Joining the Club
The first and only rule of joining the Mile High Club, I quickly discovered, is to have a partner who is built like a retired Norse god but has the stealth of a jungle cat. Otherwise, you’re just two idiots trying to solve a human Tetris puzzle at 30,000 feet.
The seatbelt sign had just pinged off. The drone of the Airbus A320 was a dull hum, and the Dominican sun was a fading, happy memory on my skin. Rob, who had been unnervingly still and quiet since we’d taken our seats, shifted his considerable bulk beside me.
His hand, which could easily palm my entire head, came to rest on my thigh. A simple gesture, but from him, it felt like a seismic event. He leaned in, his voice a low rumble that vibrated right through my ribcage.
“The bathroom,” he murmured, his breath warm against my ear. “Now.”
I blinked. I looked at him. I looked down the narrow aisle at the comically small, flimsy-looking door of the lavatory. I looked back at his six-foot-two, solid-muscle frame of 240 pounds.
“In there?” I hissed, my voice an octave too high. “Rob, we’d have to grease you up and fold you into thirds.”
A slow, deep smile spread across his face. It was a smile that still made my stomach do a little flip. It was the smile of a man who had spent thirty years being stoic and was now making up for lost time with a vengeance. He certainly made up for it on this vacation. Ever since our talk on the beach, and our romp in the bushes, Rob seemed even more alive. Or maybe it was my focus on him now, rather than fearing what was coming next, or who was coming next.
My attention was solely on him.
It was on him after our romantic dinner after he brushed off Jim and Kyle as soon as we walked into our room.
It was on him the following morning as we woke up to the sounds of the ocean.
It was on him as we dressed for our final dinner at the resort. And then again after dinner.
And just this morning, as we showered for our exit from the Dominican, it was on him again.
Now, just six hours later, he was at it again. I may have created a monster and I wasn’t sure my ass could take much more.
“Don’t be a chicken,” he said, his eyes twinkling. “Live a little.”
My ass was living a lot these past few days.
He was up and moving before I could formulate another protest. My brain, a delightful cocktail of terror and arousal, short-circuited. This was it. This was the man I’d blown up my life for to finally come out of the closet. A 57-year-old retired police officer with the daring rejuvenated freedom of a teenage delinquent lately with the physique of a Roman gladiator. How could I say no?
I muttered an excuse to the elderly woman by the window on my other side about “air sickness” and slid out, following my big bear to his tiny little cave.
He was by the door looking all casual as I approached, a well timed moment as no one was there, not even the flight attendants. And then he opened the one door and practically shoved me in quickly, stepping in immediately behind me.
Getting us both inside was an operation that probably violated several FAA regulations. It involved Rob sucking in his stomach, me being pressed flat forward looking down at the small airplane toilet, Rob behind me, and the door latching with a sound that felt unnervingly final. We were in. The motion-activated light flickered on, illuminating a space that was now approximately 98% Rob.
“See?” he said, his chest pressed against my back and his big arms dangling over my shoulders. “Cozy.”
“Cozy isn’t the word,” I wheezed, laughing. “I think the plane just listed to the left.”
And then his hands were on my crotch, reaching over me, pressing himself up against me from behind harder, and all coherent thought fled. In that ridiculous, claustrophobic closet, with the faint smell of blue chemical cleaner and the constant, gentle shudder of the plane, it was just us. He took charge, sliding my pants down over my muscular ass, spitting on his already hard 9 inches of Rob meat, and easing it into my ass which just seemed to be already there for him as I braced myself against the wall. It was awkward, and cramped, and at one point I elbowed the paper towel dispenser so hard I’m pretty sure I now owe Delta money. But it was also perfect. His big, solid body was my whole world, a fortress of muscle and warmth and quiet, desperate love.
I leaned back into him as he encircled me, and he fucked me as quietly as he could, both of us trying our hardest to be quiet, and to cum fast in case the old lady beside me needed her fifth trip to pee.
It was over in a frantic, breathless few minutes thank God, leaving us both disheveled, making sure I didn’t have cum in my hair and trying not to giggle like the idiots we were as we unattached ourselves in the cramped space.
The return to our seats was the walk of shame to end all walks of shame. My face was flushed, my shirt was untucked, and I was pretty sure I’d gotten a hand sanitizer high. Rob, the bastard, looked as calm and composed as if he’d just returned from a brisk walk. Always the cop. He settled into his seat with a contented sigh, looking for all the world like a lion who’d just been fed.
It was bliss. I ignored the lady beside me, and clamped my hand down on Rob’s, closing my eyes at the idea we’d gotten away with it. Rob had fucked me in the airplane washroom. What a dirty cop he turned out to be.
We started our landing, and that’s when I made the mistake of turning on my phone.
The universe, it seemed, had been patiently waiting for our little moment of bliss to end before dropping an anvil on our heads.
The first text was from Allie.
Josh got in a fight at school. He won't talk about it, but I think it's about you.
The happy, post-coital buzz evaporated, replaced by a cold, familiar dread. Then another.
Abbey cried herself to sleep last night asking when you're coming home. This is breaking them, Brian.
And another.
We need to talk. Seriously.
I felt the walls of the plane start to close in, tighter than the bathroom walls ever had. I was scrolling, my thumb a frantic, nervous metronome, when a new message popped up. Not from a saved number, but from an area code that was a punch to the gut. Someone from a lifetime ago.
Heard the news. Congrats, man. Long time coming. - Mac
Mac. Dwayne “Mac” MacDonald. The one who got away because we were both too scared to hold on. The “What If” personified. And he’d “heard the news.” Of course he had. The skeletons weren’t just rattling in the closet; they were texting. How the fuck did he get my number?
I felt Rob’s hand cover mine again, pulling my phone gently from my death grip. He didn’t ask. He just looked at my face, saw the storm raging behind my eyes, and knew. His thumb stroked the back of my hand, a slow, steady rhythm.
“We’re home,” I whispered, the words tasting like ash.
He brought my hand to his lips and kissed my knuckles, his gaze unwavering. “We’re home,” he corrected, his voice a quiet anchor in my sudden, swirling panic. “Together.”
And as the plane began its descent, carrying us back to a world of ex-wives, confused children, and resurrected skeletons from my closet, I held onto that hand like it was the only thing keeping me from floating away. The hilarious, cramped memory of the last hour felt like a beautiful, distant dream, and the fight for our future was about to begin.
The ride from the airport was a study in contrasts. Outside the car, the world was the same drab, over-familiar grey of our city. But inside, Rob’s presence filled the space, a tangible force field against the creeping dread. He drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting on my knee, a heavy, warm weight that felt less like a caress and more like a grounding wire.
“You know,” I said, breaking the silence that had settled after my phone-induced panic attack as the tube of metal descended at 30,000 feet. “For a man who spent his career upholding the law, you have a startling disregard for public nudity and for federal aviation regulations.”
Rob didn’t take his eyes off the road. That little smile, the one that was my personal kryptonite, played on his lips. “Statute of limitations.”
“The little old lady in our row definitely knows. She gave me a look. It was a mixture of pity and profound disappointment.”
“She was asleep, Brian. She was snoring.”
“That was a judgmental snore.”
He chuckled, a low, rich sound that vibrated through his hand and into my leg. God, I loved that sound. I loved that I could pull it from him. This big, silent mountain of a man, and I was the one who got to make him laugh. It was a power I never tired of.
We pulled into the underground parking of our condo building. Our condo. The word still felt new and thrilling on my tongue, like a stolen candy. We’d moved in while still surrounded by the cardboard chaos of our two separate lives being violently mashed into one. It was becoming our home, but still carried a few items that needed to be unpacked.
The elevator ride up was quiet. The playful energy from the car had evaporated, replaced by the heavy anticipation of re-entering reality. When we finally entered our unit, the familiar scent of fresh paint and us brought us back home.
And then, the silence.
It wasn't a peaceful silence. It was the silence of two phones about to detonate. It was the silence of a life half-lived, waiting for the next shoe to drop.
Rob dropped our bags by the door with a solid thud. He looked around, his cop eyes taking in the details—the single coffee mug in the sink, the slant of the afternoon light through the blinds, the way I was hovering nervously by the entrance, afraid to fully commit to crossing the threshold.
He walked over to me, his footsteps quiet on the hardwood. He didn’t say a word. He just framed my face with his huge, gentle hands and tilted my head up to look at him. His thumbs stroked my temples.
“We’re here,” he said, his voice impossibly soft. It was a statement, a promise, and a command all in one.
“The kids…” I started, my voice cracking.
“We’ll call them. Together.”
“Allie is going to…”
“We’ll handle it. Together.”
“And Mac…”
At that, his gaze intensified. His eyes, usually a calm, weathered blue, darkened a shade. He saw the fear in my expression. He saw the old, complicated history I’d carried with me for twenty years that we had carefully unraveled on the beach, now resurrected by a single text message.
“Mac,” he repeated, the name a neutral sound in his mouth. He leaned forward and pressed a firm, lingering kiss to my forehead. “What number was he? And this…” He gestured around our imperfect but beautiful new condo. “…is real. I am real.”
He was right. He was so solid, so present, so real. In that moment, he was the only true thing in my universe. The anxiety that had been a shrill whistle in my veins since the plane began to quiet, soothed by the sheer, immovable fact of him.
I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding and leaned into him, my forehead resting against his broad chest. I could feel the powerful, steady thump of his heart through his shirt. My personal metronome. My rock.
“Okay,” I whispered into the cotton of his shirt.
He wrapped his arms around me, completely enveloping me. We stood like that in the entryway for a long time, two men in the middle of a storm, holding onto each other in the eye of it.
Finally, he squeezed me once and let go. “Come on,” he said, a practical note returning to his voice. “Help me unpack. I think my socks are having a panic attack in that suitcase.”
I laughed, a real, genuine laugh this time. “Your socks are always having a panic attack. You pack like a man anticipating a siege.”
He grinned, that bear-like, all-is-right grin, and headed for the bags. I watched him go, this gentle giant in our new home, and for the first time since we’d landed, I felt a flicker of something that felt an awful lot like hope. The fight was here, but so were we. And we were together.
So I walked right up behind him and slid my arms around his waist, putting my cheek up against that big strong back. He stopped immediately, letting out a giant exhale and stood completely still. His hands let go of the bags and found mine.
“You okay?” He asked quietly. I nodded into his back.
We stood there for a long time, just like that, until he finally turned around, looking down at me as my face, now sandwiched between his two meaty pecs stared up at him. He bent down and kissed me, softly, slowly, before he let out another big exhale and clapped my shoulders.
“I smell like plane. Let’s shower and then we can unpack.” He took my hand and led me into the bathroom, leaving the bags and everything else in the hallway.
It was exactly what we needed: a long hot sensual shower, with Rob washing my entire body in a silent exploration, before I returned the favour. We ignored our thickening cocks for the time being, until we were dried off, and Rob surprised me by picking up my naked body like I was the gentlemen and he was the officer, and carried me into our big bed.
He crawled right up alongside me and his hands went lower, commenting on my tan lines and how sexy I looked. The inhalation was all he needed to begin, and my big man went down on me, taking my cock all the way down his throat. My fingers went into his hair as he wrapped his big hand around the base of my dick and worked his mouth up and down. I could see his own cock hard between his legs as he moved around me, sliding down and pushing my legs out. I lay back and closed my eyes, spreading my arms wide as he worked me to a state of sheer bliss.
“Rob…” I moaned, but he didn’t stop. I clutched his hair and heard the sounds of a hungry man slurping me down as my body responded. “You’re going to make me…”
With a groan I let loose, and pushed his head down, making him grunt and then gag a bit as I flooded his throat with my cum. He didn’t stop, fisting my dick and swallowing as his other hand stroked his own.
He came off me with a flop of my tool smacking my abs and he rolled on his back. I went for it without hesitation, grabbing his big 9 inches and shoving it down my own throat to the loud satisfactory groan from him. Rob’s legs went wide as I grabbed a massive thigh with one hand, working his full erection with the other, my mouth hungrily sucking to get the juice I wanted to taste so badly.
It didn’t take him long, already worked up, his big hand now at my skull working me up and down his shaft.
“Holy fuck Brian,” he moaned above me, fingers digging in to my hair. “You want it?” He growled as I worked my mouth faster.
I didn’t answer, just kept blowing him until I felt his abs contract and his legs spread out. He lifted his ass off the bed and fed me his load, surprisingly big considering his recent airplane deposit in my ass. I choked it down, waiting for his body to stop shuddering, before I climbed up him, moving my smoother smaller body over his. We found our mouths, tasting each other on our lips, and cuddled in.
Rob was panting hard, and I just grinned, moving my head down onto his chest. His big arms encircled me, his hands landing on my ass for a gentle smack.
“I think we deserve a nap.” He said with a squeeze of my cheeks.
I just nodded. Until we had to face the family and the problems and the reality of being back, this was what we needed.
The taste of him in me. The feeling of his naked body under me. And the warmth and love of him all around me.
I was sure I could tackle the world with him right now.
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