Date: Thu, 20 Feb 2020 22:50:15 -0600 From: Michael Smith Subject: Mayday, Mayday - Chapter 2 Legal stuff: This story, while a work of complete fiction, contains graphic sexual scenes between consenting males both over and under the age of 18. If this material is offensive to you, this is your warning not read this story and stop here. Also, if you are under the age of 18, it is most likely illegal for you to read this story. However, I cannot do anything to make you stop so continue at your own discretion. As stated before, this story is a work of total and complete fiction. Any likeness of these characters to real people, living or dead, is completely coincidental. Again, this story is a work of fiction. The author claims any and all copyrights to this story and no duplication or publication of this story is allowed without the author's consent. Only websites the author chooses and consents to publicate this work of fiction are allowed to publish it. Don't forget to donate to Nifty to help keep this story, and countless others like it, free and openly available for reading! Even the samllest of donations helps the team out TREMENDIOUSLY so, spare a buck or two if you can! The author, again, asks that you, the reader, understand that all actions that occur in this story are works of fiction. These actions are neither real, encouraged, nor discouraged by the author of this work of fiction. Author's Notes: I have been toying around with this idea for a bit but am unsure if it will get off the ground, no pun intended. This story will focus primarily on the characters and their relationship vs strictly being about two brothers screwing. It may be a while before we get to any sort of NSFW scene, if at all depending on the feedback I receive. I may even just write the whol thing for myself. I wanted to put a disclaimer upfront to let you, the reader, know what you are in for. Please, feel free to contact me with any questions, comments, concerns, or suggestions about this work of fiction at incstwrtr007@protonmail.com Here are the images I used for my own reference when writing the characters. Feel free to use them or use your imagination. Tim: https://66.media.tumblr.com/14970f966abd9390784414541c1da013/d81126401ac2f75a-be/s1280x1920/7a5ca50ab1f4ac6c8eacf82c1ddb64eb87cd6819.jpg Zach: https://66.media.tumblr.com/d7a9a031e10ea48b73ed4667d53a8e3d/05b4c7f738c610c6-8f/s500x750/87dfb51313926bdbf3b5a15db82f39f05413b71f.jpg Again, DON'T forget to support Nifty with a donation if you can to keep these stories and website up and running for all of us authors and y'all readers now!! Chapter 2 - Rough Landing Never, that's when. Things never go to plan. They might get halfway or shit, even almost all the way there but, there's always some wrench that comes out of nowhere that screws everything up. In this instance, however, it was a goose, not a wrench. Things managed to get about halfway to plan before that happened for my older brother Tim and I that day. *** I look out from my window at him as he moves a few dials and knobs on the dashboard, the loud hum of the propellor cutting through the wind head of us droning through our headsets until it became just a distant and usual sound to me. I feel my stomach rumble and watch as the Rockies creep underneath us. The dry, yellow sands of Utah were far behind us, the land growing lush and dense with forests below, growing ever thicker as the mountains they covered slowly rose up and up from the ground. A few arms snaked out from a main range that we were flying directly towards, the peaks covered in snow from the past winter. "What'cha looking at there, Top Gun?" Tim asks, one side of his lips pulled back in a small smirk as he turned to look at me through his aviators. He takes one hand of the yoke and goes for the last drink of his Coke. "I'll be looking at ground if you don't keep both hands on the wheel." I reply with a smirk of my own, shaking my head and looking out of the windshield, the propeller almost invisible as it spins on the nose of the plane. "Reeeeelaaaxxx." He groans, scewing the lid back on his Coke and taking the yoke with both hands, sliding down in his seat, spreading his legs under the dash. "I could fly this thing blindfolded." He gives a few quick pulls and pushes of the yoke, causing the nose of the plane to dip and rise a few times, my stomach rising and falling with each one. What he didn't notice even with his eyes wide open was a flock of geese flying North coming up quickly from our side, their minds filled with the return to now more hospitable Canadian plains and lakes. Suddenly, our ears were filled with the loud bang of an impact, half of the left wing being sheared off as it connected with a particularly unlucky goose, followed by another bang as the torn piece connected with the rear elevator, tearing it fro the tail of the plane. Almost instantly, the plane banked onto it's left side, the nose dipping towards the trees and mountains below. "Holy shit." I hear Tim mumble, barely audible over the quickly deafening rush of blood in my ears. "Holy shit!" He repeats, leaning forward in his seat and tugging his yoke back, the nose rising slightly. I look over and see his right leg extending, pressing on the rudder pedal to help get the plane somewhat level. "Hold it!" I hear, watching as he grabs my hand and slams it onto the yoke in front of me, feeling as if he's moving in slow motion but too quickly at the same time. We're gonna die. I've already accepted that. He squeezes my hand before grabbing my other one, placing it on the yoke. "Hold it!" He commands again, his voice loud, ringing in my ears through the headset. I can do nothing but watch the alitmeter, the needle spinning counterclockwise a bit too fast for my liking, indicating what I already know. We're heading for the ground. I look over at Tim, keeping his leg on the rudder as I hold the yoke, his skilled hands working the dials of the radio. Then, I hear those words. The ones you only hear in action moves, right when the submarine is hit and is going down, or the fighter jet is about to be struck by a missile. "Mayday, mayday!" He calls through the mic, I look over at him, watching as I can see his mind moving a mile a minute from behind his shades, his brows furrowed under the rim of the sunglasses. He pauses for a moment before yanking back on his yoke, mine following in tandem. "Mayday, mayday!" He calls again, slamming the throttle up, the engine revving and howling as it's flooded with more gas. The nose tips up a bit more but I can still feel it's not enough. Mom and Dad were right, this was a terrible idea. His hands move back to the radio, fumbling a bit more before he repeats his words over and over, trying as many radio channels as he can before he stops suddenly. Time seems to stop too then. The roar of the engine the only indication of forward movement. I look at him, myself frozen as he looks forward before I'm able to tear my gaze away and look out of the windsheild myself. "You had better count your lucky stars." He says, his hands moving to his own yoke as I see his eyes narrow. I squint and see just on the horizon, in a narrow plateau just around a bend in the mountains, a small break in the trees and the glistening of wind blown waves under the late afternoon sun. "Loosen up." He says, aimlessly grabbing at my wrist and taking it off the yoke. "We're gonna die." I mutter, blinking, frozen in my seat as the miniscule lake draws nearer but the trees below draw closer faster. We're still over the ground but we're falling just as fast as the pit in my stomach when I realize how close we're getting to the tree tops. "Always the opitmist, aren't you?" I hear him ask and I can feel him smile to himself as my eyes are glued to the lake head. If the Air Force taught my older brother anything, it was how to react in an emergency situation. "Just... hold on." He pulls the yoke back and gives the engine full throttle, revving louder in our ears, the metal joints groaning in protest as the nose tips up just enough to almost level out and the plane slows, the entire thing still lurching and jerking through the air as it falls almost level towards the lake. I brace myself and close my eyes as we approach the water below, saying a quiet prayer to my lucky stars before the bottom of the plane connects with the tops of a few trees. "Fuck." Is the last thing that rings through my ears when I feel the plane violently tip foward and slam nose first into the shallow water, not twenty feet from the bank. Guess the tree line wasn't as far back as Tim had anticipated. Fucking geese. *** The cold is the first thing I realize. And my throat hurts, fuck, and my head is killing me. I groan and hear the sound of lazily lapping water. My eyes shoot open and I blink, trying to get them to focus. I hold them shut for one more moment before forcing myself to open them and take in the sight. I slowly scan from side to side, trying to take in anything through my blurry vision and the throbbing in my head. I'm alive, for all that matters and... upside down. So much for landing in Denver at dinner time. I look to my right, seeing Tim hanging from his seat, held in only by his seatbelt. His short blonde hair is tainted red and hangs towards the water that has accumulated in the plane. I follow the line of his hair, a narrow stream of blood on his forehead as he bleeds from a deep gash in his temple. "Tim." I try to yell but my voice betrays me, coming out as a harsh whisper. "Tim!" I try again, my vision going blurry as water wells up in my eyes. Fuck. "Tim." I groan, letting my arms dangle and my hands find the ceiling of the plane cabin below the icy water. I press firmly and brace myself with them as I dig my legs out from under the crumpled dash, seeing that my left calf is covered in blood too. No bones peeking through, small victories. I press my feet on the ceiling of the plane and use one hand to unbuckle my seatbelt. I fall harder that I had expected into the water that's pooled there. There's the sound of groaning metal and the plane rocks a bit and I pause, waiting to see if it's going to move. I try to breath deeply, my chest and throat hurting as I catch my breath. "Tim." I try again, looking up at the blood trickling from the gash in his temple. I wait a moment and scoot over under him, a heavy lump in my throat and pit in my stomach as I reach up and lightly smack his cheek, his eyes closed. "Tim!" I manage to finally speak normally. His eyes scrunch and then his face winces, at least he's alive. "Hey, Timmy." I say, the lump in my throat disappating as I get some response. "Come on man, you gotta wake up." I dip my hand in the water that I'm now sitting in, feeing it soaking through my shorts and underwear and I'm a little thankful that we didn't crash this hard in a deeper part of the lake. He's silent for a moment more before his green eyes blink open a few times, glazed over for a few seconds before he remembers what happened. "Can you move?" I ask quieter and swallowing hard. The gash in his head isn't pouring blood but that doesn't mean he doesn't have a concussion. "Just nod your head if you can understand me." There's a pause, almost too long for my liking, but he does, his blood soaked hair waving under him. "Okay, that's great." I reach up and place the cold water on his cheek. "We need to get out of here." I tell him, swallowing again. "It's gonna get cold in a while and I'm not freezing to death in this flying trash can of yours." I manage to joke. "Ass." Is what I get as a mumbled repsonse, his lips pulling back into the smallest of smiles. I take his hands and place them on the ceiling of the plane, below the cold water of the lake. "Hold those there." I proceed to tug at his knees, getting his legs out from under the dash, one leg of his denim shorts cut all the way from the pocket to his knee, a long, narrow gash there as well. It's not as deep nor bleeding as bad as the one on his head so I'll take that small victory, too. I press his feet to the ceiling of the plane and place my hands over the buckle of his seatbelt, just over his lap. "Brace yourself, okay?" I look up at him and meet his eyes before he shuts them and nods. I count to three and pull at his seatbelt latch, the buckle sliding out of his way as he falls onto the ceiling as unceremoniously as I had. "Fuuuuuuck." Tim groans before rolling onto his back, placing a hand on his chest. He lays there for a moment, staring at the floor that's now over him and blinking slowly before letting out a sigh. "At least we're not dead." He observes. "Yet." I remind, finding some strength before reaching over him and pulling the door latch, falling across his lap as I push the door open, water sloshing out of its way as the hinges groan in protest. By some stroke of luck, there was enough room to crawl under the wing and out of the plane. I take a breath and steady myself before sitting up on my knees, hunched over in the now crushed cabin. I look behind the seats and find our bags, tugging them out and tossing them out of the door, groaning as my sore arms force them out. "I'm gonna get out then pull you out, okay?" I look down at him and he merely nods, still staring at the floor above him. I nod and take no repsonse as a response. I crawl over him, careful not to put a knee in any undue place as I make my way out of the plane. I grab our duffles and drag them out with me, looking around at the flat lake and the trees surrounding it before heaving them up onto the wing for now. Once I'm satisfied that they won't be going anywhere, I make my way back under the wing, sticking my head into the cabin and fumbling for Tim's hand. I find it under the water and tug it towards me. "Hey, come on, man. We gotta get to shore." Tim looks at me and groans as I tug him, pushing his legs against the dash and helping me drag him from the plane and into the late afternoon sun. Once he's all but feet out, I sit back in the water, feeling it lapping up to my waist. We both lay silent for a few moments before I sling my forearm over the wing and hoist myself up, moaning as I feel my calf protesting with pain but I can wiggle my toes so at least it's not broken. I breath hard and look down at Tim, propped up on his elbows and looking up at me. "Can you stand?" "Y-yeah. I can feel my legs. Not sure if that's good or bad." He tells me, getting his feet from the plane in and onto the bed of the lake. He follows my lead and slings his arm over the wing, using it to hoist himself to his feet. His hair is wet with water and blood, dripping onto his shirt. "Guess I fucked that up." He mumbles, shoulders slumping in sorrow and regret. "Let's get to shore before you throw yourself a pity party." I reach for the strap of one of our duffles and throw it over my head, my head throbbing from the motion. "Here, take this one." I lift the strap and hold it so he can dip his head into it. He groans as he does and scrunches his face. "Is there a first aid kit in the plane?" I look to him and get a small nod. There's another small victory. I crawl back under the wing, the duffle falling into the water with me. "Under my seat." I hear Tim say and I poke my head into the plane and feel around under the seat, my hand finding a plastic box. "Should be enough to patch us up." I grab it and pull it out with me, taking his arm and throwing it over my shoulders. "Come on. It's not that far to shore." I tell him. I brace myself against him and he does the same, his weight pressing onto my shoulders. I don't mind, he's had it worse than I have. I turn and start to walk us to shore, our feet and ankles fumbling through the shallow water. At least we aren't dead.