Chapter Text
“Maverick, your hands are freezing!”
Like most things in their relationship, it starts with an insult, or rather a thinly-veiled one. The joys of being a Navy pilot, Maverick supposed.
“No, they’re not!” Mav throws back, going back to working on his bike, “Now can you hand me that wrench you dropped?”
Iceman scrutinizes him from where he sits cross legged on the workbench. Maverick hated when he did, he felt as though there was a secret he wasn’t being letting in on.
“The wrench, baby?” Mav prompts, snapping his fingers.
Iceman snaps out of his stupor, “Right, of course.”
He swoops down and picks up the wrench, handing it to Mav, having forgotten the temperature of Mav’s hands that he was just complaining about. Iceman hisses at the cold of Mav’s hands, staring at him once again.
“What?” Maverick blinks up at Iceman innocently, batting his eyelashes.
Of course Maverick knew he was cold, it had been a teasing point for years. Goose has joked he couldn’t keep the body heat because he was so short. It wasn’t his fault most of the foster homes were in dry climates and Miramar wasn’t exactly the Arctic.
Iceman ran naturally hot (ignore the irony) with irked Maverick. He once watched his boyfriend jump in the ocean in December for a swim, and get out like nothing happened. Meanwhile, Maverick screamed when his toes touched the water.
Iceman sighs in that intriguing way he did whenever Maverick did something stupid, “Why do I try?”
“Because you love me?” Maverick gets up from the cold floor of the garage, walking over to Iceman, and planting a kiss on his nose.
He walks into the house, wanting to grab a hot coffee to warm his hands. Even though he would never admit it, yeah, it was cold.
In all honesty, Mav forgot about that conversation quickly. The next few days passed in a blur, him and Ice waking up together, breakfast, flying, classes, paperwork, lots of complaining (mostly on Mav’s part, who is he kidding, it’s all him), and collapsing on the couch in the evenings just to repeat it all tomorrow. It’s that and the biting cold that leaves Maverick feeling drained at the end of the week.
“I’m home!” Maverick yells one evening, gravitating toward the kitchen where he smells something good.
He spots Iceman bent over the stove. Ice spots him, but instead of embracing him, he digs through his satchel until he finds what he’s looking for.
“Here,” Iceman throws something without a second glance.
“Ice-” Maverick barely has a chance to catch the object as it goes flying into his chest.
He holds them to the light and sees that it’s actually two things, a pair of mittens to be specific. He looks up at Iceman for confirmation, who nods encouragingly, like a kid on Christmas morning.
They’re a fine pair of mittens, obviously the person who made them putting time and effort into them, something Maverick has not had a lot of in his life. They were a light blue, almost the color of Ice’s eyes.
Gosh, he really was a sap.
Mav goes back to examining the mittens with awe. There were intricate patterns of snowflakes on the cuffs, and swirling vines with flowers on the back of the hands. A thin fur lining covered the wrists, which looked impeccably warm. The cover of the mittens came out easily, transforming the mittens into fingerless gloves.
This was probably the most personable thing he had been given in his life. Sure he had winter clothing, but they were mostly threadbare and hand-me-downs, given a second thought. This was made for him.
“My babushka made them,” Ice runs a hand through hair, looking sheepish, which Mav finds quite endearing.
Maverick presses the wool to his face, basking in the coziness of the fabric. He can smell something familiar, like Ice’s cologne and the mint gum he often has on him.
“Wait a minute, are these yours?” Mav comes to a conclusion, cocks his head, and presses the mittens to his face once again to be sure.
Iceman’s face goes bright red, “I-I, well I mean, they were, but now I want you to have them.”
Whoever said Iceman was cold-hearted clearly had never gotten to know him. Maverick saw the way Ice acted with Bradley, with his friends, and now with him.
“That’s not all, check the inside,” Iceman motions impatiently.
Maverick flips over the wrist lining to see an inscription, newly embroidered there.
Navsegda s moim golubem
Forever with my dove
Maverick can feel his heart stop as he takes in the expression. Iceman had used that pet name for months, knowing Maverick melted whenever he heard the name. It was their secret, no one understood.
“I thought you’d like them and the inscription. That way you’ll always have a piece of me with you,” Iceman clarifies, “But if you don’t like them I can always…”
Ice stops his sentence short once he spots Mav furiously putting the gloves on. Once the younger man finally manages to put them on properly (he got there eventually), he looks at Ice with that goofy, love-sick expression Ice had grown incredibly fond of.
“No one has ever taken care of me this much, thank you,” Mav pulls back to look at Ice, he can already feel tears forming in his eyes.
If Ice’s heart wasn’t already full, it was bursting now. How had he fallen head over heels for this daredevil pilot? The one who made every day a thousand times more bearable and lit up his life. The same pilot who was won over by a simple pair of mittens.
“Glad you like it,” Ice smiles, leaning down to kiss Mav’s forehead.
“That doesn’t mean I have to stop doing this,” Maverick’s mischievous voice says, and before he knows it, two ice-cold hands are being placed on the back of Iceman’s neck.
If anyone asked, his screams were completely dignified.