Hard Landing
WHEN I PULLED THE BLANKET OFF, what I saw next did two things. First—it fried my brain, the whole thing short-circuited. It felt like I’d stepped into a puddle with a live wire submerged in it—sharp, immediate. Second—he smiled, and it was like God had opened the heavens and sent me this beautiful specimen of a man. I thought he’d be completely naked, but he wasn’t. He was wearing a white, thick-banded jockstrap. The bulge pressing against it made me take a second look as I scanned his body, slower this time.
Speaking of his body—if I don’t tell you, the story loses something. So picture it: he was tanned, evenly, his pecs well-defined—large, muscular, squared at the edges. His nipples were a perfect shade of pink that complemented his skin tone almost too well. A six-pack—I know, because I counted. His chest and stomach were accented by a light dusting of hair. Not too much, not too little—the perfect amount. A small bush pushed up from the waistband of his jock, telling me he’d manicured the lawn but hadn’t stripped it. His navel—an innie, with a slight lip at the top. His biceps, once hidden by his shirt, were large, veined, and solid. His thighs, also lightly dusted with hair, showed no signs of a skipped leg day. Even his feet—big, proportional—fit the rest of him. There was the faintest tan line at his hips, suggesting briefs, which brought me right back to the main event—that bulge—in that jock.
My brain cells were misfiring so badly that I temporarily lost the ability to form a coherent thought.
“You, uh… you—”
“You okay, Pryce?” he asked.
I snapped back to reality.
“Yeah, I’m good,” I said.
There was a small strip of space at the edge of the bed. I sat down, slower this time, and looked his body over again.
He looked hand-crafted.
“You’re not just gonna stare, are you?”
“No, sir. Tell me what you want,” I asked.
“Do you want to be a good little boy?” he asked, his voice rugged, masculine—hot as hell.
“Yes, sir. I do.” Between you and me, there was something insanely sexy when older guys called me a good boy. Even though McKinney was just a few years older than me, it still turned me on.
“Then why are you hesitating?” he said.
It almost sounded too good to be true, but before he could change his mind, I placed my hand on his chest. Damn. It felt like his muscles had muscles—and to think he’d been hiding all of this under that uniform. Again, I said—damn.
“Mmhm… that’s nice,” he said.
“Yeah, it is,” I managed.
My hand glided across the plane of his chest, slow and deliberate, and he reached up, pinching his nipples between his fingers like he wanted me to watch.
“Your hands are nice and soft,” he said, voice dropping. “So soft.”
I brought my other hand up, letting it join in, feeling the ridges of his abs, the V at the corners of his hips. One hand moved up along his side while the other brushed across the hair pushing up from his jock.
He dropped his head back, a soft moan slipping from his lips.
“Mmhm… fuck.”
I looked down at the bulge—and right in front of me it pulsed. Honest to God, it twitched.
“Fuck,” I said, the word slipping out before I could stop it.
Before I talked myself out of it, I grabbed it. The bulge—I just grabbed it, wrapping both hands around it. Damn, he was hard as fuck, solid and warm against my palms.
I moved one hand down to his thigh, letting my fingers trace the inside, slow and deliberate. He reached down and tugged at the corner of the pouch, just enough. I caught a glimpse of skin—not enough to define it, but enough to know exactly what was there.
With his other hand, he rubbed my back, then lower, guiding without forcing.
“Show me your ass,” he said.
I didn’t hesitate. I unclasped my belt and loosened the zipper, pausing for half a second before turning around and sliding my pants down. He grabbed my thigh as I moved, steadying me. I looked back to see him still working himself through the jock with one hand, the other anchored on me.
“Oh fuck yeah,” he said.
“You like it, sir?”
“Hell yeah,” he said.
I bent over slightly and reached back, pulling my briefs down over my ass.
“Fuck, look at that bubble butt.”
I’m not gonna lie—I have a nice ass. I heard him shift behind me, sit up. I thought he was going to grab it, but he wanted more than that, because then I felt his breath against my skin—warm, close.
“Damn,” I said again, the word slipping out before I could stop it.
“You smell like the captain,” he said, both hands spreading me open.
We didn’t have the best facilities, even on a 747, but I’d cleaned up pretty well after my time upstairs—some washing, a thorough douching, and fresh underwear from the crew rest.
“You smell like the captain,” he repeated.
I wasn’t expecting much more than that—until I felt his tongue.
“Holy shit,” I said—those words I meant.
He worked slow at first, then deeper, more deliberate. The sound alone would’ve been enough, but the way he moved—focused, controlled—sent a jolt straight through me.
“Fuck,” he said, pulling back just enough to breathe. “You taste so fucking good.”
My footing slipped for a second, and I grabbed the seat across from me to steady myself, fingers tightening around the edge.
“Mmhm… fuck,” he moaned. “Come here.”
He grabbed my hips and pulled me back toward him.
“Take these off,” he said, tugging at my pants.
I did. The cool air hit my skin, raising a chill. I glanced around—quick check. No one there. No one coming. Once my pants were off, he leaned back again.
“Come sit on my face,” he said. Not a request—and I didn’t treat it like one.
I lifted my leg over him, then straddled his chest, adjusting until I was exactly where he wanted me. I lowered myself down, slow at first, then fully.
A million thoughts ran through my head—most of them drowned out by the fact that nothing had ever felt this good. The tight circles of his tongue, the way he used his whole mouth—it was focused, intentional—and all for me.
“Fuck,” the word caught halfway before it came out.
“Mmhm,” he moaned into me. “Fuck—suck my dick.”
I didn’t know why he had to ask—it was already right there. I reached down and massaged him again, trying to hold back the sounds slipping out of me as he kept going.
I grabbed the waistband of the jock and slid it down, freeing him. It bounced once before settling across his lower stomach.
Not as thick as the captain’s—but still a solid seven inches or so.
Precum had already started to leak from the tip.
Fuck.
I leaned forward, careful to not disturb the work he was already doing and wrapped my lips around his cock. Damn he tasted good. Remind me to ask him about his body wash later. Right then I needed to focus. My head bobbed up and down, I slurped up as much spit and cum as I could. The salty taste edged me forward. I wanted more and I wanted him to know I knew what I was doing.
It felt like I was unhinging my jaw as I went all the way down on him, deep throating his cock.”
“Fuck, he said as he came up for air, “fuck that feels so good.”
Good.
“Ah, fuck, you’re such a good little boy, sucking my dick like that.”
I kept sucking, harder pulls, more suction, more tongue.
“Yeah, baby, just like that.“
That must’ve been nod to the ring on his left hand. But that didn’t stop me. In fact, I went harder. And eventually, he laid back down and pulled my ass back into his face.
I moaned curses around his cock, but I was determined. I reached down with my free hand and massaged his balls before pulling off his dick and sucking one of his balls into my mouth, I massaged it gently with my tongue. He pulled away from me again.
“Shit—fuck!”
“Mmhm hmm,” I responded.
“Yeah, just like that.”
That must have motivated him because now, not only was he eating my ass, but now he was stroking my cock, I heard him spit into his hand and start stroking me again.
I will say, to their credit, lie-flat seats—they’re worth their wait in gold to hold up through the onslaught we’d put them through.
But then I felt it, I was getting close. But I needed to hold out long enough to—
“Fuck, I’m close.”
Ah, there it was. You cum, I cum, that’s my rule. And from earlier with Captain Baylor, I didn’t cum, so I was already taut as tightrope, ready to snap.
I kept sucking, my heading bobbed, his hips thrust. Wait does this constitute as getting fucked twice with the way his tongue is taking me to wonderland.
The twitching in his hips became more erratic, almost by design.
He pulled off.
“Fuck, fuck fuck, I’m coming!”
And he did. I could feel his load filling my throat.
“Mmmmhhhm mmhhmmm.”
I was cumming too, but I couldn’t pull up until I’d completely drained his balls. He stroked me through it—two sharp waves that seemed to hit from nowhere and everywhere at once. I came across his chest, a thick, warm spill that kept going longer than I expected. And still I sucked—steady, controlled—until his toes curled and he finally tapped my shoulder, half-laughing, half-begging me to stop before things got messy.
I turned to look at him. We were both catching our breath, the air between us heavy and quiet. I wiped at my mouth, then, without thinking, used my finger to push a stray drop back in.
“Fucking hell,” he said, still breathing hard.
“I hope your inflight service has been nothing short of stellar,” I said.
I stood and swung my legs back over him, steadying myself before pulling my pants back on. When I glanced over my shoulder, he was still sprawled out, his body loose now, his cock softening, still wet and catching the light.
“Whew,” he said.
“Hope that was just as fun for you,” I said.
All he managed was a lazy salute. Good enough.
I headed back the way I came and slipped into the lavatory for a quick once-over. I expected to look wrecked, at least a little—but somehow I just looked… off. Like I’d come back from something I wasn’t supposed to survive.
“Oh shit,” I muttered, trying to slick my hair back. My shirt was rumpled, my tie half-turned to one side, my wings slightly crooked.
My phone chimed. A text from Lena.
Soooo? Deets!
Dia-fuckin-bolical...emphasis on the fucking.
Ugh, where's my mile high prince?
47G
My god, if we crash land on an island, I'm gonna make sure we eat him first.
Lol
Just then a chime and then the intercom sparked to life.
"Ladies and gentleman, we've cleared that choppy air, I've turned off the fasten seatbelt sign. Please feel free to move about the cabin but please remain buckled while seated."
The timing of that was too perfect.
I returned to my jump seat and buckled in. I looked over in the compartment across from me, opened it and pulled out the flight manifest. With my finger, I scanned down the document until I found what I was looking for and chuckled before putting it back in the locker.
####
A few hours later, the captain came back over the intercom and announced that we were on final approach into LAX, instructing flight attendants to prepare the cabin for landing. Lena and I moved through our respective sections, collecting trash, checking that tray tables were locked, seats upright, and everything secured the way it needed to be. It was muscle memory at this point—efficient, practiced, almost automatic.
Once everything was squared away, we took our jumpseats and prepared for landing.
As soon as the plane touched down, Captain Baylor came back over the intercom.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we made it in just a little bit early. While we wait for our gate clearance, please remain seated. Be careful when removing luggage, as some items may have shifted during takeoff and landing. It’s been a privilege having you onboard with us, and on behalf of myself and the crew, we thank you for choosing Coastal Air to get you to your destination. Welcome to Los Angeles—the current time is 6:36 p.m., and the temperature is… ooh, a balmy 72 degrees.”
Lena and I disarmed and cross-checked our doors, then began the deplaning process. Captain Baylor and First Officer McKinney took their places beside me at the door, thanking passengers as they exited. Half of this job is selling the experience all over again—getting people to choose you the next time—so we put on our best smiles and kept them there until the very last passenger stepped off the plane.
Lena came up to the door last. I figured she was bringing up the rear since the rest of the crew had already cleared out, but one look at her face told me something else was going on.
“We need to call… I don’t know, a miracle worker,” she said, clearly annoyed.
“You okay?” I asked.
“47G couldn’t handle the landing and threw up all over the seat,” she said, exasperated.
“Gross,” I said.
“Get someone to clean that. I need a drink.”
We grabbed our bags and made our way down the jet bridge.
“Oh my god, if I ever see that little bastard again, I’m going to punch him in the face on sight,” she said, clenching her fist.
“Lena, I checked the manifest right before we landed.”
“So?”
“Lena, 47G is a twelve-year-old boy,” I said, laughing.
"You think I still wouldn't set him on fire?"
####
After checking into our hotel, Lena and I decided to head down to the bar. She was in desperate need of a stiff drink, and I was on the prowl for some dick. It didn’t have to be a pilot—I’d settle for someone on Grindr. I went to her room while she finished getting ready. Girls.
I plopped down on her bed and pulled out my phone. As soon as I opened the app, the familiar grid popped up. The thing about L.A.—lots of face pics. No hiding. I changed my name to “Looking RN.” That meant bring on the dick.
A few notifications pinged right away—too thirsty, no thanks—but then there was one guy who stood out. Perfect, chiseled jaw, light skin, and a bright white smile. His profile was the usual—age, height, weight, preferences—verse top. I scrolled through his pictures, taking my time. I liked what I was seeing. Nothing ambiguous, no random friend hanging off his arm—like, why do they do that? I don’t want to see your best friend.
The thing about Grindr, though—you can’t really move in the shadows. The second you tap on someone’s profile, they know. His little green dot told me he was either online or recently active. What was even better was the distance: 0.1 miles. That meant he was either in this hotel or one of the two nearby.
Then my phone pinged again.
A new message.
From him.
“Hey, I’m Gabe. Wassup?”
Gabe clearly didn’t have boundary issues—but not enough of a red flag to shut it down.
“Nothing much, just landed,” I texted back.
“Just visiting?”
“Yup—you?”
“Same.”
“Nice—what are you up to tonight?”
“Was gonna go to the bar in the lobby.”
“You at the airport hotel?”
“Yup.”
“Nice, me too,” I said—already giving away more than I probably should have.
“Maybe we’ll run into each other.”
“Maybe.”
"Cool."
"Cool—I'm Neil, by the way," I added, thumbing out the message a second later.
Lena was still at the mirror, working on her mascara like we weren’t already late, leaning in to catch the light just right.
“Lena, let’s go. I think I found a hookup.”
“Already?”
“Grindr—revolutionary.”
“Guys are always so horny.”
“Works for me,” I said, grabbing my phone and pushing off the bed.
####
The lobby was teeming with people—crossing in every direction, checking in, checking out, asking for directions, waiting on elevators, pushing carts piled with luggage. Some sat scattered in chairs, others hovered near the front desk. And tucked into one corner was the bar—dim, moody, almost out of place for the space. The Grand was an airport hotel, but one of the nicer ones, the kind that tried to feel like more than a stopover. Just as we walked up, two people were getting up. We slid into their seats before anyone else could.
The bartender wasn’t long behind.
“What can I get you?” he asked.
He was tall, about my height and build, with a neatly trimmed mustache and that easy confidence bartenders seem to have.
“I’ll take a martini and a shot of tequila,” Lena said.
“Martini and tequila?” I asked.
“The tequila’s for you,” she said.
“You think I need some liquid courage?” I asked.
“I think you need a shot of penicillin after that shit you pulled on the plane,” she said, choking back a laugh.
“You’re just jealous,” I said.
“Neil?”
I turned around.
Gabe.
“Gabe?”
“Yeah,” he said.
He looked even better in person—clean, put together, wearing a tight-fitting white T-shirt, a brown leather belt, black jeans, and sneakers. Effortless, like he hadn’t tried too hard but still got it right. He's had caramel skin, short black hair, and light brown eyes. He was wearing a studs in both ears and I could see that his left nipple is pierced with bar. So fucking hot.
Just then the bartender returned with the drinks, setting them down between us.
“You busy?” Gabe asked.
I glanced at Lena.
“I’ll be fine,” she said.
“Are you sure?” I asked.
She turned to the bartender instead.
“What time do you get off?”
“Eight,” he replied.
“Doing anything after?”
He leaned over the bar, just enough to close the distance.
“Depends on what you wanna do,” he said.
“Well, damn,” I said.
I turned back to Gabe, who was rocking on his heels, casual, waiting.
“Doesn’t look like I’m busy at all,” I said.
“Wanna get outta here?”
I smiled.
####
Gabe’s room was on the ninth floor. When I walked in, I drifted straight to the window. West Century and South Sepulveda stretched out below, headlights threading through the intersection. When I turned back, he was already kicking off his shoes, casual, like we’d done this before.
“Make yourself at home,” he said.
“Don’t mind if I do,” I said.
I stepped toward him, toeing off my shoes on the way.
“So what do you do?” I asked.
“I’m in the airline industry,” he said.
I gave him a quick once-over. I could see it—he had that first-officer look about him, even out of uniform.
“What about you?” he asked.
“Do you really care about my job?”
“No, not really,” he said, closing the distance.
When he was close enough, he grabbed me and kissed me—like he’d known me his whole life. No hesitation, no testing. His full lips were soft, fitting against mine as if they’d done it a hundred times before.
“Mmmhm,” I said when we broke. “That was a good kiss.”
“Then maybe I should give you another,” he said.
“I wouldn’t be opposed.”
He leaned in again, slower this time, and I met him halfway.
“Damn,” I said, catching my breath. “You taste good.”
“So do you,” he replied.
He guided me back and pushed me onto the bed.
“Tell me what you want,” he said.
“I want you to fuck me,” I said, almost demanding.
“I think we can arrange that,” he said, pulling his shirt over his head.
His body came down over mine. Unlike McKinney, he was clean-shaven. His body was toned, hard—different, but just as intentional. He kissed me again, then moved to my neck and ear, taking his time. A moan slipped out of me before I could stop it. He lifted just enough for me to pull my shirt off.
“You’re so fucking hot,” I said.
“Yeah, you too.”
I went for his belt, unbuckling it fast, fingers working on instinct. As soon as it was free, I unbuttoned and unzipped his pants—I could already tell he wasn’t wearing underwear. While I worked on him, he did the same to me, pushing my pants down. When I slid his jeans off, his cock sprang free. I wrapped a hand around it and stroked—he cursed under his breath.
He pulled my underwear down, my cock already hard, leaking precum. I’d been horny all day, and the fact this was the third guy in the past twenty-four hours probably said something about me—but I didn’t care. I’d jerked off more times than that in a day. So why not fuck three guys—well, two in the same stretch of time.
He grabbed a bottle of lube from the side table, slicked himself up first, then me—working it in with practiced ease before pressing a finger inside. I let out a sound somewhere between a squeal and a moan, my body reacting before my brain could catch up. He took his time with it, easing in, letting me adjust, then pulling back just enough to do it again.
He smiled at the reaction.
“C’mon,” I said, breath catching, “fuck me.”
He lined himself up and pushed inside.
“Damn… that’s tight,” he said, low.
“Mmhm—fuck,” I breathed.
He started slow, deliberate, letting the stretch settle, then gradually picked up his pace. I wrapped my legs around his hips, pulling him deeper, wanting more of it, every inch. Each thrust landed harder than the last, more certain, more controlled.
“Fuck—fuck—fuck,” I gasped, the rhythm starting to take over.
“Holy fuck, you’re tight… damn,” he said, almost like he couldn’t believe it.
“Fuck, you feel so good.”
“Hell, man—you too… damn.”
He shifted his angle, rolling his hips in a slower, deeper motion, and hit that spot—sharp, sudden—blurring the edges of my vision for a second. I grabbed at him, holding on, grounding myself as everything narrowed down to that feeling.
The man was hot, the dick was good, and I couldn’t get enough of it.
He fucked like a champ.
I pulled his face into a kiss. He had those magic lips—the kind you could lose yourself in—and for a second I almost did. But I couldn’t stay there. There was a pressure building low in my stomach, deeper than that—tight, coiling in my balls, creeping up fast.
And then there was the rhythm of it—the way his body met mine. Every thrust drove in deep, and every time he pulled back, I felt the weight of him, the solid slap of his balls against my ass. It was sharp, constant, impossible to ignore. I felt every single one.
“Fuuuck—”
“Shit! I’m so close!” he said, his voice breaking just a little.
“Fuck—me too!” I shot back, barely getting the words out.
“What?” he asked—but I didn’t have time to answer. I was just as shocked
It hit me.
Hard.
He fucked me so good—hit that spot so clean—that I came hands free. Three, maybe four ropes spilled out across my stomach, hot and sudden, my body tightening around him as it happened.
“Holy shit,” he yelled, eyes locked on me. “That’s hot as fuck!”
Watching it—watching me come undone like that—pushed him over the edge. I felt it in the way his body changed, the way his hips stuttered, then drove forward one last time as a low, guttural sound tore out of him.
“Fuck—fu—”
He went quiet after that, the kind of silence that filled the whole room.
He pulled out and wrapped his hand around his cock, quick, tight strokes, chasing it. It didn’t take long.
He came hard.
Before I could even fully catch my breath, he was spilling across my stomach, thick and heavy. And fuck—it was a big load.
“Goddamn,” he said, staring down at it, half-laughing. “That was so fuckin’ hot.”
His body gave a few final, lingering pulses before he finally stilled.
“Damn,” he muttered, still catching his breath.
“That was some good dick,” I said.
He fell down on the bed next to me fighting to catch his breath.
After a moment, he turned and looked at me and said, "give me fifteen minutes and I could go again."
I smiled back.
####
Lena and I packed up the beach gear, shaking sand out of towels and folding everything as best we could before heading back toward the street where the Uber was waiting. The late afternoon sun was starting to dip, casting that warm L.A. glow over everything, the air still carrying a hint of salt.
“So—was that everything you thought it would be?” I asked as we walked.
“And then some,” Lena said, stretching her shoulders like she’d just had the best day of her life.
“You ready for this trip?” I asked.
“Another five-and-a-half-hour flight,” she said, rolling her eyes just enough to sell it, “oh, I’m living for it.”
####
As we walked down the jet bridge, Lena looked like she was limping—subtle, but noticeable once you clocked it.
"You were limping at the beach," I said. "I thought it was the sand. You okay?"
She smiled, slow, satisfied.
"Yeah, I’m great," she said.
"You let the bartender…"
"Yes I did," she said, snapping her hips once like punctuation.
We were first on the plane, as always. Early crew boarding had its perks—quiet cabin, no passengers, just the hum of systems powering up.
"Wanna do prep?" I asked.
"Let the others do it—we’ve got seniority," Lena said, already dropping her bag into the forward galley like she meant it.
"Well, I’m down for the crime," I said.
We didn’t have to wait long before we heard the rest of the crew coming up the jet bridge—voices, laughter, the familiar rhythm of another flight getting underway.
"You have the manifest?" I asked.
"Yeah—nearly full flight," she said, scanning it. Then she paused. "You’ve got to be fucking kidding me."
"What is it?"
"Look," she said, shoving the manifest into my hands. "Forty-seven-fucking-G."
I could hear the crew getting closer behind us, but 47G wasn’t what caught my attention. It was the names at the top of the page.
Captain John Baylor.
First Officer Scott McKinney.
My eyes moved down the rest of the list, slower now, something tightening in my chest as I read. By the time their voices were right behind me, I’d already seen it.
Gabriel Wells.
I turned.
He froze the second our eyes met.
The words slipped out of my mouth before I could stop them.
"Holy shit."
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