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Cabin Pressure/The Thick of It crossover from the CP Anonmeme, which asked for Martin as Peter Mannion's illegitimate child. It quickly turned into Douglas/Martin slash, which I don't believe I've ever done properly before. So, there's that.
Rated NC-17 for a M/M sex scene and a whole heap of swears. There's also a bit of violence, and a heap of Daddy Issues.


Parental Advisory

Chapter One

Douglas had heard the name Peter Mannion bandied about for years, on Radio 4 and in the Telegraph and so on. Some Tory MP or other – Shadow Minister of Blah-De-Blah up until the election ushered in the Coalition. Douglas didn’t pay that much attention. He wasn’t really all that interested in politics. He was, however, a big fan of schadenfreude, so when he was browsing the BBC’s website in his Alaskan hotel room after a long, wearisome flight and he saw a story headlined ‘Minister in “Child Slave Labour” App Gaffe’, he clicked on the video link.

The voice was the main thing. He choked on his tea on hearing it in an ungainly manner that made him very glad that he was alone with his laptop at the time. It was eerily similar to his own, albeit stumbling over words in a way that Douglas would never - well, almost never – do. Douglas squinted at the tiny video. The man even looked like him, or at least him gone rather to seed. The MP was slightly shorter and paunchier than Douglas, hadn’t bothered with a tan or hair dye and had a hounded look about him that reminded Douglas more of Martin than it did of himself. Douglas sat back, reading the article, and scoffed a laugh. Well, they did say that everybody had a doppelganger out there. At least his own had risen to the lofty status of Cabinet Minister – even if a thoroughly inept one. His mind started buzzing with interesting ways that he might possibly be able to use this new-found likeness to his advantage. A Minister. A Minister who he sounded like, and might even be able to pass for physically if he put a bit of effort into it. Yes. This could be useful. This could be very useful indeed. God truly did go out of his way to do wonderful things for Douglas Richardson.

A soft knocking at the door pulled him out of his scheming.

Speaking of which.

Douglas switched off his laptop as he rose to answer the door to one of the many wonderful things that fate had recently decided to throw his way.

Martin Crieff stood in the doorway wearing the nervous smile of a good little school boy bunking off for the very first time.

‘Ah. Martin. Decided to give dinner with Carolyn and our clients a miss after all?’

‘I told them I had a headache.’

Pride and anxiety over this tiny act of disobedience battled for dominance over his expression. ‘Do… do you think it’ll cause too much of a problem? If Carolyn and the clients think both of their pilots are feeling ill?’

‘Well, that’s easily solved – I never said I was ill. I just told Carolyn I didn’t fancy going.’

Martin looked crestfallen. ‘Oh.’

‘Not that your excellent subterfuge was entirely wasted, Martin,’ Douglas told him, waving him through to the hotel bedroom. ‘After all, the odds of you turning down a free meal that hadn’t been cooked by Arthur without very good reason are slim indeed.’

‘I suppose.’ Martin waited awkwardly, his arms folded across his chest as Douglas shut the door. ‘Speaking of which, I haven’t actually eaten, yet.’

‘Oh, I’ll give you something to eat.’

‘Oh, good grief, Douglas.’

‘I mean,’ said Douglas, approaching, ‘I was going to sneak out to the café down the road later anyway. I’ll treat you to a Moose Burger, or whatever it is they eat around here. But for now, I think we should deal with your reasons for being here.’

Martin gnawed his lower lip a little. ‘Give you three guesses.’

‘Something wrong with the plane?’

‘No.’

‘Something wrong with tomorrow’s flight plan?’

‘No.’

‘You want me to screw you into the mattress until you scream?’

‘I was hoping more for up against the wall, again. And I don’t scream.’

There was little tenderness or ceremony about the way that Douglas grabbed Martin by the buttocks and hoisted him up about the taller man’s waist.

‘Not yet, but I’m working on it.’

Martin yelped a little at being hefted up without due warning. ‘Douglas! You’ll drop me!’

‘Never. You’re as light as a feather.’

‘I’m a grown man!’

‘Only in that you’ve stopped growing.’

‘You’ll put your back out.’

‘Nonsense.’ Douglas slammed Martin’s back against the wall. Captain’s orders were Captain’s orders, after all. ‘I’m in the prime of life. Let me show you.’

Their kisses were never gentle during foreplay. Douglas hoped that, in time, they’d get that way – they’d be able to start this process off lounging on a bed or a rug, or draped lazily over one another on a sofa. But for now, in these early days of stolen, secret trysts on layovers, it was all hard and furious and passionate and God, those desperate little noises Martin made whenever he was kissed were just so obscene, he could cheerfully listen to them until the end of his days. It was quite possibly his third favourite sound, after that of his own voice and the simply decadent gasping sobs of Martin’s orgasms. Not that he wasn’t still hoping to wring out a scream, one of these days. Preferably his name. He enjoyed hearing his own name during sex.

See, in its ongoing mission to surprise and delight him, the universe had spent the last year or so handing him a series of pleasing revelations about Martin Crieff. The first was that, given time and practice, as a pilot he wasn’t actually all that bad. Next was that, again, given the time needed to get used to him, as a coworker and friend he was actually jolly pleasant company. There was also the more recent, and utterly accidental discovery that, as a lover, he was an absolute firecracker. Nervous, of course, particularly socially, but then, this was still Martin, after all.

Douglas pulled away from Martin’s lips, and moved on to his neck. Martin squirmed and pushed Douglas’ head away.

‘No. Nothing that’ll be visible. I told you before.’

‘Martin, I have had decades of practice at this. I am capable of kissing a neck without leaving a mark, you know. But I still think you’d like it. You like biting in other places.’ He gave the neck a little nip that he knew wouldn’t so much as bruise.

‘Seriously! Stop it! I am not doing a flight tomorrow with an ugly great love bite!’

‘Well, I suppose then you’d have to explain it, for starters.’

Martin pulled as far back as the wall would allow, and glared at Douglas. ‘Oh, so that’s what you’re after.’

‘I’m not “after” anything. I just don’t see why we can’t tell people, stop all this sneaking around.’

‘Oh, yes. That’ll go down well. “Hi, Carolyn – just to let you know that your only two employees are currently having a homosexual affair. Fancy a cuppa?”’

‘I can’t see her having a problem with it. She’d see it as a way of saving on hotel rooms. She knows I’ve had dalliances with men between my marriages, and frankly I don’t think anyone’s going to be surprised by you…’

‘Oh, well thank you very much!’

‘Don’t act offended, Martin. My main point is – I see no shame in this, and no cause to keep it secret.’ He wetted his lips a little. ‘This is… I’m not sure what this is, yet. But I like it. And I’d like it to be less furtive. I’d like to be able to take you out on dates. Really live the cliché – the lovely young thing being pampered by his Sugar Daddy…’

‘No.’ Martin started trying to wriggle out of his grip.

‘Give you the full Richardson treatment. I promise you, you certainly won’t regret it.’

‘Douglas, I said no. Let me go. Let me go!’

Douglas did as he was told and stood back, his hands raised. ‘Fine. Fine.’

‘I’ll er. I’ll. Er.’ Martin struggled to collect his self. ‘I’ll see you in the morning, OK?’

‘Not entirely “OK”, actually.’ Douglas blinked. ‘I appear to have just blown the best love affair I’ve had in a long time and I’m not sure how or why.’

‘It’s not. I mean, we’re still… I mean, I still want to… I just. Not…’

‘Any chance of a coherent sentence, Martin?’

Martin took a deep breath. ‘I’d rather we carried on… keeping this to ourselves. For now.’

‘Of course.’ Douglas cleared his throat. ‘Why don’t you sit down? We can talk about this. And then, I’ll get you that Moose Burger. Not a date. Just Moose. Manly, Heterosexual Moose.’

‘Sorry, Douglas.’ Martin kept his gaze down as he headed to the door. ‘Turns out I really do have a headache, after all.’

Douglas sat down heavily after Martin had left, and pinched the bridge of his nose. It seemed that the universe had temporarily forgotten that it was supposed to do wonderful things for Douglas Richardson, this evening. Frankly, this called for more schadenfreude . He opened up his laptop. The Guardian had a column online completely ripping into Mannion. Douglas leaned back and stared at the MP’s face – a face like a worn, weary, stressed out and unkempt shadow of his own.

‘Could be worse,’ he murmured at the picture. ‘At least I’m not you, you poor sap.’

Part 2
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