LACHLAN

Life is good.  Flying with my best girl.  Can't beat that, now can you, mate?  It's like combining my two most favorite things.  Not to mention the fact that this trip is even better than usual because I'm actually going to get to spend some time sitting with her instead of spending all my time in the cockpit.  Let me explain.  I've put in for compassionate leave.  A whole month's worth.  (And as much as I love my job, I can't bloody wait for October.)  In the interim, someone has to fly the blasted plane so this trip across the pond wasn't just to ferry Thorne and Uma home, it was also to check out the pilot T&O is considering as my replacement while I'm away with Heather. 

Robert Davis.  Nice bloke.  Fortyish.  Ex-military.  Came very highly recommended.  He flew the first leg with me from Seattle to San Francisco where we were to pick up Carol and Phil along with Thorne and Uma.  I liked Rob right off.  He's competent.  Punctual.  Knows his way around a cockpit... but if he's to fly the people I care about most in the world, you can damn well bet I'm going to be thorough in evaluating his performance.  So, that basically means I watch him through pre and post flight checks, watch him during landing and takeoff and perhaps some lead in on either side of that....take an in-depth review of his logbook... but otherwise, I'm free to move about the cabin!  Little pilot humor for you, folks. 

I can't help it, though.  I'm in an exceptionally good mood.  Getting into the wind.  Sharing it with my girl.  Things between us are fantastically good.  Last night our lovemaking was beyond anything I could have possibly imagined and we had the most open, soul-baring talk afterwards.  Today I feel on top of the world.  Happy.  Introspective.  Randy as hell.  We had to be at the airport early and we didn't get the chance to spend a leisurely morning in bed as we have become accustomed to doing.  Pity. 

Seeing Uma didn't help matters.  Good God.  That outfit?  That coat?  Those bloody shoes?!  I damn near cracked a fat right there on the tarmac.  She smelled fantastic, tasted better and when I swung her round she felt like a dream in my arms.  My sweet Betty.  Of course, when she gave my best bits a friendly hello grope, there was no 'damn near' about it.  She's a pistol, that girl.

She handed her packages off to me with a grin and a flourish and I followed her up the stairs, having a grand perve of her in those shoes the whole way up.  Ladies first....and mate?  I'd never been more thankful.  The view was fan-bloody-tastic.  Thorne's such a lucky bastard. 

But for all her aplomb, there's a fragility about her.  We've had so many long, intimate talks... at her flat, on holiday in Paris, on the phone and online too, even with an ocean between us we are not far apart.  She is my sweet girl.  My lover on occasion but always my friend.  I wonder sometimes if I haven't shared too much with her but I think there is that sense in all deep friendships.  At least there have been in all the ones I've ever had.  The notion that you might have revealed too much... that terrifying moment when you hold your breath and pray they won't turn from you.  I've had a few of those moments with her and yet we still talk. 

Amazing.  

Watching her now, flirting outrageously and dressed in something out of... well, my fantasies, frankly, I also wondered if Thorne had any idea that there are times he intimidates her or that she often feels unworthy or unsophisticated in his presence.  You'd never know it from looking at her, but it's there all the same.  It's that hidden sense of sweet vulnerability not her small stature or sweet face that makes you want to wrap her up and protect her from the world.  And the shoes?  Those are just a bloody fine bonus. 

Everyone settled in well enough as we finished up preflight.  I headed up top, leaving them to sort themselves out.  Terry was reading the paper and Uma was snuggled up to his side.  I didn't miss her white knuckled grip on the seat, poor girl.  And Heather, as usual, had her nose in a book, waiting impatiently for take off so she could press her face to the window and watch the world fall away under us.  A girl after my own heart.  Thank God.     

Rob taxied us out with minimal fuss.  Smooth takeoff despite a bit of wind.  All in all, I'm rather pleased with both his skill as a pilot and with the way he's taken us all in stride.  We're a bit of an odd bunch, you know?  You should have seen the look he gave me at Uma's joystick comment.  But then again, he's a pilot.  Most of us tend towards irreverence and mischief that is tempered with responsibility and the ability to think outside the box. 

The truth is, nearly all of us are a bit quirky.  Like my old mate Scottie who liked to take the big kites up for joyrides or Johnny who used to use his extra hours in the cockpit to fly out so he could make a little time with his girl.  Or like me... who used his training flights to pretend he was bombing the Officers Mess.  Especially on Thursdays.  Best revenge there was for their corned beef with hash.  Shit on a shingle, mate.  It was beyond foul. 

In any case, Rob was fitting in well and after we'd reached our cruising altitude, I couldn't resist having a bit of fun with the intercom.  I was in too high spirits not to have a go at them all.  Especially Thorne.  We were fairly good mates before Temple week, but sitting together, keeping that vigil night after night on the porch... well, we foraged an interesting and rather unexpected friendship.  I knew him well enough now to tell he was in a bit of a mood, despite the smartarse comments he kept cracking - at my expense, I might add.  So, what better time to rib a mate, you know?  Plus, I know my inane chatter puts Uma at ease and I wanted to do everything I could to make her flight more comfortable.  And, of course, they were all at my mercy.  Captive audience, hey?

I unbelted and looked back at them through the open cockpit door.  Swallowed a smile.  Heather's nose was pressed to the window.  Terry was pulling a face while Uma nattered on about some article she'd just read in her magazine.  Something about psychology.  Apparently, he didn't appreciate whatever little mind game she'd just played with him.  Even Heather was giggling so it must have been good.  Pity I missed it. 

Of course, I'm quite capable of making my own mischief.  I clicked on the intercom.  "G'day and welcome to Curry Air-"

I could hear Thorne's grunt.  "Christ, every damned time...."

I cheerfully ignored him, as I always do.  "This is your Captain speaking... I've a few announcements...."

Terry's voice again.  "Heather, love?  Can't you do anything about that... shut him up?  Something?"  He sounded so hopeful.  Poor bugger. 

She gave a naughty laugh that made an alarming amount of blood rush south.  "Why Terrence Thorne, are you suggesting I'd do something so improper as to distract our Captain?"  Her voice got huskier.  "I suppose I could....but this plane isn't all that big.  You'd wind up hearing something else I doubt you'd prefer over his chatter...."

I chuckled in amusement as Terry swore colorfully.  That's my girl.  I cleared my throat.  "It is currently 10:47 hours.  Our flying time during this trip will be approximately eleven hours and ten minutes.  Uma, gorgeous... the flight plan looks clear all the way home.  No storms, no rough turbulence.  Ordered it that way especially for you, love."

She tittered and I heard Terry's snort of exasperation.  God I love my job.  He raised his voice so it would be sure to carry.  Like it didn't already.  "Right, mate... and if it doesn't turn out that way?  Reckon that ought to come straight out of your paycheck."

So, he wanted to play dirty, did he?  Two can play at that game.  "Whiskey Charlie, boss."  Pilot jargon.  Terry was an SAS officer.  He'd know what that meant.  We often used the phonetic alphabet (you know -  A, B, C, D....Alpha, Bravo, Charlie, Delta etc)  to double speak in polite company.  Whisky Charlie... 'WC'... otherwise interpreted as 'who cares'.  Or in this case, 'who the bloody hell cares!'

I heard his bark of laughter and kept going.  "Ladies, take no notice of me while I run a quick check, testing the phonetic alphabet that will be used on all future flights..."  I grinned at Rob and Phil.  "Romeo Foxtrot."  As in 'Rat Fucks'.  Also known as people who stick their noses in where they don't belong....  "Papa Oscar, Delta Sierra."  As in 'Piss Off, Dumb Shit'. 

Uma's voice this time.  "What's he saying, Terry?  You know what it is, right?"

The three of us in the cockpit chortled as Terry's voice floated back to us.  "Sorry, love.  I can't tell you.  It's too crude, even for me..." 

"Whiskey Delta."  Weak Dick.  His refusal to answer only encouraged me, of course.  "Moving on, the weather forecast today is quite promising.  Balmy and warm.  Suitable for shorts...  Good girl, Uma."  God, those shorts of hers...  "Sierra Hotel, Terry."  Shit Hot.  And God, were they.

Terry spoke.  Only four words, barked with absolute military precision... and they broke us the hell up.  "Romeo triple Delta, Flipper."  Translation.  'You're in 'Really Deep Doo Doo', Curry.'  Figures he'd just have to throw the seal thing in there.  Bastard.  Ha.            

I grinned at Phil; he'd accompanied me on enough 'company' flights to appreciate my next salvo.  "We here at Curry Air hope your flight is as enjoyable and comfortable as possible."  I ignored Terry's comment that his flight would be more enjoyable if I shut my big yap.  "Since you last flew with us, the plane has been upgraded.  For your safety and my prurience, the lavatory has been fitted with cameras....It's better than the bloody fantasy channel up here..."

Terry's voice.  "I'll just go have a crap then, mate."

Well, now.  I couldn't let that one go.  "There's to be no smoking in the lav either, although exceptions will be made should you need to light a match for another reason...  Thank God we can seal the cockpit and breathe recycled air."

That broke them all up, but I wasn't done yet.  "And Heather, love?  Under your seat is a bottle of Windex and a towel.  Other passengers have been complaining of the nose smudges you left on the windows..."

"Hey!"         

Come on, now.  Do you really think my girl would escape unscathed?  Not on your life, mate.  I teased them a bit more...  Instructed Phil to give us a fifteen degree starboard tilt when Terry got up to retrieve his laptop.  I felt bad that it spooked Uma, but even she laughed when I instructed Terry to stand in the middle of the aircraft so we could recover the proper wing position after the massive weight shift.

Despite my jovial mood, however, I didn't play long.  This is my job and though I love it, I also take it very seriously.  The lives of the people I care about most in the world on rest in my hands every single time I fly this plane and it is my duty to make sure they are safe.  I feel that responsibility deeply.  Almost like a father caring for his children.  It would kill me if anything happened to them on my watch. 

Although I was free to travel back and forth, I spent most of my time in the cockpit.  I wanted to be certain Rob was the man for us, but I did manage make it back for lunch and for dinner.  The four of us had a grand time, trading insults and telling embarrassing stories the way good friends are want to do.  Terry kept Uma's glass full.  Good job, too.  She needed something to take the edge off.  He stuck with VB.  I had Coke.  I never EVER mix alcohol and flying.  Seen too many good men buy it for that very reason. 

I tried not to notice Heather had a glass or two of wine as well.  That always makes her amorous and I was already dying to touch her since we didn't get in our regular morning session.  That little sparkle in her eye when she looked at me and fingered her bracelet was making me mental.  I found it ironic that Heather and I had spent so much time together on this plane and had yet to join the mile high club together.  Bloody shame, that.  Nothing to be done for it now, however.  I gave her a soft kiss and we exchanged a quiet 'I love you' as I made my way back to the cockpit after dinner, but it wasn't nearly enough. 

It wasn't just that I was randy and wanted to scratch an itch with her.  I also felt an intense urge to communicate to her exactly how deeply I loved her and words always fail me at moments like that.  It's a bit like how I have a habit of repeating things until I can use the physical sense of touch to make the words real. 

Not soon after Phil and Rob had had their dinner and had retaken the controls, I switched off the main cabin lights so Thorne and the girls could get some rest, closed the cockpit door so the regular radio chatter wouldn't disturb them and settled back.  I love watching the sky at this time of day, when the sun has set and the stars are beginning to glitter in the purple sky.  Phil and Rob had things well in hand so I just kept them company a while, fingering the ring that hung around my neck and letting my mind wander to thoughts of my family and to the pretty girl at the back of the plane who held my heart in her tiny hands.  

TERRY

I suppose I was dreaming, although I am not much of a one for remembering dreams. I do not have enough imagination, I expect, whereas Tink has a colourful dream-life which is peopled by all sorts of strange and wonderful events. She has an even more vivid nightmare-scape, too, which is often a worrying thing to observe. But I do remember a vague feeling of something as I slipped from the dream which suggests I was somewhere else in my head entirely when I heard an unexpected noise in my subconscious mind.

I'm a deep sleeper, often compared to a dead body by those who have had the dubious pleasure of sharing a night with me. I can sleep through an aerial bombardment, in a room full of men playing cards or drinking and talking, through opera performances- a special talent of mine- thunderstorms, whatever. But I have a facility for waking quickly when something is not quite right. What I mean is, when I detect a noise that doesn't belong. Somewhere in my sleeping brain there must be a part of me that I do not switch off. I'm really not sure how or why it works. The funny thing is I can be woken by silence if silence is not what I expect- does that make sense?- but tonight it was a soft tinkling that sounded like tiny bells that interrupted my dreams.

It wasn't a sound I associate with plane travel. Actually I thought I knew what it was. Years ago, many years ago, when my son was tiny and just beginning to walk, Penny bought a little ankle chain for his leg. I thought it was girlish and didn't really like it on him. Young men, hey? What the fuck did it matter to a one year old if he had a gold ankle chain? But she insisted that it was for his safety. On the chain was a tiny bell and as he crawled or walked about we could always hear the little tinkle. If it disappeared then we launched a major alert. So into my dream came my son, a tiny child, and I woke with a jerk, anxious and concerned.

My eyes flickered open. It was dark in the cabin, the lights having been dimmed for night, and I tried to focus on where I was, still with that uneasy dread that a dream can leave lingering. Then the tinkle again. I shook my head to clear my brain. Tinkle? Henry? A baby on board?

Then I heard the sound of movement behind where Heather had been sitting. The creak of leather seats and the impression of people talking quietly. Lachlan must have come back for a break; he wouldn't leave her side for a minute if he didn't have to. Bloody fly the plane with her on his knee if he could. Like a kid with his first big crush. I smiled and settled back.

Tink was deeply asleep and slumped on my chest, her legs stretched out over her seat and covered with a blanket. I brushed her hair down gently- it was almost in my face- and tried to shift to a more comfortable position without wanting to wake her. She is still a nervous flyer and I prefer her asleep on long journeys or she starts listening to engine sounds and getting jumpy- or drinking too much and getting buzzed and manic to hide her fears. She snuggled even closer, muttered something and then slipped back to sleep, her fingers interlaced with mine. I was uncomfortable- it's only in the movies that men really like sleeping with a woman sprawled all over them- but strangely content. Her presence makes me feel...I don't know. Maybe it just makes me feel. That alone is something in my life.

The sound of kissing. Can't mistake it. Sighs, wet slurps and the smack of flesh on flesh. Absurd when you overhear it, like a dog at his bowl. I restrained the urge to laugh at my unflattering simile. I was never one for poetry. So Biggles was snogging with his girl in the dark, hey? I grinned and rubbed my eyes, settling down to sleep.

"No, Lach...they might hear...it would be so embarrassing..."

"Shush, love...they're asleep. He sleeps like a log and Uma's in a coma. How much wine did she drink?"

A soft giggle. "A fair bit. Terry had to drag the bottle off her. She's scared of flying."

"I know. They won't wake. Come on, love...let me see you...Christ, I want you...let me just touch you...nothing else..."

I raised my eyebrows. So, he wanted a bit, did he? Pushing her when she was uneasy - typical young man. "It'll be alright, love, I won't take advantage...just let me....I'll pull out, you won't get pregnant..." We've all been there, saying anything to get what we want. I wasn't sure I liked her put in that position in a public place.

Her sigh. "Are you sure? Is Carol around?"

"No...staff lounge. She'll come if we buzz. I told her to leave us alone."

"You did? She'll guess what you had in mind..."

"Bugger, Carol...I don't care...Jesus...I wanna touch you all over. Been thinking of you up top...wanted to touch your breasts, kiss them...ohhh, Blue... oh, Blue..."

"Touch me, Lach...I want you to. I want to touch you...there...oh God, you feel so good..."

The unmistakable sound of a zipper being ripped open and the shuffling noise of clothes being removed or adjusted. I swore under my breath. I was caught. Couldn't move for fear of disturbing Tink and making it even more embarrassing for the love birds at the back but even if I could get up and walk out, they would know I'd heard. So I had to sit there and listen to the sounds of a man and woman making love, a few feet away from me.

I'm no prude- there's not much I haven't done or witnessed- but I'm not one for voyeurism, particularly when the participants are oblivious and believe this is a private intimate moment. I willed myself to sleep but it wasn't going to happen. The prurient side of my brain was paying attention and listening in.

Those damned bells. Her charm bracelet. Tinkle, tinkle in a rhythmic shake. No doubt what she was doing- she was jerking him, running her hands up and down his cock and working him- I could hear his low gasp, between gritted teeth, as her slender fingers circled his girth. An involuntary twitch in my own groin; I grimaced and tried to think of something else. They were removing clothes; I could hear the rustle of a silk blouse and movement, a slight pressure on the back of my seat as they adjusted their position. I wondered if she was naked, or lying back, her skirt rolled up, sex bared, breasts exposed with the fine fabric of her shirt framing them...c'mon, Terry...put it away...don't start thinking...

"No knickers? Bloody hell, Blue!"

A giggle suppressed. "Took them off earlier. Thought you might be back...was thinking of you...had a little fantasy of you sitting coyly next to me with your fingers inside me..."

"Bloody hell..." he muttered something further, incoherent, and I winced at that. Pretty intimate moment to be overheard. I felt for Heather; she is a private woman and is not given to crude talk or bawdy behaviour. I could imagine her squirm if she knew that I, of all people, had heard her dirty little thoughts.

They were heavily involved now, obviously masturbating each other, kissing, touching- getting to the point when they would lose it soon. This wasn't just a pash on the back seat. This was full blown sex.

An earthy groan. I recognized Heather, a voice that you only hear when she is very aroused. Memory attacked me and I fought it away, not wishing to transfer my lovemaking with her to this tawdry little scene. But I did. Suddenly in my head it was me and her, soft lights and a bed strewn with flower petals, not fumbling on a plane seat with an audience.

"Are you OK, love?  Not sore? I don't want to hurt you..."

"No...go on...a little sore...but I want you...You? You nicked your skin last night...does it sting?"

"Fuck who cares...think about that later..."

"Kiss it better...you are so beautiful, Lach...your cock...so strong and beautiful...the most perfect..."

I knew she was slipping down to the floor, could feel the pressure of her back against my seat. Kneeling between his legs, holding him and, suddenly the sound of kissing did not sound so absurd. It sounded erotic, wild and sexual, the little mewls she made as her tongue laved him, his helpless whimpers as she sucked down and he struggled against the driving compulsion to flood into her mouth. He couldn't keep still. The chair was creaking constantly as he rocked into her.

"Suck...harder...ohhhh...more...my balls... hold them...oh...ohhhh."  Inane comments, brain barely functioning, typical inarticulate male. Made me think. What a woman does to a man. The dirty jokes about giving head that men tell- rugby songs- the smokescreen for what we don't want anyone to know. That in those moments we are like little boys on our mother's knees. We want a woman to take us and love us and make us feel that we are big and strong and desirable enough to receive this most personal of tasks, the gratification of our manhood in a woman's lips. Oral confirmation of what we are to them- eyes wide open and nothing hidden from view. There's not a man in this world that in his secret heart doesn't wish for this to be done for him in love. The cruder it becomes in our male banter, the more it reveals our vulnerability in the moment.

I could hear his breathing become deeper and more resonant; it didn't sound like Lachlan. But it was. I heard the slight pop as though he had pulled her from him and it seemed they were changing their position. I wondered what was happening, fought the desire to look to the window at my side and catch the chance of a reflection. But then I knew without a doubt what was taking place. A gasp- and "OH!" accompanied by a forceful grunt- the moment of entry - instinctive reaction. He was pushing into her and she was trying to adjust to his invasion.

"Ever and always...Blue," His gasping declaration forced from him at the moment of his entry into the body of the woman he loves. No crude sex talk, no encouragement, no groaning...his passionate love was uppermost in his mind. Adoring her, promising her himself forever. Oh, Christ! Why was I listening to this? This was not for my ears...or anyone's. I had no right to hear this. I would die if someone heard the things we say at moments like that. Why? Why could I talk crudely about sex and think nothing of watching a live sex show or even (let's face it, I have in the past) banged a girl with my mates and their women all around? And yet the thought that anyone, particularly another man, might hear the things my heart says in those moments when it is just me and my little girl- just drives me to distraction. Men are emotional cripples, afraid of the only thing about them that makes any real sense.

"I love you...oh Lach...I love you...let me feel you...deeper...ahhhh...when you're inside me, it feels like you belong...I wish you could stay there all night...deep in me...so deep...my selkie man...love me...ever and always ..."

Something jarred on my mind. Something about what she was saying. It sounded alien to me, as if I was hearing a different woman from the one I knew. What was different? I had shared deep and intimate moments with her- perhaps even more shocking intimacy than that which was playing out in the seat behind - but for all that, I felt like I had just heard something more revealing of that sweet woman than anything she had ever said to me in all the open and frank discussions we had shared. "I love you...love me...ever and always..." She had never said that to me. But then I had never said that to her, either. Whatever parts we owned of each other, there were places we had never gone, and probably never could. The realization struck me then like a thunderbolt.

"Oh, my beautiful girl...come on...let me put the arm rest down...that's better...lie down, love...bend your knee...that's better...aw...Christ...so fucking wet..."

Her leg must be resting on my chair; there was a rhythmic tapping near my shoulder, slow at first and then gaining in speed. I felt a connection to the intimate act; as he thrust into her willing body, his strong force caused her to judder and it was this reflex that I felt; somehow I was part of the moment and my instinctive reaction was to rock slightly in time. I passed a hand over my forehead, felt sweat; I shifted my position in the seat aware that I had an erection that was becoming uncomfortable, heat building up in my groin. My hands strayed to Uma's body, the desire to touch her strong, but I stopped myself. There was something sordid about using her to relieve the pressure caused by my voyeurism. I wanted only real emotions with her, not transferred lust.

The slap of naked flesh as the movements began to become more arrhythmic. He was close, unable to keep up the smooth motion, struggling against the desire to climax, wanting her to feel it first. I could sense the wildness, his balls hitting her as he pumped, their bodies slick with sweat, flesh sticking to flesh, the breathing harsher, the grunts more animal-like, her sighs more desperate, frantic.

"Take this off!" His voice commanding and brusque, an item of clothing in his way- no more the gentle lover but a man beyond anything but his own desire. "C'mon! Come...come for me...on my cock...that's it...good girl...oh, so tight...squeeze me...so wet...fuck, so wet..."

Her stifled cry- he must have covered her mouth with his -but the sudden buck against my backrest said it all. I could feel her orgasm, almost see the arching of her back, imagined the tight squeeze of her walls as the waves passed over her to me... no, not to me... to him... to her lover. I rubbed my face and found myself choking back a groan.

"Watch us! I said, watch us, Blue! Look down...see me. Going in and pulling out...your lips are so swollen...beautiful rose pink flesh, swallowing me up...can't stand it, Blue...can't stand it...gonna come..."

"Oh, come, Lach...give me everything you got...fill me up with love..."

"Tight...wet...fuck...  love...deep...love... hold me...hold me... Blue..." Each trembling gasp of his ejaculation was accompanied by a stream of words, stray thoughts all connected in his swirling brain. The image of what she felt to him as he found his release- love and sexuality powerfully blended. Watch us! I had done. I had 'watched' them love, shared in a unique moment and I no longer felt ashamed. It seemed like a privilege. It was certainly a lesson. I hadn't watched two kids in the back row of the movies on a Saturday night. I had been a witness to an adult experience in the real sense of the word. A witness to love and commitment and shared emotion. It blew me away.

"OK? Did I hurt you?"

"You're still hard...don't come out..."

"I won't...so excited...you know me...want me to try to bring you off again, sweetheart?"

"Oh God...I can feel you...how do you do that...Lach, I'm so sensitive...I'm gonna come again..."

"Got you...got you...let go, let go...come on me hard, baby...oh that's right...oops...pushed me out...too soft now..." A soft chuckle and her sigh of regret as he softened and slipped from her body. I imagined the warm wet gush of come ooze out over them both; I heard the slump as they hit their own seats and their soft panting as they came back to normal.

"Let's clean you up...here...these tissues...come on, get your clothes back on before they wake..."

Heather giggled. "You said never OVER a body of water..."

His chuckle.  "Hey, shush...you'll wake them..."

"If they slept through that they would sleep through anything..." Slowly they settled and I could see them lying back in each other's arms, satisfied and mellow, touching and dozing, in that most wonderful of times when you seem to reach the heart of what you are to each other.

"I was thinking, Blue...'bout my Dad and Mum... how it ought to be... I just wish..."

"No, Lach...please...let's just be thankful for what we have."

"Don't you ever wish that we could...?"

"Of course I do! But, this is what we have...and it is more than I ever dreamed of..."

My eyes strayed to her face loosened in sleep, innocent like a little girl. My little girl. My hand stroked back her hair. Thankful for what we have...more than we ever dreamed of... She is right. But, so is he. I wish...

"Get some sleep, love, I'll watch over you until I have to get back up top..."

"You need to sleep, too..."

"Too wide awake...I'll go off in a minute...lie on me...let me hold you..."

I rested my head back on the seat and idly played with the scar above my brow, then I buried my face in my palm. Too wide awake... Things on my mind...

LACHLAN

In the still quiet, I had a good think on Heather's words.  She's right, I know... but it is the nature of man to always want more than he has.  To dream big.  To ask 'why'.  To ask 'what if'.  To know he holds the sun and the moon within his grasp and to still dream of holding the stars as well.  To want to try to reach for them if only to place them in his love's hand. 

I cannot help doing it any more than she can help her desire to nest.  To make our sanctuary as comfortable and secure and pleasing as she can and to shower with affection and love all who are within her sphere.  It is a part of her nature I am deeply thankful for and that I am at the center of her world humbles me beyond measure.  She has given me the home, the sense of belonging I have wanted for so long.  She has this quiet way of anticipating my needs from the banal to the most intimate.  A balm for body and soul.  For my soul.

Women are such amazing creatures and we're so bloody lucky to have them.  A quiet sigh from the chair ahead reminds me that I am not the only wandering soldier to think so.

Completely relaxed after our impromptu session, I held Heather's sleeping form a little closer to mine and fingered the ring around my neck absently.  I haven't yet tucked it away and as comfortable as I am right now, I can't be bothered.  Though our stolen moments of intimacy were quiet, I knew she'd found her pleasure twice and that both times had been intensely powerful.  I know how to read her body and I know what I'm about.  When she squeezes around me that tight, I know it's a bloody good one.  She was asleep in minutes, leaving my body slack and satiated and my mind drifting, as it is want to do in post orgasm lethargy. 

Thorne's sigh brought me back to the here and now.  Though the cabin was dark, the light was such that I could see the two of them reflected in the window to my right.  I swallowed a smile.  He looked uncomfortable, brow furrowed, Uma sprawled awkwardly across his chest.  His eyes opened and I closed mine, content to simply hold my girl and let my mind drift.  It felt kind of nice.  Two couples sharing this space, together but apart. 

Terry was in the seat directly ahead of mine.  I heard his chair creak and smiled at the ceiling as he huffed softly.  He was no doubt angling for a more comfortable position.

"Mmmm......."  Uma's voice, soft with sleep.  His quest for a decent kip must have woken her.  Can't blame him.  It's hard to be chivalrous when your appendages are going numb.  

"Shhh.....  Just rest, love.  You're safe....I'm here...."  His words are so quiet they nearly didn't register.  I can hear her stirring though.  They've lost the moment.  She's waking.

"Terry...?  Have I been asleep?"  The obviousness of the question makes me want to smile but the tone of her voice stops me.  She sounds like a little girl, wary and uncertain.  I feel the jet tremor gently.  Bit of a headwind buffeting us.  Engines throttle up to compensate.  Nicely done, lads.  "What was that?"  Touch of fear in her voice now and it tugs at my heart.  I hear her chair squeak as she jerked upright.  Poor girl.  I know she doesn't like to fly and I wish I could make it better for her.        

"Headwinds, I reckon."  Not bad, mate.  "Nothing to worry about, Tink....Shhh.....  It's OK... I'm here....  I've got you...."  I'm not looking at their reflection any longer, but from where I'm sitting I can see a sliver of dim light between the seats ahead of us.  She's leaning into him more and he's adjusting his position to pull her close, his chair creaking rhythmically as he rocks her and pets her hair.  "Don't be scared, love....I've got you....I always watch over my little girl... Shhh...."

Un-bloody-believable.  I'd never figure him to be so patient, so tolerant of a fear that must seem silly to him, given his former occupation.  God, I've had instructors in basic who were softer than him and yet he almost sounds like a father gentling a frightened child.  Who would have ever thought such a tough old bastard could be so soft and gentle?  I cuddled Heather a bit closer and wondered if he ever showed any of that to her. 

Hint of humor in his voice now as he crooned to her.  "You're getting better you know....Good job too, considering...."  Little giggle from her.  "...Promised you that tandem jump....today could be your lucky day....got my parachute right here under the seat."

"Does Jimmy Choo make parachutes?"

They shared a moment of quiet laughter and I smiled as I had a think on a pink parachute.  You know, in my day, parachutes were made of silk not nylon.  I had this sudden vision of Uma in yards of pink silk... and nothing else.  I rubbed a hand over my face and tucked my ring back under my shirt, filing that fantasy away for another time. 

"Give me a cuddle."  Uma's voice again, all soft and sleepy.  The leather of the chairs creaked softly as she slid closer to him.  Thorne?  Cuddle?  He's a good bloke and all, but I just can't see him as the 'cuddly' sort.  He has a concealed weapon permit... I've bloody seen it... slick little Beretta....and he carries a stiletto for Christ's sake.  Not exactly Winnie bloody Pooh, now is he?

"I love you."  Her voice, so sweet and soft.  Made me smile.   

"I love you too."

"How much?"  Teasing him now.  He plays silly lover games with her? 

"Lots."

"Tell me again."

"More than you love Prada."  Bugger me... I guess he does. 

"No, be serious....How much?"

"More than I love my swords."

"No!  Serious!  Tell me again."

Silence so profound I can hear him swallow.  

"More than all things." 

He said it plainly, without embellishment of any sort.  I was surprised by his answer and also uncomfortable.  Gone was his usual smartarse laconic style.  Those were words spoken from his heart to hers.  I was aware I'd just overheard something incredibly private.  Vulnerable.  Words a man says only to the woman who holds his heart.  And only when he believes she alone can hear them.  Jesus.  Obvious sounds of kissing followed her soft coo at his words and I couldn't help but smile at that, even if the deep emotion in his words made me uneasy.

Kissing a pretty girl in a darkened cabin....  sounds a bit familiar.  I couldn't flaming well fault him for that, now could I?  It wasn't quite so amusing, however, when Uma moved to sit astride him.  I closed my eyes immediately, painfully aware I'd missed my chance to leave and wanting to afford them what little privacy I could.  I was also aware if Uma raised up any higher on her knees that our eyes would meet over the back of Thorne's chair. 

Bloody hell.  Trapped.  Uma, she's so private about her true feelings.  It would embarrass her to no end if she knew I'd overheard any of it.  Not to mention Terry.  Christ, if he'd heard what I heard...  I turned my face away and tried to ignore the pash that was happening less than a bloody meter away.  Unfortunately, Uma's next words made that all but impossible.

"Oh, God....You're hard..."  She sounded a little surprised. 

I winced at that and shoved aside the mental image her words called up.  Bloody Manila.  Terry only grunted in response and kissed her again.  It was more wild this time.  The wet sounds their mouths were making were more pronounced, as was the creaking of his chair.  I heard another grunt from him and his chair jerked sharply.  Without sight, I could only imagine what she'd done.  Grind herself down on him?  Cup him in her fingers? 

"So hard... I want to touch you....dare we... will they hear us?"  

"They're asleep....out for the count... come on... lift up..."          

I had a flash of Heather wanting that same reassurance from me and I was suddenly aware this was going to go far beyond a bit of kissing in the dark.  Shit.   

I tried to block them out but it was impossible to do so.  When one sense is lacking, the others compensate and every time I heard a noise, my mind supplied the accompanying salacious image and there wasn't a bloody thing I could do about it but sit there and listen to them love each other.

Sounds of movement.  Unmistakable sound of a zipper and then her soft gasp.  Must have been her zip then.  "Ohhh...."  He's touching her with his fingers.  He has to be.  She's gone all breathy.  Wet sounds.  Her body.  His mouth... and then a masculine purr of pleasure.  He's tasting her from his fingers, her flavor blooming over his tongue.  I feel a blood rush and know it must be a hundred times more intense for him.  Memories flood my mind, impossible to push away.  I remember her taste, like wild honey and spice.  

"So sweet, Tink....Jesus... you're so wet for me....let's just get these off."  More shifting and the rustle of clothes.  Those sexy shorts of hers are not long for this world.  Another zipper.  Terry's.  His sigh of relief tells me more than I need to know.  "Christ, touch me... I need....yessss..."

"God, Terry....this must have been killing you... your trousers...."

Snort from him.  "Never mind the wet spot, just help me get the fucking things off before I die... ahhh....yes... need to touch you... need to feel you touch me... oh, God... God..."

I shift in my chair and adjust myself with a practiced hand, aware that her hand is stroking his cock.  Fingers sliding down and back up over the tip.  Pleasuring him.  Making his breathing change, but it's not wild yet.  He's still holding back.  His low groan changes to a husky giggle.  "Look at you....my fantasy from this morning... a see through blouse and nothing else... Jesus, what you do to me, love."

That disturbed me more than the sounds of lovemaking I was hearing.  I'm no green boy.  During the war we took advantage of soft moments when we could, having it off with a girl where your mates could hear or turning a blind eye and a deaf ear if they took the same comfort.  But love words and fantasies are far more revealing than crude sex talk and sounds of passion.  It was a different kind of intimacy.  Sharing the mind and heart, not just the body.  I could get over another man hearing me bring Heather her pleasure but it would kill me if he heard us sharing those secret parts of our hearts we keep just for each other. 

Another soft chuffing laugh.  "Mmmm....  Where did you put those shoes?  I rather liked those..."  Christ, those shoes.  Fantasy or not, he's right about them.  Fair dinkum.  They did it for me, mate.  I don't know what it is, but there's something about a good girl wearing a streetwalker's shoes that really fires a man's blood.      

She sniggered and I heard her swat him.  "Want me to break my neck?"  Their quiet laughter spun away as their breathing got harder and the sounds of them kissing and touching became more prominent.  His groans as she stroked his cock.  Her soft sighs as he fingered her sex.  I could hear it and the image it conjured was incredibly erotic.  Uma, knelt over him as they masturbated each other.  For each other.   It is a powerful thing for a man to know his woman wants him.  To see her desire for him revealed so openly.  

"Hoh, Uma....yes, love....Sssssfff.....  you feel so good... so wet inside... so hot....Christ, don't stop...."

"Terry, please...."  Begging for more of her lover's touch.  I cannot help but put myself in his place.  I know how he feels.  Like a god.  Like the most humble beggar. 

"Unngh... your nipple....give it to me... I want to suck... eat you up... crawl inside..."  The leather groans.  So does she.  I can hear him nursing at her now, sucking and kissing.  Suddenly they stop rocking and his words are muffled against her breast.  "You are so beautiful... so perfect..."  He said more but it was too quiet to catch and I was thankful for that. 

The awe and wonder in his voice was making my chest feel tight.  He is a hard man.  A man of the world.  I never expected he would be so soft with her.  I didn't think he could, not after the kind of life he's led.  And she?  She is so soft with him too.  I have seen parts of it, parts of that fragile side she keeps hidden away under her glitter and outrageous behavior but somehow, I never imagined he'd be interested in it.

"God....I need to be inside you....sit on me..."  Need.  Need not want.  He needed her.  The man who wanted for nothing, who needed nothing, needed her.  It was a profound revelation.

The chair creaked as she shifted her weight.  There was the rustle of fabric and then his sharp intake of air and an almost childlike whimper from her.  I knew that sound.  She is so small and slight.  He was penetrating her, helping her come down on him and her body was working to accept the intimate intrusion.  I felt sweat prickle under my arms and blood throb in my groin.     

A choked noise from her and his immediate response, husky and low.  "Am I hurting you?  Want me to stop?"  She would be so open to him in that position, such a deep penetration.  I felt arousal and concern.  A shallow echo of what he must be feeling, fighting his body's natural urge to push her down on his cock, to sheathe himself fully in the warm welcome of her body. 

"No... don't stop.....so good..."  No movement now.  Silence reigned again for a handful of moments and I knew he was all the way inside, waiting for her to adjust.  Cradling her against him in the way men do when their tender care of their lover outstrips their need to rut and thrust.  He was putting her pleasure first and she let him.  An erotic moment of capitulation and surrender, and suddenly, nothing they said or did felt crude or base.  I no longer felt embarrassed or uncomfortable.  For a singular moment in time, I was connected to them.  A witness to the birth of a golden moment shared by another couple; a man who was my Brother and a woman I loved.

They were muttering and sighing, words muffled in each other's mouths and against each other's skin.  Love words and sex words, poured out freely, without inhibition or reservation in that special time where what they are doing with their bodies makes it OK for a man to reveal his most secret heart.

"God, Terry, so deep....I feel you so deep inside... I love your cock... the way it feels... the way you feel... love you so much..."

"Want you....want you so much, baby....So beautiful when you ride me, little girl....take me in... all of me... Christ, so fucking good....so wet....so tight... so fucking tight... love the way you feel....love you..."

His chair creaked rhythmically, bumping my knee now with every undulation of her hips and I realized I was stroking Heather's breast in time to their rhythm.  I forced myself to stop.  It seemed wrong to touch her that way.  I was aroused by what I heard, but Heather and I had already found our pleasure.  Sharing in the moment as they made love was one thing.  Touching her while they did so was unseemly.  It wasn't fair to her or to them.  And to be honest, though I was hard, I did not feel an urgent need for completion.  Our earlier lovemaking had left me too satiated to feel anything but a pleasant fullness.

I also no longer felt as if I had to hide.  I opened my eyes and saw the seat move as Terry raised and lowered Uma.  Her head was thrown back and her eyes were shut.  I know the intimate rhythms of her body.  She is quiet and tends to get more so as she falls deeper into her pleasure.

He never stopped his litany of intimate words, talking her to her pleasure, reassuring her every step of the way.  "I'm here....I've got you....I won't let you fall..."  Grunting softly as she came down on him again and again.  The chair rocked harder.  "Touch yourself....Let me see you touch yourself...."  Such an intimate request.  And such a powerful, driving image for a man.  Our woman stroking herself as we push into her.  Her fingers touching her sex and ours, together, like implicit approval.  Showing us that we are accepted.  Wanted.  Loved.  Watching a woman masturbate is an intensely erotic thing for a man, but to feel her touch herself when you are inside her....there is a level of trust and intimacy there that goes far beyond anything we can do with our bodies.

She has gone quiet, just crying softly now as he helps her reach her pleasure with his body and his voice.  "I've got you....let yourself go, baby... that's my girl....come down hard... fuck, you're beautiful like this....so beautiful when you come... come for me, sweet girl... Jesus, God!  Come on me... squeeze me hard... come on my cock... my sweet little girl...ride me..."   He is more eloquent than I expected, soft and careful with her even now when I know his own pleasure must be close. 

She is mewling, incoherent.  Speaking only an occasional word.  His name.  Nothing more.

The chair is jerking hard with the force of his thrusts into her.  Added to the creaking of the chair and their panting is the slap of bare flesh, sweaty and slick with the essence of their passion. 

Her voice.  A single word, gasping.  "Coming..."  Her hand on the back of the chair, white knuckled grip, nails digging in hard.  It is a strong one.  I can almost feel her bear down.  Blood pulses in my groin as if in time to her coming.  My own golden moment I will take from this experience. 

His voice is getting gruffer and I know he is fucking up into her in time to his gravelly words.  "Fuck.....oh, fuck.....  I can feel you.....feel you come.....so beautiful....so sweet...." 

A sound from her.  Nearly a sob.  I blink back my own tears at the tenderness they are exhibiting, that I have been privileged enough to witness.  He's slowed.  Hushing her.  Comforting her.  Again, putting her needs above his own.  I hold Heather tighter against me and press a soft kiss to her temple, so thankful I have someone to make these kinds of golden moments with. 

"Shhh....I've got you... my sweet girl... my sweet little girl..."

"Mmm...."  She's coming round.  I hear movement.  Shadows flicker as she pulls back.  "Let me love you..."

"No....it doesn't matter....I'll just-"

"I want to taste us both."

I am reminded of another woman and another night and I know he will capitulate.  To feel your woman drink of you, your essence, given and received in this most private of ways....to know she desires it of her own volition... that she would place her mouth upon your most intimate flesh and drink from your body... there is no deeper intimacy, no greater physical demonstration of love than this singular act of acceptance. 

I saw his leg extend into the aisle, making room for her to kneel before him.  A harsh, guttural cry broke from him and his chair rocked hard.  I saw nothing but his leg and the back of the seat but I knew what was happening.  His head was thrown back, his fingers in her hair, touching her face, her cheeks, her pretty mouth stretched wide around his girth as she sucked and ministered to his cock.  This act, it is so different when it is with a woman you love.  You must make that connection with her to differentiate it from the times that it was nothing more than a mechanical release. 

"Oh God... don't-  don't stop....Jesus, baby... suck me....your mouth... so pretty..."  Hands in her hair, probably holding her eyes with his so she can see what she is doing to him.  I hear the wet sucking sounds of her mouth, her little moans of encouragement that I know he does not need but that we like to hear nonetheless.  He will be fighting it now, wanting to come but wanting to hold out against the tide of pleasure rising in him until the last possible moment.

"More... harder... Oh, Jesus... Oh Jesus!  Suck-"  His chair stilled abruptly and I knew he was at the moment of his coming.  That heartbeat of time when you know you will come but you haven't yet spilled yourself.  Her soft hum and then his chair jerked arrhythmically as his body pumped its seed in spurts, matching the cadence of his voice.  "Love you......oh, God.......I love you......love you......love you....."

It didn't sound like the Terry I knew.  His voice was needy and desperate, not authoritative and decisive.  It was thick with the raw emotion a man feels when a woman he loves tends to him so intimately.  I heard her move, saw the chair shift under her slight weight as she crawled back up to him.  I turned my head away to give them the privacy they deserved and accidentally caught their reflection in the window.

What I saw stunned me.  I didn't see two disheveled, half naked people.  I saw a woman holding a man against her breast, hushing him, gentling him like a child.  Caring for his soul in the same manner she'd just cared for his body.  His face was turned into her neck and she was rocking him against her.  I was transfixed by the image and this time I didn't blink away the tears.  In that one instant, I saw a man's heart.  I saw love. 

I saw what two people are to each other in their most vulnerable moments.  Not a maneater.  Not a soldier.  But simply two people sharing the same heart.  I closed my eyes and bowed my head, painfully aware what I'd witnessed was not for my eyes, was not for anyone but them, and yet strangely, I was not sorry I'd seen it.  It is an image I will carry with me a long time. 

Suddenly, everything made sense to me.  Why he'd asked me for help.  Why he'd sent me to her.  Why he couldn't fix her.  He loved her too much to see her hurt.  He had wanted to slay all her dragons and she had needed to do that for herself.  She is stronger than he thinks, but as I hold my own woman in my arms, I can imagine how he must have felt.  The urge to protect her is overwhelming as is the desire to lose myself in her as Terry is lost in Uma now. 

Eventually, they settled.  I heard them redress, speaking in low tones.  I heard him get up, saw him get a blanket and return to her, once again in the role of father.  Protector.  Covering her and then curling himself around her protectively.  To know a man as strong as Terry needed her the way she needed him was a poignant reminder of how very lucky I was to have found that same thing for myself.  I held my own love close and rocked her gently until I could no longer put off returning to the cockpit.

I rose and got a blanket, covering her and giving her a sleeping form a soft kiss before I started forward.  Terry turned his head and smiled at me but didn't pull away from the sleeping girl in his arms.

"Get a bit of rest, did ya?"

I nodded.  "Best kind, mate."  I inclined my head toward Heather.  "In her arms.  You?"

"Must have missed the fun....."  His eyes flicked down to Uma's face and then back up to me.  "Had my own dream..."  A moment of acknowledgement passed between us.  He'd heard us as I'd heard them and strangely, instead of being awkward or driving a wedge between us, I felt better.  More sure of where we all stood in this Game and in each other's hearts.  I knew from his look he'd experienced something similar but we'd each managed to retain the illusion that our lovemaking had been a private moment.  

I smiled wider.  "Better than stamps, I reckon."

His smile widened as well.  "Almost as good as scoring the winning try for Oz at the World Cup final."

We both looked at each other and grinned.  "Nah... nothing's as good as that, mate."

We shared a laugh, clearly lying through our teeth, but it was far easier to fall back into the regular male pattern of behavior than it was to admit - aloud - there was nothing in the world better than what we'd just shared with our women. 

I started down the aisle and then stopped, turning back to him and nodding at the two girls.  "Watch over them, hey?"

He nodded solemnly, understanding exactly how much I was entrusting to him.  Just as he'd once entrusted the woman who kept his heart into my care.  There was no higher mark of trust between men, between Brothers. 

No more words were needed.  I rejoined the men in the cockpit and as I shut the door behind myself, I saw Terry opening his laptop.  It seemed we were both returning to work, but I knew, we both knew, that in our heads and hearts, it was anything but business as usual.