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A Handful of Choices # 2 (Short piece)
Rating: NC 17 for remembered sexual activity. Male/Female consensual.
A continuation of the FF, "The Right Choice" and "A Handful of Choices # 1"
Disclaimer: The characters of the A-Team do not belong to me, but to Stephen J. Cannell.
Feedback: I sure hope so! The more the better.
Face dug through his duffle bag once again. He'd been through it twice already and now knew its contents by heart. One toothbrush, toothpaste, dental floss, extra underwear, socks, and his dark green fatigues, but no olive drab T-shirt.
"Where the hell is it?" Speaking aloud to himself, he hoped no one walked by to wonder why he was losing his cool over a shirt. He wondered why himself, quite honestly.
Stockwell had just briefed the team about their next mission and they had agreed that fatigues were the appropriate attire for this one. Glancing at the neatly folded, dark green uniform stacked atop the accompanying heavy boots, he grimaced in disgust. "I hate fatigues…" As if that weren't enough, he couldn't find the OD shirt that he preferred to wear under the hated garments. It was soft and worn just enough not to chafe under the stiff, heavy outer clothing.
Giving up on the duffle, he flopped on the bed and tried to recall the last time he'd worn it. 'Not here. I haven't worn it here, but I know Hannibal packed it in this bag after my leg surgery. He brought it to me and when I put the bag in the van it should have been in it… No, I was wearing it…. That last night with Meagan, I was wearing it.' The night that he had told her that it wasn't going to happen, that they weren't going to happen. Meagan had pulled it off, over his head and injured arm, allowing it drift heedlessly with the rest of their clothing to the floor. Just before he had fallen onto the bed, pulling her with him, and made love to her for the last time.
Face fell back on the bed; eyes scrunched shut against the images that began to filter through his mind. He groaned aloud, "Face it, Peck. You've lost your mind." Letting his arms fall to rest on his abdomen, he relaxed and just the let the memories come. 'Why fight it? It's useless…"
His mind began to replay the night, starting at the point where he had lost the dratted shirt and continuing through nearly every minute. He recalled how she tasted, how she smelled and felt in his arms. With his eyes closed and his body relaxed, it was almost like experiencing it again. He could taste her mouth, sweet and warm against his. Hot open-mouthed kisses shared over and over again. She smelled delicious, the milk and honey scented lotion she wore had lingered in the air of her room where she applied it every day to her arms, legs, and stomach. Everywhere he caressed, the scent greeted him and he loved it. Her skin soft and supple beneath his roving hands; no exploration had been denied him and he had reveled in the freedom of relearning her every curve and angle.
They had fallen onto the bed, side-by-side, eye-to-eye. He felt, even now, the way her hands had clutched at his arms as he guided her body into position over his hips. He could see her gray eyes lock with his and widen at just the moment he had entered her body, joining them as intimately as possible.
Shivering with the memory, he heard her voice hitch as she breathed out his name when he had shifted into a sitting position. She had fallen against his chest, granting him fuller access to her back and buttocks. Meagan's hands had run up his chest, over the muscles and twined in his hair, tightening when he had leaned forward to muzzle and nip at her breasts and nipples.
Somewhere in the Langley estate, a door slamming roused Face momentarily from his musings. Twisting suddenly onto his stomach to hide his aroused condition should some one appear, he recklessly continued with his private slideshow of memories. He couldn't help it. Sometimes, it just hurt less to let the thoughts come and go, instead of fighting them all the time. He pillowed his head on his arms and saw again Meagan poised above him, joined with him.
He could see clearly how wantonly sexy she had appeared, leaning away, her head fallen back and her eyes closed in that interminable moment of enjoyment just before she had tumbled over the edge. Her body pulsating around him, seemingly gripping him tighter and pulling him deeper had brought him over along with her and soon they were lying, panting, replete in each other's arms.
Feeling a near overwhelming despair, Face again heard her voice, breath warm against his skin, saying, "I will always love you." She'd known even then, that come morning, he would go. That he would pack his things and drive away from her and Natalie. Yet still, she'd trusted him with the most precious words anyone had ever said to him. No conditions, no 'what ifs' or 'how comes'. Just un-demanding love. And he had indeed, packed his things and walked away. No looking back that day. Just the occasional phone call and plans that had never come to fruition.
Standing now, his body brought back under control by the dark turn his thoughts had taken, he stared at the man in the mirror before him. He wondered if she had found the shirt, discarded on the floor and what she had done with it. "Burned it, no doubt. I don't think I blame her at all."
Midnight. Bedtime, again. Meagan pushed her books aside and put away her research materials. She yawned widely and trudged slowly up the steps. 'Maybe tonight, I'm tired enough.'
At the top of the staircase, she opened the first door and saw Natalie, safe and snug in her bed. She covered her just a little better and left for her own room.
At the door she began to shed her clothes, leaving them lying on the floor in a heap. She pulled comfortable shorts from a drawer and pondered what to wear over them. She opened a second drawer and after a moment's hesitation, she pulled, from the very back, a man's dark green T-shirt. "Why not?" She defended her choice to the lady in her mirror. "I haven't thought of him all day…. At least not much…."
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