r_scribbles | Cabin Pressure Fic: Mister May

Following the little slip from Arthur, Douglas was aware that his window of opportunity for talking Martin into posing for the Calendar before he found out about the contest was rapidly diminishing. He decided to approach the matter again that evening at the hotel, since Martin had been so jovial about it on the flight.

He waited until the Captain had come out of the little en suite bathroom, in his usual night attire of a TShirt and Boxers.

‘Has Sir been going to the gym, of late?’ Douglas asked, as casually as he could muster.

Martin folded his arms across his hest self-consciously as he got into his bed. ‘Could we leave the borderline creepy interest of me being in a state of undress out of the bedroom, Douglas?’

‘Yes,’ sighed Douglas, ‘how thoughtless and creepy of me to offer another man a simple compliment. In any case, it was largely a statement of surprise – I wouldn’t have thought you’d have had the time or the money to spare to frequent a gym.’

Yes, well I don’t. Although I suppose lugging other people’s things around has done my biceps some good.’ Martin looked down at his arms. ‘Do I really look like I’ve been working out?’

‘Yes,’ Douglas replied. It was the truth – he’d noticed it a few months ago, in fact – by the pool in that surprisingly nice hotel they’d managed to bag at St Lucia.

‘Oh,’ said Martin. ‘Well, thanks. I, er. Thanks. And sorry. About the “creepy” comment, I mean. I don’t think you’re being creepy. It’s just… after the things you were saying on the flight deck today… it just gives me that terrible feeling that you’re up to something.’

‘Well, Douglas admitted, ‘that’s probably because I usually am.’

Martin turned in his bed to face him, seriously. ‘You are up to something. Aren’t you?’

‘Alright, Martin. It’s a fair cop. See, there’s this calendar…’

‘Oh, God.’

‘Hear me out, Martin. It’s being done by the local paper, for charity – men’s health. All very tasteful. Artistic shots, really. They’re asking for Fitton men to pose for it, and well… the ladies do love a pilot, don’t they?’

Martin snorted. ‘Well, they like some pilots. They certainly like one pilot in this room a phenomenal amount.’

‘Hmm.’

‘Is that really all this was about, Douglas? You doing this photoshoot? Were you just paving the way for me not to laugh at you, or did you want help with it? I can take a decent photo, as long as it’s not one of those overly complicated cameras…’

‘Me?’ asked Douglas.

‘Yes – you. All the ladies love a pilot, etcetera. Obviously you!’

‘Actually, I was rather more thinking that this was more of a younger man’s area.’

‘Not according to Calendar Girls. Or The Full Monty.’ Martin paused. ‘Douglas, you can’t be angling after… No. No, no, no.’

‘You’re young, you’re slim, you’re well toned…’

‘I’m not doing it, Douglas!’

‘You’re a Captain. As you always say, people want to see the Captain…’

‘Not without any clothes on, they don’t!’

‘Oh, really? Well, how do you know, unless you try?’

‘Douglas, that’s ridiculous…’

‘You’re always complaining that you don’t get the chance to get out and about in Fitton – to actually meet girls, let alone pluck up the courage to talk to them. Don’t you think a flattering, rather saucy picture being sold for a good cause by the local rag would be just the icebreaker you’d need? Why – you’d practically be a celebrity. Girls would be drumming up the courage to go over and speak to you.’

‘I…’ Martin blinked, opening and closing his mouth a couple of times. ‘I wouldn’t be a celebrity. I’d be a laughing stock.’

‘No, you wouldn’t.’

‘Well, if you think it’s such a great idea, why don’t you do it?’

Fine, you stubborn little stick-in-the-mud, thought Douglas, if that’s the way you want to play it, then so be it.

‘All right, then.’

‘What?’ gasped Martin.

‘I’ll do it,’ said Douglas. ‘But only on the proviso that you do it with me.’

‘I… I…’

‘And,’ Douglas added, ‘I bet you first dibs at the cheese tray for a month that it’ll be your picture they want, not mine. You come out with heaps of either delicious cheeses or female adulation. It’s win-win.’

‘Well then, prepare to be left with a lot of sweaty cheddars…’ Martin trailed off. ‘Wait a minute. You know something. You’re betting against yourself. You’d never bet against yourself, you think you’re God’s gift to women.’

‘This is true, Martin, but I am also a man in his 50s, whose love of fine foods is rather starting to show. Normally, I’m able to counter these facts with my ineffable charm and silver-tongued wit, but alas it’s not that easy to chat somebody up when you’re a photograph. Whereas, you pass for halfway decent, until you open your mouth.’

‘Thank you, Douglas…’

‘So, what do you say?’

Martin pondered the proposition, lying back in his bed.

‘I say, if it’ll get you to make as big a fool of yourself as me, it’s probably worth it.’

Douglas grinned. ‘ Wonderful.’

Martin closed his eyes. ‘You are going to lose,’ he told Douglas, ‘so much cheese.’

-x-

It was a lovely, sunny Sunday morning when Douglas arrived at the airfield. It was very early still, but the summer sun had already burnt away the chill of the dawn, and it was set to carry on getting warmer as the morning progressed. He was just setting up the tripod when he heard footsteps approaching. He half-turned to see Martin approaching - TShirt, jeans and boots as Douglas had suggested, his uniform carried carefully on a hangar, the bright sun lighting up his face and casting a crazy orange halo of hair against the azure sky.

Oh, yes.

He was going to win so much cheese.

Part 4