The Escape
Dec. 10th, 2010 04:14 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sonora_conejaPairing: Face/Murdock
Rating: pg-13
Warnings: none
Summary: A fill for this prompt on the kink meme.
Escape from any random hospital, with explosions, fire, blood and everything else. On this picture. Please!!!
Face rescues Murdock.
I love this drawing. It's just perfect, and I tried to do it justice!
It’s always better with explosions, Face tells him.
Right?
But these aren’t the fun explosions, not the explosions delivered out of the comfort of an AC-130 and watched from the air, the explosions of a grenade dropped down some entrenched enemy position. Not the cool kind, like when he was a kid, lighting something on fire and accidently blowing up that empty house on the corner that was actually a meth lab...
No, this was the scary kind of explosion, too close, concussive force rattling through bone and tissue in a kind of warning, like the pain he feels right now is the C-4 trying to tell him how close it came to collapsing his ribs, puncturing his lungs, stopping his heart...the kind of explosions that pummel you. End things.
Face didn’t come here for that.
He feels Murdock trembling, a combination of the fucking animal tranqs the fuckers had him on and the cold, the sudden rush that comes with an escape like that, a fight like that. Face’s own gun hand is raw and shaking, scraped open from the recoil of his final bullet as it drove his knuckles against concrete floor, the only angle to take, the last body falling, the rest pulling back, distracted by the explosions inside their compound, walls burning, the not unsubstantial number of dead around already.
Taking the pilot’s weight, Face is running for the exfiltration point, Israeli-made Uzi in its sling hitting his side, that sore spot, with every step. Doesn't care. All he can think about is how much lighter Murdock feels after ten weeks of captivity, bony, fat spent and what that would have meant had they not gotten to him in time. Had they gotten to him in time?”
Murdock makes no protest, but he’s lagging, and Face pulls them down the right alley in this damn Pakistani city. They catch against each other, shoving through the narrow opening in the chain-link fence at the end. He’s shivering. Snow on the ground and he’s only got a thin wifebeater on, the same one Face had watched him put on the morning of the day he’d gotten captured.
Took them this long to figure out where the fuckers had taken him.
Lips narrow to a single white line, and Face has his hand on Murdock’s belly, feeling the diaphragm pump, a little twinge of muscle at the sudden contact. The lieutenant’s been carrying his captain, sure, but this is different. They’re so close, close enough for Face to taste acridic breath, dried sweat on skin.
His scarf, one of those checked white things everyone wears here, deforms against his neck, Murdock’s fingers folding into the weave and there’s blood coming out of Face’s ear, his scalp, from the back of his hand as he tangles into Murdock’s hair, keeping the other man from banging his head against the metal pole behind him. Slips that free hand around his waist, under the shirt, finding chill on the skin. They have to get out of here, couple of white boys here, his best friend’s tattoo clearly visible for anybody who might walk by and realize that the Americans are pulling some shit where they aren’t supposed to be...
“Hey,” Murdock manages to stammer, a few false starts in Urdu dying airless in his mouth. His eyes are still a little glazed.
“Yeah,” Face says softly in return. He’s bleeding all over Murdock, but he holds on. The compound’s caught flame behind them, bright embers vomited high into the gathering dawn, falling dead into ash around. It’s somehow beautiful. They need to go. Five minutes to hit the extraction window, then the chopper’s gone.
He doesn’t let Murdock go.
A nose bumps his, and he sees nothing resembling a smile on the too-pale features, lit up by the glow of his handiwork back there. Something hot runs under his skin, a shiver, and he holds Murdock tighter.
For a second, Face thinks this is going to be it, going to be that moment he’s always suspected was coming. Inevitable, really, from the first second he’d laid eyes on the pilot. There’s even flame, like Murdock with the little torch in the doctor's office, his arm and the gasoline, and it’s so perfect Face almost wants to laugh. His lips part before he really knows what he’s doing, and Murdock’s lashes flutter a little, and they both turn into the other, just right, almost...
His radio crackles on his belt, Hannibal’s voice screaming at him through the static, and Murdock jerks, like he’s only now woken up from the knock-out drugs they’ve had him on, and not twenty minutes ago from the ketamine injection Face had given him. His head, padded by Face’s hand, contacts the pole.
They regard one another for a moment, something passing between them that will take the crypto guys to decypher, and Face reluctantly tugs his hand over an earlobe and away. They’re running again, but the pain in his chest seems less. Who knows?
“You couldn’t resist, could you?” Murdock asks as they clear the last street and start sprinting towards the open field. "Had to break out the primer, didn't'cha?"
Face depresses the button on his radio, sending the signal out to the helo that’s waiting on the other side of the low little mountains, the knees of the Himalayas. “Didn’t think you’d mind, buddy.”
“Course not. Cool guys walk away from explosions!” and Murdock lets out a deafening hoo-ah as the sound of prop wash fills the air, kills the snowing fire.
Rating: pg-13
Warnings: none
Summary: A fill for this prompt on the kink meme.
Escape from any random hospital, with explosions, fire, blood and everything else. On this picture. Please!!!
Face rescues Murdock.
I love this drawing. It's just perfect, and I tried to do it justice!
It’s always better with explosions, Face tells him.
Right?
But these aren’t the fun explosions, not the explosions delivered out of the comfort of an AC-130 and watched from the air, the explosions of a grenade dropped down some entrenched enemy position. Not the cool kind, like when he was a kid, lighting something on fire and accidently blowing up that empty house on the corner that was actually a meth lab...
No, this was the scary kind of explosion, too close, concussive force rattling through bone and tissue in a kind of warning, like the pain he feels right now is the C-4 trying to tell him how close it came to collapsing his ribs, puncturing his lungs, stopping his heart...the kind of explosions that pummel you. End things.
Face didn’t come here for that.
He feels Murdock trembling, a combination of the fucking animal tranqs the fuckers had him on and the cold, the sudden rush that comes with an escape like that, a fight like that. Face’s own gun hand is raw and shaking, scraped open from the recoil of his final bullet as it drove his knuckles against concrete floor, the only angle to take, the last body falling, the rest pulling back, distracted by the explosions inside their compound, walls burning, the not unsubstantial number of dead around already.
Taking the pilot’s weight, Face is running for the exfiltration point, Israeli-made Uzi in its sling hitting his side, that sore spot, with every step. Doesn't care. All he can think about is how much lighter Murdock feels after ten weeks of captivity, bony, fat spent and what that would have meant had they not gotten to him in time. Had they gotten to him in time?”
Murdock makes no protest, but he’s lagging, and Face pulls them down the right alley in this damn Pakistani city. They catch against each other, shoving through the narrow opening in the chain-link fence at the end. He’s shivering. Snow on the ground and he’s only got a thin wifebeater on, the same one Face had watched him put on the morning of the day he’d gotten captured.
Took them this long to figure out where the fuckers had taken him.
Lips narrow to a single white line, and Face has his hand on Murdock’s belly, feeling the diaphragm pump, a little twinge of muscle at the sudden contact. The lieutenant’s been carrying his captain, sure, but this is different. They’re so close, close enough for Face to taste acridic breath, dried sweat on skin.
His scarf, one of those checked white things everyone wears here, deforms against his neck, Murdock’s fingers folding into the weave and there’s blood coming out of Face’s ear, his scalp, from the back of his hand as he tangles into Murdock’s hair, keeping the other man from banging his head against the metal pole behind him. Slips that free hand around his waist, under the shirt, finding chill on the skin. They have to get out of here, couple of white boys here, his best friend’s tattoo clearly visible for anybody who might walk by and realize that the Americans are pulling some shit where they aren’t supposed to be...
“Hey,” Murdock manages to stammer, a few false starts in Urdu dying airless in his mouth. His eyes are still a little glazed.
“Yeah,” Face says softly in return. He’s bleeding all over Murdock, but he holds on. The compound’s caught flame behind them, bright embers vomited high into the gathering dawn, falling dead into ash around. It’s somehow beautiful. They need to go. Five minutes to hit the extraction window, then the chopper’s gone.
He doesn’t let Murdock go.
A nose bumps his, and he sees nothing resembling a smile on the too-pale features, lit up by the glow of his handiwork back there. Something hot runs under his skin, a shiver, and he holds Murdock tighter.
For a second, Face thinks this is going to be it, going to be that moment he’s always suspected was coming. Inevitable, really, from the first second he’d laid eyes on the pilot. There’s even flame, like Murdock with the little torch in the doctor's office, his arm and the gasoline, and it’s so perfect Face almost wants to laugh. His lips part before he really knows what he’s doing, and Murdock’s lashes flutter a little, and they both turn into the other, just right, almost...
His radio crackles on his belt, Hannibal’s voice screaming at him through the static, and Murdock jerks, like he’s only now woken up from the knock-out drugs they’ve had him on, and not twenty minutes ago from the ketamine injection Face had given him. His head, padded by Face’s hand, contacts the pole.
They regard one another for a moment, something passing between them that will take the crypto guys to decypher, and Face reluctantly tugs his hand over an earlobe and away. They’re running again, but the pain in his chest seems less. Who knows?
“You couldn’t resist, could you?” Murdock asks as they clear the last street and start sprinting towards the open field. "Had to break out the primer, didn't'cha?"
Face depresses the button on his radio, sending the signal out to the helo that’s waiting on the other side of the low little mountains, the knees of the Himalayas. “Didn’t think you’d mind, buddy.”
“Course not. Cool guys walk away from explosions!” and Murdock lets out a deafening hoo-ah as the sound of prop wash fills the air, kills the snowing fire.
