Night on the Town - Take 2
Oct. 29th, 2010 11:22 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sonora_conejaPairing: Hannibal/Face
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: none
Summary: Sequel for Night on the Town down below. Hannibal thinks Face is going to confront him about that night, but it take a little more work to open him up.
Hannibal doesn’t know what he’s expecting. Maybe a call, maybe a nervous visit that ends in no resolution but enough beer to make it okay to have asked. Something like that. Anything like that.
But nothing happens.
He has to call Face about their next job, once the client gets past his Chinese-laundry-bus driver-wrong change test and explains her issue for the third time. Hannibal’s expecting this to be awkward, but it isn’t. Face does his normal too-charming-to-resist routine, the one that usually means he’s got a girl in the apartment, and Hannibal’s inside twist up at the thought. How many times has this been real? How many times has Face faked it, lying through his teeth as some strange man lies next to him in bed?
How many times has he forced Face to settle for less than he deserves? For people who aren’t good enough for him?
Hannibal barely makes it through the call intact. He hangs on the edge of the counter when he finishes, but he doesn’t cry. Real men don’t do that.
But then, real men don’t fuck their XOs, either.
The job goes fine. They head off for San Diego, which is a nice enough place this time of year, rough up some local gangsters, which is fun all year round, and Hannibal tells himself he’s not thinking about what happened last week. Face gives no hint, absolutely no hint, and Hannibal forces himself to relax; clearly, the kid didn’t realize. The kid doesn’t know.
Thank god for alcohol.
But they’re there maybe three nights before Hannibal’s forced to re-evaluate. They’re sitting around in some motel room, discussing tomorrow’s plan involving homemade rocket launchers, much to BA’s delight, when Face grabs his jacket and heads for the door.
“Where do you think you’re going, lieutenant?”
“Oh, nowhere,” Face says glibly, the very picture of sexual contemplation. It’s a look Hannibal’s seen before, but he doesn’t know what it means . He’s never known. “Out.”
“Like hell, kid. We’re in the middle of a job.” He can feel his blood boiling. Not another one, not another random...
“I’ll see you boys tomorrow,” Face says, winking broadly at Murdock and shutting the door quietly behind him.
The pilot’s staring wide-eyed at Hannibal. “How’d he do that?” he asks in an awed voice, and Hannibal doesn’t need any more encouragement to storm out of the room and out onto the walkway, half-chewed cigar still clutched in his lips.
Face is at the street now, trying to hail a cab. “Think I might need to have the desk call for me,” he tells Hannibal ruefully, that perpetual smile on his face, that easy confidence in his stance, and the colonel knows it’s all bullshit. There’s nothing else it can be, not from this man who all but cried in front of him over, well, him. No matter how well Face might be able to compartmentalize, Hannibal knows, it’s still in there, eating away at him.
“You don’t need to do that, kid,” Hannibal says gruffly.
Face gives him a puzzled look. “Do what, Hannibal?”
“Go hit a gay bar.”
There it is, the nervous laugh, just like he knew there would be, the slight shift in step, a hand through the hair. Hannibal’s flying without a plan here, but that happened sometimes and he’s okay with it, as long as this doesn’t break Face. For a moment, he’s not sure it won’t.
Then Face smiles. Shit. “Hannibal , I’m not into that. Women...”
“Don’t do the trick, do they, kid? Not a good enough replacement,” Hannibal states, and fingers the cigar carefully. How far can he push him? “They aren’t enough.”
Face looks like he’s about to protest, but a few sputtered comments later, and the best he can manage is a confused, “did you just...”
“What, imply that you’re bi?”
In the harsh orange glow of the streetlight, Hannibal can clearly see Face blink. He advances a little, and Face backs away from the curb, up towards the side of the building. “Hannibal, really? That’s really what you think of me?”
"It's true, isn't it?"
What was that? Apprehension? Fear? Arousal?
"Yes."
Hannibal decides he prefers the third option to anything else, especially a cab, and puts one hand on the wall behind Face. The kid’s breathing a little faster now, eyes huge. He doesn’t push his commanding officer away. That’s something.
Isn’t it?
“It’s nothing to be ashamed of. Don’t ever hide things from me.”
“I didn’t want to...”
He hopes that’ll do the trick, but it looks like the kid’s going to need more work. Face looks down at his feet but Hannibal’s not having any of that. He yanks him up by the chin. “What is it?”
Face shakes his head, shame stamped across those handsome features, and Hannibal wants nothing more than to caress that cheek, tell him it’s going to be okay, but he can’t. The kid has to break first. It’s the only way either of them will accept this.
“Face!”
The lieutenant closes his eyes for a second. “I, I was out a little while back, hooked up with this...”
“Guy.”
“Right, this guy, and I usually don’t go for his type, but, er, he reminded me of you,” and Face’s voice dropped, the con artist in him almost completely gone now, leaving him Temp and naked, hunched up against some strange building on a strange street. They could have been anywhere in the world.
“A little tough right now, kid? Me looking like some guy you slept with?”
Face mumbled something
“What was that?”
“It’s stupid.”
“Lieutenant...”
“Shit, no, boss, he looked like you,” Face says, stronger now, more certain, eyes locking with Hannibal’s for a moment and then pushing up, pushing away, and Hannibal knows that if he lets Face walk away now, that’s it.
So, instead, he puts his other hand, very deliberately, down on the other side of Face’s head. “What else?”
Face is shaking, hands stuffed into his jacket pockets, shaking his head, making a tremendous effort against fifteen years of habit, fifteen years of following orders and maybe that long of lying. Hannibal needs to hear his answer and wants to fill the hole forming in his own chest, and can’t take it any more, and closes the remaining distant between them, lips sliding into place over Face’s. The lieutenant gasps, and lets him in.
It’s slow, heated. Goes on for long minutes. Exactly how Hannibal likes it with face, he decides. And when Face finally breaks Hannibal back, there’s something like disbelief but sadder in his expression.
"He let you kiss him like this, Face? He get you this excited?"
The reply's a mere whisper, throaty and needy. “He wouldn’t let me touch him...” His hands are kneading into Hannibal’s chest.
“Get us another room, kid, and you can touch me all you want.”
He’s never seen Face work that fast. Ever.
Hannibal’s determined to go slow this time, to make it good for the lieutenant, to give him all those little things that he seemed to want before but thought he couldn’t have. So when Face tries to go to his knees once they’re inside, Hannibal stops him with a smooth pull of his shirt. When Face tries to ask why not, Hannibal pushes him back on the cheap bed and crawls on top of him, mouths interlocked.
Kissing Face was good the first time around. It’s better now, probably because the kid knows it’s Hannibal, that it’s really Hannibal, and is putting every ounce of himself into it. The way the younger man’s arching and moaning beneath him is delicious. Hannibal feels himself growing hard.
He stops for a moment, stripping off his own shirt and then Face’s. He sees the kid’s eyes locked onto the old knife wound, and smiles. They can have that now.
“Da Nang,” Face says slowly, tracing the white tissue. “You almost died.”
“Saved you, Temp. Seemed like a good idea at the time.”
Face laughs and bites his lip. “That was where...”
“I know, kid.”
Pants, socks, shoes, all of it lies banished on the floor now, nothing but the heating friction of skin on skin, and Face seems more than content to just run his hands everywhere while Hannibal ravishes his mouth, lips, tongue, neck. There’s not as much talking, no uncertainty, no need to coordinate or agree or discuss. Hannibal knows what Face needs. Face trusts him. It’s always been that way. Always will be.
He’s dimly aware of his own erection, of Face’s, pressing into his belly. It’s all about the contact right now, but at one point, it lessens just a little and Hannibal’s got a small tub of vaseline in his hand.
“Use this on your lips, don’t you, Face?” The man beneath him blushes, and Hannibal kisses him one more time before scooting back and righting himself. “It’s paying off.”
He slicks up his fingers carefully, enjoying the little whimpers from Face as he stretches him open, slow, fingering the kid more than he strictly needs to, letting every little stroke connect with that spot, and Face is thrashing now.
“Good boy, Temp,” Hannibal tells him, planting a soft kiss right above his bellybutton, rearranging pillows, throwing a lean leg over his shoulder. Face gives him a questioning look, but Hannibal’s not playing that tonight. He wants to be able to see everything. It’s been far too long in coming, his boy suffering in silence for so many years, and Hannibal wants to make it up to him. Hannibal wants to give him everything, but maybe this is enough.
He pushes in in one smooth motion, all the way, until hips touch. Face shudders and tries to thrust back, but Hannibal’s not having any of that, either. “This is my game, lieutenant,” he growls, and the younger man nods, face glowing, and when Hannibal thinks the kid’s quieted down enough, he starts to move.
It’s perfect, like this, watching the look of wonder, feeling everything little jolt and hearing every moan. He sets an easy rhythm - everything easy tonight - and has to keep telling Face to relax, reassuring him with one hand rubbing over his belly, and then over his cock. The kid doesn’t think he’s capable of this.
Hannibal’s pretty sure he proves him wrong.
Climax comes too quickly, much too soon, and before he knows it, Hannibal’s spilling himself deep inside the lieutenant, and the lieutenant’s covering his own belly, and everything is hot and sticky and lovely. Hannibal waits a few moments before pulling out, and then settles Face up against him in the ruined sheets.
“You aren’t...”
“I’ll leave if you want me to.”
An arm wraps around him and pulls him closer, and Hannibal smiles to himself.
“It was you, wasn’t it?” Face asks, eyes pleading. “I mean, that guy...”
“Go to sleep, Face.”
Hannibal lets his breathing slow, lets himself sink into that wonderful warmth, feels himself drifting away. Face, probably thinking he’s asleep, puts his lips close, brushing an earlobe.
“I’m going to get you for that, Hannibal Smith,” he mutters, and the colonel grins to himself.
He can’t wait.
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: none
Summary: Sequel for Night on the Town down below. Hannibal thinks Face is going to confront him about that night, but it take a little more work to open him up.
Hannibal doesn’t know what he’s expecting. Maybe a call, maybe a nervous visit that ends in no resolution but enough beer to make it okay to have asked. Something like that. Anything like that.
But nothing happens.
He has to call Face about their next job, once the client gets past his Chinese-laundry-bus driver-wrong change test and explains her issue for the third time. Hannibal’s expecting this to be awkward, but it isn’t. Face does his normal too-charming-to-resist routine, the one that usually means he’s got a girl in the apartment, and Hannibal’s inside twist up at the thought. How many times has this been real? How many times has Face faked it, lying through his teeth as some strange man lies next to him in bed?
How many times has he forced Face to settle for less than he deserves? For people who aren’t good enough for him?
Hannibal barely makes it through the call intact. He hangs on the edge of the counter when he finishes, but he doesn’t cry. Real men don’t do that.
But then, real men don’t fuck their XOs, either.
The job goes fine. They head off for San Diego, which is a nice enough place this time of year, rough up some local gangsters, which is fun all year round, and Hannibal tells himself he’s not thinking about what happened last week. Face gives no hint, absolutely no hint, and Hannibal forces himself to relax; clearly, the kid didn’t realize. The kid doesn’t know.
Thank god for alcohol.
But they’re there maybe three nights before Hannibal’s forced to re-evaluate. They’re sitting around in some motel room, discussing tomorrow’s plan involving homemade rocket launchers, much to BA’s delight, when Face grabs his jacket and heads for the door.
“Where do you think you’re going, lieutenant?”
“Oh, nowhere,” Face says glibly, the very picture of sexual contemplation. It’s a look Hannibal’s seen before, but he doesn’t know what it means . He’s never known. “Out.”
“Like hell, kid. We’re in the middle of a job.” He can feel his blood boiling. Not another one, not another random...
“I’ll see you boys tomorrow,” Face says, winking broadly at Murdock and shutting the door quietly behind him.
The pilot’s staring wide-eyed at Hannibal. “How’d he do that?” he asks in an awed voice, and Hannibal doesn’t need any more encouragement to storm out of the room and out onto the walkway, half-chewed cigar still clutched in his lips.
Face is at the street now, trying to hail a cab. “Think I might need to have the desk call for me,” he tells Hannibal ruefully, that perpetual smile on his face, that easy confidence in his stance, and the colonel knows it’s all bullshit. There’s nothing else it can be, not from this man who all but cried in front of him over, well, him. No matter how well Face might be able to compartmentalize, Hannibal knows, it’s still in there, eating away at him.
“You don’t need to do that, kid,” Hannibal says gruffly.
Face gives him a puzzled look. “Do what, Hannibal?”
“Go hit a gay bar.”
There it is, the nervous laugh, just like he knew there would be, the slight shift in step, a hand through the hair. Hannibal’s flying without a plan here, but that happened sometimes and he’s okay with it, as long as this doesn’t break Face. For a moment, he’s not sure it won’t.
Then Face smiles. Shit. “Hannibal , I’m not into that. Women...”
“Don’t do the trick, do they, kid? Not a good enough replacement,” Hannibal states, and fingers the cigar carefully. How far can he push him? “They aren’t enough.”
Face looks like he’s about to protest, but a few sputtered comments later, and the best he can manage is a confused, “did you just...”
“What, imply that you’re bi?”
In the harsh orange glow of the streetlight, Hannibal can clearly see Face blink. He advances a little, and Face backs away from the curb, up towards the side of the building. “Hannibal, really? That’s really what you think of me?”
"It's true, isn't it?"
What was that? Apprehension? Fear? Arousal?
"Yes."
Hannibal decides he prefers the third option to anything else, especially a cab, and puts one hand on the wall behind Face. The kid’s breathing a little faster now, eyes huge. He doesn’t push his commanding officer away. That’s something.
Isn’t it?
“It’s nothing to be ashamed of. Don’t ever hide things from me.”
“I didn’t want to...”
He hopes that’ll do the trick, but it looks like the kid’s going to need more work. Face looks down at his feet but Hannibal’s not having any of that. He yanks him up by the chin. “What is it?”
Face shakes his head, shame stamped across those handsome features, and Hannibal wants nothing more than to caress that cheek, tell him it’s going to be okay, but he can’t. The kid has to break first. It’s the only way either of them will accept this.
“Face!”
The lieutenant closes his eyes for a second. “I, I was out a little while back, hooked up with this...”
“Guy.”
“Right, this guy, and I usually don’t go for his type, but, er, he reminded me of you,” and Face’s voice dropped, the con artist in him almost completely gone now, leaving him Temp and naked, hunched up against some strange building on a strange street. They could have been anywhere in the world.
“A little tough right now, kid? Me looking like some guy you slept with?”
Face mumbled something
“What was that?”
“It’s stupid.”
“Lieutenant...”
“Shit, no, boss, he looked like you,” Face says, stronger now, more certain, eyes locking with Hannibal’s for a moment and then pushing up, pushing away, and Hannibal knows that if he lets Face walk away now, that’s it.
So, instead, he puts his other hand, very deliberately, down on the other side of Face’s head. “What else?”
Face is shaking, hands stuffed into his jacket pockets, shaking his head, making a tremendous effort against fifteen years of habit, fifteen years of following orders and maybe that long of lying. Hannibal needs to hear his answer and wants to fill the hole forming in his own chest, and can’t take it any more, and closes the remaining distant between them, lips sliding into place over Face’s. The lieutenant gasps, and lets him in.
It’s slow, heated. Goes on for long minutes. Exactly how Hannibal likes it with face, he decides. And when Face finally breaks Hannibal back, there’s something like disbelief but sadder in his expression.
"He let you kiss him like this, Face? He get you this excited?"
The reply's a mere whisper, throaty and needy. “He wouldn’t let me touch him...” His hands are kneading into Hannibal’s chest.
“Get us another room, kid, and you can touch me all you want.”
He’s never seen Face work that fast. Ever.
Hannibal’s determined to go slow this time, to make it good for the lieutenant, to give him all those little things that he seemed to want before but thought he couldn’t have. So when Face tries to go to his knees once they’re inside, Hannibal stops him with a smooth pull of his shirt. When Face tries to ask why not, Hannibal pushes him back on the cheap bed and crawls on top of him, mouths interlocked.
Kissing Face was good the first time around. It’s better now, probably because the kid knows it’s Hannibal, that it’s really Hannibal, and is putting every ounce of himself into it. The way the younger man’s arching and moaning beneath him is delicious. Hannibal feels himself growing hard.
He stops for a moment, stripping off his own shirt and then Face’s. He sees the kid’s eyes locked onto the old knife wound, and smiles. They can have that now.
“Da Nang,” Face says slowly, tracing the white tissue. “You almost died.”
“Saved you, Temp. Seemed like a good idea at the time.”
Face laughs and bites his lip. “That was where...”
“I know, kid.”
Pants, socks, shoes, all of it lies banished on the floor now, nothing but the heating friction of skin on skin, and Face seems more than content to just run his hands everywhere while Hannibal ravishes his mouth, lips, tongue, neck. There’s not as much talking, no uncertainty, no need to coordinate or agree or discuss. Hannibal knows what Face needs. Face trusts him. It’s always been that way. Always will be.
He’s dimly aware of his own erection, of Face’s, pressing into his belly. It’s all about the contact right now, but at one point, it lessens just a little and Hannibal’s got a small tub of vaseline in his hand.
“Use this on your lips, don’t you, Face?” The man beneath him blushes, and Hannibal kisses him one more time before scooting back and righting himself. “It’s paying off.”
He slicks up his fingers carefully, enjoying the little whimpers from Face as he stretches him open, slow, fingering the kid more than he strictly needs to, letting every little stroke connect with that spot, and Face is thrashing now.
“Good boy, Temp,” Hannibal tells him, planting a soft kiss right above his bellybutton, rearranging pillows, throwing a lean leg over his shoulder. Face gives him a questioning look, but Hannibal’s not playing that tonight. He wants to be able to see everything. It’s been far too long in coming, his boy suffering in silence for so many years, and Hannibal wants to make it up to him. Hannibal wants to give him everything, but maybe this is enough.
He pushes in in one smooth motion, all the way, until hips touch. Face shudders and tries to thrust back, but Hannibal’s not having any of that, either. “This is my game, lieutenant,” he growls, and the younger man nods, face glowing, and when Hannibal thinks the kid’s quieted down enough, he starts to move.
It’s perfect, like this, watching the look of wonder, feeling everything little jolt and hearing every moan. He sets an easy rhythm - everything easy tonight - and has to keep telling Face to relax, reassuring him with one hand rubbing over his belly, and then over his cock. The kid doesn’t think he’s capable of this.
Hannibal’s pretty sure he proves him wrong.
Climax comes too quickly, much too soon, and before he knows it, Hannibal’s spilling himself deep inside the lieutenant, and the lieutenant’s covering his own belly, and everything is hot and sticky and lovely. Hannibal waits a few moments before pulling out, and then settles Face up against him in the ruined sheets.
“You aren’t...”
“I’ll leave if you want me to.”
An arm wraps around him and pulls him closer, and Hannibal smiles to himself.
“It was you, wasn’t it?” Face asks, eyes pleading. “I mean, that guy...”
“Go to sleep, Face.”
Hannibal lets his breathing slow, lets himself sink into that wonderful warmth, feels himself drifting away. Face, probably thinking he’s asleep, puts his lips close, brushing an earlobe.
“I’m going to get you for that, Hannibal Smith,” he mutters, and the colonel grins to himself.
He can’t wait.
