Author: emmastark
Rated: ~NC-17~ Explicit m/m slash (yay!)
Disclaimer: All characters belong to Stephen J. Cannell and Universal.
Archive: Yes.
Warning: Explicit m/m slash.
Comments: Please
Summary: Valentine’s Day, 1983. Just a happy little PWP... A little mushy, maybe, but hey... if you can’t be mushy on Valentine’s... Oh, and an extra warning for Elizabeth Barrett Browning -- I’m slashing the Portuguese and stealing her sonnets... *^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*
Nor the Seas Change Us, Nor the Tempests Bend
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They were both naked.
Sunlight poured through the bedroom window, and Murdock and Face lay kitty corner across the bed to catch it. One of Face’s hands dangled over the side of the bed. Murdock laid on his stomach, between Face’s legs, his head resting on Face’s chest. The afternoon had taken on the slow, warm, steady rhythm of the heartbeat beneath his ear.
They had made love all morning. Fast love, like new lovers, hot and high with passion. Slow love, like old lovers, who know all the right places and take the time to visit each one with their tongues. They were both. Familiar to one another (trusted) and brand new every time.
Face slept.
Murdock watched him through lazy, half-closed eyes. The sun on his warm, tanned skin. The way that lock of honey blonde hair fell over his forehead (always) when he was sleeping and not vigilant against it, running his hands through his hair impatiently. The way his lips moved with the breath of sleep, like he was whispering his secret dreams, or saying love words softly.
Murdock tried to keep his weight from pressing too heavily down, because he wanted to stay there forever.
In the early afternoon, they’d eaten, spreading a picnic of little white take-out cartons across the bed.
Face had fed Murdock all the egg rolls and Murdock had fed Face all the little wontons, dipping them in the spicy red sauce and licking errant drops of sauce off each other’s lips. Face had some strange prejudice against egg rolls in their tiny wrappers. They discussed the subject of egg rolls at length (in that lazy, Sunday way, when you have nothing else to do but love). Why are they called egg rolls, when they don’t have any eggs in them? When they aren’t shaped like eggs? When they don’t taste like eggs?
They ate red curry and rice with plastic spoons. Dropped clumps of rice on the bed spread and tried to pick it up with chopsticks. Got silly and had a chop stick fight. Face wasn’t silly very often, except under the cover of a scam. There was something terribly endearing about him when he was, like seeing the boy he might have been.
They read each other’s fortunes. "You will go on a long trip" meant they’d have to drug BA and put him on a plane. "You will meet a mysterious stranger and fall in love" made Murdock pout until Face made it all up to him with promises and kisses. Forever and always between licks (so spicy hot) and nibbles that led (again) to making love. On the floor, because they could not pause to clear the bed. Fast friction, rubbing against each other like teenagers, against the slick, sweaty heat of each other’s bodies. Coming hard, in spurts of warmth against each other’s thighs.
Face had crawled up into Murdock’s arms, then, the way he sometimes would after two (or three) times coming made him cuddly and sweet. Pushed into Murdock like a sleepy cat. Grinned ruefully at his own indulgence as he rested against Murdock’s chest.
"Nice Facey," Murdock said, then, petting Face’s hair.
Face rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. He reached up and licked Murdock’s chin with a careful tongue, then kissed him until they were both purring in each other’s arms.
They’d had presents.
Face had gotten Murdock a jar with a screw top lid. When Murdock had opened it (suspiciously), a thousand tiny glittering red hearts had burst out all over everything, sticking on their still damp skin and blanketing the bed and floor. "I’m never going to get all those out of here," Face had whined rhetorically, and Murdock had shut him up by kissing him.
Face had also given him a copy of "Sonnets from the Portuguese" by Elizabeth Barrett Browning. "Men could not part us with their worldly jars," Face had quoted in his careful hand on the blank first page, "Nor the seas change us, nor the tempests bend; our hands would touch for all the mountain bars; and, heaven being rolled between us at the end, we should but vow the faster for the stars." ~To HMM from TP, February 14, 1983. Everything they’d survived went through their heads as Murdock read the words aloud, everything they’d come out on the other side of, and Murdock blinked back tears and Face went and blew his nose.
Murdock had gotten Face a plain gold fob for his key chain. Inside was a compass and a watch, and he’d had it engraved with the word "forever." They’d laughed and called each other old and sentimental and kept the gifts very, very close.
Now Face slept.
Murdock couldn’t stay still any longer. He trailed soft kisses down Face’s breastbone. Scootched down a bit and kissed Face’s stomach and his hipbone and the base of his cock, which lay nestled in a bed of honey blonde hair. Breathed in the warm scent of his lover. Licked him gently.
The last rays of the day’s warm sun shone in the window as he took Face’s cock in his mouth. He rested his head in the cradling warmth of Face’s hip and thigh. He tasted salt and as he suckled there, he felt Face’s cock grow hard between his lips. He watched Face’s eyes as they fluttered open and saw him smile down.
Murdock smiled back with his mouth full. Propped himself up on his elbows. Ran his fingers up Face’s leg, then teased his balls very gently. Face shivered beneath him, and moaned. Thrust his hips upward and moaned again as Murdock gave him the sweet deepness of his throat. Came, finally, exhaling, going limp against the messy coverlet.
Murdock licked his lips (like a cat) and crawled up beside Face. Rested his head on Face’s shoulder.
"I love you," he said softly, leaning in.
Face turned and kissed him on his temple and his cheek. His lips. Held him close.
Slow kisses. Sweet kisses. True kisses.
Then Face plucked three tiny red hearts off Murdock’s chest. Tipped his head back, and said from memory, "...I love thee to the depth and breadth and height my soul can reach..." He smiled. Pulled Murdock even closer.
"I love thee to the level of everyday’s
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood’s faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints, -- I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life! -- and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death."
There was only the sound of their breathing, then, as the day turned into night. They stayed there a long time, like that, wrapped in each other’s arms. ‘Til stars came out, outside their window.
"I love you, Murdock," Face murmured softly, before they fell asleeep. Wishing on first stars and promising. "Forever."
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Happy Valentine’s Day!
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