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sonora_conejaPairing: Hannibal/OMC
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: none
Summary: A fill for this prompt on the kink meme.
So, random thought that came when I read this line from astra_sequi's fic
“You’ve been separated from me this whole time,” Face reasoned. “So I know you were without more than just my wit, old man.”
and my brain jumped to this scenario: Hannibal, even in prison, is still a smoking hot silver fox. Quoting (sortof) another A-Team fic I read somewhere on this meme: "We'd all do him if we could." So of course Hannibal gets propositioned. A lot. But true love and all that, he always turns down the other guys because he's waiting for the epic reunion/jail break out with Face. ;)
Bonus points if the other inmates/guards are heartbroken when Smith 'dies'
A young MP lieutenant takes a liking to Hannibal during his incarceration, as does the rest of the prison, but there’s no way the former colonel’s going to cheat on his one true love...
1.
I’m sure he’d heard about the showers. You know, that bullshit where they strip you naked and firehose you down. You see it in movies a lot. Seems to work as well as anything else, and that’s exactly what we told him we were going to do when he got off the bus at Fort Carson. Everybody else, the rest of his transfer bus, was already in various states of undress. Only former colonel John Hannibal Smith was still in his uniform, tall and intimidating and staring us all levelly down.
The order was given again. “Naked, Smith, now.”
“You have got to be shitting me,” Hannibal told Sergeant Williams, and flicked his eyes over to me, over to a couple of the other guards. His reputation preceded him. We’d all heard the stories about him. Who hasn't? Snippets of missions, unclassified mission briefs, rumors from guys who served under him. Strange, amazing things. The man was a freaking genius and I didn't believe for a second that he actually deserved to be in jail. For...whatever he'd been convicted of. None of us really knew.
“Naked. Now!”
“Why? Because I’ve got the stink of freedom on me? Trying to humiliate me? Don’t be scared of the colonel, boys!” he yelled over his shoulder to the rest of the new acquisitions, grinning. “My balls are all shriveled up. But the sergeant here, well, he’s got a pair. You should definitely listen to him.”
This, quite understandably, got a rousing laugh from the rest of the room, a snicker from a couple of the guards. As the lieutenant, I have to keep a straight face.
Sergeant Williams has this vein that pops out on his head when he gets really stressed or angry, like the last time it was mac-and-cheese day and some of the younger prisoners started that food fight. You know, pissed. And that vein was out right then. Like it was trying to escape. “What the fuck are you waiting for, Smith? A goddamn hand job?”
“It’d be nice. You offering?”
The sergeant pinched his nose, and looked back at me, the lieutenant. I shrugged. This was his damn show to run, not mine. Commandant had made that very clear. He looked back to the colonel. “That uniform is property of the US Army. You are not in the Army any longer, take it the fuck off!”
Something passed through those steel blue eyes, those commanding features, and then he grinned again. Started undoing his tie. “I’m not really sure your hand’s up to the task anyway,” he told my sergeant in a merry voice. He folded each uniform item as he took it off, passed it over to the waiting guard. The second to last thing off was his bracelet, one of those paracord things a lot of guys wear. He unhooked it slowly, staring at it for a moment, paused for a moment before laying it on top of the pile, inside one of the dress shoes, and then it was just his boxers. Staring straight at the sergeant with that smile playing on his face, everyone in the room watching him, he grabbed hold of the waistband and flicked them off.
There was dead silence in the shower room. And then a couple of the other prisoners actually started applauding.
“I show you mine, your show me yours?” he asked lightly, eyes dancing, and that’s when Sergeant Williams ordered the firehoses on.
2.
I was surprised when it happened. Not that we hadn’t all been expecting something like that, though.
“Seems like a very cliche place to try something like this,” the colonel told me casually, leaning against the wall of the shower room, watching the medics clean up his mess. Two, three guys with serious injuries, getting evaluated, getting sent to the clinic, a few more who’d walk out with butterfly closures and wounded pride. Blood everywhere, probably diluted down in the water that was still on the floor. “Don’t you think, lieutenant?”
The colonel had a towel wrapped around his waist and that silver hair of his was slick against his scalp. Arms crossed over a light dusting of pale hair, his Ranger tattoo clearly visible on his bicep, not an ounce of fat anywhere. Christ, that man was built. Pushing fifty, and I’d no doubt he’d have put the rest of us to shame on the track, in the weight room or, well, in the pit. He'd put down six guys in a fight that would be told and embellished and retold over poker games for weeks, and he wasn't even breathing hard. Completely unconscious of who and what he was, even here.
“Yeah, um, we try to run a good place, and you’d think it’d be better than civilian jail...”
“How long you been in, son?”
“Two years.”
“Gotten over to the sandbox yet?” he asked me, hands drumming a little on his arm. He liked cigars, right? Probably had some kind of oral fixation, and I couldn’t help but think what else he might be really good at. Besides, you know, everything.
“Iraq? Not yet, sir. We don’t deploy out of here...”
“Drop the courtesies, el-tee, gonna get yourself in trouble with that jackass of a general that runs this place.”
“Yes, sir.”
Smith chuckled as a gurney rolled by. “So, you out any money on this one?”
“What do you mean, sir?”
“Don’t tell me there isn’t a company pool on when somebody was going to try to jump the legendary Hannibal Smith.” He was staring at me the way he always did, like he could see right through, down deeper than the bone, sussing out the lies and finding the truth, like he could read my fucking mind. Those steel blue eyes, brilliant, focused on me ... god, he was gorgeous. “What were the odds?”
“Not the day I’d picked,” I told him, “but I had the number pegged at over four guys so I’m probably collecting.”
He let his head hit the wall. I noticed his knuckles were bleeding. “Glad I could oblige. I take it, you bet I won?”
“You don’t really strike me as a bottom, sir,” I blurted out, not thinking, and he stared for a moment. Started roaring with laughter.
Turned out, I netted a couple hundred dollars off that deal. Enough to get a decent box of cigars sent in on the library cart a few days later. Didn’t seem right, not to send a thank-you.
3.
Over the next couple of weeks, his first month with us, things normalized very quickly.
He was the highest-ranking prisoner we had, disgraced full-bird, and he kept to himself. Read a lot, sometimes did laps in the exercise yard, didn't talk very much to anybody unless they came up to him, and they came up to him a lot. Some asked him questions, some asked for advice, and some, some asked for other things.
I spotted him in the corner of the exercise yard, talking to one of those others. Even caught a bit of the conversation as I walked up.
“... but sir, I’m just asking...”
“That’s not what you need, son.”
And that’s where the former colonel was dead wrong.
It was an issue of needs. Not so much his, but theirs. Placement in the rather convoluted and complicated power structure of the place. Smith had, by general consensus, found himself on top of that structure now, and refused to do anything with it. Cement it in any way. He kept insisting he wasn't part of it, was trying to stay out of it, away from it, pass his ten year sentence in relative peace.
“Anything, sir, you know how this works...”
They were back in the shade, around the corner of a building where they weren’t supposed to be. I recognized the guy, Martinez, former gunnery sergeant. Landed his ass in here for some stupid shit the docs couldn’t blame on PTSD. Wife divorced him about a year ago. Back against the brick wall, Smith with one hand braced against it, the other dangling one of those cigars I’d gotten for him. For some reason, that made me extremely happy.
“I can’t, sergeant. And that’s...”
I closed my eyes for a second, wondering if he was going to give that answer every time, and I stepped in. “You both need to be out in the yard in clear view of the tower.”
“Which brings up an interesting question about the placement of the towers, doesn’t it, lieutenant?” he asked, biting down on the cigar and raising an eyebrow. I glanced over at the other prisoner and bit back my laugh.
Noise.
We all turned.
Some stupid yard brawl had just started, probably over some minor infraction or other, and Smith growled a little. “Your boys going to handle this?” he asked, looking back to me. Commanding, a colonel asking a junior officer a question, expecting an answer, ready to help if he didn’t hear it. Something about that lit me up with pride. The Commandant never talked to us like that.
“We don’t usually.”
Martinez snorted. “Damn right you don’t.”
“Stow it, sergeant,” Smith said, and winked at me, clenching his cigar tight in his right hand. “Henry does a damn fine job of running this place, doesn’t he?” And it wasn’t until he was halfway across the yard that I realized he was talking about the Commandant. Did they know each other?
But I didn’t really think too much about that, because there was Smith, ignoring homemade weaponry and bashing the two ringleaders' heads together, cigar still clutched between his teeth.
“If I’d had a CO like that in my last unit, I definitely wouldn’t be here right now. Something about that colonel...”
I knew exactly what he meant. Exactly. “Oh, shut the fuck up, Martinez, and get your fairy ass back in the yard.”
As I passed back to the guard post, I saw Smith sitting all the guilty parties down right there in the middle of the yard, probably for a lecture about responsibility and accountability.
Amazingly, it looked like they were listening.
4.
After four months, we all, prisoners, guards, fucking everyone, could have cared less that Hannibal Smith was a convicted felon.
We all deferred to him. Everything about the man screamed military, screamed officer, and you just couldn’t help yourself. He had this poise, this presence, a real magnetic pull. One of those guys just born to command. And he’d been literally running the prison the last three months or so. So, it was easy to forget what he supposedly was.
Except for the Commandant. Obviously.
“If you want out of this, you’re going to have to give in on this, John.”
“Come on, Henry, I’m not trying to cause trouble...”
“You’re causing me way too much heartburn, John. You want to get transferred to a civilian facility? I hear Sheriff Joe down in Arizona* has fun with his boys...”
The Commandant had been pissed the first time we'd briefed him on the drop in violence, angry somebody else had managed to restore his slipping statistics. Told us to get Smith under control, that he wasn't losing his prison to some asshole who'd been convicted of treason and if he didn't stop making the rest of our prisoner behave like human beings for fucking once, there would be consequences. Smith had already spent a month in solitary and come out whistling - literally.
By the way he’d started out, you'd think the general was worried about a Last Castle situation on his hands. Smith didn't seem like the kind of guy to lead that kind of insurrection, stage a coup and hang the flag upside down, all that bullshit. Which was why he’d had me and Sergeant Williams drag Hannibal up to his office that afternoon.
And if I happened to be listening outside the door, well, the other guys wanted a report. None of us really liked the idea of anything bad coming down against the former colonel
“You don’t have the clearance to move me.” Pause. “Or the balls.”
“Clearance, John?”
“I am a treasure trove of national secrets,” Smith said, and I could just picture him putting hie feet up on that gigantic desk in there and stretching back, long and lean and lazy. “Did you know I’m not allowed to undergo general anaesthesia without a security representative present? Or travel to Colombia on leave? I can't take Vicoden. Veritable safety deposit box of secrets. What'd you do with your career, asshole?”
“Fuck you, you arrogant prick...”
“This the part of the conversation where you offer me a choice between rape and dubious consent?"
“John...”
“Oh, I remember you, Henry. You’re a big fan of the pricks. What, you not getting enough in this town?”
“You motherfucker...”
And at the resounding crash, a split second later, I was in there, sidearm drawn, staring.
The monitor had just been knocked off, smashed on the floor, with the colonel laying flat on his stomach over the heavy oak desk, ass in the air, pushed up on his elbows, the general in front of him, hand on the other man’s belt.. Pretty transparent, as to what the general had been asking, what Smith had just refused. They both looked over at me, and Smith kind of smiled at me. Pushed the computer off the desk to get me in the room, I realized, end things before it came to a fight or worse. The general looked like he was ready to kill me, and I suddenly couldn’t wait for his counseling session on not interrupting a friendly argument between former West Point classmates, or whatever they were to each other.
Smith kicked away and walked out towards me. “Told you I don’t bottom for anyone, didn’t I?”
And the general started yelling at me to stop that fucking laughing. Sergeant Williams rolled his eyes and took Smith back to his cell.
As it turned out, though, the brass had been more than pleased with the reports coming out of our facility, and twe got an Outstanding Unit award and the general got a great big hard-on from all the praise. Smith got a pass. The Commandant let him off with a dire warning - stop inexplicably improving the quality of food in the mess and encouraging college correspondence enrollments... or else.
How he managed steak for dinner the next night, for the whole prison, nobody ever knew.
5.
“You know, Smith, they’re going to keep after you until...”
“Until what, lieutenant?”
“I’m just sayin’,” I tried to explain as I took him back to his cell. Normally, by procedure, regs and all that, I was supposed to have my hand on his arm, pushing him, reminding him who was in control here. But he walked where he wanted, how he wanted, and I found touching him difficult. Distracting, if you know what I mean. Got my mind thinking about all kinds of things. “That’s the why things work around here, sir.”
"Don't do that," he warned me again with that low growl of his.
It’d been nearly six months here for him now, and he’d talked to me enough, spent enough time with me, that I thought I could almost see strain under all that levity of his. It was behind his eyes, in the corners of his mouth. But that didn’t make any sense.
Man was a Ranger, and he'd spent the last twenty years of his life killing people on black ops in probably creative and strange ways. He'd been to worse places than this, held captive in more extreme conditions than this. He didn't need friends to take care of him in here, didn’t want any, either. That much was clear. But there was something else going on.
“You gotta...”
“I don’t have to do shit, son. Privilege of rank,” he said, forcing that grin, but it seemed more tired than before.
"Sooner or later, they aren't going to accept that anymore," I told him. "You're going to have to..."
"What? Fuck something?" he asked me with that penetrating stare of his, and I shivered. "One of these boys around here? Snowflake's chance in hell, Dan."
"If you don't, they're going to jump you," I told him, perhaps sounding a little too concerned for a guard, and so the fuck what? I didn't want to see him hurt. Something about the way he said my name, I think, warm and friendly, not quite paternal, almost...
He chuckled at that. "Oh, I'm sure you and your boys aren't going to let that happen. Who's going to do your Commandant's job for him if I'm gone?"
I shrugged and unlocked the door to his cell. Followed him in so I could undo the hobbles.
Smith held out his hands silently as I unsnicked the locks and took them off. He rubbed his wrists a little, looking old, like he did sometimes when he was alone. It always made me catch my breath a little, thinking that he must feel comfortable enough around me to let himself relax like that. Prison wasn't easy on anyone. And right then, he looked exhausted.
He dropped down to his metal cot, and chancing a glance behind me, seeing nobody, I knelt down beside him. Put a hand on his knee before I really knew what I was doing. Started rubbing.
Smith looked down at me, those sharp blue eyes softening a little, and I felt something kind of, I don't know, twinge down inside of me.
1.
The next day, the coroner pronounced Hannibal Smith dead. Heart attack. Some of us were in the break room when we got the news, and yeah, it was a shock. Heartbreaking, actually, and it wasn’t just me who felt that way - some of the prisoners, led by Martinez, asked if they could do a vigil for him. For whatever reason, the Commandant allowed it.
We got the chaplain to come down, me and one of the other lieutenants bought some boxes of those little electric candles (because there was no way the Commandant was going to let those guys have real fire), and it was probably the most surreal thing I’ve ever seen. All the guys, down in the yard, little points of light in the Colorado evening. I remember thinking how proud Smith would have been. He’d spent his six months here trying to pull everyone else around him up.
I didn’t really know how to feel about it. I missed him, but he wasn’t really mine to miss. Not really. And I thought about his team a lot, his love, off in some lonely cell somewhere, waiting for a man who’d never come back to him now...
But then, maybe two weeks later, there was some incident with a container ship, an explosion in LA, and that’s when the rumors started online. A C-130 shot down over Germany and a general’s body found in a burned boathouse. Some captain from DIA put on trial, beating the charges, giving an anonymous interview to the Washington Post. Crazy story about escaped prisoners and flying tanks and Treasury printing plates. It got me thinking, got me hoping, but the records regarding his cremation were sealed and there just weren’t any firm answers anywhere.
Until that night. Somebody was knocking.
“Yeah! I’m coming!” I yelled, pausing my Xbox and pushing off the sofa. Twisted the deadbolt, opened the door.
And there he was, tall and gorgeous, eyes crinkled up in a hesitant little smile, silver hair...
“Colonel Smith!”
“Yeah, Dan. Good to see you, son,” he said, and opened his arms. For me. And there I was, nose pressed into his chest, hands grabbing for some kind of purchase against all of this, clinging tight to this man, breathing him in, alive. Alive, and wasn’t that...
“Hey, boss. Kid’s still active duty, shouldn’t we take this inside?”
I looked over the colonel’s shoulder, and there he was, arms crossed, some inscrutable expression on his face, clearly sizing me up as we stood there in the breezeway. I tried to let go, but Smith just shook his head and put a finger over my lips, pushing me back into my apartment and his man followed us in. Shut the door.
The second it shut, I shoved myself away. God, this was not happening. Whatever this was, it was not happening. What were they doing, coming to see me? “You...”
“Relax, lieutenant. I don’t bite,” the blonde man told me and then smiled. Colonel Smith was an amazing specimen of silver fox, to be sure, but this guy carried himself like a movie star, beautiful and strong and confident. Perfect in every way and I looked away. Didn’t compare.
“Glad everything worked out for you two,” I said softly, and then wanted to facepalm. “I mean, discounting the whole second arrest and escape thing, whatever that was...”
“Some bullshit,” the blonde laughed mirthlessly, and Smith put a hand on his shoulder.
“Dan, this is former lieutenant Templeton Peck...”
“Face,” the guy told me and shook my hand.
Smith rolled his eyes. “And Face, this is Dan, the lieutenant I told you about from Fort Carson.”
“You mean the lieutenant you couldn’t shut up about,” the guy, Face, replied easily enough, and nodded. Leaned over Smith’s shoulder and ran a hand down his chest, an ocean of emotion behind that simple gesture and I wasn’t sure what was going on. “Oh yeah, Hannibal, you were right. He’s a cute one.”
“Isn’t he? I thought so, too. What do you think we should do with him, kid?”
“That’s entirely up to you, boss.”
I felt a little bit of a squeeze in my gut and the colonel was smiling at me again. God, I had missed that smile. And it wasn’t mine, Smith wasn’t mine, belonging to Face instead and they seemed, I don’t know, right together. Wasn’t my place to get in the middle of that. “It’s good to know you’re not dead, colonel. Um, thanks for letting me...”
Like they were following some prearranged signal, Face removed his hand and gave the colonel a little shove on the small on his back. Still smiling. The colonel surged forward and had me pinned with a single smooth movement, my ass hitting the edge of the counter and his hands on either side, moving up my sides, warm and strong. “Mm,” he said softly, lips close to my ear, “ been wanting to touch.”
My attention flicked over to Face, who’d gotten himself a beer out my fridge, local microbrew, seemingly approving of what he was seeing. “Lieutenant Peck,” I gasped as Smith ran his hands up to cup my face. Good, all that contact.
The blonde just chuckled, and leaned over to kiss his lover full on the mouth, quick and possessive, slapping him on the ass as he pulled back to lounge against the fridge. “I get to watch, Dan. You got a problem with that?”
“Watch wha...” but the rest of my words were sucked right out of me as Smith pushed me up, feet off the ground onto the counter, pulling me in for another kiss.
It wasn’t as easy this time, not as soft and hesitant, and I felt myself melt immediately into it, every muscle in my body relaxing instantly as he demanded entrance and I gave it to him, the fast, strong thrusts of his tongue, swirling, asking... I groaned and he wrapped me up in those strong, strong arms of his.
I barely had time to get my legs around his waist, my hands on his shoulders now, kissing him back, as he lifted me up and carried me into the next room. He laid me down on my bed, lightly, still somehow insistant, moving on top of me, one knee against my hip and his other foot bracing him up off the floor, attacking with that wonderful mouth of his now, soft nips and licks replacing the earlier kiss. At some point, I lost my sweatshirt and my tank and he unbuttoned his own as well, his hands smoothing down muscle that couldn’t compare to his, and my skin shivered at the touch.
I could feel myself heating up, growing hard and wasn’t that something? This was just a game, just a thank-you, and I knew what it amounted to. But right then, I just didn’t care. This was already better than I’d imagined, more than I’d hoped, on one of those cold Friday nights I couldn’t manage the drive up to the gay bars in Boulder. And then any further thoughts on the rightness or wrongness of this evaporated the second Smith reached under the waistband of my flannel sleep pants, those fingers wrapping around my cock and giving me one firm pull.
I think I cried out.
I heard his lieutenant scoot himself up on my low dressed with a smirk. His beer was in one hand and the other, well, the other was busy slowly stroking his own burgeoning erection through those designer jeans of his. I caught his eye and he grinned heatedly, raised the bottle, and there was Hannibal’s hand again.
“Tell my what you want, Dan,” he murmured, nibbling on my earlobe, pressing down harder, his hips bucking just a little and I could feel his own length against my thigh. “Tell me exactly what you need, son. However you want to”
His fingers hadn’t stopped the whole time he was talking, little touches and hard strokes, alternating, and then he started rolling my balls in one big hand. I practically sobbed, I’m not ashamed to admit, and arched up. “Ppp...ppleasse, colonel...”
He kissed me again, and stripped my pants completely off and there I was, naked beneath his still-clothed body and something about that turned me on even more, if that was possible. I closed my eyes, savoring the sensation. It had been too long, way too long, since the last time I’d done this with anybody who mattered. His hands were everywhere, and then they were gone. Not normally too vocal, I gave a little moan of protest and pushed up a little, and a hand caught my chest, stopping me.
It wasn't Hannibal's.
“Not so quick, honey,” came a low voice in my ear and I dimly registered a white tube passed over me, to Smith, who was kneeling between my legs with all that focus right then. A soft hand stroked down through my hair, my neck. “Hannibal’s gonna make it real good for you.”
My face burned; it was his lieutenant next to me. I craned my neck just enough to see the blissful expression playing through his eyes, eyes blue like the colonel’s. Watching Smith slick up a finger and tease it down under my balls, across my perineum, and...
“Oh, fuck!” and his lieutenant clapped a hand over my mouth for a second as the colonel sank his finger in as far as it would go, crooking it just a little.
“So tight, Dan, sweet... mmm, fucking beautiful, son,” Smith said, panting a little now, and I wanted to cheer, knowing that I was doing that to him. I pushed my hips up a little, my body begging for it now, and he slipped another finger inside of me. I bit my lip, remembering how good this felt, being stretched, being opened...
I dimly heard something hit the ground beside me. Face’s shirt, and I stared at all that tanned, toned skin. No wonder Smith loved this guy.
“You said you were going to watch, sweetheart,” Smith growled, and the way he said it, like I was his and his alone to enjoy right then, lit me up inside. Or maybe that was the pad of a finger across my prostate. I don’t really know - I could barely think.
“Don’t wanna just watch,” he replied, whining a little, petting my side, and Smith brushed my cheek, a third finger starting to scissor inside of me now. “What do you want, Dan?”
Was he fucking kidding me? All of this, all of this between them, I could feel it thrumming up now, and I wanted to feel that, wanted to touch it, just for a second, know what they knew about one another. “... please...” I managed, and Face smiled wider. Slid behind me, pulling me up against him, bare chest on my bare back, muscles taught, his captured erection hard and throbbing against my back, Smith pressing into me, a little closer now, fucking me good on his fingers, heat that was building up. I was lost in sensation. Just let myself sink right into all that blissful contact. Unaware of anything, perfectly happy...
Until his fingers were gone. I heard the metal-on-metal sound of his belt unbuckling, the light noise of his zipper, and I jerked a little. Surprise, yeah, but not really. I remember that first day. How big Smith was. Face caught me and kept me still.
The colonel was over me, positioning himself, nudging my legs up around his waist. I was almost scared, and my eyes must have been huge, because he stopped for a moment to kiss me again, tugging on my lower lip as he pulled away. He had one hand on me, the head of his cock resting right at my entrance, blunt and huge. “You ready, Dan?”
“I...”
“Relax, Dan,” his lieutenant was whispering nonsense in my ear, hand rubbing firmly against my tense stomach. Smith had squirted some more of the lube into Face’s unoccupied hand, eyes half closed as the younger man reached around me to slick u his commander. “Just relax. You can do it, honey. Felt so good the first time, so great, just take him in slow and easy, he’s not going to hurt you...”
I nodded, whimpering a little, needing this, no matter how sore I was going to be the next morning, and there it was, the first hard push.
He was huge. Gigantic. I’d never taken anybody that large before, and here he was, driving in, slow and easy, just like Face promised, and that had to be so hard for the colonel. I could feel the tension in his body, holding himself back as he let me adjust. Taking me.
At one point, Smith stopped. “Don’t want to hurt you, Dan...”
“He’s fine, boss. He can take it. Right, honey?”
I nodded, and let my head fall back against Face’s chest. “Please...”
And there it was, the rest of the way, Smith snapping his hips forward. He pulled back a little. Drove back in. Started moving, started fucking me, and tears were leaking out the corners of my eyes. Indescribable, Face’s hands everywhere, the colonel rocking all three of us in perfect rhythm together, my own cock, untouched and painfully hard, slapping against my belly with every inward push.
I don’t know how long that went on for until I didn’t have the strength to keep my legs locked anymore, not under that slow, wonderful assault. The colonel grunted a little, and Face was reaching around me again, holding my legs back a little, rocking up again me just a little himself. Smith fisted a handful of blonde hair and it got deeper, if that was possible. I couldn’t speak, couldn’t do anything but moan as he brought me higher and higher, cresting over as his thrusts became more erratic, less steady, harder and shallower.
Then his lieutenant turned his lips into his palm and wrapped his hand around my cock, and Smith was roaring his release into me, and I was splattering us both with my own, every nerve in my body sparking up and going dark, all at once, overwhelming, overwhelmed...
I think I passed out for a moment or two. When I came to, Face and the colonel were leisurely kissing, all of us collapsed in an ungainly pile on the bed, one of the lieutenant’s arms keeping me still, cuddled against his chest. There was a wet patch against my ass, right over his own fly and for some reason, that made what had just happened all the more sweet.
“Glad to see you back with us, Dan,” Face murmured, breath hot on neck, and Smith brushed his fingers over one of my nipples. “Mmm. I like him. We should keep this one, boss.”
“Can’t, sweetheart,” Smith told him, and kissed me lightly, one more time. “How you doing, son?”
I sighed contentedly, trying to find the words to tell him. “That was...”
“He’s like that,” Face told me softly, and Smith started laughing.
They didn’t leave right away, Smith saying it’d be better to wait until later, and Face just smirking and stripping them both and stroking him back into full hardness after they thought I was asleep. It didn’t feel right to intrude on the two of them, slow and quiet and just different, a foot away from me, Face biting back all his little cries, Smith stifling his own. They way they moved together, I could just tell. It was one of those things that was just meant to be. The two of them, together. Made it easier, actually, seeing them go.
When they were done, caught their breaths in the dark of the room, Smith kissed me on the cheek, lingering, before gathering his clothes and tiptoeing out. Face stretched himself, sitting up, and then looked down at me, blue eyes luminous.
“Hannibal’s going to go write you a note. We gotta go, fugitives and everything.” I froze and he chuckled. “Can’t con a conman, Dan.”
“Sorry, I wasn’t trying to...”
“Your fantasy work out okay for you, honey?” he asked me gently.
What was I supposed to say to that? What could I possibly say? Except, maybe... “thanks for that, Face. I know you probably...”
“My pleasure, lieutenant,” Face said, reaching over me, off the bed, for his shirt. “Thanks for taking care of him for me.” His lips brushed mine on the way back up, their way out, and the memories kept me warm long after the sun came up the next day.
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: none
Summary: A fill for this prompt on the kink meme.
So, random thought that came when I read this line from astra_sequi's fic
“You’ve been separated from me this whole time,” Face reasoned. “So I know you were without more than just my wit, old man.”
and my brain jumped to this scenario: Hannibal, even in prison, is still a smoking hot silver fox. Quoting (sortof) another A-Team fic I read somewhere on this meme: "We'd all do him if we could." So of course Hannibal gets propositioned. A lot. But true love and all that, he always turns down the other guys because he's waiting for the epic reunion/jail break out with Face. ;)
Bonus points if the other inmates/guards are heartbroken when Smith 'dies'
A young MP lieutenant takes a liking to Hannibal during his incarceration, as does the rest of the prison, but there’s no way the former colonel’s going to cheat on his one true love...
1.
I’m sure he’d heard about the showers. You know, that bullshit where they strip you naked and firehose you down. You see it in movies a lot. Seems to work as well as anything else, and that’s exactly what we told him we were going to do when he got off the bus at Fort Carson. Everybody else, the rest of his transfer bus, was already in various states of undress. Only former colonel John Hannibal Smith was still in his uniform, tall and intimidating and staring us all levelly down.
The order was given again. “Naked, Smith, now.”
“You have got to be shitting me,” Hannibal told Sergeant Williams, and flicked his eyes over to me, over to a couple of the other guards. His reputation preceded him. We’d all heard the stories about him. Who hasn't? Snippets of missions, unclassified mission briefs, rumors from guys who served under him. Strange, amazing things. The man was a freaking genius and I didn't believe for a second that he actually deserved to be in jail. For...whatever he'd been convicted of. None of us really knew.
“Naked. Now!”
“Why? Because I’ve got the stink of freedom on me? Trying to humiliate me? Don’t be scared of the colonel, boys!” he yelled over his shoulder to the rest of the new acquisitions, grinning. “My balls are all shriveled up. But the sergeant here, well, he’s got a pair. You should definitely listen to him.”
This, quite understandably, got a rousing laugh from the rest of the room, a snicker from a couple of the guards. As the lieutenant, I have to keep a straight face.
Sergeant Williams has this vein that pops out on his head when he gets really stressed or angry, like the last time it was mac-and-cheese day and some of the younger prisoners started that food fight. You know, pissed. And that vein was out right then. Like it was trying to escape. “What the fuck are you waiting for, Smith? A goddamn hand job?”
“It’d be nice. You offering?”
The sergeant pinched his nose, and looked back at me, the lieutenant. I shrugged. This was his damn show to run, not mine. Commandant had made that very clear. He looked back to the colonel. “That uniform is property of the US Army. You are not in the Army any longer, take it the fuck off!”
Something passed through those steel blue eyes, those commanding features, and then he grinned again. Started undoing his tie. “I’m not really sure your hand’s up to the task anyway,” he told my sergeant in a merry voice. He folded each uniform item as he took it off, passed it over to the waiting guard. The second to last thing off was his bracelet, one of those paracord things a lot of guys wear. He unhooked it slowly, staring at it for a moment, paused for a moment before laying it on top of the pile, inside one of the dress shoes, and then it was just his boxers. Staring straight at the sergeant with that smile playing on his face, everyone in the room watching him, he grabbed hold of the waistband and flicked them off.
There was dead silence in the shower room. And then a couple of the other prisoners actually started applauding.
“I show you mine, your show me yours?” he asked lightly, eyes dancing, and that’s when Sergeant Williams ordered the firehoses on.
2.
I was surprised when it happened. Not that we hadn’t all been expecting something like that, though.
“Seems like a very cliche place to try something like this,” the colonel told me casually, leaning against the wall of the shower room, watching the medics clean up his mess. Two, three guys with serious injuries, getting evaluated, getting sent to the clinic, a few more who’d walk out with butterfly closures and wounded pride. Blood everywhere, probably diluted down in the water that was still on the floor. “Don’t you think, lieutenant?”
The colonel had a towel wrapped around his waist and that silver hair of his was slick against his scalp. Arms crossed over a light dusting of pale hair, his Ranger tattoo clearly visible on his bicep, not an ounce of fat anywhere. Christ, that man was built. Pushing fifty, and I’d no doubt he’d have put the rest of us to shame on the track, in the weight room or, well, in the pit. He'd put down six guys in a fight that would be told and embellished and retold over poker games for weeks, and he wasn't even breathing hard. Completely unconscious of who and what he was, even here.
“Yeah, um, we try to run a good place, and you’d think it’d be better than civilian jail...”
“How long you been in, son?”
“Two years.”
“Gotten over to the sandbox yet?” he asked me, hands drumming a little on his arm. He liked cigars, right? Probably had some kind of oral fixation, and I couldn’t help but think what else he might be really good at. Besides, you know, everything.
“Iraq? Not yet, sir. We don’t deploy out of here...”
“Drop the courtesies, el-tee, gonna get yourself in trouble with that jackass of a general that runs this place.”
“Yes, sir.”
Smith chuckled as a gurney rolled by. “So, you out any money on this one?”
“What do you mean, sir?”
“Don’t tell me there isn’t a company pool on when somebody was going to try to jump the legendary Hannibal Smith.” He was staring at me the way he always did, like he could see right through, down deeper than the bone, sussing out the lies and finding the truth, like he could read my fucking mind. Those steel blue eyes, brilliant, focused on me ... god, he was gorgeous. “What were the odds?”
“Not the day I’d picked,” I told him, “but I had the number pegged at over four guys so I’m probably collecting.”
He let his head hit the wall. I noticed his knuckles were bleeding. “Glad I could oblige. I take it, you bet I won?”
“You don’t really strike me as a bottom, sir,” I blurted out, not thinking, and he stared for a moment. Started roaring with laughter.
Turned out, I netted a couple hundred dollars off that deal. Enough to get a decent box of cigars sent in on the library cart a few days later. Didn’t seem right, not to send a thank-you.
3.
Over the next couple of weeks, his first month with us, things normalized very quickly.
He was the highest-ranking prisoner we had, disgraced full-bird, and he kept to himself. Read a lot, sometimes did laps in the exercise yard, didn't talk very much to anybody unless they came up to him, and they came up to him a lot. Some asked him questions, some asked for advice, and some, some asked for other things.
I spotted him in the corner of the exercise yard, talking to one of those others. Even caught a bit of the conversation as I walked up.
“... but sir, I’m just asking...”
“That’s not what you need, son.”
And that’s where the former colonel was dead wrong.
It was an issue of needs. Not so much his, but theirs. Placement in the rather convoluted and complicated power structure of the place. Smith had, by general consensus, found himself on top of that structure now, and refused to do anything with it. Cement it in any way. He kept insisting he wasn't part of it, was trying to stay out of it, away from it, pass his ten year sentence in relative peace.
“Anything, sir, you know how this works...”
They were back in the shade, around the corner of a building where they weren’t supposed to be. I recognized the guy, Martinez, former gunnery sergeant. Landed his ass in here for some stupid shit the docs couldn’t blame on PTSD. Wife divorced him about a year ago. Back against the brick wall, Smith with one hand braced against it, the other dangling one of those cigars I’d gotten for him. For some reason, that made me extremely happy.
“I can’t, sergeant. And that’s...”
I closed my eyes for a second, wondering if he was going to give that answer every time, and I stepped in. “You both need to be out in the yard in clear view of the tower.”
“Which brings up an interesting question about the placement of the towers, doesn’t it, lieutenant?” he asked, biting down on the cigar and raising an eyebrow. I glanced over at the other prisoner and bit back my laugh.
Noise.
We all turned.
Some stupid yard brawl had just started, probably over some minor infraction or other, and Smith growled a little. “Your boys going to handle this?” he asked, looking back to me. Commanding, a colonel asking a junior officer a question, expecting an answer, ready to help if he didn’t hear it. Something about that lit me up with pride. The Commandant never talked to us like that.
“We don’t usually.”
Martinez snorted. “Damn right you don’t.”
“Stow it, sergeant,” Smith said, and winked at me, clenching his cigar tight in his right hand. “Henry does a damn fine job of running this place, doesn’t he?” And it wasn’t until he was halfway across the yard that I realized he was talking about the Commandant. Did they know each other?
But I didn’t really think too much about that, because there was Smith, ignoring homemade weaponry and bashing the two ringleaders' heads together, cigar still clutched between his teeth.
“If I’d had a CO like that in my last unit, I definitely wouldn’t be here right now. Something about that colonel...”
I knew exactly what he meant. Exactly. “Oh, shut the fuck up, Martinez, and get your fairy ass back in the yard.”
As I passed back to the guard post, I saw Smith sitting all the guilty parties down right there in the middle of the yard, probably for a lecture about responsibility and accountability.
Amazingly, it looked like they were listening.
4.
After four months, we all, prisoners, guards, fucking everyone, could have cared less that Hannibal Smith was a convicted felon.
We all deferred to him. Everything about the man screamed military, screamed officer, and you just couldn’t help yourself. He had this poise, this presence, a real magnetic pull. One of those guys just born to command. And he’d been literally running the prison the last three months or so. So, it was easy to forget what he supposedly was.
Except for the Commandant. Obviously.
“If you want out of this, you’re going to have to give in on this, John.”
“Come on, Henry, I’m not trying to cause trouble...”
“You’re causing me way too much heartburn, John. You want to get transferred to a civilian facility? I hear Sheriff Joe down in Arizona* has fun with his boys...”
The Commandant had been pissed the first time we'd briefed him on the drop in violence, angry somebody else had managed to restore his slipping statistics. Told us to get Smith under control, that he wasn't losing his prison to some asshole who'd been convicted of treason and if he didn't stop making the rest of our prisoner behave like human beings for fucking once, there would be consequences. Smith had already spent a month in solitary and come out whistling - literally.
By the way he’d started out, you'd think the general was worried about a Last Castle situation on his hands. Smith didn't seem like the kind of guy to lead that kind of insurrection, stage a coup and hang the flag upside down, all that bullshit. Which was why he’d had me and Sergeant Williams drag Hannibal up to his office that afternoon.
And if I happened to be listening outside the door, well, the other guys wanted a report. None of us really liked the idea of anything bad coming down against the former colonel
“You don’t have the clearance to move me.” Pause. “Or the balls.”
“Clearance, John?”
“I am a treasure trove of national secrets,” Smith said, and I could just picture him putting hie feet up on that gigantic desk in there and stretching back, long and lean and lazy. “Did you know I’m not allowed to undergo general anaesthesia without a security representative present? Or travel to Colombia on leave? I can't take Vicoden. Veritable safety deposit box of secrets. What'd you do with your career, asshole?”
“Fuck you, you arrogant prick...”
“This the part of the conversation where you offer me a choice between rape and dubious consent?"
“John...”
“Oh, I remember you, Henry. You’re a big fan of the pricks. What, you not getting enough in this town?”
“You motherfucker...”
And at the resounding crash, a split second later, I was in there, sidearm drawn, staring.
The monitor had just been knocked off, smashed on the floor, with the colonel laying flat on his stomach over the heavy oak desk, ass in the air, pushed up on his elbows, the general in front of him, hand on the other man’s belt.. Pretty transparent, as to what the general had been asking, what Smith had just refused. They both looked over at me, and Smith kind of smiled at me. Pushed the computer off the desk to get me in the room, I realized, end things before it came to a fight or worse. The general looked like he was ready to kill me, and I suddenly couldn’t wait for his counseling session on not interrupting a friendly argument between former West Point classmates, or whatever they were to each other.
Smith kicked away and walked out towards me. “Told you I don’t bottom for anyone, didn’t I?”
And the general started yelling at me to stop that fucking laughing. Sergeant Williams rolled his eyes and took Smith back to his cell.
As it turned out, though, the brass had been more than pleased with the reports coming out of our facility, and twe got an Outstanding Unit award and the general got a great big hard-on from all the praise. Smith got a pass. The Commandant let him off with a dire warning - stop inexplicably improving the quality of food in the mess and encouraging college correspondence enrollments... or else.
How he managed steak for dinner the next night, for the whole prison, nobody ever knew.
5.
“You know, Smith, they’re going to keep after you until...”
“Until what, lieutenant?”
“I’m just sayin’,” I tried to explain as I took him back to his cell. Normally, by procedure, regs and all that, I was supposed to have my hand on his arm, pushing him, reminding him who was in control here. But he walked where he wanted, how he wanted, and I found touching him difficult. Distracting, if you know what I mean. Got my mind thinking about all kinds of things. “That’s the why things work around here, sir.”
"Don't do that," he warned me again with that low growl of his.
It’d been nearly six months here for him now, and he’d talked to me enough, spent enough time with me, that I thought I could almost see strain under all that levity of his. It was behind his eyes, in the corners of his mouth. But that didn’t make any sense.
Man was a Ranger, and he'd spent the last twenty years of his life killing people on black ops in probably creative and strange ways. He'd been to worse places than this, held captive in more extreme conditions than this. He didn't need friends to take care of him in here, didn’t want any, either. That much was clear. But there was something else going on.
“You gotta...”
“I don’t have to do shit, son. Privilege of rank,” he said, forcing that grin, but it seemed more tired than before.
"Sooner or later, they aren't going to accept that anymore," I told him. "You're going to have to..."
"What? Fuck something?" he asked me with that penetrating stare of his, and I shivered. "One of these boys around here? Snowflake's chance in hell, Dan."
"If you don't, they're going to jump you," I told him, perhaps sounding a little too concerned for a guard, and so the fuck what? I didn't want to see him hurt. Something about the way he said my name, I think, warm and friendly, not quite paternal, almost...
He chuckled at that. "Oh, I'm sure you and your boys aren't going to let that happen. Who's going to do your Commandant's job for him if I'm gone?"
I shrugged and unlocked the door to his cell. Followed him in so I could undo the hobbles.
Smith held out his hands silently as I unsnicked the locks and took them off. He rubbed his wrists a little, looking old, like he did sometimes when he was alone. It always made me catch my breath a little, thinking that he must feel comfortable enough around me to let himself relax like that. Prison wasn't easy on anyone. And right then, he looked exhausted.
He dropped down to his metal cot, and chancing a glance behind me, seeing nobody, I knelt down beside him. Put a hand on his knee before I really knew what I was doing. Started rubbing.
Smith looked down at me, those sharp blue eyes softening a little, and I felt something kind of, I don't know, twinge down inside of me.
1.
The next day, the coroner pronounced Hannibal Smith dead. Heart attack. Some of us were in the break room when we got the news, and yeah, it was a shock. Heartbreaking, actually, and it wasn’t just me who felt that way - some of the prisoners, led by Martinez, asked if they could do a vigil for him. For whatever reason, the Commandant allowed it.
We got the chaplain to come down, me and one of the other lieutenants bought some boxes of those little electric candles (because there was no way the Commandant was going to let those guys have real fire), and it was probably the most surreal thing I’ve ever seen. All the guys, down in the yard, little points of light in the Colorado evening. I remember thinking how proud Smith would have been. He’d spent his six months here trying to pull everyone else around him up.
I didn’t really know how to feel about it. I missed him, but he wasn’t really mine to miss. Not really. And I thought about his team a lot, his love, off in some lonely cell somewhere, waiting for a man who’d never come back to him now...
But then, maybe two weeks later, there was some incident with a container ship, an explosion in LA, and that’s when the rumors started online. A C-130 shot down over Germany and a general’s body found in a burned boathouse. Some captain from DIA put on trial, beating the charges, giving an anonymous interview to the Washington Post. Crazy story about escaped prisoners and flying tanks and Treasury printing plates. It got me thinking, got me hoping, but the records regarding his cremation were sealed and there just weren’t any firm answers anywhere.
Until that night. Somebody was knocking.
“Yeah! I’m coming!” I yelled, pausing my Xbox and pushing off the sofa. Twisted the deadbolt, opened the door.
And there he was, tall and gorgeous, eyes crinkled up in a hesitant little smile, silver hair...
“Colonel Smith!”
“Yeah, Dan. Good to see you, son,” he said, and opened his arms. For me. And there I was, nose pressed into his chest, hands grabbing for some kind of purchase against all of this, clinging tight to this man, breathing him in, alive. Alive, and wasn’t that...
“Hey, boss. Kid’s still active duty, shouldn’t we take this inside?”
I looked over the colonel’s shoulder, and there he was, arms crossed, some inscrutable expression on his face, clearly sizing me up as we stood there in the breezeway. I tried to let go, but Smith just shook his head and put a finger over my lips, pushing me back into my apartment and his man followed us in. Shut the door.
The second it shut, I shoved myself away. God, this was not happening. Whatever this was, it was not happening. What were they doing, coming to see me? “You...”
“Relax, lieutenant. I don’t bite,” the blonde man told me and then smiled. Colonel Smith was an amazing specimen of silver fox, to be sure, but this guy carried himself like a movie star, beautiful and strong and confident. Perfect in every way and I looked away. Didn’t compare.
“Glad everything worked out for you two,” I said softly, and then wanted to facepalm. “I mean, discounting the whole second arrest and escape thing, whatever that was...”
“Some bullshit,” the blonde laughed mirthlessly, and Smith put a hand on his shoulder.
“Dan, this is former lieutenant Templeton Peck...”
“Face,” the guy told me and shook my hand.
Smith rolled his eyes. “And Face, this is Dan, the lieutenant I told you about from Fort Carson.”
“You mean the lieutenant you couldn’t shut up about,” the guy, Face, replied easily enough, and nodded. Leaned over Smith’s shoulder and ran a hand down his chest, an ocean of emotion behind that simple gesture and I wasn’t sure what was going on. “Oh yeah, Hannibal, you were right. He’s a cute one.”
“Isn’t he? I thought so, too. What do you think we should do with him, kid?”
“That’s entirely up to you, boss.”
I felt a little bit of a squeeze in my gut and the colonel was smiling at me again. God, I had missed that smile. And it wasn’t mine, Smith wasn’t mine, belonging to Face instead and they seemed, I don’t know, right together. Wasn’t my place to get in the middle of that. “It’s good to know you’re not dead, colonel. Um, thanks for letting me...”
Like they were following some prearranged signal, Face removed his hand and gave the colonel a little shove on the small on his back. Still smiling. The colonel surged forward and had me pinned with a single smooth movement, my ass hitting the edge of the counter and his hands on either side, moving up my sides, warm and strong. “Mm,” he said softly, lips close to my ear, “ been wanting to touch.”
My attention flicked over to Face, who’d gotten himself a beer out my fridge, local microbrew, seemingly approving of what he was seeing. “Lieutenant Peck,” I gasped as Smith ran his hands up to cup my face. Good, all that contact.
The blonde just chuckled, and leaned over to kiss his lover full on the mouth, quick and possessive, slapping him on the ass as he pulled back to lounge against the fridge. “I get to watch, Dan. You got a problem with that?”
“Watch wha...” but the rest of my words were sucked right out of me as Smith pushed me up, feet off the ground onto the counter, pulling me in for another kiss.
It wasn’t as easy this time, not as soft and hesitant, and I felt myself melt immediately into it, every muscle in my body relaxing instantly as he demanded entrance and I gave it to him, the fast, strong thrusts of his tongue, swirling, asking... I groaned and he wrapped me up in those strong, strong arms of his.
I barely had time to get my legs around his waist, my hands on his shoulders now, kissing him back, as he lifted me up and carried me into the next room. He laid me down on my bed, lightly, still somehow insistant, moving on top of me, one knee against my hip and his other foot bracing him up off the floor, attacking with that wonderful mouth of his now, soft nips and licks replacing the earlier kiss. At some point, I lost my sweatshirt and my tank and he unbuttoned his own as well, his hands smoothing down muscle that couldn’t compare to his, and my skin shivered at the touch.
I could feel myself heating up, growing hard and wasn’t that something? This was just a game, just a thank-you, and I knew what it amounted to. But right then, I just didn’t care. This was already better than I’d imagined, more than I’d hoped, on one of those cold Friday nights I couldn’t manage the drive up to the gay bars in Boulder. And then any further thoughts on the rightness or wrongness of this evaporated the second Smith reached under the waistband of my flannel sleep pants, those fingers wrapping around my cock and giving me one firm pull.
I think I cried out.
I heard his lieutenant scoot himself up on my low dressed with a smirk. His beer was in one hand and the other, well, the other was busy slowly stroking his own burgeoning erection through those designer jeans of his. I caught his eye and he grinned heatedly, raised the bottle, and there was Hannibal’s hand again.
“Tell my what you want, Dan,” he murmured, nibbling on my earlobe, pressing down harder, his hips bucking just a little and I could feel his own length against my thigh. “Tell me exactly what you need, son. However you want to”
His fingers hadn’t stopped the whole time he was talking, little touches and hard strokes, alternating, and then he started rolling my balls in one big hand. I practically sobbed, I’m not ashamed to admit, and arched up. “Ppp...ppleasse, colonel...”
He kissed me again, and stripped my pants completely off and there I was, naked beneath his still-clothed body and something about that turned me on even more, if that was possible. I closed my eyes, savoring the sensation. It had been too long, way too long, since the last time I’d done this with anybody who mattered. His hands were everywhere, and then they were gone. Not normally too vocal, I gave a little moan of protest and pushed up a little, and a hand caught my chest, stopping me.
It wasn't Hannibal's.
“Not so quick, honey,” came a low voice in my ear and I dimly registered a white tube passed over me, to Smith, who was kneeling between my legs with all that focus right then. A soft hand stroked down through my hair, my neck. “Hannibal’s gonna make it real good for you.”
My face burned; it was his lieutenant next to me. I craned my neck just enough to see the blissful expression playing through his eyes, eyes blue like the colonel’s. Watching Smith slick up a finger and tease it down under my balls, across my perineum, and...
“Oh, fuck!” and his lieutenant clapped a hand over my mouth for a second as the colonel sank his finger in as far as it would go, crooking it just a little.
“So tight, Dan, sweet... mmm, fucking beautiful, son,” Smith said, panting a little now, and I wanted to cheer, knowing that I was doing that to him. I pushed my hips up a little, my body begging for it now, and he slipped another finger inside of me. I bit my lip, remembering how good this felt, being stretched, being opened...
I dimly heard something hit the ground beside me. Face’s shirt, and I stared at all that tanned, toned skin. No wonder Smith loved this guy.
“You said you were going to watch, sweetheart,” Smith growled, and the way he said it, like I was his and his alone to enjoy right then, lit me up inside. Or maybe that was the pad of a finger across my prostate. I don’t really know - I could barely think.
“Don’t wanna just watch,” he replied, whining a little, petting my side, and Smith brushed my cheek, a third finger starting to scissor inside of me now. “What do you want, Dan?”
Was he fucking kidding me? All of this, all of this between them, I could feel it thrumming up now, and I wanted to feel that, wanted to touch it, just for a second, know what they knew about one another. “... please...” I managed, and Face smiled wider. Slid behind me, pulling me up against him, bare chest on my bare back, muscles taught, his captured erection hard and throbbing against my back, Smith pressing into me, a little closer now, fucking me good on his fingers, heat that was building up. I was lost in sensation. Just let myself sink right into all that blissful contact. Unaware of anything, perfectly happy...
Until his fingers were gone. I heard the metal-on-metal sound of his belt unbuckling, the light noise of his zipper, and I jerked a little. Surprise, yeah, but not really. I remember that first day. How big Smith was. Face caught me and kept me still.
The colonel was over me, positioning himself, nudging my legs up around his waist. I was almost scared, and my eyes must have been huge, because he stopped for a moment to kiss me again, tugging on my lower lip as he pulled away. He had one hand on me, the head of his cock resting right at my entrance, blunt and huge. “You ready, Dan?”
“I...”
“Relax, Dan,” his lieutenant was whispering nonsense in my ear, hand rubbing firmly against my tense stomach. Smith had squirted some more of the lube into Face’s unoccupied hand, eyes half closed as the younger man reached around me to slick u his commander. “Just relax. You can do it, honey. Felt so good the first time, so great, just take him in slow and easy, he’s not going to hurt you...”
I nodded, whimpering a little, needing this, no matter how sore I was going to be the next morning, and there it was, the first hard push.
He was huge. Gigantic. I’d never taken anybody that large before, and here he was, driving in, slow and easy, just like Face promised, and that had to be so hard for the colonel. I could feel the tension in his body, holding himself back as he let me adjust. Taking me.
At one point, Smith stopped. “Don’t want to hurt you, Dan...”
“He’s fine, boss. He can take it. Right, honey?”
I nodded, and let my head fall back against Face’s chest. “Please...”
And there it was, the rest of the way, Smith snapping his hips forward. He pulled back a little. Drove back in. Started moving, started fucking me, and tears were leaking out the corners of my eyes. Indescribable, Face’s hands everywhere, the colonel rocking all three of us in perfect rhythm together, my own cock, untouched and painfully hard, slapping against my belly with every inward push.
I don’t know how long that went on for until I didn’t have the strength to keep my legs locked anymore, not under that slow, wonderful assault. The colonel grunted a little, and Face was reaching around me again, holding my legs back a little, rocking up again me just a little himself. Smith fisted a handful of blonde hair and it got deeper, if that was possible. I couldn’t speak, couldn’t do anything but moan as he brought me higher and higher, cresting over as his thrusts became more erratic, less steady, harder and shallower.
Then his lieutenant turned his lips into his palm and wrapped his hand around my cock, and Smith was roaring his release into me, and I was splattering us both with my own, every nerve in my body sparking up and going dark, all at once, overwhelming, overwhelmed...
I think I passed out for a moment or two. When I came to, Face and the colonel were leisurely kissing, all of us collapsed in an ungainly pile on the bed, one of the lieutenant’s arms keeping me still, cuddled against his chest. There was a wet patch against my ass, right over his own fly and for some reason, that made what had just happened all the more sweet.
“Glad to see you back with us, Dan,” Face murmured, breath hot on neck, and Smith brushed his fingers over one of my nipples. “Mmm. I like him. We should keep this one, boss.”
“Can’t, sweetheart,” Smith told him, and kissed me lightly, one more time. “How you doing, son?”
I sighed contentedly, trying to find the words to tell him. “That was...”
“He’s like that,” Face told me softly, and Smith started laughing.
They didn’t leave right away, Smith saying it’d be better to wait until later, and Face just smirking and stripping them both and stroking him back into full hardness after they thought I was asleep. It didn’t feel right to intrude on the two of them, slow and quiet and just different, a foot away from me, Face biting back all his little cries, Smith stifling his own. They way they moved together, I could just tell. It was one of those things that was just meant to be. The two of them, together. Made it easier, actually, seeing them go.
When they were done, caught their breaths in the dark of the room, Smith kissed me on the cheek, lingering, before gathering his clothes and tiptoeing out. Face stretched himself, sitting up, and then looked down at me, blue eyes luminous.
“Hannibal’s going to go write you a note. We gotta go, fugitives and everything.” I froze and he chuckled. “Can’t con a conman, Dan.”
“Sorry, I wasn’t trying to...”
“Your fantasy work out okay for you, honey?” he asked me gently.
What was I supposed to say to that? What could I possibly say? Except, maybe... “thanks for that, Face. I know you probably...”
“My pleasure, lieutenant,” Face said, reaching over me, off the bed, for his shirt. “Thanks for taking care of him for me.” His lips brushed mine on the way back up, their way out, and the memories kept me warm long after the sun came up the next day.
