Slider knows.

He’s the only one who does—and it’s supposed to stay that way. Just a nod when you slip into Tom’s room after midnight. A smirk when you wear his dog tags under your flight suit.

But today? Today, Goose is leaning just a little too close. Maverick’s throwing out compliments like confetti. And you? You’re laughing—soft, sweet, the kind of laugh Tom Kazansky would fly into hell to hear. But they don’t know that. They think you’re fair game.

Tom watches from across the tarmac, jaw tight, sunglasses hiding the flash in his eyes. He’s got the perfect stance—casual, unreadable. But inside? It’s a storm.

Later, when he catches you alone in the hangar, it’s like flipping a switch. The door slams shut behind him, and for the first time all day, you see the real Ice—not the cool-headed lieutenant commander, but the man who holds you like you’re sacred.

“You like making me jealous?” he murmurs, voice low, threaded with something dangerous—but so intimate. “Letting them think they’ve got a chance?”

You open your mouth, but he’s already stepping in, backing you gently against the lockers. Not rough. Not angry. Just claiming what’s his.

“They don’t know what you sound like at 2 a.m. when you’re tangled up in my sheets. Don’t know the way your mouth tastes when you say my name.”

His hand finds yours, lifting it. His thumb grazes your knuckle, brushing over the skin where his ring would be—if things were different.

“They don’t know anything real about you. But I do.”

Tom leans in, forehead pressed to yours, breath warm.

“So let ‘em flirt. Let ‘em wonder. Just know this, baby…” His voice drops. “You’re standing on cold territory. And I never lose what’s mine.”