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This page last viewed: 2017-11-11 and has been viewed 2290 times
Copyright: SnowFlake 2001
Rating: R (SLASHY)
Summary: Murdock reflects on his relationship with Face
Disclaimer: None of these characters belong to me no matter how much I wish they did. I only borrow them and I have made no profit from writing this. If anyone wants to sue me, please don't! I'm terribly under-funded.
Warnings: This story deals with m/m topics. If you are under the legal age of consent in your area or have a problem with the description of male/male sex please READ NO FURTHER! If you choose to read it, don't blame me if it upsets you, I did warn ya! (Although there is nothing graphic in this piece)
Author's note: <text> is Murdock's explicit thoughts.
* * * * * * *
Murdock was standing in the snow, hands deep in his
pockets, shoulders drawn high, kicking slowly at the
pile of white mass. He felt a little hurt over the way
he'd been unceremoniously dropped outside the door,
being told not to come in until he could sit still. But
mostly he was relieved to get out of the claustrophobic
rooms they'd been sharing.
The two run-down motel rooms had seemed to shrink every
minute for the three days they'd been stuck there
because of the blizzard, and he'd been bouncing off the
walls with pent up nervous energy. He just couldn't help
Face's eyes had quietly followed his movements around
the confined space. Face would do that. Observe
silently, trying to find a way to right the wrongs, any
wrongs, any way. Those eyes had always been a lifeline,
but this time they were driving him out of his mind.
After three days of trying to hide from them Murdock
felt wound-up and dead tired, stressed out and numb, all
at the same time. Like he was balancing on the brink to
chaos. He could see its mercurial shadows in the corner
of his eyes. Waiting. Biding its time.
Going back to the VA would be good this time. Good to
He knew he over-played his games, but most of the times
they were just that, games. Most of the times. There to
ward off the monotony of daily routines, to shake people
out of their comfortable, well-rehearsed roles. Play it
straight, and you would see only the polished outer
casing. Throw them a curve ball and they'd be lost, no
carefully prepared replies to help them out. He'd revel
in those moments, stealing a glimpse of the real person,
whoever it was, through the cracks that appeared. Of
course that never worked with the guys.
Never had; never would. He still did it though. Comfort
in routines maybe. But this time he could find comfort
The acting out annoyed the hell out of B.A. He'd growl,
and tell you to shut up. Hannibal took it all in stride.
His measuring eyes would linger only a split second
longer than usual. Sizing you up, searching for
something. And most of the times, when he found whatever
it was, he would simply play along. And tricks certainly
didn't work with Face. Templeton Peck, the uncoronated
king of self-disguise. Not for lack of trying, mind you,
but it would slide right off him. Like water off oil.
Like light off a mirror, bouncing right back, leaving
Murdock the one without answers. Face would occasionally
let him in (all on his own conditions), and Murdock
treasured those moments. Like bottled sunshine, laced
with shadows. Didn't happen often. When it did, you knew
to tread lightly.
Never light enough.
The dirt-white door of the motel room was open, he
suddenly realized. Face was leaning casually against the
doorframe, a silent question being asked. Murdock looked
up at him, squinting at the daylight; thought about it,
then shook his head no. No, he didn't feel like company.
Not Face's company. Not just now. Later. Maybe.
Murdock watched Face as he closed the door behind him.
The feeling of loneliness was as sudden as it was
forceful. Knocking the ground from under his feet, the
air from his lungs, washing away the carefully assembled
structures of his life. He reached down into his pocket
and closed his hand tightly around the dog whistle.
The dog whistle was small and silvery, he knew its every
angle and every detail by touch, having fingered it
constantly for the last six weeks. For Billy, Face had
said, smiling at him when placing the whistle in his
hands. So he can hear you call. And so B.A won't kill
you next time you wake him up hollering for Billy. Face
hadn't said the last thing out loud, but Murdock had
seen it glitter in his eyes. No one else but Billy can
hear it, Face had explained in that soft somber voice he
sometimes used with Murdock.
Face's voice was like that whistle. Murdock would hear
it when no one else could. Little snips of sentences,
fragmented phrases rolling in his head like drops of
water. He would hang on to Face's every word, store all
of them for easy access later on when the loneliness
would creep up. It always did.
Face was the one person who managed to keep him on the
right side of insanity most of the time. But he was so
much more than that. Face was the origin, the true
source, of his dreams.
Dreams re-discovered, re-examined.
That beautiful body (oh, that body), paired with a soul
as true and as gentle as his voice. Murdock had to sit
on his hands sometimes to keep himself from running them
through Face's hair. Like he had a couple of weeks ago.
The two of them had more or less single-handedly emptied
the bar. Finishing a bottle of tequila in less time than
it took to finish a couple of beers any other night.
Just for the fun of it. Just to take the edge off.
Giggling drunkenly, whispering too loud, and leaning
heavily on each other, they had managed to get back to
their shared room for the night. In the harsh light of
the hotel hallway Face had lifted his finger to his lips
and made a failed attempt to hush quietly as they passed
the door behind which B.A and Hannibal were sleeping.
They collapsed in fits of laughter as a boot or
something similar hit the inside of another door with a
loud crash, and a booming voice told them to shut the
fuck up, it was 3:30 in the goddamn morning.
Murdock turned around after locking the door to find
Face standing between the two beds tangled up with his
shirt halfway over his head, giggling madly while trying
to find his way out. Murdock moved over, dizzy from the
tequila, and the sight of Face's smooth body.
With shaky hands Murdock had helped Face lose the shirt,
feeling the warm soft skin under his fingers. Only when
he sensed the change in Face and looked up in his eyes
did he realize that he had let his hand linger on Face's
chest longer than he had planned. Three seconds had
passed, both of them frozen to the spot.
The familiar loneliness had returned from the lulls of
the alcohol-induced haze in a split second, as Murdock
realized his mistake. He withdrew his hand as if Face's
skin suddenly were too hot to touch.
He felt like screaming. Like breaking something. Like
breaking himself. How could he have been so careless? He
couldn't have settled for a little? No, not him, he had
to have it all! He felt like crying. He fell heavily
onto his bed and covered his head with his arms. He had
nothing now. Nothing. Murdock turned to face the wall
and lay still, waiting for the bomb to drop.
But it never did.
Instead a warm hand brushed slowly against his side.
Hesitant. Searching. The warmth radiated through the
thin fabric of the t-shirt and the sensation that spread
through Murdock's body caused him to hiccup. Murdock
could feel the humid warmth of Face's breath against his
ear. The smell of tequila and stale cigarette smoke and
Face surrounded him. Murdock finally couldn't resist
turning around on the bed, but even so he stalled a
moment before raising his eyes to meet those of the man
kneeling next to his bed.
Face's hair was on end after battling the shirt, and he
was unconsciously trying to smooth it down with one
hand. A devilish grin was playing on Face's lips and it
was mirrored in his glossy eyes, shiny with the effects
of the alcohol, and something else. Something Murdock
had never expected to see there. Something that looked
an awful lot like lust.
Pure, unadulterated, simmering lust.
Before Murdock could ponder this turn of events Face
grabbed him by the front of the T-shirt and pulled him
close, his eyes only inches from Murdock's. Then Face
kissed him; first lightly, tasting him, letting his lips
find Murdock's, then more intensely, probing with his
tongue, exploring. Murdock didn't know when he had
gotten to his knees on the bed and responded to the
deepening kiss. His body was in charge now, and he found
himself along for the ride.
Getting up from the bed he let his left hand grab a
fistful of sandy hair and he pulled Face even closer,
while his right wandered down Face's bare back in
urgent, frenzied motions. Face's hands were roaming
under Murdock's shirt, short nails almost clawing at
Murdock's sides in his excitement, making the pilot moan
with the excitement that surged through him. The buzz in
Murdock's head was growing steadily now, a mix of
tequila and arousal. Swelling. Expanding. Overshadowing
reason. With a single motion, Murdock shoved Face
backwards onto the other bed and straddled him without
breaking the kiss. The hotel room was silent except for
their breathing between the kisses.
Face's cheeks were flushed and his frenetic hands were
as good as ripping the T-shirt off of Murdock's body.
Leaving Face's lips just long enough to get his head out
of the shirt, Murdock threw it clean across the other
bed, smashing the bedside lamp in the process.
Face's hands were growing bolder. His fingers were
kneading Murdock's ass, while his hips were moving under
Murdock. Letting his lips explore, Murdock lowered
himself down and kissed Face's neck, smelling the almost
non-perceptible scent of his after-shave. He let his
hand run down over Face's hair, over his eyes, over his
cheek, and hissed as Face suddenly sucked one finger
into his mouth. The wet warm tongue swirled around his
digit, and Murdock almost lost it as Face began to suck
slowly at it. Face expertly worked his mouth around
Murdock's finger, slipping it in and out of his mouth
while holding on to the wrist, making sure Murdock did
not pull away.
Murdock steered his own mouth downwards and found Face's
nipple, sucking at the soft skin hungrily. His hands
followed his mouth downwards, and they stopped at the
top of Face's jeans. He slipped two fingers between the
fabric and the warm skin and ran them slowly to the
front and started unbuttoning the jeans. Murdock let his
hands brush across Face's groin, and the reaction was a
sharp intake of air. Murdock shifted above Face, tried
to find a position that was even remotely comfortable.
His own erection was pressing against his own jeans
He had unbuttoned the last of Face's jeans buttons, and
proceeded to remove the obstructing piece of clothing
when he noticed that Face's hands were no longer moving.
They were still at the sides of his body. Hands clenched
in tight fists. Face was staring at Murdock, lips
pressed firmly together, eyes pleading silently. It
brought Murdock back from his soaring heights in an
He wanted Face so much. God, he wanted him so much it
hurt! But it shouldn't happen like this. He let his body
slump next to Face's rigid form a second. Shouldn't want
it like this.
<Are you kidding!?!? You'll take it any way you can and
you know it!> He was taken aback with the acidity of his
own thought. Taken aback and suddenly ashamed; it was
uncomfortably close to the truth.
Face had squirmed out from under him without a word,
eyes downcast. Had stumbled into the bathroom and thrown
During the remaining hours of the night Murdock sat in
the bathroom doorway, back against one side, bare feet
propped up against the other, watching Face sleep curled
up on the tiled floor. Late next morning Face woke up
under the blanket Murdock had placed over him, with a
hefty hang-over and no recollection of anything past the
sixth shot of tequila.
But the memories were eating away at Murdock. He had
taken advantage of Face in the worst possible way. Being
drunk was no excuse. Face being drunk was no excuse
either. Fuck! That should've been the only reason he
needed to back off.
Describing Face as being starved for affection would
only be scratching at the surface. He was forever trying
to still his hunger with quick snacks of sexual release
with no substance. Bound to fail. How could Murdock not
have seen what Face was doing?
Face had always been there for him when he was balancing
too close to the crumbling edges of his sanity. Right up
there beside him to support him, comfort him, yell at
him, when all he wanted was to jump off a cliff and not
remember anything. In his heart Murdock knew that the
reason Face was so skillful at defusing him was that he
was just as familiar with that cliff as Murdock was.
Face knew every detail, every treacherous pebble of it
by heart; he had visited it too many times on his own.
And he always seemed just a little too comfortable up
The alcohol had disabled most of Face's defense grid
that night, leaving him wide open for anyone and
anything. Murdock had been that anyone, and he had done
that anything. Face had floated along on the highs of
booze and hormones, until it hit home. And then in his
haze he'd gotten scared. Scared that he'd end up like
he'd done before. Beaten and bloody. Bruised and broken.
And what had Murdock done?
Nothing. Abandoning him in his fear. And Face wasn't
even aware of it.
Face had always been able to hold his liquor, he'd never
been one for black-outs even after nights wilder than
Face's eyes had held a distant look lately, and Murdock
wasn't quite sure but he seemed to get that smile a lot
these days. The one that meant nothing and everything at
once. That too genuine smile that told Murdock it wasn't
real at all.
He blinked the snow from his lashes. Daylight was gone,
he suddenly noticed. Only a hint of bluish light still
lingered in the freezing air. His freezing hands were
aching, how long had he been staring into empty space?
The light escaping through the crack between the dirty
curtains was soft and warm. The sound of a radio playing
somewhere further down the row of doors floated
tentatively in the darkening air. Soft harmonies, lyrics
just out of reach.
<Love you, Face. Want nothing more than to have all of
you. But if you can't give that I'll take what I can
get. And never regret it. Never. I'm sorry, Face. Don't
hate me, please. I'd do anything for you, you know
that.> Murdock smiled woefully at his own thoughts. No,
not true. There was one thing he would not do.
<Love you. Need you so bad. But baby, if you ever feel
like jumping again, go get yourself another cliff. This
one was just declared out of bounds>.
Murdock lifted his hand to the door handle. Held it
there, felt the cold metal under his fingers. <Okay,
here we go.> He placed a smile on his face, took one
last deep breath and stepped inside.
~ The End ~
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