You Know Where To Find Me

by a campbell

Michael Rosenbaum/Tom Welling NC-17

Thanks to voldything and fajrdrako for the beta assistance.

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Tom dozed off, sated and content, as soon as he and Mike boarded the plane and settled into their seats. When he awoke, the in-flight movie was playing to the half-empty cabin and Mike was asleep, too. Out like a light, no doubt, because of whatever it was he’d probably popped too much of when still on the ground to calm himself down for the flight.

Mike, such a goofball, but yet he’d thought to cover Tom with one of the cheap airline blankets and tuck it around him as he slept. In spite of himself, Tom smiled as he dragged himself up to a sitting position and brushed slumber-damp locks from his brow. Good thing there was no one to see the tell-tale blood that crept up his neck and warmed his cheeks as he gazed down at his companion. Mike’s mouth was open a little, his t-shirted chest rising, falling lightly, the Dr. Hook logo going up and down with his soft, regular breaths.

Thank God Mike couldn’t see him blush; he’d be sure to make some snide remark, and luckily the plane was nearly empty. Tom was in the window seat, Mike on the aisle, and they had an entire row to themselves near the back of the plane.

Mike had mentioned something about the "mile-high club" when he, Tom, was coming down from that incredible orgasm in the terminal restroom. Consequently, he’d only paid attention with the 10% of his brain he had left. Not that he’d ever want to do it in an airplane john. He had a thing about enclosed spaces, and never even went near an airplane john if he could help it. He just held it.

No way had he intended what had happened back there--down there--to happen. And he sure as hell couldn’t let it happen again.

He’d never gone down on a guy before, sucked a guy’s cock, or had a guy suck him. Sure, he knew all about how it was done, from conversations overheard during the modeling years, from porn he’d stumbled across on the internet and in magazines at friends’ houses. Not to mention being sucked himself, by dates, by Jamie, and most recently by Mike, who, he had to admit with a blush, had been the best. Figures another guy would know better what to do, how to apply pressure, suction and attention to all the most crucial areas.

Tom swallowed hard, cleared his throat, and tapped nervous fingers on the armrest, trying desperately to divert his thoughts.

Michael stirred at the sound and gave a cute little sleepy snort but didn’t wake up. Tom slowed his fingers and continued to study him undisturbed, a task nearly impossible when Mike was awake. Mike was always in motion like a spinning top, constantly chattering, never still. Such a pain in the butt, yet so much fun. Nothing like cool, calm, lethal Lex, to the surprise and disappointment of many of their female fans

But Tom couldn’t help finding him fascinating in either guise. Had he just been joking around down there, just trying to shock? If so, he’d taken it farther than he should have. And Tom had just let it happen.

And, damn, he was getting hard again. He shouldn’t even be thinking about this. It wasn’t as though he was starved for sex, for Christ’s sake. He had a beautiful wife from whom he allowed himself to be separated from only infrequently, who loved him as he loved her. He was content in his marriage, satisfied in bed, and able to occupy himself with other thoughts on regular days. Unlike Mike, who, despite dates every night of any given week, was always on the prowl, horny all the time no matter what. Mike, who thought nothing of making passes at everything that moved: girls, guys, probably even dogs…

He wondered just how much experience Mike had had sucking cock. Quite a bit, judging from their recent encounter, not to mention that sly remark about Jen and Jared. A surprise for Tom, who, even though he’d noted the charisma between Mike and everyone he met, male or female, had thought him straight as an arrow till this afternoon.

Tom sighed and stretched long limbs as best he could in the cramped seat, aiming an irritated brush at his crotch as his body remembered, trying and failing to will his erection to subside.

So what was he doing still obsessing over what had happened back there in the Vancouver International Airport as he and Mike waited for the boarding announcement for the L.A. flight. Why in heck had he let it happen, anyway? Why hadn’t he shoved Mike away, smacked him, or at least given him a stern glare and talking to. He definitely shouldn’t have just stood there staring, then gasping and groaning, while Mike pushed him back against the wall, yanked down his slacks, and sucked him off.

He must be as whacked as Mike. But, damn, it had been good.

**

"Hey," Mike’s eyes opened slowly and focused on Tom, bow-like, scarred lips curving into a smile. "You shouldn’t have let me sleep, dammit."

Tom shrugged. "Why not? I was asleep already, and what else is there to do?" All there was to read was the catalog of expensive, impractical duty-free goods and the emergency oxygen-mask instructions.

"You tell me," said Mike, who was one of those lucky people who could lift one eyebrow for emphasis. He yawned noisily, then spread his slim legs, and Tom could see pale skin through the worn knees of his once-blue jeans.

"Um," Tom brushed his upper lip with the side of his hand and looked away, suddenly, unaccountably shy. He swallowed, his throat dry from sleep, and waved at the steward down the aisle. "Can I get a Coke, please?"

"Make that two," Mike called after the man before turning back to Tom. "So...what’s up?" He aimed a pointed glance down at Tom’s crotch, and Tom cursed the blanket for having slipped from his lap and onto the floor.

Tom shifted in his seat with a frown. "Not that," he insisted, leveling an earnest gaze at his traveling companion.

"Too bad." Mike obviously knew he was lying, and, with a cool grin, settled back. He placed both palms together, gazed up at the ceiling with an exaggerated twiddle of his thumbs, and sighed. "So, can you believe what Al and Miles are doing to Clark and Lex now? If they’d just pay more attention to the fans."

"I don’t know." Tom knew he shouldn’t say it, but he did. "Sometimes those fans can cause a lot of trouble." So far, there hadn’t been that many threats to his life or kidnap-torture attempts on Jamie. He trusted Mike to pick up on the reference, and he did.

Michael’s brow furrowed. "That’s what you saw it as, huh? Trouble?"

Tom grinned uneasily and shook his head. "Not really. I just—"

Mike shook his head with a quiet chuckle. "Tommy, sometimes you’re so innocent, you crack me up. Anyone would think you’re straight off the farm, just like Clark Kent."

Tom pulled his hand back and ran it through his mussed hair with a heavy sigh, feeling a bizarre yet keen pang of envy for Clark Kent, who was probably a lot more accustomed to having Lex go down on him and whose reaction was no doubt a lot less complex. "Mike, listen."

"Don’t worry, Tommy. Despite what happened back there, I won’t be pestering you for sex every time you take a breath. I’ll leave you alone and unmolested. For the most part." He laughed, then sobered. "No, don’t worry. You’re safe." Michael leaned nearer and whispered close to his ear. "As safe as you want to be."

Tom couldn’t suppress the tremble of desire that Mike’s words elicited. Mike had the sexiest voice. His breath was cool, yet warm.

Tom wasn’t sure he wanted to know just what was happening, here. He should tell Mike to knock it off, that this was bad news for both of them. But instead, he just sat back in his seat and swallowed hard. Mike dived for the blanket again as the steward approached, and grinned up as the man flipped open first one, then the second can of Coke and set them on the pull-down trays before them along with flimsy, plastic glasses filled with ice. Once the complimentary pouches of dry-roasted peanuts were in place, he was gone.

Mike sipped and swallowed, and sat back with an exaggerated "Ahhh..." of satisfaction. "Damned if that wasn’t a close one."

Tom, his own drink untouched, turned and looked out the window, down through wispy threads of springtime clouds to the pine-studded hills below.

He wasn’t sure how safe he wanted to be.

**

Michael evidently thought that time was wasting; after all, L.A. was getting closer by the minute. He grabbed his bag of peanuts and shoved it into his jeans pocket, then reached over and took Tom’s hand again. Tom started and turned from the window to stare at him. Mike narrowed his eyes and gazed back with a smug, small grin.

"What?" he demanded, mock-serious. He turned Tom’s hand over, stared at it for a second, and bent casually to place a kiss on the open palm. Tom’s stomach flipped, and he felt his eyes go round as his mouth fell open. Then Mike licked the same spot he had kissed, and laughed when Tom jerked and hissed.

“Stop it, Mike, for chrissakes! This isn’t funny any more.” The damn blanket had been kicked half-under the seat, and there was nothing to conceal the fact that the cold, wet touch of Mike’s ice-chilled tongue had made him instantly rock hard again.

Mike noticed, of course, and burst out laughing, spewing Coke from his nose.

"Shut up!" Tom commanded in a whisper, giving him a shove on the arm that was a bit harder than he intended.

He winced at Mike’s exaggerated "Ow!" and passed him a paper napkin to compensate.

Mike cleaned up and settled back in his seat, chuckling again. "Damn it, Tom. Sometimes I’m glad you’re not really super!"

Tom smiled and glanced away, then back. "I’m--"

Before Tom could finish the sentence, Mike flipped up the armrest between their seats. He reached out, grasped Tom’s hand, and laid it on his own crotch. Startled, Tom’s lips fell open as Mike shifted at the touch and the fabric swelled and rose to meet his hand.

Mike smiled. "Yeah..." he breathed. His fingers brushed Tom’s mouth, and Tom stared.

He tried to summon his powers of resistance, to think of Jamie, his good life, his other family and friends, everything he had to be thankful for, everything he might risk if he did this again, but he couldn’t. Instead, he let all thoughts ebb from his mind, and just focused on feeling instead. And wanting. Wanting to see Mike’s eyes drop shut, his face contort in ecstasy before too much more time passed. Yearning to make him feel as good, or better, as he’d made Tom feel a couple of hours ago. Right now that seemed to matter more than anything else. Too seductive an opportunity to pass up, whatever else might be at risk. He had to have it again.

He licked his lips and leaned closer. He stroked.

"God," Mike shifted in his seat, as though he’d been waiting forever for Tom to do just that. "God," he moaned in the sexiest whisper Tom had ever heard. "Touch me, Tom. Just touch me. Harder." He covered Tom’s hand with his own, pressed down, and moved their hands in a circle until Tom picked up the motion on his own.

Fortunately, all the staff were up in the cabin or the kitchen. There was no one to see Tom lean over for a kiss. His senses spun as he tasted Mike’s ice-cooled mouth and tongue, as Mike grabbed the front of his cotton shirt to pull him closer.

Tom caressed, earning a gasp and a stream of muffled curse words from Mike as he leaned closer to bury his face in the soft skin just above the collar of Mike’s t-shirt and bestow a light nip.

He leaned down, grabbed the blanket, and yanked it up over them both, just in case. Tensely, he glanced around and up over the rows of seats. Still no one.

He sank back down, looked at Mike, whose chest was rising, falling with quick breaths. Tom felt his gaze darken. Mike, quiet for once, waited. There was something so beyond silly and sexy at the same time about them both hiding under the cheap airline blanket this way, feeling each other up, hoping no one would see. Like a couple of mischievous kids, though there was nothing childlike about what was going on.

Tom leaned in and blew warm breath on Mike’s cheek and ear. "Give it to me, Mike. Come on."

"Oh, what the hell," Mike swore under his breath and yanked his zipper down. "Damn pants are in the way." Grabbing Tom’s hand again, he folded Tom’s fingers around his cock, lowered his eyelids and leaned back with a moan. "Do me."

Tom leaned closer, savored the sensation of Mike’s bare skin, the strength and thickness of his cock, finally in his hands. Mike gasped as he tightened his grip. And something about not being able to see and only feel what was going on under the blanket made it hotter yet. He licked, then kissed Mike’s neck with open lips, pumped faster and harder until Mike’s cock stiffened and warm fluid spilled over both their fingers.

"God," Mike groaned one last time, and sank back in the seat as his body relaxed. Tom exhaled, then drew a deep breath, wired so tightly that he thought he might come himself any minute.

"Good afternoon." The pilot’s voice issued from the intercom. "We are now beginning our descent to Los Angeles, where the weather is a comfortable 72 degrees. We’ll be on the ground in about ten minutes."

Mike opened his eyes and turned back to Tom as his breathing slowed. "Time’s a-wasting, Tommy. Your turn, now." Mikes’ hand slipped under the blanket, one finger tracing Tom’s hard cock through his pants, then fumbling with the button of his fly.

Tom just swallowed hard and shifted in his seat to give Mike better access to the zipper.

Mike did him faster because of the time crunch, spread half across his chest, whispering a steamy current of dirty words into the collar of Tom’s shirt. His hand, more skilled, less hesitant than Tom’s, pumped with confidence, thumb straying up regularly to tease and circle the head of Tom’s cock. Tom lifted one shaking hand to caress his fresh-shaved scalp as he began thrusting into Mike’s palm in earnest, yet gently, so as not to rock the seat enough to attract attention.

It took even less time than it had in the rest room for Tom to come. Even in his distraction, he tried to aim away from his open pants when it hit, cock pulsing and spurting. The blanket took most of it.

When he came back to himself, the plane was speeding down the runway, air whooshing outside the windows. Mike was gathering their stuff together, and the final message was broadcasting through the cabin. “Welcome to LAX. We hope you had a pleasant flight and will include Alaska Airlines in your future travel plans.”

Mike looked down at Tom, raising that eyebrow once again. "How 'bout it, Tom? You have a pleasant flight?"

Tom gave an exasperated sigh and shook his head in mock disgust. “We’re probably going to get arrested for this, man. I’ll bet they radioed ahead and have the whole Los Angeles police force waiting to take us away as soon as we get inside the terminal."

"Why? No one saw." Mike sat back down, handing Tom his carry-on bag.

"We'll get canned from the show--I can read the tabloid headlines, now"

"Tom, chill. Everything's okay."

"What about when they find this?" He aimed an accusing nod at the blanket.

Mike shrugged. “Who cares? We’ll be long gone.”

"Maybe we should take it with us."

"We couldn’t sneak it off the plane. It’ll be pretty embarrassing when they stop us, grab it out of our hands and find spunk all over it. Better just to stuff it in the corner of the seat by the window and bolt."

Tom stared at Mike and they both burst into laughter they quickly tried to smother. After a moment, Tom sobered.

“Mike, listen—" he began.

Michael interrupted before Tom could finish the sentence. "It was nothing, Tommy, don’t mention it. What’s a little blow job, or two, between friends? Or hand job, for that matter? This isn’t a big deal. We’ll keep working together just like we always have. You and Jamie’ll stay in love, and married, and have a bunch of kids. But once in awhile, when we both need some down time, we’ll have each other."

"Down time," Tom grumbled. "You’re hilarious, man." He was still convinced this was all a bad idea, as convinced as he was that it would happen again. And again. And that he couldn’t wait until it did.

Tom’s cell phone jingled, and he pulled it from his pocket and flipped open the cover. He smiled as he read Jamie’s text message: she was parked outside the terminal in the loading zone. Mike picked up his travel bag and got to his feet, pressing a crumpled piece of paper into Tom’s hand. “Catch you later, man.” He took off down the aisle, shouldering his bag.

Tom just sat for a few minutes, until he realized the plane staff must want to lock up and get going. He reached for his own bag from the overhead compartment and paused long enough to unfold the scrap of paper. Mike’s new telephone number, and a note.

You know where to find me.

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Feedback is welcome at amoss53@yahoo.com

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