Coming Together
Sep. 15th, 2011 09:08 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sonora_conejaPairing: H-BAMF
Rating: R
Warnings: none
Summary: A fill for this prompt on the kink meme.
I'd love to see how the boys came together, but over time.
Two of them are together first, and then, months or even years later, another joins in. The last is reluctant, but is finally brought "where he belongs."
Each of the boys deals with the relationship budding between them all. An amalgamation of two related fills I did for the meme!
Face opens the door the steaming ensuite bathroom after a thirty minute shower, into the cool of the Davis-Monthan TLF they commandeered for the night. It’s one of those temporary apartments they put families up in before they get housing arranged and household goods delivered, a neat, tidy little place. If a bit cramped for four men.
At least there’s enough bed to go around. This king in here, two twins in the second bedroom, and a pull-out sofa that’s surprisingly decent. BA had raised an eyebrow when Face announced he and Hannibal were taking the master bedroom, and raised the other when Face tried to explain that it was only because the boss was so tall and they were used to bunking together on missions, and oh, hell, do you want the damn thing, BA? BA had shaken his head, obviously doing the mental math, and shrugged it off, saying he just wanted his shirt back. Murdock had cocked his head, interested, like a puppy presented with some curious new object.
Face isn’t real sure what to make of those two, BA and Murdock. Murdock and BA. They’d all had pizza and beer, standing around, watching some stupid TV movie, nothing fancy. But both the two newcomers had seemed more than grateful for it all, Murdock tearing up a bit, Bosco, BA, whatever he likes to be called, on edge.
More than on edge. Traumatized. BA’s acting like he just got back from three months outside the wire. Jumpy. On edge. Nervous. Uncomfortable. He hadn’t talked much at all, pulling further and further into himself after they finished the food. He was trying to hide it - embarrassed or worried, Face guesses - but the second Hannibal had finished with his I’m taking you boys back to Benning and getting you back in the Rangers, if you want it speech, he’d asked for a cell phone.
“I’d like to call my mama,” he’d mumbled, almost apologetic as Hannibal handed his over, dug out of the luggage the DM boys delivered over earlier.
He’d vanished into the spare bedroom and locked the door behind him.
Murdock had sat up with them a little while, talking - babbling, really - about nothing in particular as he’d flipped the channels on the TV. He’d apologized for the fire, and a lot of other things that Face couldn’t follow, and the babbling hadn’t stopped until Hannibal stepped in. Petted his hair, reassured him that he was safe now, held him for a few minutes, until he’d calmed and apologized again and curled up on the sofa sleeper, out like a light.
It had almost made Face jealous, watching the two of them like that. He’s seen Hannibal comfort other guys in the unit before. Murdock...hadn’t been that. The way Hannibal was touching Murdock, stroking him...the way Murdock had been almost cuddling in to that touch, yearning for it...
Honestly, Face tells himself as drags a towel through his hair a few times and wraps it around his waist, how likely is it that two gay Rangers find a third, just like that?
The pilot’s been on a cocktail of drugs designed to knock him out, according to the medical records Hannibal took from the office, so it makes sense if he’s a bit loopy. They’re taking him in to the clinic tomorrow, before they head back to Benning, just in case there’s something he really shouldn’t be coming off of just now.
But all of that is food for tomorrow’s thoughts.
Because Hannibal’s spread out in the king bed now, after leaving Face alone in the shower twenty minutes ago. He’s idly watching the local news, a stack of paperwork delivered by some captain from SOUTHCOM at his elbow. Lost in contemplation.
And Face forgets everything else except for the fact that he’s spent the last six nights spent in a reeking shed on Tuco’s vast estate, instead of in a clean bed and against that scarred, tanned, naked, beautiful body where he belongs.
“Anything on the news, boss?” he asks, towel riding low around his hips, not really bothering to use it on his skin at all. The air’s so dry here, evaporation so quick, there’s no need. It’s a lovely thing.
And Hannibal seems to agree, because he pushes up on en elbow and throws the duvet away from Face’s side of the bed. “Not a peep, kid. In and out, under the wire, as usual.”
Smiling, knowing the boss’ eyes are on him instead of the local news flashing on the TV across from them, Face unwinds the little twist holding the white towel against him. Blue eyes flash, dark, lustful, as he comes over, still talking. “Nothing about the helicopter that did a fucking amazing barrel roll? About one dashing lieutenant who saved a corporal from falling to his death?”
Hannibal grins and pulls him in, pulls him close into the nest of pillows he’s snatched off the unused bed, settling them so that Face’s head is against his chest, a strong arm around the younger man’s shoulders. “About the lieutenant who got his ass trapped in a giant stack of flaming tires?”
“That’s cute ass to you,” he laughs, slapping Hannibal lightly, but sobers when he sees the concern on his lover’s face and the tension in his body. He’s learned the man well over the past two years, learned everything he could, and he’s embarrassed, suddenly, that he was joking about this. “God, John, I just...”
“I know, sweetheart,” Hannibal murmurs, kissing the top of his head, that arm squeezing tight. “It’s okay.”
He snuggles in closer, running a hand down the lean length of his lover’s thigh, reminding him that this man is his and his alone. That Hannibal saw promise in him, fought for him, rescued him from a horrible situation, saved him, won his loyalty as a soldier and a friend...and a lover. Because Hannibal had welcomed him into his bed, warmed him and kissed him and loved him and promised him...
I’d like to keep you, kid. If you’ll have me...
He sighs now, remembering it. Face hadn't believed it at first, that something could be love at first sight, just like that. That it could last. That it could be a forever kind of thing. But it's been two years. The two steadiest, sweetest years he’s known out of all his twenty-six. And every day they're together, he becomes more and more sure.
Hannibal does mean to keep him. And he means to have Hannibal, as long as the colonel will have him.
“What are you thinking about, kid?”
Face looks up. He knows what Hannibal’s thinking of. Hannibal’s thinking of tomorrow and next week. He’s thinking about how he’s going to get BA to loosen up and how to get Murdock on an even keel. He’s thinking about what he’s going to say to General Morrison, what strings he’s going to pull, who he’s going to threaten or help, to get these two in his unit.
So Face nips that all in the bud. He pulls up between the boss’ legs, cocks brushing, and runs his hands into that silver hair he loves so much, internally grinning as big hands cup his waist, moving automatically, of long habit. Victory is his for the taking. “You, boss,” he whispers hotly. “Only ever you.”
Hannibal growls that delicious growl of his, and urges Face even closer. “Think you can be quiet, sweetheart?”
“After a week?” And he wriggles even closer, Hannibal’s lovely big hands dropping to his ass, Hannibal’s lovely blue eyes dilated to nearly black. “I think you might have to gag me.”
“Brat,” the boss grumbles, but smiles and kisses him and for a while, nothing outside this room exists.
Not even his two new teammates. Maybe, right then, especially not then. Because right now, in these moments and these moments alone, the legendary, heroic, sexy, beautiful, fucking amazing Lieutenant Colonel John Hannibal Smith is all his. Body, mind, and soul.
+++++
After the promotion ceremony ends and the hard-core drinking begins, Murdock watches his boss and his friend together. They’re laughing over by the pool table, Hannibal’s hand on Face’s shoulder as they talk to General Morrison, the new eagles shining out across the room, and the pilot sighs.
They couldn’t be more obvious if they tried.
Not that they try. They never try. They try, never hard, to be as un-obvious as they can be. Most nights, most days, most missions, they get away with it. Faceman, he’s learned over the past year, is a magnificent conman. And Hannibal’s no slouch at the acting bit, either. So they’re never caught. Nobody ever knows.
Nobody but BA. Nobody but him.
They play like they’re not together, like they’re not lovers, like they don’t spend long nights wandering the expanses of each other’s bodies, two men finding one another in the wilderness, coming together again so closely that you can’t tell where one ends and the other begins.
Face says it’s been three, almost four years for them. That Hannibal promised him forever. That they love each other. That he believes it with all his heart.
Murdock believes it, too.
And it breaks Murdock’s heart.
He shifts on his bar stool, tearing his eyes away from the sight, back to the beer he’s not drinking and the corporal who’s not talking to him.
Nope, not BA, not tonight. Tonight, BA’s talking to a lady person. A pretty private from Personnel, all chocolate skin and flashing eyes and curvy lines, bossy and opinionated and - this, according to BA - a tiger in the sack.
Face may have the reputation with the ladies, and he flirts, sleeps with just enough of them to maintain that rep, but if anybody’s a real ladies’ man in this unit, it’s BA. Or maybe that’s not the right word. Maybe BA’s more like a serial monogamist. He dates gals he’s serious about, one at a time, months on end, and then it always...ends. But it doesn’t matter, because there’s a new one, just like the others, waiting to take the last one’s place.
So it’s women in his teammate’s bed. Women alone.
And that breaks Murdock’s heart, too.
Because it means he’ll never have anything he wants with BA. With Face. Or Hannibal. Even though they’re a team. Even though any of those men would die for him, and he for them, a hundred times over. Because he loves them, loves them for taking him away and in and treating him like a person and giving him his life back and giving him some place to call home.
But can’t give them what he wishes he could give them. He’s stuck with just being able to give the stories and the games and the imaginary friends and the aerial maneuvers that most pilots cant pull off. Just the things he can do. The things that come from thin air. Made-up things. Things that have hollowed him out and moved in without his permission or say-so.
He’s got nothing real. Nothing true. And nobody wants a guy who’s got nothing. Murdock can understand that. He really can. He doesn’t blame them, for not wanting him. He’s got nothing to want.
It breaks his heart, though, because how’s he ever supposed to have something to offer, if he can’t get anything to begin with?
If there’s nothing real in him to give?
It’s a question that knaws at him all through the rest of the evening, as guests leave and the party winds down, as Hannibal finally closes the bar because it’s reached the five-thousand-dollar limit he put on it, and Face chuckles as the boss hands over his credit card.
“You only get promoted to Colonel once!” Murdock’s best friend jokes, smiling that smile he only smiles for Hannibal. It’s a real smile. A real, beautiful smile.
“Real good party, Hannibal, man,” BA agrees as he’s leaving, back to his own place, that girl still on his arm. She’s real, her heels clacking on the tiles. She’s so very real.
“You have a good time, captain?”
Blue eyes turn to him. Bright with liquor, but not quite drunk. Looking for something real out of him.
Murdock doesn’t know what to say, what to do, and he realizes all of the sudden he’s shaking. Because it's impossible to give Hannibal what he wants. Real? He can't...he's not...
“Oh, damn,” Face says softly, laying a hand on his shoulder, hugging him in that sloppy way of his that means he stopped just before his limit. They must want to make love tonight, Murdock knows. “Too much tonight, buddy?”
And there it is, something he can give them. Something that’s real. Real to them. Real enough, because it came from outside, and outside things are always real.
It's true.
Tonight was too much.
So he nods, not trusting himself to speak.
Face hugs him tighter and Hannibal apologizes and asks him if he’d like to stay at his place, his place being very careful, super-secret DADT code for their house and Murdock nods again.
The cab ride back is spent curled against Face’s chest, Hannibal’s leg touching his, and it’s all almost too good to be true. He lets himself drift on it, pretend, imagine, dream, drift into the unreality that suffuses his being. Maybe they’re in bed together, just starting or already completed, all of them lovers, all of them satisfied, all of them promising each other...
But Hannibal promised Face forever.
Face.
Not Murdock.
No wonder about why.
He’s got nothing in his life that’s as real, as certain, as unchanging and solid as the boss, as beautiful and sweet as Face, as strong and gentle as BA.
Nobody wants a man who’s always floating off. Who’s never there, who’s never real.
So when they all get inside, Murdock pulls out of Face’s grasp and heads down the hall to the guest bedroom, wrapping himself once again in the dream he’s had since the first night with the team, that one real little moment that's never come since. Hannibal holding him, stroking him, touching him as carefully as any lover would, showing him where the world is. Showing him what’s real.
Showing him what he doesn’t have.
What he’ll never have.
But there are tears rolling down his cheeks, and that’s real, isn’t it? That’s empirical evidence. Something that can be seen and proven and known and given and accepted...
...and then he realizes that he’s standing in the doorway of Hannibal’s room, the hallway light on behind him.
That Hannibal’s pushing up from where he was sleeping, so peacefully, next to Face.
Holding out a hand to him.
How...how did this happen? Oh, god, Murdock wonders, is this real?
“What’s wrong, captain?” he asks gently.
And if it isn't real, can't he take a chance? If it is, doesn't he have those tears to prove so?
“I ain’t...I ain’t real most times, bossman. I jus’ am what I do and none of that’s real cause it makes itself all up and I ain't got nothin' to do with it,” he replies, trying to explain what he knows to be true. “I ain’t real and I ain’t got nothing real to give and then I started cryin’, and it feels like it might be...might be somethin’ where ‘m finally...”
“Come here, James,” Hannibal says in that same gentle voice, sitting up more, Face stirring awake beside him now. “Come here.”
Murdock can’t resist one of Hannibal’s orders, not ever. The man’s got a magnetism to him that transcends those shiny new eagles. It pulls Murdock in, the positive to his negative, fills him up. Always has, from the first moment he laid eyes on the silver-haired man, striding down that corridor, calling out to him, so sure of himself, so strong, so beautiful that Murdock hadn’t been able to help but start laughing and laughing at the sight of him.
He doesn’t feel a laugh tonight.
But he does hear that call.
Feels it, deep in that hollow pit in himself.
He takes one step forward, then another, and locks up cold.
No.
No, this is wrong. He has dreams that start like this. He was wrong, he’s not here, it’s too much, it’s far too much, this isn’t...
“James?” Hannibal asks one more time, and Murdock can hear the soft swish of blankest, of bare feet on the carpet, the touch of a hand on his shoulder. “James, darling, what’s wrong? What’s going on in there?”
He shakes his head, his body shaking, everything shaking, the rivets that hold him together rattling loose. No. James. James. James, darling. No. That’s all wrong. That’s not possible. That’s not real. That’s not...
“Buddy.” It’s breathed in his ear, a familiar scent enveloping him, and arms slide around his chest, hugging him close. Face, Murdock thinks, relieved. Face is real. Face has done this before. Face, Face holding him, Face giving him exactly as much as he can handle, Face whispering the familiar litany of comforts to him, that might be... “It’s okay, Murdock. You’re here, I’m here, boss is here. We’re all here together. You’re here with us. Everybody’s safe, nothing’s wrong, you’re safe, you’re safe...”
Then Hannibal’s hand, the one that can’t possibly be there, tightens on his shoulder. “Temp...”
“Just back off, John. It’s okay, I’ve got him,” and Face pulls him gently away. “You’re okay, buddy. Please...”
Murdock sags into that touch, those words, and turns his face into his friend’s shoulder, clinging tightly to him. Face, all beauty and grace, his friend, always his friend, always only ever...
“Shh, it’s okay. It’s okay. I’ve got you, Murdock, it’s okay...”
He lets himself be pulled back, pulled back and laid down and held and touched and murmured to. Face always does this, always does this for him. Holds him close, holds him tight, holds him safe as the earthquake inside of him subsides and all the cracks start to fill back up, locking that emptiness away again, letting him pretend he’s full and whole and right and good and acceptable, still worth keeping, even if he’s not worth having.
And there are voices, filtering down through the darkness of the room as he comes back to himself, voices talking about him that he barely hears.
“...you can’t just grab him like that, John, not when he’s like this. He’s...”
“He’s stronger than you think, Temp...”
“You’re not the one who nurses him through these things, you don’t know what...”
Murdock shuts his eyes tighter and tighter. He can’t hear this. He’s done this. This is real, he knows. Because it’s just them, not wanting him, which is the way things are. So he’s done this now.
“I know, Face, I know your position! But I can’t just leave the situation the way it...”
“Hannibal, it’s not like I’m angry or...”
“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, not daring to look up as details come back, as the world’s present and he’s present in it again. Fuck, what was he thinking, coming in here like that? Fuck. His fingers twist into the sheets beneath him. His breathing is ragged and loud in his own ears. He can taste salt on his cheeks. He doesn’t know how much he's missed. How much of himself has escaped again. “Fuck, Faceman, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay, Murdock. You haven’t done anything wrong.”
Face, behind him, spooned up close behind him, knee between his own clenching thighs.
“You’re mad at me,” he whispers, burying his face in the bed where they’re laying together, but not like he wishes they were. “I’m sorry I made you mad at me...”
There’s a pause. A long pause.
Then.
That’s not Face. Not Face talking. Not Face sliding a hand under his cheek and urging his face up and wiping a wet line off his face. Not Face...and Murdock opens terrified eyes to meet the soft blue of Hannibal’s.
Laying right next to him.
The colonel’s bare-chested, skin smoothed to silver in the half-light from the open door, and Murdock can’t look at him for long, he thinks, or he’ll be dazzled. And it shouldn’t be happening. But it is. He’s here. They’re here.
It’s real.
Isn't it?
He reaches out, just to be sure, and touches Hannibal’s chest lightly. “Bossman?”
“John,” Hannibal corrects, and cups Murdock’s hand in his own big paw. “It’s just John.”
“Hannibal, now’s not...”
“Now is the time, kid. Right now,” Hannibal says, reaching over Murdock’s shoulder, probably to touch Face, eyes still locked on to Murdock’s, “that’s exactly what needs to be said. What we should have said a long time ago.”
Murdock can feel himself starting to shake again, but that’s okay, Face still has him in his arms. Grounding him enough to answer with a little, “w-what needs to be said, boss?”
“John,” Hannibal says again, cupping Murdock’s cheek again, thumb wandering across the line of dark stubble starting to sprout up again. “It’s just John, James. Say it. Say my name.”
He shakes his head. “O-only...only Face ever says your name...”
“Templeton,” Face whispers in his ear, kissing him just below the lobe, taking over, making it all okay again. “It’s Templeton, James...”
“Face, what’s going on?” he asks, still not quite believing, latching on to what’s always real.
“He wants you, buddy,” Face tells him, those hands holding him fast, those eyes, staring straight into his soul. “John wants you so bad, buddy.”
Murdock tries to laugh, tries to make it a joke, tries not to fall into that place again where nothing’s real. “I’m...I’m already on the team, that’s all...all I’m...”
“John wants you, James. Remember that first night? Your first night with us? He wanted you then, I could see it in his eyes, feel it in the way he kissed me...”
“No, Face, no...” he protests against his friend’s calm narration, his commander’s gentle blue eyes. They can’t want him. They can’t...
“It’s true, buddy,” Face tells him, smoothing the world, the past, everything outside the room, away. “Hannibal loved you then. I didn’t understand then, how he could love two men at the same time, but I came to know it myself...”
Hannibal’s gentle expression changes to something even softer, and he scoots close. Close enough to touch, for them to be chest to chest, for Hannibal’s hands to touch his belly, his sides, his hips, his shoulders, wandering everywhere. He hasn’t been touching until now. But he is touching now. Touching, touching, touching like he touches Face. Like he’s precious. Like he’s loved...
“J-John, I...”
Face’s hand runs into his hair. Lips press to his neck again, the soft murmurs resume, a hand lays over his, sliding down his arms to twine into his fingers. And Murdock gasps a little as his friend slides that hand up onto Hannibal’s shoulder and around. “Feel him, James. Feel how much he wants you, how much he needs you, how much he loves you...”
Murdock lays his head on Hannibal’s elbow, curling under him. He looks up, into that soft blue, like a spring sky on a cool day, and asks the question that needs to be asked right now. “Is...is this real? Am I...am I real?”
There’s a pause, Face and Hannibal looking at each other over his upfacing shoulder, no doubt, and then Face gives him a quick hug, laying his forehead to Murdock’s shoulder, cuddling close.
And Hannibal leans in, brushing Murdock’s hair out of his eyes, brushing his lips against Murdock’s suddenly dry ones, running a big hand around his ribs, urging him closer. “You’re real, baby. You’ve always been real to me.”
A sting starts up, deep down in his nose, rising to his eyes, and before he knows it, he’s crying again as Hannibal’s lips lock to his, as Face lets him go, as he’s rolled over the top of the man he’s yearned for his entire life and kissed until he can’t think anymore, and everything turns into smooth skies and the gentle touch of wind on his skin...
In the morning, he wakes. On the earth. Held. Valued. Snug between two of the three men he loves more than anything else in the world. Hannibal holding him, even in sleep. Face, snugged in against his back. All of them fitting together, like they’ve always been that way.
“You with me, baby?” Hannibal’s asking, playing with his hair again.
“You with us?” Face is correcting, sliding a hand up under his loose t-shirt.
Hannibal and Face. John and Temp. Teammates. Lovers. Everything. Well, almost everything. Three pieces of a four piece puzzle. But more than he ever hoped for. More than he ever dared dream. And if something like this can happen...
"I'm with you," he sighs, and nods, and lets the morning take them all away together.
+++++
Shuffling back from the showers in his PT gear and flip-flops, BA looks up at the sun setting west over the Iraqi desert.
Fuck.
Another night.
Another night where he’s going to have to go back to the tent and get dressed and go hang out elsewhere and give his teammates their space...
Their man-space, as he’s come to think of it.
He sighs, and looks back down at the dirt rising up around his footfalls.
It’s not that BA minds.
He doesn’t.
He’s not stupid enough, like a lot of guys he knows, to think that there aren’t gays in the military. Everybody knows there are. And usually, the objections to them come down to the typical bullshit. I don’t want them looking at me in the showers or how the hell could I trust one in Basic Training or who wants a faggot watching their six or, and after four years on Hannibal’s team, this one’s his favorite, they’re all a bunch of whiny, bitchy, prissy, women, not real men at all.
Nothing could be further from the truth.
Or...No, wait. He has caught Murdock looking at him in the showers, and there are all those creams and shit that Face likes to use, but there’s nobody BA would rather have watching out for him than Hannibal. Or Face or Murdock for that matter, fools though they might be. They’re some of the strongest men he’s ever known, even if he would never say that to any of them. They’re taken care of him, protected him, given him somewhere to belong, a reason to fight. They’ve all become like the brothers he never had. The Army he always dreamed existed.
But he’s never thought of them...
...well, not the way they think of each other.
Of course not.
BA’s not stupid.
Or gay.
But he still sees how they are together. And he wonders, sometimes, what that might be like...
Not the noises at night. Those are annoying. Annoying in the extreme. Also, what causes them? Gross thought. Entirely. But it’s not the noises, because those aren’t what any of it’s really about for those three.
It's the other stuff.
The little touches when nobody’s looking. The quick kisses. The way Hannibal pats Face’s shoulder or roughs up his perfect hair. How Face bear-hugs Murdock in the middle of camp, regardless of who’s watching. Murdock, jumping Face or teasing him with that night’s dinner creation or stealing his hair gel or...
Sure, they do that to him, too. Murdock most of all. Fool likes his contact. And after Mexico, BA hadn’t been willing to let anybody touch him. Fuck, to be honest, he hadn’t felt right unless he had a loaded revolver under his pillow when he slept and in a shoulder holster when he was awake.
But Murdock isn’t a guy to be trigger happy around. Murdock, he’d learned pretty damn fast, is a cuddler. He needs contact. As much contact as he can get, however he can get it. Given, offered, stolen, whatever. And BA had had to learn, pretty damn fast, that you have to hug the fool back when he hugs you, or everything just goes to hell.
Mostly, Face handles the cuddling. And since that little...revelation... after Hannibal’s promotion party a few years back, it’s fallen to Hannibal, too. He used to think at first that it might be maybe Face one night, Murdock the next, but no. It’s all three of them at the same time, and he’s not even sure how that works, because...
BA shudders, and stops trying to do the math. It hurts his head, every time.
He stops, right at the edge of their little camp. Murdock’s grill is still cooling down from the evening. His latest repair job from the motor pool, one of the Humvees with a busted suspension, is right where he left it. Face’s kiddy pool, the one he always seems to have on deployments, is right there. And Hannibal’s lean body is stretched out on one of the deck chairs, long legs up on a second, smoking a cigar and reading a book.
There’s something about the way he looks tonight. Nothing different, really, about him. BA’s seen him naked and injured and drunk and aroused - in one very uncomfortable incident that occasionally still haunts his dreams - but he’s never really looked at him.
Not like now.
It’s not about his body or the way his hair looks in the setting sun, or how his elbow’s turned just so, propping up that massive tome, or anything like that.
It’s just...Hannibal.
BA remembers something he heard once. From Murdock, actually, last week. If the fool’s to be believed, with his damn incessant pestering. About the Greeks, about how they encouraged love in the ranks because they believed it made better soldiers. That if you were fighting for your lover, nothing could stand before you.
He’s not sure how much of that’s true or not, but he knows how damn important loyalty is in a unit. Loyalty to the guys at your right and your left. Loyalty to your commander...
But, right then, he realizes it’s not loyalty. No. He was never much of one for orders. But Hannibal, Hannibal on the other hand...
Hannibal’s a man you follow ‘cause you love him...
“BA. Back already?”
Hannibal, looking at him, over the top of his book. Those steel-blue eyes, watching him, measuring...something.
A shiver runs up his spine, and BA tries to hide it, hoping the boss doesn’t catch it, knowing he probably has. “Yeah, uh, I’ll be out in a few minutes, boss. Give you guys you’ space.”
Those keen eyes watch him for another second or two, and then drop back down to the book. “Whatever you’re comfortable with, corporal,” Hannibal’s soft voice informs him.
BA just shakes his head and disappears into the interior of their tent.
Where Murdock and Face are sitting on the boss’ bed, Murdock laying down, his head in Face’s lap, Face bent over him, clever fingers stroking dark hair off his forehead, soft French playing between them.
The corporal sighs, looking over at them. He’s not sure if that’s exasperation or...something else, in that little sound out of him. It doesn’t matter, he tells himself.
He doesn’t like men.
He doesn’t. He likes the ladies, all their smooth, soft curves. He loves the way they talk, sweet and flirting, the way they dance, graceful and flowing. He loves the way they make love, the foreplay before, laughing and challenging, the surrender after...
He tries to think about it now.
They’re still talking, though, those two, and he can’t help but hear it. French. Motherfucker, why does it have to be French? Murdock doesn’t sound crazy when he’s speaking French. Not at all. He sounds...
BA strips off his shirt, damp from the shower and dusty from the walk back, and tosses it on his bed, irritated at himself. Fuck. Just...fuck. That’s not what he wants, it’s not, it’s just not.
Right?
The French stops as he pulls on a clean shirt and a loose pair of cargo pants, something he realizes as he sits down to lace up his boots. He looks up, and they’re both looking at him. Then at the tent flap. Then at Hannibal.
And BA stares back levelly at them. They’re up to something. He doesn’t know what it is, but it ain’t good, that’s for damn sure.
Hannibal clears his throat, leaning back in the shadows, against the tent ribs, and lights a cigar. Nobody speaks as he puffs it away. BA feels himself slowly stiffening against whatever’s coming, sitting up slowly.
Then.
“Boys?”
Face casts one more glance back at the boss, and then taps Murdock lightly on the shoulder. The pilot pushes up, eyes on Face, and Face clears his throat.
“Umm, BA? There’s something we’ve been wanting to, uhh, talk to you about...”
And there it is. Exactly what he’s been afraid of. The conversation he’s never wanted to have.
“Look, I understand that you like women and all that. I’ve...I’ve slept with my fair share of girls over the years...”
Hannibal snorts, and Murdock glares at him, but Face keeps going.
“...and they’re great, women are great, but there’s more to life than...”
“Oh, man,” BA grumbles to himself.
Face shakes his head, ignoring him completely. “...there’s just more, you know? And the four of us, since Hannibal got this a-team approved for this deployment, things are kind of different between all of us now. We’re not just guys in his unit, we are the unit, and...”
“And nuthin’,” BA says, standing now. “Face...”
“BA, all we’re trying to say that we’re a team. A team. All four of us, and we don’t want you to feel like...”
“No. No I don’t.” He says it as firmly as he can. “No. It ain’t natural, man.”
“BA, that’s not really fair, is it?” And that’s Hannibal, stepping forward to put a hand on Murdock’s shoulder. “All Face is trying to say is...”
The corporal holds up a big hand against the barrage of insanity being hurtled at him right now. “I ain’t sayin I gots somethin’ against it, just ain’t for me.”
There’s a silence, and then Face huffs a little, in disappointment, or maybe, BA thinks uncharitably, because he’s upset about gettin’ turned down. Probably doesn’t happen all that often. “Okay, man,” Face replies and spreads his hands on his lap, looking down at his cuticles. “Well, that’s...it’s on the table, if you ever want it.”
“You guys like family,” BA grunts, admitting the truth grudgingly, grudgingly only, and stutters through the rest. “But I ain’t...I gots...I gots somewhere I was gonna be tonight, and y’all wanted...I think I gonna go.”
“We understand, Bosco,” Hannibal tells him, and BA realizes then that the boss is literally holding Murdock down. That the fool hasn’t said a word through this whole awkward thing and he’s starting to fidget.
And that’s almost enough to get him to stay. Almost enough. Because there’s something about Murdock that cues up every one of BA’s protective instincts. Every. Single. Time. No matter how annoying he is, no matter what he’s doing, when he gets bad, when something’s bothering him, when something’s wrong fr him, BA has this urge to pick him up and carry him away from it all. Like...like a puppy, he usually thinks. But, the way the pilot looks right now...
“Goddamn officers,” BA growls over his own rising, and stalks out of the tent. in the desert night He’s got friends in other units, friends who don’t ask him to join in their threesome gay sex thing, friends who understand that nature made places where a guy’s dick is naturally supposed to go and there ain’t nothing wrong with...
“Bosco, stop!”
That grates on him, his hated first name, and BA halts, just as he’s rounding the corner of Murdock’s grill, out to freedom. “Whaddaya want, fool?”
“Where are you goin’, Bosco?”
The pilot’s in front of him, eyes flashing in the falling darkness. They’re on the edge of camp here, and the sandbags are at least six feet high and the nearest floodlight is far away. BA suddenly feels trapped.
Very, very trapped.
“Out,” he says flatly, and makes for the exit.
Murdock blocks him. “Out where, BA?”
“Just out, fool!” he snaps.
But there’s a hand on his chest and he can’t move away from that. “Out where?” Murdock asks again, and there’s an underlying sadness there that finds a crck in his armor and cuts to his heart. “Ain’t we good enough?”
“Murdock...” and he sighs. “Murdock, look, I told you, I ain’t got nuthin’ against it, but it...”
“Ain’t natural?” Murdock edges closer, and BA can feel his heart starting to speed. “What ain’t natural, Bosco? The fact that we’re all men and we’re all together ‘round you?”
Damn, is the fool going to throw that at him? BA runs a hand up against the bare skin below his mohawk. “No, man, that ain’t...”
“Is it the fact that we fuck, then?” Murdock’s mouth turns up a bit, expression hardening, as he says it.
And BA doesn’t know what to say to that at all.
Murdock, though, Murdock nods. And the corporal braces himself, waiting for the sound and the thunder, the madness to descend. Like he always does when he gets upset.
But those sea-green eyes are clear tonight, almost frighteningly so, and BA finds himself shieing away as that hand on his chest runs around to his neck. “Or is it that we make love, Bosco? That we open ourselves and let somebody else in? Isn’t that what really scares you? Lettin’ someone in? After Mexico...”
Murdock’s closer, a lot closer, closer with every passing second.
“Murdock, man...” he warns, but the words hitch in his throat.
“Dontcha wanna know, Bosco?” Murdock slides his other arm around BA’s shoulders. “Dontcha wanna feel it, too?”
Despite himself, BA finds himself sliding a hand up that arm, feeling muscle and rough hair where there’s normally only milky-soft skin, and a little voice in the back of his mind asks him, what’s the difference, really, Bosco?
What makes this any different?
“I...” he stammers, and then tenses up, Murdock pulling him in to a proper hug now, the more-than-faint press of the other man’s hard cock to his thigh something his brain doesn’t want to process. “Murdock, I can’t just swi..”
“You love me, Bosco?” Murdock asks then, laying his cheek on the corporal’s broad shoulder. “Do you love us?”
“Murdock, jeez, you...you know I...” but he trails off, not able to say anything more. Of course he loves them. He loves his teammates. He does. But...but is this something he can do? This part, right here? The physical part?
He doesn’t know that. Not at all. But here Murdock is, embracing him. Here he is, embracing right back. And BA does know, in his heart of hearts, that no woman, no lover, has ever felt this right.
Not once.
And then, right as he’s thinking that, their captain breaks his heart.
“Please...” Murdock whispers into his shoulder. “Please, big guy. I want you. I need you with us. We ain’t complete without you there, too. Please, please, please come home to us tonight...”
He shudders, and thinks, and nuzzles the dark hair at the nape of Murdock’s neck as he tries to come up with some kind of answer. But his defenses are gone. There’s no way to withstand this assault...
...and he’s not sure he even wants to...
So...
“Okay,” he whispers, before he even really knows what he’s saying. “Okay, but...but jus’ tonight, okay? And nuthin’ happens. No sex...anything.” Murdock’s fingers tighten round him. “I ain’t comfortable with the thought of Hannibal...like he does y’all...”
It’s all he gets out, because the next thing he knows is that Murdock’s lips are on his own, a sloppy pantomine of a kiss that still sends sparks clean through him, and the whoop of joy Murdock lets out is probably heard over half the camp; all of it, the pilot switching sweet for manic in an instant, like only he can do.
So despite his best efforts, BA is actually chuckling by the time they get back inside the tent, and Murdock is bouncing in his arms. Faceman’s right there, smiling in relief, and as Murdock throws himself around the lieutenant, babbling in French again, BA finds himself kissed once again, Face’s perfect lips against his own.
“Love you, buddy,” Face whispers, and BA’s not sure if that’s meant for him or Murdock.
But it doesn’t matter, because Murdock’s got Face dragged over to Hannibal’s extra-wide pallet and laid down in a heart beat, the two of them tangled up, necking like teenagers on curfew. BA stares for a moment, the sight not something he’s used to seeing - they typically aren’t this forward when it’s just him around.
“Beautiful together, aren’t they, Bosco?” Hannibal asks conversationally, and lays an arm around his shoulders, hugging the corporal into his side. “But then, it looks even better when they’re both naked.”
BA feels a flush coming on, and thank god his skin’s dark enough to hide it. “Bossman, I...”
“John,” Hannibal corrects firmly, and before BA can ask what they do now, those blue eyes fix on his own dark ones and he’s being kissed once more.
It’s not like Murdock’s overture, this kiss, or Face’s peck of gratitude. No, this is a commitment, a promise, a demand, an explanation...everything, everything in one gesture, and for a moment, BA can feel himself almost quail at the enormity of what Hannibal’s putting in to this. It ain’t casual. It ain’t something he can opt out of later.
He’s here tonight.
But boss means to keep him.
He’s just about to pull away, run away, overwhelmed, utterly confused. Just once, just this once, to show Murdock that he's willing to try. He doesn't know if he's enjoying this, if he can enjoy this, if...
Then Murdock touches his shoulder and kisses him, right behind his ear, and whispers, “see, Bosco, you're home here.“
And, at that, something breaks open inside of him, like a dam shattering, everything rushing out all at once, and everything resembling better sense is washed away in the deluge.
He throws both big arms around Hannibal’s neck and kisses him back as hard as he can and Hannibal growls in response and Murdock wraps around behind him and Face’s hand dives between them. And BA decides, right then and there, that if this is the only night he’s gonna be with his fool teammates like this, he sure as hell is gonna make it count.
+++++
+++++
Hannibal wakes first.
He always wakes first. A lifetime of Army living can’t be erased by a few years on the run, so early morning is it. He doesn’t mind. He loves the way this time of day feels, the softness of waking to it, the cool breeze from the open windows, the way the light plays across his boys.
All of them.
Their big house and big bed in the big house they’ve been scamming. It’s some bank holding os something like that Face thinks he might have a way to buy it through some holding corporation, untraceable, so they can stay.
So we can have a home, he’d said.
But that’s not where home is, Hannibal knows. Not really. Home is right here. Back in each other’s arms. Back with each other. Making love, sharing everything, falling asleep and waking together again, into this sanctuary they’ve created for themselves. The way they’ve been since Murdock had sweet-talked BA into their tent and into their bed that first night, or last night, depending on how one looked at it. Since finding Murdock at the foot of their bed one night. Since he’d brought Face back to his apartment and kissed him in the winter cold.
His boys. He loves them so. Loves how they love him. Loves how they love each other, all three of them together. Loves them each, loves them all, the very center of everything in his life...
Face is chest to chest with him, holding on to him, arm thrown over his waits, snugged in tight, like he’s still the scared boy he was fifteen years. Face had been beautiful, their first night together. Shivering and tired and alone, he’d drawn Hannibal in, the older man curious about the sadness he sensed there. But Face had warmed him through, the young man ebullient the first time they’d kissed, sated and sleepy, tangled together in bed.
He’d been so sweet back then, so unsure of himself in so many ways, so eager for everything Hannibal taught him, and the former colonel loves seeing him like this. He can still see that boy he’d taken into his bed for the first time, whenever Face sleeps. He’ll never forget it, the contentment he’d seen on the kid’s face, in the kid’s body, those blue eyes shining at him with a kind of awe...
Murdock’s breath wuffs over his neck, soft and hot, loose limbs wrapped around his back like a living blanket.
Hannibal loves the gentleness in this man; under the layers of play-acting and comic books and mental fractures, there’s a beautiful creature. One he’s grateful for every day. Hannibal runs his hand into the soft one that’s laying on the rise of his hip, and strokes his fingers across it. The wuffing on his neck turns into a sigh, one that Hannibal feels, all the way down into his heart. Murdock might love his freedom in the sky, but down here on earth, he likes to be grounded, held still, held certain.
He’d been a joy, the first time he woke in bed with them. So relieved that he hadn’t hallucinated the whole night, their words of love to him. He’d let Face prep him, begged for it, actually. The two of them whispered to each other the whole time, kissing lazily as Face stretched him wide, wide, wide. And he’d laid back against Face, back to chest, spread out in his best friend’s lap, Face’s hands holding back his knees as Hannibal took him for the first time.
Which is why BA is slotted up right behind him, spooned tight behind, holding him, grounding him with all his strength. BA is the same asleep as he is awake, strong and present, a force to be reckoned with.
BA had needed the most convincing, though, the most patience, but he’d been worth it. More than worth it. The corporal had been nervous, almost scared, that night. Jumpy. But Murdock and Face had been gentle with him. Stripped him gently, laid him down gently, kissed and licked and touched gently, and generally melted him through. Watching them both bring him off for the first time, those dark hands urging Murdock further down on his cock, that deep baritone gasping as Face slipped a finger inside of him, clutching his shoulder and whispering to him how amazing he felt. Only after he’d come for the first time had Hannibal moved in, laid his claim with an unyielding kiss, and to his amazement, to his everlasting amazement, BA opened to it, welcomed it. Just as he has every time since.
Each of them, secure in the knowledge that he belongs.
His boys. He loves them so. Loves how they love him. Loves how they love each other, all three of them together. Loves them each, loves them all, the very center of everything in his life...
Hannibal touches each of them gently, remembering their words to him on countless occasions.
I never knew, guys, I never knew...
I didn’t know the dream could to turn to real life...
You all make me complete...
And, as if he knows he’s being dreamed about, adored, cherished, that sweet boy in his arms stirs.
“Good morning, John,” his Face says gently, lifting his chin as he slides up for a kiss. “How’d you sleep?”
Hannibal runs a hand into the kid’s soft caramel locks, and presses their mouths together, thinking about the answer to that question. They’re all safe. Nobody’s nursing injuries. There’s no hint of Decker on their tail. The last job set them up well for a few months...
“Mm, here with us and you still can’t turn that brain off?” Face murmurs, breaking the kiss and laying an easy hand on Hannibal’s chest. “I must be doing something wrong...”
“You’re doing nothing wrong, sweetheart,” Hannibal replies, plucking up that hand and placing a kiss in the center of the palm. Face shudders and bucks forward into him, and it’s then that the colonel realizes he’s got morning wood...
...and so do his boys.
“Well,” Face chuckles, and leans in to nip lightly at his neck, grabbing his waist and tugging him down, “when you put it like that...”
It’s Hannibal’s turn to groan, and he slides down, away from Murdock, onto his back on the oversized mattress. Groaning in pleasure as his boy slings a leg over his, jamming up over him, kissing him, little happy noises escaping him as he...
“Look like you two havin’ a real good time there by your fool selves.”
It’s BA, and Face breaks off, winking at the colonel as he slides back to sit back over his thighs. The corporal is watching them over the top of Murdock’s shoulder, the pilot grinning like a loon.
“You two look so purty together, Faceman,” he drawls in an exaggerated accent. “’Specially you. Cute as a button...”
“Mornin’, buddy,” Face says and hops over Hannibal’s body, wrapping a hand under Murdock’s back, urging him up and then they’re falling into each other, kissing hard.
Hannibal smiles and scoots back, meeting BA’s eyes over their lovers, tangling and kissing and whispering and giggling like children, sweet, sweet sounds, lost in each other, playful as always.
“Think they’ve forgotten us?” Hannibal asks, playing his fingers down Face’s upcurved spine even as he talks to their youngest member.
BA shakes his head back, smiling ruefully. “Don’t know, man. I ain’t got no kiss yet this mornin’...”
“Oh, quit your bitching and c’mere,” Face says suddenly, panting a little and pulling up to wrap an arm around BA’s neck. He just barely pecks him on the cheek, and smiles broadly. “Good morning to you too.”
BA chuckles and lays a hand on the small of Face’s back. “Don’t know why I put up with you, man.”
“Cause you know you aren’t gettin’ ass this good anywhere else in the world,” Murdock chimes in, and slaps Face lightly on one naked cheek. The lieutenant gasps, and BA takes the opportunity to plunder his mouth, hauling him close, hugging him tight.
But Murdock’s still got a hold of one of Face’s thighs and arms, so the kiss turns into a tug-o-war that quickly devolves further into a laughing pile of flying limbs as his boys try their damndest to taste as much skin as possible.
There’s no better sight in the world, the three of them together. Face’s tan, classical lines again BA’s dark, strongly muscled form, Murdock’s lithe body pale between them. He loves watching them like that, playing, driving each other higher and higher, pulling up to the peak, always stopping just shy of it, waiting for him, bidding him come closer, come to them...
Hannibal just lies back, watching the little threeway make-out session, stroking himself into full hardness. God, he loves them like this, free and careless and open, all the darkness of their current lives banished far, far away, all those sexy, arousing noises drowning out any other concerns but their need for each other, the scent of them starting to heat, starting to rise, starting to...
He growls involuntarily then, hand on his cock, and they all stop to look at him. Big, mock-innocent eyes. Like so many puppies, Hannibal thinks, and then Face grin at him.
“Would you like us, John? All three of us? Spread out, ready for the taking...”
Hannibal smiles back even as his brain hitches on that wonderful image, and kisses the nearest shoulder to him, scraping teeth, just a bit, as he pulls away again. Murdock, it turns out, who moans happily. “I love you boys,” he tells them, and reaches over to stroke BA’s arm. “The lube’s in the drawer on your side, baby. I’ll let you prep...”
BA’s eyes go dark with lust, and a shiver runs through Murdock and into Face, and right back into Murdock as the two boys start kissing anew, pulling BA over them.
Exactly where they should be, the place they’ve been moving towards from the very first. Coming together, Hannibal thinks, and starts laughing at his own terrible pun as he moves in to take his place among them.
As three sets of hands reach up to welcome him home.
Rating: R
Warnings: none
Summary: A fill for this prompt on the kink meme.
I'd love to see how the boys came together, but over time.
Two of them are together first, and then, months or even years later, another joins in. The last is reluctant, but is finally brought "where he belongs."
Each of the boys deals with the relationship budding between them all. An amalgamation of two related fills I did for the meme!
Face opens the door the steaming ensuite bathroom after a thirty minute shower, into the cool of the Davis-Monthan TLF they commandeered for the night. It’s one of those temporary apartments they put families up in before they get housing arranged and household goods delivered, a neat, tidy little place. If a bit cramped for four men.
At least there’s enough bed to go around. This king in here, two twins in the second bedroom, and a pull-out sofa that’s surprisingly decent. BA had raised an eyebrow when Face announced he and Hannibal were taking the master bedroom, and raised the other when Face tried to explain that it was only because the boss was so tall and they were used to bunking together on missions, and oh, hell, do you want the damn thing, BA? BA had shaken his head, obviously doing the mental math, and shrugged it off, saying he just wanted his shirt back. Murdock had cocked his head, interested, like a puppy presented with some curious new object.
Face isn’t real sure what to make of those two, BA and Murdock. Murdock and BA. They’d all had pizza and beer, standing around, watching some stupid TV movie, nothing fancy. But both the two newcomers had seemed more than grateful for it all, Murdock tearing up a bit, Bosco, BA, whatever he likes to be called, on edge.
More than on edge. Traumatized. BA’s acting like he just got back from three months outside the wire. Jumpy. On edge. Nervous. Uncomfortable. He hadn’t talked much at all, pulling further and further into himself after they finished the food. He was trying to hide it - embarrassed or worried, Face guesses - but the second Hannibal had finished with his I’m taking you boys back to Benning and getting you back in the Rangers, if you want it speech, he’d asked for a cell phone.
“I’d like to call my mama,” he’d mumbled, almost apologetic as Hannibal handed his over, dug out of the luggage the DM boys delivered over earlier.
He’d vanished into the spare bedroom and locked the door behind him.
Murdock had sat up with them a little while, talking - babbling, really - about nothing in particular as he’d flipped the channels on the TV. He’d apologized for the fire, and a lot of other things that Face couldn’t follow, and the babbling hadn’t stopped until Hannibal stepped in. Petted his hair, reassured him that he was safe now, held him for a few minutes, until he’d calmed and apologized again and curled up on the sofa sleeper, out like a light.
It had almost made Face jealous, watching the two of them like that. He’s seen Hannibal comfort other guys in the unit before. Murdock...hadn’t been that. The way Hannibal was touching Murdock, stroking him...the way Murdock had been almost cuddling in to that touch, yearning for it...
Honestly, Face tells himself as drags a towel through his hair a few times and wraps it around his waist, how likely is it that two gay Rangers find a third, just like that?
The pilot’s been on a cocktail of drugs designed to knock him out, according to the medical records Hannibal took from the office, so it makes sense if he’s a bit loopy. They’re taking him in to the clinic tomorrow, before they head back to Benning, just in case there’s something he really shouldn’t be coming off of just now.
But all of that is food for tomorrow’s thoughts.
Because Hannibal’s spread out in the king bed now, after leaving Face alone in the shower twenty minutes ago. He’s idly watching the local news, a stack of paperwork delivered by some captain from SOUTHCOM at his elbow. Lost in contemplation.
And Face forgets everything else except for the fact that he’s spent the last six nights spent in a reeking shed on Tuco’s vast estate, instead of in a clean bed and against that scarred, tanned, naked, beautiful body where he belongs.
“Anything on the news, boss?” he asks, towel riding low around his hips, not really bothering to use it on his skin at all. The air’s so dry here, evaporation so quick, there’s no need. It’s a lovely thing.
And Hannibal seems to agree, because he pushes up on en elbow and throws the duvet away from Face’s side of the bed. “Not a peep, kid. In and out, under the wire, as usual.”
Smiling, knowing the boss’ eyes are on him instead of the local news flashing on the TV across from them, Face unwinds the little twist holding the white towel against him. Blue eyes flash, dark, lustful, as he comes over, still talking. “Nothing about the helicopter that did a fucking amazing barrel roll? About one dashing lieutenant who saved a corporal from falling to his death?”
Hannibal grins and pulls him in, pulls him close into the nest of pillows he’s snatched off the unused bed, settling them so that Face’s head is against his chest, a strong arm around the younger man’s shoulders. “About the lieutenant who got his ass trapped in a giant stack of flaming tires?”
“That’s cute ass to you,” he laughs, slapping Hannibal lightly, but sobers when he sees the concern on his lover’s face and the tension in his body. He’s learned the man well over the past two years, learned everything he could, and he’s embarrassed, suddenly, that he was joking about this. “God, John, I just...”
“I know, sweetheart,” Hannibal murmurs, kissing the top of his head, that arm squeezing tight. “It’s okay.”
He snuggles in closer, running a hand down the lean length of his lover’s thigh, reminding him that this man is his and his alone. That Hannibal saw promise in him, fought for him, rescued him from a horrible situation, saved him, won his loyalty as a soldier and a friend...and a lover. Because Hannibal had welcomed him into his bed, warmed him and kissed him and loved him and promised him...
I’d like to keep you, kid. If you’ll have me...
He sighs now, remembering it. Face hadn't believed it at first, that something could be love at first sight, just like that. That it could last. That it could be a forever kind of thing. But it's been two years. The two steadiest, sweetest years he’s known out of all his twenty-six. And every day they're together, he becomes more and more sure.
Hannibal does mean to keep him. And he means to have Hannibal, as long as the colonel will have him.
“What are you thinking about, kid?”
Face looks up. He knows what Hannibal’s thinking of. Hannibal’s thinking of tomorrow and next week. He’s thinking about how he’s going to get BA to loosen up and how to get Murdock on an even keel. He’s thinking about what he’s going to say to General Morrison, what strings he’s going to pull, who he’s going to threaten or help, to get these two in his unit.
So Face nips that all in the bud. He pulls up between the boss’ legs, cocks brushing, and runs his hands into that silver hair he loves so much, internally grinning as big hands cup his waist, moving automatically, of long habit. Victory is his for the taking. “You, boss,” he whispers hotly. “Only ever you.”
Hannibal growls that delicious growl of his, and urges Face even closer. “Think you can be quiet, sweetheart?”
“After a week?” And he wriggles even closer, Hannibal’s lovely big hands dropping to his ass, Hannibal’s lovely blue eyes dilated to nearly black. “I think you might have to gag me.”
“Brat,” the boss grumbles, but smiles and kisses him and for a while, nothing outside this room exists.
Not even his two new teammates. Maybe, right then, especially not then. Because right now, in these moments and these moments alone, the legendary, heroic, sexy, beautiful, fucking amazing Lieutenant Colonel John Hannibal Smith is all his. Body, mind, and soul.
+++++
After the promotion ceremony ends and the hard-core drinking begins, Murdock watches his boss and his friend together. They’re laughing over by the pool table, Hannibal’s hand on Face’s shoulder as they talk to General Morrison, the new eagles shining out across the room, and the pilot sighs.
They couldn’t be more obvious if they tried.
Not that they try. They never try. They try, never hard, to be as un-obvious as they can be. Most nights, most days, most missions, they get away with it. Faceman, he’s learned over the past year, is a magnificent conman. And Hannibal’s no slouch at the acting bit, either. So they’re never caught. Nobody ever knows.
Nobody but BA. Nobody but him.
They play like they’re not together, like they’re not lovers, like they don’t spend long nights wandering the expanses of each other’s bodies, two men finding one another in the wilderness, coming together again so closely that you can’t tell where one ends and the other begins.
Face says it’s been three, almost four years for them. That Hannibal promised him forever. That they love each other. That he believes it with all his heart.
Murdock believes it, too.
And it breaks Murdock’s heart.
He shifts on his bar stool, tearing his eyes away from the sight, back to the beer he’s not drinking and the corporal who’s not talking to him.
Nope, not BA, not tonight. Tonight, BA’s talking to a lady person. A pretty private from Personnel, all chocolate skin and flashing eyes and curvy lines, bossy and opinionated and - this, according to BA - a tiger in the sack.
Face may have the reputation with the ladies, and he flirts, sleeps with just enough of them to maintain that rep, but if anybody’s a real ladies’ man in this unit, it’s BA. Or maybe that’s not the right word. Maybe BA’s more like a serial monogamist. He dates gals he’s serious about, one at a time, months on end, and then it always...ends. But it doesn’t matter, because there’s a new one, just like the others, waiting to take the last one’s place.
So it’s women in his teammate’s bed. Women alone.
And that breaks Murdock’s heart, too.
Because it means he’ll never have anything he wants with BA. With Face. Or Hannibal. Even though they’re a team. Even though any of those men would die for him, and he for them, a hundred times over. Because he loves them, loves them for taking him away and in and treating him like a person and giving him his life back and giving him some place to call home.
But can’t give them what he wishes he could give them. He’s stuck with just being able to give the stories and the games and the imaginary friends and the aerial maneuvers that most pilots cant pull off. Just the things he can do. The things that come from thin air. Made-up things. Things that have hollowed him out and moved in without his permission or say-so.
He’s got nothing real. Nothing true. And nobody wants a guy who’s got nothing. Murdock can understand that. He really can. He doesn’t blame them, for not wanting him. He’s got nothing to want.
It breaks his heart, though, because how’s he ever supposed to have something to offer, if he can’t get anything to begin with?
If there’s nothing real in him to give?
It’s a question that knaws at him all through the rest of the evening, as guests leave and the party winds down, as Hannibal finally closes the bar because it’s reached the five-thousand-dollar limit he put on it, and Face chuckles as the boss hands over his credit card.
“You only get promoted to Colonel once!” Murdock’s best friend jokes, smiling that smile he only smiles for Hannibal. It’s a real smile. A real, beautiful smile.
“Real good party, Hannibal, man,” BA agrees as he’s leaving, back to his own place, that girl still on his arm. She’s real, her heels clacking on the tiles. She’s so very real.
“You have a good time, captain?”
Blue eyes turn to him. Bright with liquor, but not quite drunk. Looking for something real out of him.
Murdock doesn’t know what to say, what to do, and he realizes all of the sudden he’s shaking. Because it's impossible to give Hannibal what he wants. Real? He can't...he's not...
“Oh, damn,” Face says softly, laying a hand on his shoulder, hugging him in that sloppy way of his that means he stopped just before his limit. They must want to make love tonight, Murdock knows. “Too much tonight, buddy?”
And there it is, something he can give them. Something that’s real. Real to them. Real enough, because it came from outside, and outside things are always real.
It's true.
Tonight was too much.
So he nods, not trusting himself to speak.
Face hugs him tighter and Hannibal apologizes and asks him if he’d like to stay at his place, his place being very careful, super-secret DADT code for their house and Murdock nods again.
The cab ride back is spent curled against Face’s chest, Hannibal’s leg touching his, and it’s all almost too good to be true. He lets himself drift on it, pretend, imagine, dream, drift into the unreality that suffuses his being. Maybe they’re in bed together, just starting or already completed, all of them lovers, all of them satisfied, all of them promising each other...
But Hannibal promised Face forever.
Face.
Not Murdock.
No wonder about why.
He’s got nothing in his life that’s as real, as certain, as unchanging and solid as the boss, as beautiful and sweet as Face, as strong and gentle as BA.
Nobody wants a man who’s always floating off. Who’s never there, who’s never real.
So when they all get inside, Murdock pulls out of Face’s grasp and heads down the hall to the guest bedroom, wrapping himself once again in the dream he’s had since the first night with the team, that one real little moment that's never come since. Hannibal holding him, stroking him, touching him as carefully as any lover would, showing him where the world is. Showing him what’s real.
Showing him what he doesn’t have.
What he’ll never have.
But there are tears rolling down his cheeks, and that’s real, isn’t it? That’s empirical evidence. Something that can be seen and proven and known and given and accepted...
...and then he realizes that he’s standing in the doorway of Hannibal’s room, the hallway light on behind him.
That Hannibal’s pushing up from where he was sleeping, so peacefully, next to Face.
Holding out a hand to him.
How...how did this happen? Oh, god, Murdock wonders, is this real?
“What’s wrong, captain?” he asks gently.
And if it isn't real, can't he take a chance? If it is, doesn't he have those tears to prove so?
“I ain’t...I ain’t real most times, bossman. I jus’ am what I do and none of that’s real cause it makes itself all up and I ain't got nothin' to do with it,” he replies, trying to explain what he knows to be true. “I ain’t real and I ain’t got nothing real to give and then I started cryin’, and it feels like it might be...might be somethin’ where ‘m finally...”
“Come here, James,” Hannibal says in that same gentle voice, sitting up more, Face stirring awake beside him now. “Come here.”
Murdock can’t resist one of Hannibal’s orders, not ever. The man’s got a magnetism to him that transcends those shiny new eagles. It pulls Murdock in, the positive to his negative, fills him up. Always has, from the first moment he laid eyes on the silver-haired man, striding down that corridor, calling out to him, so sure of himself, so strong, so beautiful that Murdock hadn’t been able to help but start laughing and laughing at the sight of him.
He doesn’t feel a laugh tonight.
But he does hear that call.
Feels it, deep in that hollow pit in himself.
He takes one step forward, then another, and locks up cold.
No.
No, this is wrong. He has dreams that start like this. He was wrong, he’s not here, it’s too much, it’s far too much, this isn’t...
“James?” Hannibal asks one more time, and Murdock can hear the soft swish of blankest, of bare feet on the carpet, the touch of a hand on his shoulder. “James, darling, what’s wrong? What’s going on in there?”
He shakes his head, his body shaking, everything shaking, the rivets that hold him together rattling loose. No. James. James. James, darling. No. That’s all wrong. That’s not possible. That’s not real. That’s not...
“Buddy.” It’s breathed in his ear, a familiar scent enveloping him, and arms slide around his chest, hugging him close. Face, Murdock thinks, relieved. Face is real. Face has done this before. Face, Face holding him, Face giving him exactly as much as he can handle, Face whispering the familiar litany of comforts to him, that might be... “It’s okay, Murdock. You’re here, I’m here, boss is here. We’re all here together. You’re here with us. Everybody’s safe, nothing’s wrong, you’re safe, you’re safe...”
Then Hannibal’s hand, the one that can’t possibly be there, tightens on his shoulder. “Temp...”
“Just back off, John. It’s okay, I’ve got him,” and Face pulls him gently away. “You’re okay, buddy. Please...”
Murdock sags into that touch, those words, and turns his face into his friend’s shoulder, clinging tightly to him. Face, all beauty and grace, his friend, always his friend, always only ever...
“Shh, it’s okay. It’s okay. I’ve got you, Murdock, it’s okay...”
He lets himself be pulled back, pulled back and laid down and held and touched and murmured to. Face always does this, always does this for him. Holds him close, holds him tight, holds him safe as the earthquake inside of him subsides and all the cracks start to fill back up, locking that emptiness away again, letting him pretend he’s full and whole and right and good and acceptable, still worth keeping, even if he’s not worth having.
And there are voices, filtering down through the darkness of the room as he comes back to himself, voices talking about him that he barely hears.
“...you can’t just grab him like that, John, not when he’s like this. He’s...”
“He’s stronger than you think, Temp...”
“You’re not the one who nurses him through these things, you don’t know what...”
Murdock shuts his eyes tighter and tighter. He can’t hear this. He’s done this. This is real, he knows. Because it’s just them, not wanting him, which is the way things are. So he’s done this now.
“I know, Face, I know your position! But I can’t just leave the situation the way it...”
“Hannibal, it’s not like I’m angry or...”
“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, not daring to look up as details come back, as the world’s present and he’s present in it again. Fuck, what was he thinking, coming in here like that? Fuck. His fingers twist into the sheets beneath him. His breathing is ragged and loud in his own ears. He can taste salt on his cheeks. He doesn’t know how much he's missed. How much of himself has escaped again. “Fuck, Faceman, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay, Murdock. You haven’t done anything wrong.”
Face, behind him, spooned up close behind him, knee between his own clenching thighs.
“You’re mad at me,” he whispers, burying his face in the bed where they’re laying together, but not like he wishes they were. “I’m sorry I made you mad at me...”
There’s a pause. A long pause.
Then.
That’s not Face. Not Face talking. Not Face sliding a hand under his cheek and urging his face up and wiping a wet line off his face. Not Face...and Murdock opens terrified eyes to meet the soft blue of Hannibal’s.
Laying right next to him.
The colonel’s bare-chested, skin smoothed to silver in the half-light from the open door, and Murdock can’t look at him for long, he thinks, or he’ll be dazzled. And it shouldn’t be happening. But it is. He’s here. They’re here.
It’s real.
Isn't it?
He reaches out, just to be sure, and touches Hannibal’s chest lightly. “Bossman?”
“John,” Hannibal corrects, and cups Murdock’s hand in his own big paw. “It’s just John.”
“Hannibal, now’s not...”
“Now is the time, kid. Right now,” Hannibal says, reaching over Murdock’s shoulder, probably to touch Face, eyes still locked on to Murdock’s, “that’s exactly what needs to be said. What we should have said a long time ago.”
Murdock can feel himself starting to shake again, but that’s okay, Face still has him in his arms. Grounding him enough to answer with a little, “w-what needs to be said, boss?”
“John,” Hannibal says again, cupping Murdock’s cheek again, thumb wandering across the line of dark stubble starting to sprout up again. “It’s just John, James. Say it. Say my name.”
He shakes his head. “O-only...only Face ever says your name...”
“Templeton,” Face whispers in his ear, kissing him just below the lobe, taking over, making it all okay again. “It’s Templeton, James...”
“Face, what’s going on?” he asks, still not quite believing, latching on to what’s always real.
“He wants you, buddy,” Face tells him, those hands holding him fast, those eyes, staring straight into his soul. “John wants you so bad, buddy.”
Murdock tries to laugh, tries to make it a joke, tries not to fall into that place again where nothing’s real. “I’m...I’m already on the team, that’s all...all I’m...”
“John wants you, James. Remember that first night? Your first night with us? He wanted you then, I could see it in his eyes, feel it in the way he kissed me...”
“No, Face, no...” he protests against his friend’s calm narration, his commander’s gentle blue eyes. They can’t want him. They can’t...
“It’s true, buddy,” Face tells him, smoothing the world, the past, everything outside the room, away. “Hannibal loved you then. I didn’t understand then, how he could love two men at the same time, but I came to know it myself...”
Hannibal’s gentle expression changes to something even softer, and he scoots close. Close enough to touch, for them to be chest to chest, for Hannibal’s hands to touch his belly, his sides, his hips, his shoulders, wandering everywhere. He hasn’t been touching until now. But he is touching now. Touching, touching, touching like he touches Face. Like he’s precious. Like he’s loved...
“J-John, I...”
Face’s hand runs into his hair. Lips press to his neck again, the soft murmurs resume, a hand lays over his, sliding down his arms to twine into his fingers. And Murdock gasps a little as his friend slides that hand up onto Hannibal’s shoulder and around. “Feel him, James. Feel how much he wants you, how much he needs you, how much he loves you...”
Murdock lays his head on Hannibal’s elbow, curling under him. He looks up, into that soft blue, like a spring sky on a cool day, and asks the question that needs to be asked right now. “Is...is this real? Am I...am I real?”
There’s a pause, Face and Hannibal looking at each other over his upfacing shoulder, no doubt, and then Face gives him a quick hug, laying his forehead to Murdock’s shoulder, cuddling close.
And Hannibal leans in, brushing Murdock’s hair out of his eyes, brushing his lips against Murdock’s suddenly dry ones, running a big hand around his ribs, urging him closer. “You’re real, baby. You’ve always been real to me.”
A sting starts up, deep down in his nose, rising to his eyes, and before he knows it, he’s crying again as Hannibal’s lips lock to his, as Face lets him go, as he’s rolled over the top of the man he’s yearned for his entire life and kissed until he can’t think anymore, and everything turns into smooth skies and the gentle touch of wind on his skin...
In the morning, he wakes. On the earth. Held. Valued. Snug between two of the three men he loves more than anything else in the world. Hannibal holding him, even in sleep. Face, snugged in against his back. All of them fitting together, like they’ve always been that way.
“You with me, baby?” Hannibal’s asking, playing with his hair again.
“You with us?” Face is correcting, sliding a hand up under his loose t-shirt.
Hannibal and Face. John and Temp. Teammates. Lovers. Everything. Well, almost everything. Three pieces of a four piece puzzle. But more than he ever hoped for. More than he ever dared dream. And if something like this can happen...
"I'm with you," he sighs, and nods, and lets the morning take them all away together.
+++++
Shuffling back from the showers in his PT gear and flip-flops, BA looks up at the sun setting west over the Iraqi desert.
Fuck.
Another night.
Another night where he’s going to have to go back to the tent and get dressed and go hang out elsewhere and give his teammates their space...
Their man-space, as he’s come to think of it.
He sighs, and looks back down at the dirt rising up around his footfalls.
It’s not that BA minds.
He doesn’t.
He’s not stupid enough, like a lot of guys he knows, to think that there aren’t gays in the military. Everybody knows there are. And usually, the objections to them come down to the typical bullshit. I don’t want them looking at me in the showers or how the hell could I trust one in Basic Training or who wants a faggot watching their six or, and after four years on Hannibal’s team, this one’s his favorite, they’re all a bunch of whiny, bitchy, prissy, women, not real men at all.
Nothing could be further from the truth.
Or...No, wait. He has caught Murdock looking at him in the showers, and there are all those creams and shit that Face likes to use, but there’s nobody BA would rather have watching out for him than Hannibal. Or Face or Murdock for that matter, fools though they might be. They’re some of the strongest men he’s ever known, even if he would never say that to any of them. They’re taken care of him, protected him, given him somewhere to belong, a reason to fight. They’ve all become like the brothers he never had. The Army he always dreamed existed.
But he’s never thought of them...
...well, not the way they think of each other.
Of course not.
BA’s not stupid.
Or gay.
But he still sees how they are together. And he wonders, sometimes, what that might be like...
Not the noises at night. Those are annoying. Annoying in the extreme. Also, what causes them? Gross thought. Entirely. But it’s not the noises, because those aren’t what any of it’s really about for those three.
It's the other stuff.
The little touches when nobody’s looking. The quick kisses. The way Hannibal pats Face’s shoulder or roughs up his perfect hair. How Face bear-hugs Murdock in the middle of camp, regardless of who’s watching. Murdock, jumping Face or teasing him with that night’s dinner creation or stealing his hair gel or...
Sure, they do that to him, too. Murdock most of all. Fool likes his contact. And after Mexico, BA hadn’t been willing to let anybody touch him. Fuck, to be honest, he hadn’t felt right unless he had a loaded revolver under his pillow when he slept and in a shoulder holster when he was awake.
But Murdock isn’t a guy to be trigger happy around. Murdock, he’d learned pretty damn fast, is a cuddler. He needs contact. As much contact as he can get, however he can get it. Given, offered, stolen, whatever. And BA had had to learn, pretty damn fast, that you have to hug the fool back when he hugs you, or everything just goes to hell.
Mostly, Face handles the cuddling. And since that little...revelation... after Hannibal’s promotion party a few years back, it’s fallen to Hannibal, too. He used to think at first that it might be maybe Face one night, Murdock the next, but no. It’s all three of them at the same time, and he’s not even sure how that works, because...
BA shudders, and stops trying to do the math. It hurts his head, every time.
He stops, right at the edge of their little camp. Murdock’s grill is still cooling down from the evening. His latest repair job from the motor pool, one of the Humvees with a busted suspension, is right where he left it. Face’s kiddy pool, the one he always seems to have on deployments, is right there. And Hannibal’s lean body is stretched out on one of the deck chairs, long legs up on a second, smoking a cigar and reading a book.
There’s something about the way he looks tonight. Nothing different, really, about him. BA’s seen him naked and injured and drunk and aroused - in one very uncomfortable incident that occasionally still haunts his dreams - but he’s never really looked at him.
Not like now.
It’s not about his body or the way his hair looks in the setting sun, or how his elbow’s turned just so, propping up that massive tome, or anything like that.
It’s just...Hannibal.
BA remembers something he heard once. From Murdock, actually, last week. If the fool’s to be believed, with his damn incessant pestering. About the Greeks, about how they encouraged love in the ranks because they believed it made better soldiers. That if you were fighting for your lover, nothing could stand before you.
He’s not sure how much of that’s true or not, but he knows how damn important loyalty is in a unit. Loyalty to the guys at your right and your left. Loyalty to your commander...
But, right then, he realizes it’s not loyalty. No. He was never much of one for orders. But Hannibal, Hannibal on the other hand...
Hannibal’s a man you follow ‘cause you love him...
“BA. Back already?”
Hannibal, looking at him, over the top of his book. Those steel-blue eyes, watching him, measuring...something.
A shiver runs up his spine, and BA tries to hide it, hoping the boss doesn’t catch it, knowing he probably has. “Yeah, uh, I’ll be out in a few minutes, boss. Give you guys you’ space.”
Those keen eyes watch him for another second or two, and then drop back down to the book. “Whatever you’re comfortable with, corporal,” Hannibal’s soft voice informs him.
BA just shakes his head and disappears into the interior of their tent.
Where Murdock and Face are sitting on the boss’ bed, Murdock laying down, his head in Face’s lap, Face bent over him, clever fingers stroking dark hair off his forehead, soft French playing between them.
The corporal sighs, looking over at them. He’s not sure if that’s exasperation or...something else, in that little sound out of him. It doesn’t matter, he tells himself.
He doesn’t like men.
He doesn’t. He likes the ladies, all their smooth, soft curves. He loves the way they talk, sweet and flirting, the way they dance, graceful and flowing. He loves the way they make love, the foreplay before, laughing and challenging, the surrender after...
He tries to think about it now.
They’re still talking, though, those two, and he can’t help but hear it. French. Motherfucker, why does it have to be French? Murdock doesn’t sound crazy when he’s speaking French. Not at all. He sounds...
BA strips off his shirt, damp from the shower and dusty from the walk back, and tosses it on his bed, irritated at himself. Fuck. Just...fuck. That’s not what he wants, it’s not, it’s just not.
Right?
The French stops as he pulls on a clean shirt and a loose pair of cargo pants, something he realizes as he sits down to lace up his boots. He looks up, and they’re both looking at him. Then at the tent flap. Then at Hannibal.
And BA stares back levelly at them. They’re up to something. He doesn’t know what it is, but it ain’t good, that’s for damn sure.
Hannibal clears his throat, leaning back in the shadows, against the tent ribs, and lights a cigar. Nobody speaks as he puffs it away. BA feels himself slowly stiffening against whatever’s coming, sitting up slowly.
Then.
“Boys?”
Face casts one more glance back at the boss, and then taps Murdock lightly on the shoulder. The pilot pushes up, eyes on Face, and Face clears his throat.
“Umm, BA? There’s something we’ve been wanting to, uhh, talk to you about...”
And there it is. Exactly what he’s been afraid of. The conversation he’s never wanted to have.
“Look, I understand that you like women and all that. I’ve...I’ve slept with my fair share of girls over the years...”
Hannibal snorts, and Murdock glares at him, but Face keeps going.
“...and they’re great, women are great, but there’s more to life than...”
“Oh, man,” BA grumbles to himself.
Face shakes his head, ignoring him completely. “...there’s just more, you know? And the four of us, since Hannibal got this a-team approved for this deployment, things are kind of different between all of us now. We’re not just guys in his unit, we are the unit, and...”
“And nuthin’,” BA says, standing now. “Face...”
“BA, all we’re trying to say that we’re a team. A team. All four of us, and we don’t want you to feel like...”
“No. No I don’t.” He says it as firmly as he can. “No. It ain’t natural, man.”
“BA, that’s not really fair, is it?” And that’s Hannibal, stepping forward to put a hand on Murdock’s shoulder. “All Face is trying to say is...”
The corporal holds up a big hand against the barrage of insanity being hurtled at him right now. “I ain’t sayin I gots somethin’ against it, just ain’t for me.”
There’s a silence, and then Face huffs a little, in disappointment, or maybe, BA thinks uncharitably, because he’s upset about gettin’ turned down. Probably doesn’t happen all that often. “Okay, man,” Face replies and spreads his hands on his lap, looking down at his cuticles. “Well, that’s...it’s on the table, if you ever want it.”
“You guys like family,” BA grunts, admitting the truth grudgingly, grudgingly only, and stutters through the rest. “But I ain’t...I gots...I gots somewhere I was gonna be tonight, and y’all wanted...I think I gonna go.”
“We understand, Bosco,” Hannibal tells him, and BA realizes then that the boss is literally holding Murdock down. That the fool hasn’t said a word through this whole awkward thing and he’s starting to fidget.
And that’s almost enough to get him to stay. Almost enough. Because there’s something about Murdock that cues up every one of BA’s protective instincts. Every. Single. Time. No matter how annoying he is, no matter what he’s doing, when he gets bad, when something’s bothering him, when something’s wrong fr him, BA has this urge to pick him up and carry him away from it all. Like...like a puppy, he usually thinks. But, the way the pilot looks right now...
“Goddamn officers,” BA growls over his own rising, and stalks out of the tent. in the desert night He’s got friends in other units, friends who don’t ask him to join in their threesome gay sex thing, friends who understand that nature made places where a guy’s dick is naturally supposed to go and there ain’t nothing wrong with...
“Bosco, stop!”
That grates on him, his hated first name, and BA halts, just as he’s rounding the corner of Murdock’s grill, out to freedom. “Whaddaya want, fool?”
“Where are you goin’, Bosco?”
The pilot’s in front of him, eyes flashing in the falling darkness. They’re on the edge of camp here, and the sandbags are at least six feet high and the nearest floodlight is far away. BA suddenly feels trapped.
Very, very trapped.
“Out,” he says flatly, and makes for the exit.
Murdock blocks him. “Out where, BA?”
“Just out, fool!” he snaps.
But there’s a hand on his chest and he can’t move away from that. “Out where?” Murdock asks again, and there’s an underlying sadness there that finds a crck in his armor and cuts to his heart. “Ain’t we good enough?”
“Murdock...” and he sighs. “Murdock, look, I told you, I ain’t got nuthin’ against it, but it...”
“Ain’t natural?” Murdock edges closer, and BA can feel his heart starting to speed. “What ain’t natural, Bosco? The fact that we’re all men and we’re all together ‘round you?”
Damn, is the fool going to throw that at him? BA runs a hand up against the bare skin below his mohawk. “No, man, that ain’t...”
“Is it the fact that we fuck, then?” Murdock’s mouth turns up a bit, expression hardening, as he says it.
And BA doesn’t know what to say to that at all.
Murdock, though, Murdock nods. And the corporal braces himself, waiting for the sound and the thunder, the madness to descend. Like he always does when he gets upset.
But those sea-green eyes are clear tonight, almost frighteningly so, and BA finds himself shieing away as that hand on his chest runs around to his neck. “Or is it that we make love, Bosco? That we open ourselves and let somebody else in? Isn’t that what really scares you? Lettin’ someone in? After Mexico...”
Murdock’s closer, a lot closer, closer with every passing second.
“Murdock, man...” he warns, but the words hitch in his throat.
“Dontcha wanna know, Bosco?” Murdock slides his other arm around BA’s shoulders. “Dontcha wanna feel it, too?”
Despite himself, BA finds himself sliding a hand up that arm, feeling muscle and rough hair where there’s normally only milky-soft skin, and a little voice in the back of his mind asks him, what’s the difference, really, Bosco?
What makes this any different?
“I...” he stammers, and then tenses up, Murdock pulling him in to a proper hug now, the more-than-faint press of the other man’s hard cock to his thigh something his brain doesn’t want to process. “Murdock, I can’t just swi..”
“You love me, Bosco?” Murdock asks then, laying his cheek on the corporal’s broad shoulder. “Do you love us?”
“Murdock, jeez, you...you know I...” but he trails off, not able to say anything more. Of course he loves them. He loves his teammates. He does. But...but is this something he can do? This part, right here? The physical part?
He doesn’t know that. Not at all. But here Murdock is, embracing him. Here he is, embracing right back. And BA does know, in his heart of hearts, that no woman, no lover, has ever felt this right.
Not once.
And then, right as he’s thinking that, their captain breaks his heart.
“Please...” Murdock whispers into his shoulder. “Please, big guy. I want you. I need you with us. We ain’t complete without you there, too. Please, please, please come home to us tonight...”
He shudders, and thinks, and nuzzles the dark hair at the nape of Murdock’s neck as he tries to come up with some kind of answer. But his defenses are gone. There’s no way to withstand this assault...
...and he’s not sure he even wants to...
So...
“Okay,” he whispers, before he even really knows what he’s saying. “Okay, but...but jus’ tonight, okay? And nuthin’ happens. No sex...anything.” Murdock’s fingers tighten round him. “I ain’t comfortable with the thought of Hannibal...like he does y’all...”
It’s all he gets out, because the next thing he knows is that Murdock’s lips are on his own, a sloppy pantomine of a kiss that still sends sparks clean through him, and the whoop of joy Murdock lets out is probably heard over half the camp; all of it, the pilot switching sweet for manic in an instant, like only he can do.
So despite his best efforts, BA is actually chuckling by the time they get back inside the tent, and Murdock is bouncing in his arms. Faceman’s right there, smiling in relief, and as Murdock throws himself around the lieutenant, babbling in French again, BA finds himself kissed once again, Face’s perfect lips against his own.
“Love you, buddy,” Face whispers, and BA’s not sure if that’s meant for him or Murdock.
But it doesn’t matter, because Murdock’s got Face dragged over to Hannibal’s extra-wide pallet and laid down in a heart beat, the two of them tangled up, necking like teenagers on curfew. BA stares for a moment, the sight not something he’s used to seeing - they typically aren’t this forward when it’s just him around.
“Beautiful together, aren’t they, Bosco?” Hannibal asks conversationally, and lays an arm around his shoulders, hugging the corporal into his side. “But then, it looks even better when they’re both naked.”
BA feels a flush coming on, and thank god his skin’s dark enough to hide it. “Bossman, I...”
“John,” Hannibal corrects firmly, and before BA can ask what they do now, those blue eyes fix on his own dark ones and he’s being kissed once more.
It’s not like Murdock’s overture, this kiss, or Face’s peck of gratitude. No, this is a commitment, a promise, a demand, an explanation...everything, everything in one gesture, and for a moment, BA can feel himself almost quail at the enormity of what Hannibal’s putting in to this. It ain’t casual. It ain’t something he can opt out of later.
He’s here tonight.
But boss means to keep him.
He’s just about to pull away, run away, overwhelmed, utterly confused. Just once, just this once, to show Murdock that he's willing to try. He doesn't know if he's enjoying this, if he can enjoy this, if...
Then Murdock touches his shoulder and kisses him, right behind his ear, and whispers, “see, Bosco, you're home here.“
And, at that, something breaks open inside of him, like a dam shattering, everything rushing out all at once, and everything resembling better sense is washed away in the deluge.
He throws both big arms around Hannibal’s neck and kisses him back as hard as he can and Hannibal growls in response and Murdock wraps around behind him and Face’s hand dives between them. And BA decides, right then and there, that if this is the only night he’s gonna be with his fool teammates like this, he sure as hell is gonna make it count.
+++++
+++++
Hannibal wakes first.
He always wakes first. A lifetime of Army living can’t be erased by a few years on the run, so early morning is it. He doesn’t mind. He loves the way this time of day feels, the softness of waking to it, the cool breeze from the open windows, the way the light plays across his boys.
All of them.
Their big house and big bed in the big house they’ve been scamming. It’s some bank holding os something like that Face thinks he might have a way to buy it through some holding corporation, untraceable, so they can stay.
So we can have a home, he’d said.
But that’s not where home is, Hannibal knows. Not really. Home is right here. Back in each other’s arms. Back with each other. Making love, sharing everything, falling asleep and waking together again, into this sanctuary they’ve created for themselves. The way they’ve been since Murdock had sweet-talked BA into their tent and into their bed that first night, or last night, depending on how one looked at it. Since finding Murdock at the foot of their bed one night. Since he’d brought Face back to his apartment and kissed him in the winter cold.
His boys. He loves them so. Loves how they love him. Loves how they love each other, all three of them together. Loves them each, loves them all, the very center of everything in his life...
Face is chest to chest with him, holding on to him, arm thrown over his waits, snugged in tight, like he’s still the scared boy he was fifteen years. Face had been beautiful, their first night together. Shivering and tired and alone, he’d drawn Hannibal in, the older man curious about the sadness he sensed there. But Face had warmed him through, the young man ebullient the first time they’d kissed, sated and sleepy, tangled together in bed.
He’d been so sweet back then, so unsure of himself in so many ways, so eager for everything Hannibal taught him, and the former colonel loves seeing him like this. He can still see that boy he’d taken into his bed for the first time, whenever Face sleeps. He’ll never forget it, the contentment he’d seen on the kid’s face, in the kid’s body, those blue eyes shining at him with a kind of awe...
Murdock’s breath wuffs over his neck, soft and hot, loose limbs wrapped around his back like a living blanket.
Hannibal loves the gentleness in this man; under the layers of play-acting and comic books and mental fractures, there’s a beautiful creature. One he’s grateful for every day. Hannibal runs his hand into the soft one that’s laying on the rise of his hip, and strokes his fingers across it. The wuffing on his neck turns into a sigh, one that Hannibal feels, all the way down into his heart. Murdock might love his freedom in the sky, but down here on earth, he likes to be grounded, held still, held certain.
He’d been a joy, the first time he woke in bed with them. So relieved that he hadn’t hallucinated the whole night, their words of love to him. He’d let Face prep him, begged for it, actually. The two of them whispered to each other the whole time, kissing lazily as Face stretched him wide, wide, wide. And he’d laid back against Face, back to chest, spread out in his best friend’s lap, Face’s hands holding back his knees as Hannibal took him for the first time.
Which is why BA is slotted up right behind him, spooned tight behind, holding him, grounding him with all his strength. BA is the same asleep as he is awake, strong and present, a force to be reckoned with.
BA had needed the most convincing, though, the most patience, but he’d been worth it. More than worth it. The corporal had been nervous, almost scared, that night. Jumpy. But Murdock and Face had been gentle with him. Stripped him gently, laid him down gently, kissed and licked and touched gently, and generally melted him through. Watching them both bring him off for the first time, those dark hands urging Murdock further down on his cock, that deep baritone gasping as Face slipped a finger inside of him, clutching his shoulder and whispering to him how amazing he felt. Only after he’d come for the first time had Hannibal moved in, laid his claim with an unyielding kiss, and to his amazement, to his everlasting amazement, BA opened to it, welcomed it. Just as he has every time since.
Each of them, secure in the knowledge that he belongs.
His boys. He loves them so. Loves how they love him. Loves how they love each other, all three of them together. Loves them each, loves them all, the very center of everything in his life...
Hannibal touches each of them gently, remembering their words to him on countless occasions.
I never knew, guys, I never knew...
I didn’t know the dream could to turn to real life...
You all make me complete...
And, as if he knows he’s being dreamed about, adored, cherished, that sweet boy in his arms stirs.
“Good morning, John,” his Face says gently, lifting his chin as he slides up for a kiss. “How’d you sleep?”
Hannibal runs a hand into the kid’s soft caramel locks, and presses their mouths together, thinking about the answer to that question. They’re all safe. Nobody’s nursing injuries. There’s no hint of Decker on their tail. The last job set them up well for a few months...
“Mm, here with us and you still can’t turn that brain off?” Face murmurs, breaking the kiss and laying an easy hand on Hannibal’s chest. “I must be doing something wrong...”
“You’re doing nothing wrong, sweetheart,” Hannibal replies, plucking up that hand and placing a kiss in the center of the palm. Face shudders and bucks forward into him, and it’s then that the colonel realizes he’s got morning wood...
...and so do his boys.
“Well,” Face chuckles, and leans in to nip lightly at his neck, grabbing his waist and tugging him down, “when you put it like that...”
It’s Hannibal’s turn to groan, and he slides down, away from Murdock, onto his back on the oversized mattress. Groaning in pleasure as his boy slings a leg over his, jamming up over him, kissing him, little happy noises escaping him as he...
“Look like you two havin’ a real good time there by your fool selves.”
It’s BA, and Face breaks off, winking at the colonel as he slides back to sit back over his thighs. The corporal is watching them over the top of Murdock’s shoulder, the pilot grinning like a loon.
“You two look so purty together, Faceman,” he drawls in an exaggerated accent. “’Specially you. Cute as a button...”
“Mornin’, buddy,” Face says and hops over Hannibal’s body, wrapping a hand under Murdock’s back, urging him up and then they’re falling into each other, kissing hard.
Hannibal smiles and scoots back, meeting BA’s eyes over their lovers, tangling and kissing and whispering and giggling like children, sweet, sweet sounds, lost in each other, playful as always.
“Think they’ve forgotten us?” Hannibal asks, playing his fingers down Face’s upcurved spine even as he talks to their youngest member.
BA shakes his head back, smiling ruefully. “Don’t know, man. I ain’t got no kiss yet this mornin’...”
“Oh, quit your bitching and c’mere,” Face says suddenly, panting a little and pulling up to wrap an arm around BA’s neck. He just barely pecks him on the cheek, and smiles broadly. “Good morning to you too.”
BA chuckles and lays a hand on the small of Face’s back. “Don’t know why I put up with you, man.”
“Cause you know you aren’t gettin’ ass this good anywhere else in the world,” Murdock chimes in, and slaps Face lightly on one naked cheek. The lieutenant gasps, and BA takes the opportunity to plunder his mouth, hauling him close, hugging him tight.
But Murdock’s still got a hold of one of Face’s thighs and arms, so the kiss turns into a tug-o-war that quickly devolves further into a laughing pile of flying limbs as his boys try their damndest to taste as much skin as possible.
There’s no better sight in the world, the three of them together. Face’s tan, classical lines again BA’s dark, strongly muscled form, Murdock’s lithe body pale between them. He loves watching them like that, playing, driving each other higher and higher, pulling up to the peak, always stopping just shy of it, waiting for him, bidding him come closer, come to them...
Hannibal just lies back, watching the little threeway make-out session, stroking himself into full hardness. God, he loves them like this, free and careless and open, all the darkness of their current lives banished far, far away, all those sexy, arousing noises drowning out any other concerns but their need for each other, the scent of them starting to heat, starting to rise, starting to...
He growls involuntarily then, hand on his cock, and they all stop to look at him. Big, mock-innocent eyes. Like so many puppies, Hannibal thinks, and then Face grin at him.
“Would you like us, John? All three of us? Spread out, ready for the taking...”
Hannibal smiles back even as his brain hitches on that wonderful image, and kisses the nearest shoulder to him, scraping teeth, just a bit, as he pulls away again. Murdock, it turns out, who moans happily. “I love you boys,” he tells them, and reaches over to stroke BA’s arm. “The lube’s in the drawer on your side, baby. I’ll let you prep...”
BA’s eyes go dark with lust, and a shiver runs through Murdock and into Face, and right back into Murdock as the two boys start kissing anew, pulling BA over them.
Exactly where they should be, the place they’ve been moving towards from the very first. Coming together, Hannibal thinks, and starts laughing at his own terrible pun as he moves in to take his place among them.
As three sets of hands reach up to welcome him home.
