notjustaface | The Other Woman

The Other Woman

Charissa...

They met the officer's club, where else would he find a woman like her? She was passionate - intense, everything he wanted in a woman. It was easy to forget everything around her, everything about the man he was. She made it easy to turn a deaf ear on Hannibal's warnings about playing dangerous games and to turn a blind eye to the fact that Murdock was pulling away from him.

And it was all gone in an instant, the months together - the plans, the future.

They'd been lying in bed and he teased; "We're going to make such beautiful babies."

She laughed, at first. "How many of those beers have you had?"

"I mean it," and he really did, maybe it was time to settle down... do the family thing. "I'm being serious here."

Apparently she didn't feel the same. At least it sure as hell seemed that way when she walked out and stopped answering his calls and messages.

The second night alone he got a single text reply; "Don't call me again."

Well, that settles that. With a bottle of scotch alone in a dark room.

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He wants... he wants so damn much, but he won't push it because like it or not, Murdock's right. He's drunk and stupid and not thinking clearly.

But sleep finds him easy enough, wrapped up in a bundle of candy coated scotch and the scent of a pilot he hasn't had so close in what feels like a very long time.

And when the first stirrings of morning show their evil spiky head, his reflex is to squeeze tight at the cuddly shape pressed against him.

"Mmm... morning..."

"Mm, hey you."

As the sun makes itself known, he has no problem with pulling Face closer to him, wrapping his arms around him.

"How're you feeling?"

There's painkillers and water at the ready, should he need them. From its perch on the pillow, the stuffed brown cow Murdock knows Face gave him watches over them both.

Face manages open one eye, seeing past Murdock's curls to their little brown visitor.

"How drunk was I last night?" He groans, licking sticky off his lips with a dry tongue before reaching past him for the water.

"Not drunk enough to hallucinate tiny farm animals, if that's what you're wondering."

He reaches out and grabs the toy as Face reaches past. "Brownie just wanted to make sure you were okay."

"Good, I was worried about that." He chuckles dryly before swallowing a large gulp and following it with ibuprofen and more water before sinking down beside him again.

"You named her Brownie?"

He nods, settling down beside Face as he cuddles the stuffed cow.

"She seemed to like it."

"Mmmm..." he nods, pressing a kiss against his forehead as the water seeps into his system.

"I'm sure you're an excellent cow-Daddy." He murmurs, "God knows you're too good to me."

He returns the kiss gladly, now that he knows it's not the alcohol influencing things.

"How many times have you gotten me through a med change, or a nightmare, or some other crap going on in my head?"

He shakes his head, returning Brownie to the bag from whence she came.

"Ain't any different."

He's in a weird place, but he doesn't want to think about it. He doesn't want to think about just how damn good it felt to have that familiar weight there in the light of morning.

They slept together, actually honest-to-God slept, not just across a tent or in queen sized hotel beds - just them tangled together with their clothes on.

"It's me," he replies in all seriousness, holding him tighter. "I'm supposed to be your rock, remember?"

"Best friends are supposed to be there for each other," he insists. "Doesn't make you any less my rock. You think I think any less of you 'cause it's your heart broken and not your brain?"

Clearly he has a lot to say about this.

And there's those feeling things again that were supposed to be in the bottle that's probably under the bed by now.

"I don't think it's possible to think any less of me." He admits, a little too truthfully before rolling onto his back to stare up at the ceiling.

"But thanks, man. I mean it. You're too good to me."

"As good as you deserve."

They're obviously not getting anywhere by talking about this. He lies down beside Face, pulling him into his arms and kissing him the way he hadn't allowed himself to the night before.

"Get it?"

The kiss catches him off guard and he doesn't have time to respond before he's looking at Murdock again and talking.

"I should brush my teeth... I probably taste like a bar coaster."

Avoiding. It's a good thing.

He shakes his head again, pressing in for another kiss.

"You still taste like Skittles."

Now that, he can handle. And if Murdock doesn't mind... well... who is he to not take a good thing for what it is?

"You do love Skittles..." He murmurs, licking his lips - not yet daring to push his luck.

"Love lots of things."

It's the closest he can come to saying what he really feels, at least right now. He snakes a hand under the collar of Face's shirt.

"And right now I think I got a promise to keep."

The once pressed shirt is two days old and wrinkled, probably reeking of scotch and God knows what else he's done to himself since she walked out.

And he wants it off mostly because that makes him a little closer to Murdock's t-shirt and thus the bare skin that might actually be promised.

"I can't hold you to a promise I don't remember..." He laughs, almost nervous that maybe he can't do it again after so long.

He manages to thumb open the first two buttons of the frankly horribly-in-need-of-a-wash shirt, resting his hand on Face's chest.

"Only if you want to."

It's all the approval he needs.

"Oh god yes..."

He pushes hard, easily rolling Murdock onto his back to kiss him harder - letting himself take the lead. Right in his comfort zone.

"I want..."

And god, they feel so right together. He tugs at the offending shirt some more.

"I missed this," he finally admits.

He'd honestly thought Murdock hadn't thought about it at all in his abscence... and it's so easy to shake it off as pillow talk.

But deep down he knows there's no such thing, not from him. Everything he says has meaning, even when you can't make heads or tails of it. Now, though, he can't deal with what his brain wants to make of that at all.

Not when it's so easy to not think.

So he doesn't think, he pushes one hand up his t-shirt and kisses him again with a hollow groan.

He can't be anything but sincere when Face is looking at him like that.

"Need to feel you..."

The words are almost enough to short circuit his brain, those simple words...

"You can have me, baby..." he murmurs back, "anything. Anything."

Frustrated with his own clothes, he pulls the button-down up over his head, snagging a top button in the process but well beyond caring.

"My pants?"

"Off with 'em."

He'd be happy to help with that, if he wasn't busy wriggling his way out of his own clothes.

"Anything..."

That he can manage, with less than his usual level of grace and suave attitude. He pushes up on his knees long enough to open the hook and force down his zipper and then fight out of the wrinkled slacks and shorts that want to cling in all the wrong places.

"Anything." He replies with utmost sincerity, he could ask for anything in that moment and chances are - he'd give it as much as he could.

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