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1.
When Douglas opened the door to the flight deck, it took a second for him to understand what he was seeing. Granted, he was supposed to have left for the evening, but even so -
“Goodness,” he said, unable to prevent the lascivious purr that crept into his voice. “Sorry to interrupt, captain.”
Martin jumped - at least the part of him that Douglas could see jumped. The captain had been halfway through changing from his pilot’s shirt into a scruffy tee, and in his surprise at Douglas’ re-entry, it seemed that he’d rammed the armhole onto his head.
“Douglas?” Panic was clear in his tone, even if his face was hidden in the material he was tangled in. “W-w- You left!”
“Came back,” Douglas said, essaying nonchalance even as something hungry and base growled in his belly at the sight of Martin’s taut, heaving stomach. “Need a hand?”
Martin still appeared to be completely stuck, arms scrabbling uselessly. “It’s fine-” he squawked, but Douglas stepped forward nonetheless and tugged the t-shirt into its proper alignment, feeling a twinge of regret at covering up the delectable spread of skin he’d been enjoying.
“Better?” Douglas turned away, ferreting in the avionics bay for the just-on-the-edge-of-illegal sapphire necklace he’d picked up from a ‘friend’ in Pretoria.
“Humph.” Martin sniffed, and Douglas heard him grabbing his bag to leave. “I don’t usually - it’s just that I’m late for my van job, after our delay -”
Douglas looked round, not entirely certain that he was in control of the tangled emotion that had gripped him. “If you’re late, shouldn’t you go?” he asked, raising a sardonic eyebrow.
Martin nodded, and Douglas noticed with a swoop in his stomach that Martin was blushing furiously. He only hoped that his cheeks weren’t equally red.
Martin disappeared, and Douglas gripped the back of the captain’s seat with a slightly shaky exhale.
Well. Now he knew it had been too long since he last got laid.
2.
Douglas tried to shake off the memory of that tempting expanse of stomach over the next week, but it didn’t help when he kept dreaming about it. He told himself that it was nothing, that it was ridiculous, but then…
“Cold out, Skip?” Arthur’s merry tones rang out from the galley as GERTI’s door opened, causing Douglas to look up briefly in the cockpit before returning to his load sheet.
“F-freezing…” Martin’s teeth were chattering, Douglas could practically hear them from the flight deck, and he leant over to turn the heat up before anyone could catch him being thoughtful.
“It is Tallinn,” he commented, caustically, hearing Martin approaching. “In February.”
“You do the walk round next time, then,” Martin growled.
Douglas looked up to hand him the paperwork he’d been completing, but his hand stilled abruptly in midair. Martin’s chest was practically at eye level, and his nipples - his nipples -
“What on earth’s the matter?” Martin asked, and Douglas guiltily snapped his eyes upwards to focus on the captain’s face. Martin took the clipboard, frowning. “Have I got something on my shirt?”
“N-no,” Douglas replied, then mentally kicked himself. “Just making sure I hadn’t forgotten anything from the cargo manifest,” he lied, more smoothly, and Martin’s face cleared.
“Fine.” Martin stomped back into the cabin, and Douglas heard him calling for Carolyn. He sank back into his seat, then hastily flicked the air temperature back down several degrees. He’d be going to hell, he knew, but he didn’t want to melt away the gorgeous nubs that had been standing proudly under Martin’s shirt… A mental image of what it might be like to bite at them suddenly occurred to him and he passed a hand over his forehead, abruptly hot and bothered in spite of the chill.
“Trying to freeze us to death?” Martin had reappeared and leant over him to adjust the heating controls himself this time.
Douglas waved a hand. “Must’ve turned them the wrong way.”
You’re in trouble, Richardson. So much trouble.
3.
“Tired, Douglas?”
Douglas had completed the shutdown checks, flipping the last switch with a weary sigh. He rubbed his eyes. “Had Emily staying at the weekend, and she rather ran me ragged.”
Martin yawned, then gave a sleepy grin. “Looking forward to a bit of shuteye myself.” He stood up, and stretched.
Douglas wasn’t sure whether to be delighted or despairing that he’d taken his fingers out of his eyes just in time. Martin stretched up-up-up, in a way that Douglas’ height would never have allowed him in GERTI’s small cockpit. With his movement, Martin’s shirt came untucked and Douglas was abruptly presented with a strip of lightly hairy stomach just inches from his nose, the jut of Martin’s hips riding deliciously above his trousers. Without a second thought, Douglas reached out, only stopping his hand from coming to grip Martin’s waist millimetres before the inappropriate contact was made.
Martin looked down, and Douglas hastily poked at the instrument panel instead. “Ah, yes, the fuel is cut off…” After a second, he glanced up to find Martin staring at him, a most peculiar expression on his face.
As soon as their eyes met, though, Martin jerked backwards. “Yes. Well. Um.”
Douglas stood up, narrowly avoiding chinning Martin in his haste. “I’m off. Goodnight,” he blurted. He left without a look back, but sensed Martin’s eyes following him curiously out of the aircraft.
4.
It took a whole month for Douglas to even begin to let his guard down around Martin again. It felt as if now Douglas had noticed Martin’s potential for entirely inadvertent sexiness, he couldn’t stop noticing it. When Arthur bought them ice creams - Douglas could only focus on Martin’s licking tongue. Martin got a little tipsy one night with dinner, and all Douglas could think about was the press of the captain’s hug at the end of the night. Martin sweltered in the Jamaican heat, and Douglas was a mess for the entire day at the sight of two of his shirt buttons undone, at the suggestion of the vulnerable notch in the fine collarbone he could glimpse.
Douglas tried desperately to focus his attentions elsewhere, even undertook a brief fling with a flirtatious stewardess from Easyjet - but that soon turned acrimonious. All he could seem to see were the points about her that weren’t… Martin. Consequently, he resigned himself to simply trying to ride his ridiculous, unexpected, intense feelings out, praying they’d soon leave him alone.
Except that one morning, Douglas arrived at the portacabin to discover that Martin… hadn’t.
“Where is sir?” he asked Carolyn, trying to make it a throwaway remark, though she cast him a grumpily suspicious glare nonetheless.
“Not here,” she replied, “but you’re to let me know the minute he arrives. I’ve a good mind to-”
What punishment she had dreamed up, though, Douglas never discovered, as at that moment the door banged open and there was Martin. However -
“What have you done to your mouth?” Carolyn gaped at the captain as he edged towards them apologetically.
Douglas stared. Martin’s lips were red and puffy, and his tongue kept flickering out to lick them nervously.
“Skip!” Arthur bounced over to inspect him at closer quarters. “You look as if you’ve been snogging someone behind the bike sheds!”
“MJN doesn’t have bike sheds -” Carolyn said, a trifle feebly, but was interrupted by Martin explaining.
“Sorry - had a van job -”
“And you’re late!” Carolyn swelled as if someone were inflating her with a pump.
Martin sighed. “I would have been on time, it’s just that I looked hot, apparently -”
Don’t you just, Douglas’ mind leered silently before he could stop it.
“- and the lady I was moving offered me some papaya juice, and, well -”
Douglas guessed. “And as dragon fruit is to Arthur, papaya is to you?”
Martin flopped into a chair with a groan. “Quite.”
Carolyn looked a trifle more sympathetic, though she still glared. “Well - stay out of sight of the customers, for heavens’ sake. We don’t want them thinking that you and Douglas have been kissing in the flight deck.”
Douglas and Martin simultaneously made choking noises. “Carolyn!” Douglas injected as much indignation into the name as he could, but she only shrugged.
“Go on, captain tropical sunrise. Off to GERTI with you. The passengers are due to arrive any moment.”
Muttering angrily under his breath, Martin departed, and Douglas could only be thankful that he hadn’t looked over at his first officer as he exited - his breathing was coming quickly at the mental picture unwittingly conjured up for him and he felt decidedly hot under the collar. Though perhaps that he could ascribe in part at his furiousness at Carolyn…
5.
Their flight to Amsterdam that day was quieter than usual, but Douglas put it down to Carolyn and Arthur being kept thoroughly busy by the group of 10 rowdy stags they had on board and Martin conserving his energy after his allergic reaction. For Douglas’ part, he was guiltily content to sneak sideways glances at Martin’s still-bee-stung lips, alarmed by how tempted he was to lean and run a finger over them.
He restrained himself all day though and was glad when Martin said he was going for a brief stroll before dinner, leaving Douglas alone in the hotel room for half an hour to collect his confused thoughts. He lay back on the bed and firmly resisted the impulse to have a sneaky stroke to the thought of Martin’s delectable appearance.
At 8pm, as agreed, he headed down to the hotel lobby. Martin had said he’d wait just outside the doors – the evening was still sunny and warm, and the hotel was for once in a rather pretty part of the city, just by one of the canals. Douglas paused at the sight of the captain – Martin had his back to him, and was sitting on a capstan, his curls ruffling slightly in the breeze. Douglas sighed. Honestly. Why did he find the sight of Martin so appealing, especially now, five years after they’d begun working together?
He shook his head and started walking again, pondering that perhaps it was that Martin had only recently relaxed more, becoming a mate rather than just a colleague –
“Hey!” Martin’s sudden shout jerked Douglas out of his reflections. He gasped. Two men had come to stand either side of the captain – and one had grabbed him, holding Martin’s arms so the other could dive in his pocket for his wallet.
By the time Douglas realised what was happening, the two men had shoved Martin sprawling and begun their escape. Just as quickly, Martin recovered himself and tried to dart after them, crying out “Stop! Thieves!” In his haste, though, he failed to notice the rope strung at ankle height, mooring a barge to the capstan.
Douglas saw what was going to happen a millisecond before it did, but his cry of horror was too late to prevent it. Martin’s foot caught and he fell, disappearing sideways into the water with an enormous SPLASH.
“Martin!” Douglas’ heart accelerated in panic, and he ran to the edge, preparing to dive in to save his captain – but as he reached the bank he realised that swimming wouldn’t be necessary. Martin’s landing had been in the water, but he was already struggling to his feet – the canal evidently only waist deep. “Are you alright?” Douglas bent over the bank to try and pull him out.
Martin glowered, sopping wet from head to toe, white shirt transparent and trousers clinging. “Think so – did you catch them?” He grasped Douglas’ hand and Douglas was relieved to feel he wasn’t too cold even despite the chilly, stagnant water.
“Catch them?” Douglas yanked him upwards. “Of course not. I thought you might be drowning, you idiot.”
“Shit.” Martin scrambled onto the bank and stood. “They’ve got my licence, Douglas. My licence.”
“Never mind that now!” Douglas stepped towards him. “Are you sure you’re OK?”
“Of course I am!” Martin was standing on tiptoe, peering angrily into the gathering crowd to see if he could spot his assailants.
“You’re bleeding.”
“I’m not!” Martin touched his cheekbone grumpily, looking startled as his fingertips came away crimson. “Oh.”
“Here.” Douglas fished a clean hanky out of his pocket and passed it to Martin, worry and adrenaline still singing in his veins. “Come back upstairs – you’re soaking, and they’ll be long gone now. Let me look at that cut.”
Martin gave in. “Oh, fine.” He glanced around at the people pointing and staring. “Let’s go.” A growing blush of embarrassment at his predicament had set a dull flush under his skin, and he turned to almost jog into the hotel.
Douglas was rather proud of himself that not once, climbing the stairs after Martin, did he notice how nicely damp trousers clung to Martin’s shapely rear.
Well. Maybe just once.
He was only human, after all.
+1.
Martin went to storm into the hotel room, but as he reached for his pocket he groaned. “My hotel keycard was –“
“In your wallet? Of course it was.” Douglas stepped past him and let them both into the tiny room. “Just your luck, eh?”
Martin didn’t bother to reply, instead stomping over to his bag, feet squelching, to find some dry clothing. He turned around to see Douglas emerging from the bathroom, carrying their entire stock of slightly greying towels. “Here you are.”
“Thanks.” Martin waited for Douglas to turn away before stripping off. He towelled himself, warming up a little, before making Douglas spin round in surprise as he let out a curse. “Damn it!”
“What is it?” Douglas looked alarmed.
Martin growled. “This cut – on my cheek.”
“Ah.” Martin rolled his eyes as Douglas winced. Blood was dripping on to the towel, down Martin’s face. “Sit down, look.”
With a sigh, Martin did as he was told, perching on the edge of the bed. He watched as Douglas grabbed a handful of tissue and then – to Martin’s surprise – knelt in front of him, bringing the wad to dab at the captain’s cheek.
“That OK?” Douglas brought his other hand up to hold Martin’s face steady, and Martin felt another blush heating his ears at the gentle warmth of the FO’s touch.
“Yeah,” he said, trying not to let his voice waver. “Is it stopping?”
Douglas shook his head. “Not yet.”
Martin hissed as Douglas pressed a little harder, but the firmness felt reassuring. He studied Douglas’ face as Douglas concentrated on the cut. Douglas’ expression was serious but calm, and Martin was struck by the sudden impulse to tuck a rogue strand of hair behind the first officer’s ear. He blinked. Where did that come from?
“I’ll just get my first aid kit.” Douglas looked up to meet Martin’s eyes, and Martin nodded. “You might need a steri-strip, I think.” He stood and walked over to his bag. “Did you swallow any water?”
Martin was confused. “I don’t think so…” His stomach was churning, and his heart jumped as Douglas walked back to resume his position on the floor. “No – here, sit on the bed at least,” Martin protested, tugging Douglas next to him.
“I’m not an old crock,” Douglas complained, but did as he was told, twisting slightly so they were still face to face.
“I know you’re not – OW!” Martin jerked away furiously as Douglas pressed what felt like acid to his laceration.
Douglas sighed. “Sorry. I need to clean it.”
Martin glared at him for a moment, but then gave in. “Oh, fine.” He reluctantly leaned back over and Douglas cupped his cheek once more.
“I’ll be as quick as I can,” Douglas murmured, and Martin closed his eyes at the burning sting of the disinfectant. The swipes of the cotton wool were gentle, and Douglas’ hand on him was steady. It had been a long time since anyone had touched him, he suddenly remembered, then instantly tried to shake the thought.
“Reliving your medical training?” Martin attempted to keep the question breezy. Douglas didn’t answer and Martin realised that the cotton wool had stopped moving. He opened his eyes to find Douglas staring at him, something odd and indefinable in his eyes. Martin frowned. “Douglas?”
“What?” Douglas almost jumped. “Oh – oh yes, I suppose so.” He hastily cast the sodden cotton aside, reaching for the plaster. “What with the papaya juice this morning, this isn’t really your day, is it?”
Martin snorted. “I just hope things don’t really come in threes, or who knows what’ll happen… th-this evening…” He stuttered to a halt. Douglas was staring at his lips, and no matter how much Martin tried to think that the FO was just examining the remnants of his allergic reaction, the expression was too reminiscent of that Martin had only seen before when someone wanted to – wanted to –
Martin gasped a tiny sip of air. Douglas’ thumb… was tracing his bottom lip. His thoughts seemed to scramble. So close to me – and he looks… God, he looks… gorgeous. He barely resisted shaking his head, not wanting to dislodge Douglas’ gentle hands on his face, his brain clamouring that he was pathetic, that he must be wrong. “D-Douglas?” he asked, uncertainly.
Douglas jumped again, instant guilt written clearly on his features. He snatched his hands away, almost dropping the dressing he still held. “Sorry.”
“It’s OK.” Confusion swirled in Martin’s brain, but a dim and incredulous understanding of Douglas' odd behaviour over the last few weeks was beginning to form. “Could you help me on with the plaster?”
“The pl -? Oh, yes.” Martin watched as Douglas reached for him again, and didn’t miss the slight tremor as Douglas touched his cheek softly. “Here you are.”
Martin was thankful forever after that he didn’t allow himself to consider the potential consequences. He acted on instinct for the first time in his life, reached up, and clasped Douglas’ hand. “Thank you.”
Douglas had twitched as Martin covered his fingers, but he didn’t pull away. “You’re… welcome.” He was so near that Martin could have counted each individual eyelash.
“Your thumb.” Martin’s mouth was dry. Douglas raised an eyebrow, but it didn’t hide the flicker of guilt Martin could see in his co-pilot’s face. He licked his lips, and saw Douglas unconsciously watch and echo the movement. “I – I liked it.” His heart was beating so hard that Douglas must surely hear it.
“You did?” Douglas was whispering now, something disbelieving and untrusting in his tone.
“Yeah.” Martin couldn’t believe his daring. “Felt nice. See?” He was reaching out, caressing Douglas’ soft mouth, recreating the touch of a moment ago.
“Hmm.” Douglas leant into Martin’s questing thumb a little, before he opened his eyes with a start, worry apparent. “You haven’t got concussion, have you?”
Martin laughed, surprising himself. “No. Unless I’m hallucinating this.”
“Not hallucinating.” Douglas was even closer now, and Martin was suddenly conscious of the FO’s shirtsleeve brushing his bare chest above the thin towel.
“Good.” Martin tipped his chin up, the pain in his bruised cheek a distant memory. “That’s good.”
Douglas’ weight was bearing him backwards, was lying him down. “How’s your mouth?” Douglas asked, and Martin grinned, something dangerously close to happiness unfolding inside his chest.
“Not sore now…”
“Thank God for that.” Douglas was smiling too – and then Martin couldn’t see him anymore, because their eyes were shut and they were kissing. Martin could only shudder and wonder why on earth they’d waited five years to do something that felt this perfect, and right, and so similar to soaring through the air.