Fiction: The Pilot

[kethni]

Name: The Pilot

Coupling: Matt/Mohinder/Adam

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: Some adult language and sexual situations

Word Count: 2786

Authors Note: For leadaisy’s prompt: Matt is a pilot and he is AWESOME. And maybe one of the flight attendants or cabin crew is quietly pining for him.






Observe the subspecies Homo Aer Viator in their native habit, the airport. The females, identifiable by their orange skin, high heels, and heavy scents, travel in gaggles while the blue polyester clad males travel singly or two at most. Simultaneously harkening back to an earlier age while still imbued with a sort of otherworld glamour, they travel amongst the lesser beings confident in their superiority.

The Alpha Male of the group is a prime example of a large, well muscled, and sexually mature male. As he approaches the airplane, passing the other members of the tribe, the lesser males defer and the females display for him. He strides into his cockpit; simply walking into the room is enough to make it his cockpit, and loosens his jacket.

‘Looks like it’s going to be a beautiful day,’ Matt says, sitting down in the pilot’s chair.

Adam, jerked from his pleasant reverie of Matt’s back and ass, jolts forward a few steps over to the co-pilot’s chair.

‘What? Yes.’ He sits down and unbuttons his jacket. He looks over at Matt, going through his pre-flight checks, and sighs. ‘Yes it is.’

‘How was your weekend?’ Matt asks casually.

Adam’s words trip over themselves as he tries to answer. Something suave, something clever and charming, that’s all he wants to say.

‘I uh, huh, um...’

‘Hey guys,’ Peter mumbles, wandering into the cockpit.

‘I keep wondering where that pretty face is,’ Matt says, reaching up to bat the long lock of hair out of Peter’s face.

Peter smiles, rests an arm on either seat, and leans down towards Matt. ‘So, long flight huh?’

‘Hence the phrase “long haul” I believe,’ Adam says waspishly.

Matt shakes his head. ‘We’ll have a couple of coffees please, Peter,’ he says warmly, but with enough firmness to make it clear that Peter’s flirtation is over.

‘Oh, I’ll get them right away, Captain.’

‘How that bimbo ever got to be where he is...’ Adam mutters as the door closes.

‘Do you want some extra sugar in your coffee, Adam, sweeten yourself up a little?’ Matt suggests with a smile.

Adam raises his eyebrows. ‘I’m sweet enough already.’

‘This is even grouchier than usual for you.’

Grouchy! That’s what Matt thinks of him? Adam adjusts his hat. ‘It’s fortunate that I’m not passenger-facing then.’

‘Yeah, I get to keep your grumpy self all to myself.’

The door opens and Peter trundles into the cockpit bearing a tray of coffees.

‘Grumpy,’ Adam mutters to himself. ‘Grouchy!’



Surrounded by the overfed, overdressed, suspicious tourists Nirand and Mohinder settle themselves down in First Class.

‘Why are they staring at us like that?’ Nirand asks. ‘Being around you often gets me stared at, but generally in a more friendly fashion.’

Mohinder resists the urge to answer in English. Resists the urge to show the ignorant fools... what? That he can speak English? He can speak five languages perfectly. Which is probably five more than they can. ‘The woman in blue thinks that we might be Al Qaeda terrorists.’

Nirand is a small, portly man in his early fifties. He is dressed in the standard academic uniform of creased trousers, badly fitting shirt, and mismatched jacket. His shoes are soft and scuffed while his wispy hair is windswept. ‘Me?’ he demands. ‘I’m a Hindu!’

Mohinder snorts and shakes his head. ‘Yes, Nirand, that’s why you’re an unlikely terrorist.’

Nirand slumps down in his seat with a snort and folds his arms over his stomach. ‘Ridiculous, do I look like a terrorist?’

Mohinder sits down and crosses his leg at the knee. ‘A style terrorist, perhaps.’

Nirand looks at him sideways. ‘Fashion is a frippery,’ he says with dignity.

‘Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome aboard Flight 8237, this is your Captain Matt Parkman speaking. We’ll be taking off in approximately twenty minutes time. We have an estimated flight time of seventeen hours during which time our flight crew will be circulating the cabin with food and beverages. Members of the flight crew will be passing through the cabins shortly to demonstrate the safety information and to demonstrate the use of the in-flight entertainment.’

‘What is he saying?’ Nirand whispers.

‘The usual sorts of things,’ Mohinder says dismissively. ‘Quite a nice voice though.’

‘What’re you whispering about?’ demands a blousy, faded blonde in a dirty pink suit. ‘Flight attendant!’

‘What is the woman shouting about?’ Nirand asks, shifting in his seat.

‘Flight attendant!’ the woman shrieks. ‘These men are babbling in some foreign language!’

Charlie takes a deep breath, smiles, and sashays over. ‘Is there some problem Ma’am?’

The blonde heaves herself up onto her feet and then points a shaking hand at Mohinder and Nirand. ‘They’re jabbering away in some foreign lingo!’

Charlie’s smile gets strained. ‘Ma’am, I think it would be best if you returned to your seat and let these gentlemen settle down for the flight.’

‘But they...’

‘For God’s sake, woman,’ Mohinder snaps in English. ‘We’re Indian and Hindus!’

Charlie claps her hands together and turns to face the woman again. ‘Okay, so, we’ve got that sorted out. Please take your seat.’

The woman puts her hands on her hips. ‘Now look missy, you might be happy to get blown up but...’

‘Ma’am,’ a mild but firm male voice says, ‘you have two choices here, one: you sit down and make nice for the duration of the flight, or two: we have you arrested and escorted from the plane. It’s your decision.’

The man standing in the aisle is handsome, Mohinder notes, in an unfashionably masculine way. Tall, broad, and radiating confidence, he effortlessly commands the attention of everyone in the cabin. Not Mohinder’s usual type, but even with the horrible polyester uniform Mohinder has trouble looking away.

The blonde’s lip wobbles. ‘I was only asking is all!’ She drops into her seat with a loud “hmpth!”

The man turns to Mohinder. ‘I’m sorry for your inconvenience gentlemen,’ he says in perfect Hindi. ‘I’m Captain Matt Parkman and if there’s any we can do to improve your flight please let us know.’

‘How about your telephone number?’

‘Mohinder!’ Nirand protests.

Matt’s eyes flick over Mohinder and he takes a pen from his pocket. He jots his number down on a small pad he’s carrying then walks over to Mohinder and hands it over.

‘Enjoy your flight,’ Matt says in English, smiling warmly.

‘I’m sure I will,’ Mohinder says, smiling back.



‘I don’t believe you sometimes,’ Nirand says, rustling his paper.

‘I assure you I’m quite real.’

‘Asking the pilot for his telephone number!’ Nirand huffs. ‘Is everything an excuse for you to throw yourself at men?’

Mohinder takes out his novel and thumbs through it to find his place. ‘Honestly Nirand, it’s no wonder that you do badly in debates when your arguments are so badly organised. Number one, I didn’t throw myself at him, I merely asked for his number. Number two, I don’t need an excuse to approach men to whom I’m attracted. I don’t have some ridiculous guilt about my urges.’

Nirand snorts and mutters under his breath.



‘You’re in a good mood,’ Adam observes as Matt wanders whistling into the cockpit. ‘Dealing with hysterical passengers is that much fun?’

‘Seat 4B asked for my number,’ Matt says, sitting down.

‘What?

‘Seat 4B, square-jawed, dark, and gorgeous, asked for my number.’

Adam stares at him. ‘You gave it to him?’

Matt sets his cap at a jaunty angle. ‘He wasn’t wearing a wedding ring so yeah, I did.’ Matt smiles at Adam. ‘It’s a thing people do nowadays. We don’t even need written permission from our parents.’

‘Ha bloody ha.’

Matt watches Adam pretending to ignore him.

‘You know, I’d like to think you could talk to me if you were... having problems.’ Matt puts a hand on Adam’s forearm. ‘Or we could go somewhere you can get drunk and cry on my shoulder.’

‘I’m fine,’ Adam says stiffly. ‘Just got out of the wrong side of bed is all.’

‘Not the wrong bed?’

‘No.’



The dark-haired, heavy browed man in the long, black coat is making Mohinder nervous. He’s too... too something but Mohinder can’t quite work out what. It’s making him nervous and, he realises, it’s making the flight crew nervous too. He’s across from Mohinder and one row up, aisle seat. Mohinder supposes it could be nerves; the foot tapping and finger chewing could be that. They could be. But Mohinder doesn’t believe it.



‘Hey you guys,’ Peter says, bringing in dinner. ‘Have you seen the hottie in 4B? I would so drink that glass of water!’

‘The Captain has,’ Adam snorts.

‘He’s a cutie alright,’ Matt agrees amiably.

‘I don’t often go for... you know... foreign guys, but wow!’ Peter turns to Adam. ‘Seriously, you should go look at him. He’s gorgeous!’

‘No thank you. I don’t feel the need to gawp at the passengers like animals in the zoo, or cruise them for casual sex,’ Adam retorts.



As the flight attendant draws alongside Mohinder’s row, the black clad man leaps up and grabs her from behind.

‘Stay back or I’ll kill her!’

‘With what, your bare hands?’ Mohinder demands. He’s on his feet somehow, but the trolley is blocking his way.

‘Stay back or I’ll break her neck,’ the man threatens, dragging her backwards towards the cockpit.

As they disappear through the curtains, Mohinder vaults over the trolley.

‘Mohinder, are you mad? Stay out of it!’

‘We’re on a plane, Nirand! There’s no staying out of it!’

There is a scream from the cockpit and then, on the other side of the cabin, the Captain appears with the would-be hostage taker in a headlock. The Captain marches him to a free seat, shoves him into it, and slaps on the restraints.

‘Just that for you don’t get any chocolate pudding,’ Matt says to him. He turns around and straightens his uniform. ‘Ladies and Gentlemen,’ he announces, smoothing his hair, ‘I apologise for the disruption to your meals. We will endeavour to keep the rest of the flight as uneventful as possible. I thank you for your attention.’

Mohinder waits until the cheers die away and then turns to Nirand. ‘I think I may have overstretched myself.’



‘I suppose now you have the telephone numbers of every passenger on the plane,’ Adam remarks, rolling his eyes.

‘Just the ones in first class,’ Matt says, sitting down. ‘I’m starting to think you’ve arranged all this fun on purpose to distract me from some sort of mischief.’

Adam finishes off his meal and puts the carton aside. ‘You don’t have to keep rushing off to deal with everything yourself,’ he says. ‘Makes a boy feel quite unloved.’

Matt looks across at the other man. ‘It’s my bird. You want me to rely on Peter to sort out screaming passengers and people taking the flight attendants hostage?’

Adam snorts. ‘There is that.’

‘Okay,’ Matt says, finishing off his meal. ‘Come on, Adam. We’ve got half the flight left. Tell me what’s wrong or stop grumping.’ He waves a hand. ‘Start the engine or leave the cockpit.’

Adam half laughs. ‘Talking down hysterical women, tackling hijackers, and flying metaphors now? Is there nothing you can’t do?’

Matt checks his instruments with a weather eye. ‘I’m still working on leaping small buildings with a single bound.’ He leans back in his chair. ‘So you going to tell me?’

‘Well I...’

‘Captain!’ Peter bursts into the room.

‘What now?’ Adam demands. ‘Snakes in the overhead compartment? People screwing in toilets?’

‘No...’

‘Woman giving birth?’ Adam finishes.

‘Yes?’ Peter says uncertainly.

‘Yes what?’ Adam asks suspiciously.

Matt blows out his cheeks. ‘Yes, there’s a woman giving birth?’

‘This is a joke, right?’ Adam demands. ‘You’re not seriously standing there saying that some woman is giving birth?’

‘It does happen,’ Matt says mildly. ‘The airline rules say not within 30 days of due date which is still plenty of time.’

‘Today? On this flight? What happens then, we get hit by lightning?’

Matt puts a hand on Adam’s shoulder. ‘Cool, calm, and composed, Adam.’

‘I suppose you’re going to go and deliver the bloody thing yourself!’

‘Peter, would you go through the passengers and see if there’s a medical doctor onboard? Have Charlie keep her comfy and I’ll be out in a minute. Thanks, Peter.’ Matt unbuttons his jacket and leans over Adam. ‘Do you need a cuddle?’ he jokes.

Adam squeezes the bridge of his nose. ‘I wouldn’t say no, actually.’

Matt takes Adam’s hand between his. ‘We’ll have a talk when I get back. No arguments. Okay?’

‘Okay,’ Adam says in a small voice.



Mohinder looks up to see Matt striding purposefully down the aisle. It’s utterly ridiculous, he thinks, all the man needs is backlighting and a musical score. Is he like this all the time? Does he make love to crashing power chords with curtains dramatically billowing behind him?

‘Hey!’

Mohinder drags his attention down to the woman squeezing his arm. ‘Keep breathing!’

‘Jesus fuck!’ she moans.

‘Good evening Ma’am,’ Matt says charmingly. ‘Doctor, may I have a brief word?’

Mohinder stands over and walks away a few steps with Matt.

‘I have a medical degree but I’m not practicing,’ Mohinder says quickly. ‘You have no equipment and...’

‘Women have been giving birth for a hell of a long time, Doc, and mostly at home come to that. She’s the one doing all the hard work.’ Matt puts his hand on Mohinder’s shoulder. ‘Just let her yell at you and keep an eye that the cord doesn’t end up throttling the baby. Do you think you can do that for me?’

Here’s the thing, Mohinder thinks, I know that he’s manipulating me but it’s somehow so good-natured and so honest that it’s impossible to resist. Maybe manipulate is the wrong word. Influence possibly, or manoeuvre. But with such a twinkle, as if it’s a game and he’s inviting me to play.

‘For you, Captain.’

‘If you call me, you can call me Matt.’

Mohinder breaks out the big guns, his smile. ‘I quite like “Doc” but generally my friends call me Mohinder.’

Matt ducks down suddenly. ‘Whoa, dramatic entrance, huh?’ he says rolling his up his sleeves. ‘Hey little lady,’ he says, scooping up the baby.

‘You’re unbelievable,’ Mohinder laughs, shaking his head.



‘No,’ Adam says shaking his head as Matt walks into the cockpit carrying a clean shirt. ‘You didn’t deliver the damn baby.’

‘Of course not,’ Matt says, hanging up the clean shirt and taking off the soiled one. ‘The mom did that. I was just standing around chit-chatting with 4B when out she popped.’

Adam rolls his eyes. ‘Naturally 4B was the one looking after the pregnant woman.’ He licks his lips as Matt changes shirts.

‘Okay, now that’s over, we’re going to thrash out this problem you’re having,’ Matt says seriously.



Adam yelps as Matt’s hand comes down on his bare bottom. They’re in a plush hotel room, all Egyptian cotton sheets, and sea views, sprawling over the bed.

‘I hope you aren’t starting again without me,’ Mohinder drawls, posing in the doorway to the bathroom.

‘He’s just keeping warm,’ Adam says, leaning up on his elbows.

‘We should call room service in a bit,’ Matt suggests as Mohinder saunters over to them. ‘For some reason I’m very hungry.

‘Anyone would think you’d been exerting yourself,’ Mohinder says with a grin.



Downstairs in the hotel bar, Nirand sits sulking and nursing a whiskey.

There’s a brief commotion as another man, younger, and carrying a sword on his back makes himself comfortable a few seats away. He’s chattering away to himself in some language Nirand doesn’t understand and shaking his head.

‘Hello!’ he says brightly, noticing Nirand’s attention. ‘I am Hiro Nakamura.’

Nirand smiles uncertainly and shrugs.

‘Don’t understand your language.’

Hiro pats his chest. ‘Hi-ro,’ he says slowly.

‘Nirand.’

‘Ah!’ Hiro grins at him. He pulls out a photograph of himself and a taller, slimmer man. ‘My friend Ando. Run off to another hotel with the first blonde lady to say yes.’

Nirand looks at him blankly.

Hiro points at Ando, then walks two fingers quickly along the bar away from himself, and then gestures suggesting large breasts.

‘Ah. You colleague has abandoned you in search of copulation. I’m familiar with the scenario.’

Hiro gets off his bar stool and enthusiastically thrusts, causing considerable giggling from some female patrons.

‘Yes! Yes I get it. Sex.’

Hiro points at himself and then at Nirand, and then thrusts again.

Nirand blinks at him.

Well, he thinks, at least he won’t have to make conversation afterwards.


The End