Archive of Our Own

Maverick pulls up to the security gate of the Top Gun base, Bradley beside him in his Mustang. He usually favors his Kawasaki, but that wouldn’t be a safe way to take Bradley to base to fulfill his birthday wish. It’s technically getting close to the kid’s normal bedtime, something he adheres to loosely anyway, and he really shouldn’t be doing this when he’s on babysitting duties, but he figures they won’t be here long. He’ll take him into the cockpit and show him the console then they’ll have some cocoa or cake here before he takes him home and gets him to bed. It’s a perfectly reasonable,foolproof plan.

There’s a part of him deep down that knows he’s not making a smart choice, based on the guilty twist he feels as security waves him through without a second thought about the almost thirteen year old beside him. If Ice finds out about this, he’s going to kill Maverick. He tells himself his partner won’t find out he snuck Bradley into the plane. He’s not going to fly the thing with his godson there or anything. He’ll just have to remind Bradley it’s their secret when they come back to the base to throw a party for him at the weekend. Something tells him, the staff wouldn’t appreciate hearing the story if he does regale them all.

They drive up the gravel drive and Mav parks in his usual space, chasing Bradley through the parking garage as his godson laughs wildly. They slow down and Maverick throws an arm over his shoulder, strolling across base confidently, knowing security shifts will be switching at this time. He waves at a couple of pilots they bump into on the way. Merlin, Shadow and a couple of others. Nobody seems to look twice and Maverick is soon so caught up in Bradley’s excitement that he forgets to be careful.

When the row of F-18 Hornets and F-14 Tomcats come into view, Maverick can’t help but grin. He points them out to Bradley. “You see that, Bradley? That’s what Uncle Mave and Uncle Ice fly at work now. You ready to see what it looks like? And those ones… those are what your Dad and I flew when you were a baby.”

Bradley nods eagerly. “Woah! They’re so big, Uncle Mav. This is awesome!”

In reality, it really isn’t all that big but Maverick doesn’t ruin the illusion. The kid’s still young enough it must feel huge. “You think this is cool? Wait till I show you what it’s like on the inside.” He flashes Bradley his trademark grin and moves ahead to set the ladder up, climbing up first and opening the cockpit. “Alright, kiddo, come on up.”

Bradley scrambles up the ladder, grinning elatedly. He’s a little unsteady but Maverick thinks that’s partly excitement. He guides him into the back seat and leans over the seats so he can explain what the screens and controls mean. “So, in that seat the pilot’s in charge of navigation and communications. The RIO sits there, the Radar Intercept Officer. They make sure we don’t get lost and that we can talk to control when we’re flying. That’s where your dad sat.”

Bradley’s eyes are wide as saucers as he listens to the explanation, reaching out to touch the buttons in awe. It takes him a minute to drag his eyes away to look at his godfather, pushing up to his knees on the seat. “What about there?”

Maverick grins. “This is where I sit. I have to steer the plane, and make sure we don’t crash. And I’m in charge of the cannons. Wanna see?” At the teen’s nod he helps him forward so he can see the controls of the F-18 two seater, which is still fairly new by Navy standards. He’s not sure what inspires his next words. “Hey, you wanna see the stars, kid?”

His godson looks up at him in surprise. “It’s not dark yet…”

“I know but the sun’s gonna set soon. I can take you out for a spin, but you have to put on a helmet. That seem fair?” It's usually hard enough to get the kid to wear a helmet with his bike these days, but Bradley stares at him in awe, a delighted smile lighting up his eyes. “I can fly like Dad?”

“Yeah, Bradley, we’ll fly like your dad. He used to love seeing the sunset up there.” Maverick grins. “Wait here a minute, I’ll get a helmet.” He drops from the fighter plane and lands smoothly despite the height of it, then jogs inside to the locker rooms, using the lock combination to open Ice’s locker and retrieve his helmet. The kid’ll love this. He locks the metal locker again, grabs his own helmet, and slips back out the door, darting back across the thankfully deserted airstrip.

Bradley is waiting in the rear seat of the Hornet, practically vibrating with excitement. There’s a breeze but it thankfully won’t be too strong a crosswind. The conditions really are ideal for a leisurely flight, Maverick thinks as he begins his pre-flight rundown in his head. He checks the temperatures outside and the wind speed, pleased it won’t rain in the next few hours.

“Alright, kid, put this on. I borrowed it from Uncle Ice.” He winks at Bradley as the kid grins and obediently slides the helmet on. It’s a little big on him, but it'll do the trick. “Put your safety belt on.” He instructs next as he slides into his own seat, fastening his own safety belt and pulling his helmet on. The cockpit slides closed at the touch of a button, and Maverick starts the engine, feeling the same rush he always gets as he goes through the preflight steps and sets off.

They start with a route around the airstrip so Bradley can get accustomed to what it feels like inside the aircraft, before Mav glances upwards and takes in the beginning of the sky changing color as the sun begins to set. Red, orange and lilac paint the sky in majestic brush strokes and Mav almost forgets to breathe for a few seconds. It’s too good not to experience properly. It’s time. He lines up and pushes the throttles, feeling the familiar thrum as the engine roars to life fully. They set off, Maverick nosing the stick forward to keep them on course and push their acceleration. “Hold on tight, kid, and don’t touch anything, okay? Enjoy the view, it's gonna be awesome.”

As the wheels lift the first few feet on their taxi down the runway, he sees a shadow as the door to the building opens and closes, and his stomach drops nervously as a familiar figure stops just outside, arms folded over their chest. Oh shit, he thinks in alarm.

He still has time to turn back technically, and he considers it for a minute, but then he remembers Bradley pleading with him to sit inside the cockpit, which is interwoven now with Bradley’s excitement over getting to fly like his dad. “Talk to me Goose…” he whispers, his eternal mantra for the skies, seconds before he hears Bradley’s excited request to go faster, and then makes a decision.

He pushes the stick further forward, sending them up into the sky and trying not to meet Ice’s disbelieving glare. As they lift off fully, he clocks a few other pilots watching curiously to see what’s happening, but he pushes them from his mind. Don’t think, just do, he reminds himself.

They return an hour later as the stars are beginning to cast a sparkling canvas over the airstrip. Maverick lands smoothly, bringing the F-18 to rest in its designated spot. He releases the cockpit and stands, looking over the pilots dotted about the airstrip until he spots his partner. Ice levels him with such a fierce glare that Maverick instinctively backs up towards the safety of the cockpit. It’s only Bradley grinning in the rear seat that stops him from retreating back into the skies. He knows that look; Ice is going to kill him.

Ice strides towards them, sliding his Shooter sunglasses up to perch on his nose. Mav guesses he’s sparing the kid from seeing the look in his eye. The kid’s sensitive. Neither of them want to upset him.

“Uncle Ice!” Bradley’s up on his feet and grinning, so excited to see Ice who’s been away on mission for a couple of weeks that he throws himself from the cockpit, trusting Ice to catch him as he always has. Ice hides a grunt, stressed that he’s jumping, but easily catches him and absorbs the impact of the short twelve year old. Bradley adores his godfather and has a tendency towards trying to show off for him, something Maverick often encourages with the example he sets.

He hugs the pre-teen tightly, giving him a squeeze. “Hi kid.”

“Hi! Uncle Mav showed me the sun setting! And the stars! It was awesome!” Maverick cringes a little hearing the kid tell Ice all about it. He’s suddenly hit with a swell of gratitude that he only did a couple of easy loops with Bradley in the plane before thinking better of it. He doesn’t think Ice will ask. His partner is nodding, listening to the animated descriptions and smiling at Bradley’s enthusiasm over flying a jet like his Dad had.

Eventually he sets Bradley down with the announcement they need sundaes before it’s time to go home. Bradley whoops enthusiastically, remembering Ice’s helmet in the cockpit. He breaks free to go back for it, scrambling up the ladder as Maverick watches worriedly, already moving to help the twelve year old. A familiar weight settles on his shoulder and a blush creeps up his face. Ice. He leans down to growl in Maverick’s ear. “I am going to make sure you don’t sit until after Bradley’s actual birthday,” he informs him.

“But that’s on Saturday.” Maverick protests without facing the other man, not daring to see his expression.

“And?”

“It’s Tuesday...”

“You took a twelve year old in a Navy-owned F-18 Super Hornet!” Ice reminds him sharply, hand squeezing his shoulder in warning.

“He’s basically thirteen, Ice…” Mav protests. “He’s not really twelve anymore.”

Ice looks incredulous. “Oh, so being thirteen makes it safe?”

“I didn’t say that… I just… He’s not a little kid now.”

“He’s a child, Maverick. One you’re supposed to be responsible for, not take on joyrides in government planes. We will talk about this in great detail later, Pete.” Maverick is convinced his face is burning brighter than the sun.

He looks away, eyes wandering to Bradley as he watches the almost thirteen year old shift as if to jump down, making them both wince. Ice recovers first. “Bradley, no!” He calls firmly, relieved when Bradley stops, looking at him with wide eyes. “It’s too high, use the ladder please.” Bradley ignores him initially and Ice speaks a little louder. “Bradley Peter Bradshaw, no. If you jump, you’ll eat your ice cream with a warm butt.”

There’s a moment of hesitation from Bradley and they –and the other pilots around– hold their breath, praying whatever power may exist that he won’t go home with a broken leg tonight. Bradley sighs, scrambling down the ladder until he gets halfway before grinning and jumping down the last couple of meters. He runs over with Ice’s helmet. “Thanks for letting me wear it,” he says dutifully, remembering the manners his mom’s instilled in him.

Ice accepts it with a raised eyebrow, letting go of Pete to ruffle Bradley’s hair. “You’re welcome, Little Lieutenant. But what did I tell you about jumping?”

Bradley offers him a cheeky smile, almost like he’s been learning from Maverick. “You just said if I jumped from up there.” He points at the cockpit and damn it all if Maverick doesn’t feel a swell of pride at the quick answer. “Technically I didn’t really jump…”

Ice sighs. The kid’s getting entirely too like his Uncle Maverick for anyone’s good.

“Well, for future reference I meant at all. Nobody should be jumping on their way out of a cockpit unless it’s the only way to get out because of a fire or something, not even Uncle Maverick…” He lands three sturdy swats that have Bradley yelping and twisting in his hold, apologizing quickly. Ice offers the kid a smile. “Though, I’m sure he does it anyway. But you’re smarter than that. Right?”

Bradley groans but nods, knowing that to keep pushing is to get a real spanking from his Uncle Ice. “Yes Sir. Sorry…”

“Good boy. And Bradley? Being a smartass when I’ve said no isn’t a good idea. It’d be a good idea to remember that. Now, are you ready for that sundae?” He winks at Bradley who nods hopefully, slinging an arm around his nephew’s shoulders to lead him inside.

Maverick watches them, following a little behind as he reflects on Ice’s threat –no, promise– of what’s to come. He shakes his head, pushing away the thought, and picks up his pace to catch up, still holding his own helmet. Bradley’s oblivious to the tension between his uncles, perking up as he gets back to talking about his adventures. It’s all going well until he acts out the loops they’d done in the air. For a second, Maverick wonders if his heart has stopped beating.

From his vantage point, he sees the way Ice’s entire body tenses dangerously, his side profile dark like a storm cloud despite the moonlight spilling over him as he listens to Bradley. Oh shit. Maverick slows, looking around the airstrip to figure out whether he can make himself scarce. It’s not looking promising, especially when he hears Ice speak. “Uncle Mav, what kind of candy do you think we need for the sundae?”

Maverick blinks as he looks at them. “Hmm?”

“Uncle Ice said we could have candy in our sundae.”

“Oh. Awesome. I bet we could find some Skittles.” Bradley grins, ever the biggest fan of skittles. They head inside in search of all the ingredients for one of Uncle Ice’s famous sundaes.

An hour later, Ice looks at his watch. “Alright, bed time. How about a sleepover on the base tonight?”

Bradley’s face lights up. “Really?”

Ice nods. “Yeah, really. We can take you to school tomorrow.”

“Could let me have a day off, you know…”

Mav laughs. “Nice try, kid. Uncle Ice never missed a day of school before in his life.”

Bradley’s sigh is dramatic, even as he yawns. There are others milling around the break room, playing pool or watching a ball game in their downtime but he’s used to the hustle and bustle. He used to beg to stay up and join in, throwing plenty of fits that Maverick would willingly cave to but Ice never let slide. Thankfully he’s grown out of it now. He looks at Mav and smiles around another yawn. “I had the best birthday adventure, Uncle Mav.”

Maverick pulls him into a hug, squeezing him while shooting Ice a victorious grin. His husband just returns his grin with a steady look of his own. Mav’s hopes of talking him round dwindle a little more but he reminds himself there’s still a chance. His eternal optimism is further squashed when Ice speaks to Bradley. “Come on, Little Lieutenant. Go on and get ready and I’ll read a chapter of the Hobbit with you.”

Bradley’s face lights up and he nods eagerly, pulling away from Mav towards the door after a quick goodnight. Ice stands, leaning into the speak in Maverick’s ear with a growl. “You’re going to go into my office, take those pants down and find a corner until I get back.”

“Ice!” He blushes, looking around to see if anyone heard.

“Mav, I am this close…” he pauses, holding up his thumb and finger less than an inch apart. “To dealing with you right here. I suggest you move your ass if you don’t want me to do that.”

“Look, I get that it wasn’t my best idea… but I’m a damn good pilot and he had his safety belt on and he didn’t touch anything. I won’t do it again.”

“No, you won’t. Not if you’d like to sit comfortably before he’s eighteen, because I will make that a distant memory if you take him joyriding again. Corner, hands on your head. If you think that’ll be too hard, I can give you some lines to focus on.”

Pete’s face gives away exactly what he thinks of that suggestion, making Iceman chuckle low in his throat. “Then you know what to do. Don’t disobey me, Maverick, or we’ll have a problem. You really don’t want to create problems.” He kisses Maverick quickly and stands, abruptly turning his focus back to Bradley and leading their godson through towards their quarters.

Maverick watches them go and curses under his breath because damn it, why does Iceman have to be so good at that? Feeling momentarily stubborn, he surges to the fridge for a beer, cracking the top off and taking a drink. The satisfaction is short lived, his stomach too busy protesting his rebellion to really enjoy it. Ten minutes later he sighs, heading for Ice’s office with the beer in hand.

He glares at Iceman’s corner of choice for him, dragging his feet over to the corner to wait, before an idea comes to him. Instead of racing the walls, he leans against it so he’s looking into the room as he takes slow pulls of his beer. That’s how Ice finds him a little while later.

Maverick realizes within three seconds that he’s miscalculated, watching with fake calm as Ice takes in the sight of him with a darkening expression. He forges ahead before he loses his nerve. “You know, Ice, I’ve been thinking,” Maverick tells him. “You didn’t actually say I couldn’t show him around the plane.”

“I didn’t say…” Ice trails off, closing his eyes for a minute as he collects himself and finds that eternal patience that keeps Pete from certain death at his hands. When he opens them, he looks calmer and frighteningly resolved. He ignores Mav’s reflections for now when he speaks again. “Peter Duke Mitchell, were my instructions unclear?”

He means to apologize and maybe even grovel, but when he opens his mouth the words that leave it have him internally cringing. “I mean, technically you said in the corner, which I am, and my hand is technically by my head.” He tilts the bottle in demonstration.

Ice watches him silently for the longest time. It’s such a long time that Maverick is sure he’s old enough to retire, not that he ever plans to do that. At this rate he’ll be going to an early grave. Eventually Ice holds out a hand for the half empty beer, still not uttering a single word. Maverick takes another drink, quick and nervous, but hands it over. Ice nods to himself, setting it down on the desk with a quiet snap. He turns back to Maverick, twirling his finger meaningfully next. “Ice…”

Ice’s gaze is steady as he waits but Maverick spots the slight twitch in his husband’s free hand. He groans, slowly turning to face the corner. It seems unfair that there’s nothing on the wall for him to look at. He should give feedback to Ice when his husband isn't ready to throttle him. He registers movement behind him, only a moment before he feels hands on his hips and his pants being tugged down his legs. He starts to twist from the corner, sputtering in protest. A heavy swat lands that has him yelping. “Quiet. I told you these were to come down while you were in the corner. Clearly I can’t trust you to do as you’re told, so I’m going to help you out.”

“Ice, that’s not…” Maverick frowns, starting to argue. His words die on his lips as he finds himself bent under Ice’s arm, his husband’s hand falling heavily against his ass. Pete grunts and shifts on his feet. “Wait! Ice, I’m sorry…”

Ice ignores him for now, somehow managing to cover his ass in only a few seconds that feel like an eternity. When he’s standing again, his butt feels hotter and Ice is still looking at him with that steady but unyielding look that sets off butterflies in his stomach. “Listen to me very carefully, Maverick. We already have a problem, don’t make it a bigger one. Do as you were asked. Now, please.”

Maverick runs through his options, but Ice looks so stern that any smooth talking he has planned goes out the window. He gives a shaky nod, blushing when Ice guides him back into the corner with a hand on his neck. “Where did I tell you to put those hands?” He grimaces but laces them behind his head obediently, instinctively standing at attention. “Good boy. Any more of your nonsense and these come down.” Maverick blushes as he feels fingers in the waistband of his shorts.

Ice’s footsteps retreat and Mav is left with no choice but to think about his poor choices. The clock on the wall ticks behind him, torturing him with the steady shift of the second hand. Ice’s preferred fountain pen scrapes against paperwork he’s working on. He looks at the wallpaper hopefully, seeking out any distraction in the magnolia walls but finding none. The marks haven’t changed since last time he was imprisoned here.

Pete has to hand it to Iceman, he’s good. He knows the effect corner time has on Maverick, where he’s stuck and unable to chase the next high. He tries not to drop his head to the wall in boredom. He might be a hardass but he does kind of want to make Ice proud.

By the time he hears Ice clear his throat and call him over, Maverick’s ready to weep in relief. He drops his hands as he turns around, blushing when he realizes Ice has crossed the room, watching as his husband slowly slides his jeans back up over his ass. “Ready to talk?”

Mav squirms but nods. He follows Ice towards the desk, sitting down when he’s directed and slouching in his seat nervously. Ice leans against the desk. “Look at me, Peter.”

He groans at the use of his full name but reluctantly meets Ice’s waiting eyes. “I don’t think I have to tell you how disappointed I am in your choices tonight. I understand bringing Bradley, even letting him see inside the cockpit, but taking him out in a Super Hornet? Seriously, Pete? What if you’d crashed? Or had to eject? There could have been a bird strike or a bad head wind that sent you off course.”

“I’m one of the best pilots the Navy has…” Pete protested.

“You think birds give a shit how good you are at flying?” Ice retorts sharply, losing his calm authority for a moment. “He is twelve, Maverick! Yes, he’s nearly thirteen, but that doesn’t make a damn bit of difference.” He stops himself for a moment, breathing deeply until he’s calm again. “How exactly did you think he’d pull the ejection handles if something went wrong?”

“I wouldn’t have… I mean… I…” Mav feels his face heat up as his mind reenacts that situation without his permission. “I didn’t think about that…” He admits eventually.

“No, you didn’t. You didn’t think at all, did you?”

“He was so desperate, so excited about flying like Goose…” his voice trembles a bit. “I just wanted him to have the perfect birthday, to feel close to his Dad on his birthday.”

Ice sighs. “Maverick…” he says with exaggerated patience. “He felt close to Nick when he was seeing where you two flew together. That made his year. Did he ask to fly?” If he did, Ice might need to explain to the kid why that wasn’t something he could do at this age.

“Well, no. But…”

“So this was all you, then?” Ice cuts in firmly.

Maverick groans but nods weakly. “Uh yeah, I guess it was. But he thinks Uncle Ice is the coolest too now.”

“Oh, we’ll talk about you using my helmet for your little scheme. You know exactly what you were doing when you gave him my helmet.”

He shakes his head rapidly but Ice watches as the guilt reaches his eyes. “Am I wrong?”

Mav thinks about it and sighs. “I was mostly just thinking about the fact he needed a helmet and I couldn’t give him mine. Figured it wouldn’t hurt if it was yours, it might go down better if he was thanking you too…”

“Uh-huh.” Iceman acknowledges drily. “How’s that going for you?”

“Could be better, Sir…” he admits in dismay.

“Mm. It’s about to be a lot worse. Up, let’s get started.”

Maverick looks up at him, then glances behind him surreptitiously. Ice’s belt hasn’t come off, so he hopes it means he’s not going to actually kill him. Confusion covers his face as he spots an item he hasn’t seen on Iceman’s desk before. “Is that…?”

“Bradley’s hairbrush? Yes it is.”

The heat races up Maverick’s neck and he makes a strangled sound of protest. “Ice! How did you even do that?”

“I got it from his backpack in the Mustang when I got his sleep clothes. It seemed fitting.” Ice picks it up from the table and moves smoothly to sit on the leather couch across the room, crooking a finger at Pete while holding the brush in his husband’s direct line of sight.

“Ice, please, not that…” he pleads, rubbing sweaty palms down the front of his jeans. “Come on, please?”

“Come here, Pete. Now.” Ice doesn’t tell Pete that the brush is only the tip of the iceberg, hoping that for once his husband will listen without all the back chat. He, of course, does not. Ice squares his jaw. “How about I tell you exactly what I’m going to do, hmm?”

“Uh, I’m good with not knowing. Thanks.”

Ice snorts, standing and prowling towards the brat in front of him. Maverick starts moving backwards a moment too late and Ice soon has him by the ear, towing him towards the couch even as he yelps and protests weakly. “Tough.” He sits down, setting Maverick between his spread thighs and taking his time unfastening his pants and dragging them down to his knees.

As he does so, he holds Maverick’s eye. “I am going to warm you up with my hand and then I’m going to blister your ass with this hairbrush so that next time you even think about dragging Bradley into your escapades, you’ll think of tonight and remember why it isn’t a good idea. Then, when your bottom’s a nice, deep red, you’re going to sit on that chair right there and tell me on paper exactly what you’ve learned, and why this idea was so utterly insane. Is anything about that unclear?”

Pete stares at him in horror, recovering enough to offer him a jerky nod. Ice continues calmly, tone firm. “Good. I will also spank you every night this week, to help the lesson sink in. God help you if you do anything else this week to get my attention because you’re already going to be squirming in that cockpit of yours as it is.”

With that, Ice quiets, pulling his husband across his lap. He gives him a minute to shift into a more comfortable position before reaching down to shuck his underwear down to join his jeans, ignoring the indignant, “Iceman!” it earns him.

Mav squirms over his husband’s hard thighs, starting to regret his decisions. He doesn’t have long to think about it before a familiar hand lands heavily on one cheek and then the other. Mav groans; his husband’s disapproval is obvious as the heat starts to blossom in his ass. Iceman’s swats are brisk, falling in a miserably predictable pattern that Maverick sees coming but can’t do anything to escape. He does his best, despite the futility of it all. “Wait, I’m sorr–oww! Ice! I’m sorry…”

“What are you sorry for, Pete?”

“For taking the Hornet out with Bradley…” He trails off on a yelp. “And for giving him your helmet! And not–shit! Not listening. I’m sorry, Sir!”

The spanks slow and he naively hopes maybe, just maybe, Ice will decide he doesn’t need the brush. They don’t stop, which is disappointing. Instead, Ice speaks sternly, the strength of the spanks making up for the slowed down pace. “I’m disappointed in the choices you made today, Maverick. You’re better than that. I know you love the thrill and I know you like being the fun Uncle, but you have a responsibility, Mav, especially now he’s getting older and wants to have his own adventures. He wants to be just like you, so you need to think about the example you’re setting. You’re a wonderful godfather, and a good man, so show Bradley what it is to be those things, show him how to be smart and responsible while still having fun.”

Maverick curses the traitorous tears building behind his eyes as he sniffs, nodding quickly. “Yes sir. I’m sorry, really…”

“I know.” Ice stops spanking with his hand and rubs Maverick’s back and for a moment Mav relaxes a little. When the brush pats his already burning cheeks he groans and squirms.

“Ice…” He whines, twisting his hips.

“Give me your hand, Mav. Let’s not tempt fate...” He can hear the fondness in his husband’s voice as he reluctantly shoves it back, scowling, but Ice just links their hands and squeezes. Mav sighs and closes his eyes, dropping his head down to the couch and waiting nervously.

He doesn’t have to wait long. The wooden hairbrush lands with a thwack that has him tensing and swearing. A stream of curses spew from his mouth as his husband thoroughly paddles his ass, focusing low on his sit spot and thighs for an impossibly long time. Mav’s sure Ice is going to spank his ass entirely off. He groans and curses Carole for packing that damn brush, convinced Bradley doesn’t even brush his hair and that it must have been sent to torture him specifically. He’s grateful, dimly, that Ice doesn’t care that the words have escaped, so long as he doesn’t curse at him. Then again, it’s probably because Ice knows how damn good he is at lighting Maverick’s ass up. It’s unfair how thorough the man is.

The pattern of spanks changes enough that Maverick’s soon kicking and squirming, grimacing as the same area gets targeted two or three times before moving elsewhere. It wears down his remaining rebellion until he’s crying sincerely, regretting his latest impulsive decisions and where they’ve brought him. Ice seems to see whatever he’s waiting for, not that Mav notices, because the brush lands in a sharp crescendo against his thighs until he sags over his lap, then the spanking stops.

Ice sets the brush down and gently draws his shorts up over his scalded ass, turning him in his lap with surprising ease to hug him tightly and kiss the top of his head. “Shhh, Mav. I’ve got you. Breathe for me, that’s it. I forgive you.”

The gentle promise draws his remaining tension from him. Pete melts into the hug and cries for a few minutes, gripping the front of his husband’s shirt as in a rare display of vulnerability. “I’m sorry…”

“I know. Shh now.” Ice rubs his shoulder blades and waits for him to calm down before speaking. “Come on, we still need to finish up here.”

He moves to stand but Maverick shakes his head, trying to slow him. “You already spanked my ass off…” He protests.

Ice glances down at his burning bottom, chuckling. “Funny, looks like it’s still intact to me.” He pats it thoughtfully. “Maybe I didn’t spank you enough, if you’ve still got the energy to talk back to me.”

Maverick groans and shakes his head quickly, dragging himself upright. He winces as he slowly draws his jeans back up, opting not to fasten them right now. “N-no, Sir. Not necessary.”

“Good choice.” Ice joins him on his feet, hugging him tight before leading him to the office chair which is at least a little padded. He had planned to use the harder chair he keeps for times like this, but Mav looks so tearful he can’t help himself; he doubts his husband will notice the padding all that much. “Come on, sit.” He guides Mav into the chair, keeping his hand on his husband’s shoulder when he feels Pete try to surge back to his feet. “No, Maverick. Stay there.”

As his husband pouts at him and squirms, Ice reaches for a legal pad on his desk and a pen, setting it before Maverick. “One page, then you can get up. And do it properly, I want to see that you’ve learnt from this.”

Mav sighs forlornly but nods, focusing on the legal pad without his usual smartass commentary. Ice grabs a report from his desk and takes a seat on the couch, making sure he’s close while still giving his husband the space to do what he’s been asked without feeling smothered. He knows Pete’s finished when the younger pilot invites himself into Ice’s lap again, curling up against him. Ice chuckles, sending his report down on the arm and wrapping his arms around Pete. “Forget something?”

He’s greeted with an offended huff, even as Maverick holds up the sheet of paper he’s already torn out of the legal pad. Ice takes it and reads it, feeling a swell of pride that his husband’s actually taken it seriously for once. “Good boy.” He praises, dropping a tender kiss to his cheek. “This is very good.”

“Uh, are we good?” Maverick asks him worriedly.

“We’re good,” Ice promises. “No matter what you do, what dumb choice you make, we’ll always figure it out. I promise. You’re worth it, Pete.”

He gets that impish grin he loves so much and smirks back, holding Maverick close a while longer with the clock ticking in the background and officers bustling along the corridors with varying degrees of rowdiness. Ice rolls his eyes, hoping he’s not going to have to rein anyone in tonight. He’s a Commander now, and it comes with pros and cons. Tonight feels like one of those nights where he’ll ignore his responsibilities at work to focus on his main responsibility, the brat filling his lap space. He kisses Maverick. “You want to check on the kid?” he asks knowingly.

Pete nods gratefully, scrambling upright. Ice knows his husband needs to reassure himself, now that he’s aware of the possible implications of his choices. Mav is almost always repentant once he sees the bigger picture, especially if he makes mistakes when it comes to his godson. Ice stands, patting his sore bottom with a grin and holds up the paper. “You know, I think I’m going to frame this and hang it up, to help you remember in future.”

Maverick rolls his eyes. “You’re such an ass, Iceman.”

“Spanking yours must be rubbing off on me.” He laughs at Maverick’s indignant expression and slings an arm over his shoulders, shoving the brush in his back pocket to return to Bradley’s bag. Later he’ll try and work, but right now he has a sore-bottomed Lieutenant-Commander to tease. It’s a job he takes very seriously.