After the Warehouse
Oct. 30th, 2010 12:17 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sonora_conejaPairing: Hannibal/Face
Rating: g
Warnings: none
Summary: Fill for this prompt on the kink meme.
"Boss, could you do that to us?"
The fallout from Face's unshakable faith in Hannibal/Morrison/the Army being, well, shaken.
Short and, well, no exactly sweet...
The sea plane's noisy, setting a steady hum into Hannibal's skull that not even two layers of ear protection can stop. He's strapping BA into one of the cockpit seats, grunting as he does so. The big guy's gained a little weight since prison, and Face is nowhere to be seen to help him.
Murdock throws Hannibal a thumbs-up, which in this case is more of a question than a statement. Hannibal returns it. No words are exchanged. He tightens the last strap around his corporal. His captain's busy gaining altitude.
His lieutenant is nowhere to be seen.
Hannibal unplugs from the intercom and heads back to the cargo bay. There are a couple scattered containers back here; meth or ecstasy, Hannibal's willing to wager, and it suddenly hits him that he's not at all uncomfortable with helping smuggle a few hundred kilos of the stuff back Stateside, if it gets him what he wants. For himself, for his boys, for Face.
His lieutenant, sitting on his heels, despondent, in a tight corner.
It's loud back here, but bearable. Enough for Hannibal to shout a little, if he needs to. But he's not sure what he needs to do.
Face is taking this the hardest of all of them. Hannibal has no doubt of that. Russ may have been one of his oldest friends - hell, they went through officer school together- but it's Face he most betrayed. For all they've seen and done, Face has an innocent streak to him, a kind of little-kid sweetness, bitter and fragile, but there nonetheless.
Hannibal suspects it's the product of growing up the way he did, wanting somebody to take him home, wanting a family, wanting, knowing he'd never get it, unable to stop hoping even as he slowly came to understand a truth - nobody was ever going to save him. Even if he never really believed it, bound too closely with those around him, threw out faith even when it wasn't deserved. Hoping.
That's how Hannibal found him when he pulled the kid out of training based on his aptitude scores. And he's spent the last ten years trying to help him overcome, helping him trust, telling him he's beautiful and worthwhile and loved and valued, telling him to believe in what he's doing...
The trial was bad enough, but Face never had much faith in institutions. It wasn't a crippling blow, not personal like this was personal, and when Face asked him on the dock, if he could ever do something like that, to then, it was enough for him to wish now he'd saved Russ. Just to kill him again.
Hannibal doesn't know what to say, but Face is on his feet the second he sees Hannibal standing over him. Their eyes lock for a moment, and then Face has his arms around Hannibal's shoulders, clinging like a little kid who's just had a night terror.
Hannibal hesitates a moment - he tries hard not to take advantage of the kid when he gets emotional like this. It always seems to end in sex, and there's no comfortable here and Hannibal's not going to allow Face to push him back and drop between his legs. Always makes things worse. The kid needs a good fuck, or better, the rare comfort of topping, but it's not the time or the place.
Hannibal moves his own arms around his lieutenant, snuffing his face into his own shoulder, running a hand through that hair, across the fevered skin of his back, under the shirt, and kisses him once on the top of his head.
It's all he can do, he knows it's not enough, and even in the noise of the engines, he can hear his boy crying, and promises himself he's going to bring this nightmare to an end.
Rating: g
Warnings: none
Summary: Fill for this prompt on the kink meme.
"Boss, could you do that to us?"
The fallout from Face's unshakable faith in Hannibal/Morrison/the Army being, well, shaken.
Short and, well, no exactly sweet...
The sea plane's noisy, setting a steady hum into Hannibal's skull that not even two layers of ear protection can stop. He's strapping BA into one of the cockpit seats, grunting as he does so. The big guy's gained a little weight since prison, and Face is nowhere to be seen to help him.
Murdock throws Hannibal a thumbs-up, which in this case is more of a question than a statement. Hannibal returns it. No words are exchanged. He tightens the last strap around his corporal. His captain's busy gaining altitude.
His lieutenant is nowhere to be seen.
Hannibal unplugs from the intercom and heads back to the cargo bay. There are a couple scattered containers back here; meth or ecstasy, Hannibal's willing to wager, and it suddenly hits him that he's not at all uncomfortable with helping smuggle a few hundred kilos of the stuff back Stateside, if it gets him what he wants. For himself, for his boys, for Face.
His lieutenant, sitting on his heels, despondent, in a tight corner.
It's loud back here, but bearable. Enough for Hannibal to shout a little, if he needs to. But he's not sure what he needs to do.
Face is taking this the hardest of all of them. Hannibal has no doubt of that. Russ may have been one of his oldest friends - hell, they went through officer school together- but it's Face he most betrayed. For all they've seen and done, Face has an innocent streak to him, a kind of little-kid sweetness, bitter and fragile, but there nonetheless.
Hannibal suspects it's the product of growing up the way he did, wanting somebody to take him home, wanting a family, wanting, knowing he'd never get it, unable to stop hoping even as he slowly came to understand a truth - nobody was ever going to save him. Even if he never really believed it, bound too closely with those around him, threw out faith even when it wasn't deserved. Hoping.
That's how Hannibal found him when he pulled the kid out of training based on his aptitude scores. And he's spent the last ten years trying to help him overcome, helping him trust, telling him he's beautiful and worthwhile and loved and valued, telling him to believe in what he's doing...
The trial was bad enough, but Face never had much faith in institutions. It wasn't a crippling blow, not personal like this was personal, and when Face asked him on the dock, if he could ever do something like that, to then, it was enough for him to wish now he'd saved Russ. Just to kill him again.
Hannibal doesn't know what to say, but Face is on his feet the second he sees Hannibal standing over him. Their eyes lock for a moment, and then Face has his arms around Hannibal's shoulders, clinging like a little kid who's just had a night terror.
Hannibal hesitates a moment - he tries hard not to take advantage of the kid when he gets emotional like this. It always seems to end in sex, and there's no comfortable here and Hannibal's not going to allow Face to push him back and drop between his legs. Always makes things worse. The kid needs a good fuck, or better, the rare comfort of topping, but it's not the time or the place.
Hannibal moves his own arms around his lieutenant, snuffing his face into his own shoulder, running a hand through that hair, across the fevered skin of his back, under the shirt, and kisses him once on the top of his head.
It's all he can do, he knows it's not enough, and even in the noise of the engines, he can hear his boy crying, and promises himself he's going to bring this nightmare to an end.
