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Douglas pulled off his trousers and folded them carefully on the back of the chair over his jacket and tie. He lay back on his bed, hands folded beneath his head. He glanced across the room to the younger man sitting at the desk, reading with intense focus.
“What are you reading?” he asked through half-closed eyes.
“Flight manual.”
“The flight manual? But you've memorised the flight manual!” Douglas exclaimed, sitting up on his elbows.
“It won't stay memorised.”
“Martin, come to bed.” There was pause, in which the younger man did not reply. “Please.”
Martin sighed and looked away from his book at the naked man on the bed. A smile played across his face as he took in Douglas's body. No longer young and firm, now slightly doughy around the edges, regardless a fine specimen for a man of his age. Martin hadn't known Douglas any other way, but he'd seen pictures of him in a previous life, all long limbs and muscles. He was pretty sure he preferred him like this. Martin stood, and began undoing his tie as he approached the bed. He stood just out of Douglas's reach and unbuttoned his shirt. Douglas watched with a lazy smile. Soon Martin's clothes lay in a crumpled heap at the foot of the chair where Douglas's were neatly folded. Martin climbed onto the bed, one knee either side of Douglas's hips.
Douglas grinned as Martin reached down to kiss his neck. “You are a good pilot, Martin. You don't have to keep proving it.”
Martin smiled softly, and relaxed himself into Douglas's body. He muttered a 'thank you' into Douglas's chest. Douglas ran his hands down Martin's waist, reveling in the contrast between the younger man's tight muscular body and his own softer physique. He had yet to get used to the way his body had changed in the previous twenty years, but when his body was next to Martin's it felt like his own again, and he liked it.
-
Douglas woke up to gentle dawn light filtering through the blinds, lighting up the leather-topped desk and glinting off the cover of the discarded flight manual. He looked across the bed at his partner, sleeping like a child. Douglas sighed, and rolled onto his side. He hissed through his teeth at the twinge that started in his lower back and rushed down his left leg. He lay for a moment, holding his breath, until the pain subsided. He cursed quietly, and closed his eyes and counted to ten.
-
“Morning Douglas,” Martin murmured as he opened his eyes and rolled towards the older man. “We're not flying today. What do you want to do?” He walked his fingers slowly up Douglas's back. “Douglas?” Martin's voice came quietly as Douglas twitched away from his touch. Martin sat up, laying a hand on Douglas's shoulder. “Are you okay?”
Douglas let out a shaky breath and rolled onto his back, locking eyes with a worried Martin. “Hi.”
“Are you okay?” Martin repeated. “You don't look great.”
“Thanks darling,” Douglas replied drily. He pulled himself up on his elbows with a wince. “I didn't get much sleep.”
“Something bothering you?” Martin wore a deep crease down the middle of his brow.
Douglas glanced at his partner and laughed a kind of bark. “Only my spine. Don't look so worried.” He reached for Martin's hand. “I'm glad you're here, idiot.”
Martin nodded. “Can I help?”
“I'm fine. I'm going to take a shower.” Douglas swung his legs off the side of the bed, stood, and departed. Martin watched him go, his enjoyment slightly lessened by noting the way Douglas favoured his right leg.
-
Douglas reappeared just as Martin was turning off the heat beneath the scrambled eggs. He glanced up to see Douglas gripping the wall as he descended the two steps into the kitchen and turned his attention to the bacon.
“Morning sir,” Douglas slipped his hands round Martin's waist and kissed his cheek. “Breakfast checklist?”
Martin grinned. “Breakfast checklist. Eggs, scrambled. Check.”
“Bacon?”
“Bacon, fried. Pending.”
“I'll put the toast on?”
“I thought we'd fry it in the bacon fat.”
“You're so good to me, Captain.”
“Don't forget it. Sit down.”
“I'm better standing,” Douglas mumbled, his face buried in the shorter man's ginger-blond hair. He let out a long breath and gently squeezed his partner against himself. He focused on the sensation of the firm muscles in Martin's back pushing against his chest, the rise and fall of the muscles in his shoulder as he turned the bacon in the pan, the smell of Head & Shoulders mingling with the bacon smell as short straight hairs tickled his face. He sighed again.
Martin laughed. It wasn't often that he got to experience Douglas in what he termed 'needy child' mode. It happened occasionally after long flights, when they were sharing a room in a strange hotel, and everyone but Douglas had the warmth of a little cheap brandy inside them. Martin wondered what it must have been like for Douglas before, when everyone else got to have a drink in the bar whilst he drank lemonade, and he had to go to an empty bed in an empty room. He squeezed Douglas's hand, feeling grateful that now when they had long flights, neither of them had to sleep alone.
-
Martin set down his flight manual and looked at his watch. It was almost 11pm and still he could hear a slightly stilted rendition of Chopin coming from the other room. Nocturne in E flat he guessed, though he could never be sure, much to Douglas's frustration. “They are quite distinct!” Douglas would cry, switching effortlessly between two tunes. Not tonight though. Tonight Douglas played wordlessly, repetitively and even Martin noticed not quite as well as usual. He hadn't said a word when Martin had left the room.
Martin toyed with the poetry books piled on the corner of the desk, wondering whether to go to bed alone or wait for the piano playing to stop. He glanced at his watch again. They were flying in the morning and really needed to both be asleep before midnight. A sudden jarring chord sounded, followed by a curse and the sound of the keyboard lid slamming shut. Martin hesitated then stood and made his way to the living room.
Douglas was sat on his piano stool, head bent, fists clenched in his lap.
“Douglas?” Martin approached him slowly. “What's wrong? Are you okay?”
Douglas looked up at him with red-rimmed eyes for a moment before looking back to his hands. Martin identified a slight tremble through his shoulders and arms, and his frown deepened. He knelt beside the stool and put an arm round Douglas's shoulders.
“What's going on?”
Douglas let out a long breath, almost sounding as if he may start to sob. “I need a drink,” he whispered.
“Douglas...” Martin was stunned. “It's been fourteen years, Douglas, why?”
“I'm sorry,” Douglas rubbed the heel of his hand down his face. “I didn't want you to see me like this.”
“Douglas, it's fine. Look at me.” Martin gripped Douglas's chin in his hand and looked him in the eye. “It's fine.”
Martin stood and wrapped his long arms around the older man, pulling his head into his chest. They stayed that way for several minutes, until Douglas took a deep breath and said, “My back hurts.”
“Okay...”
Douglas pulled away from Martin and looked him dead in the eye. “I'm an alcoholic.”
“I know, Douglas.”
Douglas shook his head. “I'm an alcoholic. When things are hard, I default to alcohol. I don't want a drink.” He looked at his shaking hands in his lap. “But god, I want a drink.”
Martin hesitated. Though he had always assumed Douglas was an alcoholic, he thought of it as something that was firmly in the past. He had been eight years sober before they even met – Douglas as a drunk was inconceivable to him.
“There are other ways of dealing with it. Come on, let's go to bed.”
“Martin,” Douglas pulled away, “Have you been listening to me?” he snapped.
“Yes. And I'm asking you to come to bed.” Martin put a hand on Douglas's elbow and pulled to guide him to his feet. Douglas was still, staring into Martin's face, confused, scared, desperate. Martin maintained the pressure on his elbow, his expression firm. Eventually, Douglas acquiesced.
-
“Sit there, and get undressed.” Martin instructed.
“What are you doing, Martin?” Douglas moaned as he sat on the bed.
“I'm looking after you. Shut up and take your clothes off.”
Douglas raised an eyebrow with a weak smile, “Yes sir.”
Martin turned and left, returning in a moment with a tube of something and a hot water bottle. “Lie on your front.” he instructed. “Show me where the pain is. Okay.” Martin rubbed the ibuprofen gel into the spot Douglas indicated, then ran his warm hands up and down Douglas's back, feeling the tense muscles relax beneath him. Douglas let out a small moan. “You okay?” Douglas nodded in response, his hands tangled up in the sheets. Martin carried on working the muscles in his partner's lower back, avoiding the sore spot. Then, he carefully placed the hot water bottle over where it hurt. He leant over and quickly kissed Douglas's temple. “I'll be back in a minute with some tea and painkillers.”
Douglas's hand reached out and grabbed Martin's wrist as he turned to go. “Thank you.”
-
Douglas slept better than Martin did that night. Martin kept a protective hand on the side of Douglas's ribcage, feeling his shaky breaths give way to the long deep in- and exhales of sleep. Martin thought of the man he had known for the past six years. The rare glimpses he had been allowed of this confident enigmatic man's inner self. That the man who could talk his way out of a smuggling charge – could talk his way out of anything – could also look up at him as he had tonight - so helpless, so desperate - amazed and horrified him. All at once he felt earnestly, desperately relieved that he had been there to help him into bed and sleep rather than a whiskey bottle and unconsciousness, and also terrified by the darkness that he had seen just a glimpse of. He wondered if Douglas had been truly sober for fourteen years, or whether there had been relapses. If Douglas had really been sober for that long, he wondered how long before that he had tried to stop. He wondered if he could ever ask these questions.
Douglas shifted and moaned. Martin held his breath for a moment, hoping that he would stay asleep. Douglas's body relaxed again, and so did Martin. Martin rolled towards his partner and nuzzled into his neck. He thought he knew love – he loved his mother, and he had almost loved Theresa – and he thought he knew fear – he had landed an aircraft on one engine – but lying next to Douglas after that evening he felt more love and fear than he had ever known.