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My Funny Valentine

My Funny Valentine

by Casper

 

Rating: PG

Copyright: 2003 Isabel Florence/(Casper)

Type: Light Slash. Love. Romance.

Pairing: Face/Murdock

Chronology: Valentine's Day 1981

Summary: Light Slash. It's Valentine's Day 1981 and Face and Murdock are celebrating it together for the first time in their new relationship. Alternating Face and Murdock POV.

Warnings/Content: Contains Light Slash. Consensual male/male facial touching and kissing. Sap, Romance and lots of Candlelight. Also a special itsy bitsy warning about exceptionally sweet content.

Disclaimer: I do not own the A-Team characters and am making no profit from this story, which is a work of fan fiction only. The A-Team characters solely belong to Universal, Frank Lupo and Stephen J. Cannell, and I thank them for their existence. Also: The song, "My Funny Valentine", does not belong to me. I'm simply borrowing it as a backdrop to this fan fiction. The song solely belongs to R. Rodgers and L. Hart, with thanks for it inspiring the following story.

Thanks & Acknowledgments: To the Beta readers Val Thomas and Strangebird, with my deepest thanks and appreciation for your valuable help, assistance, comments and great patience.

Accompanying Song: "My Funny Valentine" - Words and Music By R. Rodgers and L. Hart

Comments?: Sure.

 

 

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"MY FUNNY VALENTINE"

 

My funny Valentine

Sweet, comic valentine

You make me smile with my heart

 

Your looks are laughable

Unphotographable

Yet, you're my favorite work of art

 

Is your figure - less than Greek?

Is your mouth - a little weak?

When you open it to speak, are you smart?

 

Don't change a hair for me

Not if you care for me

Stay, little Valentine, stay!

 

Each day is Valentine's Day

 

R. Rodgers and L. Hart

 

 

* VALENTINE'S DAY 1981 *

 

 

************ (Part 1 - Murdock POV) ************

 

I clutched the rose tightly in my hand. Too tightly. Thorns dug painfully into my flesh.

 

It'd taken me hours to find it.

 

Just the right perfect rose.

 

It had to be right.

 

He's perfect, so the rose had to be also.

 

It was a beautiful rose. Long stem, deep, dark, velvety large red bud on the end, with a pretty scent to it.

 

They'd told me it would open out fully in a few days.

 

I really hoped so.

 

So there I was, standing outside his door, maiming my hand with the demonstration of my love.

 

It was our first Valentine's Day since we decided to just dive right into a relationship.

 

We'd been friends for years of course, since Vietnam.

 

Even back then, our relationship had been closer than brothers, although we'd gone no further than the occasional chaste kiss and holding each other in the night from time to time.

 

After Vietnam, when things got so crazy for all of us, it all just seemed to be forgotten.

 

At least by Face, or so I thought.

 

Me, I'd never forgotten how his soft lips on mine and his touch had thrilled me, or how deep the feelings for him went.

 

Through all the girlfriends, through all the years, we'd still stuck by each other as the firmest of best friends.

 

Then one night, sitting around drinking coffee, Face had admitted to feeling kinda empty and restless. He didn't know why and he couldn't understand it, 'cause basically he had everything he wanted or needed.

 

At least, that's what he told himself, he'd said.

 

Everything except his freedom, of course, but I'd refrained from reminding him of that.

 

That night I'd taken his hand and caressed it in mine, gently, letting him just talk. It's best to do that, 'cause these introspective moods for Face are really, really rare. Walk away from him when he's in one, and he'll simply turn inwards with it, brood about it until it passes, and then go back to being the same ole happy-go-lucky, charmin', scammin' Faceman.

 

So we'd sat and he'd talked, and one thing had led to another, and before we knew it we'd been kissin' and more right there on the couch in his living room.

 

That was eight months ago.

 

Eight glorious months.

 

Face has been like a teenager in love these past months.

 

Guess, so have I, for that matter.

 

He'd invited me tonight, to his penthouse suite, for dinner.

 

For a Valentine's dinner.

 

Straightening the bow tie on my black tuxedo, I pressed the doorbell.

 

Yep, I'd worn a tux. Black, with a wine colored waistcoat and bow tie. Had even dug out some black soft leather shoes to go with it. Course, the Daffy Duck socks and Bugs Bunny boxer shorts were a little out of place, but then, that's me. Take me or leave me. That's me.

 

A moment or two passed and the door swung inwards.

 

Soft classical music swished out to embrace me.

 

The apartment seemed dark as I stepped in.

 

My eyes adjusted to the gloom and my breath caught in my throat.

 

The entire room was awash in glittering candlelight.

 

Stunning.

 

Breathtaking.

 

Beautiful.

 

Elegant.

 

Just like Face.

 

Face, whose blond hair shone like spun gold in the candlelight, looked stunning in an ivory tuxedo with tails, blue-green ivory patterned waistcoat and bow tie, and ivory leather shoes.

 

Elegance and beauty personified.

 

Dazed, I turned to him and handed him my simple offering.

 

He took it like it was a grand treasure, holding it as if it were the most delicate, precious thing he'd ever touched.

 

Leaning in, he kissed me softly on my lips, taking it no further.

 

Lifting up my hand, he opened the palm, moving to kiss it when he froze.

 

"Murdock," he murmured, "you have the outlines of the rose stem in your palm."

 

He chuckled in soft amusement.

 

"Why didn't you ask them to wrap it?"

 

Shrugging, I attempted to remove my hand from his, but he held it tightly.

 

"Wanted it to be special, Facey. Just seemed to spoil it, wrapping it."

 

He lifted my hand to his lips and delicately kissed the palm, then each of my fingertips, his smile melting my heart.

 

A shiver ran though my body at the intensity of the touch.

 

"Come on inside, HM."

 

He led me further into the glittering wonderland, and pushed me down onto a large black leather couch.

 

Leaving me, he wandered off in the direction of the kitchen, holding the rose carefully in his hand.

 

While he was gone, I looked around the room in awe.

 

Candlelight glittered off every surface, throwing large sections of the room into shadow, others into softly glowing golden warmth. Carnations and roses dotted the room in little bunches, and there was also a mixed scent of sandalwood and jasmine in the air.

 

I suspected either some of the candles were scented, or he had incense burning as well.

 

Probably both, knowing Face.

 

He returned a few minutes later carrying a tall, slim pewter vase with the rose sitting in it.

 

A table stood in front of a large set of French windows, opening out onto a glorious balcony overlooking the city, the lights of which nearly rivaled that of the candles in the room.

 

After putting the vase in the center of the table, in the middle of a group of three tall candles, he pulled a bottle of champagne from an ice filled cooler and filled two glasses.

 

Bringing them over he handed me one, then settled down on the couch by my side.

 

We sipped companionably for a bit, while his gorgeous aquamarine eyes drifted over me.

 

Sometimes focusing on my eyes, sometimes casually glancing up and down my body.

 

All the while, his left hand delicately caressed my thigh.

 

Feather light.

 

Enticing.

 

Teasing.

 

Maddening as all hell.

 

"So... Happy Valentine's, Murdock." He raised his glass and gently chinked the edge of it against mine.

 

We drank the toast.

 

Guess it really was my turn to respond in kind, but I couldn't think of a damn thing to say.

 

Or, I could think of a million things to say, all about him, and how he made me feel, and how he was making me feel right then.

 

But there were too many words, and they were stalling in my throat.

 

Leaning in, he caressed my cheek with his palm.

 

"Murdock, what do you want to do now?" he asked softly, his eyes warm, inviting.

 

Blinking, my mind reeled around a hundred possibilities, the last of which was eat dinner.

 

Uncrossing my legs, moving out of his caress for a moment, I leaned slightly forward and placed the champagne glass down on the coffee table nearby, then took the one Face held and placed it beside the other.

 

Turning back to him, I took his hands in mine.

 

"We could watch Woody Woodpecker cartoons?" I suggested playfully, barely holding back my laughter at the look of incredulous shock, which washed over his features, quickly followed by indulgent amusement.

 

"You're my funny Valentine. You know that, HM."

 

His voice bathed me in its warmth.

 

His eyes had softened to an incredible, depthless sky blue.

 

And oh God, I wished I could dive right into them, and just fly.

 

Fly forever.

 

Leaning in closer, until our faces were only inches apart, I smiled at him warmly, locking his eyes with mine.

 

"As I was saying, Faceguy. We could watch Woody Woodpecker cartoons, or we could do this..."

 

I kissed him deeply, swallowing his small noise of surprise.

 

His momentary tension melted instantly, like snow in the sun, and soon my arms were all full of him, as he crushed me to himself, his passion flowing into me and through me.

 

Exhilarating.

 

And I did feel like I was flying then.

 

And the night...

 

The night seemed like a lifetime.

 

 

******** Part 2 - Same Day/Event's - Face POV ********

 

It had to be perfect.

 

Every candle, every incense stick, every flower.

 

The dinner, the champagne, even the view of the sprawling cityscape.

 

All of it, just for him.

 

And still it would not be enough of a gift.

 

For I wanted to give him the world, the entire world, and then after that, the universe, too.

 

I'd worked on the plan all day. Spent part of the day shopping for fresh vegetables, fruit, fish, chocolates, wine, flowers, candles and incense.

 

All the things I needed to make the night perfect for him.

 

Perfect for us.

 

It'd taken me hours to place the candles all over the living room in the most strategic positions, followed by the incense sticks smelling of either sandalwood or jasmine. Then the special candles scented with rose and sandalwood, and finally the flowers, carnations and roses, placed on bench tops and in corners and nooks.

 

From the living room I'd moved to the bedroom, and decorated it in a similar fashion, ready for us later that night.

 

Dinner was to be grilled fish and steamed vegetables with homemade tartar sauce, all cooked by yours truly. Dessert: strawberries dipped in fine milk, dark, or white chocolate, to have with our champagne. All followed by freshly ground and brewed coffee, if we so desired.

 

Standing there, in the middle of all the glory, I watched for a long moment the sun dipping down behind the city's buildings, sending tendrils of scarlet and orange shooting across the sky.

 

Murdock's invitation said to arrive just after sundown.

 

Just after the sun disappeared fully behind the buildings. Not a moment before.

 

He'd be here any minute.

 

Moving, without haste, I lit the candles in the room, watching as the light faded from the sun, to be replaced by the soft glow of candlelight and the sweet scent of incense.

 

The dinner was cooked and ready, sitting in the warming unit in the kitchen, waiting for me to serve it.

 

The champagne chilled and waiting.

 

Music filled the air with soft enchantment.

 

I can't even begin to describe how much Murdock meant to me.

 

How much he will always mean to me.

 

The stars, and the moon and the sun combined cannot hope to reproduce the depths of light and life and warmth he filled me with.

 

It felt like we'd been friends forever, not simply since first meeting in Vietnam all those years ago.

 

The first time we'd ever kissed had been in Vietnam, one night after a particularly brutal mission.

 

We'd spent three days in the jungle for the mission.

 

We'd had to do things, we'd seen things, we'd experienced things that no man should have to do, see or experience.

 

We'd mostly got safely back to the base, several men down. Two of them dead, one wounded. All of us dirty, covered in mud and blood and God knew what else, damn tired and just plain bone weary in body and soul.

 

In a daze I'd somehow managed to sleepwalk through getting cleaned up, before making it back to my bunk and collapsing on it, feeling as if I needed to sleep for a month, or more.

 

But sleep hadn't come. Instead had come memories of the past mission. Memories of all that I'd seen, of all that had needed to be done.

 

I'd found myself trembling uncontrollably in reaction, shock settling in. Tears had gathered and fallen silently down my face, as I'd buried myself under the blankets and the pillows, trying to hide away from the world at large.

 

Only minutes later someone had touched me lightly on my shoulder, tugging the blankets down, exposing my ravaged face.

 

It had been Murdock, with a look of such deep concern and compassion in his eyes, my tears had fallen faster, although no less silently.

 

Murdock had been the pilot who'd picked us all up that day.

 

What'd been left of us.

 

He'd reached over and gently wiped the tears from my face with his fingers, his eyes dark in the dim light, hovering close to mine. Then, to my surprise, he'd bent and kissed me. A deep but gentle kiss, which I'd returned willingly, after a short moment of shocked surprise.

 

Afterwards, he'd crawled into the bunk with me and just held me, while I'd quietly cried out all the tears, and finally fallen into an exhausted sleep.

 

He'd still been there the next morning, not moving until he was certain I was going to be okay.

 

After that we'd kissed on several more occasions, and from time to time shared our bunks, but never had we gone any further, not even while on leave.

 

I've often wondered whether we'd have got together after the war, if it hadn't been for the Hanoi debacle, and Murdock's breakdown.

 

It's all a moot point, really.

 

But still I wondered sometimes. Just couldn't seem to help myself in that respect.

 

After the Hanoi incident, and Murdock's breakdown, it almost seemed as if those times in Vietnam, those stolen tender moments between us, had never happened.

 

We both mistakenly thought the other had forgotten about the past, or had wanted to forget.

 

Or that perhaps the other had simply viewed it all as stolen comfort, in an uncertain time of need.

 

What neither of us had realized was, from time to time over the years, we'd both longed for, needed and desired the same thing.

 

On my part, after Murdock's breakdown, I hadn't wanted to complicate things for him by declaring myself, so had distanced myself from the feelings and the need.

 

There were times when I'd still longed for his touch, but overall, I'd managed to live with it, to push it away, to bury it under layers of con and bluff, even from myself.

 

Then there'd been that miraculous night eight months ago.

 

My date had been beautiful. A pretty little petite blond, with curves in all the right places. Dinner had simply been a prelude to seduction. Her nubile young body in my bed, or hers, 'til dawn, my main and ultimate goal.

 

The French restaurant had been sumptuous, the food divine, and yet all evening I'd felt restless and frustrated.

 

Finally, in the end, I'd realized I wasn't interested in going any further with the pretty young lady, no matter how willing she was.

 

Dropping the confused girl off at her place, with a chaste goodbye kiss, I'd driven over and sprung Murdock from the VA, taking him back to my place instead.

 

There'd been no plan to do anything with him. I'd just needed a friend to be with that night.

 

We'd drunk coffee and talked companionably for a long time before anything happened, and then it was Murdock who'd made the first move.

 

Somehow we'd ended up making love on the couch, and then in the bed, and it had been so wonderful to wake up the next day with him curled around me.

 

Suddenly I'd felt complete in a way that I hadn't for a very, very long time.

 

Later we realized we'd both been harboring similar feelings for each other, and had laughed, and even cried a little at the revelation.

 

The months since then have been like a glorious dream.

 

A dream, which I hoped to God, we'd never wake from.

 

The doorbell chimed loudly in the room, shaking me from my introspective thoughts.

 

Taking a last look around, I couldn't help but feel satisfied by the effect of the room.

 

The candles glittered like thousands of twinkling stars, turning the room into a magical fairyland.

 

I'd not lit the ones in the bedroom yet, that would wait for later, when we retired for the night.

 

Pocketing my lighter, I nervously straightened my bow tie, my shirt and the jacket of my tuxedo, feeling a quivering fluttering in my stomach, and a slight tremor in my hands.

 

I'd dressed in an ivory tuxedo with tails, ivory trousers and an ivory wing collar shirt. Accompanied with an aquamarine waistcoat with a subtle ivory pattern running through it, and a matching aquamarine bow tie, the color of my eyes. Silver pearl drop cufflinks clasped the shirtsleeves together, and ivory soft leather shoes perfectly complimented the ensemble. My socks also were ivory, with Sylvester the Cat prancing around on them, in honor of Murdock.

 

I gave myself a quick once over in a nearby mirror, making sure everything looked neat and perfect, before moving to the door.

 

Opening it, I suppressed a gasp of wonder as I gazed at Murdock.

 

He'd come dressed in a black tuxedo.

 

I'd not asked him to.

 

It hadn't mattered to me.

 

Having him here was all that mattered to me, not how he dressed.

 

He looked transformed.

 

Dashingly handsome in a long-line black jacket, which reached down to mid thigh.

 

He also wore black trousers, a white wing collar shirt with gold cufflinks and a wine colored waistcoat and bow tie, all finished off with black leather shoes.

 

In one hand he clasped a glorious red rose.

 

No baseball cap or leather jacket in sight, although I suspected his socks probably had a cartoon character of some sort on them.

 

That's just Murdock, though, and it's one of the things I love about him.

 

The part that never grew up.

 

The part I hoped would never grow up.

 

He smiled at me shyly, a little nervously, as I stepped wordlessly aside and let him walk into my suite.

 

Stopping just inside the door he looked around himself, drawing in a startled breath, an expression of awed wonder on his face, as he took in the dozens of twinkling candles throughout the room.

 

Appearing somewhat stunned, he turned back to me at last and handed me the rose.

 

It was beautiful.

 

Truly gorgeous.

 

Like Murdock.

 

Deeply dark red, almost black in its velvety beauty. The scent when I held it to my nose was subtle, yet heady and sweet. It was the old fashioned sort that would open out fully in a few days and drop its glorious petals over the table.

 

My favorite kind, and hard to get these days.

 

It must have taken him days to track one down.

 

I loved him for going that far for me.

 

Holding it delicately, so as not to crush it, I leant in and brushed my lips softly across his.

 

A wordless offering of thanks, and hopefully of more to come.

 

Lifting his right hand, I uncurled his fingers, wanting to kiss his palm.

 

Startled, I froze for a moment. Murdock had the imprint of rose thorns across his palm. A rush of concern flooded me as I examined the hand a little more closely. Luckily none of the thorns had pierced the flesh, simply left indentations where they'd been.

 

Amusement bubbled up inside of me, threatening to spill over.

 

Oh God, how I loved him.

 

"Murdock," I murmured softly, "you have the outlines of the rose stem in your palm."

 

I couldn't help myself, it was too delicious, and too, too Murdock, so I let the soft chuckle out, feeling warmth encircling my heart and soul.

 

"Why didn't you ask them to wrap it?" I asked, my voice tender and warm.

 

Shrugging, he tried to remove his hand from mine, but I held on to it tightly.

 

I still planned to kiss that palm before he could have his hand back.

 

"Wanted it to be special, Facey. Just seemed to spoil it, wrapping it," he elaborated, making me love him even more.

 

Smiling warmly, I lifted his hand to my lips and delicately kissed the palm, then each of his fingertips, savoring the sweet taste of him, anticipating more later, especially when he shivered at the touch of my lips.

 

"Come on inside, HM."

 

Swinging the door quietly shut behind us, I pulled him further inside the room.

 

Leading him over to my large black leather couch, I gently pushed him down onto it.

 

Wandering off to the kitchen, I turned the light on in there, blinking a little at the brightness of the artificial glare.

 

There were vases in the cupboards, and I knew exactly which one to choose.

 

A little rummaging brought to light a pretty pewter vase, tall and slim lined, perfect for a single, long-stemmed rose.

 

Filling it with water, I gently placed the rose in it and stood admiring it for a minute, drinking in its delightful scent.

 

Checking quickly on the dinner first, which was keeping beautifully in the warmer, I picked the vase up and returned to the sitting room, switching the light off as I went.

 

The table in the large main room was one that actually seated twelve and was capable of being folded down into one for four. It was in four-person mode tonight, covered with an ivory colored crisp linen tablecloth, woven through with a delicate silver pattern. The cutlery was silver, the glasses crystal. Three single candles stood in the center of the table, casting their soft light across it, making the silver threads and cutlery glint. Moving them aside a little, I placed the vase in the middle of their circle of light, admiring the way the candlelight sparkled and danced across its pewter surface.

 

Earlier I'd also placed a bottle of champagne in an ice filled wine cooler on the table, near the cream, silver edged dinner plates.

 

It'd been pre-opened, so all I needed to do was to fill two of the crystal glasses with the golden nectar.

 

Taking them over to Murdock, I handed him one, then settled down onto the couch by his side, sipping the delicious drink.

 

The moments stretched on, while we sipped our champagne and drank each other in.

 

His eyes, as always, were mesmerizing and intense, exposing every emotion he felt within them, sweeping me away in their tidal wave of warmth.

 

I couldn't help but also allow my gaze to wander over his body.

 

He just looked so damn good in that tuxedo.

 

So incredibly handsome and, yeah, sexy.

 

He took my breath completely away.

 

So debonair, sitting there with one leg crossed over the other, an uncharacteristically formal pose for him, champagne glass held in one hand, his delicious brown eyes dancing and sparkling in the candlelight.

 

While my eyes took him in, my left hand, almost as if with a life of its own, delicately caressed his thigh, liking the touch and feel of him, allowing myself to nearly get lost in the sensations of the moment.

 

"So... Happy Valentine's, Murdock." I spoke at last, breaking the spell.

 

Raising my glass, I gently chinked the edge of it against his, as we drank the toast.

 

He stared at me wordlessly, for what felt like a long time, looking as if he wanted to say something, but ending up letting the words slide away.

 

The moments stretched again.

 

Leaning in, I caressed his cheek with my palm.

 

"Murdock, what do you want to do now?" I finally asked him, my voice soft and hopefully inviting, knowing exactly what it was my heart needed.

 

What my soul craved.

 

Taking me by surprise a little, he moved, uncrossing his legs, dislodging my hand in the process, and leant forward to place the champagne glass down on the coffee table nearby.

 

He in turn took mine and placed it next to his.

 

That done, he turned back to me and took my hands in his.

 

"We could watch Woody Woodpecker cartoons?" he said simply, unexpectedly, making it a definite question, sounding hopeful, although his eyes danced with warmth and amusement.

 

What the hell?

 

Had he just said?

 

No way!

 

Woody Woodpecker?

 

No! No way...

 

I was shocked; he wanted a cartoon, after, after everything.

 

After...

 

My God!

 

Then, looking into his eyes, it dawned on me he was playing with me, as always.

 

And, as always, I'd fallen headlong into his tease.

 

Feeling amused and lightheaded all at the same time, intoxicated by his love, really, the smile blossomed across my lips, absolute happiness welling up within me.

 

"You're my funny Valentine. You know that, HM."

 

The warmth in my heart was beyond description.

 

Leaning in towards me, until our faces were only inches apart, he smiled, one of his most spellbinding, intoxicating smiles, locking his gorgeous liquid brown eyes with mine.

 

Captivating me with their intensity.

 

"As I was saying, Faceguy," he whispered, with almost seductive tenderness in his voice, "we could watch Woody Woodpecker cartoons, or we could do this..."

 

Then suddenly he kissed me, to my surprise, making me freeze for a moment in mild shock, gasping at his unexpected touch.

 

Relaxing into his embrace, as he kissed me deeply, he took my breath and senses completely away, liquefying my heart and soul, stirring the passion deep within me.

 

Suddenly I couldn't get enough of him, or close enough to him.

 

Pulling him more tightly against me, I returned the kiss with all the passion and love I could muster.

 

It was stimulating.

 

Intoxicating.

 

Electrifying.

 

Setting my heart and soul on fire, and my spirit soaring through the highest heavens.

 

God, how I loved him.

 

My funny Valentine.

 

 

Fini. :o)

 

February 14, 2003.


My Funny Valentine by Casper

 

 


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