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Butterfly

Butterfly

by Wendybyrd

*Episode Spoiler* This takes place directly after the episode "The Only Church In Town"

Rating: NC-17

Warnings: Slash. M/M consensual sex and generally romantic mushy stuff. I am insane.

Description: This a sequel, well, a complement, to the story "Call My Name" since a friend of mine wanted to know what Murdock was thinking while Face was off in dreamland. (That doesn’t need to be read first though). On its own, I would say it’s just what Murdock feels about being trapped on a boat for three weeks with Face.

Comments, yeah sure.

 

Butterfly

 

Damn B.A. anyway. That ugly mudsucker was going to have a new shadow for the next three weeks. A floaty, flighty, fluttering lunatic shadow by the name of H.M. Murdock. It was no more than B.A. deserved, trading his plane for this hunk of junk boat, and trapping Murdock in a very small room for three weeks.

Trapping Murdock in a very small room with Face.

Trapping Murdock in a very small room with a brooding, tragic Face.

Three weeks, Murdock thought again, and let out a loud sigh before leaning back against the cabin door, not wanting to think about what was on the other side.

But as usual, he had little control over where his mind went, and it presented him with the image instantly–with crystal clarity. Odd, when so little in his life was clear. Or perhaps, not so odd at all.

It was Face of course, lying on his back on the tiny cot, doing his best not to look like a little lost altar boy and failing, even if he didn’t know it. And everyone who occupied even a minuscule bit of space in Murdock’s brain knew that there wasn’t anything as beautiful as Face in pain–except possibly Face caught in a moment of pure happiness. But that was a rare sight even to a man who spent most of his time looking for it.

Face absolutely reveled in his suffering and guilt underneath the surface, never outwardly, but it was there. He dropped it between himself and others like a kind of invisible shield, or a superhero’s telekinetic force field. It was the Catholic in him, Murdock supposed with ironic amusement, a longing to be not of this earth, and a certain masochistic pleasure in his failure to do so.

Not that there was anything wrong with a little masochism, Murdock reflected to himself and shook his head. Pressed close enough to the door, closer than should have been possible, he could almost hear each rush of air through Face’s lungs, pulled inside and held for a moment before being rejected.

Groaning, Murdock pushed away from the door at last. He could use some air himself, in whatever way he could get it.

Down the narrow passage was the bow of the boat, offering him cold sea air and a shrinking view of the Ecuadorian coastline. But more importantly, he was removed from temptation.

Temptation… Geez, he was beginning to sound like the Faceman himself–or his Leslie. Now, she’d been lovely… Murdock stopped and did his best to recall her face, but instead could only picture her eyes, though it was all the same really.

He’d known she’d be beautiful, this was Face after all, but he hadn’t expected to see the happiness in her eyes. A happiness that had little to do with the return of Templeton Peck to her life, and how Murdock envied her that, more than he even envied her for being…

He stopped with a sigh and rolled his eyes, trying to give his naughty brain a stern look.

But Leslie had found her soul’s completion, and that was not something his mind would let go of easily, not when he, like most others stuck on this rock, was still looking for his.

Murdock turned at that, glancing around in the direction of their shared cabin before he caught himself and turned himself back forcefully to the blue sky.

Blue, his mind was tripping along ahead of him, flying out over the water. Blue like a Montana evening, like the high air he loved so much. It was peace itself that shade, and he lived to see that look enter into his eyes, turning them briefly into the tranquil pools that so many nameless women had declared them to be. That was the real Face as he could be, not the mask of indifference that he used to disappear into some copy of everyone else, playing peek-a-boo with himself the way Murdock played it with reality.

Did Face think that only Leslie could put that look there? Was capable of putting that look in his eyes? A burst of anger at being so unconsciously rejected when he’d been so constant made Murdock grip the steel railing tightly and raise himself up to lean over the edge and peer into the churning water.

It was cut up and bubbling, swirling like his stomach.

Is nothing sacred to you? Face’s sharp demand had been the only real emotion he’d revealed about what he’d felt about finding Leslie, but that little bit had said so much.

Yeah, Murdock answered him back silently, almost snarling. Even lunatics want to be like gods sometimes, or maybe, just touch the divine, lay their hands upon the flesh, and join, and know.

Sucking in a breath, Murdock dropped from the railing, suddenly unsteady. A huge pile of rope lay behind him on the deck. He stepped to it and plopped himself down before leaning back. A moment later his eyes were closed, shutting out his view of the sky.

The answers aren’t in my fantasies, he reminded himself as Doctor Richter had wanted him to. The answers aren’t up there, his own words to Face about the ceiling seemed to echo that, but found himself suddenly disagreeing; sometimes solutions were to be found in dreams, waking or sleeping. Nevertheless, he did his best to follow the Doc’s advice and tried to concentrate on anything other than Face.

Face certainly wasn’t in there thinking of him, he thought immediately. He was thinking of his beautiful, spiritual, angelic Leslie, never realizing that the only winged figure Murdock saw was him. Thin, pearlescent membranes stretched behind his smooth golden shoulders like the butterflies in Murdock’s stomach whenever Face smiled at him. Or, at other times, more appropriately, white sweeping arcs, layered in soft feathers, like an angel, or Cupid. Cupid… Murdock grinned despite himself. If ever there was an Eros, it was Templeton Peck.

Another fantasy–he scolded his mind quickly, but could hear himself whining, excusing himself already. Dr. Richter had told him that story when he’d asked about the ‘psyche’ in psychiatry, and psycho, and deep-rooted psychological condition. According to the Doc, Psyche meant ‘soul’ in Greek, and the story was supposed to be some kind of allegory, the concept of love involving the soul instead of just the body. All related to that Greek idea of two souls finding one another and becoming like a god. Murdock had liked that, though he knew it probably hadn’t been the Doc’s intention to fuel yet another romantic fantasy of his. But it teased his mind, the beauty of it all.

A girl so lovely that she’d earned the wrath of Aphrodite, making the jealous goddess send her son Eros to make her fall in love with someone disgraceful. But the god, invisible to human eyes, fell under the spell of her beauty when he looked into her eyes, and accidentally pricked himself with his own love arrow. Helpless to the power of it, he takes the girl up to be his bride, but–Murdock’s breath caught in his throat–stays invisible, fearful of showing her his true form. That was what captivated Murdock, his imagination trapped by a few sentences casually tossed out by the Doc.

Flying blind, that’s what it was. Flying without instruments, without sight, nothing but faith. It was terrifying and exhilarating at the same time. But some, some wouldn’t see it that way, Face included. He would make demands as Eros did, and then be surprised when his love didn’t follow them and tried to see the real person. Psyche certainly hadn’t, when she’d snuck in to view Eros while he slept, and Murdock couldn’t blame her. Who wants only a man’s touch?

His breath caught in his throat again, nearly strangling him. Maybe the touch would do, if you had nothing else.

Murdock’s eyes were already closed, but he squeezed them shut and twisted on the rope, away from the sun. It was black in front of him, no light at all, like being blindfolded. He wasn’t tied down, but was held tightly there anyway, back arched away from the harsh braid underneath him. A hard bed, for a bride, and he trembled at the thought of what was to come before stopping to seriously consider things.

No, there would be light, he decided earnestly. Not like being blindfolded at all. Golden sun and clear air, high on a mountain, since gods always seemed to be up on mountains, snobs really, like Face’s neighbors in the hills. But though he strained and strained to see, there was no one, no one at all to see and only silence above him. All he could do was wait for his mysterious soul mate to touch him first, wait like he’d waited for years now anyway.

Still, he was taken by surprise at the sudden presence near him, and he gasped at the warm fingers touching down and then resting on his shoulder, curving over it from behind. They shook like he was shaking before sliding down over his skin, splaying out the cover his chest, over his heart. His eyes were blind, but he could feel it there, the pressure of a hand over his ribs, his heart pounding against the palm. He could barely breathe with the perfectness of it, and had to scream into his mind to move at all.

Cautiously, just a lick of fear in him at what he was daring to do, Murdock lifted his own hand and touched the tips of his fingers to that spot, nearly jumping at the feel of skin and bone, expecting something less…human. Then he curled his hand around the wrist, feeling that pulse underneath to remind him that this was real. He liked it, knowing that the god of love himself was excited by and afraid of his touch, even if he was not allowed to see that excitement. The pulse fluttered rhythmically under his thumb before the hand was pulled away, out of his grasp.

"No!" Murdock could hear himself protesting like the pathetic, starved loon that he was, not that hearing himself made him stop. How could he, when the warm hand was gone, and he knew the reason why? He upset with him for touching back, for even possibly guessing too much. Why didn’t that idiot see that Murdock was just as vulnerable, naked and stretched out and waiting like some kind of sacrifice to some powerful, unknown force?

Even that thought was strangely erotic, his masochism again he supposed, grinning at his pun despite the growing ache in his lower body, and the traces of fire on his shoulder and chest.

He turned, still looking blindly, but the god was away, and would not return, not unless… Murdock stopped, breathing shallowly through his nose for several moments. "I won’t get too close again," he promised at last, his voice deep with greed and then shame at what he was willing to settle for. But when his love returned, placing two hands cautiously on either side of him, he leaned back instantly, barely surprised to feel the flat chest against his back now instead of the mound of rope.

The chest felt strong, shaped, curved pecs tightening against the small muscles of Murdock’s upper back, nipples poking into his flesh. He shifted slightly, and they rubbed against him, letting him know that his partner was in fact as aroused by this as he was.

Murdock had to bite his lip at the idea, clenching his hands into fists so they wouldn’t fling themselves behind him and pull that smooth body on top of him, so he could feel some more friction and stiffen more than just his nipples. He wanted…he wanted to look into those eyes as their bodies stroked together, more than anything in the world, but he pushed that thought away and determinedly focused on what he was feeling.

Bare skin to bare skin, both heated at their point of contact and making the rest of Murdock shiver. It was cold where he was, so far away, and he shifted demandingly, bringing as much of his body into the circle of his arms as he could, pushing his head into the crook of one shoulder. He stayed there for a moment and then suddenly arched and pushed back into that chest, groaning as two invisible hands stroked over his stomach, creating a burning under his skin. But he kept his hands tightly at his sides, twisting his head from side to side at the effort it took. It was torture, pure torture, and someone was going to pay for it later. He even wondered what it would feel like, closing his mouth around an invisible dick and making the other man cry out his name.

Then he shuddered violently, letting out something lower than a moan when warm, see-through fingers brushed through the hairs on his stomach, stirring them up as they charted his little treasure trail.

Gossamer touches, delicate, or hesitant, but so exquisitely beautiful that Murdock couldn’t even speak. They smoothed over his stomach exploringly, and then back up to his chest. Yet, glancing down, there was nothing but the sight of his skin quivering, and his nipples tight with anticipation, pressed between invisible fingers, and then the growing hardness of his arousal.

He jerked at that and then sucked in air harshly when soft lips pressed against his neck. It was a small kiss, barely a peck even, but his heart rate suddenly increased to about ten times its normal speed. "Please," he whined, begging more than asking. But the mouth on his neck opened at Murdock’s single word and closed wetly over a patch of skin, tasting him eagerly. It was the exact spot that Murdock imagined Face kissing him in every dumb fantasy, and where he would someday love to return the favor, but none of that stopped him from still wanting it.

He had to feel how aroused he was now; Murdock didn’t have shame enough to hide it, he just arched into his chest and sighed noisily. Nibble nibble, little mouse, he giggled deliriously to himself and as if in reply, felt teeth scrape against his throat. It was almost too much, and that hand still hadn’t ventured below his waist.

There was a pull so tight in his groin now that he thrust his hips up into the air demandingly, muttering to himself when this got no reaction from the man behind him. He was going to have to take some action to remind his idiot god that exploration was all very good, but a person’s limits stretched only so far. If he didn’t feel something other than air on his cock in a few seconds, he was going to take matters into his own hands–literally.

Behind him, his Eros shifted, snaking arms around Murdock’s waist and yanking them fiercely together. Murdock called out in surprise and then went tense, arching in absolute arousal at the feel of the hardness poking into his lower back. The movement lifted him from the rope, just slightly, but enough to bring closer to the other man when he came back down, his ass almost resting on his knees.

And then not even the air was separating them anymore.

The arms around his waist loosened almost immediately, haste or guilt making the muscles under the skin quiver against his stomach before he was released. But he didn’t move, and the hands didn’t travel far. Murdock barely had time to try to catch his breath before he could feel one hand smooth up his chest to caress one nipple, while the other fell lower, dropping between his legs with a suddenness that should have shocked him.

Should have anyway.

Murdock just groaned happily and shifted his hips, watching as his cock twitched against the feel of a warm palm. The palm slid down the throbbing length of him almost curiously and then darted back to the base to tangle in the hairs there, tentatively touching his balls.

For the first time, a rush of air parted the hair around his ear, and Murdock turned his head blindly toward it, shivering at the warm, moist breath that slid into his ear like a tongue. He was panting, gasping heavily and the sound echoed into his mind, coming from the man holding him in his arms. They were almost breathing in time together, sounding a lot like the fevered desperation of a porno soundtrack, and his skin flushed with a new heat at the idea.

"Please," a voice pleaded softly, and it took a long dizzy moment for Murdock to realize that he had not said it. He shook his head in confusion and then frowned absently, wondering if his love was blind as well as hidden.

"Yes," he answered finally, swallowing the urge to say more. Instead he raised his arm high over his head as that circled his cock and pulled gently. Murdock jerked, dropping his arm where it was, letting his hand fall awkwardly over one smooth shoulder. Then he dug his fingers into the perfect skin and held on, refusing to let even the feel of feathers against his knuckles make him let go.

Their silky softness brushed against his hand each thrust of his body, as he pushed himself back into his love’s arms and then pushed himself back out, striving to be closer to the slow moving hand driving him crazier. And he liked it, laughing at the tickle even as he was moaning and tossing his head at the intense ache building in his cock. He could feel the force growing stronger inside of him, twisting and burning, tying him in knots like the rope, pulling him toward something beautiful.

He grunted and bucked his hips, jerking his head up until he could feel the hot panting breath on his neck, then he turned, twisting his back painfully, but he had to see, to know.

There was nothing in front of his eyes, and he opened his mouth, trying to think of anything to say that would make him appear, that would let him see. A different ache formed in his chest, breaking into jagged pieces of glass inside of him, and he threw his head back, barely even noticing when it slammed into something hard.

The howl was long and loud, bursting out of his mouth as the fire seized his lower body and pushed out of him. A light flashed in front of his eyes, in his mind, and then he could feel himself draining, emptying into an invisible hand. Into nothing.

He broke off his mournful cry abruptly and squeezed his eyes shut, not even wanting to see nothing anymore.

Damn B.A. anyway, Murdock thought faintly, blaming the other man though he knew it was wrong before dropping back onto the rope in exhaustion. He was breathing heavily, and there was a stickiness in his pants. He withdrew his hand from them absently, not bothering to even attempt to clean it up yet.

A chill slithered down his spine, despite his jacket, and as the tingle left him and his heart rate began to slow, he could feel a throbbing at the back of his head where he must have hit it on something.

He didn’t care about that though, and only wrapped his arms around himself and forced himself to take a deep breath.

Is nothing sacred to you? Face had asked, and Murdock opened his eyes, glancing around at the darkening sky without even seeing it. Damn you, Face, Murdock shifted the blame to where he knew it didn’t really belong either, and then sighed. It wasn’t Face’s fault that Murdock couldn’t follow the rules. He never had been able to really, it was the reason he was always in so much trouble. Even now, he had this, well, insane, urge to get up and run in and go see Face right that second. He would still be on the bed, unmoving, wallowing in his pain. Murdock was willing to bet on that, and furthermore, tantalizingly, he might even have fallen asleep.

That was what finally brought Murdock to his feet, shaking his head in reply to Dr. Richter’s admonitions. The Doc was trying to remind him of the rest of Psyche and Eros’ story, about how she had snuck in while her husband was sleeping to finally look at him, and had accidentally woken him and driven him away from her.

But not forever, Murdock moved stiffly but quickly back to the door to their cabin before hesitating outside it. Not forever, he thought again, trying to remember how she’d won back his trust. He couldn’t, but that didn’t stop him from pulling the door carefully open and slipping inside.

Face was still on the bed, breathing steadily.

Murdock closed the door behind him quietly and then focused all his attention on the sleeping figure. Face’s eyes were closed, flickering behind the lids as if he was dreaming, and he looked relaxed, even smiling faintly. Murdock let out a long sigh to see it, glad that his friend’s dreams were happy if nothing else, and then stepped cautiously into the room.

He held his breath as he sat down on the opposite cot, but it didn’t creak or make any sound at all as he settled in. Then he went still, doing his best to control his usual bouncing energy and making faces at himself for being so pathetic at the same time. Face was oblivious to it all of course, and after a few moments, the frustration made Murdock stand up again, ready to leave.

Right then, Face suddenly tensed, arching off the bed so high that Murdock jumped in nervous reaction before the realization that it must be a nightmare kicked in. He leaned in, about to wake Face before it could get worse, and then paused, something inside of his messed up brain going haywire when Face opened his mouth and called his name.

"Murdock!" he cried out with a warmth that didn’t belong in a nightmare and then threw his head back into his pillow, muttering what sounded like a prayer under his breath. Murdock straightened up uncertainly, and glanced over Face’s writhing body, suddenly stopping at the tight bulge straining against the material of Face’s pants.

A flush spread through his body before he could glance away, a thousand possibilities playing out in less than a second. But he stepped back, suddenly ashamed of himself for spying on Face like some sort of emotional Peeping Tom. His legs hit his cot, and he fell onto it without really noticing. A moment later, he half-stood again and reached out one shaking hand, gingerly touching it to Face’s shoulder.

"Face, you ok?" He shook him gently, his voice unsteady as he spoke. "Face...Templeton?"

Face woke instantly at his name, as Murdock had known he would, and blinked several times as if trying to get his bearings. His skin was filled with color, his breathing off, in fact his gulps for air made Murdock glance down again, self-consciously aware of the stain inside his pants.

He only looked up again when he heard Face roll over on his cot, turning to look at him.

"I came in when I heard you calling me. Must’ve been some dream, muchacho," Murdock said quickly for a distraction and then could have stabbed his brain with a Q-tip for making him say that. But Face only blinked, turning beautiful, befuddled blue eyes on him seriously. Then Face shook his head and something sad entered his eyes again before he moved to sit up.

Murdock nearly fell back down onto his bed his legs were so shaky, and then did his best to smile when Face gave him a strange questioning look. Then finally, his friend looked away, frowning thoughtfully, probably thinking of his Leslie. But a moment later, he raised his head again.

"It was, Murdock," Face said at last, quietly, and then smiled, smiled so widely that it even reached his eyes. They turned an incredibly light shade of blue and Murdock had to fight to breathe. It was peace itself that shade, and Face was making no attempt to hide it.

The flutter in his stomach barely even registered this time.

The End


Butterfly by Wendybyrd

 

 


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