This story contains explicit sexual content.
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You like to push Ice's buttons.
There's an art to it. You can't do it too often, and you can't push too many all at once. Tom "Iceman" Kazansky didn't get this far in his career without smarts. No. If he catches on to your teasing, he shuts it down before the train has even left the station. But when you manage to work him up, you can be sure you're in for a good time.
Tonight is one of those times.
It starts when Hollywood boldly claims: "I could beat any one of you fuckers at pool." The night is young, and he hardly has a beer in him. His cowboy hat is out of place in the naval bar but looks just as at home on his head as that cocky confidence that infects every Top Gun student.
"Rack 'em." You're better at pool than you figure you have any right to be — it's your daddy's fault for dragging you all over the world during his service. You smother the urge to knock the hat from Hollywood's head as you pass him to grab a pool cue.
Slider's the first one to throw money onto the high top you've all been drinking at. "Ten dollars on the lady."
"You wound me," Hollywood says, an exaggerated kicked puppy look on his face as he chalks his cue.
"Don't worry, 'Wood," Wolfman pipes up. "I've got you." He pulls out his own ten dollars to match Slider, the other pilots fishing into their pockets and whispering amongst themselves. Beside them, Ice's smug smile says he knows his girl can take any of them. He doesn't throw money into the pot. You kicking Hollywood's ass will be winnings enough.
Hollywood thinks he's a gentleman for letting you break, and the two of you are off to the races. But the game doesn't really start until you lean over the pool table.
It's innocent enough in the beginning: hips pressed into dark oak as you stretch to reach the cue ball that's just out of your reach. Your next move is decidedly less so. Back sloping until your chest brushes worsted green wool, shorts rising to reveal more of your smooth skin.
You rise with a sigh when you miss your shot, eyes sweeping your crowd of onlookers. Maverick's cheeky smile says he knows exactly what you're up to. Beside him, Goose rolls his eyes. Chipper's eyes are glued to your ass to the point that he doesn't even register the death glare that Ice is sending his way. Wolfman has moved around the pool table to give his pilot a pep talk — some half-baked strategy to help Hollywood to pull ahead. Slider has slipped off to the bar to refill drinks and, you think, to avoid trouble.
Hollywood manages to pocket two balls before he scratches. Your eyes meet Ice's from beneath your lashes as you lean unnecessarily far over the table, giving him and anyone who cares to look a generous peek of your cleavage from the loosened buttons of your blouse. With a knowing smile, you sink another ball into the corner pocket.
He's onto you now, but he's too late to stop it. The train has already left the station, and Ice is along for the ride, just like the rest of them. What can he do with his colleagues crowded around the table? Not crack. Not melt.
"Hmm." Since you have him right where you want him, you make a show of swinging your hips, slowly walking around the table with your fingers trailing you on the smooth wood. "Got a tip for me, Tommy?" And though Ice's expression doesn't change in the slightest, Maverick is choking on his beer, Goose is mumbling something about 'great balls of fire,' and Slider is laughing at Ice though he's trying and failing to hide it behind his beer.
It seems to have just dawned on Hollywood that you're not talking about pool anymore, and he leans back against the wall with an amused "huh."
Your eyes are still locked on Ice's as you grab the chalk from where Hollywood abandoned it at the corner of the table and slowly spread it on the tip of your cue, unnecessarily rubbing it into the leather with your thumb and blowing off the excess. Wolfman does a double-take between you, essentially giving your pool stick a handjob in the middle of a Navy bar, and Ice, who is outwardly, disturbingly unaffected.
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Bend Over
FanfictionTom Iceman Kazansky x F!Reader You like to push Ice's buttons. There's an art to it. You can't do it too often, and you can't push too many all at once. Tom "Iceman" Kazansky didn't get this far in his career without smarts. No. If he catches on to...