I reach for the throw draped over the opposite seat, pull it across our laps. It's cashmere, soft and warm, and it's about to be ruined for a very good cause.
"Give me that cock," I tell him, sliding my hand into his sweatpants. He's hard already, cock straining against the fabric,and when I wrap my fingers around him, he groans into my mouth.
"Fuck. Your hands are cold."
"Warm them up."
"That's not how— ah, fuck, okay, that works."
We jerk each other off under the blanket, messy and graceless, hidden under the blanket, just in case the attendant decides to make a surprise visit. His hand speeds up, and I match his rhythm. The cabin fills with the sound of heavy breathing and the wet slide of skin on skin.
"This is ridiculous," I mutter.
"This is fun." He twists his wrist on the upstroke, and I have to bite back a groan. "Remember fun? It's this thing normal people have, bet I’ll last longer then you." He smirks.
"I'm not normal."
"No shit." He kisses my jaw, my neck, the spot behind my ear that makes me shiver. "And yet here you are, about the cum into my hand."
I speed up my strokes, grip tightening. His breath hitches, and I feel his cock twitch in my hand, feel his hips starting to stutter.
"Close," he warns.
"Already? And you were bragging about your stamina."
"Fuck you. You're good at this. It's annoying."
"I'm good at everything. It's one of my few redeeming qualities."
He laughs, breathless and genuine, and the sound does something to my chest. Something warm. Something I don't have a name for but am starting to recognize.
"Come for me," I tell him. "Nice and quiet. Don't want the pilot to hear."
"You're such a bastard." But he buries his face in my shoulder as his body tenses, as his cock pulses in my grip, spilling hot and wet over my fingers. The feel of it, the smell of it, the way he shakes apart against me pushes me over too, and I come with a grunt, my own release adding to the mess under the blanket.
We sit there for a moment, breathing hard, hands still wrapped around each other's softening cocks. The cashmere is definitely ruined. I can't bring myself to care.
"We ruined the blanket," Jonah observes.
"It's Jace's blanket. He can deal with it."
"You're going to make your brother clean up our cum. That's cold."
"He's had worse. Trust me. Besides, he will probably just get the staff to burn it."
Jonah snorts, pulling his hand free and wiping it on the cashmere. "I like this version of you. The one who makes cum jokes and has orgasms on airplanes and doesn't look like he's figuring out seventeen ways to murder everyone in the room."
"I'm still calculating. I'm just also having orgasms."
"Multitasking. Sexy." He kisses me, slow and sweet, tasting like the coffee he drank before takeoff. "I'm already used to all of you, Jagger. The murder tendencies included."
I don't know what to say to that. So I just hold him, blanket covering the evidence of our indiscretion, and watch the clouds drift past the window while Switzerland approaches.
We land at a private airstrip in the Swiss Alps three hours later. The mountains rise around us, white-capped and ancient, and the air is cold enough to bite when we step off the jet.
A black SUV waits on the tarmac. The driver's door opens, and Jace steps out.
He looks different. Softer, somehow. The hard edges that used to define him have smoothed out, and there's color in his cheeks that wasn't there before. Six months of sex and good food will do that, I suppose.
