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It’s on nights like this that I think of him most—when the evening air is thick, expectant with rain, and the California heat

Nights Like This

by  Lacey McBain

 

Rating:  PG/PG-13

Type:  Light slash (suggested).

Summary:  One lonely night, a team member reflects on his absent partner.  Response to 500 word character description challenge (A-Slash Challenge #8).

Pairing: Face/Murdock

Warnings:  Suggested slash relationship, nothing graphic.

Feedback:  Appreciated.  First slash fiction piece.  Actually, first fanfic piece ever.

Disclaimer:  I don't own the A-Team, nor do I make any money from them.  They belong to Stephen J. Cannell.  No copyright infringement intended.

 

Nights Like This

 

It's on nights like this that I miss you most—when the evening air is thick, expectant with rain, and the California heat is as bad as any night we spent in 'Nam.  I think of your dark hair, unruly like the jungle around us, and those eyes, dark pools that seemed to swallow me whole.  So many nights we waited for the sound of your voice to crackle through the night like a bolt of lightning, listened to the whirr of the blades, stood in the hot blast of wind as you swept in, pulling us out of the darkness into dawn.  You would howl as we thundered into the clear blue sky, and it would be ecstasy to hear the tension wash away in that moment of exuberant joy, a sunrise burst of laughter in the midst of blood and sweat and death.  And I loved you for saving my battered soul with every smile you tossed my way.

 

Somewhere in the darkness, I hear B.A.'s restless pacing, smell the familiar sweetness of cigar smoke.  I lie here in a bed that feels too big, too empty, and I want there to be only you and I—the soft weight of leather slipping from your shoulders, the slightest hint of stubble rough against my face, the smell of bubblegum and soap as I breathe you in.  I don't want to think of you so far away in a world of cold and white:  white walls, white sheets, white skin so pale from being inside.  A moth trapped in a jar, kept from the danger of the light.  I long to fly in and rescue you, like you did me, and carry you back to a world of color and wonder and flame.

 

I close my eyes and dream a waking dream:  let my hands whisper across paper-white skin, soft as Saigon silk, draw whorls in the dark forests of your chest.  Brush pale lips with trembling hands, feel the rhythmic beating of your heart like a song playing just for me.  Fingers and lips trace old scars faded to white, the badges of service, remember the wounds we've shared, the ones that no one else sees.  A row of kisses dances across your chest, medals of a different kind, earned for friendship, loyalty, patience, love.  Feel your strong hands on my body, familiar yet still surprising, the weight of you against my skin, shivers of desire, the beginnings of a flame.

 

It's on nights like this that I think it's me who'll go mad long before you.  I can feel my daytime smile slip sideways in the night, the blue-as-sky eyes have dimmed to grey, and the clouds outside my window threatening rain seem to have silently overflowed onto my pillow.  I clutch at the empty darkness, wanting you, needing you, knowing you are just out of reach.  A moth fluttering in moonlight half a city away.  I cling to the ledge of memory and pray for the dawn.

 

** The End **


Nights Like This by Lacey McBain

 

 


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