SUN
Copyright: 2001
Author:
emmastark
Rated:
~R~
Archive: Yes,
please.
Disclaimer: All
original TAT characters belong to Stephen J. Cannell and Universal.
Warning: Light
slash, nudity, tanning oil...
Comments: Please
Summary: Just a little nude sunbathing.
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Sun: By Emma
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The sun was high in the sky, doing its best to warm up that small piece of smog and sand and low glitter that goes by City of Angels. They were between jobs. A soft breeze wafted up off the ocean, over the four men’s naked bodies.
Face always found them private places. Places where they could relax a little (a little) and let down their guard. Rest.
He favored Malibu. Not far from Los Angeles (where they could lose themselves, fading into Glendale or Inglewood or Downey or Long Beach like they’d never existed, like smoke from Hannibal’s cigars), but wealthy enough that each house had its own small sense of seclusion.
This house was up the cliffs a bit. Not down by the water. But you could see the ocean from almost every window anyhow.
The four men were lying out by the pool, sprawled wearily on chaise lounges and bright towels. Making up for the cold they’d endured on their last job (North Dakota bad guys with no sense of humor and a surfeit of snow) by hungrily soaking up the southern California sunshine.
Hannibal lay on his back, dangling a beer from one hand. His eyes were closed and he let the heat (radiating down from the sun, up from the stone patio) ease the sore muscles of his broad shoulders. When a bee (drawn by the glistening scent of coconut tanning
oil, perhaps) lit on his chest, he opened one eye lazily and watched it creep through the light tangle of white hair on his chest. When it flew off, he stretched, sighed and eased back into almost-sleeping.
BA took a sip of cold milk, then set the glass down near the pile of gold jewelry beside him, chains and rings and earrings that gleamed in the golden afternoon light. It was good to be warm. He’d grown up in Chicago (and you don’t know cold ‘til you’ve grown up in a Chicago walk-up on the lower east side), but he’d been in LA for long enough to get used to its dry desert heat. He always felt more naked without his jewelry than without his clothes. Its glitter (and his glare and growl) distracted people from looking into him, and he liked it that way. Like Faceman with his conning smile. Neither of them liked to be looked at too close. Looked at, sure, okay, but not into. But here (just the four of them, everything quiet, everything safe for the moment), he could lay his bangles aside. He reached down, scratched one heavy, muscled thigh, and settled deeper into his beach towel. The soft breeze whispered over his smooth, dark, bare skin and he smiled.
Face reached out and grabbed the small bottle of sun block. Murdock was stretched out on his stomach on a dark blue beach towel, arms crossed under his head. Pale skin contrasted sharply with his dark hair. He burned easier than the rest of them. Face stood (hot stone burning into the soles of his feet) and walked over to where Murdock lay. He traced one finger down Murdock’s arm, so he wouldn’t be startled. Murdock didn’t open his eyes, but he grinned. Face smiled back at him. Impossible not to smile back at him. He was irresistible. Face climbed carefully onto the chaise lounge, knees on either side of Murdock’s hips. He squirted a long line of lotion onto Murdock’s back and Murdock shivered a little. Face set down the bottle and traced the long, smooth planes of Murdock’s back with his hands. Shoulders. Murdock stretched out his arms and Face leaned forward a little to rub lotion into them, too. He eased his hands down Murdock’s sides, careful not to tickle, feeling the ribs and narrow waist. He scootched down a bit and (licking his lips, smiling at his own susceptibility to his lover’s body) smoothed white lotion over Murdock’s ass. Murdock sighed softly as Face rubbed lotion onto his ass and down his thighs. Down his legs. Into the soles of his feet. Back up to his ass.
Hannibal cleared his throat and both Murdock and Face started. They looked over at their CO sheepishly.
“If he turns over, I’m going inside, Lieutenant,” Hannibal’s voice was gruff, but his eyes were laughing.
Murdock wriggled his hips against the towel a little, grinning, and Face blushed.
BA opened one eye and looked at the two of them suspiciously.
Face stood up and walked confidently (gracefully) over to the diving board, the color high in his cheeks. Stalked down to the end and stood there for a moment, eyes closed, head tilted back.
The other three men watched him, standing there in the sun. Murdock’s eyes followed the long line of his back and ass and legs, caught the gold in his hair as the light shown through it, saw the little smile Face always gave when he knew he was being admired.
Murdock loved that smile and that hair and that body (which was half-hard for him, standing there, naked in the sun). He loved the complicated layers of man that lay beneath the surface, as well. All of him. All of him.
Face (eyes still closed) jumped on the board a little (knees bending, arms reaching) and dove into the cool water, swam the length of the pool and came up on the other side.
BA threw a towel at him. “You ~bettah~ cool off, Faceman.”
Face lifted himself up out of the water and threw the towel over his shoulder. “I’m always cool,” he said. He sauntered back to his chaise lounge (near Murdock), stretched out and closed his eyes, falling easily, in the sun-warmed afternoon, into a calm, peaceful sleep.
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~fin~