Sports Bra
Apr. 3rd, 2011 08:54 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sonora_conejaPairing: Hannibal/Face
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: inone
Summary: A fill for this prompt over at the kink meme
I'd like to see female Hannibal and Face getting together for the first time, please? No magic or sci-fi, I'd like them to have always been female, AU I suppose!
Face forgets her bra one morning when she’s changing at the gym. At work, later that morning, Hannibal calls her out on it.
“You wanted to see me, boss?”
“Come in and lock the door, Face.”
Cigar smoking in an ashtray close at hand, her morning coffee gone cold already, Hannibal doesn’t look up from a stack of gray folders. That gets the lieutenant’s heart racing. She’s been on post exactly two months, and Colonel Jane Smith’s hatred of paperwork is already well-known to her.
So is the older woman’s tenacity, the way she can walk into a room full of generals and stare them all down, how she single-handedly talked her way into Special Operations as a captain, how it’s all her doing that there’s a black-ops female unit here at Benning now. How her bravery’s legendary, how everyone who knows her loves her. How she’s in her mid-thirties and slender with that short haircut so many female officers get and strong features, hard to miss, striking, beautiful...
Wondering what the hell she’s done now, and definitely not thinking about how Colonel Smith looked, drying off in the locker room this morning, Face turns and shuts the door quietly, turning the dead bolt, and stands at attention in front of the older woman’s desk. Salutes, just like she’s supposed to, baggy ACU pants rustling a little too loud as she walks.
“Second Lieutenant Peck reports as...”
“Do you know why you’re in my office this morning, kid?” Hannibal goes for her cigar, leans back a little in her chair. “Hmm?”
Hand still up at the corner of her eye in salute, Face tries not to overthink this. “Is it the speeding ticket from last week, ma’am?”
“No.”
Oh, hell. “The, uhh, incident at the O-Club on Friday?”
“You necking on Major Hadley in the bathroom or you getting in a fight with Captain Harrison in the parking lot?”
Of course Hannibal’s heard about that. What else could she possibly have done lately? Face is wracking her brain and her arm’s starting to hurt, like standing at attention for the goddamn National Anthem during retreat, and... “Did I forget a tasker?”
“Try again, honey,” Hannibal says, and leans back further, smoking cigar between her fingers, resting on the arm of her chair. “Think today.”
“I got in half an hour ago, ma’am!” Face bristles, gritting her teeth and pushing her elbow back up.
“Yes, you did. After morning PT.”
“Right...I mean, yes, ma’am, we did have PT this morning.”
“I was watching you in the gym afterward,” Hannibal says easily. “You were watching me.”
Face feels her skin go hot. Blushing. Goddamn. “No, ma’am.”
“Don’t lie to me kid.” She pauses, bringing the cigar to her lips. Hannibal never wears make-up, but somehow, Face knows, it wouldn’t look good on her. “You were watching me. And that’s okay, because I was watching you.”
“Ma’am?”Her elbow dips and Hannibal raises an eyebrow. “At ease,” she says offhandedly, and Face gratefully lets her arm hit her side.
“I think you wanted to make sure I didn’t see what you were doing.”
Wait, what, huh? But, okay, that’s better than telling the older woman that she was maybe thinking about... “Doing what, ma’am?”
“Oh, you know. When you were getting dressed.”
Oh. That.
Fuck.
“Are you wearing a bra right now, lieutenant?”
Face has no play here, but she’s going to try anyway. She smiles in that disarming way that gets her out of so many things. “Ma’am?”
But of course, Hannibal won't go for it. She's a wily one, that woman. “I know you’re not, so don’t lie about it. Take off your blouse.”
“Boss, come on...”
“We’re both women and the door’s lock, honey. Take the damn thing off.”
Face bites her lip, tries not to hit her liner as she does so, and slowly unbuttons the ACU top. She tosses it in a nearby chair, shivering a little in just her undershirt, feeling her nipples starting to tighten against the rough cotton knit. Hannibal puts her cigar down and gets up. Sits down on the edge of her desk, just within reaching distance.
“You are definitely not wearing a bra,” and the older woman makes a little ttsk noise in the back of her throat. “Why not?”
One thing Face has learned about Hannibal is that the woman does not tolerate lying. And that she always, always knows. “I forget it, at home, when I was packing my gym bag this morning, I guess,” the lieutenant says quietly.
“You were running in a sports bra. Sweaty or not, it’s a better choice than walking around this base like a goddamn whore.”
“But it all cold and slimy!” Face protests, knowing she’s making a face and not caring. “And it smelled!”
The older woman doesn’t look like she cares. “Better than letting all the guys on this base see your B-cups loose in your...”
“I’m a C, ma’am!” Face protests. A small C, but come on. This stuff matters.
Hannibal stands up, right in front of her now, cupping Face’s through her t-shirt, and the lieutenant gasps at the contact. It’s not exactly gentle, but still... “Hmm, no, kid, I’m definitely going with a B-cup,” the colonel says indifferently, smirks, and makes to let go.
But Face’s own hands close down over Hannibal’s, holding the older woman in. Of their own volition, ma’am! the lieutenant wants to squeak, and then go find some quiet corner to die in, but Hannibal doesn’t start yelling at her.
Hannibal doesn’t jerk away.
Hannibal doesn’t do anything Face expects.
Just stands there, a curious expression in her luminous blue eyes.
What the hell, Face figures, and leans in, right in, and kisses her commander.
She tastes of cigar and chapstick and something else, something wonderful that Face can’t quite place but catalogues as Hannibal nonetheless. Whatever it is, she loves it.
And, even better, Hannibal doesn’t react right away. Doesn’t kiss her back. But she doesn’t exactly push her away, either, and the lieutenant feels a surge of, well, almost triumph.
Then actual triumph, squeal-inducing triumph, as her commander slides out of her grasp and threads long fingers up into her hair. Face sighs at that, the feel of those short, blunt, practical nails massaging her scalp, and then taking a hard handful of hair, tugging.
“Oww, ma’am!” Face protests.
The older woman pulls away now, grinning that feral grin she gets when she’s forced to go brief General Morrison on her latest mission plan. “Need to get this bun out, kid,” she explains, pulling the little black band free. “It’s giving me a headache, just looking at the damn thing.”
“I worked hard to get that in this morning!”
“And I’m sure you can get it all back in to place again, my vain little girl,” the female colonel chuckles, and swings them both around. Face feels her ass hit back against the desk, Hannibal’s hands tight on her waist, and it’s exactly like she thought, really. Her boss, in control, taking all the power... and she moans as those hands slip up, open palms rubbing little circles right over her nipples, tightening them instantly. “Can’t you?” she murmurs, leaning in and kissing Face’s neck.
“Y-yes ma’am...”
“You want this, honey?” Hannibal purrs, pressing their bodies close and pinching Face’s nipples between thumb and forefinger. “You want this with me?”
The lieutenant tries to answer, but then the older woman does kind of rolling thing with her hand and her fingers at the same time, one of Face’s breasts cupped and held and squeezed all at once, and she can’t find the words.
“This why you watch me in the locker room, kid? You think about me like this, think about us together?”
She shuts her eyes as one hand slides back down her flat, smooth belly, fingers reaching just below the far-too-high waistband on her uniform pants.
“Tell me, sweetheart. Tell me what you need...”
“N-need you, ma’am,” Face says, feeling that dampness between her legs, soaking her panties, the throbbing tightness as blood starts flowing to all the right places, her body anticipating. But it’s never like this with the guys she sleeps with, not at all. It’s almost painful, and they’ve barely done anything. “Please, Hannibal...”
“Shh, sweetie,” the colonel says, laying a finger on the younger woman’s lips. “If we’re going to do this, use my name. Want to hear you say it.”
“Jane,” Face murmurs, trying it out for the first time, loving the way it just rolls off her tongue. “Jane...”
“That’s it,” Hannibal says softly, approvingly, and both hands are on Face’s belt now, unthreading the damn cheap nylon. Her blue eyes are almost black with arousal, and then she’s resting right over the top button. “That’s my good girl.”
“C’mon, ma’am,” she pleads, reaching a hand out to stroke one of her commander’s not-inconsiderable breasts through the heavy fabric of the ACU top. “You’re going way too damn slow...”
“We’re going my speed, honey,” comes the answering little murmur, and Hannibal’s kissing her again, heated and demanding this time, the feel of another woman’s lips so much softer than a man’s, smooth, no stubble, just a silken glide, completely messing up her lipstick now but whatever, because her pants are being popped open and pulled down. Dark lacy, silk panties following. And Hannibal pauses. “A thong, Face? Really?”
“These things pull across the ass!”
Hannibal kneels at that, laughing, pulling her boots off and socks and pants and everything, and Face grins herself as the older woman gives the inside of her calf a little kiss, tossing it all aside. Kissing her way up a perfectly shaved and lotioned leg, if Face does say so herself, and those lips are unbearable.
Blue eyes meet hers right as Hannibal reaches her knee, rubbing a cheek across the soft skin. “T-shirt off, honey.”
“You’re still dressed!”
And then Hannibal breaks out that command voice of hers. “Shirt off, lieutenant.”
Knowing she’s blushing like mad now, the younger woman decides she needs to go on the offensive. A bit of showmanship is so totally in order right now. And if there’s one thing she knows she’s got that actually works for her, it’s her body. So she pulls the moss green knit up and off her tanned torso as slowly as she can, feeling the boss’ eyes on her the whole way, and throws it away, letting a finger trail down between her breasts at the same time, curving her spine up into it. “Like that, ma’am?”
Hannibal smirks and nips lightly at the inside of her knee, chuckling as Face jumps.
“That was very good, lieutenant. Very, very good...”
She slides both her hands around bare thighs, forcing them apart. She plants another kiss above her upstretched fingers, and Face, sitting on the edge of the desk notices that the colonel’s nose is about two inches from her incredibly wet...
“You ever done this before, sweetheart?” Hannibal murmurs, stroking with her thumbs as she stands up and starts pushing Face back, the two of them sweeping the desk clear of paperwork. “With a woman before?”
Face shakes her head, long hair falling over her shoulders as her back hits cool wood, hands fisted up by her sides. She can feel her own juices tickling through the small patch of short little hair she keeps down there, and she really, really wants to touch. But the way Hannibal’s looking at her... “No, Jane...I...I haven’t...”
“Beautiful,” the colonel says in a tone that’s almost a growl, leaning over her, so close the uniform blouse is brushing over Face’s already overstimulated nipples, claiming her mouth again as she slips a finger right between the lieutenant’s swollen lips, catching her clit just right. Catching the loud, long squeal that instantly escapes the younger woman at that contact. And the only thing that keeps her from shooting straight off the table is the weight of the older woman above her.
“Feel so good, honey,” Hannibal says softly, that finger playing right over her nub, sending sparks of pleasure shooting through Face. “So wet...”
“J-just for you, ma’am...” she gasps, head falling back into her commander’s waiting palm, feeling her hair sliding and bunching and pulling up.
Another finger’s added, and now Hannibal’s rolling her clit, just enough pressure, with more finesse, more care, than any man’s ever shown her. “I know, Temperance,” the colonel whispers. “I know baby...”
Face hears her own breathy pants start turning into out-and-out whimpers, white sparking out her vision, and Hannibal’s kissing her, open-mouthed and soft, as she pulls her through her orgasm.
“That good, sweetheart?” the colonel’s asking her, playing with her hair, spreading it out on the desk, examining it like she’s never seen it before, and Face blushes, thinking that yeah, she never has had her hair down around the boss before. “That what you wanted?”
“Want to see you, ma’am,” Face says, knowing she’s pouting a little and not caring. She brings a knee up against the other woman’s side, grabbing for the buttons. “Please?”
“Brat,” Hannibal replies without any heat at all, and straightens, letting Face lock that leg around the back of her thighs. Her fingers drop to her own buttons, pausing for a moment, taking me in, the lieutenant realizes with a surge of pride, and this is what she loves about working for the colonel. She’s had COs before who just saw her as nice piece of ass, some pretty toy to fuck or harass or treat like their fucking daughter, which is somehow always more insulting but never respect. Hannibal, though, Hannibal’s always seen her, just her, who she is and what she could do, what she desperately wants to do, what Hannibal's encouraging her towards...
Face smiles back, running her own hand through her hair, teasing, and Hannibal actually rolls her eyes.
The older woman’s clothes come away slowly anyway, though, blouse and undershirt, revealing a practical black bra and a scarred expanse of muscled stomach, still tight and smooth despite the old injuries, not a stretch mark to be seen anywhere, boots off, and when the boss comes back up from that, Face rolls up to the edge of the desk and tugs at her belt. “Let me, please?”
Hannibal nods, once, her chestnut hair close around her beautiful eyes, and the lieutenant undoes everything slowly, pushing those pants off the curve of her hips, marveling at how different this is, how much the same. She thumbs a spot just over a pair of utilitarian black cotton panties and slips off the desk, the two of them moving away now. Face hooks her fingers into the elastic band at the top of the cotton, pulling them off in one smooth movement, dropping to a knee as she does so. Hannibal steps out of everything, graceful as she always is, toeing her socks off as she goes, and the lieutenant leans her face against a smooth thigh, strong and sleek from years of daily runs, combat. Takes a deep breath.
“Temp...”
A hand’s back in her hair and she looks up, loving the way Hannibal’s looking at her, wanting to please that, live up to all the expectation, all the faith she knows Hannibal has in her, like nobody else ever has, wanting to stay with her, needing to. And she’s already memorizing the smell of her commander’s arousal, the way it’s just a little sweeter, a little lighter, than what a man would be. Cleaner, somehow, but no less heady, and she takes a deep breath. “What do I do, Jane?”
“What do you want to do, sweetheart?”
Face stands, letting every inch of her rub against the colonel as she goes, feeling all those soft curves, letting her hands, slow and uncertain if she’s allowed, run around the smooth satin of that black bra, circling back to rest on the clasp.
“Want to do everything, Hannibal,” she murmurs, tilting up for a kiss. “Want to do everything with you.”
The colonel grabs her again, hands steely-strong, kissing hard, full of need, and they twist and turn together, eventually sprawling out on the wide leather couch Hannibal keeps in here for unit members to come crash and talk and feel comfortable, and sometimes sleep in, if she stays too late. The leather smells a little like Hannibal, actually, her sweet scent clinging to it just a bit, and Face arches back, rubbing herself like a cat into the ancient leather, not caring for the moment about who’s sat here or what could be on it.
Because Hannibal’s laying her down flat again and pushing her knees up, curling her own lithe body in between Face’s legs again, both of them horizontal now, and heat in those blue eyes, chestnut hair falling down and nearly obscuring it.
She realizes what Hannibal’s going to do, and Face tries to sit up. “No, ma’am, you don’t have to...”
“Shh,” the colonel says again and rubs her taught belly reassuringly. “Let me love you, sweetheart.”
And then that head dips between her legs, and Face feels the first push of soft, probing muscle against her clit.
She clamps her own hand over her mouth as Hannibal’s insanely talented tongue dips and flicks, caresses and pushes, two fingers slipping into her firm pussy, delving deep. Moving, wriggling, twisting, more gentle and certainly more aware than anything she’s ever had before. All the little nuances... why has she never done this before? Because if this is one of the benefits of girl sex, the lieutenant thinks to herself, she’s going to have to do this more often. A hell of a lot more often. Maybe with Hannibal. With Hannibal would be nice...
But there’s a bubble of pleasure building up in her belly, that little precursor to orgasm, pushing all other thoughts, all other considerations. Face knows she’s babbling now and just can’t stop, “boss, boss, please, I’m so close, right there...”
And those fingers thrust a little deeper, those lips seal over and suck and she can feel the moan from the older woman, from Hannibal, taking such care with her, and it’s all far, far too much to handle, more overwhelming, far more intense, and she screams into her own hand as she comes harder than she ever remembers coming before, everything going bright and limp and light, so light...
A hand’s in her hair, petting softly, bringing her back to the surface. Hannibal’s slid up next to her on the smooth leather, stroking her cheek. “There you are, Temp. How you doing, sweetheart?”
“Fucking-a, boss,” the lieutenant yawns, hoping it’s as seductive now as it always seems to be with the boys, and yeah, it earns her a little pinch, and she grins.
“Troublemaker,” the colonel says fondly, hand following the accentuated curve of Face’s waist, over her hip and down. She’s not as curvy as some, but she is damn proud of her ass, and the way Hannibal’s stroking it right now... but time enough for that later.
“My turn?” she asks coyly, and Hannibal offers her a hand, pulling her up as she rotates on to her back.
Wonderful, the younger woman thinks. She loves it like this, so much power, so much to see, that feeling of control, although she’s pretty sure she knows who’s in charge here. Doesn’t feel like challenging it, either, much to her surprise. It’s nice. Nice to not be afraid, not be worried, not have to think about all those times in foster care when she’d have to fight to keep herself honest, unharmed...
“Temp, baby, you okay?” Hannibal asks, a little worried, rubbing her ass, one cheek in each long-fingered hand.
“Never been better, boss,” she whispers back, and realizes it’s true the second it leaves her mouth. She kind of loves how she can’t con this woman...
And Face spreads out on top of her, moving experimentally, marveling at how good it feels as her own tits brush over the older woman’s. Which are, in a word, perfect. Just the right size, big and sweet and round, and she can’t help herself. She does so love doing this with men, after all...
Face scoots down a bit and holds that supple body between her thighs as she licks a circle around her commander’s tight brown nipple. Once, twice, right over, and then sucks the whole thing into her mouth, teasing the tight bud with teeth and lips and tongue.
At the same time, she lifts herself just enough to slip a hand down there, just like she has for so many men in the past. Too many, she thinks to herself as her hand encounters not the bulging length of a cock but the warm cleft of her lover’s folds, like hers but different, and she smiles, following the same motions she’d follow with herself, that Hannibal had followed with her.
“Temp...” Hannibal sighs happily, one hand tracing down the younger woman’s spine, the other helping guide her fingers right where she wants them, in just the right rhythm. “Temp, oh fuck, sweetheart...”
It’s similar, of course it is, but so different, softer, more, and she moans, moving over to the other, pulling little cries from the older woman, growing bolder for it, kind of loving the way it feels, the shudder that runs through the older woman as she comes with a soft moan, honey spilling on Face’s fingers, and the lieutenant feels an answering swell of awe. Being here, like this, with a woman she admires so, being able to do this for her...
They lie like that for a moment, Face resting her head on her lover’s stomach, curled against her on the narrow space, Hannibal’s hand stroking her bare shoulder. She smiles. “My good girl...”
Heat shoots through the lieutenant, and she smiles, feeling strong and sure and shy, all at the same time, and touches Hannibal’s soft chestnut hair, one of her full, heavy breasts, wondering how a woman who never uses anything more than bodywash and Pert Plus, or whatever the fuck grocery-store brand of shampoo the colonel buys, gets hair, skin, this wonderful. Maybe it’s just her, just how Hannibal is. “Am I?”
“You want to be?” Hannibal asks, clearly interested in the answer.
“...yeah... Jane,” she says, moving in for a kiss. “Yeah, I really do...”
The answering smile may be the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen in her life, and colonel doesn’t let her down. Gives Face exactly what she wants, what she needs, a smooth, sweet kiss, one that tastes subtly of her own juices, and she stretches herself against her commander’s side.
“Do I get this every time I forget my bra, boss?” she asks with a pleased little grin.
And Hannibal smacks her ass. Hard. “I’m going to let you off with a warning this time, sweetie,” and she stands up, stretches, that gorgeous, strong, perfect body on display for a moment, then bending, and Face finds herself, pants in hand. “But next time,” the colonel promises, that familiar gleam in her eye, “there’s going to be punishment.”
Face smiles back.
She positively cannot wait.
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: inone
Summary: A fill for this prompt over at the kink meme
I'd like to see female Hannibal and Face getting together for the first time, please? No magic or sci-fi, I'd like them to have always been female, AU I suppose!
Face forgets her bra one morning when she’s changing at the gym. At work, later that morning, Hannibal calls her out on it.
“You wanted to see me, boss?”
“Come in and lock the door, Face.”
Cigar smoking in an ashtray close at hand, her morning coffee gone cold already, Hannibal doesn’t look up from a stack of gray folders. That gets the lieutenant’s heart racing. She’s been on post exactly two months, and Colonel Jane Smith’s hatred of paperwork is already well-known to her.
So is the older woman’s tenacity, the way she can walk into a room full of generals and stare them all down, how she single-handedly talked her way into Special Operations as a captain, how it’s all her doing that there’s a black-ops female unit here at Benning now. How her bravery’s legendary, how everyone who knows her loves her. How she’s in her mid-thirties and slender with that short haircut so many female officers get and strong features, hard to miss, striking, beautiful...
Wondering what the hell she’s done now, and definitely not thinking about how Colonel Smith looked, drying off in the locker room this morning, Face turns and shuts the door quietly, turning the dead bolt, and stands at attention in front of the older woman’s desk. Salutes, just like she’s supposed to, baggy ACU pants rustling a little too loud as she walks.
“Second Lieutenant Peck reports as...”
“Do you know why you’re in my office this morning, kid?” Hannibal goes for her cigar, leans back a little in her chair. “Hmm?”
Hand still up at the corner of her eye in salute, Face tries not to overthink this. “Is it the speeding ticket from last week, ma’am?”
“No.”
Oh, hell. “The, uhh, incident at the O-Club on Friday?”
“You necking on Major Hadley in the bathroom or you getting in a fight with Captain Harrison in the parking lot?”
Of course Hannibal’s heard about that. What else could she possibly have done lately? Face is wracking her brain and her arm’s starting to hurt, like standing at attention for the goddamn National Anthem during retreat, and... “Did I forget a tasker?”
“Try again, honey,” Hannibal says, and leans back further, smoking cigar between her fingers, resting on the arm of her chair. “Think today.”
“I got in half an hour ago, ma’am!” Face bristles, gritting her teeth and pushing her elbow back up.
“Yes, you did. After morning PT.”
“Right...I mean, yes, ma’am, we did have PT this morning.”
“I was watching you in the gym afterward,” Hannibal says easily. “You were watching me.”
Face feels her skin go hot. Blushing. Goddamn. “No, ma’am.”
“Don’t lie to me kid.” She pauses, bringing the cigar to her lips. Hannibal never wears make-up, but somehow, Face knows, it wouldn’t look good on her. “You were watching me. And that’s okay, because I was watching you.”
“Ma’am?”Her elbow dips and Hannibal raises an eyebrow. “At ease,” she says offhandedly, and Face gratefully lets her arm hit her side.
“I think you wanted to make sure I didn’t see what you were doing.”
Wait, what, huh? But, okay, that’s better than telling the older woman that she was maybe thinking about... “Doing what, ma’am?”
“Oh, you know. When you were getting dressed.”
Oh. That.
Fuck.
“Are you wearing a bra right now, lieutenant?”
Face has no play here, but she’s going to try anyway. She smiles in that disarming way that gets her out of so many things. “Ma’am?”
But of course, Hannibal won't go for it. She's a wily one, that woman. “I know you’re not, so don’t lie about it. Take off your blouse.”
“Boss, come on...”
“We’re both women and the door’s lock, honey. Take the damn thing off.”
Face bites her lip, tries not to hit her liner as she does so, and slowly unbuttons the ACU top. She tosses it in a nearby chair, shivering a little in just her undershirt, feeling her nipples starting to tighten against the rough cotton knit. Hannibal puts her cigar down and gets up. Sits down on the edge of her desk, just within reaching distance.
“You are definitely not wearing a bra,” and the older woman makes a little ttsk noise in the back of her throat. “Why not?”
One thing Face has learned about Hannibal is that the woman does not tolerate lying. And that she always, always knows. “I forget it, at home, when I was packing my gym bag this morning, I guess,” the lieutenant says quietly.
“You were running in a sports bra. Sweaty or not, it’s a better choice than walking around this base like a goddamn whore.”
“But it all cold and slimy!” Face protests, knowing she’s making a face and not caring. “And it smelled!”
The older woman doesn’t look like she cares. “Better than letting all the guys on this base see your B-cups loose in your...”
“I’m a C, ma’am!” Face protests. A small C, but come on. This stuff matters.
Hannibal stands up, right in front of her now, cupping Face’s through her t-shirt, and the lieutenant gasps at the contact. It’s not exactly gentle, but still... “Hmm, no, kid, I’m definitely going with a B-cup,” the colonel says indifferently, smirks, and makes to let go.
But Face’s own hands close down over Hannibal’s, holding the older woman in. Of their own volition, ma’am! the lieutenant wants to squeak, and then go find some quiet corner to die in, but Hannibal doesn’t start yelling at her.
Hannibal doesn’t jerk away.
Hannibal doesn’t do anything Face expects.
Just stands there, a curious expression in her luminous blue eyes.
What the hell, Face figures, and leans in, right in, and kisses her commander.
She tastes of cigar and chapstick and something else, something wonderful that Face can’t quite place but catalogues as Hannibal nonetheless. Whatever it is, she loves it.
And, even better, Hannibal doesn’t react right away. Doesn’t kiss her back. But she doesn’t exactly push her away, either, and the lieutenant feels a surge of, well, almost triumph.
Then actual triumph, squeal-inducing triumph, as her commander slides out of her grasp and threads long fingers up into her hair. Face sighs at that, the feel of those short, blunt, practical nails massaging her scalp, and then taking a hard handful of hair, tugging.
“Oww, ma’am!” Face protests.
The older woman pulls away now, grinning that feral grin she gets when she’s forced to go brief General Morrison on her latest mission plan. “Need to get this bun out, kid,” she explains, pulling the little black band free. “It’s giving me a headache, just looking at the damn thing.”
“I worked hard to get that in this morning!”
“And I’m sure you can get it all back in to place again, my vain little girl,” the female colonel chuckles, and swings them both around. Face feels her ass hit back against the desk, Hannibal’s hands tight on her waist, and it’s exactly like she thought, really. Her boss, in control, taking all the power... and she moans as those hands slip up, open palms rubbing little circles right over her nipples, tightening them instantly. “Can’t you?” she murmurs, leaning in and kissing Face’s neck.
“Y-yes ma’am...”
“You want this, honey?” Hannibal purrs, pressing their bodies close and pinching Face’s nipples between thumb and forefinger. “You want this with me?”
The lieutenant tries to answer, but then the older woman does kind of rolling thing with her hand and her fingers at the same time, one of Face’s breasts cupped and held and squeezed all at once, and she can’t find the words.
“This why you watch me in the locker room, kid? You think about me like this, think about us together?”
She shuts her eyes as one hand slides back down her flat, smooth belly, fingers reaching just below the far-too-high waistband on her uniform pants.
“Tell me, sweetheart. Tell me what you need...”
“N-need you, ma’am,” Face says, feeling that dampness between her legs, soaking her panties, the throbbing tightness as blood starts flowing to all the right places, her body anticipating. But it’s never like this with the guys she sleeps with, not at all. It’s almost painful, and they’ve barely done anything. “Please, Hannibal...”
“Shh, sweetie,” the colonel says, laying a finger on the younger woman’s lips. “If we’re going to do this, use my name. Want to hear you say it.”
“Jane,” Face murmurs, trying it out for the first time, loving the way it just rolls off her tongue. “Jane...”
“That’s it,” Hannibal says softly, approvingly, and both hands are on Face’s belt now, unthreading the damn cheap nylon. Her blue eyes are almost black with arousal, and then she’s resting right over the top button. “That’s my good girl.”
“C’mon, ma’am,” she pleads, reaching a hand out to stroke one of her commander’s not-inconsiderable breasts through the heavy fabric of the ACU top. “You’re going way too damn slow...”
“We’re going my speed, honey,” comes the answering little murmur, and Hannibal’s kissing her again, heated and demanding this time, the feel of another woman’s lips so much softer than a man’s, smooth, no stubble, just a silken glide, completely messing up her lipstick now but whatever, because her pants are being popped open and pulled down. Dark lacy, silk panties following. And Hannibal pauses. “A thong, Face? Really?”
“These things pull across the ass!”
Hannibal kneels at that, laughing, pulling her boots off and socks and pants and everything, and Face grins herself as the older woman gives the inside of her calf a little kiss, tossing it all aside. Kissing her way up a perfectly shaved and lotioned leg, if Face does say so herself, and those lips are unbearable.
Blue eyes meet hers right as Hannibal reaches her knee, rubbing a cheek across the soft skin. “T-shirt off, honey.”
“You’re still dressed!”
And then Hannibal breaks out that command voice of hers. “Shirt off, lieutenant.”
Knowing she’s blushing like mad now, the younger woman decides she needs to go on the offensive. A bit of showmanship is so totally in order right now. And if there’s one thing she knows she’s got that actually works for her, it’s her body. So she pulls the moss green knit up and off her tanned torso as slowly as she can, feeling the boss’ eyes on her the whole way, and throws it away, letting a finger trail down between her breasts at the same time, curving her spine up into it. “Like that, ma’am?”
Hannibal smirks and nips lightly at the inside of her knee, chuckling as Face jumps.
“That was very good, lieutenant. Very, very good...”
She slides both her hands around bare thighs, forcing them apart. She plants another kiss above her upstretched fingers, and Face, sitting on the edge of the desk notices that the colonel’s nose is about two inches from her incredibly wet...
“You ever done this before, sweetheart?” Hannibal murmurs, stroking with her thumbs as she stands up and starts pushing Face back, the two of them sweeping the desk clear of paperwork. “With a woman before?”
Face shakes her head, long hair falling over her shoulders as her back hits cool wood, hands fisted up by her sides. She can feel her own juices tickling through the small patch of short little hair she keeps down there, and she really, really wants to touch. But the way Hannibal’s looking at her... “No, Jane...I...I haven’t...”
“Beautiful,” the colonel says in a tone that’s almost a growl, leaning over her, so close the uniform blouse is brushing over Face’s already overstimulated nipples, claiming her mouth again as she slips a finger right between the lieutenant’s swollen lips, catching her clit just right. Catching the loud, long squeal that instantly escapes the younger woman at that contact. And the only thing that keeps her from shooting straight off the table is the weight of the older woman above her.
“Feel so good, honey,” Hannibal says softly, that finger playing right over her nub, sending sparks of pleasure shooting through Face. “So wet...”
“J-just for you, ma’am...” she gasps, head falling back into her commander’s waiting palm, feeling her hair sliding and bunching and pulling up.
Another finger’s added, and now Hannibal’s rolling her clit, just enough pressure, with more finesse, more care, than any man’s ever shown her. “I know, Temperance,” the colonel whispers. “I know baby...”
Face hears her own breathy pants start turning into out-and-out whimpers, white sparking out her vision, and Hannibal’s kissing her, open-mouthed and soft, as she pulls her through her orgasm.
“That good, sweetheart?” the colonel’s asking her, playing with her hair, spreading it out on the desk, examining it like she’s never seen it before, and Face blushes, thinking that yeah, she never has had her hair down around the boss before. “That what you wanted?”
“Want to see you, ma’am,” Face says, knowing she’s pouting a little and not caring. She brings a knee up against the other woman’s side, grabbing for the buttons. “Please?”
“Brat,” Hannibal replies without any heat at all, and straightens, letting Face lock that leg around the back of her thighs. Her fingers drop to her own buttons, pausing for a moment, taking me in, the lieutenant realizes with a surge of pride, and this is what she loves about working for the colonel. She’s had COs before who just saw her as nice piece of ass, some pretty toy to fuck or harass or treat like their fucking daughter, which is somehow always more insulting but never respect. Hannibal, though, Hannibal’s always seen her, just her, who she is and what she could do, what she desperately wants to do, what Hannibal's encouraging her towards...
Face smiles back, running her own hand through her hair, teasing, and Hannibal actually rolls her eyes.
The older woman’s clothes come away slowly anyway, though, blouse and undershirt, revealing a practical black bra and a scarred expanse of muscled stomach, still tight and smooth despite the old injuries, not a stretch mark to be seen anywhere, boots off, and when the boss comes back up from that, Face rolls up to the edge of the desk and tugs at her belt. “Let me, please?”
Hannibal nods, once, her chestnut hair close around her beautiful eyes, and the lieutenant undoes everything slowly, pushing those pants off the curve of her hips, marveling at how different this is, how much the same. She thumbs a spot just over a pair of utilitarian black cotton panties and slips off the desk, the two of them moving away now. Face hooks her fingers into the elastic band at the top of the cotton, pulling them off in one smooth movement, dropping to a knee as she does so. Hannibal steps out of everything, graceful as she always is, toeing her socks off as she goes, and the lieutenant leans her face against a smooth thigh, strong and sleek from years of daily runs, combat. Takes a deep breath.
“Temp...”
A hand’s back in her hair and she looks up, loving the way Hannibal’s looking at her, wanting to please that, live up to all the expectation, all the faith she knows Hannibal has in her, like nobody else ever has, wanting to stay with her, needing to. And she’s already memorizing the smell of her commander’s arousal, the way it’s just a little sweeter, a little lighter, than what a man would be. Cleaner, somehow, but no less heady, and she takes a deep breath. “What do I do, Jane?”
“What do you want to do, sweetheart?”
Face stands, letting every inch of her rub against the colonel as she goes, feeling all those soft curves, letting her hands, slow and uncertain if she’s allowed, run around the smooth satin of that black bra, circling back to rest on the clasp.
“Want to do everything, Hannibal,” she murmurs, tilting up for a kiss. “Want to do everything with you.”
The colonel grabs her again, hands steely-strong, kissing hard, full of need, and they twist and turn together, eventually sprawling out on the wide leather couch Hannibal keeps in here for unit members to come crash and talk and feel comfortable, and sometimes sleep in, if she stays too late. The leather smells a little like Hannibal, actually, her sweet scent clinging to it just a bit, and Face arches back, rubbing herself like a cat into the ancient leather, not caring for the moment about who’s sat here or what could be on it.
Because Hannibal’s laying her down flat again and pushing her knees up, curling her own lithe body in between Face’s legs again, both of them horizontal now, and heat in those blue eyes, chestnut hair falling down and nearly obscuring it.
She realizes what Hannibal’s going to do, and Face tries to sit up. “No, ma’am, you don’t have to...”
“Shh,” the colonel says again and rubs her taught belly reassuringly. “Let me love you, sweetheart.”
And then that head dips between her legs, and Face feels the first push of soft, probing muscle against her clit.
She clamps her own hand over her mouth as Hannibal’s insanely talented tongue dips and flicks, caresses and pushes, two fingers slipping into her firm pussy, delving deep. Moving, wriggling, twisting, more gentle and certainly more aware than anything she’s ever had before. All the little nuances... why has she never done this before? Because if this is one of the benefits of girl sex, the lieutenant thinks to herself, she’s going to have to do this more often. A hell of a lot more often. Maybe with Hannibal. With Hannibal would be nice...
But there’s a bubble of pleasure building up in her belly, that little precursor to orgasm, pushing all other thoughts, all other considerations. Face knows she’s babbling now and just can’t stop, “boss, boss, please, I’m so close, right there...”
And those fingers thrust a little deeper, those lips seal over and suck and she can feel the moan from the older woman, from Hannibal, taking such care with her, and it’s all far, far too much to handle, more overwhelming, far more intense, and she screams into her own hand as she comes harder than she ever remembers coming before, everything going bright and limp and light, so light...
A hand’s in her hair, petting softly, bringing her back to the surface. Hannibal’s slid up next to her on the smooth leather, stroking her cheek. “There you are, Temp. How you doing, sweetheart?”
“Fucking-a, boss,” the lieutenant yawns, hoping it’s as seductive now as it always seems to be with the boys, and yeah, it earns her a little pinch, and she grins.
“Troublemaker,” the colonel says fondly, hand following the accentuated curve of Face’s waist, over her hip and down. She’s not as curvy as some, but she is damn proud of her ass, and the way Hannibal’s stroking it right now... but time enough for that later.
“My turn?” she asks coyly, and Hannibal offers her a hand, pulling her up as she rotates on to her back.
Wonderful, the younger woman thinks. She loves it like this, so much power, so much to see, that feeling of control, although she’s pretty sure she knows who’s in charge here. Doesn’t feel like challenging it, either, much to her surprise. It’s nice. Nice to not be afraid, not be worried, not have to think about all those times in foster care when she’d have to fight to keep herself honest, unharmed...
“Temp, baby, you okay?” Hannibal asks, a little worried, rubbing her ass, one cheek in each long-fingered hand.
“Never been better, boss,” she whispers back, and realizes it’s true the second it leaves her mouth. She kind of loves how she can’t con this woman...
And Face spreads out on top of her, moving experimentally, marveling at how good it feels as her own tits brush over the older woman’s. Which are, in a word, perfect. Just the right size, big and sweet and round, and she can’t help herself. She does so love doing this with men, after all...
Face scoots down a bit and holds that supple body between her thighs as she licks a circle around her commander’s tight brown nipple. Once, twice, right over, and then sucks the whole thing into her mouth, teasing the tight bud with teeth and lips and tongue.
At the same time, she lifts herself just enough to slip a hand down there, just like she has for so many men in the past. Too many, she thinks to herself as her hand encounters not the bulging length of a cock but the warm cleft of her lover’s folds, like hers but different, and she smiles, following the same motions she’d follow with herself, that Hannibal had followed with her.
“Temp...” Hannibal sighs happily, one hand tracing down the younger woman’s spine, the other helping guide her fingers right where she wants them, in just the right rhythm. “Temp, oh fuck, sweetheart...”
It’s similar, of course it is, but so different, softer, more, and she moans, moving over to the other, pulling little cries from the older woman, growing bolder for it, kind of loving the way it feels, the shudder that runs through the older woman as she comes with a soft moan, honey spilling on Face’s fingers, and the lieutenant feels an answering swell of awe. Being here, like this, with a woman she admires so, being able to do this for her...
They lie like that for a moment, Face resting her head on her lover’s stomach, curled against her on the narrow space, Hannibal’s hand stroking her bare shoulder. She smiles. “My good girl...”
Heat shoots through the lieutenant, and she smiles, feeling strong and sure and shy, all at the same time, and touches Hannibal’s soft chestnut hair, one of her full, heavy breasts, wondering how a woman who never uses anything more than bodywash and Pert Plus, or whatever the fuck grocery-store brand of shampoo the colonel buys, gets hair, skin, this wonderful. Maybe it’s just her, just how Hannibal is. “Am I?”
“You want to be?” Hannibal asks, clearly interested in the answer.
“...yeah... Jane,” she says, moving in for a kiss. “Yeah, I really do...”
The answering smile may be the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen in her life, and colonel doesn’t let her down. Gives Face exactly what she wants, what she needs, a smooth, sweet kiss, one that tastes subtly of her own juices, and she stretches herself against her commander’s side.
“Do I get this every time I forget my bra, boss?” she asks with a pleased little grin.
And Hannibal smacks her ass. Hard. “I’m going to let you off with a warning this time, sweetie,” and she stands up, stretches, that gorgeous, strong, perfect body on display for a moment, then bending, and Face finds herself, pants in hand. “But next time,” the colonel promises, that familiar gleam in her eye, “there’s going to be punishment.”
Face smiles back.
She positively cannot wait.
