A/N: You've heard of Fluffy Fridays. How about Thirsty Thursdays? In a new low - or a new high, depending how you see it - I decided a cross-country flight was the perfect time to write the birthday prompt LS requested. (LS, you asked for a birthday celebration in Seattle, but this is close enough, right? This story's for you!) I wrote and posted this from six miles up. So, in short, Addison and Derek fly from Seattle to New York. This is a strong T. (If anyone disagrees, let me know.) Let's just say are not gonna be watching the in-flight movie. Here's to the Addek Revolution! Please forgive proofreading errors, which I will re-scan once I'm back on the ground. Read, enjoy, review, and thank you!

Six Miles High

"Hello? Yes, this is - oh," her face falls as she realizes what the caller wants. When she hangs up, she turns to Derek. He's sitting up in bed with a medical journal open on his lap, not paying any attention to her. If he even remembers his birthday is in three days, he hasn't said anything about it.

"Derek?"

He glances up. "Hm?"

"That was ... I mean, I forgot that I made a reservation at the new Michel Aucoin restaurant for this Saturday night. It was months ago."

She remembers how excited she was to get the reservation. She likes planning birthdays in advance.

"Fourchette," she reminds him. "The one with the write-up that you - and I was going to take you there for your birthday."

"Fourchette?" He frowns as he repeats the name. "Didn't you tell me there a two-year wait?"

"Yes, but Michel bumped me up when I delivered his sister's twins. And it's Michel. So you know it will be amazing."

"He's your favorite," Derek say dismissively, and she's a little hurt. It's true that she takes the lead in choosing restaurants, scouting new ones and keeping up with reviews and the movement of chefs whose work she likes. But Derek told her the last time they ate at Aucoin, Michel's first restaurant, that he loved it. As well he should – Michel is nothing short of brilliant, creative and daring with a knack for making flavors she thought she knew taste fresh and different. She can still taste the heavenly fluke carpacchio, with Michel's muddled yuzu-lime-watercress curling gently on his signature triangular plates.

"You liked Aucoin," she says faintly.

Derek shrugs. "Why are you telling me this?' He doesn't sound aggressive, just curious. "Are they charging you for canceling the reservation?"

"No. I mean, I don't know." He glances at him, then decides to take a chance. "I was kind of thinking maybe we could … not cancel the reservation."

He doesn't look up from his blackberry. "Yeah? You want to see if Savvy and Weiss want to take it?"

"I meant that we could take it."

Now he looks up, eyebrows furrowed. "But we're in Seattle, and the restaurant is in Manhattan," he says slowly, as if speaking to a particularly dull child.

"I know that, Derek," she says patiently. "I meant … we could go to New York."

"Go to New York. You want to fly across the country for a dinner reservation?"

"First of all, it's not just a dinner reservation, It's Mcihel Aucoin! And second of all … it's your birthday."

"Thirty-nine." He shrugs. "It's not exactly a big birthday."

"It's still your birthday, and I planned – well, I had a weekend planned you know, before…"

"…before you slept with Mark." He leaves it at that, which is good because she's feeling a little raw, a little vulnerable as she asks him to spend his birthday with her, and she's not sure she could take even good-natured ribbing about what she's done to their marriage.

"Well, the dinner reservation," she says tentatively, "and then I got us a reservation at V in the village – you know, with the glassed-in roof pool. I mean … I thought it would be fun…." Her voice trails off.

"Derek…"

He turns around.

"You said we, um, we should go back to the place with the boat."

He's not looking at her. "I know."

"So we could … go to Manhattan instead?" Her voice rises at the end, and she hates it. "Derek … it's your birthday. We always plan each other's birthdays."

She says it before she can correct herself.

"…at least we used to," she can't help adding. Two years ago Derek forgot to make any plans, so she made the dinner reservation herself, and he showed up actually on time and then spent the rest of the night in bed making it up to her. Last year he not only forgot but scheduled a surgery smack in the middle of prime dinner hour. She ate bloody-rare steak – as graphic as her anger at the time – with Mark instead.

Derek is looking at her now and she wonders if he's remembering last year.

"We could fly out tomorrow morning – there's a 6:45, and I know that's early but it will give us some time to settle in before dinner. Then we take the last flight out Sunday and we won't even have to miss any work."

"That's a lot of flying for two days."

"It's your birthday," she says again.

"Addison…"

"Please," she says quietly, "we don't have to do anything else –"and she can tell he knows she means they don't have to go back to the brownstone, don't have to try to sort out any of the tangled mess they left behind of their lives in New York. There's a hotel waiting for them in the west village; they won't have to go uptown at all.

"You really want to."

She studies her husband's face. His hair is a bit rumpled and even though it's his fingers that have been running through it, not her own, she's still filled with a rush of affection. "I really want to."

"Okay then." Derek nods shortly. "We'll keep the reservation."

…

He doesn't know what came over him.

Okay, he thinks it probably has something to do with the way Addison was biting her lip softly when she brought up his birthday. She loves making big deals over holidays.

Whatever the reason, no sooner had he acquiesced to the trip than Addison was a flurry of motion, packing, making calls, finalizing arrangements. She's in her element when festivity and organization merge.

And that's how he ended up standing in the priority line at the gate at 6 a.m. while the big jet that awaited them hummed quietly on the runway just outside. They sail through the priority line – Addison is whatever comes above gold – platinum? Fairy dust? Something like that, and then they're settling into comfortable leather seats.

Addison made the arrangements and of course she likes the window seat. She always wants the window seat. In Addison's case, it's not because she gets up less frequently than Derek. In fact, she gets up more frequently, so Derek has always assumed it's because she enjoys making him stand up whenever she wants to stretch her legs or adjust her makeup. Other than one over flight in which he got annoyed and refused to stand, and her compromise consisted of what could only be called a mid-air lap dance, he has stopped protesting. After that, to avoid embarrassment – his own, of course,- he always stood up when she wanted to get out.

Addison looks a little nervous, which surprises him. She's an utterly calm flyer, her chief complaint being restrictions on moving around the cabin. She's not exactly a fan of authority – why would she be, when she's always convinced she knows best? He studies her profile – it's inarguably lovely, even if he's not sure why he agrees to traverse the country twice in forty-eight hours.

She sees him looking. "What?"

"You really booked a hotel room?"

"I really did. I was planning on … a celebratory weekend."

"How long have you been planning this?"

"A while," she admits. "Since you told me you like Aucoin, and then Michel opened the new restaurant, and then we were reading an article about the pool on the V's roof …" her voice trails off.

"Oh." It must have been about six months ago, the last time they shared coffee, croissants, and the Sunday New York Times, formerly a frequent tradition. He remembers her reading something to him about a rooftop pool. He remembers being distracted, probably feigning interest. She must have been listening, and wanted to select something he would enjoy. He's sort of touched, but he pushes it down quickly.

"Yeah." She fiddles with the seat belt resting around her hips.

He unfolds the newspaper the flight attendant offered and waits for – yes, here it is.

Addison has yet to fly this airline without being personally greeted and thanked for the obscene number of miles she's obtained.

"We truly appreciate how much flying you've done with us, Dr. Shepherd."

The miles aren't from flying. They're from routinely exorbitant credit card charges for shoes he's convinced she only likes because they make her look intimidating.

Admittedly, they also make her legs look delicious, but that's beside the point.

She looks a little embarrassed when the flight attendant walks away.

"Don't pretend you don't like having the red carpet rolled out. We could have flown a different airline," he reminds her.

"Last minute in these seats? No, we couldn't." She lifts an eyebrow. "Would you rather be crammed into row 37 next to the bathroom?"

"No," he admits.

"Good." She folds her hands in her lap. He notices she still looks nervous.

"Addison … is something wrong?"

"No," she says quickly. "No, of course not."

"Then what…"

"I'm just planning your birthday weekend," she says defensively.

He looks around. "We're already on the plane. We have a reservation and a hotel room … what else is there to plan?"

She mutters something he can't hear, and then flushes pink.

"What did you say?" He leans closer.

"I said, it's a plan for the plane?"

"A plan for the plane? I know you're a shameless backseat driver, but pilots don't take kindly to passengers telling them how to fly."

"Not to fly, to – " She stops talking and gestures at herself with frustration. "Derek – look at what I'm wearing."

He looks. She's wearing one of those printed wrap dresses she likes that he knows are ridiculously expensive considering that when he peels them off her – and he's peeled many of them off her over the years – they seem to amount to one long rectangle of fabric with no discernible shape. On her, it's a different story, of course, the material hugging her shape and moving seamlessly with her.

"It's nice." He assumes she wanted a compliment but she still looks frustrated. "What am I missing, Addison?"

She leans over the wide armrest separating them. "Derek … I wore it so we can join the club."

"The Platinum Club? You've already their top member, and I share your status. What else do you –"

"Oh my god, Derek, not the Platinum Club! The-" her voice lowers to a fierce hiss directly into his ear. "The Mile High Club!"

"The Mile – what?" He pulls back. "Addison. That is not an actual club."

"Well, we're joining it anyway. For your birthday."

He glances between her and the front of the plane, which is extremely close. "How exactly do you plan for this to…"

"Just follow my lead," she murmurs, then sits back up.

"Don't I have to agree to this?"

She raises an eyebrow. "Are you … not agreeing?"

"We could get caught. We're – there's a flight attendant right there!"

The blonde flight attendant who greeted Addison so enthusiastically gives Derek a warm smile when he catches her eye.

"Look, I know you're platinum, but I don't think that means they turn the other cheek to …" he lowers his voice, "toilet sex."

"Can you please not call it that?" She shudders.

"We can call it whatever you want but that's what it is!"

"Derek. Are you the same guy who convinced me to have sex in the rare books library without a door? Or the coat check at –"

"We were younger then," he says hastily.

"Well, we're never going to be younger than we are right now, especially since you're turning thirty nine in … " she checks her watch. "Forty-eight minutes."

"You remember-"

"I heard your mother tell the story of when you were born a thousand times, Derek, of course I remember. Not even Jesus has had his birth retold so often."

"Mentioning my mother is not the best way to get me to have sex with you," he whispers.

"Now I have to get you to have sex with me? Derek, you told me years ago you wanted to join the Mile High Club!"

"Was I drunk?"

"Well, yes, but that's not the point!"

She leans back in her seat crossing her legs with deliberate slowness, giving him a flash of red lace.

Damn it.

"Fine," he mutters.

"I knew it." She beams.

…

Let's get one thing clear. For all her bravado, she has no idea what in the hell she's doing. She's spent thirty-eight years avoiding airplane bathrooms unless altogether necessary and now here she is checking her watch for the perfect moment to seek one out and … wait for him. She's planned it carefully so that they can join the club at the exact moment he turns thirty-nine.

Never let it be said that Addison Shepherd isn't detail-oriented when it comes to planning.

She shifts in her seat during takeoff, adjusting the hem of her skirt and waiting for the plan to ascend. At ten thousand feet, the seat belt sign clicks off – but that's just two miles, and that's not the club they're joining.

She waits patiently for cruising altitude, then pops her seat belt off so fast the metal claw hits Derek on the knee.

"Ow!"

"Sorry," she whispers. "Okay, I'm … going."

"You're going."

"Just sit here for five minutes and then come knock on the door."

"Five minutes?"

"You have to time it!" She taps his watch.

"Yes, I've made plans with you before, Addie, I'm well aware that synchronized watches are involved.

She glares at him. "Are you up for this or not?"

She rests a hand on his thigh as she waits for his answer.

Never let it be said that Addison Shepherd doesn't know how to get what she wants, either.

"I'm up for it."

"Good." She nods decisively and then climbs over him to get out of the seat, purposefully letting her thighs brush his, leaning some of her weight against him.

And then she's oh-so-casually opening the bathroom door, her heart starting to beat faster…

Hm.

This was definitely sexier in her imagination. The bathroom doesn't exactly smell amazing even if they only took off thirty minutes ago. Plus, i's a tight squeeze and she's in there along right now. She and Derek have had sex in some pretty creative and acrobatic positions before but this might be pushing it. She studies the counter space – tiny metal sink, slats in the wall to deliver tissues and paper towel. Then there's the toilet – ugh, she uses a tissue to guard her hand as she closes the lid. There's barely enough leg room for one person; straddling him is out. The far wall is so close to the toilet it might as well be underwater, and-

She jumps at a loud knock on the door. Five minutes passed quickly. She reaches out to flick the lock open, then leans back against the sink. Hastily, she straightens her hair and then gives her best seductive smile. "Come in," she murmurs.

Nothing.

Oh, right. Airplanes are loud. Murmurs won't work, so she switches to a bellow. "Come in!"

"Uh … are you going to come out first?"

She jumps again, this time blushing furiously at the unfamiliar male voice.

"The captain would like to use the restroom," the flight attendant says sweetly, giving Addison a dark look.

"Yes. Um. Of course. Sorry." Addison steps aside, her cheeks hot with embarrassment.

Derek is standing behind the flight attendant, giving her a helpless shrug.

"What happened?

"I got up right when you told me to, but then the captain came out of the cockpit."

"How can he need the bathroom, we took off five seconds ago!"

"Why don't you ask him when he comes out? I'm sure he'll love that."

Addison can't help smiling a little at this. "Okay, so I think we should-"

"It's not going to work. This is a sign."

"it's not a sign. Just let me think a little!" She turns to walk back up the aisle. "Are you coming?"

"No, I have to use the bathroom now or it will look like I only got up to have sex with you."

They're speaking quietly, drowned out by the roar of the engine.

"You did only get up to have sex with me."

"But the whole plane doesn't have to know."

"Fine." She stalks back to their row and flops into her window seat.

"Can I get you anything, ma'am?"

She considers this. "Can I have an extra blanket?"

"Are you cold?" The flight attendant narrows her eyes.

"Freezing," Addison says sweetly, realizing she might be more believable if her cheeks weren't flushed pink.

…

Derek returns to their seats, giving Addison a confused look when the flight attendant returns with a folded up silky-soft grey blanket.

"Here's your blanket," she says cheerfully, stressing the word your, and hands it to Addison.

"Thanks." She turns to Derek. "Okay, let's get blanketed."

"Blanketed?"

"Derek, I don't know how to put this, but … my engine is revved and I need to fly."

"That is a terrible metaphor."

"But it's accurate."

"Addison."

"I need your help or I'll just have to take care of it myself."

She shakes out the thin blanket and spreads it over her lap. "You won't be satisfied until you're arrested for indecent exposure, will you?"

"Derek-"

"Can I offer you another glass of champagne, ma'am?"

Addison jumps so high in her seat Derek is surprised her head doesn't hit the vent above their seat.

She gulps her champagne hastily, glaring at Derek when he reminds her it's not even eight a.m. yet.

"It's almost eleven in New York."

"Eleven a.m."

"Shut up." She drains the glass. "Okay, we're doing this again."

"What? No."

"Come on. You go first this time. And I'll come meet you."

"It didn't work last time."

"But I'm better than you at this."

"Better than me at – wait a minute, have you done this before?"

"Well, no."

"Then how can you be better than me at it?"

"I can't be much worse!"

He gives her an outraged look. "You can't blame me for the failure! The Captain had to use the restroom. You want to make the man responsible for keeping us alive at thirty thousand feet to wait because you're horny?"

"When you put it that way … yes," she admits.

"That is selfish," he scolds her.

"Selfish, huh?" She raises an eyebrow. "I was planning to be very generous in there."

His eyes narrow. "How generous are we talking?"

"Very generous."

One of her hands slides onto his thigh and he flinches at the contact.

"Addison…"

"What?" Her tone is innocent. "A married couple can't … snuggle on a plane?"

"If this is snuggling to you – hey," he intercedes as her hand slides higher, "then you are in worse shape than I thought."

"Would you just go to the bathroom so I can join you?" Her voice is a hiss in his ear.

He shakes his head. "You know what, that just doesn't sound sexy no matter how you say it."

"Derek." She takes his hand and draws it under the blanket, moving it toward the source of her heat.

"Jesus, Addison!"

"Now do you believe me? This is an emergency!"

"Have planes always made you this horny? Did I somehow miss it, all these years?"

"We can talk about that later. Now just – go."

He goes.

Feeling like an idiot, he walks up the aisle. The flight attendant gives him a look he doesn't want to analyze. Of course the restroom is occupied, so he stands awkwardly by the flight attendants' station, watching the clouds drift by outside the porthole window

"Smooth flight so far," he says lamely, feeling he should make conversation.

"Yes." The flight attendant studies his face. "Let's hope is stays that way, shall we?"

He gulps and doesn't make any more attempts at small talk; luckily, the door swings open then and Derek hastily slips inside.

He locks the door and looks around. If someone like Addison, who doesn't even like walking over subway grates, is willing to get naked anywhere near this place, the Mile High Club must be pretty great.

He checks his watch. Naturally, it's exactly five minutes when he hears a knock on the door. Carefully, he slides the lock open as she instructed, and then presses himself against the sink to make room for her as she slides into the tiny room.

She has to press up against him to close the door, which he doesn't really mind.

"Was the flight attendant still out there?"

"I think so."

"We have to wait for her to move, Addie. She's on to us!"

"She's not on to us."

"She is."

"Derek, we're platinum-plus members. She should be laying out a goddam sex hammock for us and I bet she would if we ask."

"You snob." He shakes his head.

"I'm not a snob, I just like the finer things in life."

"The finer things in life … like sex in a smelly bathroom the size of a phone booth?"

"Ooh, phone booth." Her eyes light up.

"What do you mean?" He's suspicious.

"Nothing you need to worry about." She pauses, smiling. "Why do they call it the Mile High Club, anyway? We're more like six miles high..."

…

"Addison…" at his warning tone, she decides she's done waiting and moves in for a kiss, her hand sliding up his thigh as her tongue strokes across his. He responds immediately, dragging her closer and taking control of the kiss, dipping her head back to taste the skin at her neck while she cups him through the fabric of his pants.

He hisses.

"You still want me to stop?" She pulls her hand back and grins at him.

"I hate you."

"It doesn't feel like you hate me," she says, her tone innocent. She moves closer to him and then he hears a thump as some part of her bangs against something.

"My shin," she moans, and she's laughing and half-crying at the same time.

"I'm sorry, Addison, this isn't built for two people." He tries to move his hand down to rub her leg but his feet stick to the floor. Ugh.

"This bathroom is disgusting."

"Because you didn't make it in early and now we've been airborne for an hour and a half. But it's not THAT bad, and anyway…" With that, she whips a packet of Lysol wipes from her purse.

Derek's eyes widen. "Seriously?"

"You know I like to be prepared!"

"Prepared for this?"

She does a quick scrubbing.

He can't help sliding his hands under her dress, up the silky smooth skin covering the muscles of her thighs.

"Lace, huh?" He presses a kiss to her neck. "New?"

"Maybe."

"So I shouldn't rip them."

"Not when we have another four hours in the air, no."

"Fine."

He lifts her up onto the sink and she laughs a little, then grabs onto him for support. "Derek – this sink is either very narrow or my ass has gotten very wide."

"Your ass is perfect," he assures her, as he knows is his husbandly duty. "But the sink is narrow. So hold onto me."

She ignores him; instead, her hands drop to his belt buckle, and she's about to start unbuckling, he can tell by her lowered eyelashes, the look in her hazy eyes, except when she lets go of his shoulders she pitches forward and he has to grab her to keep her upright.

She slides a hand into his hair and kisses him fiercely; he figures it's about 50% passion, 50% needing strong suction to make sure she doesn't fall.

"Is that an announcement?"

The call light blinks in the bathroom.

Ladies and gentlemen, this is your Captain speaking. We're seeing some light turbulence from the flight deck. Please take your seats and fasten your seatbelts. Thank you.

She curses and then grabs his shoulders when he starts to pull back.

"Don't you dare. After all the work it took to get here!"

"The seatbelt light is on!"

"Now's not the time to become a stickler for rules, honey." She wraps her legs tighter around his waist, pulling him closer, and he groans.

"I bet the flight attendant can hear us."

"Then she'll be jealous." Addison leans her head back as she slips her other hand between their bodies. "Happy birthday," she whispers, and grasps him just this side of too firmly, making him gasp.

"Addison."

"What?" Her hand is moving in the way she knows drives him crazy now, alternating pressure with those nimble, talented fingers, and if she doesn't stop -

"Hey." He pulls her hand away. "You don't get to have all the fun."

She grins. "So you have some fun, then."

"Oh, I plan to." He pushes up the loose fabric of her skirt and thumbs the lacy fabric between her thighs. She moans as he yanks the fabric free; the panties drop to her ankles and his fingers press against the source of her heat. He's just sinking into the silky softness beckoning his hand when the plane lurches, throwing her hard off the sink.

She cries out with surprise, but he's holding onto her so she doesn't fall. Instead, his back slams against the opposite wall and he's pretty sure whatever metal thing he just bumped into is going to leave a very interesting bruise.

"Sorry!" She holds his face. "Are you okay?"

"I'm okay, but since it's turbulent maybe we should" –

The plane lurches again, this time the other way, shoving both of them toward the mirror; he frees a hand to grab the back of her head before it can slam into the mirror.

"Thanks," she pants.

And with that the plane lurches again, and this time with her legs wrapped around him the motion of their bodies drives him deeply into her; she cries out.

"You okay?"

"Yeah. Just give me a second." She's panting a little; her muscles accommodating him and then the plane shakes with the vibrations of the patch of rough air and she moans into his neck. Maybe this is what makes the Mile High Club so good.

She's grabbing him tightly with her thighs and her muscles are grabbing him from inside in a way that feels like the sweetest torture; she's trying to hold on, he knows, because it feels like any minute their connected bodies might smash through the rattling, turbulent door. But this has to be what the Mile High Club actually is all about because her grip on him, iron and velvet all at once, does him in faster than he would have thought possible, with the exhalation of her name into her hair and one last thrust into the shaking wall.

"See … that wasn't so bad," she whispers in his ear, moist lips trailing their way down the sensitive skin behind his ear.

"Shut up." He kisses her hard, taking her bottom lip between his teeth –

in retrospect, a terrible idea, because even though it's a move she normally loves, the jolt of the plane drives his teeth into her skin.

"Ow!" She pulls back, dabbing at her lip. "Am I bleeding?"

"Yes. Sorry." He winces, reaching around her warm slippery body for a tissue that he uses to blot her lip.

"It's okay."

He's still holding her up; now he moves very carefully to the sink and sets her down on the counter, red lace panties still dangling at her ankles – protected from the worryingly sticky floor by her insanely high heeled shoes.

She sighs a little at the loss of contact as he slides out of her, and he laughs, kissing her more gently this time.

"We actually pulled it off."

"Told you," she says smugly.

…

She knew it would be hot. And now Derek has to eat his words.

Okay, maybe the hot part is over now that she's cleaning herself up with a handful of wet paper towels in a tiny airplane bathroom. But still.

Derek is buckling his belt, grinning at her. "You know what, I should have listened to you when you said this was a good idea."

"You should have listened to me when I said a lot of things," she grumbles, but she can't be too upset because the way he's stroking her bare leg is reminding her that even if they're done joining the club, they still have a whole weekend together.

"All clean?"

"Yes," she says primly, cheeks flushing.

"Good." And without warning, he hoists the leg he's holding higher, sliding further between her thighs as she yelps with surprise. "Then let's get you dirty again."

"Derek!"

He just laughs at her, his free hand sliding between their bodies. She closes her eyes, any protest dying in her mouth as he draws lazy circles against heated flesh. There's just no substitute for – let's not sugarcoat it – sixteen years of fucking the same person, learning every inch of their bodies, what every gasp and moan means, exactly when to speed up and when to slow down, and –

"Oh!" He's curled those way-too-talented fingers inside her and he feels like he's everywhere at once. Her body is boneless under his touch and he's holding one of her legs; her free leg scrabbles at his hips, feeling like she's sliding off the sink. Her body is boneless, but he's holding her up, and the pressure builds until she has to bury a scream along with her teeth in the flesh of his shoulder. Exhausted, she gives up trying to hold herself up and just sumps against him.

"I've got you."

She regains enough strength to wrap her legs around his waist. "I don't know if I can stand," she says shakily.

"Good, then I've done my job." He kisses her briefly. "Like I said … it's my birthday so I should get to have some fun too."

"I'm okay with that." She laughs a little into his shoulder, then a little more. She gets like this sometimes after …. And he tangles his fingers in her hair; she can feel him smiling against the top of her head. The first time she burst into wild laughter they were med students with endless energy and he seemed shocked; now, he's clearly not surprised – if anything, he's pleased.

"That good, huh?"

"You are so arrogant."

"You love it."

"Maybe."

…

There's a loud knock on the door.

"Fuck," she whispers.

"Not right now, maybe again later."

"Derek!" She shoves his shoulder. "They're going to see us, everyone's going to know."

"Yeah, you've made it pretty obvious." He takes in her flushed skin, the rosiness extending over her delicate collarbones and down the plunging neckline of her dress. Her hair has distinct finger marks, her lips are kiss-swollen, and her eyes look so sleepy and sated he's not sure how much longer she'll be awake.

"It's your fault."

"You're welcome," he says smoothly, raising an eyebrow when she glares at him. "Come on, let's go before we end up on the No Fly list."

He helps her slide her lace panties back up her endless legs – she moans and, fine, he isn't exactly being efficient about it, more like taking his time to skim over sensitive flesh, but finally they've reached their destination and he helps her slide them over her hips.

She reaches up to finger comb his hair back into place, and then tries to smooth her own down.

"Better?"

He nods.

Addison is truly remarkable – he knows this, but he's reminded again and she stands, with his help, on shaky legs, taking a moment to tuck her hair behind her ears, and then suddenly she's perfectly proper again, swinging open the door with impressive confidence.

She stalks out, her heels clicking until she hits carpet, and then suddenly he realizes why she was so confident.

She left first, thus preserving the illusion that she was innocently using the bathroom. As for him? HE's stuck walking out after her, making it clear that their time in the little metal cubicle was anything but innocent.

Oh, he's definitely going to get her back for this.

…

He holds his head high as he walks out, crossing his fingers that whatever punishment they might receive isn't enough to go through the medical board.

Thankfully – apparently someone up there likes him – the flight attendants are both in the aisle when he exits, though the businessman in a perfectly creased suit gives him a dirty look when he walks out.

Addison is sitting in her window seat three rows back, legs crossed, apparently engrossed in the in flight magazine resting on her lap. He slides in next to her.

"Nice job setting me up," he scolds her lightly.

"I don't know what you mean." She doesn't look at him, apparently focused hard on a map of O'Hare. After today he's not certain she's not scoping out other places for them to christen.

"Don't worry about it," he tells her affectionately, sliding a hand under the loose hem of her skirt and palming one bare thigh, which makes her gasp. He grins at how sensitive she still is; he's always loved that about her. It takes a little while for her nerve endings to settle down, for the blush that – if only he could look, probably still extends down her thighs – to fade away.

"Derek…" Her voice holds warning.

"What?"

She's shifting in her seat, lips pressed together, and he takes pity on her, releasing her with just one last stroke to the impossibly silky skin of her inner thigh.

"Hey … how much time before the reservation?"

"It's at nine. So depending on traffic from JFK we should have … wait, why?" Her eyes narrow. "What are you plotting?"

"Nothing at all." He pats her thigh through her skirt, all business now. "Don't worry about it."

…

Almost four more hours.

He shifts uncomfortably in his seat. It's not his fault that Addison's hair is a mess, that her eyes are still sparkling, that despite her valiant attempts to clean herself off he's still sitting closely enough to her that he can't escape her lingering arousal.

"Breakfast, sir?

He jumps at the voice.

"We have a broccoli omelet or a cheese croissant, as well as an assortment of fruit. Which can I get you?"

"Ditch the broccoli, focus on the fruit. As for extra pineapple," she whispers to him and he feels color rise in his cheeks.

"Jesus, Addison."

"I'm just trying to think ahead!"

It's worse when the food comes. He has to stare straight ahead because if he angles his head even slightly to the right he'll see Addison eating her fruit in a way that's purposefully designed to torture him.

He can't help looking over quickly. She's placing a single berry on her fork at a time, then slowly embracing it with her lips. He watches the fork disappear into her mouth and has to swallow hard.

She licks the lines clean and gives him an innocent smile. "Honey … you're staring."

"Cut it out!"

"You have a little something right there," she tells him, raising a finger to his mouth and dabbing at the corner of his lips. She raises the finger her own mouth and slowly, torturously, sucks it clean.

"Mm, jam."

He slides a hand around to rest on her hip as they wait to deplane. Her skin is warm through the fabric of her dress, and she smiles at him, apparently recovered from their club initiation.

…which is good, because he has plans for later.

He takes down her suitcase for her, and then his, watching her walk the short distance to the exit.

"I hope you enjoyed the flight, ma'am," the flight attendant says, smiling in a way that suggests she wouldn't mind if Addison took her platinum membership to a different airline.

"Oh, I did," Addison says sincerely, "but not as much as he did." She gestures behind her to Derek and with a wicked grin she disappears down the jetway before he can protest.

Fine, if that's the way they're going to play it … he'll just have to get her back when they get to the hotel.

It's only fair, isn't it? He watches her walk ahead of him, the skirt of her printed dress swirling around her endless legs, and decides this might turn out to be a pretty good birthday after all.

Okay, I'm kind of tempted to continue this with a part II in the hotel room. Thoughts? Review and let me know. I love reviews like Addison and Derek love cross-country flights.