Ochre and Magenta encounter a problem when they fly the 'friendly' skies.
“I hate flying commercial,” Captain Ochre grumbled as he and Captain Magenta shuffled up the check-in queue.
Magenta shrugged. “It’s not so bad, at least we were allowed to contribute personal funds to upgrade from cattle class.”
That was, Ochre conceded, an unexpected blessing. At least they would have some leg-room. Commercial air-liners were most decidedly not designed with people taller than 6 foot in mind. And maybe, he considered, that was an overly generous estimation of the threshold on his part. But still…
“Guaranteed there’ll be a baby screaming its head off the whole way–”
“Poor wee things can’t clear their ears,” Magenta said comfortably. “They’re in pain, don’t understand why, and can’t do anything about it.”
“Or some fat slob that takes up half my seat–”
“You try holding down a full time office job, with overtime, and get enough time – and have the energy – to do the amount of exercise you need. I used to be a lot heavier, you know. Be thankful you’re paid to attend the gym.”
“Or there’s some stranger asleep, using me as a pillow and drooling all over me–”
“Just be gentle, and you can sit them up straight, no problem.”
“Or there’s some asshole behind me kicking the seat, or the one in front put their seat back all the way down–”
“Just be polite, Rick. People respond to politeness. Use your words. Ask nicely.”
By now they were at the front of the cue, and Magenta turned on his dubious Irish charm to the harried-looking girl at the check in desk, while Ochre continued his grump. By the time they were leaving, with Magenta’s exaggerated Irish accent wishing her “A bonny day” the girl was giggling brightly.
“See?” Magenta said, resetting the personalised messenger bag Fawn had gifted the senior staff with last Christmas on his shoulder. “Just be nice. People respond to nice. You’re not a cop now, Rick. You are allowed to be a decent human being.”
Ochre humphed. And then … he poked Magenta in the ribs. “Cop joke. You owe me coffee.”
Magenta grinned brightly. “And so I do. Figured you were too deep in your sulk to notice. Oh well, let’s get you caffeinated, grumpy.” A sly grin. “If you’re a very good by, there might even be a doughnut.”
“Two coffees,” Ochre said flatly.
Two hours, two coffees, and, yes, a doughnut – he liked doughnuts, so sue him – their flight was called and Ochre and Magenta were once again queuing, this time to board their plane.
Magenta was still teasing him. “You should have gone to the bathroom,” he smirked. “Two coffees in two hours? That’ll run right through you, and you’ll be looking to use the restroom, oh, about the time we’re starting our descent. Probably about two minutes after the seat-belt light comes on.”
An elderly couple in front of them chuckled indulgently. “Oh, I hate it when that happens,” he chuckled.
She gently slapped his forearm. “You boys, you all have no idea. Try and maintain fine bladder control after three pregnancies ending in babies between 12 and 15 pounds!”
Behind Ochre and Magenta, a young woman in a chic business suit, fashionable hairstyle that gave off strong smell of a hair salon, with handbag and jewellery that screamed ‘I’m expensive’, sniffed in disgust. “That’s hardly a suitable conversation for a public place. You all ought to be ashamed of yourselves.”
The four ‘miscreants’ exchanged glances, and stifled more laughter. It generally wasn’t a good idea to antagonise someone you were about share a plane with. But there was a clear agreement between them: this woman was a pain, and hopefully they wouldn’t be seated near her.
Once boarded Rick was pleased to find that the elderly couple were seated across the aisle from them. There was the chance of some interesting conversation, at least. Less pleasing was the young woman who had chastised them sitting directly in front of Magenta. Ochre offered him a commiserating look, but Magenta merely smiled back with serene innocence. Long experience had taught Ochre to fear that look.
She did little to cause them for to reassess their initial assessment of her, huffing impatiently all the way through the steward’s safety briefing, drumming her fingers through the taxi-roll, and trying to order a complicated coffee that the stewardess was never going to be able to fulfil when the poor woman tried to complete her cabin check.
The take off was unremarkable, and Ochre and Magenta settled happily into chatting across the aisle with the elderly couple, George and Marnie, who were on their way home from an anniversary gift cruise.
Magenta gracefully dispelled the assumption that they were a couple, explaining that they worked together, and offering up the cover story that they were an investigative team from a high-end security contracting company that investigated possible embezzlement or fraudulent financial practices. It was a good cover story. It explained why they couldn’t talk about their work, covered for anything people might overhear as they talked between themselves, allowed them a measure of authority without having to reveal themselves as Spectrum Captains, but wasn’t intimidating enough that people felt uncomfortable talking to them. Whoever from Spectrum’s Intelligence Services had dreamed it up had earned their pay that day.
Comparing lists of towns they had visited, and Magenta happily extolling the virtues of Ireland as an international holiday vacation – “And be sure you visit the Republic of Ireland, south Ireland. The British still have the north, and it’s pretty miserable there.” IOchre mentally file that little quote away to drop in front of Scarlet or Rhapsody next time Magenta messed with his files.) – got them through the climb out.
Things went south after that.
The second the seatbelt lights went out, and the stewardess announced that passengers may remove their seatbelts, adjust their seat backs and that the first drinks service would be commencing shortly, the trendy young woman in front of Magenta snapped “Finally!”, fumbled with her seatbelt and, throwing the heavy buckle to score a direct hit on the sensitive area of her male neighbour’s lap sent the seat hurtling backwards until she was laying almost flat on Magenta’s lap.
A flurry of questions ascertained that the seatmate, bending forward at the waist with breathless curses, was not severely injured and, thank you, no, he didn’t need an ice pack, only elicited a pointed “People are trying to sleep, you know,” from the cause of the injury.
Five people gave her displeased looks. Ochre glanced at Magenta. He glanced pointedly at the seat back resting on his lap, and jiggled his leg in suggestion. Magenta shook his head.
He reached out and tapped her shoulder. “Excuse me, Ma’am,” he began tentatively.
“I’m trying to sleep,” was snapped back at him. “And don’t touch me.”
“Fair enough,” Magenta said evenly, “It’s just that you’ve got your chair reclined a long way back, and I’m pretty cramped up and trapped here…”
He didn’t get to finish. She twisted around to glare up at him. “I paid my money, and I’m entitled to use all the facilities here, same as everyone else. If these chairs aren’t supposed to lie back this far, they wouldn’t be able to recline back this far. If you’ve got a problem, take it up with the airline. I’m not doing anything wrong here, so kindly stop harassing me, or I’ll report you. Understand me?”
Magenta nodded, smiling amiably. “Certainly, I understand.”
“Good.” She turned back and settled back into her severely reclined chair, flipping her long hair over the back to brush against Magenta’s stomach.
Ochre raised an eyebrow at Magenta, and pointedly jiggled his leg again.
Magenta shook his head. “Rick, could you grab my bag from under my seat?”
Rick grinned and bent down groping around under Magenta’s seat for the bag, ‘inadvertently’ jostling the offending seat as he did so. This elicited a grumble from the front, but Ochre ignored it. Sitting back up he offered the bag to Magenta.
“Thanks.” Magenta propped it on their shared armrest, and started ferreting around in it.
“I know you were going to go over that file again,” Ochre began, “but seeing as you can’t see your own thighs, let alone the tray, what are you going to do?”
Magenta grinned and pulled out his mechanical counter. “I was telling you how my cousin is an entomologist doing a study on human lice? Well, seeing as how this young lady has so thoughtfully put her hair in close proximity to me, I’m going to count the nits in her hair. It’ll really help her study.”
Ochre blinked and couldn’t help the recoil, even as he vaguely noted that Magenta had obviously been spending too much time with Fawn, he had evidently learned the Doctor’s trick of projecting his voice without raising it.
All around the cabin, people turned and glared at the woman in front of Magenta. The stewardess passed the drinks trolley off to her colleague, and quickly made her way to the side of the seat where the woman was starting to splutter indignantly, even as one long-nailed hand started scratching at her scalp. “I do not have nits!” she eventually screeched.
Sparing Magenta brief glance, the stewardess addressed a stern glare at the miscreant. “Ma’am, you need to sit your chair up. You are causing discomfort to other passengers.”
The woman started spluttering again, this time at the stewardess. “That nice young man did ask her to sit up some,” the elderly lady chimed in. “She was very rude, told him that if the seat wasn’t supposed to be reclined back so far, they wouldn’t be able to recline back so far.”
“And don’t forget, Marnie, she threw the heavy end of the seat belt right into that poor young man next to her’s sensitive parts. Poor boy must still be in pain.”
“Yes, George, I was just getting to that.”
Marnie turned back to the Stewardess, who held up a hand, and addressed the unfortunate seat mate in question. “Are you all-right, sir? Can I get you anything? Shall I arrange for a medic?”
Embarrassed, the young man, shook his head. “It sure smarted, Ma’am, and I wouldn’t mind a stiff drink to anaesthetise it some, but I think I’ll survive to contribute to future generations.” A shy grin. “If I can find a young lady in agreement.”
A signal and the drinks trolley made an express trip down the aisle, delivering a stiff scotch to the injured party, before zipping back to it’s appointed place.
While the liquid first aid was being achieved, the head Stewardess had forcefully sat the seat back up, as all the while it’s occupant scratch furiously and denied any wrong doing or infestation.
The Stewardess again glared her into submission. “Ordinarily, if an infestation,” the word was infused with disdain, “is suspected, the source is isolated. Unfortunately this flight is fully booked.” She gestured towards the back of the cabin, and another stewardess made her way forward, clutching a small plastic package. It was handed to the miscreant. “As such, you are required to wear this.” She held out the package. Ochre caught a glimpse of the label, it was–
“A shower cap!” the woman screeched. “I am not wearing a shower cap! Do you have any idea how much it cost to get my hair salon styled for today?!”
The Stewardess stood firm. “If you refuse me, then the Captain will come back to ask. If you refuse him, he will divert the plane to the nearest airport and you will be removed from the flight. If you attempted to resit removal, you will face criminal charges.” She offered the package again. “Your choice.”
Snarling, the woman took the package, and under the Stewardess’s instruction put it on over her hair, making sure it was all tucked up under the protective plastic. As the Stewardess returned to her normal duties, she received a round of applause from the cabin who had been appreciative of the in-flight entertainment.
The rest of the flight went smoothly, with no further upsets. As soon as the plane came to a stop at the terminal and the door was opened, the now humbled occupant of the seat in front of Magenta jumped up and fled the airplane.
Ochre and Magenta, along with George and Marnie, and the Gio, the young man injured in the seat-belt incident, waited until everyone else had cleared the aisles before getting out of their seats.
It was the head Stewardess who guided them off the plane, and she took Ochre and Magenta aside. “Thank you for your help today, gentlemen. That situation could have easily become a dramatic scene.” As they began to deny any great effect on their part. “But, I must warn you,” the Stewardess continued, “Please do not use the infestation protocol like that again. This plane will need to be taken off-line for decontamination.”
They both nodded at that, chastened; and the Stewardess smiled. “And, unofficially? She’s a well-known problem. There’s a lot of cabin crew who will want to buy you gentlemen drinks, if you happen to be staying at the International Hotel.”
Magenta smiled, “Unfortunately not, but hopefully, she will be more considerate the next time she flies.”
“It can be but hoped. You gentlemen have a good day, and please remember us the next time you fly the friendly skies.”
Ochre grinned. “We won’t be forgetting you any time soon, you enjoy your day, too.”
They departed the plane and, collecting their checked luggage, started heading out to the main concourse. “So how did you know to do that?”
Magenta grinned. “The ‘infestation protocol’? You need to spend more time with the girls. Melody was just talking about a lawsuit that particular airline just got hit with because some runway model or another got an infested from contamination on the seat. Apparently it went all around the Paris fashion show she was to work at and it all got ugly. The shower cap is a new policy that a lot of airlines are adopting to try and prevent a repeat.”
“Sneaky,” Ochre said, approvingly.
Magenta shrugged. “The best way to get away with things is to not break the rules,” he said. “You were a cop, you should know that.”
Ochre jabbed him in the ribs. “Cop joke. You owe me coffee.”
Notes:
This is caused by a combination of binge watching documentaries on airplanes, and my brothers two feral kids being allowed to run wild at my parents place, rubbing their heads against everyone, and into all the soft furnishings for three hours, before their mother casually drops that they’ve both got nits and she hasn’t got any products to deal with it.
For the milestone: Actor with breeding kink, maybe some claiming/praise talk - don’t really have a preference of nickname but prefer more GN!reader terms -feel free to ignore prompt and have fun! -NitS
U-Um...I can explain...
tw: claiming, praise kink, possessive behavior, breeding kink (gets a bit heavy near the end, no direct mention of pregnancy)
Marc knows he shouldn’t be jealous. He knows it’s not real. It’s just a play, just an act. You’re just following a script. But watching you kiss the other actor on stage, the way you cradle their face in your hands, it’s too much for him.
Knowing intermission is coming soon, Marc slips backstage, going into your dressing room to wait. He knows it’s silly, to feel so possessive. The two of you aren’t married, not yet, at least, though the ring he keeps tucked away in his breast pocket is always at the back of his mind. Marc knows it’s just leftover insecurity from…her, worries and insecurities he never would’ve wasted time on a few years ago.
Things with you are just so perfect, so right. He’s scared something - or someone - will muck it up. Which is why, when the door opens and you slip into the dressing room, Marc presses you against the door before you can even close it properly.
“Marc!” You squeak, looking up at him with wide eyes.
“Hello, my love.” He wraps an arm around your waist, cradling your face with his free hand. “Lovely show you put on back there.”
That’s all it takes for you to understand what’s going on. A small whimper leaves your lips and you press your hands to his chest, not pushing him away but keeping him in place.
“Marc, we can’t. Intermission is only fifteen minutes.”
“You know I like a challenge, darling. Besides, I think I need to remind you who you belong to.”
Marc whispers the last part in your ear, trailing kisses up your neck.
You moan, resting your head back against the door, giving him more room to kiss over your neck. “Y-You can’t leave any marks, though. I have to go back up.”
“You don’t want the audience to see how perfect you look with my marks on you? Don’t you want everyone to know that someone owns you, that someone’s taking care of you?”
“M-Marc.”
“Fine, but when we get home I’m covering your neck.” He pulls the neckline of your shirt down, biting down lightly on your shoulder.
You whimper, holding onto the front of his suit jacket for dear life. With his free hand, Marc reaches down to undo your pants and push them down your hips just enough to give him access to your arousal. He touches you with a practiced hand, rubbing over all the right spots to get you warm and ready.
“I’m sorry, darling, we don’t have much time. I can’t you give your body as much attention as I’d like to.”
“Th-That’s okay. I’m already prepped.”
“Oh? And why is that?”
You duck your head, too shy to meet his eyes. “Before the show, I…was hoping you’d come see me during intermission.”
Marc groans into your shoulder. “Oh my love, you’re so perfect, getting yourself all ready for me.”
He moves you gently, guiding you to bend over the makeup table. He slips your underwear off and moans at the sight of you so ready for him.
“Fuck, poor thing, up there all night thinking about how much you want me, weren’t you?”
You nod helplessly, moaning when he slips to fingers into you. “Please, please, I want you so bad, Marc.”
“That’s it, my darling, moan for me. I’m going to make you scream, remind everyone who you belong to.”
Marc pulls out his cock quickly, giving it a few strokes before positioning himself between your legs, sinking into you slowly. You both moan at the way he fills you so completely. Once Marc’s hips are flush with yours, he starts a brutal pace, wasting no time with pleasantries.
“So good for me, my love. You love it when I fuck you like this, don’t you?”
“Yes, yes, yes.”
“You can go up there, kiss whoever, but everyone knows you come home to me. You’re mine. Say it.” He brags your hair, pulling your head back.
“I’m yours! Fuck, I’m yours, Marc.”
“That’s right. So good.”
His free hand reaches around to start touching between your legs, making you cry out as you get closer and closer to orgasm.
“I don’t have a condom, darling. Where do you want me to finish?”
“In me. In me, please.”
A wicked grin forms on his face and Marc fucks into you harder, leaning over you to leave another bite on your shoulder. “Fuck! You want me to cum inside you, baby? You want me to fill you, claim you?”
“Please!”
“Oh my love, so naughty. God, I’m going to fill you with my cum and you’re going to keep it inside you for the rest of the night. I want you to go back on stage knowing what I’ve done to you. And when we get home, I’m going to do it again and again until you're full of it, until you can’t take anymore. You’re going to look so good, my love, so round and full. Then everyone will know that you’re mine.”
You cum with a cry of his name and he’s not far behind, warmth filling you as he cums inside you. As the two of you still, catching your breath, Mark leans down to press kisses against your back. When he does, something small and golden slips out of his breast pocket and onto the table in front of you.
