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... slashfic, what else?
This story has been gone from the internet for a while ("quoth the server, 404" indeed), but I have a copy on a backup CD that I've dragged out and dusted off for the holidays. It's A-Team, it's Face/Murdock, and it's one of the nicest little fanfics I've ever read in any genre.
Merry Christmas, all you crazy folks. I love ya. ^_^
TITLE: Mistletoe and Wine
AUTHOR: Madelyn Scott, 1998
FANDOM: The A-Team
PAIRING: Face/Murdock
RATING: NC-17
___________________________________________
Murdock's laughter was verging on hysteria. "Colonel, come on, you're kidding, right? You got to be kidding! Really and truly?"
He'd been asking much the same thing over and over again for the past fifteen minutes, in a rising tone of greater disbelief each time, and for the past fifteen minutes, Hannibal had been patiently answering, "No, I'm not kidding. Yes, really."
"That big ugly mudsucker as Santa Claus?!"
"BA only promised as a favor to the daycare. The guy they usually have went down with flu, or food poisoning, or something." Hannibal waved his breakfast cigar in a dismissive way. "Now, the only reason he agreed to take a commercial flight back to LA with me this morning is because he doesn't want to be late and let those kids down on Christmas Eve. So let's just keep nice and quiet about this, huh? Before he changes his mind again."
"Of course, Colonel," replied Murdock. "My lips are sealed." The pilot made a motion of closing a zipper over his mouth, and folded his hands in his lap before settling back on the couch, the picture of wide-eyed innocence. Taking BA's sudden entrance as a cue, he softly began to hum 'Santa Claus Is Coming To Town'.
BA spun round to glare first at Murdock, then at his commanding officer.
"You told him, Hannibal!!" he bellowed. "You swore to me you wouldn't tell no-one!"
"BA, it's nothing to be ashamed about."
"Yeah, you got nothing to hide, big guy," Murdock chirped. "Personally, I happen to think that it's a very beautiful thing to do, bringin' a little magic to the kids."
"Yeah...well..." BA's scowling features mellowed slightly.
"I'm just curious about one thing, though..."
"What, fool?"
"Doesn't hitching those reindeer to the van scratch the paintwork?"
**********
Face just managed to sidestep quickly enough as he came in the front door of the lodge to avoid being mown down by a fleeing Murdock, with the larger bulk of BA close behind him. The pilot's longer legs kept him in the lead by a nose up to the trees, where he then proceeded to use the screen of bare branches as a cover and pelt his assailant with a steady volley of snowballs.
Face rolled his eyes.
"BA, what -" he started to call, then decided not to bother as BA, turning towards the sound of his voice, received a well-aimed snowball in his left ear. "Uh, never mind," the lieutenant finished, lamely, and scraping his boots against the step, retreated inside.
Hannibal looked up as Face entered the front room. "Get the money, kid?"
"Ah. One moment -" Face reached inside his top pocket with a smile and produced a fat sealed envelope. "For cleaning out one lumber yard of one drug smuggling operation," he announced, "exactly ten thousand dollars and seventy-one cents, all in cash, as promised."
"Counted, I hope?"
Face's most shocked, reproachful expression slid into place. "Colonel, I still can't *believe* that you think Maryanne would try and short-change us."
The other man grinned. "Just call me naturally cautious. Hand it over."
"Hannibal, I told you, the two of us go back a long way! We dated in high school. And she was the only person apart from Father Magill at the orphanage who ever wrote me a letter from home during 'Nam."
"What did she want you to do - mail her a jeep in time for the next mountain vacation?"
"I don't have any idea why you and everyone else always seem to assume the worst about Maryanne. Sure, she might not always lay all her cards on the table right away, but she's a great kid!"
"Face, I'm sorry. It's just that every time Maryanne decides to look you up, it's because she needs something doing cheap, for free, or that no-one else will touch because they know they're going to end up in jail or part of a flyover by the end of it."
"You're just a born cynic, you know that?" Face said, tossing the money into Hannibal's lap.
He really didn't know what the Colonel was complaining about. As missions went, this one had almost been like a vacation; certainly a darn sight better than the year before, when part of Hannibal's plan at the time had involved Face spending most of the last week before the holidays dressed as a bus boy in a Mafia-infested hotel in Vegas. Chippewa, where Maryanne had started up her latest business venture in lumber, was a picturesque little town in SouthWest Ontario, a Christmas card fantasy of churches, unfiltered sun and lacy frost-embroidered trees.
Murdock seemed to adore the place more than anyone. Face couldn't remember when he had last seen the pilot as happy and relaxed, and it made him glad. He felt closer to Murdock than he'd ever felt to anyone else in his life, and doubted he would ever feel again. It was a strange kind of closeness, no more, no less, than he felt for the tough surface and warm heart of BA, or for the Colonel who was the father he had never had. Just different, in a way he could never quite put his finger on; there for a moment at a time, then melting away like a dream before he could begin to understand it.
Sometimes, when he held his friend, comforting him after another nightmare, Murdock would respond with a new ardor, which in turn stimulated a corresponding sensual warmth in Face. They could only maintain that level of intimacy for a few minutes at a time before Face would have to back off. The relationship he and Murdock shared was a joy in an uncertain life, but it was a guilty joy. He often wondered where the silken threads that bound him to his friend would end up leading them to. So he kept returning to the old beaten, familiar ground, and leaving behind a confused and obviously frustrated Murdock. Face's rational mind was too afraid to turn what he was feeling into words, but it would come, nevertheless, and when it was gone again, it left him a little empty.
A slam of the door at that moment indicated the return of BA and a wet, shivering Murdock.
"Colonel, I wanna file a complaint! BA shoved snow down my neck! Now, there were no witnesses, but I have evidence that I believe *will* stand up!"
"You ain't gonna be standing up much longer, sucka, if you ask me fo' directions to the North Pole one more time!"
"BA, you could just try and enter into the Christmas spirit," suggested Hannibal.
"Ah, Hannibal," interjected Face, "you *have* got an entire weekend of the lovely Doctor Sullivan's hospitality ahead. Don't you think that gives you more to look forward to than the rest of us?"
"Very romantic, Colonel," agreed Murdock. "Alone on Christmas Eve...a few drinks, a brush under the mistletoe. Who knows what might happen?"
Then he gave Face a very peculiar look. If Face had had to choose a word to describe that look, it could only have been 'sultry'. It lingered for just a second, then was gone, fading behind the pilot's usual spark of good humor again and leaving a slightly stunned Face to wonder if he had imagined what he'd seen in it. He often thought that Murdock was the kind of person who never fundamentally changed, just revealed new and surprising aspects of themselves from time to time.
"Aren't you two looking forward to this afternoon?" asked Hannibal.
"Correction - *Murdock's* looking forward to this afternoon. I happen to think that people who let a one and a half thousand pound moose run loose every Christmas are just a little crazy."
"Face, I told you, it's Chippewa's big attraction this time of year!" Murdock protested vehemently. "I talked to this gal in the drugstore. A guy named Bob Pienkowski owns Mitch, and on Christmas Eve, he dresses him up as Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer, and Mitch pulls a sleigh from Bob's place to the door of the Four Seasons Inn. The whole town turns out to watch. C'mon, Faceguy, you're gonna love every minute of it! And we'll be on the plane and outta here by 2PM!"
"I'm going to hold you to that. That invite for dinner at the country club tonight's still standing."
The pilot threw his arm around his friend's shoulders with a dazzling smile. "Face, I promise you, man, you are gonna have the best Christmas of your entire life!"
"Don't hang around here too long, guys. There's more snow on the way." Hannibal finished counting the last bundle of bills, and looked up with a grin. "Well, whaddya know? Maryanne didn't try and stiff us. That has to be a good omen."
**********
Despite Face's misgivings, Mitch's yearly parade through Chippewa turned out to be as big an attraction as Murdock had described. For an hour now, the streets had been lined with people waiting for the moose to make his appearance, eager to greet their favorite symbol of the holidays. A holly-trimmed banner above the door of the inn depicted a Bullwinkle caricature with a shiny red nose. Lots of residents were wearing plastic moose antlers. Through the ethereal effect of the falling snow, the whole thing gave the impression of ancient pagans preparing for the descent of some bestial god from the heavens.
A man carrying a camera threaded his way through the crowds to where Face and Murdock were standing.
"Have your picture taken with Mitch? Only a dollar fifty a shot!"
"Maybe later," Face said hastily.
"Okay, well, remember to pick up your badges! They're on sale right over there near the hot dogs." Beaming, he tapped a metal disc pinned to his lapel that read, beneath the same cartoon Bullwinkle, 'Chippewa Moose Jamboree 1983'.
"Hey, you got anything else with that same little moose on?" asked Murdock between mouthfuls from his bag of popcorn.
"Sure thing - T-shirts, bumper stickers, balloons for the kids..."
"Bumper stickers? Man, I *have* to get BA one for the van!"
"Ah, Murdock -" Face steered the pilot away with a discreet hand on his elbow.
A collective cheer suddenly rose from the revelers around them, heralding the appearance of the man of the moment. The fully grown bull, who stood at least six feet high, plodded along quite placidly on the end of a leading rein beside what must be Bob, apparently not in the least perturbed about the evergreen-festooned sleigh sliding along behind him, or the wreath of Christmas roses and poinsettias around his neck. Tiny bells jingled from his harness, and the whole spectacle was crowned by red velvet ribbons looped about his impressive spread of horns. To Face's horror, five hundred people took the appearance as a cue to break into a song extolling the virtues of the noble moose.
"Oh, my God," moaned the lieutenant softly.
"It is wonderful, isn't it?" said a young blonde at his side, overhearing and totally misinterpreting his words. Her small round face shone. "We're so privileged...sharing our celebrations with one of Nature's most majestic creatures. He even has a full rack this time," she beamed.
"Rack?" queried Face, completely lost now.
"Antlers. Oh, don't you know? Male moose shed their antlers around December, and the new growth starts in Spring. Mitch lost his before Christmas last year, and he had to wear a pair of these!" She inclined her head, tapping her own plastic horns, and narrowly avoiding gouging Face's eye out with a point.
"Isn't it a little - ah - dangerous, having a wild animal around like that?"
"Mitch? He's as gentle as a lamb. Bob found him in the woods when he was a calf. Some hunter had shot his mother," she added darkly. "So Bob hand reared him. Mitch is kind of his baby."
Some baby, Face thought, watching the town's personal reindeer nearby, delicately accepting young tree shoots and vegetable treats with his enormous teeth. Murdock held out some particularly tender cabbage leaves, crooning sentimentally to the moose. As Mitch drew close, his senses apparently tuned in on something particularly appealing. His nostrils began to flare, and a series of low, but powerful grunting noises resonated from his shaggy muzzle that made the hairs prickle down Face's back. There was a look in Mitch's eye he didn't like at all, and it was directed straight at him. He tried to back off, but discovered that a solid phalanx of people were jamming the sidewalk behind him by then, all eager to take their turn petting the animal. Bob, who finally seemed to have noticed something was amiss, tried to halt the progress of his 1,500 pound pet with his own 180 pounds, and, unsurprisingly, failed. Thick strands of saliva hanging from his jaw, Mitch lunged forward.
**********
At exactly 2PM, the whole structure of the lodge shook as an exhausted, disheveled figure collapsed through the door, then again as he slammed it heavily behind him. His thick ash blond hair looked like it had doubled as a floor mop. Bruises of various colors adorned his body, and there was blood seeping through a vicious tear in his pants leg from a graze beneath. The soft, pale leather and suede of his jacket was covered with what looked like a mixture of coarse matted hairs and drool. He caught sight of himself in the mirror and moaned. Someone banged on the door.
"Who is it?"
"Creature from the Black Lagoon. Me, HM. C'mon, Face, open up!"
Limping slightly, Face crossed the room and opened the door again, letting in Murdock and a swirl of freezing snow.
"You okay?" his friend asked.
"Oh, as well as can be expected, I guess, considering I've just been almost trampled to death by a moose! That's a four footed killing machine that guy keeps in his back yard!"
"Face, Mitch isn't dangerous."
"Maybe somebody ought to try telling *him* that!"
"No, really. I just talked to Bob. You know them little sounds the big guy was making? That was..." he paused, as if not quite sure how best to soften the blow, "...a mating call."
"WHAT?"
"Bob thinks you must be wearing an aftershave lotion or somethin' that makes you smell like a lady moose."
Face flopped down on the couch. "Well, congratulations, Murdock. I am totally humiliated. You've just been privileged to witness one of the worst days of my entire life!"
"Uh...it gets better, Face."
The lieutenant laughed humorlessly. "Don't tell me. You forgot where you parked the plane?"
"Nope. But I did forget how heavy the snow was getting. No way is anything taking off out there now. I may be crazy, but I'd have to be nuts to try a stunt like that!"
"So we're stuck here?"
"Looks that way, don't it?"
Face groaned and buried himself in the cushions again.
**********
A cloud of steam filled the room and fragrant, blissful warmth surrounded the lieutenant's body as he lowered himself into the bathtub with a sigh. For a few minutes, he just lay there, letting it soak through him all the way to his bones, easing the bruises. Then he reluctantly sat up, ran some more hot water, and after a brief hunt for the sponge, began to scrub himself down seriously.
Murdock had suggested that Face took a nice long bath while he went back into town to pick up a few supplies. It might help him relax, he said, as well as clean up. And it was actually kind of nice, basking here in the warm and watching the soft silent flurries of snow brushing the window in the fading light. Face supposed that there were worse places to be stranded in overnight, and with worse people. Murdock proposed an evening of movie watching if the weather didn't take out the TV reception. Face found himself humming a few bars of 'White Christmas' as he washed. Something sentimental? A schlocky horror flick?
The balmy air was making him feel quite heady and drowsy. He lay back in the water, wriggling his toes in contentment, and closed his eyes.
It only seemed like he had been dozing for a few minutes, when he heard his name softly spoken. He stirred, frowning slightly as he gradually let the light filter in. He could make out a figure standing at the end of the bathtub, silhouetted against the last blood-red stains of winter sunset.
"Murdock? I didn't hear you come in."
He heard, rather than saw, the pilot's smile. "You looked cosy there, Face. I didn't want to wake you. But now you're awake anyway..."
He moved around the side of the bathtub with an slow, lazy grace, and Face felt his heart begin to thump violently against his ribs. The pilot was wearing nothing except a pair of *very* brief red briefs, that offered no distraction at all from the shape of a magnificent erection. The younger man tried to speak, but his parched throat seemed unable to produce sound. It took every ounce of strength he had to form the words, "M-Murdock, I -"
"Ssh..." His friend leaned over the tub and touched a finger to Face's lips. He straightened again, and still in the same unhurried way, divested himself of the last remains of his clothing. Then Face felt the temperature of the water rise by what felt like at least thirty degrees as Murdock clambered in in front of him, and slid up the tub in a gentle scoosh of soap bubbles to kneel between his parted legs. The pilot brushed some of the foam aside to reveal Face's own stiffened cock in all its glory.
"That looks uncomfortable, Face," Murdock murmured. "Here, why doncha let me take care of that for you, huh..?"
And beautiful sensitive fingers wrapped themselves around Face's hardness beneath the water and began to glide, up and down, up and down his length, stroking and teasing and urging him to a level of ecstasy he'd never even dreamed of before... He closed his eyes and moaned wantonly.
"Murdock..."
"Face? Hey, Faceguy, wake up!"
Face opened his eyes with a jolt, staring up from the water. It felt tepid now, but he was sweating, and his body was on fire with need. To his immense relief, a large spread of bubbles were still floating on the surface, modestly veiling the most obvious manifestation. Murdock was standing beside the bathtub, dressed in jeans and a clean shirt. Face felt his color rising rapidly. If he had talked out loud..!
"I got back a half hour ago," Murdock offered. "I knocked a couple times, but you'd dozed right on off. So I figured I'd check you hadn't drowned on me."
"No - no, I'm fine." Face squirmed, hoping that the primary reason for his awkwardness wasn't as unmistakable as it felt. His senses ached with the sheer physical awareness, as if when he looked at Murdock, he didn't just look at him with his eyes, but with all five of his senses at once. When he looked at the skin of his throat and the fuzzy dark hair exposed at his open shirt collar, he was smelling it. When he looked at his mouth, he was tasting it. When he looked at his hands, he was feeling their touch, rolling and drowning in the sensations of his dream over again. The spell was abruptly broken when a fluffy white towel was dropped over his head.
"C'mon, then, if you're all de-moosed! I brought food. And I managed to get a pretty good fire going, so at least we won't freeze to death here tonight."
Murdock vanished, leaving Face to slowly stand up and climb out of the tub. Then he heard a noise, and just managed to throw the towel around his waist as the pilot stuck his head back round the door with a grin.
"Hey, want me to dry your back?"
"No!"
Murdock pretended to pull a face and disappeared again. That was a lie for a start, Face thought. He couldn't think of anything that would have felt better at that moment than Murdock standing behind him, his breath just stirring the downy hairs on the back of Face's neck as his arms swathed him in warm towel, rubbing large circles over his moist skin, over his shoulders, his thighs, his buttocks...
"Damn," Face muttered under his breath. He began to dry himself quickly, almost roughly, as if trying to scour his body of more than just water.
He let the bathwater go, wrapped the towel around his waist again, and went down the hall to the rear bedroom. Locating the small suitcase he'd carefully re-packed that morning, Face clicked it open, and rummaged through the neatly folded clothes for something clean to wear. Eventually he too settled for the plain shirt and jeans with a sigh. Not quite the tux that was waiting in vain for him this evening in his closet in LA.
There was a definite smell of food being prepared coming from the kitchen. He sniffed. Something Chinese? He found Murdock surrounded by plates and grocery bags, frying diced bacon and onion in a pan on the stove.
"Roll up your sleeves and help me out here, huh, Face?"
The cheerful tone of his friend's voice and the bright, warm kitchen reassured Face some. His body started to feel like it was under his control once again. A dream was only a dream. If only it hadn't felt so real - or so damned good. A faint shudder trickled down his spine at the flash of memory. Heat and bubbles, glistening skin against skin. Turning on the faucet, he quickly washed his hands.
"What d'you need me to do?"
"Okay...uh...there's red peppers in *that* bag, and green peppers in *that* one. Now, you want to take those, and chop 'em up real small."
Face emptied out the two bags onto the counter and searched out a knife. "I never knew you could cook, Murdock."
"Face, it's only Chinese fried rice."
"Yes, but I never knew you could cook, period."
Murdock smiled into his pan. "Well, there's still a few things you don't know about me. There's some things I don't know about you, even after thirteen years. Maybe we could use this time to get to know each other a little better."
"Maybe," echoed Face, going back to chopping.
"You don't sound too sure."
"Sometimes I think we're already too close."
For a few minutes, the room was silent except for the tap of the knife and the hiss of hot oil. Then Murdock said, brightly, "Hey, guess what I found out in the woodshed when I was bringin' in those logs for the fire?"
"From what I saw of that woodshed, I'm not sure I want to know," answered Face with a smile, grateful for a change of topic.
"A Christmas tree! And any house that keeps a Christmas tree has to keep decorations too, that's logic. I'm gonna try and find 'em after we've eaten. Are you done with those peppers?"
"Pretty much."
Murdock transferred the contents of the pan to a plate and replaced it with a trayful of previously cooked rice.
"Okay, you put what you got in too," he instructed, and once Face had obeyed, presented him with the spatula he had been using with an air of the utmost importance. "Now, Face, you keep stirring that - all the time, or it'll burn. And then all we'll have left is re-heated macaroni cheese, 'cause it's the only thing in the house BA didn't eat."
"Murdock, if there's one thing I hate, it's macaroni cheese."
"Then you got a good incentive, haven't you?" The pilot began to search through the grocery bags again. "Oh, *please* don't tell me I forgot to pick up any sauce!" he moaned.
Face looked out of the window into the gathering darkness. Christmas Eve. Christmas was supposed to bring out the big kid in everyone, happy memories of presents and candy and huddling under the bedclothes straining to catch a sound of distant sleigh bells in the sky.
He remembered a day in school when he must have been around seven years old. The Christmas holidays were almost upon them, and excitement was hanging so heavily in the air that it was almost tangible. After trying and failing to start a lesson, the teacher had given up and gotten them all engrossed in making Christmas cards in crayon and shiny paper, or writing their letters to Santa Claus telling him what they please wanted for Christmas.
Face had sat there for a long time after his letter was finished, watching the other kids chatter as they made long, long lists of toys and books and games. His own letter was very short. He didn't want much, only the same thing he'd asked for when he blew out the candles on the birthday cake they'd made him last summer, the same thing he always asked for on stars and wishbones and when he and somebody else said the same thing at the same time. That somebody would be passing by the orphanage one day and see him playing baseball in the yard, and think that the boy with the blond hair and blue eyes looked so nice that they wanted to adopt him and take him home to be a part of their family.
'You say chimney, I say smoke; then our wish will never be broke.'
But it never worked. So after a while Face stopped wishing. Then he grew up, and went to college, and then to Vietnam. And while they were out there fighting, he didn't feel the lack of a family so keenly; his unit was his family. But after they came back, it was different. He could never bear to be alone, especially at Christmas.
"Murdock?"
"Yeah?"
"Do you remember any Christmas when you were a kid? One that was really special?"
The pilot leaned against the table. He nodded slowly. "The year I turned fourteen, I guess. My grandfather gave me a present. I guess he hadn't given it to me before because he had some idea about me finally reaching the age of worthy manhood." A grin worked its way over his face. "Or more likely 'cause he knew what ideas it was going to put in my head. Anyway, he gave me this teeny, tiny little package, and he told me it had been brought for my mother after my father was killed, and she kept it with her all the time 'til she died."
"What was it?" asked Face.
"My father's pilot wings. I still got them. They're in a box back in my room at the VA." An ominous sizzling sound suddenly interrupted Murdock, and his nostalgic look faded. "Face, you quit stirring!" he yelped.
"What? Oh!" Face turned back to the pan and began hastily scraping the food in it around.
"Not like that; like this." Murdock had scooted up behind him, and Face felt his friend slipping his arms under his own so he was able to watch what he was doing over the slightly smaller man's shoulder while he carefully guided hand and spatula. "See, you just keep stirring it round and round, nice and slow and steady...kind of folding it over on itself..."
His breath as he pronounced certain words lightly lifted the fine hairs on the back of Face's neck. The lieutenant felt goosebumps rising. He imagined - was it only imagination? - that he could feel Murdock's heat through the thin layer of cotton that separated them, the strong regular pulse of his heart. He could *smell* him, even above the food, a contrasting yet wholly delightful combination of minty bubblegum freshness and warm, intimate musk. A long, suggestive shudder went through him as his helpless body shamelessly voiced its needs. As he felt the response, Murdock gave a tiny sigh, and melted up against Face's back, transforming their contact into a warm embrace. His fingers dropped down and began a slow tour of the contours of Face's hip bone. When they began to creep relentlessly around to the front of his pelvis, the younger man pulled sharply away with an intake of breath.
"Murdock, I can't do this! I'm sorry. I want to, but I can't."
"Face, trust me. Just relax! There's only one thing I want you to do."
"Oh? And what's that?"
"I want you to stop being so nervous of all this. We might only be here one night, but while we *are* here, you are gonna unwind, de-stress, and ease up on all of that restraint and moderation of yours. Just go with the flow! What happens, happens, and what doesn't happen, doesn't happen. No strings. Just fun. Okay?"
Uncertainly, Face nodded. He trusted Murdock. He felt safer and more cared for with the eccentric pilot than with possibly anyone he'd ever met, but that was as long as there was clear and certain boundaries to come up against, invisible lines they never crossed, unspoken rules they never broke. Now there were no rules, and it made the ground feel a little shaky beneath his feet. If he fell tonight, he wasn't sure he'd ever be able to climb back up again. He wasn't sure he'd want to. And that was the scariest part of all.
**********
The meal was delicious, and the sauce, which had turned up in the end, surprisingly spicy. They ate off of their knees on the couch, and afterwards, went to search the closets for likely looking Christmas decoration boxes, finally emerging triumphant. Murdock had managed to secure a couple of bottles of white wine on his grocery mission, and he and Face worked their way through them while they hung garlands and wreaths and wound strings of lights around the tree. The tree was slightly worn, but some strategic placing of glitzy baubles and tinsel hid the worst parts, and by the time it was crowned with a gauzy winged angel, the whole effect was one of holiday splendor.
They sat back to admire their efforts. Face stared up at the top of the tree.
"That angel looks crooked."
"No, Face," Murdock informed him, "you're just drunk."
"Ah, come on! I only had two glasses!"
"Six."
"Six?"
"Six."
"How many have you had?"
"Four."
Face picked up a bottle and looked at it. It did appear to be almost empty, to his surprise. He blinked at the tree lights and they went kind of furry around the edges. He frowned.
"Uh...why don't you go sit down, Face?" suggested Murdock with a grin.
Face thought for a moment. "I'm going to sit down for a while," he announced.
"What a great idea! Now why didn't *I* think of that?"
"Because you've had too much to drink," replied Face self-righteously, curling up in a corner of the couch and promptly falling asleep.
**********
When he opened his eyes, it was dark outside. The only light in the room came from the glow of the fire and the twinkling spots of fairy color cast by the tree. Face ran his tongue around his lips, tasting the sweet, stale flavor of lingering alcohol. For a moment, his brain told him he was in bed. He tried to roll over, and instead almost fell off of the edge of the couch, cracking the side of his head on a protruding section of polished frame.
"Shit!"
Murdock leaned over him. "Hey, Sleepin' Beauty. Feeling better?"
"Hmmmm, kinda fuzzy... How long was I out for?"
"Two, maybe three hours. 'Aquamaniac vs. the Killer Bunnies from Outer Space' was on before the picture got too bad. You didn't even wake up when Hannibal did his thing."
"I'll catch it next time around." Face straightened up too quickly, and winced as his stiff body violently protested.
Murdock sat down beside him. "You okay?"
"Ache. Had places bruised today I didn't know were there."
Then, gradually, the signals from his nerve endings that were entering his foggy brain began to inform him of the presence of hands. Slow, gentle hands on his shoulders, massaging, pulling, squeezing out the knots in his muscles. Kneading him like clay.
"That feel nice?" asked a soft voice.
There really weren't any words to describe how nice it felt, so Face chose instead to just give a long sigh. It seemed to translate, because his friend murmured, "Good," and continued to work him. First his fingers would begin at the outer edges of Face's shoulders and move inwards. Then they would trail down his spine before spreading outwards again in a wide butterfly sweep to apply the pressure to his shoulder blades before sliding fluidly apart and beginning the entire luxurious cycle again. Face let his head drop forward to allow better access to the nape of his neck. Ah, he could fall asleep like this, just dissolve into a pool of boneless contentment...
His senses darted back into cohesion again when he realized that those tranquilizing hands had tugged his shirt out from the waist of his jeans somewhere along the way, and were now sliding beneath it, performing the same motions as before on his bare skin. He tensed.
"Murdock -"
He got a gentle shove for his worries.
"Remember what we said about relaxing, hmm?" Murdock was turning him on the cushions now as he let his hands run down from Face's armpits to his waist, repositioning him so that he was sitting lengthwise on the couch with the pilot kneeling behind him. "You're gonna be *sooo* relaxed by the time I'm done, Faceman, that you are gonna melt all over this couch."
Murdock's hands never stopped moving all the while he spoke. Face felt him draw them out from beneath the loose cotton slowly, as if with deep reluctance, before slipping his arms through Face's just as he'd done over the kitchen stove and starting to undo his buttons. The lieutenant opened his mouth.
"Face..." Murdock murmured in his ear.
He swallowed. "I know. Relax."
The pilot gave a throaty chuckle. "You catch on quick, Faceman."
Thumbs brushed the pink buds of Face's nipples, then began to trace intricate circles around their tips. A thrill shot through his body that forced a gasp from the desert dryness of his throat. His shirt seemed coarse and scratchy all of a sudden, caressing and stimulating every pore of his skin, every follicle. But, yes, now it was being eased off - he didn't protest - and dropped to the floor. And arms were round his waist winding him slowly and surely in, like a prize catch, until he was hugged up tight against Murdock's chest, pillowed against him in the corner of the couch. For the first time, he felt evidence that his friend wasn't in quite the same state of relaxation he'd talked about. The other man's heart was throbbing hard against Face's back. Strange. He didn't realize that his own heart was threatening to burst through his ribs until he felt it matching Murdock's. Heat flooded him all the way to his groin, infusing his cock with unmistakable life.
"If there's anything you're not happy about, Face," Murdock said softly, "tell me to stop, and I'll stop, that's a promise."
Face conveyed his assent with a low murmur. Murdock nudged him over slightly so that he was laying in the crook of the pilot's legs, his head pillowed against his shoulder. He nuzzled into Face's mop of silky pale hair to plant a kiss somewhere deep beneath. With one finger, he traced a featherlight path down the center of his friend's chest, twirling a few fond little circles around his small navel. Face gave a tiny moan.
"Murdock..." It was a plea this time, not a protest.
"Patience is a virtue, you know, Faceman." Murdock slid down to the growing swelling between Face's legs, and gently cupped his shape, smiling in delight when it elicited another gasp.
Face was finding it hard to get a breath. All he could do was watch as those fascinating, expert fingers traced around the strained seams of his jeans a few more times before reaching for the fastener. He felt it open, the downward motion of his zipper. When Murdock told him, "Lift up," his brain was barely functioning enough to respond. It took every bit of strength he had to raise his hips so that pants and shorts could be coaxed and wriggled down to release his aching cock.
He arched into Murdock's touch with a soundless cry. And all was heat and sweat and slippery skin as Murdock wrapped long fingers around Face's erection and began sliding up and down, pumping him, milking him. First quickly, then slower, using his thumb on the glistening jewel of the swollen head. Face writhed slowly, trying to increase the sensation, and at the same feeling his lover's own hardness pressing against his buttocks. Murdock gave a gasp of his own as the friction picked up.
"Oh, God - Face -!"
The fingers of his left hand were tangled in the rumpled mop of Face's hair; those of his right switched from the younger man's shaft to his balls and back again, repeating the sequence, delving into the fragrant heat between his thighs as if he'd never get enough. Face could feel Murdock's breaths coming rapidly, burning against the pulse at his temple. He shuddered. Cried out. And came, his orgasm tearing from him as if it had been building up inside for a hundred years.
When he came back to earth, Murdock was smiling down at him, the hand that had gripped his hair now combing it slowly through his fingers.
"Hey there, Faceguy. Welcome back."
Face opened his mouth. "Hey," he managed to get out.
"How're you feeling?"
"I don't know - I -" He paused. "Murdock - what just happened here?"
"Well...uh..."
"No, I mean...I know what *happened*! I just meant...what...how..?"
The pilot trailed the tip of his little finger along his partner's cheekbone. "I think you managed to relax at last, Face."
Face levered himself up, and turned round to kneel across Murdock's calves, feeling the stickiness on his own belly and thighs, the damp patch on the pilot's jeans underneath him. It made him feel peculiarly wanton, sitting here naked with Murdock still wearing most of his clothes. The feeling became mixed with both love and guilt as he stared silently at the unfulfilled bulge of Murdock's erection. Someone was prepared to give him that incredible gift of pleasure and not ask for anything in return?
"You don't look very relaxed, though," he answered.
Murdock just smiled even more widely and held out both of his hands. "Come here," he said softly.
Chest to chest, smooth skin brushing against dark hair, they snuggled together, sprinkling delicate feathery kisses on eyelids and noses and cheeks. Eventually Murdock buried his fingers in Face's hair once again, and guided him in to meet his searching mouth. Teasingly, he licked at the other man's lips, daring him to respond, and Face rose to the challenge, meeting him more than halfway.
Murdock slid aside, but only for as long as it took to divest himself of his own pants and underwear. Then he once more wrapped his arms around his lover, pulling him close, closer, until they were nose to nose, gazing into one another's eyes, the deep ocean blue and the velvety brown; two opposites speaking to one another in the silent language they were privileged to share. Slowly, they began to move, rotating their hips, grinding Murdock's rock hard cock and Face's rapidly swelling one together. Face was faintly surprised at how hard he was becoming again, so soon, but his brain was past pondering the logic or physics of it. The only thing it was aware of was the overwhelming need to feel their bodies slickly sliding their way to climax. He wiggled and pushed, straining to convey his message. Murdock groaned.
"Face, I think we're gettin' a little ambitious for a couch this size..."
"Bed?" Face questioned, not trusting his voice with more than a one syllable word.
Murdock grinned. "Who needs a bed?" His gaze flicked briefly out into the room and back again to the object of his passion. "I always did like the idea of a big log fire, Face..."
Having been burning for some hours, the heat of the fire was intense. Face wasn't sure what made him sweat more, the fire, or the dizzy pleasures his lover was wringing from his senses. An enormous, fluffy fake skin rug lay beside the hearth, and Murdock added to it with cushions from the couch and chairs, building them a soft, private nest in the semi-darkness. Face smiled as the pilot rejoined him there.
"This is wonderful, Murdock."
"Hmmmm...not as wonderful as you..." Murdock's voice trailed off as he rolled on top of Face to claim his body again; fingers first, lips following, kissing, tasting, drinking in the flavor of his skin. The firelight flung out long shadow fingers, caressing their bodies as they moved. Murdock's head dipped to Face's groin, nuzzling the dark goldeny hair there, running his tongue tantalizingly up and down his length for a few moments before pressing his lips to his cockhead and taking his first long, luscious taste of the natural lubricant. Face let out a long moan of dark, ecstatic pleasure. When Murdock took a hold on his hips and engulfed him almost completely in his warm, wet mouth, something like fireworks went off behind his eyes. This time he didn't want to reach the point of no return empty or alone.
"No -" he gasped.
"What's wrong? Don't you like it?"
Face almost laughed out loud at the possibility even existing that he wouldn't like it. His eyes forced out the silent meaning as he answered, "Murdock - I want this to be for *both* of us."
Murdock raised himself from his lover's body. His wide dark eyes were enormous in the firelight, almost black with arousal. A tiny reflected light danced within each. 'The fire within,' Face thought, dreamily.
"Face," he asked softly, "you want me to make love to you?"
Face knew what he wanted. He was scared, scared of the physical pain he accepted was to come, still scared as well of the intensity, the finality of the act. But his body refused to lay down and submit to the fear any longer. He saw the velvet darkness that wrapped around them softer than any blanket, the dance of the firelight, Murdock's eyes burning into his; long-lashed, bottomless, liquid eyes. He could lose himself in those eyes, so deep he couldn't ever find his way out again. It was a dream, his dream. And he clung to it, fearing that if he chose to wake up now, it would never return again.
"Yes," he said, desperately. "Inside me. Please."
Whispered words, "Be right back," a quick kiss on the end of his nose. Then empty air. Lonely. Face rolled onto his side and reached for a large cushion, curling his body around it, and stared into the fire, seeing visions in the flames. It was that kind of other worldly feeling.
"Mmmmm, Face, that's a nice position..."
A warm body was sliding up against his back again, a hard cock pushing gently against his ass. He stretched, letting the thrill become a deep erotic sensation, and let a tiny moan escape his lips. Murdock's hand reached around him and trailed up and down his erection.
"You are so *beautiful*, you know that?" the pilot murmured.
Face smiled absently, not quite sure whether Murdock was referring to his looks, his cock, or both. He didn't much care. The sensation of touch on his newly sensitized organ was so distracting that he was finding it hard to concentrate on much else. Then he bucked and gasped as he suddenly felt a finger probing between his buttocks, past the tight ring of muscle and into the snug confines of his most secret place. Something warm and slippery was introduced into his body; oil, he guessed, by the texture. Another finger entered, and began caressing and stretching him in the same manner. Knowing what to expect made it a little easier this time, and Face forced himself to relax around the intrusion, rewarded when gentle pressure on the sensitive gland deep inside racked his body with such a spasm of pleasure that he cried out.
Murdock kissed his shoulder. "Ssh, Face...s'okay, baby, I'm right here. Not long to go now."
The fingers were withdrawing, and oil-slicked hands were turning him over onto his belly, shoving a couple fat cushions beneath as a pillow. Face hugged them, his entire body trembling, gazing over his shoulder at Murdock as he straddled him and began kissing a fiery trail from the nape of his neck to his ass. The fur of the rug tickled and teased his stiff rod, and the need to generate movement became almost unbearable.
"Murdock - *please!*"
Another kiss smoldered on his tailbone. "You want to stop, you yell," Murdock repeated. And then came the incomparable feeling of his cockhead poised at Face's entrance, touching for a moment, and then pushing inside.
Face moaned, burying his head in the cushions as Murdock eased down to stretch out along the length of his body, whispering little endearments that made no sense at all, but sounded wonderful all the same. He began moving back and forth with tiny thrusts that posed no demand, simply adjusting Face to the feel of his size. When he met with no protest or resistance, he slowly began to increase the depth of his movements, plunging a little deeper each time until he was buried to the hilt. Face gasped, moaned, his fingers crawling beneath the cushion, tightening around the rug, gripping and clawing at it, beginning to lift his ass and push back into Murdock, mirroring every thrust he made. His lover moaned, speeding up his rhythm.
"Face - oh, God - oh, fuck - yesyesyesyes -!"
And that warm greased hand groped beneath his hips, putting a stop to his urgent grinding, taking hold on his cock once again and stroking, squeezing him to surging ecstasy even as Murdock called out his name once more and exploded inside of him, filling him beautifully, rushingly full...
**********
"Murdock..?" murmured Face. They were laying pooled together in the soft hollow warmed by their body heat. One of Face's hands slowly stroked his lover's hair as the pilot moved his head slowly, lazily, over his chest, planting tiny kisses wherever the urge took him.
"Mmmm..?"
"Is it always as good as that?"
"Usually."
Face smiled contentedly and closed his eyes.
THE END
________________________________
This story has been gone from the internet for a while ("quoth the server, 404" indeed), but I have a copy on a backup CD that I've dragged out and dusted off for the holidays. It's A-Team, it's Face/Murdock, and it's one of the nicest little fanfics I've ever read in any genre.
Merry Christmas, all you crazy folks. I love ya. ^_^
TITLE: Mistletoe and Wine
AUTHOR: Madelyn Scott, 1998
FANDOM: The A-Team
PAIRING: Face/Murdock
RATING: NC-17
___________________________________________
Murdock's laughter was verging on hysteria. "Colonel, come on, you're kidding, right? You got to be kidding! Really and truly?"
He'd been asking much the same thing over and over again for the past fifteen minutes, in a rising tone of greater disbelief each time, and for the past fifteen minutes, Hannibal had been patiently answering, "No, I'm not kidding. Yes, really."
"That big ugly mudsucker as Santa Claus?!"
"BA only promised as a favor to the daycare. The guy they usually have went down with flu, or food poisoning, or something." Hannibal waved his breakfast cigar in a dismissive way. "Now, the only reason he agreed to take a commercial flight back to LA with me this morning is because he doesn't want to be late and let those kids down on Christmas Eve. So let's just keep nice and quiet about this, huh? Before he changes his mind again."
"Of course, Colonel," replied Murdock. "My lips are sealed." The pilot made a motion of closing a zipper over his mouth, and folded his hands in his lap before settling back on the couch, the picture of wide-eyed innocence. Taking BA's sudden entrance as a cue, he softly began to hum 'Santa Claus Is Coming To Town'.
BA spun round to glare first at Murdock, then at his commanding officer.
"You told him, Hannibal!!" he bellowed. "You swore to me you wouldn't tell no-one!"
"BA, it's nothing to be ashamed about."
"Yeah, you got nothing to hide, big guy," Murdock chirped. "Personally, I happen to think that it's a very beautiful thing to do, bringin' a little magic to the kids."
"Yeah...well..." BA's scowling features mellowed slightly.
"I'm just curious about one thing, though..."
"What, fool?"
"Doesn't hitching those reindeer to the van scratch the paintwork?"
**********
Face just managed to sidestep quickly enough as he came in the front door of the lodge to avoid being mown down by a fleeing Murdock, with the larger bulk of BA close behind him. The pilot's longer legs kept him in the lead by a nose up to the trees, where he then proceeded to use the screen of bare branches as a cover and pelt his assailant with a steady volley of snowballs.
Face rolled his eyes.
"BA, what -" he started to call, then decided not to bother as BA, turning towards the sound of his voice, received a well-aimed snowball in his left ear. "Uh, never mind," the lieutenant finished, lamely, and scraping his boots against the step, retreated inside.
Hannibal looked up as Face entered the front room. "Get the money, kid?"
"Ah. One moment -" Face reached inside his top pocket with a smile and produced a fat sealed envelope. "For cleaning out one lumber yard of one drug smuggling operation," he announced, "exactly ten thousand dollars and seventy-one cents, all in cash, as promised."
"Counted, I hope?"
Face's most shocked, reproachful expression slid into place. "Colonel, I still can't *believe* that you think Maryanne would try and short-change us."
The other man grinned. "Just call me naturally cautious. Hand it over."
"Hannibal, I told you, the two of us go back a long way! We dated in high school. And she was the only person apart from Father Magill at the orphanage who ever wrote me a letter from home during 'Nam."
"What did she want you to do - mail her a jeep in time for the next mountain vacation?"
"I don't have any idea why you and everyone else always seem to assume the worst about Maryanne. Sure, she might not always lay all her cards on the table right away, but she's a great kid!"
"Face, I'm sorry. It's just that every time Maryanne decides to look you up, it's because she needs something doing cheap, for free, or that no-one else will touch because they know they're going to end up in jail or part of a flyover by the end of it."
"You're just a born cynic, you know that?" Face said, tossing the money into Hannibal's lap.
He really didn't know what the Colonel was complaining about. As missions went, this one had almost been like a vacation; certainly a darn sight better than the year before, when part of Hannibal's plan at the time had involved Face spending most of the last week before the holidays dressed as a bus boy in a Mafia-infested hotel in Vegas. Chippewa, where Maryanne had started up her latest business venture in lumber, was a picturesque little town in SouthWest Ontario, a Christmas card fantasy of churches, unfiltered sun and lacy frost-embroidered trees.
Murdock seemed to adore the place more than anyone. Face couldn't remember when he had last seen the pilot as happy and relaxed, and it made him glad. He felt closer to Murdock than he'd ever felt to anyone else in his life, and doubted he would ever feel again. It was a strange kind of closeness, no more, no less, than he felt for the tough surface and warm heart of BA, or for the Colonel who was the father he had never had. Just different, in a way he could never quite put his finger on; there for a moment at a time, then melting away like a dream before he could begin to understand it.
Sometimes, when he held his friend, comforting him after another nightmare, Murdock would respond with a new ardor, which in turn stimulated a corresponding sensual warmth in Face. They could only maintain that level of intimacy for a few minutes at a time before Face would have to back off. The relationship he and Murdock shared was a joy in an uncertain life, but it was a guilty joy. He often wondered where the silken threads that bound him to his friend would end up leading them to. So he kept returning to the old beaten, familiar ground, and leaving behind a confused and obviously frustrated Murdock. Face's rational mind was too afraid to turn what he was feeling into words, but it would come, nevertheless, and when it was gone again, it left him a little empty.
A slam of the door at that moment indicated the return of BA and a wet, shivering Murdock.
"Colonel, I wanna file a complaint! BA shoved snow down my neck! Now, there were no witnesses, but I have evidence that I believe *will* stand up!"
"You ain't gonna be standing up much longer, sucka, if you ask me fo' directions to the North Pole one more time!"
"BA, you could just try and enter into the Christmas spirit," suggested Hannibal.
"Ah, Hannibal," interjected Face, "you *have* got an entire weekend of the lovely Doctor Sullivan's hospitality ahead. Don't you think that gives you more to look forward to than the rest of us?"
"Very romantic, Colonel," agreed Murdock. "Alone on Christmas Eve...a few drinks, a brush under the mistletoe. Who knows what might happen?"
Then he gave Face a very peculiar look. If Face had had to choose a word to describe that look, it could only have been 'sultry'. It lingered for just a second, then was gone, fading behind the pilot's usual spark of good humor again and leaving a slightly stunned Face to wonder if he had imagined what he'd seen in it. He often thought that Murdock was the kind of person who never fundamentally changed, just revealed new and surprising aspects of themselves from time to time.
"Aren't you two looking forward to this afternoon?" asked Hannibal.
"Correction - *Murdock's* looking forward to this afternoon. I happen to think that people who let a one and a half thousand pound moose run loose every Christmas are just a little crazy."
"Face, I told you, it's Chippewa's big attraction this time of year!" Murdock protested vehemently. "I talked to this gal in the drugstore. A guy named Bob Pienkowski owns Mitch, and on Christmas Eve, he dresses him up as Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer, and Mitch pulls a sleigh from Bob's place to the door of the Four Seasons Inn. The whole town turns out to watch. C'mon, Faceguy, you're gonna love every minute of it! And we'll be on the plane and outta here by 2PM!"
"I'm going to hold you to that. That invite for dinner at the country club tonight's still standing."
The pilot threw his arm around his friend's shoulders with a dazzling smile. "Face, I promise you, man, you are gonna have the best Christmas of your entire life!"
"Don't hang around here too long, guys. There's more snow on the way." Hannibal finished counting the last bundle of bills, and looked up with a grin. "Well, whaddya know? Maryanne didn't try and stiff us. That has to be a good omen."
**********
Despite Face's misgivings, Mitch's yearly parade through Chippewa turned out to be as big an attraction as Murdock had described. For an hour now, the streets had been lined with people waiting for the moose to make his appearance, eager to greet their favorite symbol of the holidays. A holly-trimmed banner above the door of the inn depicted a Bullwinkle caricature with a shiny red nose. Lots of residents were wearing plastic moose antlers. Through the ethereal effect of the falling snow, the whole thing gave the impression of ancient pagans preparing for the descent of some bestial god from the heavens.
A man carrying a camera threaded his way through the crowds to where Face and Murdock were standing.
"Have your picture taken with Mitch? Only a dollar fifty a shot!"
"Maybe later," Face said hastily.
"Okay, well, remember to pick up your badges! They're on sale right over there near the hot dogs." Beaming, he tapped a metal disc pinned to his lapel that read, beneath the same cartoon Bullwinkle, 'Chippewa Moose Jamboree 1983'.
"Hey, you got anything else with that same little moose on?" asked Murdock between mouthfuls from his bag of popcorn.
"Sure thing - T-shirts, bumper stickers, balloons for the kids..."
"Bumper stickers? Man, I *have* to get BA one for the van!"
"Ah, Murdock -" Face steered the pilot away with a discreet hand on his elbow.
A collective cheer suddenly rose from the revelers around them, heralding the appearance of the man of the moment. The fully grown bull, who stood at least six feet high, plodded along quite placidly on the end of a leading rein beside what must be Bob, apparently not in the least perturbed about the evergreen-festooned sleigh sliding along behind him, or the wreath of Christmas roses and poinsettias around his neck. Tiny bells jingled from his harness, and the whole spectacle was crowned by red velvet ribbons looped about his impressive spread of horns. To Face's horror, five hundred people took the appearance as a cue to break into a song extolling the virtues of the noble moose.
"Oh, my God," moaned the lieutenant softly.
"It is wonderful, isn't it?" said a young blonde at his side, overhearing and totally misinterpreting his words. Her small round face shone. "We're so privileged...sharing our celebrations with one of Nature's most majestic creatures. He even has a full rack this time," she beamed.
"Rack?" queried Face, completely lost now.
"Antlers. Oh, don't you know? Male moose shed their antlers around December, and the new growth starts in Spring. Mitch lost his before Christmas last year, and he had to wear a pair of these!" She inclined her head, tapping her own plastic horns, and narrowly avoiding gouging Face's eye out with a point.
"Isn't it a little - ah - dangerous, having a wild animal around like that?"
"Mitch? He's as gentle as a lamb. Bob found him in the woods when he was a calf. Some hunter had shot his mother," she added darkly. "So Bob hand reared him. Mitch is kind of his baby."
Some baby, Face thought, watching the town's personal reindeer nearby, delicately accepting young tree shoots and vegetable treats with his enormous teeth. Murdock held out some particularly tender cabbage leaves, crooning sentimentally to the moose. As Mitch drew close, his senses apparently tuned in on something particularly appealing. His nostrils began to flare, and a series of low, but powerful grunting noises resonated from his shaggy muzzle that made the hairs prickle down Face's back. There was a look in Mitch's eye he didn't like at all, and it was directed straight at him. He tried to back off, but discovered that a solid phalanx of people were jamming the sidewalk behind him by then, all eager to take their turn petting the animal. Bob, who finally seemed to have noticed something was amiss, tried to halt the progress of his 1,500 pound pet with his own 180 pounds, and, unsurprisingly, failed. Thick strands of saliva hanging from his jaw, Mitch lunged forward.
**********
At exactly 2PM, the whole structure of the lodge shook as an exhausted, disheveled figure collapsed through the door, then again as he slammed it heavily behind him. His thick ash blond hair looked like it had doubled as a floor mop. Bruises of various colors adorned his body, and there was blood seeping through a vicious tear in his pants leg from a graze beneath. The soft, pale leather and suede of his jacket was covered with what looked like a mixture of coarse matted hairs and drool. He caught sight of himself in the mirror and moaned. Someone banged on the door.
"Who is it?"
"Creature from the Black Lagoon. Me, HM. C'mon, Face, open up!"
Limping slightly, Face crossed the room and opened the door again, letting in Murdock and a swirl of freezing snow.
"You okay?" his friend asked.
"Oh, as well as can be expected, I guess, considering I've just been almost trampled to death by a moose! That's a four footed killing machine that guy keeps in his back yard!"
"Face, Mitch isn't dangerous."
"Maybe somebody ought to try telling *him* that!"
"No, really. I just talked to Bob. You know them little sounds the big guy was making? That was..." he paused, as if not quite sure how best to soften the blow, "...a mating call."
"WHAT?"
"Bob thinks you must be wearing an aftershave lotion or somethin' that makes you smell like a lady moose."
Face flopped down on the couch. "Well, congratulations, Murdock. I am totally humiliated. You've just been privileged to witness one of the worst days of my entire life!"
"Uh...it gets better, Face."
The lieutenant laughed humorlessly. "Don't tell me. You forgot where you parked the plane?"
"Nope. But I did forget how heavy the snow was getting. No way is anything taking off out there now. I may be crazy, but I'd have to be nuts to try a stunt like that!"
"So we're stuck here?"
"Looks that way, don't it?"
Face groaned and buried himself in the cushions again.
**********
A cloud of steam filled the room and fragrant, blissful warmth surrounded the lieutenant's body as he lowered himself into the bathtub with a sigh. For a few minutes, he just lay there, letting it soak through him all the way to his bones, easing the bruises. Then he reluctantly sat up, ran some more hot water, and after a brief hunt for the sponge, began to scrub himself down seriously.
Murdock had suggested that Face took a nice long bath while he went back into town to pick up a few supplies. It might help him relax, he said, as well as clean up. And it was actually kind of nice, basking here in the warm and watching the soft silent flurries of snow brushing the window in the fading light. Face supposed that there were worse places to be stranded in overnight, and with worse people. Murdock proposed an evening of movie watching if the weather didn't take out the TV reception. Face found himself humming a few bars of 'White Christmas' as he washed. Something sentimental? A schlocky horror flick?
The balmy air was making him feel quite heady and drowsy. He lay back in the water, wriggling his toes in contentment, and closed his eyes.
It only seemed like he had been dozing for a few minutes, when he heard his name softly spoken. He stirred, frowning slightly as he gradually let the light filter in. He could make out a figure standing at the end of the bathtub, silhouetted against the last blood-red stains of winter sunset.
"Murdock? I didn't hear you come in."
He heard, rather than saw, the pilot's smile. "You looked cosy there, Face. I didn't want to wake you. But now you're awake anyway..."
He moved around the side of the bathtub with an slow, lazy grace, and Face felt his heart begin to thump violently against his ribs. The pilot was wearing nothing except a pair of *very* brief red briefs, that offered no distraction at all from the shape of a magnificent erection. The younger man tried to speak, but his parched throat seemed unable to produce sound. It took every ounce of strength he had to form the words, "M-Murdock, I -"
"Ssh..." His friend leaned over the tub and touched a finger to Face's lips. He straightened again, and still in the same unhurried way, divested himself of the last remains of his clothing. Then Face felt the temperature of the water rise by what felt like at least thirty degrees as Murdock clambered in in front of him, and slid up the tub in a gentle scoosh of soap bubbles to kneel between his parted legs. The pilot brushed some of the foam aside to reveal Face's own stiffened cock in all its glory.
"That looks uncomfortable, Face," Murdock murmured. "Here, why doncha let me take care of that for you, huh..?"
And beautiful sensitive fingers wrapped themselves around Face's hardness beneath the water and began to glide, up and down, up and down his length, stroking and teasing and urging him to a level of ecstasy he'd never even dreamed of before... He closed his eyes and moaned wantonly.
"Murdock..."
"Face? Hey, Faceguy, wake up!"
Face opened his eyes with a jolt, staring up from the water. It felt tepid now, but he was sweating, and his body was on fire with need. To his immense relief, a large spread of bubbles were still floating on the surface, modestly veiling the most obvious manifestation. Murdock was standing beside the bathtub, dressed in jeans and a clean shirt. Face felt his color rising rapidly. If he had talked out loud..!
"I got back a half hour ago," Murdock offered. "I knocked a couple times, but you'd dozed right on off. So I figured I'd check you hadn't drowned on me."
"No - no, I'm fine." Face squirmed, hoping that the primary reason for his awkwardness wasn't as unmistakable as it felt. His senses ached with the sheer physical awareness, as if when he looked at Murdock, he didn't just look at him with his eyes, but with all five of his senses at once. When he looked at the skin of his throat and the fuzzy dark hair exposed at his open shirt collar, he was smelling it. When he looked at his mouth, he was tasting it. When he looked at his hands, he was feeling their touch, rolling and drowning in the sensations of his dream over again. The spell was abruptly broken when a fluffy white towel was dropped over his head.
"C'mon, then, if you're all de-moosed! I brought food. And I managed to get a pretty good fire going, so at least we won't freeze to death here tonight."
Murdock vanished, leaving Face to slowly stand up and climb out of the tub. Then he heard a noise, and just managed to throw the towel around his waist as the pilot stuck his head back round the door with a grin.
"Hey, want me to dry your back?"
"No!"
Murdock pretended to pull a face and disappeared again. That was a lie for a start, Face thought. He couldn't think of anything that would have felt better at that moment than Murdock standing behind him, his breath just stirring the downy hairs on the back of Face's neck as his arms swathed him in warm towel, rubbing large circles over his moist skin, over his shoulders, his thighs, his buttocks...
"Damn," Face muttered under his breath. He began to dry himself quickly, almost roughly, as if trying to scour his body of more than just water.
He let the bathwater go, wrapped the towel around his waist again, and went down the hall to the rear bedroom. Locating the small suitcase he'd carefully re-packed that morning, Face clicked it open, and rummaged through the neatly folded clothes for something clean to wear. Eventually he too settled for the plain shirt and jeans with a sigh. Not quite the tux that was waiting in vain for him this evening in his closet in LA.
There was a definite smell of food being prepared coming from the kitchen. He sniffed. Something Chinese? He found Murdock surrounded by plates and grocery bags, frying diced bacon and onion in a pan on the stove.
"Roll up your sleeves and help me out here, huh, Face?"
The cheerful tone of his friend's voice and the bright, warm kitchen reassured Face some. His body started to feel like it was under his control once again. A dream was only a dream. If only it hadn't felt so real - or so damned good. A faint shudder trickled down his spine at the flash of memory. Heat and bubbles, glistening skin against skin. Turning on the faucet, he quickly washed his hands.
"What d'you need me to do?"
"Okay...uh...there's red peppers in *that* bag, and green peppers in *that* one. Now, you want to take those, and chop 'em up real small."
Face emptied out the two bags onto the counter and searched out a knife. "I never knew you could cook, Murdock."
"Face, it's only Chinese fried rice."
"Yes, but I never knew you could cook, period."
Murdock smiled into his pan. "Well, there's still a few things you don't know about me. There's some things I don't know about you, even after thirteen years. Maybe we could use this time to get to know each other a little better."
"Maybe," echoed Face, going back to chopping.
"You don't sound too sure."
"Sometimes I think we're already too close."
For a few minutes, the room was silent except for the tap of the knife and the hiss of hot oil. Then Murdock said, brightly, "Hey, guess what I found out in the woodshed when I was bringin' in those logs for the fire?"
"From what I saw of that woodshed, I'm not sure I want to know," answered Face with a smile, grateful for a change of topic.
"A Christmas tree! And any house that keeps a Christmas tree has to keep decorations too, that's logic. I'm gonna try and find 'em after we've eaten. Are you done with those peppers?"
"Pretty much."
Murdock transferred the contents of the pan to a plate and replaced it with a trayful of previously cooked rice.
"Okay, you put what you got in too," he instructed, and once Face had obeyed, presented him with the spatula he had been using with an air of the utmost importance. "Now, Face, you keep stirring that - all the time, or it'll burn. And then all we'll have left is re-heated macaroni cheese, 'cause it's the only thing in the house BA didn't eat."
"Murdock, if there's one thing I hate, it's macaroni cheese."
"Then you got a good incentive, haven't you?" The pilot began to search through the grocery bags again. "Oh, *please* don't tell me I forgot to pick up any sauce!" he moaned.
Face looked out of the window into the gathering darkness. Christmas Eve. Christmas was supposed to bring out the big kid in everyone, happy memories of presents and candy and huddling under the bedclothes straining to catch a sound of distant sleigh bells in the sky.
He remembered a day in school when he must have been around seven years old. The Christmas holidays were almost upon them, and excitement was hanging so heavily in the air that it was almost tangible. After trying and failing to start a lesson, the teacher had given up and gotten them all engrossed in making Christmas cards in crayon and shiny paper, or writing their letters to Santa Claus telling him what they please wanted for Christmas.
Face had sat there for a long time after his letter was finished, watching the other kids chatter as they made long, long lists of toys and books and games. His own letter was very short. He didn't want much, only the same thing he'd asked for when he blew out the candles on the birthday cake they'd made him last summer, the same thing he always asked for on stars and wishbones and when he and somebody else said the same thing at the same time. That somebody would be passing by the orphanage one day and see him playing baseball in the yard, and think that the boy with the blond hair and blue eyes looked so nice that they wanted to adopt him and take him home to be a part of their family.
'You say chimney, I say smoke; then our wish will never be broke.'
But it never worked. So after a while Face stopped wishing. Then he grew up, and went to college, and then to Vietnam. And while they were out there fighting, he didn't feel the lack of a family so keenly; his unit was his family. But after they came back, it was different. He could never bear to be alone, especially at Christmas.
"Murdock?"
"Yeah?"
"Do you remember any Christmas when you were a kid? One that was really special?"
The pilot leaned against the table. He nodded slowly. "The year I turned fourteen, I guess. My grandfather gave me a present. I guess he hadn't given it to me before because he had some idea about me finally reaching the age of worthy manhood." A grin worked its way over his face. "Or more likely 'cause he knew what ideas it was going to put in my head. Anyway, he gave me this teeny, tiny little package, and he told me it had been brought for my mother after my father was killed, and she kept it with her all the time 'til she died."
"What was it?" asked Face.
"My father's pilot wings. I still got them. They're in a box back in my room at the VA." An ominous sizzling sound suddenly interrupted Murdock, and his nostalgic look faded. "Face, you quit stirring!" he yelped.
"What? Oh!" Face turned back to the pan and began hastily scraping the food in it around.
"Not like that; like this." Murdock had scooted up behind him, and Face felt his friend slipping his arms under his own so he was able to watch what he was doing over the slightly smaller man's shoulder while he carefully guided hand and spatula. "See, you just keep stirring it round and round, nice and slow and steady...kind of folding it over on itself..."
His breath as he pronounced certain words lightly lifted the fine hairs on the back of Face's neck. The lieutenant felt goosebumps rising. He imagined - was it only imagination? - that he could feel Murdock's heat through the thin layer of cotton that separated them, the strong regular pulse of his heart. He could *smell* him, even above the food, a contrasting yet wholly delightful combination of minty bubblegum freshness and warm, intimate musk. A long, suggestive shudder went through him as his helpless body shamelessly voiced its needs. As he felt the response, Murdock gave a tiny sigh, and melted up against Face's back, transforming their contact into a warm embrace. His fingers dropped down and began a slow tour of the contours of Face's hip bone. When they began to creep relentlessly around to the front of his pelvis, the younger man pulled sharply away with an intake of breath.
"Murdock, I can't do this! I'm sorry. I want to, but I can't."
"Face, trust me. Just relax! There's only one thing I want you to do."
"Oh? And what's that?"
"I want you to stop being so nervous of all this. We might only be here one night, but while we *are* here, you are gonna unwind, de-stress, and ease up on all of that restraint and moderation of yours. Just go with the flow! What happens, happens, and what doesn't happen, doesn't happen. No strings. Just fun. Okay?"
Uncertainly, Face nodded. He trusted Murdock. He felt safer and more cared for with the eccentric pilot than with possibly anyone he'd ever met, but that was as long as there was clear and certain boundaries to come up against, invisible lines they never crossed, unspoken rules they never broke. Now there were no rules, and it made the ground feel a little shaky beneath his feet. If he fell tonight, he wasn't sure he'd ever be able to climb back up again. He wasn't sure he'd want to. And that was the scariest part of all.
**********
The meal was delicious, and the sauce, which had turned up in the end, surprisingly spicy. They ate off of their knees on the couch, and afterwards, went to search the closets for likely looking Christmas decoration boxes, finally emerging triumphant. Murdock had managed to secure a couple of bottles of white wine on his grocery mission, and he and Face worked their way through them while they hung garlands and wreaths and wound strings of lights around the tree. The tree was slightly worn, but some strategic placing of glitzy baubles and tinsel hid the worst parts, and by the time it was crowned with a gauzy winged angel, the whole effect was one of holiday splendor.
They sat back to admire their efforts. Face stared up at the top of the tree.
"That angel looks crooked."
"No, Face," Murdock informed him, "you're just drunk."
"Ah, come on! I only had two glasses!"
"Six."
"Six?"
"Six."
"How many have you had?"
"Four."
Face picked up a bottle and looked at it. It did appear to be almost empty, to his surprise. He blinked at the tree lights and they went kind of furry around the edges. He frowned.
"Uh...why don't you go sit down, Face?" suggested Murdock with a grin.
Face thought for a moment. "I'm going to sit down for a while," he announced.
"What a great idea! Now why didn't *I* think of that?"
"Because you've had too much to drink," replied Face self-righteously, curling up in a corner of the couch and promptly falling asleep.
**********
When he opened his eyes, it was dark outside. The only light in the room came from the glow of the fire and the twinkling spots of fairy color cast by the tree. Face ran his tongue around his lips, tasting the sweet, stale flavor of lingering alcohol. For a moment, his brain told him he was in bed. He tried to roll over, and instead almost fell off of the edge of the couch, cracking the side of his head on a protruding section of polished frame.
"Shit!"
Murdock leaned over him. "Hey, Sleepin' Beauty. Feeling better?"
"Hmmmm, kinda fuzzy... How long was I out for?"
"Two, maybe three hours. 'Aquamaniac vs. the Killer Bunnies from Outer Space' was on before the picture got too bad. You didn't even wake up when Hannibal did his thing."
"I'll catch it next time around." Face straightened up too quickly, and winced as his stiff body violently protested.
Murdock sat down beside him. "You okay?"
"Ache. Had places bruised today I didn't know were there."
Then, gradually, the signals from his nerve endings that were entering his foggy brain began to inform him of the presence of hands. Slow, gentle hands on his shoulders, massaging, pulling, squeezing out the knots in his muscles. Kneading him like clay.
"That feel nice?" asked a soft voice.
There really weren't any words to describe how nice it felt, so Face chose instead to just give a long sigh. It seemed to translate, because his friend murmured, "Good," and continued to work him. First his fingers would begin at the outer edges of Face's shoulders and move inwards. Then they would trail down his spine before spreading outwards again in a wide butterfly sweep to apply the pressure to his shoulder blades before sliding fluidly apart and beginning the entire luxurious cycle again. Face let his head drop forward to allow better access to the nape of his neck. Ah, he could fall asleep like this, just dissolve into a pool of boneless contentment...
His senses darted back into cohesion again when he realized that those tranquilizing hands had tugged his shirt out from the waist of his jeans somewhere along the way, and were now sliding beneath it, performing the same motions as before on his bare skin. He tensed.
"Murdock -"
He got a gentle shove for his worries.
"Remember what we said about relaxing, hmm?" Murdock was turning him on the cushions now as he let his hands run down from Face's armpits to his waist, repositioning him so that he was sitting lengthwise on the couch with the pilot kneeling behind him. "You're gonna be *sooo* relaxed by the time I'm done, Faceman, that you are gonna melt all over this couch."
Murdock's hands never stopped moving all the while he spoke. Face felt him draw them out from beneath the loose cotton slowly, as if with deep reluctance, before slipping his arms through Face's just as he'd done over the kitchen stove and starting to undo his buttons. The lieutenant opened his mouth.
"Face..." Murdock murmured in his ear.
He swallowed. "I know. Relax."
The pilot gave a throaty chuckle. "You catch on quick, Faceman."
Thumbs brushed the pink buds of Face's nipples, then began to trace intricate circles around their tips. A thrill shot through his body that forced a gasp from the desert dryness of his throat. His shirt seemed coarse and scratchy all of a sudden, caressing and stimulating every pore of his skin, every follicle. But, yes, now it was being eased off - he didn't protest - and dropped to the floor. And arms were round his waist winding him slowly and surely in, like a prize catch, until he was hugged up tight against Murdock's chest, pillowed against him in the corner of the couch. For the first time, he felt evidence that his friend wasn't in quite the same state of relaxation he'd talked about. The other man's heart was throbbing hard against Face's back. Strange. He didn't realize that his own heart was threatening to burst through his ribs until he felt it matching Murdock's. Heat flooded him all the way to his groin, infusing his cock with unmistakable life.
"If there's anything you're not happy about, Face," Murdock said softly, "tell me to stop, and I'll stop, that's a promise."
Face conveyed his assent with a low murmur. Murdock nudged him over slightly so that he was laying in the crook of the pilot's legs, his head pillowed against his shoulder. He nuzzled into Face's mop of silky pale hair to plant a kiss somewhere deep beneath. With one finger, he traced a featherlight path down the center of his friend's chest, twirling a few fond little circles around his small navel. Face gave a tiny moan.
"Murdock..." It was a plea this time, not a protest.
"Patience is a virtue, you know, Faceman." Murdock slid down to the growing swelling between Face's legs, and gently cupped his shape, smiling in delight when it elicited another gasp.
Face was finding it hard to get a breath. All he could do was watch as those fascinating, expert fingers traced around the strained seams of his jeans a few more times before reaching for the fastener. He felt it open, the downward motion of his zipper. When Murdock told him, "Lift up," his brain was barely functioning enough to respond. It took every bit of strength he had to raise his hips so that pants and shorts could be coaxed and wriggled down to release his aching cock.
He arched into Murdock's touch with a soundless cry. And all was heat and sweat and slippery skin as Murdock wrapped long fingers around Face's erection and began sliding up and down, pumping him, milking him. First quickly, then slower, using his thumb on the glistening jewel of the swollen head. Face writhed slowly, trying to increase the sensation, and at the same feeling his lover's own hardness pressing against his buttocks. Murdock gave a gasp of his own as the friction picked up.
"Oh, God - Face -!"
The fingers of his left hand were tangled in the rumpled mop of Face's hair; those of his right switched from the younger man's shaft to his balls and back again, repeating the sequence, delving into the fragrant heat between his thighs as if he'd never get enough. Face could feel Murdock's breaths coming rapidly, burning against the pulse at his temple. He shuddered. Cried out. And came, his orgasm tearing from him as if it had been building up inside for a hundred years.
When he came back to earth, Murdock was smiling down at him, the hand that had gripped his hair now combing it slowly through his fingers.
"Hey there, Faceguy. Welcome back."
Face opened his mouth. "Hey," he managed to get out.
"How're you feeling?"
"I don't know - I -" He paused. "Murdock - what just happened here?"
"Well...uh..."
"No, I mean...I know what *happened*! I just meant...what...how..?"
The pilot trailed the tip of his little finger along his partner's cheekbone. "I think you managed to relax at last, Face."
Face levered himself up, and turned round to kneel across Murdock's calves, feeling the stickiness on his own belly and thighs, the damp patch on the pilot's jeans underneath him. It made him feel peculiarly wanton, sitting here naked with Murdock still wearing most of his clothes. The feeling became mixed with both love and guilt as he stared silently at the unfulfilled bulge of Murdock's erection. Someone was prepared to give him that incredible gift of pleasure and not ask for anything in return?
"You don't look very relaxed, though," he answered.
Murdock just smiled even more widely and held out both of his hands. "Come here," he said softly.
Chest to chest, smooth skin brushing against dark hair, they snuggled together, sprinkling delicate feathery kisses on eyelids and noses and cheeks. Eventually Murdock buried his fingers in Face's hair once again, and guided him in to meet his searching mouth. Teasingly, he licked at the other man's lips, daring him to respond, and Face rose to the challenge, meeting him more than halfway.
Murdock slid aside, but only for as long as it took to divest himself of his own pants and underwear. Then he once more wrapped his arms around his lover, pulling him close, closer, until they were nose to nose, gazing into one another's eyes, the deep ocean blue and the velvety brown; two opposites speaking to one another in the silent language they were privileged to share. Slowly, they began to move, rotating their hips, grinding Murdock's rock hard cock and Face's rapidly swelling one together. Face was faintly surprised at how hard he was becoming again, so soon, but his brain was past pondering the logic or physics of it. The only thing it was aware of was the overwhelming need to feel their bodies slickly sliding their way to climax. He wiggled and pushed, straining to convey his message. Murdock groaned.
"Face, I think we're gettin' a little ambitious for a couch this size..."
"Bed?" Face questioned, not trusting his voice with more than a one syllable word.
Murdock grinned. "Who needs a bed?" His gaze flicked briefly out into the room and back again to the object of his passion. "I always did like the idea of a big log fire, Face..."
Having been burning for some hours, the heat of the fire was intense. Face wasn't sure what made him sweat more, the fire, or the dizzy pleasures his lover was wringing from his senses. An enormous, fluffy fake skin rug lay beside the hearth, and Murdock added to it with cushions from the couch and chairs, building them a soft, private nest in the semi-darkness. Face smiled as the pilot rejoined him there.
"This is wonderful, Murdock."
"Hmmmm...not as wonderful as you..." Murdock's voice trailed off as he rolled on top of Face to claim his body again; fingers first, lips following, kissing, tasting, drinking in the flavor of his skin. The firelight flung out long shadow fingers, caressing their bodies as they moved. Murdock's head dipped to Face's groin, nuzzling the dark goldeny hair there, running his tongue tantalizingly up and down his length for a few moments before pressing his lips to his cockhead and taking his first long, luscious taste of the natural lubricant. Face let out a long moan of dark, ecstatic pleasure. When Murdock took a hold on his hips and engulfed him almost completely in his warm, wet mouth, something like fireworks went off behind his eyes. This time he didn't want to reach the point of no return empty or alone.
"No -" he gasped.
"What's wrong? Don't you like it?"
Face almost laughed out loud at the possibility even existing that he wouldn't like it. His eyes forced out the silent meaning as he answered, "Murdock - I want this to be for *both* of us."
Murdock raised himself from his lover's body. His wide dark eyes were enormous in the firelight, almost black with arousal. A tiny reflected light danced within each. 'The fire within,' Face thought, dreamily.
"Face," he asked softly, "you want me to make love to you?"
Face knew what he wanted. He was scared, scared of the physical pain he accepted was to come, still scared as well of the intensity, the finality of the act. But his body refused to lay down and submit to the fear any longer. He saw the velvet darkness that wrapped around them softer than any blanket, the dance of the firelight, Murdock's eyes burning into his; long-lashed, bottomless, liquid eyes. He could lose himself in those eyes, so deep he couldn't ever find his way out again. It was a dream, his dream. And he clung to it, fearing that if he chose to wake up now, it would never return again.
"Yes," he said, desperately. "Inside me. Please."
Whispered words, "Be right back," a quick kiss on the end of his nose. Then empty air. Lonely. Face rolled onto his side and reached for a large cushion, curling his body around it, and stared into the fire, seeing visions in the flames. It was that kind of other worldly feeling.
"Mmmmm, Face, that's a nice position..."
A warm body was sliding up against his back again, a hard cock pushing gently against his ass. He stretched, letting the thrill become a deep erotic sensation, and let a tiny moan escape his lips. Murdock's hand reached around him and trailed up and down his erection.
"You are so *beautiful*, you know that?" the pilot murmured.
Face smiled absently, not quite sure whether Murdock was referring to his looks, his cock, or both. He didn't much care. The sensation of touch on his newly sensitized organ was so distracting that he was finding it hard to concentrate on much else. Then he bucked and gasped as he suddenly felt a finger probing between his buttocks, past the tight ring of muscle and into the snug confines of his most secret place. Something warm and slippery was introduced into his body; oil, he guessed, by the texture. Another finger entered, and began caressing and stretching him in the same manner. Knowing what to expect made it a little easier this time, and Face forced himself to relax around the intrusion, rewarded when gentle pressure on the sensitive gland deep inside racked his body with such a spasm of pleasure that he cried out.
Murdock kissed his shoulder. "Ssh, Face...s'okay, baby, I'm right here. Not long to go now."
The fingers were withdrawing, and oil-slicked hands were turning him over onto his belly, shoving a couple fat cushions beneath as a pillow. Face hugged them, his entire body trembling, gazing over his shoulder at Murdock as he straddled him and began kissing a fiery trail from the nape of his neck to his ass. The fur of the rug tickled and teased his stiff rod, and the need to generate movement became almost unbearable.
"Murdock - *please!*"
Another kiss smoldered on his tailbone. "You want to stop, you yell," Murdock repeated. And then came the incomparable feeling of his cockhead poised at Face's entrance, touching for a moment, and then pushing inside.
Face moaned, burying his head in the cushions as Murdock eased down to stretch out along the length of his body, whispering little endearments that made no sense at all, but sounded wonderful all the same. He began moving back and forth with tiny thrusts that posed no demand, simply adjusting Face to the feel of his size. When he met with no protest or resistance, he slowly began to increase the depth of his movements, plunging a little deeper each time until he was buried to the hilt. Face gasped, moaned, his fingers crawling beneath the cushion, tightening around the rug, gripping and clawing at it, beginning to lift his ass and push back into Murdock, mirroring every thrust he made. His lover moaned, speeding up his rhythm.
"Face - oh, God - oh, fuck - yesyesyesyes -!"
And that warm greased hand groped beneath his hips, putting a stop to his urgent grinding, taking hold on his cock once again and stroking, squeezing him to surging ecstasy even as Murdock called out his name once more and exploded inside of him, filling him beautifully, rushingly full...
**********
"Murdock..?" murmured Face. They were laying pooled together in the soft hollow warmed by their body heat. One of Face's hands slowly stroked his lover's hair as the pilot moved his head slowly, lazily, over his chest, planting tiny kisses wherever the urge took him.
"Mmmm..?"
"Is it always as good as that?"
"Usually."
Face smiled contentedly and closed his eyes.
THE END
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