notjustaface: (Default)
Face woke up well before Murdock - his partner content to slumber well into the afternoon if there was nothing else pressing to do. He had something quite pressing, something he'd have to do himself. "Love you, baby," he murmured, brushing a kiss on Murdock's forehead, fingers shifting aside his bedraggled hair with the barest inclination to put the day off for another day and just curl up in bed beside him until the world went quiet. "I'll be back in a little bit. You just get your sleep."

A soft groan and push back against the gentle kiss was the extent of Murdock's protest before Face could slip out of the hotel room and get to work. There were a lot of things to be done, not the least of which was getting a hold of Hannibal to get some cash wired - the old man owed them a hell of a lot more and it came with the promise that they'd have a job in a couple days.

It didn't matter. All that mattered in that moment was putting a deposit down at the Little Elvis chapel and pulling up to the hotel in a pink Cadillac as the afternoon sun hung low in the desert sky.

"Oh Captain..." he called, grinning ear to ear as he pushed open the hotel room door. "Your chariot, sir... you've not even dressed yourself."
notjustaface: (i love you but you're crazy)
It's been five days since he was captured, and it feels like a lifetime of moving fast and then standing still always has. He doesn't feel any different, doesn't feel like a fugitive... doesn't feel a lot of things. The pain though, that makes it all a little more real to him.

Murdock's trying, he knows, and he plays along with everything with no doubt in his mind that it's all true... but there's nothing even tickling around his brain to confirm much of any of the big things. The plates. Prison. Countless missions on the run. Love. But he's always been good at playing along, putting on a face that everything is going to be fine and it all feels totally normal.

Physically, he's getting around. The smaller wounds have gone to annoying scabs, and the bigger ones are mostly left to cling to his t-shirt and occasionally open up when he pushes himself to hard. The worst is his ribs, but still he forces himself to get up and try to do what he can around the shack while they wait for the Colonel's plan to fall into place. He wants a week... a week of just waiting in the middle of nowhere. A week where it's all he can do to try and feel normal.

It's led him to now, in the middle of the night, watching Murdock sleep under then sheen of unfiltered moonlight through the dusty window and wondering just where things changed between them. What must have happened in prison to make the things he remembers pushing back come bubbling back up like a geyser. There's always been something - hell, as long as he's known the guy they've had something totally different than anything else in his life. It makes sense. He just doesn't know how.

"I miss this..." he whispers, reaching out to his sleeping partner and gently rubbing his fingers over the hairy belly exposed in his tossing to get comfortable - letting his fingers dance close to the waistband of his boxers; "I think. Damn it, I should. I would."
notjustaface: (hidden)
It hadn't been a particularly hard mission, at least not by comparison to some of the stunts they've managed in the last ten years, but there was one fatal point where it could fall apart. Face had approximately sixty seconds to make it from tunnel to the next - a journey that shouldn't take more than forty-five seconds - before enemy's defensive explosion went off leaving him not only trapped but pinned down and unable to escape assuming he survived the event.

An unexpected sniper cut thirty seconds off the time he had. He was four seconds too late... just behind enough the blast didn't take him out - but not out. He was trapped behind the line, and utterly fucked.

"Put her in the air, Captain." Hannibal says softly, staring at the plume of dust and debris for any sign that Face had made it through last second. There was none.
notjustaface: (Default)
Downtime was a blessing, and after being laid up and then a couple hard jobs in India, Face was glad to get back on American soil. At least there he could count on a few familiar things in and around the fleabag motel where they were holed up for the next few days until the boss was able to drum up another job to do.

Fast food, a decent burger, a movie theater a couple blocks away... hell, even the shady looking 'adult novelty' store next to the carryout piqued his curiosity.

At least that's what he tells himself when he on their late-night walk he drags Murdock inside. Hey, even their amazing sex life could use a pair of fuzzy handcuffs.

"Don't touch anything," he cautions before flashing a smile at the bored clerk behind the counter stickering DVDs, knowing full and well he won't be heeded.
notjustaface: (watching)
As far as hiding places go, there are worse places to recuperate than a hotel in Mumbai. At least it's quiet (for a developed city in India) the boss has been content to let Murdock take after him until he can make his way around the small room on his crutches without difficulty.

He's standing by the window, watching the city sprawl out around them when the door opens, expecting Murdock to be returning from the nearby market. "Oh, did you bring back any books this time?"

"I'm afraid I haven't got much in the way of reading material." Hannibal replies with a shallow half-laugh.

"Sorry, Boss, thought Murdock came back."

"Not yet." Hannibal shakes his head when Face turns toward him and crutches toward the end of the bed. "Good to see you up and about."

"Yeah, well... you know how it is. I'll be back on my feet in no time."

A long silence passes between them as Face settles himself at the foot of the firm bed, watching the colonel with thinly veiled interest. It was clear he didn't come to check on him, there was always something else.

Finally, Hannibal says; "We need to talk about Baghdad."

"Really? Because I was under the impression that job was done - with a ten thousand dollar bonus I might add."

"You killed an officer..."

"Who was aiming to take down the chopper! I saved your ass!"

Hannibal frowns deeper; "Your orders were shoot to disarm."

"I couldn't get a better shot, colonel. I made the right call."

A long silence falls between them before Hannibal says; "Murdock disobeyed a direct order when he waited before taking off."

"He doesn't believe in leaving a man behind. None of us do." He raises his eyes up to their leader; "At least I never thought you did."

"We all knew it had to be an option on this one..."

"You're seriously not still making a big deal out of thirty seconds..." Face shakes his head; "He made a decision and everything worked out fine."

"Thirty seconds our whole team was in danger, two civilians..."

"Well... it worked out fine." He shrugs, leaning back on his arms. "And you really need to back up off Murdock about it. He did the right thing."

"He did the stupid thing. You two are a liability the way you're carrying on..."

"Oh!" He says loudly, rolling his eyes; "Now I see what you're really talking about here. This isn't about Baghdad... this is about you hating our relationship!"

"I don't hate it, damn it Peck..." Hannibal sits down heavily in the single chair in the room, glaring at him; "I hate that you two can't look beyond yourselves and see the bigger picture."

"I see the big picture just fine. I see this being over, I see us getting out of this..."

"Until we clear our names..."

Laughing loudly, Face shakes his head. "You don't get it, do you? I'm ready to walk away. The only reason I came back is because Murdock is convinced it's right thing to do and that you can actually fix things."

"That is just like you..." He scowls, "always ready to cut and run when things get tough."

He shrugs again; "I just call it like I see it, boss. There's no way out of this mess. They're just gonna keep coming after us until we have no choice."

"Always so pessimistic... we can do this! We have people on our side, people that know what happened to us was wrong!"

"Fine," Face sighs, "you know what, you keep believing that. And, you know, I'm not going anywhere because Murdock believes that and I'm gonna watch his back." He leans back on the bed, swallowing hard; "If you can't stand the fact that we're gonna watch out for each other, then cut us loose, Colonel. I'll leave that on your hands, but you need to just get over what happened in Baghdad."

Hannibal doesn't respond. He stands up slowly and shakes his head, silently passing by Murdock as he leaves their room to go back to his own.
notjustaface: (Default)
Leaving Canada was about the hardest thing he'd done yet - harder still knowing that they were all flying into heavy enemy territory where not only would there be insurgents breathing down their necks there would almost certainly be a US Military ambush to capture them.

The mission itself was straightforward, two non-combatant civilians (reporters, Hannibal thinks) were captured three months before and being held in a camp a few miles outside of Baghdad. Three teams had already been sent in to extract them; two came back wounded and empty-handed, the third didn't come back at all. By Hannibal's reckoning the problem was that they were sending in too many people and taking the small compound through a single strategy - the first by air, the second full frontal, the third undercover. The real trick - and the trick to getting out of the trap - was to divide forces.

Hannibal goes in undercover, giving BA just enough time to create a nice explosive distraction for Face to set up with a sniper rifle and start taking out anyone that stands between the prisoners and the gates - no matter whose uniform they're wearing. Murdock had the most important job of all; air support. He'd have to wait undetected as close as possible before coming in and laying down enough cover to get everyone safely in the chopper before getting them the hell out of there... while being shot at.

"Think we can pull this off?" Face whispers quietly as they load magazines together in the relative privacy of their tent - less than two hours before going in.
notjustaface: (drink)
His last day at work, they'll be heading out come morning, and Face is torn between the nagging voice in his head that wants to stay more than anything and the sense of duty that tells him he has to go. In the end, it's Murdock's insistence that they go keeps him moving.

He's had a few drinks when he trudges up the stairs to their small apartment and is singing an upbeat song in French when he lets himself in - trying to keep the mood as light as he can.

After hanging his jacket, he calls out proudly; "Reste avec moi pour toujours mon amour?"
notjustaface: (cocky)
The new job isn't bad, he's only been working a week and they've already upped his hours to almost full time - working the happy hour till after dinner shift six nights a week. Somewhat as he'd expected, the tips are good... really good, and getting better as he starts to draw a regular crowd of people that are drawn to the kind of guy that does what he does.

Which is essentially being shameless.

As it is, it's almost six-thirty and he's already stripped down to his jeans and a bar towel slung over his shoulder - sweat (and just a little bit of the tequila a VIP asked to take a shot of off his abs) shining up his torso. It's kind of his element... like it or not. And admittedly, he kind of likes it... even with his rings on he's the center of attention.

"You missed your calling as a stripper." The owner smirks, handing off a pair of empty glasses to pass back to the dishwasher. "There's more money in it."

"I like this!" He protests, pouring out a double and a vodka martini. "Besides, I'm married." He holds up his finger as though she hadn't clearly seen the evidence when he applied.

"Honey, you think they care?" She raises an eyebrow toward a group of women approaching the bar - clearly ready to party.

"On it, boss."
notjustaface: (drink)
It's not the best digs they've had, it's a small one-bedroom apartment in the middle of Montreal, but compared to where they've been staying it may as well be the Vegas Hilton. But, it's theirs.

For a whole month, it belongs to them to come and go as they please and make a life for themselves. A life that Face hopes might just be enough to convince Hannibal that running maybe isn't the best idea.

After a day of shopping every thrift shop and half the department stores in town, they managed to pull together some basic living necessities that Face was taking great care to bring up from the curb while Murdock put it all away.

"Last box, baby..." he says with a wide smirk, locking the door behind them. "This is real."
notjustaface: (Default)
It's been a long couple years, and it's starting to wear on Face - it's starting to wear on all of them, he thinks. And no matter how hard the boss pushes it feels like they're never going to get close to the ultimate goal... to clearing their names and being anything but men on the run.

The natural instinct, the instinct of a con-man, is to find a place and dig in. Start over. New identities, new roots. Of course, that's something he can't voice - not even to Murdock. He knows they wouldn't understand why it's the most viable option when as far as they're concerned freedom could possibly be right around the damn corner.

Still, a little settling down doesn't sound like a half bad idea.

They're just over the US-Mexico border heading into Texas on day four of job that only seems to be getting longer. They won't be stopping until Canada, save for maybe a night in a hotel when they're all so tired and angry at each other they can't think straight. It's Hannibal's shift to drive and BA's tucked into the passenger seat beside them, leaving Murdock and Face to fight against the sway and bump of the dark cargo hold with a few pillows and blankets and their limited baggage.

Groping blindly Face finds Murdock's hand and wraps his fingers around it, squeezing gently. "I'll be glad when this is all over."
notjustaface: (i love you but you're crazy)
He's been trying, and he knows Murdock has been trying too, but the longer the rift between them continues the more Face feels like it'll never end.

The idea had come to him watching Murdock fret over a small pile of stuffed animals at a thrift store - again - coming back empty handed when none of them "fit" with his current plush posse. Something special, something they could do together where there was no pressure to be romantic, but Murdock would know that he meant it as a genuine gesture.

Which is exactly what had led him to The Build-A-Bear workshop on a Saturday morning when it was overrun with children and exasperated parents with Murdock staring out the windshield as they pulled in.

"Surprise?" He smiles softly, looking at him from the driver's seat as he nervously taps his rings against the steering wheel - still getting used to the weight of wearing them again, if nothing as a reminder to himself.
notjustaface: (hidden)
It was an easy gig, by their standards at least. They all had their assignments - Face was saddled with his specialty, scamming two days in a suite in Vegas that was well beyond their budget. There were a few ways he could go about it, before things got deep he wouldn't have batted an eye at the thought of seducing some high roller and swiping a key and credit card number. But, things were different. He had to work harder, to get as many leads as he could and carefully select his mark.

Tiffany Connors, a name he won't forget after what he did, came up the most obvious for the scam. Twenty-two, maid of honor for a wedding party that had gotten pretty out of control the night before. According to the night staff he'd hung out with at the blackjack table, being rather generous with cigarettes and drinks for a steady stream of information that seemed worthless to them, they were planning on kicking them out but her Daddy had a standing reservation that sat empty half the year - and they weren't about to lose his business over a daughter that couldn't stay in line.

Of course, they didn't know how to deal with her type - he was pretty sure he did. Sure enough that when he put on his good suit and brass tag calling himself 'Michael Ashton, Manager' he figured they'd be setting up shop by afternoon. If only things went that easily.

"Miss Connors?" He called, knocking loudly at the door with an air of polite authority. "Management, please open up." Several requests and a loud scream of annoyance later, she opened the door in a silk kimono that barely covered her pale, flawless skin.

"What?" She demanded, raking her fingers through her long, dark, bedraggled hair. "What the fuck do you want?"

Drawing on the authority of his assumed position, Face pushed himself into the room and closed the door behind him when she only glared. "Thank you, Miss Connors... I've, uh, I spoke with the night manager this morning and it seems there were a few complaints from other guests about the noise level in your suite last night..."

"Oh fuck them. My sister's getting married!"

"I understand, but the problem is that your father did not authorize charges for damages made on this suite and..."

"Come on... it's not that bad..." the young woman frowned, her shoulders slumping low enough to show the pink flash of a nipple peeking out from under black silk.

Forcing himself to remain on task - and definitely not to look - Face assessed the obvious damage he could see just from the entry way. It was time for the kicker. "I understand, Miss. I'll go ahead and contact your father about covering this... it shouldn't be more than four or five thousand."

"No!" She shrieked, grabbing him by the wrist as he turned to leave. An instinctive smile crossed his lips, she'd been even easier than he'd expected. "Please! You can't tell Daddy we were here... he'd flip..."

"I'm sorry, but someone has to pay for the damages." He turned back toward her, flashing steady blue eyes that had charmed so many.

The girl looked like she was about to cry, but instead she asked; "Just wait, okay? Go sit on the couch and I'll get my purse. I can pay cash."

"Of course, Miss Connors." He obeyed, casually sitting in the corner of the couch where various articles of clothing and an empty wine bottle had been tossed on the opposite end. Whatever they'd done the night before, it sure had been a hell of a party.

"Call me Tiff," she smiled, returning with a small pink clutch. "Look, I know this looks really bad... but you've gotta understand, my Dad's a real tight-ass..."

"Oh, I understand... no problem..." Face shook his head, his voice stopping dead in his throat when she unexpectedly straddled his lap, pushing him back against the sofa. "Miss... Tiff..."

"You're cute, you know that? You look way too young to be the manager..."

"You... you still have to pay for this, I can't make any kind of..." he stammered, fighting the combination of his confidence and suppressing his libido when faced with a mostly naked very attractive woman in his lap; "" his voice cracked, lifting high when she grabbed him by the front of his shirt and kissed him.

"I'll pay..." she whispered, tossing aside her purse before sliding something thick and hard in his pocket. "I just want to thank you for keeping this between us without Daddy finding out..."

"N... no problem, no... no thanks needed."

Grinning like a tiger on it's prey, the girl let both shoulders of her kimono drop, showing the perfect slopes of her bare breasts without pause. "Come on, Mister... Ashton..." she flicked his name badge, grinding down against him hard enough to make him ache. "Let me thank you."

"I... I really can't..." he sighed, already feeling the rise of his cock as her small hands tugged at his pants. "I'm... I'm gay. Really. Really gay."

"So not gay," she rolled her eyes, yanking open his fly to grab his growing manhood. "Don't be shy, man... I won't tell if you don't."

"No..." he whimpered, biting down into his lower lip - knowing full and well things were getting out of control. "I... I have a boyfriend and I... love him so fucking much..." She squeezed his cock hard, stroking the cotton of his briefs over the thick shaft to draw out a silencing moan.

"Let me give you what he can't..." She grinned, grabbing his hand and forcing it under the fine silk. What he felt was softer than silk, softer than he ever remembered the warm slide of a smooth mound under his fingertips.

She was warm, wet... ready to have him even though he just walked in. "Jesus..." he moaned, flushing hot. "I... I really... really..."

"Want to fuck me?" She asked, raising an eyebrow. His fingers shifted forward, stroking over her slit and she let out a soft, pornographic groan.

"God yes."


He stayed with her a few hours... a few long, really athletic hours that left him aching in more ways than one when he left to her promises that she'd be out of the room by two o'clock and nobody ever had to know that Mister Connors' room had been trashed the night before. Finding the last cigarette in the pack he'd brought to the tables the night before, he took his first puff in a decade to try and calm his frayed, guilty nerves.

An hour and three shots later, he texted Hannibal with the room number and location of the key Tiffany had given him to 'personally service the room'. He couldn't go back yet, he couldn't face Murdock and explain just how he'd not only scored an excellent room but a nice stack of cash to go along with it. He could smell her on him, the clinging reek of sex and shame.

Only strong whiskey could cover it up.

Alone Time

May. 7th, 2013 09:27 am
notjustaface: (laugh)
Alone time is rare at best, and as he clutches the co-pilot's seat of the salvaged Cessna - only a little nervous each time Murdock tries a trick - the fact that they're getting almost a whole day to themselves is more or less the best thing on his mind. They're on a job, of course - they're coming more frequently over the last few months and while the pay seems to be lower at least it's keeping them moving since their close call back in Chicago - but he'll take what he can get.

Even if what he can get is spending the night together in a lean-to in the backwoods of southern Oregon with a few sleeping bags and a cooler while they wait for the boss' call to pick up the other half of the team in northern California. It's still nice to have a little downtime.
notjustaface: (watching)
It was only a matter of time, at least that's what Face tells himself when Hannibal corners him in the kitchen of a one bedroom apartment they've managed to scam for the last few weeks since tumbling into Chicago on a job. They'd been running almost a year without any major setbacks, sure they'd had their snags but everything was going well enough. Funny how a little thing can turn into a big problem.

"We need to talk about Murdock." Hannibal states flatly, twisting a spoon through his coffee with just enough sugar to kill the bitter bite of BA's strong brew.

Face already has files laid out in front of him on their mark and his associates, carefully making notes on a page of stationary from some motel in Boston. He doesn't bother looking up, assuming it's about to become another lecture on the dangers of mixing work and pleasure. "I'm listening."

"In case you haven't noticed, he hasn't eaten in two days."

He looks up from from his notes, going over the last couple days in his head - had it really been two days? It's hard to tell, they'd all been so busy getting things together to make their final move on a scumbag pimp that a cop friend of Hannibal's couldn't pin charges on. "I brought him breakfast a few hours ago, but he was sleeping."

"He's been sleeping for the last ten hours."

"So? That's a good thing, God knows I could use a good night's sleep."

"We all could. When's the last time he managed more then four or five hours?" Hannibal sets aside the spoon, but doesn't drink.

Face considers the question and then shrugs; "So, you think he's sick?" It's a possibility - they've been on the move almost nonstop for over a month before landing the gig and spent most of it sleeping in the cargo truck they'd bought with stolen salvage papers and living off fast food - it's enough to kill anyone's immune system.

"When was the last time he filled his prescriptions?"

Filling prescriptions was a laughable matter that over the last year has meant one exceptionally brief stay as a John Doe in an emergency room and a rather shady deal with a black market supplier. "Guadalajara. But those were really big... like dispensary sized bottles." Easily enough to cover him for a really long time.

"And when was the last time you counted them?"

He could see where Hannibal was going, and he didn't like. "Counted them? What, am I his mother? He's not off his meds."

"You're supposed to keep an eye on him, Face... when you decided that suddenly you two were..."

"Don't even go where you're going, man." Face pushes up from the table, glowering. "Just because we're together that doesn't mean it's my job to be his doctor!"

"It's your job to take care of him!" Hannibal shouts, drawing a low growl from where BA was sprawled across the sofa in the living room. "You took on that responsibility."

"I..." Face sighs, shaking his head. There's not even anything he can say to that - in all fairness, he more or less was taking care of him. He just never considered things like Murdock going off his medication without telling anyone.

Without further comment, he heads to the bedroom where Murdock's still curled on the bed with his untouched breakfast beside him.

"Wake up, man..." he states firmly, sitting on the edge of the bed behind him. "We need to talk."
notjustaface: (Default)
There was no doubt about it, Mel/Mia was definitely in on the gig, between the gun and fake documents stored in her cabin and a key to what could only be a storage locker they had more than enough evidence to take her down hard.

Problem was, she didn't strike either of them as the leader of the operation - she was sweet, pretty, just the sort of con Face was the master of. Which usually meant there was a boss pulling the strings. With less than twenty-four hours before dock, it was hard to focus on getting ready for the wedding when he was going over every face on the boat they'd met in the last two days. Between the two of them, they'd practically been social butterflies - making best friends of most of the boat.

They're taking in some last minute time by the pool pretending to go over their vows only a couple hours before the altar, going over the plan if they can only nab half the pair.

"We'll flush her out," Face shakes his head, pushing up off his towel and stretching enough to make his small speedo even more scandalous. "Have Hannibal and BA grab Mia and then make a run for the hold - assuming the guns are in the hold."

Which is a big assumption.
notjustaface: (water)
It's supposed to be an easy mission, kick back - take a cruise, maybe work on their tans in the process. Baggage, check. Engagement rings, check. Wedding bands, check. Tuxedos, check.

Hannibal and BA boarded first thing in the morning as crew, giving them more than ample time to install some weaponry and a pair of clean cell phones in their cabin and start sweeping for suspicious signs of gun running.

The happy couple took the opportunity to sleep in and have a nice breakfast before heading down to the marina to board.

"It's a nice cabin," Face murmurs, depositing his suitcase on the large bed before heading to the closet to hang up their carefully wrapped formal wear.
notjustaface: (Default)
It's an ambitious plan, but then again most of theirs are and it's not exactly the first time they've infiltrated a cruise ship. They can only hope it goes better than the last.

The day before departure, Face has procured uniforms for Hannibal and BA (porter and security respectively) as well as full vacation wardrobes for himself and his - well, for the duration of the trip - fiancee. He'd never heard of it, but apparently one of the big liners had set up a running gig performing bulk gay weddings at sea - symbolic, of course, but according to the CEO big business and always busy.

The "lucky couple" would be posing as soon-to-be newlyweds as the team investigated a known smuggler that had booked passage under pretense even more flimsy than theirs. If they caught her and her partner in crime, it was one more underworld link severed and a significant paycheck they pretty much needed to stay afloat given the expenses they've managed to rack up.

Still, there were things they had to do to prepare for the trip.

Knocking on the door to their shared hotel room, Face flashed his best smile; "Knock, knock - I hear you're in here all by yourself."
notjustaface: (Default)
[Continuation of Thrift Shop Threads]

Maybe it's the lack of alone time they've had, or maybe just the fact that he's been jerking off while everyone else is asleep for a couple weeks - but the idea of pulling off the road and finding a place to park sounds like a great idea.

"There's not much in the way of a view..." He mutters under his breath, trying to keep the van on fairly level ground as they cut through the empty wooded area - if he hurt BA's new baby they'd never hear the end of it and he might end up with some broken bones.
notjustaface: (Default)
The jobs were sort of an accident, probably one Hannibal intended all along given it made life on the run all the more difficult. It certainly wasn't Face's first choice of ways to scratch together a little bit of cash.

And it was a little. A very depressing little.

Little enough that a cover ID requiring a decent suit under rack price - far under rack price.

"I can't believe I let you talk me into this," he shakes his head - staring at the thrift store's hand-lettered sign. "Clothes come here to die."
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