Chapter 25 - Elias
The airport hums like a hive—rolling suitcases, gate announcements, the low buzz of people shuffling from one place to another. But all I can hear is the sound of my pulse.
Too fast. Too loud.
I’m standing at the gate, staring at the number on the screen like it’s the countdown to my execution. The boys are behind me somewhere—Cole taunting, Shane muttering about TSA being a curse, Tyler whining about middle seats. Usual chaos.
But none of it matters.
All that matters is the jet bridge. The plane waiting at the end of it. The memory of turbulence, steel shaking under my feet, my chest locking tight until I couldn’t breathe. The flight where I lost it—full panic, full meltdown.
And now I’m supposed to do it again.
“Nope,” I say, sudden, loud enough that a couple people waiting turn their heads.
Then I spin on my heel, ready to bolt the other way. I don’t even care where—I’ll walk home, skate home, crawl home if I have to. I’m not—
Wham.
Straight into a wall. Solid. Heavy. Smelling like smoke and steel and the faint bite of leather.
Damian.
I stagger back a step, breath catching in my throat. His eyes are steady on mine, unreadable, pinning me in place like nails.
My voice comes out cracked, trembling, the fire from a second ago gone to ash. “S-sir…”
The boys are still chirping somewhere behind us, clueless, boarding passes in hand. The gate agent’s calling our group number. The line’s moving.
And I’m frozen.
Right in front of the man who’s the only thing scarier than the plane itself.
He doesn’t grab me.
Damian just looks down at me, hands still shoved in his pockets, head tilted the slightest bit—like a wolf watching a rabbit freeze on the edge of its den. No words. No growl. Just that look.
The one that says Where do you think you’re going, pup?
My stomach drops clean to my skates.
“Fuck,” I whisper under my breath, more to myself than him. A pathetic little whine that cracks in the back of my throat.
I can’t run. Not from that look.
So I turn. Slowly. Pathetically. Back toward the jet bridge. Back toward the plane. My sneakers drag like they weigh eighty pounds each, every step a death march.
The line shuffles forward, boarding passes scan, the gate agent smiles like we’re just another group of travelers instead of a rookie center about to drop dead in the aisle. The boys are laughing still.
None of them notice I’m walking like I’m heading to my own execution.
But Damian does.
I don’t need to look back to know it. I can feel it—his eyes on me, drilling between my shoulder blades the whole way down the jet bridge. Silent. Heavy. I swear I’d rather he growled, barked, ordered me. At least then I could hide behind the command.
Instead, I’m climbing onto this plane because he looked at me.
Because I can’t stand the thought of disappointing him more than I can stand the thought of turbulence.
Christ.
The line creeps forward, boarding pass scans, and before I know it I’m stepping onto the plane. The hum of engines rattles the floor under my shoes, the recycled air already choking me. My lungs seize, lungs skipping like a scratched CD.
I slow, almost stop.
Then his shadow falls over me.
Damian.
He stands behind me in the narrow aisle, hands in his pockets, body broad enough to block the flow of passengers until I keep moving.
So I do.
Row numbers blur past until I’m staring down at our seats. Window. Middle. Aisle. My stomach flips when I realize who’s already sliding into the aisle—Cole, grinning like a bastard with his headphones around his neck, ready to chirp me for the next two hours.
Which leaves the window.
Damian jerks his chin once.
My throat tightens. “Cap—”
He doesn’t even blink. Just that tilt of his head again.
Fuck.
I climb in. My knees bang the seat in front of me, my bag slides underfoot, and the window glares at me like a black hole. I can’t breathe, can’t move, can’t—
Then Damian drops into the middle seat beside me. His arm stretches across the backrest like he owns the entire row, broad shoulders cutting the world in half. His thigh presses into mine, solid, unyielding, a weight I can’t ignore.
And just like that—I’m caged.
Pressed between the window and him, nowhere to run. His eyes glance down once, steady, as if to say Stay put, pup.
Cole leans across the aisle. “Look at you, curls. Cap’s got you in the corner like a naughty kid. Better hope he doesn’t put you in a time-out mid-flight.”
I flush scarlet, choking on my own breath. The engines rumble louder, the captain’s voice crackling over the intercom, and my heartbeat spikes until I’m shaking.
But Damian doesn’t look at Cole. Doesn’t look at anyone. Just keeps his arm stretched across the backrest, hand brushing the edge of my shoulder, steady as stone.
And it hits me—he’s not trapping me.
He’s keeping me here.
Keeping me steady.
Keeping me his.
The engines roar louder, the cabin vibrating like the floor itself wants to buck me off. My hands fist tight in my lap, nails biting through fabric, breath ragged against the glass.
“Hollywood.”
Cole jerks his head up from across the aisle, still grinning like he’s waiting for the show. “Yeah, Cap?”
Damian doesn’t look at him. Doesn’t even glance away from me. His eyes stay locked on mine as he says, flat and final:
“I need you to pretend you’re not going to hear shit in the next twenty minutes.”
Cole blinks. His grin falters, then snaps right back. “Yes, Cap.”
I groan, slumping lower against the window. “Oh my god—”
But then the plane lurches forward, engines growling deeper, and every ounce of air leaves my chest. The ground falls away. Steel rattles under my shoes. My lungs lock up like they’ve been chained.
Damian’s hand slides into my hair. Fist tight. Commanding.
And his mouth drops to my ear.
“Good boys don’t panic,” he murmurs, low, lethal. “Good boys breathe when I tell them to.”
A whimper claws out of me, high and wrecked, caught between fear and the sharp pull of his grip.
“You want to live through this flight, pup?” His thumb strokes slow against my scalp, rough and grounding. “Focus on what I’m going to do to you once we land.”
My breath stutters.
“Sir—”
“Shh.” His lips brush the shell of my ear. “Picture it. Hotel room. On your knees the second I shut the door. You’re going to swallow me deep, aren’t you?”
“Y-yes, sir.” My voice breaks, shame and panic twisting together.
“There you go. You’ll choke on me until your throat’s raw, then I’ll drag you onto the bed and fold you in half. You’ll beg, you’ll cry, you’ll thank me for every second.”
The plane tilts, rising harder, steel shuddering—and I whimper into his chest. His hand clamps firmer at my roots, forcing my head against his shoulder.
“Stay put,” he rasps. “You’re not going anywhere. Not from me.”
And just like that—my breath unlocks. Not fully. Not safe. But enough to breathe. Enough to cling to him, shaking, while filth and promises drown out the steel storm outside.
The engines howl, the floor rattles—and then his voice is in my ear. Calm. Deliberate. Like the chaos doesn’t exist.
“You’re going to crawl the second we land, pup. Straight to your knees. Beg for it.”
A strangled groan claws out of me, muffled against his shoulder. My hands clutch at his sleeve, knuckles white.
His grip tightens, steady. “Breathe.”
I drag in one gasp. Shaky. Useless. But it’s enough.
“You’ll choke on my cock until your eyes water. Won’t you?” he murmurs, thumb stroking my scalp once.
“Y-yes, sir.” The plane jolts, turbulence shaking the cabin, and my lungs seize again. My nails scrape his arm, useless, desperate.
“Breathe, Elias.” His tone doesn’t shift, doesn’t soften. Just that same lethal calm.
I do. A ragged inhale. A broken exhale. My throat burns.
“That’s it.” His mouth brushes my ear. “Perfect pup.”
Heat floods my lungs, tangled with panic, tangled with devotion. I whimper, nodding into his shoulder.
“I’ll fold you until you can’t breathe. Make you scream so loud the whole floor hears.”
Another jolt. My stomach drops—but his hand holds me steady, nails scraping my scalp until I suck in another breath, shuddering but real.
“Good,” he says, like the word itself can pin me to the earth. “That’s it. You’re doing perfect.”
My face is buried against his chest now, burning hot, shame and need knotted with terror. The plane keeps shuddering.
Filth and praise. Punishment and reward. Every “you’ll beg for it” cut through with a “good boy.” Every filthy promise wrapped in command. Every word keeping me alive.
I cling harder. Shake harder. Breathe when he tells me to.
The rattling finally eases, engines evening into a calm hum. I’m still plastered to him, though, fist twisted tight in his sleeve, his hand heavy in my curls like he’s got me chained there.
I should move. I should sit up straight, pretend I didn’t nearly crawl out of my skin in front of the entire goddamn team.
But then his mouth dips to my ear again.
“You’re going to keep me in your throat until you can’t breathe,” he murmurs, voice low enough to cut through the cabin noise, but not low enough to keep it private.
“Then I’m going to fuck you open so slow you’ll beg me to wreck you faster.
And I won’t. I’ll keep you spread until you’re sobbing, begging, promising anything just to come. ”
The words sear through me. Hot. Filthy. Anchoring. My body jerks against him with a strangled sound, half panic, half pure need.
And then—Christ—there’s another noise.
Cole.
A sharp, choked moan from the aisle seat, muffled behind his hand but loud enough for me to hear. My eyes go wide, face flaming scarlet, pulse spiking all over again for a whole new reason.
Damian doesn’t even twitch. Just smirks against my ear.
The second the seatbelt sign dings off, Cole is up—yanking his headphones around his neck, sunglasses slipping, bolting for the aisle like his ass is on fire. He stumbles down the narrow row, nearly trips over Shane’s feet, and disappears into the bathroom so fast the door slams.
I let out a strangled laugh, cracked and wrecked, still clutching Damian’s arm like a lifeline. “Oh my god,” I wheeze, burying my face in his chest to muffle the sound. “He actually—he’s—fuck—”
My shoulders shake with hysterical laughter I can’t stop, half panic still in me, half delirium, and Damian just sits there. Solid. Steady. Arm heavy around me like none of this touches him.
And maybe it doesn’t.
But I’m vibrating. Buzzing. Alive in ways I shouldn’t be, pressed into my Captain’s chest while Cole’s probably jerking off ten rows down.
By the time the cabin settles and the plane hums through the clouds, I realize I’m actually breathing. Still clinging, still trembling, but breathing. My cheek is pressed into Damian, his heartbeat against my ear, his hand never letting me go.
I don’t move. I can’t. If I let go now, I’ll float clean off this plane.
The bathroom door bangs open, and Cole saunters back down the aisle. His grin’s wild, sunglasses crooked, hair damp like he dunked his head under the faucet. I already know—I know—and I want to melt into the floor before he even gets close.
Damian’s mismatched eyes track him the whole way, unreadable until Cole drops into his seat with a dramatic sigh.
Then my Captain smirks. Sharp. Mean. “Hope you washed your hands, Hollywood.”
“Oh my god!” I choke, slapping both hands over my face. My ears are burning so hot I swear they’re going to combust.
Cole freezes mid-grin, sunglasses sliding down his nose. For a half second, he looks caught. Then his mouth curves wicked and he leans right over the armrest.
He shoves both palms out toward us. “I did not, in fact, wash my hands.”
They’re wet. Still dripping.
I shriek, jerking back so hard I nearly slam my head against the window. “You’re a fucking animal!”
Cole cackles, waving his damp hands closer, like he’s blessing me with unholy baptism. “Come on, curls—bonding experience! Team chemistry!”
I’m screeching. Damian rumbles low against my cheek, a sound that’s half growl, half laugh, and all terrifying.
“Hollywood,” Damian says, lethal.
Cole’s smile falters. Just a twitch. Then he yanks his hands back and shoves them under his thighs like a kid caught stealing.
“Yessir,” he mutters.
And just like that, the rest of the vets are looking over with raised brows. Mats tilts his head. Shane blinks. Tyler looks confused out of his skull. None of them have any idea what just happened in this row.
Cole can’t leave it alone. Of course he can’t.
He tips his sunglasses down his nose, leans just far enough over the armrest to smirk at Damian. “So… am I gonna have to pretend my ears don’t work for landing too?”
My entire soul leaves my body. “Cole!” I choke, voice breaking so loud a lady two rows up actually turns.
Damian doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t look at me. His eyes stay locked on Hollywood.
“Only if you want to keep your head attached to your body.”
Cole blinks. His smirk falters a half beat—then comes back full force, crooked and reckless as always. He salutes with two fingers, grin wide as sin. “Yes, Captain.”
I groan, burying my face deeper into him. “Bastard.”
Cole cackles, rocking back into his seat like he just won something.
Damian just smirks, thumb dragging slow through my hair, his silence more lethal than anything he could’ve said.
From the other side of him, Cole leans just far enough forward to peek around my Captain’s shoulder.
“Curls.”
I sigh, tilting my head just enough to glance at him. “Yeah?”
“You good?” His voice isn’t chirp-sharp this time. Not mocking. Just… curious.
My throat works, and I feel Damian’s thumb stroke once against my scalp, firm, grounding. My lips twitch into something helpless.
“I am now.”
Cole clocks the hand in my hair, the way Damian’s keeping me pinned to his chest like a leash—and grins wide enough to split his face.
“Christ,” he mutters, shaking his head, settling back into his seat. “You’re so fucked.”
My cheeks go nuclear. “Cole!”
He just cackles, throwing his hood up and tugging his headphones back on like he didn’t just hand me my own obituary.
Damian doesn’t say a word. Just lets the corner of his scarred mouth twitch upward while his grip stays firm in my hair, keeping me exactly where he wants me.
And fuck me—I really am good.