#its just been me and my two million wips alone in my drive i haven't published anything in a while so not quite back in the saddle

[buzzthetower]

Ice doesn't dance. Not like how Maverick is easy with it, how he'll sing in front of people and laugh with strangers while doing it. Ice never gets tired of watching it though, he'd never admit that he sits there hiding his smile in his drink because Pete Mitchell can light up a room when he wants to.

Maverick knows that Ice doesn't dance, so he never really pushes it much further than that. Accepts that there's no music to grace the earth that'll get Ice to do anything more than drum his fingers on the table when it plays.

Then one night Ice is staying over at the little house Maverick is renting that's just close enough to the beach to hear the water at night if you're quiet, small, and full of things that are so Maverick it hurts. The place that Ice spends most nights lately if he's honest, except now he's getting shipped off to a new post and Maverick isn't and he can barely stand the idea of it. And Maverick is being stupid and self-sacrificing in the face of it all, smiling away and pretending like it reaches his eyes and that Ice hasn't caught him staring at the back of his head like he's expecting him to disappear in a puff of smoke at any given moment.

Ice can't stand it, can barely keep his jaw clenched tight enough to keep any of the things he wants to say in. So he finds himself in front of the shitty record player that Maverick drug home from some yard sale, next to the shelf crammed full of beat-up records that he's started amassing to go with it. Runs his fingers along the edges of the covers until he finds the Etta James album he'd bought for Maverick's last birthday, tucked beside a Doors album that Maverick bought just because he knows it's Ice's favorite and pulls it out.

He knows Maverick is watching him, just like he's caught him watching the clock the entire evening like he's on a countdown until Ice is going to have to leave. He puts it on, glancing at the track list until he finds A Sunday Kind of Love, and doing his best to drop the needle where it begins.

Maverick is still in the kitchen, drying off the glasses from dinner that Ice knows have been dry for the past five minutes like he can drag out every little intricate ritual he has to make it last longer before the night ends. When he hears the music he pauses, glancing into the living room, and finally sets the glass down. He wanders in slowly, leaning against the door frame before he comes in like he's trying to figure out what sort of game is being played.

He reaches out and pulls Maverick against him, settling his hands on his hips like they’re meant to be there. Maverick only flails for a moment until he grabs onto Ice with his mouth half-open in a question. And to say Ice doesn’t dance doesn’t mean he’s never done it before, so he kisses the questions out of Maverick as gently as he can. He starts to sway, a little awkward and stiff when he has someone hanging off of him, but still in time to the music.

"May I have this dance, lieutenant?" he hasn't asked for a dance since he was barely nineteen and fumbling his way through one of the formal academy dances with a date who was more interested in the grain of the wood floor than she had been in him. It feels easier now, like it maybe should feel with Maverick's lips still parted slightly like he's thinking about when he can kiss him again.

"I think you already have it," Maverick says slowly, raising his eyebrows like he usually does after most smart-ass remarks, and he rests his fingers against the back of Ice's neck just to further prove his point.

"Is that a yes?" he asks, humoring it all just to hear the sound of him laughing, the way his eyes crinkle at the corners.

"Well, it's certainly not a no," Maverick says, his fingers running over the short hair on the back of his head, "bet you ask all the pretty girls for dances."

The song is still playing softly and Ice hums, "Usually just the ones that I let fly on my wing." 

"That's funny, I was about to say I do the same thing," Maverick says and Ice can't stop the eye roll he gives out for that.

"You really can never not kill the moment can you?" Ice asks, but there's really not that much bite left in anything he says anymore, even less when Maverick has his arm looped around his neck.

"Personally I think it adds to the moment," Maverick shrugs, so close that their noses brush when they move. He kisses him again instead of gracing that with a response, but he still can't hide the smile that has crept onto his lips. When he pulls back for the second time, Maverick tucks his head into Ice's shoulder, warm breath fanning across his skin and making him shiver.

"You're going to come back to me, right?" Maverick says and it doesn't come out like a question, it comes out like a simple fact that he's stating. Says it like he's saying the sky is blue and the grass is green. The sun will rise tommorow, set in the evening, and Ice will come back to him.

"Course I will," Ice whispers, and he means it in the same way. The sun will set, rise in the morning, and Ice will come back to him.