," Carole says, smiling up at him.
Mav frowns down at her in response, confused. "I did?"
"Mhm. He also said to tell you he doesn't mind if you keep it, but he's in Room 7905 if you were, in his words, inclined to negotiate a custody agreement." The smile she gives him is guileless, but her eyes are positively sparkling with mischief.
Mav has no idea what the hell she's talking about, but it doesn't stop his imagination from going into overdrive at hearing Iceman wants to see him again. He sways in place, light-headed, as all of the blood in his body races towards his crotch. "I should, uh, go talk. To him," he murmurs. "About...whatever this arrangement thing is."
Goose just honks out a big laugh. "Go on, go get your man, Mav."
"I don't want to see you back here before checkout on Sunday," Carole adds, with another cheeky grin.
Mav swipes his phone and hotel key card from the coffee table, shoves both in the pockets of his shorts, and points finger guns at both of them. "I love you guys, wish me luck!"
"You won't need it — he's a sure thing!" Carole calls after him.
***
Mav stands outside of Iceman's room and takes a second to make sure his whole situation is on point. Showered, check, shorts zipped up, check, clean tee, check — and he's had both water and coffee, the two most important hangover food groups. (He's still without his hash browns, but that's a problem for future him to worry about.) He's about as good as he's going to get.
"Don't think, just do," he recites under his breath, and raps on the door before he can psych himself out of it.
He hears movement, then the door opens and fuck, drunk him was a goddamn idiot for letting all of this get away last night. Mav's appreciative gaze traverses up from bare feet and tanned, toned calves and thighs, framed by a pair of soft-looking sleep shorts, to a flat stomach and that tiny waist Mav's pretty sure he could span with his hands peeking out from under an unbuttoned white linen shirt, and then all the way up to a diamond-sharp jawline, those full, pouty lips and finally into a dancing pair of gorgeous blue eyes.
Tom 'Iceman' Kazansky is the most beautiful man Mav has ever seen in his life.
"Hi," Mav breathes, so besotted he feels like he's drunk all over again.
Those piercing blue eyes slowly rake over Mav from head to toe, and his perusal is every bit as thorough as Mav's had been. "Hi yourself," Iceman replies, his voice scratchy and the best kind of rough.
They stare at each other in weighted, charged silence for a minute before Mav remembers he hasn't even introduced himself yet. He holds out a hand. "Don't think we exchanged names last night. I'm Pete Mitchell, callsign Maverick. But Mav is fine."
"Tom Kazansky, callsign Iceman — but you can call me Ice," Iceman — Ice — says, with another one of those amazing smiles flirting across that gorgeous face. Sparks light up under Mav's skin when Ice grabs his hand, their palms fitting together flawlessly. "I was wondering when you were going to find me."
"You didn't make it easy for me," Mav replies, angling himself a little closer to all of that gloriously bare skin.
Ice leans against the doorjamb, mouth curving into a sly, knowing grin that Mav already knows is going to be his downfall. "I thought you might enjoy the challenge."
"Good call." Dimly, Mav realizes they're still holding hands. He doesn't make a move to let go. "You know, I had to ask my ex-girlfriend for your number."
Ice nods. "She mentioned you two once tangoed."
Mav peers at him through half-lowered lashes in one of his signature seductive looks that's never let him down. "That's not a deal-breaker, is it?"
The pink tip of Ice's tongue darts out to wet those kissable lips. Bingo. "That's not a deal-breaker."
Mav shifts even closer so their groins and chests are brushing against each other in a tease of touch. Anticipation pulses through him like a drumbeat, heavy and insistent. "So I hear you're a pretty good fighter pilot," he says, his conversational tone at odds with the animal need to drag Ice to the floor and fuck him right there in the hallway where anyone could see.
"You heard wrong." Ice's voice is nice and even; the hot challenge flashing in his eyes is anything but. "I'm the best fighter pilot."
Mav's answering grin is as sharp as a blade. Desire flows, searing and swift, through his bloodstream; finally, here's a worthy competitor. He tugs at the collar of Ice's shirt. "You only think that because you haven't seen me fly."
"Yeah?" Ice tilts his head, his look speculative and more than a little intrigued. "You think you're the better pilot?"
"Oh sweetheart, I know I am," Mav states, letting every bit of his confidence and superiority bleed into the words. God, he can't wait to get the chance to pit his skills against Ice's in the air — and everywhere else.
Ice lets out a rich chuckle, those beautiful blue eyes sparkling with mirth and blatant interest. "Arrogant. I like that in a man."
"I like it in mine, too." Mav leans in a little further, and breathes in the sharp scents of chlorine and soap, and something more elusive and earthy under it that calls to him like a siren song. "Hey, so I was thinking I could take you out to dinner."
"Dinner sounds good," Ice replies, and slides his free hand along Mav's hip to the curve of his ass, the touch burning through the cotton of his shorts like it's not even there. "But I was thinking maybe we could try that kiss one more time."
"Yeah? Just the one?" Mav asks, and gives in to the temptation to nibble at that jawline, his teeth raking a path from Ice's chin up to his earlobe. He's so hard he could pound nails with his dick.
"Maybe a few more times," Ice concedes on a sigh, and Mav's already limited patience finally snaps.
He turns his head, claiming those full lips in an electric kiss that lights him up from the inside out. Ice meets him halfway, a perfect partner, and opens his mouth in invitation as their tongues slide over each other in perfect harmony. Mav presses Ice against the door, their bodies fitting together like puzzle pieces, as the next kiss blows the first one right out of the water. Mav sinks into it, the plush feel of Ice's lips, the slick taste of his tongue, the rumble of his appreciative moans, the rush just like hitting 1000 knots out over the ocean. Every atom of his body is soaring high and flying fast, with nothing but blue skies surrounding him and the thrill of chasing the horizon ahead.
They're both panting like they've sprinted a mile and grinning like loons when they part.
Ice lifts his hand to brush a few stray strands of hair off of Mav's forehead, the touch gentle, at odds with how hard they're both still breathing. "Do you want to come inside?" he asks, cocking his head in the direction of his room — and, more importantly, towards the bed Mav can see taking up most of the space inside it.
"Ice, I thought you'd never ask," Mav replies, and pushes a laughing Ice inside, kicking the door shut behind them.
(Needless to say, they don't make it to dinner.)
***
(Two years later at their wedding, Goose plays the video of their first fateful kisses during his best man speech and takes full credit for getting them together.
But, despite Goose throwing down a double-or-nothing bet, Ice is the only person Mav kisses that night — and all the rest of his and Ice's very long lives together.)
***