Friendly Skies

By C.L. Finn

"You know I love ya, Fraser, but one of these days I want to take a trip where we travel the old fashioned way. I want cramped seats and canned air and really stale peanuts served to me by women with shellacked hair and too much make-up."

"Time was of the essence, Ray. You know that."

Of course I know that. We're crammed into this cargo plane because of me. Mounties in Whitehorse need my testimony on a case I helped out with a couple months ago. Unfortunately, Fraser and me were out on the ice and by the time word got to us it was 24 hours till the trial. Fraser managed to scam a ride on a cargo plane, except we have to be cargo. Dief got the damn co-pilot's seat.

Shifting around on the pile of blankets and parachutes we're sitting on, I check my pocket again, wishing I hadn't left my book behind at the airstrip. We've got three more hours to kill on this tin can.

"And an in-flight movie. I want an in-flight movie."

"I'll see what I can do next time." Fraser shifts around and searches through the pockets of his coat. "However," he says finally, pulling out a small package, "I can supply the stale peanuts."

Old trail mix. Leave it to Fraser to actually have that in his pocket. It's even the kind I like, with the dried cranberries.

"I'm afraid I can't do anything about the seats or air, and I don't have a make-up kit on me at present."

That makes me laugh. The freak. A sudden image of Fraser in make-up and a shellacked wig has me laughing even harder. I've seen pictures of him when he went undercover as a woman once. Tell you the truth, it's not something I want to see in living color. Too creepy.

He grins over at me and I swear he just read my mind. I love that. I love that he can do that. Grabbing the front of his coat, I pull him over for a kiss, which turns into something more serious than I intended. And dammit, I'm hard already. I swear to God, it's been three months and I still get hard at the drop of a hat with him. Not that I'm complaining, 'cause really, who would bitch about great sex in great quantities. But sometimes it can be inconvenient. Like when we're stuck in the cargo hold of a plane, flying over the arctic somewhere.

"So what about that in-flight movie?" I ask, pushing him away and trying to shift around to get the pressure off my cock. It's like being a damn teenager again.

"Hmmm… I suppose I could entertain you with a story." At my groan, he grins. "Shadow puppets?"

"Charades?" I get into the spirit of the game… 101 ways to kill time while trapped in a tent in the middle of a snowstorm.

"I Spy?"

"Oh yeah, I spy… a bunch of crates. Thumbwrestling?"

"I always win."

"You cheat."

"I do not!"

"Uh huh. Don't worry, I won't tell the Mounties. They won't take your Fair Play badge away."

"I appreciate your discretion," he says with that beautiful deadpan face of his. Have I mentioned how much I love his sense of humor? Well, I do. A lot. "Hangman?"

"That requires pencil and paper." Fraser reaches into one of his pockets with a smug grin. Well, duh. Of course he has pencil and paper on him. "Freak." He just grins bigger.

Then an idea hits me and I look around the empty hold with the closed door between us and the cockpit. "Hey, we could always join the Mile High club."

"What?"

"Mile High club. It's…"

"Yes, Ray. I'm familiar with the term." I grin at him, daring him to take me up on it. He just stares at me for a few seconds, then looks around the hold, then back at me. "Okay," he says and leans over to kiss me.

What the…? No way. "I was kidding," I say, shoving him back over to his side of the pile.

"Nevertheless, we have," he looks at his watch, "two hours and 23 minutes left on this flight. We are quite alone… I believe the noise of the engines and that door will serve to soundproof us from the cockpit. And you're bored," he flicks a look down at my lap, where my cock has just taken a renewed interest in things, "and horny."

"I am not horny!" I sputter indignantly, knowing that I just gave myself away. "You're the one that's horny."

"Shut up, Ray," he says, following the command up with action, covering my mouth with his, a warm hand cupping my fly.

"Yeah, alright," I muttered through his kisses. What, like I'm going to turn him down? Crazy Mountie… can never pass up a dare.

I love kissing him. I could do this all day and all night without any complaint whatsoever. He kisses in typical Benton Fraser style… full out, no holds barred, bonsai! He just bowls me over and turns me into mush when he kisses me like this.

Meanwhile, his hands are busy on my fly, getting it open, burrowing past the flannel lined jeans, past the longjohns. Yeah, I gave in and got over my objections to these one piece things when I figured out how warm they are. Mine are not red though. I stood my ground on the bright red.

And Fraser's hand is so warm. Oh god. I don't get how he can always have such warm hands. My hands haven't been warm since I took a nose-dive out of a plane over an ice-field four months ago. But his are always warm. And thank god for that.

He jerks me a few times just the way I like it, hard and slow, and doesn't let up on his assault on my mouth. I love when he's in this kind of mood so I just grab onto his hair, kiss him back and give it all up to him. He is a force of nature. But in a good way.

When my dick is as hard as it will ever be, Fraser leaves my mouth and moves down. Pulling me out of the layers, he doesn't let the cold air even register before he's got his mouth over me. Takes me in all the way and just hums around me. He is so fucking good at this. You'd never know looking at Fraser, dressed up, buttoned up in his Mountie suit that he's a natural born cocksucker. But he is. The man will put his tongue anywhere, and how lucky am I that his favorite spot is my cock?

"God, Ben," I gasp when he pulls back, swirling his tongue around the head of my cock.

He chuckles around me, making me shiver at the sensation, and I just know that if I could pry my eyes open and look down at him, he'd be smug as hell. Cause the bastard knows how good he is.

And then he moves down again, taking me all the way in, wrapping a warm hand around my balls, and he gets a rhythm going, with his throat and his tongue and his lips, and oh Fuck! All I can do is hold onto him, one hand buried in his hair, one fist full of the shoulder of his parka, and let him pull me out of myself and into him.

When I come back down to earth… metaphorically, of course, we're still on this damn plane… Fraser's lounging next to me, watching me with a grin. He's got me tucked back into my pants but my fly is still laying open. He licks his bottom lip.

"Thank you, Ray." Oh man. I am so fucking in love with this guy. Jesus.

Pull him to me, devour his mouth, try to tell him how I feel. I don't do very good with the words. Luckily he totally gets this language.

Eventually, he pulls away and I flop back with a sigh. "Now what, Mountie?" I know he's got to be as hard as I was ten minutes ago, but why should I let on when I can have some fun yanking his chain. Or, not yanking his chain just yet.

He makes a big show of looking at his watch. "Well, we have another hour and 50 minutes to kill."

"We do, huh?"

"Yes. I might have a few suggestions." He reaches into yet another pocket on his parka and comes up with a bottle of lube. Oh God, being in love with a boy scout has its definite perks.

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