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sonora_conejaPairing: Face/Murdock
Rating: pg-13
Warnings: none
Summary: Fill for this prompt on the kink meme.
I would like to see a fic in which Murdock pulls his rank on Face—he does outrank him, after all. So, on a mission, or a case or whatever, Murdock orders Face to do something/not do something. Can be any reason, though I would prefer it to NOT be ordering Face to leave Murdock behind (because you know he wouldn't listen haha).
Murdock’s in a flight suit. Makes Face go on a mission with him. Face gets bored, acts up. Murdock addresses the affronts to his authority once they’re on the ground.
Murdock in a flight suit. Murdock in a flight suit. Murdockinaflightsuit.
Face dug his fists into the worn padding of the C-17 jumpseat, and tried unsuccessfully to block the image from his mind. The lanky pilot was outside now with that Air Force lieutenant, actually doing a pre-flight check on the plane (and wasn’t today just full of surprises?) and Face didn’t dare look out a window to watch.
He felt his cock twitch, just a little. He tried to ignore that, too.
He’d been prodded awake before dawn that morning, a “Get your ass outta bed, lieutenant” hissed in his ear.
“Go ‘way, Hannibal,” he groaned, only to have his sleeping bag unzipped and be greeted by the sight of Murdock in that flight suit, the thin green fabric outlining a lean, hard body, Army aviator wings stitched just above his heart, and captain rank sitting proudly on his shoulders.
“Ain’t Hannibal, Face,” Murdock said, almost smugly. “Come on, get up, get a uniform on...”
“...wait, get a what...”
“...and meet me outside in five minutes. We’re on the ATO for today.”
“The Air Tasking Order? Murdock, we’re never on that thing! We fly...”
“Airlift mission into Germany today. You disobeyin’ a direct order, lieutenant?” Murdock said, and Face couldn’t quite figure out if the tone was mock-threatening or serious. It was hard to tell sometimes with his friend. He thought he almost saw some hesitation there.
But if that was the game today, that was the game. Face just nodded and hauled himself up.
Murdock was unusually quiet as they hurtled out across the flight line in a battered bus. Normally, Face expected the pilot to be a nervous, giggling ball of looney, but he seemed to be playing this one different today. They’d picked up the rest of the aircrew, all Air Force, and it was weird, Face thought, watching them all salute him and Murdock. The last one, a female LT in her own flight suit, stopped to give Face a little wink before she got on.
“You ever flown one of these before, Murdock?” he asked during the ride
“Nope. Lucky me those Air Force guys got food poisoning, huh?” and there was a strange blankness as he said it. Murdock should have been like a kid at Christmas. Probably just needed to loosen up, Face told himself. The other man did have those periods of shyness sometimes, and the conman was glad he was along.
When they stopped, Face tried to put his hat back on as they got out of the vehicle, only to have Murdock slap it away. “No covers on the flight line, Peck,” he said in a low voice that Face was pretty sure everyone could hear, but nobody commented on. He felt a warmth starting to pool below his belly button, and tried to tell himself it was just the Iraqi heat.
There was absolutely nothing cute, exciting or sexy about Murdock ordering him around. Nothing.
The aircrew jumped in the back of the cargo plane, checking pallet straps and reviewing the inventory list. Murdock grabbed that female lieutenant for sweeps. Face, not knowing what else to do, fought down the sudden stab of jealousy and found his way up to the cockpit.
Nice, modern, computerized. Much better than the rust buckets they normally got stuck with on missions. When Murdock and his co-pilot finally finished up and headed in, Face did see a wide grin spread out on his friend’s face and relaxed a little.
Everything was going to be just fine.
Now, if only he could stop thinking about that uniform.
+++++
The plane ride was long. Really, really long.
It wasn’t much the amount of time they’d been in the air, really. More like how he just didn’t have anything to do. Normally, Murdock would be babbling about something, Hannibal or Face playing along, telling stories or jokes, BA passed out somewhere in the back. Normally military planes were noisier than this, and not nearly as nice. They’d have music blaring and Murdock would be doing some kind of insane maneuvers, just for the hell of it.
Not so today. Murdock was actually making all the tower calls he was supposed to, and following out some pre-planned flight path in the computer. He was pointing display readings out to the lieutenant next to him and putting calls down to the aircrew back in the bay. It was al very educational, and safe, and horrible, as Face kept getting those little twitches down south.
It was nothing, he told himself. He was just bored out of his mind.
At one point, he passed the aircraft over to the lieutenant, and crawled out of his seat, up and over, right past Face with a tight, slightly nervous smile.
“He’s an awesome flyer,” the lieutnant told Face over the headset. “Really amazing. How many hours does he have in one of these?”
“None,” Face replied sweetly, and the look on her face was almost worth the entire trip.
At hour two, Face tried to tell one of Hannibal’s favorite jokes about Satan and a bartender. The lieutenant giggled a little, but Murdock told him to shut up and pointed at the headset controls. It was on VOX. Everyone could hear him. Face did as he was told.
At hour three, the conman started telling the other lieutenant about the time they’d almost gotten arrested in Baltimore over one of Billy’s escapades, and Murdock shot him the meanest glare he’d ever seen on the pilot’s face. Face stopped.
What was going on?
And then, at hour five, Face just couldn’t stand it anymore, and leaned forward over Murdock’s seat, one arm hanging lazily down over the harness, his chin on the other man’s shoulder. “Come on, sweetheart,” he said, making his tone as light as he could over the intercom, “can’t you please do something to make this flight go a little quicker? Or let me?”
The innuendo was unmistakable, and if there’d been a little too much heat behind it, Face was sure he could just laugh it off later. The lieutenant broke down in helpless laughter, and then Murdock was half out of his seat, and all the way around, staring Face down with some emotion that Face couldn’t identify.
“Lieutenant Peck,” he ground out, “if you can’t behave yourself then I suggest you spend the rest of the flight elsewhere.”
“Come on, I was only kidding...” But even as Face said it, he knew he’d lose this one. The VOX was still on. Everybody had heard it.
“I’m not askin’ you, lieutenant. I am ordering you out of my cockpit. Now.”
Face’s eyes strayed over to the man’s shoulders. Yup, there they were. Two silver bars. Never in all their years together had Murdock ever even tried to pull rank on him, and yet here they were. He couldn't disrespect that now.
Throat suddenly thick, cottony, he nodded once and slid out of his seat, and down the steep little stairs into the bay.
A couple of the sergeants gave Face funny glances when he came down, but they knew who he was and didn’t say anything about the intercom. Better yet, they were completely open to his stories, and yeah, Face figured he laughed it off pretty well. The ride didn’t improve any, though, because he could still hear Murdock’s voice in his head, calm and authoritative, completely in command of the situation.
Pure torture.
They got to Ramstein Air Base without incident, and as some of the crew left and others started off-loading pallets, Murdock appeared down in the bay.
“Can I talk to you for a minute, lieutenant?” And it took Face a minute to realize that the pilot was talking to him.
“Sure.”
“Cockpit.”
“I’m allowed back up?” Face asked, a touch more bitterness in his voice than he would have liked. Murdock just vanished back up the stairs.
The conman had no idea what to expect. Given the tone of the day, a counseling session was top of his list. A dressing down. An ass-chewing.
But he found something completely different instead, and locked the cockpit door against anyone else seeing it before stepping fully inside.
Murdock had collapsed into the jumpseat where Face had been sitting, his legs splayed out and hands crushing his khaki flightcap with that shiny silver rank. He’d rolled the flightsuit down to his waist, tying the arms together in front of him. He looked exhausted. Flying to his friend was normally like chocolate to a four-year-old. Apparently, not today.
Face took up a position against the opposite bulkhead, squatting down on his heels and taking the flight cap away from Murdock slowly. He rubbed the metal insignia thoughtfully. There wasn’t much room, and their feet were practicall touching. He waited.
“Did I do good, Face?” he asked with a yawn, and the first trace of that earnestness of his, missing all day until now. “Did we all get here okay?”
“You did a great job with the plane, Murdock. You always do a great job.”
“Aw, hell, Facey, the plane darn near flys itself. I meant as aircraft commander.”
The lieutenant hadn’t considered that. Whenever they went on a mission, Murdock might have control of the plane, but Hannibal was always in charge. As lead on this sortie, Murdock had been the one calling the shots. He’d been put in charge of twelve other people. A huge responsibility. Must have taken everything he had, and all Face had done to help was make an ass of himself.
“I think you were perfect, captain,” Face said encouragingly. “Consummate office, if I do say so myself. I'm sorry I didn't ”
Murdock leaned down, eyes almost begging for, for something. “It's not your fault, Facey. We never get any practice at this kind of thing...”
Face couldn't bear to hear it, so he just rocked up a little and then his lips were on Murdock’s, and everything else just kind of disappeared for a moment. Face hung on like that as long as he dared, and then buried his face in Murdock’s shoulder.
“You are a very bad lieutenant, you know that? Hmm, trying to seduce a senior officer right in front of the crew,” Murdock mused, as if realizing this for the first time. Like a switch had been flipped, the captain persona coming back. Face made a mental note to get to know him very, very well. “Very, very bad.” Strong hands wrapped around the lieutenant’s collar and pushed him a little away and down, until Face’s head was in his lap. “Downright disrespectful, lieutenant.”
With a satisfied smirk, Face rubbed one cheek against the other man’s thigh. “Oh, you’re right sir, horrible...”
“Now don’t you dare disobey me on this, lieutenant,” the captain drawled, undoing the arms of his flightsuit and tugging the zipper the rest of the way down and sliding one hand into his boxers, “but I think you caused this little problem. Only fair of you to fix it.”
And Face thought that might just be the greatest order he’d ever been given.
Ever.
Rating: pg-13
Warnings: none
Summary: Fill for this prompt on the kink meme.
I would like to see a fic in which Murdock pulls his rank on Face—he does outrank him, after all. So, on a mission, or a case or whatever, Murdock orders Face to do something/not do something. Can be any reason, though I would prefer it to NOT be ordering Face to leave Murdock behind (because you know he wouldn't listen haha).
Murdock’s in a flight suit. Makes Face go on a mission with him. Face gets bored, acts up. Murdock addresses the affronts to his authority once they’re on the ground.
Murdock in a flight suit. Murdock in a flight suit. Murdockinaflightsuit.
Face dug his fists into the worn padding of the C-17 jumpseat, and tried unsuccessfully to block the image from his mind. The lanky pilot was outside now with that Air Force lieutenant, actually doing a pre-flight check on the plane (and wasn’t today just full of surprises?) and Face didn’t dare look out a window to watch.
He felt his cock twitch, just a little. He tried to ignore that, too.
He’d been prodded awake before dawn that morning, a “Get your ass outta bed, lieutenant” hissed in his ear.
“Go ‘way, Hannibal,” he groaned, only to have his sleeping bag unzipped and be greeted by the sight of Murdock in that flight suit, the thin green fabric outlining a lean, hard body, Army aviator wings stitched just above his heart, and captain rank sitting proudly on his shoulders.
“Ain’t Hannibal, Face,” Murdock said, almost smugly. “Come on, get up, get a uniform on...”
“...wait, get a what...”
“...and meet me outside in five minutes. We’re on the ATO for today.”
“The Air Tasking Order? Murdock, we’re never on that thing! We fly...”
“Airlift mission into Germany today. You disobeyin’ a direct order, lieutenant?” Murdock said, and Face couldn’t quite figure out if the tone was mock-threatening or serious. It was hard to tell sometimes with his friend. He thought he almost saw some hesitation there.
But if that was the game today, that was the game. Face just nodded and hauled himself up.
Murdock was unusually quiet as they hurtled out across the flight line in a battered bus. Normally, Face expected the pilot to be a nervous, giggling ball of looney, but he seemed to be playing this one different today. They’d picked up the rest of the aircrew, all Air Force, and it was weird, Face thought, watching them all salute him and Murdock. The last one, a female LT in her own flight suit, stopped to give Face a little wink before she got on.
“You ever flown one of these before, Murdock?” he asked during the ride
“Nope. Lucky me those Air Force guys got food poisoning, huh?” and there was a strange blankness as he said it. Murdock should have been like a kid at Christmas. Probably just needed to loosen up, Face told himself. The other man did have those periods of shyness sometimes, and the conman was glad he was along.
When they stopped, Face tried to put his hat back on as they got out of the vehicle, only to have Murdock slap it away. “No covers on the flight line, Peck,” he said in a low voice that Face was pretty sure everyone could hear, but nobody commented on. He felt a warmth starting to pool below his belly button, and tried to tell himself it was just the Iraqi heat.
There was absolutely nothing cute, exciting or sexy about Murdock ordering him around. Nothing.
The aircrew jumped in the back of the cargo plane, checking pallet straps and reviewing the inventory list. Murdock grabbed that female lieutenant for sweeps. Face, not knowing what else to do, fought down the sudden stab of jealousy and found his way up to the cockpit.
Nice, modern, computerized. Much better than the rust buckets they normally got stuck with on missions. When Murdock and his co-pilot finally finished up and headed in, Face did see a wide grin spread out on his friend’s face and relaxed a little.
Everything was going to be just fine.
Now, if only he could stop thinking about that uniform.
+++++
The plane ride was long. Really, really long.
It wasn’t much the amount of time they’d been in the air, really. More like how he just didn’t have anything to do. Normally, Murdock would be babbling about something, Hannibal or Face playing along, telling stories or jokes, BA passed out somewhere in the back. Normally military planes were noisier than this, and not nearly as nice. They’d have music blaring and Murdock would be doing some kind of insane maneuvers, just for the hell of it.
Not so today. Murdock was actually making all the tower calls he was supposed to, and following out some pre-planned flight path in the computer. He was pointing display readings out to the lieutenant next to him and putting calls down to the aircrew back in the bay. It was al very educational, and safe, and horrible, as Face kept getting those little twitches down south.
It was nothing, he told himself. He was just bored out of his mind.
At one point, he passed the aircraft over to the lieutenant, and crawled out of his seat, up and over, right past Face with a tight, slightly nervous smile.
“He’s an awesome flyer,” the lieutnant told Face over the headset. “Really amazing. How many hours does he have in one of these?”
“None,” Face replied sweetly, and the look on her face was almost worth the entire trip.
At hour two, Face tried to tell one of Hannibal’s favorite jokes about Satan and a bartender. The lieutenant giggled a little, but Murdock told him to shut up and pointed at the headset controls. It was on VOX. Everyone could hear him. Face did as he was told.
At hour three, the conman started telling the other lieutenant about the time they’d almost gotten arrested in Baltimore over one of Billy’s escapades, and Murdock shot him the meanest glare he’d ever seen on the pilot’s face. Face stopped.
What was going on?
And then, at hour five, Face just couldn’t stand it anymore, and leaned forward over Murdock’s seat, one arm hanging lazily down over the harness, his chin on the other man’s shoulder. “Come on, sweetheart,” he said, making his tone as light as he could over the intercom, “can’t you please do something to make this flight go a little quicker? Or let me?”
The innuendo was unmistakable, and if there’d been a little too much heat behind it, Face was sure he could just laugh it off later. The lieutenant broke down in helpless laughter, and then Murdock was half out of his seat, and all the way around, staring Face down with some emotion that Face couldn’t identify.
“Lieutenant Peck,” he ground out, “if you can’t behave yourself then I suggest you spend the rest of the flight elsewhere.”
“Come on, I was only kidding...” But even as Face said it, he knew he’d lose this one. The VOX was still on. Everybody had heard it.
“I’m not askin’ you, lieutenant. I am ordering you out of my cockpit. Now.”
Face’s eyes strayed over to the man’s shoulders. Yup, there they were. Two silver bars. Never in all their years together had Murdock ever even tried to pull rank on him, and yet here they were. He couldn't disrespect that now.
Throat suddenly thick, cottony, he nodded once and slid out of his seat, and down the steep little stairs into the bay.
A couple of the sergeants gave Face funny glances when he came down, but they knew who he was and didn’t say anything about the intercom. Better yet, they were completely open to his stories, and yeah, Face figured he laughed it off pretty well. The ride didn’t improve any, though, because he could still hear Murdock’s voice in his head, calm and authoritative, completely in command of the situation.
Pure torture.
They got to Ramstein Air Base without incident, and as some of the crew left and others started off-loading pallets, Murdock appeared down in the bay.
“Can I talk to you for a minute, lieutenant?” And it took Face a minute to realize that the pilot was talking to him.
“Sure.”
“Cockpit.”
“I’m allowed back up?” Face asked, a touch more bitterness in his voice than he would have liked. Murdock just vanished back up the stairs.
The conman had no idea what to expect. Given the tone of the day, a counseling session was top of his list. A dressing down. An ass-chewing.
But he found something completely different instead, and locked the cockpit door against anyone else seeing it before stepping fully inside.
Murdock had collapsed into the jumpseat where Face had been sitting, his legs splayed out and hands crushing his khaki flightcap with that shiny silver rank. He’d rolled the flightsuit down to his waist, tying the arms together in front of him. He looked exhausted. Flying to his friend was normally like chocolate to a four-year-old. Apparently, not today.
Face took up a position against the opposite bulkhead, squatting down on his heels and taking the flight cap away from Murdock slowly. He rubbed the metal insignia thoughtfully. There wasn’t much room, and their feet were practicall touching. He waited.
“Did I do good, Face?” he asked with a yawn, and the first trace of that earnestness of his, missing all day until now. “Did we all get here okay?”
“You did a great job with the plane, Murdock. You always do a great job.”
“Aw, hell, Facey, the plane darn near flys itself. I meant as aircraft commander.”
The lieutenant hadn’t considered that. Whenever they went on a mission, Murdock might have control of the plane, but Hannibal was always in charge. As lead on this sortie, Murdock had been the one calling the shots. He’d been put in charge of twelve other people. A huge responsibility. Must have taken everything he had, and all Face had done to help was make an ass of himself.
“I think you were perfect, captain,” Face said encouragingly. “Consummate office, if I do say so myself. I'm sorry I didn't ”
Murdock leaned down, eyes almost begging for, for something. “It's not your fault, Facey. We never get any practice at this kind of thing...”
Face couldn't bear to hear it, so he just rocked up a little and then his lips were on Murdock’s, and everything else just kind of disappeared for a moment. Face hung on like that as long as he dared, and then buried his face in Murdock’s shoulder.
“You are a very bad lieutenant, you know that? Hmm, trying to seduce a senior officer right in front of the crew,” Murdock mused, as if realizing this for the first time. Like a switch had been flipped, the captain persona coming back. Face made a mental note to get to know him very, very well. “Very, very bad.” Strong hands wrapped around the lieutenant’s collar and pushed him a little away and down, until Face’s head was in his lap. “Downright disrespectful, lieutenant.”
With a satisfied smirk, Face rubbed one cheek against the other man’s thigh. “Oh, you’re right sir, horrible...”
“Now don’t you dare disobey me on this, lieutenant,” the captain drawled, undoing the arms of his flightsuit and tugging the zipper the rest of the way down and sliding one hand into his boxers, “but I think you caused this little problem. Only fair of you to fix it.”
And Face thought that might just be the greatest order he’d ever been given.
Ever.
