Men of London 06 - Flying Solo (3 page)

Gibson muttered in irritation. “I wish that kid would shut up. My damn ears are bleeding.”

He ignored the look of outrage levelled by the old dowager sitting beside him and went back to his custom-designed supercharged laptop. He was working on the latest version of
Camp Queen
, a game he hoped would be another best-seller for him. Gibson was currently trying to mould the character of his sexy, wisecracking diva-assassin Phoenix Astor into something the fans would like.

There was a tap on his shoulder and he looked up in irritation. Alluring chestnut eyes framed with long lashes met his and for the first time since Gibson had boarded the plane, there was a stir of interest in his journey. The attendant looking back at him ticked all his boxes. Taller than Gibson’s five-foot-four, Mr Yummy had broad shoulders and thick, coiffed rich chestnut hair swept back behind what Gibson thought were cute ears. The man sported a well-trimmed goatee framed around generous lips made for kissing or blowjobs. Gibson could
so
see them wrapped around his cock. His groin appreciated that thought too and he was glad he had his food tray down.

“Nice,” he murmured.

The attendant blinked. His mouth moved and Gibson removed the earphones. “What? Sorry, didn’t hear you. Mega music mix going down here.”

He was flashed a wide grin. “Not a problem, sir. I asked if you wanted anything to eat.” His voice was deep and well modulated. Gibson thought the guy would make a fortune on chat sex lines with the soft accent. He’d pay to listen to it.

Gibson nodded. “Are you on the menu?” Over the years, he’d been told he had no sense of decorum by friends who refused to go out with him to public places.

Luckily the guy can’t clock me one here in the middle of the plane if the gaydar is off.

The attendant gave a wolfish smile. “Not today, sir. I have sandwiches or croissants though, whichever takes your fancy.” One eyebrow rose in question and Gibson’s jeans grew even tighter.

Fuck, this guy is cute. I’m pretty sure he’s one of us too.

“Nah, I fancy something a little meatier. Something I can get my mouth around, you know?” He was pleased to see his words made the attendant swallow and close his eyes in what looked a short-lived rush of lust. The woman next to him gave a gasp of
whatever
.

Gibson grinned up at the attendant. He’d got this guy’s measure. Gibson knew his slight frame, elfin face, spiky mid-length platinum hair currently streaked with red, and wire-rimmed glasses perched on his nose ticked boxes for men who liked his look. He cast his eyes down towards the man’s groin and smiled. Yep, this guy was definitely one of them.

Gibson peered at the name badge on the man’s lapel. “Maxwell, my man, I’m not hungry for food. I’ll have an orange juice, though, if you’ve got one.” He rummaged in his man bag and pulled out a few one-pound coins.

Maxwell nodded and selected a bottle of Tropicana from his cart. He handed it over to Gibson with a plastic cup. “Two pounds please, sir.”

“That’s what you guys charge for a tiny bottle like that? That’s scandalous.”

Maxwell shrugged his shoulders in apology and accepted Gibson’s money. Their hands touched and a shock ran through Gibson.

Crap. This is such a short flight. I’m sure if was longer I’d convince him to meet me in the toilet. Maybe next time….

“Thank you. Enjoy your flight, sir. We hope to see you again soon.”

“I’m sure you will,” Gibson murmured. “I’ll be travelling quite a bit on this airline over the next few months.”

Well, he would be now he’d met Maxwell. Target had become his preferred airline of choice.

Maxwell smiled politely and moved away. Gibson made no bones about the fact he watched the attendant’s arse as it made its way down the aisle. Maxwell had an exceptional derriere and Gibson could see himself between those cheeks—mouth, fingers, dick, he wasn’t fussy.

Twenty minutes later the landing announcement came on, and Gibson was buckling himself up. Maxwell had walked past him a couple of times and they’d shared a few sly, knowing smiles. Gibson grinned to himself. He had a long flight coming up to attend a gaming conference in New York soon. He wondered idly if Maxwell would be on that one. He hoped so. A lot could happen on a transatlantic flight.

*****

It had been ten days since Maxwell had seen the sexy figure of Gibson Henry—yeah, he’d checked the flight manifest—aboard one of his designated flights. That platinum head was hard to miss. The red had gone but when Maxwell spotted the familiar flash of pale blond seated in 12C, his pulse quickened. The man had a preference for the aisle seats it appeared. He’d been in the galley when the passengers boarded and had missed greeting the man.

Gibson had gotten him hot and bothered from the minute Maxwell had seen him the first time. The other man’s small, tight, wiry frame and pink tongue stuck out at one corner of his mouth as he focused on his laptop screen, had been all kinds of hotness. Designer glasses perched on the end of a snub nose was a particular kink for Maxwell.

And when he’d looked into those cheeky bright green eyes, Maxwell was a goner.

The ‘misappropriated’ Edinburgh passenger manifest had some of Gibson’s personal details, which Maxwell had stored on a piece of paper in his wallet. Gibson lived in Canning Town, not far from Royal Docks; his date of birth was July 7, 1990—so he was twenty-four years old—and for good measure Maxwell now had his mobile number. He knew it was highly illegal and unethical but he’d been securing cute guys’ numbers for years and no one had found him out yet. When he’d seen the man’s name on the manifest for the New York flight, Maxwell had believed, like Sherlock, that the game was afoot.

Once the plane had levelled out and the drinks carts were ready to go, Maxwell made sure he was the one serving 12C. When he arrived with Ginny, his colleague, Gibson was huddled over his laptop, his face scrunched up adorably, earphones on, concentrating on some Photoshop-type programme.

Once again Maxwell tried to catch his attention by lightly tapping his shoulder. Gibson scowled, his glance upwards barely registering who was in front of him. He flapped a hand in a go-away gesture and Ginny rolled her eyes at Maxwell. They both knew passengers weren’t always that polite but to see this coming from Gibson made Maxwell peeved as hell. The man hadn’t even acknowledged his presence.

Huffily Maxwell moved on, smiling and joking with passengers even as he steamed with righteous anger inside. An older man in seat 21F decided he might be having a heart attack, and all thoughts of Gibson vanished in the urgency of the incident. Luckily it turned out to be gas. An hour later Maxwell finally got to see Gibson again when he delivered a drink to his fellow passenger in 12A, a stalwart man of African origins who looked as if he played rugby forward for the Teletubbies, only with muscles. Maxwell sympathised with the woman squashed between Teletubby Man and Mr Gibson ‘Rude Bitch’ Henry. The woman was engrossed in her Kindle and looked up and smiled at him as he passed the drink to her seat passenger.

Gibson looked up too, and gave him an unexpected yet radiant smile. Maxwell’s insides fluttered—as did something else.

The blond pulled the earphones away. “Maxwell, my man, how
are
you? I didn’t know you were on this flight.”

Maxwell’s jaw dropped. “I was here earlier. You waved me away. Sir,” he added hastily.

Gibson frowned. “I did? I was probably drawing. I tend to get grumpy when I’m doing that.” He shrugged. “I don’t take notice of anyone when I’m in the zone. You could literally die right before my eyes and I wouldn’t give a fig.”

Maxwell blinked.

Well at least Gibson Henry was honest.

“I’ll try making sure I don’t expire then,” Maxwell said. “I’d hate to decompose while you’re in the drawing
zone
.”

They grinned at each other. Maxwell knew he’d better move on before he got a fierce glare from his boss for dereliction of duty.

“If I can’t get anyone anything else, I’ll leave you in peace.” He moved away and stifled a chuckle at Gibson’s
sotto voce
comment.

“What I want you can’t give me right now.”

Maxwell’s groin heated up at the comment. He flounced his way happily down the aisle, answering passenger questions and taking drinks orders, and arrived at the galley where he began to fulfil the requests.

There was no time to make an excuse to go back to visit his cute passenger again, and finally he went on his break, having a well-deserved cup of coffee and a pastry from the cart.

When he went back to his post, it was approaching midnight. His boss for this flight, Larry Moreton, grinned at him. “Max, could you please check out Mr and Mrs Doherty in first class? Their bell went off a few minutes ago for service and I’m in the middle of sorting out another rather difficult passenger.” The first-class section was surprisingly empty for a long haul flight, with a passenger quotient of eleven.

Maxwell rolled his eyes. “That old pervert and his wife? The guy goosed me earlier when I went to check on him, and his wife thought it was funny. I swear if he does it again, I’ll deck him.”

Larry chuckled. “You have such a cute arse. Irresistible.” He pretended to inspect Maxwell’s backside. “I’d fondle it.” Larry was bisexual, but
so
not Maxwell’s type with his smarmy pickup lines and breath smelling of pear drops. Maxwell wasn’t a fan.

“Good to know. Fine, I’ll see what he wants. As long as it’s not me.” Maxwell made his way to first class, passing Gibson on the way who winked at him.

“Hey, Max. Going somewhere?”

“To sort out a passenger in first class, sir. Can I get you anything on my way back?”

Gibson shook his head. “Nope, I have some self-service planned.” He winked again. Maxwell didn’t even want to begin to wonder what he meant.

He entered first class to find Mr and Mrs Doherty fast asleep. They were in their eighties, wrinkled and…old. Their service light still winked on and off and Maxwell switched it off. He crinkled his nose at the drool coming out of Mrs Doherty’s thin-lipped mouth. He decided to check on the other passengers while he was there. None of them needed anything. The cabin was quiet, dimly lit and most of them were sleeping. He thought while he was there, he might as well check everything was good with the bathroom.

His hand was already on the door to open it when fingers grasped his right butt cheek and squeezed tightly.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath as he turned around. “Mr Doherty, I’m going to have to ask—oh, it’s you.” A pleasant thrumming began in his cock as Gibson’s hand continued to hold his arse tightly.

“I told you I was looking for self-service.” Gibson’s husky voice sent a shiver down Maxwell’s belly to his groin. The hair on Maxwell’s stomach rose with static.

Maxwell looked around. Everyone slept on and the couple of passengers who were awake were either reading, had on headphones or were watching the late-night film. No one seemed to notice the two men eye-fucking each other outside the toilet.

Gibson nodded at the door. “Open it. I’m sure we can both fit in there. I’m only a little guy—well, in height anyway.” He smirked as he took his hand off Maxwell’s butt and gently pulled down the lever. Raising one pale eyebrow, he motioned Maxwell inside then followed him in. It was a tight squeeze—nothing Maxwell wasn’t used to, having been in this situation before—and then they were both face to face, bodies squeezed against each other. Maxwell’s cock was raging to be set free and he soon got his wish.

“I doubt we have much time so we’ll have to do this quickly.” Gibson reached down, unzipped Maxwell’s trousers and reached inside, gripping him in small, yet strong fingers. Maxwell squeaked, the feeling of a hand on his needy dick sending a jolt of electricity to his toes. He still couldn’t speak.

Gibson knelt down, pushing his own loose sweats and briefs down his hips and unleashing what for his size was an impressive cock. Maxwell’s mouth watered at the sight of the pink and purple cut goodness jutting up from a groin laced with blond curls. He wanted to taste it, lick it and make Gibson scream.

However, as Gibson’s wet, warm mouth encircled his cock and began a slow, steady suck and pull on the head, Maxwell thought he might be the one doing the screaming. He watched the head bobbing up and down on him, and Gibson’s hand curled around his own cock as he jerked himself. Maxwell tried valiantly to suppress the rising moans and groans in his throat.

He panicked after a while when he realised the door hadn’t been locked and reached over to slide the lock to closed.

“Good move,” Gibson said through a mouth full of cock, the reverberations of his voice tickling Maxwell’s dick to new, heady heights. “And may I say, you taste as good as I knew you would. Tell me when it’s time.” His mouth shut up, but his eyes lifted to meet Maxwell’s and the cheeky glint in those green eyes caused a head–to-toe shudder to course through Maxwell’s body.

“Oh, God,” he breathed, resisting the impulse to fuck Gibson’s swollen, pink mouth. He didn’t think it would be polite. “You’re pretty good at this.”