Nancy Tanner opened her eyes, panicked whispers and moans still ringing in her ears. 'Fuck, it's still happening.'

They were an hour into the Los Angeles to Detroit flight, probably somewhere over Nevada, as if that mattered, when things had started to go awry. First the fasten seatbelts sign had flashed on without warning or explanation; then, the flight attendants had all suddenly vanished from sight. A minute later, the 727 had veered sharply to the right, screams of protest echoing through the frame of the passenger jet. And then, of course, the panic had started to set in.

She was still a young woman of 28, but already a veteran of enough flights to know that this wasn't normal. She craned her neck and looked nervously around the aircraft, catching the eyes of a few fellow passengers who were doing the same thing, every mind filled with the same thought which couldn't be uttered aloud: 'We're all going to die.'

Nancy didn't want to die -- not now, not any time soon. Not ever, if she had any say in the matter. She certainly didn't want to die in the name of some pissant little clothing company that still clung to the notion that a face to face meeting was preferable to a phone call, especially when the news that she had to pass on would probably only end with a canceled order. But the unscheduled descent of her air transport seemed to mock her wishes at the moment.

She could hear sobbing from behind her in the cabin, feminine sobbing it sounded like, and fought to keep from joining in. The airliner was nearly empty on this red-eye flight, perhaps 3 dozen people scattered throughout the tourist class with her. She could see only one with ease: a businessman, she was certain, sitting there in jacket and tie, and no doubt out on a mission as pointless as her own. He sat across the aisle from her, a few stray grays in his otherwise black hair betraying his age, at least a decade beyond her own. With a start, she realized that he was staring at her.

Not in panic, as she stared back, but calmer. Almost resigned to the situation. And he wasn't staring at her face; he was staring at her legs.

The businesswoman immediately jerked her knees tightly together, pulling her feet under the seat. 'Here we are all about to die, and all this perv can think to do is gawk at me.' She hated that.

She also got it a lot. Nancy was an attractive woman, and she knew it. Red hair which flowed down to the middle of her back when down, but was currently tucked up into a smart bun. Porcelain skin which she fastiduously protected from the punishing Southern California sun. And a 34B-23-34 body which she carefully maintained through five aerobics sessions a week, plus regular jogging. She didn't go out of her way to draw attention from men normally, but in a business sense ... well, it just made sense to use every weapon in her arsenal to get ahead. So what if she'd earned an honors degree in Business from UCLA; she had little doubt that it had been the short business skirt she'd worn to her interview which had landed her position with Pennington's.

And now, on her way to tell a major client that their shipment would once again have to be delayed because of problems with her own company's supplier, a short skirt had been a necessity once again. She didn't care so much about keeping the contract and protecting corporate earnings for Pennington's as she did about how good it would look to her bosses if she could do so. Rumor had it that there would soon be a management position opening up, and after 6 years as little more than a glorified gopher, Nancy wanted it. It was just too bad that she was going to die in a fiery plane crash instead.

The man's eyes jerked up to hers, and he smiled bashfully at having been caught, but didn't look away. And damnit, why was an Alanis Morisette lyric stuck in her head? 'And as the plane crashed down, he thought, well isn't this nice?' Yeah, real fucking ironic, indeed.

Her gaze remained fixed on the stranger across the aisle, their heads jerking around from time to time as the plane careened through the air. He wasn't unattractive, she decided, for an older guy. It was hard to tell through his business jacket, but the way that it hung from his shoulders hinted that he was in decent shape at least. His face was aging well, dark eyes set to the sides of a thin nose, his jaw heavy and squared. Incredibly, she felt her legs slide back out from her seat, stretching as much as she could in the cramped cabin.

He nodded slowly, a silent 'thank you' beamed across the aisle. 'What the fuck?', she figured; 'we're all going to die, and if he wants to go out staring at my legs, no harm done, really.' The redhead leaned back in her seat slightly, letting her skirt ride up to mid-thigh.

The panic was beginning in earnest around them now, several people crying out loud, others trying desperately to quell fears that they themselves felt. There was still no word from the pilots, no announcement from the crew, and Nancy wasn't sure if that was common in these circumstances or not. Would it be better to tell everyone that they were going to crash, or just remain silent?

She opted to dwell on something she could more easily account for, staring silently across perhaps 10 feet at the man. He gestured slightly with his hand, as if grabbing and pulling on something, and she got the message loud and clear. Still not quite believing she was going along with this, she moved her trembling hand down to the hem of her skirt, wiggling in her seat as she tugged it upwards until her fingers slid across the bare skin above her black stockings. He smiled again, his tongue flickering over his lips, eyes burning holes into her long, shapely, and nearly completely uncovered legs.

Nancy wiggled her toes slightly, her heels somewhere on the floor of the cabin, having skittered off long ago from where she'd kicked them when she'd first settled in. It was bizarre, but she felt herself getting turned on by his lusty leer, even knowing that his death, her death, all of their deaths waited just minutes away. Before her brain had the chance to comprehend the commands it sent, her hands were undoing the twin buttons on her jacket, shrugging it off her shoulders as she twisted her torso to face him.

She knew without looking what he could now see -- her simple white business blouse, transparent enough to make out the outline of the lacy white bra she wore underneath, which plunged low on her breasts and lifted them together for maximum cleavage. It wasn't the most comfortable brassiere in her wardrobe, but it pushed her tits out enough to hint at more ample treasures than she actually possessed, through the heavy jacket.

He stared for a long moment before aping her actions, pulling off his dark blue blazer and revealing a lighter blue work shirt, red "power" tie sliding over his side. He was indeed in fairly good shape, or at least she couldn't make out any kind of a gut on his body.

The plane still pitching violently, she lifted the armrest of the middle seat on her row, leaning further to repeat the motion on the next one. Feeling her stomach lurch as the plane seemed to catch in midair for a moment, she unbuckled her seat belt in defiance of the insistent sign above her, swinging her legs up onto the seats and leaning back against the window, her skirt bunching up above her stocking tops, legs spread wide enough to allow him a view of her satin panties, silver in color. Fighting the urge to grab hold of the seat cushions to steady herself, she reached upward with trembling fingers, working the buttons on her blouse.

She managed to get the top two undone before a particularly violent jerk of the airframe caused her to rip the next two off, the blouse now open to below her lacy bra. Pausing for a second to get her heart back under control, she shrugged mentally and tore it the rest of the way open, the buttons bouncing off the back of her seat and falling who knows where.