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Dreams Re-sealed

Dreams Re-sealed

By SnowFlake

 

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

it.

 

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

get home.

 

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

nowhere.

 

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

painfully now.

 

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

instant.

 

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

up.

 

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

there.

 

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.

 

Was he?

 

Face had always been able to hold his liquor, he'd never

been one for black-outs even after nights wilder than

this one.

 

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.

 

Was it?

 

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.

 

Dreams re-sealed.

 

~ The End ~


Dreams Re-sealed by SnowFlake

 

 


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