Plane Fantasy

I look out of the window at the clouds below and sigh as I come to the rapid conclusion that there isn't even any scenery to distract me from my anxious boredom.

There is only one other passenger on the small plane, sitting across the aisle from me and my bored gaze wanders over to him in the vague hope that he might be bored too. He's as engrossed in his own reports as I was in mine, concentration furrowing an otherwise smooth brow. He's dressed in expensively understated casual black jeans with a cream jumper that sort of clings as he shifts, hinting at the well-built form beneath.

I blush as he cocks an eyebrow, a twinkling blue eye catching me red-handed staring at him, and he smiles slightly, a dimple peeking from his cheek. I look away sharply, suddenly finding the clouds below immensely interesting as I try not to die from mortification.

The plane lurches, but I virtually ignore it, as accustomed as I am to commuting regularly by air. I glance over to my companion, and note the hint of concern clouding his features. I overcome my earlier embarrassment, and inform him that it was probably turbulence and that he shouldn't worry.

He looks at me in surprise and mutters something about not feeling right. A second later, the plane lurches again. I'm still not worried, but his concern turns to outright worry. He unstraps himself from the seat and glides forward, through the door into the cockpit.

A few moments later, he stumbles back out as the plane lurches again, this time falling at an alarming rate. He informs me that the pilot is dead and that the plane has been sabotaged.

I'm not one to panic, so I reach calmly under my seat for the lifejacket that is supposedly there. It's not. He's rummaging around, looking through lockers and storage bins. I ask if I can help, and he responds no, that he's looking for parachutes. I cast my eye around from where I sit, panic now starting to claw at my insides, though I ruthlessly quash it. I see something with straps hidden under the steward's seat and leave my seat to drag it out. I call to him and he smiles when he sees my prize.

He rummages a little longer before coming to the conclusion that there is only one parachute. He tells me to put it on and I do as he starts working on the emergency hatch.

I ask him what he will do, and he says nothing, just looks at me calmly, a bitter half-smile on his full lips.

He is willing to die so that I may live.

I suggest that we share, and he shakes his head, telling me the fall would be too fast and probably kill us both. His voice is hard and determined, his quaint accent becoming more pronounced with each word.

I could not live with myself if I knew I had abandoned someone to their death, so I tell him that either we share the chute, or I stay on the plane. He seems startled and I repeat myself, looking him straight in the eye.

He nods, wedging himself as he pushes the door out.

The immediate release of pressure and air leaving the plane almost takes me with it, dislodging my firm grip on the seat. Somehow I manage to catch hold of the seat opposite, straining to keep myself inside the cabin. A firm arm around my waist gives me support and I manage to brace my feet.

He climbs up me until he able to put his arms under my armpits, wedging his hands beneath the parachute and over my shoulders and burying his head in my neck. He tells me to let go whenever I am ready.

I'm never going to be ready for this.

I let go.

Bruising impact is followed by rushing wind and we are outside, falling... I can see the world above and the sky below, perceptions distorted.

He's shouting something, I don't know, I can't hear past the cold, howling wind. Something... rip...

Ripcord.

I fumble for it, trapped between our bodies pressed tightly together. I almost succumb to the panic that tries viciously to overwhelm me, but I find the cord and pull it. I scream in pain as the jerk of the canopy opening makes the straps cut cruelly into me. Tears of relief spring to my eyes only to be swept away by the wind as everything turns the right way up and we float gently towards the earth.

I feel his grip slipping, clawing into my back as he tries to hold on. I wrap my arms around his neck and my legs around his slim waist, determined not to lose him. The plane crashes down in a puff of smoke on the horizon and I pray that no more lives were lost.

He moves his head, trying to see the ground and I shift my arm to hold his shoulder. He looks up at me and says something, smiling a little, and though the words are whipped away, I can read his lips as he tells me I'm doing good. The only reply I can give him is a smile of my own.

The ground starts to rush up at us, and he slips down to my waist. I scream, but he shakes his head, smiling, reassurance in his eyes and pushing my legs from their grip around him. Not knowing what else to do, I obey and he holds on to me, crushing my hips with his powerful grip.

As I prepare to land, he lets go, and I see him plummet. I do not have the time to see what has become of him as the earth finally arrives to slap me in the face...

...Something is tickling my cheek and although I raise a hand to brush it away it persists. With a groan I force my eyes open to find myself hidden in a cream coloured cloud which undulates irregularly, dipping to caress my skin as the breeze catches it. Memory returns with a jolt as I recognise it as parachute silk, and that realisation drives me to push myself upright to try and free myself from its suddenly claustrophobic folds.

A wave of dizziness, accompanied by the complaints of what seems like a whole host of bruised and aching muscles and joints, halts me briefly. But the imprint on my body and mind of his smiling calmness and the pressure of his hands and arms around my hips just before he let me go is a compelling anodyne and I scramble from the enfolding fabric to emerge blinking into the remains of the day.

While I have been languishing there the cloud cover that had shrouded my view of the ground during our journey has dissipated, and the sun is shining warmly down from the still hazy sky. As I look quickly around, trying to get my bearings, I spot in the distance a plume of smoke rising into the air which only serves to remind me of our close call. Ours, not just mine.

That thought starts me looking around with more focus, taking in the rock strewn vastness of my surroundings, small scrubby looking trees and plants eking out an existence amongst the granite extrusions along with the coarse grass which covers the dried earth. But no signs of life.

I clamber painfully onto a car-sized rock nearby and strain for sight of my mystery man, calling out as loudly as I can to try and attract his attention but aware that given the speed we were travelling and how far he'd still had to drop unaided he is more than likely unable to respond.

Eventually I stop, sliding down to sit on the boulder, taking stock of my own situation while I try to come up with a plan. On the plus side it seems that, apart from nagging headache which is probably related to a minor bump behind my ear, and a veritable army of bruises I don't even want to start thinking about, I've actually managed to walk away from the disaster relatively unscathed.

My clothing, however, is another matter. My trousers, one half of an outrageously expensive Versace suit bought especially for the kind of power meeting I was on my way to attend, have come apart down one side seam under the overwhelming strain of my co-jumper's fight for survival, and the knees are ripped. My equally expensive silk blouse has suffered a similar fate, one sleeve hanging away from my shoulder and the collar torn away. My jacket, my handbag - in which I carry around most of my life and my briefcase which contains everything else of current importance have all gone down in the plane, and I'm left feeling horribly alone and frightened in this unknown land.

An alien noise draws me away from my introspection - a whisper of sound on the breeze - and glad of the distraction I slide down from the rock to follow it. My high-heeled boots are not designed for this terrain and I stumble constantly as I move towards what I can now discern to be a human voice. The gully which suddenly appears ahead of me takes me by surprise and I almost fall into it, catching myself on the low branches of a small tree as I peer down. My heart lurches with pleasure at the sight which greets me; looking up at me, a broad dimpled smile replacing his steely and determined look as he sees me, is my fellow passenger.

My delight at finding him alive makes me incautious and I lean forward too far, until with an unbecoming shriek I find myself sliding down the rough side of the gully, my arms and legs flailing wildly for stability until I am brought up short by my collision with something hard yet yielding. Strong familiar arms close around me and I hear him grunt as my body impacts with his, tumbling us both backwards to the grass-covered ground to land in a tangled heap together. My arms come up instinctively to wrap around his neck, and I'm acutely aware of the heat I can feel flooding through me from each point of contact I have with him.

I open eyes I didn't realise I'd closed to find his face a bare inch from mine and time seems to stop as our gazes meet, blue encountering green. His arms have tightened around me, gathering me to him, and I'm frightened almost to breathe, not wanting to break the moment, to lose the closeness and be alone again. I move my head almost imperceptibly closer to his, needing reassurance and more and, after long moments during which I try unsuccessfully to read the undercurrents of emotion sliding below the surface of his eyes, he lowers his mouth the short distance to gently caress my lips with his, tongue flicking out along their surface. His touch sends a shudder of some kind of release through me, bringing me back to reality, reminding me where we are and what has happened, and I pull away with a guilty start, trying to suppress the tiny voice asking me what on earth I think I'm doing letting him get away like that.

He levers himself to a sitting position, expression somewhat bemused, and asks if I'm OK. I ask him the same question, running my eyes over him checking for obvious injury. His cream jumper is now little more than a tattered rag, huge rips in the fabric revealing expanses of smooth tanned flesh - albeit marred here and there by scrapes and bruises - which just feeds that tiny voice with more ammunition to fire at me. I can see muscles rippling across his abdomen as he shifts position, leaning forward to rub tentatively at his obviously swollen right knee through the long tear in the black jeans, and I realise what prevented him climbing out of this gully. I find myself staring at him, dragging my eyes with difficulty away from where his powerful thighs stretch the black fabric to concentrate on his face as he speaks.

Sabotage. He's talking about sabotage and I remember with a surge of fright his calm words on the plane, the unemotional way he told me of the dead pilot and the reason for our predicament. But why, I ask him, the unaccustomed feelings of near hysteria welling up through me making my voice rise, who would want to do something like that, there's certainly no one who would want to harm me. Or is there? As he continues to watch me with those unreadable eyes, now more grey than blue, a horrible thought strikes me, that just maybe this deal I am in the middle of finalising could have upset some people to the extent they might want we out of the way. That just serves to increase my growing panic, but I feel his hand reach out to gently pat and stroke my arm, his touch settling me as I imagine one would settle a highly strung horse, and that image brings a self-deprecating smile to my lips as I take deep breaths and focus on him again.

He apologises, saying it was more likely to be him the saboteurs wanted dead. My quizzical look elicits the information that he's in the security business, but I get the impression from his underlying seriousness and concern that there is more to it than that.

I try to reassure him, and at the same time myself, reminding him that there will be a search party out as soon as the plane becomes overdue, that all we have to do is wait, but that just produces a small smile at what he obviously sees as my naivety. A small tendril of indignation starts to twist through me, joined by another of unease at the thought we may still be in trouble.

He points out that we'll have landed well away from where the plane crashed, and that as it had been off course anyway it will take even longer to locate it and then us. I feel an unreasonable surge of irritation at him for being so damn logical instead of telling me what I want to hear, turning to downright annoyance as he continues, suggesting that even if rescue arrives quickly caution is needed. It's possible, he says, that those who downed the plane may want to be certain they were successful, and with only one body in the wreckage they could no doubt use the pretence of a search mission to finish what they started.

The anger drains from me, returning me to that state of aloneness and fear which must be clear on my face because I hear him shift closer to give my shoulders a comforting squeeze with one strong arm, telling me it's OK, help is on the way. I look up into his eyes for confirmation, seeing them bright with understanding and assurance, and I can hear the little voice start its nagging again as I breathe in his musky scent.

He fumbles in his jeans pocket, pulling out a small black object that magically turns into a phone. He explains that although he hasn't been able to make voice contact with his... company (and I'm sure he was going to say something else) because of the terrain, they will be able to track him through its built-in locator signal. But, he says - and why is there always a but? - we need to move, at least out of this confined space, up to some higher ground where the signal will be easier to pick up, and even then they are unlikely to be able to reach us before morning, which would mean spending a night out here. He smiles challengingly as he says this, eyes sparkling with laughter and dimples making a welcome reappearance, and I find myself smiling back at him.

He turns his attention to getting himself on his feet again, but it's obvious from his face that knee is not going to bear his weight willingly. I stand too and offer him support, taking pleasure in the pressure of his warm hand through the thin silk of my blouse as he steadies himself, surveying the steep sides of the gully and the way it meanders off in both directions. He points up the narrow rock-cluttered defile, indicating we might have more luck getting out up there, and we set off, his arm resting across my shoulders and mine wrapped willingly around his firmly muscled waist. I can feel he's trying not to lean too heavily on me but I'm happy to be so close to him, enjoying the pliability of his soft skin under my fingers.

What seems like centuries later, however, I'm beyond caring where we are or who I'm with. We'd eventually managed to find a way out of the gully after many false starts and struck out across the rough grass following the sun's path. Despite binding the remains of his jumper round his knee to give it some support, he's found the going tough and we've taken regular tumbles as one or other of us trips and pulls the other to the ground with them. My boots have become awkwardly shaped flats as one of the heels broke and he had to remove the other to match. I'm hot, tired, aching, frustrated and desperate to rest, but he urges me on, indicating a rocky outcrop somewhere on the next planet, promising me we can rest when we get there - will have to stop because the sun is dipping towards the horizon. His tone is soothing regardless of the fact he must be feeling the strain of this continuous effort as well, and he catches my gaze with his to confirm my willingness and ability to carry on. I take another deep breath and nod, clasping him more firmly round the waist, catching hold of the hand hanging from my shoulder in mine, taking strength from the power and certainty of him as we start walking again.

We reach our target just in time as darkness falls abruptly and I'm grateful for the fact we are not still struggling across the grassland in the near total blackness. Close to weeping with fatigue and emotional overload, I lower him to the grass-covered ground in the shelter of a jumbled pile of huge boulders, dropping down beside him, asleep almost before I realise he has caught me and brought my head to the pillow of his shoulder...

I wake to the sound of quiet breathing beside me, finding that as we slept I've moved closer into the circle of his arms, my face nestled into the base of his neck, hand flung out to lay against the warmth of his bare chest. Above us I can see a myriad of stars filling the dark dome of the heavens, and I sigh in contentment as I move my head a little to listen to the steady pulsing of his heartbeat, fingers drifting across his smooth skin.

I hear a change in his breathing and realise my movements have woken him. He shifts slightly against me, hands sliding across my back to draw me closer as I shiver in the cool night air, rubbing gently at the flesh he can reach through the ripped silk. His touch is suddenly electric, starting up that little voice again, and this time I'm not sure I want to fight it. He must sense my dilemma because his hands pause and I can almost feel him holding his breath. I raise my head from his shoulder to look up at him, seeing the starlight glittering back at me from his eyes as he returns my gaze, fires held at bay as he awaits my decision.

The choice is already made, though. A raging furnace of emotion starts to burn inside me as I bring my mouth up towards his, searching for his lips with mine, using my tongue to part them so I can explore, as I can feel him exploring me. I reach to caress his jaw, run my fingers through his hair, drawing his face closer to mine, delighting in the sensation of his hands pulling me hard against the passion rising in him, and I am soaring above the clouds once more, falling, but this time with no parachute required...

The End