|Someone wrote in cabinpres_fic,|
Martin had always found he paid a special bit of attention to the tone people's voices emitted. He liked to discover who had a pleasant tenor, or a deep baritone that sent his mind and body rattling. Even the high pitch of soprano was a unique, rich sound that pleased Martin's ears.
From a distance, anyhow.
Sometimes Martin would simply listen to people talk on the radio, and peek down at the kids under his attic, listening in on their laughter and inside jokes. He'd always been fascinated by the human voice.
It only became a problem when Douglas came on board.
He'd tried to ignore it, and had done a fair job at that. So far, if he didn't focus too hard on the deep, rich quality of the man's voice, he found talking to him not terribly painful.
There was just something about Douglas. Something that struck a deep chord inside the red-headed pilot that left him aching for more. When he'd catch himself listening intently when Douglas was on the phone, or staring at him more than was necessary, he had to give himself a good metaphorical slap on the wrist.
Martin just needed to be careful.
Today they were flying from London to Berlin, and Martin was quite fancying a nice trip. He'd been cooped up in his attic and his job for far too long. He needed to release this - this tension and fly!
Already seated in the cabin when Douglas came in, he smiled and greeted the taller male with as much enthusiasm as he could muster for the early morning.
"Hello, Martin," he greeted, slapping a thick book onto his knee. At his captain's curious gaze his lips curled into a smirk and he held up a book displaying a beautiful woman with a man wrapped around her. "This, Martin," he addressed slowly, flashing the front cover "is a book. You are aware how luxurious the tone of my voice is, of course?"
Martin focused rigidly on the cover in front of him, but none of the words made any sense when Douglas was speaking. "Uh, yes?" he answered, trying hard not to squeak. Douglas was joking, just joking. Or maybe not. He wasn't quite sure.
"Well." he raised an eyebrow at the obvious discomfort on Martin's face (as he always did when they spoke together. What WAS wrong with him?) "It seems that thanks to our lovely commercialization of MJN air has attracted those people who search for the most delightful voice actors to make audio recordings of books for...people who can't read, I suppose," Douglas smirked, opening the book up at a random point.
"Seems people have finally found an appreciation for my talents," he said absently, placing his finger on a random spot.
Martin gripped the edges of his chair, trying not to shiver as Douglas's deep tenor cut right through his skin. Oh dear God. He wasn't going to read, was he?
"...his fingers caressed her skin. Lips pressed against lips and they kissed, all the while Lewis's fingers roamed her body. Hands slid over his shoulders, her waist, dipping lower and lower...You came at a good part, Martin. Lucky you."
Martin was frozen as Douglas' voice took an even deeper tone, a dramatic amount of emotion being put into the pseudo-reading. Trying or not, the sensuous words, coupled with Douglas' irresistible voice made his cheeks burn and the room heat up. Martin didn't dare breath as Douglas continued, barely aware that his shoulders were squared and his jaw clenched.
"'Shall I undress you?' Lewis purred, voice the very devil itself, leading the maiden into temptation."
Douglas took on a sultry tone, his voice a graveled, rich rumble that went straight to Martin's cock. He discreetly shifted his chair away from Douglas, breath coming out in soft gasps as he tried in vain to hold it. His face was even more flushed, freckles standing out against the angry reddening skin. Martin's hands were shaking, by God. If he didn't leave here soon, something horrible might happen and he would be the butt of all of Douglas' jokes for — for forever!
"I — I think I get it Douglas," the captain ground out, sounding so much more desperate to his own ears. He shouldn't have even spoken.
His co-pilot gave him an odd look, turning away from his book to face the red-faced, rigid Martin. "Are you quite alright?" Now he was speaking directly to Martin, and his voice still held remnants of his earlier tone. Oh, what he wouldn't give to have that voice saying unspeakable things to —
Martin sucked in his breath, and let it out slowly. "No. No, no, no. Nothing's wrong," he all but snapped, veins on his neck standing out. A slow smile spread across Douglas' face and he looked back at the book.
"Martin, are you getting aroused by this erotic writing?" He sounded far too smug for his own good, and Martin swallowed.
"Good heavens, no," he hissed, blush deepening.
"Your case isn't very strong. After all, look at you," he purred, and Martin squirmed, breath coming out far too quick for his own liking. "Or perhaps it's just my voice. Too stimulating, is it?" he joked.
Martin trembled in his seat, neck flushing beautifully at that. He had no answer, lest he outright moan or say something to embarrass himself further.
"By God, it is my voice, isn't it?" he sounded shocked, pleased even.
"Shut up! No, it isn't," Martin denied, but the shudder that ran through him didn't help much.
Douglas' grin was amused. "Shall I speak to you slowly? Or perhaps softly? I will caress you, speak sweet nothings into your ears until you're begging for me to make stop, to end it." Purposefully Douglas deepened and enriched his voice, each word rolling off his tongue and driving straight to Martin's clothed prick.
"D-Douglas," he protested weakly, breath becoming more labored. His voice was so deep. It went so deep. It curled around Martin's own body and pushed inside him, so rich and so delightful to listen to. His ears could bleed and he wouldn't care. Douglas' voice went so, so deep.
A soft moan escaped before he could help it, and a dust of red touched Douglas ' cheeks, but he continued. It was getting into dangerous territory here, and perhaps he should quit while he was ahead, but he rather liked seeing Martin like this, all flushed and prettied just for him. "Are you feeling it now? I'm touching you, Martin."
For a moment the pilot captain thought he was touching him, and he crossed his arms over his chest, trying to ignore that devilish vocalization. His name – oh the way he said his name!
"I'm running my hands over your shoulders, your chest. My fingers are running gently over your cheeks. You're shuddering softly now. Trembling for my touch, my tone." Martin was indeed trembling, his cock now fully erect with every word slicing right through him. He opened his mouth to speak.
"I put my finger to your lips. No speaking. My hand caresses your face, your cheek, and then moves to your neck. What would you like me to do, Martin?"
How could he ask that? Martin couldn't move, let alone speak. The front of his trousers were becoming wet; he was leaking from prolonged exposure to his velvet vocals. "I — I don't," he started, having no idea what he wanted. He was caught between making him stop, or groaning for him to continue. Oh, the things he could do and say and Martin was an absolute wreck.
"I can see you're excited." How could he sound so calm?! "You're straining against the seams of your trousers. You want my touch. You want my fingers to wrap around your cock and pull."
Martin moaned pathetically and tipped his head back, muscles in his thighs tense. The front of his trousers were now so wet. He was soaking the front of them, precome dripping and slipping out of him, so much of it that he felt like a girl.
"You're feeling it. Shall I kiss you?" Martin mewled. "Or would you like your lips somewhere else?" Martin flushed beautifully and trembled harder than ever, one hand snapping to his groin to press firmly against his enclosed member. It was so wet, and so, so hard. Douglas' voice spread warmth throughout his whole body, tingles making the hairs rise upon his arms and the back of his neck.
"Douglas, please," he panted, breath horribly loud and voice horrible inadequate to his own ears.
"Martin, tell me what you want," he all but purred. Martin bit his lip. He was so wet, and so warm, twitching and throbbing against his own with each breath. He was demolished by his voice, completely wrecked. God, he had no idea what he wanted. He just needed Douglas' voice, for him to finish it.
"Can't? Then I'll tell you. I move to your ear and breath into it, softly. I whisper to you that I want your pretty mouth stretched around my cock. I want you to take it deep, and take it whilst you touch yourself."
Martin licked his lips over and over, throat parched, hand rubbing his own erection without realizing it. "Douglas," he breathed, eyes closed tight.
"Yes, you can feel it, can't you? They twitch and tremble as I press my hot, heavy cock to your lips while your own hand moves over your own swiftly. I push inside and you moan." Martin echoed his illustration. "Faster and harder, you take me deeper and you becoming more wet, futher aroused."
Martin was indeed wet. His trousers were soaked beyond repair. It was an embarrassing fact that he leaked a considerable amount every time. He also wasn't going to last much longer. How embarrassing, to come from just his voice, but — oh, what a voice!
"You begin to choke, so I let you rest your tongue against the tip while we wait for you to catch your breath. You can't stop your hand, bringing you closer and closer to your orgasm. I could decide to make you wait. I could make you remove your hand, stay aching for as long as I want." Douglas was flushed, out of breath, but his words never faltered.
Martin moaned pathetically, hips pushing desperately into his own hand. "D-Douglas, please."
"But I'm in a merciful mood." His voice was impossibly deep and rough. "You can come, Martin."
"Oh, Douglas," he choked, and with those rich words Martin lifted his hips, arched, trembling with each pulse of his powerful orgasm. He was breathing hard, as if he'd run a marathon, chest rising and falling rapidly. He didn't dare look at Douglas, at the smug look that would be on his face. He focused on the pleasure and, soon, the discomfort from his middle being so wet.
With a comical suddenness the door slammed open and Author waltzed in. "Hey guys! Skip, Douglas. Skip, are you alright?" Martin's face blew up in flames, and Douglas tutted.
"Martin's had a bit of an accident. We're going to the bathroom to clean it up. Come along, Martin," he soothed. A small shudder made its way through Martin's body and he somehow stood, facing away from Author and nodding.
"R-Right away," he coughed. "Carry on Author."
Douglas smirked and gently led Martin by the arm into the hall.
"Shall we act out that scene?" He said when they were out of earshot. He felt Martin shiver and flush, then minutely nod.