Little Spoon
Nov. 28th, 2011 10:18 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sonora_conejaPairing: Face/Hannibal
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: shameless smut
Summary:
Inspired by a conversation over the meme about how Rangers, as part of winter survival training, have to learn how to spoon. Face is not happy about the prospect. At all.
“What did you say, soldier?”
Hannibal catches that angry edge in the instructor’s voice and instantly knows what he’s going to see if he looks over to that side of the classroom.
“I didn’t say anything, sergeant.”
And yeah, there it is, Lieutenant Peck, Faceman, that hilarious, gorgeous, infuriating, baby Ranger, three months out of Ranger School, out here in Washington State for his first round of winter survival training. Part of the same class that Hannibal unit is going through right now as a refresher. The kid’s a brat, and a scam artist who’s obviously used to talking anybody into or out of anything, which explains how he’s been able to get away with being a brat this long. Hannibal hasn’t seen much out of him, but then, they’ve only had five days of classroom instruction together so far.
Still, he hasn’t seen the kid actually mouth off. So this is...
“I heard you, lieutenant. What’d you just whisper to Captain Irwin there?”
Hannibal’s got a decent angle on the kid from where he's sitting, and can see his shoulders scrunch up a bit, like he’s embarrassed. Not that that reflects in his words at all as he answers smoothly, “we were discussing the logistics of that one training item you had just mentioned. Are we not allowed to discuss training in training class?”
Little smartass, Hannibal thinks, smiling a little, and a couple of the younger guys in the room chuckle a little. But their instructor doesn’t seem too keen on it.
“No, Lieutenant Peck, you were expressing an opinion on a training objective. Why don’t you share that opinion with the class?”
Peck’s body language is definitely, albeit subtly, nervous, but he still throws a big grin - to cover, Hannibal thinks - and points at the slide up on the screen right now. “Isn’t that, like, really super illegal in the military?”
Hannibal glances back up at the slide himself. They’re on hypothermia right now and... oh.
Oh.
“That,” the instructor growls, nodding back at the photograph of two men in a sleeping bag, “is a time-tested and highly effective method for preventing heat loss in a combat situation...”
“No, that is gay. Like homosexual gay. Like, really, really homosexual.”
The kid pulls out every syllable as he says it for the second time. Ho-mo-SEXX-su-al. Half of the room’s laughing now, including Hannibal, who can’t help but chuckle a little at the self-satisfied grin on the kid’s face as he keeps it up, the look of fury on their instructor.
“This is survival training, lieutenant. Are you refusing training?”
“Motherfucker, spooning another man in my tighty-whities wasn’t in the brochure, you get your man card pulled for that...”
“Brochure? Lieutenant Peck, respectfully sir, I would fuckin’ remind you that in combat situations...”
“So all the gay sex happens in combat? Fuck, no wonder everybody’s pissed off during wars...”
And now the entire room is laughing, including Hannibal, who’s still watching the kid, who’s more nervous than when he started, despite that grin and that cocky arm thrown over the back of his chair. What’s that about, the older officer wonders. Could that be the normal homophobia all the younger boys seem to find so goddamn fashionable? Or could it be a man trying to cover something up?
Hmm...
The sergeant’s looking pretty frustrated by now, and he throws Hannibal a little sideways glare, like help me the fuck out here, please, sir, and that’s when Hannibal stops chuckling and clears his throat.
That’s when the rest of the room shuts the fuck up. Immediately. And all eyes, including Peck’s, are on Hannibal now.
He grins. “Don’t worry, sergeant. The el-tee’s not refusing training. I’ll guarantee that myself.”
The sergeant nods, and goes back to the lesson about how skin to skin contact is the best ward against hypothermia and the bags they will be using for training are rated to 35 below, and everybody goes back to paying attention to it all.
Except for Peck. Who’s somewhere between shock and a pout, still looking over at Hannibal, and the older man just smiles back at him. Three weeks with that brat in a sleeping bag with him. Every night.
He’s not sure if he should be nervous or ecstatic about that. But damn, the kid is cute when he’s angry, isn’t he?
+++++
“I’m not doing it.”
“Wrong answer, el-tee. Try it again.”
“I’m not doing it...sir.”
Hannibal sizes the defiant brat up in the dim light of his small flashlight, in the dull interior of their little tent. Peck’s been better today on the march up here than he thought the kid would be, somewhat less of a joker, a hundred times more professional than his classroom demeanor would have suggested. He’d thought that was going to be a good sign for the el-tee actually being cooperative on this issue tonight. But no. Here he is, fully clothed, right down to his sweaty socks that are going to cause him some problems if he doesn’t get them off soon, shivering in the cold of their little survival tent, as far away from the sleeping bag and Hannibal as he can get.
Hannibal, who’s already neatly folded up all his own clothing in the bottom of the sleeping bag. Already burrowed down into the wonderful synthetic down, the material of the bag smooth against his bare skin. And fuck, it’s cold and he’s tired he wants to get zipped up and go to sleep, and not deal with this kid’s irritating little personal objections that really aren’t so cute right now, even if he himself still is as gorgeous as he was clean and showered and bored in that classroom...
“I’m not going to bite, kid,” Hannibal says, trying not to think about how Peck’s going to look naked.
The look on Peck’s face is pure pain. “Sir...” he whines.
“In,” Hannibal orders, “or you can freeze your ass off. The tent’s only going to keep the wind out, not the cold, and we’ve only got the one bag. You can either let me spoon you, or you can die. Those are your options.”
And with that, Hannibal turns away from his surly charge to burrow down deeper into the bag, switching his flashlight off as he does so, tucking it into his bundle of clothes. There’s no way Peck’s going to to be stupid enough to not get in the bag. Not with the temperature dropping like it is already, not with as cold as it’s going to get tonight.
Still, the el-tee lasts longer than Hannibal would have believed. Almost twenty minutes, almost dozing off, before the older man feels the tap on his shoulder through the bag, and feels a rush of cold air as the kid lifts the edge.
“Sir, I...”
Hannibal can’t see him in the dark, but it sounds like he’s shivering pretty bad. “Get in,” he says as kindly as he can and scoots back to give the kid plenty of room, relieved that Peck’s not going to make this more difficult than it needs to be.
A relief that’s shattered, the second Hannibal feels the soft, slightly damp cotton of thermals brush against him as the kid settles awkwardly in.
“You still have your clothes on, Peck?”
“Umm... yeah.”
He thinks about that for a second, if this should just be a victory for tonight, getting Peck in the sleeping bag with him at all, and work on the rest later. But no, it is legitimately important that the kid have as much off as possible, because yeah, heat transfer is key here, and the tends to be interrupted by clothing, so...
...so Hannibal isn’t thinking about bare, tanned skin at all when he slides his fingers around that damp inner thermal long-sleeved t-shirt and lifts.
“Jesus,” Peck sputters in the tight confines of the sleeping bag. “What the fuck are you doing?”
“Clothes off, kid, and since you didn’t do it before you got in, I’m going to have to help.”
“But...”
“It’s how this works, Peck.”
There’s a moment of silence, and then the kid grunts a little. “Fine. But not the briefs, okay?”
“You can keep your underwear, kid,” Hannibal tells him, rolling his eyes despite the lack of light. They’re quiet for a little while after that, as Face wriggles and squirms out of his tight-fitting thermal pants and shirt and socks. Hannibal stuffs all of it down towards the foot of the bag and stretches up a little, reaching out for Face, who’s basically plastered himself against the zipper.
“Come here, kid.”
“Not a chance.”
Hannibal sighs and reaches out, laying a hand on the younger officer’s abs to scoop him back.
It gets more of a reaction than he’s expecting.
Peck thrashes out, protesting with an angry series of little twists and jerks to Hannibal’s attempts to grab hold of him. Like a kitten having a fit at being picked up, almost. Adorable. And kind of funny.
It’s moving the tent, though, and Hannibal does not want to risk having one of the stays pop loose and have to go outside and fix the damn thing. So he finally grabs a wrist and gets a firm grip on the kid’s stomach - which is hard and flat and perfectly muscled and not something he’s going to think about, at all right now - and slams the kid back against him.
And, true to Hannibal’s mental image of a grumpy little kitten, the kid damn near mewls in protest. “What the fuck are you doing?”
“Calm down, kid. Gotta touch or the heat transfer doesn’t work,” Hannibal says, securing his hold on the lieutenant, hand secure on the kid’s warm belly, that other sliding up to hold him around his shoulders. Back to chest now. This is good, the older man thinks. This is really good. The warmth on the Peck’s skin, the smell of him, how soft his skin is... he swallows it down and tries not to think about the last time he was with a man. This would be a really bad time to get a hard-on. Kid’s freaked enough as it is. Stiff and tight as a board.
“Colonel Smith?” the lieutenant asks at length.
“It’s just Hannibal, Peck.”
“Face.”
“What?”
“It’s Face, Hannibal.” There’s a tease there, but it’s the same one from the classroom, the kid trying to cover up his nervousness.
“Okay, Face, what is it?”
“Are you... umm... are you rubbing my belly?”
Shit. Is he? Shit, he is. But the kid didn’t tell him to stop, sounded more confused than angry, so Hannibal decides to take that chance. Leans his head forward a little, so his forehead is touching the back of Face’s neck, and spreads his fingers wide across the kid’s quivering abs, pressing in lightly. “Is that a problem, lieutenant?”
Face shudders a little, and arches back against him, body still tense but relaxing a bit now. “Umm, it feels... feels good, Hannibal.”
Hannibal closes his eyes, and hopes to hell that the little undercurrent of what he’s hearing there is what he thinks it is. He takes another chance. “You like the way it feels, Face?”
“...y-yeah, yes sir...”
“Shh, you don’t have to sir me right now,” Hannibal replies, and trails his fingers down Face’s chest softly. “Does that feel good too? Nice and warm?
Face’s breath hitches as Hannibal’s questing fingers accidently catch a nipple. “Is...is that part of the whole heat-exchange thing, sir?”
Hannibal nuzzles the back of his neck, inhaling deeply. He can’t help it. The kid just smells too goddamn good. “Part of getting you to loosen up, kid,” he whispers, fingers continuing to ghost over the younger man’s body, soothing and gentle as he can make it, warming the chill off all that smooth, soft skin. “You can’t sleep like this.”
“I...” and the kid drops his head to his arm, away from Hannibal, even as his body is melting under those light ministrations. “I...I don’t normally sleep with other people.”
“Not even girls?” Hannibal asks, scooting closer, canting his hips back as his cock starts taking a definite interest in the kid. Fuck. He really doesn’t want to just molest him, he doesn’t, but...
Face chuckles a little, a nervous sound, and then whines as he says, “n-no...”
“Does it not feel good?” Hannibal asks, trying to be teasing, having it come out husky instead.
Double fuck.
“Feels...feels warm, sir,” Face says, that same defiance from the classroom in his words now, but he’s starting to squirm again.
“That’s the whole point, kid,” he says, stopping his hands now, pulling back to the safe harbor of Face’s hip. He really doesn’t want the kid to freak and bolt and have to talk him back in here, not when it’s that fucking cold outside...
...but he accidently brushes too far down even as he’s trying to stop.
And Face groans, loud and embarrassed.
Hannibal stops there, hip forgotten, everything suddenly very far away, the world narrowing to that pulsing heat his hand has just found.
Oh.
Ohh...
It’s too delicious a find to go unexploited. So Hannibal grins wide, and presses down on that raging erection none too gently. “You hard, kid?”
“Fuck, sir, I...”
He kisses the back of his neck, just the faintest press of lips and the barest scrape of teeth, and savors the full-body shudder it gets from the young man in his arms. “You hard for me?” he asks, feigning innocence.
“I... I can’t help it!” the kid protests, squirming again, trying to get away. “The way you’re fucking touching me...”
“Most boys would have hit me by now. But I don’t think you want to,” Hannibal points out, and uses that hand on the kid’s groin - and fuck, is his cock twitching in there? - to pull Face back against his own hard-on. “I think you want me to touch you.”
“Sir!”
“Hannibal,” the older officer reminds, and kisses his neck again. “Is that what your little display in the classroom was about, Face? Scared the other boys were gonna mark you as gay?”
“Bi, I’m bi,” the kid says defensively, and it sounds like he’s struggling to breath, even as his hips are moving ever so slightly back against Hannibal’s, trapping his erection in the warm slide of damp cotton briefs. “I’m not gay.”
“Shh, Face, it’s okay,” Hannibal tells him. “I’m not going to start questioning your manliness or fitness as a Ranger or report you or anything like that.”
The kid whimpers as the older man’s cock, still trapped in his own underwear, press into the crease of his ass. “No, I... oh, fuck...”
Ah, Hannibal thinks, and starts rubbing the kid’s cock through his underwear. “You were afraid this was going to happen, weren’t you? That you’d get hard?”
“I can’t help it,” he says again, and then grabs Hannibal’s arm, fingers digging in. The older officer thinks, for a disappointing moment, that the kid’s going to tell him to stop, but... “Oh, fuck,” he gasps. “Oh, god, Hannibal...”
“I can help it,” the colonel chuckles, and nibbles at the kid’s earlobe as he shifts them both in the tight, heating confines of the sleeping bag, gaining a better angle to dip his hand into Face’s underwear, savoring the feel of all that hot flesh. “Want me to help it, kid?”
There’s nothing for a moment, not even as he finds that thick, pulsing vein on the underside and traces its length with his thumb. And then, as Hannibal’s fingers twist around the head of the kid’s cock, pulling off lightly and pushing back down, gathering the growing wetness from the tip on the way, smoothing the movement, Face finally gasps out an answer.
“Y-yeah...”
“Sweet boy,” Hannibal murmurs, kissing the back of his neck, tasting the gathering sweat, and fishes up his own inner shirt with his toes, even as he pulls the kid completely free of the confines of his briefs.
There’s not enough room in the sleeping bag to really do this properly, to spread Face out and kiss him the way he needs to be kissed, to take all that hot, heavy flesh into his own mouth and give him the blowjob of his young life, to look in those blue eyes, dark and heated with lust, as the taste of him explodes on his tongue.
So Hannibal does the next best thing; pushes his own underwear down and slides his cock up between the kid’s ass cheeks and grinds into him, nudges that shirt into position, wraps one hand around the kid’s rock-hard erection and another around his chin, urging him back for an awkward, barely-there kiss as he works them both to completion. It’s hot and dirty and too, too fast, the kid spilling into his shirt and his own climax splattering across the kid’s back, their breaths loud in the insulation of the sleeping bag as they recover, the smell of their combined sex overwhelming and heady and delicious.
As Face continues to pant his way through it, Hannibal wipes them both down and pulls underwear back up and reaches around the el-tee to unzip the bag, toss the soiled shirt out into their little survival tent. The rush of freezing air is a bit of a shock, but where Face yelps a little and flattens back against Hannibal, Hannibal finds himself savoring it for a moment, letting the strongest of those scents out, before zipping them in together again.
And best of all, he now has the kid’s pliant, warm body fully against his own. His to hold and spoon and cuddle and sleep against. Fuck, it’s been far too long since he got to sleep with another man like this...
“Fuck,” the kid says, fingers clenching around where Hannibal’s are resting on his chest. “You weren’t kidding about fucking dying out there.”
“No...”
“Thanks,” Face says quietly, and settles into Hannibal’s arms, cushioning his head on the older man’s bicep. “And thanks for, you know, the handjob.”
“I won’t even take your man card in exchange for it,” the colonel teases with a yawn. He can feel that heavy, sated sleep stealing over him, and who cares if they’ve got a ten mile walk through the snow tomorrow, if he gets to have this tonight, and tomorrow night, and every fucking night they’re out here. “Whatever the hell a man card is.”
Face makes a noise that can only be described as a giggle, and Hannibal chuckles a little in response.
“Enjoying survival training yet, kid?”
“Fuckin’ A, sir,” the kid yawns, and twists a little to kiss him again, trying to get his body around for it.
But Hannibal, after giving him a few seconds of that kiss - and jesus, it is not fair, at all, that this boy tastes as good as he does - slaps that perfect ass lightly, and turns him around again. “Spooning, lieutenant,” he orders, not quite keeping the humor out of his voice. “We’re supposed to be teaching you how to spoon.”
Face makes a little muttered protest, fighting sleep to put in one more bratty comment before bed, but the day and the orgasm and the cold just beyond an inch of synthetic down loft are fast catching up with him, and he’s asleep before he can form anything coherent.
Hannibal, however, stays awake for a few more minutes, the beginnings of a Plan starting to ferment in his mind. This kid...he doesn’t have a real unit yet, right? Still in training? Still yet to be assigned to anyone?
Oh... oh yes. Oh yes. This could work out damn perfect.
He kisses the back of the sleeping lieutenant’s neck one more time, closes his eyes, and dreams about having one Lieutenant Peck in his unit.
In his sleeping bag. On every deployment he ever has again. His little spoon. Right where he damn well belongs.
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: shameless smut
Summary:
Inspired by a conversation over the meme about how Rangers, as part of winter survival training, have to learn how to spoon. Face is not happy about the prospect. At all.
“What did you say, soldier?”
Hannibal catches that angry edge in the instructor’s voice and instantly knows what he’s going to see if he looks over to that side of the classroom.
“I didn’t say anything, sergeant.”
And yeah, there it is, Lieutenant Peck, Faceman, that hilarious, gorgeous, infuriating, baby Ranger, three months out of Ranger School, out here in Washington State for his first round of winter survival training. Part of the same class that Hannibal unit is going through right now as a refresher. The kid’s a brat, and a scam artist who’s obviously used to talking anybody into or out of anything, which explains how he’s been able to get away with being a brat this long. Hannibal hasn’t seen much out of him, but then, they’ve only had five days of classroom instruction together so far.
Still, he hasn’t seen the kid actually mouth off. So this is...
“I heard you, lieutenant. What’d you just whisper to Captain Irwin there?”
Hannibal’s got a decent angle on the kid from where he's sitting, and can see his shoulders scrunch up a bit, like he’s embarrassed. Not that that reflects in his words at all as he answers smoothly, “we were discussing the logistics of that one training item you had just mentioned. Are we not allowed to discuss training in training class?”
Little smartass, Hannibal thinks, smiling a little, and a couple of the younger guys in the room chuckle a little. But their instructor doesn’t seem too keen on it.
“No, Lieutenant Peck, you were expressing an opinion on a training objective. Why don’t you share that opinion with the class?”
Peck’s body language is definitely, albeit subtly, nervous, but he still throws a big grin - to cover, Hannibal thinks - and points at the slide up on the screen right now. “Isn’t that, like, really super illegal in the military?”
Hannibal glances back up at the slide himself. They’re on hypothermia right now and... oh.
Oh.
“That,” the instructor growls, nodding back at the photograph of two men in a sleeping bag, “is a time-tested and highly effective method for preventing heat loss in a combat situation...”
“No, that is gay. Like homosexual gay. Like, really, really homosexual.”
The kid pulls out every syllable as he says it for the second time. Ho-mo-SEXX-su-al. Half of the room’s laughing now, including Hannibal, who can’t help but chuckle a little at the self-satisfied grin on the kid’s face as he keeps it up, the look of fury on their instructor.
“This is survival training, lieutenant. Are you refusing training?”
“Motherfucker, spooning another man in my tighty-whities wasn’t in the brochure, you get your man card pulled for that...”
“Brochure? Lieutenant Peck, respectfully sir, I would fuckin’ remind you that in combat situations...”
“So all the gay sex happens in combat? Fuck, no wonder everybody’s pissed off during wars...”
And now the entire room is laughing, including Hannibal, who’s still watching the kid, who’s more nervous than when he started, despite that grin and that cocky arm thrown over the back of his chair. What’s that about, the older officer wonders. Could that be the normal homophobia all the younger boys seem to find so goddamn fashionable? Or could it be a man trying to cover something up?
Hmm...
The sergeant’s looking pretty frustrated by now, and he throws Hannibal a little sideways glare, like help me the fuck out here, please, sir, and that’s when Hannibal stops chuckling and clears his throat.
That’s when the rest of the room shuts the fuck up. Immediately. And all eyes, including Peck’s, are on Hannibal now.
He grins. “Don’t worry, sergeant. The el-tee’s not refusing training. I’ll guarantee that myself.”
The sergeant nods, and goes back to the lesson about how skin to skin contact is the best ward against hypothermia and the bags they will be using for training are rated to 35 below, and everybody goes back to paying attention to it all.
Except for Peck. Who’s somewhere between shock and a pout, still looking over at Hannibal, and the older man just smiles back at him. Three weeks with that brat in a sleeping bag with him. Every night.
He’s not sure if he should be nervous or ecstatic about that. But damn, the kid is cute when he’s angry, isn’t he?
+++++
“I’m not doing it.”
“Wrong answer, el-tee. Try it again.”
“I’m not doing it...sir.”
Hannibal sizes the defiant brat up in the dim light of his small flashlight, in the dull interior of their little tent. Peck’s been better today on the march up here than he thought the kid would be, somewhat less of a joker, a hundred times more professional than his classroom demeanor would have suggested. He’d thought that was going to be a good sign for the el-tee actually being cooperative on this issue tonight. But no. Here he is, fully clothed, right down to his sweaty socks that are going to cause him some problems if he doesn’t get them off soon, shivering in the cold of their little survival tent, as far away from the sleeping bag and Hannibal as he can get.
Hannibal, who’s already neatly folded up all his own clothing in the bottom of the sleeping bag. Already burrowed down into the wonderful synthetic down, the material of the bag smooth against his bare skin. And fuck, it’s cold and he’s tired he wants to get zipped up and go to sleep, and not deal with this kid’s irritating little personal objections that really aren’t so cute right now, even if he himself still is as gorgeous as he was clean and showered and bored in that classroom...
“I’m not going to bite, kid,” Hannibal says, trying not to think about how Peck’s going to look naked.
The look on Peck’s face is pure pain. “Sir...” he whines.
“In,” Hannibal orders, “or you can freeze your ass off. The tent’s only going to keep the wind out, not the cold, and we’ve only got the one bag. You can either let me spoon you, or you can die. Those are your options.”
And with that, Hannibal turns away from his surly charge to burrow down deeper into the bag, switching his flashlight off as he does so, tucking it into his bundle of clothes. There’s no way Peck’s going to to be stupid enough to not get in the bag. Not with the temperature dropping like it is already, not with as cold as it’s going to get tonight.
Still, the el-tee lasts longer than Hannibal would have believed. Almost twenty minutes, almost dozing off, before the older man feels the tap on his shoulder through the bag, and feels a rush of cold air as the kid lifts the edge.
“Sir, I...”
Hannibal can’t see him in the dark, but it sounds like he’s shivering pretty bad. “Get in,” he says as kindly as he can and scoots back to give the kid plenty of room, relieved that Peck’s not going to make this more difficult than it needs to be.
A relief that’s shattered, the second Hannibal feels the soft, slightly damp cotton of thermals brush against him as the kid settles awkwardly in.
“You still have your clothes on, Peck?”
“Umm... yeah.”
He thinks about that for a second, if this should just be a victory for tonight, getting Peck in the sleeping bag with him at all, and work on the rest later. But no, it is legitimately important that the kid have as much off as possible, because yeah, heat transfer is key here, and the tends to be interrupted by clothing, so...
...so Hannibal isn’t thinking about bare, tanned skin at all when he slides his fingers around that damp inner thermal long-sleeved t-shirt and lifts.
“Jesus,” Peck sputters in the tight confines of the sleeping bag. “What the fuck are you doing?”
“Clothes off, kid, and since you didn’t do it before you got in, I’m going to have to help.”
“But...”
“It’s how this works, Peck.”
There’s a moment of silence, and then the kid grunts a little. “Fine. But not the briefs, okay?”
“You can keep your underwear, kid,” Hannibal tells him, rolling his eyes despite the lack of light. They’re quiet for a little while after that, as Face wriggles and squirms out of his tight-fitting thermal pants and shirt and socks. Hannibal stuffs all of it down towards the foot of the bag and stretches up a little, reaching out for Face, who’s basically plastered himself against the zipper.
“Come here, kid.”
“Not a chance.”
Hannibal sighs and reaches out, laying a hand on the younger officer’s abs to scoop him back.
It gets more of a reaction than he’s expecting.
Peck thrashes out, protesting with an angry series of little twists and jerks to Hannibal’s attempts to grab hold of him. Like a kitten having a fit at being picked up, almost. Adorable. And kind of funny.
It’s moving the tent, though, and Hannibal does not want to risk having one of the stays pop loose and have to go outside and fix the damn thing. So he finally grabs a wrist and gets a firm grip on the kid’s stomach - which is hard and flat and perfectly muscled and not something he’s going to think about, at all right now - and slams the kid back against him.
And, true to Hannibal’s mental image of a grumpy little kitten, the kid damn near mewls in protest. “What the fuck are you doing?”
“Calm down, kid. Gotta touch or the heat transfer doesn’t work,” Hannibal says, securing his hold on the lieutenant, hand secure on the kid’s warm belly, that other sliding up to hold him around his shoulders. Back to chest now. This is good, the older man thinks. This is really good. The warmth on the Peck’s skin, the smell of him, how soft his skin is... he swallows it down and tries not to think about the last time he was with a man. This would be a really bad time to get a hard-on. Kid’s freaked enough as it is. Stiff and tight as a board.
“Colonel Smith?” the lieutenant asks at length.
“It’s just Hannibal, Peck.”
“Face.”
“What?”
“It’s Face, Hannibal.” There’s a tease there, but it’s the same one from the classroom, the kid trying to cover up his nervousness.
“Okay, Face, what is it?”
“Are you... umm... are you rubbing my belly?”
Shit. Is he? Shit, he is. But the kid didn’t tell him to stop, sounded more confused than angry, so Hannibal decides to take that chance. Leans his head forward a little, so his forehead is touching the back of Face’s neck, and spreads his fingers wide across the kid’s quivering abs, pressing in lightly. “Is that a problem, lieutenant?”
Face shudders a little, and arches back against him, body still tense but relaxing a bit now. “Umm, it feels... feels good, Hannibal.”
Hannibal closes his eyes, and hopes to hell that the little undercurrent of what he’s hearing there is what he thinks it is. He takes another chance. “You like the way it feels, Face?”
“...y-yeah, yes sir...”
“Shh, you don’t have to sir me right now,” Hannibal replies, and trails his fingers down Face’s chest softly. “Does that feel good too? Nice and warm?
Face’s breath hitches as Hannibal’s questing fingers accidently catch a nipple. “Is...is that part of the whole heat-exchange thing, sir?”
Hannibal nuzzles the back of his neck, inhaling deeply. He can’t help it. The kid just smells too goddamn good. “Part of getting you to loosen up, kid,” he whispers, fingers continuing to ghost over the younger man’s body, soothing and gentle as he can make it, warming the chill off all that smooth, soft skin. “You can’t sleep like this.”
“I...” and the kid drops his head to his arm, away from Hannibal, even as his body is melting under those light ministrations. “I...I don’t normally sleep with other people.”
“Not even girls?” Hannibal asks, scooting closer, canting his hips back as his cock starts taking a definite interest in the kid. Fuck. He really doesn’t want to just molest him, he doesn’t, but...
Face chuckles a little, a nervous sound, and then whines as he says, “n-no...”
“Does it not feel good?” Hannibal asks, trying to be teasing, having it come out husky instead.
Double fuck.
“Feels...feels warm, sir,” Face says, that same defiance from the classroom in his words now, but he’s starting to squirm again.
“That’s the whole point, kid,” he says, stopping his hands now, pulling back to the safe harbor of Face’s hip. He really doesn’t want the kid to freak and bolt and have to talk him back in here, not when it’s that fucking cold outside...
...but he accidently brushes too far down even as he’s trying to stop.
And Face groans, loud and embarrassed.
Hannibal stops there, hip forgotten, everything suddenly very far away, the world narrowing to that pulsing heat his hand has just found.
Oh.
Ohh...
It’s too delicious a find to go unexploited. So Hannibal grins wide, and presses down on that raging erection none too gently. “You hard, kid?”
“Fuck, sir, I...”
He kisses the back of his neck, just the faintest press of lips and the barest scrape of teeth, and savors the full-body shudder it gets from the young man in his arms. “You hard for me?” he asks, feigning innocence.
“I... I can’t help it!” the kid protests, squirming again, trying to get away. “The way you’re fucking touching me...”
“Most boys would have hit me by now. But I don’t think you want to,” Hannibal points out, and uses that hand on the kid’s groin - and fuck, is his cock twitching in there? - to pull Face back against his own hard-on. “I think you want me to touch you.”
“Sir!”
“Hannibal,” the older officer reminds, and kisses his neck again. “Is that what your little display in the classroom was about, Face? Scared the other boys were gonna mark you as gay?”
“Bi, I’m bi,” the kid says defensively, and it sounds like he’s struggling to breath, even as his hips are moving ever so slightly back against Hannibal’s, trapping his erection in the warm slide of damp cotton briefs. “I’m not gay.”
“Shh, Face, it’s okay,” Hannibal tells him. “I’m not going to start questioning your manliness or fitness as a Ranger or report you or anything like that.”
The kid whimpers as the older man’s cock, still trapped in his own underwear, press into the crease of his ass. “No, I... oh, fuck...”
Ah, Hannibal thinks, and starts rubbing the kid’s cock through his underwear. “You were afraid this was going to happen, weren’t you? That you’d get hard?”
“I can’t help it,” he says again, and then grabs Hannibal’s arm, fingers digging in. The older officer thinks, for a disappointing moment, that the kid’s going to tell him to stop, but... “Oh, fuck,” he gasps. “Oh, god, Hannibal...”
“I can help it,” the colonel chuckles, and nibbles at the kid’s earlobe as he shifts them both in the tight, heating confines of the sleeping bag, gaining a better angle to dip his hand into Face’s underwear, savoring the feel of all that hot flesh. “Want me to help it, kid?”
There’s nothing for a moment, not even as he finds that thick, pulsing vein on the underside and traces its length with his thumb. And then, as Hannibal’s fingers twist around the head of the kid’s cock, pulling off lightly and pushing back down, gathering the growing wetness from the tip on the way, smoothing the movement, Face finally gasps out an answer.
“Y-yeah...”
“Sweet boy,” Hannibal murmurs, kissing the back of his neck, tasting the gathering sweat, and fishes up his own inner shirt with his toes, even as he pulls the kid completely free of the confines of his briefs.
There’s not enough room in the sleeping bag to really do this properly, to spread Face out and kiss him the way he needs to be kissed, to take all that hot, heavy flesh into his own mouth and give him the blowjob of his young life, to look in those blue eyes, dark and heated with lust, as the taste of him explodes on his tongue.
So Hannibal does the next best thing; pushes his own underwear down and slides his cock up between the kid’s ass cheeks and grinds into him, nudges that shirt into position, wraps one hand around the kid’s rock-hard erection and another around his chin, urging him back for an awkward, barely-there kiss as he works them both to completion. It’s hot and dirty and too, too fast, the kid spilling into his shirt and his own climax splattering across the kid’s back, their breaths loud in the insulation of the sleeping bag as they recover, the smell of their combined sex overwhelming and heady and delicious.
As Face continues to pant his way through it, Hannibal wipes them both down and pulls underwear back up and reaches around the el-tee to unzip the bag, toss the soiled shirt out into their little survival tent. The rush of freezing air is a bit of a shock, but where Face yelps a little and flattens back against Hannibal, Hannibal finds himself savoring it for a moment, letting the strongest of those scents out, before zipping them in together again.
And best of all, he now has the kid’s pliant, warm body fully against his own. His to hold and spoon and cuddle and sleep against. Fuck, it’s been far too long since he got to sleep with another man like this...
“Fuck,” the kid says, fingers clenching around where Hannibal’s are resting on his chest. “You weren’t kidding about fucking dying out there.”
“No...”
“Thanks,” Face says quietly, and settles into Hannibal’s arms, cushioning his head on the older man’s bicep. “And thanks for, you know, the handjob.”
“I won’t even take your man card in exchange for it,” the colonel teases with a yawn. He can feel that heavy, sated sleep stealing over him, and who cares if they’ve got a ten mile walk through the snow tomorrow, if he gets to have this tonight, and tomorrow night, and every fucking night they’re out here. “Whatever the hell a man card is.”
Face makes a noise that can only be described as a giggle, and Hannibal chuckles a little in response.
“Enjoying survival training yet, kid?”
“Fuckin’ A, sir,” the kid yawns, and twists a little to kiss him again, trying to get his body around for it.
But Hannibal, after giving him a few seconds of that kiss - and jesus, it is not fair, at all, that this boy tastes as good as he does - slaps that perfect ass lightly, and turns him around again. “Spooning, lieutenant,” he orders, not quite keeping the humor out of his voice. “We’re supposed to be teaching you how to spoon.”
Face makes a little muttered protest, fighting sleep to put in one more bratty comment before bed, but the day and the orgasm and the cold just beyond an inch of synthetic down loft are fast catching up with him, and he’s asleep before he can form anything coherent.
Hannibal, however, stays awake for a few more minutes, the beginnings of a Plan starting to ferment in his mind. This kid...he doesn’t have a real unit yet, right? Still in training? Still yet to be assigned to anyone?
Oh... oh yes. Oh yes. This could work out damn perfect.
He kisses the back of the sleeping lieutenant’s neck one more time, closes his eyes, and dreams about having one Lieutenant Peck in his unit.
In his sleeping bag. On every deployment he ever has again. His little spoon. Right where he damn well belongs.
