There was something on his arm. B.A. woke up enough to growl and swat at whatever it was, then rolled over onto his side, taking the blankets with him.
Wiggling a bit to settle in, he basked in the warm, contended feeling of lying in a real bed, with clean sheets, after honest-to-God love making that hadn't involved vertical surfaces or needing to rush in case they got caught. They didn't have to be up for whole hour, and, as far as B.A. was concerned, life was pretty damn good.
Though clearly he should have rolled the other way, squishing Murdock in the process, because he could feel something on his arm again. B.A. cracked an eyelid and cranked his head around enough to see what was up.
The inevitable answer was Murdock, who'd propped himself up on one elbow and was... poking B.A. in the arm. With both eyes open, and a little more focus, B.A. worked out that he was actually running a finger back and forth over the jagged scar on his right shoulder. It seemed to take a moment for B.A.'s scrutiny to work its way though Murdock's intense concentration, but when it did, he smiled. "Hey there. Just looking at my favourite."
B.A. didn't ask if Murdock had ranked all his scars -- because of course he had -- he just reached up, grabbed the offending hand, and yanked Murdock down on top of him. With their faces just inches apart, he put on his best scowl. "If you hadn't sowed me up funny, it'd have closed clean."
"Oh yeah?" By leaning in a little further, Murdock pressed their noses together; it made his voice sound pinched. "Then how come you didn't make one of the proper doctors fix it?"
"Didn't have medical." It was the story he'd been sticking to for the past five years. As if Hannibal couldn't have got B.A. whatever he wanted, dishonourable discharge or not.
"Riiiiight." Murdock pulled away and ran the tip of his tongue along the scar, making B.A. shiver. "Hey, Bosco, do you know what my second favourite is?"
"I can guess." Had to be either the knife wound on his lower abdomen or the bullet graze inside his thigh.
Sure enough, Murdock twisted his hand out of B.A.'s grip and slid it down towards his crotch. He rolled over enough to mould himself along B.A.'s back, pressing his cock against B.A.'s ass. "Why guess, when I can give you the guided tour? It's available in, among other selections, English, Spanish, Mandarin, Urdu, German and Swahili." B.A. bucked against his hand when he ran a nail along the old knife wound, sucking air in though gritted teeth. "I usually offer simultaneous interpretation in American sign language," Murdock murmured, lips touching the curl of his ear, "But this time I figure I'm gonna need my hands for something else."
B.A. did a quick calculation of the number of scars he had, the probable time Murdock would spend on each of them, how long follow-up sex and clean up would take, and when they had to be back on base. This wasn't going to work.
In a single manoeuvre of such pure, sweet elegance and stealth that it would have made Hannibal proud -- had it not involved the gay sex that their colonel was wilfully ignoring -- B.A. twisted, rolled and manhandled Murdock. There followed a squeal and some kicking, but at the end of it all, the blankets ended up on the floor, Murdock flat on his back, and B.A. on top of him. "How about we do yours instead." He made sure it didn't sound like a question.
Something flickered over Murdock's face, a tightening in his jaw and a narrowing of his eyes, but it passed almost before B.A. saw it, replaced by that same old lazy grin. "What I lack in number, I can make up for in tall tales of daring do. That one, for example," he said, switching into Spanish as B.A.'s fingers trailed over the circle of hard skin on his right hip, "Is from a spear gun fired by a very angry Swiss tourist in Acapulco de Juárez, you see..."
B.A. tuned him out. Speaking his second language and concentrating on getting just the right sounds out of Murdock took more attention then he wanted to spend on this bull shit. "You're lying again," he said in English. He slid down Murdock's body, mouth following his hand. Gripping Murdock's hips to hold him flat, hovered over the scar and blew on it. "You got this when you crashed that Apache into the side of a mountain. I had to haul your sorry ass out of the burning wreckage, and carry you on my back, for twenty miles, behind lines. You raved right next to my ear the whole damn time."
"I like my story better. It has more-- oh, sweet Jeeeezuz!" He tried to buck up again as B.A decided that scars were over-rated and skipped straight to his cock. B.A. couldn't even figure out what Murdock was speaking now, so he just hummed his agreement, hands digging deep enough to leave bruises as Murdock tried to thrust into his mouth in response. Didn't stop his babbling though; never did.
He didn't bother taking his time, not when Murdock was so relaxed and still close to lubed from a few hours ago. Just more a little lube and a condom and ready to go. As Murdock moaned and wrapped his legs around B.A.'s back, B.A. bit down on the slick skin of the burn on Murdock's shoulder blade and pushed into him. From the whispering in his ear, he had Murdock reverting to broken English and Japanese. Good. B.A. liked shaking him up.
Murdock could have been trying to tell B.A. some made up story about that scar too, and B.A. was glad he couldn't understand it. He remembered too well as it was. Hell, maybe he did like some of the fool's versions better.
His teeth left red indents, but he hadn't broken the skin. When BA. tried to lift his head to kiss Murdock properly, two wiry arms wrapped around his neck and held him against the mark. "No, stay. Stay right there." Murdock's voice skipped up, turning high and whiny, his breath hot in B.A.'s ear. "It's perfect. You're perfect. Stay right like-- Oh, Christ! Never mind. Do that again."
B.A. grinned against Murdock's neck and repeated the shimmy and twist of his hips. His arms had started to burn from holding up too much weight too many times that night, but he didn't think he'd last much longer anyway. Murdock's heels dug into his back, and his hands tried to find some kind of grip on his Mohawk; every inch of their skin pressed together, and it all felt too intense to be real.
He came a few moments later, thinking, I love you, and curling his fingers into the mattress. He could feel Murdock's cock pressing into him, still hard, and Murdock whimpered in his ear and tried to rub off against B.A.'s stomach. "Easy, fool. I got you," he said and reached between them.
These were the best times, when he was riding the afterglow and Murdock clung to him, needy and demanding. Every motion of B.A.'s hand transmitted through Murdock's whole body, from the wet, sloppy kisses on his cheeks and scalp, to the clenching around his soft cock, still inside Murdock.
"I don't want to go back," Murdock whispered, after. When B.A. tried to pull away, he just clung on like an octopus. "Let's just stay here, live off room service forever and ever. We could make love like dolphins all day and all night, and never have to pretend for anyone."
"This ain't the kind of place that has room service," B.A. said, still trying to pull away, trying not to think about what that could be like. It wasn't the first time he'd considered quitting the Army. They could live free with no lies, and he could touch Murdock any way he liked any time. Wouldn't work though, and they both knew it. "'Sides," he added as gently as he could. "You'd get bored in a day. No Face to hassle," No Hannibal to keep both of them grounded and in line, "no aircraft to crash into shit; you'd go straight back to crazyland, probably take me with you."
The fight went out of Murdock, and he slumped back onto the bed, letting B.A. disengage and start cleaning them up. "Yeah..." he said, but didn't follow up on it for long enough that B.A. started trying to string together the right words of reassurance. Then Murdock grinned. "Hey, you know what we need?" he asked, and answered himself without letting B.A. get a word in. "An airship, like a blimp but way more excellent. Or a flying aircraft carrier, like in the comics. Then we could be together and fly all the time. Faceman and Hannibal could come too."
That sounded exactly like B.A.'s idea of a personally-tailored hell, and Murdock had to know it. "You know you ain't getting me up on one of those damn fool things," he growled, leaning back over Murdock and kissing his mouth roughly. "Even if there was such a machine."
Folding his arms behind his head, Murdock arced his hips to brush up against B.A.'s thigh and stretched luxuriously. "I figured I could get you to build me one. Let a man dream, Bosco."
B.A. nodded; he could do that. Sometimes in the long stretches between days like this, dreams were all they had.