#Love Field Airport Taxi Service

[onyxblackcar]

The Best Airport Transfer Services in Dallas: Convenience and Comfort Guaranteed

Navigating the bustling city of Dallas can be a daunting task, especially when it comes to airport transfers. Whether you're a local resident, a business traveler, or a visitor exploring the vibrant metropolis, finding reliable and efficient transportation from the airport to your desired destination is crucial. In this comprehensive guide, we'll explore the best Airport Transfers services in Dallas, ensuring a seamless and comfortable travel experience.

The Importance of Reliable Airport Transfers in Dallas

Dallas is a dynamic and ever-growing city, known for its thriving business hub, diverse cultural attractions, and vibrant social scene. With two major airports servicing the region – Dallas/Fort Worth International Airport (DFW) and Dallas Love Field (DAL) – the demand for efficient and dependable airport transfer services is high.

Choosing the right airport transfer option can provide numerous benefits:

Time-Saving: Avoid the hassle of navigating unfamiliar roads, finding parking, and dealing with traffic congestion by opting for a dedicated airport transfer service.

Stress Reduction: Eliminate the anxiety of coordinating your own transportation and focus on enjoying your trip, whether it's for business or leisure.

Comfort and Convenience: Travel in style and comfort, with professional drivers who are knowledgeable about the local area and can ensure a seamless journey.

Cost-Effectiveness: Many airport transfer services offer competitive pricing, especially when compared to the costs of rental cars, taxis, or rideshare services.

Reliability: Trusted airport transfer providers offer dependable service, with on-time arrivals and the assurance that you'll reach your destination without any unexpected delays.

The Best Airport Transfer Services in Dallas

Dallas boasts a diverse range of airport transfer options, each catering to different needs and preferences. Let's explore some of the top-rated services in the city:

Private Luxury Transfers

For those seeking a touch of elegance and exclusivity, private luxury transfer services offer a premier experience. These services typically utilize high-end vehicles, such as limousines, town cars, or SUVs, and provide personalized attention to ensure a comfortable and stress-free journey.

Shared Shuttle Services

If you're looking for a cost-effective and convenient option, shared airport shuttle services may be the ideal choice. These shuttles transport multiple passengers at the same time, with scheduled pickups and drop-offs at the airport and various locations throughout the city.

Rideshare and On-Demand Services

Apps like Uber and Lyft have become increasingly popular for airport transfers in Dallas, offering a flexible and user-friendly option. These on-demand services can be particularly useful for last-minute bookings or for those who prefer the convenience of a personal driver.

Taxi and Car Service

Traditional taxi services and local car service providers are also viable options for airport transfers in Dallas. These services often have designated pickup and drop-off areas at the airports, ensuring a smooth and reliable experience.

Hotel and Venue Shuttle Services

Many hotels, convention centers, and other event venues in Dallas offer dedicated shuttle services to and from the airports. These complimentary or discounted shuttle options can be particularly convenient for those staying at or attending events at these establishments.

Factors to Consider When Choosing an Airport Transfer Service in Dallas

When selecting the best airport transfer service for your needs in Dallas, consider the following key factors:

Reliability and Reputation: Research the service provider's track record, reviews, and customer feedback to ensure a reliable and high-quality experience.

Vehicle Selection and Comfort: Evaluate the range of vehicle options, their condition, and the overall level of comfort they offer.

Pricing and Value: Compare the costs of different transfer services, taking into account any additional fees or surge pricing, to find the best value for your budget.

Convenience and Accessibility: Consider the service's pickup and drop-off locations, as well as the availability of online booking and real-time tracking.

Customer Service and Responsiveness: Assess the provider's level of customer service, including their responsiveness to inquiries and their ability to handle any unexpected situations or changes to your travel plans.

Sustainability and Environmental Consciousness: If important to you, look for airport transfer services that prioritize eco-friendly practices, such as the use of hybrid or electric vehicles.

Tips for a Seamless Airport Transfer Experience in Dallas

To ensure a smooth and enjoyable airport transfer experience in Dallas, consider the following tips:

Book in Advance: Reserve your airport transfer service well ahead of your travel date, especially during peak seasons or major events, to secure your preferred option.

Provide Accurate Flight Details: Ensure that the service provider has the correct flight information, including arrival and departure times, to coordinate your pickup and drop-off efficiently.

Communicate Clearly: Inform the service provider of any special requests, such as accommodating a larger group, transporting oversized luggage, or requiring a child seat.

Monitor Flight Status: Stay informed about any potential flight delays or changes, and communicate these updates to your airport transfer provider to avoid any disruptions.

Familiarize Yourself with the Process: Understand the pickup and drop-off procedures at both the airport and your final destination to ensure a seamless transition.

Tip Accordingly: Be prepared to tip your driver, as this is a common practice and a way to show your appreciation for their service.

Emerging Trends in Dallas Airport Transfer Services

As the transportation industry continues to evolve, Dallas is witnessing several emerging trends in airport transfer services:

Technological Advancements

The integration of innovative technologies, such as mobile app-based booking, real-time vehicle tracking, and cashless payment options, is transforming the airport transfer experience in Dallas.

Sustainability and Eco-Friendly Options

Driven by growing environmental consciousness, Dallas airport transfer providers are increasingly offering eco-friendly alternatives, such as hybrid or electric vehicles, to reduce their carbon footprint.

Personalized and Luxury Experiences

To cater to the discerning needs of travelers, some airport transfer services are offering more personalized and high-end experiences, including customized vehicles, premium amenities, and concierge-level services.

Conclusion

Navigating the airport transfer landscape in Dallas can be a daunting task, but with the right information and guidance, you can ensure a seamless and comfortable journey. By exploring the diverse array of airport transfer services available in the city, understanding the key factors to consider, and implementing practical tips, you can select the best option to meet your unique needs and preferences. Whether you opt for a private luxury transfer, a shared shuttle service, or a rideshare solution, your choice of airport transportation can set the tone for a successful trip – one filled with convenience, comfort, and the promise of a memorable experience in the vibrant city of Dallas.

[rhonddaandallaneuro]

The cruise ended today (Thursday) and sadly Rhondda has a bad cold. Not to be stopped however we did a huge walk around Oslo in the luring rain. Rhondda is tough.

Our motel is amazing, close to the train station and just down the road from where we staying when we return. The breakfast buffet offered on Friday morning is the largest and best we have ever seen. Huge variety of all foods. The shopping centre 100 metres away which also connects to the train station is seven stories high. Not that you can afford to shop over here.

The price of food and drink is a huge issue for travellers over here. Thursday night we decided to just have a pizza with a beer at local train station take away. Nothing flash until we got the bill A$107. This is bullshit. Even the public toilets costs K20 which is A$3. One learns to hold on over here.

Friday morning arrived as we packed up to catch the airport train shuttle. Did I mention after the worlds best breakfast buffet. The train to the airport takes 22 minutes and cost us A$8.50 as we are seniors. Loved this. The trains run every twenty minutes and travel at a great speed through snow covered fields. A taxi here to airport would have costs A$120.

The airport as I mentioned previously is very long and one could get really fit walking the length. Even the staff have motorised scooters to move around. The flight was smooth and on landing in Reykjavik we caught the local bus which cost Euro120 (A$185) (taxi A$300) and was packed. This bus takes you to a central terminal where you are loaded on different bus which drop you off at designated stops.

It was from here that we clearly understood Iceland is expensive and service lacking. We were dropped off at a local bus stop and told to walk the rest of the way. Gave us some idea where to walk but failed to mention our motel was over a kilometre away. The wind was blowing and we were freezing. Eventually found our motel after asking several locals of where to go. Not happy.

The motel is boutique but very clean and warm. The staff are helpful but I feel language is an issue as while they were trying their best we never really got a full explanation of what we were asking.

After settling in we headed off to get some tea and joined in the happy hour at local bar. Happy hour beer (half price) costs A$12.50 so we will be drinking during happy hour only. Hahah. Not that hungry we decided to share a kebab at local take away. This cost A$23.41. Breakfast which is free will be coming our main meal of the day.

Just sitting around now as we wait to do our first tour where we go to Blue Lake and have a mud bath.Also looking for the northern lights. looking forward to this very much even though it is freezing outside. Haha

[chikucab21]

Exploring the Beauty of Ooty with Chiku Cab: Revealing the Charm by using Taxi Service in Ooty

Located in the lap of Nilgiri Hills, Ooty is a famous hill station near Tamil Nadu state. It depicts serene balconies filled with green fields and tea gardens. There is something special for nature lovers or even if you want to escape the city life, Ooty has it all. To ensure that your journey through this enthralling spot is comfortable, consider taking the easy and convenient Ooty cabs for sightseeing offered by Chiku Cab.

Services Offered by Us

Local Taxi Service

Our local taxi service enables you to enjoy the charm of Ooty easily. From browsing through bustling markets to touring local hotspots, this offers a quick and reliable transport solution via our Ooty cabs. Our drivers, aware of the landscape terrain are well-versed in driving through fascinating landscapes and cultural attractions to make sightseeing smoother while also enriching your immersive experience on a visit to Ooty.

Outstation Cab Service

Take your exploration to a wider area with the facility of our outstation cab services that come fully equipped. In your planning to visit neighbouring hill stations or historical towns, our comfortable vehicles and experienced drivers guarantee pleasurable rides. We offer outstation cabs that will bring you an element of convenience as you share the experience with neighbouring towns.

Airport Transfers

Book our airport transfer services to simplify your trips between Ooty and the airports. Whenever you land at Coimbatore International Airport or any other nearby airport, we offer our fast and reliable taxi services in Ooty for a smooth transition. Arrive and depart safe in the knowledge that your transportation worries are taken care of, enabling you to experience all Ooty has to offer its visitors.

Why Choose Chiku Cab:

Professional Drivers: In its fleet of drivers, Chiku Cab boasts a group of highly skilled and professional operators who are very familiar with the locality. They not only make sure safety during travel but also act as local guides and uncover the locations that are worth visiting in Ooty.

Punctuality: Unraveling a destination such ‎as Ooty demands the clock to strike forcefully, and Chiku Cab recognizes punctuality. Their punctuality and promptness make the cabs familiar to people making them go with their choice of these cabs because it helps you save time as this is a lovely hill station.

Affordable Rates: Chiku Cab promises to provide quality transport at reasonable prices. Clear pricing with no hidden fees improves the low-cost factor of this option for travellers who look forward to resting comfortably without overspending.

Customer-Centric Approach: Chiku Cab does more than just move people from one location to the other. This customer-centric approach guarantees the clients that their journey in Ooty is not limited to just safety and timeliness but also customised as per special requirements. Our drivers are taught to give priority towards customer satisfaction which makes your journey with the Chiku Cab very pleasant.

Technology-Driven Convenience: We incorporate the latest technologies for smarter and better booking facilities, thus making travel simple with Chiku Cab. We have a very user-friendly mobile application and online portal that gives you the options of tracking your cab and managing your itinerary as well as cab booking in Ooty. Technology adoption guarantees that the transportation you get from Chiku Cab conforms to current travelling standards and is inefficient.

Flexible Itineraries: Chiku Cab is aware that different travellers have distinct interests and preferences. Our drivers who are familiar with Ooty can change their behaviour in line with your daily schedule and itinerary. Whether you would love to visit famous tourist destinations or get off the tourist tracks, our drivers will satisfy your preferences providing a tailored Ooty journey.

Clean and Well-Maintained Vehicles: Chiku Cab focuses on the safety and comfort of its clients. The vehicle fleet is not only properly maintained but also operates according to regular cleaning and safety inspection schedules. We aim to facilitate safe and comfortable travelling for our passengers, which impacts the overall satisfaction of their trip.

24/7 Availability and Support: Travel sometimes brings about inconveniences. Chiku Cab is available 24 hours and has helpful customer support; a phone call away from assistance. The dedicated customer support team stands by you to help with your booking modification, questions or urgent assistance during the journey.

Conclusion

Whenever you intend to visit Ooty, improve your travels and ride there with Chiku Cab. With the help of their taxi service in Ooty with diverse cab options and a simple process to book a cab you can focus on creating lasting memories as you discover the beauty that shines through the scenic wonders at Oot. Trust Chiku Cab for this trip through the hills, so that you feel confident and get a stress-free travel experience.

[texasshuttle0]

Find Out Experience Taxi Service to Reach Airport at Right Time

To reach an airport at the right time is most important, so you must arrange an exemplary taxi service. Even though you can find out the airport taxi service number, most people wish to go with the Texas Shuttle. It has a lot of experience in offering excellent comfort service for the primary client without collecting the hidden charge with no risk.

They are complete defer from the other service for people who love to hire their service to reach the airport at the right time and at the same time, it offers a typical taxi company, so it assures to provides better service with no risk on it. Hence, it will be more comfortable for the client that let to the client to enjoy first-class service to meet the better solution for the client. The Dallas love field airport shuttle commonly offers service to the other airport, which will be more comfortable for the client to enjoy meet better support for the customer.

Applicable to book at all times:

It offers the primary service to significant airports such as downtown and suburbs, so people want to reach the airport at the right time. Then you have to with this taxi service to reach at any time. This company has many experience drivers that find out the significant short cut to reach the airport at the right time. They professionally take care of each customer, making it more comfortable for the customer with no risk.

Therefore, you must call in before to ensure that they fulfil your travel to the airport. For the event, you can go with the official website to gather all price tags from the different parts of the city so it will be easy to reach with no risk. It has the option to book online 24 hours and gives the best service at all times. Therefore, you have to go with the official website and get additional customer support to clear the significant ideas without risk. Our Dallas love field airport shuttle provides first-class pick-and-drop service in front of the door.

[spacenutspod]

Savvy Verma, left, and Huy Tran, director of aeronautics at NASA’s Ames Research Center in California’s Silicon Valley, center, explain a recent air traffic management simulation to guests at Ames’ FutureFlight Central simulator on Sept. 26. Credit: NASA/Jesse Carpenter Researchers are one step closer to integrating air taxis and other electric vertical takeoff and landing (eVTOL) vehicles into the country’s busiest airports, thanks to a new air traffic simulation developed by NASA’s Ames Research Center in California’s Silicon Valley and Joby Aviation. These zero-operating-emission aircraft use electric power to take off, cruise, and land, and provide an appealing option for commercial industry interested in more sustainable transportation. NASA and Joby researchers recently invited representatives from the Federal Aviation Administration (FAA), the National Association of Air Traffic Controllers, and stakeholders to view the simulation in the Ames’ air traffic control simulation facility, called FutureFlight Central. The two-story facility offers a 360-degree, full-scale simulation of an airport, where controllers, pilots and airport personnel can test operating procedures and evaluate new technologies. “We’re trying to enable a better quality of life,” said Savvy Verma, urban air mobility researcher at NASA Ames. “Some people are stuck in traffic for hours on the way to the airport. A 12-mile trip can take 45 minutes. Imagine being able to do that same trip in 15 minutes.” In preparation for air taxis and other aircraft flying passengers in and out of airports, NASA and industry partners are working with the FAA to demonstrate how creative use of existing tools and airspace procedures can support safe integration of air taxi operations into the national airspace. The groups are also exploring potential changes to the current airspace system to enable an even greater scale of flights. The recent air traffic management integration simulation developed by NASA with Joby will provide useful air traffic controller data to the FAA and industry for integrating these aircraft into operations. “There is so much momentum across the world for advanced air mobility,” Verma said.  “We’ve been talking about integrating these kinds of vehicles into the airspace, but to be able to show it in high-fidelity simulation is very promising.” Inside the facility, visitors saw eVTOL pilots flying safely along NASA-developed, predetermined routes at Dallas-Fort Worth International Airport and Dallas Love Field Airport. The eVTOL pilots operated seamlessly through the airports, with the facility simulating weather conditions, live flight data, and airport operational data.  The simulation showed how NASA-developed air traffic control procedures and airspace concepts would significantly reduce the workload on air traffic controllers for eVTOL operations in airports. “This simulation validates the idea that we can find a way to safely integrate these vehicles into the airspace at scale,” said NASA researcher Ken Freeman. The human-in-the-loop simulation, which featured active and retired air traffic controllers, evaluated a series of traffic schedules developed by Joby based on the company’s market analysis and expectations of future demand. NASA’s initial analysis of the simulation indicates that researchers could scale these procedures for operating eVTOLs in other airports throughout the country, which could reduce the associated workload on air traffic controllers. NASA plans to publish a complete analysis of the simulation results in 2024. The brand-new data will be provided to the FAA, commercial industry, and airports to help identify the air traffic controller tools and procedures could enable high-tempo integration of eVTOLs into near-term and future operations in airports. Enabling eVTOLs as a taxi service for passengers to and from airports in the future could begin to reduce carbon emissions and greatly improve the commute experience for passengers. This project work supports NASA’s Advanced Air Mobility mission, which focuses on air taxi and drone research with industry and government partners

[writelonely]

Vanishes in the Mist

“Reba’s wedding, Anju. Will you…?” The voice drops off.

[1]        Only two people could call me Anju. One is Mitali, my wife, and the other… well, how does Koushik know this number? My brows knit into a frown.

          We went our separate way long back when I left politics to pursue a career in the civil service.

“Capitalist roader,” Koushik spat on me when the admit card reached our sleepy North Bengal town. He had got no whiff of my preparing for the examination.

          My muscled frame has since grown flabby, and the greying hairline receded into baldness as I settle comfortably in the corridors of power. The eyebags are of a recent origin; the CBI investigation has something to do with them.

“Oh sure, I’ll be…just let me check,”

          “I need you, Anju.”

           Time often plays quirky. The ideals fade away, and the comrades develop feet of clay, leaving a sour taste. Yet, across the fogged-up memories of childhood and adolescence roll over the call – Koushik needs me.

          So, on a misty winter afternoon, Mitali and I pack up for the weekend and quietly slip out. CBI must not get a whiff of my leaving Delhi, and the media should not get a tip.   

          Nobody answers when I try to inform Koushik about our arrival. Well, this little surprise will not displease him, I hope.

The sun has long gone down when we get out of the taxi after a four-hour-long drive from Bagdogra. The house stands haunted in the dark right at the corner where the highway turns abruptly towards an empty field with overgrown grass the townspeople love to call the airport, although no aircraft have landed there for decades.

Nothing remains of the once formidable gate beside the two rickety brick pillars with a marble plaque clinging to one of them. Despite being corroded over time, it still announces ‘Roy Chowdhury Villa’. The rest is hidden behind shrubs and creepers allowed to grow unrestrained. Had it not been winter, when snakes go into hibernation, I would not have dared to step into that thicket. 

Wind rustles through the tree branches, gathering fallen leaves into a swirl. Bubai da, the old caretaker - his pale, wrinkled face shrivelled like a cadaver - springs out of nowhere. Mitali grips my hand.

          “They’ve cut off the electric connection.” His voice travels through the hollow of a long empty tunnel as he picks up our luggage and shows us our room – the only one with a kerosene lamp flickering - at the end of the long corridor.  

The door screeches open, unsettling the dust and letting out the musty smell of stale, dank air of a long uninhabited place. The walls – paint peeled off – have turned mouldy. The faded bedspread lies damp and cold like a corpse. No one has turned it for ages.

          “Nobody has entered this room after Kartama (the old mistress) died,” Bubai da explains. 

          It saddens me. Koushik has not told me Sonali is no more.

          “Karta (the head of the household) isn’t doing well. He’ll meet you in the morning.” Bubai da is busy preparing the bed while he speaks. “Freshen up. Meanwhile, I’ll rustle up dinner for you.”

          He melts in the darkness before I can ask him about Reba.

           “No need to unpack much,” Mitali’s voice betrays irritation, “seems we’re in a ruin.”

           I cannot blame her. This is not the reception we expected. Instead of a family preparing for a wedding, we seem to have landed in a spooky house.

“Reba Didimoni teaches in a school in Mathabhanga. She comes home at weekends. You will meet her tomorrow morning,” Bubai da explains at the dinner table.  

          “Karta had a small catering business. I used to oversee until it shut shop during the pandemic,” Bubai da continues. “Although things had never been hunky-dory, the pandemic reduced us to penury. Karta suffered a cardiac arrest last summer and has since been obsessed about Reba Didimoni’s wedding.”

           The only way out is to sell the property, but Koushik will not hear any such thing.

“You do whatever you please with the Villa, but only after my dead body leaves its gate.” Koushik will retort whenever his siblings – now spread worldwide – raise the issue.

           I chuckle to myself. The revolutionary is now clutching at a piece of land. I tap the mahogany dinner table.  Across it, Koushik and I spent so many evenings arguing about the future of humanity.  

           “Why don’t you take some of the burdens?” Bubai da turns to me. “You’re a rich man now.”

            “You won’t understand, Bubai.” Mitali tries to shake it off, “We have our share of trouble. Days are not so rosy for us either, you know.”

“And Bubai da,” I chip in, “what solution is there, anyway? Surely, you don’t think we will wade in the Roy Chowdhury’s muddle?”

            “But you can take Reba’s responsibility.”

            I know why Bubai da is so insistent. He has no immediate family, and his entire life has revolved around this house. Where will he go if the property is sold out?

  “God has his own plans,” Bubai da almost read my mind. “Tomorrow morning, you will find everything settled. You won’t have to trouble yourself about me either.” His lips pucker into a mysterious smile.      

          Late at night, I give up on getting some sleep. Throwing a shawl over my shoulders, I slip out of the room.

          A draft from the Himalayas shudders through the corridor. It breathes on my neck, tingling my skin to a late October night in my childhood. We were returning home after pandal-hopping all through the Durga Puja evening. I tugged at Bubai da for an ice cream stick.

          He tried to pacify me, but I would not. “One day, when I grow up – big as you, I’ll buy all the ice cream in the world and won’t give you any, however much you cry.”

          Bubai da lifted me to his chest and kissed my neck. “If you don’t give me one, I’ll be after you forever. Even after death.”

          I fondly rub my neck. If only I could return to that innocence and start all over again. 

          A fresh cool breeze kisses me as I open the window in the morning,

          Mitali sprawls languorously in the bed. “Bubai should have asked us for tea by now.”

           But we find no one in the house. Koushik, Bubai da, everyone seems to have vanished in thin air.

          We step out onto the highway. Kanchenjunga is sparkling over the northern sky. Mitali screams in joy. And it infects me also. We forget everything about the night before and worry about the missing people.

            “Anjan Kaku, you are… here?” A young woman stops on her way, throws her backpack to the ground, and tips to touch my feet.

           “I’m Reba. Can’t you remember me?”

           “Reba!” that girl in a frock running about in the yard has grown into a beautiful lady. Life has played rough on her, but in the soft golden winter sun this morning, her smiling face has no trace of that struggle.

           “Did you spend the night there, in our house, and Bubai da received you?”   Reba’s face wears an expression of incredulity if not outright fear.

           “What’s so odd about it?” asks Mitali.

            “Only that both Papa and Bubai died of Covid last summer, during the 2nd wave.”

           Reba wraps her arm around Mitali’s waist, saving her from collapsing to the ground.

           “What about your wedding?” I try to recover from the shock.

           “Wedding? My wedding?” Reba’s forehead creases questioningly before she breaks into a hearty laughter.

          “But who phoned me then?” I turn to the northern sky. Kanchenjunga has vanished behind a thick blanket of mist.  

[onyxblackcar]

From Runway to Roadway: Seamless Journeys with Dallas Airport Transfer Services

Introduction

Dallas, a city synonymous with diverse attractions and a bustling metropolis, serves as a gateway for travelers from across the globe. As visitors disembark from flights and embark on new adventures or bid farewell to the city, the transition from runway to roadway becomes a pivotal aspect of their journey. This guide aims to unravel the intricacies of airport transfers services in Dallas, shedding light on the myriad transportation options available to ensure a seamless and stress-free transition between the airport and the city.

Airport Shuttle Services

Economical and Communal Transit

Airport shuttle services stand out as a cost-effective and communal mode of transportation, offering seamless connectivity from the airport to various destinations within the city. Operating on fixed schedules, these shuttles provide an economical solution for solo travelers or smaller groups. However, travelers should be mindful of potential delays due to multiple stops, making it essential to factor in sufficient time for the journey.

Taxi Services

Direct and On-Demand Rides

Taxis, a classic and ubiquitous choice, offer direct and on-demand rides for travelers seeking convenience and privacy. Positioned at designated taxi stands outside airport terminals, these vehicles provide door-to-door service. Taxis are favored for their swiftness, making them an ideal choice for those with time constraints or those carrying luggage. It is advisable, however, to be aware of potential peak hours and increased demand during special events that may lead to longer wait times.

Ride-Sharing Apps

Technology-Driven Convenience

The advent of ride-sharing apps, exemplified by services like Uber and Lyft, has revolutionized airport transfers with technology-driven convenience. Travelers can seamlessly request rides through mobile applications, track the driver's location in real-time, and experience cashless transactions. While offering flexibility and ease of use, travelers should exercise caution regarding potential surge pricing during peak hours.

Rental Cars

Flexibility and Autonomy

For those desiring flexibility and autonomy in their airport transfers, rental cars emerge as an ideal option. Dallas airports host various rental car agencies offering a diverse range of vehicles, from economical options to luxurious choices. Renting a car provides the freedom to explore the city at one's own pace and ensures door-to-door convenience. Advance booking is advisable, particularly during peak travel seasons.

Public Transportation

Affordable Commuting with Local Flavor

The Dallas Area Rapid Transit (DART) system facilitates cost-effective airport transfers through light rail and bus services. Linking major areas in the city, including Dallas Love Field Airport and Dallas/Fort Worth International Airport, public transportation provides an opportunity to experience the local culture and scenery. While it may take longer than private options, it offers a budget-friendly alternative.

Tips for Seamless Airport Transfers

1. Plan for Peak Hours

Understanding peak hours and potential traffic congestion is crucial for planning seamless airport transfers. Dallas, like any major city, experiences rush hours and heightened demand during specific events. Planning transfers around these periods helps avoid unnecessary delays.

2. Airport-Specific Knowledge

Each airport in Dallas has unique features and layouts. Familiarizing oneself with the specific airport, the location of transportation services, and any regulations or guidelines ensures a smoother navigation through the airport. This knowledge is particularly beneficial for first-time visitors.

3. Consider Luggage Requirements

When selecting airport transfer options, considering luggage requirements is essential. Different modes of transportation may have limitations on the amount or size of luggage they can accommodate. Travelers should choose a mode that comfortably accommodates their luggage for a hassle-free journey.

4. Weather Preparedness

Dallas experiences varying weather conditions, and travelers should stay informed about the weather forecast, especially during specific seasons. Being prepared for potential weather challenges, such as rain or extreme temperatures, ensures a more comfortable and safe airport transfer experience.

Conclusion

In conclusion, the journey from the runway to the roadway becomes a seamless and stress-free experience with the plethora of airport transfer services available in Dallas. Whether opting for economical and communal shuttle services, the direct convenience of taxis, the technology-driven ease of ride-sharing apps, the autonomy of rental cars, or the budget-friendly public transportation, careful planning ensures a smooth transition. Navigating through the bustling airport environment transforms into a seamless experience when armed with knowledge about transportation options and the specific considerations of the Dallas travel landscape. As travelers embark on their journeys to or from Dallas, the guide to seamless airport transfers promises a smooth and enjoyable transition between the runway and the roadway, marking the beginning or end of a memorable travel adventure.

[dfwblacklimosonline-blog]

Comfortable Journey with Variety of Dfw Airport Car Services

Professional policies can develop a good impact on your positive merchantry attitude. Right posture, smile, eye contact, handshake and a perfect style to handle all the meetings and clients, are some of the essentials towards professionalism.

Dfw Ingredients and Productive Attitude:

Dfw Airport Luxury Black Suv Services provide luxurious cars and airport limo services that can fulfill your merchantry requirement; rather it is your important meeting with your clients or receiving them in an elegant way. Our staff, drivers and chauffeurs are unchangingly ready to welcome your clients, guests in a pleasant way.

Save Your Time And Money With Dfw Transportation:

Driving on your own, forfeit you increasingly than a rental car, in which you have to take the superintendence of parking, fuel, unexpected events and unknown territory which waste your time and energy a lot. But without hiring a professional car service there is no need to worry well-nigh anything, rather it’s your money, receiving urgent calls and preparing for the meeting. Like Dfw Airport To Downtown Dallas Luxury Black Car Service provide timely and punctual DFW airport car services at Dallas and Irving as well.

Special Accusations and Special Offers by Dfw:

There are many events in your life that have an unconfined worth that needs a lot of superintendence and importance to gloat like birthday parties, anniversaries, marriage ceremonies, Christmas and many increasingly are some of the important events of your life. DFW knows for you, your wedding is very important so to make your day increasingly special Love Field Airport Instant Luxury Black Limo Taxi Service provides you a special DFW airport limo services and DFW casino transportation to make your day increasingly memorable. By hiring DFW limo services you can handpick your friends and special guests from the airport.

[dfwlimoforyou]

Best DFW Prom Limo Service Dallas

If you have always wanted to travel in a limo, then the time has come to opt for the best DFW prom limo service  Dallas. We strive hard to bring best DFW prom limo service Dallas in cheap for you. By hiring best DFW prom limo  service Dallas, you can now travel Dallas in a more pleasant manner.

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Hire A Texas Shuttle Company To Find Out Different Mode Of Transportation

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[before-we-get-started]

Safe Landing

One shot that is my entry to @what-is-your-plan-today’s #CATFA 10th Anniversary Challenge

Story:  You’re facing the most difficult time of your life and you’re doing it without the person that means the most to you.  Will your seatmates on an important flight help you make it through?

Pairing:  Steve Rogers & Ransom Drysdale x Reader (plus a surprise special appearance!)

Warnings:  Bad language, light smut, angst

10,000+ words

There’s not going to be a safe landing.

It was the unknown that was the hardest.  The what if.  What if you’d taken the time to slow down?  What if you’d given more than you took?  What if you’d appreciated it, not taken it for granted, not just assumed that it would always be there?

You were alone now.  You didn’t have anyone.  It was probably what you deserved.  You’d persevere, you always had, but knowing you wouldn’t have to if you’d been better caused your heart to clench.

The longest flight of your life was coming to an end, and you considered the travelers making this journey with you by chance.  You’d all shared a row on the plane that was taking you to meet your fate.  One - cynical, crass, growing up longing to be loved, incapable of committing, but under it all, possessing a fierce loyalty for those he deemed worthy.  The other – a gentle, loving soul, committed to service with honor and willing to give all, not just for those he loved, but for the greater good.  They were complete strangers who had seeped into your soul, spirits that would forever fill you, thoughts of them making you smile.

For better or worse, they’d helped you navigate the mine field that was your future. Now you’d endure the unbearable wait, the long walk, watching others unite with loved ones, hoping that maybe, despite all odds, there would be a reunion for you too.  You hoped the soul-soothing moments you’d shared with these two travelers over the last three hours would ease you into whatever awaited you at the airport gate.

Despite everything, you wished he’d be there.  

Three hours earlier

“Thank you for flying National Airlines.”  You forced a smile at the flight attendant as you boarded the plane.  It was going to be a full flight and you were stuck in a middle seat.  Appropriate, given the mood you were in.  You waited impatiently as everyone made their way down the aisle, hoisting bags that were too large to fit in the overhead, straps smacking you as they did.  You pitied your seat mates. You were in no mood for idle conversation. Your temper was wearing thin.

Finally reaching row 12, you were thrilled that no one else had arrived. You plopped into your seat, pulled out your compact and opened it, and grimaced as you took a quick look.  There were circles under your eyes, telling everyone you’d not slept well for days.  You’d definitely lost your sparkle.  You swiped some powder over your nose and ran gloss over your lips, something to make you look less stressed.  You opened your backpack and got a whiff of your grandmother’s scent. You ran your hand over her letter, lingering.  With a sigh, you took the cell phone, headphones and book out of your bag, tucked the letter into the book and stowed the bag under the seat in front of you. You found your seat belt and clicked it, giving it a tug.  Whoever was sitting by the window would have to step around you, you weren’t getting up again.  Music on, book open, you pushed all the sad and empty thoughts aside and got lost in another world.

Within a couple of minutes, you heard shouting and pulled off your headphones. 

You looked up to see a tall man in a blue cashmere sweater and gray silk trousers with his finger in the face of an attendant.  

“Let me tell you something.  You don’t know who you’re fucking with.  Drysdales don’t fly fucking coach – ever.  I’ll sue you and I’ll own this stupid airline.”

“Mr. Drysdale, I’m sorry.  This was the seat that was chosen when the ticket was purchased,” said the flight attendant in a surprisingly calm manner.  “This is a full flight and there is no room for you to upgrade to first class.  And despite what you may think, I had absolutely nothing to do with how the ticket was booked, nor do I have any ability to change the fact that you are in seat 12D.  Now, can I help you stow your bag?  I’ll have a cocktail cart here for you soon.”

You thought he might continue the fight, but he didn’t. Instead he slammed his jacket down on the seat next to you and made a show of slinging his bag into the overhead, muttering a string of expletives the entire time.  Then he looked down at you.

“Just fucking awesome,” he said angrily, picking his jacket up and wedging into the seat.  He was tall and he worked to figure out how to fit his long legs in the legroom designated for the impoverished that were banished to coach.  He sighed in disgust, his knees against the seat tray.  

You studied him for just a second, not wanting to stare.  He had a strong profile, chiseled jawline, dark blonde hair perfectly styled.  His skin was gorgeous, with a slight hook in his nose.  You looked down and caught how his biceps were stretching the sweater a bit and his big hands with long slender fingers settled in his lap.  He smelled of expensive cologne – musky and woody, and he probably had a cigarette before he came into the airport.  He laid his head back against the seat and closed his eyes.  You took the hint and put your headphones back in, finding the folded page corner in your book.

Within a minute or so, you were aware of a buzz among the other passengers.  You paused the music and pulled out a headphone, looking around and listening.

“I’m certain that’s him,” whispered the woman behind you.  

“No way.  There’s no way Captain America is sitting in coach,” said her husband.

“Do you think he’d take a selfie with me?” said their daughter.

You couldn’t see anything down the aisle and certainly didn’t want to stretch into your neighbor’s seat space given his attitude about having to fly with the peasants.  No need to stress about it though, because the overhead light was suddenly blocked out by an incredibly wide set of shoulders.  The tall blonde man looming over top of you in the aisle took your breath away.  Ice blue eyes, those shoulders as broad as a building, a t-shirt that was screaming to break free from the massive pecs, abs and biceps it struggled to cover, and jeans that hugged his tree trunk thighs.  You weren’t sure how this guy made it through the door of the plane, let alone how he was going to fit into a seat.  

“I’m sorry,” he said to Mr. Attitude next to you.  “I’m the window.”

“You’ve gotta be shitting me,” said Mr. Drysdale.

The blonde adonis just smiled and apologized again.  “Sorry, I should’ve already been seated, I got held up in security.”

The crab apple next to you rose and stepped out into the aisle. They were both the same height, and you took a long look, your breath catching in your throat.  There was a lot of handsome man standing in the aisle, and they were getting ready to make a hottie sandwich out of you.  You quickly unsnapped your seatbelt and stood so the blonde god could get past.

“Hi,” he said, a smile that revealed his pearly whites taking your breath away again.  “I’m so sorry, promise you won’t have to get up again.”

“No worries,” you barely squeaked out as that incredible ass in those tight jeans brushed past and slipped into the window seat.  You sat down, your arms at your sides, absolutely no room on the armrests for you with all of this man surrounding you.  Holy shit.

You looked to your left and the blonde extended a hand. “Steve Rogers,” he said, that million watt smile on again.  

“I’m Y/N,” you said, feeling the warmth and strength of his hand. How in the hell had you ended up on a flight next to Captain America?  You didn’t think anything could change your mood, but maybe you were wrong.

He extended his hand across you to the aisle seat occupant.  “Steve Rogers,” he said in his sexy baritone. Mr. Drysdale raised an eyebrow in annoyance and hesitated, then quickly shook his hand.  “Ransom Drysdale.  And I shouldn’t be sitting in this seat,” he said sourly.

Steve raised an eyebrow at you and grinned, unsure what to think about your seatmate.  You shrugged and smiled.

“We’ve been cleared for takeoff. Be sure your seatbelts are fastened, all items are stowed and tray tables are up.  We’ll be taxiing out to the runway in a few minutes.” The flight attendant walked up the aisle, making sure all the overhead compartments were secure.

You were glad you had pulled what you needed from your bag when you sat, because it would take a can opener to pry you out of your seat at this point.  You opened the book again and tried to concentrate on the words.  Captain Rogers was settling into his seat, turning off his cell phone and trying to pull the seatbelt around his waist.  With some effort, you finally heard it click.

“These seats are incredibly tight.  I’ve never flown coach before.  It’s crazy how little room there is.”

“Tell me about it,” said Ransom, rolling his eyes.  “When I get home, I’m firing my assistant over this reservation and making sure no one else will ever hire her,” he snarled.

You tried looking back and forth during the conversation, enjoying the view, but even that movement was difficult.

“So I thought Avengers traveled by quinjet,” you said to the captain.

He smiled at you.  “We normally do, but I had to get out of town quickly and there wasn’t one available. My wife is having early labor pains and I need to get to her as soon as I can.”  There was worry in his blue eyes.

“Oh, I love your wife,” you said.  “She’s amazing.  She has raised so much money with her foundation, done so much for so many. She’s an inspiration, and a badass,” you added.

He chuckled.  “Well, her badass days are behind her.  Being a mom kind of makes that difficult.”

You smiled at him and shook your head.  You were conversing with Captain America about his family.  Had this day taken a turn or what?

“I can’t believe they couldn’t find you a private plane or something,” said Ransom.  “I would’ve bitched to the airline if I were you.”

“It’s hard to find air transportation right now with all the events happening here and the weather cancelling flights.  I’m just grateful that I got what I got.  The doctors gave her something to slow her labor so I should get there in plenty of time,” said Steve.

“It’s your second, right?” you said.

“Yes, we have a son.”

“Do you know what you’re having?” you asked.

He smiled broadly, all the way to his eyes.  “It’s a girl,” he said, and you thought about what a lucky little girl she was to have a daddy so thrilled to be having her.  It wasn’t that way for everyone.

The plane jerked a bit as it began backing away from the gate.  You laid your head back against the seat, fighting the anxiety that was suddenly overtaking you.  You’d only flown a once before and you’d found taking off and landing nearly more than you could take.  On that flight, he was with you, his hand over yours, whispering in your ear that it would be ok and “I’ve got you, baby girl.”  You closed your eyes and smiled at the memory, imaging him next to you.  Then just as suddenly, the memory of him pressing you against the wall, kissing you with abandon flooded your brain and your eyes flew wide open, your body jerking a bit.

“You ok?” Steve asked.

You could feel the heat rise in your neck.  “Yes,” you said shyly.  “Just not a fan of takeoffs.”

“Flying is the safest form of transportation,” said Ransom matter-of-factly.  “You’ll be fine.”

You looked over at him, that chiseled profile staring straight ahead, a scowl on his face.  He’d better watch out or he’d freeze that way.  You grinned at the memory of your grandmother telling you that every time you rolled your eyes.

Steve reached over the armrest and took your hand, covering it with his.  “Flying isn’t my favorite thing either,” he said with a smile and you wrapped your fingers around his thumb.

The flight attendant announced that the cabin was secure and takeoff could commence and the plane slowed, stopping to let another plane pass. The engine whirred and the plane jerked forward, gaining speed, the noise louder and louder.  You squeezed Steve’s thumb a little harder and he returned the squeeze, holding your hand tightly in his big warm one.  The plane began to lift, knocking you back slightly and you went with gravity, straightening your back and laying against the seat, eyes closed, working on breathing normally.  It was unnerving feeling your body lifting from the seat a little.  The loss of control made your heart race, but gently, as the plane rose and then leveled off, your body was once again calm.

You looked over at Steve and he gave you a reassuring smile. “Thanks,” you said softly.  You let go of his thumb.

“No problem,” he said softly, pulling his hand away.  

“My boyfriend normally does that for me,” you said.  And, you were sad again.

“Is that where you’re traveling, to see him?” Steve asked.

You chewed on your bottom lip, looking down at your lap.  “No, my grandmother passed away and I’m going to sort out her home and belongings,” you sighed.  “He won’t be there.  He’s done with me.”  

“What does that mean?” asked Ransom.

You sighed.  “It’s kind of a long story.”

“Well, we’ve got three hours to kill,” Steve said with a smile.

“Jesus Christ,” muttered Ransom, pulling out the airline magazine in an attempt to disappear.

Steve nudged your elbow and smiled.  “Tell me about him.”

You smiled.  “I’ve known him since second grade,” you smiled.  “We started dating in seventh grade.  He’s the only guy I’ve ever been with.”

Ransom let out a disgusted laugh next to you.  You looked over at him.  “Not a romantic, Ransom?”

“Uh, no,” he sputtered.  “Hell no.  Seriously, how old are you?”

You told him your age.

“Jesus, and you’ve only ever been with one guy?  That’s ridiculous.”

You felt Steve’s hand pat your arm.  You looked at him and he rolled his eyes, looking at Ransom.  “I think it’s great you’re with your school sweetheart,” he said.  “You must have some pretty strong feelings for him if you’ve been that loyal to him.”

“I do,” you sighed sadly.  “I thought he was my forever.”

“How can you possibly know that?” said Ransom.  “He’s the only guy you’ve ever been with.”

“I just know,” you said.  “We have a history.’

“Tell me more,” said Steve.

“Well…”

“Where is she?”

“She’s up front, sitting on the pew.”

“What’s going to happen?”

“I heard she’ll go with her grandmother.”

The chatter continued at the back of the church just after the funeral had ended. Sitting all alone in the front was an 8-year-old girl in tights, a black velvet dress, black patent shoes and a bow in her hair.  A large spray of pink tulips flowed over the edge of the oak casket in front of her.  

While the adults gossiped, an 8-year-old boy in a suit and tie emerged from the back and walked up the aisle.  He stood at the edge of the first pew, then sat at the end and slid down until he was next to the girl.  He took her hand in his and when she looked at him, he gave a gap-toothed smile. “It’s ok Y/N.  I’ll take care of you.”  The little girl smiled back.

 “My grandmother passed away last month,” you told Steve.

His blue eyes showed concern.  “I’m so sorry.”  He patted your arm.

Ransom let out a sarcastic chuckle.  For someone who didn’t want to talk, he was finding his way into your conversation.  You turned your face to him, unsure what type of asshole laughs at someone’s death.

He looked at you and immediately his face was serious.  “I’m sorry too,” he said.  “I was laughing because my grandmother was the only person on the planet that ever gave a shit about me.  She was the most amazing person I ever knew.”

You couldn’t help but feel for him, despite his incredibly rough edges.

“Well, my grandmother was really amazing too,” you said.  “She got stuck with me when I was little and she did a great job raising me.”

You’d moved in with her at an incredibly difficult time.  Your grandfather had passed less than a year before, and then your mother, her only child.  Taking you in was never in doubt, she would do so gladly, but it was a challenge that she struggled with many times.

Enter him.  He was only a child, but he had, as they say, “an old soul.”  He became your constant companion and a fixture in your grandmother’s home.  You could feel her tension ease when he arrived.  For a little while, she didn’t have to worry if she was making the right decisions for you, bridging the generation gap.  When the two of you were together, you were in sync and well behaved.

You told them how, from the time you moved in with your grandmother, he became your protector.  He walked you to and from school every day, carrying your lunchbox so you could pick flowers along the way.  At recess, he ran to the teeter totter to save it until you got there, and when you climbed on a swing, he pushed you so high you felt like you were flying.

You played baseball with boys until sixth grade and he was always on your team.  When you made the cheerleading squad, he helped you learn all the cheers and during the game, you’d see him on the sidelines with the team, miming your cheers from memory.  

His family was difficult.  His father drove a truck all over the country and was gone for long periods of time.  His mother liked to drink, a little too much, and wasn’t always kind to her children. Despite her treatment, her neglect of her children, he had grown up well-mannered and respectful.  You liked to think your grandmother had a lot to do with that.

“I lost my Ma when I was in my teens,” said Steve.  You knew his story, and that he would have lost her decades ago, but losing your mother was still hard.

Ransom scoffed.  “I should be so lucky,” he said under his breath.

You looked at him.  “Did you just wish your mother dead?” you said sternly.

He looked at you.  “Trust me, the world would be a much better place,” he muttered.

You glared at him for a minute, then turned your attention back to Steve.

“My mom was wonderful,” you said, the memory of her flooding your mind. “She was that mom – the one that did all the fun stuff.  She was creative and an incredible cook and her house was open to everyone.  She was just, she was the best,” you said, tears creeping into your voice.  You felt Steve’s arm push into yours just a bit, the contact easing your sadness.

“My mother is a spoiled rotten bully.  All she cares about is spending money and making people think she’s better than everyone,” Ransom spat out.  “I honestly don’t know why she even had me – actually, I do.  She wouldn’t be nearly as happy if she didn’t have the opportunity to tell me what a disappointment I am every occasion she gets.”

“She sounds like a character out of a movie,” you said.

He looked at you.  “Absolutely fucking no one would watch that movie,” he said deadpan.

Steve cleared his throat.  “So, when did you and your boyfriend get serious?”

“I think we just always knew we’d be together,” you said.  “We were inseparable and we loved each other from that moment in the church.  No one ever invited just one of us to something, it was always both of us.”

“That’s special,” said Steve.  “Some people never find their soulmate.  I was so lucky to find mine when I did.  She helped me discover the world when I came out of the ice.  She’s truly the better half of me.”

You couldn’t help but poke the bear a little.  “Ransom, you’ve never been in love?  Ever?”

He looked at you and rolled his eyes.  “Nope,” he said, popping the P.  “Love is for fools.  Life is too short to be with one person.  There’s a buffet of beauty out there and I’m happy to be the first in line.”

You looked at Steve, who was suppressing a little smile.  “You just haven’t found the right person,” he said, also poking the bear a bit.

“There is no ‘right person’ for me, of that I am sure,” he spat. “I’m fine taking care of me. Don’t need to worry about anyone else expecting something from me I can’t give them.”  He was back to looking at his magazine, acting disinterested. “Besides, anyone that claims to ‘love’ me is lying – they’re really only in love with my money.”

“Aw, Ransom,” you said with a grin, “are you saying you’re not lovable?”

“Wouldn’t you like to find out,” he said in a deep, flirty voice, and for the first time, he smiled.

You could hear Steve chuckling softly next to you.

“Y/N, he’s here!”  You could hear your grandmother’s voice from the bottom of the stairs.  You looked in the full length floor mirror one more time. She’d spent hours making your prom dress, just like you’d asked.  It was a beautiful coral color, strapless with a beaded bodice and lace around the top and bottom.  It flared as it reached the floor, and you poked your pink-painted toes in strappy gold heels out from under it.  Around your neck were the pearls your mother had gotten from your great-grandparents for her high school graduation.  Your hair was half up with braids on either side joined in the back with a ribbon clip, the rest down in waves on your shoulders.  

Waiting for you was the guy you wanted to spend your life with.  Every moment with him was special.  Your love for him had blossomed and thinking of a future with him filled your heart.  Tonight, you were sure the two of you would come together in a way you never had. You were ready, past ready, and you knew he was too.  What you felt for him was so deep, you wanted to give him all of you, and you knew he’d take you, just as you are, and cherish you.

As you descended the stairs, he looked up at you and you thought, this must be how the bride feels when her groom sees her for the first time.  He consumed you with his eyes, taking you in from head to toe. With three steps to go, he stepped forward and reached for your hand.  He was so warm and he pulled you to him, a hug and sweet kiss to your glossed lips.  His smile was contagious.  

“You’re my dream,” he said, placing a corsage around your wrist, a pink tulip (your very favorite) in the center.  “Let’s go so I can show you off.”

When you walked into the gymnasium, you saw the looks you got.  Girls were wearing expensive dresses from the best designers, hair and makeup done professionally.  You knew your dress wasn’t as nice and that you stood out in comparison.  But he made you feel as if you were more.  He danced with you all night, making sure to stand in the center of the dance floor so everyone could see you.  “You’re so beautiful,” he whispered in your ear. “You’re exquisite.”  As you both worked the room, talking to friends, he would start the conversation with “how did I get so lucky?” or “look at my beautiful girl.”  You were so happy to be on his arm, by his side.

The evening flew by, the last song played by the DJ, and kids started filing out of the gym. You were sad to leave but your entire body was tingling with anticipation.  He opened the door to his dad’s car for you and as you drove away, you wondered if he was as excited as you.  You weren’t nervous, just anxious.

He drove you down the long road to the lake you’d been visiting since you were kids. He parked the car in a grove of trees, shielded by overgrown bushes.  When he looked at you, it felt like he looked deep inside you.  

He pressed a kiss to your lips, his fingers under your chin, lifting your mouth to his. You let out a little noise, deepening the kiss.  He pressed his forehead to yours, eyes closed, savoring your touch.

“Are you ready for this?” he whispered.  It sent chills all over you.

“Yes,” you breathed, kissing him again.

“We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to,” he said reassuringly, but you were already pulling off the tie to his tux, unbuttoning the buttons at his throat and down his chest, your fingers brushing his pecs as you went.  He gently pulled the dress down your arms, exposing your bare breasts.  You’d seen him so many times but tonight, you wanted to devour his toned, muscled body, his tanned skin, the prize for hard work at his uncle’s farm.  You wanted to worship him the way he’d always worshiped you. You kissed his soft lips, pressing your breasts to his chest.  

He took a shuddering breath, moving down to kiss and nip along your collarbone to your neck as you pulled the shirt from his body.  You laid your head back, exposing your throat, allowing him to kiss along the shaft to your chest, down your sternum.  You looked in his eyes as he gently touched your breast with his hand, then dipped his head down to gently take a pebbled nipple into his mouth. He was so warm and gentle, you thought you might explode right then.  You lifted yourself to pull the dress off, leaving you in your lace panties and your gold high heels.  He leaned back to take a look at you, then dove in again to your breasts, giving each of them attention.  

Slowly his hands made their way down your belly to the edge of your panties.  He gently laid you back on the seat and you lifted your legs, reaching to undo his belt and pants.  He toed off his shoes and socks, then managed to pull his pants and boxers off under the steering wheel.  He pulled the condom from his wallet and stretched it over his hard, weeping cock.  With a look that made you shiver, he crawled over you, his arms caging you on either side of your head.  It was a tight squeeze but it worked.  As he began kissing you, you lifted your hips, touching him.  He was ready for you and you for him.  He lined himself up with you and very slowly entered you. You winced and his hands went to your hair, kissing your forehead, your nose.  

“You ok?” he asked softly.

“Mm hmm,” you hummed, pulling at his hips, feeling him go deeper inside you.  His lips found yours as he found a gentle rhythm. He took you in, his eyes roaming your face, that smile that melted your heart.  You laid your head back and he assaulted your neck with kisses as his rhythm picked up.  

No matter what you had imagined, nothing would feel like this.  He fit you perfectly.  Your heart swelled and you let out a little sob of happiness as his rhythm grew faster.

“I love you Y/N,” he said in your ear.  “Always.”

“I love you too,” you managed, followed by a moan from deep in your throat that made him growl in approval.  

He quickened his pace and you lifted to him even more, feeling the coil in your lower belly tightening.

“I’m – oh, I’m so…”

“It’s ok baby, I’ve got you.”

His voice was so soft and husky in your ear, you let go, a sound you couldn’t describe escaping as you reached your climax.  You ran your fingernails down his muscular back, then settled in the hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him in for a kiss.

“God Y/N, fuck, you feel so good, you’re so good for me.”  His movements began to stutter as he found his release and you held him tightly to you as he finished, his head falling to your shoulder.  You both lay there in the dark, panting, your bodies on fire.  

“You’re amazing,” you said in a soft voice, your fingers running down his back.

He lifted slowly, propping his head in his hand.  He trailed his fingers down your chest to your breasts.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” he grinned.

“It was so good!” you said.  You nuzzled his neck, kissing him softly there.  “I want more,” you breathed into his ear.

He laughed and kissed you. You both cleaned up a bit and you started all over again, this time straddling him on the seat.  He let you lead this time and you explored his hard, fit body, covering his face and chest in kisses.  When you lowered yourself onto him, your palms were flat against his chest as you mewled your release, and you held him through his.  It was incredible.  When he walked you to your door early that morning, you wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed him as if it would be the last time you’d have the chance.  You could tell you took his breath away as he came up for air.

“I love you,” you said, looking into his eyes and never meaning anything more in your life.

He smiled and pulled you to him.  “I love you too,” he whispered in your ear.

As he drove away, your mind was filled with your future, the two of you living a life full of nights like tonight.  As you drifted off to sleep, you could still feel his skin on yours.

 You shared, but not quite all of it, with your seatmates.  

“So if he’s so amazing, why won’t he be there when you arrive?” Ransom asked.

You knew hurt crossed your face, it was impossible to hide.  “Our lives, they just went different directions. I never thought they would, but they did.  And then –“ You let out a shaky sigh.  “Then he didn’t need me anymore.”  Your voice trailed off.

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” said Steve, sounding like a father.  “It’s ok.”

“Maybe you should,” said Ransom, “get it all out so that if you’re disappointed when we land, it’s not so bad.”

You rested back against your seat and played it in your mind again. You told them a little about after high school and where you both ended up.

“It was my fault.  I gave up on us.  I pushed him away.  He wasn’t my priority.  For all I know, it didn’t even hurt him.  I’m sure it was much easier with me out of the way.”

“That’s a lot of conjecture,” said Ransom.  “Sounds like you had your reasons.”

“I guess he couldn’t really help being away from you,” said Steve sympathetically.  “I can tell you from experience there’s nothing worse than being separated from the one you love most.”

Ransom rolled his eyes.  “We all make choices,” he said sarcastically.

Steve sighed.  “I don’t regret any I’ve made,” he said sternly.

“Then be prepared to deal with the consequences.”  He looked at you.  “If your boyfriend really loved you, he wouldn’t have taken a job shrouded in so much mystery.  He would’ve been available to you.  Maybe him taking the job was just the coward’s way of saying he wanted to explore other options.”

“Or maybe he felt it was what he needed to do to take the best care of her,” said Steve.  You heard what you bet was probably his captain’s voice.

Ransom looked him dead in the eye.  “Look Captain Self Righteous, if love is that important to you, there’s nothing that says you’ve had to take the chances you’ve taken.  You didn’t have to become a super soldier either. Choices.  If Y/N’s boyfriend had made her a priority, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

Steve gave an exasperated sigh and shook his head.

“I honestly don’t blame him for moving on, I just wish he’d tried harder to tell me we were through.  That’s all.” Tired of talking, you opened your book, put on your headphones and tried to get lost in the story.

 “Y/N, can you hear me?”

“Yes, barely,” you answered.  The connection was bad.  Who knew where he was calling from, or what kind of signal he had.  

“Don’t hang up,” he said hopefully.

“I won’t.”

It was the next natural step for you to go to college, but he needed something else. He was adventurous, energetic, crazy almost, and he needed something else.  So he’d joined the Army as you went away to school.  You were scared to be separated but he’d assured you the bond you had couldn’t be broken.  He got to explore the world, facing difficult situations and enjoying the adrenaline rush. You couldn’t help but worry but he told you not to, he was in his element.  And despite the distance, you’d made up for the time with letters, texts, phone calls, photos and even intimacy via cell phone.  Your senior year of college began the same time as the last year of his enlistment.  About halfway through the year, you sensed something had changed.  He was disillusioned with his superiors and had fallen in with a group of soldiers that were fed up.  

Each time he’d visit somewhere new, he’d send you a memento.  “Wish you were here with me.  This would be so much better with you.  Someday, I’m taking you all over the world.  I can’t wait until we’re together.”  You dreamed of it too, if you could just find the path to come back together.

Soon, many of those calls, texts and letters seemed to be from someone you didn’t know. And as he was moving forward and finding his path, you were finding yours.  You’d taken a job in Chicago, hundreds of miles from him and your grandmother.  It was your dream job, and you’d always imagined life in the city.  Some of your friends were headed that way and you talked of sharing an apartment and all the fun you’d have.  For the first time, you questioned whether he’d be a part of it.

Once graduation was over, you’d said goodbye to your grandmother and the small town where you’d grown up and headed off for your next adventure.  And he had begun his.  He left the service and took a job with the chance to make a lot of money so that the two of you could pick where you wanted to be and settle down, build your dream house and fill it with kids, just like you’d always hoped.  He just needed you to be patient with him.  

The job was tough.  He traveled for weeks without communicating and you found yourself living as if he wasn’t there anymore.  When you did speak, for the first time in your lives, it would end in a fight.  

“I’m doing my best here,” he’d say.  You could hear the stress in his voice.  “This isn’t forever.  I’m going to get to a place where we can be together and our lives will be just like we imagined.”

“How can you be so sure?” you asked, the words stinging as you said them.  “How can you be sure we should even still be together? We’re both so different.”

“We’re not, Y/N.  You’re still what I want.  We just have to hold on for a little while longer.”

 “Sounds like his job was pretty intense,” said Steve, his face looking serious.

“It was.  And very secret. He couldn’t tell me much.  I’m sure you know about that.”

“I do,” he said.  “It’s not easy to not be able to share everything with the one person you trust the most.  But sometimes it’s for your own protection.”

“I know,” you said.  “And I’m proud of him.  He didn’t always have it so easy,” she said, glancing at Ransom, “but he worked hard, and he was doing it for me.”

Ransom raised an eyebrow at you.  “I see.  I was handed everything and you think I’ve never done an honest day’s work in my life.”

You looked at his velvety smooth, sexy hands.  “Have you?”

He blinked.  “Probably not the way you think, but I’m not totally useless.  And you don’t have to risk your life every time you go to work to be successful,” he said, shooting Steve a look.

Steve grinned.  “Trust me, it’s not exactly what I would’ve chosen for myself.  It’s a situation that found me and I’ve worked hard to accept it.”

“Yes, must be brutal to be built like that.  Do you carry a club to beat the women away?  Or do you just ask them nicely to stop climbing you,” Ransom said with a sardonic smile.

You cleared your throat.  “Anyway, I could just feel things changing between us and I felt really lost, but also kind of empowered.  I’d moved away from home, stepped away from him and I was a success. And if I’m honest,” she said, eyeing Ransom, “I wondered what it might be like to date someone else.”

He let out a sarcastic laugh.

“And then everything changed…”

 A few weeks later, you’d received a text in the middle of the night.  “Meet me at the wheel at Navy Pier on the 25th at midnight.  There’s something I need to tell you.”

You’d scoffed at the invitation.  “If you’re coming to Chicago, come stay with me.  Why are we meeting at midnight?”

“It’s just the way we need to do it, for now.  Promise me you’ll be there.”

As the day approached, you found yourself immersed in work and trying to finish a project with an approaching deadline.  You didn’t understand why, after not seeing each other for so long, he wouldn’t just come to your place, let you make him dinner, spend the night with you.  Why must it be so clandestine?

You texted him – “You need to come to me.  I have a lot of work and I’m on a deadline.  If you love me, you’ll come stay with me so we can catch up properly.”

You didn’t hear back from him and on the evening he’d asked to meet you, you’d fallen asleep at your desk at home while working to finish your assignment.  

“Y/N, are you coming?”  “Where are you?”  “Please, I need to see you.”  He kept texting but the late hours you’d been keeping had you in a deep sleep.  

When your alarm went off for work, you shuffled into the shower, the hot water serving as a wake-up call.  Suddenly your eyes flew open – you’d slept through midnight!  You jumped from the shower, shampoo still in your hair, and grabbed for your phone.  It was dead. You plugged it in, finished bathing and scampered back to your nightstand for the phone.  

You read his texts and tears flooded your eyes.  He’d come all the way to Chicago and you missed him.  You called, then sent a flurry of texts but there was no response.  

He’d wanted to tell you something urgently and you’d totally blown him off.  How did you get here?  This was the love of your life.  You should’ve been there with open arms.  How long had it been since you’d held him, kissed him?  You suddenly felt as if you’d been punched in the gut.  You tried to catch your breath, frantically calling him again and again but no answer.

You began a series of texts explaining that you’d gotten caught up in work, and even though it wasn’t more important than he was, you’d fallen asleep and lost track of time.  Could you please meet him somewhere else?  You’d come to him, wherever he was.  You wouldn’t tell anyone where you were going, you just needed to see him. Despite pouring your heart out to him, there was no response.

Until one night, when you’d phoned him for the millionth time, and someone answered. “Hello?” said a sultry female voice.  Thinking you had the wrong number, you were about to speak when you heard his voice in the background.  She said his name and you heard his husky baritone, a laugh in his voice.  You quickly ended the call.

This was what he wanted to tell you – he’d found someone else.  No wonder he never called back, never returned your texts. It was over and you’d made it easy for him.

Despite the cramped quarters, both of your seatmates managed to doze off during the flight.  Steve had crammed his jacket between his head and the wall of the plane and was softly snoring.  Ransom, with no respect for body space, had allowed his head to dip over onto your shoulder.  You didn’t mind, you were glad he could rest.  You couldn’t help but feel for him.  It would be awful to have so much money, but be completely without anyone to love you, even your family.  He smelled good and you settled down into your seat, staying as still as you could.

The time was counting down until you arrived at your destination and you hadn’t read the letter.  You just didn’t think you could take it.  Hearing your grandmother’s final thoughts when she knew her life was ending (but no one else did) was almost too much.  Her last wishes were important, it was your responsibility to see them through.  With each of your seatmates comfortably resting, you slowly opened the envelope.  Your grandmother’s scent hit you immediately, and you felt tears burn at your eyes.

You unfolded the delicate stationery.  It was powder blue with a scalloped edge.  You’d bought if for her for Mother’s Day a few years back.  She loved writing letters and leaving you notes, and the delicate femininity of the paper fit her perfectly.

“My Sweet Y/N,

As you read this, please know that I’m so sorry that I’ve left you.  Raising you was my greatest accomplishment.  I made mistakes with your mother, so I worked hard to be patient with you, and really listen.  I cherish what we had and want you to know how proud I am of you, the wonderful young woman you’ve become.”

You wiped the tear that had begun to roll down your cheek and sniffed softly.  It was harder than you’d even imagined.

“I’m sorry I didn’t share my diagnosis with you until the end, but I wanted you to continue to move forward.  I knew that if I told you, you’d insist on being with me.  I didn’t want you sitting by my bed while I slept when you could be enjoying your life.  You gave me your very best, I owed it to you to let you go and find your future.”

You thought of all the times you’d meant to pick up the phone and call her, but something else had come up and you’d simply pushed her to the back of your mind.  The thought of it made you wince.  How hard would it have been to just call and say hello?   Had she not earned that from you?

“I’m not leaving much behind.  The house is yours to do with as you please.  I know it’s old and not what you might want, but I can’t help but think, knowing how good you are with decorating, that you could make it a home you’d love and enjoy.  However, if you choose to sell it, please know I’m fine with that decision as well. Don’t feel guilty.  Your future is where you make it.”

The house was certainly old and dated, not what you had in mind.  Not to mention you never planned to return to your old hometown.  You didn’t know what you’d do there if you did.  And now, there was even less reason to return.

“My biggest regret is not seeing your face when he proposed to you.  I can only imagine how it felt when he put your mother’s ring on your finger and asked you to be his wife.  That giant Ferris wheel at Navy Point was a perfect backdrop.

When he came to pick it up, he said he’d always dreamed of settling in this little house, but he knew Chicago was your home now, so he wanted to ask you in the place that was important to you.  I will rest peacefully knowing that you have someone so special to take care of you.”

You froze, then let out a strangled cry.  Steve jerked awake, his hand flying to your shoulder.

“Y/N, what is it?  Are you ok?”

Finally, you let go.  There was no holding back.  You put your face in your hands, sobs shaking your shoulders.

“Jesus, what did you do?” Ransom asked Steve as he touched your other shoulder, bending down to look at you.

“Nothing!  I woke up and she was crying.”

How could you have not seen this? Why did you doubt him?  It suddenly washed over you how he must’ve felt, standing there in the dark, alone, waiting for you, to ask you the biggest question of your lives.  

Your sobs increased, though you were trying to stifle the noise, considering you were on a full airplane with two beefcakes on either side of you worried.

“Y/N,” Ransom said, his lips close to your ear.  He put his hand on your back and rubbed gentle circles. “Talk to us.  What happened?”

You slowly sat up, Steve taking your hand in his.

“Oh my God, you guys, I blew it.  I totally blew it.  I broke his heart.  I can’t believe I did this to him.”

The two men looked at each other, question on their faces.

“Did what?” Ransom said softly.

You held up the letter.  “This is from my grandmother.  I’ve put off reading it because I was so sad to know it was the last communication I’d have with her.  He was coming to propose to me.  At Navy Pier. He picked up my mother’s ring from my grandmother,” you said softly.  Saying it out loud made it even worse. You couldn’t stop the flow of tears that fell from your eyes.

“Oh man,” Ransom said quietly, rubbing your back even more.

“Y/N, are you sure?” said Steve.

“Yes,” you sobbed, handing him the letter.  Ransom put his hand on your side and pulled you toward him, cradling you against his chest.

“It’s going to be ok,” he soothed.  “You didn’t know.  He should’ve told you he wanted to ASK you something instead of TELL you something.”

You blinked and sat up, looking at him.  “I mean, I don’t know if it would have mattered.”

“Of course it would’ve,” he said.  “This isn’t on you, it’s on him.  He should’ve been adamant that he wanted to ask you something.”

Steve handed you the letter back.  You could see the sadness on his face.  “I’m sure he was upset,” he said softly.  “He’d probably been waiting until the right moment.”

You scrunched up your face, fresh tears flowing.

“Jesus,” Ransom whispered to Steve, “you could at least be supportive.”

You wiped your finger under your eye to catch a tear before it dropped on the letter.  Your heart was racing and you couldn’t catch your breath.  You felt as if your stomach had dropped to your feet.  It was a desperate feeling, knowing what you knew and not being able to reach out to him and tell him how badly you’d screwed up.  

“You ok?” Steve asked softly.

“Yeah,” you said.  “And here I thought when I sat down in this seat I couldn’t feel worse.”

Steve laid his hand on your arm, squeezing a little.  “If everything you said about the two of you is true, this is something you can overcome.  It was a misunderstanding.  If those feelings are there, you’ll be able to fix it.”

You sniffed and wiped at your nose.  “Well, that’s the burning question, isn’t it?  How could he still have feelings for me after what I did.”

It was Ransom’s turn to bolster your confidence a bit.  “Look, misunderstandings happen all the time. And honestly, you hadn’t seen him in so long – did he not think you’d have misgivings about what he had to say when he wouldn’t come and stay with you?  He could’ve come to your place and then taken you somewhere special to propose. This isn’t on you, Y/N.  This is on him.”

You gave him a half-hearted smile.  “It doesn’t really matter though, does it.  In the end, he’s gone and I’m alone.”  You laid your head back on the seat, closing your eyes to ward off more tears.

Your mind whirled with memories – the two of you hiking near your home with your beloved dog joining you; going to the annual fair and riding all the rides that made you squeal and him laugh at you; laying side-by-side in your grandmother’s hammock on the front porch.  He never just held your hand – he always intertwined your fingers. He said if you looked from above, you couldn’t tell where he began and you ended.  

 Had you really been part of such an amazing love story?  You could hear his voice saying your name as he wrapped a hand under your ear to kiss you goodnight, and you could hear it when he called you from oh-so-far-away where he was lonely and probably afraid but never let on so you wouldn’t worry.

You let out a giant sigh and pulled your phone from the storage pocket in front of you.  You’d texted him before you got on the plane because it seemed like the right thing to do as you traveled back to your past.  He was too big a part of it not to.

“Did you get a text from him?” asked Steve, looking down at your phone.

“No,” you said, “I sent him one before I got on the plane.  I always imagined he’d be there with me through everything.  I just needed to reach out to him.”

“Mind if I look?” he asked.

“Sure, why not,” she half laughed.

She scrolled to the top of the message and handed the phone to him. Steve read silently, his eyebrows scrunching in concern.

I know we haven’t talked in a long time but today is going to be hard and I need you to know how much having you in my life has meant to me.  Even though we didn’t make it to the end, like we’d hoped, my life is so much better because of you.  If I were to die tomorrow, I’d do it knowing that in my life, I was truly loved by someone special.  For so long, I didn’t know how to be me without you.

I’m so proud of you, serving our country and then taking on a dangerous job to protect others.  I never told you enough how brave you are.  When I was worried or afraid, you’d be there like a safety net, making sure my heart was protected.  I’ll never be able to thank you enough for loving me.

This is going to be a hard day.  There’s not going to be a safe landing.  Everything I had, everything that made me secure, it’s all gone.  I’m sorry that I gave up.  I’m in uncharted waters.  I should’ve fought with everything I had for you.  I hope you’re happy with someone who will appreciate you and all you have to give.  Whoever she is, she’s a very lucky girl.

Steve cleared his throat, trying to remove the giant lump that had formed there.  “Wow,” he said.  “Those are beautiful words.”

“They’re from the heart.  I felt foolish as soon as I sent them and now I feel even more stupid.  I can’t imagine how much he hates me.”

“Mind if I look?” said Ransom.

“Yeah, and then if you want, pass it across the aisle,” you said sarcastically.

Ransom rolled his eyes and his mouth turned up in a grin.  He scanned over the text.

“Damn,” he whispered.  He looked at you.  “Look, I know I don’t know you at all and this has been a little slice of our lives, an unpleasant moment we’ll forget quickly, but if this guy got this text and doesn’t respond to you, he isn’t who you say he is.  Ok, you fucked up.  You should’ve met him that night.  But this right here would be enough for me to make a U-turn.  You had something really good.”

You grinned at him.  “Ransom, are you telling me it’s possible that a girl could win your heart?”

His face flooded with color.  “No,” he said a little too boisterously.  “Trust me, anyone that can take a little of me has their hands full.”

Steve chuckled.

“What?” said Ransom defensively.

“Something tells me you’re all talk.”

Ransom narrowed his eyes at Steve.  “What does that mean?”

Steve smiled a true American hero smile.  “It means, watching you with Y/N, I think you’re really a pussycat. Go ahead and act like a tough guy, but we all know the truth.  You’re a softie just looking for the right girl.”  He couldn’t help the smug look that replaced his smile.

“Alright Captain Jackass, you go ahead with your self-righteous psychoanalysis.  I’m capable of being nice to a woman without being a softie.  Seriously, the 1940’s called and they want their word back.”

You couldn’t help but smile at the two of them.  You never thought when you sat down between these two incredible hunks that you’d share your life story with them and they’d comfort you as you discovered a secret that would haunt you the rest of your life.

Ding

“You’ll notice the fasten seat belts sign has been activated as we make our descent.  Please secure your belongings and return your tray tables to their original position. We should be arriving at our destination in a few minutes.”

“Seriously,” grumbled Ransom, “how many people have died from errantly deployed tray tables.  Is that really our biggest concern?”

You giggled a little at his words and he looked at you, the first real smile he’d smiled all day gracing his handsome face.  He had the most piercing blue eyes.  You wished he would find someone who’d give him a chance. Underneath that gruff exterior, you just knew there was a loving, caring guy.

“Need a hand?” asked Steve, taking yours in his.  You smiled and squeezed gently.

It suddenly occurred to you what awaited when he arrived.  “You must be so excited!”

“I am,” he beamed.  “I’m going to meet my baby girl soon.”

“She’s a lucky little girl,” you smiled.

“Poor thing, just trying to imagine the first guy that comes to pick her up for a date,” Ransom grinned.

Steve raised an eyebrow.  “She’ll never know, I’m locking her in her room when she turns 15,” he smiled.

Slowly the plane began to descend.  Your heart suddenly leaped into your throat as you thought about what lie ahead for you.  You thought of walking through your grandmother’s home and a feeling of loneliness washed over you, causing an ache in your chest.  

“Doing ok?” Steve asked.

You turned to him and smiled.  “Yes, thank you.”   You looked to Ransom and back to Steve.  “This has been a great flight.  Thank you both for indulging me and listening, and for your support.”  You looked at Ransom.  “I know you said this is just an unpleasant moment we’ll soon forget, but I can tell you both I’ll never forget either of you.”  You fought the tears stinging your eyes.

“Yeah, well, it’ll probably be awhile before I forget you as well,” said Ransom.  

Steve pulled a pen from the bag in front of him and wrote his cell number on your palm.  “Put it in your phone.  Call or text me anytime you need to talk.  I mean it.”

That ache in your heart suddenly subsided.  “Thanks.  And I mean it too.”

Within a few minutes, the plane touched down roughly on the runway, then slowed and taxied to a stop at the gate.  You pulled your bag from under the seat in front of you.  You felt lightheaded so you closed your eyes and took a deep breath.  You could do this.  

Ransom took your hand and helped you up, and you made your way behind him into the aisle, Steve behind you, his hand on your lower back.  You walked out into the boarding bridge, walking slowly behind the crowd of passengers.  In a few minutes, you’d leave these guys who you’d never see again. You took your time shuffling along, prolonging the moment.

The crowd in front of you slowed and then stopped, as passengers found those that were meeting them.  That ache clenched your chest again.  You’d make your way to the rental car desk and get a ride to take you to what would surely be a sad, nostalgic evening.

“Hmm,” said Ransom.  “Interesting.”

“What?” you asked as he blocked your view.

“Probably just a coincidence.”

“I don’t know,” Steve said skeptically.  “Seems like too much of a coincidence.”

Now you were behind both of them and you couldn’t see anything but the backs of their gorgeous heads and their pants hugging their fine asses.  It was definitely the best view of the trip and probably the best you’d have for a long time.  You snickered thinking about it.

“Well, guess we’re going to find out,” said Steve as he took a couple of steps to his right and stopped.  

You were able to see ahead now as they parted, and the first thing that caught your eye was the pink tulips – a huge bouquet of them.  You looked above the flowers at the pink Petunias t-shirt, the blonde Van Dyke on his chin, his round wire framed glasses and spikey blonde hair.  Your breath caught in your throat and you stopped, unable to move.  You felt a hand at your elbow – Steve.  You looked up at him.

“You ok?” he asked.  It was a fatherly tone and you smiled a million watt smile at him, grabbing his hand and Ransom’s arm, pulling them forward.

You walked up to him, taking him in.  He was beautiful, even better than you remembered.  His body was toned and solid, tattoos peeking out from under the t-shirt.  Blue jeans graced his long sexy legs, high top Chucks rounding out the look.  You were overwhelmed by how much you needed him. How had you lived without him for so long?

“Hey beautiful,” he said in that sexy baritone voice.  He extended the flowers to you and you took them, inhaling deeply.  

“I can’t believe it.”  Your voice was so quiet you were sure he didn’t hear you.

“I’m here Y/N.  I’m here for you.”  He pulled you to him and you lifted the flowers, wrapping your arms around his neck. He touched his nose to yours. “Did you think I’d leave you to do this alone?”

You looked into his beautiful blue eyes and tried so hard to believe this was really happening.  “I didn’t expect you to be here.  Not after what I did to you.  I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.  Not until I read Gramma’s letter on this plane did I know. I can’t imagine how badly I hurt you.” You swallowed, pushing the hurt down deep.  “I understand why you moved on, I do.  And it’s ok.”

You saw the pain in his eyes, but it disappeared as quickly as it had appeared.  “There’s no one else,” he said, “never has been.  I screwed it all up.  I just did it all wrong.  I should have come to you.  I wanted to see you so bad.  I just didn’t want to put you in danger.”  He looked down and swallowed, then looked back into your eyes.  “Did you mean it?  All those things you said in that text this morning?”

“Yes,” you said, your voice strong.  “Every word.  I love you so much.”

He pressed his lips, so soft, to yours and gave you the sweetest kiss. “I love you too.  Always, Y/N.”  He kissed you again, this one deeper, his arms wrapped around you so securely.  You could die right now and it would be ok.

Suddenly, you were aware of your surroundings.  You pulled away from him, an arm around his neck, and you looked at your seatmates.

“Ransom, Steve, this is the love of my life, Jake Jensen.  Jake, these are the superstars of Row 12 that got me through this flight.”

Jake extended his hand to each of them.  “Thank you guys.  Flying is not her favorite.  Appreciate you both being so good to her.”

Ransom eyed him carefully.  “You’ve got a really great girl here,” he said to Jake.  “Don’t fuck it up.”

Steve smirked at Ransom.  “He’s right,” said Steve.  “Take good care of her.”  He looked Jake up and down with his best Captain look.

“Shit,” Jake muttered and you laughed, kissing him reassuringly.  

“Thanks guys.  You’re the best.”  You stepped forward and kissed each of them softly on the cheek.

Steve nodded and smiled, then walked towards his handler, who’d escort him to a car and whisk him away to the hospital to be by his wife’s side.

“Good luck!” you called to him and he smiled.

Ransom secured the strap of his bag on his shoulder as he approached a leggy blonde in a tight designer dress with a figure to die for.

“Hey baby,” she said as she wrapped her arms around his neck and laid a kiss on him that would make a stripper blush.

“Easy babe, save some for the hotel,” he said, wrapping an arm around her waist and walking away.  He turned and gave you a last look, flashing you a gorgeous smile.

“Damn,” said Jake, “if I was another guy, I might be kind of jealous and insecure about that, but I’m not some other guy, I’m your guy,” he said, rubbing his nose to yours.

“And don’t you forget it,” you said, kissing him deeply before pulling him by the hand away from the gate.  

“We’re going to have to go through all of the pictures you know,” you said with a devilish grin.

“Oh God, do we have to?  I don’t need to be reminded of what a dork I was back then.”

“You’re still a dork, but a very sexy one,” you said as you walked hand in hand towards your future.

Tags:

@what-is-your-plan-today  @captainsteveamericarogers

[qqueenofhades]

If anyone is an enabling mood..HI, I AM ALWAYS IN AN ENABLING MOOD, YOU WANT ENABLING? HERE IT IS. I have soft loving enabling tho cos I don't like being mean it makes me sad.

As we all expected, I am very, very easy to enable. Credit to @voidxces for the beautiful and inspiring edit. Mildly smutty bits, hence the full story is below the cut.

Valletta, Malta

December 15, 1999

The customs line at Malta International Airport is long, maddeningly slow-moving, and the one guard stamping passports looks to be about ninety, as Joe shifts from foot to foot and tries to remind himself that they have nothing but time. (Unless, of course, the Y2K nuts are all correct and they’re two short weeks from the end of life as we know it, but if nothing else, living for almost a thousand years means that he has seen countless doomsday prophecies come and go without so much as a whimper.) It was a crappy flight from Paris – overbooked, understaffed, the inevitable screaming child two rows behind them and now determined to keep up the racket in the passport queue – and Joe’s trying not to look as stressed as he feels. This is their getaway for the holidays and the new year, the turn of the millennium, a huge and significant milestone for any number of reasons, and he’ll feel better once they’re out of here. Nobody’s at their best in the cattle corrals and the fluorescent lights of border control, another reminder of how much things have changed over all the years they’ve been coming to Malta. The first time they were here in 1501, all they had to do was sail up, get off the boat, and pay a bribe to the port official. Joe votes they try that now.

The line shuffles forward another inch, the child behind them screams even louder, and as Joe is silently reciting the Bismillah and reminding himself that the Almighty values patience, Nicky turns around. He sizes up the mother – tired-looking, hungry-eyed, apologetically trying to corral the fussy baby and a toddler of about three or four – and smiles gently. “Hello,” he says in English, then glances at her passport and sees that she’s Italian. “Buona sera, signora,” he goes on, not missing a beat. “Hai bisogna di aiuto con qualcosa?”

The tired mother starts, her eyes welling with tears. Joe’s willing to bet that nobody has offered to help her for this entire trip, and has to smile softly to himself that of course Nicky has swooped out of the Maltese night like, well, a knight, her countryman in a time of crisis, to do exactly that. Joe is already feeling better just to watch Nicky be Nicky, as his lover takes hold of the baby, joggles him on his hip and tells him that he’s a handsome fellow and to stop screaming and to give his mama a break, as the mother tends to her toddler, gets herself sorted out, and thanks Nicky profusely in what sounds like Calabrian. Joe’s mostly able to pick out the specific regional accents, and he guesses that this woman is a migrant, one of the workers who travel around Europe in the growing season to pick fruit and vegetables in hot fields under hard bosses who only pay in cash and owe a cut to the Mafia. He takes out his wallet and quietly offers her all the Maltese lira they changed for back in France, and she shakes her head and tries to refuse. He insists – she looks somewhat surprised that he speaks Italian too, but not unduly – and while she won’t take it all, they manage to give her back her baby, some money, and reach the front of the line without actually noticing the rest of the wait. Joe hands over a French passport that reads Joseph Jones. Nicky hands over Nicholas Smith. The guard looks at them, asks a few questions in his quavering old-man voice, stamps the visa pages, and once more, they’re in.

Outside, Joe and Nicky collect their bags, help the woman to the taxi rank and make sure she’s on her way to wherever she’s staying, then go out to catch the bus. Valletta sparkles in the distance as they draw closer, this magnificent collection of fortresses and gardens and churches, domes and spires, palaces and piazzas, museums and terraces, city walls and citadels, Benjamin Disraeli’s city of palaces for gentlemen. The place was largely built by the Knights Hospitaller after their exile from Rhodes and the Great Siege of Malta in 1565, and Joe and Nicky have watched it transform over the centuries, but it has still managed to retain that unique spark of what they love about it. It is familiar, comforting, lovely. If the world is going to end, no better place to be than here.

The bus stops in downtown, they thank the driver in fluent Maltese, and get off, hauling their bags and suitcases. The December evening is cool and misty, fog floating over the cobblestones like elegant wraiths, the streetlamps casting pools of golden glow that look like doorways to another world. They walk casually hand in hand to a corner store that is about to shut up shop for the evening, buy a quick dinner, and then continue up the street. Somewhat appropriately, they are staying in a rented house near St Sebastian’s Bastion, Is-Sur ta' San Bastjan, on the northeastern tip of the Valletta peninsula near Fort Saint Elmo. They know the elderly owner well, who has left the key in the postbox for them, and they unlock the door, ascend the narrow, creaky stairs to the top-floor garret, and find that a small Christmas tree and a plate of imqaret have been left to welcome them. The windows open out over the city wall and the dark, glittering ocean. It is quiet, at last. Just the two of them.

“Finally,” Joe says. He picks up Nicky’s bags when he puts them down, and carries them into the dark bedroom, switching on the lights. They set down their convenience-store repast and eat, affectionately nudging each other’s knees under the too-small table. They’ll do more shopping tomorrow; they will be here at least until January (assuming, of course, no apocalypse). Joe smiles at Nicky, happy to be here, happy to be with him, happy to be sharing this small and unremarkable meal with a soft rain pattering on the steep slanted roof. When they’ve finished and tidied up, Joe murmurs, “Not too tired, are you?”

Nicky answers with a devilish quirk of his eyebrow, as if to say that of course neither of them were actually planning to go to sleep without celebrating their return appropriately. He wraps his arms around Joe’s waist, and they waltz into the bedroom, kicking the door shut behind them and drawing the curtains, sinking down on the amply-sized bed and undressing each other with slow and leisurely care. Even after a thousand, a hundred thousand times, it never fails to thrill. Their mouths meet in the dimness, their hands trace the well-loved lines of the other’s body, the faint scars and lines that never go away even through all the regenerations, the secret places, the curve of lips, the plane of shoulders and spines, the tensed tightness low on stomachs, the bend of a knee or the bone of an ankle. Joe pushes Nicky down beneath him, and Nicky arches his back, wrapping his legs around Joe’s waist. In quiet and tender and timeless communion, they find their way back home again, in each other and with each other, in touches and kisses and slow thrusts turning faster, and finally, sated, they sleep.

They wake in the morning with slants of winter sunlight filling the room, the high white ceilings, the gauzy curtains fluttering in the constant draft that they’ve never found, the way they’ve woken up in this room since they first met the owner in 1973, and which makes Joe think poignantly, as he always does for just an instant, of their lost home in Constantinople. They get up and dress, then leave the house in search of breakfast. The stone of the streets is pink and amber and gold and fawn, and the light has that particular early-morning quality where it seems to shine through sheets of bleached linen. The city is already awake and bustling, and Joe and Nicky make their way to their favorite café. They can sit overlooking the water and eat as much pastry and drink as much coffee as they like, and they make a good several hours of it. The sun comes up over the street, the palm trees rustle in the breeze, and a few tourists wander by with fancy Nikons around their necks, looking lost. One asks in English if they know where the Grandmaster’s Palace is, and Nicky is happy to point them in the right direction.

“You know,” he says, when they have finally finished breakfast and are wandering happily through the baroque streets, hands and shoulders brushing, “it’s 1999. This is our nine-hundredth anniversary, strictly speaking.”

Joe raises an eyebrow at him. “More like our eight hundredth,” he says playfully. “If we’re going from when we actually figured anything out.”

Nicky shrugs, grinning sheepishly, even as both of them fall contemplatively silent. 1099 is a long, long time ago by anybody’s measure. Joe thinks of himself, kneeling in prayer in the Tower of David, the dread whispers that the Franks were coming, the way he can remember parts and pieces and that first death bright as flame, but the rest of it has faded into the soft greyness of endlessly passing time. They did go to Jerusalem earlier this year, in July, since it seemed like the thing to do; there were a lot of First Crusade remembrances going on, some of which they wanted to be associated with and some of which they didn’t. There was a tweed-jacketed history professor who was deeply appreciative of the detailed account that Nicky was able to give on the breach of Jerusalem’s walls (he asked if he had published any articles on the subject, Nicky said hastily that he was just an enthusiastic amateur), and then there were some whackjobs who were trying to inflame religious tensions, as usual, and basically acting like it was a good thing that the heretics got what was coming to them. Lots of Americans with placards. Lots of Israeli secret service and bearded guys who were probably covert Hezbollah. Lots of people who all think they know exactly what the crusade’s legacy means, and which Joe and Nicky couldn’t help but regard warily. Everything seems twisted up these days, poised on the brink. That guy named bin Laden whose pals tried to bomb the World Trade Center in 1993, he’s been talking as usual. Death to the Western crusaders. So on and so forth. Thus far, nobody’s really listening outside the Middle East, but when you’ve seen this so many times, it’s harder to ignore.

Joe shakes himself, not wanting to think about this on their long-awaited getaway. They’ve been in Kosovo on and off this year, even if the last thing any of them really wanted was to go back into the Yugoslavian wars, and Andy and Booker are off to enjoy the last few weeks of the twentieth century elsewhere. Someone like Andy, the turn of a millennium is old hat, but even for as long as they’ve lived, this is Joe and Nicky’s first new set of a thousand years. The Year Two Thousand. Sounds appropriately science-fictiony. How, Joe thinks. How on earth did Yusuf al-Kaysani from Cairo end up here.

That, however, is only incidental to his enjoyment of the rest of the day. They walk on the city walls, they go up to the Grand Harbor and take in the sea view, then to the Barrakka Gardens. Nicky gazes pensively on the monument of remembrance and out over the glittering blue water, as Joe sits down on a bench and watches him. He has always simply enjoyed looking at Nicky, watching him breathe, watching him be, watching the way he leans on the railing and shields his eyes against the sun with the casual, unconsciousness elegance that permeates everything he does. Whether the name is Yusuf al-Kaysani or Joseph Jones or anything else, it doesn’t matter. Even among all the change and clutter of the modern world, this adoration, this soul-deep delight, is the one thing that remains constant.

That is how the next several days pass. Joe and Nicky visit their usual old haunts in Valletta, eat well, make love, and catch up with the apartment’s owner, Ġużepp, who is now in his eighties, has known them for over twenty-five years, and never seen them age a day. He has never asked why. His wife died a long time ago and they never had children, and perhaps he sees them as sons, as a strange but poignant blessing for a lonely old man, two people who clearly love this place as much as he does. He asked them once when they first came here, and Joe wondered if they should just tell him that it was the sixteenth century. Somehow it seems as if Ġużepp might not be surprised.

A few days before Christmas, a storm blows in from the Atlantic just as dust blows in from North Africa, and the world turns silver and ocher and rust and wet, the windows sparkling as if stained in silver nitrate and the streets and domes and splendid churches of Valletta painted in watercolor impressionism on the blurry glass, anything or anyone outside the bedroom barely seeming to exist. Joe and Nicky spend the time productively, which is to say they have so much sex that they can barely walk. They twist into each other, explore and challenge and unstring and repair each other, touch and caress, kiss and lick and suck and mark their territory all over again, leaving no inch of flesh unexplored and no sinful act undone. “You know,” Nicky murmurs, eyes closed, smiling, sweat beading on his brow, hand stroking up the line of Joe’s spine as Joe nips at his neck. “We really are a pair of heretics, aren’t we.”

“Speak for yourself, Nicolò.” Joe leans down to steal another kiss from his lover’s bruised, teeth-marked lips. “Heretics according to who?”

Nicky hums, as if to say he is happy to get into a theological argument at a later date, but can’t be arsed to do so right now. Joe slides down next to him, sliding his hand across Nicky’s chest and stomach, curling lower, as Nicky whines and reflexively tries to pull back. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

Joe laughs, as he always does, pressing a kiss into Nicky’s shoulder and thinking – as he also always does – Allah and all His angels forbid. He has always secretly, shamefully prayed that if that terrible moment came, if one of them lost their immortality first, that it be him. He knows this condemns Nicky to live on without him, but he cannot face the prospect of doing it himself. Dying for good, even after this long, somehow seems easier. At least he’s done that before, often. Living without the other half of his soul, not so much.

The rain clears on Christmas Day, the light is fragile and golden and perfect as heaven, and they call Andy and Booker (Andy’s somewhere in Argentina, Booker is on a beach in Thailand) and wish each other happy holidays. Nicky mixes up a feast, Joe helps (if by that you mean stirring the occasional pot and taking full advantage of Nicky’s “Kiss the Cook” apron) and they open their door and visit with the neighbors who drop in to bring more pastries and Christmas wishes. Ġużepp turns up, they invite him to stay for supper so he won’t be alone, and after the token protests, he agrees. As he is insisting on doing the washing-up, he asks, “How long have you two known each other?”

Joe and Nicky glance at each other. They’re fairly sure that Ġużepp knows they’re a couple, even if they haven’t said so openly, just in case an old Maltese Roman Catholic would prefer to know it implicitly but not have it confirmed. Finally Nicky says, “A very long time.”

“I thought so, somehow.” The old man reaches for a dish towel. “You seem that way. Have you been happy here? All the times you’ve been to Malta, to my house?”

“We’ve been very happy,” Joe assures him. “This place has been special for – for many years. I am Arabic, Nicky is Italian, it is like it was made just for us.”

Ġużepp smiles. “Your families?” he asks. “They are happy with it?”

Joe thinks of his mother, far off and so very long ago, and how Maryam al-Katibi always wanted him to be a better man. How he forgot about time and its passing, and never saw her again after he left. It remains one of the greatest regrets of his life that she never met Nicolò, as he thinks that they would have liked each other very much. But as far as their family goes now –

“Yes,” he says, thinking of Andy and Booker. “Yes, they are.”

“I am glad,” Ġużepp says stoutly. “It is good for a man not to be alone.”

(It is, and both Joe and Nicky have clung to that, and they don’t know now that this is the last time they will see Ġużepp, as he will die before they return here in 2004 when Malta becomes a member of the EU, but on this sweet, poignant night, as time speeds on its passing, as they both reflect on all those many years, and God said that it was good.)

The last week of 1999 and the twentieth century and the second millennium count down to its inevitable end. There aren’t exactly prophets in sandwich boards shrieking on the streets about the end times, though it’s undeniable that there’s a sharp-edged anxiety as Y2K draws closer. On December 31, Joe and Nicky sit on the beach at the famous Blue Lagoon, watching the sun go down over the island of Comino, holding hands. At last Nicky says – half joking, but only half – “If the world does end tonight, I want you to know that you are still the best thing that ever happened to me. Except for that pastry the other day. That was really very divine.”

Joe laughs, takes his hand to his lips and kisses it. “Always, my heart,” he says. “Always.”

The world gets softer and darker, and lights come on over the bay and the archipelago and the boats bobbing at anchor, and Joe thinks that it must be the year 2000 somewhere else, and everything still seems to be fine. He wasn’t really worried, but he knows that fear that the next year might bring with it something too terrible to be gotten around, and that if you could just cling to this moment now when things are all right, they might stay that way forever. Finally he and Nicky get the water taxi back to Valletta, and it’s getting closer and closer to midnight, and they sit down on a bench and count down with the rest of this sliver of the world, all the way into the next stage of forever.

When it becomes plain that the world has not ended, nor indeed does it seem likely to do so, everywhere seems to let out its breath at once. Huge and glorious fireworks thunder in the dark sky over the city, in riots of color and noise and sound, and Joe and Nicky can hear cheering and toasting from what seems like every house in the city. They kiss and then kiss again for good measure, swept along on a tide of jolly and relieved and mildly (or well, considerably) inebriated strangers, an impromptu street party that both of them feel down to their nine-hundred-and-fifty-year-old sinews, the sort of magic that still catches them dead to rights even after so long in this beautiful, stupid, dangerous, exasperating, maddening, heartbreaking, filthy, glorious, transcendent, irreplaceable world. They throw their arms around each other’s necks and gaze deeply into the other’s eyes, as even all the gaiety and festivity and bacchanal falls into nothing, passing over them like waves. “I love you,” Joe says, as he has said it so many times in all the languages he knows. “Ti amo.”

Nicky smiles that smile that makes the world shine, and spins Joe lightly on the spot, and the next thousand years seem, just then, like the greatest blessing that any man has ever had. “I know.”

[thetaoofzoe]

Fic: The Hand and The Hammer

August Walker x Reader (YOU)

Word count: 5K, Explicit

Summary: August Walker has been living rent free in your head for five years. For half a decade, you had been deployed all across the world to hunt down the elusive anarchist, all because of a long standing one sided love/hate relationship between he and your unhinged employer.

Thanks to @lightsidecalling​ for your support

Part I

You lie beneath cool white sheets, watching the white-yellow wash of early morning sunlight tickle at the edges of billowy sheer curtains. It takes several minutes for the light to seep through the curtains, spill across the bare stone floor and then paint indulgent stripes of gold across your duvet.  

Throwing off the sheets to allow the rising sun to caress and warm your naked skin, you close your eyes and bask in the heat like a contented house cat.  

You have absolutely nothing to do today. Your diary is gloriously empty of responsibilities and just as you've done for the last three weeks, you fully intend to take advantage of your free time.

You stretch and yawn,  feeling comfortable exactly where you are, and you consider sleeping in. However, your stomach growls and abruptly the quest for food is suddenly top priority. You grab the mobile phone that's tucked beneath the pillow and the face brightens at a touch.

You can see that it’s almost eleven am.

You perk up at the rattle of a room service cart being wheeled through the sitting room outside of your bedroom door.

Right on time, you think.

You had requested that breakfast be brought round at a certain time, and everyday,  it was there without delay. The staff in the rented oceanside bungalow was always on the ball, always attentive and you appreciated that.

Rising easily, you walk lightly across the cool stone floor to the adjoining bath.  Powdered and perfumed,  you dress in a light, peach coloured sundress and sandals.

An ocean breeze ruffles your dress when you step out onto the sunny patio where breakfast is waiting. It is quite a spread, for just one person, with juice, coffee and tea services, seasonal fruits, cheeses, breakfast meats and a lovely stack of golden french toast that is still pert and fresh from the cooker. You walk to the shade provided by the umbrellas over the long glass table and help yourself to the food.

Nearly  a half hour later, the service door behind you slides open on quiet rollers and you can hear your assistant striding across the paving stones.

'Phone call for you,' he says in that gentle familiar voice.

You replace the coffee cup on the saucer and shift, fully expecting him to slip a thin mobile phone into your hand. Instead, he lays a bulky black leather case on the table. You look down at it and swear under your breath.

It is the satellite phone. And the satellite phone means only one thing.

You pick it up and hold the earpiece it to your ear.

The messenger down the line delivers the information quickly, sparing no words and then asks if you understand. You say that you do and the call is disconnected.

So much for a day of nothing.

You finish your breakfast and return to your bedroom. Waiting for you on the freshly made bed  are two white envelopes. You pick up the larger of the two. In it is a stack of your destination's local money, and airline tickets. You tuck that envelope into your handbag, dress in comfortable, but chic travel clothing and pack a small carry-on.

You then pick up the second, smaller envelope that you know contains information regarding the target. This envelope, unlike the first, is sealed with a black wax stamp. You recognise the initials of your employer and the envelope comes open with a flick of your fingernail. You slide out a black and white photo and have an immediate and unnamed visceral reaction to seeing the face. Unconsciously clenching your teeth you resist the urge to rip the cursed photo to pieces.

'Fuck...' you mutter, glaring down at the strong, unbearably handsome face peering back at you.

It was the infamous Hammer.

August Walker.

Again.

You struggle to get yourself in hand and after a long,  cleansing breath, you turn the photo over and read the neatly printed message about a lonely summer in Italy addressed to a fictional, 'My darling Véronique.'

With picture still in hand, you walk to your writing desk. Opening the top drawer, you pull out a piece of white card-stock paper that has in it, several cut out ovals of different sizes. You’d received this little holey card-stock in the post three weeks earlier with no accompanying explanation, and while it was strange, you knew enough about your employer's methods to keep it.  

Lining up the white card over the writing, you read the secret message revealed by the ovals.

'Target - August Walker. Find and Take Alive.'

'Ohh,' you groan, exasperated. 'Not this again.'

August Walker has been living rent free in your head for five years. For half a decade, you had been deployed all across the world to hunt down the anarchist, all because of a long standing one sided love/hate relationship between he and your unhinged employer.

You were good at your profession. Very good. And you had no trouble using your skill and your people to get close to hard targets. Yet, August Walker was not a bloody hard target and was NOT hard to find as he seemed to leave a trail of destruction and bodies that in turn led directly back to him!

So much for subtlety.

So it didn't matter much that you were able to pinpoint his location or get a visual bead on him days after the start of an assignment, as your employer invariably hit the mission abort button because 'things had changed'.

You were still paid handsomely. But being at the whim of a mad employer made you start to hate August Walker a little as well.

At least, at first.

Your hate soon turned from a hot coal sitting heavily in your gut to little butterflies that frantically scrambled about at the sight of him.

Over the course of your assignments, you'd had the opportunity to see him do nearly everything ranging from eating, to fighting, to blowing up buildings. The way he moved during a fight, his well-placed blows, his underhanded methods of winning were intoxicating to watch. The man was an absolute menace.

You'd told yourself that your physical delight was just a response to your clear admiration for his chaotic skills.

That admiration was purely professional, of course!

But the more you followed and watched him,  the more those little butterflies of admiration ignited into an unquenchable fire that only your hand seeking out a little self-pleasure beneath the duvet could put out.

But honestly, you would have fallen on your proverbial sword before you admitted to yourself that you found everything about August Walker, sexy.

And then he disappeared.

No destruction, no bodies and the trail was cold.

During the rest of that assignment, you didn't see him for two month until the night he climbed through the french windows of your Parisian hotel room.

To say that you were surprised to see him was an understatement.

But there he was, standing in your bedroom, like a fever dream, with that ridiculous moustache and that infuriating smirk.

He did not give you the opportunity to react, before he was upon you.

But that didn't matter, for you wrapped yourself around him, greedy and eager and August Walker took his time showing you how much of a menace he truly was.

You neglected to tell your employer about those few glorious hours of mission deviation.

No use throwing petrol on that unstable fire, you'd decided.

You were pulled from the field shortly after that because 'things had changed' and it was no longer necessary to bring in the target.  

Your last and most recent assignment ended in Beirut ten months ago. You had come so close to legitimately ensnaring him. You had been in top form and August had been cunning, but it was not enough to elude you. You'd had him dead to rights and all you had to do was give the word to tighten the noose round his neck. But before you could, that damned satellite phone call dragged you back from the brink.

And you remembered standing there, dirty, and exhausted on a crumbling rooftop watching that smug bastard escape through the streets below on a stolen motorbike.

The only thing that soothed you was a text from a blocked number, received a week after the Beruit incident, that read, 'Next time, baby.'

You had to laugh at that. It was so something August would do.

Coming back to the present and shaking yourself of your memories, you realise that you're still standing in your oceanside bedroom holding the photo of August Walker. Checking the time, you see that you're going to be late and you grab your bags.

The photo along with the cardstock go into the shredder, and you listen to the machine choke down the evidence as you leave the room.

Your flight to Heathrow is late arriving and the  airport is as busy as ever, full of children escaping on their summer hols and tourists out to see the world. You walk confidently through the melee and to the taxi stand outside. You want to get to your hotel quickly and have a nap, as you need to be sharp to handle what's coming your way.

**

Part II

Later that evening in your hotel, you shower and scrub up thoroughly, excited about the prospects of the evening's plan. You powder and perfume your body carefully and choose a pair of glossy red high heeled court shoes to go with your black dress. You feel sharp, clear-eyed and ready for a little fun. This assignment was going to be played on your terms and was probably going to be your last.

Carrying your kit bag with all of your tools, you hum along with the lift music (The Girl from Ipanema) as you descend to the lobby where your contact waits. You follow him to a black car waiting outside and climb inside.

As you are driven through the city, your contact sits next to you not saying a word. Your only form of communication is through the tablet he puts on your lap. You look down at the digital photo on the screen.

It is an image of August in what looks like a dance club. Only he didn't look like he was there to pick up women, or to have drinks with friends. He looked big and bulky and out of place amongst the scantily clad glittery people having a fun night out. He looked like he was lurking, and waiting for something.

'That was taken one minute ago,' says the contact as the car, caught by a traffic light, slows to a stop.

'In that one.' 

The contact points towards the window on your side of the car.

Your eyes follow the line of his finger to the brightly lighted neon sign spelling out the name of a club.

'Am I on the list?' you ask and a sudden giggle surprises you.

You open your mouth to apologise for the awkward comment, but you grab your kit bag and slam the door without waiting for a reply.

You walk up to the front of the club and survey the queue waiting to get in. You count up the number of bouncers but keep walking. You make a quick right, cut through the alleyway and come up to the backside of the club. There is a young woman wearing the club's uniform, standing under the emergency building light, and using her weight to keep open the rear door. She is smoking and scrolling through her mobile.

'Hullo,' you say pleasantly, as you approach, your heels clicking on the dry  macadam.

She raises her bleary bloodshot eyes to peer at you. You look at her name tag and under her name is a strip of tape on which is scrawled, 'Barkeep trainee'.

She looks like she is having a rough night as if she didn't know how to handle all of the drinks that overly generous customers bought for her, as the bartender.

'You're not supposed to actually drink it when they buy it for you, you know. You're supposed to spit it into your empty beer bottle.'

Her only answer is a wet burp.

Grinning and shaking your head, you put a finger to your lips and make a soft shushing noise as you put two hundred quid into her hand. Then without asking, you enter the club.

Once inside, the whole world shakes around you, vibrating with the thunderous bass that accompanies some nameless, formless song. You lean against the wall between the men's and the ladies' toilets for a moment, letting your eyes adjust to the dim lightning. The scent of urine and alcohol permeates your hiding place, but you don’t mind, as you aren’t going to be hiding there for very long. The ancient cigarette machine across the narrow corridor seemed to eye you disapprovingly.

'Yeah, I don't want to be here either,' you mutter.

Opening your kit bag, you fish out your small purse. In it are your syringes, and vials of incapacitating drugs. You are going to go in there with all guns blazing and August Walker is not going to know what hit him. You even left the satellite phone in the hotel room. You weren't going to give your employer an opportunity to back out of the deal and order you to let him escape. Again.

Squaring your shoulders, you stride into the main hall. The club is partitioned into two levels, where the floor above overlooks the main floor on all four sides. You stand by the lower bar and let your keen eyes crawl all over the neon lighted faces. The music screams unpleasantly and immediately your head starts to hurt.

It is the stress, you think.

The stress and the travelling and you haven’t had any water all day.

But instead of water, you order a whisky sour and drink it quickly. It doesn’t quell your headache, but it bolsters your mood. You continue to look around and honestly, if he hadn't moved, you would have never spotted him up on the second level.

Your heart picks up speed.

Dear God, there he is. The unbearably sexy August Walker.

Ducking away from the bar, you go round to where the stairs dog-leg to the next level. Once up there, you weave your way through the thick standing crowd. Then you just stop moving and the crowd buffets you for a moment. You realise that in your zeal to just get your hands on August, you have no other plan.

Sure, you were going to jab him with the hypodermic, but what were you going to do if his knees just gave out beneath him. You would have to make a scene to get your contacts in there to drag the big man away. You were not going to be able to haul him down to the car on your own. And the last thing you wanted to do was to draw attention to yourself.

You growl with frustration and push your way to the more intimate bar at the back of the area. It is just a little quieter there and you take the needed space and time to regroup. You order another whisky sour and face the bar to drink it and think.

Have I been hasty?

Am I unprepared for this?

Has my judgement been clouded by my hubris?

A tall man comes close to you at the bar, but you ignore him. He is probably just ordering something and will move off soon. But when he doesn’t order, or move away, you turn to look up at him, ready to give him the business.

August Walker towers over you, smirking and looking like the cat that ate the canary.

In your mind, you know that you should feel angry, or disappointed, or even afraid, but you can't bring yourself to feel anything but relief.

He grabs you up by the arm and all but pulls you through the crowd and to one of the private rooms in the back. The room he picks is dim and backlit with baby pink and purple lights and the furniture looked soft and fun. The room is also clearly occupied by several people who looked to be having a private coke party in the corner.  However they do not object to your sudden presence.

August crowds you up against the soft bubbly wall, one hand against it above your head and the other hovering at your waist.

'I'm going to search you,' he says, his eyes boring into yours.

A surge of heat rushes up inside you, but whether it was from anguish or arousal, you aren’t sure. Two whiskey sours on a stomach that only had jelly babies is making everything start to blur together.

'No you will not!' you manage to growl indignantly.

He raises a dark brow. His smirk lengthens into something more mischievous and his blue eyes warm considerably and you know he's not a threat.

'Then show me that you are not armed.'

'You can go fuck yourself.'

August  grunts with amusement and you bite your lip.

This is not the time to bring up sex.

You can see the wheels turning in his head and he heaves himself backwards. With the movement, you catch his scent and you are immediately rocketed back to the night he positively wrecked you. You remembered feeling deliciously tender for the rest of that week. 

The demon inside you lurches in its metaphorical cage.

Want him, want him, want...

He holds open his plain  black suit jacket with both hands in an obvious effort to show that he is wearing his weapon in a hip holster. Unfortunately, all you can see is how his tie nestles quite contentedly between his big, meaty pecs.

The demon in the back of your mind reminds you that he's got soft hair on his chest and belly and you fight the desire to touch him.

August clears his throat and catches your attention.

Yes, you think. Yes, focus. His face is right there, focus. Not on the memory of that beautiful chest.

He quirks his brows to indicate that you need to show that you aren't packing. But you are only wearing a thin dress with a light half jacket and couldn't possibly be hiding anything. Instead, you cock your head and mock him, opening your little half jacket to show him you weren't armed. At least not in that spot.

August seems to accept it, because he is obviously more interested in the reason why you are there.  

'It's time to end this.'

'End what?' you ask feigning innocence.

He takes your handbag, and opens it before you can protest. Seeing the contents, he flattens his lips into a tight line and then tosses the bag onto the floor. You watch it roll over once and come to rest in the corner.

'Stop. Following. Me,' he growls and leans in closer obviously using his powerfully built frame to intimidate you.

'I-- I can't. I have a job to do.'

You keep your face turned away, eyes still on the handbag in the corner. 

It’s the only way that you can remain sane with him this close.

Against your back you can feel the thump of muted music, you can smell his cologne and hear the faraway voices of the other occupants. You are starting to drift a little more, buoyed by the particular pleasure you’re receiving from his attempt to cow you.

August is good at reading people and when his big hand come to rest at your waist, you know he’s read you like an open book. He slides that hand to the small of your back and the other hand reaches down to touch you where your dress hem meets your lower thigh.

He arches you against him and you let out a soft  eager gasp.

'Well... well...'

His voice is low, breath warm against your temple and he sounds excruciatingly self satisfied.  

'What am I gonna have to do to get you off my back?'

Mmm there is that tone again. That tone that tells you that he is a man who does not mince his words. He is a man who is unafraid to show his intentions with his actions. Your heart wrenches in your chest. You feel sexy and mysterious in his presence. You are the woman he can’t get enough of. You are in control, not him, and deep down, August knows it.

You roll your head away from where you were looking at the purse. You look up into his eyes and  slide your arms about his neck.  

August needs no other prompting. His big hands tighten round your waist and he heaves you up off of your feet. One of your court shoes slips off of one foot and when you land on your knees astride his lap on the soft, pink couch, you grab the heel of the other and fling it over to its mate.

August Walker is an incredible specimen of male human form. His smirking face and ridiculous moustache arouses feelings of frustration and anger in you even as his thumbs inch up the hem of your dress. The foolishness of your flighty employer, August's elusiveness (for the most part) and the whole incomprehensibility of your futile, prematurely aborted missions, all suddenly  come to a head.

You sit back on his lap and scowl, giving his meaty chest a thump with the base of your loosely curled fist. That stops him and surprise is evident in his blue eyes. You narrow your eyes in return and baring your teeth slightly, you tighten your fist and hit him again. Harder.

Then again, even harder.

You pull  him up by his neatly knotted tie and slap his face. The sound of skin on skin is loud in the quiet room.

Oh, that felt good.

A second stretches into an eternity between you and you watch a mixture of hurt,  and something else that decidedly wasn't anger ghost across his face. It was arousal. Slapping him across the face obviously turned him on.

You huff a laugh and he grins, the challenge is clear.

'Looks like you wanna play,' he rumbles darkly.

August reaches both hands beneath your dress and grabbing your knickers, he drags them down your trembling thighs.

‘Up,’ he instructs you and when you  rise to your knees he slaps your ass and grabs an indulgent handful. 'Good girl.'

You yelp and moan with delight, steadying yourself with both hands against him. With his help, you manage to only get one leg free, but you don't care. August has enough access and you watch him lick two fingers which he slides into your wet heat.

You gasp and shudder, lewdly pushing your hips towards him rocking in time with the motion of his fingers dragging across your sensitive slit.

Fuck... fuck! This shouldn't be happening, you think, trying to keep your thoughts from running together. Not here, not now this is crazy!

'C'mon,' August encourages you, warm hand stroking your bum. 'Take my cock out. I wanna fill that sweet little pussy up.'

You drop into his lap again to do as you were told. His cock is thick and hot in your hand and he groans when you give him an experimental squeeze. August cups your hips and lifts you again. There's no longer any perceivable space between the two of you and when you let him push you down on his ready cock, there is no longer any singular breath. It's just one breath, your shared breath.

You wrap your arms about his shoulders and bury your face into his neck. You  need his steadiness to keep from exploding into tiny pieces.

'You drive me crazy,' you gasp, breathless from the rush of heat drowning you.

August holds you and you match the motion of his body. It isn't long until he has built a relentless rhythm and you are begging him for release. You can feel yourself taking out all of your pent up frustrations on him. The heat and strength of him inside you is enough to drive away all of your fears and worries, replacing them with pleasure.

You lift your head and kiss him. His mouth is soft and yielding and you are confused by this new tide of tender emotions that rush in on the aftermath of your orgasm.  

You melt against him, hiding your face in his neck to recover from the high and just like during his unexpected visit to your hotel all those months ago, August caresses you until you're able to recover.

You hum softly and open your eyes to sheepishly peek at the other people still in the pink and purple room. They're far away enough, but you can see that they are way too coked out to care about what you two deviants are doing.

'They know you're here,' you murmur after a moment, stroking his stubble rough cheeks and smoothing his rumpled curls.

'Hmm.'

'They got you on film.'

'I'll take care of it,' he whispers back, matching your intimate tone.

You nod and with a groan, you heave yourself off of him and stagger back to your feet. He grabs you to help you regain your balance and you're grateful for his quick reflexes. You didn't want to end the night falling and cracking your head open on a coffee table. There's a stack of napkins by the wine bottles on one of the tables. You grab a handful and hand some to him. You both avoid each other's eyes as you clean up and you grab your purse and shoes. 

Contemplating the contents of your purse you say to him, 'Are you gonna let me jab you with this?'

August grins quite suddenly and you are charmed by his disarming smile.

'No,' he says with laughter in his voice.

'Tsk... ok.'

You feign disappointment even though you know that you were going to go through with it anyway. 

Back in order, August pushes himself off of the couch. He takes you by the wrist and pulls you close. He holds your gaze, making sure that you cannot mistake his meaning.

'Come with me.'

You stare at him. Oh, it's so tempting that it hurts when you turn him down.

'You know my methods... why I do the things I do. You know, and I know you understand me.'

‘I understand. I understand. But I can’t.’

August flattens his lips into a grim line again, but he nods and releases you.

‘Don't forget to take care of that… thing,’ you tell him in parting.

You want to stay so badly. You want to run away with him and you nearly turn around when you reach the room door. But you force yourself to keep moving forward and out of his life.

There is a message waiting for you when you return to the hotel. 

Mission aborted. 

Reason - ‘things have changed’.

**

Part III

You lie in your oceanside bedroom listening to the room service cart rattling through the adjoining room. It's time to get up for breakfast. You get out of bed, stretch, yawn and disappear into the bath to wash up and prepare for another delightfully leisurely day.

The stone floor is warm against your bare feet and you walk towards the patio and out through the sliding doors. The mid-morning sunlight is blinding and you put a hand up to shield your eyes. The beach is empty today with only a few boats dotting the clear blue waves. Maybe a swim later is in order, you think as you turn towards the umbrella shaded breakfast table.

A strange sight makes you stop in your tracks. There is a dark haired man sitting at the table, with his eyes closed, and his face tilted up to catch the sun not blocked by the edge of the umbrella.

'August,' you whisper softly to yourself as if saying his name any louder would make the mirage fade away.

You walk closer and clasping your hands together, you hover at the far end of the table.

'August.'

Alerted to your presence, he lowers his head and opens his eyes to look at you. A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.

'What are you doing here, August? You shouldn't be here... it... it isn't safe.'

'I came for you,' he says as if it were the most natural thing in the world to say.

'No. No, you're leaving now. Right now.'

He looks at you for a moment and with his foot, August slides out the chair next to him and gestures a lazy hand to it.

'Breakfast first.'

Sure, you think, rolling your eyes. Breakfast first. You sit down beside him.

August pours coffee for you. You watch him quietly and without really meaning to, you reach out to put your hand against his cheek. August stills at your touch and when he leans down to kiss you, you curl your fingers into his sun-warmed hair.

'Come with me,' he murmurs against your lips. 'I want you to be with me.'

'You know I can't.'

And even as the words come out of your mouth, you don't believe them.

August scoffs and is about to try another tactic, but is interrupted by the softly opening service door.

You watch your assistant approach with the heavy satellite phone. He gives August an impassive look and hands the phone to you. Your assistant also places two white envelopes on the table by your empty plate. August watches you put the phone up to your ear.

The messenger down the line is different this time, but delivers the information in the same monotone voice before asking if you understand.

'I understand,' you say. 'But... but, I will open the envelope before I agree to the job.'

A beat passes.

'Go on,' says the messenger.

You open the smaller of the two envelopes, the one with the black wax seal and pull out a photo of the target. You suck your lower lip between your teeth and turn the photo around to show August his own face.

'The target is August Walker,' you say.

'Have you seen him?'

You look directly into August's face. He looks apprehensive, you think. Does he think you'll turn him in? After all this?

'No, I haven't seen him. But I won't--'

/Take the job/, August mouths to you.  

'I mean I will take the job.'

You disconnect the call.

'Why did you want me to take the job?' you ask a sense of giddiness beginning to simmer in your gut.

'Because you'll never catch me.'

You tap the phone and grin.

'I can give you up right now.'

August glances at the phone.

'Will you?'

You smirk.

'Mmm, breakfast first.'

0-0 END 0-0

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Smooth Soaring: The Ultimate Guide to Airport Transfers in Dallas

Introduction

Dallas, a bustling hub in the heart of Texas, welcomes travelers with its vibrant energy and diverse attractions. For visitors arriving or departing through its airports, navigating seamless transportation is crucial for a stress-free journey. This guide aims to provide an in-depth exploration of airport transfers in Dallas, offering insights into various transportation options that ensure a smooth and comfortable transition to and from the airport.

Airport Shuttle Services

Economical and Convenient

Airport shuttle services are a popular choice for budget-conscious travelers seeking economical and convenient transportation. These services operate on fixed schedules, transporting passengers to and from the airport and various locations within the city. The shared nature of shuttle rides makes them cost-effective, particularly for solo travelers or small groups. However, it's important to consider potential delays due to multiple stops.

Taxi Services

Direct and Door-to-Door

Taxis remain a classic and widely available option for airport transfers. Found at designated taxi stands outside the airport terminals, these vehicles offer a direct and door-to-door service. Taxis are suitable for those who prioritize privacy and efficiency, especially when traveling with luggage. While readily available, it's advisable to be aware of potential peak hours and the demand for taxis during special events.

Ride-Sharing Apps

Technology-Driven Convenience

The advent of technology has revolutionized transportation, and ride-sharing apps like Uber and Lyft have become popular choices for airport transfers. Travelers can conveniently request a ride through a mobile app, track the driver's location, and experience cashless transactions. While offering flexibility and convenience, it's important to consider potential surge pricing during peak hours.

Rental Cars

Flexibility and Independence

For travelers desiring flexibility and independence, rental cars provide an ideal option. Dallas airports host various rental car agencies offering a range of vehicles, from economy cars to luxury options. Renting a car allows visitors to explore the city at their own pace and offers the convenience of door-to-door transportation. Advance booking is advisable, especially during peak travel seasons.

Public Transportation

Cost-Effective Commuting

Dallas boasts a well-connected public transportation system, making it a cost-effective option for airport transfers. DART (Dallas Area Rapid Transit) provides light rail and bus services connecting major areas in the city, including both Dallas Love Field Airport and Dallas/Fort Worth International Airport. While public transportation may take longer than private options, it provides an opportunity to experience the local culture and scenery.

Considerations and Tips

1. Traffic and Peak Hours

Understanding the traffic patterns in Dallas is essential for planning airport transfers. The city experiences peak hours and potential traffic congestion, especially during rush hours or special events. Travelers should factor in extra time during these periods to avoid any time-related stress.

2. Airport Specifics

Each airport in Dallas has unique features, layouts, and transportation options. Familiarizing oneself with the specific airport, the location of transportation services, and any regulations or guidelines ensures a smoother navigation through the airport. This knowledge is particularly helpful for first-time visitors.

3. Luggage Considerations

When choosing airport transfer options, it's crucial to consider luggage requirements. Some modes of transportation may have limitations on the amount or size of luggage they can accommodate. Travelers should choose a mode that comfortably accommodates their luggage to ensure a hassle-free journey.

4. Weather Preparedness

Dallas experiences varying weather conditions, and travelers should stay informed about the weather forecast, especially during certain seasons. Being prepared for potential weather challenges, such as rain or extreme temperatures, ensures a more comfortable and safe airport transfer experience.

Conclusion

In conclusion, achieving smooth airport transfers in Dallas involves making informed choices based on individual preferences, budget considerations, and travel plans. Whether opting for the convenience of ride-sharing apps, the direct service of taxis, the flexibility of rental cars, the affordability of public transportation, or the shared experience of airport shuttles, careful planning ensures a stress-free journey. Navigating the bustling airport environment becomes a seamless experience when armed with knowledge about transportation options and the specific considerations of the Dallas travel landscape. As visitors embark on their journeys to or from Dallas, the ultimate guide to airport transfers ensures a smooth and enjoyable start or end to their travel adventures.

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