Daylight Part III
Mar. 6th, 2011 03:00 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sonora_conejaPairing: H-BAMF
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: mentions of attempted suicide
Summary: A sequel to Daylight
Umm, so I got this in the comments for Daylight...
That's a great story but I like happy ends. Can I request for a sequel where Face finally can't take it anymore and breaks down in front of them resulting in a lot of comforting and a non-rough relationship between the four?
I feel kind of bad about this story and I don't want to give anybody the same kind of nightmares I get sometimes from these things, so... fill! Here’s the third and final part!
The boss sets his book down.
Hannibal doesn’t look up, doesn’t ask, just reaches over as Face sits down next to him on the back porch. Pulls the younger man into his shoulder, cradling him in. And Face yawns a little to cover the smile.
“How you doing, Face?”
How long has it taken them to get to this point together? Better part of a year? No, more. More than a year. It’s been coming and going in stages. Little steps.
Three months to get to the point where they’d touch. BA had been first, reaching over and rubbing the small of Face’s back after an early morning run, out of view of the rest of the unit. Just a hand, and an uncertain grin that broadened as Face arched back into it and then slapped his ass playfully, running on, laughing.
Seven months, so that one of them would sleep with him. He remembered that, his own room at Hannibal’s, asleep and not afraid anymore of that darkness under the boss’ roof. Asleep, until Murdock cracked the door and tugged his hand out from under the covers and pulled him to his feet, wrapping around him and leading him away, asking him in a soft whisper if he really did like cuddles, that it wouldn’t hurt his feelings if... and Face had tackled him onto Hannibal’s big bed, landing right in between the other two, a tangle of limbs, both of them giggling.
Nine months, until that morning where Hannibal had been making pancakes and Billy had gotten in the kitchen, Murdock chasing him, and everything ended up in an explosion of cake flour and laughter, a very flustered Hannibal standing by the stove, looking... well, Face had caught him around the waist and kissed him full on the mouth. Hannibal had looked shocked, but before he could pull away or do something equally stupid, BA wrapped them both up in a bear hug, Murdock’s cheek pressed against Face’s shoulder, and laughing, he’d kissed Hannibal again. That second time, Hannibal had kissed him back.
“Good, boss,” he says now, leaning into that soft touch. It’s all soft now, not like teenage-romance-movie soft, but soft, nonetheless. Maybe quiet’s a better word for it. Still. Easy. Smooth. Like he’ll break if any of them press too hard. Whatever. They're not afraid any longer. He's not afraid any longer. “Real good.”
They sit like that for a minute, maybe two, and then the boss goes back for his book, pats Face on the knee, and pushes up. “That’s good,” Hannibal says, that typical little edge of relief in his voice, the one that’s been there since the hospital.
“I wish he’d stop sounding like that,” Face murmurs to himself, but Hannibal stops.
“Sound like what, kid?”
He blinks, looking up. “Like you’re expecting me to pull away, every time you so much as look at me.”
“Oh, that’s where you’re wrong kid,” Hannibal says, and ruffles his hair. “That morning, in the hospital, remember?”
“Yeah?”
“You didn’t shy away from me then. First time you didn't,” and Hannibal chewed the inside of his lip, forcing a smile again. “It’s not you, kid. Knew you’d be okay, when I saw that.”
And this was the bit that just wouldn’t seem to go away. Thirteen months. This one last barrier.
“Boss?” Face asks, asking the thing he hasn’t wanted to ask. “Boss, that... Murdock’s pills, did you...”
Hannibal leans back against the house wall, right by the living room sliding glass door, looking out at the yard. “I could never hurt you, Templeton,” he says finally, and then he’s gone, back inside.
“It did hurt me,” Face whispers, but this time, there’s no one to hear.
In the living room, Murdock’s watching cartoons, the bright splashes of colors on the television a sharp contrast to the fading day outside. Loose limbs, loose smile, like a little kid sometimes, and Face has always found that odd, Murdock being so innocent. He’d been through so more much than the rest of them put together...
“Animaniacs is on next,” the pilot says, swinging over to look at Face. He pats the sofa next to him. “You up for it?”
“Yeah, buddy, sure,” Face replies, feeling something coiling up. His conversation with Hannibal, probably, or maybe, maybe something else. He plops down, right next to Murdock, mentally fistpunching as his friend curls right up into him, under an arm, pressed flush against his side, and fingers playing right over his chest.
Face brings that arm around Murdock’s shoulders up, stroking his hair. He can feel himself getting hard, just from this, just like so many nights before, nights when the kissing starts up, nights that’ll see them all in bed together, or in some different combination in different places. He’s heard them, Murdock and BA still... but nothing for Hannibal.
Nothing for him.
“Fuck,” he sighs, and sees Murdock’s eyes flash bright with confusion, right as he’s trying to push off. Not tonight. He doesn’t want to end up in the bathroom with a washcloth again, trying to take care of something his... his lovers really should, but won’t, before sliding back between the covers. “Not right now, HM, please...”
But Face finds himself with a lapful of aroused pilot, his own erection pressing against his own through too many layers of clothing, and Murdock lowers those long lashes of his as he drags a single finger down the other man’s chest. He leans in for a kiss, long and sweet and slow. “You okay, darling?” he murmurs as he breaks the kiss.
Face closes his eyes and lets his head hit the back of the couch, hands coming up to stroke Murdock’s sides, bunching up the Iron Man t-shirt and feeling hot skin against his palms. “More than okay, baby,” he replies, just as soft, loving the way the baby rolls of the tongue. So close...
Murdock looks away. “Face,” he says, “Face, the last time, we... I was... it was me, wasn’t it? Rippin’ you open?”
“No, Murdock, fuck, please...” Face groans, wrapping both arms around the pilot and pulling him close, rocking him slowly. “It wasn’t...”
“I felt it.” The words rattle across Face’s neck. “I fel’ it, and I should’a stopped but I... I thought it was... ain’t never been good for you, with us.” It's so low Face can barely decipher it.
“Let’s do it right, then,” Face says and Murdock pushes back, obviously trying to parse this out. The lieutenant fingers that dark hair. “Let’s get it right.”
“Temp...”
Hands are grabbing at his shirt, big handfuls of fabric, and Face braces Murdock with a hand cupping the back of his head, thumb rubbing a slow circle against his friend’s scalp. “You aren’t going to hurt me. I’ll catch, we won’t fall down there again, I promise.”
“Swear it?”
“Pinky swear, buddy,” he says, holding up that particular finger. Murdock grins a little, lets go of his deathgrip on the couch to twine his little finger with Face’s, and the lieutenant, smiling, uses that to pull him back in to another one of those sweet, sweet kisses.
They roll as the kiss deepens, grows, taking them both to the horizontal, taking them to the ground when the couch proves too narrow. Face uses his legs to hold Murdock close, keep him on top, and he arches up into it, lifting his arms, urging his friend to strip his shirt off. Murdock hesitates for a moment, then skins it off him, takes his own off and well, and then there’s more skin, more contact, more kissing, more everything, everything he wants, coming to the surface.
He snakes up, licks a hot little circle over one of Murdock’s nipples, feeling it tighten to a hard little bud, trying to relax the other man. He can feel him shaking, knows he doesn’t want to be on top, doesn’t want to take the lead, still afraid, still so unsure. “Please,” he whispers before latching on and sucking lightly. “I trust you.” He moves to the other. “I love you, Murdock, please...”
The pilot makes a hungry little whine, low and rumbling, and fists his hands in Face’s hair, holding him in, and Face leans up on an elbow, staying close as he worries that little bud between his teeth, loving the shudder above him that has nothing to do with fear anymore, not wanting to lose a second of this, grinding up into the other man’s groin, free hand searching out the button of Murdock's fly and the...
...and then something’s ripping Murdock away, ripping them apart, and...
“Murdock! What the fuck are you doing?!”
Face looks up from where he’s sort of collapsed on the living room carpet.
Looks up at Hannibal.
Glares at him for a minute, and then scrambles over on his knees to where Murdock’s balled himself up against the nearest wall, eyes blown and breathing fast. He scoots away as Face tries to touch him, hands scrunching up over his ears.
“What is your problem, boss?” Face snaps, trying to untangle Murdock from the noise in his mind he just knows is rising up to overwhelm him.
“He was...”
“He was not, you fucking asshole!” the lieutenant practically yells, and leans forward, pulling Murdock into him. The pilot’s not exactly pliant, but he’s not resisting, and then he stares at Hannibal, and falls back into Face’s chest. Face rests his chin on the other man’s shoulder. “I asked him, Hannibal. I. Asked.”
The boss looks away, shame pouring off him now. “I just... boys, after everything...”
“How much more bullshit do you have to put us all through, bossman?” Murdock says frantically. “Face ‘n’ y’all said, after the hospital, that this was over, that it’d be over...”
“Murdock...” And Face can see the hurt, the shift of emotion, play out over Hannibal’s features, and finally the older man takes a knee, falls back and buries his face in his hand. “I didn’t mean...”
“Yeah, you didn’t mean. And then you cut and ran like a fucking coward!” Murdock yells in that frighteningly sane way of his, and Face has to tighten his grip. He can see BA appear over the pilot’s shoulder, the big guy staring at the scene in the living room with wild eyes. “You tried to kill yourself!”
All the sound goes out of the room.
None of them have dared say this out loud before. Not to each other. And definitely not to Hannibal.
And the boss doesn’t try to deny it.
Face feels something break in the back of his mind.
"Motherfucker," BA breathes.
Murdock's not as subtle. Murdock's, actually, still screaming.
“You haven’t fucked any of us since that! We been lettin’ Face go this like he needs to! What the fuck is your problem!?”
BA nods, coming in, sitting down next to their commander. Lays a hand on his knee. “You already paid up, Hannibal. When you gonna let Face have what he needs?”
“I’ve made that mistake before,” Hannibal says, as faint and distant as he was that day in the clinic. “I can’t make it again.”
“An’ I am?” Murdock asks, genuinely panicked. He cranes his neck to look back at Face. “Temp, am I makin’, am I doin’ than, now, to you?”
“No.” He could kill Hannibal right now. But instead, Face just kisses Murdock, wiping a tear away as the pilot’s anger ebbs, as the sorrow comes up, emotions shifting so quickly. “It’s okay, buddy.”
“No it ain’t, Faceman...”
“Yes, it is,” Face says, desperately hoping that this hasn’t gotten fucked up again. He’s worked too hard, they’ve all worked too hard. He pulls his friend up with him, holding him around the waist. “It’s fine, Murdock. It’s just Hannibal. Hannibal’s not ready.”
“Kid...”
“I’m going to bed,” Face says, very slowly, and squeezes once before letting Murdock go. Before leaving the room, feeling like he’s falling without a net. Nobody to catch him right now. “Anybody’s welcome to come.”
“Face...”
He turns.
Hannibal swallows. “I... it was five, six years of...rape.” It’s whispered and BA grips his shoulder. “I raped you, Temp. How could I ever...” he stops, and puts his head even further down, "...make love to you, after..."
“And don’t you think I want to know the difference?” Face says, knowing how sad that sounds, and pads down the hall in silence.
Fuck all of this, Face thinks, and hits the bed in his old room. Locks the door.
It’s not going to be tonight.
Hannibal’s not over this. Might never get over this. Just like Face had feared all those years.
So maybe, now, it won’t be any night.
Maybe... it would be better to just...and Face jams a pillow down over his head to muffle out the sound of the inevitable conclusion to that line of thinking. But it would probably be better. Better to just...
Go.
It’s amazing, he thinks to himself, how dry-eyed that concept is right now. What was he thinking, hoping that anything could survive this?
The doorknob rattles, a light knock, somebody saying something, but Face can’t hear it through the pillow, he tells himself, and pretty soon, it all goes away, and everything fades into black and he doesn't dream.
+++++
The next morning, Face wakes early, if he slept at all. It’s the weekend, it’s barely dawn, it’s a good time to leave. He can go see Morrison tomorrow, get a transfer, get the hell away from Hannibal, his unit, this whole fucking situation.
He doesn’t have much over here. He doesn’t own much of anything anyway, nothing important, nothing worth taking, nothing worth worrying about. It all fits in his backpack.
Feet soft in the hallway, Hannibal’s bedroom door is closed, no sign of Murdock or BA or Hannibal, for that matter. Good, he tells himself, ignoring the tightening in his stomach. It’s a thirty minute drive to his apartment. He can think things out there, maybe, come back, maybe, if it sounds like a good idea. If he can stomach the notion.
Fuck it.
The front door opens easily enough.
“You giving up on me, kid?”
Hannibal, out on step, cold cigar in hand, staring up at the rafters of the porch. It looks like he’s been here all night.
“You already gave up on yourself, boss,” Face says, as curtly as he can. “There’s no excuse for that.”
“Kid, it wasn’t like that.”
“No. Excuse.”
“I hurt you.”
Face bites his lip so hard it starts bleeding. There’s no way he can say this aloud, no way he can bring up the fact that ther’s still a Catholic in him, no matter what the Church might say about his preferences. That there’s something fundamental about what Hannibal tried to do, that if Hannibal had... because of him, Hannibal might have, still might be... he shivers. He can’t think about that right now. He’ll go insane.
Shivers again.
Hears Hannibal stand behind him.
And Face stops walking.
“I don’t care,” he replies softly, and there’s Hannibal’s solid bulk behind him. “About that.”
The boss lays uncertain hands on Face’s hips, circling slowly, thumb and index pressing in lightly. “I care, Face. I care about you.”
The lieutenant lets himself lay back a little, sighs into it, let Hannibal hold him up. “Care about you, too, John.”
“No guesses, Templeton,” Hannibal whispers in his ear. “No assumptions. Tell me... what do you want?”
This is insane, Face knows. They’re out in clear view of the street, Hannibal curling around him in an unmistakable manner, where anybody walking their dog or out for a morning run might... but fuck that, too.
“I want you, all three of you.”
“Mmm,” the boss says and hugs Face in a little tighter, Face lets his hands fall over Hannibal’s, where they’re clasped in right on his belly. “How do you want us?”
“Naked,” Face laughs, and wriggles around, so they’re nose to nose. “Really, really naked.”
Hannibal smiles a little and starts leading them back towards the door. “And once we’re naked?”
“I thought I could got to bed.”
“Tuck you in?” Hannibal asks and pushes them inside.
“Naw, take me,” Face teases back, and unable to keep it up anymore, presses his lips into a line, serious again. “I need you to take me to bed. Make love to me. Do it right, the four of us...”
“Kid...” Hannibal says, not smiling at all now, “is that really...what you need?”
Face presses both his hands onto Hannibal's chest, looks up into scared blue eyes. “Come on," he says, stroking a little, begging and not caring because it'll be so, so worth it, "you’re asking the wrong question, boss.”
“...come to bed with me, dear boy?” And Hannibal takes a deep breath.
Face has never loved the man more than he does in this moment.
Hannibal shuts the bedroom door behind them, Face hugged into his side, letting his backpack fall right there. He looks at the boss. Something unreadable there.
BA looks up from Murdock, both of them sitting up against the pillows, talking in hushed tones about something Face can’t hear. And anyway, the talking stops once the big guy sees him.
Once Murdock digs his face back under the blankets, burrowing under.
“I’ve got him,” Hannibal says, almost sorrowfully, and leaves Face there at the door, alone, walking over to the pilot’s side of the bed and tucking himself up underneath the quilt to talk to him... Face sways a little on his feet
“You okay, man?” BA asks, shooting Hannibal a glance and coming over. He’s got his favorite pair of sleep pants on, the real soft ones, tattoos bulging on his arms, crossed across his chest like he doesn’t know what else to do with them. But he reaches out, nothing as simple as taking Face’s hand, but slides a big palm up the lieutenant’s arm, all the way up to his shoulder, gripping around behind in his shirt.
“I’m fine,” Face says.
“Glad you gonna stay,” BA says in that same low voice, and they both look over at where the blankets are obscuring the colonel’s form as Murdock hugs into him, holding on for dear life. Those emotions, flip-flopping again, violent, unbalanced. “Ain’t nothing been right lately.”
There’s want there, but there’s some kind of fear as well.
Face smiles at the other man, and drops his own hands to the hem of his t-shirt. “Relax, Bosco,” he says, and pulls the thing off and away, dropping it by his feet. He toes off his shoes, stepping forward out of his socks, and puts his hand back out for BA’s. “I don’t want to be anywhere else right now.”
A second more of hesitation, and then BA’s running his hands up and down Face’s arms again, around his shoulders, down to his elbows, up to his neck, down to his fingers. If it was Murdock, Face knows, he’d grab right there, right at apogee, pull him in for a kiss. But BA doesn’t work like that, doesn’t got for the casual emotions and doesn’t show the deep kind, so Face waits until those hands are up, perigee, and holds them in place. Forward just a little, and BA’s elbows are on his shoulders, hands instinctively stroking up into Face’s hair.
“Okay?”
“Lead the way,” Face asks, splaying himself across that broad chest, sighing into it as BA swings them both around and he pushes back, right onto the bed.
Hannibal’s managed to get Murdock out from hiding now, and the pilot’s settled back against him. Murdock sleeps naked, whenever he can, doesn’t like being drowned in the layers, he says. Hannibal’s still fully clothed, but he’s got them both tucked in now, watching as Face hooks a finger into the waistline of BA’s flannel pants and pulls him down over him. Just like he tried to do with the pilot last night. When will they fucking figure it...
Then BA surges up between his legs and captures his mouth in a deep, deep kiss.
It goes on for long minutes, BA asserting himself, letting Face know...but not taking anything either, nothing that’s not on offer, and Face wonders at how incredibly gentle it is, how careful BA’s being with him.
His leg comes up on its own, gripping against the corporal’s side, and he leverages himself over without a fight, BA spread out below for him now, both hands around Face’s shoulder, holding him still as the kiss gets harder. Face can feel the other man’s arousal through thin flannel and heav denim, wincing even as he marvels at this, how comfortable it is, how he’s okay, how everything’s okay...
A touch on the small of his back, though, shatters through him, and Face jerks upright with a gasp, straddled over BA’s hips as the other man lets go completely, staring up, lips pursed.
“Face...”
His heart’s racing, but he forces a smile. A real smile. It’s not hard. “I’m okay.” And how many times can he say he’s okay right now. He turns to Murdock, who’s recoiled back into himself, and tugs a tight hand away from that tensed body, forces fingers part and open and up to him. Face plants a kiss right in the middle of the pilot’s palm. “I already told you, baby, you can’t hurt me.”
“Faceman...” Murdock whimpers, and Face leans over to kiss him on his forehead, a quick peck on the lips that turns into something a little more complicated. More needy.
There’s smooth pressure on his hip, BA lifting his leg up and over. He whines a little. “One at a time, Face,” he says, something dark passing across his handsome face, probably thinking about the same thing that just came to Face, all the times he had one in his mouth and one in his ass, sometimes with a goddamn cockring on, that one awful night where Hannibal tried the wax... but that’s all over. It’s over.
He's not afraid anymore.
“Stay,” he asks softly, and then turns to the pilot. “Murdock,” he says softly, and holds out a hand. “Murdock, you didn’t do anything wrong. I’m not going anywhere.”
The lieutenant unslings himself from BA as Hannibal scoots back, giving Murdock a little push. The captain’s eyes are kind of peering out from that mop of hair, obviously trying to assess what’s going on here right now. Face smiles, and trails the back of his fingers into the other man’s hair, pressing in close. “I trust you.”
Murdock nods, and lets them both fall down on their sides as mouths close around one another’s. BA’s at his neck, his shoulders, licking up the nubs of his spine. His lovers, lovers again, on both sides on him. They crash together, wrapping up around one another, hands roaming, lips roaming, and Face lets himself float on it all, safe. He feels skin, more skin, BA stripping them both, Murdock rubbing up into him, everywhere, that warmth, that heat, that friction, building up between them and around them and it’s all fucking perfect, just perfect.
And on the edge of it, he hears vague talking.
“Clothes off, Hannibal.”
“BA...”
“Off, boss!”
Murdock kisses him, hard and sweet, and Face melts into it for a moment more, and then...
“Hannibal,” he says, sitting up a little, like he’s coming out of daze. Murdock kisses his chest, pulling away. BA strokes his back, and Face holds out a hand to Hannibal, who’s pushed himself back against the headboard, legs crossed, naked himself but far away. He jumps a little, when Face touches him.
The lieutenant turns over on his belly, sliding right up to the colonel, kneeling up on the bed. BA nudging him and Murdock holding one of his hands.
Hannibal closes his eyes, and Face throws his free arm around the boss’ neck. “Kid...”
“Don’t make me beg, John.”
“That first night...” Face kisses Hannibal, just a quick peck, closed lips. The colonel drops his head anyway, just so their foreheads are touching, and doesn’t look. He licks his lips. “That first night, I didn’t want it to go that way...”
“But you wanted me?”
“Any way I could have you, Templeton, from the first time I laid eyes on you. But I thought...”
Face kisses him again, not capable of hearing this right now, not ever, already knowing. Why say it now?
Hannibal lets him, a flick of tongue, answer in kind, and Face lets his head fall into Hannibal’s neck, nuzzling in, breathing deep. He doesn’t know where to take it from here, what he can say, what he should...
“What did you hope, boss?”
BA.
And Face smiles.
Murdock kisses his cheek. “Bossman, what’d you think it’d be like?”
Hard questions, and Face knows it’s not just for him, those answers that have to come. It wasn’t his first time with the boss that got fucked up, it was theirs, too. With him, with Hannibal, with each other. BA had never slept with a man before that first time with Face. Murdock had only had the kind of terrifying experiences one gets in empty rooms on base and in the supply closets of hospitals. Too many things lost.
But if he and Hannibal can fix this, this, right here, right now, all the rest will fall back into place. Where it should be. Where it should have been, the first time around.
So... “come on, boss,” Face urges. “Your new dumbass lieutenant, totally in awe of you, already in love with you, and I want to know how you want me. I want you to show me...”
Hannibal shakes his head. “Kid,” he says, and there’s something pleading in it. But when his eyes open, they’re clear, intense, but better than before. Better than every time before. “I... I wanted to take you to bed.”
“And then?”
“And then... lay you down, ravish you until you couldn’t remember your own name...”
Face arches up with his hips, driving his own rock-hard shaft against Hannibal’s groin, laying back as he does it. He drags Hannibal down with him, the older man only slightly surprised. Face isn’t sure who initiates the kiss, only that Hannibal’s the one who dominates it, the one sparking every nerve in Face’s body, the thrill of having somebody take him, breath the same air until they’re both desperate and have to break apart. “And then?” Face gasps.
Hannibal’s blue eyes are blown wide, thin rinds, and he’s breathing heavy, too. “Make you mine. Make... make myself...yours. That’s what I wanted to do, Temp, give you that. I never meant to take...”
The quilt’s between them, but Face can feel Hannibal through it, painfully hard, and rocks into him. “I want to give it to you, John. I want you to have me. I want all of you to have me.” He touches Hannibal’s face, turns so they’re looking at each other. “I love you.”
“Temp...”
“Make love to me, John,” he whispers, aware that Murdock and BA are settled back into each other, right nearby, and Hannibal looks over at them now. BA smiles, and Murdock moves in for a quick kiss, leaving his hand on the colonel’s shoulder. Face rubs his cheek against Hannibal’s, nips at his ear. “Please, John. John, please, I need you inside me...”
A strong hand, those strong hands that belong to the strongest man he’s ever know, cup his face. Blue eyes are fixed on his, and Hannibal lifts, pushing the blanket between them away. “You never have to beg, Templeton. Anything...” and Face moans with pleasure as their cocks slide against one another.
It’s all smooth and simple from here, one movement bleeding into another. Hannibal, kissing him. Hannibal, nudging his knees apart and Hannibal smiling a real little smile as Face pulls them up. Hannibal, slicking him up and stretching him, so careful, so slow, so worried. Hannibal, catching that little nub, the one Face has almost forgotten was there, feeling the tingle that was only ever an accident before but never, never this intense. Hannibal, still working him open until BA leans over and tells him...
“It’s okay, John, you ain’t going to hurt him. He need you, boss....”
...and Hannibal withdraws, Face moaning the loss of those fingers, the emptiness there, and then Hannibal’s asking him, Hannibal’s kissing him, Hannibal’s shaking, Hannibal’s lining up, pushing in, filling him, moving inside him, taking us home, Face thinks, and that’s enough, right there, to push him right over the edge almost before Hannibal’s even started, a minute or two, barely anything.
And it’s okay, too, he thinks as his own release spreads between them and his vision blanks and he sinks into the white noise, because Hannibal’s murmuring something in his ear he can’t quite hear, and Hannibal’s flooding into him, that impossible heat hitting his prostate, taking that hollow feeling away, all the pain, taking it away forever, and he can make it out, what Hannibal’s saying.
“I love you, I love you, I love you Templeton, I...”
Face hooks his legs, rests his head against that lightly furred chest, holds Hannibal in, deep inside.
+++++
The moning’s worn on, almost noon now, by the time Face wakes up. Hannibal’s still asleep against him, Murdock curled up into the colonel’s shoulder and BA flat on his stomach, one arm draped clean over Murdock, snoring lightly.
He’s sticky. All that mess to deal with, after these things.
Luckily, it’s no matter at all to squirm free from Hannibal’s slumber-loosened grasp, slip from the room, pad down the hall to the other bathroom.
The shower’s smaller here, a little further away than Hannibal’s in-suite and a little quieter. They won’t hear, he tells himself as he lets the water heat up. Won’t be an issue for him. Won’t have to deal with it. Won’t have to worry about talking to any of them, all the things he has to say the next day won’t have to be said.
Face reaches out through the flimsy plastic curtain, grabbing for a clean washcloth, watches the water darken it, soaps it up, telling himself that same thing he always tells himself, get that first, get all of that...
His forehead hits the tile, takes the weight on his arm, and he groans.
Same thing?
What the fuck’s wrong with him?
It wasn’t anything like that.
It wasn’t horrible. Wasn’t something he wants to run from. Wasn’t something he wants to forget.
So what the fuck?
Face looks down at where the washcloth’s fallen out of his hands, where it’s plugging the drain and where Hannibal’s picking it back up for him. The boss is right there, in the crack in the curtain, bare skin wet in the excess spray, that strong, lithe body so unsure, still so unsure.
“Murdock said he’d do grilled cheese for lunch and BA's doing his mom's tomato soup. Thought we'd... take it slow for the rest of the day.”
“Sounds good.” The words slide down with the water.
"If you don't want to stay, if you need some time..."
"We've already lost too much of that, time," Face says, and bites his lip. God, that sounded awful, and Hannibal's shifting, uncomfortable.
“Look, Face, about before...”
“Don’t...”
“I need to say this, Face,” Hannibal almost snaps, and then softens again. “I... I’ve always loved you kid, and I want... everything’s okay, right? I can’t, again... ”
“I’m sorry, boss,” he relies, not knowing what else to say, seeing everything that’s running under the surface there. “I know you did. You know I did, right? All of you? Even then?”
“Why?”
There are a thousand explanations for that, each as true as the last, and Face thinks about just going through them all, right now, reminding Hannibal about just what they’re meant to be to each other, and fuck the shower. But Hannibal’s hair is sticking up, all sideways from sleeping on it sweaty, Face realizes, and reaches out to smooth it down.
Feels good to touch.
Feels certain, and Face lets himself fall forward into that.
Hannibal catches him and kisses the crown of his head. Slow, though, like Face will break. “You okay, kid?” he murmurs, bringing the washcloth up against Face’s chest, warm between them.
“Never better, boss.”
“I love you, Templeton.
“Love you, John.”
That washcloth’s still roaming, slow, no pressure. “Is this what... what you normally...did? Cleaned up my mess for me, afterward?”
Face nods. “My mess, too.”
That washcloth slides over his shoulders and around, Hannibal’s arm following and settling there. “You shouldn’t have had to.”
“Boss...” Face begins, and thinks better of what he was going to say. Why worry about any of that shit now? It’s over. They’ve never done this before. And how many first times are they all going to have together now? How many good memories, to replace all the bad? How many things have they yet to explore? A lifetime, Face hopes, believes, knows, and he grins up. “You want to give me a hand?”
Hannibal smiles back, and steps over the edge of the tub.
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: mentions of attempted suicide
Summary: A sequel to Daylight
Umm, so I got this in the comments for Daylight...
That's a great story but I like happy ends. Can I request for a sequel where Face finally can't take it anymore and breaks down in front of them resulting in a lot of comforting and a non-rough relationship between the four?
I feel kind of bad about this story and I don't want to give anybody the same kind of nightmares I get sometimes from these things, so... fill! Here’s the third and final part!
The boss sets his book down.
Hannibal doesn’t look up, doesn’t ask, just reaches over as Face sits down next to him on the back porch. Pulls the younger man into his shoulder, cradling him in. And Face yawns a little to cover the smile.
“How you doing, Face?”
How long has it taken them to get to this point together? Better part of a year? No, more. More than a year. It’s been coming and going in stages. Little steps.
Three months to get to the point where they’d touch. BA had been first, reaching over and rubbing the small of Face’s back after an early morning run, out of view of the rest of the unit. Just a hand, and an uncertain grin that broadened as Face arched back into it and then slapped his ass playfully, running on, laughing.
Seven months, so that one of them would sleep with him. He remembered that, his own room at Hannibal’s, asleep and not afraid anymore of that darkness under the boss’ roof. Asleep, until Murdock cracked the door and tugged his hand out from under the covers and pulled him to his feet, wrapping around him and leading him away, asking him in a soft whisper if he really did like cuddles, that it wouldn’t hurt his feelings if... and Face had tackled him onto Hannibal’s big bed, landing right in between the other two, a tangle of limbs, both of them giggling.
Nine months, until that morning where Hannibal had been making pancakes and Billy had gotten in the kitchen, Murdock chasing him, and everything ended up in an explosion of cake flour and laughter, a very flustered Hannibal standing by the stove, looking... well, Face had caught him around the waist and kissed him full on the mouth. Hannibal had looked shocked, but before he could pull away or do something equally stupid, BA wrapped them both up in a bear hug, Murdock’s cheek pressed against Face’s shoulder, and laughing, he’d kissed Hannibal again. That second time, Hannibal had kissed him back.
“Good, boss,” he says now, leaning into that soft touch. It’s all soft now, not like teenage-romance-movie soft, but soft, nonetheless. Maybe quiet’s a better word for it. Still. Easy. Smooth. Like he’ll break if any of them press too hard. Whatever. They're not afraid any longer. He's not afraid any longer. “Real good.”
They sit like that for a minute, maybe two, and then the boss goes back for his book, pats Face on the knee, and pushes up. “That’s good,” Hannibal says, that typical little edge of relief in his voice, the one that’s been there since the hospital.
“I wish he’d stop sounding like that,” Face murmurs to himself, but Hannibal stops.
“Sound like what, kid?”
He blinks, looking up. “Like you’re expecting me to pull away, every time you so much as look at me.”
“Oh, that’s where you’re wrong kid,” Hannibal says, and ruffles his hair. “That morning, in the hospital, remember?”
“Yeah?”
“You didn’t shy away from me then. First time you didn't,” and Hannibal chewed the inside of his lip, forcing a smile again. “It’s not you, kid. Knew you’d be okay, when I saw that.”
And this was the bit that just wouldn’t seem to go away. Thirteen months. This one last barrier.
“Boss?” Face asks, asking the thing he hasn’t wanted to ask. “Boss, that... Murdock’s pills, did you...”
Hannibal leans back against the house wall, right by the living room sliding glass door, looking out at the yard. “I could never hurt you, Templeton,” he says finally, and then he’s gone, back inside.
“It did hurt me,” Face whispers, but this time, there’s no one to hear.
In the living room, Murdock’s watching cartoons, the bright splashes of colors on the television a sharp contrast to the fading day outside. Loose limbs, loose smile, like a little kid sometimes, and Face has always found that odd, Murdock being so innocent. He’d been through so more much than the rest of them put together...
“Animaniacs is on next,” the pilot says, swinging over to look at Face. He pats the sofa next to him. “You up for it?”
“Yeah, buddy, sure,” Face replies, feeling something coiling up. His conversation with Hannibal, probably, or maybe, maybe something else. He plops down, right next to Murdock, mentally fistpunching as his friend curls right up into him, under an arm, pressed flush against his side, and fingers playing right over his chest.
Face brings that arm around Murdock’s shoulders up, stroking his hair. He can feel himself getting hard, just from this, just like so many nights before, nights when the kissing starts up, nights that’ll see them all in bed together, or in some different combination in different places. He’s heard them, Murdock and BA still... but nothing for Hannibal.
Nothing for him.
“Fuck,” he sighs, and sees Murdock’s eyes flash bright with confusion, right as he’s trying to push off. Not tonight. He doesn’t want to end up in the bathroom with a washcloth again, trying to take care of something his... his lovers really should, but won’t, before sliding back between the covers. “Not right now, HM, please...”
But Face finds himself with a lapful of aroused pilot, his own erection pressing against his own through too many layers of clothing, and Murdock lowers those long lashes of his as he drags a single finger down the other man’s chest. He leans in for a kiss, long and sweet and slow. “You okay, darling?” he murmurs as he breaks the kiss.
Face closes his eyes and lets his head hit the back of the couch, hands coming up to stroke Murdock’s sides, bunching up the Iron Man t-shirt and feeling hot skin against his palms. “More than okay, baby,” he replies, just as soft, loving the way the baby rolls of the tongue. So close...
Murdock looks away. “Face,” he says, “Face, the last time, we... I was... it was me, wasn’t it? Rippin’ you open?”
“No, Murdock, fuck, please...” Face groans, wrapping both arms around the pilot and pulling him close, rocking him slowly. “It wasn’t...”
“I felt it.” The words rattle across Face’s neck. “I fel’ it, and I should’a stopped but I... I thought it was... ain’t never been good for you, with us.” It's so low Face can barely decipher it.
“Let’s do it right, then,” Face says and Murdock pushes back, obviously trying to parse this out. The lieutenant fingers that dark hair. “Let’s get it right.”
“Temp...”
Hands are grabbing at his shirt, big handfuls of fabric, and Face braces Murdock with a hand cupping the back of his head, thumb rubbing a slow circle against his friend’s scalp. “You aren’t going to hurt me. I’ll catch, we won’t fall down there again, I promise.”
“Swear it?”
“Pinky swear, buddy,” he says, holding up that particular finger. Murdock grins a little, lets go of his deathgrip on the couch to twine his little finger with Face’s, and the lieutenant, smiling, uses that to pull him back in to another one of those sweet, sweet kisses.
They roll as the kiss deepens, grows, taking them both to the horizontal, taking them to the ground when the couch proves too narrow. Face uses his legs to hold Murdock close, keep him on top, and he arches up into it, lifting his arms, urging his friend to strip his shirt off. Murdock hesitates for a moment, then skins it off him, takes his own off and well, and then there’s more skin, more contact, more kissing, more everything, everything he wants, coming to the surface.
He snakes up, licks a hot little circle over one of Murdock’s nipples, feeling it tighten to a hard little bud, trying to relax the other man. He can feel him shaking, knows he doesn’t want to be on top, doesn’t want to take the lead, still afraid, still so unsure. “Please,” he whispers before latching on and sucking lightly. “I trust you.” He moves to the other. “I love you, Murdock, please...”
The pilot makes a hungry little whine, low and rumbling, and fists his hands in Face’s hair, holding him in, and Face leans up on an elbow, staying close as he worries that little bud between his teeth, loving the shudder above him that has nothing to do with fear anymore, not wanting to lose a second of this, grinding up into the other man’s groin, free hand searching out the button of Murdock's fly and the...
...and then something’s ripping Murdock away, ripping them apart, and...
“Murdock! What the fuck are you doing?!”
Face looks up from where he’s sort of collapsed on the living room carpet.
Looks up at Hannibal.
Glares at him for a minute, and then scrambles over on his knees to where Murdock’s balled himself up against the nearest wall, eyes blown and breathing fast. He scoots away as Face tries to touch him, hands scrunching up over his ears.
“What is your problem, boss?” Face snaps, trying to untangle Murdock from the noise in his mind he just knows is rising up to overwhelm him.
“He was...”
“He was not, you fucking asshole!” the lieutenant practically yells, and leans forward, pulling Murdock into him. The pilot’s not exactly pliant, but he’s not resisting, and then he stares at Hannibal, and falls back into Face’s chest. Face rests his chin on the other man’s shoulder. “I asked him, Hannibal. I. Asked.”
The boss looks away, shame pouring off him now. “I just... boys, after everything...”
“How much more bullshit do you have to put us all through, bossman?” Murdock says frantically. “Face ‘n’ y’all said, after the hospital, that this was over, that it’d be over...”
“Murdock...” And Face can see the hurt, the shift of emotion, play out over Hannibal’s features, and finally the older man takes a knee, falls back and buries his face in his hand. “I didn’t mean...”
“Yeah, you didn’t mean. And then you cut and ran like a fucking coward!” Murdock yells in that frighteningly sane way of his, and Face has to tighten his grip. He can see BA appear over the pilot’s shoulder, the big guy staring at the scene in the living room with wild eyes. “You tried to kill yourself!”
All the sound goes out of the room.
None of them have dared say this out loud before. Not to each other. And definitely not to Hannibal.
And the boss doesn’t try to deny it.
Face feels something break in the back of his mind.
"Motherfucker," BA breathes.
Murdock's not as subtle. Murdock's, actually, still screaming.
“You haven’t fucked any of us since that! We been lettin’ Face go this like he needs to! What the fuck is your problem!?”
BA nods, coming in, sitting down next to their commander. Lays a hand on his knee. “You already paid up, Hannibal. When you gonna let Face have what he needs?”
“I’ve made that mistake before,” Hannibal says, as faint and distant as he was that day in the clinic. “I can’t make it again.”
“An’ I am?” Murdock asks, genuinely panicked. He cranes his neck to look back at Face. “Temp, am I makin’, am I doin’ than, now, to you?”
“No.” He could kill Hannibal right now. But instead, Face just kisses Murdock, wiping a tear away as the pilot’s anger ebbs, as the sorrow comes up, emotions shifting so quickly. “It’s okay, buddy.”
“No it ain’t, Faceman...”
“Yes, it is,” Face says, desperately hoping that this hasn’t gotten fucked up again. He’s worked too hard, they’ve all worked too hard. He pulls his friend up with him, holding him around the waist. “It’s fine, Murdock. It’s just Hannibal. Hannibal’s not ready.”
“Kid...”
“I’m going to bed,” Face says, very slowly, and squeezes once before letting Murdock go. Before leaving the room, feeling like he’s falling without a net. Nobody to catch him right now. “Anybody’s welcome to come.”
“Face...”
He turns.
Hannibal swallows. “I... it was five, six years of...rape.” It’s whispered and BA grips his shoulder. “I raped you, Temp. How could I ever...” he stops, and puts his head even further down, "...make love to you, after..."
“And don’t you think I want to know the difference?” Face says, knowing how sad that sounds, and pads down the hall in silence.
Fuck all of this, Face thinks, and hits the bed in his old room. Locks the door.
It’s not going to be tonight.
Hannibal’s not over this. Might never get over this. Just like Face had feared all those years.
So maybe, now, it won’t be any night.
Maybe... it would be better to just...and Face jams a pillow down over his head to muffle out the sound of the inevitable conclusion to that line of thinking. But it would probably be better. Better to just...
Go.
It’s amazing, he thinks to himself, how dry-eyed that concept is right now. What was he thinking, hoping that anything could survive this?
The doorknob rattles, a light knock, somebody saying something, but Face can’t hear it through the pillow, he tells himself, and pretty soon, it all goes away, and everything fades into black and he doesn't dream.
+++++
The next morning, Face wakes early, if he slept at all. It’s the weekend, it’s barely dawn, it’s a good time to leave. He can go see Morrison tomorrow, get a transfer, get the hell away from Hannibal, his unit, this whole fucking situation.
He doesn’t have much over here. He doesn’t own much of anything anyway, nothing important, nothing worth taking, nothing worth worrying about. It all fits in his backpack.
Feet soft in the hallway, Hannibal’s bedroom door is closed, no sign of Murdock or BA or Hannibal, for that matter. Good, he tells himself, ignoring the tightening in his stomach. It’s a thirty minute drive to his apartment. He can think things out there, maybe, come back, maybe, if it sounds like a good idea. If he can stomach the notion.
Fuck it.
The front door opens easily enough.
“You giving up on me, kid?”
Hannibal, out on step, cold cigar in hand, staring up at the rafters of the porch. It looks like he’s been here all night.
“You already gave up on yourself, boss,” Face says, as curtly as he can. “There’s no excuse for that.”
“Kid, it wasn’t like that.”
“No. Excuse.”
“I hurt you.”
Face bites his lip so hard it starts bleeding. There’s no way he can say this aloud, no way he can bring up the fact that ther’s still a Catholic in him, no matter what the Church might say about his preferences. That there’s something fundamental about what Hannibal tried to do, that if Hannibal had... because of him, Hannibal might have, still might be... he shivers. He can’t think about that right now. He’ll go insane.
Shivers again.
Hears Hannibal stand behind him.
And Face stops walking.
“I don’t care,” he replies softly, and there’s Hannibal’s solid bulk behind him. “About that.”
The boss lays uncertain hands on Face’s hips, circling slowly, thumb and index pressing in lightly. “I care, Face. I care about you.”
The lieutenant lets himself lay back a little, sighs into it, let Hannibal hold him up. “Care about you, too, John.”
“No guesses, Templeton,” Hannibal whispers in his ear. “No assumptions. Tell me... what do you want?”
This is insane, Face knows. They’re out in clear view of the street, Hannibal curling around him in an unmistakable manner, where anybody walking their dog or out for a morning run might... but fuck that, too.
“I want you, all three of you.”
“Mmm,” the boss says and hugs Face in a little tighter, Face lets his hands fall over Hannibal’s, where they’re clasped in right on his belly. “How do you want us?”
“Naked,” Face laughs, and wriggles around, so they’re nose to nose. “Really, really naked.”
Hannibal smiles a little and starts leading them back towards the door. “And once we’re naked?”
“I thought I could got to bed.”
“Tuck you in?” Hannibal asks and pushes them inside.
“Naw, take me,” Face teases back, and unable to keep it up anymore, presses his lips into a line, serious again. “I need you to take me to bed. Make love to me. Do it right, the four of us...”
“Kid...” Hannibal says, not smiling at all now, “is that really...what you need?”
Face presses both his hands onto Hannibal's chest, looks up into scared blue eyes. “Come on," he says, stroking a little, begging and not caring because it'll be so, so worth it, "you’re asking the wrong question, boss.”
“...come to bed with me, dear boy?” And Hannibal takes a deep breath.
Face has never loved the man more than he does in this moment.
Hannibal shuts the bedroom door behind them, Face hugged into his side, letting his backpack fall right there. He looks at the boss. Something unreadable there.
BA looks up from Murdock, both of them sitting up against the pillows, talking in hushed tones about something Face can’t hear. And anyway, the talking stops once the big guy sees him.
Once Murdock digs his face back under the blankets, burrowing under.
“I’ve got him,” Hannibal says, almost sorrowfully, and leaves Face there at the door, alone, walking over to the pilot’s side of the bed and tucking himself up underneath the quilt to talk to him... Face sways a little on his feet
“You okay, man?” BA asks, shooting Hannibal a glance and coming over. He’s got his favorite pair of sleep pants on, the real soft ones, tattoos bulging on his arms, crossed across his chest like he doesn’t know what else to do with them. But he reaches out, nothing as simple as taking Face’s hand, but slides a big palm up the lieutenant’s arm, all the way up to his shoulder, gripping around behind in his shirt.
“I’m fine,” Face says.
“Glad you gonna stay,” BA says in that same low voice, and they both look over at where the blankets are obscuring the colonel’s form as Murdock hugs into him, holding on for dear life. Those emotions, flip-flopping again, violent, unbalanced. “Ain’t nothing been right lately.”
There’s want there, but there’s some kind of fear as well.
Face smiles at the other man, and drops his own hands to the hem of his t-shirt. “Relax, Bosco,” he says, and pulls the thing off and away, dropping it by his feet. He toes off his shoes, stepping forward out of his socks, and puts his hand back out for BA’s. “I don’t want to be anywhere else right now.”
A second more of hesitation, and then BA’s running his hands up and down Face’s arms again, around his shoulders, down to his elbows, up to his neck, down to his fingers. If it was Murdock, Face knows, he’d grab right there, right at apogee, pull him in for a kiss. But BA doesn’t work like that, doesn’t got for the casual emotions and doesn’t show the deep kind, so Face waits until those hands are up, perigee, and holds them in place. Forward just a little, and BA’s elbows are on his shoulders, hands instinctively stroking up into Face’s hair.
“Okay?”
“Lead the way,” Face asks, splaying himself across that broad chest, sighing into it as BA swings them both around and he pushes back, right onto the bed.
Hannibal’s managed to get Murdock out from hiding now, and the pilot’s settled back against him. Murdock sleeps naked, whenever he can, doesn’t like being drowned in the layers, he says. Hannibal’s still fully clothed, but he’s got them both tucked in now, watching as Face hooks a finger into the waistline of BA’s flannel pants and pulls him down over him. Just like he tried to do with the pilot last night. When will they fucking figure it...
Then BA surges up between his legs and captures his mouth in a deep, deep kiss.
It goes on for long minutes, BA asserting himself, letting Face know...but not taking anything either, nothing that’s not on offer, and Face wonders at how incredibly gentle it is, how careful BA’s being with him.
His leg comes up on its own, gripping against the corporal’s side, and he leverages himself over without a fight, BA spread out below for him now, both hands around Face’s shoulder, holding him still as the kiss gets harder. Face can feel the other man’s arousal through thin flannel and heav denim, wincing even as he marvels at this, how comfortable it is, how he’s okay, how everything’s okay...
A touch on the small of his back, though, shatters through him, and Face jerks upright with a gasp, straddled over BA’s hips as the other man lets go completely, staring up, lips pursed.
“Face...”
His heart’s racing, but he forces a smile. A real smile. It’s not hard. “I’m okay.” And how many times can he say he’s okay right now. He turns to Murdock, who’s recoiled back into himself, and tugs a tight hand away from that tensed body, forces fingers part and open and up to him. Face plants a kiss right in the middle of the pilot’s palm. “I already told you, baby, you can’t hurt me.”
“Faceman...” Murdock whimpers, and Face leans over to kiss him on his forehead, a quick peck on the lips that turns into something a little more complicated. More needy.
There’s smooth pressure on his hip, BA lifting his leg up and over. He whines a little. “One at a time, Face,” he says, something dark passing across his handsome face, probably thinking about the same thing that just came to Face, all the times he had one in his mouth and one in his ass, sometimes with a goddamn cockring on, that one awful night where Hannibal tried the wax... but that’s all over. It’s over.
He's not afraid anymore.
“Stay,” he asks softly, and then turns to the pilot. “Murdock,” he says softly, and holds out a hand. “Murdock, you didn’t do anything wrong. I’m not going anywhere.”
The lieutenant unslings himself from BA as Hannibal scoots back, giving Murdock a little push. The captain’s eyes are kind of peering out from that mop of hair, obviously trying to assess what’s going on here right now. Face smiles, and trails the back of his fingers into the other man’s hair, pressing in close. “I trust you.”
Murdock nods, and lets them both fall down on their sides as mouths close around one another’s. BA’s at his neck, his shoulders, licking up the nubs of his spine. His lovers, lovers again, on both sides on him. They crash together, wrapping up around one another, hands roaming, lips roaming, and Face lets himself float on it all, safe. He feels skin, more skin, BA stripping them both, Murdock rubbing up into him, everywhere, that warmth, that heat, that friction, building up between them and around them and it’s all fucking perfect, just perfect.
And on the edge of it, he hears vague talking.
“Clothes off, Hannibal.”
“BA...”
“Off, boss!”
Murdock kisses him, hard and sweet, and Face melts into it for a moment more, and then...
“Hannibal,” he says, sitting up a little, like he’s coming out of daze. Murdock kisses his chest, pulling away. BA strokes his back, and Face holds out a hand to Hannibal, who’s pushed himself back against the headboard, legs crossed, naked himself but far away. He jumps a little, when Face touches him.
The lieutenant turns over on his belly, sliding right up to the colonel, kneeling up on the bed. BA nudging him and Murdock holding one of his hands.
Hannibal closes his eyes, and Face throws his free arm around the boss’ neck. “Kid...”
“Don’t make me beg, John.”
“That first night...” Face kisses Hannibal, just a quick peck, closed lips. The colonel drops his head anyway, just so their foreheads are touching, and doesn’t look. He licks his lips. “That first night, I didn’t want it to go that way...”
“But you wanted me?”
“Any way I could have you, Templeton, from the first time I laid eyes on you. But I thought...”
Face kisses him again, not capable of hearing this right now, not ever, already knowing. Why say it now?
Hannibal lets him, a flick of tongue, answer in kind, and Face lets his head fall into Hannibal’s neck, nuzzling in, breathing deep. He doesn’t know where to take it from here, what he can say, what he should...
“What did you hope, boss?”
BA.
And Face smiles.
Murdock kisses his cheek. “Bossman, what’d you think it’d be like?”
Hard questions, and Face knows it’s not just for him, those answers that have to come. It wasn’t his first time with the boss that got fucked up, it was theirs, too. With him, with Hannibal, with each other. BA had never slept with a man before that first time with Face. Murdock had only had the kind of terrifying experiences one gets in empty rooms on base and in the supply closets of hospitals. Too many things lost.
But if he and Hannibal can fix this, this, right here, right now, all the rest will fall back into place. Where it should be. Where it should have been, the first time around.
So... “come on, boss,” Face urges. “Your new dumbass lieutenant, totally in awe of you, already in love with you, and I want to know how you want me. I want you to show me...”
Hannibal shakes his head. “Kid,” he says, and there’s something pleading in it. But when his eyes open, they’re clear, intense, but better than before. Better than every time before. “I... I wanted to take you to bed.”
“And then?”
“And then... lay you down, ravish you until you couldn’t remember your own name...”
Face arches up with his hips, driving his own rock-hard shaft against Hannibal’s groin, laying back as he does it. He drags Hannibal down with him, the older man only slightly surprised. Face isn’t sure who initiates the kiss, only that Hannibal’s the one who dominates it, the one sparking every nerve in Face’s body, the thrill of having somebody take him, breath the same air until they’re both desperate and have to break apart. “And then?” Face gasps.
Hannibal’s blue eyes are blown wide, thin rinds, and he’s breathing heavy, too. “Make you mine. Make... make myself...yours. That’s what I wanted to do, Temp, give you that. I never meant to take...”
The quilt’s between them, but Face can feel Hannibal through it, painfully hard, and rocks into him. “I want to give it to you, John. I want you to have me. I want all of you to have me.” He touches Hannibal’s face, turns so they’re looking at each other. “I love you.”
“Temp...”
“Make love to me, John,” he whispers, aware that Murdock and BA are settled back into each other, right nearby, and Hannibal looks over at them now. BA smiles, and Murdock moves in for a quick kiss, leaving his hand on the colonel’s shoulder. Face rubs his cheek against Hannibal’s, nips at his ear. “Please, John. John, please, I need you inside me...”
A strong hand, those strong hands that belong to the strongest man he’s ever know, cup his face. Blue eyes are fixed on his, and Hannibal lifts, pushing the blanket between them away. “You never have to beg, Templeton. Anything...” and Face moans with pleasure as their cocks slide against one another.
It’s all smooth and simple from here, one movement bleeding into another. Hannibal, kissing him. Hannibal, nudging his knees apart and Hannibal smiling a real little smile as Face pulls them up. Hannibal, slicking him up and stretching him, so careful, so slow, so worried. Hannibal, catching that little nub, the one Face has almost forgotten was there, feeling the tingle that was only ever an accident before but never, never this intense. Hannibal, still working him open until BA leans over and tells him...
“It’s okay, John, you ain’t going to hurt him. He need you, boss....”
...and Hannibal withdraws, Face moaning the loss of those fingers, the emptiness there, and then Hannibal’s asking him, Hannibal’s kissing him, Hannibal’s shaking, Hannibal’s lining up, pushing in, filling him, moving inside him, taking us home, Face thinks, and that’s enough, right there, to push him right over the edge almost before Hannibal’s even started, a minute or two, barely anything.
And it’s okay, too, he thinks as his own release spreads between them and his vision blanks and he sinks into the white noise, because Hannibal’s murmuring something in his ear he can’t quite hear, and Hannibal’s flooding into him, that impossible heat hitting his prostate, taking that hollow feeling away, all the pain, taking it away forever, and he can make it out, what Hannibal’s saying.
“I love you, I love you, I love you Templeton, I...”
Face hooks his legs, rests his head against that lightly furred chest, holds Hannibal in, deep inside.
+++++
The moning’s worn on, almost noon now, by the time Face wakes up. Hannibal’s still asleep against him, Murdock curled up into the colonel’s shoulder and BA flat on his stomach, one arm draped clean over Murdock, snoring lightly.
He’s sticky. All that mess to deal with, after these things.
Luckily, it’s no matter at all to squirm free from Hannibal’s slumber-loosened grasp, slip from the room, pad down the hall to the other bathroom.
The shower’s smaller here, a little further away than Hannibal’s in-suite and a little quieter. They won’t hear, he tells himself as he lets the water heat up. Won’t be an issue for him. Won’t have to deal with it. Won’t have to worry about talking to any of them, all the things he has to say the next day won’t have to be said.
Face reaches out through the flimsy plastic curtain, grabbing for a clean washcloth, watches the water darken it, soaps it up, telling himself that same thing he always tells himself, get that first, get all of that...
His forehead hits the tile, takes the weight on his arm, and he groans.
Same thing?
What the fuck’s wrong with him?
It wasn’t anything like that.
It wasn’t horrible. Wasn’t something he wants to run from. Wasn’t something he wants to forget.
So what the fuck?
Face looks down at where the washcloth’s fallen out of his hands, where it’s plugging the drain and where Hannibal’s picking it back up for him. The boss is right there, in the crack in the curtain, bare skin wet in the excess spray, that strong, lithe body so unsure, still so unsure.
“Murdock said he’d do grilled cheese for lunch and BA's doing his mom's tomato soup. Thought we'd... take it slow for the rest of the day.”
“Sounds good.” The words slide down with the water.
"If you don't want to stay, if you need some time..."
"We've already lost too much of that, time," Face says, and bites his lip. God, that sounded awful, and Hannibal's shifting, uncomfortable.
“Look, Face, about before...”
“Don’t...”
“I need to say this, Face,” Hannibal almost snaps, and then softens again. “I... I’ve always loved you kid, and I want... everything’s okay, right? I can’t, again... ”
“I’m sorry, boss,” he relies, not knowing what else to say, seeing everything that’s running under the surface there. “I know you did. You know I did, right? All of you? Even then?”
“Why?”
There are a thousand explanations for that, each as true as the last, and Face thinks about just going through them all, right now, reminding Hannibal about just what they’re meant to be to each other, and fuck the shower. But Hannibal’s hair is sticking up, all sideways from sleeping on it sweaty, Face realizes, and reaches out to smooth it down.
Feels good to touch.
Feels certain, and Face lets himself fall forward into that.
Hannibal catches him and kisses the crown of his head. Slow, though, like Face will break. “You okay, kid?” he murmurs, bringing the washcloth up against Face’s chest, warm between them.
“Never better, boss.”
“I love you, Templeton.
“Love you, John.”
That washcloth’s still roaming, slow, no pressure. “Is this what... what you normally...did? Cleaned up my mess for me, afterward?”
Face nods. “My mess, too.”
That washcloth slides over his shoulders and around, Hannibal’s arm following and settling there. “You shouldn’t have had to.”
“Boss...” Face begins, and thinks better of what he was going to say. Why worry about any of that shit now? It’s over. They’ve never done this before. And how many first times are they all going to have together now? How many good memories, to replace all the bad? How many things have they yet to explore? A lifetime, Face hopes, believes, knows, and he grins up. “You want to give me a hand?”
Hannibal smiles back, and steps over the edge of the tub.
