This is the most embarrassing thing that Martin has ever done.
Which is saying something, really, because Martin has been embarrassing himself since he was born.
Not that he can remember that far back, of course, but he assumes he tripped out of the womb, or got lost and tried to emerge out his mother's navel, or failed all the tests they give infants six times in an eerie foretelling of his future.
This is more embarrassing than working (for free) as a pilot for an airline that consists of a single run-down jet that sometimes gets mistaken for a Winnebago to which someone jokingly bolted wings.
It's even more embarrassing than the fact that working (for free) for said joke of an airline is his proudest accomplishment by miles.
Martin is kissing Arthur.
It's not embarrassing that he's kissing another man, or even (surprisingly) that he's kissing Arthur. It's that he had to practically beg Arthur to give it a try.
Arthur was puzzled at first, but then again Arthur found "wet paint" signs puzzling. ("Are they telling you to get the paint wet, or warning you that it's already wet?"). He laughed and said, "But I'm a boy. I'm supposed to kiss girls."
Martin spent nearly an hour explaining why that wasn't entirely accurate before Arthur's face lit up with recognition. "Oh! Like Captain Jack on Torchwood! He kisses everyone. Hey, he's a captain just like you! Is that what all captains do? Should we ask Douglas? He used to be a captain."
Once Martin manages to convince Arthur that no, they should not ask Douglas if he ever kisses other men, Martin came back around to his original proposition. It's a good job Arthur's so easy-going (and so thick-headed), because Martin doesn't know anyone else who would fail to be offended by, "I don't particularly fancy you, but it's been suggested to me that I might enjoy kissing men, and since you appear to be one, what say we give it a go?"
So now here they are, sitting in the last row of Gertie, in the dark. Kissing.
Arthur's lips press firmly against his. Martin presses back, waiting, and feeling ridiculous. He wonders how long he has to persist in this nonsense before he can officially declare it a failure. That woman was clearly wrong -- just because he has never clicked with a woman doesn't mean he is secretly gay. He's had girlfriends. A few. He even had sex with most of them. Some of them. And he only cried the once afterward.
He is about to pull away, to give up, when Arthur makes a happy little noise, parts his lips, brushes his tongue against Martin's lips and... oh!
Well, that feels different than anything Martin has ever felt in his life. It's like electricity, only without the pain or the electrons. So really it's nothing like electricity at all, but it's the only simile Martin can come up with due to being completely, utterly staggered by how good kissing Arthur feels.
Martin opens his mouth and lets Arthur in.
Arthur's mouth is warm and tastes vaguely of pineapple juice and salt. (He's probably been eating his newest culinary creation, crunchy pineapple juice, which consists of crushed pretzel sticks mixed with... well, with the obvious.) Their tongues slide together, and their breath mingles. Martin experimentally tries nipping at Arthur's lower lip, and Arthur smiles -- Martin can actually feel the smile.
But it's Arthur. It's stupid, stupid Arthur who's always happy and who's delusional enough to think that Martin is both smart and a great pilot and--
He could do a lot worse, Martin reflects as he threads his fingers through Arthur's soft hair. He growls softly, feeling a desire rising in him, and presses the seat recline button.
"This is brilliant, Skip," whispers Arthur against Martin's lips.
Martin rather agrees.