Fandom: The A-Team (2010)
Summary: For a_team_kink. Prompt: "Maybe post-movie? I would love to see Hannibal having some self-doubt (why would someone like Face want to be with an old, broken down colonel, etc.) with Face having to reassure him. Make it as smutty as you want, anon ;) With bottom!Hannibal if possible"
Notes: So, this is my first long!fic in forever. Actually it's not, I have another from the kinkmeme... I should post that too. Anyhow, I am aware that I'm not on form yet. But I'm working on it ;)
It’s raining heavily, but for the first time in months, they don’t care; according to Face’s intel the heat is off, and tonight they will sleep under an actual, solid, non-canvas roof, in real, not-a-sleeping-bag beds. And their food will be hot, fresh, and not cooked by Murdock.
Face is in high spirits. He has a shopping bag full of takeout in each hand, and BA at his side, hefting another three bags stuffed full of beer, candy, popcorn, and every other unnecessary or harmful foodstuff the team has missed, along with one or two of Face’s bathroom essentials. The rain on his face is a reminder that soon they’ll be indoors, where he can have a proper bath, put on clean clothes, and eat food they didn’t shoot dead themselves - and that, he now knows, is the definition of civilisation; having people you’ve never met before catch, cook and present your meals. The more preservatives and sweeteners they can pack in, the more civilised the society.
But that isn’t all - their newly-scammed hide-out has three separate bedrooms, with actual walls and doors in between them. No more sneaking off into the woods for an uncomfortable fumble against a tree, or nudging Hannibal awake at four in the morning to make sure they had time to shove their hands down each other’s pants and make out like desperate teenagers before the other two woke up. Tucked down in one of the shopping bags is the one item Face would have killed for ever since their last escape - a tube of lubricant. Hannibal refused to even try without, even towards the end of their camping holiday - as Murdock insisted on calling it - when Face had practically begged to be fucked and every handjob - hell, every kiss, every glance - simply left him aching for the hot pressure of Hannibal’s cock inside him. The thought makes him giddy even now, navigating the streets of a new city with BA - who must have read his mind.
“Hey, Face? You’re grinning.”
“Yeah. Yep, I am!”
“I know what grinning means.”
BA shakes his head. “You want to start thinking with the head between your ears, man. And maybe open your eyes while you’re at it?”
Face falters while they try to cross at a busy intersection. BA has to nudge him to remind him to walk.
“What’s that mean?”
“Means you ain’t really looked the Colonel’s way all day. He’s been quiet. Real quiet.”
“Don’t worry, that just means he’s planning something.”
“No, you can see it in his eyes when he’s planning, and there’s nothing there now. I’m real worried, Face.”
Face pats BA on the arm. “We’re all tired, that’s all. Some food’ll perk Hannibal up, you’ll see.”
Back at the apartment, Face upends the take-out onto four plates, and, while Murdock hands round the beer, the three of them watch BA make half his meal disappear in one go. It’s full of carbs and salt and grease, and is the best thing he’s ever tasted.
Face settles down in front of the TV - another blissful reunion - with his own plate, his back against the sofa and Hannibal’s legs either side of him. He tilts his head round and grins. Hannibal does look tired, but he smiles back, and his eyes shine. BA was obviously over-reacting; it’s not like that’s a rare occurrence or anything. It is unusual for BA to over-react to anyone that isn’t Murdock, however.
Murdock himself is channel-hopping.
“Aww, guys, we missed nearly a whole season of House.”
“I like that show,” says Face. “A crazy old guy drags three dysfunctional younger guys around solving other people’s problems - I wonder why they never thought that up before.” He takes a swig of his beer - it’s not cold, but it’s good - and nuzzles against one of Hannibal’s knees. He feels an answering hand on the back of his neck, firm and steady, but then it’s gone again. He’s going to look round, but then Murdock finds some comedy show they used to watch all the time, and before long the two of them are half-laughing, half-choking on their food. BA shoots Face a look from time to time, but Face ignores it. Everything is fine - things are great, in fact. He’s never fully appreciated carpets before, or electric lighting, or surround sound, but now they’re three of his favourite things ever. He tells Hannibal as much. The Colonel brushes light fingers over Face’s shoulder, acknowledging him, but says nothing.
It’s an hour or so later, when Hannibal still hasn’t said anything much, that Face thinks that maybe it’s time for some alone-time. He gets to his feet, and Hannibal stands too, right away. Before Face even has time to crack a grin, Hannibal is saying goodnight to them. All of them. Face scampers after him, and almost gets the bedroom door slammed in his face.
Hannibal throws himself down on the bed, and glares at Face, who feels like he’s about to be reprimanded for something. But he’s done nothing wrong, he knows that for sure.
“Go on, then,” says the Colonel.
Face throws his arms out in a gesture of futility. “Go on what?”
“Off you go, Face. We both know you want to, and now’s your chance.”
Face is at a complete loss. He opens his mouth once or twice, but can’t find words to fit his confusion. Hannibal helps him out.
“You don’t have to say anything. I knew this would happen from the start.”
Face is seriously distracted by the sight of Hannibal slouching moodily on the bed, and the tube he now has stashed safely in his back pocket, but the poorly-disguised resentment and dejection on Hannibal’s face is not a welcome part of the picture. Finally, his brain and mouth come to some sort of alliance, and Face takes a few frustrated steps towards the bed.
“What? You knew what would happen? What’s happening? I don’t... You’re going to have to explain this one to me, boss, because I didn’t buy the programme for this performance.”
Hannibal’s gaze softens slightly, but he still looks tired. “Time for you to move on, kid. Go find someone your own age while you have the chance.”
“What,” says Face again. The word is beginning to lose meaning through repetition. “Are you breaking up with me?”
“I’m making it easy for you.”
“No, no you‘re really not. Why are you...?”
“The whole world is out there waiting for you, free from the army’s rules. No need to resort to your old CO any more. I understand, Face. So off you go.”
Face just stands there gaping, and then he does a frustrated lap of the room. Hannibal glances up at him again, and Face thinks, he does look old. He looks tired. He almost, in fact, looks defeated, and that sends a pang of fear through Face.
“Hell no, Hannibal.” When Face finds his voice again, the words come out low and dangerous. “No, just - we are not doing the age-difference guilt trip thing. I’ve seen that go down before, and it ain’t pretty, and we are not doing it.”
“I’m saying you don’t have to-”
“I know that!” Face sits down on the bed. He’s almost forgotten the burning need that’s filled him now for weeks on end - this, getting Hannibal to understand, is more important. He sighs and puts his hand over the Colonels’. “You really think I’d fuck anyone I didn’t actually want to? Hey, I’m better than that. I’m not desperate. I don’t settle for anything, okay?” He leans in and kisses Hannibal firmly, sliding a hand behind his neck.
“No. You just stay quiet for once and listen to me.” Face wonders if he’ll be made to regret that, but he’s certain it won’t be tonight. He swallows hard. “I don’t want anyone else. I can’t even think about anyone else any more. It’s you and me, Hannibal, so if you want out - for your own interests - you’d better say now.”
Hannibal’s response is to tug Face against him and kiss him again. Face growls and straddles him, and, with deft fingers, flicks open the buttons of Hannibal’s shirt before shrugging off his own and dropping it down the side of the bed. The contact of skin-on-skin enflames that desire to feel Hannibal inside him, and he makes a low, feral noise that makes Hannibal, finally, smile.
Face wants to take this slow. He wants to reassure Hannibal, to strengthen their bond, despite the nagging insistence of the straining bulge in his pants. Then again, Hannibal is apparently in league with it - his hands slide down Face’s chest, and he leans up to bite his lip, tugging gently until they’re lying flush against each other. Face bucks his hips, and Hannibal makes a wonderful sound in the back of his throat.
“I’ve been thinking about this,” he growls. “Didn’t think I’d get the chance again, but thought about it anyway. Need you, Facey.”
Face grins. “Tell me.”
“It involves this.” Hannibal’s hand slides round Face’s ass, then plucks the tube from his back pocket. “And... this.” His hand is suddenly on Face’s cock, squeezing gently through his pants. Face whines, and there’s that old grin spreading across Hannibal’s face again, brushing away some of the weariness in its wake. Face wonders how long he’s been worrying about them - probably ever since the start, since their first desperate post-mission fuck back in Iraq, knowing Hannibal. Face knows this won’t be fixed in one night, but he’s determined to make a damn good start at it.
“Yeah?” He prompts.
“You really impressed me with your big plan. Taking command suits you, Face. Why don’t you impress me again?”
Face puts on an expression of bemused ignorance. “What, you want me to stage a coup? I dunno if the guys’ll go for that. No? What then?” He murmurs against Hannibal’s ear. “You’re going to have to be a little more... explicit.”
Hannibal chuckles against Face’s throat. “You know what I want.”
“Yeah, well here’s what I want; I want you to say it.”
Hannibal hitches one leg over Face’s hip, bucking up against him. His voice is hoarse with lust when he gasps “Fuck me, Face.”
Face is fumbling with his pants, and Hannibal is good enough to give him a hand. When they’re both finally naked, Face kisses Hannibal again, pushes his tongue deep into Hannibal’s mouth, exploring and claiming. It’s a little weird, Face can’t help thinking, but damn. Possessing Hannibal is one of those things he never realised he wanted to do - and now he wants it badly. Still weird though - like swearing freely in front of your parents, or calling a General ‘pal’ while drunk. He suspects he won’t be able to get away with this every day.
Hannibal’s hand grips Face’s ass, tugging him closer, but Face swats him away. He slides down Hannibal’s body, kissing and nibbling his firm flesh as he goes, until he’s nestled between Hannibal’s knees, where he turns his attention to his boss’ secret, hidden weakness - the delicate skin of the inner thigh. Face is an expert at using his tongue and teeth together to elicit pleasure, and he applies that expertise now, until Hannibal is a barely contained mass of growling frustration. He kicks Face playfully in the side.
“You’re a right little cocktease, you know that?”
Face flashes him a grin. “I try.” But he does take Hannibal’s cock in one hand and gently strokes, at the same time nipping the skin of his thigh with his teeth. Hannibal curses, but it isn’t a protest, and Face does it again, keeping his hand still as he kisses and licks the reddening skin, but stroking slowly in preparation for another bite, which comes at the same moment his fingers glide over the glistening head, and this time, the kick to his hip is a message all too clear.
Face laughs. “Impatient, boss? Say it again. I want to hear it.”
“Fuck me. Please.”
It’s the ‘please’ that makes Face shiver. He hunts around for the lube, slicks up his fingers, and directs Hannibal into a better position - on his front, hips propped up with a helpful pillow. Face knows for a fact that Hannibal hasn’t been on the receiving side for years, so he teases his opening with one finger, testing his readiness. There’s an impatient growl from Hannibal, so he doesn’t hesitate too long before pressing inside, and finally adding a second. The Colonel bucks his hips, fucking himself on Face’s fingers as Face peppers kisses along his spine, misleadingly gentle until he reaches Hannibal’s throat, where he sinks his teeth in. Hannibal’s cursing can, he is sure, be heard throughout the apartment - certainly, the TV can now be heard through the wall. Face licks and nips, marking his territory, until the constant fuckyesFaceFUCK from Hannibal takes on a more urgent, breathy tone. Face slips his fingers out, dropping one last kiss on the Colonel’s throat.
“Hold on for me, boss.”
Hannibal - pushing him, the bastard - reaches for his own cock, and Face has to pin his arm to the sheets.
“I said wait!”
A throaty chuckle from Hannibal, and he obeys. “That’s more like it, sweetheart.”
Face reaches for the lube again, slicks himself up. He moves over Hannibal, who arches up against him, and presses inside, Hannibal assisting eagerly in his bid to bury himself balls-deep inside the Colonel. Clinging to Hannibal’s hips, Face pulls out then thrusts, and just like that he loses the tiny fragment of control he’s managed to harbour - he’s hit Hannibal’s prostate, and the sound the Colonel makes goes straight to Face’s cock. He tries to maintain that angle, to brush that spot with every thrust, at the same time fisting Hannibal’s neglected cock, and judging by the way Hannibal falls back to his incoherent chain-cursing, Face reckons he’s getting it just about right.
“Wait for me,” he orders, and Hannibal bites down on his own lip. Face wonders how long he could make Hannibal hold on for him simply by ordering him to wait, but now’s not the time to test the idea; they’re both too close, too desperate, and he might risk cruel and unusual punishment later on - he’s already pushing his luck in that area with that hickey.
“Face.” Hannibal doesn’t plead for anything, but the tone in his voice now isn’t far off, and Face, panting and groaning against Hannibal’s back, has to relent.
“Come for me, boss.” Face flicks his wrist just so, and Hannibal follows orders, snarling and swearing through his climax, and the sound is enough to bring Face over the edge almost immediately. His vision blurs and he thinks he might black out, but then he’s collapsing on the bed beside Hannibal, who looks thoroughly fucked and is grinning at Face like their earlier argument never happened.
But Face knows better. He doesn’t bother cleaning up their mess, but falls straight into Hannibal’s waiting embrace, head on the older man’s chest, arm around his waist. Hannibal runs a hand through his hair, stroking until Face’s breathing has steadied. And then there’s silence in the room.
Hannibal breaks it. “I’m sorry.”
“No, you’re not.”
A quirk of the eyebrow, and Face shrugs lethargically.
“You’re always going to resent every younger guy who looks my way. Well, good. I want you to. You’re fucking hot when you’re jealous.”
Before Hannibal can respond to that, Face kisses him. It’s slow and lingering, but deep, and Face tongues his way past Hannibal’s lips. As expected, Hannibal pushes for dominance, and Face lets him have it back, lets Hannibal possess his mouth and gently roll him onto his back.
Face’s cock is already twitching back to wakefulness - and so, he discovers, is Hannibal’s.
“Besides, boss - I’ve had guys half your age with a fraction your stamina. Why would I need anyone else?”
“Guys?” Hannibal is nuzzling at Face’s ear, and punctuates his pseudo-irritation with a nip. “When was this? After Sosa? Before me?”
“Er... Yeah, if you like.”
And there it is - that deep-throated growl that promises so much. Face grins in anticipation as Hannibal pins him down with an arm across his chest and proceeds to scrape his teeth over Face’s nipple.
“I’ll show you stamina, you little bastard.”
Face laughs. “Oh yeah, baby, show me!”
And in the other room, Murdock and BA are forced to turn the TV volume up even louder.