A/N: I HAVE DONE DISGUSTING AND VILE THINGS TO THIS PLOT GOD ABSOLVE ME OF MY SINS. HAIL MARY.
Just kidding, this is based on the Top Gun Recut video on youtube, so I naturally had to take some liberties. Just bear with me here.
(I don't own Top Gun nor the recut video, though I am a big fan of both. So to quote Uncle Jesse (of whom I also have no ownership rights), have mercy. -speeds off on motorcycle while a rock ballad plays-)
Pete Mitchell really did have all the things he thought he ever wanted.
He had a shot at the most prestigious award a naval aviator could ever dream of acquiring, a bombshell blonde of a girlfriend (her callsign, Charlie, so masculine for such a femme fatale), and a best friend always up for a bit of flippant partying when the stress of the day needed to be dispelled.
But with one fell swoop, everything changed.
It all started with that night at the bar, Goose making small talk with another RIO by the name of Slider. Maverick leaned against the bar, sipping his beer and just enjoying the atmosphere. Then out of nowhere came a tall and statuesque pilot by the name of Tom Kazansky, callsign Iceman, blond and magnificent in the sleazy bar light.
Maverick felt his jaw clench at the entrance of this newcomer. But when this pilot turned his hazel gaze on Maverick, something funny happened in his mind. This...Iceman, unlike most of the other drivers at the academy, was a real threat to Maverick. And not just in the air.
Iceman had no problem with getting right up in his personal space, asking him the most personal of questions in a manner so blunt that Maverick felt a faint blush settle across his face. The scent of vodka and peppermint chewing gum that Maverick smelled on Iceman's breath was more intoxicating than the cheap beer he had been tending for the past hour. Pete answered as best he could, ("No, think I can figure that one out on my own"), and Iceman's returning one-two combination of a heavy look and a slow grin confirmed what Maverick could indeed figure out on his own.
It was the simple fact that he wanted this pilot, whatever it took.
Since the night at the bar, Maverick felt a buzzing in the back of his head, like a TV left on an off-air channel. It was there, easily ignored, but once he acknowledged it, he couldn't get away from it. This feeling intensified whenever the pilots were in class, the tiny and hot room where they were expected to memorize and analyze and anticipate getting out of these chairs and into the cockpit.
Maverick had been struggling with the buzzing for the whole two hours they had been sitting there. He could feel Iceman's gaze hot on the back of his neck for almost that whole time, which didn't do much for his already out-of-whack mental state. He casually swung his head back to throw Iceman a casual look, a quick glance just to show that yes, Maverick was hip to his game.
What Pete Mitchell saw there on that pilot's face was an amusingly intricate mix of intrigue and interest as Ice twirled a pen dextrously across the tops of his fingers, raising his hand somewhat, suggesting much and implying a bit more. Maverick turned back to the front of class, passing off his nervous twitching to Goose as just wanting to see who was the best pilot in the room.
A few days later, after a particularly impressive and equally dangerous hop for Maverick and Goose, the deckhands and the other pilots were gathering around the victorious pair, offering their congratulations and remarks. Maverick turned around after talking to a chatty deckhand and stopped cold when he saw the wide grin of none other than Iceman. Pete tore his glasses off his face. Tom reached out one long and tan arm, grabbing Maverick's shoulder, shaking him slightly as that devilish smirk grew wider. To hell with it, Maverick decided. He wanted this. He lunged forward just as the other pilot reciprocated the movement. Maverick held Ice's lean body against his for a moment, but it was enough to reaffirm the feelings he had been experiencing for the past week or so.
Apparently, Iceman felt the same way, because those hazel eyes had made a promise on the tarmac, one that Tom answered later in the night with the hot press of his body against Maverick's. Some fluttering sound crawled its way out of Maverick's throat when he felt Ice's hands and mouth all over him, a worship that Maverick had never felt so fully. There was something bitterly heartbreaking about the way Tom held Pete's hand and gently bit at the blue veins of his wrist; something that felt almost like home when Ice curled up behind him, their sweating bodies drying in the cool seabreeze that rolled in the open window.
After that night, there was sporadic flirting between the two pilots; sidelong looks that the others seemed not to notice. And then on those hot summer nights, the daily flirting would expose itself as something rougher and more animalistic, but Maverick couldn't get enough of the other pilot's rough love.
Inevitably, word got out about their affair to the higher-ups at the academy. Maverick could never forget Viper's stern warning to him as the Commander stared out the window, back to him.
As if to add injury to proverbial insult, Iceman stuttered out a butchered break-up speech in the locker room as Maverick changed into civvies. It took all Maverick had to not turn around and sock Ice a good one right on that pretty jaw. But he refrained for the moment.
The emotion all came out when he returned to his small house he shared with Goose. Closing the door to his room, Maverick leaned against the door and let it all out now. He gasped and sobbed, not really caring about how much he seemed like a woman in the moment. Eventually he fell asleep curled up on his bed, still in jeans.
The next day, the Commander found him moping around the bathroom after almost scalding himself in the shower. Maverick prepared himself for a lecture, but instead got encouraging but grim words. There was no way in hell Maverick would just 'let him go' . Pete glanced in the mirror again, determination writ across his face.
Because Maverick knew he couldn't get what he really wanted without a fight.