Chapter 8 - Lullaby of Birdland

Unfortunately, Brian got caught up in work on the Britcom account for the next two days and didn’t get another chance to visit his favorite World War II pilot. Walter Melton, the stodgy old Britcom CEO, was proving to be quite a handful. He insisted on being hands on with every single aspect of the campaign, often changing his mind on things he’d already signed off on the day, or even the morning, before. Brian was about ready to tell him to take his fucking $50 million account and shove it. Only repeated and lengthy calls from Cynthia managed to keep Brian from saying something he’d regret.

It wasn’t till Saturday morning that Brian even had a spare minute to himself, and only then because Melton was spending the weekend with relatives in the country. As soon as he’d had breakfast and checked all his messages, Brian sent a quick note to Cynthia telling her he might be busy the rest of the weekend himself, dressed himself in his Savile Row finery, and then headed off towards Duckett’s Passage. On his way, Brian remembered to stop by a grocers and pick up a bag of delicious-looking oranges - something he was sure wouldn’t be easy to find in wartime Britain, and therefore sure to be a hit.

The trip through the time portal was becoming almost routine now. Brian had the mechanics of it down pat and didn’t really mind so much the way his limbs would disappear or the moments of blindness when he’d first go through. It still wasn’t ‘comfortable’ but it was bearable. And it didn’t slow him down hardly at all.

His first stop was to check in at The Strand.

He’d registered there before leaving on his prior visit, reserving a room for two full weeks, with the understanding he might stay even longer. The clerk had been stunned when Brian had brought out the large sheaf of five and even ten pound notes from his wallet to pay his bill in advance. Brian had made a note to remember to carry smaller sums with him in future. But, with all his seeming wealth, he’d been able to get a fairly nice suite of rooms on the top floor. However, even this room didn’t afford him a private bathroom - a luxury that was practically unheard of in London at the time, he was told.

Upon his return that Saturday, Brian was told he had one message waiting for him, and he happily accepted the sheet of folded stationery from the clerk before taking the small bag he’d packed up to the suite. As expected, the note was from his Blue Eyes. Brian dropped everything on the bed as soon as he was through the door so he could read it.

The stationary was monogrammed at the top with large, ornately scrawled, silver initials: J.R.T. The writing below was neat and compact but with the occasional flair to a capital or an ending embellishment that hinted at the boy's underlying exuberance. Brian thought fleetingly that Justin’s handwriting was very like the man himself.

‘Mr. Kinney’, it started off, very formally.

‘I regret that I have been quite busy the past few days, and have therefore been unable to make time to meet with you. However, I am so looking forward to doing the interview you mentioned previously. Fortuitously, I will be off duty the 10th and 11th, instant, if either of those dates would be convenient to you for us to meet. You may leave word for me at either my lodgings or with Ms. Chanders at the White Lion as to when I should expect to see you next.

With eager expectation of our next meeting,

Justin.’

The stuffiness and propriety of the letter cracked Brian up. Damn, his little Blue Eyes was a pretentious one! But, once again, Brian was titillated by the clandestine nature of this budding relationship. All the cloak and dagger sneaking around, the secret assignations, and even the veiled, coded letter, seemed quite humorous. It made Brian feel like, whatever he was doing here, was more of a game than his real life back in 2016. This was a refreshing change of pace. It was fun. And it was certainly far different than his usual, clipped, emotionless and frequently unchallenging pursuits of the men he normally went after. Winning Justin was turning out to be far more of a challenge than anything he’d ever tried before. Maybe that explained why he’d been acting so out of character ever since he met the intriguing blue eyed pilot.

Since Brian didn’t have anything planned for the rest of the day, he decided to treat himself to a little adventure. After asking the concierge at the hotel for directions, he ventured out into the wilds of 1941 London. His first stop was a small cafe where he treated himself to a traditional London luncheon of chicken pot pie, mashed potatoes and the ubiquitous pint of warm ale. Then he made his way to the famous Covent Garden market. It turned out that was the place all the men with handcarts had been heading towards the morning of his first foray into the past. Now, Brian had the leisure to wander around the place, threading his way through the stalls, poking into unexpected places, looking over all the piles of potatoes and tomatoes and carrots, and thoroughly enjoying himself in the process. Unfortunately, this early in the spring, there wasn’t much that tempted Brian. But, he did get a kick out of buying a bouquet of flowers from a picturesque old woman in one booth, thinking all the while that she could have easily been the original Eliza from Pygmalion.

After leaving the market, Brian continued to wander around the city, enjoying finding his way around the maze of tiny little streets and alleys. Luckily, it was one of those rare, sunny, spring days in London, and Brian was thoroughly enjoying himself. When he somehow managed to find his way to old Charing Cross Road, he was thrilled with his new discovery. Based on his knowledge of modern London, he took a chance looking around the area, and was happy to discover that the old Odeon Theatre near Leicester Square existed even in this time period. Gleefully making a note of that fact for future wooing purposes, Brian turned his steps southward, made his way back to the high street and then to his hotel. It had been a wonderful afternoon, and Brian was energized and excited by all his adventures. Now, all he had to do was find his Blue Eyes.

Brian quickly cleaned up in his hotel room and then headed out once more, bound for the White Lion. Again, he was far too early for the interesting evening crowd. But this time he wasn’t dashing around in a panic, so he merely took up his place on a vacant barstool and waited for Daphne to make her rounds to him.

“‘Allo, ‘andsome!” Daphne greeted him with a big toothy smile. “Yer jes the sight these poor tired eyes needed this afternoon, Love. But if yer ‘ere lookin’ for our Sunshine agin, I’m ‘fraid you might be disappointed. ‘E ain’t been ‘round much this week. Word is there’s a big push on, and most of our regular boys have been kept hoppin’. Although, ‘e did ‘appen to pop in for a quick spot earlier this afternoon, an’ was asking about ya.”

The fact that Justin had been talking about him with Daphne, inexplicably pleased Brian. “He left a note for me at my hotel telling me the same. But he said I could leave word here with you if I wanted to hook up with him this weekend. Which is good, because it gave me an excuse to come around and bring you these.”

Brian whipped out the bouquet of flowers he’d picked up that afternoon at the market and gallantly presented them to the blushing barmaid. “For you,” he smiled brightly.

“Well, now, if you ain’t the cat’s meow!” the pretty lady gushed as she buried her face in the flowers to sniff their heady perfume. “These are beautaful! What a right gent you is, ‘andsome! If I din’ know you was already rationed, I’d set me cap fer ya myself. Sunshine’s a lucky boy findin’ his’self a dashin’ fella like you.”

“It’s my pleasure, ma’am. I saw them in the market today and I couldn’t think of anyone else I’d want to give them to,” Brian replied, laying on the Kinney charm as thick as he possibly could. “Besides, I figured it couldn’t hurt for me to get on the good side of Justin‘s best friend.”

“Flatterer!” Daphne exclaimed, and then pottered off to put her flowers in some water with a lingering smile on her pretty face.

Brian spent the next hour or so soaking up the atmosphere along with his best ale. It was fun to watch the transition of the clientele from the mostly straight, working men who came in after their shift was over, to the more flamboyant evening crowd. He nodded familiarly to several of the guys that came in, feeling like he was almost starting to fit in by this point. So, it wasn’t much of a surprise when Gears took up the barstool next to him, ordered a pint from Daphne, and then turned towards Brian.

“Evenin’,” the laconic man drawled.

“Same to you,” Brian replied, waiting to hear what the guy had to say.

“Not one for idle chatter, I see? Well, that suits me fine,” Gears stated, pausing long enough to take a sip of his beer. “The way of it is this . . . the boys and me, we’ve taken a real liking to our little Sunshine. He’s a good lad. Breath of fresh air, ‘an all that. So, way’s I see it, a swell bloke like you comes sniffin’ round, puts us all a little on edge. An’ if yer jes whistlin’ and leadin’ ‘im on till you’ve had yer way, then it’d be better yer just shove off now. Leave ‘im be an’ all. Right?”

With the man’s thick accent and heavy dialect, it took Brian a minute or two to decipher Gears’ statement, but when it finally dawned on him what the man had meant, Brian burst out laughing.

“Are you trying to ask me what my intentions are as to Justin?” Brian asked when he finally managed to speak again.

“Why’s ‘at so funny? Less’n yer really are a cad. If so, it’s likely time for yer ta leave, mate,” Gears seemed to take offense at Brian’s hilarity.

“No. No, I didn’t mean any offense. It’s just that, I never expected to see myself in a position where I’d be asking for someone’s permission to date a guy. I can’t help finding that a little bit funny.” Brian noticed that Gears didn’t seem to share his amusement at the situation, so he quickly tried to tamp down his mirth. “I assure you, I don’t mean Justin any harm. I like him. A lot. I’m not just ‘whistlin’ around him, as you put it. And I don’t plan to hurt him.”

“Right. Well, just so’s you don’ forget an’ gives us a reason to ‘urt YOU, mate, cos we will,” Gears added, lifting his glass to Brian in a mocking toast with a dangerous smile.

So much for fitting in, Brian thought to himself, and turned back to his own drink in silence.

The next time Daphne wandered by, Brian flagged her over. “I’m out of here, Daph. Can you give Justin a message for me?” When the barmaid nodded Brian hurried on. “Just let him know that I got his note and I’ll be waiting for him at my hotel as soon as he gets off tomorrow.”

“Will do, ‘andsome,” Daphne assured him.

“Later,” Brian said with a nod to Gears.

Then Brian got up, fished for some coins in his pocket - but since he wasn’t in the mood to figure out how much his tab was, he just left a one pound coin on the top of the bar, figuring that should cover it - and quickly left.

Brian was awakened the next morning by a loud rapping at the door to his room. Still only half awake, he struggled out of bed, pulled on his pants and plodded over to open the door, only to find one of the hotel’s porters standing there. The man looked slightly scandalized by the fact that Brian had no shirt on. What did the guy expect at the crack of dawn, though?

“What?” Brian barked, unable to care if he was being rude or not.

“I’m sorry to disturb you, Sir,” the porter launched into his spiel. “There is a gentleman inquiring for you downstairs at the front desk. He claims that you are expecting him.”

Brian rubbed at his face, trying to get his brain to come online. “Who?” was all he managed.

“A handsome young American chap, Sir. He said his name was Taylor, I believe.”

“Justin?” That fact seemed to penetrate the fumes enough to wake Brian up a smidgen more.

“Yes, Sir. I do believe that was the name he gave. He appears to be an RAF Officer, if that helps, Sir.”

Brian grunted to acknowledge it did help. “What time is it?” He asked next, proud that he’d managed an entire sentence that time.

“It’s just gone half past seven, Sir?”

“In the morning?” Brian asked, just to be sure.

The porter smiled briefly at how confused Brian appeared.  “Yes, Sir.”

Brian yawned and rubbed at his tired face, fuck, he was knackered. He should have felt refreshed after finally managing a decent night’s sleep, what with there being no television or internet to keep him awake. But all the late nights staying up and working his ass off on the Britcom account had obviously caught up with him. “Can you send him up?” Brian asked, “I completely forgot I asked him here for an interview this morning,” he added quickly, noticing the slightly startled expression on the young porter's face.

“Oh, of course, Sir,” the young man answered quickly, his expression having changed to somewhat relieved after Brian mentioned they were meeting for what he assumed was a business interview.

Five minutes later, there was another knock at his door. Brian pulled it open and smiled at the young blond pilot in front of him.

Brian stood aside and held open his door. “Good morning, Blue Eyes.”

“Oh, urm . . . good morning,” his favorite blond stuttered slightly as he took in a shirtless Brian.

Brian couldn’t help himself as he ran a hand down his bare chest. “Oh, sorry. I didn’t have time to get dressed. I only just woke up.”

Justin looked at his watch. “I guess when you told Daphne that I should come by as soon as I got off, you didn’t expect me at 7:30 am. But all my missions lately have been night jobs so I ‘get off’ at dawn and, well . . . here I am.”

Justin’s eyes returned to Brian’s bare torso for several long seconds but then he frantically looked away, trying to find something else, anything else, to focus on. Brian thought it was fucking adorable. But, being Brian, he wasn’t about to let the kid off easy. Nope. Brian intended to play with the boy all he could and milk the situation.

Brian stretched with both arms above his head, making sure to get a good flex in through his chest and biceps as he lowered them, and ending with a swivel of his neck to emphasize his deltoids. It helped his plan that the pants he’d only just pulled on but not buttoned all the way up, slid down an inch or two as he stretched, revealing more than a hint of the man’s treasure trail. When he was done stretching, Justin was still just standing there, panting heavily, biting at his lower lip, his eyes locked on Brian’s midsection somewhere around the level of his naval. There might even have been a drop of drool at the corner of those cotton-candy pink lips. The kid was just too easy.

And too delicious. Brian couldn’t help himself. He stepped forward, lifted the boy’s chin with one finger and helped himself to a morning kiss from the perfectly plump lips.

“Mmmm. Yummy,” he declared when he stepped back a minute or two later, leaving Justin standing there, his eyes half closed, and a dreamy look on his angelic face. “Now, I need to go down the hall and get cleaned up. Make yourself at home while I’m gone, Blue Eyes.”

“Huh?” Justin finally realized that someone was talking to him and looked up, causing Brian to chuckle.

“I’m going to take a piss and catch a shower,” Brian repeated for the benefit of the dazed boy. “You stay here. Got it?”

“Um . . . yeah. Good . . . I’ll just . . . I’ll just wait here,” Justin responded, even more flustered now and blushing desperately as he dropped his hands to try and cover the tenting in his trousers.

As Brian walked by to gather himself a fresh shirt and his toiletries, he couldn’t help himself; he stopped right in front of Justin and reached down to pull the frazzled blond’s hands away from his crotch. “Mmm, that’s better,” Brian grinned seductively as he gave Justin’s straining trousers a nice, firm squeeze. “You’ve just given me something inspiring to think about while I’m in the shower.”

Justin stood there looking at him, with his hands hanging loosely by his side as his teeth gnawed nervously at his bottom lip.

“So fucking cute . . .” Brian mumbled as he left the room in search of the facilities and possibly a little relief in the shower.

It took Justin a good five minutes after Brian left before he’d recovered his wits. He could still feel his cheeks burning.

“Applesauce! He’s . . . gorgeous!” the boy proclaimed with a huge grin on his face when he was finally able to think coherently. “And he wants me! ME! Applesauce!”

Justin danced around the room, unable to contain his exuberance, ending up by flopping bodily onto the still unmade bed. Which really didn’t help matters much, as it still smelled like Brian, all warm and musky with a hint of the cologne he wore. Justin let himself roll around in the sheets, taking in huge whiffs of the man’s aroma for a couple minutes before he sighed and, pulling himself back under control, climbed back off the bed.

But then there was nothing else for him to do and he simply had to do something to keep his mind off the nerves that kept attacking him every time he remembered he was there, in Brian’s room, waiting for the man himself to return to do . . . who knew what. He started to nervously move around the little room, looking at the furnishings, tidying the messy sheets on the bed, picking up a random object here and there to examine it. When he came to the pile of personal objects Brian had taken out of his pockets and left on the dresser, Justin only hesitated a moment before he snooped.

He picked up the new-looking leather wallet, opening it and noting right away the War Department ID that was displayed in the little window on the left-hand side. It showed a very attractive picture of Brian - like any picture of the man could possibly be unattractive - listing his occupation as ‘News Correspondent’. Which matched what Brian had told Gears the other day, but not so much what he’d let on to Justin the first night they’d met. It left a lot of questions in the young pilot’s mind. Although, with a war on and all, you just never knew about people, did you.

There were some more cards and things in the other slots of the wallet, but Justin didn’t want to get too nosy, so he didn’t pull any of them out. He did notice that there were quite a lot of bills in the back section - both pound notes and dollars. Whatever else Brian Kinney might be, he was obviously rich. Justin had never seen anyone walk around with that much cash on them. Which didn’t quite jive with Justin’s idea of what a reporter would make for a living . . .

He quickly put the wallet back where he’d found it and looked over the rest of the items. There was a pile of coins - again, it seemed like a lot to the young pilot who was paid, at least in part, with additional ration coupons instead of cash - along with a set of keys, an expensive-looking gold lighter, an even more expensive-looking gold watch and an odd little rectangular box-thing that Justin recognized as the gadget he’d seen light up when Brian had given him the chocolate bar that one time.

Curious, Justin pushed at it with one cautious fingertip, almost relieved when the small black box didn’t do anything out of the ordinary. It was made of some material that he didn’t recognize - smooth and shiny, hard to the touch but not cold like metal. There were some small protruding buttons along the left side of the box, but they didn’t do anything when he pressed on them. However, when he did the same thing to the single button on the right side, the whole front of the box lit up displaying a picture of a small, smiling boy, about three years old, or so, with the time and date scrawled across the top of the image. There was also an oblong box across the width of the picture that had words in it saying, ‘Phone . . . +1 (412) 764-2389 . . . Missed call’. Before Justin could figure out what that all meant, though, the black light box went dark again and he was too afraid of what he might find to touch it again, so he simply backed away.

Whatever Mr. Brian Kinney did for a living - whatever job he had that paid him with large amounts of cash and afforded him access to strange gadgets like that light box - Justin didn’t think he was really a run of the mill reporter.

The only other item of interest that Justin found in the room was the large bag full of the most beautiful oranges he’d ever seen. His mouth watered just looking at them. That was another odd thing about Brian - where did he get all these amazing things like chocolate, coffee and oranges? Especially now, at the very beginning of spring? Oranges were rare enough in the best of times, but during a war? And completely out of season? Brian had to have some interesting connections to get that kind of stuff.

Justin decided not to jump to any conclusions about the man just yet, but would remain wary. He liked Brian too much to walk away from him, but all these strange things did give him reason to wonder. He didn’t want to get involved with a gangster or something. Or worse, a spy. At least not a spy for the bad guys. He really, really, REALLY hoped that wasn’t the case, though. Because the more he saw of Brian Kinney - and he’d just seen a lot of him a few minutes earlier - the more he wanted him.

Deciding to put all his questions aside for the moment, Justin set about putting a few of the oranges out in a bowl on the small table and then got out the thermos full of hot coffee he’d picked up when he stopped by the White Lion and set it next to the oranges. That would have to suffice for their breakfast, he thought, wondering all the time what would come after breakfast . . .

Brian made his way back to his room, grumbling along the way about the lack of a blow dryer for his hair. He hated not being able to fix his hair the right way. How was he supposed to get the perfect, just fucked look, without a damned hair dryer? He really hadn’t thought about that when he was planning this overnight stay in the past and packing his little overnight bag. Not that it would have mattered much if he had brought one. He figured that the shaky electrical wiring in the hotel probably couldn’t stand up to the power demands of even a measly hair dryer from the 21st Century. He’d probably blow every circuit in the building if he tried to plug it in. He’d just have to deal with imperfect hair for the day, damn it.

When he got back to the room, it was perfumed with the welcome aroma of fresh brewed coffee, making him ever so grateful. He pulled the door open and found his Blue Eyes standing by the little table in the corner, fiddling with a thermos and pouring out the wonderful elixir of life into two china cups just like a good little house husband would. The scene brought a smile to Brian’s lips, although he would never admit to being swayed by such things if anyone were to ask.

“Something smells delicious,” Brian announced, dropping his bathroom things on the bed and crossing the room to come up behind his blond, then leaning in to kiss the man’s long, pale neck. “And the coffee smells great too.”

“Brian . . .” Justin responded, the name coming out half chiding and half a moan of pleasure as Brian’s lips played along the sensitive column of his neck. “I . . . I . . . I hope you don’t mind that I set some things out. I haven’t actually had breakfast yet and those oranges looked so good and . . . Mmmmm.” The boy lost track of what he was saying as his head fell to the side, allowing Brian better access for kissing him.

Brian pulled the trim little body back against his own, enjoying the way Justin seemed to melt against him. He tasted so fucking sweet, too, his skin clean with a little saltiness where the younger man had sweated earlier, but fresh and the flesh firm under Brian’s lips. He wanted to fucking eat the kid whole right then and there. Hell, his dick was so hard already it was likely to burst through his pants any second now. And the way the kid moaned, completely uninhibited like that . . .

“We . . . We should drink the coffee before . . . before it gets cold, you know,” Justin stated, tearing himself away from Brian’s hold just when things were starting to get interesting. “I hope you don’t mind, but I left the coffee you gave me with Daphne, since I don’t have any way to brew it in my room. She made me a pot of it this morning when I stopped in there. I . . . I’m really looking forward to tasting it. It smells wonderful . . .” the boy babbled nervously, moving around and seating himself so that the small table effectively separated him from Brian.

Brian chuckled at the naive little tyro’s discomfiture. He decided not to push Justin too fast though. He could already tell the kid had basically NO experience, just the raw desire of lust. There would be time enough later to let the youngster explore that side of himself. Besides, Brian was dying for a cup of coffee just then.

Seating himself at the table, Brian helped himself to a cup of the coffee, sighing as he sipped the warm brew and ready for the caffeine to hit his system.

“So, how was your mission last night?” he asked, trying to make conversation while the flustered boy gathered his wits about him again. “Daphne said you’d been busy all week. I hope everything went well.”

“Last night was brilliant!” Justin gushed, joining Brian at the table, and eager to talk about any ‘safe’ topic. “We flew escort for a long-range bombing mission last night - can’t say to where, of course, but it was a major target. And it was all going like clockwork of course until the bombers made their drop and were turning around and then, out of nowhere, we got hit from the side by a whole squadron of Messerschmitts. It was a total dog fight for about a half hour. We showed ‘em what for, though. Took out half of ‘em before the rest retreated. We only lost one plane in the process. And I got my first confirmed kill, too. The guys gave me quite the send off when we got back to celebrate.”

The glib way Justin recounted the battle left Brian a little stunned. It was bad enough that he had just glossed over the loss of one of his compatriots, who was presumably killed when his plane was lost, but to crow about his first kill like that . . . It just reemphasized for Brian how different his life was from this boy’s. He didn’t think he’d ever get used to that kind of thing even if he stayed back here in 1941 permanently.

“Sounds like you had an eventful night,” Brian commented noncommittally.

“Yep. But at least I have the next two days off. I’m bushed.” Justin ended his sentence with a face-splitting yawn, evidencing just how exhausted he really was.

“Tired?” Brian asked teasingly, breaking open an orange and deftly separating two slices, one of which he handed over to Justin.

“Sorry. I was still all juiced up and excited when I came over here, but I guess all the adrenaline is starting to wear off,” Justin apologized, grabbing the orange slice and sucking on it with delight, humming happily. “Mmmm. This is delicious. I’ve never seen oranges this big, where did you get them?”

Brian licked the juice from his fingers. “It’s a secret,” he answered with a mysterious grin.

“Oh, okay,” Justin nodded, not wanting to press the issue, as he took another slice of orange from Brian’s hands.

“So, do you have anything planned for the rest of the day?” Brian asked casually.

Justin yawned again before answering, “No. I’m free as a bird until 23:00 hours Saturday.”

That threw Brian for a moment, since it was already Sunday. Then he realized that, although the dates were the same for him in 2016 and here in 1941, the calendar days were different. It might be Sunday in 2016, but it was still only Thursday for Justin. That would definitely complicate things. But he’d figure it out somehow. Luckily he didn’t have to deal with it at the moment. All he had to do right then was take care of the sleepy blond yawning at him across the table.

“Good, because I wanted to take you to the movies.”

Justin’s face lit up. “Really? I haven’t been to the movies in ages.”

“But I’ve changed my mind.”

“Oh,” Justin responded sadly. “Well . . . That’s okay. I understand.”

“You’re too tired.”

“I’m really not,” Justin tried desperately to stifle a yawn. “Okay, maybe just a little, but I could still stay awake for a movie. I think.”

“Here’s what we’re going to do, Blue Eyes,” Brian declared authoritatively. “Right now, you’re going to lay down and we’re going to take a little nap. I can’t guarantee that I won’t try and kiss you again . . . actually, I’ll DEFINITELY be kissing you, but I promise not to otherwise compromise your virtue. I like my men awake when I take advantage of them.” They both laughed. “But for now, why don’t you take off your shoes and get comfy.”

Justin looked at Brian for a minute, gauging how sincere the other man was, and then, apparently finding whatever he was looking for in Brian’s eyes, he smiled, sat on the bed long enough to pull off his shoes, and then shyly scooted up till he was lying on the pillows. Brian padded over to the other side of the bed, pulled the covers out from under Justin and climbed under before covering them both up with the warm quilt. Justin was lying there stiffly at first, his body tense, but as soon as Brian’s arms wrapped around him, pulling the smaller body close to him in a comfortable spooning position, the younger man relaxed. Brian loved the way Justin seemed to fit perfectly within the scope of his arms.

“That’s nice,” Justin purred, wiggling his plump posterior a bit until he found the perfect spot snuggled up against Brian’s front. “You’re so warm.”

“Hush, you. You’re supposed to be napping,” Brian ordered, punctuating his sentence with a kiss to the slightly stubbled blond cheek, enjoying the fact that his companion smelled like oranges and warm boy. “Sweet dreams, Blue Eyes.”

The only response he got was a quiet snore as the tired pilot was already asleep.