Don't Rock the Plane
|
1 - ClaireA strong gale buffeted the plane, and the vehicle rocked to the left, slightly but suddenly. The flight attendant grabbed the headrest of the seat in front of Claire Redfield in an attempt to catch herself and chuckled humorlessly. She looked down at Claire apologetically, but with a smile on her face. "Sorry about that, miss." Claire returned the smile. "No problem." After fighting zombies and killer plants and all of the other horrors she'd faced, a little turbulence was nothing. She popped another mini-pretzel (courtesy of the good airline) into her mouth good-naturedly, as she watched the flight attendant work her way up the aisle to the jump seat while another forceful gust struck the plane. The copilot's voice came on, and Claire instinctively looked up to the little speaker over her head. "Ladies and gentlemen, we seem to be encountering some turbulence, so we'll be heading to an altitude of another ten thousand feet to try and get out of its way. We ask you to please remain seated with your seatbelts fastened until we reach a calmer altitude; but other than that, just sit back, relax, and enjoy your flight." Claire snorted inwardly at that last comment. Right. She and her companions were in a passenger jet flying through a small hurricane midway over the Atlantic. Pass the popcorn. Still, she had to admit that this was the first time in a long time that she didn't have to worry about running into something that would try to kill her on the way to the bathroom. A 12-hour transatlantic flight wasn't exactly her idea of relaxation, but at least she might be able to grab a little bit of sleep. She looked around to her travelling companions, seated in various places around her. Across the aisle, Rebecca Chambers was scribbling answers into the crossword puzzle at the back of the inflight magazine. Claire remembered her coming aboard with a book she'd bought in the duty-free shop to pass the time, but judging from its ignominious place in the seat pocket in front of her, the story hadn't been good enough to keep her entertained. While standing in line, Rebecca had remarked ruefully that, despite everything she'd gone through, she still seemed compelled to pick up any trashy horror book whenever she came across one. Well, at least a boring crossword wouldn't give anyone nightmares or the jitters. Next to Rebecca sat David Trapp, the leader of their little group. Despite the winds buffeting the plane, David was snoozing pleasantly enough, his chest rising and falling to a slow, unheard rhythm. Claire watched him for a moment, studying the lines of his face. He reminded her of Chris, her brother, a little too much sometimes. It hurt to think about Chris usually, not knowing where he was or what he was doing... At least she was in better shape now than she had been when she'd first jumped on her bike toward Raccoon City; she knew that Chris was still alive, and that was most important of all. Claire sighed. Deciding it wouldn't do any good to start her worrying over Chris again, she sat back in her seat. Behind her, John Andrews poked the back of her seat. "Hey," John whispered. "No sighing." Claire smiled as she turned around to face him. The big man sported his usual ear-to-ear grin, flashed for specifically her benefit. "I thought you were watching the movie." John chuckled. "Nah, that actor can't do an accent. I just look at the pretty pictures." Claire giggled. "You sound like my brother." John gave her an exaggerated surprised look that made Claire smile even wider, it was so ridiculous. "Really? I never figured ol' Chris for a porn fan." "Quiet, you," Claire said with another giggle. Now Rebecca, distracted from her crossword, joined in: "John, I thought that was your area of expertise." "Oh, no, I leave that to the cops." That jab was obviously meant for Leon Kennedy to get into the fray, and the younger man didn't disappoint John. With the smile evident in his voice, Leon told him, "I still have my handcuffs, pal. I can lock you up til we hit London, you know." The four of them started giggling and chuckling like a pack of schoolchildren, until David said: "Some people are trying to get some rest, you know." John made a startled, caught-in-the-cookie-jar face. "Uh oh. Busted." David leaned over Rebecca and glared facetiously at the three across the aisle. "Stop disturbing the other passengers, kids." Rebecca patted David on the arm affectionately; Claire noticed that the two of them had become rather close over the course of the last few months. What once would have been a guarded gesture was now something natural, unspoken. "Yes, warden," she giggled. There was a snicker from John, but other than that, they each settled back into their seats without much more said. Claire sighed again, but this time it was one of relaxation. "I can't believe we'll be in London soon," she said softly. "It feels like we've been planning this forever." Leon looked at her. "Don't get too excited. Remember who we're dealing with here. This isn't a honeymoon." His meaning was clear: Umbrella was not the sort of group to be trifled with. All of them had learned that, the hard way. Raccoon, the Cove, all the lives senselessly wasted for the sake of the Umbrella Corporation's precious secrets. Leon was right; this was by no means a vacation. They were going in to hit Umbrella's central headquarters, where the S.T.A.R.S. team was even now. Nevertheless, Claire felt a thrill whenever she thought about it. Her original goal, to find Chris, to be with her brother again, to know that he was all right, was in arm's reach. After months, very shortly she would be with Chris again. And Chris would make everything all right. "I know," Claire countered in a hush. It was a selfish reason, she knew, but everyone else had their own reasons, too. Personal reasons. David and John were S.T.A.R.S. members themselves (well, ex-S.T.A.R.S., Claire reminded herself) who were anxious to dish out to Umbrella what they had done to their comrades. Rebecca had seen firsthand the horrors in Raccoon and the Cove, and likewise she was determined to see Umbrella fall. As a medic, Rebecca felt a deeper pang of regret and guilt for not being able to help the innocents who had suffered because of the Umbrella corporation. She was young, younger than Claire even, but she was tough, and she wanted Umbrella to find out just how tough she was. And Leon... Now that Claire thought about it, she didn't know why Leon stayed on the team. When Claire and Leon had first escaped Raccoon City, with little Sherry Birkin in tow, they had relied on each other to get through the trauma. David and the rest had picked them up shortly after their miraculous escape, but there was still a bond that Claire and Leon shared that couldn't be duplicated with anyone else. When one of them would wake up in a cold sweat, the other was always there to comfort and soothe the nightmares away. It was almost like having Chris there...but different. "I know it's not going to be easy. It's just that..." Claire trailed off, unable to say any more. Leon smiled comfortingly. "I understand." He reached for the hand on her leg and squeezed it firmly. He looked at her solemnly, almost dazedly, before shaking his head. "Uh!" He let go of her hand and took a deep breath, then smiled again. "David's right," he said. "We should get some rest." Claire nodded, puzzled and more than a little amused at his reaction. "Yeah," she said softly. She turned away and bit her lower lip, stifling an elated giggle. In the time since Raccoon, and in the last few weeks especially, Claire had noticed Leon's eyes lingering on her a little longer than usual, his body daring touches that had slowly become more and more intimate. Nothing all that flirty, usually: a hand on her arm, a pat on her leg, a closeness in proximity that hadn't been there before. Every once in a while, when the nightmares would come again, he would hold her and whisper soothingly into her hair, and she would be amazed by how wonderful and comfortable his warmth suddenly felt. She didn't know how deep his feelings ran, but she knew that her own were starting to run alarmingly deep. More than once in recent weeks Claire had woken up with her heart pounding, but for an entirely different reason. She would lie in bed with thoughts of Leon Kennedy in her mind, and it always went downhill from there. At first, she dreamt about him as any woman would of a man. The dreams were, of course, sexual, but nothing all that intimidating. She'd dream of being in bed with Leon, but, by the same token, she had dreamed of being in bed with Indiana Jones when she was 13, too. Chalking it up to her hormones getting away with her, she would wake up in the morning, laugh to herself a little, step into a shower, and everything would be fine. Lately, though, things had taken a sharp turn. She would dream of Leon so vividly, she could taste him, smell him, feel him against her skin. Sometimes she imagined that they would make love slowly and gently, and at other times they would fuck like crazy until she would nearly scream herself awake. The last time had been a real doozy. They were back in Raccoon, but things were decidedly different in her dream than they had been in reality. They burst into the same room -- where she had found Chris' notebook -- from opposite sides... "Claire!" Claire focused across the room using her shotgun as her sight and spied Leon there, with a huge rocket launcher slung over his shoulder. A rocket launcher, Claire thought back on her subconscious symbolism with a rueful smile. Naturally. "Leon!" They both rushed to the center of the room, weapons still in hand, where they stopped, mere inches from each other. They were both breathing hard. "Thank God you're all right," Leon said suddenly, cupping her cheek with his palm. He stared at her, his jaw set. Then he hooked his fingers behind her neck, bringing her head in close to kiss her firmly. Their tongues danced as the perspective whirled around them. Claire held onto him and walked backward toward one of the desks, shoving papers and files and unused shells onto the floor so she could sit down. His hands were at her vest, unzipping it and forcing it down her shoulders. Her pink shorts came off, too, so that she was wearing only her tight workout blacks. Their bodies came together in a heated embrace, twisting and turning until they found just the right way to move in synchrony. Claire somehow insinuated her hands inside Leon's jumpsuit and drifted her fingertips over his chest, then down his stomach and below his waist. Though still mostly confined, his cock still managed to jump at her feather-light touch, and he whispered in her ear, begging her to touch him. She grinned, and with one hand still fondling him, she used her other hand to guide his up to her chest, over one breast. Even through the material of her top, the touch of Leon's fingers on her breast, thumbing her nipple, squeezing the pliant flesh, made Claire squirm. She tugged needfully on the bottom of her top, and he helped her pull it over her head. The air of the police station was cool; it quickly evaporated the beads of perspiration dotting her neck and chest and gave her goosebumps. She threw her head back, thrilled by the sensation, and Leon left off fondling her to gently suck her breast, tonguing her nipple, first one and then the other and then back to the first again. Claire moaned into his hair. She worked her hand into his jumpsuit and then into his shorts, finding his hard, warm meat still anxious for attention, which she was only happy to give. She stroked the full length of him, to which he groaned, sending a delightful resonance through her. Leon used one hand to hold her steady, but the other he pushed beneath her shorts, and with one finger he started to lazily stroke her, up and down the cleft. She bucked against his hand, hard, and Leon chuckled, both at her wetness and her sudden ferocity. He stepped back from her and put both hands on her waist, slipping his fingers under the waistband of her shorts. She stood up off the desk so that he could push them and her underwear down her legs. She stepped out of them carefully, and Leon cocked his head to look at her. She probably looked silly standing there naked except for her boots, but, judging from Leon's sizable reaction, it was probably damn sexy, as well. They met for another kiss, this one more heated than before. Claire yanked forcefully on his waistband and wrapped one leg around him, humping his hip. Her fingers scrabbled blindly at his pants, and it was only because he stopped to help her that she didn't end up hurting him. She locked both her legs around him, and he picked her up, his hands full with her warm, clenching bottom. They fell against the door through which Claire had arrived, and Leon slipped into her. He started with slow strokes, and Claire felt her insides start to tremble already. She grabbed his hair and held his head to her neck, and Leon complied with the unspoken command by lavishing her skin with licks and kisses. She pulled him deeper with each thrust using her legs, contracting them around his waist. She felt him start to speed up, until his hips were pistoning at a furious rate and his tightening balls were bumping against the bottom of her slit. "Oh, God..." Claire breathed, pushing herself down on him to match his strokes. They were banging against the door now, and she was afraid that at any moment some horror would come bursting through before they were done. She shut her eyes tightly and bit back a scream, and suddenly her muscles were clamping down on him and she couldn't breathe and he was coming too and they just kept going kept moving kept fucking... She felt him throb inside her from his orgasm. "Oh God Leon please!" Claire screamed, thrusting against him. It was too much, too much... Claire had woken up in a hot sweat that night, her hair sticking to her face and neck. Her panties had been cool, too; she had orgasmed in her sleep. With a sigh of resignation, she had slipped from her bed to the bathroom, to clean herself up, hoping that this last dream would put her at ease for at least a little while. Thinking about that dream now, while stealing furtive glances at Leon, who looked like he was trying to get some sleep, made Claire chuckle. She wondered absently if he had similar thoughts about her. She doubted it; Leon was a few years older than she was, and seemingly well past the point of having adolescent wet dreams. Still, it painted a picture that made her smile, and blush deeply. Determined to prove herself right (or, better yet, wrong) regarding the state of young Mr. Kennedy's fantasies, she settled down into her seat and snuggled up against his arm, smiling hugely to herself.
2 - RebeccaRebecca Chambers eyed the little bag in the seat pocket in front of her as she felt the plane rock back and forth. I will not be sick, she thought over and over to herself. I just won't. I'm a medic and a biochemist, and I've survived a lot worse than just some stupid turbulence and motion sickness. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, but that didn't help. She remembered what David had told her earlier, that if she focused on something far away, that would help ease her equilibrium. She started to stare down the end of the aisle, where the little "in use" sign for the lavatory flashed bright red and then dimmed. She contemplated the air sickness bag again, and that almost made her lose it right then. Very slowly, she breathed deeply and concentrated on the little light. She watched it through three rotations of bright-dim-bright-off, until finally her stomach seemed under control again. Rebecca wiped the cooling sweat from her forehead and smiled to herself. Another would-be disaster narrowly averted. Congratulations, Ms. Chambers. Just like so many other disasters in her career, though perhaps not as life-threatening. Beside her, David Trapp had begun to flip through a newspaper. He noticed her discomfort and said, softly, "You all right, 'Becca? You looked a little pale there for a while." Rebecca managed a small smile. "Just a little motion sickness. I'm fine now, thanks." David smiled back. "Happens to the best of us. Remind John to tell you about his Mexico assignment sometime." He winked at her, eliciting a tiny chuckle from her. With a nod, he turned back to his paper, leaving her to her thoughts. Rebecca was glad that David was with them. She couldn't imagine doing the trip to Europe to find the other S.T.A.R.S. without him there leading the way. The two of them, along with John Andrews, had come a long way from that first nervous job at Caliban Cove. The Umbrella Corporation, and all of its myriad biochemically-spawned monsters, still freaked Rebecca out - a lot - but she and David and John had become closer because of it. She didn't particularly like feeling indebted to Umbrella for anything, but she had to admit to herself that it was because of the corporation that she had met David. For lack of something to do (the first inflight movie had ended, and they had yet to start up the next one), she looked across the aisle at her fellow travellers. John was fidgeting in his seat, and though she didn't wish him to be any more uncomfortable than he already seemed, Rebecca had to admit that he did look funny. Poor John was so large and built that even the relatively spacious first class seats had to be wreaking havoc with his body. He caught her looking and flashed her one of his patented grins. "Having trouble?" Rebecca asked quietly, her chin on her hand. "Says the five-foot-two girl," John remarked with a snort. He batted his eyes at her facetiously. "Just fine, hon." Rebecca smiled. Her gaze drifted up a row to where Claire Redfield and Leon Kennedy were sitting. They had joined up later in the game, but Rebecca had spent enough time with both of them over the last few months to know that they were good at their jobs. She also learned that they were practically inseparable. Even now, a contented-looking Claire was snuggling against Leon's arm in a very familiar way, and Rebecca had to wonder if either one of them really knew what they were getting into. On her first mission, to the Spencer Estate just outside Raccoon City, Rebecca had, through a series of mishaps, teamed up with Claire's brother Chris, another S.T.A.R.S. member. Chris had been impulsive but tough as nails, not to mention really cute in his tight uniform. For a while during that mission, Rebecca thought how easy it would be to fall for Chris Redfield. But Chris had eyes for somebody else, and Rebecca soon realized that what she felt for Chris was a kind of puppy love mixed with deep admiration. He had saved her life, after all. She guessed that that could easily skew someone's feelings. After Raccoon, Rebecca had gone to Caliban Cove with David and John's S.T.A.R.S. team. She had found both men to be extremely competent and courageous, as well as compassionate. She knew what it was like to lose teammates--friends--to Umbrella, and it was that bond that drew her to David and John. Two of their comrades had perished at the Cove, turned to mindless things by Umbrella's toxins. She had been instrumental in helping them cope with that loss after their escape. Neither man had ever mentioned it again, but Rebecca knew how deeply they were affected. She looked back to David again. Not unlike Chris, David had yanked her fat out of the fire more than once, but the feelings that she felt for him were more intense than just camaraderie. She was only 20, barely out of her teens, and all of the accelerated degrees and natural scientific affinities couldn't change the fact that she was a healthy young woman with very rampant desires. When Claire had first joined them, Rebecca had been elated to finally have the opportunity to discuss "girl issues" with another young woman. She hadn't realized how important it was to have a female confidante; she could more easily talk with Claire things that she would have a difficult time telling David or John, despite their closeness. Usually, conversation between Rebecca and Claire didn't stray far from the mission overall (to get to Europe and link up with Chris Redfield, Jill Valentine, and Barry Burton), but every once in a while they would stay up til all hours giggling about something or other. Right before this trip, Rebecca had confided to Claire that she had found Claire's brother Chris quite attractive during the Spencer Estate fiasco. Claire had ended up telling Rebecca so many hysterical stories about growing up with Chris that the both of them had fallen off their beds laughing, and John had busted in, worried that their howls were due to something terrible, instead of something terribly funny. They had settled down soon after, and Claire had told her about her growing feelings for Leon Kennedy, in a very quiet voice that had seemed very girlish and frightened at the time. Rebecca had thought about her words long after Claire had drifted off to sleep ("...I can't get him out of my head. And it...it scares me..."), and how the same situation applied to herself, and her feelings for David. She didn't know when David had started to mean so much to her. Maybe it was that last mission, when that Umbrella operative had had her by the throat, and the very real possibility that she would die had flared in her brain. She hadn't realized it at the time, but upon later reflection, Rebecca remembered thinking about David. What would David do? David wouldn't leave her to die, would he? What if the monster hurt David, or worse? She guessed it was only natural to feel that way about a leader, but she also thought about him in another way, a way that made her a little ashamed and embarrassed, and had her wishing in her bed at night that he wasn't their leader, that he didn't have to worry about everyone, that he could spend time worrying about her only. Rebecca sat back in her seat and breathed deeply. She grabbed her pillow and clutched it tight to her lap with one hand. Her other hand, meanwhile, she managed to slip between her legs. Even through her pants, the pressure of her fingers against her groin felt good, a needed release of tension. It was a poor substitute for being able to really touch herself, but for the moment, it took her mind off of her other problems. Her fingers deftly stroked the curve of her slit, and Rebecca was silently grateful that she wasn't wearing jeans. The dress pants were made of thin cotton, and they barely felt like another layer over her panties. She could even feel the beginning of her wetness through them. She locked her fingers straight and pressed hard against her crotch, massaging herself with tiny circular motions. Another deep breath gave her a chill, and she could feel her nipples harden beneath her shirt, an unforeseen but pleasurable addition to her arousal. Upping her own ante, Rebecca eased one finger along the seam of her pants, between her flexing butt cheeks. She licked her lips, biting her bottom lip as she completed the motion. Now she moved her thumb over her clit, and a tremor went through her. Rebecca exhaled slowly, feeling her body tighten. Her index finger was wedged tightly between her legs, which had begun to clamp down hard on her hand, of their own accord. She was pushing hard against her slit, no longer with languorous circular motions, but with tiny, rapid thrusts of her hand. She held her fingers there, using her own weight to force them as deep as they would go, despite the interference of her clothes. A little moan escaped her, and she nearly yelped when John whispered into her ear: "You okay, kiddo?" Rebecca opened her eyes and focused on him, nodding faintly. She forced a smile, trying to seem as nonchalant as possible, but she knew her cheeks must be reddening. "Yeah." John scrutinized her for a moment, then returned the smile. "Don't be embarrassed about getting sick. It's happened to me plenty of times." He patted her shoulder and went back to his seat. Sick... He thought she was sick! Rebecca blew a sigh of relief, thankful that John hadn't caught on to the real reason why she was flushed and breathing hard. Deciding that it was probably best to play it safe, she slowly eased her hand out from between her legs. She moved to wipe her nose, as if sniffling, and the aroma of her juices came as a pleasant surprise to her senses. She had to cover her mouth to stifle her sudden chuckle, and it caused David to glance at her in concern. She smiled at him, alleviating his fears, and grinned to herself. Though she didn't know why, she suddenly felt much, much better about everything.
3 - JohnJohn Andrews settled back into his seat, taking one last look at Rebecca before opening his in-flight magazine again. He suppressed a knowing smile behind the cover of the magazine, feeling smug. Who did little Becca think she was fooling, anyway? He had noticed her hand slip under that pillow before he went up to visit the bathroom, and that telltale blush in her cheeks really gave her away. He decided not to pressure her about it, though. Everybody was strung out lately, and John had to admit to himself that the idea of taking matters into his own hands had crossed his mind more than once on this long, boring trip. He couldn't wait to be in London, with Jill Valentine and the others. Ahh, Jill. John snickered to himself. He was a healthy man, with healthy enough desires, but recently all of the tension had been getting to him. And being in the company of two very lovely young women, who tended to dress in skin-tight clothes both on and off missions, was doing nothing to settle his hormones. At least he wasn't a teen-ager, though, thank God. He was surprised Rebecca had made it this long. John hunkered down in his seat, stretching his legs into the leg space of the seat beside him, which was thankfully empty. He didn't envy any of his teammates their full rows, no matter how spacious the seats were. He thought back to that morning, and his blood sped up a little. He really hadn't meant to crash in on the girls, but David had been anxious to get going, and had told John to check up on them. He supposed it was partly their fault for not keeping their door locked, but perhaps he should have knocked, as well. He had not been at all prepared to see Rebecca in just panties and a bra, and Claire wearing only a towel, her long brown hair still dripping from her shower. John thought he had broken his neck, he'd turned around so fast. The thought still excited him a little, though. The two young women, with their fair, silken skin, Rebecca and her pouty lips, Claire and her cocksure smile... the two of them together were probably much more than any one man could handle. But John was still intrigued by the thought. He considered it for a moment, and the image of their firm, feminine forms pressed against him made John chuckle evilly to himself. Thinking about it, he was sure that Claire was probably the more adventurous of the two. She was a lot like her brother Chris that way, impulsive and playful. It gave an attractive swagger to her hips that John appreciated for the fun of it. He could imagine Claire as a wildcat, the type of girl who might show up at his door wearing high heels and a skimpy teddy, with a shotgun slung over her shoulder... She would saunter into his room and close the door behind her with a backward kick of her foot. She might primp her ponytail (John couldn't imagine her with her hair in any other way) and smile wickedly. Claire would be the type to pull up a chair and sit in it backwards, with her arms (and her shotgun) dangling down over the backrest, and her lean legs spread around it. She might tap one heeled toe, contemplating what to do with him. "You've been very naughty, John," Claire would say in a sultry voice. "You should know better than to interrupt young ladies when they're just getting out of a shower. When they're naked and hot and wet. Those are very bad manners. I might just have to shoot you." Despite himself, John was enjoying this side of the fantasy-Claire. He always did like a touch of danger with his women. Claire would push herself up, arching her back as she rose and thrusting her chest forward, like a snake moving into an upright position. She would lift her leg over the back of the chair, giving him a nice show of the view between her legs. Then she would caress the large gun to her chest, hugging it like a child would a favored blanket. She would trail her lips and tongue up the shaft, ending her display with a light kiss near the mouth of the barrel. "I should be careful that this doesn't go off," she'd giggle mischievously. Then she'd look at him with smoky eyes and mutter, "Should I worry the same thing about you?" John could all-too-vividly imagine Claire sidling up to him, moving the gun to one side. She would clamber on top of him, straddling his hips. "Mmmm," she'd hum, grinding against him. She would reach down and unzip him, and a gleeful smile would light up her face."Johnny, how have you been hiding this all this time?" She'd lick her lips deliciously and lift herself up, then plunge down on his stiffened cock. She'd rock back and forth on his lap, thrashing her head and moaning louder and louder with each thrust against him. "Oh, yes, yes!" Claire would lift the shotgun, and then it would blast in his ears every time she screamed in her orgasm. Finally she would relax and slump against him, but only for a brief minute. Before John would be able to savor the moment, she'd step away from him, still holding the smoking gun, and press a finger to his lips. "Ssshhh..." she'd smile. She'd stand up and walk to the door, her hips swaying and her heels clicking. When she got to the door, she'd turn around and blow him a kiss, whispering, "Nighty-night, Johnny." And then John would be left to himself, but only for a few moments. Rebecca was part of this fantasy, too, after all. He couldn't leave her unattended. A knock would come at his door. A tentative, halting knock. John might get up from his chair, but on more reflection, he decided against it. Instead, he would just call. "Yeah?" The girl would falter; he just knew she would. Then: "John, it's me. Rebecca. Can I come in?" "Sure," he would say, not knowing quite what to expect after his escapade with Claire. Rebecca would venture inside slowly, being careful to make as little noise as possible as she crept inside and closed the door behind her. "What's up, Becca?" he'd ask, as nonchalantly as possible. She would glance at him, then down at the floor, and then step up close to him, kneeling down in front of him. "I'm...I'm so lonely." She would take his hand, caressing his fingers, bringing them up to her lips to kiss with her gentle mouth. She would be in her nightgown, a light, flowing garment that would pool about her thighs as she sat at his feet. He would be able to see the goosebumps on her flesh as she sat there, holding his palm to her cheek. John would get up then, lifting her with a hand under her chin. "C'mere, Becca. It's all right." He would kiss her softly on the forehead, brushing away her bangs. Rebecca would respond with a gentle smile, a quiet smile that seemed to hide something from him. Then she would kiss him, full on the mouth, in an attempt to push her anxieties away. She would take his hands and lead him to the bed, sitting down on the soft comforter, motioning him to sit beside her. She would take his hand and guide it under her nightgown, slipping it between her legs. The curls of her womanhood would feel warm, though not wet yet, against his fingers. She would push against him, lifting her hips in silent permission, to give him better access. He would start slowly, probing the soft skin of her folds, being careful to keep watch on her elfin face. Her lips would part, and her tongue would dart out to wet them, and her large eyes would close very slowly, the twitching of her lids keeping him aware of her reactions. "Yes," she'd breathe, clutching the blanket tightly between her fingers. "Like that." She would open her eyes then, and her look would be smoldering. "More," she'd whisper, her silky voice dropping to sultry. John would smile at her then, and push one finger deeper into her slit, moving it in and out slowly at first, then picking up a little bit of speed. He would watch her face, how she leaned back and made a silent moan with her lips. Then she would lift her legs up, forcing the hem of her nightgown to slide to her waist. She would be nearly panting, as she murmured, "Please, John..." He would bend down to her waist, smelling the sweet scent of her sex as he went. He would kiss her nether lips, then tongue them gently, in accordance with her thickening moans. Rebecca would start to squirm, and she would grab his head, holding him down, humping his talented mouth. "Oh, God..." She would groan, clenching her muscles as he delved deeper into her, his hands holding her hips steady, keeping her prone to his ministrations. "Oh please yes God oh!" She would come suddenly, with a muffled shout, and John would keep sucking her, raising her to another level, until she came again, and again, writhing uncontrollably on his bed. She would tighten around his tongue as wave after orgasmic wave crashed over her, until she was reduced to a limp ragdoll, her hands still clutching her taut-nippled breasts. John would carefully wipe his mouth on her nightgown, then crawl up to her, brushing her damp hair from her forehead. She would smile at him, her eyes aglow, and hug him fiercely, or as fiercely as he could imagine after what she'd been through. Then she would cuddle up next to him, and he would let her sleep a while before it was time to go... Well, it might not happen quite like that, but John was certain that his earlier assessment was probably accurate: despite his imagined lasting intensity, he was pretty damn sure that either one of them would pack a sufficient whallop, and he was downright certain that, put together, they'd amount to one hell of a dynamo. John chuckled, settling down in his seat once again. Talk about raging hormones. He opened up his magazine and sat back, still thinking about nighties and shotguns. Ahh, life is wonderful.
4 - LeonLeon Kennedy watched the pale, cotton-candy clouds drift past the window in a kind of daze. When he was a child, he would lie on his back amid the summer grass and watch the clouds drift by, making up stories about them. One cloud would be a dragon and another St. George. Or a cluster would become the Knights of the Round Table, with Arthur leading them to glory. Or maybe a squadron of fighter jets flying low over a dazzled crowd, their jetstreams trailing behind like party streamers. Memories of an easier life, a better life. He had never really travelled much as a kid, but once, his parents had taken the family to Disney World, and Leon remembered his excitement about the giant metal beast that flew them over lakes and rivers and mountains. He had spent the five hour flight with his upturned nose pressed against the window, amazed by the geometry of the land below, and, when that disappeared behind a blanket of white, by the amorphous clouds that looked so close he could touch them. His feelings now weren't nearly as romantic as they were when he was eight, but there was something soothing about it nonetheless. It was the same kind of soothing feeling that he got from having Claire Redfield snuggled against him in her slumber. Leon turned away from the window to look at the girl who was, even now, dozing lightly against his arm. A clump of her bangs had fallen over her eyes, and he took a moment to gently brush them behind her ear, being careful not to disturb her too much. She fidgeted, mumbling softly and nuzzling his bicep. Leon let his eyes linger on Claire's face for a moment, and then glanced up to see Rebecca Chambers, sitting across the aisle from them, smiling hugely at him. Leon's face fell for a second, as though he'd been caught doing something naughty, and then he smiled back at Rebecca and looked away. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Rebecca watch him for a few moments longer, and finally turn back to her magazine. He leaned his head back, looking at the lights and climate controls above his head, and he let his mind wander. He thought about Raccoon City, and about the strange circumstances that had brought him to Claire. At first sight, he had thought that Claire was just some teenager who had somehow miraculously escaped the horror that had come calling on that fateful September night. Little did he realize at the time that she was the only person strong enough to make it out of the city alive, and with a little girl in tow, to boot. Leon couldn't even make it out with Ada still alive. Thoughts of Ada Wong came unbidden these days. Leon still felt a pang of regret when he thought about the sultry spy, despite the bad blood between them. He had trusted her, because she had helped him get out of the city, but he hadn't known that she had her own agenda. Still, Ada had been the first person in a long time that he had felt...something for. She was intelligent, self-sufficient, and gutsy, not to mention beautiful, but she could also be a conniving cutthroat who held no allegiances to anything or anyone. Despite himself, though, Leon had grown to like her. With a smile growing on his face, Leon was sure that, if there was any way that Ada Wong could have made it out of Raccoon alive that day, she would probably be sitting on some sun-drenched beach sipping cocktails right now, with a gamut of guys surrounding her. He hoped that was the case. In the bowels of Raccoon's sewer system, he had fancied that maybe he and Ada could have something between them. Now, in retrospect, he realized they were just too different. Even if the virus hadn't come between them, he would have found fault eventually with her methods and morals, and she probably would have gotten fed up with his nice guy dilemmas. Leon was intrigued by "bad girls," but Ada was much more than that. She was like the Terminator in heels. It was better that things had ended between them, though it was a shame he didn't know how her story ended. Inevitably, his thoughts of women made Leon think of Claire. She was the closest thing he had to a confidant and companion, but lately, he had found himself wanting more: wanting more from their relationship, wanting more from her, wanting her. He would go to sleep thinking about Claire and wake up thinking about Claire and spend the whole of the day thinking about Claire. At least when he was in dire situations, he could take his mind off of his own libidinous tendencies for a little while. The simplest thing would set him off: a whiff of her hair, the brush of her body against his, the sound of her voice... It was as if his very senses were conspiring against him. He had thought he was too old for getting aroused at the drop of a hat, but these last few weeks had proven him wrong. Even now, having Claire blissfully asleep against his arm had him wishing he had the luxury of fifteen minutes alone in a bathroom. She was so close, he could have kissed her and no one would know... Leon decided not to pursue that train of thought. Instead, he turned away from her to look out the window again. He shifted in his seat; something was digging into his butt. Nudging Claire's sleepy head only slightly, he lifted his hip and fingered his back pocket, pulling on the hard plastic handcuffs that were lodged there. He'd kept the standard issue cuffs as a souvenir, mostly; they didn't do much good against viral monsters. They were a reminder of what could have been, of a life that he might have been able to live, if it weren't for Umbrella. If, if, if, Leon thought quickly. If Umbrella hadn't spilled their virus all over Raccoon, all those people wouldn't be dead. Ada would be alive. So would little Sherry Birkin's parents. You'd still be a cop. Life would be good...But you wouldn't have Claire. Maybe. Maybe not. Chris Redfield, Claire's older brother--along with Rebecca and a few others--had served on the Raccoon Police Force's special missions team, called the S.T.A.R.S. Who was to say that little sister Claire wouldn't visit big bro Chris on one of her college breaks? And that she wouldn't take a liking to one of the R.P.D.'s newest additions, namely Leon himself? Sure, there would be the added risk of having Chris breathing down his neck anytime that Leon looked at Claire in the wrong way, but things might not have been so different, after all. Maybe one day, Chris and the other S.T.A.R.S. would be off on some mission or another, when Claire visited. The university would be too far to travel back to that same day, so Leon would be a gentleman and offer her dinner with a friendly face. He wouldn't be too pretentious; they would go to Emmy's Diner, one of the R.P.D.'s favorite late-night hangouts, run by one of the locals who knew the name and face of every officer on the force. He'd treat her to a greasy burger and a milkshake if she wanted it (though she'd probably decline and get a sandwich and a diet soda). He would talk about working on the force, and she would tell him about school, and they'd spend a few hours laughing and joking and finding that they really had a lot in common. "I love my motorcycle. It's fast and carefree. Just like me," Claire would say, chuckling. She would turn around in her seat and model her jacket -- emblazoned with that sexy and deadly angel, and the inscription "Made in Heaven" -- and bat her eyes at him affectionately. "I'll take my jeep any day," Leon would counter. "Optional convertible with a big back seat." "Yeah? Why do you need a big back seat?" She would narrow her eyes and lean across the table. "Got a girlfriend?" Leon would stare at her lips for a moment, then her eyes, and then break out into a grin. "Well, I got it for a dog, but I guess I'd settle for a girl." She would cough a laugh and roll her eyes at him. "You sound like my brother." She would look at her watch, and sigh. "Damn, how'd it get to be so late?" Leon would grab the check, deftly keeping it out of her reach and sight, and ask, "Do you need to get somewhere? I can give you a ride." "Nah. I'll just go back to the station. I've got to wait for Chris to get back, anyway." Then, she would yawn into her hand, playing coy. He would stand up, scratch his head, consider the options. "Um, I've got a big sofa back at my apartment; you can wait there. Maybe get some sleep." Yeah, right; he would think, not with what you're thinking. Claire would shake her head and try to act tough, as she usually did. "That's okay. There's a couch in the waiting room." He would smile at her, gently. "It's not very comfortable, believe me. I've spent my fair share of catnaps on it." He would offer her a hand, trying only to be polite on the outside, but his libido knowing him better. "I don't want to be a bother..." "No bother. I wouldn't feel right leaving you here. And you can call the station from my place, to see when your brother is getting back." He would look at her, study her as she considered his offer, and then he would grin. "At least you'll save a quarter for the phone call." She would purse her lips in thought, and wrinkle her nose as she weighed her options. He had gotten quite fond of that cute look of hers. "Okay," she would say, finally, at which point his insides would flip. But he would smile at her and escort her back to the apartment, trying his best not to look at her legs or any other part of her while he drove. They would make idle chit-chat about the latest movies or some other nonsense, and he would try his best to be an impartial gentleman, up to the point when he would enter the apartment building and his mind would start screaming at him: What do you think you're doing? Are you insane?! Her brother is Chris Redfield, the best marksman on the force! If he finds out about this, he's going to use you for target practice! And he's going to get all of his department buddies to help him! Leon would fumble for his keys, first putting the wrong one in the lock, and then announcing to her, "Uh, wrong key." Idiot. Through some twist of fate, he would drop the keys on the floor. He would swallow, hard, trying to regain his composure, and reach for them at his feet. And then he would feel it: her hand on his shoulder, drifting to his waist as he stood up and faced her, at once calm if a little confused. Claire would move up closer to him, joining him on his step, smiling lightly at him. "Hey, relax, huh? You're so jittery." Her body would be close, very close, so close, in fact, it would make him heady with desire. And he would look deep into those wide, grey eyes and drown in them, and pull her toward him, and kiss her firmly, all of his anxiety gone. Oh, fuck the department. His mind would remember what came next in a blur of fiery kisses and seeking hands, clumps of clothes left forgotten on the floor in a path leading to his bed. He would tease and please her in every way she wanted, his body a slave to her wildest little whim. He would lavish her skin with tiny nips and languorous kisses, reacting to her slightest moan or shudder. They wouldn't speak; the only sound to be heard would be their own sighs and gasps, and the dull groan of the bed beneath them as they moved. And then their bodies would come together so perfectly, with only the finest sheen of sweat between them, that he would honestly believe that there was nothing else in the world besides the two of them. Finally exhausted, they would sleep, Claire wrapped in his arms and Leon listening to the low rhythm of her breath. And it would be then that he would realize, without question, that they were meant to be this way: together. "Psst! Leon." Snapped out of his reverie, Leon looked across the aisle, to see Rebecca gesturing to him. "What is it?" "You'd better wake up Sleeping Beauty before she misses dinner." Rebecca giggled, pointing at Claire. "I won't miss anything." Claire responded, her eyes still closed. Then she opened her eyes and turned to Rebecca with a smile. Rebecca chuckled. "I'm just watching out for you." She put her hands up in mock-surrender and turned back to her magazine again. Leon said softly, "I thought you were asleep." Claire snickered at him playfully. "Your arm's too hard to be a pillow." The lock of hair that he had tucked behind her ear had fallen forward again, but she let it stay in her eyes, as if to prove a point. "Something bothering you?" she asked. Leon brought his hand close to her face. He was about to brush the hair away again, but at the last moment, he flicked it away with his fingers teasingly. "I'm just watching out for you, too." He stared at her for a long moment, unable to take his eyes away from hers. Then, he added with a grin, "Somebody has to."
5 - DavidDavid Trapp chewed slowly on his First Class steak dinner, as he thought of home. His plan was to drop off the team at his parents' old place in Knebworth, in the English countryside, and then travel into London to pick up some supplies. Hopefully, they would have the luxury of a few days' rest in England before heading off to Austria. David's preferred method of travel was by automobile, since it was the most versatile. Caught on a train or plane would subject them all to the whims of others; David liked to be in control of a situation whenever possible. He looked around him, at his small but tightly-knit team. Rebecca Chambers, in the seat beside him, had gone back to reading her novel as she picked at her salad. She was young, nearly half his age, but he admired her for her courage and tenacity. He had also noticed that she had been favoring him with long, endearing looks lately that belied a more-than-friendly interest in him. While the attention was flattering, David knew she was just too young for him. Besides, one failed almost-marriage had turned him off to romantic encounters. It had been before he joined the S.T.A.R.S., before he had even moved over to the States. He had spent nearly three years of his life waiting to marry Angela Roston, only to discover that her work - and his - took too much precedence. His sour attitude regarding their inauspicious parting was what had driven him to relocate to America. At the time, he couldn't stand the thought of staying anywhere near her, for fear that the old feelings, as well as other things, would rise up again. Now, it seemed ironic that he would have to seek her out; the last time he had seen her, she had very clearly told him to bugger himself. Despite himself, David was looking forward to seeing Angela again. The last he had heard, Angela was working for MI5, and a contact in the British Security Service would come in handy with his own investigation regarding Umbrella. More than that, though, he found that he started to miss the company of a woman. He was getting older, and though the prospect of retirement seemed very far off, he wasn't as young as he used to be, either. Even John Andrews, his comrade from the Exeter S.T.A.R.S., was the better part of ten years his junior. And the third man on their team, Leon Kennedy, was little more than a boy compared to David himself. While he still considered himself to be physically fit, it had been a long time since David had taken an interest in how the feminine gender perceived him. Work had dominated his life for the last several years, and the crusade against Umbrella looked like it had no end in sight. Every time they thought they had won, or at least made strides toward success, the corporation would spit in their faces and shove them down to the bottom rung of the ladder. It made David extremely frustrated. John had once told him: "The way to forget about your own problems for a while is to focus on someone else's." Deciding to skip over Rebecca for the moment, David turned his attention to John. John Andrews had always prided himself on looking good and impressing the ladies. David knew it irked him to no end to not have a lady to impress at the moment. He had never stayed in a relationship for too long, mostly because they tended to get boring for him after a while. John favored the early, exciting stages of love (or whatever he called it), to the more sedentary calm of a long-standing relationship. It never seemed to make him very happy, but he also didn't worry about it. He lived day to day, and to hell with tomorrow. David admired that, to a certain extent. David thought briefly about directing Rebecca in John's direction. Rebecca could use the sexual confidence, and John could use the distraction. But then, of course, David would have to deal with their relationship ending, and that was one hurdle he had no interest in facing. No, better to let 'Becca find someone on her own, and let John to go about his normal, merry way. That being said, David turned his attention to the other two members of the team: Leon Kennedy and Claire Redfield. At the moment, Leon was leaning over Claire's shoulder, trying to direct her on how to play one of those handheld video games. Claire pushed him away with her upper arm, saying that she knew what she was doing, when David wondered if she really did. Not about the game; Claire had a natural affinity for mechanics and computers. Rather, David was concerned that she might not realize how obvious her attraction to Leon was. Over recent weeks, both Leon and Claire had played at flirting, and it was starting to distract everyone. Rebecca kept her eye on them because she was naturally curious, and John was interested because he wanted to see just how far they would go. As for himself, David just wanted to make sure that they didn't get too wrapped up in their own affair to forget their overarching mission. As he watched them bicker, though, he had to admit that they made a charming couple. Voyeurism had never really fascinated David, but in the more boring moments preparing for this trip, he was surprised to find himself imagining what it would be like to leave his own personal hang-ups out of a relationship, and just sit back and watch for a while. Everyone on his team could be considered attractive, even by fickle popular standards. It made the whole fantastic thing much more enjoyable: nothing more lovely than two - or three, or even four - bodies pressed against each other, moving in time to some secret, primal rhythm. John was probably the most physically intimidating of them, with his girth and stature, but David knew that he also had a delicate touch. A man like John couldn't handle volatile explosives without having masterful control. Though he had never seen any evidence to be certain (more pity that), he thought that John would show equal gentility and care to either young woman in his company. Rebecca was almost John's exact opposite: petite where he was large; fair where he was dark; fragile where he was brash. She would come to the group with hesitation, and hushed misgivings on her lips. But misgivings could be kissed and caressed away, by John, or Leon, or even Claire. There was something deliciously forbidden about the thought of Claire and Rebecca together. One the healer, the other the warrior. They were similar in looks, enough to give a stranger pause: in the body, and the color of the hair. They would come together like mirror images of each other, as if one were kissing herself. David felt a delightful rush of excitement as he thought about it. John might sit back and enjoy the view, too, with his appreciation for beautiful women. But David was fairly certain that Leon wouldn't let Rebecca have all of the fun. Leon's lean form was almost as nice a complement for Claire as Rebecca. Their bodies would come together like long-lost lovers, her soft curves fondling his firmer lines. Tumbling to the soft ground in a moving embrace, they would couple there, devouring each other in wild abandon. Fearful of losing her own momentum, and their interest, Rebecca would pull Leon's head away for a kiss, and John would mimic her action with Claire. Turning their attention to their new partners, Leon and Claire would part, briefly, with lustful promises on their wet lips. The quartet would play for a while, kisses exchanged for moans and lovebites exchanged for laughter. Then they would return to their original partners, and David would watch the dance start again, and the world would shake. No, that wasn't right. David shook his head, breaking out of his daydream. That wasn't his world shaking, that was the plane. Overhead, the captain's voice sounded tinny but comforting: "Folks, we're coming up on our approach to Heathrow Airport. It's a chilly fifty-four degrees, with overcast skies, and the local time is ten forty-one. We'd like to thank you for flying with us today, and we hope you enjoy your stay in London, or wherever your final destination may be, and we look forward to serving you again. Flight attendants, prepare cabin for arrival." David hadn't realized how long he'd been daydreaming. The flight attendant came by and picked up what was left of his dinner and drink, and tossed them into a bag. She told him to fasten his seatbelt, which he did, and she gave him a smile, which seemed much warmer and more friendly than it had before his little fantasy soiree. In fact, everything looked more inviting, now. Maybe there was something to John's credo of thinking about other people's problems. He glanced across at his teammates, who looked both relieved and excited. Soon, London, then Austria, and Umbrella. ...But first, maybe a break for all of them to get to know each
other better. |
|
End
|