Rating: NC-17 for language and graphic m/m sex
Author's Note: This was written as a (belated) response to the A-Slash
Missing Scene 8 Challenge. Lines from "The Spy Who Mugged Me"
are also used without permission. No copyright infringement is intended.
Hannibal had given him strict orders, and Face intended to follow them to the letter.
However, the timing hadn't been specified. And he also intended to take full advantage of that.
"Tell me something," he whispered as he and Murdock stood outside the door to the latter's palatial suite. "Does Logan Ross scream when he comes just like you do?"
Murdock dropped the key.
"I don't scream," he muttered.
Face checked the hall. Deserted. As Murdock straightened from retrieving the key, the conman leaned in close. "Oh, I'm sorry. That's not the right term. Is ‘yell' better? How about ‘wail'?" His tongue darted out to tickle Murdock's earlobe, and the pilot jumped. "Bellow?"
"Face!"
"We can tell them I had trouble finding you," he urged, his trousers already getting tight. When had that happened? The well of need that had opened inside him one day, making him crazy now whenever Murdock got too close? This whole Logan Ross thing hadn't helped. Not that Face found Sean Connery all that sexy, but the prospect of messing with Murdock the way he had nearly sabotaged a hundred of Face's scams was strangely exciting. He understood, finally, why Murdock did it--it just added a little more spice to the jazz, testing him, seeing if he could push him over the edge.
Sure, it was foolish. And dangerous.
But they liked dangerous.
"A quickie, Face? Bet you never proposed that to any of your lady friends."
Face was momentarily taken aback by the tone of hurt in the other man's words. "No, I don't think I ever did," he murmured, searching his vast mental database of women, sorting through fading memories of meaningless encounters. It was getting harder and harder to remember them, remember why he'd ever wanted to live like that in the first place.
"You always took your time with them, didn't you? Roses, candlelight, the whole nine yards?"
"Are you saying you want roses and candlelight?" Face smiled to hide his chagrin. They hadn't had much time in their budding relationship to linger over one another. A couple of times he'd spent the night in Murdock's apartment, waking in his arms, but they hadn't been free to fully enjoy it. There was always the fear that the Ables would track him down eventually. During the days, they could fake it; oh, I just came over for a football game, Parchesi, whatever. But sticking around for breakfast wasn't so easily explained.
Murdock huffed, turned toward him. "You don't get it, do you? Then I'll spell it out for you. I don't want to be somebody you fuck against a wall, Face." Their heads swung in unison toward the sound of a gasp. A few feet away, a fat, expensively coiffed woman dripping with jewels had just emerged from the room next door. She gave them the fish eye, then took off down the hall as if jet-propelled.
"Look," Face whispered, "can we take this inside?"
Murdock shook his head. "I got a coupla things to get from the room. I'll be right out, and then we can go meet up with Hannibal." He turned back toward the door, but before he could open it, Face laid a hand on his arm.
"What if I told you that you were the first person I ever wanted to fuck against a wall?" Face blurted.
Murdock stared at him, the pain evident in his eyes now. God, it tore at Face to see it and know, however unintentionally, that he was the cause. "No, listen," he pleaded, "I know this isn't what it should be, and it bothers me as much as it does you. I hate that we always have to plan, and sneak around, and worry. I want to go to bed with you every night and wake up with you every morning. But what I'm trying to say is, you're the only one I've ever--not been able to wait for."
The pilot watched him, his expression softening to mere wariness. He was listening. Face took a deep breath; baring his soul didn't come easily to him, and it was nearly impossible in a hotel hallway. But this was more important than pride or decorum. "I, ah, you see, with those women...it was a game. I had rules in my head, and I followed them, and I watched their responses, while I stayed...detached from it all. That makes me sound like some sort of sick voyeur, but at the time I honestly thought that was the way it worked. It was like living in a shadow world, where I was missing something I didn't even know was supposed to be there.
"But with you, I'm finally aware of how good it can be. It's the difference between listening to a scratchy, warped record on a portable phonograph and standing in the middle of a full symphony orchestra. I..." He trailed off, the words sticking in his throat, then suddenly bursting free. "The trouble is, I can't seem to get enough of it now that I have it. I want you all the time, and not being able to have you whenever I want kills me. When I'm not in your bed, I want to be there. When I'm not with you, I think about you. And when I'm standing here with you outside a hotel room, even though I know we're on a mission and I know Hannibal's waiting for us, all of it, all of it, fades away when I think how right now you could be inside me."
He stopped abruptly, shocked at his own words. Shocked when he realized he'd lost awareness of their surroundings. Fifty people could've walked past them and he wouldn't have noticed.
Murdock was still looking at him, but his eyes were glazed, unfocused, and his breath was coming fast. "Jesus, Face," he whispered.
Face waited, practically shaking with it.
The pilot made a visible effort to collect himself. He darted a glance around them, then, reaching for Face's hand, brought it to his lips. The skin of Face's knuckles tingled as Murdock's mouth brushed against it.
Face fought to keep from closing his eyes.
Murdock locked gazes with him. "There are times when I think it doesn't mean the same to you," he murmured. "Stupid, huh?"
Face shook his head, stepped even closer. "No," he answered. "I can see how you'd think that. I'm not very good at this. But God, Murdock, I want to be."
The pilot smiled then, and Face
melted into a puddle. "C'mon, then," he growled. "Let's go
see if we can fire up that orchestra."
Shit. Dominique.
Murdock could tell she was there even before the music and the artfully draped stockings made it obvious, because the scent of her perfume had already given her presence away. He didn't know one brand from another, but he recognized hers by now. Why did beautiful women think they had to drench themselves in that crap? Come to think of it, why did any women think they had to drench themselves in that crap?
He saw the door to his bedroom start to open, and shoved Face unceremoniously out the French doors leading to the balcony. This was getting complicated, but then Face seemed to attract complications like a magnet. And Logan Ross was just Face in a skinnier, hairier package.
He hadn't told Face he'd borrowed as much of his current personality from the conman as he had from James Bond. When he'd first come on to Dominique by the pool, he'd thought, what would Face do? It had always impressed him, the way Face had been able to softsoap just about every woman he'd ever come in contact with. Even when the pilot had spent years half in love with him, the feeling nagging at him like an itch you couldn't scratch, he'd nevertheless been a sincere admirer of the technique.
And now it turned out that it had all been a lie. Well, not a lie, exactly, but a game that hadn't been satisfying for Face. A game, he said, that paled beside what they had together.
Whatever that was. There were times when Murdock wondered. They were hiding from everyone: Stockwell, the Ables, not to mention from Hannibal and BA. And worst of all, they were hiding from each other, sometimes. Face's checkered track record had made Murdock wary, and Face --hell, everything spooked Face, including Face.
But then Face would show up at his door some night, looking lonely and vulnerable and kissable, and Murdock would let him in and in what seemed like seconds they'd be so wrapped up together he didn't know where he started and Face ended. And afterward Murdock would lie there, his fingers stroking Face's soft, soft hair, and wonder how he'd lived without this.
"Nice fit, don't you think?"
"Well, it never looked that good on me." Logan Ross took over, and Murdock let him. He'd have to rein him in eventually, though, because Logan would be perfectly happy to fuck Dominique's brains out. And that wasn't going to happen.
In his ear, he could hear Face breathing. Listening. Maybe sweating a little. Would he, wouldn't he? The doubt was there, crackling over the transmission like an approaching storm.
--I'm not very good at this.--
No, Faceman, you're sure not, he thought, suppressing a smile that the gorgeous creature in front of him would be sure to misinterpret.
"Tell me, what's the purpose of your little expedition?"
"You do go on, don't you?" Dominique smirked. She shook her head. "Charles wouldn't stoop to such tricks. He happens to be a wonderful man, and he treats me splendidly." She handed him a drink, and he took it from her.
"Oh. Then you should go back to him, by all means. But do," he drawled, walking past her, "do leave the shirt."
She started on her best simper then, and Murdock dropped onto the couch, tired of the whole thing already. Let me stay, Logan. I don't know what he'll do to me, Logan. When not two minutes ago she couldn't say enough about Charlie's sterling personality. This guy was either crazier than a bedbug or she was grasping at straws. Probably a little of both.
"All right. You can stay.
For a bit." He laid a hand on her thigh possessively, sure Face was
watching through the gauzy curtain. Go ahead and sweat, baby.
S'good for you.
When he kissed her, he started counting, and sure enough, he hadn't even made it to three when he heard Face whining in his ear. "Murdock. Not here. Take her someplace else." Something inside him flipped unpleasantly at those words. Did he honestly think it would be so easy for Murdock to turn it on and off? God, Face was a piece of work, still under construction; hard hats and steel-toed boots were a fucking necessity on that job site. What would it take to convince him Murdock wasn't going anywhere?
Before Face could say any more,
the pilot reached into his ear and removed the receiver, dropping it into
his martini. BA would give him hell, but it was worth it not to have
to hear what Face was going to say next.
"If you think I'm going to stand out here in the rain while you--disport yourself!" Face spluttered, slightly surprised at the level of his own hysteria. Then the rain chose that moment to start pelting him, hard. He groaned and pulled his jacket collar up around his ears.
He must look like a wet cat. A wet cat in a tuxedo.
He didn't want to see what was happening on the other side of that curtain. It was much safer to contemplate the blackness around him, and so he waited for his eyes to adjust to the surroundings. There were a couple of lawn chairs and a glass-topped table. He could camp out here, he supposed. It wouldn't be so bad.
It would be ridiculous. What kind of pathetic loser would sit out here all night pouting because the man he wanted was screwing someone else in the next room?
Would he?
It was part of the job. Nothing personal, even if he did.
Like hell.
Oh, God, he was such a mess. He couldn't even figure out what to complain about.
Maybe he'd just sit here for
a while and think. Try to sort things out in his own head.
He settled himself in one of the damp lawn chairs and contemplated the
darkness.
"Logan, whatever do you mean?"
Jeez. Didn't she know that nobody said ‘whatever do you mean' anymore? He felt like he was trapped in a bad movie.
It was pretty clear that even if he managed to give Dominique the best ride she'd ever had in her life, she wasn't going to tell him anything. This gal was just too smooth; there were no edges on her to pry open. Furthermore, she sure as hell wasn't going to get anything out of him, and he wasn't particularly interested in making something up so that she'd think she had. It was a big waste of time all around.
Now, if he could only convince her of that.
"I mean," he told her, trying to maintain the accent despite his annoyance, "that while this is a very pleasant way to spend an evening, I must decline your generous offer."
Her eyes sparked with something cold and nasty then, but she covered it up quickly. Her perfectly manicured hand strayed to his trousers, traced what she found there with a fingernail. "There seems to be a difference of opinion."
Murdock could have laughed. That ain't for you, honey, he thought. Aloud, he said, "Well. This too shall pass." He stood and walked swiftly to his bedroom, grabbing the wallet Stockwell had provided. Might as well put some of his spook dough to good use, on the off chance that part of her story was on the level. He fished out a few big notes and returned to Dominique.
"And so you do not think me a complete cad," Murdock continued, taking her hand and placing the bills in it, "I would ask that you use this to spend a quiet night safe from Charles' wrath. I believe there are several suites available in the west wing." She stuck out a lip, but said nothing. Leaning in, Murdock kissed her again, putting everything he wanted to do to Face into it. "We shall both need our wits about us tomorrow, my darling. Time enough for that later."
"Is that a promise?" she purred.
Murdock mentally crossed his
fingers behind his back. "Of course," he smiled.
It was all his fault.
No other conclusion fit the facts. Murdock had waited for years for Face to come to his senses, and he'd finally done it at the worst possible time in their lives. Stockwell, the suicide missions, the lack of freedom--it was a nightmarish way to begin a serious relationship.
But you already had a serious
relationship with Murdock, a nagging little voice reminded him.
This isn't so different. Neither of you has changed. You'd
still die for one another. He always loved you.
You always loved him.
You're just more--demonstrative
about it now.
In spite of the rain chilling his skin, his body heated again, and he groaned. This was agony. Didn't Murdock know Catholics relished agony, that they wallowed in it like pigs in slop? His brain would go around in ever-widening, masochistic circles, and before he'd know it, it'd be morning. His balls would be blue along with the rest of him, and he'd want to strangle Murdock, then himself.
Maybe it should be the other way around.
Oh, hell. He closed his eyes. There was no escape, was there? From Stockwell, from the military, from his own messed up head.
A blinding flash of lightning burst over the hotel, and he flinched. The thunder followed right on its heels, a booming roar that momentarily blotted out all thought.
When it died, he took a deep breath. Enough. He'd get up, peer through the curtains, hope they'd retreated into the bedroom, then jimmy the doors and let himself out. He wouldn't think about it. Not now. Later, maybe, under a scalding hot shower, when he could stand there and watch it all wash down the drain.
He pushed himself up off the chair and turned toward the doors.
Where Murdock stood, his form silhouetted by the light pouring out of the room.
"Come in from the cold, darlin'," he murmured. The Scottish burr had been replaced by pure, sweet Texas honey.
For a long moment, Face stood there, not trusting his own eyes and ears. Finally, he asked, "Where's Dominique?"
The figure before him shrugged. "Who knows? Gone, that's all I care about."
"You might have gotten some valuable information out of her," he heard himself say.
"You think so? I didn't. But you know what? Even if I'da thought so, she'd still be gone."
"Why?"
Murdock shook his head slowly. "Why you gotta ask?" He held out a hand, palm up. "Stop askin'. Stop thinkin'."
Face stared at the hand. Took a deep, shuddering breath.
And reached out to take it.
When they got inside, Murdock looked him up and down, then started making clucking noises like a mother hen. "You're soaked. Maybe we should go back after all, get you into some dry clothes."
Face stood, unmoving, as the pilot reached in the pocket of his jacket and dug out a handkerchief, then began dabbing at his face and neck. The gesture of tenderness and care struck him like a baseball bat. His knees weakened and he saw stars.
And suddenly, just like that, it all made sense. He should have known it would be easy with Murdock. It was so easy that it scared him sometimes. But that was the joy of it, too.
"Murdock," he managed, voice rough, "we're not going anywhere." His hands rose to loosen his own tie, then slipped it off, letting it drift to the floor. Shrugging out of his jacket, he laid it across the back of the nearest chair, then started on his cufflinks.
Murdock quit dabbing.
"In fact," Face continued, as he stepped close to the pilot, "we're not going anywhere for a long, long time."
Murdock's eyes widened, then ignited. "‘Zat right?"
"Yeah." Face's arms snaked around the other's slim waist and pulled him forward until their bodies aligned.
Murdock's gaze strayed to Face's mouth. "Whut about Hannibal?"
"He just wanted to bring you up to speed. But I'm sure he'd understand if more--ah, pressing-- matters took precedence."
The pilot raised an eyebrow. "Such as sleeping with the enemy?"
"Bingo."
Murdock pursed his lips in thought. "Dangerous, Faceman. I gave her some money to get herself a hotel room, an' chances are she'll lay low, but she could end up at the blackjack tables."
"Murdock?'
"Whut?"
Face angled his head so that he could press a kiss to the base of Murdock's throat. He knew his lips would feel cold, and was rewarded with a shiver from the other man.
"Stop," Face whispered. His mouth borrowed heat as it travelled up Murdock's neck, tracing the path of his jugular vein, pulsing fast and hard under the skin. God, he loved Murdock's long, graceful neck, from the bow of his Adam's apple to the sinews that stood out when he arched it back, like he was doing now. After taking a moment to admire it, Face reached up and tipped Murdock's head forward again. Stared into those fathomless brown eyes, eyes that knew every inch of him, inside and out. Eyes that understood, and forgave, and accepted.
"Thinking," he growled, just
as his mouth connected with Murdock's. Then it was lips and tongues
and madness, and Face wondered if he'd ever get enough of it.
Never get enough of you. Never.
Face's hands were tight on his shoulders as Murdock ran his tongue over Face's stiff cock. The water from the shower pounded down onto them both, washing away doubts and fears and misunderstandings.
Even after all these years, they were bound to happen. They'd happen again.
But they'd deal with them.
"Murdock," Face pleaded, hands urging him upward now. Before he complied, the pilot surrounded the head with his lips one last time and tugged, eliciting another moan from the man above him.
Gonna make you scream, he thought, grinning.
He got to his feet with Face's help, and then the other man was kissing him passionately, his hands smoothing back Murdock's hair. The pilot hated that damned rug, and had taken it off first chance he got. He didn't want any reminders of this mission to come between them, not now, not until the morning made it inevitable.
"Let's get dried off," Face breathed between tastes of Murdock's lips, cheek, chin.
Murdock shook his head. Grasping Face's hips firmly, he ground into him in a circular motion, and was rewarded with a groan. "Thought you wanted a quickie."
"Murdock," Face smiled, and his touch was gentler now, a caress that tugged at the pilot's heart, "we've got all night. I want to do this right, take our time, like you said." He stared into Murdock's eyes, heedless of the water. "Roses and candlelight, remember?"
"I don't need none o' that, darlin'," Murdock replied. "Never did, never will. I got all I need right here." He captured Face's mouth again, encircled him with his arms, holding him like he'd dreamed about for years, hell, for years.
"But--" Face began when they parted.
Murdock laid his fingers against Face's lips. Leaned in close, his mouth against Face's ear.
"Show me how you can't wait for me," he murmured. "Show me how good you want to be at this."
When he drew back, Face's blue eyes had darkened to the colour of summer storms.
"Turn around," Face commanded.
Murdock sucked in a breath and complied. The shower was big enough for a herd of elephants, all sleek black marble and glass, and he pressed his palms against the cool stone.
"Spread your legs," the other man ordered.
Murdock heard a whimper come from his throat.
"More." Face's cock nestled against his cleft. "That's it." Murdock felt Face's hands run between his thighs, over the curves of his ass. His own hardness was pushed against the tile, and a long, low sound escaped him.
Then Face was gone, and Murdock closed his eyes.
Suddenly, slick, clever fingers spread him, delving and darting and...."Oh, Christ!"
"Can you feel it?" Face's voice, his chest against Murdock's back, his breath tickling his ear.
Murdock could only nod. His eyes opened to fix on black, glistening stone.
"Good. Good." Face was near, so near.
And without warning, he slid home.
Murdock's hands curled into fists. He pushed back when Face's fingers wrapped around him.
"Never enough," Face murmured, as he began to rock in and out, his strokes long and sure and perfect. "Never. Never. Never."
Soon, they both screamed.
And yelled. And wailed. And bellowed.
Morning arrived too soon. The only predictable thing about Hannibal was his reveille: oh-six- hundred, on the nose. So they set the alarm for oh-five-thirty and spent another few stolen minutes clinging, touching, nuzzling.
"Gotta get up, sugar."
"I know." Face leaned in for one more kiss, which turned into three.
Murdock looked into his eyes. "You ready?"
"I'm not sure," Face admitted. "They're never going to believe I sat out on the balcony all night. I wouldn't even need my lockpicks to get through those flimsy doors."
Murdock smiled. "Faceman, if there's one thing I learned over the years, it's if you act crazy enough, no one pays attention to the details. Just lay it on real thick." He pulled Face to him for a last, bruising kiss. "But don't hurt me too much, hunh?"
"I don't want to," Face whispered, "but I know I do, sometimes."
"Aw, jeez, Face," Murdock breathed, pressing his forehead against the other man's, "I know you don't. I know that. Just--just don't get too far from me. Promise me you'll stick with it, believe in it."
"I'll try. I still have trouble remembering...that it's you. I mean, you make it so easy, Murdock. I've never had that."
"You've got it now," he promised. "For as long as you want."
Face's answer was a last, lingering kiss that tried to say all the things he couldn't.
That tried to say, I want
it forever.
When they parted, Murdock nodded, his eyes brimming.
"Yeah," he managed, voice rough.
"Me, too."
End
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