Mile High Club

Author: Wendy
Email: wendy@immortalbliss.co.uk
Disclaimer: Everything BtVS or Angel related is Joss Whedon's baby.
Pairing: B/A entirely.
Rating: NC-17 for explicit sexual situations.
Distribution: BA_Fluff and CBAU mailing lists. It will be housed at my site http://www.immortalbliss.co.uk/lca but here's home for the time being.
Summary: Three years post "Chosen", Angel and Buffy take a vacation to Hawaii but discover Angel has a small fear of flying. Fluff and smut ensue.
Spoilers: Anything up to and including Chosen of BtVS and Angel's season finale are fair game, but nothing is explicitly spoiled.

AN: This is a one-off ficlet which I had the idea for while stuck in a plane, encountering my own fear of flying. It is fluffy but hopefully not sickeningly so! *g* Enjoy...

Mile High Club


Finally, grouched Angel to himself. After what had seemed like hours of waiting in the awful departure lounge, his arms bogged down with last minute bargains Buffy had just had to purchase from the airport shops, they were finally boarding. It was a relief. That was until he realised he had never been on a plane before, that he had never been that high up in the air before. Then the nerves had started and right then and there if he could have faced a ravenous pack of hell hounds instead of boarding this plane, he would have. But he could feel the gentle pressure of Buffy’s hand in his, a reminder that whatever he experienced in life, she would be by his side. After all, they had survived this morning.

It had all started happily enough. Angel had diligently arrived at the airport exactly 4 hours before their flight and checked in their luggage. Then Buffy had seen the airport mall and her eyes had widened in glee. What had followed had been a shopping blitz which left Angel in no doubt that if there was any such thing as a shopping slayer, Buffy would have that job too. He had played the pack horse to her many bags, and tried to stifle every desire in his body to get the hell out of there, but when she had been about to enter about the a-millionth clothes store that day, something in Angel had snapped. His face had given way to an exasperated scowl he had long fought to hide. Then she had looked at him, her mouth an adorable pout as she had pleaded, "Just one more, baby". Of course, he hadn’t been able to resist, and the next thing he knew the store clerk was ringing up a small fortune on his credit card for a designer dress Angel himself had insisted she buy after she had spent what seemed an eternity deliberating over it.

Then they had returned to the departure lounge, Buffy happily spent and Angel gloomily considering how long it would take to pay off his card. His patience already wearing thin, he was not sure how much more he could stand of those hard bolted down seats on his butt, or the group of male college students on spring break who were leering drunkenly at Buffy. If it had not been for the playful glint in her eye and the slight seductive wriggle of her rear against his groin, as she felt the slight growl of jealousy from his lips, he think he would have bare handedly ripped their heads off there and then for daring to look at her. Still he couldn’t blame them. Even with her hair scraped back in a messy pony, with barely any make up and her tiny body clothed in loose khaki pants and a vest top, his wife looked stunningly beautiful. Yes, his wife. Even as he thought those words, a brilliant smile lit up his usually slightly brooding face. After all those years of pain and separation, he and Buffy had finally made it. And now they were on their honeymoon, about to enjoy two weeks of perfect sun, sea, sand and well, hot monkey sex, he grinned devilishly to himself, in Hawaii.

It had taken three years of Buffy "baking" as she liked to refer to it before they had wed, while he had done some baking of his own. While Buffy had travelled around Europe, experiencing the normal (well as normal as a slayer could manage) life with Dawn she had always wanted, Angel had continued his battle against evils many varied, complicated by his new position as head of Wolfram and Hart, LA. Then after a few apocalypses and countless fights with demons, vampires and the like, the big old humanity had finally hit him, leaving Angel with a pulse. The prophecy had finally been fulfilled and he had indeed shanshued.

Determined this time not to spoil his chances of happiness as a human, he had wasted no time in tracking Buffy down and of course making the most mind blowing love to her. As he had basked in her arms in the aftermath, he was more than a little disheartened by her post coital revelation that although she loved him, she was still baking, no near ready to be enjoyed by anyone seriously. Grudgingly accepting that she needed more time, what followed was a sporadic yet awe inspiring series of sexual explosions that would have left the writers of the Kama Sutra impressed. Eventually realising they were spending more time together in bed and the various other places their lovemaking occurred at, rather than apart, Angel tentatively suggested that perhaps they could try dating again. For a moment Buffy had not answered and he thought his heart would stop beating (again) from the agony of rejection, when finally she had erupted into giggles and announced, "I’m cookies!" After yet more blissful sex, he had proposed and she had joyfully accepted. A beautiful, simple ceremony in the gardens of the Hyperion had followed, a mere month after his proposal, attended by the couple’s close friends and family. It had been a perfect day.

It was upon those lovely memories of yesterday Angel was now focusing, his legs feeling weak and unsteady as he made his way up the steps to the plane after Buffy. How had she ever convinced him that a vacation would be the perfect way to celebrate their nuptials, and why had he ever thought he would enjoy flying? That was the real problem. As Buffy turned around to look at him, a slight crease of concern marring her features, he immediately felt guilty. "You okay?" she asked him gently.

After everything she had been through, Buffy deserved the perfect vacation and he would do everything within his power to ensure that was exactly what happened.
"I’m fine, sweetheart," he bluffed, in as reassuring a tone as he could muster.

Seemingly accepting of his answer, she trotted up the steps, flashing the cabin crew a smile as she had flitted past, excitedly waiting for Angel to join her in the plane. Then it had been Angel’s turn. He stood poised at the top of the steps, his eyes fixed fearfully on the wings of the plane. Then the male flight attendant had startled him out of his lapse, fixing on him an appreciative grin as he had made a polite but firm request. "Sir, I’d like to welcome you to this flight. Would you like to board now so you can take your seat?"

Nodding automatically, Angel had nervously taken those few steps onto the plane, his heart pounding in his chest. Was this how it felt to face a fate worse than death? Angel could never really imagine. Before his shanshu, he had built a reputation as the unflappable, unstoppable vampire with a soul; now as a mortal he had problems boarding a plane. The flight attendant was now placing a steadying hand on Angel’s arm, which rather disconcertingly for Angel, seemed to linger longer than strictly necessary. Just then Buffy intervened, looking rather confused as to what the hold up was. "Come on, Angel," she prodded him a little grumpily. "Let’s find our seats."

As Buffy grabbed hold of Angel and tugged him along the gangway, she and the flight attendant shared a look. "Don’t worry, I’ll keep a special eye on him during the flight," the attendant reassured her.

"I’ll bet you will," Buffy muttered under her breath, not missing the special eye he was currently keeping on her husband’s butt. Following the attendant’s line of vision, she decided that it was well worth the view. Angel had the most delectable butt, even in his loose jeans, but it was all the better unclothed and cupped in her hands. From now on, that was a sight she knew was reserved for her eyes and hers alone, which was really best for the safety of the majority of the female and apparently some of the male population too. When it came to Angel, Buffy was renowned for her jealous and possessive streak. Being a slayer, that really didn’t bode well for any other interested party.

Angel gazed uncertainly at Buffy as they finally stopped at their seats, his hand resting uneasily on the locker overhead. Taking in his hesitancy, Buffy breezed over it, hustling him to place their bags in the lockers, but even then he would not take his seat. "Angel?" she queried, staring at his shaking hands.

"I, uh, don’t like window seats," he explained lamely, not quite meeting her eye.

Now beginning to realise the true problem, Buffy gave him a gentle smile. "That’s okay. You can take the aisle," she told him, easing herself into the seat while he stood awkwardly. Then an idea blossomed in her mind and she gave him a wickedly lustful sidelong glance, leaning slightly forward so her thin cotton top revealed the lacy edges of her bra. "You know, we are on our honeymoon…" She watched as her husband took an involuntary deep gulp of air and licked his lips, and finally sat down beside her. "And I have lots of ideas for how we can spend our time," she whispered seductively, her hand grazing his upper thigh.

"Buffy, I, uh," he blustered, lost for words as his wife’s fingers began to trace light circles across his thigh. "We can’t."

Slowly sliding her hands across him, skating over his groin, she reached for his seatbelt and fastened it securely. "Who says?," she replied saucily, pleased at the way her words caused Angel’s face to melt into soft sighs of desire, to the point where he didn’t even seem to register the roar of the engine or the bumpy ride as the plane taxied to the runway. Then again, she thought that might have something to do with the way her hand was resting on his thigh, every so often squeezing to remind him that there would be more to come later. "I hear they have very spacious bathrooms on this type of plane," she commented casually as the plane rocketed down the runway, taking off. Although Angel was shaking, she was certain it was for an entirely different reason if the short little pants he was making were any indication. She had seen her husband in a state of arousal quite a few times, but rarely had it been unfulfilled. Working him up was the perfect antidote to his flying phobia. For a brief moment she considered how a career as a therapist or life coach might have been a possibility but then swiftly dismissed it when she recalled her rather unorthodox methods. Not exactly ethical. Luckily she still had the whole train the slayers gig in her favour and an incredibly resourceful nature!

Finally the seatbelt sign went off, and Buffy felt a slight skein of relief go through her. Their ascension had had its fair share of turbulence and she had not been entirely sure how much further she could have gone in distracting Angel within the rather public confines of the plane, without being brought up on indecency charges upon landing. At least now she would have a chance to put into operation stage two of Calm Angel.

"Feeling better now, baby?" she questioned him lightly, her fingers stroking through his slightly tufty hair.

Then and there she realised her mistake. By removing her hand from his thigh, she had effectively given him no further distraction. She saw Angel’s face go into a sort of shocked silence as he gazed out of the window, his jaw slack as he took in the great fluffy clouds they were cruising above. "They’re clouds," he stuttered, clutching the arm rest tightly. "We’re above clouds."

Shutting the cover of the window quickly, she turned to him and put on her brightest smile. "Hey, I wonder what we’ll be getting to eat," she burbled, trying to prise his fingers from the arm rest. "Yoghurt would be nice."

Just then the male flight attendant appeared, his face a shining cushion of sympathy as he looked at Angel’s less than relaxed posture. "How are you doing, sir?" he asked Angel, his voice gentle and to Buffy’s ears, more than a little lilting.

Placing her hand possessively over Angel’s, she smiled tightly at the flight attendant, answering before Angel could get a word in edgeways. "Peachy. Right Angel?"

"Uh-," Angel began, looking bewildered at Buffy.

"Yep, he’s fine," she confirmed, raising her chin defiantly.

Backing away, his hands held up in a conciliatory manner, the attendant gave one last ditch effort. "Good, but I’ll keep checking back. Just let me know if there’s anything you need, sir, anything at all."

As the attendant moved away to see to another passenger, Buffy felt the full force of Angel’s testy glare in her face. "Buffy, what was that?" he demanded, for a minute forgetting about his crisis.

"That was me looking after my husband," she responded sweetly, leaning over to give him a gentle kiss. "And this is me going to the bathroom." As Buffy went to stand up, Angel looked panic stricken, remaining seated. "Uh, Angel, I need to get by."

He gazed up at her, his face vulnerable and child-like. "But Buffy, I need –" he began, then realised how pathetic he sounded. "I don’t like flying."

Giving him a tiny smile, Buffy jovially quipped, "I would never have guessed." Prodding him to stand, Buffy manoeuvred her way around his powerfully built body, and then playfully slid her hand over his butt. "See you in a few," she winked meaningfully, leaving Angel gasping as she pinched his butt. He felt his groin grow hard and suddenly he had a painfully pressing reason to go to the bathroom too.

Breathing deeply and trying to look as inconspicuous as he could, Angel patiently waited the allotted few minutes Buffy had specified. Absently his fingers drummed the back of the seat in front of him, his gaze firmly fixed to the gangway that led to the bathroom. If he had to wait much longer, he would explode, quite literally. His previously loose jeans were beginning to feel ridiculously tight, the denim chafing him in areas a man really didn’t want to be and he was mentally cursing himself right now for not wearing his boxers. Gods, he was feeling like a teenaged boy, all hot and sweaty in the back of his car with a nervous date. Then that was how it always with Buffy, every time feeling like the first time.

Just then a loud tut interrupted Angel’s thoughts. Looking up he was slightly surprised to see a slightly peeved silver haired man staring at him. "If you would mind not tapping the chair," the older man said curtly, indicating Angel’s fingers which were resting on the seat back.

Removing them quickly, Angel looked appropriately remorseful. "I’m sorry," he mumbled.

As soon as the man had turned back round, Angel stood abruptly, banging his head on the overhead lockers. "Damn," he muttered, rubbing his head as he moved along the gangway. Buffy would be in there right now, her pert breasts barely hidden by her cotton vest, just a lace bra away from his finger tips. He would die if he couldn’t touch her, couldn’t have her right now. So when he nearly collided with the male flight attendant’s beverage trolley, he was less than impressed.

The attendant looked up at Angel brightly, rather taken by the swarthy look of annoyance on Angel’s face. "Oh sir, I see you’re feeling better," the attendant soothed, unconsciously running a hand through his neatly coiffed sandy coloured hair.

"Yes, I’m feeling better," Angel forced out through gritted teeth, images of Buffy groaning against his fingers filling his mind incessantly.

"Well, sir, if I back this trolley up a little, you should be able to make your way past," the attendant offered kindly, shooting an amicable smile to the woman he had just been about to serve.

"Thanks," Angel said quietly, suddenly feeling acutely self-conscious as the eyes of the adjoining passengers, mostly fifty-something women, were eagerly focused upon him as he eased himself past. Then with an embarrassed gulp, his hands flew to his crotch in what he hoped was a subtle gesture. He might have been able to believe that had it not been for the breathy wolf whistles that followed. Red-faced, he made his way to the bathroom, consoling himself with the knowledge that what was to follow was more than worth it.

Taking a deep breath, he lightly knocked on the bathroom door, tentative almost, in case Buffy had changed her mind. However he hoped against all hopes she hadn’t, if he ever wanted to sit comfortably again. Then the door flew open, and he was dragged into the bathroom roughly. As Buffy’s small body pressed against his, flattening him to the door as she kissed him desperately as a woman starved, Angel said a silent thanks to whatever whim of destiny had led him to this woman. He kissed her hungrily back, hands twisting in her long, silky hair which had come loose from its pony, as her hands found their own way to his butt. Oh, he loved her so much.

"You took your time," she murmured between open mouthed kisses, her hands now sliding to his groin. She felt the jolt as her hand slid across the hardened flesh, and ground her body closer. His fingers were now working their way down her shirt, squeezing and kneading her breasts over the lace cups. "Oh, Angel, that feels-," she moaned, throwing her head back as the pleasure from his touch rolled over her. But Angel was not finished. Delving under her bra, he teased and twisted her nipples, as his tongue licked and slid itself against her neck. She leaned heavily against him, needing to be closer. Her hands found their way to his fly and swiftly she unzipped it, allowing her fingers to lightly graze his engorged cock. She heard his gasp, and she gazed up at him.

"Buffy, I can’t wait," he said hoarsely, his face flushed with passion and need.

Tacit understanding passed between them, and her hands pushed down his jeans as he slid her clothes from her lower body. Hoisting herself up onto his hips, his strong hands cupped her butt as he entered her in one powerful thrust. Her eyes locked with his, taking in the moment of their joining, and then she began to move against him. Angel gripped her tighter as he felt her inner muscles clamp around him, her hips matching his slow, gliding thrusts.

"Buffy," he groaned, as she rocked a little harder, feeling all of his self control snap as he slammed into her forcefully. Their bodies knocked into the tiny faucet, Buffy using the leverage to push Angel deeper. "I thought you said these bathrooms were spacious," he quipped, lifting her from the faucet, and pressing her back against the wall.

"Perfect fit," she murmured, her fingers digging into his back as she rode him hard, enjoying the power her position gave her. She felt the quivers of her orgasm begin, as her back scraped against the wall roughly. "Angel, I’m close," she whispered to him breathily, feeling the tension in his body too.

He barely responded, his eyes screwed tightly shut as he pistoned into her wildly, delving into her mouth for rough kisses. He was losing himself in her, his heart, his soul melting into hers as she chanted his name against his chest, her body tipping over into its climax. This was how love was meant to be, this was perfect, perfect, complete. "My Buffy," he cried in reverence, his own climax painfully near. Then as she smiled up at him, panting, sheened in sweat, he lost it and he nuzzled his head against her shoulder as his climax rolled over him.

As they leaned against the door, both breathing heavily, they were startled by a knock upon it. Pulling Buffy to him protectively, Angel glared at the door, fully prepared to injure the person who had dared to interrupt his session with his wife.

"Hello, are you alright in there?" asked a gentle male voice, as the knock came again.

Recognising the voice as the male flight attendant from earlier, Angel cast a baleful look at Buffy. "Not one word," he warned her as he pulled up his jeans, noting the mirth that was beginning to creep across her features.

"One minute," called Buffy defiantly, as she pulled up her own pants and straightened her shirt. Giving Angel a sweet smile, she asked him, "How do I look?"

Taking in her swollen lips and mussed hair, Angel’s answer was the same as ever. "Perfect," he told her, brushing his lips against hers.

"For your sake, mister, I hope that’s the truth," she retorted, opening the door to the amused smirk of the flight attendant.

"Well sir," he commented, glancing coyly at Angel. "I guess you really are feeling better."

His face blazing red, Angel ducked out of the bathroom, avoiding all eye contact with him. Taking Angel’s hand in hers, Buffy turned to give the flight attendant a telling smile. "Best therapy in the world."

Angel shook his head at his wife’s barefaced honesty, unable to believe she could be so unembarrassed at being caught. "Buffy, how can you be so…" he trailed off, unable to phrase what he saw as unimaginable.

She shrugged lightly. "Well, we are on honeymoon," she reminded him playfully, sliding back into her window seat.

Angel sat back down beside her, his brow furrowed as if considering her words, then his mouth quirked into a half grin. "So what do you want to do with the rest of it?"

And the look in her eyes gave him a fair idea.

The End.

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