Hook, Line and Sinker (Part One)

[sonora_coneja]

Pairing: Hannibal/Face
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: none yet...
Summary: Part one of three of a fill for this prompt on the kink meme.

Another Hannibal-meets-Face first time request, but with a twist. At that point, Face is one of/employed by the enemy. Either through ideals or lies or blackmail, Face is on the other side when Hannibal first meets him.

Hannibal, of course, sees the potential in the kid, and sets out to convince and/or seduce Face away from the Dark Side. Slash is preferred, but not strictly necessary.

Templeton Peck, conman and adopted son of mafia cappo Anthony Santori, gets more than he bargained for when he’s sent to take down the new VP of a major defense contractor, John Hamilton. Seducing John isn’t a problem. Dealing with the fallout, however... that gets a bit trickier, especially once he finds out who John really is, and what he’s trying to do.




Music throbbed out of untuned subwoofers as the heels of women’s shoes clicked and strutted on the long black stage. Sequins. Long hair. Fake boobs. The smell of stage cake make-up mixing liberally with that of liquor.

The blonde at the bar pushed his drink away. Checked his watch. Almost time.

I’ve got somebody coming in today. Business associate, new guy, Santori had told him over the phone this morning. Afternoon, around four. I want you there, Peck. Need you to check him out. Need you in with him.

That’s all he’d gotten. That’s all he usually got. It was enough to work with.

Peck was good at what he did. Very good. Good enough for the family to overlook his decidely un-Italian heritage, his youth, how he swung both ways. He was useful to them, and they to him, ever since Santori had found him on the streets of the Bronx, orphaned and alone, starving and stealing at the tender age of thirteen. He’d gotten caught picking the cappo’s pocket, offered to blow the guy for free as an apology. Santori must have found it funny or something.

Next thing Peck knew, he’d had a good shower and clean clothes and a place to sleep, a chance to go back to school, a foot in the door with one of the most dangerous crime families on the East Coast. He’d leveraged all of that over the last ten years to get himself into a fairly comfortable position with these people.

His people, really. Maybe. Someday. They’d been talking about recommending him for membership, making him a made guy. Peck didn’t really give a fuck about any of that Godfather bullshit, but the money was better and the respect was there and a little part of him, the twelve-year-old part of him who’d watched both parents die in a car crash, liked the idea of finally being accepted, fully and completely, without condition.

Not that he’d ever say that last part out loud. Or admit it to himself.

He ordered another drink, the girl behind the bar giving him a wink and the top-shelf stuff. Peck smiled back mechanically, using that movie-star look of his that opened so, so many doors for him. Stripper though she was, she still blushed.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. Text. The mark was here.

Peck swung around on the stool, away from the show, towards the main doors of the stripclub, scanning for details. Two men, both in dark, tailored suits with open-necked shirts, a short, pudgy guy and a taller man with dark hair and a crooked nose. Ignoring the girls on stage, focused, talking to each other. Intent on doing something.

Different than Santori's usual guests.

The first was clearly some kind of professional executive, the kind of guy Peck liked to fuck over for fun when he got bored between Santori’s assignments. Boring but lucrative.

Not him.

The second guy, the tall one, was far more interesting. There was something about him, something in the way he carried himself, the easy confidence he had, even in here, staying relaxed while still being tense, prepared.

Peck could have laughed. Couldn't be simpler. Everything about the man screamed military, current or former. Probably an officer. Damn fine facade.

A man to be concerned about.

That one was the mark.

Peck picked his drink up in one hand, waiting.

Blue eyes met his as the men brushed past, the tall man’s gaze meeting him own.

Peck barely kept himself together as the essence of the man washed over him. The presence in that gaze was overwhelming. A wild intelligence, a certain knowledge of life that only men who’d killed seemed to possess but tempered by some emotion that those in his own circles didn’t indulge. Conviction. Most of all, there was conviction. A force of nature, this one, immense power, barely reined in.

Then came a slight widening of the eyes, mouth going slack, attention a bit closer than mere, dispassionate evaluation would require.

Good.

Let the mark start forming the proper opinion.

Peck sipped his drink and allowed himself a shy smile, keeping his own churning uncertainty locked away. Kept his own face soft, not letting the tall man see anything Peck didn’t want him to. And he knew how he wanted to play this one, who he was going to be. So he dropped his gaze, away and down. Letting the tall man see hesitation. Sparking those protective instincts. Brushing against the edge of military sensibilities. Lighting him up.

He let himself look up once, after they’d passed him, and found the tall man staring back at him. Back by the door of Santori’s office for whatever meeting they were here for. Watching.

Better than good.

Peck finished his drink in one long toss, making sure the mark watched him do it, watched him get up a little too fast, watched him rush out.

Got him, he thought smugly to himself.

Peck pulled a pair of sunglasses on and went for his GTO, parked lovingly at the end of the lot. The fall air was crisp, just turning cold, and he started laughing. Whatever it was Santori wanted out of this guy, the conman was going to thoroughly enjoy getting it.

++++

Did you see him, Peck?

Absolutely, Mr. Santori.

I don’t trust these assholes, coming down themselves to mess with one of my union deals...

And at that point, Peck had rolled his eyes and held the cell phone a little further away from his ear and tuned out the usual drabble about union labor and political connections and all that other shit that the Family had its fingers in. Didn’t care about the details.

White collar crime was all fine and good, but Peck was an analog man himself. He liked the simple things in this business. Collections, running his neighborhood, intimidation... it was just more fun than balance sheet and hiding the margins.

Like right now, drumming his fingers against the counter in Rob Cera’s laundromat, waiting for the owner to cough up his weekly kick-back. Man ran one of the biggest books in the city, and the fact that it was Peck’s to run was yet another sign of Santori’s high opinion of him. The place was’t empty, and the few customers who were waiting around were giving him a wide berth.

Peck winked at the bookie’s wife. “How much longer is he going to be?” he asked her in a conversational tone that was too smooth to be anything but threatening. “I’ve got kind of a busy day and he’s holding me up. If you don’t have it, I can always come back tomorrow.”

The little manila envelop she handed fit nicely in his pocket as he walked back out to his car.

New guy coming to deal with me. It’s fucking insulting.

Santori was pissed, pissed because one of his most lucrative ventures was this deal with these defense people, gouging parts for humvees, inserting ghost expenses in the contracts, using cheaper materials than what specs called for.

Peck had helped him get it. Inserted himself into their New York offices as an intern and do all sorts of damage, gleaning enough blackmail-worthy material to destroy the company’s stock base and bankrupt it and land two of the board members in jail, unless they agreed to the occasional fee alteration, as Santori had put it.

That had been three years ago.

Peck didn’t think his prior connections with the company were why the cappo had brought him on for this.

You want me around with this fucker? Need to be along on whatever you’re doing with him tonight.

You can find him on your own, Peck...

Sometimes he got the idea Santori had no idea how he worked, how a good con worked. It’ll make him suspicious. Needs to be obvious what I do for you. It needs to look like we’re in real tight...

The cappo had laughed at that and told him which little bistro they’d bought out for the night. Peck didn’t bend over for his employers once he’d learned he didn’t have to, had put at least two fellow soldiers in the hospital for trying it, but he had no problem playing rent boy for a con.

And he knew he wasn’t going to have a problem with it on this one.

+++++

“John Hamilton,” the tall man from earlier in the day introduced himself, business card in hand, as Peck slid into the chair next to Santori. Good as time as any to start.

“Peck,” he said, letting himself sound a little distracted. That wasn’t hard to fake. There was something bout this guy... He examined the white rectangle with a thoughtful expression before tucking it into a back pocket. Dinner was over, and everybody had moved on to drinks. It was starting to get loud. More casual. Good time for this.

“Senior VP out of Colorado Springs?” Peck asked and got a little nod in return.

“Mr. Hamilton will be taking over here in New York for a while,” Santori told him. “We’ll be dealing with him on all our union business.”

“That’s right. I heard Mitch McClellan was out sick,” Peck replied easily, letting himself slide into those details he didn’t care about. “Something chronic?”

“Yes.”

“That’s good,” Peck told him and patted his cappo on the back. Letting the movement go big, letting his words get loud, like he was just this side of inebriated. “He’s nervous as all hell about you being here. Doesn’t like change.”

“Peck...”

“He’s worried you’re going to cancel our union contracts.”

Hinting that John might want to be careful. That maybe he couldn’t quite trust Santori. That Peck was giving him this information because not everything was okay between him and his patron. Steel blue eyes crinkled, obviously catching the subtlety. Just a moment, then John shook his head and started laughing.

“Shut the fuck up, Peck,” Santori growled, genuinely pissed now.

He’d apologize later, but for now, Peck just waggled a cell phone in front of the cappo’s face. “Came over to tell ya, Marcus just called about that thing in that place from last week...”

Santori frowned deeper, grabbed the phone. “You’re drinking too much again, Peck. I want you out of here when I get back. John, sorry, gotta go deal with a problem...”

And then they were alone in a back corner, John just watching the room, watching him.

“Interesting man, your boss.”

Fucking perfect.

“He tries.”

“And what do you do for him?”

He smiled at the man. “He, he took me in after... well, a while ago. I’m trying to finish up college right now.” Which was true. He rarely had the time for more than twelve or so credits a semester, but NYU had been surprisingly flexible with him, and he was only a class or two away from graduating. Santori was proud of that, too. Had to have a business degree, it seemed, if only to keep up with all the bullshit. “Been with him since I was thirteen.”

“It worth it?”

Peck shrugged, like he cared, like it wasn’t, but he didn’t want to say so. “Money’s good.”

“Didn’t answer my question.”

“You noticed that,” Peck said, and let it hang for a moment, making sure it was going to hold, before pushing back and grabbing his coat. “It was nice meeting you, John,” he said and got up to leave.

He could see his breath as he waited by the curb for a taxi. Downtown, this time of night, it wouldn’t be hard to get one, but he wasn’t really trying. He pulled out the business card and a pen. He was waiting for...and there it was, behind him, the door cracking open and then shut again, a warm burst of noise rushing out and then nothing but footsteps.

“You like to run off on me?” John said, coming up right alongside him.

He was smoking a cigar, a good one, and Peck snatched it and inhaled deeply. “Just time to leave.”

“Not on my account?” the man asked and took his cigar back. He looked down at the younger man, some weird range of thought playing through him, too fast for Peck to catch.

Peck looked back at the bistro, then down, back to bistro and finally up meet the mark’s eyes. There really was something there, something that left him shaking and weak inside. What was it? “Want to split a cab?”

They stopped at John’s first, a small apartment building, warm and inviting. The man got out, and Peck slipped the driver an extra fifty and told him to drive around the block and come right back. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and followed John up the stairs to the front door of the building, just waiting.

“What are you doing, kid?” John finally asked, just like he was supposed to.

Peck drew himself in a little closer. “The boss would want me to make sure you got home safe. Plenty of idiots in the city might try to do something stupid, and you’re new here...”

“I can take care of myself, Peck.”

The conman believed that and moved accordingly, pleased at how John’s breath was catching as he broke into his personal space. “I can see that, I was just...” and he was close enough now to put a hand on John’s arm. “Just wanted to make sure you aren’t lonely in this big, scary place...” and he was close enough to rear up and press a light kiss against John’s lips. His fingers closed down around a little wax box in his pocket, drawing it out slowly. “That we’ve got everything taken care of...”

The last bit was whispered, and then cut off, as John leaned in and took his chin in hand and kissed him back, hard and rough, pulling him around and driving him into the wall. Peck felt a surge of heat, that same one from earlier, and a warm spread of pleasure. Oh, this was going to be too easy, the emotion in this man, boiling right under the surface...

Then it all stopped. John pulled away, still holding his chin. “He tell you to come here?”

“Come here?” Peck mimicked with a little laugh. “He used the word fuck, actually. But he says that a lot, so...”

John released him. “He uses you like this?” The indignation, the... sadness, was clear in his voice. Peck noticed that with a vague amusement. He’d never heard any mark sound sorry for him. What was there to be sorry about?

Peck let his head fall back against the wall. “It’s not a big deal. We both know what he is, John.” He looked up. “You do know what he is, right?”

“I read the news,” John said tersely, and then hesitated. “What happens if I send you away?”

“Do you want to?”

The VP, or whatever the hell he was, kissed Peck again, slow and gentle this time, stroking his chin as he did so, a hint of tongue, the scent of good cologne lingering after he pulled away. His lips were so soft... “It’s a very bad idea.”

There was something tense there. Closet gay, Peck thought to himself. Could have something to do with the military’s policies, if John was still active duty. And that raised a whole new set of questions.

Peck nodded, stroking a hand up and down the edge of John’s suit jacket. “You... read the news. Right. This is probably the right move, then. But I don’t share his priorities, John.” The conman tucked the business card back into John’s coat. “That’s my personal cell number.”

“What am I going to do with it, kid?”

He let himself shiver a little at the last word. Sounded so right, rolling off those delicious lips. “If you need anything, anything, and I’m not talking about that, you can call me. I can get you anything you might need while you're in town.”

John smiled. “I doubt that.”

“It's free of charge. And that's a service you might want to take advantage of,” Peck said.

"I'll think about it, Peck."

The conman allowed himself a blush and kicked at the ground, like he didn’t know what to do or how to end it, being rejected, still being tease. Inside, he was grinning like an idiot. “Good night, John.”

“Good night, Peck.” The man’s posture was tense, drawn, anxious. Oh, this really was going to be too easy. Man had no idea he was being played.

The conman nodded and started off, around the corner where the cab was waiting for him. He slipped into the back, palming the box of wax, now with a perfect imprint of John’s apartment key, into his pocket. One of the man’s credit cards appeared out of a sleeve. Thing looked brand new.

Peck smiled. This should be more than enough to start looking into who John Hamilton really was.

+++++

Peck didn’t waste any time.

The next morning, Saturday, he camped out in front of John's apartment until the man went for a run. The new key worked great, but there was nothing here. Just a corporate place, non-descript furnishings, no wallet, nothing but a crumpled receipt in a jacket pocket, deep and tight, probably not noticed. Cash payment to a Starbucks, listed as the Fort Carson BX location. $5.95. Americano, sticky bun. Military, Peck told himself and put the receipt carefully back. Too bad there wasn't a credit card number on it. But that was the only thing he found. Time to keep moving.

All the banks and offices were closed that day. So there was no point in doing anything through semi-official channels, charming some teller into giving him access or a secretary into spilling the office gossip on the new VP. He fully intended on getting to that if necessarily.

This was just easier.

No matter how much the guy whined.

“But Peck, you gotta understand,” the NYU computer science grad student told him for what had to be the tenth or eleventh time in the past year. “The computer’s not some magical mystery machine that lets me do whatever the hell I want. I can’t just...”

He rapped the rather heavy set of bundled VCDs against the doorframe. “Man up, Ron Weasley. I brought you anime. The series with the girl who’s a cat.”

“That’s not... and it’s a, err, she’s not...”

“Talking cat, schoolgirl, raccoons flying around on their balls, whatever.” He hated anime. It was ridiculously hard to get most of the weirder titles in the US, thank god, but Peck did enjoy a challenge and his rather convoluted supply chain from Asia worked just as well for other, more lucrative contraband. And it was a guaranteed way to get this guy to help him out.

Peck pushed past him into the dorm apartment, slapping the set into the geek's chest and sat down on his worn little sofa, legs spread wide. “I’ll let you suck me off. And if you’re a good boy,” he purred, “I’ll even think about letting you come.”

Well, anime and sex.

The grad student flushed bright red but still walked over, shoved back the trunk he was using as a coffee table and fell to his knees. Peck stroked his head as the geek unbuckled his belt and worked the buttons, imagining silver hair instead of red between his fingers, hard skin on stroking palms, the faintest taste of cigar smoke still hanging in the air around him, John's tongue the one that was curling around him...

It didn’t take very long after that.

His geek was good, very good, and Peck was still feeling the last remnants of orgasm, sitting there, flipping through channels, when the awkward student appeared in the doorway, a slight grin on his face and a handful of papers in his hand.

“So, I hacked the bank. It’s a corporate card, listed to the defense company you said he works for, so that all checks out. But,” and the geek held a hand up against Peck’s flare of irritation, “I know you wouldn’t be happy with that, so I ran a scan of the servers, see what’s stored in...”

“Do not geek out on me, dude,” Peck warned and the other man blanched. He knew exactly what kind of work Peck was in. It was one of the reasons he always agreed to help him out.

So, anime and sex and too many viewings of Goodfellows. Peck could live with that.

“The time stamps on the account seem to check out, his access granted a few years ago. Then I used that to back door into the company’s payroll records, where he’s got a six or seven year history. But, they’ve all been forged. This guy got this card last week, and he’s never drawn a real paycheck.”

“Bank or the company?”

“Huh?”

“Who forged the... whatever, who set it all up for him?”

“Had to have come from the company, with collusion from the bank,” the geek guessed. “I mean, this was a concerted effort. And a good one. Everything looks completely legit. Wouldn't have found it at all if ...”

“They were expecting us to run a background check,” Peck muttered to himself, not listening anymore, the possibilities narrowing down.

Definitely a plant. Definitely here with support of the company. Didn’t seem too happy with the deal. But if they guy was military, as Peck strongly suspected he was, that didn’t make any sense at all. FBI, maybe. But DoD? They dropped bombs on people in foreign countries and brought bottled water to the huddled masses after hurricanes. They didn’t investigate crime in the United States.

He was going to have to be careful with this one.

“Thanks,” he told the geek, turning his face away when the redhead tried to kiss him and didn’t bother looking back at the wistful expression that followed him out the door and down the hall. They both knew how this worked, and besides, Peck was pretty sure the guy liked the abuse.

Too easy.

Peck hated that, too. Which was why, he figured, his thoughts turned back to John as he left, those rough hands and deep eyes, anything but simple...

He felt that flush of heat again and tried to ignore it. Just a mark, just a job... but his hands felt weak and he could still see John smiling at him, smiling like nobody had ever smiled at him before...

Yes, very, very careful.

+++++

“Kid, this is ridiculous.”

“Keep calling me that, John, you’re going to hurt my feelings.”

Wednesday.

Peck hadn’t been able to turn up anything further on John, and he was pretty sure it was wasted effort. For all he could reasonably tell, the man was exactly what his background check said he was; former Army officer, hired out of there by the defense company, living in Colorado Springs for the last seven or eight years, unmarried, no children. The narrative made sense, and Santori’s usual people hadn’t turned anything unusual up.

So here he was, in John’s very nice corner office, a few late-stays wandering around outside its glass walls, drumming his fingers against the top of a very nice cherry wood humidor. He'd scammed it himself, so he knew it wasn't any of that cut-rate shit that he usually used in situations like this. Peck had already dismissed the delivery men. It was just him and John now.

“Why is this in my office?”

“Mr. Santori wants you to understand how valuable your friendship is to him.” Peck didn’t like doing this, the egregious gift-giving. If it had been his choice, he would have just brought a box of cubans over and played it down, but the family had a certain way of doing things, and this was all part of it.

“This is a bribe.”

For reasons like that.

“Doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy it.” Peck plucked a cigar out and sniffed it appreciatively before handing it to John, who automatically tucked it into his jacket pocket. “Mr. Santori’s a generous man.”

John’s fingers closed down around the cigar, brushing Peck’s and he backed off, circling behind his desk. “I’m not for sale. I don’t care about whatever arrangement you had with Mitch.”

“Everyone’s got a price, John,” Peck told him. “And everyone’s got something they don’t want to give up. Sooner or later, it’s going to be one or the other. It’s how they work.”

John caught the “they” and his head shot up sharply. Responding to what he clearly though was an inadvertent slip. Just like he was supposed to. “Which side of that equation are you on, kid? The selling or the taking?” His voice is almost sad again. Why was that?

“That’s really going to depend on you, John. What do you want?” He didn’t move as he said it, lets his eyes turn away a little. No guile. A touch of embarrassment. A touch of embarrassment he almost felt. Even if John was sent here, he didn’t belong in Peck’s world. He wasn’t that kind of man.

There was nothing for a few seconds, and then John chuckled, deep and warm, and whatever tension evaporated instantly. “I want to take you to dinner, kid.”

John admitted to a complete ignorance of Manhattan eateries and let Peck tell the cab where to drop them off. The conman picked a casual little French place where he knew the owners and, after he replaced their broken oven last year, free of charge, where he usually never had to pay. But it was best to let John think he was running things. Let him think he was getting away with his bush-league manipulations (because there was no reason that John would consent to dinner without an ulterior motive). He had a quick conversation with the hostess, explaining the situation, and she giggled and led them back to the best table in the house.

“Was that French?” John asked, sincerely surprised, as the girl practically skipped away.

“I’m not allowed to speak something other than guido?”

“I didn’t mean...”

“Minoring in Arabic, too, John. Not an idiot,” and he smiled, to let John know it was okay, and laid his hand across on the table, letting his fingers play along the top of the older man’s hand.

“Peck...” came an almost pained little moan, and he looked up to see the VP blushing. Actually blushing. Just a little, but it was there. Unmistakable.

The conman continued stroking, keeping his voice low and soft, concerned. And he was; wasn’t right, whoever was keeping this man locked up in himself. Peck was going to fix that, set him loose, cage him up somewhere new, he reminded himself. “This isn’t Colorado Springs, John. No mega-churches here, no Penacostals wandering around. New York’s much more...”

Then his hand was pulled away. “I wanted to talk business, kid.”

“No you didn’t,” Peck replied with a little disappointed laugh and looked over at the approaching waitress, bottle in hand. His favorite. Without even asking. That was something Peck loved about this job, and John’s raised eyebrow just made it all the better.

They both stayed silent as the woman showed them both the label, decanted the bottle and offered John the cork. He sniffed it lightly, nodded, and brilliant red liquid splashed into tall crystal.

“And no you don’t.”

John’s hand was still around his wrist, and he squeezed a little now, stopping Peck from going for the wine. “Kid, I have to ask you a very serious question.”

The younger man tilted his chin a little, looking for the angles, trying to suss out John’s own con.

“Is that humidor bugged?”

Peck started laughing. A real laugh, nothing forced or faked about it, John letting go of his hand in surprise as the laugh grew louder and merrier. “Haha, man, what kind of business do you think we’re running? We’re not fucking terrorists. You’re dealing with a bunch of old men in bad socks... heehee...smelling like garlic...”

John still looked a little stunned, and then, after a moment, starting laughing and relaxed back into his seat. “Yeah, I guess that is a little paranoid of me.”

Peck wiped a tear away. “Seriously, John, we’re not all bad. You’ll learn that.” Tension returned to the other man’s shoulders, and Peck turned his hand in John’s, turned so their palms were together. “You have to learn that. You’ll see it. They don’t just let things go. They aren’t going to let you pull the deals they’ve got in place with your company, too much money involved...” and he coughed, like he shouldn’t have spoken. “We’re good to our friends. I’d like you to be our friend, John.”

John smiled back at that, like he’d just gotten one over with Peck’s seemingly involuntary slip-up, and brought his other hand up over Peck’s, and the younger man felt thick callouses there, gun callouses, felt something deep down flip-flop as he was enveloped in that reassuring grasp, and was John talking?

John was talking.

And holding up his wine glass, just a little, watching Peck with amusment. “What should we toast to?”

Fuck it, it was just going to make this whole thing more believable.

“To friends?”

“Friends.”

Crystal clinked together, and John’s eyes didn’t leave him, Peck noted with satisfaction, as he took a small, answering sip and leaned all the way back, reluctantly pulling his hand with him, out of that warmth and away. He arched his spine a little against the back of the chair and settled in. “So we talked about business, then, John. Don't you want to know what I want to talk about?”

John laughed again. Peck could get used to that sound, he really could...

"You're a brat, Peck."

"You love it," he replied, and soon they were talking about Mormons and hunting and whether or not snow fell in the city in the winter and how in the hell Peck managed to get that many Cohiba Siglos in such a short amount of time, and Peck just smiled.

Enjoying the evening.

Looking forward to where he was taking it.

And John didn’t disappoint. Played right to script.

Dinner was light and wonderful and perfect, brought out by the owner himself. He shook Peck’s hand warmly, just like he always did, and the young man gave John a little wink as he introduced them, rattling away in French, and his stomach did that little flip-flop as John winked back, and replied in kind.

“How do you know him?” John asked after the owner left and their coq au vin was steaming on perfect white plates.

Peck shrugged and sipped at his wine. “They had some trouble about a year ago with their imported oven. One of those massive Italian things, can’t buy ‘em around here. I found them a new one, brought it over, got in installed.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that. The food’s worth it.”

After they finished and John intercepted the bill and they gathered their coats and left the warmth of the cozy little place, Peck shoved his hands in his pockets and stood a little off to the side of the door as John came out after him, folding his wallet away.

“Well, you managed to clean me out, kid,” he said lightly.

“Tell me it wasn’t worth it,” Peck teased back.

John nodded. “That was wonderful. Better than what I’ve been doing the last week or so.”

“I know all the good places, John. City like this, you’ve got no excuses.”

There was one of those awkward pauses, and John moved a little closer. “So, what now?”

He made sure he backed up a little. He didn’t want to, but he did. “We talked business. Mission accomplished. I should be going.”

“Kid...”

“I’ve got a test in the morning, John. I really should go...”

John got in front of him, and tentatively ran a hand down the sleeve of the younger man’s jacket. Peck shivered, the touch was so light. Was he nervous? Unsure? Uncomfortable? “We could split a cab.”

The young man let his expression go slack and he looked away. “You already said no. Let’s just leave it at that.”

“I said no to something being sold to me.”

That demanded an angry response, something he’d long ago had to learn how to fake. “I’m not a whore, John,” he snapped, turning away, walking down the street, mercifully fairly empty still, this early. It just might work...

“Kid!”

He stopped.

There it was.

Peck made sure the anger was shining out in his voice as he answered levelly, “What, you’d rather we’d hit an alley than dinner, me on my knees, sucking you off? There’s one right like right there, we can go for it if that’s what you wa...”

“Kid, I’m sorry,” John said, coming alongside him and wrapping an arm around his waist from behind, wrapping up around him, and Peck couldn’t stop the little whimper that escaped him in that simple movement. He could feel hard muscle through that suit, wondered what this was going to be like, hard and rough, soft and easy... “Put my foot in my mouth. I guess I’m just feeling a little out of my depth with all of this.”

“Long way from the Rocky Mountains?”

John nipped at his ear. “It’s just been awhile," he admitted haltingly.

How much of that was true? Honesty at the heart of it, Peck thought. John was a good man and good men couldn’t hide lies from themselves, couldn’t quite make it believable. But he was damn close to convincing, and that was good enough.

“We can split a cab,” Peck said softly, acquiescing, and John’s hand, right at the small of his back, guided them both back to the curb and away.

+++++

Peck didn’t even need to pretend that he’d never been in John’s little corporate apartment before, because they barely made it to the elevator before the older man grabbed him and shoved him up against a wall, knee between his legs, ravishing his mouth. A hurricane blast against his concentration. But he held himself back, like he always did.

Just a mark. Watch him.

It wasn’t calm and reserved like it was the first time, and it seemed to be more desperate, rusty skills fueling it imperfectly, but the electricity was still there and Peck groaned, letting John in. There were teeth and hard thrusts of tongue, and it was exactly what it should be, needy and immediate, something that was going to play to his advantage, because John seemed to have no intention of stopping... and then John did that thing with his tongue and Peck groaned louder and decided to let himself go. The con had gotten him here. He could enjoy it.

No harm in that.

Right?

At some point, the elevator must have stopped, because John was opening the door of his apartment, John was pushing him inside and back to the bedroom, John was tugging his jacket, his shirt, everything off him, falling away onto the floor, biting along the length of his neck, pushing him back.

Peck smiled and relaxed into it, letting himself fall back onto the sinfully soft bed, letting his legs fall open in invitation and John made a wonderful little noise as he kicked his shoes off and dove on top of him.

With a quick grin, Peck caught the older man with his legs before he could move it, squeezing his thighs tight, flipping them over and kissing him back, holding him down until John growled at him, and the game was on. Everything getting harder and faster, pure lust at play as the two men wrestled with each other, hard muscle slick under sweating skin, erections hard and breath coming in tight gasps, until Peck was flipped down once again and John was straddling his lap, fingers playing in the soft line of hair below him navel.

His body was burning, on fire, for this man above him, grinding on top of him. Peck reached up for John’s buttons, considering for a moment and then ripping down the front, popping them off, tearing the shirt open, rearing up to tease a hard nipple, trying to push the dark fabric away...

John caught his wrists again and pulled back. “Shirt stays on.”

Through the haze of his own arousal, Peck barely managed to file that information away. Man could have a kink. Or he could be trying to hide something. “No fair,” he pouted.

“Stays on,” came the soft answer, and John was there again, naked from the waist down, impressive cock hard between them as he settled between Peck’s legs. He bit at the younger man’s neck again, lips ghosting on over-heated skin. “How do you like it, kid?”

Peck didn’t want to think about this one at all, just pulled his knees up to his chest and grabbed that hair again and their mouths were almost touching. “I just like it.”

“I don’t have...”

Ah, no lube, then, no condoms. Peck didn’t think it was a good idea to go for the stuff in his jacket pocket. What the hell? “Fuck me, John,” he murmured and John’s steel blue eyes flared to black

Spit wasn’t quite enough and John didn’t do quite a good enough job of stretching him open, and the man was hung. So it burned at first, a little too much, but he’d had much worse in his life, and there was still something delicious about this, about John, made this all okay, better than okay. Peck threw his head back and moaned in the most wanton voice he could manage, again, not something he needed to fake, as John sank in to his balls, hands braced on the back of Peck’s thighs.

“Fuck...” the man over him said, words shaking, and Peck grabbed a handful of shirt, begging him to move.

It came in hard, erratic thrusts, and Peck could see the concentration in the man’s face, utterly focused, and it suddenly hit him that John wanted this to be good for him. John wanted it for both of them, and there was no con in it. John was as lost in this s he was. The thought flashed through him like lightning, and it was like somebody hit a switch and all sensation magnified, grew, and he was overwhelmed again. Overwhelmed by this man, so different from anybody he’d ever met, anyone in the Family...

And then, then John’s hand closed down over his cock and he felt the edge of whatever it was about John, that thing he didn’t understand and all that was just too much. It wasn’t long before he was spilling over the man’s hand, and he was filled with that delicious sensation, and John was pulling out and collapsing down next to him, breath hard and ragged. Matched his own.

No words were spoken, and although Peck usually wasn’t one for cuddling, he still snuggled into John when the older man lifted his arm and welcomed him in.

No harm in that either.

If it was what the mark wanted, needed...

In order for this be convincing his brain remembered, and screamed in warning. He couldn’t get lost in this, he couldn’t...

John drew him up for one slow, sweet kiss, eyes blown and hair slicked against his forehead, thumb playing under Peck’s chin. “To friends, kid.”

And all Peck had the energy for a lazy nod before his head hit the pillows.

+++++

Peck woke alone, red LEDs flashing out the time as 2:38 AM. That warmth next to him was gone. The scent of their earlier exertions was still thick in the air, and he breathed in it, trying to imprint that smell in his memory. It wasn’t the best sex he’d ever had, but the sincerity in John, that need, some long repression finally being finally over... that was something he’d never come across before. He yawned, and waited for the toilet flush.

When it didn’t come, he was up and out of bed, soft on the balls of his feet, at the door of the bedroom, out into the short hall. The apartment wasn’t so big as all that. The search didn’t take long.

In the bathroom. Light under the door. John’s voice, low and indistinct, long pauses in between short little sentences.

He leaned up against the wall and listened, barely breathing, muscles quivering from holding still.

“...things are going fine... Nothing like that, it’s better than the places they normally put us up in...right, no fucking pricing limits...no, BA, don’t put Murdock on... hello captain, sorry it’s so late...no progress, but I think I’ve found somebdoy... no, I haven’t seen the ninja turtles...give the phone back to BA...”

Peck rubbed his hands together. It was chilly in the apartment but he could barely afford to care. Murdock and BA. Sounded fake, but it was something. And then he went cold, and it had nothing to do with the temperature.

“...I think I’ve found somebody who can help us, may be able to flip the kid...you’d like him, you’d both like him...yes, BA, he does work for the asshole... we’ll see on that, too early to tell... it would make things easier, yes...how are things back in the unit, you boys doing okay without the boss around...”

The conman pushed up and crept quickly back to the bedroom, mind working fast, chewing on the pieces. May be able to flip the kid? Unit? What unit? Who the fuck asked about the Ninja Turtles? What exactly was John here to do?

Flip the kid...

He slipped back into the sheets before John returned.

Flip the kid... you’d like him...

Why was that bothering him?

Quickest way to the bottom of the Hudson. Something he’d actually seen done once or twice, and Peck wasn’t stupid enough to think that Santori wouldn’t do it.

But wasn’t that exactly what he wanted John to try? Wasn’t this what he was looking for from this man? Gain his trust, get under his skin, figure out what he was doing here and why and who he was working for and stop him?

...you’d like him...

The way he’d said it, and that look in his eyes, the sadness. There was something to that, Peck realized. And somewhere, deep down, he didn’t think that meant John wanted to turn him over to Witness Protection afterwards. It almost sounded like the man wanted to keep him. Didn’t it?

Insane thoughts for an insane hour. This was an opportunity, a fucking open door and there was no reason to be light-headed. Excited, maybe. Thrilled. He should be thrilled about this.

But didn’t it sound like the man wanted...

Get a grip, Peck, he ordered himself, but couldn’t stop the burst of anger, like he needed to be saved, and then he heard the flush and went limp, face down, just like he’d woken up.

John made no noise at all as he lifted the blankets and eased back into bed. The movement was enough for Peck to justify a little half moan and a roll, right back into John’s settling body..

He let his eyes flutter open. “... you left,” he whined.

John spooned him close and kissed him softly on the cheek. “Go back to sleep, kid.”

Wasn't hard. His body was screaming for rest, and this was more comfortable than he’d been in a long time, and Peck didn’t even need to fake the pleased little sound that escaped him.

Arms, John’s arms, closed around him, and he relaxed into it. Might as well enjoy it while he could.

No harm in that.

Right?

+++++

Things were good like that for a while.

In the morning, after that first night, Peck had woken up with John petting his hair, a light smile playing on his lips, amused and happy and content. The man looked content, looked like a man who was never really content, and this a new and novel experience. When he saw Peck finally open his eyes, purring up into that touch like a well-fed kitten, the VP kissed him gently, hand on his cheek.

“What time do you have to go to class, kid?”

“Test is at eleven,” he yawned and stretched a little, pushing as much of himself against John as he could. “So we’ve got some time.”

“I have work.”

Peck hazarded a look over at the clock. 7AM. “We’ve got time.”

“No, we really don’t...” the older man groaned, and Peck swung himself up and over, sitting down on that flat belly, hand under the crumpled shirt, teasing one nipple, then the other.

“You said it’s been a while, right?” he asked mischeviously, and felt a quick stab of guilt as John’s face clouded.

“Was it... was it not good, kid?” The concern was real.

Peck leaned down to kiss him again, tangling into that hair, rubbing his ass back against John’s cock, a plan forming in his head. If he hadn’t done this in a while... “It was wonderful, John. You’re wonderful.”

Those strong hands grabbed his hips. “Don’t bullshit me, kid. We’ve known each other less than a week.”

“Feels like longer, doesn’t it?”

John stared, eyes wild, hesitant. Holding back, Peck thought to himself smugly and ignored that creeping guilt.

“Don’t worry about it, John. Don’t worry about any of it.” He kissed him again. “We can do this whenever you want, however you want. I’ll show you things you’ve never seen.” Kiss. “Take you places you’ve never been.” Kiss. “Please, John, let me...”

“Why?”

It was a simple question, and Peck couldn’t stop his simple, honest answer from following it.

“I’ve never met anyone like you...”

Something snapped in the other man and John took him and flung him back down to the mattress and held him down as he fucked him, better this morning, still slick from the previous night, filling him up, all the little places that he’d never known were empty until now...

And that was how it all started. A week turned into two, two turned in to four, and before Peck really knew what happened, John was calling him to ask him out on their two-month anniversary.

“It’s just sex,” he said into the phone, legs splayed in the back row of Modern Economic Structure. The girl sitting next to him turned, and the guy in front of him scrunched into the lecture. “Why do you want to go ruin it with occasions?”

“Please, kid.”

Peck had learned there wasn’t much he could refuse that particular voice. “When and where?”

“My place, whenever you’re free tonight.”

He’d learned a lot about John, or whoever he really was, in the past few weeks. Nothing useful, though, so he’d had to keep coming back. Santori wasn’t exactly happy about that, but Peck had managed to keep John argued down from his original position and nothing bad had come of the change in leadership yet, so the cappo was okay. John had even thanked him for the humidor. Whatever the VP did at work, Peck didn’t know.

And he’d kept to his promises, like he always did, spending long nights exploring the older man’s skin, finding all his little sensitive spots, teaching him things he’d never learned, perfecting all the things he knew, letting John dominate him and still guiding him along. It was obvious - nobody had ever taken the time to do this for John, or maybe John had never been able to let himself go.

Peck didn't care. This was good. Like they fit together. It was beyond addicting, the commanding presence this man had, pure alpha male, confident and sure of himself in a way people in the Family were, but different. It wasn’t based on arrogance, on bravado.

It was just who he was.

Someone he’d earned the right to be.

+++++

When Peck got there that night, it was like it was every night. Some light conversation, easy touching, heavier, arousal, kissing, John pulling him back to the bedroom, undressing...

Peck put a hand up as the older man started with his own buttons. “You don’t have to do this, John. Your scars...”

John had told him about an injury he’d sustained in the first Gulf War as an Army infantry lieutenant. Shrapnel, took a piece of flesh clean out of his side, right under the armpit. He’d felt it through the shirt John always wore when they did this. A pretty big hole. Others, he’d said, smaller but worse.

John paused. “You said you didn’t care.”

“I don’t.”

He bit his lip and shrugged out of his shirt. Peck moaned a little, and surged up to lick down that chest, so exposed, relishing the feeling of open skin for the first time, tanned and scarred and somehow right, perfect for this man who was so rough and so enthusiastic. There was the scar, right under his arm, and Peck rubbed a hand across it, his fingers denting in beneath the surface. A hole, indeed...

“It’s amazing you lived through this,” he said in wonder.

John lifted his head a little, laying back like he was bored, or trying to decide something. “It almost killed me..”

“I’m glad it didn’t,” Peck said, and leaned in to kiss it. The scar tissue was white, even after all this time...

“...last year.”

It was so soft, Peck almost didn’t hear it. But there it was, the words falen from John’s lips, and incredibly nervous, pained expression on John’s face. He stopped and pulled back, dropping even the pretense of sensuality. “What are you talking about?”

“I got it last year, in Iraq, right when the war broke out. Our convoy got attacked a few miles from base. Almost everyone died. Twenty-six of my guys. Another four lost limbs. I was lucky I kept my arm. Got up and crawled that last two miles after the motherfuckers left...”

And he was still talking, but Peck saw the tattoo on his arm, on the bicep, huge and unmistakable, dark... “You’re active duty?” he asked incredulously.

John was staring at him now. “Yes.”

Peck felt sick. He didn’t like where this was going, where this was going to lead. The world was tilting around him and he didn’t know what he was supposed to do right now. Play the conman? It was automatic to do that, and there was that look on John’s face that begged a response... “Army Ranger?”

“Lieutenant Colonel Hanni, er, John Smith...” he began, and then stopped, like he was embarrassed to be explaining this. Maybe he was, and part of Peck, too large a part, want to just laugh this off and call the scar and the tattoo and everything else sexy and get back to it. Bu he couldn’t, he had to press, had to push, what they were going to have to do about this...

“You’re name’s not John?”

“My men call me Hannibal.”

Those steel-blue eyes made sense now, watching him, gauging for reactions, probing, and Peck felt himself going on the defensive.

“Hannibal?” He started edging back. He had to. He had to be shocked, had to be shaken, had to be... “What? You work for...”

“I asked them to set this up. I needed to figure out what was going on, and it all led back to corruption, union corruption...”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“That convoy, that day. Our hummer armor was defective. Weak steel, too thin. Somebody installed sub-standard material in our vehicles and I had to tell twenty-six mothers that they’d never seen their sons again.” He was sitting up a little, that damn tattoo very, very visible. “My guys, who knows how many others, because your fucking mob leeches off...”

“Don’t you dare!” Peck warned, up and at the door. “Don’t you fucking dare!”

“Your people are responsible for the deaths of hundreds of mine!” John thundered and was up and off and imposing, right over Peck, hands on either side of his head, and the conman got the very real feeling that he wasn’t talking to John any more, the repressed, beautiful man he’d first met, that this was Hannibal, whoever that was, that Hannibal had always been in there, watching him, waiting for this moment, and even though he'd been expecting some kind of reveal, he wasn't sure what to say to this.

“I will fucking dare! This organization of yours is hurting my boys, and I can’t stand for that!” His fist crashed into the wall two inches from Peck’s head. It stayed like that for a moment, and then opened, bracing him, like his anger was spent for the moment, capacitor discharged. “Killing my men, Peck. I can’t let this stand. And if I have to take Santori’s family apart to do it...”

Peck’s own temper was boiling under the surface, seething. So it was true. He’d almost let himself be lulled into the complacency of this, this... relationship of theirs, believe that John was who he said he was, and he wanted to go to his backpack and get his gun and just shoot this asshole for daring to threaten his family...

But he couldn’t let it show. Not too much, anyway, so he forced the tension in his gut to uncoil and let himself slump forward into the rent boy persona, non-threatening and weak. “Holy shit, John...”

“I’m sorry, kid. I understand if you feel betrayed...”

“So, so what? What has this been about?”

John forced his face up and looked into his eyes, searching for something Peck sure as hell wasn’t going to let him find. “This has been about us, kid. You and me. I swear it.”

It was Peck’s turn to stare.

“And I’m sorry I need to ask you this, but...”

“...you want my help,” Peck finished for him.

“I need your help.”

“Go fuck yourself.”

A hand came up and crashed back down on the wall, then something in Hannibal’s face softened back into John’s concern. “Kid, is no life for you. Getting sold out, a quick fuck, some gift for your boss to throw at anybody he wants to win over? What have they ever done for you?”

“It’s my family...”

“Kid, you told me yourself, you’re not Italian. Do you really think there’s a future for you in this business? Or do you think they’re going to get tired of you when you get a little older and bury you out in the New Jersey woods? A rent boy, not good for anything real...”

“Shut the fuck up!” Peck yelled, but John pressed down on him before he could move.

“You are expendable, Peck.”

And that one really did sting, echoing down through him to resonate deep, deep down. At a level he found incredibly disturbing. He couldn’t shake the thought that this man was right, and he started shivering. He wanted out of here. But Peck couldn’t go anywhere. John, Hannibal, had the door pinned shut, but there was nothing but sympathy in the man’s eyes.

“I am so sorry, but you’re not stupid. I’d wager you’d see it yourself, if you’d let yourself...”

“This is my family, John,” and he was pleased at how his cracked and raw his words sounded. “I can’t just up and leave...”

“I can help you.”

“...no...”

“You’re looking for something, kid. This could be something, you know, between you and me, I could give you a family, I could give you so much more. Kid, you’re better than this and you fucking know...”

“Don’t...” he whispered, forcing tears, the oldest trick he knew. Let his voice thicken. Tried to crumble to the ground. Consumed in grief was one he always did well. “Don’t, please...”

“Peck,” and John caught him and held him close, stroking his hair, “Peck, please. I can’t get to the information I need. Santori’s got it, I need it. I need your help.”

“I can’t...”

“Don’t make me beg, kid,” John said softly, wiping moisture away from Peck’s cheek. There was that same sincerity in the gesture, in the expression, and the conman suddenly knew where the sadness was coming from. John was worried for him, he was afraid for him, he thought... and then there was those men, his dead soldiers, most probably no older than himself. And he realized with a start that John, Hannibal, whoever it was he’d been taking to bed for the last eight weeks, felt the same way about him as he did about those soldiers.

Conviction? No, not hardly. Man of ideals, man who lived by a code, who would clearly have died for any of those men. No cappo was ever like that. Peck let himself wonder, just for a crazy second, what it would be like, being in a place and with people like John, like Hannibal... So when John said, “I don’t want to see anything happen to you, kid,” Peck was pretty damn sure the man meant it.

The conman felt sick, because he knew what he had to do and he knew how this was going to end and it wasn’t fair to John. Even if the man had wandered into their world and this was how his world handled problems and he really ought to have known better.

“John,” he said in that choked voice, and wrapped himself around all that bare chest and if the tears came a little too easily, that was okay, because it worked for this. In a while, maybe after they’d fucked, maybe not, he’d leave and call Santori and plans would be laid. But not yet. Right now, he just needed John to hold him while he sobbed. Needed John to believe that he'd flipped him.

...you'd like him, you'd both like him...

“I am so sorry, Peck.”

Make him think you’re distraught, make him believe that you’re going to agree...

So finally Peck pushed away all other considerations and nodded, deciding to go for the jugular, bringing this little symphony to its rousing climax, wrapping up the first movement and transitioning to the second with a furtive, upward glance and beautifully tear-stained eyes.

He was going to hollow this man out.

Then maybe Santori wouldn't order him killed.

“What do you need me to do?”

Continued in Part Two...