A plane The Doctor had honestly never expected he would find himself on board one ever again, and yet in the last two weeks he had been on several of varying sizes. Still if he had to state a preference there was something to be said for kicking back in business class with its reclining pods that provided their passengers with the illusion of comfort and privacy as the large jet winged its way back over the Atlantic.

Back to London…back home…back to his beloved typewriter and the novel he needed to finish…back to that large empty house…

Scowling The Doctor pushed down thoughts of his lonely Chelsea townhouse and forced himself to reread his own terrible handwriting. In substitute of his beloved type 40 he had reverted to trusty pen and paper to note down his moments of inspiration, but just as he had in the last few weeks John found himself getting distracted by brunette next to him. The curve of that half smile as she found something amusing in the book she was reading allowed John to stare at her without feeling self-conscious about it.

He still can't believe she wants him, or that she went to the lengths she did to secure him.

Missy Saxon is stunning and still very much in her prime whereas he is old and rumpled and on the cusp of going over. John has no illusions about how other people must view them together and he can only wonder now at his past blindness. Missy is around ten years his junior, whereas Clara…the thought of his former girlfriend still causes a part of John to cringe in shame especially now when he is forced to accept just how very young she was…is…

He must have looked like a dirty old man.

Well as of recently that had become an accurate moniker. Not even when he had been young and virile could John remember being involved in so physical a relationship. Missy was insatiable and despite his lingering fears that he might fail to live up to her demands, somehow the dark haired vixen managed to find ways to coax stamina out of him that John didn't even know he possessed.

Well it wasn't as though he had been lacking in inspiration. Missy Saxon in a bikini could have a dead man rising from his grave.

The trip to Barbados had been positively idyllic. Nothing to do but relax and be warmed by the sun, eat gorgeous food and drink wine. Explore new places and listen to new music, Missy was fearless and with her by his side John had been too. Yet John would be lying if he wasn't in part relieved their holiday was at an end, at least when Missy was at work he might be able to unscramble what was left of his brain and get some writing done.

Even so as much as he was looking forward to getting back his novel John was dreading going home, back to his empty house. There were moments when he actually opened his mouth to ask Missy if he could actually come back to her apartment instead. Yet every time his courage failed him and better sense prevailed. It was a ridiculous thing to ask. Here he was a man of his age afraid to live alone and prepared to plead with his…his…

Lover?

Perhaps that was what was really bothering him, what were they now? Lovers, partners? Was Missy his girlfriend, was he her boyfriend at his age?

John hardly had the best track record at being anyone's boyfriend and inwardly he cringed at the thought of how Missy would react with him being so pathetic at looking after himself, at his poor attempt at being a decent boyfriend. And was he even that?

Did Missy want that from him?

Despite all the time they had just spent together they actually did very little serious talking about them; about how life would be for them when they got back. And suddenly John wished they had, wished he had found the courage to broach the subject in a place where the sea was turquoise and the air warm and full of fragrance. Damp dark drizzly London suddenly seemed like the worst place possible to make a new start of anything.

-/-

It was possible to make a character study of someone by just watching them closely and over the last two weeks Missy Saxon had been paying particular attention to one Mr John Smith. She watched the way he always put away his clothes at night. She watched the way he cut his toast into triangles and she watched the way his eyebrows seemed to send semaphore signals of his mood without John being any the wiser.

When he was excited or even a little nervous they shot up, up and outward they opened up his face and for a moment it was possible to catch a glimpse of the impish faced boy he must have been.

When he was pondering some interesting puzzle or musing over some amusing thought they would gather slightly, the eyes beneath them distant but unclouded, lips pursed slightly sometimes with a tip of finger intruding to tap against them lightly.

When he was cajoling or flirting with her they danced, one would leap up with the other to follow shortly, then sometimes they would waggle in her direction and it was all Missy could do to stop herself pinning him down and biting at the furry little temptations.

Then there were other times, times when they would practically press together low above his eyes, eyes that seem stormy grey as they bore into whatever person of thing which had quite clearly offended him. That was how his eyebrows were now and it was worrying enough that Missy set down her book and shifted slightly to follow his line of sight.

Yet has she raked her gaze over the blank page Missy realised she was actually at a loss and that whatever was bothering her John was more likely on the inside and that if she wanted to uncrease that furrowed brow she was going to have to ask.

"I do believe that if you stare at that poor page a second longer it will actually combust."

"Wha.." Startled by her voice John actually looked up surprised to find Missy's face so close as she hunkered over her own arm rest and rested her hand over his own.

"You know it might actually help to talk about whatever is clearly causing that face." Missy added.

"What face?" John asked blustered defensively. "I was just thinking…"

"This face." Missy retorted before mimicking John's scrunched up glare pleased at least when that caused him to laugh a little.

Shaking his head John pleaded with her, "Please don't do that again."

"Why did I frighten you dear?" Missy teased running fingertips over his hand and down the length of those fine talented fingers feeling the familiar spark of electricity that still caused her pulse to quicken even after two weeks of screwing each other senseless. "And you were not just thinking, you were troubled and I want you tell me what about."

"Missy it's nothing…" John insisted yet there was something about those piercing blue eyes of hers that made lying to her stick in his throat.

"And now you're lying to me John I won't have that." Missy insisted eyes glinting with something wicked, something that caused the hair on John's neck to prickle.

"You will tell me what is the matter or I will have to take measures into my own hand." Missy added a smirk playing about her red painted lips, her gaze fixed on John's own watching for the moment of realisation, savouring it as her hand moved from his and began to slowly touch him through the fabric of his trousers.

Surprise…He all but jolted out of his seat…then shock robbed him of the ability to move for a good few seconds…precious seconds in which Missy took full advantage of his paralysis to unzip his trousers and slip her hand inside.

He was trapped…trapped next to the window and unable to just stand up as Missy had taken full advantage of the fact he had run out of clean underwear a few days in and began working him slowly.

Shifting in his seat John tried first to wiggle her off but Missy was relentless, her nails came quickly into play and he barely managed to swallow his squeak.

His own hand reached down to grab her wrist, his long fingers wrapping around her slim limb with ease, yet Missy's nails dug in deeper in warning. He might be able to physically overwhelm her but John knew his lover well enough to know she would exact her own pound of flesh for being so thwarted and a pound of flesh from a most sensitive part of his body at that.

Smiling as her lover realised all by himself that wasn't the solution Missy began to stroke him, torturously, slowly, back and forth, sometimes using her nails a little sometimes twisting her wrist and savouring the tremble that ran through John's tense frame. "So are you going to tell me the truth now?"

"This is blackmail." John hissed through clenched teeth.

His free hand reaching out and wrapping around his own arm rest, his fingers going white from the pressure as he sought to control himself and not…not respond to her…oh who was he kidding he was putty in her hands and had been for weeks. He had been the one to teach Missy just how he liked to be touched and clearly she had been an excellent pupil as despite the circumstances he already had a sizeable bulge in his barely fastened trousers.

"Oh yes it is love." Missy all but purred delighting in the way he tried to fight her, trying and failing but it was the thought that counted.

John's eyes widened at her choice of language. Missy had been liberally trying out all manner of endearments over the last two weeks and some of her more creative ones had them both giggling but this was the first time he could recall her using the L word and it had John stuttering and flushing for an entirely other reason than her hand on his cock. Now he really didn't want to talk about it, not about his own insecurities, his own need to understand just what they were and if they were going anywhere other than to bed.

He did not want to talk, did not want her to continue and yet he didn't really want her to stop either.

"Marsaili please."

"Hmmm." Missy purred in his ear savouring his pleas like a fine wine. "Oh John I like it when you beg, now be a good boy and tell your Marsaili what has you all cross pants."

Hot under his open collar John was certain he must now look bright crimson to any would be onlooker. Swallowing and cringing he spotted a stewardess making her way down the aisle with a pot of coffee. Grabbing his abandoned notebook John tried his best to cover Missy's actions but there was no hiding how the little book bobbed up and down.

"A stewardess is coming…she'll see…"

"Then you had better confess darling." Missy retorted leaning forward and licking the lobe of his ear.

Torn John's eyes locked on the stewardess as she paused three seats in front of them to top up somebody's coffee. Missy's hand was now pumping him, her palm too dry against his sensitive skin but the chafing only seemed to make it more erotic, like the first fumblings of a naive schoolboy under the covers in his dorm whilst his school mates slept on unawares.

"Fine Fine…" John started before stopping barely stifling a groan as Missy cupped and squeezed his balls.

"Anytime dearest." Missy's voice was low and musical against his ear. "Tick tock…"

"Are you…" John began awkwardly, hanging his head unable to meet her gaze as his cheeks burnt with lust and shame and a combination of other feelings in between. "Are we…I mean to say…does this make you my girlfriend now?"

Startled by the question Missy's hand actually faltered on his throbbing cock for a moment. "Oh."

Taking her surprise the worst way John felt his mortification grow if that was even possible. "I'm sorry I shouldn't have assumed…I mean of course you wouldn't want an old grumpy useless bastard like me as your boyfriend…"

Missy's lips on his came as a surprise, John's eyebrows shot up into his hairline as he was kissed quite decidedly, the passing stewardess caught his reaction and John saw her amused smile before he melted down into Missy's kiss. At least she hadn't spotted his tented trousers.

Savouring the moment Missy lingered on the taste of his lips, the feel of his fingers burrowing in her hair and stroking the loose curls through his fingertips.

"Is that a yes?" John's tentative question had Missy opening her eyes, surprised to see his very real vulnerability in his unsure gaze.

Her smile growing by Cheshire proportions Missy glanced over her shoulder, their stewardess was long gone and their nearest neighbours seemed engrossed in some drivel of a film.

"Marsaili please don't keep me in suspense." John pleaded his anxiety returning as Missy seemed to look anywhere but at him. "If you don't feel the same about me…"

"Of course it's a yes darling." Missy insisted reaching up and stroking his cheek gently before both of their gazes were drawn down to John's not so little problem.

"It'll be fine…a few minutes…maybe some cold water…" John suggested as he shifted with growing discomfort as part of him began to complain about the sudden cessation of service.

"Now that sounds like a terrible waste." Missy replied blue eyes glinting with mischief as she winked at him. "I think he'd prefer something far hotter…"

"Yes…but…What are you…" John began, his confusion giving way to disbelief and then to pleasure as Missy Saxon bent her dark head down and at twenty thousand feet, at the ripe age of fifty six, inducted John Smith into a rather exclusive members club.

-/-