arch_calzen (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
arch_calzen) wrote2013-01-08 02:43 am
arch_calzen) wrote2013-01-08 02:43 am
On The Matters Of Heart, or May I Have This Dance? Parts 7-8
Fandom: Cabin Pressure
Character(s), Pairing(s): Douglas, Martin, Carolyn, Arthur, various OCs. D/M
Rating: K for now, I suppose. Will go up in later chapters
Genre: mostly Romance, with a dash of some other genres
Word count: Ugh, will count when it's finished :D
Summary: Initially a fill for the CP kink meme. Prompt: "Neither Douglas or Martin have ever felt attracted to another man. But these feelings that build so slowly and surely, grown from friendship and companionship, are difficult to ignore. Before they well and truly realised what is happening, they've fallen in love with each other.
They almost can't believe it themselves."
Part 7
* * *
It was a long way from Dakar to Fitton, and an even longer way from Bangkok to Dakar they had made the other day, so the flight deck was almost stupor-like silent – with Martin undoubtedly anticipating with horror the amount of paperwork he was going to have to do after the landing – allowing Douglas to pursue his thoughts in uninterrupted peace.
Douglas stole a glance at the Captain for no apparent reason and pursed his lips slightly, contemplating the mystery introduced to him by the younger man.
It wasn’t like the First Officer didn’t like mysteries. He did. But what Douglas certainly didn’t like was not understanding something. And that was where he was finding himself utterly baffled – not exactly a novel feeling, no, but one he hoped not to experience any time soon.
‘Let us try to be exact,’ he thought. It was a tricky feat, to narrow down one’s own suspicions, but he was up to the challenge. ‘What is truly disorienting is Martin’s behavior.’ He paused for a second, listening to the way his mind reacted to the experimental definition. The vague uncomfortable feeling of not-exactly-nailing-it still lingered. Another try, then. ‘Alright, that wasn’t too wise. His behavior is rarely not odd,’ he mused. ‘How about… hmm… Not his whole behavior, no. Towards… me, perhaps?’ he probed carefully, like a traveler dipping his staff in the marsh to see if he is choosing the right direction to venture in further. The feeling became a bit less nagging. Good.
‘Then why is it strange? What exactly is different?’ he continued on the same thought. ‘What has changed, and why?’ The feeling increased somewhat, hinting that there was an important sidetrack to consider. Douglas halted obediently and felt around, as if he was physically searching for the required piece of information. Ah, there it was. The big red glowing sign pointing to a parallel path called ‘Your behavior toward him has changed, too’.
‘And that is at least partly why his has changed,’ he continued the sign’s reading in agreement. ‘Because we started acting differently, making the other react, and adjusting our reactions to the other’s reactions,’ Douglas pushed the slight dizziness caused by the tautology to the back of his mind and concentrated. ‘Interintensification. A cascade mechanism, pure and simple,’ he nodded to himself.
In the corner of his eye, Douglas caught Martin looking at him. ‘Might have noticed the nod,’ he thought and met his questioning gaze of ‘Is there something..?’ Douglas shook his head and turned back to the control panel, noting as Martin’s eyes lingered at him perplexedly for a few more seconds before the younger man resumed his position as well.
Case in point.
‘Okay, what have we stopped at…’ Douglas frowned, searching for the dropped thread of the thought. Ah, the cascade mechanism, or course. ‘Now the main question is who had started it in the first place,’ he thought boldly and nearly cringed as the feeling intensified almost to the point of a headache. Wrong direction, then. ‘Not who had started, no. What to make of it, perhaps?’ Slightly better.
Still, Douglas was puzzled by the process itself, too. For once, it looked achingly as if Martin was warming up to him. All of a sudden. Even despite his attitude towards the young man, which was sometimes borderline cruel. And now, out of blue, after a couple of years of flying together several times a week, the Captain decided he could… Could what, exactly?
Douglas allowed himself to frown this time. Oh how he hated leaving questions hanging without appropriate answers to them, but what could he say?
…Another one. Okay, that didn’t count, it was a rhetorical.
As he had already stated earlier, Martin was a mystery to him.
Then why not to turn his attention to someone Douglas was more familiar with? Namely, himself. Douglas gave a small sigh and rubbed his chin in thought. For his behavior was sometimes just as odd as Martin’s, and his mind’s and body’s reactions outright puzzled him, when a certain young man was concerned.
It was definitely not the first time someone… His train of thought made a sudden diversion. What was he to call… this? This intricate social dancing they were doing, circling each other in delicate pas that were never directed at the other one, yet were almost imperceptibly bringing them closer together with each step. It was not the first time someone invited him to this kind of dance – granted, he was an attractive man – but when was the last time he reciprocated? And who was this someone?
If Douglas were moving at the moment, he would freeze.
Helena. Helena was the last person whose dance he accepted.
Douglas blinked several times, waiting for the realization to sink in.
The last three times he did this kind of dance – the dance of subtly growing affection, he made himself name it appropriately, even though it cost him a lot of nerves – he was courting his future wives. Of course, it was bolder back then, for he was a happily heterosexual (and usually unengaged) man, approaching and being approached by just as happily heterosexual women, so the dance was usually shorter, with rounder curves (oh the innuendo) and swifter steps, more like rock-n-roll and boogie-woogie transforming into tango and foxtrot of varying speed: first leg-shaking and quick embraces, then all those thighs sliding between thighs (metaphorically and completely appropriately, one must add), disposed necks and spines arching at alarming angles.
With Martin, it was different. With Martin, it was… like contact improvisation or slow waltz, but with far more distance between partners, which was born solely out of mutual respect and just as mutual insecurity. Stepping back when the other one stepped forward to give him space, solid and at the same time almost ethereal presence of the partner’s body, spines still arching at times, but with more care and consideration. This dance, it was chastity. Dignity (and there he was reminded of their game from the other week). Sometimes it even was exactness and readiness to anticipate the other one’s movement and act accordingly.
It was never breaking eye contact.
Douglas paused and gave another sigh, slightly laced with exasperation. Oh yes, he was an old romantic.
And that was where it led him to: a relationship dance with his colleague, and it was already too late to say the dance was of a friendly or companionable fashion. It was difficult to admit, but if Douglas was ever honest with somebody, this somebody was himself.
It was still strange to him, why the two of them started this despite… well, the list of reasons was too long, it was easier to simply label it ‘everything’ and leave the thought.
But the fact remained: one of them invited the other to the dance, and the second person accepted. When or how it had happened, no one could tell now – Douglas seriously doubted any of them had even noticed that – but both of them seemed subconsciously keen, even if completely ignorant of the whole thing (at least, Douglas wasn’t now) to continue this dance and see where it would take them.
But yes, where would it take them? What were they to do now? As painful as it was for him to admit the fact, this was the time when Douglas Richardson had no idea.
* * *
Martin massaged his temples with two fingers and groaned. The paperwork was infuriating, and Douglas lounging lazily around instead of bloody helping was just as infuriating.
And distracting. Maybe. A little. It was awfully difficult to concentrate on anything with the man in the same room. Martin suspected that the main reason he was still able to fly was that he had too many reflexes to work instead of his brain when it was busied by Douglas’ presence.
After the taxi, Carolyn and Arthur stayed behind at Gerti for a spontaneous stewarding-skills-up-easing session, so the two pilots ended up in the portakabin. Martin was here for a reason: the bloody logbooks. Douglas, however…
“Why are you still here, anyway?” he asked grudgingly somewhat. If the man wasn’t going to help him anyway, could he at least not irritate him by being in the same place as he?
Douglas got up from the sofa slowly and made his way over to the coffee-machine, narrowly and with unexpected grace avoiding the many bits of chaos in the crowded room. “I have an appointment. With a friend,” the man drawled without turning to look at the younger pilot, flicking the machine on.
Marin stood up and rested his hands on the table’s surface, leaning forward slightly. He was deadly sick of writing and used the conversation as an excuse to pause for a minute. “My question remains,” he said with a small smirk. “Isn’t one supposed to wait for the person they have appointment with in some nice place in the city? Instead of the airfield.”
This time, Douglas paused his manipulations to send Martin a disbelieving look over his shoulder. “Martin. Please do think for a second, if you are capable of such a feat,” he said with amusement.
The younger man frowned confusedly before realization dawned at him. “Oh please don’t tell me you… Oh. Dougla-as,” he moaned disapprovingly (if he were close enough, he would notice how Douglas’ pupils dilated at the sound of his name pronounced in such a… fashion. But he wasn’t. So he didn’t). “You are smuggling again, aren’t you.”
The older man shook his head. “Seriously, wasn’t that huge sack of exclusive peanut a hint? This is really disappointing, Martin, I thought you could do better.”
Martin ignored the jibe and went to move around the desk to get himself coffee, too, but jammed his hip painfully on its corner, which hurt unexpectedly much.
He heard Douglas approaching and opened his tightly shut eyes, alternating between howling and whining. After a second, the young man straightened back up with a flinch and took in the view of his colleague maneuvering deftly and almost lazily among the chaos with two cups balanced casually in his hands. He made himself suppress a cringe of envy and a sudden pang of admiration.
“The grace itself, as usually,” Douglas quipped, handing one of the cups over to Martin, who accepted it absently and put it down on the desk.
“Oh spare me, for heaven’s sake,” Martin rubbed his sore hip. “And you, how come you are able to move so easily without bumping into anything? Like you’ve been to dancing classes or something,” he realized the question sounded weird as soon as it left his lips, but it was a bit late to take that back. Besides, Douglas’ fluid movements did seem like he did dancing in the past, so maybe the question (which was more of a complaint, really) was not completely inappropriate. Another thought made its way to his mind: flashes of Douglas swirling with different partners, a swish of colour and long hair, sensual music. He frowned inwardly. He found himself wishing for some reason to know of everyone Douglas had ever danced with. The reaction to the thought was a mixture of hurt and jealousy, and Martin quickly pushed it out of his mind in terror. What was that?
“Firstly, I have already asked Arthur and now I will ask you: have you seen me doing anything I was not good at? We may skip the answering part, it is obvious. Secondly, one doesn’t have to be of transparent thinness to be agile and dexterous – which you prove over and over again, by the way. And thirdly,” Douglas raised his hand to not let Martin interrupt him, stepping up to place his cup on Martin’s desk as well and moving back afterwards, “thirdly, yes, I did go to classes. Though it was a long, long time ago. I might suppose Sir hadn’t yet made us all happy by being present in this mortal world at the time.”
Martin sighed wearily at the explanation. “Huh, I guess then that it hasn’t much to do with your skill, one would surely forget everything after so many years,” he murmured and pushed himself away from the desk. He didn’t want his coffee any more, but he could use a glass of water.
“Not really,” Douglas’s low voice reached Martin’s ears as the younger man was striding past him. “Muscle memory of some moves still remains.”
Hearing the words, the young man felt Douglas tug at his left forearm as he caught it, and the momentum sent him round and right into his colleague, chests colliding with some force. Martin gave a small yelp of surprise and stared up in Douglas’ eyes.
This was overwhelming. Suddenly, the movement, the pressure, the smell, the closeness, someone’s wild heartbeat – everything rushed at him and he drowned in the combined sensations. It was so unexpected that he let his body shut down, freezing in place and unable to tear his gaze away. Through the deafening rush of blood in his ears, Martin heard Douglas murmuring unusually softly, “…like this,” and then his hearing shut down as well, as his mind struggled to minimize the incoming information, unable to process everything at once.
Anyway, it must have shut down, too, at least for a second, because the next thing he became aware of was the fact that he was very much kissing his First Officer. And that the way of kissing was making it impossible to mistake the whole act as a manifestation of friendly feelings… Mainly because friends just didn’t go eating at each other’s lips. Unless they were roaring drunk.
And if there was anything Martin could be sure of at the moment, is that he was completely, frighteningly sober.
Someone moaned, blinding his brain for a moment.
After another second the train of thought made a struggling little push forward (thinking was becoming an issue, seriously, especially as the other man has taken to nipping and licking at his bottom lip), and Martin realized with pure horror with just a hint of thrill that Douglas was just as sober.
A metaphorical bucket of cold water found him struggling to unwind his arms from around the older man’s neck (and how and when did they manage to get there?!) and push slightly at the warm body.
Martin snapped his eyes open (and when, WHEN did they close??) and gazed at Douglas’ face, so close to his own he could effortlessly count eyelashes. The other man’s eyes were already open, too, his face cautiously blank. But right before he schooled his features into a well-practiced mask – it’s not like Martin hasn’t ever seen him do that when hiding something; an emotion, most often – the pilot managed to catch some other expression, a sudden display of – what?
With astonishment Martin concluded (another brilliant realization in less than one minute, and under such circumstances, that was impressive) that possibly, quite possibly, just maybe the great Sky God was as insecure as he himself was? The supposition was shocking, but what if..?
“Douglas,” his voice was suddenly hoarse. He paused and swallowed, but that didn’t help his dry throat much, anyway. “It is appearing to me that perhaps you might know as little of what is going on as I do.”
The man’s face seemed frozen for two longest seconds, before a small mischievous smile appeared.
“Me-e?” he pitched his voice exaggeratingly high as his facial features distorted in mocking expression of wounded innocence. “Not knowing something? Seriously, have we met before?”
This was too much for the day. Martin threw his head back in a fit of almost hysterical laughter, feeling arms around his waist (arms around his waist. what.) shift to allow the man to lean back on them and support his weight slightly.
When they joined laughter died down at last, Martin found Douglas’ eyes with his own, slightly teary for no apparent reason.
“Kind of spoilt the moment here, didn’t we?” he breathed.
“Terribly so,” the other man agreed and smiled again.
* * *
Part 8
* * *
“…Post-taxi checks complete. We can’t do this, Douglas.”
The man almost missed the second sentence, having habitually zoned out Martin’s flight-related remark. He sighed wearily.
“The fact that you have repeated this statement in a quite astonishing variety of synonyms for a frankly disturbing amount of times, I still fail to see your reason.”
It’s been a week since The Episode in the portakabin, and so far it was surpassed only by Douglas’ third divorce in its absurdity. Judging by the way the level of said absurdity was confidently increasing, the man doubted the divorce would hold its first place for much longer now.
Yes, at first they laughed with something close to hysteria undertoning their voices, but then the awkwardness came, just as suddenly as everything else that evening.
And awkwardness reigned ever since.
Martin made a hasty retreat, vanishing from the portakabin as soon as it became possible, practically fleeing, and Douglas would absolutely deny everything if someone proposed that the fact had felt a bit like betrayal to him.
The whole situation was horrible, to say the least. They had a flight to Yekaterinburg the day after that, and it was easily the most silent flight in history of MJN, even the time before Martin when Douglas flew alone included. Even Arthur steered away from the flight deck cautiously, aware of the heavy silence only interrupted when it was absolutely necessary.
Martin fled again as soon as they landed, taking the logbooks home as he tornadoed through the portakabin, collecting everything he would need.
Three days later there was a flight to Stockholm, which proved to be a twin sibling to the previous one, regarding Martin’s behavior.
Initially, Douglas tried to talk. Of course he did. At first, he thought he could manage to coax Martin into a conversation about their status, because it was confusing as hell for so many reasons.
Then, he tried to make him say anything, really, apart from protocol snippets of ‘Golf Tango India’. Each attempt to engage the man in a conversation was met with a stone wall of silence, and Douglas greatly disliked the unusual feeling of being rejected. Why was all of this happening? What was he to do?
Martin remained silent and cautious, avoiding any kind of contact whenever he could.
Douglas thought over the whole thing from the beginning. A feeling couldn’t leave him that somehow, somewhere, something went wrong in their dance; a wrong or untimely step was taken, and everything went straight to hell. But try as he might, Douglas failed to locate the precise time or nature of the misstep.
But now Martin was at least talking to him, which was a huge progress. It was a long flight, and he must have prepared for the conversation, while Douglas was more than willing to keep it up: maybe it would finally let him understand at least something.
But the conversation itself wasn’t overly helpful so far; they’ve already spent a difficult hour and a half on it, and Douglas didn’t manage to get anything out of Martin, other than the stubborn idea that their – whatever they had – could not exist.
“Oh please, you know perfectly what I mean!” Martin’s voice snapped Douglas out of his uneasy thoughts.
“This just can’t go on,” the younger man continued, staring resolutely at the control panel, refusing to meet Douglas’ inquisitive gaze.
“Yes, yes, we’ve already heard that, thank you,” Douglas could feel irritation at the pilot’s almost childlike stubbornness rising inside of him. “What we haven’t heard yet is the explanation, for I personally continue to fail to see any.”
Martin twisted in his seat as much as the still buckled belts would allow and finally faced Douglas. “Why don’t you get it! It- it is obvious,” he cringed. “This- this,” Martin took a moment to gesture wildly between them, “this, it is wrong.”
Ah, so that was the reason. Douglas felt a pang of – what? Disappointment, perhaps. Best defence is offence, and once again Douglas unconsciously used his main weapon: sarcasm. “Well, if Sir considers himself to resemble an infamous small arms element in its perfect straightness, then Sir should have stated this more clearly a mere week ago, for I dare be quite sure that Sir didn’t object to our small intercourse. Oh no-o, wait,” Douglas mimed surprise, “my memory might have become poorer as the years pass, but I again dare be sure that it was actually Sir who initiated-“
“Stop, stop it!” Martin shouted suddenly, turning bright red with emotion. He paused to forcibly calm himself down, breathing loudly through his nose.
Douglas halted, watching the younger man’s anxious face. That was… not entirely unexpected, but curious nonetheless. And might also prove to be revealing, given some time to collect oneself. So he waited.
“Douglas,” Martin started and swallowed, seemingly trying to find the right words. “I don’t understand what is going on.” The older man’s eyes widened fractionally as the words echoed his own thoughts.
“I really, honestly don’t. I have no idea how this happened. I swear,” he paused again, running a hand over his face. “Don’t you dare imply that it is easy for me, because it isn’t, it really isn’t,” the words were biting, but the voice was soft, and Douglas chose to trust the latter.
“I don’t understand, and it frightens me. I- okay, I’ll say it,” Martin inhaled, as if preparing to dive. “I’ve never felt this way towards a man before. Ever. And I don’t know what to do. And- well- it’s you. And you are… you,” he flinched before continuing, “and if something goes wrong, one of us will have to leave, that much is obvious. And I don’t want- any of this to happen. I hope you know what I mean.”
Douglas nodded mutely. It was as if Martin was voicing Douglas’ thoughts right from his head.
“…And I really needed some time to process. To believe that it actually happened,” Martin gave a small smile. “I- I mean, I mean, of course, it must have been easier for you, it’s not like-“
“No.”
“Pardon?”
“It wasn’t, and it is not easier for me, as you put it.” Douglas sighed. If Martin made the effort to come out of his comfort zone and reveal something personal, he might as well reciprocate. It would only be fair. He wished to be fair to him. “This week, it was… difficult.” Martin nodded, encouraging him to continue.
“You weren’t the only one to worry about what has happened, why it has happened and what it will lead to,” Douglas spoke slowly. “And, to be honest, the way you acted didn’t add up any confidence.”
Martin smiled sheepishly, “I’m sorry.”
They stayed silent for a while, but this time it was a much more comfortable silence. They were again together at least in their concerns.
Douglas unbuckled the belts and got up, heading to the door. “How about we finally leave old girl for the night?”
Martin nodded and followed him to the portakabin.
* * *
Martin scribbled absently, his thoughts far from the flight itself. The two haven’t exchanged a word since they left Gerti, but it was obvious that the conversation wasn’t finished yet. He glanced at Douglas, who was yet again occupying the sofa, then at Carolyn and Arthur, discussing something quietly at the other side of the room. For the first time in the week, he didn’t feel the urge to leave as soon as possible. Moreover, he was fairly sure that Douglas was not meeting anyone this time, but waiting for him instead. Martin smiled inwardly as the thought made him feel warm, whereas just a day ago it would cause only discomfort and anxiety. He was not going to disappear this time, for it would be unnecessary cruelty.
A few minutes later, he got up and rounded the table, aiming for the coffee-machine. He didn’t manage a single step, though, as Douglas appeared in front of him out of nowhere (Martin suspected he was never going to get used to the man’s confident grace), holding out a cup for him to take. Martin accepted the cup and suddenly halted, looking up to meet Douglas’ eyes: this was exactly the same position they had been in a week ago. Martin’s eyes twinkled with amusement and understanding, and he was glad to see the searching tint of Douglas’ gaze disappear, replaced by pure affection, so sudden he nearly voiced his surprise. Just at that moment, in the corner of his eye Martin noticed Carolyn lift her head, eyes resting on the two of them for a brief moment, while she never interrupted her conversation with Arthur.
Her attention, however, made Martin remember their surroundings, and he returned to his chair, but not before murmuring a ‘thank you’ and giving an almost conspiratorial smile.
* * *
They neared the van and stopped, Martin halting a moment later than Douglas and turning around to face him.
The rest of the time spent in the portakabin passed in silence, and after Martin had finished the logs, the two of them got up simultaneously, said their goodbyes to the other two members of the crew and left the room without a spare word.
And now they stood near the van in the nearly utter darkness, cold air swirling around them.
They stayed silent for a while; neither knew how to begin.
“Well, err,” Martin finally started. “Thank you for waiting for me, I guess.”
“Thank you for not running away, then,” Douglas replied with a smirk. “Incredibly glad I didn’t have to chase you around the airfield.”
Martin let out a chuckle, and then they were silent again.
“Look,” Douglas began and paused in thought. “Let’s try and think rational,” he waited for Martin to nod. “It is useless to deny that we feel… attracted,” he frowned. The word tasted a bit off, but he couldn’t think of a better equivalent at the moment. “But it is novel for both of us – embarrassing as it is for the marvelous me, granted – and neither of us knows the course of action.”
Martin nodded again.
“I predict there will be problems, and there are surely some risks we have to take. But,” Douglas reached out and tenderly cradled Martin’s left hand between both of his. “In this, we are together. However it goes, we are on the same side. If you are willing, that is. Do you agree?”
Martin smiled. “Yes,” he answered readily and curled his fingers around one of Douglas’ hands.
“This is settled, then.”
They fell silent again, cocooned in the novelty and thrill of their shared emotions, of something that was not yet born, but already conceived.
But the hour was late, and it was finally time to part ways. Douglas read the same thought on Martin’s face, as the two of them leant forward fractionally, as if unsure of their actions. Douglas smirked fondly at their hesitance, funny in its immaturity, and moved his head to a side a bit to plant a kiss on Martin’s temple. “Taking things slowly, aren’t we,” he murmured and saw Martin smile again.
“Yeah,” he nodded and turned around to unlock the door of his van. “See you on Wednesday, then?”
“The day after tomorrow, yes,” Douglas started walking in the direction of his car. “Goodnight, Martin.”
“Goodnight, Douglas.”
Character(s), Pairing(s): Douglas, Martin, Carolyn, Arthur, various OCs. D/M
Rating: K for now, I suppose. Will go up in later chapters
Genre: mostly Romance, with a dash of some other genres
Word count: Ugh, will count when it's finished :D
Summary: Initially a fill for the CP kink meme. Prompt: "Neither Douglas or Martin have ever felt attracted to another man. But these feelings that build so slowly and surely, grown from friendship and companionship, are difficult to ignore. Before they well and truly realised what is happening, they've fallen in love with each other.
They almost can't believe it themselves."
Part 7
* * *
It was a long way from Dakar to Fitton, and an even longer way from Bangkok to Dakar they had made the other day, so the flight deck was almost stupor-like silent – with Martin undoubtedly anticipating with horror the amount of paperwork he was going to have to do after the landing – allowing Douglas to pursue his thoughts in uninterrupted peace.
Douglas stole a glance at the Captain for no apparent reason and pursed his lips slightly, contemplating the mystery introduced to him by the younger man.
It wasn’t like the First Officer didn’t like mysteries. He did. But what Douglas certainly didn’t like was not understanding something. And that was where he was finding himself utterly baffled – not exactly a novel feeling, no, but one he hoped not to experience any time soon.
‘Let us try to be exact,’ he thought. It was a tricky feat, to narrow down one’s own suspicions, but he was up to the challenge. ‘What is truly disorienting is Martin’s behavior.’ He paused for a second, listening to the way his mind reacted to the experimental definition. The vague uncomfortable feeling of not-exactly-nailing-it still lingered. Another try, then. ‘Alright, that wasn’t too wise. His behavior is rarely not odd,’ he mused. ‘How about… hmm… Not his whole behavior, no. Towards… me, perhaps?’ he probed carefully, like a traveler dipping his staff in the marsh to see if he is choosing the right direction to venture in further. The feeling became a bit less nagging. Good.
‘Then why is it strange? What exactly is different?’ he continued on the same thought. ‘What has changed, and why?’ The feeling increased somewhat, hinting that there was an important sidetrack to consider. Douglas halted obediently and felt around, as if he was physically searching for the required piece of information. Ah, there it was. The big red glowing sign pointing to a parallel path called ‘Your behavior toward him has changed, too’.
‘And that is at least partly why his has changed,’ he continued the sign’s reading in agreement. ‘Because we started acting differently, making the other react, and adjusting our reactions to the other’s reactions,’ Douglas pushed the slight dizziness caused by the tautology to the back of his mind and concentrated. ‘Interintensification. A cascade mechanism, pure and simple,’ he nodded to himself.
In the corner of his eye, Douglas caught Martin looking at him. ‘Might have noticed the nod,’ he thought and met his questioning gaze of ‘Is there something..?’ Douglas shook his head and turned back to the control panel, noting as Martin’s eyes lingered at him perplexedly for a few more seconds before the younger man resumed his position as well.
Case in point.
‘Okay, what have we stopped at…’ Douglas frowned, searching for the dropped thread of the thought. Ah, the cascade mechanism, or course. ‘Now the main question is who had started it in the first place,’ he thought boldly and nearly cringed as the feeling intensified almost to the point of a headache. Wrong direction, then. ‘Not who had started, no. What to make of it, perhaps?’ Slightly better.
Still, Douglas was puzzled by the process itself, too. For once, it looked achingly as if Martin was warming up to him. All of a sudden. Even despite his attitude towards the young man, which was sometimes borderline cruel. And now, out of blue, after a couple of years of flying together several times a week, the Captain decided he could… Could what, exactly?
Douglas allowed himself to frown this time. Oh how he hated leaving questions hanging without appropriate answers to them, but what could he say?
…Another one. Okay, that didn’t count, it was a rhetorical.
As he had already stated earlier, Martin was a mystery to him.
Then why not to turn his attention to someone Douglas was more familiar with? Namely, himself. Douglas gave a small sigh and rubbed his chin in thought. For his behavior was sometimes just as odd as Martin’s, and his mind’s and body’s reactions outright puzzled him, when a certain young man was concerned.
It was definitely not the first time someone… His train of thought made a sudden diversion. What was he to call… this? This intricate social dancing they were doing, circling each other in delicate pas that were never directed at the other one, yet were almost imperceptibly bringing them closer together with each step. It was not the first time someone invited him to this kind of dance – granted, he was an attractive man – but when was the last time he reciprocated? And who was this someone?
If Douglas were moving at the moment, he would freeze.
Helena. Helena was the last person whose dance he accepted.
Douglas blinked several times, waiting for the realization to sink in.
The last three times he did this kind of dance – the dance of subtly growing affection, he made himself name it appropriately, even though it cost him a lot of nerves – he was courting his future wives. Of course, it was bolder back then, for he was a happily heterosexual (and usually unengaged) man, approaching and being approached by just as happily heterosexual women, so the dance was usually shorter, with rounder curves (oh the innuendo) and swifter steps, more like rock-n-roll and boogie-woogie transforming into tango and foxtrot of varying speed: first leg-shaking and quick embraces, then all those thighs sliding between thighs (metaphorically and completely appropriately, one must add), disposed necks and spines arching at alarming angles.
With Martin, it was different. With Martin, it was… like contact improvisation or slow waltz, but with far more distance between partners, which was born solely out of mutual respect and just as mutual insecurity. Stepping back when the other one stepped forward to give him space, solid and at the same time almost ethereal presence of the partner’s body, spines still arching at times, but with more care and consideration. This dance, it was chastity. Dignity (and there he was reminded of their game from the other week). Sometimes it even was exactness and readiness to anticipate the other one’s movement and act accordingly.
It was never breaking eye contact.
Douglas paused and gave another sigh, slightly laced with exasperation. Oh yes, he was an old romantic.
And that was where it led him to: a relationship dance with his colleague, and it was already too late to say the dance was of a friendly or companionable fashion. It was difficult to admit, but if Douglas was ever honest with somebody, this somebody was himself.
It was still strange to him, why the two of them started this despite… well, the list of reasons was too long, it was easier to simply label it ‘everything’ and leave the thought.
But the fact remained: one of them invited the other to the dance, and the second person accepted. When or how it had happened, no one could tell now – Douglas seriously doubted any of them had even noticed that – but both of them seemed subconsciously keen, even if completely ignorant of the whole thing (at least, Douglas wasn’t now) to continue this dance and see where it would take them.
But yes, where would it take them? What were they to do now? As painful as it was for him to admit the fact, this was the time when Douglas Richardson had no idea.
* * *
Martin massaged his temples with two fingers and groaned. The paperwork was infuriating, and Douglas lounging lazily around instead of bloody helping was just as infuriating.
And distracting. Maybe. A little. It was awfully difficult to concentrate on anything with the man in the same room. Martin suspected that the main reason he was still able to fly was that he had too many reflexes to work instead of his brain when it was busied by Douglas’ presence.
After the taxi, Carolyn and Arthur stayed behind at Gerti for a spontaneous stewarding-skills-up-easing session, so the two pilots ended up in the portakabin. Martin was here for a reason: the bloody logbooks. Douglas, however…
“Why are you still here, anyway?” he asked grudgingly somewhat. If the man wasn’t going to help him anyway, could he at least not irritate him by being in the same place as he?
Douglas got up from the sofa slowly and made his way over to the coffee-machine, narrowly and with unexpected grace avoiding the many bits of chaos in the crowded room. “I have an appointment. With a friend,” the man drawled without turning to look at the younger pilot, flicking the machine on.
Marin stood up and rested his hands on the table’s surface, leaning forward slightly. He was deadly sick of writing and used the conversation as an excuse to pause for a minute. “My question remains,” he said with a small smirk. “Isn’t one supposed to wait for the person they have appointment with in some nice place in the city? Instead of the airfield.”
This time, Douglas paused his manipulations to send Martin a disbelieving look over his shoulder. “Martin. Please do think for a second, if you are capable of such a feat,” he said with amusement.
The younger man frowned confusedly before realization dawned at him. “Oh please don’t tell me you… Oh. Dougla-as,” he moaned disapprovingly (if he were close enough, he would notice how Douglas’ pupils dilated at the sound of his name pronounced in such a… fashion. But he wasn’t. So he didn’t). “You are smuggling again, aren’t you.”
The older man shook his head. “Seriously, wasn’t that huge sack of exclusive peanut a hint? This is really disappointing, Martin, I thought you could do better.”
Martin ignored the jibe and went to move around the desk to get himself coffee, too, but jammed his hip painfully on its corner, which hurt unexpectedly much.
He heard Douglas approaching and opened his tightly shut eyes, alternating between howling and whining. After a second, the young man straightened back up with a flinch and took in the view of his colleague maneuvering deftly and almost lazily among the chaos with two cups balanced casually in his hands. He made himself suppress a cringe of envy and a sudden pang of admiration.
“The grace itself, as usually,” Douglas quipped, handing one of the cups over to Martin, who accepted it absently and put it down on the desk.
“Oh spare me, for heaven’s sake,” Martin rubbed his sore hip. “And you, how come you are able to move so easily without bumping into anything? Like you’ve been to dancing classes or something,” he realized the question sounded weird as soon as it left his lips, but it was a bit late to take that back. Besides, Douglas’ fluid movements did seem like he did dancing in the past, so maybe the question (which was more of a complaint, really) was not completely inappropriate. Another thought made its way to his mind: flashes of Douglas swirling with different partners, a swish of colour and long hair, sensual music. He frowned inwardly. He found himself wishing for some reason to know of everyone Douglas had ever danced with. The reaction to the thought was a mixture of hurt and jealousy, and Martin quickly pushed it out of his mind in terror. What was that?
“Firstly, I have already asked Arthur and now I will ask you: have you seen me doing anything I was not good at? We may skip the answering part, it is obvious. Secondly, one doesn’t have to be of transparent thinness to be agile and dexterous – which you prove over and over again, by the way. And thirdly,” Douglas raised his hand to not let Martin interrupt him, stepping up to place his cup on Martin’s desk as well and moving back afterwards, “thirdly, yes, I did go to classes. Though it was a long, long time ago. I might suppose Sir hadn’t yet made us all happy by being present in this mortal world at the time.”
Martin sighed wearily at the explanation. “Huh, I guess then that it hasn’t much to do with your skill, one would surely forget everything after so many years,” he murmured and pushed himself away from the desk. He didn’t want his coffee any more, but he could use a glass of water.
“Not really,” Douglas’s low voice reached Martin’s ears as the younger man was striding past him. “Muscle memory of some moves still remains.”
Hearing the words, the young man felt Douglas tug at his left forearm as he caught it, and the momentum sent him round and right into his colleague, chests colliding with some force. Martin gave a small yelp of surprise and stared up in Douglas’ eyes.
This was overwhelming. Suddenly, the movement, the pressure, the smell, the closeness, someone’s wild heartbeat – everything rushed at him and he drowned in the combined sensations. It was so unexpected that he let his body shut down, freezing in place and unable to tear his gaze away. Through the deafening rush of blood in his ears, Martin heard Douglas murmuring unusually softly, “…like this,” and then his hearing shut down as well, as his mind struggled to minimize the incoming information, unable to process everything at once.
Anyway, it must have shut down, too, at least for a second, because the next thing he became aware of was the fact that he was very much kissing his First Officer. And that the way of kissing was making it impossible to mistake the whole act as a manifestation of friendly feelings… Mainly because friends just didn’t go eating at each other’s lips. Unless they were roaring drunk.
And if there was anything Martin could be sure of at the moment, is that he was completely, frighteningly sober.
Someone moaned, blinding his brain for a moment.
After another second the train of thought made a struggling little push forward (thinking was becoming an issue, seriously, especially as the other man has taken to nipping and licking at his bottom lip), and Martin realized with pure horror with just a hint of thrill that Douglas was just as sober.
A metaphorical bucket of cold water found him struggling to unwind his arms from around the older man’s neck (and how and when did they manage to get there?!) and push slightly at the warm body.
Martin snapped his eyes open (and when, WHEN did they close??) and gazed at Douglas’ face, so close to his own he could effortlessly count eyelashes. The other man’s eyes were already open, too, his face cautiously blank. But right before he schooled his features into a well-practiced mask – it’s not like Martin hasn’t ever seen him do that when hiding something; an emotion, most often – the pilot managed to catch some other expression, a sudden display of – what?
With astonishment Martin concluded (another brilliant realization in less than one minute, and under such circumstances, that was impressive) that possibly, quite possibly, just maybe the great Sky God was as insecure as he himself was? The supposition was shocking, but what if..?
“Douglas,” his voice was suddenly hoarse. He paused and swallowed, but that didn’t help his dry throat much, anyway. “It is appearing to me that perhaps you might know as little of what is going on as I do.”
The man’s face seemed frozen for two longest seconds, before a small mischievous smile appeared.
“Me-e?” he pitched his voice exaggeratingly high as his facial features distorted in mocking expression of wounded innocence. “Not knowing something? Seriously, have we met before?”
This was too much for the day. Martin threw his head back in a fit of almost hysterical laughter, feeling arms around his waist (arms around his waist. what.) shift to allow the man to lean back on them and support his weight slightly.
When they joined laughter died down at last, Martin found Douglas’ eyes with his own, slightly teary for no apparent reason.
“Kind of spoilt the moment here, didn’t we?” he breathed.
“Terribly so,” the other man agreed and smiled again.
* * *
Part 8
* * *
“…Post-taxi checks complete. We can’t do this, Douglas.”
The man almost missed the second sentence, having habitually zoned out Martin’s flight-related remark. He sighed wearily.
“The fact that you have repeated this statement in a quite astonishing variety of synonyms for a frankly disturbing amount of times, I still fail to see your reason.”
It’s been a week since The Episode in the portakabin, and so far it was surpassed only by Douglas’ third divorce in its absurdity. Judging by the way the level of said absurdity was confidently increasing, the man doubted the divorce would hold its first place for much longer now.
Yes, at first they laughed with something close to hysteria undertoning their voices, but then the awkwardness came, just as suddenly as everything else that evening.
And awkwardness reigned ever since.
Martin made a hasty retreat, vanishing from the portakabin as soon as it became possible, practically fleeing, and Douglas would absolutely deny everything if someone proposed that the fact had felt a bit like betrayal to him.
The whole situation was horrible, to say the least. They had a flight to Yekaterinburg the day after that, and it was easily the most silent flight in history of MJN, even the time before Martin when Douglas flew alone included. Even Arthur steered away from the flight deck cautiously, aware of the heavy silence only interrupted when it was absolutely necessary.
Martin fled again as soon as they landed, taking the logbooks home as he tornadoed through the portakabin, collecting everything he would need.
Three days later there was a flight to Stockholm, which proved to be a twin sibling to the previous one, regarding Martin’s behavior.
Initially, Douglas tried to talk. Of course he did. At first, he thought he could manage to coax Martin into a conversation about their status, because it was confusing as hell for so many reasons.
Then, he tried to make him say anything, really, apart from protocol snippets of ‘Golf Tango India’. Each attempt to engage the man in a conversation was met with a stone wall of silence, and Douglas greatly disliked the unusual feeling of being rejected. Why was all of this happening? What was he to do?
Martin remained silent and cautious, avoiding any kind of contact whenever he could.
Douglas thought over the whole thing from the beginning. A feeling couldn’t leave him that somehow, somewhere, something went wrong in their dance; a wrong or untimely step was taken, and everything went straight to hell. But try as he might, Douglas failed to locate the precise time or nature of the misstep.
But now Martin was at least talking to him, which was a huge progress. It was a long flight, and he must have prepared for the conversation, while Douglas was more than willing to keep it up: maybe it would finally let him understand at least something.
But the conversation itself wasn’t overly helpful so far; they’ve already spent a difficult hour and a half on it, and Douglas didn’t manage to get anything out of Martin, other than the stubborn idea that their – whatever they had – could not exist.
“Oh please, you know perfectly what I mean!” Martin’s voice snapped Douglas out of his uneasy thoughts.
“This just can’t go on,” the younger man continued, staring resolutely at the control panel, refusing to meet Douglas’ inquisitive gaze.
“Yes, yes, we’ve already heard that, thank you,” Douglas could feel irritation at the pilot’s almost childlike stubbornness rising inside of him. “What we haven’t heard yet is the explanation, for I personally continue to fail to see any.”
Martin twisted in his seat as much as the still buckled belts would allow and finally faced Douglas. “Why don’t you get it! It- it is obvious,” he cringed. “This- this,” Martin took a moment to gesture wildly between them, “this, it is wrong.”
Ah, so that was the reason. Douglas felt a pang of – what? Disappointment, perhaps. Best defence is offence, and once again Douglas unconsciously used his main weapon: sarcasm. “Well, if Sir considers himself to resemble an infamous small arms element in its perfect straightness, then Sir should have stated this more clearly a mere week ago, for I dare be quite sure that Sir didn’t object to our small intercourse. Oh no-o, wait,” Douglas mimed surprise, “my memory might have become poorer as the years pass, but I again dare be sure that it was actually Sir who initiated-“
“Stop, stop it!” Martin shouted suddenly, turning bright red with emotion. He paused to forcibly calm himself down, breathing loudly through his nose.
Douglas halted, watching the younger man’s anxious face. That was… not entirely unexpected, but curious nonetheless. And might also prove to be revealing, given some time to collect oneself. So he waited.
“Douglas,” Martin started and swallowed, seemingly trying to find the right words. “I don’t understand what is going on.” The older man’s eyes widened fractionally as the words echoed his own thoughts.
“I really, honestly don’t. I have no idea how this happened. I swear,” he paused again, running a hand over his face. “Don’t you dare imply that it is easy for me, because it isn’t, it really isn’t,” the words were biting, but the voice was soft, and Douglas chose to trust the latter.
“I don’t understand, and it frightens me. I- okay, I’ll say it,” Martin inhaled, as if preparing to dive. “I’ve never felt this way towards a man before. Ever. And I don’t know what to do. And- well- it’s you. And you are… you,” he flinched before continuing, “and if something goes wrong, one of us will have to leave, that much is obvious. And I don’t want- any of this to happen. I hope you know what I mean.”
Douglas nodded mutely. It was as if Martin was voicing Douglas’ thoughts right from his head.
“…And I really needed some time to process. To believe that it actually happened,” Martin gave a small smile. “I- I mean, I mean, of course, it must have been easier for you, it’s not like-“
“No.”
“Pardon?”
“It wasn’t, and it is not easier for me, as you put it.” Douglas sighed. If Martin made the effort to come out of his comfort zone and reveal something personal, he might as well reciprocate. It would only be fair. He wished to be fair to him. “This week, it was… difficult.” Martin nodded, encouraging him to continue.
“You weren’t the only one to worry about what has happened, why it has happened and what it will lead to,” Douglas spoke slowly. “And, to be honest, the way you acted didn’t add up any confidence.”
Martin smiled sheepishly, “I’m sorry.”
They stayed silent for a while, but this time it was a much more comfortable silence. They were again together at least in their concerns.
Douglas unbuckled the belts and got up, heading to the door. “How about we finally leave old girl for the night?”
Martin nodded and followed him to the portakabin.
* * *
Martin scribbled absently, his thoughts far from the flight itself. The two haven’t exchanged a word since they left Gerti, but it was obvious that the conversation wasn’t finished yet. He glanced at Douglas, who was yet again occupying the sofa, then at Carolyn and Arthur, discussing something quietly at the other side of the room. For the first time in the week, he didn’t feel the urge to leave as soon as possible. Moreover, he was fairly sure that Douglas was not meeting anyone this time, but waiting for him instead. Martin smiled inwardly as the thought made him feel warm, whereas just a day ago it would cause only discomfort and anxiety. He was not going to disappear this time, for it would be unnecessary cruelty.
A few minutes later, he got up and rounded the table, aiming for the coffee-machine. He didn’t manage a single step, though, as Douglas appeared in front of him out of nowhere (Martin suspected he was never going to get used to the man’s confident grace), holding out a cup for him to take. Martin accepted the cup and suddenly halted, looking up to meet Douglas’ eyes: this was exactly the same position they had been in a week ago. Martin’s eyes twinkled with amusement and understanding, and he was glad to see the searching tint of Douglas’ gaze disappear, replaced by pure affection, so sudden he nearly voiced his surprise. Just at that moment, in the corner of his eye Martin noticed Carolyn lift her head, eyes resting on the two of them for a brief moment, while she never interrupted her conversation with Arthur.
Her attention, however, made Martin remember their surroundings, and he returned to his chair, but not before murmuring a ‘thank you’ and giving an almost conspiratorial smile.
* * *
They neared the van and stopped, Martin halting a moment later than Douglas and turning around to face him.
The rest of the time spent in the portakabin passed in silence, and after Martin had finished the logs, the two of them got up simultaneously, said their goodbyes to the other two members of the crew and left the room without a spare word.
And now they stood near the van in the nearly utter darkness, cold air swirling around them.
They stayed silent for a while; neither knew how to begin.
“Well, err,” Martin finally started. “Thank you for waiting for me, I guess.”
“Thank you for not running away, then,” Douglas replied with a smirk. “Incredibly glad I didn’t have to chase you around the airfield.”
Martin let out a chuckle, and then they were silent again.
“Look,” Douglas began and paused in thought. “Let’s try and think rational,” he waited for Martin to nod. “It is useless to deny that we feel… attracted,” he frowned. The word tasted a bit off, but he couldn’t think of a better equivalent at the moment. “But it is novel for both of us – embarrassing as it is for the marvelous me, granted – and neither of us knows the course of action.”
Martin nodded again.
“I predict there will be problems, and there are surely some risks we have to take. But,” Douglas reached out and tenderly cradled Martin’s left hand between both of his. “In this, we are together. However it goes, we are on the same side. If you are willing, that is. Do you agree?”
Martin smiled. “Yes,” he answered readily and curled his fingers around one of Douglas’ hands.
“This is settled, then.”
They fell silent again, cocooned in the novelty and thrill of their shared emotions, of something that was not yet born, but already conceived.
But the hour was late, and it was finally time to part ways. Douglas read the same thought on Martin’s face, as the two of them leant forward fractionally, as if unsure of their actions. Douglas smirked fondly at their hesitance, funny in its immaturity, and moved his head to a side a bit to plant a kiss on Martin’s temple. “Taking things slowly, aren’t we,” he murmured and saw Martin smile again.
“Yeah,” he nodded and turned around to unlock the door of his van. “See you on Wednesday, then?”
“The day after tomorrow, yes,” Douglas started walking in the direction of his car. “Goodnight, Martin.”
“Goodnight, Douglas.”