An Equal Opportunities Lothario - Standalone
Title: An Equal Opportunities Lothario
Author: Pic Akai
Rating: PG
Fandom: Cabin Pressure
Summary: Martin seems to be unusually unhappy one day. Douglas gets the why out of him and as a result, they both learn something new about one another. And Douglas is emphatically not shocked.
Word count: ~3,200
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the people, characters, situations etc in these works of fiction, except for the ones I have created. They are written for entertainment purposes and no infringement or specific comment on any person is intended.
Status: Finished.
Notes: So I had this idea of wanting to write a fic where Arthur figures out that Martin and Douglas are together and Carolyn naturally calls him an idiot, and he asks, "to settle another me being wrong," and of course everyone's shocked to find out that actually, this time Arthur got it right. This...er, isn't that fic. But I think still enjoyable nonetheless.
Post take-off checks complete and this information morosely relayed, Martin sat back in his chair and sighed.
Douglas considered him for a moment before speaking. "You don't seem very happy today, Martin."
"Don't I?" Martin responded listlessly. "Hmm."
"You didn't even argue with Carolyn when she gave me the landing, and you love Larcombe airfield. It’s the one with all the twinkly lights."
Martin shot him a tiny, couldn't-really-be-bothered frown. "That's Arthur's description."
"One which, I seem to recall, you enthusiastically agreed with. And then went on to extol the merits of said lights."
"Well, fine. I like lights. Not that I can see exactly what about that statement you can mock me for, but I'm sure you'll find it."
"Not at all," Douglas responded smoothly. "I like a good set of lights as much as the next man." He considered his next words as Martin didn't respond, instead continuing to gaze moodily ahead into the rapidly darkening sky.
"So, it's not the lack of goes around the twinkly lights you'll get when I do the landing that's upset you, because you were miserable before that. So what is it?"
Martin threw a glance at Douglas - who was projecting the most earnest expression he had - then stared into his lap for several moments before apparently deciding that the expression could be trusted. "Nothing big, really. I just had a particularly rubbish weekend."
"Metaphorical rubbish, or literal rubbish, as in someone paid you to haul their bin bags for them?"
"Metaphorical, but that might have been preferable. No, I - we had a wedding, you see."
Douglas wanted to hear the story, but the interjection burst forth before he'd even registered its presence. "That's all very sudden, Martin. I didn't even know you were seeing anyone."
This frown was a bit deeper, probably because Martin really hated being interrupted. "I'm sorry," Douglas said, straight on the heels of the preceding statement, "Do continue."
"Right, thank you. Well, it was one of my cousins. Amanda, the giggly one. Normally I get away with not going to weddings by the fact that…well, by the fact that I don't get on with most of my family, nor they with me, or each other, but mum and her sisters called a truce recently so everyone had to play nice and turn up at this one. It was just…everyone there was paired up. I mean, everyone. Except me. And a couple of people from the groom's side, but they were drunk before we even started so I don't think they minded as much. Things like weddings just remind me - they bring home the fact that I'm all alone on my raft. Simon and Caitlin had their partners there, and they were all discussing their own weddings, past and present, and…" Martin broke off on a sigh. "I couldn't even talk about flying because mum didn't want people to be disappointed when they found out I wasn't a real captain. Like she was."
"Your mother expected you not to talk about flying? Has she even met you?"
"I know. It was miserable."
Douglas found himself commiserating. "Sounds ghastly."
Martin nodded again, then shrugged one shoulder. "Well, there was admittedly one good thing. I did get to speak to my cousin Mitzi."
"Mitzi?" Douglas tried and almost managed to keep the incredulity out of his tone. At the very least, he managed enough that Martin didn't glare at him again.
"Yeah. She's brilliant - she's the one person in the family who I really get on with. She's…she's used to being looked down on as well."
"What's wrong with her?" The in their opinion went unsaid. As much as Douglas made it his business to needle Martin and Martin made it his business to attempt to get one over in revenge - attempt being the operative word - they had to admit that, as with the rest of their dysfunctional and accidentally fashioned family, they did understand one another. With the possible exception of whatever might be going on in Arthur's head at any given moment.
Martin still shifted a little in his seat, radiating a not unusual sense of discomfort, even with the knowledge that no disapproval had come from Douglas. Perhaps, Douglas thought, he was expecting some. "Well, um…" Martin tried, then cleared his throat and began again, "She's um…Mitzi's a lesbian." He went deadly still after this pronouncement, and it wasn't that Douglas really wanted him to suffer in his discomfort for any length of time, but he was fascinated enough by it that he let a few seconds hang before he replied.
"Oh, right," Douglas said, once he'd shaken himself. "And?"
"And?" Martin repeatedly sharply, as his head whipped suddenly to the side so he could present his suspicious face to Douglas for a moment, before seemingly registering that Douglas's expression of curiosity was just that, nothing meaner lurking under the surface. It seemed to throw him. "A…a-a-and they don't, um, like that." During this eloquent speech his eyes had dropped again, though he was still facing Douglas instead of straight ahead.
"Your family's homophobic?" Douglas asked for clarification, with a frown.
Martin breathed out audibly. "I suppose so, yes."
"Martin, that's awful. In this day and age - or in any, I suppose, but in this certainly." Douglas checked a couple of readouts, out of habit more than necessity, as he processed this information.
Martin was quiet for several moments, taking his cue from Douglas to do a few checks of his own, then sat back in his seat again.
"You seem quite annoyed about that," he offered eventually.
"Well, of course I bloody am," Douglas responded, more irritated that he let on in his voice because he knew that no matter what the evidence to the contrary, Martin would take things like that personally, and he never enjoyed spending half an hour trying to raise Martin's self-esteem. It was a grim task, and one that shouldn't have been necessary. True, Martin wasn't the shining example of an airline captain, successful and moneyed and dashing, but he'd done a lot better than some people had. He was doing something he loved, which was more than a lot of people could say. And he'd never been an alcoholic, which was more than could be said for Douglas.
And underneath all of the bluster and the sharp edges and the obvious, desperate need to be liked, he was, essentially, an all right bloke. He wasn't cruel or self-centred or dishonest. He only even really cared so much about being seen as the captain because he thought people would at least then like him a little bit instead of simply tolerating him, and what was wrong with wanted to be liked? It wasn't vanity; it was just basic human desire.
Douglas could empathise with that more than he would ever let on. It jarred him when people didn't laugh at his jokes; when Carolyn cut him down or outshone him, or when Martin called him out as being nasty rather than amusing. He didn't mean to be, it was just that he'd spent a lifetime pointing out other people's flaws for the world's amusement and it was taking him a long while to acclimatise to someone as painfully conscious about it as Martin. Most other people took their flaws in their stead, recognised them as annoying but necessary glitches in their human selves. Martin took his as the essence of his very being, even as he tried to pretend that they didn't exist. Douglas found it difficult to tread the line between funny and cruel and sometimes he stepped over it - sometimes tripped and landed flat on his face. But he was trying.
"No one should be able to tell anyone else what to do," Douglas added, to qualify his annoyance as with Martin's family rather than with him.
Martin raised an eyebrow. "You tell me what to do all the time."
Douglas winced internally and waved it off externally. "Yes, of course, but that's not about things that matter. I mean, it does matter if you're going to try to land with the brakes on and shred our tyres, leaving us with complete loss of directional control and perhaps allowing us to drift casually into another aircraft, or a building, or somewhere else we really shouldn't be, but that's rather a matter for all of us on board, I should think, not one simply personal to you. I'd never presume to tell you who you should be spending your leisure time with, nor in what state of undress this may be. And I really wouldn't push you into anything you didn't need or want to do."
"No," Martin said quietly, in agreement, and then, "Hmm," and as both of them contemplated this statement, the flight deck went quiet.
* * * * *
Several hours, two cups of coffee each, one revolting dehydrated meal each - Douglas's chicken pie and Martin's lasagne, but both equally as revolting - and a game of 'People who became famous because of their parents' fame but have since surpassed that' later, the conversation had waned again, and Douglas found himself thinking back to the beginning of the flight.
"So why does Mitzi get invited to these family events if no one approves of her?"
Martin looked momentarily surprised at the change of subject, but answered nonetheless. "Oh, I suppose they want her there for the illusion of normalcy. It's what they're always trying to create, when they're not fighting. But she can't bring her girlfriend."
"She's not allowed to bring her girlfriend?" Douglas shouldn't have been shocked at this; homophobes were not known for their tolerance of 'the lifestyle' but still. Having your partner's existence ignored on top of having a fundamental part of your personality derided seemed an added insult.
"No." Martin sounded depressingly un-outraged at this. "She has to just - pretend she hasn't got one. Like I say, she can't be who she is with them. Like me." The last bit was said quietly, and had Douglas's ears been physically capable of pricking up, he had no doubt they would have done so then.
"Martin," Douglas began, trying to force the incredulity out of his voice and replace it with gentle, non-threatening concern, "Are you trying to tell me you're gay and your family has been forcing you to dismiss your boyfriend?"
"No," Martin replied, sounding slightly confused, and then quickly. "No! I…I-I-I I mean I haven't, no, I mean. Yes, I'm gay." Again, the last part of his sentence went quiet, this time almost as to be imperceptible, but both knew what he was saying well enough. A long exhale followed this, tension seeping from Martin's body along with the air, though there was evidently a lot left there. "But I haven't got a boyfriend," he continued, "So no need to worry about that."
Douglas Richardson rarely found himself so surprised at another's behaviour, and certainly almost never at Martin's. Or at the very least, he tried very hard not to show it. This moment was no exception. "Martin, why ever didn't you say?" he asked. "I wouldn't have bothered pointing out those Russian stewardesses last week. It took me a lot of thought to work out which ones were most needy and easily impressed. If I'd known, I'd have pointed out the fact that their steward had clearly just had a recent breakup, judging by the amount of times one or other of the aforementioned stewardesses kept patting him on the shoulder and giving him sympathetic smiles, and I'll bet some comfort sex wouldn't have gone amiss."
"Douglas!"
No matter how many times he'd heard it, hearing Martin's scandalised tone still never failed to make him smile. "What?"
"Thank you, I don't need you to point out people desperate enough to sleep with me. It doesn't make a difference whether I want to sleep with them or not. And as it happened, he wasn't my type."
"You prefer the ones you have to put in effort to get? You'd better start doing some serious training, then."
"No, I just mean…oh, never mind." Martin was staring at his lap, the long-since dark sky outside clearly not holding his attention as it usually would. "Besides, I haven't actually…" He considered Douglas for a moment or two, then turned his head back, apparently having made a decision. "I haven't actually ever had a boyfriend. As such. I mean," he hurried on quickly, evidently as aware as Douglas that he was about to be interrupted, "I've had, you know, I've done sexual things with men. Snogged a bit and messed around and things. Never had actual full sex though. It just seems too…messy and uncomfortable, I suppose. But an actual boyfriend….seems to elude me." He sighed again, and while Douglas didn't usually agree with Martin's need for self-pity, on this occasion it seemed to be warranted.
"Why?" he questioned, honestly wanting to know. There could be a thousand reasons. He knew why he wouldn't have gone out with Martin, but that probably didn't hold true for the entire male population. After all, even Piers Morgan was married.
Martin seemed to have deflated now, like an old balloon. "I mean, it's just so difficult. You know what I'm like, my entire life revolves around flying, and nobody else is even half as interested in that as I am."
"Mmm," Douglas agreed. "You might have better chances if your potential pool of candidates wasn't limited to men who have a predilection for the same sex and also for a life spent half the time on aeroplanes, and the other half spent talking about aeroplanes." He mused for a second. "But there must be someone. Albert Einstein was so preoccupied with physics he forgot to eat, but he still managed to get a wife. Twice, in fact."
"Yes well, perhaps Albert Einstein had something to counterbalance his lack of hobbies. Like, for instance, the greatest mind of the twentieth century? Unfortunately-"
"You do seem to be lacking there, yes."
Moody silence descended once again from the other side of the flight deck. Douglas considered, not for the first time, what things Martin did have going for him that he could perhaps capitalise on.
His train of thought was interrupted by a question, Martin sounding a bit shy. "Did you ever - I mean, I know you're - you think you're brilliant and everything, but did you ever do anything your parents disapproved of? Anything they expected you to change?"
Douglas didn't really have to think about this, given their previous conversation. "Well, there was the first time I brought a boy home."
"Why would they care?" Martin asked.
"Well, my father was under the delusion that it mattered who I spent my time with."
"But surely you had lots of male friends," Martin replied, and Douglas briefly considered asking Arthur if those idiot girlfriends of his had any idiot brothers who were similarly endeared towards complete density in a person.
"Yes, Martin, but not any I brought home…" Martin still looked blank, and Douglas sighed. "As in, to mum and dad, for tea, meet my new boyfriend."
"Oh. Oh! So you mean you - you had a boyfriend?" Douglas resisted the slow clap just barely.
"I did indeed."
"But I thought you were - I mean, you're always on about women."
"I do enjoy women, it's true," Douglas agreed. "But I enjoy a man from time to time. For men it's more for me about who they are than how they look, though. You have to be able to hold a conversation with a man. No use them looking like George Clooney if they can't string a sentence together. In women I don't seem to mind it, but in men I do like the ability to have a coherent debate."
Martin appeared to be taking his time to process the thought that Douglas wasn't as heterosexual as he'd previously imagined. Eventually, he managed, in a slightly wounded tone, "You never mentioned you were into men."
"Neither did you," Douglas shrugged, "But I would have thought it obvious that Douglas Richardson is an equal opportunities lothario."
Martin huffed a laugh at that, said, "It does make sense, you wanting a much wider group of people to adore you," and Douglas smiled, glad that Martin had, at least momentarily, put aside his negative demeanour.
"That's why I broke up with Kurt, actually," Douglas said, wanting to prolong this line of discussion if it kept Martin's mind off his own lack-of-love life.
"Why?"
"Well, he was always going on about bloody particle physics. It became incredibly dull very quickly. He was brilliant in bed, but sadly that wasn't enough to make up for the fact that all he talked about outside of it - and sometimes inside of it - was particle physics."
"Oh." Martin seemed a little less interested. "You mean, like all I ever talk about is flying."
Douglas kept the thought of damn internal and shrugged. "Not really."
"What d'you mean?"
"I like flying," Douglas smiled. "I don't like particle physics." His smile widened into a grin when Martin sent one his way, and they probably looked like complete morons when the door opened a second later. Happily, the door had opened to admit Arthur, who was never one to judge anyone else's mental faculties, so Douglas didn't feel the need to wipe it off immediately and throw out something witty and perhaps slightly cutting.
"Hello chaps! Mum says I'm not allowed to go to sleep even though it's dark because apparently if I do I won't sleep later…when it's dark, so I thought I'd come and see if you were doing anything interesting which might keep me awake."
Douglas and Martin turned simultaneously to face Arthur. "We're not doing much," Martin shrugged, "But you can suggest something."
"Yes, you can suggest it, we'll ignore it and then we'll think of something better. Go on, Arthur."
"Thanks, Douglas!" Arthur said happily, even as Martin threw Douglas a little look which clearly told him what he thought of Douglas's brand of encouragement. Douglas sent a look back to telegraph that they would clearly never agree on the morals of this matter, and the sigh and shake of the head he got in return was good enough.
"I can't think of anything now," Arthur said, sounding a bit confused.
"Imagine that," Douglas drawled.
"No, I really can't…hey, Skip?"
"Hmm?" Martin had been reading their flight plan for the third time that flight, which was pretty good going for him, but turned back to Arthur.
"You seem happy now. You looked quite sad earlier but mum said it was probably because you were thinking about spending an eleven hour flight with me. But you're not now, so it can't be me." Arthur sounded cheerful at the thought, and Douglas absolutely did not smile. He wasn't at all sentimental about Arthur's complete idiocy, not like Martin.
"He is a bit more cheerful now, isn't he?" Douglas said, instead, his gaze drifting from Arthur to Martin. "He's positively…" he left this hanging with a raised eyebrow, and although he'd never admit it to anyone else, was a little shocked when Martin responded in the right vein.
"Gay," Martin said, even with a little bashful grin.
Pic
Author: Pic Akai
Rating: PG
Fandom: Cabin Pressure
Summary: Martin seems to be unusually unhappy one day. Douglas gets the why out of him and as a result, they both learn something new about one another. And Douglas is emphatically not shocked.
Word count: ~3,200
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the people, characters, situations etc in these works of fiction, except for the ones I have created. They are written for entertainment purposes and no infringement or specific comment on any person is intended.
Status: Finished.
Notes: So I had this idea of wanting to write a fic where Arthur figures out that Martin and Douglas are together and Carolyn naturally calls him an idiot, and he asks, "to settle another me being wrong," and of course everyone's shocked to find out that actually, this time Arthur got it right. This...er, isn't that fic. But I think still enjoyable nonetheless.
Post take-off checks complete and this information morosely relayed, Martin sat back in his chair and sighed.
Douglas considered him for a moment before speaking. "You don't seem very happy today, Martin."
"Don't I?" Martin responded listlessly. "Hmm."
"You didn't even argue with Carolyn when she gave me the landing, and you love Larcombe airfield. It’s the one with all the twinkly lights."
Martin shot him a tiny, couldn't-really-be-bothered frown. "That's Arthur's description."
"One which, I seem to recall, you enthusiastically agreed with. And then went on to extol the merits of said lights."
"Well, fine. I like lights. Not that I can see exactly what about that statement you can mock me for, but I'm sure you'll find it."
"Not at all," Douglas responded smoothly. "I like a good set of lights as much as the next man." He considered his next words as Martin didn't respond, instead continuing to gaze moodily ahead into the rapidly darkening sky.
"So, it's not the lack of goes around the twinkly lights you'll get when I do the landing that's upset you, because you were miserable before that. So what is it?"
Martin threw a glance at Douglas - who was projecting the most earnest expression he had - then stared into his lap for several moments before apparently deciding that the expression could be trusted. "Nothing big, really. I just had a particularly rubbish weekend."
"Metaphorical rubbish, or literal rubbish, as in someone paid you to haul their bin bags for them?"
"Metaphorical, but that might have been preferable. No, I - we had a wedding, you see."
Douglas wanted to hear the story, but the interjection burst forth before he'd even registered its presence. "That's all very sudden, Martin. I didn't even know you were seeing anyone."
This frown was a bit deeper, probably because Martin really hated being interrupted. "I'm sorry," Douglas said, straight on the heels of the preceding statement, "Do continue."
"Right, thank you. Well, it was one of my cousins. Amanda, the giggly one. Normally I get away with not going to weddings by the fact that…well, by the fact that I don't get on with most of my family, nor they with me, or each other, but mum and her sisters called a truce recently so everyone had to play nice and turn up at this one. It was just…everyone there was paired up. I mean, everyone. Except me. And a couple of people from the groom's side, but they were drunk before we even started so I don't think they minded as much. Things like weddings just remind me - they bring home the fact that I'm all alone on my raft. Simon and Caitlin had their partners there, and they were all discussing their own weddings, past and present, and…" Martin broke off on a sigh. "I couldn't even talk about flying because mum didn't want people to be disappointed when they found out I wasn't a real captain. Like she was."
"Your mother expected you not to talk about flying? Has she even met you?"
"I know. It was miserable."
Douglas found himself commiserating. "Sounds ghastly."
Martin nodded again, then shrugged one shoulder. "Well, there was admittedly one good thing. I did get to speak to my cousin Mitzi."
"Mitzi?" Douglas tried and almost managed to keep the incredulity out of his tone. At the very least, he managed enough that Martin didn't glare at him again.
"Yeah. She's brilliant - she's the one person in the family who I really get on with. She's…she's used to being looked down on as well."
"What's wrong with her?" The in their opinion went unsaid. As much as Douglas made it his business to needle Martin and Martin made it his business to attempt to get one over in revenge - attempt being the operative word - they had to admit that, as with the rest of their dysfunctional and accidentally fashioned family, they did understand one another. With the possible exception of whatever might be going on in Arthur's head at any given moment.
Martin still shifted a little in his seat, radiating a not unusual sense of discomfort, even with the knowledge that no disapproval had come from Douglas. Perhaps, Douglas thought, he was expecting some. "Well, um…" Martin tried, then cleared his throat and began again, "She's um…Mitzi's a lesbian." He went deadly still after this pronouncement, and it wasn't that Douglas really wanted him to suffer in his discomfort for any length of time, but he was fascinated enough by it that he let a few seconds hang before he replied.
"Oh, right," Douglas said, once he'd shaken himself. "And?"
"And?" Martin repeatedly sharply, as his head whipped suddenly to the side so he could present his suspicious face to Douglas for a moment, before seemingly registering that Douglas's expression of curiosity was just that, nothing meaner lurking under the surface. It seemed to throw him. "A…a-a-and they don't, um, like that." During this eloquent speech his eyes had dropped again, though he was still facing Douglas instead of straight ahead.
"Your family's homophobic?" Douglas asked for clarification, with a frown.
Martin breathed out audibly. "I suppose so, yes."
"Martin, that's awful. In this day and age - or in any, I suppose, but in this certainly." Douglas checked a couple of readouts, out of habit more than necessity, as he processed this information.
Martin was quiet for several moments, taking his cue from Douglas to do a few checks of his own, then sat back in his seat again.
"You seem quite annoyed about that," he offered eventually.
"Well, of course I bloody am," Douglas responded, more irritated that he let on in his voice because he knew that no matter what the evidence to the contrary, Martin would take things like that personally, and he never enjoyed spending half an hour trying to raise Martin's self-esteem. It was a grim task, and one that shouldn't have been necessary. True, Martin wasn't the shining example of an airline captain, successful and moneyed and dashing, but he'd done a lot better than some people had. He was doing something he loved, which was more than a lot of people could say. And he'd never been an alcoholic, which was more than could be said for Douglas.
And underneath all of the bluster and the sharp edges and the obvious, desperate need to be liked, he was, essentially, an all right bloke. He wasn't cruel or self-centred or dishonest. He only even really cared so much about being seen as the captain because he thought people would at least then like him a little bit instead of simply tolerating him, and what was wrong with wanted to be liked? It wasn't vanity; it was just basic human desire.
Douglas could empathise with that more than he would ever let on. It jarred him when people didn't laugh at his jokes; when Carolyn cut him down or outshone him, or when Martin called him out as being nasty rather than amusing. He didn't mean to be, it was just that he'd spent a lifetime pointing out other people's flaws for the world's amusement and it was taking him a long while to acclimatise to someone as painfully conscious about it as Martin. Most other people took their flaws in their stead, recognised them as annoying but necessary glitches in their human selves. Martin took his as the essence of his very being, even as he tried to pretend that they didn't exist. Douglas found it difficult to tread the line between funny and cruel and sometimes he stepped over it - sometimes tripped and landed flat on his face. But he was trying.
"No one should be able to tell anyone else what to do," Douglas added, to qualify his annoyance as with Martin's family rather than with him.
Martin raised an eyebrow. "You tell me what to do all the time."
Douglas winced internally and waved it off externally. "Yes, of course, but that's not about things that matter. I mean, it does matter if you're going to try to land with the brakes on and shred our tyres, leaving us with complete loss of directional control and perhaps allowing us to drift casually into another aircraft, or a building, or somewhere else we really shouldn't be, but that's rather a matter for all of us on board, I should think, not one simply personal to you. I'd never presume to tell you who you should be spending your leisure time with, nor in what state of undress this may be. And I really wouldn't push you into anything you didn't need or want to do."
"No," Martin said quietly, in agreement, and then, "Hmm," and as both of them contemplated this statement, the flight deck went quiet.
* * * * *
Several hours, two cups of coffee each, one revolting dehydrated meal each - Douglas's chicken pie and Martin's lasagne, but both equally as revolting - and a game of 'People who became famous because of their parents' fame but have since surpassed that' later, the conversation had waned again, and Douglas found himself thinking back to the beginning of the flight.
"So why does Mitzi get invited to these family events if no one approves of her?"
Martin looked momentarily surprised at the change of subject, but answered nonetheless. "Oh, I suppose they want her there for the illusion of normalcy. It's what they're always trying to create, when they're not fighting. But she can't bring her girlfriend."
"She's not allowed to bring her girlfriend?" Douglas shouldn't have been shocked at this; homophobes were not known for their tolerance of 'the lifestyle' but still. Having your partner's existence ignored on top of having a fundamental part of your personality derided seemed an added insult.
"No." Martin sounded depressingly un-outraged at this. "She has to just - pretend she hasn't got one. Like I say, she can't be who she is with them. Like me." The last bit was said quietly, and had Douglas's ears been physically capable of pricking up, he had no doubt they would have done so then.
"Martin," Douglas began, trying to force the incredulity out of his voice and replace it with gentle, non-threatening concern, "Are you trying to tell me you're gay and your family has been forcing you to dismiss your boyfriend?"
"No," Martin replied, sounding slightly confused, and then quickly. "No! I…I-I-I I mean I haven't, no, I mean. Yes, I'm gay." Again, the last part of his sentence went quiet, this time almost as to be imperceptible, but both knew what he was saying well enough. A long exhale followed this, tension seeping from Martin's body along with the air, though there was evidently a lot left there. "But I haven't got a boyfriend," he continued, "So no need to worry about that."
Douglas Richardson rarely found himself so surprised at another's behaviour, and certainly almost never at Martin's. Or at the very least, he tried very hard not to show it. This moment was no exception. "Martin, why ever didn't you say?" he asked. "I wouldn't have bothered pointing out those Russian stewardesses last week. It took me a lot of thought to work out which ones were most needy and easily impressed. If I'd known, I'd have pointed out the fact that their steward had clearly just had a recent breakup, judging by the amount of times one or other of the aforementioned stewardesses kept patting him on the shoulder and giving him sympathetic smiles, and I'll bet some comfort sex wouldn't have gone amiss."
"Douglas!"
No matter how many times he'd heard it, hearing Martin's scandalised tone still never failed to make him smile. "What?"
"Thank you, I don't need you to point out people desperate enough to sleep with me. It doesn't make a difference whether I want to sleep with them or not. And as it happened, he wasn't my type."
"You prefer the ones you have to put in effort to get? You'd better start doing some serious training, then."
"No, I just mean…oh, never mind." Martin was staring at his lap, the long-since dark sky outside clearly not holding his attention as it usually would. "Besides, I haven't actually…" He considered Douglas for a moment or two, then turned his head back, apparently having made a decision. "I haven't actually ever had a boyfriend. As such. I mean," he hurried on quickly, evidently as aware as Douglas that he was about to be interrupted, "I've had, you know, I've done sexual things with men. Snogged a bit and messed around and things. Never had actual full sex though. It just seems too…messy and uncomfortable, I suppose. But an actual boyfriend….seems to elude me." He sighed again, and while Douglas didn't usually agree with Martin's need for self-pity, on this occasion it seemed to be warranted.
"Why?" he questioned, honestly wanting to know. There could be a thousand reasons. He knew why he wouldn't have gone out with Martin, but that probably didn't hold true for the entire male population. After all, even Piers Morgan was married.
Martin seemed to have deflated now, like an old balloon. "I mean, it's just so difficult. You know what I'm like, my entire life revolves around flying, and nobody else is even half as interested in that as I am."
"Mmm," Douglas agreed. "You might have better chances if your potential pool of candidates wasn't limited to men who have a predilection for the same sex and also for a life spent half the time on aeroplanes, and the other half spent talking about aeroplanes." He mused for a second. "But there must be someone. Albert Einstein was so preoccupied with physics he forgot to eat, but he still managed to get a wife. Twice, in fact."
"Yes well, perhaps Albert Einstein had something to counterbalance his lack of hobbies. Like, for instance, the greatest mind of the twentieth century? Unfortunately-"
"You do seem to be lacking there, yes."
Moody silence descended once again from the other side of the flight deck. Douglas considered, not for the first time, what things Martin did have going for him that he could perhaps capitalise on.
His train of thought was interrupted by a question, Martin sounding a bit shy. "Did you ever - I mean, I know you're - you think you're brilliant and everything, but did you ever do anything your parents disapproved of? Anything they expected you to change?"
Douglas didn't really have to think about this, given their previous conversation. "Well, there was the first time I brought a boy home."
"Why would they care?" Martin asked.
"Well, my father was under the delusion that it mattered who I spent my time with."
"But surely you had lots of male friends," Martin replied, and Douglas briefly considered asking Arthur if those idiot girlfriends of his had any idiot brothers who were similarly endeared towards complete density in a person.
"Yes, Martin, but not any I brought home…" Martin still looked blank, and Douglas sighed. "As in, to mum and dad, for tea, meet my new boyfriend."
"Oh. Oh! So you mean you - you had a boyfriend?" Douglas resisted the slow clap just barely.
"I did indeed."
"But I thought you were - I mean, you're always on about women."
"I do enjoy women, it's true," Douglas agreed. "But I enjoy a man from time to time. For men it's more for me about who they are than how they look, though. You have to be able to hold a conversation with a man. No use them looking like George Clooney if they can't string a sentence together. In women I don't seem to mind it, but in men I do like the ability to have a coherent debate."
Martin appeared to be taking his time to process the thought that Douglas wasn't as heterosexual as he'd previously imagined. Eventually, he managed, in a slightly wounded tone, "You never mentioned you were into men."
"Neither did you," Douglas shrugged, "But I would have thought it obvious that Douglas Richardson is an equal opportunities lothario."
Martin huffed a laugh at that, said, "It does make sense, you wanting a much wider group of people to adore you," and Douglas smiled, glad that Martin had, at least momentarily, put aside his negative demeanour.
"That's why I broke up with Kurt, actually," Douglas said, wanting to prolong this line of discussion if it kept Martin's mind off his own lack-of-love life.
"Why?"
"Well, he was always going on about bloody particle physics. It became incredibly dull very quickly. He was brilliant in bed, but sadly that wasn't enough to make up for the fact that all he talked about outside of it - and sometimes inside of it - was particle physics."
"Oh." Martin seemed a little less interested. "You mean, like all I ever talk about is flying."
Douglas kept the thought of damn internal and shrugged. "Not really."
"What d'you mean?"
"I like flying," Douglas smiled. "I don't like particle physics." His smile widened into a grin when Martin sent one his way, and they probably looked like complete morons when the door opened a second later. Happily, the door had opened to admit Arthur, who was never one to judge anyone else's mental faculties, so Douglas didn't feel the need to wipe it off immediately and throw out something witty and perhaps slightly cutting.
"Hello chaps! Mum says I'm not allowed to go to sleep even though it's dark because apparently if I do I won't sleep later…when it's dark, so I thought I'd come and see if you were doing anything interesting which might keep me awake."
Douglas and Martin turned simultaneously to face Arthur. "We're not doing much," Martin shrugged, "But you can suggest something."
"Yes, you can suggest it, we'll ignore it and then we'll think of something better. Go on, Arthur."
"Thanks, Douglas!" Arthur said happily, even as Martin threw Douglas a little look which clearly told him what he thought of Douglas's brand of encouragement. Douglas sent a look back to telegraph that they would clearly never agree on the morals of this matter, and the sigh and shake of the head he got in return was good enough.
"I can't think of anything now," Arthur said, sounding a bit confused.
"Imagine that," Douglas drawled.
"No, I really can't…hey, Skip?"
"Hmm?" Martin had been reading their flight plan for the third time that flight, which was pretty good going for him, but turned back to Arthur.
"You seem happy now. You looked quite sad earlier but mum said it was probably because you were thinking about spending an eleven hour flight with me. But you're not now, so it can't be me." Arthur sounded cheerful at the thought, and Douglas absolutely did not smile. He wasn't at all sentimental about Arthur's complete idiocy, not like Martin.
"He is a bit more cheerful now, isn't he?" Douglas said, instead, his gaze drifting from Arthur to Martin. "He's positively…" he left this hanging with a raised eyebrow, and although he'd never admit it to anyone else, was a little shocked when Martin responded in the right vein.
"Gay," Martin said, even with a little bashful grin.
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