Plane ride. (Jordan's request)

“You are so, so very ssssexy sssssscabe,” Foster murmured, eyes smoldering behind his bangs. I flicked one eye open.

“Foster. We’re on an airplane.” I snuggled more deeply into my comfortable seat. I'd never flown first class before, and I was enjoying it. The distance between ourselves and the nearest other travelers not ensconced in head phones certainly made Foster's…verbal indiscretions…less mortifying than they might have been.

“No one’s lisssning,” Foster pouted. Damn. He’d noticed too. Foster placed his hand on my thigh and started edging it upwards.

Ignoring the tingles that radiated from Foster's fingers and raced up my spine, I snatched his wrist and held it tightly.

“Foster,” I growled menacingly, “You’re drunk.”

“No m’not,” Foster muttered, leaning over to breathe the words against my neck. “Tipsy, maybe.” I squeezed until I could feel the bones in Foster's forearms protesting. So slender. Like a birds’ talons.

Foster whined softly in his throat. His hips twisted in the seat of their own accord.

“Drunk or not, you batted your big eyes at the stewardess, and she has brought you one too many glasses of champagne.”

Foster giggled.

“S’nice. Tastes good.” He leaned even closer to whisper in my ear. “But not as good as your cock.”

I clenched Foster's wrist with as much strength as I possessed, all the muscles in my body tensing as I fought not to make a sound. Foster, the whore, made no such effort, keening and tilting back his head. Me, unable to resist that pale, sweeping curve, pulled Foster closer with my other hand and bit down, feeling Foster's moan vibrate beneath my teeth.

When I released my mouthful of sweet, salt-tinged skin, Foster's eyes were darker than usual, wide and glassy with lust. My lower lip hung open as I panted, a little swollen from where Foster had bitten it. 

“Bathroom,” I hissed. “Now.”

No sooner had the door closed behind them then my eager hands slammed the lock to occupied. I slammed Foster's back against the thin plastic barrier, hoisting his legs around my waist while Foster's clumsy efforts undid my pants and left his own in a heap on what little space of the stall’s tiny floor was not taken up by my feet. 

Foster, of course, had foregone underwear. I jerked Foster's flushed erection roughly, demanding,

“What if you’d been strip-searched?”

“Don’t…treat…first class…less work…everyone…anyway,” Foster panted between brutal kisses, gasping and sucking at my tongue.

I tugged down my own underwear while Foster hit the soap dispenser. I eyed the oily pink goo dubiously.

“Do we really need –”

“Blood’s harder to clean,” Foster breathed, voice hitching. 

“Fine,” I rumbled, pulling Foster's ass open while his slim fingers slid the slick florescent mess over my now aching erection. My fingertips left small blue bruises across Foster's arms as the nurse stroked the soap up and down my cock. 

Foster's head banged against the door as his legs tightened around my hips, his pelvis bucking, cock painting sticky precum on my stomach.

“Oh fuck, fuck me please, oh fuck oh fuck –”

I snarled deep in my throat and positioned Foster's hole just at the tip of my cock, the faint, warning ache in my calves miniscule beside the overpowering need to plunge up into Foster's warm, wriggling body. Then I gripped Foster firmly and pulled him down.

I hissed and held Foster's mouth shut – oh, so grudgingly – and the heat of fuckfosterfleshbloodfoster gripped me. Foster managed something very close to a scream anyway, so I shifted the pressure to his vocal cords, viciously holding us still as I began to pump in and out of Foster as deeply as the position and the space would allow. Foster shuddered, his breathing fast and irregular, catching and heaving in substitute for his usual vocal reactions.

I kept pushing into Foster's body, the tight clench that no amount of fucking ever loosened smoothed by the cheap sliminess of the soap, making the motion slippery and as easy as it would ever be, and that in and of itself felt almost as wanton as pounding into Foster in a restroom at cruising altitude with that cute, curvy stewardess no doubt only feet away. 

I growled at the thought slammed into Foster harder than ever, using all my strength to grind us together as deeply as humanly possible. Foster's breath huffed against my ear, unable to voice his pleasure, but his hands scrabbling across my shirt, flicking open my buttons to clutch at my chest and rub his palms into my nipples beneath the fabric made the sentiment blessedly clear.

When Foster spasmed uncontrollably against me, limbs flailing, I grinned wolfishly and rammed into Foster at just that angle again. Foster shook and squeezed around me, heels kicking half-involuntarily at my backside. I found the spot I'd bitten before – now as flawless as ever – and renewed the dark ring of teeth marks, groaning as I fucked Foster faster, moaning at the feel of Foster's blood throbbing, racing, under my skin.

“Don’t come,” I whispered after my third try at speech, my hips still pistoning, oh god, faster, and Foster squirmed in protest, rubbing against me and around me and stimulating my now breakneck pace all the more.

“Don’t. Dare. Come!” Foster bit his lip bloody as I slammed into him, muffling my howls in the soft meat between Foster's neck and shoulder. 

I shuddered, my legs trembling as Foster gasped desperately, otherwise unable to complain. I pried Foster's legs apart while keeping him pinned to the door. I slid my hands under Foster's hamstrings as I awkwardly got to my knees, banging my legs twice in the cramped space. Finally, managed to shuffle into a kneeling position, and I kept Foster braced halfway up the door and settled Foster's thighs on my shoulders, swallowed the head of Foster's cock, and sucked. Foster convulsed, orgasm wracking though him as I kept his hips firmly back, swallowing hot, salty jets and mourning the lack of Foster's usual scream. 

Still, we were in sort-of public, and the courtesies had to be respected.

I sat back on my haunches and gave Foster a few more licks to ensure he was clean. I unhooked Foster's trembling legs from my shoulders, and set his feet on the floor. I snatched a wad of toilet paper from the roll and wiped as much of the soap from Foster's backside as I could get at and attempted to pull my boxers and pants back on. 

The first objective proved simple enough; the second, however, resulted in a banged elbow, seven muttered curses, a half-fall against the bathroom wall, and left me somewhat stymied. Foster moved into a corner, giving me enough room to repeat the maneuver more successfully. I handed him his now wrinkled pants, bit his thigh for good measure, and sauntered out of the stall with a wide, satisfied smirk.