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Norjaked up	By : DodgeSuperBee Category: Individual Celebrities > D.B. Cooper Views: 1526 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not know D.B. Cooper and I make no profit from this writing. It is entirely a work of fiction.

Chapter List
- 1-The Mile High Club: You're Doing it Wrong
- 1
Author's Note/Disclaimer: Although there is no graphic violence in this story, I included the tag because this fanfiction does include peril aboard an an airliner and that may be disturbing to some readers.

“Took you damn long enough,” he said brusquely, pulling me into the tiny airline restroom as soon as I tapped a knuckle on the door.
“What did you want, for me to head back here right on your heels and make everyone suspicious?” I shot back, still mentally grappling with my decision to join him in the first place, even as I secured the door behind me. Many rows ahead of us at the front of the plane, the two stewardesses were too busy serving cocktails from the beverage cart to notice our absence. Time was on our side, but that didn’t make this right.
Not affording himself the same second-guessing that I did, he grabbed my hips and swiveled my body into position before him, kissing me roughly before tugging my t-shirt over my head. I wasn’t wearing a bra underneath and I looked away for a moment, self-consciously repositioning myself until a few tendrils of hair partially obscured his view of my breasts. His eyes roved over me as he undid the uppermost buttons on his own shirt, a white button-down article that, once opened, revealed a slight build that bordered on scrawny. Feeling I should help him in return, I fumbled with his belt, opening the buckle and easing his trousers off his frame. My hand brushed over his hardness and I really hoped at that moment that he would attribute my hesitation to our cramped conditions or possibly the drinks I’d had back at the airport rather than general clumsiness and inexperience.
“Do you think we’re already a mile up?” I asked, surprised at the huskiness in my voice and sensing the rumble of the engines through the cold steel edge of the sink that was pressing against my back.
“Does it really matter?” he countered, and I had to admit he was right. He was going to have me just as surely as the plane was going to land in Seattle. “We’re above that altitude, if you must know.” He spoke with certainty.
I don’t think our eyes met once after that, but I vividly recall the way he hungrily pressed his lips to the hollow of my shoulder, landing vigorous kisses there with such force that I would discover the marks hours later. His breath was heavy with bourbon and nicotine. Our bodies drew together, my nipples grazing his partially bared chest and my head bent upward as his hands smoothed over my breasts and down to my jeans, quickly parting the zipper and sliding the denim fabric down my legs. Losing no time, he hooked his fingers on the sides of my panties, sending them to join the other crumpled fabric somewhere around my sneakers. I sighed almost involuntarily when I first felt his hand on my inner thigh, and I could hear his breath catch as he caressed my folds, not particularly gently or skillfully. Despite his desire to take control of the action, he clearly shared some of my nervousness.
With each quickened breath I drew in a heady mixture of fragrances. The spicy scent of his aftershave mingled with a trace of jet fuel still in the air, but both were overpowered by the pungent antiseptic odor of the lavatory, which not even my vivid imagination could ignore. Sadly, I could not delude myself. This was no lovemaking; we were merely screwing, and in a grubby bathroom at that.
He suddenly cupped his hands around my bare flesh, pulling me even closer to him. I felt him fumble for my leg, swinging it outward, but as he hoisted me up, I lost my balance and struck my head against the woodgrain paneling above the toilet. He mumbled something I assumed was an apology. Thanks to our tall frames, maneuvering was difficult, but clearly he was determined to make this work, as was I. I’d made my decision and I wanted this as badly as he did.
I stroked him, keeping my motions tender, only to have him impatiently push my hand away as though he’d had enough foreplay and enter me without further ceremony. I gasped, and he responded by clenching my face against his shoulder so that any further noise I made was muffled by the cheap polyester fabric of his sport coat.
Any initial resistance now overcome, he thrust vigorously into me, bringing his lips back to my shoulder and practically biting into my flesh. The sensation was awkward, not entirely comfortable but at the same time so foreign and exquisite.
“Dan,” I moaned softly against his chest, using the only name by which I knew him. I wondered if his style would have been more relaxed if we were actually horizontal, our bodies tangled on a soft mattress somewhere.
“Crud, I’m done,” came his disappointed response, and as he pulled out of me I tried to tell him it was okay, kissing his burning face. He avoided my gaze, instead reaching for the pants he’d hung on the back of the door, and the words to convince him everything was okay failed me. I was left far from satisfied but oddly grateful, for though our encounter had been sweaty, hurried and nowhere near approaching romantic, it had been surprisingly sweet.
“That…that usually doesn’t happen,” he said, stumbling over his words, though I had my doubts he did this any more often than I did.
“Maybe you’re worried about something else?” I asked, wondering where he planned to go after we landed in Seattle. He had been dressed like a businessman, but on the eve of Thanksgiving I doubted he was headed anywhere on business.
“Yeah, that must be it,” he said dismissively, already closing his shirt and reaching for his black necktie. We bumped a lot of knees and elbows into each other and the walls more than once while we dressed, but the unexpectedly early end to our session seemed to have put a damper on his dry wit. I cringed as I retrieved my clothes from the floor, knowing the ground had to be far from clean.
“You brought your briefcase with you?” I smirked, noting for the first time that he had tucked it between the commode and the wall.
“It’s rather important,” he confessed, then seized me for a final kiss that made my body threaten to melt right onto the filthy floor. Damn, he could elicit such feelings from a single kiss and yet we had fumbled through what should have been at least a halfway decent encounter.
“Goodbye, Siobhan,” he said, hefting the briefcase with one hand while retrieving his sunglasses from his pocket and putting them back on with the other. “I wish we could have had more, but thanks.”
“I guess I’ll see you around?” I asked hopefully. He smiled almost patronizingly.
“I doubt it,” he replied.
The door closed with a sharp click behind him and I leaned against the wall and waited, hoping he had made it back to his seat at the rear of the plane without undue scrutiny. My eyes strayed to my watch. Four minutes? Had it really been that fast?
To be continued...
- 1
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