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Jihoon doesn't so much wake up, as flail upright at the sound of his phone alarm blaring.

He recalls, vaguely, setting it sometime last night, hours before he’d given up trying to sleep and decided to head down to the hotel bar. Not to drink himself stupid of course—he’s working today, co-piloting an Airbus A380—but in search of a nice distraction.

He remembers finding one too, a really excellent one at that—he just didn’t expect it to be that fucking distracting because now he less than an hour to make it to the airport, and this is most definitely not his hotel room, and the man whistling a tune in the shower is probably not room service. And is that mark on his inner thigh a—yeah, it’s a fucking hickey.

Oh god—what were you thinking?

Even without a hangover, Jihoon feels lightheaded as he stumbles out of the bed. Not to mention disoriented at the simple ludicrous fact that he thought hooking up with a total stranger he met at a hotel bar sounded like a good idea.

Never mind how amazing the sex was, or how hot the guy looked last night, or how thrilling the memory of mischievous eyes glittering at him in invitation. A one-night stand the day before he starts his new job is a mistake of epic proportions, and step one—before Jihoon can even begin to engage his brain without freaking out—is to get the fuck out of dodge.

By the time he’s dressed, grabbed his phone and is ready to go, he’s beginning to realise that just walking out without another word would kind of be a dick move.

As inconvenient as this is, last night was incredible—easily the best sex he’d ever had, and it would be a damn shame to miss out on a repeat someday down the line because he’s running late.

He should leave a note at least. Right? Maybe something short and sweet like ‘Sorry, gotta go. Thanx for last night.’, or go for something witty with ‘Thank you, cum again :))’ or he could just be honest and write ‘I may never walk again thanks to you. No regrets tho.’

He settles for a combination of all three and scrawls a brief note, reiterating his apology and signing his real name. After a moment’s hesitation, he adds his personal cell number too, on the off chance ‘Cheol’ might want to call him for some reason—any reason—before slipping the piece of paper under the bathroom door as he heads out.

The flight crew lounge in Incheon is a small, unwelcoming room located in the main terminal, with nothing more than a coffee machine, a water cooler and a few sterile looking benches overlooking the wide, bright windows facing the runway.

Jihoon’s still fucking around with his luggage, searching through his bag to check for the fourth time that his wallet is in there, halfway to dumping out the fucking thing, when Seungkwan, the flight despatcher, pokes his head in the room.

“Hey, there you are. I’ve been wondering where you’d gotten to. You know there’s a pilot’s lounge downstairs, right?”

Jihoon has to feign surprise because he did, in fact, know that. He passed the pilot’s lounge on his way up here, he merely thought it prudent to wait for an invitation rather than assume he would immediately be granted access on his first day. He’s just the co-pilot after all, and if working for a pilot agency for two years has taught him anything, it’s to know his place. 

“Come along then,” Seungkwan laughs, holding the door open, “You’ll be much more comfortable downstairs. And Captain Choi’s already here. I’ll introduce you.”

Zipping his bag quickly, Jihoon hoists it up and follows him, out the door and down the stairs to the pilot’s lounge. Seungkwan chatters all the way, filling him in on their proposed flight path, his new contract, the crew, and of course, Captain Choi, who is apparently the nicest guy ever and how lucky Jihoon is to be working with him.

In truth, Jihoon’s not really interested in the personalities of who he's going to be sharing the cockpit with; he’s worked with enough Airline Pilots to know they're all the same; that their charm and ease is only veneer, that they can make his progression difficult with a single spiteful review, but he makes a show of nodding and looking impressed anyway.

There's only a handful of people in the pilot's lounge, meandering between the plush couches and the snack bar at the far end.

Jihoon sets his bag down next to an empty seat while Seungkwan strides off to search for the aforementioned Captain Choi, and surreptitiously checks his reflection in the chrome fixture.

When he casts his eyes around the room, he spots Seungkwan by the bar, chatting with the gorgeous specimen of manhood leaning against it. Jihoon doesn’t have a direct line of sight, but he’s already impressed with what he can see; a broad back, wide shoulders, some seriously impressive biceps.

As he moves closer though, eyes wandering over the plush curve of a grade-A ass and tanned, strong hands, he finds himself hit with a strong sense of Deja-vu, one that begins to manifest into outright dread as Seungkwan introduces them, “Seungcheol, I’d like you to meet your new co-pilot, Lee Jihoon,” and the man slowly turns to face him and…freezes.

Oh…fuck, Jihoon thinks, and wishes he could die.

Captain Choi Seungcheol looks about as handsome as he did last night—when he smirked at Jihoon and looked at his watch, put his drink down on the hotel bar, and said, “I have a room upstairs,” though something about the Captain’s uniform, the indecent fit of it, makes him a hundred times more devasting. 

Jihoon’s been at the airport for barely an hour and already feels creased, jet-lagged in advance—Seungcheol on the other hand is completely composed and unruffled; uniform neat and beautifully crisp. He does not look like he spent half the night making Jihoon see god through his cock.

A clammy sweat breaks out on Jihoon’s forehead at the flash of memory, and panic squeezes his chest much in the way he imagined a heart attack would feel. His head is beginning to feel strange, and there is a ringing in his ears, like some emotional catastrophe is happening to him in slow motion and he can’t stop it.

The one time he really hit the jackpot with a guy, and it’s the man he’s going to be working with for the foreseeable future.

Fuck.

“Um, do you know each other?” Seungkwan asks, sounding awkward. That’s fair. They are just standing there, staring at each other.  

Seungcheol shakes his head, recovering from the shock first. It’s like a steel door shutting down over his face, even though very little seems to change in his expression; more a hardening of features than anything else. Still, Jihoon envies his self-containment. He’s extremely thrown, and it’s there on his face for the world to see.

“Welcome aboard Jihoon.” Seungcheol says, offering his hand. Then, peering at him so hard Jihoon has to resist the urge to hide under the table. “You know, for a guy with your resume, you look a lot younger than I expected you to be. When did you graduate from flight school?”

Jihoon’s heart does a nervous thump against his ribs. 

“Uhm, June 2017? It feels like a lifetime ago now, but it’s barely been two years,” He says, laughing nervously. He realizes that he is still gripping Seungcheol's hand, and quickly lets go; a moment later he realizes that Seungcheol hasn't let go either.

Seungcheol regards him for a long moment, face inscrutable.

The silence stretches long. Too long. Then Seungcheol jerks his head towards the door, “Come. Lemme introduce you to my crew.”

Jihoon nods and follows, face hot.

He's pretty sure that was the exact same thing Seungcheol said to him last night, except for that last word. 

It’s an annoyingly smooth first flight. No blips, no unexpected weather, no delays on or off the tarmac. Not even a little touch of turbulence to unsettle the twitchiest of passengers, which would all be a blessing any other time, but is actually a total pain in Jihoon’s ass today.

He could really use a distraction right now. Anything to drag his attention away from the man reclining so indolently in the pilot seat.

How can Seungcheol be so relaxed about this? They fucked last night, like rabbits if Jihoon’s memory serves him right, and Seungcheol’s acting like nothing happened. He’s so at ease about the whole thing he might as well be napping, meanwhile Jihoon’s shaking his leg so vigorously, he’s five seconds away from vibrating out of his chair.

The worst part though is Jihoon can’t recall the last time he’d done anything this stupid.

Yeah, he’s made mistakes when it’s come to dating the wrong guys, but he’s never done anything so recklessly spontaneous or patently juvenile before. He has never eyed up a handsome stranger, flirted with him for a handful of minutes and immediately offered to spread his legs. That’s just not who he is. He doesn’t do one-night stands. But there was no resisting Seungcheol. He was the perfect package—older, handsome, funny, obviously checking him out, and Jihoon had been so anxious about his first day at work he jumped at the distraction.

If he had just asked a few questions before acting—what Cheol was short for, or what he worked as—if he had just shared his real name, they would have been able to identify each other and he wouldn’t be in this mess.

When Seungcheol transfers control of the plane onto autopilot, yanks off his head set and twists in his seat to face him, Jihoon stiffens, thinking—Okay, this is it. We’re finally going to discuss it—only for Seungcheol to clear his throat and say, “I’m going to get some snacks. You want some snacks?”

In response, Jihoon meows at him. He doesn’t know why. Possibly the words ‘No thank you’ and ‘Oh my god, how can you think of snacks at a time like this!’ coalesce together to form one, incomprehensible noise that sounds like a meow. He’s not sure, but he’s too busy being mortified and hiding his face in his hands to correct himself.

A quiet chuckle has him braving a glance a moment later, and he finds Seungcheol has yet to leave his seat, is still carefully watching him. Those dark eyes are still as kind and flirty as he remembers, and that slow-sex smile, fuck, he will never forget that mouth. The way it touched him, caressed him. The incredibly hot and dirty things it whispered in his ear while they—

Seungcheol clears his throat, interrupting the perverse nosedive of his thoughts, “How about a drink? Coca cola, no ice. Right?”

Jihoon manages a smile and nods, resigning himself to the knowledge that they’re not going to talk about it. Knowing his soft-drink preferences is probably the closest Seungcheol will get to acknowledging their night together, and maybe that’s for the best.

It is for the best—he thinks reasonably to himself, while he’s dictating his control of the plane through a headset, watching his fingers fly elegantly across the console.

Seungcheol’s silence on the whole thing has effectively given him a free pass—at least for now—and the best thing Jihoon can do is settle in and do his job.

It doesn’t take very long for Jihoon to notice that Seungcheol is very popular pilot, widely adored and respected by everyone in the industry, from baggage handlers to air marshals to some competing flight crews too. Even air traffic controllers—the most harried, miserable dick heads in existence—have a soft spot for him, possibly because he’s the only pilot with the balls to crack jokes and flirt with them.

Seungcheol kind of flirts with everyone, Jihoon realizes, quiet and smirking, dry as a bone. He’ll start off my complimenting someone, maybe something they’re wearing, then ask them about their day, their interests, careful to keep it very basic, tasteful, professional, but he’ll give them all his attention for those short few minutes, flashes that smile, and they all just lap it up.

He does it to everyone he meets, everyone he works with.

Everyone but Jihoon, of course.

Seungcheol is startlingly careful around him now, never touches him, rarely even gets close enough to him that they can touch, looks him in the eye and nowhere else. At first, Jihoon is annoyed by it, stews over it for weeks. He hates the thought of being treated differently. Later it occurs to him that it’s only Seungcheol, ever the empath, taking his cues from him, reacting to Jihoon’s own cagy body language.

It’s not his fault Jihoon can’t look at him without blushing, that his whole-body tenses when their elbows bump, or their hands brush together innocently over the controls. Just as much as it isn’t Jihoon’s fault he can’t forget what happened between them—how it felt to have Seungcheol pushing him down on the bed, biting kisses along his jaw, opening his belt buckle with deft fingers.

They’ve started this relationship in reverse, dicks first, friendly handshakes later, and it’s just going to take time to re-orientate themselves.

Maybe a lot of time.  

Before he joined Choi’s crew, Jihoon was being farmed out to half a dozen different Airlines, filling in for just long enough to barely get to know anyone. It isn’t part of his career he particularly enjoyed in all honesty. The work itself was fine; the personality conflicts were more difficult. Commercial Pilots can get pretty territorial over their position—their chair, their duties and crew—and navigating the ego was a job in on itself.

Seungcheol has a more refreshing approach to tradition, in every way possible, and Jihoon didn’t have to sleep with him to see that.

He’s ridiculously laid back about everything: standard operating procedures, inclement weather, the sterile cockpit rule. He doesn’t even care who makes the passenger announcements, which is astonishing, because Jihoon’s pretty sure the unbearably smug ‘This is the captain speaking 😎’ speech is 95% of the reason commercial pilots become commercial pilots.

The best thing is, he’s not possessive over the yoke either. Jihoon only has to mention how hard it’s been to clock up his flight hours as an agency co-pilot once—just briefly, just throwing it out there in conversation—and suddenly Seungcheol’s offering to switch seats and relinquish control for several long-haul flights. 

For whatever reason, he doesn’t treat it like a competition. He must know how cut-throat the commercial aviation industry is, but instead of hindering Jihoon’s chances of a promotion someday down the line, he’s eager for him to get the experience he needs.

There are still certain situations he prefers to be in control of course, and on a 10-hour flight to Riyadh, Jihoon is relieved when Seungcheol reclaims the yoke to navigate them through a surprise patch of clear air turbulence.   

Encountering air pockets is usually more of an inconvenience to comfort than any real threat to passenger safety, but on this occasion the sudden drop in altitude happened at the worst time, right in the middle of the in-flight meal service, when a quarter of the plane’s occupants are either milling about the cabin or not buckled in.

It was utter chaos for a few minutes, cabin crew scrambling to stow away trolleys and get everyone back in their seats, and even though nobody has sustained any severe injuries, the atmosphere is still far from peaceful while the plane continues to shudder so violently.

“Captain, I appreciate you’re doing your best to navigate this turbulent patch, but could you try harder?” Choon-Hee huffs, making an unscheduled appearance in the cockpit, “We’ve had three people vomit in the last five minutes, and only one of them actually had the sense to use the designated paper bag, so it’s really starting to reek back here.”

Seungcheol sighs.

“Open a window. Let some fresh air in.”

For a second, Choon-hee genuinely looks to be taking that suggestion on board—then it must dawn on her, and she glares at the back of Seungcheol’s head, tight and unhappy. “I do not appreciate your sarcasm Captain.”

A faint smile twitches across Seungcheol’s face, almost like an electrical impulse.

“Okay, I’m sorry. I’ll try harder. I’ll get Jihoon on the case right now—Jihoon, can you please patch me through to God. Ask him to drop the air pressure a tad, clear these clouds. He’ll do it. He owes me from that time he made it rain on my wedding.” He bites the last bit out, teeth gritted, which prompts Choon-hee to wisely back out of the cockpit and Jihoon to blink side-long at Seungcheol’s profile.

This is the nearest to pissed off he’s ever seen Seungcheol, but all Jihoon can think of, and apparently say out loud, is: “You’re married?”

Seungcheol stiffens, visibly, hands tightening over the yoke. He turns to look at Jihoon slowly, a worried lift to one eyebrow. 

“Divorced. Three and a half years.”

Jihoon breathes out a sigh of a relief. Then, because he’s a stupid fucking shit-for-brains, he says, “Good.”

Seungcheol’s eyebrow hitches up a notch in what looks like annoyance, and Jihoon quickly scrambles to correct himself. “Oh no, I didn’t mean good that your marriage failed, I just meant it’s good that you weren’t married when—”

“I know what you meant.” Seungcheol interjects.

The words are cool, and a little too cutting, and Jihoon flinches, feeling all the progress they’ve made slip out of his shoes and puddle beneath his feet.

Great. Way to go Jihoon.

His remorse must reach past the worst of Seungcheol's frustrations though, because a moment later Seungcheol’s expression softens into something more like sympathy than ire.

“I don’t know about you, but I could use a stiff drink when we land.”

Jihoon smiles, and then blinks and says, “That sounds nice. Except, you’ll have to wait till we get back. Alcohol is prohibited in Saudi Arabia.”

The way Seungcheol’s eyes widen in response to that, in slowly dawning horror, suggests there’s more than just a stiff drink hanging in the balance here. 

“What’s wrong? H-have you got some pricey liquor packed in your suitcase or something?” Jihoon asks tentatively.

“Worse,” Seungcheol swallows thickly, “I have thirty packets of bacon, one hundred bibles and a statue of Jesus.”

Jihoon eyeballs him. “S-seriously? What the hell Seungcheol! Haven’t you ever been to the middle east before?”

Seungcheol blinks at him a moment and then honest-to-God brays. Just like a donkey.

Jihoon stares at him, torn between irritation and confusion.

“Oh god,” Seungcheol wheezes, wiping a tear from under his eye. “That was too funny. I was just pulling your leg Jihoon, but your little face though, it’s so expressive. You remind me of the small, angry kitten, I found hiding under the hood of my car this one time. It was so small and cute, but so angry.”

“H-hey,” Jihoon sputters, narrowing his eyes.

If Seungcheol wasn’t currently piloting the plane, he would have very much liked to thump him in the arm in retaliation. He settles for scowling at him instead, finally feeling a glimmer of, not quite satisfaction, but a release of some of the tension they’ve been holding between them when Seungcheol throws his head back and laughs. 

The criteria for a pilot’s Class 1 medical revalidation are no joke. Once a year Jihoon gets poked and prodded for four hours straight, getting every test under the sun including an eye test, hearing test, lung function test, psych test, as well as a blood and urine analysis and an ECG.

It’s easily the most nerve-wrecking four hours of Jihoon’s year, and he constantly lives in fear of failing it somehow, getting disqualified. So in the three months leading up to it he goes on a little health kick—dieting, 45 minutes of cardio a day, and downing carrot juice like it’s nobody’s business. It’s grim, and probably overkill for a guy with no underlying medical conditions and 20/20 vision, but he figures he can’t be the only pilot who worries about it.

Except this year, he’s two weeks into his health drive when Seungcheol suddenly announces mid- flight, “Seriously Jihoon, you’re breaking my heart. No pudding, no bread roll, no complimentary peanuts—is there a particular reason why you’ve been eating like a bird this past week?”

Jihoon casts his gaze over his unfinished meal and admits, “My medical assessment is coming up in May.”

Seungcheol’s eyebrow quirks into his hairline. “So?”

“So…” Jihoon huffs out a breath and lets his shoulders drop a bit. “I’ve gained a few pounds since the last one. I need to shift them.”

Seungcheol shoots him an odd little glance of assessment and snorts, “That’s bullshit. You don’t need to lose any weight. You’re in great shape.”

For a moment, Jihoon is tempted to preen at the compliment; the conviction in Seungcheol’s voice is very flattering. He graciously demurs instead, “I wish that were the case, but this Uniform conceals a multitude of sins.”

Seungcheol slants a look at him, intimate and knowing, “I’ve seen you out of Uniform too.” He drawls, and suddenly they’re back at that hotel bar and—oh god. God!

Did he just...

Jihoon feels his face go hot, all the way up to his hairline. It's gotten entirely too heavy in the flight deck.

They both keep their gazes locked straight ahead, but peripherally Jihoon senses Seungcheol drawing himself up, pulling himself in.

Silence grows between them, but it isn't the uncomfortable type Jihoon is used to weathering with Seungcheol. It’s more frustrated than anything—like they’re both tired of stalling over the same stumbling block mid conversation, irritated they can’t seem to move past it. Jihoon’s wondering if they ever will, when Seungcheol reaches over and snags the pudding cup off his tray.

“H-hey,” Jihoon huffs petulantly, “Help yourself, why don’t you.”

Seungcheol flicks his fingers in Jihoon’s direction with a little nod. “Well, you’re not eating it, so I might as well. Besides, it’s damn good pudding. Extra chocolatey. Shame to waste it.”

Jihoon knows better than to allow himself to take notice, but he can’t help looking at Seungcheol’s mouth, just curling into a soft, teasing smirk. It’s a lot easier to look Seungcheol with a straight face when he’s irritated with him. At least, it is at first. Then Seungcheol starts eating the pudding, licking the spoon and making the most pornographic noises imaginable, and fuck if Jihoon can keep it up. 

“Will you cut that out! You sound obscene, and whoever listens to the flight recorder is probably going to come to the wrong conclusions.”

Seungcheol hums appreciatively around his spoon before replying, “Sounds like someone’s angry they didn’t get to have any yummy pudding.”

Jihoon bites on the inside of his bottom lip, trying vehemently to stop it from forming a pout. He doesn’t quite succeed if the rueful crease of Seungcheol’s brow is anything to go by.

“Aww, don’t be sad Kitten. Here, you can have the last spoon.” He says, then scoops up the last spoonful of pudding and pilots it over to Jihoon’s mouth with a soft zooming noise.

Jihoon scowls at him, out of principle, but he’s also unconsciously tilting over in his seat and biting his lip in eager anticipation of the chocolatey goodness, which is probably undermining his attempts to look angry. Seungcheol, the bastard, doesn’t go easy on him of course—he flies the spoon past Jihoon’s chasing mouth twice, and boops him on the nose, before finally bringing it close enough for Jihoon to clamp his lips around.

It’s completely degrading and mortifying behaviour, yet completely worth it. Jihoon doesn’t even have a sweet tooth, but the chocolate cheesecake thing is good, and when you start denying yourself something and get a small taste of it, it’s a heavenly experience. 

“Aww, good boy.” Seungcheol coos, a soft dimple in his angular cheek.

“Shut up.” Jihoon huffs, wiping a smudge of chocolate off his nose.

A moment later, they both straighten up as the purser, Choon-hee, phones to request entrance to the cockpit, and then proceeds to march in, shake her head at them, before leaning over to flip the Passenger Announcement switch off.

Jihoon stares at the switch, horrified, while Seungcheol clears his throat uncomfortably and tilts his head up to glance at Choon-Hee. 

“Whoops?” He grimaces at whatever shows on Choon-hee’s face, “Sorry, I…uhm…how much did the passengers hear?”

When Jihoon turns to look at her, Choon-hee looks more fondly exasperated than anything. Like perhaps leaving the PA system running while he makes an ass of himself is something Seungcheol regularly does.

“There haven’t been any complaints, if that’s what you’re asking. In fact, everyone seems to have enjoyed your vocal appreciation for the chocolate cheesecake so much, they’re all asking for a second portion. Which, thank you for that—it’s not like we’re already stretched thin back there. Oh and Jihoon, several of the passengers saw you when you were stretching your legs earlier, and they wanted you to know that you are in great shape. You shouldn’t be dieting.”

“Thanks,” Jihoon ducks his head, feeling his ears heat up.

He stares at the flight console unseeingly while Choon-hee collects their trays and bustles out, then snaps his head to the left to glare at Seungcheol. “I can’t believe...oh my god, why are you smiling? There is nothing funny about any of this.”

Seungcheol merely reaches over and rubs a thumb over Jihoon’s nose. “You missed a spot Kitten.”

Summer is the worst. The actual worst.

Not only is it peak time for air travel, with four times as many planes congesting the runways and creating delays, and ten times as many passengers to bitch about it, the temperature can get so ridiculously high some days, the inside of the cockpit turns into a literal sauna when they’re on the ground, running on auxiliary power.

It’s especially unbearable today, seeing as they’ve already been stuck at the gate for the last hour, waiting to taxi, and without the engines running, they had no choice but to power down the air cycle unit in favour of running more vital systems. The sickening humidity and heat has worked it’s way into every one of Jihoon’s pores, and he’s long ago given up and wiping the sweat off his brow.

That’s not to say he particularly enjoys freezing his balls off in the winter either—but dammit, there has to be a happy medium somewhere. Warm is better than cold most of the time, but when it’s still hot enough at eight in the morning to fry an egg on the nose of the plane...well that just isn’t okay anymore. It’s too hot to even complain about being hot. All he can do is just sit there, back glued to the co-pilot seat, stare out at the row of planes taxiing ahead of them and feel bitchy as hell.

What’s worse is, it’s going to be even warmer where they’re heading: Las Vegas, Nevada. The literal fucking desert.

A desert with skyscrapers and casinos and swimming pools, sure, but a desert all the same.

Jihoon is not looking forward to spending his two-day layover there—it’s going to be drag, he can feel it. But he doesn’t really have say in the airline layover schedule, and the thought of an air-conditioned hotel room waiting for him on the other side is enough to placate him for now. 

Next to him, Seungcheol isn’t fairing any better on the sweating front, though as expected, he’s way more cheerful about it.

“Any plans for our layover?”

Jihoon’s too sluggish to turn his head, but spares him a quick sideways glance. He regrets it immediately. Even in the stifling 41 degree heat, Seungcheol looks good—sweat beading artistically on the strong line of his jaw like he’s shooting some kind of Pocari Sweat commercial.

“Yeah,” Jihoon swallows to clear the sudden parch in his throat, “I’m going to go straight to the hotel, get a room with the most powerful air conditioning available, then I’m going to direct it right on the bed, get naked and just lie there, basking in the chill.”

Seungcheol laughs softly, letting his eyes fall closed, “Sounds amazing. I might join you.”

Jihoon lets his eyes wander to the left again, assessing. He knows Seungcheol doesn’t mean that in a sexual way, obviously, but his body doesn’t seem to care and—oh god! This isn’t fair. It’s too fucking warm for him to be blushing right now.

Seungcheol’s brain must eventually catch up with the unintentional innuendo, because he jerks upright in his chair suddenly, face coalescing into worry.

“Uhh, and by join you, what I meant was, in the very concept of the plan. Which I will be executing in my own hotel room, of course.”

“Of course.” Jihoon nods, unable to stop the bubble of laughter that follows. He shouldn’t find it at all funny, he knows—the heat must be making him a little crazy—but something about the half-panic, half guilty look on Seungcheol’s face is just too hilarious to suppress.

Thankfully, Seungcheol sees the funny side of it too and joins in.

Air conditioning or not, there’s only so many hours Jihoon can stand to be cooped up in a hotel room though. Las Vegas is a whole 17 hours behind Seoul, and even after the eleven-hour flight, a blissfully cold shower and a short nap, it’s only just turning midday, and Jihoon’s layover stretches endlessly ahead of him. 

He browses the room service menu, but it only offers a pitiable selection of burgers, fries and club sandwiches, so he decides to head down to investigate the hotel restaurant instead. It’s not much better, and service doesn’t start for a few hours anyway, so he thinks—to hell with it—and leaves the hotel for a stroll. 

The air outside is like wearing a hot, wet blanket, and even in a thin shirt and jeans, he feels overdressed by at least ten layers. He braves it for a while though, finds himself strolling behind a group of other tourists till he reaches the main strip, then breaks off to investigate the Venetian resort and its Grand Canal Shoppes.

Later, he’s walking back towards his hotel, hot and irritable and still hungry, when he bumps into Seungcheol coming in the opposite direction. Seungcheol stops and gives him a friendly nod, but something in his stance makes Jihoon pause, too.

Seungcheol has eschewed the tourist appropriate garb of shorts and sandals in favour of some black fitted slacks and a white shirt. It looks much the same as their uniform at first glance, but the shirt is looser and worn far more casually; sleeves rolled up and top few buttons undone. With his hair slicked back from the wind, and nothing but a Rolex and sunglasses as accessories—he looks handsome and sleek, and suddenly so appealing Jihoon can hardly believe they’d slept together once.

“What happened to your big plan?”

One of Jihoon’s shoulders rises in a shrug. “Eh, I basked for a few hours. Then I got bored, so here I am.”

“Shopping?” Seungcheol says wryly, nodding towards the bag dangling between his fingers.

Jihoon glances down at the cigars he’d picked up for his father and makes no effort to keep the sheepishness from his tone, or the deprecating smile from his mouth. “It’s America. What else is there to do?”

Seungcheol looks up and down the length of the Vegas strip with exaggerated care.

“You’re right, how could I forget; Las Vegas is purely a shopping destination. There isn’t a single other activity that people the world over flock in droves here for.”

Jihoon can feel a grin forming on his face without his say so. He takes in the landscape without turning his head, but the sun's glare is too bright.

“Maybe I’m just weird, but I don’t see the appeal in gambling. Throwing money senselessly at something and getting nothing back nine times out of ten, doesn’t really strike me as a good time.”

Exasperation mixes with bemusement on Seungcheol's face. “It’s the experience of the thing Jihoon. It’s half the reason why this job is so lucrative; getting to visit these places, try new things you wouldn’t be able to anywhere else. And there’s more to this place than just Casinos anyway. Lots more.” The lenses of sunglasses catch the sun when he tips his head. “Surely you don’t intend to spend the next two days wallowing in your hotel room?”

Jihoon cocks his head consideringly, “My English isn’t that great. I’d hate to get lost. Or worse, offend the wrong guy and wind up in the middle of an empty cornfield, in nothing but my boxers while a bunch of guys bash my face in with baseball bats. I’m pretty sure that’s something that happens here, at least once a day.”

Seungcheol’s startled laugh is low and warm. “Perhaps you should stop learning about places through Martin Scorsese, and experience them for yourself instead. And don’t worry about picking up the language. My English is good enough for both of us.”

Something unexpected tightens in Jihoon's chest at the words. What is the half-life on sleeping with a co-worker? He doesn't know the equation, can't do the math to figure out if it's truly safe to be around Seungcheol or not. Somehow, he answers steadily enough. 

“Are you offering to show me around Captain?”

Seungcheol nods solemnly, and then, as though quoting from the Bible, says, “You know what they say—when in Vegas.”

Jihoon rolls his eyes, mostly for show. “I think you’ll find it’s, when in Rome.”

“Fine then,” Seungcheol grins, reaching out to snag Jihoon’s elbow and turn him back around, “Caesars Palace it is.”

Caesars Palace ends up being their last stop actually, because Seungcheol seems dead set on proving Vegas has a lot more to offer than just gambling. On the way there, they detour to Bellagio to see the dancing fountains, then stop inside to stroll through the botanical observatory, followed by an unsettling trip on the High Roller Observatory wheel. In between all that, they pop into buildings haphazardly, when the sun gets too hot or something catches their interest, and they spend Happy Hour on a sun-soaked pool deck at Planet Hollywood, eating ice-cream and watching people go by.

By the time they reach their destination and get to roll some dice, the sun has already set, and the strip is lit up in all its gaudy glory.

Speaking of which, Caesars Palace is possibly the tackiest place on earth.

They clearly were aiming for an architectural overstatement when they designed the façade—which fine, this is Vegas, it needs to stand out—but oh no, why stop there when you can overstate the interior too? There are giant, naked statues around every corner of the lobby, an abundance of gold leaf plastered on every surface. They even have greeters dressed in Roman inspired costume to welcome guests and pose for photographs. Which is of course, is the first thing Seungcheol insists they do.

Jihoon tries to smile when he’s forced to pose with a casino employee dressed as a Centurion guard, but it’s difficult when the guy is so unsubtly checking Seungcheol out and the atmosphere is so in your face. It’s almost like standing inside a giant video game arcade, and between the flashing lights and the constant celebratory chimes, he’s honestly surprised it hasn’t triggered a seizure.

They spend all of twenty minutes on the game floor, enough to try a few slot machines and then step over to a Roulette table so Seungcheol can ‘put it all on red’. Which makes no sense to Jihoon, and apparently even less to Seungcheol, because he promptly looses 200 dollars and walks away scratching his head.

After that, they finally, thank god—decide to stop for food, and it’s a tossup between Hell’s Kitchen, Guy Savoy and Nobu. They settle for the latter because Jihoon has already checked the reviews and it’s clearly the stand out option, but when they make it to the front of a line, a polite American woman in a grey suit welcomes them to Nobu, Las Vegas, and informs them there’s a three hour wait.

Immediately Jihoon feels his shoulders slump; he was really looking forward to dinner, and the food here is supposed to be out of this world, but there’s no way he can hold out that long. He’s had nothing more than an espresso and an ice cream since their plane touched down and is beyond famished. 

“Aw, I’m sorry Hoonie, we can try somewhere else—maybe come back here for lunch tomorrow,” Seungcheol says, bringing a hand up to cup the back of his neck, rubbing the hair there in soothing, circular motions. That’s when the Maître D takes another look at them, gestures between them, then asks in slow, tourist friendly English if they’re on their honeymoon.

Jihoon opens his mouth to explain, ‘Uh, no actually, we’re co-workers’, but Seungcheol’s already nodding and giving her a big dumb thumbs up, answering for both of them. “Yes, yes. Honeymoon.”

She awws at them, actually awws like it’s adorable, and then bustles of to speak to the severe looking waiter that’s directing diners to their seats.

Jihoon takes the opportunity to elbow Seungcheol in the gut. “Hey—didn’t you say you spoke English?”

Seungcheol tilts his chin up, somewhere between charm and arrogance. “I have a rudimentary grasp of the language. Yes.”

Frowning, Jihoon glances to either side to make sure no one is paying any attention to them before going on, “Well, the Maître D just asked us if we’re married, and you told her we were.”

Seungcheol smirks and leans in, his mouth close to Jihoon's ear, his breath warm against Jihoon's cheek. “Yeah, I know. Just go along with it. I think she’s gonna give us some newlywed perks.”

Jihoon looks up at him incredulously, ready to protest, but then a waiter is coming over and ushering them over to a table and, well—

Jihoon is very, very hungry.

“I wonder what other perks we can get as newlyweds?” Seungcheol asks, over an enormous Maine Lobster with Wasabi pepper and a glass of Akiko’s Cuvée Pinot Noir.

Jihoon begins to frown at him over the rim of his own raised wine glass, wholly disapproving, then has a change of heart, “Ooh, we could probably get a discount on show tickets if we mention it to the concierge.”

Seungcheol’s answering grin is all teeth. “That’s the spirit.”

“No, don’t delete that one, I like that one.” Seungcheol says, reaching half-heartedly across the table. 

“No,” Jihoon pouts, “I have a double chin.”

“Aww, but your dimples are showing. It’s cute.”

Jihoon hovers a finger over the trash icon, reassessing, then quickly swipes over to the next picture with a huffy, “Fine.”

They were having a perfectly lovely breakfast in a secluded booth, enjoying a quiet corner of the hotel's restaurant on the ground floor, sharing smiles as their feet bumped under the table, when Seungcheol decided to ruin it all by showing him all the pictures he’d taken during their adventure the day before.

There’s over two fucking hundred of them, which isn’t really a surprise considering the day they had. Unfortunately, about two thirds are snaps of Jihoon looking like a sweaty, disheveled mess, squinting and scowling at things from unflattering angles.

They’re incredibly unappealing, but of course Seungcheol wants to keep them all, because he’s looking sleek and sexy and a super photogenic Adonis in every one, so he’s been whining across the table since Jihoon ripped the phone out of his hand and started trashing all the bad pictures.

“No—that’s my favourite!”

“Delete,” Jihoon says, getting rid of another sweaty disheveled picture of him going down on an ice-cream cone.

Then he comes across a picture Seungcheol made a casino employee take, one of them posing with the Centurion; Seungcheol grinning broadly with his hand on the guy’s shoulder, and Jihoon squinting and suspicious and positively green with envy.

Jihoon quickly scrolls past it, feeling his cheeks heat.

He didn’t think he’d been that obvious.

There’s another, not long after that one, taken shortly after they tricked the concierge into giving them vouchers for complimentary breakfast, a hundred dollars each in casino chips and free tickets for Cirque du Solei, where they felt duty bound to play up the newlywed image a bit. In the picture, they’re standing in front of the fountains in the lobby, Seungcheol standing behind Jihoon, his arms around his waist, chin perched on his shoulder and…god, they so look so good together it’s startling.

Blinking, Jihoon keeps paging through the photos and efficiently gets rid of the duds, then slides the phone back across the table.

“Unflattering pictures aside, yesterday was surprisingly…fun.”

Seungcheol slouches against the tall back of the booth, his shifting weight making the vinyl cushions creak. The glint of introspection looks good on his handsome face.

“Surprisingly?” He echoes, quirking a brow.

Jihoon takes a sip of his coffee to buy him a few moments to think of an answer that isn't ‘I thought it would be awkward, because we had hot sex once and now we work together, so we don’t talk about it. But I still think about it, because I’m hung up on you.’

Yeah…

It’s vital that he shares none of that.

“I…I just meant surprising because layovers are usually a drag for me, regardless of what I do or who I spend them with.” He can feel his face heat but presses on, wanting to explain himself somehow, unable to find the words, “But I…uhm, I really enjoyed myself yesterday. Thank you for encouraging me to stay out.”

Seungcheol nods and drops his gaze, starts flipping through his camera reel, “I enjoyed it too. We should do it again sometime.”

He sounds casual, almost dismissive, if it wasn’t for the fondness in his eyes and the tentative smile on his lips.

It's enough to light a teeny, tiny spark of hope.

Unfortunately, they only get to spend one more lay over together before shit hits the fan. Epically.

They’re in Melbourne, completing pre-flight checks for a long-haul flight back home, when Jihoon steps out of the cockpit to nip to the bathroom, and overhears a flight attendant having an unpleasant confrontation with a business class passenger.

The man is refusing, in very colourful language, to stowaway his laptop safely for departure. He wants to keep it on the empty seat next to his, instead of the placing it under the seat in front or in the overhead compartment, which is just…so fucking stupid.

Even if you’re not a frequent flyer, it should be common knowledge by now why that’s necessary—it’s mentioned in the safety demonstration and the flight cards, and it’s plastered all over the cabin too— Choon-hee shouldn’t have to be explaining it to him again. But she is, and handling herself like a total pro, even though the man’s responding in an unnecessarily aggressive manner. 

Jihoon watches them argue for minute, still undecided on whether he needs to step in, when the passenger pushes himself up out of his seat to loom over Choon-hee in the middle of the aisle. He’s jabbing his finger at her now, his face millimeters from hers, and when Jihoon steps forward to intervene, the man spins around and takes a swing at him.

The punch connects with Jihoon’s shoulder, not hard enough to injure, but enough to knock him off balance for a second, and when he straights up again he’s incensed enough to counter with a punch of his own.

In the tussle that follows, Jihoon gets kicked twice and takes an elbow to the face before two other passengers step in to help him restrain the man to the floor. Airport police are called to escort the passenger off the plane and departure is inevitably delayed, but of course that’s just the start of the whole mess. 

The second they touch down in Seoul, an airline representative boards the plane to inform Jihoon the passenger passed out while in police custody, and was subsequently taken to hospital with a head injury, and is now suing Jihoon and the Airline.

So Jihoon gets temporarily suspended, pending an investigation, which basically means spending a lot of time walking around his apartment, not talking to anyone and actively panicking about his job.

What’s worse, he’s incommunicado with the rest of the flight crew until his hearing, so he can’t talk to anyone about the whole shit show. No one who understands what he’s going through, at least. It’s awful, and so unfair, and Jihoon actually considers handing in his resignation until an unknown number flashes on his phone sometime on the third day, and he answers it to the sound of Seungcheol’s voice.

“Hey Kitten, it’s me. How are you holding up?”

Jihoon frowns at the far wall, unsure of what to say.

“I—I thought we weren’t supposed to communicate before the hearing.”

Seungcheol is quiet for a very long time before admitting, “We’re not. I picked up a pre-paid phone to call you. Nobody knows I’m doing it.”

“Oh.” Jihoon murmurs, swallowing back some of the strange abrupt gratitude that is rising in his throat like a tide.

“I just figured you could use someone to talk to.” Seungcheol adds, his voice a little lower and softer than Jihoon’s ever heard it.

Jihoon rubs at his eyes and admits, “I could actually.” He hesitates, hearing the weird thickness of his own voice, “I’ve been really worried, I haven’t been sleeping well.”

Seungcheol’s voice is unbearably tender the next time he speaks, “Everything’s going to be okay Jihoonie. Trust me. This is just one of those shitty situations that pop up once in a while, and the Airline has to make a big show of investigating it so they can maintain a good public image. It’s got nothing to do with your conduct personally, and for what it’s worth, l think you did the right thing, and you handled it a lot more professionally that I would have. I would have kicked that guy’s teeth in.”

“Thanks, Seungcheol. It means a lot to hear that,” Jihoon says, swallowing again, futilely.

They end up on the call for four hours, talking a little about the case, a bit about work, then just other random stuff that pops into their heads. At first Jihoon can’t help but think that Seungcheol feels obligated to call him, checking-in on him in that automatic, almost absent-minded way he cares for everyone on his crew. But even half-way through, after Seungcheol runs out of credit, he tops up and calls back, jumping right back into the story he’d been sharing. Like staying on the line with Jihoon into the wee hours is no infringement on his precious down time.

It’s incredibly sweet of him, really up-lifting, and Jihoon curls into the couch cushions and listens, all thought of resigning from his post swept aside.  

Someone filmed the entire incident on their cell phone, because it’s the 21^st century, and of course they did. And of course, it’s played and replayed throughout the entire hearing, so everyone can watch Jihoon’s career implode.

Except, it’s not even being used against him. It’s actually the evidence his Union is submitting to prove his actions were justifiable, that he acted in accordance with the Airlines standing operating procedures and the IATA’s regulations in managing a Level 2 Threat passenger.

Even so, Jihoon can’t bear to watch, and keeps his head tucked down so he doesn’t have to meet anyone’s eyes, but not before catching sight of Seungcheol standing in the corner, who shoots him a covert thumbs up, eyes crinkling minutely.

He’s still in his Captain’s uniform—has in fact, just stepped of the plane following a 16-hour shift to attend Jihoon’s hearing, and after being grounded for three weeks, seeing him is both a relief and a kick to the shins. The shirt he’s wearing is creased horrendously, and there are dark circles under his eyes, and he’s in desperate need of a shave. But he's here, loitering in the background as though he's got no better place to be.

Jihoon is so touched, he briefly entertains the idea of striding across the room and kissing the hell out of him—framing his face with his hands and putting lips to that stubbled jawline he’s been dreaming fitfully about.

If he’s going to lose his job, he should do it in style.

The knowledge that Seungcheol will probably lose his job too is what keeps him glued to his seat, but it’s a close thing.

“I think that went very well.” Seungcheol says, after the hearing concludes and they’re walking out towards the car park together.

“Really?” It’s hard not to squeak. “You think so?”

“Aw, hey—” Seungcheol whispers, drawing level with him, a tall steady presence by his side. He reaches out and draws a thumb to the line between Jihoon's eyes. “Don’t be so worried Kitten. Everything’s going to be okay, and I’m not just saying that. I mean it. How many times do you think I’ve been in that room, justifying my actions?”

Jihoon releases a small snort of laughter in spite of himself.

“Uh, never?”

Seungcheol smiles at him, something indulgent that reads you should know me better by now, and says, “Four times.”

At Jihoon sincerely shocked expression, he starts counting them off, “Twice for restraining unruly passengers. Once for allowing a wild peacock to wreak havoc in the first-class cabin, and I’m not really sure what they took issue with last time, but the point is, I’m still here, and you will be too, because you’re a fantastic pilot Jihoon, and you didn’t do anything wrong.”

For a long moment, Jihoon is rendered speechless. Then:

“You allowed a wild peacock to wreak havoc in first class?”

Seungcheol rubs the back of his neck sheepishly.

“It’s uh, kind of a long story. How about I tell you all about it over dinner? Hmm? My treat.” He says, then reaches out to ruffle Jihoon’s hair.

Pride makes Jihoon want to swat his hands away, but he resists the urge. He doesn’t get that about Seungcheol, how he can be so laid back, so ridiculous, so childish and daring, and how he can just touch Jihoon gently on the brow, ruffle his hair, and make him feel comforted and safe and about five years old.

A week later, the passenger drops the lawsuit and the Airline wrap up their investigation. Simple as that. No harm, no foul apparently.

There wasn’t even the need for a private settlement in the end, because Jihoon’s Union was able to prove the passenger sustained his head injury in police custody, resisting arrest, and after the video started circulating online, as these things often do, the man’s credibility and image was so tarnished, he was fired from his job and had no choice but to bow out.

Jihoon doesn’t get so much as a sorry from the Airline though, not that he was expecting one really. But after getting dragged over the coals for nothing, the impersonal call informing him he was cleared for work and expected back on Monday left him feeling, justifiably, a little numb.

He receives a far warmer reception from the crew though, which almost makes the whole thing worth it.

Seungcheol has apparently been keeping them apprised of Jihoon’s case, and honestly, when Seungcheol mentioned it, Jihoon was surprised they even cared. He didn’t think he’s been on the crew long enough to form any firm friendships, but he must have been doing something right because on his first day back, they all gather in the cockpit to hug him and pat him on the back and, yeah, even ruffle his hair. He’s everyone’s adorable kid brother apparently, which should be mortifying except it’s very heart-warming instead.

“You okay?” Seungcheol asks, when it’s just the two of them again, doing pre-flight safety checks, and even though his voice is soft, it effectively breaks in on the loud terrain of Jihoon’s inner thoughts.

He looks up and finds uncharacteristic worry in Seungcheol’s expression.

“Yeah, I’m just—emotional, I guess. I really didn’t think I’d ever get back here again.” He doesn’t know why he admits it, he probably sounds lame, but it feels important.

Seungcheol’s expression softens in understanding.

Jihoon wants to hate that look, how young it makes him feel, but then Seungcheol’s stepping into his space and drawing him into a warm hug and sigh. Jihoon has to lean into the embrace, tuck his face against Seungcheol’s neck to his hide his smile.

“Aw, shit.”

Jihoon startles, almost dropping the bottle of cologne he was sniffing when Seungcheol grasps his arm.  

They’re standing in the middle of the perfume aisle of a Lotte Duty-Free, trying to pick out a fragrance for Jihoon’s cousin. At least, that’s what Jihoon told Seungcheol they were doing.

Unbeknownst to Seungcheol, Jihoon’s actually trying to figure out what perfume Seungcheol wears, because whatever it is, it’s really fucking incredible. Like wool and smoke and pure fucking manliness. So far he’s managed to determine it’s either Tom Ford’s Ombre Leather or Creed Millésime Imperial, but they share so many base notes it’s hard to tell which.

He could of course, just come right out and say, ‘Listen, I like how you smell, and I would also like to smell like that’ except when he practiced it in the mirror earlier, he sounded like Hannibal Lecter, so he decided a little white lie couldn’t hurt. But now Seungcheol’s looking irritated, like he’s finally discerned the reason Jihoon keeps sniffing him.

Although…his irritation seems to be aimed further down the aisle, where a woman is testing lip colours on her hand.

“What, what is it?” Jihoon asks, setting the perfume back down.

“It’s my ex-wife.” Seungcheol hisses, hand tightening over Jihoon’s arm. “Quick, stand in front of me so she can’t see me.”

Jihoon attempts to protest the futility of that, but Seungcheol’s already tugging him into the centre of the aisle so he can stand behind him, which of course leads to Seungcheol determining the futility of such an action all on his own.

“Aw Kitten,” He says, smiling a good two feet over the top of Jihoon’s head, “I never realised how tiny you were until just this second.”

“Fuck off.” Jihoon huffs, just as bright female voice calls out, “Seungcheol? Is that you?”

When Seungcheol had revealed more about his divorce, Jihoon couldn't help imagining (one might even say obsessing over) the woman who'd been lucky enough to get Choi Seungcheol in the great lotto of life and walked away like he meant nothing. It had been easy to build her up to be the ultimate super bitch, and Jihoon has stored up a supply of anticipatory adjectives to describe her: cold, spiteful, narcissistic, completely and totally idiotic. What he wasn’t expecting is: chirpy.

“Oh my gosh, it is. Hey! Long time no see!”

Behind him, Seungcheol sighs and steps out of his ineffectual hiding spot, offering his ex-wife a polite, albeit strained smile.

“Yes, it has. Hello Min-young.”

Most people probably can’t tell by looking at his face how disturbed he is by her presence; Seungcheol handles some of the vilest passengers with text-book perfect composure. But there is always a tightness around his eyes and mouth that belies his patience, and it just sharpens as Min-young steps closer.  

“What a lovely surprise,” She says, with a smile as cheerful as can be, “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“At the airport where I come to work and fly planes? Yes, I suppose it would come as a surprise.” Seungcheol deadpans, and Jihoon has to bite his cheek until it damn near bleeds to stop from smirking.

Min-young’s smile falters, awkwardly. But she just plasters another right back on, reaching up and brushing her thumb across her eyes. “So, uhm, how have you been?”

Seungcheol keeps smiling too, thought Jihoon can see there’s something bubbling under that smooth mask of amusement.

“Oh, you know, just being my old promiscuous self. Travelling the globe and sleeping around with everyone I meet. But of course, you already knew that, since you stressed the point in our divorce proceedings, complained about me to my employer and nearly cost me my job.”

With that incredibly startling revelation now hanging in the air, Jihoon quickly decides being invisible isn’t going to work here. He pretends to check his watch, announces they’re going to be late if they don’t get moving, then takes Seungcheol by the arm and steers him out of the shop.

They aren’t running late, of course. They’ve still got two hours to kill, on account of a delayed incoming flight, but both parties seem grateful for his swift intervention.

“I never cheated on her.” Seungcheol tells him, when they’re sitting in the Pilot’s lounge later, having a snack.

The encounter has clearly been weighing on him, seeing as he’s been uncharacteristically gloomy since they sat down. He hasn’t even tried to steal Jihoon’s sandwich once, even though Jihoon’s been nudging it towards him subtly for the last ten minutes.

“I just made the mistake of admitting to her I was bisexual a few years into our marriage, and she didn’t take it well. She—she seemed to think that my sexuality made me loose, like I was flying all around the world having sex with everyone, even though the possibility never bothered her when she thought I was straight.”

Jihoon doesn’t know why Seungcheol’s telling him this, why he feels the need to justify being less than friendly to his stigmatising ex-wife. It’s like he thinks Jihoon will think less of him, and Jihoon doesn’t have the words to explain how that would never be possible.

“You didn’t make a mistake by telling her Seungcheol,” Jihoon says, nudging the sandwich a little closer, “She did, by holding it against you.”

Seungcheol’s mouth curls into a smile, and he presses a hand to Jihoon’s knee briefly. “Thanks.”

His hand is warm and heavy, and Jihoon swears he can still feel its weight even hours later.

There are no planes cleared for take-off in the next 12 hours, and it’s estimated to be twice as long before one can attempt to land. That’s just how bad the snowfall has gotten in Heathrow—it’s ground one of the busiest airports in the world to a halt, and on Christmas Eve of all days. Which is just shitty time to be travelling in general, never mind when your last hope for the holidays gets cancelled.

Jihoon’s spent most of the day in limbo, moving from lounge to gate to plane, then back again, as their flight plan was revised and rerouted over and over. When it became clear the snow wasn’t going to let up, and the departure board turned into a sea of red, it was already closing in on midnight and he was dead on his feet. Had it not been for Seungcheol and his insistence that they ‘get the fuck outta here’, he likely would have found himself a quiet bench in the terminal to spend the night. Instead, he finds himself standing in the Radisson Blu Edwardian, staring somewhat blankly at a potted plant in the corner of the lobby as Seungcheol sweet talks the receptionist. 

It’s the fourth hotel they’ve tried in the last hour, so he’s not holding out much hope. That is until Seungcheol steps away from the reception desk, snags him by the elbow and starts tugging him towards the elevators.

“Seriously? You got us rooms?”

“Just the one,” Seungcheol replies, letting go of his arm to jab the elevator button. He pauses with his finger there, looks at Jihoon askance, “You don’t mind sharing, do you?”

Jihoon shakes his head; at this stage, he’d settle for a sturdy bench and a foil blanket. Anything for a few hours of shut eye.

He revises that opinion when they reach their room and discovers there’s only one bed.

A very large, very opulent looking four poster bed big enough for three people, sure, but it still only one bed, and Seungcheol clearly expects them to share like it’s no big deal.

And, well, maybe it isn’t?

It has been over a year since their ‘night’ together after all, and while the memory of it is still so vivid he feels as if he can touch it, Seungcheol clearly has moved on if he has no qualms about sharing a bed with him. So maybe it’s time Jihoon put it all behind him too. Stopped dwelling on the past.

It could be a really positive thing. A step forward in their working relationship. Their budding friendship.

Except…

…Seungcheol’s really fucking hot, and Jihoon still wants to ride his dick again.

Oh god, stop!—He chides himself and pushes into the room gamely, dropping his bag from his shoulder to his hand, and then to the floor.  

It won’t matter that they’re sharing, and he resolves not to worry about it again because he’s pretty sure the second his head hits the pillow he’ll be out like a light. Then he pads out of the bathroom in his pyjamas and finds Seungcheol standing in the middle of the room, tapping away on his phone, shirtless, and all thoughts of a peaceful night’s sleep go flying out the window.

Jihoon is suddenly more awake than he has ever been. In fact, he probably won’t be able to close his eyes again and not see Seungcheol’s abs on the inside of his eyelids. That’s how defined they are. Damn.

“Are you kidding me?” Seungcheol says, sounding peeved, and Jihoon jerks his head up when he becomes aware that he’s been staring.

Thankfully, Seungcheol hadn’t been directing that at him, but at his phone.

“They’ve rescheduled the flight for 8am tomorrow and people are already checking in. Haven’t they seen the weather reports? Even if by some miracle it does stop snowing, it’ll take forever to clear the runway. Our slot’s just going to get pushed back anyway, and the passengers are going to get even more pissed off when they have to freeze their asses off in the terminal.”

Jihoon swallows thickly, tamping down the urge to wipe his suddenly clammy palms on his pants.

“I…I suppose they’re trying to give everyone hope for their Christmas plans.”

Seungcheol flicks his gaze up briefly, “Yeah, I guess, but—” He pauses, glancing up again, “Are you okay Hoonie? Your cheeks are really red.” He frowns. “Are you coming down with something?”

Jihoon catches himself looking at Seungcheol’s chest, the divots of his clavicle, and looks away.

“Nah—think I’m just tired.” He says, then knuckles his eyes for added effect.

He must look pretty feverish though, judging by the way Seungcheol immediately shepherds him to the right side of the bed and tucks him in, burritos him in dozen blankets, then stands over him for ten minutes with a cool flannel pressed to his forehead, tittering.

“This isn’t good. This isn’t good at all. You’re still very warm.”

Jihoon bites on the inside of his cheek to stop from yelling—PUT ON A FUCKING SHIRT AND I’LL BE FINE!

They do go to bed eventually, and some time later, Jihoon jerks awake to an imperfectly darkened room. The sun is beginning to rise, but the snow outside has escalated from a winter wonderland fall to a certified snow storm, and it makes the small room seem even closer, warmer.

Seungcheol stirs beside him when he attempts to roll out of his co-pilot burrito to check his phone, makes unhappy snuffling noises, and then reaches a hand out and hauls him back into bed. 

“Already checked. Flight’s been rescheduled till 2pm,” He grumbles, draping an arm over Jihoon’s waist, “Go back to sleep Kitten.”

Smiling to himself, Jihoon curls back into his warmth and does just that.

It’s Seungcheol’s tenth year with the Airline in January. That’s a twelve-thousand-mile milestone, and worthy of a lavish celebration in Jihoon’s opinion, but all Seungcheol gets is a handshake, a decorative plaque and a shiny badge to stick on his lapel because budget cuts. The Airline made 294 billion KRW in profits last year but they’re too tight to throw a party for their most celebrated Pilot.

It’s abysmal really, but Seungcheol doesn’t seem to mind, and the crew certainly doesn’t let that stop them from throwing a party for him anyway. It’s a private affair, no more than thirty heads, but Seungcheol’s very chuffed about the whole thing, effusive with his gratitude. Privately, Jihoon makes plans to celebrate further during their next extended layover in New York.

The weather forecast isn’t great, but Jihoon plans around it; dinner, a few tourist spots, and then courtside basketball tickets in Madison Square Garden that he knows Seungcheol will love.  

Unfortunately, on the shuttle somewhere between the Airport and the Four Seasons, Seungcheol strikes up a conversation with another Pilot—a tall, handsome, sun-bronzed KLM Captain he’s apparently met before during a layover, who immediately invites Seungcheol up to his room to catch up over a few drinks.

It doesn’t exactly affect the plans Jihoon had in place for their layover—it’s already 8pm, they were only aiming to grab dinner together and catch up on some sleep anyway—but by the time they reach the hotel and stroll through the lobby, he’s resigned himself to spending the next 48 hours on his own.  

Thing is, he’s seen Seungcheol flirt plenty of times, but never like this—his smile is wide and almost sloppy, the corner of his bottom lip caught between his teeth, his nose scrunched up as he laughs. He looks like a teenager with a crush when he smiles like that, and with how this other pilot is smiling back, touching Seungcheol too much, laughing a little too hard at everything Seungcheol says, Jihoon has no doubts on how they plan on spending their evening.

It’s not something he wants to watch unfold, so when he steps away from the reception desk, hotel key in hand, and finds Seungcheol still flirting away, he just offers a polite smile and heads for the elevator bank.

In his room, he slips out of his clothes and jumps into the shower, turns the water as hot as he can tolerate and slumps against the tiles, almost falls asleep standing up. He drags himself out eventually, flicking through the TV while he pulls on some fresh clothes.

He’s hungry enough to consider venturing downstairs, but then he’s assaulted by a vision of bumping into Seungcheol and his friend, getting hot and heavy in the elevator, and has to face plant into the bed to dispel it.

No leaving the room tonight then. He’ll just have to camp out here, and survive on room service and minibar-

The knock on the door is unexpected this late in the night, enough to startle him upright and out of the bed.

There's no particular pattern, no distinct rhythm, but he recognizes Seungcheol in the persistent tapping anyway, and when he peers through the peephole to be sure, he’s mystified by the sight of Seungcheol standing there, freshly showered and shaved, key card dangling from his fingers. The uniform is gone, replaced with a simple blue button-up that sits snug across Seungcheol's shoulders, and while Jihoon is delighted to see him, he dreads that this is just a quick pit-stop before Seungcheol moves on to bigger and bronzier things.

Oh no…

What if he’s just coming to borrow condoms?

Reluctantly, Jihoon opens the door and Seungcheol shoulders into the room, scratching his ass with idle comfort (wow, so suave) as he steps past him. As the door swings shut with a quiet click, he gives Jihoon a quick once over, stuffs both hands in his pockets and arches one eyebrow.

"You’re not calling it a night already, are you Kitten? I thought we were going to eat.”

Jihoon just stands there, tongue-tied, feeling like a total tool for jumping to conclusions. But what about your handsome KLM Captain friend? Why aren’t you fucking his sun-bronzed brains out?—He desperately wants to ask.

Instead, he shrugs, “I just…figured we could order in or something.”

“Ooh, yeah, that’s right,” Seungcheol grins, patting him on the shoulder, “They’ve got in-room dining here, don’t they? Good thinking Hoonie.”

Jihoon wasn’t even aware the Four Seasons offered that perk, but he smiles like that was his plan all along and cocks his head toward the couch, heading that direction himself once he grabs a menu. They order a few dishes; Wagyu Beef Bolognese, grilled prawns, wild mushroom risotto; a bottle of pinot noir, then kick their feet up on the coffee table to watch TV while they wait.

The food, when it arrives, is excellent—far better quality then you’d expect from a hotel restaurant. They clear their plates in short order and set the trays outside, and even though Jihoon's wine glass is still half-full, he lets Seungcheol top it up generously and sinks into the cushions to digest. 

Eventually Seungcheol fishes for the TV remote and starts flipping through the channels, asking his opinion on what they should watch even though Jihoon isn't really paying attention.

He's busy counting the rhythm of his own heartbeat, busy listening to Seungcheol breathe, lazy and comfortable beside him. He's busy not thinking about the Pilot in the lobby, how differently he was expecting this night to play out until Seungcheol knocked on his door—and how genuinely surprised he is that Seungcheol even wants to be here, when he could be anywhere else. Until he is thinking about it, and suddenly it’s all he can think about.

Perhaps it’s the wine, or just the exhaustion, but something makes Jihoon’s head swim and his tongue loose. 

“Are we ever going to talk about it?”

Seungcheol glances over at him, and Jihoon is treated to the rare sight of genuine surprise on his face. It’s subtle—the muscles of his cheeks slacken, his eyebrows lift, and though it all smooths away a second later, he’s too decent a man to pretend like he doesn’t know what Jihoon is referring to. 

“Sure, if you want,” He lifts the remote to mute the TV, sets it down on the table, “Where do you want to start?”

Jihoon shrugs, feeling inexplicably raw all of a sudden. “Anywhere. I would just like to have the discussion, acknowledge that it happened and, I don’t know, move on? Don’t you think it would be better than just pretending it didn’t happen at all?”

Seungcheol’s mouth tightens, then stretches into a parody of a smile. “Is that what you think I’m doing? That I’m pretending it didn’t happen?”

“Well, you never talk about it.” Jihoon says, a crackling bitter undertone. “It’s been over a year and you’ve never brought it up once. A different man might take offence.”

“W-what?” Seungcheol scoffs, throwing out a hand, “Why should you be offended? And why the hell should I be the one to bring it up, when you’re the one who ran away while I was in the shower.”

Jihoon raises his head and gawps at Seungcheol with wide eyes. Smoldering anger, he can understand. But there is something else in Seungcheol’s eyes as well. Something that looks a bit like… hurt.

“I…I didn’t run away. It was my first day on the job and I was running seriously late. I even said so in my note.”

Seungcheol’s face pinches unhappily. “What note? You didn’t leave me a note.”

“Yes, I did.” Jihoon snaps irritably, “I left you a short message—sorry, gotta dash, gonna be late for work. This was fun. If you’re free again sometime, dot-dot-dot, and then my number. I left it on scrap of hotel room stationery paper. I slipped it under the bathroom door on my way out. I made a point of leaving you a fucking note.”

Seungcheol blinks at him, some of his visible scepticism sliding off his face. Tension eases from his posture by degrees, until he’s slumping back into his seat with a quiet, “Oh.”

Jihoon’s brain actually grinds to a complete halt for a moment as realization hits.

He can almost see how it unfolded now; Seungcheol stepping out of the shower, grabbing a towel to dry off, stepping on the note as he padded out of the steam filled room. It stuck to his foot probably, and then he probably peeled it off and scrunched it up without looking at it, unthinking, then tossed in the trash as he took in the room, emptied of Jihoon and his things.

It makes sense now, that he wouldn’t try to bring it up.

Seungcheol’s silent for a long moment; when he speaks, his voice is strained and brittle.

“So, uhh… by leaving me your number, am I to understand, you actually…enjoyed it?”

Jihoon chokes back a laugh, “Uh, yeah. Why would you even need to ask that? I figured it would have been pretty obvious from how vocal I was being. Or did you forget that little visit from hotel security over the noise disturbance.”

The smile Seungcheol gives him is…new. It’s a little sad, but sincere, an open door.

“I haven’t forgotten anything about that night Jihoon, but when you disappeared the next morning without saying anything, I thought—hey, maybe you imagined how good it had been. Then when we bumped into each other after, and you were so obviously uncomfortable to see me, I assumed you regretted the whole thing, and I didn’t want to bring it up in case I made you more uncomfortable. I don’t know, maybe I should have, but I don’t know how this hook-up stuff works. I don’t normally…I don’t pick up strangers I meet at hotel bars.”

“And what? You think I do?” Jihoon scoffs, offended, “Hooking up with you was the most spontaneous thing I’d ever done. I was half-terrified the whole way up to your room, thinking—holy shit, what am I doing?”

Seungcheol gives him a long, steady look. “Then why did you do it?”

Jihoon throws his hand up helplessly, “Cause you were the hottest guy I’d ever met and you were flirting with me. I couldn’t believe my luck. I still can't believe my luck!”

A long moment passes in which Seungcheol fixes him with an odd stare, and Jihoon is just starting to think shit, was that too shallow? when Seungcheol moves.

In the blink of an eye, he closes the distance between them, cupping the back of Jihoon’s neck to pull him in for a kiss. If that’s what you could call it.

It’s more like being overwhelmed by a tidal wave.

Seungcheol’s kiss is hot and liquid and hungry, but instead of drowning in it, muscle memory takes over. Jihoon barely has time for coherent thought before he’s moaning into it, opening his mouth for the rough, possessive thrust of Seungcheol’s tongue.

When they finally break away from each other, what feels like hours later, Jihoon mouth is tingling, and he stares into pupils that are certainly just as dilated and wild as his own.

"You won’t believe how many times I’ve thought about that night." Seungcheol murmurs, thumb moving in circles against his neck, sending shivers down Jihoon's back. “The things I want to do to you when we’re in that cockpit together…It’s actually dangerous how distracting you are.”

Jihoon jerks back to stare at him incredulously.

“Me? I’m the one who’s distracting? You’re the one who turns heads everywhere we go. Even in a whole ass other country where we barely speak the language you’ve got sexy sun-bronzed KLM pilots inviting you up to their room.”

Something like a laugh starts in Seungcheol’s chest, and he looks Jihoon up and down with what looks like sudden fondness.

“Aw, were you jealous Kitten? That’s fucking cute.”

Jihoon scowls at him, heated with embarrassment and fear and happiness until he doesn’t even know what he’s feeling most. He grabs Seungcheol by the back of the neck in lieu of words, reels him back in to kiss him before he can embarrass himself further.

Seungcheol meets him eagerly, tightens his grip on Jihoon’s hair and tips his head back, taking control of the kiss. He kisses along Jihoon’s jaw, gently, at first, and then harder, licking a path down Jihoon's neck, tugging the collar of his shirt out of the way to suck a spot against the hollow of his throat, probably leaving a mark.

Jihoon tilts his head back, hears his breath catch and slide into a hitching moan. The small part of his brain that isn't busily celebrating yes, finally, oh my God, takes a moment to imagine the stares at the breakfast buffet the next morning when everyone gets a load of his hickey. He decides he really doesn't care.

He squirms forward, trying to erase the last few molecules of space separating them, then moans out loud when Seungcheol’s thigh slides between his legs, hard muscled thigh rubbing against his crotch. This seems to set Seungcheol off too; there's an urgent tension in his arms as he pushes Jihoon down on the couch and stretches over him, brings their mouths and hips together, any notion of taking his time and exploring completely gone.

Jihoon can feel his cock, hot and hard, against his thigh. He shifts his body just a little, and there, oh God, yes. Their cocks slide together with every thrust. The sensation is making Jihoon’s fingers curl into fists, and they haven't even gotten naked yet.

"I want—" he starts breathlessly.

"Yeah. Yeah," Seungcheol says, as if he can read Jihoon's mind.

Which, apparently, he can.

They're still wearing too damn much clothing as they finally stumble off the couch, across the room, toward the suite's enormous bed. When Jihoon breaks the kiss to fumble with his shirt buttons, Seungcheol swats his hands away and takes control instead, in that manhandling way of his that Jihoon finds unbearably exciting.

He attacks the buttons of Jihoon’s shirt, pulling it open, not carefully, but he doesn’t push it all the way off Jihoon’s shoulder, just leaves it hanging as he ducks down to lap at a nipple, as if he can’t spare the time when there are so many things he wants to do to Jihoon’s body. He runs his hands up Jihoon’s arms, over his chest, along his sides, mouth hot against Jihoon’s neck, teeth sharp.

Jihoon clutches desperately at his shoulders, trying to get his attention, “Let me, let me—”

Seungcheol stops just long enough to say, “I’ve assumed control of the situation first officer Lee, I’d appreciate it if you let me do my job.”

"Oh, uhm. Y-yes Captain," Jihoon says, dropping his hands back to his sides, his stomach lurching with embarrassment.  

Seungcheol has never reprimanded him before, never had a reason to, really. Which is a crying shame because it’s a massive turn on. Almost as arousing as the casual way Seungcheol tosses him onto the bed, like he weighs nothing, rids him of his remaining clothes with a few efficient tugs.

There is a streak of domination in Seungcheol’s personality that he's always careful to moderate. Jihoon wants to liberate it, melt into it. He can’t remember ever wanting that from anyone.

“God, look at you—” Seungcheol breathes, standing over him, eyeing him appreciatively, hiding absolutely nothing of how turned on he is.

It makes Jihoon’s stomach flip wildly, being appraised so openly like this. The sense of vulnerability that comes with being mostly naked while Seungcheol is still fully dressed—Jihoon wouldn’t have guessed that’s his thing, but apparently it is. He's acutely aware of the heaviness between his legs, smearing a mess of precome on his belly, especially when Seungcheol finally starts touching him, hand stroking his bare thighs, his stomach, tentatively brushing his finger over the underside of his cock.

“Cheol, please.” Jihoon spreads his legs, feeling uncharacteristically wanton.

Seungcheol glances up from where he is sucking a mark into the depression of Jihoon’s pelvic bone, eyes flashing hot and dark. He slides his hands up Jihoon’s thighs, holds him firmly by the hips, and Jihoon has only a moment to appreciate the warm smirk on Seungcheol’s face—to process what it means—before Seungcheol dips down and his plush mouth closes around the head of his cock.

"Oh, fuck." Jihoon arches up at the rush of sensation, clawing at the bedspread to keep himself anchored.

Seungcheol smiles around his cock and makes a sound in the back of his throat like he's laughing, then bobs forward and takes him deeper, works him with determined skill, taunting with his talented tongue, swallowing deep before sliding his lips along Jihoon's length in retreat.

It’s so unbearably good it can’t last long. Jihoon trembles, hand grasping for Seungcheol's shoulder to warn him at the precipice, but Seungcheol keeps right on, working him over the edge and swallowing without protest.

When Jihoon's head descends from the disjointed clouds of his post-orgasm haze, he finds he's sprawled in the middle of the bed, Seungcheol at his side, peering down at him with smug amusement tinting his heated expression. His arousal still tents his pants—damn right it does. If Seungcheol had finished himself off while Jihoon was too out of it to enjoy the view, Jihoon might never forgive him.

Even though his chest still feels loose and warm, his body boneless, Jihoon edges closer and sets his hands on Seungcheol’s erection, strokes him through the dampening cotton of his pants. Seungcheol draws in a sharp breath at the touch, belying his outward appearance of control.

"You want a hand with that?"

Seungcheol huffs out a soft laugh, stroking a palm over Jihoon's thigh, “I had something else in mind actually.” The hand drifts back to Jihoon’s ass, thumbing a ruminative line along the crease, teasing a little, testing, maybe. “But I… just realised I don’t have any rubbers on me, and I really don’t want to head out—”

"I’m clean," Jihoon says.

It just slips out, unthinking, and Seungcheol’s eyes flash wide with surprise, “Yeah?”

Jihoon squirms uncomfortably, but he wouldn't want to take it back.

“I haven’t been with anyone since we…” He trails off, running a hand up Seungcheol's chest, almost shyly, a little unsure of what’s allowed. “And you passed your medical last month with flying colours. So, you know, just saying...”

Seungcheol doesn't say anything for a minute, and Jihoon wonders frantically if that’s where he draws the line. If maybe Seungcheol is some kind of conservative gay—no wait, bisexual pilot who’ll suck a guy’s dick and swallow, but thinks barebacking is just plain wrong.

It’s…possible.

That thought however, is quickly short-circuited when Seungcheol’s growls out his name, low and urgent, clamps a hand over Jihoon's hip like he’s staking a claim and drags him in for a long, intense kiss.

When he pulls away, it’s just far enough to shed his clothes, then he’s climbing back on the bed, running a hand possessively along Jihoon’s side.

They lie down together, side-by-side, trading kisses and touches, some exploratory, others pure hunger. Inevitably it becomes too much, and Seungcheol's gentleness gives way to the alpha-male truth of him. Soon Jihoon is on his back, Seungcheol on top of him, bulk welcome and snug between his parted thighs.

Jihoon agrees with this development whole-heartedly, revelling in the silken heat of skin-on-skin. It feels like he's been waiting on this for months.

He rubs his hands up and down Seungcheol's arms, appreciating the flex and play of muscle, and then runs them around to his back and down his sides, cups Seungcheol's ass and pulls him closer, closer—as close as he can get and it's still not nearly enough.

Even naked, with the aircon humming in the background, he feels swelteringly hot everywhere Seungcheol touches him, and he still wants more. He just wants Seungcheol, wants so much he doesn’t care if it burns him up.

"Beautiful," Seungcheol murmurs, kissing Jihoon's mouth, his jaw, a place on his neck that makes him shiver.

The muscles in Jihoon's belly tighten as Seungcheol knees his legs open further, hoists one over his shoulder, pets a lube slicked finger greedily over his hole. Jihoon gasps out a harsh breath as it pushes into him, and then he moans, lingering on the sound as Seungcheol hastily follows it up with another, then a third, stroking softly, exploring, until Jihoon’s thrashing and whining and demanding more.

Seungcheol strokes a hand over his chest as he works him open, pinches his nipples, pets his stomach, tickling along the crease where leg meets body, and then further down, cupping Jihoon's balls in his palm, dragging his thumb along the wet slit of his cock. Then he’s slipping his fingers out and slicking up his cock, setting a hand at Jihoon's hip—sliding it to Jihoon's stomach as he uses his other hand to line himself up—and finally, god finally, pushes in.

The shock of penetration makes Jihoon’s body burn, makes his head spin. It hurts more than he expects, more than he remembers. Not enough to temper his arousal, but enough that he cries out, eyes squeezing shut as he slumps back into the mattress.

Seungcheol stills above him—inside him—and Jihoon struggles to take a steady breath. He relaxes his body, knows in theory that he has to, but it's been so long since he’s been this full, he can’t stop clenching around the thick cockhead stretching him open.

Seungcheol waits an extra moment before moving forward, thrusting deeper by increments, so carefully that Jihoon is embarrassed at the staccato, shocky sounds escaping his lips. He can't stop though, can't quiet the noises he's making, especially once Seungcheol slots all the way into him and—

"God!" Jihoon cries out before he can stop himself.

Seungcheol smiles down at him, cocky as hell, like he's answering to the name, then holds Jihoon’s leg steady while he pulls out and slides in again, slow and deliberate and exquisite.

It’s just as amazing as their first time. No—no, better. It's deliciously raw, skin on skin with only a sheen of lube between them.

On the tenth thrust Jihoon hooks his leg around Seungcheol's waist and urges him on, and a moment later they've found their rhythm, moving hard and furious and dirty, Seungcheol bracing both hands on the bed so he can pound into him.

Jihoon rides it out as quietly as he can, semi-conscious of the hotel rooms on either side of them, the numerous noise complaints they had last time. Soon though he has bite down on his knuckles to stifle his cries of appreciation because—fuck, Seungcheol’s so strong and good at this, hitting that perfect spot on every thrust that makes his vision white out and his toes curl.

He'd be reaching for his own cock if he could manage the coordination, but it's too much. Much too much.

"God," Jihoon says, wrenching his bitten hand away from his mouth, "God, Cheol, please, I need to come."

Seungcheol smiles down at him, looking wonderfully stupid, and then his hand closes around Jihoon's cock, messy fisted strokes that are more than enough with all Jihoon's nerve endings firing white hot and fast-fast-fast.

"Jihoon, shh, Jesus Christ, someone is gonna call the cops," Seungcheol is saying, but Jihoon doesn't care, he doesn't, he's—fuck, coming over Seungcheol's fist and up his own belly and Seungcheol is fucking him hard through it, hurrying to come too. Jihoon could come all over again when he does, when Seungcheol shoves into him one last time, when he feels the slick, surreal sensation of Seungcheol's orgasm spilling inside him.

“—thank you for joining us on this trip and we wish you a pleasant onward journey.”

Jihoon flicks the PA switch off once Seungcheol finishes his announcement, and turns his attention back to the boarding gate they’re taxing towards. Or most of his attention anyway.

It’s been an exhausting flight, with an unexpected delay at JFK adding four hours to their already long journey, and to his left Seungcheol is looking so bulky and warm and inviting, Jihoon can’t decide between spending the rest of the evening repeating their earlier antics in the hotel and wanting nothing more than to curl up on top of him like a cat.

Not that either of things are options of course, because as is their won’t, they haven’t actually discussed anything.

They were too busy having mind blowing sex, too busy being naked and entwined and mindless with the sheer ecstasy of together to actually sit down and talk about what happens next— what changes, what doesn’t. By the time they resurfaced, they just had long enough to pack their bags, check-out and head to the airport.

Discussing it mid-flight was out of the question obviously, and there’s barely enough time between the gate and the Airport entrance to exchange anything more than a few pleasantries, so Jihoon’s really hoping Seungcheol will suggest they grab a drink after. Or dinner, or something, so they can talk.

And they do need to talk. Right? Sleeping with a co-worker once is no big deal, even twice is admissible, but not taking your hands off each other once during a 48-hour layover portends big changes on the horizon.

Jihoon’s fairly sure this is a thing, he's fairly sure they have a thing now, and that's both exciting and worrying in a way he's not quite sure how to deal with.

Seungcheol must notice him fretting, because he jerks his chin up, silently asking what’s wrong?

Conscious of the flight recorder still running, Jihoon just shakes his head. They’ll discuss it later, or you know, they won’t.

Dammit!

Why couldn’t they have just stopped having sex for five minutes to talk?

“Doing anything this evening?” Seungcheol finally asks, after the passengers have disembarked and they’ve finished powering down the engines, preparing the plane for handover.

Jihoon tries not sound too eager as he answers, “No, nothing. Uhm, you?”

“Yeah, actually, I’ve got a date tonight.” Says Seungcheol, kind of smugly.

Jihoon’s eyes snap to Seungcheol’s, his body stopping, his mind startled and utterly blank.

“Really? That’s…uh, great,” He manages to work up a little excitement in his voice as he starts to fiddle with the straps of his carry-on. “Is it a first date, or have you been seeing them for some time?”

Seungcheol smiles at him, a little wry, a little hesitant.

“I guess you could say it’ll be our first official date.” He offers a shrug, “We’ve kind of been seeing each other on and off over the past year, keeping things casual, what with how busy our respective schedules are. But there’s definitely something big building, so I’ve decided to stop pussyfooting around and make more of a committed effort to spend time with them.”

Jihoon’s heart plummets.

“That’s great. Good for you,” He says, forcing a smile, then he hoists up his bag and turns for the door, “See you tomorrow.”

He barely makes it two steps towards the cockpit door, before Seungcheol’s hand is closing around his elbow and spinning him around, crowding him against it.

“Was I being too vague?” Seungcheol asks, exhaling a short laugh. “You do realise I was talking about you, right?”

In response, Jihoon meows at him. He doesn’t know why. Possibly the words ‘You son of a bitch! Yes, you were being vague’ and ‘Oh, thank fuck’ coalesce together to form one, incomprehensible noise that sounds like meow. He’s not sure, but he’s too busy making out with Seungcheol against the cockpit door to correct himself.  

FIN.