Blueshift

Blueshift Chapter Twenty Seven (NC-17)
Disclaimers Apply

A/N Goddess Foxfeather, Queen of Mad Plotbunnies, BUSIEST WOMAN ALIVE ™, Prophetic Muse, Hamster Witch and Uberbeta… He’s down! :) InterNutter, TC, Maxwell Pink and Dracena are loverly and wondermous for archiving/hosting. ProPhile: Voila… Morgan: *GLOMP * Readers/Reviewers: Might not be an update tomorrow, depending on company… *Eyes interlopers* Meh.


Lance jerked awake, the blood draining from his face to regions far more enjoyable but less socially acceptable. “What the HELL are you doing?” he hissed at Amara.
“Relieving stress.”
“I was asleep! Very unstressed!”
“Yes, but I wasn’t,” she murmured, turning the page of her magazine languidly with one hand while continuing her under the blanket ministrations with the other. “This flight is very stressful.”
Lance blinked rapidly, clearing the last vestiges of sleep from his eyes as he tried to think of a way to remove her hand from his person with the minimum of embarrassment to either one of them. “Amara, stop! The flight attendant is coming!” He groaned under his breath, only partly in frustration, as the dark haired woman made her way down the aisle towards the galley. Amara continued unabated, slowly stroking his now-hard length beneath the blue blanket. Lance tried to look nonchalant but he had a sneaking suspicious the woman noticed what was going on, if her glare was anything to go by. “Amara, for fuck’s sake!”
“Shhh,” she replied, turning another page. Inside, she was nervous and shaking. Outside, she was the picture of cool, calm and collected. She hated this flight, not because of the plane or associated details but because she knew that she was being watched. She did not know her father had been aware of life off of Nova Roma, of how to even send someone away so that they could come back. Even as the thought occurred to her, it chilled her… _He never expects him to return. He is on a suicide mission. _ The blood stained her hands anew at this thought, though she did not let the horror dawning in her breast show on the outside. _How many lives is that now, Princess? _ she mocked herself. _The dead will become your legion and you their leader… you can make war on the living soon with the numbers you’re amassing. _ She felt Lance’s breathing quicken and let it distract her, feeling the push of his abdomen against her arm each time he inhaled, the warming of his skin as he grew more excited. The words on the page before her blurred and ran together, becoming gray smears on white paper. She could feel the sticky, seeping arousal on her fingers as she stroked his length a bit faster and harder. The lights were down in the plane as a movie about some kid getting lost in Prague played on the silent screen. They would not be noticed. Lance shivered against her and she knew he was close as she passed her thumb over the sensitive head of his length, rubbing as she squeezed gently and stroked. The flight attendant was making her way back down the aisle and Amara could see her out of the corner of her eye, stopping to talk to someone a few rows back. A flicker of orange, the color of a sunset, caught her eye and Amara gasped. Lance’s climax fell at the same moment, her own sharp intake of breath masking his. She ignored the hot, sticky release spilling on her hand, seeping between her fingers, instead craning her neck to see the man the flight attendant had been talking to.
“Can I help you, miss?”
Amara froze and turned wide, innocent eyes up to the other woman. “No, thank you.”
“Do you need another blanket?” the attendant continued, eyeing the blue one across Lance’s lap. “I could…”
“I said No,” Amara ground out. “Thank you.” She felt Lance’s breath hitch in nervous near-panic as she stared down the other woman. After what felt like one of the longest moments of her life, the flight attendant moved on. “We have to get off the plane,” she said under her breath to Lance as she reached for the tissues in her carry on with her free hand. “Now.”
“What? Princess, we can’t just step out for a breather here,” he muttered, taking the tissues and cleaning up as best he could. “Oh, damn. I need to go to the restroom…”
Amara growled again. “Me too…” She had cleaned with the tissues but knew it was not enough. Lance stood and edged down the aisle after making sure he was relatively decent, leaving Amara alone in the row. She clutched the blanket in her hand, standing slowly. She did not see the flicker of orange as she had before but he had the certain feeling she was being watched. They had only been in the air for an hour, she reasoned, surely they could go back now. The pilot would just have to understand. She made her way down the aisle in the opposite direction towards the other restroom, ignoring other passengers as she moved. Her mind was already trying to sift through different scenarios, different ways to get back on the ground before reaching South America. _Maybe they’ll notice we’ve gone back at the Institute and the Professor will make them land the plane,” she reasoned in a near-panic. She had never wanted to be caught so much in her entire life.

The airplane bathroom was necessarily small and the odd flicker of the lighting made Lance’s head ache as he washed his hands. He hated flying, really, and wished he could spark up in the bathroom. _I think that’s pretty high on the list of FAA’s no-nos, _he thought bitterly. He stared in the mirror an extra moment and sighed. He looked tired, he felt tired and he knew that he would be exhausted before this was all said and done. He still could not believe they were doing this and that, so far, they had gotten away with it. He sighed one more time and opened the bathroom door only to find himself shoved back in bodily, crowded against the sink before he even realized what was going on. “Dude, the fuck you doing?” He barely managed the words before he was backhanded, his head striking the wall and his eyes rolling back, his body slumping to the cramped floor.