"I don't sound like that."
"You absolutely sound like that. Ask anyone." He slumps back in his seat. "I'm bored, Jagger."
"Read a book."
"There are no books. Just financial magazines and something called 'Luxury Yachting' which is apparently a thing rich people care about."
"Sleep."
"Not tired." His hand lands on my thigh, casual but deliberate. "I can think of other ways to pass the time."
I open my eyes. He's grinning at me, that sharp, knowing smile that always means trouble. His fingers are tracing smallcircles through the fabric of my pants, working their way higher with each rotation.
"We're on a plane."
"A private plane. With a closed cockpit door. And no flight attendants." His hand slides higher. "Live a little."
"This is your definition of living? Attempting to seduce me at thirty thousand feet?"
"Attempting? Please." He leans closer, lips brushing my ear, breath warm against my skin. "I could have you hard in thirty seconds."
"That's optimistic."
"That's a challenge." His hand moves to my belt, starts working the buckle with practiced ease. "Time me."
I should stop him. We're in the middle of an escape, flying toward an uncertain future, with the full weight of The Silent about to come crashing down on us. This is not the time for fooling around.
But his hand is warm through the fabric of my pants, and his breath is hot against my neck, and I'm so tired of being the person who always says no.
"Fine," I say. "Thirty seconds."
He grins and gets to work.
The belt comes undone. The button. The zipper. His hand slides inside my boxers, wrapping around my cock with a grip that borders on painful. He strokes once, twice, thumb circling the head, collecting the precum already gathering there.
"Fifteen seconds," he murmurs. "And you're already leaking. Someone's eager."
"Someone's been celibate for years before you came along."
"Jesus. No wonder you were so pent up." He strokes faster, and I have to grip the armrest to keep from bucking into his hand. "All those years of tension. No wonder you’re so angry all the time. All tension and no cum makes Jagger a very angry boy."
"Oh for fucks sake.”
"Hmm, what’s that, Jagger?” He stops moving his hand.
"Now I want you to shut up and keep going."
He laughs, low and delighted, and by the time I count to twenty, I'm fully hard and leaking steadily into his palm.
"Told you," he murmurs. "Under thirty."
"Shut up. It was thirty-five."
"Mouthy today, aren’t we?”
I grab the back of his neck and kiss him, swallowing whatever other smartass comment he was about to make. He laughs against my mouth, hand still working my cock with slow, deliberate strokes.
"Blanket," he says between kisses. "Grab the blanket. Unless you want to explain the stains to your brother."
