Dont read this, this is just for stories i want read

above the clouds

The first time Clay saw George, they were sitting at the terminal, waiting for the plane to unboard.

George was in a pleated black skirt, loose, white high socks around his thighs. His shirt was baggy and tucked into his waistband.

He sat with his legs crossed at the knee, skirt open just enough to see glimpses of pale, freckled skin up his thigh and hip. It was driving Clay crazy .

George must have known— he must have. Every time he adjusted his legs, stretched them out only to cross them over on the opposite side, he shot a glance Clay’s way. A sultry look with hooded eyes that screamed at him through sunglasses.

When George got up to board, he left Clay with a flushed face and a strain in his boxers. A heat that Clay couldn’t seem to get to die down, especially after seeing how the skirt rode up the back of his legs when he stood.

Clay was able to catch George glancing around as he walked down into the plane, locking eyes with him once, even.

To Clay’s delight, George’s seat was next to his across the aisle. He got to watch George bounce on his toes to shove his carry on into the overhead bin.

By the time the flight had taken off, it was well past midnight. Many passengers had already drifted into sleep before they left the ground, and Clay was happy, to say the least. He didn’t have to hide his staring as much.

George didn’t seem to mind, though. He was soaking up Clay as much as Clay was doing to him. Clay watched his eyes shift around his tight tee, down his chest to his sweats…

Clay made no effort to hide his boner. George seemed to like watching it twitch when he gave him a look. George was making it insufferable, though.

George spent all his time squirming in his seat, wiggling around until his skirt would reach just below his ass before smoothing it down. Clay raised his brows at him, and George gave back a smirk.

At one point, Clay got a flash of George’s underwear— which was hardly anything. A thin band of black lace around his hip, and not much more. It was making Clay think unspeakable things.

Clay was busy thinking when George passed him a little piece of a magazine with a pen clipped to it. He opened it up and read;

I’m George.

You?

Clay scribbled back a reply, cursing himself mentally because George’s handwriting was just as attractive as he was.

Clay.

Wanna go to the bathroom?

George snickered when he read it, glancing at Clay from the corner of his eye. Clay sat, watching and waiting for a reply.

Clay was pleased when George wordlessly stood and reached into his luggage briefly before disappearing down the aisle with a smug look on his face. Clay followed shortly after, stepping carefully to avoid jostling any sleeping passengers.