Boarding Pass

Currents of people flowed around him, unhindered, unchallenged. Bumped and nudged, wanting to push the whole murmuring lot aside, Tim bitterly held his ground, stretching on his toes to peer over the bobbing heads. He’d lost Adrienne again. He grimaced and dug through his pockets as instructed. The airport was a portrait of bustle and rush, and he was stuck. The damned metal detector had tripped him up again.

The culprit was the keychain his brother had made for him. Rik was a career prankster who masqueraded as an artist. The metal shape dangling from the ring was a fanciful representation of an airplane with swooping, angelic wings. It was Rik’s way of belaboring a comment he’d made years ago: that Tim’s body spent an inordinate time in the air while his mind rarely left the ground. It hadn’t exactly been a compliment.

He kept meaning to throw the damned thing away but never made the time. Grumbling, he emptied his pockets into a dish and stared into the tumult, looking for fury in a black autumn dress.

Adrienne had snatched up her carry-on bag as soon as it had crawled through the scanner. Without so much as a glance, she had stormed ahead, confident he was right behind her. Anger and frustration stood out from her like poisoned quills. People instinctively scooted out of her way.

Inside all the bitter purposefulness, the hateful impatience, she was aching. Teased to the point of being homicidal, she could not imagine a time when she was so full of wanting. Even her clothes tormented her.

She could just make out the whispering of her stockings as they brushed together. Zip-zip. Zip-zip. The delightful friction only made things worse. She imagined flints scraping against each other, striking sparks in between. It was only a matter of time before they successfully struck flame.

Her purse thumped her hip. The lace of her bra sanded her nipples. Her panties pinched at her, wedged snugly between her buttocks. Having been wet all afternoon, she was getting itchy. It was only a matter of time before she simply exploded. Gritting her teeth, she stomped on toward her gate.

As the corridor opened onto the concourse proper, she glanced over her shoulder with a strained smile and stopped so suddenly that the hem of her dress swayed around her ankles. Anger glowed from her cheeks. As though it was not enough she was running late for her plane and knotted up in frustration, she had lost her husband.

She dropped her duffle and ran a hand through her black hair, scowling, her eyebrows scrunched in annoyance. “Rik,” she muttered.

She tried not to be angry, but her mood had become hopelessly abrasive, well beyond smoothing. The situation was to blame, not Tim. If one great curse loomed over them, it was poor timing. It seemed they wanted each other most just as they could do nothing about it. She cursed her colleague for getting sick and the university for sending her to the damned-fool symposium in his place.

She sighed, hefted her bag and continued toward the gate. In moments, Tim fell in step beside her, reining in his stride and tucking his tie back into his ubiquitous grey suit. He shook a sprig of wavy, brown hair back into place. Walking side-by-side through the crowd, they made an elegant couple. They did not feel particularly elegant.

“I’m burning up, Tim,” she said without looking at him. “I’ve been simmering so long I could be sprinkled with tarragon and served over rice.”

“Don’t give me ideas.” He smirked and scratched his upper lip. The tang of her still clung to his fingertips. “If you think you’ve got it bad, try walking with a divining rod in your trousers.”

“I’d like to.”

Faces blurred around them as the gates streamed past. Couples were noisily reunited, squealing with happiness. Associates clapped each other on the back. Wistful parents herded yipping children.

“Have I mentioned that I’m going to kill your brother?”

“You’re going to have to get in line.”

A tall, young man chugged past them, his sleepy, straw-like hair flopping as he scanned either side of the concourse in search of someone. He wore a weathered “Nietzsche Sucks” t-shirt and carried a fistful of balloons that bounced against each other as he pushed through the crowd.

At the far end of the concourse, they finally came upon her gate. The huge floor-to-ceiling window looked out onto twilight and the fat nose of the plane. A maze of uncomfortable, black chairs snaked around the gate. Most were filled. Anxious and tired faces littered the area.

In the middle of the mess sat a girl twirling a large maple leaf, smiling whenever the waxy, colorful side came around as though the splashes of red and orange changed with every turn. She frowned at the plane and blew it a noisy raspberry, less than pleased about going to California.

Adrienne leaned resolutely against a pillar near the concourse. She dropped her bag and gave it a bitter kick. Arms crossed, she glared out at the plane. Behind her, Tim sighed and began massaging her shoulders.

“Stop that.”

“I need an excuse to touch you,” he said, tracing her shoulder blades. “Besides, you’re all knotted up.”

“It’s not going to make matters easier.”

He ran his thumbs up the back of her neck, and she groaned almost imperceptibly, suddenly given to tiny shivers.

“You’re too good at that.”

“Relax,” he whispered.

“I can’t.”

Over the past few weeks, their zigzagging paths had never fully crossed. Instead, they had merely brushed a few times, just enough to make the wanting cruel and the having impossible. This impromptu trip topped the “most hated obstacle” list.

On the way to the airport, they had teased each other in the car, talking about how they had wanted each other for days on end and how something always seemed to come up. In the parking garage, they had nearly given in, hands groping, mouths wandering, but always the clock had been there, smugly reminding them there simply was not the time. Worse yet, she was going to be gone for four more days, making release that much more elusive.

“You can sneak a little strum after takeoff.”

“That won’t be the same,” she said, hissing out the words. “It won’t be enough.”

“Well, the next flight is…,” he offered.

“No. I have to take this one. They’ll be waiting for me at the airport.”

“Then we’re screwed.”

“No, the situation is screwed,” she said. “We aren’t that lucky.” They laughed bitterly.

Sliding his arms over hers, Tim hugged her from behind. She groaned when she felt the hard press of his cock. He smirked and rested his chin on her shoulder. “I love you, Ade,” he whispered.

“You’re cruel,” she sighed, “but I love you anyway.” As subtly as she could, she groped him with her behind, squeezing and releasing, making him harder. He resented her talents sometimes.

A disembodied voice barked the boarding order. They jumped and looked about to see if anyone had been watching. “We’re going to be arrested at this rate,” Tim said. People perked up, waiting for row announcements. Adrienne frowned down at her watch.

The parting routine could be avoided no longer. She turned to face him, squeezed his hand and pulled him into her arms. They kissed. However, in less than a minute, what should have been their patented “good-bye for now” kiss snowballed dangerously close to social deviance. Feeling stares, they abruptly stopped, smoothed their clothes.

A young woman in sweatpants and a university t-shirt sat nearby, a shy but envious longing plain on her face. She shifted in her seat and made a concerted effort to keep her eyes on the floor. A rail-thin woman with wiry hair sneered disapproval. She looked as though she had just swallowed a quart of lemon juice… or jealousy.

“We’ve got to do something,” Tim whispered.

“The plane takes off in fifteen minutes! Where can we go?!”

He looked frantically about, as though a bed might be hiding behind the rippling curtain of people. He laughed. “The ‘minnies!'”

“What?”

“The airport rents mini offices for obsessive idiots like me who can’t escape work,” he said, smirking. “It’s pretty much a closet with a desk and a chair, but what more do we need?”

She dug her fingers into his shoulders and skewered him with her eyes. “Where?!”

“Back toward the main thoroughfare. We passed a few on the way down here. But…”

“But what?!”

“You have to go way back to rent one. By the time we get a key…”

“Then I’ll break into one.” She was only half joking. He believed she would.

Tim swept up her bag and led the way, his hand tightly around hers. They bumped their way through the crowd, everyone seemingly intent on slowing them. They zipped past the detectors and hustled up the corridor.

Adrienne’s stockings whispered quickly, desperately. She tried not to listen, to feel, but their raspy voices teased out the wetness between her legs. She bit her lip, certain this was foolishness and that she would soon be simmering miserably on the plane.

Near the end of the corridor, the featureless walls yielded to small sets of windows and doors. Fluorescent light squinted through the blinds. They dashed from door to door, cursing every time a lock failed to yield.

The very last knob turned smoothly in Tim’s hand. He grinned at her as he pushed the door wide. He pitched the bag inside and tugged her in by the arms. “I think we’re in lu…”

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?!”

A squat executive glared from the office’s tiny desk, welcoming them with all of the joy of a bad smell. His red paisley suspenders and wide, yellow tie arced over a snug white shirt. A blue blazer sagged from the back of his chair. His jowly face seemed to have come with a built-in scowl. He looked the type who would sue over a misdialed phone number.

The computer before him hummed in the tense silence, his thick fingers poised over the keys. His briefcase yawned on a plump, green chair beneath the shaded window.

Completely subverting the man’s manicured air of menace, his eyes were remarkably and uncharacteristically doleful. His entire face seemed to want to cover up the imperfection, squeezing and drooping around his eyes in an attempt to make them look beady. Regardless, he looked as obliging as a mountain.

He reached for the phone. Tim gritted his teeth, his mind whirling, trying to piece together a quick pitch. “Agent Atkinson. U.S. Customs.” Adrienne coughed. He tightened his grip and stood his ground, trying to look cold and officious. “I need this room.”

He was just tall enough, just driven enough and just intimidating enough in his severe grey suit that he was almost convincing. He seized Adrienne by the shoulders, holding her arms behind her. She sucked in her lips, biting back the urge to laugh.

Tim kept at it, sharpening the edge of his voice. “This woman is wanted throughout Europe.”

The businessman’s jowls drooped. He did not look happy. Worse yet, he was not buying.

“And I have reason to believe she is carrying a bomb.”

The man’s bushy eyebrows twitched a little. Adrienne sank into the charade, hanging her head and glaring at him through the points of her bangs. Between the lust and bustle, her hair had taken on a sharp, ragged look. Her face flushed with wanting, she smiled, looking positively psychotic. As desperate as she had become, the look required little acting. Stretching her smile into a grin, she could feel the man’s sense of safety crawling away.

Tim pinched Adrienne’s arms back until he could hold both of her hands in one of his. With his free hand, he picked up her bag. Packing his words in ice, he said, “Perhaps you’d like to look for yourself.” He threw the bag at the man’s feet.

The executive swallowed, jowls rippling. The weight of Tim’s stone eyes was squeezing the breath from him. He leaned nervously toward the bag.

Without warning, Adrienne shouted furiously at the man in French, yelling herself hoarse and straining against Tim’s hold. Her voice was loud and sharp in the small room. The man’s eyes shrank, and his eyebrows reached for the ceiling. He popped out of his chair and scooted around the desk, herded by the prod of voice.

“Quiet, bitch!” Tim growled. Adrienne went silent, but her eyes kept singeing the executive. Tim nodded reassuringly at the man. “Look. I only need the room for a few minutes. You can have it back after I get a few questions answered.”

Without further provocation, the man squeezed toward the door. Tim smirked at him, lowering his voice. “It’s not going to be pretty, I assure you.” With one last look at the plump carry-on bag, the man scurried into the corridor.

Once Tim had closed and locked the door, they exploded into laughter.

“What the hell did you say to him?” Tim grinned.

“I made it very clear that I needed him to get his ass out of here so I could fuck my husband.” She smiled, pleased with herself. “It has a certain lilt to it in French.”

There was no time for subtleties. The entire afternoon and the days leading up to it had been foreplay. Adrienne unzipped his trousers and pulled out his cock. She stroked it lovingly for her own pleasure, knowing he needed no priming. She loved the way it filled her hand, so warm and hard. She wanted him in her mouth, against her tongue, but there was no time.

She stared into him, his cock tight in her grip. “I need you inside me. Right. Now.”

Tim slapped the executive’s briefcase off the chair, giving flight to dozens of documents. Out of her shoes in an instant, Adrienne knelt on the cushion and leaned forward, her cheek on the soft back of the chair, her head mashing the blinds against the glass. She hiked her dress up to her waist and wiggled her behind at him, well aware of the view’s influence.

Her sheer, black stockings ended in wide, opaque bands high on her thighs. He loved the way they hugged her legs, refusing to fall. With all of the schedules, interruptions and obligations aside, the only barrier remaining between him and his wife was her rumpled, blue panties.

Fingers curled under the waistband, he pulled at them, surprised by their resistance. They clung greedily to her body, to its heat and wetness. He tugged harder, working them down, uncovering her lovely ass. He smiled, never imagining being bored with her body.

His eyes sipped in every delight: the smooth, sweeping curves; the pale, little, X-shaped scar; the subtle rose of her asshole; the full bloom of her pussy; the soft, black down. He wanted to taste her, to run his tongue through that beautiful crevasse, but time forbade it.

Adrienne spread her legs, and her fingertips appeared among her curls, furiously rubbing her clitoris. Her eyes fell shut, and her mouth fell open, sounding out her pleasure. Cock in hand, Tim watched her fingers flash, her panties strung between her thighs like a little cotton hammock.

“Give it to me already!” she half laughed, half croaked over her shoulder.

He shifted his feet until he stood directly behind her, the tip of his cock leaning against her asshole. “Someday,” he promised.

“Maybe someday,” she corrected.

He lowered his cock and guided it between her lips, sliding into her with remarkable ease. The long afternoon of teasing and frustration had her both obligingly wet and frugally tight. They groaned at the pitiless pleasure of it, the sensations almost painfully luxurious. The tiniest twitch made them gasp; they were likely to die before they were done.

At her word, he pushed all the way in and stayed there, her warm, quivering cheeks mashed against him. He leaned over her and kissed the top of her head, his tie flopping out of his suit and tickling down her spine. In reaction, her back arched, levering her ass against his hips, pushing him deeper than he had ever been. Groaning along with her, Tim slowly straightened, his tie sliding over her backside like some obscene tongue.

“Give it to me,” she whispered, turning up her accent.

Hands clamped to her hips, he began to thrust in earnest, sending ripples through her ass. Determined to savor every second, knowing they could not possibly last but a few minutes, he watched himself slide in and out of her. He adored the sight, the images that haunted him when he wanted her most. The gentle, rolling “W” of her ass, his cock withdrawn and shiny. Then, her behind quivering, smashed flat by his hips. Over and over again.

Prying her fingers from her clit, Adrienne grabbed his balls. When his breath stumbled, she gave them a playful slap and chuckled through her own incessant sighs. As the whim struck her, she either tickled his balls with her wet fingertips or squeezed them roughly, making him wince with pleasure.

“Faster.”

Tim drove harder, making her moans stutter. His thrusts drove her forward, bumping her head against the glass. Out in the corridor, passers-by met the window’s rhythmic wobble with confused frowns. The businessman paced nervously, wondering what manner of violence was going on inside.

All control, all hesitance forsaken, Tim slammed away at her ass. He loved the muffled spanking sound of their bodies crashing together. Adrienne adored it, wetter and tighter with every soft slap.

“You feel too good,” he moaned. “I’m going to come.”

“Yes. Fill me. Fill. Me.”

Her pussy wrapped around him like ionized silk, soft and gentle yet torturously charged. He had never felt her so wet. She was drowning him, sweeping him away. He grimaced, filled with a delicious ache, and groaned in broken, fitful breaths.

His balls firmly in hand, she felt his come pulse out of him, spurting hot and think inside her. Pent up for so long, it kept coming and coming, certain to fill her. She loved it, ached for it. Unable to hold out, she came, shuddering against the chair, crying out as though tortured. From her scalp to her toes, every nerve buzzed, murmuring incoherently.

Slumped over her, he hugged her and shared a few moments of exhausted wheezing, of bittersweet trembling. When he stood, she turned around in the chair, her eyelids heavy, a grin strung from ear to ear.

“Feeling better?” he asked, tousling her hair.

“Perhaps.”

“Is your head still intact?” he asked, feeling guilty.

She made a show of rubbing her head, feigning injury. “No leaks as far as I can tell.” She looked at her watch, and her smile vanished. “Shit.”

He zipped up and helped her to her feet. A bit dizzy and wobbly, she wriggled back into her panties and hunted her shoes. Tim fished through her bag and slipped a wad of green cotton into his pocket. Inspired, he fumbled noisily with his keys.

“What are you doing?!” she rasped. “We’ve no time!”

Tim quickly worked the last of his keys loose and smiled at the swoop of chrome that hung from the empty ring. He leaned over the desk and tucked the keychain into the breast pocket of the businessman’s blazer. “So long, Rik.”

A tentative knock prompted them to slip into their masks again. Hanging her purse on her shoulder, Adrienne strained to hold her frown in place. Tim opened the door and peeked out. The executive looked fretful. His eyes rolled between the spilled papers and their flushed faces. His voice came out as a squeak. “So?”

Tim exuded cold control. “Oh, I think we’ve done just about all we can here. Sorry about the mess.” He grabbed Adrienne by the wrist and picked up the bag. “Come on, Reine de Viande. I’m sure we’ve got a cell in your size.” He tugged her out of the office.

The carry-on bag bumped into the man’s knees, and he nearly had a heart attack. Adrienne glared at him and then made a peculiar face as Tim’s come suddenly tickled its way into her panties. The change made her look demented.

“Have a nice flight,” she smiled. The man blanched and ducked into the tiny room, slamming the door behind him. Tim and Adrienne glanced at each other before hurrying down the corridor.

“You’re terrible,” Tim laughed.

“So spank me,” she sneered. “You’re pretty horrible yourself. ‘Reine de Viande,’ indeed! I get the chance to play a notorious terrorist, and the best you can come up with is ‘queen of meat?!'”

He shrugged. “It’s the only French I could remember.” She gave him a dubious look. “Although, I know a little Belgian.”

She laughed. “A-hem. I’m as tall as you are, Hastings.”

“Fair enough, Poirot.”

On their way down, they passed the guy with the balloons, his free arm around a drowsy but contented brunette. He smirked and nodded at them. Clearly, he had found what he had been looking for.

The smile went out of Tim’s eyes. “Come on. I have to get you on your damn plane before I come to my senses.”

“I hope it’s left already.”

They stepped up their pace. Tim smirked when he passed through the detectors without a sound. Once on the concourse, they sprinted for her gate. Adrienne groaned, finding her plane still leered through the window. The waiting area was empty. An anxious-looking attendant waved a few stragglers toward the boarding tunnel.

The real point-of-no-return had come. Within thirty seconds, they hugged, laughed and made their good-byes. Despite the drunken, lingering pleasure, they shared a rich sense of release and loss. The trip would be bearable at least.

When Tim finally let go of her, Adrienne shifted her feet and jerkily wiggled her hips.

“Is that some kind of new dance?” he asked.

“Hardly.” Between her own wetness and Tim’s come, her panties were ruinously soaked. The sensation was not entirely uncomfortable but certainly unique. She rummaged through her purse and pulled out her boarding pass.

“Wait,” he said. “You’re probably going to need these.” He pulled a pair of green panties out of his pocket and stuffed them in her purse.

She smirked and kissed him. “Always the gentleman.”

“Get some rest on the plane. And call me, dammit.”

“I will.” Taking up her bag, she wove through the maze and handed her pass to the attendant. With a wistful smile and a cocked eyebrow, she disappeared down the boarding tunnel

As he walked away, Tim leaned over and picked up the little girl’s discarded leaf, twirling it in his fingers. He smiled down the concourse, laughing and shaking his head in disbelief.