The Spy and the Pilot. A WW2 fantasy: a spy and a pilot take refuge in each other. by PeriodPorn. Listen to the Podcast at Steamy Stories. Max turned around, still half asleep, pulling my body into the half-moon of his own. We lay on a straw mattress in the loft of a barn that had been taken by the resistance here in rural France, and for modesty’s sake we had retreated to either sides of it; a difficult task, now made more challenging by the pilot’s movements. He took a deep inhale, his face nestled into the back of my neck, and exhaled warm breath onto my tingling skin. Now, with me in his arms, his nightmares were retreating into the dark recess of his subconscious. We had slept beside each other for four nights now. That was how long it had been since we had found each other on a backroad from the border, him separated from his grounded plane and me… well, I had kept myself separate from everything in order to remain undetected. Every night he had been wracked with awful nightmares; this was the first he had touched me in his sleep. I knew that this respite from undoubtedly horrid images should be protected, but an itch inside of me yearned for his hands, now securely fastened at my waist, to animate themselves and explore my body. He had removed his cotton undershirt to sleep better in the heat, and in the dappled moonlight of the barn I could make out the sinews beneath his bare skin. “You hardly know him”, my brain hissed to itself, cannibalistic in it’s determination to stifle the urges. “And he’s not even awake so he doesn’t know what he’s doing”- Yet, I tilted my pelvis back ever so slightly. I sighed, trying to mimic the unintentional sounds of someone asleep. The movement made my body arch back into his groin. His body seemed to instinctively tighten around me, welcoming the way the space between us vanished. I felt small, childlike inside his broad, muscular frame. I tilted my pelvis back yet again, hoping the rhythmic movement might stir some kind of consciousness into his lower half. I moaned, as if I was the one having nightmares now. His arms, once slack against my lithe torso, now stiffened. That might have done it. I continued to keep my eyes shut, gripping my arms tighter against his, as if I were protecting myself. The more I created this fiction, the more real it felt. Hadn’t I been trying to make myself invisible, protecting myself from enemies this whole time? “Natalie?” He whispered, his Scottish vowels thick and low in his hoarse semi-consciousness. I waited a moment, then pretended to rouse myself. I murmured a little. “Natalie,” he said, more gently this time, “I think you’re havin’ a nightmare.” You’re a sneaky bitch, my brain thought- but his arms were so strong, his chest so firm against my back. I hadn’t felt this safe since the start of the war. I was alone then… I had been alone for years. I had used men sexually, of course… but not for my own comfort. Not for my own pleasure. Hadn’t I known from the moment he smiled from beneath his RAF cap that this could be a different kind of ally? “You’re having a bad dream,” he repeated softly, with a tenderness I almost couldn’t bear. As if I’d known him for more than two days. As if the thought of me, my safety, and my unreachable subconscious was of the utmost importance to him. I turned in so I was facing him, curling inwards and tucking my face just below his chin. I would never admit to being frightened by daylight, but in the darkness, I permitted myself this luxury; comfort. I had been frightened for so long, one almost comes to accept it; it was a fear people who did not know wartime would never understand. One of the pilots arms wrapped around my back and scooped me up, the other wrapping underneath my neck to cradle the nape of my hairline. His fingers were coarse unlike mine which were still soft from handling weapons of a slightly different kind: transistor radios. “Shhh,” he whispered sleepily. “It’s alright.” His hand was so big that whil