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Even in the dimmed cabin, sleep wasn't going to come easy. Take-off had been at eight in the evening, local time, and lights out an hour in. Europe's skies are dark and clouded – at least, they had been, before the hostess had asked for each window's cover to be closed.
Marko is comfortable, he's probably the most comfortable he's been in a long time. Business class is everything it's cracked up to be – he thinks, at least; he doesn't really have much to compare it with. The seat is soft and leathery, and there's enough room for him to recline. It should be just like crashing on someone's couch, but with the addition of a constant rumbling in the background.
He's pretty sure that the engine noise alone isn't why he can't sleep, though. Already, he's set the seat down, tossed and turned and then pulled it back up again; he's tried to lull himself off with some of the quieter songs on his iPod, and attempted to bore himself to sleep with the in-flight map. Neither proved to be of any help. He'd resigned himself to sticking his nose into the novel he'd brought with him instead.
Except, even the book is useless, at this point. His eyes wander, every so often, away from the pages and over the rim of his glasses, to his companion. Vuk has been asleep for the best part of the last hour, laid on his back with his arms atop the blanket. His headphones are still attached, and a quick glance towards his screen shows an old black and white film – classy, un-Vuk-like, which is probably what caused him to doze off. Marko's a little envious he managed it that way, but it does in turn make him feel less guilty about rousing him. It might've seemed a shame, otherwise.
He doesn't bother marking his page. He closes the book and stuffs it in the pocket below his screen, and folds his glasses safely back in their case. A quick look around the cabin shows that many of the other passengers are asleep, or trying to be, themselves; taking extra care regardless, he shuffles onto his side.
His free hand gives Vuk a gentle shake on the shoulder. He twitches a bit, but it's not enough. Marko tugs the headphones off his ears and sets them on the brunet's chest, leaning over the divide between their seats. “Hey...” He lingers above him, whispering, and giving him another nudge.
Vuk's eyes crack open, and he makes a soft grunting noise. Whilst brushing a few strands of hair off his forehead, Marko offers him a small smile. Lacking the energy to tell him he shouldn't be doing that so openly, Vuk stares back at him with a somewhat confused look.
“Can't sleep.” Marko says, voice as hushed as he can get it; he lowers his head so he can be heard by the other. “Need ya to bore me.”
Crinkling his nose, Vuk lifts his elbow and jabs him with it. A groggy sound that vaguely resembles 'fuck you' emerges from his throat. He blinks his eyes a few times before making a sour face. “Ugh... The hell're you doing waking me up just for that? What's your damage?” His just-awoken state suppresses the anger in his voice. Marko find his slight scowl kind of endearing.
“Think it's hard, 'cause I'm used to sleepin' next to ya all the time.” Marko lets his fingers stroke the skin of Vuk's wrist with feather-light touches. “I mean, I know I am next to ya, but like... Y'know...”
Holding the frown, Vuk shuffles up into a seated position. A hostess steps past them, and Marko moves back a bit; Vuk waits until she's gone to speak again. “Yeah, well. There's not a lot I can do about that.”
Marko shrugs a bit. “Talk to me. Tell me about New York, or your Dad.” That's why they're taking the flight in the first place, to go see the V. Mišić Sr., C.E.O. of the (as Marko had put it) 'I-don't-give-a-shit-which-bank-it-is-why-didn't-you-tell-me-your-Dad-was-filthy-rich' bank. The fact that Vuk never really did say much about himself amounted to that piece of information having only been revealed a couple of weeks back, right about when the brunet had been planning to make the trip in the first place. “Anythin'.”
“Big city. Americans everywhere. My Dad shits gold bricks.” Sighing in exasperation, Vuk brings his seat back upright. He adds with blatant sarcasm, “That enough, or are you gonna ask me to sing you a fucking lullaby as well?”
“It'd be better than nothin'...”
Vuk picks up the headphones that have fallen into his lap and starts to untangle the cord. “Watch a movie or something if you're bored. Or get up and find the bar. Christ, everyone else on the Goddamned flight's managing to get by.”
“I tried all that already.” Marko slumps in his seat. “I just wanna sleep, but I can't.”
“Yeah, well, that's a piss-poor reason to wake me up, you selfish ass. Now I gotta wait 'til I fall asleep again too.” Vuk eyes him sidelong. Marko can tell he's doing his best to suppress his anger and not make a huge scene. He huffs a bit, and adds something about missing half of what he was watching in a low tone. And then, the headphones are back on, and the conversation over.
Marko sticks to his previous protest. He sits idle, waiting for his eyes to close by themselves, his thoughts filled with brief 'will it be now?'s every so often. It doesn't help. Not only that, the longer it goes on, the more he can feel Vuk's irritation stirring beside him. He's still hoping he might just cave and talk to him, but it seems improbable.
Sulking, grumbling, Vuk pulls his headphones back off after some time has passed. He shuts off his screen and nudges Marko with his elbow, turning towards him. There's a frown across his features, and his hair is still a little out of place; he does look like he's just woken after barely any sleep. He motions with his fingers for Marko to lean back towards him again.
“Y'know what? I can get you to sleep.” His tone is plain, and remarkably serious, for a whisper.
Marko cocks an eyebrow. He's curious to know what this is about all of a sudden. “What is it?”
Vuk's eyes meet his. A dark glint crosses them. Though Marko has never been all that good at reading people, Vuk is someone he knows like the back of his hand by now, and that look – complete with the otherwise stone-cold expression – is the look he gives him when he wants something for himself. He then leans over the aisle side of his seat, twisting his head to look backwards. When he pulls himself back towards Marko, his lips start to curl upwards. “I'll jerk you off in one of the bathrooms back there, how's that sound?”
Blunt, that's how it sounds. A knot forms in Marko's stomach, though it's not an unwelcome one. He doesn't answer straight away, but instead mulls it over with his jaw a little lax. “Uh...” The tips of his ears start to heat up; Vuk's still staring at him intently. “Y... Y'think we can pull it off...?”
Blasé, Vuk replies, “You say that like it's difficult.”
PDA has never been Vuk's thing, but acts at the risk of being caught is a different matter. The risk of being caught, the element of taboo... If nothing else, it's never boring, but so far they've been in much simpler situations. As long as they weren't seen, they weren't caught. As long as there were other passengers the plane wouldn't offer that kind of discretion. It's hard for Marko not to pop his head over the seats and check the space between them and the bathrooms himself.
He coughs a bit and bites the bullet. “Give it five minutes. Or ten.” With matter-of-factness, he adds, “I'm scared of flyin'. S'makin' me feel sick.” After discarding his blanket and rising from his seat, Marko slides past Vuk's legs. He steps onto the aisle and doesn't look back.
No eyes fall upon him. Other passengers are preoccupied, or, indeed, asleep. So far, so good.
The worst part about the bathrooms are that they're small and compact, even for business class, which the two of them are not. Marko spends the time he has to wait wondering if it was a good idea in the first place. Practical, it is definitely not, but Vuk's ideas are never practical ones, so he doesn't care so much in that regard.
There's a knock at the door. After a quick glance at his watch first, he flicks the latch open. Vuk doesn't waste time shuffling into what free space there is behind the door, not making eye contact with him; he forces Marko into the corner of the counter to make room. The 'fear of flying' may have been a lie, but Marko thinks then that it's a damned good job neither of them are claustrophobic.
Vuk shuts the door and locks them both in again. He leans on it, but before he can turn around, Marko closes the inch of space between them, his chest pressing into his back. Chin resting on the other's shoulder, he speaks softly. “What gave ya this idea, then?” On the word 'this', his hands slip under the fabric of Vuk's shirt and across his stomach, feeling his muscles.
“Whaddya mean?” Vuk snorts. “You were the one saying you couldn't get to sleep without me.”
“So ya saw it as an opportunity to cross the 'Mile High Club' off your list, or...?”
“Nah. I saw it as an opportunity to make you suffer after waking me up for no good reason.” He moves in Marko's hold, shuffling around until they're facing each other.
The words don't bode well. When Vuk mentions 'suffering' of any kind, he tends to mean it. Marko loosens his arms. “Uh-huh...?” He says, slowly. “'Make me suffer'... So, ya wanna be caught, then? These things aren't exactly soundproof.”
A smirk crosses Vuk's face, as if to say, it's a risk worth taking; it always is. He says nothing more, but presses his body into Marko's, trapping him up against the hard edge of the counter. The tight space proving to be a hindrance, Vuk has to wriggle a little to pull this off. Their hips rub together. Marko grits his teeth.
Vuk circles his arms around Marko's waist and nudges his nose into the nape of his neck, inhaling a breath at the tips of his hair. His lips meet the skin there; he trails hot, damp kisses down up to his ear, where he nips at the lobe. A hand slides down his back and then between their bodies; it burrows beneath Marko's shirt and into the waistband of his jeans.
It's a funny feeling. The act is familiar, the surroundings are not. It's hard for Marko to tell whether the little shiver that runs down his spine then is from having that thought in mind, or from the fact that Vuk has begun to finger his dick through the fabric of his underwear.
The floor beneath them, buzzing with the engine's vibrations, dips slightly. Legs almost buckling, Marko grips the wrist of Vuk's free hand and digs his nails into the skin – an instinctive motion. It's only a small patch of turbulence, but he's sure if they weren't sandwiched together like that, he would've fallen.
Vuk seems to ignore the movement of the plane otherwise; he lowers his hand, cupping the growing erection beneath it with his palm. He squeezes, enough to make Marko groan, and then snickers under a breath, “You like that, don't you?”
Marko bites on the inside of his lip and doesn't answer. The brunet's fingers clench tighter, and he licks below the curve of his jawline.
“Couldn't get to sleep without me, huh? That's what you said.” He speaks clearer, but deeper, sourer, also; his breath is warm in Marko's ear. “Can't even go one night without my cock, you damned slut... S'kinda pathetic.”
As much as he tries to fight the urge, Marko's hips buck forwards against the hold. A hot flush starts to creep onto his face. “God, shut up.” He practically spits out, in retaliation to the other's words. Is it really the time or place for that kind of talk? He might have supposed Vuk wouldn't care, that it was all part of his 'I'll make you suffer' thing – if Marko was in any position to give a flying fuck when he was getting jerked off in such an unconventional and antagonising way.
The light stubble on Vuk's chin scrapes across Marko's cheek as the brunet moves his head away. His teeth are clenched, and his brow furrowed, but it's not quite a scowl he's making – it's more of a mild grimace. Marko can't tell if he's made him angry or not – but knowing Vuk, a simple 'shut up' wouldn't have stopped him. His hand is gone, then, it's pulled straight out of Marko's pants and it returns to the small of his back.
Pressed into one another again, their lips meet. The kiss turns harsh and sloppy fast, teeth biting at tongues and lips. It fills Marko's stomach with a deep warmth, and it makes his already twitching erection throb. He rakes his fingers through the back of Vuk's hair. It's as if he's trying to keep his head in position there – but, it doesn't last. Whilst he's pushing their crotches together, the brunet's hands lower, and they knead against Marko's ass. The two of them part for air.
The knavish smirk returns to Vuk's face. He watches Marko, eyes glossy and half-lidded. “Don't wanna hear me tell you what a filthy whore you are this time, huh?”
He starts to unfasten Marko's pants, then, never breaking eye contact. Off-hand, Marko wonders if he looks particularly dishevelled and pathetic, face reddened and jaw lax.
“S'okay. I can make you suffer in other ways...” He chuckles, tugging the clothing down. One hand lifts up and taps on the counter twice. “Get up on this, yeah?”
Marko's jeans and boxers are dropped to his ankles. As he complies with Vuk's request, propping himself up on the edge, the other squats down (as best he can) and pulls one foot free of the clothing, so that he can then spread his legs without hindrance. It's all a little difficult to do in a tight space, but they manage.
Vuk doesn't rise back up. He fishes for his wallet in his back pocket, and from that he pulls out a row of sachets; they're brightly coloured and labelled in a Latin print, and so having never seen them before, Marko suspects they were a hasty purchase from the airport bathroom. Vuk rips the first one off with the aid of his teeth.
As much of a mood killer as it may be, Marko can't help but raise an eyebrow. “Flavoured lube? Really?” Cracking a joke at the other's expense makes him feel a little less subjugated. “Didn't know ya liked that stuff.”
“Yeah, well, when it's all there is, you make do.” Vuk's response is laboured. He tears the packet open, and coats two fingers in the contents. A scent of lemon, sugar and plastic fills the cubicle. He eyes the substance as he draws it out, shooting another lopsided grin up at Marko. Without warning, he presses the tip of his index finger against Marko's ass.
Given their positions, the sensation is a kind of odd at first. Marko's muscles tense at the intrusion, his breath catching in his throat. He almost expects it to hurt, somehow. Vuk stands again, then, and begins to press in the other finger; he's met with little resistance, but his free hand pushes on the inside of Marko's thigh, parting his legs further to make things easier still.
It's not really anything Marko isn't used to, he thinks. How this could possibly be 'suffering', he doesn't know... Until it hits him – quite literally. The tip of Vuk's finger brushes against his prostate, sending a shiver down his spine. A soft moan escaping his lips, Marko eyes the brunet and the cat-like expression on his face that seems to intensify upon his reaction. Vuk's hand moves back a bit, but only so he can press it forwards more. Again, and again, over the bundle of nerves.
Each touch is akin to an electric shock; Marko gasps, and swallows hard to stop himself from being much louder than that. His own hand, palm sweating, moves towards his erection, but before he can reach it, Vuk shoves him away.
“Nuh-uh.” He murmurs, through closed teeth. “Hands on my shoulders. Try to touch yourself again and I'll stop.”
Though unappreciative, Marko is left with no choice but to do what he's told. His hips start to rock along with the in-and-out motions of the fingers. He wants them to hit the same spot again. He can't come like this, and Vuk damned well knows he can't come like this; that's why it's suffering. His dick is aching. It somehow manages to feel both awful and wonderful at the same time.
“You want me to fuck you?” Vuk asks in a hushed voice.
'Yes', he wants to say, he almost says, but when his mouth parts further naught but a strained groan escapes. Marko coils his arms around the other man's shoulders and, when he's pulled him close enough, leans his sweating forehead against the crook of his neck.
Vuk laughs softly into his ear. “Gonna think twice about waking me up from now on, then?”
Tightening his arms until he's trapped Vuk close to him in a vice-like bind, the answer – this time – emerges in a ragged breath, the corners of his lips twitching into a spurring smile. “N-No...”
After Vuk's free hand has moved between them, he starts to unfasten his own pants; he seems content with not removing them completely, but rather pulling out his hardened cock through the open zip and his underwear. The same hand digs through the sidelined wallet, feeling around until he finds what he needs. Both of his hands occupied, he's forced to rip the foil wrapper open with his teeth.
With a tone that's both amused and almost cold, Vuk speaks again, once he's spat the packet out. “You shouldnt've said that.”
He starts to push the tip in. Their mouths meet again, slopping and warm. Marko's legs wrap around Vuk's hips and the counter creaks beneath them – it's not designed to support that kind of weight or force. Ah, shit, what if someone hears?, Marko thinks, briefly, in the moment before Vuk begins to thrust harder. Then he decides he doesn't give a flying fuck. His untouched cock twitches against the coarse fabric of Vuk's shirt; he begs in mewling whispers, voice cracking and the short-lived smirk disappearing, “Please... Please...”
And 'please'turns into incoherent gasping, and by that time Marko himself isn't even sure what he's saying. Black dots appear behind his eyes; everything is sweltering and soon the engine noise is blocked out by the rushing of blood and the thud of his heart. Suddenly the plane doesn't exist any more, nor does the risk of being caught.
Vuk wraps his fingers around Marko's dick and jerks his wrist, not caring to do so in time with his thrusts. The contact on the sensitive flesh is worse than his fingers had been inside him, somehow. “C'mon...” He snickers, and he nips at Marko's ear with a canine tooth. For a few moments he tenses, hand tightening, and he groans into Marko's mouth. It's a little more than Marko needs to push him over the edge too.
Once Vuk has drawn out, Marko is left as a shivering mess, still barely clinging to the counter's edge. The brunet zips up, before he tosses the condom and all the associated packaging away, still catching his breath, too. He pecks Marko on the cheek before he moves to grab a couple of paper towels; the dark blotches in front of Marko's eyes are still so prominent that he doesn't realise what the towels are until he feels their rough texture being tucked into his hand.
“Peh, you really do look shaken up.” As if to add to the sense of dishevelment, Vuk ruffles Marko's hair with his hand. “Just as well, huh? Don't count on me carrying you back to your seat or anything, though.”
Marko cleans up and fixes his pants, taking his time, still very much light-headed; his legs still shaking to the point where he thinks they might give way. “Think it worked, though.” He mutters, throwing the used paper towels away. His eyes find Vuk's in the brightness of the cubicle, and he forces a smile. “Think I could probably fall asleep in here, now.”
A few quiet words come from the other man as, in spite of his words, he pulls Marko's arm around his shoulders – they're something akin to 'that can't be comfortable', before he adds more clearly, “Make sure when you stagger, it's believable, yeah?”
Head resting in the crook of Vuk's neck, Marko asks himself, not finding the energy to do so out loud, who cares if it's not?