Heat - Vietnam, April 1969
Copyright 2001
Author: emmastark
Rated: ~NC-17~ Slash, explicit m/m sexuality.
Disclaimer: All characters belong to Stephen J. Cannell and Universal.
Archive: Yes
Warning: Slash, explicit m/m sexuality.
Comments: Please
Summary: Vietnam -- 1969. It was hot. Real hot. And Murdock and Face were hot for each other...
Note: Posted in honor of Mel’s birthday. Have a happy one, my friend! Hope you like.
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Heat - Vietnam, April 1969
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No place did hot like Vietnam.
The mid day sun stood right over the top of LZ Blossom. Burning yellow bright down on everything. Choppers were lined up along the south field, Hueys and Dogs and a couple UH-1E gun ships, but you couldn’t touch them. Their jagged metal hides radiated heat. Waves of it rose off them, and off the tarmac.
In the cool dark of the jungle night, the soldiers would go hunting. But now, they rested in the shade, whatever shade they could find or steal or make. Makeshift tents sprung up late every morning, poncho liners stretched across M-16’s stuck recklessly in the dirt, or sticks. Parachute silk shadows.
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The resupply chopper came in at 1200 hours, churning up red dust. Billows of it, that hung heavily in the still air. Captain HM Murdock watched from his small piece of shade, on the west corner of the Officer’s Club.
A couple guys ran over, noses and mouths covered with handkerchiefs, eyes shielded with sunglasses and goggles. They humped a dozen crates out of the chopper’s belly, hunkered down while the bird lifted again, and turned, then started hauling the supplies over to the field bunker.
There would be Coca Cola in those crates. Tall, lukewarm bottles of it. C-rations, too, peaches and turkey loaf in tiny little cans they’d pry open later, in the field, with P-38 folding can openers. Comm wire. The big guy had been wanting comm wire, fixing something or other. Man liked to get his hands on an engine just as bad as Murdock liked to get his hands on those sweet Hueys out on the tarmac. Now that they had Faceman, they mostly got what they wanted.
Face.
Murdock smiled to himself.
He’d gotten what ~he~ wanted, all right. One requisitions officer, mysterious and sweet. Blonde, blue-eyed vision with a dangerous streak. Unpredictable, like summer storms. Murdock sighed happily in his hammock. It hadn’t been easy. (Would anything be simple, ever again, now that he’d aligned himself with that crazy bunch of mixed up greenies?) Not easy. But glorious.
The air was still again, red dust settling back onto the desolate hillside. Not even the air wanted to move in this heat. But someone was moving. Moving out onto the tarmac, toward the pile of supplies.
Face.
He was wearing a pair of khaki shorts that wouldn’t interfere much with his tan. Flip-flops, which were pretty standard for LZ B, when you weren’t on your way out. Dog tags that gleamed bright silver against his chest.
Murdock sucked in his breath. Sighed as Face pulled a t-shirt over his head. Got up and began a slow mosey over toward whatever action Face was getting up to now.
Face was always up to something.
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“Whatcha up to, Loo?”
“Hey, Lieutenant.”
Face gave the two grunts half a sliding salute and pulled out his notebook and pen. “What do you have for me, Hap?”
“One shitload o’ comm wire, Loo. What’s that Bad Attitude brother o’ yours buildin’ in there?”
“Anything he wants. Got something new in the works, now. Why don’t you go down there and ask him about it?”
Both grunts put up their hands. Surrendering the very idea. They weren’t ~that~ curious. They weren’t suicidal.
“Hey, Lieutenant! This one’s yours, too. Insulated box full o’ somethin’. We gonna get some treat tonight?”
Face grinned a little. “You aren’t half-way pretty enough for this present, Joe.”
Joe whistled and Hap sighed. “You gotta be Superman, get some girl up here. You got some local thang shakin’, Loo?”
Captain HM Murdock slid in the door of the re-supply shed at that moment. All long bare legs, with a wild Hawaiian shirt open over his bare chest and fluttering behind him. He leaned up against the door frame.
“Pretty local,” Face said.
“Hey, Captain! You flyin’ today?” Joe asked.
“Do they serve tea in Vladivostok?”
Joe frowned, not looking like he was too sure, one way or the other.
Murdock watched Face thread twenty pound rolls of comm wire over his tanned, muscular arms, flexing against the weight. He settled one roll on each shoulder and grabbed one in each hand.
The re-supply shed was swelteringly hot. Patches of dark sweat showed through Face’s t-shirt, under his arms and in a V down his chest.
Anywhere but here, Murdock thought. Skinny dipping in Kramer’s Pond, down Old Oak Road. Lying in the sand by Face’s ocean. (He’d never seen an ocean himself, ‘til he was flying over one on his way to Vietnam.) Sipping cold drinks, the kind with umbrellas, by a pool somewhere (anywhere) watching the water drip down Face’s legs.
Sweat dripped down instead.
“Get that box, Murdock?”
Murdock grinned. He grabbed four bottles of lukewarm Coca Cola and set them on the box, then picked it up. “Lead on, Faceman.”
“Thanks, guys.” Face shot each of the grunts a look. “You need something, you know where to find me.”
Hap blushed and Joe gave a loose salute. “See ya when, Lieutenant. Keep yer rocks together!”
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Face and Murdock walked down past the communications bunker and the armory. The LZ B chow hall.
They’d been in a tent here, when they first arrived. But Face had traded them into a reinforced bunker within a week. It was safer, when the sky lit up at night with loud and angry fire. Nicer. More private. They all liked that. They were their own world. Becoming, anyhow. Didn’t want anybody else at all.
They stopped by a makeshift tent, out near the west perimeter. BA was cleaning guns in the shade, dark skin glistening with sweat, listening to Ray go on.
The big man grunted when Face laid down the wire. But it was a happy grunt. You just had to know how to read him. Ray opened up their Cokes.
“You need the, ah, place awhile?” Face gave a calculatedly innocent look as he said it, and three pairs of eyes rolled.
“You watch yo’self, Faceman.”
Murdock grabbed BA’s soda bottle and took a swig, then dove off toward the door when the big man raised his fists. “I’ll keep an eye on ‘im, mudsucka. Don’ you worry, none.”
BA grunted. “Tha’s what ah’m afraid of.”
“He’s a mother, HM,” Ray said, flipping his bottle cap up in the air. “An’ you two are his favorite chicks.”
“Gonna mutha these fists in yo’ face, Buddy Ray, you don’ shut thet mouth o’ yours.”
“Whatcha gonna do with that, Faceman?”
Face hefted a chisel and a hammer in his hands. “That’s on a need to know basis, Ray... and you don’t need to know shit.”
Face dodged, but Ray jumped down off the table and grabbed hold of him. They wrestled a little, but it was too hot to do much.
Murdock had set down the box he’d carried down the hill. Face picked it up again, hefting it in his arms.
“Hannibal still coming back on the last chopper?”
BA nodded. “Yah, 2100.” Mebbe go out tonight.”
Face nodded. Murdock followed him out the door.
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They walked toward their place. Got a couple waves. But they weren’t really easy here, yet. Face was making connections as fast as he could, webs of gifts, favors and trades to cement their position, but LZ Blossom was regular army. Special Forces played by their own rules, even when it wasn’t Hannibal, and that didn’t always go down well.
“So’s this a present, Facey?” Murdock asked, quiet.
Face gave a non-committal sort of smile. “Maybe.”
Murdock could feel the heat building inside him. Sweat.
Could be anything, with Face. Anything. Cotton candy or hula hoops or Louisiana daisies. Whatever it was, it was heavy, though. Twenty or thirty pounds, heavy.
Face smiled a little more. “You’re going to like it...”
Murdock wanted to give Face a shake. Or kiss him senseless, then rip open the box and find out what was inside. But they were careful about touching, here. Stolen kisses were the only kind they had. Maybe the only kind they ever would, considering... well, considering. Quick, clandestine cuddles behind closed doors.
They went into their hootch.
It was just a little block house, not much cooler than outside. Dug in and sandbagged. But Ray’s Brigitte Bardot pin-up calendar and the faint scent of good cigars, half a jeep, all in pieces and Huey schematics ripped out of Jane’s and put up on the walls with bubble gum made it home. Face didn’t really have anything of his own. But he had them, so it was okay.
Face set the box over by their bunk and shoved Hannibal’s footlocker against the door. Then he turned. Leaned provocatively against the doorframe. Jutted out his hips just a little, in just that way...
Murdock had trouble swallowing. His hand wandered toward the front of his shorts. He was so hard. Instantly, achingly hard.
“Strip,” Face said. It was both a command and a promise.
Murdock unbuttoned his khaki shorts and slid them down and off. Let his shirt slide down off his shoulders. Kicked off his sandals.
Face smiled at him. Looked him over and smiled some more. Then he jerked his head toward their bunk.
It was a double decker, and since they got here, they’d curled close to each other up on top. But now, Murdock laid on his back on the bed beneath. His heart fluttered a little, waiting. Watching Face.
The heat was inside him, now. Inside and outside both. He felt like he was burning up. Sweat dripped in his eyes. The bunk was hard beneath him, the blanket rough. He was burning...
Face moved over to the foot of the bed. Looked down. “Love me?” Face asked.
Murdock nodded.
Face smiled. “Trust me?” he asked, his voice serious and sweet.
Murdock smiled. Grinned. Nodded again.
Face reached out and drew Murdock’s eyes closed (gently) with his fingertips.
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Dark heat.
When you close your eyes, you realize, suddenly, how much you use them. How much you depend on them.
Murdock suddenly smelled sweat, his own and Face’s. Felt the rough blanket beneath him and the still, hot air on his bare skin. Heard the distant thrum of a generator and the sound of laughter at the edge of hearing.
He could hear Face, too. Close by.
Face guided Murdock’s hands over to the bed posts, curled his fingers around them. Said (without saying) to hold on. Hold on tight.
Murdock let his arms stretch out, felt the ghost of slow-moving air against the wetness of his underarms. Against his cock.
The purposeful vulnerability made him hard. Imaginary ties and eyelid blindfold... he shifted his hips upward, body searching out a matching heat.
They’d only been together three months, now. Three months, but he’d never been nearer heaven.
They matched, the two of them. Bodies and souls. Two sparklers clutched in a kid’s hand as he runs through the dark on Fourth of July. Bright and fast and good. Even here. Maybe especially. Bright things show up better in the night.
Face was opening the box. Murdock could hear him. Odd rustlings, then...
He heard the distinctive ta-chink of hammer and chisel against... something.
He grimaced and writhed on the bed a little, ‘cause he was ~dyin’~ here, absolutely ~dyin’~.
There’s nothing quite like a secret.
He couldn’t hear anything, then. (Just the generator. Just the far laughter.) But he felt Face’s sudden nearness on his hot skin.
His breath came faster. He cursed it (silently), because it kept him from hearing, and all he ~had~ was hearing. (And taste and smell and...)
Face touched him... and the touch was ice.
Tracing down his temple. Down his cheek.
Ice running across his burning skin, cool water drops trailing in its wake.
Murdock gasped and shuddered.
The ice (sharp-edged) eased over his lips in cold, wet, delicious kisses. Hovered on his tongue (he opened his mouth to it), then moved down his throat (exposed and wanting), over his Adam’s apple (tickling) and down.
All he could feel of himself now was fire and ice. There ~was~ nothing else, no sight or sound. Just skin.
His hands were his only anchor in the whole universe and he clung to the metal bed posts desperately as the ice traced down from the tips of his long, clutching fingers, paused a moment on his wrists (oh, god) and wandered up his arms.
Collarbone. Sternum. Had he ~had~ a body before this moment? He was all body, now.
The ice made him feel the heat more clearly (bright in dark) and he gasped for air as it wove through the tangled hair on his chest. The heat made him feel the ice more clearly, and he bucked when it brushed against his nipple.
When it disappeared (suddenly), he made a wanting sound in his throat (begging). He heard a warm chuckle, then that sound again, ta-chink, and he was burning, a burning man, and then ice touched the bottom of his foot.
Sounds in his throat again (pure bliss) and he struggled to stay still. Ice traced against the hard calluses of his feet and the jutting ankle bones. Up his leg slowly... .
..and his cock remembered they were naked and wanted touching, sweet, soft caress, then more...
Ice trailed up his thigh and he surged toward it, only to have it taken away.
“No,” he said, too loudly.
But then Face’s mouth was on his cock and the ice was ~in~ Face’s mouth and the cold and the heat and the sweet deepness of Face’s throat were too much (everything).
He thrust up (Face’s hands on his hips, now, guiding).
Face was laying across his legs (hot) and deepthroating him and the ice was melting against the underside of his cock and he could feel Face’s tongue working (sweet friction) suction and the ice was gone and he came in great, crashing waves of coming, turning his head into his shoulder to stop his own screams and tears slid out of the corners of his clenched closed eyes.
Face pulled it all out of him. Stopped only when Murdock unlocked his stiff fingers from around the metal bed posts and grabbed hold of Face by that thick gold hair.
Any more would kill him.
Kill him dead.
He hauled Face up (eyes open, now, seeing) and kissed him hard and long. Then rolled them both over and hovered above his lover.
Face was grinning like a cat. “Okay?” he asked.
Murdock planted small kisses on Face’s cheek and nose and chin.
Oh, yes. God, yes.
Face’s hard cock pressed into him, and he remembered himself, eventually. Saw the block of ice that was melting into their dirt floor. The two tall bottles of Coca Cola that Face had tipped against it.
“You are everything sweet in the whole world, Facey,” he said.
Face blushed.
Angel sweet innocents shouldn’t know how to give such good blow jobs, Murdock thought, but that was part of what made Face everything. All the contradictions. All the complications.
Contrary. Complicated. But that boy needed something simple, now. And Murdock knew just what it was.
He pressed down on Face’s smooth chest. Soft skin over hard muscle. “Don’t you go nowhere, Facey, you know what’s good for you...”
Face blinked up at him lazily. “You’re good for me.”
“You know it, baby. I’m gonna be so good for you, I’ll make you holler.”
Murdock crawled off the bed (and god, he hoped they didn’t have to go out tonight, ‘cause his legs were all wiped out). Opened up one of the Cokes and drank down a long, sweet gulp of it.
Then he picked up the hammer and chisel and knocked a chunk of ice off the sweating, streaming block.
“You got all the best ideas, darlin’. I ever tell you that?” Murdock climbed up on the narrow bed again. The ice was almost unbearable in his hand. Terrible wet cold in his palm.
He settled himself beside Face, and half-sprawled over. Tipped a little Coke into Face’s mouth, awkwardly, before setting the bottle down. Then cupped the (melting) ice in his hands and let small cold drops of water fall between his fingers onto Face’s chest.
Face shivered, now. His lashes fluttered and he grabbed a piece of blanket in each hand.
Murdock shifted the ice into his left hand and reached the (ice cold) right one under Face’s balls.
Face made a sound, both groan and whimper, as Murdock began to stroke his cock. Easing his hand down over the smooth, hot slickness. Adding ice cold drops of water to the delicious sliding salt of pre-cum.
“Harder,” Face demanded, and Murdock tucked his ice hand under Face’s balls and fisted Face’s cock harder and faster. Feeling the rhythm, moving with it, moving into it. Hard. Fast.
Face jerked and cum spurted up, then slid down over Murdock’s fingers.
Face took in great gasps of air, gulping it in, and he put his hand on Murdock, on his arm, to steady himself. Murdock grinned as he wiped off his hands.
“Turn over, baby,” he said softly, and helped Face turn.
Murdock traced his hand over Face’s back. Gently, over the smooth, tanned skin.
Such fierce love he felt. Fierce love.
He retrieved the small piece of ice from the place where it had fallen, on the blanket, and eased it over Face’s shoulders. Down the back of his neck. Through his hair.
When it was gone (after tracing spine and legs and gentle curve of ass) he lay down beside Face. Stretched out against him, one arm curled around him. Warm nakedness against each other.
We should put on clothes, he thought. We should do somethin’ about the ice, gonna have a mud puddle in the middle of the living room. We should move Hannibal’s footlocker away from the door, he thought, ‘fore Ray-baby and that mudsucka come beatin’ on the door.
But he didn’t do any of those things.
They couldn’t get out of Vietnam. There was only one way out, it seemed like, and that was the black bags that came with their own handles. The only way out was pieces of yourself, all broken.
But maybe they could block the door on a small sweet corner of this mean, hot country for awhile. Just a little while.
Murdock thought of sparklers as he fell into sleep. Kept Face close and smiled.
He dreamed of fire.
He dreamed of ice.
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~fin~