The Price of Doing Business

[sonora_coneja]

Pairing: Face/OMC, Hannibal/Face
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: some rough sex with the OMC
Summary: A fill for this prompt on the kink meme.

Something the team desperately needs to help their current client is in the hands of a wealthy business man (who's otherwise unconnected to events.) However, this man cannot be bought or threatened to hand it over. Instead, he puts a proposition forward - one night with Face, and in return he will give them what they want. A furious Hannibal refuses to entertain the idea of pimping out his Lieutenant. Meanwhile, Face who is bi, and (also unbeknown to the rest of the team) has traded blow jobs and hand jobs for things Hannibal has needed in the past, thinks he can handle this. I want lots of UST between Hannibal and Face. I want heated arguments - with Hannibal refusing to let Face do this (but also not able to find an alternative), and Face arguing that he's his own man and he can handle this. I leave it up to you anon if Face disobeys Hannibal and spends a night having semi-consensual sex with the older businessman. But I'd like it if the UST between Hannibal and Face could be resolved at the end. Feel free to pile on the angst and the h/c, so long as it all ends happily. (I'm thinking the business man isn't a bad guy, he's just rich and jaded, and fascinated by Face - who he sees as a dangerous, beautiful wanted felon: something even he's never had. Movie!verse please :)

Billionaire Brian Donovan makes Hannibal an offer in exchange for evidence that will get their current client out of Egyptian prison - one night with Face. Hannibal flat out refuses, but Face is willing to do anything to get the boss what he needs to complete a mission.

...delorita suggested that Donovan looks like Bruce Wayne. I sort of like this idea...



“Nice view, isn’t it, boss? You can see everything in Phoenix from up here...”

Hannibal barely glanced over at the vast spread of window overlooking the night-shrouded city, lost in his own thoughts. “We’ve been waiting for half an hour, Face.”

“How is that my fault?”

“You set up the appointment.”

“Because you asked me to!”

Hannibal sighed and tucked his hands into the pockets of his best suit, the one that fit him fucking perfect, walked forward a little towards the wall of glass. His lean form stretched a little, outlined against the thousands of gold points of lights from the valley below, tension stretched between those strong shoulders.

Coiled and beautiful, Face thought to himself, admiring the sight, and smiled a little. Or grinned like an idiot, judging from the boss’ reaction.

“Something funny about this, kid?”

“Nothing, Hannibal. It’s just a very nice house.”

“Stay sharp, Face. Last thing we need is you trying to indulge your champagne tastes with this guy. In and out.”

The boss had been tense lately. A month in and this job was wearing on all of them. The client wanted, desperately needed, an above-the-table kind of result, real evidence, which meant following the money trail for a stolen artifact that terminated here. With Brian Donovan. The Brian Donovan, the entrepreneur who’d spent the last fifteen years orchestrating hostile takeovers of oil companies and funding biotech start-ups in Dubai and Singapore. International, connected, ruthless.

Which was why Face had insisted that Hannibal break out the good suit for this meeting. Had to leave a good impression. That, and for the glorious way it framed his...

“Why here? Why not at his office?”

“We are felons, boss.”

And Hannibal grumbled some indistinct protest at that.

Definitely tense.

But the tension wasn’t about this job. Sure, the colonel’s tension was focused on the job, was directed at the job, but Face had been thinking lately that it might be coming from somewhere else. He’d been catching the little glances Hannibal threw at him, the pursed lips, that look of concentration. The boss was mulling something over, something about him, and Face hoped like hell it wasn’t anything bad.

Sure, there had been that debacle with the client on the last job, when Hannibal had somehow managed to walk in on Face with the guy’s wife, when Face had taken the tongue lashing about propriety and professionalism and what-the-fuck-were-you-thinking, rather than tell the boss it was about five minutes away from turning into a three-way with the client himself.

But if that’s what this was, the boss pissed at him for thinking with your dick again, goddamn it, Face, he could live with it. Anger was preferably to that little revelation. The conman wasn’t about to admit to that, not after hiding it for so long, no matter how much he wished...

“Hannibal Smith?”

They both looked up at the source of the voice. Recognized him from the feverish research session Murdock had gone on yesterday, before he and Hannibal had flown out here. Tall, lanky, late fourties, graying around the edges but still fit, exuding power in a quiet, understated kind of way. A man who knew what he was capable of and wasn’t afraid of it. Violent, in the manner and time of his own choosing. Like a big cat, waiting, ready. Almost like Hannibal, really, Face thought, even though the two looked nothing alike.

The boss gave Face a little glare, that one that spoke volumes, the one that said don’t you fucking think about fanboying out on me with the rich guy, and he moved into the game. “That’s right. And you must be Brian Donovan.”

“Hardly a surprise, this being my place,” he said with a laugh, clearly preparing to launch into some kind of speech about the property and how much nicer his pad in Dubai was, when he looked over at Face.

The look.

The former lieutenant knew that look, zeroing in on him like a cruise missile, and despite himself and his lack of any real interest for that right now still felt a little weak in the knees under the sudden force of it. None of their research had turned up anything like this. Certainly hadn’t indicated that the infamous Brian Donovan might be... and he sort of grinned back and held out his own hand.

“Templeton Peck,” he said by way of introduction, and he could feel Hannibal’s stare threatening to bore through him at the use of his first name. “We spoke on the phone.”

“Half the A-Team in my foyer,” the businessman said, sounding happy about it as he shook both their hands, strong and reserved. “When I got the call from you, Templeton, my curiosity was piqued.” He waved for them to follow, and Face fell into step behind Hannibal, who practically prowled down the wide hallway towards an open office filled with cleanly cased antiquities set around the walls, in sleek Scandinavian bookcases. The boss was on edge, getting worse. “He said you needed access to something I had acquired recently...”

“Illegally, I’m afraid,” Hannibal said as they reached the room and Donovan shut the doors behind. “Something stolen from the Cairo Museum. Our client’s being held in Egyptian prison right now because of it, they think he committed the crime...”

“No place to fool around with the law,” Donovan agreed, offering the boss a cigar with a practiced smoothness, and Face watched the two settle in to feint and parry around the issue, always a fascinating thing to watch. They spent so much time running around, kicking in doors and shooting the bad guys with makeshift weaponry these days that Face sometimes forgot how far up in the ranks Hannibal had gotten, those occasions when he’d had to put on a uniform and play politics up at the Pentagon. It wasn’t a foreign concept to him, negotiating at this level. The boss just didn’t like it.

He wandered around while they talked, making sure his presence sort of disappeared enough for the two men to carry on their discussion, making sure what he left of himself in Donovan’s awareness felt dangerous, that part of him that liked hanging out of helicopters and firing heavy artillery.

The contents of the cases around the perimeter of the office were truly impressive. A collection of artifacts from all over the world, some small, some larger. From what little he knew about these things, Face was willing to bet that no finer example of Chinese jade existed in any Western museum, and the cuneiform tablet from Gilgamesh was probably worth more than the country it had been dug out of. But it was the canopic jars, the complete set carved from pure alabaster and set with gold leaf, nearly three thousand years old, that drew his eye.

“New Kingdom, pulled from the Valley of the Queens in perfect condition...” Donovan began, standing up and walking over to him, leaving Hannibal holding a very expensive cigar, alone at the desk.

“...stolen in perfect condition as well.”

“Archaeology is nothing but theft, thousands of years in the making. And you men are criminals yourselves, aren’t you?”

Face looked back over at Hannibal, whose expression had gone even more intense than usual. He hated people drawing attention to that particular aspect of their current collective existence. “It’s a technicality,” the colonel said slowly.

“So is your assessment of my ownership of these as being illegitimate. Look at what Lord Elgin did down in Greece...”

“We’re not interested in you,” Hannibal said, his voice dropping into that cadence he used right before he started issuing threats. “We just need the records on this, find out who sold it to you, anything we can use to get the right guy to turn into the Egyptian authorities.”

“I keep the piece.”

“Sure.”

Definitely tense, Face thought to himself, and didn’t like the way either man was looking at him now.

“Wasn’t a question,” Donovan said offhanded and more bared his teeth than smiled. “What do I get in return?”

“The satisfaction of saving a man’s life not good enough for you?”

“The Egyptians don’t take kindly to theft of their national treasures. No, you’re going to save an innocent man and turn a guilty man in for execution. I suppose that’s a satisfactory conclusion for a military man, but I need something a little more concrete,” Donovan continued. “And as you’re both professionals, the best from what I’m told, I’m guessing you’ve already considered buying this information off my staff or blackmailing me or stealing it outright?”

Hannibal tapped the glass of one of the cases, misshapen little clay Earth Mother figures from Sub-Saharan African staring blankly back at him. “If it could be conned, my lieutenant here would have had it last week.”

“You’ve got a very loyal staff.” Face added.

Donovan laughed a little and moved closer, into the lieutenant’s personal space now, close enough to touch, close enough to run a light hand up his spine. “They should be, what I’m paying them.” That hand settled on the small of Face’s back, just for a second, before puling away and turning back to Hannibal. “I’ve got no problem with your request. But I want something.”

Face was watching Hannibal carefully. His outward appearance was calm, but his nostrils were flaring slightly, the pulse in his neck speeding up. Oh yeah, the boss was pissed about... what, exactly? They’d come here expecting to negotiate, hadn’t they? Was it the touch? Had he seen that? Why would that bother him? He’d seduced women for jobs before...

“What?” the colonel asked, casually for all intents and purposes, taking a deep puff on the cigar.

“Maybe your lieutenant could prove useful here after all,” Donovan said, and that hand was back, a little firmer, possessive and heavy, and Face only just bit back his body’s sudden urge to lean back into that commanding touch. There were men who liked to top, and then there were tops, and he hadn’t had one of those in so, so long... “One night, and you can have access to anything and everything I’ve got.”

Hannibal bit down on the cigar. “Like you said, I’m a military man. Make it simple for me.”

Donovan leaned into Face a little. “I want to fuck your second in command, Colonel Smith, in exchange for my information. Clear enough?”

For a second, everything stopped. Face could practically hear the rage building up in his commander, could feel and taste and touch it, and he could see it was taking every shred of not inconsiderable self control that the older man possessed to keep himself in check. Donovan’s hand was moving a little now, soft skin against the silk of Face’s suit and under better circumstances, that would have felt so, so good...

“No.”

“Why don’t we ask your lieutenant what he thinks?”

“That’s not the way that works in my unit,” Hannibal said flatly.

“Colonel Smith, Hannibal, Hannibal, if you’re not fucking him yourself, what difference does it make? And if you are, I promise I’ll return him unharmed and...”

The veins were really standing out now. Face wasn’t sure whether he should feel flattered or terrified, the way Hannibal looked right now. “The answer is no.”

The hand disappeared, and Donovan winked at Face as he withdrew back to the impregnable high ground of his desk. “Then I’m afraid my answer is no as well.” The businessman glanced over at Face again and held up a hand. “But I wouldn’t expect you to sign a deal immediately anyway, Colonel Smith, so here’s what I’ll do. Twenty-four hours to talk it over with your lieutenant and get back to me. That’s all the time I can give you. Day after tomorrow, I’m on the British Airways flight out of Sky Harbor to Heathrow.”

“I’m not some goddamn pimp...”

“And I’m not trying to insinuate anything about you or Templeton or your business model. He’s just...”

“Face!” Hannibal barked, not taking his eyes off the other man for a second.

“Yeah, boss?”

“We’re leaving.”

Donovan leaned back in his chair and watched them. “If you change your mind, either of you, you know where to find me.”

Hannibal flicked the cigar away, onto spotless marble floors, and stormed from the room. “Face!” he yelled again, and the lieutenant sighed a little, looked over at Donovan, who actually looked a little disappointed.

“It’s his decision, you know.”

“It’s your, ah, not inconsiderable body, Templeton.”

"It's the military command structure."

"I thought you'd been dishonorably discharged."

Face shrugged. "Technicalities, Brian."

“Face!” Hannibal roared, and with an apologetic smile and a quick “thank you for your time,” Face was out in the hallway, running to catch up.

As he keyed the ignition awake and started down the long, long driveway in their rental car, the desert heat still radiating off the pavement of the road, Face finally spoke up. “Boss, if it’s the only way we can...”

“Don’t even think about saying it, kid.”

“But, Hannibal...”

“Shut the fuck up, Peck.”

And they drove the rest of the way back to the hotel in silence.

+++++

Face didn’t try to bring it up again that night. Not during the drive, not after they’d gotten situated for the night. Hannibal just marched straight in the bathroom and started a long, long shower the second they hit the room, staying in there long after Face had given up on trying to get in. After he thought Face must be asleep.

But Face didn’t sleep, not at all that night, just laid in the twin-sized bed and wondered what he had been expecting. Hannibal, to shove him up against the nearest wall, hands heavy and cock full? Hannibal, making some dramatic and overwrought pronouncement of what his fuckng problem with this idea was? Hannibal, coming out of the shower without so much as a towel, wet and hard, not saying anything, just tearing the blankets off and sliding home, right where he’d always belonged?

It was all useless. Just left him with a raging hard-on he had to take care of himself in the bathroom the next morning with gritted teeth, trying not to think about Hannibal doing the same thing the night before.

No, there was no point in torturing himself with any of that, Face figured in the darkness of he hot desert night. It wasn’t going to happen. Never had. Never would.

“So, boss, I think we should go for this.”

Hannibal froze at the breakfast bar down in the lobby, fiddling around with the cornflakes dispenser and shooting Face an absolutely priceless glare as a harried mother sheparded two small children by. The conman smiled back blandly, batted his eyes a little as he filled up a coffee mug.

They needed to talk about Donovan’s offer. His blue balls not withstanding. He needed Hannibal’s permission. Tacit, implied, coerced, accidental, whatever. He hadn’t disobeyed one of this man’s orders in the twelve years he’d known him, served under him. He was incapable.

“This isn’t the time or the place...” the boss warned as they settled down into one of the lobby sofas, breakfast balanced on knees.

“We’re running out time, Hannibal. We have to talk about this.”

He jabbed at his barely-soggy cornflakes like they were trying to rob him. “We do not. It’s not an option.”

“Boss, come on, the guy’s going die within the week. What are we going to tell his wife, the nice lady who hired us and made Murdock that red velvet cake that he liked so much?”

“I don’t believe the State Department’s going to let that happen, kid...”

“Remember the chop-chop show you took me to in Saudi?” Face said, quiet but heated at the memory of the big square, the cheering crowd, the masked guy with the fucking ax... “These people do not fuck around with their criminals.”

“Face, the Middle East being fucking medieval has nothing to do...”

“Why is this a problem for you?” Face asked, removing the cornflakes and setting them down on the Santa Fe-inspired coffee table. “What the fuck is your problem?”

“Why isn’t this a problem for you, Face?” Hannibal growled.

“It’s not like I’ve never had sex on these jobs before...”

“With men, kid? You’re not gay.”

Face took a sip of his coffee to cover his reaction to that. Goddamn it, Hannibal, he thought to himself furiously. “That’s not the problem, John,” and the boss started at the use of his first name. “You’re pissed about something else here.”

“What are our other options?”

“There aren’t any. I exhausted everything, remember?” Face hissed, mindful of another family passing by behind them. “This is it.”

“We can break in...”

“All his electronic shit’s encrypted by guys he stole from the NSA and his physical security detail’s run by an ex-SEAL. No dice, boss.”

“Do you still have any of your Moussad contacts?”

“None willing to risk Israeli national security over an idiotic archaeologist who didn't bring enough money to bribe himself out of trouble before the government got ahold of him. What’s the real problem here, Hannibal?”

Hannibal was livid. Pulsating now, and Face jumped a little as strong, calloused fingers closed down around his wrist, half-expecting to get burned, but the touch was surprisingly soft. Like the words. “We can’t. I can’t. Face...”

“That’s very noble of you, boss. Congrats. The guy’s still going to get dead if I don’t do this.”

“You’re not a whore, kid. You shouldn’t be treated that way by some rich asshole. You...”

Face closed his eyes for a second and tried to block out all the concern his brain wanted to twist into care, into possessiveness, into... and he wondered how blind Hannibal was. If he’d never realized about that tank he’d scammed two years ago, or the time Murdock nearly got thrown back in the hospital by the base commander, or last month’s job down in Puerto Rico with the drug dealers, about how impossible obstacles were moved in the real world.

Fuck, Hannibal asked him to trade sex all the time and never realized it because Face never said anything. Because of reactions like this. Because this was so fucking predictable it made him want to cry, to kiss the older man breathless, to fucking punch him for the hypocrisy of his entire fucking position. He’d never complained, never thought twice about it, male or female. It didn’t matter, if it was for Hannibal. He would have gladly died for the man. What was a blowjob, a quick fuck against a warehouse wall?

But Face didn’t say any of that. Couldn’t. He’d never been able to. So he went with the safe answer, the only responsible answer, and took a sip of coffee. “Still smarting over that comment from ‘06 when that female colonel thought I was blowing my way around her supply process? Called you out on it during the daily stand-up brief? You were so fucking embarrassed, I can’t really blame you for worrying about your reputation being sullied...”

“We’re calling Murdock and BA and regrouping on this thing,” Hannibal said coldly, recoiling as if he’d been slapped, and reached for his cornflakes. Stood up. “And you’re good at finding shit, Face. So find me a solution.”

As Face watched the furious form of his commander storm away, reminding him a little too much of the night before, he let loose a long, shaky breath.

That, he figured, was close enough.

+++++

Setting up a blind for Hannibal was almost pathetically easy. A call to Donovan, a few well-placed distractions and Face had them running around Phoenix for the rest of the day, chasing imaginary leads that culminated in a very real meet with the head of the businessman’s security detail for Hannibal, and a very imaginary get-together with somebody in the local FBI field office.

It kind of made Face want to hit him. Like he didn't trust Face to have worked all these angles the first time around.

But whatever. He just hoped it was enough of a window.

“You’re so tense, Templeton. Relax. My man will keep him busy until our business is concluded. Turn over the information himself. Your boss will never know...”

“Easy for you to say. You’ve never seen him kill somebody with pencil.”

The businessman handed Face an impeccable glass of what looked like four hundred dollar wine. Back in his office. Was he going to go for the desk, just bend him over and have at it, or was this guy classier than that? Judging by the wine... “Really? Is that possible?”

“You’d be surprised what Hannibal can do when he’s angry enough,” Face replied smoothly, swirling the glass gently in his hand and taking an appreciative whiff of the head. Five hundred dollars, he decided, and started walking away. Over to some Mayan ceremonial daggar, obsidian gleaming in the low light. Donovan followed. Good. He’d pegged this guy right from last night’s meeting.

He knew how he had to play this, what Donovan was going to respond to. The criminal, the felon, the ex-spec-ops officer, mercenary... and his stomach tightened a little. At least the wine was good. He sipped, turned, and smiled. “I don’t suppose you want to just get to it?”

“I didn’t lie to your boss, Templeton,” and god, maybe it was the wine, but that voice was smooth, silk over the nerves Hannibal had frazzled up. “I have no intention of treating you like...”

“A low rent whore?” Face supplied, and the older man tilted his glass a little in confirmation. He kept himself just out reach, moving away as Donovan reached for him. “That’s very considerate of you.”

“Well, your boss might kill me with a pencil.”

“Get me what we want, and he’ll never know. No matter what you do.”

“Is that why you’re here, Templeton? The information?”

Face sighed a little too loud. “I get what my boss needs, Brian. I get it when he needs it, how he needs it, however. That’s my job, and I’m damn good at it.” He caught the businessman running an appraising eye over him, and applauded himself for not wearing a tie.

“But he doesn’t give you what you need.”

“Not many do,” Face said, and making his movements as fluid as possible, dangled the glass carelessly, brushed by Donovan on his way over to another display case. “It’s a challenge, finding somebody who’s up to my standards.”

“No need for the flattery, Templeton,” Donovan practically purred, advancing, and this time, Face didn’t budge. “I fully intend to fuck you through the mattress.”

“My fun’s in the pursuit,” he said, letting his voice drop, watching arousal spark behind the other man’s dark eyes, meaning it. The blood was pounding in his ears now. “Humor me. It’s not every day I get to seduce some billionaire. Professional high point.”

Donovan did this smooth little movement that removed their wine to a nearby table. He ran a hand, fingers slightly clenched, around the conman’s waist, opening against the small of his back. Shit, this guy was good... “Does it really look like you are seducing me?”

“The truth is all in how you sell it,” Face whispered back, pressing in close and licking a hot line down the shell of the other man’s ear, nipping along the neck. “Who’s to ever say what really happened?”

“You’re a fascinating contradiction of a man, Templeton, a loyal liar. I just had to have you...”

“And here I am,” Face said, grinning. He hadn’t had this much had fun in a long, long time. Probably would have slept with the guy anyway. Sure, Hannibal would kill him over this... but he pushed that away. Not the time. And besides, it was almost with sincerity that he played his hands along the edge of fine Italian tailoring and asked, “now, where’s that mattress you promised me?”

As he let himself hit the ridiculously expensive bed, Face felt the teeth at his neck almost too late and pulled away, scooting back with a slight snarl. “I have to face him tomorrow. No biting.”

Donovan’s hands had been heavy and hard on his waist, breath quickening, gripping down, leading Face back here. Guest bedroom, real bedroom, whatever, it was a bed and he could feel the atmosphere shifting and he needed to get them both naked, right now. Get this over with.

“Seeing you with another man’s mark might be just the thing to snap your boss out of...”

“I’m not yours to mark, Brian,” Face said, narrowing his eyes, letting that focus, the one he normally reserved for sniper shots, come to the fore, just for a second.

“You could be. I could steal you away from him,” Donovan said in an almost conversational tone as he tore Face’s shirt wide open, his sportcoat already gone, shoes by the bedroom door. Donovan had already lost everything but his pants. He had a nice body, practical muscles better than he’d expected, probably ran marathons or played polo or whatever it was rich people did. Some strength there. Did he know how to apply it?

“Doubtful,” Face countered.

The billionaire practically attacked one of the conman’s exposed nipples, then the other, blowing cold air over reddening skin. Went for Face’s belt, expertly unthreading it from his pants, tossing it away. “Would you like that? More money than god, no more legal troubles, all the challenge you could handle, your brains fucked out every night and never having to hide what you are, belonging to somebody who gives a shit...”

Face punched him before he really knew what he was doing. Hard. Not hard enough to knock him out, but hard enough to split his lip, and as the blood rose to the surface and Donovan tongued it away, the former lieutenant realized that this was exactly how it needed to be. Donovan was going to get rough, wanted to let loose with somebody who could take it. And more to the point, Face wanted the exact same thing. Fuck Hannibal’s archaic chivalry or prejudices or whatever the fuck.

He smirked, and arched back, slipping out of the remnants of his shirt, feeling chest muscles pull tight around a long white scar under his left pectoral, and wasn’t that just right for this? “You’d never trust a man who betrayed his former master.”

“Your colonel’s the one betraying you, not taking this...”

Face grabbed Donovan’s belt and hauled him in closer, flipping them over so he was straddling those hips. “Shut up and fuck me,” he ground out, and the smile that spread over the businessman’s handsome face was pure predator, so much like what he imagined the boss would look like....

But fuck Hannibal. He could worry about him later. Later. After he let Donovan win the struggle for dominance by a fraction of breath, let the older man strip him down, lungs fighting for air, muscles screaming, blunt fingernails breaking skin. After he was penetrated and stretched and filled, with nothing to ease the way but a slightly slick condom. After the battering assault left him high and falling and hitting down into the sheet, gasping and strung-out and empty, gloriously empty, that little reservoir spilled over and spent.

Empty.

Fuck.

+++++

“You are an amazing man, Templeton,” Donovan panted once they were both able to talk again, rolled off to the side. No snuggling here, and Face was fine with that, although Donovan did have a hand in his hair, stroking. Felt good.

Felt like, felt like... motherfucker, felt like guilt.

The former lieutenant rolled his eyes. “Price of doing business, Brian,” he replied, forcing a bored tone into his voice, trying to cover that nagging edge of shame back. He hated enjoying it. Shouldn’t have let himself. “Speaking of which...”

“I already had my man give over the files,” Donovan said, somewhat smugly, and Face leaned up on an elbow. “Called him before you walked in.”

“So Hannibal’s already had it for, like, two hours?”

“Yeah.”

Shit. Shit, shit, shit. Ripped shirt, Hannibal already headed back to the hotel, if not there already, probably trying to call him for the past two hours to tell him the good news and of course no getting any reply...

“You son of a bitch,” Face snapped, wiping clean with a contemptuous flick of the sheets, Egyptian cotton, and fuck the universe for having a sense of obscure irony right now. He slid out, found his pants easily enough. “He’s not going to throw me out over this, freeing me to take up your employment offer, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“Then I’ve done you a favor. Either way.”

Was this guy for real? The conman blinked. Like what? Like Hannibal was going to get all jealous and finally stake his claim, all hot and bothered that his lieutenant had just gotten fucked by some other guy? Like that had ever happened before?

But then, Hannibal had never known before...

He shoved that little flutter of hope away. No point in dwelling on things that weren't going to happen.

“Cute theory,” Face said, pulling his discarded pants back on, slipping into his socks, not even trying to find the belt. And then he had an idea.

He padded over to Donovan’s side of the bed, sat down and ran his hand into the salt and pepper of the older man’s hair. Taking an iron grip on the back of the billionaire’s head, he pressed their lips together, achingly slow but undeniable, pressing in, driving him back, hard and deep and meaningless and incredibly demonstrative, stealing his air, biting that split in Donovan's lip, dominating it completely. Face didn't stop, and only pulled back when he was certain of what he was going to see stamped on the other man's face.

Fear.

Just a little fear. But enough. Enough to know that Donovan knew he hadn’t taken or been given a goddamn thing, that there was only one narrow little dimension to all of this and his physical release hadn’t ever been a concern for the conman past its obvious utility.

That this mercenary could kill him, right here, like this, with the alarm clock or something, and get away with it.

“Thanks for the fuck,” Face said evenly, still bored, and toed up his ruined shirt, grabbed his shoes. Turned away. “If we can ever use you again...”

“Looking forward to it, Templeton!” and Donovan’s voice followed him all the way out to his car, into the sea of gold lights below, back to the hotel where Hannibal was probably waiting and all the unpleasantness that was going to equal.

He cracked his neck and started the car. No point in putting this off. And hell, Donovan might prove himself right, that this could work to his advantage, that Hannibal might...

Wishful thinking. Nope. Nothing quite so nice.

The boss was going to kill him. Possibly with a pen.

+++++

Face had made Eagle Scouts, dammit. He understood the value of preparation.

Which was why he’d worn a white shirt that day, brought a second one along with him to their little exchange. Just in case. The collar wasn’t quite the same, the cuffs a little different, but if he had his sportcoat on and the room was dark, Hannibal might not notice the switch. Be too relieved about getting the info to notice the scent of sex and sweat and foreign cologne that was still clinging to his lieutenant. Not ask all the obvious questions.

“Yeah right, Peck,” he told himself and tossed the shirt in the trunk. Slammed it down a little harder than he’d meant to.

“You look like shit, kid,” Hannibal commented when he keyed into the room.

The boss was stretched out on the hotel bed, long legs cross in front of him and crossed at the ankles, one hand absently holding the remote, the TV stuck on some twenty-four hour news station. Face resisted the urge to stare, and it occured to him just how much of his life was tied up in his relationship with this man. Hannibal’s psuedo-paternal inclinations, the casual exercise of authority, the little arguments and collaborations over plans and how it was the closest thing the younger man had ever had to love. The only person who’d ever tried to care, and how fucking unfair was it that it had never turned into anything more than this, this right here, so much space between them he’d never had the courage to close.

“So, where have you been all night? I’ve been trying to call but you haven’t been answering you cell. Their security guy handed over the info...”

Shit. He could no more lie to Hannibal than he could disobey an order. Bend the truth, obfuscate, omit. Not flat-out lie. Shit. He looked away. “Out getting you your solution, boss.”

“Kid, I just told you, I talked to that SEAL...”

And then came silence. The silence. The one he’d been afraid of. The one he’d known was coming.

But stil... motherfucker.

“No,” Hannibal said, voice choked with disbelief. “No, no, I was going to handle it, you were supposed to be... you...”

“What difference does it make, boss?” Face sighed. “You got your information, I’m sure you’ve got the guys at State talking it over right now and backdooring it to the Egyptians, the client’s cute little wife is going to get her husband back and...”

“How many?”

“Well, there was just him tonight, it wasn’t like he threw a fucking party or something...”

Hannibal was off the bed now and in front of him. “How many times have you done this, lieutenant?” he asked, dragging out every syllable, and something, maybe the use of his rank, snapped the last of Face’s self-control.

“How many what? How many times has sex gotten you something for a mission, colonel? You’re going to need to be more specific. Handjobs, blowjobs, vaginal, anal...”

Hannibal’s fist contacted wall hard enough to crack the drywall behind the wallpaper, and he grabbed Face, threw him back against the bathroom door. The conman didn’t flinch, didn’t look, just let his body fall back against the wood, head hitting up, eyes staring at the ceiling. He did feel empty, used and tired, and he wondered if that was because that’s how Hannibal was looking at him right now. Fuck, since when had he ever had another choice...

“How many times, Temp?” Hannibal asked again, voice quiet and still this time.

Definitely disappointment, Face thought bitterly. “You ask, I get, it’s the way this has always worked. It’s not like you’ve got some kind of claim on me or anything.”

“But you’re not...”

“What, bi?”

It hung for a second, and then, as if stunned, Hannibal let go of his arm. Odd. Face hadn’t realized he was even still holding on until he did that, and then he noticed that the boss was backing off. Over to the opposite wall. Away from him. Fucking figured. Face sighed again. “Look, boss, I smell like bored billionaire and I’m fucked out. I’m going to take a shower and I’m going to go to sleep, and we can freak out about my sexuality in the morning.”

“Face, I don’t care about...”

“'Night, Hannibal,” Face said, hating himself for the desperation he heard in his own words, and palming the handle directly behind him, fled into the safety of the bathroom.

Once safely inside, Face hit the button long on the door handle and turned the shower on. He leaned forward over the sink, putting his elbows on the counter, running a hand through his hair. God, he was exhausted, and he thought he could see the faintest edge of bruising just above neckline.

“Fuck,” he finally groaned, and stripped off the jacket, the shirt, let it all fall away, pooling on the floor of the hotel bathroom. He hadn’t really been looking in the parking lot when he’d changed his shirt, and this was the first good look he’d gotten at himself since leaving Brian Donovan’s bed.

It looked bad.

Bruising along the top of his hipbones, a thin line of red that had already begun to scab over along the solar plexus, lovebites over his pecs that definitely could not have been made by a woman, and those were the worst, took weeks to fade properly... he sighed and looked himself in the eyes in the mirror. He had no idea what he was seeing there. Nothing good. And if he didn’t have Hannibal’s reassuring presence to anchor himself with, didn’t have that never-changing solidity in his life...

“You’re a fucking idiot, Peck,” he muttered to himself and started on his pants. He was already a little sore after the stillness of the drive back here, and it was only going to be worse in the morning if he didn’t...

“Jesus, kid.”

His eyes flicked up, towards the reflection of the door, and yup, there was Hannibal, standing there, half in the bathroom, mouth hanging open.

“What, I got anything on my back?”

“What the fuck were the two of you doing?”

“Brian Donovan doesn’t get his fingernails quite short enough. Don’t you just hate long fingernails on a guy?”

Hannibal moved the rest of the way into the room and slammed the door. “Kid, you didn’t have to do this.”

Face yawned. He couldn’t help it. “Don’t go there again, boss. We covered that already.”

“Face...”

And the conman had to turn to stop Hannibal from getting too close. He couldn’t handle that, not right now. “Hannibal, I need to shower.”

But the colonel didn’t move away. He dropped a hand to cover the bruises on Face’s hips, where Donovan’s fingers had been not an hour ago, soft and light, barely touching. He looked down at it and then up at Face, the steel blue of his eyes deepening somehow. “Is that what you need, kid?”

“Yeah, I stink.”

“Is that really, really what you need right now?”

“Hannibal,” and Face tried to tug his hand away. “What the fuck?”

The boss leaned in a little, an arm coming up, palm to mirror, trapping Face against the counter. His other hand was stroking that sore spot slowly. “Why’d you let somebody do this to you? Treat you like this?”

“Because you won’t...”

It slipped out, and Face wanted to die, right then, right there. He completely slumped against the counter, the thin edge hitting him in the ass, eyes down, absolutely unable to raise them, to meet the boss’ gaze, afraid of what he might find there.

Terrified.

“Won’t what, kid?”

His mouth suddenly went dry. No, no, not after all these years, not after all this time of nothing. He had to swallow a few times before he could get his voice to work. “Doesn’t matter. You’re straight, boss.”

“Tell me, Face.” And there it was, there was the command voice, deep, penetrating, cutting right through him. “I’d do anything for you, kid.”

A hand forced his chin up. Forced him to look. Forced him to see... what was that, exactly? What was that?

“The thought of you, off with other...fuck, kid, Temp...I love you, and this...”

The world was tilting. everything was where it wasn't supposed to be. What the fuck? What the fuck did Hannibal just say? "You... wait, what?"

"You're mine, goddamn it, don't you know that?"

Face hesitated, feeling the tension, feeling his tension, and stared straight at him. Now or never, Peck. "...prove it."

And everything sort of unraveled from there.

If Face was expecting, had been fantasizing, about some kind of explosion, that’s not what he got. Nothing like the violence of earlier in the evening, like the pain and the force and the struggle. There was no need for any of that. Both of them already knew what the pecking order here was, who the alpha was, who was offering and who was accepting...

“Mine,” Hannibal growled in Face’s ear, kissing his cheek and sliding his hands back around the younger man’s back, cupping his ass and pulling him close. “Mine.”

Face shivered as those lips found his, sealing over his, drawing him in and opening him up, hard and fast and possessive and so, so unlike the last parting kiss with Donovan. That was all about dominance. This, this was reassurance. Wasn’t it? Suddenly panicking over that single little thought, Face tried to pull back, but there was a hand in his hair, crushing their mouths together, tongue thrusting in, seeking out every little corner, chasing every little gasp.

Flopping a hand, Face caught up Hannibal’s hand and ran it down his own thigh, getting the older man to understand, to grab and lift, helping him get tired muscles wrapped up around that waist, those hips that were already starting to thrust against his own in an ever-quickening rhythm. He got his other leg up on his own, and Hannibal lunged them both forward, Face’s ass coming up and over the counter with a hard bump. His head hit the mirror, groaning.

Hannibal broke the kiss, his eyes wide and dark with arousal, lips swollen, skin flushed, beautiful, Face thought, and smiled, ran a hand through that silvery hair as the boss searched him for any signs of discomfort. Face just wriggled his hips into Hannibal’s, feeling hard flesh under those jeans, his own length rubbing against it through the fabric.

The boss leaned forward and bit his lip a little before smirking, asking, “open me up, Temp.”

Face’s fingers found the button, the zipper of his fly, reacting before he could think about it, and when Hannibal’s cock sprang free, smacking against the soft fabric of his t-shirt, Face was glad he’d already been stretched.

“Oh, god, boss,” he muttered as those hands dropped to his ass, ran around his waist a few more times, and he lifted a little as Hannibal stripped the suit trousers off. He kicked off his shoes, and his socked feet wrapped into the inside of Hannibal’s knees as he was dragged forward, just to the edge of the counter, almost falling off, help up by that impossible strength of the boss’ grip, somehow too soft to bruise.

“Temp... I...”

“Straight in, just go straight in, dammit,” he moaned. “Good to go after earlier...”

And whatever that hesitation was, remaining in Hannibal, whether it was not wanting to hurt his lieutenant or never having done this before or whatever, was gone as the boss surged forward and jammed Face down and almost missed but didn’t, and slid home in one long, hard burn, biting down on Face’s shoulder, not quite hard enough to break the skin.

“Fuck!” Face practically shouted, throwing his head back again, scrambling for purchase against the slippery laminate of the counter.

Hannibal smirked at him, and brushed a light kiss across his mouth. “Fucking beautiful, Templeton,” he said in a shaking voice. “Tight and hot...”

“Should have felt me before,” Face moaned, and that earned him a slap, and the first thrust of Hannibal’s hips and with that, he was totally lost. He was still open from earlier, loose and easy, no pain from Hannibal’s huge cock as it drove in deeper and harder than Donovan’s, right into his heart, sweet, just this side of rough, as the older man's control started to give.

And god, it had been a long time since he’d taken anybody bareback, forgotten the friction, the way skin felt, no homogenized latex. The tightness abated as his muscles relaxed around it all, the first nudge against his prostate more intense than it had been in years, a scream ripped loose from his throat, vision whiting out, and as Hannibal started catching that angle again and again, Face caught words.

"...fucking perfect, Temp...nobody else... don't need...anybody else...you know who you belong to..."

"I know..." he managed, and Hannibal smiled broader. Pistoned in deeper.

Face wasn’t sure how long it went on for, the pressure, the slide, the heat, Hannibal’s hands driving him down on every upthrust, controlling the rhythm, controlling everything, before Face felt the rush, deep inside, flowing out of Hannibal, into him, filling him, all those hollow little empty spaces from before, all the places that had always been cold, warm and singing...

A hand pushed sweaty hair from his forehead, and soft lips on the cleared space brought him back to reality. “Hey.”

He cracked his eyes, melting into those strong arms around him. “Hey.”

“I, uh, I didn’t know men could, ah, you know, from, without...”

Face looked down at the mess on his stomach, the stain on the boss’ shirt. He hadn’t even noticed his own orgasm. Too focused on Hannibal’s or something, he figured, and shrugged it off. “Sometimes. So, you really haven’t done this before?”

“It’s been awhile. But it never like that.,” he said, and there was another light kiss. Telling him was okay, silencing all the protests raging up in his mind about how Hannibal was just being charitable, just wanting to take care of one of his men, how he was just putting his lieutenant on notice about the rules... but no, no, Hannibal meant it, and Face felt something warm spread through his entire body, tingling and good, at the thought.

Hannibal wanted him.

“Yeah,” Face sighed, and caught the boss up in a deeper kiss now, languid and slow and sweet, edging forward, hands catching into silver hair, lower, palms tracing patterns on his skin, and then it was gone. He whimpered in protest, and Hannibal chuckled.

“Don’t know about you, kid, but I’m cramping up.”

Oh, oh, that. Right. “Go ahead,” he said, and when Hannibal slipped out, Face felt that empty sensation again, and he couldn’t stand that, not right now. He lunged forward, clung tighter, holding onto Hannibal as he eased off the counter, as those hands helped lower his feet down to the floor...

... where his knees gave out almost instantly.

“Shh, I got you, kid,” Hannibal said, and Face felt himself being lifted. He let Hannibal wrap his legs back around him and walk them both back into the main little room, drop him down on the bed. Exhaustion was ghosting over his thoughts now, making it hard to register anything as Hannibal tucked him into what he realized was his own bed, and blind, he grabbed out. Met Hannibal’s wrist and didn’t let go.

“Where you going, John?”

The mattress dipped as Hannibal sat down next to him, laying a hand on his blanketed hip. “You have to tell me what you want, kid.”

“Hannibal, this, this isn’t about showing me who’s boss and moving off, is it?” Face asked, fighting off sleep and reaching up for a shoulder, an ear, anything. He missed, hand going wide, but Hannibal seemed to get the point and leaned down over him, close enough to touch. Face settled with running both hands under the hem of Hannibal’s t-shirt. “Nothing has to change, you and me and the team and the way things work...”

“Changes everything, kid.”

“It changes nothing,” he insisted, sitting up a little, the blanket falling to his waist. “Everything’s the same, except together, you know, I, I’ve always...”

A shudder ran through the older man, and he might have blushed. Hard to tell in this light. “Yeah, kid, I think I know what you mean.”

Face’s hand pushed a little higher, and the t-shirt was gone, that flat, furred chest next to his, on his for the first time, Hannibal sliding his undone jeans off and away, knees pinning his thighs down through the blanket, smiling down at him.

“It’s always been here.”

“Yeah.”

“You ever do anything like that again...”

“That an order, boss?”

“Yes, lieutenant,” and Face shivered at the rumble of those words against his own ribs, “that’s a fucking order.”

He smiled up at his commander, tugged him down until their mouths were almost touching. “No problem, sir. If you stay. Otherwise I might get lonely...”

“Brat,” Hannibal said, thick with affection, and how, when he slid in, under the covers and next to Face, holding him close, the lieutenant wasn’t aware of it until the next morning when he woke, morning wood nudging his ass, and he smiled to himself.

Wondering how much persuasion the boss would need to stake his claim again.