Passengers

I snuck a look – AGAIN – at the hot guy in the boring off-the-rack suit sitting in the aisle seat to my right. Mmmm mmmm good. The uber-sexy body which I’d noticed when he boarded after me and was maneuvering around getting himself and his stuff situated. That bod moving in his off-the-rack blended weave suit slacks which weren’t made for an ass like that, nor was the highly developed chest, below a brutally handsome but nerdy-looking head. My gaze now focused on his BIG pecs inside that boring average cut shirt, tiny waist, big muscular veiny hands and big muscular thighs. MAN what I could do with all that!

HE TURNS TOWARD ME . . . and confronts my leering gaze. For an instant I think “Oh, SHIT, this is going to be a LONG flight if he can’t deal with a gay man’s appreciation of his attributes”.

I don’t avert my gaze, but I do refocus it on his – now that I take note of them – beautiful blue eyes. His face is impassive, and his eyes stay with mine. I, of course, smile . . . my highest wattage forget-all-that-energy-conservation-stuff brilliant smile. To my amazement, he returns my smile . . . and there, the sexy handsome-but-geeky features are alive and make me have to adjust myself suddenly. He follows my movements, and when he returns his eyes from the straining crotch of my boxer briefs inside my hand-tailored silk slacks, his smile is a grin, a beautiful, devilish grin, right back at me.

OH YEAH! I have to contain myself from jumping into the air and shouting that and doing an aggressive air pump. “Blake Wells,” I say, my eyes never leaving his, but my hand out across the armrest which, annoyingly, separates that HOT ass from me. Without breaking eye contact he deftly finds my hand, and we clasp our big hands together for a manly shake and what I can only describe as near-intercourse. “Damien Riggs,” came out in a deep light-Irish brogue from between luscious lips around a mouth big enough that I already had its work planned for it for hours and many square feet of my body’s surface and interior.

I’m not sure how long we held our hands together that way – tightly, manly in our grip, but with enough movement that I could see he had a bigger problem now than I’d had before when I adjusted myself. And for the record, my problem was much bigger now, too. I know I’d licked my lips involuntarily as the Irish shoved me farther into my oral fantasy of him. In fact, I may have licked them repeatedly and even made a smacking or slurping sound.

We finally both broke the contact, both eyes and hands and looked about a bit self-consciously as we tried in vain to adjust problems too big for adjustment in our laps. We laughed at about the same time.

“The Connaught,” he said, simply, mostly staring ahead, but with the corner of his beautiful green left eye darting toward me briefly. I knew instantly. “The Dorchester,” I said in reply. And we both laughed. “Well, mate,” he said through the laugh, “We won’t have far to walk back for clean clothes will we?” And we laughed again, as if we’d been laughing together for days or months or even years.

“I have a driver,” I said.

With that very devilish grin now at full-flag again he said, “Oh, I have NO DOUBT WHATSOEVER about THAT,” with a nod to my still-straining crotch and pantleg. And he did lick his lips . . . slowly and deliberately.

JESUS, this IS going to be a LONG flight! And as I was wondering in that instant how I was going to make it through 6 hours across the Atlantic without jumping him right there, he adjusted himself in so obvious a fashion as to me more transparent than naked. Oh, yes – his beautiful body was complemented by a huge endowment that I couldn’t wait to see blasting as I pounded his load(s) out of him. OH YEAH, a VERY long flight it would be indeed.

“Let’s establish something, shall we?” I proposed.

The devilish grin, which had morphed to the sexy-serious geekish handsomeness, returned instantly. “I don’t think there’s much left TO establish that we don’t both already know, is there, mate?”

“Yes,” I said gravely, there is.

“Oh, mate, and this had been going SO well for us,” he said, sincerely uncertain all of a sudden.

“Relax, Damien, none of that will be wasted, I assure you. No, this is far more immediate and serious.”

His face lit up again more playfully than erotically this time. “Oh, you mean you’re going to initiate me to the Mile-High Club?” He was genuinely eager.

Shit . . . there went my plan to propose that we read, sleep or otherwise disengage until we got to Heathrow, lest we both be so frustrated by that time that we be taken straightaway to the ER for treatment of extreme blue-balls. But, dammit, I liked his thought pattern much better.

“The instant the seat-belt sign is off!” I said, and I meant it.

His face was at first shock and then a rapturous blend of the playful, the devilish grin and a new expression – impatience. “Fuuuuuuuuuuuggggg,” he said very softly.

I wish I could recount the anticipation, expectation and frustration that I and I am reasonably certain he experienced as we made our way from thirty-seventh for takeoff from Kennedy until the seat-belt light went off. But when it did, he was up and out of his seat and making a beeline for the lav instantly. And I was momentarily distracted from getting up into the overhead to grab some supplies as I watched his incredible short-stop ass making its way away from me.

I recovered enough to do so and made my way to the lav on the port side, our side, to claim Damien’s HOT ass. I was momentarily thrown that the lav door said VACANT instead of OCCUPIED. I’d had a passing thought as I was grabbing pocket-sized lube and condoms out of my satchel that we should have established a knock pattern for the door for him to know for whom to open it.

I turned the handle and pulled the door open – away from the cabin, but in full view of the galley – and he was already butt naked and had his hands braced against the side wall of the plane with his ass pushed out as much as the tight space and his over-six-foot frame allowed.

DAMN that ass was even finer than it looked in his slacks. And with the angle of the mirror behind the sink I could see his big rock-hard cock jutting toward the side of the plan also, bobbing with the plane’s movement enough to make me have a moment of indecision about sucking it or diving into that beautiful furry fuckhole that faced me. “You might want to close that door, Blake,” he said.

OH FUCK . . . I slammed it shut and slapped the lock into place and somehow wrestled my slacks open and down all at the same time. I yanked my boxer briefs down enough for my own monster to spring free and for my big full bull balls to have their freedom, too. Then I got to work on that ass. I couldn’t resist going in face-first, which was challenging for my own six-foot-five frame plus his in that space. But challenges to fucking were always easily conquered . . . and if the pilots and crew couldn’t hear his yowl of delight when my tongue took its first long hard swipe up his crack and slower over his ring, then they were deaf. “This undboubtedly goes without saying, Damien,” I said, momentarily disengaging my tongue from a surprisingly fresh and incredibly luscious meal, “But we should try to be a bit quiet.”

“Yeah, mate, because nobody knows we’re in the same lav that they all saw us crowd into just after you displayed my bare bum to the entire crew. But give me your skivvies and shove them in my mouth, and I’ll do my best.” OH HOLY FUCK . . . I was going to really get into this hot piece in more than the obvious way! I wrestled my shoes off, my slacks off and finally my boxer briefs, careful not to let them brush the floor (not gross yet but still . . . ) and pulled his head roughly to the side and crammed them in his mouth. He was fighting me just enough to REALLY put my jets on after-burn, and I roughly shoved him around and dove into his fuckhole tongue first.

I roughly shoved my tongue in his ring and he cried out, muffled but audible and understandable to me. My long and highly talented – if I do say so myself, and I do, but only because every man I’ve made my bitch has said so – tongue worked him roughly and deeply, and he was squirming and fucking back onto my tongue and sounding more from his muffled but emphatic cries like I was doing dental work on him without anesthetic. But his bucking back onto me said it all. And I got rather carried away and couldn’t stop myself from keeping at that for much longer than we should be spending.

My precum was puddling on the lav floor, flowing freely as I devoured Damien’s amazing hole. I was about to stop when I felt a very familiar change in his muscle and his body began to tremble ever so slightly. Usually when I feel that I’m jackhammering the guy’s prostate, and I knew that he was about to cum. AMAZING – no hands touched his cock, just my tongue giving his hole an eating out he’d not soon have forgotten even if he wasn’t about to blast.

I became frenzied, and if possible shoved my tongue in him harder, deeper and sucked that hole more forcefully than I’d been doing. All at once he was screaming in my boxer briefs, his fuckhole was spasming around me and his body was writhing like a grand mal seizure . . . so bad so that I thought his tailbone might break my nose . . . because of course I was still WAY inside that hole.

I reached around and clamped my big hand over the engorged head of his cock and was rewarded with a cupped palm FULL of hot creamy jizz. He seemed to be shooting endlessly, but I had enough and brought it around and quickly and without ceremony shoved his cum in his hole and lubed him with it, stretching him roughly as he was still bucking from his orgasm. I had stood, and I yanked my hand out and SHOVED my cock in more roughly than into any pain-pig I’d ever fucked. I couldn’t help myself. And I realized way too late that the condom was still in its wrapper on the lav floor, but it was way too late now, and I was already pounding him in time with his even more forceful screams and bucking ass-fuck-backs.

I drove him HARD and I came faster than I’d cum since I was a young teenager and thought you were more studly the faster you could jack your load out, faster than your buds who were working their own meat against you. I had the presence of mind to yank my cock out an instant before I came, but Damien’s left hand reached around and practically ripped my cock off my body yanking it toward him and shoving himself back onto me HARD, balls-deep.

I somehow managed a sentence before I lost control and my nut-explosion took over: “I fucking forgot the condom – I have to shoot – let me out!”

My response was him reaching around with both hands, his head suddenly banging repeatedly against the side of the plane as he shoved his fuckhole back hard against me and shoved me back into the door, his hands having found my ass and holding me tight inside him. Every ounce of my consciousness – which was about one-tenth of an ounce at that point – knew I had to pull out, but my nuts started exploding and I was, as any man is, powerless at that point to do anything but let my cock blast and my hips SLAMMED into him HARD as blast after blast filled him.

When he felt my thrusts stop, he held me tighter inside him and stood, stooped just slightly as I was, but pressed his beautifully muscled back against my chest. I reached around him and felt his fur damp with sweat and damned if I didn’t kiss the back of his long strong neck. And then his gladiator-like right shoulder cap. I moved my head enough to whisper in his right ear: “Amazing, but NEVER, EVER again like that, Damien.” His response was to nuzzle my face with his head, his buzzed blond hair setting off sensory explosions that had my slightly-less-than-steel-hard cock inside him back to the steel again.

I pushed him and managed to wiggle myself enough to pull away from him and turned him toward me. His face was angelic, albeit with my CK’s hanging out of his luscious mouth. I took them from him and caressed his nerdy-handsome glowing face. “Seriously, Damien, that can’t happen again. I’m totally 100% clean, so you have nothing to worry about, but we’re not stupid kids.”

“I know, mate, and just for the record, I’m totally clean, too, got my latest test results before I left for the States last week.”

The mood was broken for me. I can’t describe it. Maybe my shame at that indiscretion, maybe it was post-coital let-down, maybe all of it, but suddenly I plummeted to sullen. “Get dressed. We’ve made a spectacle of ourselves, and we might as well get out of here and face the music.”

His face only slightly showed disappointment. Mostly his gaze morphed to a mask of what it had been – anyone not having been intimate with him would have noticed nothing, but the life was out of his eyes, and his face was taut in that position.

We struggled to get dressed, and instead of giggling at the trouble two big men in one lav had doing so we were silent. I opened the door when we’d wiped down his cum splatters off the wall – the ones I hadn’t caught – and off the floor what ran out of his gaping hole and off my cock after I pulled out. Two of the crew were in the galley – one trying not to notice; one handsome but typically effeminate one trying to make eye contact of the beseeching type.

We went back to our seats in silence, and for the next four-plus hours we were as strangers, as most often is the case. I don’t even remember if I noticed other looking knowingly at us as we went back to our seats. It was a LONG four and a half hours.

When the landing gear hit the runway, I saw Damien tense. Something snapped in me – something protective and something possessive. I put my hand on his arm and squeezed lightly but reassuringly.

He turned and looked at me – blank. I leaned in – right there, right then – and lightly kissed his lips. “Forgive me. I’ll never waste four hours with you or even four minutes that we could be enjoying ourselves again. I promise.”

Damien held my gaze, and his face had gone from that blank to a close-to-rapture with the kiss, and that was the expression still held. As we taxied for I don’t know how long, we looked at each other like that. Finally his face went to a full-out grin. “Guess I won’t be taking a cab into London after all!”

And he leaned in this time and kissed me – longer and not in any way lightly that time.