Night on the Town
Oct. 29th, 2010 11:17 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sonora_conejaPairing: Hannibal/Face
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: none
Summary: Fill forthis prompt on the kink meme.
So, tv!Hannibal is pretty famous for his creative disguises and impeccable acting. I'd love to see a story where Face occasionally picks up guys and spends the night with them - and one time, well... picks up Hannibal. In disguise. Maybe Hannibal does it on purpose because he secretly wants Face (DADT-denial much?), or he just wants to mess with Face's head a little and is surprised when sexytimes ensue ;)
Bonus points if Hannibal clues Face in while they are already going at it, like mentioning something noone else can possibly know about, and Face is all o.o and really turned on, too.
Face is going out at night and Hannibal wants to know where. So he follows him, in disguise, and finds out that Face is dealing with some serious UST for a certain silver fox CO. So, he lets the kid have his fantasy.
Hannibal adjusted the black wig a little as he passed into the club. He’d been following Face for two hours now, through this worn strip of bars and strip clubs downtown, and the kid in his leather jacket had really been giving him the slip. He was pretty sure Face wasn’t doing it on purpose, but that’s just how he moved, just what he did.
Living so long under the threat of constant discovery, subterfuge and evasion the rule and not the exception, Hannibal thought it only made sense. Face couldn’t turn it off anymore.
It worried Hannibal. There was a kind of absence that was creeping into the kid on jobs, especially around women, like he was bored. Like he was going through the motions. That wasn’t good. So, Hannibal had taken it upon himself to dust off his colonel hat and, as concerned superior officer, start looking into the kid’s affairs.
He’d followed him down here tonight. He was yet to determine what Face was doing in this part of town, dingy and old. Normally the kid was so... fussy. Prissy. Elitist. And this place was a shithole.
That worried Hannibal even more.
The club was loud and dark and reeking of cigarette smoke and bad music, the remains of disco starting to merge and melt and fade into some new style Hannibal didn’t care about either. He almost lost track of Face’s lithe frame in the crowd, but fortunately, his lieutenant gravitated over towards the bar, leaning over, playing more drunk than Hannibal knew him to be, chatting with the bartender.
Hannibal took up a stool on the far end, watching.
After a while, some guy came up and started talking to Face. Hannibal was too far away to hear what was being said - in this din, a foot might have been too far - but the guy was leaning in, whispering something in Face’s ear, hand brushing down his back.
He expected Face to bat it away. Instead, incredibly, Face almost leaned into it, the back of his shoulders doing that thing they did when he laughed. The guy got a little pushier, though, grabbed at Face’s arm, and Hannibal was off his stool and over there faster than he could process.
“Hey, buddy,” he snapped, yanking the offender off his lieutenant, “didn’t your mother teach you any manners?”
“Screw you, pal. We were talking.” The man’s lips are curled up and Hannibal had to resist the urge to hit him.
“Get lost,” Hannibal ordered, and threw the man off into the crowd, moving around to Face’s front. Enough of this. What the hell was he thinking?
But if he’d expected to get an answer, there wasn’t one coming. Face stared ahead, at the brick-glass behind bottles of booze. “You just walk up and toss some stranger like that?”
“He had his hands all over you, kid.”
”Kid,” Face repeated, and laughed a little, unsteady. Why was he still faking the drunk? “My boss calls me that.”
“Your boss?” Hannibal asked, leaning in to hear better. He was about to say something else, about how his boss was right the fuck in front of him and this evening was over, soldier, but Face started laughing instead, a desperate, thin, drunken laugh.
Hannibal decided to wait.
“Fifteen years together, and it's still kid,” Face said, an uncontrolled edge to the words, and Hannibal stiffened. This could be a big, big problem.
“You don’t like it?” Hannibal asked, and locked a hand around Face’s chin, twisting and pulling up a little, not rough, not gentle. “Why haven’t you said something to, uh, to him?”
“No, I don’t really mind. Funny.”
“How so?”
“You remind me of him a little, tossing that guy off me.”
Remind? But there was no recognition in gin-smeared eyes. The colonel fought himself for a reason. A strong whiff of alcohol came off Face, and it was dark here, almost 2 AM, so maybe it made sense that Hannibal’s disguise was working a little better than he’d assumed it would.
Or maybe he was getting unconsciously good at hiding, too.
"What's you name, kid," Hannibal asked, wondering what the kid would say back.
Face smirked, the smirk he used on marks. "John."
"No last name?"
"Not yet."
Smoothly delivered, most defenses still up, so... tipsy, not wasted. That was something. “What are you doing down here, John?”
"Same thing you are."
"I doubt that."
And then something happened that was definitely not part of the night’s plan. Face closed a strong, soft hand down around Hannibal’s wrist, below his chin, and moved himself forward, a little unbalanced but quite determined. His other hand moved between them, stroking the fabric of Hannibal’s shirt, right at his bellybutton. Something in his posture, the way his expression changed, Hannibal recognized. It was that seductive thing of his that Face used on the women.
Aimed your way, Hannibal was forced to admit, it really was devastating. Like dynamiting fish in a lake. His cock twitched.
“No, I think we both want the same thing.”
"Why don't we make that clear?"
Face leaned up a little more, right next to Hannibal's ear. "I want you to fuck me. Clear enough?"
Hannibal was determined to end this, to drag his lieutenant’s sorry butt back to his apartment and put him to bed, just like he’d had to do in ‘Nam so many times, on DOOM Club nights.
But that voice was settling down through him, working its way through his body to pool in the pit of his stomach, hot and delicious and - to his shame - not entirely new.
“I see the way you’re looking at me right now, all possessive and hungry,” Face continued, tugging a little now, worming a hand in under the belt. “Can’t tell me I’m wrong.“
He ran his hand up into Face’s perfect hair, ruffling it, risking drawing looks and being thrown out. They needed to leave. He needed to get Face out of here. Subterfuge was allowed for things like this. Face would thank him in the morning. “We’re taking you back to your place, kid.”
Face nodded, smiling a little, and his hand didn't leave the colonel's waist as Hannibal pulled him from the club into the cool night air.
Hannibal’s mind was racing as they hailed down a cab and Face gave the driver directions. The kid wanted to sleep with him. Wanted to sleep with this random stranger he’d just picked up in a bar, sure, but there was more to it than that.
Face wanted to sleep with him. With him. With Colonel John Hannibal Smith. That was the only explanation for the way he’d been talking in the club.
Was that why he was out here, not for the strangers, but for him? Hannibal wanted to beat his head into the window glass. All the kid needed to have done was ask. They would have worked it out. Anything but this.
He had a plan now, of course. He just wasn’t sure he should follow through with it.
Smooth movements, the kid was nothing but smooth motion as he settled back against the seat, ran an easy hand over Hannibal’s thigh. “So, what’s your name?”
Shit, so many aliases that Face had helped him build, so many names he couldn’t use, and part of him didn’t want to lie. He couldn’t, not to Face, not to any of his boys but especially not to Face, and not like this, about this.
Telling him now... the colonel could see it; the embarrassed conversation the out-of-sight self-flagellation, that weird depression Face got every once in a while, the strain it would create on the team. How he would laugh it off and Face would laugh it off and this moment would never come again...
Hannibal decided the plan was better. “Does it matter?” he murmured, using his own on-the-con voice, and grabbed a fistful of Face’s shirt, dragging him close. “You’re not really John, are you?”
“Does that matter?” Face replied, his eyes brightening, slipping in, and then they were kissing, a long, slow, exploratory kiss. Face moaned into it, letting Hannibal push him back into the seat, letting him control it, eyelids fluttering shut.
For Hannibal, the first wet slide of Face’s tongue against his lips very nearly undid him, and it was only by the barest of margins that he avoided throwing caution to the winds and groaning out Face’s name. He choked it back and pushed Face’s suddenly grabby hands down to his waist, dextrous fingers playing just under the hem of his shirt, away from the wig. It was smooth, just like Face, and sent sparks flying under his skin. How many years had it been, since Hannibal had had a man under him like this? Too many, he decided. Far, far too many.
By the time they got to the apartment building, a building Hannibal didn’t recognize as Face’s current living quarters, they were both panting. Hannibal tipped the cabbie an extra ten dollars.
Face threw his keys on a nearly empty counter, ignoring all but the kitchen light, and went for the firdge. “Make yourself at home, stranger.”
“Doesn’t look like much of a home, kid,” Hannibal observed, and it didn’t. The apartment was small, brick, big windows opening out to the LA skyline. That was nice. But everything was fake. Matched, cheap furniture, kitschy knick-nacks, hotel paintings, no little touches anywhere. Wasn’t a place somebody lived.
“My firm rents a block of these. I use this one while I’m in town. You want anything? I keep the pantry stocked.”
Good lie, delivered well. Hannibal could live with that. “Whiskey.”
“Coming right up.”
Hannibal stood at the counter, watching Face pour the drinks, but the second he’d capped the bottle back up, Hannibal flicked off the light switch. Before Face could turn around and get a good look at him. There was enough light from the windows, the small living room suddenly cast in the soft glow of far distant neon and cars on the busy street below.
“Interesting choice,” Face said, sliding easily back into his polished persona, so at odds from the almost raw need Hannibal had seen in him at the club. He handed the colonel one of the glasses and walked past him to the sofa. He settled in and patted the cushion next to him. “So, do I get your name now?”
“Kid, John, John’s not your real name, is it?” Hannibal asked, making sure he was changing the cadence in his speech. “It’s his, your boss’s.”
Ice clinked. It took Face a while to answer. The man from the club was back. “Yeah.”
“Fifteen years is a lot of time.” Hannibal smiled and sat down next to his lieutenant, pressing his thigh to Face’s and wrapping an arm around his shoulder. Took a sip. Casual. “You said I remind you of him. Why don’t you let me use John’s name for tonight and we can call you...”
“Temp,” Face supplied quietly, and drained his glass.
“That short for Templeton?” Hannibal teased, unable to resist, but the sudden tension in Face’s shoulders told him to tone things down.
“Lucky guess.”
“Unusual name.”
“He’d kill me if he knew I told you. I’m not supposed to use it. There’s, uh, isn’t exactly a name I can use in court, you know what I mean?”
Too many of those little slip-ups tonight. Hannibal couldn’t stand for that. “Why don’t we pretend that I’m your boss, and I’m not mad at you right now for using your real name?”
“I don’t...”
Hannibal took Face’s empty glass and his full one and set them both down on the coffee table. He turned into Face, moving a knee over his legs, and grabbed the lieutenant’s chin again, the other hand bracing him against the back. “I think it’s a good plan.” He fastened his lips down around Face’s, wanting to make this good for the kid, hoping it wasn’t going to make things worse.
Face bucked up against him, so warm, so responsive. It wasn’t like the taxi. This was harder, more demanding, full of desire, and Hannibal wondered how long Face had been keeping this all bottled up and hidden away from him, under all this glorious skin that lay beneath the cotton and buttons and years between them.
Oh, the freedom to touch him like this, all that tremble under his fingertips. Hannibal hadn’t realized before how much he’d wanted it, and splayed his hands wide across the pinned chest, shoulders, neck, head, that wonderful wet heat of the lieutenant’s mouth. Intoxicating. He finally had to surface for air, and pressed a last little kiss to Face’s neck, above the collar. “What do you say?”
“Anything you want, John,” was the murmured reply.
“Where’s the bedroom, Templeton?”
It never ceased to amaze him, how fast Face could change gears. He’d been hiding in plain sight at the club, liquid sex in the car, and now he was... uncertain seemed too strong a word for it. Hannibal sat back on his lieutenant’s legs. “What is it, kid?”
“Ha... John wouldn’t be considerate like this...”
And that was some old, unscabbed wound. Hannibal felt a twinge of guilt. He knew Face was right. Outside this setting... “Your fantasy, kid. What do you want him to do?”
Face squirmed a little. “He’d...”
“I’d...”
“You’d order me in there, tell me to strip.”
“That what you want?”
There wasn’t a reply, so Hannibal sighed and slid to standing. Had he fucked this kid up? “Templeton, get your ass in the bedroom!” he snapped, hoping it wasn’t too close to how he’d actually say this, if he ever could. “Naked. Right now.”
Face scurried to obey, swaying a little from that last drink.
This really wasn’t the way Hannibal would have had it, he thought to himself, giving Face a few minutes to undress. Really. He had liked feeling that softness, that vulnerablity, that Face always had, just under the surface where he thought nobody could see it. He wanted to have the time to memorize every angle, every inch, slow and sweet and quiet, like their lives never were. But missed opportunities were what they were, and if the kid needed it like this, he was going to play along for as long as he could.
Face was standing in the middle of the room, bathed by the city lights. Hannibal felt himself getting hard, that threshold crossed by the sight of his lieutenant, naked for some stranger, naked for him, clearly aroused. He walked around him once, fingers trailing, sending shivers through the kid, and finally stopped in front of him. What would your average joe think to say?
He wrapped a hand around the back of Face’s neck. “You’re mine, Templeton. About time you realized that.”
“Yes, yes, John, I’m sorry...”
Hannibal could hear the effort it was taking for Face to keep the “sir”, the “Hannibal” from his words. Commendable. He tweaked a nipple on the flat chest. “Don’t you dare forget it, kid.”
He kissed him, hard and savage, backing him up until knees hit mattress and lowering him down until his back connected in the darkness and Hannibal crawled up to straddle him. The colonel was still fully clothed, slightly worried about the collection of scars from the prison camp, the newer ones from the last ten years.
Face gasped as rough material rubbed over his erection and exposed belly. Once, twice, he tried to get his hands up, but Hannibal held those down and ravaged the lieutenant’s mouth and neck, bruising, sucking, biting, drawing little gasps of pleasure loose, breaking open in the quiet bedroom.
They changed, and it took Hannibal a few minutes to realize that Face was asking him to stop. He pulled back, running a thumb across those swollen lips. “What is it, Templeton?” he asked in the voice he’d decided belonged to the stranger in the bar, the man with black hair.
“John, too, too much...”
“Would John just fuck you open?”
Face nodded, and Hannibal felt something tear inside him. Where had things gone wrong? Was it recently? Was this older than that? “Sounds like a cold bastard for such a hottie. You sure you have feelings for this guy?” Hannibal managed.
“He’s not bad, he just gets on the jazz, when we’re on a case. Stuff fades out for him.”
“On the jazz?” Because a stranger would ask about it.
“Forget it,” Face said, head flopping to the side, and he struggled to push himself up to his elbows. “This isn’t going to work. Thanks for the offer...”
“Hold on a second there, kid,” Hannibal said, pressing him back down. “If you want to skip right to the main act, would that be easier?”
Face nodded again, and Hannibal let his voice drop back to that close-to-his-own again and swung off him. “Then get on your stomach, Temp.”
Once he was satisfied that Face’s head was securely eyes-down, Hannibal toed off his shoes and socks, discarded his pants and grabbed the proffered condom and lube from the kid’s open hand. Rolled the condom on. His shirt hung loosely down, over that six-inch scar beneath his heart from a Viet Cong knife, hiding the spiderweb burn on his right shoulder from a grenade in South America.
“Good boy, Temp,” he said in that fake-himself voice. “So lovely, spread out like this for me.” He kneed shaking legs a little further apart and tucked a pillow under the hips. He rested a hand at the top of the cleft as he climbed back up on the bed. “You know that, how beautiful I think you are?”
Face groaned, but didn’t object to this, surprisingly. Hannibal spread his cheeks apart slowly, bending to lick one long, hot stroke from perineum to opening, and started slicking up his fingers. Face moaned.
“You’ve been wanting this for a while, haven’t you?”
“Yes, John.”
“How long have you been lying to me? Not telling me these things?”
The response was muffled by the sheets, and Hannibal felt another stab of guilt, making Face admit these things to a stranger. He smacked Face lightly on the ass. “Tell me, Templeton!”
“Years,” Face said honestly, emotion clouding his voice. “Since, since...”
Face got nervous over exactly two things in his past; his mother and the camps. He felt the bile rise in his throat at the thought of it becoming more horrible for the lieutenant, having to choke something like that down, in a place like that, going through...
Guilt swept over Hannibal. That long ago? So many years, lost.
“Shh, it’s okay, kid. I know. You don’t have to say it.” Hannibal pressed a lubed finger into him. Not nearly as tight as he would have hoped. Face had been making a habit of this. Random men, seedy bars... it burned, it really did. “You’ve been a busy little lawyer, Temp.” He twisted and turned.
“Wanted... you, John,” Face gasped as Hannibal found his prostate.
“Should have come to me, kid.”
“Wasn’t sure.”
Hannibal added a second finger, Face bucking underneath him now. No, not too much stretching at all. He played for another minute, until Face started whimpering, and he pulled out. He positioned himself, the tip of his rock hard cock teasing that entrance. “You’re damn sexy, kid, and you fucking know it, don’t you? I care about you, Temp. Why else would I keep you around for so long?” He pushed in halfway, finding it hard to breath as he was engulfed by that roaring fire burning under Face’s skin. “Why else?”
“No other, ohmygod, no options.”
“It’s because I want you, Temp, I need you,” he said soothingly, and got a firmer hold on the kid’s hips. He started working himself in, slow enough to enjoy the progression, all the changing sensations, until his hips were flush with Face’s. He had to pause there, taking it all in, the smooth, quivering back of his lieutenant, his boy... “I want you here, like this. Never been able to say that before.”
As he said it, Hannibal realized it was true, and he was glad the kid couldn't see his face.
A strangled sob escaped Face’s lips, and he thrust back, needing it. So needy. When had this happened? Had he done this?
“I got you, Temp,” Hannibal said, leaning over Face’s back and pulling out just a little. He thrust back in. Out. Back in, deeper with each stroke. He wrapped an arm around the kid’s waist and squeezed his cock. The lieutenant sobbed in appreciation and fucked into Hannibal’s hand with abandon on every downstroke.
The oscillation grew greater, the cries from Face louder, vision whiting around the edges. It was beyond good, beyond any superlatives. This was Face, rocking and whimpering and crying beneath him, easy and natural and right, skin sliding, lubricated by sweat. Hannibal kept it up until the friction and heat and fullness had both of them nearly senseless.
Face was screaming now, Hannibal sure his name, his real name, the one his men had given him in the jungles so long ago, escape from those perfect lips, among them, and it sent him to the edge of his own release. He threw his head forward, lips close enough and voice enough for an almost non-existent whisper in his lieutenant’s ear.
“Come for me, Face.”
He did, seed flooding warm over Hannibal’s hand into the sheets, and one good snap of his hips later, Hannibal was filling the condom, and collapsed, boneless, on top of the younger man. He lay like that for a few minutes, enjoying the hammering of Face’s heart against his ribs, listening to that magnificent chest draw breath, slower and slower, spiraling down into what would soon be sleep.
When he finally pulled out, Face rolled over, staring at him. A weak hand reached up to the corner of the wig, tugging it off, and Hannibal didn’t stop it.
“I’d hoped it was you,” the kid said in a voice that was sad and exuberant and exhausted all at the same time, barely loud enough to hear, balling his fist around the wig. “Is it you?”
Hannibal wasn’t quite sure what to say, exposed like this. Between the alcohol and the afterglow, Hannibal was amazed he was still conscious, and knew he soon wouldn’t be. Face wouldn’t remember this part of the evening. Right?
“Thanks for the wonderful evening,” he whispered in that con-voice, and snuggled the younger man up against his still-clothed chest. “Your John is one lucky man, kid, you should te...”
But there was no point talking any more, because Face was asleep now, breathing regular and soft, all the emotion erased from him, young and vulnerable and at peace. Hannibal watched him, for what seemed like hours, until he was sure the kid wasn’t having a nightmare.
He could worry about consequences later, worry about what the kid was going to say, how it would change things, if he’d implode further or finally find his strength again, if the team would be affected, if he himself was going to be okay, knowing what this could feel like, knowing how shattered the kid was inside, knowing... But he couldn’t worry about them now. Couldn’t afford to stay until morning.
Had to stick to the plan.
Hannibal pried loose the wig, and closed the door softly on his way out.
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: none
Summary: Fill forthis prompt on the kink meme.
So, tv!Hannibal is pretty famous for his creative disguises and impeccable acting. I'd love to see a story where Face occasionally picks up guys and spends the night with them - and one time, well... picks up Hannibal. In disguise. Maybe Hannibal does it on purpose because he secretly wants Face (DADT-denial much?), or he just wants to mess with Face's head a little and is surprised when sexytimes ensue ;)
Bonus points if Hannibal clues Face in while they are already going at it, like mentioning something noone else can possibly know about, and Face is all o.o and really turned on, too.
Face is going out at night and Hannibal wants to know where. So he follows him, in disguise, and finds out that Face is dealing with some serious UST for a certain silver fox CO. So, he lets the kid have his fantasy.
Hannibal adjusted the black wig a little as he passed into the club. He’d been following Face for two hours now, through this worn strip of bars and strip clubs downtown, and the kid in his leather jacket had really been giving him the slip. He was pretty sure Face wasn’t doing it on purpose, but that’s just how he moved, just what he did.
Living so long under the threat of constant discovery, subterfuge and evasion the rule and not the exception, Hannibal thought it only made sense. Face couldn’t turn it off anymore.
It worried Hannibal. There was a kind of absence that was creeping into the kid on jobs, especially around women, like he was bored. Like he was going through the motions. That wasn’t good. So, Hannibal had taken it upon himself to dust off his colonel hat and, as concerned superior officer, start looking into the kid’s affairs.
He’d followed him down here tonight. He was yet to determine what Face was doing in this part of town, dingy and old. Normally the kid was so... fussy. Prissy. Elitist. And this place was a shithole.
That worried Hannibal even more.
The club was loud and dark and reeking of cigarette smoke and bad music, the remains of disco starting to merge and melt and fade into some new style Hannibal didn’t care about either. He almost lost track of Face’s lithe frame in the crowd, but fortunately, his lieutenant gravitated over towards the bar, leaning over, playing more drunk than Hannibal knew him to be, chatting with the bartender.
Hannibal took up a stool on the far end, watching.
After a while, some guy came up and started talking to Face. Hannibal was too far away to hear what was being said - in this din, a foot might have been too far - but the guy was leaning in, whispering something in Face’s ear, hand brushing down his back.
He expected Face to bat it away. Instead, incredibly, Face almost leaned into it, the back of his shoulders doing that thing they did when he laughed. The guy got a little pushier, though, grabbed at Face’s arm, and Hannibal was off his stool and over there faster than he could process.
“Hey, buddy,” he snapped, yanking the offender off his lieutenant, “didn’t your mother teach you any manners?”
“Screw you, pal. We were talking.” The man’s lips are curled up and Hannibal had to resist the urge to hit him.
“Get lost,” Hannibal ordered, and threw the man off into the crowd, moving around to Face’s front. Enough of this. What the hell was he thinking?
But if he’d expected to get an answer, there wasn’t one coming. Face stared ahead, at the brick-glass behind bottles of booze. “You just walk up and toss some stranger like that?”
“He had his hands all over you, kid.”
”Kid,” Face repeated, and laughed a little, unsteady. Why was he still faking the drunk? “My boss calls me that.”
“Your boss?” Hannibal asked, leaning in to hear better. He was about to say something else, about how his boss was right the fuck in front of him and this evening was over, soldier, but Face started laughing instead, a desperate, thin, drunken laugh.
Hannibal decided to wait.
“Fifteen years together, and it's still kid,” Face said, an uncontrolled edge to the words, and Hannibal stiffened. This could be a big, big problem.
“You don’t like it?” Hannibal asked, and locked a hand around Face’s chin, twisting and pulling up a little, not rough, not gentle. “Why haven’t you said something to, uh, to him?”
“No, I don’t really mind. Funny.”
“How so?”
“You remind me of him a little, tossing that guy off me.”
Remind? But there was no recognition in gin-smeared eyes. The colonel fought himself for a reason. A strong whiff of alcohol came off Face, and it was dark here, almost 2 AM, so maybe it made sense that Hannibal’s disguise was working a little better than he’d assumed it would.
Or maybe he was getting unconsciously good at hiding, too.
"What's you name, kid," Hannibal asked, wondering what the kid would say back.
Face smirked, the smirk he used on marks. "John."
"No last name?"
"Not yet."
Smoothly delivered, most defenses still up, so... tipsy, not wasted. That was something. “What are you doing down here, John?”
"Same thing you are."
"I doubt that."
And then something happened that was definitely not part of the night’s plan. Face closed a strong, soft hand down around Hannibal’s wrist, below his chin, and moved himself forward, a little unbalanced but quite determined. His other hand moved between them, stroking the fabric of Hannibal’s shirt, right at his bellybutton. Something in his posture, the way his expression changed, Hannibal recognized. It was that seductive thing of his that Face used on the women.
Aimed your way, Hannibal was forced to admit, it really was devastating. Like dynamiting fish in a lake. His cock twitched.
“No, I think we both want the same thing.”
"Why don't we make that clear?"
Face leaned up a little more, right next to Hannibal's ear. "I want you to fuck me. Clear enough?"
Hannibal was determined to end this, to drag his lieutenant’s sorry butt back to his apartment and put him to bed, just like he’d had to do in ‘Nam so many times, on DOOM Club nights.
But that voice was settling down through him, working its way through his body to pool in the pit of his stomach, hot and delicious and - to his shame - not entirely new.
“I see the way you’re looking at me right now, all possessive and hungry,” Face continued, tugging a little now, worming a hand in under the belt. “Can’t tell me I’m wrong.“
He ran his hand up into Face’s perfect hair, ruffling it, risking drawing looks and being thrown out. They needed to leave. He needed to get Face out of here. Subterfuge was allowed for things like this. Face would thank him in the morning. “We’re taking you back to your place, kid.”
Face nodded, smiling a little, and his hand didn't leave the colonel's waist as Hannibal pulled him from the club into the cool night air.
Hannibal’s mind was racing as they hailed down a cab and Face gave the driver directions. The kid wanted to sleep with him. Wanted to sleep with this random stranger he’d just picked up in a bar, sure, but there was more to it than that.
Face wanted to sleep with him. With him. With Colonel John Hannibal Smith. That was the only explanation for the way he’d been talking in the club.
Was that why he was out here, not for the strangers, but for him? Hannibal wanted to beat his head into the window glass. All the kid needed to have done was ask. They would have worked it out. Anything but this.
He had a plan now, of course. He just wasn’t sure he should follow through with it.
Smooth movements, the kid was nothing but smooth motion as he settled back against the seat, ran an easy hand over Hannibal’s thigh. “So, what’s your name?”
Shit, so many aliases that Face had helped him build, so many names he couldn’t use, and part of him didn’t want to lie. He couldn’t, not to Face, not to any of his boys but especially not to Face, and not like this, about this.
Telling him now... the colonel could see it; the embarrassed conversation the out-of-sight self-flagellation, that weird depression Face got every once in a while, the strain it would create on the team. How he would laugh it off and Face would laugh it off and this moment would never come again...
Hannibal decided the plan was better. “Does it matter?” he murmured, using his own on-the-con voice, and grabbed a fistful of Face’s shirt, dragging him close. “You’re not really John, are you?”
“Does that matter?” Face replied, his eyes brightening, slipping in, and then they were kissing, a long, slow, exploratory kiss. Face moaned into it, letting Hannibal push him back into the seat, letting him control it, eyelids fluttering shut.
For Hannibal, the first wet slide of Face’s tongue against his lips very nearly undid him, and it was only by the barest of margins that he avoided throwing caution to the winds and groaning out Face’s name. He choked it back and pushed Face’s suddenly grabby hands down to his waist, dextrous fingers playing just under the hem of his shirt, away from the wig. It was smooth, just like Face, and sent sparks flying under his skin. How many years had it been, since Hannibal had had a man under him like this? Too many, he decided. Far, far too many.
By the time they got to the apartment building, a building Hannibal didn’t recognize as Face’s current living quarters, they were both panting. Hannibal tipped the cabbie an extra ten dollars.
Face threw his keys on a nearly empty counter, ignoring all but the kitchen light, and went for the firdge. “Make yourself at home, stranger.”
“Doesn’t look like much of a home, kid,” Hannibal observed, and it didn’t. The apartment was small, brick, big windows opening out to the LA skyline. That was nice. But everything was fake. Matched, cheap furniture, kitschy knick-nacks, hotel paintings, no little touches anywhere. Wasn’t a place somebody lived.
“My firm rents a block of these. I use this one while I’m in town. You want anything? I keep the pantry stocked.”
Good lie, delivered well. Hannibal could live with that. “Whiskey.”
“Coming right up.”
Hannibal stood at the counter, watching Face pour the drinks, but the second he’d capped the bottle back up, Hannibal flicked off the light switch. Before Face could turn around and get a good look at him. There was enough light from the windows, the small living room suddenly cast in the soft glow of far distant neon and cars on the busy street below.
“Interesting choice,” Face said, sliding easily back into his polished persona, so at odds from the almost raw need Hannibal had seen in him at the club. He handed the colonel one of the glasses and walked past him to the sofa. He settled in and patted the cushion next to him. “So, do I get your name now?”
“Kid, John, John’s not your real name, is it?” Hannibal asked, making sure he was changing the cadence in his speech. “It’s his, your boss’s.”
Ice clinked. It took Face a while to answer. The man from the club was back. “Yeah.”
“Fifteen years is a lot of time.” Hannibal smiled and sat down next to his lieutenant, pressing his thigh to Face’s and wrapping an arm around his shoulder. Took a sip. Casual. “You said I remind you of him. Why don’t you let me use John’s name for tonight and we can call you...”
“Temp,” Face supplied quietly, and drained his glass.
“That short for Templeton?” Hannibal teased, unable to resist, but the sudden tension in Face’s shoulders told him to tone things down.
“Lucky guess.”
“Unusual name.”
“He’d kill me if he knew I told you. I’m not supposed to use it. There’s, uh, isn’t exactly a name I can use in court, you know what I mean?”
Too many of those little slip-ups tonight. Hannibal couldn’t stand for that. “Why don’t we pretend that I’m your boss, and I’m not mad at you right now for using your real name?”
“I don’t...”
Hannibal took Face’s empty glass and his full one and set them both down on the coffee table. He turned into Face, moving a knee over his legs, and grabbed the lieutenant’s chin again, the other hand bracing him against the back. “I think it’s a good plan.” He fastened his lips down around Face’s, wanting to make this good for the kid, hoping it wasn’t going to make things worse.
Face bucked up against him, so warm, so responsive. It wasn’t like the taxi. This was harder, more demanding, full of desire, and Hannibal wondered how long Face had been keeping this all bottled up and hidden away from him, under all this glorious skin that lay beneath the cotton and buttons and years between them.
Oh, the freedom to touch him like this, all that tremble under his fingertips. Hannibal hadn’t realized before how much he’d wanted it, and splayed his hands wide across the pinned chest, shoulders, neck, head, that wonderful wet heat of the lieutenant’s mouth. Intoxicating. He finally had to surface for air, and pressed a last little kiss to Face’s neck, above the collar. “What do you say?”
“Anything you want, John,” was the murmured reply.
“Where’s the bedroom, Templeton?”
It never ceased to amaze him, how fast Face could change gears. He’d been hiding in plain sight at the club, liquid sex in the car, and now he was... uncertain seemed too strong a word for it. Hannibal sat back on his lieutenant’s legs. “What is it, kid?”
“Ha... John wouldn’t be considerate like this...”
And that was some old, unscabbed wound. Hannibal felt a twinge of guilt. He knew Face was right. Outside this setting... “Your fantasy, kid. What do you want him to do?”
Face squirmed a little. “He’d...”
“I’d...”
“You’d order me in there, tell me to strip.”
“That what you want?”
There wasn’t a reply, so Hannibal sighed and slid to standing. Had he fucked this kid up? “Templeton, get your ass in the bedroom!” he snapped, hoping it wasn’t too close to how he’d actually say this, if he ever could. “Naked. Right now.”
Face scurried to obey, swaying a little from that last drink.
This really wasn’t the way Hannibal would have had it, he thought to himself, giving Face a few minutes to undress. Really. He had liked feeling that softness, that vulnerablity, that Face always had, just under the surface where he thought nobody could see it. He wanted to have the time to memorize every angle, every inch, slow and sweet and quiet, like their lives never were. But missed opportunities were what they were, and if the kid needed it like this, he was going to play along for as long as he could.
Face was standing in the middle of the room, bathed by the city lights. Hannibal felt himself getting hard, that threshold crossed by the sight of his lieutenant, naked for some stranger, naked for him, clearly aroused. He walked around him once, fingers trailing, sending shivers through the kid, and finally stopped in front of him. What would your average joe think to say?
He wrapped a hand around the back of Face’s neck. “You’re mine, Templeton. About time you realized that.”
“Yes, yes, John, I’m sorry...”
Hannibal could hear the effort it was taking for Face to keep the “sir”, the “Hannibal” from his words. Commendable. He tweaked a nipple on the flat chest. “Don’t you dare forget it, kid.”
He kissed him, hard and savage, backing him up until knees hit mattress and lowering him down until his back connected in the darkness and Hannibal crawled up to straddle him. The colonel was still fully clothed, slightly worried about the collection of scars from the prison camp, the newer ones from the last ten years.
Face gasped as rough material rubbed over his erection and exposed belly. Once, twice, he tried to get his hands up, but Hannibal held those down and ravaged the lieutenant’s mouth and neck, bruising, sucking, biting, drawing little gasps of pleasure loose, breaking open in the quiet bedroom.
They changed, and it took Hannibal a few minutes to realize that Face was asking him to stop. He pulled back, running a thumb across those swollen lips. “What is it, Templeton?” he asked in the voice he’d decided belonged to the stranger in the bar, the man with black hair.
“John, too, too much...”
“Would John just fuck you open?”
Face nodded, and Hannibal felt something tear inside him. Where had things gone wrong? Was it recently? Was this older than that? “Sounds like a cold bastard for such a hottie. You sure you have feelings for this guy?” Hannibal managed.
“He’s not bad, he just gets on the jazz, when we’re on a case. Stuff fades out for him.”
“On the jazz?” Because a stranger would ask about it.
“Forget it,” Face said, head flopping to the side, and he struggled to push himself up to his elbows. “This isn’t going to work. Thanks for the offer...”
“Hold on a second there, kid,” Hannibal said, pressing him back down. “If you want to skip right to the main act, would that be easier?”
Face nodded again, and Hannibal let his voice drop back to that close-to-his-own again and swung off him. “Then get on your stomach, Temp.”
Once he was satisfied that Face’s head was securely eyes-down, Hannibal toed off his shoes and socks, discarded his pants and grabbed the proffered condom and lube from the kid’s open hand. Rolled the condom on. His shirt hung loosely down, over that six-inch scar beneath his heart from a Viet Cong knife, hiding the spiderweb burn on his right shoulder from a grenade in South America.
“Good boy, Temp,” he said in that fake-himself voice. “So lovely, spread out like this for me.” He kneed shaking legs a little further apart and tucked a pillow under the hips. He rested a hand at the top of the cleft as he climbed back up on the bed. “You know that, how beautiful I think you are?”
Face groaned, but didn’t object to this, surprisingly. Hannibal spread his cheeks apart slowly, bending to lick one long, hot stroke from perineum to opening, and started slicking up his fingers. Face moaned.
“You’ve been wanting this for a while, haven’t you?”
“Yes, John.”
“How long have you been lying to me? Not telling me these things?”
The response was muffled by the sheets, and Hannibal felt another stab of guilt, making Face admit these things to a stranger. He smacked Face lightly on the ass. “Tell me, Templeton!”
“Years,” Face said honestly, emotion clouding his voice. “Since, since...”
Face got nervous over exactly two things in his past; his mother and the camps. He felt the bile rise in his throat at the thought of it becoming more horrible for the lieutenant, having to choke something like that down, in a place like that, going through...
Guilt swept over Hannibal. That long ago? So many years, lost.
“Shh, it’s okay, kid. I know. You don’t have to say it.” Hannibal pressed a lubed finger into him. Not nearly as tight as he would have hoped. Face had been making a habit of this. Random men, seedy bars... it burned, it really did. “You’ve been a busy little lawyer, Temp.” He twisted and turned.
“Wanted... you, John,” Face gasped as Hannibal found his prostate.
“Should have come to me, kid.”
“Wasn’t sure.”
Hannibal added a second finger, Face bucking underneath him now. No, not too much stretching at all. He played for another minute, until Face started whimpering, and he pulled out. He positioned himself, the tip of his rock hard cock teasing that entrance. “You’re damn sexy, kid, and you fucking know it, don’t you? I care about you, Temp. Why else would I keep you around for so long?” He pushed in halfway, finding it hard to breath as he was engulfed by that roaring fire burning under Face’s skin. “Why else?”
“No other, ohmygod, no options.”
“It’s because I want you, Temp, I need you,” he said soothingly, and got a firmer hold on the kid’s hips. He started working himself in, slow enough to enjoy the progression, all the changing sensations, until his hips were flush with Face’s. He had to pause there, taking it all in, the smooth, quivering back of his lieutenant, his boy... “I want you here, like this. Never been able to say that before.”
As he said it, Hannibal realized it was true, and he was glad the kid couldn't see his face.
A strangled sob escaped Face’s lips, and he thrust back, needing it. So needy. When had this happened? Had he done this?
“I got you, Temp,” Hannibal said, leaning over Face’s back and pulling out just a little. He thrust back in. Out. Back in, deeper with each stroke. He wrapped an arm around the kid’s waist and squeezed his cock. The lieutenant sobbed in appreciation and fucked into Hannibal’s hand with abandon on every downstroke.
The oscillation grew greater, the cries from Face louder, vision whiting around the edges. It was beyond good, beyond any superlatives. This was Face, rocking and whimpering and crying beneath him, easy and natural and right, skin sliding, lubricated by sweat. Hannibal kept it up until the friction and heat and fullness had both of them nearly senseless.
Face was screaming now, Hannibal sure his name, his real name, the one his men had given him in the jungles so long ago, escape from those perfect lips, among them, and it sent him to the edge of his own release. He threw his head forward, lips close enough and voice enough for an almost non-existent whisper in his lieutenant’s ear.
“Come for me, Face.”
He did, seed flooding warm over Hannibal’s hand into the sheets, and one good snap of his hips later, Hannibal was filling the condom, and collapsed, boneless, on top of the younger man. He lay like that for a few minutes, enjoying the hammering of Face’s heart against his ribs, listening to that magnificent chest draw breath, slower and slower, spiraling down into what would soon be sleep.
When he finally pulled out, Face rolled over, staring at him. A weak hand reached up to the corner of the wig, tugging it off, and Hannibal didn’t stop it.
“I’d hoped it was you,” the kid said in a voice that was sad and exuberant and exhausted all at the same time, barely loud enough to hear, balling his fist around the wig. “Is it you?”
Hannibal wasn’t quite sure what to say, exposed like this. Between the alcohol and the afterglow, Hannibal was amazed he was still conscious, and knew he soon wouldn’t be. Face wouldn’t remember this part of the evening. Right?
“Thanks for the wonderful evening,” he whispered in that con-voice, and snuggled the younger man up against his still-clothed chest. “Your John is one lucky man, kid, you should te...”
But there was no point talking any more, because Face was asleep now, breathing regular and soft, all the emotion erased from him, young and vulnerable and at peace. Hannibal watched him, for what seemed like hours, until he was sure the kid wasn’t having a nightmare.
He could worry about consequences later, worry about what the kid was going to say, how it would change things, if he’d implode further or finally find his strength again, if the team would be affected, if he himself was going to be okay, knowing what this could feel like, knowing how shattered the kid was inside, knowing... But he couldn’t worry about them now. Couldn’t afford to stay until morning.
Had to stick to the plan.
Hannibal pried loose the wig, and closed the door softly on his way out.
