Chapter Text
Slider glances to his left. Ice is off in some other world- he masks it well, but Ron knows him better- pen dangling from limp fingers, lips ever slightly parted. On a normal person it wouldn't be absurd, but Ice normally clenches his teeth so hard he gets headaches, so his jaw might as well be on the floor. He may be the impenetrable Iceman to the world around him, but Slider can read him like a large print pamphlet. His head is ever so slightly tilted away from the board- Slider follows his gaze easily.
Ice is staring at Maverick.
Slider slaps his chest with the back of his hand and gives him a stick of gum. Tom takes it and puts it in his mouth, even as he raises an eyebrow in confusion. Slider leans over to speak softly, not wanting to interrupt the presentation.
"Figured you needed somethin' in your mouth," He grins when the very tips of Ice's ears turn pink, "otherwise you'd still be gawping at Mitchell and you'd start to catch flies."
Ice kicks him pretty hard under the table, which hurts like a bitch, but it's worth it to watch the blush spread down the back of his neck when he turns back to force himself to focus on Viper.
Slider can tell by the way Ice chews aggressively that he's not angry, like he's trying to pretend, but he is pretty damn embarrassed. Now that Slider's caught him in the act he refuses to look anywhere besides Viper and his notebook, scribbling his notes in his actual, nigh-indecipherable handwriting, rather than the practiced neat letters he usually focuses on.
Only a little smug, Slider doesn't care about focusing at all- he'll pester Ice for his notes later. He lets his gaze wander off of Iceman, towards the right side of the room, and focuses on one Pete "Maverick" Mitchell. He's only got a three-quarters view of his face, but what he sees is enough.
The end of Maverick's pen is in his mouth, and he nibbles at it as he looks down at his paper- probably trying to figure out what the hell maneuver Viper is talking about. He's seated at the very end of the row, so Slider gets the perfect view of Mav's left leg bouncing up and down on the ball of his foot. Slider snorts quietly because of course Mav would never be able to sit still.
Of course, right after he has that thought, Mav's leg comes to a stop. He tucks his left foot behind his right leg, and shuffles in his chair. Slider glances at Goose, sitting next to Maverick, but the other RIO is doodling little pictures in his notebook.
When he glances back at Maverick, they lock eyes. Mav had turned just so, subtly enough that he could look over at Slider. He's not chewing on his pen anymore- it rests idle on his lower lip, digging in ever so slightly. He doesn't react when Slider raises an eyebrow, though, and it only takes a second to realize Maverick's gaze isn't actually on him .
No, Slider realizes with a grin, he's looking at Ice . Now, Slider isn't a genius- but despite his size and his physique, he's no meathead either. He knows how to notice things- he wouldn't be an RIO if he didn't. He knows how to decipher where to go and how many switches to press to get himself and his pilot out alive, and those skills translate fantastically to the ground.
He shifts in his chair, idly stretching his arms out to lay across the metal tops of the chairs on either side of him. Conveniently, the motion put his hand in the perfect position to idly play with the back of Ice’s collar. He drags his fingers under the stiff khaki material, against the flushed skin on the back of Ice’s neck, the motions subtle enough that only a person who was paying close attention to them would notice. Slider glances back at Mav.
Now he’s got the pilot’s eye- and what a stink eye it is. Maverick is holding his pen so hard that his knuckles are white, and Slider almost has to commend him on his Iceman-clenching-his-jaw impersonation. If looks could kill, Ron would be six foot under. Mav doesn’t have that power, though, and Slider has a trick up his sleeve, anyway.
He makes sure Maverick is looking at them, and slides his hand around the back of Ice’s neck, just above where his collar rests, and squeezes. Iceman's stiffness from earlier melts away a little, his shoulders relaxing and his rigid posture softening.
Ron can’t help but smile- he’s got his pilot trained well.
He keeps eye contact with Maverick the whole time, watching annoyance become confusion, which then becomes a strange concoction of jealousy and confusion and a little bit of anger.
Got you in my sights, Maverick, Ron thinks, and pulls out his last secret weapon. Still holding the back of Iceman’s neck, he gives Mav a nice, slow once over . Good tone. Then he winks. Smoke in the air.
Maverick’s eyes widen and zip between him and Ice, and Slider can tell he tries to turn around before his face goes ruddy and red, but he’s not quick enough. Slider smiles wickedly as he sees red bloom across the smaller pilot’s face. That’s a hit.
He spends the rest of the class with his head in the clouds, grinning like a fool, and putting together his own little plot in his head.
Once class is over, everyone else files out talking about going out and drinking and dancing, with more than one lecherous comment about their chosen activities for the night. Slider laughs along with them, but he lingers as they file out. He tries to make eye contact with Maverick as he walks by, but the smaller pilot has his gaze firmly locked on the floor- he ends up meeting Goose's gaze, instead.
The furrow of the other RIO's brow sends a message plain as day. What did you do?
Slider grins and looks at Maverick, then jerks his head ever so faintly towards Ice.
The fond but incredibly annoyed eye roll he gets in response reaffirms his thoughts; Iceman's loaded looks aren't one sided, and it's bad enough that Maverick has been annoying the piss out of Goose.
Ron raises one hand ever so slightly, nodding his head once. I've got it.
Goose squints suspiciously, but nods back, and then follows his pilot out of the classroom.
Slider and Ice end up being towards the back of the pack, which is of course by Slider’s design- it makes it much easier to wrap a hand around Ice’s side and slip into the closest supply closet before Ice can make too much of a fuss. As soon as the door is closed behind them, Slider has Ice up against it by his biceps.
“Slider what-” Ice doesn’t have time to finish the question, because Slider’s mouth is already on his. He can feel Ice tense, then slowly melt as he presses closer, forcing Ice to tilt his head back ever so slightly. Slider squeezes his biceps and pushes his knee between Ice’s legs, drinking down the quiet noise Ice makes when his obvious hard-on meets Slider’s upper thigh.
It sends a rush of heat down his spine when Ice’s hands fly up to grip at Slider’s uniform, unable to go any further because of the grip Slider has on his arms. He doesn’t give Ice a moment to think, only takes a gasping breath and dives right back in, dragging his teeth against Ice's lower lip. Ice gasps, and Slider uses the opportunity to push further, hitching his leg up higher so Ice has to grind against it, doing his best to map the inside of Ice's mouth with his tongue. Ice tastes like spearmint because of the gum Slider gave him earlier, and Slider groans into the kiss.
Ice's hips shiver and shimmy, smooth little rolls that send all the blood in Slider's body towards his dick. His hands tighten and loosen on the front of Slider's shirt, desperate and off-kilter little movements that drive Slider crazy . He can't get enough of his pilot, especially when he gets to peel back the layers that Kazansky wraps himself in to seem so ice cold and stoic all the time. Only Ron gets to see the real person, gets to see Tom instead of The Iceman, and ever since the first glimpse he's been addicted.
He releases Ice's arms to tug the shorter man's shirt from where it was tucked, making quick work of the buttons keeping it closed. As soon as they're open he pushes the fabric aside, pushing his hands under the undershirt Tom has on underneath. He drags his hands along warm, slightly-sweaty skin, gropes at the firmness along Ice's sides, works his hands up so he can squeeze at Ice's chest like he's got a proper pair of tits.
It's only when Ice releases his shirt to smack weakly at Ron's side that Ron pulls back, admiring his handiwork. Previously perfectly pressed, Tom's uniform is rumpled, carelessly tossed open, his undershirt pushed up so that his heaving chest is on display. His lips are slick with spit and a tantalizing red-pink, ever so slightly swollen. The blush that had only danced along the top of his ears and the back of his neck earlier now paints across his nose and his cheeks, creeps around the back of his neck and paints his chest with beautiful strokes of pink, and meanders its way down past Ice's hips and into his pants.
Slider's gut surges with the want to follow its path with his mouth.
"Ron," Tom croaks, already sounding half-wrecked, "what the hell?"
The taller man grins, sharp and smug. He rests his hands firmly on Tom's hips, gently squeezing and pulling, taking control of the pace that Tom grinds against him with. He watches as those pretty blue eyes flutter closed, nuzzles against Tom's chin so that he tips his head back, leaving his neck open for attack.
He doesn't leave marks- as much as he wants to, they're already being stupidly reckless and he doesn't want to get caught- but he does nibble ever so gently and kiss the sweaty skin from Tom's jaw to his ear. He worries his earlobe with his teeth for a moment, then leans in close so that his lips drag against the skin there when he speaks.
"You had all kinds of eyes for Mitchell in there, hmm?" He keeps his voice low and deep, the way he knows makes Tom squirm. Slider feels the muscle beneath his hands tense for a second, then release. Tom knows him better than to assume that he's pissed.
After all, this isn't their first rodeo.
"You put up a good mask, but you can't fool me." He hitches his leg up again, relishing in the broken groan it gets him. "I saw right through you- you've got it bad , Princess."
Ice lets out a breathy cry at the pet name, hands flying up to Ron's shoulders for any kind of stability.
"What were you thinkin' about in there, Princess?" Slider shifts his leg away but keeps his hands firmly on Ice's hips, leaving him high and dry without any stimulation. The whimper Ice lets out almost makes him feel bad.
Almost.
"C'mon, sweetheart, what were you comin' up with in that pretty little head of yours? Were you thinkin' about bending him over that desk?" He hums when Ice shakes his head, "Oh? Did he bend you over then? Get you all messy in the middle of class, right where everyone could watch?"
Ron can feel the vibrations of Tom's moan against his chin, but still Ice shakes his head.
"Tell me, Princess. Tell me what got you all worked up, and you'll get a reward."
Whatever noise Tom was going to make dies in his throat as a precious little whimper. He tries to say something, but his mouth moves soundlessly. Slider pulls back and lets go of Tom's hip with one hand to hold his chin and turn his head, forcing him to make eye contact. He watches Tom's jaw clench, watches the sweat drip down his face, watches his Adam's apple bob as he swallows.
"You-" Ice starts with a croak, "You a-and him-"
Slider rewards the first few words by letting go of his jaw then bending down to press open mouthed kisses along the top of Ice's chest, dragging his teeth across the skin. Ice hiccups, hips jerking in a desperate attempt to get friction, but Slider keeps them firmly in place with one hand.
"You, a-ah, you're so much, fuck, so much bigger than him" Ice continues, "and he-," he interrupts himself with a gasp when Ron latches onto one of his nipples with his mouth. Slider pulls back after a second, looking at the wreck he's turned Ice into.
"He's real pretty, ain't he?" He asks. He doesn't wait for an answer, too busy gracefully sinking to his knees in front of Ice. "You wanna see the faces he makes? Wanna hear his noises?" He grins up at Ice as he deftly undoes his belt, not breaking eye contact even as he opens his fly and pulls his pants and underwear down just enough that he can hook the waistband of Ice's briefs under his balls, leaving him nice and exposed for Ron's enjoyment.
"Your wish is my command, Princess," Slider says, and watches as Ice's brows furrow a little, confused. It's a brief expression, however, because Slider promptly pulls Ice's dick into his mouth and takes it as deep as he can. Ice's head hits the door behind him with a thunk , one hand flying to his face to cover his mouth, the other tangling in the longer hair on the top of Slider's head.
Slider groans at the sting and tilts his head back a little, relaxing his jaw so he can take Ice deeper. Tom tastes like sweat and soap and something musky and sharp, and he can’t get enough of it. He can’t get enough of the way that Tom’s fingers spasm in the curls of his hair, can’t get enough of the little bitten-off moans and whimpers, muffled behind Ice’s hand.
Ron pulls back slightly, giving himself room to tongue at the underside of Tom’s length and pay some special attention to the head. Tom is close, obvious by the way his hips tense and flex, wanting to thrust but too well-behaved to try. Pride and arousal blooms across Slider’s chest, and he decides he’s gonna be nice. Mostly.
He pulls off of Ice and mouths at his shaft, working his way down to kiss at the base of it, nose buried in the coarse hair there. He grabs what he doesn’t have in his mouth and works his hand up and down the length of it- Ice’s cock is twitching with every rapid heartbeat, swollen and red in a way that would look painful if Slider didn’t know for certain that Ice liked it more than anything else in the world.
“You were stuck in that hot ass little classroom, and all you could think of was Maverick, huh?” He pulls back to speak but not very far, chin ghosting along the skin just below his navel. His voice is already a little rough. Ice looks down at him, blue eyes foggy but focused, staring down at his RIO.
“You were just thinkin’ about how he’d probably get all cute and desperate, how easy it would be for me to hold him down, yeah?” He works Ice’s dick ruthlessly, grinning up at him. He’s the one on his knees, but he’s far from submissive. He can’t help the smug sense of satisfaction when he realizes Ice isn’t responding because he can’t , too busy biting down on his hand, trying to keep his noises down. “I bet I could toss him around all I want.” Slider repositions himself, presses a quick little kiss against the head and licks off the dribble of pre-cum there. He locks eyes with Ice,
“I bet you I could make him cry,” he says, then pushes forward and takes Ice in his mouth again. He doesn’t stop his time, only lets his jaw relax and focuses on breathing through his nose, going further and further until finally his nose pressed against sweaty skin and wiry hair. His throat seizes but he doesn’t pull off, swallowing to get himself under control.
Even muffled by his fingers between his teeth, the noise Ice makes is sinful . It’s a broken, desperate thing, and it’s accompanied by a warm rush in the back of Ron’s throat that he has to focus to swallow. That has the added benefit of dragging out Ice’s orgasm until his legs are shaking, the fist in his hair tugging to get him off instead of keep Ron there. He pulls off with a filthy, wet noise, doing his best to slurp up the excess spit and cum as he goes. When he finally pulls off totally he swipes over his mouth with the back of his hand, trying to get at least most of the spit off of his face.
He’s painfully hard in his khakis, but he ignores the discomfort in favor of watching Ice come down. His pilot’s chest is heaving, still flushed from shoulders to hips, and his eyes remain foggy and unfocused. Shakily, Ice released his hand from his mouth, and Slider can see where he’s left bite marks.
Slider pulls himself up to standing properly, cursing quietly when the pressure in his pants shifts uncomfortably. He remains focused, though, and makes quick work of tucking Ice back in his pants and attempting to fix his uniform. Ice lets him without protesting too much, and he thanks him by pressing a kiss against his pilot’s cheek. Tom flinches back a little, grimacing, and wipes at his cheek.
“Ron, gross,” he says weakly, but Ron knows it’s just a token protest. They linger there for a while, Tom settling back into his skin and Ron pressing soft kisses against his face and hair. They settle into a comfortable silence, pulses slowing, breaths evening out. After a while, Tom speaks up.
“You didn’t…” he murmurs, looking down at Slider’s waist.
“ ‘s fine, sweetheart,” Slider murmurs, tilting Ice’s head back up and running his thumb against his cheekbone. “You can return the favor later.”
Ice nods and swallows, seemingly a bit more anchored now that he’s had time to recuperate. He reaches out and rests a hand against Slider’s chest, not meeting his RIO’s gaze.
“What you said earlier,” he begins, quiet and a little nervous sounding, “about…. about you… about us and Mav-”
“If that’s what you want, Princess, I meant every word. If it was just a fantasy, that’s all it’s gotta be.”
Tom hesitates for a second longer, then looks up at Ron properly. “I’d like to.” He says, with a more familiar tone of certainty. “If you want to.”
Slider gives him a predatory grin and presses in close. “Oh, Princess,” he says, “I’ve already got a plan.”