Character Study - DVD Extras
Apr. 14th, 2011 06:53 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sonora_conejaPairing: Liam/Bradley
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: none
Summary: A fill for this prompt over at the kink meme
Hannibal/Brad. Alternately Liam/Face...
Please?
Liam’s missing something from how he’s playing Hannibal. So Hannibal decides to give him a little one-on-one time with how, exactly, Face likes it.
Liam collapses down into the bed in his hotel room with huffed relief. Another day over. Just a few more days of this damn desert shoot, and they’ll be back in Vancouver. Where it’s cooler. Where it’s a lot cooler. And where he’s not going to be kept outside until damn near dark in that scorching heat just because Joe’s not happy with the dailies.
Something’s missing from Hannibal the director kept saying today.
But it’s really too hot for Liam to care.
“Bloody weather,” he grumbles to himself, and grabs for a pillow, stuffing it behind his head and wonders if he should turn the TV on. There’s nothing else to do. Bradley had something planned with a few of the other cast members some time tonight. He’d bowed out.
And the lad had looked upset.
Which Liam found rather odd.
Why Bradley should care one way or the other, if they’re together or if they aren’t? True, they both seem to be finding more and more excuses to see one another, the quick hours they can catch on the weekends or in the evenings starting to draw out, longer and longer, as long as they can dare, really. Liam’s happy to spare the time.
His young co-star seems almost desperate to be fucked, whenever, however. Bradley’s not as tight as he was, those first few times after the plug, opening up, lovely and grasping now, his body begging for the sensations it used to fight.
And when Bradley shows up, a shy little smile on his handsome face, asking if they could just hang out together that night, the Irishman doesn’t see any reason to deny the lad what he wants. No reason to not fuck him. No reason at all.
Not fucking him would be a crime, he thinks to himself, and chuckles a little.
But... still. The lad’s learning, learning a little too fast for Liam’s liking. It's not all him doing the teaching, which irritates him for some reason. He suspects the American’s still getting help from Patrick. Pointers and such. But the older actor can’t stop it, can’t demand that Bradley only see him. It’s not like this thing they have going is about anything other than some decent, healthy, enjoyable... relaxation.
Except that it’s starting to make him tense. Not relaxing at all. Like how, right now, just thinking about Bradley is starting to get him very not relaxed. The opposite of relaxed. Excited. Thinking about that jawline, his laugh, sweet and infectious, the way he rubs his hand across his mouth when he’s thinking... or maybe that’s just something he’s doing for Face, Liam’s not sure...
He sighs, trying to will that sudden annoyance of a hard-on away, and goes back to the script for tomorrow. The tire thing, with Tuco and Face captured like the foolish lad he is and Hannibal, Hannibal all to the rescue, doing anything...
“Anything to save my boy, Liam,” the actor hears in his own voice, and looks up to see Hannibal, work shirt, shoulder holster, cigar, happy little smirk, sitting right on the edge of the room’s little coffee table. “I’m always having to keep him out of trouble.”
Liam blinks, looking down at the script and then back up. Damn. Hannibal’s still there. And the Irishman can practically smell the cigar...
“That’s part of the character you have to play. You have to rescue that lieutenant from himself constantly. Thinks with his dick, then with his heart, and maybe sometimes with his head.” Hannibal blows a smoke ring. “That’s really what you’re missing with the way you and Bradley are going about this. You’re not acting like Face needs you. And he does. More than he ever knows.”
Strange, Liam thinks to himself, but shrugs. Why not? His imagination wants to give him some pointers on how to play Hannibal better, might as well accept. “How so?”
“You want him, don’t you? Your Bradley?” Hannibal growls a little, staring right at him. He’s an aggressive man, Hannibal, Liam knows. Army colonel. Special Forces Army colonel. That comes with attitude. That comes with command. It’s something he’s played himself a dozen times over, but he usually prefers to exercise that kind of authority quietly, subtly, like the way people just defer to him when he walks in a room...
“I’ve had him,” he replies.
Hannibal’s smirk grows a little wider. “No, you want him. Want to take care of him. Smooth all those little insecurities away. Polish him up and make him better.”
He’s never really thought about it like that. Not even with... but this is an entirely different situation. And yes, Bradley’s younger than him, still trying to establish himself, still so unsure, and so, so beautiful. So strong, if he’d let himself be, but part of Liam’s been beginning to suspect that maybe the lad never wanted to be in the position that’s he's in. It was just thrust on him by the success of The Hangover. He never seems to enjoy it all that much. And Liam really does want to make it all easier for the lad, he really does. “I suppose I might...”
Hannibal nods. “Don’t suppose, Liam. You want him bad. No shame in it. You ever consider the fact that he might want it too?”
He stares, trying to figure out if this is some joke his subconscious is playing on him. Or something. “I thought we were talking about you and Face.”
Hannibal taps his cigar off into an ashtray that wasn’t there before, and looks back over his shoulder. “Yeah, we were. Kid!”
And there he is. Tan, strong, every inch of him the Ranger, in that damn blue t-shirt Bradley looked so fucking edible in, those loose cargos that hang just right off his hips... “what, boss?” he asks with a yawn. “Thought we were done for the night.”
“After that little stunt you pulled on me today, with Tuco’s wife? We’re far from done tonight, Face,” Hannibal tells him, and Liam can’t help but notice the little thrill that runs through the younger officer. “Get your ass over here.”
Face looks like he’s going to start pouting, or whatever it is he does, but he drops right down next to Hannibal on the sofa, and only yelps a little when a big hand pulls him back, the colonel maneuvering his lieutenant into the spot where they both, apparently, want the younger man to be.
“Kid needs a firm hand,” Hannibal tells Liam, almost bored, and runs that hand under the younger Ranger’s t-shirt as he talks, fingers quite obviously playing with a nipple. Liam can only watch, can only feel himself growing harder, watching the two of them like this, so private, so on display. Yet he’s trying to be clinical about this. There’s an element here, he knows, something that’s obviously missing from his own performance that Hannibal’s trying to communicate... “A very firm hand. Or he starts thinking he can do all sorts of things...”
“Fuck, boss,” Face gasps, making the same little sounds Bradley does when he’s aroused. “I already said I was sorry about that woman...”
“I don’t care about the woman, Face,” Hannibal says, low and dangerous in his ear. “As many of those as you want. But you disobeyed orders, going in there, lieutenant. And that I can’t excuse.”
That hand obviously does something, because Face squirms a little harder, like he’s trying really hard to get away now, except that Liam can see that he’s not. That he’s actually grinding back into Hannibal. That his own cheeks are becoming flush and his breath is coming a little uneven and he’s actually enjoying this. “Come on, Hannibal,” he begs anyway, “come on, I had to move, I had to do something...”
“Face, quit fighting me, don’t make me spank you...”
“Boss, shit!” he sputters, and points to Liam. “We’ve got company for chrissakes...”
“No, kid, he’s got our company. We’re the guests here.” Hannibal’s other hand, until now curled around the younger officer’s waist, drops to his inseam. “I’m trying to make a point with Liam about you...”
“What? About when you go all alpha-male on me?” he asks, trying to turn around, and Hannibal stops that with a quick jerk, a light nip of that exposed neck. Liam feels his own cock twitch, wondering what it would be like to have the freedom to mark Bradley, to leave indelible proof of... of what they’re doing together on that soft skin.
“No, kid, that you fucking love it when I do. And it’s the one thing he’s not bringing to my character right now.”
“That’s sort of important,” Face, amazingly enough, agrees, and smiles right at Liam, sliding his arm back over his own shoulder, around Hannibal’s head. And the colonel’s lips seal back down over that spot. “It’s...ah, fuck, boss...very...very important.”
Liam shakes his head, trying to parse through all of this, trying to keep his brain working while the two of them fucking dry hump on that table. Why is his brain doing this to him? Unless there's really some truth in all of it... “I don’t know. I’m not sure if Bradley would be comfortable with...”
“You ask him?” Face practically purrs, and presses himself back against Hannibal, hips jutting forward into that kneading hand on his groin. "You ask him, Liam, if he wants to be your boy..."
“You don’t ask something like that, kid,” Hannibal says, and stands them both up. He turns his lieutenant around in his arms, nose to nose now, grabs a light handful of hair. “You just do.”
Then he kisses Face. Long and hard and aggressive, quite obviously putting everything he feels for his boy into it, making it equally clear just who Face belongs to. And it looks so much like him, so much like him and Bradley, that Liam can’t suppress the groan that escapes him as Hannibal devours the young man in his arms.
When he finally pulls off, a soft smacking noise as they separate, he holds on to Face, shuddering in his arms. “Beautiful boy,” he murmurs, lips falling back down one more time, and then smiles at Liam again. “Would you like to have a turn? Know what Face is supposed to feel like? What he wants?”
The Irishman’s a little stunned, but his cock is like steel in the confining pressure of his jeans and Face is, well, facing him again and those blue eyes, Bradley’s blue eyes, are dilated with lust. So...
“Yes,” he says.
And Face is on him in a flash.
It’s odd, really, how much more assured Face is, how much more certain his movements, as he tugs his own shirt up over his head, the Ranger tattoo flexing on a bicep as he tosses it away. As he reaches down and pulls Liam up. As he circles his own hands around the actor’s waist.
“What do you do here, Hannibal?”
“Want me to show you?”
“That is the point, isn’t it?”
Face grins, and bucks up against the actor, kissing his neck, lips working right along his pulse. He really does feel like Bradley, but it’s never been quite like this. Never quite this...volatile. His co-star doesn’t have this kind of confidence when it comes to this.
Not yet, anyway. Although, maybe some day...
“Got to prime him up a little. Make him beg. He loves begging.” And now Hannibal’s up and striding over, cigar clenched firmly between his teeth, and he wraps himself around his lieutenant’s back, dropping to palm the younger man’s cock again, pressing that hard body even more firmly into Liam’s. “Get his attention exactly where you want it...”
“Goddammit, Hannibal, are you going to...”
“Feel me, kid,” he growls. “Shut up and feel. Feel how hard I am for you, what you do to me...”
Face’s lips don’t stop those little feathering touches, now turning into licks. But he moans. The same moan Bradley might let loose with.
“...feel how much I want to be inside you right now, fucking you, making you scream...”
That gets a louder groan, and Hannibal smiles up at Liam, both hands on Face’s waist now, dragging him back just a little, holding him tight. “Want to remind you of who you belong to, cause you seem to keep forgetting...”
“Fuck, Hannibal, I know...”
Hannibal’s still holding Liam’s gaze as he bites down on his mark again, cigar held far enough away now to not burn any of them. “What do you know, kid?”
The younger officer’s practically sobbing now. “O-only, only you...”
“Good boy,” the colonel says, and pushes them forward as he steps away, sending them both tumbling down onto the bed behind. Liam, still a little dazed from everything that’s going on, hits down hard on his back, the conman’s solid weight straddling his hips now.
Hannibal back to smoking. Pensively. “And Templeton?” he adds, and both men, real and...whatever... alike, look up at him. “I need you to show me. Ask Liam what he wants again.”
Face nods, eyes half shut as he turns back around to Liam, thrusting forward lightly. “What do you want, Liam? How do you want me, Liam? Any way you want it, it’s yours,” he murmurs, breath hot, and that makes the Irishman worry a little - he can actually feel it. Or he thinks he’s feeling it. But all those concerns are erased the second Face starts kissing again, light, gentle, right below the actor’s ear. “Just tell me want you want.”
But he’s not going to let his subconscious know it’s freaking him out a little, and so he looks back over the conman’s shoulder to Hannibal, throwing out a quick query that, hopefully, doesn’t sound too desperate. “What would you want, colonel?”
Heannibal leans in, growling in the lieutenant’s ear. “Ride him, sweetheart, like you would me. Work for it.” He winks at Liam. “Boy does love his pet names.”
“When you say them like that...” Face confirms, and the actor notices those cargos are gone, that the conman is completely naked, and he laughs with Bradley’s laugh again. “Instant off clothing. We should visit your fantasies more often...”
And Liam really, really wants to poke his brain for doing this to him, but a clever hand slides up his thigh, just then, up to free his own painfully engorged cock. It springs out from his jeans, caught by Face’s hand, stroking, stroking, just the perfect amount of pressure. Almost like it’s his own hand that’s... but as guides the actor’s cock around, as that body above his lifts, lining up, Liam figures it really, really doesn’t matter.
“You ready, old man?” Face teases breathily, letting the head of Liam’s shaft slip right between his cheeks, not quite where it needs to be yet. It feels slick, like he’s already...and Face does it again, chasing that thought away entirely. “You ready?”
He grabs up, spreading his fingers across the lieutenant’s hips, his Bradley’s hips, deciding he better play this right. That the whole point here is... “You think you’ve got the first move here, kid?” he growls in that ridiculous American accent he has to use for this role, and Face actually blushes, exactly like Bradley would, mouth falling open in a little gasp.
And those does it for Liam.
He holds and tugs and thrusts up, all at the same time, and Face cries out, loud and gutteral, as Liam sheaths himself in that warm, willing ass, stretching and filling all in one go. He groans himself, feeling the difference, the give, how much looser Face is, how easy it is to guide him into just the right rhythm, thrust up into that body as it clenches around him. The Ranger’s hand land down on his shoulders, bracing, the angle changing, catching that spot, more little cries that get louder and louder, Face doing some thing where he’s rolling down to meet Liam on the upstroke, the angle changing again and a pained whimper that almost, almost gets the actor to stop, but...
There’s Hannibal, flat against Face’s arching spine, big calloused thumb and forefinger tight around the lad’s cock, holding back orgasm. “You come when I say, Temp. Wait for Liam...”
“Hannibal...” he moans, but starts working harder, the sensation of it all almost unbearable now for Liam, watching two pairs of heated blue eyes above him, straining, dragging up that slope, and he feels the heat in his own belly start to unknit. Come apart. Push up. And he slams his hands down on Face’s thighs, burying himself as deep as he can, feeling himself explode up into that perfect, perfect ass...
Then he’s tumbled to the side, his shirt’s streaked with Face’s own climax, Hannibal pulling the younger man off and back into his own arms. The lieutenant’s nearly delirious, curls sweaty on his forehead, breathing hard. His man, his colonel, is rubbing the rise of his hipbone, his shaking belly, gentling him down, shh, kid, that was good, that was very good, I love you so much, dear boy...
“I love you,” Face mumbles back, and Hannibal presses a palm to his forehead as those eyes slide shut. So like Bradley’s but not, Liam thinks, no less innocent and no more wise but certainly more experienced. More traveled. More...
“He’s seen so much in his life,” the colonel acknowledges, probably catching Liam’s expression. “I’m surprised sometimes he’s not more broken than he is.”
“You keep him whole,” the actor observes, running a hand down to meet Hannibal’s, on that hip. “You keep him together.”
“He doesn’t need to be taken care of, not really, but he does love it...” the other man nods back, and lifts up, coming around, fingers slipping into Liam’s own dark hair, all three of them very, very close now. He lifts over Face’s sleeping shoulder. “I do want to see you get it right, the two of us...”
“Of course,” Liam murmurs back.
“Outstanding,” he hears Hannibal reply, low, rumbling, feeling those chapped and dry lips meet his, a chaste kiss that opens and dives and offers, offers...
And Liam sprawls back out on the bed, staring up at the textured ceiling, wincing a little as he peels his own hand off his own cock, the rumpled duvet and his own ruined t-shirt bearing witness to how hard he just got himself off. To fucking Face. And kissing Hannibal, evidently, but he doesn’t even want to think about what that means. Doesn’t want to think about any of it, actually.
“Fuck,” he mutters to himself, wondering if the hotel staff will care, what they might say, and finds himself wanting a cigar right now, even though he’s been off the smoking for years.
And he absolutely does not think about what he did.
Until the next day.
When he sees Bradley, outside, in that artfully stained and soiled bathrobe, still sans sweat make-up, and alone, playing his with damn cell phone off in some somewhat secluded corner of the set, behind a pile of those tires.
He hasn’t said good morning yet. And Liam’s pretty sure he knows now why that’s pissing him off so much, and what he needs to do about it.
What they both want him to do about it.
“Good morning, Bradley,” he says, letting the Irish loose, reminding himself to lock it down again once they start shooting. “You lads have a good time last night?”
He gets a smile, a hopeful smile, maybe, and a little bit of a laugh. “Uh, yeah, Liam, it was f...”
But Liam doesn’t let him finish. Not today. Not after last night. No.
Instead, he catches the lad up by the waist and carries him back into that pile of tires, out of any sight lines from the main body of people mucking about just over yon, and kisses him. Hard. Aggressive. Demanding.
And Bradley, to his delight, struggles for only a split second before melting into it. Before grabbing that shoulder holster and the corner of a beltloop and opens up into him, vulnerable, everything on offer, whether he realizes it or not.
“Am I going to see you tonight, lad?” Liam says, low, letting the American feel the vibrations of those words, holding him close enough to feel the erection beginning up in his own trousers. “Do you have any plans?”
Bradley pushes back a bit, biting the inside of his cheek, staring right up, blue eyes wide open. He shakes his head. “N-no, Liam, not at all.”
“Wonderful,” Liam says, grinning as he lets the younger man go, watching him fall back a little, letting the tires takes his weight. “Around nine?” And he starts striding off, a little unsure himself, wanting, needing to know if...
He smiles to himself as he goes, though. He gets that much. Because can hear Bradley yelling back, “it’s a date, Liam! It’s a date!”
And Hannibal, leaning up against the fence railing a few yards away, shoots him a thumbs up.
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: none
Summary: A fill for this prompt over at the kink meme
Hannibal/Brad. Alternately Liam/Face...
Please?
Liam’s missing something from how he’s playing Hannibal. So Hannibal decides to give him a little one-on-one time with how, exactly, Face likes it.
Liam collapses down into the bed in his hotel room with huffed relief. Another day over. Just a few more days of this damn desert shoot, and they’ll be back in Vancouver. Where it’s cooler. Where it’s a lot cooler. And where he’s not going to be kept outside until damn near dark in that scorching heat just because Joe’s not happy with the dailies.
Something’s missing from Hannibal the director kept saying today.
But it’s really too hot for Liam to care.
“Bloody weather,” he grumbles to himself, and grabs for a pillow, stuffing it behind his head and wonders if he should turn the TV on. There’s nothing else to do. Bradley had something planned with a few of the other cast members some time tonight. He’d bowed out.
And the lad had looked upset.
Which Liam found rather odd.
Why Bradley should care one way or the other, if they’re together or if they aren’t? True, they both seem to be finding more and more excuses to see one another, the quick hours they can catch on the weekends or in the evenings starting to draw out, longer and longer, as long as they can dare, really. Liam’s happy to spare the time.
His young co-star seems almost desperate to be fucked, whenever, however. Bradley’s not as tight as he was, those first few times after the plug, opening up, lovely and grasping now, his body begging for the sensations it used to fight.
And when Bradley shows up, a shy little smile on his handsome face, asking if they could just hang out together that night, the Irishman doesn’t see any reason to deny the lad what he wants. No reason to not fuck him. No reason at all.
Not fucking him would be a crime, he thinks to himself, and chuckles a little.
But... still. The lad’s learning, learning a little too fast for Liam’s liking. It's not all him doing the teaching, which irritates him for some reason. He suspects the American’s still getting help from Patrick. Pointers and such. But the older actor can’t stop it, can’t demand that Bradley only see him. It’s not like this thing they have going is about anything other than some decent, healthy, enjoyable... relaxation.
Except that it’s starting to make him tense. Not relaxing at all. Like how, right now, just thinking about Bradley is starting to get him very not relaxed. The opposite of relaxed. Excited. Thinking about that jawline, his laugh, sweet and infectious, the way he rubs his hand across his mouth when he’s thinking... or maybe that’s just something he’s doing for Face, Liam’s not sure...
He sighs, trying to will that sudden annoyance of a hard-on away, and goes back to the script for tomorrow. The tire thing, with Tuco and Face captured like the foolish lad he is and Hannibal, Hannibal all to the rescue, doing anything...
“Anything to save my boy, Liam,” the actor hears in his own voice, and looks up to see Hannibal, work shirt, shoulder holster, cigar, happy little smirk, sitting right on the edge of the room’s little coffee table. “I’m always having to keep him out of trouble.”
Liam blinks, looking down at the script and then back up. Damn. Hannibal’s still there. And the Irishman can practically smell the cigar...
“That’s part of the character you have to play. You have to rescue that lieutenant from himself constantly. Thinks with his dick, then with his heart, and maybe sometimes with his head.” Hannibal blows a smoke ring. “That’s really what you’re missing with the way you and Bradley are going about this. You’re not acting like Face needs you. And he does. More than he ever knows.”
Strange, Liam thinks to himself, but shrugs. Why not? His imagination wants to give him some pointers on how to play Hannibal better, might as well accept. “How so?”
“You want him, don’t you? Your Bradley?” Hannibal growls a little, staring right at him. He’s an aggressive man, Hannibal, Liam knows. Army colonel. Special Forces Army colonel. That comes with attitude. That comes with command. It’s something he’s played himself a dozen times over, but he usually prefers to exercise that kind of authority quietly, subtly, like the way people just defer to him when he walks in a room...
“I’ve had him,” he replies.
Hannibal’s smirk grows a little wider. “No, you want him. Want to take care of him. Smooth all those little insecurities away. Polish him up and make him better.”
He’s never really thought about it like that. Not even with... but this is an entirely different situation. And yes, Bradley’s younger than him, still trying to establish himself, still so unsure, and so, so beautiful. So strong, if he’d let himself be, but part of Liam’s been beginning to suspect that maybe the lad never wanted to be in the position that’s he's in. It was just thrust on him by the success of The Hangover. He never seems to enjoy it all that much. And Liam really does want to make it all easier for the lad, he really does. “I suppose I might...”
Hannibal nods. “Don’t suppose, Liam. You want him bad. No shame in it. You ever consider the fact that he might want it too?”
He stares, trying to figure out if this is some joke his subconscious is playing on him. Or something. “I thought we were talking about you and Face.”
Hannibal taps his cigar off into an ashtray that wasn’t there before, and looks back over his shoulder. “Yeah, we were. Kid!”
And there he is. Tan, strong, every inch of him the Ranger, in that damn blue t-shirt Bradley looked so fucking edible in, those loose cargos that hang just right off his hips... “what, boss?” he asks with a yawn. “Thought we were done for the night.”
“After that little stunt you pulled on me today, with Tuco’s wife? We’re far from done tonight, Face,” Hannibal tells him, and Liam can’t help but notice the little thrill that runs through the younger officer. “Get your ass over here.”
Face looks like he’s going to start pouting, or whatever it is he does, but he drops right down next to Hannibal on the sofa, and only yelps a little when a big hand pulls him back, the colonel maneuvering his lieutenant into the spot where they both, apparently, want the younger man to be.
“Kid needs a firm hand,” Hannibal tells Liam, almost bored, and runs that hand under the younger Ranger’s t-shirt as he talks, fingers quite obviously playing with a nipple. Liam can only watch, can only feel himself growing harder, watching the two of them like this, so private, so on display. Yet he’s trying to be clinical about this. There’s an element here, he knows, something that’s obviously missing from his own performance that Hannibal’s trying to communicate... “A very firm hand. Or he starts thinking he can do all sorts of things...”
“Fuck, boss,” Face gasps, making the same little sounds Bradley does when he’s aroused. “I already said I was sorry about that woman...”
“I don’t care about the woman, Face,” Hannibal says, low and dangerous in his ear. “As many of those as you want. But you disobeyed orders, going in there, lieutenant. And that I can’t excuse.”
That hand obviously does something, because Face squirms a little harder, like he’s trying really hard to get away now, except that Liam can see that he’s not. That he’s actually grinding back into Hannibal. That his own cheeks are becoming flush and his breath is coming a little uneven and he’s actually enjoying this. “Come on, Hannibal,” he begs anyway, “come on, I had to move, I had to do something...”
“Face, quit fighting me, don’t make me spank you...”
“Boss, shit!” he sputters, and points to Liam. “We’ve got company for chrissakes...”
“No, kid, he’s got our company. We’re the guests here.” Hannibal’s other hand, until now curled around the younger officer’s waist, drops to his inseam. “I’m trying to make a point with Liam about you...”
“What? About when you go all alpha-male on me?” he asks, trying to turn around, and Hannibal stops that with a quick jerk, a light nip of that exposed neck. Liam feels his own cock twitch, wondering what it would be like to have the freedom to mark Bradley, to leave indelible proof of... of what they’re doing together on that soft skin.
“No, kid, that you fucking love it when I do. And it’s the one thing he’s not bringing to my character right now.”
“That’s sort of important,” Face, amazingly enough, agrees, and smiles right at Liam, sliding his arm back over his own shoulder, around Hannibal’s head. And the colonel’s lips seal back down over that spot. “It’s...ah, fuck, boss...very...very important.”
Liam shakes his head, trying to parse through all of this, trying to keep his brain working while the two of them fucking dry hump on that table. Why is his brain doing this to him? Unless there's really some truth in all of it... “I don’t know. I’m not sure if Bradley would be comfortable with...”
“You ask him?” Face practically purrs, and presses himself back against Hannibal, hips jutting forward into that kneading hand on his groin. "You ask him, Liam, if he wants to be your boy..."
“You don’t ask something like that, kid,” Hannibal says, and stands them both up. He turns his lieutenant around in his arms, nose to nose now, grabs a light handful of hair. “You just do.”
Then he kisses Face. Long and hard and aggressive, quite obviously putting everything he feels for his boy into it, making it equally clear just who Face belongs to. And it looks so much like him, so much like him and Bradley, that Liam can’t suppress the groan that escapes him as Hannibal devours the young man in his arms.
When he finally pulls off, a soft smacking noise as they separate, he holds on to Face, shuddering in his arms. “Beautiful boy,” he murmurs, lips falling back down one more time, and then smiles at Liam again. “Would you like to have a turn? Know what Face is supposed to feel like? What he wants?”
The Irishman’s a little stunned, but his cock is like steel in the confining pressure of his jeans and Face is, well, facing him again and those blue eyes, Bradley’s blue eyes, are dilated with lust. So...
“Yes,” he says.
And Face is on him in a flash.
It’s odd, really, how much more assured Face is, how much more certain his movements, as he tugs his own shirt up over his head, the Ranger tattoo flexing on a bicep as he tosses it away. As he reaches down and pulls Liam up. As he circles his own hands around the actor’s waist.
“What do you do here, Hannibal?”
“Want me to show you?”
“That is the point, isn’t it?”
Face grins, and bucks up against the actor, kissing his neck, lips working right along his pulse. He really does feel like Bradley, but it’s never been quite like this. Never quite this...volatile. His co-star doesn’t have this kind of confidence when it comes to this.
Not yet, anyway. Although, maybe some day...
“Got to prime him up a little. Make him beg. He loves begging.” And now Hannibal’s up and striding over, cigar clenched firmly between his teeth, and he wraps himself around his lieutenant’s back, dropping to palm the younger man’s cock again, pressing that hard body even more firmly into Liam’s. “Get his attention exactly where you want it...”
“Goddammit, Hannibal, are you going to...”
“Feel me, kid,” he growls. “Shut up and feel. Feel how hard I am for you, what you do to me...”
Face’s lips don’t stop those little feathering touches, now turning into licks. But he moans. The same moan Bradley might let loose with.
“...feel how much I want to be inside you right now, fucking you, making you scream...”
That gets a louder groan, and Hannibal smiles up at Liam, both hands on Face’s waist now, dragging him back just a little, holding him tight. “Want to remind you of who you belong to, cause you seem to keep forgetting...”
“Fuck, Hannibal, I know...”
Hannibal’s still holding Liam’s gaze as he bites down on his mark again, cigar held far enough away now to not burn any of them. “What do you know, kid?”
The younger officer’s practically sobbing now. “O-only, only you...”
“Good boy,” the colonel says, and pushes them forward as he steps away, sending them both tumbling down onto the bed behind. Liam, still a little dazed from everything that’s going on, hits down hard on his back, the conman’s solid weight straddling his hips now.
Hannibal back to smoking. Pensively. “And Templeton?” he adds, and both men, real and...whatever... alike, look up at him. “I need you to show me. Ask Liam what he wants again.”
Face nods, eyes half shut as he turns back around to Liam, thrusting forward lightly. “What do you want, Liam? How do you want me, Liam? Any way you want it, it’s yours,” he murmurs, breath hot, and that makes the Irishman worry a little - he can actually feel it. Or he thinks he’s feeling it. But all those concerns are erased the second Face starts kissing again, light, gentle, right below the actor’s ear. “Just tell me want you want.”
But he’s not going to let his subconscious know it’s freaking him out a little, and so he looks back over the conman’s shoulder to Hannibal, throwing out a quick query that, hopefully, doesn’t sound too desperate. “What would you want, colonel?”
Heannibal leans in, growling in the lieutenant’s ear. “Ride him, sweetheart, like you would me. Work for it.” He winks at Liam. “Boy does love his pet names.”
“When you say them like that...” Face confirms, and the actor notices those cargos are gone, that the conman is completely naked, and he laughs with Bradley’s laugh again. “Instant off clothing. We should visit your fantasies more often...”
And Liam really, really wants to poke his brain for doing this to him, but a clever hand slides up his thigh, just then, up to free his own painfully engorged cock. It springs out from his jeans, caught by Face’s hand, stroking, stroking, just the perfect amount of pressure. Almost like it’s his own hand that’s... but as guides the actor’s cock around, as that body above his lifts, lining up, Liam figures it really, really doesn’t matter.
“You ready, old man?” Face teases breathily, letting the head of Liam’s shaft slip right between his cheeks, not quite where it needs to be yet. It feels slick, like he’s already...and Face does it again, chasing that thought away entirely. “You ready?”
He grabs up, spreading his fingers across the lieutenant’s hips, his Bradley’s hips, deciding he better play this right. That the whole point here is... “You think you’ve got the first move here, kid?” he growls in that ridiculous American accent he has to use for this role, and Face actually blushes, exactly like Bradley would, mouth falling open in a little gasp.
And those does it for Liam.
He holds and tugs and thrusts up, all at the same time, and Face cries out, loud and gutteral, as Liam sheaths himself in that warm, willing ass, stretching and filling all in one go. He groans himself, feeling the difference, the give, how much looser Face is, how easy it is to guide him into just the right rhythm, thrust up into that body as it clenches around him. The Ranger’s hand land down on his shoulders, bracing, the angle changing, catching that spot, more little cries that get louder and louder, Face doing some thing where he’s rolling down to meet Liam on the upstroke, the angle changing again and a pained whimper that almost, almost gets the actor to stop, but...
There’s Hannibal, flat against Face’s arching spine, big calloused thumb and forefinger tight around the lad’s cock, holding back orgasm. “You come when I say, Temp. Wait for Liam...”
“Hannibal...” he moans, but starts working harder, the sensation of it all almost unbearable now for Liam, watching two pairs of heated blue eyes above him, straining, dragging up that slope, and he feels the heat in his own belly start to unknit. Come apart. Push up. And he slams his hands down on Face’s thighs, burying himself as deep as he can, feeling himself explode up into that perfect, perfect ass...
Then he’s tumbled to the side, his shirt’s streaked with Face’s own climax, Hannibal pulling the younger man off and back into his own arms. The lieutenant’s nearly delirious, curls sweaty on his forehead, breathing hard. His man, his colonel, is rubbing the rise of his hipbone, his shaking belly, gentling him down, shh, kid, that was good, that was very good, I love you so much, dear boy...
“I love you,” Face mumbles back, and Hannibal presses a palm to his forehead as those eyes slide shut. So like Bradley’s but not, Liam thinks, no less innocent and no more wise but certainly more experienced. More traveled. More...
“He’s seen so much in his life,” the colonel acknowledges, probably catching Liam’s expression. “I’m surprised sometimes he’s not more broken than he is.”
“You keep him whole,” the actor observes, running a hand down to meet Hannibal’s, on that hip. “You keep him together.”
“He doesn’t need to be taken care of, not really, but he does love it...” the other man nods back, and lifts up, coming around, fingers slipping into Liam’s own dark hair, all three of them very, very close now. He lifts over Face’s sleeping shoulder. “I do want to see you get it right, the two of us...”
“Of course,” Liam murmurs back.
“Outstanding,” he hears Hannibal reply, low, rumbling, feeling those chapped and dry lips meet his, a chaste kiss that opens and dives and offers, offers...
And Liam sprawls back out on the bed, staring up at the textured ceiling, wincing a little as he peels his own hand off his own cock, the rumpled duvet and his own ruined t-shirt bearing witness to how hard he just got himself off. To fucking Face. And kissing Hannibal, evidently, but he doesn’t even want to think about what that means. Doesn’t want to think about any of it, actually.
“Fuck,” he mutters to himself, wondering if the hotel staff will care, what they might say, and finds himself wanting a cigar right now, even though he’s been off the smoking for years.
And he absolutely does not think about what he did.
Until the next day.
When he sees Bradley, outside, in that artfully stained and soiled bathrobe, still sans sweat make-up, and alone, playing his with damn cell phone off in some somewhat secluded corner of the set, behind a pile of those tires.
He hasn’t said good morning yet. And Liam’s pretty sure he knows now why that’s pissing him off so much, and what he needs to do about it.
What they both want him to do about it.
“Good morning, Bradley,” he says, letting the Irish loose, reminding himself to lock it down again once they start shooting. “You lads have a good time last night?”
He gets a smile, a hopeful smile, maybe, and a little bit of a laugh. “Uh, yeah, Liam, it was f...”
But Liam doesn’t let him finish. Not today. Not after last night. No.
Instead, he catches the lad up by the waist and carries him back into that pile of tires, out of any sight lines from the main body of people mucking about just over yon, and kisses him. Hard. Aggressive. Demanding.
And Bradley, to his delight, struggles for only a split second before melting into it. Before grabbing that shoulder holster and the corner of a beltloop and opens up into him, vulnerable, everything on offer, whether he realizes it or not.
“Am I going to see you tonight, lad?” Liam says, low, letting the American feel the vibrations of those words, holding him close enough to feel the erection beginning up in his own trousers. “Do you have any plans?”
Bradley pushes back a bit, biting the inside of his cheek, staring right up, blue eyes wide open. He shakes his head. “N-no, Liam, not at all.”
“Wonderful,” Liam says, grinning as he lets the younger man go, watching him fall back a little, letting the tires takes his weight. “Around nine?” And he starts striding off, a little unsure himself, wanting, needing to know if...
He smiles to himself as he goes, though. He gets that much. Because can hear Bradley yelling back, “it’s a date, Liam! It’s a date!”
And Hannibal, leaning up against the fence railing a few yards away, shoots him a thumbs up.
