This started out as Julia's birthday present to Kelly, keeper of the holy Unsuited grail. (A chomped Coke can.) Well, Kelly's birthday came and went, and Julia ... only got as far as the, um, foreplay. So she called on Leslie. This story is Leslie's gift to Kelly (and Julia). Schanke, Lacroix, a dark airplane cabin: what could happen? [This story takes place immediately after the Unsuited Challenge story, Bridging the Gap, also to be found on this page. It, unlike this story, is *not* slash.] Disclaimers and warnings: the characters aren't ours (but I bet they wish they were), they belong to James Parriott, Barney Cohen and TriStar. Explicit m/m sex, between Schanke and Lacroix. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Bridging the Gap: What A Trip... Schanke woke up. His seat mate was reading. The rest of the cabin was dark. Schanke stretched, grateful for the upgrade to business class. He recalled Lacroix, standing in front of him at the counter, still, tall, and pale: his quiet, calm voice spoke to the young woman, who responded in the same, calm, measured way as she upgraded them both. Someone had covered Schanke with a blanket while he slept. It _was_ cold in the cabin. He looked at Lacroix again. He was sitting in his shirtsleeves and vest, perfectly still. "Whatcha readin'?" "Ah, you've awakened." Lacroix finished the last page and closed the book. "A quirky little novel about the art scene. Lovely title: `Pursemonger of Fugu.' Do you wish to borrow it?" "Huh?" Lacroix handed the book to Schanke, who, handling it as if it were indeed a live fish, carefully looked at the title, shook his head, and concluded that he must still be drunk. "Uh, no,thanks..." Lacroix smiled, recollecting the less than flattering depiction of members of the Toronto police force in the book. Lacroix stretched. His movements were slow, controlled, sinuous, and mesmerizing. Schanke found himself watching this man, watching him flex his wrists, his fingers, stretch his arms. For some reason, Schanke smiled and suddenly Lacroix leaned across his seat. His face just inches away, he whispered, "Yes, Detective? What can I do for you?" Schanke felt his heart pounding. Lacroix stretched one long arm overhead, and the light went out. As Schanke began to sputter, Lacroix put his oh so soft lips to his ear: "Shhh, shhh ... It will be all right, Don, everything will be all right," he crooned, as if calming a scared child. Schanke felt himself falling into that voice. That voice, smooth and complex, like a very old single malt scotch. Like the smell of fine cigars and leather. He heard again his earlier words about "fantasies" and "imaginations"... Lacroix wanted to kiss this man, to shock him with his passion, to shock him with the answering passion in himself. Mortals puzzled Lacroix, when he bothered thinking about them at all: winnowing their already brief reality, limiting their pathetically feeble possibilities... But he _was_ a police official, and they were in a public place. Lacroix smiled at Schanke as he pulled away to reach for a blanket. He covered himself, pulled off his shoes, and turned back to Schanke. He pulled the man's blanket up under his chin. Schanke noticed that he wasn't cold anymore. Lacroix's right hand glided over and around Schanke's left hand. With his left hand, he brushed across the man's chest, under the blanket. His feet rubbed up against Don's lower legs. Schanke thought his head was going to explode. This guy, this ... man, was feeling him up, his touch cold, electric. In public. Oh man oh man. He felt his cock stiffen. This is crazy, he thought. Shut up, said his groin. As Lacroix began to unbutton his shirt, an indeterminate noise escaped Schanke's lips. He was lost in a dark world of sensation. He couldn't see Lacroix's piercing blue eyes watching him. Lacroix considered his options as he moved his hand over Schanke's nipples, playing with the tightening buds. The foolishness of the previous weekend had obviously infected him as well, he thought. Perhaps it was the Coke can, and their joint salivary contributions thereto, that had sparked a certain appetite for this ... partner of his son's. He wouldn't drink from him, of course: that would violate the unwritten rules of his ongoing--and irritating--contest with Nicholas. But a little ... play ... should not be out of bounds. Besides, he had run out of reading material. The cabin was silent except for the low pervasive hum and vibrations of the engines. Sunken into the uncomfortable exhaustion of a long night flight, the passengers slept, while the cabin crew shared their down time quietly in the galley. "Relax, Don. Close your eyes. Feel the sensations on your skin, the pleasure of your arousal. Don't worry, this isn't real, this is ... a dream. You've heard of jet lag, haven't you? You're suspended in time, outside of time, outside of your reality." He recalled a marvelously apropos quote from the book he'd just devoured. "'The world stands still and all things are possible.' Feel the blood coursing through your veins, pounding in your ears." Lacroix smiled to himself as his hand just brushed along the man's erection. "And ... elsewhere. Allow yourself to feel, to want, to desire, and--to experience." Schanke began to float on the sound of the man's voice, sinking into the sensations coursing through his body. His head rolled from side to side, and he began moaning. "But quietly, Don, quietly ... shhhh," Lacroix murmured. "Tell me, Don, tell me what you'd like to do. The thing you push to the back of your brain, the thing you wish you wouldn't wish for, the thing that fascinates you as it repels you. The thing you most want, that you most despise. What is it? You can tell me. You can tell me anything ... everything..." As he spoke Lacroix realized he was heading in an uncertain direction. The man's deepest sexual desires might be difficult, if not impossible, to achieve in a commercial 747 aircraft. He was manipulating this mortal through his voice--and touch--alone. The results could be unpredictable, and interesting. "Really? Anything? You won't be shocked? I mean, I know you must be a man of the world and all, but..." "Anything you tell me, Don, will not shock me, I promise you. Nothing human can shock me." Schanke wrestled with something that did and didn't want to be said. Lacroix waited. "Well ... what I'd really like to do is..." He broke off, squirmed uneasily in his seat. Heavy, cool, the other man's hand rested over his heart, his fingertips a tantalizing fraction of an inch from his nipple. At the same time, Lacroix's other hand came up over his thigh, along his hip bone, both soothing and ... exciting at the same time. It'd be tough to shock this guy. "I've always wondered," he continued, whispering, "what it would be like..." He took a deep breath. "...to ... suck cock." "Ah." "See? I knew it. I just knew it. Damn. You _are_ shocked." "Not in the least. Your reply was unexpected, perhaps, but I would be quite ... content to ... provide the opportunity." In truth, he was relieved. A simple, straightforward desire. And it would be amusing to join the Mile High Club in this unorthodox manner, and with such an unorthodox ... partner. Lacroix smirked for a moment; then the general considered the logistics of the situation. He withdrew his hand from Schanke's chest, called for the flight attendant, and flicked on his overhead light. A professionally pleasant middle aged man approached. "What can I get you, Mr. Lacroix?" "See to it that we are not disturbed ... for any reason." "...not disturbed. Certainly, Mr. Lacroix." This task completed, Lacroix clicked the light off again. "Now, Don, come here. Come around. Between my knees." He held the blanket away from himself, spreading his legs, making a place for his companion to crouch between them. The mortal eyed the space, licked his lips, shifted uneasily. "I dunno..." he whispered. "Don..." Lacroix said, voice deep, caressing. The mortal's eyes went to his face, skittering a bit before meeting his gaze. Lacroix went on, the man's heartbeat sonorous in his ears. "A dream, Donald, this is all just a dream. We are safe in our dreams, mon ami, to do the forbidden things, to fulfill the dark, delicious desires that we must hide from ourselves in the light of day. Give in, Don. Surrender to yourself. This is only a dream and you are free ... free to indulge." Schanke stared at him a moment, mouth slightly ajar, and Lacroix wondered a moment if he'd laid it on a tad too thick and spun the man off into some hidden corner of his own mind. Then Schanke sighed, "A dream. Yeahhh..." and moved with surprising agility to kneel in the space the other had made for him. Lacroix draped the blanket over Schanke and his own legs, then took the second blanket and flipped it over both their torsos. "There now, Don," he murmured. "We're quite safe, quite secure. Proceed. Take your time. By all means, take your time." It was quite delicious to turn himself over to Nicholas's partner's curiosity, to give him this opportunity of explore this secret fantasy of his. As Schanke's hand tentatively cupped his groin, he felt momentarily grateful that the mortal's fancy didn't revolve around something truly bizarre, like knee-socks and plaid skirts. Or hip- waders. He _could_ have hypnotized the entire airplane, but this was much, much simpler. And quite honestly, one of his favorite sexual acts. Schanke took the plunge, slowly lowering his zipper. He raised his hips obligingly, and the man slid his trousers down his thighs. He heard the mortal take a deep breath, then nuzzle his groin through the silk of his briefs. He rested his hand on the side of the man's face, encouraging, yet not demanding. "Okaaayyy..." came Don's muffled voice, bracing himself, and his fingers hooked around the waistband of Lacroix's underwear. He pulled down and Lacroix sprang forth, his cock lurching up and then lolling over onto his hip. A hot hand groped him, a thumb stroking over the head of his phallus. "Hey, cool. You're not cut," Schanke gloated. "No," Lacroix breathed, as he stiffened further under the man's vigorous handling. "Not a custom among my people." "Hey, me neither. My dad, he had this thing about knives around his son's pecker." "Fascinating, I'm sure," Lacroix murmured, as Don's fingers tugged gently at his foreskin. Then it was peeled back, his glans exposed. Again, the mortal took a deep breath, and his heart-rate accelerated as he leaned forward. Lacroix inhaled sharply as a hot tongue licked tentatively at the exposed head. "Sheesh, you're cold. Like a popsicle." "A popsicle. What a fortuitous image, Don. Pretend it's a popsicle and it's a sweltering August afternoon." A snort of amusement emerged from under the blanket. Then wet heat engulfed him and he bit back a groan. Don's lips ringed the first two inches of his phallus and he probed hesitantly at the slit in the head with his tongue tip. Then he backed away. "Like - like that?" "That was perfect, Don." Lacroix trailed light fingers over the mortal's ears, his jawline. "I really don't know what I'm doing here." "No, Don, that was fine. Carry on. Just do what you like to have done to you." "Oh. Sure." With that helpful advice, Schanke again approached him, taking the head between his lips, then slowly twirling his tongue around it. Lacroix hummed, pinched lightly at Don's earlobes to show his appreciation. His cock made its own delight known by swelling to rigid hardness against that squirming heat. Schanke's breathing became heavy, rapid, warming Lacroix's crotch in damp gusts, as he slowly ran his tongue and lips over him, exploring. Lacroix supposed, given the enclosed space provided by the blankets, the mortal couldn't actually hyperventilate. He closed his eyes as Don's mouth became more sure of itself. Settling deeper into his chair, he made sure that their covers were secure and wouldn't slide off as his companion's movements became more vigorous. Then Schanke pulled away again, snapping him out of his fall into a sensual haze. "Soft," the mortal murmured, lips brushing his flesh. "Your skin, it's so soft, like velvet. I always wondered--" "That's marvelous, Don, I'm so pleased your curiosity has been assuaged. I'm not really ... up for a conversation, however." He was amazed to hear the mortal chuckle. He peeked under the blanket, to meet eyes gleaming with a knowing mischief. "You like that, huh?" Schanke drew his tongue up the underside of the arcing hard length before him. Lacroix blinked, as his cock twitched, then smiled himself, amused as the mortal delved in to the ... entertaining realms of power gained through providing pleasure. "Yesss," he whispered, playing the game, tightening his buttocks to raise his hips. "I do. Please. Don't stop." This, apparently, was just what Don wanted to hear, because he closed his eyes, shivering a bit, and leaned forward with an open mouth, falling onto his rigid phallus. Lacroix groaned, deliberately, and got an answering, urgent moan. Don seemingly liked a little music while he ate, and Lacroix obliged, keeping the blanket lifted a bit, so his sighs and low moans clearly reached the mortal's ears. His noises became less calculated as the man between his knees established a rhythm, head bobbing under the concealing fabric. No expert, hesitant to take Lacroix's length any great depth, his firm lips, busy tongue and rather intense sucking nevertheless soon had that knot of pleasure burning at the base of his cock, beginning the slow climb up the shaft. "Good, Don. That's so good," he whispered. "Nnnn," his companion responded, increasing his efforts. The tantalizing aroma of the mortal's arousal seeped out from under their covers, and Lacroix felt the first twinge from his fangs. He growled softly at the thought of that hot fluid spilling into his mouth, redolent with the rich flavor of lust. He brought his wrist up to his lips, lightly running them over the tender pulse point, with a flare of resentment that the situation denied him the natural conclusion to this little encounter. Then he grunted, jerking as Don's teeth suddenly scraped along his length. The mortal backed away hurriedly. "Geez, I'm sorry. I-" "No, no, Don, it's quite all right," he reassured him, voice soft, savoring the lingering burn. "If you feel any inclination to bite, please, feel free to indulge." "No, sorry, I know what a turn-off that can be." "To each his own," Lacroix murmured. "What?" "Please, Don. Continue." He reached under the blanket, gazing into the glitter of the mortal's concerned eyes, and ran a light finger over the wet, swollen lips. He whispered, "I'm ... so ... close." "Ohhhh, man," Schanke groaned, and he hunkered forward again, latching on with a vigor that had Lacroix sucking air between his teeth. He rested one hand on the side of Don's face, and brought his other wrist back up to his own mouth. He teased the tender skin there with a tongue tip and blunt teeth, while his other hand moved restlessly over the mortal's cheek, pinching lightly at his earlobe, daring to move lower to rest fingertips on the rapid beating of the throat's pulse. Then Schanke, his enthusiasm carrying him further than novice skills allowed, gagged himself, the spasmodic closure of his throat muscles on the head of Lacroix's cock quite delightful. Coughing, he retreated to get his breath. Lacroix rested his hand on Schanke's head, taking a quick look at the door to the cabin, alert for the attendants becoming concerned about the noise. The steward he'd spoken to wouldn't disturb them, but he may not be able to dissuade one of his colleagues worried about a passenger becoming air-sick. However, the sounds, muffled as they were between his legs and by the blanket, must not have been loud enough to alarm. "Man, you're big!" Schanke gasped, when his fit had passed. "I... I can't-" "Shhh, shhh, Don, it doesn't matter," he murmured, stroking the mortal's cheek soothingly. "Use your hand too. Circle the base with your fingers. Yes, yes, that's it. Oh, that's good." He didn't think he could endure another interruption. He was all for protracting his pleasure, he didn't even mind passing along a few of the finer points of fellatio, but he was ready, past ready. He was going to get off in the next few minutes if he had to grab the mortal by the ears and do the work himself. Fortunately, Schanke settled into an eager, metronomic rhythm, attempting nothing fancy, a trifle vigorous perhaps, but at this point the extremes were welcome. Pleasure flared at the base of his cock and shoved its way up his iron hard shaft, honey slow, honey sweet, and he sighed as his release became inevitable. "Don, Don, I'm coming," he breathed, warning the man so he wouldn't be surprised by his jetting orgasm, setting off another choking fit, one that might gain them company at a highly inopportune moment. He half expected Schanke to back away again, to finish him with his hand to avoid swallowing another man's semen. But the mortal, hearing his words, moaned himself, and edged closer, one hand working the shaft along with his mouth, the other clamping hard on Lacroix's thigh. Lacroix let himself go, his orgasm a luscious fire spurting into that avid, hot mouth. "Ahhhh, yesssss," he hissed as the second shock swept through his entire body, his fangs jutting hard into his mouth. He sank his aching teeth deep into the flesh of his arm, the rush of blood incendiary with his own ecstasy. Eyes burning, he thrust up into Schanke's fiercely sucking mouth, shaken by the force of the third wave crashing over him. Then the mortal's mouth on him moved over the line from enjoyable to aggravating over-stimulation. Don continued sucking on his flagging cock, draining him absolutely dry. Gritting his teeth, he endured a few sharp, abrasive spasms. Then he pushed the man away, managing to restrain himself from descending into roughness, and edged back in his seat. Gasping, Schanke reared back, blanket still draped over his head, eyes and mouth agape. Pinkish drool wet his lips and a small trickle rolled down his chin. But other than that, he seemed to have swallowed the lot. A languid afterglow suffused Lacroix and he smiled benignly at the kneeling mortal. He pulled a handkerchief from his vest pocket and dabbed the pink stain from his companion's lips, removing the evidence of his true nature. The man accepted his ministrations, seemingly dazed. Lacroix used his handkerchief on himself, carefully watching the mortal for signs of distress. Don's mouth worked. "Funny," he muttered. "Funny?" Lacroix repeated softly. "Like ... like sucking on a penny. Kinda coppery." "Do you suck on pennies often?" Lacroix inquired, smiling, tucking himself away and zipping up his pants. "No! I mean, you know, like when I was a kid. Mine ... mine doesn't taste like that." "Really. I'm on a special diet, high in iron. Perhaps that alters the taste." "Yeah, yeah, that could be..." "Don..." "Yeah..?" "That ... was ... most satisfactory." "Yeah?" The mortal suddenly flushed, staring into Lacroix's eyes, his breath quickening again. "Yeah. Yeah. That ... was ... something." Then his eyes dropped and he moved to rise to his feet. He suddenly bent over, hands on his knees, face twisted with agony. "Oh, geez," he groaned. "What is it, Don?" Schanke chuckled ruefully, one hand moving to his crotch to adjust himself. "Oh, nothing. Major boner, is all." Lacroix reached out, took the mortal's face in his hands. "Don..." "Wh-what?" "Come." Schanke stared into Lacroix's ice blue eyes, then said, "Nnnnhuuuuhhh." He spasmed, hips jerking, then fell to his knees again. "Man, oh man, oh man," he groaned, shaking his head, gripping Lacroix's thighs to keep from falling over. A wet spot spread slowly over the crotch of his pants. "Oh, man," he repeated weakly. Lacroix gripped his upper arms and helped him shift to his own seat. The mortal lolled there limply, a foolish smile spreading across his features. "What a trip," he murmured. "Don..." Lacroix said softly. "Mmmm?" The mortal rolled his head on his seat back to stare at him blearily. Lacroix caught his eyes, his mind, with his own. "You've just had the most ... extraordinary dream, Don. Quite, quite vivid, almost real. But ... it was just a dream. One you can savor unashamed in the privacy of your own mind, but not something you'd ever repeat to another. Some thoughts are just too, too private. Don't you agree?" "Agree... Oh, yeah." "Go to sleep, Don. In a few minutes, you will awaken, the dream still quite clear in your mind, but, for all that, just a dream." "Dream..." "Sleep, Don." The pliant mortal slid off into unconsciousness, and Lacroix retrieved the blanket from the floor and tucked it around him. Then, smiling to himself, he pulled his own blanket up around his chin, and settled into feigned slumber. In a few minutes, the man beside him stirred, groaned softly, then froze. "Oh, geez," he whispered hoarsely. He straightened carefully in his chair, casting furtive glances at his seat mate. He then peered under the blanket at his crotch. "Oh, _geez_," he repeated. He rose slowly, quietly, blanket wrapped around him, and made his way to the tiny restroom at the front of their cabin. Two thousand year old vampires do, on occasion, giggle. FIN
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This page was created using WebEdit, Friday Oct 10,
1997
Most recent revision Friday Oct 10, 1997