The first half of the flight, all Kyle could think about was that he was way up here, hurtling through the night air in a chunk of metal while his ring was way down there, tucked safely into Hal’s locker in Ferris’ hanger. He asked himself the same question he always did on these midnight flights: why did he keep letting Hal talk him into flying without his ring? And then he gave himself the usual answer: because the adrenaline rush made for incredible after-flight sex.
And that occupied his mind the second half of the flight. Hal was really pushing the plane hard tonight, leaving Kyle white-knuckled and gasping for breath as the g-forces slammed him against the restraints and back into his seat. Kyle’s exhilaration and fear were mixed with anticipation — the harder Hal flew the plane, the harder Kyle always got fucked afterward.
He wasn’t disappointed. The moment his feet touched Ferris’ runway, he was slammed up against the plane. Hal’s mouth was on his, so hard that Kyle couldn’t catch his breath for a moment as Hal’s tongue plunged into his mouth. There was a sting and a taste of copper as Hal’s teeth grazed his lips. Hal’s hands jerked down the zipper of Kyle’s flight suit and pushed the fabric out of the way. “Turn around,” Hal growled.
Kyle turned and pressed his body against the plane, shivering as his cock touched cold metal. Hal pressed up against him and then into him, his fingers digging into Kyle’s hips. Kyle moaned at the mix of pain and pleasure, hands clawing at the metal and going white-knuckled all over again. Later, Hal always kissed the bruises and apologized, but Kyle would always kiss him back and tell him he enjoyed the ride.