jay_moose

I was gonna post this at 12:00am, but got a bit sidetracked.

Anyway, a multi-chapter birthday fic for

zekkass !

Alan/Morgan
PG-13 to be safe
Alan hates to fly. Alan's mother wants him to come to the States. Morgan is...Morgan.
Part 1/?

Alan hated flying. He didn't just dislike flying. He hated it from the moment his job in New York transferred him to their headquarters in England.

He hadn’t left England since.

He tried to pin point where his irrational fear of flying stemmed from. It wasn’t heights; Alan was always first to the highest ride at the amusement park as a child, or perched on the roof of the family home to avoid chores.

Every December, Alan’s mother would call pleading with him to come down for Christmas “just this once.” His grandmother was getting on in years and wanted to see him, or his cousin just had a new baby. Every year, Alan hid behind the excuse of work. Granted, he could always cross via the ocean, as he was so often reminded, but Alan refused.

He didn’t have any desire to see his family in the States anyway.

His latest reason was curled comfortably on his chest, sleeping soundly, one hand furled on Alan’s stomach, knee wedged precariously between Alan’s legs.

“Morgan.” Alan reached out, uncertainly touching the shoulder of his bed-companion, who was prone to nightmares and trouble sleeping that stemmed from a past Alan did not dare tread on. The sleeping form only curled tighter against Alan’s body, murmuring a protest and successfully reaffirming the detail that set Morgan apart from anyone else he’d had in his bed. That detail was pressed rather demandingly to Alan’s bare thigh.

“Mmn…your mum wants you to fly down again,” Morgan looked up at Alan with a sleepy, tousled expression.

“You were awake,” Alan replied, raising a brow.

”Nope,” Morgan snuggled closer, pressing his mouth to Alan’s palm. “You get sweaty when someone brings up flying.” Alan opened his mouth to respond, but was cut off when Morgan’s talented mouth set to work on his fingers.

“God, you’re impossible,” Alan muttered, already pinning the unresisting Morgan beneath him. Morgan just beamed at the subtly inlaid compliment, deciding honesty about being awake for Alan’s phone call was not the best policy, and succumbed to Alan’s hard kiss.

On December 13, Alan pushed through the London shopping crowd, disgruntled. The least he could do was send gifts overseas, or risk his mother getting riled up and pushing her way over to him. Alan’s stomach churned at the thought, risking a glance at Morgan, who was all too happy trying on thick, winter scarves that they could never afford. It was bad enough having Morgan in the room when his mother called. Imagine her reaction to her skirt-chasing, once-engaged only son shacking up with a blonde haired, blue eyed male with a childlike personality and a penchant for…

“Morgan!” Alan’s train of thought went haywire when said male’s eyes wandered to the cutlery section.

“Alan,” Morgan replied, tilting his head in an innocent fashion. “Why don’t you like flying?”

“Don’t know,” Alan frowned at the sudden question. “I just don’t.”

“There has to be a reason,” Morgan pressed, slipping his hand into Alan’s. The immediate tensing of the other man’s body was a warning, and Morgan’s hand dropped to his side for now.

“There’s no reason,” Alan replied. “I don’t ask you why you do the things you do, right?”

Morgan looked thoughtful. “But you do know.”

“We’re not having this conversation.” Sometimes, it seemed like Alan addressed a child, setting boundaries. Morgan just quieted for a moment. Alan knew it wouldn’t last long. He was right.

“I got us tickets to New York to see your family,” Morgan said amiably, toying with ornaments on a fake Christmas tree.

Alan nearly dropped a glass bowl he’d picked up. “You what?”

“Got us tickets to New York,” Morgan repeated, looking pleased with himself.

“I don’t fly. You wasted your time.”

“It’s hard to get plane tickets this time of the season!” Morgan nearly pouted, clearly not receiving the response he intended.

Alan just reached out and flicked Morgan’s ever present doctor’s coat, frowning slightly. “I know it is.” He wasn’t a religious person by any means, but he sent up a silent prayer for whomever those tickets belonged to and got in the way of Morgan’s good intentions and scalpel. Merry Christmas.

They bypassed the charity Santa without a word, Alan toting a bag from the store. Alan said nothing as Morgan darted around in childlike glee, earning both polite and uneasy smiles from fellow shoppers, who were unnerved by the actions of this grown man.

The return to the apartment fared no better for Alan’s growing headache, as Morgan eagerly procured a suitcase.

“I told you I’m not going,” Alan watched Morgan with barely suppressed patience.

“You are,” Morgan insisted, and purposely folded Alan’s socks into the suitcase.

“I’m not,” Alan slammed the suitcase shut. “You need to stop thinking you can overrun my life!”

Their eyes met for a moment, silent after this statement. Morgan had taken control of Alan’s life since day one, and Alan was sure Morgan knew it. If Morgan wanted Alan to go to New York, Alan would, like it or not.

“I still think you should go,” Morgan looked at Alan. “And you’ll go. Besides, I’ve never met your family.”

Alan knew there was a right answer to this...a correct response. At the moment, there was Morgan’s cheery smile, and the words, ‘flight’, ‘family,’ ‘us,’ and ‘meet.’ It was a jumble that had taken Alan far too long to decipher. Morgan got Alan tickets to fly to New York. Two tickets…one for Alan, one for Morgan, and Morgan was expecting to meet Alan’s family.

“No….God, no,” Alan starts. “Morgan, I am not flying anywhere. I am not going to see my family. If I were, you would not be coming with me and you would not be meeting my family.”

Morgan did not look wounded, or crestfallen. He did not seem hurt, or offended. He did not yell at Alan and storm out (not that Alan thought he would). Instead, he took Alan’s hand and pulled him close, initiating a kiss.

“It’s okay,” Morgan smiled, reassuring, squeezing Alan’s hand. “I’ll be with you the whole time.”

“I’m not going.” Alan said, firm and final. Morgan tilted his head at this with a slow, innocent smile.

Alan’s palms began to sweat.