Flying
by Shine

The plane shuddered, dipped a couple feet and bucked, and Chris shifted in his seat, forcing himself to relax his grip on the armrest. His stomach was a clenched knot, and he was sweating. He fucking hated flying.

Across the aisle JC hummed something and scribbled frantically in his notebook, and Chris made himself stop glaring at him, look away. JC didn't care if they were walking, flying, or falling out of the sky--he lived for the music in his head, and Chris usually didn't mind it. Usually he admired him for it, actually, the determination and the passion and the attempt to try and bring back disco with Up Against The Wall notwithstanding, usually he thought it was pretty fucking cool.

Usually, though, they weren't in the middle of a fucking transatlantic--hurricane, or whatever the fuck it was. The plane lurched again, and Chris jumped, gave up trying to be cool. Fuck. He *hated* flying. And why the fuck did they have to go to Uzbekistan anyway? He didn't even know where Uzbekistan *was*. He didn't *want* to know where Uzbekistan was. Chris had never been to Uzbekistan in his life, but right now he was pretty sure the place sucked ass.

He muttered something under his breath, and next to JC Lance looked up from paperwork at that, his checkbook and calculator and several sheafs of paper battling for room on the tiny tray table, and gave him a sympathetic look. Lance didn't like flying much either, but he could distract himself with business. Unfortunately, Chris had Dani, and Dani was too good at what she did to let things get to the point where Chris had mountains of paperwork to keep him occupied. Chris sighed and nodded to him, silent thanks, and Lance returned to his work.

Joey was sound asleep in the center seat, twisted awkwardly on his side, his feet in the aisle. He'd already been hit twice by the drinks cart as it went by, ladies in carefully pressed uniforms looking horrified when the carts *thunked* against his ankle, but Joey hadn't even woken up either time. He'd pulled his feet back in, mumbled a little, and five minutes later they'd been in the aisle again. Chris had worried about him the first time, barely noticed the second, and thought he might start laughing if it happened again. Joey wouldn't mind, he knew.

Because Joey loved flying, and the longer the flight, the better. It was the only time he ever got more than six hours of sleep at once, he'd told Chris a long time ago, as they were buckling in for the flight to Japan. It was before he started sharing a row with Justin. Chris had just looked back at him bleakly, and gripped the armrests tighter. He hadn't slept that whole flight.

Beside him, Justin stirred, fingers twitching restlessly across Chris's stomach, and he raised his head from where it was tucked close against Chris's shoulder. "Hmm?" he said drowsily, and Chris shook his head, forcing some calm for Justin's sake.

"Turbulance," he said softly, "don't worry about it." He slid his hand down Justin's back, pressed his palm against the strip of soft bare skin where his shirt had ridden up. The waistband of his boxers was soft and nubby under his hand, and he edged a finger underneath, rubbing out the hot indentations from the elastic. Justin purred quietly, and let his head fall back down, eyes slipping closed.

He was such a kid, Chris thought with affection, at times like these, when he was sleepy and there was no one there to see, no one there to pretend for. Chris let his free hand trace the swell of Justin's mouth, feeling something tug at his chest when Justin smiled slightly and licked quickly at the questing fingertip, and edged even closer, pressing all up and down Chris's body, leg, arm.

Cuddlebugging, Chris thought, and his face was so peaceful, so calm Chris felt it seep inside him. Something deep inside him relaxed, and he rested his head back against the seat and sighed, feeling the fatigue that never went away now come up and press gently at his eyes. He could sleep now, on flights.

And okay, so maybe he didn't hate flying that much.

Fin