If I’ve learned one thing over three years at this job, it’s that writing sexin’ is the one thing that gets harder over time. Plot, dialogue, continuity, all that gets easier and easier with practice, but…finding yet another way to put Tab A into Slot B? Now that’s difficult.
So the “challenging challenge” becomes to do more with it than just, you know, “And then they fucked.” The great thing about Marc and Jesse is that they’re “game players.” The two of them are just about as bored with A/B sexin’ as I am. So when you put the two of them in a room together (or at a waterfall, or, as you’re about to see, in a private jet) something exciting is going to happen. Something that excites me again. Darien and Albeus were hot because, you know, supernatural werewolf sexin’. But just writing the regular “two guys doin’ it” scenes ain’t cutting it anymore. What that bodes for the future, I dunno. But for now, well…here’s a spoiler-free chapter from Strength in Numbers for your dining pleasure…
Marc sat on his plane, fidgeting as he tried to catch up on news from the home office. Now more than ever, he was grateful that he’d changed – that he’d become a manager who could find good people, and trust them, and let them do their jobs. For a while anyway, the company could almost run itself.
But for how long? A trip to Andorra for a few days was one thing, but now they were jetting off to Barcelona, and then what? Marc could only cross all his fingers and toes that no crisis emerged like the hacking incident that had brought Jesse into his life.
Jesse was late. Marc refused to text him, or call him, to be that guy. “Where r u?” He knew what Jesse was up to, and that it was the kind of thing that didn’t exactly run on Swiss watch time.
Then he heard the engines start to kick, and the thump of feet on the metal stairs that was the signal to the pilot to begin his preparations.
He’d taken the seat facing the rear of the plane, for a reason. So he didn’t see Jesse until he’d put away his suit jacket and sat down across from him.
Marc burst out laughing. “What is this?”
Jesse wore a serious look, his unlit pipe chomped between his teeth. He smoothed the black tie under his vest and basically waved a hand around his unruly hair, not quite unattended-looking but definitely a bit disheveled. What Marc had taken as Jesse’s disregard for shaving on vacation had by now transformed into a short stubbly beard.
“Guten abend,” Jesse said in a vague accent.
“Oh, guten abend, mein herr,” Marc drawled. “Kenne ich dich?” The pilot was at the door of the cabin, an eyebrow raised. Marc nodded, and soon the plane began to move.
With a graceful move of thumb and forefinger, Jesse whisked an embossed business card from his vest pocket.
“Oh, Professor Josh Siesates, how nice to meet you. Buckle up.”
“Danke,” Jesse said, fastening his seat belt as the plane lifted off the runway.
Marc knew that Jesse had needed a new identity. Jesse had fled the United States government and, other than Andorra, there were few places that “Jesse” could land without being extradited.
“May I see your passport, Professor?”
“My pleasure.” Jesse handed it over.
Jesse’s German passport looked like an excellent forgery. Marc wondered how much it had cost him to get himself inserted into the German passport control system – the RFID chip in the passport held biometric information including Jesse’s photo and his fingerprints.
“The chip is real?”
“Let’s just say I have done…favors for the German government, at a time when they were not happy about Americans spying on their Chancellor’s cell phone.”
Marc just looked at him. “You are a busy man, aren’t you? So, Professor, tell me about yourself.”
“I am a Professor of Human-Computer Interaction at the Max Planck Institute for Informatics.”
“I see. That sounds like exactly the kind of position that would discourage others from asking you more about your line of work.”
Jesse waved his pipe in the air. “It’s really a very fascinating subject…”
“And you know enough about it to bullshit your way through a conversation with someone who actually knows about HCI? Should I test you?”
Jesse smiled. “Perhaps you should,” he winked.
Marc didn’t smile back. “That’s a risk, you know.”
“No, I’ve also got a mole at the Planck Institute who…” Jesse halted. “That’s not what you mean.”
“No. The anagram.”
The smug look left Jesse’s face. “You already figured…of course you did. Silly of me.”
“Jesse Satoshi? Come on. Any computer will unpack that shit in seconds. Isn’t that what dumb criminals do, use aliases that include their real names?”
“Actually, no. The closer it is to your own name, the more natural your reaction. If someone yells ‘Josh!’ at me, and my name is Jesse, I’m more likely to turn instinctively than I am to turn at the sound of, I don’t know, Obadiah or what not.”
“Hmmm,” was Marc’s only reply. Now that they were at cruising altitude, he got up and went to the galley. “Do you want a drink?”
“Sure. Jack and Coke, please.”
Marc smiled as he made clinking sounds in the galley. He already had the black slacks on, so it was the work of a moment to take off his polo shirt and slip into the white epauletted button down short sleeve shirt of a steward. The wings were already attached to his lapels, and he’d even had a name tag made.
“Here you go, sir,” he said as he handed Jesse his drink on a tray. Jesse was already involved in something on his phone, and he absentmindedly reached for it.
Then he paused, sensing that something had changed. He looked up to see Marc dressed as an airline steward, his eyes dancing with heat.
Marc didn’t smile as he said, “Is there anything else I can get you, sir?”
Jesse swallowed. “Maybe a warm blanket.”
Marc took the drink from his hand. He pressed a button on the side of Jesse’s chair.
“The seat fully reclines into a bed, sir. Let me make you comfortable.”
As the seat back flattened and the base lifted to push his feet up, Marc pushed another button, and the chair’s arms lowered out of the way, which gave him room to straddle Jesse’s hips.
He put his hands on Jesse’s chest, and Jesse reached up to finger his collar. “How did you earn those wings, steward?”
Marc idly stroked Jesse’s hand where it lingered on the wings. “Oh, those, sir? For achieving membership in the Mile High Club. Are you a member?” Marc began to grind his ass against Jesse’s crotch, feeling the transformation below his slacks.
“You know, I am not. I’ve never been invited to join.”
Marc leaned in to whisper in his ear. “Let me be the first to welcome you, then.”
Jesse put his hands on Marc’s hips and began to grind back, shifting in his seat to let his burgeoning hardon find a more comfortable angle – namely, the one that thrust right between Marc’s legs, stroking the base of Marc’s cock with his own.
Marc’s eyes closed, a sigh escaping him. “Is our oxygen working, steward?” Jesse murmured. “Because you seem to be having trouble breathing. Are we in any danger?”
“Let me release the…flotation device down here,” Marc said, raising himself up enough to undo Jesse’s slacks. “If we crash in the water, I think that will keep me safe.”
Jesse’s hands got busy too, yanking Marc’s pants down roughly, not bothering with belt or buttons. Marc gasped, and Jesse grinned, grabbing Marc’s exposed ass cheeks and squeezing them hard. “And I’ll hold on to these.”
Marc laughed. From the pocket of the shirt, he pulled out a “single serving” lube and twisted off the top.
“Is that free?”
“Oh, no, I’m sorry, sir,” Marc said, his helpful expression never changing as he reached around to grease his asshole. “There’s a seven dollar charge for that.”
“Do you accept cre…credit cards?” Jesse’s voice hitched as Marc’s slick hand touched his cock, circling it, preparing it.
“Cash only, sir…or…we could arrange a barter.”
“Yeah…let’s do that.”
Both men’s eyes closed as Jesse slipped inside Marc.
“Fuck, that’s good,” they both said at once.
Marc’s laughter contracted his asshole around Jesse’s cock, coaxing a sigh out of him.
Jesse thrust up, and Marc put his hands on Jesse’s chest, pushing him down.. “Just let me do the work, sir. Full service is our pleasure.”
Marc pushed the call button above his head twice. In response, the pilot banked up sharply, the G forces pushing Marc down onto Jesse’s cock.
Jesse moaned as the head of his cock reached the end of the line inside Marc, and Marc gasped as Jesse filled him like never before. The plane leveled out, and Marc sighed in relief.
Jesse grinned, and with a wrestler’s twisting move, flipped Marc over so that he was on his back in the flattened seat, his feet locked over Jesse’s shoulders.
Then Jesse reached up and pushed the button twice.
As the plane banked up again, now the G forces pressed Jesse’s weight down onto Marc, into him, and Jesse pushed with his hips to embed himself even deeper, a look of satisfaction on his face as Marc bit his lip in pain.
When the plane leveled out, Jesse let the declining forces pull him out of Marc just a bit, and then he slammed his cock home, making Marc cry out.
“Now you’ll earn your wings,” Jesse growled, grabbing hold of Marc’s shoulders and thrusting, again and again. “Let’s hear you scream like a bird.”
“O fuck!” Marc cried as Jesse pounded his ass, relentlessly. He looked up into Jesse’s face, loving the scowl of concentration there, loving the zest he had for the games they played.
“Fill me up,” he moaned as Jesse started to gasp, the cabin’s oxygen consumed at an astonishing rate. Then Jesse flinched, agony tore at his features.
“Fuck! Oh fuck!” Jesse shouted, pounding a cascade of cum into Marc’s ass as Marc’s hands scrabbled for a hold on his furiously pounding hips.
When he was done, he collapsed on top of Marc, his cock sliding out with a pop that made them both shudder.
“So,” Jesse said, “did I earn my wings?”
“And then some, Professor,” Marc said, stroking his hair. “Now let’s get this terrible mess cleaned up, sir…”