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velvetburnt · 21 days

Text

in which whitney hates flying

characters: m!whitney + gen!pc summary: bullying hubby whitney on the airplane :-) [public handjobs, edging, exhibitionism] warnings: none word count: 2387

These days, with his hefty salary as a neurosurgeon, Whitney acted as if spoiling you was his life's main goal. Sure, he'd never admit it outright, but to make up for your shitty starts at adulthood, broke and struggling to survive day to day, he worked hard to make damn sure the both of you got to live comfortably now. You had earned a peaceful epilogue.

Well, mostly peaceful. You were married to Whitney, after all. Married or not, you were his slut.

The two of you had gotten up and left your shitty excuse of a town the moment a solid enough chance had presented itself. But now, even as you lived in a much better, safer city, you quickly discovered you still enjoyed exploring. Your husband was more than happy to indulge you, so naturally, frequent trips and vacations were a given. Besides, he still liked visiting his uncle. On occasion, his uncle even came along on the vacations, like this one. It served as a.. bonding experience.

Whitney hefted the two heavy bags over his shoulder and snatched up the drink bottle leaning against his chair. A quick glance to his left and right confirmed his suspicions. His uncle was seated nearby, but you were nowhere to be seen. "Hey, slut--"

"Yeah?" Your head appeared from behind Whitney’s seat, smug grin adorning your features.

"Fuck! Every time! I should-" He jumped, running a hand through his hair to conceal his surprise before heaving out a sigh. Despite the years you'd been together, he never got used to the way you could move about so quietly.

And you, on the other hand, were always thoroughly pleased with yourself whenever you caught him unawares, in situations where he couldn't immediately punish you for it. It wouldn't do for him to end up in jail for public indecency now, after all.

"Time to go?"

"Yeah, yeah. Ready?"

You nodded.

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He really wasn’t a fan of the glint in your eyes at the moment. After all, he was intimately acquainted with the fact that a sly slut never boded well for him.

"So, I was thinking.." you began.

Whitney wasn't too fond of the drop in your tone, either.

"Do you want to play a game?"

You skimmed your fingers along Whitney's thigh, inching dangerously close to his crotch. He gave you a strained grin.

"You're on thin ice, slut." Whitney side-eyed the two old ladies seated directly to his right. They were immersed in a deep conversation with his uncle about something he really didn't care about. "...You're on."

Your smile was downright wicked.

"The game goes like this." You continued, kneading the inside of Whitney's upper thigh. “And you... sit... still... until I'm done."

Whitney grit his teeth. Ask him literally any other time, and he'd be all up for it. He would've even initiated something like this himself. But in this situation, if his uncle noticed... He really, really didn't need another hour long lecture from his relative about keeping things in the bedroom. He was on strike two already.

A brush against his crotch had Whitney tearing open the plastic-wrapped blanket as fast as he could and rushing to cover his lap up with it, although shoving your hand away would've been the sane thing to do. He wasn't a quitter though, hell no.

The older lady to his right glanced over at him. "You okay, sweetie?" She asked, concern creasing her brow. "It really is chilly in here, isn't it?"

Whitney coughed awkwardly into his hand and you noticed that it was far too forced to seem natural to anyone. The lady didn't seem to notice though.

"My friend and I," the woman next to her gave him a friendly smile and waved, "are visiting the states for the holidays. What about you? Business or pleasure?" She ended with a lighthearted giggle.

"Pleassssure-" Whitney hissed, directing a sharp glare at your expressionless face. You even had a large book open on your lap and were flipping through the pages with your left hand. Your right hand was busy with something entirely different. "We're here on pleasure." He reiterated. Well, maybe one of you was.

The woman's eyes widened in surprise, hand rising to cover her mouth. "Oh goodness!" She exclaimed. "I'm so sorry. I didn't notice you there!"

You looked up with a tilt of your head and smiled innocently at her in return, glancing at Whitney. "I get that a lot. It's okay." You could hear his uncle cackling.

Whitney was going to kill you. You, the bastard who had now managed to unzip his fly. The feathery light strokes across his clothed cock shouldn't have done anything for him. But the fact that he was stuck in his seat, conversing with four people with only a bunched up blanket between him turned him on beyond belief.

If only his uncle wasn't part of the conversation, he would've gladly taken a fine for public indecency for the sake of burying himself into your warm hole for the rest of the flight.

Your arm wasn't moving but your fingers sure as hell were. They alternated between light touches straight down the length of his cock to rougher presses along his base. It was proving enough of a distraction that Whitney completely missed the woman's next words in favor of clenching the armrest next to you in a death grip so he wouldn't end up hauling you on top of him to do it properly. Fucking hell. So you opted to answer for him.

“A neurosurgeon. My husband here likes to treat his family, see." Followed up with a lick of the lips that Whitney most definitely noticed as he unconsciously mimicked the gesture.

"Oh?" The woman questioned, intrigued now. Probably perked up at the mention of Whitney's career.

Whitney glanced up from his intense perusal of where he knew your hand was and noticed the slight frown marring the woman's face before her friend piped up.

"Have you guys seen…" The rest of her words fell on deaf ears as Whitney dragged up every ounce of willpower he possessed in order to keep his mouth shut. You had slipped your warm fingers inside his briefs that he had begrudgingly worn. You, his soon to be ex-spouse worked at fingering the tip, gathering precum and smearing it along the underside of his cock in slow, languid strokes. He caught bits of pieces of what you were saying, but the majority of it translated to complete gibberish in his ears.

“…ok?”

Whitney squinted at the woman, mentally cursing both her and you for his current predicament. At least his uncle seemed to not be involved in the conversation anymore. "Yes?" He ground out.

She frowned at him again. "Oh, I was asking if you were all right. You look a little… off, dear."

Whitney smiled--grimaced--when you began massaging the tip of his dick. Just the way he fucking liked. He choked, and prayed to the heavens that it hadn't sounded like a desperate sob instead. But by the slow smile inching across your face, he knew that you had noticed. Whitney vowed to never fly with you ever again.

“'m fine. Just not used to… flying.” He congratulated himself on being able to string anything coherent together with the way you were relentlessly squeezing the base of his cock as it twitched near nonstop now.

You leaned closer towards Whitney while Whitney pressed himself as far back into his seat as humanly possible. Breath held in his lungs as you pointed to a place marked in red on a book you'd precariously dropped on top of Whitney's lap. Fucker. Bastard.

"We wanted to visit this place and…" Finger skimming over to a crinkled corner of the book, you rubbed the edge between thumb and index finger before turning the page. Whitney was caught between wanting to break open the emergency door and tossing his (ex) spouse out into the ocean below, or saying fuck all to his uncle and his three strikes and getting up to drag you into the plane bathroom and brutally fucking you into next tuesday.

Yet, he could do neither of those things as the woman to his right bent over his armrest and pointed to a spot next to your finger. Oh, come the fuck on.

"This place is pretty good for sightseeing." She offered, completely oblivious to the inner turmoil Whitney was suffering through at the hands of your too-clever fingers.

You hummed in approval and squeezed just under the head of Whitney's cock. The action jolted him forwards, almost knocking the book off his lap but you pushed it back just in time.

"Are... Are you sure he doesn't need a glass of water or food or anything?” She asked you, because apparently he was incapable of answering for himself now. Truthfully, he probably was.

You met his dark gaze. "Hungry?" You simply asked him, stroking with just your thumb. "Thirsty?" You questioned, index finger rubbing over the slit.

"Hungry." Whitney snapped, immediately regretting it when that devious smile lit up your face again, and... Fuck. Fuck you for being you, and fuck him for loving every bit of it. He watched you open your mouth, pink tongue wetting dry lips to suggest (he prayed) that the two of you sprint to bathroom and be done with this torturous game, when a voice to his right snagged everyone's attention.

"Here you go, sir." The flight attendant beamed, holding out a tray, laden with food for him to take. With his hands. Currently grasping the armrest in a vice-like grip. He could do little but stare.

"Uh.." Smile painfully forced now, obviously uncomfortable with the fact that she was holding out a tray that Whitney was obviously not accepting, because you had chosen that exact moment to speed up the maddening strokes along his cock, and he seriously doubted the steadiness of his hands at that moment as his eyes squeezed shut.

The flight attendant cleared her throat and glanced at the women. “Did one of you order…?” They both shook their heads.

"I did." You spoke up at last, leaning forwards so the attendant could see you past Whitney's stiff form.

"Oh, I'm so sorry! I apologize. I didn't notice you there!" She offered the tray to you with an apologetic laugh.

The two older ladies laughed as well, saying that they'd made that exact same mistake only moments ago to ease the woman's flustered state of mind.

"Whitney." You began, and Whitney did not like the tone of your voice. You unlatched the tray from the back of the chair before you spoke. "Can you get the food please? I can't reach it from here."

Whitney shifted forwards when your fingers tightened their grip and he almost started openly fucking into your first on instinct. He nearly whined.

"It'll get cold, babe."

Fucking slut. Why did he love you again?

He released his hold on the armrest and was legitimately surprised that there was no indent from how hard he'd been gripping the thing. The woman held out the tray for him and he practically ripped it from her fingers to drop onto your tray with a loud clatter. He ignored the disapproving look from the attendant in favor of glowering downright murderously at your blank-faced stare.

"Thank you, honey. So…" And the torture was back again. Too slow to actually get off, but fast enough that he held himself as rigidly as possible, not daring to move for fear of losing all traces of his dwindling composure. He'd need to put you in your place, and soon.

Sweat was beading along his forehead. Frustration as clear as day in his posture, fingers twitching with the need to strangle somebody, preferably you, as you fisted his cock with newfound fervor. His mood was dark enough that the chattering old women seemed to notice something was off with him when they hurriedly excused themselves to focus on his uncle instead and Whitney wasted no time in twisting his fingers through your hair and wrenching his head back so he could smother you in rough bites and kisses.

"You absolute fucking…” He desperately bites at your lips, rewarded with a breathless gasp and a harsh tug on his swollen cock, wet with precum. He shudders as he humps your fist, gritting his teeth to prevent himself from outright whimpering into your mouth. “Gonna gag you with my cock, gonna- shit!” Guilty laughter tickles his ears as you press your kiss-swollen lips against his cheek.

"Love you too, Whit," was whispered so softly, Whitney was sure he'd imagined it. He swore and cursed the dumb armrest for getting in his way before meeting your gaze, eyes hooded and glazed over with unbridled lust.

"You either finish me off here or get in the fucking bathroom with me, slut. I'm not stopping." He growled against your parted lips. His uncle and those strikes be damned. You seemed to be in total agreement when you pulled your hand out of Whitney's pants so he could straighten up.

Whitney twisted around and stood up, the blanket held loosely over his open fly.

"Bathroom break?"

It took a second for the words to register in his lust-addled brain, but one they did, he froze, eyes narrowed at the source of the voice.

Despite having tapped out of the conversation earlier, his uncle was now staring knowingly at Whitney as he waited for an answer. The older woman next to him blinked in acknowledgement and shuffled out into the aisle so Whitney could leave. Whitney glanced over to you, now staring out of the window, right hand out of sight and blatantly ignoring everyone. You motherfucker.

“Y-yeah. Yeah. Sure…” He repeated, stupidly, side-stepping past the old woman and waddling over to the bathroom, uncaring of what he must look like at the moment. As he moved, he decided he would make sure that you'd be in need of a vacation after this vacation.

He didn't spend five minutes perched on top of the toilet seat, blank-faced and staring down at his stiff, sad cock, wondering why the gods hated him so and why you weren't sitting on it right now.

Whitney hated flying. So much.

#sheddingvelvet.txt #hgegfdhjgdfh WHATEVER im posting it #not very happy with this ill be so exponentially real but i Need to throw it out now or ill keep editing it forever #i am not confident with writing whitney yet so i apologize if i didnt do him sufficient justice jsdgjdfh #debated for a while if i wanted to even post this orz but HEY #chalk up the potential ooc-ness to the domesticity softening him a bit ok? ok<3 hes whipped ur honor #originally wrote this with a specific pc of mine in mind but #i think this works with a generally skulduggerous bastard pc too #anyway lalala #degrees of lewdity #dol #whitney the bully #dol whitney #whitney x pc #my writing

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