Airspeed

The unapologetic hand on her thigh and his brazen words both seem to stick in her craw. ?What?? she bites at him, forgetting all her good upbringing on purpose. In her head, her grandfather?s outraged voice echoes: ?That?s ?beg your pardon,? girl. Mind your manners.?It falls silent the moment the feline leans in.And leans in.And leans in ever more, like a mighty oak tree might lean, or a towering sand dune.The monster that is so much bigger than his human disguise leans towards her in tandem. She can feel its heat on the side of her face, its hot breath streaming out of his mouth, tickling her cheek as he speaks in her ear.?I smell you,? he whispers. They whisper. Both of them, he and it. ?Sweat and fear and feathers and?? his palm slides another centimeter north, up on her thigh and down in between? He drops his voice even farther? ?a dripping cunt.??No,? she croaks, sounding like a crow, ?no no no.? Or a mouse.Between her legs, everything heats up and twitches. Her knees strain closed, but it makes no difference. His hand is there. His fingers are there.?No need to deny it, Birdie,? he whispers. His beard tickles the shell of her ear. ?In fact, I like it. I like that smell a lot.? He inhales noisily through his nose. The sound shivers through her. ?I?m also partial to your sweat, and my first nose loves that fear, but? your cunt is the sweetest smell on this plane, by far.?She bites back a knee-jerk ?Thank you.? Damn her manners to hell. Her down feathers seem to curl into corkscrews.?That smell makes me wonder about your taste,? he continues, and the word 'taste' rolls like thunder in his chest. ?I bet you?d taste like burnt sugar, wouldn?t you? Or sweet cream? Honey and spice???I-? Just a small squeak.His voice, tinged with eagerness, becomes so breathy that it?s almost hard to hear over the rushing of her blood and the now-distant roar of the plane. ?You have tasted yourself, haven?t you? Tell me. What do you taste like???I never?never did that,? she hushes, her face going red, ears burning. I never did either of that.I could do that?Oh.He laughs. On the inside, his real self yawns, lethal and amused. He?s close enough that she can hear it in his chest. Even in his human guise, it?s just underneath the thin membrane, close by, so loud and so very? there. There, casino siteleri like his hand on her thigh.His mouth and nose nudge her ear. She flinches away, but not far enough.?I?d taste you all day long,? he pledges. ?I?d drink up your dripping honey and I?d lap up all that delicious sweat, too. Make you squeaky clean.?Squeaky. She is already plenty squeaky. Or she would be if he and his words and his palm on her thigh hadn?t struck her mute.He huffs another quick laugh and gives her hand a squeeze. Her claws seem like more of a hindrance to her than to him. To him, it seems like an intimate embrace of digits. ?Your dainty fingers, too. My special cleaning service. What do you say??Paia says nothing. She sits and her body clenches in places and releases in others. Thrums and throbs. Hot and cold. Flutter, flutter.Many things happen at once.Her bird tucks itself fully back into hiding, overwhelmed and dumbfounded by all those foreign second emotions. It takes its claws with it. Leaving her alone with the feline.Leaving her to perch next to it. Next to him.The very moment the claws are gone, his blood-slick hand lets hers go ? and immediately, his left comes up to catch it again before it can fly away. He interweaves their fingers and deposits this new knot of palms and knuckles on his left thigh.Two humans, lovers, sitting together in a plane, holding hands for comfort and pleasure.He leans back, apparently relaxing again, casually tucking his injured and bloody hand against his side as though it?s not important ? just in time for a cordial nod to one of the flight attendants who are now walking up and down the aisles, doing flight attendant things.Paia dimly notices that it?s the same lady, the one with the philtrum, and that she takes her and her new neighbor ? and their joint hands ? in with a smile. Philtrum-lady shoots a quick and satisfied, even thankful, glance at the feline?s face. She thinks we?ve made a friend who will help us through this flight, making her job easier.Paia feels the perspiration under her arms and on the small of her back seeping into her shirt.The bird doesn?t know what to do, so it does nothing.She doesn?t know what to do. Everything is all confused. She tests her fingers ? so small and breakable, woven with his big, güvenilir casino strong ones ? in his new clutch. They just flail.A sweaty-hot ghost of his hand remains heavy on her now-empty thigh and doesn?t seem to go away. She frowns at the spot on her leg.?What?s your name, Birdie?? The feline rolls its head against the headrest again to look over at her, so utterly, insultingly, obnoxiously relaxed.The pad of his thumb brushes back and forth over the knuckle of her thumb. Back and forth. Back and forth.Should she tell him? Why? Why not?He shrugs. ?I can keep calling you ?Birdie?. No problem.??Psephotella Tau Cassiopeia,? she grits out. ?Paia.??Paia,? he says, and she?s never heard her name said like that. Like he takes the word and strokes her beak with it.?Will you promise me something, pretty Paia?? he asks, pulling her by the hand until she leans his way, then leaning in to nuzzle his mouth against her once more. Letting his voice drip straight into her ear.Her feathers ruffle on the inside, but not? not all in a bad way. Just in a strange way. She shrugs, half to answer his question, half to dislodge the ticklish sensation.?When we get off this plane and you finally fly away from me? ? he starts. Puffs of his breath tickle the shell of her ear.She shuffles in her seat. She wants to fly away from him now, but the bird has left her alone.?? and when you?re back home on your roost, or wherever critters like you flee to??His nose in her hair is so distracting. Her scalp prickles, prickles, prickles, prickles all over.She can hear the insolent smile in his words when he finishes his question with a half-drawled, half-whispered, ?? would you touch and taste yourself while you think of me???No!? she shoots reflexively, too loudly. In a smaller voice, she repeats, with all insistence she can muster, ?No. I do not want to do that.?She doesn?t.She really really doesn?t!He smirks. She can feel it when he smirks. ?Do what? Touch yourself, or taste yourself, or do it while thinking of me???None of that,? she protests with emphasis. Her cheeks feel hot. ?We don?t? We don?t... do that!??Hm.? He blows the dismissive sound out of his nose. ?'We' also don?t take the plane to get away from home, though, do we?? he asks, leaning forward a bit so that he can canlı casino look her in the face ? so that she can see him ostentatiously looking around at all the empty seats and the absolute lack of avian company. ?All alone among the less friendly Hominidae. 'We' don?t leave the volary without the flock, do we??Paia grits her teeth and turns her face away from him, towards the window. There is nothing but white-grey clouds behind the double pane now. Oh, how she wishes?His fingers tighten painfully for a split second. He squeezes her knuckles until they feel ready to pop. Her head whips back around to him, ready to?Suddenly, his fingers are just loosely drumming against the back of her hand instead of squeezing it, and Paia blinks at it, confused. Wriggles her fingers. Nothing. Mad. You're going mad.?Ultimately, you can do what you want,? Bhas says easily. He shrugs his broad shoulders. ?Once you?re out of my sights, I won?t ever know either way.? Then, he leans in again conspiratorially, drawing her gaze away from her hand and to his face. To his lips as he speaks, vows, ?But I will see to it that you?re going to want to touch yourself. In fact, I bet you?re not even going to wait until you?re out of the airport once we land. You?re going to find yourself a quiet little toilet cubicle and put your delicate fingers so deep in your-??What?s your name?!? Paia asks too loudly, too shrilly.The humans noticeably startle around them at the strange and sudden noise. Paia and the feline both cock their heads and freeze for a moment. Waiting. Listening.The small wave of their attention dissipates quickly, though. It always does. Humans are never alert for long.?Y? Your name?? Paia repeats, softening her voice.He and she look at each other for a long, long moment.She looks at the freckles on his nose, and at the curve of his lips, framed by his red-gold beard. His teeth are white and seem very? pointy.He looks into her eyes. Just her eyes.?Caspian Matkasur Bhaskor,? he answers. The Rs at the end roll and purr on his tongue. ?Bhas.??Bhas,? she echoes and then frowns darkly at him when his teeth seem to get whiter and pointier in response to her saying his name. His smile is crooked and as insolent as his words. Angrily, she demands, ?Stop talking about? about me? touching and, and-and tasting myself, Bhas.?She will not say ?please?. No. She swallows the damned word down.?Very well, Paia,? he ? Bhas ? agrees lightly, stroking her with her name again, and smirks more broadly. ?I will resume talking about me touching and tasting you, then.?