Title: First Flight
Fandom: Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell
Rating: NC-17
Length: 1970
Content notes: Explicit sex
Author notes: Set in the Ungentlemanly Warfare universe
Summary: William loves the thrill of flying





William knows he is going to love flying from the very first moment he takes the controls. It’s the sensation of being up in the air with the wind burning his skin and feeling the aircraft move at his command, feeling her twitch and turn as he asks. Of course he stalls her two minutes later and his instructor yells at him to stop fucking about with the controls and do what he's damn well told. Landing for the first time, with terror and bravado in equal measure, brings him back to earth with tangled hair, sweat-soaked clothes and a passion that will never leave him. Andrew, companion of his early training, smacks him on the shoulder and tells him he was born to fly. His instructor tells him he'll ‘do’, and William couldn't be happier.

Later he learns a seasoned pilot's contempt for the humble Tiger Moth - too easy to fly and too hard to fly well - but the thrill of flight never leaves him. He discovers that not only does he love it, but he can coax the most difficult of engines into doing what he wants, get knackered old kites behaving just as they should. A charmer, they call him, of planes and people. He gets a lot of mockery for it, and his incurable habit of talking to whatever he's flying, but he's a flyboy now and he doesn't want for drinks or company.

He had wondered if the danger would stop him enjoying it so much. When he moves out of training to his new squadron he discovers just how terrified it's possible to be, how it feels to be sick with nerves beforehand and then get out there and fly anyway. Somehow, however afraid he is, the joy of being airborne still comforts him. It's like standing on the very highest peak of a mountain, the same prickling of his skin, the same sense of freedom, but better for not being tethered to the ground at all. He takes risks, pushes himself, earns a reputation both good and bad.

When he lands he's usually still giddy with it: it takes him time to drop back to earth. It makes him want a drink, a fuck, to laugh until he can't breathe. The squadron is good for that. He has men to drink with and laugh with, and his navigator is a good fuck. Until, of course, they end up ditching into the Channel and that puts paid to that.

The work Grant offers him is perfect. It's all trick flying and skill, heading straight into danger and getting out again. None of the routine bombing runs and he has new planes to learn. It still leaves him wanting though, and his options are more limited here. Flying alone means no crew to drink with or fuck after landing. Sometimes he looks at Grant and remembers, with a certain amount of longing, all the times they've been together in the past. He'd like to find him after a flight and drag him off somewhere for sex, but Grant has his rules, and while William doesn't understand them he does respect them.

One March night he comes home alone, all his passengers safely dropped into France on their small, white parachutes. Like so many dandelion seeds on the wind he thinks, rather giddily, watching them go. Then home, with nothing but him and the plane and the air. He feels restless, coming into land. He'd prefer to stay up there circling until the tank is empty and it forces him back to earth, but he knows he'll get trouble from the ground crew if he starts mucking about wasting fuel.

When he is back on solid ground, Grant is on the night shift and it's too late for the pub. Half the base is asleep. Skin crawling, William goes in search of company and finds himself wandering the corridors. He doesn't consciously expect to meet Arthur, but somehow his feet lead him in that direction and he bumps into him, heading back from the bathroom with a glass of water. Arthur looks dishevelled: shirt unbuttoned at the neck, needing a shave. He's been drinking and the sharpness of whiskey is still on his breath. The corridor is deserted, echoing in the eerie way of a place that is usually busy but is now emptied and only dimly lit. They stop, just a little too close together, and Arthur looks at him in a way that makes William’s pulse beat faster. If this is what he thinks it is, it might be exactly what he needs.

"What are you doing here, De Lancey?" Arthur asks him, rather sharply given where they are. There's no rule to say William can't be walking the corridors at night.

"Couldn't sleep, sir," he says with a grin that he hopes will at least get him out of trouble and might get him something more. "I just got back."

Arthur looks at him appraisingly again, casting an eye over his slightly damp hair, the flying suit he hasn't changed out of yet. William licks his lips, mouth suddenly dry. Arthur draws in a quick breath, watching him, then he exhales in a way that is almost a laugh, leaning back against the wall.

"You'd best have a drink then,” he says in a very different tone, “if you want to."

The whiskey he’s offered in Arthur’s room has a raw burn to it. Grant has better hidden in his desk but that was brought back from a visit to his brother in Scotland. William downs the glass anyway, too quickly.

"In a hurry?" Arthur asks him, one eyebrow raised. He sips his own glass more slowly but then it clearly isn't his first.

"The drink's not why I'm here," William says, whiskey and adrenaline making him bold. "Is it?" He deliberately doesn't say sir.

Arthur looks him up and down. "No," he says, "it's not." He puts his glass down unfinished. The click of it against the wood feels like a decision being made. He takes half a step forward and William closes the rest of the distance. He'd known that Arthur would be good: the man has a reputation after all. He hadn't expected the hunger of it though, how demanding he is. One hand finds the back of William's neck, and the other his hip. He's held tight and it's perfect. He gives a little, lets himself go, and Arthur makes a sound in his throat and tugs him closer.

They kiss for long enough that William is desperate to move faster, desperate to be out of his confining clothes. He breaks away, tugging off his boots as he turns, and then drags Arthur with him, toppling both of them back onto the bed. He squirms provocatively, thrusting his hips upwards. Arthur leans more heavily on him, pinning him, and William feels calmer beneath that weight than he has since he took off. It's the good kind of calm though, not the flat, heavy feeling he sometimes gets after he's been flying. He sighs with contentment and nuzzles against Arthur’s open collar to kiss at the skin beneath it.

Getting out of his flying clothes is always a struggle, even when it’s just him and he’s not in a rush. Arthur is determined though, tugging the heavy woollen jumper over William’s head and kissing his neck, mouth wet and hot against the silk scarf he wears for flying. It’s no barrier against Arthur’s determination. The scarf goes, followed by shirt and vest and Arthur pulling off the heavy trousers that were becoming unbearably tight. William makes an attempt on Arthur’s clothes in turn, pushing his braces of his shoulders and unbuttoning his shirt but he’s not fast enough to avoid being naked when Arthur is still mostly dressed. There's another thrill in that, in being so exposed, in the hungry expression Arthur wears as he stares down at him, eyes taking in every detail. William throws his head back, licks his lips again and strokes himself, firm and slow. It's a show, and he knows how to tease.

Arthur allows it for a moment, watching him with dark eyes, then puts a hand out and stills him. He runs one finger the length of William's cock slowly, assessing him. William gasps. The blankets of the bed are scratchy against his back, his arse. Arthur makes a fist for him to thrust into and he forgets.

"God," Arthur says harshly, "look at you."

William whines and Arthur leans forward to kiss him quiet. It won’t do to be overheard. He follows the line of William’s jaw, his neck, mouthing at his collarbone. He nips at it, more teeth than William was expecting, and William can’t stop himself yelping a little.

“Sorry,” Arthur says, breath warm against William’s neck.

“Don’t be,” he says, “do it again.”

Arthur looks up at him and William meets his eyes. He nods. The look Arthur gives him is an unexpectedly predatory one. He bites again and William gasps out an encouraging sound. It’s difficult, sometimes, to get the kind of fucking he really wants. Grant is always too careful, too kind to really let go. William has no doubts at all that what Arthur is offering now is exactly what he wants and the last bit of coherent thought flies out of his head. Arthur is everywhere: kissing, biting, sucking bruises onto William’s skin. He strips himself without fuss and oh fuck, William thinks, it’s heaven to have him pinning you down. He’s experienced, determined, demanding: William can’t think of anything but the hard fucking and the inevitable rise towards orgasm.

Afterwards William allows himself to sprawl for a moment, gasping for air, sweaty and satisfied. Arthur is a heavy weight over him until he rolls away and for a minute or two there's no sound but the two of them breathing hard. William can feel the tug of sleepiness already but it wouldn't do to outstay his welcome. He pushes himself up sooner than he wants to and feels the ache in his back and legs.

Arthur rubs his hands over his face and reaches for the pack of cigarettes on the bedside table. "Want one?" he asks. There's a closed look to his expression, almost grim. William wonders if that's just his way after sex, or if it's whatever drove him to the whiskey bottle before. He and Grant have the complicated work to deal with and they both looks haunted at times. It makes William glad he's just the pilot with nothing to think about except the next flight.

He dresses as quickly as he can. It’s always awkward, hopping about finding stray socks, knowing there’s no way to make dressing as appealing as undressing. Arthur keeps watching him though. He hands William a cigarette when he’s dressed and William admires him as he lies there, apparently unbothered by his nakedness. He’s just the sort of man William would like to see naked again, but the frown is bothering him. Without really knowing why, he reaches out and touches the side of Arthur’s jaw, tipping his head back to kiss him. He lets it stay a little sweeter than the fucking.

“I don’t know what that was about,” William says, “but if you want to do it again some time you know where I am.”

Arthur doesn’t say much, but William didn’t expect him to really. Everyone knows that Arthur isn’t one for going back to the same bed twice. Still, he’s made the invitation and hopes Arthur might consider it, even if it’s just once more. He whistles as he walks back to his room. Whatever else you can say about Arthur, fucking him is one hell of a rush.