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sonora_conejaPairing: Hannibal/Face
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: none
Summary: A fill for this prompt over at the kink meme
So, I had NO time at all during the last few days to read anything, really, then it was Easter and family time, and tomorrow I'm leaving on excavation. RL sucks sometimes, but hey, yay for earning money, right?
Anyway. I thought I'd prompt something and maybe it'll be filled till I get back? I promise I'm finally gonna start filling that "not quite death fic" indigo_angels prompted a while back, too. ;P
Anyway the second:
How about... Hannibal is the badass CO of a major company, very successful and important and well-known and generally awesome. Murdock could be his PR guy, maybe? And BA would be funny as personal secretary? Or something? So, Hannibal pretty much wins at life and everybody's jealous... but he's lacking one thing: a person to share his life with, someone to loove.
Enter... Face!
Face the relationship coach? Face the new intern? Face the journalist writing an article about Hannibal's success? Face the... something?
Whatever, make them fall in loooove!
When Charisa Sosa’s matchmaking service gets a new client, John Smith, her crack assistant Temple Peck has no idea what he’s getting in to!
When Templeton opens his eyes, it’s to a wide patch of sunshine falling across the bed.
The empty bed.
He blinks a few times, yawns, and shoves himself up, swings his feet round to the floor. His hands are free now, and he rubs his wrists absently as he searches the floor of the screened-off space, looking for his discarded clothing.
It’s nowhere to be found.
But Hannibal’s shirt, the one Templeton doesn’t remember taking off last night, is flung over the footboard, and that’s good enough for right now. He pulls it on, not bothering to button, the soft cotton just a little oversized, and goes looking for his absentee client.
Client? he asks himself in the quiet of John’s huge open-plan loft. Is John still a client? Are they lovers now? Boyfriends? Fuck-buddies? He’s really not sure. Things were said, sure, wonderful things, things he'd believe but... John was pretty keyed up. They both were. And it wouldn’t be the first time a man’s said wonderful things to him that turned out later to be hollow, nothing more than shadows in the night.
No way to be sure. He wants to ask. He also really, really wants to ask about how in the fuck he’s supposed to get home without clothes, Hannibal just ripping the damn things off him like he did. Because, seriously, it’s not cool. It’s really, really not cool.
Not cool of Hannibal at all.
But he can’t find him to tell him so.
The loft bends in a big U-shape, one end being the bedroom area, the other over by the elevator where they came in last night, the private one, where the kitchen is, and Templeton pads all the way over, hearing faint noises, like rustling, like maybe John’s reading the morning newspaper or...
“Mornin’, fool.”
Templeton jumps as hard brown eyes turn on him.
“Boss got me up at four-fucking-thirty this morning. That your fault, ain’t it, prettyboy?”
No, not jump. The blonde realizes he wants to go the other way, melt into the damn floor from embarrassment, and he grabs out at the edge of the wall for support. Here he is, basically naked in another man’s apartment, said man’s personal assistant staring at him like he’s a dog who just took a crap on the floor.
BA, Baracus, whatever the guy’s name is. Three hundred pounds of pure muscle, sitting at a long granite countertop, drinking a Gatorade. There’s a big black garment bag thrown over the back of the stool next to him, and he’s got a car magazine spread out in front of him, PDA resting by his hand. He’s...kind of scary.
But Templeton’s got a strict no-intimidation policy on his interpersonal interactions, and takes a deep breath. Pretends John’s shirttails are long enough to cover his cock all the way. Pretends this sort of thing happens all the time to him and it’s no big deal. “Hi.”
BA doesn’t look up. Grunts. Takes a big swig of sports drink.
“So, uhh, John...”
“You think you worth it to the boss, pretty boy?”
What? “What?”
BA’s not looking up from his magazine, but Templeton can almost smell the tension in his body. Like he’s coiled, waiting for something. Waiting for what? For an answer to that?
“How long have you been with John?” he asks, trying a different approach.
A shrug. “Five years, mebbe.”
“He ever had a boyfriend, all that time?”
Another shrug. “No. Why? You think your white ass has a shot at the position?”
“He just, ah, he isn’t here, and I find that men who are serious about a, err, relationship, are usual there when their partner...”
BA grumbles something to himself, something Templeton doesn’t quiet catch, but when the matchmaker leans in for a better angle on the words, he notices the logo on the garment bag. Gerry. The place that shirt of his had been from.
He starts to ask, but just then the elevator’s opening, and Hannibal’s getting out, a big tray of coffee in one hand, his other outstretched in invitation.
Templeton holds back a little, needing to see the older man make this step, the three little paces between them, and he doesn’t disappoint. Comes right up and wraps that free arms around him, hugging him close. “Wanted to be back before you woke, baby.”
“I’m up now,” the blonde says, feeling the world a little.
“Good,” Hannibal replies, and kisses the younger man tenderly. “Because I got something for you.
“Oh?”
“Yeah. Here.” And he hands him one of the white take-out cups. “Two pump vanilla latte?”
Templeton feels a little deflated, the garment bag still there unaddressed, but the CEO’s smiling and he makes a mental note to address this all with John later. The appropriateness of humor after you’ve fucking ruined somebody’s hard-shopped-for outfit. Especially if it takes that someone a lot of effort to make it all look as effortless as it had last night. And especially if that someone is a prospective boyfriend.
If he’s a prospective boyfriend.
“Is it skim?” he asks, pushing away, unable to stop the little hint of irritation, and Hannibal’s smile gets wider.
“Figured you’d say that,” the older man says, and sets the carry tray down. “So that’s what I got you.”
Damn, Templeton thinks to himself, and shakes his head. “Well, I only drink two-percent, so...”
“I got you one of those as well,” Hannibal chuckles, and taps the plastic top of another with a long finger. “Just in case.”
“And if I asked for whole?”
Hannibal laughs. “Temp, is there a chance in hell you’d ever drink whole milk?”
“Soy?”
“I did get you three...”
He stares for a moment, frozen, wondering how he’s supposed to respond to something like that, why it’s more shocking to him that there’s a choice of lattes than the fact that John actually, probably, bought him a set of new clothes. But then BA starts chuckling along with his boss, and that’s about all of this that Templeton can take this morning.
He turns on his bare heel and storms out of the kitchen.
“Temp!”
There’s really nowhere to go. He’s basically trapped up here by circumstances, and the blonde matchmaker knows this, but still. He doesn’t have to put up with this shit.
“Temp, please, stop!”
Yeah. Nowhere to go. And he stops at right at the corner of Hannibal’s bedroom, sagging into the wall, feeling somewhat defeated.
“What’s wrong, kid?”
He doesn’t mean to, but it just comes out, unbidden. “This was a mistake.”
“Temp, I...”
“You, me, last night, the whole fucking thing...” he groans, and lets his head hit the wall. “Look, John, I’m not sure...”
“Not sure about what?” the older man asks, too far away to touch, and there’s a hint of desperation in his voice. “About...”
There are a hundred things he could say, a hundred things his experience is telling him. That John’s coming on way, way too strong. That you don’t leave your date for another man, no matter what the circumstances might be. That leaving your new lover in bed alone the next morning is the worst thing you could possibly do. That you don’t have your personal assistant get up at four in the morning to go clothes shopping. That none of this is playing to any kind of normal script and it’s freaking him out, more than a little bit, and it scares him, makes him afraid for John, that John so different, so very, very different...
“I’m not sure I can fix all of this for you,” he admits, scrubbing a hand across his chin. “I’m not sure how we’re going to get you where you need to be in order for...”
“For what?” Hannibal asks. “For Charisa’s little dating process to work? Kid, I am who I am and...”
“Exactly. You’re going to have to change, for all that to work, and I don’t know if you...”
“Do you want me to change, Templeton?” he interrupts, sudden and fast. “Is that what you need?”
Now Templeton feels like shit. That little edge of pain in John’s voice, that very thing he wants to take away, is all his fault now. Dammit. “I don’t want you to have to change, John. Relationships, though, people have to bend around each other. I’m not sure if you’re going to be able to do that.”
“Give me an example.”
Hannibal’s still holding back, holding off, far away. Too far, Templeton thinks, and shakes his head. “Like this morning. Coffee. Let me guess, you always go get coffee from the same place down the street, every day.”
“Yeah...”
“And you wanted to go this morning, and you thought it’d be okay to just bring me back something instead of changing up your routine to...” he stops, and feels himself flushing. Fuck, Temp, what is your damn problem? the matchmaker asks himself. Blaming John for not knowing what he likes, what he wants, after one night together.
“To what, kid?”
“Nothing,” he sighs. It’s not fair. He’s not being fair right now...
“Temp, I go get coffee every morning because I have to call my office in Hong Kong and that’s the only place my phone gets signal on this damn block,” Hannibal explains, coming over to him now, laying a hand next to his shoulder, where it’s resting on the wall, bodies close. “And I thought you might like one. That’s all. Tell me, what do you need me to change about that?”
He closes his eyes. “John, what was said last night...”
“I meant every word, baby, every word of it. So talk to me, Temp.”
He squeezes his eyes tighter. Work. Fuck. “It’s not fair...”
“What’s wrong, baby?”
Templeton laughs at that, weak and low. “The fact you’re calling me baby, for one, after one night. What the fuck is that about?”
“I feel like I’ve known you my whole life, Temp. Never met anyone like that before,” the CEO says softly. “I want you to stay with me. I’m sorry if I’m not doing it right, but I just...what did I do wrong this morning? Tell me.”
“I like waking up with...” and he feels himself flushing.
But Hannibal just rubs his shoulder. “You like waking up with you partner?”
Partner.
It’s a delicious word. Something nobody’s ever used with him before. Boyfriend, sure. Lover, maybe once or twice, when he was young and romantic and didn’t know any better. But partner?
Never that.
“Boyfriend,” he corrects, not daring to look over at the older man, feeling himself start to shake a little bit. “We should, we should start out with boyfriend, build up from there, if you want to have this actually work, you know, can’t build something if there’s not a...”
“I want, Templeton,” Hannibal murmurs in his ear, silencing him right as the babbling starts up, wrapping the younger man up against the solid, comforting bulk of his body. “But what’s my boyfriend want? Does he want to go back to bed and wake up properly? Would he like that?”
The matchmaker grins, despite himself, and turns into the warmth around him. His back hits the wall, and it’s not five seconds before Hannibal’s kissing him again, slow and deep, both hands cupped up around his jaw, holding them both still as he pours out something that can only be described as passion, filling Templeton to the brim. It’s wonderful, and Templeton wants to sink into this man and never surface again, but then he sees the face of that Rolex on Hannibal’s wrist and... “shit!”
The CEO lets go of him instantly.
“Oh,” he says, wincing, holding out a hand to keep Hannibal from moving away. “No, it’s not you. It’s just... I’ve got to be at work in like half an hour and you did sort of destroy all my clothes...”
“I had BA swing by that store this morning, pick something up for you,” he says, grabbing a pair of shoes and socks - Templeton’s from last night - off the corner of the floor by the bed.
“John, don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m not sure if BA’s exactly got my dress sense...”
The older man chuckles, shoes in hand, and starts walking back towards the kitchen. “That’s why I had him talk to the manager about you...very nice woman, evidently. He said, she said...I knew it?”
Templeton groans. “What did he tell her?”
“She also said it was a shame, that you were too cute to bat for the other team and if you were with somebody that was going to destroy perfectly good clothing for his own sexual gratification...”
“Jesus, John!” the younger man chokes out, wondering if this is John joking around, or if he’s really going to have to go find a new favorite place to shop.
Hannibal turns around, walking backwards towards the granite countertops and BA, just long enough to wink at him and wave him over to the garment bag.
“But evidently this was what she was going to show you, next time you came in,” he says, unzipping the black bag. “I got you another of those shirts, but I know you wear suits to work and, what’d she say about it, BA?”
The big guy doesn’t look up from his magazine, but he does kill what’s left of his gatorade and scrunches up a bit before he answers with a, “she said it’d make your butt look even more sexy than it already does.”
“I’d like to find that out for myself,” Hannibal says with a big, shit-eating grin ,slamming his shoes down on the stool nex to the bag, right as the house phone rings and he goes to answer. “Get dressed. I’ll have BA drive you to your office,” he adds, and picks up the receiver.
Templeton pulls out a sleeve, and then pushes the rest of the bag away. It’s nice. Charcoal gray, beautiful light pattern in the weave, double-breasted, slim trousers...yeah, he’d have bought this himself. Even if there’s something overwhelming about it being here, like this, right now. He doesn’t quite understand that. Maybe it’s the fact that there’s three other shirts in the bag, besides the one John tore up, any one of them the right coordinating color.
He hears a grunt behind him, and looks up. BA’s watching him again, rolling the empty bottle between his hand and the counter. “You better be worth it, man,” he says. “Boss don’t need his heart broke.”
Templeton glances down at his options, trying to figure out which one he wants here. Hannibal seems to wear a lot of blue... “I don’t intend to hurt him, BA.”
“Better not, fool, or I gonna hurt you.”
“I’ll, uhh, I’ll keep that in mind...” he replies nervously.
But BA just starts laughing, hard and loud and honest, and it’s not too long before Templeton’s laughing right along with him, until Hannibal tells them both to shut up so he can hear what’s going on on the other end of the line.
“Charisa? So nice to hear from you...”
The matchmaker goes cold. Icy. Frozen solid
Oh.
Oh no.
The CEO turns around, making some vague gesture at Templeton that BA interprets for him, mouthing cell phone in his direction.
“Where’s my bag?” he whispers back urgently. “It’s in my bag.”
“Yes ma’am, so good to hear from you,” Hannibal continues, waving at the other side of the kitchen island and shifting the phone to his other hand. “Yes, I did go on that date with Vance last night...no, I haven’t spoke to Templeton about it yet this morning, I thought your office wasn’t open for another...oh, so you wanted to set this up before work started...”
Templeton scrambles.
There’s his messenger bag, and there’s his phone, tucked neatly in the front pocket. On silent. With four missed calls. All from the office.
Charisa is going to eat his lunch for this. This alone.
And that’s before John’s sitting here saying, “I would really be more comfortable with Templeton on the line, too. Could you maybe put it on speaker...oh, he’s not in yet? Do you want to hold off until...you’re going to call him again? Okay...”
He glares at the older man, and gets a silent shrug in return.
“...okay, so you’re going to conference him in? Yes, yes, okay, just call me back when it’s ready...” Hannibal tells her, and slams a hand down over the receiver. Turns to Templeton, frowning a little as he whispers, “she’s going to call you.”
“No shit?” he groans back, and just then, Templeton feels his phone start to vibrate in his hand. “John, what are we going to tell her about...”
“Just answer the phone,” Hannibal prompts, low and fast, and hangs up the house phone, smiling reassuringly at him. “It’s going to be okay, kid.”
His mouth is bone-dry. "John, I..."
Hannibal's at his side in a second, squeezing his hand, pressing wonderfully close. "Put it on speaker, baby."
His cell rings one more time, and Templeton closes his eyes as he hits “answer” and puts it up on speaker. No matter what John might think, the blonde knows; he is so, so fucked on this one... “Hello?”
“Don’t hello me, Templeton Alvin Peck! Why the fuck haven’t you been answering your damn phone? Do you understand how critical it is I have contact with you twenty-four hours a day? What if a client has a problem! What if a client has an appointment? Where were you, and don’t tell me you were getting your dick sucked, because that was only funny the first time!” she screeches, loud enough to draw a questioning eyebrow from BA.
Wait.
Oh.
Dammit.
Are they going to listen to one of her ass-chewings? Really?
Fuck.
Hannibal mouths Alvin? at Templeton. Smiles.
Double fuck.
BA is definitely cracking up.
And Templeton sort of really wants to die. Which sucks, because he’s not as good at taking creative liberties with the truth when he’s all flustered like this. All he manages to get out is a slightly groggy, “Charisa, I...”
“Do not tell me you were getting laid!”
He rubs a hand over his eyes, wishing he could go back to yesterday and start this whole thing over. Like a double Groundhog Day. But of course, if it was his own personal Groundhog Day, he could sleep with Hannibal every damn night, no morning-after consequences, no boss yelling at him about having a social life and... not the time to start daydreaming, Temp! She’s out for blood!
The matchmaker shakes himself and tries to sound like he just woke up. “No, no, I, uhh, I just slept in, just running behind, I guess...”
“Because you got laid?”
“No, Charisa, come on, you know that only happened that one time, and... no, I just overslept,” he says, looking up at Hannibal desperately, but knowing he’s the only one who’s going to be able to get himself out of this particular mess, he puts on his best smile and goes to work. “I didn’t get a chance to review any of your messages this morning yet, I was too busy trying to get my shower in...”
"You're worse than a goddamn woman sometimes, Temp. Why the hell aren't you in to work yet?"
“I had to shower. You want me coming in, not showering? That’s disgusting, boss...”
“Please,” and she groans that please, anger starting to come back down to a manageable level now, “please please just tell me you weren’t on one of your hour-long shower kicks this morning?”
He feels fingers on his shoulder, and looks over.
“Hour long showers?” Hannibal asks in a low whisper, grinning a little.
Humor, the matchmaker reminds himself to remind John, not always called for. But then, to a man like this, what’s the potential loss of a $250K-per-year job, anyway? Like his job?
Templeton slams his own hand over the bottom of his phone and tells himself to not start over-reacting. “Only on Saturdays,” he whispers back quickly, and goes back to the call. “No, that’s where I was headed, boss...”
“Whatever. We’ll talk about it later. I’ve got John Smith on for a conference call here in a few minutes... need to ask you, though, have you talked to Vance today?”
He bites his lip. Shit. Where's this going? “Charisa, it’s eight o’clock in the damn morning. I doubt he’s up.”
“D’you think Vance passed his inspection?”
He looks right at Hannibal, right at how the older man’s shoulders are pinching up. “I’ve got no idea, boss,” he tells her as mildly as he can right now. “I haven’t talked to either of them yet today.”
“Do you think they slept together last night?”
“Why would you even ask me something like that?” he asks casually, like he would with any other client, and the CEO fidgets. As cute as that is...
“They didn’t. I talked to Vance, last night, though. Thought we might talk about it before we talk to John. And we need to talk to John.”
And Templeton wants to hit something.
She's playing with him.
He gets so, so sick of her playing games with him like this, and something cold runs through him for the second time in the last five minutes, wondering if maybe she knows, knows, what they’d gotten up to last night. “Why didn’t you just say that?”
“I wanted to know if you’d talked to him first.”
“No, I haven't," he grinds out. "I haven't talked to him what did he say?”
“No. Vance said, and I quote,” and she really is quoting, probably gotten Amy to transcribe her notes already, “John has to be one of the most fascinating, bizarre and strange men I’ve ever gone out with. We had a good evening, I thought, aside from the part where I came back from the bathroom and he had his cell phone out... you did tell him about the cell phone thing, right?”
“Yes, boss,” he says, trying not to groan, and Hannibal’s palm finds his, pulling him close again, the two of them fitting in to each other. And Templeton figures there’s not harm in leaning on his new lover for some support. “I told him about the cell phone thing.”
“Okay, okay, I’m not doubting you, Temp, this client’s just...ugh.” She makes that sound that accompanies a dramatic shiver, and goes back to reading. “Yeah, so, ...and there was the bit where the waitress spilled an entire glass of water in my lap...he didn’t so much as blink or come back with me to the bathroom or whatever. I thought that was a little weird. We skipped dessert, and...and this is the part I want to ask you about, Temp, he acted like he couldn’t wait to get away from me. He was polite about it, I guess, it still pissed me off. I thought you were working with him on his goddamn manners.”
Templeton can feel the reaction that sends through his new lover’s body, so close to his, really, really wants to die. “He’s just an intense guy, Charisa. We talked about that. It was only his first go, we’ll just be sure for ne...”
“Oh, wait, Vance said something else,” Charisa interrupts. “He said are you sure he’s not seeing somebody else?”
Templeton laughs weakly, and bumps Hannibal, needing some kind of contact right now. “Come on, boss, you know he isn’t. He did come to us with the whole...”
“Amy told me about the lobby, Temp. When he first came in. I’m not an idiot.”
“Boss..”
“I’m not an idiot, Temp. You’re fucking him, aren’t you?”
It hits the kitchen like a chlorine gas bomb, and Templeton can’t move, can’t breath, can’t think, can’t respond at all, the memory of the sidewalk flooding in to fill the void of air she just hollowed out of him. The way John felt, the way John held him, the way John kissed him, like he was the only man on the planet, like he’s never been held or looked at before, some kind of awe in it all, his, John’s...
He realizes that John’s holding him again, that John’s wrapped himself over his back, hands running down his chest. Lips touch at the hinge of his jaw. “Let me handle this, sweetheart?” he murmurs.
Unable to do anything else, barely able to do this, paralyzed under weight of it all, Templeton nods. Barely.
So Hannibal leans right over his shoulder. Grabs the cell phone and grabs the blonde tighter. Templeton lets his head fall back on the older man’s shoulder, and he’s pulled in, wrapped up, held up once again. And John kisses the top of his head before turning serenely into the task at hand.
“Charisa? John Smith here. How you doin’ this morning?”
A moment of silence.
Then.
“Peck! Did you have me on speaker?”
Hannibal shushes him with another kiss and a spreading hand. “The phone was on speaker because I asked him to put it on speaker. I know it’s not polite to eavesdrop. But I just couldn’t help myself. Must be those goddamn manners of mine.”
“...look, John, I...”
“Answer me this, Charisa. What kind of boss has the right to pry into the private lives of her employees? What the hell business of it is yours, what Templeton chooses to do in his off-work hours?” Hannibal snaps.
“John...” the matchmaker begins in the sweetest possible tone, the one that’s usually hiding enough poison to put down an elephant.
“It’s Mr. Smith, Charisa,” he corrects, voice calm, but Templeton can feel the man shaking a little with anger. “You’ve lost the right to use my first name.”
“Fine. Mr. Smith. What my employee chooses to do with his free time would normally not be my business, true, but we’ve got a strict no-dating clause in our contracts...”
“So you think you can just call him up and accuse him of anything you damn well please? It’s not just a violation of his personal privacy, but it’s an insanely stupid move on your part. You know what would happen if I pulled a stunt like this on one of my female execs?”
“Mr. Smith...”
“I’d get sued out of existence. What makes you think you can do something like this? Is it because Templeton’s a man or because Templeton’s gay, and therefore must be fucking one of your gay clients? Do you have any idea how that’s going to look in court?”
“Court?”
“I might sue you just for the hell of it. You’d be amazing how sympathetic the judges are in this town to cases of anti-homosexual discrimination...” John says, and squeezes tighter, once, before letting the younger man go and moving away. “I don’t think you’re going to survive a round with my attornies.”
Templeton can almost see her, sitting at her desk, gripping a pencil so hard it’s breaking. “Mr. Smith, I need you to understand, I have a strict policy for my employees because of the nature of our business. They can’t be objective about our clients and their future happiness if they’re...”
“Fucking them? Is that the term you used, Charisa? It’s an ugly term from a woman who says she wants to help people find love,” Hannibal growls, and Templeton squints a little, watching the man prowl over to the other side of the kitchen, back turned. Fluid movements, words coming far too easy, relaxed but tense, easy but violent, and the matchmaker wonders if this is what rival companies and new acquisitions see in the board room. If this is what makes John so goddamn good at what he does.
And part of him, a very small part, somewhere deep down near his heart, starts to warm at the thought that John’s using all those not-inconsiderable talents to help him.
Him.
Of all people.
“That is what I do, Mr. Smith. I help people find what they’re looking for,” Charisa says, shaking a little now, but still riding that boundless confidence of hers, like it's going to protect her against someone like Jonh. “I asked you what you were looking for in a man. You tried to bullshit me.”
Hannibal looks over at Templeton, who just shakes his head and holds his hands out. He’s got no idea what she’s up to.
“I was sincere in asking for your help that day in your office. And I was willing to try anyth...”
“Doesn’t matter. You’re no longer a member of my club, Mr. Smith,” she says, sounding somewhat weary.
Hannibal smiles over at Templeton and braces himself low over the phone, where it’s sitting on the counter between them. “That’s fine,” he says. “For what it’s worth, you did help me find that something I’ve been looking for all my life, Charisa. Something I hope I’ll be able to keep.”
“You’re not just...”
“I’m too old for casual fucks, honey. I want somebody I can make love to. I want to wake up next to the same man for the rest of my life.”
The younger man stares, but Hannibal’s not looking up.
“You have to work to get to that point with somebody, John. It’s going to take a while, to build up to that,” Charisa says softly, not a hint of that bitter sarcasm now, and Hannibal doesn’t even try to correct her on the name thing. “You know that, right?”
“I know,” the older man replies, running a hand unconsciously through silver hair. “That’s all part of the adventure. I’m looking forward to that.”
Charisa coughs. “Can I talk to Templeton?”
“He’s right here.”
“Privately, I mean.”
The blonde man grabs the phone from Hannibal’s outstretched hand, and he’s away like a shot, moving away, distance the only privacy he’s going to get up up, and hits the speaker icon off. “What is it, Charisa?”
“He serious about you?”
Templeton crumples on to the nearest piece of furniture, at that one simple little question, smooth leather under his exposed ass barely registering through everything else that’s fighting for his attention right now. “Yeah, yeah, I think he is.”
“You going to give him a chance, then? All the chances he’s going to need?”
“Yeah...”
“Don’t lie to me, Temp! You’re not a patient man.”
He sighs. Of course she’s going to latch on to that. The way he gets antsy when he has to stay at work an extra hour. How much it pisses him off when clients are late. But that’s not exactly what they’re talking about here. “I think I might love him,” he admits, hardly knowing what he’s saying. “Or, I feel like I could fall in love with him. Like we could have that together. I’ve never met anyone I felt like that with before.”
“Temp...” she groans, and he closes his eyes. He knows what’s coming, and he’s already going numb from it. “Temp, you know you’re fired, right?”
“Yeah, I know.”
“You’ve got two months severance pay, and I’ll give you any reference you need,” Charisa says on the other end, somewhat sad. “Temp, honey, I hope he’s worth all this.”
He has to swallow a few times before he can answer. But Templeton finally manages to get the words out. The only words he can give her. The only words that make any sense.
“He is, Charisa.”
And the line goes dead.
+++++
He doesn’t get a chance to clean out his office and say goodbye. No. Charisa denies him even that. When he drops by the office, after saying goodbye to John before lunch, after going for a long, long walk through the city, coffee by himself, trying to figure out what's he's going to do with his life and his famished bank account now, getting here right at closing time, there’s Amy. Waiting in the lobby with a box of stuff that he recognizes as his.
This is the part that hurts. This is the part where he loses not just a co-worker, but a good friend. Won’t see her every day after this. She won’t get to tease him for fashion tips anymore and he won’t be able to keep offering to hook her up with some very nice boy who’s probably straight.
“I like that on you,” the secretary says, a little awkward. “It’s great...”
He stretches a hand out, noticing the way the gray and th blue just seem to go together, right around his wrist. “John picked it out for me.”
She tries to smile at that. “He gonna be good to you, then?”
“I’d like to think so,” Templeton nods, and adjusts a cufflink. “I plan on being good to him, at least. And it’s not like we’re getting married or anything, so...”
“I’m sorry about this,” the secretary says suddenly, hefting the box of his stuff between them now. “I mean, Temp, I didn’t mean to get you in troubl...”
‘It’s okay,” he tells her, meaning it, because if he’s going to have a shot with John, he wants it to be free of lies and angst and worry and anything else that trying to hide it would probably generate. He wants what they have to be clean. He wants to know what that could feel like, something straightforward and honest. “You don’t have anything to apologize for, sweetie.”
She gives him a sad look, and he takes the box from her, putting it back on a clean corner of her desk in order to sweep her up in a hug. “You know,” the blonde tells Amy, kissing her on the cheek, “if I swung that way, I’d totally go for you. You know that, right?”
The secretary pulls away and smacks him affectionately, tears standing out in her eyes. “You’re a jerk sometimes, Templeton.”
He smiles and reels her back in, hand around her slim waist, playing with her soft hair. “No, sweetie, I really would. You’re so cute and wicked and smart. You know I’d love you for your brain and outstanding personality rather than your smoking hot good looks and exquisitely defined bust region...”
She laughs, and comes back in for another hug, laying her cheek on his shoulder and crumpling his beautiful new suit. “Don’t be a stranger, Temp. Please? Friend me on Facebook or something? Start using Facebook?”
“Oh, sweetie,” he shushes, and holds her head against his shoulder and she starts crying a little. A friend, sure, but he means it. He’s had women before, back when he was still trying to figure things out. Before things seemed so blindingly clear. Before he knew what he really, really wanted.
Before John.
“Don’t worry,” Templeton tells her, and squeezes her hand one more time before letting go, moving away. To grab the box and leave. “I’ll keep in touch. We’ll get lunch or something this weekend. Promise.”
She nods and pokes him in the chest, pushing him back a little. “You better call me, Peck. Who else am I going to gossip with?”
“Honey, you could gossip with anybody,” he laughs, and that’s all he can take, everything he can handle. The blonde closes his eyes and turns with his box to leave.
And runs right into somebody.
Sky-blue eyes look down on him. Silver hair frames that handsome face. A big hand covers his own. Surprisingly soft lips press to his own.
Templeton feels his insides melt.
Still, though.
“What...what are you doing here, John?” he asks.
John’s eyes flick to the box in his hands, and he’s got the decency to look somewhat sheepish. “Came to see Charisa, explain things to her a bit, see if she’d...”
Templeton knows. He could have told the older man that. The woman’s a pit bull. If he came here
“It’s okay, I signed that agreement. I violated it. I respect that,” he says, staring right at John in a way that’s daring him to say anything else about it.
But no. The CEO is just watching him, pulling out and lighting up a cigar, blind. “I wanted to get a reference for you, kid. She was nice enough to give me that.”
“A reference? What are we, dating in the 1800s now?” Templeton asks, brow furrowing. That’s about the time Amy gets up from her desk, purse in hand, and plants one last soft kiss, a quiet call me, Temp on the blonde’s cheek as she leaves for the day.
They both watch her go.
“Yes, I’m going to demand you present my family with your calling card,” John says as the glass door closes behind her, and rolls his eyes. “No, Temp, I’ve got a couple of positions open in my company right now that I think would be a really good fit for you, and...”
“No,” he says instantly, and the older man stiffens. But still. “No, no, John, I don’t need some fucking sympathy job from the guy I’m...from my boyfriend.”
His new lover relaxes a little bit at the use of the title, but he still shakes his head. “No, Temp, you don’t understand. I’m not going to hire you. I don’t make those decisions. I deal with the business end of things, strategic direction and the big decisions. I don’t supervise anybody in my company. I’ve got people who handle all the human resources stuff. You wouldn’t work for me. Does that make sense?”
“And I still don’t need your sympathy job, John,” he repeats, feeling a cutting edge of anger stab up in him now, overriding that little voice that’s telling him there’s no fucking way he can a decent job now, not at this level, not for this kind of pay, and maybe not at all, with his record from high school and lack of experience in anything real. Companies tend to notice things like that, Templeton! “I can handle myself.”
"It'd be no sympathy job, Temp." The older man lays a big hand on his arm, and his voice, his beautiful voice, is nothing but tender conviction. “Kid, you’ve got amazing insight on people, you’re incredibly intelligent and I’m pretty sure you could sell sand to the Arabs without much effort. We could use you. It'd be all about you.”
“If that’s the case I can get a job somewhere else, right?”
“Kid, all I’m doing for you is getting you an interview time. Everything else is up to you,” John says, taking the box away to pull the younger man into his chest. To nuzzle into his hair and breath in deep. Kiss his ear, his jaw, the corner of his mouth, the tip of his nose. “And I’m absolutely sure you can do that for yourself, make a new life for yourself, you amazing, amazing man...”
He remembers wondering, what it would be like. To have a man like John Smith admire him, be dedicated to him. To want him.
And now, now that it’s here, he’s got his answer.
It’s overwhelming.
So he’s grabbing his box back and brushing past Hannibal and walking out, out towards the hall and the elevator and everything that's beyond this moment, whatever that is.
It's almost...exciting.
But still.
Doesn’t mean his eyes aren’t stinging.
Doesn’t mean he doesn’t lean back on John, solid and warm behind him, as the elevator doors slide open.
Doesn’t mean he doesn’t hesitate.
But John is there, and John kisses him, and Templeton’s able to take a deep breath, and get on. Go forward.
Go forward.
Into everything that’s to come.
“What are you thinking about, kid?”
“You, boss.”
And if the elevator doors happen to open in the building’s big, airy, busy lobby, opening onto them making out like a pair of teenagers in the back corner, well, Templeton figures, all those assholes who are staring can just keep staring.
What did John call it?
An adventure?
Yeah.
They can do that.
They can do anything.
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: none
Summary: A fill for this prompt over at the kink meme
So, I had NO time at all during the last few days to read anything, really, then it was Easter and family time, and tomorrow I'm leaving on excavation. RL sucks sometimes, but hey, yay for earning money, right?
Anyway. I thought I'd prompt something and maybe it'll be filled till I get back? I promise I'm finally gonna start filling that "not quite death fic" indigo_angels prompted a while back, too. ;P
Anyway the second:
How about... Hannibal is the badass CO of a major company, very successful and important and well-known and generally awesome. Murdock could be his PR guy, maybe? And BA would be funny as personal secretary? Or something? So, Hannibal pretty much wins at life and everybody's jealous... but he's lacking one thing: a person to share his life with, someone to loove.
Enter... Face!
Face the relationship coach? Face the new intern? Face the journalist writing an article about Hannibal's success? Face the... something?
Whatever, make them fall in loooove!
When Charisa Sosa’s matchmaking service gets a new client, John Smith, her crack assistant Temple Peck has no idea what he’s getting in to!
When Templeton opens his eyes, it’s to a wide patch of sunshine falling across the bed.
The empty bed.
He blinks a few times, yawns, and shoves himself up, swings his feet round to the floor. His hands are free now, and he rubs his wrists absently as he searches the floor of the screened-off space, looking for his discarded clothing.
It’s nowhere to be found.
But Hannibal’s shirt, the one Templeton doesn’t remember taking off last night, is flung over the footboard, and that’s good enough for right now. He pulls it on, not bothering to button, the soft cotton just a little oversized, and goes looking for his absentee client.
Client? he asks himself in the quiet of John’s huge open-plan loft. Is John still a client? Are they lovers now? Boyfriends? Fuck-buddies? He’s really not sure. Things were said, sure, wonderful things, things he'd believe but... John was pretty keyed up. They both were. And it wouldn’t be the first time a man’s said wonderful things to him that turned out later to be hollow, nothing more than shadows in the night.
No way to be sure. He wants to ask. He also really, really wants to ask about how in the fuck he’s supposed to get home without clothes, Hannibal just ripping the damn things off him like he did. Because, seriously, it’s not cool. It’s really, really not cool.
Not cool of Hannibal at all.
But he can’t find him to tell him so.
The loft bends in a big U-shape, one end being the bedroom area, the other over by the elevator where they came in last night, the private one, where the kitchen is, and Templeton pads all the way over, hearing faint noises, like rustling, like maybe John’s reading the morning newspaper or...
“Mornin’, fool.”
Templeton jumps as hard brown eyes turn on him.
“Boss got me up at four-fucking-thirty this morning. That your fault, ain’t it, prettyboy?”
No, not jump. The blonde realizes he wants to go the other way, melt into the damn floor from embarrassment, and he grabs out at the edge of the wall for support. Here he is, basically naked in another man’s apartment, said man’s personal assistant staring at him like he’s a dog who just took a crap on the floor.
BA, Baracus, whatever the guy’s name is. Three hundred pounds of pure muscle, sitting at a long granite countertop, drinking a Gatorade. There’s a big black garment bag thrown over the back of the stool next to him, and he’s got a car magazine spread out in front of him, PDA resting by his hand. He’s...kind of scary.
But Templeton’s got a strict no-intimidation policy on his interpersonal interactions, and takes a deep breath. Pretends John’s shirttails are long enough to cover his cock all the way. Pretends this sort of thing happens all the time to him and it’s no big deal. “Hi.”
BA doesn’t look up. Grunts. Takes a big swig of sports drink.
“So, uhh, John...”
“You think you worth it to the boss, pretty boy?”
What? “What?”
BA’s not looking up from his magazine, but Templeton can almost smell the tension in his body. Like he’s coiled, waiting for something. Waiting for what? For an answer to that?
“How long have you been with John?” he asks, trying a different approach.
A shrug. “Five years, mebbe.”
“He ever had a boyfriend, all that time?”
Another shrug. “No. Why? You think your white ass has a shot at the position?”
“He just, ah, he isn’t here, and I find that men who are serious about a, err, relationship, are usual there when their partner...”
BA grumbles something to himself, something Templeton doesn’t quiet catch, but when the matchmaker leans in for a better angle on the words, he notices the logo on the garment bag. Gerry. The place that shirt of his had been from.
He starts to ask, but just then the elevator’s opening, and Hannibal’s getting out, a big tray of coffee in one hand, his other outstretched in invitation.
Templeton holds back a little, needing to see the older man make this step, the three little paces between them, and he doesn’t disappoint. Comes right up and wraps that free arms around him, hugging him close. “Wanted to be back before you woke, baby.”
“I’m up now,” the blonde says, feeling the world a little.
“Good,” Hannibal replies, and kisses the younger man tenderly. “Because I got something for you.
“Oh?”
“Yeah. Here.” And he hands him one of the white take-out cups. “Two pump vanilla latte?”
Templeton feels a little deflated, the garment bag still there unaddressed, but the CEO’s smiling and he makes a mental note to address this all with John later. The appropriateness of humor after you’ve fucking ruined somebody’s hard-shopped-for outfit. Especially if it takes that someone a lot of effort to make it all look as effortless as it had last night. And especially if that someone is a prospective boyfriend.
If he’s a prospective boyfriend.
“Is it skim?” he asks, pushing away, unable to stop the little hint of irritation, and Hannibal’s smile gets wider.
“Figured you’d say that,” the older man says, and sets the carry tray down. “So that’s what I got you.”
Damn, Templeton thinks to himself, and shakes his head. “Well, I only drink two-percent, so...”
“I got you one of those as well,” Hannibal chuckles, and taps the plastic top of another with a long finger. “Just in case.”
“And if I asked for whole?”
Hannibal laughs. “Temp, is there a chance in hell you’d ever drink whole milk?”
“Soy?”
“I did get you three...”
He stares for a moment, frozen, wondering how he’s supposed to respond to something like that, why it’s more shocking to him that there’s a choice of lattes than the fact that John actually, probably, bought him a set of new clothes. But then BA starts chuckling along with his boss, and that’s about all of this that Templeton can take this morning.
He turns on his bare heel and storms out of the kitchen.
“Temp!”
There’s really nowhere to go. He’s basically trapped up here by circumstances, and the blonde matchmaker knows this, but still. He doesn’t have to put up with this shit.
“Temp, please, stop!”
Yeah. Nowhere to go. And he stops at right at the corner of Hannibal’s bedroom, sagging into the wall, feeling somewhat defeated.
“What’s wrong, kid?”
He doesn’t mean to, but it just comes out, unbidden. “This was a mistake.”
“Temp, I...”
“You, me, last night, the whole fucking thing...” he groans, and lets his head hit the wall. “Look, John, I’m not sure...”
“Not sure about what?” the older man asks, too far away to touch, and there’s a hint of desperation in his voice. “About...”
There are a hundred things he could say, a hundred things his experience is telling him. That John’s coming on way, way too strong. That you don’t leave your date for another man, no matter what the circumstances might be. That leaving your new lover in bed alone the next morning is the worst thing you could possibly do. That you don’t have your personal assistant get up at four in the morning to go clothes shopping. That none of this is playing to any kind of normal script and it’s freaking him out, more than a little bit, and it scares him, makes him afraid for John, that John so different, so very, very different...
“I’m not sure I can fix all of this for you,” he admits, scrubbing a hand across his chin. “I’m not sure how we’re going to get you where you need to be in order for...”
“For what?” Hannibal asks. “For Charisa’s little dating process to work? Kid, I am who I am and...”
“Exactly. You’re going to have to change, for all that to work, and I don’t know if you...”
“Do you want me to change, Templeton?” he interrupts, sudden and fast. “Is that what you need?”
Now Templeton feels like shit. That little edge of pain in John’s voice, that very thing he wants to take away, is all his fault now. Dammit. “I don’t want you to have to change, John. Relationships, though, people have to bend around each other. I’m not sure if you’re going to be able to do that.”
“Give me an example.”
Hannibal’s still holding back, holding off, far away. Too far, Templeton thinks, and shakes his head. “Like this morning. Coffee. Let me guess, you always go get coffee from the same place down the street, every day.”
“Yeah...”
“And you wanted to go this morning, and you thought it’d be okay to just bring me back something instead of changing up your routine to...” he stops, and feels himself flushing. Fuck, Temp, what is your damn problem? the matchmaker asks himself. Blaming John for not knowing what he likes, what he wants, after one night together.
“To what, kid?”
“Nothing,” he sighs. It’s not fair. He’s not being fair right now...
“Temp, I go get coffee every morning because I have to call my office in Hong Kong and that’s the only place my phone gets signal on this damn block,” Hannibal explains, coming over to him now, laying a hand next to his shoulder, where it’s resting on the wall, bodies close. “And I thought you might like one. That’s all. Tell me, what do you need me to change about that?”
He closes his eyes. “John, what was said last night...”
“I meant every word, baby, every word of it. So talk to me, Temp.”
He squeezes his eyes tighter. Work. Fuck. “It’s not fair...”
“What’s wrong, baby?”
Templeton laughs at that, weak and low. “The fact you’re calling me baby, for one, after one night. What the fuck is that about?”
“I feel like I’ve known you my whole life, Temp. Never met anyone like that before,” the CEO says softly. “I want you to stay with me. I’m sorry if I’m not doing it right, but I just...what did I do wrong this morning? Tell me.”
“I like waking up with...” and he feels himself flushing.
But Hannibal just rubs his shoulder. “You like waking up with you partner?”
Partner.
It’s a delicious word. Something nobody’s ever used with him before. Boyfriend, sure. Lover, maybe once or twice, when he was young and romantic and didn’t know any better. But partner?
Never that.
“Boyfriend,” he corrects, not daring to look over at the older man, feeling himself start to shake a little bit. “We should, we should start out with boyfriend, build up from there, if you want to have this actually work, you know, can’t build something if there’s not a...”
“I want, Templeton,” Hannibal murmurs in his ear, silencing him right as the babbling starts up, wrapping the younger man up against the solid, comforting bulk of his body. “But what’s my boyfriend want? Does he want to go back to bed and wake up properly? Would he like that?”
The matchmaker grins, despite himself, and turns into the warmth around him. His back hits the wall, and it’s not five seconds before Hannibal’s kissing him again, slow and deep, both hands cupped up around his jaw, holding them both still as he pours out something that can only be described as passion, filling Templeton to the brim. It’s wonderful, and Templeton wants to sink into this man and never surface again, but then he sees the face of that Rolex on Hannibal’s wrist and... “shit!”
The CEO lets go of him instantly.
“Oh,” he says, wincing, holding out a hand to keep Hannibal from moving away. “No, it’s not you. It’s just... I’ve got to be at work in like half an hour and you did sort of destroy all my clothes...”
“I had BA swing by that store this morning, pick something up for you,” he says, grabbing a pair of shoes and socks - Templeton’s from last night - off the corner of the floor by the bed.
“John, don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m not sure if BA’s exactly got my dress sense...”
The older man chuckles, shoes in hand, and starts walking back towards the kitchen. “That’s why I had him talk to the manager about you...very nice woman, evidently. He said, she said...I knew it?”
Templeton groans. “What did he tell her?”
“She also said it was a shame, that you were too cute to bat for the other team and if you were with somebody that was going to destroy perfectly good clothing for his own sexual gratification...”
“Jesus, John!” the younger man chokes out, wondering if this is John joking around, or if he’s really going to have to go find a new favorite place to shop.
Hannibal turns around, walking backwards towards the granite countertops and BA, just long enough to wink at him and wave him over to the garment bag.
“But evidently this was what she was going to show you, next time you came in,” he says, unzipping the black bag. “I got you another of those shirts, but I know you wear suits to work and, what’d she say about it, BA?”
The big guy doesn’t look up from his magazine, but he does kill what’s left of his gatorade and scrunches up a bit before he answers with a, “she said it’d make your butt look even more sexy than it already does.”
“I’d like to find that out for myself,” Hannibal says with a big, shit-eating grin ,slamming his shoes down on the stool nex to the bag, right as the house phone rings and he goes to answer. “Get dressed. I’ll have BA drive you to your office,” he adds, and picks up the receiver.
Templeton pulls out a sleeve, and then pushes the rest of the bag away. It’s nice. Charcoal gray, beautiful light pattern in the weave, double-breasted, slim trousers...yeah, he’d have bought this himself. Even if there’s something overwhelming about it being here, like this, right now. He doesn’t quite understand that. Maybe it’s the fact that there’s three other shirts in the bag, besides the one John tore up, any one of them the right coordinating color.
He hears a grunt behind him, and looks up. BA’s watching him again, rolling the empty bottle between his hand and the counter. “You better be worth it, man,” he says. “Boss don’t need his heart broke.”
Templeton glances down at his options, trying to figure out which one he wants here. Hannibal seems to wear a lot of blue... “I don’t intend to hurt him, BA.”
“Better not, fool, or I gonna hurt you.”
“I’ll, uhh, I’ll keep that in mind...” he replies nervously.
But BA just starts laughing, hard and loud and honest, and it’s not too long before Templeton’s laughing right along with him, until Hannibal tells them both to shut up so he can hear what’s going on on the other end of the line.
“Charisa? So nice to hear from you...”
The matchmaker goes cold. Icy. Frozen solid
Oh.
Oh no.
The CEO turns around, making some vague gesture at Templeton that BA interprets for him, mouthing cell phone in his direction.
“Where’s my bag?” he whispers back urgently. “It’s in my bag.”
“Yes ma’am, so good to hear from you,” Hannibal continues, waving at the other side of the kitchen island and shifting the phone to his other hand. “Yes, I did go on that date with Vance last night...no, I haven’t spoke to Templeton about it yet this morning, I thought your office wasn’t open for another...oh, so you wanted to set this up before work started...”
Templeton scrambles.
There’s his messenger bag, and there’s his phone, tucked neatly in the front pocket. On silent. With four missed calls. All from the office.
Charisa is going to eat his lunch for this. This alone.
And that’s before John’s sitting here saying, “I would really be more comfortable with Templeton on the line, too. Could you maybe put it on speaker...oh, he’s not in yet? Do you want to hold off until...you’re going to call him again? Okay...”
He glares at the older man, and gets a silent shrug in return.
“...okay, so you’re going to conference him in? Yes, yes, okay, just call me back when it’s ready...” Hannibal tells her, and slams a hand down over the receiver. Turns to Templeton, frowning a little as he whispers, “she’s going to call you.”
“No shit?” he groans back, and just then, Templeton feels his phone start to vibrate in his hand. “John, what are we going to tell her about...”
“Just answer the phone,” Hannibal prompts, low and fast, and hangs up the house phone, smiling reassuringly at him. “It’s going to be okay, kid.”
His mouth is bone-dry. "John, I..."
Hannibal's at his side in a second, squeezing his hand, pressing wonderfully close. "Put it on speaker, baby."
His cell rings one more time, and Templeton closes his eyes as he hits “answer” and puts it up on speaker. No matter what John might think, the blonde knows; he is so, so fucked on this one... “Hello?”
“Don’t hello me, Templeton Alvin Peck! Why the fuck haven’t you been answering your damn phone? Do you understand how critical it is I have contact with you twenty-four hours a day? What if a client has a problem! What if a client has an appointment? Where were you, and don’t tell me you were getting your dick sucked, because that was only funny the first time!” she screeches, loud enough to draw a questioning eyebrow from BA.
Wait.
Oh.
Dammit.
Are they going to listen to one of her ass-chewings? Really?
Fuck.
Hannibal mouths Alvin? at Templeton. Smiles.
Double fuck.
BA is definitely cracking up.
And Templeton sort of really wants to die. Which sucks, because he’s not as good at taking creative liberties with the truth when he’s all flustered like this. All he manages to get out is a slightly groggy, “Charisa, I...”
“Do not tell me you were getting laid!”
He rubs a hand over his eyes, wishing he could go back to yesterday and start this whole thing over. Like a double Groundhog Day. But of course, if it was his own personal Groundhog Day, he could sleep with Hannibal every damn night, no morning-after consequences, no boss yelling at him about having a social life and... not the time to start daydreaming, Temp! She’s out for blood!
The matchmaker shakes himself and tries to sound like he just woke up. “No, no, I, uhh, I just slept in, just running behind, I guess...”
“Because you got laid?”
“No, Charisa, come on, you know that only happened that one time, and... no, I just overslept,” he says, looking up at Hannibal desperately, but knowing he’s the only one who’s going to be able to get himself out of this particular mess, he puts on his best smile and goes to work. “I didn’t get a chance to review any of your messages this morning yet, I was too busy trying to get my shower in...”
"You're worse than a goddamn woman sometimes, Temp. Why the hell aren't you in to work yet?"
“I had to shower. You want me coming in, not showering? That’s disgusting, boss...”
“Please,” and she groans that please, anger starting to come back down to a manageable level now, “please please just tell me you weren’t on one of your hour-long shower kicks this morning?”
He feels fingers on his shoulder, and looks over.
“Hour long showers?” Hannibal asks in a low whisper, grinning a little.
Humor, the matchmaker reminds himself to remind John, not always called for. But then, to a man like this, what’s the potential loss of a $250K-per-year job, anyway? Like his job?
Templeton slams his own hand over the bottom of his phone and tells himself to not start over-reacting. “Only on Saturdays,” he whispers back quickly, and goes back to the call. “No, that’s where I was headed, boss...”
“Whatever. We’ll talk about it later. I’ve got John Smith on for a conference call here in a few minutes... need to ask you, though, have you talked to Vance today?”
He bites his lip. Shit. Where's this going? “Charisa, it’s eight o’clock in the damn morning. I doubt he’s up.”
“D’you think Vance passed his inspection?”
He looks right at Hannibal, right at how the older man’s shoulders are pinching up. “I’ve got no idea, boss,” he tells her as mildly as he can right now. “I haven’t talked to either of them yet today.”
“Do you think they slept together last night?”
“Why would you even ask me something like that?” he asks casually, like he would with any other client, and the CEO fidgets. As cute as that is...
“They didn’t. I talked to Vance, last night, though. Thought we might talk about it before we talk to John. And we need to talk to John.”
And Templeton wants to hit something.
She's playing with him.
He gets so, so sick of her playing games with him like this, and something cold runs through him for the second time in the last five minutes, wondering if maybe she knows, knows, what they’d gotten up to last night. “Why didn’t you just say that?”
“I wanted to know if you’d talked to him first.”
“No, I haven't," he grinds out. "I haven't talked to him what did he say?”
“No. Vance said, and I quote,” and she really is quoting, probably gotten Amy to transcribe her notes already, “John has to be one of the most fascinating, bizarre and strange men I’ve ever gone out with. We had a good evening, I thought, aside from the part where I came back from the bathroom and he had his cell phone out... you did tell him about the cell phone thing, right?”
“Yes, boss,” he says, trying not to groan, and Hannibal’s palm finds his, pulling him close again, the two of them fitting in to each other. And Templeton figures there’s not harm in leaning on his new lover for some support. “I told him about the cell phone thing.”
“Okay, okay, I’m not doubting you, Temp, this client’s just...ugh.” She makes that sound that accompanies a dramatic shiver, and goes back to reading. “Yeah, so, ...and there was the bit where the waitress spilled an entire glass of water in my lap...he didn’t so much as blink or come back with me to the bathroom or whatever. I thought that was a little weird. We skipped dessert, and...and this is the part I want to ask you about, Temp, he acted like he couldn’t wait to get away from me. He was polite about it, I guess, it still pissed me off. I thought you were working with him on his goddamn manners.”
Templeton can feel the reaction that sends through his new lover’s body, so close to his, really, really wants to die. “He’s just an intense guy, Charisa. We talked about that. It was only his first go, we’ll just be sure for ne...”
“Oh, wait, Vance said something else,” Charisa interrupts. “He said are you sure he’s not seeing somebody else?”
Templeton laughs weakly, and bumps Hannibal, needing some kind of contact right now. “Come on, boss, you know he isn’t. He did come to us with the whole...”
“Amy told me about the lobby, Temp. When he first came in. I’m not an idiot.”
“Boss..”
“I’m not an idiot, Temp. You’re fucking him, aren’t you?”
It hits the kitchen like a chlorine gas bomb, and Templeton can’t move, can’t breath, can’t think, can’t respond at all, the memory of the sidewalk flooding in to fill the void of air she just hollowed out of him. The way John felt, the way John held him, the way John kissed him, like he was the only man on the planet, like he’s never been held or looked at before, some kind of awe in it all, his, John’s...
He realizes that John’s holding him again, that John’s wrapped himself over his back, hands running down his chest. Lips touch at the hinge of his jaw. “Let me handle this, sweetheart?” he murmurs.
Unable to do anything else, barely able to do this, paralyzed under weight of it all, Templeton nods. Barely.
So Hannibal leans right over his shoulder. Grabs the cell phone and grabs the blonde tighter. Templeton lets his head fall back on the older man’s shoulder, and he’s pulled in, wrapped up, held up once again. And John kisses the top of his head before turning serenely into the task at hand.
“Charisa? John Smith here. How you doin’ this morning?”
A moment of silence.
Then.
“Peck! Did you have me on speaker?”
Hannibal shushes him with another kiss and a spreading hand. “The phone was on speaker because I asked him to put it on speaker. I know it’s not polite to eavesdrop. But I just couldn’t help myself. Must be those goddamn manners of mine.”
“...look, John, I...”
“Answer me this, Charisa. What kind of boss has the right to pry into the private lives of her employees? What the hell business of it is yours, what Templeton chooses to do in his off-work hours?” Hannibal snaps.
“John...” the matchmaker begins in the sweetest possible tone, the one that’s usually hiding enough poison to put down an elephant.
“It’s Mr. Smith, Charisa,” he corrects, voice calm, but Templeton can feel the man shaking a little with anger. “You’ve lost the right to use my first name.”
“Fine. Mr. Smith. What my employee chooses to do with his free time would normally not be my business, true, but we’ve got a strict no-dating clause in our contracts...”
“So you think you can just call him up and accuse him of anything you damn well please? It’s not just a violation of his personal privacy, but it’s an insanely stupid move on your part. You know what would happen if I pulled a stunt like this on one of my female execs?”
“Mr. Smith...”
“I’d get sued out of existence. What makes you think you can do something like this? Is it because Templeton’s a man or because Templeton’s gay, and therefore must be fucking one of your gay clients? Do you have any idea how that’s going to look in court?”
“Court?”
“I might sue you just for the hell of it. You’d be amazing how sympathetic the judges are in this town to cases of anti-homosexual discrimination...” John says, and squeezes tighter, once, before letting the younger man go and moving away. “I don’t think you’re going to survive a round with my attornies.”
Templeton can almost see her, sitting at her desk, gripping a pencil so hard it’s breaking. “Mr. Smith, I need you to understand, I have a strict policy for my employees because of the nature of our business. They can’t be objective about our clients and their future happiness if they’re...”
“Fucking them? Is that the term you used, Charisa? It’s an ugly term from a woman who says she wants to help people find love,” Hannibal growls, and Templeton squints a little, watching the man prowl over to the other side of the kitchen, back turned. Fluid movements, words coming far too easy, relaxed but tense, easy but violent, and the matchmaker wonders if this is what rival companies and new acquisitions see in the board room. If this is what makes John so goddamn good at what he does.
And part of him, a very small part, somewhere deep down near his heart, starts to warm at the thought that John’s using all those not-inconsiderable talents to help him.
Him.
Of all people.
“That is what I do, Mr. Smith. I help people find what they’re looking for,” Charisa says, shaking a little now, but still riding that boundless confidence of hers, like it's going to protect her against someone like Jonh. “I asked you what you were looking for in a man. You tried to bullshit me.”
Hannibal looks over at Templeton, who just shakes his head and holds his hands out. He’s got no idea what she’s up to.
“I was sincere in asking for your help that day in your office. And I was willing to try anyth...”
“Doesn’t matter. You’re no longer a member of my club, Mr. Smith,” she says, sounding somewhat weary.
Hannibal smiles over at Templeton and braces himself low over the phone, where it’s sitting on the counter between them. “That’s fine,” he says. “For what it’s worth, you did help me find that something I’ve been looking for all my life, Charisa. Something I hope I’ll be able to keep.”
“You’re not just...”
“I’m too old for casual fucks, honey. I want somebody I can make love to. I want to wake up next to the same man for the rest of my life.”
The younger man stares, but Hannibal’s not looking up.
“You have to work to get to that point with somebody, John. It’s going to take a while, to build up to that,” Charisa says softly, not a hint of that bitter sarcasm now, and Hannibal doesn’t even try to correct her on the name thing. “You know that, right?”
“I know,” the older man replies, running a hand unconsciously through silver hair. “That’s all part of the adventure. I’m looking forward to that.”
Charisa coughs. “Can I talk to Templeton?”
“He’s right here.”
“Privately, I mean.”
The blonde man grabs the phone from Hannibal’s outstretched hand, and he’s away like a shot, moving away, distance the only privacy he’s going to get up up, and hits the speaker icon off. “What is it, Charisa?”
“He serious about you?”
Templeton crumples on to the nearest piece of furniture, at that one simple little question, smooth leather under his exposed ass barely registering through everything else that’s fighting for his attention right now. “Yeah, yeah, I think he is.”
“You going to give him a chance, then? All the chances he’s going to need?”
“Yeah...”
“Don’t lie to me, Temp! You’re not a patient man.”
He sighs. Of course she’s going to latch on to that. The way he gets antsy when he has to stay at work an extra hour. How much it pisses him off when clients are late. But that’s not exactly what they’re talking about here. “I think I might love him,” he admits, hardly knowing what he’s saying. “Or, I feel like I could fall in love with him. Like we could have that together. I’ve never met anyone I felt like that with before.”
“Temp...” she groans, and he closes his eyes. He knows what’s coming, and he’s already going numb from it. “Temp, you know you’re fired, right?”
“Yeah, I know.”
“You’ve got two months severance pay, and I’ll give you any reference you need,” Charisa says on the other end, somewhat sad. “Temp, honey, I hope he’s worth all this.”
He has to swallow a few times before he can answer. But Templeton finally manages to get the words out. The only words he can give her. The only words that make any sense.
“He is, Charisa.”
And the line goes dead.
+++++
He doesn’t get a chance to clean out his office and say goodbye. No. Charisa denies him even that. When he drops by the office, after saying goodbye to John before lunch, after going for a long, long walk through the city, coffee by himself, trying to figure out what's he's going to do with his life and his famished bank account now, getting here right at closing time, there’s Amy. Waiting in the lobby with a box of stuff that he recognizes as his.
This is the part that hurts. This is the part where he loses not just a co-worker, but a good friend. Won’t see her every day after this. She won’t get to tease him for fashion tips anymore and he won’t be able to keep offering to hook her up with some very nice boy who’s probably straight.
“I like that on you,” the secretary says, a little awkward. “It’s great...”
He stretches a hand out, noticing the way the gray and th blue just seem to go together, right around his wrist. “John picked it out for me.”
She tries to smile at that. “He gonna be good to you, then?”
“I’d like to think so,” Templeton nods, and adjusts a cufflink. “I plan on being good to him, at least. And it’s not like we’re getting married or anything, so...”
“I’m sorry about this,” the secretary says suddenly, hefting the box of his stuff between them now. “I mean, Temp, I didn’t mean to get you in troubl...”
‘It’s okay,” he tells her, meaning it, because if he’s going to have a shot with John, he wants it to be free of lies and angst and worry and anything else that trying to hide it would probably generate. He wants what they have to be clean. He wants to know what that could feel like, something straightforward and honest. “You don’t have anything to apologize for, sweetie.”
She gives him a sad look, and he takes the box from her, putting it back on a clean corner of her desk in order to sweep her up in a hug. “You know,” the blonde tells Amy, kissing her on the cheek, “if I swung that way, I’d totally go for you. You know that, right?”
The secretary pulls away and smacks him affectionately, tears standing out in her eyes. “You’re a jerk sometimes, Templeton.”
He smiles and reels her back in, hand around her slim waist, playing with her soft hair. “No, sweetie, I really would. You’re so cute and wicked and smart. You know I’d love you for your brain and outstanding personality rather than your smoking hot good looks and exquisitely defined bust region...”
She laughs, and comes back in for another hug, laying her cheek on his shoulder and crumpling his beautiful new suit. “Don’t be a stranger, Temp. Please? Friend me on Facebook or something? Start using Facebook?”
“Oh, sweetie,” he shushes, and holds her head against his shoulder and she starts crying a little. A friend, sure, but he means it. He’s had women before, back when he was still trying to figure things out. Before things seemed so blindingly clear. Before he knew what he really, really wanted.
Before John.
“Don’t worry,” Templeton tells her, and squeezes her hand one more time before letting go, moving away. To grab the box and leave. “I’ll keep in touch. We’ll get lunch or something this weekend. Promise.”
She nods and pokes him in the chest, pushing him back a little. “You better call me, Peck. Who else am I going to gossip with?”
“Honey, you could gossip with anybody,” he laughs, and that’s all he can take, everything he can handle. The blonde closes his eyes and turns with his box to leave.
And runs right into somebody.
Sky-blue eyes look down on him. Silver hair frames that handsome face. A big hand covers his own. Surprisingly soft lips press to his own.
Templeton feels his insides melt.
Still, though.
“What...what are you doing here, John?” he asks.
John’s eyes flick to the box in his hands, and he’s got the decency to look somewhat sheepish. “Came to see Charisa, explain things to her a bit, see if she’d...”
Templeton knows. He could have told the older man that. The woman’s a pit bull. If he came here
“It’s okay, I signed that agreement. I violated it. I respect that,” he says, staring right at John in a way that’s daring him to say anything else about it.
But no. The CEO is just watching him, pulling out and lighting up a cigar, blind. “I wanted to get a reference for you, kid. She was nice enough to give me that.”
“A reference? What are we, dating in the 1800s now?” Templeton asks, brow furrowing. That’s about the time Amy gets up from her desk, purse in hand, and plants one last soft kiss, a quiet call me, Temp on the blonde’s cheek as she leaves for the day.
They both watch her go.
“Yes, I’m going to demand you present my family with your calling card,” John says as the glass door closes behind her, and rolls his eyes. “No, Temp, I’ve got a couple of positions open in my company right now that I think would be a really good fit for you, and...”
“No,” he says instantly, and the older man stiffens. But still. “No, no, John, I don’t need some fucking sympathy job from the guy I’m...from my boyfriend.”
His new lover relaxes a little bit at the use of the title, but he still shakes his head. “No, Temp, you don’t understand. I’m not going to hire you. I don’t make those decisions. I deal with the business end of things, strategic direction and the big decisions. I don’t supervise anybody in my company. I’ve got people who handle all the human resources stuff. You wouldn’t work for me. Does that make sense?”
“And I still don’t need your sympathy job, John,” he repeats, feeling a cutting edge of anger stab up in him now, overriding that little voice that’s telling him there’s no fucking way he can a decent job now, not at this level, not for this kind of pay, and maybe not at all, with his record from high school and lack of experience in anything real. Companies tend to notice things like that, Templeton! “I can handle myself.”
"It'd be no sympathy job, Temp." The older man lays a big hand on his arm, and his voice, his beautiful voice, is nothing but tender conviction. “Kid, you’ve got amazing insight on people, you’re incredibly intelligent and I’m pretty sure you could sell sand to the Arabs without much effort. We could use you. It'd be all about you.”
“If that’s the case I can get a job somewhere else, right?”
“Kid, all I’m doing for you is getting you an interview time. Everything else is up to you,” John says, taking the box away to pull the younger man into his chest. To nuzzle into his hair and breath in deep. Kiss his ear, his jaw, the corner of his mouth, the tip of his nose. “And I’m absolutely sure you can do that for yourself, make a new life for yourself, you amazing, amazing man...”
He remembers wondering, what it would be like. To have a man like John Smith admire him, be dedicated to him. To want him.
And now, now that it’s here, he’s got his answer.
It’s overwhelming.
So he’s grabbing his box back and brushing past Hannibal and walking out, out towards the hall and the elevator and everything that's beyond this moment, whatever that is.
It's almost...exciting.
But still.
Doesn’t mean his eyes aren’t stinging.
Doesn’t mean he doesn’t lean back on John, solid and warm behind him, as the elevator doors slide open.
Doesn’t mean he doesn’t hesitate.
But John is there, and John kisses him, and Templeton’s able to take a deep breath, and get on. Go forward.
Go forward.
Into everything that’s to come.
“What are you thinking about, kid?”
“You, boss.”
And if the elevator doors happen to open in the building’s big, airy, busy lobby, opening onto them making out like a pair of teenagers in the back corner, well, Templeton figures, all those assholes who are staring can just keep staring.
What did John call it?
An adventure?
Yeah.
They can do that.
They can do anything.
