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sehnsuchts-trunken · 1 year

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True or False

Iceman x fellow pilot!reader (Callsign “Claws”) circa 2.5k <333

summary: After months of flirting, finally things kick off when Ice suggest playing a round of “True or False”.

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Iceman was ice-cold. When he flew - no mistakes. Always perfect. By the book. Emotionless.

And yet, somehow, in some really fucked up way, all he did was ignite a fire in you.

You were nothing short of the complete opposite. Claws that stung, verbally and physically. Impulsive, passionate. Not afraid to take a risk or make a mistake. The end justifies the means-kind of way.

And every time you set your feet onto the ground again after flying like that, shit-eating grin on your face, Ice wanted nothing more than to grab you by the shoulders and scream at you for being so reckless. You, with that damn fire in your eyes, somehow made some invisible, freezing hand take a hold of his heart and scare him to death.

To say the least, the two of you were a very interesting pair.

Not really flirting, not really friends, not really rivals anywhere but in the sky. And, occasionally, during a round of dart or two.

“Snow White”, you grinned, pushing your index finger into his chest, “Looks to me like you’re losing.”

Today was one of those ‘dart days’. It was a Saturday night, no one had to get up early the next morning, so the bar was crowded and you were tipsy, both of you bordering on drunk. You knew that tomorrow-you would curse present-you, but you were having too much fun to care just now. It was always very fun with Ice after all, throwing back shots like your lives depended on it, playing darts and pool and a variety of drinking games and dancing and flirting and forgetting the struggles of reality for a night.

“I wouldn’t be too sure of that, Kitty”, Ice winked, emptying his drink in one and turning to throw his dart. You just rolled your eyes at him. He was always so very precise, took so much longer than you, positioning himself just right and throwing with just the right amount of restrainment, and of course in the end he always, always got it right.

Which was, undoubtedly, the worst about him: that he could back up his whole getup, his whole persona, all that arrogance and confidence. That none of it was something you could truly argue about, tease him with. He was so utterly perfect, in his ice-cold way, and you despised him for it.

The dart landed right in the centre, scoring perfectly. You huffed.

“You’re a fucking show off”, you complained, snatching up your own dart and setting down your glass in the process. Ice grabbed it as you threw, very much unlike him taking a mere second to do so, but, very much like him, having it land perfectly as well. You did a little dance, arms up in the air, hips swinging, and grinning a lot more than you would’ve without the alcohol in your system, and turned back around just in time to watch him empty your drink. Your drink, mind you.

“You’re buying me another one”, you said, lifting one finger again and shaking it in front of his face. He was an annoying bastard, he was, and yet you couldn’t help but smile at his horribly smug grin. He was your annoying bastard after all, if not officially.

“Yes, Ma’am”, he said, raising his chin just the slightest to look up at you. Usually you were the one looking up at him, so this was not an unpleasant change, for your neck in particular, but something about the very much unusual choice of words paired with that very much unusual height difference had you swallowing. Maybe if he hadn’t been sitting in that exact moment, maybe if he hadn’t been looking at you like that, maybe if he’d said it more jokingly, you wouldn’t have sauntered up to him to fight for your glass back, but then again, you rarely considered the whats and ifs.

Waiting around didn’t help much in the sky either when you were about to get shot and die, after all.

This way, you stood in front of him, forcing yourself to ignore the heat that wanted to rise to your cheeks as you, for once in your life, looked down at him instead of up and tried to grab the glass out of his hand.

He held it out of reach.

“Ice”, you said through gritted teeth and reached again for your glass, this time leaning in closer. Once more, he moved it just out of reach.

“Ooh”, he grinned. “Ice? I’m in trouble.”

“I swear to god I will cut your testicles off while you sleep.”

He laughed at that and you couldn’t help but smile too, pushing for the glass another time to hide that very smile from him. Not that you believed he’d give it to you at this rate.

“Even you wouldn’t dare, Claws.”

“Watch me.”

He held the glass as far from you as he could and this time, instead of chasing it and then pulling back, you stayed right where you were, eyes locked on his, fingers gripping the edge of his seat, the feeling of his breath on your lips. For maybe a moment you stared at him like a deer caught in headlights, but a second later you were narrowing your eyes, not allowing yourself to let him notice any of the fire coursing through your veins.

“‘M already watching you, Kitty”, he muttered, gazing down at your lips, that grin still firmly planted on his own.

You imagined kissing it right off of him.

It wasn’t the first time you did so. Actually, it was far rarer for you to do anything else when looking at him, or thinking of him, or just in general as you went through every day life. And, usually, you would kiss it right off of him. You weren’t like him, didn’t calculate every move like him, didn’t think everything through like him. But this - this was the one thing you had, so far, managed not to throw yourself into head-first.

Because he was different.

Because he was ice-cold.

And because you were so damn set on him kissing you first.

Maybe it was stupid, you weren’t quite sure. Maybe it was your pride, your ego, your arrogance. Maybe it was that once, just once, you wanted to best him. Win something. More than a round of darts every once a while.

“Stop calling me that”, you whispered, putting as much venom into your words as you possibly could. No need to let him know any of your thoughts - or feelings - and further stroke his ego. He already had too much of that.

“What?”, he asked, like he didn’t know exactly what you meant. He was toying with you, very obviously toying with you. And, sadly, you were enjoying it far too much. Also, two could play that game. So you smiled, as sweetly as you could.

“Ice”, you said, pouting just the slightest. You almost wanted to laugh at the way he raised his eyebrows. “You know what.”

“Do I?”

You had to laugh, then. Laugh and shake your head and pull back before you could do anything too stupid. Anything that you’d do usually.

“Ice, you’re an idiot. Go get me another drink.”

He got up with that stupid grin on his face, towering over you again. Somehow, the familiarity of having to crane your neck to look at him felt safer than whatever the hell the other thing had been.

“Yes, Ma’am.”

He had vanished into the crowd in barely a second, swallowed by the masses of people dancing and talking. You were more than glad for the breather, slumping down in his seat.

It wasn’t always this intense with him after all. Rarely even. But when it was just the two of you, and alcohol was involved, it could get intense quickly. He riled you up - arguing with him, talking to him, looking at him, god, the thought of his hands on your skin, of him pushing you up against a wall, of the feeling of his lips on yours, those thoughts were what really got you every time. But somehow, you couldn’t not imagine it all when he was there. It was like you had no choice.

You wanted it all with him. Those intense moments and passionate ones and romantic ones and domestic ones too. You wanted it all.

What you didn’t know was that he did as well.

So there you were, and had been for months now, tiptoeing around each other to see who’d cave first or when the perfect moment to cave would be. And by now, the both of you were tired out, tired of the game. It got riskier by the second, like prey knowing that, no matter how fast it ran anymore, the hunter had closed in and would make the killing shot any second.

Not that it was a killing shot with the two of you, god, it was far from that. But the metaphor was more than fitting still.

You looked up just in time to watch Ice come back, two shot glasses in one hand and a bottle in the other.

“That’s not my drink”, you said drily, raising your eyebrows at him.

“It is now”, he grinned, setting down the glasses on the one tiny table the two of you had managed to find (and keep) and instantly uncapping the bottle.

“You’re an idiot.”

You shook your head even as you reached for one of the glasses, liquid sloshing over the rim a little and spilling onto the wood. Ice sat down the bottle and grabbed the other one. You held yours up and clinked them together.

“To as little of a hangover as possible”, you toasted and threw the shot back the moment you had finished. You put the glass down again with a bit too much fevor at the same time he did, cheering as the alcohol made the world spin for just a split second, though it’d take a while to actually hit your system.

“I’ll drink to that”, Ice muttered, refilling the glasses with a laugh. You watched with a smile. Instead of drinking, this time Ice leaned against the table and looked at you. You raised your eyebrows.

“Let’s play a game”, he said.

You cocked your head to the side as if to think about it. Not that you really had to.

“Okay”, you agreed after a while. “What are we playing?”

“True or false.”

You let out a laugh. “True or false? That sounds super boring.”

Ice grinned. “It doesn’t have to be.”

“Okay”, you said again. “How do I play?”

His grin widened. You decided then that he looked way too handsome for his own good. It must have got him in trouble so often already, with that ego of his in tow.

“I make an assumption and you say if it’s true or false.”

“Sounds easy enough.” You shrugged and grabbed your shot glass from the table, emptying it at once. “Hit me.”

He followed suit before he spoke again, grabbing the bottle and pouring two shots in advance.

“You’re pretty drunk”, he started.

“False”, you said and rolled your eyes. See, you had known this would be boring. If he didn’t spice it up soon, you’d literally fall asleep. “Maybe I’m tipsy, but I’m definitely not drunk.”

He raised his eyebrows, but didn’t correct you, his fingers skipping over the rim of his shot glass as he twisted and turned it, enough to have the liquid slosh, but not quite enough to have it spill over.

“I’m much better at darts than you are”, he went on.

If he didn’t already have such an inflated ego, you’d say he was fishing for compliments, but you knew him better than that after all.

“False”, you said again, this time with a grin. “You play differently, but not better. See that?” You pointed at your dart still stuck in the centre of the board on the wall. “Just as good as you.”

This game seemed repetitive so far. If he just kept on playing it safe like this, you’d have to keep on denying everything. Not that you didn’t like proving him wrong though.

“You’ve been eyeing me up all night.”

He was grinning stupidly, really, looking so proud of himself as he watched your eyes widen and listened to your breath catch. You swallowed, hard. Karma alert much? You really shouldn’t have begged the universe to make this more interesting.

But even more than embarrassing yourself by answering, you hated embarrassing yourself by not answering and just staring at him dumbfoundedly. So you swallowed again and straightened.

“True”, you said, your voice stronger than you’d expected it to be.

“You’ve been waiting for me to kiss you.”

You bit the inside of your cheek in the sudden, unexpected surge of shyness that had come over you at his direct interrogation - which was, after all, what it was, masked as a game.

“True”, you said, not allowing yourself to break away from his stare, even though he shamelessly glanced down at your lips.

Then he reached for your shot glass and slid it over the table, raising his own to his lips. You didn’t have to think about what to do, whether to follow that silent demand, let him take control. That you’d done way back already, the very first time you had looked at him and decided he was the one you wanted to wake up with for the rest of your life.

So you took hold of your glass and downed the shot at the same time he did. And before you had put it back again, he had already leaned in so close and so quickly that your eyes focused on his lips once and stayed glued there, glass hitting the table with a thump as it slipped from your fingers.

“I’m going to kiss you now”, he said. It took you a second to understand.

“True”, you whispered.

And he did kiss you then. And how he did kiss you!

His lips on yours so suddenly, not rough, only precise, decisive, so very sure of himself, of this kiss, of how to kiss and how to kiss you. Ice-cold. By the book. By his book, you supposed. You’d have smiled had you not been as occupied as you were, with him moving his lips against yours, his hands sneaking to your hips, fingertips digging into your jeans, thumbs hooking into your belt loops, tugging you closer.

You reached for his jaw, fingers cold from the shot glass in comparison to his warm skin.

The thoughts had vanished from your mind as they usually only did when you were high up in the sky, this time because of the feeling of soft skin, the comfort of his hold on you, the taste of alcohol on his lips.

He pulled on your belt loops so suddenly that you squaked and tumbled off the chair, coming crashing right into his chest, which - of course - he’d calculated well enough to not also be shoved down and fall, but instead hold you up with a laugh and lean in again to kiss you, open-mouthed this time, tongue brushing your own.

As if in reflex, you reached up and tangled your fingers in his hair, dragging through the perfect style certain to mess it up, to, for once, make him less perfect. You pulled at the roots, pulled him closer in, pushed yourself against him. You’d waited for this for too long now - you were desperate to deepen the kiss, to allow him to explore, to take the lead. Once or twice, you ran your own tongue along his, just to feel him grab your hips harder, push up against you and nudge your tongue back.

When he eventually pulled back, your lips were feeling numb and your breath was shallow and your chest was heaving, but you were grinning unlike ever before, you were sure of that.

You looked him in the eyes for maybe half a second, and it could have been the dim light of the bar or the post-kiss haze, but either way you knew that the twinkle in them was something not many people got to see, and as usual, you did not have to think before speaking, your mouth running faster than your mind, an idea striking and immediately being thrown into the open.

“You’ll take me home now”, you said. He laughed.

“True.”

#who would've thought my first topgun fic would be iceman #not me #thats for sure #thought itd be some glorious rooster or maybe even hangman fic #but guess not #nope #tom fucking kazansky #iceman x reader #iceman #top gun #top gun x reader #tom kazansky #tom kazansky x reader

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meirimerens · 4 months

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got the tldr of the vid that I'm Not Watching All That & somewhat amusing how the straw breaking the camel's back for people over James Somerton is his blatant and unashamed plagiarism (as it should be genuinely i don't think you can nor should recover from this) like he hasn't regurgitated for years vile, unempathetic, ahistorical and Purely Just Wrong information about gay history including about the fight for legal same-sex marriage in the US and the AIDS crisis. like an alarming amount of people truly heard his ass say "all the good fun funky artistic and radical gays died of aids and all those who were left were unfun stuck-up prudes and conservatives also the fight for legal same-sex marriage was an assimilationist ploy by the latter who just wanted big gay weddings" as if the gay men who survived the epidemic didn't literally lose lovers and friends and entire communities and long-term partners who they shared a life with and who were denied any crumb of this previous life at their death because there was no legal recognition for same-sex cohabitation and unions and their homophobic family could tear everything from the surviving partner thanks to this lack of recognition and let it slide.

some people out there were truly so eager to shit on the boring assimilationist prude gays who survived aids by being stuck-up prudes and who just wanted "big gay weddings" they made up in their minds to get mad at that they turned their brains off and let it slide. they could've used their smoothed-out brains for ONE minute & found out that surviving took 1) plain boring luck and 2) radical, loud, proud gay activists campaigning for safe/safer sex and the information campaigns they led, as well as the protests and demonstrations they undertook to make the government fucking care for once. and that legally-recognized unions [be they civil or religious] were a matter of survival for the partner left behind. some people out there truly let a business major with a turtleneck (possibly the definition of boring) passing himself off as cool and radical and an intellectual tell them homophobic bullshit. and did not blink. like OF COURSE this guy's gonna be a plagiarist. he needs to get his information from SOMEWHERE. because when he tries to formulate his own stuff it's complete fabrications or the frankensteining of multiple sources that he manages to misunderstand/misrepresent threefold over. trying to fit a knit sock over the foot with the inside out and wonder why that itches.

i know many people in his audience are likely very young and also likely american and as such did most of their growing up in a world where their country (1 out of 195. give or take.) had legalized gay marriage but i cannot even begin to describe 1) how Young legalized gay wedding is, even in ""the west"" and 2) how many. other countries there are. my country legalized same-sex marriage before the US did. i am not even 25 and i still remember the hordes of catholics marching down the streets chanting homophobic slogans, implying the only reason two mommies or two daddies would want to raise a child together is for nefarious, vile purposes. i still remember families having to drag their asses into court to argue that, yes, a woman who raised a child for its whole life with another woman she's in a long-term committed cohabitated relationship with should have the right to be considered a direct guardian even if she's not biologically related to the child, and spending thousands of bucks having to argue their case in court. this might be shocking to some, but there are countries where homosexuality is punishable by death. in others, not by death, but by imprisonment. in others, not by imprisonment, but by ""medical intervention"". in others, not by ""medical intervention" but by fines. and in some others still, you can be gay (yay!) but you still cannot get married or civil-unioned, and the very same shit that was discussed in the 80s is still discussed now. the right to stay a guardian of your partner's child if your partner dies or is ill, so the kid does not go into foster care. the right to inherit your partner's property according to married rights instead of having through long annoying time- and money-consuming legal processes. the right to arrange your partner's funeral or have a say in their medical choices if they're incapacitated instead of their (potentially homophobic) families.

like We Are Not There Yet. we are not in a world where any homosexual can truly, fully, wholeheartedly assimilate, whether you consider it a good thing or not. fun gay artists and boring uninteresting gay office workers die the same death that we all do. the one you don't wake from. and guess what. all types of homosexuals, regardless of which ones you pick and choose to be mad at, are affected by homophobic legislation. not just the ones you think should be spared because they're oh so fun. and oh so radical.

donate to the rainbow railroad org if you can. they help LGBT+ people escape state-sponsored violence. a singular nail on one of their members' hand does more activism and real-life good than any mfer making video essays could do in his entire life.

#also were the two gay male writers who died of AIDS who's shit you stole of the ''fun artistic gays'' or the boring ones? you seem to like #their stuff enough to steal. you want their talent their eloquence and their presence; which is missed; sooo bad you look stupit!#also gay people have always gotten married. privately; clandestinely; in secret; in shame often.#gay people have had commitment ceremonies for as long as we've had partners.#like even if some of us did want ''big gay weddings''. by all means cope and seethe that no one wants your hand in marriage #and to dedicate their lives to you as you do to them publicly; to the world's face. but that's a skill issue.#not making this shit rebloggable i'm just complaining about the guy. have disliked him for a while for this ^ & also his fabrication of #how Radclyffe Hall's trial actually went. like you can literally wikipedia this shit.#unrelated me and my dad have this joke where when i feel like my academic life is not too great/i maybe should have done something else #i go ''well i might have gone to the Unemployment Factory; but at least i'm not a Business Student [shocked face] [retching face]''#and my dad hysterically laughs. all of the worst people he's ever met had been business students once.#anyways. allmother mother of all great priestess of dishing out Ls to the deserving #thank you for having taken this man down in such a glorious colossal blaze. CHEH!#neigh (blabbers)

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