Tin-Pot Terrorists and Other Crap
Nov. 4th, 2010 06:42 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sonora_conejaPairing: Hannibal/Murdock
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: dub-con? Maybe?
Summary: A fill for this prompt on the kink meme.
Okay I just watched the TV show, and S02 E19 is called "Harder Than It Looks" (lulzy slash name for starts)
There's a scene where one of the bad guys has Hannibal jammed over the bonnet of a car telling him to "spread em" and I actually nearly died. So obvs Hannibal backchats him, and that gets him slammed down (hipsthrusted) further down onto the bonnet. Dead from hot again.
Then later on in the episode Murdock is wearing the exact same uniform as the bad guys and Hannibal says "You know Murdock...you look *really* good in that outfit" MURDOCK ACTUALLY GIVES HIM A SEXY GRIN and says "Thank you Colonel" They are so obviously gay for each other throughout this whole episode.
So let's see the night after that mission, where Murdock keeps one of the costumes and shows Hannibal just how much of a bad guy he can be in the form of partially dressed, rough!sex with pretend non-con. Top!Murdock and willingvictim/bottom!Hannibal
Hannibal get’s ambushed on the hood of BA’s van. He’d do something about it, but the day’s really sucked so who cares? Hee, hee, hee...
Hannibal knew he had been crankier than usual the past few days. He could feel it, the irritability crawling under his skin. Nerves frayed. Comments, gestures, chewing his cigars a little more than normal. They’d all noticed, his whole team, BA making some comment about how he probably needed to get back on the jazz, Face alternating between whining about the latest plan and rejoicing over how easy it was going to be, Murdock giving him one long, hard look when they broke him out of the hospital, and a grin.
“Been awhile, hasn’t it, bossman?” the pilot had commented.
“Haven’t had a good mission in months,” Hannibal had replied, not really sure at the time what Murdock meant.
But it was true; they hadn’t had a tough mission in a while, and this one was just supposed to be picking up some girl from a group of tin-pot terrorists. Hannibal hated easy missions, even if they did need the money. So maybe that’s what it was.
But even when everything went to shit and the bullets started flying, he didn’t really feel better. Little girl in love with one of her kidnappers. Who could have predicted that? Kids these days... but there was something about her innocent pleas to go back and pick up her one true love that both infuriated and intrigued Hannibal, and then the team was teasing him about wanting to help her, and yeah, he sort of did.
But he wasn’t really sure why.
The van was out of gas - these things did happen sometimes - and they were stuck in the country somewhere and they were being hunted now, and that should have cheered him up. Problems were a god-sent to him; no answers, no reactions, just thinking up solutions to new puzzles, adrenalin, loss of control. Should have cheered him up.
Didn’t. At all.
After he got back on top of things and planned it out and bested the idiots who were trying to catch them, Hannibal was feeling a little better. Good enough to make his unfortunate little comment to Murdock, something about how good the captain looked in that ridiculous black outfit. Which the pilot did, really, so it was true and joking and light and not a big deal at all until Murdock smiled back with some glint of something, just this side of sanity, and thanked him.
And then accused him of being a romantic for wanting to help the girl.
It wasn’t about the girl at all. Her father wasn’t going to pay them if they didn’t go back and get the money they’d lost trying to rescue her, right? It had nothing to do with romance. It had nothing to do with that little stab of red that had gone through him when he saw Murdock in that outfit. Nor did it have anything to do with what Murdock had said to him, that grin, that subtle invitation he thought he saw at one point. He didn't act on it.
Why?
Because that didn’t make any sense at all, right?
Right.
Absolutely nothing, he told himself. They went and stuck it to the bush-league villains and the girl’s rich daddy and even if their commission was a little lighter than Hannibal would have liked, it had been an enjoyable afternoon.
But he still felt wound up. Hadn’t helped at all, none of it, and he stayed out by the van after Face and Murdock and BA went back to their motel rooms, looking up at the night sky, the end of his cigar glowing in this dark corner of the parking lot, wondering, not for the first time, how his life had come down to this. Babysitting and introspection. Terrible.
That’s where he was when a fast hand and a gun came out of the darkness and slammed him back into the hood of the van. For the second time today, he wondered if his belt buckle was going to scratch the paint job.
“Spread ‘em,” said a rough voice. “And keep your hands where I can see ‘em. We’re gonna have us some fun here.”
And here it was.
This was what was going to make him feel better.
Hannibal wondered what he should do first, swing a fist or just go back with an elbow. He was so grateful to whoever the fuck this is for giving him something to hit right then... fist it was. Threw his hips, unbalancing the man pressing down on his back, around for a right hook, and...
He was slammed back into the van, his own momentum working against him. He loved that maneuver he’d just tried. How was it that somebody deflected it? Almost like they were expecting it?
“That’s real cute, colonel, but it ain’t gonna cut it tonight, no-sirrie-bob. Not tonight, not after you ruined our great little plan to blow up that dam.” The voice is right at his ear, hot. “Now I said, spread ‘em.”
The man behind him still had his wrist, twisted up against the mall of his back, pressure on the joint, and it almost hurt. Hannibal bit his lip and tried to twist out of it again, again with no luck.
“If I were you, I’d stop it ‘afore I get mad,” came that drawl again and Hannibal recognized the way the last word was kind of pulled out.
Murdock.
He sighed. He was really not in the mood for any shenanigans from the pilot right now and was going to tell him so when a hot mouth nipped softly at the skin just under his ear.
Oh.
“You gonna stop squirming? Or d’I need a gag?” And with that, a hand reached around and palmed him through his pants.
Oh.
“Well, colonel?”
Murdock wanted to... ah, what the hell? It’d been a crappy day.
“No...sir...”
He heard a little cough, a wrenching tug on his arm. “Well, that’s good to, hmm, good to hear. Now drop those pants.”
“What? No!” he said in mock protest, letting his hips grind back a little.
“Do it,” and he heard the gun cock against the small of his back, “or I swear...”
Hannibal snaked his free hand around between himself and the hood, fumbling with the buckle and the button of his fly and the zipper, gasping a little as Murdock’s hands joined his own, pushing his pants and underwear down to pool around his ankles, cool night air hitting his heating skin, his rapidly hardening cock smashed against smooth metal.
“Well, ain’t that a beautiful sight?”
A hand smoothed a cheek carefully, and then nails dug in, hard, and Hannibal yelped a little, earning himself a hard smack.
“I said, be quiet, didn’t I?” Murdock asked, voice low and almost silky, licking a trail up his commander’s neck. An erection was rubbing against his ass, unmistakable. God, how long had it been since they’d done this? Then that glorious pressure was gone, and there was a rustling behind him. “And you will keep quiet.”
“Please...” Hannibal let himself say quietly.
This was good.
“Please what, colonel?” Murdock practically purred, moving back in, skin on skin now. He pulled the older man back by the collar, running both hands around and down to finger Hannibal’s swollen cock. “Oh, I do think you’re enjoying this. Stockholm Syndrome, perhaps?”
“Eat shit, sleezeball,” Hannibal hissed and Murdock stopped.
“Colonel, I...”
The uncertainty, that shyness was back, and Hannibal briefly considered just letting them both walk away from this, pretend it never happened.
No, bad plan. Murdock’s plan was better. His cock said so.
Murdock made a little noise of agreement as Hannibal's hand stopped him from moving away.
Roles confirmed in this little performance, the pilot’s thumb rubbed over the head of Hannibal’s cock and his whole body jerked in response. “Don’t...”
“Don’t care what you want,” Murdock replied, forcing two fingers into Hannibal’s mouth. His own hand didn’t stop moving. He smiled a little to himself and laved his tongue lovingly over the digits, slaving them in saliva, guessing at what was coming next. “That’s right, get ‘em good’n’wet.”
This was very good.
“Bastard.”
Murdock pulled his fingers away and did something particularly interesting to Hannibal’s captured cock. “All the prep you’re going to get, there, colonel.” He kicked his boss’s legs apart with surprising force, Hannibal’s head hitting the hood. Murdock kept his hand busy and there it was, one finger straight in, hard and fast.
Very good, this was very good...
“Fuck!”
Murdock just laughed and there was the second, scissoring a few times. Hannibal groaned, despite himself. Between the hand on his cock and the hand on his cock, his whole body was thrumming. God, he didn’t know...he wasn’t even ashamed when he whimpered as Murdock pulled out.
“Stop that! Shttup, you!” the pilot growled, actually growled, and then slammed, slammed in with such force that Hannibal rocked forward up on the balls of his feet, panting, chest pressed flush against the van, hips pushing back again Murdock’s. It hurt. It was wonderful. Filled, so hot, Murdock’s cock splitting him open, laying everything bare and simple...
Murdock didn’t give him time to adjust, no time at all. “So... fucking... tight. Bet ya haven’t taken it up the ass before, huh?”
Very, very, very good.
“No...” he said honestly, face burning. Never on the receiving end before, even though he’d always been curious. Murdock was always the one who wanted to be ambushed like this, and Hannibal completely understood it now, so good...
“Now look at’cha, beggin’ for it...”
“No...”
“Shut up!” Murdock hissed, and grabbed a handful of hair. His angle changed, and Hannibal saw light explode on the rim of the world, illuminating everything. Murdock was thrusting into him with abandon, fast and rough and oh, so perfect, the frenetic pace driving him closer, closer and then Murdock’s hand squeezed, hard, lunging forward and biting his shoulder and as teeth broke skin, Hannibal came, hard, jerking as his release coated Murdock’s fingers and the van. Murdock followed him a few moments later, stiffening, a low groan and that wonderful spreading warmth inside him, new and overwhelming, driving everything bad away.
Hannibal went limp from the sheer force of the experience, swaying, falling, caught by Murdock’s surprisingly strong arms and held. Relaxed. Utterly relaxed.
“That was,” he murmured, reaching behind him to threat shaking fingers through the younger man’s hair as Murdock slipped out and spooned up against him. “Hmm, just like that.”
“Was I...too rough, boss? Lord almighty, I thought you might...”
“Shh, captain,” Hannibal told him, cutting off any further fantasies for the evening. “That was exactly what I needed. Now,” and he smiled a little, “you’re ordered to take me to bed.”
“Yes sir.”
Yeah. Fucking perfect.
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: dub-con? Maybe?
Summary: A fill for this prompt on the kink meme.
Okay I just watched the TV show, and S02 E19 is called "Harder Than It Looks" (lulzy slash name for starts)
There's a scene where one of the bad guys has Hannibal jammed over the bonnet of a car telling him to "spread em" and I actually nearly died. So obvs Hannibal backchats him, and that gets him slammed down (hipsthrusted) further down onto the bonnet. Dead from hot again.
Then later on in the episode Murdock is wearing the exact same uniform as the bad guys and Hannibal says "You know Murdock...you look *really* good in that outfit" MURDOCK ACTUALLY GIVES HIM A SEXY GRIN and says "Thank you Colonel" They are so obviously gay for each other throughout this whole episode.
So let's see the night after that mission, where Murdock keeps one of the costumes and shows Hannibal just how much of a bad guy he can be in the form of partially dressed, rough!sex with pretend non-con. Top!Murdock and willingvictim/bottom!Hannibal
Hannibal get’s ambushed on the hood of BA’s van. He’d do something about it, but the day’s really sucked so who cares? Hee, hee, hee...
Hannibal knew he had been crankier than usual the past few days. He could feel it, the irritability crawling under his skin. Nerves frayed. Comments, gestures, chewing his cigars a little more than normal. They’d all noticed, his whole team, BA making some comment about how he probably needed to get back on the jazz, Face alternating between whining about the latest plan and rejoicing over how easy it was going to be, Murdock giving him one long, hard look when they broke him out of the hospital, and a grin.
“Been awhile, hasn’t it, bossman?” the pilot had commented.
“Haven’t had a good mission in months,” Hannibal had replied, not really sure at the time what Murdock meant.
But it was true; they hadn’t had a tough mission in a while, and this one was just supposed to be picking up some girl from a group of tin-pot terrorists. Hannibal hated easy missions, even if they did need the money. So maybe that’s what it was.
But even when everything went to shit and the bullets started flying, he didn’t really feel better. Little girl in love with one of her kidnappers. Who could have predicted that? Kids these days... but there was something about her innocent pleas to go back and pick up her one true love that both infuriated and intrigued Hannibal, and then the team was teasing him about wanting to help her, and yeah, he sort of did.
But he wasn’t really sure why.
The van was out of gas - these things did happen sometimes - and they were stuck in the country somewhere and they were being hunted now, and that should have cheered him up. Problems were a god-sent to him; no answers, no reactions, just thinking up solutions to new puzzles, adrenalin, loss of control. Should have cheered him up.
Didn’t. At all.
After he got back on top of things and planned it out and bested the idiots who were trying to catch them, Hannibal was feeling a little better. Good enough to make his unfortunate little comment to Murdock, something about how good the captain looked in that ridiculous black outfit. Which the pilot did, really, so it was true and joking and light and not a big deal at all until Murdock smiled back with some glint of something, just this side of sanity, and thanked him.
And then accused him of being a romantic for wanting to help the girl.
It wasn’t about the girl at all. Her father wasn’t going to pay them if they didn’t go back and get the money they’d lost trying to rescue her, right? It had nothing to do with romance. It had nothing to do with that little stab of red that had gone through him when he saw Murdock in that outfit. Nor did it have anything to do with what Murdock had said to him, that grin, that subtle invitation he thought he saw at one point. He didn't act on it.
Why?
Because that didn’t make any sense at all, right?
Right.
Absolutely nothing, he told himself. They went and stuck it to the bush-league villains and the girl’s rich daddy and even if their commission was a little lighter than Hannibal would have liked, it had been an enjoyable afternoon.
But he still felt wound up. Hadn’t helped at all, none of it, and he stayed out by the van after Face and Murdock and BA went back to their motel rooms, looking up at the night sky, the end of his cigar glowing in this dark corner of the parking lot, wondering, not for the first time, how his life had come down to this. Babysitting and introspection. Terrible.
That’s where he was when a fast hand and a gun came out of the darkness and slammed him back into the hood of the van. For the second time today, he wondered if his belt buckle was going to scratch the paint job.
“Spread ‘em,” said a rough voice. “And keep your hands where I can see ‘em. We’re gonna have us some fun here.”
And here it was.
This was what was going to make him feel better.
Hannibal wondered what he should do first, swing a fist or just go back with an elbow. He was so grateful to whoever the fuck this is for giving him something to hit right then... fist it was. Threw his hips, unbalancing the man pressing down on his back, around for a right hook, and...
He was slammed back into the van, his own momentum working against him. He loved that maneuver he’d just tried. How was it that somebody deflected it? Almost like they were expecting it?
“That’s real cute, colonel, but it ain’t gonna cut it tonight, no-sirrie-bob. Not tonight, not after you ruined our great little plan to blow up that dam.” The voice is right at his ear, hot. “Now I said, spread ‘em.”
The man behind him still had his wrist, twisted up against the mall of his back, pressure on the joint, and it almost hurt. Hannibal bit his lip and tried to twist out of it again, again with no luck.
“If I were you, I’d stop it ‘afore I get mad,” came that drawl again and Hannibal recognized the way the last word was kind of pulled out.
Murdock.
He sighed. He was really not in the mood for any shenanigans from the pilot right now and was going to tell him so when a hot mouth nipped softly at the skin just under his ear.
Oh.
“You gonna stop squirming? Or d’I need a gag?” And with that, a hand reached around and palmed him through his pants.
Oh.
“Well, colonel?”
Murdock wanted to... ah, what the hell? It’d been a crappy day.
“No...sir...”
He heard a little cough, a wrenching tug on his arm. “Well, that’s good to, hmm, good to hear. Now drop those pants.”
“What? No!” he said in mock protest, letting his hips grind back a little.
“Do it,” and he heard the gun cock against the small of his back, “or I swear...”
Hannibal snaked his free hand around between himself and the hood, fumbling with the buckle and the button of his fly and the zipper, gasping a little as Murdock’s hands joined his own, pushing his pants and underwear down to pool around his ankles, cool night air hitting his heating skin, his rapidly hardening cock smashed against smooth metal.
“Well, ain’t that a beautiful sight?”
A hand smoothed a cheek carefully, and then nails dug in, hard, and Hannibal yelped a little, earning himself a hard smack.
“I said, be quiet, didn’t I?” Murdock asked, voice low and almost silky, licking a trail up his commander’s neck. An erection was rubbing against his ass, unmistakable. God, how long had it been since they’d done this? Then that glorious pressure was gone, and there was a rustling behind him. “And you will keep quiet.”
“Please...” Hannibal let himself say quietly.
This was good.
“Please what, colonel?” Murdock practically purred, moving back in, skin on skin now. He pulled the older man back by the collar, running both hands around and down to finger Hannibal’s swollen cock. “Oh, I do think you’re enjoying this. Stockholm Syndrome, perhaps?”
“Eat shit, sleezeball,” Hannibal hissed and Murdock stopped.
“Colonel, I...”
The uncertainty, that shyness was back, and Hannibal briefly considered just letting them both walk away from this, pretend it never happened.
No, bad plan. Murdock’s plan was better. His cock said so.
Murdock made a little noise of agreement as Hannibal's hand stopped him from moving away.
Roles confirmed in this little performance, the pilot’s thumb rubbed over the head of Hannibal’s cock and his whole body jerked in response. “Don’t...”
“Don’t care what you want,” Murdock replied, forcing two fingers into Hannibal’s mouth. His own hand didn’t stop moving. He smiled a little to himself and laved his tongue lovingly over the digits, slaving them in saliva, guessing at what was coming next. “That’s right, get ‘em good’n’wet.”
This was very good.
“Bastard.”
Murdock pulled his fingers away and did something particularly interesting to Hannibal’s captured cock. “All the prep you’re going to get, there, colonel.” He kicked his boss’s legs apart with surprising force, Hannibal’s head hitting the hood. Murdock kept his hand busy and there it was, one finger straight in, hard and fast.
Very good, this was very good...
“Fuck!”
Murdock just laughed and there was the second, scissoring a few times. Hannibal groaned, despite himself. Between the hand on his cock and the hand on his cock, his whole body was thrumming. God, he didn’t know...he wasn’t even ashamed when he whimpered as Murdock pulled out.
“Stop that! Shttup, you!” the pilot growled, actually growled, and then slammed, slammed in with such force that Hannibal rocked forward up on the balls of his feet, panting, chest pressed flush against the van, hips pushing back again Murdock’s. It hurt. It was wonderful. Filled, so hot, Murdock’s cock splitting him open, laying everything bare and simple...
Murdock didn’t give him time to adjust, no time at all. “So... fucking... tight. Bet ya haven’t taken it up the ass before, huh?”
Very, very, very good.
“No...” he said honestly, face burning. Never on the receiving end before, even though he’d always been curious. Murdock was always the one who wanted to be ambushed like this, and Hannibal completely understood it now, so good...
“Now look at’cha, beggin’ for it...”
“No...”
“Shut up!” Murdock hissed, and grabbed a handful of hair. His angle changed, and Hannibal saw light explode on the rim of the world, illuminating everything. Murdock was thrusting into him with abandon, fast and rough and oh, so perfect, the frenetic pace driving him closer, closer and then Murdock’s hand squeezed, hard, lunging forward and biting his shoulder and as teeth broke skin, Hannibal came, hard, jerking as his release coated Murdock’s fingers and the van. Murdock followed him a few moments later, stiffening, a low groan and that wonderful spreading warmth inside him, new and overwhelming, driving everything bad away.
Hannibal went limp from the sheer force of the experience, swaying, falling, caught by Murdock’s surprisingly strong arms and held. Relaxed. Utterly relaxed.
“That was,” he murmured, reaching behind him to threat shaking fingers through the younger man’s hair as Murdock slipped out and spooned up against him. “Hmm, just like that.”
“Was I...too rough, boss? Lord almighty, I thought you might...”
“Shh, captain,” Hannibal told him, cutting off any further fantasies for the evening. “That was exactly what I needed. Now,” and he smiled a little, “you’re ordered to take me to bed.”
“Yes sir.”
Yeah. Fucking perfect.
