“Won’t that screw up my body clock? Sleeping, I mean?”
“Flying across an ocean is going to screw up your body clock.” Blake shrugged. “Ideally, yeah, you want to stay awake, but if you fall asleep, you fall asleep.”
“Which I suppose I will, considering how much sleep I didn’t have last night.”
Blake reached across to pat Jason’s arm. “That makes two of us, doesn’t it?”
Jason winked. “What a coincidence.”
They both dozed here and there, but for the most part, stayed awake. They watched movies on Blake’s laptop, talked about random things, and Jason amused Blake by marveling over the fact that first class had real food served in actual dishes.
“Didn’t you fly first class when you went to the States before?” Blake asked over lunch.
“Oh, fuck no.” Jason skewered a piece of zucchini with his fork. “I was traveling with mates on that trip. I’m not splashing out for this”—he gestured at the cabin around them—“unless someone else is footing the bill.”
“You’re welcome.”
Jason laughed. “Thank you. And I fully intend to earn my keep.” He winked, and Blake shivered. Yes, this was definitely a good idea.
Toward the end of the long flight—which had been surprisingly bearable, thanks to Blake’s seatmate—the flight attendants handed out forms to give the customs agents.
Blake had a couple of pens in his carry-on bag, so he gave one to Jason, and they both diligently filled out the bullshit information.
As Jason skimmed over the card, he snorted. “Somehow I don’t think I should put my real occupation on here.”
“You can if you want. If you want to spend your entire visit in customs.”
“Hmm, true. What should I put, then?”
“Actor? Dancer?”
“I suppose those fit.” Only slightly louder, he added, “Perhaps a bit less suspicious than ‘Cum-guzzling manwhore.’”
Across the aisle, another passenger spat out his drink. Blake glanced over, and was met with a look of wide-eyed horror and surprise from a suited guy who was scrambling to wipe brandy or whatever off his dress shirt. The man glared at them, and then got up and stomped toward the lavatory at the front of first class.
“Teach you to eavesdrop,” Jason said under his breath.
Laughing, Blake turned to him. “That’s got to be the least British thing I’ve ever heard you say.”
Jason shrugged as he signed the bottom of his customs form. “Arsehole’s been giving us the evil eye since Heathrow. Might as well give ’im something to tell his mates.”
“The evil eye?” Blake cocked his head. “Why? How the hell would he know there’s anything going on?”
“Don’t know, but . . .” Another shrug, and Jason handed back Blake’s pen. “If I was imagining it before, I won’t be now.”
The other guy returned, and neither Blake nor Jason was imagining the dirty look he shot them both. Blake just smiled sweetly, which made the man’s lips tighten before he dropped into his seat with a huff.
Jason snickered, patting Blake’s arm. “Told you.”
Blake laughed and shook his head.
In Newark, they shuffled from the plane to customs, where they had to separate. Blake stood in the mile-long cattle line for American passports, while Jason joined maybe two dozen people in the “all other passports” line. He flashed Blake a smug grin, and mouthed I’ll wait for you on the other side.
Blake chuckled. Apparently Jason couldn’t yet see that there was only one customs agent working that group, while at least ten were processing the Americans.
As predicted, when all was said and done, it was Blake who was waiting for Jason beyond the border while the lone customs agent processed all the scary foreigners.
As Jason joined him, Blake batted his eyes. “What took you so long?”
“Bite me,” Jason grumbled. “Much more of that, and I was going to offer to suck him off in the car park just to be done with it.”
“I suppose that’s one way to get through customs faster.”
“Think it would work?”
“Not as well as you’d hope.”
“Eh. It was worth a try.”
“I dare you to do it at Heathrow on the return trip.”
“I’ll pass on that, if you don’t mind.”
“Smart man.”
They continued through the airport maze with their suitcases in tow.
All his adult life, Blake had been vigilant about when and where he could get away with public displays of affection with men. Hand-holding was a risk. In certain places, a kiss was on par with an Evel Knievel stunt—a hell of a lot of danger for a momentary thrill.
And yet, as they made their way from baggage claim to long-term parking, he very nearly rested his hand on the small of Jason’s back. He just needed to touch him after being an arm’s-length apart for the last several hours.