Rated: T

OP: Martin and Douglas, as noticed by Carolyn, seem to be developing feelings for each other though they don't know it, and even if they did she doesn't think they'd admit to such a thing.
Things get pretty heated (can be due to a bad/disastrous flight or just an argument gone a little too far), but the next flight is very tense until they land and they start bickering.
Carolyn, sick of all the UST and arguments locks them in the flight deck for a couple of hours. (only to come back and silently unlock the door later)
What will happen? What will they say? How will they resolve it? That's up to you!

Warning: Cue the angst

They've been dancing around each other for so long. Too long, in Carolyn's humble opinion.

Ever since the beginning she's noticed; who wouldn't? Martin's pitiful, doe-eyed gaze locked onto Douglas as soon as he entered the room. Strong, handsome, and gruff, Douglas appealed to Martin as his better; a man he could look up to.

As soon as Douglas had spoken though, arrogance and self-value high on the meters, Martin's face had crumpled with disgust. He couldn't quite keep the curious glimmer from his eye, though.

As time wore on, the two of them - as expected - became closer. Would one expect anything different from two men, both of whom had to share the flight deck for hours on end? From her standing point she could only see the heated, angry moments between the two that stemmed immediate from the challenge of powers. Douglas was the better pilot; Martin was the pilot, and wouldn't give it up for the world.

They constantly clashed swords, dirty looking gaining head if words failed them. Douglas was often harsh and direct, jabbing at Martin's weakest spots, while Martin sputtered along, bravely never giving ground (although his dignity was another matter).

Over time, when the bickering became far too consequential to the state of their sanity and just plain exhausting, they toned it down.

Now the two of them simply harp and snap at each other, inserting the appropriate comment when the time calls for it, all the while dancing over the prospect of each other.

It really isn't hard to see.

Martin has always looked at Douglas with a sort of reverence that one reserves for the Eiffel Tower or a particularly beautiful sunset. Whenever Douglas isn't looking - or appears to be - he gazes at him with a mixture of pleasure and pain. Pleasure, Carolyn thinks, because he does seem to light up like the sun when he's having a rare good time with Douglas, and pain because Douglas is a right dick about everything.

Douglas is a much harder case to describe. Martin is open and obvious, barely able to make it through a tense conversation without stumbling at least once - unless he's with Douglas (well, even then) - but Douglas is somewhat of an enigma. He is cunning like the devil. An exceptional liar and absolutely brilliant at reading people. He toys with their emotions and notions until they're completely twisted around (exhibit A: Martin).

He knows how to drop that devilish voice of his into the perfect purr, luring his suspects in until he can rip them to shreds.

Well, maybe Carolyn is a bit harsh about that one.

Anywho, once you see past that, one notices that although he seems with personality, he hides certain things deep within himself. Carolyn was - and is - lucky to have seen anything of the man behind his arrogant, pompous mask.

It's really quite simple, yet elaborate. Douglas knows what he feels and what he's doing, so he can mask it even better. When Martin has a particularly bad day, he exaggerates a loss, makes him feel just a tad bit like a winner (after he makes him lose before then, of course). He so subtly smirks in contentment whenever Martin gleefully proclaims his win, or shows gratitude for Douglas.

But there are things he can't help but bring out when it concerns the naive, cute little Captain.

Women, for instance. Douglas appears to love them (even had a wife) and encourages their approaches, but only for himself. He likes to know - or show - he still "has it." What he doesn't like is watching Martin flirt and giggle with a woman, one who isn't blown away by his stumbling tendencies. When his own personality doesn't get in the way, Douglas does.

He charms them. He brings them in. Carolyn has seem too many a time when Douglas takes Her hand and Martin can only watch in anguish as she is smitten. Because everyone sees Douglas as a self-absorbed "player," he believes he is subtle. Carolyn knows better.

She's always known better. None of them will admit it though.

She's tired of seeing Martin gaze at Douglas plaintively when he doesn't think anyone notices, and she's tired of watching Douglas berate Martin when he feels as if he's showing too much affection for the man.

She has always been tired, but this has got to be the last straw.

Martin is pacing now. He's pacing across the flight deck, unshed tears of anger stinging his eyes.

"Douglas! I - how dare you? I specifically told you to leave us alone!" He was miffed, an angry rash of shame covering his cheeks.

"It's hardly my fault she didn't know you were a captain." Douglas held his hands up in innocent, the insufferable smirk for one no where near.

"You - you knew. You were the one who recommended her to me, laughing that 'I didn't have a chance' anyway!" Martin is shouting, lip quivering, but he doesn't care. He just doesn't care. Douglas looks put off.

"I thought she knew. I told you to use the captain card before! I thought it was the only way she'd date you, and that you had."

"I didn't, luckily, because she told me she hated pilots. We had a good heart-to-heart chat until you came around," Martin literally spits, wiping his lips.

"What is going on here?" Carolyn crosses her arms and glares at them, both of whom glower at her for interrupting.

"Nothing! Nothing at all, just Douglas."

"What's that supposed to mean, Sir? I am not following Sir's orders correctly?"

"That's rich, coming from you! You never do anything I say. Ever!" They're shouting now, filling the whole cabin with insufferable noise. Carolyn stamps with one foot, rubbing her forehead with a free hand.

"Is there ever a need? I seem to be recalling many occasions where it was my guidance that helped us—"

"Enough!" Carolyn snaps, glaring at the two of them harshly. "I am tired of the two of you bickering like an old married couple. Douglas, I can see it - " he scowls " - but Martin, you should know better. Don't let him get to you." She softens her voice, and Martin seizes himself up, hating how she talks to him like he's too young to understand.

"I can bicker perfectly well like any old married couple! The fact is that Douglas purposefully ruins everything!"

"That's — "

"Enough I said! Now, you two are going to stay in here until you sort yourselves out." Martin pales.

"But - but -"

"You have the commodities right here, don't you?"

Douglas snorts and crosses his arms, standing up from where he sits in his seat as First Officer. "You can't seriously believe you will be able to keep us here against our will." Carolyn merely smiles and quickly steps back out of the cabin, shutting the door behind her. The lock clicks.

Martin pales, then flushes an angry red. "Carolyn! What are you doing? Let us out!"

"Not until the two of you settle your differences. Have fun!" She calls, the click of her steps echoing ominously the hours to come. Douglas seats himself with dignity at his seat. Martin, however, crumples by the doorway.

"God, we'll never get out of here," he bemoans.

Douglas' lips twitch with retaliation just dying to be said. He considers his words, actually minding what Carolyn said. She's right. He should reconcile with the captain. Yet every time he looks at Martin, feels his heart clench and curl slowly, he can't help but feel angry. Why him? Why is this bumbling, stupid captain become so dear, so precious to him that he can't even help himself from ruining any chances he might have with a woman who would deserve him so much more than Douglas does?

He takes a cleansing breath. "We'll get out. You just need to be reasonable." Oh, come on, he can't help it. Martin spares him a glare and rests his head on his knees, sighing.

"Why couldn't you just let me have one date? One date Douglas," he says softly, void of emotion. Douglas considers his response, staring out the window after a moment.

"I didn't - I wasn't thinking quite clearly." He doesn't quite know why he answers with the truth. He wasn't thinking straight, not with the possibility of Martin leaving him at hand. He had to do...something!

"Weren't...thinking? Douglas, you've ruined more of my life than anyone of I've known." He's beginning to sound choked and desperate, but Martin's far beyond caring. "When - when have y-you ever stopped thinking? You're always prattling on about this and that, that you're so much better than me and how I don't have any luck," he's nearly sobbing, emotions spilling over. Why do I love you why, why, why can't I love someone else who will love me back you make this so hard. "and it's just bloody awful that I can't stop myself."

Douglas feels like it's an echo and he turns to Martin, gaze curious and regretful. He just...they've always had fun, but Martin's never seemed this despondent about it. "What do you mean 'can't stop yourself'?"

Martin pales, flushes, and then pushes his head further into his arms, curls bouncing. "Nothing," he mumbles. Douglas stands up; watches him tense.

"It's not nothing. Come on, Martin. If we want to solve this, then we've got to be honest with each other." He tries to sound sincere. Martin's head shoots up, tears making his eyes glitter.

"Solve? It's - it's impossible. I - I ...I couldn't if I wanted to." Martin seems to curl into himself, a sigh shuddering its way through him. Douglas walks until his feet touch Martin's, and he kneels.

"Couldn't stop it? What is 'it'?" Martin gazes at him, lip quivering, and then he explodes.

"This! There, right there. You - you - you're always like that! One second making fun of me, the next being really, really kind. And it hurts, Douglas." Martin squeezes his eyes shut, facing the wall. "It hurts when you're so nice because I know - I can't...get my hopes up," he mutters, practically inaudible. Douglas turns Martin around, forces the smaller man to look at him.

He's met with tears that slowly drip down angry red cheeks and a full lip trembling under his gaze. "I'm sorry Douglas, I really am. I'm - I'm s-sorry that you have to see this. I'm so - for feeling this way. It's wrong - it's stupid —"

"No." Douglas has had enough. He can literally feel his heart ripping. "Martin, I think I understand. It's not stupid - it's never been stupid. You are by far the most intelligent - well emotionally connected - person I know." Douglas' hand raises of its own accord and his knuckles brush Martin's left cheek, more tears beginning to flow at his soft touch. Before Martin can sputter another I'm sorry, Douglas tilts his chin up and slightly to the left, capturing him into a soft, but firm kiss.

Martin is frozen, tears all but drying up. He rapidly blinks the last remnants away, not trusting himself to even breath. The pressure against his lips cannotbe Douglas Richardson. It must be a sick illustration of his own fantasy. He closes his eyes and wills it to either dissipate or stay forever, trembling under the hand holding his chin. He may fall over if Douglas - or dream-Douglas - lets go.

He doesn't.

Douglas pulls him in, lets their lips slide chastely, not wanting to scare the trembling man. One warm, large hand rests on Martin's waist, the anchor he needs, and he melts into Douglas. When they part, Martin's eyes flutter open. "Douglas, what is the meaning of this?" he slurs just a bit, eyes drooping. He's suddenly so exhausted and thrumming with energy content all at once, an oxymoron himself, and he leans into Douglas, not trusting his limp body to work.

Neither of them hear the lock click.

"Martin, this is what I should have done long ago, when I first saw our relationship diving down an endless path. I was the... less intelligent one." Martin, boneless against the larger male peers up at him, looking both hopeful and apprehensive.

"What do you mean?" Douglas kisses his forehead, the ache inside him growing and growing. Martin is so broken, looks so pitiful. He never expected him to feel this way - hadn't even seen himself fitting this picture. But he's here now, and that means he must face these feelings instead of burying them, for Martin. Because Martin holding onto to this with everything else in his life does not bode well.

"Douglas?" he sounds small, afraid, but there is a stirring in his voice. Thin hands climb up his chest and rest on his shoulders, the touch hesitant. Is he allowed? Can he touch him?

Douglas wraps his arm around Martin and pulls him into a tight hug, lips resting against the edge of his ear. He's made his decision. "Captain Martin Crieff, as of today I am never going to let you go." His tone is nearly dark and Martin shudders; his lips part, but no words come out. A tear hangs onto the edge of his lash and he bats it away. He doesn't need to say anything.

-

Douglas carries Martin from the cockpit, not saying a word as they descent from the airfield. Martin is disturbingly light. Douglas can feel the muscle clench under his fingers from the Man with a Van gig he has, but otherwise it seems just skin and bones. That can't be a good thing. He swears to himself that he will fatten Martin up until he can feel the pudge under his fingers and not just pull skin.

When they reach Douglas' car, Martin looks panicked when he's set down. Then he forcefully relaxes, trying not to seem dependent and weak. His gaze keep sweeping towards Douglas, as if he might escape if he leaves his sight.

The ride to his home is silent. It's tense, but not for the reasons one thinks. Martin is still uncertain, unsure that this dream is a reality and his mind is still spinning. Douglas is trying to think of ways to keep Martin from utterly flipping out when he realizes Douglas is a terrible man and he deserves better. But Martin simply stares at him every so often, eyes alight with achingly open affection and hope, cheeks tinged with color. Douglas' grip on the wheel tightens.

When they make it to Douglas' home, everything is quiet. Martin can't quite seem to get his limbs working and he happily allows Douglas to lift him into his arms, grunting only slighty with the initial lift. He holds onto his neck tightly and barely breaths until Douglas has his keys out and the soft click of the door sounds. He can never go back. Now would be the right time for Martin to jump out of his arms and run if he wants to. Can he face this? No, no he can't this is so sudden and it's just a dream to be ripped from him just when he's finally happy —

Douglas takes him inside.

He's set atop the counter as Douglas ruffles around for something - to eat, he's assuming - and he finally takes out what appears to be leftovers. Spaghetti. Oh, God, Martin can't remember the last time he had spaghetti. He can feel his stomach clench with hunger. He doesn't want to need Douglas, doesn't want to appear weak, but as the food heats, his stomach rumbles loudly. "You'll be eating some, of course. Won't have my guest going hungry while I satiate my desires, now shall I?" Martin smiles weakly.

"You're always a terrible host, I bet. Luring them in with food until they realize what you really want." Martin smirks, and Douglas feels relief pour over the tension.

"What do I really want?" Douglas reaches for the now-cooked food, steaming from the micro and pulls out two plates. Martin can't stop himself from eyeing the food. Douglas pretends not to notice.

"Here you are," he says softly, pushing the plate towards him. Martin gratefully takes it, so hungry that he completely forgets to get off the table and accepts the fork, eating it right there. With each bite he moans, both embarrassed and too hungry to care. Douglas finds watching Martin be pleased by anything is always elating. It's even better to know it's somewhat by Douglas' hands. When Martin finishes, he passes his plate over, claiming he's "not really that hungry." It is the middle of the day (silently he's thanking Carolyn that today is their day off). Martin, after silent moments of inner turmoil, accepts and inhales that plate, too.

By the end he looks content, but slightly green. Eating so much after living off of so little must not be good for the body. Martin's hand flutters to his stomach unconsciously and he looks caught between happiness and repulsion. Douglas motions for him to come closer, scooping the man into his arms. He finds he enjoys the comforting weight and presence of Martin as he carries him into his bedroom. Contrary to popular belief, he's not going to fuck him into the mattress on a full belly of food. He hardly believes Martin would be amiable about it.

He just sets the man on his bed, reassuring him with a kiss to his brow. "I'll go fetch an antacid." Martin looks sated and drowsy, but his eyes snap open. Leave? Leave? What? Douglas is pained to see this raw display of vulnerability and makes the trip quickly, bringing a glass of water along with him. He hands the glass to Martin who accepts with a soft "thanks," popping the pill and some water. Douglas takes the glass and sets it in the nightstand. The next few moments are a bit awkward and more silent than usual.

The younger male flushes and looks at his fingernails, one hand still pressed against his stomach. Ohh, he feels so full. He hasn't felt full in such a long time that the ache in his stomach is worth it. It's a good ache instead of a gut-wrenching, hungry pain that threatens to engulf its victim. Martin silently burps and begins to curl up. So maybe it hurts a little more than he thought. He really, really hopes he won't be sick, willing the pill to work quickly.

Douglas finds the excuse he needs and resolutely climbs onto the bed, maneuvering the two of them until he is spooning Martin. Heart beating far too swiftly for his age, he reaches around and presses his hand to Martin's stomach, gently rubbing circles. "Are you alright then?" Martin nods, brows furrowing. He bites his lip. It's odd at first, to say the least. He isn't really expecting Douglas to rub his stomach, let alone sit behind him and spoon, but he relaxes slowly, almost reluctantly.

This must be a dream. It's all still a dream. Martin closes his eyes and leans back against Douglas, feels his warmth slip into his own body. Soon he'll wake up, and it will be all over. This good dream will dissipate and he will regret not pinching himself, not waking up. Martin wants to move, to touch the body behind him just in case it is real and he is here, but he can't seem to manage the move. It's much easier to lay back against Douglas and pretend - pretend forever that he'll still be there in the morning, that the stirring in his lower belly will be real and the soft grip on his thigh won't disappear once he's woken up.

Martin curls his toes and drifts off, more happy than he's been in years.

When Martin wakes up, he finds it isn't a dream.