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From: versutiae@aol.com (Versutiae)
Subject: REPOST: "Boarding Pass" (M/F) by Cynthia
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"Boarding Pass"

by Cynthia

Versutiae@aol.com


* Archived at http://www.slowhand.com/
* 1997 - All rights reserved by the author
* Please do not post without permission 
* Thanks!


Currents of people flowed around him, unhindered, unchallenged. Bumped 
and nudged, wanting to push the whole murmuring lot aside, Tim bitterly 
held his ground, stretching on his toes to peer over the bobbing heads. 
He'd lost Adrienne again. He grimaced and dug through his pockets as 
instructed. The airport was a portrait of bustle and rush, and he was 
stuck. The damned metal detector had tripped him up again. 

The culprit was the keychain his brother had made for him. Rik was a 
career prankster who masqueraded as an artist. The metal shape dangling 
from the ring was a fanciful representation of an airplane with 
swooping, angelic wings. It was Rik's way of belaboring a comment he'd 
made years ago: that Tim's body spent an inordinate time in the air 
while his mind rarely left the ground. It hadn't exactly been a 
compliment. 

He kept meaning to throw the damned thing away but never made the time. 
Grumbling, he emptied his pockets into a dish and stared into the 
tumult, looking for fury in a black autumn dress. 

Adrienne had snatched up her carry-on bag as soon as it had crawled 
through the scanner. Without so much as a glance, she had stormed ahead, 
confident he was right behind her. Anger and frustration stood out from 
her like poisoned quills. People instinctively scooted out of her way. 

Inside all the bitter purposefulness, the hateful impatience, she was 
aching. Teased to the point of being homicidal, she could not imagine a 
time when she was so full of wanting. Even her clothes tormented her. 

She could just make out the whispering of her stockings as they brushed 
together. Zip-zip. Zip-zip. The delightful friction only made things 
worse. She imagined flints scraping against each other, striking sparks 
in between. It was only a matter of time before they successfully struck 
flame. 

Her purse thumped her hip. The lace of her bra sanded her nipples. Her 
panties pinched at her, wedged snugly between her buttocks. Having been 
wet all afternoon, she was getting itchy. It was only a matter of time 
before she simply exploded. Gritting her teeth, she stomped on toward 
her gate. 

As the corridor opened onto the concourse proper, she glanced over her 
shoulder with a strained smile and stopped so suddenly that the hem of 
her dress swayed around her ankles. Anger glowed from her cheeks. As 
though it was not enough she was running late for her plane and knotted 
up in frustration, she had lost her husband. 

She dropped her duffle and ran a hand through her black hair, scowling, 
her eyebrows scrunched in annoyance. "Rik," she muttered. 

She tried not to be angry, but her mood had become hopelessly abrasive, 
well beyond smoothing. The situation was to blame, not Tim. If one great 
curse loomed over them, it was poor timing. It seemed they wanted each 
other most just as they could do nothing about it. She cursed her 
colleague for getting sick and the university for sending her to the 
damned-fool symposium in his place. 

She sighed, hefted her bag and continued toward the gate. In moments, 
Tim fell in step beside her, reining in his stride and tucking his tie 
back into his ubiquitous grey suit. He shook a sprig of wavy, brown hair 
back into place. Walking side-by-side through the crowd, they made an 
elegant couple. They did not feel particularly elegant. 

"I'm burning up, Tim," she said without looking at him. "I've been 
simmering so long I could be sprinkled with tarragon and served over 
rice." 

"Don't give me ideas." He smirked and scratched his upper lip. The tang 
of her still clung to his fingertips. "If you think you've got it bad, 
try walking with a divining rod in your trousers." 

"I'd like to." 

Faces blurred around them as the gates streamed past. Couples were 
noisily reunited, squealing with happiness. Associates clapped each 
other on the back. Wistful parents herded yipping children. 

"Have I mentioned that I'm going to kill your brother?" 

"You're going to have to get in line." 

A tall, young man chugged past them, his sleepy, straw-like hair 
flopping as he scanned either side of the concourse in search of 
someone. He wore a weathered "Nietzsche Sucks" t-shirt and carried a 
fistful of balloons that bounced against each other as he pushed through 
the crowd. 

At the far end of the concourse, they finally came upon her gate. The 
huge floor-to-ceiling window looked out onto twilight and the fat nose 
of the plane. A maze of uncomfortable, black chairs snaked around the 
gate. Most were filled. Anxious and tired faces littered the area. 

In the middle of the mess sat a girl twirling a large maple leaf, 
smiling whenever the waxy, colorful side came around as though the 
splashes of red and orange changed with every turn. She frowned at the 
plane and blew it a noisy raspberry, less than pleased about going to 
California. 

Adrienne leaned resolutely against a pillar near the concourse. She 
dropped her bag and gave it a bitter kick. Arms crossed, she glared out 
at the plane. Behind her, Tim sighed and began massaging her shoulders. 

"Stop that." 

"I need an excuse to touch you," he said, tracing her shoulder blades. 
"Besides, you're all knotted up." 

"It's not going to make matters easier." 

He ran his thumbs up the back of her neck, and she groaned almost 
imperceptibly, suddenly given to tiny shivers. 

"You're too good at that." 

"Relax," he whispered. 

"I can't." 

Over the past few weeks, their zigzagging paths had never fully crossed. 
Instead, they had merely brushed a few times, just enough to make the 
wanting cruel and the having impossible. This impromptu trip topped the 
"most hated obstacle" list. 

On the way to the airport, they had teased each other in the car, 
talking about how they had wanted each other for days on end and how 
something always seemed to come up. In the parking garage, they had 
nearly given in, hands groping, mouths wandering, but always the clock 
had been there, smugly reminding them there simply was not the time. 
Worse yet, she was going to be gone for four more days, making release 
that much more elusive. 

"You can sneak a little strum after takeoff." 

"That won't be the same," she said, hissing out the words. "It won't be 
enough." 

"Well, the next flight is...," he offered. 

"No. I have to take this one. They'll be waiting for me at the airport."
 

"Then we're screwed." 

"No, the situation is screwed," she said. "We aren't that lucky." They 
laughed bitterly. 

Sliding his arms over hers, Tim hugged her from behind. She groaned when 
she felt the hard press of his cock. He smirked and rested his chin on 
her shoulder. "I love you, Ade," he whispered. 

"You're cruel," she sighed, "but I love you anyway." As subtly as she 
could, she groped him with her behind, squeezing and releasing, making 
him harder. He resented her talents sometimes. 

A disembodied voice barked the boarding order. They jumped and looked 
about to see if anyone had been watching. "We're going to be arrested at 
this rate," Tim said. People perked up, waiting for row announcements. 
Adrienne frowned down at her watch. 

The parting routine could be avoided no longer. She turned to face him, 
squeezed his hand and pulled him into her arms. They kissed. However, in 
less than a minute, what should have been their patented "good-bye for 
now" kiss snowballed dangerously close to social deviance. Feeling 
stares, they abruptly stopped, smoothed their clothes. 

A young woman in sweatpants and a university t-shirt sat nearby, a shy 
but envious longing plain on her face. She shifted in her seat and made 
a concerted effort to keep her eyes on the floor. A rail-thin woman with 
wiry hair sneered disapproval. She looked as though she had just 
swallowed a quart of lemon juice... or jealousy. 

"We've got to do something," Tim whispered. 

"The plane takes off in fifteen minutes! Where can we go?!" 

He looked frantically about, as though a bed might be hiding behind the 
rippling curtain of people. He laughed. "The 'minnies!'" 

"What?" 

"The airport rents mini offices for obsessive idiots like me who can't 
escape work," he said, smirking. "It's pretty much a closet with a desk 
and a chair, but what more do we need?" 

She dug her fingers into his shoulders and skewered him with her eyes. 
"Where?!" 

"Back toward the main thoroughfare. We passed a few on the way down 
here. But..." 

"But what?!" 

"You have to go way back to rent one. By the time we get a key..." 

"Then I'll break into one." She was only half joking. He believed she 
would. 

Tim swept up her bag and led the way, his hand tightly around hers. They 
bumped their way through the crowd, everyone seemingly intent on slowing 
them. They zipped past the detectors and hustled up the corridor. 

Adrienne's stockings whispered quickly, desperately. She tried not to 
listen, to feel, but their raspy voices teased out the wetness between 
her legs. She bit her lip, certain this was foolishness and that she 
would soon be simmering miserably on the plane. 

Near the end of the corridor, the featureless walls yielded to small 
sets of windows and doors. Fluorescent light squinted through the 
blinds. They dashed from door to door, cursing every time a lock failed 
to yield. 

The very last knob turned smoothly in Tim's hand. He grinned at her as 
he pushed the door wide. He pitched the bag inside and tugged her in by 
the arms. "I think we're in lu..." 

"What the hell do you think you're doing?!" 

A squat executive glared from the office's tiny desk, welcoming them 
with all of the joy of a bad smell. His red paisley suspenders and wide, 
yellow tie arced over a snug white shirt. A blue blazer sagged from the 
back of his chair. His jowly face seemed to have come with a built-in 
scowl. He looked the type who would sue over a misdialed phone number. 

The computer before him hummed in the tense silence, his thick fingers 
poised over the keys. His briefcase yawned on a plump, green chair 
beneath the shaded window. 

Completely subverting the man's manicured air of menace, his eyes were 
remarkably and uncharacteristically doleful. His entire face seemed to 
want to cover up the imperfection, squeezing and drooping around his 
eyes in an attempt to make them look beady. Regardless, he looked as 
obliging as a mountain. 

He reached for the phone. Tim gritted his teeth, his mind whirling, 
trying to piece together a quick pitch. "Agent Atkinson. U.S. Customs." 
Adrienne coughed. He tightened his grip and stood his ground, trying to 
look cold and officious. "I need this room." 

He was just tall enough, just driven enough and just intimidating enough 
in his severe grey suit that he was almost convincing. He seized 
Adrienne by the shoulders, holding her arms behind her. She sucked in 
her lips, biting back the urge to laugh. 

Tim kept at it, sharpening the edge of his voice. "This woman is wanted 
throughout Europe." 

The businessman's jowls drooped. He did not look happy. Worse yet, he 
was not buying. 

"And I have reason to believe she is carrying a bomb." 

The man's bushy eyebrows twitched a little. Adrienne sank into the 
charade, hanging her head and glaring at him through the points of her 
bangs. Between the lust and bustle, her hair had taken on a sharp, 
ragged look. Her face flushed with wanting, she smiled, looking 
positively psychotic. As desperate as she had become, the look required 
little acting. Stretching her smile into a grin, she could feel the 
man's sense of safety crawling away. 

Tim pinched Adrienne's arms back until he could hold both of her hands 
in one of his. With his free hand, he picked up her bag. Packing his 
words in ice, he said, "Perhaps you'd like to look for yourself." He 
threw the bag at the man's feet. 

The executive swallowed, jowls rippling. The weight of Tim's stone eyes 
was squeezing the breath from him. He leaned nervously toward the bag. 

Without warning, Adrienne shouted furiously at the man in French, 
yelling herself hoarse and straining against Tim's hold. Her voice was 
loud and sharp in the small room. The man's eyes shrank, and his 
eyebrows reached for the ceiling. He popped out of his chair and scooted 
around the desk, herded by the prod of voice. 

"Quiet, bitch!" Tim growled. Adrienne went silent, but her eyes kept 
singeing the executive. Tim nodded reassuringly at the man. "Look. I 
only need the room for a few minutes. You can have it back after I get a 
few questions answered." 

Without further provocation, the man squeezed toward the door. Tim 
smirked at him, lowering his voice. "It's not going to be pretty, I 
assure you." With one last look at the plump carry-on bag, the man 
scurried into the corridor. 

Once Tim had closed and locked the door, they exploded into laughter. 

"What the hell did you say to him?" Tim grinned. 

"I made it very clear that I needed him to get his ass out of here so I 
could fuck my husband." She smiled, pleased with herself. "It has a 
certain lilt to it in French." 

There was no time for subtleties. The entire afternoon and the days 
leading up to it had been foreplay. Adrienne unzipped his trousers and 
pulled out his cock. She stroked it lovingly for her own pleasure, 
knowing he needed no priming. She loved the way it filled her hand, so 
warm and hard. She wanted him in her mouth, against her tongue, but 
there was no time. 

She stared into him, his cock tight in her grip. "I need you inside me. 
Right. Now." 

Tim slapped the executive's briefcase off the chair, giving flight to 
dozens of documents. Out of her shoes in an instant, Adrienne knelt on 
the cushion and leaned forward, her cheek on the soft back of the chair, 
her head mashing the blinds against the glass. She hiked her dress up to 
her waist and wiggled her behind at him, well aware of the view's 
influence. 

Her sheer, black stockings ended in wide, opaque bands high on her 
thighs. He loved the way they hugged her legs, refusing to fall. With 
all of the schedules, interruptions and obligations aside, the only 
barrier remaining between him and his wife was her rumpled, blue 
panties. 

Fingers curled under the waistband, he pulled at them, surprised by 
their resistance. They clung greedily to her body, to its heat and 
wetness. He tugged harder, working them down, uncovering her lovely ass. 
He smiled, never imagining being bored with her body. 

His eyes sipped in every delight: the smooth, sweeping curves; the pale, 
little, X-shaped scar; the subtle rose of her asshole; the full bloom of 
her pussy; the soft, black down. He wanted to taste her, to run his 
tongue through that beautiful crevasse, but time forbade it. 

Adrienne spread her legs, and her fingertips appeared among her curls, 
furiously rubbing her clitoris. Her eyes fell shut, and her mouth fell 
open, sounding out her pleasure. Cock in hand, Tim watched her fingers 
flash, her panties strung between her thighs like a little cotton 
hammock. 

"Give it to me already!" she half laughed, half croaked over her 
shoulder. 

He shifted his feet until he stood directly behind her, the tip of his 
cock leaning against her asshole. "Someday," he promised. 

"Maybe someday," she corrected. 

He lowered his cock and guided it between her lips, sliding into her 
with remarkable ease. The long afternoon of teasing and frustration had 
her both obligingly wet and frugally tight. They groaned at the pitiless 
pleasure of it, the sensations almost painfully luxurious. The tiniest 
twitch made them gasp; they were likely to die before they were done. 

At her word, he pushed all the way in and stayed there, her warm, 
quivering cheeks mashed against him. He leaned over her and kissed the 
top of her head, his tie flopping out of his suit and tickling down her 
spine. In reaction, her back arched, levering her ass against his hips, 
pushing him deeper than he had ever been. Groaning along with her, Tim 
slowly straightened, his tie sliding over her backside like some obscene 
tongue. 

"Give it to me," she whispered, turning up her accent. 

Hands clamped to her hips, he began to thrust in earnest, sending 
ripples through her ass. Determined to savor every second, knowing they 
could not possibly last but a few minutes, he watched himself slide in 
and out of her. He adored the sight, the images that haunted him when he 
wanted her most. The gentle, rolling "W" of her ass, his cock withdrawn 
and shiny. Then, her behind quivering, smashed flat by his hips. Over 
and over again. 

Prying her fingers from her clit, Adrienne grabbed his balls. When his 
breath stumbled, she gave them a playful slap and chuckled through her 
own incessant sighs. As the whim struck her, she either tickled his 
balls with her wet fingertips or squeezed them roughly, making him wince 
with pleasure. 

"Faster." 

Tim drove harder, making her moans stutter. His thrusts drove her 
forward, bumping her head against the glass. Out in the corridor, 
passers-by met the window's rhythmic wobble with confused frowns. The 
businessman paced nervously, wondering what manner of violence was going 
on inside. 

All control, all hesitance forsaken, Tim slammed away at her ass. He 
loved the muffled spanking sound of their bodies crashing together. 
Adrienne adored it, wetter and tighter with every soft slap. 

"You feel too good," he moaned. "I'm going to come." 

"Yes. Fill me. Fill. Me." 

Her pussy wrapped around him like ionized silk, soft and gentle yet 
torturously charged. He had never felt her so wet. She was drowning him, 
sweeping him away. He grimaced, filled with a delicious ache, and 
groaned in broken, fitful breaths. 

His balls firmly in hand, she felt his come pulse out of him, spurting 
hot and think inside her. Pent up for so long, it kept coming and 
coming, certain to fill her. She loved it, ached for it. Unable to hold 
out, she came, shuddering against the chair, crying out as though 
tortured. From her scalp to her toes, every nerve buzzed, murmuring 
incoherently. 

Slumped over her, he hugged her and shared a few moments of exhausted 
wheezing, of bittersweet trembling. When he stood, she turned around in 
the chair, her eyelids heavy, a grin strung from ear to ear. 

"Feeling better?" he asked, tousling her hair. 

"Perhaps." 

"Is your head still intact?" he asked, feeling guilty. 

She made a show of rubbing her head, feigning injury. "No leaks as far 
as I can tell." She looked at her watch, and her smile vanished. "Shit."
 

He zipped up and helped her to her feet. A bit dizzy and wobbly, she 
wriggled back into her panties and hunted her shoes. Tim fished through 
her bag and slipped a wad of green cotton into his pocket. Inspired, he 
fumbled noisily with his keys. 

"What are you doing?!" she rasped. "We've no time!" 

Tim quickly worked the last of his keys loose and smiled at the swoop of 
chrome that hung from the empty ring. He leaned over the desk and tucked 
the keychain into the breast pocket of the businessman's blazer. "So 
long, Rik." 

A tentative knock prompted them to slip into their masks again. Hanging 
her purse on her shoulder, Adrienne strained to hold her frown in place. 
Tim opened the door and peeked out. The executive looked fretful. His 
eyes rolled between the spilled papers and their flushed faces. His 
voice came out as a squeak. "So?" 

Tim exuded cold control. "Oh, I think we've done just about all we can 
here. Sorry about the mess." He grabbed Adrienne by the wrist and picked 
up the bag. "Come on, Reine de Viande. I'm sure we've got a cell in your 
size." He tugged her out of the office. 

The carry-on bag bumped into the man's knees, and he nearly had a heart 
attack. Adrienne glared at him and then made a peculiar face as Tim's 
come suddenly tickled its way into her panties. The change made her look 
demented. 

"Have a nice flight," she smiled. The man blanched and ducked into the 
tiny room, slamming the door behind him. Tim and Adrienne glanced at 
each other before hurrying down the corridor. 

"You're terrible," Tim laughed. 

"So spank me," she sneered. "You're pretty horrible yourself. 'Reine de 
Viande,' indeed! I get the chance to play a notorious terrorist, and the 
best you can come up with is 'queen of meat?!'" 

He shrugged. "It's the only French I could remember." She gave him a 
dubious look. "Although, I know a little Belgian." 

She laughed. "A-hem. I'm as tall as you are, Hastings." 

"Fair enough, Poirot." 

On their way down, they passed the guy with the balloons, his free arm 
around a drowsy but contented brunette. He smirked and nodded at them. 
Clearly, he had found what he had been looking for. 

The smile went out of Tim's eyes. "Come on. I have to get you on your 
damn plane before I come to my senses." 

"I hope it's left already." 

They stepped up their pace. Tim smirked when he passed through the 
detectors without a sound. Once on the concourse, they sprinted for her 
gate. Adrienne groaned, finding her plane still leered through the 
window. The waiting area was empty. An anxious-looking attendant waved a 
few stragglers toward the boarding tunnel. 

The real point-of-no-return had come. Within thirty seconds, they 
hugged, laughed and made their good-byes. Despite the drunken, lingering 
pleasure, they shared a rich sense of release and loss. The trip would 
be bearable at least. 

When Tim finally let go of her, Adrienne shifted her feet and jerkily 
wiggled her hips. 

"Is that some kind of new dance?" he asked. 

"Hardly." Between her own wetness and Tim's come, her panties were 
ruinously soaked. The sensation was not entirely uncomfortable but 
certainly unique. She rummaged through her purse and pulled out her 
boarding pass. 

"Wait," he said. "You're probably going to need these." He pulled a pair 
of green panties out of his pocket and stuffed them in her purse. 

She smirked and kissed him. "Always the gentleman." 

"Get some rest on the plane. And call me, dammit." 

"I will." Taking up her bag, she wove through the maze and handed her 
pass to the attendant. With a wistful smile and a cocked eyebrow, she 
disappeared down the boarding tunnel 

As he walked away, Tim leaned over and picked up the little girl's 
discarded leaf, twirling it in his fingers. He smiled down the 
concourse, laughing and shaking his head in disbelief.


* Thank you for reading!
-Cynthia 

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