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sonora_conejaPairing: Hannibal/Face
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: none
Summary: A fill for this prompt on the kink meme, and a sequel to Five Times Hannibal Got Propositioned...
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'
Face is sure as hell going to get the story out of Hannibal - what happened in prison? But Hannibal’s got himself a better idea about all of that. Oh, and Face throws an adorable, manly hissy fit...
1.
The radio began another one of those whiny country ballads, and dear god, when had we put it on that station?
I glanced over at Hannibal. He hadn’t said a fucking thing since he'd let me out of that damn booth, since we’d gotten in the cab. Three hours, nothing. He wasn’t overly given to words, a quiet man by nature, and that’s normally one of the things I love about him, but this was unusual, even for him.
“Let’s talk,” I declared, turning the radio off before the girl on the guitar could really get going. “How was your day, boss? I spent mine getting kidnapped. In a tanning booth, no less, and I really...”
“Don’t start that shit up about your parole again, kid. It wasn’t going to happen,” Hannibal grumbled, and patted a pocket, looking for a cigar. He probably had them in his bag, and I reached over the back of the seat for it.
“I’m not pissed about the parole thing, but...” my hand closed down around one of those little metal tubes, and I wondered why the words for this were so hard to find. Six months. I hadn’t seen the boss in six months, every day, wondering when I might get word, every night, squeezing my hearing shut against the noises from beyond my cell and hoping that tomorrow might be easier, that tomorrow, it wouldn’t be as cold under my sheets. “...I’m not a big fan of confined spaces, Hannibal.”
The man stubbornly kept his eyes fixed on the road. Shaggy Florida forest, moving up through the Panhandle to Alabama, nothing really to see. And he wasn’t looking at me, not so much as glancing over.
There was something tense about him, hesitant and holding back, wanting to reach out but staying close in instead. Staying closed, like we hadn’t been closed to each other for a long time, not since after the Mexican mission eight years ago. Back when I’d been scared, and he’d come over to my room, reassured me that he’d always be there for me, no matter who was on the team, that he loved me, no matter what the military said about it. The first time he’d offered and I'd pleaded yes. Back when he’d claimed me.
But that had been right after we’d gotten the team together. It was just us right now. I had no idea what that meant. Was it bad? What was wrong?
“What happened in prison, boss?” I asked him quickly, grabbing at the first thing that came to mind. Went with the instincts. I tapped the cigar in its thin tube against the passenger side door.
He didn’t turn, but the corner of his mouth tugged up a little, eyelid twitching, all those little tells he’s got when he’s about to start lying. When he’s upset. “Nothing.”
Now I was worried. “Define nothing, Hannibal.”
“Nothing, kid, Jesus...”
I laid a hand on his arm, watching the steering wheel jerk a little and I made to pull back. Six months confinement for a man like mine, used to his freedom, used to his purpose and his plans, in control. Needed. Just thrown away like that, discarded like he was nothing, and the anger started stirring up in me again. He looked tired, worn thin, and he hadn’t so much as kissed me after he let me out. What had they done to him? Had something happened? “John, please talk to me,” I said urgently, hoping his name would get his attention.
It did. He shook himself a little, and then looked over, caught my hand up in his and smiled at me. Brilliant, his steel eyes showing nothing of whatever he was feeling. “Kid?”
My heart leaped a little. “Yeah, boss?”
He handed me a pack of matches. “Light that for me, will you?”
I smirked back at him, my good bad-lieutenant smirk, and made sure to make a show of biting the end and puffing it awake, rolling the brown twist for a proper burn. I took a long, slow drag on it, his eyes on me now, remembering that this was Hannibal’s favorite brand, how it seemed to permeate him, making him taste that much more intriguing. Loved that about him, too.
“Hope you weren’t out of these for all that time,” I told him, genuinely regretful. He loved these things so much. “Couldn’t reach that far for you, boss.”
“This is as far as you’ve got to reach now. Now hand it over,” Hannibal murmured in a mock-angry voice, and leaned over the shifter to take it from me. Kissed me a little as he tugged it away.
2.
“How much longer do you think he’s going to be?”
“Hard to say, kid.”
“Do you think he’s acting, I don’t know, weird or something?”
Hannibal sipped at his coffee. “We just broke him out of a prison transport.” Looked at me like that answered my question.
Things hadn’t gotten much better over the last few days. Hannibal was still evading. Evading everything, playing it off like it was nothing, like everything was just great, and I might have believed the man if I hadn’t known him so well.
“Prison’s a weird place, does weird things to people. You know, I know a couple of other guys who were just there. Maybe we could ask them for some insight.”
Hannibal sighed. “Kid, I am not playing this game with you.”
“No, it’s all good, boss. Hey, I’ll go first.”
He waved for the waitress. We both got refills. “Face, are you trying to tell me that something happened to you?”
“What, like in the showers?” I joked, and he turned a little green. I just touched his leg under the table, rubbing gently, savoring the feel of all that hard muscle. He’d hadn’t been very touchy since the escape. Normally, Hannibal couldn’t keep his hands off me. Had to just be the mission, right? “Relax, boss. No, nothing happened. It was an incredibly boring six months. I haven’t been that bored...”
“Kid, if there’s something you want to talk about, there are easier ways of talking about it.”
“Like what?”
He jerked slightly, like he just realized I was touching him. He pulled my hand off his leg, wrapped it up in one of his. “Kid, it’s okay if you, you know...”
“Don’t even joke about that,” I snapped, tugging my hand back. “I promised you.”
And he had promised me. But here he was, asking me about it, and I don’t know if I was more angry or worried. Angry, because he thought I’d do that to him. Worried, because it might have been his way of telling me he understood, because he’d done the same.
I still remember our last night together, before they came and dragged us off. When we were alone. A word with the warden, a few favors offered and a sympathetic guard had landed the four of us in the same holding cell. I could have gone for a two-for, but this BA and Murdock never would have forgiven me, and I felt the same way about it. Narrow benches and no beds, but still... whispered words and friction and all that strength, holding me up, holding us together. Hannibal had made it work. He makes everything work.
“Promise me,” he’d murmured against the skin of my neck after we were done, sweat cooling, voice pleading. “Please, kid, I can’t bear the thought...”
“... of anyone else touching you,” I had gasped back, my orgasm still sparking through me, and he'd held me a little tighter.
“Couldn't. No one compares, Templeton. Only you...”
But, had he?
That sudden thought ricocheted with a kind of fierceness I had learned to trust a long time ago. People let you down, but instincts rarely do, and, oh god, had he? I suddenly felt like I was going to throw up, and Hannibal gave me a curious glance.
No good. The boss needed to focus. We needed a plan for Murdock, a plan to get us out of all this hot water we’d found ourselves in, a way ahead. There was no value added in me whining about things he clearly didn’t want to talk about. I couldn’t be a distraction.
So I swallowed down the bile that was rising in my throat and flashed him a tight smile. Scooted a little closer, so our thighs were flush with one another’s, reached for his hand again. He kind of smiled back, and fuck, the man was beautiful when he smiled like that. At me, like there was only the two of us in the world, like I was the center of everything, and I tried to tell myself there was no way...
But I ended up just changing the subject instead. “So, uh, how did you know the door was going to take his weight?”
“Remember that job we did...”
“Yeah, but that was a midget,” I pointed out triumphantly, and squeezed his leg as hard as I dared. The look he gave me was priceless.
Almost like everything was back the way it was supposed to be.
Maybe after we get Murdock back, I told myself, and there Bosco was, and we had a much more worrisome subject to deal with.
Where the hell was his mohawk?
3.
“So that’s the plan for getting Murdock back,” Hannibal concluded smugly.
I was laughing. BA looked a little sick. Hannibal looked more content than he’d been in the last two weeks, since I’d watched him jerk open the door of the tanning booth. And now here we were, tucked into a nice little German B&B just outside Ramstein, finishing off a a third round of whiskey and listening to yet another one of Hannibal's insane schemes.
God, I'd missed this.
“How we gettin’ off base?” BA grunted, and Hannibal’s mouth kind of narrowed before he covered it up with a shake of his head. We all heard it, though, the lack of a colonel or sir or anything like that. And Hannibal had been expecting it. Interesting.
“Oh, BA, don’t worry. There’s a plan in everything,” Hannibal said in his most innocent voice, looking at me, and I winked back.
“Ain’t gettin’ in no plane, Hannibal.”
“Now, BA, it might be the only...”
“You fools know the nicest thing ‘bout jail was? No goddamn airplanes, Hannibal, you guys not druggin’ me and haulin’ me...”
I smelled an opportunity and patted him on the back. Probably a little harder than I needed to, and he glared at me. Hannibal, probably sensing what was coming, sighed and crossed his arms. Leaned back. Stared at me, and I grinned back. Trying to tell him I wasn’t taking this as seriously as I was.
“That’s a great point, Bosco. What sucked about prison. I thought the food was pretty fuckin’ terrible myself.”
“Didn’t have to worry ‘bout no anti-freeze,” BA pointed out. “But they did this horrible thing with the carrots...”
“Oh, you too? They had this shit at our place that they called salisbury steak...”
“That code for grade-f meat.”
“Never thought I’d miss the MREs, constipation and everything, but man...”
“...I fixed that at mine. Wasn’t too bad, really, by the time I left.”
We both stopped and looked at the boss, spinning his now empty tumbler on the hotel table. Ice clinked together in the now-empty glass. Hints about prison, how he must have been treated, something he'd done for the boys there. That was progress, wasn’t it?
“How do you fix prison food, boss...” I started.
“When you couldn’t do a damn thing about the chow hall at Benning?” BA finished, caught somewhere between anger and admiration. He’d spent years there with practically every enlisted guy on station, from privates to chiefs, begging him to get Hannibal to intervene, to stop the horror or Wednesday Taco Bar or Saturday Chicken A'la King. Nothing had ever come of it. The laziness of the contractor food vendor employees had been beyond even the boss's skill to overcome.
But Hannibal didn't fall for it. Just smiled at me and went for a cigar.
4.
Honestly, it probably wasn’t the best time to bring it up.
I was just tired of the subtle approach. Hadn’t worked at all. And it was less and less fun every time I tried it. We’d been through hell in the last forty-eight hours. Shot down, shot at, betrayed, blown up, Hannibal being edgy about Sosa...I was sick of it. I was sick of it. The lies, the bullshit, the boss trying to tiptoe around me like he was. And he was. The man was definitely avoiding something.
It was driving me crazy.
Time to be a little more direct.
It was loud in the plane, barely insulated. Murdock was up in the cockpit, BA passed out on a blow-up camping pad in the back. We were alone.
He’d taken that ridiculous wig off, the black one he’d worn through security, but he still had the suit on. Collar open, jacket off, sleeves rolled. Knees up, one elbow dangling some novel he’d picked up at the airport bookstore. Lost in it, some of that worry, those fine stress lines he hadn’t had before, dropping away from the corners of his eyes. Gaze soft in that beautiful face. I wanted him. I wanted him back with me.
Wasn’t the best time. But I had to say something.
“I slept with somebody,” I told him, sitting down next to him against the cold inner skin of the fuselage, taking his book away. Screwed my eyes shut. “In Florida, I slept with someone.”
Nothing yet. Just a long pause, and then...
“What was his name, kid?”
“Kelly. But, like a female, Kelly. A captain who was working there... and she was crushing on me, and, you know, if we were, if we are going to clear our names, I couldn’t let it...”
We’d agreed once, a long time ago, back when we’d just started out together that women didn’t count. Couldn’t afford to look like fags, not with the ways rumors spread in the service. And my reputation, experience, was useful. On and off missions. Hannibal said we couldn’t afford to lose that, that mutual exclusivity wasn't a luxury we could allow ourselves. I’d said it had to be open on both ends if it was open on one. He’d only done it once or twice that I knew of, but still, it was enough for me to not hate myself when I had to.
“Temp,” came the soft murmur against my neck, the irrefutable touch of his hand to my face, tugging me around. “Temp, sweetheart, look at me.”
Steel-blue eyes met mine, and I didn’t know whether to be worried or relieved when I saw what was there. Nothing. Not condemnation or anger or disappointment or anything I’d expected. He kissed me softly, a quick touch of tongue to my upper lip, gentle, like I’d break if he did it any different. It wasn’t much. It wasn’t enough. Shit, just being this close to him again was lighting me up, making my body scream for contact...
“Temp, if you wanted to tell me that...”
“John, I...”
“... there’s no reason to mount a fishing expedition, Temp. You can come to me with anything. You know that, right?”
“Yeah boss,” I said, playing with the collar of his shirt as I leaned around for another kiss. “Yeah, I know.”
"And kid?"
"Yeah, boss?"
"True though it may be, it's still not going to work." I rotated and there he was, going back for his book, messing a hand through my hair. His tone had changed. He was smirking. "But it was a very nice try."
"Oh, come on..."
"You're too obvious, kid. You never feel guilty about the women."
I pulled in a little closer, remembering his dig from earlier, back in the warehouse, about Sosa. "I always feel guilty about the women."
Hannibal got this surprised look on his face, one that melted into that smile of his. He kissed the top of my head. Laid my head down on his shoulder. Sighed a little as I popped open another button and slid a cold hand in to rest against all that warm skin. He gave me that look of his, that disapproving stare that can mean so many things, and I did one of those little exhaling pouts.
He slapped my knee. "Gonna have to try harder than that, too, kid."
"You could just tell me."
"I could," he agreed and turned the page, "but where's the fun in that?"
5.
It was cold on the ship. I hadn’t planned for that. made me kind of worried - what other free radicals were going to show up?
That first night, we’d stayed at some cheap motel off the side of some secondary freeway in Louisiana, both of us still worried about the police, being tracked down, and I hate that feeling. Had it on missions before, the sensation of being hunted, but that was always overseas, in bad places. Never stateside, not like this, and I didn’t like it at all.
Hannibal hadn’t said anything, but I think he was feeling roughly the same way. It’s hard to tell with him. He didn’t say anything to me about it, just rolled over on his side on the other bed, mumbling something that might have been a goodnight, but it was too muffled to tell.
I hadn’t slept very well that night at all. And every night after, well, they were all about the same. For three weeks now. Alone. Nothing but light touches, and I couldn’t wrap my head around it.
“Why aren’t you fucking me right now?” I demanded, shutting the door to the little office Hannibal had appropriated for the ride. Small, tight, a narrow cot set up. Slightly warmer than the main hold. “We’ve got the team back, everybody’s just fine, we’ll get this all resolved in a day or two, the whole world’s fucking fantastic, so why in the hell aren’t you fucking me right now?”
He looked up at me in surprise. “What?”
Oh, fuck that. I knelt down next to him, rubbing my hands on his shoulders, and he shuddered in this way that had nothing to do with the contact or the temperature. I made a note of that. Filed it away. “It’s a pretty simple question, Hannibal.”
“I’m not sure what you’re getting at, kid.”
He wanted to play stupid? I could get in on that. “Why. Aren’t. YOU. Fucking. ME. Right. Now?”
He patted the metal cot, smiling a little. He was using that smile he used to use on the generals when he wasn’t getting what he wanted out of them, the do I look like an idiot to you, it must be your problem smile. “No, this is your way of asking about prison again, isn’t it?”
Damn it. Yes. “No, Hannibal, come on, please, a man’s got needs...”
“Yeah, I know your needs, kid,” he chuckles. Is this some kind of fucking game to him? Does he think it’s some kind of game to me? “Remember the last time we tried to, uh, on one of these things?”
My ears started burning at the memory, and I pushed it away as it tried to rise up and remind me. How I’d jumped him, how he’d gotten me down, how the metal crosspieces had given out and we’d both ended up on the floor of the tent, chipping three of my vertebra in the process. Hadn’t that been fun to explain to the doctors... “There’s always the wall!”
“That’s a slightly better effort, Face,” Hannibal told me, grinning. “But... no. We’re not talking about this right now.”
Did he mean we were going to talk about this later? Fuck that, too. Fuck this whole stupid situation.
So it was going to be like this. This was what it was going to be. Nothing until he volunteered it. Fine. I could live with that, I told myself.
“I’m bringing my sleeping bag in here,” I announced, like it was going to be worse for him than me, sleeping close close, so far away. And maybe it was, judging by the look on his face. I smiled back.
1. ...And the One Time He Didn’t Have to...
The room only had one bed. Hallejujah. A sign from the universe.
Hannibal stared at it. Like I’d fucking planned it. And coming from him, considering the chaos of the last few days, that was rather flattering.
“I’m taking a shower,” he said, and beat a hasty retreat for the bathroom. Wasn’t that usually my line? I shrugged. Long day, I figured, and started inspecting the sheets. Thoroughly.
We’d been driving for eighteen hours straight when Hannibal finally decided we’d put enough distance between us and LA to stop. Off the freeway, again, some cheap little place where they don’t take credit cards and they don’t ask questions. Again. I was willing to wager that our car, the one Bosco’s inner juvenile delinquent had secured us, wasn’t the only stolen one there. That kind of place. The kind I really, really hate.
The sheets were mercifully free of alarming stains, and they smelled clean. Not good clean. Boiled, like how they used to wash our underwear, socks, during Basic. But clean nonetheless, fine for one night. I prayed this wouldn't become our standard.
I flipped off the lights, stripped down to my boxers and just sort of fell in, drifting off.
How it was was before Hannibal came out and joined me, sliding in on the other side, nothing but a towel wrapped around all that water-hot skin, I don’t know. I turned into him, same way I have for years, instinctive at this point. There’s something supremely comfortable about the way he holds me. Like nothing can be wrong with the world. Like everything’s okay, like I never him watched him hauled down that long hallway of metal bars, seen the end of Colonel John Smith, the last little wink...
I think I might have whimpered a little bit at that point because he slid an arm around me. I took the invitation for what I hoped it was, pressed my nose against his neck, chin slotting in where it always does and amazingly, wonderfully, he didn’t push me away. Far from it. He was drawing me in, back to where I’ve always belonged.
I could feel it through the worn terrycloth of the towel, that magnificent cock and I slid a leg over his, grinning now, feeling it slide against me, feeling myself growing hard with anticipation, having him inside me again, putting us back together, making us whole again. I nipped at his jaw, just how he likes it, moved up for a kiss...
“Mm,” he said instead, absently carding a hand through my hair, greasy and flat, and damn, did that feel wonderful. “I should probably tell you about Dan now.”
And that? That was a total moodkiller.
I pushed back, just enough to see the guilt written all over his face, that slight smile he uses when he’s not sure how something’s going to go down. That got me off the bed completely, fumbling, my back finding a wall and my hands finding my hair. Solid contact helped. Just enough to keep me somewhat grounded.
“D... Dan?”
“Kid,” Hannibal replied, that pleading tone in his voice, easing towards me in the dark room until he was right in front of me. “That, uh, wait, that, oh, fuck...”
He wasn’t getting off that easy. Not this one, not after the past three weeks of dragging this out, dancing the fuck around it. “Tell me what about Dan, boss?”
“He was one of the lieutenants on guard detail and...”
“... he became another one of your projects, boss?” I asked, not trusting myself with his name right now. “Let me guess. Wet behind the ears, young, kind of cute...”
Hannibal kind of winced. “He was cute...”
“Jesus, boss! What the fuck?”
“He reminded me a little of you back then,” Hannibal said, closing a little, a hand right next to my shoulder, not touching. “Remember how sweet you were back then? I miss you like that...”
“Oh, well, that makes everything okay then. Because he reminded you of me.”
“Just a little,” Hannibal murmured, the words hot on my flushed skin, and his fingers found my collarbone. “Not fully.”
I slapped his arm away. Moved away. “What, I’m not sweet enough for you anymore? Had to move on to something younger and prettier?” As soon as it was out of my mouth, I realized I must have sounded like one of those jealous housewives in some Lifetime movie-of-the-week. I didn’t care. It was dark, and I was seeing red and this was bullshit.
“You know that’s not true, Face,” Hannibal said sharply.
“You had no intention of keeping your promise, did you?”
“What?”
And that really pissed me off. “With me, asking me to, fuck, that night in the cell...” and I couldn’t keep going. It was too hot in my mind, Hannibal sinking into me, holding me, telling me he loved me, that there was only me, listening to his heartbeat like it was my own, wondering if we’d ever see... “Fuck that.”
“Kid, I was only...”
“Fuck you, John,” I snapped, everything inside starting to break apart now. Waiting, waiting, almost seven months now, and having this thrown in my face was almost more than I could bear. Seven months, all that time apart, alone for that long...
“That’s out of line, lieutenant!” he said heatedly, pushing away from the wall, deadly smooth towards me. “You will can that bullshit right the hell...”
“Can’t order me around any more, John,” I snarled back, and yeah, my tone shocked even me. “Not my colonel any more. Apparently you aren’t committed to me any more, so you don't have that card to play...”
And that’s when he hit me.
Or maybe I hit him first.
It was all kind of a blur.
We were both exhausted, but that barely registered with either of us, going for the soft spots, tearing at joints, movements liquid, hits hard, and before I really knew what had happened, I was on the bed, struggling against those boiled sheets, a thumb and index finger wedged into that space between my jaw and neck, another hand holding my arm at near hyper-extension. He growled, feral now, and yanked, demonstrating how much in control of the situation he was. All those little muscles in my bad rotator cuff, the ones I’d ripped in training, started screaming.
"Ready to clean the shit out of your ears and listen, kid?"
He jerked me again. And I froze.
“I am committed to you, Face,” Hannibal said quietly, a leg sliding against mine as more weight settled onto the mattress. He let go of my arm, tucking it back against my body, strong fingers massaging the soreness around my shoulder. “I am.”
“I don’t believe you,” I ground out.
Thighs squeezed mine tight together, and he let his body fall down over mine. Naked, his cock fitting in between my cheeks, settling into the fabric of my boxers. I’d almost forgotten about all of that, and I couldn’t suppress the little shudder at the sensation. Too long. Taller than me, his elbows hit the bed just above my shoulders. “Let me in, Templeton.”
“No.”
He planted a soft kiss, so gentle, right over my spine, right at the shoulder. Something hot against my skin, and I realized his lip was probably bleeding.
“Yes,” he countered back, and blew softly on the space where his lips had just been, cooling and delicious. “Yes, Templeton. I want you, kid, need this back.”
“What about your new guy?” I asked harshly, twisting around with some effort, moving onto my back so I could look at him. I couldn’t see his face in the darkness, so I tugged a hand free. Splayed it across his face, rough with stubble. “What about Dan?”
“It was just a kiss, I swear it,” and Hannibal hesitated, just a little and flicked a strand of hair from my forehead, tucking it back. Careful, like he was going to break me. “I’m so sorry, kid.”
A hundred things danced through my mind, questions I wanted him to answer, answers I was sure as shit going to get and screw it if all those questions sounded like they came from that same Lifetime movie. Fuck if my man getting this bent out of shape over something that minor wasn’t cause for celebration. And forget Kelly. Hannibal was going to fucking listen, I fumed, he was going to goddamn well...
I may not have been able to see much of anything, but there was a hitch in his voice, words snagging. “There’s only ever you, Temp, I promised you that.”
“John...”
“I love you, Temp,” he whispered and as his lips encircled, teased mine apart, and drove every thought a thousand miles away, found myself wondering how in the hell he did that.
But then, he brought his tongue into play, and a hand found my pec and it all went to work. Any other considerations beside this, right here, right now, the way this felt, the way this was going to be, seemed hardly worth the effort. The kiss seemed to go on forever, drawing me out of the red. He loosened over me, hands roaming, turning us onto our sides and pulling my leg up over his hip, both of us groaning as our cocks aligned, my own hard and leaking in my boxers, aching for the more direct friction that would come. Like a goddamn teenager and I bucked up into him as he did that little biting thing, moving away, to my ear...
“I love you too, John.”
He pulled back, and tilted my head back with one big hand, the other barely touching as it smoothed down my side, nails ghosting. “There’s my boy. Done with the hissy fit.”
“Hissy fit? What the hell are you...”
But I never got to finish. I was distracted again.
Hannibal clearly had a plan for how this was all going to go down
And damn it, if I wasn't going to let the man carry it out...
“All those nights, kid, thinking about you...”
He was kissing me again, deeper and more demanding this time, not letting me push back at all. Rolled us over and had me pinned again. Frustrating the hell out of me as he pulled off my lower lip with a snap of teeth and pulled my head back a little firmer, baring my neck, attacking it with hard bites and soft licks, hands kneading across my scalp, down my chest between us where there was hardly any room to maneuver, further, under my boxers, pulling them off, reaching...
“Oh fuck,” I moaned as one big hand stroked firmly downwards and his lips locked on, sucking hard. Possessive. Things being re-established, reaffirmed. Both of us still keyed up from the fight, Hannibal heating up like he does sometimes. Fuck tenderness. This was perfect.
I couldn’t stop him. I didn’t want to. Just slid my arms up around his shoulders and held on. No room to move, no way to even squirm, and my eyes were blurring up with hot tears, lost in all of that stimulation. His teeth savaged the soft skin under my ear, his thumb slid right over the slit, pressing down just a little, moving up, chasing the vein, drawing me out to full hardness, right to the edge, further into the black of the room, closer towards the whiteout coming.
“...knowing you’d remember this...”
A finger pushed into me, cold and slick, and I didn’t bother to wonder where he’d gotten the lube or when - this was the boss’s plan. And it was better than trying to talk about it, I realized, because in this, right here, the way he knew exactly where to touch, how I arched my hips up into him for the better angles, the way his mouth sealed over mine just so, both of us breaking for air together, I knew. I should have known. I had known, knew again, that there was nobody else. Not for him. Not for me.
Another finger, scissoring wide. Hannibal was growling, I was moaning - no help for it - and in the space between us I only barely managed to catch words.
“...mine...”
“...oh yes, oh god, yes...”
The weight on my chest was gone, Hannibal kneeling up now. I reached out with a foot, hooking myself there at the same time as he he tugged up on my hips, sliding me onto his lap. Positioned just right, he sank into me, fast and deep, and he filled me for the first time in half a year, splitting me open, all the hollow places made full again. He’s a lot to take, even loose, but I didn’t care. I did scream, though. Couldn’t do a damn thing about that.
He stopped, leaning over me on one hand. I knew that body language. It was concern. Couldn’t have that. Needed this. I reared up and bit his lip and there it was, reassurance, movement, fast and glorious movement, his breathless gasps and hands bruising-hard on my hips, guiding me home with brutal thrusts, catching that little nub deep inside every time, nothing hidden, and god, I’d missed him, I’d missed him so much...
The rhythm was set and slowed, the first few hard moments softening into an easier, deeper pushing, mood shifting. Calming. I kept my legs around his back and he slid up my chest, laying us both down as one, stinging nips changing to languid brushes to leisurely kissing, our bodies moving together, remembering all the old patterns as if we’d never been apart, the world sparking apart into some kind of brilliance as my stomach tightened and release finally came, as he flooded into me, as he laid one last little kiss, almost chaste, on my cheek and whispered something in my ear I couldn’t hear. There wasn't any sound, nothing at all but the feel of him, him. Nothing else.
I held on with what must have been the last of my strength, everything boneless and soft and drained in me, the world indistinct and unimportant around us, and Hannibal chuckled. Held me close as he draped an arm around me, moving us just right, and didn’t pull out, the only real thing there was.
“That’s my boy,” he murmured as soon as things started coming back together, as soon as we finally had to separate, still close, still touching, and I bumped his chin with my nose.
“’S a good plan, boss.”
“What?”
“You played me.”
“What? No. Why the fuck would I do that?”
I sighed. Sometimes I think we’ve been together way, way too long. He knows way too much about me. “You drew it out on purpose. You knew I was going to throw a fit, didn’t you? Thought it’d mess up the mission or something. Am I right?”
He looked a little taken aback, injured that I’d figured him out, and then grinned. “Like a teenager on her period and you did not disappoint....”
“Oh, come on, Hannibal...”
“You going to tell me that was a manly hissy fit?”
“Goddamn it, boss, stop saying hissy...”
He tried to kiss me, and I slapped at him, none of it serious, both of us chuckling a little. We both lay there for a minute more. And then it hit me.
“He took care of you, didn’t he?”
“Who?”
“Dan.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t...”
But the way Hannibal answered, I knew. Dan was the kid who brought him cigars, and Dan was probably the one who’d been calling him colonel the whole time we’d been apart, and Dan had almost certainly demanded that his men respect the former legend, conviction or no. Hannibal likely didn’t know the extent of the kid’s influence around the prison- he’s always been a big picture kind of guy. Needs somebody around to fill in the details.
Usually, that’s my job. I couldn’t be there for him, and I felt an overwhelming surge of relief that somebody, anybody had picked up my slack.
“Mm,” I said, leaning back for another quick kiss, “you said he was sweet, right?”
“Unusually so, for a cop, yeah.”
“Then you have to be really gentle.”
He jerked me back from where I was going for a nipple. “What?”
“You know,” I said, pulling away and licking a ring around my target. “You have to be careful with him. Everything nice and soft, lots of little touches, mmm, smooth and easy like you do sometimes...”
“Are you suggesting...”
“And lots of pet names. Boys like that love their pet names. Nice kissing, carry him back to his bed, your clothes on, lights off, strip him down and take him so slow. Lots of slick. You know, make it downright saccarin for the kid, Hannibal. Make his fucking year.”
His eyes kind of closed, like he was imagining it. There was no way he was going to sit here with a straight face and tell me he didn’t want to do the kid. I knew him too well for that. “And what do you get out of this, kid?” he asked warily.
A chance to thank the lieutenant who watched out for my man when I couldn’t. Give him something priceless, the only thing I have that matters. Reward that kindness.
Show Hannibal that I wasn't mad, didn't care, knew how much he loved me. Show him just how much I loved him back.
Not that said any of that to him. I’d have never heard the end of it.
“Some really hot guilt-sex later. A free trip to Colorado during ski season. And, of course, I get to watch. Not letting you out of my sight, boss. Not ever again,” I finished, whispering it in his ear and got a delicious shiver and a quick pinch on my ass in reply.
"Oh yeah, boss, this is going to be good."
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: none
Summary: A fill for this prompt on the kink meme, and a sequel to Five Times Hannibal Got Propositioned...
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'
Face is sure as hell going to get the story out of Hannibal - what happened in prison? But Hannibal’s got himself a better idea about all of that. Oh, and Face throws an adorable, manly hissy fit...
1.
The radio began another one of those whiny country ballads, and dear god, when had we put it on that station?
I glanced over at Hannibal. He hadn’t said a fucking thing since he'd let me out of that damn booth, since we’d gotten in the cab. Three hours, nothing. He wasn’t overly given to words, a quiet man by nature, and that’s normally one of the things I love about him, but this was unusual, even for him.
“Let’s talk,” I declared, turning the radio off before the girl on the guitar could really get going. “How was your day, boss? I spent mine getting kidnapped. In a tanning booth, no less, and I really...”
“Don’t start that shit up about your parole again, kid. It wasn’t going to happen,” Hannibal grumbled, and patted a pocket, looking for a cigar. He probably had them in his bag, and I reached over the back of the seat for it.
“I’m not pissed about the parole thing, but...” my hand closed down around one of those little metal tubes, and I wondered why the words for this were so hard to find. Six months. I hadn’t seen the boss in six months, every day, wondering when I might get word, every night, squeezing my hearing shut against the noises from beyond my cell and hoping that tomorrow might be easier, that tomorrow, it wouldn’t be as cold under my sheets. “...I’m not a big fan of confined spaces, Hannibal.”
The man stubbornly kept his eyes fixed on the road. Shaggy Florida forest, moving up through the Panhandle to Alabama, nothing really to see. And he wasn’t looking at me, not so much as glancing over.
There was something tense about him, hesitant and holding back, wanting to reach out but staying close in instead. Staying closed, like we hadn’t been closed to each other for a long time, not since after the Mexican mission eight years ago. Back when I’d been scared, and he’d come over to my room, reassured me that he’d always be there for me, no matter who was on the team, that he loved me, no matter what the military said about it. The first time he’d offered and I'd pleaded yes. Back when he’d claimed me.
But that had been right after we’d gotten the team together. It was just us right now. I had no idea what that meant. Was it bad? What was wrong?
“What happened in prison, boss?” I asked him quickly, grabbing at the first thing that came to mind. Went with the instincts. I tapped the cigar in its thin tube against the passenger side door.
He didn’t turn, but the corner of his mouth tugged up a little, eyelid twitching, all those little tells he’s got when he’s about to start lying. When he’s upset. “Nothing.”
Now I was worried. “Define nothing, Hannibal.”
“Nothing, kid, Jesus...”
I laid a hand on his arm, watching the steering wheel jerk a little and I made to pull back. Six months confinement for a man like mine, used to his freedom, used to his purpose and his plans, in control. Needed. Just thrown away like that, discarded like he was nothing, and the anger started stirring up in me again. He looked tired, worn thin, and he hadn’t so much as kissed me after he let me out. What had they done to him? Had something happened? “John, please talk to me,” I said urgently, hoping his name would get his attention.
It did. He shook himself a little, and then looked over, caught my hand up in his and smiled at me. Brilliant, his steel eyes showing nothing of whatever he was feeling. “Kid?”
My heart leaped a little. “Yeah, boss?”
He handed me a pack of matches. “Light that for me, will you?”
I smirked back at him, my good bad-lieutenant smirk, and made sure to make a show of biting the end and puffing it awake, rolling the brown twist for a proper burn. I took a long, slow drag on it, his eyes on me now, remembering that this was Hannibal’s favorite brand, how it seemed to permeate him, making him taste that much more intriguing. Loved that about him, too.
“Hope you weren’t out of these for all that time,” I told him, genuinely regretful. He loved these things so much. “Couldn’t reach that far for you, boss.”
“This is as far as you’ve got to reach now. Now hand it over,” Hannibal murmured in a mock-angry voice, and leaned over the shifter to take it from me. Kissed me a little as he tugged it away.
2.
“How much longer do you think he’s going to be?”
“Hard to say, kid.”
“Do you think he’s acting, I don’t know, weird or something?”
Hannibal sipped at his coffee. “We just broke him out of a prison transport.” Looked at me like that answered my question.
Things hadn’t gotten much better over the last few days. Hannibal was still evading. Evading everything, playing it off like it was nothing, like everything was just great, and I might have believed the man if I hadn’t known him so well.
“Prison’s a weird place, does weird things to people. You know, I know a couple of other guys who were just there. Maybe we could ask them for some insight.”
Hannibal sighed. “Kid, I am not playing this game with you.”
“No, it’s all good, boss. Hey, I’ll go first.”
He waved for the waitress. We both got refills. “Face, are you trying to tell me that something happened to you?”
“What, like in the showers?” I joked, and he turned a little green. I just touched his leg under the table, rubbing gently, savoring the feel of all that hard muscle. He’d hadn’t been very touchy since the escape. Normally, Hannibal couldn’t keep his hands off me. Had to just be the mission, right? “Relax, boss. No, nothing happened. It was an incredibly boring six months. I haven’t been that bored...”
“Kid, if there’s something you want to talk about, there are easier ways of talking about it.”
“Like what?”
He jerked slightly, like he just realized I was touching him. He pulled my hand off his leg, wrapped it up in one of his. “Kid, it’s okay if you, you know...”
“Don’t even joke about that,” I snapped, tugging my hand back. “I promised you.”
And he had promised me. But here he was, asking me about it, and I don’t know if I was more angry or worried. Angry, because he thought I’d do that to him. Worried, because it might have been his way of telling me he understood, because he’d done the same.
I still remember our last night together, before they came and dragged us off. When we were alone. A word with the warden, a few favors offered and a sympathetic guard had landed the four of us in the same holding cell. I could have gone for a two-for, but this BA and Murdock never would have forgiven me, and I felt the same way about it. Narrow benches and no beds, but still... whispered words and friction and all that strength, holding me up, holding us together. Hannibal had made it work. He makes everything work.
“Promise me,” he’d murmured against the skin of my neck after we were done, sweat cooling, voice pleading. “Please, kid, I can’t bear the thought...”
“... of anyone else touching you,” I had gasped back, my orgasm still sparking through me, and he'd held me a little tighter.
“Couldn't. No one compares, Templeton. Only you...”
But, had he?
That sudden thought ricocheted with a kind of fierceness I had learned to trust a long time ago. People let you down, but instincts rarely do, and, oh god, had he? I suddenly felt like I was going to throw up, and Hannibal gave me a curious glance.
No good. The boss needed to focus. We needed a plan for Murdock, a plan to get us out of all this hot water we’d found ourselves in, a way ahead. There was no value added in me whining about things he clearly didn’t want to talk about. I couldn’t be a distraction.
So I swallowed down the bile that was rising in my throat and flashed him a tight smile. Scooted a little closer, so our thighs were flush with one another’s, reached for his hand again. He kind of smiled back, and fuck, the man was beautiful when he smiled like that. At me, like there was only the two of us in the world, like I was the center of everything, and I tried to tell myself there was no way...
But I ended up just changing the subject instead. “So, uh, how did you know the door was going to take his weight?”
“Remember that job we did...”
“Yeah, but that was a midget,” I pointed out triumphantly, and squeezed his leg as hard as I dared. The look he gave me was priceless.
Almost like everything was back the way it was supposed to be.
Maybe after we get Murdock back, I told myself, and there Bosco was, and we had a much more worrisome subject to deal with.
Where the hell was his mohawk?
3.
“So that’s the plan for getting Murdock back,” Hannibal concluded smugly.
I was laughing. BA looked a little sick. Hannibal looked more content than he’d been in the last two weeks, since I’d watched him jerk open the door of the tanning booth. And now here we were, tucked into a nice little German B&B just outside Ramstein, finishing off a a third round of whiskey and listening to yet another one of Hannibal's insane schemes.
God, I'd missed this.
“How we gettin’ off base?” BA grunted, and Hannibal’s mouth kind of narrowed before he covered it up with a shake of his head. We all heard it, though, the lack of a colonel or sir or anything like that. And Hannibal had been expecting it. Interesting.
“Oh, BA, don’t worry. There’s a plan in everything,” Hannibal said in his most innocent voice, looking at me, and I winked back.
“Ain’t gettin’ in no plane, Hannibal.”
“Now, BA, it might be the only...”
“You fools know the nicest thing ‘bout jail was? No goddamn airplanes, Hannibal, you guys not druggin’ me and haulin’ me...”
I smelled an opportunity and patted him on the back. Probably a little harder than I needed to, and he glared at me. Hannibal, probably sensing what was coming, sighed and crossed his arms. Leaned back. Stared at me, and I grinned back. Trying to tell him I wasn’t taking this as seriously as I was.
“That’s a great point, Bosco. What sucked about prison. I thought the food was pretty fuckin’ terrible myself.”
“Didn’t have to worry ‘bout no anti-freeze,” BA pointed out. “But they did this horrible thing with the carrots...”
“Oh, you too? They had this shit at our place that they called salisbury steak...”
“That code for grade-f meat.”
“Never thought I’d miss the MREs, constipation and everything, but man...”
“...I fixed that at mine. Wasn’t too bad, really, by the time I left.”
We both stopped and looked at the boss, spinning his now empty tumbler on the hotel table. Ice clinked together in the now-empty glass. Hints about prison, how he must have been treated, something he'd done for the boys there. That was progress, wasn’t it?
“How do you fix prison food, boss...” I started.
“When you couldn’t do a damn thing about the chow hall at Benning?” BA finished, caught somewhere between anger and admiration. He’d spent years there with practically every enlisted guy on station, from privates to chiefs, begging him to get Hannibal to intervene, to stop the horror or Wednesday Taco Bar or Saturday Chicken A'la King. Nothing had ever come of it. The laziness of the contractor food vendor employees had been beyond even the boss's skill to overcome.
But Hannibal didn't fall for it. Just smiled at me and went for a cigar.
4.
Honestly, it probably wasn’t the best time to bring it up.
I was just tired of the subtle approach. Hadn’t worked at all. And it was less and less fun every time I tried it. We’d been through hell in the last forty-eight hours. Shot down, shot at, betrayed, blown up, Hannibal being edgy about Sosa...I was sick of it. I was sick of it. The lies, the bullshit, the boss trying to tiptoe around me like he was. And he was. The man was definitely avoiding something.
It was driving me crazy.
Time to be a little more direct.
It was loud in the plane, barely insulated. Murdock was up in the cockpit, BA passed out on a blow-up camping pad in the back. We were alone.
He’d taken that ridiculous wig off, the black one he’d worn through security, but he still had the suit on. Collar open, jacket off, sleeves rolled. Knees up, one elbow dangling some novel he’d picked up at the airport bookstore. Lost in it, some of that worry, those fine stress lines he hadn’t had before, dropping away from the corners of his eyes. Gaze soft in that beautiful face. I wanted him. I wanted him back with me.
Wasn’t the best time. But I had to say something.
“I slept with somebody,” I told him, sitting down next to him against the cold inner skin of the fuselage, taking his book away. Screwed my eyes shut. “In Florida, I slept with someone.”
Nothing yet. Just a long pause, and then...
“What was his name, kid?”
“Kelly. But, like a female, Kelly. A captain who was working there... and she was crushing on me, and, you know, if we were, if we are going to clear our names, I couldn’t let it...”
We’d agreed once, a long time ago, back when we’d just started out together that women didn’t count. Couldn’t afford to look like fags, not with the ways rumors spread in the service. And my reputation, experience, was useful. On and off missions. Hannibal said we couldn’t afford to lose that, that mutual exclusivity wasn't a luxury we could allow ourselves. I’d said it had to be open on both ends if it was open on one. He’d only done it once or twice that I knew of, but still, it was enough for me to not hate myself when I had to.
“Temp,” came the soft murmur against my neck, the irrefutable touch of his hand to my face, tugging me around. “Temp, sweetheart, look at me.”
Steel-blue eyes met mine, and I didn’t know whether to be worried or relieved when I saw what was there. Nothing. Not condemnation or anger or disappointment or anything I’d expected. He kissed me softly, a quick touch of tongue to my upper lip, gentle, like I’d break if he did it any different. It wasn’t much. It wasn’t enough. Shit, just being this close to him again was lighting me up, making my body scream for contact...
“Temp, if you wanted to tell me that...”
“John, I...”
“... there’s no reason to mount a fishing expedition, Temp. You can come to me with anything. You know that, right?”
“Yeah boss,” I said, playing with the collar of his shirt as I leaned around for another kiss. “Yeah, I know.”
"And kid?"
"Yeah, boss?"
"True though it may be, it's still not going to work." I rotated and there he was, going back for his book, messing a hand through my hair. His tone had changed. He was smirking. "But it was a very nice try."
"Oh, come on..."
"You're too obvious, kid. You never feel guilty about the women."
I pulled in a little closer, remembering his dig from earlier, back in the warehouse, about Sosa. "I always feel guilty about the women."
Hannibal got this surprised look on his face, one that melted into that smile of his. He kissed the top of my head. Laid my head down on his shoulder. Sighed a little as I popped open another button and slid a cold hand in to rest against all that warm skin. He gave me that look of his, that disapproving stare that can mean so many things, and I did one of those little exhaling pouts.
He slapped my knee. "Gonna have to try harder than that, too, kid."
"You could just tell me."
"I could," he agreed and turned the page, "but where's the fun in that?"
5.
It was cold on the ship. I hadn’t planned for that. made me kind of worried - what other free radicals were going to show up?
That first night, we’d stayed at some cheap motel off the side of some secondary freeway in Louisiana, both of us still worried about the police, being tracked down, and I hate that feeling. Had it on missions before, the sensation of being hunted, but that was always overseas, in bad places. Never stateside, not like this, and I didn’t like it at all.
Hannibal hadn’t said anything, but I think he was feeling roughly the same way. It’s hard to tell with him. He didn’t say anything to me about it, just rolled over on his side on the other bed, mumbling something that might have been a goodnight, but it was too muffled to tell.
I hadn’t slept very well that night at all. And every night after, well, they were all about the same. For three weeks now. Alone. Nothing but light touches, and I couldn’t wrap my head around it.
“Why aren’t you fucking me right now?” I demanded, shutting the door to the little office Hannibal had appropriated for the ride. Small, tight, a narrow cot set up. Slightly warmer than the main hold. “We’ve got the team back, everybody’s just fine, we’ll get this all resolved in a day or two, the whole world’s fucking fantastic, so why in the hell aren’t you fucking me right now?”
He looked up at me in surprise. “What?”
Oh, fuck that. I knelt down next to him, rubbing my hands on his shoulders, and he shuddered in this way that had nothing to do with the contact or the temperature. I made a note of that. Filed it away. “It’s a pretty simple question, Hannibal.”
“I’m not sure what you’re getting at, kid.”
He wanted to play stupid? I could get in on that. “Why. Aren’t. YOU. Fucking. ME. Right. Now?”
He patted the metal cot, smiling a little. He was using that smile he used to use on the generals when he wasn’t getting what he wanted out of them, the do I look like an idiot to you, it must be your problem smile. “No, this is your way of asking about prison again, isn’t it?”
Damn it. Yes. “No, Hannibal, come on, please, a man’s got needs...”
“Yeah, I know your needs, kid,” he chuckles. Is this some kind of fucking game to him? Does he think it’s some kind of game to me? “Remember the last time we tried to, uh, on one of these things?”
My ears started burning at the memory, and I pushed it away as it tried to rise up and remind me. How I’d jumped him, how he’d gotten me down, how the metal crosspieces had given out and we’d both ended up on the floor of the tent, chipping three of my vertebra in the process. Hadn’t that been fun to explain to the doctors... “There’s always the wall!”
“That’s a slightly better effort, Face,” Hannibal told me, grinning. “But... no. We’re not talking about this right now.”
Did he mean we were going to talk about this later? Fuck that, too. Fuck this whole stupid situation.
So it was going to be like this. This was what it was going to be. Nothing until he volunteered it. Fine. I could live with that, I told myself.
“I’m bringing my sleeping bag in here,” I announced, like it was going to be worse for him than me, sleeping close close, so far away. And maybe it was, judging by the look on his face. I smiled back.
1. ...And the One Time He Didn’t Have to...
The room only had one bed. Hallejujah. A sign from the universe.
Hannibal stared at it. Like I’d fucking planned it. And coming from him, considering the chaos of the last few days, that was rather flattering.
“I’m taking a shower,” he said, and beat a hasty retreat for the bathroom. Wasn’t that usually my line? I shrugged. Long day, I figured, and started inspecting the sheets. Thoroughly.
We’d been driving for eighteen hours straight when Hannibal finally decided we’d put enough distance between us and LA to stop. Off the freeway, again, some cheap little place where they don’t take credit cards and they don’t ask questions. Again. I was willing to wager that our car, the one Bosco’s inner juvenile delinquent had secured us, wasn’t the only stolen one there. That kind of place. The kind I really, really hate.
The sheets were mercifully free of alarming stains, and they smelled clean. Not good clean. Boiled, like how they used to wash our underwear, socks, during Basic. But clean nonetheless, fine for one night. I prayed this wouldn't become our standard.
I flipped off the lights, stripped down to my boxers and just sort of fell in, drifting off.
How it was was before Hannibal came out and joined me, sliding in on the other side, nothing but a towel wrapped around all that water-hot skin, I don’t know. I turned into him, same way I have for years, instinctive at this point. There’s something supremely comfortable about the way he holds me. Like nothing can be wrong with the world. Like everything’s okay, like I never him watched him hauled down that long hallway of metal bars, seen the end of Colonel John Smith, the last little wink...
I think I might have whimpered a little bit at that point because he slid an arm around me. I took the invitation for what I hoped it was, pressed my nose against his neck, chin slotting in where it always does and amazingly, wonderfully, he didn’t push me away. Far from it. He was drawing me in, back to where I’ve always belonged.
I could feel it through the worn terrycloth of the towel, that magnificent cock and I slid a leg over his, grinning now, feeling it slide against me, feeling myself growing hard with anticipation, having him inside me again, putting us back together, making us whole again. I nipped at his jaw, just how he likes it, moved up for a kiss...
“Mm,” he said instead, absently carding a hand through my hair, greasy and flat, and damn, did that feel wonderful. “I should probably tell you about Dan now.”
And that? That was a total moodkiller.
I pushed back, just enough to see the guilt written all over his face, that slight smile he uses when he’s not sure how something’s going to go down. That got me off the bed completely, fumbling, my back finding a wall and my hands finding my hair. Solid contact helped. Just enough to keep me somewhat grounded.
“D... Dan?”
“Kid,” Hannibal replied, that pleading tone in his voice, easing towards me in the dark room until he was right in front of me. “That, uh, wait, that, oh, fuck...”
He wasn’t getting off that easy. Not this one, not after the past three weeks of dragging this out, dancing the fuck around it. “Tell me what about Dan, boss?”
“He was one of the lieutenants on guard detail and...”
“... he became another one of your projects, boss?” I asked, not trusting myself with his name right now. “Let me guess. Wet behind the ears, young, kind of cute...”
Hannibal kind of winced. “He was cute...”
“Jesus, boss! What the fuck?”
“He reminded me a little of you back then,” Hannibal said, closing a little, a hand right next to my shoulder, not touching. “Remember how sweet you were back then? I miss you like that...”
“Oh, well, that makes everything okay then. Because he reminded you of me.”
“Just a little,” Hannibal murmured, the words hot on my flushed skin, and his fingers found my collarbone. “Not fully.”
I slapped his arm away. Moved away. “What, I’m not sweet enough for you anymore? Had to move on to something younger and prettier?” As soon as it was out of my mouth, I realized I must have sounded like one of those jealous housewives in some Lifetime movie-of-the-week. I didn’t care. It was dark, and I was seeing red and this was bullshit.
“You know that’s not true, Face,” Hannibal said sharply.
“You had no intention of keeping your promise, did you?”
“What?”
And that really pissed me off. “With me, asking me to, fuck, that night in the cell...” and I couldn’t keep going. It was too hot in my mind, Hannibal sinking into me, holding me, telling me he loved me, that there was only me, listening to his heartbeat like it was my own, wondering if we’d ever see... “Fuck that.”
“Kid, I was only...”
“Fuck you, John,” I snapped, everything inside starting to break apart now. Waiting, waiting, almost seven months now, and having this thrown in my face was almost more than I could bear. Seven months, all that time apart, alone for that long...
“That’s out of line, lieutenant!” he said heatedly, pushing away from the wall, deadly smooth towards me. “You will can that bullshit right the hell...”
“Can’t order me around any more, John,” I snarled back, and yeah, my tone shocked even me. “Not my colonel any more. Apparently you aren’t committed to me any more, so you don't have that card to play...”
And that’s when he hit me.
Or maybe I hit him first.
It was all kind of a blur.
We were both exhausted, but that barely registered with either of us, going for the soft spots, tearing at joints, movements liquid, hits hard, and before I really knew what had happened, I was on the bed, struggling against those boiled sheets, a thumb and index finger wedged into that space between my jaw and neck, another hand holding my arm at near hyper-extension. He growled, feral now, and yanked, demonstrating how much in control of the situation he was. All those little muscles in my bad rotator cuff, the ones I’d ripped in training, started screaming.
"Ready to clean the shit out of your ears and listen, kid?"
He jerked me again. And I froze.
“I am committed to you, Face,” Hannibal said quietly, a leg sliding against mine as more weight settled onto the mattress. He let go of my arm, tucking it back against my body, strong fingers massaging the soreness around my shoulder. “I am.”
“I don’t believe you,” I ground out.
Thighs squeezed mine tight together, and he let his body fall down over mine. Naked, his cock fitting in between my cheeks, settling into the fabric of my boxers. I’d almost forgotten about all of that, and I couldn’t suppress the little shudder at the sensation. Too long. Taller than me, his elbows hit the bed just above my shoulders. “Let me in, Templeton.”
“No.”
He planted a soft kiss, so gentle, right over my spine, right at the shoulder. Something hot against my skin, and I realized his lip was probably bleeding.
“Yes,” he countered back, and blew softly on the space where his lips had just been, cooling and delicious. “Yes, Templeton. I want you, kid, need this back.”
“What about your new guy?” I asked harshly, twisting around with some effort, moving onto my back so I could look at him. I couldn’t see his face in the darkness, so I tugged a hand free. Splayed it across his face, rough with stubble. “What about Dan?”
“It was just a kiss, I swear it,” and Hannibal hesitated, just a little and flicked a strand of hair from my forehead, tucking it back. Careful, like he was going to break me. “I’m so sorry, kid.”
A hundred things danced through my mind, questions I wanted him to answer, answers I was sure as shit going to get and screw it if all those questions sounded like they came from that same Lifetime movie. Fuck if my man getting this bent out of shape over something that minor wasn’t cause for celebration. And forget Kelly. Hannibal was going to fucking listen, I fumed, he was going to goddamn well...
I may not have been able to see much of anything, but there was a hitch in his voice, words snagging. “There’s only ever you, Temp, I promised you that.”
“John...”
“I love you, Temp,” he whispered and as his lips encircled, teased mine apart, and drove every thought a thousand miles away, found myself wondering how in the hell he did that.
But then, he brought his tongue into play, and a hand found my pec and it all went to work. Any other considerations beside this, right here, right now, the way this felt, the way this was going to be, seemed hardly worth the effort. The kiss seemed to go on forever, drawing me out of the red. He loosened over me, hands roaming, turning us onto our sides and pulling my leg up over his hip, both of us groaning as our cocks aligned, my own hard and leaking in my boxers, aching for the more direct friction that would come. Like a goddamn teenager and I bucked up into him as he did that little biting thing, moving away, to my ear...
“I love you too, John.”
He pulled back, and tilted my head back with one big hand, the other barely touching as it smoothed down my side, nails ghosting. “There’s my boy. Done with the hissy fit.”
“Hissy fit? What the hell are you...”
But I never got to finish. I was distracted again.
Hannibal clearly had a plan for how this was all going to go down
And damn it, if I wasn't going to let the man carry it out...
“All those nights, kid, thinking about you...”
He was kissing me again, deeper and more demanding this time, not letting me push back at all. Rolled us over and had me pinned again. Frustrating the hell out of me as he pulled off my lower lip with a snap of teeth and pulled my head back a little firmer, baring my neck, attacking it with hard bites and soft licks, hands kneading across my scalp, down my chest between us where there was hardly any room to maneuver, further, under my boxers, pulling them off, reaching...
“Oh fuck,” I moaned as one big hand stroked firmly downwards and his lips locked on, sucking hard. Possessive. Things being re-established, reaffirmed. Both of us still keyed up from the fight, Hannibal heating up like he does sometimes. Fuck tenderness. This was perfect.
I couldn’t stop him. I didn’t want to. Just slid my arms up around his shoulders and held on. No room to move, no way to even squirm, and my eyes were blurring up with hot tears, lost in all of that stimulation. His teeth savaged the soft skin under my ear, his thumb slid right over the slit, pressing down just a little, moving up, chasing the vein, drawing me out to full hardness, right to the edge, further into the black of the room, closer towards the whiteout coming.
“...knowing you’d remember this...”
A finger pushed into me, cold and slick, and I didn’t bother to wonder where he’d gotten the lube or when - this was the boss’s plan. And it was better than trying to talk about it, I realized, because in this, right here, the way he knew exactly where to touch, how I arched my hips up into him for the better angles, the way his mouth sealed over mine just so, both of us breaking for air together, I knew. I should have known. I had known, knew again, that there was nobody else. Not for him. Not for me.
Another finger, scissoring wide. Hannibal was growling, I was moaning - no help for it - and in the space between us I only barely managed to catch words.
“...mine...”
“...oh yes, oh god, yes...”
The weight on my chest was gone, Hannibal kneeling up now. I reached out with a foot, hooking myself there at the same time as he he tugged up on my hips, sliding me onto his lap. Positioned just right, he sank into me, fast and deep, and he filled me for the first time in half a year, splitting me open, all the hollow places made full again. He’s a lot to take, even loose, but I didn’t care. I did scream, though. Couldn’t do a damn thing about that.
He stopped, leaning over me on one hand. I knew that body language. It was concern. Couldn’t have that. Needed this. I reared up and bit his lip and there it was, reassurance, movement, fast and glorious movement, his breathless gasps and hands bruising-hard on my hips, guiding me home with brutal thrusts, catching that little nub deep inside every time, nothing hidden, and god, I’d missed him, I’d missed him so much...
The rhythm was set and slowed, the first few hard moments softening into an easier, deeper pushing, mood shifting. Calming. I kept my legs around his back and he slid up my chest, laying us both down as one, stinging nips changing to languid brushes to leisurely kissing, our bodies moving together, remembering all the old patterns as if we’d never been apart, the world sparking apart into some kind of brilliance as my stomach tightened and release finally came, as he flooded into me, as he laid one last little kiss, almost chaste, on my cheek and whispered something in my ear I couldn’t hear. There wasn't any sound, nothing at all but the feel of him, him. Nothing else.
I held on with what must have been the last of my strength, everything boneless and soft and drained in me, the world indistinct and unimportant around us, and Hannibal chuckled. Held me close as he draped an arm around me, moving us just right, and didn’t pull out, the only real thing there was.
“That’s my boy,” he murmured as soon as things started coming back together, as soon as we finally had to separate, still close, still touching, and I bumped his chin with my nose.
“’S a good plan, boss.”
“What?”
“You played me.”
“What? No. Why the fuck would I do that?”
I sighed. Sometimes I think we’ve been together way, way too long. He knows way too much about me. “You drew it out on purpose. You knew I was going to throw a fit, didn’t you? Thought it’d mess up the mission or something. Am I right?”
He looked a little taken aback, injured that I’d figured him out, and then grinned. “Like a teenager on her period and you did not disappoint....”
“Oh, come on, Hannibal...”
“You going to tell me that was a manly hissy fit?”
“Goddamn it, boss, stop saying hissy...”
He tried to kiss me, and I slapped at him, none of it serious, both of us chuckling a little. We both lay there for a minute more. And then it hit me.
“He took care of you, didn’t he?”
“Who?”
“Dan.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t...”
But the way Hannibal answered, I knew. Dan was the kid who brought him cigars, and Dan was probably the one who’d been calling him colonel the whole time we’d been apart, and Dan had almost certainly demanded that his men respect the former legend, conviction or no. Hannibal likely didn’t know the extent of the kid’s influence around the prison- he’s always been a big picture kind of guy. Needs somebody around to fill in the details.
Usually, that’s my job. I couldn’t be there for him, and I felt an overwhelming surge of relief that somebody, anybody had picked up my slack.
“Mm,” I said, leaning back for another quick kiss, “you said he was sweet, right?”
“Unusually so, for a cop, yeah.”
“Then you have to be really gentle.”
He jerked me back from where I was going for a nipple. “What?”
“You know,” I said, pulling away and licking a ring around my target. “You have to be careful with him. Everything nice and soft, lots of little touches, mmm, smooth and easy like you do sometimes...”
“Are you suggesting...”
“And lots of pet names. Boys like that love their pet names. Nice kissing, carry him back to his bed, your clothes on, lights off, strip him down and take him so slow. Lots of slick. You know, make it downright saccarin for the kid, Hannibal. Make his fucking year.”
His eyes kind of closed, like he was imagining it. There was no way he was going to sit here with a straight face and tell me he didn’t want to do the kid. I knew him too well for that. “And what do you get out of this, kid?” he asked warily.
A chance to thank the lieutenant who watched out for my man when I couldn’t. Give him something priceless, the only thing I have that matters. Reward that kindness.
Show Hannibal that I wasn't mad, didn't care, knew how much he loved me. Show him just how much I loved him back.
Not that said any of that to him. I’d have never heard the end of it.
“Some really hot guilt-sex later. A free trip to Colorado during ski season. And, of course, I get to watch. Not letting you out of my sight, boss. Not ever again,” I finished, whispering it in his ear and got a delicious shiver and a quick pinch on my ass in reply.
"Oh yeah, boss, this is going to be good."
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Date: 2011-02-13 05:41 pm (UTC)LOVE that you wrote this story in his POV!!! That was a totaly cool surprise!!!
Even love the little hand to hand combat they got into!!!
And now I saw you have the VD story up already!!! GOD YOU ARE A BUSY BEE!!!!! *trying to make the time to read that!*
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Date: 2011-02-13 06:11 pm (UTC)And yes, the VD fic is up. I have no life!
no subject
Date: 2011-02-16 04:34 pm (UTC)