Article 15 - Epilogue
Mar. 6th, 2011 03:34 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sonora_conejaPairing: Hannibal/Face, Face/OMC
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: non-con
Summary: Epilogue for a fill for this prompt over at the kink meme
Um. So I had this fantasy idea.
Hannibal and Face are together and very happy. But then Face is accused of something horrible - IDK, drug-dealing, killing a fellow soldier, something horrible. He's innocent, but nobody believes him. Not even Hannibal... Hannibal's so disgusted and angry he breaks up with Face and gets him reassigned. (your choice if this happens pre-BA and Murdock or after the team has already been formed). Dub-con/punishment-sex totally welcome in here *hint hint*.
Face tries to get Hannibal to believe him, but he won't listen. Face ends up in a different unit and is heart-broken, Hannibal too by the apparent betrayal. Some time goes by, and slowly Hannibal realizes that Face is not coping well. He doesn't want to care, but Face sleeps around - maybe hooks up with a guy from the new team or someone else who's no good for him? - and gets in trouble etc., and his new boss can't deal with him. Eventually - insert fitting plot device here - it turns out that Face was innocent all along and Hannibal made a horrible mistake!!!
Now he has to get his boy back and earn back his trust... easier said than done!
Face shoots a woman on a mission, and Hannibal throws him out. But Face soon finds himself at the mercy of a colonel who’s not afraid to take what he wants from the young lieutenant.
Hannibal’s late tonight.
Hannibal’s very, very late, Face thinks to himself, and glances at the clock on the stove as he goes for another slice of cold delivery pizza, folding it up between the fingers of his right hand. Healed it might be, his hand still hurts sometimes, weak twinging pain that fades nearly as fast as it comes. Hannibal laughs, and kisses the little red scar over his pinkie, where the worst of the blow fell, and tells him it won’t be the first damage he’ll sustain, and it won’t be the worst.
But Hannibal’s late.
2100.
He practically threw Face out of his office early, around 1500, growling something about paperwork and a meeting with the installation commander. It’s a Friday, so that really makes no goddamn sense. Who has meetings on Friday nights?
It’s been good though, since that night four months ago, Hannibal holding him in the grungy motel room down off the I-25. When he broke his hand. When Harrison’s career fucking died.
A scandal. It was one of those scandals the likes of which the DoD braces itself for. A colonel, married, respected, abusing his rank for sexual gain. Usually, this involves a couple of female E-3s who don’t realize they’ve got the right to say no. The wife cries to the Army Times, the Pentagon makes a statement, the bastard is forced into retirement.
But this was rape, and Face wasn’t the first. So Hannibal got them all justice. Pulled the strings to get the right people to the right victims, the evidence out in the open. Face suspects Hannibal’s the reason that this got attention on the national news, and Hannibal’s responsible for the court omitting the name of Templeton Peck from the released report and Hannibal’s to thank for the fact the asshole got his rank stripped down to O-1 and five years in Leavenworth.
Face’s own fate’s less certain. Hannibal yanked him back down to the company the second he came off convalescent leave. Officially, Face isn’t assigned there, but Hannibal’s had him surreptitiously working as the exec since then, which means he’s been back on the range since the brace came off.
Nothing like pinging lead off steel to fix all a man’s problems, Face thinks, grinning around a mouthful of pepperoni and cheese. Nothing like Hannibal to make everything better.
He can’t spend every night here. He can’t move in. The neighbors might get suspicious, and rumors aren’t anything either of them can afford. But Face spends a good portion of his weekends here now, at Hannibal’s house, and a weeknight or two, the two of them tangled together on the sofa or in the boss’ huge king-sized bed or the floor, touching, kissing, getting naked...
The garage door opener whines awake, and Face snaps out of his pizza-induced musings. The boss is back.
And he better have a damn good answer for being late. They’re losing valuable fucking time right now.
So Face assumes a position of indifference as Hannibal trudges into the kitchen, dropping his hat and car keys on the counter, a big sealed manila envelop in hand. Doesn’t even look at the lieutenant. Nope. Goes straight for the liquor instead, pouring and downing what looks like a double scotch, straight, kind of falls back onto the counter after finishing it, shoulders bowed under all the camo.
All of the younger man’s anger evaporates. This could be bad... “Boss?” he asks tentatively, and lays a hand on those broad shoulders. “What’s up?”
Hannibal doesn’t look at him, but holds up the envelop instead. “We got the decision in. The boss was going to give it to you on Monday, but I talked him out of it. Said I’d have you come in tomorrow morning instead.”
“Do you know what’s in here?”
“Just open it.”
Face takes the envelop and rips it open with a steak knife, shaking a little as he draws the folder out. Hannibal straightens up, watching guardedly as he pulls out the paperwork guts inside, starts sorting them out.
It takes him a few minutes to find what he’s looking for. Another few minutes to figure out what it’s saying. And...
“Fuck, boss,” he breathes, looking up in disbelief. “Did you know about this?”
Hannibal’s steel-blue eyes are wet with tears. “Yeah.”
“This, this is...this can’t be right, Hannibal, it just can’t.”
And the major is right there, cradling his head from behind, an arm around his chest, holding him up. “It’s a full acquittal. Record purge. Nothing will be in your file. None of it.”
“How the fuck did you pull this...”
“I didn’t pull strings for you, kid. You told the truth. They trusted that. It was all you, Face.”
Later, Face will remember how much pride’s in the older man’s voice as he says that, how he’s shaking a little, but right now, all he can do is stare. Wonder. Marvel. Hope. “Then... then I’m...”
“A Ranger again?” Face has to wipe his own tears away, but it’s all threatening to come crashing apart on him now. “With... with...”
“Under my command,” Hannibal says, his voice breaking too. “My lieutenant again. Right, right where you...should be...b-before I tore you away from...”
Spinning around on the high stool, Face lets himself fall off into Hannibal’s arms and kisses him with everything he’s got, telling him with his body, the slide of his tongue and the arch of his neck, the offer of surrender, the request for dominance, that there’s nothing wrong, that everything, right now, right here, is perfectly okay.
That he’s okay.
That they’re okay.
Hannibal clenches tight fists against Face’s ribs, the knuckles playing across bone, and takes command of that kiss. The lieutenant moans into that shared space between them. Palms flatten, lift him up, and Face wraps his legs around the older’s man waist and his arms around his neck, panting into the crook of his own shoulder as the angle tears his mouth off the boss’. “Please,” he says, hand now weak with emotion against Hannibal’s cheek. “Please, John...”
“Never have to beg me, love,” Hannibal murmurs back thickly. “Never...”
“I know, but you love it when I do.”
“Love everything you do,” the older man replies in that same easy voice, and tightens an arm around Face, carrying them both down the hall. “Love everything about you. Every damned little thing you are.”
“Love you too, boss,” Face gasps, feeling his cock starting to harder, throb against Hannibal’s heaving chest, and kisses him again, biting on his lower lip, right as they reach the bedroom.
It draws a low, hungry sound from his lover, and Hannibal doesn’t quite make the bed because of it. He grunts and drops, and they both end up on a pile on the floor, right there, Face on his back, Hannibal over him.
“Oh, kid...” Hannibal says, concerned, and then grins a little. “Your fault, for ending up down there.”
“Oh yeah?”
“You distracted me.”
Face smiles.
“And you’re gonna stay there,” Hannibal growls back, that grin still firmly in place, and whips the down comforter off the bed and around them both.
The puffy white settles around them slowly, light, airy, tented up by the curve of the major’s spine above them, the lights muted, washed out through the warmth of it, and they stay like that for a moment, Hannibal rolling a loose curl between his thumb and forefinger, before the lieutenant just cant fucking take it any more.
Face rolls himself upward, grabbing for the boss’ BDU collar.
“Need you,” he moans. “Prove it to me, that I’m yours again...”
“Anything you want,” Hannibal says back, almost as desperately, and kisses him as Face goes from the buttons on the uniform blouse.
It’s stripped away easily enough. As is the cotton tee underneath. And the nylon belt, rough in his hands, the fly, Hannibal’s own erect shaft springing proudly free into his hand, silky smooth and swollen-red. And his own shirt, his own lounging pants, Hannibal grinning like a very happy wolf at the lack of underwear he finds there. They’re tumbling together, getting all caught up in each other and the comforter and the slow passage of night, everything tangible, everything out in the open, everything exposed...
“Come on, boss,” Face begs, lifting his hips, and stroking two fingers, entrance to cock and back again. “Right here. I want you right here...please, need you...”
“Brat,” Hannibal grumbles affectionately, giving him one good stroke and burrowing out from under the comforter, boots soft on the carpet.
Face turns over in the smooth down, pulling it along with him, watching Hannibal upside down as the older man rummages in the nightstand drawer, as he holds the non-descript white tube up with a smile and plops down on the mattress. He tosses the tube over to Face and working on the laces of his combat boots.
The lieutenant just stretches back, eyes locked with Hannibal’s. The major throws the boots off, strips the pants away, naked now, and Face has to bite his lip to stop his little whimper as Hannibal stretches that bad shoulder of his, standing up and closing the distance. Over six feet of corded, scarred, hard-used body, and the lieutenant just knows he’ll never get tired of that sight.
But the boss is back on top of him in no time, lube , kissing him breathless, his rock-hard cock digging into Face’s thigh. All the younger man can do is hold on, grabbing at those strong shoulders as Hannibal rocks against him, those lips straying across his jaw, down his neck, moving down to latch onto a nipple.
Face cries out, bucking up, as teeth tease, right there, and he grabs out blind for that salt and pepper hair, pulling him up. “Please, please, John, come on...”
“Impatient brat,” the boss amends, and flips the cap on the bottle lying next to them on them comforter, forgotten until now. “So impatient.”
“You do that to me, old man,” Face manages to get out, and then Hannibal’s massaging his balls and pouring the slick over them both, letting it run down.
“And you do this to me,” Hannibal murmurs in his ear, dropping a finger back to circle Face’s tight bud. “You have any idea how fucking beautiful you are like this?”
“You should tell me again,” he teases, and then notices. How the Ranger ink is clearly visible on his lover’s shoulder, and Face touches this reverently. “Do I get one of these now, boss?”
“I’ll take you there myself, kid.” And that finger presses in to the knuckle. “Tomorrow. Get you all up to snuff for Monday.”
“Fuck,” Face groans, although that’s got more to do with the fact that Hannibal’s just added another finger. And he’s the one who’s supposed to be impatient? But who gives a shit? Face arches up for better access, and his lover’s stretching him open, stretching him just enough, and then Hannibal’s kneeling up.
“Come here, kid,” and iron hands pull Face up onto his lap.
Face does more than that, wants more than that, rushing up into his arms, holding onto those shoulders, burying his face in Hannibal’s neck as Hannibal holds his hips and buries himself in Face’s body in one long, long push.
The lieutenant can’t help the little cry that escapes him as the backs of his thighs hit the top of Hannibal’s.
“Gotcha, Templeton,” the major whispers, petting back his hair. “You okay?”
“Fuck...”
“Yeah.”
And Hannibal begins to move, thrusting up in smooth strokes, pulling Face down, controlling this, making it good, making it the best damn thing he’s ever felt, and the only thing Face can do, once again, is hold the hell on and kiss every inch of skin his lips can reach.
But the easy start gives way to something harder, deeper, more, just like it always does, and Face feels himself falling backwards, Hannibal laying him down, and right as he’s horizontal, the major catches the right angle, grazing over that sweet spot just right, and Face is crying out in time to the pistoning of those hips, wilder and faster, his own balls so tight he could explode at any fucking moment.
His lover, driving into him, straight through him, splitting him open, laying him bare, whispering little words in his ear, so beautiful and going to come on my cock and my Templeton and I love you, and he’s trying to say it back, but he’s not sure if the words are coming out right, if they’re reaching his lover. His lover, his John, his commander... his commander...
“Major,” he moans, and Hannibal smiles, kisses him, sloppy, breath hot and fast against his lips. And three more good thrusts, and then the major’s head is thrown back, expression one of pure ecstasy.
“Come for me,” his commander whispers again, using that commander voice of his. “Come for me now, lieutenant.”
Face isn’t sure what noise he makes, but he makes it, and it’s loud, so loud, and his vision grays as he spends himself, his orgasm pulsing out of him, against Hannibal’s chest and his own, even as Hannibal rushes into him, filling him, making him whole, taking him over the edge, right where he needs to be.
Tangled up in his man's arms, breathing together, Hannibal pressing open-mouthed kisses along Face’s collarbone, Face moaning into all that overheated skin, neither sure where one of them begins and the other ends.
And after a while, after heartbeats slow and sweat cools and Face shivers, just once, Hannibal’s somehow still got the strength to lift him up and lay him down on the bed, wiping him off, and then himself, with the discarded undershirt. The younger man props himself up on an elbow, smelling his lover on his skin, on the sheets beneath him, Hannibal’s ass so deliciously on display as he bends over to gather up the bedding.
“What?” Hannibal asks as he flicks the comforter back over him and crawls in next to him. “What is it?”
“You’re amazing, “ he says, only barely biting back the beautiful that hes thinking, and snuggles up to his lover’s side. “You’re the most amazing man I’ve ever met, John.”
“I could say the same to you, love,” Hannibal says, and kisses him, soft and lazy, wrapping an arm around him and holding him close. And Face loves this most of all, the way Hannibal’s so pliant and relaxed after they do this, how all those worries and cares, all that stress, seems to just wash away. “Brave boy.”
“I love you,” Face says, not looking at him. “Can’t lose you again, John.”
“You won’t, I promise,” and Hannibal hugs him tighter. Urgent.
“You get to keep me, right?”
“For as long as I want.” Another kiss. “For as long as you want.”
“Forever, John, want you to keep you forever...” Face says, and tries, unsuccessfully, to stifle his yawn. He’s fading, he can feel it, but he needs to know, needs Hannibal to say...
“Anything you want, dear boy.” And his chin’s lifted, so he can see right into that perfect blue. Another soft kiss is planted ,on his lips this time. “Now go to sleep. I’ll be here when you wake.”
“Promise?”
“I love you, Templeton.”
“Love you, John,” Face says, his voice dropping off, and the last thing he sees as he drifts off is Hannibal watching over him, holding him tight.
And in his dreams, Hannibal doesn’t let go. Not ever again.
Ink, the sort-of sequel...
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: non-con
Summary: Epilogue for a fill for this prompt over at the kink meme
Um. So I had this fantasy idea.
Hannibal and Face are together and very happy. But then Face is accused of something horrible - IDK, drug-dealing, killing a fellow soldier, something horrible. He's innocent, but nobody believes him. Not even Hannibal... Hannibal's so disgusted and angry he breaks up with Face and gets him reassigned. (your choice if this happens pre-BA and Murdock or after the team has already been formed). Dub-con/punishment-sex totally welcome in here *hint hint*.
Face tries to get Hannibal to believe him, but he won't listen. Face ends up in a different unit and is heart-broken, Hannibal too by the apparent betrayal. Some time goes by, and slowly Hannibal realizes that Face is not coping well. He doesn't want to care, but Face sleeps around - maybe hooks up with a guy from the new team or someone else who's no good for him? - and gets in trouble etc., and his new boss can't deal with him. Eventually - insert fitting plot device here - it turns out that Face was innocent all along and Hannibal made a horrible mistake!!!
Now he has to get his boy back and earn back his trust... easier said than done!
Face shoots a woman on a mission, and Hannibal throws him out. But Face soon finds himself at the mercy of a colonel who’s not afraid to take what he wants from the young lieutenant.
Hannibal’s late tonight.
Hannibal’s very, very late, Face thinks to himself, and glances at the clock on the stove as he goes for another slice of cold delivery pizza, folding it up between the fingers of his right hand. Healed it might be, his hand still hurts sometimes, weak twinging pain that fades nearly as fast as it comes. Hannibal laughs, and kisses the little red scar over his pinkie, where the worst of the blow fell, and tells him it won’t be the first damage he’ll sustain, and it won’t be the worst.
But Hannibal’s late.
2100.
He practically threw Face out of his office early, around 1500, growling something about paperwork and a meeting with the installation commander. It’s a Friday, so that really makes no goddamn sense. Who has meetings on Friday nights?
It’s been good though, since that night four months ago, Hannibal holding him in the grungy motel room down off the I-25. When he broke his hand. When Harrison’s career fucking died.
A scandal. It was one of those scandals the likes of which the DoD braces itself for. A colonel, married, respected, abusing his rank for sexual gain. Usually, this involves a couple of female E-3s who don’t realize they’ve got the right to say no. The wife cries to the Army Times, the Pentagon makes a statement, the bastard is forced into retirement.
But this was rape, and Face wasn’t the first. So Hannibal got them all justice. Pulled the strings to get the right people to the right victims, the evidence out in the open. Face suspects Hannibal’s the reason that this got attention on the national news, and Hannibal’s responsible for the court omitting the name of Templeton Peck from the released report and Hannibal’s to thank for the fact the asshole got his rank stripped down to O-1 and five years in Leavenworth.
Face’s own fate’s less certain. Hannibal yanked him back down to the company the second he came off convalescent leave. Officially, Face isn’t assigned there, but Hannibal’s had him surreptitiously working as the exec since then, which means he’s been back on the range since the brace came off.
Nothing like pinging lead off steel to fix all a man’s problems, Face thinks, grinning around a mouthful of pepperoni and cheese. Nothing like Hannibal to make everything better.
He can’t spend every night here. He can’t move in. The neighbors might get suspicious, and rumors aren’t anything either of them can afford. But Face spends a good portion of his weekends here now, at Hannibal’s house, and a weeknight or two, the two of them tangled together on the sofa or in the boss’ huge king-sized bed or the floor, touching, kissing, getting naked...
The garage door opener whines awake, and Face snaps out of his pizza-induced musings. The boss is back.
And he better have a damn good answer for being late. They’re losing valuable fucking time right now.
So Face assumes a position of indifference as Hannibal trudges into the kitchen, dropping his hat and car keys on the counter, a big sealed manila envelop in hand. Doesn’t even look at the lieutenant. Nope. Goes straight for the liquor instead, pouring and downing what looks like a double scotch, straight, kind of falls back onto the counter after finishing it, shoulders bowed under all the camo.
All of the younger man’s anger evaporates. This could be bad... “Boss?” he asks tentatively, and lays a hand on those broad shoulders. “What’s up?”
Hannibal doesn’t look at him, but holds up the envelop instead. “We got the decision in. The boss was going to give it to you on Monday, but I talked him out of it. Said I’d have you come in tomorrow morning instead.”
“Do you know what’s in here?”
“Just open it.”
Face takes the envelop and rips it open with a steak knife, shaking a little as he draws the folder out. Hannibal straightens up, watching guardedly as he pulls out the paperwork guts inside, starts sorting them out.
It takes him a few minutes to find what he’s looking for. Another few minutes to figure out what it’s saying. And...
“Fuck, boss,” he breathes, looking up in disbelief. “Did you know about this?”
Hannibal’s steel-blue eyes are wet with tears. “Yeah.”
“This, this is...this can’t be right, Hannibal, it just can’t.”
And the major is right there, cradling his head from behind, an arm around his chest, holding him up. “It’s a full acquittal. Record purge. Nothing will be in your file. None of it.”
“How the fuck did you pull this...”
“I didn’t pull strings for you, kid. You told the truth. They trusted that. It was all you, Face.”
Later, Face will remember how much pride’s in the older man’s voice as he says that, how he’s shaking a little, but right now, all he can do is stare. Wonder. Marvel. Hope. “Then... then I’m...”
“A Ranger again?” Face has to wipe his own tears away, but it’s all threatening to come crashing apart on him now. “With... with...”
“Under my command,” Hannibal says, his voice breaking too. “My lieutenant again. Right, right where you...should be...b-before I tore you away from...”
Spinning around on the high stool, Face lets himself fall off into Hannibal’s arms and kisses him with everything he’s got, telling him with his body, the slide of his tongue and the arch of his neck, the offer of surrender, the request for dominance, that there’s nothing wrong, that everything, right now, right here, is perfectly okay.
That he’s okay.
That they’re okay.
Hannibal clenches tight fists against Face’s ribs, the knuckles playing across bone, and takes command of that kiss. The lieutenant moans into that shared space between them. Palms flatten, lift him up, and Face wraps his legs around the older’s man waist and his arms around his neck, panting into the crook of his own shoulder as the angle tears his mouth off the boss’. “Please,” he says, hand now weak with emotion against Hannibal’s cheek. “Please, John...”
“Never have to beg me, love,” Hannibal murmurs back thickly. “Never...”
“I know, but you love it when I do.”
“Love everything you do,” the older man replies in that same easy voice, and tightens an arm around Face, carrying them both down the hall. “Love everything about you. Every damned little thing you are.”
“Love you too, boss,” Face gasps, feeling his cock starting to harder, throb against Hannibal’s heaving chest, and kisses him again, biting on his lower lip, right as they reach the bedroom.
It draws a low, hungry sound from his lover, and Hannibal doesn’t quite make the bed because of it. He grunts and drops, and they both end up on a pile on the floor, right there, Face on his back, Hannibal over him.
“Oh, kid...” Hannibal says, concerned, and then grins a little. “Your fault, for ending up down there.”
“Oh yeah?”
“You distracted me.”
Face smiles.
“And you’re gonna stay there,” Hannibal growls back, that grin still firmly in place, and whips the down comforter off the bed and around them both.
The puffy white settles around them slowly, light, airy, tented up by the curve of the major’s spine above them, the lights muted, washed out through the warmth of it, and they stay like that for a moment, Hannibal rolling a loose curl between his thumb and forefinger, before the lieutenant just cant fucking take it any more.
Face rolls himself upward, grabbing for the boss’ BDU collar.
“Need you,” he moans. “Prove it to me, that I’m yours again...”
“Anything you want,” Hannibal says back, almost as desperately, and kisses him as Face goes from the buttons on the uniform blouse.
It’s stripped away easily enough. As is the cotton tee underneath. And the nylon belt, rough in his hands, the fly, Hannibal’s own erect shaft springing proudly free into his hand, silky smooth and swollen-red. And his own shirt, his own lounging pants, Hannibal grinning like a very happy wolf at the lack of underwear he finds there. They’re tumbling together, getting all caught up in each other and the comforter and the slow passage of night, everything tangible, everything out in the open, everything exposed...
“Come on, boss,” Face begs, lifting his hips, and stroking two fingers, entrance to cock and back again. “Right here. I want you right here...please, need you...”
“Brat,” Hannibal grumbles affectionately, giving him one good stroke and burrowing out from under the comforter, boots soft on the carpet.
Face turns over in the smooth down, pulling it along with him, watching Hannibal upside down as the older man rummages in the nightstand drawer, as he holds the non-descript white tube up with a smile and plops down on the mattress. He tosses the tube over to Face and working on the laces of his combat boots.
The lieutenant just stretches back, eyes locked with Hannibal’s. The major throws the boots off, strips the pants away, naked now, and Face has to bite his lip to stop his little whimper as Hannibal stretches that bad shoulder of his, standing up and closing the distance. Over six feet of corded, scarred, hard-used body, and the lieutenant just knows he’ll never get tired of that sight.
But the boss is back on top of him in no time, lube , kissing him breathless, his rock-hard cock digging into Face’s thigh. All the younger man can do is hold on, grabbing at those strong shoulders as Hannibal rocks against him, those lips straying across his jaw, down his neck, moving down to latch onto a nipple.
Face cries out, bucking up, as teeth tease, right there, and he grabs out blind for that salt and pepper hair, pulling him up. “Please, please, John, come on...”
“Impatient brat,” the boss amends, and flips the cap on the bottle lying next to them on them comforter, forgotten until now. “So impatient.”
“You do that to me, old man,” Face manages to get out, and then Hannibal’s massaging his balls and pouring the slick over them both, letting it run down.
“And you do this to me,” Hannibal murmurs in his ear, dropping a finger back to circle Face’s tight bud. “You have any idea how fucking beautiful you are like this?”
“You should tell me again,” he teases, and then notices. How the Ranger ink is clearly visible on his lover’s shoulder, and Face touches this reverently. “Do I get one of these now, boss?”
“I’ll take you there myself, kid.” And that finger presses in to the knuckle. “Tomorrow. Get you all up to snuff for Monday.”
“Fuck,” Face groans, although that’s got more to do with the fact that Hannibal’s just added another finger. And he’s the one who’s supposed to be impatient? But who gives a shit? Face arches up for better access, and his lover’s stretching him open, stretching him just enough, and then Hannibal’s kneeling up.
“Come here, kid,” and iron hands pull Face up onto his lap.
Face does more than that, wants more than that, rushing up into his arms, holding onto those shoulders, burying his face in Hannibal’s neck as Hannibal holds his hips and buries himself in Face’s body in one long, long push.
The lieutenant can’t help the little cry that escapes him as the backs of his thighs hit the top of Hannibal’s.
“Gotcha, Templeton,” the major whispers, petting back his hair. “You okay?”
“Fuck...”
“Yeah.”
And Hannibal begins to move, thrusting up in smooth strokes, pulling Face down, controlling this, making it good, making it the best damn thing he’s ever felt, and the only thing Face can do, once again, is hold the hell on and kiss every inch of skin his lips can reach.
But the easy start gives way to something harder, deeper, more, just like it always does, and Face feels himself falling backwards, Hannibal laying him down, and right as he’s horizontal, the major catches the right angle, grazing over that sweet spot just right, and Face is crying out in time to the pistoning of those hips, wilder and faster, his own balls so tight he could explode at any fucking moment.
His lover, driving into him, straight through him, splitting him open, laying him bare, whispering little words in his ear, so beautiful and going to come on my cock and my Templeton and I love you, and he’s trying to say it back, but he’s not sure if the words are coming out right, if they’re reaching his lover. His lover, his John, his commander... his commander...
“Major,” he moans, and Hannibal smiles, kisses him, sloppy, breath hot and fast against his lips. And three more good thrusts, and then the major’s head is thrown back, expression one of pure ecstasy.
“Come for me,” his commander whispers again, using that commander voice of his. “Come for me now, lieutenant.”
Face isn’t sure what noise he makes, but he makes it, and it’s loud, so loud, and his vision grays as he spends himself, his orgasm pulsing out of him, against Hannibal’s chest and his own, even as Hannibal rushes into him, filling him, making him whole, taking him over the edge, right where he needs to be.
Tangled up in his man's arms, breathing together, Hannibal pressing open-mouthed kisses along Face’s collarbone, Face moaning into all that overheated skin, neither sure where one of them begins and the other ends.
And after a while, after heartbeats slow and sweat cools and Face shivers, just once, Hannibal’s somehow still got the strength to lift him up and lay him down on the bed, wiping him off, and then himself, with the discarded undershirt. The younger man props himself up on an elbow, smelling his lover on his skin, on the sheets beneath him, Hannibal’s ass so deliciously on display as he bends over to gather up the bedding.
“What?” Hannibal asks as he flicks the comforter back over him and crawls in next to him. “What is it?”
“You’re amazing, “ he says, only barely biting back the beautiful that hes thinking, and snuggles up to his lover’s side. “You’re the most amazing man I’ve ever met, John.”
“I could say the same to you, love,” Hannibal says, and kisses him, soft and lazy, wrapping an arm around him and holding him close. And Face loves this most of all, the way Hannibal’s so pliant and relaxed after they do this, how all those worries and cares, all that stress, seems to just wash away. “Brave boy.”
“I love you,” Face says, not looking at him. “Can’t lose you again, John.”
“You won’t, I promise,” and Hannibal hugs him tighter. Urgent.
“You get to keep me, right?”
“For as long as I want.” Another kiss. “For as long as you want.”
“Forever, John, want you to keep you forever...” Face says, and tries, unsuccessfully, to stifle his yawn. He’s fading, he can feel it, but he needs to know, needs Hannibal to say...
“Anything you want, dear boy.” And his chin’s lifted, so he can see right into that perfect blue. Another soft kiss is planted ,on his lips this time. “Now go to sleep. I’ll be here when you wake.”
“Promise?”
“I love you, Templeton.”
“Love you, John,” Face says, his voice dropping off, and the last thing he sees as he drifts off is Hannibal watching over him, holding him tight.
And in his dreams, Hannibal doesn’t let go. Not ever again.
Ink, the sort-of sequel...
