All Things Considered Part One

[sonora_coneja]

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

(I thought of this while walking my dogs at 4:30 this morning. It was cold and quiet and....it just appeared.)

Anyway, it's Xmas, everyone's lonely. Face is stuck as a driver for some other officer because he's such a fuck up. Hannibal sees him for the first time waiting outside the Officer's club, takes him off somewhere warm and seduces him.

Both of them find it's more than just lonely guys making each other feel better and the next day both of them set out to get back together. Face to scam his way into being assigned to Hannibal, and Hannibal planning to get Face away from the other officer.

Hoping for some hookup sex turning into more, and for them discovering, and loving, the smart, sneaky devil in each other too.

Long prompt. That's what two hour dog walks do to me. sorry.

Major Smith gets kicked out of the O-Club for smoking, and who else is over by the smoke pit but one very, very lonely Lieutenant Peck... I gotta warn you, it gets a little schmaltzy



Two months on station at Fort Lewis and Major Hannibal Smith wasn’t a huge fan of the base commander.

After all, it took a special kind of jackass to hold the base Christmas party the day before Christmas leave started. And demand the entire base leadership come, no excuses accepted. And ban smoking in the O-Club. And put the smoke pit clear across the street, over by the DV parking lot.

This all occurred to Hannibal as he was walking over towards the little cluster of tables, smoldering cuban in hand. It was dark and it was cold and in his anger, he’d forgotten his uniform overcoat at the coat check and mess dress was virtually useless in weather like this. The Officers’ Club party planner had asked him to leave in no uncertain terms, one of those civilians who jealously protected her own little corner of the sky, and somehow had the authority to throw a fucking field-grade officer out of a commander’s event.

Still, he sure as fuck wasn’t going to waste the cigar now that it was already lit, and he wasn’t all that eager to go back inside. He was one of the only officers here by himself, the only one who wouldn’t have been able to bring a date even if there had been someone to bring...

“Not up for the mandatory fun?”

In the harsh light off the parking lot beyond the smoke pit, Hannibal noticed a uniformed figure lounging against the hood of a white-topped Chrystler parked haphazardly in a prime space, a red little sign in the corner of the windshield with one big, white star on it.

Base commander’s car.

Base commander’s driver.

“Evidently one cannot have fun in a bar anymore,” Hannibal commented, and took an illustrative drag on the cigar as he settled down on one of the little tables. Blew out a smoke ring. “So why stay?”

“Yeah, the jackass who runs this place is kind of anal about stuff like that, thinks of smoking as a mortal sin,” the other man agreed, his voice low and sad and angry, and something about it cut right to the bone. Other details were a little muddled, the light all weird and fucking with his night vision.

“You’ve met the civilian lady...”

“Oh, no,” and the voice sounded a little embarrassed just then, stumbling over the words, “I was talking about the general. Bad on me, I just sort of hate...oh, fuck, sir, sorry...”

Curious now, Hannibal stepped into the pool of light next to the white-top, eyes adjusting. The driver was half-sitting on the hood, slender and hunched over a stainless steel thermos, tie loosened, top button on the green shirt popped and jacket undone, gloves in his service-As, beret next to him... totally out of uniform. Obviously shivering. He looked miserable.

Lieutenant bars on his shoulders, dull gold in the night.

Hannibal felt something pull in his chest, hard and fast.

He might have been relatively new here, but this was bizarre. The base execs were inside, he remembered, and he didn’t remember ever seeing this young man up in the command section in any position. So what the hell was an officer doing as a driver?

“You always talk to ranking officers like that, el-tee?” he asked, probably a little harsher than he’d meant to, because the lieutenant jerked up as if slapped.

“Sorry, sir,” he said, trying to straighten up, grabbing for his beret and dropping it, tongue slurring against the cold. “Didn’t realize.”

Hannibal took another relaxing, delicious pull on the cuban and considered the situation. Considered this young man. There was something about him, the way he was standing, the wary fascination there, the possible interest... but Hannibal knew what he was thinking. No good, that.

“Don’t worry, lieutenant,” he said, deliberately softer now and leaned up against the door, right next to him. Close enough to take in close-shorn caramel hair, hooded blue eyes, sculpted cheekbone, and the major tried not to groan. It had been far, far too long, and it seemed like the younger man was... possibly... but... could anybody blame him, really? Boy like this? “I’m not much of one for reporting up the stupid shit junior officers say.” That expression narrowed and Hannibal smiled. Picked the fallen beret and put it back on the hood, right where it had been before. “Especially not when it’s true.”

The lieutenant stared at him for a moment, and then cracked up laughing.

“What?” Hannibal asked.

“Anybody else would have been yelling at me by now for being out of regs...” It was supposed to be funny, judging from the way the lieutenant said it, but there was an undercurrent of pain there. That, Hannibal understood. Desperation. Loneliness. And how did that make any sense? The young man was beautiful...

“Get yelled at a lot?”

There was a long pause, which told Hannibal more than the actual answer itself, when it finally came. “Something like that, sir.”

“It’s Hannibal,” the major said, smiling again.

“Peck,” the younger man replied guardedly.

“You want to go get some coffee? Warm up?”

He fidgeted a little, hesitating. “The general...”

“I’ll take care of it,” Hannibal promised, brandishing his cell phone.

"Why..."

“Jesus, kid, you look like you’re freezing.”

And then that grin, a fragile thing on chapped lips, one that Hannibal knew could shatter apart at any moment with the slightest provocation, grew a little wider.

He made the call. Wasn't hard to get one of his sergeants to come fill in for the lieutenant. Way things were after those parties, the general would probably be too drunk to remember who the hell drove him home in the morning.

His real problem, then, was what to do with Peck.

It was Seattle, goddamn it, and there were no shortage of twenty-four-hour coffee shops around to choose from. Hannibal had a couple of favorites, not far from his neighborhood, and was trying to figure out which one was better when, out of the corner of his eye, he saw the lieutenant take his gloves off, reach a hand out towards him, almost touching, and pull it back just as fast, look away.

The little gesture tore at him in a way he couldn’t put words to, and Hannibal found himself pulling into the carport of his own small house before he really knew what he was doing, figuring it would be okay. The young man raised an eyebrow, and Hannibal shrugged. The lieutenant smiled ruefully, and followed him in.

Hannibal dropped his navy-blue mess jacket on the sofa on his way in to the kitchen. The damn thing was bristling with so many fucking decorations at this point that it made him feel lopsided, uneven, off-balance. Tossed the bowtie next to it, thumbed the suspenders off his shoulders to hang around his waist. He left the cummerbund on over the top of that. He knew how looked, how he looked like that, and he caught the lieutenant staring at him. He winked, wanted to say something clever...

But the lieutenant paused at the jacket, fingering one of the the little medals. “Silver Star, sir?”

“It’s Hannibal, Peck. And that was Desert Storm,” he replied offhandedly, remembering that mission, wishing he could forget. “Decaf or regular? I don’t have creamer...”

“Fuck that,” the kid replied, dropping himself down in a stool at the counter. “It’s better black.”

“Look, lieutenant, I don’t want to give you the wrong impression...” Hannibal began, and swallowed. In the light, like this, inside and thawing out now, cold red draining from his cheeks, the young man wasn’t beautiful. He was fucking perfect, and he felt that old heat start spreading through him. “You just look like you’re dealing with some shit right now. And I’m guessing driving General Jackass isn’t helping.”

Peck laughed, combed a hand through regulation blond hair, tried to lock away all the pain Hannibal had seen earlier. Missed a little around the edges. “Sir, you’ve probably got better things to do than deal with some fuck-up el-tee...”

The major waved a hand. “Does it look like I’ve got anything better to worry about right now?” And it wasn’t until he said it that he realized how pathetic that must have sounded, how pathetic it felt.

“Yeah, well, no wedding ring, no photos up of girls...” the lieutenant said, and kind of trailed off. Squirmed a little on the stool, elbows on the laminate countertop. “Sir, look, I...”

“There’s no imposition, kid.” Hannibal went over, unable to hold himself back at those needy little words, and ran both his hands down the heavy, cheap green wool of the service jacket, pressing himself full against Peck’s back. “It’s the holidays, kid,” he murmured right against that flawless neck, raising goosebumps, “and you still look like you’re freezing...”

The lieutenant twisted around a little, enough to look up at the major, and blinked a few times as Hannibal started stroking across the back of the kid’s right hand, played with the pulse point of his left wrist. Peck smiled at that, real and genuine.

“You look as cold as I do, sir.”

And Hannibal spun the stool around.

+++++

They didn’t kiss.

Hannibal liked kissing, loved kissing, actually, but it was never right on these random hook-ups, no matter how much he might need it. He satisfied himself instead with the kid’s jaw, his neck, soft bites trailing across the night-cold skin above the uniform, relishing the feel of the first little shudder, and the next, and the next, from the lingering chill or from himself, he didn’t know. He wrapped an arm around the lieutenant’s ribs, under the jacket, along his heart, feeling the beat increase, and yanked a little on that loose tie with his other hand.

Peck slipped off the stool, easy and graceful, head thrown back just a little as Hannibal dove back in. Their shoes knocked and the kid let himself be pulled down the short hallway, into the bedroom, that smile gone, replaced with something different, something more concentrated, somehow. Too passive.

He’d seen this kind of nervousness before, but the young man was definitely on a knife-edge with himself. Fuck, at least it wasn’t a sergeant this time, and Hannibal ran a hand down the kid’s ass, groaning a little at the promise in the standard-issue trousers. “You’re thinking too much,” he whispered. “It’s okay, nobody’s gonna know. Just let it go, kid...”

Against him, he felt a low, breathy little moan and Hannibal pulled Peck in closer, trapping their erections between them and backing him up against the nearest wall. “Oh, fuck, sir...”

Hannibal thought about correcting the kid again, but something about the way he used the honorific went right through him and he grinned against the younger man’s neck. Undid that tie and shoved the jacket off. Started with his shirt buttons, following each by pressing warm lips to newly exposed skin, chasing heat, keeping as much friction, as much contact between them as possible. He suspected the other man needed it as much as he did. God, a warm body in his arms again, after all this time... “What do you like, kid?” he asked, fully aware of how his voice was dropping, forcing it just a little, knowing how much it affected the men he slept with. “How do you want it?”

Getting no response but another shudder, he tugged the shirt up and out, pushing it off broad shoulders, noting a tattoo but not really looking at it. Other things to do. “Easy and soft, on your back with a leg up around my waist, slow and sweet...” He laved one of the kid’s nipples, hard enough to cut glass, drawing out a little whimper. “Fast and hard, begging for it, spread open and drawn out...” and he bit down, not too hard, and the kid moaned, loud and unashamed, but when he looked up, there was a flush spreading across tanned skin, all the way down his neck, across his collarbones. “What do you need, Peck?”

“Hannibal...” the lieutenant muttered as he slowly threaded a hand up into the major’s hair. “I, I...”

That was as clear a signal as any. He nipped a line down the kid’s hard belly as he sank to his knees and undid Peck’s belt, slid his pants and briefs and shoes and socks off, revealing a perfect ass, a hard cock, dark and swollen. Hannibal glanced up. Those blue eyes were watching him intently, confusion flickering through them, and he brushed a hand down smooth thigh muscle. “Relax, lieutenant, that’s an order,” he growled, and licked a hot stripe down the underside of the kid’s length, swirling his tongue a little over the head, tasting precum.

He loved this, too.

So what if he had an oral fixation? He’d never gotten any complaints about it, and judging from the first little cry of pleasure, wasn’t likely to get any from Peck.

The kid bucked roughly, and Hannibal pinned him back against the wall with one hand, flat on his flat belly and took him in fully, moving up and down around that wonderful length. God, it had been far, far too long. Hands against his scalp, fingers digging, moans above him and as the kid’s hips began to thrust into his mouth, Hannibal needed no encouragement to go harder, feeling the tip bump the back of his throat, right against the gag reflex, that glorious little edge of fear, welcome and missed. And before long, there was that little clench, a flutter, a groan from the man above him, trying to tug him off. “Fuck, sir, I’m going to...”

Hannibal smiled mid-thrust, and his other hand came up to roll the younger man’s balls lightly, and he slipped back further, pressing a finger against that little spot, just behind. That did it, completely, and Peck went stiff, driving backwards into the wall as the major swallowed everything he had to offer.

Standing up, letting his fingers trail up all that bare skin, heating up wonderfully now, Hannibal had to catch Peck as his legs started wavering, still riding the aftershocks. “Take the edge off, lieutenant?” he teased, holding him and turning him around, half-carrying the younger man back towards the bed.

“...skin...” the kid muttered in response as they hit the sheets, wrapping himself around Hannibal’s body, pressing against every inch he could manage.

Touch-starved, Hannibal thought to himself, not sure if he was thinking about himself or Peck, but it didn’t matter. His cock was throbbing in ever-tightening pants and there was a kind of immediacy to this sort of thing anyway that didn't allow for introspection. “Good point, kid, my thoughts exactly,” he replied lightly and toed his shoes off. “But you’re going to have to let go for a minute.”

The arms around him let go immediately. "...sorry."

He tweaked a nipple and went for that soft skin right under the ear even as he pushed up, his hands starting on his buttons. "Stop apologizing this goddamn second, kid, and give me a hand."

Peck grinned, and clothes began flying.

When he was completely naked, Hannibal realized how cold the air in the room was. Probably forgot to turn the heater up before the party, he admonished himself, and pulled the lieutenant under the layers of sheets and blankets with him, all the way over their heads, feeling that first little shiver as he dug into the cold fabric, feeling it all warm faster than usual, another body there helping his out.

The kid pressed back into him, chest to chest, and touched now, touched for the first time that night, a flat, cold palm rubbing little circles against Hannibal’s hip, moving inward towards the major’s cock. “Can’t reciprocate under all this...” he began, and Hannibal just shook his head, stopping that cold.

“Don’t need to, kid,” he replied easily, and caught Peck’s teasing hand in his, positioned it over his own erection. He nearly came from that first little brush, the feel of someone else where it had only been himself for so, so long, and he had to take a deep, deep breath. “I can think of something better.”

“Oh?” and he couldn’t tell if it was a challenge or more of that annoying hesitation he heard in the kid’s voice. The hand was moving, though, growing bolder as the trapped air between heated up from hot breath, hot skin.

“Yeah.”

The kid’s breath hitched a little. “You’re, shit, you’re...”

Hannibal ran his fingers through the younger man’s hair. That, at least, was understandable. Wasn’t the first time he’d had somebody balk at his size. “It’ll feel great, you’ll feel great, I promise. Or we can stick with this, this is good too,” he added, as that hand with its faded callouses flicked in a particularly delicious way. “It’s your decision.”

“Can we just, this, right now...”

“Sure.”

He wrapped his arms back around Peck, resisting the urge to thrust into the light pressure of the other man’s hands, feeling him, feeling the lieutenant’s soft dick started swelling again against his leg, holding him, letting his hands play over the kid’s back, neck, arms, until he felt the nod against his chest.

“On your stomach, lieutenant,” he growled softly and rolled over, poking out of the cocoon of sheets, hand in his nightstand drawer, going for the lube he only used for himself, hoping like hell he had a condom or two in there. He hadn’t done this since before the move out here, and buying the damn things without good cuase was just fucking depressing...

Peck popped up next to him, propped up on his elbows, wriggled his ass a little under the covers and smiled back. Still fragile. What was that, exactly? “Find everything okay?”

Hannibal ignored the snark. This was mildly embarrassing. “Shit, kid, you got a rubber on you?”

The lieutenant bit his lip and looked away. How could this kid transition so quickly between this boldness, that vulnerability and back again? “Naw, don’t really carry them to military functions.”

“Why?” he asked, grabbing the lube anyway. “You don’t want to fuck somebody’s fat, cute wife?”

That earned him a laugh, and Hannibal laughed along as well, and didn’t let the kid turn back over. “Not taking you without a condom, kid. Sorry. Time for plan B,” he whispered. “You okay with that, Peck?”

“Mmpghh,” the kid grunted happily, and ground himself down into the mattress.

Hannibal threw the blankets off far enough to kneel up and over the lieutenant, straddling his thighs. He massaged a reassuring hand up the kid’s spine as he uncapped the lube and poured it straight down over him, letting it run into the younger man’s crack. “You good, Peck?” Hannibal asked, still keeping his voice low, a little more soothing now, and he drug a finger all the way down, neck to tailbone to perineum, slicking up, let the pad trace the edge of the kid’s entrance, and then back up, wrapping his hand around the kid’s shoulder, raising a full-body shudder.

Encouraged, the major shuffled up a little, bracing himself with his other hand, letting his cock slide right between the kid’s firm cheeks, fitting right into that groove, warm and tight. “This what you need, kid? This going to be okay?”

No words, but he was rewarded with an impossibly soft little sigh and took that as a good sign. Hannibal dragged himself down just a little, biting his lip at the sensation his of cock, trapped in the light pressure of the kid’s beautiful ass. “Mmm, kid, you feel so good...”

“Oh, shit, sir...”

“Spread out and begging,” he murmured, right into the kid’s ear, thrusting lightly again. “I knew it...”

“... please...”

The kid’s little plea grew, louder and needier, bright with arousal, sparking Hannibal’s nerves every bit as much as the slide, as the slick-sweet grip of the lieutenant’s ass around him, not quite what he would have preferred, but still so, so, good. Sweat beaded on his back, moans escaped him, his arm grew numb and shaky as he rolled his hips, harder and faster, jacking himself off against the younger man, savoring every little jerk and hitch beneath him until he was close himself, that familiar tighting in his stomach, so close...

And then the contact was gone, hands torn loose, something hard brushing over him instead of all that lovely squeeze. He groaned, and looked down at the lieutenant, who had turned over, lightning fast, and was staring up at him now, eyes blown wide, the thinnest rind of blue remaining, dick hard and leaking once again.

“Ah, to be young again,” Hannibal laughed, and dropped down to his elbow, positioning it so their cocks were touching, sliding a hand around from the kid’s back to his front, hand slicked with lube, gentle over Peck’s balls and grasping both their lengths in one big hand. “Move with me, lieutenant.”

The single little nod was all the encouragement the major needed. Squeezing and thrusting, the two of them somehow found some kind of rhythm, both of them grinding into Hannibal’s hand, and it wasn’t long, wasn’t long at all before the kid was spilling his second release of night, and Hannibal his first, sparks rushing through him, hot and bright to burst in the corners of his vision, a ridiculous amount of hot, sticky fluid rapidly cooling between them in the cool of the night as he thumped hard back to the bed and just lay there on his side, breathing hard, sated for the first time in the better part of a year, nothing in focus, everything right. The feel of another man’s semen in his belly, on his skin...

As he climbed out of it, nstinctively, Hannibal reached out for the lieutenant, expecting to find him but touching nothing but more of that cold air, stomach hollowing out for some bizarre reason at the discovery. Then a warm washcloth stroked down his cheek, chest, lower, wiping every trace of what they’d just done together. He could have slept in it...

“Hey, you okay, sir?” the lieutenant asked, sitting down and wiping the cloth over his inner thighs, over his spent cock. Hannibal reached out, and a quick palmful of that wonderous ass showed that the kid had cleaned himself up, too. No evidence. And why, exactly, Hannibal asked himself, did that make him so damn sad? He hated the way the stuff felt when it dried... “I think you passed out or something.”

“It’s been a while,” he admitted, and the lieutenant folded the cloth carefully in half, started down his chest against, after a few last little flecks.

“Yeah, “ the kid said, sad again, and Hannibal gripped a little tighter, pulled himself up so they were facing each other. “There was this captain, about a year ago, got drunk, didn’t tell me she had a boyfriend, you know the type, and pretty soon she’s screaming sexual assault to the fucking JAG...” and his gaze dropped, went slack. “... sorry, sir, you don’t need to be dealing with my bullshit, fuck, face, you fucking idiot...”

That was about the time Hannibal caught the kid’s tattoo. Parachute wings, lightning bolts... identical to his. A Ranger tag, a Ranger who didn’t have the badges on his uniform, and his heart suddenly broke for this young man. Before he really knew what he was doing, before he could think it through and tell himself it was a horrible idea, before he could remind himself of his own rules, he was right there, tangling both his hands into that too-short military hair, hair that might be beautiful in its natural state, like it was supposed to be, just like the man who owned it, and his lips were crushing down against the lieutenant’s, hard and bruising and electric and somehow right, somehow very fucking right.

It went on for a few seconds, the forced intimacy, and then Hannibal jerked back, out. Away. But the kid caught his wrist, held him there, looking at him, watching. It wasn’t anger there on the kid’s face, like the major had been expecting. “...sir?”

“Stop apologizing, kid. You’re fucking perfect...”

And then they were kissing again, deep and challenging, both of them striving for control, both men trying to devour the other, and it was really no contest at all, because Peck gave over and Hannibal held him, easing them both back down to the bed and under the sheets again, where everything dissolved into a warm, wonderfully warm, tangle of limbs and tongue and fingers and toes, a languid, sleepy caress. Hannibal wasn’t sure when the reality ended and the dream began, the kid’s solid body tucked against his as he slipped away, like it had always been there.

Like it always would be.

+++++

But in the morning, the kid wasn’t there.

Hannibal stretched out like he always did, trying to ignore morning wood and raging disappointment both. Of course the kid was gone. Made sense, didn’t it? He’d had one or two at the Club, probably interpreted it all wrong, misunderstood the kid’s interest...

But there was a pair of black dress coraframs on the floor by a pair of green uniform pants, so Peck hadn’t just up and left. He was still here, just not here. He growled a little and fished a pair of boxers out of a drawer, padded out of the room.

“You know, kid, you can just stick it in the microwave,” Hannibal said gently, leaning up against the edge of the counter, the lieutenant back in his briefs and one of Hannibal’s uniform PT shirts, fiddling a new filter and a pile of grounds into the coffee maker, the pot empty and washed out next to it.

“Working central heat, building codes, no weird sewer smells, fucking Nickleodeon on cable,” the kid said slowly and hit the brew button. “No thanks, Hannibal. We’re in civilization here. I like taking advantage of that. Fresh coffee.”

“So, you were able to get some missions in before the charges dropped?” he asked.

The kid turned around at that, the brittle smile on his face. “Naw, but I’ve been to spring break down in Cancun.”

“So, you never had a chance to...”

“Happened about a month after I got here,” he said in a tone of voice that clearly meant he didn’t want to talk about it. “So, uh, when’d he break up with you?”

“About nine months ago,” Hannibal said evenly, hoping his shock didn’t quite show on his face, and stared back at the lieutenant. Well, if he’d started it... “When was the last time you were with a man, Peck?”

“Face,” the kid said immediately.

“What?”

The lieutenant colored a little. “Face, Faceman. It’s, uh, it’s kind of like my call sign...”

It fit him, the name, those beautiful features, and Hannibal smirked at him. “Call signs? We aren’t the goddamn Air Force, Face, and I answered yours.”

“Yeah, about that...” and the lieutenant just sort of let it drop. “So, can I get a ride back to my place, or should I call a taxi or...”

“Relax, kid,” Hannibal said, slotting up next to the younger man, sides touching, and a head was laid on his shoulder. “I wasn’t criticizing. It was, you, you were...”

“You didn’t decorate for Christmas,” he said, and Hannibal realized he was going to have to let it drop completely.

He sighed. “Doesn’t seem much like the holidays when you’re by yourself. Why worry about it?”

“Tell me about it,” Face grumbled, and smiled as the coffee pot beeped. “Got anything to eat, major?”

“Waffles, eggs, orange juice, but who said I was feeding you, lieutenant?”

Face started trolling the cabinets for clean mugs. “Well, it’s a day off work and you don’t have a single string of Christmas lights up. Waffles? Those frozen?”

“I can do ‘em fresh, if you want. Egg whites, the whole nine yards...”

He completely lit up. “I want to wake up here every morning!”

Hannibal really had to resist the urge to kiss him again. Why had he gone and ruined perfectly good sex with that? But as he broke out the iron and the morning wore on, and they finished the fifth waffle between them and the coffee dwindled as they both got to talking and Hannibal started telling stories and Face made no further reference to leaving, Hannibal found himself noticing things. Like how the kid was sharp, real sharp. The sniper qualifications. All that passion, just bursting through the seams.

And maybe, just maybe, a Plan started forming in the back of his mind. Maybe.

+++++

Federal holidays being what they were, Hannibal still had to go into work that day. Christmas Eve was tomorrow. So he dropped the lieutenant off a block from his apartment, the feel of the kid’s hesitant fingers just under the collar of the uniform undershirt, the last little brush of lips against his cheek, the smell of all that warm, warm skin lingering in his senses long after he flashed his ID at the gate. There was something about that boy...

A stop at battalion command, a quick flirt with the civilian secretary who copied some files for him, and a visit to the Area Defense Council downstairs gave Hannibal all the information, all the documentation, all the leverage he needed. Let him be sure about how he could play an old friend, his current commander, into doing what needed to be done. Let him know enough to know that this could work. Would work.

Had to work.

“Hannibal... didn’t expect to see you in today.”

“Yeah, well, how you doing, Russ?”

The stout colonel spread his hand dramatically over his loaded desk, the overflowing inbox, and flashed Hannibal a smile. “You still coming over for dinner on Christmas? The wife’s trying to get a count, and you’re the only one I haven’t heard back from yet...”

“We need to talk, Russ.”

And that got the colonel’s attention. “You’ve got that look again, Hannibal, like the one you used to get back when you were a butterbar under me at Bragg and the boss was beating one of your soldiers up over stupid shit...”

“Yeah, well, it was my job to yell at them for being idiots, not his.”

“Always protective of your boys...” Morrison muttered and sighed. Set his reading glasses aside. Folded his hands. “Who is it?”

“Met a kid last night, young lieutenant, didn’t look much past twenty-three, Ranger, assigned to the base commander...”

Morrison groaned. “Fuck, you ran into Faceman Peck, didn’t you? How? I didn’t see him at the party.”

“He was outside by the smoke pit. With the damn whitetop,” Hannibal replied, his heart racing a little bit at the memory. That perfect body, spread out over the hood of the Chrystler, waiting for him, needing him... he tried to calm himself down before his blood started heating up, before he got flush or something. This was just a major, trying to help out a junior officer. That’s what this was. That’s all this could be.

“What’d he tell you?”

Hannibal leaned forward, wishing like hell he had a cigar, something, anything to play with. “The kid’s a goddamn Ranger, Russ. Half a million dollars of training on bitch duty...”

“Hannibal, please...”

“Fuck the money, then, Russ. He’s one of our own. How the fuck did he end up like this?”

“He tell you what he did?”

“He told me what he was accused of.”

“Sexual assault against a superior officer, Hannibal. It’s a serious offense. It’s all I could do to keep him from getting discharged over it.”

“Bullshit. Drunk woman regretting what she did the night before. That’s nothing criminal. Stupid of the kid, but hardly criminal.”

“You know how everything’s been since Tailhook. There was nothing I could do to protect him!”

“Did you try?”

Drumming his fingers on the desk, Morrison let that hang for a minute and shook his head. Snorted a little. “General Wyland’s a hard-ass, John. You want to take him on? Slit your own throat before you get a chance to establish yourself here? I can’t do that, I can’t let you do that, not for some fuck-up el-tee who...”

“General Wyland made him take the devices off his uniform. Some jackass Redhorse engineer made a Ranger strip himself,” Hannibal said, going for it. “It’s all here. Abuse of authority, illegal punishment.“ Enough to get the kid back under their control, if he could get Morrison to play it right. “We can help this kid. Get him back where he belongs.

And Morrison took the bait.

“What do you need from me?”

Hannibal dumped a folder down on the desk, and Morrison sighed again, going for the Johnny Walker he had stashed away under his desk. He pulled out the decanter, and then paused. “I’m assuming you don’t want to wait until after the holidays.”

“Jesus, Russ.”

“You’re right.” The colonel put the stopper back in, and grinned. “Let’s go ambush the bastard at lunch.”

+++++

Hannibal hadn’t been able to find a phone number for the kid, but his address was fairly easy to locate. Another visit to that lady up in the command office, who’d agreed to come in on Christmas Eve to get him the info. She’d had to unlock the building. Said she didn’t mind in the slightest.

“I’m glad you’re doing something for that boy,” she declared, scrawling fat letters across the sticky note. “Sweet young man, quite a brain on him, deserves better than what Wyland throws at him.”

Hannibal was eying the fake Christmas tree with its ridiculous amount of tinsel set up in a corner, the garlands and candles and candy canes and snowflakes and everything else the girls up here had decorated with. Wondering if he could ever repair the relationship he’d lost with his own sister during the whole post-Bosnia debacle. If he’d ever be welcome at her house again. Shit, it was too expensive to fly back to Virginia anyway, and he’d learned a long time ago that Christmas was just another goddamn day on the calendar.

“Well, nothing’s solid yet. I just wanted to let him know we were trying.”

“Oh, about that...” and she winked at him, and held up a hand, urging him to wait as she turned her computer on. “I’m probably shouldn’t be showing you this, but something did come down through the workflow box in regards to all that.”

“Yesterday?”

“No, today.” She grinned at him. “I may have more than just my own email account loaded on my home computer.”

Hannibal grinned back. Oh, here was a secretary definitely worth keeping in his back pocket. “Don’t get fired for me.”

She grabbed a folder and started sifting through Outlook, sending a few attachments to the printer. “It’s Christmas, isn’t it?”

"Yeah, that it is," he nodded, hoping she didn't catch the little hitch in his voice.

+++++

Hannibal found himself at the door of the lieutenant’s small little apartment, folder at the ready, hand paused and waiting to knock, wondering if he should, trying to ignore the flutter in his stomach, trying to prime himself for this.

But the door jerked open just then, saving him the trouble, and he found himself staring down into a pair of bright blue eyes.

“Major Smith?”

Hannibal couldn’t help the faint smile, the small shiver, that ran through him at hearing that voice again. “It’s Hannibal, kid, remember?”

“Right. Sorry.”

“Stop apologizing, kid.”

That beautiful face split into a wane smirk. “Sorry about that, sir.”

Hannibal laughed a little, taking in the young man in front of him, kind of hanging off the cracked door. Shorts and gloves and a light sweatshirt, earphones hanging down around his neck, music on but only the bass registering through the tiny plugs. There was one of those awkward pauses where Face shuffled his feet a little and Hannibal let his head hit his hand against the doorjam and completely forgot about the folder, why he’d come here, soaking in the sights.

Face finally broke. “You, uh, you need something there, major?”

“Yeah, actually, um,” and he waved the folder, feeling slightly idiotic. Fuck, he barely knew this kid. “Can I...”

Face moved out of the way, silent, and Hannibal figured that was good enough. The place was a tiny little studio, decent and clean, but mostly empty, just a short little sofa and a table with a set of chairs, a twin bed shoved in a corner and a rudimentary TV against the wall. Supplements all over the kitchen counter. No photos. It was the apartment of somebody who lived alone, who spent a lot of time out and never brought anybody home. “You didn’t decorate either, Face.”

“What’d you need?”

He cleared his throat and smiled, trying not to think about how gorgeous this kid had been, writhing beneath him, pleading... no, he was here as an officer, and handed over the folder. “Colonel Morrison and I had a little chat with General Jackass...” and that got a laugh out of the lieutenant, loosening up Hannibal thought, and smiled a little more, “...and he agreed that it be in everybody’s best interest if you were moved back at the Second. Paperwork’s getting pushed with the personnel grunts, should clear next week...”

“The Ranger battalion?”

“Yeah, kid, back where you belong. Chance to...”

“Under your command?”

“I’ve already requested it. Colonel Morrison and I go way back. I’m sure it’ll...”

But Hannibal didn’t get a chance to finish, because his arms were full of one Lieutenant Peck, and it scarcely mattered because just like the other night, he couldn’t stop himself.

And he didn't want to.

Hannibal grunted as the wind was knocked out of him and he stumbled back a little under the force of the kid’s forward surge that brought both his legs up around the older man’s waist, fingers tangling around Hannibal’s neck. “Easy,” he murmured as the kid’s lips collided with his, and he grabbed a handful of hair with one hand, tugging him back a little as he tried to adjust. “Take it easy, Face.”

“Don’t wanna,” the lieutenant replied in a low voice, full of amazement. “You...how’d you manage...” and then his lips were back, words gone, and Hannibal figured what the hell and slipped his tongue into that soft, wet heat.

Face groaned and opened up around him, opened up to him, and the kiss got harder with every little brush of teeth, with every little push of, seeking deeper and deeper, mapping each little groan, discreet whimper, twinge of muscle. The kid’s gloves hit the floor and cold, clean hands tickled down Hannibal’s neck. The boss shuddered at the sensation and turned them around, pushing the lithe body in his arms higher up, hand tracing against the hard underside of a thigh, the fly of his jeans rubbing over the smooth mesh of those athletic shorts, and both men groaned.

Somehow, Hannibal got them both over to that narrow bed and dropped Face down and crawled up next to him, breaking the kiss, coming up for air, turning over on his side and stroking a line down the kid’s stomach, grabbing the bottom of the inconvenient sweatshirt. “You don’t have to do anything for me, kid. Need you to understand that...”

“You telling me you did this just for the hell of it?”

Hannibal pushed himself up on one elbow and, pressing down against the lieutenant’s flat belly, stole another quick kiss. “Yes. Even if it never happened again, I'd do it for you.”

The effect was interesting. The kid rolled over on his side, same as Hannibal, gazing at the same direction, the sudden silence, the disconnect.

“...kid?”

“I thought you wanted...”

And Hannibal knew that tone. He ran an easy hand down Face’s cheek, turned his head at the same time he pressed the kid’s body back against his, twining their legs together. “If this is just about you getting out from under that bastard, I’d understand... and I’ll leave.” Face started to protest, babbling nonsense, and Hannibal smiled into another light kiss. “But kid, this was nothing like that. I'm not here to take, you understand? But I just, I just wanted to give you...”

“A second chance?” And Face’s brittle, sad smile was back, honest in its grief, and how did a man this young have so much behind that? “Ain’t no such thing in the Army, Hannibal...”

“... give you everything,” Hannibal admitted, burying his nose in that soft, short hair, breathing in the scent he found there. Intoxicating. “I want to give you everything, if you’ll let me...”

Face turned again, chest to chest this time and tight on his narrow bed, fully clothed and somehow utterly naked. “Why?” he asked, and his blue eyes were full of confusion.

Hannibal ran a tongue along his lower lip, tasted the kid there still. Heady. Delicious. He wanted more. Needed more. “Because it’s Christmas and you don’t have so much as a string of lights up,” Hannibal joked, light and serious and almost pleading, he realized.

Face swallowed, nodded, and tried to look away. “I’ve never done this before, with a guy, you know, all the way...”

The major felt a thrill spark down his spine at the little admission, at the prospect of being the one to introduce this boy to all the pleasure his body could bring him, and he captured that mouth again, fast and possessive, stroked his hand down the kid’s thigh and urged that leg up and over his own hip. Let the kid buck up against him at the added contact. “First step,” he gasped against the stubble of Face’s jaw, “we both need to get naked.”

“I think I got that part, boss, from the other night...” the kid muttered, and a blush colored in the rim of his cheekbones

Another little thrill. “Oh,” Hannibal practically purred, rolling them both over and urging the other leg up around his waist, just like before, horizontal instead of vertical but just as good. He planted his hands on either side of the kid’s head and nuzzled into his neck, earning a soft little cry. “Why don’t you let me take point on this? As your boss and all?”

Face was struggling to breath as Hannibal nipped at his neck. So responsive, even now, and the kid's hands flopped uselessly on the thin blanket as he batted them away. "Show... oh, fuck!... show me what you expect of men in your unit?"

He pulled back, and searched those eyes for any sign of hesitation, but there was only arousal, genuine and sweet arousal and need, and Hannibal realized he'd never be able to deny him anything. He smiled. "No. How about what you, just you, can expect from your new commanding officer?"

Judging from the pure, unadulterated moan of lust let loose beneath him, Face was good with that.

Hannibal didn’t want to rush this for the kid, even though his hands were sweating, his pulse racing in his ears as he moved into a slow, easy kiss. He wanted it so badly, to feel that slide of skin on skin, a heartbeat against his, hands that weren’t his, unpredictable, something he couldn’t control. And this kid felt so good against him the night before last, like he belonged there, like they just fit together. It deserved, he deserved, a good first go.

Clothes came off, the sweatshirt and the tank underneath it, his own jacket and shirt shucked and tossed away, shorts and jeans and briefs following, socks gone, nothing between them but Hannibal’s dog tags, dangling off his neck and onto Face’s chest.

The kid grinned up at him as his erection was freed, none of that first-time fear showing in his face, but the major could still feel it. He ran a reassuring hand across the flat, toned stomach below him, keeping his weight on his knees. “First thing, never hide anything from me. Never lie to me. You get one strike with lying. You can tell me anything...”

Those blue eyes closed. “I’m fine...”

“You want that to be your one strike, kid?” Hannibal growled, biting his jaw, and Face gasped.

“... little nervous, sir.”

“See that?” Hannibal asked, noting how the kid started relaxing at the sound of his voice, realizing he was going to have to talk his way through this, like the other night, and how in the fuck had the kid been so calm then, if he was like this now? Was he really that alone here? “That kind of honesty’s what keeps men alive in the field, kid...” He rolled his hips, once, twice, setting a light pace, and the lieutenant moaned at the pressure, the friction. Hannibal had to bite back his own little whimper of pleasure himself. God, this felt good. “...what creates the trust, the bond that gets you through anything. You’re going to need that, working for me...”

“Roger that, sir...”

Hannibal reached between them, wrapped one big hand around the younger man’s cock, stroking softly, drawing out more of those delicious little moans. “You want it like the other night?”

The kid’s face colored slightly. “Umm, I, uh, I want you...”

Hannibal wanted to smack himself. “I wasn’t thinking about this being the result of the evening.”

And Peck did this little thing with his hips and he was up, leaving Hannibal alone on the narrow bed, wondering which martial art the lieutenant was partial to, doing something like that. “Hey, Templeton.”

That beautiful ass was facing him, the kid knelt down by a trunk in the corner, one of those issued things from West Point, and Hannibal felt his cock twitch, watching those hips wriggle as he stood up, came back over. “I, uh, I got you something for Christmas. I was going to bring it by later, but you’re here, so...” Face said, holding out a little box wrapped in red tissue paper, little gold bow practically the size of the box itself, puffed out from the top a little more than it should have been from a flat surface. Box, something taped to it, Hannibal thought, and wondered when the last time the kid had given anything meaningful to anyone. Shit, didn’t he at least have family somewhere? “Figured, you know, you’re the first person I’ve really met here...”

Hannibal pulled him back down on the bed and held him in close, flush to his side, wanting nothing more than to kiss away all that agony he heard there, wash out that undercurrent of pain from this boy, vulnerable when he likely could have been smiling and smug. Open, because Hannibal has asked him to be open, bleeding because of it.

One of those kids who came in, looking for something to dedicate themselves to, looking for purpose, for meaning, for distinction, too often disappointed these days. No more, he promised himself. He’d never let that happen to his boy again...

“I didn’t get you anything.”

Face ran a tentative hand down the major’s spine, fingernails soft. “Just open it.”

Hannibal handed the bow to the lieutenant, tore the paper off gently, balled it up and tossed it away. And with a deep flare that passed through him, the sheer magnitude of this present, the major couldn’t do anything but stare.

Packet of lube taped to a box of condoms.

Dear god, was the kid actually offering...

Face shifted a little, like he was trying to get away. “Wasn’t exactly the reaction I was going for...”

“Stop that,” Hannibal said, and squeezed that warm body next to his own. “Nice, kid. Extra large?”

“I figured, you know, you might need it,” Face replied, relieved, glancing meaningfully at Hannibal’s not insignificant erection.

“Proactive, interpretive, imaginative, anticipatory,” Hannibal said, laughing now at the cleverness of the thing. Not a sign, then, at least, not one that ran as deep as it might. Not that, not yet. But in the meantime, he'd show the kid everything, he promised himself, show him everything they could have together... “I like it.”

Face raised an eyebrow, the grin broadening. “I’m real good at getting things, boss.”

Something about the way Face said it went straight to his groin, and Hannibal gently peeled the little foil packet off the top of his gift, and tossed the kid the box. “Why don’t you start with getting one of those out of the wrapper?” he said, and pressed his lips behind the kid’s ear, dropping his voice. “So I can give you your Christmas present?”

That full body shudder. The way he didn’t resist at all as he was pressed back to the mattress. How he sort of drew his knees up, just a little. The hard, soundless breath as their fingers brushed, as he took the condom and rolled it on and ripped open the packet of lube, emptying it onto his fingers, his cock. The thin rim of blue, watching as Hannibal settled himself between his legs. The first arch, as the first slick finger pressed that spot behind his balls, circled his rose, orbiting, and the kid whined high in his throat.

Oh yeah, definitely responsive.

“You ready, Temp?” he asked, shortening the kid’s first name, the one he’d seen on the paperwork, and he decided he loved the way it rolled off the tongue. But all he got in response was a groan and Hannibal dropped his ear to Face’s mouth. “Didn’t hear you there.”

A tongue darted out and caught the edge of his lobe. “Want my present, sir,” came the breathy little plea. Hannibal smirked and slid in up to the knuckle. “Oh, fuck...”

“That’s the general idea.”

“So... not funny... fuck!”

Hannibal laughed, twisting and hitting that little pleasure nub, deep inside. “How’s that?”

“... good...”

“Good,” Hannibal murmured back. “Think you can take a second?”

It was slow going. Face had to be telling the truth about the whole never-fucked before thing; kid was tight, far too tight to take anybody, least of all him. But at least the lieutenant seemed to be enjoying it, the way they were both sweating, the scissoring thrusts of two, then three fingers, the sensation of muscle being coaxed loose, Hannibal’s soft nonsense reassurances, telling the kid how beautiful he was, how wanted, how he’d never be alone again. The kid already looked thoroughly fucked by the time Hannibal pulled free and repositioned them both around each other, tapping the backs of Face’s knees.

“Legs up,” he said, and guided the kid’s knees up, to rest of his shoulders. He pressed a soft kiss to the delicate skin on inside of a thigh. “Ready?”

“For you? No prob.”

And the way he said it just melted Hannibal’s heart, even if that wasn’t how the younger man had meant it. “Spread and begging,” he murmured back, smoothing down the skin he could reach, and then there it was, the head of his cock just inside. And he nearly came, right there.

Face whimpered a little, involuntary and low, but flashed Hannibal another of those beautiful smiles, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes. The major went slow, controlling the penetration, nearly out of his mind with need right now and hanging on to his self control by only the barest margin. He gritted his teeth as he slowly sank in, the impossible tightness of that virginal passage tensing and fluttering around him, and he didn’t dare go all the way in. He held himself still for a moment.

“Temp?”

“Yeah, boss?”

“I’m going to move now.”

The kid’s eye rolled back in his head and he nodded slightly, squirming a little at what must have been an unfamiliar burn, the sense of being split in half, and then whimpered again as Hannibal slid out, and then back in, out and in, wanting to find a rhythm with his hands and with his cock. Show the kid how this worked. How this was going to be between them.

But they were both too close for anything like that, Hannibal sweating with effort, the kid lost in some half state between pleasure and pain, and it was only a minute or so, maybe less, less than a dozen shallow thrusts, before his own orgasm rushed up through him from his toes, rattling loose all his thoughts, all awareness of anything beyond this right here, before he felt the splash of Face’s release up his chest, before time just stopped, and let them get off.

Face slipped his legs down, bonless, and Hannibal collapsed off the kid, very nearly rolling off the bed before wiry fingers caught him and feet locked around him and between the two of them, they somehow managed to situate themselves on the narrow mattress. It involved Face basically wrapping himself around his new commanding officer, something Hannibal didn’t mind in the least.

He pulled out carefully, dropped the extremely full condom in a little trashcan next to the bed. Half full of discarded tissues. The major smiled, and pulled Face in a little more. No more need for that now. For either of them. No more lonely holidays.

“Merry Christmas, Templeton,” he murmured against the kid’s flushed skin.

“... best goddamn present ever...” came the muffled, sleepy reply, and Hannibal kissed the top of his head. Time enough later to worry about the particulars of this little situation. It didn’t matter.

He’d keep his boy close. For as long as Face would have him.

He kissed that sweaty hair again. “My thoughts exactly, kid. Thank you...”

But Face was already fast asleep.

on to part two...