Air to Air

"Waltz acquiring."

"Bandit down."

"Waltz acquiring."

"Bandit down."

"Waltz acquiring."

"Bandit down."

"Waltz acquiring."

"Bandit down."

"Tango, you holding up ok? Waltz is going full on roller coaster."

"Holding up fine. Waltz acquiring."

"Bandit down."

"My Lord. We just saw an ace. Any words for the people back home Waltz?"

"There's still enough for you to make that if you try, Cha-Cha."

"Bandit down."

"Guess not. Nice work, Haka."

"..."

"Haka. Tango just gave you a compliment. Say thank you."

"Sorry. Mic keeps spazzing. Thank you, Tango. Conductor, you said you fixed that."

"I said I would. Then we got the orders and had to scramble. Bid went through at the last minute. Duct tape and prayers was the best I could do. Focus up. Still counting 4 bandits. Waltz, you're slacking up there."

"I met my quota. Gotta give everyone else a chance to get a paycheck."

"Hey, you're fighting for mine too. Keep going. I want m- eep."

"Cha-Cha, heads up. They got rattlers.

"Warn me next time, Waltz. I almost hurled all over."

"Take it easy on the poor girl, Waltz. We got those too. Cha-Cha acquiring. Launching AAM."

"Miss. Launching AAM."

"Miss. Launching AAM."

"Miss. Opening fire."

"Bandit down."

"Someone give Cha-Cha a hug or a gold star or something."

"Eat my ass, Tango. Still one more than you."

"Tango's count as mine."

"Yeah. I'm an ace today. I'm the best. Haka, you're ok."

"Haka acquiring."

"Bandit down."

"Haka, you're pretty damn good."

"That's right. You better-"

"Cha-Cha acquiring."

"Bandit down."

"Yay. Good for you. Waltz, break out the confetti."

"Streamers are under your seat. Conductor, break out the cake."

"I hate you all so much. Conductor, how's the ground force moving?"

"Moving smoothly. Keep up the pressure. They've gotten the target and are moving him out to the LZ. Once he's airborne, then Hammer Squadron will take over escort. The more you guys take down, the easier their job."

"Waltz acquiring."

"Bandit down."

"Thought you were going easy Waltz."

"Got bored, Cha-Cha. Keep up. I want that cake."

"Cha-Cha acquiring."

"Bandit down. Better be chocolate. I'm in the zone now. Goddamn unstoppable."

"Give me some credit, Cha-Cha. I had to run decoy on that to help your blind ass."

"Yes. Fine. Thank you, Haka. May your fat blind ass continue to take fire. Are you still flying?"

"Who's blind now? Or course I am. Stupid-"

"And Haka cut out again. Shame. I like the pillow talk. Conductor, is there cake?"

"No. But if you get back and there's still a paint job on yours, I'll buy everyone a pizza."

"Deal. Waltz, Tango. You have to share."

"What? Why?"

"One plane. One paycheck. One pizza. Conductor back me up."

"Everyone gets a pizza. That's what I said. Even Wizzos. Reading all bandit's down and Hammer's taking over. Good job everyone. Baroque Squadron, return to base."

---

Butter smooth landing so clean the tires didn't even squeak. Tango kicked the seat in front of her. Waltz thumped back with his body. He shouldn't show off anymore. Cha-Cha would be pissed at them both. He couldn't help it. She didn't want to help it. So, they just kept rolling along the runway, the adrenaline slowly replaced by the fatigue, the dizziness, the little bits of cold and sleep tugging at the edges of their being. A good payday after a good day's work. And a pizza waiting for the both of them. Even more so, she had that bottle of red stashed under her bunk. And a white one under his.

"Waltz and Tango, back in hangar," said Tango, "Popping the hatch."

A series of clicks and pops and whirs and so many other fun mysterious noises that came from the glass bubble. They were free. Waltz took off his mask first. He always did, pulling down the helmet and breathing in nonfiltered air. It smelled like metal and oil. Tango stayed in the pit a bit longer. A bit longer to feel the cooling click of the twin engines, just enough to trick her that they were still up there, up in the blue, dancing and swirling and dipping down into chaotic patterns that nothing else could track.

Like a gentleman, he helped her out with a palm and smile. It took them both a moment to come back down. Heads still in the clouds, both of them, spinning and turning and dancing forever and ever. Haka came in next, rolling to a gentle stop and making the same noises their machine did. He got out even faster than Waltz, pounding against the smooth hangar floor, almost taking up more space than the planes did.

Waltz got his first, a bear hug that would crack trees and crush windpipes. And a soft peck on the crown of the head. Tango held her arms up and she got the same. Although, she had to be lifted up to receive the last part. That was nice. Haka had a nice smile. But he always let it fall too soon, shutting everything down and letting his resting scowl come back. Cha-Cha rolled in last, taking a long, long moment to come out. Haka was waiting for him. They fought all the way, but it still happened. Cha-Cha thumped the large man's chest but couldn't quite hide his blush.

Waltz stretched and moved, legs still wobbling a bit from the lack. Tango got hers back first, walking away. Shower, then food, then drink, then bed. Or bed, then food, then bed, then bed. No, a shower had to be in there somewhere. The suit trapped everything and refused any sort of breathability. Stiff joints, stiff shoulders, straps that rode up and down. Terrible. All of it was terrible.

The mechanics moved them away and nestled the babies down to rest. They had a big day. The pilots had a big day. They marched as a loose coalition, keeping formation more or less as they did in the air. Haka kept the scowl more or less present. Hard though, it was hard. A good day with a paycheck waiting from the head office and that would go so many fun places. Waltz kept his helmet on. The mask hung from a strap. He could breathe again in the open sky. His heart was still beating fast, but that would calm. Tango had that same bounce in her step, fighting back the exhaustion. Always such an odd mix to have while still on the ground. Tired and excited, could go for 15 minutes of 15 hours with no real way to slip in the in-between. The food helped bump up the time. He was hungry. Tango was hungry. Haka was definitely hungry. Cha-Cha was pouting a bit, but he was still hungry.

Their hands kept glancing against one another. Waltz kept pushing it forward and Tango kept batting it around. Not quite letting it sit in hers, but close enough. Still on the clock and there were some standards they both had to abide. Even if they were stupid and overlooked at almost every opportunity. And Cha-Cha got jealous and pouty when he wasn't getting affection. It was relatively quiet on the tarmac. Someone was testing engines on the other side, beneath the heavy blanket of the hangars. It wasn't that bad. As long as they finished before the sun went fully down and the star smeared canvas came out into the night in full. Some bastard liked the nighttime to do maintenance and that only led to more problems with banging in the middle of the night. Their hands kept playing with one another's, daring the partner to go for the final move and keep everything still. Neither did. That was the game. Neither won. Neither lost.

Some of the techs waved at the pilots passing through, if only to say they did. They probably nicked so many panels, blew so many screens, did so much wear on the goddamn breaks on the whole thing that they wouldn't get any sleep for the next two days. Two full nighters in a row. And Conductor even had pizza waiting for them in his office. It wasn't fair.

Waltz was the one to knock on the frosted glass and wait for a long, long moment before they were called in.

Conductor blew a horn and tossed a handful of confetti as they all walked in. Haka flinched. Tango didn't.

"And that's one more down. We're in the black. Brass is going to be happy. Alright," he said, "Take your scans and then we'll process the payouts."

"And the pizzas?" asked Tango.

"On the way. Got 'em from Badguy's. And some garlic bread with the sauce."

"That's just the same thing as the pizza, just put together different," said Waltz.

"It tastes different," said Tango, "You wouldn't get it. You're the weirdo who likes pineapple."

"We're not doing this again. It's perfectly fine. It works. Especially when you get that spicy ham."

"Scan's people. Need to prove to the system that everyone made it back alive. If you don't want your bonus, then it goes to me."

Tango finally took of her helmet and scratched her head. It was always so itchy. She should cut her hair shorter. That might help. But then she probably be cold up there in the jet. Waltz had long hair and he could manage. She'd be fine. She blinked the stars from her eyes and kept moving. Waltz went next and blinked the same stars from his. Cha-Cha, Haka, more blinking more stars. Cameras needed to be better.

"This is Coordinator Connor Dumais, callsign Conductor. Reporting full squadron return for contract number 485667959. Requesting agreed payment and applicable bonus," he said. The lights took his words and jotted them down, whisking them away to someone somewhere to do something. So long as the something ended with a bank account growing larger and larger.

"And with that, you are all officially off duty," he said, "Shower, change, do whatever. You have like 45 minutes before the food gets here."

---

Waltz, Walter, whatever he was, spent his first 20 minutes in the shower, keeping everything under control. A final little wind down, keeping everything flowing. The rain took it all away. The warm water wouldn't let him feel anything. Nothing righteous, nothing sinful, he was what he was. He moved the stick, pulled the trigger and got the money. He followed the laws that said it was all just and good, something ethical and stopped questioning. He reached for the soap. It smelled like sandalwood and pine. Tango, Theresa, whatever she was, liked that scent. She said she did. She always used it on her.

Deep breath, he took a deep breath. The same thoughts, the same ideas kept tumbling, kept playing and he always kept going. Not the justification, not the pragmatics. He just kept going. The water went a little hotter with a slight whim. It kept him from thinking. It kept the thoughts, the black thoughts down. He was used to it. He wasn't used to it. He didn't want to be that used to it.

"My Lord, you have it near boiling, dude," said Teresa, "Turn it down. You'll look like a lobster."

He did. He did not want to be a lobster.

Her body pierced the thoughts, just for a moment. Thin, trim, toned, hard and sculpted, swell and rolling and tightly knit. She hadn't shaved for a bit, small patches of strawberry on her crotch, under her arms, just like the tousled mess clinging to her head.

It didn't last. The removed thoughts kept slipping in. They were there and it would always be fine.

"You're having those thoughts again aren't you," Teresa said, soft.

"Yeah. Yeah. I think it was your turn to have a bit of a freak out."

"Hmm. Maybe. I can have mine later. The adrenaline is still in me. So, kind of hard to break down. I think the morning's going to be fun. We have pizza. Hard to be sad when there's pizza."

"I think I'm doing a good job at it."

She leaned forward and laced her hands around his back. Strong, she was strong. He had so much back to play with, so much chest and front to push into. He was wet and slippery and he smelled like sandalwood and pine. She liked that.

Together, they slowly slipped down to the cool tile on the floor.

"It's just a lot, y'know," he whispered, "Doing something like this."

"I get it. I really do," she hummed back. The warm water washed over them both and carried the worst of the thoughts down. They always did.

"It's weird that I like it," he said.

"It is. And it's weird that I like it too."

"4 years of construction after I was out. It was hell. It was hell."

"3 as a secretary. And yeah, it was hell."

"It just didn't stop. I could feel the thrum-"

"In your hands. That little bit at the back of your head saying, 'this is it.'"

"That it's all kind of dull now."

"All gray and gone, looking around and it's just wading in a sea of faces."

"Forgotten and lost and nothing quite catches the spark."

"So, we do this. And we don't feel bad about what we do."

"We're addicts. Kind of. Sort of. And we're fighting other addicts because it's the only thing that makes sense."

"We're crazy."

"We're crazy."

Some of the tension was gone in his shoulders. A pattern of call and response, the roles switched and reversed so many times, neither one of them really understood which one started it. Teresa moved and sat by his side, tiles making her back straight. She placed a hand on his thigh, feeling the clench and flex of his muscles. That was where he carried the tension. That, and his shoulders. She laid her head on them. They were broad and strong.

"Do you need to run through it again," she asked, "Or do you want the other routine?"

"No, no," he sighed, "Better."

"It's kind of like bleeding a wound. You just have to get it out. Let it fill up, let it out. When the bucket tips, its good and empty."

"Kind of don't know how many more of these I have in me."

"Neither do it. But we do it until we can't, then we do something else. And it's going to be we. You're useless without me."

"Not wrong. And you're useless without me."

"More or less. I can at least clean a room halfway decent."

"And I know how to unclog a drain."

"There we go. Everything set. What else do we need?"

He leaned onto her, and she leaned into him. She was hard, muscle and bone pressed tight. A rock, she was a rock. He was a rock, colliding together, and the softness in them flowed and poured over one another. He reached down and found her lips with his. She pressed in more.

She played with him. He was still soft, laying across her hand, idle motion with no real attempt to bring him out. There was a hand on her chest, doing the same. Some response in her core, his core, but this was nice. The water was warm, everything was warm. She broke apart and touched her forehead to his. Brown eyes, he had such beautiful brown eyes. Sad eyes that danced and came alive when the spark was lit. Amber, she had such beautiful amber eyes. Energetic and electric that fell to dull when the clouds gathered. They kept playing with one another, winding and moving through the familiar shapes with practiced familiarity. They shifted a bit, until Teresa straddled him and laid through him.

Two bodies pressed into one, clinging in the warm rain that ran rivers down the shared for. Their lips found one another again while the hands kept moving with soft exploration and wandering curiosity of a familiar route. He stayed where her hips flared out. There was a scar there, almost invisibly faded now. She got it falling off a swing set when she was a kid. It needed stitches and she showed the boy she liked. He ran away and called her gross. She found the faded ink on the left side of his chest. It was a shark, vicious and bloodthirsty, caught on a line and yanked from the sea from some unseen angler. He said it was dumb and that he got it while he was drunk. It wasn't dumb. It was lame. Slight difference.

More touching, so much more where everything was available, even if it was unwanted. A slight shift and move were enough to dissuade the hand from going too far. It only happened a few times from both of them, and they both did not complain. He kissed her and felt her tongue slip through and play with his own. He chuckled. It was hard. It was so hard to think through the bit of down and black when everything started to bubble up. It was a similar process with Teresa. Hers took place in bed, hugging a pillow and covered in blankets. Charles and Hepa had their own ways of chasing away the thoughts. They didn't ask.

Teresa felt the urge start to push forward from her. A little light at her core wanting to push forward against the body underneath her. He was growing hard, pushing back against the slight motions of her hips. HE kept kissing her, kept fondling and moving and exploring deeper and deeper into her. She took him in, as she pushed back, shaking down the rivers and valleys of his body as he melted.

His legs twitched under the idle play. Movements and touch and drawing out the little bit of wonderful ease from him.

"I don't think we have time for the full thing," said Teresa.

"I am aware," Walter said, "But I don't think we should stop."

"Come right to the edge?"

"Exactly."

"Dangerous. Good."

He was fully hard, almost painfully so. The malaise was gone and the fear, the panic, that wonderful high of the edge rode for hours under fire, that roared in him. She moved and wiggled playing with the tip on her hips. Little noises, just little noises in her, little motions, just little motions of her. She got that lopsided smirk, cocky and innocent, assured and awed, from him. She kissed him again and it was gone, lost in her mouth. She wore something similar in the reflection of his softened eyes.

She rocked and bucked, taking his length between her thighs, letting it rub her entrance in the softest of teases. That was dangerous. Walter tended to buck and move in erratic ways. That was why he was fun. A leaf tossed in a hurricane, with every upside down and inside out and scattered to pieces. The horizon to the left, the stars under her feet, the ground coming to greet them with a hearty fist to the nose. And he would always pull away. The sky would right itself and left the clouds block and straight and narrow. Easy flying like an albatross over clear skies, before a turn, a roll, a dip sent them both tumbling down again into a dizzy spin, untouchable in the chaos of their wake.

And she always had her finger on the trigger. Pulling and tipping the edges of the motions, pointing the stars in time to their dance. The tempo, or the song, or the whirling cavalcade of everything colliding into raw data. She met his length at the apex and slowly pushed it between their stomachs. He was so hot. He was so hard. For her. All for her. His hands dug into her thighs, taking her in the motions that almost were the ones she wanted. She moved up and down, feeling a bit of slick heat escape him, trickling down the shared gap between them. She giggled and he chuckled, moving back up to play her lips with his teeth. She nipped back, wrestling and playing and sinking down in the soft joy of no thoughts at all. Nothing at all. Just a body to feel, instincts to play out in any order.

His hands moved to her ass and gripped tight. That made her jump a bit up into him. She moved to his chest and gave his nipples a small swirl and pinch. That made him jump a bit into her. They both laughed and started pulling the instinct movements take over, throttling them back down into place of no thoughts. No thoughts at all. A call and response, following the good tone of their continued motion.

He took his hand down between her thighs, rubbing over her stomach, the mounds and dips and valleys. He played with her, making her grow still in the motions.

"That's not fair," she whined.

"I'm just going to the edge, right?" murmured Walter, "That's the game."

"Yeah, but for you. I do it to you. You just have to sit there and take it."

"No."

He kept moving, rolling his palm across her hood as he moved inside of her. So tight, so taught, so many little places to touch and prod, the circles and stroke inside of her that hit and stroked and drummed in her core. She huffed and broke from his eyes, closing them off.

"Stop smirking," she whined, "That's mean."