Archive of Our Own ^beta

“Dismissed.”

The judge’s gavel bangs against the block, and the courtroom erupts in a flurry of chairs scraping against the laminate floors, papers rustling, and low murmurs. Maverick, seated in the row just behind the plaintiff’s bench, doesn’t move a muscle. He’s enraptured as Tom “Iceman” Kazansky and Ron “Slider” Kerner stand, shaking hands first with their client and then each other. There’s some low conversation, a back slap, and then the plaintiff is rushing off to meet his family and share the celebration.

They’ve won the case. A settlement of over a million dollars – life changing money for a working man – and the lawyers are taking pennies as commission. It’s an affirming scene for the young paralegal.

“Maverick,” Ice’s voice interrupts his wide-eyed wonder. “Great work.”

He fights hard against the pleased flush he can feel threatening to rise to his cheeks. Instead, he stands, taking the man’s offered hand and shaking it firmly.

“I really didn’t do much,” he tries to demur. “It was you two that did all the hard stuff.”

“Bullshit,” Slider says a little too loudly, ignoring the few scandalized looks thrown his way from members of the slowly-dissipating gallery. A firm hand lands on Maverick’s shoulder, and he tries not to react to the weight of it. “You won us that trial, kid. We wouldn’t have even noticed the discrepancy in the testimony if it weren’t for you.”

“But I –“

“I don’t think it’s wise to argue with your superiors, Mav,” Ice interrupts him, but there’s a bemused smile on his lips. “Trust us.”

This time, he’s helpless against the flush that he can feel pinking his cheeks. Three months of working at Kazansky & Kerner and he’s still a nervous wreck around the two partners. It doesn’t help that they’re… well, they look like that.

Kazansky is all slim, swimmer’s build in his light-grey suit, accented by the ice-blue tie at his throat and matching pocket square that highlight the blue in his eyes. Even after a full day of court, those eyes are intelligent and piercing. Not a lock of his spiked blonde hair is out of place. Maverick knows for a fact his own, dark hair is in complete disarray. He can feel it falling over his forehead, ruffled from the number of times he’s run his hands through it nervously.

Beside him, Kerner is a wall of muscle. The dark-grey fabric of his suit (a complement to Ice’s) seems to strain against his shoulders, even though Maverick knows he spends a fortune on tailoring. His tie and pocket square are a dark navy blue, like the shadow to Ice’s light. It suits them. The contrast continues above his collar, too – where Ice is all sharp angles, from the corner of his jaw up to the points of his spiked hair, Slider is straight lines from his defined chin and jawline to the firm line of his brow. His eyes, though, are just as intelligent.

“Yes, sir,” he manages, his voice just verging on breathy.

As he watches, the two lawyers share an amused glance. Roommates in undergrad, then all through college and law school, and now partners at their own firm, it’s no wonder that the two can share an entire conversation with one look. It’s uncanny, really, and Maverick still finds himself caught off-guard witnessing it himself. Slider quirks a brow, Ice’s lips twist up at the corner in a smirk, and then they both nod in unison.

“So, Mav,” Iceman starts, leaning his hip against the banister between them. “Sli and I were going to have a little dinner party tonight to celebrate our achievement. We thought it was only fair to extend an invite to you, too. Would you be interested?”

“Oh! Um,” the offer catches him completely off-guard, and he flounders for a moment. He’s never gotten a chance to spend time with either man outside of the office – after-work happy hours are always segregated between partners and lawyers, and paralegals and interns – so the offer feels too good to be true. “That’s, um, really generous. Is anyone else…?”

“Nope,” Slider smiles, something like heat in his gaze as he looks him over. “Just us three. We were hoping to get to know you a little more.”

He’s misinterpreting that look in his eyes. He has to be. There’s no way that his wayward thoughts of a dinner party, alone with just the two lawyers, are anything more than wishful thinking. No way.

“Okay,” he says, finally. “I’d love to.”

“Great,” Ice smiles, and his eyes carry that same promise. “You have my address, right?”

He does. He’s had to drop off case files and dinners more times than he can count, but he’s never gotten a glimpse of the man or his apartment himself – just the front desk and the longsuffering attendant.

“Uh huh.”

“Then we’ll see you at eight. Wear something comfortable.”

Another brush of Slider’s hand on his shoulder and an honest-to-God wink, and then both men are turning back to the table to gather their things. By now, an attendant has arrived to finish off some paperwork, and his bosses’ attention is summarily engaged away from him.

Maverick sees himself out of the courtroom in a daze.

On the way home to his shitty apartment, he does the only logical thing he can think of: he calls his best friend.

“What do you mean Ice and Slider invited you to dinner tonight? Partners don’t just invite paralegals to dinner! And definitely not at their fucking luxury condo.”

Goose sounds just as perplexed as Maverick feels. He lets out a helpless laugh, the sound bordering on hysterical even to his own ears.

“I don’t know,” he admits. “They just – they said they want to celebrate the win, and I helped a lot with the case. Is that weird? I feel like it’s weird.”

“Try really fucking weird,” Goose swears. “What are you going to do?”

“I mean, I have to go, right?” Maverick balances the phone between his ear and his shoulder as he fumbles with the lock on his front door. It takes three tries to get the key in – the thing so old and rusted that he has to shimmy it in just the right way to get it to click. “I can’t turn down an invitation from the partners, right? That would be bad, I think.”

“Yeah, probably,” he agrees, begrudging. “What are you going to bring? You have to bring something.”

Maverick resists the urge to whine audibly as he lets himself in to his studio. He drops his briefcase by the door, and throws himself bodily on the futon. It creaks worryingly under his weight, but he’s too preoccupied to notice.

“I don’t know,” he admits. “Wine, maybe? That’s what people usually bring to dinners.”

“Oh, fuck no,” Goose’s vehemence surprises him. “First of all, whatever they’re used to drinking is way more expensive than anything you can afford. Second, do you know what they’re serving? What if you picked a red and they’re having fish? You’d look like a fucking idiot.”

Mav swears. “Shit, you’re right.” He wracks his brain for an alternative. “What about flowers?”

He wants to cringe away in embarrassment from that very idea but, to his surprise, Goose doesn’t immediately dismiss it.

“Probably your best bet,” he agrees. “I mean, not like roses but something… friendly? Carnations?”

“Ok,” he says slowly, nodding to himself. “Ok. I can probably work with that.” Another horrifying thought enters his mind, then. “What do I wear? I mean, he said ‘comfortable’, but what does that mean?”

The sound Goose makes over the phone doesn’t ease his worry in that regard, either – it sounds like a slow exhalation between gritted teeth. “No other descriptors? Just ‘comfortable’?”

“Yeah.”

“Right. Ok. Let’s think about this. T-shirt is probably too casual, no dressing that up. But a jacket is definitely out.”

Mav, his mind still spinning with nerves, can only nod – heedless of the fact Goose can’t see it. It doesn’t matter, though – he’s already thinking out loud.

“I think your only option is the middle ground. Those jeans that Charlie said make your ass look good and a button up. Maybe that green one your ex got you.”

He pictures the outfit in his head, nodding slowly. It could work. Casual, but put-together. And it’s just an added bonus that the jeans do, in fact, make his ass look good, and he’s heard that the green in the shirt brings out the matching green in his eyes.

Not that that matters. It’s not like – no. He cuts that thought off at the knees.

“This is a good thing, right?” He says, slowly. “I mean, none of the other interns are coming. And they said I did well…”

“Of course it’s a good thing, dumbass,” Goose chastises him. “They wouldn’t be inviting you over to dinner to can you. It’s probably some, like, tradition to celebrate a win like this. And you did save their asses, so you deserve to be invited.”

Somehow, Goose doesn’t sound entirely sure about what he’s saying. Maverick chooses to ignore that niggling doubt.

“Yeah, yeah you’re probably right,” he sighs, loosening his tie as he stares up at the ceiling, mind reeling. “I should probably start getting ready. You know the address if this turns out to be a rich person cannibal party or something, right?”

“If I don’t hear from you by tomorrow morning I’m calling the cops,” he reassures him. “Promise.”

“You’re the best.”

One everything-shower and too much time spent in the mirror later, he stops at the corner store to pick up some flowers. He feels helplessly conspicuous in his casual-but-not-too-casual outfit and black cowboy boots (those were a last-minute decision: his only real option between his filthy old sneakers and too-shiny dress shoes). Luckily, a kindly old lady takes pity on him and helps him pick out the least-wilted bouquet of the bunch.

“I’m sure she’s a very lucky young lady,” she says, patting him indulgently on the cheek. He flushes and doesn’t tell her just how far off her assumption is.

“Hey, Pete,” the receptionist greets him as he lets himself into the lobby, eyeing the flowers in his hand. Even with as many times as he’s visited the building to drop things off for his boss, its arched ceiling, wall-to-wall glass windows, and the kind of décor that, on first glance, seems unassuming but hints to a kind of opulence he can only imagine gives him pause. “Dropping off?”

He fights back an embarrassed flush. “Uh, no. I’m actually supposed to head up today. Do I need to call…?”

“Oh, no,” she smiles knowingly. “He mentioned he was having company over. I just didn’t realize you’d been upgraded.”

He doesn’t have any idea what that is supposed to mean, but he thanks her anyway as she hits a button on the desk and calls an elevator.

“Sixty-second floor, it’ll take you straight up.”

“Thanks,” he says as he steps in. “Which apartment?”

To his surprise, she laughs at him. “It’s the whole floor, sweetheart.”

The door closes between them before he can get any clarification.

As the elevator whisks him up the massive tower, he’s confronted by his own reflection in the mirrored walls. The sight makes him want to flee the scene immediately. Holding a bouquet of pink-and-white carnations, he looks like a kid on his way to pick up his high school sweetheart for dinner at Applebee’s followed by a movie – all promises to have her “back home by nine.”

“Shit,” he swears aloud, feeling utterly ridiculous.

The best he can do now, though, is run a hasty hand through his hair and undo the top button of his shirt, untucking the bottom hem from his jeans for good measure. There - without his hair as carefully arranged, his shirt a little more rumpled, he doesn’t look quite as try-hard. He’s suddenly desperate to ditch the flowers, too, but there’s nowhere to hide them in the elevator. Maybe he’ll get lucky on Ice’s floor (he has his own floor?).

Way too soon, a soothing, robotic voice announces his arrival at the sixty-second floor. He feels it slow and takes a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heartbeat as the doors glide silently open. It’s just a dinner with his bosses - nothing to worry about, he tries to tell himself.

As he steps out, he’s greeted by a long, narrow hallway. Sure enough, there’s only one door at the end. Along the way, there’s the same kind of elegant, unassuming decor as the lobby. It’s all rich, charcoal greys and a smattering of golden accents. Masculine, but not imposing. Even the air smells subtly musky, like expensive aftershave. He shivers at the thought.

In one final, desperate bid, he glances around the space in search of a trash can. Surely, Ice doesn’t take his own trash out. If he can just stash the stupid, embarrassing flowers before he knocks, they’ll be none the -

“Hey, I thought I heard the elevator,” Slider’s voice interrupts his panicked thoughts. “Glad you could make it.”

He tries to keep the alarm off of his face - really, he does - but it’s almost impossible when the man looks like that. Leaning against the door frame, his broad shoulders take up nearly the entire space. In his hand, he’s got a bottle of beer, something cheap and domestic that Maverick would never expect him to drink.

Even worse is what he’s wearing. Stretched across his wide chest is a white t-shirt, its blue USD Law logo so faded it’s barely legible. It’s clearly from his days as a student, because the material is so thin it’s nearly see-through from the number of times it’s been washed. Maverick doesn’t think he’s imagining the way he can see the outline of his nipples beneath the sheer fabric.

Below that, Slider has on a pair of loose, grey sweatpants that leave little to the imagination. It’s hard to believe anything would be oversized on a man that large, but, somehow, he manages. Maverick finds his gaze tracking down his body until he finds the material pooling loosely around his ankles. He’s barefoot, too.

Belatedly, he realizes he’s openly staring, the bouquet that’s feeling even more ridiculous by the second hanging limply from his hand. When he drags his gaze back up to his boss’ face, he finds him smirking, that dark ember he witnessed earlier in the day burning once more in his eyes.

“Aw,” he murmurs. “You brought us flowers? You’re adorable.”

Once again, he can feel his cheeks flaming. He opens his mouth to explain himself, but doesn’t get a chance to before the taller man is straightening off the doorframe and stepping toward him.

“Come on,” he smiles, his gaze raking over Maverick’s face. “Ice’ll be so flattered.”

He has to be dreaming: there’s no other explanation for the way that Slider takes him by the arm, slipping down until he can take Mav’s hand in his own, tangling their fingers loosely together. Then, he’s turning, drawing him carefully into the apartment. The door swings shut behind them with a quiet click.

More surprising still, Slider doesn’t release his grip as he leads him through the condo. He hopes he can’t feel the nervous sweat on his palm. Maverick’s mind is whirring too fast to truly take in his surroundings, but what he does notice is a lot of clean, crisp lines, dark furnishings, and framed pictures of jets littering the wall. It reminds him of the tradition these men started at Kazansky & Kerner, and he finds himself smiling despite his unease.

“Look what I found, Ice,” Slider announces as he tugs him into a kitchen bigger than Maverick’s entire studio apartment, finally releasing his hand.

The kitchen is a marvel of stainless-steel appliances, charcoal cabinetry, and gold fixtures. On the other side of the island, Ice is bent at the waist to retrieve something from the oven. A wave of basil, oregano, and tangy tomato cut with fatty cheese hits his nostrils, and he realizes that it’s a pizza – a far cry from the elaborate meal he was expecting, but not unwelcome in the slightest. Ice sets the pizza on the stovetop, pulling off his oven mitts as he turns to face them.

“Hey, Maverick,” he smiles warmly, and it only grows wider when his gaze catches on the flowers. “Are those for me?”

He steps around the island, and Maverick is once again struck by how overdressed he is. Ice is wearing a loose, baby blue t-shirt and silky black pants that are probably some sort of expensive pajama bottoms. The loose material disguises the shape of his body, the muscles Mav knows are lurking beneath the surface, and he finds himself a vaguely grateful for it. Slider is already distracting enough.

“Uh, yeah,” he manages, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. “Sorry, it’s weird. I know. I just –“

“Don’t be silly,” Ice reassures him, taking the bouquet from his hand. “You’re very sweet. Isn’t he, Sli?”

“Mhmm. Adorable.”

While Maverick is trying to figure out what, exactly, he should say to that, Ice sways in to press a kiss to his cheek before he’s stepping away and pulling open a cabinet.

“These need water,” he murmurs, as if nothing happened. The flowers end up in a vase in the center of the island.

“Can I get you a drink?” Slider offers, equally unperturbed.

“Please,” he says, weakly.

Within minutes, he finds himself sitting on Ice’s oversized leather couch, balancing his plate on his knee while his beer sits at his feet. Instead of taking either of the other available seating options in the massive living room, Ice and Slider have elected to sit on either side of him. Ice has his legs pulled up beneath him, and Slider has his spread comfortably in front of him. All of this means that Maverick is acutely aware of the way his thigh is pressed along Slider’s from knee to hip, and the way Ice’s shoulder is leaning against his own. It’s immensely distracting.

“So, Maverick,” Ice asks, licking sauce from his fingertips. Mav quickly averts his gaze. “What are your plans after graduation?”

This, at least, he knows. He can talk about this. For a few minutes, it’s easy to pretend he isn’t in this bizarro world where he sits on expensive couches with powerful attorneys, eating handmade pizza and sipping on cheap beer. He tells them about the classes he’s taking for his last semester and his plan of attack for the Bar, and they offer advice. He admits how badly he wants to stay on at Kazansky & Kerner.

“I mean,” Slider starts. “Obviously we can’t offer you a guarantee at this point, but your track record is promising so far. Keep up the grades and the good work and we’ll see what happens come fall, alright?”

“Thank you, sir,” he nods. “That means a lot.”

He’s not sure, but he thinks he can sense another silent conversation in the way Slider’s eyes flick to Ice over his head.

“Are you finished?” Ice gestures to his plate, and Maverick nods and lets him clear it away. It winds up stacked with Ice’s on the end table. A moment later, he feels him shifting back - settling more comfortably against the couch. If it brings his arm in closer contact to Mav’s own, it’s probably not intentional.

“So,” Slider’s arm slips around the back of the couch - and, by proxy, Mav’s shoulders. He shivers lightly, and the men don’t miss it, if the next shared glance is any indication. Neither of them mention it. “While you’ve got us all to yourself, is there anything you’d like to know?”

Once again, Maverick is imagining the suggestion in his tone. He has to be. He wracks his brain for an appropriate question.

“Is it true?” He finds himself blurting out. “The story about the callsigns?”

Of course it’s true. The legal assistant went over it in detail at their orientation, and it’s listed in the “our history” section of the Kazansky & Kerner website. But, it’s the only thing he can think of.

The story goes that, back in law school, the two men stayed up way too late watching a movie about fighter pilots the night before they were scheduled to take the Bar. As a result, they each had vivid dreams about being pilots themselves - pilots with the callsigns “Iceman” and “Slider.” When they woke in the morning, Ice mentioned the dream, and was surprised to find his friend had the exact same one – down to the names. As if that weren’t enough of a coincidence, the Bar that day included a question about a legal case involving a Naval aviator.

They passed the Bar with the highest scores of the session. Be it kismet or serendipity, they’ve never been able to say for sure, but they credit that movie (at least in part) with their careers.

Since then, “Iceman” and “Slider” have been integral parts of Tom and Ron’s practice. Which is why, to this day, every employee of Kazansky & Kerner is required to come up with a callsign. It even goes on their business cards.

(Maverick knows he’ll remember the pride he felt when he got his - “Pete ‘Maverick’ Mitchell” embossed in thick, eggshell cardstock - for the rest of his life.)

If his bosses are surprised by the question, they hide it well. Instead, Ice hums. His hand lands lightly on Mav’s knee, but when he looks at him it’s as if Ice doesn’t even realize he’s initiated the contact.

“It’s true,” he says. “Clearly, it made a big impact on us.” Ice gestures around at the room, the pictures of fighter jets spread throughout. His eyes catch Maverick’s, and there’s a question in them. “Most people don’t believe us, though. That we had the same dream.”

“Oh,” Mav says, stupidly, caught in the steady, blue gaze. “I believe you.”

He feels Slider’s hand settle on the base of his neck, fingers hooked against the junction where it meets his shoulder. His thumb brushes, light and barely-there, back and forth over the knob of his spine. It’s incredibly distracting.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” Ice murmurs, and Maverick realizes with a start that while he was busy looking at Ice, the other man has shifted in close. He feels his breath ghost over his cheek. Still, he can’t look away even as a shudder work its way through his body. “Can we ask you a question, now?”

It feels like a trap. Like a tempting piece of meat laid out for an unsuspecting animal to stumble upon. Still, he bites. “Sure.”

“Do you have a crush on us, Maverick?” Slider murmurs, and Maverick feels his eyes go wide as he whips is head over to face him, his heart thundering so hard in his chest he’s sure they can hear it. Ice’s hand slips further up his thigh, and he finds his legs shifting wider in unconscious invitation. The movement brings his thigh even tighter against Slider’s, and suddenly there’s a hand on his knee. Panic alarms blare shrilly inside his skull. Slider just keeps watching him with those dark, serious eyes, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“I – what?” Because he has to have misheard. There’s no way.

Ice chuckles, a warm sound that sends a trickle of heat from Maverick’s head straight down to his gut. Slider’s gaze has got him caught, though. Transfixed. He can’t bear to break it even as he feels Ice’s hand slip up even higher, teasing at the inseam of his jeans, as he leans in even closer. Warm breath fans against his neck, and he has to bite his lip against a whimper.

“We asked if you have a crush on us, Mav,” Ice supplies, helpful. “We’ve noticed the way you look at us at work. You’re not very subtle.”

Cold mortification wars with heated desire. He can feel himself thickening in his pants, the dual attention from these two men sending heated blood flowing south. Once again, he tries to open his mouth, tries to explain himself, but he can’t – his mind stuck on a loop of “this can’t be happening.”

“It’s ok if you do,” Slider adds. “In fact, it’s more than ok.”

Slider’s hand on his knee tugs gently, lifting it up until Mav’s thigh is hooked over Slider’s own. At the same time, he feels Ice’s lips press against the thin skin behind his ear. This time, he does whimper.

“We’ve been watching you, too,” Ice’s voice rumbles straight through him, like it’s carried along by vibrations in his very bones. “Hard not to. Such a handsome, promising young thing. Hell, I wanted to take you home the very first day you were so cute, but he made me refrain.”

“Y- yeah?” He manages, stupidly, as he tilts his head to give Ice more access.

“Yeah,” Slider agrees. Now, his hand is slipping up Maverick’s inner thigh, too. Two twin, heated brands slipping up toward where he’s, by now, tenting the front of his jeans. “But I didn’t want to scare you off.”

Somehow, he manages to laugh – a punched-out sound that’s more a heated exhale and false bravado.

“I don’t scare that easily,” he manages.

Slider’s hand at the back of his neck is now toying with the short hairs at the base of his skull.

“No?” He feels Ice pull away and finally manages to look at him. What he finds are those cold, blue eyes turned heated with desire. The sight makes him squirm. “You seemed pretty afraid coming here today. What did you think we were going to do to you?”

Maverick flounders. “I didn’t – I mean –“ Ice just watches him evenly. He can feel Slider taking advantage of his exposed neck, now, pressing his lips lightly along the muscle of it, his jaw. “I didn’t know what you wanted from me, and I didn’t want to make a bad impression,” he admits.

Hot breath washes along his throat as Slider laughs. “You’re so cute.”

“And do you know now, Maverick? What we want from you?” Ice insists, holding his gaze.

Maverick swallows hard and shakes his head. To his surprise, that just makes Ice grin.

“We want to fuck you, Maverick,” he murmurs. As he speaks, his hand finally settles on the fly of his jeans, cupping him through the thick denim. Mav gasps, hips jerking instinctively up into the touch.

“Oh,” he says, stupidly.

All too soon, though, the pressure against his aching cock is gone. In fact, both men release him completely – every heated point of contact disappearing in an instant. It leaves him cold, desperate for contact. He looks between them, helpless and confused.

“What did I do?”

Their soft laughter only makes him feel more self-conscious, but when he meets Slider’s gaze he finds nothing but patient indulgence.

“Nothing, baby,” he explains. They’re still not touching him, though. “But we can’t go any farther until you tell us that you want this.”

“No coercion, no manipulation,” Ice elaborates. “This won’t have any impact on your job - positive or negative. Your work is one thing, and your body is another.”

“So? What do you say?”

They speak so seamlessly together, clearly the result of years and years of close collaboration, that it’s like he’s got an angel and a devil on his shoulder speaking in their voices. Or, in this case, twin devils. He wonders vaguely how many times they’ve done this before, how many other interns and paralegals they’ve taken back here. Even more, he wonders at the nature of their relationship. They don’t live together, he knows that, but this… this feels like an integral part of their partnership. Mav’s mind races, trying to fit the pieces together.

Ultimately, though, there’s no way he’s going to turn this down.

“Please,” he says finally, firmly. “I want this.”

“Good boy,” Slider says, low and pleased, and Ice’s hum from his other side confirms the sentiment.

Ice’s hand returns to his crotch. He palms his dick as Slider’s hand settles on his cheek and pulls him into a kiss. Mav doesn’t know what he was expecting from his boss’ kiss, but it certainly wasn’t this.

Slider kisses him with a spine-melting, single-minded intensity. He licks into his mouth like he owns it, and Maverick’s only option is to wrap his fingers around his thick wrist and hold on for dear life. His tongue swipes over Maverick’s teeth, tangles against his tongue. Slider’s steady grip on his cheek urges his mouth open wider. There’s nothing he can do to resist it. Not that he would ever dream of it: it’s the single hottest thing he’s ever experienced.

“My turn,” Ice says, eventually, and Maverick had almost forgotten he was there. He’s still palming his cock, though - a low-level stimulation that keeps Maverick’s hips rolling up into it half-heartedly.

Slider pulls away from him, their lips parting with a slick noise that makes him blush. There’s saliva dripping from the corner of his mouth - Slider’s thumb catches it and pushes it back between his lips before he’s turning him to face the other man.

From the way Ice’s gaze catches on his lips, he knows they must look obscene - red-raw and parted wetly - but the heated intensity there means that Maverick doesn’t even have time to feel abashed. Ice’s fingers slip into his hair and tug, and when the sting of that grip makes him gasp, Ice kisses him.

Where Slider was all the wet slide of tongue-on-tongue and languorous mouths moving against one another, Ice’s kiss is demanding. He nips at Maverick’s lower lip, tugging him into place just how he wants him. His tongue flicks at the back of his teeth, shoves at his own for dominance, and Maverick is once again unable to defend himself against the onslaught. Maverick’s hand lands on Ice’s knee, desperate for purchase, and he’s rewarded with a low moan rumbled into his mouth.

A second hand - large and warm - joins Ice’s on his crotch. The whine that bubbles up from his throat sounds like utter desperation, but Ice just swallows it down. He’s rolling his hips up into the touch wantonly now, mindlessly seeking any sort of friction or relief. He’s so hard it hurts.

“C’mon Ron,” Ice murmurs, drawing away. “Let’s get him to the bedroom before he creams his pants right here.”

The words would be embarrassing were it not for the warmth in his voice as he says it. The two partners stand, and Maverick is almost relieved to see that he’s not the only one affected by the proceedings thus far. From the tents in their loose pants, he can see that they’re probably just as hard as he is. For a moment, he’s frozen on the couch looking between them as they stand before him. He doesn’t think they’re wearing underwear, either, if the way he can see everything is any indication. His mouth waters.

“Easy, cowboy,” Slider smirks, reaching down to take his hand and pull him to his feet. “Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

Maverick flushes, letting Slider lead him by the hand as they follow Ice to the bedroom.

The bedroom is furnished just like the rest of the place – more charcoal grey and gold. He catches a glimpse of the massive bed and its black duvet before Ice is stopping in front of him. He turns, and Maverick finds himself sandwiched between the two men in the middle of the room, Slider a heated line against his back, Ice at his front. Before he can wonder what comes next, Ice slips to his knees before him.

Instead of going for his fly, though, he’s mildly disappointed when he goes for his boots instead.

“Fucking boots,” he can hear him murmuring, shaking his head. “You really are a cowboy.”

As he skates his hand up the leather, following the line of his ankle up to his calf, Slider’s hands slip around his body. He presses in close, and Maverick gasps as he feels his cock press against the cleft of his ass.

“Do you think he can ride, too?” Slider murmurs, his cheek pressing against Maverick’s.

He’s completely helpless between them as Slider’s hands skate along his flanks, up his stomach, and to his chest, all the while rutting absently against his ass. Nimble fingers find the buttons of his shirt, and he starts popping them open one by one. Meanwhile, Ice works first one boot and then the other off of him.

“Probably,” Ice muses. “But we promised him a celebration of his hard work on the case. I don’t think it’s fair to make him do all the work tonight.”

“Mm, you’re right,” Slider agrees. He’s gotten Maverick’s shirt unbuttoned by now, but he makes no move to push it off of him. Instead, his hands slip underneath the fabric. They glide, warm and heavy, over his stomach, his chest. When he finds his nipples, he rolls his thumbs over them slowly. The sensation makes him gasp. “We’ll have to take care of him, then.”

Maverick’s boots are now discarded; Ice rises up on his knees. He slips his hands up along his clothed thighs, his head tilted up to catch Maverick’s gaze. Mav can only watch, slack-jawed, as he finally brings his hands to his fly. Ice makes quick work of the button and zip – a barely-there pressure that offers him no relief. As if on cue, Slider pulls back just enough to let Ice work the jeans down his body, and Ice helps him step out of them with a steady grip behind first one knee and then the other. Then, Slider wastes no time pressing back against him, the heat of his cock even more apparent through the thin layer of his underwear.

Even this feels obscene – Maverick stripped down to his briefs, tenting them needily between his two bosses. To his surprise, Ice makes no move to get rid of them yet. Instead, gripping his thighs lightly, he leans forward and presses his lips against the head of his cock through the cotton. Maverick jerks and gasps.

“Easy, sweetheart, easy,” Slider murmurs against his ear.

When Maverick turns his head to look at him, he finds his lips captured in a searing kiss. It’s almost – but not quite – enough to distract him from the way Ice keeps mouthing along his dick. The contrast of the wet heat of his mouth and the air-chilled spots he’s leaving in his wake as he moves along him has Mav squirming. But, Slider’s tongue in his mouth and his fingers working over his nipples and chest mean he can’t get away. It’s excruciatingly overwhelming.

Finally, he feels Ice’s fingers in the elastic waistband. When he tugs them down, Mav gasps at the shock of cold air hitting his overheated flesh. It’s immediately soothed by Ice’s breath, warm and wet, ghosting over him. He can’t look – still held captive by the larger man’s kiss – but he reaches out blindly for any sort of purchase. When his fingers land in Ice’s hair, he hears him hum his approval.

“That’s good, sweetheart. Keep yourself steady.”

Slider makes a soft noise of agreement as he pulls away, leaving Maverick panting. He doesn’t let up on his nipples, though, and smirks as Maverick squirms in his grip.

“So responsive, isn’t he Ice?”

“Just like we thought he’d be,” he agrees. His hand wraps around the base of Maverick’s cock, glancing up to meet his gaze. Maverick groans at the sight, his head tipping back against Slider’s firm shoulder. “Let’s see how loud he can get.”

Without warning, Ice’s lips part, and he uses the grip on Mav’s base to guide him into his mouth.

“Oh fuck,” Maverick gasps as he’s taken expertly to the hilt.

“That’s it,” Slider chuckles lowly in his ear. He’s got his chin hooked over Maverick’s shoulder now to watch Ice, too. “He likes that.”

Ice hums his agreement, his eyes slipping closed as he bobs along his length. If Mav was expecting a tease, this certainly isn’t it. Ice sucks his cock with intent – his hand working whatever his mouth isn’t, slurping wetly at the head on every upstroke. When a well-placed press of his tongue against the bundle of nerves beneath the head makes him cry out softly, he feels the way Slider’s cheek stretches with his grin.

“That’s it Tom, he likes it right there.” Ice moans around him.

Slider isn’t going easy on him, either. He keeps working over his tits while Ice’s tongue is quickly taking him apart – alternating tugging at the stiffened peaks and swiping his thumb soothingly over the abused nubs. It’s sensory overload, and Mav thinks distantly that if it weren’t for Slider’s hands on him and his grip on Ice’s hair, his legs would have given out long ago. It isn’t long before he feels liquid heat pooling in his gut, his hips trying to fuck into Ice’s mouth in search of more.

“Ice –“ he warns, scrabbling at his hair to pull him off. “I’m going to come. Please.”

To his surprise, Ice just groans around him and ups the ante, taking him even further down with each pass, his hand working him over urgently. Mav chokes on a sob, trying desperately to stave off his orgasm.

“It’s ok, baby,” Slider murmurs, finally releasing one nipple in favor of sliding his hand down his chest to his stomach, pressing lightly. “Go ahead. We’ve got a lot more planned for you tonight.”

Mav’s orgasm rips through his body the minute the words leave Slider’s mouth. The lethal combination of their touch and the filthy promise has his back bowing, a shout forced from his lips as he comes. Ice rolls with it easily, moaning his approval as he takes him down to the base once more, nose pressed against the tidy thatch of hair between his legs. His throat flutters around him as Mav comes down it. Hot tears leak from his eyes, overstimulated almost to the breaking point.

When he finally comes back to his body, the awareness that Slider’s grip around his waist is the only thing keeping him upright suffuses through him warmly. He watches, awestruck, as Ice releases his cock with a soft “pop” before he’s wiping a spare dribble of come from his lips. Ice rises smoothly to his feet, and he’s smirking.

“How was that?” He murmurs, stepping in close.

“Incredible,” he manages, wide-eyed and breathless.

Ice smiles warmly, and for a second Maverick thinks he’s coming in for a kiss. He’s disappointed – but only momentarily – when he instead bypasses him for Slider. They kiss slowly, languidly, and Mav finds himself deliciously trapped between their bodies as they share the taste of him. Ice’s hands are on his waist, and he grinds his cock slowly against his hip, the silken slide of his pajama pants a balm against his overheated skin. Eventually, they part, and then it’s Maverick’s turn to be kissed. As Ice licks into his mouth, he’s almost disappointed to find his own taste completely absent.

“How about you take a seat on the bed, baby?” Ice suggests when they part again.

Slider releases him – making sure he’s steady on his feet as he does – and Ice follows suit. Mav feels almost achingly bereft without their touch, but he’s not about to argue. Instead, he makes his way to the bed on unsteady feet and settles on the edge of it. He looks up again to find their gazes trained greedily on his body, and tries not to feel too exposed.

“So cute,” Slider murmurs, more to himself than anyone, and finally - finally reaches for the collar of his shirt.

He tugs it off in one swift motion, letting the thing fall to the ground, and his sweats immediately follow. As Maverick suspected, he’s not wearing anything underneath. The sight of him – thick and uncut – has heat pooling in his gut again. His cock hasn’t even managed to flag yet in the wake of his orgasm.

“Isn’t he something?” Ice says, and Maverick realizes his greedy inspection has been clocked. “It’s alright – you’re more than welcome to look.”

And look he does as Ice follows Slider’s lead. Just like his friend, he’s not wearing anything beneath his pajama pants. His cock is cut, a little longer but slimmer than Sli’s. Mav can’t seem to decide where to look. There’s so much tan, muscled skin it makes his head spin. As he watches, they each take their own dick in hand, stroking themselves lazily as Mav sits before them.

“Are you ready for what’s next?” Slider asks. Maverick doesn’t think there’s any way he can be, but he nods anyway. “That’s a good boy.”

He steps in close, pushing his fingers through Mav’s hair to lift his head up for a kiss as he bends down to meet him. As if on instinct, Maverick reaches out to wrap his fingers around him as he does. Slider groans his approval against his lips, pumping his hips half-heartedly into his grip.

While he’s distracted, Ice slips onto the bed behind him, his legs bracketing his waist. One arm wraps around his stomach, the other around his chest, and Maverick melts back into the touch. Eventually, Slider breaks the kiss.

“You still want us to fuck you, right Maverick?” He asks, seriously, and Mav finds himself nodding before the words even sink all the way in. He wants it so badly. “Good boy. I’m going to open you up first, though. Got it?”

Again, Maverick nods, and he’s rewarded with another kiss before Slider is sinking to his knees before him. He feels Ice’s grip on him tighten, pulling him back from the edge of the mattress.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, lowly in his ear. “Let us take care of you. You work so hard, baby.”

As he watches, Slider hooks one of Mav’s legs over his shoulder, the other forced wide around the sheer size of him. The sight of him between his legs, his still-hard cock bobbing uselessly between them, has Maverick shuddering lightly. Ice’s hands roam his body – distracting him with light touches across his groin, up his stomach, to his chest, and back down. It’s so effective, he doesn’t notice any of what Slider is doing until there’s a slick finger pressing against his hole.

“Oh!” He gasps, trying to squirm away. Two pairs of strong hands keep him right where he is.

“It’s ok,” Ice reassures him, petting along his flank. “Let him work.”

Forcing himself to take a deep breath, Mav nods and wills his body to relax. It works, and soon Slider is pressing that slick finger into him. It’s a mildly uncomfortable intrusion, but Mav has enough experience to know it won’t stay that way for long. Plus, Slider has already demonstrated he can make him feel good.

For a minute, he works that finger slowly in and out of him while Maverick lays back against Ice’s chest. He’s got one hand in his hair now, petting through it indulgently, as the other reaches down to wrap around his cock again. The press has made him go soft, but Ice doesn’t seem to mind.

“I think he’s ready for another, Ron,” Ice commands, and he complies.

There’s a little more burn to the stretch this time, but then Slider is crooking his finger and Mav sees stars. He gasps, spine stiffening, and Ice chuckles beneath him.

“Right there,” he observes – clinical, like they’re looking over a case file. It’s distractingly hot.

“Mhm,” Slider agrees, shifting his fingers to hit that bundle of nerves again and again just to watch Maverick squirm. “So responsive.”

He’s expecting another finger, then. To his surprise, he doesn’t get it. Instead, Slider shifts his leg up higher on his shoulder, strong hands wrapping around his hips as he leans in to press his tongue into him instead.

“Sli – ah –“ he gasps, his cock jerking in Ice’s grip.

There’s a reverberating groan of approval from both men, and Maverick wants to bottle the sound up forever.

“He likes that,” Ice comments. “Keep going.”

Slider clearly doesn’t need the encouragement. He moans against him, pressing his tongue as far into him as he can reach, then fucking him with it slowly. Every once in a while, he teases at the rim, alternately tugging and lapping at the muscle. Maverick can only groan encouragingly, trying to keep still.

When Slider’s first two fingers re-join his tongue, he’s disappointed to find the stretch isn’t nearly enough. He whines and presses down for more.

“Please,” he gasps. “Give me more.”

It’s Ice’s turn to groan, leaning down to press his lips against Mav’s temple. He can feel how hard he is beneath him. “Good boy. I love hearing you ask for what you need. Sli, isn’t he a good boy?”

The man between his legs groans his agreement, and Mav is rewarded with a third finger slipping inside of him. Slider pulls back to watch as he fucks him with them, the slide wet and loose. Maverick is torn between fucking himself back down onto the digits and up into Ice’s hand, arousal coiling once more in his gut.

“I think he’s going to come again, Ice,” Slider murmurs, turning his head to press a kiss against Mav’s pale inner thigh and feel it twitch beneath him. “Look at him – he wants it so badly.”

“Mmm,” Ice agrees. “Look at how wet he is.”

He slides his thumb over the head in demonstration, letting Slider see how he’s steadily leaking precome. Maverick clenches his eyes shut – trying to hold off.

“No, wait,” he gasps, trying to squirm away even as Slider’s fingers hit his prostate unerringly again and again. “I still want –“

“You still want us to fuck you?” Ice murmurs in his ear. “Don’t worry, we will. But you’re so pretty like this. Come on, baby. Let us see you.”

Before he can respond, he feels Slider’s free hand cup his balls as he presses down on that bundle of nerves once more. Ice tightens his grip, stripping his cock in earnest. A shout tears free from his throat as he comes for the second time, spilling hotly over Ice’s hand and his own chest.

“That’s it. That’s it, baby. So good. Fuck, look at you.”

He whimpers, trying to hide his face in Ice’s neck. It’s all too much. He’s left shivering in the aftershocks. Thankfully, Slider’s fingers inside of him still. When he pulls them out with a soft, wet squelch, though, he immediately mourns the loss.

His heart is still pounding, chest heaving, as Slider carefully lowers his legs. He slips up his body – lapping up the cooling come from his chest on the way – to kiss Ice again. From this angle, Mav gets to watch the way they swap his come back and forth between them. The sight makes him whine, feeling neglected. He feels Ice’s chest shake beneath him as he chuckles.

“I think he’s feeling left out,” Ice observes, fingers pushing through his hair again.

“I don’t know why,” Slider smirks, but there’s fondness in his gaze. “Maybe he’s just greedy.”

Still, though, he leans down to kiss him, and Maverick moans his approval against his lips. He feels boneless and sated, relaxed against Ice’s chest, but knows there’s more to come. The thought thrills him.

“Please?” He murmurs, his lips pressed to the corner of Slider’s mouth. “Will you fuck me, now?”

A low groan rips from Slider’s chest, and he bites down on his lower lip. “Definitely greedy,” he decides, even as Mav can feel the way he’s rocking himself slowly against his hip. “But, we did promise to indulge.” There’s an answering hum of approval from Ice. “Do you want to go first, Tom?”

“Oh no, you go ahead. I’m comfortable here.”

“Thanks, babe.”

Another press of lips above him, and then Slider is slipping off of him. Then, strong hands grip his waist.

“Gonna have to flip you over, sweetheart,” he tells him, almost apologetic. “I won’t be able to get deep into you like this.”

The very idea makes him shiver, but he nods hurriedly. Ice helps him to flip onto his stomach, and with some maneuvering he ends up bent over the edge of the bed at the waist, feet planted on the ground. He braces on his elbows and finds the new angle puts him face-to-face with Ice’s cock. The man smirks down at him, brushing through his hair again, his other hand braced on the mattress behind him.

“No pressure, Mav.”

“Are you kidding me?” He laughs, the sound bordering on hysterical as his mouth waters.

He wraps a hand around the base of Ice’s cock, gratified by the low groan he lets out, the way his thigh muscles twitch on either side of him. The sight is so tempting, he almost forgets Slider entirely – only remembering his presence when he hears a condom being ripped open and spread down his length, and then the blunt, lube-slicked head of him presses against his hole.

Even with all that prep, Slider is still so thick that the stretch burns. Maverick gasps, breathing hotly against Ice’s cock. It takes Slider’s hand settling on his lower back and a low voice in his ear to remind him to “relax, sweetheart” to settle him again. He takes a deep, shuddering breath, and then Slider is sinking in the rest of the way into him in one smooth push.

“Oh fuck,” he gasps, his entire body a livewire of sensation. He’s got his cheek pressed against Ice’s inner thigh as he catches his breath. Slider has gone still, waiting for him to adjust.

“That’s it,” Ice is encouraging lowly. “You’re taking him so well. He’s so big, isn’t he? So fucking thick. I bet he feels good inside you, though. Don’t you love it?”

He clenches his eyes shut, tears threatening at the corner of his eyes, but nods. Because it does feel good – better than anything he’s ever experienced. Slowly, the pain recedes, and he finds his hips rocking minutely, a mindless back-and-forth that makes him shudder.

“Good boy,” he can hear the smile in Ice’s voice. “He’s ready, Sli. Go ahead.”

Slider doesn’t need any more encouragement than that. He pulls out slowly, letting just the thick head hold him open, before he’s spearing into him again, quicker this time. Maverick gasps, but the sound quickly morphs into a moan.

“How’s he feel, Sli?” Ice asks, the casual tone of his voice making Maverick squirm.

“So fucking good, Ice,” he replies, his voice a deep, rolling rumble that sets Maverick’s nerves ablaze. “Even better than we imagined.”

His grip tightens on his waist as he picks up his pace, rocking Maverick’s whole body with it. Mindlessly, he finds himself pressing his lips to Ice’s cock, trying in vain to stifle the whimpers being punched out of his body with every thrust. He feels Ice’s gaze on him like an indulgent weight.

“Is he hard?” He asks absently. Maverick moans and sucks the head between his lips.

“Mm,” Slider’s hand slips beneath his body, wrapping around his abused cock. “Not really. Maybe when you fuck him.”

Another soft chuckle from Ice, and Maverick hollows his cheeks.

Slider’s fucking him hard, now – his grip bruising, his balls slapping noisily against Mav’s ass. He’s being forced further up the bed with every thrust. He has to pull off of Ice’s cock to catch his breath, once again resting his cheek against his thigh as he gasps and clings to him desperately for purchase.

“Please,” he finds himself pleading, but he doesn’t know what for. “Sli – please – “

“Do you want me to come, baby?” Slider groans, and Mav can hear the desperation in it. He’s losing his rhythm. “Tell me you want me to, Mav.”

A sob wrenches itself free from his throat. Ice’s fingers brush a tear away from his cheek, but he doesn’t interrupt. Maverick forces himself to breathe through it, and manages to say: “Please, please come in me.”

Two more thrusts and Slider is burying himself deep inside of him. Maverick can feel the way his fingers spasm against him as a long, guttural groan falls from his lips. Sli’s cock twitches inside of him, and he’s distantly annoyed by the condom. He’d love to feel Ice fuck that come right out of his hole.

He’s still only half-hard, his body struggling to find the energy to manifest his desire once again, but he moans his approval anyway.

“Fuck, Sli,” he hears Ice murmur. “Look at how much he loved that.”

Slider laughs breathily, leaning down to press his lips to Maverick’s cheek, his cock still buried deep inside him. “What a gorgeous little thing.”

When he finally pulls out, Maverick whines his displeasure – he feels so empty. He’s boneless against the mattress, his legs barely keeping him in position. It’s only the promise of Ice fucking him, too, that keeps him where he is.

“Your turn?” He manages to ask, tipping his head up to search Ice’s face.

Ice swears lowly, bending down to kiss him filthily.

“Only because you ask so nicely,” he murmurs when he pulls away.

The partners switch positions, careful not to jostle him too much as they move. Already, he can feel his cock taking an interest again as Slider slips beneath him, pillowing Maverick’s face on his thick thigh and encouraging his arms around his waist. There’s the sound of a condom opening again, and then Ice is pressing into him.

By now, Mav is so loose it doesn’t take him any time to adjust. Ice sinks straight in to the hilt, and Maverick shudders at the feeling of his balls pressing against his perineum. His cock twitches between his legs.

“Thank you,” he gasps, relieved at the fullness. “Thank you, Ice.”

Ice and Slider groan in unison. When a hand snakes beneath his body to wrap around his cock, Maverick nearly sobs. It’s too-much and not-enough at the same time.

“He’s hard again,” Ice observes, something like awe in his voice. “You were right.”

Without warning, he pulls out of him before pushing right back in. Maverick jolts up the mattress, his forehead bumping against Sli’s stomach. He’s never been more turned on in his life.

“Please –“ he gasps. “I need it. I need it so bad, Ice.”

Slider’s hands roaming his body, petting over his hair and shoulders, is a reassuring afterthought as Ice fucks him hard. There’s no finesse in his form, just the slap of their bodies moving against each other as he chases his pleasure. He feels so pleasantly used he could sob. Words fall from his lips, babbling nonsense “pleases” and “thank yous” that he can’t seem to stop. Luckily, neither Ice nor Slider seems to mind.

“That’s it, Ice. Right there. Make him come again.”

He’s jerking him off in time to his thrusts now, and Maverick simultaneously wants to cringe away from the overstimulation and push into it. Before long, though, his body makes his choice for him. His third and final orgasm rips through him without warning. He cries out and jerks as he comes dry, cock kicking uselessly in Ice’s hand. His vision greys out.

“Fuck, Sli,” Ice groans. “He’s all out of come.”

Distantly, he hears Slider’s rumbling laugh beneath his cheek, but he’s barely coherent enough to acknowledge it. Before long, Ice is pushing into him hard and coming with a low groan. Once again, he mourns the fact he can’t feel his release warming his insides. Next time, maybe.

For a while, they stay like that – Ice inside of him, bent over at the waist to kiss Slider languidly, unhurried. Maverick can’t even bring himself to feel jealous, this time, as he slips in and out of consciousness. It’s easy to give in to the blackness seeping into the edges of his awareness – sated and cared for like never before.

Eventually, he finds himself tucked into the wide, comfortable bed between them, a blanket pulled up to his chin. He realizes he’s been cleaned, wiped down at his chest and his hole. He wonders when that happened. His head is pillowed on Slider’s chest, and Ice is a warm, reassuring weight against his back. He hums his approval and lets his eyes slip shut again.

“We’re keeping him, right?” Slider whispers, and Ice murmurs his agreement.