Too Far Gone - Part Three of Three

[sonora_coneja]

Pairing: Hannibal/Face/Murdock
Rating: R
Warnings: angst! And fighting!
Summary: Part three of three for a fill for this prompt over at the kink meme

I recently wrote a tonne of Hannibal angst, and for some reason I need more. Hm.

So heres the idea.

Face and Murdock are together. Lovelorn!Hannibal has been dying to get in on that action but they've not really shown any sign of wanting him. But then, April 1st, they start showing interest. Touching him more than usual, making shrewd comments, driving him insane.

Then bang. April Fool's Boss! C'mon you didn't really think we were serious.................did you?

Ofc he did.

I'll also be happy with this prompt if it's H/F with outside Murdock, but my brain is telling me Boss wouldn't play a nasty prank on his unstable pilot like that. idek.

Hannibal thinks he might have a chance with his boys. But they’re just playing a joke...right?



Objectively speaking, Hannibal knows you can’t really tell the size of a man’s cock by looking at his hands.

But sometimes things just work out.

Like the size of those hands in his hair right now, pulling and tugging and pushing, forcing him harder and harder onto the huge cock in his mouth, all of it too hard and too rough and exactly what he needs right now. The feel of hot, heavy flesh in his mouth, one hand around that sac, rolling and squeezing and flicking and sucking, drawing moans and gasps that don’t sound anything like the noises from down the hall at night...

He barely registers the footsteps behind him, intent on what he’s doing, wanting to feel the release, wanting to feel anything but this knawing emptiness that’s been growing larger and larger ever goddamn day since April Fool’s, and it doesn’t matter anyway. Wouldn’t matter if it was the ghost of his father, come back to yell at his son one last time for wanting to be who he is...

But Hannibal does, does notice when that throbbing, wonderful, filling, shaft disappears.

And, of course, the accompanying, infuriated shout as the other man’s naked ass hits brick.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

It’s only by the barest margin that Hannibal’s able to rock back on his heels instead of fall back on his ass, unbalanced like that, and he looks up.

To be greeted by the sight of a very angry, very strong, very well-dressed blonde slamming this evening’s dark-haired partner back into the alley wall.

Fuck. Face.

“I asked you a question, dipshit. What the fuck are you doing?”

“Hey, sugar, what’s going on here is entirely our business...”

It’s only then that Hannibal realizes Face isn’t talking to him.

“It is not, pencil dick. It’s my goddamn business and I want to know what’s going on.”

The guy shoots Hannibal a dirty look in the dim light. “You didn’t tell me you had a boyfriend, honey.”

There were at least a half a dozen other men out here, all in various stages of...completion, and they’ve all stopped now.

They’re all staring.

The colonel’s so humiliated he wants to die.

But first things first. He knows that tone out of the kid. The same one from when he offered to kill Russ, other times, desperation and grief and rage, killing rage, and Face beating some innocent bystander to a bloody pulp in a San Francisco alley is not going to help their fugitive status. At all.

So...

“I don’t,” Hannibal says with as much disdain, real and affected, as he can muster. It usually gets through to Face. Usually. Screaming at the kid to stand down isn’t going to work right now. There are more people starting to come out. “Templeton’s an interfering little shit, sticking his nose in where it doesn’t belong.”

But, no. Doesn’t work.

Face grabs the guy by the collar, shoves his leg in between clenching thighs, driving right up into a still exposed groin, and Hannibal can tell he’s about ten seconds away from just hauling off and choking his prey. “Tell me what’s going on. Right now.”

It’s more desperate than infuriated now, and the colonel knows he’s got a very small window to act. And that it’s going to hurt. A lot. Still, not bothering to wipe the tickling, damning trail of precome and drool off the side of his face, he fists his hand up in the kid’s leather jacket and, exerting every ounce of strength he can muster from his still-aroused body, throws Face off. Whirls him right around, hard, and flinches a little as he hears his lieutenant’s body connect with the opposite wall.

The gathering crowd makes a little collective ooohh sound.

Face shoots off, towards him now, and Hannibal doesn’t stop the younger man as he lays a hand on his chest, open palmed and frantic. “John,” the kid grinds out, very deliberately using his given name, “what the fuck is going on?”

He stares into those blue eyes for a moment, those beautiful blue eyes, and feels another tremor go through their audience as he covers that hand on his chest with his own, as he says the only thing he can say. “I’m here cause I want to be, Temp. It’s not his fault. I’m gay, kid, always have been. I’m...”

But the colonel doesn’t get a chance to finish.

Because those eyes narrow, and then something explodes against his ear, pain blooming up as he hits the ground and the fury roars up anew.

“Fifteen fucking years, John! You’ve been lying to me for fifteen fucking years! Fifteen fucking years! You know how fucking hard it is to wait for somebody that long?! Do you!”

Yes.

But he doesn’t say it aloud.

Doesn’t dare.

Hannibal thinks he hears a gasped that is so SAD from somewhere just beyond them, gossiping murmurs starting up everywhere regardless, the sound of BA arguing with a bouncer and Murdock screaming at Face to get yourself under control ,Temp!, but his mind’s swimming and his eyes are tearing up from a different kind of pain, and he hits the dirty asphalt with the scraped fat of his hand, squeezing his vision out, those tears coming anyway, coming hard, not stopping...

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Fuck.

Of all the ways for his boys to find out. Of all the possible ways. And the sick irony is that now they’re not going to want him, never, not after he’s hid the truth so long, not after finding him like this, on his knees, letting some stranger fuck his mouth, no, no, they won’t...

But there’s a soft touch on his back, and hooking under his arm, and pulling him upright, and he finds himself staring into a pair of sea green eyes, held up by a hand on the small of his back.

“Shh, John, darlin’, it’s okay,” Murdock whispers and licks his thumb, wiping it up that line of disgrace on Hannibal’s chin, his accent soft and soothing, cool and calm. “It’s okay, it’s gonna be okay, ’m not mad, so happy you’re okay, jus’ want you to come home, please come home with us, bossman...”

Hannibal feels something in him slide apart, sliced open, no friction, and, past embarrassment, past relief, past anything that doesn’t involve his captain, his sweet captain, holding him like this, all the years and anger and last week swelling up inside him now, he starts crying in earnest.

The murmuring from the audience gets significantly more empathetic sounding. If something like that’s possible. But it could just be his imagination.

Another hand pats him on the back. “We should go, boss,” BA’s voice tells him. “Before someone calls the cops on this damn fool here.”

Still not looking up, the colonel nods and one of Murdock’s hands slips up into his hair, fingers working his scalp gently, that litany of comforting words continuing, and he lets his boys take him away.

Behind them, as they go, he thinks he can here the crowd applauding, somebody yelling, take care of the poor thing now, sweetie! over the top of it all

It’s not until after Murdock piles him onto the floor of the van, holding him back against his chest, hugging like close like a little boy with his new favorite teddy bear, that Hannibal’s brain starts working again.

“How’d... how’d you find me?” he manages to croak out.

He doesn’t get an answer.

“BA, tell that man to fuck off for me?” Face says from the front.

“Tell him yourself, fool.”

“Oh, fuck you too.”

So, nobody speaks for the rest of the ride.

Hannibal figures he deserves it, and doesn't attempt to interrupt the silence. But at least those hands cuddle him closer. And with it, Hannibal starts to wonder, starts to hope, starts to let himself think that, maybe, maybe, just fucking maybe, he hasn’t screwed this all up after all.

Maybe.

But he knows he probably has.

+++++

Between the pain and the exhaustion and the hour of the night and the four, five?, drinks his liver’s still trying to metabolize, Hannibal doesn’t remember too much of the ride back to the house. Or how he got upstairs. Into the master bathroom. Why there's something digging under the skin of his hands...

“Oww!” he hisses, the pain sparking up again, and that touch withdraws.

“Am I hurtin’ ya, boss?” asks a soft Texan drawl, and Hannibal has to blink a few times to get his eyes to focus. Everything’s a little hazy right now. “You got some gravel under your skin from th’ alley, gotta get it out.”

Oh. Right. That. Hannibal’s had worse, in worse places, and he’s not really worried about a bit of roadburn. But the way his captain’s fussing... he nods. “It’s okay, Murdock. Just stings a bit.”

There’s a metallic sound on the porceline of the sink, a dropped pair of tweezers, bloody at the end, and then something cool sliding over his palm, creamy and soothing, and the soft press of gauze. “There,” the pilot says as he starts taping it down, running his fingers lightly against the edges. “One down, one ta go.”

Hannibal doesn’t say anything as those clever hands wring out a washcloth in the sink, start dabbing at his forehead. It was bleeding, bled a lot, he knows, judging from the stain on the shoulder of Murdock’s bright-print Hawaiian shirt, his favorite one, blue, with the little vintage airplanes. It’s terrible, that blood there. Terrible that he put it there. “I think I ruined it,” he blurts out.

And those gentle swipes along the side of his face stop. “Ruined what, bossman?”

He reaches out, like he’s always wanted to reach out, touches like he’s always wanted to touch, but stops just short, brushing the line of little pearl buttons along the younger man’s chest. He lingers there, just for a moment, almost feeling the pulse beneath, the shaky inhale. “Your shirt,” he says and pulls away again. Looks up at the ceiling and feels the scab forming where Face’s knuckles opened the skin of his temple. “I’m sorry, captain.”

Murdock cocks his head and moves, enough to look in the mirror and picks at his open collar. “Don’t matter,” he says, a little sad. “Jus’ wanna make sure you’re okay, Hannibal.” He goes back to his washcloth and the dabbing and the avoiding eye contact. The colonel’s awake enough to note that there’s no eye contact right now. “And you’re gonna be okay, right, boss?”

Something in the way the pilot says it, Hanibla thinks, is just terribly despondant. Rattling apart, the strain of the evening clearly taking it toll, and Hannibal knows from long experience that his sweet captain’s only capable of sustaining this command of himself, this kind of control of himself and the team and everything, for so long before he starts breaking apart. Hard and fast and horrible.

“Murdock...” he tries to intervene, tries to stop it, knowing he did it, his guts twisting up tight. “Murdock, listen to me...”

But it’s coming.

“I mean, we had’ta get you outta there, don’t wantcha gettin’ some kind of...”

“Murdock...”

But it’s really coming now, and that cloth presses flat to his head, water tinged red running down his cheek, into the neck of his own shirt, the pilot’s words breaking apart. “Can’t, can’t have ya just...jus’ goin’ out on us like that, boss, need you ‘round, want you here with us, and ‘m so sorry, so sorry for everything we did, Faceman and me, and...and, and I couldn’ stand you not bein’ home, just want you home, even if you don’t l-love...don’t love us...”

That, right there, damn near breaks Hannibal apart, and he grabs out for the younger man, but Murdock’s gone, sinking into it, crumpling down to the bathroom floor, a hand coming up over his ear.

“Murdock...”

“You don’t gotta, don’t gotta, jus’ cause you’re... you’re gay, too, but you could’a said som’thin’...could’a jus’, could’a... I’d understan’, why you wouldn’ want me, but Faceman, at least...”

And Hannibal’s down there with him, hands on his knees, heart tearing a little as Murdock tries to scoot away from him. “James,” he says, reaching out again and this time, touching down. “James, that’s not... I... I do want you. I want both of you. I love you, sweetheart, I do...”

He’s not sure if it’s the words or the touch or something else he can’t see and can’t affect, but something stops the retreat. And Murdock lifts his shaggy head, disbelief stamped across his face.

Hannibal tries to smile. “I’ve always loved you. Since I first set eyes on you, James.”

“Since... since Mexico?” the pilot sniffles.

“When BA had you backed up against the wall,” the colonel confirms. “Knew right then who was going to own my heart...”

The pilot doesn’t do anything for a minute,and then kind of rushes forward, dropping into Hannibal’s arms, falling in against his chest. Not crying, not exactly, but he’s definitely breathing hard and fast, shaking a little, and Hannibal shifts around, trying to get them both in a better position, stroking, hugging, pulling this young man close and holding him tight. So, so sweet, he thinks, and kisses the top of that head against his shoulder.

“I love you, James,” he says again, and rocks a little bit, needing to stand, his leg starting to fall asleep. He’s zapped out, Murdock, everything starting to come apart, and Hannibal knows from long experience the best thing to do right now, after it’s past, is to get him horizontal, let him sleep it off.

“Don’t, don’, leave us again, boss,” Murdock mumbles against him as Hannibal hauls them both upright. “Please don’t go ‘way like that, you don’ have to, I’m here, I’m here...”

It’s a short walk to the bed, that precious weight in his arms, and he tucks his pilot in, clothes and all, right in the middle of the big bed. He pulls the duvet up snugly and sits down next to him, laying a soft hand in that soft hair, getting a soft smile in return.

“I love you both so much,” he murmurs, and stands. “My boys...”

A sleepy hand grabs for his. “Don’t go, boss, don’t go...”

Hannibal stops, and kisses Murdock on the forehead, one hand light on the stain he left, wishing he could lift it away. Make all of this like it never happened. Start right here, no pain, nothing ugly. Not for his captain, his sweet, sweet captain. “Never, James, never...”

A hand closes over his, but it’s not the pilot’s. No, not his captain’s. The captain’s asleep, panting hard as he slips into one of those dreams that he hates, the kind that follow these fits.

It’s Face’s hand, and Hannibal doesn’t look up as it slips underneath his, onto Murdock, and the conman lays his own kiss on his lover, right on the lips, murmuring something too quiet for the colonel to hear.

He shifts a bit, moving away, their hands still touching. “We need to talk, kid.”

“Yeah, we do.”

“In the morning.”

“Right.”

It hangs. Just there.

And Hannibal gets up, as fast as he can, jerking away from them both, pulling away, but he stands there for a moment, back to the bed, facing the door. The way out. Away. Where he has to go. “I’ll take your room tonight, Face, since he’s already here. You should stay with him...”

Nothing.

And then.

A rustle. A swish of designer denim.

A hand wraps up around the back of Hannibal’s shoulder, down to his chest, coming to rest right over his heart, and the colonel feels a stubbled chin brush up against his neck. "I know I lied..." he begins.

“He wants you to stay, Hannibal," Face interrupts. "He was asking you to stay. So stay.”

That hand tugs him around, and Hannibal stares down in disbelief as Face, chin resting, fingers steady, starts undoing his buttons, one by one. He strips off Hannibal’s shirt, his jeans, urging him to step out of his shoes, step back over to the bed. Those fingers play over the elastic of Hannibal’s briefs for a moment, before leaving it and tugging him around, face to face now. “Kid...” he says desperately.

But Face pushes him back, hard enough so he loses balance and lands down next to Murdock, and pulls his own clothes off, down to bare skin, carelessly naked, and walks around to the other side without another word. Pulls up the edge of the covers and slides in, his lover’s body opening for him even now, even in sleep.

Hannibal watches them twine together, feeling those fractures from the bathroom start cracking wide open in him now, ripping him apart. “I can’t...”

Face lifts his head and holds out a hand, biting his lip as he does so. Hesitant. Uncertain. How often, Hannibal asks himself, is Face ever uncertain? Like he wants to say something right now, but won't, and Hannibal wonders what's holding him back. Why he would even permit something like this, right now, after what's happened tonight.

"You can, if you want to, Hannibal."

"F-face, what I want is..."

“Stay, John. Please.”

So, not knowing what else to do, the colonel nods back and crawls in next to Murdock, hesitant to move close, to touch, to press up against him, until Face grabs his good wrist and hauls him in, draping that arm over the pilot’s chest, tucking it around his waist. “He likes it here,” Face says, voice blank. “Likes it when you touch him from behind like that. When he's up against you. Says it's his safe place...”

“We’ll talk in the morning,” Hannibal promises, spreading his hand wide, trying to hold as much as he can, hold something in. "We'll figure this thing out, kid.

His boy just grunts, and snuggles closer to Murdock. It might have been discouraging, but he locks his fingers into Hannibal’s.

And doesn’t let go.

+++++

Murdock’s dreams come early that morning, snuffing snores turning into pained moans, low and digging, limbs fighting.

Face is already up when Hannibal’s own eyes snap open, catching his lover as he starts thrashing. He shoots the colonel a weary glance as he presses flailing hands back to a heaving chest. Automatically, remembering that Boliva op for about five years back, Hannibal starts rubbing, holding him close, and together, they bring him back to the surface.

Long lashes flutter open half-stuck from sleep and caked tears, and Murdock collapses forward in Face’s arms. “Temp,” he sobs, “I dreamed som’thin’ horrible happened...”

“Shh, shh, buddy, I got you, I got you...” Face breathes gently, rocking the sobbing pilot back. “It’s okay, everything going to be okay...”

Hannibal lets go the second Face took Murdock up, shoving himself back, out of the way, and now he’s watching them together. Clinging. Whispering.

He’s seen this before, his lieutenant taking the brunt of his captain’s bad stretches, taking him through it. Letting him cry and wail and hit until the night’s burned away and everything’s okay again. And he knows that’s what’s going to happen now. But it’s never seemed so...intimate before.

He’s never felt further away.

But then Hannibal watches Murdock jerk up a bit. “Where’s the boss?” he asks, a touch of that panic creeping back in.

“Murdock, baby...”

“Where he is, Face? He said, he said he wouldn’t go, not anymore, so where...”

“Right here, captain,” Hanibal says instantly, sliding back up, full length against Murdock’s back, not caring if it’s his place, just wanting that fear he hears to go away. “I’m right here, captain. We’re both are.”

Murdock’s on him in an instant, wrapped up and around, fingers pulling against the bare skin of Hannibal’s back. “Dreamed you were dead, boss...”

“I’m not,” he soothes, everything focused on the broken sobbing in his arms. He kisses Murdock’s ear, his neck, everywhere he can reach, and tries not to be seflish. Tries not to think about how warm he is, even through yesterday’s clothes. About how long he’s longed for this, to be the one who pulls Murdock back from the edge, the one who gets to feel that...

“You...you were... like that time you got shot and you wre bleedin’ out but you didn’t, you didn’t... I dind’t get there in time to...”

“I’m fine, Murdock. We’re safe, everybody’s okay...”

“...it was horrible,” he mumbles.

“I know, sweetheart, I know...”

Murdock looks up at that, those green eyes registering...something, and he sighs. Long and hard, like he’s trying to expell all the air from his lungs, and he blinks a few times. “Sweetheart?”

“Too much?” Hannibal asks, trying to smile back, the emotion boiling up in him too hard and too fast to resolve.

“Naw. Perfect,” his crazy, beautiful pilot replies, looking hopeful as his fingers slide around, tracing across the colonel’s exposed collarbones. “Ca’ I...”

“Of course,” the older man murmurs back, happiness welling up in him, and he cradles the back of Murdock’s head, pulls him up into his lap with the other, as they fall into their first kiss together.

Hannibal’s imagined this moment a thousand times over the years.

And it’s better. Better than anything.

The first tentative pass of lips, the little whimper that follows, the dive in, the soft pressure as Murdock flicks his tongue against the roof of Hannibal’s mouth, testing, begging, and the way Hannibal swings them both around, taking control of it like his new lover wants, like they both want. Long and slow, pressing the younger man back into the soft sheets, exploring, exploring everything, seeking out every little gasp and giggle, hands settling under his ass, a thigh guided up around his hips, pulling them together, exactly like it should be.

Exactly like it always should have been.

But his lungs are screaming for air, and he puts only the barest amount of separation between them, so close that when he inhales, it’s the wonderful musky warmth of his lover’s skin.

“You’re so sweet, James,” he murmurs right into a flushed ear, feeling his cock already starting to swell from the contact, from the desire. “Thank you...”

But one of those hands on his chest thumps a little, and Hannibal sees that panic again. He’s off, the two of them untangling, his stomach sinking again, wondering if he did something very, very wrong...

“Murdock, look, I’m sorry, I thought...”

Murdock doesn’t let him get too far, though, grabbing for his wrist. “Kissin’s good, bossman,” he says, and looks right at him. “Where’s Face?”

And Hannibal could kick himself for his own stupidity. The room’s empty. Just the two of them. No Face. No Face anywhere, and Hannibal can’t imagine what’s probably going through his lieutenant’s mind right now, watching the two of them. He's so fragile, his boy, always one step away from thinking he doesn't belong, that fierce devotion he has so quick to turn to embittered rejection, and if he's just betrayed that... “James, I...”

“I’m fine, sir,” the pilot says, still a little shaky, but damn if that word’s never sounded sweeter to Hannibal. Murdock pushes the colonel up, off him and out of bed, scoots up against the headboard himself, lips swollen-red and hair mussed deliciously. “I’m fine. Face probably ain’t...”

He looks over to the open door, torn. So torn. “Don’t want to leave you alone, James...”

“Go, John,” Murdock prompts, smiling at him.

Hannibal leans in for one more quick kiss, one the pilot eagerly lifts up in to. “I love you,” he murmurs.

The pilot grins, that full-on, lopsided grin, and slaps playfully at Hannibal’s lean ass. “Love you too, darlin’.”

“James...”

“Go get ‘im, boss.”

And it’s not until he’s downstairs that Hannibal remembers he’s still in his underwear.

+++++

He’s not exactly sure where Face might have gone, and Hannibal casts around for a frantic minute or two before glancing outside, to the little open patio, and there he is. His boy, in a pair of Murdock’s boxers in a big patch of sunlight, hands on his knees, head in his hands, fingers tearing at all that beautiful caramel hair.

Opening and shutting the slider as quietly as possible doesn’t work - Face still hears it, and looks up.

The expression behind his eyes shakes Hannibal to his core. That emptiness. He hasn’t seen that emptiness in a long time, not since those first few rough months when Face was still learning that he wasn’t going to get yelled at every time he opened his mouth. Back before he understood that he’d always have a home in Hannibal’s unit. Back when he was still that pissed off orphan.

Back when Face thought he was alone in the world.

Seeing it now damn near breaks the colonel’s heart.

“Face...”

But that piercing blue just sweeps over him, and then back down to the sealed concrete, his own feet. He doesn’t speak.

Hannibal knows better than to try to say anything, set off that roaring hurt again. He can see it, feel it, as he comes around and kneels down between those spread knees and lays a soft hand right along an elbow.

They stay like that for a little while, forever it seems, and then, then Face parts dry lips.

“You’re taking him now?” he asks

“What?” Hannibal replies, genuinely confused.

“You’re gay, you never responded to...to me, not in all those years...but...but Murdock...” He scrubs a hand across his forehead. “I want him to be happy, boss, and he’s got what he wants now...” He looks up a little. Enough to meet Hannibal’s eyes. That hand holding up his head. “You can... it’s okay if, if you don’t...don’t...want me...if Murdock’s...”

“I want you, kid,” the older man murmurs, trying to hold back his tears at the pain he’s hearing. “I want you...”

“Fuck, boss!” Face snaps, and surges out of the chair, knocking Hannibal’s hand away, pacing off the concrete and into the dawn-damp grass of the little yard. “You don’t have to fucking lie. I’m sick of you lying to me...”

“Nobody’s lying to you, Face...” he says, standing, wanting to wrap the kid up in his arms, hold him like he got to hold Murdock, let him feel it, know it. But he’s not sure if he should go out there. “I’m not...”

“Fifteen years,” the lieutenant says, everything in him sagging. “Why the fuck wouldn’t you say something after fifteen years?”

“It’s... Face, look, kid, I only found out you were...after you and Murdock told me...”

“Murdock,” and Face laughs a little. “Yeah, boss, I’m sure that was great for you, hearing that he was...that you could have a chance at...at my...”

“It was hell, kid,” he says, perhaps a little more heatedly than he intended, and that snaps Face up and around. “Absolute fucking hell. You think I wanted it like this? Think I wanted to find out that you two were involved with each other...”

“Hannibal, stop fucking...”

“...and not with me? You think that was easy? Smiling and telling you two it was okay, that I was happy for you?”

“Well, you obviously weren’t...”

“No, I wasn’t!” he practically yells, and Face cringes a little. He leans against one of the patio chairs, trying to get a hold on himself. “Goddammit, kid! All I wanted to do, all I’ve ever wanted to do...all I wanted was... fuck, Temp... but there was the military, and then after that, you two got together... and it was...”

“Over?” Face whispers, right next to him now.

“Yeah, kid. Over.” He shakes his head as a light, hesitant touch falls on his shoulder. “What was I supposed to do, huh? Sit there and tell you no, please, don’t, I never got my chance...”

“With Murdock?”

It hangs. Just for a moment.

And then Hannibal feels something in him snap.

“With you too,both of you, with you, you stupid son of a bitch!” he roars, swinging up and around, the last week of pain welling up in him, too fast and too hard to be denied, violent and rough, and he jabs a finger into the younger man’s chest. Grabs his neck, holding on, throwing them both back into the wall of the house. Blue eyes get huge, the kid’s not fighting it, but he’s too upset to notice it. “With you, Temp! It’s always been you! You make me... you scare me, kid, I love you so fucking much!”

“Hannibal, Hannibal...” Face swallows. “Why didn’t you just say...”

“What the fuck was I supposed to say? You were my junior officer, you were under my command, it was against regulations and I didn’t. Know. You. Were. Gay!” he practically yells, and shakes him just a little bit, trying to get the heat out of his belly. “I wanted you around, kid,” he continues, trying to calm down, barely feeling the lightest brush of a calloused palm against his naked side.

“Boss, I...”

Hannibal presses his head down against the wall, feeling the scratch of the stucco siding against his forehead. “I was selfish and it was stupid and I was torturing myself, but I was afraid you’d leave my unit if I told you...” he says, feeling more broken than he can ever remember feeling before, spilling all of this to a man who probably wants nothing to do with him any more, if he ever did in the first place. “And I couldn’t have that. I wanted to be the one to train you, guide you, show you who you could be. Watch you grow into the man you’ve become. Whether you... felt the same or not...”

“Hannibal...”

But he tries to block that out, acting on pure instinct now, moving forward into the strong body pinned to his, wondering if he’ll ever feel it again after this. “You’ve never disappointed me, kid. Not once. I’ve been so proud of you, Temp, to be with you through this...”

“And then I tried to kiss you...”

He laughs, weak and hollow. “I thought it was...that we, the three of us, might finally be able to have... but I’m a stupid old man, thinking you’d let me in, that you’d want me...”

“Shit, Hannibal,” Face groans, and pulls him up, both hands cupped around his head. “You... you...”

He captures those brilliant blue orbs with his own. “...love you, Templeton. Yeah. I love you. I love you, I love you, I...”

“Oh, shit, boss,” Face says, voice cracking. “I’m sorry, fuck, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean...”

“It’s okay, Temp,” he says, feeling everything rushing out of him. Feeling weak. Feeling his knees start to buckle, and he gets a nerveless hand tangled up in that caramel hair, cushioning his boy’s head, pulling him off the wall and crumpling into him at the same time. “I won’t want to take him away from you. I want you to have your family, want you to feel like you’re whole...”

“I... I am, John. I’m whole if you’re around...” he whispers, hands tightening around the colonel’s waist, holding him up even as they crash back again into the wall. “You make me whole, want to be whole for you...”

“Love you, Templeton,” Hannibal murmurs back, the world washing out. “I love you, my dear boy...”

“Love you too, John,” Face whispers back.

And that’s it. For a long while. Neither of them able to break the peace between them. And the only sound was the wind whipping along through the mulberry tree at the end of the yard.

+++++

After some amount of time, Hannibal’s not sure how long, really, Face shifts a little, pushing them both back from the wall.

“Come on boss,” he murmurs at the colonel’s little grumble of protest, taking his hands. “Come on. Can’t stay out here all day.”

“No,” Hannibal agrees, still unwilling to leave here, the quiet, the warmth of the sun, the smooth feel of this wonderful body in his arms...

And Face bites his lip, cocks his head a little, like Murdock might. He lays a soft hand on Hannibal’s throat, stroking down, the pads of his fingers sparking up, oh god, offering, promising...”You okay?” he asks as his hand comes to rest right over the colonel’s heart.

“...yeah,” he answers, voice a little husky to his own ears, staring into those open, honest blue eyes. “Never...never been better.”

His lieutenant wraps both arms around his neck. Smiles, warm and genuine, none of that usual smirk, that smile he always gives Murdock, and Hannibal feels his heart flop over. “James is waiting for us, boss...”

“I know, kid,” Hannibal says, pressing in close again.

“We should go get him.”

“We should.”

“Go back inside, upstairs, back to bed...”

“Mmm, yeah,” Hannibal murmurs, leaning in to lick the shell of the younger man’s ear. “Bed?”

“Bed,” Face echoes, arching up. “Want you, John. Want you so fucking bad...”

And the colonel smiles, brushing his cheek across his boy’s. “Waited fifteen years to hear you say that, Temp.”

“Yeah?”

“And I’ve waited fifteen years for this,” Hannibal whispers, pullng away to look down into heated blue eyes, rubbing a thumb across Face’s lower lip, gasping a little as his digit’s drawn into that warm, wet heat for a moment before he pulls it away again. “Can I kiss you, sweetheart?”

“Fuck...” the lieutenant groans.

Hannibal chuckles, despite himself. “We’ll get there, I promise...”

“Please...”

“Anything my boy wants...”

And their mouths seal together.

It’s so much better, so much better than that light, teasing brush from last week, from April Fools’ Day. This is no joke, not test. No. This is exactly what a first kiss with this man should be, Hannibal knows. His beautiful, beautiful boy...

A little hesitant at first, growing bolder, stronger with every swipe of tongue, every little movement, each captured, reverberating whimper. It pulses between them, working them together, a fight for dominance that the colonel wins almost instantly, fisting up those lovely caramel waves, yanking Face to exactly the right angle, tilting them both around, the whole world tilting...

“Got room for one more there?”

And Face pulls out of the kiss immediately, turning around in Hannibal’s arms to face his, their lover, the colonel thinks with a little thrill. “You got to kiss him earlier, baby.”

It’s Murdock.

Whose arms are full of breakfast, fresh orange juice and a basket of those stupendous blueberry muffins he baked yesterday and a whole stick of butter, big rashers of wonderful, thick-cut bacon. All of it on a tray, and the tray balanced on top of a big folded up blanket.

“Yeah, but you’re kissin’ him now,” Murdock says, the orange juice tipping a bit, and Face is at his side in a second, rescuing the tray and exchanging a light little peck on the lips. The pilot giggles and Face laughs, as if at some private joke, and the colonel feels awkward again, like he’s intruding...

“What’s the blanket for, Murdock?” Hannibal asks hastily.

His two boys exchange a look, and them Face nods over at the wide patch of bright lawn, dappled with morning sun filtering through the trees, Murdock shaking out the blanket in his arms dramatically.

“Picnic!” they both say at the same time.

“OnetwothreefourfivesixseveneightninetenJINX!”

“Murdock...” Face groans.

“Faceman can’t talk!” the pilot yells happily, skipping ahead of Face, who gives the colonel an exaggerated look of mock-suffering. “Don’t let ‘im talk, Hannibal!”

“Don’t worry, captain,” the oler man replies, smirking at his boy as Murdock spreads out the blanket, creamy and soft against all that green, “I won’t let him get away with anything.”

“Awesome,” Murdock giggles back, Face handing him the tray, and Hannibal just stands there, feeling full, or maybe fulfilled. Definitely good. Better than good. Better than anything.

He hears a noise behind him, and turns for a second, catching a glimpse of BA there, a bowl of cereal balanced in one of his massive bear-paw hands, munching pensively for a few bites before walking away, shaking his head, smiling nonetheless.

Hannibal, smiling himself, turns back to where his two boys are spreading out breakfast, poking each other, touching as much as they can. So casual, so sensual, so intimate, his boys...

His boys, now...

He really, really could get used to the way that sounds.

Then Murdock looks up and Face holds out a hand.

“C’m’ere, boss,” that southern drawl beckons.

And Hannibal doesn’t have the willpower to refuse such an offer as that.

Face reaches up and pull him down, a little too eagerly, and Hannibal ends up falling on top of him, tangled up, laughing as they barely miss the orange juice Murdock is pouring out into big glasses.

He hands Hannibal his with a kiss, one that’s broken far too soon by a silent, smiling Face, who reaches around and pulls the colonel into him, jarring that glass of wonderful juice, spilling a few drops over Hannibal’s. Drops that Murdock cranes around to lick off...

“Enough, enough, boys,” the older man says, panting already and slapping away hands that, twenty-four hours ago, he would have sworn would never touch him like this. “I’m hungry and this smells delicious.”

Murdock and Face grin at each other, and then his sweet, crazy pilot’s nipping at his ear. “You smell delicious, darlin’,” he murmurs, but pulls obediently away nonetheless, and offers them both a muffin.

It’s the best meal Hannibal thinks he’s ever had.

The three of them, him and Face in hardly anything at all, Murdock in his boxers and that Fraggle Rock tee he loves so much, the warm sun dabbling through the trees overhead, the soft, cooling breeze, truly spectacular blueberry muffins with as much butter as they want, sweet smoked bacon, and even a cigar that Murdock presents him with, smiling happily. So what if he brought a magnifying glass to light it, Hannibal thinks.

It’s all perfect.

And finally, as Murdock’s buttering up the last bite of the last muffin in the basket, Face leans over to whisper in his ear. Something...naughty, no doubt, Hannibal knows, the way the pilot’s sea green eyes are sparkiling when he pulls away again.

“Here, bossman,” he says, offering up the bite of sweet blueberry and cool butter. “You should get the last nibble.”

“Should I?” Hannibal asks, leaning forward into the younger man, and Murdock nods, stretching out his arm. Those green eyes are smiling, as the colonel takes his new lover by the wrist and pulls him in, gently, gently, tonguing that little morsel right up and drawing Murdock’s thumb into his mouth right along with it.

The pilot gasps.

Hannibal draws off it with a soft pop, and presses an open-mouth kiss to the inside of Murdock’s palm. Another, right above the circle of his own thumb and forefinger, and another, further up still, working his way up a lean, strong bicep, edging closer and closer on his knees, breakfast forgotton. Nothing but his boy right now, his sweet, sweet boy...

And Face is there, too, holding Murdock close, raining light, tender kisses all along the straining arch of their captain’s neck as Hannibal reaches his mouth, claiming it fully.

There’s absolutey no fight at all, Murdock willingly letting his commander take what he wants, and Hannibal wants everything. The kiss is hard and long and breathless, the pair of them falling back into the soft blanket over the still-damp grass, settling on their sides, hands beginning to explore as the kiss goes on and on and on...

“Fuck, you guys look good together,” comes a pleased groan, and there’s Face, laying down and head propped up in one hand, the other playing idly over the growing tent in his boxers. “Really, really good.”

“Hey, Face broke jinx and talked! No fun!” Murdock protests and reaches over anyway.

Face kisses him back, and then leans over, kissing Hannibal over their lover’s upturned shoulder. He hands the older man a tube of slick, something Murdock must have included in the basket along with the muffins, and Hannibal just stares him. He sees nothing but love, though, nothing but permission, and Face nods at him.

Hannibal feels his heart swelling. Face, his brave boy, offering to go second, wanting Murdock to have that, have him. And he worries, just for a second, that Face is going to feel left out, that he won’t be... “Kid, I...”

But the lieutenant’s smiling, warm and genuine, and he pillows his cheek in the hollow of Murdock’s shoulder, fingers playing over the thin cotton of the captain’s t-shirt. Glances significantly over at Hannibal, whose own cock is starting to take a definite interest in the proceedings.

“I think he’s got too many clothes on for this, don’t you, John?” the lieutenant purrs.

And that, Hannibal absolutely cannot disagree with. At all.

Holding their lover between them now, back to chest to back, Hannibal and Face lick and kiss and caress every little bit of Murdock that they can, tongues and hands warm over warm skin in the warm dapple of the morning sun, stripping their lover down to nothing.

His lieutenant, behind, peels off his captain’s boxers with the slow caution of long practice, the pilot’s impressively long cock springing free, smacking Hannibal in the belly for a moment, right into Face’s hand.

From the front, Hannibal tosses that t-shirt away, only pausing to inhale, one deep lungful of sweet musk, before running his own palm lightly, so lightly, across the younger man’s lightly furred chest, seeking out all those little spots that will make him moan, make him writhe, as Face continues to work him higher and higher. His knuckles brush up against the fabric of Hannibal’s own cloth-covered erection, that faint touch sending his arousal higher.

And Murdock is whining, whines that Hannibal moves to take him for himself. He never wants to hear anything pained out of this man again. Never wants to give him anything but pleasure. His own cock is throbbing against the cotton of his briefs, and he can feel the pressure begining to build and build and build.

But it doesn’t matter.

Only this matters, right now.

Making his boys feel good. Making them feel the way he feels right now. Like anything’s possible. Like there’s nothing that can ever be better. Like there’s nothing but them.

“Oh, James,” Hannibal sighs, thumbs moving in small circles around his lover’s nipples. “My sweet boy...”

“Boss...” the younger man replies, green eyes full of the day’s warmth, and Murdock slips a shaky hand down to the waistband of Hannibal’s briefs. “John, wanna see you...”

“You always have, sweetheart,” the colonel tells him, leaning in for another kiss. “You always did.”

Another hand joins Murdock’s on Hannibal’s upturned hip. “Come on, boss, you know what the man wants to see,” Face teases softly, and with one firm tug, the colonel’s underwear are completely gone.

Hannibal sighs in relief as his cock springs free, as Murdock scoots forward on his side to close the space still between them, at that first beautiful slide of their hard, hot flesh against each other...

And Face’s arm is around his side, his slicked hand around both their cocks, squeezing just barely, body pressed tight against Hannibal’s back so there’s nowhere to buck except forward into Murdock, who’s clinging to him now as the lieutenant picks up the pace, harder, faster. Then the added pressure of Murdock’s cock is gone, replaced by the glide of another palm, different, not so manicured as the other. Hannibal slings a leg up and around the pilot’s slender thigh, needing something to push and pull against, something to hold on as they both fly him up that long, delirious, burning...

Too late, much too late, Hannibal recognizes that he’s coming. Coming hard and coming now, and there’s nothing for him to do now but groan his climax into Murdock’s neck, feeling his pilot’s hand in his hair, Face’s hand on his back, both of them milking his climax from him, spurt after spurt, spending himself against Murdock’s belly, gasping as his boys take him through it.

His boys.

Hannibal falls into that soft blanket covering the dew-soaked ground, panting hard, lost somewhere between bliss and anger at himself for not lasting, for not being able to...

Face turns him gently over, settling him, half on his side, into that strong, tanned chest. A stubbled chin nuzzles into his neck, and an urgent erection pulses against his thigh. “That was beautiful, John,” the kid murmurs into him. “That was beyond...”

“Afraid it’ll have to last you a little while, kid. I won’t...” Hannibal replies, pulling those gorgeous eyes to meet his own. “I’m not a young man anymore, Temp.”

“I don’t care, John. We don’t care. Not ever,” Murdock says, lifting up over his shoulder to stare down at him. “Do we, Faceman?”

“Not a chance in hell,” Face replies.

The lieutenant’s got his sweet face on, the really sweet face Hannibal’s seen him use with Murdock before, and somehow, beneath everything else he knows this young man to be, the colonel suspects this is his true face, what he’s always hiding from the world. Somebody he might have been, always. Once. Before.

So while that wasn’t exactly what he meant, he’ll take it.

But they both haven’t come yet, they’re both still primed for the race, and Hannibal doesn’t know quite what to do about that until he glances up.

At Murdock’s tube of slick.

“Temp,” he says, nodding at the innocuous white tube. “

Face smiles wider, a little less innocent now. “You want to watch us fuck, John?”

He groans at the images that conjures up. Of all the things he’s always wanted to be part of. All the things he can be now, and Hannibal makes a mental note to add that to the list. But not today. No, not today.

Shaking his head, Hannibal almost can’t believe he’s going to ask for this, not after all these years, so long since the last time he and Russ were...he hasn’t, not for anybody since that first love, but even that has nothing, nothing on this.

He can.

He needs to.

He wants to.

He does.

They’re both more than worth it

“Boys, I... I’m yours,” he whispers, and grabs out for hands, reaching back for him. “Let me prove it to you. If you’ll have me.”

And the groan that releases from both of his young lovers would shatter the walls of Jerico.

Face doesn’t waste any time, slick in hand and he’s grinning now. “Roll over for me, John,” he murmurs, low and sweet in his commander’s ear, and how in the hell is Hannibal going to refuse that?

He lets his body fall over, expecting to hit belly-down on that dew-cooled blanket, but he’s caught instead. Hands, soft and easy against his ribs, holding him still, sliding down, easing him up, so Hannibal finds himself face to face with a smiling pilot.

“Hiya, sir,” Murdock whispers up at him.

Hannibal shifts his weight to one hand and nudges a strand of hair off his new lover’s forehead. “Good to see you, captai-ahh!”

A cool, wet finger strokes its way down his spine, and he can hear Face’s happiness in the warm morning air. “I can’t believe you’re here with us,” that voice murmurs in his ear, strong body plastered against his as that hand slides further and further down. “I can’t believe we’d ever be so lucky.”

“Boys...”

Murdock lays a hand on Hannibal’s cheek. “Your boys, John? We your boys?”

“I’m the one who’s lucky, sweetheart, after...”

After I thought I’d lost you both forever, to have you now...

That’s what he wants to say, and he opens his mouth to say it, to tell them, but all the air rushes out of him at once as that finger teases around the tight, tight ring of muscle, one slow orbit, and then pushes in. All the way.

He gasps at the sensation. It’s been so long, so, so long since anybody’s been here. Since he’s been able...

“You okay, John?” Face asks, concern coloring his words now. “I can...”

Murdock’s still smiling up at him, but John can’t return it. Can’t do anything to close his mouth, stop those little panting breaths, trying to calm his body, needing to let this in, feeling the fight nonetheless.

The pilot’s smile shifts a bit, hands meet his ribs again, little fluttering touches, seeking the answers as that finger slowly, slowly moves inside of him.

Both of them, looking.

Finding.

“He’s fine, darlin’...”

“I know, baby...”

Hannibal groans again, and Murdock lunges up to capture his mouth.

It’s all smooth from there, all sweating skin and mingling moans and the fresh scent of grass and man and need. Murdock’s lips are on his neck, soft and careful, Face’s lips, his shoulders, hard and claiming, sucking down, both of them whispering things he can’t quite understand in between, as they surface for air, one then the other. His own cock, hardening but nowhere near a useable state, trapped between hard bellies. Murdock's, sliding back, silk-wrapped steel pushing against his perineum, wet and insistent. A second finger, and a third, scissoring, barely brushing his prostate, and Hannibal’s getting hard again, just from this, from Face, from Murdock.

Only them, only them ever, Hannibal swears to himself.

“You ready, boss?”

Only ever them, ever again...

Two pairs of hands slide, meeting, twining, right over his hips, and Hannibal closes his eyes, bites his lips. Fuck, he can feel them, feel them both, and there's only one answer. There's only ever going to be one answer.

“...yes...”

Hannibal moans as his hips are lifted, as he’s positioned just so, as a blunt, leaking head rests right against his entrance, throbbing, waiting, and he looks back over his shoulder.

At the man who’s about to take him.

At Face.

Who’s entirely, entirely too nervous, one hand fisted around the base of his slicked cock, hesitating, and Hannibal can’t have that, even though he understands, even though he’s nervous himself. He needs this, needs to prove to them, needs them here with him. Needs...

“Boss, are you...”

“I love you,” he tells the younger man, feeling the truth of those few words swelling through him, overtaking the , and turns to smile down at Murdock. “Both of you.”

And pushes back.

Burying his lieutenant in his own ass, in one strong, long push.

it drags him down Murdock’s body a bit, right over his chest, doing that, his arms giving out immediately at the feeling of fullness, of being stretched and opened and taken, of being able to give, give like this, give his boys, and he can feel his lovers’ hearts beating. Under his cheek, against his skin, deep inside, oh fuck, so, so deep inside, so deep...

“Temp,” he pleads, bumping against his lieutenant’s thighs, biting his lip at the little edge of pain, “Temp, please...”

“J-john... need a second...” the kid pants out, and Hannibal’s about to start begging, needing that firm flesh in his ass to start moving, needing the friction, needing, needing...

But Murdock slides a palm around Hannibal’s own cock, and does something else at the same time, pulling a gasp from Face. “C’mon, darlin’. Don’t keep the man waiting.”

Against his side, Hannibal can feel his boys joining hands, and then he groans as Face’s cock drives even deeper, as Murdock lifts up beneath him. Their mouths join in an awkward, loud, messy kiss, and that splitting pressure in his ass eases slightly, leaving a void. “God, Temp,” he moans, not caring how wanton that sounds right now. “Oh, oh, fuck...”

“That’s the idea, darlin’,” Murdock says with a wide grin, and pushes up with his free hand, pushes Hannibal right back on to Face’s cock, and Face pushes forward at the same time.

The colonel sinks into them both, letting Face work him, long, smooth strokes that are getting faster and faster, one hand wrapped low around Hannibal’s waist, the other against his side, still holding Murdocks, and the sounds are obscene and wonderful, flesh on flesh, Face’s thighs behind and Murdock’s in front, cock , harsh breaths, but not the sensations, not, there’s nothing, nothing harsh about that at all, not at all, not as Face changes the angle and hit that nub dead, dead on, and he’s thrusting back harder, harder too, wanting more, wanting to hear all those little changes in pitch, feel the rhythm fall apart, feel Face...

A forehead crashes down on his shoulder. “Boss,” his boy groans, deep in his throat, “Boss, I’m gonna...”

His own hand slaps back around, catching one of those perfect cheeks, pulling that body closer to his, trying to remember how to squeeze down around that penetration. “Don’t, don’t you dare pull out, Face, don’t you...”

But nothing at all needs to be said, because Face is making that sound that he’s heard through the walls too many times, long and low and keening, not quite a cry, pitch shifting up as the first pulse of hot, hot semen flows out of him and into Hannibal. The older man closes his eyes against it all, feeling nothing else, wanting nothing else, the long-forgotten pleasure filling him to the brim...

A shudder behind him, and Hannibal’s sinking back against his boy’s chest, down into his lap, keeping him in, arm thrown back around the younger man’s head, tangling up in his curls, holding him up as he moans through the last of his orgasm.

A kiss lands on the back of his neck. “Oh, John, that, that was...”

“Beautiful,” their pilot supplies, and Hannibal cracks his eyes, looking down at where Murdock’s pushed himself up on his elbows, eyes bright, cock proud and red, pointing straight up at him. “You two like this...”

Hannibal can’t help but touch, wrapping one big hand around his sweet captain’s cock, the lightest pressure possible enough to get him a little wanton moan. “You too, sweetheart,” he tells him. “You’re beautiful. Want you so much, James...”

He sucks hie entire lower lip clean in. “I don’ usually... you don’ hav’ta...”

Now would be a very, very good time to kiss him, but moving would slide Face’s softening length out of him, and Hannibal can’t lose a moment of contact right now, not after he’s worked so hard to regain it all...

“Lay back, baby,” Face says gently, voice shaking a little, reaching around with one hand, keeping Hannibal upright in his lap . “Just lay back.”

Green eyes squint up into the morning light, confused. “Faceman...”

“Shh, it’s okay, Murdock. Just like we’ve done before, just like that,” the lieutenant soothes, slipping out with a soft, wet sound, Hannibal having to hold in his protest. It feels so empty, so lonely, so... “Just like before...”

“Boss?” the captain asks, barely audible.

Hannibal tightens his grip just enough, playing his thumb across the weeping tip. “Want you in me, James. Want to feel you come...”

Face’s hand joins his on the pilot’s cock, pushing it away, and urging Hannibal to kneel up, right over. “Let us love you, baby,” he murmurs, pushing the older man into position. “Let us show you how much we love you.”

Murdock smiles a little and lets himself fall back, his naked chest dappled with sunlight, eyes closed. Hannibal going to lean forward, going to ask him to open his eyes so he can watch, see it all, but Face stops him with a soft tug.

“Don’t. His speed,” the younger man warns quietly. “

It’s nothing to nod along with that. Whatever his boy needs. And it’s nothing to move along with Face’s hand, guiding him up until he feels the moist, wonderful pressure of Murdock right at his entrance, already stretched and slick and open and willing and begging and taking, taking it all, as he slowly lowers himself down, following Face’s guidance. And his heart swells as Murdock takes his emptiness away, that hollow inside him filling up again, as Face helps him give their lover what he needs, make it good for him...

“John...” Murdock gasps, and squirms a bit. “Oh, oh...”

Face snakes around and kisses their captain, full on the mouth, and Hannibal forgets how to breathe for a moment, watching their tongues tangle and all the subtle little things, just under the surface. “He’s going to ride you now, James,” the lieutenant explains as he pulls away. “You good with that?”

That smile grows wider, wordless, but they both know what he means.

It’s clear as day.

Face’s hands slide up, right above the top of Hannibal’s hipbones, soft and firm at the same time, and his chest touches down, nipples hard on either side of the older man’s curving spine, thighs meet his, a soft cock in the cleft of his ass, his lieutenant plastering back on to him. “Gonna show you his rhythm, boss.”

Hannibal lays his head back on the younger man’s shoulder, twists to kiss his neck. Of course. Murdock’s all about patterns, predictable things to hang all the uncertainties around, frameworks that tell him what’s real. “You two, taking such good care of each other,” he murmurs, surprising himself at hos thick his voice is.

“You take care of us, John. You. Like we’re your own personal lost boys,” Face replies in kind, and rotates the heels of his hands between them, nudges up with his own pelvis, urging Hannibal forward. “Come on, boss. Let’s fly him to the moon.”

Hannibal sighs happily, and rolls forward with Face, mouth falling open at how deep it feels.

How very, very deep.

It’s different than before, with Face, not some race to the finish, not a contest of a fight or anything like that. No, this is different, this is Murdock, this is a nose dive from thirty-thousand feet, the peaceful weightlessness of insane maneuvers, a loss of sense and an overabundance of emotion, overwhelming everything else, that giddy excitement of knowing that yes, they made it out alive, and yes, they’re going home.

Home.

And Hannibal thinks his captain’s got the right idea, because his own eyes slide shut and damn if he can’t feel everything a hundred times over.

Murdock’s not going to last long. Not with the state he was in before Hannibal took him in. Not with that throbbing Hannibal feels now. Not long at all. So every oscillation matters, every subtle squeeze, every forward pull, every backward slip. It all has to count, it all has to be perfect.

Perfect and easy and strong and sweet.

Just like the man writhing underneath him.

Just like the man wrapped around on top of him...

It has to be perfect.

Has to be.

Will be.

Is.

Could never be anything else.

Not with these two.

Not with his boys.

Never anything but good things, the three of them.

He just knows it.

And then there’s another familiar set of noises, familiar and new, bright in the bright morning, without drywall and insulation and isolation between them, Murdock crying out his own release, adding himself to Face, deep inside, and they’re all tumbling into each other, into a big pile on the blanket, spread out over the climbing sun. Belly full and heart happy, Hannibal’s kissing the pilot for all he’s worth, but it’s only when Face starts rubbing his abs with a sticky hand that the older man realizes the younger was pulling him along, that he came too, that he came again, and something, something about that feels so right.

Like he’ll be able to keep them both satisfied.

That this might just work after all.

That they work together.

That this is how things should be.

That this is how things will be. From now on.

“Thank you,” he murmurs to Murdock as they separate, the absence inside of him not so terrible this time, loosened muscles clenching in valient effort to keep everything where it needs to be, regardless. “Thank you so much, sweetheart.”

Face has a hand in Murdock’s hair, and the captain tugs that down now, nuzzling into it, green eyes sparkling at Hannibal. “Wasn’ nuthin’, sir. My pleasure. Any time.”

“That’s very generous of you, James.”

“Don’t let him fool you,” Face chimes in, yawning a little and settling down, keeping the captain carefully between them, although it really does look like he wants to be there himself. Next time, Hannibal promises himself, and feels a little thrill of excitement. Next time. There are going to be next times. “He enjoyed the hell out of that. No burden on the man there.”

Murdock sighs contentedly, and Hannibal thinks he lets loose with something similar himself, Face grumbles a pleased little grumble, and they’re all wrapped up in each other, contented and pleased, just like that, no need to move, no need to do anything but enjoy the echoes, feel the closeness, when the slider bangs open.

“Hey, you fools seen the bo...”

And then silence.

A groan.

“Aww, fuck, man, fuck, put up a goddamn sign nex’ time, shit...”

Hannibal tenses and Murdock looks at him, a little nervous.

But Face, Face, Face just lifts up and yells out, “why don’t you come and join us, BA? Plenty of room for one more!”

But there’s only pained groans and slamming glass doors and little giggles from Murdock, and no answer to be had.

“Kid,” Hannibal says, trying to be a little stern right now. “You know BA’s straight...”

The lieutenant flops back down, one lazy finger tracing slowly around his own nipple. “Two weeks ago, boss, I knew you were straight too. How wrong I was...”

“How wrong we both were,” Murdock amends, snuggling closer.

Face is staring up at the mulberry boughs above them, and Hannibal can hear that devious little conman tone creeping in his voice. “It’d be worth it, boss, you know. Finding out for sure.”

He looks at both of them in turn, Murdock smiling a little, Face smiling a hell of a lot, and sighs. “Maybe,” he says, wishing he had a cigar, for effect if nothing else, and the pilot on his chest perks up. “But your plans suck, kid. You want to do this, we’re doing it my way.”

“Then I’m sure it’ll work,” Face grins, and hops clean over Murdock for another breath-stealing kiss, and it’s a while before any of them talk again after that.