"Take Flight" Series
Part Four: Nearness of You

by Severina

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We landed thirty minutes later than scheduled.  By that time, turbulence was the norm and it was pissing down buckets.  I left my empty stomach somewhere around 10,000 feet.  I’m pretty sure I only screamed once, though.  That tends to happen when you feel a 95,000 pound jet slipping and sliding across the slick tarmac like so much cranberry jelly on a Christmas platter. 

We picked up our rental car and drove through the streets in relative silence, Brian concentrating on road signs and directions and me trying to ignore the echo of the pounding rain on the roof of the car and the jagged streaks of lightning that split the sky.   I reached a hand across to Brian’s lap, gratified when he took his hand from the wheel to give mine a comforting squeeze.  Sometimes it’s the little things. 

By the time we approach the hotel, the rain has dwindled to a trickle of moisture and I’m actually itching for my sketchbook, eager to capture the subtle nuances of grey and brown that seem to hang in the air.  Instead, I stare at the scene and then close my eyes, committing it to memory as best I can. 

My concentration is diverted by the opulent hotel lobby.  I barely pay attention as Brian checks us in, closing my mouth only when I notice the little side-glance, tongue-in-cheek look that Brian’s tossing my way.  So I’m impressed.  So what?  I’m nineteen.  I’ve never been to Europe.  I’m allowed to act like a geeky tourist. 

*  *  *  *  * 

This is sooooo not a Jacuzzi. 

This has no air injectors.  No heating system.  No underwater lighting.  No padded (or non-padded, for that matter) loungers to rest against one’s weary back against.  This is a bathtub jury-rigged with a couple of those do-it-yourself jet-spray attachments that you can find in the Bed and Bath department of your local Q-Mart. 

Brian merely snorts when I suggest that we call down to the front desk and raise a ruckus.  For a moment this surprises me -- I mean, I’m sure he paid a fortune for the suite, and all of it -- including the alleged jacuzzi -- looked fucking amazing in the flyer.  But then it hits me.  He’s an ad-man.  He makes up this kind of shit for a living. 

Anyway, at least it’s a nice bathtub.  Oval in shape, big enough for two, and resting against Brian’s chest is more comfortable and infinitely more satisfying than any scuzzy vinyl cushion.

I snuggle a little deeper, twining my fingers with his beneath the water and heaving a sigh of pure, unadulterated contentment.  The fucking was great -- I mean, fucking with Brian is always grreat, and the underwater element added a new dimension that really threw me over the edge.  But the aftermath is phenomenal.  The steam hovers gently around us, caressing our exposed skin, the air is heavy with the combined scents of herbal soap and spent passion, and every curve of my body seems tailor-made to mould with his. 

I can’t believe it’s taken us this far into our relationship to enjoy each other this way.  And I intend to take advantage of every opportunity to use it in the next week, before we have to return to our regrettably bathtub-less existence.  Maybe I can sneak Brian into the big claw tub at Daphne’s? 

I shiver a little as Brian lazily shifts, cupping a handful of water to drizzle onto my head.  He keeps doing that.  Every time my hair begins to air-dry, he re-wets it.  I consider asking him why, then realize I don’t really care.  Whatever turns his crank is a-okay with me. 

“I wonder how hard it would be to add a bathtub to the loft?” I muse mostly to myself, letting a hand crawl languidly across Brian’s thigh and along his leg before it comes to rest on the smooth tanned knee that pokes clear of the water. 

“We’d have to enlarge the bathroom… use the area that’s currently the bedroom closet.  Which would mean expanding the bedroom area into the living space, removing and repositioning the partitions, adding a new closet…” 

“Wait a minute.” I twist in Brian’s arms, not taken in by his innocent look for a nano-second.  “You’ve already been planning on getting one.” 

He shrugs, the understated movement sending gentle ripples through the water. 

“But why?  You’ve always said you hate them.  Called them ‘breeding grounds for bacteria’ on more than one occasion.  Why would you--” 

Whatever else I was going to say is lost as Brian’s lips swoop down on mine. When we finally, breathlessly part, he just looks at me, the merest ghost of a smile on his lips.  And I know “why.”

Suddenly the implications of my little off-hand comment seem a little overwhelming.   So far, everything has been great since Brian and I got back together.  My unparalleled fuck-up with Ethan has been left in the past, and we’ve weathered disagreements and differences of opinion with nary a wrinkle of trouble.  I wasn’t lying when I said I knew what to expect this time around, and what Brian offers me.  Brian understands me this time, too.  We’re secure.  We’re happy.  We both know that we need each other.  As sappy as it sounds, we just don’t function properly without the other.  Anyway, what we have right now -- it works for us.  For both of us.

And I’m not sure I want to mess around with a good thing. 

First lesson in Country Club Manners 101:  When a conversation skirts into an area outside your expertise and you are in doubt of how to proceed… change the subject.

“You know,” I cock my head and smile, “if we hadn’t switched to a later flight, we wouldn’t have been caught in that turbulence and Liberty Air wouldn’t owe me a fortune in compensation pay.” 

Brian arches a brow.  “If I recall correctly -- and I do -- you were the one who suddenly decided that he didn’t have ‘a thing to wear’ on this little excursion.” 

“Hey!  I was perfectly happy to just stop in at The Gap and pick up a few things.” 

“The Gap.” Brian shudders elaborately.  “Isn’t that one of the circles of hell?” 

“Fuck off!” I laugh, flicking water into his face.  He squints his eyes against the onslaught,  and I throw caution to the wind and give in to the urge to lick away the single moist droplet that clings to the end of his nose. 

Our faces hang inches apart.  His breath becomes mine. 

And suddenly strong hands are gripping my hips, soft lips are trailing along my collarbone, and I throw back my head and surrender to the pleasure that only Brian can bestow.

“Ding ding ding,” he smiles against my ear.  “Round Two.” 

Continue to Part Five:  Little by Little

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Feedback is always welcome
Severina

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