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Pim was calm until they boarded the plane.
"Eight hours, Charlie. We were just on a plane for eight hours, and now it's another eight hours just to turn around and go home because, because I fucked up." And here he paused as if hoping Charlie would cut him off with guilty reassurances. Charlie was too busy jamming his duffel bag into the overhead bin to notice. "Eight hours," Pim wailed, drawing annoyed looks from nearby passengers and finally getting Charlie's attention. Allan grabbed the duffel bag before it fell on them, finishing the job Charlie had half-assed.
"Yeah, uh, we decided this was our best option so, it-it's okay, Pim. Look, why don't you take the window seat? Allan, do you want the middle or—"
"I don't care. Just get out of the aisle, you're blocking the flight attendants."
Sniffling, Pim crab-walked past seats D and E before plopping down in F and thunking his forehead against the window. Charlie wedged himself into the row long enough for one of the flight attendants to pop into the lavatory right behind their seats, then backed out into the aisle.
"I think you should take the middle, Allan, you're taller so you could, like, step over me if you needed to. I don't know how often I'll have to get up, I've, like, got a condition—"
Allan sighed and folded himself into seat E. "Charlie, I took a Xanax before we got on the plane. I really don't care," he said, enunciating each syllable.
"You—wait, where's Glep?" Charlie glanced around. The little guy could be easy to miss sometimes, but he could've sworn they boarded together.
"He upgraded to business class," Pim said with a half-sob. "He didn't want to sit with us."
Charlie glanced at Allan but Allan had his eyes closed and his head back. "Maybe they just upgraded him randomly, man, that happened to me once before."
Pim burst into tears.
"Just sit down, Charlie," Allan said. Amidst the chaos his monotone was reassuring. Charlie sat.
Takeoff was delayed due to some issue with another plane and the nearby mountain; it'd happened before they boarded the plane, so it wasn't clear why they had to wait since there wasn't smoldering wreckage on the runway or anything. The flight attendants coming by with carts of free consolation drinks was clear, though.
"Give me five of those guys." Charlie pointed at the mini-bottles of vodka.
"I can give you one and a soda," the flight attendant replied with a polite smile.
"All right, one and a soda. Same for my buddy."
As soon as the attendant turned his attention to the other side of the aisle, Charlie snatched more of the bottles off the side of the cart. Allan cracked open an eye to look at him but kept his mouth shut. If the flight attendant noticed he clearly didn't feel it worth the trouble to say anything. The seats were thin and uncomfortable and the little trays were barely wide enough to hold the drinks Charlie had requested for them both; it didn't seem as though the attendants felt it worthwhile to uphold high standards given the somewhat dingy surroundings. Charlie polished his vodka and soda off quickly, hoping the plane would start taxiing soon. Lo and behold, his instincts were correct: the next announcement was still garbled but the warning lights came on.
"C'mon, Allan, drink up. We gotta put our trays up."
"I took a Xanax," he repeated, as if that was supposed to mean something to Charlie.
"So? All right, fine." Charlie gulped down the second mini-bottle and tucked the unopened soda between his legs. "Okay, put up your tray." Allan didn't move so Charlie did it for him. "Dude, what's your deal?"
"My deal is flight anxiety, Charlie. The crash that just happened did not help."
It was a good thing Pim had already cried himself to sleep. "Really? Wow, man. And you still wanted to come on this trip?"
Allan took a deep breath and exhaled through his nose. "I wanted to come with you. With all of you," he added, even though Pim was knocked out and Glep was nowhere to be seen.
Charlie couldn't think of anything to say. Then the plane's engines roared and the lurch of the brakes disengaging meant he couldn't make himself heard. Another lurch, this time from the plane rounding the runway, made Allan grip the hard plastic arms of his seat. Unable to offer words of reassurance, Charlie tried patting one of his finely-furred hands. Allan's eyes snapped open, or at least the one on Charlie's side did, and he looked down at him. Charlie didn't move—and thankfully neither did Allan. Charlie was just trying to offer moral support like a good friend. He didn't want it taken the wrong way.
There was another announcement; another delay, Charlie figured, so he used his free hand to twist open a third mini-bottle. He had enough practice doing this kind of thing one-handed it didn't occur to him to let go of Allan. He drank half of it then nudged his friend with one shoulder.
"These'll take the edge off, y'know."
"Xanax," was all Allan said. And that was the end of their conversation because then the plane began moving again, picking up speed and pressing them back into their seats, and Allan turned his hand around beneath Charlie's so they were palm-to-palm. Just more comfortable, that's all, Charlie was sure. Maybe he had flight anxiety too, but the drinks helped. He didn't need to be a pill-popper. Not that he judged Allan for it. But the Xanax would wear off before the flight was over, right?
Thankfully Charlie had torrented several episodes of Breaking Bad onto his laptop so he was set for entertainment. He would've offered to share his earbuds with Allan but after locking fingers with him the red critter hadn't budged at all. That was fine, he didn't need his right hand to do anything important. The episodes were engrossing enough that after a while he forgot they were holding hands. Until there was a jump scare and he squeezed Allan's hand out of pure reflex. Sometimes having amazing reflexes was a curse.
Allan squeezed back but didn't open his eyes. "You okay, Charlie?"
"Uh, yeah, just that Walter White, man, y'know. Scared me," Charlie said with a forced laugh. Allan didn't let him go. "You still feeling scared?" Allan cracked open one eye to squint at him before leaning back against the seat. Had he said the wrong thing? That was probably the wrong thing. Before he could give it any more thought, a flight attendant pushed a cart up to their row.
"Would you like anything, sir?" This one seemed bubblier than the last. Friendlier.
"Could I have two vodkas and soda, please? Same for my friends." Charlie gestured at Pim and Allan.
"Coming right up. I'll put them on your tray so you can pass them down, okay?"
Pleased by how easy that was, Charlie settled back down to watch more episodes. He hadn't even needed to disentangle himself from Allan. He was being such a good friend. The warmth of Allan's hand was a little distracting, though, but it was fine. He could use the distraction, especially after the warning lights came on and there was some announcement about brief turbulence. Allan's hold on him tightened, sharp fingers—claws?—digging into Charlie's soft flesh. In a way it reminded him of Zoey, the way she'd sometimes latch on when he had her pinned down on the—
This was his coworker and a dude and a very public place. Also he had a girlfriend. Thankfully his shorts weren't tight since they weren't at the gym where it'd make sense to show off, but they weren't exactly loose either—
Charlie one-handed another mini-bottle. He'd already tried something with Allan anyway and it hadn't ended well. At least, he didn't think it had. All he could really remember was a feeling of resentment, of feeling deceived somehow, but the Smiling Friends were all about second chances, weren't they? And they'd been getting along otherwise so clearly whatever happened wasn't a big deal to Allan. Maybe it should have been. But the way the red critter's hand felt in his…. Charlie shook himself. What would Walter White think? Walter White would have another drink. Confident in his character analysis, Charlie gulped down the second bottle he'd been given. Some math proved he still had the four set aside for Allan and Pim, plus a couple from the first flight attendant's cart. His stockpile was secure.
Walter White's own stockpile was a little precarious in the next few episodes, but the paragon of masculinity was able to correct that before long. Unfortunately he couldn't do anything about a second round of turbulence, this time bad enough that Charlie had to close his laptop and tuck it under the seat for safety. When Charlie sat back up he saw Allan's eyes wide open, both hands going white-knuckled—
"Fuck, Allan, my hand! Let go!"
"No."
"Ow, fuck!" It was almost bad enough to make Charlie take the Lord's name in vain. "Allan! Take another Xanax or something, dude!"
"I am not moving until the shaking stops."
Charlie took a deep breath, partly to steady himself and partly to distract from how powerful Allan could be. He wouldn't have thought such a skinny critter could be so strong—
"Here, have this until you can take your Xanax." Truly it was a blessing he was so skilled at opening bottles with one hand. It was finesse, not strength, which suited Zoey just fine— Wait, why was he thinking of his girlfriend? He gave his head a shake then held the mini-bottle up to Allan's lips, which was no small feat given how stubby his arms seemed in comparison to Allan's lanky length but it was fine, it didn't matter, since Allan tilted his head down to oblige Charlie and something about how quick the acquiescence was sent a thrill through him—
"Just give it a minute." Whether this advice was directed at himself or Allan was impossible to say. The plane passed through the turbulence faster this time. "Short and sweet, huh?" Allan didn't acknowledge the remark, which, fair. He didn't know why he said that. As soon as it was over Allan leaned in Charlie's direction so he could root around in some unseen fur pocket for more medication, which he held out to Charlie.
"Could you open this for me? Please."
The split-second internal war that ensued was the hardest Charlie had ever known. Let go of Allan's hand? Tell him he could take his hand back any time? Do as he asked despite the hand-holding being kinda gay at this point?
"Fine." Charlie took the bottle and squeezed it between his thighs for traction so he could force the childproof cap off with his free hand. Allan stayed leaning against him, eyes fixed on the bottle— At least Charlie hoped it was the bottle and not his crotch. Though would that really be so bad? Before the treacherous whisper could suggest anything else he thrust the open bottle in Allan's direction.
Allan fished out a pill and tossed it into his mouth. Too late Charlie wondered if it was a good idea to mix that with the vodka, but a big critter like Allan would be fine. He put the bottle back between his legs to twist the cap back on, and this time the direction of Allan's gaze was unmistakable. While Allan was repocketing the pills somewhere Charlie helped himself to more vodka. Two more vodkas, in fact, since he wasn't taking anything else. He didn't feel like getting his laptop set back up—what if there was another round of turbulence? Allan seemed perfectly fine with sitting there staring ahead at nothing but Charlie's skin crawled at the very idea.
"So, uh, how you feeling, man?" As soon as the last word left his mouth he winced.
"Better, actually. Thank you." The overly-precise enunciation would've sounded sarcastic in any other setting, but Allan giving the side of Charlie's hand a gentle thumbstroke was impossible to misinterpret. "Also, this vodka doesn't taste as bad."
"Then I'll start buying the more expensive shit, just for you." In his head it sounded sarcastic. Spoken into the air it sounded sincere, because it was, and fuck, what was he getting himself into? If he didn't remember another time then there was no point in saying 'again' since this might as well be their first…encounter. On a plane, no less. Before he could stop himself, he blurted out a preview of where his train of thought was headed. "I know something else that might help."
Allan made a sound of curiosity, deep in his throat, and Charlie could swear he felt it vibrating against his palm. Nobody near them was paying attention and the vodka was relaxing him again and Zoey had to expect that he'd do a little sexy tourism while on the trip. He wasn't cheating if it was in a different country, and especially not over international waters. Sure, Allan wasn't a busty Brazilian beauty. Some kind of beauty anyway, since he'd always kinda admired how someone as gawky-looking as Allan could move with such careful grace. If Charlie were that tall and gangly he'd be knocking shit over everywhere. Anyway.
"We could join the mile-high club."
"The what?"
Figured that someone terrified of flying wouldn't know. "The mile-high club," he repeated. "All you gotta do is, y'know, fool around. On a plane."
Allan made another sound. He didn't say anything but he didn't pull away either, which was answer enough for Charlie. All he had to do was move slow, keep it subtle, pull Allan's hand down to where that gaze had clearly wanted to put it. Easier to do it this way anyway since Allan could reach over the chair arm no problem, and putting that divider up was a two-hand job.
"I saw you staring," Charlie whispered. Allan's hand twitched in his, almost like a flinch, but his gaze was too heavy-lidded to suggest any outrage or embarassment. A memory floated up of Allan maybe being a lightweight, but it was fine since he hadn't had much to drink before taking the Xanax. It was also fine because Allan started palming Charlie's crotch through his shorts, gingerly at first then more firm, more sure of himself, and wow that felt good when combined with the steady rumble of the plane's engines.
"Flight attendant's coming," Allan whispered.
"Don't worry about it. Just don't, don't move too much." Easier to say than do, the drunken remnants of his impulse control barely enough to stop him from rocking against Allan's touch. Right before the attendant reached their row, he pulled down the tray in front of him. Maybe it'd help hide things a bit.
"We'll be landing in an hour. Would you like any last refreshments?"
"Snack please. Um, the cookies." Allan spoke up and Charlie shot him a look. "What? I'm hungry."
Ignoring him, Charlie looked at the snack options on offer. "Vodka and soda, please." This flight attendant was the same from the beginning of the flight, underpaid and willing to oblige as long as nobody was obviously breaking the rules, and the groping must've gone unnoticed since their cookies and vodka were placed onto the tray and the flight attendant began the long journey back down the aisle without comment.
Without unhanding Charlie, Allan ripped open the cookie package with his teeth and dumped the whole bag into his mouth. Charlie slammed back the vodka and was about to offer to share one of the stashed bottles when Allan kissed him. The flavor of the cookies wasn't bad and he could taste something distinctly Allan beneath. It wasn't an especially masterful kiss, the drugs and drink making them both sloppy, but it sent a thrill right down to Charlie's crotch all the same. Charlie sat back, the better to thrust against Allan's hand and to relax as Allan tried to stick his long tongue into his mouth, past his teeth, down his throat—
Allan's tongue seemed as long and thick as anything else, and the thought? reminder? of Allan's genitals hit him like a punch to the gut, or a punch to the— Charlie couldn't help whimpering around Allan's tongue, trying not to suck on it and failing, and Allan answered by rubbing at him faster faster faster and stopping abruptly. The tongue left his throat with a wet slorping sound and it would've been hot if he weren't so confused.
"Flight attendant," Allan mumbled, squinting his eyes as though it came out louder than he intended. The flight attendant's annoyance was unmistakable now, though he stopped his approach and turned around as soon as Allan raised his hands. Once the guy was out of earshot Charlie chuckled.
"See? We're fine. What are they gonna do, call the cops? We're in mid-air!"
The remainder of the flight was uneventful, which Charlie found disappointing. At least they'd had some fun. Allan shook Pim awake when the warning lights came back on. He roused rather quickly for someone who'd slept the whole time, but if he'd already been awake then he must not have noticed anything since he didn't bring it up. Since they were all the way in the back there was no rush to get their luggage together, and the wait made stepping on American soil feel even sweeter. The mix of people at the gate felt more familiar, right down to the cops.
"Charlie Dompler? Allan Red?" The pair of cops stood in their way. "We received a complaint about you."
"About us? What for?" Charlie asked. Maybe there was some misunderstanding.
"Public indecency."
Glep had met them on the jet bridge but now he skittered on ahead, chattering something just loud enough for the cops to hear without understanding. Pim gasped and chased after him, shooting an apologetic look back at Charlie before vanishing around a corner.
Allan let out a long sigh. "You were so right, Charlie. That helped a lot."
"I-is that sarcasm? I sense sarcasm."
Lesson learned, Charlie thought to himself as the cops escorted them away from the boarding gate. Don't leave important things like booking hotels to Pim, or things will just get worse and worse until someone gets arrested. And Allan needed to learn how to control himself, since this was at least the second time he'd shown a poor understanding of boundaries. People usually joined the mile-high club by going to the lavatory, not by making a spectacle. Allan needed a good talking-to from a friend, and Charlie was the right guy for it. The problem would just be finding the right time.