When Chris boarded the airplane, a Boeing 737, it was nearly deserted. The red-eye on a Thursday night from Washington D.C. to Denver obviously wasn't very popular. He felt lucky the flight was even scheduled. The call to FBI Headquarters had been an unexpected one. Assistant Director Orin Travis was already at Quantico and needed Chris for backup; unfortunately, it hadn't been the kind of backup he preferred, the kind involving firearms. He'd hopped a plane Monday, right after work. He hadn't even had time to drive out to the ranch and pack. Thank goodness Vin Tanner was similar enough in height and weight; the agent had loaned him a pair of pants, three shirts, and a duffle bag, which Chris now stowed in the overhead compartment above his row.

He'd bought the bare necessities — toothpaste, toothbrush, disposable razor, shaving cream, shampoo, and soap — at a QuikMart on the way to Quantico. It wasn't exactly roughing it — he'd made do with less on weekend trail rides with Vin — but that didn't mean he wasn't looking forward to the comfortable luxuries of home.

Even as lithe as he was, Chris found squirming into his seat by the window rather awkward, and managed the task only by pushing both center armrests up out of the way. But, once settled, he dug out the two parts of the seatbelt and strap himself in. Then he waited.

Several long minutes passed before the flight attendant — a pleasant enough looking woman, but a good ten years older than any of the models gracing the television commercials for this same airline — came by, checking that the doors of the overhead bins were shut properly. She glanced down at Chris and smiled.

"Would you like a pillow? Or a blanket, sir?"

He nodded. Might was well. It was nearing midnight now, and, with any luck, he'd get at least a little shut-eye before they touched down in Denver. The stewardess passed him the two items, and then continued on down the aisle. Chris watched her go until it required actually turning in his seat, and then he shifted his eyes forward. There was one other attendant, another woman, about the same age except blonde instead of brunette. She was the one who'd checked his ticket on the way in, and she was still waiting by the open door. Then, the lights in the cabin flickered and Chris felt the engine vibration change; they would be securing the plane for take-off soon.

He continued to watch the doorway.

Suddenly, a flurry of carry-on baggage was thrust into the entryway, followed by a dark-haired gentleman in an elegantly tailored suit. "Sir, you are only allowed two carry-on items!" the attendant protested, but the man just smiled charmingly.

"My dear, dear lady. I have only two," the late arrival drawled. "You see, this one — this garment bag — I was told by the very helpful young man at the check-in counter that you would kindly store it for me, so that its contents are not wrinkled during the flight. I do hope that's not an inconvenience."

It wasn't a question, but the attendant still treated it as one. "Oh, no, sir. I can take that from you right now. Don't worry one bit." She took the garment bag from him and he smiled brightly again. She smiled in response, and then moved momentarily out of Chris's line of sight. Stepping back into view, he heard her ask, "May I see your ticket, sir?"

The southerner handed her the envelope of paperwork and she glanced at it. "Ah, Mr. Standish. Seat 14C, right on the aisle. Here, allow me to help you with one of your bags."

"Thank you kindly, my good woman, but I assure you that I have everything well in hand, literally." He grinned again and the woman laughed at his wordplay. When he turned, Chris raised an eyebrow; the man brushed passed the woman so casually, yet in doing so, he'd made enough bodily contact that the attendant blushed. The move couldn't have been unintentional, Chris decided. Ezra was as bad as Buck — maybe worse, since the southerner was far subtler.

When Ezra reached his row, he dropped his briefcase onto the seat, and then proceeded to pop open the overhead compartment and carefully slip his travel bag into the confined space. He picked up his briefcase again before easing himself into the small coach-class seat. He stowed the leather case under the seat in front of him, and then began fishing around for the pieces of his seatbelt.

The brunette attendant who'd greeted him at the door came over and helped him, fastening the buckle and then indicating with a gentle tug on the strap and a smile that he should finish tightening the belt himself.

"You are very kind," he said, and then turned to watch her walk off down the aisle. A few moments later he settled back into his seat with a small sigh, then glanced to his right, across the row and out the far window. There was no one seated there to block his view, but there was also nothing to see except the terminal building. Ezra then glanced to his left.

"Chris!"

"Hey." Chris nodded, doing his best not to laugh at Ezra's surprise.

"W-what are you doin' here? Why, why aren't you in Denver?"

"Travis called me out here on Monday — I left straight from work. I take it you haven't check in at the office since your arrival on Sunday," he admonished, though Ezra had been in D.C. for an authorized training seminar and they both knew it wasn't mandatory for him to have checked in. Still, it rather surprised Chris. He'd thought Ezra had become more of a team player, that he'd want to know what had been happening in his absence, even if it had only been four days.

"I knew someone would have called if anything important came up. Plus, the seminar kept me rather occupied." Ezra's tone suddenly seemed a little cold and Chris wasn't sure why until he asked, "Why didn't you tell me you were here?"

"I planned to. But, Travis and all the suits kept me pretty busy. Business breakfasts, lunches, and dinners, with meetings in-between. It's been an exhausting three days, let me tell you."

"I wish you would have." That coldness was still there and Chris almost shivered.

"Sorry, Ezra. But, I managed to swing this flight home." Managed being the operative word. First he'd had to find out what flight Ezra was on, then he'd had to convince Travis that his presence wasn't desperately needed at any of the Friday meetings, and, finally, he'd had to switch his flight, paying the penalty fee out of his own pocket in order to do so. "Pretty lucky, huh?"

Ezra smiled wanly, the chill fading a bit as he settled into his seat once more.

Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all, Chris told himself. He allowed his gaze to travel outside the window as the plane began to back away from the terminal. Moments later, he dutifully pulled the safety card from the seat pocket and followed along as the blonde attendant who'd given him the blanket pantomimed the co-pilot's narrative.

Then he tucked the card away, and stuffed the pillow between his head and the window. If Ezra wasn't happy to see him, if he didn't appreciate the company, then Chris would make it a short flight with a long nap — one he'd been desperate for since his first overly-long day of meetings at Quantico.

He closed his eyes, longing for sleep, but still willing to trade it for a bit of conversation from his undercover agent. That had been the point, of going to all the trouble of changing flights, to talk with the man who'd been in the same building with him all week, but whom he hadn't caught sight of even once.

Chris heard the sudden enveloping roar of the engine and felt his body pressing back into the seat as the plane's nose rose sharply into the air. Normally, the sensations thrilled him. In another life, another universe, maybe he would have been a pilot; he'd been told he had the right mentality for it — both the intelligence and the confidence — some might say, the arrogance. But tonight, he rather wished he was still on the ground.

He opened his eyes long enough to watch the lights of the airport and the nation's capitol fade as the plane climbed over the water of the Potomac.

As they leveled out, the co-pilot sounded over the speakers again. He was dimming the lights in the cabin and requesting that everyone remain buckled in while seated even though he was going to be turning off the seatbelt sign soon. Chris closed his eyes again, trying to ignore him. He didn't plan to get out of his seat anyway until they landed in Denver.

He realized he was dreaming as the odd images of being on a bed, surrounded by shark-infested waters, inside his hotel room, began fading from his mind. The vaguely sharp sensation of shark bites on his legs was replaced with a different sort of pain: a dull ache, a throbbing. He shifted slightly, but found his movements restricted.

Lifting his head from the indented pillow, he forced his eyes open. The plane. Flying back to Denver. It was all slowly coming into focus. Ezra, seated beside him. Right beside him, his thigh pressed firmly against Chris's. He would have thought the southerner asleep as well, if he hadn't felt Ezra's hand on his dick, slowly stroking the firm flesh.

Chris squirmed enough to turn his head, shifting his hips slightly, and thrusting up into Ezra's hand in the process. Ezra was smiling at him.

"This business trip of yours really was unexpected," he said in a low voice, though there wasn't anyone in any row near enough to them to have overheard.

"Why do you say that?"

"I find the lack of underwear a rather significant clue." Ezra's smile turned into a leer and Chris couldn't help smiling back.

"Well, I was willing to borrow clothes from Vin, but I stopped at borrowing his underwear."

"Please tell me you have not been going commando in Mr. Tanner's pants," Ezra insisted, his hand stilling beneath the blanket.

He shook his head. "Nope. These are mine."

"Thank goodness. Now I don't feel nearly as bad doing this." Ezra grinned again as he resumed his expert stroking of Chris's hard penis.

The senior ATF agent bit his lip. He didn't know what Ezra was talking about; this didn't feel bad at all. Not in the slightest. A shiver raced over his body as his companion's other hand slipped beneath his shirt; he felt a finger blazing trails over the skin of his stomach, inching higher and higher, until he grazed the mogul of a nipple.

Chris gasped, only to have Ezra lean in and whisper, "Shh. Someone might hear you." The voice was light and it tickled his ear. He could tell his friend wasn't worried about being caught. He'd clearly assessed their surroundings before beginning, as any exceptional agent would have. He undoubtedly knew precisely where each of the crewmembers and other passengers were, and what they were doing.

He relaxed again, leaving Ezra's deft fingers in complete control. He felt a quick, sharp pinch of his nipple, and, much lower, fingertips brushing over the thick skin of his scrotum — his balls contracted as if sparked by electricity. He could feel himself growing harder and knew he was close to shattering. With one hand, Chris clenched at the armrest beneath the window, and with the other he grabbed Ezra's thigh, pulling it firmly against his own.

God, he wanted to kiss Ezra so badly his lips ached from the need. Chris pursed them firmly together, but the relief was minimal and fleeting. He wanted to taste the man who was sending him into orbit, high above middle America; he wanted to tangle their tongues together; he wanted to feel this man, all of him, pressed against him in the sweat of passion. If only they weren't on this damn airplane. If only they'd managed time on the ground back in D.C....

Chris gasped again, and then released a long ragged sigh. Just another ... moment ... stroke ... touch.... Ezra pulled up the length of Chris's cock, and then swirled his thumb over the head, causing Chris to thrust his hips again and again as his hot seed spilled onto his stomach and coated Ezra's hand.

He wanted to scream with the release — it had been so long — but he bit down hard on his lower lip, knowing he had to contain the emotion, to swallow it. They couldn't be caught doing this. No one could know.

When Chris tasted blood, he forced himself to breathe again. Ezra was still stroking him, though very slowly, even though he was beginning to soften in the man's hand. He looked over and found the southerner smiling at him again — though there was no laughter this time, no lust. There was only the satisfaction of having pleased someone else. It was a rare expression on Ezra's face and Chris cherished it, knowing that, at the moment, it was directed solely at him.

Too soon, Ezra slipped his hand from beneath the blanket. Chris suddenly felt exposed, and a little embarrassed, so he moved his hand to do up his pants. Ezra took the opportunity to bring his hand up to Chris's face, to trace the cut on his lower lip; Chris could taste the semen on the man's finger, his semen, which Ezra had coaxed from his body. He smiled as he sucked the digit into his mouth.

Ezra pulled away at the unexpected action. His lips still displayed a smile, but a frown was now wrinkling his brow, as if he didn't quite understand what had just happened. What it all meant — either to Chris or to himself.

"I, ah, I-I'm just going to get washed up...."

But Ezra hesitated for a moment as their eyes locked, and Chris held his gaze while Ezra fumbled awkwardly with his seatbelt. Once it was undone, he watched as Ezra pushed himself from the seat and then headed down the aisle, toward the back of the plane. It wasn't difficult to deduce from the direction Ezra had chosen that the two flight attendants must be somewhere up front, perhaps in the first class section.

It was then that a slow, wide grin spread across Chris's face. He, too, needed to get cleaned up. After all, they were probably still quite a ways from Denver, and he didn't want to spend the time feeling sticky.

He pushed the blanket from his now overly warm body, and undid the seatbelt. He shed his jacket, and then checked up and down the plane. The few other passengers appeared asleep. The curtain was drawn between the coach and first class sections and there still wasn't a single stewardess in sight. He eased himself over the three seats, and then slipped quietly into the aisle.

He made his way back, tracing Ezra's steps, stopping outside the lavatory that displayed a small, red placard — "occupied" — indicating that the door was locked. Chris waited.

Soon, the latch was thrown back and Ezra pulled the door open. He was as surprised to see Chris standing there as he had been to find him on the airplane in the first place. Chris didn't give him a change to ask what he was doing there; he merely stepped forward, pushing Ezra back into the stall.

There was barely enough room for one adult of average size in the small compartment, let alone two full-grown men. Ezra backed into the toilet and sat down rather ungracefully on the closed lid as Chris continued forward, managing to squeeze the door closed behind him. Then he stared down at his companion.

Ezra was about to speak, but Chris put a finger to his lips, silencing him. There was a lot of wind and engine noise at the back of the plane and it seemed even louder inside the confined space, but even talking was too big of a risk for what they were doing.

Chris pulled Ezra to his feet and the only place the man could go was into his arm, their bodies flush against each other. He was finally able to pressed his lips to Ezra's and the taste was heady. Chris's one hand slid up behind Ezra to clasp the back of his head, while the other slid down to clench at his tight buttocks. Every inch of him was like Heaven, and each moment within the embrace only made Chris long for more. Still, he'd give it all up, in a heartbeat, for the mere promise of having this man all to himself on top of a luxurious king-sized bed.

But there was no bed; there was only the three by two by six-foot space in which they stood. Chris shuffled his feet, trying not to step on Ezra's toes in the process, and slowly maneuvered himself around, until Ezra was the one with his back to the door and Chris was the one with his calves pressed against the shelf housing the toilet seat.

He allowed himself another moment kissing Ezra, until his head threatened to start spinning, and then he broke away by simply sitting down. Ezra seemed a bit dazed by the encounter himself and did nothing as Chris reached for his belt, undoing the leather from the buckle, and then working open the button and zipper of his fly.

Ezra was wearing underwear: black, silk boxers. Chris quirked a grin — even for a simple ATF seminar, the man refused to dress down — and he had to wonder if Ezra even owned a pair of white cotton briefs. But, at the moment, he didn't really care as he nudged the pants down Ezra's thighs. Then, he slipped his hand through the front slit of the boxers and grasped Ezra's dick. It was hard already, and hot to the touch. Chris wondered if he'd been this hard the entire time, if his own erection was what had prompted him to wake Chris in the first place.

He began to stroke over the length, as smooth to his touch as the silk of the boxers, and then, with his other hand, he reached in and pulled it free. Chris leaned forward the few inches that separated them and took the hard cock into his mouth; he heard as well as felt the ragged sigh that immediately shook Ezra's body. He slipped his hand lower, down Ezra's thigh and then up inside the leg of the boxers, searching for his balls. His fingers quickly made contact and Ezra shivered again.

As he sucked on Ezra's dick, he kneaded his sac; it was warm and heavy, and seemed to fit just perfectly in the palm of Chris's hand. He pulled his head back, drawing his tongue along the length of Ezra's penis, and then swirling it around the tip. He teased the slit, then caressed the corona and frenum, and suckled as if the glans was actually a nipple. Ezra clutched at his shoulders for support and Chris could feel the trembling in the man's knees. He wished there was some place for him to lie down, even to sit, but this wouldn't work if their positions were reversed — the space was too confined.

He braced Ezra as best he could with his own legs and pressed on, drawing in his length again: sucking, licking, teasing.... He withdrew his hand from the boxers, allowing Ezra's balls to dangle free for a moment while he wetted his fingers. Inside the silk boxers again, he moved his hand back, stroking over the smooth perineum, pressing upward as he toyed with Ezra's glans.

Ezra was hard, but he'd grown even harder inside Chris's mouth. He wouldn't last much longer, Chris knew, which was a good thing, since they didn't have much time. Embarrassment would be far from the worst of it if two male ATF agents were caught trysting in an airplane lavatory.

He moved his hand further back, stroking over the pucker of skin between Ezra's cheeks. He pressed upward, forcing his finger inside. Ezra bucked forward, thrusting his dick sharply into Chris's mouth, but Chris had expected the reaction and easily took him deep. As he moved his finger up into Ezra's body, the man pushed again into his mouth, and, soon, they were thrusting in time with each other.

Chris moved the hand that had been encircling the base of Ezra's penis around to grab his ass cheek. He squeezed the rounded flesh as Ezra thrust his dick forward and Chris thrust his finger upward. Then he continued to hold on, guiding Ezra, regulating the cadence. Inside Ezra's body, Chris was still searching for the prostate gland — Ezra's stance made the angle awkward, and there was no way to improve it. But Chris kept searching, kept moving his finger upward, swirling it around.

When Ezra let out a low moan, Chris knew he'd finally found the spot. As he continued to stroke over the gland, Ezra's moan sunk into a ragged whimper. Then he was clinging desperately to Chris, thrusting quickly forward, deep and sharp, again and again. Chris held tight to Ezra's ass with one hand, while supporting him from underneath with the other, as the man pumped salty jizz down Chris's throat. Chris drank in his essence, feeling the warmth slide down his throat and fill his stomach.

Ezra's knees were trembling between Chris's clenched thighs, and he did his best to keep Ezra upright long enough for him to recover; the undercover agent was in excellent shape and it didn't take him long.

"My word," the southerner breathed as he stepped just inches back from Chris and leaned against the door while he did up his trousers.

Chris was able to stand and had just enough room to lean in and quickly wash his hands and face. Then he pulled Ezra close again and kissed him. It was slow and lingering this time, their lips brushing against each other, the tips of their tongues gently caressing. Then Chris sat down and allowed Ezra to turn around. The younger agent eased open the door and checked outside.

When he stepped out, Chris knew all was still quiet and there must be no flight attendants in sight. He waited a full minute before following Ezra out and back up the aisle. Ezra had taken his seat, but when Chris arrived he stood, stepping out into the aisle, to allow Chris to slide in next to the window.

But, before Chris took another step, the small light on the console above each seat dinged on and the brunette flight attendant stepped through the curtain.

"Gentlemen, is everything all right?" she asked in a hushed voice.

Ezra was about to speak, but Chris cut him off. "Fine. Just a quick bathroom break."

She smiled politely and watched as Chris maneuvered into his seat. "If you both wouldn't mind fastening your seatbelts? We're starting our approach."

"Thank you, dear lady," Ezra said to her as he sat down. Chris could see his beaming smile and didn't fail to note the atypical honeyed-quality of his accent — what better way to charm the ladies, and avert any suspicions about what they'd just done?

Chris settled the blanket over his lap again, and, as soon as the stewardess was gone, Ezra casually slid his hand beneath. He found Chris's hand and intertwined their fingers. Then he leaned ever so slightly over and asked in a low, breathy voice, "So, does this now make us members of the Mile High Club?"

Chris shook is head, only to see disappointment on his partner's face. "We already were." But when a frown marred Ezra's fine features, Chris just grinned and squeezed his hand. Then he explained: "We live in Denver, remember? The Mile High City."

The End