This fic works on the presumption that a) first class seating in modern airplanes is absolutely huge and b) that there is no armrest between two seats and c) that airplane stewards and stewardesses and passengers are completely and utterly oblivious to the going-ons of other passengers. Also, I had several lovely people read this over for me and a couple other people that I angsted to like, everyday, but I can’t credit them because it might give it away, so will do so later. So any remaining mistakes are mine.

Justin has a problem. Well, about half the people in the world wouldn't consider it a problem really, because they probably have the same problem. That is, having an obsession with cock. But Justin's obsession or addiction or whatever the hell it is, isn't with any cock. Just one, really. But the entire problem with having an addiction to only one cock is that the owner of said cock can essentially wave it in his face and he'll get down on his knees to suck it, or beg this really very evil cock-owner to fuck him hard with that perfect cock until he comes screaming, "God, Brian!" Anyway. Justin intends to get some rehab very soon.

He's thinking all this idly as he sits in first class with Brian on Flight 405 Pittsburgh to Los Angeles. He's still not quite used to traveling in first class, though Brian orders the stewardess around like he's been living on planes his entire life. They're seated in the very first row, with no one across the aisle from them and no little kids kicking at the back of his seat. Plane-paradise, Justin thinks. He's supposed to be looking at the dialogue Michael's thought up of for the next issue, but all Justin wants to do right now is think about cock and how much he's missed it while working on Rage and how much he still misses it even after (nearly) wearing Brian out for two weeks, and then maybe get a few hours of sleep like Brian's doing.

'Don't go, Ken,' says Zephyr in Michael's dialogue. 'Don't leave me here all alone.' Here in Michael's handwriting, 'And then they had hours of hot sex.' Justin has refused to draw sex scenes between Ken and Zephyr so many times that it's kind of an inside joke. Only it's also kind of disgusting, because he does not want to think about Michael that way. Ew.

Justin feels a warm hand slide between his legs. "Brian," he says, and looks over at Brian, whose eyes are closed. A fleeting thought passes that maybe Brian's still sleeping, because honestly, they've had sex while half asleep, only remembering the next day because Justin's usually laying in the fucking wet spot, but now he can see the glitter of Brian's eyes through slitted lids. That asshole. The hand creeps closer to Justin's cock, which is hardening in anticipation. God, Brian practically has him whipped. He makes a note to definitely get that therapy at some point.

"Fuck, Brian," he whispers as Brian gropes him through his jeans.

"Shh," says Brian, and Justin complies readily because Brian's hand is moving to unbutton his jeans and he's maybe-kind-of-sort-of turned on by the fact that some stewardess could walk in any second. Somehow, having sex in front of a bunch of gay guys who're also having sex isn't the same thing as having sex a curtain away from heterosexual airplane workers. Brian's hand lightly strokes his cock. Justin suppresses a moan.

"We need to stop," Justin says, but Brian continues fondling his erection, rubbing insistently. He decides to shut up and hope that Brian doesn't decide he wants to fuck him. Brian eases Justin's jeans and underwear off, and they get stuck on his shoes and he pulls those off as well. He then leans over to press his mouth to Justin's, coaxing his lips open with his tongue and slipping inside. Brian kisses him roughly, moving his hand faster, sucking at Justin's tongue and drawing a gasp from his lips. One of his hands pushes Justin's shirt up and moves to pinch at his nipples. Justin feels the other inching underneath him, fingering his crack, and his eyes snap open. "Brian," he hisses, "what the fuck are you doing?"

Brian continues to ignore him, finding Justin's hole and alternately pressing against it and drawing circles around it teasingly. "Fuuuuck," says Justin. Brian stops and Justin protests almost reflexively. Brian searches in his jacket pockets for something -- lube and a condom, it turns out. He can't be serious, Justin thinks. They can't fuck here. Brian returns to Justin's hole with slippery lube on his fingers and slips his forefinger inside him and Justin thinks evidently they can. Brian's finger brushes against his prostate, his other hand pressing at the area behind Justin's balls and at this point, Justin's too far gone to care, only briefly hoping that no one decides to walk by for another few minutes. Brian moves his free hand back to Justin's cock, stroking slowly and slips another finger inside, and another. Justin relishes the stretch, the burn, breathes hard and watches Brian’s bent head intently.

Brian stops abruptly and moves away. Justin looks on in anticipation as Brian unbuttons his jeans and pushes them down -- he's not wearing underwear. Justin leans forward, rips open the condom and rolls it on Brian's erection. He lies on his back across their seats, his head resting uncomfortably on the armrest, his legs on Brian's shoulders, a position that never fails to make Justin think of their first time. He vaguely hopes his feet aren't showing over the back of the seat, because then it'd be really fucking obvious what they're doing, and he isn't sure if laws against indecency apply in a plane, but he doesn't want to find out.

And then it's too late because Brian thrusts in and all thoughts of potentially going to prison flee from his mind. Another thrust, carefully aimed at his prostate. Justin pants, and then lets out a tiny moan and stuffs his mouth with his fist. Brunt grunts and moves faster, brushing against his prostate each time he plunges in. His hips snap forward and Justin groans. "Fuck," Justin whispers and lets his head fall back onto the armrest with a thump. Brian then takes a hand and wraps it around Justin's cock, pumping it with each mind-numbing thrust. Justin's so, so very close, whimpering in the back of his throat. Brian's thumb brushes the head of his cock and with a gasp, Justin comes, spilling into Brian's hand. Brian pushes in one last time before choking out an expletive and coming.

They lay there, the armrest pushing into the back of Justin's neck, rapidly cooling come between their bodies. Brian finds Justin's underwear and uses it to wipe them both off. He then unzips Justin's carryon bag and drops it in along with the tied condom. Justin watches all this distantly, still wrapping his mind around the fact that Brian just fucked him two feet away from airplane personnel and a bunch of businessmen and women who're probably now scarred for life. Brian grins at him and pulls his jeans back up and then adjusts Justin as well, patting him carefully back into some semblance of dignity.

After a moment, Justin comes to his senses somewhat and tells Brian to go wash his hands, the airline's supposed to be serving dinner soon. When Brian comes back and sits down, Justin sighs, slips his hand into Brian's and lays his head on Brian's shoulder. They sleep the rest of the way to LA.

End. I live for feedback.