Damage
by lamardeuse
Rating: NC-17 for language and adult themes.
Written for the Highwaymiles community on LiveJournal.
Goddammit. He’d done it again.
"This is the last time I’m lending you the ‘Vette," Face snapped as Murdock unfolded himself from the car outside the isolated cottage Face had rented. It wasn’t fancy, but it was a good place to lay low for a while. Hannibal was up in Portland and B.A. was visiting his mom. Everything was quiet for a change, and then Murdock had to borrow the car for the afternoon and do something stupid.
Murdock’s brows knit together in a puzzled frown. "Whut’s the matter?" The Northern California day was scorching, but nevertheless he was wearing the omnipresent flight jacket and ball cap he’d been wearing since Face met him. The jacket’s leather was cracked and worn, but the tiger adorning the back was still snarling, ready to kill. Underneath was a t-shirt with an upward-pointing arrow above large block letters that declared THIS SPACE FOR RENT.
"What’s the matter?" Face demanded. "I have lent this car to you on three separate occasions, Murdock, and on three separate occasions it has come back with a new scratch, or dent, or – " he opened his mouth, closed it again " – scratch."
Murdock’s brown eyes twinkled. "Y’said that already."
"I know," Face ground out.
Murdock shoved his hands in his pockets and cocked his head. "So let’s take a look at this scratch of yours, huh?" he said, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. Face clenched his hands into fists and stalked over to the front fender of the car.
"There!" he exclaimed, uncurling one hand to jab a finger at the wound on the perfect surface. "Right there. Look!"
Murdock flipped his hat around, bent down, squinted. "I don’t see no scratch, Face."
"It’s right there!" Face was practically yelling now, fingertip brushing away the dust. "It’s at least three inches long!"
He held his breath until Murdock nodded slowly. "Yeah, okay, I can kinda make it out." He straightened and scratched his temple with a finger. "You sure it wasn’t there before?"
Face rounded on him. "I go over every inch of this car once a week, Murdock, and I went over it right before I entrusted it to you – "
"Thanks a lot," Murdock muttered.
" – and there was no scratch here." Face folded his arms, waiting for the apology. After all, Murdock knew this was a custom paint job; it’s not like he could pick up this exact shade of white at some crummy dealership.
But Murdock just shrugged and smiled. "Well, I’m sure once you set your mind on other things you’ll forget all about it in no time."
Face gaped at him. "Forget about it? Are you insane?"
Murdock only raised his eyebrows at that; Face flapped a hand. "Yes, fine. But I can’t just forget about it. I’ll always know it’s there. I’m going to have to have it removed." Taking a step forward, he jabbed a finger into Murdock’s chest. "I am never giving this car to you again, do you hear me?"
Face had obviously forgotten how quick Murdock could be, because before he could withdraw his hand, it was trapped in Murdock’s own, held in a grip of iron, while Murdock’s gaze caught his own. He was pinned down, ambushed with no hope of escape. Last fucking stand, and he hadn’t even seen it coming.
Murdock’s smile was gone, replaced with something Face wasn’t too keen to explore, especially when it was having the unfortunate side effect of making his cock harden in his chinos. "So you don’t trust me with your car," Murdock said softly, taking a step toward him, and Face was not taking a step back, he was –
"That’s right," he said stubbornly, holding his ground.
Murdock leaned in until Face could feel Murdock’s breath against his cheek. Murdock always smelled like licorice; he remembered in ‘Nam, that damned anise candy on his tongue the first time they kissed, slipping into his mouth, Murdock laughing while he coughed –
"Your car’s always gotta be perfect, ain’t it, Face? Not a scratch, not a dent, not a scratch. No history. No memory."
Face blinked. He opened his mouth to say what the hell are you talking about, but Murdock was gliding his palms up Face’s bare arms, raising goosebumps in spite of the heat, and the words died in his throat.
"Now me, I like history," Murdock was whispering now, and Face closed his eyes in spite of himself. "You ‘n me lived a lotta history. A lotta history is between us. And I can read it every time I look at your scratches ‘n dents. Every time I touch you."
Face might have groaned; he wasn’t sure. "You’re just trying to distract – "
"Right here," Murdock said, drawing back and pressing a finger to the back of Face’s left hand, "is where that guy cut you with the beer bottle, in Saigon. You remember? Fucker didn’t like Green Berets, and told us so. We told him back, didn’t we?"
"Yeah, we did," Face murmured, the chords of Hey Joe drifting through the back corners of his mind; B.A. loved that song, played it all the time whenever he could find it on a jukebox. The asshole with the beer bottle didn’t like Hendrix, either. "We did."
"Here," Murdock continued, fingertips sliding along the underside of Face’s right bicep, the slight rise of a three-inch scar only noticeable to his touch. "Barbed wire, that time near Rocket City. You got kinda careless there. I had to give you first aid."
"Was only – a scratch," Face murmured, annoyed at the way his internal organs were liquefying. How the hell a guy with a fifteen-year old jacket, a backwards baseball cap and a dumbass t-shirt could get him hotter than a hourglass-figure blonde in a skimpy bikini was still a mystery to him.
"Yeah, but we hadta watch those scratches," Murdock persisted. His mouth trailed down Face’s neck, and Face arched back, giving him more room to explore. "They went septic real fast in the jungle."
"Good thing you were there to – take care of me," Face gasped. Murdock chuckled, and the vibration made him shiver.
Murdock’s hands pulled Face’s shirt out of his pants, then lifted it up and off. Face threw it inside the open window of the car while Murdock stripped; however, Murdock took his own t-shirt and spread it carefully over the hood of the car.
Face frowned. "What are you – "
"Shhh." Murdock’s deft hands were at his belt now, slipping his pants and underwear down his hips before Face knew what was happening. He helped him to step out of them, then carefully folded them in half and laid them on the seat. "Lift up."
Face stared at him. "You want me to – "
"Do it," Murdock whispered, and Face couldn’t do anything but obey. He leaned back against the hood of the car and sat on Murdock’s t-shirt, feeling exposed and faintly ridiculous.
And then Murdock fell to his knees and touched the faded mark high on the inside of Face’s right thigh, and Face froze. Murdock made a gentle sound, almost a coo, and Face relaxed slightly, allowing himself to be touched.
"I remember this one real well. Too well." Murdock sucked in a breath, let it out shakily before continuing. "I picked you up at that LZ near Da Nang and there was – so much blood on you."
Face reached out and stroked Murdock’s cheek. He could still remember those wild eyes on him when they all piled into the chopper. "It looked a lot worse than it actually was."
"I know," Murdock said, fingers still stroking. "Still didn’t stop me from thinking, shit, maybe it’s this time, maybe it’s this time. You knew it wouldn’t last forever, didn’t you?"
Face’s eyes widened in shock. Murdock had never told him that. "Jesus," he breathed.
Murdock looked up at him, face open and honest like it had always been, and Face couldn’t have looked away if his life depended on it. "We’re not gonna last forever, but these will. They’re always gonna be a part of us, and no grindin’ or sandin’ or mendin’ or paintin’ is gonna make us forget. But that doesn’t have to be a bad thing, Face. Sometimes it’s okay to love the scratches and dents, too."
Face thought his heart was beating, but he wasn’t really sure. "Yeah, I know," he said roughly, slipping Murdock’s cap off and threading his fingers through his thinning hair. Needing no further encouragement, Murdock smiled softly and leaned in to press his lips to the base of Face’s cock. Face groaned and leaned back, shifting his weight onto his arms and spreading his legs wide so that Murdock would have room to come closer, closer, Christ, closer.
End
May 2006