Xanadu - Part One of Five

[sonora_coneja]

Pairing: Hannibal/Face
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: violence, slavery, mentions of child abuse
Summary: Part One of Five for fill for this prompt over at the kink meme

I’m considering doing my final research paper this year on human trafficking and have been doing some looking things up tonight. And it’s hard to sift through everything, but a scenario took place in my head one night and hasn’t left since, so I have to request it.

I want something that hurt. That is brutal and may be hard to write and I’d like even harder to read it. So if anyone can take this on, you’ll be amazing.

We all know that Face was an orphan and there are some lovely fics where things have happened to him before he joined Hannibal’s unit. Things to make him street-savvy. Here’s my catch: Hannibal’s team is sent on a mission to break up a supposed human trafficking ring. When they get there they can immediately try to break it up or have to go undercover to get the sex-slaves out. Either way, I want Hannibal to walk in on something happening to a young blonde slave. And to not know what to do or how to save him, but to eventually do so. (If there’s an inclusion of Hannibal secretly going to Face and gaining his trust and promising to get him out, I’ll be blown away.) And then give him a place to call home. I’d love an aftermath of Hannibal and his unit trying to embrace Face and help him find a new life, which can or doesn’t have to be in the army. Just with Hannibal, please. With a bunch of hard ordeals along the way.

Anyone??

When a young Causcasian girl is found dead in a dumpster in downtown Seoul, signs of slavery and sexual abuse on her body, the Yongsan Garrison commander taps one Major John Smith to figure out what the hell is going on. But Hannibal’s got no idea what he’s walking into the first time he sets foot in the Xanadu nightclub.



Hannibal tried to remind himself of why he was here, as he walked back through the quiet nightclub behind the bleary Eurasian hostess.

The dead girl, bullet to the temple, barely fifteen, European, stuffed in the dumpster downtown Seoul. Her ethnicity was troubling. The physical evidence was more damning. Needle marks, bruises, blood. Traces of semen in her had led back to a captain on base, once the MPs had wrested the case from the local Korean cops. How the captain had indicated some new place up here, protesting that he hadn’t been hitting the juicy bars, that he didn’t know she was a hooker, that she’d looked older at the time...

The Yongsan installation commander had forced it all on him, off-post, walking some anonymous street, tone deadly serious. Your boys don’t have any missions until at least next month, you can take care of this for me, you’re an officer with enough rank that they’ll respect what you offer them, and Hannibal, you are going to make an offer....

And yeah, he'd make a fucking offer.

Didn't mean he wanted to be doing this, though.

The office doors swung open in the woman’s hands, and Hannibal took a deep breath. He could do this. He really, really could.

But he wasn’t prepared for what awaited him inside.

One woman, European by the cut of the suit she was wearing, pouring drinks over on a ridiculously carved rosewood sideboard.

One man, Korean, lounging comfortably behind a small desk, smoking an expensive-smelling cigar with that kind of absent arrogance so prevalent in this part of the world.

“Major Smith!” a man behind the desk said warmly, not a trace of an Asian accent anywhere. American, or Canadian, maybe.

“Brian Park, I’m guessing?” Hannibal asked evenly, eyes darting over to the woman, who was just watching them both.

Park caught the hint, and nodded. “Rose McKenny, my... business associate.”

“Pleasure,” the woman said, Dublin playing out in the edges of her voice, icy cold.

Park coughed. “So glad you could join us before opening tonight. I heard about that unfortunate girl, of course. We are happy to answer any questions the Yongsan authorities might have for us.”

Behind them, that hostess was closing the doors, and the snick of metal as they shut was more worrisome to Hannibal right then than the rack of a slide would have been. He didn’t let on to any of it, though

“The ID came back on that girl we found,” Hannibal said, forcing a bored, clipped tone as the woman handed him a glass of amber liquid. Didn’t look at her and didn’t thank her. Like he was irritated and didn’t want to be here right now. “British, Anna Whiting, fifteen, been missing since June of last year. Snatched on a school trip.”

“Ah, poor thing,” the woman said without a trace of pity.

“That’s what the generals are saying, too. They’re sending her body back to her family and everything this week. I told them I’d look into it for them,” and Hannibal looked right at Park. Chubby, just a bit chubby, he thought, and wondered what kind of man he was dealing with here. “Brought me to you.”

The nightclub owner swirled his drink around in its glass. “Odd it would lead you here.”

“Odd that somebody running whites would be that clumsy,” Hannibal said, leaning forward and taking a cigar out of the glass case next to Park’s elbow, who just nodded and handed him the cutter, the lighter, on their little tray. “You know the brass is going to turn a blind eye to all that Philippina and Thai pussy running around put there. They can’t stop it. But Brits, especially Brits? That’s going to draw heat ”

The two exchanged a look as Hannibal clipped the end off the cigar and lit it in silence, letting his words kind of hang, and then Park folded his hands in front of him, his own cigar smoldering, upright. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because,” Hannibal said, hating himself and hating the general even more, “I think it’s a fucking fantastic idea, what you’ve got here.”

Another look.

“What do you mean?” Rose asked.

“American service men, there’s what, twenty thousand of us on this goddamn peninsula, and nothing but skinny Korean girls in sight. I’m sorry,” and he held up a hand to Park, “but eventually, your average guy wants something with some meat on her ass. Do you know what most guys here would give to fuck a white woman, after about six months on post?”

“It sounds like a niche market...” Park began.

“Fuck that, it’s the market. You can name your own prices, handpick clients, anything you want if that one we found in the dumpster was any indication...”

“You’re saying, anyone with this kind of enterprise would do well here in Seoul? What if they don’t want military grunts as their clients?”

“Almost all the Americans who come through here are with the US government in some way,” Hannibal said, hiding his growing unease. “But like I said, there’d be choice. Good choice. Hell, I can think of...”

“Why are you so interested in this, Major Smith, hmm? What’s your angle here?”

“Profit,” he said bluntly. “I get you all the business you can handle, good business, keep the brass off your backs and out of your club, and you cut me in.”

Rose came over to whisper something in Park’s ear, and the Korean-American laughed, and waved her out of the room. Hannibal watched her go, and Park went back to his cigar. “Supposing” he asked, rolling it between his fingers, “your hypothetical businessman was to agree to have you as a partner. How much would you be asking?”

“Twenty-five,” Hannibal said immediately, and smirked.

“And why would you receive this amount?”

“Because I wouldn’t be making the offer if I wasn’t able to deliver on it.” He blew a smoke ring. Where the fuck was that Irishwoman? “And if anybody is able to deliver on this kind of promise, it’s me.”

He thought for a minute, and then pressed a button on his desk. Got up, pacing. “Would you enter into this business arrangement without inspection?”

Hannibal felt something slide loose inside him at the implication there, but he keep his tone even. “I always test drive before I buy.”

Park nodded, and swung open the little open. “Rose? Bring him in.”

Him?

One slight, skinny, blonde, fucking gorgeous, utterly naked young man, no older than seventeen or eighteen, was pushed in. He fell to his knees in silence by the end of that desk, subtly out of range of any of them.

Hannibal tried to keep himself in check.

“A sample of what we can offer,” Park said, nodding down. “Rose here assures me he’s quite the talent.”

“Never had a mouth like his before around here,” the madam agreed with an easy nod, and circled around to pet the kid’s hair, like he was a dog.

“One of your best, then?” Hannibal asked, like this didn’t bother him at all, and stood up, walked the step or two between them, and grabbed a handful of hair as gently as he was able, pulling that face up. Blue eyes, slightly narrowed, were staring back up at him, still keen, still bright, the depths of that mind working. The kid had a remarkable constitution, the major thought, or he hadn’t been in this business long. But either way...

“I insist,” Park said, and a drawer slid open. “And we can offer fifteen percent.”

A digital camera appeared on the desk.

“Don’t keep the major waiting, Face,” the madam said, and it was then that Hannibal noticed the woman had a riding crop.

Hannibal took it all in as quickly as he could, and tried to force down his blood pressure. Anger, he told himself, staring at the boy in his hand. “Quite a dessert offering you’ve got there. Sure you want to start with him as an appetizer?”

“We will discuss what you may or may not be able to do for us,” Park said, “but I’d hate for you to go hungry while we work.”

It was elliptical, but after a year of dealing with the damn South Korean Army, Hannibal had gotten a pretty good handle on how this nation handled things they considered impolite. Like threats. And so yeah, the meaning was clear as day.

He had to do this for anything to go forward.

Hannibal couldn’t remember the last time he’d been with a man. Russ, probably, when they’d said their goodbyes at Benning last year. Nothing since then. So he was looking down at the kid, hand wrapped in those so-soft caramel locks, that tell-tale pressure growing in his pants that he couldn’t control.

He tried to focus on the camera instead.

Visual evidence. Blackmail material. Ensuring his silence, gauging his seriousness. They didn’t seem surprised he was here, really, which meant they’d been expecting somebody from the Army base to show up and start asking questions. And if he blinked now, there was no telling what might happen. He’d seen the bouncers on the way in...

So, one thing at a time. Only one thing at a time, and he had to force away his own revulsion at this damn pimp, at his own growing arousal, the way the kid brought a hand up to press against the seam of his fly, eyes still staring up at him.

Had to deal with this first.

The major pulled on the kid’s hair as carefully as he dared, turning his head to either side, taking him in, and damn - this kid was fucking beautiful. “What if I’m not in to boys?” Hannibal asked as casually as he could manage, taking another deep drag on the cigar. “You got anything with curves stashed away in here?”

Rose had a smirk on her face. “Everyone’s in to this one,” she said, right as the kid leaned in a little to plant an open-mouthed kiss right over that seam, and Hannibal felt his cock twitch. Great. “Aren’t they, Face?”

“Yes... yes, ma’am,” the kid muttered, lips barely off his crotch, eyes still fixed on Hannibal, moving up to his belt now.

“Never had an unhappy client, have we, Face?” she asked.

“No, ma’am.”

“Make sure you don’t start now.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Hannibal felt sick inside, listening to the little exchange. So brief, but yet so telling. He didn’t see any signs of abuse on the kid’s body. He looked fit, actually, healthy and clean, skin unbroken. So whatever they were doing to keep their...slaves in line, it was probably psychological, and Hannibal didn’t even want to think about what that might mean.

Without meaning to, at that thought, the major jerked back, hard this time, and Face came away, arched back, one hand automatically shooting up to grab at Hannibal’s hand. A little whimper of pain escaped him.

Rose poked the kid with that crop, frowning a little.

“What’s the matter, major?” Park asked carefully.

Shit. But Face was still off-balance, still twisted up a little, and still staring at him.

“What if I wanted to fuck him instead?” he growled, feeling something hot go through him at the very thought of it, hating himself for it.

The nightclub owner laughed. “Not into men?”

Hannibal shrugged. It was the most he could manage. Had to play this out. "So what's your answer?"

“Oh, not this one,” Rose said smoothly, dragging the soft leather of that crop all the way down the kid’s arched spine, neck to ass. “I have plans for that. So hard to find them this sweet and cute and fresh, isn’t it, now?”

And Hannibal really considered, right then and there, grabbing the kid by the scruff of his neck and hauling him back to base and finding out where in the hell his family was and getting him on the first plane back there? But then how many others, unseen, alone, abandoned, wouldn’t get home? No good. No good at all. “Virgin, huh?”

“Don’t worry, he really does know what he’s doing, Major Smith,” Rose said, and dug the crop into the kid’s back. “Face, why don’t you ask the major if you can suck him off?”

Those eyes, looking right through him, as the young man asked, “can I suck your cock, sir?”

American. Definitely American. How the fuck were they trafficking Americans? Out here? Didn’t make any sense at all. But Hannibal just splayed a hand across the kid’s cheek, feeling light stubble, barely anything at all, and hoped to hell his voice was steady. “You up for it, Face?”

Nimble fingers undid his belt, his top button. “I can take anything you’ve got, major.” Those eyes weren’t watching Hannibal anymore, but the Irishwoman instead. And based on their body language, the way Park was casually brandishing the camera, Hannibal couldn’t drag this out any longer.

“Let’s find out if that’s true,” he said, biting down on the cigar and unzipping himself. Face did the rest, sliding his jeans and briefs off, fingers trailing down Hannibal’s ass as he did so. The major dropped his hand to a shoulder and internally braced himself as a soft hand wrapped around it with the practiced little flick of the thumb, right over the head, playing for just a moment, before sliding back and leaning in and sucking the tip right into his mouth.

“Shit,” Hannibal shuddered out, and had to catch his cigar as the kid’s tongue began probing at the slit, experimental, testing.

And the kid was intense now, eyes on his task, in some kind of zone, clearly blocking out what he didn’t want, locking away whatever he needed to, and that, that certain ability to compartmentalize, that Hannibal found fascinating. There was something about this boy, something about him...

A thumb stroked up the underside of his cock while those lips stretched, and thought fled. The kid was moving a little further up each time, slow and hot, dragging down, almost all the way off every time, then back up, higher and higher, head bobbing, working up to his hand. Hannibal tried to keep his breathing steady, tried to control his own spiraling need. The suction as his lips sealed down, every time, nearly unbearable, the heat unbelievable, it was all too much to take, and the major could feel a hand coming up, nails playing against the backs of his thighs, just barely scratching, moving up to cup his balls, roll them. The heat was forming in his belly, his balls starting to pull up.

He was groaning.

And right then Face snatched his other hand away from the base of the major's cock, gripping around the back of Hannibal’s ass and swallowing him down, through his gag reflex, all the way to the root.

Nobody had been able to deep-throat him for years, not since and only then with a lot of practice. But there the kid was, taking him in like it was easy, and between that and the hand rolling his sac and the way the kid fucking moaned around him, and Hannibal was lost, grabbing for the kid’s head, holding him tight in, spilling into him, mind blank except for that driving need to come.

Heedless of the kid’s struggling.

Until Face pushed out hard and fell off him with a choked little cry, voice thick with Hannibal’s own release, a long trail of drool and semen dribbling out of the corner of his mouth. Those beautiful blue eyes were huge, almost shocked, like the had kid surfaced in the middle of something he normally didn’t. He just lay there on the floor, unmoving as Hannibal’s last few spurts hit him full in the chest, the white streaked down flawless albaster skin.

Hannibal realized his hand, the one that had been holding Face in, has still outstretched as he came down from his high. There was hair in between his fingers, and he shook it off slowly, trying to compose himself.

“Good, yes?” the nightclub owner asked smoothly. He hadn’t budged during the entire time, and there he was now smoking a new cigar, the camera conspicuously present. His own lay abandoned and smoldering on the carpet.

“He spilled a little,” the madam said, disappointment coloring her words, and the kid looked away, shame blushing out on his cheeks.

“Don’t get too mad at the kid,” Hannibal said, tugging himself back together and zipping up. He took a knee, right next to the boy’s. Which was shaking. The major laid a hand on his thigh, feeling decent muscle underneath there, and wondered again where this boy had come from, where he might have gone. And he tugged the kid’s chin up, talking just to him. “Haven’t had anything that good in years,” he said with a slight smile, trying not to look at his own release on that fine body, marking it. “That was very, very good, Face.”

The kid’s eyes widened more, then narrowed again, like he was trying to size Hannibal up. Nothing betrayed. Who was he?

“Do we want to work out the details?” Park asked, stroking the camera like it was a cat or something, and Hannibal fell back into one of those chairs, reaching for another cigar. Nodding as the madam hauled the kid up, looking him up and down.

Out in the club, the music was starting up. It was louder as the door opened and swallowed Face away.

And Hannibal had to turn back to the task at hand.

+++++

“So,” Captain Decker asked practically before Hannibal got inside. “Major Smith, what do you have for me?”

The Ranger slid the chain into the slot on the hotel room door, rented for the day, just for this meet, and he sighed.

Five seconds in to their first meet and already this man grated. This man who was technically running the investigation. Because it was an investigation. And Hannibal didn’t have the clearance, the training or the legal right to be running an investigation.

“Pleased to meet you too, Derick,” Hannibal said, holding out his hand to the man sitting in one of the room’s two chairs, feet propped up on the bed.

The sharp-faced man looked up at him and blinked. Very deliberately. He was all hard angles and cutting edges and Hannibal was pretty sure that . “It’s Captain Decker, sir.”

Contact made, Hannibal thought glumly, and this was the inevitable next step. But if he wanted to get this job done, he had to play by at least some of the rules. “When I spoke to your commander...”

“Captain. Decker. Please.”

“We’re only a year’s difference in rank, Derick,” Hannibal said and plopped into the other chair gratefully. He hadn’t gotten much sleep that night, not after he left Park’s nightclub. Kept seeing that kid, the blonde slaveboy with the fearless blue eyes, staring up at him, lips stretching, taking him in, all that warmth, and the little edge of something else, something dangerous, something beautiful...

It had been far, far too long. That’s all it was. The kid reminded him of some of his own enlisted boys, the junior lieutenants. That had to be it.

It couldn’t be anything else.

“Drop the damn major bit, at least, Derick. If we’re going to be working together. Nobody calls me that.”

The younger officer shrugged. “You understand I’m running this investigation, right, sir? I mean, not to be rude, but...”

“Rude?” Hannibal said with the same tone he’d take with a private who pissed on his shoes. If this guy wanted to play the rank game, well, fuck him.

Decker caught the warning and pursed his lips into a thin white line. “You good to go, sir?”

“Anytime, captain.”

“Great.” And held up a tape recorder. Pressed a button and set it down on the table in front of him. Picked up a notebook and clicked a pen open. “This is Captain Roderick Decker, 501st Counter-Intelligence, and I have here with me Major John Smith, 75th Ranger Regiment, Second Battalion on special assignment to Yongsan Garrison,” he began in a bored monotone. “It’s twenty-three August, 1993, Seoul, South Korea. Investigation notes on the death of British national Anna Whiting, day seven.” Having finished his little preamble, he actually looked at Hannibal for the first time since he’d come into the room. “So, Major Smith, please start from the beginning on last night, when you entered the Xanadu nightclub in downtown Seoul...”

So Hannibal told him.

Told him about meeting Brian Park and Rose McKenny.

Told him about the possibility of trafficked Americans.

Told him about the offer he made.

Told him how Park asked him to come back tonight.

Told him about everything but Face.

“And you’re sure that’s all?” Decker asked, flipping back through two small, tightly-wrought pages of notes. “Absolutely everything, Major Smith?”

“Why would I lie?” Hannibal growled. He needed coffee. He really needed a cigar. “I want to get these fuckers as much as you do.”

“Hrmm,” the intel captain said, and looked up, leaning back in his chair, the tape recorder still rolling. He folded his hands over his chest. “I’m curious... do you know why they just welcomed you in like that?”

“They seemed like they were expecting me,” and he shrugged, trying to ignore the way his heart picked up its pace, just a little bit. “Maybe they’ve heard that I’ve been poking around. And Park did say he knew about the dead girl...”

“Yeah, bad news travels fast in this town,” Decker agreed, a little calmer now. “Or maybe they think they’ve got something on you. Anything come to mind?”

“Like what?” Hannibal asked, as casually as he was able.

Decker snorted, something that Hannibal would later learn passed for a laugh, and closed his notebook and turned off the recorder. His feet came off the bed and he leaned forward, touching the arm of the Ranger’s chair. “Hannibal, if you feel like you need to keep anything from me, don’t. It’ll just be bad for you, bad for me, bad for whatever kids he’s got locked up in there.”

Hannibal nodded, seeing Face again in his mind’s eye, trying to think of anything beside the way the boy had looked at him, arrogant and proud and desperate, that unfathomable shock, sprawled out on his back... “Oh, you’ll be the first person to know.”

“Right...” Decker said, and put his feet back up on the bed. “I’ll call you with the meeting time and location for tomorrow. Don’t fuck anything tonight, okay? In fact, let’s have that be a standing condition for the rest of this thing.”

“Roger that, captain,” Hannibal said, and grinned at him as he stood. Maybe Decker just didn’t want to feel usurped or shoved aside.

Or maybe this guy was just an asshole.

Yeah, actually, that was probably it.

+++++

As the cab pulled up in the alley behind the Xanadu, at exactly the time Brian Park had indicated, Hannibal felt a little flare of fear in his chest.

And what was that about?

He’d been in live-fire more times than he could count, had gun barrels literally touching his head, fought bare-handed against men with knives. But this, this? This scared the shit out of him.

The prospect of seeing Face again scared the shit out of him.

That boy... where was his family? Where was home for him? What was his real name? How had he ended up in this place, this forced submission, this life? And it scared him, because there was no reason for him to be thinking about the kid. No reason at all.

Just something about him...

He sighed and paid the cabbie and there was that madam, waiting for him at the top of a crumbling concrete landing, nails painted the color of fresh blood.

“Brian isn’t here tonight,” was the first thing she said. “He often isn’t. This place isn’t his only business consideration, you must understand.”

It was odd. Like she was trying to be friendly, but had only ever read about that kind of interaction in books. Forced and fake. And Hannibal had to choke down his unease. There was something seriously wrong with this woman. He knew it in his bones. “And he just happened to be here when I came by?”

She drew a spare, thin ring of keys from her pocket and unlocked the back door they were standing in front of, and held it for him, then pushed ahead, pumps clicking on the laminate floor of the hallway. “He asked me to show you around, prove to you what kind of an operation we’re running here. That is what you wanted, isn’t it now?”

Hannibal blinked behind her. A ruse? A blind? Had they known he was coming? What was the lie here, and what did that mean. Nothing good, he decided, and had that thought again as they stopped in front of a large, bolted metal door.

“Here we are,” Rose said, and selected another key from the ring. “I do apologize, major, for all the doors but...“ There was that smile again, the one that wanted to rip him to shreds and she rapped the dull alloy with a knuckle. “This world, I control. Do you understand? No matter what else, they are my responsibility. I take them all very seriously.”

“Makes sense,” he said without any real conviction, feeling that pit start to form in his stomach again.

But the world beyond the door wasn’t anything bad.

Not right here.

Here was just a room in the club, segregated, plush, its own small wetbar in the corner, deeply lit. Like the VIP room in any normal club. Except here there was a line of girls along the wall.

Thin, cute, busty, fair-skinned Western girls. One who was clearly Indian, and gorgeous. A few blacks. All of them dressed, and dressed well, in something they’d probably wear back home, hair falling in shining cascades or tied back into twists and loops.

Hannibal swallowed. This was different, somehow this was different than the juicy bars off base. The line of girls, the shudder of fear that went through them collectively as their madam, or mama-san, or whatever the hell Rose was, walked in. And what was it, he wondered, that made this so different from that? What made it so easy to ignore the dark-skinned Southeast Asian girls slaving at those little off-base dives in studded bikinis? Why were these any more special? Because their mothers could go on the BBC and cry in front of the world? Because they were the same race as him, from his own country?

He felt ashamed of himself. Even though he’d only ever been to those other places to drag his drunk corporals back to their dorm rooms, Hannibal still felt ashamed. Why didn’t they do anything like this for those? Why were these girls, really, so deserving of special treatment?

But the game had to be played out now, now that it had started, and he’d get these girls out, at least, get them home and back with their families, if at all possible, and he steeled himself.

And followed Rose over as she walked the line, examining the young women with the same eye to detail he might take with his own men during an open-ranks inspection, fiddling with an earring or adjusting the line of a dress.

“This is what we usually have on offer. But please understand, I’m not some cheap whore-peddler here, major,” the Irishwoman said, and stopped in front of one girl, hand on her chin, considering. “Different color from now on with the lipstick, Amanda. It makes you look cheap.” The brunette nodded, eyes down, and the madam kept going. “I started this as an offshoot of the club. Alcohol, sex, what’s the difference, really? Selling the boys some escape. I figured I could provide a better service than most of the Korean woman.” And she made a face. “Something... different. Less obvious. More...”

“A more realistic fantasy that’s harder to achieve over here,” he supplied, and she smiled. “How old are most of them?”

“Ah yes, those pesky laws about the underage girls. The... security of this is important to our guests, but anything too old and, well, it’s a fine line to walk.” The Irishwoman nodded. “Nothing under fifteen and only then on commission.”

“Commission?”

She smiled and didn’t answer. “As you said, there’s a market here for young and fresh and not obviously for sale and not too obviously underage. I keep them between seventeen and twenty, mostly female, mostly white...”

“How many girls do you have here?”

“About fifteen, but we’re trying to grow. A niche market, sure but...”

“Yeah,” Hannibal said, making a show of looking over the one at the end, Hispanic, with huge dark eyes that met his. He smiled at her, and she quickly looked away again. “A profitable one. Men pay more for scarcity...”

“Don’t they ever?” she murmured to herself, and turned back to that last girl again. “Carla?” she asked in a syrupy-sweet voice. “Where’s Face?”

The Hispanic girl didn’t look up. “He’s over on the couch, ma’am. He said...”

Rose cast a glance over her shoulder at a small sofa set into the far side of the room. “Thank you, Carla,” she sighed and shook her head, beckoning Hannibal to follow as she walked over. “They’re good girls, major. Perhaps you’d like to try one of them out tonight?”

“Just here for the tour, Ms McKenny.”

She laughed and touched his arm. “Really, I may have to insist that you fuck something. I have a few boys as well, besides this one, if you aren’t into girls.”

And this one happened to be that blonde, Face, laying flat on back on the leather cushions, ear buds jammed in, eyes closed, locks scattered across his forehead, legs pulled up, one foot resting on a raised knee. He was dressed today, jeans and a simple shirt, something a college student on vacation might wear, and Hannibal’s gut tightened even more as he guessed the game here, that many of these guys probably didn’t know they were buying a whore until...

“I don’t usually set limits for myself,” he said, looking down at the kid. If he knew they were there, he wasn’t giving it away.

“Egalitarian. I like that,” she replied with a note of approval and leaned over.

“Face?” Rose asked softly, those red nails tugging the bud from his ears, brushing down to hold one of his hands, as gentle as a woman waking a child from sleep. “Face, honey, look who’s here again tonight.”

Blue eyes snapped open, and nothing in the kid’s body language betrayed the glimmer of fear Hannibal could see, deep down in there. The young man yawned and settled himself upright, wrapping the cord of his headphones obediently around the body of his CD player. “Ma’am?” he asked, looking to her, and then looking back at Hannibal, like he was trying to figure something out.

“Major Smith here is one of our new investors,” she said, and handed the keyring over to Hannibal. Face’s nostrils flared a little at the sight of it. “I want you to show him around.”

“Down here?”

“Upstairs, anything he wants. No secrets,” she said gently, and when she touched the kid again, he visibly flinched. Hannibal had to force himself not to react. “I’m opening in about ten minutes, major, and I figure you’d be more comfortable having one of them show you around than me.”

“You think he’s going to be honest with me?”

“This one’s always looking for trouble, aren’t you, lad?” she asked Face, still smiling, and he blanched. The Irishwoman patted his knee and rose. “Major, say, an hour? And we’ll discuss more then.”

Hannibal, not trusting himself with words right now, just nodded tersely, and away she went, past the line of girls, sweeping them in to the main body of the club.

The second she was gone, the kid slumped over in relief, just for a moment, subtle but profound, and looked up at Hannibal. “Investor?” he asked.

Hanibal shrugged, trying desperately not to care about all of this. “Something like that, yeah.”

“And you’re, you’re not...”

“Not what, kid?”

“You’re not the buyer, are you? I don’t think she’d introduce us like this, not her, she’s so...” and he fell silent

“What buyer?” Hannibal asked.

Face licked his lips and looked away, although the older man got the feeling it was more about embarrassment than necessity right then. “Mine,” he said in a near whisper.

It took Hannibal nearly five seconds to respond to that, taken aback as he was with the chilling flatness in the kid’s voice, the implication, the act... motherfucker, he thought to himself, and nodded. “No kid, I’m not your buyer. Probably couldn't afford you on my salary.”

The kid relaxed and stood, grinning. Brilliant, dazzling, fake. Like nothing was wrong. Like everything was. “Okay, sir. What would you like to see upstairs?”

And right then and there, Hannibal hated himself.

+++++

“The conditions weren’t bad in the dorms,” Hannibal said, staring out the window of the general’s office, unable to look at either Decker of the installation commander as he related the story from that night, a few days ago. The sun was setting outside, wane and pale through the Seoul fog. “A little bare, plain, empty, but not bad. Very clean, very pale. Everything, the beds, the sheets, the towels in the bathroom, toothbrushes, very little color anywhere...”

“Except for...Captain Decker’s report mentions... collars?” the general asked.

Hannibal sighed. “The only one who was in a collar was the boy. They seem to have about fifteen to twenty girls and just the one boy.”

“Why would he be wearing a collar?” And the commander was genuinely confused. So confused, in fact, that Hannibal in no way wanted to tell him what it could be.

But the captain, on the other hand...

“It’s possible it’s some kind of psychological tactic against these kids,” Decker said in a clipped voice that betrayed no emotion. Every counter-intel guy Hannibal had ever met had the same tone, available for use in situations when they didn’t want to be read. “Based on what little Hannibal’s got on this Rose McKenny woman, she sound like some kind of dominant...”

“Dominant?” the general asked and Hannibal sighed as Decker just had to keep going.

“Yes, sir, it’s a person who performs in a master capacity during sexual...”

“What you’re talking about is a consensual term,” the major interjected. “She is mindfucking these kids. It is not the same thing.”

The sharp-faced captain leaned back in his chair. “And how in the hell do you know that, major?”

“Wha are you trying to say here, captain?”

“I’m saying that you’re a little too comfortable with all of...”

“You don’t have to go in there and try to find an excuse for why you aren’t going to fuck one of those...”

“Are you finding excuses, Major Smith?”

“You should be very careful about what you’re implyi...”

“Gentlemen!” the general snapped.

They both immediately fell silent, Decker with a little nod. “I’m sorry about that, sir. I know both Major Smith and I want to see these kids home safe.”

Hannibal realized he’d risen half out of his chair. Sitting back down with a nod, his eyes passed over Decker’s head, back out to that hazy sunset, remembering that shockingly white dorm. The only color at all had been Face, the dark denim of his jeans, the fine weave of his shirt, the deep gold of that gorgeous hair he could still feel in his fingers, impossibly soft...

The boy had toed off his shoes at the door, once Hannibal had unlocked it, stuffing them into a cubby right off to the side and sliding a little white cloth across it, hiding the color of leather from view. “Should I...” Hannibal had asked, and Face just shook his head.

“We’re not allowed to wear shoes up here,” the kid told him, and held up a black collar he pulled from the same cubby. “Or clothes, really, but since you’re here...”

“You have to put that on?” Hannibal asked softly.

“Yeah...” Face said, staring at it like he couldn’t remember what it was.

So the major took it away and tucked it in his own pocket. Laid a hand on the young man’s shoulder and squeezed, just a little, like he might do with one of his own soldiers. “What are you going to show me, kid?”

“It’s just a dorm,” Face had said with a little, honest smile, and padded down the blank hallway on bare feet, and Hannibal watched him for just a moment.

The gait belied him as a natural runner, the way he'd carried himself as a real fighter, unbroken, defiant, brave. And a question bubbled up in Hannibal's mind, of how long, how much longer would this place let him stay in one piece, how bad it would be when he finally fell apart, how he could save the boy from that...

“Hannibal?” the commander asked now, snapping him back, away from that sway in the boy's step. “What are you thinking?”

And this was going to hurt, Hannibal knew, but he asked it anyway. “I’m thinking you need to remove the Xanadu from the Off-Limits Establishments List, sir."

He let hang for a moment.

“And possibly do some advertising to that effect. Without interference.”

Decker made a strangled noise in the back of his throat.

The general just leaned over his desk, folded his hands, and fixed the Ranger with his best general stare. And just stared.

“I know what I’m asking, sir,” Hannibal said, feeling himself start to shake a little under the force of that glare. It was some kind of GO requirement, that glare.

And he did know exactly what he was asking. The Xanadu, and half a dozen similar bars on the same street, had been on the list since the British girl had been found in the dumpster in the alley. Meaning military patrols could be conducted, per the Status of Forces Agreement. Meaning anyone found within a hundred yards of the place was in violation of a direct order and subject to judicial punishment. Meaning the sex slaves there were safe, at least, from anyone employed by the DoD.

“Do you? Opening that place back up for military use? Why would I do that to those kids?”

“You let the military back in there, stop the MP patrols in the neighborhood, it looks like I’ve done my job, kept my word, they trust me, I get into their heads...”

Decker snorted. “I didn’t authorize him to make that kind of a deal, by the way, sir.”

The general turned to Hannibal. “I want to know everyone, and I mean everyone, who fucking goes in there. You understand?”

“They have a security system,” Hannibal said with a nod, and turned to the captain, who was simmering beneath a far-too calm exterior. “Can you tap into that?”

“Can you get one of my guys inside to take a look at it?”

“Yeah, think so.”

Decker took a deep breath and nodded. “We’ll play this thing out, Major Smith, but sir,” and he was talking to the commander again, “I think this a huge risk we’re playing with American citizens. I know what the major’s thinking and frankly, it’s insane.”

“And what about their supply chain? Where they’re getting these kids? How?” Hannibal snapped. The sun was almost down now. “There are bigger issues here, Decker.”

“This is not the way to go about...”

“Shut up. The dick-measuring, it stops right the fuck now,” the general yawned, and pointed at them both in turn. “Decker, your protests are noted but Hannibal’s got the stick on this thing. Follow his lead. Hannibal, this is a fucking nightmare and we are in for a shitstorm of epic proportions when that girl’s family gets out here next week to take the body home. I need progress. Get it for me, both of you.” He slapped shut the cover on Decker’s progress report and nodded at Hannibal, holding up a hand that tightened down into a fist. “Everybody’s names, you understand?”

“Yes sir.”

“Dismissed, both of you.”

They both slid out of their chairs, and Decker barely made it out of the office before storming off.

Hannibal found the captain in the bathroom, leaning over the sink, looking pale, water dripping from his face onto his civilian shirt, hand wet on the particle countertop. The major approached him slowly, wondering what exactly he was in for here, but there was nothing thrown at him. Just that drawn-up expression, voice steady.

“I don’t like criminal investigations. I got the fuck out of that business for a reason, Hannibal.”

He needed to give this guy something, get him on his side, get him fucking working while he was open, Hannibal figured, so he said exactly what he’d been thinking since this whole thing started, since the girl was found. “I don’t like this either, Derick, it’s a complete...”

But Decker pushed up, their faces close for a second, like in a bad action movie, the captain’s hand opening and close a few times before the words came. “Fuck me, fuck those kids, or fuck this op, Major Smith, and I will nail your balls to the main gate, I shit you not.”

Hannibal just nodded, and pulled back a little. What was wrong with this guy? He promised himself he’d figure it out. And in the meantime... he patted a cigar out of his pocket, lit up, took a deep drag of sweet smoke and blew a smoke ring up to the ceiling. “I’ll take that into consideration, Derick.”

“Fuck you, you arrogant prick,” Decker snarled, and practically stalked out of the bathroom.

Hannibal listened to the sound of his retreat, and collapsed, just a little, letting down from the front he’d been putting up to get through the report.

Remembering the rest of it.

The way the kid had stopped at the cubby on their way out, pulling his sneakers back on. “Can I have my collar back, sir?” he asked and Hannibal put it in the little space for him, rather than let him touch the hateful thing himself.

He’d stared. “You aren’t going to tell her, are you, sir?”

“No, kid. Our secret.”

Face had smiled again. “We’re supposed to take our clients to one of the hotels down the street, but there are a few couches downstairs, if you’d like...we’ve probably got time, sir.”

“Kid,” Hannibal had begun. You don’t have to, I’m not doing it for that, you deserve a break... but kindness wasn’t a language spoken in the Xanadu. Something for something. Expected. Demanded.

So he’d laid a hand on the kid’s shoulder, voice interested. Part of him... interested. “Lead the way, Face.”

Hannibal blew another smoke ring up at the ceiling.

What was it about that damn kid?

And, perhaps more importantly, what the fuck was wrong with him?

+++++

It was almost disturbingly easy, Hannibal discovered, to get this whole thing taken care of.

He had promised, and needed to deliver, the higher-paying customers. Which meant officers. Which meant promotion, advertising. Which meant the O-Club.

And it was really easier than it should have been.

A few words with the right people in the right positions, the social coordinator’s assistant at the O-Club, the brigade exec, the one captain in Contracting who knew the dirt on everybody, the okay from an overjoyed Rose, who'd already seen the return of some of her military regulars, and Hannibal had all the information he needed to ensure that all the right people were going to be in all the right places that Friday.

Way too fucking easy.

“They shown up yet?” that one lieutenant colonel from USFK asked, checking his watch.

Hannibal shrugged, sweating through his own polo in the sticky Korean night. “Not yet.”

“How much longer is this going to take?”

“They may have missed their train,” Hannibal said, playing to the script, and the light bird was smirking. Motherfucker, the major thought, but said nothing like that.

The place was awash in girls on Friday and Saturday nights. Koreans. Gorgeous. College girls, girls who wanted American husbands, normal girls. Easy. Consensual. Not for profit. There was the usual messy line of them outside the gate, overnight bags packed and carried with them, sweet perfume rising sweaty in the hot night, giggling to each other as the boys coming on would pick one or two or three and sweep them into the Clubs. Drink until the wee hours of the morning, head back to the dorms and walk them off again in the morning.

It was all against the rules, of course, and not everybody participated, not everybody liked it, but nobody stopped it. Nobody ever put the brakes on it. And Hannibal understood that men had needs and all the other arguments, he really did.

Didn’t mean he agreed with any of it, but...

Hannibal shifted a little as a brunette finally appeared on the edge of the throng, that girl, Amanda, with two of the other girls from the Xanadu, heads up and eyes bright. The lieutenant colonel raised an eyebrow as Hannibal waved at them, as the girl waved back, like the niece she was supposed to be pretending she was.

It was all a little game, Hannibal had explained to the colonel. Best white pussy west of Hawaii. Available for the price of a little ruse and some caution.

“Hi, Uncle John,” she said shyly as the trio approached. “I’m so sorry we’re late, I don’t...”

“Don’t worry about it, Amanda,” Hannibal said carefully, resisting the urge to punch this bastard in the face for the way he was oogling the girl. But she really did look... long legs, long hair, long lashes, all young curves untouched by age, biting her lip. Hannibal understood. He nodded at them all. “You girls ready to go?”

One of them whooped, like she was a normal college girl on vacation, going to some kick-ass party, and Amanda smiled widely, and the lieutenant colonel was already talking the third, and the MPs checking IDs barely gave their little party a second glance.

Hannibal’s stomach twisted up, and he took a note of the kid’s name, deciding the whole damn lot of cops here needed retraining on picking out the whores.

They walked, laughing and joking, up to the Club, where the girls quickly vanished into the crowds and loud classic rock, the light bird taking them over to meet his friends. Last Hannibal saw of them, they were drinking beer and laughing with a few of the senior officers from the US Forces Korea headquarters.

The Ranger, for his part, sagged into the bar, relieved he was done for the evening, trying to rationalize that whatever was going to happen tonight, was going to happen anyway, with or without his involvement and tapped, whiskey materializing in front of him. He finished that in one go, and the bartender was refilling it when a lithe body squeezed into a non-existent space next to Hannibal. Dark gold curls, that teasing little smile, a sensual curve to the spine, and the major started, just a little.

“Face?” he asked.

“One and the same!” the kid declared boldly, like he fucking belonged there, and waved to the bartender. “Beer me!”

Hannibal watched as the sweating brown bottle was handed over. “Aren’t you a little young to be drinking, Face?”

“Old enough to suck your not inconsiderable cock, major,” he said, that little edge of defiance in his tone. He took a long pull on the beer. “Besides, there’s no drinking age in Korea.”

“What are you doing here? How’d you get on post?”

“Like it’s hard, major?” He sipped, but the playfulness was sapping out. “Rose wanted me to gauge the interest in...”

Shaking his head, the major went for a cigar. “Look, kid, you aren’t going to have much luck around here with something like that. If... if a man’s looking for that, he’s going to go somewhere a little less obvious. Rose should have asked me herself...”

“She wanted me to check it out.”

“Like I said, you aren’t going to have much luck with that here. Not that there aren’t plenty of men in the military who are into it.”

“Like you?” And Face’s eyes narrowed a little, brow furrowed. He rolled the cold bottle between his hands. “Yeah, I guess... so, what should I do?”

“You should do nothing,” Hannibal said, standing up and motioning for Face to do the same. “I’m getting you out of here.”

Face shook his head. “I don’t want to go back there right now, major. I...”

“She going to be pissed if you don’t bring anything back tonight?”

The kid shrugged, but something in the way he was holding himself when he did it... and Hannibal just knew he was going to regret this later. But if he left the kid here, left him to his own devices, with the kind of restrictions that the madam clearly had on his sexual activity, he might get forced into a bad position. Who knew what that woman wanted with him? Would do to him if he wasn't still holding on to that one aspect of his innocence?

And of course, Hannibal told himself, that was the only consideration in mind. The consequences for the kid. Not the way he wanted to wrap his arms around the young man, feel that body against his, its warmth, its strength. Hold him tight and keep him safe...

“You’re going home with me, and I’ll deal with Rose tomorrow,” he said anyway, trying to make it sound like it didn’t matter, that he didn’t care, but as they wormed their way out of the Club together, Hannibal could feel the kid’s eyes on him.

Wondering.

Gathering.

Evaluating.

What was this kid?

And that question, and the boy, followed Hannibal all the way back to his off-base apartment.

“This is where you live?” Face asked, eyes huge in the small place.

“Yeah,” Hannibal said, and tossed his keys on the little table he hardly ever used. “Yeah, this is home for right now.”

It wasn’t much of a place, five hundred square feet of studio apartment. Rented furniture, fold-out futon bed, the table, a television Hannibal never used but was required to have. That cheap, dusty paint they had over here, and barely any room for much more than a small shelf of books. But given his weight allowance moving over here, barely a thousand pounds, he couldn’t bring much anyway. All his stuff was back in storage, in Atlanta. So it didn’t really matter if the place was a little barren.

And there Face was, standing just inside the door, enough for Hannibal to close it, taking it in. “All yours? You don’t have to share?”

“No, I don’t have a roommate. One of the perks of being a major, don’t have to live in the dorms.”

“This is... this is awesome,” Face said, and Hannibal recognized what that was in the kid’s voice; amazement. “I can’t imagine what I’d do with space like this. Nobody can come in, right? You can lock the door and nobody comes in? I bet you’ve even got shower curtains...”

Hannibal shrugged, feeling more and more uncomfortable as the seconds ticked on, as Face walked around a little and tried to keep himself from touching things. “Yeah, kid, it’s nice.”

Just a little too short.

One of those hands withdrew, Face looking around one more time like he was trying to memorize the details, trying to keep it in his mind, and then he did that thing, that shift, dropping down, sliding up, sliding a hand across Hannibal’s chest. “It’s a nice place,” he said, low and soft, and the touch felt so damn good, sparking him alight as it dipped under his shirt, brushed the fine, humidity-damp hair there, the other hand, reaching for...

And Hannibal reacted automatically, jerking the kid back by the collar of his shirt, pulling him off, keeping him up off his knees.

“What the fuck are you doing, kid?”

Face looked away, head drooping. “I... what do you mean? You brought me back with you. I figured that you’d want...”

“I brought you back because I’m not going to let something happen to you while I’m working with your...”

“Owner?”

“... Rose. She’d be real upset if I let something happen to you.”

“Yeah.” And Face slumped as Hannibal let him go, his ass hitting the floor. “Her plans.”

“What is she planning on doing with you?” the major asked, and sat down next to him on the cold wooden floor.

“She’s been talking about a sale for a while, but never goes through with it. I guess she’s serious about it now, found somebody who’s willing to...” Face looked up at Hannibal, desperation on his beautiful features. “I still think it might be you, sir.”

“I’m not...”

“No, you don’t get it, Major Smith. She plays mindgames with us, fucks with us... I’ve seen what it does to some of the girls. It’s not good...”

“But you?”

He tried to smile, but it wouldn’t come. “Yeah, uhh, I thought she would have sold me a long time ago. Nobody ever stays as long as I have. But I... play back. Maybe that’s it.” He sighed, and twisted around to his knees, hand brushing back up. “Always playing mindgames...”

Hannibal caught it again. “No Face, not tonight.”

The kid just looked confused. “Major, I hav...”

“That’s not what I want from you right now.”

“But...”

Hannibal sighed. The kid wanted to pay. No kindness accepted. But he couldn’t do that, not here, not again, not with nobody watching. Not in his own home. He couldn’t allow it, no matter how good it would feel, how hot that mouth was, how sweet, all those little sounds...

And the kid was ashen, he noticed, when he glanced back over, scooting away a little now, and Hannibal cursed himself for his stupid phrasing. Shit, the kid probably thought... “No, kid, not that, either. I won’t get you in any more shit with that woman...”

“You said... you said I’m spending the night, right? So...”

Hannibal held up a hand in what he hoped was a reassuring gesture. “Just sleeping, kid. That’s it.

“I don’t get it,” Face said. “Why wouldn’t you...”

And there it was, Hannibal realized. The ugly truth.

He had to ask something.

Had to ask for something, just to calm the kid down, if nothing else. Reassure him the patterns of his life were somewhat present, that he wasn’t doing anything wrong, and maybe the wounds in this boy were deeper, more profound, than he’d imagined from the first.

So he had to think of something.

So it just kind of slipped out.

“Sleep with me.”

“Sir, you said...”

“Just sleep, I said just sleeping. I want you to sleep with me.”

“In bed?” Face asked, so off-kilter it nearly broke Hannibal’s heart “In a bed?”

“If my shitty futon counts as a bed, then, yeah.”

Face bit his lip so hard Hannibal thought it was going to start bleeding, and shook his head. “I can’t, I can’t, sir. I’m not allowed to...”

“Where do you normally sleep?”

“The foot of hers, on the floor.”

Hannibal considered the terrified young man in his apartment and then rolled up, walking over to the futon and tugging it off its frame, the thin pad hitting the floor with a dull thud. He got the sheets and blankets out of his little closet, the sheets something he normally didn’t bother with, but the kid seemed so... “If you want to help me with something, Face, you can get that made up,” he told him. “And strip.”

He stripped his shirt off and tossed it in the bathroom laundry, folded his pants back into a drawer, but left his boxers on as he came back into the single main room. Didn’t need to freak the kid out as he smoothed the last few bumps out of the blanket, kneeling beside it, breathing hard, naked again.

Made him nervous, you asshole, Hannibal though to himself, and cursed himself for not specifying the kid should leave his briefs on. But there wasn’t any going back now, not without embarassing the kid, so he lit the light switch. He pulled the covers back in the dark, slid in, and held up the edge for Face.

“What do I...”

“Just get in, kid.”

Face hesitated a moment more, and then crawled right in, unable to suppress a happy little sigh as he hit the cool sheets. Still nervous, though, and very stiff, so Hannibal reached out and pulled him in, wrapping those tense limbs up in his, rubbing the kid’s .

“W-what are you...”

“I’m a kinky old man,” Hannibal murmured, palm wide and slow. “Indulge me.”

There was a halting little laugh. “I guess I couldn’t stop you, could I?”

Hannibal took a deep whiff of that hair tickling his chest now. Smoke and sweat and hair gel and something, he was sure, that was distinctly Face, subtle and almost sweet, warm, rare. It took nearly all of his willpower to resist the urge to kiss. “I think you’d be surprised what you could do, Face.”

They lay there like that, Hannibal gently teasing the stiffness from that body, making it pliant, relaxed in his arms, murmuring little words, listening to the kid’s heart beat. And then, after a few long , the kid turned around, right into him, nose to neck, and took a deep, shuddering breath.

“I wish you were him,” he said, stretching up, just a little, pressing himself full-length against the older man. “You can tell me i-if you are, it’s okay.”

Hannibal stroked a hand through all that soft hair. “I’m not.”

“I wish you were,” the kid mumbled again, falling away already, fingers soft and grasping against the hard muscles of the older man’s arms. Probably not even aware of what he was saying. “I'd be good for you, I'd do what you wanted, wouldn't fight you, be a good boy...”

It took Hannibal a long, long time to get to sleep after that.

His only comfort was that the next day, when he had to take Face back and when Rose asked what he'd done with the boy the night before, Hannibal was able to growl, "Made him sleep on the floor, where he belongs."

And the kid's eyes, he thought, just for a moment, were wet with grateful tears.

Continue to Part Two