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Flyboy

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New Zealand was quite a long way from... well, anywhere, Douglas thought. Sixteen hours of flying had worn him out, and his body had no idea what time it was. Douglas rather thought it was evening as the sky outside his hotel window was glowing pink and blue, but maybe that’s just how skies looked in New Zealand, all the time.

Douglas’s least favorite part about long distance flights was trying to fall asleep after. His entire body ached with exhaustion, but he couldn’t turn off, the twin stimuli of tiredness and keyed-upness warring in his head and body.

Douglas had been flying for 30 years, though, so he knew the solution to this particular problem: Porn.

The internet truly was a wonderful invention, Douglas thought as he took his clothes off, grabbing his phone as it fell out of his pocket. The hand not holding his phone migrated to his dick, loosely stroking himself without any real purpose or expectation as he opened up a private browser and started to click around the usual sites.

His brain still couldn’t settle, though. He found himself thinking about the runway choices at Christchurch, about Arthur’s inane questions as they did post takeoff check offs (“Does the wind go in the other direction in New Zealand?”). He clicked on a video, watched two burly men make out for a minute, and then his mind began to wander again, wondering what Carolyn had planned for them, idly replaying the buttons and choices of their last flight, Martin’s fingers gripping the throttle as he landed. His dick, while pleased by the attention, had also not quite decided if it wanted to fully pay attention to the proceedings.

Pornhub Gay clearly wasn’t meeting expectations at the moment, so maybe he needed to try something new. An ad for “Live Cams - Models nearby!” seemed enticing enough, and took him to a new site.

Douglas didn’t really see the point of Live Cams. He didn’t want spontaneity, he wanted professionals who had rehearsed and had standards to maintain, for goodness sake. Some of the boys were cute though, and he clicked on a faceless torso at random. Clicking led to more clicking, and while Douglas found himself mostly intrigued by the absurd usernames, there was something kind of appealing about all these bodies, shamelessly spread out across bedroom floors or plain white sheets, abs clenching and pecs quivering and a truly remarkable variety of toys going in and out.

He lingered for a while on the headless torso of one particular cam boy (what were they supposed to be called? Actors?). “Flyboy” was an utterly ridiculous username, but Douglas wasn’t going to pretend that he didn’t like a well-placed aviation reference, even in his porn. “Flyboy” was attractive, too - wiry but strong looking, with defined shoulders and a sprinkling of freckles down his torso. He wasn’t live at the moment, but there were a bunch of past streams to click on. It seemed Flyboy was reasonably prolific on this site - streams every couple of days, sometimes two a week, but sometimes a few weeks would pass without any new videos.

Douglas’s dick was perking up a bit, and now Douglas was a bit more focused. Flyboy’s own dick was gorgeous, perfectly straight and almost plump, leaking a little bit at the tip as Flyboy’s flyfingers wrapped around it. Flyboy was moaning off screen, little huffs of breath that were remarkably sexy for something so simple. The whole thing was simple - Douglas had seen a couple more complex and intriguing premises in the previews for other streams, but this was just Flyboy jerking himself off on camera. Or, on camera from the neck down.

The setup gave a good view of Flyboy’s whole chest, all the way up to his neck, which was rapidly turning a dusky pink, even red. His nipples were hardening as Douglas watched, stroking himself, pert and stiff as his chest heaved. The man on the screen was panting now, deep gasping breaths that lifted those magnificent shoulders, that emphasized the lines of his ribs, the concavity of his stomach. He was thin, skinny even, but Douglas could see the strength under his skin, the twist of his oblique muscles as Flyboy’s flyforearm bent to grasp his dick. His fingers were long and slender, and he looked like he was squeezing himself hard enough to hurt.

It was really hot, Douglas realized, jacking himself harder. The little puffs of air, the way the man gyrated and twisted himself in different directions, as if seeking out a particular sensation, pushing his hips into his hand, fucking into his fist. Douglas was closer to orgasm than he’d thought, his eyes glued to those tiny glimpses of the man’s cock as it poked between his fingers on the upstroke. Douglas was suddenly desperate to see that cock come. He wanted to see it, he wanted to taste it, to feel that skin, to touch the sticky wetness he could see on the screen.

Flyboy was panting now, moaning almost continuously, moving his hand faster and faster, and Douglas’s hand was speeding up too. Abruptly there was silence, a held breath, and then several things happened at once:

Flyboy said “oh, shit,” out loud, voice deep and resonant, sounding strained.

That gorgeous dick finally exploded, sticky white come coating those long fingers.

Douglas realized he knew that voice, knew exactly who “Flyboy” was.

Douglas came so hard he blacked out.

 

Two and a half hours later, Douglas had:
Many new jokes to make at Martin’s expense
Two orgasms
A worrisomely chafed penis
Some anxiety about Martin’s current lifestyle and income needs
Intimate knowledge of several months of Martin’s activities
An absolutely massive problem.

“Flyboy.” God, it would be.

Now that he, unfortunately, knew what he was looking at, Douglas was able to recognize what had to be the inside of Martin’s bedroom in his horrible student housing, present in the majority of the videos. Drab walls, a very basic bed with a well-loved quilt - that was about it. Flyboy was good at camera angles, had gotten better since his early videos, and his shots revealed almost nothing about where he lived

Douglas knew the camera angles had improved, because he had now watched… all the videos.

All the free ones, at least. It appeared Martin had a premium subscription option, which was almost too much to bear. Douglas couldn’t bring himself to sign up for that, but he wanted to. He really, really wanted to.

Some of the shots in the videos he’d watched, however, were most definitely not Martin’s room. They looked like they were in hotel rooms. HOTEL ROOMS. That meant that Martin was doing… this… while they were on the road. It meant that, on several particular nights, while Douglas was eating sushi or talking on the phone to his daughter or half-heartedly scrolling through the channels on the hotel cable television, Martin was mere feet away, moaning into a camera. Or licking his fingers lasciviously. Or all manner of things Douglas could now perfectly picture.

Was Martin recording right now?

Douglas sighed, and put his phone down. This was a real problem. And aside from Douglas’s unexpected reaction, which he likely needed to examine, this was also Martin’s life, and Douglas was more than a bit concerned about him.

From all appearances, Martin enjoyed being Flyboy. The videos made it seem as if he enjoyed it quite a bit. But that was Martin’s job, in this situation - to look like he enjoyed it. People didn’t turn to sex work if there were other options for them, Douglas was pretty sure. He knew Martin was skint, knew he worked hard and never had enough money, but had it gotten that bad? Was this the only recourse Martin had?

And worst of all, how could Douglas talk to Martin about it? He was worried, and he wanted to check in. But this was… the very definition of private. And admitting Douglas knew would be admitting how he knew, and that would be horribly awkward, not to mention Martin was likely to deny it, or clamp down. They were coworkers, for god’s sake.

A REALLY massive problem, indeed.

It was very late, now, and Douglas did still have to fly to Christchurch in six hours. He really needed to go to sleep. One more video, one more orgasm, and then he would pass out, really he would.

Douglas felt like he was watching someone else’s fingers as they clicked through rows of videos on the site, settling on one in particular. Even if he did talk to Martin about this whole thing, there was no way Douglas could tell him about having watched this video. Or having watched it twice, or how Douglas’s fingers were wrapped around his rock-solid cock, again, and how Douglas’s mouth was open and his breathing was getting faster. On the screen, Martin’s face remained out of the frame, but he was talking, words slipping out like it pained him to say them, “God,” and “fuck” and more. The camera was focused on Martin’s groin, on his fingers rubbing and stroking his cock, without quite taking it out of the pale pink lacey underwear he was wearing. The lace pulled against his hips, against the bones of his pelvis, even as his cock was dark and red within it.

“Oh, oh fuck, please,” Martin said, and Douglas groaned, out loud, alone in his hotel room. How loud had that been? Could Martin hear him in his room next door? Fuck.

On screen, Martin’s breathing had gotten faster, and there was a dark spot forming in the pink lace as he leaked pre cum.

“Please, daddy,” Martin whimpered, and that was it. Something hot and dark rushed up Douglas’s spine, something that made him feel both warm and guilty all over. Douglas squeezed his eyes shut, but he could still hear Martin’s sobs, his pleading moans, another “daddy” and “please” and “I’ll be good.” Douglas came before Martin did, but he didn’t fall asleep until the video clicked off.