A Man in Uniform - DVD Extras
Feb. 9th, 2011 08:32 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sonora_conejaPairing: Hannibal(Liam)/Face(Bradley
45®Rating: NC-17
Warnings: none
Summary: A continuation of my insane little RPS series! Hooray for RPS!
Okay, so perhaps a little brash or whatever for me, but back in December I did an RPS fill for the Secret Santa fic exchange - you can read it here. In it, Liam's thinking about the fantasy he had about the courtroom scene and service-As...
Anyway, I promised lambofcurl101th that I'd do that story. I've got other stuff out, but I'm worn on plot right now. So here's that scene..
Liam’s got a fantasy that Brad gets all set up for...
Standing in the empty set, Bradley starts mentally ticking off his list.
Soundstage access conned for their day off? He looks around. The crew leader had believed his story about needed to take his dad ‘round the set before the shoot on Monday, and here he is. He’s even got the lights on so it looks like it’s real early in the morning.
Check.
Costumes gained? He rolls his shoulders in the stiff green of the service-A jacket, bristling with all kinds of pins and labels and name tags and patches that the costume designer had promised were meticulously researched and run through their military advisor for accuracy. A Ranger uniform. He almost feels like an asshole wearing it for this.
Check.
Hannibal’s wig? Another thing he’d sweet-talked the girls down in make-up out of, and Liam sure as hell better be putting that on.
Check.
They’re good to go. Still, Bradley’ s not sure how he should feel about this. Role-playing, yeah, that was always cool. But this was realistic. Like, really, really realistic. Like this courtroom set, where on Monday the team was going to get condemned to ten years in military jail. Damn good. It was only looking up that Brad could tell it was a set at all. . Uniforms, the little rationale he’d thought up at Liam’s behest, how much Face wanted Hannibal...
Liam had murmured it in his ear one night, after a costume fitting, about how good he thought Bradley looked in the uniform and how much he’d like to take him in it...
“But it’s Face’s!” he’d just blurted out.
“Then Hannibal wants to take Face in Face's uniform...” Liam had replied with a smile and rolled on top of him, and they hadn’t spoke about it again until morning. They’d already agreed, right after they started this little fling of theirs, how'd they'd started it, really, that the lieutenant and the colonel were madly in love and that’s just the way they were going to play it.
Now here they were.
Bradley adjusts his tie. He was scared, he admitted to himself, scared that they, their...whatever they’ve got together, can disappear into their roles and it wouldn’t be him and Liam, just Face and Hannibal. Whatever’s between him and the Irishman will end with the production schedule on the movie.
But still, he tells himself as the far doors crack and Liam comes striding in, purposeful and strong, up to the jury box where Bradley’s lounging, the older man looks damn, damn fine in all that...
“Finally found you.” It’s the spotty American accent, the one that slips every so often during the shoot, and is never present in their bed. Hannibal’s voice. Right, Hannibal talking to his loyal, faithful, devoted, so-in-love lieutenant. "What are you doing up here, kid?
He snaps into character. However he might feel about what this means for him and Liam, Bradley has to admit - Face is a helluva fun guy to play. “Nothing, boss,” he replies casually, stuffing his hands in his pockets, remembering how the researcher’s already corrected him a few times on how not allowed that is. “Just admiring the view.”
It's not said, what's hanging in that little statement. Taking in the place where everything's going to unravel. Where he's going to lose Hannibal.
If the boss catches it, he doesn't say anything. “Neat trick, getting us out of that damn holding cell in the basement.”
“You know, favors collected, favors promised,” Face shrugs. “It’s no big deal. We can't leave the building, anyhow.”
“Still, it's nice to have some time out from behind those bars,” and with that, Hannibal’s right beside him. He smells a little like cigar smoke, a little like the dry cleaner’s, a whole lot like himself. Face doesn’t think he’s ever going to get enough of that scent. His boss, his commander, his man...
“Yeah.”
“Nice to have some us time,” Liam growls in that American voice. “Don’t you think, kid?”
Bradley’s been struggling with this bit of his character. He doesn’t have to do a scene with it - not a real one, anyway - but how Face feels about this, about losing Hannibal, for years at least, maybe forever, and his stomach clenches up, wondering if he’s going to lose Liam the same way. Well, not the same way. Same result, though. No more Hannibal. No more Liam.
Why does that bother him?
It’s not like Liam’s his, or anything. Or he Liam’s.
It’s not like he hasn’t slept with anyone else since his little personal revelation about all this, Patrick being especially receptive to helping him along, actually.
And Liam seems perfectly content to just leave it as...almost an mentoring thing. Like the older actor’s just showing Bradley the ropes of his own sexuality. Good times between friends. He needs to stop worrying about it being anything more.
And Bradley snaps out of it, back into the scene. He can worry about the future later. Right now, he has to make this good for Liam, and the older man seems to have this total protective kink, which is fine by him...
“Never can get enough of you.”
“Prison...” and Face forces a laugh, “maybe they won’t sentence us that harshly.”
Hannibal smiles grimly. “Not bloody likely. I wish you boys would let me get you off with probation or something. Hell, our careers are over, but at least you don’t have to be locked up...”
“Prison’s where you’re going,” he says levelly. “I go where you go.”
“We won’t go to the same one, you know that, don’t you? It’s going to be years, kid, years...”
“Don’t talk like that.”
“It’s the truth and you need to accept it if you haven’t.” Hannibal looks like he really, really needs a cigar, and lets that silvery heady of his fall back. “We might never see each other again.”
Face pushes off and stands square in front of his commander, takes both the man’s hands in his own, looks him dead in the eye. “Boss, come on, please! We’re going to be okay.”
Hannibal slaps Face’s hands away and puts one of his own on his lieutenant’s shoulder, thumb rubbing along the seam of the sleeve, up onto the epaulette, the single silver bar there. Templeton Peck’s rank. Everything he is. “Face, they are going to take this,” and he tugs on the rank, “away from us, you and me and Murdock and BA.”
“Just cause I look damn good in it doesn’t mean you won’t get just as excited with me in a suit...” Face tries to tease.
“Mmm, you do look damn good in uniform, darling, I can't deny that,” Hannibal replies easily, and that little part of Brad that’s involved in this as Brad is wondering if he’s ever heard a pet name like from Liam. Well, add that to the list of things he’s jealous of Face for... “We won’t be in the Army anymore, and that wouldn't be... we won’t be free anymore, Face, won’t be together.”
Right. The scene.
“Don’t talk like that,” Face says, a little desperate at seeing the sheer emotional exhaustion in the other man. “I need you,” he adds, barely above a whisper.
“I know, Face.” That hand leaves his shoulder and cups his chin. Bradley feels something spark up inside him. See? he tells himself, this is why roleplaying’s such a bad idea. Things can get confusing. “It’s going to be okay.”
“Okay? How the fuck is it going to be okay?” he snaps, and struggles against that hand a little bit. Hannibal brings his other up, twists them both around and Face feel his back slam back into to the wood wall of the jury box. “We haven’t been away from each other more than a week in over ten years...”
“And every day is going to be hard, kid, I understand, but you need to be brave...”
"Brave?" he asks, his voice going flat in anger but he can't help it. Hannibal's right. He hasn't been thinking about it. Hasn't wanted to look at it. Hell, this is... "Don't treat me like a five year old, boss!"
"Not one of your hissy fits, lieutenant, not today," Hannibal says wearily, not untangling himself in the slightest.
And there it is, anger surging up, right where it isn't wanted...“Fuck you, colonel,” Face says harshly, and shoves Hannibal away.
But the boss doesn’t let him go, though, which means a struggle. One that moves, turns, throws about, and Face finds himself pinned to one of the tables they’ve got set up to the lawyers. He tries to hit up, fast and hard, but Hannibal just grabs the back of his head, fisting up in his hair until his scalp’s pulled almost painfully tight.
He brings their faces close. “You need to be brave, Templeton. Whatever they do to us, wherever they put us, I’ll find you. I’ll find all of you. I'll get you out. And we’re going to make Pike and whoever else was involved with this pay.”
Face closes his eyes. Hannibal’s breath, rushing through the fine hairs on his cheek, raising goosebumps, words still flowing out in that beautiful growl. “I’ve got a plan, kid. You have to trust me...”
“I do trust you... but boss, I’m scared...” he says, feeling hot and cold both at the whispered admission of fear. He doesn’t lie to Hannibal. Hannibal is the only person on the planet he trusts this completely, this fully. The only person he’d ever let see him vulnerable. The only person that sees all of him.
“I know, Temp. Me too. And I’m so sorry about all of this, I truly am...” Hannibal’s lips are right along his skin, trailing hot and sweet up to his mouth. “God, I’m going to miss you every goddamn day...”
One last murmur, from Hannibal, right into him, and Face surrenders into it, lets Hannibal pull him in close, feels all those pins and patches brush against one another, those lips right over his, and then they’re kissing.
Rough and deep, without finesse, Hannibal driving his tongue into Face’s mouth, tracing, licking, like he’s trying to remember, like this is the last time they’re going to do this...
Face chokes back a whimper, and the boss pulls away, confusion registering in his blue eyes. “You okay, darling?”
That word again... and Face groans, pulls on Hannibal’s service jacket. “Need you, c’mon, John, need you here with me, right now...”
And from the way Hannibal presses him back again, the way his hands are running up under jacket, shirt, wifebeater, searching for skin, fumbling with belts, the way he’s claiming his lieutenant’s mouth, the colonel’s all too desperate to oblige.
Face can feel Hannibal’s arousal, straining against the boundary of his uniform, just like it always has, and he dips his hands between them, trying to get at that belt. The silvery thing goes flying, the buckle snapping clean clear of the canvas belt itself as he tears at it, and he hears his own hit the ground. He didn’t bother with his underwear this morning, hoping like hell they’d find a moment to do this, and Hannibal groans in appreciation as he yanks his uniform trousers off his thighs, exposing him completely.
And just as Face manages to reach into Hannibal’s own and stroke him, just once, hard flesh throbbing with need for him, the boss is dropping away from him, dropping to his knees and pushing Face’s further apart.
“John,” he gasps, bucking up from where Hannibal threw him on the table, grabbing onto broad shoulders, feeling those silver eagles beneath his clinging fingers, his balls cupped in a big hand, rolled, so good... “John, god, you don’t have to...”
“Indulge me, kid,” Hannibal says roughly and kisses him, very lightly, on the tip of his cock. Licks the first bead of precum off. “Want to remember what you taste like.”
“Fuck...” and Face shudders as the colonel, his man, swallows him down, takes him all the way in, like he’s got no gag reflex at all, like it’s easy, and all the lieutenant can do is hold on and keep his thrusts as light and as non-existent as possible.
It doesn’t take long. No time at all, it seems like, not once he looks down and sees those blue eyes, darkened with lust but no less bright, staring up at him. Cheeks hollowed, one hand still cradling his sac, the other already starting to slip up, slip between, right over...
And then Face loses his control. Hannibal pushes and squeezes and sucks and fuckingmoans, all at once, and Face is coming, biting down on the fat of his hand, the edge, to keep from screaming out as his commander takes him in, takes everything he’s got.
It’s fast after that, Hannibal straightening and spitting in his hand and dragging Face up by the collar, back on the table until the position’s about right.
“Boss...” he tries to say through the haze of his orgasm, tugging at his service coat, all those buttons and decorations and patches. It’s how Bradley decided to define Face - the military might be his life, but he doesn’t need any of the accessories, the trinkets and baubles and commendations and pomp and circumstance that come with it. None of it matters.
He’s got the tattoo on his arm, permanent ink declaring him a Ranger, no matter what the court martial says about him. And he’s got Hannibal, always has his commander, his man. What else could possibly matter more than that? What more could there be than that?
Hannibal shushes him gently and pushes his own pants away, lets his own erection spring free and coats it with Face’s own reserved release. “Want to see you in it one more time, Temp,” he whispers, and Face nods. If that’s what Hannibal wants...and he wants to remember him like this too. A military genius at the top of his game, a war hero.
His commander.
There’s no prep, none other than that finger Hannibal had inside him earlier. He just slams into him, dragging Face’s hips down at the same time, and Face almost screams. The burn is almost too much to take, the sensation of being split open almost a little too painful, all of it, almost too much.
Almost.
He holds on again, palming Hannibal’s ass, pulling him in, tight around him as every thrust of the older man’s cock opens him up further, a little easier to take, but Face doesn’t mind any of it.
It’s all Hannibal.
And he wants to remember every second of it.
But Hannibal’s far too close, too frantic. There’s no rhythm and there’s no pattern and everything is flying apart way too fast, all of it, until Hannibal groans and they’re kissing again, bruising and bloody, the colonel having bitten his own lip at some point, and they’re there and everything comes back together, until the hot rush of Hannibal’s seed deep inside means everything makes sense again.
If only for a while.
Liam pulls that crap on him where he recovers faster than him - how does he manage that? But there the Irishman is, rubbing his thighs gently, kissing him gently.
“That was beautiful, Bradley, truly beautiful.”
The American moans in response, and getting a hand between them, tugs on Liam’s ear. “Take the damn wig off, man,” he says, and Liam grins at him and he skins the thing off, tosses it carefully away, where they aren’t going to damage it. So the girls in make-up don’t kill him on Monday.
“That better?” the older actor teases, something left unsaid there.
Bradley runs his fingers through the dark hair, Liam’s own dark, beautiful hair. The hair Face doesn’t get to see, that Bradley get to see. He, himself, reminding him about what’s real between them. If there’s... “You called me darling before.”
Liam’s hand jolts to a halt on his leg. Bradley can feel fingernails. “... yes, lad?”
“I liked that,” he half-admits, half-begs, hoping Liam’s going to catch the hint here, take the lead like he does in bed, and tell him what’s going on between them. Shit, Bradley thinks, he still doesn’t really know how any of this is supposed to work. “It’s a nice thing to hear, from you, like that...”
The hand’s moving again. Bradley didn’t realize until right then that he was holding his breath. “You want me to... keep calling you that, darling?”
With Liam’s accent, that delicious Irish brogue, it’s even better. But doesn't there needs to be some kind of meaning behind, some kind of emotion? Is there? “Oh, god, Liam...”
“Mmm, and I love it when you say my name like that, darling. Sounds so good...”
“Fuck yes...” and he shivers as Liam claims his mouth again, the kiss easy and soft, the one that gets both of them on their feet, Bradley cuddling into Liam’s chest as Liam holds him, pulls them both back together, straightens the uniform tie, jacket, belt, everything in place again.
“Now don’t you look good, lad,” Liam murmurs, and zips his own pants, tucking his shirt back in. Bradley figures he must be looking a little lost because he’s wondering if Liam’s only looking at Face. Because the Irishman chuckles and kisses him on the top of his head.
“You too, commander,” he teases back, moving away to retrieve the colonel’s belt buckle from where it landed, and Liam kisses him again.
“Game’s over, darling. There’s no pretending here,” he says softly. He wraps his arms around Bradley’s back and pulls him up. More kisses along his neck. “Just you and me, darling.”
“You and me?”
“You and me.” Kisses him again, and Bradley laughs a little to himself ad relaxes again. He worries too much. He knows it. But, still. “I got us a room for the weekend, somewhere nice.”
“I can’t, Liam, my dad’s in town for the shoot, I promised him we’d hang out.” He turns around and realizes the older man looks a little crestfallen. Somehow, that encourages him more than anything, and running a finger along the line of Liam’s jaw, until he reaches his chin and tugs him down and kisses him back. “Rain check?”
“You should be with your father, Bradley. Family’s important.”
Brad knows that the older man’s thinking about his kids, back in New York, and he feels awkward again. He knows what he wants to say. Tell Liam that he’s important, too. That he’d love to spend the weekend with him, in a hotel room, in a hotel bed. But he can’t really vocalize all that, not just yet, he’s not sure how it’ll sound. “Dad’s not really expecting to see me until tomorrow.”
“Yes, darling?” There’s a little grin as he says it.
“Take me to bed?” He cringes a little at how, err, romantic that sounds. “Or, um, you know. Anywhere that isn’t a table. Not that I wasn’t happy to, or anything like that, but it’s uh, oh, damn...”
“It’s okay, lad, I know,” Liam says, and ruffles his hair. “We’ll take what time we can get together, eh?”
Bradley ties to burrow deeper into that comforting chest, trying to ignore Hannibal’s expanse of military prowess. He really does love the way this man, the Irishman, Liam, smells. It’s like going home, in some way that makes no sense to him but he likes anyway. “Sounds like a plan, Liam.”
“Absolutely, darling.”
And taking Bradley by the hand, Liam leads them both off the set.
45®Rating: NC-17
Warnings: none
Summary: A continuation of my insane little RPS series! Hooray for RPS!
Okay, so perhaps a little brash or whatever for me, but back in December I did an RPS fill for the Secret Santa fic exchange - you can read it here. In it, Liam's thinking about the fantasy he had about the courtroom scene and service-As...
Anyway, I promised lambofcurl101th that I'd do that story. I've got other stuff out, but I'm worn on plot right now. So here's that scene..
Liam’s got a fantasy that Brad gets all set up for...
Standing in the empty set, Bradley starts mentally ticking off his list.
Soundstage access conned for their day off? He looks around. The crew leader had believed his story about needed to take his dad ‘round the set before the shoot on Monday, and here he is. He’s even got the lights on so it looks like it’s real early in the morning.
Check.
Costumes gained? He rolls his shoulders in the stiff green of the service-A jacket, bristling with all kinds of pins and labels and name tags and patches that the costume designer had promised were meticulously researched and run through their military advisor for accuracy. A Ranger uniform. He almost feels like an asshole wearing it for this.
Check.
Hannibal’s wig? Another thing he’d sweet-talked the girls down in make-up out of, and Liam sure as hell better be putting that on.
Check.
They’re good to go. Still, Bradley’ s not sure how he should feel about this. Role-playing, yeah, that was always cool. But this was realistic. Like, really, really realistic. Like this courtroom set, where on Monday the team was going to get condemned to ten years in military jail. Damn good. It was only looking up that Brad could tell it was a set at all. . Uniforms, the little rationale he’d thought up at Liam’s behest, how much Face wanted Hannibal...
Liam had murmured it in his ear one night, after a costume fitting, about how good he thought Bradley looked in the uniform and how much he’d like to take him in it...
“But it’s Face’s!” he’d just blurted out.
“Then Hannibal wants to take Face in Face's uniform...” Liam had replied with a smile and rolled on top of him, and they hadn’t spoke about it again until morning. They’d already agreed, right after they started this little fling of theirs, how'd they'd started it, really, that the lieutenant and the colonel were madly in love and that’s just the way they were going to play it.
Now here they were.
Bradley adjusts his tie. He was scared, he admitted to himself, scared that they, their...whatever they’ve got together, can disappear into their roles and it wouldn’t be him and Liam, just Face and Hannibal. Whatever’s between him and the Irishman will end with the production schedule on the movie.
But still, he tells himself as the far doors crack and Liam comes striding in, purposeful and strong, up to the jury box where Bradley’s lounging, the older man looks damn, damn fine in all that...
“Finally found you.” It’s the spotty American accent, the one that slips every so often during the shoot, and is never present in their bed. Hannibal’s voice. Right, Hannibal talking to his loyal, faithful, devoted, so-in-love lieutenant. "What are you doing up here, kid?
He snaps into character. However he might feel about what this means for him and Liam, Bradley has to admit - Face is a helluva fun guy to play. “Nothing, boss,” he replies casually, stuffing his hands in his pockets, remembering how the researcher’s already corrected him a few times on how not allowed that is. “Just admiring the view.”
It's not said, what's hanging in that little statement. Taking in the place where everything's going to unravel. Where he's going to lose Hannibal.
If the boss catches it, he doesn't say anything. “Neat trick, getting us out of that damn holding cell in the basement.”
“You know, favors collected, favors promised,” Face shrugs. “It’s no big deal. We can't leave the building, anyhow.”
“Still, it's nice to have some time out from behind those bars,” and with that, Hannibal’s right beside him. He smells a little like cigar smoke, a little like the dry cleaner’s, a whole lot like himself. Face doesn’t think he’s ever going to get enough of that scent. His boss, his commander, his man...
“Yeah.”
“Nice to have some us time,” Liam growls in that American voice. “Don’t you think, kid?”
Bradley’s been struggling with this bit of his character. He doesn’t have to do a scene with it - not a real one, anyway - but how Face feels about this, about losing Hannibal, for years at least, maybe forever, and his stomach clenches up, wondering if he’s going to lose Liam the same way. Well, not the same way. Same result, though. No more Hannibal. No more Liam.
Why does that bother him?
It’s not like Liam’s his, or anything. Or he Liam’s.
It’s not like he hasn’t slept with anyone else since his little personal revelation about all this, Patrick being especially receptive to helping him along, actually.
And Liam seems perfectly content to just leave it as...almost an mentoring thing. Like the older actor’s just showing Bradley the ropes of his own sexuality. Good times between friends. He needs to stop worrying about it being anything more.
And Bradley snaps out of it, back into the scene. He can worry about the future later. Right now, he has to make this good for Liam, and the older man seems to have this total protective kink, which is fine by him...
“Never can get enough of you.”
“Prison...” and Face forces a laugh, “maybe they won’t sentence us that harshly.”
Hannibal smiles grimly. “Not bloody likely. I wish you boys would let me get you off with probation or something. Hell, our careers are over, but at least you don’t have to be locked up...”
“Prison’s where you’re going,” he says levelly. “I go where you go.”
“We won’t go to the same one, you know that, don’t you? It’s going to be years, kid, years...”
“Don’t talk like that.”
“It’s the truth and you need to accept it if you haven’t.” Hannibal looks like he really, really needs a cigar, and lets that silvery heady of his fall back. “We might never see each other again.”
Face pushes off and stands square in front of his commander, takes both the man’s hands in his own, looks him dead in the eye. “Boss, come on, please! We’re going to be okay.”
Hannibal slaps Face’s hands away and puts one of his own on his lieutenant’s shoulder, thumb rubbing along the seam of the sleeve, up onto the epaulette, the single silver bar there. Templeton Peck’s rank. Everything he is. “Face, they are going to take this,” and he tugs on the rank, “away from us, you and me and Murdock and BA.”
“Just cause I look damn good in it doesn’t mean you won’t get just as excited with me in a suit...” Face tries to tease.
“Mmm, you do look damn good in uniform, darling, I can't deny that,” Hannibal replies easily, and that little part of Brad that’s involved in this as Brad is wondering if he’s ever heard a pet name like from Liam. Well, add that to the list of things he’s jealous of Face for... “We won’t be in the Army anymore, and that wouldn't be... we won’t be free anymore, Face, won’t be together.”
Right. The scene.
“Don’t talk like that,” Face says, a little desperate at seeing the sheer emotional exhaustion in the other man. “I need you,” he adds, barely above a whisper.
“I know, Face.” That hand leaves his shoulder and cups his chin. Bradley feels something spark up inside him. See? he tells himself, this is why roleplaying’s such a bad idea. Things can get confusing. “It’s going to be okay.”
“Okay? How the fuck is it going to be okay?” he snaps, and struggles against that hand a little bit. Hannibal brings his other up, twists them both around and Face feel his back slam back into to the wood wall of the jury box. “We haven’t been away from each other more than a week in over ten years...”
“And every day is going to be hard, kid, I understand, but you need to be brave...”
"Brave?" he asks, his voice going flat in anger but he can't help it. Hannibal's right. He hasn't been thinking about it. Hasn't wanted to look at it. Hell, this is... "Don't treat me like a five year old, boss!"
"Not one of your hissy fits, lieutenant, not today," Hannibal says wearily, not untangling himself in the slightest.
And there it is, anger surging up, right where it isn't wanted...“Fuck you, colonel,” Face says harshly, and shoves Hannibal away.
But the boss doesn’t let him go, though, which means a struggle. One that moves, turns, throws about, and Face finds himself pinned to one of the tables they’ve got set up to the lawyers. He tries to hit up, fast and hard, but Hannibal just grabs the back of his head, fisting up in his hair until his scalp’s pulled almost painfully tight.
He brings their faces close. “You need to be brave, Templeton. Whatever they do to us, wherever they put us, I’ll find you. I’ll find all of you. I'll get you out. And we’re going to make Pike and whoever else was involved with this pay.”
Face closes his eyes. Hannibal’s breath, rushing through the fine hairs on his cheek, raising goosebumps, words still flowing out in that beautiful growl. “I’ve got a plan, kid. You have to trust me...”
“I do trust you... but boss, I’m scared...” he says, feeling hot and cold both at the whispered admission of fear. He doesn’t lie to Hannibal. Hannibal is the only person on the planet he trusts this completely, this fully. The only person he’d ever let see him vulnerable. The only person that sees all of him.
“I know, Temp. Me too. And I’m so sorry about all of this, I truly am...” Hannibal’s lips are right along his skin, trailing hot and sweet up to his mouth. “God, I’m going to miss you every goddamn day...”
One last murmur, from Hannibal, right into him, and Face surrenders into it, lets Hannibal pull him in close, feels all those pins and patches brush against one another, those lips right over his, and then they’re kissing.
Rough and deep, without finesse, Hannibal driving his tongue into Face’s mouth, tracing, licking, like he’s trying to remember, like this is the last time they’re going to do this...
Face chokes back a whimper, and the boss pulls away, confusion registering in his blue eyes. “You okay, darling?”
That word again... and Face groans, pulls on Hannibal’s service jacket. “Need you, c’mon, John, need you here with me, right now...”
And from the way Hannibal presses him back again, the way his hands are running up under jacket, shirt, wifebeater, searching for skin, fumbling with belts, the way he’s claiming his lieutenant’s mouth, the colonel’s all too desperate to oblige.
Face can feel Hannibal’s arousal, straining against the boundary of his uniform, just like it always has, and he dips his hands between them, trying to get at that belt. The silvery thing goes flying, the buckle snapping clean clear of the canvas belt itself as he tears at it, and he hears his own hit the ground. He didn’t bother with his underwear this morning, hoping like hell they’d find a moment to do this, and Hannibal groans in appreciation as he yanks his uniform trousers off his thighs, exposing him completely.
And just as Face manages to reach into Hannibal’s own and stroke him, just once, hard flesh throbbing with need for him, the boss is dropping away from him, dropping to his knees and pushing Face’s further apart.
“John,” he gasps, bucking up from where Hannibal threw him on the table, grabbing onto broad shoulders, feeling those silver eagles beneath his clinging fingers, his balls cupped in a big hand, rolled, so good... “John, god, you don’t have to...”
“Indulge me, kid,” Hannibal says roughly and kisses him, very lightly, on the tip of his cock. Licks the first bead of precum off. “Want to remember what you taste like.”
“Fuck...” and Face shudders as the colonel, his man, swallows him down, takes him all the way in, like he’s got no gag reflex at all, like it’s easy, and all the lieutenant can do is hold on and keep his thrusts as light and as non-existent as possible.
It doesn’t take long. No time at all, it seems like, not once he looks down and sees those blue eyes, darkened with lust but no less bright, staring up at him. Cheeks hollowed, one hand still cradling his sac, the other already starting to slip up, slip between, right over...
And then Face loses his control. Hannibal pushes and squeezes and sucks and fuckingmoans, all at once, and Face is coming, biting down on the fat of his hand, the edge, to keep from screaming out as his commander takes him in, takes everything he’s got.
It’s fast after that, Hannibal straightening and spitting in his hand and dragging Face up by the collar, back on the table until the position’s about right.
“Boss...” he tries to say through the haze of his orgasm, tugging at his service coat, all those buttons and decorations and patches. It’s how Bradley decided to define Face - the military might be his life, but he doesn’t need any of the accessories, the trinkets and baubles and commendations and pomp and circumstance that come with it. None of it matters.
He’s got the tattoo on his arm, permanent ink declaring him a Ranger, no matter what the court martial says about him. And he’s got Hannibal, always has his commander, his man. What else could possibly matter more than that? What more could there be than that?
Hannibal shushes him gently and pushes his own pants away, lets his own erection spring free and coats it with Face’s own reserved release. “Want to see you in it one more time, Temp,” he whispers, and Face nods. If that’s what Hannibal wants...and he wants to remember him like this too. A military genius at the top of his game, a war hero.
His commander.
There’s no prep, none other than that finger Hannibal had inside him earlier. He just slams into him, dragging Face’s hips down at the same time, and Face almost screams. The burn is almost too much to take, the sensation of being split open almost a little too painful, all of it, almost too much.
Almost.
He holds on again, palming Hannibal’s ass, pulling him in, tight around him as every thrust of the older man’s cock opens him up further, a little easier to take, but Face doesn’t mind any of it.
It’s all Hannibal.
And he wants to remember every second of it.
But Hannibal’s far too close, too frantic. There’s no rhythm and there’s no pattern and everything is flying apart way too fast, all of it, until Hannibal groans and they’re kissing again, bruising and bloody, the colonel having bitten his own lip at some point, and they’re there and everything comes back together, until the hot rush of Hannibal’s seed deep inside means everything makes sense again.
If only for a while.
Liam pulls that crap on him where he recovers faster than him - how does he manage that? But there the Irishman is, rubbing his thighs gently, kissing him gently.
“That was beautiful, Bradley, truly beautiful.”
The American moans in response, and getting a hand between them, tugs on Liam’s ear. “Take the damn wig off, man,” he says, and Liam grins at him and he skins the thing off, tosses it carefully away, where they aren’t going to damage it. So the girls in make-up don’t kill him on Monday.
“That better?” the older actor teases, something left unsaid there.
Bradley runs his fingers through the dark hair, Liam’s own dark, beautiful hair. The hair Face doesn’t get to see, that Bradley get to see. He, himself, reminding him about what’s real between them. If there’s... “You called me darling before.”
Liam’s hand jolts to a halt on his leg. Bradley can feel fingernails. “... yes, lad?”
“I liked that,” he half-admits, half-begs, hoping Liam’s going to catch the hint here, take the lead like he does in bed, and tell him what’s going on between them. Shit, Bradley thinks, he still doesn’t really know how any of this is supposed to work. “It’s a nice thing to hear, from you, like that...”
The hand’s moving again. Bradley didn’t realize until right then that he was holding his breath. “You want me to... keep calling you that, darling?”
With Liam’s accent, that delicious Irish brogue, it’s even better. But doesn't there needs to be some kind of meaning behind, some kind of emotion? Is there? “Oh, god, Liam...”
“Mmm, and I love it when you say my name like that, darling. Sounds so good...”
“Fuck yes...” and he shivers as Liam claims his mouth again, the kiss easy and soft, the one that gets both of them on their feet, Bradley cuddling into Liam’s chest as Liam holds him, pulls them both back together, straightens the uniform tie, jacket, belt, everything in place again.
“Now don’t you look good, lad,” Liam murmurs, and zips his own pants, tucking his shirt back in. Bradley figures he must be looking a little lost because he’s wondering if Liam’s only looking at Face. Because the Irishman chuckles and kisses him on the top of his head.
“You too, commander,” he teases back, moving away to retrieve the colonel’s belt buckle from where it landed, and Liam kisses him again.
“Game’s over, darling. There’s no pretending here,” he says softly. He wraps his arms around Bradley’s back and pulls him up. More kisses along his neck. “Just you and me, darling.”
“You and me?”
“You and me.” Kisses him again, and Bradley laughs a little to himself ad relaxes again. He worries too much. He knows it. But, still. “I got us a room for the weekend, somewhere nice.”
“I can’t, Liam, my dad’s in town for the shoot, I promised him we’d hang out.” He turns around and realizes the older man looks a little crestfallen. Somehow, that encourages him more than anything, and running a finger along the line of Liam’s jaw, until he reaches his chin and tugs him down and kisses him back. “Rain check?”
“You should be with your father, Bradley. Family’s important.”
Brad knows that the older man’s thinking about his kids, back in New York, and he feels awkward again. He knows what he wants to say. Tell Liam that he’s important, too. That he’d love to spend the weekend with him, in a hotel room, in a hotel bed. But he can’t really vocalize all that, not just yet, he’s not sure how it’ll sound. “Dad’s not really expecting to see me until tomorrow.”
“Yes, darling?” There’s a little grin as he says it.
“Take me to bed?” He cringes a little at how, err, romantic that sounds. “Or, um, you know. Anywhere that isn’t a table. Not that I wasn’t happy to, or anything like that, but it’s uh, oh, damn...”
“It’s okay, lad, I know,” Liam says, and ruffles his hair. “We’ll take what time we can get together, eh?”
Bradley ties to burrow deeper into that comforting chest, trying to ignore Hannibal’s expanse of military prowess. He really does love the way this man, the Irishman, Liam, smells. It’s like going home, in some way that makes no sense to him but he likes anyway. “Sounds like a plan, Liam.”
“Absolutely, darling.”
And taking Bradley by the hand, Liam leads them both off the set.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2011-03-29 01:16 am (UTC)Incoherent now. Loved it!!!
Also, weekend away, awww. That would have been nice, but I really like that Brad doesn't go with it... loves his Dad, aww. Ah, they'll have plenty of time together later... ;P