"Yo," he mutters, the wind whipping his hair as he stands alone in the cockpit, the world below a blur of green and blue. His hand, like a bird in flight, dives into his pants, wrapping around his throbbing shaft. He strokes, his grip tight, his rhythm steady, a symphony of pleasure playing out against the hum of the jet engines. The clouds outside seem to mirror his actions, swirling and billowing, as he brings himself closer to release.