#visca barca

the seat beside yours stays empty until the last boarding call.

you don’t look up at first.

there’s another line in the quarterly report that doesn’t quite add up. the acquisition numbers look optimistic to the point of fiction, and you’re halfway through highlighting a paragraph when someone slides into 4b.

a soft thud.

a carry-on tucked away.

the faint smell of expensive perfume and something clean.

“hi.”

you glance over automatically.

she smiles.

it’s unfair, really.

the sort of smile that belongs on magazine covers rather than overnight flights across the atlantic.

“hi.”

she settles in, buckling her seatbelt with practiced ease. a baseball cap disappears into the seat pocket, revealing blonde hair that’s slightly flattened from wearing it through the airport.

you return to your report.

you make it exactly three sentences.

“business or pleasure?”

you look up. “…pardon?”

she nods towards the stack of printed reports balanced across your lap. “are you reading for business or pleasure?”

you blink once. “unless we’re suddenly counting stocks as pleasure…” she laughs. “…then no. it’s all business.”

“some people do count investments as pleasure.”

you snort despite yourself. “do they?”

“absolutely.”

“those people need hobbies.”

she grins. “to each their own.”

there’s a pause, and you study her for a second. “what about you?”

“what about me?”

“why are you going to chicago?”

she leans back comfortably. “i’ve got a modelling thing.”

you nod slowly. “so you’re a model.”

she smiles wider. “i’m a footballer.”

“…oh.”

“but thank you for complimenting my looks.”

your cheeks warm just enough to annoy you. “that wasn’t-”

“it absolutely was.”

“i made an assumption.”

“based on my face.”

“based on the modelling.”

she hums, pretending to consider it. “i’ll allow it.”

the aircraft begins to taxi.

the conversation should end there.

it doesn’t.

“and you?” she asks. “what do you do when you’re not insulting footballers?”

“I work in finance.”

“that explains the reports.”

“i’m glad we’ve solved that mystery.”

“high-powered?”

“reasonably.”

“boring?”

“only to people who don’t enjoy spreadsheets.”

“ah.”

she nods thoughtfully. “so definitely boring.”

you smile despite yourself. “you asked.”

“i did.”

she offers her hand. “alexia.”

you take it. her grip is warm, firm, her hands slightly calloused from years of training and competing.

“y/n.”

“nice to meet you, y/n.”

the seatbelt sign stays on for another twenty minutes.

by the time it switches off, you’ve somehow learnt that she’s flying over for a campaign with a sportswear brand after preseason training.

she learns that you’re presenting to a board on monday morning.

“that’s why you’re reading reports on a plane?”

“i like being prepared.”

“you’re reading printed financial statements.”

“yes.”

“on holiday.”

“i’m not on holiday.”

“exactly.”

she shakes her head dramatically. “tragic.”

the flight attendant appears with drinks. “can i get you anything?”

alexia glances at you. “wine?”

you hesitate for perhaps half a second. “…why not.”

“two reds, please.”

the first glass disappears surprisingly quickly.

the second follows not long after dinner.

your reports are abandoned somewhere between discussing football stadium atmospheres and the merits of deep-dish pizza.

she tells stories well.

animated hands.

bright eyes.

every sentence somehow ending with you laughing.

you tell fewer stories.

she notices.

“you’re one of those people.”

“what people?”

“the quiet ones.”

“i talk.”

“when spoken to.”

“that’s generally how conversations work.”

“mm.”

she tips her glass slightly. “but when you do talk…”

she studies you over the rim. “…it’s usually worth listening.”

the compliment lands heavier than expected, causing you look away.

outside the window, there’s nothing except darkness broken occasionally by wing lights.

the cabin dims.

most people around you begin settling in.

blankets.

headphones.

sleep masks.

business class becomes strangely intimate in the low lighting.

voices lower.

movements slower.

alexia slips off her shoes, folding one leg beneath herself. “you’re thinking again.”

“am i?”

“finance face.”

“finance face?”

“very serious.”

“i don’t have a finance face.”

“you absolutely do.”

she reaches over before you can react. two fingers gently press the space between your eyebrows. 

“right…”

another light push.

“…there.”

you stare at her. “…what?”

“your frown disappeared.”

she withdraws her hand like nothing happened. “much better.”

you should probably be irritated.

instead-

“you’re very confident.”

“only when i drink.”

“often?”

“maybe once a month.”

you laugh quietly. “i can imagine.”

she watches you for a moment. “there it is.”

“what?”

“you smile more than you think.”

you hold her gaze. “you’re very observant.”

“occupational hazard.”

“football?”

“captain.” she shrugs. “always watching people.”

the silence that follows isn’t awkward.

it’s… comfortable.

dangerously so.

she looks good in the dim cabin lighting.

you notice details now.

the strength in her forearms.

the watch on her wrist.

the tiny scar near her thumb.

she catches you looking. “what?”

“nothing.”

“liar.”

“i wasn’t-”

“checking me out?”

“…”

she smiles slowly.

“it’s okay.”

you clear your throat. “you’re very sure of yourself.”

“would it help if i admitted i’ve been trying not to look at you for the last hour?”

your heart does something deeply inconvenient. “…really?”

“really.”

another pause.

“those reading glasses aren’t helping.”

you glance down. “my reading glasses?”

“you put them on to read.”

“…yes.”

“terrible decision.”

you laugh under your breath. “because?”

“because every time you adjust them…” her eyes flick briefly to your mouth before returning. “…i forget what i was saying.”

the air feels warmer.

or maybe it’s just the wine.

you remove your glasses. “better?”

she exhales once. “significantly worse.”

your laugh comes quieter this time.

closer.

neither of you has noticed when the armrest stopped being enough space between you.

your shoulders brush now whenever either of you moves.

she doesn’t move away.

neither do you.

“can i ask you something?”

“depends.”

“are you always this…” she searches for the word.

“…careful?”

“careful?”

“like you’re calculating twelve different outcomes before you say anything.”

you think about denying it.

instead-

“usually.”

“and right now?”

your eyes meet hers, and your voice becomes softer. “right now… i’m trying very hard not to make a bad decision.”

she smiles. “interesting.”

“why?”

“because i was thinking exactly the same thing.”

another beat.

the hum of the engines fills the silence.

she tilts her head slightly. “i’m going to ask you something.”

“okay.”

“you can absolutely say no.”

“okay.”

“but if i don’t kiss you before this plane lands…”

her smile turns almost shy for the first time all evening.

“…i think i’m going to regret it.”

your eyes flick briefly to her mouth then back. “…that’s funny.”

“why?”

“because i was wondering how much longer you’d wait before asking.”

she laughs.

quiet enough not to disturb anyone sleeping nearby.

“so…”

“so.”

“…may i?”

instead of answering-

you lean the remaining inch between you.

her lips meet yours gently. just once- soft, testing even.

when you pull back, neither of you says anything for a few seconds.

alexia’s forehead rests lightly against yours.

“…well,” she murmurs.

“well.”

“that didn’t exactly help.”

“no.”

“made it considerably worse.”

you smile.

“i noticed.”

her thumb brushes absentmindedly against your wrist. “walk with me?”

“where?”

she glances meaningfully towards the rear of the aircraft.

“just…” another smile. “…to stretch our legs.”

you look at her.

at the sleepy cabin around you.

at the knowing expression she’s trying (and failing) to hide.

then you quietly unbuckle your seatbelt.

“lead the way.”

the aisle lights are dimmed to a faint amber glow. most passengers are asleep, blankets pulled high, headphones in.

the hum of the engines swallows almost every sound.

alexia walks just ahead of you, one hand lightly brushing the seat backs. you follow close enough that when the plane shifts in a bit of turbulence your fingers graze her lower back.

she doesn’t pull away. if anything she leans into the touch.

the galley at the rear is empty. the flight attendants have retreated to their jump seats. 

alexia glances once over her shoulder at you, that small conspiratorial smirk playing on her lips, then pushes open the door to the accessible lavatory.

the second the door clicks shut behind you the tiny space feels electric.

she turns and kisses you like she’s been waiting hours to do it. not gentle this time. her hands slide up your neck, fingers threading into your hair as she backs you against the counter. 

you taste the red wine on her tongue, feel the solid warmth of her body pressing flush against yours.

you kiss her back harder, nipping at her bottom lip, and she makes this soft surprised sound that shoots straight between your legs.

“fuck,” she breathes against your mouth, half laughing. “you’ve been holding out on me.”

“you’ve been talking too much.”

she grins, bright and wicked, then ducks her head to mouth at your neck, sucking lightly just below your ear.

your head falls back against the mirror with a quiet thud.

her hands move with purpose. one slips under your blouse, palm sliding up your ribs, thumb brushing the underside of your breast through your bra. the other grips your hip, pulling you even closer.

you tug at the hem of her shirt, fingers finding warm skin and the firm lines of muscle along her abdomen.

when you scratch lightly down her sides she shivers and presses her thigh between yours.

the pressure is immediate. perfect. not enough.

“alexia-” you whisper.

she answers by rolling her hips, slow and deliberate, grinding against you until your breath catches. her mouth finds yours again, deeper, messier.

you can feel how turned on she is. the heat of her through her joggers. the way her breathing is already getting ragged.

her fingers work open the button of your trousers, sliding the zipper down just enough to slip her hand inside. 

when she feels how wet you are she groans quietly against your lips. “dios mio… you’re soaked.”

you don’t answer with words. instead you push your own hand down the front of her joggers, past the waistband of her underwear, and find her just as drenched. the sound she makes when your fingers slide through her folds is low and filthy.

for a moment you just touch each other like that. slow, exploratory strokes. learning what makes the other gasp. 

her forehead rests against yours, both of you breathing hard in the tiny space.

she curls two fingers and presses them inside you without warning. your knees nearly buckle.

you bite down on her shoulder to stay quiet, and she hisses in pleasure at the sting.

“that’s it,” she murmurs, voice wrecked. “just like that.”

you match her rhythm, sliding two fingers into her at the same time. she’s tight and so fucking wet it makes your head spin. 

you crook your fingers and she clenches around you with a broken moan she tries to muffle against your neck.

the plane hums beneath you. someone coughs a few rows away. the risk of it all only makes everything sharper.

alexia’s thumb finds your clit and starts circling and your hips jerk forward involuntarily. you’re both trembling now, trying to stay quiet, hands moving faster, breaths mingling hot and desperate.

she kisses you again, messy and urgent, like she can’t get enough.

you’re right on the edge already.

alexia can feel it. she curls her fingers deeper, stroking that spot inside you with devastating precision while her thumb keeps perfect pressure on your clit. 

her mouth is on your neck again, sucking, biting, whispering filthy little things against your skin.

“come on amor… let go for me.” the words combined with the steady rhythm of her fingers push you over. 

you come hard, clenching around her, thighs shaking as the orgasm crashes through you. 

you bury your face in her shoulder to muffle the sound, nails digging into her back through her shirt.

she doesn’t stop. she keeps fucking you through it, slower now, drawing it out until you’re trembling and oversensitive.

when you finally catch your breath you kiss her hard, tasting desperation. your fingers are still buried inside her, and you start moving again with renewed purpose. 

you match the pace she used on you, curling, stroking, thumb circling her swollen clit.

alexia’s hips stutter. her breathing turns broken and shallow.

“fuck… just like that,” she gasps.

you can feel her getting close. her walls flutter around your fingers, slick and hot. you add a third finger and she moans louder than she should, forehead pressed to yours, eyes half shut.

her hand is still between your legs, lazily stroking you even as she starts falling apart. 

the overstimulation makes you whimper but you don’t want her to stop.

“i’m gonna-” she chokes out.

“come for me,” you whisper against her mouth.

she does. hard. her whole body tenses, thighs clamping around your hand as she rides out the waves. 

you keep moving through it, gentler now, until she’s shaking and panting into your neck.

for a long moment the only sounds are both of you breathing heavily and the low drone of the plane engines.

alexia pulls back just enough to look at you. her cheeks are flushed, lips swollen, hair completely messed up. 

she looks wrecked in the best possible way. she brings her fingers to her mouth and slowly licks them clean, eyes locked on yours the entire time.

you nearly short-circuit all over again, and she grins at your expression, soft and satisfied. 

you both start fixing your clothes with shaky hands, stealing little kisses between adjustments. 

when you’re decent again she leans in and presses a gentler kiss to your forehead.

then, like it’s the most casual thing in the world, she murmurs, “so i’ll pick you up friday at eight.”

you blink, still a little dazed. “sorry?”

she smiles, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “unless you only wanted this to be a one time thing.”

“no- no i’d love to see you again,” you say quickly, heart doing something ridiculous in your chest. “but i don’t even have your number?”

alexia’s smile widens, warm and a little cocky. “well amor, we better fix that then, shouldn’t we?”

⸻

Marc had you in between his legs, your back to his chest for what seemed like forever. He had a vibrator on your poor, puffy and over abused clit whilst his fingers were in your sopping hole. He had two fingers curled inside of you and dragged multiple orgasms out of you already. 

Your chest was heaving and hands weak around his wrists in a feeble attempt to stop him. You were writhing (the best you could) and crying in overstimulation. ”Look in the mirror for me, mi amor” Marc said into your ear before pressing a kiss to it. 

You look back in the mirror and your reflection was a mess, then you look at Marc, he had a grin on his face as his fingers continued his ministrations whilst keeping your leg hooked over his to keep you spread open for him. 

Your legs were quivering and fighting to close every second as another orgasm inched closer to crashlanding throughout your body. You could see the obvious size difference to you and your boyfriend, his body shadowed yours as he sat behind you and that made you even more aroused 

You had always loved how tall Marc was compared to you, no matter what, he was always inches taller so his body always covered yours and that had its positives, like right now. He was stronger so he could keep you still as he worked you through another orgasm. 

You were shaking and felt completely spent so Marc removed his fingers to suck them dry, humming because you tasted so sweet to him. The vibrator howerver never ceased on your clit, the continous torture had you folded up, legs kicking as your hips tried to move away from the constant stimulation.

Marc just laughed at your attempt to get away from it ”No, don’t run baby, you asked for this remember, you wanted to try out your new toy, didn’t you?” 

You let out a huff/moan at his words, not confirming or denying them even though you practically begged him to use it on you and now you were choking on your words. You were resting your entire weight on Marc's body, eyes hooded over as your hands were gripping the sheets below.

Marc could see that you were losing energy so he slowed the vibrator down significantly, moving it in circles around your clit before he removed it and he moved you into another position. You were laying down on your stomach, a pillow under your hips to raise them.

Marc rested over you for a couple of seconds, kissing your shoulders “you okay, mi amor? You want to continue?” 

You nod and turn your head to the side to see him more ”i’m good, Marc, i want more, please” 

He smirks and lifts up from your body to remove his boxers, releasing his aching cock, humming slightly when the cold air of your bedroom hits him. His tip was redder than the rest of it, dripping pre-cum. 

You didn't have to look at it to know it was big because it was yours, Marc always made sure you knew he belonged to you. He moved back over you, this time, pressing his tip to your entrance, that was already trying to suck him in. 

He teased you by running his tip through your folds before sinking it inside of you, causing you to choke out a moan into the bed below you. You try to even out your breaths as more of his cock filled you up to the hilt. You were always so full of Marc.

”want me to move, amor?” He whispers and rolls his hips slightly, feeling your walls squeeze his throbbing cock. He looks for any non-verbal cues before you nod your head and whisper a soft ”mhm” before Marc begins to roll his hips, pulling out before thrusting back in with long and deep strokes, making you gasp every time his tip grazes your g-spot.

He watches every expression, especially when he starts to rotate and rock his hips. Your moans got more passionate as he filled you up with every delicious inch of his cock. You couldn’t help but drool onto the pillow below as you blindly reached out for Marc’s hands. 

He grabbed your hands and interlocked them behind your back, still keeping his pace, your legs quivering as you felt your orgasm building hard and fast, pussy still tender from his previous abuse with the vibrator and his fingers but still somehow able to clench around his cock.

”Marc, m’gonna cum” you pant out, cheeks flushed, skin glistening under the dim light with sweat. And when you do, your mouth falls open in a silent cry, cunt clamping down so hard that Marc lets out an audible groan into the bedroom. 

His hips stutter slightly as he helps you ride it out, leaning down to kiss your head, neck and shoulders and not long after yours, Marc’s balls tighten up and his breathing becomes slightly more erratic as he releases his ropes of cum inside of you.