Day 8: Heel (Top Gun, Iceman/Maverick, R)
TITLE: Heel
AUTHOR: carlyinrome
PROMPT #10: leather
PROMPT TABLE: O
FANDOM: Top Gun
RATING: R
PAIRING: Pete “Maverick” Mitchell/Tom “Iceman” Kazansky
WORD COUNT: 1265
DISCLAIMER: Top Gun has made Paramount over three hundred million dollars. It makes me zero dollars.
SUMMARY: heel (verb): to follow closely on one’s heels, as a command; to do as you’re fucking told, as to avoid the wrath of Iceman.
AUTHOR’S NOTES: Written for derangedfangirl, who wanted Iceman playing disciplinarian, and for dailyfics prompt #10, leather (See my full table here).
Iceman was an ascetic. Maverick liked his creature comforts: soft sheets and a big TV, a fridge full of beer, but Ice, it seemed, was content to live on water and air and sleep on the hard stone floor of the monastery. He had been teaching at TOPGUN for almost a month, and his few possessions were still packed in boxes lining the walls of his house. He had a bed, a couch, a tiny television, and a kitchen table with exactly two chairs. He had two place settings, necessitating the washing of dishes after every meal and discouraging guests.
Maverick was tired of this shit. If Ice wasn’t going to unpack the boxes himself, he would do it for him.
Ice watched coolly as Maverick started ripping open boxes.
“You fucking robot,” Maverick said, tossing things out of the box labeled “bedroom”-“maybe if I dig deep enough, I’ll find your change of batteries.”
“I’m solar-powered,” Ice purred.
Maverick threw aside an alarm clock, a small bedside lamp, and a bookend. Ice caught the breakable things before they hit the ground, which annoyed Maverick even more. A little mayhem and wreckage would have made him feel better.
“There is nothing interesting in here,” Maverick said. “You don’t own a single thing you wouldn’t find in a textbook describing bedrooms to people who had never seen one before.”
It was at precisely this moment that Maverick came across the manacles. He pulled them up slowly, dangling from one finger. They were like handcuffs, but thicker, padded. They were made from a supple, dark leather and connected by a short length of thick-linked chain.
Maverick blinked.
Ice sidled up beside him, smiling that dangerous smile that reminded Maverick of being eaten alive.
“You don’t find that interesting?” Ice murmured, his breath on the nape of Maverick’s neck.
Maverick snorted. “They were probably a gag gift. I bet they’ve never even been used.”
Which was how Maverick ended up naked and bound to the headboard.
Maverick sweated, and twisted his spine to try and get a look at what Ice was doing behind him. But the fucker was too far away, at the far end of the room pawing through more boxes, and the chain of the manacles too short to give Maverick much wiggle room. Neck aching, he turned back to the headboard, resting his head against it. He listened to Ice walking around the room, doing God knows what.
As Ice had fastened the cuffs around his wrists, Maverick had made some crack about their being padded, like a training wheels version of a sex toy. Ice had smiled, but not said anything. Maverick finally realized, after Ice tied him up and then walked away, that the manacles were padded because they were designed to be worn for a long time.
“Ice,” Maverick said, trying not to whine and doing just that, “come on, man. How long are you going to leave me tied up like this?”
“As long as I like.”
Maverick pulled against the manacles. The chain held fast, and so did the headboard; the struggling only made his wrists hurt.
“I’m not a dog,” Maverick said.
Maverick felt the mattress dip with Ice’s weight. Ice’s hands on his waist, one steady palm running over the line of Maverick’s spine.
“Yes, you are,” Ice purred. “You’re my dog, my little pet, until I say otherwise. Until I am kind and decide to let you go.” His hand ran up the back of Maverick’s neck, fingers tightening in Maverick’s hair, drawing his head back, painfully so. “And you’re going to be a good little dog for me, aren’t you, Mitchell?”
Maverick’s jaw set. “Fuck you.”
The corner of Ice’s mouth turned up in an unpleasant smile. He released his hold on Maverick’s hair.
“Wrong answer,” he said quietly, and left the bed again.
Maverick wasn’t going to fuck up his neck trying to figure out what Ice was doing, but then he heard a familiar whistling sound. He turned to see Ice pulling the tail of his belt out of the belt loops, doubling the leather strap in his hand.
Blood rushed to Maverick’s cheeks. “Hey, wait a minute-”
Ice tapped the belt against his palm. “I want you to apologize. And I want you to tell me you’ll be a good boy for me.”
Maverick couldn’t help himself. “Fuck. You.”
Ice nodded once. Then, his face still set stony, emotionless, he let the belt fly, the leather burning a red-hot stripe across Maverick’s ass. A howl ripped from his throat, and he turned back to the headboard so he didn’t have to see Ice pulling his arm back for the second blow. It hit lower, across his upper thighs, which hurt worse, a snap like a bite. Maverick moaned and pulled against the manacles like he expected to break away from them this time.
“Stop,” he begged.
“You can make this stop any time,” Ice said reasonably. “You know what I want to hear.”
“No.”
“Your choice.”
The belt fell again, crisscrossing over the first stripe, reigniting the raw pain. Then another stroke, and another, only seconds apart. Maverick’s flesh burned and throbbed; he groaned and let his body sag, held up now only by the manacles.
“Please,” he gasped. “Tom.”
The mattress dipped again, and Maverick felt Ice coming close behind him. One of his big hands palmed the curve of Maverick’s ass, and Maverick choked back a sob. Fuck, it hurt. Ice drew his nails lightly across the burning, sore skin, and Maverick bucked and cursed and pulled hard against the manacles. They held fast.
“Do you have something to tell me?” Ice asked softly.
God, it was like poison in his mouth, but Maverick could feel Ice’s hand on his ass tensing, readying to draw back and deliver another stinging blow.
“I’m-I’m sorry.”
Ice’s hand relaxed, the thumb stroking lightly over Maverick’s abused flesh. It actually felt kind of nice, that soft touch. “And?”
“And-I, fuck, Tom, please, I can’t-”
Ice’s hand drew back, and Maverick flinched before the blow even came. It was just Ice’s hand, this time, but fuck his hands were big, and hard, and it hurt almost as bad as the belt. Maverick gritted his teeth, trying to swallow back a shout, but a strangled, pained noise still escaped his throat, and his eyes watered.
He bent his head. “Fuck, fuck, fuck-okay, fine, you win, I’m gonna be a good boy for you, shit, I promise! Please, just-please, just stop . . .”
Ice’s hands massaged over the tensed muscles in Maverick’s shoulder and neck. Ice’s big body blanketed his; Ice leaned down and pressed a kiss to Maverick’s shoulder. Maverick relaxed a little.
“Are you going to let me go, now?”
Ice chuckled. “That wasn’t part of the deal.”
Maverick started to complain, but then Ice kissed lower on Maverick’s back, and his fingers began rubbing lightly at the cleft of Maverick’s ass.
“Don’t you want to see what other toys I had packed away?”
Maverick wanted to resist, because Ice had tied him up and humiliated him; he’d spanked him like a child and made him beg like a dog. But Ice could make his voice so sweet, and now he was kissing the injured flesh of Maverick’s ass, his tongue flicking out, which was hot and wrong and painful and exciting all at once. Kind of like being with Ice.
“Hell yes,” Maverick said. Ice drew back, breaking off contact long enough to collect his toys, and Maverick was happy to wait.